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The Somnambulist and the Detective; The Murderer and the Fortune Teller

by Allan Pinkerton · English · Gutenberg #30636 · 367,043 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Somnambulist and the Detective; The Murderer and the Fortune Teller

Author: Allan Pinkerton


        
Release date: December 9, 2009 [eBook #30636]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOMNAMBULIST AND THE DETECTIVE; THE MURDERER AND THE FORTUNE TELLER ***




Produced by Suzanne Shell, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)






ALLAN PINKERTON'S

GREAT DETECTIVE STORIES.


1.--THE MOLLIE MAGUIRES AND DETECTIVES.

2.--STRIKERS, COMMUNISTS, AND DETECTIVES.

3.--CRIMINAL REMINISCENCES AND DETECTIVES.

4.--THE MODEL TOWN AND DETECTIVES.

5.--THE SPIRITUALISTS AND DETECTIVES.

6.--THE EXPRESSMEN AND DETECTIVES.

7.--THE SOMNAMBULIST AND DETECTIVES.

8.--CLAUDE MELNOTTE AS A DETECTIVE.

9.--THE MISSISSIPPI OUTLAWS AND DETECTIVES.

10.--GYPSIES AND DETECTIVES.

11.--BUCHOLZ AND DETECTIVES.

12.--THE RAILROAD FORGER AND DETECTIVES.

13.--BANK ROBBERS AND DETECTIVES.

14.--THE BURGLAR'S FATE AND DETECTIVES.

15.--A DOUBLE LIFE AND DETECTIVES.

16.--PROFESSIONAL THIEVES AND DETECTIVES.

17.--THIRTY YEARS A DETECTIVE.

18.--THE SPY OF THE REBELLION.

"The mental characteristics of Allan Pinkerton were judgment as to
facts, knowledge of men, the ability to concentrate his faculties on one
subject, and the persistent power of will. A mysterious problem of
crime, against which his life was devoted, presented to his thought, was
solved almost in an instant, and seemingly by his intuitions. With
half-closed eyes he saw the scene in which the wrong was done, read
every movement of the criminals, and reached invariably the correct
conclusion as to their conduct and guilt."

_A new uniform edition, cloth bound, Illustrated.
Price per vol._ $1.00.

G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers

NEW YORK.


[Illustration: "_At this instant I flung open one of the shutters, and
simultaneously I heard a cry of horror from my clerk._"--Page 19.]


THE SOMNAMBULIST AND THE DETECTIVE.


THE MURDERER AND THE FORTUNE TELLER.


BY
ALLAN PINKERTON.

AUTHOR OF
"EXPRESSMAN AND DETECTIVE," "SPIRITUALISTS AND DETECTIVES,"
"PROFESSIONAL THIEVES AND DETECTIVES,"
"RAILROAD FORGER AND DETECTIVES,"
"MOLLIE MAGUIRES AND DETECTIVES," ETC., ETC.


[Illustration: Logo]


NEW YORK:
_G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers._


COPYRIGHT,
W. B. KEEN, COOKE & CO.,
1875.

COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
JOAN CHALMERS.


_The Somnambulist._




PREFACE


In presenting to the public my third volume of Detective Stories, I
desire to again call attention to the fact that the stories herein
contained, as in the case of their predecessors in the series, are
literally true. The incidents in these cases have all actually occurred
as related, and there are now living many witnesses to corroborate my
statements.

Maroney, the expressman, is living in Georgia, having been released
during the war. Mrs. Maroney is also alive. Any one desiring to convince
himself of the absolute truthfulness of this narrative can do so by
examining the court records in Montgomery, Ala., where Maroney was
convicted.

The facts stated in the second volume are well known to many residents
of Chicago. Young Bright was in the best society during his stay at the
Clifton House, and many of his friends will remember him. His father is
now largely interested in business in New York, Chicago, and St. Louis.
The events connected with the abduction of "The Two Sisters," will be
readily recalled by W. L. Church, Esq., of Chicago, and others. The
story of "Alexander Gay," the Frenchman, will be found in the criminal
records of St. Louis, where he was sentenced for forgery.

So with the stories in this volume. The characters in "The Detective and
the Somnambulist," will be easily recognized by many readers in the
South. As the family of Drysdale are still living and holding a highly
respectable place in society, the locality is not correctly given, and
fictitious names are used throughout.

By reason of the peculiar nature of the circumstances, the facts
narrated in "The Murderer and the Fortune-Teller," are known only to a
small circle, but they can readily be substantiated. Captain Sumner was
never informed of the means employed to influence his sister, and his
first knowledge of them will be obtained in reading this book; but he
will remember his own visit to "Lucille," and will undoubtedly see that
the affair was managed exactly as I have stated.

In reading these stories, the reader will probably come to the
conclusion that the detection of criminals is a very simple matter, and
that any one with a moderate amount of intelligence could have done just
as well. To a certain extent this is true, but not wholly. The plan once
adopted, it is not difficult to put it in execution; but experience,
judgment and tact are required to form a plan which will bring out the
real facts connected with the crime. This done, the capture of the
criminal is only a question of time.

Legitimate, honest detective business is yet in its infancy, but the
trade, as at present generally conducted, approaches the dignity of an
art--a black art, unfortunately, the object being accurately to
distinguish the percentage of plunder which will satisfy the criminals
and the real owners, the remainder being divided among the so-called
detectives.

In point of fact, these fellows are worse than the acknowledged
criminals, since they rob under the guise of honest men, and run little
or no risk, while the actual thieves take their lives in their hands. It
may safely be said that the average detective would rather be in league
with the criminals of this city than opposed to them, and the great
majority _are_ so leagued; and until such a state of affairs is broken
up, the criminals who have money will surely escape punishment.

ALLAN PINKERTON.




THE DETECTIVE AND THE SOMNAMBULIST.




_CHAPTER I._


About nineteen years ago, I was enjoying a short relaxation from the
usual press of business in Chicago. I had only one or two really
important cases on hand, and I was therefore preparing to take a much
needed rest. At this time, my business was not nearly so extensive as it
has since become, nor was my Agency so well known as it now is; hence, I
was somewhat surprised and gratified to receive a letter from Atkinson,
Mississippi, asking me to go to that town at once, to investigate a
great crime recently perpetrated there. I had intended to visit my
former home in Dundee, for a week or ten days, but, on receiving this
letter, I postponed my vacation indefinitely.

The letter was written by Mr. Thomas McGregor, cashier of the City Bank,
of Atkinson, and my services were called for by all the officers of the
bank. The circumstances of the case were, in brief, that the
paying-teller had been brutally murdered in the bank about three or four
months before, and over one hundred and thirty thousand dollars had been
stolen. Mr. McGregor said that no expense should be spared to detect the
criminals, even though the money was not recovered; that would be an
important consideration, of course, but the first object sought was the
capture of the murderers of poor George Gordon, the late paying-teller.

Having already arranged my business for a brief absence, I was all ready
for the journey, and by the next train, I was speeding southward, toward
Atkinson.

I arrived there early in the morning, of one of the most delightful days
of early spring. I had exchanged the brown fields and bare trees of the
raw and frosty North, for the balmy airs, blooming flowers, and waving
foliage of the sunny South. The contrast was most agreeable to me in my
then tired and overworked condition, and I felt that a few days in that
climate would restore my strength more effectually than a stay of
several weeks in the changeable and inclement weather of northern
Illinois. For sanitary, as well as business reasons, therefore, I had no
occasion to regret my Southern trip.

My assumed character was that of a cotton speculator, and I was thus
able to make many inquiries relative to the town and its inhabitants,
without exciting suspicion. Of course, I should have considerable
business at the bank, and thus, I could have frequent conferences with
the bank officials, without betraying my real object in visiting them. I
sent a note to Mr. McGregor, on my arrival, simply announcing myself
under a fictitious name, and I soon received a reply requesting me to
come to the bank at eight o'clock that evening. I then spent the day in
walking about the town and gathering a general idea of the surroundings
of the place.

Atkinson was then a town of medium size, pleasantly situated near the
northern boundary of the State. The surrounding country was well watered
and wooded, consisting of alternate arable land and rolling hills. The
inhabitants of the town were divided into two general classes: the
shop-keepers, mechanics, and laborers, formed the bulk of the
population; while the capitalists, planters and professional men were
the most influential. Most of these latter owned country residences, or
plantations outside of the town, though they kept up their town
establishments also. A small water-course, called Rocky Creek, skirted
one side of the place, and many of the most handsome houses, were
situated on, or near this beautiful rivulet. The whole appearance of
Atkinson, and the surrounding country, indicated a thrifty, well-to-do
population.

Having roamed about to my satisfaction, I spent the latter part of the
afternoon at the hotel, where I met a number of the professional men of
the county. I found that the hotel was occupied by many of the best
families during the winter and spring, and I soon formed the
acquaintance of several of the gentlemen. They greeted me with
characteristic Southern hospitality, and I was pleased to see that my
_role_ as a Scotch speculator was quite an easy one to play; at least,
no one ever appeared to suspect my real object in visiting Atkinson.

At the appointed hour I went to the bank, and was met outside by Mr.
McGregor, to whom I had been introduced during the day. He took me in
through the private entrance, and we were joined in a few minutes by
Alexander Bannatine, president, and Peter A. Gordon, vice-president, of
the bank. Mr. Bannatine was about fifty years of age, but he looked much
older, owing to his continuous and exhausting labors as a lawyer, during
the early part of his life. Having made a large fortune by successful
practice and judicious investments, he had retired from the active
pursuit of his profession, and had joined several old friends in the
banking business. Mr. Gordon was, also, about fifty years old. He had
become wealthy by inheritance, and had increased his fortune by twenty
years of careful attention to business. He was unmarried, and George
Gordon, the murdered bank-teller, had stood in the relation of a son to
his uncle; hence, there was an additional reason for the capture and
conviction of the murderers. The recovery of the large sum of money
stolen, would, alone, have been an important consideration, but Mr.
Gordon was willing to spend a very extravagant amount in the detection
of the criminals, even though the money might never be discovered.

We seated ourselves at a table in the cashier's room, and I prepared to
take notes of all the facts then known by the gentlemen present.

"Now, Mr. Bannatine," I said, "please tell me everything connected with
the case, which may be of service to me."

"Well, Mr. Pinkerton, I have not been connected with the bank so long,
or so closely as Mr. McGregor," said Mr. Bannatine, "and perhaps he had
better give a short sketch of young Gordon's connection with the bank
first."

"George Gordon was taken into our employ about five years ago," said Mr.
McGregor. "He had previously acted as our agent in one of the interior
towns, and when he became of age he was offered the place of
paying-teller. Since then his obliging disposition, courteous manners,
and faithful performance of duty, have endeared him to all his
associates, and have given him the confidence of all persons with whom
he came in contact. His character was spotless, and his devotion to duty
was superior to all allurements; he would never sacrifice one moment to
pleasure which should have been given to business."

"Had he any associates among the fast men and women of the place?" I
asked.

"No, sir, not one," was the prompt reply; "we have not been able to
learn that he had any acquaintances even, among that class."

"Well, please proceed to state all the circumstances connected with the
murder," I suggested.

"I was not at home at the time," said Mr. McGregor, "but I can give you
many facts, and Mr. Gordon can add thereto. George was in the habit of
remaining in the bank after office hours for the purpose of writing up
his books, as he acted as book-keeper also. During the very busy
seasons, he would sometimes be kept at work until long after dark,
though this was unusual. Occasionally customers would come to the bank
after the regular hours, and George would accommodate them, or I would
do so, when I was present. We were both very careful about admitting
outsiders after the bank had closed, and we never allowed any one to
enter except well-known business men and old customers of the bank. We
had large sums on hand at times, and George frequently said that we
could not exercise too much care in managing our business. I mention
this to show that he was not careless in his habits, but that, on the
contrary, he always took the greatest precautions against fraud or
violence."

"Were there any customers who were in the habit of coming in late?" I
asked.

"Yes, there were several," replied Mr. McGregor; "for instance, Mr.
Flanders, the jeweler, used to bring over his more valuable jewelry
every afternoon to put into our vault; he would put it into a small box
and leave it here about five o'clock. Then, our county clerk, Mr.
Drysdale, used to stop frequently to make deposits in cases where other
parties had paid money to him after banking hours. He was very intimate
with George, and he used to stop to see him sometimes and walk out with
him after his work was finished. Walter Patterson, also, was one of
George's particular friends, and he has often stayed with George until
nine or ten o'clock in the evening. Besides these there were several of
our leading planters who would come in as late as eight o'clock to
deposit funds, or to obtain cash for use early the next day."

"Did young Gordon have the keys to the vault?" I asked.

"Oh! yes," replied Mr. McGregor; "I was often called away on business
for several days, and he used to act as cashier in my absence. He was in
the habit of carrying the keys with him at all times; but his uncle
advised him not to do so, as they might be taken from him by a gang of
desperate characters, and the bank robbed. He had, therefore, given up
the practice of taking the keys home with him after night-fall. Just
about the time of the murder, we had one of the busiest seasons ever
known; the cotton crop had been enormous, and sales had been very rapid,
so that our deposits were unusually large. One morning I found that I
must go to Greenville for several days, on business of great importance.
Before going, I gave George full instructions upon all matters which
might need attention during my absence; yet I felt, while on my way to
the depot, that there was something which I had forgotten. I could not
define what it was, but I hurried back to ask whether he could think of
any thing further upon which he might wish my advice. I found him
chatting with his friend, Mr. Drysdale. Calling him to one side, I said:

"'George, is there anything more upon which I can advise you?'

"'No, I guess not,' he replied; 'you will be back so soon that if there
should anything new turn up, it can wait until you return.'

"'Well, be very careful,' I continued, 'and don't allow any one to come
in here after dark. It may be an unnecessary precaution, but I should
feel easier if I knew no one was admitted to the bank during my
absence.'

"'Very well,' he replied, 'I shall allow only one or two of my personal
friends to come in. There will be no harm in admitting them, for they
will be an additional protection in case of any attempt on the bank.'

"I could offer no objection, and so we parted. I was gone about a week,
when, having settled my business in Greenville, I returned here. The
first news I received was, that George Gordon had been found murdered in
the bank that morning, the crime having been committed the night before.
I will now let Mr. Peter Gordon, George's uncle, tell the circumstances,
so far as he knows them."

Mr. McGregor was a careful, methodical man, about sixty years of age. He
always spoke directly to the point, and in his story, he had evidently
made no attempt to draw conclusions, or to bias my judgment in any way.
Nevertheless, he showed that he was really affected by young Gordon's
murder, and I saw that I should get more really valuable assistance from
him, than from both of the other two. Mr. Gordon was greatly excited,
and he could hardly speak at times, as he thought of his murdered
nephew. His story was told slowly and painfully, as if the details were
almost too much for him. Still, he felt that nothing ought to be
neglected which would assist me, and so he nerved himself to tell every
little incident of the dreadful crime.

"I remember the day of the murder very distinctly, Mr. Pinkerton," he
said. "Mr. Bannatine was obliged to visit his plantation that morning,
and Mr. McGregor being away, as he has already told you, I spent most of
the day at the bank with George. He was perfectly competent to manage
all the business himself, Mr. Pinkerton, for he was a very smart and
trustworthy young man, the very image of my dear brother, who was
drowned twenty years ago, leaving me to bring up George like my own son;
but, as I was saying, I kept George company in the bank that day, more
as a measure of safety, than because he needed me. Well we received a
large amount of money that day in bank notes and specie, and I helped
George put the money into the vault. When the bank closed, George said
that he should work until five o'clock and then go home to dinner. I was
anxious to go to my store, as business had been very heavy that day, and
I had had no opportunity to attend to my own affairs; I therefore left
the bank at four o'clock. George and I boarded at the hotel, and at
dinner time, he came late, so that I finished before he did. About seven
o'clock, George came down to the store, where I had gone after dinner.
He sat a little while and smoked a cigar with me, and then said that he
must return to the bank, as he had a great deal of work to finish up on
the books; he told me, also, not to sit up for him, as it might be quite
late before he came home."

"Were there any other persons present when he said this, Mr. Gordon?" I
asked.

"Yes; there was a shoemaker, named Stolz, whom George had just paid for
a pair of boots. Mr. Flanders, the jeweler, was there also, and he had
his box of jewelry for George to lock up in the safe. There had been so
many customers in his store that afternoon that he had not been able to
take the box over before. There were several other persons present, I
recollect now that you ask me about it, but I had not thought of the
matter before, and I cannot recall their names."

"Well, I guess we can find out," I replied; "please go on. By the way,
one question: had George drank anything at all during the day?"

"No, sir, nothing whatever. George used to smoke a great deal, but he
_never_ drank at a bar in his life; all his young friends will tell you
the same. He sometimes drank wine at meals at his own or a friend's
table, but he never drank at any other place. He left my store about
half-past seven o'clock, and Flanders went with him to leave his
jewelry. Flanders' store is near mine, and he soon came back and chatted
with me a short time. He has since told me that he did not enter the
bank, but that he simply handed the case of jewelry to George on the
steps of the private entrance, and George said to him: 'I won't ask you
to come in, Flanders, for I have too much work to attend to, and I can't
entertain you.' These are the last words that George is known to have
spoken."

Here Mr. Gordon's agitation was so great that he could not speak for
several minutes, but at length, he continued:

"I went to bed about ten o'clock that evening, and came down late to
breakfast next morning. I did not see George anywhere around the hotel,
but I thought nothing of that, as I supposed that he had gone to the
bank. After breakfast, I got shaved, smoked a cigar, and then went to my
store. In a few minutes, a man named Rollo, who has an account at the
bank, came in and said:

"'Mr. Gordon, what is the matter at the bank this morning? It is now
after ten o'clock, and everything is still shut up.'

"'What!' I exclaimed, 'the bank not opened yet! My nephew must be sick,
though he was quite well yesterday evening. I will go to the bank with
you at once, Mr. Rollo.'

"One of my clerks accompanied us, and on arriving at the bank, we found
a cabinet-maker named Breed, trying to get in. I went and pounded on the
front door several times, but no one came. I then went to the private
entrance and gave the signal by rapping, to let those inside know that
one of the bank officers was at the door. We had a private signal known
only to the officers, so that I was sure there must be something wrong
when I found it unanswered. I had a dreadful feeling in my heart that
something horrible had happened, and I was about to hurry away to the
hotel, to see if George was there, when I casually let my hand fall upon
the knob and turned it; to my surprise, the door yielded.

"By this time, quite a crowd had gathered outside, attracted by the
unusual spectacle of the closed bank, and the knocking at the doors. I
therefore left Mr. Rollo and Mr. Breed to keep the crowd from entering
the side entrance, while my clerk and I threw open the heavy shutters of
this room where we are now sitting. We then entered the main bank
through yonder door, and while I went to open the outside blinds, which
excluded every particle of light, my clerk walked down behind the bank
counter. He suddenly stumbled over something and fell, and as he got up,
he said that the floor was wet. At this instant, I flung open one of the
shutters, and simultaneously I heard a cry of horror from my clerk.
Running to the counter, I looked over and saw a terrible sight. My poor
boy--"

Again Mr. Gordon's feelings overcame him, and it was some time before he
could go on. Finally he was able to resume his story, though he was
frequently obliged to pause to wipe away his tears.

"My nephew's body was lying midway between his desk and the vault door;
he had evidently been standing at his desk when he was struck, as was
shown by the direction in which the blood had spirted. He had been
murdered by three blows on the back of the head, the instrument used
being a heavy canceling hammer, which we found close by, clotted with
blood and hair. The first blow had been dealt just back of the left ear
while George was standing at his desk; he had then staggered backward
two or three steps before falling, and the second and third blows had
been struck as he lay on the floor. Although it was evident that the
first blow alone was sufficient to cause death, the murderer had been
anxious to complete his work beyond any possibility of failure.

"The scene was most ghastly; George's body lay in a pool of blood, while
the desks, chairs, table and wall, were spattered with large drops which
had spirted out as the blows were struck. I shall never forget that
terrible morning, and sometimes I awake with a horrible choking
sensation, and think that I have just renewed the sickening experience
of that day.

