Smith_Minute Mysteries [Detectograms]

‘His suicide will be a blow to the oil industry,’ Kelley mused, as

Fordney sat down at the desk and began to write with Smith’s fountain

pen.

‘His _death_ will be, Inspector,’ said Fordney. ‘Better get the servants

together. This is murder—not suicide!’

What reason did Fordney have for making such a statement?

_Who?_

‘I was trying to stop the flow with this, Professor,’ said Weeds, the

butler, indicating a blood-covered towel he had just removed from the

bed, ‘when Jones struck at me and I dropped it.’

‘And I’m sorry I missed!’ angrily exclaimed Jones, the colored

chauffeur.

‘Never mind that,’ said Inspector Kelley.

‘Did you find her, Weeds?’ asked Professor Fordney.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘She’s a good-looking mulatto,’ remarked Kelley, looking at the maid

lying on the floor at the side of the bed. Her right hand outstretched,

the wrist deeply cut, rested in a pool of blood on the polished floor.

‘Must have slipped off the bed.’

‘I don’t think so. The spread hasn’t a wrinkle in it,’ said Fordney,

noting the immaculate coverlet of pink lace, the edge caught under the

girl’s body.

‘She was almost gone when I found her,’ offered Weeds, ‘and she died

before I could get a doctor.’

‘Is this yours, Jones?’ inquired Fordney, picking up a sharp knife

hidden by the girl’s dress.

‘Yes. She wanted it to cut the stems of the flowers I had brought up.’

‘I didn’t see that knife when I tried to help her,’ said Weeds.

‘Course you didn’t! You put it there!’ shouted Jones angrily.

‘How do you know? You weren’t here. And what’s more, I heard you

threaten her last night. You don’t see any flowers here, do you,

Inspector?’ quietly asked Weeds.

‘You’re right,’ said Kelley. After whispering to Fordney, he continued,

‘Come on, _you’re_ under arrest. And _you_, we’ll question you later!’

Whom did Kelley arrest—and why?

_Murder in the Swamp_

‘We’d better walk along the edge,’ said Professor Fordney, as they

started down the only path leading through the swamp.

‘I never thought of that. I was on the porch when Barton left,’ said

Bob, as he trudged along. ‘Ten minutes later, I heard a shot. I ran down

the path and found him about five hundred yards from the house, bleeding

terribly from a wound in the head. I dashed back for the first-aid kit

and bandaged him as best I could. He died shortly afterwards. Then I

returned and telephoned you.’

Reaching the body of Barton, he explained, ‘I turned him over so that I

could dress his head.’

‘He must have been shot from over there, because those three sets of

footprints are yours and the other one Barton’s,’ said Fordney, after a

careful examination. ‘Let’s look in that underbrush.’

Walking into it a few yards, he said, ‘Here’s where the murderer stood,

all right. See those powder-marks on the leaves?’

While removing the branch, Fordney cut his finger.

‘Better sterilize that, Professor.’

Back at the cottage, as he was about to pick up a mercurochrome bottle

from the kit Bob had used, he observed a spot of blood on the label.

Walking over to the basin, he saw Bob in the mirror above it, furtively

slip a pair of scissors into the kit.

Turning slowly around, he said, ‘I’ll have to hold you on suspicion of

murder.’

Why?

_Death by Drowning_

‘We were just getting into our boat,’ said the elder Carroll brother,

‘when we happened to notice Ridge out there in the middle of the river,

opposite Wolf’s old abandoned dock, acting very queerly. He jumped up

and down in the boat, and then, all of a sudden, grabbed an oar, threw

it up in the air, and jumped in.

‘We rowed to the spot, and I dived after him while my brother secured

his boat. The current’s fast there, but I’m a strong swimmer. I swam

around while my brother rowed about, but we could find no trace of him,’

he concluded.

‘We found the oar all right, in the weeds at Wolf’s dock,’ interjected

Riley, of the River Patrol.

‘How wide is the river at that point?’ asked Professor Fordney.

‘About half a mile,’ said Carroll.

‘Pretty lonely, too, isn’t it?’

‘It is that,’ replied Riley.

‘The coroner’s report says Ridge had received a blow of some kind on the

chin. Know anything about it, Carroll?’ inquired Fordney.

