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Ebook has 67 lines and 6820 words, and 2 pages

Editor: Frank Pemmon

Transcriber's Note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics .

An additional Transcriber's Note is at the end.

Multum in Parvo Library.

Book of Detective Stories

PUBLISHED BY A. B. COURTNEY, 671 Tremont Street, Boston.

DETECTIVE STORIES.

From the Diary of a New York Detective.

EDITED BY FRANK PEMMON.

Betrayed by a Dog.

Animals, especially dogs, have played an important part in the affairs of men. There is now in Chicago a dog that has become the companion and assistant of a policeman, and really does help his friend to detect and ferret out thieves and other evil doers. I was once concerned in a case in which a dog played a most important part, and led finally, through no fault of his own, however, to the detection of his master.

The store of John Camden had been broken into and the safe blown open and robbed of a large sum of money. The cash had been received that day too late to be deposited in the bank. Next morning it was gone, and no trace of the thief was to be found. At least, Mr. Camden and his clerks and the police officials found no trace of him. Not so with me. I was sent to look up the affair. I found the office in a state of confusion. The door of the safe had been blown off and the contents lay scattered over the floor. I asked Mr. Camden if he had disturbed anything. He said he had not, except to satisfy himself that the money was gone.

Near by was a cat, dead, her throat cut evidently by a hatchet that lay close at hand. This seemed to me to be the basis of a clue. Why had the cat been killed? It is not necessary to kill cats in order to prevent them from telling tales. I examined the unfortunate feline more carefully. In addition to the ugly cut on the throat there were other and more significant marks upon the back. A saucer, evidently having recently contained milk, stood near by. Also an overturned can from which pussy's supply of milk had evidently been obtained. The contents of this had been consumed. Mr. Camden informed me that this can had been filled with milk only the previous evening. Among the papers scattered upon the floor was one that attracted my attention. It was a portion of a note written in French. I was aware that Mr. Camden did not write or speak French. I questioned him about it. He could give me no information. He had never seen it before.

"Did any one know you had a large sum of money in the safe?" I asked.

"Yes, a number of people knew of the fact. I had been expecting to receive the money for the past two weeks."

"Who are those who know you had it?"

"My wife, brother, the man I sold the property to and the real estate dealers through whom I sold it."

"Any one else?"

"Oh, yes, a friend, my daughter's music teacher. He it was who found me a purchaser for the property."

"He is a Frenchman, is he not, and is invariably accompanied by his pretty little dog?"

"Why, yes; do you know him?"

"No--never saw him. He knew you had a large sum of money in the safe?"

"Yes; he saw me deposit it there."

"When did he give your daughter her last music lesson?"

"Last evening, but he complained of being ill and went away earlier than usual."

"Did he have his dog with him?"

"Yes; he claims the dog is his only friend."

"Have you a specimen of his handwriting at hand?"

"Yes; I have several acknowledgments of money received."

He produced them. I compared the writing with that of the note I had found near the safe. They were, as far as I could determine, identically the work of the same person.

Satisfied that I was on the right track, I caused a watch to be put upon the music teacher with the result that he was arrested as he was about to leave the city. He made a full confession.

"How did you guess it was a Frenchman who robbed my safe, and that he was accompanied by a pretty little dog?" inquired Mr. Camden.

"I found the cat had been killed by a dog, and his master afterward cut her throat with the hatchet to ward off suspicion from the dog; the dog drank the milk which had been provided for the cat. I found a note written in French and evidently dropped by the thief near the safe, and his dog was a pretty little animal because his master's patrons, like yourself, would not tolerate the presence of any other kind, and you told me the dog always accompanied his master."

The Key to the Mystery.

The most puzzling case upon which I ever worked was that of the murder of John Long. The facts are briefly these: Mr. Long, a wealthy, retired merchant, living at the home of his nephew, failed to answer the dinner-bell one day. He was a man who always prided himself upon his punctuality, and his failure to appear at dinner at the usual hour caused no little surprise. A messenger was sent to his room to call him. No response came to repeated knocks upon his chamber door. The door was locked. Fearful that something had happened to him, Mr. Brant--the old gentleman's nephew--set about breaking down the door. This was no easy task, as the door was made of oak and fastened by a ponderous lock and large brass hinges. After considerable effort the door yielded to their blows and fell in. A horrible sight met the gaze of the anxious family. Mr. Long lay across the bed, cold and still in death, with his throat cut from ear to ear.

Had the old man been murdered? If so, how had the murderer entered the room? The old man was known always to keep his door locked. Besides, there did not appear to be anything missing. If it was a case of suicide, what had become of the implement with which the deed had been done? It was nowhere to be found. The old man always seemed in the best of spirits, and had every thing to live for.

If not suicide, then it was, of course, murder. Who, then, was the murderer?