"Well, I immediately suspected that the murder had been committed to
enable the murderer to rob the bank. I knew that George had no enemies
who would seek his life, and there could be no other object in killing
him inside the bank. The outer door of the vault stood slightly ajar,
and as soon as I had satisfied myself that my nephew was dead--as indeed
was evident, the body being quite cold--I sent my clerk to call Mr.
Rollo and Mr. Breed into the bank, while he remained at the door. I told
him to send any person whom he might see outside for the sheriff and the
coroner. As I was saying, the vault door stood slightly open, and when
the other gentleman joined me I called their attention to the position
of everything before I entered the vault. I found the keys in the lock
of the inner door, and on opening the latter we saw that everything
inside was in great confusion. Without making any examination, I closed
and locked both doors, and sealed the key-holes with tape and
sealing-wax. I determined to leave everything just as it was until the
inquest should be held. The sheriff and coroner soon arrived, and a jury
was impaneled immediately, as, by that time, the news had spread all
over town, and the bank was surrounded by nearly all the best men in the
place. In summoning the jury, the coroner put down for foreman the name
of Mr. Drysdale, George's most intimate friend, but it was found that he
was not in the crowd outside, and when they sent for him he begged so
hard to be excused that he was let off.

"The inquest was held in this room, but nothing was moved from the bank
except the body and the canceling hammer. The jury elicited nothing more
than what I have told you, and they therefore adjourned to await the
examination of our vault when Mr. McGregor and Mr. Bannatine returned,
in the hope that some clue might be found therein. I forgot to mention
that we found in George's hand a bill of the Planter's Bank of Georgia,
of the denomination of one hundred dollars. It was clutched tightly, and
he had fallen on that side, so that the murderer had not noticed it.
Here it is, partly stained with blood," and Mr. Gordon handed me a bank
note. He then continued:

"A messenger had been dispatched to inform Mr. Bannatine of the
disaster, and he arrived in town almost simultaneously with Mr.
McGregor, who was already on his way home when the murder occurred. As
Mr. Bannatine is well acquainted with all the subsequent events, I
prefer that he should give the account of our action since that time."

It was clearly very painful to Mr. Gordon to talk upon the subject of
his nephew's murder, and Mr. Bannatine willingly took up the thread of
the story. He had practiced at the bar so long that his style resembled
that of a witness under examination, and he was always careful to give
his authority whenever he stated facts outside of his own observation.
His testimony was of the greatest importance to me, and I took very full
notes as he went along.




_CHAPTER II._


I received the intelligence of George Gordon's murder about noon, by a
messenger from Mr. Gordon. I immediately rode into town and went to the
bank, where I arrived about two o'clock. The inquest was not completed,
but at the sheriff's suggestion the jury adjourned until the next
morning. The cause of death, according to the testimony of Dr. Hartman
and Dr. Larimore, was concussion of the brain, produced by three
separate blows on the back of the head; the blows might have been dealt
with the canceling hammer, which, Mr. Gordon said, had been found close
by the body. The latter was removed to the hotel preparatory to the
funeral.

"Mr. Gordon, Mr. McGregor, and myself then proceeded to open the bank,
taking the sheriff to assist us in searching for clues to aid in the
detection of the criminals. We first opened all the shutters to give as
much light as possible. We then examined the interior of the bank;
outside of the counter nothing whatever was found, but inside we
discovered several important traces of the murderer. The fireplace
showed that something had recently been burned in it. The grate had been
perfectly clean all summer, and Mr. Gordon tells me such was the case
when he left the bank at four o'clock. The character of the ashes--as I
am assured by expert chemists--denoted that clothing had been burned,
and while examining them I found several buttons; here they are," he
added, producing four or five iron buttons, and the charred remains of
two or three horn buttons.

"While feeling around in the light ashes beneath the grate," continued
Mr. Bannatine, "I found a piece of paper twisted up and charred at one
end; its appearance indicated that it had been used to light the fire in
the grate. On unrolling it carefully, it proved to be a fragment of a
note for $927.78; the signature, part of the date, and the amount of the
note were left uncharred, but most of the upper portion was wholly
burned. The signature was that of Alexander P. Drysdale, our esteemed
county clerk."

Mr. Bannatine here showed me this fragment pressed out between two
oblong pieces of heavy plate glass. I glanced at it a few minutes, and
then placed it beside the buttons for future examination.

"Among the few scraps of paper found," resumed Mr. Bannatine, "was
another one, which we found under George's body, saturated with blood.
The murderer had evidently destroyed every piece of paper that he could
find; but this one had probably been lying on the floor, and when George
fell, it was hidden by his body. This, and the note, were the only
papers found on the desks or about the floor of the bank which had any
writing upon them; even the waste paper baskets and their contents had
been burned. Here is the paper, Mr. Pinkerton; we have preserved it
carefully, because we thought that it might suggest something to a
detective, though it had no special significance to us."

He handed me the paper, as he spoke. It was a fragment of letter paper,
about three by six inches in size. It was stained a brownish red by poor
young Gordon's lifeblood; but beneath the stain, were plainly visible
the pen marks of the murdered man. It had a number of figures on one
side, arranged like examples in addition, though they were scattered
carelessly, as if he had been checking off balances, and had used this
fragment to verify his additions. The reverse side was blank. I laid
this paper beside the note, and Mr. Bannatine continued his story:

"We then opened the safe, and counted the money; this was easily done,
for we found that all the loose money was gone, leaving only a small
quantity of coin and a number of packages of bills. These latter were
put up in lots of five thousand dollars each, and were wrapped in a
bright red tissue paper. George had put up over one hundred thousand
dollars in this way, about a week before, and the murderer had not
touched these packages at all; we were thus spared a loss, which would
have somewhat crippled us. As it was, the loss in bills amounted to
about one hundred and five thousand dollars, while exactly twenty-eight
thousand dollars in gold eagles and double eagles, were also missing. A
few days after the murder, one of Col. Garnett's slaves found two
twenty-dollar gold pieces at an old fording place on Rocky Creek, just
outside the city, and we came to the conclusion that the robber had
dropped them there; but of course, we could not identify gold pieces,
and so we could not be sure. The coroner closed the inquest the
following day, and the jury found a verdict of death at the hands of a
person or persons unknown. The funeral was attended by people from
miles around, and there was a general determination shown to spare no
pains to bring the murderers to justice; large rewards were offered by
the Governor, by the bank, and by the county officials, and some of the
best detectives in the country were employed, but all to no purpose.
When the gold pieces were found, a number of George's intimate friends
organized a party to search the adjoining woods for traces of the
criminals, as it was thought they might have camped out in that
vicinity, before or after the deed. All of George's intimate friends
joined in the search, except Mr. Drysdale, who was so much overcome at
the terrible occurrence, that he was quite prostrated. Nothing was found
by this party, however; neither have the various detectives,
professional and amateur, who have investigated the case, made the
slightest progress toward a solution of the mystery. We have determined
to make one more effort, Mr. Pinkerton, and therefore we have sent for
you to aid us. It may be that you will see some trace which others have
overlooked; you can take whatever steps you choose, and you need spare
no expense. If you are successful, we will pay you liberally, besides
the rewards offered."

"One of the rules of my Agency," I replied, "forbids the acceptance of
rewards; hence, I wish it understood in advance, that my only charges
will be according to my regular schedule of prices, and that I expect
nothing more. This is my invariable custom, whether the case be one of
murder, arson, burglary, or simple theft; the number of detectives, and
the time they are employed, will determine the amount I shall charge."

We then arranged the financial portion of our agreement to our mutual
satisfaction, and I began my investigations.

"What detectives have you hitherto employed, Mr. Bannatine?" I asked.

"I first laid the matter before two New York detectives, who had been
highly recommended to me," he replied; "but they could offer no
satisfactory theory to work upon, and after staying here three or four
weeks, they said that the murder must have been committed by some member
of a gang of gamblers; they thought the murderer would probably go to
New Orleans to exchange his money, and that it would be easy to learn by
going to that city, whether any gambler had had an unusual amount of
money about that time. We were not very well satisfied with this theory,
and so the detectives returned to New York. We next engaged two
detectives from New Orleans, but they were equally unsuccessful. We then
allowed the matter to rest until about a month ago, when we heard such a
favorable account of the manner in which you had conducted a case of
great difficulty, that we began to discuss the propriety of engaging you
in investigating this affair. The more we heard of you, the better we
were satisfied, and finally, we authorized Mr. McGregor to write to you
on the subject."

"Well, Mr. Bannatine, I shall do my best," I replied, "but you must not
expect me to work miracles. Now, I am going to ask you a number of
questions, and I wish you to answer them without regard to their
apparent drift. Who were George Gordon's intimate friends?"

"Mr. Flanders, Mr. Drysdale, Mr. Patterson, and Mr. Henry Caruthers; I
think they were the only ones he was really very intimate with; isn't it
so, Mr. Gordon?"

"Yes; George had very few cronies," replied Mr. Gordon.

"Who is Mr. Caruthers?" I asked.

"He is the son of a wealthy planter living a few miles from town,"
replied Mr. Bannatine.

"Where was he the afternoon previous to the murder?"

"He came into the bank for a few minutes," said Mr. Gordon, "and asked
George to spend Sunday with him on the plantation; then he rode home."

"Were there any strange men in or about the bank that day?"

"None, so far as we could learn; nearly every person that I can
recollect having seen that day was a customer, or a townsman whom I
knew."

"When George gave up carrying the safe keys home with him, where did he
leave them?"

"There is a secret drawer in that desk, which opens by pressing this
knob, thus," said Mr. McGregor, suiting the action to the word; "we used
to keep the keys there."

"Did any one beside you four gentlemen know this hiding place?"

"I am sure that no one else knew it," said Mr. McGregor.

"Was it necessary for George to open the safe that night, or could he
have done his work without going into the vault at all?"

"He had work to do on the journal and ledger, and he would have to use
the keys to get them out of the vault. He did not need to open the
inner safe where the money was, however."

"Does the outer vault key open both doors?"

"No; but they were kept on the same chain for convenience."

"Were the ledger and journal on George's desk when you entered the bank,
Mr. Gordon?"

"No, sir; they were put away in their usual places in the vault."

"Did they show any marks of blood?"

"None at all; they were perfectly clean."

"Could you tell from their appearance whether George had done any work
upon them that night?"

"Yes; I am sure he had done a great deal; in fact he had finished up all
entries to date."

"Were there any papers missing besides the money?"

"Yes; one or two bundles of old checks, drafts, etc., were used to
assist in burning the murderer's clothes. They were fastened in packages
with fine wire, and we found the wire in the grate."

"Then this note, signed 'Alexander P. Drysdale,' might have been pulled
out of one of these packages?"

"I suppose so; I don't know where else it came from; do you, Mr.
McGregor?" said Mr. Gordon, rather bewildered.

"No; I never thought about where it came from," said Mr. McGregor. "I
suppose the man built a fire of old papers and the fragments of the
waste paper baskets, and then used that note to set them on fire from
the lamp."

"There were no papers of any value used, then?" I continued.

"Oh, no; the papers were old bundles, merely kept as archives of the
bank."

I then picked up the note and glanced at it; as I did so, something
caught my eye which sent the blood throbbing through my veins at a
feverish speed. Enough of the date remained to show that it was drawn
some time during the year of the murder, hence it could hardly be one of
the archives. Besides, a note, if paid, would be returned to the maker,
canceled; if unpaid, it would be kept among the bills receivable, in the
inner safe; in neither case could it have been stowed away among the old
checks and drafts. This reasoning passed through my mind quickly, and I
realized that that little piece of paper might play an important part in
the tragedy after all. I did not form any definite theory on the
instant, but still I had a sort of presentiment that I had touched a
spring which might open the windows of this dark mystery and let in the
light of day. I did not show what I thought to my companions, but
continued to ask questions.

"Was Mr. Patterson in the bank the day of the murder, Mr. Gordon?"

"Oh, no; he was not in this part of the country at that time; he had
been in Mobile for some weeks."

"I understood you to say that Mr. Flanders went no further than the
private door with George; did he notice any one standing about when he
came away?"

"No; he stopped only an instant, while George unlocked the door, and
then gave the jewel box to him to put away. George wished him good
night, with the remark that he could not ask him in, as he would be too
busy to entertain him. Mr. Flanders then came straight back to my store;
but he said at the inquest that he heard George lock the door behind
him, and that he saw no one around the building."

"Do you know anything about his circumstances at that time? Was he in
need of money?"

"No, indeed; he had a large balance to his credit. Why, surely, you do
not see any reason to suspect Mr. Flanders?" said Mr. McGregor.

"I don't say that I suspect anybody," I replied, "but I wish to gather
all the information possible. Now, please tell me how large a balance
Mr. Flanders had on deposit."

Mr. McGregor immediately examined the ledger for the previous year, and
reported that the balance due Mr. Flanders at the time of the murder,
was over twelve thousand dollars.

"You see, Mr. Pinkerton," he went on to say, "we balanced our books up
to that date, and thus we know just how each person's account stood that
day."

"Well, did you find that any of those gentlemen, who were in the habit
of entering the bank after business hours, were in debt to the bank, or
that they were cramped for money at that time?" I asked, carelessly.

"None of them were in debt to the bank, I know," replied Mr. McGregor;
"whether there were any of them in need of money particularly, I cannot
say."

"Had any of them tried to borrow from the bank recently?"

"No; in fact, none of them had drawn out the balances due them."

"Please give me a list of their balances on that day," I said; "just
give me a memorandum of the amounts standing to each one's credit."

"Whose accounts shall we give you?" asked Mr. McGregor, evidently
wondering what object I had in view.

"Well, let me have those of Mr. Flanders, Mr. Patterson, Mr. Drysdale,
and Mr. Caruthers; also, let me know whether any of those gentlemen had
made any loan from the bank during that year, and if so, the amount,
date, etc., and whether a note was given, or security of any kind."

Mr. McGregor, and the other two gentlemen, were completely mystified at
my request, but they complied with my wishes, and I noted down the
amounts given me in my note-book.

The balances were as follows: Patterson, $2,472.27; Drysdale, $324.22;
Caruthers, $817.48; and Flanders, $12,263.03. None of them had made
loans from the bank, except Caruthers, who had once overdrawn his
account nearly three hundred dollars, but he gave no note, as he was
good for any amount. None of the others had given a note to the bank, or
to any one else, so far as was known, for several years.

"Now, gentlemen," I said, "please take me into the bank and show me
exactly how the place appeared when Mr. Gordon first discovered that
George had been murdered."

Mr. Gordon rose with great effort and opened the door connecting the
private office with the main bank. It was evidently very painful to
him, but he did not shrink. Turning to me, he said:

"Mr. Pinkerton, let Mr. McGregor go first, and light the lamp; I will
then proceed just as I did that morning, and will point out the exact
position of everything in the bank."

Mr. McGregor accordingly lighted a large lamp, which threw a soft
radiance over the whole interior, and the two moved the furniture into
the position in which it had been found on that fatal morning. Mr.
Gordon then showed me the exact position of the body, the spot where the
paper lay, the canceling hammer, and the blood-marks. After I had been
shown everything, I stood and thought over the matter in connection with
the surroundings, and endeavored to re-enact the scene of the murder in
my own mind. Bit by bit, I brought out some of the surroundings to my
own satisfaction, and when I went back to the private office, I had a
well-defined theory in my mind. Not that I had so narrowed down my
suspicions, as to fix them upon any particular individual--I had not yet
gone so far--but my theory was fully established, and I felt sure that
by working it up carefully, I should soon discover some traces of the
guilty party. The officers of the bank followed me in silence, and on
resuming our seats, I said:

"Gentlemen, I wish to take a day to weigh the testimony in this case,
before I can give you any opinion about it. I would like to take this
note, the memorandum, and the buttons to my room, and to-morrow evening
I will tell you what conclusions I have reached. Is that satisfactory?"

"Certainly; we do not wish to proceed in haste, Mr. Pinkerton," said
Mr. Bannatine; "we will meet you then at the same hour to-morrow."

"I do not wish to seem impatient," said Mr. Gordon, "but can you not
tell me now whether you have obtained any clue from what we have told
you, which will enable you to learn more?"

Mr. Gordon's anxiety was so keen that I wished to relieve his mind
somewhat; but, on the other hand, I did not wish to raise his hopes
unnecessarily, lest some unforeseen thing might occur to overthrow my
theory entirely. I replied, therefore:

"Mr. Gordon, I may think I have a clue now, which, on mature reflection,
may prove worthless; hence, I should prefer to take a day, before giving
my opinion."

"You are right, Mr. Pinkerton," he said; "I should feel worse to have my
hopes raised, only to be dashed down again, than if I had never expected
anything. Take your own time, and then let us know the result."

"There are two questions more, which I would like answered," I said.
"Was it possible for any person to have entered the bank by force? That
is, were there any indications whatever, to show that the murderer might
have possibly gained entrance during George's absence at dinner?"

"No; none at all. The sheriff made a very careful examination of all the
windows, and both doors," replied Mr. McGregor. "He thought that a gang
of gamblers, who stopped here a few weeks, might have used nippers on
the key of the side door after George had locked it, and that they had
then stolen upon George, at his desk, and killed him; but, there were
no evidences that such was the case."

"Well, did any one, except you three gentlemen, know the private signal
by which those inside the bank could tell that the person at the door,
was one of the bank officers?"

"I am not sure about that," said Mr. Gordon; "possibly some of our
well-known friends might have been with us when we gained admittance to
the bank, but I cannot say that I think they ever learned the signal."

"You think, however, that Patterson, Drysdale, Flanders, or Caruthers,
_might_ have known it?"

"Yes; in fact, on thinking it over, I feel quite sure that Mr. Patterson
and Mr. Drysdale did know it."

"Well, I don't think I have any more questions to ask," I said. "I shall
be here promptly at eight o'clock to-morrow evening, and if you should
wish to communicate with me before that time, send me a message, and I
will call at the bank. This will not attract attention, as my business
is supposed to be cotton buying, and a visit at the bank will not be
considered unusual."

I then took charge of the papers, etc., and went to my room at the
hotel. I merely glanced at the buttons, and bank note, hastily, as I
knew they could serve only as corroboratory evidence in the event of
obtaining a weak chain of proof. I then turned to the note, which I
studied long and carefully. I was convinced that it was of recent date,
at the time of the murder, although only the last figure of the date was
visible. I finally looked over the blood-stained piece of paper, which
George had nearly covered with figures. I saw at a glance, that there
was no reading matter on it, but I began to go over his figures half
mechanically, mentally following his addition, to verify it.

Suddenly my eyes caught two numbers near the bottom of the paper. They
were placed together, and their difference was written below; they were
much fainter than the rest, having been made in pencil, instead of in
ink. It was probably due to this fact, that they had never been noticed
before, as the deep stain made it difficult to distinguish them clearly,
without close observation. However that may be, they acted upon me like
an electric shock, and I was obliged to walk about the room a few
minutes, to compose my nerves. It was strange that those faint lines
should have told so much, but it seemed almost, as if the murdered man
had whispered his murderer's name to me. The numbers which were there
set down were $927.78, and $324.22. _One of them was the amount of the
half burned note of Drysdale; the other, was the amount of his balance
in the bank._

I sat up until a very late hour, thinking over the possible solution of
the mystery, and when I finally went to bed, I had satisfied myself as
to the identity of the murderer. The next day, I rose late, and spent
the afternoon in arranging the points of evidence in consecutive order,
so as to be able to present them to the bank officials in the most
convincing manner. I then walked around town for exercise. During my
walk, I visited Mr. Flanders' jewelry store and the county clerk's
office.

Mr. Flanders was an elderly gentlemen of very mild and courteous
manners, and his whole appearance would lead any one to regard it as
impossible, that he should have committed murder.

Mr. Drysdale, the county clerk, was a fine looking man, of about forty
years of age. He was of the nervous, sanguine type; was quiet and
courteous, but haughty and reserved to strangers; he was looking thin
and weary, as if he worked too hard, and streaks of gray were just
visible in his hair and mustache.

I talked with him for about half an hour, representing that I was a
stranger, desirous of gaining information about the plantations of the
county. He answered my questions politely, but as briefly as possible,
and I saw that my presence, apparently, bored him, and interfered with
his duties. As I was about to go, I asked him to write the name and
address of some reliable cotton factor in my note-book, and he complied
very willingly. I then returned to the hotel, and patiently waited until
eight o'clock.




