the passenger lists
and in the cardrooms of the Atlantic liners; the colored porter on
the private car, the butler at your friend's house, the chorus girl on
Broadway, the clerk in the law office, the employee in the commercial
agency, may all be drawing pay in the interest of some one else, who may
be either a transportation company, a stock-broker, a rival financier,
a yellow newspaper, an injured or even an erring wife, a grievance
committee, or a competing concern; and the duties of these persons
may and will range from the theft of mailing lists, books, papers,
and private letters, up to genuine detective work requiring some real
ability.

Detective work of the sort which involves the betrayal of confidences
and friendships naturally excites our aversion--yet in many cases the
end undoubtedly justifies the means employed, and often there is no
other way to avert disaster and prevent fiendish crimes. Sometimes, on
the other hand, the information sought is purely for mercenary or even
less worthy reasons, and those engaged in these undertakings range from
rascals of the lowest type to men who are ready to risk death for the
cause which they represent and who are really heroes of a high order.
One of the latter with whom I happened to be thrown professionally was a
young fellow of about twenty named Guthrie.

It was during a great strike, and outrages were being committed all over
the city of New York by dynamiters supposed to be in the employ of
the unions. Young Guthrie, who was a reckless daredevil, offered his
services to the employers, and agreed to join one of the local unions
and try to find out who were the men blowing up office buildings in
process of construction and otherwise terrorizing the inhabitants of the
city. Accordingly he applied for membership in the organization, and by
giving evidence of his courage and fiber managed to secure a place as a
volunteer in the dynamiting squad. So cleverly did he pass himself off
as a bitter enemy of capital that he was entrusted with secrets of
the utmost value and took part in making the plans and procuring the
dynamite to execute them. The quality of his nerve (as well as his
foolhardiness) is shown by the fact that he once carried a dress-suit
case full of the explosive around the city, jumping on and off street
cars, and dodging vehicles. When the proper moment came and the dynamite
had been placed in an uncompleted building on Twenty-second Street,
Guthrie