"The Coniackers"

Front matter

*

THE. PINKERTON

DETECTIVE! SERIES

Contents

CHAPTER. PAGE.

I.—Uncle Sam’s Boys 7

II.—Mr. Andrew Quinn - - 13

Chapter I. Uncle Sam’s Boys

Who knows them?

A favored few, and, for Uncle Sam’s purposes, the fewer the better.

What is their business?

To protect the commonwealth against frauds on the revenue, the mails, and the currency.

How do they work?

So secretly, so surely, that the scoundrel who is engaged in an attempt to rob his Uncle Sam, seldom knows that he is being watched until he is “ collared” by one of Uncle Sam’s boys.

In the spring of 1879 the receiving teller of the National Bank at Moberly, Mo., received a deposit of $350 from Patrick Carmody, proprietor of the Commercial Hotel of that town. A few minutes later, the cashier of the bank, needing currency to make up a large amount with which to discount a merchant’s note, stepped to the receiving teller’s desk and asked for twenty “ tens. ” They were counted out, and among them were two ten dollar notes from the deposit just received.

On counting them over, the cashier paused and threw out these two, which happened to be on the Treasury Department, and a critical examination of them followed.

“ Where did you get these * Webster heads,’ ” he asked, while a look of perplexity came into his face.

“ From Carmody,” was the immediate answer, “ and I have two or three more of them here. Is there anything wrong about them? ”

“ Rather! they are bogus, but the very best imitation I have ever seen!

“ The deuce they are! ” exclaimed the teller, as he selected the two other ten dollar notes from the pile, and began to examine them.

The most minute inspection failed to show any¬ thing “ crooked ” in the notes under examination, even to the experienced eyes of the teller. “ I can’t see anything the matter with them,” he said at last,

“ the engraving is perfect, the color is right, and the paper is just the same as these others are printed on. You must have make a mistake, old man.”

“ Not much,” was the answer, “just look at the milled vignetting around the word ‘Ten,’ and you will find the only flaw in an otherwise perfect conterfeit.”

After another critical inspection the teller said:

“You are right, by gum! She is bogus to a certainty. Now, what in thunder are we to do with them? ”

UNCLE SAM’S BOYS

“ Send for Carmody, and see where he got them,” was the sententious advice.

A messenger was dispatched to the Commercial Hotel, and a few minutes afterward the proprietor entered the bank.

“ Do you remember from whom you took these tens, Mr. Carmody? ” said the cashier.

“ I do indeed,” replied Pat, “ for I got them last night while I was banking a little innocent game of ‘poke.’ Why, is there anything wrong about them? ”

“ Bogus, that’s all! ”

“ The devil you say! ” exclaimed Carmody, than whom no better, squarer man ever breathed.

“ It’s a fact,” continued the cashier, " and, now, the best thing we can do is to catch the gentleman who is ‘ shoving ’ this queer stuff. ”

“I’m afraid we are too late,” said Carmody, shaking his head; “ he left on the early train for St. Louis this morning, and the Lord only knows where he is by this time.”

The cashier glanced at the clock, and saw that the hands pointed to 2:30. The morning train had arrived in St. Louis hours before.

“ What was his name? and what did he look like? ” was the next question.

“ He registered as Andrew Quinn, and professed to be in the horse business,” replied Carmody. “ He is about six feet in height, and is very slimly built, with long, bony hands, big feet, and has a slight stoop in the shoulders. I should judge he weighs about 180 pounds.”

IO

" What kind of a face has he? ”

“ He has black eyes, a sallow skin, and bushy black hair.”

“ Any beard or mustache? ”

“ Not a hair on his face.”

“ When did he come here? ”

“ Yesterday afternoon. He said he had just shipped a car-load of horses to St. Louis, and would follow them this morning. He appeared to be a nice, sociable kind of a fellow, and had a big wad of bills in his inside pocket. He spent his money freely at the bar, and called up all hands several times. In fact, he said he wanted to get acquainted in Moberly because his business would bring him here often.”

