Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 May 1880 — CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. [ARTICLE]

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

Information reached the French police that early on the morning of the 15th of April the Baroness de C. was lying dead in her bed, strangled with a piece of ribbon. She had been married as a widow to Baron de C., and was about 28 years old, very pretty, of engaging manners; and both she' and her husband were known far and wide for lavish hospitality. 'l'hree weeks before the murder the Baron set out for Russia, where it was said that he inherit'd some property from a relative. During the absence of her husband lite Baroness kept very much at home, with Ernestine Lamont, a beautiful girl of the most innocent and simple manners, who had been educated and protected by her. Ou the night before the murder the Baroness went to the opera. Ernestine, whow as not very well, did not accompany her; neither did she sit up for her, its the Baroness had a private key, and did not wish the young lady to be disturbed. It was the custom that when the Baroness, on awaking in the morning, rang her bi 11, Ernestine went first to her bedroom. When, on Hie morning after the murder, no bell was rung, the servants wondered, and at last one of them went up to Ernestine's room to ask the cause. It was empty. Thinking that she was gone, as usual, to the Baroness' bedroom, the servant went thither. There the shutters were still closed, and the night-lamp still burning on a. little table by the bedside. On the il • >r lay the lifeless body of Ernestine. Tn- girl now screamed for help: the otlnr s-rvants hurried up-stairs, and, on • p. niug the shutters, it was seen that the B.iioiie.'s lay dead, evidently strangled with ;• piec- of ribbon. which was at .■ •oLTiizo'i as belonging to Erm stii ". v.ho was lying in a swoon on the O. e, .mum to herself, it was naturally -:i].1.0-. a th it she would be able t‘o tin - w som light on tlie matter, but, to t'm.- surpris - of all, she showed a nervous h< sitation hardly i >be reconciled with innom-On further examination, it W,.s found that the secretaire stood wide i p. u. and that a quantity of paper's and oth'-r arti'-e s w.-re lying about in eons tv-ion. if the contents of each drawer hid l»i ri hastily turned inside out. By t; s thm- th ■ police bad arrived. With . •• lively a moment's hesitation they prole Tiimcd that one of the inmates of the hou-e mu-t i-itlr r have committed the crime, i >r at least been an accomplice in it. h vi.'lviitly, id so, there had been robbery added to murder; and, therefore, it was thought right to search the boxes of t ach member of th<- household. The servants were all willing ; but, when it cairn to Ernestine’s turn to deliver up h r k<-ys, the young lady showed a 1 (range unwillingness to do so. Of eonrse the | olice persisted, and in a very I ttle time discovered a large sum of money ami several jewels belonging to Ihe murdered lady carefully secreted at ti" bottom of her box. *■ How does mademoiselle account for thi-, money?” was the first question put lo her. “ 1 do not know—l —cannot tell. Pray- —do not ask me,” was the hesitating reply. The suspicions already attached to her were now considerably strengthened, and the police only discharged their duty in arresting her. .The case was tried, and Ernestine Lamont found guilty. A young lawyer named Bernard, whoso knowledge of Ernestine’s previous detract r made it very hard for him to believe her guilty, resolved to see her. After some little difficulty, permission was granted him to visit the condemned in prison. But, if he went thither with any faith in her innocence, he left the prison without doubt of her guilt. Her answers to his questions were evasive and um ttisfadory. ()ii reaching home late that evening he found a note lying on the table. It was from Ernestine, and ran as follows: My DEab Friend : I feel that I owe you at IwiHt Home explanation of my strange conduct, and will therefore put you in possession of the facts of (he case. . It is only forestalling my inti ution. This letter would have been delivered tn you after my death. Von are aware of the circumstances which marie me regard the B.ironess as a mother. You arc aware, too, of her husband's fatal propensity to the gaming-table, a passion which in course of time led to an estrangement between them. The Baroness was very beautiful, and still young, and, failing to find that love and affection which she hoped her husband would show her. formed an unfortunate intrigue. I '■■ns horror-struck when she informed me of this; but it was not for me to blame her. Ah might be expected, no good could possibly remit from this attachment. Her lover proved unworthy of her confidence, ami HUccecded, whether by threats or menaces I know not, in obtaining from her large sums of money. It wen t ut a lev.' days before her death that she eontiileil this to me, and at the same time begged me to take care of her jewels and money for her in my box, as she dread'd lest her sordid lover should obtain possession of them. The last time I saw her alive was on the night she went to the opera. Atwhat hour she returned I know not, for she always had a private key. The rest you know. Hence, dear friend, you will understand my reluct luce to have uiv boxes searched, and my evasive answers as to the money and jewels found in them.