‘No, I don’t. Might have hit a rock or the side of the boat when he went

over.’

‘Were you up or down river, from Ridge?’

‘Up river, about three hundred yards, on the west side.’

‘Did you and your brother have on bathing-suits at the time?’

‘I did, but my brother didn’t.’

‘Are there any blood-stains in Ridge’s boat, Riley?’

‘Well, there are stains all right, and they look like blood to me.’

‘I’m not surprised. Hold them both.’

Why was the Professor suspicious of the Carroll brothers?

_Tragedy at the Convention_

The Convention was in an uproar! The Drys were making a determined stand

and showing some unexpected last-minute strength.

The Wets were shouting, clamoring, and stamping. The Chairman was vainly

trying to restore order amid a scene of wild confusion.

As the excitement reached its pitch, Hurlenson, a powerful leader of the

Wets, told a companion seated next to him that he felt a heart attack

coming on and was going back to the hotel.

An hour later, the Convention was stunned to learn he had committed

suicide in his room.

Professor Fordney, a guest at the Convention, went immediately to the

hotel.

In Hurlenson’s room he found the police, the doctor, and Pollert, an

influential delegate, who had discovered him.

‘The last time I saw Hurlenson was at the party last night, and he

seemed in excellent spirits,’ said Pollert. ‘I arose late this

morning—my room’s down at the other end of the corridor—and I was just

leaving for the Convention hall when I heard a shot. I dashed directly

here, but it was too late. He must have died immediately.’

‘He did,’ said the doctor. ‘He apparently stood in front of the mirror,

took aim, and blew out his brains. There are powder-burns all around the

wound.’

Learning that none of the maids or any of the other guests were on the

floor at the time, Fordney advised the police to hold Pollert on

suspicion of murder.

Why?

_A Murderer’s Mistake_

‘Look, Professor! That’s how the murderer got in, all right,’ said

Tracy.

As Fordney walked over to the ladder standing two feet from the back of

the house, he knelt down and carefully studied the heavy footprints

around it.

‘Whose room is that?’ he inquired, pointing to a second-story window

against which the top of the thirty-foot ladder rested.

‘That’s Uncle’s study,’ replied Tracy.

Going into the house, Fordney first questioned Withers, who had

discovered the body of Lane, Tracy’s uncle.

‘I was reading in my room,’ he said. ‘About two o’clock I heard a noise,

so I armed myself and crept out into the hall. Then I heard it again,

apparently in the study, so I stole down the corridor, opened the door,

and rushed in. I turned on the lights, ran over to the open window,

looked out, and saw a man scurry down the ladder, jump off, and run. I

fired twice, but evidently missed him,’ he concluded.

‘Were you home all evening, Mr. Tracy?’

‘No. I had just put up the car when I heard the shots and saw a figure

dash around the house.’

‘I’ll take a look at your car later, Tracy.

‘Withers, show me exactly how you found Lane before you lifted him to

the divan.’

As Withers righted an overturned chair, fitted its legs carefully to

four impressions in the rug at the right of a smoking-stand, sat down,

and slumped over to the left, Fordney said, ‘That’s enough. Which one of

you killed him?’

Why did Fordney make this startling accusation?

_Babe Comes Through_

‘Strike two!’ shouted Umpire Starlen.

‘Kill the Umpire! You big bum! Thief!’

Professor Fordney turned in his place directly behind the plate to look

at the excited man in the next box, waving an empty pop-bottle. He

smiled. Couldn’t blame a chap for getting excited. Starlen did seem to

be calling them wrong today. That last one _was_ wide!

What a ball game! Six to three in favor of Philadelphia, last half of

the ninth, three on, two out, and three and two on the mighty Babe. The

crowd was on its feet, yelling and stamping.

The excited pitcher delivered the next throw quickly. Just as Babe

connected with it for a home run a bottle hurtled through the air with

terrific force and caught Starlen on the back of the head. He went down

like a shot.

Pandemonium broke loose. Women screamed, and a panic was threatened.

‘That’s him! That’s him!’ shouted several people, as a policeman ran

down the ramp and grabbed the man who had attracted Fordney’s attention.

‘Tryin’ to get away, are you?’ bellowed the cop.

‘I didn’t do it! Let go of me!’ he cried, as the officer dragged him to

the office.

