Page:The Masses, Volume 1, Number 2.pdf/12



HE police commissioner of Berlin reached his office at about ten o'clock in the morning. It was a cold December day, but the office was agreeably warm—you could tell the heating was-done at the city's expense. The commissioner handed his fur coat to the uniformed officer accompanying him, stuck his monocle in his eye, and glanced at his desk, where the letters lay that had come by the first mail and had to be answered. There were many letters; which did not seem to please the recipient.

The police commissioner was a man who still indulged in all the pleasures of life despite his years and the grey hairs beginning to appear in his well-kept beard. He was tall and portly. He had eaten and drunk away the slim figure he had once had, and his girth testified that he was more of a Lucullus than a Don Juan.

Nevertheless, he was an excellent official, in fact, the very paragon of an official. He was dutiful, industrious and conscientious, and, for use in his office, he had preserved the sharp tone he had acquired in military service. To the civilian this tone is most unmelodious, but it prevents contradiction from subordinates. He said little, yet that little curtly and decidedly, as is to be expected of a man at the head of so important an administrative department.

He rubbed his hands, lit a cigar, heaved a sigh, and seated himself at the desk. First he opened the letters that his connoisseur's eyes told him came from persons in authority. One of these caused him to touch the electric button.

The same police officer who had removed his fur coat stepped in.

"Stuppke," said the police commissioner, still holding the letter he had just received in his hand, "here's a letter from Judge M saying the mayor of S will call on us. He's to study the confidence game here because a lot of buncos just cropped up in S. When he comes bring him right in. His name is"—the commissioner glanced at the letter—"his name is Kramer. I'll put Schallow in charge of him. Schallow will teach him a trick or two. Schallow's up to snuff."

"Well, rather," Stuppke ventured to observe.

This remark caused the commissioner to look up at him with an expression almost of alarm. Then in a fit of indescribable benevolence, as if pardoning a great criminal, he said, with a slight inclination of his head:

"Very well. Tell Schallow to come in."

Stuppke left, turning sharply on his heel, military fashion, happy because he had come off so easily after his extremely impertinent "Well, rather."

The police commissioner glanced over the letter once again, and a gleam of merriment lightened his severe expression.

"Not bad," he said to himself, so violently that the cigar between his lips jumped to one side of his mouth.

Schallow entered. Schallow was a knowing officer. The press reporters had often written him up apropos of many a raid upon confidence men, and Stuppke's remark had just cast a brilliant light upon his talents. Schallow was really an eminent specialist. He knew the tricks of the confidence game as well as a professional bunco, and he knew every one of those sharpers who daily trap and rob any number of victims. From the way in which a robbery had been committed, he could instantly tell the perpetrators, even if he could not find them. He cheated at cards as skilfully as any confidence man, and it was considered a piece of good luck that he had become a plain-clothesman instead of a confidence man, since in the latter capacity he might have produced untold mischief.

Schallow stepped in front of the commissioner, and raised his hand to his forehead.

"Schallow," said the man of power, "for a change the mayor of a village is coming again to study the confidence game at the source. His name is Kramer. One of the good solid sort. Keeps a general store. I'll hand him over to you. Put him on to all the tricks, tell him all the men in the game, and show him how to go about catching them. To be sure, it won't do much good. Kramer can take lessons from you from now till doomsday, and not a single confidence game in S wllwill [sic] be prevented. But we can't tell him that. He's a mayor. Well, you know what to do, Schallow. Cut it short. You've got plenty else to look after."

Schallow said nothing. He was a taciturn man, especially in the presence of the commissioner, who always said everything there was to be said.

Scarcely had Schallow left the office when Stuppke announced Mayor Kramer of S.

"An early bird, catching worms when the rest of the world is still asleep," grumbled the chief. Then he said, "Show him in."

Kramer was an ordinary-looking individual, typical of the transition from a peasant to a city man. He made the impression of a sober, staid person, who regularly ate his chief meal at midday and slept at least ten hours at night and took a half-hour siesta after dinner besides.

He bowed respectfully, with the solemn demeanor befitting his prominent position in the town of S and with the awkwardness resulting from his education and environment.

"Good-morning," said the commissioner, rising slightly from his seat. He waved his hand to a chair and asked the mayor to be seated.



The mayor sat down modestly. The office, the influential official with whom he was to confer, seemed to inspire him with tremendous awe.

"You're up and doing early," began the commissioner.

"I must beg you to excuse me for coming so early. It was so noisy in the hotel, and besides I wanted to crowd as much into the day as possible, so that I should be able to get away inside of two days at the utmost. S is small but it's got to be governed at any rate. Do you think I can get away in two days, your Honor?"

"I'm not your Honor. I'm not a judge. I'm the commissioner of police," the commissioner interjected. "Yes, you can easily leave in two days, I'll have a man look after you who knows all the tricks of the confidence game. He'll show you everything and tell you what measures to take in S. But it won't do much good."

"Really, you think not?" the mayor asked anxiously.

"Of course not. Confidence men are sly fellows, hard to trap. They even keep us guessing."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed the mayor, as astonished as if he had been told the Cologne Cathedral had been stolen.

"Well." This was the word with which the commissioner indicated his willingness to shake hands with his visitor and say good-bye, like a man whose minutes are precious. But his "well" did not take effect. His visitor remained seated.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

"One favor more," said the man from S. "In the letter the judge wrote you recommending me to your attention, he said I could apply to you in case I needed money, and yesterday evening something happened to me, so that I haven't a cent left.left." [sic]

"What's that?" cried the commissioner, smelling a rat. "What happened? Out with it!" And he leaned over the arm of his chair toward the stranger, not to lose a syllable of what he expected to hear, while a highly significant smile robbed his face of its severity.

"I arrived yesterday evening with the eight o'clock train. I went straight to the Central Hotel, washed up, and went for a walk 'Unter den Linden.' it was magnificent. Those bright show windows, the crowds of people."

"Yes, yes," said his auditor impatiently. "I know the Linden. Go on."

"An elderly gentleman came up to me, holding out a handkerchief. He asked me if I had lost it. He had found it on the pavement. I thanked him, and said no. Then we got to talking, and walked along together. He was a delightful man. He told a lot of good stories, and I was glad when he asked me to go to a simple but excellent bodega for supper."

"Didn't they play piano and sing in that bodega?" the commissioner asked. He was getting gayer and gayer.

"To be sure they did. It was very entertaining. There were several other gentlemen at our table, who turned out to have come from the same place as the first one. They all played a wonderful game. It really wasn't a game. It was a trick. The player would hold the Jack of Spades in his left hand and two other cards in his right hand. He would throw all three cards on the table and you would have to guess which of them"

A laugh from the commissioner interrupted the narrative. The mayor looked at him half astonished, half insulted. The commissioner jumped up and cried:

"Great! My dear sir, you studied the confidence game on the spot. You could pass your