Fortunately, Mr. Perkins's family physician had at this time gone to the funeral of his mother, whose home had been somewhere in Pennsylvania, and Mr. Perkins would not call either of the two other "doctors" of the place, styling them "blasted quacks." So that I could very properly say that.
I listened quite late that night to the villagers' talk about the robberies. Every new man who came into the bar-room had something to tell, and everybody had a theory; but they all declared that the burglars were old heads at the business—hard to catch, "as that New York detective told the committee," they said. Things were working well, and I finally retired to rest, and slept very soundly, to my surprise; for strange beds generally vex me, and keep me awake.
The next morning I called on Mr. Perkins early, and found him quite comfortable; asked him to order that neighbors who might be coming in to inquire for the state of his health, should not be allowed to enter his room; and though surprised at first at my request, he granted it, and I felt secure of a good, uninterrupted talk with him. I sounded him, to my satisfaction, in that he was a man who could keep a secret profoundly, and then made known my business to him. He was glad I had come, he said, and he would give me all the information in his power.
I inquired of everybody and everything in the place which could have any bearing on the matter in hand; learned the size, tones of voice, style of language, as far as he could remember, of his assailants, the highway robbers; gathered from him all I could of what had been overheard from the robbers' lips on various occasions; and I learned one especially important matter of him, which was, that one of the robbers was dressed in "a loose sack, like," and that in his contest with him, he thought that he felt that one of his hands, off from which a glove became slipped in the fight, was callous on the back. This he had not laid up in memory, but my questions called it to mind. At this point I developed my theory that the robberies were committed by residents of the village; and told him that they were not what professional robbers would call "good work," skilfully done; and then I asked him,—
"Now, Mr. Perkins, do you know any man in or about this place who has a scarred, hard hand, such as you describe?"
"Yes; but I would not dare mention his name in this connection, for he is an innocent, elegant young gentleman, very mild in his manners; came here a few months ago with the best recommendations from a clerical friend, an old schoolmate of mine, in Massachusetts, and bore a letter to me from him. O, I won't allow myself to name him; it would be too bad," said he.
"But," said I, "the greatest scoundrels steal the livery of heaven to serve the devil in, you know; and I am here to work, and you want the full truth to come out, hit where it may—don't you?"
"Yes; but it can't be this young man: and yet the villain was about his size."
"And wore a 'sack, like,' you say. Do you know if this young man has any such garment?"
"O, no, it was quite like a hostler's work coat. He hasn't anything of the sort."