American Sherlocks

by Nick Rennison

  ‘Yes,’ said Conners, quietly. ‘I observed the gate-post as we passed it, and I also saw some light pieces of a broken framework amid a tangle of wires thrown in a large box in the inner room of the stable we have just left. What is it, Doctor?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ was the reply. ‘The servants can perhaps tell you. I observed the fragments myself, and thought they resembled a device upon which to dry clothes.’

  ‘Very likely, Doctor,’ responded Conners, cheerfully. ‘If you can now tell us what has become of the piece of wire which was wrapped about the stock of the gun when the police first saw it, and whether or not you have ever travelled in Persia, I think we may call our visit over.’

  I started at the change which took place in Sadler’s countenance. He swung around as though stung to the quick, facing Conners with an expression of such rage that I thought for a moment he meant to leap at him. But the calm eyes that met his chilled by their depth, and, shaking himself as though to recover his shattered faculties by some physical exertion, he replied in a voice which trembled in spite of his efforts to steady it:

  ‘I have never travelled in Persia, sir,’ he said. ‘The question is a strange one, and has so little application to any of the matters we have considered that I must regard it as an intent to affront me. If so’ – and he grew white again with rage that threatened to break through his control – ‘you may, indeed, consider your visit over.’

  ‘This is very strange,’ said Conners, still regarding him closely, and nowise abashed. ‘I have myself travelled in Persia, and while in the study I saw a book there on Eastern travel, with the contents of which I am familiar. Hence, my inquiry was a natural one.’

  The lids above the shifty eyes again fluttered.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ half stammered the young man. ‘I did not understand.’

  ‘I am the more surprised,’ continued Conners, coolly, ‘because of the fact that the book in question was the volume for which you sent Mrs Sands.’

  The young man uttered a shriek of dismay. He trembled violently and then lifted a menacing finger.

  ‘All this is idle and foolish!’ he cried. ‘But now I know that you are here to annoy and insult me. You show little consideration,’ he continued, turning on me fiercely, ‘in bringing this person here in the time of my affliction to pick at me with insane guesses about an incident which we should both treat with delicacy. You will not be welcomed again!’

  ‘Very singular, truly, this sudden rage against us on the part of Dr Sadler,’ said Conners, speaking to me, but evidently seeking to disturb the young man further. ‘Let us go.’

  ‘This way,’ cried Sadler, violently, as Conners turned towards the exit to the side street. ‘I do not accompany my guests through the rear entrance. This way!’

  He walked behind us to the front hall, and laid his hand on the door as we passed to the front stoop.

  ‘One moment, Doctor!’ cried Conners, lifting his hand as though he had forgotten something, and speaking suddenly. ‘You are a married man, are you not?’

  The denial came through set teeth and with a muttered oath.

  ‘Alas!’ said Conners, pausing upon the top step. ‘I have guessed the sad truth: you are a widower.’

  The door slammed upon another shriek, to me an expression of uncontrollable rage, and my companion chuckled softly as we descended to the sidewalk.

  ‘Come,’ he said, taking me by the arm and turning about the house from Banning Street.

  ‘Let us linger for a moment where you may inspect this gate-post, set reverently up to complete the work which the untimely happenings relating to Dr Haslam unfortunately delayed. You will observe that it is a made stone, of cement, and of a colour not in serious contrast with its older fellow. This is not wholly an excuse to let you understand that I am watching the house, but if you will lift your eyes to the rear upper window you will see that our late host is still interested in our movements.’

  I followed his suggestion, and instantly an abrupt movement at the upper window brought the curtain violently down. My companion laughed softly, and, turning away, bent his steps in the direction of the car-line.

  ‘What does this mean?’ I asked, as we waited at a street corner. ‘I knew already that Sadler was a knave, and I am surprised to find that he was deceitful to the police. Of course he would be insolent to us; we were fortunate to get into the house at all. But what have we discovered?’