_CHAPTER III._


On going to the bank I found the three gentlemen awaiting me most
anxiously. After the usual greeting we seated ourselves at the table. I
arranged my notes for convenient reference, and began to state my
conclusions:

"Gentlemen, I have approached this case with a great deal of care, and
have given it much thought. Aside from the importance of the interests
involved, there are other reasons which render me cautious in forming
and stating an opinion; other detectives of ability and experience have
been baffled; several months have elapsed since the crimes were
committed; and, lastly, the theory upon which I have reasoned has led me
in such a direction that nothing but the strongest conviction in my own
mind would warrant me in making the statement which I am now about to
give you. Let me first, then, review the case, and show the chain of
evidence as it appears to me:

"George Gordon appears to have been a young man of more than average
ability as a bank officer; he was cautious in his habits, and at this
particular time he had recently been specially cautioned by Mr.
McGregor; consequently it is likely that he would have been unusually
careful to admit only those with whom he was very well acquainted.
Again, the position of the furniture and the appearance of the
blood-marks, show that George was standing at his desk, and that he was
struck from behind. Now, he had finished his work on the books and put
them away. What, then, was he doing? There is but one thing which throws
any light upon this subject--the bank bill which you found in his hand.
From its presence I infer that he was engaged in handling money; indeed,
I may say that he must have been either receiving it or paying it out.
That he was receiving it is not likely, for the murderer was probably
short of funds; hence I conclude that he was paying it out. It is also
clear that the amount must have been large, as shown by the denomination
of the bill--one hundred dollars.

"These facts and inferences lead me to believe that the murderer was a
personal friend of George, and a customer of the bank; and I may say
that I had reached this conclusion yesterday evening, while listening to
the testimony of you three gentlemen, before I had discovered any
corroborative evidence. I will now give some of the additional points
which I have brought out since then; but I wish that you would first
tell me whether this signature is genuine," I said, pointing to
Alexander P. Drysdale's name on the note.

"Oh, yes; there is no doubt of that," said Mr. McGregor; "I am perfectly
familiar with his signature, and there is no question in my mind but
that he signed that himself."

"Well, gentlemen, I will now make up a possible case, and you can see
how nearly it compares with the present matter. I will suppose that a
man of wealth, refinement, and position, should become cramped for money
to supply present necessities; he is intimate with the officers of a
wealthy bank; he goes there one evening and is admitted by his friend,
the acting cashier. He explains his embarrassment, and his friend agrees
to lend him the amount which he requires. The friend completes his work,
puts away his books, and figures up the amount needed. The borrower has
a small balance to his credit, and he gives a note for the difference.
Then the teller opens the safe, brings out a roll of bills, and begins
to count out the amount. The safe door is left open, and the visitor
sees within the piles of bank-notes and the rouleaux of gold. A fortune
in cash is within his grasp with only a human life standing in his way;
his perplexities and embarrassments come upon him with added force as he
sees the means before him by which he may escape their power to annoy
him. Like Tantalus, dying of thirst with the water at his very lips,
this man gazes on the wealth piled up in that safe. Glancing around, he
sees his friend slowly counting the paltry hundreds he is to receive;
close by lies a heavy weapon, heretofore used for innocent business
purposes; another glance into the safe and insanity is upon him; his
brain is a perfect hell of contending passions; again the thought
flashes into his mind--'Only a life between me and that money.' He
seizes the heavy hammer and deals his victim a terrible blow behind the
ear; as the latter falls lifeless, the murderer strikes him twice more
to make sure that there shall be no witnesses to testify in the case.
The deed is done, and there remains nothing to prevent him from seizing
the contents of the safe. But first, he must protect himself from the
danger of discovery; to this end he carefully removes his bloody
clothing, gathers every vestige of paper within sight, and breaks up
the waste paper baskets for fuel. He needs more flame, however, and he
takes several packages of old papers to make the fire fiercer; then his
eye falls on a slip of paper lying on the desk, and he twists it
nervously into a lighter to convey fire from the lamp to the mass of
material in the fire-place. The flame is started, and soon the clothes
are reduced to ashes. Stealthily he packs the packages of bills and the
rolls of coin, and when he has taken as much as he can carry, he slips
noiselessly away, leaving no trace of his identity. No one has seen him
enter or depart; his position is far above the reach of suspicion; every
clue has been destroyed in the fire-place, and no witness to his guilt
can possibly be raised up. So he thinks; and as month after month
passes, as detective after detective abandons the case in despair, as
the excitement dies out in the public mind, and as the friends of the
deceased apparently give up the hopeless task of seeking for the
murderer, his confidence becomes complete, and he no longer fears
detection.

"But stop! when his victim fell a bloody corpse at his feet, _was_ every
witness destroyed? No, gentlemen; helpless and lifeless as that body
fell, it yet had the power to avenge itself. The right hand convulsively
grasps a bank note, and it is hidden from sight by the position assumed
in falling; a slip of white paper dotted with figures at random, is also
covered, and is quickly saturated with blood; a fragment of paper is
found below the grate, twisted so tightly as to have burned only in
part; lastly, the direction of the blood-spirts show that the first blow
was struck on the left side. Now, gentlemen, do you think you can read
the testimony of these dumb witnesses?"

"My God! I do not know what to think," said Mr. Gordon.

"I see where your suspicions lead," said Mr. Bannatine, "but I do not
yet fully know whether I can see the evidence in the same light that you
do. Please go on and tell us all you suspect, and your reasons."

"Yes, Mr. Pinkerton," said Mr. McGregor, "whom do you suspect?"

"Gentlemen," I replied, solemnly, "I have formed no hasty conclusion in
this matter, and I should not accuse any man without the strongest
reasons for believing him guilty; but I think that when I have connected
together the links which I have gathered, you will agree with me in the
moral certainty that George Gordon was murdered by Alexander P.
Drysdale, and no other."

"Go on, go on, Mr. Pinkerton," said Mr. Gordon, in great excitement. "It
seems impossible, yet there are some slight fancies in my mind which
seem to confirm that theory. Tell us all your conclusions, and how you
have arrived at them."

"Well, first, I am satisfied that only a particular friend would have
been admitted to the bank by George that night; second, the blow was
struck from behind, on the left side, showing that the murderer was
probably left-handed. Mr. Drysdale satisfies both of these conditions; I
visited him to-day and saw him write an address in my note-book with his
left hand. Third, I have here a note for $927.78, signed 'Alexander P.
Drysdale;' the signature, you say, is genuine, and further, you told me
yesterday that you had not held a note of Mr. Drysdale's for some
years. On reflection you will see that this note could not have been
taken from the packages of bank archives which were burned, for it never
could have been put there; moreover it is dated '1856,' and must have
been made some time last year. As you have no record of such a note, I
infer that it was drawn the night of the murder. Fourthly, I have
conclusive evidence of that fact in this slip of blood-stained paper,"
and so saying, I produced the slip upon which George had done his
figuring.

"How! where!" exclaimed my listeners.

"Near the bottom of that paper you will find in light pencil marks three
numbers arranged like an example in subtraction, while the rest are all
additions in ink. The figures are: first, 1,252.00; then, 324.22; and
927.78 below the line. Mr. Drysdale's balance was $324.22, and the
amount of this note bearing his signature is $927.78. It looks to me as
if he wanted to draw $1,252.00, and that George subtracted the amount of
his balance in bank, $324.22, from the amount he wished to draw,
$1,252.00, and that Mr. Drysdale then gave his note for the difference,
$927.78. What do you think of my witness, gentlemen?"

The three gentlemen put their heads together over the paper long enough
to convince themselves that the figures were really there, and then they
resumed their seats in silence. I had watched their faces carefully as I
drew my conclusions, and had seen their expressions change from
incredulity to uncertainty, then to amazement, finally turning
gradually to half belief; but when they sat down, positive conviction
was evident in every face.

"How is it possible that these facts were never discovered before?"
ejaculated Mr. Bannatine.

"It is very simple," I replied; "the search has hitherto been conducted
on a wrong basis. The whole endeavor seems to have been to _guess_ who
might have done the deed, and then to find evidence to convict him. My
plan in all similar cases is, to first examine the evidence before me,
with a perfectly unbiased mind; then, having formed a theory by
reasoning on general principles, as applied to the facts in my
possession, I proceed to look about for some person who will answer the
conditions of my theory. I may find more than one, and I then am obliged
to make each such person the object of my attention until I obtain
convincing proof of his innocence or guilt. The person upon whom my
theory causes suspicion to fall, may have been hitherto regarded as
above suspicion; but, that fact does not deter me in the least degree
from placing that person's circumstances, motives, and actions under the
microscope, so to speak; for experience and observation, have taught me
that the most difficult crimes to fix upon the criminal, are those which
have been committed by men whose previous reputation had been unspotted.
Now, you have never connected Mr. Drysdale with this affair, because it
has never entered your minds to suspect him; but, had you gone over the
ground in the same manner that I have done, you would have been led to
the same conclusion. This is the real point, where the services of an
experienced detective, are most valuable. The plan by which a detective
operation is to be conducted, is as important as the method of
procedure. To find a man who is hiding from justice, his criminality
being well known, is a task of little difficulty, compared with the
labor involved in mysterious cases, where there is apparently, nothing
left to identify the criminal. I claim no special credit in this case,
since the clues have proven more numerous than had been supposed, but I
have given you my idea of the proper way to conduct an investigation,
simply to show you how I am accustomed to work. Let me now ask, whether
any of you have doubts, as to the propriety of putting my detectives
upon the trail of Mr. Drysdale, to determine the extent of his
connection, if any, in the murder of George Gordon?"

"None whatever," said Mr. Bannatine, emphatically; "it seems almost
impossible that he should be guilty; but, in the face of the strong
array of accusing circumstances cited by you, Mr. Pinkerton, I can only
say: 'Go on with your work in your own way.' The innocent have nothing
to fear, and the guilty deserve no mercy."

"Amen," said both the other gentlemen.

"What is your plan?" asked Mr. Gordon.

"Well, gentlemen," I replied, "I have been struck with some strong
points of resemblance between Drysdale and one of Bulwer's characters,
Eugene Aram. You are aware, that the only evidence we can bring against
Drysdale, is circumstantial, and that we could hardly obtain an
indictment on the strength of it; still less a conviction for murder.
Besides, there is a large amount of money at stake, and it is desirable
to recover that money, as well as to convict the murderer. We must
proceed, therefore, with great caution, lest we defeat our own plans by
premature action. I have arranged a scheme to obtain a direct proof of
Drysdale's guilt, and with your consent, I will put it in operation
immediately."

I then gave the details of my plan, and the gentlemen, though somewhat
nervous as to the result, finally acquiesced in it.

The next morning, I left Atkinson, for Chicago, where I duly arrived,
somewhat improved in health, by my Southern trip. I immediately sent for
Timothy Webster, one of my most expert detectives, to whom I gave full
charge of the case in Atkinson. I explained to him all the circumstances
connected with it, and instructed him in the plan I had arranged. Mrs.
Kate Warne, and a young man named Green, were assigned to assist
Webster, and all the necessary disguises and clothing, were prepared at
short notice.

Mrs. Warne was the first lady whom I had ever employed, and this was one
of the earliest operations in which she was engaged. As a detective, she
had no superior, and she was a lady of such refinement, tact, and
discretion, that I never hesitated to entrust to her some of my most
difficult undertakings.

It will be understood by the reader, that each detective made daily
reports to me, and that I constantly directed the operation by mail or
telegraph. This has always been my invariable custom, and no important
steps are ever taken without my order, unless circumstances should occur
which would not admit the delay.




_CHAPTER IV._


About a week after my departure from Atkinson, a gentleman arrived there
by the evening train, and went to the hotel. He was an intelligent,
shrewd, agreeable business man, about thirty-five years old, and he
impressed all who made his acquaintance, as a gentleman of ability and
energy. He signed the register, as 'John M. Andrews, Baltimore,' and the
landlord soon learned from him that he had come to Atkinson to reside
permanently, if he could get into business there. Mr. Andrews was
evidently a man of considerable wealth, though he made no ostentatious
display, nor did he talk about his property as though he cared to
impress upon other people the idea that he was rich. Still, it came to
be generally understood, in a few days, that he had made quite a
fortune, as a cotton broker, in Baltimore, and that he had a
considerable sum in cash to invest, when a desirable opportunity should
offer. This fact, together with his agreeable manners, made his society
quite an acquisition to the town, and he was soon on familiar terms with
all the regular boarders in the hotel, and with many prominent residents
of the place.

Some days after Mr. Andrews arrived the hotel received another equally
popular guest. She gave her name, as Mrs. R. C. Potter, and her object
in visiting Atkinson, was to improve her health. She was accompanied by
her father, Mr. C. B. Rowell, a fine looking, white-haired old
gentleman, but he remained only long enough to see her comfortably
settled, and then returned to their home in Jacksonville, Florida, as
his business required his immediate presence there. Mrs. Potter was a
distinguished looking brunette; she was a widow with no children, and
she might have passed for thirty years of age. She was tall and
graceful, and her entertaining conversation made her a general favorite
among the ladies in the hotel. She was not an invalid, strictly
speaking, but the family physician had recommended that she should go to
the dry air of northern Mississippi for a few months, to escape the
rainy, foggy weather of Florida at that season.

About a week after her arrival, she went out with two other ladies, Mrs.
Townsend and Mrs. Richter, to explore the beauties of Rocky Creek. They
spent a pleasant afternoon in the wooded ravines, and it was after five
o'clock, before they returned. As they sauntered down one of the
pleasantest streets of the town, they noticed a lady standing at the
gate of an elegant residence, with large grounds.

"Oh! there is Mrs. Drysdale," said Mrs. Townsend. "Have you met her, Mrs.
Potter?"

"Not yet, though I have heard of her so frequently, that I feel almost
as if I knew her."

"Well, I think you will like each other very much," said Mrs. Richter,
"and we will introduce you to her."

On reaching the gate, therefore, the ladies presented Mrs. Potter in due
form.

"I have been intending to call on you, Mrs. Potter," said Mrs.
Drysdale, "but my youngest child has not been well, and I have not gone
anywhere for several weeks. In fact, I am quite a home body at all
times, and I always expect my friends to waive ceremony, and visit me a
great deal more than I visit them. I hope you will not wait for me, Mrs.
Potter, for my domestic affairs keep me very busy just now; I shall be
glad to see you any time that you feel like dropping in."

"I shall be very glad to dispense with formalities," answered Mrs.
Potter, "and you can depend upon seeing me soon."

After some further conversation, the three ladies resumed their homeward
walk, leaving Mrs. Drysdale still waiting for her husband. He was soon
seen by the ladies, rapidly walking up the street toward his home. He
was on the opposite side, so that he merely bowed to them, and hastened
on.

"There seems to have been quite a change in Mr. Drysdale during the last
year," said Mrs. Richter. "My husband was speaking of it the other day.
He said that Drysdale was becoming really unsociable. I hope he is not
growing dissipated, for the sake of his wife, who is a lovely woman."

"Yes; she seems to be a most devoted wife and mother," said Mrs. Potter.
"Possibly, the change in Mr. Drysdale, is due to business troubles."

"Oh, no; that is impossible," said Mrs. Townsend; "he is very wealthy
indeed, and as he is not engaged in any regular business, he cannot be
financially embarrassed. No, I attribute his recent peculiarities, to
religious doubts; he has not been to church since last fall."

"Is it as long as that?" asked Mrs. Richter.

"Yes; I recollect it, because he did not go to the funeral of poor
George Gordon, and he has not attended service since then."

"Well, if he really is in religious trouble, the minister ought to visit
him and give him advice," said Mrs. Richter.

As they walked toward the hotel, they turned the conversation into a
different channel without reaching any conclusion as to the cause of Mr.
Drysdale's eccentricities.

A few days thereafter Mrs. Potter called upon Mrs. Drysdale and passed
the afternoon very pleasantly. When Mr. Drysdale came home he was very
polite and agreeable; he seemed glad to find his wife enjoying herself,
and when Mrs. Potter rose to go, both husband and wife urged her warmly
to come frequently.

"I am going out to my plantation in a day or two," said Mr. Drysdale,
"and I hope you will visit my wife while I am gone, as I am afraid she
may be lonesome."

"Who are you going with?" asked Mrs. Drysdale.

"There is a gentleman from Baltimore, staying at the hotel," replied Mr.
Drysdale, "and he talks of investing some money in land, so I thought I
would take him out to see Bristed's old place next to mine. It is going
to ruin now, but if a man like Mr. Andrews would take it, he could make
it pay. He seems very intelligent and agreeable; I suppose you have met
him, Mrs. Potter?"

"Oh, yes; he was introduced to me the first week I was here," replied
Mrs. Potter. "He seems to me to be a Southern gentleman with a good deal
of real Yankee shrewdness."

"That is my opinion, also," said Mr. Drysdale, "and if he buys
Bristed's place, he will join me in some improvements which are much
needed."

"Well, good afternoon, Mrs. Drysdale," said Mrs. Potter; "I am going out
horseback riding in a day or two, and perhaps I will stop here a few
minutes on my way back."

"Do so, Mrs. Potter; we shall be delighted to see you. Good afternoon."

On Mrs. Potter's return to the hotel, she stayed in the parlor for some
time, and as Mr. Andrews came in soon after, they had a pleasant
_tete-a-tete_ before going to dinner.

The next morning Mr. Andrews went out to get a cabinet-maker to make a
small book-case for his room, and the hotel clerk directed him to the
shop of Mr. Breed. The latter said that he was very busy, indeed, but
that he could get a young man who was boarding with him to do the job.

"Is he a good workman?" asked Mr. Andrews.

"I think he is," replied Breed, "though I am not sure, as he came here
only day before yesterday from Memphis. He has served his time at the
trade, however, and he ought to be able to make a book-case neatly."

"Well, send him over, Mr. Breed, and I will give him a trial. By the
way, who was that gentleman that just passed? I have seen him several
times, but have never met him in society."

"That was Mr. Peter A. Gordon," said Breed. "He boards at the hotel,
also, but he rarely mingles with other men except in business."

"I am surprised at that," Mr. Andrews remarked, "for he appears like a
naturally genial man; yet he has a very sad look."

"Yes; he has never recovered from the shock of his nephew's murder last
fall; he always used to be very sociable and hospitable, but now he
seems too much cast down to care for society. You may have heard of the
dreadful manner in which young George Gordon was murdered?"

"Oh, yes; I recollect," said Mr. Andrews, "the circumstances were
related to me soon after I arrived here. George Gordon seems to have
been a fine young fellow, and I don't wonder the old gentleman mourns
his loss."

"He was one of the most promising young men I ever knew," said Mr. Breed
warmly: "and speaking of poor George, reminds me that I noticed a strong
resemblance to him in this young workman boarding with me. Ordinarily I
would not have perceived it, but yesterday he slipped on a coat of mine,
which was just like the one George used to wear, and the likeness was
remarkable."

"You were one of the first at the bank the day after the murder, were
you not, Mr. Breed?"

"Yes; and it was a dreadful sight. It was wonderful how Mr. Peter Gordon
retained his presence of mind; he did not break down until he found that
there was no hope of discovering the murderer."

"Was no one ever suspected?" asked Mr. Andrews.

"Oh, yes; several persons were arrested--gamblers and loafers--but they
all proved their innocence conclusively."

Mr. Andrews showed considerable interest in the murder, and Mr. Breed
related all that was known about it. When he was about to go, Mr.
Andrews said:

"Well, it is a very mysterious affair, and I am not surprised that Mr.
Gordon is so dejected; that horrible scene must be always before him. By
the way, don't let your young man dress in gray, when he comes to my
room; I should be continually haunted with a suspicion that it was a
ghost."

"Please don't speak of that to any one," said Mr. Breed, confidentially;
"I ought not to have mentioned it myself, for young Green was frightened
nearly out of his wits about it. As I said before, when he wears his
every-day clothes, no one would notice any special resemblance, but in
that particular style of dress, the likeness was really alarming. He was
so scared, that in future, he will take great care not to be seen in any
clothes like those of poor George."

"Of course, I shall not mention the matter," said Mr. Andrews; "send him
over this afternoon."




_CHAPTER V._


On leaving Mr. Breed, Mr. Andrews paid a visit to Mr. Drysdale, at the
latter's office.

"I hope I shall not interfere with your work, Mr. Drysdale," he said. "I
am an idler for the present, but I try to respect the business hours of
others, and so, if I disturb you, let me know it."

"Oh! not at all, I assure you," said Mr. Drysdale, warmly. "I am never
very busy, and just now, there is nothing whatever to do. Indeed, I wish
I had more to do--this lack of steady work wears upon me. I need
something to keep my mind constantly occupied."

"That is where you and I differ," said Andrews; "I have worked pretty
hard for twenty years, and now I am willing to take a rest. I don't wish
to be wholly idle, but I like to give up a good part of my time to
recreation."

"I used to feel so, too," said Drysdale, as if his thoughts were far
away; then, he added, hastily, as if recollecting himself: "I mean that
I have felt so at times, but I always need to come back to hard work
again. Will you be ready to go out to my plantation next Monday?"

"Yes; Monday will suit me as well as any other day," replied Andrews.
"When shall we return?"

"I had not intended to remain there more than three or four days,
unless you should wish to stay longer. If agreeable to you, we will
return Thursday afternoon."

