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THE LOCK AND KEY LIBRARY
CLASSIC MYSTERY AND DETECTIVE
STORIES OF ALL NATIONS
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"The Ball Appeared between my Teeth. The Spectators Raised
Their Eyes to Heaven"
To illustrate "Facing the Arab's Pistol,"
by Robert-Houdin


THE
"LOCK AND KEY *
LIBRARY
THE MOST INTERESTING
STORIES OF ALL NATIONS
Edited by
Julian Hawthorne
REAL LIFE
Arthur Train P. H. Woodward
Andrew Lang
M. Robert-Houdin Charles Dickens
NEW YORK
THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS CO. •j
1915


. -.j!!: LIDi.AFH
64827A
APTOR. LENOX AND
.iLO.TN FOUNDATIOU2
R L
Copyright, 1909, by
The Review or Reviews Company


Table of Contents
PART I
Arthur Train page
A Flight into Texas 9
P. H. Woodward
Adventures in the Secret Service of the Post-Office
Department 29
An Erring Shepherd 34
An Aspirant for Congress 42
The Fortune of Seth Savage 44
A Wish Unexpectedly Gratified 46
An Old Game Revived 52
A Formidable Weapon S3
Andrew Lang
Saint-Germain the Deathless 59
The Man in the Iron Mask
The Legend 73
The Valet's History 76
The Valet's Master 92
Original Papers in the Case of Roux De Marsilly . 104
PART II—TRUE STORIES OF MODERN MAGIC M. ROBERT-HOUDIN
A Conjurer's Confessions
Self-Training 9
"Second Sight" 13
The Magician Who Became an Ambassador ... 28
Facing the Arab's Pistol 38
7


Table of Contents
Dav1d P. ABBOTT
Fraudulent Spiritualism Unveiled page
A Doctor of the Occult 45
How the Tricks Succeeded 50
The Name of the Dead 55
Mind Reading in Public 65
Some Famous Exposures ........ 81
Hereward Carrington
More Tricks of "Spiritualism"
"Matter through Matter" 85
Deception Explained by the Science of Psychology . 86
ANONYMOUS
How Spirits Materialize 96
PART III
Charles Dickens
Inspector Bucket's Job
In Fashion 9
The Law-Writer 16
Our Dear Brother 28
The Coroner's Jury 35
On the Watch 40
Tom-all-Alone's . 54
Moving On , 64
Mr. Bucket 79
National and Domestic 91
In Mr. Tulkinghorn's Room . . . . . .105
In Mr. Tulkinghorn's Chamber 115
Closing In 123
The Track 133
Springing a Mine 146


PART;
Detective Stories from Real Life





Arthur Train
A Flight into Texas
'J* HE flight and extradition of Charles F. Dodge unques-
tionably involved one of the most extraordinary bat-
tles with justice in the history of the criminal law. Jhe
funds at the disposal of those who were interested in pro-
curing the prisoner's escape were unlimited in extent, and
the arch conspirator for whose safety Dodge was spirited
away was so influential in political and criminal circles
that he was all but successful in defying the prosecutor of
New York County, even supported as the latter was by the
military and judicial arm of the United States Govern-
ment. For, at the time that Dodge made his escape, a
whisper from Hummel was enough to make the dry bones
(The District Attorney's office in New York City is undoubtedly
one of the best watch-towers known from which to observe "Real
Life Detective Stories."
Arthur Train, sometime member of this prosecuting staff, has
opportunity to record several of these curious and exciting "True
Stories of Crime" (copyright, 1908, by Charles Scribner's Sons).
None yields less to fiction save in the fact that it is true, and not
at all in quality of dramatic interest, than "A Flight into Texas,"
here given.
Readers of the newspapers a few years ago will remember the
names of Abraham Hummel and Charles F. Dodge. The latter, a
railroad conductor, was alleged to have committed perjury at the
dictate of the former, known as one of the brightest, least scrupulous
lawyers in this city. It was one of District Attorney Jerome's great
ambitions to bring Hummel to justice. Here was an opportunity. If
Dodge could only be forced to testify to this perjury before a court,
Hummel could undoubtedly be convicted of a crime that would not
only disbar him from the legal profession, but would put him in jail.
Dodge had run away and disappeared as the storm seemed about
to burst. Where was he? Who could find and bring him back—
against Abe Hummel's wish?—Editor.)


Detective Stories from Real Life
of many a powerful and ostensibly respectable official rat-
tle and the tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth in
terror.
Who could accomplish that in which the law was power-
less?—Hummel. Who could drive to the uttermost ends
of the earth persons against whom not a shadow of suspi-
cion had previously rested?—Hummel. Who dictated to
the chiefs of police of foreign cities what they should or
should not do in certain cases; and who could, at the beck-
oning of his little finger, summon to his dungeon-like
offices in the New York Life Building, whither his firm
had removed from Centre Street, the most prominent of
lawyers, the most eminent of citizens?—Surely none but
Hummel. And now Hummel was fighting for his own
life. The only man that stood between him and the iron
bars of Blackwell's Island was Charles F. Dodge—the man
whom he had patted on the knee in his office and called a
"Mascot," when quite in the nature of business he needed
a little perjury to assist a wealthy client.
Hummel in terror called into play every resource upon
which, during forty years of practice, his tiny tentacles
had fastened. Who shall say that while he made a show
of enjoying himself nightly with his accustomed light-
heartedness in the Tenderloin, he did not feel confident
that in the end this peril would disappear like the others
which had from time to time threatened him during his
criminal career? But Hummel was fully aware of the
tenacity of the man who had resolved to rid New York of
his malign influence. His Nemesis was following him.
In his dreams, if he ever dreamed, it probably took the
shape of the square-shouldered District Attorney in the
shadow of whose office building the little shyster practiced
his profession. Had he been told that this Nemesis was
in reality a jovial little man with a round, ruddy face and
twinkling blue eyes he would have laughed as heartily as
it was in his power to laugh. Yet such was the fact. A
little man who looked less like a detective than a commer-
cial traveler selling St. Peter's Oil or some other cheerful
TO


Arthur Train
concoction, with manners as gentle and a voice as soft as a
spring zephyr, who always took off his hat when he came
into a business office, seemingly bashful to the point of
self-effacement, was the one who snatched Charles F.
Dodge from the borders of Mexico and held him in an iron
grip when every influence upon which Hummel could call
for aid, from crooked police officials, corrupt judges, and a
gang of cutthroats under the guise of a sheriff's posse, were
fighting for his release.
Jesse Blocher is not employed in New York County, and
for business reasons he does not wish his present address
known. When he comes to New York he occasionally
drops into the writer's office for a cigar and a friendly
chat about old times. And as he sits there and talks so
modestly and with such quiet humor about his adventures
with the Texas Rangers among the cactus-studded plains
of the Lone Star State, it is hard, even for one who knows
the truth, to realize that this man is one of the greatest
of detectives, or rather one of the most capable, resource-
ful, adroit, and quick-witted knights of adventure who ever
set forth upon a seemingly impossible errand.
It is unnecessary to state just how the District Attorney
discovered the existence of "Jesse," as we knew him. It
is enough to say that on Saturday morning, July 23, 1904,
he was furnished with the proper credentials and given
instructions to proceed at once to New Orleans, Louisiana,
and "locate," if it were humanly possible to do so, Charles
F. Dodge, under indictment for perjury, and potentially
the chief witness against Abraham H. Hummel, on a charge
of conspiracy. He was told briefly and to the point that,
in spite of the official reports from the police headquar-
ters of both New York City and New Orleans to the con-
trary, there was reason to believe that Dodge was living,
although not registered, as a guest at the St. Charles Hotel
in the latter city. A partial and inaccurate description of
Dodge was given him and he was warned to use extreme
caution to prevent any knowledge of his mission from being
made known. Once Dodge had been discovered, he was to
11


Detective Stories from Real Life
keep him under surveillance and wire New York imme-
diately.
Accordingly, Jesse left the city upon the same day at
4.45 p. m. and arrived two days later, at 9.15 on Monday
morning, at New Orleans, where he went directly to the St.
Charles Hotel, registered, and was assigned to room Num-
ber 547 on the fifth floor. Somewhere in the hotel Dodge
was secreted. The question was how to find him. For an
hour Jesse sat in the hotel foyer and meditatively watched
the visitors come and go, but saw no sign of his quarry.
Then he arose, put on his hat, and hunted out a stationery
store where for two cents he bought a bright-red envelope.
He then visited a ticket-scalper's office, secured the owner's
business card, and wrote a note on its back to Dodge, offer-
ing him cheap transportation to any point that he might
desire. Armed with this he returned to the hotel, walked
to the desk, glanced casually over a number of telegrams
exposed in a rack and, when the clerk turned his back,
placed the note, addressed to Charles F. Dodge, unobserved,
upon the counter. The office was a busy one, guests were
constantly depositing their keys and receiving their mail,
and, even as Jesse stood there watching developments, the
clerk turned round, found the note, and promptly placed it
in box Number 420. The very simple scheme had worked,
and quite unconsciously the clerk had indicated the num-
ber of the room occupied by Dodge.
Jesse lost no time in ascending to the fourth floor,
viewed room Number 420, returned to the desk, told the
clerk that he was dissatisfied with the room assigned him,
and requested that he be given either room Number 421,
423, or 425, one of which he stated that he had occupied on a
previous visit. After some discussion the clerk allotted
him room Number 423, which was almost directly op-
posite that occupied by Dodge, and the detective at once
took up his task of watching for the fugitive to appear.
Within the hour the door opened and Dodge and a com-
panion, who subsequently proved to be E. M. Bracken,
alias "Bradley," an agent employed by Howe and Hum12


Arthur Train
mel, left the room, went to the elevator, and descended to
the dining-room upon the second floor. Jesse watched
until they were safely ensconced at breakfast and then re-
turned to the fourth floor where he tipped the chamber-
maid, told her that he had left his key at the office, and in-
duced her to unlock the door of room Number 420, which
she did under the supposition that Jesse was the person
who had left the chamber in Dodge's company. The con-
tents of the room convinced Jesse that he had found Dodge,
for he discovered there two grips bearing Dodge's name as
well as several letters on the table addressed to him. The
detective returned to the hall and had a little talk with the
maid.
"The old gentleman with you has been quite sick," she
said. "How is he to-day?"
"He is some better," answered Jesse.
"Yes, he does look better to-day," she added, "but he
sho'ly was powerful sick yesterday. Why, he hasn't been
out of his room befo' fo' five or six days."
This statement was corroborated by Dodge's physical ap-
pearance, for he looked haggard and worn.
Jesse was now confident that he had found Dodge, in
spite of the reports of the New Orleans police to the con-
trary, and he was also reasonably sure that the fugitive
was too sick to leave the hotei immediately. He therefore
telegraphed his superiors that he had discovered Dodge
and that the latter was ill at the St. Charles Hotel.
At three o'clock in the afternoon Jesse received a wire
from New York as follows:
"New Orleans police department claims party not there.
Left for Mexico three weeks ago. Ascertain correct des-
tination and wire at once."
Jesse at once replied:
"No question as to identity and presence here at this
time."
13


Detective Stories from Real Life
He now took up the task of keeping his quarry under
absolute surveillance day and night, which duty from that
moment he continued for a period of nearly ten months.
During the remainder of the afternoon and throughout
the night Dodge and Bracken remained in room Number
420, and during the evening were visited by several
strangers, including a plain-clothes officer from the New
Orleans Police Headquarters. Little Hummel, dining in
Long Acre Square in the glare of Broadway, was pressing
some invisible button that transmitted the power of his
influence even to the police government of a city two
thousand miles away.
The following day, January 26th, at about 8.40 in the
morning, Dodge and Bracken descended to the lobby.
Bracken departed from the hotel, leaving Dodge to pay the
bill at the cashier's window, and Jesse heard him order a
cab for the 11.30 a. m. Sunset Limited on the Southern
Pacific Railroad and direct that his baggage be removed
from his room. Jesse did the same.
In the meantime Bracken returned and promptly at 11
a. m. left for the railroad station in a cab with Dodge.
Jesse followed in another. As the two passed through the
gates the detective caught a glimpse of Dodge's ticket and
saw that it had been issued by the Mexican National Rail-
way. Retiring to the telegraph office in the station he
wired New York as follows:
"Bird flying.—Sunset Limited. Destination not known.
I am with him."
He then hastily purchased a ticket to Houston, Texas,
and boarded the train. Dodge's companion had bidden him
good-by as the engine started, and Jesse's task now became
that of ferreting out Dodge's destination. After some
difficulty he managed to get a glimpse of the whole of the
fugitive's ticket and thus discovered that he was on his
way to the City of Mexico, via Eagle Pass, Texas, while
from the Pullman conductor he learned that Dodge had se14


Arthur Train
cured sleeping-car accommodation as far as San Antonio,
Texas, only.
So far all was well. He knew Dodge but Dodge did
not know him, and later on in the afternoon he had the
satisfaction of a long talk with his quarry in the observa-
tion car where they amiably discussed together current
events and argued politics with the same vehemence as if they had been commercial travellers thrown fortuitously
into each other's company. Dodge, however, cleverly
evaded any reference to his destination.
When the train reached Morgan City, Louisiana, at 3
P.M., which was the first stop, Jesse wired New York as
follows:
"On Sunset Limited with friend. He has transportation
to ui2 City of Mexico, via Eagle Pass, where I am now
journeying with him. Answer to Beaumont, Texas."
Later in the afternoon he sent an additional message
from Lafayette, Louisiana:
"Have seen transportation of friend and am positive of
destination."
Dodge was occupying Section 3 of the sleeping car
"Capitola," and, as became an invalid, retired early.
At Beaumont Jesse failed to receive any reply to his
various messages, and when the train arrived at Houston
no word came from New York until it was almost the
time of departure. Waiting until practically the last mo-
ment Jesse hurried through the gates of the Union Station
at Houston and bought a ticket to San Antonio. As he
was leaving the ticket window Night Chief of Police John
Howard and two officers came hurrying up inquiring anx-
iously for " Mr. Jesse." The reinforcements had arrived.
Outside on the track "The Sunset Limited" was just
getting under way. The first frantic puffs were being vom-
ited from the funnel. Inside Dodge was sleeping peace-
fully in his berth. Jesse, accompanied by Chief Howard,
IS


Defective Stories from Real Life
hurried up to the conductor who was about to swing on to
the steps of the sleeper, and ordered him to hold the train
till the fugitive could be removed. After some argu-
ment the conductor grumblingly complied and Dodge was
aroused from pleasant dreams of the " Creole Quarter"
to the cold reality of being dragged out of bed by a police-
man. He was unceremoniously hustled out of the sleep-
ing car into a carriage and taken to Headquarters where
he admitted his identity and remarked:
"I know what I am wanted for, but I will never return
to New York."
In his grip was found the sum of $1,563.15, as well as
numerous letters from the law firm of Howe and Hummel,
and a quantity of newspaper clippings relative to his case.
Dodge pleaded with Chief Howard not to lock him up,
urging that he was a sick man and offering a goodly sum
if he might be taken to a hotel and guarded for the remain-
der of the night. But what "went" in New Orleans did
not "go" in Houston, and the best that Dodge could get
for himself was a cot in the " Ladies' Detention Room " on
the second floor of the jail.
Early the following morning Jesse visited Police Head-
quarters and for the first time met George Ellis, Chief of
Police of Houston, for whom he will always have a feel-
ing of deep gratitude for his enthusiastic cooperation and
loyalty in the many stirring events that followed. Dodge
now received a telegram from New York, which was sub-
mitted to Jesse before reaching the prisoner, to the effect
that Howe and Hummel were sending on an attorney to
aid the fugitive in resisting extradition, and informing him
that they had employed Messrs. Hunt and Meyers as attor-
neys to look out for his welfare. These last immediately
jumped in medias res and on the afternoon of the same day
secured a writ of habeas corpus from Norman J. Kitrell,
District Judge of Harris County, Texas, returnable the
following morning.
The next day, January 28th, Kitrell released Dodge from
custody.
16


Arthur Train
Jesse had anticipated this and immediately swore out an-
other warrant with the result that the prisoner was rear-
rested before he left the courtroom.
Meantime the Dodge interests retained another firm of
lawyers, Messrs. Andrews and Ball, who, on the following
day, secured a second writ of habeas corpus from Judge
Ashe.
The result of the first engagement thus being a draw,
counsel on both sides agreed that this writ should not be
returnable for six days. During this period District Attor-
ney Jerome employed Messrs. Baker, Botts, Parker and
Garwood to represent him and secured from Governor
Odell at Albany a requisition on Governor Lanham of
Texas for the extradition of the prisoner, which he en-
trusted to Detective Sergeant Herlihy of the New York
Police. Herlihy reached Houston with the papers on the
evening of January 30th, and on the same train with him
came Abraham Kaffenburgh, a member of the law firm
of Howe and Hummel and a nephew of the latter. Like-
wise also came Bracken, still styling himself " E. M. Brad-
ley," and from now on Bracken was the inseparable com-
panion, guide, philosopher, and friend (?) of the unfortu-
nate Dodge, whose continued existence upon this earth
had become such a menace to the little lawyer in New
York.
Herlihy, accompanied by Judge Garwood, proceeded
direct to Austin where they found Dodge already rep-
resented by Messrs. Andrews and Ball who, at the hearing
before Governor Lanham, made a strong effort to induce
that executive to refuse to honor the requisition of the
Governor of New York. This effort failed and Governor
Lanham issued his warrant, but Herlihy had no sooner
returned to Houston for the purpose of taking possession
of the prisoner than he was served with an injunction en-
joining him, together with Chief of Police Ellis, from tak-
ing Dodge into custody, pending a hearing upon a new
habeas corpus which had been issued by Judge Waller T.
Burns of the United States District Court for the Southern
17


Detective Stories from Real Life
District of Texas. This new writ was returnable February
9th.
After exhaustive but futile argument by the counsel for
Dodge, Judge Burns remanded the prisoner to Herlihy's
custody to be returned to the State of New York, but this
decision had no sooner been rendered than an appeal was
taken therefrom by Dodge's lawyers, and the prisoner re-
leased upon bail fixed at twenty thousand dollars.
During this period Dodge was quartered under guard at
the Rice Hotel in Houston, and the day following the argu-
ment the twenty-thousand-dollars bail was put up in cash
and Dodge released from custody.
In the meantime, however, Jesse, knowing that no sum,
however large, would deter Hummel from spiriting Dodge
out of the country, had made his arrangements to secure a
new extradition warrant from the Governor of Texas, so
that if the prisoner did succeed in getting beyond the
Southern District of the Federal Court of Texas, he could
be seized and conveyed to New York.
Of course someone had to keep watch over Dodge while
Jesse hurried to Austin to see the Governor, and it was
decided to leave Sergeant Herlihy, reenforced by a number
of local detectives for that purpose. But while the watch-
ful Jesse was away, Bracken proceeded to get busy in the
good old Howe and Hummel fashion. Lots of people that
Herlihy had never seen before turned up and protested
that he was the finest fellow they had ever met. And as
Herlihy was, in fact, a good fellow, he made them welcome
and dined and wined at their expense until he woke up in
the Menger Hotel in San Antonio and inquired where he
was.
Jesse meantime had returned from Austin to discover
that Dodge with his companions, Kaffenburgh and Bracken,
had slipped out of Houston early in the morning of Feb-
ruary nth, after disposing of Herlihy and eluding the
watchfulness of Herlihy's assistants. Hummel was leading
and by ten o'clock the next morning Dodge and his com-
rades were on board an English merchantman lying in the
18


Arthur Train
harbor of Galveston. Later in the same day the Hummel
interests chartered from the Southern Pacific Railroad for
tfie sum of three thousand dollars the sea-going tug
Hughes, to which Dodge was now transferred for the pur-
pose of being conveyed to the port of Tampico in the Re-
public of Mexico.
But here Hummel's wires became crossed with Jerome's,
and unfortunately for the little lawyer, the persons from
whom the tug had been leased turned out to be closely al-
lied with the prosecution's interests, with the result that the
captain of the tug was instructed by his superiors under no
consideration to put into any Mexican port, but on the
contrary, to delay his departure from the harbor of Gal-
veston for a period of two days and then to proceed only as
far as Brownsville, Texas, where he should compel the de-
barkation of the fugitive. The captain, who was a good
sport as well as a good officer, promptly threw himself into
the part and told Bracken and Kaffenburgh that it was evi-
dent from the barometer that a severe storm was approach-
ing (which must have had a sinister implication to these
two unfortunate gentlemen), and that he could not think
of putting to sea. Once the " storm" had blown over, the
tug started out across the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
But now Bracken and Kaffenburgh were informed for the
first time it was impossible to consider putting into any port
of the Republic of Mexico, since to do so would cause in-
ternational complications and compel the revocation of the
captain's license. In desperation the Hummel interests of-
fered the captain five thousand dollars in cash to disregard
his instructions and put into Tampco, but the worthy sea-
dog was adamant. It was probably worth five thousand
dollars to him to see three gentry of this pattern so much
put about.
While Dodge and his accomplices were dallying in the
harbor of Galveston, Jesse was taking advantage of his op-
portunity to proceed at once by railroad to Alice, Texas,
which at that time was the furthermost southern point
reached by any railway in the direction of Brownsville.
ic


Detective Stories from Real Life
On his arrival, he at once applied to Captain John R.
Hughes, commanding Company D of the Texas Rangers,
who received him with great joy and ordered a detachment
of the Rangers to meet the tug at Point Isabelle at the
mouth of the Rio Grande River on the border of Mexico.
In the meantime, Jesse started on a toilsome stage journey
to Brownsville, across one hundred and seventy miles of
desert, which occupied two days and nights, and necessi-
tated his going without sleep for that period. During the
trip Jesse heard no word of English and had as his asso-
ciates only Mexican cattlemen. Every fifteen miles a
fresh relay of broncos was hitched to the stage and after a
few moments' rest the misery began again.
Jesse had been hurrying toward Brownsville by stage
while Dodge, Kaffenburgh, and Bracken were landing at
Point Isabelle, where they were kept under close surveil-
lance by Sergeant Tom Ross of the Rangers. Thence
they took the train to Brownsville, registering at the Miller
House under the assumed names of C. F. Dougherty, A.
Koontzman, and E. M. Barker, all of Oklahoma. But, al-
though they knew it not, Sergeant Tom was at their elbow,
and had Dodge attempted to cross the border into Mexico
he would instantly have been placed under arrest.
As Brownsville was within the Southern District of the
Federal Court of Texas, Jesse decided not to arrest Dodge
until he should actually attempt flight, and when Dodge
and his companions, on the following morning, February
15th, entered the stage (the same upon which Jesse had
arrived) and started for Alice, Jesse and Tom Ross pro-
cured the best horses they could find and started after them,
keeping just in sight of the stage. Dodge's intention in
making this move was to take the Mexican International
Railway at Alice and cross over to Mexico via Laredo.
Jesse and Ross covered the seventy-four miles from
Brownsville to Santa La Cruz Ranch by four in the after-
noon, which was fairly strenuous work for a New York
detective, and here found themselves so sore and exhausted
from their ride that they were glad to hire a pair of horses
30


Arthur Train
and buggy with which to complete the journey to Alice.
Luckily they were able to get into telephonic communica-
tion with various ranch owners along the road and arrange
to have fresh relays of horses supplied to them every
twenty miles, and here also Jesse called up Captain Hughes
at Alice, and suggested that he substitute for the regular
night clerk at the City Hotel one of the privates of the
Rangers by the name of Harrod.
Dodge and his companions arrived in Alice on February
17th, and, as Jesse had anticipated, repaired at once to the
City Hotel, where, inasmuch as they were dry from the
dust of their trip and depressed by lack of society, they
entered at once into an enthusiastic and confidential friend-
ship with the man behind the counter in the hotel office, sub-
limely ignorant that they were unfolding to a member of
the Texas Rangers all their most secret intentions. Har-
rod was just as glad to see Dodge as Dodge apparently was
to see Harrod, and kindly offered to assist the fugitive to
get into Mexico in any way that the latter desired. Dodge,
for his part, took advantage of his usefulness to the extent
of requesting him to purchase them railroad tickets, the
plan being to leave Alice the following morning for Mon-
terey, Mexico. Three hours after the stage bearing Dodge
and his party pulled up at the City Hotel, Tom Ross and
Jesse drove in behind a pair of fagged-out broncos at two
in the morning. Jesse had had no sleep of any sort and
no proper nourishment for five days, and had just strength
enough left to drag himself up one flight of stairs and
tumble into bed, from which he did not emerge for many
hours.
In the meantime day broke and Dodge, Kaffenburgh, and
Bracken, having breakfasted, drove comfortably down to
the International Railway Station and settled themselves in
the smoker, but they had no sooner given this direct evi-
dence of their intention before Captain Hughes entered and
placed Dodge under arrest. The latter's surprise may be
appreciated when it is stated that from the time the three
had left Houston, they had no idea that they were being


Detective Stories from Real Life
followed and believed that they had completely foiled Jesse
and his assistants.
While Jesse had been chasing Dodge across the desert,
his lawyers had not been idle and had secured at Austin
another extradition warrant from Governor Lanham, who,
on receiving news of the arrest, promptly instructed Cap-
tain Hughes by wire to assume charge of the prisoner and
to deliver him into the hands of the New York officer to be
conveyed to New York.
There now began such a legal battle as the State of
Texas had never known. Hummel had been forced into
his last ditch and was fighting desperately for life.
Through Kaffenburgh he at once applied for a new writ of
habeas corpus in Nueces County and engaged counsel at
Corpus Christi to assist in fighting for the release of the
prisoner. Precisely as Hummel had intended, Chief
Wright of Nueces rode into Alice and demanded the pris-
oner from Captain Hughes. As Hummel had not in-
tended, Captain Hughes refused to surrender the prisoner
and told Chief Wright to go to—well, he told him that
he intended to obey his commander-in-chief, the Governor
of Texas.
On February 2oth, Hummel, through Kaffenburgh, at-
tempted to get another writ of habeas corpus in Bee County,
and promptly the Bee chief came buzzing over and de-
manded Dodge, but to him Hughes replied even as he had
spoken to Wright.
Excitement in Alice had now reached such a pitch that
Judge Burns, of the Federal Court, in Houston, ordered
United States Marshal John W. Vann, of Alice, to assume
charge of the prisoner. The indomitable Hughes, however,
paid no more attention to the United States Marshal than
he had to the local chiefs. But the situation was so deli-
cate and the clash of authority might so easily have resulted
in bloodshed that it was finally agreed by all parties that
the best thing to do was to have the prisoner returned to
Houston in the joint custody of Captain Hughes of the
Rangers and the United States Marshal.
22


Arthur Train
Jesse, through his counsel, in proper course, made appli-
cation to forfeit Dodge's bond and remand him to jail, but
the Hummel attorneys finally induced the Court, on the
plea that to confine Dodge in jail would be detrimental to
his already badly impaired health, to permit the prisoner
to go free on a greatly increased bond, nevertheless re-
stricting his movements to Harris County, Texas.
While Jesse had fought a winning battle up to this point
he was at the end of his resources so far as the extradition
of the prisoner was concerned, for Dodge was now at lib-
erty, pending the decisions upon the habeas corpus proceed-
ings of the United States Circuit Court of Appeals at Fort
Worth, and the United States Supreme Court at Washing-
ton. But his orders were to bring Dodge back to New
York. Hence, with the aid of some new men sent him
from the North, he commenced an even closer surveillance
of the prisoner than ever before by both day and night.
Meantime Kaffenburgh departed for New York, fleeing
from the wrath of Judge Burns, who had issued a summons
for him for contempt of the Federal Court on the ground
that he had induced Dodge to attempt to jump his bond.
In place of the blustering Kaffenburgh was sent another
member of the famous law firm of Howe and Hummel,
David May, an entirely different type of man. May was
as mild as a day in June—as urbane as Kaffenburgh had
been insolent. He fluttered into Houston like a white dove
of peace with the proverbial olive branch in his mouth.
From now on the tactics employed by the representatives of
Hummel were conciliatory in the extreme. Mr. May, how-
ever, did not long remain in Houston, as it was apparent
that there was nothing to be done by either side pending the
action of the courts, and in any event Dodge was abun-
dantly supplied with local counsel. The time had now come
when Hummel must have begun to feel that the fates were
against him and that a twenty-year term in state prison was
a concrete possibility even for him.
In the meantime, Dodge and Bracken had taken up their
headquarters at the Rice Hotel in the most expensive suite
2.1


Detective Stories from Real Life
of rooms in the house, a new scheme for getting the pris-
oner beyond the reach of the New York courts apparently
having been concocted. Dodge was now indulged in every
conceivable luxury and vice. He was plunged into every
sort of excess, there was no debauchery which Bracken
could supply that was not his and their rapid method of
existence was soon the talk of the county and continued to
be so for ten long months. There is more than one way
to kill a cat and more than one method of wiping out the
only existing witness against a desperate man striving to
escape the consequences of crime.
Dodge's daily routine was somewhat as follows: He
never slept at his own hotel, but arose in the morning be-
tween ten and eleven o'clock, when he was at once visited
by Bracken and supplied with numerous drinks in lieu of
the breakfast for which he never had any desire. At noon
the two would have luncheon with more drinks. In the
afternoon they would retire to the poolrooms and play the
races, and, when the races were over, they would then visit
the faro banks and gamble until midnight or later. Later
on they would proceed to another resort on Louisiana Street
where Dodge really lived. Here his day may be said to
have begun and here he spent most of his money, fre-
quently paying out as much as fifty dollars a night for
wine and invariably ending in a beastly state of intoxication.
It is quite probable that never in the history of debauchery
has any one man ever been so indulged in excesses of every
sort for the same period of time as Dodge was during the
summer and fall of 1904. The fugitive never placed his
foot on mother earth. If they were going only a block,
Bracken called for a cab, and the two seemed to take a
special delight in making Jesse, as Jerome's representative,
spend as much money in cab hire as possible. The Houston
jehus never again experienced so profitable a time as they
did during Dodge's wet season; and the life of dissipation
was continued until, from time to time, the prisoner became
so weak from its effects that he was forced to go under the
care of a physician. A few days of abstinence always re24


Arthur Train
stored his vitality and he would then start out upon another
round of pleasure.
During this period Jesse maintained a close and vigilant
personal espionage over the prisoner. For over ten months
he slept less than four hours each day, his fatigue being
increased by the constant apprehension of treachery among
his own men, and the necessity of being ever on the alert
to prevent some move on the part of the defense to spirit
the prisoner away. During the summer attempts were re-
peatedly made to evade the vigilance of Jesse and his men
and several desperate dashes were frustrated by them, in-
cluding one occasion when Bracken succeeded in rushing
Dodge as far as Galveston, where they were forced to
abandon their design.
From time to time Bracken would disappear from
Houston for a week or ten days, stating on his return that
he had been to New York, after which there was invariably
some new move to get the prisoner away. Time and space
prevent giving a detailed account of all the marches and
counter-marches that took place in this battle of wit against
wit.
In August, 1904, Bracken made one of his periodical
visits to New York, and when he returned sought out Jesse
and said: " Blocher, you might as well be a good fellow and
get yours while you can. I mean that Dodge is not going
back to New York, even if it cost a million dollars to pre-
vent it." A few days later Bracken sent a gambler named
Warner to Jesse, who offered the latter thirty-five hundred
dollars to get "lost" long enough for the prisoner to slip
over to Mexico. Acting upon the advice of his attorney,
Jesse encouraged this attempt, under the belief that if he
could get the Hummel forces in the position of having
attempted to bribe him the prisoner's bail could then be
forfeited and Dodge himself taken into custody. Hummel
became wary, however, and apparently abandoned for the
time the idea of bribery. Later on Bracken again disap-
peared. On his return a marked change was noticeable in
his demeanor and Jesse observed that he was in constant
25


Detective Stories from Real Life
consultation with Dodge, from which the detective drew the
inference that some last desperate move was to be made
towards the escape of the prisoner.
On one occasion Jesse saw Bracken showing Dodge a
map and some drawings on paper, which so excited his sus-
picions that he followed the two with unremitting assiduity,
and within a day or two was rewarded through Bracken's
carelessness with an opportunity for going through the
latter's coat pockets in the billiard room. Here he found
a complete set of plans worked out in every detail for
spiriting the prisoner from San Antonio into Mexico during
the State Fair. These plans were very elaborate, every item
having been planned out from the purchase of tickets, and
passing of baggage through the customs, to hotel accom-
modation in the City of Mexico and Tampico, and steamship
tickets from Tampico to Europe.
The plan had been to secure permission from the Court
for Dodge to leave Houston long enough ostensibly to attend
the fair at San Antonio and to "lose" him during the
excitement and crowded condition of the city at that time.
It is, of course, needless to say that these plans were
abandoned when Bracken discovered that Jesse had been
forewarned.
Almost immediately thereafter the Circuit Court of
Appeals at Fort Worth, Texas, decided one of the habeas
corpus cases adversely to Dodge, but it still permitted him
to retain his liberty pending the final determination of the
questions involved by the Supreme Court at Washington.
The Hummel forces were apparently losing hope, how-
ever, for early in October another attempt was made to
bribe Jesse. Bracken entered his room one evening and in-
formed him that he could get his own price if he would
only be a good fellow, and even went so far as to exhibit a
quantity of money which he stated was twenty-five thousand
dollars. The only result of this offer was to lead Jesse to
redouble his precautions, for he argued that the situation
must indeed be acute when such an offer could be deemed
worth while. Thereafter it was obvious that the revelry of
26


Arthur Train
Dodge and his companions was on the increase. Accord-
ingly Jesse added to his force of assistants.
On December 2, 1904, Nathaniel Cohen, another mem-
ber of the firm of Howe and Hummel, arrived at Houston,
and the next day the Supreme Court at Washington decided
the appeal in the habeas corpus against the prisoner, who
was at once ordered by Judge Burns into the custody of
United States Marshall William M. Hansen.
Things looked black indeed for Dodge and blacker still for
Hummel. How the little attorney, eating his midday lunch
four thousand miles away, at Pontin's restaurant on Frank-
lin Street, must have trembled in his patent leather boots!
His last emissary, Cohen, at once procured an assistant by
the name of Brookman and with him proceeded to Wharton
County, Texas, where they secured a new writ of habeas
corpus and induced the local sheriff, one Rich, to swear in
a posse comitatus of one hundred men for the purpose of
coming to Houston to take the prisoner by force of arms
out of the hands of the United States Marshal.
This was one of the most daring and desperate attempts
made in recent years to frustrate the law. Jesse believes
that the real object of this posse was to precipitate a fight
between themselves and the Federal authorities. It is not
inconceivable that in such an event Dodge might either
have escaped or been killed. The men composing the posse
were of the most desperate character, and consisted largely
of the so-called "feud factions" of Wharton County,
known as "The Wood Peckers" and "The Jay Birds."
Jesse has been informed, on what he regards as reliable
authority, that this move cost the Hummel forces fifteen
thousand dollars and that each member of the posse re-
ceived one hundred dollars for his contemplated services
in the " rescue" of the prisoner. But civil war, even on a
small scale, cannot be indulged in without some inkling of
the facts becoming known to the authorities, and prior to the
receipt of the mandate of the Supreme Court, Judge Burns
ordered the prisoner removed to Galveston for safe keeping.
Thus the long, expensive, and arduous struggle came
27


Detective Stories from Real Life
finally to an end, for Judge Burns in due course ordered
that Charles F. Dodge should be conveyed to New York in
the personal custody of the United States Marshal and de-
livered by him to the New York authorities "within the
borders of that State." Such an order was, of course,
exceedingly unusual, if not almost unheard of, but it was
rendered absolutely necessary by the powerful influence and
resources, as well as the unscrupulous character, of those
interested in securing Dodge's disappearance.
In order to thwart any plans for releasing the prisoner
by violence or otherwise, and to prevent delay through the
invoking of legal technicalities, Hansen and Jesse decided
to convey Dodge to New York by water, and on the 16th
of December the marshal and his five deputies boarded a
Mallory Line steamer at Galveston and arrived in New
York with their prisoner on the evening of December 23d.
Dodge reached New York a physical wreck. How he
was induced to tell the whole truth after he had pleaded
guilty to the charge against him is a story in itself. A
complete reaction from his dissipation now occurred and for
days his life was despaired of. Jesse, too, was, as the ex-
pression is, "all in," and the only persons who were still
able to appreciate the delights of New York were the stal-
wart marshal and his boys, who for some time were objects of
interest as they strolled along Broadway and drank "deep
and hearty" in the cafes. To the assistants in the District
Attorney's office they were heroes and were treated as such.
How Dodge finally testified against Hummel on the wit-
ness stand has already been told. As they say downtown,
if Jerome had never done anything alse, he would have
"made good" by locking up Abe Hummel. No one ever
believed he would do it. But Jerome never would have
locked up Hummel without Jesse. And, as Jesse says with
a laugh, leaning back in his chair and taking a long pull on
his cigar, "I guess I would not do it again—no, I would
not do it again for all the money you could give me. The
wonder is that I came out of it alive." When the reader
comes to think about it he will probably agree with him.
23


Secret Service of the Post-Office
cultivates a taste for thoroughness even to details and trifles
that might at first view appear utterly insignificant, he will
never succeed in interpreting the hieroglyphics.
At intervals of two or three weeks, beginning in the
summer of 1871, registered packages passing to and fro
from Chicago to a town in the interior of Dakota Territory,
which for convenience will be called Wellington,—though
that was not its name,—were reported to the department
as rifled. As the season wore on, the complaints increased
in frequency. Under the old method of doing business at
headquarters, which often amounted practically to a dis-
tribution of the cases about equally "among the boys," the
agent stationed at Chicago received most of them at first;
then a part were sent to an agent in Iowa; and as the num-
ber multiplied, Furay, at Omaha, was favored with an oc-
casional sprinkling. Under the present more perfect sys-
tem, great care is taken to group together all the complaints
growing out of each series of depredations, to locate the
seat of trouble by comparisons carefully made in the de-
partment itself, and to give everything bearing on the sub-
ject to the officer specifically charged with the investi-
gation.
March came around before Mr. Furay found time to
give personal attention to this particular thief. He then
passed over the route to Wellington, eighty miles by stage-
coach from the nearest railroad station, with ten intermedi-
ate offices. All the packages remained over night at Sioux
City, Iowa, a fact sufficiently important to invite close
scrutiny; but the detective soon became satisfied that he
must look elsewhere for the robber. His suspicions were
next directed to another office, where also the mails lay
over night; but the postmaster bore a countenance so open
and honest that he too was eliminated from the problem.
He continued on to Wellington, skirmishing along the
line, and observing the faces of the postmasters; but these
studies in physiognomy threw no light on the mystery, as
the officials of the department on the route, though far
removed from central supervision, seemed to be all that
30


Secret Service of the Post-Office
ing no seal suitable for the purpose, improvised a substi-
tute by using the flat surface of a rasp.
Camden placed the wax near each end of the envelope,
which materially interfered with the game of the thief, be-
cause it was just here that he operated. Evidently piqued
that a rural postmaster should presume to outwit him, he
studied hard to devise some means for opening these par-
ticular packages without leaving such traces of his handi-
work as would attract the notice of other officials through
whose hands they might subsequently pass. The effort
was crowned with a measurable degree of success, for Mr.
Furay, at the general overhauling referred to, was the first
to discover that the seal had been tampered with.
As it was necessary to break one of the seals, the object
of the robber was to restore it as nearly as possible to its
original appearance; and to effect this he used a dampened
thimble, rolling it over the wax while the latter was hot.
There was but one envelope of the kind in the lot, but it told
the whole story to the eye that could penetrate its meaning.
As the thimble passed along the edge, it left the mark of the
rim, then a smooth, narrow band, followed by pointed
elevations closely resembling continuous lines, ■
thus:::::::::::::::
On the opposite side of the same seal the wax flattened
out so as to cover a good deal of surface; and, to give it the
desired appearance, the manipulator resorted to the thimble
again, but this time used a different one, the indentations
on the surface being perceptibly finer and more shallow.
The violation of that single seal betrayed the thief, for
the detective at once inferred that the job was done in a
store where the operator had access to a variety of thimbles.
Only one was required; and no person but a merchant
would be likely to have more than one within convenient
reach. In a store, however, it would be natural to take
down a boxful, and place it on the counter, to be selected
from at random. One is picked up, used, and thrown back.
The operator now finds another spot that requires attention,
and without waiting to hunt for the thimble that has al32


P. H. Woodward
ready served as a seal,—for the wax is cooling and no
time must be lost,—grasps the first that comes to hand,
too absorbed in the main issue to give a thought to what
would pass as an insignificant subsidiary trifle. No ras-
cal is sharp enough to guard every point,—a general fact
that illustrates over and over again, in the experience of
man, the seminal truth that in a mercenary and physical
as well as in a high and spiritual, sense there is neither
wisdom nor profit outside of the limits of absolute integrity
and unflinching uprightness.
The detective laid aside the papers with a light heart,
knowing that at last he was complete master of the sit-
uation. Below Camden on the infested route the post-office
was kept in a store at two points only, and in one of those
no thimbles were sold. The clew pointed unerringly to
Raven's Nest as the spot where alone the requisite condi-
tions to account for the imprint on the violated seal were
to be found. Thither the officer accordingly went; and
the moment his eye rested on Michael Mahoney, Jr., he
recognized the heaven-branded features of a thief.
Returning to Sioux City, he telegraphed to another agent,
who had a large number of the cases growing out of the
robberies, to come on at once. The two men took stations,
one on each side of Raven's Nest, and in thirty hours they
arrested the youthful criminal, who in the interval stole four
decoy letters, and paid a portion of the contents to one of
the officers who was testing him.
Mr. Furay collected from the thief and his relatives the
full amount stolen from the mails during the entire continu-
ance of the depredations, restoring the money to the right-
ful owners dollar for dollar. Young Mahoney made a
written confession, supplemented by three or four codicils
relating to items which, to use his own language, "at first
did not to me occur." He was tried the following Febru-
ary, and sentenced to the penitentiary for the term of three
years.
Within fifteen days from the time when the doors of the
prison were closed upon the son, the villainous old father,
35


