THE CHELSEA MURDERS

Dunstan Times, Issue 2087, 30 July 1901, Page 6

THE CHELSEA MURDERS

(By Cecil Hayter, in London 'Mail.')

"Have you been studying the accounts of these ' Chelsea Murders "!" said Kane to me, looking up from the midst of a huge pile of rumpled newspapers. " The accounts are, as usual, full of discrepancies, and disgustingly inaccurate; but there are some very curious point well Avorth noticing." I should explain that during a period of little more than a month no less than four murders of a particularly atrocious character had been perpetrated in the somewhat narroAr confines of the district of Chelsea. In each case there Avere the same characteristic features, pointing to the probability that they were the Avork of one man. The victim had first of all been apparently strangled, or partially strangled, and then a veing in neck or arm had been severed by some sharp instrument. The first murder had been that of a young artist. He had left a small club frequented by painters in the King's road at a little after midnight, Avith the intention of Avalking home; some few hundred yards from the club he Avas met by a fellow-artist, Avho admitted having stopped and spoken to him, and who further stated that he considered the deceased to have been under the influence of drink at the time. That was the last moment he was knoAvn to have been seen alive. About four the folloAving morning a constable found him lying in the shadow of a doorway. He had been strangled; the livid impress of the murderer's fingers Avere plainly visible on his throat, and a large pool of blood had sloavlv oozed from a {rash in the side of the neck; probably inflicted, so ran the medical evidence, after unconsciousness had been induced by strangulation. Five days later a similar murder had been committed—this time on the person of a young girl, a model. No clue Avas discovered. Then there was a fortnight's interval, and a third victim was claimed —this time a lady artist on her way back from the theatre. The fourth murder was only three days old, a boy of about sixteen had been found dead under similar circumstances under the arch of the Albert Bridsre.

" There are three points which seem to me of particular importance," said Kane thoughtfully, examining his nails, and giving them an occasional rub. " First of all, each victim is described as having peculiarly fair hair; this, of course, may be merely a peculiar coincidence. Secondly, they appear to have been all young, and presumably fresh-complexioned; that is to say, in good health, vigorous, and fullblooded. Thirdly—and this is a far more interesting fact, although it has entirely escaped the notice of the police and the reporters—l have personally ascertained that in all of the cases the murdered persons were undoubtedly suffering from some slight, but fresh,* wound previous to their meeting with the murderer. " In the original case the artist, when he ?eft the club, had been bleeding slightly from the nose, induced, no doubt, by overexcitement. Other members of the club bear this out, and a blood-stained handkerchief was discovered in his coat pocket.

"The model, poor girl, had cut her filler badly with a broken tumbler at the studio where she had been sitting late to a black-and-white artist; and so with the other two cases.

"Now, I don't know whether you have ever noticed it, but of all the senses in the human body—the recollective senses, if I may coin such a term—the acutest is the olfactory sense. " Not only are the olfactory- nerves great stimulants for the memory; but by recalling things long since forgotten to mind they may arouse a train of thoughts, which in turn cause dormant passions and desires to spring to life. For instance, supposing a man to have been deeply in love with some woman at any early period of his life, who is associated in* his mind with a particular perfume. Years may have passed by, and his pain be practically forgotten, but let him catch a sudden whiff of that perfume, and in an instant it will recall hie early love with all its longing and desire. We will -suppose, now, that a man has a distorted imagination, a perverted brain, perhaps a latent tendency towards homicidal mania—he also has this olfactory sense keenly developed. Don't you think that it would be very possible that that particular man's fits of madness, his sudden killing lust, might be by the smell of blood, and that, the deed once done and his passion gratified, he might revert again to his normal condition of a sane, respectable member of society, until thenext time he was tempted by circumstance? Such cases are by no means unknown ; I had almost stud by no means uncommon, horrible as it may sound. And, further, mark you this: A man, when in one of these states of frenzy, is no common blundering criminal. Quite the contrary; he is a stealthy, silent-footed wild beast, with a wild beast's instincts and a wild beast's cunning, with all the added subtlety of a human brain tc back them. There is no more dangerous criminal on God's earth than a man or ■woman of that type, when once the madness siezes them. They will wait and watch their opportunity; and when they spring, they spring to kill." " You mean to say, I suppose," I interTupted, "that you believe this series of murders to be the work of a madman, or, rather, of a man liable to attacks of insanity?" "Yes, I do. I think one might safely go even a step further, and take it as a probability that the madman in this case is a member of the artistic community of Chelsea. All the crimes, with the exception of the last, were perpetrated on people connected with painting and studio life. " To go now to what may seem quite an .ifelevant point. You are a fair amateur critic, and a frequenter of exhibitions and picture galleries generally. Have you ever been struck by a very peculiar feature in the work of one man, an artist whose name is well known?"

