Sixes and Sevens | Page 9

an end to the troubadours; and now and then it does seem that the jingle
of their guitars will drown the sound of the muffled blows of the
pickaxes and trip hammers of all the Workers in the world.

II THE SLEUTHS

In The Big City a man will disappear with the suddenness and
completeness of the flame of a candle that is blown out. All the
agencies of inquisition -- the hounds of the trail, the sleuths of the city's
labyrinths, the closet detectives of theory and induction -- will be
invoked to the search. Most often the man's face will be seen no more.
Sometimes he will reappear in Sheboygan or in the wilds of Terre
Haute, calling himself one of the synonyms of "Smith," and without
memory of events up to a certain time, including his grocer's bill.
Sometimes it will be found, after dragging the rivers, and polling the
restaurants to see if he may be waiting for a well-done sirloin, that he
has moved next door.
This snuffing out of a human being like the erasure of a chalk man
from a blackboard is one of the most impressive themes in dramaturgy.

The case of Mary Snyder, in point, should not be without interest.
A man of middle age, of the name of Meeks, came from the West to
New York to find his sister, Mrs. Mary Snyder, a widow, aged
fifty-two, who had been living for a year in a tenement house in a
crowded neighbourhood.
At her address he was told that Mary Snyder had moved away longer
than a month before. No one could tell him her new address.
On coming out Mr. Meeks addressed a policeman who was standing on
the corner, and explained his dilemma.
"My sister is very poor," he said, "and I am anxious to find her. I have
recently made quite a lot of money in a lead mine, and I want her to
share my prosperity. There is no use in advertising her, because she
cannot read."
The policeman pulled his moustache and looked so thoughtful and
mighty that Meeks could almost feel the joyful tears of his sister Mary
dropping upon his bright blue tie.
"You go down in the Canal Street neighbourhood," said the policeman,
"and get a job drivin' the biggest dray you can find. There's old women
always gettin' knocked over by drays down there. You might see 'er
among 'em. If you don't want to do that you better go 'round to
headquarters and get 'em to put a fly cop onto the dame."
At police headquarters, Meeks received ready assistance. A general
alarm was sent out, and copies of a photograph of Mary Snyder that her
brother had were distributed among the stations. In Mulberry Street the
chief assigned Detective Mullins to the case.
The detective took Meeks aside and said:
"This is not a very difficult case to unravel. Shave off your whiskers,
fill your pockets with good cigars, and meet me in the cafe of the
Waldorf at three o'clock this afternoon."

Meeks obeyed. He found Mullins there. They had a bottle of wine,
while the detective asked questions concerning the missing woman.
"Now," said Mullins, "New York is a big city, but we've got the
detective business systematized. There are two ways we can go about
finding your sister. We will try one of 'em first. You say she's
fifty-two?"
"A little past," said Meeks.
The detective conducted the Westerner to a branch advertising office of
one of the largest dailies. There he wrote the following "ad" and
submitted it to Meeks:
"Wanted, at once -- one hundred attractive chorus girls for a new
musical comedy. Apply all day at No.- Broadway."
Meeks was indignant.
"My sister," said he, "is a poor, hard-working, elderly woman. I do not
see what aid an advertisement of this kind would be toward finding
her."
"All right," said the detective. "I guess you don't know New York. But
if you've got a grouch against this scheme we'll try the other one. It's a
sure thing. But it'll cost you more."
"Never mind the expense," said Meeks; "we'll try it."
The sleuth led him back to the Waldorf. "Engage a couple of bedrooms
and a parlour," he advised, "and let's go up."
This was done, and the two were shown to a superb suite on the fourth
floor. Meeks looked puzzled. The detective sank into a velvet armchair,
and pulled out his cigar case.
"I forgot to suggest, old man," he said, "that you should have taken the
rooms by the month. They wouldn't have stuck you so much for em.

"By the month!" exclaimed Meeks. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it'll take time to work the game this way. I told you