The Pumpkin Coach
The story of the American Ambassadress was not the only one
related on this night.
Sir Henry Marquis himself added another, in support of the
contention of his guest . . . and from her own country.
The lawyer walked about the room. The restraint which he had
assumed was now quite abandoned.
"That's all there is to it," he said. "I'm not trying this case
<
it up here now, tonight."
The woman sat in a chair beyond the table. She was young, but
she looked worn and faded. Misery and the long strain of the
trial had worn her out. Her hands moved nervously in the frayed
coat-cuffs.
"But we haven't any more money," she said. "The hundred dollars
I paid you in the beginning is all we have."
The man laughed without disturbing the muscles of his face. "You
can take your choice," he said. "Either bring the money up here
now, to-night, or I withdraw from the case when court opens in
the morning."
"But where am I to get any more money?" the woman said.
The lawyer was a big man. His hair, black and thin, was brushed
close to his head as though wet with oil; his nose was thick and
flattened at the base. The office contained only a table, some
chairs and a file for legal papers. Night was beginning to
descend. Lights were appearing in the city. The two persons had
come in from the Criminal Court after the session for the day had
ended.
The woman seemed bewildered. She looked at the man with the
curious expression of a child that does not comprehend and is
afraid to ask for an explanation.
"If we had any more money," she said, "I would bring it to you,
but the hundred dollars was all we had."
Then she began to explain, reiterating minute details. When the
tragedy occurred and her husband was arrested by the police they
had a small sum painfully saved up. It was now wholly gone.
Like persons in profound misery, she repeated. The man halted
the recital with a brutal gesture.
"I'll not discuss it," he said. "You can bring the money in here
before the court convenes in the morning, or I withdraw from the
case."
He went over to the file, took out a packet of legal papers and
threw them on the table.
"All right, my lady!" he said, "perhaps you think your husband
can get along without a lawyer. Perhaps you think the devil will
save him, or heaven, or Cinderella in a pumpkin coach!" There
was biting irony in the bitter words.
A sudden comprehension began to appear in the woman's face. She
realized now what the man was driving at. The expression in her
face deepened into a sort of wonder, a sort of horror.
"You think he's guilty!" she said. "You think we got the money
and we're trying to keep it, to hide it."
The lawyer turned about, put both hands on the table and leaned
across it. He looked the woman in the face.
"Never mind what I believe; you heard what I said!"
For a moment the woman did not move. Then she got up slowly and
went out. In the street she seemed lost. She remained for some
time before the entrance of the building. Night had now arrived.
Crowds of people were passing, intent on their affairs,
unconcerned. No one seemed to see the figure motionless in the
shadow of the great doorway.
Presently the woman began to walk along the street in the crowd
without giving any attention to the people about her or to the
direction she was taking. She was in that state of mental coma
which attends persons in despair. She neither felt nor
appreciated anything and she continued to walk in the direction
in which the crowd was moving.
Some block in the traffic checked the crowd and the woman
stopped. The block cleared and the human tide drifted on, but
the woman remained. The crowd edged her over to the wall and she
stood there before the shutter of a shop-window. After a time
the crowd passed, thinned and disappeared, but the woman remained
as though thrown out there by the human eddy.
The woman remained for a long time unmoving against the shutter
of the shop-window. Finally she was awakened into life by a
voice speaking to her. It was a soft, foreign voice that lisped
the liquid accents of the occasional English words:
"Ma pauvre femme!" it said; "come with me. Vous etes malade!"
The woman followed mechanically in a sort of wonder. The person
who had spoken to her was young and beautifully dressed in furs
that covered her to her feet. She had gotten down from a
motorcar that stood beside the curb - one of those modern vehicles,
fitted with splendid trappings.
Beyond the shop-window was a great cafe. The girl entered and
the woman followed. The attendants came forward to welcome the
splendid visitor as one whose arrival at this precise hour of the
evening had become a sort of custom. She gave some directions in
a language which the woman did not understand, and they were
seated at a table.
The waiters brought a silver dish filled with a clear, steaming
soup and served it. The girl threw back her fur coat and the
dazed woman realized how beautiful she was. Her hair was yellow
like ripe corn and there were masses of it banked and clustered
about her head; her eyes were blue, and her voice, soft and
alluring, was like a friendly arm put around the heart.
The miserable woman was so confused by this transformation - by
the sudden swing of the door in the wall that had admitted her
into this new, unfamiliar world - that she was never afterward
able to remember precisely by what introductory words her story
was drawn out. She found herself taken up, comforted and made to
tell it.
Her husband had been a butler in the service of a Mr. Marsh, an
eccentric man who lived in one of the old downtown houses of the
city. He was a retired banker with no family. The man lived
alone. He permitted no servants in the house except the butler.
