says he, kind of disappointed, 'was that heaven? Confound it
all, I thought it was Broadway. Some of you fellows get my clothes.
I'm going to get up.'

"And I'll be blamed," concluded Bud, "if he wasn't on the train with a
ticket for New York in his pocket four days afterward!"

XVIII

THE ADVENTURES OF SHAMROCK JOLNES

I am so fortunate as to count Shamrock Jolnes, the great New York
detective, among my muster of friends. Jolnes is what is called the
"inside man" of the city detective force. He is an expert in the use
of the typewriter, and it is his duty, whenever there is a "murder
mystery" to be solved, to sit at a desk telephone at headquarters and
take down the messages of "cranks" who 'phone in their confessions to
having committed the crime.

But on certain "off" days when confessions are coming in slowly and
three or four newspapers have run to earth as many different guilty
persons, Jolnes will knock about the town with me, exhibiting, to my
great delight and instruction, his marvellous powers of observation
and deduction.

The other day I dropped in at Headquarters and found the great
detective gazing thoughtfully at a string that was tied tightly around
his little finger.

"Good morning, Whatsup," he said, without turning his head. "I'm glad
to notice that you've had your house fitted up with electric lights at
last."

"Will you please tell me," I said, in surprise, "how you knew that? I
am sure that I never mentioned the fact to any one, and the wiring was
a rush order not completed until this morning."

"Nothing easier," said Jolnes, genially. "As you came in I caught the
odour of the cigar you are smoking. I know an expensive cigar; and
I know that not more than three men in New York can afford to smoke
cigars and pay gas bills too at the present time. That was an easy
one. But I am working just now on a little problem of my own."

"Why have you that string on your finger?" I asked.

"That's the problem," said Jolnes. "My wife tied that on this morning
to remind me of something I was to send up to the house. Sit down,
Whatsup, and excuse me for a few moments."

The distinguished detective went to a wall telephone, and stood with
the receiver to his ear for probably ten minutes.

"Were you listening to a confession?" I asked, when he had returned to
his chair.

"Perhaps," said Jolnes, with a smile, "it might be called something of
the sort. To be frank with you, Whatsup, I've cut