I thought for several minutes, but tried in vain to recall any peculiarity which might seem to bear on the matter in hand. "You know Trevor Gunston's work?' 1 I nodded. "The Academician—ves."

" Now think carefully. First of all, what the predominant color note in his pictures —the gTeat mass of gorgeous color which he persistently drags into his scheme?" " Red," said I promptly; " a peculiar glowing ted, which he uses most daringly and most effectively." " Quite so," said Kane. " He gets by it a. sort of sombre richness which is very attractive. It is a very subtle color, and one associates it particularly with his name; in fact, I think it is known as ' Gunston's red,' like Orchardson's famous yellows. " Another detail worth notice is his extraordinary partiality for fair hair ; most of his characters and nearly all his heroines are blondes. Lastly, the subjects he chooses, though brilliantly executed, are always morbid and gruesome, and in nine out of ten bloodshed or the idea of bloodshed is introduced. Not long ago I was standing next to Trevor Gunston at a dance. The room was crowded, and the sharp corner of a woman's ivory fan cut the arm of a girl dancing close_ to her. It was only a deep scratch, but it bled considerably, and had to be bound up. By the merest chance I

looked up and saw Gunston's face. His eyes were riveted on the girl, he was absolutely ashen pale, and his expression Avat some'thing so beastly as even to disturb my nerves. He looked just like a wild animal that sees its prey. His lips were twitching, and his hands clenched and unclenched convulsively ; whilst I was still staring at him he caught my eye, and in an instant he turned and literally bolted out of the house. That was what gave me my first suspicions of his sanity." " He might have felt faint at the sight of blood," I suggested; "many people do." Kane shook his head. " You forget," said he, " Trevor Ghinston is well past middle age now, but as a young man he was a noted war correspondent. When he first began to paint he made his name exclusively by his marvellously realistic war pictures, "which were worked up from sketches taken on the spot." "What do you intend to do?" I asked. " I am going to take a very grave, and perhaps unjustifiable, risk," answered Kane, slowly, " and I shall want your help, as I'm going to put the life of another person into what I consider grave peril, and must leave not ling to chance." " How ?" said I.

' I haA-e commissioned Trevor Gunston 1.0 pa:u< me a small picture of the death of Tito's Avife, and I have stipulated that sh 3 . is tc have a robe of that special color wh ; * 1. he loves so much. The model is one of my uav'! proA T iding; a clever girl, very' lovely, and with extraordinarily fair hair—l rm aivaid Shakespearian students avoulc! lather scream at me if they heard about it —I have her as far as I dare, and I have im phi it confidence in her. Gunston has given me permission to remain in the studio Avhilst hy paints, and I want you to sacrfice tome of your time and come Avith me Aviienever there is a sitting. That girl's life is in i;-v hsids, and I dare not leave her there foi* an instant unprotected, and 1 Av.it your help. You will come?"

" Yes," said I; " but I don't like it. Loes the girl know her risk?" " I I 1; A*e told her all I dare, and pivinWe: l . never to leaA - e her in the house. She trusts me." "Who is she?" I aske."!.

" The daughter of a lady I once knew v try weV long ago," said Kane, half abstraci°dly " You will be here to-morrow at twelve for thj first sitting? Thanks."

For ten consecutive clays Kane, Miss Rawson, the model, and myself lived at Gunston's studio between the hours of 12.30 and 4 p.m. The method of procedure was always the same. I called for Kane at twelve sharp, and we drove down to the studio, calling for Miss Rawson on our way. Kane and I used to stop and talk over the progress of the work with Gunston in the big studio, whilst Miss Rawson went in to change her dress. From the moment she took her stand on the model throne Gunston started in to work, and kept heard at it till nearlv four, with short intervals for rest and a light luncheon. He was clearly delighted with his model, and worked with avidity, whilst Kane and I lounged about the studio and talked or watched the painting. All this time there was not the slightest symjrtom of anything wrong in Gunston's demeanor. He painted dexterously and quickly, wrapt up in his work, whilst during the rests he chaffed and smoked, rallying Kane on hife impatience (assumed) to have the picture finished. I really began to have hopes that my friend was for once mistaken. I had taken a great liking to Gunston. He had pleasant, genial manners, a fund of anecdote ; and his easy, but courteous, manner to Miss Rawson, whom he took for a professional model, made me like him all the more.

