# Looters of the Public Domain/Chapter 16

Chapter XVI
BUT I had reckoned unwisely, for while it must be admitted that every reasonable precaution had been adopted by me relative to my correspondence, and beyond any question of doubt my friend Cravet had discharged faithfully the trust imposed upon him, at the same time I had overlooked the fact that "Foxy Quiller" Burns was on my trail, and if he became set on making a capture, would find the means of running me down.
About 5:30 o'clock on the afternoon of March 26, 1906, I visited the public library in Boston, as was my usual custom, for the purpose of looking over the files of the Portland Morning Oregonian, in order to keep in touch with affairs at home, and while en route to my room, stepped into the Fenway branch postoffice and inquired for my mail. It struck me as rather peculiar that the postmaster should respond offhand in an unusually loud tone of voice, "Yes, Mr. Brownell, I believe we have a letter for you!" but I did not give it much thought, and took more interest in watching him sort over the mail. He finally handed me a letter, which I placed in my pocket and was on the point of taking my departure when I received a light tap on the shoulder. Glancing quickly around, whom should I behold but the immortal William J. Burns himself, and as one glad to meet an old friend, he extended his hand with the remark:
"Hello, Steve, how are you?"
Returning his cordial greeting, I expressed surprise at meeting him in Boston, remarking that I supposed he was still on the Pacific Coast.
"Well, I am everywhere, you see," explained Burns. "Step into the private office, Steve, and I will tell you how it happened," he continued.
Making a swift sweep of the lobby with my eyes, apparently unconcerned, I noticed a number of persons of both sexes moving about, but one man in particular impressed me as keeping a close watch on Burns' actions, as if with the intention of assisting him should occasion require.
In compliance with the request, I stepped into the private office of the postmaster, and taking seats, we entered into a general conversation. Noting that I had taken from my pocket the letter just received, and was holding it in my hand, Burns suggested that I open and read it, as it was probably from my wife. I proceeded to do so, when a small newspaper clipping dropped from the envelope to the floor. Observing this, Burns said:
"That is an article regarding McKinley's escape to China with 'Little Egypt,' and will prove of interest to you!"
With this remark, the thought immediately flashed through my mind that the wily detective had enjoyed another "sleep" on the mail sack.
Opening the letter, I made every pretense of perusing it. Another thought, however, occupied my mind. Realizing, as I did, that the critical moment had arrived, it was a question with me as to just how I should act, particularly having in view the idea that to keep cool was my only salvation. This had been impressed upon me from the very moment that Burns had electrified my entire nervous system by his magnetic touch on my shoulder.
It was the recollection of the many stories told me by Burns himself during the period he was gathering evidence in the land fraud trials at Portland, that put me on my guard. I was with him a greater portion of that time, and we became quite confidential to a certain degree. He had often related thrilling anecdotes connected with his capture of dangerous criminals, and had invariably attributed his success to the bold and fearless manner in which he would go after them, laying particular stress upon the necessity for keeping his head under the most trying circumstances. Therefore, if I hoped to accomplish results, I must follow the teachings of this past master of the art, and through the adoption of his tactics, it will be seen later how the pupil eclipsed his instructor.
Glancing hurriedly through the letter, as if to make casual note of its contents, I finally settled down to an ostensible careful perusal, but in reality as a measure for gaining further time, as night was wearing on, and I eagerly welcomed the darkness. When I thought it impossible to give the letter more attention without arousing suspicion, I placed it in the envelope and methodically returned it to my pocket, after which we proceeded to engage in general conversation once more.
He asked me all about matters in which we were mutually interested: how long I had been East, and what I was doing in Boston; had I heard from McKinley? and why did he run away? The subject of my home affairs also engrossed the careful consideration of my distinguished host, and the Oregon land fraud situation formed an interesting feature of our discussion.
