Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 289, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 December 1911 — THE MISPLACED PIGMENT [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MISPLACED PIGMENT

AN ADVENTURE OF PETER CREWE—“THE MAN" WITH THE CAMERA EYES”

By HAROLD CARTER

Oo*yri«ht,l3ll,by W. Q. Chapman, in the United States and Qreat Britain*

The Chief Ct New York’s police department was seated in my office, twirling his hat uneasily upon his knees. "We’ve got to find the man who hitlled Lord Pemberton,” he said. "It ain't that I’d go a step further for a lord than tor a plain man. But the press has taken up the matter on both sides of the water, and our repute’s at stake.” “And your men are baffled?” I inquired. “They can’t get hold of the least clue,” answered the Chief of Police. “I was thinking, if you could get your friend Crewe to help us ” “Why don’t you ask him?” I interposed. “O, come off, Mr. Langton,” answered the police chief with easy familiarity. "He’d jeer us Out of the place. You know, he’d do anything for you, but he’s had it in for us ever since we took the credit for finding that pretended suicide that came over here to swindle the life insurance people. Now if you’d induce him to assist us ” The murder of Lord Pemberton had been a crime of remarkable brutality. Pemberton, who was the worthless son of an ancient English family, having disgraced himself and his title in England, had been expatriated in return for an annual stipend, which he has spent regularly, as soon as it arrived, in low haunts of New York’s gambling quarter. He had in particular honored Delancey’s gaming house with his presence and had lost his income regularly there as soon as it arrived. A w«ek or so previously, having remained after the departure of the rest of the patrons, he had been brutally murdered by an employee, for the sake of a few hundred dollars which still remained to him, and his dismembered body had been found the following day in a cellar, quite by chance, at the time of a police raid on the establishment. What was most singular in this case was the fact that the murderer, though known by sight, had succeeded in completely eluding the detectives. His name was Jackson—but that was probably an alias. ’The attention of all the frequenters of the establishment had been especially attracted to him by reason of his unusual pallor, his curly flaxen hair, which covered his head like a mop, and his remarkable glassy, bloodshot eyes. After the commission of the murder he had walked out of the building and had been swallowed up amid the population of the great city. “You think he’s still In New York?” I asked the Chief of Police. “Sure he is. New York’s life and meat to them gamesters. Why, any . place outside would be hell to him, not to mention that they’d spot him ’sure.” “Have you anticipated a disguise? He would naturally dye his hair, for example.” | > 'That hair’s a wig,” answered the police chief promptly. "Else he’d have dyed it long ago. We ain’t calculating on the flaxen curls, but we did hope to lay hands on him* through some of his associates. However, he’s vanished like a puff of smoke.” The story interested me. In my capacity as a police lawyer I had been instrumental in solving many mysterious crimes, often through the aid of Crewe, who possessed the peculiar optical power of never forgetting any man or thing that had once Impressed itself upon his retina. Accordingly I broached the subject to Crewe and he consented to meet the police chief. "In trouble again, Mr. Brenner?" Crewe asked jocularly. “And you want ‘ me to get you out?” "I guess you’ve sized up the situation pretty well, Mr. Crewe,” Brenner replied. “Where is the man? Who’s hiding him and why don’t they give him up for the reward?" "Before answering you,” said Crewe, T should like to examine the premises of the gambling house. I suppose they are just as they wore after the murder r “Nothing’s been touched.” said Brenner, “except that we had the body removed for burial. We don’t have to produce that In court, you know." “Quite so,” said Crewe. “Suppose we go at once, then." We set off in the direction of the West Forties and soon arrived at Delaneey’s, which was a very modest-ap-pearing brownstone building. Brenner uclocked the front door with a key which he took from his pocket and we went up to the gaming room on the second floor. The, tables, with their roulette wheels, faro layouts and baccarat packs, still remained as they had been at the time of the raid, while the flow was strewn with chips. Except for an accumulation of dust everything was as it had been. At the back of the room was a small lavatory, containing the usual sink with its hot and cold faucets, a pile of towels, a piece Of soap on a chain, and a much-used and not- very clean ly brush and comb. Crewe entered and examined these things rathtr minutely. . v * “We ought to find evidences of flax*

