or young Einstein's
meeting with his mother, and recording the joint confessions of
the two, a surprise awaited Officer Dennis McNerney.

The cabin boy who had been allowed to bring meals to the wounded
prisoner, in fear and trembling, confessed to the baffled policeman
that Braun had given him a hundred-dollar bill which he had managed
to secrete in his trousers waistband, for the promised duty of
writing to Mrs. August Landor, No. 195 Ringstrasse, Vienna, that
her fugitive son, Hugo Landor, had died of fever in a Catholic
hospital at San Francisco, under an assumed name.

The men on watch were all ignorant of German, and so did not detect
the last wishes of the intending suicide.

"But I knew nothing," protested the boy. "I was always freely
allowed to serve him, and so I brought him a scissors and needle
and thread to repair his clothing, which had been cut to accommodate
his arm.

"I thought that his little bottle was only medicine; for he hid it
in his hand, after opening the breast of his coat."

"And so there was one last touch of feeling left in the murderer's
heart," mused the stout policeman. "He wished his poor old mother
to believe that he died decently. Let it be so! She shall not carry
this last shame to her grave.

"And now, to polish off all the underlings of the smuggling conspiracy.
There is both honor and profit in bringing them to book.

"Timmins and Lilienthal may be useful as State's evidence, for
this last fellow saves his neck, perhaps, by Fritz Braun's death.
It can never be known if he was only Braun's tool or the real
inspirer of the crime. He must have found out about the money!"
And so the careful lying of mother and son hid forever the reason
of Braun's plot. The boy was saved.

When the stars of night shone down upon the great ship at her dock,
all signs of the gloomy happening had been carefully hidden. Doctor
Atwater had removed the two women, under guard of the well-rewarded
matron and a skilled detective, to his own apartments, where the
crafty Emil Einstein was brought to meet his poor, doting mother.

The detective captain took charge of the unravelling of the whole
story of Mr. "August Meyer's" Brooklyn career, as well as the
secrets of the crafty druggist, Fritz Braun.

There was a great symposium at Counselor Stillwell's residence by
the leafy borders of the park. The great advocate rejoiced at the
removal of every stain from Clayton's memory, and marvelled gre