The Gold Bag | Page 6

of suburban towns, and I well knew their two principal
types. Either they were of a pompous, dignified demeanor, which
covered a bewildered ignorance, or else they were overzealous and
worked with a misdirected energy that made serious trouble for an
intelligent detective. Of course, of the two kinds I preferred the former,
but the danger was that I should encounter both.
On my way I diverted my mind, and so partly forgot my impatience, by
endeavoring to "deduce" the station or occupation of my fellow
passengers.

Opposite me in the tunnel train sat a mild-faced gentleman, and from
the general, appearance of his head and hat I concluded he was a
clergyman. I studied him unostentatiously and tried to find some
indication of the denomination he might belong to, or the character of
his congregation, but as I watched, I saw him draw a sporting paper
from his pocket, and turning his hand, a hitherto unseen diamond
flashed brilliantly from his little finger. I hastily, revised my judgment,
and turning slightly observed the man who sat next me. Determined to
draw only logical inferences, I scrutinized his coat, that garment being
usually highly suggestive to our best regulated detectives. I noticed that
while the left sleeve was unworn and in good condition, the right sleeve
was frayed at the inside edge, and excessively smooth and shiny on the
inner forearm. Also the top button of the coat was very much worn, and
the next one slightly.
"A-ha!" said I to myself, "I've nailed you, my friend. You're a
desk-clerk, and you write all day long, standing at a desk. The worn top
button rubs against your desk as you stand, which it would not do were
you seated."
With a pardonable curiosity to learn if I were right, I opened
conversation with the young man. He was not unwilling to respond,
and after a few questions I learned, to my chagrin, that he was a
photographer. Alas for my deductions! But surely, Fleming Stone
himself would not have guessed a photographer from a worn and shiny
coat-sleeve. At the risk of being rudely personal, I made some reference
to fashions in coats. The young man smiled and remarked incidentally,
that owing to certain circumstances he was at the moment wearing his
brother's coat.
"And is your brother a desk clerk?" inquired I almost involuntarily:
He gave me a surprised glance, but answered courteously enough,
"Yes;" and the conversation flagged.
Exultantly I thought that my deduction, though rather an obvious one,
was right; but after another furtive glance at the young man, I realized
that Stone would have known he was wearing another's coat, for it was
the most glaring misfit in every way.
Once more I tried, and directed my attention to a middle-aged,
angular-looking woman, whose strong, sharp-featured face betokened a
prim spinster, probably at the head of a girls' school, or engaged in

some clerical work. However, as I passed her on my way to leave the
train I noticed a wedding-ring on her hand, and heard her say to her
companion, "No; I think a woman's sphere is in her own kitchen and
nursery. How could I think otherwise, with my six children to bring
up?" After these lamentable failures, I determined not to trust much to
deduction in the case I was about to investigate, but to learn actual facts
from actual evidence.
I reached West Sedgwick, as Donovan had said, at quarter before
eleven. Though I had never been there before, the place looked quite as
I had imagined it. The railway station was one of those modern
attractive structures of rough gray stone, with picturesque projecting
roof and broad, clean platforms. A flight of stone steps led down to the
roadway, and the landscape in every direction showed the well-kept
roads, the well-grown trees and the carefully-tended estates of a town
of suburban homes. The citizens were doubtless mainly men whose
business was in New York, but who preferred not to live there.
The superintendent must have apprised the coroner by telephone of my
immediate arrival, for a village cart from the Crawford establishment
was awaiting me, and a smart groom approached and asked if I were
Mr. Herbert Burroughs.
A little disappointed at having no more desirable companion on my
way to the house, I climbed up beside the driver, and the groom
solemnly took his place behind. Not curiosity, but a justifiable desire to
learn the main facts of the case as soon as possible, led me to question
the man beside me.
I glanced at him first and saw only the usual blank countenance of the
well-trained coachman.
His face was intelligent, and his eyes alert, but his impassive
expression showed his habit of controlling any indication of interest in
people or