American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

possibility of an accident was excluded by the high state of feeling which had for some time existed between Dr Haslam and the woman, and by the fact that Dr Sadler surprised the murderer standing beside the body of his victim, contemplating his work with malevolent satisfaction.

‘The stricken son, in the face of the early arrival of the officers, made no attempt to shield his erring parent. At the exclamation of horror which Dr Sadler uttered upon entering the room immediately following the crime, the murderer placed the weapon in the position in which it was found, coolly turned away, and, by descending the back stairway, made his escape from the house at the moment the officers entered from the street. A general alarm has been sent out for his apprehension, and he will doubtless be taken before morning. The police feel confident of this, as he was in his dressing-gown and slippers at the moment of departure, and had little time to effect a change of garments or make provision for flight.

‘Dr Haslam is a man of wealth and a physician of large practice. Of late he has been something of a recluse, his failing health having caused a partial abandonment of his professional duties, which were largely assumed by his adopted son. Little is known of the unfortunate woman. She was of unusual personal attraction, English, and, so far as known, had no relatives in this country.’

Here was the story, told with little elaboration, and I stood aghast and, for a moment, speechless. Dr Haslam was the brother of Mrs Barrister and the uncle of my wife.

We were somewhat familiar with his domestic affairs, although there was little cordiality between the fashionable house on Banning Street and my retired residence on Staten Island. The reason lay in Dr Jerome Sadler. A warm affection had existed between Mrs Barrister and her brother, but when Dr Haslam, in his rounds of the hospitals, at which he was a welcome demonstrator, found the young student whom he had taken so closely into his household and subsequently educated, a breach had occurred which had never healed. This, in part, grew out of the fact that the young man became a suitor for Jennie’s hand, and her preference for myself greatly disappointed her uncle. But the young man from the first was odious to Mrs Barrister, and Jennie shared the feelings of her mother.

Of Mrs Sands, the murdered woman, we knew little, and yet her presence in the home of Dr Haslam had been a matter of uneasiness. Neither Mrs Barrister nor Jennie had lost interest in their relative, and, with that feminine observance which is quick to note details, they suspected coming trouble – not trouble in the nature of the horrible event of which we had just been apprised, but in the possibility of an ill-advised marriage to be followed by the consequences of an old man’s folly. They fancied that Dr Sadler feared this, too, and their hope of seeing it averted lay in the fact of his natural opposition to such a union. They knew him to be selfish, suspected him to be base, and, although both detested him cordially, they held him in nothing like the apprehension with which they regarded the woman, whom Mrs Barrister did not hesitate to regard as an adventuress. Deep as was our grief, and firm as had been our confidence in the high character of the man to whom both Jennie and her mother bore the relationship of blood, we had no reason to doubt the facts as told so coolly in the columns of the morning paper.

Gathering my scattered wits together, I sought to calm the weeping women, thinking at the time, with some grimness, of how little there was to say. Mrs Barrister desired to go at once to the scene of the trouble, and Jennie clamoured to accompany her, but to this I would not consent; my wife’s presence could do no good.

Yielding, finally, to my wishes, Jennie helped to make her mother ready, and, oppressed by the gloom of our mission, we set out for Banning Street.

Something of the anticipated horror of our visit was kindly spared us. I had looked forward to a fearful inspection, of the body and a pathetic meeting between Mrs Barrister and her brother – doubtless he was now in custody and would be brought to the scene of his crime. I supposed there might be some judicial proceedings in which we would be called upon to participate, and which must be necessarily trying for Jennie’s mother.

But upon our arrival we found the house quiet, with only a few curious figures lingering about the corners of the vicinity. Dr Sadler greeted us with a fishy clasp, striving to twist his cold countenance into an expression of sympathy; in the shadow of the tragedy he could afford to be polite. The servants stood about like statues, dazed by the event, and Dr Sadler himself ushered us into the parlour, from which the light was excluded by the closely drawn curtains. But our visit was to be free from any horror; the coroner had held an early inquest, and the body had been taken to the rooms of a neighbouring undertaker. Dr Haslam had not been found.

We met this statement with an exclamation of surprise, and Mrs Barrister sobbed her relief. Dr Sadler had a theory; he stated it in a colourless voice and with a demeanour which I sought to attribute to the influence of the horrible crime. The papers had spoken truly, he observed, when they said that Dr Haslam was unprepared for flight; and he could, of course, find no one to harbour him from the authorities. He had made his way to the river, so he believed, and the police would find him when the waters gave up their dead.

The conclusion was a natural one, although it added to Mrs Barrister’s grief. Vainly she sought the cause of such a tragedy