’Brick livery stable, stone foundation, middle
of town, corner of Orleans and Market. Corner
toward Court-house. Third stone, fourth row.
Stick notice there, saying how many are to come.’
There—take it, and preserve it. Kruger
explained that that stone was removable; and that
it was in the north wall of the foundation, fourth
row from the top, and third stone from the west.
The money is secreted behind it. He said the
closing sentence was a blind, to mislead in case the
paper should fall into wrong hands. It probably
performed that office for Adler.
Now I want to beg that when you make your intended
journey down the river, you will hunt out that hidden
money, and send it to Adam Kruger, care of the Mannheim
address which I have mentioned. It will make
a rich man of him, and I shall sleep the sounder in
my grave for knowing that I have done what I could
for the son of the man who tried to save my wife and
child—albeit my hand ignorantly struck him
down, whereas the impulse of my heart would have been
to shield and serve him.
‘Such was Ritter’s narrative,’
said I to my two friends. There was a profound
and impressive silence, which lasted a considerable
time; then both men broke into a fusillade of exciting
and admiring ejaculations over the strange incidents
of the tale; and this, along with a rattling fire
of questions, was kept up until all hands were about
out of breath. Then my friends began to cool
down, and draw off, under shelter of occasional volleys,
into silence and abysmal reverie. For ten minutes
now, there was stillness. Then Rogers said dreamily—
‘Ten thousand dollars.’
Adding, after a considerable pause—
‘Ten thousand. It is a heap of money.’
Presently the poet inquired—
‘Are you going to send it to him right away?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It is a queer
question.’
No reply. After a little, Rogers asked, hesitatingly:
‘All of it?—That is—I
mean—’
‘Certainly, all of it.’
I was going to say more, but stopped—was
stopped by a train of thought which started up in
me. Thompson spoke, but my mind was absent, and
I did not catch what he said. But I heard Rogers
answer—
’Yes, it seems so to me. It ought to be
quite sufficient; for I don’t see that he has
done anything.’
Presently the poet said—
’When you come to look at it, it is more than
sufficient. Just look at it—five
thousand dollars! Why, he couldn’t spend
it in a lifetime! And it would injure him, too;
perhaps ruin him—you want to look at that.
In a little while he would throw his last away, shut
up his shop, maybe take to drinking, maltreat his
motherless children, drift into other evil courses,
go steadily from bad to worse—’
