The Corpus Delicti

by Melville Davisson Post

"Does he jest, or has he forgotten the evidence? The term 'corpus delicti' is technical, and means the body of the crime, or the substantial fact that a crime has been committed. Does anyone doubt it in this case?"

I"That man Mason," said Samuel Walcott, "is the mysterious member ofthis club. He is more than that; he is the mysterious man of NewYork." Melville Davisson Post

"I was much surprised to see him," answered his companion, MarshallSt. Clair, of the great law firm of Seward, St. Clair & De Muth."I had lost track of him since he went to Paris as counsel for theAmerican stockholders of the Canal Company. When did he come backto the States?""He turned up suddenly in his ancient haunts about four monthsago," said Walcott, "as grand, gloomy, and peculiar as Napoleonever was in his palmiest days. The younger members of the clubcall him 'Zanona Redivivus.' He wanders through the house usuallylate at night, apparently without noticing anything or anybody.His mind seems to be deeply and busily at work, leaving his bodilyself to wander as it may happen. Naturally, strange stories aretold of him; indeed, his individuality and his habit of doing someunexpected thing, and doing it in such a marvelously originalmanner that men who are experts at it look on in wonder, cannotfail to make him an object of interest."He has never been known to play at any game whatever, and yet onenight he sat down to the chess table with old Admiral Du Brey. Youknow the Admiral is the great champion since he beat the French andEnglish officers in the tournament last winter. Well, you alsoknow that the conventional openings at chess are scientifically andaccurately determined. To the utter disgust of Du Brey, Masonopened the game with an unheard-of attack from the extremes of theboard. The old Admiral stopped and, in a kindly patronizing way,pointed out the weak and absurd folly of his move and asked him tobegin again with some one of the safe openings. Mason smiled andanswered that if one had a head that he could trust he should useit; if not, then it was the part of wisdom to follow blindly thedead forms of some man who had a head. Du Brey was naturally angryand set himself to demolish Mason as quickly as possible. The gamewas rapid for a few moments. Mason lost piece after piece. Hisopening was broken and destroyed and its utter folly apparent tothe lookers-on. The Admiral smiled and the game seemed all one-sided, when, suddenly, to his utter horror, Du Brey found that hisking was in a trap. The foolish opening had been only a piece ofshrewd strategy. The old Admiral fought and cursed and sacrificedhis pieces, but it was of no use. He was gone. Mason checkmatedhim in two moves and arose wearily."'Where in Heaven's name, man,' said the old Admiral,thunderstruck, 'did you learn that masterpiece?'"'Just here,' replied Mason. 'To play chess, one should know hisopponent. How could the dead masters lay down rules by which youcould be beaten, sir? They had never seen you'; and thereupon heturned and left the room. Of course, St. Clair, such a strange manwould soon become an object of all kinds of mysterious rumors.Some are true and some are not. At any rate, I know that Mason isan unusual man with a gigantic intellect. Of late he seems to havetaken a strange fancy to me. In fact, I seem to be the only memberof the club that he will talk with, and I confess that he startlesand fascinates me. He is an original genius, St. Clair, of anunusual order.""I recall vividly," said the younger man, "that before Mason wentto Paris he was considered one of the greatest lawyers of this cityand he was feared and hated by the bar at large. He came here, Ibelieve, from Virginia and began with the high-grade criminalpractice. He soon became famous for his powerful and ingeniousdefenses. He found holes in the law through which his clientsescaped, holes that by the profession at large were not suspectedto exist, and that frequently astonished the judges. His abilitycaught the attention of the great corporations. They tested himand found in him learning and unlimited resources. He pointed outmethods by which they could evade obnoxious statutes, by which theycould comply with the apparent letter of the law and yet violateits spirit, and advised them well in that most important of allthings, just how far they could bend the law without breaking it.At the time he left for Paris he had a vast clientage and was inthe midst of a brilliant career. The day he took passage from NewYork, the bar lost sight of him. No matter how great a man may be,the wave soon closes over him in a city like this. In a few yearsMason was forgotten. Now only the older practitioners would recallhim, and they would do so with hatred and bitterness. He was atireless, savage, uncompromising fighter, always a recluse.""Well," said Walcott, "he reminds me of a great world-weary cynic,transplanted from some ancient mysterious empire. When I come intothe man's presence I feel instinctively the grip of his intellect.I tell you, St. Clair, Randolph Mason is the mysterious man of NewYork."At this moment a messenger boy came into the room and handed Mr.Walcott a telegram. "St. Clair," said that gentleman, rising, "thedirectors of the Elevated are in session, and we must hurry." Thetwo men put on their coats and left the house.Samuel Walcott was not a club man after the manner of the SmartSet, and yet he was in fact a club man. He was a bachelor in thelatter thirties, and resided in a great silent house on the avenue.On the street he was a man of substance, shrewd and progressive,backed by great wealth. He had various corporate interests in thelarger syndicates, but the basis and foundation of his fortune wasreal estate. His houses on the avenue were the best possibleproperty, and his elevator row in the importers' quarter was indeeda literal gold mine. It was known that, many years before, hisgrandfather had died and left him the property, which, at thattime, was of no great value. Young Walcott had gone out into thegold-fields and had been lost sight of and forgotten. Ten yearsafterwards he had turned up suddenly in New York and takenpossession of his property, then vastly increased in value. Hisspeculations were almost phenomenally successful, and, backed bythe now enormous value of his real property, he was soon on a levelwith the merchant princes. His judgment was considered sound, andhe had the full confidence of his business associates for safetyand caution. Fortune heaped up riches around him with a lavishhand. He was unmarried and the halo of his wealth caught the keeneye of the matron with marriageable daughters. He was invited out,caught by the whirl of society, and tossed into its maelstrom. Ina measure he reciprocated. He kept horses and a yacht. Hisdinners at Delmonico's and the club were above reproach. But withall he was a silent man with a shadow deep in his eyes, and seemedto court the society of his fellows, not because he loved them, butbecause he either hated or feared solitude. For years the strategyof the match-maker had gone gracefully afield, but Fate isrelentless. If she shields the victim from the traps of men, it isnot because she wishes him to escape, but because she is pleased toreserve him for her own trap. So it happened that, when VirginiaSt. Clair