extinguished himself.  Had Ammon not chuckled he would not have been Bob Ammon.  The money was stolen, to be sure, but Ammon’s skirts were clear.  There was nothing to show that the two hundred and forty-five thousand dollars he had received was stolen money.  There was only one man—­a discredited felon, who could hint that the money was even “tainted,” and he was safely over the border, in a foreign jurisdiction, not in the custody of the police, but of Ammon himself, to be kept there (as Mr. Robert C. Taylor so aptly phrased it in arguing Ammon’s case on appeal) “on waiting orders.  Ammon had Miller on a string, and as soon as Ammon (for his own sake) was compelled either to produce Miller or to run the risk of indictment, he pulled the string and brought Miller back into the jurisdiction.”

Needless to say great was the ado made over the disappearance of the promoter of the Franklin Syndicate, and the authorities of King’s County speedily let it become known that justice required that some one should be punished for the colossal fraud which had been perpetrated.  The grand jury of the county started a general investigation.  Public indignation was stirred to the point of ebullition.  In the midst of the rumpus, there came a knock on the office door of the Hon. John F. Clark, District Attorney of King’s County, and Col.  Robert A. Ammon announced himself.  The two men were entire strangers to each other but this did not prevent Ammon, with his inimitable assurance, from addressing the District Attorney by his first name.

“How are you, John?” he inquired nonchalantly, “what can I do for you?”

Mr. Clark repressed his natural inclination to kick the insolent fellow forcibly out of his office, invited him to be seated and rang for a stenographer.  Ammon asserted his anxiety to assist the District Attorney by every means in his power, but denied knowing the whereabouts of Miller, alleging that he was simply acting as his counsel.  Mr. Clark replied that in Miller’s absence the grand jury might take the view that Ammon himself was the principal.  At this Ammon calmly assured his host that as far as he was concerned he was ready to go before the grand jury at any time.

“That is just what I want,” returned Mr. Clark, “the grand jury is in session.  Come over.”

Ammon arose with a smile and accompanied the District Attorney towards the door of the grand jury room.  Just outside he suddenly placed his hand to his head as if recollecting something.

“One moment,” he exclaimed.  “I forgot that I have an engagement.  I will come over to-morrow.”

“Ah!” retorted Mr. Clark, “I do not think you will be here to-morrow.”

Two weeks later Miller was safely ensconced without bail in Raymond Street jail.

Schlessinger, who got away with one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars in cash, fled to Europe where he lived high, frequenting the race tracks and gaming tables until he was called to his final account a year or two ago.  The money which he took has never been traced.  Miller was tried, convicted and sent to Sing Sing.  The Appellate Division of the Supreme Court then reversed his conviction, but later, on appeal to the Court of Appeals, it was sustained.