Only for the advertisement in the New Orleans paper, probably Legate would never have thought to procure a false finger; but for which I should never have been able to satisfy myself that Jacobs, in his bruised and battered state, was the identical Legate, and might have left him without further investigation on the boat. The old Italian recovered his health speedily in his joy over Legate's capture, and was not forgotten by my friend, who, by the way, but for this old artist, would of course have never known of Legate's attempt at disguising the only peculiar mark about him, and would not, therefore, have been so sure of his identity when I told him my story. "Straws show which way the wind blows," and "fingers," though they be inanimate and waxen, may "point," you see, unmistakably to a villain. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LOTTERY TICKET, No. 1710. -------------- A DIGNIFIED REAL-ESTATE HOLDER, VERY WEALTHY, LOSES SEVEN THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE DOLLARS--OUR FIRST COUNCIL AT THE HOWARD HOUSE--VISIT TO HIS HOUSE TO EXAMINE HIS SAFE AND SERVANTS--A LOTTERY TICKET, NO. 1710, FOUND IN THE SAFE--HOW CAME THIS MYSTERIOUS PAPER THERE?--CONCLUSIONS THEREON--VISIT TO BALTIMORE, AND PLANS LAID IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE LOTTERY AGENT TO CATCH THE THIEF--THE TICKET "DRAWS"--THE NEW YORK AGENCY "MANAGED"--TRAP TO IDENTIFY THE THIEF--THE SECURITY AND "SOLITUDE" OF A GREAT CITY--A NEW YORK BANKER--MR. LATIMER VISITS A GAMBLING-HOUSE IN DISGUISE.--IDENTIFIES THE SUSPECTED YOUNG MAN--THE AGENT AT BALTIMORE WAXES GLEEFUL--HIS PLAN OF OPERATIONS OVERRULED--MEETING OF "INTERESTED PARTIES" AT THE OFFICE IN BALTIMORE--A LITTLE GAME PLAYED UPON THE NEW YORK AGENT--MR. WORDEN, THE THIEF, IDENTIFIES THE TICKET, AND FALLS INTO THE TRAP OF A PRE-ARRANGED "DRAFT"--DISCLOSES SOME OF THE IDENTICAL MONEY STOLEN--WE ARREST HIM--EXCITING SCRAMBLE--THE MONEY RECOVERED--WORDEN'S AFTER LIFE. "Your name is ----, I believe, sir?" asked a tall, gray-haired gentleman of me one evening, as I was stepping out of the Carleton House, a hotel then on the corner of Broadway and Leonard Street. "Yes, that's my name," offering my hand to receive the already extended hand of the gentleman. "I have sought you," said he, "at the suggestion of my friend and lawyer, James T. Brady; who tells me that you are able, if anybody is, to help me in my loss." "You've had a loss? Well, sir, you wish to tell me about it. Shall we go in here, or where shall we go to talk it over." "Can we not walk up Broadway, and I tell you during our walk?" "Probably that would not be the best way," I replied, "for it is doubtless as a detective that you need me, and we might meet somebody who knows me as such, and who might be the very last person whom I should like to have see us together," I replied.