assisted Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant at her midwinterreception, this same Samuel Walcott fell deeply and hopelessly andutterly in love, and it was so apparent to the beaten generalspresent, that Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant applauded herself, so tospeak, with encore after encore. It was good to see thiscourteous, silent man literally at the feet of the young debutante.He was there of right. Even the mothers of marriageable daughtersadmitted that. The young girl was brown-haired, brown-eyed, andtall enough, said the experts, and of the blue blood royal, withall the grace, courtesy, and inbred genius of such princelyheritage.Perhaps it was objected by the censors of the Smart Set that MissSt. Clair's frankness and honesty were a trifle old-fashioned, andthat she was a shadowy bit of a Puritan; and perhaps it was ofthese same qualities that Samuel Walcott received his hurt. At anyrate the hurt was there and deep, and the new actor stepped up intothe old time-worn, semi-tragic drama, and began his role with atireless, utter sincerity that was deadly dangerous if he lost.IIPerhaps a week after the conversation between St. Clair andWalcott, Randolph Mason stood in the private waiting-room of theclub with his hands behind his back.He was a man apparently in the middle forties; tall and reasonablybroad across the shoulders; muscular without being either stout orlean. His hair was thin and of a brown color, with erratic streaksof gray. His forehead was broad and high and of a faint reddishcolor. His eyes were restless inky black, and not over-large. Thenose was big and muscular and bowed. The eyebrows were black andheavy, almost bushy. There were heavy furrows, running from thenose downward and outward to the corners of the mouth. The mouthwas straight and the jaw was heavy, and square.Looking at the face of Randolph Mason from above, the expression inrepose was crafty and cynical; viewed from below upward, it wassavage and vindictive, almost brutal; while from the front, iflooked squarely in the face, the stranger was fascinated by theanimation of the man and at once concluded that his expression wasfearless and sneering. He was evidently of Southern extraction anda man of unusual power.A fire smoldered on the hearth. It was a crisp evening in theearly fall, and with that far-off touch of melancholy which everheralds the coming winter, even in the midst of a city. The man'sface looked tired and ugly. His long white hands were claspedtight together. His entire figure and face wore every mark ofweakness and physical exhaustion; but his eyes contradicted. Theywere red and restless.In the private dining-room the dinner party was in the best ofspirits. Samuel Walcott was happy. Across the table from him wasMiss Virginia St. Clair, radiant, a tinge of color in her cheeks.On either side, Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant and Marshall St. Clair werebrilliant and lighthearted. Walcott looked at the young girl andthe measure of his worship was full. He wondered for thethousandth time how she could possibly love him and by what earthlymiracle she had come to accept him, and how it would be always tohave her across the table from him, his own table in his own house.They were about to rise from the table when one of the waitersentered the room and handed Walcott an envelope. He thrust itquickly into his pocket. In the confusion of rising the others didnot notice him, but his face was ash white and his hands trembledviolently as he placed the wraps around the bewitching shoulders ofMiss St. Clair."Marshall," he said, and despite the powerful effort his voice washollow, "you will see the ladies safely cared for, I am called toattend a grave matter.""All right, Walcott," answered the young man, with cheery goodnature, "you are too serious, old man, trot along.""The poor dear," murmured Mrs. Steuvisant, after Walcott had helpedthem to the carriage and turned to go up the steps of the club,--"The poor dear is hard hit, and men are such funny creatures whenthey are hard hit."Samuel Walcott, as his fate would, went direct to the privatewriting-room and opened the door. The lights were not turned onand in the dark he did not see Mason motionless by the mantel-shelf. He went quickly across the room to the writing-table,turned on one of the lights, and, taking the envelope from hispocket, tore it open. Then he bent down by the light to read thecontents. As his eyes ran over the paper, his jaw fell. The skindrew away from his cheekbones and his face seemed literally to sinkin. His knees gave way under him and he would have gone down in aheap had it not been for Mason's long arms that closed around himand held him up. The human economy is ever mysterious. The momentthe new danger threatened, the latent power of the man as ananimal, hidden away in the centers of intelligence, asserteditself. His hand clutched the paper and, with a half slide, heturned in Mason's arms. For a moment he stared up at the ugly manwhose thin arms felt like wire ropes."You are under the dead-fall, aye," said Mason. "The cunning of myenemy is sublime.""Your enemy?" gasped Walcott. "When did you come into it? How inGod's name did you know it? How your enemy?"Mason looked down at the wide bulging eyes of the man."Who should know better than I?" he said. "Haven't I brokenthrough all the traps and plots that she could set?""She? She trap you?" The man's voice was full of horror."The old schemer," muttered Mason. "The cowardly old schemer, tostrike in the back; but we can beat her. She did not count on myhelping you--I, who know her so well."Mason's face was red, and his eyes burned. In the midst of it allhe dropped his hands and went over to the fire. Samuel Walcottarose, panting, and stood looking at Mason, with his hands behindhim on the table. The naturally strong nature and the rigid schoolin which the man had been trained presently began to tell. Hiscomposure in part returned and he thought rapidly. What did thisstrange man know? Was he simply making shrewd guesses, or had hesome mysterious knowledge of this matter? Walcott could not knowthat Mason meant only Fate, that he believed her to be his greatenemy. Walcott had never before doubted his own ability to meetany emergency. This mighty jerk had carried him off his feet. Hewas unstrung and panic-stricken. At any rate this man had promisedhelp. He would take it. He put the paper and envelope carefullyinto his pocket, smoothed out his rumpled coat, and going over toMason touched him on the shoulder."Come," he said, "if you are to help me we must go."The man turned and followed him without a word. In the hall Masonput on his hat and overcoat, and the two went out into the street.Walcott hailed a cab, and the two were driven to his house on theavenue. Walcott took out his latchkey, opened the door, and ledthe way into the library. He turned on the light and motionedMason to seat himself at the table. Then he went into another roomand presently returned with a bundle of papers and a decanter ofbrandy. He poured out a glass of the liquor and offered it toMason. The man shook his head. Walcott poured the contents of theglass down his own throat. Then he set the decanter down and drewup a chair on the side of the table opposite Mason."Sir," said Walcott, in a voice deliberate, indeed, but as hollowas a