Suddenly he threw down his pen with a laugh of triumph, and holding a
piece of paper before him, exclaimed: "There, lads, there it is; there's
the key that will unlock a little mint for us."

Throwing himself back in his chair, he drew a cigar from his pocket,
and, lighting it, listened with great satisfaction to the words of
praise uttered by his companions as they compared the forged with the
genuine signature.

These three men were on the eve of a desperate enterprise. For months
they had been planning and working together, and the time for action was
rapidly approaching.

The one called "Cummings," the leader, was apparently, the youngest one
of the three. There was nothing in his face to denote the criminal. A
stranger looking at him, would imagine him to be a good-natured, jovial
chap, a little shrewd perhaps, but fond of a good dinner, a good drink,
a good cigar, and nothing else.

One of his colleagues, whom he called "Roe," evidently an alias, was
smaller in size, but had a determined expression on his face, that
showed him to be a man who would take a desperate chance if necessary.

The third man, called sometimes Weaver, and sometimes Williams, was the
smallest one of the conspirators, and also the eldest. His frame, though
small, was compact and muscular, but his face lacked both the
determination of Roe and the frank, open expression of Cummings.

After scrutinizing the forgery for a time, Roe returned it to Cummings