Summary

Hulbert Footner Thieves' Wit: An Everyday Detective Story

One afternoon in the up-stairs corridor of the building where she had her offices I came face to face with the famous Irma Hamerton.
Nowadays Irma is merely a tradition of loveliness and grace. Theatregoers of this date have nothing like her to rejoice their eyes. Then, to us humble fellows she stood for the rarest essence of life, the ideal, the unattainable—call it what you like. Tall, slender and dark, with a voice that played on your heartstrings, she was one of the fortunate ones of earth. She had always been a star, always an idol of the public.
Source: Gutenberg

Hulbert Footner Thieves' Wit: An Everyday Detective Story

I hate the pearls now. I would not wear them if I did get them back. They are gone. Let them go!"
"But Miss Hamerton——" I persisted.
"Not another word!" she cried. "My mind is made up!"
"I must speak," I said doggedly. "Because you as much as said you depended on getting honest advice from me. You can't stop now. If you marry Mr. Quarles, the fact that you have suspected him though it was only for a moment will haunt you all your life. No marriage is a bed of roses. When trouble does come your grim spectre will invariably rise and mock you.
Source: Gutenberg

Hulbert Footner Thieves' Wit: An Everyday Detective Story

Evidently there had been a hasty attempt to make it look like an office; a desk had been brought in and the bed removed. Behind the desk sat a fat man rolling a cigar between his thick lips, and trying to look as if he were not expecting me. He looked prosperous in a common way, with his silk hat on the back of his head, and his immense gaping cutaway. His face was red and what passes for good-humoured with little pig eyes lost in fat. A huge moustache with curled ends, decorated it, the kind of moustache that I thought even New York politicians had given up nowadays.
Source: Gutenberg

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