The Reward
I was before one of those difficult positions unavoidable to avisitor in a foreign country.I had to meet the obligations of professional courtesy. CaptainWalker had asked me to go over the manuscript of his memoirs; andnow he had called at the house in which I was a guest, for myopinion. We had long been friends; associated in innumerablecases, and I wished to suggest the difficulty rather than toexpress it. It was the twilight of an early Washington winter.The lights in the great library, softened with delicate shades,had been turned on. Outside, Sheridan Circle was almost a thingof beauty in its vague outlines; even the squat, ridiculousbronze horse had a certain dignity in the blue shadow.If one had been speculating on the man, from his physical aspectone would have taken Walker for an engineer of some sort, ratherthan the head of the United States Secret Service. His lean faceand his angular manner gaffe that impression. Even now,motionless in the big chair beyond the table, he seemed - howshall I say it? - mechanical.And that was the very defect in his memoir. He had cut the greatcases into a dry recital. There was no longer in them anypressure of a human impulse. The glow of inspired detail hadbeen dissected out. Everything startling and wonderful had beendevitalized.The memoir was a report.The bulky typewritten manuscript lay on the table beside theelectric lamp, and I stood about uncertain how to tell him."Walker," I said, "did nothing wonderful ever happen to you inthe adventure of these cases?""What precisely do you mean, Sir Henry?" he replied.The practical nature of the man tempted me to extravagance."Well," I said, "for example, were you never kissed in a lonelystreet by a mysterious woman and the flash of your dark lanternreveal a face of, startling beauty?""No," he said, as though he were answering a sensible question,"that never happened to me.""Then," I continued, "perhaps you have found a prince of thechurch, pale as alabaster, sitting in his red robe, who puttogether the indicatory evidence of the crime that baffled youwith such uncanny acumen that you stood aghast at hisperspicacity?""No," he said; and then his face lighted. "But I'll tell youwhat I did find. I found a drunken hobo at Atlantic City who wasthe best detective I ewer, saw."I sat down and tapped the manuscript with my fingers."It's not here," I said. "Why did you leave it out?"He took a big gold watch out of his pocket and turned it about inhis hand. The case was covered with an inscription."Well, Sir Henry," he said, "the boys in the department think agood deal of me. I shouldn't like them to know how a dirty trampfaked me at Atlantic City. I don't mind telling you, but Icouldn't print it in a memoir."He went directly ahead with the story and I was careful not tointerrupt him:"I was sitting in a rolling chair out there on the Boardwalkbefore the Traymore. I was nearly all in, and I had taken a runto Atlantic for a day or two of the sea air. The fact is thewhole department was down and out. You may remember what we wereup against; it finally got into the newspapers."The government plates of the Third Liberty Bond issue haddisappeared. We knew how they had gotten out, and we thought weknew the man at the head of the thing. It was a Mulehaus job, aswe figured it."It was too big a thing for a little crook. With the governmentplates they could print Liberty Bonds just as the Treasury would.And they could sow the world with them."He paused and moved his gold-rimmed spectacles a little closer inon his nose."You see these war bonds are scattered all over the country.They are held by everybody. It's not what it used to be, abanker's business that we could round up. Nobody could round upthe holders of these bonds."A big crook like Mulehaus could slip a hundred million of theminto the country and never raise a ripple."He paused and drew his fingers across his bony protruding chin."I'll say this for Mulehaus: He's the hardest man to identify inthe whole kingdom of crooks. Scotland Yard, the Service de laSurete, everybody, says that. I don't mean dime-novel disguises- false whiskers and a limp. I mean the ability to be thecharacter he pretends - the thing that used to make JoeJefferson, Rip Van Winkle - and not an actor made up to look likehim. That's the reason nobody could keep track of Mulehaus,especially in South American cities. He was a French banker inthe Egypt business and a Swiss banker in the Argentine."He turned back from the digression:"And it was a clean job. They had got away with the plates. Wedidn't have a clew. We thought, naturally, that they'd make forMexico or some South American country