Secret Service of the Post-Office
acting perhaps on the theory that no two shots ever strike
in exactly the same place, began also to rob the mails. In due
time Mr. Furay again appeared on the scene and took the
old reprobate away a prisoner. When the trial came on,
a material witness for the prosecution happened to be ab-
sent, the lack of whose testimony proved fatal to the case,
for after hanging a day and a night, the jury brought in a
verdict of acquittal.
AN ERRING SHEPHERD
THE ingenuity and perseverance of the fraternity of
swindlers is only equaled by the gullibility and patience
of their dupes. During the flush times that followed the
war, immense fortunes were suddenly acquired by a class
of cheats who operated on the credulity of the public
through gift enterprises, lotteries, and other kindred
schemes. Most of the large concerns established their head-
quarters in New York City, flooding the entire country,
particularly the South and West, with lithographic circu-
lars, written apparently with the pen for the exclusive ben-
efit of the recipient, and showing how fortunes could be
securely made by remitting specified sums to the houses in
question. Some of the bogus firms simply pocketed the
cash of correspondents without pretending to render any equivalent whatever; while others, no more honest, but a
little more politic, sent forth worthless jewelry and other
stuff by the bushel.
One of the most villainous and at the same time suc-
cessful devices was built up on the offer of counterfeit cur-
rency at a heavy discount. In substance, the circulars, ema-
nating from different parties, and from the same parties
under different names, were all alike. They usually began
with an insidious compliment to the person addressed, to
the effect that from trustworthy sources the writer had
heard of him as a man of more than ordinary capacity and
shrewdness, and, emboldened by the high estimate placed
34


P. H. Woodward
upon his abilities by persons well qualified to judge, had
selected him as the very individual to aid in securing a
fortune for both with "absolute safety." The circular
usually goes on to state that the writer is a first-class en-
graver,—indeed "one of the most expert in the United
States,"—while his partner is a first-class printer. Hence
the firm possess unrivaled facilities for imitating the
national currency. The recipient is particuarly cautioned to
beware of a class of miscreants who infest the city of New
York and advertise throughout the country the goods that
he manufactures, but send nothing except rubbish. The
"original Doctor Jacobs" excoriates unmercifully the
whole tribe of swindlers whose rascalities debauch and
bring odium upon the trade. He exhorts the gentleman of
great reputed "shrewdness and sagacity" to observe the
utmost caution in conducting operations, and gives him
explicit directions how to forward the purchase-money.
Several years ago a preacher of the gospel, stationed not
far from the northern frontier of the republic, received by
mail one of the seductive missives of Ragem & Co., of New
York City. The douceur opened with the usual compli-
mentary references to the pecular personal fitness of the
clergyman for the proposed enterprise, and went on to
state that, in exchange for genuine greenbacks, Ragem &
Co. would furnish in the proportion of fifty to one imita-
tions so absolutely perfect that the most experienced bank
officers could not distinguish the difference. Rev. Zacha-
riah Sapp,—for such was the euphonious name of the
preacher,—after an attentive perusal of the flattering pro-
posal, deposited the document in his coat-pocket for con-
venience of reference. Having pondered the subject for a
day or two, he decided to write to Ragem & Co. for more
explicit information.
Divining with the peculiar instinct of the guild the char-
acter of the fish now nibbling at the naked hook, the cheat
resolved to risk a little bait, and accordingly sent by return
mail a genuine one-dollar note, with a written invitation
both for a reply and a personal conference.
35


P. H. Woodward
Very well," replied the banker, "I shall be happy to
serve you."
"I had a transaction a few days ago," resumed the
clergyman, "with a peddler,—an entire stranger to me,—
who, in making change, gave me a number of bills which
I have reason to suspect are counterfeits. I desire your
opinion."
"Please let me see them," said Mr. Hyde.
He took the one-dollar note from the hand of the un-
faithful pastor, and after scanning it a moment, inquired,
"What is the matter with it?"
"Is it good?" queried the anxious owner.
"I wish I had my safe full of the same sort," answered
the banker. "There is nothing bad about the bill. What
makes you think so? Perhaps you have shown me the
wrong one. Let me see the others."
"I must have left the rest at home," replied the preacher,
fumbling among the compartments of the pocket-book.
Having accomplished the object of his mission without
perpetrating, as he thought, any disastrous blunder, Mr.
Sapp brought the interview to a close with a few common-
place remarks, and hurried away to enjoy in solitary self-
communion the thick-crowding visions of future affluence.
With the last doubt satisfactorily overcome, the plans of
the prospective millionaire rapidly took shape. He could
raise five hundred dollars, which at the proposed rate of
interchange would purchase twenty-five thousand of the
"absolutely perfect imitations." The sum seemed vast—
incalculable. His imagination, hitherto bound down by the
narrow circumstances of remote rural life, staggered while
trying to grasp the conception of so much wealth. Like the
mysteries of time and space, it appeared too grand for com-
prehension. Then his reveries strayed into another channel.
What noble fellows were Ragem & Co.! Why, among
forty millions of people, did they pick out him, an unknown
clergyman, living in an obscure place hundreds of miles
from the metropolis, to be the favored recipient of untold
wealth? Surely, this is a special Providence. Not a spar37


Secret Service of the Post-Office
row falleth to the ground without His knowledge. He
watches over his own. Suddenly the erring clergyman
feels a terrible pull at his heart-strings. What right has he,
about to betray a sacred trust, and engage in operations
branded as infamous by the laws of the land, to claim the
watchful care of Providence? Will not the all-seeing eye
follow him? Will not the omnipotent hand strike him
heavily in wrath? The poor man wipes the cold perspira-
tion from his forehead, and wonders if it will pay.
But he has paltered too long, and now the devil claims
him for his own.
Returning home, Sapp wrote to Ragem & Co., stating the
amount of his available resources, and saying that upon a
given day and hour he would meet them at the appointed
rendezvous. On the following Sunday the congregation
were startled at the close of the afternoon services by an
extraordinary announcement from the pulpit.
Before pronouncing the benediction the pastor said: "I
take this opportunity to communicate to you collectively a
piece of personal intelligence which I have hitherto kept
secret. Under the will of a relative who recently died in
the State of Michigan, I inherit a large sum—to me, with
my humble wants, a very large sum. By appointment, I am
to meet the executor of the estate this week in New York
City to receive the first installment of the legacy. I do not
propose to leave you, my dear parishioners, but to remain
among you and toil with you as I have done for so many
years. A goodly portion at least of my inheritance I intend
to invest in this community, that neighbors and friends may
share jointly in my prosperity. I trust I may be guided to
make a wise use of the talents thus unexpectedly, and I
may say providentially, committed to my keeping. We
know from the teachings of Scripture that wealth brings
great responsibilities, and that we shall be held to a strict
account for the manner in which we employ it. May your
prayers go with me."
The congregation crowded around the pastor with con-
gratulations. Particularly demonstrative were the ebulli38


P. H. Woodward
tions of two or three brothers who saw a chance of ex-
changing sundry unsalable possessions for slices in the in-
heritance.
Mr. Sapp reached New York City in the evening, and
the momentous interview was to take place at an early hour
the next day. Sleep came in brief and fitful snatches. But
the stars roll on in their majestic spheres, regardless of
mortal hopes and fears. At length day broke, when the
preacher rose from bed anxious and unrefreshed. A little
before the appointed time he proceeded to a certain build-
ing, and having mounted two flights of stairs, saw the
magic number on the door in front of him. As the clock
struck he entered. Agreeably to a preconcerted plan, he
wiped the right corner of his mouth with a white handker-
chief, and nodded three times. The only person in the
room, a well-dressed and apparently affable gentleman, re-
sponded by wiping the left corner of his mouth with a red
silk handkerchief, and nodding three times. The signal is
correctly answered: it is he! So far all works beautifully,
with every promise kept. The bill was a perfect imitation;
the engraver is on hand to a second.
"Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme."
The fellow passing under the name of Ragem & Co.
welcomed the new arrival cordially. "Ah," said he "your
promptness and circumspection show that I am not disap-
pointed in my man. I see that you come up to the full
measure of my expectations. Do you know I am a remark-
able judge of character? In fact, I seldom or never make
a mistake. We are both in luck."
"I was trained to punctuality from early youth," re-
plied the preacher; and proceeding directly to business,
without further circumlocution, continued, "I succeeded in
raising five hundred dollars, which entitles me under the
agreement to twenty-five thousand."
39


Secret Service of the Post-Office
From an inner pocket, after removing a number of pins,
he produced six one hundred dollar notes, saying, by way
of explanation, " For greater security I converted my funds
into bills of large denomination. One I reserve for con-
tingencies; the other five are for you."
"Your money is here in the safe," said Ragem, taking
the five notes, and turning toward the safe as if to unlock it.
But the scoundrel evidently reasoned that it would be silly
to remain content with the five when he could just as easily
capture the sixth.
Walking back, he remarked, "I want to show you that
my large bills are just as perfect as the small ones"; and,
as if for purposes of comparison, he took the remaining
note from the hand of the clergyman.
At this moment began a fearful knocking on a side door,
that threatened the speedy demolition of the frail barrier.
"Run, run," whispered Ragem, as if in the extremity of
terror, "the police are on us."
The preacher needed no second invitation, fear of ex-
posure giving wings to his feet. Almost at a bound he
cleared the two flights of stairs and emerged into the street,
walking several blocks, and turning a number of corners
before he dared to look back.
The bona fide occupant of the room where these parties
met had no share whatever in the nefarious transactions
carried on there. Through the treachery of the janitor,
Ragem was permitted at certain hours to make use of the
apartment for the purpose of keeping appointments with
his victims. A confederate stationed on the outside deliv-
ered the knocks as soon as customers were plucked and it
became desirable to get rid of their company. Occasional
hints of improper practices reached the ear of the real
lessee, but these had never yet taken such shape as to give
a decisive clew to the trouble, dupes for the most part pock-
eting their losses in silence.
After an interval of two or three hours Mr. Sapp
plucked up courage to return. Having mounted the stairs,
he entered the room warily. His late partner was not there.
40


P. H. Woodward
A stalwart gentleman, who seemed to be the proprietor,
looked up inquiringly, and was not a little puzzled when the
visitor supplemented the performance of wiping the right
corner of his mouth by three deliberate nods. "What can
I do for you to-day?" inquired the gentleman, rising.
"You are, I presume, a partner of Mr. Ragem," an-
swered Sapp. "I see he is out. Our business this morning
was unfortunately interrupted by the police, and I have
returned to complete it."
"What business?" asked the proprietor, in undisguised
astonishment.
Now the preacher made the very natural mistake of sup-
posing that the surprise manifested by his interlocutor was
a mere matter of policy and caution. Hence he proceeded
to explain. "Ragem must have told you. I am the gentle-
man who gave him the five hundred dollars, and he said
that my twenty-five thousand were locked up in the safe."
The proprietor did not wait to hear more, but seizing the
affrighted creature by the collar, thundered forth, "I have
heard of you before. You are the villain, are you, who
has been turning my office into a den of thieves? I have
caught you at last!"
Awaking to a partial comprehension of the situation, the
poor wretch stammered forth, "There must be some mis-
take. My name is a—is a—is a Smith—Smith—John
Smith."
"John Smith, is it?" growled the proprietor. "Well, all
I have to say is, John Smith, if not the biggest is the most
numerous rascal in the city. John, come along to the police
station."
And John went, billows of trouble rolling over him as the
waters of the Red Sea closed over Pharaoh. Vain the effort
to recall consolatory texts pertinent to the occasion! He
was sorely chastened indeed, but the stripes were inflicted
not in love but in wrath. He mourned, yet whence could
he look for comfort?
To avoid a worse fate, the prisoner revealed his identity,
exhibited the correspondence from "Ragem & Co.," and
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Secret Service of the Post-Office
made a full statement of the facts. The painful news
reached the church shortly after the return of the pastor,
when his pulpit career came to an ignominious end. He
soon removed to the far West, hoping to bury his disgrace
in the shades of the primeval forest.
The fall of Rev. Zachariah Sapp sounds a note of warn-
ing not without its lessons. The only safety in dealing with
temptation is to repel its insidious approaches from the out-
set. Whoever listens in patience to the siren whisper is
half lost already. Human experience abundantly confirms
the divine wisdom of the command, "Get thee behind me,
Satan," as the one sole safe way of meeting evil advances.
At the close of well-spent, useful lives, myriads can thank
a kind Providence, not that they have been stronger than
others who have turned out differently, but that they have
been tried less. Walking among unseen perils, none can
without danger of ruin discard even for a moment the
armor of honesty and truth.
AN ASPIRANT FOR CONGRESS
A FEW years ago, the " Hon." John Whimpery Brass, of
Georgia, one of the "thoughtful patriots" of the period,
who now and then found time to lay aside the cares of
statecraft to nurse little private jobs of his own, allured by
the seductive offers of " Wogan & Co.'" of New York City,
wrote to that somewhat mythical concern proposing to be-
come their agent for the circulation of the "queer." Even
after receiving the first installment of their wares, the hon-
orable gentleman did not comprehend that the firm dealt
exclusively in sawdust, not in currency. He wrote again,
complaining that, after a journey of sixty miles over a
rough road to the nearest reliable express office, he found
nothing but a worthless package, marked "C. O. D.,"
awaiting him. Did Wogan & Co. distrust either his parts
or fidelity? He ventured to assert that no man in the State
could serve them so effectually. He had just run for Con42


P. H. Woodward
gress, and though beaten at the polls by " fraud," intended
to contest the seat with the chances of success in his favor.
The mountaineers among whom he lived did not care
whether the money in their pockets was good or bad so
long as it circulated. He could put thousands of counter-
feits afloat without the slightest fear of detection. His con-
stituency believed in him and would stand by him. Cur-
rency was very scarce in that congressional district, and it
would really be doing his people a great favor to give them
more. After setting forth the mutual benefits to accrue from
trusting him, he appealed to Wogan & Co. with the vehe-
mence and energy of the sewing-machine man, or life-
insurance agent, to send on the goods without further delay.
They should never regret dealing with him, his character
and standing being a sufficient guaranty that he could not
play false. He was acting in good faith, and expected like
treatment in return.
Unfortunately for the political aspirations of "Hon."
John Whimpery Brass, the authorities not long after made
a descent upon the den of Wogan & Co., finding a great
many letters from credulous fools, and a large supply of
sawdust—their only stock in trade. The missives of the
prospective congressman were published, thus gaining much
more extensive currency than he proposed to give to the
imitation greenbacks. It was supposed that the noisy fel-
low would slink away to some cave in his native mountains,
and never show his brazen face among honest people again.
But the impudence of " Hon." John Whimpery Brass rose
to the level of the emergency. Instead of hiding or hanging
himself, he published a card representing that he embarked
in the scheme for the purpose of entrapping Wogan & Co.
and bringing them to justice.
Pathetic was the spectacle, showing the confidence of an
ingenuous soul in its own prowess, of the volunteer detect-
ive, digging parallels on the southern spurs of the Blue
Ridge for the capture of the wily swindler a thousand miles
away! Armed with a kernel of corn, the doughty gosling
sets forth to catch the wicked fox that is preying on the
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Secret Service of the Post-OMce
flock! If the bold mountaineers, the constituency of
"Hon." John Whimpery Brass, cannot commend the dis-
cretion displayed by the projector of the enterprise, they
must certainly admire his pluck. In face of the odds, few
goslings would volunteer.
Perhaps the card might have been accepted by the more
trustful class of adherents as a satisfactory explanation of
the letters, had not the aspiring statesman in course of time
fallen under the ban of the law for defrauding widows of
their pensions, the campaign against Wogan & Co. having
so completely exhausted the virtue of the amateur who
planned it as to leave no residue to fructify in subsequent
operations.
THE FORTUNE OF SETH SAVAGE
AT one time the bogus-lottery men drove a thrifty busi-
ness, but the efforts, virtually co-operative, of the post-
office department and of the legislatures of the older states,
have latterly pretty effectually forced them into the wilder-
ness. The managers forage on the same class of people
as the sawdust swindlers, procuring lists of names in the
same way. A common method of procedure is to inclose
with advertisements announcing the prizes, together with
the place and date of drawing, one or more tickets duly
numbered. Great confidence is expressed in the personal
fitness of the party addressed, who is requested to act as
agent for the sale of the tickets. A few weeks later an-
other letter is sent to the intended victim, informing him
that the ticket of a given number forwarded to him at such
a date had drawn a prize, the value of which is variously
stated from a few hundred to many thousand dollars.
He is then requested to send immediately ten dollars—
more or less—for the ticket, perhaps ten or twenty more
for additional charges, when the full face value of the prize
will be forwarded promptly by express, check on New
York, or in any other way the recipient may direct. He
is also told to antedate the letter, the intermediary promis44


P. H. Woodward
ing to blur the postmark to correspond, so that the re-
mittance may appear to have been made prior to the draw-
ing. In conclusion the writer adroitly suggests that he
desires the fortunate man to exhibit the money to his
neighbors, stating how he obtained it, and mentioning par-
ticularly the address of the agent from whom the ticket
was purchased, the object being to create an excitement in
the place with a view to large sales for the next drawing.
Even of a trick as transparent as this the victims are
counted by thousands, exposures and warnings being alike
disregarded. The infatuation of a certain class of ignorant
and credulous people is well illustrated by the case of Seth
Savage, a poor man possessed of a few acres in the vicinity
of a small village in Vermont. One day, when a special
agent of wide experience happened to be visiting the post-
office, Seth received a letter, the perusal of which threw
him into a frenzy of excitement.
"What is the matter?" inquired the postmaster. "You
seem to have good news."
"Look a-here," replied Seth, holding forth the missive
in his shriveled and bony fingers, " for nigh on to sixty-five
year, Mr. Martin, I've fit and work'd and work'd and fit
jest for my vittles and drink. Neow when I'm tew old tew
'joy it, a fortin comes to me."
"Is that so?" answered Mr. Martin. "I am very glad;
but tell me, what is it? Your neighbors will all be glad to
hear of your good luck."
"Read that," said Seth, handing him the letter trium-
phantly.
The postmaster read the manuscript. One Dewitt of
New York City assured Mr. Savage that a certain ticket
sent to him a month before had drawn a prize of three
thousand dollars; that on receipt of thirty-five dollars in a
letter antedated according to directions, the full amount
would be forwarded to him.
"Surely, Seth," expostulated the postmaster, "you are
not going to be fooled in this way. Dewitt is a humbug,
a swindler."
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Secret Service of the Post-OKce
"Neow, heow dew yeou know that?" inquired Seth.
"Has he ever fool'd yeou?"
"I don't deal with that sort of people," replied Mr. Mar-
tin mildly. "I dislike to see anyone wronged, especially a
neighbor. Here is a gentleman who knows all about such
matters." And Seth was formally introduced to the special
agent, who took pains to explain the character of the
swindle fully.
The officer left the village with the pleasant assurance
that his brief visit had contributed at least toward the res-
cue of one poor object from the jaws of the devourer.
After all, however, Seth was not convinced. By selling
his only cow he managed to swell his scanty stock of cash
to the requisite sum, which he sent to Dewitt, fully expect-
ing to be able in a few days to confound the postmaster by
the actual display of his newly gotten wealth. The dupe,
who had invested a goodly portion of his scanty means in
the venture, waited long if not patiently. At length, after
the expiration of the last hope, Mr. Martin inquired, " How
did it happen, Seth, that you threw away your money on
that lottery scamp, when we showed you that the whole
thing was a cheat?"
"Wall, neow, arter it's all lost," replied Seth, "I'll tell
yeou jest heow 'twas. Human natur' is naturally sus-
pectin'. I tho't yeou and that ar' t'other postoffis fellah
want'd to git the prize for yeourselfs; an' I didn't mean to
be beat so."
A WISH UNEXPECTEDLY GRATIFIED
WHEN the bogus-lottery men were driven out of the large
cities by the vigor of the postal authorities, they tried for a
while to operate from small country towns by collusion
with dishonest postmasters. As the delinquencies of the
offenders were successively brought to light, their heads
rolled into the basket at the foot of the official guillotine.
The swindlers, however, succeeded in bribing fresh victims,
and for a time cunning and duplicity managed with toler46


P. H. Woodward
able success to maintain a foothold against the power of
the department.
Among other similar swindles, sealed circulars were at
one time scattered broadcast over the more remote states,
announcing that on a given date the drawing for a series
of magnificent prizes would take place at Livingston Hall,
No. 42 Elm Avenue, Wington Junction, Connecticut.
Patrons were urged to remit the purchase-money for
tickets promptly, as there would be no postponement of the
grand event under any circumstances. "Fortune," con-
tinued the glittering advertisement, "knocks once at every
one's door, and she is now knocking at yours."
As usual, multitudes swallowed the bait, but some, in-
stead of sending the greenbacks to Highfalutin & Co., for-
warded the circulars to the department. Thereupon spe-
cial agent Sharretts was instructed to visit Wington Junc-
tion, with the view of learning whether the postmaster was
properly discharging his duties. Taking an early oppor-
tunity to perform the mission, he alighted at the station
one morning, and proceeded to survey the town, which
consisted of four or five houses scattered along the high-
way for a distance of half a mile. "Livingston Hall"
and "Elm Avenue" were nowhere visible. It was appar-
ent that "No. 42" on any avenue was a remote contin-
gency not likely to arise in the present generation.
Having previously ascertained that the postmaster was
also switch-tender at the junction, and that the cares of the
office devolved on his wife, the officer walked up to a keen-
looking man in front of the little round switch-house, whose
energies were devoted exclusively at that moment to the
mastication of a huge quid of tobacco, and who, after a
prolonged scrutiny of the stranger, answered his saluta-
tion in an attenuated drawl,' "Meornin', sir."
"Will you be kind enough to tell me, sir, where Mr.
Morris, the postmaster, can be found?" asked the agent.
"Wall, I guess my name's Morris. What kin I do fur
yeou?"
"Mr. Morris, I should like a few minutes' private con47


Secret Service of the Post-OMce
versation on business of great importance, which can be so
managed as to turn out advantageously to us both. I do
not wish to be overheard or interrupted. In these times
even blank walls have ears, you know."
The last suggestion seemed to serve as a passport to the
confidence of the postmaster. Leading the way into the
switch-house, he remarked, "Come in heear. Neow, what
is it?"
"The fact is, Mr. Morris, some friends of mine propose
to go into a little speculation, which will involve a large
correspondence; and for reasons that I need not specify to
a man like you, they do not wish to have every ragtag,
bobtail post-office clerk poring over their letters, and ask-
ing impertinent questions at the delivery-window. If they
can find a shrewd, square man, who knows how to keep
his mouth shut, and who can't be fooled, that for a hand-
some consideration will put the letters away in a safe place
till called for, they are willing to make an arrangement
that will be profitable all around. You have been recom-
mended as just the person. I am told that you generally
know which side your bread is buttered, and have called
to see if we can't arrange to pull together."
"'Nuff said," ejaculated Morris, with a sly wink. "I
know what yeou want, but my wife is the one to fix things.
I don't have nuthin' to dew with the letters. Sue 'tends
to everything. The folks as we'se a-workin' for said we
must be plaguey keerful about the deetecters. I'll bet nun
on 'em can't play it on my wife tho'. If they dew, they'll
have to git up arly in the mornin'."
With that he thrust his head out of the window, and
yelled: "Sue, Sue!"
As the sound died away, a tall, raw-boned female, from
whose cheeks the bloom of youth had faded a number of
years before, emerged from the side door of a two-story
cottage, about eighty rods distant, and walked briskly to
the switch-house, where she was introduced to the stranger
as "my wife."
After a little preliminary skirmishing, she invited the
48


P. H. Woodward
agent to go over to the cottage. Having been duly ushered
into the "best room," he embellished for her benefit the
story already told to the husband.
"I think I kin 'commodate yeou," she broke forth, "but
yeou'll have to pay putty well for't. Laws me, I'm told—
and I've ways o' heerin' 'bout these things—that the deetec-
ters are jest as likely as not to come a-swoopin' deown
enny minnit. Yeou know, if they feound it out, we'd be
smash'd."
Her terms were ten dollars a week. Highfalutin & Co.
paid six, but she understood the business a great deal better
now than when she made the bargain with them. The
agent thought the price rather high, but finally consented
to contract at that figure.
Then, as if troubled by an after-thought, he said,
"Madam, how do I know but some of these 'deetecters'
may come around, and, seeing my letters, get me into diffi-
culty?"
"Why, laws a' mercy," said she, "don't be skeer'd.
Yeou jest leave that to me. The minnit them air letters
gits here, I hides 'em in that bewro-draw'r," pointing to
an article of furniture in the corner.
"Is it a safe place?" queried the agent.
"Yas, it is," answered the woman. "Got it half full
neow. Carry the key in my pocket."
She gave a grin, intended for a knowing smile, in ad-
miration of her own cleverness.
"I believe the hiding-place is tolerably secure," replied
the officer, with the air of one who desired to be con-
vinced, but had not yet reached the point of full assur-
ance.
"You seem to be very particl'r and diffikilt to satisfy,"
continued Mrs. Morris; "but, if yeou don't believe it, jest
come and see for you'sef."
She led the way to the bureau, opened the drawer, and,
raising a plaid cotton handkerchief, displayed the contra-
band letters by the score. All were directed to the lottery
firm, and were turned over to the knave from time to time
49


Secret Service of the Post-Office
as it suited his convenience to call for them. As no sucK
firm did business at Wington Junction, it was the duty of
the postmaster to forward to the department, as fictitious
and undeliverable, all letters bearing the address of the
swindlers. In similar cases neglect to obey the regulation
was treated as sufficient ground for instant removal.
More fully pleased with the result of the examination
than the woman surmised, the officer resumed: "I see you
are very particular about your methods of doing business,
and do not mean to be caught napping. The arrangement
we are about to enter into is a very important one, and, as
you are not postmaster, your husband will have to be
present to witness and ratify the bargain."
"Bless yeour soul," replied she, "it's all right. I 'tend
to all the biznis. My husband doesn't bother hissef abeout
it in the least."
"Madam," answered the officer, "pardon me. I had
my training in a large city, and am accustomed to pay
minute attention to every detail. Your husband is the
principal in this case, and must ratify the agreement to
make it binding. Of course you will derive all the benefit,
but his presence is essential as a matter of form."
Apparently satisfied, she called for "John," who replied
promptly to the summons.
"Mr. Morris," said the officer, "your wife has agreed to
keep my letters for me"
"Yaas," broke in the postmaster. "I know'd she
would. Yeou'll find she'll dew it right, tew. Nobody
can't come enny tricks on her—can they, Sue? I wish one
o' 'em durn'd deetecters would come around, jest tew see
heow she'd pull the wool over 'im. I wudn't ax enny
better fun; " and he indulged in a fit of loud cachinnation at
the absurdity of supposing that anyone could match in
sharpness his own beloved Sue.
"The letters will come to that address," said the agent,
pulling out his commission from the postmaster-general,
and exhibiting it to the pair.
Taking in the purport of it at a glance, Morris jumped
SO


P. H. Woodward
several inches into the air, slapped his sides, and ex-
claimed, "A deetecter, arter all; sold, by jingo!"
"We're bust'd then," chimed in Sue, with a melancholy
grin.
It was even so. The letters for Highfalutin & Co. went
to Washington, and Morris went out of the post-office; but
the fact that Sue was overmatched hurt him more than
the loss of the place.
June 8, 1872, a law was approved making it a penal
offense to use the mails for the purpose of defrauding
others, whether residing within or outside of the United
States. The postmaster-general was also authorized to
forbid the payment of postal money orders to persons
engaged in fraudulent lotteries, gift enterprises, and other
schemes for swindling the public, and to instruct post-
masters to return to the writers, with the word "fraudu-
lent" written or stamped on the outside, all registered
letters directed to such persons or firms. Prior to the
enactment of this law, the most wholesale and barefaced
operations were conducted by professional cheats, mainly
through the facilities afforded by the mails, with almost
absolute impunity. Letters addressed to bogus firms were
indeed forwarded from the offices of delivery to the de-
partment as "fictitious" and "undeliverable," and many
colluding postmasters were decapitated. Such petty meas-
ures of warfare served merely to annoy the vampires and
to whet their diabolical ingenuity for the contrivance of
new devices. Since the law of 1872 went into effect, how-
ever, the scoundrels have been compelled to travel a thorny
road. Scores of arrests have been made, and in many
cases the criminals have been sentenced to the peniten-
tiary.
It would exceed our limits even to enumerate the devices
which have been tried by different swindlers with greater
or less success. Gift enterprises of various kinds are the
most common and notorious, constituting a distinct branch
of the business; but the pretenses on which human credulity
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Secret Service of the Post-OMce
is invited to part with actual cash for imaginary benefits
are innumerable. A few speciments are given as illustra-
tions.
AN OLD GAME REVIVED
ON the 18th of September, 1875, a fellow was arrested
in West Virginia who sent the victims whom he proposed
to bleed letters whereof the following is a copy:—
"A lady who boarded with me died on last Saturday of
apoplexy. She left a trunk containing the following prop-
erty: One very fine ladies' gold watch and chain, one
ladies' gold necklace, six ladies' finger rings, earrings, and
a great deal of ladies' clothing. Among other things was
a letter addressed to you. I suppose you to be a relative
of the deceased, and want to send you the trunk. When
Miss Thompson died she left a board bill unpaid amount-
ing to $20.50. You will please send this amount by return
mail, and the trunk will be forwarded to you immediately."
Instead of remitting the money as modestly requested,
the recipient of one of these choice douceurs, a lady resid-
ing in the interior of Pennsylvania, sent the letter to the
mayor of the town where it was dated and postmarked,
who in turn handed it over to special agent T. P. Shall-
cross; and he in the course of a day or two succeeded in
capturing the miscreant.
This particular form of the confidence game is very old;
yet in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-
five a swindler by means of it succeeds not only in main-
taining himself in dashing style, but also in sporting a
flashy traveling companion of the female persuasion!
Where the letters are addressed to men, the articles re-
ported to be found in the imaginary trunk are changed to
correspond to masculine habits and wants. The operators
receive many singular and some entertaining replies. The
following, dated long ago from a small town at the South,
52


P. H. Woodward
may serve as a sample, the orthography of the original
being preserved:—
"Col. Snowden,
"Dear Sir,—Yours received, and you say John is dead.
Poor fellow! I always expected it. Death runs in the
family. Dyed suddenly of appleplexy—eat too many
apples. Well, I always thought John would hurt himself
eating apples. I s'pose you had him buried. You said
nothing about funeral expenses. He had a trunk—gold
watch in it, &c. Well, well, what an unexpected legacy!
but strange things happen sometimes. Never thought I
should get a gold watch so. And he had the watch in his
trunk, did he? Poor fellow! was always so particular
'bout his watch and fixings. Had two revolvers. What
is them? I never heard John say anything about them.
Well, you have been so kind as to write to me; just keep
all the balance of the things, you can have them; but the
gold watch, send that to me by express. Send immediately
if not sooner. "Very truly,
"Geo. Stream.
"P. S. My mother in law says, if you come this way,
call. She likes to know all such good, kind folks."
It is safe to conclude that "Col. Snowden" never ac-
cepted the invitation to call from the hospitable mother-in-
law.
A FORMIDABLE WEAPON
IN the summer and fall of 1875 circulars were scattered
broadcast over the country, and advertisements appeared
in the weekly editions of several leading papers of New
York City and other large towns, setting forth the rare
merits of a weapon of destruction called "Allan's New
Low-Priced Seven-Shooter." As a specimen of ingenious
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Secret Service of the Post-Office
description, the more salient parts of the circular are here-
with reproduced:—
"In introducing this triumph of mechanical genius to
the American public, it is proper to say that it is not an
entirely new article, but that it has lately been improved
in appearance, simplicity of construction, and accuracy,
having new points of excellence, making it superior in
many respects to those first made. The manufacturers
having improved facilities for making them cheaply and
rapidly, have reduced the price to one dollar and fifty cents;
and while the profits on a single one are necessarily small,
this price places them within the reach of all.
"We wish it distinctly understood that this is no cheap,
good-for-nothing 'pop-gun'; and while none can expect it
to be 'silver-mounted' for $1.50, they have a right to ex-
pect the worth of their money, and in this new improved
seven-shooter a want is supplied.
"Great care is taken in the adjustment of EACH, so that
ALL are equally good and reliable. In their production no
trouble or expense has been spared. An elaborate and
complete set of machinery and gauges has been made, by
means of which all the parts are produced exactly alike,
thus insuring great uniformity in the character of the work
produced."
This remarkable implement, equally useful for peace or
war, is offered to an eager public at the low price of $1.50
each, or $13 per dozen. On the score of cheapness, the
inventor greatly prefers the mails to the express as a
vehicle for the transport of his wares. In fact, he declines
to patronize the express companies at all, unless a prepay-
ment of twenty-five per cent, accompanies each order as a
guaranty of the "purchaser's good faith."
At first the enterprise succeeded even beyond the most
sanguine expectations of its projector, letters with the cash
inclosed pouring in by the hundred. For several months,
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P. H. Woodward
however, after the first publication of the advertisement,
"this triumph of mechanical genius," though "not an
entirely new article," existed only in the comprehensive
brain of the gentleman who had the greatness to discern in
the imperfect work of predecessors the germs of ideal per-
fection. Having no seven-shooters to send, he was com-
pelled to dishonor the requisitions of the expectant "trav-
eler, sailor, hunter, fisherman, etc." While careful to
lay aside the inclosures, he entirely forgot even to so
far remember his patrons as to make a record of their
names.
In due time, however, the "factory" went into opera-
tion, and the seven-shooters were actually produced. The
mechanical "triumph," rudely made of a cheap metal com-
position, is a duplicate of a toy long used by boys to the
delight of each other, and to the annoyance of their elders.
The propulsive power resides in a steel spring, which has
force enough to send a bird-shot across a good-sized room.
The outfit would cost perhaps six or eight cents to the
manufacturer. A portion of the orders were now filled,
the greater part being still thrown unhonored into the
waste-basket as before.
Curses both loud and deep began to be showered on the
head of the swindler. Complaints having reached the de-
partment, special agent C. E. Henry started to hunt for
"Wilcox & Co.," of Windsor, Ohio, for such was the
direction in the advertisements and on the circular. Pro-
ceeding several miles from the nearest railroad, he found
the rural settlement where the factory was supposed to be
located.
Guided by various inquiries, he finally drove up to the
small farm-house where the parents of Wilcox & Co. re-
sided. On entering, the officer said, "I am in search of
Mr. Wilcox, of the firm of Wilcox & Co."
"I am your man," remarked a youth, perhaps twenty-
two years of age, whose countenance at once suggested
acuteness and cunning. "What will you have?"
"I would like to take a look about the arsenal and gun-


Secret Service of the Post-OMce
factory located here," replied the detective, leisurely sur-
veying the landscape.
"The works are in Cleveland," answered the great in-
ventor. "You can see them by calling there."
"But where is the arsenal? I understand it was sit-
uated here."
"Your information is correct," replied the young man.
"That is it, across the road."
Casting his eye in the direction indicated, the officer saw
a rickety woodshed about seven feet by nine in size.
Observing the smile of amused incredulity that played
upon the features of his questioner, Wilcox reiterated,
with an air of half offended dignity,—
"That's it. We keep our seven-shooters there. But
look here; before this thing goes any further, I want to
know who you are."
"Oh, certainly, sir," answered the stranger. "You will
find nothing about me that I care to keep concealed. I
am a special agent of the post-office department, and my
business here is to arrest you."
"Why, what have I done to warrant such a visit?"
queried youthful innocence.
"I shall be happy to make that point clear to you," re-
plied the detective, "though I am afraid the enlightenment
will come too late to prove of much service to you. In
using the mails for the purpose of swindling, you have
violated the laws of the country, and must suffer the pen-
alty."
"But where does the swindling come in?" expostulated
Wilcox. "I advertised a seven-shooter. I didn't say
anything about a revolver. It will shoot seven shot, or
twice that number, if you only put them in. If anybody
is green enough to suppose I meant a revolver, that's his
lookout, not mine."
"We are not called upon to decide the point," said the
special agent. "The question is one for the court and the
jury. But you must go with me to Cleveland. So get
ready."
56


P. H. Woodward
Finding persuasion, argument, and remonstrance alike
useless, the great mechanical genius packed his satchel in
preparation for the journey. Once fairly on the road, he
became communicative, and explained the reasons which
led him to embark in the enterprise. "In the first place,"
said he, "I read Barnum's Life, and accepted the doctrine
that the American people like to be humbugged. I planned
the shooter myself, and, in wording the circular, aimed to
cover the points and keep within the law. I think I have
succeeded."
"I beg leave to differ," argued the special agent. "Aside
from the general falsity of the description, there are specific
claims which you cannot make good."
"I don't see the matter in that light," replied the cham-
pion of the seven-shooter. "I say, ' Wherever introduced,
they advertise themselves.' Well, don't they? Whoever
gets one will be apt to tell his neighbors. Isn't that adver-
tising itself? I also say, ' The sale of one opens the market
for a dozen in any neighborhood;' but observe, I don't
claim that any more will be sold in that neighborhood, even
if the market is opened. So far as my guaranty is con-
cerned, I only warrant them to be as good after three
years' use as when first purchased. Will you, or will any
court, call that in question?"
"It is charged," said the officer, changing the subject,
"that you neglected to fill a good many orders. How do
you explain that?"
"Why, to furnish the shooter and pay the postage cuts
down the profits terribly," was the unique and character-
istic reply.
Orders began to arrive in response to the circular nearly
five months before the first shooter came from the hands of
the manufacturer; and as none of them were ever filled, or
even recorded, it is impossible to estimate how many dupes
long watched the mails in anxious expectancy, and perhaps
attributed their disappointment to dishonesty among the
employees of the department.
Of course the papers which printed the advertisement
would have spurned the impostor and exposed the fraud,
57


Secret Service of the Post-Office
had they discovered the facts. The most scrupulous and
careful publishers are often deceived in the character of
advertisements that come through the regular channels of
business, and appear plausible on their face. In fact, the
religious journals are the favorite vehicles of the swindlers.
The solicitude felt by the newspapers, not only for their
own reputation, but for the interests of their patrons, was
illustrated in the correspondence found on the person of
Wilcox. An influential western journal had addressed him
two notes which ran thus:—
"Gents: We receive frequent letters from subscribers,
saying they receive no answers to letters they send you
containing money for '7-shooters.' How is it? Are you
swindlers?"
Wilcox, though fully able to answer the conundrum, did
not see fit to do so; and hence, on the 3d of November, the
same parties deployed their forces to renew the charge.
", Nov. 3, 1875.
"Wilcox & Co.:
"We have written you once before, that our patrons
complain to us that you do not fill their cash orders, and
will not answer their letters of inquiry as to why you don't.
We have received so many such that we suspect there is
something wrong, and, unless you explain satisfactorily,
we will have to expose you."
As the special agent arrived on the same day with the in-
quiry, the young man had no opportunity to make the de-
sired explanation. Indeed it is doubtful if one so modest
and reticent on matters of personal merit, would have an-
swered the question even if permitted to take all winter to
do it in.
The United States commissioner, while fully recognizing
the ingenuity of the circular, differed somewhat from its
author in interpreting its legal construction, and accord-
ingly placed him under a bond of fifteen hundred dollars to
appear for trial.
58


Andrew Lang Saint-Germain the Deathless
^MONG the best brief masterpieces of fiction are Lytton's
The Haunters and the Haunted, and Thackeray's Notch
on the Axe in Roundabout Papers* Both deal with a mys-
terious being who passes through the ages, rich, powerful,
always behind the scenes, coming no man knows whence,
and dying, or pretending to die, obscurely—you never find
authentic evidence of his disease. In other later times, at
other courts, such an one reappears and runs the same
course of luxury, marvel, and hidden potency.
Lytton returned to and elaborated his idea in the Mar-
grave of A Strange Story, who has no "soul," and pro-
longs his physical and intellectual life by means of an elixir.
Margrave is not bad, but he is inferior to the hero, less elab-
orately designed, of The Haunters and the Haunted.
Thackeray's tale is written in a tone of mock mysticism,
but he confesses that he likes his own story, in which the
strange hero, through all his many lives or reappearances,
and through all the countless loves on which he fatuously
plumes himself, retains a slight German-Jewish accent.
It appears to me that the historic original of these ro-
mantic characters is no other than the mysterious Comte de
Saint-Germain—not, of course, the contemporary and nor-
mal French soldier and minister, of 1707-1778, who bore
the same name. I have found the name, with dim allusions,
in the unpublished letters and MSS. of Prince Charles Ed-
ward Stuart, and have not always been certain whether the
* Both given in the accompanying volume containing "Old-
Time English" Stories. See also the first story in the "North
Europe" volume.—Editor.
59


