My chapter on shadowing was such a long one, that I am afraid I have tired my reader out.

Still, shadowing is a very important feature of the detective business, and must receive particular attention if you want to be a success.

Let us now discuss disguises, the most important thing of all, perhaps.

There is far less disguising done by detectives than most people imagine.

It requires an artist to make a success in this line.

I flatter myself that I have been exceedingly successful as a disguiser, and at one time in my life my great forte was disguising as an old woman. I sometimes do that yet, but not very often, for it is a terribly dangerous part to play.

Now I can’t be expected to expose my secret methods of changing my appearance which it has taken me a life time to learn.

Nor can any other detective. They simply won’t do it. I’ll advise, but further than that I cannot go.

A poorly arranged disguise is worse than none at all, for a sharp criminal can almost always penetrate it, and the moment he does it’s all up with you, of course.

For ordinary work full disguises are not necessary.

But a detective should keep a smooth-shaven face and closely-cropped hair at all times, so that by slipping on a false mustache or a wig he can alter his whole appearance. This is about as far as it usually is necessary to go.

Suppose my man who went with the defaulter to South America had depended on a disguise how far do you suppose he could have got without being discovered?

You see the point. A calm exterior at all times and unbounded assurance is better than the best disguise.

Of course if a man is a bit of a ventriloquist it is a great help, but this is a rare gift, and not always to be depended upon even with those who possess it.

Change of clothing will do much. I always carry several hats; they are made expressly for me, and can be stowed away on my person. My usual coat is reversible; so is my vest, but with the trousers you can do nothing in a hurry, of course.

A stand-up collar in place of a turn-down, a colored necktie instead of a black one, a few skillfully-placed lines about the eyes and mouth will change your whole appearance more than you have any idea.

This is about all I’ve got to say on the subject of disguises. It is something every man must learn for himself. The best detectives rarely employ them, but they are sometimes an absolute necessity for all that.

Dave Doyle, at the very beginning of his career, began to show marked ability in making up a disguise.

I remember one case in particular where I sent him after some green goods men in which he did very clever work in that line. Let him tell the story himself.

Dave Doyle and the Green Goods Men.

When Old King Brady gave me that circular of the green goods men, sent to him from Bean Corners, Kentucky, by an honest store-keeper, and told me that he expected I would bag the fellows, I own up I was kind of stumped.

“You’ve got to get good evidence against them, Dave,” he said. “It won’t be no use for you to pull ’em in without you can prove just what they are.”

The first thing I did was to ask Old King Brady to give me instructions, but he wouldn’t do nothing of the sort.

“Work it your own way,” he said. “I won’t promise that I shan’t put another man on either. I want to see how you make out.”

Well, the first thing I did was to take a long walk up Broadway and think. I can always think better on Broadway than anywhere else.

I had read the circular over two or three times and about knew it by heart.

It was signed by a feller named Clancy and stated, as all them green-goods circulars do, that he had some of the best counterfeit money in the world—so good that no one could ever detect it—which he was willing to sell at such a cheap price that a man could easy get rich in a week or two if he could only work the stuff off.

Of course there was no address. The fellow what got the circular was told to write to the New York post-office and make an appointment at some hotel.

This is just what I done. I wrote a letter to Mr. Clancy and sent it out to a cousin of mine in Wisconsin to mail. I didn’t tell any one I done this.

After about ten days I got a letter from my cousin enclosing one from Mr. Clancy.

He was very glad that I had sense enough to take in the greatest opportunity of the age. He would meet me at Van Dyke’s hotel in the Bowery, just as I said, and would soon show me the way to get rich.

I said in my answer that I’d be in front of the hotel on a certain day at a certain hour, and would blow my nose twice with a red handkerchief. He was to know me by that. The name I gave was Spalding. I made out I kept a country store at Jim’s River—that’s the name of the town where my cousin lived.

Of course I was on hand at the appointed time.

So was Mr. Clancy.

I was made up just a little—not much—but I wasn’t made up like Mr. Spalding.

Not a bit of it. I got Sam Kean to do that, for I had told him all about the case, and asked him to help me out, which of course he did, for ever since that night I saved his life in that Broadway store, Sam and me has been the best of friends.

Sam stood right in front of the Van Dyke just as the big clock behind the bar was striking three.

I was just across Bayard street, standing in the doorway of the New England, taking the whole business in.

No sooner had Sam pulled out his red handkerchief, and given a snort that knocked the cornet fellow in the Dime Museum across the street silly, than I saw a good-looking chap with black whiskers and very respectable, come across the Bowery.

He walked right by me, so I got a good look at him. Next thing I knew he was talking to Sam.

I watched ’em for near half an hour. He seen me watching, too, and got nervous, but this was just what I wanted, so I never budged.

Bimeby he give it up, and Sam went back into the hotel, Mr. Clancy making tracks down the Bowery as fast as ever he could go.