  Conners’s response to my question was entirely irrelevant.

  ‘The Indians have a humane method of disposing of their dead,’ he observed – ‘humane in that it does not shock the sensibilities of the living. They do not chill them in a tomb, nor hide them in the earth as food for worms. They wrap them in skins and furs and elevate them upon a platform above the grass to wither and dry in the sunshine.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, in astonishment.

  ‘Nothing of the slightest importance,’ he answered with a laugh. ‘But I think I am tired, no matter what disposition I may have to be philosophical; and I suspect that you are also. Here comes a car.’

  He lapsed into one of his customary fits of silence, and I did not speak to him again until we had reached his quarters. Once more in his studio, his demeanour changed. He threw aside his street coat and, donning the loose and comfortable garment which he always wore in his rooms, he surveyed his pictures with his wonted fondness.

  ‘Some day,’ he said, ‘I shall read you a homily on feminine beauty, but at present I must ask you to admire the countenance of my brave Dupin. Had he been with us we should scarcely have needed a visit to the house on Banning Street. We have three propositions, however, which are certain:

  ‘1. The murderer of Mrs Sands did not leave the house after the committal of the deed;

  ‘2. Yet the search of the police revealed apparently every person therein;

  ‘3. And Dr Sadler was undoubtedly below-stairs at the time Mrs Sands was killed above.

  ‘A confusing array of absolute circumstances, without others to explain them. You are already in comfortable property, I believe, my friend, but Dr Haslam was reputed rich. Your wife’s mother will inherit something.’

  I stared at him blankly.

  ‘There is a will,’ I replied, finally. ‘Of course Sadler is the heir.’

  ‘Never, as a matter of fact; but we must not get into questions of law. Even his relatives would scarcely contest with Mrs Barrister under the circumstances – granting the will to run in his favour.’

  ‘Even his rela – Why, my dear Conners, the man is living, and years younger than Mrs Barrister!’

  ‘Living – perhaps. But let us consider our case. Dr Sadler spoke falsely when he stated that he saw your wife’s uncle immediately following the murder. If that were true, the police would have seen him also, for it is clear that they made an immediate and thorough search. He spoke falsely when he stated that Dr Haslam escaped from the house by means of the trap-door in the roof. Our surprise was that he should flee at all. I left the attic quickly when I discovered at a glance that the trap in question was fastened with a rusty padlock, both lock and hasp covered by the cobwebs of months. There was no possible room for error, and I feared that Dr Sadler would note this, too; had he done so, and suspected me, he would have grown cautious in consequence. The police, accepting his story as he told it, did not force him to the alternative of the roof-trap theory.’

  ‘But, my dear friend,’ I protested, ‘where does this lead us? The conclusions which follow cannot possibly be correct, and why did you suggest to Sadler that he was a widower?’

  ‘Because it was true,’ replied Conners. ‘I was interested in the case, as I stated to you, and, before your return, I looked it up somewhat. From the facts stated in the newspapers, the significance of which I carefully analysed, my suspicions were aroused. I went far enough to learn that he was ma
rried about six months ago. He subsequently lost his wife very suddenly.’

  Conners’s manner attracted my attention, and he looked at me with an expression almost like humour upon his face. I had scarcely anticipated a jest from him on such a subject, and, as he averted his eyes, I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘I think we have accomplished enough for today,’ he said; ‘I want to assemble the facts as I have gathered them, and perhaps submit them to my friend Inspector Paul. He is a great detective – within limits. You may say to Mrs Barrister and your wife that your family will not rest long under the stigma which they suppose is attached to it.’

  ‘That is cheering,’ I replied, doubtfully. ‘I know they have a great deal of confidence in you.’

  ‘That is cheering, too,’ he laughed.

  I left the studio, and as I passed along the hall I heard the bell of his telephone ring sharply. Wondering how much he would have to suggest to the Inspector, I entered my office, and shortly after took my way home.

