CHAPTER XXIV
THE PERFIDY OF CAPTAIN JIM IRVING
“The hounds--interfering, sneaking hounds--I hate ’em!” roared Captain James Irving, the head of the New York Detective Bureau in Mulberry Street.
“The infernal meddlers--that’s what they are, cap!” said Detective Sergeant Phil Farley, bolstering up his captain’s fury.
“I wish they were in ----!” continued Irving, as he paced--almost ran--from one end to the other of his private office.
“That same, cap--and the devil keep ’em there till it freezes over.”
“By the eternal, they’ll not beat me out of my own,” fumed Irving. “What right have these Pinkerton hounds to mix in my business? If I feel like doing things my way, suddenly these devils of private detectives poke in their noses. What right, I say, have they to interfere with the regular police?”
“None--the d----d meddlers. But what’s the last knock from them fellers, cap?” asked Farley.
“What? This: Scotland Yard has cabled me that George Macdonnell is on board the _Thuringia_, which lands here from Havre to-morrow, if on time. Macdonnell has got a lot of ‘dust,’ no doubt, and he’s cabled that I’d better get to him ahead of the Pinkertons. He expects me to help him out. That’s good enough; but what’s messed me up is the word I’ve got that that devil, Bob Pinkerton, who some folks say is honest and the police are crooks, has hired a tug and gone down the bay to meet the ship--out at sea, if necessary.”
“What will you do about it?” asked Farley.
“What’ll I do?” cried Irving; “what I should have been doing, instead of blowing here--order the patrol boat this minute, ready for a sea trip if necessary, Farley. I’ll go them one better. Don’t waste a minute. Get a double crew aboard, extra engineers and pilots, provisions for three days--anything, everything, to get away and beat out Bob Pinkerton’s mix-ins, curse ’em--the dogs.” Farley started for the door, but Irving called him back.
“Now, Farley, it means dollars, thousands, perhaps, to us if we get to Macdonnell first, so I can’t tell you to be too careful. Have the _Seneca_ steamed up as I have ordered--in less than an hour. I’ll be at the Battery long before that.”
“I’ll fill the bill, cap; did I ever fail you?”
“I’m warning you--that’s all. Now hustle!” And Farley was gone in an instant. Immediately Irving called together several of his trusted followers, and made hurried preparations for a race down New York Bay after Pinkerton’s tugboat.
This was midway of the year 1873. Early in that year, the great Bank of England forgeries by the Bidwell brothers, Macdonnell, Noyes, and others almost as notorious, were first committed and carried along for several months. Finally discovery came, and the forger band scattered. Macdonnell fled from London to France and took ship for America, but, having quarrelled with his mistress, was betrayed by her. He had always acted “on the square” with the New York police Bank Ring, and, believing them faithful, had cabled to Captain Irving to get first hand on him. Macdonnell had something like eighty-three thousand dollars in United States government bonds in his pockets and one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and bonds hidden in soiled linen in the bottom of his trunk. This was his share of the million and a half which the forger band had gotten from the Bank of England. It can be readily surmised why Captain Irving was extremely anxious to reach him before the Pinkertons.
Irving was at the pier, ready and fuming, before the _Seneca_ had been properly steamed up and provisioned. He raced about, fore and aft, and created more than a little confusion and consequent delay. Finally the pilot believed he was ready, and Phil Farley said he was certain of it.
“Extra pilots and engineers aboard?” asked the captain.
“Plenty, sir!” replied the master pilot.
“Double crews, Farley?”
“Everything you ordered has been done,” said Farley, “and we’re waiting for your word to be off.”
“What are you waiting for?” roared Irving to the pilot.
Within five minutes the _Seneca_, a fifty-foot steamer, was ploughing down the bay under a good head of steam. Sandy Hook was the objective point, for there all incoming steamers took on port pilots to guide them through the dangerous channels. Irving paced the deck of the _Seneca_ like a madman and growled because more speed wasn’t forced from the propeller. He could not rest till he got where the Pinkertons were and to the steamer which bore Macdonnell.