Meals were sent in on order from a neighboring hotel and served
by the butler as the man directed. He received few visitors in
the house and no tradespeople were permitted to come in. There
seemed no reason for this seclusion except the eccentricities of
the man that had grown more pronounced with advancing years.
It was the custom of the butler to leave the house at eight
o'clock in the evening and return in the morning at seven. On
the morning of the third of February, when the butler entered the
house, as he was accustomed to do at eight o'clock in the
morning, he found his master dead.
The woman continued with her narrative, speaking slowly. Every
detail was vividly impressed upon her memory and she gave it
accurately, precisely.
There was a narrow passage or hall, not more than three feet in
width, leading from the butler's pantry into a little
dining-room. This dining-room the old man had fitted up as a
sort of library. It was farther than any other room from the
noises of the city. His library table was placed with one end
against the left wall of the room and he sat with his back toward
the passage into the butler's pantry. On the morning of the
third of February he was found dead in his chair. He had been
stabbed in the back, on the left side, where the neck joins to
the shoulder. A carving-knife had been used and a single blow
had accomplished the murder.
It was known that on the evening before the old banker had taken
from a safety-deposit vault the sum of $20,000, which it was his
intention to invest in some securities. This money, in bills of
very large denominations, was in the top drawer on the right side
of the desk. The dead man had apparently not been touched after
the crime, but the drawer had been pried open and the money
taken. An ice-pick from the butler's pantry had been used to
force it. The assassin had left no marks, finger-prints or
tell-tale stains. The victim had been instantly killed with the
blow of the knife which lay on the floor beside him.
The butler had been arrested, charged with the crime, and his
trial was now going on in the Criminal Court. Circumstantial
evidence was strong against him. The woman spoke as though she
echoed the current comment of the courtroom without realizing how
it affected her. She had done what she could. She had employed
an attorney at the recommendation of a person who had come to
interview her. She did not know who the person was nor why she
should have employed this attorney at his suggestion, except that
some one must be had to defend her husband, and uncertain what to
do, she had gone to the first name suggested.
The girl listened, putting now and then a query. She spoke
slowly, careful to use only English words. And while the woman
talked she made a little drawing on the blank back of a menu
card. Now she began to question the woman minutely about the
details of the room and the position of the furniture where the
tragedy had occurred, the desk, the attitude of the dead man, the
location of the wound, and exact distances. And as the woman
repeated the evidence of the police officers and the experts, the
girl filled out her drawing with nice mathematical exactness like
one accustomed to such a labor.
This was the whole story, and now the woman added the final
interview with the attorney. She made a sort of hopeless
gesture.
"Nobody believes us," she said. "My husband did not kill him.
He was at home with me. He knew nothing about it until he found
his master dead at the table in the morning. But there is only
our word against all the lawyers and detectives and experts that
Mr. Thompson has brought against us."
"Who is Mr. Thompson?" said the girl. She was deep in a study of
her little drawing.
"He's Mr. Marsh's nephew, Mr. Percy Thompson."
The girl, absorbed in the study of her drawing, now put an
unexpected question.
"Has your husband lost an arm?"
"No," she said, "he never had any sort of accident."
A great light came into the girl's face. "Then I believe you,"
she said. "I believe every word . . . . I think your husband is
innocent."
The girl was aglow with an enthusiastic purpose. It was all
there in her fine, expressive face.
"Now," she said, "tell me about this nephew, this Mr. Percy
Thompson. Could we by any chance see him?"
"It won't do any good to see him," replied the woman. "He is
determined to convict my husband. Nothing can change him."
The girl went on without paying any attention to the comment.
"Where does he live - you must have heard?"
"He lives at the Markheim Hotel," she said.
"The Markheim Hotel," repeated the girl. "Where is it?"
The woman gave the street and number. The girl rose. "That's on
my way; we'll stop."
The two-went out of the cafe to the motor. The whole thing,
incredible at any other hour, seemed to the woman like events
happening in a dream or in some topsy-turvy country which she had
mysteriously entered.
She sat back in the tonneau of the motor, huddled into the
corner, a rug around her shoulders. The flashing lights seemed
those of some distant, unknown city, as though she were
transported into the scene of an Arabian tale.
The motor stopped before a little shabby hotel in a neighboring
cross-street, and the footman, in livery beside the driver, got
down at a direction of the girl and went up the steps. In a few
moments a man came out and descended to the motor standing by the
curb. He was about middle age. He looked as though Nature had
intended him, in the beginning, for a person of some distinction,
but he had the dissipated face of one at middle age who had
devoted his years to a life of pleasure. There were hard lines
about his mouth and a purple network of veins showing about the
base of his nose.
