“Astonished at the coincidence, but hailing with gladness the deliverance which it offered, you went in and ascended at once into your wife’s presence; and it was from her lips, and not from those of Mrs. Hasbrouck, that the cry arose which startled the neighborhood and prepared men’s minds for the tragic words which were shouted a moment later from the next house.
“But she who uttered the scream knew of no tragedy save that which was taking place in her own breast. She had just repulsed a dastardly suitor, and, seeing you enter so unexpectedly in a state of unaccountable horror and agitation, was naturally stricken with dismay, and thought she saw your ghost, or, what was worse, a possible avenger; while you, having failed to kill the man you sought, and having killed a man you esteemed, let no surprise on her part lure you into any dangerous self-betrayal. You strove instead to soothe her, and even attempted to explain the excitement under which you labored, by an account of your narrow escape at the station, till the sudden alarm from next door distracted her attention, and sent both your thoughts and hers in a different direction. Not till conscience had fully awakened and the horror of your act had had time to tell upon your sensitive nature, did you breathe forth those vague confessions, which, not being supported by the only explanations which would have made them credible, led her, as well as the police, to consider you affected in your mind. Your pride as a man, and your consideration for her as a woman, kept you silent, but did not keep the worm from preying upon your heart.
“Am I not correct in my surmises, Dr. Zabriskie, and is not this the true explanation of your crime?”
With a strange look, he lifted up his face.
“Hush!” said he; “you will awaken her. See how peacefully she sleeps! I should not like to have her awakened now, she is so tired, and I—I have not watched over her as I should.”
Appalled at his gesture, his look, his tone, I drew back, and for a few minutes no sound was to be heard but the steady dip-dip of the oars and the lap-lap of the waters against the boat. Then there came a quick uprising, the swaying before me of something dark and tall and threatening, and before I could speak or move, or even stretch forth my hands to stay him, the seat before me was empty and darkness had filled the place where but an instant previous he had sat, a fearsome figure, erect and rigid as a sphinx.
What little moonlight there was only served to show us a few rising bubbles, marking the spot where the unfortunate man had sunk with his much-loved burden. We could not save him. As the widening circles fled farther and farther out, the tide drifted us away, and we lost the spot which had seen the termination of one of earth’s saddest tragedies.
The bodies were never recovered. The police reserved to themselves the right of withholding from the public the real facts which made this catastrophe an awful remembrance to those who witnessed it. A verdict of accidental death by drowning answered all purposes, and saved the memory of the unfortunate pair from such calumny as might have otherwise assailed it. It was the least we could do for two beings whom circumstances had so greatly afflicted.
1895
WILLIAM M. HINKLEY
A Very Strange Case
Virtually nothing is known of WILLIAM M. HINKLEY, the accomplished author of this historically significant short story. Throughout most of world literature, criminals were almost always portrayed as one of two types. The first was in the Robin Hood school and thought it perfectly legitimate to steal, so long as it was from the rich and the proceeds were then distributed to the poor (generally with a tidy sum retained by the crook). The second was a man (usually) so desperate, such a hopeless victim of society and its inequities, that there was no alternative but to steal in order to live.
“A Very Strange Case” is a macabre tale of a different kind of criminal, a wealthy young aristocrat who commits heinous crimes out of sheer boredom. The story is told as a diary entry by Marden in a breezy, cynical tone which somewhat mitigates the darkness of his adventures.
Outing, the magazine in which the story was first published, was widely circulated, billing itself as the premier magazine of “Amateur Sports and Outdoor Amusements” at the turn of the last century. It ran monthly for more than forty years, beginning in 1882 as Wheelman, devoted to cycling, and undergoing three more title changes until it ceased publication in 1923. Its great moment may have occurred when it published the Jack London classic White Fang in serial form in 1905, though it is noted for also publishing the first Hopalong Cassidy story, by Clarence E. Mumford, and numerous western illustrations by Frederic Remington.
“A Very Strange Case” was first collected in the anonymously edited Short Stories from Outing (New York: The Outing Publishing Company, 1895). It has never been reprinted until this collection.
***
MANY SINGULAR THINGS have come under my notice during an experience of thirty years in the tracing of criminals and the punishment of their misdeeds, but I think the case of the unfortunate young fellow whose photograph you see there is the most remarkable.”
The speaker, a grizzled inspector of police of the city of N——, tapped the glass covering the likeness of a handsome man of not more than thirty. The face was that of a person of refinement and intelligence, and I was prepared for the next words which fell from my companion’s lips.
“It is seldom that a man is led to do wrong, when apparently he has no reason for it, as was the case with young Marden, whose picture that is. We are not surprised when a man steals because fortune has not given him enough to live on, or when he feels that society ‘owes him a living,’ as the saying is; but this young fellow came of one of the best families in the State, and never wanted for a thing that money could buy, yet for him the life of a criminal possessed a fatal attraction.”