to start their printingpress. And we had the ports and border netted up. Nothing couldhave gone out across the border or, through any port. All thecustoms officers were, working with us, and every agent of theDepartment of Justice."He looked at me steadily across the table."You see the Government had to get those plates back before thecrook started to print, or else take up every bond of that issueover the whole country. It was a hell of a thing!"Of course we had gone right after the record of all the bigcrooks to see whose line this sort of job was. And the thingnarrowed down to Mulehaus or old Vronsky. We soon found out itwasn't Vronsky. He was in Joliet. It was Mulehaus. But wecouldn't find him."We didn't even know that Mulehaus was in America. He's a bigcrook with a genius for selecting men. He might be directing thejob from Rio or a Mexican port. But we were sure it was aMulehaus' job. He sold the French securities in Egypt in '90;and he's the man who put the bogus Argentine bonds on our market- you'll find the case in the 115th Federal Reporter."Well," he went on, "I was sitting out there in the rollingchair, looking at the sun on the sea and thinking about thething, when I noticed this hobo that I've been talking about. Hewas my chair attendant, but I hadn't looked at him before. Hehad moved round from behind me and was now leaning against thegalvanized pipe railing."He was a big human creature, a little stooped, unshaved anddirty; his mouth was slack and loose, and he had a big mobilenose that seemed to move about like a piece of soft rubber. Hehad hardly any clothing; a cap that must have been fished out ofan ash barrel, no shirt whatever, merely an old ragged coatbuttoned round him, a pair of canvas breeches and carpet slipperstied on to his feet with burlap, and wrapped round his ankles toconceal the fact that he wore no socks."As I looked at him he darted out, picked up the stump of acigarette that some one had thrown down, and came back to therailing to smoke it, his loose mouth and his big soft nose movinglike kneaded putty."Altogether this tramp was the worst human derelict I ever saw.And it occurred to me that this was the one place in the whole ofAmerica where any sort of a creature could get a kind ofemployment and no questions asked."Anything that could move and push a chair could get fifteencents an hour from McDuyal. Wise man, poor man, beggar man,thief, it was all one to McDuyal. And the creatures could sleepin the shed behind the rolling chairs."I suppose an impulse to offer the man a garment of some sortmoved me to address him."`You're nearly naked,' I said."He crossed one leg over the other with the toe of the carpetslipper touching the walk, in the manner of a burlesque actor,took the cigarette out of his mouth with a little flourish, andreplied to me"'Sure, Governor, I ain't dolled up like John Drew.'"There was a sort of cocky unconcern about the creature that gavehis miserable state a kind of beggarly distinction. He was inamong the very dregs of life, and he was not depressed about it."'But if I had a sawbuck," he continued, "I could bulge your eye. . . . Couldn't point the way to one?'"He arrested my answer with the little flourish of his fingersholding the stump of the cigarette."'Not work, Governor,' and he made a little duck of his head,'and not murder . . . . Go as far as you please between 'em.'"The fantastic manner of the derelict was infectious."`O. K.' I said. `Go out and find me a man who is a deserterfrom the German Army, was a tanner in Bale and began life as asailor, and I'll double your money - I'll give you atwenty-dollar bill.'"The creature whistled softly in two short staccato notes."`Some little order,' he said. And taking a toothpick out of hispocket he stuck it into the stump of the cigarette which hadbecome too short to hold between his fingers."At this moment a boy from the post office came to me with thedaily report from Washington, and I got out of the chair, tippedthe creature, and went into the hotel, stopping to pay McDuyal asI passed."There was nothing new from the department except that ourorganization over the country was in close touch. We had offeredfive thousand dollars reward for the recovery of the plates, andthe Post Office Department was now posting the notice all overAmerica in every office. The Secretary thought we had better letthe public in on it and not keep it an underground offer to theservice."I had forgotten the hobo, when about five o'clock he passed me alittle below the Steel Pier. He was in a big stride and he hadsomething clutched in his hand."He called to me as he hurried along: `I got him, Governor. . . .See you later!'"