“You will never see Jolnes,” I continued, “until this murder has been
forgotten, two or three weeks from now. I had a better opinion of your
shrewdness, Knight. During the three hours and a half that you waited
he has got out of your ken. He is after you on true induction theories
now, and no wrongdoer has yet been known to come upon him while thus
engaged. I advise you to give it up.”
“Doctor,” said Knight, with a sudden glint in his keen gray eye and a
squaring of his chin, “in spite of the record your city holds of
something like a dozen homicides without a subsequent meeting of the
perpetrator, and the sleuth in charge of the case, I will undertake to
break that record. To-morrow I will take you to Shamrock Jolnes—I will
unmask him before you and prove to you that it is not an impossibility
for an officer of the law and a manslayer to stand face to face in your
city.”
“Do it,” said I, “and you’ll have the sincere thanks of the Police
Department.”
On the next day Knight called for me in a cab.
“I’ve been on one or two false scents, doctor,” he admitted. “I know
something of detectives’ methods, and I followed out a few of them,
expecting to find Jolnes at the other end. The pistol being a
.45-caliber, I thought surely I would find him at work on the clue in
Forty-fifth Street. Then, again, I looked for the detective at the
Columbia University, as the man’s being shot in the back naturally
suggested hazing. But I could not find a trace of him.”
“—Nor will you,” I said, emphatically.
“Not by ordinary methods,” said Knight. “I might walk up and down
Broadway for a month without success. But you have aroused my pride,
doctor; and if I fail to show you Shamrock Jolnes this day, I promise
you I will never kill or rob in your city again.”
“Nonsense, man,” I replied. “When our burglars walk into our houses and
politely demand, thousands of dollars’ worth of jewels, and then dine
and bang the piano an hour or two before leaving, how do you, a mere
murderer, expect to come in contact with the detective that is looking
for you?”
Avery Knight, sat lost in thought for a while. At length he looked up
brightly.
“Doc,” said he, “I have it. Put on your hat, and come with me. In half
an hour I guarantee that you shall stand in the presence of Shamrock
Jolnes.”
I entered a cab with Avery Knight. I did not hear his instructions to
the driver, but the vehicle set out at a smart pace up Broadway,
turning presently into Fifth Avenue, and proceeding northward again. It
was with a rapidly beating heart that I accompanied this wonderful and
gifted assassin, whose analytical genius and superb self-confidence had
prompted him to make me the tremendous promise of bringing me into the
presence of a murderer and the New York detective in pursuit of him
simultaneously. Even yet I could not believe it possible.
“Are you sure that you are not being led into some trap?” I asked.
“Suppose that your clue, whatever it is, should bring us only into the
presence of the Commissioner of Police and a couple of dozen cops!”
“My dear doctor,” said Knight, a little stiffly. “I would remind you
that I am no gambler.”
“I beg your pardon,” said I. “But I do not think you will find Jolnes.”
The cab stopped before one of the handsomest residences on the avenue.
Walking up and down in front of the house was a man with long red
whiskers, with a detective’s badge showing on the lapel of his coat.
Now and then the man would remove his whiskers to wipe his face, and
then I would recognize at once the well-known features of the great New
York detective. Jolnes was keeping a sharp watch upon the doors and
windows of the house.
“Well, doctor,” said Knight, unable to repress a note of triumph in his
voice, “have you seen?”
“It is wonderful—wonderful!” I could not help exclaiming as our cab
started on its return trip. “But how did you do it? By what process of
induction—”
“My dear doctor,” interrupted the great murderer, “the inductive theory
is what the detectives use. My process is more modern. I call it the
saltatorial theory. Without bothering with the tedious mental phenomena
necessary to the solution of a mystery from slight clues, I jump at
once to a conclusion. I will explain to you the method I employed in
this case.
“In the first place, I argued that as the crime was committed in New
York City in broad daylight, in a public place and under peculiarly
atrocious circumstances, and that as the most skilful sleuth available
was let loose upon the case, the perpetrator would never be discovered.
Do you not think my postulation justified by precedent?”
“Perhaps so,” I replied, doggedly. “But if Big Bill Dev—”
“Stop that,” interrupted Knight, with a smile, “I’ve heard that several
times. It’s too late now. I will proceed.
“If homicides in New York went undiscovered, I reasoned, although the
best detective talent was employed to ferret them out, it must be true
that the detectives went about their work in the wrong way. And not
only in the wrong way, but exactly opposite from the right way. That
was my clue.
“I slew the man in Central Park. Now, let me describe myself to you.
“I am tall, with a black beard, and I hate publicity. I have no money
to speak of; I do not like oatmeal, and it is the one ambition of my
life to die rich. I am of a cold and heartless disposition. I do not
care for my fellowmen and I never give a cent to beggars or charity.
“Now, my dear doctor, that is the true description of myself, the man
whom that shrewd detective was to hunt down. You who are familiar with
the history of crime in New York of late should be able to foretell the
result. When I promised you to exhibit to your incredulous gaze the
sleuth who was set upon me, you laughed at me because you said that
detectives and murderers never met in New York. I have demonstrated to
you that the theory is possible.”
“But how did you do it?” I asked again.
“It was very simple,” replied the distinguished murderer. “I assumed
that the detective would go exactly opposite to the clues he had. I
have given you a description of myself. Therefore, he must necessarily
set to work and trail a short man with a white beard who likes to be in
the papers, who is very wealthy, is fond ‘of oatmeal, wants to die
poor, and is of an extremely generous and philanthropic disposition.
When thus far is reached the mind hesitates no longer. I conveyed you
at once to the spot where Shamrock Jolnes was piping off Andrew
Carnegie’s residence.”
“Knight,” said I, “you’re a wonder. If there was no danger of your
reforming, what a rounds man you’d make for the Nineteenth Precinct!”