“To South Fifth Avenue!” he cried. “Drive like hell. I’ll make you rich for a year!” he sharply commanded. Far away, crouching in the squalid room, watching the frail door and listening for the sound of a well-known footstep, haggard-eyed and desperate, Harold Vreeland waited like a wolf at bay. His brain, burning with alcohol, was now reeling with the violence of his emotions. “Only to square her with money, to get her away to the rendezvous in Paris, or to see her safely in hiding among the French _déclassées_ here till she can sneak away. Then I’ll remove the paper, and after that take the first steamer and seek safety and revenge! “I can get a steerage suite at Hoboken. There are several steamers to-morrow morning. No one will know, and I’ve money enough left for a whole year.” He felt for the twenty bills of a thousand dollars each which he had held back from the check begged from Garston. A legacy of unsuspected shame! Tired and wearied, he returned again and again to his brandy flask. And then his head dropped and his cigar fell from his hand as he dropped into a half-drunken stupor. He awoke at a slight noise and raised his head. He fixed his glazed eyes on the door. “She is coming!” he muttered. “I’ll get the paper out now, and all will be ready for a start.” With a knife, he sprang back the loose plating from the door frame. Standing on a chair, he had already grasped the paper in his trembling hand when the door suddenly gave way with a crash, and three burly men leaped into the room. He sprang to the floor, but strong arms seized him. For the first time in his life, Harold Vreeland felt the snapping of handcuffs. “The jig is up!” cried Daly, facing the astounded culprit. “I arrest you, Harold Vreeland, for robbing the United States mail,” cried a deputy marshal; but Dan Daly had already wrenched the stolen document from the hand of the ruined trickster. He remembered the last injunctions of the woman he served. It was now safely hidden in his breast and lying against the picture of the girl whom Daly had sworn to make the happiest wife in New York. The one who would rule his little home! “Hold on to him, boys!” cried Daly, as he stepped away into a side room and anxiously gazed at the paper which he had recovered. Yes, it was the same one, for he had only waited weeks to catch the scoundrel with the document in his unlawful possession. The secret of the hiding-place was his alone. He called the schoolboy a “shadow” no longer, for the work was done. “Take my carriage. Get back and tell the mistress that I have got the paper she wants. Speak to no one else; and tell her that Vreeland will be put in a cell alone in Ludlow Street Jail as a United States prisoner. He’ll have no chance to talk!