After Those Seven-Thirties

A Simple Job

Well, Sir, there is a certain amount of interest attaching to the commonest jobs in our line, as you say. But the detective system in this country ain’t what it is in Old England: it’s younger, you know. There is some smart fellows among us, though; not that I’m one of ‘em. I’m modest, I am. But I’ll tell you how I done up that Osdell job, if you care to hear it. I dare say it’ll sound simple enough to you, Sir. It does to me.

Osdell’s banking house in the village of L—, in this State, was cracked some three months ago, and one thousand four hundred and twenty dollars in Seven-Thirties was carried off. Mr. Osdell sent to us for a detective, and I went down to L—. It was a simple enough state of things. A young fellow by the name of Lawrence Haight had left town immediately after the robbery, and inquiries at his boarding house showed that he left without giving any notice of his intention. He had been idling around the village for some weeks, and the woman he boarded with said he had been pretty hard up for funds, but had told her he expected some money from his uncle; and the day after the robbery he had paid her up and left town. I called at the post office and found that no letter had come for Haight; those country postmasters know every letter that passes through their hands, you see; and at the express office the same tidings were rendered. Haight was no doubt the robber. I set out to find him.

The ticket agent and the baggage man at the little railroad dépôt were positive Haight had not left town that way. Nothing had been seen of him at the dépôt.

I went back to the village—half a mile or so off from the railroad it was; railroads don’t turn out much for little places like that—and found that my man had probably thought to hide his trail a little by walking to the next station—about six miles away. I took a horse and rode over… Read More