Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 302, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 December 1912 — Page 2

The TRUTH ABOUT THE CASE

The Experiences of M. F. Goron, Ex-Chief of the Paris Detective Police Edited by Albert Keyzer TRACKED BY A DREAM

a ANY PEOPLE know the extraordinary story of a happening to M. Berard, for many years judge, and, afterward, member of the Chamber of > A few months after he had been called to the bench he went for an excursion in the Cerennes Mountains and spent the night In a lonely Inn. He fell asleep and had a terrible nightmade. He saw the Innkeeper and his wife steal up to his bed, and, while the woman grasped both his arms, the husband raised a long, sharp knife, and stabbed him In the throat They then carried him out of the room, threw him into a deep hole behind the house, and covered him with refuse. When M. Berard awoke, it took him a long time to shake off the effects of this fearful dream, and, even while he dressed, he still seemed to feel the cuts in his throat Before leaving the house where he spent such an unpleasant night, he gazed long at the host and hostess, and could not help thinking they loQked villanous. f A year later M. Berard was apjpointed assistant judge in the very "district where his sleep had been so unexpectedly disturbed, and the first thing he learned was that the authorities there were investigating a crime that had been committed some months before. A notary, who had 'collected a large sum of money, had "mysteriously disappeared, and there was no doubt that the unfortunate :tnan had beep' assassinated. On the very day of M. Berard’s arrival the police had received an anonymous communication informing them rthat this notary had entered a certain tavern, and since that moment had not been seen. The examining .magistrate had the innkeeper and his •wife brought before him, and asked M. Berard to be present at this Interview. When they entered the room, M. Berard could hardly suppress an exclamation as he recognized his host and hostess of the country inn. His Jjj&ua rose up before him, and he masked the magistrate to be allowed to :aay something to the man and woman, who violently protested their innocence. f “You are the murderers,” he said, •“and I will even tell you how you •committed the crime. You, the man, stabbed your victim with your large knife, and, together, you carried the body to a deep hole, covering it with refuse. It must be there now.” The couple looked thunderstruck. Then the wife was seized with a fit of trembling, and before another moment had passed both confessed their crime. The body of the unfortunate man was found in the very spot named by M. Berard. It is not for me to explain this strange incident, which at the time created a tremendous sensation. All I know is that but for an extraordinary dream I, too, might possibly never have discovered who committed the murder at Vincennes.

In January, 1891, I was informed, early in the morning, that an old lady, a Madame Bazire, living in a email apartment in the Rpe de Terrier. Vincennes, had been found .strangled. I at once started for Vincennes -with M. Guillot, the magistrate, and went straight to the house, where everything had been left undisturbed. In a poorly furnished bedroom, ornamented with banners, rosaries, and pictures of saints, lay the body of the old creature, face downward. The murderer had strangled her, and had placed on her bach a curious looking old trunk, covered with boarekins and provided with four rollers. Never before had I seen such a trunk. Madame Bazire, well known in the neighborhood, was a quiet, inoffensive woman, most religious, who, during the thirty years she had resided at Vincennes, had never missed either thoraing mass or vespers. On the morning of the murder she had gone to mass at nine, telling the concierge that she. would return soon, because she wanted to put her room in order. At first, nobody In the house troubled about her, as it was thought that she might have come backdate without being noticed. The next day, however, the neighbors began to feel un- , easy. Madame Bazire received every morning Le Messager de Salnte Philomene, a little religious paper which . tells pious people what prayers they fcave to say during the day. When it was remarked that Le Messager de Salnte Phllomene remained untouched under the door, the neighbors rang her bell, and, receiving no reply, sent for the police commissary. My first Impression was that robbery had been the motive of the crime. All the cupboards bad been ransacked, and on the floor were several small bundles of linen and clothes—of which Madame Bazire had a large quantity—and which the assassin, for some reason or other, had left behind. Only a big clock /that