I felt, as the moments passed, that each would be my last in the postoffice, and that Burns would soon suggest a change of base. I could not understand, at the moment, why he did not broach the subject of his mission to Boston, as I knew full well that his sole purpose in coming there was to place me under arrest. It developed, however, that he, like myself, was playing for time, but with another object in view. In my case, I hoped for night to come that I might make good my escape; with him, it was a question of delay in order to surround himself with sufficient force to effect my capture without difficulty, and prevent any possible chance of escape.
Detective Burns, when he first arrived at the Fenway postoffice, had arranged with the postmaster that the police department should be notified immediately after my appearance, when a squad of patrolmen should be sent to escort me to the station. It was also agreed between them that the postmaster, upon arrival of these reinforcements, should tap gently with his pencil the frosted window of his private office, which was to be the signal to Burns that everything was in readiness. This precaution had never occurred to me, and when, in the general course of business, the postmaster accidentally dropped his lead pencil, its ringing notes fell as a signal upon expectant ears, and brought with them a complete change in the demeanor of my entertainer. Rising brusquely from his seat, and addressing me in the coldest tones imaginable, with a light in his eyes that told its own story of suddenly acquired confidence, he said:
​"You are aware, no doubt, Puter, that I have a warrant for you, and that you will be obliged to return with me to Oregon?"
"Yes, Mr. Burns, I presumed as much when you first spoke to me," was my rejoinder.
"Well, Steve, come along then—we will be on our way to the station," continued Burns, at the same time grabbing me roughly by the coat sleeve. As he said this, there was another noticeable transformation in the man's conduct towards me, and had I not been prepared for it in a way, his heartless manner might have worked my complete collapse and upset all my plans. It was the change from Burns, the man sociable—my friend—to Burns the detective, cold and severe!
At this point I made some effort to parley with him, still hoping to gain a little more time by the operation. We had reached the door of the private office, and it was partially open. Standing thus, I endeavored to secure from him an admission as to the particular cause of my arrest, as I was still under bond to the Government in all the Federal cases against me, and could not understand what motive prompted a Government official to demand my return to Oregon when I felt satisfied that whatever new criminal proceedings had been instituted against me were the result of State charges.
However, when I saw that it was useless to attempt any further delay along these lines, I apparently gave in, and consented to do as he desired, but requested the privilege of being permitted to go to my room for my grip and suitcase and such clothing as I might require for the journey West. My object in making this request was to get Burns where I knew he was unacquainted, and to a locality where I was familiar with every nook and corner, and because of this knowledge of surroundings, to give him the slip and get away.
But "Foxy Quiller" Burns evidently suspected my object, and avoided the trap, so I dropped the subject without further comment. I knew, as a matter of fact, that my opportunity would come, and concluded to be patient until that time arrived. My watchword, as in the beginning, was to keep cool.
After we had stepped into the lobby of the postoffice, I glanced around, and to my surprise and satisfaction, I observed but one man present—the one who had been there when we entered the private office. A number of women were also moving about, attending to postal matters, but they did not interest me so much as to know that so far as Burns and myself were concerned, we were practically alone.
This idea must have been uppermost in the mind of my captor, because, upon reaching the street, still arm in arm, there was a look of keen disappointment on Burns' countenance. He was manifestly agitated, and his air of supreme confidence that had reigned with such visible force a few moments previously, had apparently deserted him. He glanced uneasily around from right to left as if seeking somebody, and all his actions indicated clearly that he was very much at sea over some unexpected situation.
Knowing that the police station was but two blocks away, I realized that the time for action had arrived, and that something must be done without delay. I anticipated, as a matter of course, upon reaching the corner, that Burns would turn to the right for the purpose of walking me directly to the station, but instead he stopped, or hesitated, as it were, and I could now see that the great, bold and daring Burns, the one fearless detective who was reputed to be the personification of an iceberg itself, even under the most trying conditions, had really become excited.
Upon reaching the corner and glancing about again, he noticed a car approaching and suggested that we take it. Realizing at once that he was in ignorance relative to the close proximity of the station, and as a measure to gain further time, I remarked:
"Didn't you say we were going to the police station?"
"Yes," replied Burns.