"That will enable me to join our riding party the next day," said
Andrews. "All right; I will be ready to start Monday morning. Now, I
must be going; I only stopped to find out when you would be ready to
go."

"I am sorry you cannot stay longer," said Drysdale. "I hope that you
will drop in without ceremony, whenever you feel like it."

In the afternoon, young Green, the cabinet-maker, called upon Mr.
Andrews, and went up to the latter's room. The work to be done, must
have required a great deal of explanation, as Green remained nearly an
hour. As he went out, Mr. Andrews said to him:

"If we fail to return Thursday, you must be there Friday at the same
hour. You had better take a look at the place before then."

On Monday, Mr. Drysdale called at the hotel immediately after breakfast,
and found Mr. Andrews all ready for the ride to the plantation. As they
rode out of town, Mr. Drysdale's spirits seemed to rise rapidly, and he
entertained his companion so successfully, that when they reached the
plantation, they had become quite well acquainted with each other.
Drysdale was a man of fine education, and fascinating manners; he really
had great eloquence, and his abilities were far above the average, but
the circumstances of his life had not been such as to develop his
powers, and give play to his ambition; hence, he was apparently becoming
disappointed, sour, and morose. At least, this was the impression which
many of his friends had gained, and they accounted for the gradual
change in his manners on the above theory; namely, that he was the
victim of disappointed ambition.

During their stay at the plantation, the gentlemen usually spent their
evenings together, while the mornings were given up to business by
Drysdale, and to hunting by Andrews. The plantation required a great
deal of attention just in the spring, and Drysdale's time was pretty
well occupied. Andrews easily formed the acquaintance of the neighboring
planters, and he spent much of his time in paying visits around the
country. He thought quite favorably of buying the Bristed plantation, as
Drysdale had hoped, but the owner wished to sell another place with it,
and Andrews did not care to buy both. Drysdale suggested that by autumn,
the owner would be willing to sell it separately, and he advised Andrews
to hold off until then.

On Thursday, Andrews started out shooting early, agreeing to be back at
noon, to make an early start for Atkinson, as the time required to ride
there, was about four hours. He strayed so far away, however, that it
was two o'clock before he returned, and they did not mount their horses
until three o'clock. By this time, they had become much more intimate
than one would have expected on so short acquaintance, and Drysdale
showed a marked pleasure in the company of his new friend. During the
first part of the ride, he was as brilliant and entertaining as
possible, but, as they approached the town, he began to lose his
cheerfulness, and to become almost gloomy. Both gentlemen were rather
tired, and they soon allowed the conversation to drop almost wholly.

It was early dusk when they reached the banks of Rocky Creek, about a
mile from Drysdale's house. From this point, the scenery was bold and
picturesque; the road passed through heavy masses of timber at times,
and crossed many ravines and rocky gorges, as it followed the general
direction of the winding stream. Daylight was rapidly fading into the
night, though objects could still be distinguished quite well at a
distance of one hundred yards. As they arrived at one of the wooded
hillocks, over which the road passed, they were shut out from any very
extended view, except in one direction. Here, Andrews reined in his
horse a moment, to take a last look at the beauty of the scene, while
Drysdale passed on a few yards in advance.

The spot was rather wild and perhaps a little weird; on the right was a
dense forest, rising some distance above the road, which curved around
the hill-side about mid-way to the crest; on the left the hill descended
rapidly to the creek, along which ran a heavy belt of timber, which
permitted only an occasional gleam of water to be seen; the abrupt
hill-side between the road and the timber was nearly cleared of
undergrowth, but it was filled with large boulders and creeping vines;
over the tops of the timber the country stretched away in dissolving
views as the mists of night began to form and spread over the landscape.
Having paused an instant, Andrews spurred his horse forward just as
Drysdale uttered an exclamation of horror. As he came up, he saw that
Drysdale had stopped and was holding his reins in a convulsive grasp;
all color was gone from his face, and he was trembling violently.

"What is the matter, Drysdale?" said Andrews, drawing up beside him.

"My God! look there!" broke from Drysdale's ashy lips, as he pointed
down the hill-side.

At the distance of about fifty yards the figure of a young man was
moving down the slope toward the timber. He walked slowly on, with a
measured pace, turning his eyes neither to the right nor left. He was
apparently about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and his face
was indicative of intelligence, ability and energy. His course was
nearly parallel to the direction of the road at that point, and only his
profile could be seen. He wore a business suit of light gray clothes,
but he had no hat on his head, and his curly hair was tossed lightly by
the evening breeze. As he moved further from the road, the back of his
head was more directly exposed, presenting a most ghastly sight. The
thick brown locks were matted together in a mass of gore, and large
drops of blood slowly trickled down upon his coat; the whole back of the
skull seemed to be crushed in, while the deadly pallor of his face gave
him the appearance of a corpse.

Drysdale seemed to rally his faculties a moment and shouted in powerful
but hoarse tones:

"Say! you, sir! Who are you, and where are you going?"

Although his voice might have been heard at a long distance, the figure
continued its course without indicating, even by a sign, that he had
heard the hail.

"Why, what in the devil has got into you, Drysdale?" asked Andrews.
"Whom are you shouting at in such a savage way?"

"Don't you see that man down the hill?" he asked, in a perfect agony of
fear and excitement. "See! right in line with that pointed rock; why, he
is only a few yards off. My God! it can't be possible that you don't see
him!"

"Upon my word, Drysdale," said Andrews, "if you keep on, I shall think
you are going crazy. What man are you talking about? There is no one in
sight, and either you are trying to play a joke on me, or else your
imagination is most unpleasantly active."

"Andrews, look where I point, less than ten rods off," said Drysdale, in
a hoarse whisper, clutching Andrews by the arm; "do you mean to say that
you don't see a man slowly walking toward the creek?"

"I mean to say," replied Andrews, deliberately, "that there is no man in
sight from here, either on that hill-side or any where else."

"God help me," muttered Drysdale, as the figure disappeared in the
woods, "then it must have been a ghost."

"My dear fellow," said Andrews, sympathizingly, as they continued their
ride, "I am afraid you are feverish; you probably imagined you saw
something, and you are superstitious about the matter because I did not
see it. Tell me what it was."

By this time they had passed some distance beyond the spot where
Drysdale had seen the apparition, and he began to recover his strength
somewhat. It was evident that he was still very much distressed, but he
endeavored to pass the matter over.

"Oh! it was nothing of any consequence," he said, "but I thought I saw
a man crossing that clearing."

"Well, what of it?" asked Andrews. "Was he a dangerous looking fellow?"

"Yes; very dangerous looking, indeed;" then, suddenly, as if struck by a
plausible idea, he added: "I thought it was a negro with a gun; you know
what my opinions are about allowing the slaves to have fire-arms, and
this fellow looked like such a villain that I was really alarmed. You
are sure you saw no one?"

"Quite sure," replied Andrews. "I am afraid you have worked too hard,
and that you are going to be ill. I shall tell your wife to nurse you
well for a few days to cure you of seeing spooks and wild niggers
roaming 'round with guns."

"No, indeed," said Drysdale, hastily; "please say nothing to my wife; it
would only alarm her unnecessarily."

"Well, take my advice and rest awhile," said Andrews. "Your nerves are a
little shaken, and you will certainly be ill if you keep on working so
steadily."

Drysdale soon relapsed into moody silence, and when they reached his
gate, he was a really pitiable object. He asked Andrews to take supper
with him, but as the invitation was given only as a matter of form, the
latter excused himself, and rode immediately to the hotel. He happened
to meet Mrs. Potter in the parlor, but he stopped only a few minutes to
talk to her, as he was too hungry and tired to feel like entertaining
the fascinating widow.

It was then only about seven o'clock, and Mrs. Potter proposed to Mrs.
Townsend, and several other ladies and gentlemen, that they take a walk.
Accordingly, they strolled through the pleasant streets, enjoying the
balmy spring air, and often stopping at the gates of their friends, to
chat a few minutes. As they passed the Drysdale place, Mrs. Potter said:

"I want to run in to speak to Mrs. Drysdale a minute; I promised to stop
here on our riding excursion to-morrow, but as it is postponed, I want
to tell her not to expect me."

The rest of the party stayed at the gate, while Mrs. Potter went in. She
was ushered into the library, and Mrs. Drysdale came down at once.
Having explained her object in calling, Mrs. Potter asked whether Mr.
and Mrs. Drysdale would not join the party outside, for a short walk.

"I am sorry to say, that my husband is quite unwell," said Mrs.
Drysdale. "He returned from the plantation to-day, quite feverish, and
excited, and now he is in a sort of nervous delirium. He has had one or
two attacks before, but none so serious as this."

"I sincerely hope he is not going to be ill," said Mrs. Potter. "What
does the doctor think?"

"Oh! he won't have a doctor," replied Mrs. Drysdale; "he says that I am
the best doctor he can have, because I can soothe him."

Just then, Mrs. Potter heard a heavy footstep, beginning to pace up and
down overhead.

"There, he has arisen," said Mrs. Drysdale, "and I shall find him pacing
the room, and muttering to himself like a crazy man. You must excuse
me, as I must go to quiet him."

"Oh, certainly; I am sorry I called you away. Please let me know if I
can do anything for you. If Mr. Drysdale should be seriously ill, don't
be afraid to call upon me. I am an excellent nurse, and nothing would
give me greater pleasure than to assist you; or, at least, I could look
after the children."

"You are very kind, Mrs. Potter, and I shall be glad to accept your
assistance, especially, as the children are so fond of you; however, I
hope Aleck's illness will be only temporary."

Mrs. Potter then withdrew, and the party slowly strolled back to the
hotel.

As Mrs. Drysdale surmised, her husband's illness was very brief, and in
two or three days, he returned to his duties at the court house. He was
somewhat changed in looks, however, his face being haggard, his figure
slightly bowed, and his hand tremulous. He seemed, more than ever
before, to avoid society, and on his way to the court house, he always
chose the least frequented streets. The change in his looks and manners,
was noticed only by a few who had formerly been intimate with him; in
this little circle, his eccentricities were accounted for by significant
gestures of drinking, and it was understood among those who knew him
best, that liquor was responsible for the ruin of another fine fellow.

One peculiarity that he evinced was, a great partiality for the society
of Mr. Andrews, and for the next week, they were together every day. He
frequently referred, in conversation with Andrews, to the freak his
imagination had played, while returning from the plantation, and,
though Andrews always made light of it, and laughed at him, he evidently
thought about it a great deal. It seemed to be a kind of relief to him
to discuss it with Andrews, and so the latter used to humor him in it.




_CHAPTER VI._


Several days after Drysdale's return from the plantation, Mrs. Potter
and several others, set out for a horseback ride. They enjoyed the
afternoon exceedingly, and it was growing dark before they reached the
town on their return. As the party passed down the street upon which
Drysdale lived, Mrs. Potter, and another lady, lagged behind the others,
and the main body were quite a distance in advance. Mrs. Potter
suggested that they put their horses at full speed, in order to overtake
their friends. Mrs. Robbins, her companion, assented, and they dashed
off together. The latter's horse was the faster of the two, however, and
Mrs. Potter was about fifty or sixty yards in the rear, when they
approached the Drysdale place. There was no one in sight on the street,
and there was so much foliage on each side, that the road was quite
hidden from the view of the scattered houses.

Suddenly, Mrs. Robbins heard a shriek and a fall behind her; quickly
reining in her horse, she turned back, passing Mrs. Potter's riderless
horse on the way. She soon discovered Mrs. Potter lying by the roadside,
groaning, and in great pain. Mrs. Robbins did not stop to ask any
questions; she saw that Mrs. Potter was badly hurt, and she knew that
assistance must be brought instantly. She therefore, galloped up the
drive to the Drysdale house, and hastily told them what had happened.
In less than three minutes, Mr. Drysdale had improvised a stretcher out
of a wicker settee and a mattress, and had summoned four stout negroes
to bring it after him, while he and his wife hurried out to the road.
There they found Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Robbins supporting her. She said
that she was in great pain, from severe contusion, and possible
dislocation of the knee joint, and that she had also sustained some
internal injuries. In a very few minutes, they had tenderly placed her
on the settee, and carried her up to the house. She was carefully put to
bed, and Mrs. Robbins remounted her horse to go for a physician. The
latter, on his arrival, said that he could hardly tell the extent of
Mrs. Potter's injuries at once, but he thought they would not confine
her to her bed for more than a week or two. She asked if she might be
removed to the hotel, as she did not wish to trespass on Mrs. Drysdale's
hospitality. Mrs. Drysdale, however, refused to hear of such a thing as
the removal of a sick person from her house, and she said that she
should enjoy Mrs. Potter's society enough to compensate for the slight
trouble. It was decided, therefore, that Mrs. Potter should remain until
she was able to go without assistance. She improved very rapidly, but
her knee seemed to pain her considerably, and she spent most of her time
in her room, or on a sofa under the veranda, whither her stout negro
nurse used to carry her.

[Illustration: "_She soon discovered Mrs. Potter lying by the road-side,
groaning and in great pain._"--Page 64.]

A few days afterwards, Mrs. Potter was lying awake in her room at about
seven o'clock in the morning. Mr. and Mrs. Drysdale's room was next to
hers, and the transom over the connecting door was open, so that
whatever was said in one room could be easily heard in the other. Mrs.
Potter heard Drysdale get up and open the blinds to let in the morning
sun. He had hardly done so ere he gave a sharp cry and sank into a
chair.

"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Drysdale, in great alarm.

"Oh, nothing," he replied; "I don't feel well."

"I should think you wouldn't," said Mrs. Drysdale, "for you have had the
nose-bleed terribly. Why, it is all over the pillow and floor, and leads
out of the door. You must have gone down stairs."

"Yes, yes," he exclaimed, hastily, "I did get up in the night. I--I
don't feel very well--I guess I will lie down again."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked his wife, anxiously.

"No, nothing at present. Just go right along with your household
affairs, as usual; I shall be all right in a short time."

Mrs. Drysdale saw that her husband was nervous and irritable, and so she
dressed quickly and went down to superintend her domestic duties. When
Mrs. Potter's breakfast was ready, she brought it up herself and stopped
a few minutes to talk.

"Do you know of any remedy for bleeding at the nose, Mrs. Potter?" she
asked. "My husband had quite a severe attack last night, and he went
down on the front veranda, and then down the gravel walk, thinking, I
suppose, that exercise would stop it. It must have bled frightfully,
for I could see marks of blood all the way down the path to the gate."

"I suppose he let it run instead of trying to stop the flow," replied
Mrs. Potter. "Some people think it is good for the health occasionally,
and so they allow the nose to bleed as long as it wants to."

After a few more remarks, Mrs. Drysdale went down stairs again. Mrs.
Potter could hear Mr. Drysdale tossing about on the bed in the next
room, muttering to himself, and occasionally speaking aloud such
expressions as--"Oh! this is horrible!"--"What does this mean?"--"My
God! what could have done it?"

After a time he became quieter, but he did not leave his room until the
afternoon. Soon after he got up, Mr. Andrews called to see him, having
failed to find him at his office.

"I thought you might be sick and so I dropped in to see you," he said.

"I am very glad you came," replied Drysdale. "I have been a little
unwell, and I need some one to cheer me up."

"Let us take a short walk," said Andrews; "the exercise will do you
good."

As they strolled out, Andrews pointed to some blood and said:

"Any one hurt in your house?"

"No--yes--that is, nothing serious; one of my negroes cut his hand this
morning," replied Drysdale, shuddering. "I can't look at blood without
feeling sick," he explained, as he saw that Andrews was wondering at his
agitation.

As they continued their walk, Andrews noticed that Drysdale was very
self-absorbed, and so they strolled down the street without conversing.
Their course took them past the bank, and as Mr. McGregor was standing
on the steps of the side entrance, he accosted them heartily.

"Why, how do you do, gentlemen?" he asked. "Won't you walk in for a few
minutes? I havn't seen you since your illness, Mr. Drysdale; won't you
come in and rest a while?"

On hearing McGregor's salutation, Drysdale started as if stung, and
trembled violently. He had been walking along with his eyes down, so
that he had not seen Mr. McGregor until spoken to.

"No, thank you," he replied; "I think I won't have time--that is, I
promised my wife to come back soon. You must excuse me this time."

He hurried on with a nervous gesture of courtesy, and he did not recover
his calmness until some minutes afterward. Andrews accompanied him to
his home, and on the way they agreed to go to Drysdale's plantation for
a short visit on the following Monday. Having settled upon the time for
starting and returning, Andrews declined an invitation to dine with
Drysdale that evening, and they separated. Andrews dropped into Breed's
shop on his way back to the hotel, and there he found young Green, the
man who had made his book-case. They talked together only a few minutes,
and Andrews then went to his room, where he stayed the remainder of the
day.

On Monday, Andrews and Drysdale rode off to the plantation at daylight,
and the latter's spirits seemed to lighten rapidly after leaving the
immediate vicinity of Atkinson. In the afternoon, Andrews took his gun
and wandered off into the woods, but he did not seem very desirous of
shooting anything, for he soon took a position whence he commanded a
full view of the house. In about half an hour, Drysdale came out and
walked slowly toward a small cluster of trees, about five hundred yards
from the house. Here, he leaned against a tree, and paused to look
around in every direction; then he began to stride with a measured step
in a straight line. When he stopped, he began to examine the ground
carefully for some minutes, and finally, he seemed satisfied with his
inspection, and returned to the house.

During the remainder of their stay at the plantation, Andrews and
Drysdale were constantly together, and the latter seemed to find the
greatest pleasure in the former's society. He frequently recurred to the
subject of ghosts and spooks, and always closed by discussing the
character of the apparition he had seen on the roadside. There was no
doubt that it had made a deep impression upon him, for he never tired of
talking about it. Andrews laughed at him, ridiculed his vivid
imagination, cross-questioned him, and reasoned with him upon the
absurdity of his hallucination, but all to no effect; Drysdale
maintained in the most dogged manner, that he had seen a ghost.

On Friday, they were to return to Atkinson, and in the morning Andrews
rode over to make a short visit to a neighbor. He was so hospitably
entertained, however, that he did not get away until after two o'clock,
and it was nearly three before they started on their homeward ride. As
before, it was growing dusky, when they reached the banks of Rocky
Creek, and Drysdale was in a state of high nervous excitement.

On reaching the spot where Drysdale had seen the ghost before, he kept
close at Andrews' side, and endeavored to appear unconcerned. Suddenly,
he grasped Andrews by the arm with a faint groan, and said:

"Andrews, look! look! for God's sake, tell me, don't you see it?"

As he spoke, he pointed toward the same ghastly object which he had seen
before. There, right under his eyes, passed the image of the murdered
George Gordon.

"There, I was afraid you would have the same folly again," said Andrews,
soothingly, as if anxious to attract his attention away from his ghostly
friend. "What the devil is the matter with you?"

"Tell me, tell me, Andrews," gasped Drysdale, in such terror that his
parched throat and quivering lips could hardly pronounce the words;
"can't you see that horrible man close to the fence, walking toward the
creek?"

"I tell you, my dear fellow," replied Andrews, earnestly, "that you are
laboring under a most unpleasant hallucination. There is absolutely no
person, or any moving object in sight, except you and me."

At this moment, the sound of approaching hoof-beats could be plainly
heard, and Drysdale turned his head to look back in the direction whence
they came. On looking for the ghost again, it was nowhere to be seen.

"Andrews, it is gone--the earth has swallowed it up," he said.

He would have fallen from his horse, if Andrews had not caught him
around the waist, and just as he did so, Mr. Breed and Mr. O'Fallon, the
station agent, rode up, one on each side of them.

"What's the matter with Mr. Drysdale?" asked O'Fallon.

"Didn't you see it? Tell me--did the ghost pass you?" Drysdale queried
eagerly, turning toward the new comers.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean by 'the ghost?'" asked Mr.
Breed, in great wonderment.

"The ghost, I say--did neither of you see a horrible figure pass out of
sight suddenly, toward the creek yonder?"

"I saw nothing, Mr. Drysdale," said O'Fallon; "did you, Breed?"

"Well, I don't know what Mr. Drysdale means by a ghost," said Breed,
deliberately; "but I think I did see something down there. I couldn't
say what it looked like. Why do you call it a ghost, Mr. Drysdale?"

"Because I have seen it twice close to me, and Mr. Andrews has not been
able to see it at all," replied Drysdale with great difficulty. "I began
to think it must have been imagination on my part, but now, that you
have seen it, I know that it was a ghost."

