There were seven of us in a gang in Chicago, and
Elsie's father was the boss of the Joint. He was a clever man,
was old Patrick. It was he who invented that writing, which
would pass as a child's scrawl unless you just happened to have
the key to it. Well, Elsie learned some of our ways; but she
couldn't stand the business, and she had a bit of honest money
of her own, so she gave us all the slip and got away to London.
She had been engaged to me, and she would have married me,
I believe, if I had taken over another profession; but she would
have nothing to do with anything on the cross. It was only
after her marriage to this Englishman that I was able to find
out where she was. I wrote to her, but got no answer. After
that I came over, and, as letters were no use, I put my messages
where she could read them.
"Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm,
where I had a room down below, and could get in and out every
night, and no one the wiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie
away. I knew that she read the messages, for once she wrote an
answer under one of them. Then my temper got the better of me,
and I began to threaten her.
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