‘Miss Cleabyrn!’ I gasped at last; ‘you do not think—do not suppose for a moment that I want—would take from you anything to buy my aid! I am only too willing to give it. I shall be proud’——
‘They are yours!’ she interrupted. ‘Watch for the captain to-morrow night.—Do not follow me.—No; keep them! All we can do will be but trifling to show our undying gratitude, if you aid us now.’ She opened the door as she said this, and in a moment was lost in the darkness of the night, leaving me standing with the watch and chain in my hand.
MY DETECTIVE EXPERIENCES.
Novel-readers are well acquainted with the modern detective. He is almost as important a personage as the rich nabob, who was so lavishly utilised by our progenitors in cutting the Gordian knot of difficulties in their contemporary works of fiction. If ‘the good man struggling with the storms of Fate’ required instant rescue from his troubles, a rich uncle from India appeared upon the scene. So in our day the villain is run to earth by a supernaturally gifted detective. But making allowances for the fact that a great part of our fiction is the work of women, who cannot (presumably) have come in contact with the detective class, the sketches of these useful individuals by feminine pens are tolerably close to nature, although they are copies of pre-existing portraits; or evolved from their inner consciousness, in the same way as the most vivid description of Switzerland is said to be the work of Schiller, who had never seen the country.
My first professional experience of a detective was as follows. On a certain evening, I found, to my dismay, that the entrance-hall of my house had been practically cleared of its contents—a hat, two umbrellas, and a valuable sealskin cloak having disappeared. I gave information at the nearest police station, and was informed that a police-officer would wait upon me. On the following day, the servant announced that a man wanted to speak to me at the street-door. I found an herculean individual in the garb of a navvy, with large sandy whiskers and red hair, who informed me that he was a detective. I ushered him into the dining-room, where he seated himself, and listened very patiently to my story. He inquired as to the character of the girl who answered the door. ‘Tolerable,’ I replied. ‘But she is under notice to leave.’
He expressed his conviction that the servant was in collusion with the thief or thieves. At this moment I was again summoned to the door, where I beheld a somewhat diminutive individual, attired as a clergyman. He was an elderly man, with silver hair, a clear pink-and-white complexion, and wore a suit of superfine broadcloth, with a white cravat. His ‘get-up’ to the smallest detail was faultless, even to the gold-rimmed double eyeglass. ‘You have a detective here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am a sergeant of the E division; can I speak to him?’
In another minute the pair were seated side by side, as great a contrast as it is possible to conceive.
Finding that my business alone was not the cause of his visit, I courteously left them to themselves. In a few minutes, the ‘clergyman’ left the house, expressing a hope that I should obtain some tidings of my lost property. The ‘navvy’ remained for about half an hour, relating some of his experiences. ‘You see, sir, we have different tools for different jobs. If there is to be any rough-and-tumble business, any work requiring strength and muscle, anything dangerous, they employ a man like me.’ The speaker stretched his powerful limbs as he spoke with some natural pride. ‘Our sergeant would be of no use at all in such work. He does the delicate work, the organising part of the affair—same as a general.’ The ‘navvy’ then went on to relate how he had lately been employed to detect the supposed defalcations of a barmaid at a small beershop in a low quarter of the town. The customary expedient of paying for supplies with marked coin was not deemed sufficient, as an opinion existed that the girl was a member of a gang, whom it was deemed prudent to discover. ‘So, for a fortnight, I haunted that public, as you see me now, passing for a navvy who was taking a holiday and spending his savings; sometimes sitting in the taproom, and sometimes in front of the bar, smoking and chatting with all comers. The suspicions formed proved to be correct; and the girl turned out to be an agent of a gang of area-sneaks and burglars.’