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used to stand on the mantelpiece, and, according to the neighbors, weighed more than forty pounds, had disap« peared. On the marble slab the thin coating of dust showed the spot where it had stood. On the other hand, Madame Bazire’s gold watch was still hanging on a nail near her bed. If the murderer had gone there bent on robbery, why did he leave the watch, and carry off the cumbrous and less valuable timepiece? Moreover, the poor lady, who had but a small annuity, was known to have little money in the house, for she had put off a few payments for the following day, when she Intended to collect her quarterly payment from the bank. And when I inquired at that establishment I learned that Madame Bazire had not called there. I was puzzled, and sounded the neighbors one after the other. They, however, had but little to say, with the exception of Madame L , 9 most talkative old creature, whose long-winded stories began to get on my nerves. I had no cause whatever for suspicion, yet I could not help inquiring from the police commissary in her district who she was. “Oh,” he said laughingly, “she is all right. Her husband Is employed in a big establishment, and they are very well off.” In the quarter, too, Madame L bore a good reputation. For all that, the woman seemed to haunt me, and I paid her another visit to ask for further information. This time she gave me the description of a mysterious personage, who, she said, often came to see Madame Bazire, a poorly dressed man, easily recognizable by a huge bag hanging from his shoulders by a strap. It took me several days to hunt up this Individual. I traced him to the Notre Dame des Vlctoires church, waited till he came out, and asked him to conduct me to his house. Without uttering a word, he took me to Batignolles, to a queer-looking room, where he and his brother lived. I confess that, although I considered myself case-hardened as regards surprises, I stared with astonishment when I beheld that room, while a pungent smell nearly choked me. In the corner the brother was bending over a small stove cooking a miserable stew, their evening meal. But the strange odor emanated from hundreds of p'airs of old boota and shoes, piled up everywhere, dirty and covered with mildew.

Quietly, with an almost touching simplicity, these two men informed me that they knew Madame Bazire very well indeed —a charitable, kind lady, who helped them in the good work they were doing. One of them had been to see her on the morning before the murder, and not on the'day itself,' as Madame L. had asserted. And then these two quaint fellows told me the extraordinary life they led. The elder brother was messenger in a big shop and both, fanatically religious, not pnly lived on that humble salary, but managed to put a little money aside, with which they bought old boots and shoes, and sold them at fairs. The profits they derived from these transactions they gave to a charitable Institution in aid of abandoned children. Their only joy in life was to pray, and to assist those poorer than themselves! A subsequent Inquiry showed that these men had nothing to do with the crime, and I am not ashamed $> own that, despite my anxiety to trace the culprit, I was glad these two quaint philanthropists were innocent. I next discovered that Madame Bazire had a niece, whom she had not seen for a long time because that young person did not go regularly to mass. This niece was engaged to a youth, a kind of butcher, who sold horse-flesh In the Paris streets. His reputation was anything but good. I have always been averse to arresting a person on mere suspicion. But here, without any clue to work upon, I departed from my principle, and ordered one of my men to bring the man to my office. E He looked so scared, and contradicted himself so much, that had he been arraigned there and then before a jury, they would unhesitatingly have found him guilty. Moreover, he had a very unclean record, and two circumstances looked most suspicious: First, he, who the day, before the murder did not possess a cent, now had, when searched, two gold pieces In his pocket And, second, he was carrying a little parcel containing linen and some fancy material, in every 1 way similar to the bundles found at Madame Bazire’s. „ At first he would not explain whence came the money and the parcel, and finally said that in the tramcar he had “met one of his former sweethearts—cook In a “swell house” —who had given him the forty francs and the linen. v . The story seemed all the more Incredible as he pretended to .be ignorant of the name and address of this generous woman. “All I know,” he declared, “Is that she Is called Adele,, and is in service in a house near the Arc de Trlomphe.”

It waa the same childish and Improbable story of most criminals. “I think we made a good haul, sir," said the Inspector who had arrested him. “That Is not my opinion," I replied; “he may be a bad egg, but I doubt whether he has anything to do with this business.” My inspector looked surprised. “But, excuse me, sir,” he Insisted; “what about the two coins, and especially the linen? And hlB cock-and-bull story of not knowing who gave them to him? He doesn’t look like a man who received so many presents that he cannot remember the addresses or even the names of the donors.” “Yes, I know; It seems very suspicious,” I retorted, “but there are things that escaped your notice. When he was brought here, not knowing what was wanted from him, he appeared very agitated, for, with a large collection of misdeeds on his conscience, he was trylng'to think which of his performances had come to light. I carefully watched his fingers—it is a habit I have —and they were twitching nervously. The moment he heard that I sent for him In connection with the Bazire murder his face retained the Beared expression, but his fingers became calm, as if to say, 'We had no hand in this affair,’ and his fingers, 1 am sure, spoke the truth.” The next day I had to release the man from custody. Ten trustworthy witnesses proved that he had Bpent the day, and even the night, of the murder at Neuilly. And the Incredible came true. We actually found the fellow’s former sweetheart. The woman was in service near the Arc de Triomphe, and, having met him accidentally, had giv-'