​"All right." I ventured; "but that is not our car. It will probably be the one following; or the next after that."
From the moment of leaving the postoffice, I had been planning as to just how and when I should attempt to reach my revolver, which was in a rear trousers pocket, and difficult to get hold of on account of the long, heavy overcoat I was wearing. I must, of necessity, get my hands on it, and at the same time avoid arousing suspicion—but how?
Burns' uneasiness and the excitement under which he was laboring gave me much encouragement, and was just the kind of stimulant I required for action.
The corner upon which we were standing was a very busy one, more especially at this time of evening, as it was now shortly after 6 o'clock.
The accompanying cut shows the Fenway postoffice, located at the corner of Boylston street and Massachusetts Avenue, in the State Street Trust Company's branch building.
As the cars were coming thick and fast, crowded with passengers, most of whom were obliged to transfer at this particular point, and secure transfers from the agent who stood at the electric pole to the left, as shown in the photograph, and in doing so, were obliged to pass directly by where Burns and myself were standing, I concluded, because of the rush and confusion incident to the situation, that my opportunity had arrived.
I was watching with eagerness the cars as they came from every direction, and particularly the one upon which we were supposed to depart. Waiting patiently for that supreme moment when I could decide that our surroundings had reached the climax of all possible expectation in the way of a crowded condition, ever hoping that the moment might arrive when the congestion of moving humanity would become still more intense—as I stood thus, all hope, all expectancy, I could see our car nearing the corner, with but one in advance. As through providential kindness, it was crowded to the very limit. It would, in common with others, unload its human burden, and the transfer man would again become overwhelmed with business.
Some ruse, some excuse, something, anything—but what? Happy thought! My handkerchief, which was in an inside pocket of my overcoat, was soon in hand, and after apparently mopping my face, I proceeded to replace it, but not, however, from whence it came. The hind pocket of my trousers would prove a better receptacle, so carelessly thrusting the flap of my overcoat to one side. I made a pretense of executing this intention.
The scene changed! The handkerchief fluttered carelessly to the sidewalk, and from the recesses of my pocket came a murderous looking object that must have struck terror in the heart of my captor, if his subsequent conduct is any criterion. In leveling the weapon at his head, I had broken from his grasp, but quick as a flash, and doubtless inspired by fear, as I cannot account for his foolhardiness upon any other hypothesis, Burns pounced upon me in an effort to secure possession of the weapon.
Thereupon I seized him by the shirt collar and held him at arm's length with my left hand, while with the other I still kept him securely covered. Our position at this time enabled me to obtain a glimpse of his supposed assistant, who stood some ten feet away and directly behind him. although making no apparent effort to aid his chief, if such he proved to be. The policeman, whose station was at the intersection of the streets, was some ten or fifteen feet further back, and somewhat to the right, and evidently too deeply engrossed with his duties in caring for the crowd to note what was occurring. As to his knowledge of existing conditions. I cannot speak authoritatively. I do know, however, that he failed to take an active part in the lively scrimmage, or in fact pay any heed to it whatsoever.
"For God's sake, Steve, don't shoot!" he implored.
It must have been that fear got the better of his judgment when he exposed himself thus, as he ought to have realized my desperate position.
Finally, after a herculean effort, I managed to throw him up against the wall with such force that I was enabled to wrench myself loose, and before he could recover, I had separated myself from the redoubtable sleuth by the respectable distance of two or three yards.
Realizing that "Richard is himself again," and fearing that he might make another attempt to lay hands on me, I advanced towards him resolutely, with revolver pointed directly at his head, and a look of fixed determination in my face, and told him that I would kill him dead on the spot if he attempted to pull his gun. "Damn you, go!" I demanded, menacingly.
At this, and with the evident thought that I intended to carry out my threat, the great detective turned tail and ran in the direction of the postoffice corner, where he found shelter behind a friendly pillar.
