A Detective’s Story

Everybody loves romance, especially if there is truth at the bottom of it. So I take it for granted that my readers would like the story of a tragic affair that was either a suicide or a murder—nobody knows exactly which—but which was town talk long, long ago, when neither murder nor suicide was so common as it is today.

The story is as follows: A young man named Fairbanks lived up in Massachusetts, near Dedham. He was respectably connected, and had some relatives in New York who thought the world of him. He was engaged to be married to a nice young woman called Fales, and he visited New York to make some purchases for the wedding.

Miss Fales was very fond of Jason Fairbanks and he was very fond of her. They were always together. Fairbanks had a rival, a fellow in the village who worshiped this Fales girl, and kept on worshiping her. But Fairbanks, havin’ a sure thing of it, could afford to pity rather than hate of fear his defeated rival, and he kept on sparkin’ pretty Miss Fales day and night.

One mornin’ Fairbanks and his old aunt, with whom he lived, had a long talk together, and from that mornin’ the young man was never his former self again. He had been light-hearted; he now became as gloomy as a thunder cloud. He neglected his work and, worst of all he neglected his sweetheart.

Now, a man may neglect his business some time before it gets him into trouble, but if he neglects his sweetheart he will hear of it in less than twenty-four hours. So Miss Fales brought him to task and reproached him, and then he took her out for a walk into a secluded corner of the farm her father owned. They were seen walking arm and arm to this corner, and among others who saw ’em was Fairbanks’ rival, who was, as usual, prowlin’ round the farm.

Some hours passed and it was now dinner time—soon—and Miss Fales hadn’t been seen since about nine o’clock that… Read More