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Chapter XVI

Full particulars regarding Puter's exciting capture by Secret Service Agent Burns at the Fenway Branch Postoffice in Boston, on the night of March 26, 1906, and his subsequent sensational escape from the fatuous Government sleuth—Clever plans are prepared for ensnaring the land fraud king, but the postmaster's blunder upsets calculations—Puter's gun-play after a fierce battle on the sidewalk causes the great detective to beat an unceremonious retreat and enables the wily land grabber to get away—Details successful efforts to evade re-capture, and tells about his wanderings following escape from Burns.

BUT I had reckoned unwisely, for while it must be admitted that every reasonable precaution had been adopted by me relative to my correspondence, and beyond any question of doubt my friend Cravet had discharged faithfully the trust imposed upon him, at the same time I had overlooked the fact that "Foxy Quiller" Burns was on my trail, and if he became set on making a capture, would find the means of running me down.

About 5:30 o'clock on the afternoon of March 26, 1906, I visited the public library in Boston, as was my usual custom, for the purpose of looking over the files of the Portland Morning Oregonian, in order to keep in touch with affairs at home, and while en route to my room, stepped into the Fenway branch postoffice and inquired for my mail. It struck me as rather peculiar that the postmaster should respond offhand in an unusually loud tone of voice, "Yes, Mr. Brownell, I believe we have a letter for you!" but I did not give it much thought, and took more interest in watching him sort over the mail. He finally handed me a letter, which I placed in my pocket and was on the point of taking my departure when I received a light tap on the shoulder. Glancing quickly around, whom should I behold but the immortal William J. Burns himself, and as one glad to meet an old friend, he extended his hand with the remark:

"Hello, Steve, how are you?"

Returning his cordial greeting, I expressed surprise at meeting him in Boston, remarking that I supposed he was still on the Pacific Coast.

"Well, I am everywhere, you see," explained Burns. "Step into the private office, Steve, and I will tell you how it happened," he continued.

Making a swift sweep of the lobby with my eyes, apparently unconcerned, I noticed a number of persons of both sexes moving about, but one man in particular impressed me as keeping a close watch on Burns' actions, as if with the intention of assisting him should occasion require.

In compliance with the request, I stepped into the private office of the postmaster, and taking seats, we entered into a general conversation. Noting that I had taken from my pocket the letter just received, and was holding it in my hand, Burns suggested that I open and read it, as it was probably from my wife. I proceeded to do so, when a small newspaper clipping dropped from the envelope to the floor. Observing this, Burns said:

"That is an article regarding McKinley's escape to China with 'Little Egypt,' and will prove of interest to you!"

With this remark, the thought immediately flashed through my mind that the wily detective had enjoyed another "sleep" on the mail sack.

Observing that the Boston postmark on the back of the envelope indicated that the letter had arrived that day, and recalling that I had inquired for my mail the day before, as well as on that identical morning, I concluded that my

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