“That’s all right,” says I. “So far first-rate.”

I wanted to speak to Sam most awfully, but I didn’t dare, for you see I couldn’t tell who might be watching, so I just scooted down the Bowery, and catching up with man, gave him a tap on the shoulder.

You’d just orter seen him turn on me, but I was as cool as a cucumber, you bet.

“What yer want?” he says.

“You,” says I, showing my shield.

He turned white and then began to bluff.

“Oh, you go to blazes!” he says. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” I says. “I know well enough. I’m sent after Clancy, the green goods man, and you’re the very fellow, but if you’ll jest keep your shirt on we may fix the thing up.”

“Say, young feller,” he whispered, catching my arm, “say, I ain’t Clancy. Clancy’s a friend of mine, but if they’re onto our racket mebbe we might fix it up together for him.”

“Of course, if you’re only reasonable,” I says.

“Oh, I’m the most reasonablest feller you ever seen,” he says, “if you only rub me the right way. Let’s come and have a drink. I seen you watching me back there, and I know’d you was a detective. I know’d, too, that you was one of the sensible kind.”

Well, we went and had a drink—in fact we had three or four.

“Are the police onto us?” he says.

“They are,” says I. “If they wasn’t, why would I be here? They know all about you, and I advise you as a friend to change your quarters at once.”

“To-day?” he says, looking kind of scared like.

“Yes, to-day.”

“Won’t to-morrow do?” he says, laying a twenty dollar bill down on the table where we was sitting.

“Green goods?” says I, picking up the bill.

“Not much,” says he, laughing. “I guess you know what green goods amounts to as well as I do, Reilly,”—Reilly was the name I give him when we first began to talk.

“To-morrow won’t do. I’m on the case to-day,” I says, “but to-morrow I’ve got to go to Boston, and they may put on another man when I tell them I saw you trying to scoop in a sucker at the Van Dyke.”

“But you won’t tell ’em?” he says.

“Oh, I’ll have to,” says I. “How do I know that some other feller wasn’t watching me same as I was watching you?”

He looked kind of nervous and bothered like, and I knew why.

“Look here, boss,” I says, “how long do you want?”

“Only about an hour,” he says eager like, “and then I’ll be ready to move, and there’ll be a hundred dollars dropped anywheres you say.”

“It’s a go,” says I. “Is that sucker well lined?”

“Three thousand,” says he. “I seen a thousand of it meself, and I know there’s more.”

I may as well mention that Old King Brady lent me a thousand to work with—real green goods; not a good bill among the lot, I thought.

“When are you going to meet him?” I says.

“About five o’clock,” says he, “in front of the Astor House. He’s afraid to move about in daylight for fear the police will go for him. Ha—ha! the fool. He’s just about the greenest I ever seen, yet he seems to be an intelligent kind of a chap, too.”

“You shall have the time,” says I. “I won’t report till six o’clock—will that do?”

“Oh, elegantly! Where’ll you lay in the meanwhile?”

“Is there a back way out of this place?”

“You bet there is.”

“Then that’s enough. I’ll manage the rest.”

“An’ the hundred dollars?”

I gave him a fictitious address to which I told him to mail the money—as though he would have done it in any case.

Then we separated, I going out the back way, he by the front.

So far my little scheme had worked to a charm.

When I got round into Chatham Square I looked in every direction for Mr. Clancy without being able to get a sight of him. At last I slid into a certain saloon just above the Atlantic Garden. I expected to find Mr. Spalding of Jim’s River waiting for me there and I did.

I made for the wash-room, and presently he followed.

“What luck, Sam?” I whispered, as soon as I made sure that we were alone.

“Bully—he bit.”

“I should say so. You showed him the green goods?”

“Yes: he was so struck with the bigness of the pile that he never stopped to look at them particularly—he feels dead sure they’re all straight.”

“You didn’t find out where his place is?”

“Ah, no, I’m to meet him at the Astor House at 5, and he’s to take me there.”

“I know all that,” I answered hurriedly. “Off with your clothes, old man.”

“Not here, Dave,” he says.

“Yes, here. We’ll change a piece at a time. Must do it. All would be spoiled if we were to be seen together.”

It was ticklish changing, but we got through with it splendid.

There was a glass in the place, and when I looked at myself I declare I could hardly believe it wasn’t Sam in his disguise what was standing there, but of course Sam hadn’t red hair, so he didn’t look much like me.

I didn’t want that, though—didn’t expect it. ’Twasn’t part of the game.

“Lay low now, young feller,” says I, “and don’t let ’em see you. If there’s any sign of a row you just sail right in.”

“You bet I will!” says he. “I ain’t forgot, Dave, that you saved my life twice,” which was all very well for him to say, and I had no objection to his thinking so, though, between ourselves, I never felt that that fellow Opdyke had the courage to shoot.

