Missed Him

A Detective’s Story

Well, well! perhaps it was my fault – perhaps it was not. He was a clever fellow —ah! that he was. They asked me to catch him; I said I’d try. I wouldn’t promise—no, I’d only say I’d try.

I tried. His offence was nothing —merely what is commonly called a “Railway Plant.” It succeeded though, and my gentleman was “wanted.”

I made a grand hit when I nabbed his companion. He told me his haunts and his habits, but he wouldn’t aid me in catching him. I determined to do it myself. I was a green hand then. No matter, I had the will. I found the way. He was to be at a tea-party Thursday night. I was invited. Shall I take two policemen in disguise and arrest him? No; all his friends would rescue him. I will go alone. I went. I left my little house—a four-roomed dwelling—at six. I locked the front door, and went off to Mrs. Jones’ tea-party.

It was the month of December. We had great fun at the tea-party. There was a gentleman there that I believed to be my man, despite the fact that, when I was introduced to him, I was informed he had just come from the continent. We fell into conversation. He began to pump me. This was what I wanted. I was determined to play simple, and tell him all he asked.

He stared hard at me. Perhaps he knew me—perhaps he did not. He was a peculiar man, with short black hair, a clean-shaved face dressed in a suit of very light gray. He looked smart. I might safely have shouted “All hands to pump ship!” for he pumped in a most barefaced manner.

He asked me where I lived. I told him. I saw no use in deceiving him; besides, I had a little plan in view—I might invite him to my house, and pin him.

Had I any company? None. Any one else in the house? No. I was a bachelor; I preferred to live alone. And then, in the most quiet and insinuating way he asked me did I shoot? He did… Read More