As he approached the girl, leaning out of the open window of the
tonneau, dropped her glove as by inadvertence. The man stooped,
recovered it and returned it to her. The girl started with a
perceptible gesture. Then she cried out in her charming voice
"Merci, monsieur. I stopped a moment to thank you for the
flowers you sent me last night. It was lovely of you!" and she
indicated the bunch of roses pinned to her corsage.
The man seemed astonished. For a moment he hesitated as though
about to make some explanation, but the girl went on without
regarding his visible embarrassment.
"You shall not escape with a denial," she said. "There was no
card and you did not do me the honor to wait at the door, but I
know you sent them - an usher saw you; you shall not escape my
appreciation. You did send them?" she said.
The man laughed. "Sure," he said, "if you insist." He was
willing to profit by this unexpected error, and the girl went on:
"I have worn the roses to-day," she said, "for you. Will you
wear one of them to-morrow for me?"
She detached a bud and leaned out of the door of the motor. She
pinned the bud to the lapel of the man's coat. She did it
slowly, deliberately, like one who makes the touch of the fingers
do the service of a caress.
Then she spoke to the driver and the motor went on, leaving the
amazed man on the curb before the shabby Markheim Hotel with the
rosebud pinned to his coat - astonished at the incredible fortune
of this favor from an inaccessible idol about whom the city
raved.
The woman accepted the enigma of this interview as she had
accepted the wonder of the girl's sudden appearance and the
other, incidents of this extraordinary night. She did not
undertake to imagine what the drawing on the menu meant, the
words about the one-armed man, the glove dropped for Thompson to
pick up, the rose pinned on his coat; it was all of a piece with
the mystery that she had stumbled into.
When the motor stopped and she was taken through a little door by
an attendant into a theater box, she accepted that as another of
these things into which she could not inquire; things that
happened to her outside of her volition and directed by
authorities which she could not control.
The staging of the opera refined and extended the illusion that
she had been transported out of the world by some occult agency.
The wonderful creature that had taken her up out of her abandoned
misery before the sordid shop-shutter appeared now in a fairy
costume glittering with jewels. And the gnomes, the monsters and
goblins appearing about her were all fabulous creatures, as the
girl herself seemed a fabulous creature.
She sighed like one who must awaken from the splendor of a dream
to realities of which the sleeper is vaguely conscious. Only the
girl's voice seemed real. It seemed some great, heavenly reality
like the sunlight or the sweep of the sea. It filled the packed
places of the theater. She sang and one believed again in the
benevolence of heaven; in immortal love. To the distressed woman
effacing herself in the corner of the empty box it was all a sort
of inconceivable witch-work.
And it was witch-work, as potent if not as amply fitted with
dramatic properties as the witchwork of ancient legend.
The daughter of an obscure juge d'instruction of the Canton of
Vaud, singing in a Swiss meadow, had been taken up by a wealthy
American, traveling in Switzerland on an April morning-old,
enervated with the sun of the Riviera, and displeased with life.
And this rich old woman, her rheumatic fingers loaded with
jewels, had transformed the daughter of the juge d'instruction of
the Canton of Vaud into a singing wonder that made every human
creature see again the dreams of his youth before him leading
into the Elysian Fields.
And to the girl herself this transformation also seemed the
wonder of witch-work. Her early life lay so far below in a world
remote and detached; a little house in a village of the Canton of
Vaud with the genteel poverty that attended the slender salary of
a juge d'instruction, and the weight of duties that accumulated
on her shoulders. Her father's life was given over to the labors
of criminal investigation, but it was a field that returned
nothing in the way of material gain. Honorable mention, a medal,
the distinction of having his reports copied into the official
archives, were the fruits of the man's life. She remembered the
minutely exhaustive details of those reports which she used to
copy painfully at night by the light of a candle. The old man,
absorbed by his deductions, with his trained habits of
observation and his prodigious memory, never seemed to realize
the drudgery imposed upon the girl by his endless dictation.
"To-morrow," the heavenly creature had said softly, like a
caress, in the woman's ear when an attendant had taken her
through the little door into the empty box. But the to-morrow
broke with every illusion vanished.
The woman sat beside her husband in the dismal court-room when
the court convened. The judge, old and tired, was on the bench.
A sulphurous, depressing fog entered from the city. The
court-room smelled of a cleaner's mop. The jury entered; and a
few spectators, who looked as though they might have spent the
night on the benches of the park out, side, drifted in. The
attorneys and the officials of the court were present and the
trial resumed.
Every detail of the departed, evening was, to the woman, a mirage
except the brutal threat of the attorney, uttered before she had
gone down into the street. This threat, with that power of
reality which evil things seem always to possess, now
materialized. After the court had opened, but before the trial
could proceed, the attorney for the defendant rose and addressed
the court.
He spoke for some moments, handling his innuendoes with skill.
