The Detective

A Story Of New Orleans

by Binnacle

On a dismal, gloomy evening in the fall of 18—, some half dozen of us sat in the back parlor of the café Bordeaux, quaffing our coffee, speculating on our future prospects, and now and then spinning a yarn.

None of us, however, had roughed it enough in the world to make our lives an interesting episode, save and except one, and he being of a rather meditative mood, seemed better pleased in listening, half-dreamily, to our attempts at a story, than favoring us with one himself.

Being of an obliging disposition, however, we at last succeeded in getting him fairly under way; and as his story may serve to while away an hour with others, as it did with us, I will give it in his own words as nearly as I can:

The Detective’s Story

It is but recently, as you are aware, that I resigned my position in the detective force, which I have held for the last twenty years—and I believe I may say, without egotism, that I served with some credit to myself and to the satisfaction of my employers, which fact is amply attested by the great number of important cases which were entrusted to my care, and the almost marvelous success attending my efforts.

This was not due to any extraordinary alertness on my part, but rather to some innate power which I possessed of fastening my suspicion on the proper parties, or putting together and drawing solutions form the simplest facts which, to the majority, would seem to have no bearing on the case whatever.

Some fifteen years ago, crime of every description seemed to be at a flood, and the unsuspecting were lured in to some den, where they were robbed and assassinated; and in some instances were even butchered in the streets in the broad light of day.

There seemed to be some regular, systematic organization by means of… Read More