The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

"Impossible!"

"The very man."

Mr. Sylvester stepped up to him. "Who are you, and how do you know this?"

"I have said my name is Cummins, and I know this, because I have wormed myself into the man's confidence and have got the bonds, together with his confession, here in my pocket." And he drew out the long lost bonds, which he handed to their owner, with a bit of paper on which was in-scribed in the handwriting of the watchman, an acknowledgment to the effect that he, alone and unassisted, had perpetrated the robbery which had raised such scandal in the bank and led to the disappearance of Hopgood.

"And the man himself?" cried Bertram, when they had all read this. "Where is he?"

"Oh, I allowed him to escape."

Mr. Sylvester frowned.

"There is something about this I don't understand," said he. "How came you to take such an interest in this matter; and why did you let the man escape after acknowledging his crime?"

With a quick, not undignified action, Cummins stepped back. "Gentlemen," said he, "it is allowable in a detective in the course of his duty, to resort to means for eliciting the truth, that in any other cause and for any other purpose, would be denominated as unmanly, if not mean and contemptible. When I heard of this robbery, as I did the day after its perpetration, my mind flew immediately to the watchman as the possible culprit. I did not know that he had done the deed, and I did not see how he could have possessed the means of doing it, but I had been acquainted with him for some time, and certain expressions which I had overheard him use – expressions that had passed over me lightly at the time, now recurred to my mind with startling distinctness. 'If a man knew the combination of the vault door, how easily he could make himself rich from the contents of those boxes!' was one, I remember; and another, 'I have worked in the bank for twelve years and have not so much money laid up against a rainy day, as would furnish Mr. Sylvester in cigars for a month.' The fact that he had no opportunity to learn the combination, was the only stumbling-block in the way of my conclusions. But that obstacle was soon removed. In a talk with the janitor's wife – a good woman, sirs, but a trifle conceited – I learned that he had once had the very opportunity of which I speak, provided he was smart enough to recognize the fact. The way it came about was this. Hopgood, who always meant to do about the right thing, as I know, was one morning very sick, so sick that when the time came for him to go down and open the vaults for the day, he couldn't stir from his bed, or at least thought he couldn't. Twice had the watchman rung for him, and twice had he tried to get up, only to fall back again on his pillow. At last the call became imperative; the clerks would soon be in, and the books were not even in readiness for them. Calling his wife to him, he asked if she thought she could open the vault door provided she knew the combination. She returned a quite eager, 'yes,' being a naturally vain woman and moreover a little sore over the fact that her husband never entrusted her with any of his secrets. 'Then,' said he, 'listen to those three numbers that I give you; and turn the knob accordingly,' explaining the matter in a way best calculated to enlighten her as to what she had to do. She professed herself as understanding perfectly and went off in quite a nutter of satisfaction to accomplish her task. But though he did not know it at the time, it seems that her heart failed her when she got into the hall, and struck with fear lest she should forget the numbers before she got to the foot of the stairs, she came back, and carefully wrote them down on a piece of paper, armed with which she started for the second time to fulfil her task. The watchman was in the bank when she entered, and to his expressions of surprise, she answered that her husband was ill and that she was going to open the vaults. He offered to help her, but she stared at him with astonishment, and waiting till he had walked to the other end of the bank, proceeded to the vault door, and after carefully consulting the paper in her hand, was about to turn the knob as directed, when Hopgood himself came into the room. He was too anxious, he said, to keep in bed, and though he trembled at every step, came forward and accomplished the task himself. He did not see the paper in his wife's hand, nor notice her when she tore it up and threw the pieces in the waste-basket near-by, but the watchman may have observed her, and as it afterwards proved, did; and thus became acquainted with the combination that unlocked the outer vault doors."

"Humph!" broke in Mr. Sylvester, "if this is true, why didn't Hopgood inform me of the matter when I questioned him so closely?"

"Because he had forgotten the circumstance. He was in a fever at the time, and having eventually unlocked the vault himself, lost sight of the fact that he had previously sent his wife to do it. He went back to his bed after the clerks came in, and did not get up again till night. He may have thought the whole occurrence part of the delirium which more than once assailed him that day."

"I remember his being sick," said Bertram; "it was two or three days before the robbery."

