The Detective’s Story
In one of our Western cities a forgery to a large amount had been effected, and the perpetrator had escaped with the spoils. The place of his concealment was not entirely known, but he was supposed to be secreted in New York City. In the city where the crime had been committed, I held a situation as lieutenant of police, and in obedience to orders I proceeded to New York in search of the forger. It was my first evening in town, and as I was sitting within the friendly walls of the St. Nicholas, wrapped in a cloud of tobacco smoke and a fine specimen of the latest style of false whiskers and moustache, I saw enter a very dear friend, from whom, two years before, I had parted in California. As he passed, he glanced at me, but did not recognize me. I was glad of it, for it assured me that my false whiskers would be a valuable aid to me as a disguise in the search which on the next day I intended to commence. My friend lighted a cigar, and seated himself some distance from me. As I couldn’t allow the opportunity of speaking to him to pass by, I went toward him and said:
“Good evening, Mr. Markham.”
“Good evening, sir,” he replied, at the same time looking at me as if… Read More