CHARTERING A DUMMY.
By the time I reached the city my arm, which needed fresh bandages,
began to pain me, and I went straight to the office of a surgeon,
well-known to fame, and to the detective service. He had bound up many a
broken bone for our office, and we of the fraternity called him "Our
Samaritan." Some of the boys, and, let me confess it, myself among the
number, called him "Our old woman," as well, for, while he bandaged and
healed and prescribed, he waged continued warfare upon our profession,
or rather the dangers of it.
Of course, the country needed secret service men, and must have them,
but there was an especial reason why each one of us should not be a
detective. We were too young, or too old; we were too reckless, or we
were cut out for some other career. In short, every patient that came
under the hand of good Dr. Denham, became straightway an object of
interest to his kindly old heart; and--strange weakness in a man of his
cloth--he desired to keep us out of danger.
"So ho!" cried "our old woman," when I appeared before him with my
bandaged arm, "here _you_ are! I knew you'd be along soon. You've kept
out of my clutches a good while. Arm, eh? Glad of it! I'll cut it off;
I'll cut it off! That'll spoil _one_ detective."
I laughed. We always laughed at the talkative soul, and he expected it.
"Cut it off, then," I retorted, flinging myself down in a chair and
beginning to remove my sling. "I don't need a left arm to shoot the
fellow that gave me this, and I'm bound to do that, you know."
"So! Got shot again? Go on, go on, sir! I'll have the pleasure of
dissecting you yet. You'll come home dead some day, you scoundrel. Ah!
here we are. Um! flesh wound, rear of arm, under side; close, pretty
close, pret-ty close, sir!"
[Illustration: "So! Got shot again? Go on, go on, sir! I'll have the
pleasure of dissecting you yet."--page 43.]
All this was jerked out in short breaths, while he was undoing and
taking a first look at my arm. When the actual business of dressing
commenced, "our old woman" was always silent and very intent upon the
delicate task.
"Pity it wasn't a little worse," he sniffled, moving across the room and
opening a case of instruments. "You chaps get off too easy; you don't
come quite near enough to Death's door. There's Carnes, now; got a knife
through his shoulder, and fretting and fuming because he can't put
himself in a position to get another dig."
"Is Carnes in?"
"Yes. And was badly cut."
"Poor fellow! I'm sorry for that, but glad of the chance to see him;
he's been on a long cruise."
"Well, I'm not so sure about his going on another. Now then."
And the doctor applied himself to business, and I sat, wincing
sometimes, under his hand, but thinking through it all of Carnes.
He was the _comique_ of the force; a man who was either loved or hated
by all who knew him. No one could be simply indifferent to Carnes. He
was a well-educated man, although he habitually spoke with a brogue. But
I knew Carnes was not an Irishman; although he professed to have "hailed
from Erin," he could drop the accent at pleasure and assume any other
with perfect ease,--a feat rather difficult of accomplishment by a
genuine Irishman.
Nobody knew much about Carnes; he had no confidants, although he had his
favorites, one of whom I chanced to be.
He was older than myself by ten years, but when the mood seized him,
could be younger by twenty. He had been absent from the office for
nearly a year, and I mentally resolved that, after making my report and
attending to business, I would lose no time in seeing him.
Under the skilled hand of Dr. Denham my arm was soon dressed and made
comfortable. It would be well in a fortnight, the good doctor assured
me, and then as soon as I could, I withdrew from his presence and his
customary fire of raillery and questions, and stopping only to refresh
myself at a restaurant by the way, hastened on toward our office, where
I was soon closeted with my Chief.
As usual, he made no comments, asked no questions, when I dawned upon
him thus unexpectedly. He never made use of unnecessary words. He only
turned out one or two of the force who were lounging there, waiting his
pleasure to attend to less important business, saw that the doors were
closed and the outer office properly attended, and then seating himself
opposite me at the desk, said quietly:
"Now, Bathurst?"
I was well accustomed to this condensed way of doing things, and it
suited me. In a concise manner matching his own, I put him in possession
of the facts relating to the Groveland case, and then I made a
discovery. After relating how I had received the anonymous letter I
produced my pocket-book, where I supposed it to be, and found it
missing! It was useless to search; the letter was not in my pocket-book,
neither was it on my person.