Mystery Stories From Real Life
reference was to the man of action or to the man of mys-
tery. On the secret of the latter, the deathless one, I have
no new light to throw, and only speak of him for a single
reason. Aristotle assures us, in his Poetics, that the best-
known myths dramatized on the Athenian stage were known
to very few of the Athenian audience. It is not impossible
that the story of Saint-Germain, though it seems as familiar
as the myth of CEdipus or Thyestes, may, after all, not be
vividly present to the memory of every reader. The om-
niscent Larousse, of the Dictionnaire Universel, certainly did
not know one very accessible fact about Saint-Germain, nor
have I seen it mentioned in other versions of his legend.
We read, in Larousse, "Saint-Germain is not heard of in
France before 1750, when he established himself in Paris.
No adventure had called attention to his existence; it was
only known that he had moved about Europe, liyed in Italy,
Holland, and in England, and had borne the names of Mar-
quis de Monteferrat, and of Comte de Bellamye, which he
used at Venice."
Lascelles Wraxall, again, in Remarkable Adventures
(1863), says: "Whatever truth there may be in Saint-
Germain's travels in England and the East Indies, it is un-
dubitable that, for from 1745 to 1755, he was a man of high
position in Vienna," while in Paris he does not appear, ac-
cording to Wraxall, till 1757, having been brought from
Germany by the Marechal de Belle-Isle, whose "old
boots," says Macallester the spy, Prince Charles freely
damned, " because they were always stuffed with projects."
Now we hear of Saint-Germain, by that name, as resident,
not in Vienna, but in London, at the very moment when
Prince Charles, evading Cumberland, who lay with his army
at Stone, in Staffordshire, marched to Derby. Horace Wal-
pole writes to Mann in Florence (December 9, 1745):
"We begin to take up people ... the other day they
seized an odd man who goes by the name of Count Saint-
Germain. He has been here these two years, and will not
tell who he is, or whence, but professes that he does not
go by his right name. He sings, plays on the violin won60


Andrew Lang
derfully, composes, is mad, and not very sensible. He is
called an Italian, a Spaniard, a Pole; a somebody that
married a great fortune in Mexico, and ran away with her
jewels to Constantinople; a priest, a fiddler, a vast noble-
man. The Prince of Wales has had unsatiated curiosity
about him, but in vain. However, nothing has been made
out against him; he is released, and, what convinces me he
is not a gentleman, stays here, and talks of his being taken
up for a spy."
Here is our earliest authentic note on Saint-Germain;
a note omitted by his French students. He was in London
from 1743 to 1745, under a name not his own, but that
which he later bore at the Court of France. From the al-
lusion to his jewels (those of a deserted Mexican bride),
it appears that he was already as rich in these treasures as
he was afterwards, when his French acquaintances mar-
veled at them. (As to his being " mad," Walpole may re-
fer to Saint-Germain's way of talking as if he had lived in
remote ages, and known famous people of the past).
Having caught this daylight glimpse of Saint-Germain in
Walpole, having learned that in December, 1745, he was
arrested and examined as a possible Jacobite agent, we nat-
urally expect to find our contemporary official documents
about his examination by the Government. Scores of such
records exist, containing the questions put to, and the
answers given by, suspected persons. But we vainly hunt
through the Newcastle MSS., and the State Papers, Do-
mestic, in the Record Office, for a trace of the examination
of Saint-Germain. I am not aware that he was anywhere
left his trail in official documents; he lives in more or less
legendary memoirs, alone.
At what precise date Saint-Germain became an intimate
of Louis XV., the Due de Choiseul, Madame de Pompadour,
and the Marechal de Belle-Isle, one cannot ascertain. The
writers of memoirs are the vaguest of mortals about dates;
only one discerns that Saint-Germain was much about the
French Court, and high in the favor of the King, having
rooms at Chambord, during the Seven Years' War, and


Mystery Stories From Real Life
just before the time of the peace negotiations of 1762-
1763. The art of compiling false or forged memoirs of that
period was widely practiced; but the memoirs of Madame
du Hausset, who speaks of Saint-Germain, are authentic.
She was the widow of a poor man of noble family, and
was one of two femmes de chambre of Madame de Pompa-
dour. Her manuscript was written, she explains, by aid of
a brief diary which she kept during her term of service.
One day M. Senac de Meilhan found Madame de Pompa-
dour's brother, M. de Marigny, about to burn a packet of
papers. "It is the journal," he said, "of a femme de
chambre of my sister, a good, kind woman." De Meilhan
asked for the manuscript, which he later gave to Mr. Craw-
ford, one of the Kilwinning family, in Ayrshire, who later
helped in the escape of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
to Varennes, where they were captured. With the journal
of Madame du Hausset were several letters to Marigny on
points of historical anecdote.*
Crawford published the manuscript of Madame du Haus-
set, which he was given by de Meilhan, and the memoirs
are thus from an authentic source. The author says that
Louis XV. was always kind to her, but spoke little to her,
whereas Madame de Pompadour remarked, " The King and
I trust you so much that we treat you like a cat or a dog,
and talk freely before you."
As to Saint-Germain, Madame du Hausset writes: "A
man who was as amazing as a witch came often to see Ma-
dame de Pompadour. This was the Comte de Saint-Germain,
* One of these gives Madame de Vieux-Maison as the author
of a ronton a clef, Secret Memoirs of the Court of Persia, which
contains an early reference to the Man in the Iron Mask (died
1703). The letter-writer avers that D'Argenson, the famous
minister of Louis XV., said that the Man in the Iron Mask was
really a person fort peu de chose, 'of very little account,' and that
the Regent d'Orleans was of the same opinion. This corroborates
my theory, that the Mask was merely the valet of a Huguenot
conspirator, Roux de Marsilly, captured in England, and imprisoned
because he was supposed to know some terrible secret—which he
knew nothing about. See The Valet's Tragedy, Longmans, 1903.
62


Andrew Lang
who wished to make poeple believe that he had lived for
several centuries. One day Madame said to him, while
at her toilet, "What sort of man was Francis I., a king
whom I could have loved?" "A good sort of fellow," said
Saint-Germain; "too fiery—I could have given him a use-
ful piece of advice, but he would not have listened." He
then described, in very general terms, the beauty of Mary
Stuart and La Reine Margot. "You seem to have seen
them all," said Madame de Pompadour, laughing. "Some-
times," said Saint-Germain, "I amuse myself, not by
making people believe, but by letting them believe, that I
have lived from time immemorial." "But you do not tell us
your age, and you give yourself out as very old. Madame
de Gergy, who was wife of the French ambassador at
Venice fifty years ago, I think, says that she knew
you there, and that you are not changed in the least." "It
is true, Madame, that I knew Madame de Gergy long ago."
"But according to her story you must now be over a cen-
tury old." "It may be so, but I admit that even more pos-
sibly the respected lady is in her dotage."
At this time Saint-Germain, says Madame du Hausset,
looked about fifty, was neither thin nor stout, seemed clever,
and dressed simply, as a rule, but in good taste. Say that
the date was 1760, Saint-Germain looked fifty; but he had
looked the same age, according to Madame de Gergy, at
Venice, fifty years earlier, in 1710. We see how pleasantly
he left Madame de Pompadour in doubt on that point.
He pretended to have the secret of removing flaws from
diamonds. The King showed him a stone valued at 6,000
francs—without a flaw it would have been worth 10,000.
Saint-Germain said that he could remove the flaw in a
month, and in a month he brought back the diamond—
flawless. The King sent it, without any comment, to his
jeweler, who gave 9,600 francs for the stone, but the King
returned the money, and kept the gem as a curiosity. Prob-
ably it was not the original stone, but another cut in the same
fashion, Saint-Germain sacrificing 3,000 or 4,000 francs to
his practical joke. He also said that he could increase
63


Mystery Stories From Real Life
the size of pearls, which he could have proved very easily—
in the same manner. He would not oblige Madame de
Pompadour by giving the King an elixir of life: "I should
be mad if I gave the King a drug." There seems to be a
reference to this desire of Madame de Pompadour in an
unlikely place, a letter of Pickle the Spy to Mr. Vaughan
(1754)! This conversation Madame du Hausset wrote
down on the day of its occurrence.
Both Louis XV. and Madame de Pompadour treated
Saint-Germain as a person of consequence. "He is a
quack, for he says he has an elixir," said Dr. Quesnay,
with medical skepticism. "Moreover, our master, the King,
is obstinate; he sometimes speaks of Saint-Germain as a
person of illustrious birth."
The age was skeptical, unscientific, and, by reaction,
credulous. The philosophes, Hume, Voltaire, and others,
were exposing, like an ingenious American gentleman, "the
mistakes of Moses." The Earl of Marischal told Hume that
life had been chemically produced in a laboratory, so what
becomes of Creation? Prince Charles, hidden in a convent,
was being tutored by Mlle. Luci in the sensational phi-
losophy of Locke, "nothing in the intellect which does not
come through the senses "—a queer theme for a man of
the sword to study. But, thirty years earlier, the Regent
d'Orleans had made crystal-gazing fashionable, and stories
of ghosts and second-sight in the highest circles were
popular. Mesmer had not yet appeared, to give a fresh
start to the old savage practice of hypnotism; Cagliostro
was not yet on the scene with his free-masonry of the an-
cient Egyptian school. But people were already in extremes
of doubt and of belief; there might be something in the elixir
of life and in the philosopher's stone; it might be possible
to make precious stones chemically, and Saint-Germain,
who seemed to be over a century old at least, might have
all these secrets.
Whence came his wealth in precious stones, people asked,
unless from some mysterious knowledge, or some equally
mysterious and illustrious birth?


Andrew Lang
He showed Madame de Pompadour a little box full of
rubies, topazes, and diamonds. Madame de Pompadour
called Madame du Hausset to look at them; she was
dazzled, but skeptical, and made a sign to show that she
thought them paste. The Count then exhibited a superb
ruby, tossing aside contemptuously a cross covered with
gems. "That is not so contemptible," said Madame du
Hausset, hanging it round her neck. The Count begged
her to keep the jewel; she refused, and Madame de Pompa-
dour backed her refusal. But Saint-Germain insisted, and
Madame de Pompadour, thinking that the cross might be
worth forty louis, made a sign to Madame du Hausset that
she accept. She did, and the jewel was valued at 1,500
francs—which hardly proves that the other large jewels
were genuine, though Von Gleichen believed they were,
and thought the Count's cabinet of old masters very valuable.
The fingers, the watch, the snuffbox, the shoe-buckles,
the garter studs, the solitaires of the Count, on high days,
all burned with diamonds and rubies, which were estimated,
one day, at 200,000 francs. His wealth did not come from
cards or swindling—no such charges are ever hinted at; he
did not sell elixirs, nor prophecies, nor initiations. His
habits do not seem to have been extravagant. One might
regard him as a clever eccentric person, the unacknowledged
child, perhaps, of some noble, who had put his capital mainly
into precious stones. But Louis XV. treated him as a
serious personage, and probably knew, or thought he knew,
the secret of his birth. People held that he was a bastard
of a king of Portugal, says Madame du Hausset. Perhaps
the most ingenious and plausible theory of the birth of
Saint-Germain makes him the natural son, not of a king of
Portugal, but of a queen of Spain. The evidence is not
evidence, but a series of surmises. Saint-Germain, on this
theory, ' wrop his buth up in a mistry' (like that of Charles
James Fitzjames de la Pluche), out of regard for the char-
acter of his royal mamma. I believe this about as much
as I believe that a certain Rev. Mr. Douglas, an obstreperous
Covenanting minister, was a descendant of the captive Mary
65


Mystery Stories From Real Life
Stuart. However, Saint-Germain is said, like Kaspar
Hauser, to have murmured of dim memories of his infancy,
of diversions on magnificent terraces, and of palaces glowing
beneath an azure sky. This is reported by Von Gleichen,
who knew him very well, but thought him rather a quack.
Possibly he meant to convey the idea that he was Moses,
and that he had dwelt in the palaces of the Ramessids. The
grave of the prophet was never known, and Saint-Germain
may have insinuated that he began a new avatar in a cleft
of Mount Pisgah; he was capable of it.
However, a less wild surmise avers that, in 1763, the se-
crets of his birth and the source of his opulence were known
in Holland. The authority is the Memoirs of Grosley
(1813). Grosley was an archaeologist of Troyes; he had
traveled in Italy, and written an account of his travels; he
also visited Holland and England, and later, from a Dutch-
man, he picked up his information about Saint-Germain.
Grosley was a Fellow of our Royal Society, and I greatly
revere the authority of a F.R.S. His later years were oc-
cupied in the compilation of his Memoirs, including an
account of what he did and heard in Holland, and he
died in 1785. According to Grosley's account of what the
Dutchman knew, Saint-Germain was the son of a princess
who fled (obviously from Spain) to Bayonne, and of a
Portuguese Jew dwelling in Bordeaux.
What fairy and fugitive princess can this be, whom not
in vain the ardent Hebrew wooed? She was, she must
have been, as Grosley saw, the heroine of Victor Hugo's
Ruy Bias. The unhappy Charles II. of Spain, a kind of
"mammet" (as the English called the Richard II. who ap-
peared up in Islay, having escaped from Pomfret Castle),
had for his first wife a daughter of Henrietta, the favorite
sister of our Charles II. This childless bride, after some
ghostly years of matrimony, after being exorcised in dis-
gusting circumstances, died in February, 1689. In May,
1690 a new bride, Marie de Neuborg, was brought to the
grisly side of the crowned mammet of Spain. She, too,
failed to prevent the wars of the Spanish Succession by
66


Andrew Lang
giving an heir to the Crown of Spain. Scandalous
chronicles aver that Marie was chosen as Queen of Spain
for the levity of her character, and that the Crown was
expected, as in the Pictish monarchy, to descend on the
female side; the father of the prince might be anybody.
What was needed was simply a son of the Queen of Spain.
She had, while Queen, no son, as far as is ascertained, but
she had a favorite, a Count Andanero, whom she made
minister of finance. "He was not a born Count," he was
a financier, this favorite of the Queen of Spain. That
lady did go to live in Bayonne in 1706, six years after the
death of Charles II., her husband. The hypothesis is, then,
that Saint-Germain was the son of this ex-Queen of Spain,
and of the financial Count, Andanero, a man, "not born in
the sphere of Counts," and easily transformed by tradi-
tion into a Jewish banker of Bordeaux. The Due de
Choiseul, who disliked the intimacy of Louis XV. and of the
Court with Saint-Germain, said that the Count was "the
son of a Portuguese Jew, who deceives the Court. It is
strange that the King is so often allowed to be almost alone
with this man, though, when he goes out, he is surrounded
by guards, as if he feared assassins everywhere." This
anecdote is from the Memoirs of Gleichen, who had seen
a great deal of the world. He died in 1807.
It seems a fair inference that the Due de Choiseul knew
what the Dutch bankers knew, the story of the Count's
being a child of a princess retired to Bayonne—namely, the
ex-Queen of Spain—and of a Portuguese-Hebrew financier.
De Choiseul was ready to accept the Jewish father, but
thought that, in the matter of the royal mother, Saint-
Germain " deceived the Court."
A queen of Spain might have carried off any quantity
of the diamonds of Brazil. The presents of diamonds from
her almost idiotic lord must have been among the few
comforts of her situation in a Court overridden by etiquette.
The reader of Madame d'Aulnoy's contemporary account
of the Court of Spain knows what a dreadful dungeon it
was. Again, if born at Bayonne about 1706, the Count
67


Andrew Lang
XV. that he did come of that blue blood, and the King would
have every access to authentic information. Horace Wal-
pole's reasons for thinking Saint-Germain "not a gentle-
man" scarcely seem convincing.
The Due de Choiseul did not like the fashionable Saint-
Germain. He thought him a humbug, even when the
doings of the deathless one were perfectly harmless. As
far as is known, his recipe for health consisted in drinking
a horrible mixture called "senna tea "—which was admin-
istered to small boys when I was a small boy—and in not
drinking anything at his meals. Many people still observe
this regimen, in the interest, it is said, of their figures.
Saint-Germain used to come to the house of de Choiseul,
but one day, when Von Gleichen was present, the minister
lost his temper with his wife. He observed that she took
no wine at dinner, and told her that she had learned that
habit of abstinence from Saint-Germain; that he might do
as he pleased, "but you, madame, whose health is precious
to me, I forbid to imitate the regimen of such a dubious
character." Gleichen, who tells the anecdote, says that he was present when de Choiseul thus lost his temper with
his wife. The dislike of de Choiseul had a mournful effect
on the career of Saint-Germain.
T~. discussing the strange story of the Chevalier d'Eon,
one has seen that Louis XV. amused himself by carrying on
a secret scheme of fantastic diplomacy through subordinate
agents, behind the backs and without the knowledge of his
responsible ministers. The Due de Choiseul, as Minister
of Foreign Affairs, was excluded, it seems, from all
knowledge of these double intrigues, and the Marechal de
Belle-Isle, Minister of War, was obviously kept in the dark,
as was Madame de Pompadour. Now it is stated by Von
Gleichen that the Marechal de Belle-Isle, from the War
Office, started a new secret diplomacy behind the back of
de Choiseul, at the Foreign Office. The King and Madame
de Pompadour (who was not initiated into the general
scheme of the King's secret) were both acquainted with
what de Choiseul was not to know—namely, Belle-Isle's plan
69


Andrew Lang
dent could only come to the narrator, Von Gleichen, from
de Choiseul, with whom he professes to have been intimate.
The King and the Marechal de Belle-Isle would not tell
the story of their own discomfiture. It is not very likely
that de Choiseul himself would blab. However, the anec-
dote avers that the King and the Minister for War thought
it best to say nothing, and the demand for Saint-Germain's
extradition was presented at The Hague. But the Dutch
were not fond of giving up political offenders. They let
Saint-Germain have a hint; he slipped over to London, and
a London paper published a kind of veiled interview with
him in June 1760.
His name, we read, when announced after his death, will
astonish the world more than all the marvels of his life.
He has been in England already (1743-17—?) ; he is a great
unknown. Nobody can accuse him of anything dishonest
or dishonorable. When he was here before we were all
mad about music, and so he enchanted us with his violin.
But Italy knows him as an expert in the plastic arts, and
Germany admires in him a master in memical science. In
France, where he was supposed to possess the secret of the
transmutation of metals, the police for two years sought
and failed to find any normal source of his opulence. A
lady of forty-five once swallowed a whole bottle of his
elixir. Nobody recognized her, for she had become a girl
of sixteen without observing the transformation!
Saint-Germain is said to have remained in London but
for a short period. Horace Walpole does not speak of
him again, which is odd, but probably the Count did not
again go into society. Our information, mainly from Von
Gleichen, becomes very misty, a thing of surmises, really
worthless. The Count is credited with a great part in the
palace conspiracies of St. Petersburg; he lived at Berlin,
and, under the name of Tzarogy, at the Court of the Mar-
grave of Anspach. Then he went, they say, to Italy, and
then north to the Landgrave Charles of Hesse, who dabbled
in alchemy. Here he is said to have died about 1780-85,
leaving his papers to the Landgrave; but all is very vague
71


Mystery Stories From Real Life
after he disappeared from Paris in 1760. When next I meet
Saint-Germain he is again at Paris, again mysteriously
rich, again he rather disappears than dies, he calls himself
Major Fraser, and the date is in the last years of Louis
Philippe. My authority may be caviled at; it is that of
the late ingenious Mr. Van Damme, v,ho describes Major
Fraser in a book on the characters of the Second Empire.
He does not seem to have heard of Saint Germain, whom
he does not mention.
Major Fraser, "in spite of his English (sic) name, was
decidedly not English, though he spoke the language." He
was (like Saint-Germain) "one of the best dressed men
of the period. . . . He lived alone, and never alluded
to his parentage. He was always flush of money, though
the sources of his income were a mystery to everyone."
The French police vainly sought to detect the origin of
Saint-Germain's supplies, opening his letters at the post-
office. Major Fraser's knowledge of every civilized country
at every period was marvelous, though he had very few
books. "His memoi y was something prodigious. . . .
Strange to say, he used often to hint that his was no
mere book knowledge. "' Of course, it is perfectly ridicu-
lous,'" he remarked, with a strange smile, "' but every
now and then I feel as if this did not come to me from
reading, but from personal experience. At times I become
almost convinced that I lived with Nero, that I knew
Dante personally, and so forth.'" * At the major's death
not a letter was found giving a clew to his antecedents,
and no money was discovered. Did he die? As in the
case of Saint-Germain, no date is given. The author had
an idea that the major was "an illegitimate son of some
exalted person " of the period of Charles IV. and Ferdinand
VII. of Spain.
The author does not mention Saint-Germain, and may
never have heard of him. If his account of Major Fraser
is not mere romance, in that warrior we have the undying
friend of Louis XV. and Madame de Pompadour. He
*An Englishman in Paris, vol. i., pp. 130-133- London, 1892.
72 m


Andrew Lang
had drunk at Medmenham with Jack Wilkes; as Riccio he
had sung duets with the fairest of unhappy queens; he
had extracted from Blanche de Bechamel the secret of
Goby de Mouchy. As Pinto, he told much of his secret
history to Mr. Thackeray, who says: "I am rather sorry
to lose him after three little bits of Roundabout Papers."
Did Saint-Germain really die in a palace of Prince Charles
of Hesse about 1780-85? Did he, on the other hand, escape
from the French prison where Grosley thought he saw
him, during the French Revolution? Was he known to
Lord Lytton about 1860? Was he then Major Fraser? Is
he the mysterious Muscovite adviser of the Dalai Lama?
Who knows? He is a will-o'-the-wisp of the memoir-
writers of the eighteenth century. Whenever you think you
have a chance of finding him in good authentic State papers,
he gives you the slip; and if his existence were not vouched
for by Horace Walpole, I should incline to deem him as
Betsy Prig thought of Mrs. Harris.
The Man in the Iron Mask
I
THE LEGEND
THE Mystery of the Man in the Iron Mask is, despite a
pleasant saying of Lord Beaconsfield's, one of the most
fascinating in history. By a curious coincidence the wildest
legend on the subject, and the correct explanation of the
problem, were offered to the world in the same year, 1801.
According to this form of the legend, the Man in the Iron
Mask was the genuine Louis XIV., deprived of his rights
in favor of a child of Anne of Austria and of Mazarin.
Immured in the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, in the bay of
Cannes (where you are shown his cell, looking north to the
sunny town), he married, and begot a son. That son was
carried to Corsica, was named de Buona Parte, and was
the ancestor of Napoleon. The Emperor was thus the
legitimate representative of the House of Bourbon.
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Mystery Stories From Real Life
This legend was circulated in 1801, and is referred to
in a proclamation of the Royalists of La Vendee. In the
same year, 1801, Roux Fazaillac, a Citoyen and a revolu-
tionary legislator, published a work in which he asserted
that the Man in the Iron Mask (as known in rumor) was
not one man, but a myth, in which the actual facts con-
cerning at least two men were blended. It is certain that
Roux Fazaillac was right; or that, if he was wrong, the
Man in the Iron Mask was an obscure valet, of French birth,
residing in England, whose real name was Martin.
Before we enter on the topic of this poor menial's tragic
history, it may be as well to trace the progress of the ro-
mantic legend, as it blossomed after the death of the Man,
whose Mask was not of iron, but of black velvet. Later
we shall show how the legend struck root and flowered,
from the moment when the poor valet, Martin (by his
prison pseudonym "Eustache Dauger"), was immured
in the French fortress of Pignerol, in Piedmont (Au-
gust, 1669).
The Man, in connection with the Mask, is first known to
us from a kind of notebook kept by du Junca, Lieutenant of
the Bastille. On September 18, 1698, he records the arrival
of the new Governor of the Bastille, M. de Saint-Mars,
bringing with him, from his last place, the Isles Sainte-
Marguerite, in the bay of Camnes, "an old prisoner
whom he had at Pignerol. He keeps the prisoner always
masked, his name is not spoken . . . and I have put
him alone, in the third chamber of the Bertaudiere tower,
having furnished it some days before with everything, by
order of M. de Saint-Mars. The prisoner is to be served
and cared for by M. de Rosarges," the officer next in com-
mand under Saint-Mars.*
The prisoner's death is entered by du Junca on Novem-
ber 19, 1703. Tr that entry we return later.
The existence of this prisoner was known and excited
* Funck-Brentano, Legendes et Archives de la Bastille, pp. 86, 87.
Paris, 1898, p. 277, a facsimile of this entry.
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Andrew Lang
curiosity. On October 15, 1711, the Princess Palatine
wrote about the case to the Electress Sophia of Hanover,
"A man lived for long years in the Bastille, masked, and
masked he died there. Two musketeers were by his side to
shoot him if ever he unmasked. He ate and slept in his mask.
There must, doubtless, have been some good reason for
this, as otherwise he was very well treated, well lodged,
and had everything given to him that he wanted. He took
the Communion masked; was very devout, and read
perpetually."
On October 22, 1711, the Princess writes that the Mask
was an English nobleman, mixed up in the plot of the Duke
of Berwick against William III.—Fenwick's affair is meant.
He was imprisoned and masked that the Dutch usurper
might never know what had become of him.*
The legend was now afloat in society. The sub-com-
mandant of the Bastille from 1749 to 1787, Chevalier, de-
clared, obviously on the evidence of tradition, that all the
Mask's furniture and clothes were destroyed at his death,
lest they might yield a clew to his identity. Louis XV. is
said to have told Madame de Pompadour that the Mask
was "the minister of an Italian prince." Louis XVI. told
Marie Antoinette (according to Madame de Campan) that
the Mask was a Mantuan intriguer, the same person as
Louis XV. indicated. Perhaps he was, it is one of two
possible alternatives. Voltaire, in the first edition of his
"Siecle de Louis XIV.," merely spoke of a young, hand-
some, masked prisoner, treated with the highest respect by
Louvois, the Minister of Louis XIV. At last, in "Ques-
tions sur 1'Encyclopedie" (second edition), Voltaire averred
that the Mask was the son of Anne of Austria and Mazarin,
an elder brother of Louis XIV. Changes were rung on
this note: the Mask was the actual King, Louis XIV. was
a bastard. Others held that he was James, Duke of Mon-
mouth—or Moliere! In 1770 Heiss identified him with
Mattioli, the Mantuan intriguer, and especially after the
* Op. cit. 98, note I. 75


Mystery Stories From Real Life
appearance of the book by Roux Fazaillac, in 1801, that was
the generally accepted opinion.
It may be true, in part. Mattioli may have been the
prisoner who died in the Bastille in November 1703, but
the legend of the Mask's prison life undeniably arose out
of the adventure of our valet, Martin or Eustache Dauger.
II THE VALET'S HISTORY
AFTER reading the arguments of the advocates of Mat-
tioli, I could not but perceive that, whatever captive died,
masked, at the Bastille in 1703, the valet Dauger was
the real source of most of the legends about the Man in
the Iron Mask. A study of M. Lair's book "Nicholas
Fouquet" (1890) confirmed this opinion. I therefore
pushed the inquiry into a source neglected by the French
historians, namely, the correspondence of the English am-
bassadors, agents, and statesmen for the years 1668, 1669.*
One result is to confirm a wild theory of my own to the
effect that the Man in the Iron Mask (if Dauger were he)
may have been as great a mystery to himself as to historical
inquirers. He may not have known what he was im-
prisoned for doing! More important is the probable con-
clusion that the long and mysterious captivity of Eustache
Dauger, and of another perfectly harmless valet and victim,
was the mere automatic result of "red tape" of the
old French absolute monarchy. These wretches were caught
in the toils of the system, and suffered to no purpose, for
no crime. The two men, at least Dauger, were apparently
mere supernumeraries in the obscure intrigue of a con-
spirator known as Roux de Marsilly.
This truly abominable tragedy of Roux de Marsilly is
"another story," narrated in the following essay. It must
suffice here to say that, in 1669, while Charles II. was
* The papers are in the Record Office; for the contents see the
following essay, The Valets Master,
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Andrew Lang
negotiating the famous, or infamous, secret treaty with
Louis XIV.—the treaty of alliance against Holland, and
in favor of the restoration of Roman Catholicism in Eng-
land—Roux de Marsilly, a French Huguenot, was dealing
with Arlington and others, in favor of a Protestant league
against France.
When he started from England for Switzerland in Feb-
ruary, 1669, Marsilly left in London a valet called by him
"Martin," who had quitted his service and was living with
his own family. This man is the "Eustache Dauger" of
our mystery. The name is his prison pseudonym, as
"Lestang" was that of Mattioli. The French Government
was anxious to lay hands on him, for he had certainly, as
the letters of Marsilly prove, come and gone freely between
that conspirator and his English employers. How much
Dauger knew, what amount of mischief he could effect, was
uncertain. Much or little, it was a matter which, strange
to say, caused the greatest anxiety to Louis XIV. and to
his Ministers for very many years. Probably long before
Dauger died (the date is unknown, but it was more than
twenty-five years after Marsilly's execution), his secret, if
secret he possessed, had ceased to be of importance. But
he was now in the toils of the French red tape, the
system of secrecy which rarely released it's victim. He was
guarded, we shall see with such unheard-of rigor that
popular fancy at once took him for some great, perhaps
royal, personage.
Marsilly was publicly tortured to death in Paris on June
22, 1669. By July 19 his ex-valet, Dauger, had entered on his
mysterious term of captivity. How the French got posses-
sion of him, whether he yielded to cajolery, or was betrayed
by Charles II., is uncertain. The French ambassador at
St. James's, Colbert (brother of the celebrated Minister),
writes thus to M. de Lyonne, in Paris, on July 1, 1669: *
"Monsieur Joly has spoken to the man Martin" (Dauger),
"and has really persuaded him that, by going to France
* Transcripts from Paris MSS., Vol. xxxiii., Record Office.
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Mystery Stories From Real Life
and telling all that he knows against Roux, he will play the
part of a lad of honor and a good subject."
But Martin, after all, was not persuaded!
Martin replied to Joly that he knew nothing at all, and
that, once in France, people would think he was well
acquainted with the traffickings of Roux, "and so he would
be kept in prison to make him divulge what he did not
know." The possible Man in the Iron Mask did not know
his own secret! But, later in the conversation, Martin
foolishly admitted that he knew a great deal; perhaps he
did this out of mere fatal vanity. Cross to France, how-
ever, he would not, even when offered a safe-conduct and
promise of reward. Colbert therefore proposes to ask
Charles to surrender the valet, and probably Charles
descended to the meanness. By July 19, at all events,
Louvois, the War Minister of Louis XIV., was bidding
Saint-Mars, at Pignerol in Piedmont, expect from Dun-
kirk a prisoner of the very highest importance—a valet!
This valet, now called "Eustache Dauger," can only have
been Marsilly's valet, Martin, who, by one means or an-
other, had been brought from England to Dunkirk. It is
hardly conceivable, at least, that when a valet, in England,
is "wanted" by the French police on July 1, for political
reasons, and when by July 19 they have caught a valet of
extreme political importance, the two valets should be two
different men. Martin must be Dauger.
Here, then, by July 19, 1669, we find our unhappy serv-
ing man in the toils. Why was he to be handled with such
mysterious rigor? It is true that State prisoners of very
little account were kept with great secrecy. But it cannot
well be argued that they were all treated with the extraor-
dinary precautions which, in the case of Dauger, were
not relaxed for twenty-five or thirty years. The King
says, according to Louvois, that the safe keeping of Dauger
is "of the last importance to his service." He must have
intercourse with nobody. His windows must be where
nobody can pass; several bolted doors must cut him off
from the sound of human voices. Saint-Mars himself, the
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Andrew Lang -
commandant, must feed the valet daily. "You must never,
under any pretense, listen to what he may wish to tell you.
You must threaten him with death if he speaks one word
except about his actual needs. He is only a valet, and
does not need much furniture." *
Saint-Mars replied that, in presence of M. de Vauroy,
the chief officer of Dunkirk (who carried Dauger thence
to Pignerol), he had threatened to run Dauger through
the body if he ever dared to speak, even to him, Saint-Mars.
He has mentioned this prisoner, he says, to no mortal.
People believe that Dauger is a Marshal of France, so strange
and unusual are the precautions taken for his security.
A Marshal of France! The legend has begun. At this
time (1669) Saint-Mars had in charge Fouquet, the great
fallen Minister, the richest and most dangerous subject of
Louis XIV. By-and-by he also held Lauzun, the adven-
turous wooer of la Grande Mademoiselle. But it was not
they, it was the valet, Dauger, who caused " sensation."
On February 20, 1672, Saint-Mars, for the sake of
economy, wished to use Dauger as valet to Lauzun. This
proves that Saint-Mars did not, after all, see the necessity
of secluding Dauger or thought the King's fears ground-
less. In the opinion of Saint-Mars, Dauger did not want
to be released, "would never ask to be set free." Then
why was he so anxiously guarded? Louvois refused to let
Dauger be put with Lauzun as valet. In 1675, however,
he allowed Dauger to act as valet to Fouquet, but with
Lauzun, said Louvois, Dauger must have no intercourse.
Fouquet had then another prisoner valet, La Riviere. This
man had apparently been accused of no crime. He was of
a melancholy character, and a dropsical habit of body:
Fouquet had amused himself by doctoring him and teaching
him to read.
In the month of December, 1678, Saint-Mars, the com-
mandant of the prison, brought to Fouquet a sealed letter
from Louvois, the seal unbroken. His own reply was also
to be sealed, and not to be seen by Saint-Mars. Louvois
* The letters are printed by Roux Fazaillac, Jung, Lair, and others,
79


Mystery Stories From Real Life
wrote that the King wished to know one thing, before
giving Fouquet ampler liberty. Had his valet, Eustache
Dauger, told his other valet, La Riviere, what he had done
before coming to Pignerol? (de ce a quoi il a ete em-
ploye aupravant que d'etre a Pignerol). "His Majesty
bids me ask you [Fouquet] this question, and expects that
you will answer without considering anything but the truth,
that he may know what measures to take," these depend-
ing on whether Dauger has, or has not, told La Riviere
the story of his past life.* Moreover, Lauzun was never,
said Louvois, to be allowed to enter Fouquet's room when
Dauger was present. The humorous point is that, thanks
to a hole dug in the wall between his room and Fouquet's,
Lauzun saw Dauger whenever he pleased.
From the letter of Louvois to Fouquet, about Dauger
(December 23, 1678), it is plain that Louis XIV. had no
more pressing anxiety, nine years after Danger's arrest,
than to conceal what it was that Dauger had done. It is
apparent that Saint-Mars himself either was unacquainted
with this secret, or was supposed by Louvois and the King
to be unaware of it. He had been ordered never to allow
Dauger to tell him; he was not allowed to see the letters
on the subject between Lauzun and Fouquet. We still do
not know, and never shall know, whether Dauger himself
knew his own secret, or whether (as he had anticipated) he
was locked up for not divulging what he did not know.
The answer of Fouquet to Louvois must have satisfied
Louis that Dauger had not imparted his secret to the other
valet, La Riviere, for Fouquet was now allowed a great
deal of liberty. In 1679, he might see his family, the officers
of the garrison, and Lauzun—it being provided that Lauzun
and Dauger should never meet. In March, 1680, Fouquet
died, and henceforth the two valets were most rigorously
guarded; Dauger, because he was supposed to know some-
thing; La Riviere, because Dauger might have imparted the
real or fancied secret to him. We shall return to these
poor serving men, but here it is necessary to state that,
* Lair, Nicholas Foucquet, ii. pp. 463, 464.
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Andrew Lang
ten months before the death of their master, Fouquet, an
important new captive had been brought to the prison of
Pignerol.
This captive was the other candidate for the honors of
the Mask, Count Mattioli, the secretary of the Duke of
Mantua. He was kidnaped on Italian soil on May 2,
1679, and hurried to the mountain fortress of Pignerol,
then on French ground. His offense was the betraying
of the secret negotiations for the cession of the town and
fortress of Casal, by the Duke of Mantua, to Louis XIV.
The disappearance of Mattioli was, of course, known to
the world. The cause of his enlevement, and the place of
his captivity, Pignerol, were matters of newspaper com-
ment at least as early as 1687. Still earlier, in 1682, the
story of Mattioli's arrest and seclusion in Pignerol had
been published in a work named " La Prudenza Trionfante
di Casale." * There was thus no mystery, at the time,
about Mattioli; his crime and punishment were perfectly
well known to students of politics. He has been regarded
as the mysterious Man in the Iron Mask, but, for years after
his arrest, he was the least mysterious of State prisoners.
Here, then, is Mattioli in Pignerol in May, 1679. While
Fouquet then enjoyed relative freedom, while Lauzun
schemed escapes or made insulting love to Mademoiselle
Fouquet, Mattioli lived on the bread and water of affliction.
He was threatened with torture to make him deliver up
some papers compromising Louis XIV. It was expressly
commanded that he should have nothing beyond the barest
necessaries of life. He was to be kept dans la dure prison.
In brief, he was used no better than the meanest of prison-
ers. The awful life of isolation, without employment,
without books, without writing materials, without sight or
sound of man save when Saint-Mars or his lieutenant
brought food for the day, drove captives mad.
In January, 1680, two prisoners, a monkf and one
* Brentano, op. cit., p. 117.
t A monk, who may have been this monk, appears in the following
essay, p. 34, infra.
8l


