The Alden Murder.

Auckland Star, Volume XVII, Issue 208, 4 September 1886, Page 3

The Alden Murder.

•' Then I suppose you'll go, Jack?" " Yes, I'll go," my friend replied slowly. " I'll go, of course, though I hardly see what good I am to do oxcept to pocket tho money. I'll admit that to bo a great consideration these hard times, but I almost hato to take it, knowing how small the return is likely to be."

"Tho return? Nonsenso? You'll clear up the myßtcry in no time, my boy, and return from Michigan with an additional success to help your already brilliant reputation." My friend smiled a little sadly.

" You are probably thinking of one ot those alleged detective stories now," he said, " where the detective always wins—right triumphs in tho end and the curtain goes down with red firo and slow music." I brushed aside the smoke from my cigar and turned lazily in my chair to look at him. He was staring at vacancy, and his handsome face wore an unusually grave expression. "You are not generally so hopclese,"l said at last.

"I am not hopeless," he replied quietly. " I shall go to Detroit and close up the case if possible. If Ido not succeed I will at least try honestly. That is if—" " Well ?" I inquired. "if whnt ?"

I laughed softly. Jack Wilmarth was not generally superstitious. " What do you suspect ?" I asked. Ho dropped lazily back into his chair and his face resumed its usual impa=sive expression. " I suspect," ho replied coolly, " thatl am employed in the behaliof Charlos Alden'a murderer " " Then why do you go ?' "A detective would bo nothing without his curiosity," he replied with a quiet laugh, "and I have got my blood up, I'm going to find out all about it."

He stiutod from his easy chair with unnaual energy—-"Fred, old boy," he eaid, almost sternly, " I may be wrong, but I Bomohow feel as' if I had been employed by the wrong side, and I don't like it. Mind," he added, ttoppingin b» rapid walk

up and dewn tbe room, "it may bo all right—if it ain't I can drop it. But you mark my words—something will occur in connection with this case that will affect my life or reputation." "I wish 'em luck with you," I replied,

' only don't proceed to extremes, my dear boy. If you don't take tho case I dare Bay they can find plenty who will, and I suppose the money is worth as much to you as it is to anyone else." " I suppose you would recommend me to accept it right or wrong ?' he inquired sarcastically. I blew out a volume of smoke, but made no answer.

"Bah, you hypocrite?" he said indignantly. " You would as soon think of robbing the bank." 1 made no reply. Jack was always co terribly in earnest, and so, after a few bantering remarks, my friend set to work packing hie satchel and left mo alone. We had been friends for many years, Jack Wilmarth and I and our friendship had been cemented by many kindly acts and sacrifices in those old days when we were together striving for a foothold in the world. We had known poverty together, had Jack and I, and had met our eharo of heart-breaking disappointments, but we had etocd together through it all, with a loving caro for each other in sickness and sorrow. And now Jack Wilmarth waa a famous detective, and I — well, I had plodded

along until I had plodded my way from an insignificant clerkship to the post of cashier in " Our Bank." It was not so many years after all, fer we were both young men yet. But thoy had been busy years for both of up,

so busy that wo had never found time to fall in love vritb any but ourselves. And now we were likely to stay as wo were, bachelors —both too much in love with each other to care for other ties.

The case that provoked our present discussion was rather peculiar. Nearly a year before thia a brutal murder had beon perpetrated in one of our Woatorn cities. A young man, scarcely more than a boy, bad been shot down at the door of his house. It was still early in the evening, and a crowd collected at once, but no clue had been found to convict the assassin. True, one man had been detained by the coroner, but he stood his examination well and was discharged. No cause for the murder had been found. Charles Alden, the murdered man, had been universally beloved, and, so far as known, bad not an enemy in the world. The local police had dono what little thoy coaid to unravel the crime ; but they had only succeeded in adding to the fog of mystery that surrounded the case,and co after a time the excitement had died out, and the caso was almost forgotten by the public. And now after the lapse of a year, my friend had been retained to Bolve the Alden mystery, ii possible. First, he had received a letter, inquiring if he was at liberty. Replying in the affirmative, he received a letter, containing a large retaining fee, and requesting his immediate presence. With thia came a bulky parcel containing clip pings from the local papers, report, of the coroner's inquest and a full description of all persona mentioned as connected in any way with the case. But —and here was the first mystery—both of the letters, and the cheque accompanying the second one, wore in a woman's handwriting—rather pretty writing, tjo, it was. They wore all three signed " Claire Morton," and there wbb no mention of any such person being connected with the

