Would you believe it? In less than six months I met Opdyke walking down Broadway with all the assurance you please.
“Hello!” I exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm unceremoniously, “how did you get out?”
“Go to thunder and find out!” he retorted, pulling away.
I wasn’t to be put off that way, so I grabbed him again and let him understand that I meant business. I ran him around to headquarters in short order.
Well, what do you think it amounted to for me?
Confidentially, let me tell you, that it came pretty near depriving me of my own position on the police force.
Next day I met Mr. Opdyke sailing down Wall street.
I didn’t arrest him that time. He is now a noted stock operator and is believed to be a millionaire, but I know him to be a rascal from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.
That’s the way the efforts of the detective are often brought to nought. It is an outrage and a shame that it should be so, but so it is.
“Didn’t I send you to the island for six months last week?” asked my friend Judge Curtain of a seedy looking specimen who was brought before him for petty larceny the other day.