There were found for Adele Lowenstein, the counterfeiter's daughter, "extenuating circumstances:" what the jury could not do the governor did, and she went out from the place, where justice had been tempered with mercy, a free woman.
The Hill was sold, and Miss Lowenstein, who had avowed her intention of retaking her father's name, sullied as it was, prepared to find a new home in some far away city.
One day while the trial was pending, Gerry Brown came to me with fidgety manner and serious countenance.
"Old man," he said, anxiously, "I've been thinking about Miss Lowenstein."
"Stop it, Gerry. It's a dangerous occupation for a fellow of your age."
"My, age indeed! Two years, four months and seventeen days younger than your ancient highness, I believe."
"A man may learn much in two years, four months, and seventeen days--, Gerry. What about Miss Lowenstein?"
"Youngster!" indignantly, "well, I'll put that to our private account. About Miss Lowenstein, then: She is without friends, and is just the sort of woman who needs occupation to keep her out of mischief and contented. She's ladylike and clever, and she knows the world; don't you think she would be a good hand on the force."
I paused to consider. I knew the kind of woman that we sometimes needed, and it seemed to me that Adele Lowenstein would "be a good hand." I knew, too, that our Chief was not entirely satisfied with one or two women in his employ. So I stopped chaffing Gerry and said soberly:
"Gerry, it's a good idea. We'll consult the lady and if she would like the occupation, I will write to our Chief."
Adele Lowenstein was eager to enter upon a career so much to her taste, and our Chief was consulted. He manifested a desire to see the lady, and she went to the city.
The interview was satisfactory to both. Adele Lowenstein became one of our force, and a very valuable and efficient addition she proved.
I had assured Jim Long,--even yet I find it difficult to call him Harvey James,--that his name should be freed from blot or suspicion. And it was not so hard a task as he evidently thought it.
Blake Simpson, like most scamps of his class, was only too glad to do anything that would lighten his own sentence, and when he found that the Brookhouse faction had come to grief, and that his own part in their plot had been traced home to him by "the detectives," he weakened at once, and lost no time in turning State's evidence. He confessed that he had come to Trafton, in company with Dimber Joe, to "play detective," at the instigation, and under the pay of Brookhouse senior, who had visited the city to procure their services. And that Arch Brookhouse had afterward bribed him to make the assault upon Bethel, and planned the mode of attack; sending him, Simpson, to Ireton, and giving him a note to the elder Briggs, who furnished him with the little team and light buggy, which took him back to Trafton, where the shooting was done precisely as I had supposed after my investigation.