Jack wrs puzzled. Ho went over the

papers again and. yet again, but the name waß not mentioned, and it was with a feeling akin ti anger that he started at last, but I could see a gleam in hie dusky eyes when we parted that showed a determination to solve the mystery if possible, and I felt that the fair Clare was likely to got into trouble if she undortook to play with my friend Jack, Jack was not given to writing much while on duty, so I was not disappointed in hearing nothing from him at first, but as the months went by, bringing me nothing but an occasional postal, assuring me that he was in good health, I began to feel uneasy and for the first time I doubted the loyal of his friendehip. It was six months after he left New York before I heard from him to my satisfaction, and then it was in in his usual odd way, for walking into our room one fine evening I found my friend Jack comfortably seated on the window sill. He was smoking placidly, and looked as unconcerned as if he had been come but a week.

" Why, Jack, old man," I exclaimed, " when did yon come 1 How are you 1 Why didn't you write to me 1" " One at a time, Fred, one at a time," he laughed, shaking hands energetically. " I '•Tat got in, I'm hungry. And I didn't .■'c because I wanted to tell yen all about jl k£ "'d now, my dear boy, if those is anything eau a')'c aroun(^> iust ca^' ** oa*» w'" 1"6 cl'P£°" d In «»aee. tion without me>^eat o s tablishmeirfc,wSer<» generally stored £ things suitable Jor a li.hb lunch. I set Ow».a 1 could find »» t and then, turning on tK« gas and drawing the bHnde cloee, I turned an j watched him- [ while he ate. . , . "That's good," ho eaid at last, pushing his chair back from the table and lighting a cigar. " And now, Fred, what have we got to drink V "Nothing but whisky," I replied. "I wonld have done better had I known yoa were coming, but then I can brew some "Splendid for Btory-telling, punch is," cried Jack ; merrily. " Fix it up, Fred, and thon sit down ; I want to talk with y°i' soon had a steaming jug on the table, and then lighting my pipe I sat down on the other side of the open fire and prepared to listen. But still Jack was silent. " Well ?" I eaid at last, interrogatively. He looked up thoughtfully and repeated the word, "Well?" . " What about the story ?" aaid I ; dia you solve the mystery ?" He nodded. "Do you know who committed the purier ">"'' He nodded again and took a sip of punch, "les," be eaid thoughtfully, " I know all about it, and I won't keep you in sueponoe any longer." He puffed a moment at bia cigar and another pull at the punch, and then Equared himself in front of me to tell his story. " You remember, Fred," he said, that when I left here I was in some doubt as to which side had employed me? Probably you will remember my fear that I was to be employed to shield the assassin ?" I nodded. , . . "Well," he continued, "that is just what I have done." I started at him, but made no reply. "Yes," he repeated, "that is just what I have done. You see, on my arrival at Detroit, I called at once on >Ira Morton. She is a widow, Fred, and just as—pahaw ! There is no ueo in my trying to describe he». Any way I called on her and found why she had employed me. ■ "You see," he continued, " at tho time of the murder a certain person—one Isaac

Sharploy—waa found bending over tho body. He submitted to arrest and was detained until after the inquest. Clare—that is Mrs Morton— remembered that a messenger had come from the station for her husband, and that Mr Morton had called on Sharpley in his cell, but as they were well acquainted with both him and the murdered man she paid no attention to it at the time.

"After her husband's death, however, which occurred some months later, she found among her husband's papers proof that Mr Morton had paid this Sharpley 10,000 dols. This aroueed her suspicion that all was not right, and without waiting to consult her friende, she had sent for mo.

" I asked her if Mr Morton had evor had business dealings with Sharpley. " No. She was sure she had not." "'What had been Sharpley's circumstances ?'

