Hearts and Masks

"Telegraphed!" exclaimed the chief, rousing himself out of a melancholy

dream. (There would be no mention of him in the morrow's papers.)

"Yes, telegraphed. The despatch lay unopened on your office-desk.

You're a good watch-dog--for a hen-coop!" growled Haggerty. "Ten

thousand in gems to-night, and by this time he is safe in New York.

You are all a pack of blockheads.

"Used the telephone, did he? Told you to hold these innocent persons

till he went somewhere to land the accomplice, eh? The whistle of the

train meant nothing to you. Well, that whistle ought to have told you

that there might be a mistake. A good officer never quits his

prisoners. If there is an accomplice in toils elsewhere, he makes them

bring him in, he does not go out for him. And now I've got to start

all over again, and he in New York, a bigger catacomb than Rome ever

boasted of. He's not a common thief; nobody knows who he is or what

his haunts are. But I have seen his face; I'll never forget him."

The chief tore his hair, while his subordinates shuffled their feet

uneasily. Then they all started in to explain their theories. But the

detective silenced them with a wave of his huge hand.

"I don't want to hear any explanations. Let these persons go," he

commanded, with a jerk of his head in our direction. "You can all

return to town but one officer. I may need a single man," Haggerty

added thoughtfully.

"What are you going to do?" asked the chief.

"Never you mind. I have an idea; it may be a good one. If it is, I'll

telephone you all about it when the time comes."

He stepped over to the telephone and called up central. He spoke so

low that none of us overheard what he said; but he hung up the

receiver, a satisfied smile on his face.

The girl and I were free to go whither we listed, and we listed to

return at once to New York. Hamilton, however, begged us to remain, to

dance and eat, as a compensation for what we had gone through; but Miss

Hawthorne resolutely shook her head; and as there was nothing in the

world that would have induced me to stay without her, I shook my head,

too. It seemed to me I had known this girl all my life, so closely

does misfortune link one life to another. I had seen her for the first

time less than eight hours before; and yet I was confident that as many

years, under ordinary circumstances, would not have taught me her real

worth.