Drysdale was so helpless, that it was necessary for one gentleman to
ride on each side of him to hold him in his saddle. On arriving at his
place, they helped him into the house, and left him in charge of his
wife. He immediately went to bed, and during the night, he suffered a
great deal. Mrs. Potter heard him groaning, tossing, and muttering until
nearly daylight.

The story of the ghost was soon freely circulated by O'Fallon and
Breed, though they could not describe the apparition at all. Still, it
created quite an excitement, and the results were not very beneficial to
the neighborhood, for the reason that no negro could be induced to pass
along that part of the road after dark; indeed, there were a great many
educated white people who would not ride past the spot alone on a dark
night.

Drysdale was confined to his room for several days, during which time he
received no visitors except Andrews. It was curious to observe what a
strong preference he showed for his new-found friend.

Just at this time I decided to re-visit Atkinson myself, and on my
arrival there I had a long interview with Messrs. Ballantine, McGregor,
and Gordon. I explained to them all the steps I had taken, and they
learned to their great astonishment that Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Potter, and
Mr. Green were my detectives. The ghost was Green, whose resemblance to
young Gordon was a great aid in carrying out the scheme. Mrs. Potter had
voluntarily fallen from her horse in order to get herself carried into
Drysdale's house, and it was she who sprinkled the blood over Drysdale's
clothing and down the walk. After settling all our plans, I returned to
the hotel, where I was easily able to obtain a private interview with
Mr. Andrews and Mr. Green.

I gave full instructions to Andrews, and he informed Mrs. Potter of my
wishes, at the same time conveying to her another large bottle of blood.




_CHAPTER VII._


About one o'clock that night Mrs. Potter rose, quietly dressed herself,
and stealthily left the house. She walked to the nearest point on the
creek and began to drop blood from her bottle. She spilled small
portions of it all the way back to the house, up the front walk, in the
hall, and finally, slipping into Drysdale's room, she scattered the
crimson drops on his pillow. She then retired to bed.

When she awoke in the morning, she found Mrs. Drysdale in a very uneasy
state of mind. She said that her husband had again been attacked by
bleeding at the nose, and that he was quite weak from the loss of blood.
Mrs. Potter deeply sympathized with Mrs. Drysdale, but she could assist
her only by kind and consoling words.

The family had hardly finished their breakfast when a number of the
neighbors came in in a high state of excitement. They said that blood
had been discovered on the grass near where the ghost had been seen, and
that quite a crowd had gathered around it. They had found other
blood-marks at intervals along the road, and on following the direction
in which they traveled, it was found that they led straight to
Drysdale's house. The question now arose, did the wounded person go from
the house to the creek, or _vice versa_. Drysdale was terribly excited
on learning of the discovery, and he was soon in a species of delirium.
It was known that he was quite sick, so that the neighbors soon
withdrew. Many thought that the blood was that of a burglar or negro
sneak-thief, who might have gone to Drysdale's house to steal, but who
had been frightened off before he had secured any plunder. The blood
might have been from an old hurt. Others, more superstitiously inclined,
believed that the ghost was in some way responsible for the blood. No
one was able to solve the mystery, however, and it added to the terror
with which the ghost story had inspired the negroes.

Drysdale was now confined to his bed, and he would see no one except his
wife and Andrews. He insisted that he was not sick, but only run down by
overwork, and so refused to have a doctor. Andrews' influence over him
was greater than that of any one else, and it was plain that the latter
had completely secured his confidence. As I now felt convinced that
Drysdale would surely confess in a short time, I returned to Chicago,
leaving the whole charge of the operation with Andrews.

A few nights later Mrs. Potter was troubled with the tooth-ache, and she
lay awake most of the night. Suddenly she heard footsteps in Drysdale's
room, and then she saw Drysdale pass her window on the veranda. He was
dressed in slippers and night-dress, and his actions were so strange
that she determined to follow him. Hastily putting on some dark clothes,
she hurried cautiously after him. The night was clear with no moon, and
she was able to distinguish his white figure at a considerable distance.
He walked rapidly to the creek and followed its windings a short
distance; then he paused a few minutes, as if reflecting. This enabled
Mrs. Potter to hide herself near by in some undergrowth, whence she
could watch him more carefully. To her great astonishment, she saw him
walk into the creek at a shallow spot, and begin wading up against the
current. Very soon he stopped and leaned over with his hands in the
water, as if he were feeling for something. In a few minutes he came out
of the stream, on the opposite side from that on which he had entered,
and took a path to a footbridge leading across the creek toward his
house. As soon as she saw that he was on his way back, she hastened home
as rapidly as possible, arriving there only a few seconds before him.

The next morning, Drysdale appeared at the breakfast table for the first
time, in several days. He remarked that he felt much better, but he said
nothing of his midnight walk, nor did his wife, as she had slept in a
separate room; however, she was probably ignorant of it.

Neither Mrs. Potter, nor Mr. Andrews could imagine what Drysdale's
object was in making his pilgrimage to the creek at that time of night,
especially as he had always shown the greatest aversion to that
vicinity, ever since he had first seen the ghost. I was equally puzzled
when I was informed of his freak, but I determined to make use of the
incident, in case he should do the same thing again. I therefore
instructed Andrews to have Green watch the house every night, dressed in
his apparition suit. He was then to "shadow" Drysdale, when the latter
went out, and if a favorable opportunity should present itself, he was
to appear before him in full view in the role of the ghost.

By this time, Drysdale had recovered sufficiently, to attend to his
office duties, but he always seemed anxious to have Andrews with him.
Andrews had talked very encouragingly to him, showed a good deal of
sympathy, and thus, they had became quite confidential friends. He,
therefore, assured Drysdale that he should be happy to give him as much
of his company, as possible, if it would afford Drysdale any pleasure.

"You are very kind, Mr. Andrews," said Drysdale; "you may think it
strange, but I feel a sense of relief, when I am with you, especially
lately. I wonder if I shall ever be better," he mused plaintively.

"Why, certainly; we hope for your speedy recovery," said Andrews,
cheerfully. "You let trivial matters prey on your mind, and you must
stop it, for your health will not stand it."

"Well, I shall try," responded Drysdale feebly.

One evening, Mrs. Drysdale was sitting at Mrs. Potter's side, waiting
for her husband's return. By this time, Mrs. Potter was able to sit up,
and even to move about the room somewhat.

"My husband is failing in health, I fear," said Mrs. Drysdale.

"I am afraid so, too," replied Mrs. Potter, "and I feel sorry to think
that I am a burden upon you at the same time; but, I hope to be well
soon, and then I will help you take care of him."

"You have been no burden, whatever, Mrs. Potter; on the contrary, your
company has been a great comfort to me. But, I was thinking, that if my
husband would try a change of air and life, it would be a great help to
him. I should miss him sadly, but I would make any sacrifice to see him
restored to health."

At the tea table Mrs. Drysdale said:

"I was just speaking to Mrs. Potter about your health, Aleck, and I
thought that if you would go away for a time, the change of scenery, and
habits of life, would be very advantageous. Why don't you go down to New
Orleans with Mr. Andrews? He is always talking of going there, but he is
too lazy to start. You could both enjoy yourselves very much, and I know
it would do you good. You would return as healthy and happy as you
always used to be."

"I have been thinking of going there, or to some other place," said
Drysdale, "but I can't leave just now. I think a trip would do me good,
and as soon as I feel able to do so, I will get Andrews to go with me."

Nothing of interest occurred for several days. Green kept a close watch
every night, but Drysdale did not appear. Andrews got Drysdale to go out
hunting with him twice, but each time, Drysdale succeeded in arriving at
home before dark. Green had kept up his vigils for over a week, and he
began to think there was no use in them. One night, however, as he lay
behind a bush, watching the house, he was suddenly aware of a white
figure gliding noiselessly by him. Forewarned, though he was, the
ghostly stillness with which it moved, gave him quite a severe fright,
before he recollected that it was Drysdale. He immediately followed the
figure and noted his every movement. In the same way, as he had done at
first, he now proceeded, and after walking up the stream a short
distance, he reached down, felt for something at the bottom, and then
came out. As he slowly walked home, he passed within a few feet of
Green, who made a considerable noise to attract his attention; but,
Drysdale passed straight on, looking neither to the right nor left, and
Green was unable to play ghost for the lack of an audience.

Green's account was the exact counterpart of Mrs. Potter's, and I was
puzzled to account for this new move. As I sat in my office, in Chicago,
with Green's report before me, the idea flashed into my mind, that
possibly some of the stolen money was hidden at the bottom of the creek.
Recollecting the gold pieces, which had been found on the banks of the
creek, I surmised that the remainder of the gold was buried somewhere in
the bed of the stream. I had no doubt of the eventual recovery of all
the money, and so I decided to let that matter rest until I had complete
evidence of Drysdale's guilt.

A few days after the midnight walk, Drysdale invited Andrews to make
another visit to the plantation, saying,

"My overseer sends me word that he needs a great many things, and I
think I had better go out to see what is wanted, myself. I would like to
have you go with me, for, to tell the truth, I am almost afraid to go
alone."

"I shall be very glad, indeed, to go; when shall we start?"

"Let us start Monday, and return Friday, as before," replied Drysdale.

"Very well," said Andrews. "I shall be ready on time."

At the first opportunity, Andrews informed Green of their intended
visit, and told him that in order to insure the success of their plan,
it would be best for him to ride out to the plantation, also, on
Wednesday or Thursday. He could thus be on hand in his ghostly capacity
whenever wanted. Green promised to be at a certain spot, near the
plantation, on Wednesday afternoon, to receive instructions from
Andrews, and all their arrangements were then completed.

Andrews took breakfast with Drysdale before starting, Monday morning,
and at table, Mrs. Drysdale said:

"Aleck, Mrs. Potter is so far recovered, that I guess we shall drive out
to the plantation on Wednesday or Thursday, and spend a day or two with
you."

"That will be delightful," replied Drysdale, "and we shall look for you
with great pleasure."

"Well, if the ladies are coming at that time, I hope they will bring our
mail, for I expect an important letter," said Andrews.

"Oh, certainly," said Mrs. Drysdale; "and, if anything should prevent us
from coming, I will send your letters by a servant."

Andrews had written to me of the intended visit to the plantation, and
he was anxious to receive any instructions I might send, before he
returned to town.

The two gentlemen mounted their horses and cantered off. Drysdale
appeared in better spirits than at any time for several weeks, and by
the time they reached the plantation, he was quite gay and cheerful. He
had a great deal to attend to, and Andrews gave him very considerable
assistance. They were kept quite constantly busy until Wednesday noon,
when Mrs. Drysdale and Mrs. Potter arrived in a carriage, bringing the
mail. As Andrews had expected, there was a letter for him, in which I
instructed him to have Green appear to Drysdale, in the small grove of
trees, where he had acted so queerly during their last visit. From
Drysdale's manner in this grove, I had concluded that some of the money
was buried there, and I therefore, considered it a good place for the
ghost to appear.

On reading my letter, Andrews remarked that he should be obliged to go
to Atkinson, to send a telegram, as his letter required an immediate
answer, but that he should return the same evening. This, of course, was
only an excuse to get away to meet Green, and so his horse was brought
up at once, and he rode away. Green was punctual at the rendezvous, and
Andrews gave him full instructions; he was to remain in sight of the
house, on the side near the little grove of trees, until an opportunity
should occur to appear before Drysdale. Andrews then took a long ride
over the country, so as to delay his return to the plantation until
after dark. During the evening, Mrs. Potter told him that Drysdale had
visited the little grove that afternoon, but she was, of course, unable
to follow him.

The next evening, after supper, Andrews proposed taking a short walk,
and they all started out together. By chance, they took the direction of
the little grove, previously mentioned, and they were all in fine
spirits. Mrs. Potter, however, was obliged to walk very slowly, owing to
her injured knee, and Mrs. Drysdale kept her company; the two gentlemen
were, therefore, some distance in the advance, when they reached the
edge of the grove. Drysdale had been unusually cheerful until then, but
as they entered the shadow, he began to lose his gayety, as if something
disagreeable had been suggested to him. It was now approaching twilight,
and he turned toward Andrews half pettishly, and said:

"Don't go into that dismal place; let us stay out in the open walk. I
never like to go into such----"

The words died on his tongue, and he nearly fell down from fright.
There, crossing their path in the sombre shades of the grove, was that
terrible spectre with its ghastly face, measured step, and clotted hair.
It passed into the deep recesses of the grove, while Drysdale watched it
like a condemned criminal. As it moved out of sight, he fell to the
ground like a dead man, and Andrews called for help. Mrs. Drysdale
hurried up in great alarm, and took her husband's head in her lap, while
Mrs. Potter chafed his hands and held her vinaigrette to his nostrils.
Mr. Andrews quickly called some negroes from the house, and they carried
their unconscious master to his room. He was soon restored to his
senses, but he was in a pitiable condition. The least sound made him
start like a person in the _delirium tremens_, and he muttered to
himself constantly. Finally he caught Andrews by the hand and said:

"Andrews, didn't you see that horrible ghost?"

"No, indeed; I saw no ghost," replied Andrews. "Did either of you see
it?" he continued, turning to the ladies.

They both answered negatively.

"If there really had been such a thing we certainly should have seen
it," said Mrs. Potter.

"Well, I know that I saw it, and it is terrible to think that I should
be the only one to whom this thing appears," said Drysdale.

Andrews handed him a drink of brandy, which revived his strength a great
deal, and he again began to talk about the ghost.

"I can't understand, Andrews, why you didn't see it," he said; "it
passed within fifty feet of us, and it was truly terrible."

"It is certainly very strange," replied Andrews. "Here are three persons
that did _not_ see it, yet you insist that you did. What did it look
like? You have never yet described it to me."

Drysdale made no reply, but a look of renewed dread came over his face,
and he reached for more brandy, which was given him.

"It surely must be some disease of the brain," said Mrs. Drysdale,
tearfully, "for he frequently imagines that he sees strange sights, and
I am afraid to think what will happen. If he would only go to some
watering-place, and put himself under the care of a reliable physician,
he would soon get better."

"The doctors can do me no good, my dear," he said controlling himself by
a great effort; "do not be alarmed, but let me go to sleep for a while
and I shall be better."

Mr. Andrews and Mrs. Potter left the room in a few minutes, as Mr.
Drysdale evidently wished to be left alone. They had ample opportunity
for consultation, and they decided that Green had better stay near by
all night, to watch the house and the grove.

"If that is to be done," said Mrs. Potter, "I will go and put up a
lunch which you can take to him, since if he is to remain out there all
night, he will not be able to get anything to eat, and you know that a
hungry ghost cannot do as well as one which is well fed."

She soon prepared a large lunch, and added to it a small bottle of wine,
which she gave to Andrews. He immediately hastened out to the grove, and
found Green at a point where they had agreed to meet. He gave the food
to Green, and told him to keep a close watch on the house all night; in
case of anything occurring he was to tap on the window of Andrews' room,
which was on the ground floor. Andrews then returned to the house,
leaving Green to eat his lunch, drink his wine and keep watch.

The night was damp and warm, and the insects were particularly active,
so that Green's duty was none of the pleasantest. The hours slipped
wearily by until after midnight, when he saw a white figure emerge from
the house and approach the little grove. He hastily gained an open spot
where, in the bright starlight, he could be plainly seen, and, as
Drysdale advanced, he slowly paced toward him. To Green's astonishment,
Drysdale passed within two feet of him without noticing his presence in
any way; they passed so close to each other that Green was forced to
step to one side, yet Drysdale walked slowly on until he reached the
grove. Here he walked around a moment or two and then returned to the
house. Green immediately tapped on Andrews' window and related what had
occurred. There being no new developments, Green returned to the wood
where he had picketed his horse, and then rode back to Atkinson.




_CHAPTER VIII._


Friday morning Drysdale appeared at breakfast and tried to appear
natural and at ease. He spoke of his peculiar hallucination, but his
remarks were simply repetitions of those he had frequently made before.
Andrews again requested him to describe the appearance of the spectre,
but Drysdale seemed averse to continuing the conversation on that
subject, and so it was dropped.

Immediately after dinner they started for Atkinson, the gentlemen on
horseback, and the ladies in the carriage. As Andrews could offer no
plausible excuse for detaining them, Mrs. Potter was obliged to try what
she could do. By making two calls on acquaintances living along the
road, she was enabled to keep back their arrival much later than
Drysdale liked, though not late enough for her purpose. It was too early
to have Green appear, as there were so many people traveling on the road
that he might be seen by others and the trick exposed.

It was quite evident that Drysdale was in a miserable condition. He was
sure that he had seen the ghost of George Gordon, and he was in a state
of momentary dread and suspense. He had entertained thoughts of leaving
the place, but he dared not. Like Eugene Aram, he pictured himself as
continually haunted by the spirit of his victim, and he feared lest
others should see it, and accuse him of the murder. His health failed
rapidly; his form was emaciated, his cheeks hollow, his eyes haggard and
sunken. It was clearly only a question of time how soon he confessed or
went insane.

Green continued his night watches about the house, and again one night
Drysdale passed out to the creek and acted as before. This time,
however, he had his clothes on, and as he passed Green at arms length,
it seemed almost incredible that he should have failed to see him. Green
took particular pains to identify the exact spot where Drysdale had
searched in the water, and he marked it carefully by placing a stone on
each side of the bank opposite where Drysdale had stopped.

The following night Mrs. Potter got up and went into Drysdale's room,
where he was sleeping alone. She then dropped some blood on his pillow,
on the floor, and around the bed. Then passing out, she left the trail
as before from the house toward Rocky Creek. Drysdale was horrified
early next morning when he saw the blood-stains. He groaned piteously as
he walked about the room, and then followed the spots out to the front
gate. On seeing that they continued beyond this, he came back with a
most dejected and helpless look. Mrs. Potter saw him go into his room,
and, by looking through the keyhole of the connecting door, she was
enabled to see that he was engaged in washing out the spots on the floor
and bed clothes. He did not appear at the breakfast table, but his wife
told Mrs. Potter that he had had another severe attack of bleeding
during the night, and that he was very weak in consequence.

During the forenoon Mrs. Potter went in to see Mr. Drysdale, whom she
found in great distress physically and mentally. He was anxious to see
Mr. Andrews, and his wife sent a message to the hotel at once. In about
an hour Andrews came in.

"I am sorry to find you feeling so bad this morning," he said. "You were
looking quite well last evening. What is the trouble? Wouldn't you like
me to go for a doctor?"

"No, thank you; I shall get along better without physic," replied
Drysdale. "I was feeling unusually well last evening, but I had a severe
attack of bleeding last night, and I am very weak."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Andrews.

"Well, yes; there are some papers in my office that should be sent to
Captain Rowland, a planter in the west end of the county, and as it is
important that they should be delivered soon, I should be greatly
obliged if you would get them and send them off."

"Certainly, certainly," said Andrews; "where shall I find them?"

"They are in the left-hand pigeon-hole of my upright desk, in the
office, and you can send them by Dan. Marston, who lives near the
court-house; he is very faithful and trustworthy. Any one can tell you
where to find him."

"Oh, I know Dan.," said Andrews, "he has done several errands for me.
Where are your keys?"

"They are on the bureau, yonder; but, Andrews, I wish you would come
back after you have sent the papers. I always feel better when I hear
you talking; when I am alone I keep thinking about that spirit, and I
tell you it is terrible. You will come back, won't you?"

"Oh, certainly, I shall be glad to keep you company while you are under
the weather."

When Andrews started off with the keys, a sudden thought flashed into
his mind, and he first went to his room, where he obtained some blood,
of which he had quite a supply. He then went to Drysdale's private
office and dropped some blood on the desk, chairs and floor, and also on
the wrapper of Captain Rowland's papers. He was well known to the deputy
clerk, and so no one questioned his right to go to Drysdale's desk. On
leaving the private office, he locked the door, and hurried back to
Drysdale's house with the papers. He entered Drysdale's room in an
excited manner, and said:

"Why, Drysdale, you must have been bleeding at the office, for there is
blood on your chairs, desk, and on these papers; look there!"

As he spoke, he held out the package with its dull crimson stain. The
shock was too much for Drysdale, and he fainted away instantly. It was
sometime before he revived, but finally, he was able to talk again.

"Please take the wrapper off those papers," he said feebly, "and put
them into another. They are copies of papers in a law case now in court,
and I would not like them to go out in that condition."

Andrews agreed to fix them all neat and clean before sending them, and
he then went out to attend to it. On his way down town, he met Mr.
McGregor, to whom he related what he had done, and its effect.