It was my good fortune to be assigned to work up the case. I say good fortune because I like a difficult job, the more difficult the better, and this was one of the most difficult of all I had ever undertaken.

I examined the premises, and questioned the family and the servants in order to learn all I could about the murdered man, his habits, his financial affairs, etc. In particular I examined the room in which the foul murder had been committed. One of the windows was partially opened. This suggested the theory that the murderer might have gained access to the room by means of the window, but it was impossible for him to have done this in broad daylight, and the window was over 20 feet from the ground.

One of those who seemed most eager to believe that Mr. Long had committed suicide was Thomas Brant, a scapegrace nephew of the old man.

"If he committed suicide," said I, "where is the implement with which he did the deed?"

"Perhaps he used his razor and then threw it out of the window," suggested Thomas.

"Impossible. The jugular vein was cut and death must have been almost instantaneous."

Nevertheless, I examined the grass under the window and found the old man's razor. There was, however, no blood upon it.

The most peculiar thing in the room was the lock on the door and the key belonging to it. It was a large lock, much larger than those made at the present time, and the key was a large, heavy, brass one weighing several pounds. I was informed that this lock had done duty in the door of the store in which Mr. Long started in business, and when the building was demolished, Mr. Long preserved the lock and key . Furthermore, as soon as he entered his room it was his custom to lock his door, remove the key from the lock and hang it upon a nail on the wall. Here it had been found on the day of the murder. There was believed to be but one such key in existence. I believed otherwise, and made a tour of all the lock-smith's shops in the city in order to verify my suspicions. At last my search was rewarded. I found one who admitted, although at first unwilling to do so, that he had made a key similar to the one I carried. He had made it for a young man who answered to the description of Thomas Brant. This much gained, the next step was to connect Brant with the murder of his uncle. This was soon done. Brant was sent to prison for life, as it was not proved that he had entered his uncle's room for the purpose of murder, but simply of robbery.

The Missing Finger.

Red Joe was an industrious young man. He worked early and late at his profession. While others slept he toiled upward in the night; in fact, night was his favorite time for toiling. He didn't exactly make hay while the sun shone because he didn't do any work while the sun was shining on his side of the earth. He was willing to put his hand to almost anything that did not belong to him, and which he could dispose of without fear of detection. Red Joe was a burglar, and a most successful one. That is to say, he succeeded so well at the burglary business that he spent the greater part of his time behind prison walls. He was concerned, either alone, or in company with others of his ilk, in some of the most important "breaks" that the police have any record of. Whenever a big burglary was committed, the police invariably tried to connect Red Joe with it, providing that gentleman didn't happen to be "otherwise engaged" at the time. This was the case in the burglary of which I have to tell. The facts are as follows:

The home of Mr. Reed, the rich banker, had been broken into and a quantity of silver plate, valued at ,000, stolen. It had occurred during the absence of the family. The affair was reported to the police, and a large reward offered for the detection and conviction of the guilty parties. The police at once set about unearthing and following up clues. But all their labor was in vain. The burglar had carefully covered up his tracks, and left no clue as to his identity. Nobody had seen him enter or leave the house. There was no one in the house at the time of the robbery. The family had gone off for the night, and the butler who had been left in charge took advantage of their absence to visit some of his friends. During his absence--which he averred did not extend over two hours--the burglar had come, seen and conquered. He entered a poor man and went away comparatively rich. At first the butler was suspected and arrested, but he established a satisfactory alibi and was soon released from custody.

The police did all in their power to bring the guilty ones to justice, but failed. The affair was then placed in my hands. The solution of the mystery seemed hopeless. The thief had left no clue as to his identity, and none of the booty had been disposed of at any of the pawn shops in the city or surrounding cities. I did not despair, however. I went to the scene of the robbery and made a most thorough examination of the premises. I found nothing. I was about to give up when I came upon something that promised to be a clue. I inquired from the master of the house whether there had been any repairs made in the house recently. There had. The whole interior of the house had been repainted and repapered just previous to the robbery. In fact the finishing touches had been given the very day the burglary had been committed. Good. Then getting the address of the painter and other workmen, I went to them and made certain inquiries which were answered to my satisfaction. Then I reported at headquarters. Two days later, Red Joe was arrested and charged with the robbery. His premises were searched and most of the stolen plate recovered. The clue I had discovered was this. On the door frame near the safe, was the imprint of fingers in the then fresh varnish. The imprint of only the thumb and three fingers appeared. One finger was missing--the one next to the little finger. This was a peculiarity of Red Joe's right hand. This discovery might mean a good deal for me, possibly nothing. You know the result. Red Joe was watched, and his suspicious actions furnished sufficient grounds for the issuing of a warrant for his arrest. He is now "doing time."

A Grave Robbery.

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