“ Well,” said the cashier, “ there is no doubt in my mind that he is ‘shoving the queer.’ I shall have to detain these four notes until their identity can be settled by one of the Treasury officers. Meantime, Mr. Carmody, it would be as well to say nothing about this matter, for you never know what friends a man of that kind has, nor how a warning can be conveyed to him. Did he say when he was coming back?”

" Yes. He said he^would be in Moberly again on Tuesday next. Hank Brown has a pair of horses he is after, and, though Hank didn’t want to sell, this man Quinn thinks he can get them.”

“ Very well,” returned the cashier, “ if, as I sus¬ pect, these notes are bad, we will catch him when he returns, provided no hint of this thing gets out.”

“ I won’t say anything to warn him or his pals,”

UNCLE SAM’S BOYS said Carmody; “ I’m hot enough at being beaten out of my money by the scamp.”

A short time afterward, secret service officer Wallace Hall, who was at the time in Chicago, received the following dispatch marked “ Rush. ”

“Moberly, May 12.

“ To Capt. Wallace W. Hall ,

“Sub Treasury Dept.,

“ Chicago.

“A new and dangerous counterfeit Treasury ten has made its appearance at this point. Deceives even experienced bankers. Full description of shover. Have four of the notes. Wire instruc¬ tions.

“ Wm. Crawford,

“ Banker.”

Late in the afternoon, Cashier Crawford received the following:

Chicago, May 12.

“ To Wm. Crawford ,

" Banker ,

“ Moberly , Mo.

“ Keep matter secret as far as possible. Leave on C. & A. train at eight o’clock. Reach Moberly at one to-morrow.

The next afternoon, a quiet-looking, well dressed gentleman jumped off the train at Moberly, and, after handing his valise to the porter, climbed into the Commercial Hotel ’bus.

On his arrival at the hotel, he registered as

“ W. W. Howard,” and was assigned to room 28, on the parlor floor.

After he had indulged in a wash and a clean shirt, he went to the dining-room.

“ Sit down with us,” suggested the gentlemanly host, who had received Mr. Howard at the desk a few minutes before.

“ Mr. Howard, of Chicago, Mrs. Carmody,” he went on, introducing the stranger to a particularly handsome blonde lady, who smiled sweetly in acknowledgment of the polite bow Mr. Howard made.

The meal proceeded, with plenty of entertaining chatter to enliven it, and in course of conversation Howard said:

“ I have a draft I want to get cashed. Where is your bank, Mr. Carmody? ”

Carmody gave the necessary information, and a<Jded*:

" You will need some one to identify you. Are you acquainted in Moberly at all?”

“ I only know one man here,” replied Howard, “ but he is a very important man to know just at the present juncture : Mr. Crawford, the cashier.”

“ Oh, then, you are all right,” responded Car¬ mody, with a laugh, " any man who stands in with the cashier is as solid as they make ’em. ”

After dinner, “ Mr. Howard ” called on the banker, and, after revealing his true identity, was soon put in possession of all the facts at Crawford’s command.

“ Do you think you will get them? ” asked the banker. _

“ If I don’t, it won’t be for want of trying,” was the quiet but determined answer.

That evening a full description of Mr. Quinn was telegraphed to headquarters, and thence spread all over the country, as of a man who needed the closest kind of watching.

Several times the officer took those four ten dol¬ lar notes out of his pocket-book for the purpose of admiring them.

“ Confound it! ” he said to himself, “ they beat anything ever engraved outside the department. If the fellow has been wise he ought to have $100,000 in this stuff* afloat with a six months’ start.”

Chapter II

MR. ANDREW QUINN.

After an interview with Carmody, in which he tvas told about Quinn’s admiration for Hank Brown’s team, the secret serviceman strolled leis¬ urely up the street to Brown’s place.

That worthy individual was sitting at the door of his barn smoking an old corn-cob pipe, from which he seemed to draw much satisfaction and smoke.

“Howdy?” was the brief salutation of Mr. Hall.

“ Day day,” responded Hank, lazily, without even taking the pipe out of his mouth.

“ I hear you have a fine span of bays you want to sell,” pursued the detective.

