“Here the call-boy was summoned, and testified to accompanying the deceased home the night before. He came as far as the steps with her. The door was opened by a woman; could not swear it was Miss Woods, though he knows her by sight. The night was dark, and there was no lamp burning.
“Julius Kenneth deposes: I am a master-machinist. Reside at 47 Forsythe Street. Miss Ware was my cousin. We were engaged to be married next — (here the witness’s voice failed him). The last time I saw her was on Wednesday morning, on which occasion we walked out together. I did not leave my room last evening: was confined by a severe cold. A Lieutenant King used to visit my cousin frequently; it created considerable talk in the neighborhood: I did not like it, and requested her to break the acquaintance. She informed me, Wednesday, that King had been ordered to some foreign station, and would trouble me no more. Was excited at the time, hinted at being tired of living; then laughed, and was gayer than she had been for weeks. Deceased was subject to fits of depression. She had engaged to walk with me this morning at eight. When I reached Clark Street I learned that she — (here the witness, overcome by emotion, was allowed to retire).
“Dr. Wren deposes: (This gentleman was very learned and voluble, and had to be suppressed several times by the coroner. We furnish a brief synopsis of his testimony.) I was called in to view the body of the deceased. A deep incision on the throat, two inches below the left ear, severing the left common carotid and the internal jugular vein, had been inflicted with some sharp instrument. Such a wound would, in my opinion, produce death almost instantaneously. The body bore no other signs of violence. Deceased must have been dead a number of hours, the rigor mortis having already supervened, etc., etc.
“Who the criminal is, and what could have led to the perpetration of the cruel act, are questions which, at present, threaten to baffle the sagacity of the police. If such deeds can be committed with impunity in a crowded city like this, who is safe from the assassin’s steel?”
III: Thou Art the Man
I could but smile on reading all this serious nonsense.
After breakfast the next morning I made my toilet with extreme care, and presented myself at the sheriff’s office.
Two gentlemen who were sitting at a table, busy with papers, started nervously to their feet, as I announced myself. I bowed very calmly to the sheriff, and said,
“I am the person who murdered Mary Ware!”
Of course I was instantly arrested; and that evening, in jail, I had the equivocal pleasure of reading these paragraphs among the police items of the Mirror:
“The individual who murdered the ballet-girl, on the night of the third inst., in a house on Crandall Street, surrendered himself to the sheriff this forenoon.
“He gave his name as Paul Lynde, and resides opposite the place where the tragedy was enacted. He is a man of medium stature, has restless gray eyes, chestnut hair, and a super-naturally pale countenance. He seems a person of excellent address, is said to be wealthy, and connected with an influential New England family. Notwithstanding his gentlemanly manner, there is that about him which would lead one to select him from out a thousand, as a man of cool and desperate character.
“Mr. Lynde’s voluntary surrender is not the least astonishing feature of this affair; for, had he preserved silence he would, beyond a doubt, have escaped even suspicion. The murder was planned and executed with such deliberate skill that there is little or no evidence to implicate him. In truth, there is no evidence against him excepting his own confession, which is meagre and confusing enough. He freely acknowledges the crime, but stubbornly refuses to enter into any details. He expresses a desire to be hanged immediately!
“How Mr. Lynde entered the chamber, and by what means he left it after committing the deed, and why he cruelly killed a lady with whom he had had (as we gather from the testimony) no previous acquaintance — are enigmas which still perplex the public mind, and will not let curiosity sleep.”
IV: Paul’s Confession
On the afternoon following this disclosure, the door of my cell turned on its hinges, and Julius Kenneth entered.
In his presence I ought to have trembled; but I was calm and collected. He, feverish and dangerous. “You received my note?”
“Yes; and have come here, as you requested.”
“You of course know, Mr. Kenneth, that I have refused to reveal the circumstances connected with the death of Mary Ware? I wished to make the confession to you alone.”
“Well?”
“But even to you I will assign no reason for the course I pursued. It was necessary that Mary Ware should die.”
“Well?”
“I decided that she should die in her chamber, and to that end I purloined her night-key.
“On Friday night after she had gone to the theatre, I entered the hall-door by means of the key, and stole unobserved to her room, where I secreted myself under the bed, or in that small clothes-press near the stove — I forget which. Sometime between eleven and twelve o’clock Mary Ware returned. While she was in the act of lighting the gas, I pressed a handkerchief, saturated with chloroform, over her mouth. You know the effect of chloroform? I will, at this point spare you further detail, merely remarking that I threw my gloves and the handkerchief in the stove; but I’m afraid there was not fire enough to consume them.”
Kenneth walked up and down the cell greatly agitated; then seated himself on the foot of the bed.
“Curse you!”
“I extinguished the light, and proceeded to make my escape from the room, which I did in a manner so simple that the detectives, through their desire to ferret out wonderful things, will never discover it, unless, indeed, you betray me. The night, you will recollect, was foggy; it was impossible to discern an object at four yards distance — this was fortunate for me. I raised the window-sash and let myself out cautiously, holding on by the sill, until my feet touched on the moulding which caps the window below. I then drew down the sash. By standing on the extreme left of the cornice, I was able to reach the tin water-spout of the adjacent building, and by that I descended to the sidewalk.”
The man glowered at me like a tiger, his eyes green and golden with excitement: I have since wondered that he did not tear me to pieces.
“On gaining the street,” I continued coolly, “I found that I had brought the knife with me. It should have been left in the chamber — it would have given the whole thing the aspect of suicide. It was too late to repair the blunder, so I threw the knife—”
“Into the river!” exclaimed Kenneth, involuntarily.
And then I smiled.
“How did you know it was I!” he shrieked.
“Hush! they will overhear you in the corridor. It was as plain as day. I knew it before I had been five minutes in the room. First, because you shrank instinctively from the corpse, though you seemed to be caressing it. Secondly, when I looked into the stove, I saw a glove and handkerchief, partly consumed; and then I instantly accounted for the faint close smell which had affected me before the room was ventilated. It was chloroform. Thirdly, when I went to open the window, I noticed that the paint was scraped off the brackets which held the spout to the next house. This conduit had been newly painted two days previously — I watched the man at work; the paint on the brackets was thicker than anywhere else, and had not dried. On looking at your feet, which I did critically, while speaking to you, I saw that the leather on the inner side of each boot was slightly chafed, paint-marked. It is a way of mine to put this and that together!”