`See me now,' I said. `What's the hurry?'"He flashed his hand open, holding a silver dollar with his thumbagainst the palm."`Can't stop now, I'm going to get drunk. See you later.'"I smiled at this disingenuous creature. He was saving me forthe dry hour. He could point out Mulehaus in any passing chair,and I would give some coin to be rid of his pretension."Walker paused. Then he went on:"I was right. The hobo was waiting for me when I came out of thehotel the following morning."`Howdy, Governor,' he said; `I located your man.'"I was interested to see how he would frame up his case."`How did you find him?' I said."He grinned, moving his lip and his loose nose."`Some luck, Governor, and some sleuthin'. It was like this: Ithought you was stringin' me. But I said to myself I'll keep outan eye; maybe it's on the level - any damn thing can happen.'"He put up his hand as though to hook his thumb into the armholeof his vest, remembered that he had only a coat buttoned roundhim and dropped it."`And believe me or not, Governor, it's the God's truth. Aboutfour o'clock up toward the Inlet I passed a big, well-dressed,banker-looking gent walking stiff from the hip and throwing outhis leg. "Come eleven!" I said to myself. "It's the goosestep!"I had an empty roller, and I took a turn over to him.'"`"Chair, Admiral?" I said."`He looked at me sort of queer."`"What makes you think I'm an admiral, my man?" he answers."Well," I says, lounging over on one foot reflective like,"nobody could be a-viewin' the sea with that lovin', ownershiplook unless he'd bossed her a bit . . . . If I'm right, Admiral,you takes the chair.""`He laughed, but he got in. "I'm not an admiral," he said, "butit is true that I've followed the sea.'""The hobo paused, and put up his first and second fingers spreadlike a V."`Two points, Governor - the gent had been a sailor and asoldier; now how about the tanner business?"He scratched his head, moving his ridiculous cap."`That sort of puzzled me, and I pussyfooted along toward theInlet thinkin' about it. If a man was a tanner, and especially aforeign, hand-workin' tanner, what would his markin's be?"`I tried to remember everybody that I'd ever seen handlin' ahide, and all at once I recollected that the first thing a dagoshoemaker done when he picked up a piece of leather was to smoothit out with his thumbs. An' I said to myself, now that'll bewhat a tanner does, only he does it more. . . . he's always doin'it. Then I asks myself what would be the markin's?'"The hobo paused, his mouth open, his head twisted to one side.Then he jerked up as under a released spring."`And right away, Governor, I got the answer to it flat thumbs!'"The hobo stepped back with an air of victory and flashed hishand up."`And he had 'em! I asked him what time it was so I could keepthe hour straight for McDuyal, I told him, but the real reasonwas so I could see his hands.'"Walker crossed one leg over the other."It was clever," he said, "and I hesitated to shatter it. Butthe question had to come."`Where is your man?' I said."The hobo executed a little deprecatory step, with ,his fingerspicking at his coat pockets."`That's the trouble, Governor,' he answered; `I intended tosleuth him for you, but he gave me a dollar and I got drunk . . .you saw me. That man had got out at McDuyal's place not fiveminutes before. I was flashin' to the booze can when you triedto stop me . . . . Nothin' doin' when I get the price.'"Walker paused."It was a good fairy story and worth something. I offered himhalf a dollar. Then I got a surprise."The creature looked eagerly at the coin in my fingers, and hemoved toward it. He was crazy for the liquor it would buy. Buthe set his teeth and pulled up."`No, Governor,' he said, `I'm in it for the sawbuck. Where'll Ifind you about noon?'"I promised to be on the Boardwalk before Heinz's Pier at twoo'clock, and he turned to shuffle away. I called an inquiryafter him . . . You see there were two things in his story: Howdid he get a dollar tip, and how did he happen to make hisimaginary man banker-looking? Mulehaus had been banker-lookingin both the Egypt and the Argentine affairs. I left the latterpoint suspended, as we say. But I asked about the dollar. Hecame back at once."`I forgot about that, Governor,' he said. `It was like this:The admiral kept looking out at the sea where an old freighterwas going South. You know, the fruit line from New York. One ofthem goes by every day or two. And I kept pushing him along.Finally we got up to the Inlet, and I was about to turn when hestopped me. You know the neck of ground out beyond where thestreet cars loop; there's an old board fence by the road, thensand to the sea, and about halfway between the fence and thewater there's a shed with some junk in it. You've seen it. Theymade the old America out there and the shed was a tool house."