Old Specie, the Treasury Detective; or, The Harbor Lights of New York — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

OLD SPECIE. 171 ‘That name!”’ he ejaculates in a breath, his blaz-| ing eyes never once leaving the face of the pre- tended lawyer, his fingers all the while creeping on toward the revolver that lies hidden in the open drawer. | ‘‘In years gone by you knew me as Old Specie, the watch-dog of the treasury.”’ A cry as from a mad dog follows the mention of that hated name. There is no longer need of playing -*possum, for he knows the man before him could not be bought off from his line of duty by any fortune. The arm makes a sudden move, and the hand comes into view—it clutches the cocked revolver, which, without a second’s delay, is leveled at the de- tective’s head. Into the face of the cornered conspirator there flashes a terrible look—it is the murderous glow that illumines the countenance of the assassin as he be- holds his victim helpless beneath his knife, and feels that the last desperate play throws the game to him. ‘““VYou’ve had your turn, Old Specie—now it’s my deal. You refuse to make terms with me—we shall see if you can negotiate a treaty with your master, the devil, into whose august presence I mean to usher you before many minutes have flown.’’ “Heavens! man, would you murder me?’’ calls out the detective, in mock alarm. \ “No, but I will kill you, all the same. It’s war to the knife between us, and I’m on top. Move but a hand and you hasten your doom.,’’ ‘‘Are you sure?”’ ‘“T am a dead shot. I can drive a nail across this — room. When I fire I will aim for your eye, so as to — give you as little pain as possible.”’ ‘How considerate,’? murmurs the other. Comicboo SS) (E(0) 3