On His Track

Over twenty years ago (said Mr. Whitmire, a detective, with whom I recently had an interview), I was on the police force of New York. One summer night, a few minutes past twelve, I was passing my beat in a quiet part of C— Street, when a man called from a second-story window:

“I say, sir, are you a policeman?”

“Yes,” I replied. “What’s the matter?”

“I heard a heavy jar in Mr. Bradley’s house, next door, and he may have fallen and hurt himself. He just came in a few minutes ago. If I were you I’d ring the bell.”

Mr. Bradley was a wealthy old bachelor, who had lived entirely alone for years, in an old-fashioned brick house. His riches were a subject of frequent gossip; and it was said that in his house, to which no outsider was ever admitted, he kept a lot of money and silverware. I rang the bell, but there was no response.

“Are you sure you saw him go in?” I asked.

“Yes; sure of it. He hadn’t been in half a minute before I heard a heavy fall. I have heard no sound since.”

“There must be something wrong,” I said, after ringing the bell a second time, and receiving no response. I tried the door, but it was… Read More