"Mr. McGregor," he continued, "I think it would be a good idea to
sprinkle some blood in the bank, on the floor, and on the desk, where
young Gordon used to stand; also, to put some blood and hair on the
canceling hammer. Do this in the evening, and arrange to have some one
enter the bank with you in the morning; then, the story will be
circulated until Drysdale will hear it, and it may have a powerful
effect upon him. I think Mr. Pinkerton would approve the plan, if he
were here."

Mr. McGregor thought favorably of the suggestion, and he agreed to act
upon it, as soon as possible. Andrews then went back to Drysdale's
office, wiped up the blood spots, and put Captain Rowland's papers into
a new wrapper. Having sent them off, he returned and passed the
afternoon with Drysdale.

The latter was in a terrible condition; he seemed like a man suffering
from hydrophobia, so sensitive were his nerves, and so depressed was his
mind. His thoughts could turn in only one direction, and that was toward
remorse and fear.


    "'Tis guilt alone,
    Like brain sick frenzy in its feverish mood.
    Fills the light air with visionary terrors
    And shapeless forms of fear."


Through advices from Andrews, I was aware that things were approaching a
crisis, and I therefore, went immediately to Atkinson, in order to be
ready for any emergency. I arrived there the very morning chosen by Mr.
McGregor, to carry out his project of sprinkling blood at the bank. He
had arranged, by apparent accident, to have two planters enter the bank
with him, and in fact, it happened that four gentlemen were present at
ten o'clock when he opened the bank. They all entered together, and
when Mr. McGregor had taken down the blinds, he went inside the bank
railing. As he did so, he uttered a sudden exclamation, which caused the
others to follow.

"What can this mean!" he said, in an excited tone.

The other gentlemen gathered around the ghastly scene and examined the
blood, which lay in a pool on the floor, and in spots on the furniture
and wall. The canceling hammer, stained with blood, and clotted with
hair, lay close by, and every one was reminded of the appearance of the
place, the morning after George Gordon's murder.

"What can have happened?" asked old Mr. Gordon, who had just entered.
"Surely, no one was murdered here last night."

"Ah! I fear it is done by poor George's spirit!" exclaimed O'Fallon, who
was a very superstitious man. "This looks just as it did that fatal
morning, except that the body is not here. His spirit must be uneasy at
the failure to discover his murderer."

By this time, Flanders and several others, had entered the bank, and the
appearance of things there, was soon circulated throughout the town. The
excitement about the murder, was revived in all its original importance,
and many were the speculations about the mysterious affair.

Drysdale felt rather strong that morning, and about noon, he walked down
to his gate. While there, some of his neighbors passed on their way to
their homes, and they were all anxious to tell him about the new
sensation at the bank. On hearing the news, Drysdale dragged himself
into the house and went to bed. There he lay, groaning and sobbing
piteously, and when Andrews called in the afternoon, he was so helpless
that Andrews insisted on calling a physician. In a short time he
returned with Dr. Sprague, who examined the patient, and prescribed for
him. Dr. Sprague said that Drysdale would speedily recover with a proper
amount of rest and sleep. Wakefulness and nervous irritation seemed to
be the trouble with him, and the doctor told Andrews that he had
prescribed morphine. He said that there was nothing serious to fear
unless fever should set in, and if any symptoms should show themselves
it would be necessary to call him immediately.

Upon leaving Drysdale, Andrews came to me to report. I had arranged with
Mr. McGregor, to pay a visit to the creek that night, to search the spot
which had been visited so often by Drysdale. I therefore sent Andrews
back to offer to remain with Drysdale during the night. This arrangement
pleased Drysdale very much, and he was quite touched by Andrews'
kindness. I also instructed Green to watch Drysdale's house, so as to be
ready to appear before Drysdale, in case the latter left his house. He
was to cross and re-cross Drysdale's path, until Drysdale should take
notice of him, while Andrews was to be at hand immediately, pretending
that he had fallen asleep during his watch, and on waking up suddenly
and finding Drysdale gone, had come out in search of him.

I told Mr. Bannatine and Mr. McGregor, to bring a wheelbarrow, pick-axe,
and large shovel with them, since we should probably need the two latter
to dig up the gold, while the wheelbarrow would be handy to carry it
home. Everything was provided for in advance, and I felt confident of
the success of our expedition.




_CHAPTER IX._


The night was clear and bright, and everything was favorable for our
work. At twelve o'clock, we met as previously agreed, and hastened to
the banks of Rocky Creek, at the spot which Green had pointed out to me
that day. On reaching the designated place, I threw off my coat and
waded into the creek. I soon found a large flat stone, which I removed
to one side. I was just beginning to dig under it, when Green hurried up
and told me that Drysdale had left the house, and that he was only a
short distance behind. We quickly hid ourselves in the underbrush, and
in a few moments Drysdale appeared. Green passed him back and forth,
several times, but Drysdale paid no attention to him whatever. Suddenly
the thought flashed upon me, that he was walking in his sleep, and I
soon saw that such was the case. All of his midnight promenades were now
accounted for, and it was not strange that he had not noticed Green. So
great was the man's anxiety and nervous dread of discovery, that he
could not rest in quiet, and he was forced to visit the spot where his
blood-stained treasure was concealed, even in his hours of repose.

He now waded into the creek, as before, but he remained a much longer
time than usual, as he was unable to find the large flat stone in its
accustomed spot. Finally, he discovered where I had thrown it, and he
immediately replaced it in the very hole whence I had taken it. He then
returned to the house, and went to bed.

I again removed the stone, and while Mr. McGregor handled the pick-axe,
I plied the shovel vigorously. In a very few minutes, we struck a piece
of wood which gave back a hollow sound. This encouraged us to renewed
activity, and we were richly rewarded by unearthing a large cheese-box,
whose weight gave ample proof of the value of its contents. Having
replaced the flat stone where we first found it, we put the box on the
wheelbarrow, and took turns in wheeling it to the bank, where we soon
broke it open and discovered, as we had expected, that it was full of
gold coin in rouleaux. The counting of this large sum of money was
rather tedious, but it was finally accomplished satisfactorily, and the
result showed that only eighty dollars were missing.

The officers of the bank were in high glee, and they asked me whether I
had any hope of recovering the paper money.

"If I am not mistaken," I replied, "I shall find the paper money also,
within twenty-four hours. I shall go to Drysdale's plantation to-morrow
night, and shall search the ground in that group of trees of which you
have already heard so much. I think we shall find there all the paper
money."

The next day, Drysdale and Andrews remained together constantly; indeed,
Drysdale did not seem willing to let Andrews leave his sight for a
moment. He was perfectly helpless and inert. In the evening, I met my
companions of the night previous, and we drove out to Drysdale's
plantation, taking along the necessary tools. We secured our horses in
the grove, and then Green led the way toward the spot where Drysdale had
examined the ground. On making a close examination with our dark
lanterns, we discovered a piece of sod which had evidently been taken
up, for the edges had not yet joined with the surrounding turf. We
quickly pulled it up and began to dig beneath it; as before, our search
was rewarded after a few minutes of labor. At the depth of two feet, we
came upon a large candle-box, which we carefully dug up and placed in
one of our buggies. There was apparently, nothing more concealed in this
spot, and so we replaced the earth, packed it down, and put the piece of
sod back into its place. We then returned to Atkinson, where we arrived
just before daylight. The bank officers immediately opened the box, and
counted the paper money contained therein; it was found to agree
exactly, with the sum stolen from the bank. The packages of bills were
replaced in the box, which was then locked up in the vault.

I sent instructions by Andrews to Mrs. Potter to again make use of the
blood about Drysdale's house, and I also ordered Green to keep watch
during the night. The next morning Andrews reported that Drysdale's
terror on discovering the blood had been greater than he had ever shown
before, and that he was fast breaking down. I therefore held a
consultation with the bank officers.

"Now, gentlemen," I said, "we have recovered the money, and we have
sufficient evidence to convict the murderer. I think it is time to
arrest him; don't you?"

To tell the truth, I was in no easy frame of mind myself. I was morally
sure of Drysdale's guilt, but I had no legal evidence which was
sufficient to convict him in case he should maintain his innocence.
Moreover I had assumed a terrible responsibility in taking such extreme
measures with him, for there was danger that he might go insane without
confessing his guilt, and in that case my position would have been
really dangerous. I should have been accused of driving him crazy with
no proper justification for my actions, and the result might have been
most disastrous to me. The fact that I, an unknown man from the North,
had driven a high-toned Southern gentleman insane, would have been
sufficient to hang me by the summary process of lynch law.

The fact that part of the money had been found on his plantation, would
be only circumstantial evidence, since another man might have buried it
there as well as Drysdale. His visits to the spots where the money was
concealed, were not conclusive of guilt, since he was a somnambulist,
and in his sleep-walking he was not responsible for his actions. Mrs.
Potter suggested to me that he might have been sleep-walking the night
of the murder, and (while in that condition,) he might have followed the
murderer to the spot where the gold was hidden; it would then be nothing
strange that he should go to the same spot in his subsequent
night-wanderings.

It will thus be easily understood that during the remainder of my
connection with the case, I was in a highly wrought up frame of mind.
Indeed, when I came to make the arrest, it would have been hard to tell
whether Drysdale or I was the more excited. In reply to my question,
Mr. Bannatine instructed me to take whatever course I saw fit, as they
were all perfectly satisfied with my management of the affair. I learned
from Andrews that Drysdale would visit his office that afternoon, as
there were some important matters requiring his attention. Drysdale had
told Andrews that he intended to put the office in the charge of a
deputy for a time, so as to enable him to go off to New Orleans on a
visit of several weeks, and he desired that Andrews should accompany
him. He little thought that the toils were closing around him so
rapidly, and that he should never start on his projected excursion.

Having decided to arrest him immediately, I went to the office of an old
friend of Mr. Bannatine, a lawyer, who drew up the necessary affidavit
upon which I proposed to apply for a warrant. I then called upon the
sheriff, and asked him to go before a justice of the peace with me,
while I swore to an affidavit for a warrant which I wished him to
execute.

"What is the warrant for?" asked the sheriff, as he walked along with
me.

"It is quite an important case," I replied, "and I have had the
affidavits drawn up by Mr. Wood, the lawyer, and you will see the charge
in a few minutes."

"All right," said the sheriff; "let us go to Squire Baker's."

Fortunately we found the justice alone, and having stated that I wished
to obtain a warrant, I handed him the affidavit which I had had
prepared. He carefully adjusted his glasses and began to read the paper,
but in a moment or two he gave a sudden start and dropped the document,
in utter amazement. He looked at me keenly and said:

"Do you mean to accuse Mr. Drysdale of murdering George Gordon?"

At this the sheriff was equally astonished, and he said:

"Oh! nonsense; it can't be possible. Why, do you know, my dear sir, that
he is one of the finest gentlemen, and one of the most honorable men in
Atkinson? Surely you are joking."

"No, I am not joking at all," I replied. "I knew, of course, that you
would be greatly surprised and shocked, but the proofs are too clear to
admit of any doubt. The matter has been carefully examined by Mr.
Bannatine, Mr. Gordon, and Mr. McGregor, and it is at their request that
I have come to get a warrant. However, I can soon convince you of his
guilt."

"Well, well, it is almost incredible," said Squire Baker, "but if Mr.
Bannatine and Mr. McGregor are convinced, I presume there must be strong
grounds for suspicion, for they are both very careful men. I certainly
hope, however, that it may prove to have been a mistake, and that Mr.
Drysdale will be able to show his innocence."

I then made oath to the facts, and the warrant was issued. The sheriff
asked me when he should make the arrest, and I told him that Drysdale
was then at his office, and he must be taken at once. We accordingly,
went straight to his office, where we found him with Andrews. As the
sheriff entered, Drysdale said:

"How do you do, Mr. Ringwood? Take a chair."

"No, I thank you, Mr. Drysdale," said the sheriff in a sympathetic tone;
"the fact is, I am here on a very unpleasant duty, and I cannot stay
long. I have a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Drysdale."

"Warrant for me! what for?" exclaimed Drysdale, huskily.

"It is for the murder of George Gordon," replied the sheriff.

"Who charges me? I----"

Drysdale could only shriek the above, ere he fell back into a chair
almost lifeless. In a few minutes, he recovered somewhat, and the
sheriff said:

"Mr. Pinkerton here, has made an affidavit to the charge, and he seems
to be acquainted with the grounds for accusing you; suppose you walk
down to the bank with us."

Drysdale gazed at me steadily for a moment, and then said:

"Let me look at the warrant."

He was trembling like an aspen leaf, while he was reading it, and when
he had finished, he expressed a willingness to go with us, if Andrews
would go too. It was now after banking hours, and the bank was closed,
but the officers admitted us. After the door had been closed, I turned
to Drysdale and said:

"I have the unpleasant duty, Mr. Drysdale, of charging you with the
murder of George Gordon, in this bank; have you any denial to make?"

This was the signal to Green, and as I finished speaking, he passed from
behind the desk, where he had been seated, across the spot where
Gordon's body had fallen. He was made up exactly like Gordon, as on
previous occasions, and though he was in sight only a second, it was
enough. Drysdale gave a shriek, and fell lifeless, as the apparent ghost
disappeared in the vault. It was done so quickly, that even the sheriff
was puzzled to determine what the apparition was. Restoratives were
applied, and Drysdale soon revived.

"Great God!" he exclaimed. "Where is George Gordon? I am sure he was
here. Did you see him, Andrews?"

No one answered, and seeing that we were all looking at him in
amazement, he sprang to his feet, exclaiming:

"I deny the charge you have made against me; it is false in every
particular."

"Then, Mr. Drysdale," said I, "you will probably deny that you buried
the gold, which was taken from this bank, in the bed of Rocky Creek.
Here it is," I added, uncovering the box, which had been placed near by.

He said nothing, but hung his head, and drew a long breath.

"Will you also deny that you buried the paper money in a grove near your
house, on your plantation?" I continued, showing him the candle box.

He still said nothing, and I made a motion to Andrews to have Green
ready for a re-appearance. Then I went on speaking.

"This money has all been identified as that which was stolen from the
bank; it was found as I have stated. I also have here a partly burned
note of yours, which you used to light the fire in the grate. I have
examined these fragments of buttons, and I find that they are exactly
like those on the coat which you brought home from New Orleans just
before the murder; they were found in the grate yonder, where you burned
your coat, but there is enough left of them to identify them. But if you
are not satisfied with this evidence, that we can prove you are guilty,
I will even call upon the murdered man himself, to testify against you."

As I spoke, Green slowly glided out toward us, with his white, set face,
and bloody hair. Drysdale covered his face with his hands, dropped into
a chair and shrieked:

"Oh! my God! I am guilty! I am guilty!" and he sank back, but did not
faint.

Green instantly retired, whence he came, and Drysdale continued
speaking, as if he obtained relief by confessing his crime.

"Yes, I am guilty, and I have suffered the tortures of the damned since
that frightful night. I do not know what made me do it, but I have never
known a moment's peace since then. My mind has been occupied with that
money constantly, and even in my sleep I would dream about it. Oh! it is
terrible!"

"Have you ever gone to look for it at night, Mr. Drysdale?" I asked, as
I wished to know whether he was aware of his somnambulism.

"Oh, no; I would not dare to go near it, but it has haunted me always."

"How did you come to murder George?" I asked.

"I can't tell," he replied, in a choking voice; "it all occurred like a
dream."

"What motive did you have? You surely could have got money without
resorting to robbery, much less murder."

"No, I could not. People think I am wealthy, but the fact is I lost a
great deal of money in speculating when I went to New Orleans, a few
months before the murder, and although I have a good deal of property, I
had no ready money, and I could not work my plantation properly for want
of it. I had purchased seven slaves from a man in New Orleans, and I
could not pay for them. He was pressing me for the money, about twelve
hundred dollars, and I came down to the bank to get the money from
George. I had only three hundred dollars in bank, and so I gave my note
for the remainder. While George was counting out the money, I was taken
with a sort of insanity, and I struck him with a large hammer which
happened to be at hand. Then I carried off the money and buried it,
since which time I have never touched it. It has been a curse to me.
This is all I have to say now."

I turned to Mr. Bannatine and said:

"I have now done all that I can do in this matter, I think."

"Yes, you have completed your task, and the law must now take its
course," he replied. "Mr. Ringwood, you had better take charge of Mr.
Drysdale."

Drysdale rose from his chair, wearily, and said:

"I am glad the end has come at last. This affair has been killing me by
inches, and I am glad I have confessed."

The sheriff then touched him on the shoulder and said that he must go.

"Yes, I am ready," he replied, "but please let me speak a few words
privately, to Mr. Andrews; I want to send a message to my wife," he
added, with a sob.

He and Andrews then stepped into the small private office, and Andrews
closed the door behind him.

"Andrews, my friend," said Drysdale, convulsively, "I beg you to break
this news to my poor wife. God help her and the children. Tell her that
I feel better for having confessed, and whatever happens she must keep
up her courage. Now, my dear friend, good bye. Tell the sheriff to come
here and take me to jail."

He wrung Andrews' hand warmly as the latter stepped to the door, but
before the latter had reached us, we heard the ringing report of a
pistol shot. We made a simultaneous rush for the little room, but we
were too late. There, quivering on the floor, with a bullet in his
brain, lay the murderer of George Gordon. The crime and the avengement
had occurred in the same building, only a few feet separating the spot
where the two bodies had fallen. The somnambulist had walked on earth
for the last time.


THE END.




THE MURDERER AND THE FORTUNE TELLER.




_CHAPTER I._


One sultry day in the summer of 185-, I arrived in Chicago, from a tour
I had been making through the Southern States. I had attended to a
portion of the accumulated business which I found awaiting me, when a
gentleman entered the outer office and asked one of my clerks whether he
could see me immediately on some very important business. Mr. Howard saw
by the gentleman's appearance, that the matter must be one of great
consequence, and, therefore, ushered the visitor into my private office,
without asking any questions.

"Mr. Pinkerton, I believe?" said the gentleman, as he advanced toward
me.

"Yes, sir," I replied; "what can I do for you?"

He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to me. I motioned him to
be seated, while I read the letter. I found it to be from my old friend
Chapman, a lawyer in New Haven, Connecticut, introducing the bearer,
Captain J. N. Sumner. The letter stated that Captain Sumner was a
resident of Springfield, Massachusetts, near which place he owned a
farm. He had a moderate fortune, and he was a most estimable man. Mr.
Chapman had known him for many years, during which time he had always
borne himself in an upright, straightforward manner, free from all
reproach. Lately, however, he had become involved in some very serious
difficulties in the West, and Mr. Chapman had advised him to see me, and
obtain my assistance in extricating himself from his troubles. Mr.
Chapman concluded by saying, that he was confident, that, if any one
could aid the Captain, I was the best person to consult.

I had not seen Mr. Chapman for some years, the last time having been
while I was attending to some business in which he was interested. He
was especially noted as a criminal lawyer being employed quite as often
for the prosecution, as for the defense. We were the best of friends,
and had cracked many a joke at each other's expense. He did not mention
the nature of the Captain's troubles in his letters, leaving that for
the Captain to do himself.

While I was reading the letter, I was aware that the Captain was
observing me closely, as if desirous of reading my very thoughts. When I
had finished, I said:

"Captain Sumner, I am glad to meet you. Any one bearing a letter from my
old friend Chapman, is welcome."

As I spoke, I looked straight at him, and took in his whole appearance.

He was apparently, about fifty years of age, but was very well
preserved, not a streak of gray being visible in his dark, curly hair.
He was slightly above the middle height, and his frame was
proportionally powerful, his limbs being well knit, and muscular. His
clear, hazel eyes looked frankly out beneath heavy, straight eyebrows,
while his large Roman nose and massive chin, gave his face great
firmness and determination. His teeth were white and regular, and his
smile was unusually sweet and expressive. His face was much tanned from
long exposure to the weather, and his hands were large and hard. He was
dressed in a quiet, neat suit of gray cloth, well fitting but easy, and
there was nothing loud or in bad taste about him. His only articles of
jewelry were a gold watch and chain, and a seal ring with a peculiar,
plain stone, worn on the little finger of his left hand. I gazed
steadily at him for about two minutes, which is about as long a time as
I need to obtain a correct opinion of a man's character. I was very
favorably impressed by his appearance, and I prepared to hear his story
with more interest than I should have had, if he had been a less honest,
reliable looking man.

He opened the conversation, while I was still looking straight into his
face.

"Mr. Pinkerton," he said, "I have heard a great deal about you from
various sources, and I little thought that I should ever require your
services; but, lately, while consulting Mr. Chapman relative to a
possible flaw in the title to my farm, I also laid before him some other
troubles which he acknowledged were so serious as to require the advice
and assistance of some one with a training and experience somewhat
different from his. He urged me so strongly to state my case to you, and
obtain your aid, that I have finally decided to follow his advice, and
here I am."