About the same hour Captain Irving heard from Scotland Yard, the Bank of England’s attorneys communicated with their New York legal representatives, empowering them to engage the Pinkerton detectives to arrest Macdonnell. Now the chief of the agency men knew that the Bank Ring was protecting the fugitive, and also were aware of the extremely friendly relations between him and Captain Irving. More than that, the agency believed that if by any chance the former had any cash or salable bonds, the captain wouldn’t leave a leaf unturned to get possession of them; that, such being the case, the Bank of England might search ever so much for its property, but it would be in vain. To defeat a move that might entail that outcome, the chief of the Pinkertons decided to quietly steam to Sandy Hook and possess Macdonnell and whatever property he might have. Accordingly, a few minutes after this determination, a tug was chartered and equipped for a sea trip. Upon leaving the Battery it was noticed that the police steamer _Seneca_ was lying at her berth, with no unusual activity aboard her. Which was good information for the Pinkertons, as it indicated that Captain Irving had not received word from Scotland Yard--otherwise he’d be up and doing.
It was sincerely hoped by the Pinkertons that their movements would escape the attention of the police. But it was not so, for the spies, ever ready to report instantly anything the agency detectives did, soon had the news to the Bank Ring.
In those days this private detective agency was yet in its infancy in New York, but had attracted a great deal of attention from the public for its honesty. Strictly speaking, I hated the Pinkertons as thoroughly as the police did, because of their interference with my professional movements. Many a time I had been enraged and beaten out of thousands by the popping up of one or more of the agency men. Nevertheless, I had to acknowledge that they were honest, and that it was dangerous for a crook when a Pinkerton was on his trail.
But the tug hadn’t been an hour on the trip when Captain Irving heard of it, and dusk had just about set in when the Pinkertons realized that either they’d been given away to the police, or the latter had steamed down the bay without anticipating a race for Macdonnell. As for Irving, his eyes lighted up with delight upon recognizing the Pinkerton boat and learning that the steamer had not been sighted.
It was to be a game of vigilance and a test of the boats. Which would make the better speed? Irving had in view a rich haul for his incentive, and the chief of the Pinkertons wanted to get Macdonnell and save to the Bank of England its property. It was to be a race of corrupt purpose against common honesty,--the police Bank Ring, swift after graft, and the Pinkertons, earnest to fight for justice.
If ever there was a born fighter, Captain Jim Irving was one. He looked the part and acted it, was strong-purposed and revengeful. He wanted Macdonnell for his money and he wanted to demonstrate his prowess over that of the agency detectives.
“I hate them,” he confided to me once, “as the devil hates holy water. I’d wade through the infernal regions to beat them out at anything. They are too much on the level, and they interfere with me. They’d better steer clear of Jim Irving, for I’m likely to be a peril to them one of these days.”
Not the smallest detail essential to the furtherance of his plan to get first hands on George Macdonnell was neglected. He ordered the _Seneca’s_ boiler steamed up to the top of its capacity, and the safety-valve was weighted down to an unheard-of degree. He would have had the engineer take even further risk, but that the latter wouldn’t do. The furnace was kept well coaled and the stokers were under orders not to bank the fires. The extra crew was ordered below, that they might be in readiness should the ship be sighted that night. He said he wanted no weary men on duty at the critical moment.
“I’m going to give ’em a bitter race,” Irving said with an oath to Phil Farley. “I swear to the imps of hades them Pinkertons won’t get Macdonnell.”
One advantage that Irving believed he had was the _Seneca’s_ speed. There was reason, he said, to feel satisfied that it was much greater than that of the Pinkerton tug, and with an even start, when the ship was sighted, victory would be certain to top his efforts. A watch, consisting of two of the picked men of the crews, was ordered on duty until midnight, when, the ship not being in sight, another watch would relieve it. Irving offered a reward of one hundred dollars to the man who’d first bring to him the news of the sighting of the ship, and fifty dollars to the second man so reporting. He believed that this incentive would obviate any danger of the Pinkertons’ getting a lead on him in this respect. Regardless of this precaution, Irving resolved to keep an eye out himself, and he smiled happily over nature’s favoring, for the night was just what he would have it. The sky was cloudless and the stars shone brilliantly, and as the night wore on to morning the full moon swept up from the bosom of the ocean and spread a broad expanse of silver which made it possible to discover anything within a mile or more in shape of a ship. The deep-sea roll played roughly with the _Seneca_, but the wind, which had blown treacherously in the early hours of the watch, had settled to a breeze, and left the sea very favorable to the _Seneca_ in a race. Irving had hoped that this condition would prevail, for the big Pinkerton tug was as stanch as a pilot-boat at breasting rough seas. In fact, it seemed as though the infernal one, were it possible, had control of the night for the sole benefit of Jim Irving’s scheming and was doing everything to crown him with victory.
