The Pursuit of the House-Boat. John Kendrick Bangs

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      “POOR OLD BOSWELL WAS PUSHED OVERBOARD”

      “I am about to tell you,” returned the stranger; “and it must be understood that you are told in the strictest confidence, for, as I say, the incident involves a state secret of great magnitude. In life—in the mortal life—gentlemen, I was a detective by profession, and, if I do say it, who perhaps should not, I was one of the most interesting for purely literary purposes that has ever been known. I did not find it necessary to go about saying ‘Ha! ha!’ as M. Le Coq was accustomed to do to advertise his cleverness; neither did I disguise myself as a drum-major and hide under a kitchen-table for the purpose of solving a mystery involving the abduction of a parlor stove, after the manner of the talented Hawkshaw. By mental concentration alone, without fireworks or orchestral accompaniment of any sort whatsoever, did I go about my business, and for that very reason many of my fellow-sleuths were forced to go out of real detective work into that line of the business with which the stage has familiarized the most of us—a line in which nothing but stupidity, luck, and a yellow wig is required of him who pursues it.”

      “This man is an impostor,” whispered Le Coq to Hawkshaw.

      “I’ve known that all along by the mole on his left wrist,” returned Hawkshaw, contemptuously.

      “I suspected it the minute I saw he was not disguised,” returned Le Coq, knowingly. “I have observed that the greatest villains latterly have discarded disguises, as being too easily penetrated, and therefore of no avail, and merely a useless expense.”

      “Silence!” cried Confucius, impatiently. “How can the gentleman proceed, with all this conversation going on in the rear?”

      Hawkshaw and Le Coq immediately subsided, and the stranger went on.

      “It was in this way that I treated the strange case of the lost tiara,” resumed the stranger. “Mental concentration upon seemingly insignificant details alone enabled me to bring about the desired results in that instance. A brief outline of the case is as follows: It was late one evening in the early spring of 1894. The London season was at its height. Dances, fêtes of all kinds, opera, and the theatres were in full blast, when all of a sudden society was paralyzed by a most audacious robbery. A diamond tiara valued at £50,000 sterling had been stolen from the Duchess of Brokedale, and under circumstances which threw society itself and every individual in it under suspicion—even his Royal Highness the Prince himself, for he had danced frequently with the Duchess, and was known to be a great admirer of her tiara. It was at half-past eleven o’clock at night that the news of the robbery first came to my ears. I had been spending the evening alone in my library making notes for a second volume of my memoirs, and, feeling somewhat depressed, I was on the point of going out for my usual midnight walk on Hampstead Heath, when one of my servants, hastily entering, informed me of the robbery. I changed my mind in respect to my midnight walk immediately upon receipt of the news, for I knew that before one o’clock some one would call upon me at my lodgings with reference to this robbery. It could not be otherwise. Any mystery of such magnitude could no more be taken to another bureau than elephants could fly—”

      “They used to,” said Adam. “I once had a whole aviary full of winged elephants. They flew from flower to flower, and thrusting their probabilities deep into—”

      “Their what?” queried Johnson, with a frown.

      “Probabilities—isn’t that the word? Their trunks,” said Adam.

      “Probosces, I imagine you mean,” suggested Johnson.

      “Yes—that was it. Their probosces,” said Adam. “They were great honey-gatherers, those elephants—far better than the bees, because they could make so much more of it in a given time.”

      Munchausen shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid I’m outclassed by these antediluvians,” he said.

      “Gentlemen! gentlemen!” cried Sir Walter. “These interruptions are inexcusable!”

      “That’s what I think,” said the stranger, with some asperity. “I’m having about as hard a time getting this story out as I would if it were a serial. Of course, if you gentlemen do not wish to hear it, I can stop; but it must be understood that when I do stop I stop finally, once and for all, because the tale has not a sufficiency of dramatic climaxes to warrant its prolongation over the usual magazine period of twelve months.”

      “Go on! go on!” cried some.

      “Shut up!” cried others—addressing the interrupting members, of course.

      “As I was saying,” resumed the stranger, “I felt confident that within an hour, in some way or other, that case would be placed in my hands. It would be mine either positively or negatively—that is to say, either the person robbed would employ me to ferret out the mystery and recover the diamonds, or the robber himself, actuated by motives of self-preservation, would endeavor to direct my energies into other channels until he should have the time to dispose of his ill-gotten booty. A mental discussion of the probabilities inclined me to believe that the latter would be the case. I reasoned in this fashion: The person robbed is of exalted rank. She cannot move rapidly because she is so. Great bodies move slowly. It is probable that it will be a week before, according to the etiquette by which she is hedged about, she can communicate with me. In the first place, she must inform one of her attendants that she has been robbed. He must communicate the news to the functionary in charge of her residence, who will communicate with the Home Secretary, and from him will issue the orders СКАЧАТЬ