Old Specie, the Treasury Detective; or, The Harbor Lights of New York — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

OLD SPECIE, 117 the library, please, and I will wait. He wouldn’t miss seeing me for worlds.”’ The girl could not refuse. She determined to keep an eye on the library until her. master came, however. So Mr. Jenkins was shown in. He laid his bag on a chair with his hat and over- coat, neatly adjusting them. - Then he walked up and down the room in a ner- vous manner, talking to himself, and making a thousand and one gestures, as though rehearsing a set speech to a jury, which he meant to be a master- piece. The door slammed. ‘““Ah! he comes. Now, Old Specie, settle down to the task you’ve laid out,’’ muttered the pseudo law- yer. CHAPTER XVI. A POINT GAINED. A minute later some one entered the library, toss- ing a pair of gloves on a table and muttering to him- self. “The devil. be praised, that’s done.’’ It was Caldwell. He had just returned from the funeral of the young girl who had been buried as Amy Caldwell, his niece, several doctors having readily certified that she had died from a disease of the heart, and giving its medical name. Old Specie had not hinted the fact to young Jack Ramsay, but, of course, there had been a post-mor- tem examination to determine that fact—Caldwell had insisted on 1t. Gomilcboo (Elo) cS