His intent was to withdraw from the case. He realized that this
was an unusual procedure and that the course must be justified
upon a high ethical plane. He was a person of acumen and of no
inconsiderable skill and he succeeded. Without making any direct
charge, and disclaiming any intent to prejudice the prisoner and
his defense, or to deprive him of any safeguard of the law, he
was able to convey the impression that he had been misled in
undertaking the defense of the case; that his confidence in the
innocence of the accused had been removed by unquestionable
evidence which he had been led to believe did not exist.
He made this explanation with profound regret. But he felt that,
having been induced to undertake the defense by representations
not justified in fact, and by an impression of the nature of the
case which developments in the court-room had not confirmed, he
had the right to step aside out of an equivocal position. He
wished to do this without injury to the prisoner and while there
was yet an opportunity for him to obtain other counsel. The
whole tenor of the speech was the right to be relieved from the
obligation of an error; an error that had involved him
unwittingly by reason of assurances which the developments of the
case had now set aside. And through it all there was the
manifest wish to do the prisoner no vestige of injury.
After this speech of his attorney the conviction of the man was
inevitable. He sat stooped over, his back bent, his head down,
his thin hands aimlessly in his lap like one who has come to the
end of all things; like one who no longer makes any effort
against a destiny determined on his ruin.
The thing had the overpowering vitality which evil things seem
always to possess, and the woman felt helpless against it; so
utterly, so completely helpless that it was useless to protest by
any word or gesture. She could have gotten up and explained the
true motive behind this man's speech; she could have repeated the
dialogue in his office; she could have asserted his unspeakable
treachery; but she saw with an unerring instinct that against the
skill of the man her effort would be wholly useless. With his
resources and his dominating cunning he would not only make her
words appear obviously false, but he would make them fasten upon
her a malicious intent to injure the man who had undertaken her
husband's defense; and somehow he would be able, she felt, to
divert the obliquity and cause it to react upon herself.
This was all clear to her, and like some little trapped creature
of the wood that finds escape closed on every side and no longer
makes any effort, she remained motionless.
The judge was an honorable man, concerned to accomplish justice
and not always misled by an obvious intent. The proceeding did
not please him, but he knew that no benefit, rather a continued
injury, would result to the prisoner by forcing the attorney to
go on with a case which it was evident that he no longer cared to
make any effort to support. He permitted the man to withdraw.
Then he spoke to the prisoner.
"Have you any other counsel?" he asked.
The prisoner did not look up. He replied in a low, almost
inaudible voice.
"No, Your Honor," he said.
"Then I shall appoint some one to go on with the case," and he
looked up over the docket before him and out at the few attorneys
sitting within the rail.
It was at this moment that the woman, crying silently, without a
sound and without moving in her chair, heard behind her the voice
which she had heard the evening before, when, as now, at the
bottom of the pit, she stood before the shutter of the
shop-window.
"Will it be necessary, monsieur le judge?"
It was the same wonderful, moving, heavenly voice. Every sound
in the court-room suddenly ceased. All eyes were lifted. And
Thompson, sitting beside the district-attorney, saw, standing
before the rail in the court-room, the splendid, alluring
creature that had called him out of the sordid lobby of the Hotel
Markheim and entranced him with an evidence of her favor.
Unconsciously he put up his hand to feel for the bud in the lapel
of his coat. It had remained there - not, as it happened, from
her wish, but because he dare not lay the coat aside.
In the interval of intense interest arising at the withdrawal of
the attorney from the case the girl had come in unnoticed. She
might have appeared out of the floor. Her voice was the first
indication of her presence.
The judge turned swiftly. "What do you mean?" he said.
"I mean, monsieur," she answered, "that if a man is innocent of a
crime, he cannot require a lawyer to defend him."
The judge was astonished, but he was an old man and had seen many
strange events happen along the way of a criminal trial.
"But why do you say this man is innocent," he said.
"I will show you, monsieur," and she came around the railing into
the pit of the, court before his bench. She carried in her hand
the menu upon which, at the table in the cafe the night before,
she had made a drawing of the scene of the homicide.
The extraordinary event had happened so swiftly that the attorney
for the prosecution had not been able to interpose an objection.
Now the nephew of the dead man spoke hurriedly, in whispers, and
the attorney arose.
"I object to this irregular proceeding," he said. "If this
person is a witness, let her be sworn in the usual manner and let
her take her place in the witness-chair where she may be examined
by the attorney whom the court may see fit to appoint for the
defense."
It was evident that Mr. Thompson, urging the prosecutor, was
alarmed. The folds of his obese neck lying above the collar of
his coat took on a deeper color, and his mouth visibly sagged as
with some unexpected emotion. He felt that he was becoming
entangled in some vast, invisible net spread about him by this
girl who had appeared as if by magic before the Hotel Markheim.
The judge looked down at the attorney. "I will have the witness
sworn," he said, "but I shall not at present appoint anybody to
conduct an examination. When a prisoner before me has no
counsel, I sometimes look after his case myself."