Well, I was at the Astor House at five o’clock, feeling a little bit shaky I will admit.

I seen him coming across from the post office. He’d been to get more green goods letters from country suckers, I s’pose.

First off I thought he was going past, but pretty soon he saw me and steered straight for me.

I watched him close as he gave me one sharp look. Then I knew I was safe.

“You’re on time,” he says, coming up close to me. “See, I’ve been over to the post-office, look at this bunch of letters. They are all from fellows who’ve tried my goods and want more. That’s the kind of business I do.”

“Let me read one of the letters so I’ll know you ain’t foolin’ me,” I says, doing Sam’s country voice as well as I could.

I saw him come the flim-flam and snake a letter out of his pocket and work it into the bundle.

That was the letter he gave me to read, of course, and equally of course it was a blooming fake.

It told how the writer had used up ten thousand dollars in green goods in three months without ever having a complaint.

He was the slickest fellow with his hands ever I seen. He got another out of his pocket somehow, pretending to get it out of the pile, and I never seen him, although I was looking for that very thing.

“Seems to be a good business,” says I.

“You bet,” says he.

“Can we go now?” says I.

“We could have gone this afternoon if it hadn’t been for you,” says he. “There’s nothing at all to fear. I’ve been doing this thing too long not to know how to manage the racket, you bet.”

“Where’s your place?” says I.

“Come with me and I’ll show you,” says he.

I asked him if he was sure there wasn’t no one watching us, which gave me an excuse to look ’round for Sam, who had stopped over by the post office. I couldn’t see nothing of him, though, and I wondered where he’d gone.

“Come on; it’s all safe,” says Clancy. “I’ve got the biggest pull with the police of any man in New York. Why, I pay the commissioners their little divvy. I don’t bother with no captains even. There isn’t an officer of the force what would dare to touch me.”

I could hardly keep from laughing as I followed him around into Ann street, where gamblers and green goods men used to be a big sight plentier in them days than they are now.

We got to a door on the left hand side just beyond the alley.

I thought he was going up-stairs to Jack Bridge’s place, but no, he made a dive down into a lager beer saloon in the basement, took me into a back room and then, unlocking a door, we landed in a little box of a place about four by five, where there was nothing but a stove, a desk and a couple of chairs.

He locked the door first of all—then he turned on me.

I tell you now if I wasn’t measuring that man it’s a caution!

“I wonder which of us two’s got the most muscle,” thinks I.

“Let’s see your money, Mr. Spalding!” says he, handing me a cigar and lighting one himself.

“Let’s see yours!” says I. “Gimme a light!”

“You’re a cool one,” says he. “D’yer ’spose I’m going to give up my green goods and take my chances of getting my pay?”

“But you’ve seen my money once.”

“Oh, all right. You’re suspicious. You think I ain’t straight. That’s what’s the matter with you, my boy.”

“Not at all. I only want to be on the safe side. I haven’t come all the way from Wisconsin to be sucked in—let me tell you that.”

“You needn’t holler so,” he says. “I hain’t deef. Do you want every one in the saloon to hear you?”

“You don’t think there’s no danger, do you?” I says.

“No, I guess nothing serious is done yet,” says he, “but to make all sure I’ll just step out and look how the land lays.”

I knew his game. He’d gone to make ready to shift the bags—it was the old dodge. I made up my mind to use the minute I had for all it was worth. There was two doors to the place, the one leading into the saloon we’d came in by. I wanted to see where the other led to and I found out, for I opened it with one of my skeleton keys. Theater Alley was outside.

I didn’t fasten the door, and had no more’n time to get back to the desk where he’d left me than Mr. Clancy was in again.

“It’s all right,” he says. “Nobody tumbled. Don’t talk so loud again—that’s all. Now I’ll show you the goods, and we’ll close this little transaction in just about two seconds. I want you to understand, my friend, that this is no saw-dust swindle. I know you think so, but you are as much mistaken as though you’d lost your shirt. There’ll be no sending the goods by express. No, sir. I shall give them to you right in this room, and here they are.”

He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a big pile of new greenbacks—straight money, mind you, every bit of it. It takes money to run a green-goods business, I want you to understand.

“How much’ll you take?” says he, after I had examined one or two sample bills till I told him I was satisfied.

“Guess I’ll strike in with a thousand dollars’ worth,” says I. “How much’ll that buy?”

“Three thousand,” he says. “I’m going to be liberal with you, Spalding, and give you three for one.”

“Wall,” says I as though I was thinking like, “if that’s the case you’d better make it two thousand.”

“Say three?”

“Hain’t got so much.”

“But you said you had up at the Van Dyke.”

“Wall, letter go,” I says. “You see, three thousand in counterfeit bills was just what I had.”

He counted out his money and I counted mine.

