Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 September 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 Wlsard,” “FimaProof,” Etc. OamrteM, 18M. by Q.P. Putnam* Bona. AU righto rmerved.

, T»w-W [CONTI NUED.I Neither Mr. Mitehel nor Preacher Jim seemed as much impressed by this statement ns the detective had evidently expected they would be. “That is a strange assertion,” said Mr. Mitehel. >. “All the circumstances point to It,” said Mr. Barnes, determined to convince hls hearers. “It was young Mora who owned those plaid troysers. The

watchman saw him wear them In and out of the house. The valet corroborates the statement of the watchman. Preacher Jim here advanced the theory that the murderer might have been half dressed and the plaid suit might have been put on afterward. This would account for all the stains and fit the theory that the murderer wore the suit over hls own garments. Mora would benefit by the loss of bis father's will. Mora, therefore, having killed his father, abstracted the document, which he finally thrust Into his pocket as he left the house. Then he he leaves this Buit at the Essex street house, knowing that Slippery Sam occupied a room there and half designing to throw the burden of hls own guilt upon the shoulders of a known crook. Later he finds you, Mr. Mitehel, following up the case and that you are on intimate terms with Slippery Sam. It became necessary to his to remove Sam. He did so.”

“This is all very well up to the last statement He did so, you say. But how do you prove It?” “You may recall that I came upon the scene almost as soon as you did. I had been following Mora. lie had been acting most suspiciously all the evening—that Is, I was sure that he was endeavoring to discover whether he was followed or not. Perhaps he did so. At any rate, he gave me the slip by entering a hotel which had I several exits. I waited long enough to be sure that he was not coming out again at the door which I was watching and then gave up the job. I started for your house, wishing to Inform you of the death of Preacher Jim’s mother. I had only a few blocks to go and was near to your street when a man hurriedly brushed by me. I only saw his face for an instant, but it was 'Matthew Mora.” “Matthew Mora?” “Yes. I gazed after him, undecided whether to follow him or not. I looked around, on an Impulse, reckoning how near I might be to your place, and then I observed a man leaning over another who lay on the pavement. I went forward and saw you bending over Slippery Sam, whom Mora undoubtedly had Just killed.” “No, no, Mr. Barnes! I am sorry, very sorry, that your fine castles must fall, but Mora is not guilty of murdering any one, certainly not of killing Slippery Sam!” “How can you be so sure of that?” “Have I not told you? I know who killed old Mora, and I know who killed Slippery Sam. They are one and the same, but the man Is not Mora.” “Did you witness the murder of Slippery Sam?” “No.” “Then you cannot be certain. There must be a doubt” “Not a shadow of doubt.” “Well, then, who is the guilty man?” “Ah, that I prefer not to tell you!” “Do you mean that you will conceal your knowledge; that you will protect the criminal?” “My knowledge Is not absolute in the sense that I have been a witness or the recipient of a confession. It Is knowledge gained by analytical deduction. Under those circumstances I do not feel bound to make a charge of murder against a man.” Mr. Barnes was silent, and Preacher Jim, who had been listening attentively, now spoke. “I would be much Interested to hear yon tell the steps by which you have reached this conclusion,” said he, “even though I would not ask you to divulge the name against your will.” Mr. Mitehel looked at him sharply before replying, but he did not flinch. “Very well,” said Mr. Mitehel. “I will grant your request I will tell you how I know who killed these men. In the first place, I discussed this case with the man who committed the crime, though I aid not suspect him at that time. During our theorizing I repeated Mr. Barnes’ argument that the murderer must have been acquainted

wun tne internal arrangements of the house, because the weapon, a warcluh, had been taken from a case in the hall below. This man In replying argued that the murderer did not need to know of the collection of weapons, because Matthew Mora had taken the club to bed with him. That was a fact which could not have been known to any one except the murderer. Consequently I knew at once that the man with whom I was speaking had himself committed the crime. What say you, Preacher Jim?" “I say that the man made a slip of the tongue and that you were very shrewd. Now, tell us how you connect that man with the killing of Slippery Sam.” “Mr. Barnes, you will recall the circumstance of your finding my matchbox near the body of Slippery Sam?” “Yes. I returned It to you.” “Very well. I had lent that to the murderer of Matthew Mora, and he had not returned It to me. What say you to that. Preacher Jim?” “I say that you are clever In this also. But a question or two more. Why do you hesitate to name this man ? Why do you not give him up to Justice?” “Because I have given a promise to shield him if he should ever be In the predicament In which he now Is.” “You made a promise? To whom?" exclaimed Preacher Jim excitedly. “That matters uot. A promise is binding without regard to the identity ■of the person who exacted it.” “It was—a woman?” Mr. Mitehel did not reply. “It was to my—my mother? Ha, hal You are a good man, Mr. Mitehel! You keep faith. You would not betray. But I will tell all.” “Stop!” cried Mr. Mitehel, but Preacher Jim, not heeding him, con*' tinned: “I am the guilty man. I killed Matthew Mora. I killed Slippery Sam." At this Mr. Barnes started from hls chair, but a moment later he sat down again, exclaiming: “You the murderer of Matthew Mora! Man, you are mad!” Mr. Mitehel sat still and said nothing. An expression akin to pity and regret flitted across his countenance. “Gentlemen,” pursued Preacher Jim, “I will tell you the whole story, for there Is yet much that will surprise you, much that even you, Mr. Mitehel, do not suspect. But first let me ask you—tell me about my mother. You were with her while I went in search of a doctor. What happened? How came you to make her a promise to shield me? She did not know. She did not suspect. No, no! It was Impossible!” “Your mother told me the story of her life and of yours—that Is, she told me of your father, In whose history much that relates to yourself finds explanation—aye, palliation. Your heritage was bad.” “Ah! She told about the old man, did she? But what about the promise?” “She feared that some day you would discover who your father is and that then murder might be done. She had horrible nightmares, in which she dreamed that you had paid the supreme penalty of the law.” “She was a prophet.” “She argued that whatever wickedness existed In your nature you had Inherited from your father, and she asked me If ever you should commit a crime that I would exert my vndeavors In your behalf; that I should reveal your bad ancestry and urge that as a plea for leniency. This I promised to do, and this I will do.” “It will be unnecessary." “Your mother Intrusted to my care a number of letters and papers In which, she said, I would find disclosed the Identity of your father. Poor soul! She must have forgotten that in her anxiety to prevent you from learning the truth she had taken precautions which left tfce documents practically useless. I examined them as soon as I found an opportunity, and wherever a name must have occurred It had been cut out.” “My poor mother! She at least loved me, whatever wrong she did In bringing me into the world. But let me tell you of my crime. At the outset I will surprise you. For years I have loved Lilian Vale.” "You loved Lilian Vale!” exclaimed Mr. v Mitchel. “Extraordinary!" “More so than you dream. Yes; I have loved her since she was a little child. I loved her then, and I loved her more as she blossomed Into womanhood. But, though I loved her faithfully, ardently, my passion was hopeless.” *• “Why so? Gould you not win her affections in return?” “Perhaps. I never sought to do so. You forget the advice which you heard me give to others in my lecture—my sermon, I might call it. Do you think that I would tell other born criminals to deny themselves the pleasure of having offspring and myself not have strength to abide by my own doctrine? No! I am a criminal, congenitally a degenerate. It was a crime to bring such as lam Into the world. It would be a greater sin for me to become a father.” [TO BE CONTINUED.] I “ -I ’

He then produced the will itself.