He spoke to the girl. "Will you hold up your hand?" he said.
"Why, yes, monsieur," she said, "if you will also ask Mr.
Thompson to hold up his hand."
"Do you wish him sworn as a witness?" said the judge.
The girl hesitated. "Yes, monsieur," she said, "if that is the
way to have him hold up his hand."
Again Thompson was disturbed. Again he spoke to the prosecutor
and again that attorney objected.
"We have not asked to have Mr. Thompson testify in this case," he
said. "It is true Mr. Thompson is concerned about the result of
this trial. He is the nephew of the decedent and his heir. It
is only natural that he should properly concern himself to see
that the assassin is brought to justice."
He spoke to the girl. "Do you wish to make Mr. Thompson your
witness?" he said.
And again she replied with the hesitating formula:
"Why, yes, monsieur, if that is the way to cause him to hold up
his hand."
The judge turned to the clerk. "Will you administer the oath to
these two persons?" he said.
Thompson rose. His face was disconcerted and slack. He
hesitated, but the prosecutor spoke to him. Then he faced the
judge and put up his hand. Immediately the girl cried out:
"Look, monsieur," she said. "It is his left hand he is holding
up!"
Immediately Thompson raised the other hand. "I beg your pardon,
Your Honor," he muttered. "I am left-handed; I sometimes make
that mistake."
And again the girl cried out: "You see . . . you notice it . . .
it is true, then . . . he is left-handed."
"I see he is left-handed," said the judge, "but what has that to
do with the case?"
"Oh, monsieur," she said, "it has everything to do with it. I
will show you."
She moved up on the step before the judge's bench and laid the
menu before him. The attorney for the prosecution also arose.
He wished to prevent this proceeding, to object to it, but he
feared to disturb the judge and he remained silent.
"Monsieur," she said, "I have made a little drawing . . . I know
how such things are done . . . . My father was juge
d'instruction of the Canton of Vaud. He always made little
drawings of places where crimes were committed. . . . Here you
will see," and she put her finger on the card, "the narrow passage
leading from the butler's pantry into the dining-room used for a
library. You will notice, monsieur, that the writing-table stood
with one end against the wall, the left wall of the room, as one
enters from the butler's pantry. It is a queer table. One side
of it has a row of drawers coming to the floor and the other side
is open so one may sit with one's knees under it. On the night
of the tragedy this table was sitting at right angles to the left
wall, that is to say, monsieur, with this end open for the
writer's knees close up against the left wall of the room. That
meant, monsieur, that on this night Mr. Marsh was sitting at the
table with his back to the passage from the butler's pantry,
close up against the left wall of the room.
"Therefore, monsieur," the girl went on, "the man who
assassinated Mr. Marsh entered from the butler's pantry. He
slipped into the room along the left wall close up behind his
victim . . . . Did it not occur so."
This was the evidence of the police officials and the experts.
It was clear from the position of the desk in the room and from
the details of the evidence.
"And, monsieur," she said, "will you tell me, is it true that the
stab wound which killed Mr. Marsh was in the shoulder on the side
next to the wall?"
"Yes," said the judge, "that is true."
The prosecutor, urged by Thompson, now made a verbal objection.
The case was practically completed. The incident going on in the
court-room followed no definite legal procedure and could not be
permitted to proceed. The judge stopped him.
"Sit down," he said. He did not offer any explanation or
comment. He merely silenced the man and returned to the girl
standing eagerly on the step before the bench.
"The wound was in the base of the man's neck at the top of the
left shoulder on the side next to the wall," he said. "But what
has this fact to do with the case?"
"Oh, monsieur," she cried, "it has everything to do with it. If
the assassin who slipped along the wall had carried the knife in
his right hand, the wound would have been on the right side of
the dead man's neck. But if, monsieur, the assassin carried the
knife in his left hand, then the wound would be where it is, on
the left side. That made me believe, at first, that the assassin
had only one arm - had lost his right arm - and must use the
other; then, a little later, I understood . . . . Oh, monsieur,
don't you understand; don't you see that the assassin who stabbed
Mr. Marsh was left-handed?"
In a moment it was all clear to everybody. Only a left-handed
man could have committed the crime, for only a left-handed man
standing close against the left side of a room above one sitting
at a desk against that wall could have struck straight down into
the left shoulder of the murdered man. A right-handed assassin
would have struck straight down into the right shoulder, he would
not have risked a doubtful blow, delivered awkwardly across his
body, into the left shoulder of his victim.
The girl indicated Thompson with her hand. "He did it; he's
left-handed. I found out by dropping my glove."
Panic enveloped the cornered man. He began to shake as with an
ague. Sweat like a thin oil spread over his debauched face and
the folds of his obese neck. With his fatal left hand he began
to finger the lapel of his coat where the faded rosebud hung
pinned into the buttonhole. And the girl's voice broke the
profound silence of the court-room.
