Rensselaer Journal, Volume 10, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 April 1901 — THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY

BY RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI,

Author of “An Artist In Crime,” “A Conflict of Evidence," “A Modern Wizard," “Final Proof," Etc. OopyHgM, 1896, by O. F. Putnam’s Sons. AB rights reserved.

(continued.] “Not young Mora, the sod of—of—of the old num who was mur—that is to say, killed?” he stammered. “The same,” replied Mr. Mitchel, regarding the man closely, astonished at the effect which he had produced. “An the woman—the woman you made me follow—what was—what was her name?” “Mort, went by the name Morton in the Essex street house. So did this woman.” “Morton! Morton!” repeated Slippery Sam in a dazed way. “An I was fool enough to follow her —against orders too. Here, I throw up the job. Keep your money. Let me out of here! Let me out, quick!” But Mr. Mitchel stood between the man and the door and rejoined: “One more question first.” “Well, what is it? Maybe I’ll answer, an maybe I’ll not. It all de-

pends now I see what lay you’re on. But cut it short. I want to get out of this.” “I merely wish to know whether you are living in that house in Essex street?” “Yes; I’m llvin there. Now let me pass.” “How long have you lived there?” “I’ve answered all the questions I’m goin to. Let me pass.” He was growing greatly excited, and his face was pale with anger,- intermingled with fear. Mr. Mitchel, however, persisted. “Not until you have answered my question.” “I answered one, an I won’t answer any more. Let me by, or I’ll do you a hurt.” ' . z He raised his left arm menacingly, but with the celerity born of the anticipation of some such movement Mr. Mitchel seized the uplifted arm and tried to hold it. But the fellow well deserved his sobriquet Slippery, for with a swift movement he freed himself and, dodging under Mr. Mitchel’s arm, was at the door before he could be hindered. Mr. Mitchel started toward him, when suddenly he drew forth a dangerous looking, long bladed knife, the point of which he presented toward his adversary, crying out: x “Stand back, or you are a dead man!” Mr. Mitchel, taken entirely by surprise, hesitated for a moment as to what he should do, and in that moment Slippery Sam succeeded in turning the knob of the door with his other band, and a second later he had opened the door and passed out. Mr. Mitchel sprang after him and went out upon the stoop, only to see the fellow running off in the darkness. He stood looking after him, realizing the utter uselessness of following, and pondered over the strange occurrence. What did Slippery Sam know of the Mora murder and of this woman that he should be so frightened when he learned that Mr. Mitchel was interested in the affair? Mr. Mitchel had just asked himself this question when he thought he heard angry voices and. then a sound as of men struggling coming from the direction in which Slippery Sam had run off. He went down a step or two , and leaned forward, listening, when he

