LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4666, 9 June 1893, Page 1

LITERATURE.

A SHADOW PICTURE AND THE TRAGEDY THAT FOLLOWED IT. [New York Sun.) On Maple street, about halfway between polite headquarters and the Tribune office, there was a one-storey tumble- down cottage which was an eyesore to the street. Next on the east was a tine dry-goods store; next on the wost was a jewellery establishment. The owner and occupant of the cottage and ground was an old spinster, and she refused to sell or lease. You will find such spots in every city, and the public rejoice •when the pig-headed owners are finally gathered to their fathers. As "the criminnl reporter" on night duty on the staff of the Tribune, I had taken notice of thi3 old rookery — associated it with tho uncanny and with, acts of lawlessness. In going to and fro I had passed it so often between eeven o'clock in tho evening and two o'clock in the morning, that I knew tbo routine of its solitary inmate. Few people ever saw her. I had passoi tho house n thousand tiroes before I caught sight of her. Her evening programme was about as follows : — As I passed on my way to polico headquarters at »evcu o'clock, there iraa a light in tlie wing or kitchen part, and the old woman sat at a table reading a book. Her shadow was thrown on tho curtain very distinctly. I could even make out tho spectacles on her nose, and tho corkscrew curls in front of her ears. I could not inako out what sort of book it was, but supposed it to be the Bible. At eight o'clock she picked up the lamp, carried it across tho room and wound up the clock. I did not always see this operation, but often enough to know that it was the fixed routine. She roturned and read till nine. Then she looked to tho doors and windows and went to Ler bedroom, which was off the kitchen, but on the other side of the house. By twenty minute 3 after nine her light was oat, and tho place givea up to silence and solitude. I never saw a door open or a sash raised in the two years I waß watching tho place. Doors were always locked and the front curtains at least alwnys down. Now and then of an afternoon I happened along when agents or beggars knocked, but none of them ever received a response. I think every night reporter has his peculiar hobby or mystery. He is more or less a philosopher. He catches more or less of the romance of his life. This old house was my hobby. In imagination I explored the rooms and noted their contents. I had a mental photograph of Mis 3 Weaver, the old spinster. I had robbers break in. I had her commit suicide by hanging herself. I had her murdered, and chuckled to think what a " scoop " I had on Briggs of the Courier. Had that old house been sold and torn away to make room for a business block, I should have regarded it as sacrilege. Had I passed and missed the light, or found a door open, or discovered Miss "Weaver on tho front steps, I should have been thrown into that mental and physical condition known as " broken up." Things had run along without the slightest •change for two years, when I received a sudden shock. I left police headquarters at 10.30 o'clock one winter's evening to return to the office. As I walked up the street, fully expecting to find the old house dark and deserted, I came to a dead halt and rubbed my eyes. Was thero a light in the front room, or was it a reflection of a conflagration somewhere on the north side ? It took •me a minute to make sure. The room was lighted by a lamp— something unprecedented in its history since I began my observations. Not only a lamp there, but two persons as well ! I instantly identified the shadow of the old spinster. The other was that of a man. They eat facing •aach other, with the lamp beyond them, ard their shadows were thrown out on the white curtain like pictures from a magic lantern. Miss .sat up very stiffly. The man had a careless attitude and occupied a rocking chair. It was a dark, wet night L had rubbers -OTer my shoes, and they could not have heard me halt in front of the house. What meant this innovation— this penal offence, almost? The idea of that room being lighted-of Miss Weaver bein<» over an hour late in going to bed— of there being a man in the housa ! Well, I was simply knocked out. I stood there winking and blinking and feeling indignant over the break in the routine, when the man passed her something. From the shadow on the curtain it seemed to be what i» known as an " official " envelope. She received it, took out a paper, glanced over it, and handed it back with a shake of her head. Then the man seemed to argue. He made many motions with his head and hands. He sat with his left side to the window, and as ho gestured, with that hand I noticed a stiffness of the arm. His Bhadow showed a long, sharp nose, a high forehead, and a large head. I figured to myself that he was a short, thick-necked man, with a bald spot on the crown. His argument lasted about five minutes. The n he got up and walked about and I lost his shadow, though hera remained as before. From her gestures I argued that she was considerably excited. By-and-by he came over and stood ■directly in front of her, and as he talked he struck Ms left hand with the envelope held in his right. She shook her head and waved him away. It seemed as if he was making an appeal to her. I lost his shadow again for a couple of minutes, and she half faced about as if he was talking from the opposite side of the room. She finally rose •up, shook her head in a decided way, and just then an ambulance came rushing past, and I ■aroppedmymysteryfor something more practical. I did not pas 3 tho house again that night. At •five o'clock next afternoon, when I turned out of bed and picked up a copy of an evening paper, the ■first thing I saw was a sensation with half-a-dozen top heads. Miss Weaver had been found dead in her rookery, murdered by a burglar. The discovery had been made about noon. People noticed that the front door was open, and tho unusual circumstance caused a policeman to investigate. The body of the woman lay on the iloor in the parlour. There had been no struggle. A knife had been driven into her throat, and death came swiftly. She was fully dressed, and the lamp on the table had been turned out. On tho floor was found an "official" envelope, but without contents and unaddressed. The paper said it was the work of a burglar, but there were no traces of breaking and entering, nor had anything been overhauled or disturbed. The key was in tho lock of the front door on the inside. The door sagged, and whoever had gone out that way had not pulled it shut, and the wind had blown it open. The murderer had not washed hb hands in the house, left his knife of any other article behind, nor was there a clue to be picked up by tho detectives. I alone held the clue. No one else had even noticed the light in the parlour. No one had seen a man enter or leave. I had not seen this, but I knew that a man had been there. Those who argued that tho crime had been committed by a burglar were wrong. The murderer was not even a stranger to her. That evening, when I went down to police headquarters, I found that two or three different theories had been advanced, but the one on which the chief, had put his best man was that of burglary. A man had effected an entrance, no one could say how, but probably by way of the front door, and before nine o'clock. The old woman was supposed to leep money in the house. The man must have known where to find it, as nothing wa3 dUtuibed. It wa3 believed that the money hai leen talien ftom the envelope, but thejatter was not looked upon as of the slightest value as a clue. It nr a shown to me when I asked to so it. It was a white one, but poor stock, and showed consider. aWe wear.