"When did you arrive?" I inquired.

"About a week ago. I looked around for a time to see if my difficulties
had diminished,----"(and he passed his hand nervously through his hair,
drawing a long breath)--"but I found they had increased, if anything.
Mr. Pinkerton, when I retired from the sea and settled down on my farm,
I thought my cares and vexations were over, and that I could find in the
peace and tranquility of country life, a rich reward for the hardships I
had endured while earning enough to retire on. My father, also, was a
sailor many years, and, after passing the best part of his life at sea,
in like manner, he was able to live his last twenty years in peace and
content upon his farm; there I was reared, until I was old enough to go
to sea. I have followed his example; but, instead of enjoying the peace
he did, I find that my serious troubles are only just beginning. If I
were at sea, I should have no fears, for there I am perfectly at home.
No matter how the wind might blow, or the seas roll, I always brought my
ship through in safety. I could read the signs of the weather, and could
detect the approach of danger from the elements. I _knew_ my enemies
were there, and that was half the battle. Here, on land, I find it so
different; my worst enemies come to me with the smiles and greetings of
friends; they express the tenderest wishes for my welfare, and shower
upon me the tokens of their affection; then, having fairly won my
confidence, they turn upon me when I least expect it, and stab me
cruelly. I am a plain, blunt man--often irritable and unjust, I
know--still, I never flinch from danger when I can see it; but, the very
nature of my bringing up has rendered me unfit to cope with the wiles
and subtleties of my fellow man. You, Mr. Pinkerton, it is said, have
the power to see direct to the hearts of men through the shams and
artifices by which they seek to hide their true characters, and you are
the only man who can assist me. Oh, I wish I were back on the sea, far
away from all my troubles. I should care but little if I never
returned."

He spoke in a low voice, but the tone was clear until the last, when his
words were very pathetic. As he closed, his head dropped forward, and he
sat gazing fixedly at his ring in an attitude of mournful retrospection.

"Perhaps you had better wait awhile before telling me your story," I
suggested.

"Yes," he replied, looking at his watch, "it is now five o'clock, so I
will defer making my statement until to-morrow; though I should prefer
to make it now, if I had time. The story is a long one, and I shall have
to take a considerable portion of your valuable time in telling it. Will
you please to name the hour when I can meet you to-morrow, to give you
all the facts in the case?"

I had already become interested in the Captain, and, after thinking for
a moment how I could best arrange my other business so as to grant him
the necessary time, I told him to come at nine o'clock next morning. He
said he would be punctual in keeping the appointment; then stepping
forward, he took my hand and said, in a very impressive way, "Mr.
Pinkerton, I shall meet you if I am alive. I am not afraid of death; I
have met it scores of times, face to face, and have never flinched from
it; but now I must take care of myself. If I don't come, just look for
me at my boarding house."

I glanced quickly at him, but could see nothing wrong about his mind.
His eyes were clear and natural; his whole appearance showed him to be a
plain, blunt seaman, little disposed to invent imaginary dangers. Still,
there was in his manner, a deep melancholy which showed me that it was
not any natural disease that he dreaded, and which caused me to exclaim:

"Why, Captain, you fear death by violence, do you not?"

"Yes," he replied; "but I cannot enter into details at present. I shall
try to save myself and meet you to-morrow morning, but if I do not come,
please send my body to Connecticut, to be interred near the rest of my
family."

He then said good-day and went out, leaving me to speculate upon his
peculiar behavior, and to wonder what were the dangers which surrounded
him. I was so much pleased with his frank, manly simplicity that I was
determined to give him all the assistance in my power.




_CHAPTER II._


At nine o'clock the next morning, Captain Sumner walked into my private
office, and I immediately locked the door to avoid interruption. I
noticed that he was apparently much more contented than he had been the
evening previous; but I said nothing, preferring to have him tell his
story in his own way. He began immediately, without wasting time in
preliminaries:

"Mr. Pinkerton, I know that you are always busy, and that time is money
to you; hence, I shall be as brief as possible. In order to begin right,
I must go slightly into my family history. My father owned a farm near
Springfield, Massachusetts, where my mother brought up the family while
he was away at sea. He was as fine a seaman as ever trod a deck, and
became Captain in one of the regular lines of East India packet
companies while I was a mere child. I had one brother who died very
young, leaving me the only boy of the family. I had two sisters,
however, Lucy and Annie. My father took me to sea with him when I was
quite a boy, and he put me through such a thorough course of seamanship
and navigation that, by the time he was ready to resign his captaincy
and retire to his farm, I was promoted to the position of first mate in
the same line. This was in 1836.

"About this time my mother died, and my sisters took charge of the
domestic affairs of the farm. My older sister, Lucy, now Mrs. W. R.
Lucas, was twenty-two years old. She was a girl of great firmness of
character, and she has since proved herself the best of wives, being
very domestic and fond of home pleasures. Annie, my younger sister, was
eighteen years of age, and she was then my special pride and delight;
as, indeed, she has been all her life. She was tall and slender, but
well proportioned and graceful. Her features were regular and
expressive, and her complexion was very delicate; yet it has retained
its freshness until now, instead of fading, as is the case with most
clear, soft complexions. She was then, and is still, a beautiful woman.
She was very vivacious and witty, was fond of society, and cared less
for domestic pursuits than to have a gay time in a large company. She
was petted and indulged a great deal, being the youngest and a beauty,
so that she was not often called upon to practice self-denial. It is
probably partly due to this lack of restraint during her early years
that she never has had the strength of character and devotion to good
principles as Lucy."

Here the Captain sighed heavily, and stopped speaking for a minute or
two. I handed him a glass of ice-water, which he drank mechanically. He
then continued:

"As I before stated, I became first mate when my father retired. The
company was a wealthy one, owning a number of ships, so that the chances
for promotion were very good. My most intimate friend was a young man
named Henry Thayer. We had long been ship-mates together, and had passed
through a school of navigation at the same time. He was a thorough
seaman, a careful, considerate officer, and a true friend. He was a
general favorite on account of his cheerful disposition, and we soon
became like brothers. Whenever we returned from a voyage, I would bring
Henry out to the farm to spend a few days, and, about the time of my
promotion, I found that he had become warmly attached to Annie. At every
opportunity, he would run down to see her, and in every foreign port we
entered, he would be sure to buy some rare and curious present for her.
His affection was reciprocated by Annie, and one day, after I had made
two or three short voyages as first mate, I returned to the farm and
found Annie wearing an engagement ring. I laughingly asked her when it
was to come off, and she replied, with many blushes, that they were to
be married on Henry's return from his next voyage. I knew that Annie was
very fond of gentlemen's society, so I advised her to try to overcome
her taste for dress and company; since, when she was married, her
husband would be away from home a great deal, and then it would not look
well for her to receive much attention in his absence. She seemed to
acknowledge the force of my remarks, and said that she should do all in
her power to make Henry happy.

"On returning to New York, I found that Henry had been just appointed
first mate, and that I had pleased the company so well that they wished
me to take command of a new ship which they were building. I gladly
accepted the command, and as the ship was not ready for sea, I returned
to the farm, where I spent two months. I was somewhat annoyed at Annie's
conduct occasionally, as she received, and apparently enjoyed, the
attention of several stylish young men, more than was befitting a girl
who was engaged to be married. I frequently ran down to New York to
oversee the rigging of the new ship, so that I did not know much about
her acquaintances; but once, on my return, I saw a beautiful amethyst
ring on Annie's finger.

"'Where did you get that ring, Annie?' I asked.

"She laughed gaily and said:

"'Oh! it isn't mine; a gentleman loaned it to me to wear a few days.'

"My impression was, however, that it had been given to her, and I feared
she was forgetting Henry; so I said:

"'That is a strange way of acting, Annie. You are engaged to Henry, and
you ought to know that it is a wrong and an insult to him for you to
receive a present from another young man. If Henry knew of this, it
would make trouble.'

"She recognized the truth of what I had said, but she was determined not
to acknowledge that she had done wrong; so she flew into a passion and
said, as sneeringly as possible;

"'Oh! so you are left here to watch me, are you? Well, then, just report
to him that I can get a better husband than he is, any day. I am not
going to shut myself up, like a nun in a convent, for any man.'

"I told her that I had no desire to act the part of a tale-bearer, but
that I spoke only for her good; her conscience must tell her that she
was doing wrong. I concluded by asking her to stay more at home, and
thus prepare for a more domestic life. I did not see the ring after
this, but Annie was very distant in her manner toward me; her actions
showed as plainly as if she had spoken, that she considered me in the
light of an unreasonable guardian, who wished to deprive her of all
enjoyment. Her giddiness and perverseness caused me much trouble, and I
greatly feared she would become reckless after my departure. She was my
favorite sister, however, and no matter how she might treat me, I could
never lose my love for her.

"The first voyage in my new ship, was a very long one, and, on my
return, I found that there had been many changes in my absence. Henry
and Annie had been married for sometime, and Henry was then away at sea.
As my father had died shortly after the marriage, Annie was living alone
in New York, where I called upon her. She was pleasantly situated, and
seemed to have everything that could be wished. Lucy was also married,
and was living in Morristown, New Jersey. The old homestead had been
sold at my father's death, the proceeds being divided between my
sisters. A few thousand dollars were left to me, which I deposited in
bank with my savings.

"On my return from another long voyage, I was delighted to find Henry at
home with Annie, and they seemed more devoted to each other than ever.
After this, I saw Henry but twice--once in Singapore, and once in
Calcutta. He was then as much in love with Annie, as when he first
married her, and he said that she made him perfectly happy. The last
time I met him, he had just been notified that he should be given the
command of a fine ship on his return to New York; consequently he was in
high spirits.

"When I next arrived in New York harbor, I made it my first duty to call
on Annie. Much to my surprise, I found that she was teaching music in
Brooklyn, at a very high salary. Her musical education had been very
thorough, so that she was perfectly competent; but I could not see the
necessity for her to teach. She had had one child, but it had died in
infancy, and she was living in a fashionable boarding house. I called in
the evening, intending to ask her to accompany me for a walk, but she
was surrounded by a brilliant company, among whom were several
gentlemen, and all were paying her great attention. She was very
stylishly dressed, and, to my great disgust, she seemed to be coquetting
with several of her admirers. When I was announced, she led me into the
library, as if anxious that the company in the parlor should not know
that a hard-fisted, weather-beaten sailor like me, was her brother.
Still, she spoke very kindly, and seemed glad to see me. She excused
herself from going to walk with me on the ground that she had an
engagement to accompany the rest of the party to the theatre; but she
said that if I would call some other evening, she would gladly go. I was
somewhat puzzled by her surroundings and manners, and I determined to
have a quiet talk with her as soon as possible.

"The next day, I went to Boston on very important business, and, on my
return, I found Annie plunged into all the gayety and dissipation of New
York fashionable life. She certainly presented a very elegant and
stylish appearance; yet, my heart ached as I looked at her. How much joy
it would have given me to have found her in a quiet little home waiting
anxiously for Henry's return.

"I talked with her for sometime about her affairs, and urged her to lead
a more quiet life; but she insisted that Henry approved of her present
way of living; of course, I could say nothing further.

"'Henry is not as unreasonable as you are,' she would say. 'He knew how
lonely I would be while he was gone, and, therefore, he told me not to
mope and pine, but to get into good society, and try to be cheerful and
happy.'

"Still, I had an undefined feeling that Annie was in danger, and I wrote
to Lucy about her, asking Lucy to induce her to break away from the gay
life she was leading. Soon afterward, I went to sea again, and, during
my absence, Henry was given command of one of the finest ships in the
line. Two years passed quickly away, but, as I was engaged during that
time in making short voyages to the West Indies and back, I frequently
saw Annie in New York. She seemed to grow more and more estranged from
me, however, and her conduct caused me great anxiety. I had seen some
things in her deportment, which, though not absolutely wrong, were, to
my mind, far from proper; besides, she showed a carelessness of
appearances not at all becoming a married woman.

"My next series of voyages were very long, and I was able to see Annie
only once or twice in several years. She was now thirty-two years old,
and was unusually and strikingly handsome. About this time, I returned
from a long cruise, and found Annie still teaching music in Brooklyn.
She dressed as elegantly as ever, and seemed very complacent and
contented. I invited her to take a walk with me, and we went out toward
one of the small city parks. As she swept along beside me, her features
all animation, and her eyes sparkling with health and pleasure, I
thought I had never before seen any one so beautiful. I did not wonder
that Henry was so proud of her, or that he should indulge her so much.
We strolled about in the park for a time, and then seated ourselves in a
quiet spot.

"'How long is it since you have heard from Henry?' I asked.

"'Why, don't you know that we had a quarrel several months ago?' she
answered, with an effort, her face turning very red.

"'Annie, do you mean that you and Henry have separated?' I asked, very
much shocked at such news.

"'Yes; that is what I mean. Henry became so strict and unjust with me
that I complained to him of his treatment. One word brought on another,
until at last he flew into a violent passion and left me.'

"On hearing Annie relate, in such a cool, off-hand manner, how she had
driven away one of the best husbands that ever lived, I was perfectly
thunderstruck. I had feared that something of the kind might happen, but
now that it had really come to pass, I hardly knew what to do or say.

"'Is it possible, Annie!' I said. 'Where did he go?'

"'I don't know,' she replied; 'he left his ship and went off.'

"'But they know at the office where he went, don't they?' I asked.

"'No; he left his ship at short notice. The company tried to keep him,
but he would not stay; and, finally, he went off without telling any one
where he was going,' answered Annie, beginning to cry.

"It seemed to me that she was crying more to avert my displeasure than
because she missed Henry; but she was my favorite sister, and I still
loved her. Hence, though I deeply regretted and condemned her actions, I
could not find it in my heart to characterize her conduct as it
deserved.

"'Annie, are you not entirely to blame for this? Remember how many times
I have cautioned you against the course you were pursuing. Tell me what
led to your separation,' I asked, finally.

"At first she refused to say anything; but, at length, I drew out that
reports had reached Henry's ears that she was in the habit of accepting
a great deal of attention from a certain gentleman, and that he
accompanied her to the theatre very frequently.

"'But,' she said, 'there was nothing wrong in that.'

"Then, on several occasions, Henry asked her to attend the theatre with
him; but it so happened that she had a severe headache each time. This
made Henry jealous, and he asked her, tauntingly, why she never had a
headache when a certain gentleman called. This sneer led to mutual
recriminations and bitter language on both sides, until Henry went away
in a towering rage.

"I could see the whole trouble. Henry loved her passionately, and her
conduct had driven him away in despair. I determined to search for him
everywhere, in the hope of bringing them again together, and effecting a
reconciliation.

"The day before I sailed on my next voyage, I saw a beautiful diamond
ring on Annie's finger.

"'Annie,' I asked, sorrowfully, 'whose ring is that?'

"'Why, mine, of course,' she replied; 'have you never seen it before?'

"'You must have plenty of money to be able to buy such valuable jewelry
as that,' I said. 'I think you show very bad taste to display it at this
time, when you know that your folly has driven your husband from you,' I
added, angrily.

"She hung her head in silence, as if really ashamed, and I went away
feeling almost guilty for having spoken so harshly to her.

"My next voyage was to the East Indies, and I made inquiries about Henry
at every port, besides 'speaking' every vessel I met at sea, but no one
could tell me anything about him. It became evident that he had not only
left the service of the company, but that he had disappeared from all
the localities where he was known.

"On my return to New York, I hurried over to see Annie early in the
evening. She was dressed for the opera, and was evidently expecting some
one. She was quite surprised to see me, but she threw herself into my
arms and kissed me very affectionately, as she inquired whether I had
heard any news of her dear Henry. When I told her of my poor success,
she pretended to feel very sorry, though she did not apparently allow
her sorrow to interfere with her enjoyment.

"'Well, Annie,' I said, 'you are dressed to go out somewhere, aren't
you? Tell me all about it.'

"'Yes,' she replied, 'I intended going to the opera with Mr. Pattmore,
but if you do not wish me to go, I will remain at home. You must stay to
meet him; he is one of the most perfect gentlemen I have ever met. He
belongs in Massachusetts, but he now owns a large hotel in Greenville,
Ohio. Mrs. Pattmore and I are _such_ good friends, and all the children
think the world of me. I have been out to visit them in Greenville
twice, and they made my stay so pleasant that I always speak of their
house as my home. Mr. Pattmore is in town on business, and I received a
note from him this morning asking me to go to the opera.'

"Mr. Pattmore came in just then, and we were introduced to each other.
He was a well-built man of about forty-five years of age, with very
agreeable, easy manners. His hair and mustache were jet black, and his
features were rather pleasing. His eyes were large and black, but
restless and snaky; I noticed that he never looked straight into my face
when speaking to me. He was dressed in the height of the prevailing
fashion, and he showed a good deal of jewelry. They both pressed me to
accompany them to the opera, but as I was not appropriately dressed, I
declined politely, and they went without me.

"I had previously learned at the office of the company, that they had
not heard anything of Henry, so I sorrowfully returned aboard my ship,
almost decided to give up a sea-faring life. I was then fifty years of
age, and I thought of buying a farm, where I could settle down at my
ease. I knew that Annie was in a dangerous position for a handsome
woman--left alone with no one to advise or restrain her--and I wished to
take her with me, so as to remove her from temptation. I therefore,
wrote to Lucy, asking her opinion, and requesting her to advise Annie to
give up her present mode of life.

"Lucy wrote a long letter in reply: she said that she very much feared
there was something wrong between Annie and Pattmore; when Annie was
staying at Greenville, Lucy had written twice, asking her to come to
Morristown, where Lucy lived; Annie had promised to do so, but she had
never come. Pattmore, Lucy said, was a prominent politician in
Greenville, and he was looking forward to the nomination for
congressman. Mrs. Pattmore was a very good woman, of fine appearance and
agreeable manners; she was very domestic in her tastes and she delighted
in taking care of her home and children. There were three children
living, the eldest son being about twenty-one years old, and the other
two being quite young. Mr. Pattmore's hotel was very well kept and
popular, and he was supposed to be wealthy.

"Lucy's letter added greatly to the anxiety which I felt about Annie,
and I was very desirous of resigning my command immediately, in order to
settle down on a farm with her, and thus remove her from the temptations
of a gay city. I felt sure that nothing more would be necessary than a
retired, quiet life for a few months, to prepare her to give Henry a
joyful and affectionate welcome on his return. Circumstances, however,
made it impossible for me to give up my ship at that time, and, at the
earnest request of the directors of the company (in which I had invested
a considerable portion of my savings) I consented to make one or two
more cruises. Accordingly, I sailed for the East Indies for the last
time, and made a very speedy and prosperous voyage. I continued my
inquiries for Henry Thayer, but was unable to obtain any tidings of him.
On my return, I called to see Annie, and found her occupying her old
position as music teacher in Brooklyn. She said that Mrs. Pattmore had
urged her so strongly to visit them that she had accepted the invitation
twice during my absence.

"I had hardly reached New York, before I was hurried away again; my ship
was hastily loaded with a cargo for Rio Janeiro, and I again sailed in
command. The trip was a speculative venture, which resulted very
profitably, and, on my return, I asked to be relieved from further
service. I was then fifty-three years of age, and I needed rest. The
company treated me very handsomely, and I sold my shares at a high
valuation. Having settled my affairs with the company, I hurried off to
see Annie; but I was surprised to find that she had moved to Greenville,
where she was teaching music to Mr. Pattmore's younger children.

"I had bought a farm near Springfield, Massachusetts, sometime previous,
and, learning that there was some slight inaccuracy in the deed, I went
to New Haven to consult a lawyer--your friend, Mr. Chapman--relative to
the title. While there, I wrote to Annie, asking her to come and live on
the farm with me. She immediately replied that she was under an
engagement as teacher for six months, and that she could not leave
Greenville until the end of that time. She said that Lucy had asked her
to pay a visit to Morristown, but that she had been obliged to decline
the invitation for the same reason. In conclusion, Annie begged me to
visit her in Greenville.

"As soon, therefore, as I had settled my business affairs, I went to
Greenville to stay a few days. Annie seemed very glad to see me, and
appeared to be in excellent health. I repeated my proposal, that she
should come to keep house for me on my farm, and she seemed favorably
disposed toward the arrangement, though she asked time to think about
it. I told her that at my death, I should leave her all my property, and
that, meantime, she should have everything she wished. I also tried to
talk to her about Henry, but she refused to say much, and seemed
desirous to believe that he was dead.