"He has the money, too," she said. "I felt a bulky packet when I
gave him the flower out of my bouquet last night."
The big, thin-haired lawyer, leaving the courtroom after his
withdrawal from the case, stopped at a window arrested by the
amazing scene: The police taking the stolen money out of
Thompson's pocket; the woman in the girl's arms, and the
transfigured prisoner standing up as in the presence of a
heavenly angel. This before him . . . and the splendid motor
below under the sweep of the window, waiting before the
courthouse door, brought back the memory of his biting, sarcastic
words:
". . . or Cinderella in a pumpkin coach!"
And there occurred to him a doubt of the exclusive dominance of
life by the gods he served.
More
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FITZ-JAMES O'BRIEN It was oppressively warm. The sun had long disappeared, but seemed to have left its vital spirit of heat behind it. The air rested; the leaves of the acacia-trees that shrouded my windows hung plumb-like on their delicate sta... The Lost Special
The confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying under sentence of death at Marseilles, has thrown a light upon one of the most inexplicable crimes of the century--an incident which is, I believe, absolutely unprecedented in the criminal annals of any... The Magician Who Became An Ambassador
[It is not generally known that Robert-Houdin once rendered his country an important service as special envoy to Algeria. Half a century ago this colony was an endless source of trouble to France. Although the rebel Arab chieftain Abd-del-Kader h... The Man And The Snake
I It is of veritabyll report, and attested of so many that there be nowe of wyse and learned none to gaynsaye it, that ye serpente hys eye hath a magnetick propertie that whosoe falleth into its svasion is drawn forwards in despyte of his wil... The Man In The Green Hat
"Alas, monsieur, in spite of our fine courtesies, the conception of justice by one race must always seem outlandish to another!" It was on the terrace of Sir Henry Marquis' villa at Cannes. The members of the little party were in conversation o... The Man In The Iron Mask
I THE LEGEND The Mystery of the Man in the Iron Mask is, despite a pleasant saying of Lord Beaconsfield's, one of the most fascinating in history. By a curious coincidence the wildest legend on the subject, and the correct explanation of ... The Man Who Went Too Far
The little village of St. Faith's nestles in a hollow of wooded hill up on the north bank of the river Fawn in the county of Hampshire huddling close round its gray Norman church as if for spiritual protection against the fays and fairies, the ... The Man With The Pale Eyes
Monsieur Pierre Agenor de Vargnes, the Examining Magistrate, was the exact opposite of a practical joker. He was dignity, staidness, correctness personified. As a sedate man, he was quite incapable of being guilty, even in his dreams, of anythi... The Man With The Twisted Lip
Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to opium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college; for having read De Qui... The Man With The Watches
There are many who will still bear in mind the singular circumstances which, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns of the daily Press in the spring of the year 1892. Coming as it did at a period of exceptional dullness, it ... The Methods Of A Doctor Of The Occult
Not so very long ago I met a friend--a man of wealth, who was a firm believer in spiritualism, and who frequently conversed with his dead wife and daughter. I asked him if he could inform me whether or not there were any good mediums in the city,... The Minister
The king had lost his first minister and chose Zadig to supply his place. All the ladies in Babylon applauded the choice; for since the foundation of the empire there had never been such a young minister. But all the courtiers were filled with jea... The Minister's Black Veil
A PARABLE[1] [1] Another clergyman in New England, Mr. Joseph Moody, of York, Maine, made himself remarkable by the same eccentricity that is here related of the Reverend Mr. Hooper. In his case, however, the symbol had a different import. ... The Minor Canon
It was Monday, and in the afternoon, as I was walking along the High Street of Marchbury, I was met by a distinguished-looking person whom I had observed at the services in the cathedral on the previous day. Now it chanced on that Sunday that I wa... The Miracle Of Zobeide
Always wise and prudent, Zobeide cautiously put aside the myrtle branches and peeped through to see who were the persons talking by the fountain in the cool shadow of the pink sandstone wall. And when she saw that it was only the Rev. John Feather... The Mortals In The House
Under none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed by none of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make acquaintance with the house which is the subject of this Christmas piece. I saw it in the daylight, with the sun ... The Mummy's Foot
I had entered, in an idle mood, the shop of one of those curiosity venders who are called marchands de bric-a-brac in that Parisian argot which is so perfectly unintelligible elsewhere in France. You have doubtless glanced occasionally throug... The Musgrave Ritual
An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was ... The Mysterious Card
CLEVELAND MOFFETT Courtesy of the Author. I Richard Burwell, of New York, will never cease to regret that the French language was not made a part of his education. This is why: On the second evening after Burwell arrived in Paris,... The Nail
I The thing which is most ardently desired by a man who steps into a stagecoach, bent upon a long journey, is that his companions may be agreeable, that they may have the same tastes, possibly the same vices, be well educated and know enough no... The Name Of The Dead