Wheeling around on the sidewalk, with revolver still in hand, I covered the man whom I had all along suspected was Burns' assistant, and ordered him to decamp. He lost no time in doing so, but I have since come to the conclusion that I was mistaken as to his identity, and that he had merely become attracted to the scene out of idle curiosity.
A number of women had flocked out of the postoffice building while the struggle between Burns and myself was at its height, and were gathered in terror along the sidewalk. Pointing my revolver in their direction, I ordered them to proceed in advance of me, as I knew that Burns would not dare to shoot while I was thus protected. Using them thus as a shield to cover my retreat to the corner below, and perceiving that Burns had not emerged from his position, I thanked the ladies profusely for their kindness in thus aiding me, informing them at the same time that they had probably saved my life, and after tipping my hat to them in the most courteous manner possible, I hiked down a narrow side street at breakneck speed.
Proceeding thus about half a block, I turned suddenly into an alleyway which extended to the left a distance of several blocks. I had continued my flight down this alley but fifty or sixty yards when I discovered that I was completely winded, and on the point of collapse; so seeing a door open in what proved to be the common basement for a series of large flats, I dodged in, hoping to gain an exit to the street in front.
Upon entering the basement and making an investigation, I found that I was in a trap, as the street in front of the buildings was much higher in elevation than the alley from whence I had just come, and as a consequence, there was no means of egress in that direction. Returning towards the entrance, I discerned, by the aid of a subdued gaslight, that a stairway led from the basement to the flats above, but not having any idea then as to where it might lead, I thought to avoid it and take chances in the alleyway, hoping to smuggle myself in the crowd by some process and escape detection.
When I reached the door again, I hesitated long enough to obtain a breath of fresh air, but did not linger, as the clamor of voices, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps, aroused my mind and body to quick action. They were now at the very entrance itself, eager as a pack of wolves to devour their prey, but bellowed on, the one evidently intent on outdoing the other in the chase. A few of the older and wiser dogs remained behind to probe the surroundings, yet not daring to venture into the confines of my den. It was not long before the alley was fairly alive with baying humanity, yelping about in wild confusion.
My thoughts at this time can better be imagined than described. Here I was, having escaped my captor, yet in a worse predicament, if anything, than ​before. With one man, or even two, I stood some show of escape, but against such an array as was now at my heels, it seemed like a vain thought that I could prolong the chase, and I was quick to comprehend that my only show of getting out of the dilemma was by process of some clever ruse. While thus engaged in a sort of lightning-like calculation, I heard some one exclaim to his fellows:
"I followed him closely from the corner, boys, and when I reached the alley, he had disappeared completely. He never, in my opinion, passed this door," and with that he approached the entrance with the remark, "Some of you stand outside here and guard the door, while the rest of us will explore the basement."
At this I turned my attention to the gaslight, which I reached without attraction, and after turning it down until it was almost extinguished, giving barely sufficient glimmer to permit my return, I started for the stairway to which reference was made when I first entered the basement, and had hardly reached it when the basement door was pushed cautiously aside and two men entered, passing within three feet of where I was concealed behind a post.
Perceiving that they were making for the gas jet, I glided noiselessly up the stairway, and opening its door, stepped out cautiously onto a porch a few feet above the basement, belonging to the lower flat of the building. Fortunately for me, the porch was surrounded with some lattice work, which enabled me to observe the movements of those in the alleyway below without exposing myself to view in any manner.
Trying the kitchen door of this flat, I discovered that it was locked and receiving no response from the inside, proceeded to ascend the stairs to the flat above. In this effort, however, I was not so successful in concealing my presence, as I had the misfortune to make a slight noise, which brought from the man underneath the porch, who was guarding the basement door, the inquiry:
"Who goes there?"
"Fisher!" was my assuring answer.
"What Fisher?" he asked.
"Why, it's Jack," I responded, as I ascended the stairway two steps at a time to the flat above. It was my turn to play interrogator now, so I asked:
"Who are you, and what are you doing down there?"
The reply, if any, was lost to my ears, as I had now reached the porch of the second flat and had more important business on hand.
