A Point of Testimony
Bert Bayliss was the funniest detective you ever saw. He wasn’t theleast like Vidocq, Lecoq or Sherlock, either in personality ormentality. And perhaps the chief difference lay in the fact that hepossessed a sense of humor, and that not merely an appreciative sense,either. He had an original wit and a spontaneous repartee that made itwell-nigh impossible for him to be serious.
Not quite, though, for he had his thinking moments; and when he didthink, he did it so deeply yet rapidly that he accomplished wonders.
And so he was a detective. Partly because it pleased his sense ofhumor to pursue a calling so incongruous with his birth and station,and partly because he couldn’t help it, having been born one. He was aprivate detective, but none the less a professional; and he acceptedcases only when they seemed especially difficult or in some wayunusual.
As is often the case with those possessed of a strong sense of humor,Bayliss had no very intimate friends. A proneness to fun always seemsto preclude close friendships, and fortunately precludes also thedesire for them. But as every real detective needs a Dr. Watson as asort of mind-servant, Bert Bayliss invented one, and his Harris (hechose the name in sincere flattery of Sairey Gamp) proved competentand satisfactory. To Harris Bayliss propounded his questions andexpounded his theories, and being merely a figment of Bayliss’ brain,Harris was always able to give intelligent replies. Physically, too,young Bayliss was far from the regulation type of the prevalentdetective of fiction.
No aquiline nose was his, no sinister eyebrows, no expression ofomniscience and inscrutability. Instead, he was a stalwart,large-framed young man, with a merry, even debonair face, and agenial, magnetic glance. He was a man who inspired confidence by hisfrankness, and whose twinkling eyes seemed to see the funny side ofeverything.
Though having no close friendships, Bayliss had a wide circle ofacquaintances, and was in frequent demand as a week-end visitor or adinner guest. Wherefore, not being an early riser, the telephone athis bedside frequently buzzed many times before he was up of amorning.
Every time that bell gave its rasping whir Bayliss felt an involuntaryhope that it might be a call to an interesting case of detective work,and he was distinctly disappointed if it proved to be a mere socialmessage. One morning just before nine o’clock the bell wakened himfrom a light doze, and taking the receiver, he heard the voice of hisold friend Martin Hopkins talking to him.
“I want you at once,” the message came; “I hope nothing will preventyour coming immediately. I am in Clearbrook. If you can catch thenine-thirty train from the City, I will meet you here at the stationat ten o’clock. There has been murder committed and we want your help.Will you come?”
“Yes,” replied Bayliss. “I will take the nine-thirty. Who is thevictim?”
“Richard Hemmingway, my lifelong friend. I am a guest at his house.The tragedy occurred last night, and I want you to get here beforeanything is touched.”
“I’ll be there! good-by,” and hanging up the receiver, Baylissproceeded to keep his word.
“Yo