In the book entitled Psychics: Facts and Theories, by Rev. Minot J. Savage, at page 15, the following account will be found: "Soon I began to hear raps, apparently on the floor, and then in different parts of the room. On this, the lady remarke... The Naval Treaty
The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable by three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of being associated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods. I find them recorded in my notes under the headings ... The Necklace
She was one of those pretty and charming girls who are sometimes, as if by a mistake of destiny, born in a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, wedded, by any rich and distinguished man; ... The New Catacomb
"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, "I do wish that you would confide in me." The two famous students of Roman remains sat together in Kennedy's comfortable room overlooking the Corso. The night was cold, and they had both pulled up their chair... The Nose
One morning Azora returned from a walk in a terrible passion, and uttering the most violent exclamations. "What aileth thee," said he, "my dear spouse? What is it that can thus have discomposed thee?" "Alas," said she, "thou wouldst be as much e... The Notch On The Ax - A Story A La Mode
I Every one remembers in the Fourth Book of the immortal poem of your Blind Bard (to whose sightless orbs no doubt Glorious Shapes were apparent, and Visions Celestial), how Adam discourses to Eve of the Bright Visitors who hovered round ... The Oblong Box
Some years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston, S. C, to the city of New York, in the fine packet-ship "Independence," Captain Hardy. We were to sail on the fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and on the fourteenth, I went on bo... The Oblong Box
EDGAR ALLAN POE Some years ago I engaged passage from Charleston, S. C., to the city of New York, in the fine packet-ship Independence, Captain Hardy. We were to sail on the fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and on the fourteen... The Old Stone House
I was riding along one autumn day through a certain wooded portion of New York State, when I came suddenly upon an old stone house in which the marks of age were in such startling contrast to its unfinished condition that I involuntarily stopped m... The Owl's Ear
On the 29th of July, 1835, Kasper Boeck, a shepherd of the little village of Hirschwiller, with his large felt hat tipped back, his wallet of stringy sackcloth hanging at his hip, and his great tawny dog at his heels, presented himself at about ni... The Pavilion On The Links
I I was a great solitary when I was young. I made it my pride to keep aloof and suffice for my own entertainment; and I may say that I had neither friends nor acquaintances until I met that friend who became my wife and the mother of my childre... The Piano Next Door
BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, was alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he missed Babette. But then, as he often... The Pipe
"RANDOLPH CRESCENT, N.W. "MY DEAR PUGH--I hope you will like the pipe which I send with this. It is rather a curious example of a certain school of Indian carving. And is a present from "Yours truly, Joseph Tress." It was... The Pumpkin Coach
The story of the American Ambassadress was not the only one related on this night. Sir Henry Marquis himself added another, in support of the contention of his guest . . . and from her own country. The lawyer walked about the room. The re... The Puzzle
I Pugh came into my room holding something wrapped in a piece of brown paper. "Tress, I have brought you something on which you may exercise your ingenuity." He began, with exasperating deliberation, to untie the string which bound his parce... The Quinton Jewel Affair
It was comparatively rarely that Hewitt came into contact with members of the regular criminal class--those, I mean, who are thieves, of one sort or another, by exclusive profession. Still, nobody could have been better prepared than Hewitt for enco... The Red-headed League
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withd... The Red-headed League
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw... The Reigate Puzzle
It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of '87. The whole question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertui... The Resident Patient
Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which I have endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which I have experienced in picking out exa... The Reward
I was before one of those difficult positions unavoidable to a visitor in a foreign country. I had to meet the obligations of professional courtesy. Captain Walker had asked me to go over the manuscript of his memoirs; and now he had called at... The Rival Ghosts
The good ship sped on her way across the calm Atlantic. It was an outward passage, according to the little charts which the company had charily distributed, but most of the passengers were homeward bound, after a summer of rest and recr... The Robber
Arriving on the frontiers which divide Arabia Petraea from Syria, he passed by a pretty strong castle, from which a party of armed Arabians sallied forth. They instantly surrounded him and cried, "All thou hast belongs to us, and thy person is the... The Room Of The Evil Thought
THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleas- antest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump of larches, such as may often be seen... The Second Bullet
"You must see her." "No. No." "She's a most unhappy woman. Husband and child both taken from her in a moment; and now, all means of living as well, unless some happy thought of yours--some inspiration of your genius-- shows us a way of re-esta... The Secret Of Goresthorpe Grange