And thus the hours--mighty long ones to those on board the _Seneca_--went by, but utilized by the captain to the best advantage. Among other things, he drilled Detective Farley in the part he was to play on boarding the ship. In this drama on the sea, Farley was to follow a close second when Irving climbed to the ship’s deck, and when Macdonnell was arrested, it was Farley’s part to cover Irving when the Macdonnell package was passed. To insure success, the engineers and pilots were promised a hundred dollars each if the _Seneca_ was first alongside the _Thuringia_. As a matter of fact, talk of rewards was reeled off by the yard, until every man on board was fired to a pitch of enthusiasm that satisfied all the craving the captain had for action. He was gloating over the prospect when at last a light, that could only come from a steamship, hove in sight to the southward. There wasn’t anything to tell whether or not this light came from the ship Irving sought, but he wouldn’t take a chance of losing a minute. He would know what ship it was that carried the light.
There was prompt action on the _Seneca_, and the Pinkertons were also stirring. The anchors of both craft were quickly weighed and full speed was ordered. Not three minutes had passed ere the race was on. The morning--for it was close on four o’clock--was still flooded with moonlight, and the sea was, perhaps, a trifle rougher than before midnight. When the two vessels had gotten well under way, it was seen that the _Seneca_ had the better of the Pinkerton tug by about an eighth of a mile in the start. Again, the infernal one had scored a point for graft as against honesty. Captain Irving patted Phil Farley on the back and smiled gleefully. On dashed the police boat, throwing the spray over half her length, as she plunged through swell after swell and received each time a shaking from stem to stern.
“She’s doing well,” shouted the captain down to the engineer in charge. “Crowd on all steam--remember the reward--a hundred to every man if we win over them hounds behind us.”
Meanwhile the Pinkertons were forcing the race, too. The big tug was ugly to look at, but in her machinery and tenacity to break through the swells there lay danger to Irving’s success. Presently--perhaps fifteen minutes after the start--the tug showed certain and startling gain on the police boat. Irving was the first to discover it, and the glee with which he had taken the previous conditions was suddenly turned into concern. The ship’s lights were fully two miles distant yet, and if the race continued under the existing conditions, the Pinkertons would win beyond doubt. Irving had erred in estimating the speeding qualities of the tug. Something must be done. He began to fume and curse--at which he was proficient--and wondered if it were forgotten that rewards had been offered to all hands if victory came to the _Seneca_.
“I’ll double them!” he cried down to the engineer. “Put on every pound of steam you’ve got. More speed!”
The engineer gritted his teeth, realized that the boiler was doing all and more than it should do, and that the furnace grates were white-hot, despite the fact that the ash-pan was clean and well wet down.
“More speed down there,” repeated Irving, an oath puncturing every sentence. “Crowd on steam; I mean to blow this boat to hell, but I’ll get there.”
The engineer set the weight on the safety lever at the extreme end of the rod and ordered the stokers to shovel in more coal and turn on the blowers. Then the throttle-valve was thrown open wide. It seemed as though the propeller would be torn to pieces. It flew through the water, until every timber in the _Seneca_ was vibrating like a timbrel. The vessel had never been forced to such work. The engineer was pale and trembling, Captain Irving flushed and gleeful. The _Seneca_ was gaining again. Her nose was fairly under water half the time, and sheets of spray were flying everywhere. Those on deck were drenched to the skin. The pilot had difficulty in keeping to the course, owing to the rain of water on the pilot-house windows.
“At it, men--at it--we win,” cried Irving. “Five minutes more like this, and if we’re not in hell, we’ll be alongside the ship and before those cheap dogs.”
“It’s the ship we want, cap,” cried Farley, running up to Irving. “It’s the _Thuringia_.”
“I know it, fool,” shouted Irving; “and we win, if this boat don’t blow up or go down.”
At the same time the Pinkerton tug was gaining on the _Seneca_. She was the better boat in the smooth sea as well as the rough. Her stack was emitting clouds of black smoke, and her long, strong exhausts of steam told what great work she was doing; but the fates seemed against her. Would honesty win over corruption? We shall see.