sepulcher, "I am done for. God has finally gathered up theends of the net, and it is knotted tight.""Am I not here to help you?" said Mason, turning savagely. "I canbeat Fate. Give me the details of her trap."He bent forward and rested his arms on the table. His streakedgray hair was rumpled and on end, and his face was ugly. For amoment Walcott did not answer. He moved a little into the shadow;then he spread the bundle of old yellow papers out before him."To begin with," he said, "I am a living lie, a gilded crime-madesham, every bit of me. There is not an honest piece anywhere. Itis all lie. I am a liar and a thief before men. The propertywhich I possess is not mine, but stolen from a dead man. The veryname which I bear is not my own, but is the bastard child of acrime. I am more than all that--I am a murderer; a murderer beforethe law; a murderer before God; and worse than a murderer beforethe pure woman whom I love more than anything that God could make."He paused for a moment and wiped the perspiration from his face."Sir," said Mason, "this is all drivel, infantile drivel. What youare is of no importance. How to get out is the problem, how to getout."Samuel Walcott leaned forward, poured out a glass of brandy andswallowed it."Well," he said, speaking slowly, "my right name is Richard Warren.In the spring of 1879 I came to New York and fell in with the realSamuel Walcott, a young man with a little money and some propertywhich his grandfather had left him. We became friends, andconcluded to go to the far west together. Accordingly we scrapedtogether what money we could lay our hands on, and landed in thegold-mining regions of California. We were young andinexperienced, and our money went rapidly. One April morning wedrifted into a little shack camp, away up in the Sierra Nevadas,called Hell's Elbow. Here we struggled and starved for perhaps ayear. Finally, in utter desperation, Walcott married the daughterof a Mexican gambler, who ran an eating house and a poker joint.With them we lived from hand to mouth in a wild God-forsaken wayfor several years. After a time the woman began to take a strangefancy to me. Walcott finally noticed it, and grew jealous."One night, in a drunken brawl, we quarreled, and I killed him. Itwas late at night, and, beside the woman, there were four of us inthe poker room,--the Mexican gambler, a half-breed devil calledCherubim Pete, Walcott, and myself. When Walcott fell, the half-breed whipped out his weapon, and fired at me across the table; butthe woman, Nina San Croix, struck his arm, and, instead of killingme, as he intended, the bullet mortally wounded her father, theMexican gambler. I shot the half-breed through the forehead, andturned round, expecting the woman to attack me. On the contrary,she pointed to the window, and bade me wait for her on the crosstrail below."It was fully three hours later before the woman joined me at theplace indicated. She had a bag of gold dust, a few jewels thatbelonged to her father, and a package of papers. I asked her whyshe had stayed behind so long, and she replied that the men werenot killed outright, and that she had brought a priest to them andwaited until they had died. This was the truth, but not all thetruth. Moved by superstition or foresight, the woman had inducedthe priest to take down the sworn statements of the two dying men,seal it, and give it to her. This paper she brought with her. Allthis I learned afterwards. At the time I knew nothing of thisdamning evidence."We struck out together for the Pacific coast. The country waslawless. The privations we endured were almost past belief. Attimes the woman exhibited cunning and ability that were almostgenius; and through it all, often in the very fingers of death, herdevotion to me never wavered. It was doglike, and seemed to be heronly object on earth. When we reached San Francisco, the woman putthese papers into my hands." Walcott took up the yellow package,and pushed it across the table to Mason."She proposed that I assume Walcott's name, and that we come boldlyto New York and claim the property. I examined the papers, found acopy of the will by which Walcott inherited the property, a bundleof correspondence, and sufficient documentary evidence to establishhis identity beyond the shadow of a doubt. Desperate gambler as Inow was, I quailed before the daring plan of Nina San Croix. Iurged that I, Richard Warren, would be known, that the attemptedfraud would be detected and would result in investigation, andperhaps unearth the whole horrible matter."The woman pointed out how much I resembled Walcott, what vastchanges ten years of such life as we had led would naturally beexpected to make in men, how utterly impossible it would be totrace back the fraud to Walcott's murder at Hell's Elbow, in thewild passes of the Sierra Nevadas. She bade me remember that wewere both outcasts, both crime-branded, both enemies of man's lawand God's; that we had nothing to lose; we were both sunk to thebottom. Then she laughed, and said that she had not found me acoward until now, but that if I had turned chicken-hearted, thatwas the end of it, of course. The result was, we sold the golddust and jewels in San Francisco, took on such evidences ofcivilization as possible, and purchased passage to New York on thebest steamer we could find."I was growing to depend on the bold gambler spirit of this woman,Nina San Croix; I felt the need of her strong, profligate nature.She was of a queer breed and a queerer school. Her mother was thedaughter of a Spanish engineer, and had been stolen by the Mexican,her father. She herself had been raised and educated as best mightbe in one of the monasteries along the Rio Grande, and had theregrown to womanhood before her father, fleeing into the mountains ofCalifornia, carried her with him."When we landed in New York I offered to announce her as my wife,but she refused, saying that her presence would excite comment andperhaps attract the attention of Walcott's relatives. We thereforearranged that I should go alone into the city, claim the property,and announce myself as Samuel Walcott, and that she should remainunder cover until such time as we would feel the ground safe underus."Every detail of the plan was fatally successful. I established myidentity without difficulty and secured the property. It hadincreased vastly in value, and I, as Samuel Walcott, soon foundmyself a rich man. I went to Nina San Croix in hiding and gave hera large sum of money, with which she purchased a residence in aretired part of the city, far up in the northern suburb. Here shelived secluded and unknown while I remained in the city, livinghere as a wealthy bachelor."I did not attempt to abandon the woman, but went to her from timeto time in disguise and under cover of the greatest secrecy. For atime everything ran smooth, the woman was still devoted to me aboveeverything else, and thought always of my welfare first and seemedcontent to wait so long as I thought best. My business expanded.I was sought after and consulted and drawn into the higher life ofNew York, and more and more felt that the woman was an albatross onmy neck. I put her off with one excuse after another. Finally shebegan to suspect me and demanded that I should recognize her as mywife. I attempted to point out the difficulties. She met them allby saying that we should both