Mystery Stories From Real Life
Dubreuil, had become insane. By February 14, 1680,
Mattioli was daily conversing with God and his angels. "I
believe his brain is turned," says Saint-Mars. In March,
1680, as we saw, Fouquet died. The prisoners, not count-
ing Lauzun (released soon after), were now five: (1)
Mattioli (mad); (2) Dubreuil (mad); (3) The monk
(mad); (4) Dauger, and (5) La Riviere. These two,
being employed as valets, kept their wits. On the death
of Fouquet, Louvois wrote to Saint-Mars about the two
valets. Lauzun must be made to believe that they had been
set at liberty, but, in fact, they must be most carefully
guarded in a single chamber. They were shut up in one
of the dungeons of the "Tour d'en bas." Dauger had re-
cently done something as to which Louvois writes: "Let
me know how Dauger can possibly have done what you
tell me, and how he got the necessary drugs, as I cannot
suppose that you supplied him with them" (July 10, 1680).*
Here, then, by July, 1680, are the two valets locked in one
dungeon of the "Tour d'en bas." By September Saint-
Mars had placed Mattioli, with the mad monk, in another
chamber of the same tower. He writes: "Mattioli is
almost as mad as the monk," who arose from bed and
preached naked. Mattioli behaved so rudely and violently
that the lieutenant of Saint-Mars had to show him a whip,
and threaten him with a flogging. This had its effect.
Mattioli, to make his peace, offered a valuable ring to Blain-
villiers. The ring was kept to be restored to him, if ever
Louis let him go free—a contingency mentioned more than
once in the correspondence.
Apparently Mattioli now sobered down, and probably
was given a separate chamber and a valet; he certainly had
a valet at Pignerol later. By May 1681, Dauger and La
Riviere still occupied their common chamber in the "Tour
d'en bas." They were regarded by Louvois as the most
important of the five prisoners then at Pignerol. They, not
Mattioli, were the captives about whose safe and secret
keeping Louis and Louvois were most anxious. This ap-
•Lair, Nicholas Foucquet, ii., pp. 476, 477.
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Andrew Lang
pears from a letter of Louvois to Saint-Mars, of May 12,
1681. The jailer, Saint-Mars, is to be promoted from
Pignerol to Exiles. "Thither," says Louvois, "the king
desires to transport such of your prisoners as he thinks too
important to have in other hands than yours." These
prisoners are "the two in the low chamber of the tower,"
the two valets, Dauger and La Riviere.
From a letter of Saint-Mars (June, 1681) we know that
Mattioli was not one of these. He says: "I shall keep
at Exiles two birds (merles) whom I have here: they are
only known as the gentry of the low room in the tower;
Mattioli may stay on here at Pignerol with the other prison-
ers" (Dubreuil and the mad monk). It is at this point
that Le Citoyen Roux (Fazaillac), writing in the Year IX.
of the Republic (1801), loses touch with the secret.* Roux
finds, in the State Papers, the arrival of Eustache Dauger
at Pignerol in 1669, but does not know who he is, or what
is his quality. He sees that the Mask must be either Mat-
tioli, Dauger, the monk, one Dubreuil, or one Calazio. But,
overlooking or not having access to the letter of Saint-
Mars of June, 1681, Roux holds that the prisoners taken
to Les Exiles were the monk and Mattioli. One of
these must be the Mask, and Roux votes for Mattioli.
He is wrong. Mattioli beyond all doubt remained at
Pignerol.
Mountains of argument have been built on these words,
leux merles, "two jail-birds." One of the two, we shall
see, became the source of the legend of the Man in the
Iron Mask. "How can a wretched jail-bird (merle) have
been the Mask?" asks M. Topin. "The rogue's whole
furniture and table-linen were sold for il. igs. He only
got a new suit of clothes every three years." All very
true; but this jail-bird and his mate, by the direct state-
ment of Louvois, are "the prisoners too important to be
intrusted to other hands than yours"—the hands of Saint-
Mars—while Mattioli is so unimportant that he may be
left at Pignerol under Villebois.
* Recherches Historiques sur I'Homme an Masque de Fer, Paris.
An. IX.
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Mystery Stories From Real Life
The truth is, that the offense and the punishment of
Mattioli were well known to European diplomatists and
readers of books. Casal, moreover, at this time was openly
ceded to Louis XIV., and Mattioli could not have fold the
world more than it already knew. But, for some in-
scrutable reason, the secret which Dauger knew, or was
suspected of knowing, became more and more a source of
anxiety to Louvois and Louis. What can he have known?
The charges against his master, Roux de Marsilly, had
been publicly proclaimed. Twelve years had passed since
the dealings of Arlington with Marsilly. Yet, Louvois be-
came more and more nervous.
In accordance with commands of his, on March 2, 1682,
the two valets, who had hitherto occupied one chamber at
Exiles as at Pignerol, were cut off from all communica-
tion with each other. Says Saint-Mars, "Since receiving
your letter I have warded the pair as strictly and exactly
as I did M. Fouquet and M. Lauzun, who cannot brag
that he sent or received any intelligence. Night and day
two sentinels watch their tower; and my own windows
command a view of the sentinels. Nobody speaks to my
captives but myself, my lieutenant, their confessor, and
the doctor, who lives eighteen miles away, and only sees
them when I am present." Years went by; in January,
1687, one of the two captives died; we really do not know
which with absolute certainty. However, the intensified
secrecy with which the survivor was now guarded seems
more appropriate to Dauger; and M. Funck-Brentano and
M. Lair have no doubt that it was La Riviere who expired.
He was dropsical, that appears in the official correspondence,
and the dead prisoner died of dropsy.
As for the strange secrecy about Dauger, here is an
example. Saint-Mars, in January, 1687, was appointed to
the fortress of the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, that sun them-
selves in the bay of Cannes. On January 20 he asks leave
to go to see his little kingdom. He must leave Dauger, but
has forbidden even his lieutenant to speak to that prisoner.
This was an increase of precaution since 1682. He wishes
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Andrew Lang
to take the captive to the Isles, but how? A sedan chair
covered over with oilcloth seems best. A litter might break
down, litters often did, and some one might then see the
passenger.
Now M. Funck-Brentano says, to minimize the impor-
tance of Dauger, "he was shut up like so much luggage in
a chair hermetically closed with oilcloth, carried by eight
Piedmontese relays of four."
Luggage is not usually carried in hermetically sealed
sedan chairs, but Saint-Mars has explained why, by surplus
of precaution, he did not use a litter. The litter might
break down and Dauger might be seen. A new prison was
built specially, at the cost of 5,000 lires, for Dauger at
Sainte-Marguerite, with large sunny rooms. On May 3,
1687, Saint-Mars had entered on his island realm, Dauger
being nearly killed by twelve days' journey in a closed chair.
He again excited the utmost curiosity. On January 8,
1688, Saint-Mars writes that his prisoner is believed by the
world to be either a son of Oliver Cromwell, or the Due
de Beaufort,* who was never seen again, dead or alive,
after a night battle in Crete, on June 25, 1669, just before
Dauger was arrested. Saint-Mars sent in a note of the
total of Dauger's expenses for the year 1687. He actually
did not dare to send the items, he says, lest they, if the bill
fell into the wrong hands, might reveal too much.
Meanwhile, an Italian news-letter, copied into a Leyden
paper, of August 1687, declared that Mattioli had just
been brought from Pignerol to Sainte-Marguerite. There
was no mystery about Mattioli, the story of his capture was
published in 1682, but the press, on one point, was in
error; Mattioli was still at Pignerol. The known advent
of the late Commandant of Pignerol, Saint-Mars, with a
single concealed prisoner, at the island, naturally suggested
the erroneous idea that the prisoner was Mattioli. The
prisoner was really Dauger, the survivor of the two valets.
From 1688 to 1691 no letter about Dauger has been pub-
* Due de Beaufort whom Athos releases from prison in
Dumas's Vingt Ans Apris.
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Mystery Stories From Real Life
lished. Apparently he was then the only prisoner on the
island, except one Chezut, who was there before Dauger
arrived, and gave up his chamber to Dauger while the
new cells were being built. Between 1689 and 1693 six
Protestant preachers were brought to the island, while Lou-
vois, the Minister, died in 1691, and was succeeded by
Barbezieux. On August 13, 1691, Barbezieux wrote to
ask Saint-Mars about "the prisoner whom he had guarded
for twenty years." The only such prisoner was Dauger,
who entered Pignerol in August, 1669. Mattioli had been
a prisoner only for twelve years, and lay in Pignerol, not in
Sainte-Marguerite, where Saint-Mars now was. Saint-
Mars replied: "I can assure you that nobody has seen
him but myself."
By the beginning of March, 1694, Pignerol had been bom-
barded by the enemies of France; presently Louis XIV. had
to cede it to Savoy. The prisoners there must be removed.
Mattioli, in Pignerol, at the end of 1693, had been in
trouble. He and his valet had tried to smuggle out letters
written on the linings of their pockets. These were seized
and burned. On March 20, 1694, Barbezieux wrote to
Laprade, now commanding at Pignerol, that he must take
his three prisoners, one by one, with all secrecy, to Sainte-
Marguerite. Laprade alone must give them their food on
the journey. The military officer of the escort was warned
to ask no questions. Already (February 26, 1694) Barbe-
zieux had informed Saint-Mars that these prisoners were
coming. "They are of more consequence, one of them at
least, than the prisoners on the island, and must be put in
the safest places." The "one" is doubtless Mattioli. In
1681 Louvois had thought Dauger and La Riviere more
important than Mattioli, who, in March, 1694, came from
Pignerol to Sainte-Marguerite. Now in April, 1694, a
prisoner died at the island, a prisoner who, like Mattioli,
had a valet. We hear of no other prisoner on the island,
except Mattioli who had a valet. A letter of Saint-
Mars (January 6, 1696) proves that no prisoner then had
a valet, for each prisoner collected his own dirty plates
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Andrew Lang
and dishes, piled them up, and handed them to the
lieutenant.
M. Funck-Brentano argues that in this very letter (Jan-
uary 6, 1696) Saint-Mars speaks of " les valets de messieurs
les prisonniers." But in that part of the letter Saint-Mars
is not speaking of the actual state of things at Sainte-
Marguerite, but is giving reminiscences of Fouquet and
Lauzun, who, of course, at Pignerol, had valets, and had
money, as he shows. Dauger had no money. M. Funck-
Brentano next argues that early in 1694 one of the preacher
prisoners, Melzac, died, and cites M. Jung (" La Verite
sur le Masque de Fer," p. 91). This is odd, as M. Jung
says that Melzac, or Malzac, "died in the end of 1692, or
early in 1693." Why, then, does M. Funck-Brentano cite
M. Jung for the death of the preacher early in 1694, when
M. Jung (conjecturally) dates his decease at least a year
earlier?* It is not a mere conjecture as, on March 3, 1693,
Barbezieux begs Saint-Mars to mention his Protestant
prisoners under nicknames. There are three, and Malzac is
no longer one of them. Malzac, in 1692, suffered from a
horrible disease, discreditable to one of the godly, and in
October, 1692, had been allowed medical expenses. Whether
they included a valet or not, Malzac seems to have been
non-existent by March, 1693. Had he possessed a valet, and
had he died in 1694, why should his valet have been " shut
up in the vaulted prison "? This was the fate of the valet
of the prisoner who died in April, 1694, and was probably
Mattioli.
Mattioli, certainly, had a valet in December, 1693, at
Pignerol. He went to Sainte-Marguerite in March, 1694.
In April, 1694, a prisoner with a valet died at Sainte* M. Funck-Brentano's statement is in Revue Historique, Ivi. p.
298. "Malzac died at the beginning of 1694," citing Jung, p. 91.
Now on p. 91 M. Jung writes, " At the beginning of 1694 Saint-Mars
had six prisoners, of whom one Melzac, dies." But M. Jung (pp.
269, 270) later writes, "It is probable that Melzac died at the end
of 1692, or early in 1693," and he gives his reasons, which are con-
vincing. M. Funck-Brentano must have overlooked M. Jung's
change of opinion between his p. 91 and his pp. 269, 270.
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Mystery Stories From Real Life
Marguerite. In January, 1696, no prisoner at Sainte-
Marguerite had a valet. Therefore, there is a strong pre-
sumption that the " prisonnier au valet" who died in April,
1694, was Mattioli.
After December, 1693, when he was still at Pignerol, the
name of Mattioli, freely used before, never occurs in the
correspondence. But we still often hear of "l'ancien
prisonnier," " the old prisoner." He was, on the face of it,
Dauger, by far the oldest prisoner. In 1688, Saint-Mars,
having only one prisoner (Dauger), calls him merely "my
prisoner." In 1691, when Saint-Mars had several prison-
ers, Barbezieux styles Dauger "your prisoner of twenty
years' standing." When, in 1696-1698, Saint-Mars men-
tions " mon ancien prisonnier," " my prisoner of long stand-
ing," he obviously means Dauger, not Mattioli—above all,
if Mattioli died in 1694. M. Funck-Brentano argues that
"mon ancien prisonnier" can only mean "my erstwhile
prisoner, he who was lost and is restored to me "—that is,
Mattioli. This is not the view of M. Jung, or M. Lair, or
M. Loiseleur.
Friends of Mattioli's claims rest much on this letter of
Barbezieux to Saint-Mars (November 17, 1697): "You
have only to watch over the security of all your prisoners,
without ever explaining to anyone what it is that your
prisoner of long standing did." That secret, it is argued,
must apply to Mattioli. But all the world knew what Mat-
tioli had done! Nobody knew, and nobody knows, what
Eustache Dauger had done. It was one of the arcana
imperii. It is the secret enforced ever since Dauger's arrest
in 1669. Saint-Mars (1669) was not to ask. Louis XIV.
could only lighten the captivity of Fouquet (1678) if his
valet, La Riviere, did not know what Dauger had done.
La Riviere (apparently a harmless man) lived and died in
confinement, the sole reason being that he might perhaps
know what Dauger had done. Consequently there is the
strongest presumption that the "ancien prisonnier" of 1697
is Dauger, and that "what he had done" (which Saint-
Mars must tell to no one) was what Dauger did, not what
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Andrew Lang
Mattioli did. All Europe knew what Mattioli had done;
his whole story had been published to the world in 1682
and 1687.
On July 19, 1698, Barbezieux bade Saint-Mars come to
assume the command of the Bastille. He is to bring his
"old prisoner," whom not a soul is to see. Saint-Mars
therefore brought his man masked, exactly as another
prisoner was carried masked from Provence to the Bastille
in 1695. M. Funck-Brentano argues that Saint-Mars was
now quite fond of his old Mattioli, so noble, so learned.
At last, on September 18, 1698, Saint-Mars lodged his
"old prisoner" in the Bastille, "an old prisoner whom he
had at Pignerol," says the journal of du Junca, Lieutenant
of the Bastille. His food, we saw, was brought him by
Rosarges alone, the " Major," a gentleman who had always
been with Saint-Mars. Argues M. Funck-Brentano, all this
proves that the captive was a gentleman, not a valet. Why?
First, because the Bastille, under Louis XIV., was "une
prison de distinction." Yet M. Funck-Brentano tells us
that in Mazarin's time "valets mixed up with royal plots"
were kept in the Bastille. Again, in 1701, in this "noble
prison," the Mask was turned out of his room to make place
for a female fortune-teller, and was obliged to chum with
a profligate valet of nineteen, and a " beggarly" bad patriot,
who "blamed the conduct of France, and approved that of
other nations, especially the Dutch." M. Funck-Brentano
himself publishes these facts (1898), in part published
earlier (1890) by M. Lair.* Not much noblesse here!
Next, if Rosarges, a gentleman, served the Mask, Saint-
Mars alone (1669) carried his food to the valet, Dauger.
So the service of Rosarges does not ennoble the Mask and
differentiate him from Dauger, who was even more nobly
served, by Saint-Mars.
On November 19, 1703, the Mask died suddenly (still in
his velvet mask), and was buried on the 20th. The parish
register of the church names him "Marchialy" or "Mar-
* Legendes de la Bastille,, pp. 86-89. Citing du Junca's Journal,
April 30, 1701.
89


Mystery Stories From Real Life
chioly," one may read it either way; du Junca, Lieutenant
of the Bastille, in his contemporary journal, calls him " M.
de Marchiel." Now, Saint-Mars often spells Mattioli,
"Marthioly."
This is the one strength of the argument for Mattioli's
claims to the Mask. M. Lair replies, "Saint-Mars had a
mania for burying prisoners under fancy names," and gives
examples. One is only a gardener, Frangois Eliard (1701),
concerning whom it is expressly said that, as he is a pris-
oner, his real name is not to be given, so he is registered
as Pierre Maret (others read Navet, " Peter Turnip "). If
Saint-Mars, looking about for a false name for Dauger's
burial register, hit on Marsilly (the name of Dauger's old
master), that might be miswritten Marchialy. However it
be, the age of the Mask is certainly falsified; the register
gives "about forty-five years old." Mattioli would have
been sixty-three; Dauger cannot have been under fifty-three.
There the case stands. If Mattioli died in April, 1694, he
cannot be the Man in the Iron Mask. Of Dauger's death
we find no record, unless he was the Man in the Iron Mask,
and died, in 1703, in the Bastille. He was certainly, in 1669
and 1688, at Pignerol and at Sainte-Marguerite, the center
of the mystery about some great prisoner, a Marshal of
France, the Due de Beaufort, or a son of Oliver Cromwell.
Mattioli was not mystery, no secret. Dauger is so myste-
rious that probably the secret of his mystery was unknown
to himself. By 1701, when obscure wretches were shut
up with the Mask, the secret, whatever its nature, had
ceased to be of moment. The captive was now the mere
victim of cruel routine. But twenty years earlier, Saint-
Mars had said that Dauger "takes things easily, resigned
to the will of God and the King."
To sum up, on July 1, 1669, the valet of the Huguenot in-
triguer, Roux de Marsilly, the valet resident in England,
known to his master as "Martin," was "wanted " by the
French secret police. By July 19, a valet, of the highest
political importance, had been brought to Dunkirk, from
England, no doubt. My hypothesis assumes that this valet,
90


Andrew Lang
though now styled "Eustache Dauger," was the " Martin"
of Roux de Marsilly. He was kept with so much mystery
at Pigernol that already the legend began its course; the
captive valet was said to be a Marshal of France! We
then follow Dauger from Pignerol to Les Exiles, till Janu-
ary, 1687, when one valet out of a pair, Dauger being one
of them, dies. We presume that Dauger is the survivor,
because the great mystery still is "what he has done,"
whereas the other valet had done nothing, but may have
known Dauger's secret. Again the other valet had long been
dropsical, and the valet who died in 1687 died of dropsy.
In 1688, Dauger, at Sainte-Marguerite, is again the
source and center of myths; he is taken for a son of Oliver
Cromwell, or for the Due de Beufort. In June 1692, one
one of the Huguenot preachers at Saint-Marguerite writes
on his shirt and pewter plate and throws them out of the
window.* Legend attributes these acts to the Man in the
Iron Mask, and transmutes a pewter into a silver plate.
Now, in 1689-1693, Mattioli was at Pignerol, but Dauger
was at Sainte-Marguerite, and the Huguenot's act is at-
tributed to him. Thus Dauger, not Mattioli, is the center
round which the myths crystallize: the legends concern him,
not Mattioli, whose case is well known, and gives rise to no
legend. Finally, we have shown that Mattioli probably died
at Sainte-Marguerite in April, 1694. If so, then nobody but
Dauger can be the "old prisoner" whom Saint-Mars
brought, masked, to the Bastille, in September, 1698, and
who died there in November, 1703. However suppose that
Mattioli did not die in 1694, but was the masked man who
died in the Bastille in 1703, then the legend of Dauger came
to be attributed to Mattioli: these two men's fortunes are
combined in the one myth.
The central problem remains unsolved.
What had the valet, Eustache Dauger, done? f
* Saint-Mars au Ministre, June 4, 1692.
t One marvels that nobody has recognized, in the mask, James
Stuart (James de la Cloche), eldest of the children of Charles II.
He came to England in 1668, was sent to Rome, and "disappears
from history." See infra, "The Mystery of James de la Cloche."
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Mystery Stories From Real Life
III
THE VALET'S MASTER
THE secret of the Man in the Iron Mask, or at least of
one of the two persons who have claims to be the Mask,
was "What had Eustache Danger done?" To guard
this secret the most extraordinary precautions were taken,
as we have shown in the foregoing essay. And yet, if
secret there was, it might have got wind in the simplest
fashion. In the "Vicomte de Bragelonne," Dumas de-
scribes the tryst of the Secret-hunters with the dying Chief
of the Jesuits at the inn in Fontainebleau. They come from
many quarters, there is a Baron of Germany and a laird
from Scotland, but Aramis takes the prize. He knows the
secret of the Mask, the most valuable of all to the intriguers
of the Company of Jesus.
Now, despite all the precautions of Louvois and Saint-
Mars, despite sentinels for ever posted under Danger's win-
dows, despite arrangements which made it impossible for
him to signal to people on the hillside at Les Exiles, despite
the suppression even of the items in the accounts of his ex-
penses, his secret, if he knew it, could have been discovered,
as we have remarked, by the very man most apt to make
mischievous use of it—by Lauzun. That brilliant and reck-
less adventurer could see Dauger, in prison at Pignerol,
when he pleased, for he had secretly excavated a way into
the rooms of his fellow prisoner, Fouquet, on whom Dauger
attended as valet. Lauzun was released soon after Fouquet's
death. It is unlikely that he bought his liberty by the
knowledge of the secret and there is nothing to suggest that
he used it (if he possessed it) in any other way.
The natural clew to the supposed secret of Dauger is
a study of the career of his master, Roux de Marsilly. As
official histories say next to nothing about him, we may set
forth what can be gleaned from the State Papers in our
Record Office. The earliest is a letter of Roux de Mar92


Andrew Lang
silly to Mr. Joseph Williamson, secretary of Lord Arling-
ton (December, 1668). Marsilly sends Martin (on our
theory Eustache Dauger) to bring back from Williamson
two letters from his own correspondent in Paris. He also
requests Williamson to procure for him from Arlington a
letter of protection, as he is threatened with arrest for some
debt in which he is not really concerned. Martin will ex-
plain. The next paper is indorsed "Received December
28, 1668, Mons. de Marsilly." As it is dated December 27,
Marsilly must have been in England. The contents of this
piece deserve attention, because they show the terms on
which Marsilly and Arlington were, or, at least, how Mar-
silly conceived them.
(1) Marsilly reports, on the authority of his friends at
Stockholm, that the King of Sweden intends, first to inter-
cede with Louis XIV. in favor of the French Huguenots,
and next, if diplomacy fails, to join in arms with the other
Protestant Powers of Europe.
(2) His correspondent in Holland learns that if the
King of England invites the States to any "holy resolu-
tion," they will heartily lend forces. No leader so good as
the English King—Charles II.! Marsilly had shown Arling-
ton's letter to a Dutch friend, who bade him approach the
Dutch ambassador in England. He has dined with that
diplomatist. Arlington had, then, gone so far as to write
an encouraging letter. The Dutch ambassador had just told
Marsilly that he had received the same news, namely, that,
Holland would aid the Huguenots, persecuted by Louis
XIV.
(3) Letters from Provence, Languedoc, and Dauphine
say that the situation there is unaltered.
(4) The Canton of Zurich write that they will keep their
promises and that Berne is anxious to please the King of
Great Britain, and that it is ready to raise, with Zurich,
15,000 men. They are not afraid of France.
(5) Zurich fears that, if Charles is not represented at
the next Diet, Bale and Saint Gall will be intimidated, and
not dare to join the Triple Alliance of Spain, Holland, and
93


Mystery Stories From Real Life
England. The best plan will be for Marsilly to represent
England at the Diet of January 25, 1669, accompanied by
the Swiss General Balthazar. This will encourage friends
"to give His Britannic Majesty the satisfaction which he
desires, and will produce a close union between Holland,
Sweden, the Cantons, and other Protestant States."
This reads as if Charles had already expressed some " de-
sire."
(6) Geneva grumbles at a reply of Charles "through
a bishop who is their enemy," the Bishop of London, "a
persecutor of our religion," that is, of Presbyterianism.
However, nothing will dismay the Genevans, "si S. M. B.
ne change."
Then comes a blank in the paper. There follows a copy
of a letter as if from Charles II. himself, to "the Right
High and Noble Seigneurs of Zurich." He has heard of
their wishes from Roux de Marsilly, whom he commissions
to wait upon them. "I would not have written by my
Bishop of London had I been better informed, but would
myself have replied to your obliging letter, and would have
assured you, as I do now, that I desire. . . ."
It appears as if this were a draft of a kind of letter
which Marsilly wanted Charles to write to Zurich, and there
is a similar draft of a letter for Arlington to follow, if he
and Charles wish to send Marsilly to the Swiss Diet. The
Dutch ambassador, with whom Marsilly dined on December
26, the Constable of Castille, and other grandees, are all
of opinion that he should visit the Protestant Swiss, as from
the King of England. The scheme is for an alliance of
England, Holland, Spain, and the Protestant Cantons,
against France and Savoy.
Another letter of Marsilly to Arlington, only dated Jeudi,
avers that he can never repay Arlington for his extreme
kindness and liberality. "No man in England is more de-
voted to you than I am, and shall be all my life."*
On the very day when Marsilly drafted for Charles his
own commission to treat with Zurich for a Protestant al-
* State Papers, France, vol. 125, 106.
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Andrew Lang
liance against France, Charles himself wrote to his sister,
Madame (Henriette d'Orleans). He spoke of his secret
treaty with France. "You know how much secrecy is nec-
essary for the carrying on of the business, and I assure you
that nobody does, nor shall, know anything of it here, but
myself and that one person more, till it be fit to be public." *
(Is "that one person " de la Cloche?)
Thus Marsilly thought Charles almost engaged for the
Protestant League, while Charles was secretly allying him-
self with France against Holland. Arlington was probably
no less deceived by Charles than Marsilly was.
The Bishop of London's share in the dealing with Zurich
is obscure.
It appears certain that Arlington was not consciously
deceiving Marsilly. Madame wrote, on February 12, as to
Arlington, " The man's attachment to the Dutch and his in-
clination towards Spain are too well known." f Not till
April 25, 1669, does Charles tell his sister that Arlington
has an inkling of his secret dealings with France; how he
knows, Charles cannot tell.t It is impossible for us to as-
certain how far Charles himself deluded Marsilly, who went
to the Continent early in spring, 1669. Before May 15-25,
1669, in fact on April 14, Marsilly had been kidnaped by
agents of Louis XIV., and his doom was dight. Here is
the account of the matter, written to by Perwich in
Paris:
"W. Perwich to
"Paris, May 25, '69.
"Honored Sir,
"The Cantons of Switzerland are much troubled at the
French King's having sent fifteen horsemen into Switzer-
land from whence the Sr de Manille, the King's resident
there, had given information of the Sr Roux de Marsilly's
being there negotiating the bringing the Cantons into the
Triple League by discourses much to the disadvantage of
France, giving them very ill impressions of the French King's
* Madame, by Julia Cartwright, p. 275.
tlbid., p. 281. tlbid., p. 285.
95


i Mystery Stories From Real Life
Government, who was betrayed by a monk that kept him
company and intercepted by the said horsemen brought into
France and is expected at the Bastille. I believe you know
the man. ... I remember him in England."
Can this monk be the monk who went mad in prison at
Pignerol, sharing the cell of Mattioli? Did he, too, suffer
for his connection with the secret? We do not know, but
the position of Charles was awkward. Marsilly, dealing
with the Swiss, had come straight from England, where he
was lie with Charles's minister, Arlington, and with the
Dutch and Spanish ambassadors. The King refers to the
matter in a letter to his sister of May 24, 1669 (misdated
by Miss Cartwright, May 24, 1668.)*
"You have, I hope, received full satisfaction by the last
post in the matter of Marsillac [Marsilly], for my Ld.
Arlington has sent to Mr. Montague [English ambassador
at Paris] his history all the time he was here, by which
you will see how little credit he had here, and that particu-
larly my Lord Arlington was not in his good graces, because
he did not receive that satisfaction, in his negotiation, he ex-
pected, and that was only in relation to the Swissers, and
so I think I have said enough of this matter."
Charles took it easily!
On May Montague acknowledged Arlington's letter
to which Charles refers; he has been approached, as to
Marsilly, by the Spanish resident, "but I could not tell
how to do anything in the business, never having heard of
the man, or that he was employed by my Master [Charles]
in any business. I have sent you also a copy of a letter
which an Englishman writ to me that I do not know, in
behalf of Roux de Marsilly, but that does not come by the
post," being too secret, f
France had been well-informed about Marsilly while he
* Madame, by Julia Cartwright, p. 264.
^ State Papers, France, vol. 126.
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Andrew Lang
was in England. He then had a secretary, two lackeys,
and a valet de chambre, and was frequently in conference
with Arlington and the Spanish ambassador to the English
Court. Colbert, the French ambassador in London, had
written all this to the French Government, on April 25, be-
fore he heard of Marsilly's arrest.*
The belief that Marsilly was an agent of Charles appears
to have been general, and, if accepted by Louis XIV., would
interfere with Charles's private negotiations for the Secret
Treaty with France. On May 18 Prince d'Aremberg had
written on the subject to the Spanish ambassador in Paris.
Marsilly, he says, was arrested in Switzerland, on his way
to Berne, with a monk who was also seized, and, a
curious fact, Marsilly's valet was killed in the struggle.
This valet, of course, was not Dauger, whom Mar-
silly had left in England. Marsilly "doit avoir de-
mande la protection du Roy de la Grande Bretagne en faveur
des Religionaires (Huguenots) de France, et passer en
Suisse avec quelque commission de sa part." D'Aremberg
begs the Spanish ambassador to communicate all this to
Montague, the English ambassador at Paris, but Montague
probably, like Perwich, knew nothing of the business any
more than he knew of Charles's secret dealings with Louis
through Madame.f
To d'Aremberg's letter is pinned an unsigned English
note, obviously intended for Arlington's reading.
"Roux de Marsilly is still in the Bastille though they have
a mind to hang him, yet they are much puzzled what to do
with him. De Lionne has beene to examine him twice or
thrice, but there is noe witnes to prove anything against him.
I was told by one that the French king told it to, that in
his papers they find great mention of the Duke of Bucks:
and your name, and speak as if he were much trusted by
you. I have enquired what this Marsilly is, and I find by
one Mr. Marsilly that I am acquainted withall, and a man
*Bibl. Nat., Fonds. Francois, No. 10665.
if State Papers, France, vol. 126.


Mystery Stories From Real Life
of quality, that this man's name is onely Roux, and borne
at Nismes and having been formerly a soldier in his troope,
ever since has taken his name to gain more credit in Switser-
land where hee, Marsilly, formerly used to bee employed by
his Coll: the Mareschall de Schomberg who invaded Switser-
land."
We next find a very curious letter, from which it ap-
pears that the French Government inclined to regard Mar-
silly as, in fact, an agent of Charles, but thought it wiser
to trump up against him a charge of conspiring against the
life of Louis XIV. On this charge, or another, he was ex-
ecuted, while the suspicion that he was an agent of English
treachery may have been the real cause of the determination
to destroy him. The Balthazar with whom Marsilly left
his papers is mentioned with praise by him in his paper
for Arlington, of December 27, 1668. He is the General
who should have accompanied Marsilly to the Diet.
The substance of the letter (given in full in Note I.) is
to the following effect. P. du Moulin (Paris, May -
1669) writes to Arlington. Ever since, Ruvigny, the late
French ambassador, a Protestant, was in England, the
French Government had been anxious to kidnap Roux de
Marsilly. They hunted him in England, Holland, Flanders,
and Franche-Comte. As we know from the case of Mat-
tioli, the Government of Louis XIV. was unscrupulously
daring in breaking the laws of nations, and seizing hostile
personages in foreign territory, as Napoleon did in the
affair of the Due d'Enghien. When all failed Louis bade
Turenne capture Roux de Marsilly wherever he could
find him. Turenne sent officers and gentlemen abroad, and,
after four months' search they found Marsilly in Switzer-
land. They took him as he came out of the house of his
friend, General Balthazar, and carried him to Gex. No
papers were found on him, but he asked his captors to send
to Balthazar and get "the commission he had from Eng-
land," which he probably thought would give him the se-
curity of an official diplomatic position. Having got this
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Andrew Lang
document, Marsilly's captors took it to the French Ministers.
Nothing could be more embarrassing, if this were true, to
Charles's representative in France, Montague, and to
Charles's secret negotiations, also to Arlington, who had
dealt with Marsilly. On his part, the captive Marsilly con-
stantly affirmed that he was the envoy of the King of Eng-
and. The common talk of Paris was that an agent of
Charles was in the Bastille, " though at Court they pretended
to know nothing of it." Louis was overjoyed at Marsilly's
capture, giving out that he was conspiring against his life.
Monsieur told Montague that he need not beg for the life
of a would-be murderer like Marsilly. But as to this idea,
"they begin now to mince it at Court," and Ruvigny as-
sured du Moulin "that they had no such thoughts." De
Lyonne had seen Marsilly and observed that it was a blun-
der to seize him. The French Government was nervous,
and Turenne's secretary had been "pumping" several am-
bassadors as to what they thought of Marsally's capture
on foreign territory. One ambassador replied with spirit
that a crusade of all Europe against France, as of old against
the Moslems, would be necessary. Would Charles, du
Moulin asked, own or disown Marsilly?
Montague's position was now awkward. On May 23, his
account of the case was read, at Whitehall, to the Foreign
Committee in London. (See Note II. for the document.)
He did not dare to interfere in Marsilly's behalf, because
he did not know whether the man was an agent of Charles
or not. Such are the inconveniences of a secret royal di-
plomacy carried on behind the backs of Ministers. Louis
XV. later pursued this method with awkward consequences.*
The French Court, Montague said, was overjoyed at the
capture of Marsilly, and a reward of 100,000 crowns, "I
am told very privately, is set upon his head." The French
ambassador in England, Colbert, had reported that Charles
had sent Marsilly "to draw the Swisses into the Triple
League" against France. Montague had tried to reassure
Monsieur (Charles's brother-in-law), but was himself en-
* Cf. Le Secret du Roi, by the Due de Broglie. 99


Mystery Stories From Real Life
tirely perplexed. As Monsieur's wife, Charles's sister, was
working with Charles for the secret treaty with Louis, the
State and family politics were clearly in a knot. Mean-
while, the Spanish ambassador kept pressing Montague to
interfere in favor of Marsilly. After Montague's puzzled
note had been read to the English Foreign Committee on
May 23, Arlington offered explanations. Marsilly came to
England, he said, when Charles was entering into negotia-
tions for peace with Holland, and when France seemed
likely to oppose the peace. No proposition was made to
him or by him. Peace being made, Marsilly was given
money to take him out of the country. He wanted the
King to renew his alliance with the Swiss cantons, but was
told that the cantons must first expel the regicides of
Charles I. He undertook to arrange this, and some eight
months later came back to England. "He was coldly used,
and I was complained of for not using so important a man
well enough."
As we saw, Marsilly expressed the most effusive grati-
tude to Arlington, which does not suggest cold usage.
Arlington told the complainers that Marsilly was "another
man's spy," what man's, Dutch, Spanish, or even French,
he does not explain. So Charles gave Marsilly money
to go away. He was never trusted with anything but the
expulsion of the regicides from Switzerland. Arlington
was ordered by Charles to write a letter thanking Balthazar
for his good offices.
These explanations by Arlington do not tally with Mar-
silly's communications to him, as cited at the beginning of
this inquiry. Nothing is said in these about getting the regi-
cides of Charles I. out of Switzerland: the paper is entirely
concerned with bringing the Protestant Cantons into anti-
French League with England, Holland, Spain, and even
Sweden. On the other hand, Arlington's acknowledged let-
ter to Balthazar, carried by Marsilly, may be the "com-
mission" of which Marsilly boasted. In any case, on June
2, Charles gave Colbert, the French ambassador, an audi-
ence, turning even the Duke of York out of the room. He
100


Andrew Lang
then repeated to Colbert the explanations of Arlington, al-
ready cited, and Arlington, in a separate interview, cor-
roborated Charles. So Colbert wrote to Louis (June 3,
1669); but to de Lyonne, on the same day, " I trust that you
will extract from Marsilly much matter for the King's
service. It seemed to me that milord d'Arlington was un-
easy about it [en avait de 1'inquietude]. . . . There is here
in England one Martin" (Eustace Dauger), " who has been
that wretch's valet, and who left him discontent." Col-
bert then proposes to examine Martin, who may know a
good deal, and to send him into France. On June 10, Col-
bert writes to Louis that he expects to see Martin.*
On June 24, Colbert wrote to Louis about a conversation
with Charles. It is plain that proofs of a murder-plot by
Marsilly were scanty or non-existent, though Colbert averred
that Marsilly had discussed the matter with the Spanish
Ministers. "Charles knew that he had had much confer-
ence with Isola, the Spanish ambassador." Meanwhile,
up to July 1, Colbert was trying to persuade Marsilly's
valet to go to France, which he declined to do, as we have
seen. However, the luckless lad, by nods and by veiled
words, indicated that he knew a great deal. But not by
promise of security and reward could the valet be induced
to return to France. "I might ask the King to give up
Martin, the valet of Marsilly, to me," Colbert concludes, and,
by hook or by crook, he secured the person of the wretched
man, as we have seen. In a postcript, Colbert says that
he has heard of the execution of Marsilly.
By July 19, as we saw in the previous essay, Louvois was
bidding Saint-Mars expect, at Pignerol from Dunkirk, a
prisoner of the highest political importance, to be guarded
with the utmost secrecy, yet a valet. That valet must be
Martin, now called Eustache Dauger, and his secret can only
be connected with Marsilly. It may have been something
about Arlington's negotiations through Marsilly, as com-
promising Charles II. Arlington's explanations to the For-
eign Committee were certainly incomplete and disingenuous.
* Bibl. Nat., Fonds Frangais, No. 10665.
IOI


Mystery Stories From Real Life
He, if not Charles, was more deeply engaged with Mar-
silly than he ventured to report. But Marsilly himself
avowed that he did not know why he was to be executed. Executed he was, in circumstances truly hideous. Per-
wich, June 5, wrote to an unnamed correspondent in Eng-
land: "They have all his papers, which speak much of the
Triple Alliance, but I know not whether they can lawfully
hang him for this, having been naturalized in Holland, and
taken in a privileged country" (Switzerland). Montague
(Paris, June 22, 1669) writes to Arlington that Marsilly
is to die, so it has been decided, for "a rape which he
formerly committed at Nismes," and after the execution, on
June 26, declares that, when broken on the wheel, Marsilly
"still persisted that he was guilty of nothing, nor did know
why he was put to death."
Like Eustache Dauger, Marsilly professed that he did
not know his own secret. The charge of a rape, long ago,
at Nismes, was obviously trumped up to cover the real
reason for the extraordinary vindictiveness with which he
was pursued, illegally taken, and barbarously slain. Mere
Protestant restlessness on his part is hardly an explanation.
There was clearly no evidence for the charge of a plot to
murder Louis XIV., in which Colbert, in England, seems to
have believed. Even if the French Government believed
that he was at once an agent of Charles II., and at the same
time a would-be assassin of Louis XIV., that hardly accounts
for the intense secrecy with which his valet, Eustache
Dauger, was always surrounded. Did Marsilly know of
the Secret Treaty, and was it from him that Arlington got
his first inkling of the royal plot? If so, Marsilly would
probably have exposed the mystery in Protestant interests.
We are entirely baffled.
In any case, Francis Vernon, writing from Paris to
Williamson (?) (June ti, 1669), gave a terrible account
of Marsilly's death. (For the letter, see Note V.) With
a broken piece of glass (as we learn from another source),
Marsilly, in prison, wounded himself in a ghastly manner,
probably hoping to die by loss of blood. They seared him
102


Andrew Lang
with a red-hot iron, and hurried on his execution. He
was broken on the wheel, and was two hours in dying
(June 22). Contrary to usage, a Protestant preacher was
brought to attend him on the scaffold. He came most re-
luctantly, expecting insult, but not a taunt was uttered by
the fanatic populace. "He came up the scaffold, great
silence all about," Marsilly lay naked, stretched on a St.
Andrew's cross. He had seemed half dead, his head hang-
ing limp, "like a drooping calf." To greet the minister of
his own faith, he raised himself, to the surprise of all, and
spoke out loud and clear. He utterly denied all share in
a scheme to murder Louis. The rest may be read in the
original letter (p. 51).
So perished Roux de Marsilly; the history of the master
throws no light on the secret of the servant. That secret,
for many years, caused the keenest anxiety to Louis XIV.
and Louvois. Saint-Mars himself must not pry into it.
Yet what could Dauger know? That there had been a
conspiracy against the King's life? But that was the public
talk of Paris. If Dauger had guilty knowledge, his life
might have paid for it; why keep him a secret prisoner?
Did he know that Charles II. had been guilty of double
dealing in 1668-1669? Probably Charles had made some
overtures to the Swiss, as a blind to his private dealings
with Louis XIV., but, even so, how could the fact haunt
Louis XIV. like a ghost? We leave the mystery much
darker than we found it, but we see good reason why
diplomatists should have murmured of a crusade against
the cruel and brigand Government which sent soldiers to
kidnap, in neighboring states, men who did not know their
own crime.
To myself it seems not improbable that the King and
Louvois were but stupidly and cruelly nervous about what
Dauger might know. Saint-Mars, when he proposed to
utilize Dauger as a prison valet, manifestly did not share
the trembling anxieties of Louis XIV. and his Minister;
anxieties which grew more keen as time went on. However,
"a soldier only has his orders," and Saint-Mars executed
103


Mystery Stories From Real Life
his orders with minute precision, taking such unheard-of
precautions that, in legend, the valet blossomed into the
rightful kind of France.
ORIGINAL PAPERS IN THE CASE OF ROUX DE
MARSILLY.*
I. Letter of Mons. P. du Moulin to Arlington.
Paris, May ye , 1669. My Lord,
Ever since that Monsieur de Ruvigny was in England last, and
upon the information he gave, this King had a very great desire
to seize if it were possible this Roux de Marsilly, and several persons
were sent to effect it, into England, Holland, Flanders, and Franche
Compte: amongst the restone La Grange, exempt des Gardes, was
a good while in Holland with fifty of the guards dispersed in severall
places and quarters; But all having miscarried the King recom-
mended the thing to Monsieur de Turenne who sent some of his
gentlemen and officers under him to find this man out and to en-
deavor to bring him alive. These men after foure months search
found him att last in Switzerland, and having laid waite for him as he
came out from Monsr Balthazar's house (a commander well
knowne) they took him and carryed him to Gex before they could
be intercepted and he rescued. This was done only by a warrant
from Monsieur de Turenne but as soone as they came into the
french dominions they had full powers and directions from this
court for the bringing of him hither. Those that tooke him say they
found no papers about him, but that he desired them to write to
Monsr Balthazar to desire him to take care of his papers and to send
him the commission he had from England and a letter being written
to that effect it was signed by the prisoner and instead of sending
it as they had promised, they have brought it hither along with them.
They do all unanimously report that he did constantly oMrme that
he was imployed by the King of Great Brittain and did act by his
commission; so that the general discourse here in towne is that one
of the King of England's agents is in the Bastille; though att
Court they pretend to know nothing of it and would have the world
think they are persuaded he had no relacion to his Majesty. Your
Lordship hath heard by the publique newes how overjoyed this
King was att the bringing of this prisoner, and how farr he ex-
pressed his thanks to the chiefe person employed in it, declaring
openly that this man had long since conspired against his life, and
agreeable to this, Monsieur, fearing that Mylord Ambr. was come
to interpose on the prisoner's behalfe asked him on Friday last att
St. Germains whether that was the cause of his coming, and told
him that he did not think he would speake for a man that attempted
to kill the King. The same report hath been hitherto in everybody's
mouth but they begin now to mince it att court, and Monsieur de
* State Papers, France, vol. 126. 104


Andrew Lang
Ruvigny would have persuaded me yesterday, they had no such
thoughts. The truth is I am apt to believe they begin now to be
ashamed of it: and I am informed from a very good hand that
Monsieur de Lionee who hath confessed since that he can find no
ground for this pretended attempting to the King's life, and that
upon the whole he was of opinion that this man had much better
been left alone than taken, and did look upon what he had done
as the intemperancy of an ill-settled braine. And to satisfy your
Lordship that they are nettled here, and are concerned to know
what may be the issue of all this, Monsieur de Turenne's secretary
was on Munday last sent to several foreigne Ministers to pump
them and to learne what their thoughts were concerning this violence
committed in the Dominions of a sovereign and an allye whereupon
he was told by one of them that such proceedings would bring
Europe to the necessity of entering into a Croisade against them,
as formerly against the infidels. If I durst I would acquaint your
Lordship with the reflexions of all publique ministers here and of
other unconcerned persons in relation to his Majesty's owning or
disowning this man; but not knowing the particulars of his case,
nor the grounds his Maty may go upon, I shall forbeare entering
upon this discourse. . . .
Your Lordships' &c.
P. Du MOULIN.
II. Paper endorsed "Mr. Montague originally in Cypher. Received
May 19, '69. Read in foreigne Committee, 23 May. Roux de
Marsilli." *
I durst not venture to sollicite in Monsr Roux Marsilly's behalfe
because I doe not know whether the King my Master hath imployed
him or noe; besides he is a man as I have been tolde by many
people here of worth, that has given out that he is resolved to kill
the French king at one time or other, and I think such men are as
dangerous to one king as to another: hee is brought to the Bastille
and I believe may be proceeded against and put to death, in very
few daies. There is great joy in this Court for his being taken,
and a hundred thousand crownes, I am told very privately, set upon
his head; the French Ambassador in England wacht him, and hee
has given the intelligence here of his being employed by the King,
and sent into Switzerland by my Master to draw the Swisses into
the Triple League. Hee aggravates the business as much as hee
can to the prejudice of my Master to value his owne service the
more, and they seeme here to wonder that the King my Master should
have imployed or countenanced a man that had so base a design
against the King's Person, I had a great deal of discourse with
Monsieur about it, but I did positively say that he had noe relation
to my knowledge to the King my Master, and if he should have I
make a question or noe whither in this case the King will owne him.
However, my Lord, I had nothing to doe to owne or meddle in a
business that I was so much a stranger to. ...
This Roux Marsilly is a great creature of the B. d'lsola's,
makes them here hate him the more. The Spanish Resident was
* State Papers, France, vol. 126.
105