Fordney followed. ‘May I ask a few questions?’ he inquired.

‘Let’s see your score card, young man. H’m, why didn’t you record that

last hit? Everything else is here.’

‘Why, I was running at the time. I had an engagement.’

‘I see,’ said Fordney. ‘Officer, you have the wrong man. He didn’t do

it.’

How did Fordney know?

_A Soldier of Fortune_

‘You’ll find Walter Briggs interesting, Fordney. He’s been all over the

world,’ said Attorney Hamilton over the telephone. ‘He’s turned up after

two years, claiming his uncle’s fortune. Better dine with us tonight.’

‘Thanks, I’ll be glad to. See you at eight.’

As the three men sat around the dinner-table, Fordney remarked: ‘You’re

a fortunate chap, Briggs. What have you been doing in the thirty-two

years you have been away from America?’

‘Well, lots of things. Mr. Hamilton, no doubt, told you I went to the

Congo with Father when I was three. When he died, I attended school in

England. Then I traveled for a while; did a bit of tiger-shooting in

Africa, killed elephants in India, and became an ivory-trader, roaming

over the Orient four or five years. I finally drifted into Russia, where

I was a technical advisor to the Soviet.’

‘What a jolly life you’ve had, Briggs!’

‘Not altogether, Professor. I was in Manchuria, where life was anything

but jolly. And then, being in sympathy with the Chinese, I took an

active part in the Sino-Japanese War. It was in China I learned of my

uncle’s death, so I came to New York immediately.’

‘Are you remaining here?’ asked Hamilton.

‘No. Me for Paris as soon as things are settled.’

After a pleasant evening, the three men parted. Reaching home, Fordney

hesitated about telephoning Hamilton. After all, it _was_ his duty to

advise him to check Briggs’s story carefully before turning over the

inheritance. As for him, he was frankly skeptical!

Are you? Why?

_Number Twenty-Six_

‘You fellows _must_ remember that more often than otherwise the little,

seemingly inconsequential trifles, placed together, lead to the solution

of crime. Never take anything for granted; examine thoroughly what

appear to be the most unimportant details. You didn’t do so well with

your last lesson,’ said Professor Fordney, addressing his class. ‘Now

try your wits at this one.

‘“I know it sounds fishy, Inspector,”’ continued he, reading from a

paper, ‘“but I was walkin’ along Sixteenth Street mindin’ my business.

When I gets in front of number 26 I hears a dame scream ‘Help! Murder!’

so I dashed up the steps to the house, pushed open the door, and rushed

in. As I was halfway through the hall, a big guy steps out of a room and

says, ‘Ah, there, Mr. Farrell, just in time!’ I asks him what’s goin’

on, and just then three coppers came in and takes me, this guy, and a

woman, in. Neither one of them would talk to me on the way, so I don’t

know what it’s all about.”

‘“I’m going around myself,” replied the Inspector. “I’ll talk with you

when I get back.”

‘As Kelley turned the knob at number 26, the door was violently pushed

open in his face.

‘“Sorry,” said Detective Bradford. “Just going back to Headquarters.

Found plenty of dope all right. Here’s something you’ll be interested

in,” showing Kelley a man’s hat initialed “D.F.” “There are three

packets of cocaine under the sweatband.”

‘This story, of course, is fictitious,’ said Fordney, putting down the

paper, ‘but it illustrates my point. There’s just one, small,

unimportant detail that’s wrong. To repeat, you _must learn_ to detect

inconsistencies quickly, however insignificant. Quickly, now!’

Do _you_ get it?

In the next few anecdotes you will see the Professor at work and at

play, on cases both serious and amusing, involving pure deduction.

As in the preceding cases, however, every fact, with the clue necessary

to the solution, is given. There is only one right and logical answer to

each—to be deduced from the evidence presented.

Time yourself; see how long it takes _you_ to deduce the answer. And

then, after you have solved or missed them, try them on your friends.

They make a fascinating game—and there are lots of people who don’t play

bridge.

_The Pullman Car Murder_

‘Tell your story to Professor Fordney,’ said the superintendent,

introducing the conductor.