H ul I told the truth, should I have been believed? No I And how could I say anything that would dishonor the good name of one who has lei n more than a mother to me? Besides, I did not even know the name of her secret lover, raid 1 had never seen him. No ;it is better r.s it is. 1 am ready to die. My secret, to ail save you, shall die with me. That you believe in my innocence is the only comfort I have left. Your unhappy friend, Ernestine. “Thank God !” murmured the young man, pressing the paper to his lips. “ Henceforth, I will devote my life to prove your innocence to the world. God grant it may not yet be too late.” Late though it was, Bernard at once repaired to the Prefect’s house, and after some difficulty procured admission. The P.- f.-. t fortunately happened to be an old friend of Bernard’s father, and it was b cause of this that the young man was admitted at so late an hour. “But, my friend,” said the old man, after patiently listening to all he had to say, “believe me.it is a useless task ;

there is no doubt that the young woman is guilty either as principal or as accomplice. Still, as you so earnestly wish it, you shall be permitted to search the apartments of the murdered lady. And now good night,” he added with a smile, ‘ ‘ and let me hear the result of your investigation. ” Early the next moraing Bernard, accompanied by a gendarme, repaired to the Baroness’ house. Everything lay exactly as it had been left on the fatal morning; for the house had been and was still in the custody of the police. Not a drawer nor a cupboard escaped Bernard’s notice. There was no violence visible on the windows, as if forcible admission had been gained from the outside. Nothing, in fact, presented itself which gave the slightest clew to the mystery. The search had now occupied several hours, and Bernard felt that it was useless to remain there any longer. With a sad and heavy lieart, therefore, he proceeded to leave the apartment. But in passing out into the entree, which was quite dark, his foot struck against something which, on taking up, he found to be a hat. Thinking it belonged to the Baron, he was about to hang it up with the others on the peg from which he supposed it to have fallen. “That hat, Monsieur, if you please; I do not remember to have seen it before. It is strange,” remarked the gendarme, as he compared the hat in question with the others that hung up in the entree, “it is larger and of a different shape from them 1” “Let me have it, my good friend ; I will show it to the prisoner. If it should chance to belong to this secret lover of the murdered lady !” thought Bernard to hiniself, as he hurriedly drove to the prison. Ernestine was anxiously expecting to see her friend, for he had promised to visit her that day again ; and she wished to learn from his own lips whether he still believed in her innocence.

“Do you know that hat, Ernestine?’ said Bernard, on entering the cell. “That hat—good heavens!—it is the very hat the Baron had on the night he left'Paris,” said Ernestine, in an excited manner. “Impossible!—we compared it with the other hats—and this is much larger. I believe it belongs to the Baroness’ lover ” “No—no—a thousand times no—it is the Baron’s-.—he bought it the very day he left. It was too large for him, ami he asked me to put some wadding under the lining for him—see if it is not there!” “But, Ernestine, it must be fancy on your part—-this hat never , belonged to the Baron ! But —stay —you are right," said Bernard, as, on turning up the lining, the wadding fell out, and with it a piece of paper which had been used to add a little to its thickness. It was a trill written by the landlord of a hotel at Strasbourg, made out in the Baron’s name, for a week's board and lodging, ft was dated April 7 —just fourteen days after his departure from Paris. Ernestine and Bernard looked at each other for a few moments in silence, as strange thoughts passed through the mind of each. That it was the Baron's hat was now proved, but how did it come there? Had he returned to Paris secretly before the murder ? Was he the murderer ? Ernestine turned deadly pale. “ Do you suppose that the Baron—” she gasped. “Is the murderer?" asked Bernard, finishing the sentence. “Yes! I do. But I will go at once to the Prefect.” For the first time since her condemnation a faint'r.iy of hope was kindled in Ernestine's heart. The sight of Bernard, In r old frit lid in happii r days, had i’.id -id ». xeited a v.'-h to live in her young breast. “ How thankful I am I did not say anything at the trial. The good Gxl will protect me I"

B'-rnard now left the prison and hastened to the house of the Prefect. “Well! and what did you find?” asked the old man, smiling sadly at his young i'rimid, who ru-hed into the room without watting to lie announced. “Be good enough to examine this hat," said Bernard, as he handed it to him, and recounted to him the manner in which he had found it, and what Ernestine had subsequently told him.