Repeating the performance of trying the kitchen door, and again receiving no response to my knock, I continued to the last flat above, fully determined to break in the door if I met with no better success, as it was impossible for me to turn back with any degree of safety.
As I neared the head of the stairs, my heart bounded with joy as I noticed a stream of light pouring through the window, and Vv'hile waiting an answer to my summons for admission, its rays were to me as a beacon to some storm-tossed mariner.
In response to my loud knock, a female voice inside tin idly inquired:
"Who is there?"
"It's me," I answered.
"Who?"
"Just me—open the door!" and with that I could hear the key grating in the lock and the door swung open. I was on the inside in a second, and closing the door behind me, and bolting and locking it securely, I took a survey of the surroundings.
Seated at a table in his shirt sleeves, reading the evening paper, was a middle-aged man, while his good wife had evidently been preparing their supper. Both looked pictures of despair, evidently mistaking me for a burglar. As soon as he could recover his presence of mind, the man in faltering tones inquired my business.
"No business," I replied; "just show me the front door that I may get out on the street!" ​"You will get out of here by the same route you came!" responded the man, advancing; threateningly towards me with uplifted chair.
As may be imagined, I had no time to waste in discussing; the situation, so, drawing my revolver and leveling it full at his head. I demanded in the fiercest tones at my command:
"You open that front door, and be d—d quick about it!"
The effect was instantaneous. The poor fellow turned as white as a ghost, and imploringly told his wife to let me out. He was too far gone himself to do so. and it was amusing to watch the antics of the couple after that. Compared with my experience of a short time previously, when I had engaged in combat with one of the shrewdest men in the Government secret service, this was like taking candy from a baby.
The badly- frightened woman hastily picked up the lamp and waddled in the direction of the front part of the house, at the same time entreating me to spare her husband. I had no thought of harming them, merely wishing to get away with as little delay as possible, but the episode indicates the remarkable case with which a well-armed person could invade any peaceful household and ransack the premises without the slightest danger.
The woman led me to the front door, and pointing out in the darkness said: "There, sir, is the stairway. You will find the door leading to the street just three flights below."
Bidding her good night, and with many thanks for her kindness, I made my way downstairs, and was soon on the street.
Not a soul was in sight, so I meandered leisurely along for a block or so. when I saw a carriage coming in my direction. Luck seemed to have favored me on all occasions in this transaction, and the appearance of the cab at such an opportune moment was a fitting climax to my successful getaway from Burns.
Hailing the driver, I instructed him to take me to the Thorndyke Hotel, some twenty-five or thirty blocks away, as quickly as possible. After discharging the cabby, I waited in front of the hostelry as if about to enter, until the sound of the rattling wheels had disappeared in the distance.
At this point, I felt perfectly safe, and had no further thought of being captured, so deciding to return to my room, I took a circuitous route by streetcar until I came to a drug store, which was about fifteen blocks from my room. Here I alighted again and entering, "phoned to the landlady of my boarding house and asked if anyone had inquired fOr me. Receiving an answer in the negative I informed her that I probably would not be home for dinner that evening. To this she remonstrated, stating that she had kept the meal in the warming oven and that, if I could come within a reasonable time, it would still be ready for me. Not caring to state definitely when I would return, I hung up the receiver and walked out. I was now in a directly opposite direction, the Fenway postoffice being in almost a straight line between the Thorndyke Hotel and my present location, so I decided to walk to my room. Before starting, however, I concluded to eat in a nearby restaurant, where I could have time to collect my thoughts and determine on a plan for future action.
Leaving the restaurant, I walked directly toward my lodging house and when 1 came within two blocks of the place, fearing that some one might be on the main thoroughfare, I decided to enter by the back way, so took down an alley.
Reaching the house, I walked up the back stairs and knocking at the kitchen door, was admitted by the landlady herself, when I remarked in a jocular way:
"Well. I'm here—have you kept my dinner waiting?"
"Yes," she replied, "but how came you in this way?"
