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The Detective’s Oath


I chanced to be in the New York Court of General Session, a good many years ago, when two professional thieves were being tried for burglary.

There was but little doubt of their guilt; but they had secured excellent legal services, the actual evidence against them was very slender, and there was every promise of their being acquitted, when the prosecuting attorney suddenly called, as a witness for the state, the name of Patrick Harnden, the mere mention of which caused an abrupt and striking overshadowing of the criminals’ prospect.

They both lost countenance – their counsel looked black; and as the bearer of the name, a powerful, well knit young man, with a pale face, and iron jaw, and a stern relentless eye – stepped upon the stand, and in hard tones and in simple language, gave the evidence that secured their conviction beyond a doubt, they turned white with terror, and trembling as though confronted with a ghostly Nemesis of all their crimes, and harkening to the accusing words of Fate itself:

“These are professional thieves; they are guilty of this particular charge for which they are now of trial, as my evidence will prove, and they are the last of the ‘Silver Gang, the members of which I have haunted, tracked, shadowed, and hounded down, one by one, for years.”

Such was the opening sentence of witness Harnden’s testimony, which, in addition to securing that particular conviction, displayed throughout a certain sleuth hound tendency and a deadliness of purpose on the part of the speaker that was quite remarkable.

After the prisoners had been sentenced to heavy penalties McArdle, the veteran detective, who sat at the reporters’ table, whispering in my ear:

“I knew it was all up with those fellows as soon as Harnden took the stand. Did you notice the crushing effect of his mere presence upon them? He is the bete noir, the incubus, the… Read More