The Red Inn

Written for The New York Clipper

by Nathan D. Urner

Towards the close of a cold, bleak day in the early Winter of 18731 found myself waiting anxiously and impatiently in a lonely and picturesque spot on the banks of the Ottawa River, about twelve miles from the little town of St. Eustache, whence I had ridden that afternoon, and thirty or more from Montreal.  

I belonged to a private-detective agency, and was here in this lonely place by appointment, with six thousand dollars upon my person, in exchange for which it had been agreed—by what secret and complicated negotiations it is hardly necessary to acquaint the reader with—to restore to me certain stolen property in the shape of bonds, certificates and bills of exchange to a great amount.  

The place, as I have said, was wild and romantic, with a ruined sawmill at the river’s edge, just below the steep and rocky bluff, as the only vestige of artificiality in view. The sky was overcast, and the wind moaning dismally through the overhanging firs and hemlocks; the broad, partly frozen river, with the rugged mountains looming forbiddingly on the farther bank, and a few seagulls screaming and swooping weirdly in the gusts between the low clouds and the running foam, looked inexpressibly mournful and desolate, and the appointed hour had long since passed me by without affording the faintest indication that the rendezvous was to be kept.  

Years of experience in my peculiar vocation with criminals and desperate classes had inured me to disappointment and fortuity; but I must acknowledge that upon this occasion I felt my patience sorely tried. I had every reason to believe that the compromise had been effected in good faith (notwithstanding the wily and unenviable reputation of the go-between, who had arranged for my meeting with “Crank… Read More