The grinning head steward had helped him smuggle his unsuspected booty on shore, and, while Fritz Braun gazed moodily out of the windows of the old hostelry, he planned his future hiding.
Neither the dangerous dupe at his side nor his hoodwinked associates of the International Smuggling Association knew of the vast fortune which Braun had artfully hidden upon his arrival.
Well he knew that his life would pay the penalty in a moment if the blood-stained treasure were suspected to be in his hands.
And so, with careful craft, he labored to throw off all his dangerous associates and quietly disappear to a retreat, already decided upon, in the sleepy environs of Breslau.
"First, to watch my lady!" he decided, for he was not deceived by Irma Gluyas' apparent quiet.

His first care had been to obtain the New York journals' regularly arriving.

"If there is any hubbub over there, I will be on guard, before they can reach me," he mused, as he glowered over his wine at the woman who now panted for liberty.
Two weeks after his arrival passed with no detection of the murder.
"Safe, safe!" he laughed.

"The trunk is now buried a hundred feet deep in the ooze of the East River." And he smiled in triumph at the precaution which had led to Leah Einstein's hegira to her respectable First Avenue tenement, under the decent alias of Mrs.

Rachel Meyer.
He brooded, day by day, over the skill with which he had arranged for cablegrams to a safe address.