go to Spain, there I could marry herand we could return to America and drop into my place in societywithout causing more than a passing comment."I concluded to meet the matter squarely once for all. I said thatI would convert half of the property into money and give it to her,but that I would not marry her. She did not fly into a stormingrage as I had expected, but went quietly out of the room andpresently returned with two papers, which she read. One was thecertificate of her marriage to Walcott duly authenticated; theother was the dying statement of her father, the Mexican gambler,and of Samuel Walcott, charging me with murder. It was in properform and certified by the Jesuit priest."'Now,' she said, sweetly, when she had finished, 'which do youprefer, to recognize your wife, or to turn all the property over toSamuel Walcott's widow and hang for his murder?'"I was dumfounded and horrified. I saw the trap that I was in andI consented to do anything she should say if she would only destroythe papers. This she refused to do. I pleaded with her andimplored her to destroy them. Finally she gave them to me with agreat show of returning confidence, and I tore them into bits andthrew them into the fire."That was three months ago. We arranged to go to Spain and do asshe said. She was to sail this morning and I was to follow. Ofcourse I never intended to go. I congratulated myself on the factthat all trace of evidence against me was destroyed and that hergrip was now broken. My plan was to induce her to sail, believingthat I would follow. When she was gone I would marry Miss St.Clair, and if Nina San Croix should return I would defy her andlock her up as a lunatic. But I was reckoning like an infernalass, to imagine for a moment that I could thus hoodwink such awoman as Nina San Croix."To-night I received this." Walcott took the envelope from hispocket and gave it to Mason. "You saw the effect of it; read itand you will understand why. I felt the death hand when I saw herwriting on the envelope."Mason took the paper from the envelope. It was written in Spanish,and ran:"Greeting to RICHARD WARREN."The great Senor does his little Nina injustice to think she wouldgo away to Spain and leave him to the beautiful American. She isnot so thoughtless. Before she goes, she shall be, Oh so veryrich! and the dear Senor shall be, Oh so very safe! The Archbishopand the kind Church hate murderers."NINA SAN CROIX."Of course, fool, the papers you destroyed were copies."N. SAN C."To this was pinned a line in a delicate aristocratic hand sayingthat the Archbishop would willingly listen to Madam San Croix'sstatement if she would come to him on Friday morning at eleven."You see," said Walcott, desperately, "there is no possible wayout. I know the woman--when she decides to do a thing that is theend of it. She has decided to do this."Mason turned around from the table, stretched out his long legs,and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. Walcott sat with hishead down, watching Mason hopelessly, almost indifferently, hisface blank and sunken. The ticking of the bronze clock on themantel shelf was loud, painfully loud. Suddenly Mason drew hisknees in and bent over, put both his bony hands on the table, andlooked at Walcott."Sir," he said, "this matter is in such shape that there is onlyone thing to do. This growth must be cut out at the roots, and cutout quickly. This is the first fact to be determined, and a foolwould know it. The second fact is that you must do it yourself.Hired killers are like the grave and the daughters of the horseleech,--they cry always, 'Give, Give.' They are only palliatives,not cures. By using them you swap perils. You simply take a stayof execution at best. The common criminal would know this. Theseare the facts of your problem. The master plotters of crime wouldsee here but two difficulties to meet:"A practical method for accomplishing the body of the crime."A cover for the criminal agent."They would see no farther, and attempt to guard no farther. Afterthey had provided a plan for the killing, and a means by which thekiller could cover his trail and escape from the theater of thehomicide, they would believe all the requirements of the problemsmet, and would stop. The greatest, the very giants among them,have stopped here and have been in great error."In every crime, especially in the great ones, there exists a thirdelement, preeminently vital. This third element the masterplotters have either overlooked or else have not had the genius toconstruct. They plan with rare cunning to baffle the victim. Theyplan with vast wisdom, almost genius, to baffle the trailer. Butthey fail utterly to provide any plan for baffling the punisher.Ergo, their plots are fatally defective and often result in ruin.Hence the vital necessity for providing the third element--theescape ipso jure."Mason arose, walked around the table, and put his hand firmly onSamuel Walcott's shoulder. "This must be done to-morrow night," hecontinued; "you must arrange your business matters to-morrow andannounce that you are going on a yacht cruise, by order of yourphysician, and may not return for some weeks. You must prepareyour yacht for a voyage, instruct your men to touch at a certainpoint on Staten Island, and wait until six o'clock day aftertomorrow morning. If you do not come aboard by that time, they areto go to one of the South American ports and remain until furtherorders. By this means your absence for an indefinite period willbe explained. You will go to Nina San Croix in the disguise whichyou have always used, and from her to the yacht, and by this meansstep out of your real status and back into it without leavingtraces. I will come here to-morrow evening and furnish you witheverything that you shall need and give you full and exactinstructions in every particular. These details you must executewith the greatest care, as they will be vitally essential to thesuccess of my plan."Through it all Walcott had been silent and motionless. Now hearose, and in his face there must have been some premonition ofprotest, for Mason stepped back and put out his hand. "Sir," hesaid, with brutal emphasis, "not a word. Remember that you areonly the hand, and the hand does not think." Then he turned aroundabruptly and went out of the house.IIIThe place which Samuel Walcott had selected for the residence ofNina San Croix was far up in the northern suburb of New York. Theplace was very old. The lawn was large and ill kept; the house, asquare old-fashioned brick, was set far back from the street, andpartly hidden by trees. Around it all was a rusty iron fence. Theplace had the air of genteel ruin, such as one finds in theVirginias.On a Thursday of November, about three o'clock in the afternoon, alittle man, driving a dray, stopped in the alley at the rear of thehouse. As he opened the back gate an old negro woman came down thesteps from the kitchen and demanded to know what he wanted. Thedrayman asked if the lady of the house was in. The old negroanswered that she was asleep at this hour and could not be seen."That is good," said the little man, "now there won't be any row.I brought up some cases of wine which she ordered from our houselast week and which the Boss told me to deliver at once, but Iforgot it until to-day. Just let me put it in the cellar now,Auntie, and don't say a word to