report from australia
melbourne, may 20th
referring to your inquiry of the 10th ultimo respecting one kenton milbourne said to be an actor formerly of this place, we beg to report as follows:
you are in error in supposing that kenton milbourne formerly acted in australia, and sailed for america last year. mr. milbourne is at present appearing as —— in ——. the company is now touring the province of new south wales. mr. milbourne has never been to america. we enclose one of his published pictures which you will see at a glance is not that of the same man whose picture you sent us.
mr. milbourne is an actor of character parts, fairly well known in the profession here, though not of wide public reputation. his personal character is of the best. his real name is john whittlesey, and he comes of respectable parents in moderate circumstances, still living in the town of perth, western australia.
as to the photograph you enclosed, we are informed by a friend of mr. milbourne's that this is undoubtedly evan whittlesey, younger brother of john and the black sheep of the family, who went to america ten years ago, after having been implicated in the robbery of morton's bank, melbourne. no proceedings were ever taken against him.
from the same informant we learn that no one in australia has heard of evan whittlesey since he went away, except possibly his brother who is reticent on the subject, suggesting that what information he has of his brother is not perhaps creditable.
at this writing we are unable to furnish any information regarding evan whittlesey's early life beyond what is contained in the general statement that he was "wild," that is to say, a trial to his parents and his respectable brother—whose stage name he appears to have borrowed for his american activities. if you desire us to go to the expense of a thorough investigation of evan whittlesey's past, please authorise by cable.
trusting to be favoured with your future commands, etc.
willard, willard and gaines.
the next report from which i will quote is sadie's. it contained an unpleasant surprise. in order to make it clear i must briefly explain the arrangements of the international detective bureau. we had three offices en suite on the sixth floor of a building on west forty-second street. the door of the first room faced the elevators, and upon it was lettered our sign. within was a neat railing, behind which sat peter keenan the ostensible head of the establishment, and an ornamental stenographer. the door to the adjoining room was hidden behind a tall file.
the second little room was supposed by the employees to be keenan's private office, but in reality it was designed as a sanctum for sadie. there was a telephone here by which she might talk to me in safety. sadie had her own door on the corridor and was never seen in the front room.
the third office which was at right angles to the first and second was intended for the operatives in general when we were obliged to have them in. they were not supposed to come in without being instructed to do so. the other operatives looked on sadie as one of themselves, and considered keenan the boss. the door to the third room opened on a side corridor so that the men were never seen around the front office.
report of s. f. (sadie farrell)
last evening at 5:15 operative s. c. came into the office without instructions. he had been told like the others to mail in his reports, and keep in touch with mr. keenan by telephone. the excuse he gave was that the man he was trailing had led him around so fast and so far that it had used up all his money. i had mr. keenan give him some money and call him down, and thought no more about it. unfortunately, it appears to-day that his disobedience has had very unfortunate results.
this morning i heard loud talking in the front office. mr. keenan explained later that a queer old man had come in, and had told a long rambling story about being persecuted. it seems that he wanted to engage the agency to protect him. it seemed a natural enough thing—we have had these harmless cranks before. mr. keenan soothed him down by telling him we were too busy to do proper justice to his case, and referred him to the police station. neither of us thought anything more about it.
this afternoon shortly before five i heard the old man's voice again in the outer office. mr. keenan had stepped out to post some papers to you. the old man was excited, and i could hear by miss reilly's voice that she was very much frightened. so i went to her assistance.
i saw a bent, old man in shabby black, with wild, straggly hair, broken teeth and red-rimmed eyes, a repulsive sight. the instant i laid eyes on him i saw that he was not very insane. his manner was both servile and threatening. it was like stage insanity, incoherent jabbering and wild gestures. the girl was frightened half out of her wits.
i asked him what he wanted, and he calmed right down. his speech was unintelligible as if he had some of those tablets in his mouth that actors use to make their voice thick. he made no more trouble. he bowed and smirked and backed out of the door. the last thing i heard was a silly kind of laugh.
by this time i was full of suspicions. he had quieted down much too quickly. besides, there was something familiar about the horrible old man. i had miss reilly enquire of the elevator boys. they said the old man had been in three times. last evening as well as twice to-day. last night he came up in the elevator with operative s. c. to-day, i believe, he hung around down-stairs until he saw mr. keenan go out.
s. c. called up about this time to report that milbourne had not left his boarding-house all day. mr. keenan questioned the operative over the phone at my prompting, and we discovered that s. c. had no proof that milbourne was in the house. we learned that s. c. had lost milbourne about 3:30 yesterday among the several entrances to a department store. he had merely supposed that he had gone home later.