  I did not tell Jennie or anyone else of my visit to Banning Street, nor did I give them the message sent by Conners. What I had heard only tended to confuse me. Nothing had occurred to indicate the whereabouts of Dr Haslam or in any wise mitigate the heinous character of his crime. I could not see that the fact that Sadler was a reprobate had anything whatever to do with it.

  The night which passed was a restless one for me. Jennie and Mrs Barrister were both indisposed, and, in consequence, I slept late the following morning, appearing with the others in the breakfast room somewhat ruffled in temper. Our habits seemed to have become demoralised since our return, and I thought, somewhat morosely, of our former state of contentment, and looked regretfully at the sad countenances of the two women at the table.

  But the morning paper had another surprise for me in an article which I read aloud, and with an excitement which made my words incoherent, and necessitated many repetitions because of the eager questions and excited exclamations with which my two companions interrupted me. The article in question was under black headlines. It read as follows:

  ‘The mystery of the disappearance of Dr Charles Haslam has been solved at last. Far from being the murderer of his housekeeper, Mrs Martha Sands, as has been generally supposed, Dr Haslam was himself the victim of an assassin. His body was yesterday discovered in a cement gate-post at his late residence, and Dr Jerome Sadler, Dr Haslam’s own adopted son, has, by committing suicide, practically confessed himself guilty of the murder of the man who so befriended him, and of a woman whom, only a short time ago, he made his wife.

  ‘As a whole, this tragedy makes one of the most sensational chapters in the criminal history of this city. Seldom has there been chronicled a more horrible and repulsive series of facts than those which relate to the killing of Mrs Martha Sands at the house of Dr Charles Haslam, on Banning Street, in Brooklyn. The terrible crime that sent the unfortunate woman to her grave has now been followed by a ghastly suicide, and three persons are dead as a result of the evil and ingratitude of a wretch whom a generous and confiding old man took into his confidence and affection. Until yesterday it was believed by the public and police that Mrs Sands had died at the hands of Dr Haslam. An obscure page from the records of a Westchester magistrate; a book of Oriental travel pierced by a scarcely perceptible hole through which was drawn a piece of brass wire; an ingenious mechanism constructed to hold a gun at the deadly level of a human head, masked by a green cloth; certain marks where it was attached to the study floor in Dr Haslam’s house; the presence of fragments of brass wire about the breech of the fatal gun while it was yet smoking from its discharge; together with other unearthed evidence – which discloses a depth of human depravity – all shrewdly fitted together, have tended to reveal the truth and tell a story which reads like a page from an Italian romance of the Middle Ages.

  ‘Here are the facts: Nearly two years ago Dr Charles Haslam, attracted by the person and talents of a young medical student by the name of Jerome Sadler, took him into his household, and later made him his son by adoption. The inmates of the Banning Street house consisted at that time of Dr Haslam and four servants, including the housekeeper, Mrs Martha Sands, a woman of unusual personal attractions. Although some years older than the young man who was the subject of Dr Haslam’s favour, this difference in age did not prevent the development of a singular regard between them, of which fact Dr Haslam became recently advised.

  ‘The young man had firmly entrenched himself in the affections of his lonely patron, and by duplicity and adroitness he was enabled to mislead him. He denied the existence of any intimate relationship between himself and the handsome housekeeper, and insisted that the suspicion was a grave injustice to the woman. The displeasure of his benefactor was thus allayed. Later, however, the woman openly declared that the young man had married her; and that since, under the fear of discovery, which might mean the loss of his position in the house of his adopted father, he had attempted her life by poison. She even sought the police with a view of making her charge public, when Dr Haslam, to save scandal and prevent a rumour of his disturbed domestic relations from becoming known in the neighbourhood, intervened as a peacemaker.