‘Well,’ said Jackson, ‘last night just after we left Albany, lower eight

let out a terrifying shriek. I was standing at one end of the car, the

maid, porter, and brakeman at the other end. We met at the berth as

Briggs was gasping his last from a knife wound in the heart. I

immediately had both doors of the car guarded as well as the doors to

the washrooms. Every berth was occupied, and by this time the passengers

were milling around in the aisle.

‘I began to look for the missing knife with which Briggs had been

killed. Every passenger, even the maid, brakeman, and porter, every inch

of the car and all baggage, were searched, but still we failed to find

it.

‘The window-sills were covered with freshly fallen snow and an

examination proved that none of them had been opened. No one had left

the car and no one had entered either washroom. I knew the knife must be

in the car—but where?

‘Washington, our old Negro porter, really discovered the murderer’s

identity by “scrutinizin’ ’em all.”

‘I know your reputation, Professor, so you will probably have little

difficulty in determining how Washington located the assassin, but I’ll

bet you can’t tell me where I found the knife.’

Jackson’s face fell as Fordney quickly replied, ‘As there was only one

possible place it could have been, you found it....’

How long did it take _you_ to discover the knife?

_Forgery_

‘Can it be possible that this has happened to me!’ thought Everett

Taber, as he stood in the National Bank of New York ready to deposit his

fortune. Having completed his arrangements late the day before with the

bank’s executives, he was the first patron of the morning. Standing

alone in the bank’s commodious quarters, he regretted he had no one with

whom to share his happiness.

Suddenly, as he was making out his deposit slip, he decided to use his

own name, Everett Mead, instead of his stepfather’s name, by which he

had been known most of his life. It would be a simple matter to arrange

this with the officials later. As he blotted the deposit slip, Everett

Mead felt a new sense of poise and self-assurance take possession of

him. He gazed fondly at the name which proclaimed him a wealthy man. By

changing it he could completely sever former associations and start life

anew. What a wonderful day it was!

The cashier, impressed with the amount of the deposit, was very obliging

and wondered, as he thought of his own meager salary, how it would feel

to have so much money.

‘I see you are left-handed, Mr. Mead,’ he said, in an effort to appear

interested in such an important personage.

‘Yes,’ smilingly.

He left the bank without further conversation. Less than an hour later

his name had been forged to a check for five thousand dollars, despite

the fact that no one knew he had changed his name and no one had seen

him make out his deposit slip.

Professor Fordney, acquainted with the facts, knew immediately how the

forgery had been accomplished. Do you?

_The Christmas Eve Tragedy_

‘Professor Fordney,’ said Sheriff Brown, of Lake Dalton, ‘I came to New

York to ask your help in clearing up the murder of Horace Perkins at

Luckley Lodge.’

‘Sit down and tell me about it,’ invited Fordney.

‘The family chauffeur, returning from the station at ten o’clock on

Christmas Eve, found Perkins lying in a field, five yards off the Lodge

drive, with his skull bashed in.’

‘He telephoned me immediately and I instructed him to see that nothing

was disturbed. Arriving fifteen minutes later, I personally examined the

ground so no clues would be destroyed.

‘The _only_ footprints to be found were six of Perkins’s leading from

the drive to the spot where he lay. Around the body were a number of

deep impressions about two inches square. It had been snowing all day

until half an hour before the discovery of Perkins.

‘Leading away from the body and ending at the main road, two hundred

yards distant, were four lines of these same impressions, about three

and a half feet apart in length and about fourteen inches in width. In

some places, however, they were badly run together.

‘A stranger in our parts is quickly noted and investigation failed to

reveal a recent one. There were absolutely no other clues and I could

find no motive for the crime. It has me stumped, Professor,’ concluded

Brown.

‘Give me a little time,’ said Fordney. ‘Perhaps I can help. I’ll call

you at your hotel.’

An hour later, he said over the telephone, ‘Sheriff, look for a man

who.... Such a person only could possibly have committed the murder.’

What did Fordney say to Brown?

_A Knight of the Bath_

‘You’ve heard me speak of my eccentric friend, Joe Leimert, haven’t you,

Professor?’ inquired Jud. ‘Great character! His costly new Los Angeles

penthouse is the despair of architects, but it reflects Joe, who cares

little for the opinions of others. Particularly in the matter of baths

is his independence reflected. While he has six of them, he is fondest

of the one leading off his own room.

