Old Specie, the Treasury Detective; or, The Harbor Lights of New York — page 158: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

150 OLD SPECIE. No sooner had he looked upward than he seemed to see something. Turning toward John Bailey, he put one finger on the side of his nose in a peculiarly suggestive man- ner. Then he carefully reached an arm up the wide- throated, old-fashioned flue. Suddenly clutching something, he gave a quick and powerful jerk. The effect was miraculous. There was a tremendous racket, a desperate claw- ing sound, a cloud of soot, and then a heavy body rolled out upon the floor of the apartment. It was a man. Snyder? Well, at first glimpse one would be at to decide that this worthy must bea Garey, for ie hands and face were black. Old Specie did not lose time. He immediately covered the fellow with his revol- ver, while John Bailey laughed until the tears made furrows down his dirty cheeks. “Snyder, you’re my prisoner.”’ ‘*T give up,”’ sullenly. The fight seemed to have been taken out of the man in an astonishing manner by the wound he had received. Such a shock has a different effect on many people. Some become enraged and let nothing stand in their way of vengeance. Others are cowed, and shrink back from the weapon from which they have suffered. Snyder seemed to be of the latter class. Desperate man as he had the reputation of being, (eo) Eomicbooks