  ‘The strain upon the old man resulted in a fit of illness, during which time a reconciliation was apparently effected between himself and his adopted son. Upon this same afternoon Dr Haslam, feeling better, accompanied Dr Sadler downstairs and went with him to the stable, where some paving had been finished in the carriage room. The coachman, who was present, left at that moment, and the stable-hands were absent. The time was propitious for the crime. A fiendish opportunity for concealing the deed appealed to the young man, and he hastened to take advantage of it. Striking his adopted father down from behind by a blow with a hatchet, he killed him instantly. It is believed, and there is evidence to sustain the theory, that he was assisted in this work by the wretched woman who was to suffer death so shortly herself.

  ‘Secure now in the possession of the premises, and while the servants supposed that Dr Haslam was in the retirement of his chamber, still suffering from the indisposition which had kept him within doors for the previous week, Dr Sadler erected an infernal trap designed to destroy his unhappy accomplice. This consisted of a framework made of lathing, arranged to carry a gun at the proper height and discharge it by means of a wire. The whole was concealed by a green cloth thrown over the structure. The wire, which connected with the set trigger, passed beneath a table before the muzzle of the concealed weapon attached to a book that was placed thereon. The terrible contrivance was erected so as to make failure impossible, and well calculated to deceive and mislead by its results. A chair and a sofa were placed before the table so that the intended victim, to reach the book, must of necessity present herself directly in front of the masked weapon. His trap secure, the murderer set it when alone, and, descending to the lower floor of the house, he remained in the company of the butler while Mrs Sands was carelessly requested to fetch him a book lying on the table in the study above. The woman obeyed and met her instant death.

  ‘Frightened by the explosion, the butler readily obeyed the injunction of his master to wait below while the cause of the disturbance was investigated by himself; and, hurrying to the scene of his work. Dr Sadler removed the deadly mechanism from before the body of his victim, and calmly asserted that the deed was done by his adopted father.

  ‘Here follows a statement which must beggar human belief. When Dr Haslam was murdered in the stable every facility was at hand for a remarkable concealment of the body. It immediately suggested itself to the unnatural murderer, if, indeed, he had not reasoned it out before and beguiled the old man to the spot for the very purpose of perpetrating the crime. A large box-mould, used by the workmen in mixing the cement for a broken gate-post, lay in the stable. Its form was strangely appropriate for the fell purpose for which it was subsequently used, and its bottom was well covered with the liquid mixtu
re. Into this the murderer threw the body, and, covering it carefully with the sand and cement that lay about, smoothed the plastic mass in the mould.

  ‘Here the body lay within the hardening cement until the following day, when the murderer had the now solid block removed from the box. The workmen who had laid the cement floor of the stable were recalled, and the block was erected at the entrance to the yard.

  ‘The unravelling of the mystery attached to the murder of the woman and the discovery of the appalling crime which makes this murder distinctive were due to the marvellous detective skill of Inspector Paul. This efficient officer, from the first, was dissatisfied with the conclusion that Dr Haslam was guilty of the killing of his housekeeper. The high character of the doctor was at variance with both the crime and the guilty flight.

  ‘The strange hiding-place selected by the murderer for the body of his victim was discovered in a manner to reflect lasting credit upon the deductive mind that reasoned it out, and will rank Inspector Paul among the safest of our secret guardians of the public safety. During a visit to the house in Banning Street he happened carelessly upon a book of Oriental travel pierced by a piece of brass wire. Remembering that this was similar to the wire which enveloped the breech of the fatal shotgun, he was enabled to connect it with the broken fragments of the trap found in the stable, and later to put together the theory which the facts proved to be true. But in the book in question he found a well-thumbed chapter which told a grim story of a method of torture in Persia; it detailed a practice on the part of the cruel authorities of enveloping criminals in a mould of plaster of Paris, or cement, and letting the substance set about their bodies until the unfortunate victims were lost, entombed forever in a solid mass. Inquiry developed that the book was a favourite one of Dr Sadler’s.