# The Masses (periodical)/Volume 1/Number 2/The Confidence Man

THE CONFIDENCE MAN
How the Police Commissioner Needed the Lesson which he Himself could so well Impart
By Julius Stettenheim
Illustrated by A. O. Fischer
THE police commissioner of Berlin reached his office at about ten o'clock in the morning. It was a cold December day, but the office was agreeably warm—you could tell the heating was-done at the city's expense. The commissioner handed his fur coat to the uniformed officer accompanying him, stuck his monocle in his eye, and glanced at his desk, where the letters lay that had come by the first mail and had to be answered. There were many letters; which did not seem to please the recipient.
The police commissioner was a man who still indulged in all the pleasures of life despite his years and the grey hairs beginning to appear in his well-kept beard. He was tall and portly. He had eaten and drunk away the slim figure he had once had, and his girth testified that he was more of a Lucullus than a Don Juan.
Nevertheless, he was an excellent official, in fact, the very paragon of an official. He was dutiful, industrious and conscientious, and, for use in his office, he had preserved the sharp tone he had acquired in military service. To the civilian this tone is most unmelodious, but it prevents contradiction from subordinates. He said little, yet that little curtly and decidedly, as is to be expected of a man at the head of so important an administrative department.
He rubbed his hands, lit a cigar, heaved a sigh, and seated himself at the desk. First he opened the letters that his connoisseur's eyes told him came from persons in authority. One of these caused him to touch the electric button.
The same police officer who had removed his fur coat stepped in.
"Stuppke," said the police commissioner, still holding the letter he had just received in his hand, "here's a letter from Judge M—— saying the mayor of S—— will call on us. He's to study the confidence game here because a lot of buncos just cropped up in S——. When he comes bring him right in. His name is"—the commissioner glanced at the letter—"his name is Kramer. I'll put Schallow in charge of him. Schallow will teach him a trick or two. Schallow's up to snuff."
"Well, rather," Stuppke ventured to observe.
This remark caused the commissioner to look up at him with an expression almost of alarm. Then in a fit of indescribable benevolence, as if pardoning a great criminal, he said, with a slight inclination of his head:
"Very well. Tell Schallow to come in."
Stuppke left, turning sharply on his heel, military fashion, happy because he had come off so easily after his extremely impertinent "Well, rather."
The police commissioner glanced over the letter once again, and a gleam of merriment lightened his severe expression.
"Not bad," he said to himself, so violently that the cigar between his lips jumped to one side of his mouth.
Schallow entered. Schallow was a knowing officer. The press reporters had often written him up apropos of many a raid upon confidence men, and Stuppke's remark had just cast a brilliant light upon his talents. Schallow was really an eminent specialist. He knew the tricks of the confidence game as well as a professional bunco, and he knew every one of those sharpers who daily trap and rob any number of victims. From the way in which a robbery had been committed, he could instantly tell the perpetrators, even if he could not find them. He cheated at cards as skilfully as any confidence man, and it was considered a piece of good luck that he had become a plain-clothesman instead of a confidence man, since in the latter capacity he might have produced untold mischief.
Schallow stepped in front of the commissioner, and raised his hand to his forehead.
"Schallow," said the man of power, "for a change the mayor of a village is coming again to study the confidence game at the source. His name is Kramer. One of the good solid sort. Keeps a general store. I'll hand him over to you. Put him on to all the tricks, tell him all the men in the game, and show him how to go about catching them. To be sure, it won't do much good. Kramer can take lessons from you from now till doomsday, and not a single confidence game in S—— wll be prevented. But we can't tell him that. He's a mayor. Well, you know what to do, Schallow. Cut it short. You've got plenty else to look after."
Schallow said nothing. He was a taciturn man, especially in the presence of the commissioner, who always said everything there was to be said.
Scarcely had Schallow left the office when Stuppke announced Mayor Kramer of S——.
"An early bird, catching worms when the rest of the world is still asleep," grumbled the chief. Then he said, "Show him in."
Kramer was an ordinary-looking individual, typical of the transition from a peasant to a city man. He made the impression of a sober, staid person, who regularly ate his chief meal at midday and slept at least ten hours at night and took a half-hour siesta after dinner besides.
He bowed respectfully, with the solemn demeanor befitting his prominent position in the town of S—— and with the awkwardness resulting from his education and environment.
