NE of the greatest detectives in the world (in his own opinion and, what was more remarkable still, in that of his wife) sat down to his evening meal. He called it supper; as they called it immediately after the stone age, when man and woman began to form habits. This supper consisted of corned-beef, cabbage and boiled potatoes. Haggerty heaped his plate, proceeded to slice the three into a coarse hash and sprinkled it liberally with salt, pepper and vinegar. He was not a talkative man at his meals, which he thoroughly enjoyed, having a constitution far more rugged than that of the United States, in that it was not open to promiscuous amendments. Nor was Mrs. Haggerty troubled with the vapors of the fashionable. She ate as silently and heartily as her lord and master. They finished off the meal with quarter slices of rich mince pie, washed down the whole with pints of aromatic coffee, and then smiled across the table. Their admiration for each other was mutual; it had stood the acid test of eight years of propinquity.
Haggerty was a real detective, a post-graduate in the virtues and delinquencies of humanity; the detective you and I know in every-day life; who was once a policeman on our block and who winked when we broke a window playing one-old-cat. Haggerty's salary might be called handsome, if one included the splits in frequent rewards; but as the pay of a man who took his life in his hands seven days in the week and fifty weeks in the year, it was less than meager.
“Milly, you've got 'em all kotowing when it comes t' corn'-beef an' cabbige. Say! I'm thinking of buying that little ol' shack up Bronx way, after all.”
“No!”
“Sure thing!”
“But I don't like these mortgages, Will. If anything happened to you, where'd I be?”
“Sh! It's going t' be cash.”
“And where are you going to get three thousand dollars? They won't take a cent under six for the place.”
“Leave it t' me.” He pulled out a thick black cigar. Had General Lee sent a box of them to General Grant, there wouldn't have been any Appomattox.
“Will, you aren't taking any of that graft stuff, after your promise to me six years ago?”
“Nix on th' graft, Milly. I ain't handsome but I'm honest. More 'n that, I ain't the gink they think I am down at Central.”
“You're a smart man. Will.”
Haggerty was worth looking at He had a round head, a sign of combativeness. He had heavy rectangular jaws, a sign of perseverance. He had keen blue eyes, too, with room enough between to satisfy the most critical of phrenologists and physiognomists (for whom the detective had the heartiest contempt). To see things, to observe and retain impressions, it is not necessary to hold a university degree. Theory and logical deduction, as written, interested Haggerty just about as much as a missionary's lecture on the uplift of the sinful Hottentot would have done. Crime to him was merely a picture-puzzle; there were so many pieces and only one way to put them together. When he found a piece he laid it aside; when he found another piece he tried to fit the two together. If they did not fit, he proceeded to hunt for the other pieces. By and by he got a corner together, maybe a center-piece; in the end the picture unfolded. Nothing mysterious about this.
Haggerty was not brilliant; he was only slow and sure. And because of this ability to wait he had now been a detective of the first class for six years. As the character of his investigations somewhat removed him from the graft zone, his promise to his wife was rather a negligible one. The low cut-purse, the polished swindler, the dishonest bank-official, all were fish to his net. Being a man of great physical strength, courageous as all Irishmen are who have had to fight their way to a decent pay-roll, and fond of his work besides, he was formidable. He was well-known, feared and respected. He never approached his quarry till he was absolutely certain of his picture-puzzle. Then his hand fell heavily. He was just but merciless. His business was to get the criminal. If a jury wanted to let the man go, that was no concern of his.
“Some time between now an' midnight, Milly, I'm' going t' put this handsomely manicured duke on th' shoulder of th' cleverest crook New York has seen in years. He's had th' force up a tree for almost a year. Piece of bull-headed luck, but luck's half of any game.”
“Who is it, Will?”
“Th' gentlemanly jewel-thief, as th' reporters call him.”
“Seven thousand dollars in rewards!”