We were interrupted by the entrance of a subordinate, who saluted and presented a note. Hastily tearing it open, the inspector read it, and turning to me said: “An appointment down town at four. I have just time to make it; I’ll be back in the course of an hour. In the meantime make yourself at home. You’ll find a box of Havanas in the top drawer—matches there; and here, read this—it’s a sort of diary that we found at the Marden house when the end of the young fellow’s career came”; and, thrusting into my hand a dozen or fifteen loose sheets of foolscap, the veteran hastily quitted the room.
I had plenty of leisure, and the cozy little office at headquarters was not at all an unpleasant place in which to pass time, so, taking the manuscript, I lighted one of my friend’s cigars and seated myself in his revolving chair, prepared to learn the history of the young fellow of whom we had been speaking. I could not, however, put his face from my mind, and, rising, I strode across the room to where the photograph hung in its small oak frame. “Surely,” thought I, “his was never intended for the life of a criminal! Men of that class show evidences of their evil lives in their countenances, but here is one whom I could not think to find in a place of this sort.” I gazed at it long and earnestly, before resuming my chair, and then took up the manuscript, strongly predisposed toward the writer.
The characters were firm and regular, and the closely-written sheets were as legible as type. They bore no title, and, judging from their general appearance, were evidently not intended to become public property. They read as follows:
“To-day there comes over me a presentiment I cannot throw off, and something beyond my power to resist bids me set down here the history of my wasted life.
“I am young—not yet thirty, wealthy and—yes—and handsome, so my friends tell me, though perhaps their judgment is at fault. I was born in this old place, and have lived here most of my life, since my father’s death with no other companion than my Scotch collie ‘Mac.’ Two old and tried servants of my family, Elias the butler and his wife Emily, manage to keep things in order about the house for me, and yield unquestioning obedience to their master’s somewhat capricious wishes. My numerous friends often wonder that I have never married, but not having met my ideal in the other sex, I am satisfied to wait
, and, indeed, if the truth were told, well contented to enjoy so-called single blessedness for some years to come.
“I fear I am a good deal of a hermit in my inclinations, and could wish that I was beyond the reach of boredom, in which dwell so many of those who style themselves my friends. As it is, I doubt not that they think me a crank, but I regard their opinion on this point rather lightly. I find entertainment in the companionship of Mac, and together we spend many hours roaming about the estate in fine weather, or remaining in my old-fashioned library when the elements combine to make outdoor life disagreeable. At such seasons it is my pleasure to take down from the shelves such of the old volumes as appeal to my love of the mysterious and the romantic, while old Mac lies stretched at my feet with a satisfied look in his brown eyes, as though that was the one spot in the world in which he wished to be at that particular moment. Sometimes I find my thoughts wandering into the land of reverie and speculation, and Mac seems to know just what I’m scheming about, for he appears to give a knowing wink, as though congratulating himself upon being his master’s only confidant.
“I have said I loved mystery. Ever since childhood, when my old nurse poured into my listening ear strange stories of brownies, kelpies, hobgoblins, elves and such folk, I have been keenly alive to things supernatural, and, as I grew to the impressionable age of boyhood, my taste for literature naturally fell into the channels one might expect from such antecedents. Doubtless my good old father would have been in despair had he been told of this phase of his hopeful son’s character, but he did not know. My mother died when I was a small child, and he relied implicitly upon the judgment and good sense of old nurse to look after my mental and physical development, merely inquiring into the plans and projects affecting my welfare. My voracious appetite for reading, therefore, satiated itself with stories of brigands and highwaymen, freebooters and plunder, detectives and crime, to an alarming extent. Poor old nurse was but a sorry scholar, and knew little or nothing about books, so, when she saw me leave the house with a volume under my arm, and knew that I could be found at any hour thereafter lying under the outspreading branches of the majestic trees at the edge of the grove near the house, she was satisfied, and went about her other duties, undoubtedly feeling that her charge was fast growing to be an adornment to the world of literature and wisdom generally.
“As years passed, it became necessary for me to fit myself for the position in society which the wealth and standing of my father assured me, and I was accordingly sent to a university, where I made rapid progress, and from which I was graduated at the age of twenty with fair groundwork on which to lay my future career. Then followed several years spent in traveling, in company with my parent, who dearly loved to go about, and we visited nearly every country on the globe, passing our time judiciously in such places as took our fancy, and naturally I saw many things that fed the flame of my earlier thoughts, modified but not eradicated by a broader experience.
“At the time of life when young men most need the counsel of their parents I was left an orphan and sole heir to this estate and the immense wealth of my father.
