So when the _Europa_, of the Anchor Line, on a Sunday about noon, was pretty near her wharf at the foot of Liberty Street, I had Albert Wright, the purser of the _Europa_, a long-time acquaintance of mine, on the lookout. I had previously confided to him that I might get in some trouble with the custom-house officers. Presently Wright informed me that two Police Headquarters detectives were aboard, having put out in a small boat to meet the ship. They proved to be McCord and Radford. I met them on deck, where they assured me I could land without any fear of being arrested by the Secret Service agents. I thanked the boys for their good offices, and presently my wife and I were let out at the Ashland House on Fourth Avenue. Not long after this she went to our home in Twenty-first Street, but I remained at the hotel. It was not much after one P.M. that we arrived at the hotel, and but mighty few minutes were allowed to pass before I was in ex-Judge Stuart’s house looking for legal advice and urging him to assist me out of my troubles. He said he’d see what could be done. Perhaps he might be able to settle the case with Colonel Whiteley, the Secret Service chief. Then I went to Cashier Van Orden’s house in Harlem. He fluttered like a bird in captivity when his eyes fell on me. I presume he had a mental picture of my arrest, and the possibility of his own implication, vividly before him. I wanted a settlement of my account in the Stuyvesant Bank. My visit was fruitless. “Pretty soon,” he said, and I left him, intending to call again for further information as to what he had done or would do. My next call on ex-Judge Stuart met with some satisfaction. He had seen Colonel Whiteley, and there was hope that I might fix the case. I went to Cashier Van Orden again, and told him that I must get my financial affairs in the Stuyvesant Bank settled; that I wanted to and must withdraw my account, and that I was anxious to get hold of the seventy-five hundred, Jim Burns’s money, I’d deposited there. Again was confronted with procrastination. Van Orden said he hadn’t been able to get to my account owing to the press of business in the bank. He was so sorry, you know. A week passed in this manner and I was beginning to grumble not a little, when ex-Judge Stuart brought me further good news. “I have arranged a meeting with Colonel Whiteley for you,” he said, “and you’re to name the place and time.” “That sounds like business,” was my reply; “but are you sure you can trust this Secret Service man? Mind you, he’s about the hungriest fellow after reputation in his business that ever came along. He may be putting up a job to nail me. I’ve escaped the nab too long in this case to have it come now.”