had had those men arrested, and so prevented the trouble and loss; but
his reply was simple and unanswerable:
“It is not our province to prevent crime, but to punish it. We cannot
punish it until it is committed.”
I remarked that the secrecy with which we had begun had been marred by
the newspapers; not only all our facts but all our plans and purposes had
been revealed; even all the suspected persons had been named; these would
doubtless disguise themselves now, or go into hiding.
“Let them. They will find that when I am ready for them my hand will
descend upon them, in their secret places, as unerringly as the hand of
fate. As to the newspapers, we must keep in with them. Fame,
reputation, constant public mention–these are the detective’s bread and
butter. He must publish his facts, else he will be supposed to have
none; he must publish his theory, for nothing is so strange or striking
as a detective’s theory, or brings him so much wonderful respect; we must
publish our plans, for these the journals insist upon having, and we
could not deny them without offending. We must constantly show the
public what we are doing, or they will believe we are doing nothing.
It is much pleasanter to have a newspaper say, ‘Inspector Blunt’s
ingenious and extraordinary theory is as follows,’ than to have it say
some harsh thing, or, worse still, some sarcastic one.”
“I see the force of what you say. But I noticed that in one part of your
remarks in the papers this morning you refused to reveal your opinion
upon a certain minor point.”
“Yes, we always do that; it has a good effect. Besides, I had not formed
any opinion on that point, anyway.”
I deposited a considerable sum of money with the inspector, to meet
current expenses, and sat down to wait for news. We were expecting the
telegrams to begin to arrive at any moment now. Meantime I reread the
newspapers and also our descriptive circular, and observed that our
twenty-five thousand dollars reward seemed to be offered only to
detectives. I said I thought it ought to be offered to anybody who would
catch the elephant. The inspector said:
“It is the detectives who will find the elephant; hence the reward will
go to the right place. If other people found the animal, it would only
be by watching the detectives and taking advantage of clues and
indications stolen from them, and that would entitle the detectives to
the reward, after all. The proper office of a reward is to stimulate the
men who deliver up their time and their trained sagacities to this sort
of work, and not to confer benefits upon chance citizens who stumble upon
a capture without having earned the benefits by their own merits and
labors.”
This was reasonable enough, certainly. Now the telegraphic machine in
the corner began to click, and the following despatch was the result:
FLOWER STATION, N. Y., 7.30 A.M.
Have got a clue. Found a succession of deep tracks across a farm
near here. Followed them two miles east without result; think
elephant went west. Shall now shadow him in that direction.
DARLEY, Detective.
“Darley’s one of the best men on the force,” said the inspector. “We
shall hear from him again before long.”
Telegram No. 2 came:
BARKER’S, N. J., 7.40 A.M.
Just arrived. Glass factory broken open here during night, and
eight hundred bottles taken. Only water in large quantity near here
is five miles distant. Shall strike for there. Elephant will be
thirsty. Bottles were empty.
DARLEY, Detective.
“That promises well, too,” said the inspector.
I told you the creature’s appetites would not be bad clues.”
Telegram No. 3:
TAYLORVILLE, L. I. 8.15 A.M.
A haystack near here disappeared during night. Probably eaten.
Have got a clue, and am off.
HUBBARD, Detective.
“How he does move around!” said the inspector “I knew we had a difficult
job on hand, but we shall catch him yet.”
FLOWER STATION, N. Y., 9 A.M.
Shadowed the tracks three miles westward. Large, deep, and ragged.
Have just met a farmer who says they are not elephant-tracks. Says