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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Why, my dear young friend, you are mistaken." "I'm not your dear friend," I returned with spirit. "You telegraphed to Chris Holtzmann to beware of me. Why did you do it?" The man's face fell considerably, and he did not answer. I went on: "You are following me and trying to defeat the object of my trip to Chicago. But you shall not do it.
At first I thought to ask him for a situation of some kind and thus get on speaking terms with him, but concluded that openness would pay best in the end, and so, rising, I approached him. "Mr. Holtzmann, I believe?" I began. "Yes," he said slowly, looking me over from head to foot. "If you please I would like to have a talk with you," I went on. "What is it?" and he turned his ear toward me.
At first I hated to let him do it, he looked so disreputable, but then I thought it might be an application for a position, and so told him to go ahead." "Who did he write to? do you know?" "Somebody in Chicago, I think." "Do you remember the name?" "He tried the pen on a slip of paper first. It wouldn't work very well. But I think the name was Holtzmann, or something similar."
At that instant a bell rang. "There's the bell." "We must catch her," I cried, and ran though the gate and on to the platform. But the train was already moving. I tried to catch her, but failed; and a minute later the cars rolled out of sight. Mr. Aaron Woodward and Chris Holtzmann had escaped me. What was to be done next?
"Holtzmann said he'd pay me a hundred dollars. Yes, sir, ten times as much as you." "When de you see Holtzmann?" I cried, in great interest. "Saw him about half an hour ago. He came to see me came to see Sammy Simpson climbed the stairs to my abode. Wanted the papers said I must have 'em. Went wild with rage when I let slip you had 'em. So did the other gent." "Who? Mr. Woodward?"
"Certainly. Pray take a seat. I will close the doors." She shut the folding doors leading to the sitting room, and then the door to the hall. "Now I am quite at your service," she said, and peered at us rather sharply. There was an awkward pause for a moment, and then Mr. Harrison went on bluntly: "Has Mr. Aaron Woodward or Chris Holtzmann been here since yesterday, madam?" Mrs.
Yet though I was disappointed I was not disheartened. I was fighting for honor and intended to keep on until not a single thing remained to do. My evidence against Woodward and Holtzmann was gradually accumulating, and sooner or later it must bring them to the bar of justice. "Well, they're gone," I exclaimed, as I joined the others. "That is, if they were on that train."
"Ross, you can post the letters," he said to a clerk who was writing at a desk. "Be back in half an hour." It was a hint that we were to be left alone, and the clerk was not long in gathering up the letters that had been written, and leaving. "I suppose Woodward sent you," began Chris Holtzmann, when we were seated. This remark nearly took away my breath.
Woodward; "interruptions don't pay." "And I'll close the window, too," went on Holtzmann; "it's cool enough without having it open." "So it is." So the window and the door were both closed and fastened. I was chagrined, but could do nothing. A moment later I heard Chris Holtzmann at his safe, and then the rattle of something on his desk. "The papers are in this tin box," he said.
To-night I'll send a letter to Chris Holtzmann, 897 Sherman Street, Chicago, and tell him a few things he wants to know, and " "You dare!" almost shrieked Mr. Woodward. "Write a single word to him and I'll I'll " "So! ho! You're afraid of him, are you?" "No, I'm not, but what's the use of letting him know anything?" "Humph! Do you suppose I'd tell him without pay? Not much!
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