en hair,” said he, taking up the brush. From his pocket he drew a little microscope, through which he examined it carefully. Then he turned his attention to the comb, from which, he drew several short, curly strands. “This was evidently the property of the murderer,” he remarked to Brenner. * t The police chief looked at them. “I guess you’re right, Mr. Crewe,” he replied. “But thatzwon’t help us much.” Crewe, who had been examining the hairs through his microscope, handed them to Brenner. “This may be vital evidence,” he answered. “Keep it, in any case, until the trial.” ■ :'< The chief of # police, looking at Crewe doubtfully, placed the relics in his pocket-book. "You speak very positively, Mr. Crewe,” he rejoined. “How do you know that there will be any trial? How do you know that you will discover the murderer?” “I have discovered him already,” Crewe answered. “I know him by his hair. I have encountered him upon the streets' a dozen times at least. He lived formerly in the West Sixties, but has since moved, I think, to West One Hundred and Thirty-third or Thir-ty-fourty. Of course I did not follow him home.” “How can we get him?” Brenner asked incredulously. \ “By searching the saloons of that district. Brenner, this man has escaped you because the detection is too easy, not because it is too difficult There is only one man who could possibly have committed this crime, and to lay hold of him is really absurdly simple. Tonight I hope to find him for you. But first I should like to look through your photographs in the Rogues’ Gallery.” , ‘That’s easy,” Brenner answered. “Come straight along with me and you can look your fill.” We left the house and went to police headquarters, where we soon found ourselves within the long room upon whose walls hang photographs of all the known criminals in New York city. Crewe passed along, resting his eyes for a moment on each. “You have some duplicates here,” he remarked, pointing to two apparently different photographs which hung on opposite walls. “That man, who is described as ‘Buck the Tiger,’ for instance, is the same as Charlie James, who got off with Elmira Reformatory instead of a life sentence in the penitentiary.” He made similar remarks o6ncerning many of the photographs, pointing out resemblances or making comments upon the history of the originals. Finally, having completed the circuit of the room, he came back to us. ' ■■■ "Our murderer appears here twice,” he said, “each time as a first offender.” “Who is he?” cried Brenner quickly. “If I should show you you would disbelieve me,” answered Crewe quietly. “I will say, however, that he has been .arrested once for burglary and once for manslaughter. In either case he was convicted, and each time he escaped with a trivial sentence as a first offender of presumably unblemished character. Now, sir, if you will meet us this evening at seven o’clock, at the entrance to the Ninety-Sixth Street Subway station, we can proceed upon our mission.” This appointment having been made, we separated, Crewe to go to his home, I back to my office, where I waited in some trepidation until it was time for the appointment, too excited even to partake of dinner. Punctually to the moment Crewe arrived at the place appointed and, shortly afterward, the Chief of Police came on the scene. Crewe was quite roughly dressed on this occasion. He wore a dusty derby hat, an ancient suit that had evidently seen much service, and a collar not too clean. The Chief of Police glanced at him in some astonishment but said nothing. We emerged from the subway at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth street, and proceeded for a few blocks northward until we found ourselves in the negro quarter. Hardly a white person was to be seen upon the streets. "Now, Brenner, I want the saloons of this neighborhood searched systematically for the murderer,” he said. "Get a dozen policemen from the local station and let them go about the work methodically in four parties of threes.” “But all the people of the neighborhood will get wind of it,” urged Brenner, “and our man will escape—if he’s here.” “Brenner, you must get out of that habit of arguing,” said Crewe coldly. “Remember, I’m your inspector and captain and boos in general, all rolled Into one. Otherwise I throw up the case/* “O, well, if you feel that way about it ” said the Police Chief sulkily. “Now let mo ask you a question. How many fashionable negro boarding houses are there around here—places where a stranger could go and find good quarters and a studious, refined class of inmates?" There’s only two,” the Chief of

Police answered. There’s Sadie Jones* place, on West One Hundred and Thirty-ninth, and there’s Lizzie Washington’s, on the next block, across the road. But they wouldn’t take drhite men there.”. "We win chanee that it’s Lizzie’s plane,” said Crewe. “If not, we can repeat operations tomorrow.” 'XML.he’« taken fright and fiOWtt,” mortedßf enner. “He may take fright but he can’t leave,” said Crewe. "Why not?” * “Because he can only find refuge hereabouts. Now, Mr. Brenner, If you wiH get busy with your dosen detectives, put them on their job, we will, wait for you here. Hurry to the local precinct station and order out your men to search the saloons. How long will it take you?” “Half an hour,” paid Brenner. “Then we will expect you at the expiration of that period,” said Crewe. He snapped his watch and turned on tils heel. Brenner, after a searching look, left us Abruptly and disappeared in the direction of the station house. “Crewe,” I hazarded, "you are sure you are not working under a misapprehension? You know that the murderer is l a white man and not a >»egro? A colored man could wear a flaxen wig, but nothing on earth, no dye that ever existed, could turn a black man white. Why should he take up his abode in the negro quarter?” "All in good time,” Crewe answered, smiling. “Langton, you haven’t learned to trust me yet.” "I do implicitly. But in our former cases I have at least been able to conjecture your motives. While*, now, I confess, they are entirely shrouded in obscurity. How do you come to know this murderer by sight?” - “Because,” said Crewe, “he Is not

