Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City DetectiveM'Govan, James
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Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective
M'Govan, James
Detective and mystery stories; Edinburgh (Scotland) -- Fiction
None but an expert thief could have done the thing so swiftly. The
moment the box was in his possession the thief caught sight of me
making a dash towards him, and turned and flew towards the end of
the street by which he had entered. He flew so fast that his feet
seemed scarcely to touch the ground. M^cSweeny had emerged from his
hiding-place at the first outcry, and appeared directly in front of
the flying man with his great, strong arms extended for a bear’s
hug; but the flying man, unable to check his pace, yet unwilling to
be taken, merely raised the tin box of tokens and dashed it full in
M^cSweeny’s face, flattening my chum’s little nose with his face, and
laying him on his back on the snowy pavement as neatly as if he had
been tugged back by the hair. I paid no attention to M^cSweeny, but
flew on in the wake of the thief; but when I turned the corner of the
street into Broughton he had vanished, I knew not in what direction.
I turned back, after a run up the brae, and found M^cSweeny sitting
up on the pavement and tenderly feeling the place where his nose had
been.
“Oh, you thickhead!” was my only remark, as I passed on to speak to
the robbed man.
“Thick, is it?” he dolefully returned. “Faix, it’s a great deal
thinner than it was a minit ago.”
“And you let him off, money and all,” I added, in deep disgust.
“Begorra, if you’d felt the weight of the money, like me, you’d wish
it far enough away,” he returned, busy with his handkerchief; “a
steam hammer’s nothing to it.”
“I am happy to say that there was no money in the box,” said the
robbed man, who was little the worse of his fall. “Nothing but a
number of metal tokens used as checks at the theatre.”
“Tokens?” groaned M^cSweeny, clenching his fists. “I’d like to give
him some more.”
A few words of explanation followed, which considerably relieved
my concern over the loss of the thief; and then the robbed man
accompanied us to the Central to report the case, and get a look at
the handwriting of the note sent us in warning. He readily recognised
the note-paper as of a kind used in the theatre, but could make
nothing of the handwriting. However, the fact that the warning had
come from some one employed in the theatre was a clue of a kind, and
with the promise to give us every help in following it out, he took
leave.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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