“ Then, you heerd lies,” said Hank,as he carefully gauged his distance, and then almost drowned a wretched fly as it crawled up the barn door ; “ I have a pair o’ bays, but I ain’t hot to sell ’em.”

“ You might if you were offered enough money,” suggested the detective.

“ Well, I might and I mightn’t,” was the calm response, deliberately drawn between puffs from the corn-cob.

“ What figure do you hold them at? ” was the next question.

“ Hain’t set no price on ’em,” was the reply, as he sized up his man to see whether he looked like a “ sure ’nuff ” buyer, or was only actuated by curiosity.

The inspection seemed to be satisfactory, for, knocking the ashes from his pipe, he continued:

“ There was a man here from St. Louis last Friday, ’at offered me $325 for ’em.”

“ What did you say? ”

“ Told him to go plumb to h—. ”

“ Let’s have a look at the beasts. I am willing to go better than $325 if they suit me.”

“ So is the other feller. He’s cornin’ back Tues¬ day to see if we can’t fix up a trade ; so I ain’t open fer nuthin’ but offers at present. I can’t sell with¬ out givin’ him a chance to kinder raise the ante,” said Hank, as he slowly and lazily refilled his pipe from a bag of Durham. After a little further per¬ suasion he showed the horses to his supposed customer, and a pair of beauties they certainly were, just the very “ critters,” Hall declared, that he was on the lookout for.

“ They are worth every penny of $400,” he said; “ and I like them well enough to wait till Tuesday for your man to return, and then see if I can’t buy them. ”

“ All right," replied Hank; “ I don’t give a durn whether I sell ’em or not. Only I passed my say so that Quinn was to have the first chance at ’em, and my word goes."

Tuesday came, and with it tall, lanky Mr. Quinn. When he arrived at Hank’s barn he found the other would-be customer waiting for him. Hall’s offer of $400 for the horses was raised by the stranger, who finally bought them for $430

“ Well, I can’t raise that bid, and I guess, if I did, it wouldn’t do any good, for you seem bound to get ’em," said the detective.

“ That’s what," replied Quinn, as he counted out the required amount in crisp, new ten dollar notes.

“ They ain’t no hard feelin’s, I hope," he con¬ tinued; “ and I guess Brown here’ll set ’em up; eh, Brown? "

“ Seein’ it’s you,’ replied Hank, ‘ don’t mind ef I do." So together they walked to the Commercial bar, and proceeded to “ irrigate the alimentary canal."

“ When do you want to take ’em ? " asked Hank, after he had swallowed his whisky.

“ Right away, ’’ answered Quinn; “I’m goin’to

St. Louis this afternoon, where I have a customer waitin’ for the horses.”

“OK,” replied Hank, “ you can have ’em any time, seein’s they’re yourn’.”

Within a couple of hours the horses were aboard the train, and Hank had shaken hands with the stranger. As he was leaving the depot, a hand was laid lightly on his shoulder, and, turning, he was somewhat surprised to see the secret service man at his elbows.

“ My name is Hall,” he said, “ not Howard, and I am a Treasury agent. The fellow you have sold your cattle to is a counterfeiter, and every dollar he gave you is bogus, ”

“ Come off,” said Hank, with a frightened expres¬ sion in his eyes. “ Your act is bad.”

“ Nothing of the kind,” continued Hall. “ I’m giving it to you straight. Now, I want those notes, every one of them.”

“ This is a bunko game, and I’m too old a hen to be deceived by a chicken,” grinned Hank, who believed himself smart enough not to be taken in by a “ con.” man.

For answer the detective quickly unbuttoned his vest and displayed a Treasury agent’s star fastened to his suspenders.

That settled the matter, and Hank reluctantly handed over the counterfeit money, as he asked

“ Why the h-don’t you arrest the coniacker?

You hain’t agoin’ to let him git away with my crit¬ ters are you? ”

“ That’s just what I am going to do. But don’t

1 7

fret. You will get your horses or their value all right. The government wants this fellow and his pals, and the pals can only be caught by following him. You will be made whole for your horses; so keep your mouth shut.”

Hank promised to be circumspect, and, as the train began to move at this moment, the Treasury agent had barely time enough to swing himself onto the rear platform of the last coach.