`When I stopped the admiral says: "Cut across to the hole inthat old board fence and see if an automobile has been there, andI'll give you a dollar." An' I done it, an' I got it.'"Then he shuffled off."`Be on the spot, Governor, an' I'll lead him to you.Walker leaned over, rested his elbows on the arms of his chair,and linked his fingers together."That gave me a new flash on the creature. He was a slickerarticle than I imagined. I was not to get off with a tip. Hewas taking some pains to touch me for a greenback. I thought Isaw his line. It would not account for his hitting thedescription of Mulehaus in the make-up of his straw-man, but itwould furnish the data for the dollar story. I had drawn thelatter a little before he was ready. It belonged in what heplanned to give me at two o'clock. But I thought I saw what thecreature was about. And I was right."Walker put out his hand and moved the pages of his memoir on thetable. Then he went on:"I was smoking a cigar on a bench at the entrance to Heinz's Pierwhen the hobo shuffled up. He came down one of the streets fromPacific Avenue, and the direction confirmed me in my theory. Italso confirmed me in the opinion that I was all kinds of a foolto let this dirty hobo get a further chance at me."I was not in a very good humor. Everything I had set goingafter Mulehaus was marking time. The only report was progress inlinking things up; not only along the Canadian and Mexicanborders and the customhouses, but we had also done a furtherunusual thing, we had an agent on every ship going out of Americato follow through to the foreign port and look out for anythingpicked up on the way."It was a plan I had set at immediately the robbery wasdiscovered. It would cut out the trick of reshipping at sea fromsome fishing craft or small boat. The reports were encouragingenough in that respect. We had the whole country as tight as adrum. But it was slender comfort when the Treasury was raisingthe devil for the plates and we hadn't a clew to them."Walker stopped a moment. Then he went on:"I felt like kicking the hobo when he got to me, he was soobviously the extreme of all worthless creatures, with thatapologetic, confidential manner which seems to be an abominableattendant on human degeneracy. One may put up with it for alittle while, but it presently becomes intolerable."`Governor,' he began, when he'd shuffled up, `you won't git madif I say a little somethin'?"`Go on and say it,' I said."The expression on his dirty unshaved face became, if possible,more foolish."`Well, then, Governor, askin' your pardon, you ain't Mr. HenryP. Johnson, from Erie; you're the Chief of the United StatesSecret Service, from Washington.' "Walker moved in his chair."That made me ugly," he went on, "the assurance of the creatureand my unspeakable carelessness in permitting the officialletters brought to me on the day before by the post-officemessenger to be seen. In my relaxation I had forgotten the eyeof the chair attendant. I took the cigar out of my teeth andlocked at him."`And I'll say a little something myself!' I could hardly keepmy foot clear of him. `When you got sober this morning andremembered who I was, you took a turn up round the post office tomake sure of it, and while you were in there you saw the noticeof the reward for the stolen bond plates. That gave you thenotion with which you pieced out your fairy story about how yougot the dollar tip. Having discovered my identity through apiece of damned carelessness on my part, and having seen thepostal notice of the reward, you undertook to enlarge your littlegame. That's the reason you wouldn't take fifty cents. It wasyour notion in the beginning to make a touch for a tip. And itwould have worked. But now you can't get a damned cent out ofme.' Then I threw a little brush into him: `I'd have stood atouch for your finding the fake tanner, because there isn't anysuch person.'"I intended to put the hobo out of business," Walker went on,"but the effect of my words on him were even more startling thanI anticipated. His jaw dropped and he looked at me inastonishment."