The Blue Book of Crime

A mysterious package arrived in the mail recently. It contained nothing but a slim hardcover volume, blue with black lettering: The Blue Book of Crime: Finger Prints, Secret Service, Crime Detection.

It is, if you will, a kind of Manual of Detection, only it was published in 1936 by the Finger Print Publishing Association, and authored by the esteemed Mr. T. G. Cooke, F.P.E., Director of the Institute of Applied Science, formerly Director and Official Editor of The International Association for Identification.

F.P.E., in case you’re wondering, stands for Finger Print Expert.

The usefulness of this book is immediately apparent. It contains information on the history of the fingerprint profession and on the life and work of the average “secret service man,” as well as descriptions of some real cases. Furthermore, it exhorts us to “PROTECT THE INNOCENT; CONVICT THE GUILTY.” I think anyone lucky enough to possess a copy of this book will feel inclined to do just that, and may even want to study with The Institute of Applied Science, which, according to the last page of the book, has been “training students by mail in the profession of secret service and identification continuously since June, 1916.”

Why do I call this package mysterious, apart from its contents? For this reason: the sender is unidentified. No note, no name in the return address—just my own address, written in big block letters which I’m sure would prove resistant to the efforts of all but the most skilled F.D.E. (Forensic Document Examiner).

I have only one clue to go on: an Atlanta, Georgia postmark. Assuming I know my benefactor, this narrows the list to several suspects.

• The copywriter. The similarities between the copywriter and the F.P.E. are well documented: both care about the finer details and are concerned with matters of identification. This copywriter also writes fiction, which is very suspicious behavior.
• The poet. The poet is an A.C.S. (Agatha Christie Specialist), so naturally she’s a prime suspect. She moved to Atlanta recently, so might feel inclined to browse used bookstores and send some of the more instructional findings to old friends, to make sure they don’t forget about her.
• The other poet. The other poet, I’m told, is engaged to the previously mentioned poet. Of particular note is the fact that he used to be a carnival employee.

I have little else to go on, so please let me know of any promising leads. And in case you need to identify fingerprints, I urge you to refer to the following illustration:

Cyclopedia of Wonders and Curiosities

Among the most treasured works on my reference shelf is the Cyclopedia of Wonders and Curiosities of Nature and Art, Science and Literature, Representing Anatomy, Physiology, Phrenology, Astronomy, Botany, Geology, Natural History, Ichthyology, Mythology, Ornithology, Meteorology, Mineralogy, Chemistry, Zoology, Entomology, Biography, etc.; And Containing A Full and Authentic Description of the Most Remarkable and Astonishing Places, Beings, Animals, Customs, Experiments, Phenomena, etc., of both Ancient and Modern Times, in All Parts of the Globe, Comprising Correct Accounts of the Most Wonderful Freaks of Nature and Arts of Man, by I. Platt, D.D.

I am currently in possession of Volume Two, and my friend Jon Sequeira, who gave me the book, owns Volume One. I think the plan is to switch volumes now and then, so that we can each absorb this mass of wondrousness over the course of many years. (To try it all at once would be foolhardy and daft.)

In that spirit, I’ll be sharing some excerpts from the Cyclopedia here. The following entry is from Chapter LXII, Curiosities Respecting the Customs of Mankind (Continued).

A Curious Practice in North Holland.—To every house, of whatever quality, there is an artificial door, elevated near three feet above the level of the ground, and never opened but upon two occasions. When any part of the family marries, the bride and bridegroom enter the house by this door; and when either of the parties die, the corpse is carried out by the same door. Immediately after the due ceremonies are performed in either of these cases, this door is fastened up, never to turn on its hinges again, till some new event of a similar nature demands its services.

In future installments, we’ll consider such marvels and conundrums as Sand Floods, Androides, Remarkable Lamps, and the tale of an Unfortunate Artificer. In the meantime, you’re probably wondering, as I am, whether it should be “conundrums” or “conundra,” and to settle this matter we’ll have to consult the specialists.

How to Talk to Trains

I’m currently doing research for a new project—research into trains, specifically—and my friendly local librarian has dug up a real treasure: a book for children called Train Talk: An Illustrated Guide to Lights, Hand Signals, Whistles, and other Languages of Railroading by Roger Yepsen. I would have loved this book when I was eight years old; I love it now.

It opens with the story of an Indiana farmer who is struck and killed by a train in 1920. The man turns out to be the author’s great-grandfather. “In spite of its air horns and bells and lights,” Yepsen writes, “a train ghosting down a hill can approach you as quietly as a cat.”

Though the story is intended to caution young readers, I can’t help but imagine Mr. Yepsen setting out to learn the language of locomotives with the story of his ancestor’s death in mind. He refers to the railroad as “a country that stretches from Atlantic to Pacific, from Central American jungle to Canadian tundra.” Catastrophe visited his family from that country, so he felt compelled to go there and learn its native tongue.

As for me, I’m just taking notes on color-light signals and semaphores. When I hear a train, it’s usually from a distance, or I’m riding in it.

Mr. Yepsen, are you out there? We grew up in the same part of the world and I like your map of the Lake Shore Limited.