"Oh," said I, "just thought I wouldn't put you to the trouble of setting the table for me again. This, you know, is the first time I have ever been late, so will dine in the kitchen."
As the lady turned to prepare the meal, her actions having denoted that everything was all right, I told her not to mind, that I had already eaten, but thanked her just the same.
I then asked her if she had heard anything unusual, to which she replied that she had not.
"Very well, then, come to my room," said I, "I have something important that I wish to say to you."
As I had boarded at her house for about three months and had frequently talked with her, she impressed me as a person in whom I could confide with safety, so I decided to tell her the whole story, as I knew to a certainty that Burns would find my room sooner or later, and I thought, because of the friendly manner in which she had always treated me, it would be best to make arrangements in regard to my belongings prior to his coming.
Upon entering the room, I recited in detail all that had occurred, explaining at the same time that my name was S. A. D. Puter, and not J. H. Brownell, as she had supposed. I told her of my connection with timber land operations on the Pacific Coast and that this present trouble, while not of a serious nature, was the result of those operations.
After assuring the lady that I was in no wise involved in any criminal transaction, she expressed a willingness to assist me in any way possible and asked what she could do for me.
I requested her to telephone to a very intimate friend of mine and to request him to come to her house, cautioning her, at the same time, not to mention the nature of the business, as I did not wish her to speak of that over the 'phone.
When he came, a few minutes later, I explained the entire situation to him also, and solicited his assistance in the matter of making good my escape from the city. My friend seemed to think that I had been wonderfully successful up to that time and that the worst was over, but when I explained the character of the man with whom I had to deal and advised him of Burns' reputation, which was based on his past acts of fearless daring, where men of known ability only were employed and in which he had always come out successful, my friend was not quite so sanguine that I was yet out of the woods.
I also assured him of Burns' ability to summon every man in the service, if need be, to assist him, in addition to which, he could command the support of the entire police and detective force of Boston, and it was my opinion that at this very moment every avenue of escape from the city was being closely guarded.
After discussing the situation thoroughly, my friend suggested that early on the following morning I accompany him to his brother's farm, about forty-five miles distant. This I decided to do, so immediately busied myself in packing my clothing, which I placed in my trunk, while in my grip, I deposited all papers and documents of value, together with some few articles of clothing that I might want for immediate use.
​It was then agreed between us that my trunk should remain there, my landlady to store it under the stairway, and when Burns called, as I knew he would, she was to admit that a certain gentleman named Brownell had been stopping there, but that he had paid his bill and left that morning.
Having made all arrangements, I then handed my landlady written authority to call on a certain firm in the city where I had been doing business and collect a balance due me, after which I retired for the night.
I was awakened at four o'clock on the following morning, and a few minutes later my friend came in his buggy and we were off. Arriving at the farm, I was introduced as Mr. Fleetwood, of Chicago, and in explanation of our unexpected visit, my friend informed his brother that I was in Boston on important business, and as I was an old friend of his and desired a little recreation, he thought I would enjoy a few days outing in the country. He told him at the same time to give me the best of everything to make me comfortable.
This farm life, which brought to mind the fond recollections of childhood days, was entirely to my liking and I made myself at home without much ado. At "milkin' time," I was always on hand, and while it is true that I took an active part in the operation, it is no less a fact that the consumption was greater than the production, so far as I was personally concerned.
We received the Boston papers daily, by rural delivery service, and I spent some little time in perusing the accounts of my escapade with brother Burns, as did also my host and the men about the farm, all of whom expressed a desire to meet the "nervy Westerner," as they put it, little thinking that "Brownell" himself was in their very midst.
On the morning of the third day, about nine o'clock, my friend, who had returned to the city after introducing me to his brother, came back to see how I was getting along, and incidentally to let me know how matters stood at the Hub. When he arrived, I noted immediately that his face bore a troubled look, and it was with much impatience that I awaited the opportunity for talking with him privately.