"The very day before," corrected the man; "but let me tell my story in my own way. Having learned from Mrs. Hopgood of this opportunity which had been given to Fanning, I made up my mind to sift the matter. Being as I have said a friend of his, I didn't, want to peach on him unless he was guilty. To blast an honest man's reputation, is, I think, one of the meanest tricks of which a fellow can be guilty: but the truth I had to know, and in order to learn it, a deep and delicate game was necessary. Gentlemen, when the police have strong suspicions against a person whose reputation is above reproach and whose conduct affords no opportunity for impeachment, they set a springe for him. One of their number disguises himself, and making the acquaintance of this person, insinuates himself by slow degrees – often at the cost of months of effort – into his friendship and if possible into his confidence. 'Tis a detestable piece of business, but it is all that will serve in some cases, and has at least the merit of being as dangerous as it is detestable. This plan, I undertook with Fanning. Changing my appearance to suit the necessities of the case, I took board in the small house in Brooklyn where he puts up, and being well acquainted with his tastes, knew how to adapt myself to his liking. He was a busy man, and being obliged by his duties to turn night into day, had not much time to bestow upon me or any one else; but heedful of this, I managed to make the most of the spare moments that saw us together, and ere long we were very good comrades, and further on, very good friends. The day when I first ventured to suggest that honesty was all very well as long as it paid, was a memorable one to me. In that cast of the die I was either to win or lose the game I had undertaken. I won. After a feint or two, to see if I were in earnest, he fell into the net, and though he did not commit himself then, it was not long before he came to me, and deliberately requested my assistance in disposing of some bonds which he was smart enough to acquire, but not daring enough to attempt to sell. Of course the whole story came out, and I was sympathetic enough till I got the bonds into my hands, then – But I leave you to imagine what followed. Enough that I wrung this confession from him, and that in consideration of the doubtful game I had played upon him, let him go where he is by this time beyond the chance of pursuit."

"But your duty to your superior; your oath as a member of the force?"

"My superior is here!" said the man pointing to Mr. Sylvester; "an unconscious one I own, but still my superior; and as for my being a member of the force, that was true five years ago, but not to-day." And brushing off his whiskers with one hand and taking off his goggles with the other, Hopgood, the janitor, stood before them!

It was a radiant figure that met Cicely, when she came down stairs with Paula, and a joyous group that soon surrounded the now blushing and embarrassed janitor, with questions and remarks concerning this great and unexpected development of affairs. But the fervor with which Mr. Stuyvesant clasped Bertram's hand, and the look with which Cicely turned from her young lover to bestow a final kiss upon the departing bride, was worth all the pains and self-denial of the last few weeks – or so the janitor thought, who with a quicker comprehension than usual, had divined the situation and rejoiced in the result. But the most curious thing of all was to observe how, with the taking off of his goggles, Hopgood had relapsed into his old shrinking, easily embarrassed self. The man who but a few minutes before had related in their hearing a clear and succinct narrative, now shrank if a question was put him, and stammered in quite his ancient fashion, when he answered Mr. Sylvester's shake of the hand, by a hurried:

"I am going to see my wife now, sir. She's a good woman, if a little flighty, and will be the last one in the future to beg me to put more confidence in her. Will you tell me where she is, sir?"

Mr. Sylvester informed him; then added, "But look here, Hopgood, answer me one thing before you go. Why is it that with such talents as you possess, you didn't stay in the police force? You are a regular genius in your way, and ought not to drone away your existence as a janitor."

"Ah, sir," replied the other, shaking his head, "a man who is only capable of assuming one disguise, isn't good for much as a professional detective. Goggles and red whiskers will deceive one rogue, but not fifty. My eyes were my bane, sir, and ultimately cost me my place. While I could cover them up I was all right. It not only made a man of me, leaving me free to talk and freer to think, but disguised me so, my best friends couldn't recognize me; but after awhile my goggles were too well known for me to be considered of much further use to the department, and I was obliged to send in my resignation. It is too bad, but I have no versatility, sir. I'm either the clumsy, stammering creature you have always known, or else I am the man Cummins you saw here a few minutes ago."

"In either case an honest fellow," answered Mr. Sylvester, and allowed the janitor to depart.

One more scene, and this in the house which Paula is henceforth to make a home for herself and its once melancholy owner. They have come back from their wedding-journey, and are standing in their old fashion, he at the foot, and she half way up the stairs. Suddenly she turns and descends to his side.

"No, I will not wait," said she. "Here, on this spot we both love so well, and in this the first hour of our return, I will unburden my mind of what I have to say. Edward, is there nothing of all the past that still rests upon you like a shadow? Not one little regret you could wish taken away?"

"No," said he, enfolding her in his arms with a solemn smile. "The great gift which I hold is the fruit of that past, perhaps; I cannot wish it changed."

"But the sense of obligation never fulfilled, would you not be happier if that were removed?"

"Perhaps," he said, "but it cannot be now. I shall have to live without being perfectly happy."

She lifted her face and her smile shone like a star. "Oh God is good," she cried, "you shall not lack being perfectly happy;" and taking a little paper out of her pocket she put it in his hand. "We found that hidden in Jacqueline Japha's breast, when we went to lay her out for burial."

It was only a line; but it made Mr. Sylvester's brow flush and his voice tremble.

"Whatever I own, and I have been told that I am far from penniless, I desire to have given to the dear and disinterested girl that first told me of Margery Hamlin's vigil."

"Paula, Paula, Paula, thou art indeed my good gift! May God make me worthy of your love and of this His last and most unexpected mercy!"

And the look which crossed her face, was that sweet and unearthly radiance which speaks of perfect peace.

notes

1

A fact.