"Well!" I said, when fully convinced that the letter was certainly not
in my possession, "here's another complication. I've been robbed and--I
know who did it!"
My companion made no comment, and I continued:
"The letter was of no vital importance; I will finish my story and then
you will know what has become of it."
I told the rest; of my ride upon Mrs. Ballou's colt, of the pistol
shot, my runaway steed, and my subsequent interview with Mrs. Ballou.
How she had dressed my wound, how the circumstances had compelled me to
confide in her, and how she had risen to the occasion, and driven me to
the station at half-past three in the morning, and I finished by saying:
"Now it looks to me as if Mrs. Ballou had stolen my letter, and if so,
one might take that fact and the one that Nellie Ewing was never seen
after leaving her house, and count it as strong circumstantial evidence;
but, that kind of evidence won't convince me that Mrs. Ballou is
implicated in the crime or the mystery. When I told her of the printed
letter, I saw her eyes gleam; and when she asked to see the document I
read anxiety in her face. I am sure she took the letter, and I think she
has a suspicion of some sort; but if she has the letter she will return
it."
My chief made no comment on all that I had told him; he picked up a
paper weight and laid it down again with great precision, then he put
all my story "on the shelf," as we were wont to express it, by asking
abruptly:
"What are you going to do next?"
The question did not surprise me. He was not in the habit of offering
much advice to such operatives as he trusted with delicate cases, for he
never trusted a man until he felt full confidence in his skill and
integrity. But when we desired to consult with him, he entered into the
study of the case with animation and zeal; and then, and then only, did
he do a full share of the talking.
"Going to send them a 'dummy,' if we can find one with the grit to face
the chances. They must suppose me entirely out of the business."
"Yes."
"I want an extraordinary dummy, too; a blusterer."
"Wait," interrupted my companion, beginning to smile, "I have got just
the animal. When do you want to see him?"
"As soon as possible; I want him in the field at once."
"Very good. This fellow came here yesterday, and he's the greatest
combination of fool and egotist I ever saw. Knows he was born for a
detective and is ready to face a colony of desperadoes; there is no
limit to his cheek and no end to his tongue. If you want a talkative
fool he'll do."
"Well," I replied, "that's what I want, but the man must not be quite
destitute of courage. I don't think that the party or parties will make
another attack upon a fresh man, and yet they may; and this dummy must
remain there quite alone until the rascals are convinced that he has no
confederates. There is a keen brain at the bottom of this Groveland
mischief. I mean to overreach it and all its confederates, for I believe
there must be confederates; and, sir, I don't believe those girls have
been murdered."
"No?"
"No. But I want our dummy to act on the supposition that they _have_
been. This will ease the vigilance of the guilty parties, and when they
are off their guard, our time will come. Where is Carnes?"
My companion was in full sympathy with my abrupt change of the subject,
and he answered, readily:
"At his old rooms. Carnes had a bad cut, but he is getting along
finely."
"Is he? The doctor gave me the idea that he was still in a doubtful
condition."
"Stuff," giving a short laugh, "some of his scarey talk; he told me that
Carnes would be about within two weeks. Carnes did some good work in the
West."
"He is a splendid fellow; I must see him to-night. But about our dummy:
when can you produce him?"
"Will to-morrow do? say ten o'clock."
"It must be later by an hour; the doctor takes me in hand at ten."
"Eleven, then. I will have him here, and you'll find him a jewel."
"Very good," I said, rising, and taking up my hat, "any message to send
to Carnes? I shall see him to-night."
"Look here," turning upon me suddenly, "you are not to go to Carnes for
any purpose but to _see_ him. You must not talk to him much, nor let him
talk; the doctor should have told you that. He is weak, and easily
excited. It's bad enough to have two of my best men crippled and off at
once; you must not retard his recovery. Carnes is as unruly as a
ten-year old, now."
I laughed; I could see just how this whimsical comrade of mine would
chafe under his temporary imprisonment.
"I won't upset the old fellow," I said, and took my leave.