Select Story

The Girl Detective


The door of Rufus Markham’s counting-room was securely closed, and the proprietor of the large, flourishing cotton factory talked [earnestly] with a gentlemanly looking man of middle age, whose face was as impassive as a wax mask. 

“Five thousand dollars!” said the individual. “It was a large sum to leave exposed.” 

“Exposed!” said Mr. Markham. “It was in my private desk, to which no one has access but myself and my nephew, Fred Tyron.” 

“Would it be possible the young gentleman—” 

“Sir,” said Mr. Markham, indignantly, “my nephew is not a thief. If he needed ten times that sum he knows I would freely give it to him. He will be my heir, and is as dear to me as a son. It is simply absurd to connect him in any way with the robbery.” 

Read More