“Her husband—he the murderer! Yes, it is plain—and we have been accusing an innocent girl [’’ejaculated the Prefect, carefully examiniim the hat; “but leave me now; I must think it over. But let.me enjoin secrecy on you, and depend on me.” Early the next morning Bernard was again sent for to the Prefect’s house. “ I have carefully gone over the whole evidence since I saw you,” he said, “and it certainly seems that there is very strong suspicion against the Baron. I have caused inquiries to be made, and have ascertained that the Baron was a confirmed gambler, and that his journey to St. Petersburg was probably only a ruse to avoid arrest. It is a ‘terrible case, and we must proceed very cautiously. The Baron stands very high in tin' public esteem, and it seems incredible that lie could have committed this horrible crime. Still that hat and the bill of the landlord made out in his name prove at least that he must have returned to Paris. Why should he return? What was his motive? Hoivevcr, I have dispatched an agent of the secret police to Strasbourg, to track his steps from that place. When I hear anything, I will send for you.”

On arriving at Strasbourg the police agent at once repaired to the Maison Rouge. The landlord perfectly remembered the Baron’s having stayed at his hotel for a week, and having then gone, whither he could not say. The porter, however, remembered where his luggage was taken. It was to a house outside the city, on the road to Saverne, where a hired carriage was in readiness. He got into the carriage and drove off. But, as the driver was an acquaintance of the porter’s, it was no difficult matter to find him. He remembered the job perfectly, but averred that the gentleman’s name Yvas Thionville. He should not, perhaps, have paid much attention to this fact, had he not a sister living at Saverne as chambermaid in the same hotel to which he drove his fare. On inquiring at Saverne, the agent found that a Monsieur Thionville had arrived at the hotel as stated, and that he had remained there four days, during the greater part of which he had kept indoors, from indisposition.

'Die description the landlord gave of his person and luggage left no doubt in the agent’s mind that he was on the right track. But nothing further could be learned. Still, one important circumstance had been proved—namely, that, instead of proceeding on his journey to Russia, he had turned back on the road to Paris, under an assumed name.

The only thing that now remained to be done was to put an advertisement in the French and German papers, inviting the husband of the murdered lady to repair to Paris, in order to claim the property of his deceased wife. For, it was argued, if he had murdered her for the sake of getting possession of her money, it was very probable that he would take the bait now held out. Neither did this surmise prove incorrect. Two months, or thereabouts, had elapsed, and the police were beginning to despair of getting further tidings of the Baron, when a gentleman, attired in deep mourning, ami apparently bowed down with grief, presented himself at the bureau of the police. “He had,” he said, “by chance seen the fearful tidings of his wife’s murder in a paper at St. Petersburg, and had hastened back to Paris as quickly as he could. The shock, however, it had caused him had brought on a severe attack of illness,

from which he had only just recovered, otherwise he should nave returned to Paris some weeks sooner.” Acting in obedience to the orders of his chief, the agent referred the Baron to a comptoir, where he would be furnished with the register of the death and burial of his wife. On entering the room, the Baron was politely invited to take a seat while the necessary papers were being found. After the lapse of a quarter of an hour an official entered the room and requested the Baron to accompany him to another comptoir, where, to his dismay, he found himself submitted to a rigorous examination. “ But, Monsieur le Baron, when you left home, on March 25, whither did you travel ?” asked the chief officer.

