The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain (30 page)

The chief knows who the two principals are, namely, “Brick” Duffy and “Red” McFadden. Ten days before the robbery was achieved he was already aware that it was to be attempted, and had quietly proceeded to shadow these two noted villains; but unfortunately on the night in question their track was lost, and before it could be found again the bird was flown—that is, the elephant.

Duffy and McFadden are the boldest scoundrels in the profession; the chief has reasons for believing that they are the men who stole the stove out of the detective headquarters on a bitter night last winter—in consequence of which the chief and every detective present were in the hands of the physicians before morning, some with frozen feet, others with frozen fingers, ears, and other members.

When I read the first half of that I was more astonished than ever at the wonderful sagacity of this strange man. He not only saw everything in the present with a clear eye, but even the future could not be hidden from him. I was soon at his office, and said I could not help wishing he 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 he 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.

Baker, 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 they are holes where he dug up saplings for shadetrees when ground was frozen last winter. Give me orders how to proceed.

Darley, detective

“Aha! a confederate of the thieves! The thing grows warm,” said the inspector.

He dictated the following telegram to Darley:

Arrest the man and force him to name his pals. Continue to follow the tracks—to the Pacific if necessary.

Chief Blunt

Next telegram:

Coney Point, PA., 8.45
A.M.

Gas office broken open here during night and three months’ unpaid gas bills taken. Have got a clue and am away.

Murphy, detective

“Heavens!” said the inspector; “would he eat gas bills?”

“Through ignorance—yes; but they cannot support life. At least, unassisted.”

Now came this exciting telegram:

Ironville, N. Y., 9.30
A.M.

Just arrived. This village in consternation. Elephant passed through here at five this morning. Some say he went east, some say west, some north, some south—but all say they did not wait to notice particularly. He killed a horse; have secured a piece of it for a clue. Killed it with his trunk; from style of blow, think he struck it left-handed. From position in which horse lies, think elephant traveled northward along line of Berkley Railway. Has four and a half hours’ start, but I move on his track at once.

Hawes, detective

I uttered exclamations of joy. The inspector was as self-contained as a graven image. He calmly touched his bell.

“Alaric, send Captain Burns here.”

Burns appeared.

“How many men are ready for instant orders?”

“Ninety-six, sir.”

“Send them north at once. Let them concentrate along the line of the Berkley road north of Ironville.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let them conduct their movements with the utmost secrecy. As fast as others are at liberty, hold them for orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go!”

“Yes, sir.”

Presently came another telegram:

Sage Corners, N. Y., 10.30.

Just arrived, elephant passed through here at 8.15. All escaped from the town but a policeman. Apparently elephant did not strike at policeman, but at the lamppost. Got both. I have secured a portion of the policeman as clue.

Stumm, detective

“So the elephant has turned westward,” said the inspector. “However, he will not escape, for my men are scattered all over that region.”

The next telegram said:

Glover’s, 11.15.

Just arrived. Village deserted, except sick and aged. Elephant passed through three-quarters of an hour ago. The antitemperance mass-meeting was in session; he put his trunk in at a window and washed it out with water from cistern. Some swallowed it—since dead; several drowned. Detectives Cross and O’Shaughnessy were passing through town, but going south—so missed elephant. Whole region for many miles around in terror—people flying from their homes. Wherever they turn meet elephant, and many are killed.

Brant, detective

I could have shed tears, this havoc so distressed me. But the inspector only said:

“You see—we are closing in on him. He feels our presence; he has turned eastward again.”

Yet further troublous news was in store for us. The telegraph brought this:

Hogansport, 12.19.

Just arrived. Elephant passed through half an hour ago, creating wildest fright and excitement. Elephant raged around streets: Two plumbers going by, killed one.—other escaped. Regret general.

O’Flaherty, detective

“Now he is right in the midst of my men,” said the inspector. “Nothing can save him.”

A succession of telegrams came from detectives who were scattered through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and who were following clues consisting of ravaged barns, factories, and Sunday-school libraries, with high hopes—hopes amounting to certainties, indeed. The inspector said:

“I wish I could communicate with them and order them north, but that is impossible. A detective only visits a telegraph office to send his report; then he is off again, and you don’t know where to put your hand on him.”

