The Detective

About two years ago Mr. Azariah Boody of Newark, N.J., an enormously rich retired plumber, on returning from Rome where he had been to select a really good cash article of title for himself, was astonished to find the front door of his splendid residence standing open, although he had closed it securely upon his departure. Proceeding further, he at once perceived by the empty wine bottles and costly viands scattered over the magnificent satin furniture, that the house had been burglarized in his absence. (It seems strange that burglars should always scatter costly viands about when they rob a place, but according to the papers, they will do it.) A ponderous hair trunk, in which he kept his valuables, had been opened, and a set of shirt studs and a million dollar package of four percents removed. It was impossible to tell when the robbery had occurred, but the excited millionaire at once started for the office of the “Prefect of Police,” as they say in all the French plays.

On the steps of the office he encountered a keen-looking man, with the eagle nose and hawk eye peculiar to detectives, who inquired if he wished to see the chief.

“Immediately!” said the millionaire.

“He is in New York,” replied the man on the steps; “but if it is anything of importance I will attend to it in his place.”

“I have been robbed,” said the victim.

“I knew it,” replied the police attaché, with the true promptness of the profession. “Let us at once to the spot.”

The plumber led the way to the house.

“I trust nothing has been moved since the crime was discovered,” said the detective, as they entered the house.

“Absolutely nothing,” said the old gentleman, who had read Gaboriau’s “M. Lecocq” four times.

“Because,” said the detective, “much depends upon careful study of the surroundings,” and he again began his investigations by measuring a square… Read More