d to Europe and Rose went West to
California. Eventually Ennis was convicted of a crime committed some
time before. He was sentenced to a long imprisonment, and came out an
old, broken-down man, without a dollar and without a friend. Rose was
sentenced to five years for another crime, and then disappeared. Bullard
settled down in Paris. He afterward returned and planned the Boylston
Bank affair in Boston. With his share of the plunder he went back to
Paris and opened an American bar at the Grand Hotel and flourished for
some years; but, wanting money, he committed a robbery in Belgium, was
arrested, and is now serving a long sentence for the same; no doubt, if
he survives, he will emerge friendless, penniless, a stranger in a
strange world.

If I were inclined to indulge in reminiscences, what a catalogue could
be given of men who had, like myself, drifted into the Primrose Way, and
all, or nearly all, have paid a terrible penalty for their
wrongdoing--none more terrible than myself. As for our violin virtuoso,
he seems to have conquered fate. So, too, with the connoisseur in
orchids; but let us wait until the end before we say all is well with
them.

Some time later on, meeting one of these detectives, now dead, who then
ranked as the best in New York, in the confidence of the bankers, he
said: "I am getting old and am now working for reputation, and
consequently am not taking any more percentages. Of course, I don't
molest any of my old friends, but those who are not under protection I
run in and send them up the river (Sing Sing) as fast as I get them to
rights."

This need not be considered a condemnation of all detectives, for there
were, even in my time, a few honest ones of the Pinkerton and John
Curtin class--the latter being now one of San Francisco's most reliable,
who, by unusually considerate judgment, has made honorable citizens of a
very large number of clerks whom he had been called upon to detect and
arrest. This he accomplished by extracting a confession in writing,
filing it among his secret papers, then saying to the trembling clerk:
"I shall have you reinstated in your position, but if you go wrong again
this confession will be made public."

The following incident will further enlighten the reader as to the way
things were done in those good old days:

When Boss Tweed was in the full zenith of his power and glory and of the
wealth so easily acquired by certain methods, his daughter was married