Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1891-11-19
WHY HID FAILED.

success. and has been happier man
eyer since.
There is no one I 4. myself in Eng
land who now knows exactly how it
happened, and as | was thinking over
it to night (something in the papers
about clever detective III New York
brought it all back fresh to my mind)
it seemed to me such queer story al
together that I think it will interest
others to know it.
l must just alter one or two of the
names. that's all, because it is not so
very long ago since it happened, and it
came out in one or two papers at the
time, but all more or less wide of the
mnk. None of them had just the
rights of it.
You see, no one could make ont how
Allan got away 50 easily-no one knows
except my !iienu and me, and one man
over the seas. and not even the cutest
Yankee could ever guess the truth.
1t is stranger than fiction, as you will
find. But this is the story.
l put it short enough, for writing is
not in my line. I can think things out
in my head, and turn them over and ov-
er, till there ls not much lett of them
that has not been put through the sieve,
so to speak, but when 1t cones to pen
and INK I'm poor hand. 1t means
sitting down indoors for hours, and that
| am not used to. No, thank Heaven,
| can earn my bread by something else,
or very little bread would come to me,
and no chance of butter or cheese.
This is not my story at all; l mean,
not about my own life. 1t is about a
friend of mine, George Markson.
If told you his real name you would
probably remember at once he was one
of the best known detectives of that
time. Talk about five senses. George
had ten at least. He could see round a
case, and through man, and into your
mind almost, and tell you what you
were thinking Of, better than you knew
yourself.
And all 50 Juitt-you would not
think lie saw much, but he had seen
everything at a glance, and forgotten
nothing. l have known him look into
ii room that he had never seen before,
and IN the evening, when we were sit
ting together. he would describe tnat
room, down to the makers name on the
clock, as minutely as ii he were holding
a picture Of it in his hand at the time.
He worked OH his own account, and
he had constant and wel,paid employ
ment, since the day he tracked the man
who robbed the Bank of Westminster;
yon may remember the case-a daring
daylight robbery.
He traced him after long search to
Paris, and spotted hlm there as a gar
con in a cafe-a good disguise too.
George was in Spain after that for
long time. and then went to Cairo, so |
did not see him for more than Il year.
He came back with reputation more
brilliant than ever, and settled down
into the same rooms he had shar ed with
me before he left.
He was middle aged man when l
knew him, and the severe mental strain
of his employment, together with home
troubles, made him seem older than he
was.
His wife, to whom he had been much
attached, had died many years before.
His only son, too, had turned out bad
ly, got into debt (the cid story OF weak
will influenced by bad companions and
then had emigrated to the gold dig
gings, anil was believed to have died
there, after few more wasted years of
riot and dlssi patton.
His father had built many hopes on
his only son. and carried about an un.
healed wound, caused by the bitter dis
Of all his expectations.
At the time l am writing about, l saw
there was something more han usual on
Georges mind.
lie never talked much about what he
was engaged in, and I took care never
to plague him with questions, but it
happened that chum of mine, named
Miles, told me that George had missed
a good clue, and that another man,
named Smollett, was beginning to make
a name, and was now bent on ou,dolng
George.
Once run to earth some one whom
George had failed to trace, and his rep
utation was sure.
TO ontshine one Of the best men then
at work was q high game TO try for, but
Smollett was trying no less =.
Not lcng after. met mi es again in
Oxford stleet. He told me that Smol-
lett had scored again, and that George