As I have said, the infernal one seemed to have control of affairs that time. The _Seneca_, losing at every revolution of her propeller, had too much of a lead to be overtaken. With a shout from Irving, she finally ran alongside the _Thuringia_. A deck-hand, under Irving’s instructions, swung a line to the steamer’s deck, where it was caught by a seaman. The pilot of the _Seneca_ ran her bow to bow with the bigger vessel, and quickly they were travelling at one speed. In the meantime, Captain Irving hailed an officer who came to the rail in much wonder.
“Throw me a ladder,” he said. “I’m from the New York detective force. I’ve a warrant for some one on board. It’s a case of life and death!”
In a moment he stepped on deck, closely followed by Farley. As he did so the Pinkerton tug warped up to the _Thuringia_ and there was another clamor for a ladder. A moment later the chief of the Pinkertons, followed by a lieutenant, clambered to the deck, but it was too late!
Daylight had begun to show and a number of passengers, anxious to get a first glimpse of America, were on deck when Irving came aboard. Several men were grouped on the saloon deck, among whom was George Macdonnell. He expected Irving would make a sagacious move and was not surprised when he saw the police boat making for the ship. He was ready to pass over eighty thousand dollars and more in gilt-edged bonds to the chief of detectives, having great confidence in the result. The instant Irving and Farley set eyes on the forger they went up to him. The latter made the arrest, while the former, crowding near, received a package from the forger, which he deftly slipped in his pocket. Just as the arrest was formally made known, the chief of the Pinkertons came to the group. He made but a feeble protest. He realized that it was his play to await developments. Honest motives had been defeated by the avarice of those paid to defend the rights of the people. No one was more delighted over Irving’s victory than the forger himself. Nevertheless, he didn’t tell, even the police, that on board of the ship, was his small trunk containing nearly one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. He would communicate with his sister, through his forger friend, George Wilkes, and have her get the trunk at the custom-house.
To say that Jim Irving was happy scarcely expresses his state of satisfaction over the defeat of the Pinkertons. Some time after this experience, in speaking to me of the agency men, he said: “As long as I’m at the head of the Detective Bureau, it will be a cold day when the Pinkertons get the drop on me in making arrests. They may have the whip-hand in Chicago, but not in the city of New York.”
All hands came to the city with the ship, and before the close of the day Macdonnell was securely detained in Ludlow Street Jail; and not many hours had elapsed before the Bank of England’s legal representatives here had extradition proceedings on foot.
I know whereof I speak when I say that the fight to take Macdonnell back to England was one of the sensations of the day. It had its upper current of interest which came to the public attention, but there was an under current of which I had personal knowledge, and to that I will turn the attention of my friends.
Macdonnell engaged Somerville and Mott, of 27 Chambers Street, to defend him against extradition. This law firm was the legal adviser of Colonel Hiram Whiteley, the Secret Service chief whose acquaintance I’d made through the attempted sale of the ten-dollar bank-notes stolen at Washington. Somerville and Mott decided to use Whiteley in the interest of Macdonnell because of his great influence with high United States officials. Mr. Somerville consulted with Colonel Whiteley, with the result that there was a studious examination of the extradition clause under which the opposing attorneys expected to send the prisoner back to England. It was decided that this clause didn’t quite cover the case, yet there was considerable doubt as to the outcome. George Wilkes, who had been with the forger band in its early operations in London, but who had scented danger and returned to America in season to escape the result of the exposure, saw Macdonnell in Ludlow Street, and it was agreed to consult with me. He and Wilkes knew that I had considerable influence with Mr. Somerville, who was my attorney, and also that I had a fair acquaintance with Colonel Whiteley. Indeed, in the two years past my friendship with Whiteley had ripened wonderfully. Accordingly Wilkes came to see me and detailed the circumstances. I asked him if Macdonnell had any secrets which could be given to the United States government, in which case I said I believed that Colonel Whiteley would interest himself to an extent not yet indicated to me.
“Whiteley is a good fellow,” said I, “and will do anything reasonable to make himself solid with the administration at Washington, provided he can keep his skirts clear.”
“I don’t think that Mac would squeal--in fact, I know he won’t,” said Wilkes, decisively; “so it don’t look like doing anything on that score.”