i then ventured to call up milbourne's boarding-house. if he had been there, i would, of course, have lost the connection, but he was not. his landlady told me that he had telephoned her yesterday afternoon that he had been called out of town, and not to expect him home until to-night. which shows how little we can depend on these operatives. since talking to this woman i have received d. b.'s report from inside the house, confirming what she told me.
puzzling over in my head what it could be that gave the old man a familiar look, i suddenly got it. do you remember when milbourne first joined miss hamerton's company he played the part of the old forger, afterwards given to richards? the management thought milbourne's conception was too realistic, but milbourne himself was childishly proud of his make-up in that part. he showed us a photograph, do you remember? well, that was the same old man, wrinkles, scraggly hair, mean smile and all. the same clothes.
it is easy to figure out now what happened. after giving the operative the slip in the department store, milbourne went to some friend's room or thieves' hangout and disguised himself. he then returned to the neighbourhood of the boarding-house on 49th street and watched the watchers there. when s. c. was relieved by a. n. at five, milbourne followed s. c. into the office. he was smart enough to see on his first visit to-day that mr. keenan was not the real head of the office, and so he bothered us until i betrayed myself. hence the laugh when he went out.
i need not say how sorry i am for the accident. i blame myself quite as much as s. c. luck played right into milbourne's hand this time. i see how important it is. he knows of the connection between you and i, consequently all your trouble to let it be supposed that you are out of the case goes for nothing now.
i have replaced s. c. with the new man, w. j., who came so well recommended. i have put s. c. at clerical work. shall i discharge him altogether?
s. f.
report of j. m. no. 5
june 15th
on saturday afternoon after work according to your instructions i took one of the unset diamonds with which i am provided to m——'s pawnshop at no. — third avenue. i was very glad to have the second act of the drama open, and the fun begin. to tell the truth, i am very weary of the work bench at dunsany's this hot weather. if i ever return to my proper character i will have more sympathy for my workmen. i believe now that it is not poverty that makes the working classes restless so much as monotony.
m——'s, as you know, is a large and prosperous three-ball establishment near fifty-seventh street. the proprietor is a youngish man, a typical pawnbroker, with eyes as hard and bright as shoe buttons. such eyes i am sure, would look on at the murder of a parent unconcerned—if there was anything in it. i believe you are right in your estimate of the man. good as his legitimate business appears to be, he is no doubt not averse to the other kind—if it looks safe.
but he was afraid of me. he offered to lend me money on my diamond, but declined to purchase. he demanded to know how it had come into my possession. i replied with a long and affecting tale of the hardships of an immigrant couple, no longer young. it was our last bit of property, i said, the stone out of my wife's engagement ring. the ring itself she still wore with its empty setting. such was the pathos of the tale that i almost succeeded in convincing myself that it was true. it didn't matter, of course, whether the pawnbroker believed it or not, but it had to be a good story on the face of it, because it would be fatal to my chances of success if i gave the impression of being a fool.
the hard eyes gave no sign one way or another. one could hardly expect a pawnbroker to be moved by a hard luck story. he told me to come back on monday at noon, and he would see what he could do for me.
i hastened up there as soon as we were released for the lunch hour to-day. there were two men loitering in the store; men of the same kidney as the astute proprietor apparently, very sprucely dressed. m—— himself ignored me for the moment and this precious pair gave me the "once over" as they say. i could feel their eyes boring into me like gimlets. however, it is possible to be too sharp to be discerning. they were deceived. a scarcely perceptible sign passed between them and the pawnbroker, and the latter suddenly became aware of the existence of his shabby customer.
he now showed me what he intended for a real friendly air. he couldn't buy my diamond himself, he said, but seeing he felt so sorry for me he would send me to a diamond broker he knew, who would do business with me if i satisfied him it was on the level. he gave me an address near by. i enclose the card, but neither the name nor the address means anything of course. i went there at once, risking a call down from the foreman if i was late getting back to the shop.
it was a room on the second floor of a typical third avenue house, shop below, furnished rooms above, and the elevated road pounding by the windows. evidently there had been a hasty attempt to make it look like an office; a desk had been brought in and the bed removed. behind the desk sat a fat man rolling a cigar between his thick lips, and trying to look as if he were not expecting me. he looked prosperous in a common way, with his silk hat on the back of his head, and his immense gaping cutaway. his face was red and what passes for good-humoured with little pig eyes lost in fat. a huge moustache with curled ends, decorated it, the kind of moustache that i thought even new york politicians had given up nowadays. in a phrase, the man looked like a ward leader of fifteen years ago. the most characteristic thing about him was his bustling energy, unusual in one so fat.
