Droppin’ in at the Fifth Avenue Hotel some time ago, I saw, seated in the corridor, chattin’ with one of the detectives of the hotel, a tall, slim, rather oldish-lookin’ man, with a pair of crutches alongside of him, but with a pair of the shrewdest, keenest eyes in his head that ever lit up a human being’s face. A great many men, prominent men, seemed to know this man. I saw several swell chaps, men about town, club men, and so on, go up to him and shake hands with him, and some politicians stop to chat with him, and two or three bankers–rich, solid, stately old bankers–took the trouble to step aside a moment to greet him. And he took all his greetin’s and salutations in an off-hand, free and easy sort of a way, as if they were all in the way of business–as they were.
For all the men who had addressed this man with the crutches and the bright eyes had had, it was fair to suppose, some time or other, “business” with him, he himself bein’ neither more or less than a “private detective,” one of the best known of his day–Jayne, by name, who represented the government in the great case of Phelps, Dodge & Co., and who has had more private detective business in high life in New York than perhaps any other one man.
As a rule, I don’t, and people don’t, take any stock in “private detectives.” They are generally as bad, if not worse, than the people they go about pretendin’ to detect, and yet they are useful in their way–necessary evils–and they certainly pick up a good deal of knowledge of human nature, especially the dark side of it. Jayne has a theory–he calls it a certainty–that all the troubles of men come from women. At any rate, nine out of ten of his cases have been women cases. No matter how or where they begun, they all got down to a woman before they ended. Why, even in the great case between the government and Phelps, Dodge & Co., although it was on its face a case of money claimed by the government–a misunderstanding between the government and that celebrated firm–it is said that before the investigations were through there was found to be a woman in the case whose honor would have been implicated if the matter had gone any further. Findin’ which to be the fact, it is further said, on good authority, that William E. Dodge, like the good man and gentleman he was, rather than have the lady in any way injured in the matter, paid up at once all the money the government claimed, though he might have evaded doin’ so.
Jayne holds that in all women cases it ain’t the strength of the woman but the weakness of the man that does the mischief. If the man in a woman case had backbone, the woman wouldn’t do anythin’; but in nine instances out of ten the man hasn’t any stiffenin’ in his spine at all; he can’t brace up, but lets himself be “white femaled” and blackmailed.
Dealt with on general principles, the detective holds that women can easily be managed. Just show ‘em that you are smarter than they are, and have the whip hand of ‘em, and don’t care for ‘em, and they throw up the sponge directly. But if a woman finds out that a man has any sentiment for her, or is afraid of her in any way, then she never lets up.
The detective’s experience has also taught him that with women the short road is the safest traveled; the simplest plans are the most likely to succeed. The women are used to humbuggery and stratagem, and goin’ all round Robin Hood’s barn. They are familiar with sayin’ one thing and meanin’ another. But they ain’t prepared for the straight-forward, the blunt, the direct method. They are all ready for “diplomacy,” but they can’t stand the Bismarck style of “brutal frankness.” So Jayne has always recommended and used that style as much as possible.
He got one rich society man out of a breach of promise scrape some ten years ago in about three days, and at the expense (outside of his own fee, of course) of a little over three dollars, by this blunt, plump style–that is, apparently blunt and plump.
The young swell was the only son of a very rich man here, livin’ on Madison avenue, and was quite popular in society; and among other follies, he had compromised himself with a middle-aged woman, a widow–but a rather sentimental widow, not a merely schemin’ one–who had really taken a fancy to him.
Just as a very young man generally falls in love at first with a woman older than himself, so a woman, after she has once passed her prime, often falls in love with some young fellow just beginnin’ life. This was the case in this instance, and for some six months or so the young man and the middle-aged though attractive widow really thought ‘emselves in love with each other. And the young man got to talkin’ about marryin’ the middle-aged widow, and got to givin’ her tokens of his regard, and, what was most dangerous of all, got to writin’ her love letters.
But in a few months more the young man got tired of his middle-aged love, and got soft on a girl at least ten years younger. Then, of course, there were no more love tokens, no more love letters; and then, of course, the widow was vexed and piqued. She tried weedlin’ awhile, then she tried pleadin’, then she tried remonstratin’ and fussin’, but these didn’t work; and then she tried threatenin’ a breach of promise case. To do the widow justice, she didn’t want the man’s money so much as she wanted him. She offered to be very easy with him on money matters, but she wanted to be his wife. She couldn’t bear the thought of his bein’ with any other woman, and rather than that she would torment him with publicity and scandal, if necessary. Rather than see him leave her and go to some other woman, she would go for him herself on this breach of promise tack.
And that would have been the very worst way she could do for the young man; for it would offend his father in the first place–bring the old man down on him and cut off his allowance; then it would offend materially the father of his new flame, who was a very sensitive as well as sensible old gentleman; and last and worst, it would probably destroy all his chances with his young sweetheart, and leave him at the mercy of the middle-aged widow, who held his letters.
