my credit with my government. Now that the detectives were in adversity, the newspapers turned upon them, and began to fling the most stinging sarcasms at them. This gave the minstrels an idea, and they dressed themselves as detectives and hunted the elephant on the stage in the most extravagant way. The caricaturists made pictures of detectives scanning the country with spy-glasses, while the elephant, at their backs, stole apples out of their pockets. And they made all sorts of ridiculous pictures of the detective badge – you have seen that badge printed in gold on the back of detective novels, no doubt – it is a wide-staring eye, with the legend, “We Never Sleep.” When detectives called for a drink, the would-be facetious barkeeper resurrected an obsolete form of expression and said, “Will you have an eye-opener?” All the air was thick with sarcasms.
But there was one man who moved calm, untouched, unaffected, through it all. It was that heart of oak, the chief inspector. His brave eye never drooped, his serene confidence never wavered. He always said:
“Let them rail on; he laughs best who laughs last.”
My admiration for the man grew into a species of worship. I was at his side always. His office had become an unpleasant place to me, and now became daily more and more so. Yet if he could endure it I meant to do so also – at least, as long as I could. So I came regularly, and stayed – the only outsider who seemed to be capable of it. Everybody wondered how I could; and often it seemed to me that I must desert, but at such times I looked into that calm and apparently unconscious face, and held my ground.
About three weeks after the elephant’s disappearance I was about to say, one morning, that I should have to strike my colors and retire, when the great detective arrested the thought by proposing one more superb and masterly move.
This was to compromise with the robbers. The fertility of this man’s invention exceeded anything I have ever seen, and I have had a wide intercourse with the world’s finest minds. He said he was confident he could compromise for one hundred thousand dollars and recover the elephant. I said I believed I could scrape the amount together, but what would become of the poor detectives who had worked so faithfully? He said:
“In compromises they always get half.”
This removed my only objection. So the inspector wrote two notes, in this form:
Dear Madam, – Your husband can make a large sum of money (and be entirely protected from the law) by making an immediate, appointment with me.
Chief Blunt.
He sent one of these by his confidential messenger to the “reputed wife” of Brick Duffy, and the other to the reputed wife of Red McFadden.
Within the hour these offensive answers came:
Ye Owld Fool: Brick Duffys bin ded 2 yere.
Bridget Mahoney.
Chief Bat, – Red McFadden is hung and in heving 18 month. Any Ass but a detective know that.
Mary O’Hooligan.
“I had long suspected these facts,” said the inspector; “this testimony proves the unerring accuracy of my instinct.”
The moment one resource failed him he was ready with another. He immediately wrote an advertisement for the morning papers, and I kept a copy of it:
A. – xWhlv. 242 ht. Tjnd – fz328wmlg. Ozpo, – 2 m! 2m!. M! ogw.
Mum.
He said that if the thief was alive this would bring him to the usual rendezvous. He further explained that the usual rendezvous was a glare where all business affairs between detectives and criminals were conducted. This meeting would take place at twelve the next night.
We could do nothing till then, and I lost no time in getting out of the office, and was grateful indeed for the privilege.
At eleven the next night I brought one hundred thousand dollars in bank-notes and put them into the chief’s hands, and shortly afterward he took his leave, with the brave old undimmed confidence in his eye. An almost intolerable hour dragged to a close; then I heard his welcome tread, and rose gasping and tottered to meet him. How his fine eyes flamed with triumph! He said:
“We’ve compromised! The jokers will sing a different tune tomorrow! Follow me!”
He took a lighted candle and strode down into the vast vaulted basement where sixty detectives always slept, and where a score were now playing cards to while the time. I followed close after him. He walked swiftly down to the dim and remote end of the place, and just as I succumbed to the pangs of suffocation and was swooning away he stumbled and fell over the outlying members of a mighty object, and I heard him exclaim as he went down:
“Our noble profession is vindicated. Here is your elephant!”
I was carried to the office above and restored with carbolic acid. The whole detective force swarmed in, and such another season of triumphant rejoicing ensued as I had never witnessed before. The reporters were called, baskets of champagne were opened, toasts were drunk, the handshakings and congratulations were continuous and enthusiastic. Naturally the chief was the hero of the hour, and his happiness was so complete and had been so patiently and worthily and bravely won that it made me happy to see it, though I stood there a homeless beggar, my priceless charge dead, and my position in my country’s service lost to me through what would always seem my fatally careless execution of a great trust. Many an eloquent eye testified its deep admiration for the chief, and many a detective’s voice murmured, “Look at him – just the king of the profession; only give him a clue, it’s all he wants, and there ain’t anything hid that he can’t find.” The dividing of the fifty thousand dollars made great pleasure; when it was finished the chief made a little speech while he put his share in his pocket, in which he said, “Enjoy it, boys, for you’ve earned it; and, more than that, you’ve earned for the detective profession undying fame.”
A telegram arrived, which read:
Monroe, Mich.,
10 p.m.
First time I’ve struck a telegraph office in over three weeks. Have followed those footprints, horseback, through the woods, a thousand miles to here, and they get stronger and bigger and fresher every day. Don’t worry – inside of another week I’ll have the elephant. This is dead sure.
Darley, Detective.
The chief ordered three cheers for “Darley, one of the finest minds on the force,” and then commanded that he be telegraphed to come home and receive his share of the reward.
So ended that marvelous episode of the stolen elephant. The newspapers were pleasant with praises once more, the next day, with one contemptible exception. This sheet said, “Great is the detective! He may be a little slow in finding a little thing like a mislaid elephant – he may hunt him all day and sleep with his rotting carcass all night for three weeks, but he will find him at last if he can get the man who mislaid him to show him the place!”
Poor Hassan was lost to me forever. The cannonshots had wounded him fatally, he had crept to that unfriendly place in the fog, and there, surrounded by his enemies and in constant danger of detection, he had wasted away with hunger and suffering till death gave him peace.
The compromise cost me one hundred thousand dollars; my detective expenses were forty-two thousand dollars more; I never applied for a place again under my government; I am a ruined