merely one in a thousand, but one in a million. Once seen, it would be impossible to forget him." "You mean his curly flaxen hair and glassy eyes?” “We are wasting time,” said Crewe impatiently. “You'll see it all in due course. Now Langton,” he continued, searching in nis pockets and bringing out two phials, a large and a small one, “you have a very important task to perform for me.” He took the stopper from the larger utensil and emptied the contents into his handkerchief, which he bound around his hand. A strong aad unmistakable odor of turpentine arose. “Yes, that Is turpentine,” he said, “and it forms a base for the second chemical.” He handed me the little phial, which contained a clear, rose-colored liquid. “When I signal you with a nod,” he said, “you will smash this upon my handkerchief. Hold it with care, for It is extremely fragile. At the signal, do not delay a moment, but smash the bottle upon the handkerchief around my hand.” A few minutes later Brenner came puffing up to us. "I hare obeyed your orders. Mr. Captain-Inspector,” he said to Crewe, with a little touch of malice in his tones. “A dozen detective patrolmen are at work searching all the saloons methodically, and already the nows baa spread through thia section of Nogrotown. I have no doubt that all the criminals are already in full flight southward. Unless ours has turned in to a tree,” he added “But what have you done to your hand, Mr. Crewe? Turpentine?"

“A component of a formula for catching criminale who elude the vigilance of police chiefs,” said Crewe. “Now, Brenner suppose you lead the way to Lixzio'e boarding house, where the swell negroes dwell. And, by the way, when we arrive there I want you and Langton to stand at least twelve yards away from me, and to engage in conversatlqe. Try te’"get;.timi±ta tective look out of your eyes, Brenner. Langton, when I nod toward you you will rush up and empty the eonteats of the second bottle over the handkerchief upon my hand. I repeat this for the third time, because it is essential to the success of our manoeuvre. Brenner, you can follow Langton in my direction and have your gun ready, for I am unarmed. Now that is aM.” He left us and took up his station Immediately outside the colored people’s boarding house. We remained in pretended conversation a short distance away. I noted how Crewe gradually assumed the attitude of a drunken man. He staggered slightly, numbled once or twice, and leaned against a street lamp, from which coign he kept up a running commentary upon the appearance of the negroes hurrying by. Another thing I noticed was that the passing pedestrians seemed all to be hastening in the same direction. Brenner explained the cause to me. “They've got wind of the police search,” he said, “and a thing like that scares the life out of these darkeys. Innocent or guilty of any crime, they don’t like the proximity of the police. And I wonder that your friend Mr. Crewe hadn't sense enough to understand that, even if he is on the right trail, which I greatly doubt, he is doing his very best to defeat his object by instituting this search. By

George, he is acting that drunken man uncommonly well!” Too well, it seemed to me. I felt sure that, should any patrolman chance along that way, Crewe would stand an excellent chance of passing the night in a police cell. He had begun to molest some of those passing him. He caught hold of one man’s coat, and as ity victim turned angrily upon him he released him and laughed into his face with a vacant expression. The man hesitated a moment, as though meditating an assault, and then, with an angry curse, hastened away. < The door of the boarding house opened and a colored woman In an evening gown shrieked at him shrilly. "Go away from there,” she called, "or I shall send for the police. We don't want no white trash round here, scaring away respectable colored folU," Crewe took oft his hat with an expression of majestic intoxication. *1 bow to your demand, Mrs. Sadie Jones,” he remarked, bending almost to the sidewalk. "I’m not Mis' Jones; I’m Mis’ Elisabeth Washington," the woman cried. "As you will, as you will,” replied Crewe soothingly. He moved away a desen paces and turned slowly back to resume his poet. But Mrs. Washington was still at the door. "You go *ww» go /way,” she screamed, “or I shall call for help ” At her deflant tones a number of negroes emerged from the house and began scrambling down the steps toward Crews, while passers by in the streets stopped inquiringly and, seeing a white man In a ooudMoa of evident Intogb