‘It is a large all-tile bath twenty-four feet long, fifteen wide, and

seven high, without a single window. He went in to bathe a few days ago,

locked the door on the inside, as was his habit, and turned the cold

water full on. When he went to turn it off, he found to his dismay that

the mechanism controlling the drain and the taps was out of order. He

couldn’t let the water out and he couldn’t turn the tap off. Neither

could he unlock the door, and it was impossible to make himself heard.

What a predicament! There he was in a locked bath with no window,

couldn’t open or break down the door, couldn’t let the water out, or

turn it off, and he had no way of attracting attention.

‘Such a situation might have disturbed most people, but not Joe. He

leisurely proceeded with his bath and, when finished, nonchalantly

departed.’

‘My dear Jud,’ smiled the Professor, ‘your friend was indeed eccentric.

Of course, there was only one way out for him.’

This one’s easy, don’t you think?

_Murder in the First Degree_

‘Well, Inspector, we have your man,’ said Fordney as he walked into the

office. ‘He gave us a merry chase, though.

‘What a cool one this murderer is! He calmly ate his dinner while

planning the crime. He didn’t give the cashier a chance—just brutally

shot him down in cold blood—and all for thirty dollars. I tell you,

Inspector, a man doesn’t need much incentive to commit murder these

days. After shooting the cashier, he made a fast get-away in a waiting

car.

‘Fortunately, there was a policeman having dinner in the restaurant at

the time, and he gave orders that nothing was to be disturbed at the

table where the suspected murderer had eaten.

‘There are several witnesses who will identify him, including the

waitress who served him, but no jury will convict on that alone.

‘While I found none of the suspect’s fingerprints, personal effects, or

physical traces at or on the table, I did find there a sure means of

conviction. I am positive he calmly premeditated this outrage while

eating his dinner.’

‘I hope you’re right, Professor,’ said Inspector Kelley, ‘but both he

and his attorney seem confident. They claim the gun was discharged

accidentally.’

‘They’ll never get away with that. The Prosecuting Attorney will be able

to prove that this man deliberately planned the crime while eating his

dinner. It’s murder in the first degree!’

How did the Professor know the crime was premeditated?

_A Rendezvous with Death_

‘One runs into unique conspiracies in my work,’ said Professor Fordney

over his after-dinner coffee. ‘Here is the clue to that Stone case you

are all interested in,’ he continued, passing the following newspaper

WANTED. Competent private secretary. Unusual salary and opportunity

for young man speaking Spanish. Culture and refinement necessary

qualifications. Address KR 164.

‘I don’t see how that gave you a lead. Looks innocent enough to me,’

remarked one of the guests.

‘Well,’ said the Professor, ‘that ad furnished the strongest link in my

chain of evidence. I had information that Jack Carroll was infatuated

with Stone’s wife. At the suggestion of his wife, Stone answered this ad

and received a reply requesting him to call for a personal interview.

That interview was with death!

‘Mrs. Stone, when questioned, said she and her husband had not been on

particularly friendly terms recently and that the last she saw of him

was when he left for White Plains to see about the position.

‘I called at the newspaper office and was informed that the ad had been

inserted by Jonathan Gills, Pomeroy Hotel. They remembered it because

Mr. Gills had telephoned asking if there were any replies to his ad.

Despite the affirmative answer, they had never been called for. I found

Jonathan Gills was unknown at the Pomeroy Hotel.

‘I learned from Mrs. Stone that her husband had answered the ad in

long-hand and that he was left-handed and a very poor penman.

‘Pondering the matter, though puzzled at first, I finally hit upon the

manner in which Stone had been led to his death,’ concluded Fordney.

How do _you_ think it was done?

_A Rum Regatta_

‘Here’s a story that should amuse you, Jean,’ said Professor Fordney to

his efficient and charming secretary.

He laughed heartily as he handed her a letter from his old friend,

George Collins, government investigator in Florida.

Jean read the following:

An old sailor sitting on the sands of Nassau mending his fishing net

was approached by three rum-runners shortly after the break of dawn.

They came seeking his advice in connection with a wager they had made

among themselves the night before.

The three of them, having sampled too freely of the liquor they were

to take the next day to Miami, had put up three thousand dollars as a

prize for the owner of the last boat to reach Miami. The fact that

their boss was in a hurry for the liquor had been completely

forgotten.