the lady about it and she won'tever know that it was not brought up on time."The drayman stopped, fished a silver dollar out of his pocket, andgave it to the old negro. "There now, Auntie," he said, "my jobdepends upon the lady not knowing about this wine; keep it mum.""Dat's all right, honey," said the old servant, beaming like a Maymorning. "De cellar door is open, carry it all in and put it in deback part and nobody ain't never going to know how long it has beenin dar."The old negro went back into the kitchen and the little man beganto unload the dray. He carried in five wine cases and stowed themaway in the back part of the cellar as the old woman had directed.Then, after having satisfied himself that no one was watching, hetook from the dray two heavy paper sacks, presumably filled withflour, and a little bundle wrapped in an old newspaper; these hecarefully hid behind the wine cases in the cellar. After awhile heclosed the door, climbed on his dray, and drove off down the alley.About eight o'clock in the evening of the same day, a Mexicansailor dodged in the front gate and slipped down to the side of thehouse. He stopped by the window and tapped on it with his finger.In a moment a woman opened the door. She was tall, lithe, andsplendidly proportioned, with a dark Spanish face and straighthair. The man stepped inside. The woman bolted the door andturned round."Ah," she said, smiling, "it is you, Senor? How good of you!"The man started. "Whom else did you expect?" he said quickly."Oh!" laughed the woman, "perhaps the Archbishop.""Nina!" said the man, in a broken voice that expressed love,humility, and reproach. His face was white under the blacksunburn.For a moment the woman wavered. A shadow flitted over her eyes,then she stepped back. "No," she said, "not yet."The man walked across to the fire, sank down in a chair, andcovered his face with his hands. The woman stepped up noiselesslybehind him and leaned over the chair. The man was either in greatagony or else he was a superb actor, for the muscles of his necktwitched violently and his shoulders trembled."Oh," he muttered, as though echoing his thoughts, "I can't do it,I can't!"The woman caught the words and leaped up as though some one hadstruck her in the face. She threw back her head. Her nostrilsdilated and her eyes flashed."You can't do it!" she cried. "Then you do love her! You shall doit! Do you hear me? You shall do it! You killed him! You gotrid of him! but you shall not get rid of me. I have the evidence,all of it. The Archbishop will have it to-morrow. They shall hangyou! Do you hear me? They shall hang you!"The woman's voice rose, it was loud and shrill. The man turnedslowly round without looking up, and stretched out his arms towardthe woman. She stopped and looked down at him. The fire glitteredfor a moment and then died out of her eyes, her bosom heaved andher lips began to tremble. With a cry she flung herself into hisarms, caught him around the neck, and pressed his face up closeagainst her cheek."Oh! Dick, Dick," she sobbed, "I do love you so! I can't livewithout you! Not another hour, Dick! I do want you so much, somuch, Dick!"The man shifted his right arm quickly, slipped a great Mexicanknife out of his sleeve, and passed his fingers slowly up thewoman's side until he felt the heart beat under his hand, then heraised the knife, gripped the handle tight, and drove the keenblade into the woman's bosom. The hot blood gushed out over hisarm, and down on his leg. The body, warm and limp, slipped down inhis arms. The man got up, pulled out the knife, and thrust it intoa sheath at his belt, unbuttoned the dress, and slipped it off ofthe body. As he did this a bundle of papers dropped upon thefloor; these he glanced at hastily and put into his pocket. Thenhe took the dead woman up in his arms, went out into the hall, andstarted to go up the stairway. The body was relaxed and heavy, andfor that reason difficult to carry. He doubled it up into an awfulheap, with the knees against the chin, and walked slowly andheavily up the stairs and out into the bathroom. There he laid thecorpse down on the tiled floor. Then he opened the window, closedthe shutters, and lighted the gas. The bathroom was small andcontained an ordinary steel tub, porcelain lined, standing near thewindow and raised about six inches above the floor. The sailorwent over to the tub, pried up the metal rim of the outlet with hisknife, removed it, and fitted into its place a porcelain disk whichhe took from his pocket; to this disk was attached a long platinumwire, the end of which he fastened on the outside of the tub.After he had done this he went back to the body, stripped off itsclothing, put it down in the tub and began to dismember it with thegreat Mexican knife. The blade was strong and sharp as a razor.The man worked rapidly and with the greatest care.When he had finally cut the body into as small pieces as possible,he replaced the knife in its sheath, washed his hands, and went outof the bathroom and downstairs to the lower hall. The sailorseemed perfectly familiar with the house. By a side door he passedinto the cellar. There he lighted the gas, opened one of the winecases, and, taking up all the bottles that he could convenientlycarry, returned to the bathroom. There he poured the contents intothe tub on the dismembered body, and then returned to the cellarwith the empty bottles, which he replaced in the wine cases. Thishe continued to do until all the cases but one were emptied and thebath tub was more than half full of liquid. This liquid wassulphuric acid.When the sailor returned to the cellar with the last empty winebottles, he opened the fifth case, which really contained wine,took some of it out, and poured a little into each of the emptybottles in order to remove any possible odor of the sulphuric acid.Then he turned out the gas and brought up to the bathroom with himthe two paper flour sacks and the little heavy bundle. These sackswere filled with nitrate of soda. He set them down by the door,opened the little bundle, and took out two long rubber tubes, eachattached to a heavy gas burner, not unlike the ordinary burners ofa small gas stove. He fastened the tubes to two of the gas jets,put the burners under the tub, turned the gas on full, and lightedit. Then he threw into the tub the woman's clothing and the paperswhich he had found on her body, after which he took up the twoheavy sacks of nitrate of soda and dropped them carefully into thesulphuric acid. When he had done this he went quickly out of thebathroom and closed the door.The deadly acids at once attacked the body and began to destroy it;as the heat increased, the acids boiled and the destructive processwas rapid and awful. From time to time the sailor opened the doorof the bathroom cautiously, and, holding a wet towel over his mouthand nose, looked in at his horrible work. At the end of a fewhours there was only a swimming mass in the tub. When the manlooked at four o'clock, it was all a thick murky liquid. He turnedoff the gas quickly and stepped back out of the room. For perhapshalf an hour he waited in the hall; finally, when the acids hadcooled so that they no longer gave off fumes, he opened the doorand went in, took hold of the platinum wire and, pulling theporcelain disk from the stopcock, allowed the awful contents of thetub to run out. Then