Now came this despatch:

Bridgeport, CT., 12.15.

Barnum offers rate of $4,000 a year for exclusive privilege of using elephant as traveling advertising medium from now till detectives find him. Wants to paste circus-posters on him. Desires immediate answer.

Boggs, detective

“That is perfectly absurd!” I exclaimed.

“Of course it is,” said the inspector. “Evidently Mr. Barnum, who thinks he is so sharp, does not know me—but I know him.”

Then he dictated this answer to the despatch:

Mr. Barnum’s offer declined. Make it $7,000 or nothing.

Chief Blunt

“There. We shall not have to wait long for an answer. Mr. Barnum is not at home; he is in the telegraph office—it is his way when he has business on hand. Inside of three—”

Done.—P.T. Barnum

So interrupted the clicking telegraphic instrument. Before I could make a comment upon this extraordinary episode, the following despatch carried my thoughts into another very distressing channel:

Bolivia, N.Y., 12.50.

Elephant arrived here from the south and passed through toward the forest at 11.50, dispersing a funeral on the way, and diminishing the mourners by two. Citizens fired some small cannon-balls into him, and then fled. Detective Burke and I arrived ten minutes later, from the north, but mistook some excavations for footprints, and so lost a good deal of time; but at last we struck the right trail and followed it to the woods. We then got down on our hands and knees and continued to keep a sharp eye on the track, and so shadowed it into the brush. Burke was in advance. Unfortunately the animal had stopped to rest; therefore, Burke having his head down, intent upon the track, butted up against the elephant’s hind legs before he was aware of his vicinity. Burke instantly arose to his feet, seized the tail, and exclaimed joyfully, “I claim the re—” but got no further, for a single blow of the huge trunk laid the brave fellow’s fragments low in death. I fled rearward, and the elephant turned and shadowed me to the edge of the wood, making tremendous speed, and I should inevitably have been lost, but that the remains of the funeral providentially intervened again and diverted his attention. I have just learned that nothing of that funeral is now left; but this is no loss, for there is abundance of material for another. Meantime, the elephant has disappeared again.

Mulrooney, detective

We heard no news except from the diligent and confident detectives scattered about New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Virginia—who were all following fresh and encouraging clues—until shortly after 2
P.M
., when this telegram came:

Baxter Center, 2.15.

Elephant been here, plastered over with circus-bills, and broke up a revival, striking down and damaging many who were on the point of entering upon a better life. Citizens penned up and established a guard. When Detective Brown and I arrived, some time after, we entered inclosure and proceeded to identify elephant by photographs and description. All marks tallied exactly except one, which we could not see—the boil-scar under armpit. To make sure, Brown crept under to look, and was immediately brained—that is, head crushed and destroyed, though nothing issued from debris. All fled; so did elephant, striking right and left with much effect. Has escaped, but left bold blood-track from cannon-wounds. Rediscovery certain. He broke southward, through a dense forest.

Brent, detective

That was the last telegram. At nightfall a fog shut down which was so dense that objects but three feet away could not be discerned. This lasted all night. The ferryboats and even the omnibuses had to stop running.

3

Next morning the papers were as full of detective theories as before; they had all our tragic facts in detail also, and a great many more which they had received from their telegraphic correspondents. Column after column was occupied, a third of its way down, with glaring head-lines, which it made my heart sick to read. Their general tone was like this:

The white elephant at large! He moves upon his fatal march! Whole villages deserted by their fright-stricken occupants! Pale terror goes before him, death and devastation follow after! After these, the detectives! Barns destroyed, factories gutted, harvests devoured, public assemblages dispersed, accompanied by scenes of carnage impossible to describe! Theories of thirty-four of the most distinguished detectives on the force! Theory of Chief Blunt!

“There!” said Inspector Blunt, almost betrayed into excitement, “this is magnificent! This is the greatest windfall that any detective organization ever had. The fame of it will travel to the ends of the earth, and endure to the end of time, and my name with it.”