`No such person!' he repeated. `Why, Governor, before God, Ifound a man like that, an' he was a banker-one of the big ones,sure as there's a hell!' "Walker put out his hands in a puzzled gesture."There it was again, the description of Mulehaus! And it puzzledme. Every motion of this hobo's mind in every direction aboutthis affair was perfectly clear to me. I saw his intention inevery turn of it and just where he got the material for thedetails of his story. But this absolutely distinguishingdescription of Mulehaus was beyond me. Everybody, of course,knew that we were looking for the lost plates, for there was thereward offered by the Treasury; but no human soul outside of thetrusted agents of the department knew that we were looking forMulehaus."Walker did not move, but he stopped in his recital for a moment."The tramp shuffled up a step closer to the bench where I sat.The anxiety in his big slack face was sincere beyond question."`I can't find 'the banker man, Governor; he's skipped the coop.But I believe I can find what he's hid.'"`Well,' I said, `go and find it.'"The hobo jerked out his limp hands in a sort of hopelessgesture."`Now, Governor,' he whimpered, `what good would it do me to findthem plates?'"`You'd get five thousand dollars,' I said."`I'd git kicked into the discard by the first cop that got tome,' he answered, `that's what I'd git.'"The creature's dirty, unshaved jowls began to shake, and hisvoice became wholly a whimper."`I've got a fine on this thing, Governor, sure as there's ahell. That banker man was viewin' the layout. I've thought itall over, an' this is the way it would be. They're afraid of theborder an' they're afraid of the customhouses, so they runs theloot down here in an automobile, hides it up about the Inlet, andplans to go out with it to one of them fruit steamers passing onthe way to Tampico. They'd have them plates bundled up in asailor's chest most like."`Now, Governor, you'd say why ain't they already done it? An'I'd answer, the main guy - this banker man - didn't know theautomobile had got here until he sent me to look, and there ain'tbeen no ship along since then . . . . I've been special carefulto find that out.' And then the creature began to whine. `Havea heart, Governor, come along with me. Gimme a show!'"It was not the creature's plea that moved me, nor his pretendeddeductions; I'm a bit old to be soft. It was the `banker man'sticking like a bur in the hobo's talk. I wanted to keep him insight until I understood where he got it. No doubt that seems aslight reason for going out to the Inlet with the creature; butyou must remember that slight things are often big signboards inour business."He continued, his voice precise and even"We went directly from the end of the Boardwalk to the old shed;it was open, an unfastened door on a pair of leather hinges. Theshed is small, about twenty feet by eleven, with a hard dirtfloor packed down by the workmen who had used it; a combinationof clay and sand like the Jersey roads put in to make a floor.All round it, from the sea to the board fence, was soft sand.There were some pieces of old junk lying about in the shed; butnothing of value or it would have been nailed up."The hobo led right off with his deductions. There, was thetrack of a man, clearly outlined in the soft sand, leading fromthe board fence to the shed and returning, and no other trackanywhere about."`Now, Governor,' he began, when he had taken a look at thetracks, `the man that made them tracks carried something intothis shed, and he left it here, and it was something heavy.'"I was fairly certain that the hobo had salted the place for me,made the tracks himself; but I played out a line to him."`How do you know that?' I said."`Well, Governor,' he answered, `take a look at them two lines oftracks. In the one comin' to the shed the man was walkin' withhis feet apart and in the one goin' back he was walkin' with hisfeet in front of one another; that's because he was carryin'somethin' heavy when he come an' nothin' when he left.'"It was an observation on footprints," he went on, "that hadnever occurred to me. The hobo saw my, awakened interest, and headded:"`Did you never notice a man carryin' a heavy load? He kind oftotters, walkin' with his feet apart to keep his balance. Thatmakes his foot tracks side by side like, instead of one beforethe other as he makes them when he's goin' light."'Walker interrupted his narrative with a comment:"It's the truth. I've verified it a thousand times since thathobo put me onto it. A line running through the center of theheel prints of a man carrying a heavy burden will be a zigzag,while one through the heel prints of the same man without theburden will be almost straight."The tramp went right on with his deductions:"`If it come in and didn't go out, it's here.'"And he began to go over the inside of the shed. He searched itlike a man searching a box for a jewel. He moved the pieces ofold castings and he literally fingered the shed from end to end.He would have found a bird's egg."Finally he stopped and stood with his hand spread out over hismouth. And I selected this critical moment to touch the powderoff under his game."