was thoroughly startled to near a piercing shriek, followed by the sound of feet rapidly receding. Without returning to the house for his hat he ran rapidly down the street, determined to investigate the matter. Less than a hundred yards away he came upon the body of a man lying beneath a street lamp, his head in a pool of blood. Turning him over so that he could see the face, he was horrified to discover that It was Slippery Sam. As Mr. Mitchel bent over him he opened his eyes and looked up, an expression of deep agony on his countenance. Evidently he recognized Mr. Mitchel, for he attempted to speak, but after one or two vain efforts his utterances were completely shut off by a rush of blood from his mouth. With one last effort he placed his hand to his side, where he had been stabbed, and then rolled over unconscious. Mr. Mitchel noticed a knife upon the pavement and, picking it up, was sure that It was the same with which the man had threatened him. Could this be suicide? Impossible, for he had plainly heard a man running off, besides the sound of a struggle. This was destined to be a night of surprises to Mr. Mitchel, for just at tnis critical moment Mr. Barnes came up and stood staring at the scene before him. “What is this?” asked the detective. “This is murder, I believe,” replied Mr. Mitchel. “Murder!” ejaculated Mr. Barnes, not at once comprehending what was meant. “Yes; that is Slippery Sam. He is either dying or dead. Help me to lift him into my house, and I will explain more fully.” Between them they carried the bleeding man into the house, whereupon Mr. Mitchel requested Mr. Barnes to call the nearest physician, and while the detective was gone he did what he could to stanch the blood. Very shortly after Mr. Barnes returned with the doctor, who, after examining the wound, declared that nothing could be done, and within half an hour the unfortunate crook had breathed his last. Left alone with Mr. Barnes, Mr. Mitchel related all that had passed between himself and Slippery Sam and expressed the opinion that his death was a misfortune, since he evidently knew something of the Mora affair which in time they might have extracted from him. * “Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Barnes. “This is perhaps a serious obstacle in our path, for one or two things are evident. Either this man has been ‘put out of the way’ because of what he knew or else he was the guilty man himself.” “I do not quite follow that last deduction,” said Mr. Mitchel. “Oh! I mean,” said Mr. Barnes, “that either this murder has or has not a connection with the Mora affair. If it has, then the true murderer may have been at work here disposing of a dangerous witness. If it has not—that is to say, if this killing is entirely apart from the other—then we must consider the man’s fright when he learned of your Interest in the Mora murder. I account for it by the possible supposition that he was the guilty party.” “How readily you abandon your beautiful theories about young Mora!” said Mr. Mitchel. “Not at all. I only say that this last theory is possible. I think it highly Improbable. Yet we must not overlook the fact that this man had the opportunity to commit the crime.” “How so?” “One theory, advanced, I think, by Preacher Jim to you, was that the murderer may have been any regular criminal, who first stole the will to be used as an instrument of blackmail and then killed old Mora to make the will operative.” “Yes; that Was one theory. Go on.” “Then we know that the murderer wore a certain suit of clothes, which was possibly taken from the Essex street house and subsequently returned.” “I follow you. Proceed.” “Well, Slippery Sam, according to Preacher Jim and by his own admission, lived in that Essex street house. Therefore I say he had the opportunity.” “Very well argued, Mr. Barnes. It is worth looking into when we have more time. But our first duty is to get this corpse out of my house. I wish you wotdd relieve me by notifying the authorities. Will you?” “Certainly. lam at your service and will go at once. But before I go let me tell you something. It was a most fortunate impulse which led me toward your house tonight.” “Undoubtedly, since you may be of great assistance to me. But why did you come?” “You left my place this afternoon in company with Preacher Jim. Since then I have heard that his old mother has met with an accident, breaking a rib, and T'as taken to a hospital.” “Yes.” “She died an hour ago.” “So the old woman is dead. Does the son know?” “He was with her, but as soon as she had ceased to breathe he hurriedly left the building, apparently in a great state of excitement. When the news reached me, I could not quite put aside a feeling of anxiety for you. I believe

the feliQw is half mftd, If hot entirely so, and I thought it Would be best for you to know what had happened.” “I am much indebted to you for your thoughtfulness. But tell me what you meant by saying that it was fortunate that you came here tonight.” “Well, you will admit that it was a strange scene which I witnessed. You were standing over a dying man, holding a blood stained knife in your hands.” * “A most compromising situation truly. The heroes of melodrama have been condemned on similar circumstantial evidence.” “True, and when I went out for the doctor I passed the spot again, and then I found this.” He handed a small article to Mr. Mitchel, who examined it and then remarked: . “My match box, bearing my monogram. You are my good angel truly. You remove all evidence against me. But, jesting aside, I am glad to have this. It might have been difficult to make others believe that I had dropped it.” “So I thought, yet see how unreliable is circumstantial evidence at times!” “You are quite right, yet the mistakes arise not from the evidence itself, but from the misinterpretation thereof, one of your own axioms, I believe. Now, let me thank you once more. And will you hurry about the removal of this body?” Mr. Barnes hastened to comply with this request, and Mr. Mitchel, left alone wdth the corpse, immediately began to search it. A moment later he drew forth from the pocket of the trousers a long, folded envelope, which he eagerly carried to the light that he might examine it. Taking out the paper which the envelope inclosed, he uttered an ejaculation of pleasure. He held in his hand the will of Matthew Mora. “Let me see,” thought Mr. Mitchel. “We found pocket of the trousers of the plaid suit stained with blood only on one side, from which we argued that the murderer might have thrust the will into that pocket when leaving the house. I think Mr. Barnes advanced the theory that in such an event the will would be blood stained on one side. Nothing could be more complete. Here is Matthew Mora’s will, with one side, as it is folded, quite considerably stained with blood.” po BE CONTINUED.]

“ Stand back, or you are a dead man!"