One might now suppose that our woes were at an end, all danger over,
and nothing to do but dispose of our shimmering cargo to best
advantage. Harris and I were of that spirit-lifting view; we began on
the very next day to feel about for customers.
Harris, whose former smuggling exploits had dealt solely with gems,
knew as little of silk as did I. Had either been expert we might have
foreseen a coming peril into whose arms we in our blindness all but
walked. No, my children, our troubles were not yet done. We had
escaped the engulfing suck of Charybdis, only to be darted upon by
those six grim mouths of her sister monster, Scylla, over the way.
Well do I recall that morning. I had seen but two possible purchasers
of silks when Harris overtook me. His eye shone with alarm. Lorns had
run him down with the news--however he himself discovered it, I never
knew--that another peril was yawning. Harris hurried me to our Reade
Street lair and gave particulars.
"It seems," said Harris, quite out of breath with the speed we'd made
in hunting cover, "that A.T. Stewart is for America the sole agent of
these particular brands of silk which we've brought in. Some one to
whom we've offered them has notified the Stewart company. At this
moment and as we sit here, the detectives belonging to Stewart, and
for all I may guess, the whole Central Office as well, are on our
track.
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