ully rehearsed in the part assigned him by Addicks himself,
but alone, that is, without witnesses; nevertheless so earnest and
apparently honest was the man in his protest that for an instant they
doubted their senses--until they remembered it was Addicks.

The investigation was never held, and to this day Addicks' lieutenants,
especially he who did the midnight work and who still lives in the
peaceful State of Delaware, turn with disgust when Addicks' daring is
mentioned.

It should be explained here that, whenever Addicks plans an illegal
transaction--one for which he might be made civilly or criminally
liable--he invariably coaches each of his accomplices alone, "without
witnesses." And when it becomes necessary in developing the plot to have
a confab, at which the several parties to the proceeding must meet,
Addicks is most careful to preserve a legal semblance of ignorance of
incriminating details. At intervals, when a danger-place in the
discussion is approaching, he will get up from his seat and, moving to
the door, will say: "Gentlemen, halt right there, until I step out of
the room; tap at the door when you are over that bad spot, and I will
return."

Addicks' "Wait until I step out of the room" is as familiar among his
coworkers as the "I am going upstairs" is among the "Standard Oil"
family.

Try to conjure before your mind's eye a picture of the anomalous character
these instances suggest. I'll warrant your mental image as little
resembles the original Addicks as Mr. Hyde did Dr. Jekyll in the story. He
does not look the part assigned him here, nor any other part for that
matter. I saw him coming toward me on State Street one summer day some
years ago, a tall, wiry man, in a white-flannel suit, perfect in fit and
spotless as snow, wearing a fine Panama hat. This was in the period before
Panamas were commonly worn. He was to the life the elegant and luxurious
Southern planter of ante-bellum days. Six months afterward in about the
same place I saw approaching me a splendid person in rich sable outer
garments who looked for all the world like an exiled Russian grand duke.
It was Addicks in winter. You will not surprise his secret from that
pleasant, rather ambiguous, but square-jawed face, nor from the mouth
hidden under a long, drooping, gray, military mustache. His is a
good-sized, well-shaped head, you might say, and the gray, shallow eyes
that look out at you are almost merry in their glances. But they