Detective Bob Bridger — page 45: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

38 DETECTIVE BOB BRIDGER. His eyes were closed, his breathing was feeble and ir- regular, nor did he attempt to answer the questions asked him by the detectives. ‘“He’s had a terrible handling,” said the Scotch detective. ‘‘Let’s take him to your rooms, Bobe—what say you ?” ‘“What if he should die there?” — ‘“T beg of you, Bobe, do as I ask. Have you liquor there ?” “Vas, 9? The two detectives lifted the insensible old man, and bearing him easily between them, hastened toward Bridger’s Bond street rooms. The throng of idlers which spring to existence at the slightest excitement in New York had on this occasion fol- lowed the fortunes of the pursuing policeman and fleeing highwayman. Surging along at the heels of the officer, they rushed through Spring street, toward the Bowery, crying out, ‘‘Stop thief !” as they ran. Those who perceived the detectives bearing along the in- sensible victim thought them friends taking home an in- ebriate, and passed them by with a glance. Reaching the apartments, they placed their burden ten- - derly upon an easy-chair near the fire that blazed in the grate. The journey had told severely on the injured old man. He had apparently ceased to breathe, and, as the gas- hght fell upon his pale features, it seemed that the detec- tives had a corpse on their hands. Bridger hastily produced a bottle of brandy and placed it to the old man’s lips. As the liquor poured into his mouth he involuntarily swallowed it. Its vivifying influence soon told, and the old man again. breathed irregularly. ‘“He is saved !” said the Scotch detective. ‘‘And now sit we down, Bobe, and I will explain all, so that you will see we have acted for the best permitting ‘Silly’ Billy’s escape. ‘Up to some seventeen years ago,” began Fandon, as the two detectives drew their chairs to the fire, ‘‘an old Frenchman lived upon the estate near London to which I followed Billy from Millbank prison. His name was Jean Godot; he was a miserable old miser, and had amassed a large fortune as a truck farmer. In his younger days he had married an English woman, who had borne him a son, whom they christened Alfonse. So meanly did the miser treat his wife and child that life became a burden to them, ‘* 4 . to! = 7>* LN - mm | comic ihe ‘S. a ars nee