Mystery Stories From Real Life
very earnest with mee to have done something in behalfe of Mar-
silly, but I positively refused.
III. [A paper endorsed "Roux de Marsilli. Read in for. Com-
mittee, 23d May." ] *
Roux de Marsilly came hither when your Majesty had made a
union with Holland for making the Peace betwix the two Crownes
and when it was probable the opposition to the Peace would bee on
the side of France
Marsilly was heard telling of longe things but noe proposition
made to him or by him.
Presently the Peace was made and Marsilly told more plainly wee
had no use of him. A little summe of money was given him to
returne as he said whither he was to goe in Switzerland. Upon
which hee wishing his Maty would renew his alienee w41" the Cantons
hee was answered his Maty would not enter into any comerce with
them till they had sent the regicides out of their Country, hee
undertooke it should bee done. Seven or eight months after w"»
out any intimation given him from hence or any expectation of
him, he comes hither, but was so coldly used I was complained off
for not using so important a man well enough. I answered I saw
noe use the King could make of him, because he had no credit in
Switzerlande and for any thing else I thought him worth nothing
to us, but above all because I knew by many circumstances hee was
another man's spy and soe ought not to be paid by his Majesty.
Notwithstanding this his Maty being moved from compassion com-
manded hee should have some money given him to carry him away
and that I should write to Monsieur Balthazar thanking him in the
King's name for the good offices hee rendered in advancing a good
understanding betwixt his Maty and the Cantons and desiring him
to continue them in all occasions.
The man was always looked upon as a hot headed and indiscreete
man, and soe accordingly handled, hearing him, but never trusting
him with anything but his own offered and undesired endeavours to
gett the Regicides sent out of Switzerland.
IV. Letter of W. Perwich to .*
Paris: June 5. 1669.
Honored Sir,
Roux Marsilly has prudently declared hee had some what of
importance to say but it should bee to the King himselfe w'b may
be means of respiting his processe and as he hopes intercession
may bee made for him; but people talk so variously of him that I
cannot tell whether hee ought to bee owned by any Prince; the
Suisses have indeed the greatest ground to reclayme him as being
taken in theirs. They have all his papers which speake much of
the Triple Alliance; if they have no other pretext of hanging him
I know not whether they can lawfully for this, hee having been
naturallised in Holland and taken in a priviledged Country. . . .
* State Papers, France, vol. 126.
106


Andrew Lang
V. Francis Vernon to [Mr. Williamson?].*
Paris: June if, 1669. Honored Sir,
My last of the 26th Curr* was soe short and soe abrupt that I
fear you can peck butt little satisfaction out of it.
I did intend to have written something about Marsilly but that I
had noe time then. In my letter to my Lord Arlington I writt
that Friday 21 Curr* hee wounded himself wch he did not because
hee was confronted with Ruvigny as the Gazettes speake. For he
knew before hee should dye, butt he thought by dismembering
himself that the losse of blood would carry him out of the world
before it should come to bee knowne that he had wounded him-
selfe. And when the Governor of the Bastille spied the blood hee
said It was a stone was come from him which caused that effusion.
However the governor mistrusted the worst and searcht him to see
what wound he had made. So they seared him and sent word to
S*. Germaines which made his execution be hastened. Saturday
about i of the clock he was brought on the skaffold before the
Chastelet and tied to St. Andrew's Crosse all w<* while he acted
the Dying man and scarce stirred, and seemed almost breathless
and fainting. The Lieutenant General prest him to confesse and
there was a doctor of the Sorbon who was a counsellr of the Castelet
there likewise to exhort him to disburthen his mind of any thing
which might be upon it. Butt he seemed to take no notice and lay
panting.
Then the Lieutenant Criminel bethought himself that the only
way to make him speake would bee to sende for a ministre soe hee
did to Monsr Daillie but hee because the Edicts don't permitt
ministres to come to condemned persons in publique but only to
comfort them in private before they goe out of prison refused to
come till hee sent a huissier who if he had refused the second
time would have brought him by force. At this second summons
hee came butt not without great expectations to bee affronted in a
most notorious manner beeing the first time a ministre came to
appeare on a scaffold and that upon soe sinister an occasion. Yet
when he came found a great presse of people. All made way, none
lett fall soe much as a taunting word. Hee came up the Scaffold,
great silence all about. Hee found him lying bound stretched on
St. Andrew's Crosse naked ready for execution. Hee told him
hee was sent for to exhort him to die patiently and like a Christian.
Then immediately they were all surprized to see him hold up his head
wch he lett hang on one side before like a drooping calfe and speake
as loud and clear as the ministre, to whom he said with a cheerful
air hee was glad to see him, that hee need not question butt that
hee would dye like a Christian and patiently too. Then hee went
and spoke some places of Scripture to encourage him which he
heard with great attention. They afterward came to mention some
things to move him to contrition, and there hee tooke an occasion
to aggravate the horrour of a Crime of attempting against the
* State Papers, France, vol. 126.
107


PART II True Stories of Modern Magic





True Stories of Modern Magic
M. Robert-Houdin A Conjurer's Confessions
I
SELF-TRAINING
Sleight-of-hand theories alone cannot explain the mysteries of
"magic" as practiced by that eminent Frenchman who revolution,
bed the entire art, and who was finally called upon to help his
government out of a difficulty—Robert-Houdin. The success of
his most famous performances hung not only on an incredible dex-
terity, but also on high ingenuity and moral courage, as the following
pages from his " Memoirs " will prove to the reader. The story be-
gins when the young man of twenty was laboring patiently as ap-
prentice to a watchmaker.
T N order to aid my progress and afford me relaxation,
my master recommended me to study some treatises
on mechanics in general, and on clockmaking in particular.
As this suited my taste exactly, I gladly assented, and I
was devoting myself passionately to this attractive study,
when a circumstance, apparently most simple, suddenly de-
cided my future life by revealing to me a vocation whose
mysterious resources must open a vast field for my in-
ventive and fanciful ideas.
One evening I went into a bookseller's shop to buy Ber-
thoud's "Treatise on Clockmaking," which I knew he had.
The tradesman being engaged at the moment on matters
more important, took down two volumes from the shelves
and handed them to me without ceremony. On returning
home I sat down to peruse my treatise conscientiously, but
judge of my surprise when I read on the back of one of
the volumes "Scientific Amusements." Astonished at
finding such a title on a professional work, I opened it im9


True Stories of Modern Magic
patiently, and, on running through the table of contents, my
surprise was doubled on reading these strange phrases:
The way of performing tricks with the cards—How to
guess a person's thoughts—To cut off a pigeon's head, to
restore it to life, etc., etc.
The bookseller had made a mistake. In his haste, he
had given me two volumes of the Encyclopaedia instead of
Berthoud. Fascinated, however, by the announcement of
such marvels, I devoured the mysterious pages, and the
further my reading advanced, the more I saw laid bare be-
fore me the secrets of an art for which I was unconsciously
predestined.
I fear I shall be accused of exaggeration, or at least not
be understood by many of my readers, when I say that this
discovery caused me the greatest joy I had ever experi-
enced. At this moment a secret presentiment warned me
that success, perhaps glory, would one day accrue to me
in the apparent realization of the marvelous and impossible,
and fortunately these presentiments did not err.
The resemblance between two books, and the hurry of a
bookseller, were the commonplace causes of the most im-
portant event in my life.
It may be urged that different circumstances might have
suggested this profession to me at a later date. It is prob-
able; but then I should have had no time for it. Would
any workman, artisan, or tradesman give up a certainty,
however slight it may be, to yield to a passion which
would be surely regarded as a mania? Hence my irresist-
ible penchant for the mysterious could only be followed at
this precise period of my life.
How often since have I blessed this providential error,
without which I should have probably vegetated as a coun-
try watchmaker! My life would have been spent in gentle
monotony; I should have been spared many sufferings,
emotions, and shocks; but, on the other hand, what lively
sensations, what profound delight would have been sac-
rificed!
I was eagerly devouring every line of the magic book
to


M. Robert-Houdin
which described the astounding tricks; my head was aglow,
and I at times gave way to thoughts which plunged me in
ecstasy.
The author gave a very plain explanation of his tricks;
still, he committed the error of supposing his readers pos-
sessed of the necessary skill to perform them. Now, I was
entirely deficient in this skill, and though most desirous of
acquiring it, I found nothing in the book to indicate the
means. I was in the position of a man who attempts to
copy a picture without possessing the slightest notion of
drawing and painting.
In the absence of a professor to instruct me, I was com-
pelled to create the principles of the science I wished to
study. In the first place, I recognized the fundamental
principle of sleight-of-hand, that the organs performing
the principal part are the sight and touch. I saw that, in
order to attain any degree of perfection, the professor must
develop these organs to their fullest extent—for, in his ex-
hibitions, he must be able to see everything that takes place
around him at half a glance, and execute his deceptions
with unfailing dexterity.
I had been often struck by the ease with which pianists
can read and perform at sight the most difficult pieces. I
saw that, by practice, it would be possible to create a cer-
tainty of perception and facility of touch, rendering it easy
for the artist to attend to several things simultaneously,
while his hands were busy employed with some complicated
task. This faculty I wished to acquire and apply to sleight-
of-hand; still, as music could not afford me the necessary
elements, I had recourse to the juggler's art, in which I
hoped to meet with an analogous result.
It is well known that the trick with the balls wonder-
fully improves the touch, but does it not improve the vision
at the same time? In fact, when a juggler throws into
the air four balls crossing each other in various directions,
he requires an extraordinary power of sight to follow the
direction his hands have given to each of the balls. At
this period a corn-cutter resided at Blois, who possessed
II


M. Robert-Houdin
proprietaire, so whenever my hands were not otherwise
engaged they slipped naturally into my pockets, and set
to work with cards, coins, or one of the objects I have
mentioned. It will be easily understood how much time I
gained by this. Thus, for instance, when out on errands
my hands could be at work on both sides; at dinner, I
often ate my soup with one hand while I was learning to
sauter la coupe with the other—in short, the slightest mo-
ment of relaxation was devoted to my favorite pursuit.
II
"SECOND SIGHT"A thousand more trials of patience and perseverance finally
brought to the conjurer a Parisian theater and an appreciative
clientele. But he never ceased to labor and improve the quality of
his marvelous effects.
THE experiment, however, to which I owed my reputa-
tion was one inspired by that fantastic god to whom Pas-
cal attributes all the discoveries of this sublunary world:
it was chance that led me straight to the invention of second
sight.
My two children were playing one day in the drawing-
room at a game they had invented for their own amuse-
ment. The younger had bandaged his elder brother's eyes,
and made him guess the objects he touched, and when the
latter happened to guess right, they changed places. This
simple game suggested to me the most complicated idea
that ever crossed my mind.
Pursued by the notion, I ran and shut myself up in my
workroom, and was fortunately in that happy state when
the mind follows easily the combinations traced by fancy.
I rested my hand in my hands, and, in my excitement, laid
down the first principles of second sight.
My readers will remember the experiment suggested to
me formerly by the pianist's dexterity, and the strange
n


True Stories of Modern Magic
faculty I succeeded in attaining: I could read while jug-
gling with four balls. Thinking seriously of this, I fan-
cied that this "perception by appreciation" might be sus-
ceptible of equal development, if I applied its principles to
the memory and the mind.
I resolved, therefore, on making some experiments with
my son Emile, and, in order to make my young assistant
understand the nature of the exercise we were going to
learn, I took a domino, the cinq-quatre for instance, and
laid it before him. Instead of letting him count the points
of the two numbers, I requested the boy to tell me the total
at once.
"Nine," he said.
Then I added another domino, the quarter-tray.
"That makes sixteen," he said, without any hesitation.
I stopped the first lesson here; the next day we suc-
ceeded in counting at a single glance four dominoes, the
day after six, and thus we at length were enabled to give
instantaneously the product of a dozen dominoes.
This result obtained, we applied ourselves to a far more
difficult task, over which we spent a month. My son and
I passed rapidly before a toy-shop, or any other displaying
a variety of wares, and cast an attentive glance upon it.
A few steps farther on we drew paper and pencil from our
pockets, and tried which could describe the greater num-
ber of objects seen in passing. I must own that my son
reached a perfection far greater than mine, for he could
often write down forty objects, while I could scarce reach
thirty. Often feeling vexed at this defeat, I would return
to the shop and verify his statement, but he rarely made
a mistake.
My male readers will certainly understand the possibil-
ity of this, but they will recognize the difficulty. As for
my lady readers, I am convinced beforehand they will not
be of the same opinion, for they daily perform far more
astounding feats. Thus, for instance, I can safely assert
that a lady seeing another pass at full speed in a carriage,
will have had time to analyze her toilet from her bonnet
14


M. Robert-Houdin
to her shoes, and be able to describe not only the fashion
and quality of the stuffs, but also say if the lace be real or
only machine-made. I have known ladies do this.
This natural, or acquired, faculty among ladies, but which
my son and I had only gained by constant practice, was of
great service in my performances, for while I was executing
my tricks, I could see everything that passed around me,
and thus prepare to foil any difficulties presented me. This
exercise had given me, so to speak, the power of following
two ideas simultaneously, and nothing is more favorable
in conjuring than to be able to think at the same time both
of what you are saying and of what you are doing. I
eventually acquired such a knack in this that I frequently
invented new tricks while going through my performances.
One day, even, I made a bet I would solve a problem in
mechanics while taking my part in conversation. We were
talking of the pleasure of a country life, and I calculated
during this time the quantity of wheels and pinions, as
well as the necessary cogs, to produce certain revolutions
required, without once failing in my reply.
This slight explanation will be sufficient to show what is
the essential basis of second sight, and I will add that a
secret and unnoticeable correspondence1 existed between my
son and myself, by which I could announce to him the name,
nature, and bulk of objects handed me by spectators.
As none understood my mode of action, they were tempted
to believe in something extraordinary, and, indeed, my son
Emile, then aged twelve, possessed all the essential qualities
to produce this opinion, for his pale, intellectual, and ever
thoughtful face represented the type of a boy gifted with
some supernatural power.
Two months were incessantly employed in erecting the
scaffolding of our tricks, and when we were quite confident
of being able to contend against the difficulties of such an
undertaking, we announced the first representation of sec-
ond sight. On the I2th of February, 1846, I printed in the
center of my bill the following singular announcement:
1" Telegraphy."
15


True Stories of Modern Magic
"In this performance M. Robert-Houdin's son, who is
gifted with a marvelous second sight, after his eyes have
been covered with a thick bandage, will designate every ob-
ject presented to him by the audience."
I cannot say whether this announcement attracted any
spectators, for my room was constantly crowded, still I
may affirm, what may seem very extraordinary, that the
experiment of second sight, which afterwards became so
fashionable, produced no effect on the first performance.
I am inclined to believe that the spectators fancied them-
selves the dupes of accomplices, but I was much annoyed
by the result, as I had built on the surprise I should pro-
duce; still, having no reason to doubt its ultimate success,
I was tempted to make a second trial, which turned out
well.
The next evening I noticed in my room several persons
who had been present on the previous night, and I felt they
had come a second time to assure themselves of the reality
of the experiment. It seems they were convinced, for my
success was complete, and amply compensated for my for-
mer disappointment.
I especially remember a mark of singular approval with
which one of my pit audience favored me. My son had
named to him several objects he offered in succession; but
not feeling satisfied, my incredulous friend, rising, as if to
give more importance to the difficulty he was about to
present, handed me an instrument peculiar to cloth mer-
chants, and employed to count the number of threads.
Acquiescing in his wish, I said to my boy, "What do I
hold in my hand?"
"It is an instrument to judge the fineness of cloth, and
called a thread counter."
"By Jove!" my spectator said, energetically, "it is mar-
velous. If I had paid ten francs to see it, I should not be-
grudge them."
From this moment my room was much too small, and
was crowded every evening.
Still, success is not entirely rose-colored, and I could
16


M. Robert-Houdin
easily narrate many disagreeable scenes produced by the
reputation I had of being a sorcerer; but I will only men-
tion one, which forms a resume of all I pass over:
A young lady of elegant manners paid me a visit one
day, and although her face was hidden by a thick veil, my
practiced eyes perfectly distinguished her features. She was
very pretty.
My incognita would not consent to sit down till she was
assured we were alone, and that I was the real Robert-
Houdin. I also seated myself, and assuming the attitude
of a man prepared to listen, I bent slightly to my visitor,
as if awaiting her pleasure to explain to me the object of
her mysterious visit. To my great surprise, the young lady,
whose manner betrayed extreme emotion, maintained the
most profound silence, and I began to find the visit very
strange, and was on the point of forcing an explanation, at
any hazard, when the fair unknown timidly ventured these
words:
"Good Heavens! sir, I know not how you will interpret
my visit."
Here she stopped, and let her eyes sink with a very em-
barrassed air; then, making a violent effort, she con-
tinued:
"What I have to ask of you, sir, is very difficult to
explain."
"Speak, madam, I beg," I said, politely, "and I will try
to guess what you cannot explain to me."
And I began asking myself what this reserve meant.
"In the first place," the young lady said, in a low voice,
and looking round her, " I must tell you confidentially that
I loved, my love was returned, and I—I am betrayed."
At the last word the lady raised her head, overcame the
timidity she felt, and said, in a firm and assured voice:
"Yes, sir—yes, I am betrayed, and for that reason I have
come to you."
"Really, madam," I said, much surprised at this strange
confession, "I do not see how I can help you in such a
matter."
17


True Stories of Modern Magic
"Oh, sir, I entreat you," said my fair visitor, clasping
her hands—" I implore you not to abandon me!"
I had great difficulty in keeping my countenance, and
yet I felt an extreme curiosity to know the history con-
cealed behind this mystery.
"Calm yourself, madam," I remarked, in a tone of ten-
der sympathy; "tell me what you would of me, and if it
be in my power"
"If it be in your power!" the young lady said, quickly;
"why, nothing is more easy, sir."
"Explain yourself, madam."
"Well, sir, I wish to be avenged."
"In what way?"
"How, you know better than I, sir; must I teach you?You have in your power means to"
"I, madam?"
"Yes, sir, you! for you are a sorcerer, and cannot
deny it."
At this word sorcerer, I was much inclined to laugh;
but I was restrained by the incognita's evident emotion.
Still, wishing to put an end to a scene which was growing
ridiculous, I said, in a politely ironical tone:
"Unfortunately, madam, you give me a title I never pos-
sessed."
"How, sir!" the young woman exclaimed, in a quick tone, "you will, not allow you are"
"A sorcerer, madam? Oh, no, I will not."
"You will not?"
"No, a thousand times no, madam."
At these words my visitor rose hastily, muttered a few
incoherent words, appeared suffering from terrible emotion,
and then drawing near me with flaming eyes and passionate
gestures, repeated:
"Ah, you will not! Very good; I now know what I
have to do."
Stupefied by such an outbreak, I looked at her fixedly,
and began to suspect the cause of her extraordinary con-
duct
18


M. Robert-Houdin
"There are two modes of acting," she said, with terrible
volubility, "toward people who devote themselves to magic
arts—entreaty and menaces. You would not yield to the
first of these means, hence, I must employ the second.
Stay," she added, "perhaps this will induce you to speak."
And, lifting up her cloak, she laid her hand on the hilt
of a dagger passed through her girdle. At the same time
she suddenly threw back her veil, and displayed features
in which all the signs of rage and madness could be traced.
No longer having a doubt as to the person I had to deal
with, my first movement was to rise and stand on my
guard; but this first feeling overcome, I repented the
thought of a struggle with the unhappy woman, and deter-
mined on employing a method almost always successful with
those deprived of reason. I pretended to accede to her
wishes.
"If it be so, madam I yield to your request. Tell me
what you require."
"I have told you, sir; I wish for vengeance, and there
is only one method to"
Here there was a fresh interruption, and the young lady,
calmed by my apparent submission, as well as embarrassed
by the request she had to make of me, became again timid
and confused.
"Well, madam?"
"Well, sir, I know not how to tell you—how to explain
to you—but I fancy there are certain means—certain spells
—which render it impossible—impossible for a man to be
—unfaithful."
"I now understand what you wish, madam. It is a cer-
tain magic practice employed in the middle ages. Nothing
is easier, and I will satisfy you."
Decided on playing the farce to the end, I took down
the largest book I could find in my library, turned over
the leaves, stopped at a page which I pretended to scan
with profound attention, and then addressing the lady, who
followed all my movements anxiously,
"Madam," I said confidentially, "the spell I am going
19


True Stories of Modern Magic
to perform renders it necessary for me to know the name
of the person; have the kindness, then, to tell it me."
"Julian!" she said, in a faint voice.
With all the gravity of a real sorcerer, I solemnly thrust
a pin through a lighted candle, and pronounced some ca-
balistic words. After which, blowing out the candle, and
turning to the poor creature, I said:
"Madam, it is done; your wish is accomplished."
"Oh, thank you, sir," she replied, with the expression
of the profoundest gratitude; and at the same moment she
laid a purse on the table and rushed away. I ordered my
servant to follow her to her house, and obtain all the in-
formation he could about her, and I learned she had been
a widow for a short time, and that the loss of an adored
husband had disturbed her reason. The next day I visited
her relatives, and, returning them the purse, I told them the
scene the details of which the reader has just perused.
This scene, with some others that preceded and followed
it, compelled me to take measures to guard myself against
bores of every description. I could not dream, as formerly,
of exiling myself in the country, but I employed a similar
resource: this was to shut myself up in my workroom, and
organize around me a system of defense against those whom
I called, in my ill-temper, thieves of time.
I daily received visits from persons who were utter
strangers to me; some were worth knowing, but the ma-
jority, gaining an introduction under the most futile pre-
texts, only came to kill a portion of their leisure time with
me. It was necessary to distinguish the tares from the
wheat, and this is the arrangement I made:
When one of these gentlemen rang at my door, an elec-
tric communication struck a bell in my workroom; I was
thus warned and put on my guard. My servant opened the
door, and, as is customary, inquired the visitor's name,
while I, for my part, laid my ear to a tube, arranged for
the purpose, which conveyed to me every word. If, accord-
ing to his reply, I thought it as well not to receive him,
I pressed a button, and a white mark that appeared in a
20


M. Robert-Houdin
certain part of the hall announced I was not at home to
him. My servant then stated I was out, and begged the
visitor to apply to the manager.
Sometimes it happened that I erred in my judgment,
and regretted having granted an audience; but I had an-
other mode of shortening a bore's visit. I had placed be-
hind the sofa on which I sat an electric spring, communi-
cating with a bell my servant could hear. In case of need,
and while talking, I threw my arm carelessly over the back
of the sofa, touching the spring, and the bell rang. Then
my servant, playing a little farce, opened the front door,
rang the bell, which could be heard from the room where
I sat, and came to tell me that M. X (a name invented
for the occasion) wished to speak to me. I ordered M.
X to be shown into an adjoining room, and it was very
rare that my bore did not raise the siege. No one can form
an idea how much time I gained by this happy arrangement,
or how many times I blessed my imagination and the cele-
brated savant to whom the discovery of galvanism is due!
This feeling can be easily explained, for my time was
of inestimable value. I husbanded it like a treasure, and
never sacrificed it, unless the sacrifice might help me to
discover new experiments destined to stimulate public curi-
osity.
To support my determination in making my researches,
I had ever before me this maxim:
It is more difficult to support admiration than to
excite it.
And this other, an apparent corollary of the preceding:
The fashion an artist enjoys can only last as
his talent daily increases.
Nothing increases a professional man's merit so much as
the possession of an independent fortune; this truth may be
coarse, but it is indubitable. Not only was I convinced of
these principles of high economy, but I also knew that a
man must strive to profit by the fickle favor of the public,
which equally descends if it does not rise. Hence I worked
my reputation as much as I could. In spite of my numer21


True Stories of Modern Magic
ous engagements, I found means to give performances in
all the principal theaters, though great difficulties frequently
arose, as my performance did not end till half-past ten, and
I could only fulfill my other engagements after that hour.
Eleven o'clock was generally the hour fixed for my ap-
pearance on a strange stage, and my readers may judge
of the speed required to proceed to the theater in so short
a time and make my preparations. It is true that the mo-
ments were as well counted as employed, and my curtain
had hardly fallen than, rushing toward the stairs, I got
before my audience, and jumped into a vehicle that bore
me off at full speed.
But this fatigue was as nothing compared to the emo-
tion occasionally produced by an error in the time that
was to elapse between my two performances. I remember
that, one night, having to wind up the performances at the
Vaudeville, the stage manager miscalculated the time the
pieces would take in performing, and found himself much
in advance. He sent off an express to warn me that the
curtain had fallen, and I was anxiously expected. Can
my readers comprehend my wretchedness? My experi-
ments, of which I could omit none, would occupy another
quarter of an hour; but instead of indulging in useless
recriminations, I resigned myself and continued my per-
formance, though I was a prey to frightful anxiety. While
speaking, I fancied I could hear that cadenced yell of the
public to which the famous song, "Des lampions, des lam-
pions," was set. Thus, either through preoccupation or a
desire to end sooner, I found when my performance was
over I had gained five minutes out of the quarter of an hour.
Assuredly, it might be called the quarter of an hour's grace.
To jump into a carriage and drive to the Place de la
Bourse was the affair of an instant; still, twenty minutes
had elapsed since the curtain fell, and that was an enormous
time. My son Emile and I proceeded up the actors' stairs
at full speed, but on the first step we had heard the cries,
whistling, and stamping of the impatient audience. What
a prospect! I knew that frequently, either right or wrong,
22


M. Robert-Houdin
the public treated an artiste, no matter whom, very harshly,
to remind him of punctuality. That sovereign always ap-
pears to have on its lips the words of another monarch:
"I was obliged to wait." However, we hurried up the steps
leading to the stage.
The stage manager, who had been watching, on hearing
our hurried steps, cried from the landing:
My breath would not allow me to finish my objection;
I fell on a chair, unable to move.
"Come, M. Houdin," the manager said, "do go on the
stage, the curtain is up, and the public are so impatient."
The door at the back of the stage was open, but I could
not pass through it; fatigue and emotion nailed me to the
spot. Still, an idea occurred to me, which saved me from
the popular wrath.
"Go on to the stage, my boy," I said to my son, "and
prepare all that is wanting for the second-sight trick."
The public allowed themselves to be disarmed by this
youth, whose face inspired a sympathizing interest; and my
son, after gravely bowing to the audience, quietly made his
slight preparations, that is to say, he carried an ottoman
to the front of the stage, and placed on a neighboring table
a slate, some chalk, a pack of cards, and a bandage.
This slight delay enabled me to recover my breath and
calm my nerves, and I advanced in my turn with an at-
tempt to assume the stereotyped smile, in which I signally
failed, as I was so agitated. The audience at first remained
silent, then their faces gradually unwrinkled, and soon,
one or two claps having been ventured, they were carried
away and peace was made. I was well rewarded, however,
for this terrible ordeal, as my " second- sight" never gained
a more brilliant triumph.
An incident greatly enlivened the termination of my per-
formance.


True Stories of Modern Magic
A spectator, who had evidently come on purpose to em-
barrass us, had tried in vain for some minutes to baffle my
son's clairvoyance, when, turning to me, he said, laying
marked stress on his words:
"As your son is a soothsayer, of course he can guess the
number of my stall?"
The importunate spectator doubtless hoped to force us
into a confession of our impotence, for he covered his num-
ber, and the adjacent seats being occupied, it was appar-
ently impossible to read the numbers. But I was on my
guard against all surprises, and my reply was ready. Still,
in order to profit as much as possible by the situation, I
feigned to draw back.
"You know, sir," I said, feigning an embarrassed air,
"that my son is neither sorcerer nor diviner; he reads
through my eyes, and hence I have given this experiment
the name of second sight. As I cannot see the number
of your stall, and the seats close to you are occupied, my
son cannot tell it you."
"Ah! I was certain of it," my persecutor said, in tri-
umph, and turning to his neighbors: "I told you I would
pin him."
"Oh, sir! you are not generous in your victory," I said,
in my turn, in a tone of mockery. "Take care; if you
pique my son's vanity too sharply, he may solve your prob-
lem, though it is so difficult."
"I defy him," said the spectator, leaning firmly against
the back of his seat, to hide the number better—" yes, yes
—I defy him!"
"You believe it to be difficult, then?"
"I will grant more: it is impossible."
"Well, then, sir, that is a stronger reason for us to try
it. You will not be angry if we triumph in our turn?" I
added, with a petulant smile.
"Come, sir; we understand evasions of that sort. I re-
peat it—I challenge you both."
The public found great amusement in this debate, and
patiently awaited its issue.
24


M. Robert-Houdin
"Emile," I said to my son, "prove to this gentleman
that nothing can escape your second sight."
"It is number sixty-nine," the boy answered, imme-
diately.
Noisy and hearty applause rose from every part of the
theater, in which our opponent joined, for, confessing his
defeat, he exclaimed, as he clapped his hands, "It is as-
tounding—magnificent!"
The way I succeeded in finding out the number of the
stall was this: I knew beforehand that in all theaters where
the stalls are divided down the center by a passage, the
uneven numbers are on the right, and the even on the left.
As at the Vaudeville each row was composed of ten stalls,
it followed that on the right hand the several rows must
begin with one, twenty-one, forty-one, and so on, increas-
ing by twenty each. Guided by this, I had no difficulty
in discovering that my opponent was seated in number
sixty-nine, representing the fifth stall in the fourth row.
I had prolonged the conversation for the double pur-
pose of giving more brilliancy to my experiment, and
gaining time to make my researches. Thus I applied my
process of two simultaneous thoughts, to which I have al-
ready alluded.
As I am now explaining matters, I may as well tell my
readers some of the artifices that added material brilliancy
to the second sight. I have already said this experiment
was the result of a material communication between my-
self and my son which no one could detect. Its combina-
tions enabled us to describe any conceivable object; but,
though this was a splendid result, I saw that I should soon
encounter unheard-of difficulties in executing it.
The experiment of second sight always formed the ter-
mination of my performance. Each evening I saw unbe-
lievers arrive with all sorts of articles to triumph over a
secret which they could not unravel. Before going to see
Robert-Houdin's son a council was held, in which an object
that must embarrass the father was chosen. Among these
were half-effaced antique medals, minerals, books printed
25


True Stories of Modern Magic
in characters of every description (living and dead lan-
guages), coats-of-arms, microscopic objects, etc.
But what caused me the greatest difficulty was in finding
out the contents of parcels, often tied with a string, or even
sealed up. But I had managed to contend successfully
against all these attempts to embarrass me. I opened
boxes, purses, pocketbooks, etc., with great ease, and un-
noticed, while appearing to be engaged on something quite
different. Were a sealed parcel offered me, I cut a small
slit in the paper with the nail of my left thumb, which I
always purposely kept very long and sharp, and thus dis-
covered what it contained. One essential condition was
excellent sight, and that I possessed to perfection. I owed
it originally to my old trade, and practice daily improved
it. An equally indispensable necessity was to know the
name of every object offered me. It was not enough to
say, for instance, "It is a coin"; but my son must give
its technical name, its value, the country in which it was
current, and the year in which it was struck. Thus, for in-
stance, if an English crown were handed me, my son was ex-
pected to state that it was struck in the reign of George IV,
and had an intrinsic value of six francs eighteen centimes.
Aided by an excellent memory, we had managed to class-
ify in our heads the name and value of all foreign money.
We could also describe a coat-of-arms in heraldic terms.
Thus, on the arms of the house of X being handed me,
my son would reply: "Field gules, with two croziers ar-
gent in pale." This knowledge was very useful to us in the
salons of the Faubourg Saint Germain, where we were fre-
quently summoned.
I had also learned the characters—though unable to
translate a word—of an infinity of languages, such as
Chinese, Russian, Turkish, Greek, Hebrew, etc. We knew,
too, the names of all surgical instruments, so that a sur-
gical pocketbook, however complicated it might be, could
not embarrass us. Lastly, I had a very sufficient knowledge
of mineralogy, precious stones, antiquities, and curiosities;
but I had at my command every possible resource for ac26


M. Robert-Houdin
quiring these studies, as one of my dearest and best friends,
Aristide le Carpentier, a learned antiquary, and uncle of
the talented composer of the same name, had, and still has,
a cabinet of antique curiosities, which makes the keepers
of the imperial museums fierce with envy. My son and I
spent many long days in learning here names and dates,
of which we afterwards made a learned display. Le Car-
pentier taught me many things, and, among others, he de-
scribed various signs by which to recognize old coins when
the die is worn off. Thus, a Trajan, a Tiberius, or a Mar-
cus Aurelius became as familiar to me as a five-franc piece.
Owing to my old trade, I could open a watch with ease,
and do it with one hand, so as to be able to read the maker's
name without the public suspecting it: then I shut up the
watch again and the trick was ready; my son managed
the rest of the business.
But that power of memory which my son possessed in
an eminent degree certainly did us the greatest service.
When we went to private houses, he needed only a very
rapid inspection in order to know all the objects in a room,
as well as the various ornaments worn by the spectators,
such as chatelaines, pins, eyeglasses, fans, brooches, rings,
bouquets, etc. He thus could describe these objects with
the greatest ease, when I pointed them out to him by our
secret communication. Here is an instance:
One evening, at a house in the Chaussee d'Antin, and at
the end of a performance which had been as successful as
it was loudly applauded, I remembered that, while passing
through the next room to the one we were now in, I had
begged my son to cast a glance at a library and remember the
titles of some of the books, as well as the order they were
arranged in. No one had noticed this rapid examination.
"To end the second-sight experiment, sir," I said to
the master of the house, " I will prove to you that my son
can read through a wall. Will you lend me a book?"
I was naturally conducted to the library in question,
which I pretended now to see for the first time, and I laid
my finger on a book.
27


True Stories of Modern Magic
Each goum,1 drawn up in companies, was introduced
separately, and led in perfect order to the places chosen
for it in advance. Then came the turn of the chiefs, who
seated themselves with all the gravity becoming their char-
acter.
Their introduction lasted some time, for these sons of
nature could not understand that they were boxed up thus,
side by side, to enjoy a spectacle, and our comfortable seats,
far from seeming so to them, bothered them strangely. I
saw them fidgeting about for some time, and trying to tuck
their legs under them, after the fashion of European tailors.
The caids, agas, bash-agas, and other titled Arabs, held
the places of honor, for they occupied the orchestra stalls
and the dress circle.
In the midst of them were several privileged officers,
and, lastly, the interpreters were mingled among the spec-
tators, to translate my remarks to them.
I was also told that several curious people, having been
unable to procure tickets, had assumed the Arab burnous,
and, binding the camel's-hair cord round their foreheads,
had slipped in among their new coreligionists.
This strange medley of spectators was indeed a most
curious sight. The dress circle, more especially, presented
an appearance as grand as it was imposing. Some sixty
Arab chiefs, clothed in their red mantles (the symbol of
their submission to France), on which one or more deco-
rations glistened, gravely awaited my performance with
majestic dignity.
I have performed before many brilliant assemblies, but
never before one which struck me so much as this. How-
ever, the impression I felt on the rise of the curtain, far
from paralyzing me, on the contrary inspired me with a
lively sympathy for the spectators, whose faces seemed so
well prepared to accept the marvels promised them. As
soon as I walked on the stage, I felt quite at my ease, and
'Brigade of native soldiers under French command. It was this
influential native faction that the Foreign Office wished particularly
to impress, through Robert-Houdin's skill.—Editor.
30


True Stories of Modern Magic
One trick I should much have liked to perform was the
inexhaustible bottle, so appreciated by the Parisians and
the Manchester " hands "; but I could not employ it in this
performance, for it is well known the followers of Mo-
hammed drink no fermented liquor—at least not publicly.
Hence, I substituted the following with considerable ad-
vantage:
I took a silver cup, like those called "punch bowls" in
the Parisian cafes. I unscrewed the foot, and passing my
wand through it showed that the vessel contained nothing;
then, having refitted the two parts, I went to the center of
the pit, when, at my command, the bowl was magically
filled with sweetmeats, which were found excellent.
The sweetmeats exhausted, I turned the bowl over, and
proposed to fill it with excellent coffee; so, gravely passing
my hand thrice over the bowl, a dense vapor immediately
issued from it, and announced the presence of the precious
liquid. The bowl was full of boiling coffee, which I poured
into cups, and offered to my astounded spectators.
The first cups were only accepted, so to speak, under
protest; for not an Arab would consent to moisten his lips
with a beverage which he thought came straight from Shai-
tan's kitchen; but, insensibly seduced by the perfume of
their favorite liquor, and urged by the interpreters, some
of the boldest decided on tasting the magic liquor, and all
soon followed their example.
The vessel, rapidly emptied, was repeatedly filled again
with equal rapidity; and it satisfied all demands, like my
inexhaustible bottle, and was borne back to the stage still
full.
But it was not enough to amuse my spectators; I must
also, in order to fulfill the object of my mission, startle
and even terrify them by the display of a supernatural
power.
My arrangements had all been made for this purpose,
and I had reserved for the end of my performances three
tricks, which must complete my reputation as a sorcerer. Many of my readers will remember having seen at my
32


M. Robert-Houdin
performances a small but solidly built box, which, being
handed to the spectators, becomes heavy or light at my
order; a child might raise it with ease, and yet the most
powerful man could not move it from its place.
I advanced, with my box in my hand, to the center of
the " practicable," communicating from the stage to the pit;
then, addressing the Arabs, I said to them:
"From what you have witnessed, you will attribute a
supernatural power to me, and you are right. I will give
you a new proof of my marvelous authority, by showing
that I can deprive the most powerful man of his strength
and restore it at my will. Anyone who thinks himself
strong enough to try the experiment may draw near me."
(I spoke slowly, in order to give the interpreter time to
translate my words.)
An Arab of middle height, but well built and muscular,
like many of the Arabs are, came to my side with sufficient
assurance.
"Are you very strong?" I said to him, measuring him
from head to foot.
"Oh, yes!" he replied carelessly.
"Are you sure you will always remain so?"
"Quite sure."
"You are mistaken, for in an instant I will rob you of
your strength, and you shall become as a little child."
The Arab smiled disdainfully as a sign of his incredulity.
"Stay," I continued; " lift up this box."
The Arab stooped, lifted up the box, and said to me,
coldly, "Is that all?"
"Wait—!" I replied.
Then, with all possible gravity, I made an imposing ges-
ture, and solemnly pronounced the words:
"Behold! you are weaker than a woman; now, try to
lift the box."
The Hercules, quite cool as to my conjuration, seized
the box once again by the handle, and gave it a violent
tug, but this time the box resisted, and, spite of his most
vigorous attacks, would not budge an inch.
33


True Stories of Modern Magic
The Arab vainly expended on this unlucky box a strength
which would have raised an enormous weight, until, at
length, exhausted, panting, and red with anger, he stopped,
became thoughtful, and began to comprehend the influences
of magic.
He was on the point of withdrawing; but that would be
allowing his weakness, and that he, hitherto respected for
his vigor, had become as a little child. This thought ren-
dered him almost mad.
Deriving fresh strength from the encouragements his
friends offered him by word and deed, he turned a glance
round them, which seemed to say: "You will see what a
son of the desert can do."
He bent once again over the box: his nervous hands
twined round the handle, and his legs, placed on either
side like two bronze columns, served as a support for the
final effort.
But, wonder of wonders! this Hercules, a moment since
so strong and proud, now bows his head; his arms, riveted
to the box, undergo a violent muscular contraction; his
legs give way, and he falls on his knees with a yell of
agony!
An electric shock, produced by an inductive apparatus,
had been passed, on a signal from me, from the further
end of the stage into the handle of the box. Hence the
contortions of the poor Arab!
It would have been cruelty to prolong this scene.
I gave a second signal, and the electric current was im-
mediately intercepted. My athlete, disengaged from his ter-
rible bondage, raised his hands over his head.
"Allah! Allah!" he exclaimed, full of terror; then wrap-
ping himself up quickly in the folds of his burnous, as if
to hide his disgrace, he rushed through the ranks of the
spectators and gained the front entrance.
With the exception of my stage boxes and the privileged
spectators who appeared to take great pleasure in this ex-
periment, my audience had become grave and silent, and
I heard the words "Shaitan!" "Djenoum!" passing in
34


M. Robert-Houdin
a murmur round the circle of credulous men, who, while
gazing on me, seemed astonished that I possessed none of
the physical qualities attributed to the angel of darkness.
I allowed my public a few moments to recover from the
emotion produced by my experiment and the flight of the
herculean Arab.
One of the means employed by the Marabouts to gain
influence in the eyes of the Arabs is by causing a belief
in their invulnerability.
One of them, for instance, ordered a gun to be loaded
and fired at him from a short distance, but in vain did the
flint produce a shower of sparks; the Marabout pronounced
some cabalistic words, and the gun did not explode.
The mystery was simple enough; the gun did not go
off because the Marabout had skillfully stopped up the
vent.
Colonel de Neveu explained to me the importance of dis-
crediting such a miracle by opposing to it a sleight-of-hand
trick far superior to it, and I had the very article.
I informed the Arabs that I possessed a talisman render-
ing me invulnerable, and I defied the best marksman in
Algeria to hit me.
I had hardly uttered the words when an Arab, who had
attracted my notice by the attention he had paid to my
tricks, jumped over four rows of seats, and disdaining the
use of the "practicable," crossed the orchestra, upsetting
flutes, clarionets, and violins, escaladed the stage, while
burning himself at the footlights, and then said, in excel-
lent French:
"I will kill you!"
An immense burst of laughter greeted both the Arab's
picturesque ascent and his murderous intentions, while an
interpreter who stood near me told me I had to deal with
a Marabout.
"You wish to kill me!" I replied, imitating his accent
and the inflection of his voice. "Well, I reply, that though
you are a sorcerer, I am still a greater one, and you will
not kill me,"
35