"I found that she had very little to do as a teacher, the children being
too young to study; but she was much attached to Greenville, as, to use
her own words, 'there were so many fashionable people there.' She used
to go out driving with Mr. and Mrs. Pattmore, and sometimes with Mr.
Pattmore alone, often going as far as fifteen or twenty miles into the
country. I did not at all like the way she was acting, and I determined
to use every effort to induce her to return to Massachusetts with me.
This visit, Mr. Pinkerton, took place about two months ago.

"After remaining in Greenville a few days, I went to visit Lucy in
Morristown. We had a long talk together about Annie, and finally, Lucy
confided to me that she feared that Annie was _enceinte_.

"'Good heavens, Lucy! that is impossible!' I exclaimed. 'Our family has
never had such a disgrace cast upon it before; it has always maintained
its purity. No, no; it can't be possible.'

"'I am not _sure_ of it,' said Lucy; 'but I know there is something
wrong with her, and I greatly fear that she is a ruined woman.'

"I hardly knew what to say or do, the mere suspicion was such a terrible
blow."

Here the Captain became greatly affected; the perspiration started on
his forehead in large beads, and he often made long pauses, as he
continued. His emotion would sometimes entirely overcome him, so that he
could not speak.

"Well," he went on, "Lucy wrote to Annie, and back came the answer fully
confirming the horrid suspicion. Annie freely confessed that she was
_enceinte_, and that Pattmore was the father of her unborn child. She
said that she and Pattmore dearly loved each other, and that she could
not bear the thought of separating from him.

"My first impulse was to curse her and never see her again; but my old
love for her could not be set aside, and pity soon took the place of
anger. I could see that Pattmore had thrown a spell around her by his
fascinating manners, and she was completely under his influence. I
determined to save her from exposure and disgrace, if possible, and,
therefore, started for Greenville immediately. I had intended to speak
to Annie in a severe and indignant tone, but she rushed to meet me with
such a glad little cry that my anger melted away, and tears sprang
unbidden to my eyes.

"'Oh! Annie! Annie!' I exclaimed, 'what have you done! How has this man
acquired such a terrible power over you as to make you forget your
marriage vows and live a life of infamy with him? Have you no stings of
conscience? Think how our sainted mother would feel if she could see her
little Annie in the power of a heartless libertine. Return with me at
once, and I will forget everything. In the seclusion of my farm, you
need not fear the fiery tongue of scandal, and I will be a father to
your child.'

"She stood with downcast eyes while I was speaking, but when I had
finished she began a vehement defense of her conduct, in the course of
which she repeated all the usual arguments of those who wish to ease
their consciences when on the downward path.

"Mr. Pattmore, she said, was a perfect gentleman; he loved her, and she
returned his affection; it was true, unhappily, that they were both
married, but nature had intended them for each other, and she preferred
to obey the laws of nature to those of society; Mrs. Pattmore was a very
fine woman, but she could not make her husband happy.

"The doctrine of free-love was fully endorsed by Annie, who had learned
it all by heart, and she advanced the most extraordinary theories in
justification of her conduct.

"For years, she said, she had held the first place in Pattmore's heart,
and he had lavished his money upon her freely; the diamond ring I had
seen, the rich dresses she had worn, a valuable necklace, and many other
articles of jewelry were among the gifts he had showered upon her; they
loved each other as husband and wife and as soon as Mrs. Pattmore should
die, Mr. Pattmore would make Annie his legal wife.

"I saw that she was completely infatuated, but I endeavored to show her
how false her reasoning was, and to what wicked conclusions it would
lead. I asked if she had forgotten Henry, who was liable to return at
any moment; she could not marry until she obtained a divorce. Besides,
the fact that they were looking forward to, and wishing for Mrs.
Pattmore's death, was almost equivalent to committing murder, since to
desire any person's death was morally as bad as to murder that person.

"We had a long conversation, and finally Annie agreed to join me in
Springfield in a short time. I therefore returned to the farm and
prepared to settle down. I received no reply to several letters which I
wrote to Annie, but at last she sent me a short note saying that she had
changed her mind, and that she should stay in Greenville. I immediately
replied that I would not permit her to remain there any longer, and I
then went to consult Mr. Chapman about the matter. He acknowledged that
he could do nothing, as Annie was her own mistress; but he advised me to
see you, Mr. Pinkerton, and obtain your advice and assistance. As it was
a very delicate matter, affecting the honor of my family, I did not like
to speak about it to a third party, as I feared that the story might be
made known publicly, and Annie's reputation would then be ruined. I
therefore told him that I should not consult you if I could possibly
avoid doing so.

"While I was inwardly debating what was best to be done, I received a
note from Annie, asking me to come to her, as she feared that something
serious was about to happen. I went at once to Greenville, and found
that she had decided to remove the evidence of her guilt by performing
an abortion. I tried hard to dissuade her from a step which might result
in her own death, but she was resolute in her determination not to wait
for the child's natural birth. She said that if I would stay with her
until she recovered, she would return to Springfield with me and never
see Pattmore again. She spoke very feelingly about Henry, and she seemed
so deeply and truly penitent that I was finally won over to her wishes,
and I agreed to stay with her until she had an operation performed. I
determined to take her to stay with Lucy, at Morristown, at first, and
she accordingly prepared to leave Greenville.

"She had a long private interview with Pattmore before leaving, and when
she came out I saw she had been shedding bitter tears. As I stepped to
the office desk to pay my bill, I saw Pattmore in the clerk's room back
of the office, and he, too, seemed very much dejected. I could hardly
keep my hands off his throat when I recollected his villainy; but I
curbed my temper by a great effort, as I knew that a personal encounter
between us would only publish my sister's shame to the world. On our
arrival in Morristown, Lucy and I had a long talk with Annie, which was
far from satisfactory to me, as I saw that she was still infatuated with
Pattmore.

"I thought best to go some distance away from the places where we were
known during Annie's trial, and I therefore brought her to Chicago. Here
I obtained board in a very respectable family, where there were only a
few other boarders. Annie did not show her condition in her appearance
at all, and no one could possibly have suspected her. I found a
physician named Enfield, who was a noted operator in such cases, and
Annie at once placed herself under his treatment.

"I knew that I was about to assist in committing a great crime, yet I
felt that I must shield Annie at all hazards, and so I yielded to her
wishes in the matter. Enfield was an expert in such matters, and, in a
short time, he brought Annie through in safety. She was recovering fast,
when one day, on entering her room, I found Pattmore there. I went out
instantly, as I was afraid to trust myself in the same room with him;
but, when he had gone away, I besought Annie never again to admit him to
her presence. She would make no promises, and finally, she fell back in
a swoon. On recovering, she said that she would die if she could not see
Pattmore, and I was obliged to drop the subject until she should become
stronger. Pattmore remained in town two days, and she insisted on having
him with her a great deal of the time.

"I fear that you will consider me very weak and foolish for permitting
this; but I have never been able to refuse Annie anything. I knew,
moreover, that, in such a case, harsh measures would only add fuel to
the flame, and so I continued to humor her, trusting, that in time, she
would gradually recover her normal condition, and see the folly of her
conduct.

"Pattmore told her, during his visit, that he was in great hopes of
receiving the democratic nomination to Congress; and, as the democratic
party had a large majority in that district, the nomination would be
equivalent to an election. He also said that his wife was in failing
health, and that she seemed to grow weaker every day. I could see by
Annie's manner, when she told me this, that she hoped to be Pattmore's
partner in enjoying the gay life of the National Capital, though she
did not say so directly.

"One day, she brought up the subject of wills, and said that she thought
every one owning property, ought to make a will. She said that otherwise
a man's property, in case of sudden death, might be eaten up by the
lawyers and court officials. I admitted the justness of her remarks, and
told her that I should follow her suggestion. I was obliged to go East
on business for a few days at this time, and, on the way, I left a
letter and package with Pattmore, which Annie had asked me to deliver.
While in New Haven, I employed Mr. Chapman to draw up my will. Lucy had
asked me to leave all my property to Annie, as she had enough for
herself and children, while Annie had no one to look to for an honest
support, except myself; accordingly, I made my will in that way.

"On my return to Chicago, I hurried to our boarding house to see Annie,
and, to my intense disgust, I found Pattmore with her. The sight of him
fondling my poor sister, was too much for me: and, although I succeeded
in restraining myself from doing him any personal violence, I used the
most severe language possible in characterizing his villainy, and in
expressing my contempt for him. I concluded, by telling him that the
affair must end then and there; that he must never address my sister
again, or attempt to see her; and that if he dared to disregard my
demand, he must take the consequences. They both hung their heads
guiltily, while I was speaking, and when I closed, Pattmore quitted the
room without a word. I found that he left town the same day.

"I also went out of the house immediately, being too excited to talk
calmly to Annie; but I returned after supper, and reasoned with her as
gently as possible on the impropriety and wickedness of her conduct. She
seemed to feel very sorry, and was so penitent that my hopes of saving
her, rose considerably. She promised, with tears in her eyes, to
overcome her unholy love for Pattmore, and never to see him again. I
noticed, however, that when I spoke of my efforts to obtain tidings of
Henry, she was very indifferent; but she promised to return to
Springfield with me as soon as she was able to travel, and matters began
to look more cheerful for the future.

"A day or two after, she received a letter from Pattmore, saying that
his wife was seriously ill, and that the physicians considered her life
in danger.

"'What is the matter with her?' I asked.

"'I don't know,' she replied; 'Mr. Pattmore does not state what is her
disease.'

"I then spoke very harshly about Pattmore, and said that he, above all
other men, was hateful to me, because he had ruined her. She replied in
his defense, and, as our conversation seemed likely to become bitter, I
walked out to allow time for both our tempers to cool off. On my return,
I found that Annie had gone out for the first time, since her illness,
but she soon came in, saying that she had taken a short walk for
exercise. She had regained her good humor, and seemed more like herself
than she had for sometime. She again brought up the subject of wills,
and I told her that I had made my will while I was in New Haven. She
asked me about it, and I told her that I had made her my sole legatee,
and that she would be in comfortable circumstances when I died. She
seemed very much pleased at this, and said I was a dear good brother;
but she hoped it might be a long time before she should become heiress
to my property.

"'Who knows?' she said, laughing; 'perhaps I may die first.'

"'That is possible,' I said, 'but not probable. In the course of nature,
I ought to die many years before you; and sailors are proverbially
short-lived.'

"'Oh, nonsense!' she replied, 'you are so salted and tanned that you
will last fifty years yet.'

"She then skipped gaily into the next room and brought out a bottle of
ale, to reward me, as she said, for being good. She poured out a glass
for each of us, and we drank to each other's good health. In about half
an hour I became very sick; I vomited and retched terribly, while my
bowels seemed to be on fire. The weather was very warm, and I attributed
my illness to some fruit I had eaten, which the ale had disagreed with.
I suffered agony all night, but toward morning I became quieter and the
pain gradually left me.

"At daylight I casually glanced at my ring, and I was surprised to see
that the stone had turned to a creamy white--a sure sign that my life
was in danger. You will call me foolish and superstitious, I know, but I
cannot help it. A belief in the virtues of this ring is a part of my
very nature, and it has always been an unerring guide to me. This ring
invariably predicts my good or bad fortune." And so speaking, the
Captain held the ring out for me to see it.

I looked him straight in the face, expecting to see some signs of
insanity, or at least monomania, in his eyes, but there were none. He
was evidently perfectly rational, and this belief was apparently as
natural to him as a belief in a hereafter, or in any other religious
doctrine, is to other people. After a short pause, as I glanced at the
ring, he continued:

"Now, you can see nothing strange in that stone, Mr. Pinkerton, but I
can. From its appearance I can obtain warning of approaching good or bad
fortune. Away out at sea, when a storm is coming, the stone turns black;
when enemies are near me it turns the color of blood; and when I am in
danger of death, it becomes a creamy white.

"My father once saved the life of a Sepoy soldier, and, as a mark of
gratitude, the latter presented my father with three rings of wonderful
powers. The Sepoy said that he had obtained them from a Hindoo hermit,
far out in the jungle. I have long tried to find other rings possessing
the same qualities, but have never succeeded. One of these rings was
buried with my mother, one with my father, and I have the third."

I looked at the ring carefully, but could see nothing remarkable about
it. The stone was an opal, set in a heavy gold band, peculiarly chased;
but, aside from the popular superstition with regard to opals, there was
nothing which would lead me to suppose that it possessed any exceptional
powers.

"When I saw you last," continued the Captain, "I meant to have asked you
to have this ring buried with me, in case I died; but I was afraid you
would consider the request too foolish. I wished it buried with me
because I did not wish Annie to have it."

"But why do you think Annie would take it?" I asked.

"Because I know she wants it," replied Captain Sumner. "She thinks that
it would enable her to make Pattmore love her always, and so she wishes
to own it. Now, I think Pattmore is a villain, and I wish to separate
her from him and destroy his influence over her. Therefore I do not wish
her to get the ring, since its possession will induce her to continue
her connection with that man."

I confess that I did not know what to make of the Captain. If he was
insane, he certainly had the most impenetrable mask over his insanity
that I had ever seen. His eyes were so bright, clear and honest, that
the most experienced physiognomist in the world would have failed to
observe the slightest trace of cunning, or want of a balanced mind in
their expression. During the progress of his story he had continually
held his ring where he could see it, and several times had raised it to
the light, in a contemplative sort of way, as if he drew some
satisfaction from its appearance. He bowed his head in his hands as he
ceased speaking, and some moments elapsed before he looked up, though
when he did so he was perfectly calm.

"Captain, did you find the ring of any practical value at sea?" I asked.

"Yes; often it has apprised me of a coming storm in time to prepare for
it. I have thus passed in safety through many sudden gales of the
approach of which I have been warned only just in time to save my ship.
My men always had perfect confidence in my ability to weather the
heaviest gale."

"Well, Captain, if you should give that ring to me, would it be equally
prophetic in my hands?" I asked.

"But I will not give it to you nor any one else; nor will I part with
it, even in death if I can help it," replied the Captain. "The Sepoy
told my father, that he must never allow the rings to go out of his
family, as they would then lose their powers. I know that the fancy
seems strange to you, and, no doubt, you think I am not exactly sane;
but I have proved the power of the ring so often, that I know its
virtues, and believe in them. I may be able to satisfy you of its value
by a practical demonstration yet."

I saw that he was not insane, but terribly superstitious, so I made no
further remarks about the ring. He drew his chair closer toward me, and
said in a low, painful whisper:

"Mr. Pinkerton, I have positive knowledge that _Annie has attempted to
poison me three times_. She put poison in that ale; she afterwards gave
me some in a cup of coffee; and, the third time, it was administered so
secretly, that I do not know when I took it. The first time, I recovered
because the dose was too large, and I vomited up the poison so soon that
it had not time to act. The second time, I took only a sip of the
coffee, and found that it tasted bitter, so I threw it away, though the
little I had taken distressed me exceedingly. The third time, I nearly
died, and it was only by the prompt attendance of a physician that I was
saved. He said it was a metal poison which probably came off from a
copper kettle in which some fruit had been cooked. Neither he, nor any
one else, ever suspected that I had been poisoned intentionally. When I
recovered, I accused Annie of trying to poison me; she denied it
vehemently at first, but I said to her:

"'Annie, the ring tells me that I have an enemy near me, and you must be
that enemy.'

"I spoke as if positive of her guilt, and, as she is a firm believer in
the ring, she finally burst into tears and confessed having given me
poison at three different times. On her knees, she begged my
forgiveness, and thanked God that my life had been spared. She was so
broken down by the thought of her unnatural and wicked purpose, that I
feared that she would have a relapse into sickness. She seemed so wholly
contrite, that I thought she would never undertake such a terrible crime
again, and I freely forgave her."

I looked at the Captain in perfect amazement, hardly able to credit my
own senses.

"Can it be possible," I asked, "that your sister admitted that she had
tried to poison you?"

"Yes," replied the Captain; "and she said that Pattmore had encouraged
her to put me out of the way. He had told her that he would marry her
when his wife, (who was now dying) was dead; that I was bitterly opposed
to him, and would never consent to their marriage; that if she would
poison me, they would be married and go to California to live; and,
therefore, that it would be well for her to poison me before Mrs.
Pattmore died."

"What!" I exclaimed, "is Mrs. Pattmore dying? What is her disease?"

"I do not know," replied the Captain; "but I fear that _she, also, has
been poisoned_."

"How long is it since you had this talk with Annie?" I inquired.

"About three days ago, and she has been sick abed with excitement and
remorse ever since. She says that she expects to hear of Mrs. Pattmore's
death at any time, and she is sure that Pattmore has poisoned her. Mr.
Chapman told me, when I last saw him, Mr. Pinkerton, that you were the
only person who could help me; and so I have come to you to save Mrs.
Pattmore and my sister. I feel that Mr. Chapman was right, Mr.
Pinkerton, and I beg you to give me your assistance--I will pay you
liberally."




_CHAPTER III._


When the Captain had finished his almost incredible story, I hardly knew
what to make of it. It was impossible to doubt his word; yet it seemed
almost equally hard to believe that his sister could have tried to
murder him. Pattmore's intention of killing his wife in order to marry
Annie, was another piece of cold-blooded villainy which was almost past
belief. The question frequently came into my mind: Are all the parties
in their right minds? After I had thought about the matter in silence a
few minutes, I said:

"Well, Captain Sumner, yours is certainly a strange case, and I cannot
give you any answer until I have had time for reflection. Return in
three hours and I will then tell you my decision. I will help you if I
possibly can do so."

He rose to go, but stopped a moment as he reached the door, and said,
with the utmost simplicity and confidence:

"I _know_ you can help me if you will do so, and no one else can."

After he had gone, I sent a man to the Captain's boarding house with
instructions to learn all he could about the boarders. He reported that,
among others, there was a Captain Sumner boarding there with his sister,
Mrs. Annie Thayer. My detective also learned many things about the
Captain and his sister which corroborated the account given by the
Captain. Having satisfied myself that the Captain's story was true--in
part at least--I sat down to reflect upon the strange medley which he
had told me.

Mrs. Thayer had, undoubtedly, committed a serious crime against her
husband, besides making the attempt on her brother's life; but I could
not have her punished, for her brother's object was to save her from the
ruin in which her downward course would probably end. Pattmore, however,
was a dangerous man, and it would be necessary to proceed with caution
in handling him. He seemed to be a villain at heart, and it was probable
that he only sought Mrs. Thayer's society in order to gratify his
sensual passions. Perhaps the Captain's suspicion, that Mrs. Pattmore's
illness was caused by poison administered by her husband, was correct;
if so, it would be necessary to act at once, before she should become
his victim. It was barely possible that he might intend to get a divorce
from his wife and then marry Annie; but I did not consider this
supposition a very probable one. He wished to be elected to Congress,
and he would not dare to give such an opportunity for scandal as would
ensue if he attempted that course. No; poison had been his reliance in
one case, and he would not scruple to make use of it again. Mrs. Thayer
was probably well informed as to all his plans, but, evidently, she
would not willingly divulge anything prejudicial to her lover. Her
brother was clearly unable to compel her to confess anything, or he
would not have applied to me. Moreover he could refuse her nothing, and
he would certainly object to any attempt to force her to give evidence
against her will. He admitted that she was weak, vain and thoughtless;
that she had been false to her husband; and that Pattmore had completely
bewitched her; yet the Captain resolutely stood between her and harm.

She could tell all of Pattmore's secrets if she were so disposed, and it
would be easier to get information out of her than out of him; the
question was--how shall I go about it?

I reflected that she was very superstitious, as shown by her belief in
the Captain's ring; it occurred to me that I might take advantage of
that trait of her character to draw her secrets out. Why could I not
introduce a fortune-teller to her, and thus learn all I wished to know?
The idea seemed to me to be admirably adapted to the necessities of the
case. I sketched out, in my mind, a skeleton plan of operations about as
follows:

I should entrust the case to one of my female detectives; she would be
posted upon all the points of Mrs. Thayer's history; she would be
required to learn enough of astrology, clairvoyance and mesmerism, to
pass for one of the genuine tribe; the plan would be so arranged that
Mrs. Thayer would voluntarily consult this fortune-teller, who would
soon gain a complete ascendency over her superstitious nature by
revealing to her all her past life; finally Mrs. Thayer could be brought
to tell all she knew of Pattmore as a means of aiding the sibyl to read
her future.

This plan seemed to me the most feasible of any, and I therefore decided
to adopt it in working up the case against Pattmore. After all, he would
be the one against whom my efforts would be directed, Mrs. Thayer being
only an unconscious instrument in bringing him to justice. In case it
could be shown that he had actually attempted to murder his wife, I was
determined that he should not escape the swift vengeance of the law.

J

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