But on the Thursday, the picture then approaching completion, our arrangements underwent a change. I should have sail that there was a long passage leading from a side street to the dressing room, by whim the models usually entered. The dressing room was divided from the studio culy by a heavy tapestry curtail of Gunston's favorite color. Contrary to my expectations, when I arrived at Kane's rooms I found Miss Rawson already there. She was very pale, and trembling slightly. Kane was at the sideboard pouring her out a glass of brandy and water.

" Listen," said he. " I've just sent a telegram to Gunston to say that you and I will not be able to come to-day, but that Miss Rawson will come as usual."

"We shall go in by the back way, and wait outside the dressing room ; as soon as Miss Rawson is ready she' will unlock the door and admit us, and then go into the studio and mount the throne. We shall be able to watch from behind the curtain. I have provided her with a small lancet, and shown her how, with scarcely any pain, she can make a small incision in her arm, which Mill bleed freely. This is to be done in the first rest. She is not to draw Gunston's attention to the fact in any way, but simply to go on with her sitting. Then, if things turn out as I expect, watch carefully, and be ready for me to give the signal ; but when I do move, for Heaven's sake be quick. It will be life or death."

We posted ourselves as prearranged, and after what seemed to me an interminable interval Miss Rawson unlocked the door and admitted us. She was frightfully pale, poor child, but quite resolute. Kane took her hand, and whispered a few words of encouragement. For answer she showed him the small lancet concealed in her handkerchief.

Her beauty never struck me so much as at the instant she raised the curtain in her long crimson robes, and passed into the studio with a smile on her face. Kane and I crouched behind the curtain, ■watching every movement. Gunston was to all appearances as unconcerned as usual. He bade her " Good morning," assisted her in taking her pose, and mentioned casually that he had just had a wire from Kane saying that it would be impossible for him to attend the sitting. During the rest he lit a cigarette and chatted in a desultory manner, putting in a touch here and there from memory, not taking any particular notice of his model. Miss Rawson's face was half turned to us, but her back was towards the easel. " Time," called Gunston cheerfully. I saw her press her hand to her wrist ; she gave a little shiver, and instantly a dark stain appeared on her handkerchief. I felt the muscles of Kane's arm twitching next to mine as she mounted the throne. The blood was welling slowly from the tiny wound on her arm, and falling drop by drop on to the boarded platform. Gunston began painting. Presently he raised his head and glanced round him uneasily. He fidgeted about in a restless manner, and again lifted his head as an animal does when it scents danger. Suddenly he caught sight of the girl's wrist — and never, never in my life have I seen anything so diabolical as the change that came over the man's face. It was like the dropping of a mask. All the humanity, all resemblance to humanity, seemed to fall right away from him, and in its place there was an evil, slavering beast of prey. His fingers curved inwards on the brushes, clenching them till I thought they'd snap. The veins on his forehead stood out in great knots, and his head moved slowly from side to side. But under it all there seemed to be some effort of self-restraint—whether it was a remnant of human decency or the mere cunning of the brute beast biding its time I can't presume to say. " The back a little more to me, Miss Rawson," ho said harshly, and his voice was in

keeping with the beast-like face. The poor girl shuddered as she heard it, and gave a little stifled moan. Nevertheless she turned as desired, until her back was almost towards him. She had marvellous pluck. Gunston's whole frame was quivering now with intense emotion. He tried to make a pretence of painting, but his hands and arms seemed rigid. Once he opened his mouth, as if, I thought, to speak, but either he mistrusted his voice or the words refused to come. Stealthily he laid down palette au,d brushes. One step—two steps,, noiseless as a panther's, and he was within springing distance of his victim. His arms were outstretched, his fingers curved and tense.'' I could see the girl's frame quiver with dread expectancy as she felt him creeping up behind her. He bent forward, crouching. " Now !" said Kane, and we leapt forward. In an instant the studio was one wild whirling mass. The man, or beast —I scarcely know which to call him—flung us here and there, but Ave held on. He seemed possessed of superhuman strength ; but Ave held on, and sloavlv, surely, we dragged him doAvn. Thank'heavens! the girl had fainted before ever he could reach her, and lay as one dead across the model throne.

Servants came rushing in, alarmed by the uproar, and eventually Ave had him bound fast and tight —Trevor Gunston, the brilliant artist, iioav at last a raving, screaming lunatic, dangerous alike to himself and his felloAV-creatures.

His last Avork, half finished, hangs in Kane's rooms, a ghastly memento of a man so nearly great.