“Tush for that,” I replied; “I’ll tell Whiteley that Macdonnell has important information about a five-hundred-dollar treasury-note plate that is missing, which I know is giving the government a lot of trouble. On that ground he’ll make a fight for Mac’s release on bail as a reward for the information. Once out on bail, and the rest will not be a hard job you can rest assured.”
With this understanding I saw Colonel Whiteley at his office in Bleecker Street, not far from Police Headquarters, and told him I believed Macdonnell had information of the missing treasury plate of which he was in search; that in the event the information didn’t pan out, there were several thousands of dollars in the deal for him anyway. With the incentive that he might add to his influence at Washington by discovering a plate from which counterfeit money was being spread abroad, together with the fact that there would be a fat roll of money in the bargain, Whiteley agreed to take energetic steps in the matter. At his first chance he went to Washington and placed the subject before an attorney highly versed in international law and who was a personal friend of George H. Williams, the United States Attorney-general. The colonel also consulted with members of the Department of Justice and, in fact, investigated at great length into the merits of the case. He returned with the report that the consensus of opinion of the Washington authorities was that the case, if properly handled before the courts, would result in favor of Macdonnell. In fact, the colonel made it plain that Attorney-general Williams would advise the Department of Justice that an extradition warrant in the case could not legally issue. I doubt not that great lengths would have been traversed in order to obtain any, almost inconsequential, information of the missing treasury plate. The mere construing of an enigmatical treaty clause was as nothing. The Treasury Department was in a heap of worry over the plate, not to mention others from which the counterfeiters were ever sending forth treasury notes to the loss of the United States. The recovery of the five-hundred-dollar plate alone would be worth the price of Macdonnell’s freedom, a dozen times over. Charles Ballard was serving a thirty-year sentence in Albany, New York, for turning work from this plate; but where was the plate? It had been so industriously used that it was becoming a menace to the financial market. Ballard had been offered a pardon if he would disclose its hiding-place, but he had scornfully thrown the pardon, so to speak, in the very face of Uncle Sam.
Colonel Whiteley so wrought up the interest of the Washington authorities with my story of Macdonnell’s alleged information that he was empowered to offer almost any terms; was commanded, in fact, to exhaust every plausible means to obtain the coveted secret. Colonel Whiteley told me that he’d be sure to obtain the prisoner’s release on bail, provided there was any kind of chance of getting a clew to the plate.
“However, there will be some expense attached to it,” he explained, “for I had to consult with an attorney in Washington, and his price is pretty stiff. I’ll have to give him ten thousand or nearly that, and there are some other charges.” I knew what he meant, but I wondered if that wasn’t a pretty stiff law fee where there’d been nothing more than a consultation. However, knowing Macdonnell had made money, I was agreeable, and declared that ten thousand dollars would be placed in a Wall Street trust company subject to the colonel’s order.
Immediately I sent for Wilkes, told him of the situation, and advised him to get from Macdonnell twelve one thousand-dollar bonds and that I’d see they got to the right place. Wilkes reported to Macdonnell, who wrote to Captain Irving, requesting him to deliver the bearer twelve of the bonds left in his keeping. A message came back that staggered Macdonnell: “Let the matter stand as it is for the present--the Pinkertons may demand the surrender of the property,” it read.
Macdonnell knew that no one besides himself, Detective Farley, and Captain Irving had witnessed the passage of the bonds on board the steamer. In desperation, another message was sent to Irving, but there was no reply to it. Macdonnell was dumfounded. He’d always been on the “square” with the Bank Ring. Finally there had come a “throw-down”--the Ring had “done” him.
“It’s a freeze-out,” he gasped to Wilkes.
“What about the trunk at the custom-house?” asked his friend.
“I don’t dare have any one call for it. If it’s examined, that end of the game will be gone, too.”
“I told Bliss about it,” said Wilkes, meaning me, “and he told me that if you’d say the word he’d have the trunk sent to any address you mention within twenty-four hours.”
“I’m afraid to risk it--Bliss is right, but I’m afraid to try it; maybe a woman might get it. What do you think? My sister can try it.”
“Think you’d better trust to Bliss, George,” advised Wilkes; “he stands high with Chief Whiteley of the Secret Service. If Whiteley asks for the trunk on the ground that it will further the interests of the service, he’ll get it without an inspection being made.”
“I don’t trust Whiteley,” said Macdonnell; “my sister’ll get it--Mrs. Hosgrove.”
