But there was no joy for me. I felt as if I had committed all those red
crimes, and that the elephant was only my irresponsible agent. And how
the list had grown! In one place he had “interfered with an election and
killed five repeaters.” He had followed this act with the destruction of
two pool fellows, named O’Donohue and McFlannigan, whO had “found a
refuge in the home of the oppressed of all lands only the day before, and
were in the act of exercising for the first time the noble right of
American citizens at the polls, when stricken down by the relentless hand
of the Scourge of Siam.” In another, he had “found a crazy sensation-
preacher preparing his next season’s heroic attacks on the dance, the
theater, and other things which can’t strike back, and had stepped on
him.” And in still another place he had “killed a lightning-rod agent.”
And so the list went on, growing redder and redder, and more and more
heartbreaking. Sixty persons had been killed, and two hundred and forty
wounded. All the accounts bore just testimony to the activity and
devotion of the detectives, and all closed with the remark that “three
hundred thousand citizen; and four detectives saw the dread creature, and
two of the latter he destroyed.”
I dreaded to hear the telegraphic instrument begin to click again.
By and by the messages began to pour in, but I was happily disappointed
in they nature. It was soon apparent that all trace of the elephant was
lost. The fog had enabled him to search out a good hiding-place
unobserved. Telegrams from the most absurdly distant points reported
that a dim vast mass had been glimpsed there through the fog at such and
such an hour, and was “undoubtedly the elephant.” This dim vast mass had
been glimpsed in New Haven, in New Jersey, in Pennsylvania, in interior
New York, in Brooklyn, and even in the city of New York itself! But in
all cases the dim vast mass had vanished quickly and left no trace.
Every detective of the large force scattered over this huge extent of
country sent his hourly report, and each and every one of them had a
clue, and was shadowing something, and was hot upon the heels of it.
But the day passed without other result.
The next day the same.
The next just the same.
The newspaper reports began to grow monotonous with facts that amounted
to nothing, clues which led to nothing, and theories which had nearly
exhausted the elements which surprise and delight and dazzle.
By advice of the inspector I doubled the reward.
Four more dull days followed. Then came a bitter blow to the poor,
hard-working detectives–the journalists declined to print their
theories, and coldly said, “Give us a rest.”
Two weeks after the elephant’s disappearance I raised the reward to
seventy-five thousand dollars by the inspector’s advice. It was a great
sum, but I felt that I would rather sacrifice my whole private fortune
than lose 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