“ Hello! ” said Quinn. “ You goin’to St. Louis, too?”

“ Yes; that’s where I live when I’m home.”

“ Well, set down and be comfortable,” said the coniacker; “you might as well enjoy life while you can.”

The detective seated himself beside the man he was shadowing, and a conversation on indifferent topics ensued. Flail had a flask of excellent liquor with him, and the pair drank together several times. This loosened Quinn’s tongue, and, after feeling his way cautiously for a little while and receiving every encouragement, he said:

“ Strikes me there’s too much money in the Treasury. ”

“ That’s what. I’d just like to get my hands on a good big slice of the boodle — only once.”

“ Me, too,” assented Quinn. “ I’d take my stake and git. I don’t think it’s any harm to rob a rob¬ ber, and that is just what this gov’ment is — just a robber.”

“You just put me onto some safe scheme for i8 getting ahead of Uncle Sam, and see how quick I’ll get there, ” answered the detective, feeling sure that his companion was about to " give himself away. ” Quinn remained silent for several minutes, during which time he studied Hall’s face intently. The latter bore the scrutiny well, and looked as inno¬ cent of any ulterior motive as a new-born calf.

“ I reckon I can trust you,” said Quinn, at length; “ you look like an honest man, and one that wouldn’t get any feller into trouble.”

“ Well, you bet I wouldn’t,” said Hall, with his most impressive manner; “ I never turned a mean trick in my life, and I never will. ”

Again Quinn paused a little while to study his companion’s face. Then he said:

“ Did you ever see any green goods?”

“ Never did. I know what you mean, though, and I’d like to get hold of a first-class article. Trav¬ eling about the country as I do, I’d get rid of it without any trouble. ”

“ What line are you in? ”

“ Been in almost everything. I have a nice little property in St. Louis which brings me in about $noa month, and I travel for a patent medicine house. ”

“ Well, I have a friend who can get you some tens that have been passed everywhere — banks, Postoffice and all, and have never been questioned. They are great stuff.”

“ Say, can you get me some of them? ”

“ I might get my friend to let you have them, if he finds you are all square.”

“ Square? Why, I’ve traveled for Doc McLean for three years. You can come up to the store and see me, or ask the doctor about me, if you want.”

“ I reckon you’re all right,” said the coniacker, after another pause, “ the next time we stop, you come forward with me to the car where my team is, and I’ll show you something.”

Accordingly, at the next stoppage the detective accompanied Mr. Quinn to the box car, and, as soon as the train started out again, the latter pulled out a roll of bills, and, handing them to Hall, said:

“ See if you can pick out the ‘ queer ’ ones among these.”

Hall took the money, and it was a matter of no little difficulty, even for a man of his vast experience, to distinguish the genuine from the bogus without a most minute examination. He was too wily, however, to let the coniacker see that he could tell the difference; so, selecting three genuine bills and two of the counterfeits, he said:

“ ’Pears to me ther£ isn’t a great sight of differ¬ ence anyhow, but I guess these are the crooked ones.”

Quinn smiled, as he replied:

“You’re wrong just the same, for only two of those are queer, while the others are genuine Un¬ cle Sam’s papers. I tell you that is the greatest stuff ever printed! Say — I’ve been running’em off for more than a year—loading National banks with ’em and everything, and they haven’t dropped to ’em yet. ”

“Well, I swan!” exclaimed the innocent Captain Hall; “ I’ve got to get some of those papers as sure as I live. How much can I get them for? ”

“ Thirty-three cents on the dollar.”

“ Say, doesn’t that strike you as kind o’ high? ”

“ Not at all—a tenner only costs you $ 3 - 33 > and you make $6.66 the minute you pass it. Of course there is some cheaper goods in the market, but look at the risk in handling them. Now with these you can stand right up at the window in the St. Louis Postoffice and buy stamps.”

“ If you will do that, and the stuff goe*s, I’ll buy $6,000 worth of them.”

“ I’ll go you. Where will you meet me at two o’clock to-morrow?”

“ I’ll be at Bessehl’s beer hall from two till three o’clock.”

