Chapter 1 The Mysterious Burglar

For several weeks New York had been in great commotion.

Every day, the newspapers reported burglaries committed on Fifth Avenue at the homes of millionaires whose villas were located in Central Park.

In vain did the most astute detectives rack their brains to discover the mysterious purpose of these burglaries.

It was indeed a most remarkable, inexplicable sequence of events.

For the strangest thing was that nothing was stolen. One could believe in a ghost, so strange were the events.

The craziest thing was that not one night went by without the unknown perpetrator carrying out his plans .

Notwithstanding that the night watch had been doubled, sniffer dogs sent out, and other security measures taken, the occupants of one of the palaces found the doors of their safes open the next morning, the contents neatly spread out on the carpet, windows open, locked doors opened, pictures taken from the wall, and whatever other inexplicable things might be happening.

It was really as if a ghost was raging there. Every day the newspapers brought new, sensational news.

What could be the unknown burglar's goal? Could he be a nervous wreck?

Why didn't he take the contents with him as soon as the safe was open?

Why did he put the stolen goods on tables, chairs and carpets, without taking a single cent?

Could it be a mad mania of a sick mind?

No one, not even the most astute mind, could fathom this secret. Day by day the number of millionaires in New York who were hit by burglaries increased .

No one felt safe anymore.

An army of detectives was mobilized, but even they were unable to discover anything.

There was only one peculiarity which struck the chief of the Detective Bureau.

The so-called burglaries always took place in a house where a group had gathered the night before.

“The thief is in the house,” said Newton, the proprietor of a large detective agency, to Mr. Harkel,[ 2 ]his first inspector; "he has no need to sneak in. He must be among the guests.

" While we are on the street, or wherever, lurking for the stranger, he is in the house in complete peace of mind, and carries out the mad burglary. Yes, I say mad, because this case is already too crazy!"

“Who knows,” muttered Inspector Harkel.

Newton looked up with interest.

“You do not share my suspicion?”

“No, but I too would like to know what purpose the unknown person has in mind for the matter.”

“It is the first time since my investigations as a detective that a thief has opened a safe and taken none of the contents.”

“Perhaps,” said Harkel, “the man is looking for something special somewhere, which he suspects is hidden in a safe.”

Newton shook his head.

"Impossible, Harkel. Then the stranger would not take the trouble, and for his own pleasure open closed doors, break windows, and such strange things.

“No! There is a secret behind all this, unless the perpetrator is a madman.”

The two officials could not imagine the plans and motives of the mysterious burglar.

Inspector Harkel thought seriously for a few minutes.

“Is it not possible, Mr. Newton, that these strange burglaries are being carried out by the English master thief, John Raffles?”

Newton looked up with interest.

"This supposition is not without foundation. The safes are opened with fabulous certainty. With a certainty that is truly astonishing! It can only be a master of the trade, but ..." Newton looked doubtfully ahead, and smoked nervously:

“It can't be John Raffles, or do you suddenly think the master thief so foolish that he opens safes for his own pleasure without taking anything out? That would be ridiculous.”

At this moment the officer on duty reported:

“Director James Stamford. This gentleman wishes to speak to Mr. Newton personally.”

After a few seconds Stamford, an elderly man with a real Yankee face, approached Mr. Newton.

The detective offered the visitor a chair next to the writing table.

"I have come on a curious business," began the stranger; "I do not know whether my name is familiar to you. I am president of the New York Insurance Company against burglary and theft."

Newton bowed.

“I know you, Mr. Stamford, how may I help you?”

The visitor nervously lit a cigarette.

"I am in great anxiety. When I entered the offices of my Insurance Company on Broadway this morning, two hours ago, my staff were in the greatest excitement."

“What had happened?”

Stamford struck the writing desk violently with his hand:

"The devil is loose in New York. My Company is about to be ruined. All our clients, who are among the leading millionaires in New York, are in despair."

Newton laughed.

"You are in a real predicament, Mr. Stamford. I know what is on your mind. The mysterious, mysterious burglaries of millionaires' homes . If the unknown burglar had stolen everything, you would not have enough money to pay your clients the damages."

“You are right, Mr. Newton.”

“A speculation on the excellence of the police,” laughed the latter; “if it falls short, you will have to pay.”

“Unfortunately,” muttered the director, “but the strangest thing is that this unknown person visited the offices of my Company last night, and, despite the best alarm signals, opened both our safes.”

“Has anything been stolen?”

"We have our money in the bank. But—" here the director paused and finished his cigarette—"the unknown person took out our cash books and from them he informed himself about our customers and for what sum they are insured with our Company."

Newton and his inspector exchanged a look of understanding at this moment. The purpose of the ridiculous burglaries suddenly became clear to them.