he turned on the hot water, rinsed the tubclean, and replaced the metal outlet. Removing the rubber tubes,he cut them into pieces, broke the porcelain disk, and, rolling upthe platinum wire, washed it all down the sewer pipe.The fumes had escaped through the open window; this he now closedand set himself to putting the bathroom in order, and effectuallyremoving every trace of his night's work. The sailor moved aroundwith the very greatest degree of care. Finally, when he hadarranged everything to his complete satisfaction, he picked up thetwo burners, turned out the gas, and left the bathroom, closing thedoor after him. From the bathroom he went directly to the attic,concealed the two rusty burners under a heap of rubbish, and thenwalked carefully and noiselessly down the stairs and through thelower hall. As he opened the door and stepped into the room wherehe had killed the woman, two police officers sprang out and seizedhim. The man screamed like a wild beast taken in a trap and sankdown."Oh! oh!" he cried, "it was no use! it was no use to do it!" Thenhe recovered himself in a manner and was silent. The officershandcuffed him, summoned the patrol, and took him at once to thestation house. There he said he was a Mexican sailor and that hisname was Victor Ancona; but he would say nothing further. Thefollowing morning he sent for Randolph Mason and the two were longtogether.IVThe obscure defendant charged with murder has little reason tocomplain of the law's delays. The morning following the arrest ofVictor Ancona, the newspapers published long sensational articles,denounced him as a fiend, and convicted him. The grand jury, as ithappened, was in session. The preliminaries were soon arranged andthe case was railroaded into trial. The indictment contained agreat many counts, and charged the prisoner with the murder of NinaSan Croix by striking, stabbing, choking, poisoning, and so forth.The trial had continued for three days and had appeared sooverwhelmingly one-sided that the spectators who were crowded inthe court room had grown to be violent and bitter partisans, tosuch an extent that the police watched them closely. The attorneysfor the People were dramatic and denunciatory, and forced theircase with arrogant confidence. Mason, as counsel for the prisoner,was indifferent and listless. Throughout the entire trial he hadsat almost motionless at the table, his gaunt form bent over, hislong legs drawn up under his chair, and his weary, heavy-muscledface, with its restless eyes, fixed and staring out over the headsof the jury, was like a tragic mask. The bar, and even the judge,believed that the prisoner's counsel had abandoned his case.The evidence was all in and the People rested. It had been shownthat Nina San Croix had resided for many years in the house inwhich the prisoner was arrested; that she had lived by herself,with no other companion than an old negro servant; that her pastwas unknown, and that she received no visitors, save the Mexicansailor, who came to her house at long intervals. Nothing whateverwas shown tending to explain who the prisoner was or whence he hadcome. It was shown that on Tuesday preceding the killing theArchbishop had received a communication from Nina San Croix, inwhich she said she desired to make a statement of the greatestimport, and asking for an audience. To this the Archbishop repliedthat he would willingly grant her a hearing if she would come tohim at eleven o'clock on Friday morning. Two policemen testifiedthat about eight o'clock on the night of Thursday they had noticedthe prisoner slip into the gate of Nina San Croix's residence andgo down to the side of the house, where he was admitted; that hisappearance and seeming haste had attracted their attention; thatthey had concluded that it was some clandestine amour, and out ofcuriosity had both slipped down to the house and endeavored to finda position from which they could see into the room, but were unableto do so, and were about to go back to the street when they heard awoman's voice cry out in, great anger: "I know that you love herand that you want to get rid of me, but you shall not do it! Youmurdered him, but you shall not murder me! I have all the evidenceto convict you of murdering him! The Archbishop will have it to-morrow! They shall hang you! Do you hear me? They shall hang youfor this murder!" that thereupon one of the policemen proposed thatthey should break into the house and see what was wrong, but theother had urged that it was only the usual lovers' quarrel and ifthey should interfere they would find nothing upon which a chargecould be based and would only be laughed at by the chief; that theyhad waited and listened for a time, but hearing nothing further hadgone back to the street and contented themselves with keeping astrict watch on the house.The People proved further, that on Thursday evening Nina San Croixhad given the old negro domestic a sum of money and dismissed her,with the instruction that she was not to return until sent for.The old woman testified that she had gone directly to the house ofher son, and later had discovered that she had forgotten somearticles of clothing which she needed; that thereupon she hadreturned to the house and had gone up the back way to her room,--this was about eight o'clock; that while there she had heard NinaSan Croix's voice in great passion and remembered that she had usedthe words stated by the policemen; that these sudden, violent crieshad frightened her greatly and she had bolted the door and beenafraid to leave the room; shortly thereafter, she had heard heavyfootsteps ascending the stairs, slowly and with great difficulty,as though some one were carrying a heavy burden; that therefore herfear had increased and that she had put out the light and hiddenunder the bed. She remembered hearing the footsteps moving aboutupstairs for many hours, how long she could not tell. Finally,about half-past four in the morning, she crept out, opened thedoor, slipped downstairs, and ran out into the street. There shehad found the policemen and requested them to search the house.The two officers had gone to the house with the woman. She hadopened the door and they had had just time to step back into theshadow when the prisoner entered. When arrested, Victor Ancona hadscreamed with terror, and cried out, "It was no use! it was no useto do it!"The Chief of Police had come to the house and instituted a carefulsearch. In the room below, from which the cries had come, he founda dress which was identified as belonging to Nina San Croix andwhich she was wearing when last seen by the domestic, about sixo'clock that evening. This dress was covered with blood, and had aslit about two inches long in the left side of the bosom, intowhich the Mexican knife, found on the prisoner, fitted perfectly.These articles were introduced in evidence, and it was shown thatthe slit would be exactly over the heart of the wearer, and thatsuch a wound would certainly result in death. There was much bloodon one of the chairs and on the floor. There was also blood on theprisoner's coat and the leg of his trousers, and the heavy Mexicanknife was also bloody. The blood was shown by the experts to behuman blood.The body of the woman was not found, and the most rigid andtireless search failed to develop the slightest trace of thecorpse, or the manner