Part 7 (1/2)
”What!” with mock humility, ”am I thus a failure? Miss Wardour, look at me well; do you not recognize my social rank?”
Constance surveys him afresh, with critical eye.
”I think,” she says, ”I recognize the gentleman tramp; one of the sort who asks to wash his face before eating, and to chop your wood after.”
”Right!” says the detective. ”My self-respect returns; I am _not_ a bungler. In the morning I shall be on the ground, to wash my face, and chop your wood; which reminds me, your servants, they must not see me here. I must depart as I came, and soon.”
”And your search,” asks Constance, ”when will that begin?”
”My search?” hesitating oddly. ”Oh, that has already commenced.”
”What a curious thing it is that Mr. Lamotte should have secured you, of all men,” breaks in Aunt Honor. ”I did not think it possible Mr.
Lamotte--”
”Pardon me, all of you,” breaks in the gentleman tramp. ”Something must be set right; I will come to the point at once. Who _is_ Mr. Lamotte?
_What_ is Mr. Lamotte? I have never seen him; never heard of him.”
”What!” from Constance.
”Oh!” from Mrs. Aliston.
”But--” from Doctor Heath.
”Let me finish,” he interpolates. ”Let me tell you just how I happened to drop down among you to-night. Recently we have had in the city several robberies similar to this of yours, Miss Wardour, as I understand it. Several times we have had a trace or clue, and have hoped to find the robbers, but so far have been baffled. We must necessarily have many ways of gathering up information, and I have some methods of my own. This is one of them. I have access to the offices of our daily papers. I have a friend or tool in each. When a special telegram, in the line of criminal intelligence, comes to one of these papers, I am in possession of its contents before it has reached the compositor's hands.
This morning a 'special' arrived at the office of the _Evening Bulletin_. I have not with me a copy. It ran:
MONSTER DIAMOND ROBBERY.
[Special dispatch to the Evening Bulletin.]
Intelligence has this moment been received, that Wardour Place has been burglarized; and the splendid Wardour diamonds, valued at more than one hundred thousand dollars, stolen, besides money and papers of value. No particulars as yet.
”This is what brought me here. I came to see if this burglary was the handiwork of the thieves I have been trying to catch. I came solely on my own responsibility, not intending to make myself known to the inmates of this house, but to ferret out things quietly and go my way. While lurking in that tree I was surprised to hear myself made the subject of conversation; and then, impulse led me to respond to this lady's expressed desire to see me, and--I presented myself.”
All sit silent, all are astonished, and inclined to think this odd complication out quietly.
Constance is the first to see the absurdity of the situation, and she breaks into a peal of laughter, in which she is presently joined by the others. Finally, she regains her composure and says:
”And so after all you are not our detective. Well, that shall not prevent us from appropriating your services. And you want to identify these robbers if possible? We are all at your disposal--tell us how we can help you most.”
”You came with scant information,” says Doctor Heath, ”and you can't have been here long, but I'll wager you have picked up something.”
”As to that,” replies the detective, smiling slightly, ”I left the city by the early afternoon express, before your Mr. Lamotte had arrived, you see. Twelve miles from W---- I left the train and boarded a freight; about three miles out I abandoned the freight, quite unceremoniously, while she was pulling up a heavy grade, and tramped into town. I lounged about, confining myself to the more obscure streets until I had got the story of the robbery, with full particulars, as far as the gossips knew it. Toward sundown I started in this direction. Stopping on the way, I begged a drink of water and a slice of bread, of an old woman, in a little brown house. She thought me a very well behaved tramp, and inquired after my private history and the condition of my soul.”
Constance laughs.
”That is old Mrs. Malloy,” she says. ”She's very pious and very full of gossip.”
”Precisely!” replies the detective, wickedly; ”she told me how many lovers you had, Miss Wardour; and how many dresses; and just the color of your eyes, and hair; she told me all about the robbery, and a great many more things that were not quite to the point.”