"'Poor,' she replied; 'in fact, ho had hardly been able to support his family.' " ' Was he still living near them ?' " 'No, Ho hail left the city immediately after his discharge, and his family had followed him shortly after.' "It was evident that she nuspected Sharpley, and it became my first duty to find him. Luckily the police had kept Fomo trace of him, and from them I learned that ho had purchased a ticket for Chicago. I went there at onre and commonced my senrch, but without avail, and I at laßt became convinced that he had not gone to Chicago at all. Returning to Detroit, I took a fresh start. This time I undertook to follow his family. After considerable trouble I found that they had left Detroit for Saginaw, and as they had taken some of thoir household goods with them, 1 thought it pretty sure that they could easily be found.

" Before starting after them, however, I had another interview with Claire —with Mrs Morton I mean."

Jack flushed a little at this point ! He soon recovered himself, howovor, and continued as steadily as before :

"I told her," he said, " that I must know more about her late husband. Had he boon good to her ? "She lookod at me tearfully. ' Can't you do without this?' Bhe asked softly; 'ho ia dead now.'

"I hated myself for persisting, but my theory of the case was formed, and I could not help it. So after some trouble I found out that her late husband had been very unkind to her at timee. She is very beautiful, and he was jealous—not of any one person, but of everyone who came near her. Even mombora of her own family were not exempt. He had been passionate and unreasonable, but Btill very fond of her, and very liberal in everything that pertained directly to her. " With this additional information I started for Saginaw, and without difficulty located my man in a little town near by. It was another case of a ' Beggar on horsoj back,' for I found Sharpley in the last stages of drunkenness.

" He was in a delirium when I got there, and it required time and some skill to opeD his mouth. Probably I should not have succeeded at all if he had not met with an accidont. For it was only when he know that he could not live that I could induce him to talk. Then I found that my theory h as tho right one. " This man had witnessed tho murder of Charles Alden, and had been willing-for a consideration, to throw the officers from the scent.

" Ho had been lying under a tree on the opposite side of the Btreet, waiting till tho cool air of the evening should sober him up before he wont home. Alden was standing at bis door, bareheaded and with slippers on his feet, when a man camo down the sidewalk and spoke to him. At first they seemed to converse pleasantly togother; then they spoko with greater excitement, until at last ho heard Alden call the man a brute Then there was a flash and the roport of a pistol, and young Alden sank to the sidewalk a corpso.

" Understanding tho situation, Sharpley had rushed across tho street, and bq was found orer tho body •when the crowd gathorod. At first, it appears, he had intendod to denounce the assassin, but second thoughts showed him how he conld turn the knowledge to profit himsolf, and co he kept silent.

" This much I got him to tell me, but no more. He would not divulge tbo name of the assassin. I did not tell him that it was unnecessary, but I left the house knowing as well as be did the name of the man who killed Charles Alden."

" It was Morton, of course J" I hazarded. " Yes," said Jack, slowly, "it was Morton, of course." " Well," I sai-i. after a slight pause, "go on, old man ; tell tho rest of it." " There is not much morelotell," replied Jack quietly, " Morton had killed the boy in a fit of unreasoning jealousy." '.' Perhaps he had some cause," said I cynically. " No," replied my friend in the same even tones. "He had no cause, the boy was simply kind to an unhappy woman—that was all." . .

" How do you know that ?" I demanded. Jack looked up at me from the other sid*j of the fireplace, and answered simply, "Shut told me so." Complotely stunned by this reply from nay, clever friend, I remained silent. Is it pos- > eible that this is the usually incredulous! Jack Wilmarth ? I thought in a daze. There was silence for somo time. At last I naid almost angrily, " Well, what did you; do, then 2" •■ " Nothing, much. I returned to Detroit and threw up my job." j! " Without expoeing the murderer ?" 1 do- j manded. Jack nodded without looking up. I arose and paced tho floor impatiently. This was not like my friend—and it hurt me. " Why did you do it, Jack ?" I cried at last. "Why did you not tell all you knew ?" " What for ?" demanded Jack in return. " The boy was dead, and there was none of his family that could profit by the knowledge. The man who had profited by his guilty knowledge was dead—his death was miserable enough. The man who committed the murder was dead, and hia widow —"

" Well, his widow V I cried impatiently as he paused. He arose and stood facing me, with his back to the fire, and bis handsome face in the full light of the gaa. "I am going to marry his widow, he said quietly, "so 1 thought it best to say nothing to her about it."—By B. E. Tremaine, in the " Detroit Froe Press."