of its disposal. The body of the woman haddisappeared as completely as though it had vanished into the air.When counsel announced that he had closed for the People, the judgeturned and looked gravely down at Mason. "Sir," he said, "theevidence for the defense may now be introduced."Randolph Mason arose slowly and faced the judge."If your Honor please," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly,"the defendant has no evidence to offer." He paused while a murmurof astonishment ran over the court room. "But, if your Honorplease," he continued, "I move that the jury be directed to findthe prisoner not guilty."The crowd stirred. The counsel for the People smiled. The judgelooked sharply at the speaker over his glasses. "On what ground?"he said curtly."On the ground," replied Mason, "that the corpus delicti has notbeen proven.""Ah!" said the judge, for once losing his judicial gravity. Masonsat down abruptly. The senior counsel for the prosecution was onhis feet in a moment."What!" he said, "the gentleman bases his motion on a failure toestablish the corpus delicti? Does he jest, or has he forgottenthe evidence? The term 'corpus delicti' is technical, and meansthe body of the crime, or the substantial fact that a crime hasbeen committed. Does anyone doubt it in this case? It is truethat no one actually saw the prisoner kill the decedent, and thathe has so successfully hidden the body that it has not been found,but the powerful chain of circumstances, clear and close-linked,proving motive, the criminal agency, and the criminal act, isoverwhelming."The victim in this case is on the eve of making a statement thatwould prove fatal to the prisoner. The night before the statementis to be made he goes to her residence. They quarrel. Her voiceis heard, raised high in the greatest passion, denouncing him, andcharging that he is a murderer, that she has the evidence and willreveal it, that he shall be hanged, and that he shall not be rid ofher. Here is the motive for the crime, clear as light. Are notthe bloody knife, the bloody dress, the bloody clothes of theprisoner, unimpeachable witnesses to the criminal act? Thecriminal agency of the prisoner has not the shadow of a possibilityto obscure it. His motive is gigantic. The blood on him, and hisdespair when arrested, cry 'Murder! murder!' with a thousandtongues."Men may lie, but circumstances cannot. The thousand hopes andfears and passions of men may delude, or bias the witness. Yet itis beyond the human mind to conceive that a clear, complete chainof concatenated circumstances can be in error. Hence it is thatthe greatest jurists have declared that such evidence, being rarelyliable to delusion or fraud, is safest and most powerful. Themachinery of human justice cannot guard against the remote andimprobable doubt. The inference is persistent in the affairs ofmen. It is the only means by which the human mind reaches thetruth. If you forbid the jury to exercise it, you bid them workafter first striking off their hands. Rule out the irresistibleinference, and the end of justice is come in this land; and you mayas well leave the spider to weave his web through the abandonedcourt room."The attorney stopped, looked down at Mason with a pompous sneer,and retired to his place at the table. The judge sat thoughtfuland motionless. The jurymen leaned forward in their seats."If your Honor please," said Mason, rising, "this is a matter oflaw, plain, clear, and so well settled in the State of New Yorkthat even counsel for the People should know it. The questionbefore your Honor is simple. If the corpus delicti, the body ofthe crime, has been proven, as required by the laws of thecommonwealth, then this case should go to the jury. If not, thenit is the duty of this Court to direct the jury to find theprisoner not guilty. There is here no room for judicialdiscretion. Your Honor has but to recall and apply the rigid ruleannounced by our courts prescribing distinctly how the corpusdelicti in murder must be proven."The prisoner here stands charged with the highest crime. The lawdemands, first, that the crime, as a fact, be established. Thefact that the victim is indeed dead must first be made certainbefore anyone can be convicted for her killing, because, so long asthere remains the remotest doubt as to the death, there can be nocertainty as to the criminal agent, although the circumstantialevidence indicating the guilt of the accused may be positive,complete, and utterly irresistible. In murder, the corpus delicti,or body of the crime, is composed of two elements:"Death, as a result."The criminal agency of another as the means.It is the fixed and immutable law of this State, laid down in theleading case of Ruloff v. The People, and binding upon this Court,that both components of the corpus delicti shall not be establishedby circumstantial evidence. There must be direct proof of one orthe other of these two component elements of the corpus delicti.If one is proven by direct evidence, the other may be presumed; butboth shall not be presumed from circumstances, no matter howpowerful, how cogent, or how completely overwhelming thecircumstances may be. In other words, no man can be convicted ofmurder in the State of New York, unless the body of the victim befound and identified, or there be direct proof that the prisonerdid some act adequate to produce death, and did it in such a manneras to account for the disappearance of the body."The face of the judge cleared and grew hard. The members of thebar were attentive and alert; they were beginning to see the legalescape open up. The audience were puzzled; they did not yetunderstand. Mason turned to the counsel for the People. His uglyface was bitter with contempt."For three days," he said," I have been tortured by this uselessand expensive farce. If counsel for the People had been other thanplay-actors, they would have known in the beginning that VictorAncona could not be convicted for murder, unless he were confrontedin this court room with a living witness, who had looked into thedead face of Nina San Croix; or, if not that, a living witness whohad seen him drive the dagger into her bosom."I care not if the circumstantial evidence in this case were sostrong and irresistible as to be overpowering; if the judge on thebench, if the jury, if every man within sound of my voice, wereconvinced of the guilt of the prisoner to the degree of certaintythat is absolute; if the circumstantial evidence left in the mindno shadow of the remotest improbable doubt; yet, in the absence ofthe eyewitness, this prisoner cannot be punished, and this Courtmust compel the jury to acquit him."The audience now understood, and they were dumfounded. Surely thiswas not the law. They had been taught that the law was commonsense, and this,--this was anything else.Mason saw it all, and grinned. "In its tenderness," he sneered,"the law shields the innocent. The good law of New York reachesout its hand and lifts the prisoner out of the clutches of thefierce jury that would hang him."Mason sat down. The room was silent. The jurymen looked at eachother in amazement. The counsel for the People arose. His facewas white with anger, and incredulous."Your Honor," he said, "this doctrine is monstrous. Can it be saidthat, in order to evade punishment, the murderer has only to hideor destroy the body of the victim, or