I am sure that Nature never intended me to be a self-made man. There are times when I can hardly bring myself to realize that twenty years of my life were spent behind the counter of a grocer's shop in the East End of London, and that it was th... The Sending Of Dana Da
When the Devil rides on your chest, remember the chamar. --Native Proverb. Once upon a time some people in India made a new heaven and a new earth out of broken teacups, a missing brooch or two, and a hair brush. The... The Shadows On The Wall
"Henry had words with Edward in the study the night before Edward died," said Caroline Glynn. She was elderly, tall, and harshly thin, with a hard colourlessness of face. She spoke not with acrimony, but with grave severity. Rebecca Ann Glynn,... The Shape Of Fear
TIM O'CONNOR -- who was de- scended from the O'Conors with one N -- started life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him for the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow... The Spread Rails
It was after dinner, in the great house of Sir Henry Marquis in St. James's Square. The talk had run on the value of women in criminal investigation; their skill as detective agents . . . the suitability of the feminine intelligence to the hard... The Stanway Cameo Mystery
It is now a fair number of years back since the loss of the famous Stanway Cameo made its sensation, and the only person who had the least interest in keeping the real facts of the case secret has now been dead for some time, leaving neither relativ... The Stock-broker's Clerk
Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time an excellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the nature of St. Vitus's dance from which... The Stone
As soon as Setoc arrived among his own tribe he demanded the payment of five hundred ounces of silver, which he had lent to a Jew in presence of two witnesses; but as the witnesses were dead, and the debt could not be proved, the Hebrew appropriat... The Story Continued By Percy Fairbank
XIV We took leave of Francis Raven at the door of Farleigh Hall, with the understanding that he might expect to hear from us again. The same night Mrs. Fairbank and I had a discussion in the sanctuary of our own room. The topic was "The Hostl... The Supper
Setoc, who could not separate himself from this man, in whom dwelt wisdom, carried him to the great fair of Balzora, whither the richest merchants in the earth resorted. Zadig was highly pleased to see so many men of different countries united in ... The Terror Of Blue John Gap
The following narrative was found among the papers of Dr. James Hardcastle, who died of phthisis on February 4th, 1908, at 36, Upper Coventry Flats, South Kensington. Those who knew him best, while refusing to express an opinion upon this particu... The Thing On The Hearth
"THE first confirmatory evidence of the thing, Excellency, was the print of a woman's bare foot." He was an immense creature. He sat in an upright chair that seemed to have been provided especially for him. The great bulk of him flowed out ... The Torture By Hope
Many years ago, as evening was closing in, the venerable Pedro Arbuez d'Espila, sixth prior of the Dominicans of Segovia, and third Grand Inquisitor of Spain, followed by a _fra redemptor_, and preceded by two familiars of the Holy Office, the lat... The Torture By Hope
VILLIERS DE L'ISLE ADAM Many years ago, as evening was closing in, the venerable Pedro Arbuez d'Espila, sixth prior of the Dominicans of Segovia, and third Grand Inquisitor of Spain, followed by a fra redemptor, and preceded by two familiars of... The Tragedy At Brookbend Cottage
"Max," said Mr. Carlyle, when Parkinson had closed the door behind him, "this is Lieutenant Hollyer, whom you consented to see." "To hear," corrected Carrados, smiling straight into the healthy and rather embarrassed face of the stranger before ... The Waters Of Death
The warm mineral waters of Spinbronn, situated in the Hundsrueck, several leagues from Pirmesens, formerly enjoyed a magnificent reputation. All who were afflicted with gout or gravel in Germany repaired thither; the savage aspect of the country d... The Woman Beaten
Zadig directed his course by the stars. The constellation of Orion and the splendid Dog Star guided his steps toward the pole of Cassiopaea. He admired those vast globes of light, which appear to our eyes but as so many little sparks, while the ea... The Wrong Sign
It was an ancient diary in a faded leather cover. The writing was fine and delicate, and the ink yellow with age. Sir Henry Marquis turned the pages slowly and with care for the paper was fragile. We had dined early at the Ritz and come in la... The Yellow Face
[In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in which my companion's singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that I should dwell rather upon his succes... The Yellow Flower
The girl sat in a great chair before the fire, huddled, staring into the glow of the smoldering logs. Her dark hair clouded her face. The evening gown was twisted and crumpled about her. There was no ornament on her; her arms, her shoulders, ... Their Dear Little Ghost
THE first time one looked at Els- beth, one was not prepossessed. She was thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes went in just a perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly straight. But when one looked longer, one percei... Wieland's Madness
[As the story opens, the narratress, Clara Wieland, is entering upon the happy realization of her love for Henry Pleyel, closest friend of her brother "Wieland." Their woodland home, Mettingen, on the banks of the then remote Schuylkill, is the... Wolfert Webber Or Golden Dreams
In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and--blank--for I do not remember the precise date; however, it was somewhere in the early part of the last century,--there lived in the ancient city of the Manhattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webbe...