ted to
the chiefs of police of foreign cities what they should or should not do
in certain cases; and who could, at the beckoning of his little finger,
summon to his dungeon-like offices in the New York Life Building,
whither his firm had removed from Centre Street, the most prominent of
lawyers, the most eminent of citizens?--Surely none but Hummel. And now
Hummel was fighting for his own life. The only man that stood between
him and the iron bars of Blackwell's Island was Charles F. Dodge--the
man whom he had patted on the knee in his office and called a "Mascot,"
when quite in the nature of business he needed a little perjury to
assist a wealthy client.

Hummel in terror called into play every resource upon which, during
forty years of practice, his tiny tentacles had fastened. Who shall say
that while he made a show of enjoying himself nightly with his
accustomed light-heartedness in the Tenderloin, he did not feel
confident that in the end this peril would disappear like the others
which had from time to time threatened him during his criminal career?
But Hummel was fully aware of the tenacity of the man who had resolved
to rid New York of his malign influence. His Nemesis was following him.
In his dreams, if he ever dreamed, it probably took the shape of the
square shouldered District Attorney in the shadow of whose office
building the little shyster practised his profession. Had he been told
that this Nemesis was in reality a jovial little man with a round, ruddy
face and twinkling blue eyes he would have laughed as heartily as it was
in his power to laugh. Yet such was the fact. A little man who looked
less like a detective than a commercial traveller selling St. Peter's
Oil or some other cheerful concoction, with manners as gentle and a
voice as soft as a spring zephyr, who always took off his hat when he
came into a business office, seemingly bashful to the point of
self-effacement, was the one who snatched Charles F. Dodge from the
borders of Mexico and held him in an iron grip when every influence upon
which Hummel could call for aid, from crooked police officials, corrupt
judges and a gang of cutthroats under the guise of a sheriff's posse,
were fighting for his release.

Jesse Blocher is not employed in New York County, and for business
reasons he does not wish his present address known. When he comes to New
York he occasionally drops into the writer's office for a cigar and a
friendly chat about old tim