M. Robcrt-Houdm
not lost his wits; so, profiting by the moment when he re-
turned me the pistol, he seized the apple, thrust it into his
waist belt, and could not be induced to return it, persuaded
as he was that he possessed in it an incomparable talisman.
For the last trick in my performance I required the as-
sistance of an Arab.
At the request of several interpreters, a young Moor,
about twenty years of age, tall, well built, and richly dressed,
consented to come on the stage. Bolder and more civilized,
doubtless, than his comrades of the plains, he walked
firmly up to me.
I drew him toward the table that was in the center of
the stage, and pointed out to him and to the other specta-
tors that it was slightly built and perfectly isolated. After
which, without further preface, I told him to mount upon
it, and covered him with an enormous cloth cone, open at
the top.
Then, drawing the cone and its contents on to a plank,
the ends of which were held by my servant and myself, we
walked to the footlights with our heavy burden, and upset
it. The Moor had disappeared—the cone was perfectly
empty!
Immediately there began a spectacle which I shall never
forget.
The Arabs were so affected by this last trick, that, im-
pelled by an irresistible feeling of terror, they rose in all
parts of the house, and yielded to the influence of a general
panic. To tell the truth, the crowd of fugitives was densest
at the door of the dress circle, and it could be seen, from
the agility and confusion of these high dignitaries, that they
were the first to wish to leave the house.
Vainly did one of them, the Caid of the Beni-Salah, more
courageous than his colleagues, try to restrain them by his
words:
"Stay! stay! we cannot thus lose one of our coreligion-
ists. Surely we must know what has become of him, or
what has been done to him. Stay! stay!"
But the coreligionists only ran away the faster, and soon
37


True Stories of Modern Magic
the courageous caid, led away by their example, followed
them.
They little knew what awaited them at the door of the
theater; but they had scarce gone down the steps when
they found themselves face to face with the "resuscitated
Moor."
The first movement of terror overcome, they surrounded
the man, felt and cross-questioned him; but, annoyed by
these repeated questions, he had no better recourse than to
escape at full speed.
The next evening the second performance took place, and
produced nearly the same effect as the previous one.
The blow was struck: henceforth the interpreters and
all those who had dealings with the Arabs received orders
to make them understand that my pretended miracles were
only the result of skill, inspired and guided by an art called
prestidigitation, in no way connected with sorcery.
The Arabs doubtless yielded to these arguments, for
henceforth I was on the most friendly terms with them.
Each time a chief saw me, he never failed to come up and
press my hand. And, even more, these men whom I had
so terrified, when they became my friends, gave me a pre-
cious testimony of their esteem—I may say, too, of their
admiration, for that is their own expression.
IV
FACING THE ARAB'S PISTOL
The severest trial of all was unexpectedly enootmtered during a
visit paid by the conjurer and his wife to Bou-Allem-ben-Sherifa,
Bash-Aga of the Djendel, a tribe of the desert interior.
WE entered a small room very elegantly decorated, in
which were two divans.
"This," our host said, "is the room reserved for guests
of distinction; you can go to bed when you like, but if you
38


M. Robert-Houdin
are not tired, I would ask your leave to present to you sev-
eral chief men of my tribe, who, having heard of you, wish
to see you."
"Let them come in," I said, after consulting Madame
Houdin, "we will receive them with pleasure."
The interpreter went out, and soon brought in a dozen
old men, among whom were a Marabout and several talebs,
whom the bash-aga appeared to hold in great deference.
They sat down in a circle on carpets and kept up a very
lively conversation about my performances at Algiers.
This learned society discussed the probability of the mar-
vels related by the chief of the tribe, who took great pleas-
ure in depicting his impressions and those of his coreligion-
ists at the sight of the miracles I had performed.
Each lent an attentive ear to these stories, and regarded
me with a species of veneration; the Marabout alone dis-
played a degree of skepticism, and asserted that the spec-
tators had been duped by what he called a vision.
Jealous of my reputation as a French sorcerer, I thought
I must perform before the unbeliever a few tricks as a
specimen of my late performance. I had the pleasure of as-
tounding my audience, but the Marabout continued to offer
me a systematic opposition, by which his neighbors were
visibly annoyed; the poor fellow did not suspect, though,
what I had in store for him.
My antagonist wore in his sash a watch, the chain of
which hung outside.
I believe I have already mentioned a certain talent I pos-
sess of filching a watch, a pin, a pocketbook, etc., with a
skill by which several of my friends have been victimized.
I was fortunately born with an honest and upright heart,
or this peculiar talent might have led me too far. When
I felt inclined for a joke of this nature, I turned it to profit
in a conjuring trick, or waited till my friend took leave of
me, and then recalled him: "Stay," I would say, handing
him the stolen article, "let this serve as a lesson to put you
on your guard against persons less honest than myself."
But to return to our Marabout. I had stolen his watch
39


True Stories of Modern Magic
as I passed near him and slipped into its place a five-franc
piece.
To prevent his detecting it, and while waiting till I could
profit by my larceny, I improvised a trick. After juggling
away Bou-Allem's rosary, I made it pass into one of the
numerous slippers left at the door by the guests; this shoe
was next found to be full of coins, and to end this little
scene comically, I made five-franc pieces come out of the
noses of the spectators. They took such pleasure in this
trick that I fancied I should never terminate it. "Dourosl
douros!"1 they shouted, as they twitched their noses. I
willingly acceded to their request, and the douros issued at
command.
The delight was so great that several Arabs rolled on
the ground; this coarsely expressed joy on the part of Mo-
hammedans was worth frenzied applause to me.
I pretended to keep aloof from the Marabout, who, as I
expected, remained serious and impassive.
When calm was restored, my rival began speaking hur-
riedly to his neighbors, as if striving to dispel their illusion,
and, not succeeding, he addressed me through the inter-
preter:
"You will not deceive me in that way," he said, with a
crafty look.
"Why so?"
"Because I don't believe in your power."
"Ah, indeed! Well, then, if you do not believe in my
power, I will compel you to believe in my skill."
"Neither in one nor the other."
I was at this moment the whole length of the room from
the Marabout.
"Stay," I said to him; " you see this five-franc piece."
"Yes."
"Close your hand firmly, for the piece will go into it in
spite of yourself."
"I am ready," the Arab said, in an incredulous voice, as
he hel<* ^ut his tightly closed fist.
'Gold Arabic coin.
40


M. Robert-Houdm
I took the piece at the end of my fingers, so that the
assembly might all see it, then, feigning to throw it at the
Marabout, it disappeared at the word " Pass!"
My man opened his hand, and, finding nothing in it,
shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "You see, I told
you so."
I was well aware the piece was not there, but it was
important to draw the Marabout's attention momentarily
from the sash, and for this purpose I employed the feint.
"That does not surprise me," I replied, "for I threw
the piece with such strength that it went right through
your hand, and has fallen into your sash. Being afraid
I might break your watch by the blow, I called it to
me: here it is!" And I showed him the watch in my
hand.
The Marabout quickly put his hand in his waist belt, to
assure himself of the truth, and was quite stupefied at find-
ing the five-franc piece.
The spectators were astounded. Some among them be-
gan telling their beads with a vivacity evidencing a certain
agitation of mind; but the Marabout frowned without say-
ing a word, and I saw he was spelling over some evil
design.
"I now believe in your supernatural power," he said;
"you are a real sorcerer; hence, I hope you will not fear
to repeat here a trick you performed in your theater "; and
offering me two pistols he held concealed beneath his bur-
nous, he added, " Come, choose one of these pistols; we will
load it, and I will fire at you. You have nothing to fear, as
you can ward off all blows."
I confess I was for a moment staggered; I sought a
subterfuge and found none. All eyes were fixed upon me,
and a reply was anxiously awaited.
The Marabout was triumphant.
Bou-Allem, being aware that my tricks were only the re-
sult of skill, was angry that his guest should be so pestered;
hence he began reproaching the Marabout. I stopped him,
however, for an idea had occurred to me which would save
4i


True Stories of Modern Magic
me from my dilemma, at least temporarily; then, address-
ing my adversary:
"You are aware," I said, with assurance, "that I require
a talisman in order to be invulnerable, and, unfortunately,
I have left mine at Algiers."
The Marabout began laughing with an incredulous air.
"Still," I continued, "I can, by remaining six hours at
prayers, do without the talisman, and defy your weapon.
To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock, I will allow you to
fire at me in the presence of these Arabs, who were wit-
nesses of your challenge."
Bou-Allem, astonished at such a promise, asked me once
again if this offer were serious, and if he should invite the
company for the appointed hour. On my affirmative, they
agreed to meet before the stone bench in the market place.
I did not spend my night at prayers, as may be sup-
posed, but I employed about two hours in insuring my in-
vulnerability; then, satisfied with the result, I slept soundly,
for I was terribly tired.
By eight the next morning we had breakfasted, our horses
were saddled, and our escort was awaiting the signal for
our departure, which would take place after the famous
experiment.
None of the guests were absent, and, indeed, a great
number of Arabs came in to swell the crowd.
The pistols were handed me; I called attention to the
fact that the vents were clear, and the Marabout put in a fair charge of powder and drove the wad home. Among
the bullets produced, I chose one which I openly put in the
pistol, and which was then also covered with paper.
The Arab watched all these movements, for his honor
was at stake.
We went through the same process with the second pis-
tol and the solemn moment arrived.
Solemn, indeed, it seemed to everybody—to the specta-
tors who were uncertain of the issue, to Madame Houdin,
who had in vain besought me to give up this trick, for she
feared the result—and solemn also to me, for as my new
42


M. Robert-Houdin
trick did not depend on any of the arrangements made at
Algiers, I feared an error, an act of treachery—I knew not
what.
Still I posted myself at fifteen paces from the sheik, with-
out evincing the slightest emotion.
The Marabout immediately seized one of the pistols, and,
on my giving the signal, took a deliberate aim at me. The
pistol went off, and the ball appeared between my teeth.
More angry than ever, my rival tried to seize the other
pistol, but I succeeded in reaching it before him.
"You could not injure me," I said to him, "but you
shall now see that my aim is more dangerous than yours.
Look at that wall."
I pulled the trigger, and on the newly whitewashed wall
appeared a large patch of blood, exactly at the spot where
I had aimed.
The Marabout went up to it, dipped his finger in the
blood, and, raising it to his mouth, convinced himself of
the reality. When he acquired this certainty, his arms fell,
and his head was bowed on his chest, as if he were anni-
hilated.
It was evident that for the moment he doubted everything,
even the Prophet.
The spectators raised their eyes to heaven, muttered
prayers, and regarded me with a species of terror.
This scene was a triumphant termination to my perform-
ance. I therefore retired, leaving the audience under the
impression I had produced. We took leave of Bou-Allem
and his son, and set off at a gallop.
The trick I have just described, though so curious, is
easily prepared. I will give a description of it, while ex-
plaining the trouble it took me.
As soon as I was alone in my room, I took out of my
pistol case—without which I never travel—a bullet mold.
I took a card, bent up the four edges, and thus made a
sort of trough, in which I placed a piece of wax taken from
one of the candles. When it was melted, I mixed with it
43


True Stories of Modern Magic
a little lampblack I had obtained by putting the blade of
a knife over the candle, and then ran this composition in
the bullet mold.
Had I allowed the liquid to get quite cold, the ball would
have been full and solid; but in about ten seconds I turned
the mold over, and the portions of the wax not yet set ran
out, leaving a hollow ball in the mold. This operation is
the same as that used in making tapers, the thickness of
the outside depending on the time the liquid has been left
in the mold.
I wanted a second ball, which I made rather more solid
than the other; and this I filled with blood, and covered
the orifice with a lump of wax. An Irishman had once
taught me the way to draw blood from the thumb without
feeling any pain, and I employed it on this occasion to fill
my bullet.
Bullets thus prepared bear an extraordinary resemblance
to lead, and are easily mistaken for that metal when seen
at a short distance off.
With this explanation, the trick will be easily under-
stood. After showing the leaden bullet to the spectators,
I changed it for my hollow ball, and openly put the latter
into the pistol. By pressing the wad tightly down, the wax
broke into small pieces, and could not touch me at the dis-
tance I stood.
At the moment the pistol was fired, I opened my mouth
to display the lead bullet I held between my teeth, while
the other pistol contained the bullet filled with blood, which
bursting against the wall, left its imprint, though the wax
had flown to atoms.
It is no wonder that after such exhibitions Robert-Houdin's success was complete. The Arabs lost all confidence in Marabout'' mir-
acles," and thus a dangerous smoldering flame of disaffection to
the French was entirely smothered.—Editor.
44


David P. Abbott Fraudulent Spiritualism Unveiled*
THE METHODS OF A "DOCTOR OF THE OCCULT"
^ OT so very long ago I met a friend—a man of wealth,
who was a firm believer in spiritualism, and who fre-
quently conversed with his dead wife and daughter. I
asked him if he could inform me whether or not there were
any good mediums in the city, as I should like to consult
one.
He replied that at present there were none in Omaha of
any well-developed psychic powers; that he was entirely sat-
isfied on the subject and did not require any demonstrations
to convince himself of the truths of spiritual science. He
informed me that the question was settled beyond all dis-
pute; but that if I were skeptical, there was said to be a
medium in Council Bluffs who possessed most wonderful
powers.
I accordingly made other inquiries from those who were
in a position to know; and I learned that this medium, a
celebrated "Doctor of the Occult, Astrologer, Palmist and
* As to whether communication with the departed is possible, no
discussion is here attempted. The episodes following, from experi-
ences well authenticated, merely illustrate what sleight-of-hand
experts have long known—that most "mediums," "astrologers,"
"mind readers," and the like, can be proven to be frauds. Their
dupes are puzzled, and sometimes won over, in the name of Spiritu-
alism, either by the tricks familiar to all "conjurers," or else by the
psychology of deception (see page 280). Some of the cleverness dis-
played is marvelous, as the following pages show. The passages
by Hereward Carrington are copyrighted by Herbert B. Turner &
Co., 1907, and those by David P. Abbott are copyrighted by the Open
Court Publishing Company, 1907.—Editor.
45


David P. Abbott
deeply engaged to notice my entrance, and continued at his
labors for some time, while I stood quietly and watched
him. Sitting on one end of this rather large table was a
glass globe or vessel, supported by three nickeled rods,
something like a tripod. Coming from the wall was a
rather large nickeled tube or pipe which curved over above
the glass vessel, and continually allowed drops of water
to fall into the globe. From the side of this glass vessel
there led a small nickeled pipe which evidently carried away
the waste water.
Occasionally a little blue flame would appear on the sur-
face of this water, play about, and disappear. When this
happened the body of the medium was always convulsed
slightly.
After a time he seemed to finish his calculation, and
this seer condescended to leave the realms of the stars
wherein dwelt the spirits that rule the universe and the
destinies of men, and to descend to earth and for a time
direct his gaze toward this humble mortal. He turned
around and observed me for the first time. He was a large,
portly, fine-looking gentleman of middle age, with very long
black hair which gave him a strange appearance. He wore
a pair of glasses low down on his nose; and from over these
he condescended to direct his gaze at, and to study me for
a moment as a naturalist might study some specimen that
happened temporarily to attract his notice.
He soon informed me that the stars had told him some-
thing of my coming and of the question that was worrying
me; and he asked me if I desired to consult the stars as to
my destiny, to have him decipher it from the lines of my
palm, or whether I should prefer to converse with the dead.
The last was my choice.
Not far from a window at one side of the room there
was a small table on which were a few articles. He di-
rected me to be seated at this table, and handed me a slip
of paper of a size of probably four by five inches. He
directed me to write the question I desired answered on this
paper, and when through to fold the paper in halves three
47


True Stories of Modern Magic
times with the writing inside. I did so while he walked to
his bowl of water apparently paying no attention to me,
and then returned.
When he had returned to a position opposite me at the
table, he reached to take my writing out of my hand; seeing
which I quickly bent down one corner of the paper and
gave it to him. He directed one sharp glance at me as I
did this, at the same time picking up an envelope from the
table with his other hand. He held this envelope open flap
side toward me, and slowly inserted my paper into it. As
he did this, looking sharply at me, he remarked, "I am no
sleight-of-hand performer. You see your question is actu-
ally in the envelope." This was the case; for it was close
to me and I could plainly see the top of.it against the back
of the envelope, the lower portions being inserted; and I
could see the little corner folded down, as I had bent it,
and I was certain he had not exchanged it. In fact he took
occasion to use his hands in such manner that I could see
there was nothing concealed about them, that he " palmed"
nothing, and that he made no exchange. I was entirely
satisfied that all was fair, and that no exchange had been
made.
Next, he sealed the envelope, and holding it toward the
window, called my attention to the fact that as the en-
velope was partly transparent I could see my paper within
it and that it was actually there. This was really the case.
He now took a match, and lighting it applied the flame to
this identical envelope without its leaving my sight; and
proceeded to burn the last vestige of it and the paper within
it, allowing the ashes to drop into a small vessel on the
table.
There was no doubt that he did not exchange envelopes
and that he burned it before my very eyes. He now took
the ashes and emptied them into the bowl of water on the
side table. A little blue flame appeared on the surface of
the water after that for a moment, and then disappeared.
He now brought from a drawer a number of slates—
about eight or ten small slates with padded edges. They
48


David P. Abbott
were the smallest size of slates, I should judge; and with
them he brought another slate, a trifle larger, probably two
inches both longer and wider. He requested me to examine
thoroughly or to clean them all to my own satisfaction, and
to stack the small ones on the table, one on top of the other;
and when all were thus placed, to place the large slate on
top of the stack.
While I was doing this he called to his attendant for a
drink of water, and incidentally stepped into the hall to
receive it, so that his menial would not profane this sanc-
tuary with his presence.
Returning to the table he took a seat opposite me and
placed one of my hands and one of his on top of the slates.
In due time he took up the slates and we found nothing.
He replaced them, and waited for a few moments; then
seeming dissatisfied with conditions, he took up the top
slate in his left hand and with his right hand began writing
a message for me. He did this like mediums do automatic
writing, with eyes half closed; and while writing his person
was convulsed a few times. He then opened his eyes and
read aloud what he had written, asking me if it answered my
question. I replied that it did not, as it was entirely for-
eign to the subject. Then seeming dissatisfied, he mois-
tened his fingers, erased the writing, and replaced the top
slate on the stack of slates.
He now placed his hands on this slate again, and after
a time examined it; but it was still free from writing. He
lifted up some of the other slates; but as there was no
writing, he scattered the slates around on the table and
asked me to spread a large cloth over them which he handed
to me. This I did, and under his direction placed my arms
and hands over this. He walked to the bowl of water on
the side table, and gazed into it. I watched him; and I saw
a rather large flame appear on the surface of the water,
dance about, and disappear.
He immediately informed me that he was certain that I
now had a message. He remained at a distance while I
examined the slates one by one. Finally, on one of them
49


True Stories of Moder n Magic
I found a message, neatly written and covering the entire
slate. It read:
"Mrs. Piper is a genuine medium. She possesses powers
of a very unusual nature. Her tests given Hyslop and
others are genuine. Do not be a skeptic. You are making
a mistake, dear friend. It is all plain to me now, and spirit
is all there is.—WILL."
Now, the question I had written was addressed to a very
dear friend who is now dead, and read as follows:
"Will J :In regard to the medium, Mrs. Piper, of
whom we conversed on your last visit, I would ask if she
be genuine, and if the tests she gave Professor Hyslop and
others were genuine. Give me a test."
This was all nicely done, and I am sure would have
greatly impressed nearly everyone. Being a performer my-
self, I could of course follow the performance in minute
detail, and I am thus enabled to give to the readers of this
paper a detailed account of the method used by the doctor.
I will state that since that time I have very successfully
operated this same test, minus the bowl of water and flame
of fire; and that I can assure all that it is very practicable
and that it is very deceptive.
HOW THE TRICKS SUCCEEDED
WHEN the medium picked up the envelope in which to
place my paper, there was within it a duplicate piece of
paper folded the same, and of the same size (one inch and
a quarter by two inches) as the one I had folded. He kept
the face of this envelope opposite me so I could not see
that side of it. On the face of it was a horizontal slit
cut with a knife. This slit was about two inches long
and was situated about halfway down the face of the
envelope. The duplicate folded paper was placed verti-
cally in the envelope at its center, so that its center was
located against the slit. This piece of paper was held in
position by a touch of paste at a point opposite the slit,
50


David P. Abbott
which caused it to adhere to the inside of the back of the
envelope.
When he picked up this prepared envelope with his left
hand, he did so with the slit side or face in his palm next
to the fingers of his left hand. This envelope lay slit side
down before he picked it up; so that I did not see the face
of the envelope at all, and he kept that side of the envelope
from me during the entire trick. The paper within th?.
envelope had been placed far enough down so that its toy
part was not exposed to my view. The envelope thus ap-
peared perfectly natural, as an ordinary one with nothing
in it.
He thus held the envelope in his left hand, flap open
wide, with the back side of the envelope later to be sealed,
facing me. Now he really inserted my paper in this en-
velope with his right hand as he took it from me; but in
fact, he pushed it down just behind the hidden slip of paper
within the envelope. I mean that he inserted it between
the concealed slip and the face or slit side of the envelope;
and as he did this ke caused the lower end of my slip of
paper to pass through the slit in the center of the front of
the envelope. The lower portion of my slip was thus out
of the envelope on its rear side, between the front of the
envelope and the fingers of his left hand; although I could
see nothing of this. He pushed it down so that the top
still remained in view with the bent corner exposed, and
then sealed the flap over it.
Holding the envelope toward the window, he called to
my notice the fact that my paper was within, and that I
could see it plainly. I could see the shadow of the two
papers, which appeared as one, and thus his rfatement
seemed correct. Of course he did not show me Jie rear
side or face of the envelope, with my paper protruding,
which was immediately behind the duplicate, so that the
shadow of it was also the shadow of the duplicate.
This shadow also hid from my view the shadow of tire
slit. The envelope was sealed fairly.
Now with his right hand he moved a small vessel on
5i


True Stories of Modem Magic
the table toward himself. Then taking the envelope in his
right hand, slit side downward, he held it close to this
vessel; at the same time with his left hand he took a
match from his pocket and proceeded to burn the envelope.
This move concealed the trick; and it was very deceiving
and cleverly done. As he took the envelope from his left
hand with his right hand, he, with his left fingers touching
the protruding portion of my slip, caused it to remain in
his left hand and to be drawn entirely out of the slit. His
eyes followed the envelope as his right hand took it; which
naturally caused my eyes to follow it, as his attention
seemed centered on the envelope and it appeared to occupy
the stage of action. This move was executed in a moment,
not requiring any time worth mentioning, although it takes
so long to describe it on paper intelligibly. Now while his
eyes (and of course mine) followed the envelope, without
pause his left hand went into his left pocket in a natural
manner to get the match. He, of course, left my slip in his
pocket with his surplus matches; and when he retired for
the drink of water, he read my question.
As to the slate trick, all was fair until he picked up the
top slate, wrote an automatic message, apparently read it
aloud to me, and then upon my informing him that the mes-
sage did not answer my question, he seemed dissatisfied,
apparently erased the message, and replaced the large slate
on top of the stack of slates. What he really did was to
pick up the large top slate, bottom side toward himself,
and at the same time to carry with it a small slate pressed
tightly against its under side. He held the large slate with
its under side tilted from me, so I could not see this small
slate. There being so many small slates in the stack, the
temporary absence of one from the stack attracted no notice.
He kept this small slate next to him out of my view, and
really wrote the message on the small slate which was next
to him, and which was concealed from my view by the
larger slate. He did not read aloud what he had actually
written, but merely pretended to do so, repeating some-
thing entirely foreign to the subject instead. What he had
52


David P. Abbott
written really answered my question fully. When he ap-
peared to erase the message, his movements were but a
pretense; and he did not erase it at all. When he replaced
the large slate on the stack of slates, he, of course, replaced
the small one which was concealed under it, message side
down.
It must be remembered that the operator, at the begin-
ning of the slate trick, first took up and examined the large
slate a time or so for a message; and finding none, seemed
disappointed, and finally wrote the automatic message; then
on being informed that it did not apply to the case, he
seemed dissatisfied and appeared to erase it.
After the message was written and the slates replaced,
he examined the top slate a time or so, and even lifted off
a few small slates looking for writing, but did not turn
them over; then seeing nothing, he scattered the slates
around on the table, leaving their same sides downward;
and handing me the cover, he requested me to cover them
and place my hands on them.
The trick was now practically done. As the slates had
been examined so many times and nothing found on them,
even after the automatic writing, the majority of persons
would testify that there was positively nothing on the slates
when the medium left the table. The majority of persons
would never remember that he at one time wrote on the
large slate and erased it. The message being on a small
slate, and these being spread around, few would have known
that this message really appeared on the particular small
slate that was originally next the top of the stack.
Most people would have certified that they cleaned all of
the slates themselves, that the medium never touched any
of the small ones, and that he only laid his hands on top
of the stack a few times. Some would even forget that the
medium handled their writing at all before burning it.
I am sure that the nickeled tube that carried the dripping
water into the space over the glass bowl, had a second tube
within it; through which his assistant from the adjoining
room either blew, or sent by some mechanism, the chemicals
53


True Stories of Modem Magic
'(probably potassium) that would take fire and burn on
striking the water.
When I perform the slate trick described above, after
writing the "automatic" message, apparently erasing it,
and replacing the slates, I do not scatter the slates around
on the table as this medium did. Instead, I proceed as I
will now describe.
We place our palms on the stack, and after a time exam-
ine the large slate for a message, but find none. I may
incidentally remark that this last examination unconsciously
verifies in the sitter's mind the fact that I actually erased
what I wrote "automatically."
I now look on some of the smaller slates for a message,
but find none. When I do this I do not turn these slates
over and look on their under sides, but merely take off the
top slate to see if there be a message on the upper surface
of the one under it. I merely remark, " Well, there is noth-
ing on that slate," indicating the second one from the top;
and at the same time I drop the top slate (now in my hand)
on the table beside the stack. I immediately take off the
second slate and repeat this same performance, dropping
it on top of the first one. I keep on with this performance
until I have removed four or five of the slates, and have
them stacked in a second stack beside the first one. Then
seeming to grow discouraged, I remark, "I guess there is
no message "; and I replace the second stack on the first
stack. This places the message slate four or five slates
down in the stack; as the bottom slate of the second stack,
being the top slate of the original stack, is now the message
slate.
I next up-edge the small slates and place a rubber band
around them placing them in the sitter's lap. I, of course,
place what was the top of the stack downward when I do
so. As the stack is on the side edges of the slates when I
first up-edge them, I next bring them upon the end edges,
while I put the band in place. It is now easy to place the
stack of slates upon the sitter's lap with the top slate down
54


David P. Abbott
and to attract no notice to this fact. This is because the
position has been changed a time or so in placing the band
on; and I then take the stack in my hands by the edges of
the slates, and simply place what was the top side of the
stack in the beginning, at the bottom.
In due time I tell the subject to make an examination for
a message, and of course four or five slates down he finds a
message on the upper surface of one of the slates.
This seems very miraculous, as the slates have been so
repeatedly examined and nothing found. Finding the mes-
sage on the upper surface of a middle slate, where but a
moment before there was nothing, seems to be truly a mar-
vel. The subject having cleaned and stacked these slates
himself, and having seen them examined so many times,
naturally feels impressed that the message comes by some
superhuman power.
THE NAME OF THE DEAD
IN the book entitled Psychics: Facts and Theories, by Rev.
Minot J. Savage, at page 15, the following account will be
found:
"Soon I began to hear raps, apparently on the floor,
and then in different parts of the room. On this, the lady
remarked, simply: ' Evidently there is some one here who
wishes to communicate with you. Let us go into the front
parlor, where it will be quieter.' This we did, the raps
following us, or rather beginning again as soon as we were
seated. At her suggestion I then took pencil and paper
(which I happened to have in my bag), and sat at one side
of a marble-top table, while she sat at the other side in
a rocker and some distance away. Then she said: 'As
one way of getting at the matter, suppose you do this:
You know what friends you have in the spirit world.
Write now a list of names—any names you please, real
or fictitious, only among them somewhere include the
names of some friends in the spirit world who, you think,
55


David P. Abbott
elderly gentleman with a long white beard, and wearing
glasses. He appeared to be slightly deaf, as he placed his
hand to his ear and had my name repeated. He was in-
troduced to the remainder of the company en masse, the
names of the visitors not being given to him.
The medium soon announced that "his mission on this
earth was to absolutely prove to humanity the immortality
of the soul." He now offered to give some tests to those
desiring it, and asked for a small table which was placed
in an adjoining room. He invariably held his hand to
his ear, to catch what was being said, being apparently
quite deaf. He also used this same expedient when lis-
tening to the voices of the unseen spirits, and reporting
their communications.
My father and another gentleman were selected for the
first test, as they were considered very skeptical in such
matters. As they retired to a closed room I did not see
the experiment, but will give some parts of it as reported
to me, farther on. In a short time they returned to the
parlor, engaged in a discussion over the matter; and my
father remarked, "I do not know how you got your in-
formation, but I feel certain it was not from my brother,
or he would have given a certain point correctly." The
medium then said, "If I will tell you where your father
died, and the disease he died of, will you be convinced?"
My father replied, "I suppose I will have to be, if you
can do that."
They then retired, and the medium succeeded partially
in the experiment; and would have certainly succeeded
entirely, had my father followed his instructions. I will
describe what was reported to me of this test, farther on.
I now offered myself for a test. I retired to the room
with the medium, and incidentally offered him one dollar
and fifty cents, the same my father had given him; but he
refused the money, saying: " Your father is not convinced,
and I will not take any more money."
He now took a sheet of paper from a tablet, and drew
five straight lines across it, spacing the sheet into six spaces
57


True Stories of Modern Magic
about equal. Next taking my hand, and looking earnestly
into my face, he said: " Promise me that if I succeed, you
will not make light of this. Promise me, for this is very
sacred to me." I did so. He now directed me to write
names in the spaces on the sheet, any names I pleased,
writing but one name in each space. All the names were
to be of living or fictitious persons except one, this one
to be the name of some one I had known who was then
dead. He said, " Be fair with me, and I will scratch out
the dead person's name." These were his exact words,
therefore I in no way tried to hide my writing from him,
although he stood at a distance and did not appear to watch
me. I took a pencil and began writing the names; being
unprepared I had to think of the names I wished to write.
I desired to select names of persons living at a distance,
so that he could in no possible manner know them. While
I was writing he talked incessantly, which in spite of my-
self divided my attention. At the same time he kept urg-
ing me to write, and immediately after urging me, would
begin talking rapidly on some spiritualistic subject. I re-
member saying, "You must give me time to think." I
thought I used great care, so as to write each name with
the same precision, and tried to betray no emotion when
writing the dead person's name. I selected the name
"Cora Holt" for the dead person's name. This was the
name of an aunt who had died in another State.
As soon as I had written the names he asked me to
cut them apart into slips, having one name on each slip.
Now here I do not remember whether he folded them him-
self, or had me help, as I was not expecting them to be
folded. However, we folded each one into a billet with
the writing inside.
He now directed me to place them in a hat, and to
hold the hat under the table, take out the billets one at a
time, and throw them on the table top. This I did while
he stood with his right arm extended toward the table
and about one foot above it. After I had thrown a few
billets on the table, as I threw the next one, I heard three
58


David P. Abbott
loud distinct raps. He said, "There, that's the one that
is dead. Open it and see if I am right, but do not let me
see it. Fold it up again and place it in your pocket." I
opened the billet. I did not know what the name would
be, as I had mixed them under the table; yet I had a feel-
ing that it was correct. I opened it and sure enough the
name was "Cora Holt." I refolded it, placing it in my
pocket. I must confess that I felt a momentary creepy
feeling pass over me, as my emotions were wrought up
to such a pitch by the intense manner in which I had
watched all the details of the experiment. I informed him
that he was right, but did not tell him the name. He now
took my hand in his, and leading me into the parlor, had
me state to the company what had just occurred. Now
placing his hand on my head, he said: "I will endeavor
to give you the name." Closing his eyes, his body trem-
bled or shuddered with a kind of paroxysm, and apparently
with a great effort he pronounced the name " Cora Holt."
This effort seemed to greatly exhaust him, and coming
out of his temporary trance he begged us to excuse him,
saying that there were opposing spirits present and he
could do no more that night; that he had done all for us
that lay within his power. He now took his leave.
This was all very impressive to me at the time, except
the raps. It was only afterwards that I thought out the
explanation, which I will give farther on. As to the raps,
they had the sound as of a pencil tapping loudly on a thin
strip of wood, or a ruler, and not the sound of tapping on
a table. I had previously known of the mechanical and
electrical rappers, supplied by certain conjuring depots, and worn on the person of the medium, or attached to a
table. My impression was at the time that possibly he
had a rapper in the sleeve of the arm extended over the
table, and by directing the attention to the table the sound
would appear to come from there. As I was sitting right
against the table, I will say that the sound did not appear
to me to come from the table, but more nearly from his
person.
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True Stories of Modern Magic
Referring again to the test given my father, the medium
first announced his prices, which he would accept if satis-
factory. This was agreed to and paid. He then had my
father write names on paper in a manner similar to the way
I have described, except he did not request my father to
write a dead person's name; instead, he requested him to
write, among other names, his mother's maiden name, his
wife's maiden name, his father's name, also the names of
certain members of his family and of some of his friends,
some of whom should be dead. This my father did.
Among the names written by my father was his mother's
maiden name, viz., " Celestina Redexilana Phelps," a name
certainly out of the ordinary. He also wrote his wife's
maiden name, his father's name, his brother's name, and
several other names—six or eight altogether.
When the medium had the billets taken out of the hat he
said, " You have there the name of your mother; the name
is something like 'Celestia (not Celestina) Roxalena (not
Redexilana) Phelps,'" thus giving wrong pronunciations
to the first two names. However, when my father opened
it, sure enough it was his mother's maiden name. My
father now took another billet which had written thereon
his father's name. This the medium gave correctly, stating
that this was his father's name. The next billet had writ-
ten thereon the name of my father's brother; the name was
James Asahel Abbott." The medium then said: "Your
brother James is here, and he says to tell you that he is
happy and that you are making a great mistake not to
believe."
Now this brother had always been called by his second
name and not by the name of James. My father said,
"If you are my brother, give me your full name." The
medium replied, "James Ash-a-bell Abbott," giving an en-
tirely wrong pronunciation of the second name. This k
was, with some other error, that led to the discussion they
had on returning to the parlor, and in which my father re-
marked, " If you get your information from the dead, they
should be able to pronounce their own names correctly."
60


David P. Abbott
My father, not being familiar with the methods of trick-
ery, could not with exactness give all the minute details
of the test as I would have wished; and as I never had an
opportunity to see this experiment myself, I can only sur-
mise the means employed in its production.
The second experiment with my father had been an ef-
fort to tell the disease of which my grandfather died, also
the place where he died. The medium required my father
to write on the usual ruled paper, a name of a disease and
also a name of a place, in each space, that is, one disease
and one place in each space. He remarked in giving direc-
tions, "Like New York measles, Philadelphia smallpox,
etc." He required, however, that my father write in the
same space the correct disease, and also the correct place
of his father's death. The remainder of the spaces were
to contain the names of any disease or any place he might
choose.
This my father did, writing in one space "Sacramento
dysentery." This was the correct disease, but the city was
the place of my grandfather's burial, and not the place of
his death, the latter being a village called "Hangtown."
The medium quickly gave dysentery as the disease, and
Sacramento as the place of my grandfather's death. It
was plain that had my father written the village where his
father died, instead of his burial place, the medium would
have succeeded.
This, however, proved beyond a doubt that the medium
obtained his information from the writing, and not from
the spirits of the dead.
After thinking the matter over, I decided that, while I
was uncertain as to the manner in which Dr. Schlossenger
had performed all of these experiments, I could reproduce
two of them with certainty as often as he did. I imme-
diately made the trial and found I could succeed fully nine
times out of ten on an average. I might state that the
doctor also failed about one time in ten on an average;
nevertheless, the people of the community were greatly ex61


True Stories of Modern Magic
cited, talking of his miracles, in groups on the streets, for
some days. The medium was coining money, yet I found
a few cases where he failed totally. The failures were sel-
dom mentioned; it was the successes that excited the
people.
The method I use in reproducing the first test given me,
is to so direct the attention of the subjects before the writ-
ing, by my discourse, as to cause them to select uncon-
sciously the name of the dead person in advance. This
is easily managed with a little practice in talking, and still
they will never guess that it is done on purpose.
Now, as they begin to write, they will naturally pause
before writing each name, to think of a name to write.
The pause may be but slight, yet there is some pause. Of
course, when they write the selected name, no pause will
be necessary; and if hurried properly at that time they will
make none. This is the object of the incessant talking
during the experiment. If left to themselves, the subjects will, in about one half of the cases, write the selected name
in the third space from the top. In about half of the re-
maining cases the selected name will be written in the
fourth space from the top. This is especially true if in
your instructions you direct the subject to "mix the dead
person's name somewhere in among the others where you
cannot know where it is." In the remaining cases the sub-
jects are liable to write the selected name anywhere, gen-
erally first or last. Now my object is to so manipulate
my subjects as to cause them to write the selected name
when I want them to do so. This is done by continuous
talking, and distracting their attention until the proper
moment. I choose the third space, since this, being the
one they are most liable to choose of their own accord,
is the easiest to force. Just as they begin to write the first
name, before they make a mark, I say suddenly, " Now be
sure and select names of living persons that I could not
possibly know." This is almost certain to insure a pause,
and the name of a living person to be written first. I con-
tinue my talking in a natural manner, taking the attention
62


David P. Abbott
to a great extent from the writing, and nearly always ob-
serving another pause just before writing the second name.
When the second name is almost finished I exclaim sud-
denly, " Now write as rapidly as possible!" If the sub-
jects have been properly impressed with the seriousness
of the experiment, they will almost invariably, on finishing
the second name (in obedience to my command "to be
as rapid as possible," and in their desire to please me),
hurry into the name already in their minds, thus writing
the selected name in the third place. If such is the case
they will now most surely pause to think of a fourth name.
If so, I am certain that I now know the selected name.
However, if they should rapidly pass into the fourth name,
it is then uncertain whether the selected name is in the
third or fourth space. This, however, seldom happens if
worked in an expert manner.
In rare cases the subject cannot be manipulated by the
performer, in which case it is purely guesswork; even in
such cases, however, I stand one chance in six of succeed-
ing; and if I make a second trial on failing (not uncommon
with mediums), I stand one chance in three of succeeding.
It is hardly worth while to say that as I fold the billets,
I fold the third one slightly different from the rest, so that
while it will not attract attention, I can see at a glance
what it is when thrown on the table. I memorize the
name; also, if in doubt, I fold a second choice in a still
different manner for a second trial. Frequently I mem-
orize more of the names, folding so I can pick them out.
Then, after giving the dead person's name with proper
effect, I pick up the others, hold them to my head and call
out the names. The effect of this on a subject is very
impressive.
With a little practice the above test can be given with
very small chance of failure; and in the event of making
a failure it can be explained by the statement that "there
are opposing spirits present," or some similar excuse. If
one has other tests at his command, it is well, in the event
of failure, to announce that he will try something else, and
63


True Stories of Moder n Magic
then give another test. As these experiments are always
tried alone with one or, at most, two subjects, a failure
attracts little notice.
Now I cannot say positively that Dr. Schlossenger per-
formed this experiment in exactly this same manner; but
I do have a recollection of his hurrying me along in my
writing at some stage of its progress. I also know that
I can succeed as often as he did. I will add further that
a few days later I prepared six names in advance, and,
with my wife, had a sitting with the medium; this time,
although I paid him, he failed utterly. He tried in every
way and had me write additional names. This time I
guarded the points in the above explanation, yet no mat-
ter how he tried, he made an utter failure. All tricks re-
quire certain conditions, and this is why it is not safe to
repeat the same trick for the same person. There is too
much danger that the subject may notice the sameness of
the modus operandi.
Referring to the second test which was given by the
medium to my father, I will state that when the subjects
are writing the cities and diseases, they will naturally
pause after writing the city, to think of a disease to go
with it. Of course, when writing the correct ones, which
are already in mind, no pause will be necessary. Also
advantage may be taken of the fact that a small per cent
of persons die of smallpox or measles. If in giving the di-
rections one says, "Write like this: 'Philadelphia small-
pox, New York measles,'" and the subject writes small-
pox or measles in the list, it is safe to eliminate that from
the case. This is especially true if written in connection
with some large city, the name of which occurs readily to
the mind. It is safe also to eliminate Philadelphia or New
York if these should be written, providing you mentioned
these names in the directions, and that the test is not
being given in their section of the country. A small per
cent of the people of a country die in any two places of
prominence. Yet these places will be written readily by
most subjects if they are suggested, or at least other
64


David P. Abbott
places of equal prominence will be written. If an unusual
place or disease should be written, it is almost certain these
are the ones.
It can readily be seen how expert one can become at
this by continuous practice, such as a medium has many
times a day; how one can learn to take advantage of every
little point, and use it with telling effect on unsuspecting
strangers, who do not know what is going to happen, or
what to look for.
I have been told that Dr. Schlossenger had a very sharp
eye, although wearing glasses; and that the glasses were
probably to make the subject think it impossible for him
to read writing when they were moved out of position and
placed on the forehead, as they were during the tests. It
has also been suggested that his poor hearing was feigned,
to enable him to hear remarks made about himself in his
presence. I have suspected that his memory had become
trained to a high degree of accuracy, enabling him to give
his tests with such marvelous success, as he did with nearly
all wherever he went. That he does not use one set of
principles only in his tricks, I am certain, but has many
more at his command which he uses continually. How-
ever, I can only vaguely guess at them from having seen
his tests but once.
Now, I do not say that this was the method employed
by the lady with Rev. Savage, given in the account at the
beginning of this chapter. But as the experiments are
practically the same, it is safe to conclude that the methods
used are the same, or nearly so. If the test were genuine
in the case of the lady mentioned, it was probably genuine
in the case of Dr. Schlossenger. On the other hand, if it
were trickery in one case, it probably was in both.
MIND READING IN PUBLIC
NOT long ago I received a letter from an old-time friend,
in which he urgently requested me to make a journey to
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True Stories of Moder n Magic
his city. In bygone days he and I had spent many hours
together, discussing the mysteries of existence, the hidden
powers which nature manifests to us, and the origin and
destiny of the human soul. My friend is a physician, and
what is more, an earnest student; and he is also an in-
vestigator of that strange phenomenon in nature which
manifests itself in organized beings subjectively, as
thought, feeling and things spiritual.
Many times had we discussed the possibility and also
the probability of an existence of the spiritual part of man
after death. Many times had he reported to me cases of
strange phenomena that tended to prove the indestructi-
bility of spirit.
When I received this missive, it stated to me that the
writer most earnestly desired my presence in his city,
that I might assist in investigating a very strange and mar-
velous case of psychic phenomena. The case was that of
a certain traveling spirit medium, who claimed the power
to summon from the realms of the invisible the shades of
our departed friends and loved ones. He gave most mar-
velous exhibitions to prove his strange and miraculous
power. My friend stated that he thought he had at last
found a person with at least some queer psychical gift, if
not even possessing the power that he claimed. He had
watched the exhibition most carefully, and had even served
on a committee on the psychic's stage; and he could find
no evidence of trickery of any kind. He was inclined to
believe that this strange being really possessed the power
of vision without the use of human eyes as he certainly
read sealed missives, of which he could in no secret man-
ner have obtained knowledge.
Accordingly, on Saturday evening, I journeyed to a city
one hundred miles away to witness the work of this mod-
ern sorcerer. On my arrival I suggested to my friend a
number of ways by which such things could be performed
by trickery, but he informed me that none of my explana-
tions seemed to elucidate this strange work. The secret
did not consist in the use of odorless alcohol, for the rea66