"Good-morning," said the commissioner, rising slightly from his seat. He waved his hand to a chair and asked the mayor to be seated.
The Mayor of S....
The mayor sat down modestly. The office, the influential official with whom he was to confer, seemed to inspire him with tremendous awe.
"You're up and doing early," began the commissioner.
"I must beg you to excuse me for coming so early. It was so noisy in the hotel, and besides I wanted to crowd as much into the day as possible, so that I should be able to get away inside of two days at the utmost. S—— is small but it's got to be governed at any rate. Do you think I can get away in two days, your Honor?"
"I'm not your Honor. I'm not a judge. I'm the commissioner of police," the commissioner interjected. "Yes, you can easily leave in two days, I'll have a man look after you who knows all the tricks of the confidence game. He'll show you everything and tell you what measures to take in S——. But it won't do much good."
"Really, you think not?" the mayor asked anxiously.
"Of course not. Confidence men are sly fellows, hard to trap. They even keep us guessing."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed the mayor, as astonished as if he had been told the Cologne Cathedral had been stolen.
"Well——." This was the word with which the commissioner indicated his willingness to shake hands with his visitor and say good-bye, like a man whose minutes are precious. But his "well" did not take effect. His visitor remained seated.
"Anything else I can do for you?"
"One favor more," said the man from S——. "In the letter the judge wrote you recommending me to your attention, he said I could apply to you in case I needed money, and yesterday evening something happened to me, so that I haven't a cent left.
"What's that?" cried the commissioner, smelling a rat. "What happened? Out with it!" And he leaned over the arm of his chair toward the stranger, not to lose a syllable of what he expected to hear, while a highly significant smile robbed his face of its severity.
"I arrived yesterday evening with the eight o'clock train. I went straight to the Central Hotel, washed up, and went for a walk 'Unter den Linden.' it was magnificent. Those bright show windows, the crowds of people——."
"Yes, yes," said his auditor impatiently. "I know the Linden. Go on."
"An elderly gentleman came up to me, holding out a handkerchief. He asked me if I had lost it. He had found it on the pavement. I thanked him, and said no. Then we got to talking, and walked along together. He was a delightful man. He told a lot of good stories, and I was glad when he asked me to go to a simple but excellent bodega for supper."
"Didn't they play piano and sing in that bodega?" the commissioner asked. He was getting gayer and gayer.
"To be sure they did. It was very entertaining. There were several other gentlemen at our table, who turned out to have come from the same place as the first one. They all played a wonderful game. It really wasn't a game. It was a trick. The player would hold the Jack of Spades in his left hand and two other cards in his right hand. He would throw all three cards on the table and you would have to guess which of them——"
A laugh from the commissioner interrupted the narrative. The mayor looked at him half astonished, half insulted. The commissioner jumped up and cried:
"Great! My dear sir, you studied the confidence game on the spot. You could pass your ​examinations without having to study a bit more. Your gentlemanly friend, your bunco-steerer, had warned you of the game. He himself had picked out the Jack of Spades a number of times, and won. Then you fell into the trap and lost every cent. I know it all as if I had been there myself. You got into the clutches of regular confidence men. You don't have to stay in Berlin another hour." And the police commissioner laughed a full-throated laugh, while the unhappy mayor sat there staring into space in desperation.
"Of course not. Confidence men are sly fellows. They even keep us guessing."
"How much did the gang do you out of?"
"Every cent I had with me," the mayor wailed. "Some hundred odd dollars."
"Be glad it wasn't more. I'll give you the same amount."
The commissioner rang, gave the mayor a voucher, and told Stuppke, who had answered the bell, to show him to the cashier.
The mayor of S—— was almost moved to tears when he shook hands with the police commissioner of Berlin.
"A confidence man will never play his tricks on you," he said admiringly.
The commissioner, feeling flattered, smiled with official amiability, and when the mayor was gone, he had his Schallow summoned, to tell him all about the tragico-comic adventure of the poor mayor of S——. Both laughed heartily.
A few hours later the police commissioner was sitting at his desk, deeply engrossed in work, when Stuppke entered, and announced:
"The Mayor of S——."
"Again!" the commissioner exclaimed impatiently.
"It's a different one this time."
"A different one!" the commissioner cried, his eyes opening wide. He stared at Stuppke as if to make sure he was in his right senses.