Sobered, they realized the ridiculousness of the wager but while

anxious to reach Miami as quickly as possible, they all agreed it was

not to be changed.

The old sailor continued weaving the cords into his net with slow

deliberation. In a few minutes, calling them to his side, he whispered

exactly the same advice into the ear of each.

A smile spread over his weather-beaten face and he chuckled as the

three rum-runners raced to the boats and started for Miami at top

speed.

‘It is amusing,’ laughed Jean, ‘but he forgot to say what the old sailor

whispered!’

‘That’s for you to figure out, young lady. I’ve never been a rum-runner,

but I’ve got the answer.’

What advice did the old sailor whisper to the rum-runners?

_Who is the Heir?_

‘As the Île de France slipped from her berth, Europe-bound, John Morgan,

the brother of New York’s largest theatrical producer, waved good-bye to

his family on the dock,’ said Professor Fordney.

‘Arriving in Paris a week later, he registered at the Hôtel Crillon. At

two o’clock next morning, he called the office and demanded he be given

another suite immediately, saying he didn’t like the view from his

present rooms. This, despite the fact that he had occupied—in fact,

insisted upon—this suite many times in the past.

‘Because of his prominence and wealth, he was accommodated at once.

‘Moving on to Berlin four days later, he registered at the Hotel Adlon.

The manager, anxious to please a brother of the internationally known

producer, greeted him personally. He afterward remarked how worried Mr.

Morgan appeared at the time.

‘At two o’clock in the morning a repetition of the Paris occurrence took

place.

‘From Berlin he went in turn to London, Copenhagen, Brussels, Vienna,

Bucharest, and Sofia, spending exactly four days in each place. He then

went to Teheran, Persia. He explained to the American Consul there that

he had come to Persia to sample at first hand the celebrated wines of

Shiraz, and also to continue his search for one Mirah Svari, a mystic he

had met in New York, and for whom he had sought vainly all over Europe.

‘On the fourth day in Teheran, he was found dead of an overdose of

hashish, in a squalid house in an unsavory quarter.

‘Receiving news of his death, his attorney in New York, acting on

previous instructions, opened his will, in which he had left his entire

fortune of five million dollars to the producer.

‘But, strange as it may seem, it was found John Morgan never had a

brother. What a situation!

‘Under the circumstances, and according to law, who received the huge

fortune?’ smiled Fordney to his dinner guests.

_The Professor Stops a Blunder_

At four o’clock Thursday afternoon, Louis Mundy unexpectedly received a

telegram requesting him to return home immediately, as his brother was

ill.

At eight that evening, he alighted from the plane in Washington. He had

not been in the city during the past two months. Hurrying to his

suburban home, he found his brother greatly improved. At ten o’clock he

set out on a hike through the country, returning at midnight.

These facts were all verified.

Between eleven and twelve o’clock that night, John Skidder was murdered,

and the only thing missing from his house was a note for ten thousand

dollars signed by Mundy.

Skidder’s secretary said the note was habitually kept at the office and

that she was very surprised when he took it home that evening.

Mundy declared he saw or passed no one on his hike, but under severe

questioning admitted having been near Skidder’s house shortly after

eleven o’clock.

A thorough investigation revealed that Skidder had no known enemies and

no one, other than Mundy, had the slightest reason for wishing him dead.

Mundy was consequently arrested. As he knew Skidder lived with only an

old man servant (who was out until after twelve that night), the police

believed he had gone unobserved to the house, demanded the note, and,

when refused, had murdered Skidder. No one but Mundy could possibly

profit by the disappearance of the note. As it was due in ten days and

he was in no position to meet it, they anticipated little difficulty in

obtaining a conviction due to the strong motive and weak alibi.

Asked his opinion, Professor Fordney surprisingly said he DIDN’T believe

any American jury would convict Mundy.

He was right— Now, don’t argue! There’s only one answer. Don’t peek!

Figure it out.

_The Perfect Crime_

Peter Johannes had one burning ambition—to commit a perfect crime. After

much thinking and careful planning, he chose burglary for his experiment

and a large brownstone mansion for the scene of his action.