David P. Abbott
son that the medium never touched the sealed envelopes
at all. In fact he was never nearer to them than ten feet.
This also made it impossible for him to use the principle
on which the trick is based, which is known to the pro-
fession as "Washington Irving Bishop's Sealed Letter
Reading."
He informed me that sheets of paper or cards were
passed to the spectators in the audience, and at the same
time envelopes in which to seal their questions were fur-
nished for them; that the spectators wrote questions as
directed, many times signing their own names to them.
He was certain that many persons folded their written
questions before sealing them, and that the operator him-
self did not even collect the envelopes on many occasions.
He informed me that the best evidence of the genuineness
of the performance lay in the fact that the medium seemed
to have no fixed conditions for his experiments; but
seemed to perform them in a different manner on each oc-
casion. The conditions were different in every case, yet
he always read the questions with the most marvelous cer-
tainty.
I thought the matter over after this, but could in no way
think of any plausible means of accomplishing his work
by trickery. I finally decided to wait and see the perform-
ance first, and to figure afterwards on the method em-
ployed.
Accordingly, at eight o'clock that evening I was seated
in the hall with my friend, and shortly afterwards the
"Seer " made his appearance, taking his seat on the stage.
He was a very slender personage, with long hair and a
particularly ghostly look. He took his seat quietly on
the stage. In a short time his manager appeared and made
an opening address, which I will not repeat, and then
asked some boy in the audience to pass cards around to
the spectators on which they were to write questions. En-
velopes were also distributed, in which to seal the cards.
When the writing was finished, the manager asked any
boy to take a hat which he held in his hand, and collect
67


True Stories of Modern Magic
the sealed envelopes. After the boy, whom everyone knew
to be a local resident, kindly volunteered for this service
and executed it, a committee was invited to the stage to
properly blindfold the medium. This was done in a satis-
factory manner, and the committee then returned to the
audience. The manager now led the blindfolded medium
to the rear of the stage, where he was seated somewhat
behind a table, on which were some flowers, a music box,
etc. However, the medium was in view plainly; and he
never removed the bandage from his eyes or in any man-
ner molested it.
When the boy came on the stage directly from the front
with the hat full of sealed envelopes, the manager placed
a handkerchief over the hat and asked the boy to take a
seat near the front of the stage facing the audience. He
was also directed to hold the hat in his lap, and to deliver
the envelopes to the manager, one at a time, as he should
call for them.
The operator now delivered a lecture, lasting some ten
or fifteen minutes, explaining the strange powers of the
blindfolded medium, who sat at the rear of the stage in
full view; while the boy still maintained the seat at the
front of the stage, and held the hat of envelopes in sight
of all.
After the lecture, the manager requested the boy to give
him one of the envelopes, which the boy did. The man-
ager did not look toward it in any manner; but took it
in the tips of his right fingers, held it in the air, and asked
the medium to give the writer of this question a test. The
medium shivered a few times, allowed his frame to con-
vulse slightly, and thus began:
"I feel the influence of one who was a brother. I get
the name of Clarence. Will the one who wrote this ques-
tion identify it as his?" There was no response from the
spectators, and the medium asked again that the writer
speak out. Still silence greeted his request; when sud-
denly he pointed his bony finger into the crowd, while his
blinded face confronted them, and exclaimed: "Mr. John
68


David P. Abbott
H , why do you not respond to your test?" A gentle-
man in the audience then acknowledged the test as his.
The medium then continued: "Clarence was drowned.
I sense the cold chilly water as it envelopes his form." At
this the lady sitting with the gentleman began to cry. The
medium continued: "The drowning was wholly an acci-
dent. There was no foul play. Now, Mr. H , have I
answered your question, and are you satisfied with your
test?" The gentleman, a well-known citizen, acknowl-
edged that he was perfectly satisfied.
The manager then laid the envelope on a small table
and asked the boy for another one. The boy gave him
another from the hat when the blindfolded medium, ten feet
or more distant, gave the second test.
He shivered again and began: "I feel the influence of
a young lady who died suddenly. She says, ' Sister Mary,
I am very happy, and death was not so hard to endure.
I want you to consult a good honorable attorney, and take
his advice in the lawsuit you ask me about.'" The me-
dium then continued, "Miss L , your sister regards
you with a look of great tenderness and love. Are you sat-
isfied with your test?" A lady then replied that she cer-
tainly was entirely convinced.
The manager now laid this sealed envelope beside the
other one and again called for another. This was con-
tinued until all of the envelopes in the hat were removed
and the questions answered. None of the envelopes were
opened. In some instances the medium first read the ques-
tions, word for word, before answering them; and when
he did so, he described the writing minutely, even the for-
mation of the strokes of the letters.
After all of these tests were given, the medium removed
the blindfold and seemed much exhausted. Then the tables
were removed to one side of the stage, and a cabinet
erected; after which some cabinet manifestations that were
very interesting were given. When these were over, the
manager collected the sealed envelopes from the table, and
placed them on the front of the stage, inviting the writers
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True Stories of Modern Magic
to call, should they so desire, and get their questions.
Some availed themselves of this opportunity and tore open
a number of the envelopes until they found their own ques-
tions. The audience seemed greatly impressed with this
exhibition, and the next day it was the talk of the town.
On the next evening I again repaired to the public hall
to witness and, if possible, fathom this performance. This
time, however, I found that an entirely different method
was employed. Envelopes and slips of paper were dis-
tributed; and after the questions were written and sealed
the manager went about the room, gathering them up in
a small black bag with a drawstring around its top. As
he gathered up each one, and while the writer still held
it, he gave to that person a number which was to serve
as that particular person's number during the tests. At
the same time the manager marked the number on the sub-
ject's envelope, while the subject held it, drawing a circle
around the figure, after which the subject dropped the en-
velope into the sack.
When all were collected, the operator took the sack
in the tips of his fingers, and holding it aloft, walked up
the runway to the stage where a cord hung from a screw-
eye fastened in the ceiling above. The other end of the
cord was attached to a piece of furniture on the stage.
The manager now attached the black bag containing the
envelopes to the end of this string, and then taking the
other end, drew the bag up to the ceiling near the screw-
eye, where it remained in full view during the tests.
While the manager was doing all this, the ghost-like me-
dium had been walking about the stage, reading in a large
Bible. He now laid the Bible on a table and advanced to
the front of the stage, while the manager delivered a lec-
ture on spiritual philosophy and also on the strange power
of the medium. After this the manager announced that
the medium would hold a Bible service, during which time
he would give the tests.
The medium now took his Bible, and seating himself in
70


David P. Abbott
a chair facing the audience, began by reading a verse.
After this he closed his eyes for a time, and then gave the
first test. He began: " I will give these tests in the order
in which the manager gave you your numbers, commenc-
ing with number one. Now, Mrs. Clara S , I see
standing near you an elderly lady, somewhat stooped; but
I cannot see her face plainly. She seems to be your
mother. She says to tell you that your son is doing well
where he is, and for you not to worry, for he will return
to you in time. Are you satisfied?" A lady in the audi-
ence was visibly affected, and acknowledged that the me-
dium had answered her question correctly. The medium
read another verse in the Bible, after which he gave the
second test in a manner similar to the way in which he had
given the first one. After this he read another verse, and
so continued until all the questions in the sack were an-
swered. The manager now lowered the sack, and empty-
ing the envelopes into a small basket distributed them un-
opened to their writers.
The effect of this exhibition was fully as great as was
that of the former one, and the medium continued to be
the wonder of the town.
On the next evening I again attended the meeting. On
this occasion questions were written and sealed as on the
former occasions. This time the medium was dressed as
a "Mahatma," wearing a large turban. As soon as the
questions were written, the manager collected them in a
small wicker basket, and emptied them on a table on the
stage. He only talked for a moment, describing what the
medium would do. During all this time the medium was
seated near the front of the stage. The medium now
tapped a little bell he held in his hand, as if summoning
the spirits, and began giving the tests in the most marvel-
ous manner. He seemed somewhat nervous, and finally
arose and walked across the stage, stopped a moment and
then continued his walk. Meanwhile he kept giving the
tests. Occasionally he would walk about nervously, and
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True Stories of Modern Magic
sometimes he would seat himself in the chair for a time;
but he kept right on giving test after test, with perfect ac-
curacy, while the sealed envelopes remained in full view on
the table. During this time, and in fact during the time the
audience was writing the questions, neither the medium nor
the manager had ever left the sight of the spectators for
even an instant
After all the tests were given, the medium, very much
exhausted, fell on a couch on the stage; while the man-
ager scooped the envelopes back into the basket, and then
distributed them to their writers in an unopened condition.
I will now explain how this " occultist " gave these vari-
ous billet tests.
We will first refer to the tests given the first evening.
A boy from the audience gathered up the sealed envelopes
in a hat, and brought them to the stage, sitting with them
in his lap; while he delivered one at a time to the manager,
who held it aloft, during which time the blindfolded me-
dium in the rear gave the test.
There was a simple little move that escaped the eyes of
the spectators in this instance. The spectators did not
know what was to happen, neither did the boy. The move
was executed as follows: Just as the boy came on the stage
with the hat the manager received the hat in his right hand
and in a natural manner. Nothing was thought of this,
as there was nothing suspicious in the act. Meanwhile the
manager directed the boy to take a chair that sat to the
left of the front of the stage, and to place it to the right
side in front, facing the audience, and to take his seat
thereon. Now, this conversation with the boy naturally
occupied the attention of the spectators; and while the boy
was executing the directions the manager turned to the
table, which was somewhat back on the stage, and appar-
ently took a large handkerchief from it, and with the hat
still apparently in his hand, he stepped to the boy, giving
him the hat of envelopes and the handkerchief, at the same
time instructing him how to cover the hat, and how to de72


True Stories of Modern Magic
ceived the hat from the boy at all. In fact, next day I
noticed from the talk of the spectators, that they invariably
asserted that the hat never left the boy's hands or their
sight.
Now, while the manager held each envelope aloft, the
medium had but to read the top card in his left hand and
give the tests in a dramatic manner. After the tests, when
the tables were set to one side and a cabinet erected, an
assistant out of view received the cards from the medium's
left hand; and then while behind the scenes, replaced them
in envelopes, sealed them, and then exchanged these for
the "dummy" envelopes on the small table. After the
entertainment the manager placed the originals (now
again sealed) near the front of the stage for the writers
to take and keep as souvenirs if they should so desire.
It is evident that this method could be varied a little.
For instance, when the manager holds the envelope aloft,
the medium could first read it and carefully describe the
writing. He could then ask for the envelope, so as to be-
come en rapport with the writer, in order that he may give
the correct answer. In this case he could leave the sur-
plus cards on the back of the table behind the music box,
and have in his left palm only the single card he is reading.
When he receives the envelope he should place it in his left
hand directly over the card and tear off the end of the en-
velope. He should then apparently take out the card from
the envelope, but in reality take the original card from
the rear of the envelope with his right hand. He should
then with his right hand press this card on top of his head
and give the answer, while his left hand lays the opened
envelope on the table or music box. In this case, as soon
as he answers the question, he should return the card to
the manager with his right hand and ask the manager to
have some boy run with it to its writer. After it is re-
turned to its writer, the manager can hold aloft another
envelope and the medium continue with the tests. After
the tests, the manager should remove the torn envelopes,
as they contain "dummy" cards.
74


David P. Abbott .'
I will now explain the method pursued on the second
evening. After the questions were written and sealed, the
manager went among the spectators collecting the en-
velopes in a cloth bag. He first numbered the envelopes,
at the same time instructing each spectator to remember
his number, after which the envelopes were dropped into
the bag. When all the envelopes were collected, the man-
ager lifted the bag in the tips of his fingers and ascended
to the stage with it in plain view. He quickly attached
it to the cord and drew it up to the ceiling. So far all was
fair; but just at this moment a person in the rear of the
hall made the statement that he desired to place his en-
velope in the bag also. The performer asked a gentleman
on the floor to take the bag, which he now lowered and
detached, and to kindly go to the gentleman and get his
envelope. While he was doing this the manager held the
audience by his discourse. The two gentlemen were, of
course, paid confederates; and when they met behind the
spectators, they merely exchanged the first bag for a du-
plicate under the coat of the rear confederate, who then
slipped around behind the stage with the original.
When the other confederate returned to the stage with
the duplicate bag and handed it to the manager he ran
this one up to the ceiling. This method can be varied by
the manager making the exchange under his own coat in
the first place when in the rear of the hall after collect-
ing the envelopes.
Meanwhile an assistant behind the scenes opened and
copied the questions neatly on a sheet of paper, and num-
bered each one. As he did this he slipped each one into a
duplicate envelope, which was also numbered by the man-
ager with a ring drawn around the figure. This he sealed.
As soon as all were copied this assistant carefully drew the
medium's Bible just out of sight from the table near the
flies where it rested, inserted the sheet containing the
copied questions, and pushed it back into view again.
During this time the medium was walking slowly about
at the front of the stage while the manager delivered hi9
75


David P. Abbott
closes it upon the bottom of the basket when it is released
by raising the handle. Envelopes in the bottom of the
basket are thus hidden and retained, when the flaps are
released, and the duplicates drop into the basket, from the
sides where they were concealed by the flaps.
This basket can be supplied by the conjuring depots,
or it can easily be made. The handle can be made of wire
and wrapped with raffia grass which is on sale at the de-
partment stores. A pasteboard lining covered with red
satin must first be sewed into the basket, and then two
flaps of pasteboard should be hinged to a pasteboard bot-
tom by pasting on a hinge of cloth. A suitable spring can
be made of spring wire and sewed into position, after
which this is all covered with red satin and placed in the
basket. The basket should have sides about four inches
high, and the bottom should measure about seven and one-
half by ten inches. The sides and ends slope outward, and
the basket is open wicker work. Suitable bows of ribbon
on the ends of the handle and corners of the basket conceal
the mechanism.
In the present instance, the assistant behind the scenes,
after reading and placing the questions in duplicate en-
velopes which the manager had previously numbered,
sealed them and placed them in the sides of the basket,
bent up the flaps into position, and lowered the handle
locking them in place. He now pushed this basket into
view on a table at the rear of the stage; and when the
manager was ready to return the envelopes, he scooped the
dummy envelopes from the table (where they lay after
the bag was emptied) into this basket. He then lifted the
handle which released the flaps, covered up the dummy
envelopes and dropped the originals into view. These he
took down and quickly distributed to the writers. Being
numbered, this could be quickly done.
• • . • • I will now describe the method employed on the third
evening. This time dummy envelopes were placed in the
sides of the basket, and the handle left in a lowered posi77


True Stories of Modern Magic
tkm while the operator gathered up the envelopes. As
the manager returned to the stage he took the basket by
the handle. This released the dummy envelopes, and cov-
ered up the originals retaining them. He emptied the
dummy envelopes upon the small table and then laid the
basket on a table near the flies in the rear, and rather out
of view. An assistant behind the scenes took out the
original envelopes, opened them, and as he read the ques-
tions repeated them into a small telephone. The wires
from this telephone ran under the stage carpet to a pair
of metal plates with a tack in the center of each plate which
pointed upward. These plates were located under certain
spots in the carpet and directly in front of the medium's
chair. There were also two other pairs of wires leading
to two other positions on the stage. The medium was
dressed as a " Mahatma" on this evening, wearing a large
turban. A large tassel dangled by his left ear, completely
concealing a small "watch-case receiver" which was at-
tached to this ear. Two tiny wires led from this receiver,
inside his collar, down his person, and were connected in-
side his shoes to other wires which penetrated the soles of
his shoes. These latter wires were soldered to copper
plates which were tacked into position on his shoe soles.
He now took his position in the chair and placed his feet
over the hidden tacks, which now contacted his shoe plates,
completing the circuit, so that anything whispered into the
telephone on the stage was repeated in his ear. He then
gave a few tests, tapping his spirit bell, which was a signal
for more information from the assistant.
He soon grew nervous and walked away giving a test
as he walked. He now paused in a certain position for a
moment, placing his hand to his head as if somewhat dazed
and tapping his bell. In this position his feet were again
over two concealed tacks, and he again secured informa-
tion for another test, which he gave as he walked about.
He now paused in a third position and gave another test,
after which he returned to the chair, continuing his work.
This maneuvering he kept up until all the tests were given;
78


David P. Abbott
after which he fell upon a couch exhausted, but with his
feet from the spectators.
The manager now stepped to the rear of the stage and
took the basket, which was now in place containing the
original (?) envelopes behind the flaps; and stepping to
the small table he scooped in the dummy envelopes; then
taking the basket by the handles, he stepped down the run-
way and rapidly returned the unopened (?) envelopes to
their writers. The assistant had, of course, sealed the
questions in duplicate envelopes previously numbered by
the manager. He had placed these behind the flaps, and
shoved the basket into view on a table at the rear of the
stage.
I use a variation of these tricks in my double parlors.
I have made a "billet changing basket" as above de-
scribed, and have also made a similar basket except that
it contains no mechanism.
I pass cards and envelopes to the spectators in the front
parlor. When the questions are written and sealed in the
envelopes, I gather them up in the mechanical basket; I
step to a table in the rear parlor and apparently empty
them upon it. In reality, I have just raised the handle so
that the originals are retained, and the dummy envelopes
are emptied on the table instead.
I now step to an adjoining room for an instant, to get
a small decorated screen. I secretly leave the basket con-
taining the original envelopes in this room and return with
the other basket in my hand in its place. I place the
small ornamental screen on the table back of the envelopes,
but leave the envelopes in view and request the specta-
tors to notice that I do not go near them until I get
ready to give the tests. I now carelessly lay the non-
mechanical basket on a table in the room where the
spectators are and proceed with some other tricks.
Usually I give the series of experiments described in
the chapter entitled "Mediumistic Reading of Sealed
Writings." I state to the spectators that I will not
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True Stories of Modern Magic
give the tests for the sealed envelopes until later in the
evening.
Meanwhile, should anyone think of such a thing, he
can easily examine the little basket, which he thinks I
have just used; as it still lies on the table in the front par-
lor with other discarded paraphernalia, including slates,
etc. I use no assistant; so after a time has elapsed, and
when by the performance of other sealed readings, sus-
picion has been diverted from the tests with the billets,
my wife retires on some trifling errand. While out, she
opens the envelopes in the basket, prepares the sheet of
questions, and places it in the Bible; then she re-seals the
questions in envelopes previously marked by me, places
them in the sides of the basket, raises the flaps and lowers
the handle. She then usually enters with some light re-
freshments for the spectators, which explains her absence
with a word.
I continue with other experiments for ten or fifteen
minutes after her return; then I gather up my surplus
paraphernalia, including the dummy basket, and carry all
to the room adjoining the back parlor, where I leave it.
I return instantly with the mechanical basket which I place
near my own table; and then I give another experiment
of some kind.
I now pick up the basket and announce that I have
decided to return to their writers the envelopes on the
table in front of the screen before attempting to give the
tests. I do this as if it were a later notion. I now scoop
in the dummy envelopes, and raise the handle, which ac-
tion covers them up and releases the originals (now
sealed). I now distribute to the writers their envelopes,
which I can do, as they are numbered as described earlier
in this chapter. I request each sitter to hold his en-
velope until I shall give his test. Then I usually perform
some other little experiment before giving the tests.
I now take up my Bible, which I will stake I brought
into the room, unnoticed, when I returned with the last
basket. I then seat myself and leisurely turn the leaves
80


David P. Abbott
through the Bible, reading verses, and giving the tests as
before described.
I always first read a question secretly, and then turn
by the sheet of paper and begin reading a verse of Scrip-
ture. As I do this I permit the front of the Bible to
lower enough for the spectators to see the printed pages.
This prevents suspicion. Meanwhile, the spectators have
forgotten that I ever stepped from the room at all with
the basket, and even that my wife retired for some re-
freshments. Neither did they notice the Bible when I
brought it in.
The effect on each person, as I call him by name and
describe the "influence " of his "dear one," giving names
and most marvelous information, is far superior to what
it would be were I merely to read the questions literally,
and give the answers.
SOME FAMOUS EXPOSURES
PROBABLY the greatest swindle ever perpetrated in the
name of spiritualism was recently brought to light in Stock-
ton, California. The medium and his confederates mate-
rialized everything from frogs and small fish to a huge
bowlder of gold quartz weighing several hundred pounds.
This latter had to be brought from the mountains with a
mule team.
The materializing was done through sliding panels in the
walls, while the believers sat holding hands about the oppo-
site side of a table, and loudly singing sacred hymns. They
had the only door to the room locked and sealed, and never
dreamed that the spirits who brought the quartz from the
mine were mules.
Thousands of dollars were invested in this "spirit mine,"
the believers stacking their money on the quartz as it lay
on the table at a dark seance, and receiving deeds in return
for their money, which the spirits dematerialized.
The medium established, or had his spirits establish, a
Si


True Stories of Modern Magic
"Treasury of Heaven," for the faithful to deposit their
money in, and on which they were to receive fifty per cent
interest. This interest the believers continued to receive at
dark seances from the spirits for a time. Each sitter's in-
terest was found on the table stacked in front of him when
the lights were lighted. When the spirit bank became in-
solvent and the chief medium disappeared, the believers
were out about thirty-five thousand dollars.
No less a personage than a millionaire of Tacoma, Wash-
ington, is said to have contributed largely to this spirit
fund. I had known of this case for some time before the
exposure (conducted by a performer engaged for the pur-
pose), and knew that certain interested persons were con-
templating bringing it about, in order to rescue certain es-
timable persons from the clutches of these mediums. This
was successful; and the confederates of the medium signed
written confessions in the presence of one of the most de-
vout of the believers, and a gentleman who is otherwise
very intelligent. Upon this the gentleman was greatly
crestfallen, but he still insists that there are certain mediums
who are not impostors; and that certain mediums in Chi-
cago who produce spirit portraits are genuine.
A full and very interesting account of this exposure is
given in the San Francisco Examiner of March 3 and 4,
1907.
• . • • •
I could report enough cases of materialization to fill a
volume. These I know of, from various sources, and in
every case they were invariably fraudulent. I will give a
short account of a materialization which a very expert
medium, who is on friendly terms with me, witnessed. The
gentleman was originally a minister, and afterwards began
investigating spiritualism, as he was a believer in it. He
hoped to become a medium; and at one time paid two lady
mediums of some renown, who reside in Chicago, three
dollars a sitting for three sittings a week. These sittings
were conducted for the purpose of developing this gentle-
man in mediumship. He continued this for a long time, but
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David P. Abbott
he was no nearer to being a medium than he was in the
beginning.
At one time he detected one of the sisters passing a slate
to the other, and substituting another in its place. He saw
the edge of one of the slates protruding from behind the
dress of one of the sisters. They never knew they were
discovered as he said nothing, but this "opened his eyes."
After this he investigated everywhere, and at every oppor-
tunity, and grew to be a very expert medium himself.
Recently, when in Los Angeles, he visited a seance con-
ducted by a medium who claimed to be a Buddhist priest.
This medium was known under the name of "The Rev-
erend Swami Mazzininanda." He had an altar in his home,
constructed something like those in Roman Catholic
churches. He had various candles and images on this altar,
including an image of Buddha, and also a number of mys-
tical figures. It was a great mixture of " fake " Buddhism,
Roman Catholicism, and modern spiritualism. The me-
dium also wore the costume of a Buddhist priest at his
seances.
This "priest" held services here for the faithful. He
conducted all in Hindoostani (?), his native tongue. He
chanted, prayed to Buddha, etc., all in a queer-sounding
"gibberish." Certain evenings of the week were devoted
to "soul-travel," and certain evenings after the religious
services a " Black Chapter" was held.
The gentleman whom I have mentioned attended one of
these dark seances. He sat with other spectators around
the room in perfect darkness. The spectators were not re-
quired to hold hands, so great was their faith. Finally,
in the darkness, a queer-looking, vapory, luminous form
floated around in the air and paused in front of the spec-
tators. My friend slipped down quietly on his knees, and
gradually worked closer and closer to the luminous form,
until he could detect that the vapor was a kind of luminous
"cheese cloth." He did not desire to expose this "priest,"
but he desired to have the " priest" know that some one had
discovered him. My friend accordingly took hold of the
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True Stories of Modern Magic
gauze and gave it a very slight downward jerk. He then
immediately returned quietly to his seat.
There was an immediate pause in the discourse of the
"priest," who had really been floating this form on the end
of a stick. Everyone knew that something had happened,
but no one but my friend knew what it was. The "priest"
then said in his slow, peculiar, eccentric and measured
tones, "I have received a very great shock; and I will be
unable to continue further this evening." The next day,
when in conversation with some of the "faithful," this
"priest" stated in his peculiar manner of speaking, and
with intense earnestness, that which follows: "Last night
I received a very great shock. I was just in the middle of
the 'Dark Chapter' and the spirit of the Master, Krishna,
was out. Having spent the greater portion of my life on
the Himalayas, my right eye has become injured by the
snows." Then pointing to his right eye, he added, "My
right eye has a defect in it which you cannot see; but on
account of that, I can only see in the dark with it. I im-
mediately turned my right eye downward and I looked! I
distinctly saw a lady's hand reached out toward my robe
in the darkness, and this hand took hold of it and jerked it
lightly just like this." The "Reverend Swami" here illus-
trated, by slightly jerking his coat downward. It was very
amusing to hear him, in great seriousness, relate this in his
low and measured accents to his faithful followers.
Shortly after this, when the Los Angeles Herald was
conducting a crusade against the numerous mediums of that
city, and when it had an exhibit in its windows of the con-
fiscated material of some of them, this "Buddhist priest"
was arrested and imprisoned for some of his practices-
84


Hereward Carrington More Tricks of " Spiritualists"
"MATTER THROUGH MATTER"
'J'HERE is one very clever " test" that is sometimes per-
formed which would seem to show that something of
this sort is accomplished. It is, however, nothing more than
an ingenious trick, and this might be a good time to explain
its modus operandi. The general effect of the illusion is this:
The medium requests some one to assist him in an experi-
ment in which he is going to attempt to pass "matter
through matter." As the test is one in which a confederate
might easily be employed, he is very careful to choose some
person who is well known, or whose character is above all
suspicion. If this were not so, the entire effect of the test
would be lost upon the investigators. Having secured his
assistant, he hands him, for examination, a solid steel ring,
just large enough to slip on and off the hand and arm easily.
The ring is perfectly solid, and may be examined by anyone
desirous of doing so. When this part of the performance
is finished, the medium and his sitter then join or clasp their
right hands (as in handshaking), and the sitter is instructed
not to release the hand for a single instant. To "make
assurance doubly sure," however, the hands are fas* ...ed
together in any way the sitters may desire; the hands being
tied together with tape, e. g., and the ends of this tape tied
and the knots sealed. The tape connects the wrists and the
hands of the medium and his sitter, and this tying may be
made as secure as possible. A piece of thick cloth is now
thrown over the two hands and the lower part of the arms,
concealing them from view. With his disengaged hand the
medium now takes the iron ring and passes it up under the
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True Stories of Modern Magic
cloth, so as to bring it in contact with his own arm. He
holds it there for some time, but ultimately snatches off the
covering cloth, and reveals to the eyes of the astonished
audience the ring—now encircling his own arm—in spite
of the fact that the ties are still in statu quo, and the sitter
never let go his hold for an instant. The ties and the ring
may again be examined, if desired, before the hands are
separated.
This is an exceedingly effective test, and has every ap-
pearance of being genuine—indeed, it is hard to see where
trickery can come in. The trick is one of the simplest im-
aginable, however, and is performed in the following man-
ner:
The medium has provided himself with two rings exactly
alike; one of these the audience is free to examine, the other
the medium is wearing on his right arm, under his coat.
When the two hands are clasped together, therefore, it is
a simple thing for the medium, under cover of the envelop-
ing cloth, to slip the duplicate ring down his sleeve, and on
to his own hand, and that part of the " miracle " is accom-
plished! It remains only to explain what becomes of the
first ring. The cloth thrown over the arms is very thick
and stiff, as stated, and the inner side of this contains a
double partition, or sort of bag, into which the medium
slips the duplicate ring. The cloth may now be shown on
both sides, without disclosing the ring, and the medium
makes away with it as soon as possible, in order to avoid
detection.
DECEPTION EXPLAINED BY THE SCIENCE OF PSYCHOLOGY
THE object [of this passage] is to enable the reader to
see, more easily, how it is that the watchful observer is
deceived into believing that a thing is so, when in reality
it is not, and vice versa; and also to give an idea of the
various methods employed by the medium in order to ac-
comolish his results.
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True Stories of Modern Magic
upon the spectator of the spoken word and the eyes together
is generally irresistible.
Another important factor is this: A performer should
always let any suggestion, right or wrong, soak well into
the spectator's mind before attempting to change it. This
is for two reasons. In the first place, if the suggestion is
correct, if, e. g., the performer really does place an object in
his left hand, and it is shortly found to have vanished from
that hand, he is annoyed by hearing some one say that he
was not really sure it was there in the first place, as " it was
covered up so quickly." If, on the other hand, the sugges-
tion given was a false one, if, e. g., the performer says he
has placed an object in his left hand, when, in reality, he
has not done so but has palmed it in the right, then it is still
necessary to allow a certain time-interval to elapse between
the performing of the action which apparently placed the
object in the hand, and the showing of the hand empty, for
this reason. If the hand into which the object is supposedly
placed is immediately shown empty, the natural conclusion
of the sitter is that the object was not in reality placed there
at all, but was retained in the other hand, which would be
the fact. If, however, the performer allowed some time to
elapse, between the action of placing the object in that hand
(supposedly) and the showing of the hand empty, he,
meanwhile, keeping his eyes fixed on the hand, suggesting
to the sitters that the object is there, and in every way act-
ing as if it were there, the idea will gradually gain a firm
hold on the minds of the spectators that the object is there,
in reality, and they are correspondingly surprised to find it
ultimately vanished. It is just such a knowledge of "the
way people's minds work," as a friend once said to me,
which enables the conjurer to deceive the public; and it is
precisely the same cast of mind that the medium possesses.
He is, in fact, a good judge of human nature.
Another fact that must be borne in mind is that, when
once a spectator has seen a movement made two or three
times in the same manner, he frequently "sees" the per-
former make that movement on another occasion, when the
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Hereward Carrington
performer had, in reality, only started to make the move-
ment, and suggested the rest. Thus, if the performer
throws a ball up into the air two or three times in succes-
sion, and on the fourth occasion merely pretends to throw
it up, really retaining it in the other hand, the great majority
of the spectators will really " see" the ball ascend into the
air on the fourth occasion, and will so state, on being asked.
We here depend upon association and habit.1
Professor Jastrow summed up this portion of the psychol-
ogy of deception very well when he said:2
"He (the conjurer) must dissociate the natural factors
of his habits, actually attending to one thing while seem-
ingly attending to another; at the same time his eyes and
his gestures and his 'patter' misdirect the attention to
what is apparently the essential field of operation, but really
only a blind to distract attention away from the true scene
of action. The conjurer directs your attention to what he
does not do; he does not do what he pretends to do; and to
what he actually does, he is careful neither to appear to
direct his own attention nor to arouse yours."
Prof. Max Dessoir, in a very fine article on "The
Psychology of Conjuring," writes as follows: " By awaken-
ing interest in some unimportant detail, the conjurer con-
centrates that attention on some false point, or negatively,
diverts it from the main object, and we all know the senses
of an inattentive person are pretty dull. . . . When causing
the disappearance of some object, the conjurer counts one,
two, three; the object must really disappear before three,
not at three, because, the attention of the public being di-
verted to three, they do not notice what happens at one and
two. ... A specially successful method of diversion is
founded on the human craze for imitation. . . . The con-
jurer counts on this in many cases. He always looks in the
1 A very similar illusion is mentioned by Professor Hyslop, v.
Borderland of Psychical Research, pp. 228-9, m which pellets were
apparently placed in a box, really being palmed in the medium's
hand.
• Fact and Fable in Psychology, pp. 124-5.
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True Stories of Modern Magic
direction where he wants the attention of the public, and
does everything himself which he wants the public to do.
... If the trick is in the left hand, the conjurer turns
sharply to the person to his right, presuming correctly that
the spectators will make the same movement, and will not
notice what is going on in the left hand. . . . Every sharp,
short remark will, for a moment, at least, divert the eyes
from the hands and direct them to the mouth, according to
the above-mentioned law of imitation."
The successful conjurer has carefully studied before-
hand every movement that is made—every word that is
spoken—during a conjuring performance, and has seen that
these all fit naturally into place, and help conceal the real
workings of the trick. The right and left hands must be
trained to operate independently, and without the need of
looking at either. Many conjurers practice doing two sep-
arate things at the same time, one with either hand; and the
ability to do this is essential. Above all, the performer
must be full of conscious self-possession, and feel himself
to be master of the situation, no less than to feel the ability
to cope with any emergencies that may arise.
Turning, now, to a consideration of the seance, we find
that many of these psychological rules still hold good, and
their operation enables the medium to perform many ac-
tions which would otherwise be impossible. A certain sug-
gestion is given to the sitters, and imagination and infer-
ence do the rest. "Our conclusions as to what we see
or hear are always founded on a combination of observa-
tion and inference; but in daily life it is seldom necessary
to distinguish between the two elements, since, when the
object and its mode of presentation are familiar, our in-
ferences are generally correct. But it is different when,
owing to circumstances, such as a bad light, we have to
infer more in proportion to what we perceive than usual;
or when some one, e. g., a conjurer or a ventriloquist, is
trying to deceive us by presenting one object under the
familiar aspect of another, and suggesting false inferences.
It is not uncommon to find people at seances encouraging
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Hereward Carrington
each other in the belief that they see, say, a living human
figure, when all that they actually see is something moving
which is about the size of a human baing; the rest is in-
ference." How true these last remarks are is demonstrated
by the statement, made in The Revelations of a Spirit Me-
dium, that an old wire mask frequently used at materializ-
ing seances had been recognized " by dozens of persons as
fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins, sweethearts,
wives, husbands, and various other relatives and friends.
None but the medium knew that it was only a fifty-cent
wire mask, hence none but the medium could enjoy the
humor of the occasion."
One of the most instructive incidents I know, in rela-
tion to this question of the psychology of deception, is the
one given by Doctor Hodgson 1—the case of the officer
and the Hindu juggler. In this case, a trick was performed
before an English officer and his wife, and Doctor Hodg-
son happened to overhear this officer telling some travelers
of the experience at dinner that evening. "Referring to
the movements of the coins, he said that he had taken a
coin from his own pocket and placed it on the ground him-
self, yet that this coin had indulged in the same freaks as
the other coins. His wife ventured to suggest that the
juggler had taken the coin and placed it on the ground,
but the officer was emphatic in repeating his statement,
and appealed to me for confirmation. He was, however,
mistaken. I had watched the transaction with special curi-
osity, as I knew what was necessary for the performance
of the trick. The officer had apparently intended to place
the coin upon the ground himself, but as he was doing so,
the juggler leaned slightly forward, dexterously and in a
most unobtrusive manner received the coin from the fin-
gers of the officer, as the latter was stooping down, and
laid it close to the others. If the juggler had not thus
taken the coin, but had allowed the officer himself to place
it on the ground, the trick, as actually performed, would
have been frustrated.
Proceedings Society for Prychical Research, Vol. IV., pp. 385-6.
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True Stories of Modern Magic
"Now I think it highly improbable that the movement
of the juggler entirely escaped the perception of the officer;
highly improbable, that is to say, that the officer was abso-
lutely unaware of the juggler's action at the moment of
its happening; but I suppose that, although an impression
was made on his consciousness, it was so slight as to be
speedily effaced by the officer's imagination of himself as
stooping and placing the coin upon the ground. The offi-
cer, I may say, had obtained no insight into the modus op-
erandi of the trick, and his fundamental misrepresentation
of the only patent occurrence that might have given him a
clew to its performance debarred him completely from
afterwards, on reflection, arriving at any explanation. Just
similarly, many an honest witness may have described him-
self as having placed one slate upon another at a sitting
with a medium, whereas it was the medium who did so,
and who possibly effected at the same time one or two
other operations altogether unnoticed by the witness."
In reading through descriptions of slate-writing seances,
we very seldom find the statement made as to who placed
the slates on the table, or under the table, etc., generally
the account reading "the slates were then placed on the
table," without any qualifying statement as to who placed
them there. Accounts of this kind are absolutely worth-
less, from an evidential standpoint. We must at once ask
ourselves: who placed the slates in that position? and if
it was the medium—as it probably was in the vast majority
of instances—then that test, in all probability, ceases to
have any evidential weight. Anyone can read over a
number of accounts of slate-writing performances, and
verify these statements, if he chooses to do so. Frequently,
the statement is made that the sitter did actually place
the slate on the table, when in reality the medium did so.
This error is quite unconscious on the sitter's part, of
course, but the account is falsified, nevertheless. Mistakes
of this kind are very common, the sitter thinking afterwards
that he (the sitter) must have placed the slates on the table
himself!
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Hereward Carrington
It will be seen from the above that there is a great differ-
ence between what actually transpired, at any given seance,
and what the accounts say transpired. The general public
cannot get that all-important fact too strongly rooted in
its mind: that the events which transpired at a seance may
not be reported accurately, so that the report of the seance
may be altogether wrong and erroneous, though the sit-
ters, and those who drew up the report, may have been
thoroughly honest in their belief that the report is accurate
in every respect. The effect of all this is very great indeed.
Many spiritualistic seances are quite inexplicable as de-
scribed, but the description is not a true report of what took
place at the seance in question. The facts are distorted.
Consequently, the person taking it upon himself to explain
what took place at the seance is called upon to explain a
number of things which, in reality, never took place at
all. We must remember, in this connection, that a number
of conjuring tricks, as described, would be quite impossible
to explain by any process of trickery. The description of
the trick was not correct.
Let me make this still clearer, and at the same time
illustrate the difference between what apparently occurs,
and what actually happens, by the following example: A
conjurer places a coin (say a quarter) in each hand, and
closes his hands. Another quarter is now placed upon the
fingers of each hand, so that there is now one quarter in
each hand and one-quarter on the fingers of each. The
magician announces that, by simply opening and closing
his hands—which are held at some distance from each other
—he will thereby transfer one of the coins from one hand
to the other, so that there will be three coins in one of
the hands, and only one left in the other.
Now, if the sitter were writing out an account of what
happened, it would most certainly read as follows:
"The magician then tried the experiment—of opening
and closing his hands rapidly, and causing the coin to be
transferred, as promised—but failed in the attempt, the
coins from the back of each hand falling on to the table
93


True Stories of Modern Magic
in rather a clumsy manner. They were, however, again
placed upon the backs of the magician's hands; the move-
ment was repeated, and this time successfully. The coins
disappeared from the backs of both hands, in one of which
was now found three of the coins, while the other hand
contained only one."
Such is precisely the description of the trick, as it would
be given by the average person, on seeing it, and it would
represent his honest opinion of what occurred; as it stands,
it is quite inexplicable by trickery. Needless to say, the
account is not a true statement of what actually occurred,
as the following explanation will make clear:
The first time the coins were dropped on to the table,
the movement was not so "clumsy" as might have been
supposed. It was, in fact, intentional, being the principal
factor in the accomplishment of the trick. What actually
transpired at that time was this: The magician, by a quick
movement, dropped both coins from one hand on to the
table, at the same time dexterously opening the other hand
a trifle, and allowing the second coin, on that hand, to
fall into the interior of the hand itself. Thus, while both
hands are still seen to be closed, one is empty, and the
other contains two coins. It is obvious, therefore, that,
when a coin is placed upon each of the hands again, the
magician has only to repeat the opening and closing move-
ment, and there will be three coins in one of the hands,
and only one in the other.
This trick illustrates, in a very simple and striking man-
ner, the possibility of reporting a fact in an entirely errone-
ous manner, quite unconscious of the fact that this error in
reporting has been committed. Just in this same manner,
are many slate-writing and other phenomena misreported,
and hence an explanation of the seance, as reported, is ren-
dered impossible. The trouble is that the "report" does
not really report what actually occurred.
• • • • *
Many of my readers may feel somewhat insulted at this
accusation that they cannot detect such obvious trickery
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Hereward Carrington
when it exists, and that they are liable to make such mis-
takes in recording a seance as those here mentioned. They
may comfort themselves with the thought, however, that
it is no disgrace to make mistakes and errors of this kind;
for, as Professor Jastrow pointed out:1
"The matter is in some aspects as much a technical ac-
quisition as in the diagnosticating of a disease. It is not
at all to the discredit of anyone's powers of observation
or intellectual acumen to be deceived by the performances
of a conjurer; and the same holds true of the professional
part of mediumistic phenomena. Until this homely but
salutary truth is impressed with all its importance upon
all intending investigators, there is little hope of bringing
about a proper attitude toward these and kindred phe-
nomena."
These remarks will make it clear to us why many men
of science have been deceived by very simple tricks and
fraudulent devices, while investigating spiritualistic phe-
nomena—their scientific culture is no guaranty that they
are any more capable of detecting fraud than is the man-
in-the-street—in fact their training has made them very
much less capable of detecting fraud than the average per-
son, who comes more in contact with the world, and is an
acuter judge of character and human nature.
i Fact and Fable in Psychology, p. 148.
95


