. . But he did not supply the
definition. After half-a-minute's brooding he woke up, as it were,
with a start. "Could you sail this next week?" he asked.
Well, we sailed, five days later; and there is no need to say more of
this trip than that it panned out a fiasco worse than my first.
At New York we beat up the police; and, later on, worried Mulberry
Street and the great detective service for which the city is famous.
Police and detectives availed us nothing. I knew that by the same
mail which brought his latest letter to me, Foe had drawn 600 pounds
on Norgate; and Norgate had dispatched the money without delay, five
days ahead of us. The address was a hotel at the then fashionable
end of Third Avenue. There we found their names on the register.
Plain sailing enough. Farrell had left, as we calculated (the
detectives helping us), on the day the money presumably arrived, and
at about six in the evening; Foe some fifteen or sixteen hours later.
And, with that, we were up against a wall. Not a trace could be
discovered of either from the moment he had walked out of the hotel.
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