to be cleaned, instead of coming down with them on his feet to be shined here.  If he had been merely calling on the girl in Brooklyn, he would have been home early, for they do not sit up late in that borough.  I know they went to the theatre, instead of to the opera or a ball, for they did not go in a cab, otherwise her skirt would not have become muddied.  This, too, shows that she wore a cloth skirt, and as his shoes are not patent leathers, it is clear that neither was in evening dress.”

I didn’t try to get a verification of Fleming Stone’s assertions; I didn’t want any.  Scores of times I had known him to make similar deductions and in cases where we afterward learned the facts, he was invariably correct.  So, though we didn’t follow up this matter, I was sure he was right, and, even if he hadn’t been, it would not have weighed heavily against his large proportion of proved successes.

We separated then, as we took chairs at some distance from each other, and, with a sigh of regret that I could never hope to go far along the line in which Stone showed such proficiency, I began to read my morning paper.

Fleming Stone left the place before I did, nodding a good-by as he passed me, and a moment after, my own foot-gear being in proper condition, I, too, went out, and went straight to my office.

As I walked the short distance, my mind dwelt on Stone’s quick-witted work.  Again I wished that I possessed the kind of intelligence that makes that sort of thing so easy.  Although unusual, it is, after all, a trait of many minds, though often, perhaps, unrecognized and undeveloped by its owner.  I dare say it lies dormant in men who have never had occasion to realize its value.  Indeed, it is of no continuous value to anyone but a detective, and nine detectives out of ten do not possess it.

So I walked along, envying my friend Stone his gift, and reached my office just at ten o’clock as was my almost invariable habit.

“Hurry up, Mr. Burroughs!” cried my office-boy, as I opened the door.  “You’re wanted on the telephone.”

Though a respectful and well-mannered boy, some excitement had made him a trifle unceremonious, and I looked at him curiously as I took up the receiver.

But with the first words I heard, the office-boy was forgotten, and my own nerves received a shock as I listened to the message.  It was from the Detective Bureau with which I was connected, and the superintendent himself was directing me to go at once to West Sedgwick, where a terrible crime had just been discovered.

“Killed!” I exclaimed; “Joseph Crawford?”

“Yes; murdered in his home in West Sedgwick.  The coroner telephoned to send a detective at once and we want you to go.”

“Of course I’ll go.  Do you know any more details?”

“No; only that he was shot during the night and the body found this morning.  Mr. Crawford was a big man, you know.  Go right off, Mr. Burroughs; we want you to lose no time.”