this alleged diamond broker was making out to be very much occupied with business. he kept me waiting a while. as soon as he took the diamond in his hand i saw that he knew nothing about stones. he didn't even have a glass to examine it. evidently the word had been passed to him that it was all right. but if he knew nothing about diamonds, he was well experienced in humanity. he put me through a gruelling cross-examination which i supported as best i could. my delicate problem was to lead him to suspect i was a crook, without letting him think i was a fool. to this end i elaborated the story of my old wife's engagement ring. he listened to it with a leer in his little eyes, as much as to say: "pretty good old fellow! but you needn't take all that trouble with me!"
he expressed himself as satisfied, and we passed to the discussion of the price. i asked something near the stone's real value. he laughed, and offered me a fifth of that. we were presently hotly engaged in humankind's first game, bargaining. he loved it. unfortunately i was handicapped by the necessity of getting back to work. we agreed on a price which was about a quarter of the stone's value. no doubt he would have had more respect for me if i had held out longer. he paid me out of an enormous roll of greasy bills.
i was sorry to see the stone go. it was a good one, nearly two carats. it was not safe of course to mark it in any visible way, but i have had this and the other decoy diamonds carefully described and photographed, so that we will have no difficulty in identifying them later.
as i was about to leave he shook my hand in friendly fashion, and still with that indescribable leer, expressed a hope that he might do further business together.
i mumbled something about a pair of earrings.
"good!" he said. "let me see them. even if you don't want to let me have them, i'll appraise them for you so you won't get cheated. come to me. i'm looking for a better office, so you'll find me gone from here. what's your address? i'll let you hear from me."
i declined to give it.
"cautious, eh?" he laughed uproariously. "you needn't mind me! m—— (the pawnbroker) will tell you where you can find me."
i got back to my work just in time to avoid a fine.
j. m.
report of j. m. no. 6
june 18th
i suspected that i might be trailed from the alleged diamond broker's office back to my work, and i hoped that i might be. evidently i was yesterday. on my way to my luncheon place on thirty-fourth street i ran into my fat friend. he came towards me with his coat-tails flying. he has very large feet which slap the pavement resoundingly. his knees give a little which furnishes an undulatory motion, a roll to his walk.
he hailed me blithely, and immediately announced that he was looking for a bite to eat. somewhat sullenly, for i did not wish to appear too glad to see him, i confessed that i was on the same errand, and we turned into the dairy restaurant together. he laid himself out to win my liking. his loud, jolly, fat-man ways provide a cover for a considerable astuteness. it was my game to make out that i was startled to be found in that neighbourhood, and that my conscience was none too good. it was his game to put me at my ease and have it understood that everything went between friends. nothing was said, however, about his business or mine.
i stuck to my lately-arrived immigrant story, and he symphathised with my lonesomeness in a strange land. he was a bachelor, he said, and often lonesome himself. this line led presently to an invitation for me to join him last night for a little sociability at the turtle bay café on lexington avenue. i accepted it. i am sure by his eagerness to cultivate my acquaintance that he knows i work in dunsany's.
i met him at eight o'clock, and we secured a little table to ourselves in a sort of alcove. the turtle bay is just one of the usual saloons, mahogany, plate glass and electric lights. the principal lure of such places is the dazzling flood of light they cast on the pavement. they have discovered the subtle psychological appeal of light. away with night and its terrors!
my fat friend was liberally hospitable. i allowed my suspicious sullen manner to be charmed away by degrees. in a way he is really entertaining with his gross humour and rude vitality. i suppose any one can charm when they have a mind to. the cloven hoof, however, peeped out in his brutal snarls at the newsies and beggars who came to our table. on the whole i enjoyed myself. it was a lot better than mooning in my wretched room, or wandering the sultry streets thinking of the cool and comfortable club.
the will being good on both sides we got along famously. no actual confidences have passed between us yet, but we are ripe for them. as we mellowed together i allowed it to peep out that i had a bitter grudge against society, and would stop at nothing to feed it. he enthusiastically applauded my sentiments.
"life is a bank!" he said, "that's got to be busted into if a man wants to enjoy any of the good things!"
i am to call him george pawling. we have a date to meet at the turtle bay again to-morrow night. i hinted that i might have another diamond or two.
i was glad to hear from you that this man is undoubtedly one of the gang. so i am on the right track!
j. m.