"Perhaps S—— has two mayors, like Berlin. S——is becoming a metropolis."
"That will do," shouted the commissioner, who was getting very nervous. "Show him in."
The mayor of S——, Kramer, the general-store-keeper, stepped in. He was an elderly gentleman, with a friendly but rather stupid face. He walked rapidly up to the commissioner—who inspected him sharply—and poured out a lot of words to tell the commissioner that he was the mayor whose coming Judge M——had announced with recommendations to the commissioner.
"The mayor whose coming Judge M—— announced was here this morning already," said the commissioner, convinced the man speaking to him was a cheat.
The mayor of S—— acted as if he could not believe his ears.
The commissioner rang. Stuppke entered. The commissioner told him to summon Schallow. Schallow stepped in immediately.
"Schallow, do you know this man?"
Schallow looked at the mayor of S—— closely. No, he did not know him, and he knew everybody in the rogue's gallery. But he would look at the pictures again. Perhaps he would see one that would put him on the right track. And he left the office.
The commissioner remained alone in the room with the mayor, and put him through a severe examination. The mayor had arrived the evening before with the eight o'clock train from S—— and had gone to the Central Hotel. Strange. Just like the other one. He would have come to the commissioner sooner if a man who had gotten into his compartment at the last station and with whom he had entered into conversation had not told him that the commissioner would receive no visitors in the morning and was very disagreeable until after he had had lunch. The man somehow inspired confidence. He had spoken with the air of a person who knows what he is talking about. He made such a good impression upon the mayor that the mayor had told him his name and the purpose for which he was coming to Berlin. He had shown him a copy of the judge's letter, which he was bringing along as a credential.
The mayor of S—— ferreted out the copy of the letter from an enormous pocketbook and held the document out in his hand trembling.
"Incredible!" said the commissioner, beside himself.
"You may believe me," the mayor said simply. "I am not lying."
The commissioner looked at the man, who really made the impression of honesty.
"Impossible!" the commissioner exclaimed again.
"Why are you so surprised?" asked the mayor, and continued, "My new acquaintance knew Berlin well. I could tell that instantly. So I was very glad when he offered to spend the evening with me. He said he was a straw widower and was feeling lonely. I went to my hotel, washed up, and met the man again in the hotel lobby, where he was waiting for me. We walked about until we got hungry. We happened to pass a bodega, which my acquaintance recommended, and we went in."
"I know," the police commissioner said, excitedly. "They played piano there and sang, and some fellow-townsmen of your acquaintance were sitting at the same table, and they played a game that wasn't really a game, but a trick with the Jack of Spades. The Jack never turned up where you expected it would. After your acquaintance won several times, you tried your hand at it, and parted company with every cent you had. Oh, I know all about it. And you have come here now not only to get me to teach you the tricks of the confidence game, but also to borrow money.
"Exactly," said the mayor, though he should have been speechless with astonishment at the thorough, accurate knowledge of the affair that the commissioner displayed.
The police commissioner walked around his desk. He had been buncoed, that was clear. So he stopped before the mayor, and said to him:
"My dear fellow, you have been buncoed. You are the victim of a confidence man. You learned all about the confidence game last night, and you can now calmly return home to S——. I will let you have fifty dollars and charge it up to the town of S——."
The mayor sank back into a chair, and the commissioner of police, regaining his composure, said:
"I see through it all. No fooling me. I know the tricks of the trade."
At this point Schallow entered, scrutinized the mayor's face again, and said he could not find a face resembling——
Here the police commissioner interposed:
"Never mind, Schallow. It's all right. Take the gentleman to the cashier, and let him have fifty dollars on his receipt."
Schallow looked at the commissioner of police, and said:
"Very well, sir."
A fine ear might have detected something like, "You don't say so!" in his formal reply.
The commissioner of police shook hands with the mayor of S——, and said:
"Very pleased to have met you."
But that was an untruth. He was by no means pleased to have met him. And when he was alone, he lighted a cigar again, swallowed a glass of brandy, and muttered to himself:
"How the devil am I going to itemize those hundred dollars? I've got to fix that."
Then he resolved in the future to be a more careful man.
When Stuppke entered the office to lay something on the desk, the commissioner did not look up; which was very sensible, for there was a mischievous smile on Stuppke's face which would not have added to the commissioner's good humor had he seen it.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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