sink it into the sea? Then,if he is not seen to kill, the law is powerless and the murderercan snap his finger in the face of retributive justice. If this isthe law, then the law for the highest crime is a dead letter. Thegreat commonwealth winks at murder and invites every man to killhis enemy, provided he kill him in secret and hide him. I repeat,your Honor,"--the man's voice was now loud and angry and rangthrough the court room--"that this doctrine is monstrous!""So said Best, and Story, and many another," muttered Mason, "andthe law remained.""The Court," said the judge, abruptly, "desires no furtherargument."The counsel for the People resumed his seat. His face lighted upwith triumph. The Court was going to sustain him.The judge turned and looked down at the jury. He was grave, andspoke with deliberate emphasis."Gentlemen of the jury," he said, "the rule of Lord Hale obtains inthis State and is binding upon me. It is the law as stated bycounsel for the prisoner: that to warrant conviction of murderthere must be direct proof either of the death, as of the findingand identification of the corpse, or of criminal violence adequateto produce death, and exerted in such a manner as to account forthe disappearance of the body; and it is only when there is directproof of the one that the other can be established bycircumstantial evidence. This is the law, and cannot now bedeparted from. I do not presume to explain its wisdom. Chief-Justice Johnson has observed, in the leading case, that it may haveits probable foundation in the idea that where direct proof isabsent as to both the fact of the death and of criminal violencecapable of producing death, no evidence can rise to the degree ofmoral certainty that the individual is dead by criminalintervention, or even lead by direct inference to this result; andthat, where the fact of death is not certainly ascertained, allinculpatory circumstantial evidence wants the key necessary for itssatisfactory interpretation, and cannot be depended on to furnishmore than probable results. It may be, also, that such a rule hassome reference to the dangerous possibility that a generalpreconception of guilt, or a general excitement of popular feeling,may creep in to supply the place of evidence, if, upon other thandirect proof of death or a cause of death, a jury are permitted topronounce a prisoner guilty."In this case the body has not been found and there is no directproof of criminal agency on the part of the prisoner, although thechain of circumstantial evidence is complete and irresistible inthe highest degree. Nevertheless, it is all circumstantialevidence, and under the laws of New York the prisoner cannot bepunished. I have no right of discretion. The law does not permita conviction in this case, although every one of us may be morallycertain of the prisoner's guilt. I am, therefore, gentlemen of thejury, compelled to direct you to find the prisoner not guilty.""Judge," interrupted the foreman, jumping up in the box, "we cannotfind that verdict under our oath; we know that this man is guilty.""Sir," said the judge, "this is a matter of law in which the wishesof the jury cannot be considered. The clerk will write a verdictof not guilty, which you, as foreman, will sign."The spectators broke out into a threatening murmur that began togrow and gather volume. The judge rapped on his desk and orderedthe bailiffs promptly to suppress any demonstration on the part ofthe audience. Then he directed the foreman to sign the verdictprepared by the clerk. When this was done he turned to VictorAncona; his face was hard and there was a cold glitter in his eyes."Prisoner at the bar," he said, "you have been put to trial beforethis tribunal on a charge of cold-blooded and atrocious murder.The evidence produced against you was of such powerful andoverwhelming character that it seems to have left no doubt in theminds of the jury, nor indeed in the mind of any person present inthis court room."Had the question of your guilt been submitted to these twelvearbiters, a conviction would certainly have resulted and the deathpenalty would have been imposed. But the law, rigid, passionless,even-eyed, has thrust in between you and the wrath of your fellowsand saved you from it. I do not cry out against the impotency ofthe law; it is perhaps as wise as imperfect humanity could make it.I deplore, rather, the genius of evil men who, by cunning design,are enabled to slip through the fingers of this law. I have noword of censure or admonition for you, Victor Ancona. The law ofNew York compels me to acquit you. I am only its mouthpiece, withmy individual wishes throttled. I speak only those things whichthe law directs I shall speak."You are now at liberty to leave this court room, not guiltless ofthe crime of murder, perhaps, but at least rid of its punishment.The eyes of men may see Cain's mark on your brow, but the eyes ofthe Law are blind to it."When the audience fully realized what the judge had said they wereamazed and silent. They knew as well as men could know, thatVictor Ancona was guilty of murder, and yet he was now going out ofthe court room free. Could it happen that the law protected onlyagainst the blundering rogue? They had heard always of the boastedcompleteness of the law which magistrates from time immemorial hadlabored to perfect, and now when the skillful villain sought toevade it, they saw how weak a thing it was.VThe wedding march of Lohengrin floated out from the EpiscopalChurch of St. Mark, clear and sweet, and perhaps heavy with itsparadox of warning. The theater of this coming contract beforehigh heaven was a wilderness of roses worth the taxes of a county.The high caste of Manhattan, by the grace of the check book, werepresent, clothed in Parisian purple and fine linen, cunningly andmarvelously wrought.Over in her private pew, ablaze with jewels, and decked withfabrics from the deft hand of many a weaver, sat Mrs. MiriamSteuvisant as imperious and self-complacent as a queen. To her itwas all a kind of triumphal procession, proclaiming her ability asa general. With her were a choice few of the genus homo, whichobtains at the five-o'clock teas, instituted, say the sages, forthe purpose of sprinkling the holy water of Lethe."Czarina," whispered Reggie Du Puyster, leaning forward, "I saluteyou. The ceremony sub jugum is superb.""Walcott is an excellent fellow," answered Mrs. Steuvisant; "not avice, you know, Reggie.""Aye, Empress," put in the others, "a purist taken in the net. Theclean-skirted one has come to the altar. Vive la vertu!"Samuel Walcott, still sunburned from his cruise, stood before thechancel with the only daughter of the blue blooded St. Clairs. Hisface was clear and honest and his voice firm. This was life andnot romance. The lid of the sepulcher had closed and he hadslipped from under it. And now, and ever after, the hand red withmurder was clean as any.The minister raised his voice, proclaiming the holy union beforeGod, and this twain, half pure, half foul, now by divine ordinanceone flesh, bowed down before it. No blood cried from the ground.The sunlight of high noon streamed down through the window paneslike a benediction.Back in the pew of Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant, Reggie Du Puyster turneddown his thumb. "Habet!" he said.

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