# Deuces Wild/Chapter 7

pp. 65–76.

### VII
#### A REAL DETECTIVE

ONE of the greatest detectives in the world (in his own opinion and, what was more remarkable still, in that of his wife) sat down to his evening meal. He called it supper; as they called it immediately after the stone age, when man and woman began to form habits. This supper consisted of corned-beef, cabbage and boiled potatoes. Haggerty heaped his plate, proceeded to slice the three into a coarse hash and sprinkled it liberally with salt, pepper and vinegar. He was not a talkative man at his meals, which he thoroughly enjoyed, having a constitution far more rugged than that of the United States, in that it was not open to promiscuous amendments. Nor was Mrs. Haggerty troubled with the vapors of the fashionable. She ate as silently and heartily as her lord and master. They finished off the meal with quarter slices of rich mince pie, washed down the whole with pints of aromatic coffee, and then smiled across the table. Their admiration for each other was mutual; it had stood the acid test of eight years of propinquity.
Haggerty was a real detective, a post-graduate in the virtues and delinquencies of humanity; the detective you and I know in every-day life; who was once a policeman on our block and who winked when we broke a window playing one-old-cat. Haggerty's salary might be called handsome, if one included the splits in frequent rewards; but as the pay of a man who took his life in his hands seven days in the week and fifty weeks in the year, it was less than meager.
“Milly, you've got 'em all kotowing when it comes t' corn'-beef an' cabbige. Say! I'm thinking of buying that little ol' shack up Bronx way, after all.”
“No!”
“Sure thing!”
“But I don't like these mortgages, Will. If anything happened to you, where'd I be?”
“Sh! It's going t' be cash.”
“And where are you going to get three thousand dollars? They won't take a cent under six for the place.”
“Leave it t' me.” He pulled out a thick black cigar. Had General Lee sent a box of them to General Grant, there wouldn't have been any Appomattox.
“Will, you aren't taking any of that graft stuff, after your promise to me six years ago?”
“Nix on th' graft, Milly. I ain't handsome but I'm honest. More 'n that, I ain't the gink they think I am down at Central.”
“You're a smart man. Will.”
Haggerty was worth looking at He had a round head, a sign of combativeness. He had heavy rectangular jaws, a sign of perseverance. He had keen blue eyes, too, with room enough between to satisfy the most critical of phrenologists and physiognomists (for whom the detective had the heartiest contempt). To see things, to observe and retain impressions, it is not necessary to hold a university degree. Theory and logical deduction, as written, interested Haggerty just about as much as a missionary's lecture on the uplift of the sinful Hottentot would have done. Crime to him was merely a picture-puzzle; there were so many pieces and only one way to put them together. When he found a piece he laid it aside; when he found another piece he tried to fit the two together. If they did not fit, he proceeded to hunt for the other pieces. By and by he got a corner together, maybe a center-piece; in the end the picture unfolded. Nothing mysterious about this.
Haggerty was not brilliant; he was only slow and sure. And because of this ability to wait he had now been a detective of the first class for six years. As the character of his investigations somewhat removed him from the graft zone, his promise to his wife was rather a negligible one. The low cut-purse, the polished swindler, the dishonest bank-official, all were fish to his net. Being a man of great physical strength, courageous as all Irishmen are who have had to fight their way to a decent pay-roll, and fond of his work besides, he was formidable. He was well-known, feared and respected. He never approached his quarry till he was absolutely certain of his picture-puzzle. Then his hand fell heavily. He was just but merciless. His business was to get the criminal. If a jury wanted to let the man go, that was no concern of his.
“Some time between now an' midnight, Milly, I'm' going t' put this handsomely manicured duke on th' shoulder of th' cleverest crook New York has seen in years. He's had th' force up a tree for almost a year. Piece of bull-headed luck, but luck's half of any game.”
“Who is it, Will?”
“Th' gentlemanly jewel-thief, as th' reporters call him.”
“Seven thousand dollars in rewards!”
