in front of him.
I nodded an affirmative, and proceeded to describe the position of thepaper as pinned upon the breast.
"Hum! well, I think that's all," said he, when I had finished. "You sayyou live in Torrington Square. Ah! I have the number. And you spentthe evening at the Junior Garrick Club--was that so?"
"Yes."
"At the inquest we shall want you as a witness; but you will get warningin due course. Good-morning."
I left the station, and trudged homeward, full of thoughts of thehorrible scene of which I had been an involuntary spectator.
Truly the night had been an eventful one.
The discovery had been made too late for the first editions of themorning papers, but those published on the following evening gaveaccounts of the tragedy, headed "Another Mysterious Murder: The MysticSeal again," in which the details of the crime were most graphicallytold, the facts exaggerated, and plenty of fiction infused; for thatstyle known as the New Journalism seems to have been invented for thepurpose of satisfying the craving for sensational reading.
During the day I was pestered with interviewers. Several enterprisingreporters, who saw a chance of making an interesting column of "copy"out of me, sent up their cards, and to them I granted an audience.Following these came two detectives from the Criminal InvestigationDepartment, who also wished for a description of my night's adventure.
This I gave willingly, yet to my astonishment and annoyance I found,when I went down to the club in the evening, that the police had beenmaking inquiries of the servants as to what time I left on the previousnight, besides endeavouring to learn various other particulars.
I, Frank Burgoyne, was evidently suspected of the crime!
There had been six murders, all curious, unexplained mysteries, whichhad formed the chief topic of conversation and comment in the newspapersfor the past few weeks. In each there appeared an utter absence ofmotive, which made the enigma doubly puzzling; and though the murdererhad sought his victims from every rank of society, the same seal--evidently impressed by the same hand--had been found pinned upon thebreast of the corpses.
Premeditated the crimes undoubtedly were, and accomplished by one towhom murder was an art, for in not a single instance was there theslightest clue to his identity, though some were committed in broaddaylight. The _modus operandi_ appeared to be similar in every case,and with the exception of one victim, who had been shot, the remainingfive had all been stabbed to the heart by a stiletto, which the murdererusually carried away with him.
Various were the theories advanced as to the motives for these appallingdeeds.
Some journals suggested that the murderer was a maniac, whose insatiablethirst for blood was controlled by the moon's changes. This appearedplausible enough to some, but others asked how, if he were a lunatic,did he continue so effectually to conceal himself. These were toldthere was method in madness, and that in all probability the murdererwas insane whilst committing the crimes, and immediately afterwards, ongaining his right senses, he remembered nothing of the fearful deeds.
Such hypotheses, and others of a far wilder character, were daily talk,not only throughout the Kingdom, but in all the Continental capitals,and in America. Although several heavy rewards had been offered for theapprehension of the defender, and a free pardon to any accomplice, allefforts to discover him were futile. The shrewdest detectivesacknowledged themselves utterly baffled.
The most inexplicable part of the mystery was the fact that the crimeswere not confined to one city, or even to one country, but had beencommitted at places at great distances from one another. This plainlyshowed that the murderer travelled with almost miraculous rapidity.
Very little sensation was created by the first discovery, although itwas regarded as a mysterious affair. It occurred in New York, where acelebrated financier, George M. Sheward, was discovered one day in hisprivate office, stabbed to the heart. Here the fatal seal first madeits appearance. At the time the New York police thought little of thefact, and the finding of the symbol was not made public untilsubsequently, when other crimes had taken place, and the same emblem wasfound.
From inquiries, it appeared that the deceased arrived at Wall Street, asusual, at ten o'clock in the morning, retiring into his room, which wasonly separated from that of his clerk's by a short passage, some tenfeet in length. He remained in his room an hour, interviewing severalclients and attending to his correspondence. His manager had occasionto consult him shortly after eleven, when on entering the room he washorrified at finding him dead in his chair. Upon the blotting-padbefore him lay the paper whereon was the seal.
The persons who had called to see the murdered man were so numerous thatneither of the clerks could tell who had been the last to visit theirmaster, yet it was certain that the murderer, whoever he was, had passedthrough the public office to get to the principal's room.
As the deceased gentleman had a world-wide reputation, the fact of hissudden death from some unknown assassin was speedily carried to the endsof the civilised globe, or, at all events, to the great centres wherehis financial influence was felt. He was a quiet, reserved man, but hadmany friends, for his well-known benevolence of disposition, combinedwith his immense wealth, had acquired for him a celebrity in morecircles than one.
The New York police, aided by the powerful agency of the Press, which inAmerica takes a peculiar pride in the business of the detection ofcrime, gave all its energies to the unravelling of the mystery; buttheir efforts, alas! were in vain. Before a fortnight had passed, newswas received from Vienna that Herr Scherb, a wealthy professor, a man ofgreat scientific attainments, had been stabbed in a restaurant atmid-day.
It appeared that a waiter, on approaching a table at which Herr Scherbwas sitting, was terrified to observe that he was quite dead. The causeof his sudden demise was a glittering dagger, even then firmly fixed inthe breast. On this being removed, it was discovered that a piece ofpaper bearing the seal had been fastened to the handle.
With trembling fingers and blanched faces the spectators unfolded it,and tried to decipher the hieroglyphics. It was not until the discoveryof this seal had gained publicity that the New York police admittedfinding one that was identical.
This was considered a very curious circumstance and was freely commentedupon by various London and provincial newspapers, some giving a woodcutof what purported to be a representation of the mysterious charactersupon the seal. Considerable excitement was caused thereby, and numbersof antiquarians and others at once set about trying to solve itsmeaning; but although editors were flooded with correspondence fromthose who professed to have found an elucidation, it remained asenigmatical as ever.
Just as the excitement was abating there came information of a thirdtragedy. This time a young French actress, Mlle. Voiturit, who was_premiere danseuse_ at the Eden Theatre in Paris, was discovered lateone evening in the Kalverstraat at Amsterdam, dying from the effects ofa knife-wound in the breast.
There were dozens of persons passing and repassing in the street at thetime of the occurrence, nevertheless, so swiftly and surely was the blowdealt and the seal attached, that before a crowd had assembled, theunfortunate young artiste had expired.
This created little less than a panic.
By the existence of the seals--each of which corresponded in everydetail with the others--the fact was proved that the murders, if notcommitted by the same hand, were within the knowledge of the sameperson. This, of course, was a peculiar element in the case, and not alittle speculation was indulged in as to what was the chief motiveleading to the commission of crimes so outrageous.
The next dastardly affair caused a thrill of amazement and horrorthrough the whole of Europe.
Mr Joseph Glossop, member of the House of Commons, and one of Society'sshining lights, had been found dead in bed at his house in Mount Street,Grosvenor Square, in most curious circumstances. True, the deceased hadmet with his death much in the same manner as the three previousvictims, and he
seal was present in exactly the same form, yet thewindow of the room was securely fastened, and the door locked.
This catastrophe caused the hearts of the three great capitals to throbwith fear and indignation and the efforts of the police were redoubled.The same result--or lack of result--followed all their endeavours,however, and again nothing was discovered of the assassin who soruthlessly took the lives of his unoffending fellow-men.
The police were utterly powerless, for the marvellous, almostsuperhuman, swiftness with which the fell deeds were accomplished, andthe manner in which the murderer gained access to his victims, were twopoints which were entirely incomprehensible.
But while this situation was bad enough, it was nothing when comparedwith the complete paralysis which took possession of the entirepopulation when, a few weeks later, the work of the same dreadful handwas observed, this time at Zurich, where Madame Daburon--a celebratedauthoress, whose works, principally on political questions, and of aSocialistic