Book of Detective Stories

by Unknown

One of those who seemed most eager to believe that Mr. Long had committed suicide was Thomas Brant, a scapegrace nephew of the old man.

“If he committed suicide,” said I, “where is the implement with which he did the deed?”

“Perhaps he used his razor and then threw it out of the window,” suggested Thomas.

“Impossible. The jugular vein was cut and death must have been almost instantaneous.”

Nevertheless, I examined the grass under the window (which opened over the orchard) and found the old man’s razor. There was, however, no blood upon it.

The most peculiar thing in the room was the lock on the door and the key belonging to it. It was a large lock, much larger than those made at the present time, and the key was a large, heavy, brass one weighing several pounds. I was informed that this lock had done duty in the door of the store in which Mr. Long started in business, and when the building was demolished, Mr. Long preserved the lock and key (which, by the way, he had designed himself). Furthermore, as soon as he entered his room it was his custom to lock his door, remove the key from the lock and hang it upon a nail on the wall. Here it had been found on the day of the murder. There was believed to be but one such key in existence. I believed otherwise, and made a tour of all the lock-smith’s shops in the city in order to verify my suspicions. At last my search was rewarded. I found one who admitted, although at first unwilling to do so, that he had made a key similar to the one I carried. He had made it for a young man who answered to the description of Thomas Brant. This much gained, the next step was to connect Brant with the murder of his uncle. This was soon done. Brant was sent to prison for life, as it was not proved that he had entered his uncle’s room for the purpose of murder, but simply of robbery.

The Missing Finger.

Red Joe was an industrious young man. He worked early and late at his profession. While others slept he toiled upward in the night; in fact, night was his favorite time for toiling. He didn’t exactly make hay while the sun shone because he didn’t do any work while the sun was shining on his side of the earth. He was willing to put his hand to almost anything that did not belong to him, and which he could dispose of without fear of detection. Red Joe was a burglar, and a most successful one. That is to say, he succeeded so well at the burglary business that he spent the greater part of his time behind prison walls. He was concerned, either alone, or in company with others of his ilk, in some of the most important “breaks” that the police have any record of. Whenever a big burglary was committed, the police invariably tried to connect Red Joe with it, providing that gentleman didn’t happen to be “otherwise engaged” at the time. This was the case in the burglary of which I have to tell. The facts are as follows:

The home of Mr. Reed, the rich banker, had been broken into and a quantity of silver plate, valued at $5,000, stolen. It had occurred during the absence of the family. The affair was reported to the police, and a large reward offered for the detection and conviction of the guilty parties. The police at once set about unearthing and following up clues. But all their labor was in vain. The burglar had carefully covered up his tracks, and left no clue as to his identity. Nobody had seen him enter or leave the house. There was no one in the house at the time of the robbery. The family had gone off for the night, and the butler who had been left in charge took advantage of their absence to visit some of his friends. During his absence—which he averred did not extend over two hours—the burglar had come, seen and conquered. He entered a poor man and went away comparatively rich. At first the butler was suspected and arrested, but he established a satisfactory alibi and was soon released from custody.

The police did all in their power to bring the guilty ones to justice, but failed. The affair was then placed in my hands. The solution of the mystery seemed hopeless. The thief had left no clue as to his identity, and none of the booty had been disposed of at any of the pawn shops in the city or surrounding cities. I did not despair, however. I went to the scene of the robbery and made a most thorough examination of the premises. I found nothing. I was about to give up when I came upon something that promised to be a clue. I inquired from the master of the house whether there had been any repairs made in the house recently. There had. The whole interior of the house had been repainted and repapered just previous to the robbery. In fact the finishing touches had been given the very day the burglary had been committed. Good. Then getting the address of the painter and other workmen, I went to them and made certain inquiries which were answered to my satisfaction. Then I reported at headquarters. Two days later, Red Joe was arrested and charged with the robbery. His premises were searched and most of the stolen plate recovered. The clue I had discovered was this. On the door frame near the safe, was the imprint of fingers in the then fresh varnish. The imprint of only the thumb and three fingers appeared. One finger was missing—the one next to the little finger. This was a peculiarity of Red Joe’s right hand. This discovery might mean a good deal for me, possibly nothing. You know the result. Red Joe was watched, and his suspicious actions furnished sufficient grounds for the issuing of a warrant for his arrest. He is now “doing time.”