Old Specie, the Treasury Detective; or, The Harbor Lights of New York — page 182: what you’re looking at

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

174 OLD SPECIE. Old Specie has stood all this while with his arms folded across his breast, as though looking grim — death in the face. Now his arms separate, and, strange to say, in one hand is clasped a small revolver, The foiled counterfeiter, seeing that the control of the game has been snatched from his hands, sinks into his chair. “You have won, Old Specie, but what in the fiend’s name is the matter with my revolver? That is the first time it ever failed me,’’ he says, in a tone half of bewilderment, half of despair. The detective smiles, and resumes his seat, this time where he can watch his man and note every move with the keen eye of a lynx. “‘T have become a dentist, Delmar. Before you ap- peared upon the scene I bewitched your faithful lit- tle repeater, and rendered its jaws quite harmless by drawing every tooth.”’ ‘Ah! ITsee. Fool that I was not to be here.”’ “Tt would not have mattered. There are other ways of accomplishing the same thing. I’m not the man to be beaten when I undertake a job like this, and you know it.’’ “What do you want me for?’’ “Snyder is safely caged.’ “The devil he is!”’ ‘And you are badly wanted. I have your precious plates secure, Why, man alive, in a month you would have created a panic.’’ . “Another case of a slip betwixt cup and lip, then, for the panic just now is here,” smiting his broad breast viciously with his fist. ‘That is not all, though.’’ ‘Indeed! What else am I wanted for?’ Gomichboo Eo <S) oe