This was the situation when Jayne was called into the case. For a while he didn’t do any better in the affair than others who had failed. He advised this and recommended that, and it was all N. G. But at last he tried one of his peculiar methods.
The young swell was rather good lookin’ and very healthy. He looked in good condition, and this was one of his great attractions in the middle-aged lady’s eyes, for that kind of woman dearly likes a healthy, handsome young man. Thinkin’ this over Jayne hit on his plan, and he told the young swell to invest in iodine and some few other chemicals.
A few days after makin’ this suggestion and seein’ it carried out, Jayne started off his young man with instructions to call upon the middle-aged lady.
The young man called, proffered to be very lovin’ and repentant–he had changed his mind, was sorry for havin’ refused before, but was willin’ now to marry the middle-aged girl. But first he must, in justice to himself and herself, be allowed to explain why he had thus far been opposed to marryin’ her. Of course the old girl was not only willin’ but anxious to hear the explanation of the young man, who explained after this fashion:
“I refused to marry you,” said the young swell to the old girl, “because I loved you too well to deceive you; I am not what I seem.”
Of course this mysterious statement made the old girl all the more anxious to know what it all meant, and, with her arms around his neck, she begged him to speak plainer.
“I look healthy, don’t I?” he asked abruptly.
The old girl was surprised at the question, but she answered, “yes.”
“I look vigorous and strong, don’t I?” he continued, “and–and not positively unattractive, rather what they call handsome, in fact.”
Still wonderin’ at this style of talk, the lady answered, “Yes,” and pressed him to proceed.
“Well, he proceeded, “it is all a lie–a sham–an imposture.”
“What is a lie and a sham?” she asked.
“Why, my good looks and my health,” he replied. “I have been deceivin’ you. I am not healthy, I am not handsome; look here.”
And takin’ off his coat before the astonished old girl, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and showed to her bewildered, astonished gaze an arm full of spots and sores, alarmin’ lookin’ and disgustin’.
“I am one mass of eruptions, and ulcers like these,” he continued, “from head to heel, see here,” he said, turnin’ down his collar and showin’ a sore on his neck, and then turnin’ down his stockin’ and showing another on his heel. “Why I am little better than a leper. I ought to be to-day in a museum of anatomy, or in a hospital.”
The poor old girl was confounded–dumbfounded. She had been deceived in the man indeed. Instead of bein’ a walking embodiment of health, this young man was incarnate disease. Instead of bein’ really attractive, he was, in reality, terribly repulsive. Poor old girl, she pitied him very much–very much indeed; but from that moment she ceased to care for him; from that moment she conceived a disgust for him. Her love turned to loathin’; she tried to help it, but she couldn’t. It was human nature and woman nature both.
“But I love you. In my secret soul I love you,” cried the morbid anatomy show, puttin’ on his coat again and tryin’ to embrace her, though she now dodged the embrace. “I have always loved you in my heart of hearts, but I love you too well to link your beauty and health with my deformity and disease. I had determined from the first not to deceive you as to my real condition, yet I could not muster up the courage to betray my terrible secret. And it was for this reason, when I found myself loving you too dearly, I avoided you–I shunned you. It was not because you were not possessor of my love, but because I felt I was not worthy to possess your love. But now that you know all, let me confess that I adore you; now that you know me as I am, let me own that it is the highest ambition, the dearest dream of my life to marry you.”
So he went on and try to do some more embracin’; but the tables were completely turned now. All the love-makin’ was on the young man’s side; the old girl wouldn’t have any of it.
She didn’t want the young man any more. He had a very easy, cheap part to play now. She was only as anxious to get rid of him as a half hour before he had been anxious to get rid of her. She wouldn’t have married him now at any price.
So the young swell left her house that afternoon with a release from her of all claims, and with all his love-letters and tokens back again in his own possession. He had spent about three dollars in iodine and chemicals with which he had gotten up his “morbid anatomy” to order–manufactured his ulcers, etc. And this was all it cost him (except Jayne’s fee) to get rid of what might have been lastin’ unhappiness, or ten thousand dollars.
In another case it didn’t even cost three dollars and didn’t even require any stratagem to get a rich bank president in this city, a married man with a big family, out of the clutches of an adventuress, who had any quantity of his letters. It only cost about fifteen minutes–the services of a nephew–a screen (though the screen wasn’t used) and a little nerve.
The woman in this case was very pretty and cunnin’ and had gradually got this banker in her power, and had got and kept a lot of letters from him, and kept on askin’ for more and more money, till one day the banker had got tired and refused point blank to send her any more money, and then she said that if by a certain time she didn’t have a certain sum of money, why certain letters she held would be shown at once to the banker’s wife.
This nearly frightened the banker out of his wits, but it didn’t frighten him out of his money; for he had the sense to call Jayne into the affair, and Jayne, havin’ seen the woman, made up his mind what ought to be done.