The next I heard from Macdonnell was that his sister had gone to the custom-house, and, posing as “the wife of George Matthews,”--the name tagged on the trunk,--put in a claim for it. The unsuspecting inspectors examined the trunk in a perfunctory way and were about to pass it, when some soiled linen tumbled apart and out rolled cash and bonds. Of course “Mrs. Matthews” didn’t get the trunk. The Pinkertons stepped in, claimed the property for the Bank of England, and it was turned over to the latter. Poor Macdonnell was disconsolate enough. He made another fruitless attempt to get bonds from Irving, and as a last resort wrote to his old father in Canada. I told Wilkes what I could have done--that Whiteley would have sent the trunk, unopened, at my request, to any address that Macdonnell had given me, and that I was sorry over what had happened.
“He ought to have trusted me,” I said.
“It wasn’t that, George, be sure; Mac was simply knocked out, beaten to jelly, by Irving’s treatment. What a crooked crook that fellow is!” said Wilkes.
“Now that you speak of it,” I remarked, “Irving wanted me to sell the bonds for him--his share; they--he and Phil Farley--divided them--something more than eighty thousand dollars’ worth.”
“And you wouldn’t help him out?” asked Wilkes.
“The devil, no,” replied I. “When I told him that it was Macdonnell’s bonds he wanted me to sell, he denied it. I knew he was lying.”
“The sneak,” said Wilkes, at parting with me. “Of all crooks, Bliss, the crooked cop is the crookedest.”
“Right, Wilkes; good-by. Wait one moment,” I called; “if I can help Mac, I will, but I am afraid he won’t get out unless he can raise the ‘dust.’”
In the meanwhile Mr. Somerville had been doing his best to aid Macdonnell, but Colonel Whiteley seemed to lose heart when no money was in sight for the Washington attorney, and all together the prisoner’s case took a most hopeless phase. Macdonnell was able to give a little information about missing government plates, but it was so immaterial and meant to be so, that, had Colonel Whiteley been disposed to ask for his release on bail, he wouldn’t have dared to do it. When this disheartening state of affairs had been communicated to the prisoner, it was quickly followed by a tearful letter from his father, telling how the old place in Canada had been mortgaged, and that the amount realized, together with every dollar that could be scraped up among relatives and friends, would not make half the sum asked for. Macdonnell actually wept with disappointment. Not because he was in sight of an English prison, for that didn’t frighten him; it was over the perfidy of Jim Irving, his miserable betrayal by the man to whom he had so implicitly trusted the bonds and his liberty. He resolved once more to appeal to the chief of detectives, and wrote:--
“Jim, I appeal to your manhood, your past friendship for me, to give me enough of the bonds to help myself out of this mess. If you must keep more than your share, do so, but send me the twelve bonds I asked for. Again I appeal to your manhood.”
It was as though the note had never been written. It was delivered to Captain Irving by the faithful Wilkes, but nothing came of it. Wilkes was told not to bother Police Headquarters too much, for it might be dangerous.
Hopeless, abandoned, and beaten, when Macdonnell’s case came before the courts, it was none the less so; and presently he sailed away in the company of Scotland Yard officers, and in due time was tried, convicted, and sentenced to what is called a life term in England. He served his time, and is now back in America, in the West, a poor old man, who, some folks say to-day, is honest and trying to redeem the past. I hope so, for his sake.
And what became of the bonds stolen by Captain Jim Irving? Be sure they weren’t turned over to the Bank of England. Be certain, too, that when Macdonnell, in a spirit of revenge, at his trial told the court that the New York chief of detectives had eighty thousand dollars’ worth of the Bank of England’s property, Captain Irving, indignantly denying the accusation, said:--
“What! do the Englishmen believe the word of a crook? Humph, damnable of them, I say.”
Now the bonds, as I have stated, were divided between Irving and Farley. The former sold his share in a Jersey City “fence,” and the latter to Gleason and Roberts, the forgers, who sometimes dealt in crooked bonds. Irving and Farley received eighty-five per cent of the face value of the bonds. In view of the fact that they were gilt-edged, these coppers didn’t do badly. Indeed, it was a mighty profitable race at sea for Jim Irving and his faithful detective sergeant, Phil Farley, but it was an unfortunate meeting for George Macdonnell. I have talked many times with Captain Irving since that day, but I never heard him say a word to make me think that he had a twinge of conscience over his perfidious act.