en him the money and a bundle of material for curtains. A fresh clue had to be found. 1 was losing patience, and returned to Vincennes, where I carefully examined every nook and corner. I discovered nothing that could put me on a direct track, but I had the absolute conviction that revenge or some other mysterious reason had brought the murderer to the house. Robbery was out of the question. I tried to learn more about Madame L v and discovered that she had disliked Madame Bazire because of her bigotry, and her deplorable habit of dragging the old trunk along the floor—the trunk the murderer had placed on her back. Madame Bazire kept her prayer-books In that box, and Madame L , whose apartment was Just underneath, used to complain of hearing continually a "tram-car pass above her head." Madame L , 1 also learned, was most excitable, and apt to quarrel with her neighbors. But all this was not sufficient to connect her with the crime, and I already began to fear that my prejudice against Madame L n — had no founds, tion, when my suspicions were once more aroused by one or two trilling circumstances, which decided me to pay her another visit I would have liked to search the place, but unfortunately, this was out of the ques-

tlon; there was no'excuse for such a proceeding. Madame L , on the other hand, roundly abased me because I reproached her for having put me twice on the wrong scent. I went home quite disheartened. The .business weighed on my mind, and when I went to bed I could, not sleep, because I was trying to discover what possible motive Madame L might have had to kill the widow Bazire. I found no solution to this riddle, and yet I felt convinced that this talkative woman, who twice had led me pstray, had committed the murder. But what had prompted her? Tired out, I slept, and then I had a strange vision. I fancied I saw Madame Bazire’s bedroom, with its banners, its Virgins, Its Saint Josephs, on the walls. I saw the poor old lady returning from mass, carrying her prayef-book under her arm. She was out of breath, having mounted the stairs. She sat down on a chair, and after a while rose, opened her door, and, seizing the trunk, dragged it along the floor. All at once a woman, a fury, rushed into the room, swinging a rope in her right hand. "I am’ sick df your psalm-singing tricks,” she shouted. “You shall no longer wake me up with your tramway, you old pig!” And rushing at Madame Bazire, who had not the strength to utter a cry, she threw the rope around her neck and pulled upon it with all her might. A rattling noise, and all was over— Madame Bazire was dead. The fury turned around, and I recognized Madame L . She looked a moment at her victim and burst into a loud, insane laugh: “There is your trunk, you peatm-

THE MAD CREATURE SAT UP IN BED AND HER EYES GREW LARGE.

slnglng Idiot You will not worry me again with it!” I heard the noise of the little rollers, and saw the creature throw the heavy trunk on Madame Bazire’s lifeless body. Madame L stood for a moment motionless; she then opened the hall door to see whether any one was In sight, and, walking up to the fireplace, took down the heavy clock, hid it beneath her apron, and stole out of the room, softly closing the door. 1 awoke with a start; perspiration running down my face. A cold bath restored me, but my dream remained In my memory In its minutest details. I took a sheet of paper‘And wrote down, as if r 4t had been the scenario of a drama, my report to the examining magistrate. It was dark at six o’clock In the morning when I rang the bell at M. Gulllot’s, who, of course, was still in bed and surprised at my calling at such an early hour. “Monsieur Gulllot," I said, “I now know how Madame Bazire waa assassinated. * filsteu.” And i read him my report, or, rather, the story otJay dream. “Yes,” he said, when I had finished, “your conclusions are perfectly logical; the crime undoubtedly has been committed In the manner you say. But your conviction and mine are not sufficient to allow us to arrest this worn-

an and commit her for trial. I share your opinion that Madame L , whose mind seems deranged, has strangled the widow. Where, however, are the proofs?” “If only I could find that clock!” I groaned, “and it is impossible for me to lay my hands on it unless I turn Madame L 's . apartment upside down, always supposing that she has not hidden it somewhere else.” “You are clever enough to unearth that clock without searching the apartment,” laughed M. Guillot, “but unearth it you must.” As Madame L had taken a dislike to me I could not attempt to approach her. I, therefore, sent for Barbaste, one of my inspectors, and gave him my instructions. Barbaste had a curious specialty—that of making criminals confess. His affable manner impressed them, and when he gravely shook his head and remarked: “Yes, I know provocation is a terrible thing,” the culprits would turn to this sympathetic friend and say how they had committed their crime, under such strong provocation that no rightminded Jury could convict them. And they would pour out tbefr whole story into Barbaste’s attentive ear. Of course I did not mention to Barhaste a word of my dream, and only gave him a sketch, of how I thought the murder had been committed. “You must,” I said, “induce Madame L to confess, and try aU you can to make her show you where she hid the dock.” Like all dreams, mine had bees Infor I had attempted to. remember where the timepiece might have been stowed away. When he reached Vincennes he

found Madame L In bed. She was 111 and greatly excited. “Are you coming to bother me again with' this stupid affair 7” she began angrily. “No, no, my dear lady,” replied Barbaste soothingly. And, taking a chair close to her bed, he added: “I have only come to see you on a small matter.” “What matterT” “Yes,” continued Barbaste, "I was thinking all along of what you had done, and wondering how I would have acted if some one had continually been rolling a noisy trunk over my head.” The mad creature sat up In bed, and her eyes grew large; “My good fellow,” she cried, “I soon settled that little business.” “Quite so,” said the imperturbable Barbaste; “but what have you done with the dock?” “The clock?’’ she shouted, shaking with laughter, “why It Is here, undo* my bed!” > And there It was, and very well hidden, too, for she had managed to squeeze it inside the mattress. < An hour later Barbaste brought Madame L to my office, where In a disconnected manner she gave me all the details at the crime. “At last,” she cried. “1 can sleep

