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

of months. There was no possible room for error, and I feared that Dr Sadler would note this, too; had he done so, and suspected me, he would have grown cautious in consequence. The police, accepting his story as he told it, did not force him to the alternative of the roof-trap theory.’

‘But, my dear friend,’ I protested, ‘where does this lead us? The conclusions which follow cannot possibly be correct, and why did you suggest to Sadler that he was a widower?’

‘Because it was true,’ replied Conners. ‘I was interested in the case, as I stated to you, and, before your return, I looked it up somewhat. From the facts stated in the newspapers, the significance of which I carefully analysed, my suspicions were aroused. I went far enough to learn that he was married about six months ago. He subsequently lost his wife very suddenly.’

Conners’s manner attracted my attention, and he looked at me with an expression almost like humour upon his face. I had scarcely anticipated a jest from him on such a subject, and, as he averted his eyes, I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

‘I think we have accomplished enough for today,’ he said; ‘I want to assemble the facts as I have gathered them, and perhaps submit them to my friend Inspector Paul. He is a great detective – within limits. You may say to Mrs Barrister and your wife that your family will not rest long under the stigma which they suppose is attached to it.’

‘That is cheering,’ I replied, doubtfully. ‘I know they have a great deal of confidence in you.’

‘That is cheering, too,’ he laughed.

I left the studio, and as I passed along the hall I heard the bell of his telephone ring sharply. Wondering how much he would have to suggest to the Inspector, I entered my office, and shortly after took my way home.

I did not tell Jennie or anyone else of my visit to Banning Street, nor did I give them the message sent by Conners. What I had heard only tended to confuse me. Nothing had occurred to indicate the whereabouts of Dr Haslam or in any wise mitigate the heinous character of his crime. I could not see that the fact that Sadler was a reprobate had anything whatever to do with it.

The night which passed was a restless one for me. Jennie and Mrs Barrister were both indisposed, and, in consequence, I slept late the following morning, appearing with the others in the breakfast room somewhat ruffled in temper. Our habits seemed to have become demoralised since our return, and I thought, somewhat morosely, of our former state of contentment, and looked regretfully at the sad countenances of the two women at the table.

But the morning paper had another surprise for me in an article which I read aloud, and with an excitement which made my words incoherent, and necessitated many repetitions because of the eager questions and excited exclamations with which my two companions interrupted me. The article in question was under black headlines. It read as follows:

‘The mystery of the disappearance of Dr Charles Haslam has been solved at last. Far from being the murderer of his housekeeper, Mrs Martha Sands, as has been generally supposed, Dr Haslam was himself the victim of an assassin. His body was yesterday discovered in a cement gate-post at his late residence, and Dr Jerome Sadler, Dr Haslam’s own adopted son, has, by committing suicide, practically confessed himself guilty of the murder of the man who so befriended him, and of a woman whom, only a short time ago, he made his wife.

‘As a whole, this tragedy makes one of the most sensational chapters in the criminal history of this city. Seldom has there been chronicled a more horrible and repulsive series of facts than those which relate to the killing of Mrs Martha Sands at the house of Dr Charles Haslam, on Banning Street, in Brooklyn. The terrible crime that sent the unfortunate woman to her grave has now been followed by a ghastly suicide, and three persons are dead as a result of the evil and ingratitude of a wretch whom a generous and confiding old man took into his confidence and affection. Until yesterday it was believed by the public and police that Mrs Sands had died at the hands of Dr Haslam. An obscure page from the records of a Westchester magistrate; a book of Oriental travel pierced by a scarcely perceptible hole through which was drawn a piece of brass wire; an ingenious mechanism constructed to hold a gun at the deadly level of a human head, masked by a green cloth; certain marks where it was attached to the study floor in Dr Haslam’s house; the presence of fragments of brass wire about the breech of the fatal gun while it was yet smoking from its discharge; together with other unearthed evidence – which discloses a depth of human depravity – all shrewdly fitted together, have tended to reveal the truth and tell a story which reads like a page from an Italian romance of the Middle Ages.

‘Here are the facts: Nearly two years ago Dr Charles Haslam, attracted by the person and talents of a young medical student by the name of Jerome Sadler, took him into his household, and later made him his son by adoption. The inmates of the Banning Street house consisted at that time of Dr Haslam and four servants, including the housekeeper, Mrs Martha Sands, a woman of unusual personal attractions. Although some years older than the young man who was the subject of Dr Haslam’s favour, this difference in age did not prevent the development of a singular regard between them, of which fact Dr Haslam became recently advised.

‘The young man had firmly entrenched himself in the affections of his lonely patron, and by duplicity and adroitness he was enabled to mislead him. He denied the existence of any intimate relationship between himself