The Sleuths Page #2

"The Sleuths" by O. Henry is a charming short story that follows a group of amateur detectives as they attempt to solve a mysterious case. Known for his wit and clever storytelling, O. Henry weaves humor and intrigue into the plot, showcasing the quirky personalities of his characters. The narrative explores themes of deduction, friendship, and the human inclination to uncover the truth, all culminating in a twist that highlights O. Henry's signature style of surprise endings.

• Short story

								

wonderful achievements in induction. He was ever ready to astound and
charm his listeners by describing his methods.

“By elimination,” said Jolnes, spreading his clues upon a little table,
“I got rid of certain parts of the city to which Mrs. Snyder might have
removed. You see this hatpin? That eliminates Brooklyn. No woman
attempts to board a car at the Brooklyn Bridge without being sure that
she carries a hatpin with which to fight her way into a seat. And now I
will demonstrate to you that she could not have gone to Harlem. Behind
this door are two hooks in the wall. Upon one of these Mrs. Snyder has
hung her bonnet, and upon the other her shawl. You will observe that
the bottom of the hanging shawl has gradually made a soiled streak
against the plastered wall. The mark is clean-cut, proving that there
is no fringe on the shawl. Now, was there ever a case where a
middle-aged woman, wearing a shawl, boarded a Harlem train without
there being a fringe on the shawl to catch in the gate and delay the
passengers behind her? So we eliminate Harlem.

“Therefore I conclude that Mrs. Snyder has not moved very far away. On
this torn piece of card you see the word ‘Left,’ the letter ‘C,’ and
the number ‘12.’ Now, I happen to know that No. 12 Avenue C is a
first-class boarding house, far beyond your sister’s means—as we
suppose. But then I find this piece of a theatre programme, crumpled
into an odd shape. What meaning does it convey. None to you, very
likely, Mr. Meeks; but it is eloquent to one whose habits and training
take cognizance of the smallest things.

“You have told me that your sister was a scrub woman. She scrubbed the
floors of offices and hallways. Let us assume that she procured such
work to perform in a theatre. Where is valuable jewellery lost the
oftenest, Mr. Meeks? In the theatres, of course. Look at that piece of
programme, Mr. Meeks. Observe the round impression in it. It has been
wrapped around a ring—perhaps a ring of great value. Mrs. Snyder found
the ring while at work in the theatre. She hastily tore off a piece of
a programme, wrapped the ring carefully, and thrust it into her bosom.
The next day she disposed of it, and, with her increased means, looked
about her for a more comfortable place in which to live. When I reach
thus far in the chain I see nothing impossible about No. 12 Avenue C.
It is there we will find your sister, Mr. Meeks.”

Shamrock Jolnes concluded his convincing speech with the smile of a
successful artist. Meeks’s admiration was too great for words. Together
they went to No. 12 Avenue C. It was an old-fashioned brownstone house
in a prosperous and respectable neighbourhood.

They rang the bell, and on inquiring were told that no Mrs. Snyder was
known there, and that not within six months had a new occupant come to
the house.

When they reached the sidewalk again, Meeks examined the clues which he
had brought away from his sister’s old room.

“I am no detective,” he remarked to Jolnes as he raised the piece of
theatre programme to his nose, “but it seems to me that instead of a
ring having been wrapped in this paper it was one of those round
peppermint drops. And this piece with the address on it looks to me
like the end of a seat coupon—No. 12, row C, left aisle.”

Shamrock Jolnes had a far-away look in his eyes.

“I think you would do well to consult Juggins,” said he.

“Who is Juggins?” asked Meeks.

“He is the leader,” said Jolnes, “of a new modern school of detectives.
Their methods are different from ours, but it is said that Juggins has
solved some extremely puzzling cases. I will take you to him.”

They found the greater Juggins in his office. He was a small man with
light hair, deeply absorbed in reading one of the bourgeois works of
Nathaniel Hawthorne.

The two great detectives of different schools shook hands with
ceremony, and Meeks was introduced.

“State the facts,” said Juggins, going on with his reading.

When Meeks ceased, the greater one closed his book and said:

“Do I understand that your sister is fifty-two years of age, with a
large mole on the side of her nose, and that she is a very poor widow,
making a scanty living by scrubbing, and with a very homely face and
figure?”

“That describes her exactly,” admitted Meeks. Juggins rose and put on
his hat.

“In fifteen minutes,” he said, “I will return, bringing you her present
address.”

Shamrock Jolnes turned pale, but forced a smile.

Within the specified time Juggins returned and consulted a little slip
of paper held in his hand.

“Your sister, Mary Snyder,” he announced calmly, “will be found at No.
162 Chilton street. She is living in the back hall bedroom, five
flights up. The house is only four blocks from here,” he continued,
addressing Meeks. “Suppose you go and verify the statement and then
return here. Mr. Jolnes will await you, I dare say.”

Meeks hurried away. In twenty minutes he was back again, with a beaming
face.

“She is there and well!” he cried. “Name your fee!”

“Two dollars,” said Juggins.

When Meeks had settled his bill and departed, Shamrock Jolnes stood
with his hat in his hand before Juggins.

“If it would not be asking too much,” he stammered—“if you would favour
me so far—would you object to—”

“Certainly not,” said Juggins pleasantly. “I will tell you how I did
it. You remember the description of Mrs. Snyder? Did you ever know a
woman like that who wasn’t paying weekly instalments on an enlarged
crayon portrait of herself? The biggest factory of that kind in the
country is just around the corner. I went there and got her address off
the books. That’s all.”
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