Then he counted mine and I counted his.

“How you going to carry it?” says he, kinder nervous like.

His eyes were fixed so sharp on his own money in my hands that he hardly looked at mine, and as the place was kinder dark never seemed to tumble to the fact that it wasn’t all O.K.

“Carry it in my pockets,” says I.

“That pile?” says he—“you see it was all ones and fives, while mine was in fifties and hundreds and there was a slew of ’em. You can’t do it. You’d be overhauled before you could get to the Herald office. I’ll lend you my grip sack,” he says.

It was the old dodge—just what I’d been expecting. I felt kind of nervous myself then, especially for Old King Brady’s counterfeit money, for it’s against the law for any one to handle counterfeit money—even detectives are not excepted, I want you to understand, and my boss had told me he’d hold me responsible if it wasn’t got back.

He put his money in the bag and mine in the desk.

Then he put the bag on the desk and began jumping round all of a sudden, whispering that there was a row in the saloon and he’d have to go out and see what it was. There must have been a row if noise went for anything, but I’ve no doubt it was a put up job.

He ran to the door, and I pretended to follow him, but all the same I had my eye peeled for the bag, and saw it disappear through a panel in the back of the desk just as I had expected, and another just like it come in its place.

“It’s all right; only two fellers fighting,” he says, popping in next minute. “Now, then, everything is all straight, and you’d better light out as soon as you can, for that fight may draw the cops in.”

He picked up the bag and handed it to me.

“You’d better go out this way,” he says, pointing to the door.

Now the ticklish time had come.

Where was Sam? It had been arranged that he should follow me and be ready to help in case I needed him, but I hadn’t seen nothing of him when I looked out.

Clancy seemed surprised when he found the door unlocked.

“Slide right out,” he whispered. “I hear some one coming.”

“All right,” says I, “but you’ll come, too,” and I grabbed him by the collar, and, before he knew what was coming, was dragging him up the steps.

I’d dropped the bag and had yanked out my revolver, but I never got the chance to use it—oh, no!

Quick as a wink he out with a knife and tried to get at me.

I saw the flash of the blade and managed to knock up his arm.

Then I went down right in the alley and he on top of me.

I tell you I was scared. Things began to dance before my eyes, and I thought I was a goner when all at once two men jumped out from behind a lot of ash barrels and pulled him over on his back.

“Old King Brady!” I heard him gasp, and there it ended as far as he was concerned.

“Hold him, Dave!” hollered Old King Brady, diving through the door.

Me and the other fellow held on like grim death, you bet. Let’s see, I forgot to say that the other fellow was Sam.

That was about the end of it altogether, for Old King Brady scooped in his pal at the point of the revolver just as he was coming through the door to find out what the row was all about.

It was a mighty lucky thing for me, too, that they happened to come along just as they did, for if they hadn’t I honestly believe I’d been a dead man in about one minute’s time.

We scooped ’em both, but we didn’t get their money, for of course the bag was stuffed with old newspaper. What became of it we never knew. Old King Brady found his in the drawer of the desk, though, and when I began to talk about it as counterfeit he only laughed at me.

“I was fooling you about that, Dave,” he said. “It’s every dollar of it good.”

Note.—Of course I wouldn’t have dared to handle counterfeit money any more for that purpose than any other, for it’s entirely against the law even to have the stuff in your possession.

I own I let Dave believe that it was counterfeit, although I didn’t actually tell him so, and I did this because I thought he’d be too cautious with it and spoil the whole game if he thought it was good.

Of course I ran the risk of losing it—I knew that. I expected to lose it, but I was willing to take the chances for the sake of accomplishing my ends.

Now I must say that my pupil displayed considerable ingenuity in handling the case, and as I had never asked him, and he had never told me any of his plans from the moment he began to work, he was justly surprised that I happened along as I did.

But it was no accident.

I knew all about it. I saw the meeting at the Van Dyke, I overheard the conversation in the saloon, I followed them from the Astor House to Ann street, and was peering through the window when the transfer of the money was made.

Dave told Sam Keen all about the business, and Sam, by my direction, told me.

I had put the boy on his mettle, but I didn’t propose to see him harmed, and he came precious near losing his life as it was.

Now there’s an example of how I can shadow. I’d say more about it, but I don’t want to boast.

I changed my appearance three times that afternoon. Sam knew me, for he helped me, but Dave never had the slightest suspicion that he was under “Old King Brady’s” eye.

We sent those two rascals up for a long term, and so far as I know, they served it out. I presume the saloon keeper got the money and kept it. Of course he was one of the gang, and I closed up his place in a hurry, but as I could prove nothing against him he was soon set free.

Dave, adopting Sam’s disguise, was as skillful a piece of business as I ever did.

I don’t think Clancy—that wasn’t his name by the way—has the slightest idea to this day that he was not dealing with the same person from first to last.