“ All right. I’ll be on hand.”

“ You bet you will, and so will I,” remarked the Treasury agent under his breath.

As agreed upon, the detective met his coniacking acquaintance the following day. He did not even take the trouble to shadow him the night of their arrival in St. Louis, being certain that $2,000 was plenty of bait to insure the counterfeiter’s keeping his engagement.

He arrived at Bessehl’s about three minutes after two o’clock, and found the obliging Mr. Quinn al¬ ready there.

“ So, you have turned up, I see,” said that wor¬ thy, by way of salutation.

“ Bet your life I have,” returned Hall. “ I’m not throwing away any chances to make a big stake with scarcely any risk.”

“ All right,” said Quinn, “ I guess we’d better get down to business. Now I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll give you the whole of my pile excepting one of the queer tens. Then we’ll go to the Postoffice and you will see me buy ten dollars’ worth of stamps with the short green ten. Is that satisfactory?”

“ Quite,” said Hall, smiling to himself at this shrewd move on the part of the coniacker. His object was to get the spurious money into the other man’s possession, so that, if by any chance they should be arrested, the stuff would not be found in his pockets, and he could defend himself by saying that Hall had given him what he be¬ lieved to be a genuine bill, and told him to buy stamps with it.

So, together they walked along Olive street to the Postoffice, and Hall stood at the counterfeiter’s elbow as the money was passed in and the stamps out, in exchange for the bogus bill.

Quinn was not aware of it, but within five min¬ utes that bill had been decorated by having the word COUNTERFEIT cut clear through it.

“ Are you satisfied?”asked Quinn, as they walked down the high steps.

“ Perfectly,” answered Hall. “ He took it with¬ out a kick. Now, when do I get my stuff? ”

“ How much do you want?

“ $2,000 worth—$6,000 in the green goods.”

“ I can’t get you that much at present; it will have to be printed. I reckon the best thing will be for you to see my friend, and he will tell you how much he has on hand.”

“ When can I see him? It must besoon, because I will have to take to the road again at once,” said the detective, who had the best of reasons for wishing to get the trick turned as quickly as possible.

“ I can bring him to your house to-night if you like,” answered Quinn. “ Where do you live?”

“At 1531 Washington avenue, but that would not be a good place to meet. It is a boarding¬ house, and there are too many people about, par¬ ticularly one fellow whom I suspect of being a Pinkerton operative.”

“ Then, we don’t want to go there — that’s cer¬ tain. Well, where can we meet? ”

“ Suppose I go to your place,” suggested Hall.

“ That would hardly do, either. The fact is, we live out of town, my partner and I, and we don’t care to have any visitors. No — it must be arranged for some place in town.”

“ Very well, then, what do you say to taking a room at the Laclede Hotel? ”

“ That’s the scheme. We can transact our busi¬ ness there without any danger of interruption.”

“ Then, if that suits you, I will go there now and register, and you can call at whatever hour you like. How would nine o’clock to-night do? ”

“ I reckon that will be all right. But there’s one thing, my partner’s mighty skeery about handling the goods, and he may not agree to meet you there.

If he kicks, we will send a messenger to you with a note, telling you when and where to meet us.”

This arrangement having been made, they sep¬ arated. As Quinn went away, he turned around suddenly several times to see whether he was being watched or followed. The detective, however, was standing at “ Pa ” Bessehl’s door, apparently lost in thought. At the same time he was watch¬ ing Mr. Quinn out of the corner of his eye, and saw him walk to Chestnut street, cross the road, come down on the other side, and enter the Court House.

Captain Hall knew what this meant, and in an instant he commenced to walk rapidly to Chestnut street, and thence across to Fourth street. As he expected, just as he arrived at the corner, Mr. Quinn and a peculiar-looking old man came down the rear steps of the Court House, engaged in an apparently very earnest conversation.

The old man appeared to be fully seventy years of age. His form was bent, and his long white hair fluttered in the warm Southern wind. He was dressed in a suit of jeans, and on his head was an old grey sombrero. He walked firmly, however, and over his arm hung the crook of a heavy stick. He had on top boots, into which his pants were carelessly tucked.

