then and there compared notes as to the time, and then (most probably being too frightened to move) went to bed again. I, finding nothing had been stolen, took matters more quietly, eat my breakfast, lit my cigar, and walked about, thinking what steps I had best take. Having gathered some little knowledge, through curiosity, at different times, from London detectives, &c., as to the different modes in which a crib was cracked (Anglicè, a house broken into), I examined the breach, that being a broken pane of glass, near the bolt of the window latch, where the attempt at entry had been made. I found that the putty, which had become very hard, had been attempted to be cut away, with the view, evidently, of taking out the pane of glass, and that in attempting this the window had been broken, and then the latch of the window undone, and the shutter (which the thief thought no doubt turned on a hinge, but was a moveable one) had, on being pushed, fallen down on the stone floor, which was, of course, the crashing noise heard by the cook and the boy.
I knew from this inspection that the man was not an artist, and but a “muff” at his work. This was something (though not much certainly) to go upon. While examining the putty, I fancied I saw something shining. I then examined it more closely with a pocket microscope which I always carry about with me, and I then saw the jagged portion of the blade of a pen-knife, and on further search, found another piece of a blade, and on placing the two bits together on a sheet of writing paper, found they were portions of the same blade. To find the remainder of the knife—that was the thing! As then the case would begin to assume a criminating shape, diligent search was made, but with no effect.
Now there was attached to the house a kitchen garden, and a small flower garden, which were once a fortnight put in order by a working gardener, who lived close to Southampton. His job generally took two days, but always more than one; and on this occasion the garden was undergoing its usual trimming; the morning of the second day being the morning of the attempted burglary. I perceived that the gardener had not returned to complete his work. I did not think very much of this circumstance, as once or twice before he had given me the trouble of sending after him; he having left my job half-finished in order that he might work at some other one elsewhere. I then told the stable lad to go after the man, and to tell him if ever he served me this trick again I would employ him no more. On which the boy said, “Oh, sir, he has been here this morning, and he said he was coming back again in the afternoon to do half a day’s work.”
On hearing this I was just turning away, when the lad added: “He came here in a pair of slippers, and on my saying to him, ‘Them’s rum things to come a gardening in,’ he said: ‘Yes, they be; but I have been up nearly all night playing at cards with some pals, and my feet swelled so I could not bear my boots on.’”
Now all this was very possible, and, perhaps, not improbable, and, under other circumstances, I might have thought nothing about it, but my mind being naturally full of the burglary I caught at the word “slippers”—connecting these articles in my mind as part of a “cracksman’s” dress—and like lightning, and as if by inspiration, though with no data on which to ground it, the strongest conviction seized hold of my mind, John, the gardener, is the man. So strong was this that I could not be quiet; I could see him, as I fancied, cutting away the putty, &c., &c. I returned to the boy, and asked him a variety of questions, and particularly as to what else John, the gardener, had said, and as to his manner, &c., without eliciting anything of importance. At last I said, “Did he tell you where he had been playing at cards?”
“Yes,” said the lad. “At the Pig and Tinderbox, in Street.”
So, thought I, as I am going into Southampton, to see Inspector P, I will just look in at the Pig and Tinder-Box, and have a talk with the landlord. So I told the boy to get the horse harnessed as quickly as possible, and into Southampton I drove, putting up in the next street to the Pig and Tinderbox, so as not to excite any suspicion by driving up to the door; and, walking into that establishment, ordered a glass of beer, and asked for the master of the house.
“Do you know a man of the name of John, a gardener?” said I.
“No,” said he; “I can’t exactly say as I does by name, but I daresay I should know him if I were to see him; we has so many, you know, of all sorts coming to this house, but I should not wonder if my man knows him.”
So the man was called, and I asked him:
“Were you serving the customers last night?”
He said “Yes.”
“Do you know John Holder, a gardener?”
“Yes,” said he; “I knows him.”
“Does he often come here?”
“Not very often,” said he.
“Was he here yesterday?”
“No.”
“Was he here last night, either before or after twelve?”
“No.”
“Are you perfectly certain of this?”
“Yes.”
And I said:
“If you were called upon, would you swear this?”
“Yes.”
“And he could not have been in any other part of the house without your being aware of it?”
“No.”
Now, thought I to myself, “Gardener, the scent is getting uncommonly warm. I’m running you down a little faster than you think for.” For I now had no doubt he was the man. How stood the case? House broken into, John comes in the morning in slippers, tells a lie unasked for, and, when he hears I am getting up, is evidently afraid to meet me, and bolts away, saying he will return in the afternoon.
My next visit was to Inspector P, who, after giving instructions to another policeman to come in half-an-hour’s time to my house with his dog-cart, accompanied me back again to my house, having previously gone with me to the Pig and