The Missing Finger.
Red Joe was an industrious young man. He worked early and late at his profession. While others slept he toiled upward in the night; in fact, night was his favorite time for toiling. He didn’t exactly make hay while the sun shone because he didn’t do any work while the sun was shining on his side of the earth. He was willing to put his hand to almost anything that did not belong to him, and which he could dispose of without fear of detection. Red Joe was a burglar, and a most successful one. That is to say, he succeeded so well at the burglary business that he spent the greater part of his time behind prison walls. He was concerned, either alone, or in company with others of his ilk, in some of the most important “breaks” that the police have any record of. Whenever a big burglary was committed, the police invariably tried to connect Red Joewith it, providing that gentleman didn’t happen to be “otherwise engaged” at the time. This was the case in the burglary of which I have to tell. The facts are as follows:
The home of Mr. Reed, the rich banker, had been broken into and a quantity of silver plate, valued at $5,000, stolen. It had occurred during the absence of the family. The affair was reported to the police, and a large reward offered for the detection and conviction of the guilty parties. The police at once set about unearthing and following up clues. But all their labor was in vain. The burglar had carefully covered up his tracks, and left no clue as to his identity. Nobody had seen him enter or leave the house. There was no one in the house at the time of the robbery. The family had gone off for the night, and the butler who had been left in charge took advantage of their absence to visit some of his friends. During his absence—which he averred did not extend over two hours—the burglar had come, seen and conquered. He entered a poor man and went away comparatively rich. At first the butler was suspected and arrested, but he established a satisfactory alibi and was soon released from custody.
The police did all in their power to bring the guilty ones to justice, but failed. The affair was then placed in my hands. The solution of the mystery seemed hopeless. The thief had left no clue as to his identity, and none of the booty had been disposed of at any of the pawnshops in the city or surrounding cities. I did not despair, however. I went to the scene of the robbery and made a most thorough examination of the premises. I found nothing. I was about to give up when I came upon something that promised to be a clue. I inquired from the master of the house whether there had been any repairs made in the house recently. There had. The whole interior of the house had been repainted and repapered just previous to the robbery. In fact the finishing touches had been given the very day the burglary had been committed. Good. Then getting the address of the painter and other workmen, I went to them and made certain inquiries which were answered to my satisfaction. Then I reported at headquarters. Two days later, Red Joe was arrested and charged with the robbery. His premises were searched and most of the stolen plate recovered. The clue I had discovered was this. On the door frame near the safe, was the imprint of fingers in the then fresh varnish. The imprint of only the thumb and three fingers appeared. One finger was missing—the one next to the little finger. This was a peculiarity of Red Joe’s right hand. This discovery might mean a good deal for me, possibly nothing. You know the result. Red Joe was watched, and his suspicious actions furnished sufficient grounds for the issuing of a warrant for his arrest. He is now “doing time.”