Next morning it was all in the newspapers, in the minutest detail. It even had additions—consisting of Detective This, Detective That, and Detective The Other's “Theory” as to how the robbery was done, who the robbers were, and whither they had flown with their booty. There were eleven of these theories, and they covered all the possibilities; and this single fact shows what independent thinkers detectives are. No two theories were alike, or even much resembled each other, save in one striking particular, and in that one all the other eleven theories were absolutely agreed. That was, that although the rear of my building was torn out and the only door remained locked, the elephant had not been removed through the rent, but by some other (undiscovered) outlet. All agreed that the robbers had made that rent only to mislead the detectives. That never would have occurred to me or to any other layman, perhaps, but it had not deceived the detectives for a moment. Thus, what I had supposed was the only thing that had no mystery about it was in fact the very thing I had gone furthest astray in. The eleven theories all named the supposed robbers, but no two named the same robbers; the total number of suspected persons was thirty-seven. The various newspaper accounts all closed with the most important opinion of all—that of Chief Inspector Blunt. A portion of this statement read as follows:
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 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 wondering 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 shade-trees 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 lamp-post. 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 anti-temperance 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 they 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 and 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 he broke up a
revival, striking down and damaging many who were on the point of
entering upon a better life. Citizens penned him up and established
a guard. When Detective Brown and I arrived, some time after, we
entered inclosure and proceeded to identify elephant by photograph
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 ferry-boats and even the omnibuses had to stop running.
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