I could havo given tho dotectivos a big start in the right direction, but I maintained silence, I proposed to work that case nrysolf for tho "scoop" thor«3 was in it. Who was tho man wlio3o shadow I had soon on tho curtain ? No cabman hud driven him thoro from nny of tho depots. Ko one had aocn him ontor or leave. The postman had not left a lotter announcing that the stranger (to me) was to call. No messenger boy hid carried a note — no telegram had been delivered. I did uot believe tho man was a | straugcr to Jliss Weaver. Indeed, he must be an old acquaintance or a relative to have gained admission to tho house after nightfall. Ito was the murderer — the man whoso shadov I had seen. That was tho envelope from which ! had scca her take a paper. What relatives die she hareP A brother in California was found ti be the nearest one, and it was a fortnight baton he came. Meanwhile I was at work. I first visitcc the hotels to see who had arrived and departu that day. There were many strangers, but I hai no luck until I found tho name "Chavlei Andrews." He had not given his address and ha< only taken supper. The clerk romomberod tha the man had no baggage. The porter remoinberec that he had asked the way to Maple street. Th< 'bus-driver had picked him up at the L. and G depot on tho 4.30 train. I returned to tho hote and said to the he id- waiter : "On Thursday evening a stout man, more 01 less bald, with a long noso and an artificial lof) arm, took supper hero. Please find out whe waited on him." In ten minutes I was talking with the waiter. lie remembered tho man becauso he could not hold his fork or spoon in his left hand, which was encased in a glove. "That was my shadow man." I learned that he was about thirty years of age, had blaik hair and eye 9, woro a sandy goatee, and looked somewhat dissipated. Ho had come in from the West, but how far? I hunted up the conductor of that Thursday train, and, after thinking awhile, ho said : " I think I remember the man, but his ticket had been punched by tho conductor on the other diviaiyn." The two runs took in 420 miles. "Charles Androws " hod come more than 210 miles, com* prising the last run, but how much more P On the first run thero were thirty-nine stations. I might have to inquire at every one of them. I went up to the managing editor with my caso and got leave of absence for ten days. Adairsville was the first town on the other run. I spent two hours looking about, and to three different citizens I said : " I came here to see a man. I had his name written down, but havo lost it. I think it was Watson or Watkins. He has an artificial arm and is somewhat bald." No one knew such a man. I tried at Hopewell, at Smithville, and at Davisburg. When I reached Cook City, a town of 7000 people, I was about ready to throw up my job. I had not inquired for "Charles Andrews" anywhere, because I believed that to be a fictitious name. The town was three-quarters of a mile from the station, and I got up with the driver. After a bit of talk I got around to put my question, and he promptly replied : " Why, you mean Sam Taylor, who runs tho Eagle Hotel." " That's the name— that's it, of course. How stupid in mo to get mixed up so ! " "I've heard his creditors were going to shut him up, but I dunno. He's a mighty slick fellow, Sam is, and may dodge 'em some way." Tho Eagle Hotel was more of a saloon and gambling den than a hotel. I dropped around there after dinner and saw the proprietor. The instant I saw him I felt suro he was the man. I played a game of billiards with a hanger-on, and made a few cautious inquiries. I found that Sam Taylor was away from home a day and a night at the time of the murder, but nobody knew where. He had come home "tight," and had been in that condition half of the time since. Ho had been very anxious to get the Chicago papers every day and had evinced extraordinary interest in ther contents. I was working for a "scoop," and must work alone. I took 6am Taylor to his room upstairs and boldly charged him with the murder. I found envelopes there which matched the one spoken of. I told him the woman had written his name and address before she died, charging him with the crime. I made him believe men saw him enter and leave, and inside of an hour I had his confession in writing. Then I made him realise that it was better to return with mo and give himself up, and at seven o'clock that evening we I took the train east. We reached home next forenoon, and I took the man (o my room at the Tribune office, and kept him there until four o'clock next morning. Then our formes were on the press, and I could safely turn him over to the • police. There was a great outcry, with threats of arrest, but I hadfiguredfor a "scoop," and got it. And who was fc'am Taylor? He was Miss Weaver's nephew. He came to see her in hopes to raise 3000dols. She was worth about 80,000doh. The paper he handed her that sight was a note he wanted her to endorse, and when he found he could get no assistance from her, he murdered her in the heat of disappointment and anger. He was hanged long ago.