Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office DepartmentHolbrook, James
History
Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office Department
Holbrook, James
Postal service -- United States
The only safe and discreet course seemed to be to secure him when
alone, and by that means keep his family ignorant respecting his
arrest, until every effort had been made to get possession of the
money. Accordingly I procured the aid of an officer, and at an early
hour in the morning, we took up our quarters in a private dwelling in
the neighborhood, where we could overlook Pat's house, and patiently
waited for him to make his appearance.
It happened to be one of his lazy mornings, and he did not venture out
until near ten o'clock, and then, very much to our disappointment, in
company with another individual, unknown to either of us. A moment's
consultation resulted in the decision to follow them at some distance,
in the hope that they might separate, but with the determination not
to lose sight of Pat again, and to take him into custody that day at
all hazards. We had not gone far, however, before he looked over his
shoulder, and although at least two squares from us, and a number of
other persons were passing and repassing at the time, he no doubt
recognised the officer, for after proceeding but a few steps further,
he and his friend turned and came toward us.
Believing that we were discovered, and that Pat was making for the
house to look after the safety of the treasures, a stratagem was
hastily arranged to throw him off his guard, and at the same time to
separate him from the stranger, who was so much in our way. It matters
little what this scheme was, provided there were no actual
misrepresentations involved. Suffice it to say, it was quite
successful, and his companion resuming his walk towards Brooklyn City
Hall, the rest of the party were soon on their way to New York.
At the ferry, and while waiting for the boat, Pat suddenly became
quite restless, as if he had for the first time connected me with the
scene in the post master's room. He walked back and forth upon the
dock, and several times halted and leaned on the railing directly over
the water, with one hand in his breeches' pocket, as if he
contemplated throwing something overboard. But I remained closely at
his side, wherever he went, and kept him engaged as much as possible,
in remarks about the weather, the growth of Brooklyn, and other
common-place matters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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