Learning its occupants had left town, he arrayed himself in a business

suit of conservative cut, flung a light topcoat over his arm, picked up

a Gladstone bag, covered with foreign labels, and set out.

He had ascertained, of course, when the policeman patrolling that beat

was farthest away. At such a time he drove up in his swanky sport

roadster, swung jauntily to the sidewalk, skipped up the steps, and

fitted a skeleton key into the lock, which yielded easily. So far so

good, he thought.

Inside, he adjusted a black mask to his eyes and silk gloves to his

hands: the former for a bit of local color he couldn’t resist; the

latter for more practical purposes. What a jolly thing this burglaring

was!

He quickly filled his Gladstone with silver and other valuables.

Hurrying out, he removed his gloves after closing the door.

‘Done, and not a single clue left!’ he said to himself.

As he was about to descend the steps, he saw out of the corner of his

eye the policeman rounding the corner. Feigning disinterest, he quickly

pushed the bell-button and stood there whistling.

‘Hey, you!’ shouted the policeman, now standing at the bottom of the

steps. ‘What are you doin’ there? Them people ain’t home.’

‘Howdy, Officer. How goes it?’ said our hero blithely as he turned to

greet the bluecoat. ‘I know they’re not home; been trying to raise

someone for five minutes. Annoying, too, after running out to see them.

Oh, well,’ he continued, ‘I’ll be going along,’ as he unconcernedly

picked up his bag.

‘You bet you will—right to the hoosegow,’ bellowed the guardian of the

peace. ‘Your story I might have believed, but.... Come on, now, I’m

takin’ you down.’

Alas for the perfect crime! ‘What caused our hero’s arrest?’ asked

Professor Fordney of his class.

_The Professor Sees Through It_

‘Let’s go in to dinner—it’s twenty minutes after six, and I’m starved,’

said Hawkins.

‘Right!’ responded Professor Fordney, his train companion, ‘I’m hungry,

too.’

The two men had met only a few minutes before, as casually as travelers

do, but already seemed to find each other agreeable company.

At dinner Hawkins explained he was a conductor on another railroad and

bemoaned the loss of passenger traffic. Fordney, too, decried the

depression and its effects.

When the conductor came through, Hawkins tendered a pass with a friendly

remark, and Fordney, who said he had boarded the train in such a hurry

he didn’t have time to purchase a ticket, paid a cash fare. Neither he

nor the conductor having proper change, he borrowed fourteen cents from

Hawkins.

After an enjoyable dinner, they went back to the club car for a smoke

and continued their chat.

‘Ever been in Savannah, Mr. Hawkins?’ asked Fordney.

‘Why, yes. Several times. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing in particular. Charming city, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is, but I like the quaintness of New Orleans better, myself.’

And so they chatted through a pleasant evening until Hawkins, with a

yawn, said: ‘Well, it’s a quarter to eleven. Bedtime for me. See you in

the morning. Good-night, Professor. I’ve enjoyed knowing you.’

‘Good-night,’ responded Fordney. ‘I’ll give you the fourteen cents in

the morning. Don’t let the fact that I’m aware of your deception keep

you awake!’

‘What?’ cried the amazed Hawkins.

What did Fordney mean?

_The Kidnapers’ Cleverness_

‘There are times,’ mused Professor Fordney from the depths of the most

comfortable chair in the lounge of the University Club, ‘when the

criminal does show ingenuity of a high order. I recall a most

interesting and baffling case on which I worked ten years ago.

‘A wealthy man whose daughter had been kidnaped had been warned that, if

he appealed to the police, she would be killed. Consequently, it was

difficult to get his coöperation in running down the criminals. However,

upon receiving the following note delivered in an express package 12″ ×

12″ × 12″ he sought my advice.

Send us, by the means herein given you, $5,000 in cash, at exactly

midnight tonight. If you do so, your daughter will be returned

unharmed.

‘My client did as directed and his child was returned safely next day.

‘Do you know, Jim,’ asked Fordney of his fireside companion, ‘what means

the kidnapers employed that made trapping of them, or discovery of their

whereabouts, absolutely impossible? There’s a nice little problem in

deduction for a rising young attorney,’ he laughed.

After ten minutes of deep silence on Jim’s part, he said, ‘I can’t

figure it out, Professor. What was it?’