Seeking a secluded spot, he informed me that, sure enough, Burns had located my boarding house on the morning of the second day, and that he succeeded in getting my trunk, but that the landlady still had possession of my grip, which I had intended bringing with me, but which I had overlooked in my haste to leave the city. She also still held my check for $1022, which had been handed her as the balance due me by the firm with whom I transacted business in Boston.
My friend went on to inform me that the landlady had wilted under Burns' indomitable manner of persistent inquiry, and had given up the trunk, thinking that by doing so, he would not press her for further information. The landlady, so my friend said, expressed deep sorrow and regret because of what she had done, but stated that it was beyond her power to withstand Mr. Burns' inquisition, and as she thought I valued my grip more highly than the trunk, on account of the papers which it contained, she deemed it best to throw Burns oft' the scent in that way and relieve the agony.
Having listened to his story, I insisted on my friend returning to the city immediately and to exert every effort to obtain possession of my grip and the check.
"If you think," said I, "that Burns will stop short of getting everything, now that he has made this start, you are certainly mistaken in the man, and if my grip and check are permitted to remain there longer, they too will fall into his possession."
I explained to him that there was but one person, to my knowledge, who had ever succeeded in outdoing the wily detective in his effort to secure an unwilling confession, and that that person was none other than the well known Marie Ware of Oregon.
I also cautioned my friend as to the necessity of being very careful on his own account, as Burns would endeavor to connect my friends with my escape, and would be sure to prosecute anyone whom he suspected had aided me. ​As he made ready to take his departure. I informed him that I, too, would probably return to Boston that evening, and in event of my doing so, would call him up over the 'phone on the following day.
He had been gone but a short time when I fully decided to follow him to the city, so bidding my host good bye, and assuring him of my sincere appreciation of the favors shown me, I departed in his buggy for the station, being driven by one of the farm hands, and when we arrived there, I caught an electric car for town.
Upon reaching the suburbs of Boston, I remained there until nightfall, amusing myself in an effort to bargain for a grocery store that I had no notion of buying, and for which the owner wanted fully double its real value. My efforts to purchase the meat market next door met with the same success, so I gave it up as a bad job, and hunted up a restaurant where I had something to eat. As soon as it was sufficiently dark, I boarded a car and headed for the city.
Arriving there, my first move was to engage a room, which I secured within three blocks of the place where I formerly resided. This was about eight o'clock in the evening, and as I had nothing else to do, I took a streetcar for what is known as the "down town district," and some distance away from where I knew that Burns would be likely to stop. Here I attended one of the vaudeville theaters, where I spent a couple of hours, after which I repaired to a restaurant and enjoyed another good meal. I then returned to my room and retired for the night.
Morning found me up bright and early, and as I could not hope to communicate with my friend at that hour, I took a car ride to the outskirts of the city, some thirty-five or forty blocks away from the Fenway postoffice, or business portion of the city, where after breakfast, I called my friend up over the 'phone, informing him of my presence and asking him to meet me at a certain time in a given place. I did not, however, mention my name, as we had previously agreed between us that in making use of the telephone, I was to represent myself as a physician and would introduce the conversation by inquiring about a patient.
When I met my friend, he had much news of importance to relate, but in order to ease my mind as to the safety of my grip and check, he commenced by telling me that my landlady still held them in her possession and he thought it best that they remain there for the time being, as both had been secreted away in a safe place, and, as the premises were being watched by detectives, any attempt to remove the grip, or anything of that description, would surely result in disaster. My friend assured me further that the landlady had fully recovered her composure and would not be likely to divulge any additional information to Burns, and by way of encouragement added that Burns, too, seemed to have eased up on her and was nothing like so severe as in the beginning. He had, however, made several visits to the boarding house since taking the trunk away, but was more modest in his manner and line of inquiry than at first.
After discussing the situation with my friend, we concluded that it would be unwise for him to attempt to remove my grip, or even to hold frequent conversations with me, as he had been seen to enter and emerge from the boarding house quite frequently, and it was more than likely that suspicion had already been directed toward him. We decided, therefore, that the next best move would be to employ an attorney and to advise with him as to the most feasible method of securing my belongings.