“Early in the morning of an oppressive day in July, several years ago, I was seated in my customary easy chair reading the daily paper, old Mac, as usual, at my feet, when my eye fell upon an account of a burglary committed in a neighboring city. The burglar was evidently a blunderer, at least so I thought, for he had been taken almost in the act, and I fell to mentally criticizing his mistakes. With the aid of the newspaper description, I was able to arrange the crime for him as it should have been carried out, and so sure was I of the success of my method that I conceived the ridiculous idea of putting it into execution, ‘just to prove the correctness of my theory,’ I said to myself. I laughed aloud at the utter absurdity of a wealthy and independent man like me becoming a housebreaker, and, strange to relate, the ethical side of the matter did not then present itself to my mind, or, if so, with little emphasis, and I looked upon the thing as a monstrously good joke.
“As I pondered over it, the scheme seemed more and more feasible, and presently I had evolved a plan of campaign which promised much diversion. To be sure there was an element of danger in it, but I liked it rather better on that account.
“With men of my temperament, action follows promptly upon the conception of an idea, and I at once wrote to a firm of safe-makers in a distant city, who were familiar to me, asking them to send a representative to N——for consultation. It was my intention, as part of my scheme, to have an iron vault constructed below ground, and in due time I arranged the preliminaries to my entire satisfaction.
“To the vault builders I was simply a man of evident wealth, requiring a place of security in which to keep valuables, and my request that the matter be kept a profound secret was to them a most natural one. I did not wish even my good servants to be informed of the proposed extension to the house, and to insure their ignorance on this point I gave them permission to pay a visit of a few weeks to a relative living at some distance. I told them I expected to have some slight improvements made, and until these were completed would take up my residence at one of the hotels in the city. The simple-hearted old people were delighted at the opportunity given them for an outing, and were soon on their way.
“To keep the existence of the vault from the knowledge of my somewhat inquisitive neighbors was a matter of more difficulty, but this, too, was accomplished by having the metal plates brought to the house in boxes, while the bricks and other material would as well have suggested any ordinary mason work and excited little comment.
“So quickly and well did the builders perform their work that my vault was completed and ready for inspection within a little more than ten days. The interior is provided with several tiers of strong boxes, each in itself as secure as it could be made, while the vault is a model of its kind and thoroughly burglar proof, as I spared no expense to have it made so. Its dimensions inside are about six feet each way, which gives ample space for a person to stand within it comfortably. The room in which it is built is just enough larger than the vault to admit of the door of the latter opening freely, while it is in turn closed by a door, somewhat less secure than that of the vault, but calculated to act as a safeguard in case of necessity. To conceal the approach to the vault, the bookcase on the north side of the room has been arranged to swing on invisible hinges, and is fastened by a spring-lock from behind, which is released by a wire conducted to another part of the library. Leading from the entrance thus provided is a flight of stone steps, which ends abruptly at the door of the vault-room. As I look back upon this stage of my new career, I remember the feeling of intense satisfaction which I had at the successful issue of this step—there were the burglar and his hiding-place and it only remained to provide something to hide.
“With the return of Elias and Emily our little household resumed its former quiet routine, as far as they were concerned, but not so with their master; having taken the first step on his downward career, he was impatient to take the next, and to that end it was necessary to provide some kind of a disguise. A rusty old suit of my father’s (wicked perversion of its former character), together with an old slouch hat, served very well for this purpose, but to obtain the needed tools with which to ply my nefarious craft, without attracting attention, was a source of considerable anxiety to me, and, indeed, the danger of discovery seemed so great that I finally determined to make them myself. A taste for mechanics when I was a lad had resulted in a workshop being fitted up on the place, and this still remained as I left it years ago. To convert an old crow-bar into a very respectable ‘jimmy’ (if such an instrument is ever respectable), was an easy matter, and as I had not contemplated attacking safes, I did not provide a very extensive outfit beyond this. As I write, the incongruity of my position comes to me, and I see myself as I would appear to the world at large, were they aware that the talented man of wealth, Ernest Marden, was a common, or rather an uncommon, housebreaker.
“Having settl
ed upon the country which I deemed most promising as a field of operations, I informed my servants of my intention to be absent for a week or so, which was nothing unusual, as it is my habit to come and go as my somewhat eccentric fancy prompts, and, with grip in hand I found myself toward dusk in a town of considerable size, about fifty miles east of here, where I obtained lodgings at an inn of moderate charges. As the time approached for my first attempt at burglary, I felt my courage oozing through my fingertips, and realized that my whole scheme would be a fiasco unless I summoned my former confidence; but with the coming of darkness all my old spirit of recklessness and bravado returned, and, having dropped my valise from my window, I silently quitted my room, fully equipped for the work before me.
The Best American Mystery Stories of the Nineteenth Century Page 45
