His First Client. said, laughing. " It was worth it to hear you go after those fellows. You have it in you, sir, to become a great lawyer. I shall look to see you upon the bench some day." You see, gentlemen, he was a prophet, but I thought he was joking at the time. Then he bade me good-bye very cordially, before I had quite recovered from my astonishment, and departed, never to be seen again in those parts. I went up to the Major's that night to see Steele, for the magnitude of the fee had aroused a suspicion within me that he had not come by the money honestly, but he was not there—had not been there since the trial. He had, it was evident, been prepared for a speedy departure. Then it occurred to me that the money might be a portion of that taken from the Major's box, and I sub mitted it to the Major's inspection. I trembled as I did so, too, for not only did I need the money badly, but I was afraid peo ple would laugh at me if it should come out that I had been paid for my services in the case with stolen money. However, my apprehension was short lived. The Major recognized one of the bills as having been paid to Steele some time before, but declared that none of them had been among those stolen. I danced all the way home. You, gentlemen, perhaps know from experience what a marvelous tonic a man's first twohundred-dollar fee is. Well, the mystery remained unsolved for years. I had all but forgotten it until one night, two years ago, in a New York hotel, I read in the daily paper of another robbery which was in some respects its counterpart, —just such another clean piece of thievery,— no clue, or suggestion of a clue, to the per petrator. That is the real test of good work in such things. The men who can plan methods of stealing money are plentiful enough, but those who are sufficiently clever to cover their tracks so that not even a sus picious circumstance remains are not so plentiful. I do not remember having known
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more than one of this sort. Were all thieves like him, the business of the police courts would be very materially reduced I am afraid. I chanced to glance over the top of my paper as I finished reading the account, and caught the eye of a gentleman whom I had never seen before to my knowledge — an elderly gentleman, who carried upon him that l>eculiarly indefinite air that marks the person of refinement and high ideals. Evidently he had been looking at me for some time. As our eyes met, he spoke. " Rather an inter esting piece of thievery, sir," he said, much as though the matter had been under dis cussion between us. " It seems to have been remarkably well planned and executed," I re plied. " Did you ever know of another piece of work as good?" he asked. Then I told him of the Stilsonville case, and he seemed much interested. " And the thief was never discovered? " he inquired, when I had finished. " Never," I replied; "the case is as great a mystery now as it was then. It can hardly be accounted for by other than supernatural reasons." He laughed. " It is very peculiar," he said, offer ing me a cigar and lighting one himself, " but I once knew of a case almost identical with the one of which you have told me, and in this case the method by which the thief accomplished his purpose was plainly re vealed several years later by himself to a legal friend,—a judge, by the way. It ap pears that this thief had but little in common with others of his ilk." "It is very obvious that the Stilsonville thief hadn't," said I, firmly. The gentleman raised his paper from his lap, and looked at it for some time. " No clue—absolutely no clue," he said musingly, repeating the headlines. " How blind they are! This thief was wise. He followed the very simple method of covering his tracks before he made them—which, although it sounds paradoxical, is nevertheless expressive of something near the facts. It was so with