“I traveled through Germany, en route for St. Petersburg.” “ Good! But which was the first town at which you stayed ?” “Strasbourg.” “ Quite true !” said his questioner, referring to some papers. “On what day did you arrive there ?” “ On the 28th. ” “Yes ! and how long did you remain ?” ‘ ‘ Let me see—yes ! it was one night and half of the next day,” replied the Baron, with a little hesitation in his manner. “And where did you proceed to next?” resumed the officer. After some reflection, the Baron answered that he had gone to Frankfort. “Indeed !” answered the officer, raising his eyes, and directing a steady glance towards the Baron. “To Frankfort! I think you are mistaken. You say you arrived at Strasbourg on the 28th, where you remained till the following day. But the landlord of the Maison Rouge says that you remained at his house till April 7. How do you account for that, Monsieur le Baron?” “Was I there a week? Yes! now I think of it, you are quite right, Monsieur; for I met several friends there, who persuaded me to lengthen my stay." “ You also state that you next went to Frankfort. But, if Monsieur le Baron reflects, he will remember that he went to Saverne in a close carriage.” “Yes ; but that was only a day’s trip, and had nothing to do with my journey,” was the ready answer. “But may I ask, Monsieur, why all these questions ?” “Excuse me, Monsieur le Baron, you are here to answer questions, not to ask them. Suffice it to say, it is usual under such circumstances. Now, please to attend. You said, just now it was only a day's trip, I think: how was it you came to stay four days at Saverne?” “‘I had only intended to remain one day at Saverne', but was taken ill during my stay tit the hotel.” “Was that why Monsieur le Baron changed his name?” continued the officer. “Changed my name? Monsieur must be in error." “Not at all. You took the name of Thionville, for some reason best known to yourself. But. as you seem to have forgotten this circumstance, will you have the goodness to tell us where you went on leaving Saverne?” “ I returned to Strasburg.”

“Pardon me, Monsieur le Baron, and allow me to refresh your memory. You went, or pretended to go, to a private house ill the neighborhood. But was not Paris the goal of your journey, and did you not arrive here about April 15?” “Monsieur!" exclaimed the Baron, “I have submitted to these impertinent questions quite long enough. By what right you presume to interrogate me in the inanu-r you have done 1 do not know. Rst assured I shall represent the matter to th" Minister of Police. I wish you a very good morning!” And the B iron turned himself round to leave the room.

“ Not so fast, Monsieur. I have not yet done with yon,” continued the officer, without noticing the interruption. “ I repeat—you arrived in Paris about the 15th, and you were in your wife’s bedroom on the night of the 15th and 16th.”

A t these w ords the Baren leaped to his feet, his face distorted with pangs of fear and passion. “Calm yourself, Monsieur le Baron, I have not finished with you. Will you then explain, if you were not in the bedroom oi your w ife on the night in question—which you w ill remember was the very night on which site was murdered —how it was ypur hat was found in the passage ?” And w ith these words he handed a hat to the Baron. All eyes were bent upon him. The Baron turned deadly pale, and remained speechless for a considerable time. At last he stammered forth incoherently. “It is not my hat. I never saw-this one before. Iliad one like it—but not this.” “ Not this?” exclaimed the relentless questioner. “Monsieur le Baron, you have been followed, step by step, from the day you quitted Paris to the day yon returned. If this hat be not yours,' then have the goodness to tell me how your bill incurred at the Maison Rouge, Strasbourg, found its way underneath the lining. Please to look for yourself.” “Hotel bill!” gasped the Baron, as he struck his forehead with his clenched hand.

“Yes! wretched man. By that little piece of paper Providence has disclosed your crime, and prevented an innocent girl from dying a felon’s death. Confess that you entered your wife’s room and committed the diabolical deed for which you would have allowed another to suffer.” But such a confession w as never made. That night Baron de C. was safely shut ii]i in prison till bis trial should take place. All Paris rang with the news that the real murderer of the Baroness had been discovered, and that he was no oilier than her oivn husband. But that night the prisoner escaped. Ou entering the cell the following morning, he was found lying stretched out on his couch, cold and stiff It was supposed that, living a lawless life, he had been in the habit of carrying poison about him.

Years have elapsed since the above events took place. Monsieur Bernard soon became one of the most celebrated ornaments of the French bar, and his wife, ace Ernestine Lamont, noted not only for the brilliancy of her balls and dinners, but for the affability of her manner and the courteou.sness of her disposition. Of the story of the murder nobody knows more than is here told.