“Clarke?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Another entrance through a second-story window. A detective wanted
right off. Better hurry up there, —— East Seventy-third Street.”
“All right, sir.”
Clarke turned to go; but the next moment I heard the Superintendent
call him back.
“It is Mr. Winchester’s, you know; the banker.”
Clarke nodded and started again; but a suppressed exclamation from the
Superintendent made him stop for the second time.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said the latter, folding up the slip of paper
he held in his hand. “You can see what Halley has for you to do; I’ll
attend to this.” And giving me a look that was a summons, he whispered
in my ear: “This notification was written by Mr. Winchester himself,
and at the bottom I see hurriedly added, ‘Keep it quiet; send your
discreetest man.’ That means something more than a common burglary.”
I nodded, and the affair was put in my hands. As I was going out of the
door, a fellow detective came hurriedly in.
“Nabbed them,” cried he.
“Who?” asked more than one voice.
“The fellows who have been climbing into second-story windows, and
helping themselves while the family is at dinner.”