“Six from th' people who've been jobbed an' one from Pa Knickerbocker. That'll take care care of that little ol' Bronx shack, an' some onion money besides. Oh, I've got him all right. Queer case, though; an' I don't understand it all yet. But I know who an' where he is.”
“Tell me. You've never said a word.” His wife leaned across the table eagerly.
“I don't talk till I'm sure, Milly. If you women'd only think it out that way there'd be a lot o' trouble saved. Well, you remember I used t' pooh-hooh this finger-print business. Looked like expert stuff. I never' saw two experts who agreed on anything. But this thumb-print is th' real article; you can't get away from it Fact. When Mrs. Armitage lost her emeralds—forty thousand iron-boys, including duty—think of it forty thousand for a string of little Irish-green stones—well, I was detailed t' look over th' case. She has a whatchacallit next t' her bedroom.”
“Boudoir.”
“That's it. Well, she had th' slickest wall-safe you ever heard of. Ordinary furnace-register in th' wall an' back of it the safe. New stunt. But there's always somebody that finds out Little table stands in front of it. Maid hadn't dusted it lately. Saw a nice thumb-print Perfect. Got it photographed, an' went over th' help an' th' folks themselves. Didn't match. Same print on a little idol in the safe. So I put it away for future reference. There wasn't any match for it down at Central, either. New hand. Th' idol was one o' them Hindu things. Chap was interested in it We laid low for th' break-up of th' jewels. Never came. Say! mebbe we didn't sit up an' take notice.” Haggerty fumbled in his waistcoat for a match.
“Every good jewel is registered. All jewelers know something about it Well, nothing doing in Rotterdam or Amsterdam, or any other of th' ol' country dams. Th' guy was either afraid or waiting till we forgot. But we don't forget, Milly. Then came th' Hollister pink pearls. Ol'-fashioned safe this trip. Easy job. Ol' Hollister had one o' those jade plates. Whata you think? Same thumb-print on that. Number three, th' Morris rubies. Good safe, nice job, but no visiting card of any one we knew. A Looy th' Fourteenth minachure. Morris says it's worth two thousand. Mr. Thumb-print again. I was getting loony. Suddenly it got int' my coco that th' gink was interested in curios. Get me?”
Mrs. Haggerty squeezed her hands together in her excitement.
“Nothing more after th' Morris rubies. That was eight months ago. Well, I went bug on th' thumb-print thing. Hunted bar-rails, ship-rails; everywhere you could think of. Y' see, there was a little scar across what th' wise ones call the whorl. That was his photograph. Th' swag mounted up to a hundred an' twenty thousand, market value. Now, that's going some even these days, when you think of it. For weeks an' weeks nothing but blind alleys. Then came th' bull-headed luck. They were putting in some new mummies at th' museum, an' I was detailed t' watch th' crowd for dips. I was looking over one o' th' new cases, when who bobs up but Mr. Thumb-print, 's large as life. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Say, girl, you wouldn't think it, but there's three thousand bugs in this little ol' New York who don't do nothing but collect things, furniture, rugs, china, weapons, foreign things an' mummies. Say, but I wore out some shoe-leather. All th' time I was handling th' reg'lar jobs. I hobnobbed with students an professors. I gum-shoed th' homes of th' noted archy—what's them?”
“Archeologists,” supplemented Mrs. Haggerty, who had gone through high-school.
“By an' by I got rid of two thousand nine hundred an' ninety-nine of the bugs. An' Number Three Thousand had me swallowing my Adam's apple, I couldn't connect him. A millionaire, Milly; spends thousands digging up th' dried ones, friend of th' Metropolitan directors an' J. P.; got a raft of medals, an' all that. 'S fine a looking chap as you'd want t' see. You know, Milly, I've got what they call th' hunch. I can spot a bad actor just as you can a woman that ain't straight. That hunch balked. If he'd done it, it was as a joke, for he doesn't need money.”
“Have you got his thumb-print?” asked Mrs. Haggerty, who was thinking of the seven thousand dollars.
“There's where I fell down. I couldn't get it without going at him straight. So I settled down t' study him an' his habits. One day, while I was nosing round I fell ont' something that got my goat. You see, Milly, these bugs generally play two games, one for work an' one for play. Well, this chap's play was—” Haggerty arose.
“Will!”
“Buying up ol' safes an' yegging 'em!”