`Suppose,' I said, `that this man with the heavy load wished tomislead us; suppose that instead of bringing something here hetook one of these old castings away?'"The hobo looked at me without changing his position."`How could he, Governor; he was pointin' this way with theload?'"`By walking backward,' I said. For it occurred to me thatperhaps the creature had manufactured this evidence for theoccasion, and I wished to test the theory."Walker went on in his slow, even voice:"The test produced more action than I expected.The hobo dived out through the door. I followed to see himdisappear. But it was not in flight; he was squatting down overthe footprints. And a moment later he rocked back on hishaunches with a little exultant yelp."`Dope's wrong, Governor,' he said; `he was sure comin' thisway.' Then he explained: `If a man's walkin' forward in sand ormud or snow the toe of his shoe flirts out a little of it, an' ifhe's walkin' backward his heel flirts it out.'"At this point I began to have some respect for the creature'sability. He got up and came back into the shed. And there hestood, in his old position, with his fingers over his mouth,looking round at the empty shed, in which, as I have said, onecould not have concealed a bird's egg."I watched him without offering any suggestion, for my interestin the thing had awakened and I was curious to see what he woulddo. He stood perfectly motionless for about a minute; and thensuddenly he snapped his fingers and the light came into his face."`I got it, Governor!' Then he came over to where I stood.`Gimme a quarter to git a bucket.'"I gave him the coin, for I was now profoundly puzzled, and hewent out. He was gone perhaps twenty minutes, and when he camein he had a bucket of water. But he had evidently been thinkingon the way, for he set the bucket down carefully, wiped his handson his canvas breeches, and began to speak, with a littleapologetic whimper in his voice."`Now look here, Governor,' he said, `I'm a-goin' to talk turkey;do I git the five thousand if I find this stuff ?'"`Surely,' I answered him."`An' there'll be no monkeyin', Governor; you'll take me down toa bank yourself an' put the money in my hand?'"`I promise you that,' I assured him."But he was not entirely quiet in his mind about it. He shifteduneasily from one foot to the other, and his soft rubber noseworked."`Now, Governor,' he said, `I'm leery about jokers - I gotta be.I don't want any string to this money. If I git it I want to goand blow it in. I don't want you to hand me a roll an' thenstart any reformin' stunt - a-holdin' of it in trust an' aprobation officer a-pussyfootin' me, or any funny business. Iwant the wad an' a clear road to the bright lights, with no wordpassed along to pinch me. Do I git it?,"`It's a trade!' I said."`O. K.,' he answered, and he took up the bucket. He began atthe door and poured the water carefully on the hard trampedearth. When the bucket was empty he brought another and another.Finally about midway of the floor space he stopped."`Here it is!' he said."I was following beside him, but I saw nothing to justify hiswords."`Why do you think the plates are buried here?' I said."`Look at the air bubbles comin' up, Governor,' he answered."Walker stopped, then he added:"It's a thing which I did not know until that moment, but it'sthe truth. If hard-packed earth is dug up and repacked air getsinto it, and if one pours water on the place air bubbles willcome up."He did not go on, and I flung at him the big query in his story."And you found the plates there?""Yes, Sir Henry," he replied, "in the false bottom of an oldsteamer trunk.""And the hobo got the money?""Certainly," he answered. "I put it into his hand, and let himgo with it, as I promised."Again he was silent, and I turned toward him in astonishment."Then," I said, "why did you begin this story by saying the hobofaked you? I don't see the fake; he found the plates and he wasentitled to the reward."Walker put his hand into his pocket, took out a leather case,selected a paper from among its cons tents and handed it to me."I didn't see the fake either," he said, "until I got thisletter."I unfolded the letter carefully. It was neatly written in a handlike copper plate and dated Buenos AiresDEAR COLONEL WALKER: When I discovered that you were planting anagent on every ship I had to abandon the plates and try for thereward. Thank you for the five thousand; it covered expenses.Very sincerely yours,D. Mulehaus.
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