“ Aha!” said the detective to himself; “ so this is the pal is it? I thought my guess was a correct one. The old man is Nelse Driggs, the notorious ‘handler,” and the other is no less a personage than Jim Guyon, engraver, forger, electrotyper, and utterer of false coin. By Jove! Hall, old man, you are in big luck. ”

You may be sure that he did not let these two beauties out of his sight. He followed them along Chestnut street to Twelfth, and thence to the Union Depot. Here he saw them buy their tickets, and he was wondering how he would be able to get on the train with them without risk of discovery.

“ I wish I had Billy with me,” he thought, " the young rat would pipe them off as slick as a whistle. We would be able to take them with the rest of their gang, and probably get the complete outfit of press, plates, paper and ‘queer.’”

At this moment, as the two men began to walk toward him, he stepped into the telegraph office to avoid them and unexpectedly ran against an old friend, Tom Chatterton, a “ C. B. & Q.” con¬ ductor.

“Hello, Tom,” he exclaimed, grasping Chatterton’s hand, “ where did you spring from? ”

“ I’ve just got in off my run,” said Tom, “ and I was going home when you bumped the wind out of me.”

“ By the gods! ” exclaimed Hall, “ you are the very man I want.”

“ Not for anything serious, I hope,” put in Chat¬ terton, laughing.”

“ Well, it is, and mighty serious too,” declared the Treasury agent, joining in the laugh; “ I want to make a trade with you.”

“ What? ” asked Tom, in astonishment.

“ I mean just what I say,” resumed the captain, “ I want to swap clothes with you, hat and all.”

“ What’s in the wind now?” asked Chatterton.

“ I’m shadowing a pair of smooth people, and I have to do something to disguise myself so that they won’t recognize me. Hurry up! Get off your coat and vest, and I’ll let you have them again in a few hours.”

“ Well, you’re a chilly duck, too,” said Tom, but nevertheless doing as he had been told. In a few minutes the transfer had been made, the detective meanwhile keeping an eye on the coniackers, who continued to walk up and down on the platform outside.”

“ Who are your parties?” asked Tom as the detective was buttoning up the official blue vest.

“ I can’t give that up yet, but if I land them in the city jail to-night I’ll tell you all about them. They have been fooling with Uncle Sam, and, if I convict them, they are good for twenty years apiece. ”

“ W-h-e-e-w!” whistled the conductor, “ I’d hate to stand in their boots and have you after me — that’s all.”

“ Do I look like a railroad man now ? ” asked the detective, blushing at the implied compliment, as he perched the peaked cap rakishly on one side.

“ You’ll do,” said Tom, admiringly. “ It’s lucky that we’re just of a size. The togs fit you like the skin on a cucumber.”

“ I won’t do yet,” declared the detective, “ they will know my face unless I queer it.”

2 6

“ I don’t see how you are going to do that,” said Tom.

“ Then, I’ll show you,’’ answered Hall.

He then took out his handkerchief, an extra large white one, and folded it cornerwise. He next took his pocket-knife and deliberately cut his finger, letting the blood fall on the clean white hand¬ kerchief. When he thought there was sufficient to look natural, he artistically bound the bloody handkerchief over his left eye and around his head, covering the eye, most of his forehead, and all one side of his face. When this maneuver had been completed, he turned to the astonished con¬ ductor, and said :

“ I don’t think even you would know me now.”

“ Indeed I wouldn’t. I never saw such a complete change in a man’s appearance. You look like a railroader who has been in a smash-up.”

Well satisfied with the result of his scheme, and having bound up the cut hand, the detective went out onto the platform, and walked slowly past the two coniackers, who by this time were seated on a trainboy’s box at the other end of the depot. Hall assumed a limp, and walked like a man who had been pretty badly shaken up.

As he passed them for the second time, Guyon, whom we already know as Quinn, looked up and said :

“ Hello, partner, been in a pitch-in ? ”

“ A little one for a cent,” replied Hall, in an assumed voice, “ but good and plenty to suit me. I’ve got seven stitches in my forehead this minute, and I’ll be a marked man as long as I live. ”