cation, assumed an aggressive attitude. Just then a negro man wearing blue spectacles came slowly along the street He edged himself past Crewe and made as though to pass up the stops of the boarding house. It seemed almost opportune for intervention. I looked at Benner, who stood stock still, smiling, evidently not'displeased companion. Just then I saw Crewe look back at me and give a slight but unmistakable nod es the head. I grasped the bottle in my lingers and hurried toward him. Meanwhile Crewe had grasped the Inoffensive negro by the lapol of the coat - “What you doin’ here, you nigger?” he growled. “Want to fight me, do you?” ' The negro tried to disengage himself and, finding himself helpless, looked i>rotestingly toward the bystanders who had now formed a ring around the pair. I broke through and ground the phial into powder upon the handkerchief which still encircled Crewe’s hand. The liquid turned from pink to brown. Crewe whipped off the handkerchief and let it fall into the road. Then with his) wet and reeking hand he struck th> inoffensive negro hard across the cheek, drawing his hand slowly over the flesh. Cries arose among the spectator*. Half a dozen stepped forward, prepared to lay hands upon Crewe violently. But as Crewe drew his hand away from the negro's face expressions of astonishment were heard and all eyes were directed to Crewe's antagonist. The flesh was turning white beneath the blow. First the white fingerprints stood out against their sable surroundings; then the color began to fade rapidly, until the entire cheek ypas

blanched—not white, but blanched, and of a deathly, sickly pallor, almost as that of leprosy. > Crewe suddenly stood up and spoke with sharp authority. “I want you, Jackson,” he said, "for the murder of Lord Pemberton." He snatched off the blue glasses as he spoke, revealing a pair of glassy, bloodshot eyes. The man before him seemed to cringe. With his crisp, negro’s hair, his ghastly eyes, and that piebald cheek that even now grew whiter, he became an object of horror to the crowd. They bolted in terror. But Oven as Crewe laid his hand upon the captive the man suddenly whipped out a revolver and thrust ft into Crewe’s face. I heard the report; the next thing that I saw, through a cloud of drifting smoko, was Crowe, with blood running down his face, engaging in a desperate hand-to-hand encounter with the murderer. At that moment Brenner intervened with his patrolman’s nightstick. Two blows, and Jackson lay at our foot senseless. At the same instant a couple of patrolmen broke through the crowd and scattered them. - "You disobeyed me, Brenner,” said Crewe reproachfully, wiping the blood from ths slight flesh wound upon his cheek. "What orders did I give you last!” 'To have my gun ready, because you wore unarmed," answered thp chief of police sheepishly. Brenner and Crewe were seated in my office with the district attorney on the following day. So far, ilthough the identity of the criminal had bgen dearly established, thnnyh

the dye had been partly scoured ftusgg his face and hands, the manner which Crewe had discovered JacksMl remained as mysterious as ever. “It is an extremely simple explanation,” said Crewe to the three of u* "Do you remember that I examined th*‘l flaxen hairs upon the brush under a microscope ” Brenner nodded bls'fiend: . “You are, no doubt, aware that thgrw is a marked and distinctive dlfferwmM between a cross-section of a negro’* hair and that of a Caucasian’s? Th* one is spherical, the other cylindrical.. This distinction Is invariabie, and W| the cause of the *klnk’ which many negroes are so anxious to have removed. I had already suspected that Jackson. ■ was a negro.” “But he ain’t,” cried Brenner. ‘‘He’a white—he’s a blonde,” “He is of purest negro birth,” retorted Crewe. "When yotT mentioned the flaxen hair and the deathly pallor and red eyes I knew the man immediately. He is an albino negro, andt the only one In this city. Albino* *rm| occasionally met with among the ng--' gro race. The conditidn is due to a* entire absence of pigment in the skin. “I had, then, merely to search for* one man out of four millions. I knew him well by sight. I recognized him in the Rogues* Gallery, both as a whit*;; man and as a black. Although a negro cannot whiten himself, it is the easiest matter for a person with a. white skin to become black. Walnut juice, for Instance, will readily effect, this metamorphosis. “Posing as either white or black, Jackson, would live among either race and, after the commission es a crime, would take up his residence among theother. As a black man he was sentenced for manslaughter; as a white for burglary. You see now, gentlemen, why It was Imperative that Jackdbn should take up his residence irt the negro quarter while the hunt wan on, and dye his hair and skin. Furthermore, 1 knew that he would seek out a boarding house where? he could exist in the comfort that he was accustomed to. You see, the search had already narrowed itself down to a choice between two houses. - ) ing of the saloon* would drive him to take refuge at home through fear ot chance questioning by the detectives, I waited at Madame Lizzie’s till hetshould arrive. The blue glasses gave me the clue; my recognition of hl* face was a practical certainty; mjr happy application of my patent scouring fluid convinced me beyond all doubt As I slid, the discovery wa* really too easy.” “But how could you recognize * whlte-fleshed man when his face wa* stained with dye?" asked Brenner. "Recognition is a matter of form, not color,” answered Crewe.’ "As a matter of fact I am entirely Colorblind. Everything to me is gray.”