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Updated: May 21, 2025
"'Yes, yes! he said; 'that's one of my wife's rings. "And he was all cut up. "Now, here is what I have to tell." Abrahamson lowered his voice and, leaning low on his elbow, thrust his face far over the counter toward Braceway. "It is only an idea, but it is an idea. I bet you I would not tell anybody else. Such things might get a man into trouble. But I like you, Mr. Braceway. I confide in you.
He went to the telegraph desk and wrote out a message: "Mr. Frank Abrahamson, 329 College Street, Furmville, N. C. "Silence. "One-word telegrams!" he smiled grimly. "Thrifty fellows, these chosen people." He found the telephone booths and called up Golson. "Got anything from Baltimore?" he inquired. "Just been talking to Delaney on long-distance," Golson answered without enthusiasm. "Well!
Greenleaf, with jaw dropped and thinking powers paralyzed, stared at him. Fulton leaned forward as if to spring. Only Abrahamson, his smile broadening, his cavernous eyes alight, was free from surprise. He had now the air of greatly enjoying the performance he had been invited to see.
Abrahamson, he remembered, had put it into Braceway's head, against Braceway's own desire, that the man with the gold tooth and Withers resembled each other. But nobody believed that. It would be futile to consider it. The chief, as if reading his thoughts, gave more information: "Abrahamson, the loan-shark, came to my office yesterday; wanted to know where he could reach Braceway by wire.
When he talked to me, it was all I could do to keep from reaching across the counter and pushing that tooth more firmly into his jaw. Gold is heavy, you see. I was afraid it might drop down on my showcase and break some glass." Abrahamson laughed. So did Braceway. "And his beard, Mr. Braceway? That was better. To the ordinary observer, it might have looked natural but not to me.
Soon afterwards Matt Abrahamson came out of the cabin and he called to Tom to go get a bite to eat, for it was time for them to be away fishing. All that morning the recollection of the night before hung over Tom Chist like a great cloud of boding trouble. It filled the confined area of the little boat and spread over the entire wide spaces of sky and sea that surrounded them.
Fulton that he was the murderer. Not only that, but he had remarkable ability which he employed for the lowest and most criminal purposes. I first suspected his identity right after my interviews last Wednesday with Roddy, the coloured bellboy, and Mr. Abrahamson, the pawn broker." "Excuse me," Bristow interposed; "but wasn't it Abrahamson who told you the bearded man looked like Withers?"
How would you describe this fellow in addition to the fact that he wore the beard and the gold tooth?" "Very thin lips," replied Abrahamson slowly, "and high, straight, aquiline nose, and blond hair, and and, I should say, rather thin, high voice." "Good!" Braceway exclaimed. "Good! Mr. Abrahamson, you've just described the man who, I believe, committed the murder. And I know where he is."
In the late spring or early summer of 1699 Captain Kidd's sloop sailed into the mouth of the Delaware Bay and changed the whole fortune of his life. And this is how you come to the story of Captain Kidd's treasure box. Old Matt Abrahamson kept the flat-bottomed boat in which he went fishing some distance down the shore, and in the neighborhood of the old wreck that had been sunk on the Shoals.
The rain was driving before the hurricane-storm in dim, slanting sheets, and so she wrapped up the baby in the man's coat she wore and ran off home without waiting to gather up any more of the wreckage. It was Parson Jones who gave the foundling his name. When the news came to his ears of what Matt Abrahamson had found, he went over to the fisherman's cabin to see the child.
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