quietly, since that old ptsimsiniar Is dead. Every morning and .every night on her return from mass g heard her rolling her beastly trunk. I bad to kill her! On the previous day I had received a parcel bound with some strong cord. ‘All right,* 1 said to myself, that will just do nicely to strangle her.’ As usual, I was awakened by the noise of the trunk. The old woman had come hack from church. I jumped out of bed, ran upstairs, threw her on the floor, and twisted the cord around her neck.” She remained a moment silent, and then, with an uncanny laugh, resumed: “It was as easy as possible. She did not utter a sound. A child of six could have done it.” “And then,” she yelled, her eyes darting flames, “and then I took her trunk, her dirty trunk, and threw it on her bock, calling out: ’You will never bother me again with that, you old pig!' I also took away her dock, the dirty dock she liked so much, and 1 shrieked into her ear: ‘You will never hear that strike any more.’ ” She fell hack In her chair exhausted, and I remained speechless. My dream, my whole dream, had proved true! - . 0 As to Madame 1# , she required doctors, not judged She was sent to La Salpetriere in/ the ward of lessor Vlgouroux. She Is still in a criminal imtatift asylum.

GETTING MISTLETOE FROM OKLAHOMA

HOW TWE KISSING WANT 18 GATHERED AND MARKETED. Doubtless, many people while purchasing their Yule tide decorations ;have of tan wondered whence come the ; immense' supplies of mistletoe which must ha required to. fill the great demand tor it during the htiifdiay season |in the cities and towns of those states I too laar north for that parasitic growth, to thrive, says F. J. Sherman in. Country Life in America. Among many of the people native to the states north q£ Kansas and Missouri who have never taken the traur bte to look the matter up a sort of general idea prevails that mistletoe- is to be found only at rare Internals, after a diligent. search, and then on oak trees, with only a few sprigs growing in a pjfcce. The traveler visiting Oklahoma City, capital of thft new state of Oklahoma,/ during the wftiter time taking A walk out to> Wheeler park, which ia situated im the southwest part of the town, wilii have this idea quickly dispelled from his mind, for even a. considerable distance from) the park his attention will be drawn to th* strange tppearance which the trees present at that season of the year, when the leaves are off. and the* mistletoe thrives on every branch, In, the summer time,.when the,leaves are, -on the trees, th<*. mistletoe cannob he seen unless it. ift specifier looked! for, and then It Appears to be alT&ost a part of the, natural! foliage of juke tree upon which it is growing. Contrary to general belbtff, mistletoe is rarely found on oak trees and to Oklahoma is nearly always found 0% swamp, or water elms, which are erally seen growing to lowlands and along river hanks. Here It thrive* luxuriantly. There ia but o@e species usually found In Oklahoma out of the 400 odd species known to exist, must of which are found in tropical countries and are parasitic in nature. In Oklahoma two or three weeks before Christmas the annual mistletoe harvest is gathered—generally by boys who don’t mind the dangerous and risky job of climbing into all sixes of trees after it—and brought to town, where it is packed in barrels and boxes and shipped to the northern cities and towns, where, along with the holly and evergreen, it finds a place in those happy homes which have not forgotten the good old custom of decorating in honor of the glad Chrißtmastide.

NO CHANCE FOR SPEEDERS

An Oregon Bherlff Has Remarkable Buccess With a Wire and StopWatch. With a long piece of eopper wire, batteries, a buzzer and stop-watch, Deputy Sheriff Allen Hart and assistants have become the bugaboo of motorists of Hood county who are prone to speed above the twenty-five miles an hour limit on the county The officer has measured the piece of copper wire used for his operations in detecting the speeders. He stands at one end with his watch and the aid at the other. When a machine passes the aid he presses the buzzer and Hart starts his stop-watch, catching the time as the machine passes his end of the wire. In case the car la going the other way, Hart sets his stop mechanism on his watch to work and Catches the time when the buzzer is sounded from the other end. Thomas Carlyle on Belief. A man lives by believing something. Belief I define to be the healthy act of a man’s mind. It is a mysterious, indescribable process, that of getting to believe; indescribable as all vital acts are. We have out mind given up, not that it may cavil and argue, but that it may see into something, give ua| clear belief and understanding about something, whereon we are then A proceed to act —Thomaa Carlyle.