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Updated: May 21, 2025
The name of the bark, as found painted on some of the water-barrels and sea-chests, was the Bristol Merchant, and she no doubt hailed from England. As was said, the only soul who escaped alive off the wreck was Tom Chist. A settler, a fisherman named Matt Abrahamson, and his daughter Molly, found Tom.
He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to New York to live. As to Molly and Matt Abrahamson, they both enjoyed a pension of ten pounds a year for as long as they lived; for now that all was well with him, Tom bore no grudge against the old fisherman for all the drubbings he had suffered.
Seeing Braceway hesitate, he added: "You'll get it this way, or not at all. Suit yourself." The detective did not underestimate the man's stubborn nerve. "I'm agreeable, chief," he said to Greenleaf, "if you are." "Yes," the chief agreed. "It's as good here as anywhere else." Darkness had grown in the room. Abrahamson and the policeman pulled down the window shades. Greenleaf turned on the lights.
By that time Tom Chist had grown into a strong-limbed, thick-jointed boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age. It was a miserable dog's life he lived with old Matt Abrahamson, for the old fisherman was in his cups more than half the time, and when he was so there was hardly a day passed that he did not give Tom a curse or a buffet or, as like as not, an actual beating.
The recital of his story had weakened him. His legs were a little unsteady. Braceway took him by the arm, and they started down the steps. "Will I see you again this afternoon?" Bristow called to the Atlanta detective. "I rather think so," Braceway threw back over his shoulder. "As soon as I've had lunch I want to talk to Abrahamson. Chief Greenleaf seems to have neglected him."
Frank Abrahamson, pawn broker and junk dealer, responded at once to Braceway's warm smile. The Jew had his racial respect for keenness and clean-cut ability. He liked this man who, dressed like a dandy, spoke with the air of authority. "The fellow with the gold tooth?" he replied to Braceway's request for information. "Was there anything peculiar about him? Why, yes.
Upstairs Braceway was strengthening the net he had already woven around Henry Morley. "I was right." He reviewed what he had learned from Abrahamson. "It's still up to Morley. That pawn broker's off, 'way off.
He flashed the pawn broker a quick glance. Abrahamson leaned over and rapped with his knuckles on the door to the porch. It opened, admitting two policemen in uniform. "I took the liberty, chief," Braceway apologized, "of requesting them to be here. I knew you'd want them to do the right thing, and promptly." Greenleaf gulped, nodded acquiescence.
Abrahamson was silent, gazing through the shop doorway. He turned to the detective again. "I bet you, Mr. Braceway, you will be glad to hear something. Chief Greenleaf was in here this morning, asking questions. But he asked so many that were worth nothing, so few that were good. And I forgot to tell him the whole story the things of, perhaps, significance." "Tell me.
He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to New York to live. As to Molly and Matt Abrahamson, they both enjoyed a pension of ten pounds a year for as long as they lived; for now that all was well with him, Tom bore no grudge against the old fisherman for all the drubbings he had suffered.
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