So he got the banker to write to the woman a letter, his last letter to her, makin’ an appointment for her to call at his office on a certain afternoon, after bank hours.
She was to bring with her all the banker’s letters to her, and she was to receive for ‘em a certain sum of money. So she kept the appointment and brought the letters.
At the time of her call the office was cleared of everybody but the banker and Jayne, who was placed in hidin’ behind a screen, and the banker’s nephew, who was let a little into the secret.
Then the woman came into the office. The banker received her very politely and talked a little while about the weather, the opera and so on. Then, when the woman brought the conversation down to business, the banker said to her: “I believe the understandin’ was, my dear madam, that you were to bring with you all my letters addressed to you.”
“You are correct, my dear sir,” she replied, “and here are your letters,” producin’ a big package, carefully tied, from her pocket, a package of only love letters, it is true, but worth more to the man and to the woman than greenbacks.
“Will you allow me to see that they are all there?” asked the banker, referrin’ to the letters. “I pledge you my word of honor as a gentleman that I will return ‘em to you at once, as soon as I have examined ‘em.”
The woman knew the man well enough to know he wouldn’t violate his plighted word. Besides, she was obliged to convince him about the letters before she could do anythin’, so she handed him the package.
He examined the letters, taxed his memory, and said that they were all there and then handed them all back to the woman.
“Then he continued politely, “I believe the understandin’ is, my dear madam, that you are, an exchange for those letters, to receive so many thousand dollars from my hands.”
The lady nodded smilin’ly.
“Or,” the banker continued, “failin’ to receive the money you are to place these letters in my wife’s hands.”
The lady signified a surprised and not at all smilin’ assent.
“That bein’ the case, “ said the banker, “I have merely to say that,”–rising–”you are at liberty to hand those letters to my wife, who is at this moment at my house waitin’ to receive ‘em and receive you.”
“Me–see your wife,” gasped the woman, risin’ from her seat like one in a dream.
“Yes,” repeated the banker very quietly, “I have made a clean breast of the matter to my wife, who has insisted upon my sendin’ you to her; she was wishes to see you personally.”
Then turnin’ to the nephew the banker said: “Charles, take a carriage and conduct this lady to your aunt’s. She has some letters that she wishes to show her.”
The banker uttered these words as if he was speakin’ on the most ordinary topic. He was as cool as a cucumber. There was not the slightest brag or bluster about his manner.
Of course the whole thing was merely brag and bluster and bluff. Of course not a word had been said to the wife. The banker would rather have lost half his fortune than let her know anythin’ about the matter. Of course the whole thing was Jayne’s idea, but of course the woman didn’t know this and was very much taken aback.
For a moment she was almost stupefied. Then she made up her mind at the banker was tryin’ to bluff her, and so she signified her readiness to accompany the nephew in a carriage to call upon the banker’s wife.
“Very well, Madam,” said the banker, “allow me to conduct you to the carriage,” the nephew having called a carriage by this time.
The lady walked down the steps to the carriage; the banker accompanied her on her way down; the banker opened the carriage door for the lady; the lady stepped into the carriage; then the nephew got into the carriage also, and then the banker, with a bow to the lady, closed the carriage door and told the coachman to drive as rapidly as possible to such a number Fifth avenue. “Drive as rapidly as you can, as the lady in the house is waitin’ for the lady in the carriage,” he called out to the coachman.
All this time the woman had never taken her eyes off the banker, and if he had overacted his part the least she would have known how to act. But there was neither timidity or brag about him; his manner was perfect. He behaved himself as a man would who had told his wife all about the matter–as a man whose wife was at home expectin’ to see the other woman.
Then the woman in the carriage saw her game was up. If the banker’s wife really expected her, why she could do nothin’ with her or the banker either. She had nothin’ to gain by goin’ to the banker’s wife. She would only humiliate herself and be humiliated.
So, in a fit of chagrin and rage, she took the package and saying: “There, take your letters,” flung ‘em full in the face of the astonished but delighted banker, who although he had hoped to get to get rid of the woman, had scarcely hoped to ever get this letters again.
The letters were scattered all over the sidewalk, but the banker eagerly picked ‘em all up without a word, while the woman bounced out of the carriage and never troubled the banker again, who has been a good old boy ever since.
Of course, Jayne got a rousin’ fe; but he always held that the banker was a natural born actor, and would have made his fortune on the stage.
Altogether, the life of a private detective is full of curious adventure, and when he is smart, like Jayne, he deserves all the money he gets–and generally gets it.
[Editor’s notes: It’s hard to tell whether the blatant misogyny of the above column reflects more on the character of Jayne or on the column writer. Jayne’s fame as a private detective was earned more for his work as a Federal government informer for customs violations; and for his work in tracking down forgers for victimized banks. But, according to the above column, Jayne also specialized in extracting wealthy married men from their romantic misadventures. Unsurprisingly, Jayne had his own marital problems exposed:]