Anonymous How Spirits Materialize
From "The Revelations of a Spirit Medium"—a book out of ex.
istence now, since the plates and all copies were bought up by "spir-
itualists" and destroyed. The following is given by courtesy of Mr.
Hereward Carrington:
READER, have you ever attended a " seance " for " full-
form materialization?" Have you ever thought you
had met your dead relative's spirit at these " seances"?
If you have never had the pleasure of attending a seance
of this " phase " you have missed a rare treat. The writer
has assisted at many a one and will relate to you some of
the wonderful phenomena occurring at them and the means
used to produce them. . . . There are hundreds of " mate-
rializing mediums" doing business in this country, who are
swelling a good-sized bank account. Their business some-
times runs into the hundreds of dollars in a single week.
This " phase " of mediumship is considered by the spiritual-
ists as the highest possible attainable, and if you are a clever
"full-form medium " your financial welfare is assured. . . .
Many and various are the methods employed by the differ-
ent "mediums" in producing this phase. It is in Boston,
New York, and San Francisco that it is worked the finest.
The full-form seances most often met with are very simply
worked, and easy of performance by the medium. You are
usually given a seat in a circle of chairs about the front of
a "cabinet" made by hanging heavy curtains across the
corner of the room. If you are a stranger or one who
looks or acts as though he would " grab " the " spirits," you
are seated at the farthest point from the cabinet; or, if there
are two rows of seats, you will be given a seat in the back
row. . . .
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How Spirits Materialize
I made my way to the "materializing seance," at which
my friends hoped to materialize. I was admitted to the
seance room and found about twenty persons already assem-
bled. I was seated in the front row of chairs. The cabinet
used was a closet about six feet long and four feet wide.
The ceiling of both the room and the cabinet was of wood.
After a thorough examination had been made of the cabinet
by all those who cared to do so, the sitters were rearranged
to suit the medium. There were present now thirty-five per-
sons. The seance room was very large. The door had been
taken off the closet that served as a cabinet, and in its stead
were hung heavy curtains. The floor of the room was car-
peted with a dark carpet, as was the cabinet. The light was
furnished by a lamp placed in a box that was fastened to
the wall some eight feet from the floor. This box had a
sliding lid in front, controlled by a cord passing into the
cabinet. By this means the "spirits" could regulate the
light to suit themselves, without any movement on the part
of any of those in the seance room being necessary. When
everything was in readiness the medium entered the cabi-
net, seated himself and was tied, and so secured to his chair
that it was impossible that he could have any use of himself.
He was most thoroughly secured to his chair, and his chair
nailed fast to the floor by passing leather straps over the
rounds in the side and nailing the ends to the floor. After
it was shown to the sitters that he was utterly helpless, the
curtain was drawn. The manager now placed an ordinary
kitchen table in front of the door of the cabinet, so that it
stood away from it about two feet. The table contained no
drawer. On the table was laid writing materials, a guitar,
and small bell. The manager seated himself close to one
side of the cabinet entrance, and started a large Swiss music
box. Before it had finished the first air the lamp was shut
entirely off, making the room inky dark.
An illuminated hand and arm was now seen to come from
behind the curtain, and played an accompaniment to the
music box on the guitar. We could see plainly the move-
ments of the hand, arm, and fingers, as it manipulated the
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True Stories of Modern Magic
strings of the instrument. It did not appear necessary to
finger the strings on the keyboard, although the air was in
a key that made it impossible to tune the guitar so that an
accompaniment could be performed without fingering.
However, but one hand was visible, and it was picking the
strings. After the tune was finished, the hand left the in-
strument, and moved out into the room to the front of the
table, and from the sound we knew it was writing on the
tablet that had been placed there. The arm was of bluish
Tight and appeared to end just above the elbow, and to have
no connection with the body. It finished writing and
seemed to float into the cabinet near the top.
The light was opened and the manager requested those
who had tied the medium to examine his condition and see
if the ropes had been tampered with. The examination was
made and it was evident that the fastenings were undis-
turbed. The communication was read aloud to those pres-
ent, and contained the following:
"We are pleased to meet so many seekers after light and
truth here this evening, and, from the conditions, as we
sense them, we will have a satisfactory and pleasant seance.
The way to obtain the best results is for each person to
maintain a passive condition and take what we have to give.
You may rest assured that our best efforts will be put forth
to give you entire satisfaction. The Control."
The writing was exactly on the ruled lines although writ-
ten in absolute darkness. The hand and arm, although
luminous, did not give out a particle of light. The arm had
been at least five feet from the cabinet opening and seven
feet from the medium. Surely, it was not he. The mes-
sage read, the light was again shut down and the music
again started.
Once more a hand appeared, and floating out to the table,
again began writing. Of a sudden the hand disappeared,
and, after a few seconds, I was astonished to feel a hand
thrusting a paper into my top coat pocket. Now appeared
two hands and they played an air on the guitar. Now
came three, then four hands were visible, bright as the day.
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How Spirits Materialize
Two of them began writing again, and, when they had fin-
ished, two more sitters were the recipients of sheets of
paper. Soon the light was opened for an inspection of the
cabinet, which was made, with the conclusion that the me-
dium had not moved. Those of us receiving communica-
tions were afforded an opportunity to read them. We
found them nicely written, as before, and all contained
"tests." . . .
After the light went out again, more hands were seen;
the table was floated about over the heads of the circle, as
was the music box, which weighed at least fifty pounds.
Another examination of the cabinet was made and every-
thing found satisfactory. This time the light was not put
entirely out, but a very dim light was allowed.
The music box was again set playing, and, while yet it
was playing the first tune, a tall figure, robed in creamy
white, with gleaming sparks in her hair, and on her head a
sor* of crown, issued from the cabinet. She was recognized
by a gentleman present, a spiritualist, whose spirit guide she
was, and who addressed her as "my queen." She stood a
few seconds behind the table and then stepped out in the
open space between the sitters and the table. The gentle-
man now arose from his seat and, standing beside her, hold-
ing her hand, conversed in a whisper with her for some
seconds.
This was most assuredly a lady, if appearances go for
anything. Her hands were quite small, and were warm and
lifelike, as several, including myself, can testify, having
been permitted to shake hands with her. At last she started
to the cabinet, and, as she went, appeared to grow shorter,
until, as she disappeared between the curtains, she was not
much taller than the table. The manager now explained
that the spirit had remained out rather too long and came
near dematerializing before she reached the cabinet. Now
came the spirit of a young man, dressed in a light suit of
clothes, who gave his name and said his mother was pres-
ent. She was, and had a few words of conversation with
him when he disappeared into the cabinet. The lady saiJ
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True Stories of Moder n Magic
that it was unmistakably her son; but there was something
that was not as he had been, but what it was she was unable
to describe.
The next spirit to present itself was my son Eddie. He
came out from the cabinet calling " Papa, papa." The man-
ager asked "Who is your papa?" and he replied, "Mr.
(Smith)." All this time he stood between the table and the
cabinet, and only his head and shoulders could be seen. The
manager told him to step out where he could be seen, when
he came around to the front of the table.
It was rather dark, but I could swear it was my son. He
was just the right size, with long flaxen hair and a very pale
face. He wore a light-colored waist and darker knee-
breeches and stockings, with a large black bow at his throat,
just as I remember seeing him last in health.
While Eddie was still standing in front of the table a
large man came out and took him by the hand. Eddie
spoke, saying:
"Must I go back, grandpa?" The form turned toward
me, saying:
"My son, this is a great pleasure to us, but we must not
long remain, as it is our first attempt at materializing." He
turned to go when the manager said to him:
"If the gentleman is your son you ought to give him
your name."
"The name of the child is Eddie, and my own is J. A.
Smith," replied the form, as they vanished into the cabinet.
The manager suggested that it would be well to ex-
amine and see whether the medium had been out or not.
The cabinet was examined and everything found satis-
factory.
Spirit after spirit came from the cabinet, one or two at
a time for an hour; some of them came to friends, and others
were " controls" of the medium. Many of them were rec-
ognized by different ones of the sitters in the room. I, for
one, could swear to the identity of my own son Eddie, while
my father was plainly recognizable. . . .
The room was again made dark. Suddenly there apioo


How Spirits Materialize
peared on the floor, in front of the table, a light about as
large as a baseball. It moved about in a circle of perhaps
a foot in diameter and grew larger. It soon lost the shape
of a ball and appeared to be a luminous cloud. Seemingly
we could see into and through it. In the course of thirty
seconds it had become as large as a six-year-old child; still
there was no definite shape, only a fleecy cloudlike mass,
turning, twisting, and rolling. At the end of perhaps a
minute it was the size and shape of an adult person. The
face could not be seen, but light, luminous spots were visible
as though the hair and ears were decorated with gems. The
shape spoke and requested light. As the light was turned
on the luminousness disappeared, and we beheld a beauti-
ful young lady clothed in a dazzling white costume. Her
arms and shoulders were bare, and about her neck there was
a necklace of what appeared to be very brilliant diamonds.
Her feet were encased in white slippers, with straps across
the instep. In her ears and hair glistened and shimmered
beautiful diamonds. Her face and arms were as alabaster,
and altogether she was one of the most beautiful women I
had ever beheld. She was recognized by a lady and gentle-
man present as their daughter. They had met her here
before. They were from the East, and were wealthy. The
spirit requested that they come to her, which they did, and
were each kissed and embraced by it. They held a moment's
conversation with her and resumed their seats, when the
lamp was slowly turned down. As the light became dim
the spirit became luminous. The face and arms disappeared
and the body became as a cloud again, turning and twist-
ing and growing smaller until it was nothing but a small
light spot on the carpet, which of a sudden disappeared
entirely.
Immediately after this manifestation an examination of
the medium and cabinet was made, and it was certain the
medium had not been away from his chair. The light was
again turned out and the music box started, when two bright
spots appeared on the carpet, one at either end of the ;able.
These went through the same process of development until,


True Stories of Modern Magic
when the light was turned on, there was another beautiful
female spirit at one end of the table, and a child of perhaps
eight years of age at the other. The child was recognized
by a lady present as her daughter, while the adult spirit was
recognized and rapturously greeted by a gentleman who sat
near me on my left, as his " darling angel guardian." They
had quite a long conversation, in which they made use of
very endearing language, each to the other. I supposed it
was the gentleman's wife. . . .
The spirits did not disappear as the first one had, but,
when the light had been turned off, the luminous shape re-
volved a few times, and on two occasions assumed the garb
and shape of men, and when the light was turned on again,
there stood the men with beards and men's forms. After
some eight or ten of these materializations and dematerial-
izations, before our eyes, the last couple completely disap-
peared.
The light was again turned down and a luminous shape
came from the cabinet, followed by others, until seven of
them stood on the floor. The light was turned up until we
could see the seven spirits. Five were females and two
males. They were of different sizes. The curtain at the
door of the cabinet was pulled aside and we could see the
medium sitting in the chair in which he was bound. The
forms now filed into the cabinet again, while the music box
played. After they had disappeared the light was turned
up, an investigation made of the cabinet, and the seance
was over.
There, reader, is a truthful description of what can be
witnessed at the seances of mediums who are artists. None
of your bungling, amateur work here. The work of such
a medium is always satisfactory for the reason that if a
man feels sure that the medium is a fraud, he has been so
well entertained that he does not regret the money paid for
the opportunity to witness it. This is the class of medium
also who frequently succeed in getting large sums of money
from wealthy persons they have converted to spiritualism.
102


How Spirits Materialize
Did the writer not give you the true explanation of the
manner in which these things were produced, you would
probably say it was conceived by a very fertile imagination.
If you believed that he saw these things you would perhaps
offer the preacher's explanation, by saying, " it is the work
of the devil"; or that of the scientist, by asserting that " it
is the mesmerist's power over your mind "; or " the operator
has discovered an odd force in nature "; or go off on a long
dissertation on hypnotism and fourth dimension of space
problems. However, it is not the work of the devil, neither
are there any but natural laws necessary to its production.
The seance described actually occurred and was described
in writing by Mr. Smith in the language used, although it
was not printed, and the writer was one of those who as-
sisted in its production. He will now proceed to explain
this particular seance. . . .
It will be remembered that the room and cabinet were
carpeted with a dark carpet, and that the ceilings were of
wood. The ceilings were decorated by being put on in
panels. The ceiling of the cabinet would not have been like
that of the room had the closet been a part of the architect's
plans of the house. It was not, but was made by the me-
dium. He simply built a lath and plaster partition from the
corner of a wide chimney to the wall, thus inclosing a space
of six by four feet. The panel in the ceiling of the closet
was twenty inches square. This panel was " doctored" and
could be displaced, leaving an aperture large enough for
the "spooks" to get through with perfect ease. A light
ladder which reached within three feet of the floor of the
cabinet was hooked fast above and furnished the means of
getting down and up again. There were eight persons con-
nected with the seance described by Mr. Smith, seven up-
stairs and the medium in the cabinet. Of course it was not
necessary that the medium get out of his fastenings, and the
facts are that he did not. The table was placed across the
cabinet door, not to lay the instruments on, but to be very
much in the way should anyone make a rush and "grab"
for the materialized forms. In case this occurred, the
103


How Spirits Materialize
the cioth. In order to powder one of your arms, gather one
of the cloths in your hands, and use it as a powder puff on
your arm. You will not be able to get all the paint out, but
the pieces will make luminous crowns, slippers, stars, and
luminous decorations for your robes. You will be under
the necessity of perfuming your robes each time they are
used, for the odor of the turpentine will always remain to a
greater or less degree. To illuminate a robe or costume
(the mediums always say " robe ") you proceed the same as
in the powdering process, except that to the pint of paint
you will add a wineglass full of Demar varnish, which will
prevent its falling or being shaken off as powder. You are
not to make the robe of muslin, but of white netting.
Every lady will know what netting is. It is the lightest,
thinnest material the writer ever saw sold in a dry goods
store. Ten yards of it can be put into the vest pocket. Do
not scrimp the material, but get as much of it into your
robe as possible.
When he of the luminous arm steps from the cabinet into
the dark room no part of him is visible save the arm. He
picks the strings of the instrument with the illuminated
hand and fingers the keyboard with the other. He makes
a sound of writing on the tablet and tears off a leaf which
he conceals, and, drawing a long black stocking over the
luminous arm, places in the pocket of the sitter a com-
munication that has been written upstairs in a good light.
This accounts for the even, beautiful writing, supposed to
have been done in the dark. He covers the luminous arm so
that anyone so inclined could not locate it in order to
"grab" when he is near enough. By mounting the table,
that luminous hand and arm can be made to show as though
it was floating about near the ceiling.
When four hands were visible there were two spooks at
work with both arms illuminated. . . . You can readily un-
derstand the forces that floated the music box and table
above the heads of the sitters, and an explanation is useless.
When the first female spirit appeared it was, in reality,
a young woman, dressed in a gorgeous white costume with-


True Stories of Modern Magic
out paint, hence the light was turned up instead of down, in
order that she be visible. Rhinestones and Sumatra gems
being cheap, she was plentifully supplied with " diamonds,"
although many of those who are the queens or spirit guides
or "controls" of wealthy spiritualistic fanatics wear real
diamonds, the gift of their wealthy charge, or "king" as
they usually call him.
When she started for the cabinet she used her hands to
keep her robe from under her feet, and as she went stooped
lower and lower, until, as she disappeared in the cabinet,
she went on her hands and knees. This is what caused the
appearance of "dematerialization."
When Mr. Smith's son, Eddie, came from the cabinet,
he was represented by a boy of about eight years of age, the
son of one of the female "spooks" upstairs. He receives
two dollars a night for his services, the same as the larger
spooks. He was powdered until he was very white, a blond
wig put over his own hair, and dressed as most boys are at
the age Mr. Smith's son died. Mr. Smith recognized him
by his size, his light complexion, and flaxen hair, and the
fact that he called him " papa " and gave his correct name.
His father was "made up" from the description given by
the medium, and acknowledged by Mr. Smith as correct.
Of course he knew his own name, for it was given him by
the slate-writer. . . .
We now come to a part of the phenomena that all spir-
itualists who have witnessed it will swear by. What is re-
ferred to is the materializing and dematerializing of the
spirit from the floor and before your eyes. In this you see
first a small light, which grows larger and larger, until there
stands before you a fully formed female or male spirit, as
was described in Mr. Smith's experience.
In order to accomplish what he witnessed, the same spook
who had before been recognized by a gentleman as "his
queen," prepared herself in the following way: Divesting
herself of all clothing she donned simply a long chemise that
reached her shoe tops. She drew on a pair of white stock-
ings, and over them a pair of white slippers. Into her hair
ic6


How Spirits Materialise
and ears she put rhinestone diamonds, and around her neck
a necklace of the same beautiful but valueless stones. On
each ear lobe and around her neck were put small spots of
the luminous powder to represent the diamonds while it was
dark. Her face was powdered and her eyebrows and eye-
lashes darkened, while a dark line was drawn under each
eye. She now took a black mask that covered her head, and
her "robe" in her hands, and went down to the cabinet.
Arriving there, she put the black mask over her head, to
prevent the luminous diamonds being seen until the proper
time. She carried her robe in a black bag. Crawling from
between the curtains and under the table, she exposed on
the floor a small part of her robe. This she shook and
moved about, allowing it to escape from the bag until it
was all out. She was now from under the table and on
her knees, and it was time the head show on the form, so,
getting close to the robe, she threw off and under the table
the black mask. The shape was now the size of an adult;
she adjusted the robe to her person, and rapped for light.
As a matter of course, when any light was made the lumi-
nousness of the robe was drowned, and she appeared in sim-
ply a white costume. The necklace and eardrops could now
be seen, but when the light was such as to reveal them, the
luminous spots had disappeared, leaving the spectator to
think the ones he now saw were the ones he had seen in the
dark. The process of dematerialization will now be appar-
ent, and a description will only tire the reader. One small
spook was all that was required, as he could be made to
represent boy or girl as was desired, by clothing him in the
garments of either sex.
At the close of the seance, the full force of "spooks"
came into the room. After disappearing, they shinned up
the ladder, drew it after them, closed the panel and the trap
in the floor above it, replaced the carpet and pushed over
the place a heavy bedstead from which they took the cast-
ors. They now carried the ladder downstairs and concealed
it in the coal house as they went through it on their way
home. They will get their pay next day.
107


True Stories of Moder n Magic
Should ever so close an examination of the cabinet be
made, you would not find anything wrong. This particular
medium has taken investigators into the cellar beneath the
cabinet, and the room above it, scores of times, yet nothing
was discovered.
You are not always to search for the trap in the ceiling,
nor yet in the floor. A trap is not possible in the ceiling
except a closet is used as "cabinet," and the ceiling is of
wood. Where this condition of things does not exist, you
must search elsewhere. The floor is a very likely place when
it cannot be made in the ceiling. If you do not find it
there, examine the base or mopboard. If it is in the mop-
board you will find, upon examination, that there is a joint
in it near the corner of the cabinet, but you will find it
solidly nailed with about four nails each side of the joint.
This appearance of extraordinary solidity will be absolute
proof that it is not solid.
The nails are not what they appear, but are only pieces
about one half inch in length, and do not even go through
the board. The piece is fastened on the other side with a
couple of bolts that hold it very firmly in place. There is
a corresponding opening in the mopboard in the next room,
although no attempt is made to so carefully conceal it, as
no one is ever admitted to it. Through this trap the
"spooks" enter the cabinet by crawling and wiggling. It
is not a very desirable trap, for the mopboard is scarcely
ever wide enough to permit of a trap that the spook could
get through in a hurry; besides, they must assume their
costumes after they get into the cabinet or tear them to
pieces. You can see how this would make it very incon-
venient.
If the room is wainscoted the spook will have all the
sea room necessary in his trap, for it will extend from just
below the molding on the top of the wainscoting to the
floor behind the strip of quarter-round. . . .
It is next to an impossibility to detect these traps by
examining in the cabinet. They were constructed to avoid
discovery, and no pains spared to make them so absolutely
108


True Stories of Modern Magic
critical of investigators, but they are very careful to exam-
ine everywhere except where the defect is located. Because
one or two men seem to be making such a critical investiga-
tion, do not allow that fact to prevent you making one on
your own responsibility. Wait until they have finished and
then examine not only where they did, but more particularly
where they did not. Their examination is only for the pur-
pose of misleading others. Their " tests " are received in a
way to cause those about them to think they admit them
very unwillingly, or because they were so undeniable that
they could do nothing else.
A great many will probably deny that confederates are
ever employed. They are not, by mediums who are not
smooth enough to produce that which appears so wonderful
as to make a good business for them. The writer would ad-
vise those mediums who give such rank seances to employ a
few floor workers (they are easily obtained), and see what
a difference it would make in the amount of business they
will do. Get good ones, those who know human nature, and
know when they have said all that is necessary. Most of
them are inclined to say too much, thus causing the ordi-
nary man to suspect that they are confederates.
no


PART III
Charles Dickens
Inspector Bucket's


One of the most natural of story-tellers, and also one who took
most naturally to the "detective" or "mystery" form was Charles
Dickens. His lovers can easily recall examples, not only in the so-
called detective stories such as "The Mystery of Edwin Drood," but
in the shape of exciting threads that wind through and color some
of his broadest efforts, such as " Little Dorrit."
One of Dickens' great admirations was Inspector Field, a London
detective. He reported him in a series of articles, describing his own
adventures in the slums with police guards. He saw in him the
good-natured, native shrewdness, the kindliness towards the dis-
tressed, yet the inflexibility of vengeance itself with the criminal,
that one would expect from the tender-hearted author himself were
he to turn detective.
With such "Real Life" to work from, no wonder Dickens put
one of the best detective stories of all time into his lengthy novel of
"Bleak House," from which it has been selected for the following
pages. The "Inspector Bucket" of this story is none other than
Inspector Field, and the episode in Chapter VIII is a vivid and literal
rendering of Dickens' own visits to the dreadful depths of the Lon-
don slums with his friend of the police.


Charles Dickens Inspector Bucket's Job
I
IN FASHION
WOLUMNIA, LADY DEDLOCK has returned to her
house in town for a few days previous to her departure
for Paris, where her ladyship intends to stay some weeks;
after which her movements are uncertain. The fashion-
able intelligence says so, for the comfort of the Paris-
ians, and it knows all fashionable things. To know
things otherwise, were to be unfashionable. My Lady
Dedlock has been down at what she calls, in famil-
iar conversation, her "place" in Lincolnshire. The
waters are out in Lincolnshire. An arch of the bridge
in the park has been sapped and sopped away. The adja-
cent low-lying ground, for half a mile in breadth, is a
stagnant river, with melancholy trees for islands in it, and
a surface punctured all over, all day long, with falling rain.
My Lady Dedlock's "place" has been extremely dreary.
The weather, for many a day and night, has been so wet
that the trees seem wet through, and the soft loppings and
prunings of the woodman's ax can make no crash or
crackle as they fall. The deer, looking soaked, leave quag-
mires, where they pass. The shot of a rifle loses its sharp-
ness in the moist air, and its smoke moves in a tardy little
cloud towards the green rise, coppice-topped, that makes
a background for the falling rain. The view from my
Lady Dedlock's own windows is alternately a lead-colored
view, and a view in Indian ink. The vases on the stone
terrace in the foreground catch the rain all day; and the
9


Charles Dickens
my Lady. He will never see sixty-five again, nor perhaps
sixty-six, nor yet sixty-seven. He has a twist of the gout
now and then, and walks a little stiffly. He is of a worthy
present, with his light gray hair and whiskers, his fine
shirt-frill, his pure white waistcoat, and his blue coat with
bright buttons always buttoned. He is ceremonious, stately,
most polite on every occasion to my Lady, and holds her
personal attractions in the highest estimation. His gallantry
to my Lady, which has never changed since he courted her,
is the one little touch of romantic fancy in him.
Indeed, he married her for love. A whisper still goes
about, that she had not even family; howbeit, Sir Leicester
had so much family that perhaps he had enough, and could
dispense with any more. But she had beauty, pride, am-
bition, insolent resolve, and sense enough to portion out
a legion of fine ladies. Wealth and station, added to these,
soon floated her upward; and for years, now, my Lady Ded-
lock has been at the center of the fashionable intelligence,
and at the top of the fashionable tree.
How Alexander wept when he had no more worlds to
conquer, everybody knows—or has some reason to know
by this time, the matter having been rather frequently
mentioned. My Lady Dedlock, having conquered her
world, fell, not into the melting, but rather into the freezing
mood. An exhausted composure, a worn-out placidity, an
equanimity of fatigue not to be ruffled by interest or satis-
faction, are the trophies of her victory. She is perfectly
well-bred. If she could be translated to Heaven to-morrow,
she might be expected to ascend without any rapture.
She has beauty still, and if it be not in its heyday, it
is not yet in its autumn. She has a fine face—originally
of a character that would be rather called very pretty than
handsome, but improved into classicality by the acquired
expression of her fashionable state. Her figure is elegant,
and has the effect of being tall. Not that she is so, but
that "the most is made," as the Honorable Bob Stables
has frequently asserted upon oath, "of all her points."
The same authority observes, that she is perfectly got up;
II


Detective Stories
the jewellers—meaning by our people, Lady Dedlock and
the rest—" you must remember that you are not dealing
with the general public; you must hit our people in their
weakest place, and their weakest place is such a place."
"To make this article go down, gentlemen," say Sheen
and Gloss the mercers, to their friends the manufacturers,
"you must come to us, because we know where to have
the fashionable people, and we can make it fashionable."
"If you want to get this print upon the tables of my high
connection, sir," says Mr. Sladdery the librarian, "or if
you want to get this dwarf or giant into the houses of my
high connection, sir, or if you want to secure to this enter-
tainment, the patronage of my high connection, sir, you
must leave it, if you please, to me; for I have been ac-
customed to study the leaders of my high connection, sir;
and I may tell you, without vanity, that I can turn them
round my finger,"—in which Mr. Sladdery, who is an honest
man, does not exaggerate at all.
Therefore, while Mr. Tulkinghorn may not know what
is passing in the Dedlock mind at present, it is very possible
that he may.
"My Lady's cause has been again before the Chancellor,
has it, Mr. Tulkinghorn?" says Sir Leicester, giving him
his hand.
"Yes. It has been on again to-day," Mr. Tulkinghorn
replies, making one of his quiet bows to my Lady who is
on a sofa near the fire, shading her face with a hand-screen.
"It would be useless to ask," says my Lady, with the
dreariness of the place in Lincolnshire still upon her,
"whether anything has been done."
"Nothing that you would call anything, has been done
to-day," replies Mr. Tulkinghorn.
"Nor ever will be," says my Lady.
Sir Leicester has no objection to an interminable Chan-
cery suit. It is a slow, expensive, British, constitutional
kind of thing. To be sure, he has not a vital interest in
the suit in question, her part in which was the only property
my Lady brought him; and he has a shadowy impression
14


Charles Dickens
that for his name—the name of Dedlock—to be in a cause,
and not in the title of that cause is a most ridiculous ac-
cident. But he regards the Court of Chancery, even if it
should involve an occasional delay of justice and a trifling
amount of confusion, as a something, devised in conjunction
with a variety of other somethings, by the perfection of
human wisdom, for the eternal settlement (humanly speak-
ing) of everything. And he is upon the whole of a fixed
opinion, that to give the sanction of his countenance to any
complaints respecting it, would be to encourage some per-
son in the lower classes to rise up somewhere—like Wat
Tyler.
"As a few fresh affidavits have been put upon the file,"
says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "and as they are short, and as I
proceed upon the troublesome principle of begging leave to
posess my clients with any new proceedings in a cause;"
cautious man Mr. Tulkinghorn, taking no more respon-
sibility than necessary; " and further, as I see you are going
to Paris; I have brought them in my pocket."
(Sir Leicester was going to Paris too, by-the-bye, but
the delight of the fashionable intelligence was in his Lady.)
Mr. Tulkinghorn takes out his papers, asks permission
to place them on a golden talisman of a table at my Lady's
elbow, puts on his spectacles, and begins to read by the light
of a shaded lamp.
"' In Chancery. Between John Jarndyce '"
My Lady interrupts, requesting him to miss as many of
the formal horrors as he can.
Mr. Tulkinghorn glances over his spectacles, and begins
again lower down. My Lady carelessly and scornfully
abstracts her attention. Sir Leicester in a great chair
looks at the fire, and appears to have a stately liking for the
legal repetitions and prolixities, as ranging among the na-
tional bulwarks. It happens that the fire is hot, where my
Lady sits; and that the hand-screen is more beautiful than
useful, being priceless but small. My Lady, changing her
position, sees the papers on the table—looks at them nearer
—looks at them nearer still—asks impulsively:
15


Detective Stories
"Who copied that?"
Mr. Tulkinghorn stops short, surprised by my Lady's
animation and her unusual tone.
"Is it what you people call law-hand?" she asks, look-
ing full at him in her careless way again, and toying with
her screen.
"Not quite. Probably "—Mr. Tulkinghorn examines it
as he speaks—" the legal character which it has, was ac-
quired after the original hand was formed. Why do you
ask?"
"Anything to vary this detestable monotony. O, go
on, do!"
Mr. Tulkinghorn reads again. The heat is greater, my
Lady screens her face. Sir Leicester doses, starts up sud-
denly, and cries "Eh? what do you say?"
"I say I am afraid," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who had
risen hastily, "that Lady Dedlock is ill."
"Faint," my Lady murmurs, with white lips, "only that;
but it is like the faintness of death. Don't speak to me.
Ring, and take me to my room!"
Mr. Tulkinghorn retires into another chamber, bells ring,
feet shuffle and patter, silence ensues. Mercury at last begs
Mr. Tulkinghorn to return.
"Better now," quoth Sir Leicester, motioning the lawyer
to sit down and read to him alone. "I have been quite
alarmed. I never knew my Lady to swoon before. But the
weather is extremely trying—and she really has been bored
to death down at our place in Lincolnshire."
II
THE LAW-WRITER
IN the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, that is to say,
more particularly in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr.
Snagsby, Law-Stationer, pursues his lawful calling. In
the shade of Cook's Court, at most times a shady place,
Mr. Snagsby has dealt in all sorts of blank forms of legal
16


Charles Dickens
process; in skins and rolls of parchment; in paper—fools-
cap, brief, draft, brown, white, whitey-brown, and blotting;
in stamps; in office-quills, pens, ink, and India-rubber,
pounce, pins, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers; in red tape
and green ferret; in pocket-books, almanacs, diaries, and
law lists; in string boxes, rules, inkstands—glass and
leaden, penknives, scissors, bodkins, and other small office-
cutlery; in short, in articles too numerous to mention; ever
since he was out of his time, and went into partnership with
Peffer. On that occasion, Cook's Court was in a manner
revolutionized by the new inscription in fresh paint, PEFFER and SNAGSBY, displacing the time-honored and not easily
to be deciphered legend, PEFFER, only. For smoke, which
is the London ivy, had so wreathed itself round Peffer's
name, and clung to his dwelling-place, that the affectionate
parasite overpowered the parent tree.
Peffer is never seen in Cook's Court now. He is not
expected there, for he has been recumbent this quarter of
a century in the churchyard of St. Andrew's, Holborn,
with the waggons and hackney-coaches roaring past him,
all the day and half the night, like one great dragon. If
he ever steal forth when the dragon is at rest, to air him-
self again in Cook's Court, until admonished to return by
the crowing of the sanguine cock in the cellar at the little
dairy in Cursitor Street, whose ideas of daylight it would
be curious to ascertain, since he knows from his personal
observation next to nothing about it—if Peffer ever do
revisit the pale glimpses of Cook's Court, which no law-
stationer in the trade can positively deny, he comes in-
visibly, and no one is the worse or wiser.
In his lifetime, and likewise in the period of Snagsby's
"time" of seven long years, there dwelt with Peffer, in
the same law-stationer premises, a niece—a short, shrewd
niece, something too violently compressed about the waist, and with a sharp nose like a sharp autumn evening, in-
clining to be frosty towards the end. The Cook's-Courtiers
had a rumor flying among them, that the mother of this
niece did, in her daughter's childhood, moved by too jealous
17


Detective Stories
a solicitude that her figure should approach perfection, lace
her up every morning with her maternal foot against the
bed-post for a stronger hold and purchase; and further,
that she exhibited internally pints of vinegar and lemon-
juice: which acids, they held, had mounted to the nose and
temper of the patient. With whichsoever of the many
tongues of Rumor this frothy report originated, it either
never reached, or never influenced, the ears of young
Snagsby; who, having wooed and won its fair subject on
his arrival at man's estate, entered into two partnerships
at once. So now, in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr.
Snagsby and the niece are one; and the niece still cherishes
her figure—which, however tastes may differ, is unquestion-
ably so far precious, that there is mighty little of it.
Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one bone and one
flesh, but, to the neighbors' thinking, one voice too. That
voice, appearing to proceed from Mrs. Snagsby alone, is
heard in Cook's Court very often. Mr. Snagsby, other-
wise than as he finds expression, through these dulcet tones,
is rarely heard. He is a mild, bald, timid man, with a
shining head, and a scrubby clump of black hair sticking
out at the back. He tends to meekness and obesity. As he
stands at his door in Cook's Court, in his gray shop-coat
and black calico sleeves, looking up at the clouds; or stands
behind a desk in his dark shop, with a heavy flat ruler,
snipping and slicing at sheepskin, in company with his two
'prentices; he is emphatically a retiring and unassuming
man. From beneath his feet, at such times, as from a
shrill ghost unquiet in its grave, there frequently arise com-
plainings and lamentations in the voice already mentioned;
and haply, on some occasions, when these reach a sharper
pitch than usual, Mr. Snagsby mentions to the 'prentices,
"I think my little woman is a-giving it to Guster 1"
This proper name, so used by Mr. Snagsby, has before
now sharpened the wit of the Cook's-Courtiers to remark
that it ought to be the name of Mrs. Snagsby; seeing that
she might with great force and expression be termed a
Guster, in compliment to her stormy character. It is, how18


Charles Dickens
ever, the possession, and the only possession, except fifty
shillings per annum and a very small box indifferently filled
with clothing, of a lean young woman from a workhouse
(by some supposed to have been christened Augusta); who,
although she was farmed or contracted for, during her
growing time, by an amiable benefactor of his species resi-
dent at Tooting, and cannot fail to have been developed
under the most favorable circumstances, "has fits "—which
the parish can't account for.
Guster, really aged three or four and twenty, but looking
around ten years older, goes cheap with this unaccountable
drawback of fits; and is so apprehensive of being returned
on the hands of her patron saint, that except when she is
found with her head in the pail, or the sink, or the copper,
or the dinner, or anything else that happens to be near her
at the time of her seizure, she is always at work. She
is a satisfaction to the parents and guardians of the 'pren-
tices, who feel that there is little danger of her inspiring
tender emotions in the breast of youth; she is a satisfaction
to Mrs. Snagsby, who can always find fault with her;
she is a satisfaction to Mr. Snagsby, who thinks it a charity
to keep her. The law-stationer's establishment is, in
Guster's eyes, a Temple of plenty and splendor. She be-
lieves the little drawing-room upstairs, always kept, as one
may say, with its hair in papers and its pinafore on, to
be the most elegant apartment in Christendom. The view
it commands of Cook's Court at one end (not to mention a
squint into Cursitor Street), and of Coavinses the sheriff's
officer's backyard at the other, she regards as a prospect
of unequaled beauty. The portraits it displays in oil—and
plenty of it too—of Mr. Snagsby looking at Mrs. Snagsby,
and of Mrs. Snagsby looking at Mr. Snagsby, are in her
eyes as achievements of Raphael or Titian. Guster has
some recompenses for her many privations.
Mr. Snagsby refers everything not in the practical mys-
teries of the business to Mrs. Snagsby. She manages the
money, reproaches the tax-gatherers, appoints the times and
places of devotion on Sunday, licenses Mr. Snagsby's enter-
19


Detective Stories
tainments, and acknowledges no responsibility as to what
she thinks fit to provide for dinner; insomuch that she is
the high standard of comparison among the neighboring
wives, a long way down Chancery Lane on both sides, and
even out in Holborn, who, in any domestic passages of
arms, habitually call upon their husbands to look at the
difference between their (the wives') position and Mrs.
Snagsby's, and their (the husbands') behavior and Mr.
Snagsby's. Rumor always flying, bat-like, about Cook's
Court, and skimming in and out at everybody's windows,
does say that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and inquisitive; and
that Mr. Snagsby is sometimes worried out of house and
home, and that if he had the spirit of a mouse he wouldn't
stand it. It is even observed, that the wives who quote
him to their self-willed husbands as a shining example, in
reality look down upon him; and that nobody does so with
greater superciliousness than one particular lady, whose
lord is more than suspected of laying his umbrella on her
as an instrument of correction. But these vague whisper-
ings may arise from Mr. Snagsby's being, in his way, rather
a meditative and poetical man; loving to walk in Staple Inn
in the summer time, and to observe how countrified the
sparrows and the leaves are; also to lounge about the Rolls
Yard of a Sunday afternoon, and to remark (if in good
spirits) that there were old times once, and that you'd find
a stone coffin or two, now, under that chapel, he'll be
bound, if you was to dig for it. He solaces his imagination,
too, by thinking of the many Chancellors and Vices, and
Masters of the Rolls, who are deceased; and he gets such
a flavor of the country out of telling the two 'prentices how
he has heard say that a brook "as clear as crystal" once
ran down the middle of Holborn, when Turnstile really was
a turnstile, leading slap away into the meadows—gets such
a flavor of the country out of this, that he never wants to
go there.
The day is closing in and the gas is lighted, but is not
yet fully effective, for it is not quite dark. Mr. Snagsby
standing at his shop-door, looking up at the clouds, sees
20


Charles Dickens
a crow, who is out late, skim westward over the slice of
sky belonging to Cook's Court. The crow flies straight
across Chancery Lane and Lincoln's Inn Garden, into Lin-
coln's Inn Fields. —
Here, in a large house, formerly a house of state, lives
Mr. Tulkinghorn. It is let off in sets of chambers now;
and in those shrunken fragments of its greatness, lawyers
lie like maggots in nuts. But its roomy staircases, pas-
sages, and antechambers still remain; and even its painted
ceilings, where Allegory, in Roman helmet and celestial
linen, sprawls among balustrades and pillars, flowers, clouds,
and big-legged boys, and makes the head ache—as would
seem to be Allegory's object always, more or less. Here,
among his many boxes labeled with transcendent names,
lives Mr. Tulkinghorn, when not speechlessly at home in
country-houses where the great ones of the earth are bored
to death. Here he is to-day, quiet at his table. An Oyster
of the old school, whom nobody can open.
Like as he is to look at, so is his apartment in the dusk
of the present afternoon. Rusty, out of date, withdrawing
from attention, able to afford it. Heavy broad-backed, old-
fashioned mahogany and horsehair chairs, not easily lifted,
obsolete tables with spindle-legs and dusty baize covers,
presentation prints of the holders of great titles in the last
generation, or the last but one, environ him. A thick and
dingy Turkey-carpet muffles the floor where he sits, at-
tended by two candles in old-fashioned silver candlesticks,
that give a very insufficient light to his large room. The
titles on the backs of his books have retired into the bind-
ing; everything that can have a lock has got one; no key
is visible. Very few loose papers are about. He has some
manuscript near him, but is not referring to it. With the
round top of an inkstand, and two broken bits of sealing-
wax, he is silently and slowly working out whatever train
of indecision is in his mind. Now, the inkstand top is in
the middle: now, the red bit of sealing-wax, now the black
bit. That's not it. Mr. Tulkinghorn must gather them all
up and begin again.
21


Detective Stories
Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with fore-shortened
Allegory staring down at his intrusion as if it meant to
swoop upon him, and he cutting it dead, Mr. Tulkinghorn
has at once his house and office. He keeps no staff; only
one middle-aged man, usually a little out at elbows, who
sits in a high pew in the hall, and is rarely overburdened
with business. Mr. Tulkinghorn is not in a common way.
He wants no clerks. He is a great reservoir of confidences,
not to be so tapped. His clients want him; he is all in all.
Drafts that he requires to be drawn, are drawn by special
pleaders in the Temple on mysterious instructions; fair
copies that he requires to be made, are made at the sta-
tioners', expense being no consideration. The middle-aged
man in the pew, knows scarcely more of the affairs of the
Peerage, than any crossing-sweeper in Holborn.
The red bit, the black bit, the inkstand top, the other ink-
stand top, the little sand-box. So! You to the middle,
you to the right, you to the left. This train of indecision
must surely be worked out now or never.—Now! Mr.
Tulkinghorn gets up, adjusts his spectacles, puts on his hat,
puts the manuscript in his pocket, goes out, tells the middle-
aged man out at elbows, " I shall be back presently." Very
rarely tells him anything more explicit.
Mr. Tulkinghorn goes, as the crow came—not quite so
straight, but nearly—to Cook's Court, Cursitor Street. To
Snagsby's, Law Stationer's, Deeds engrossed and copied,
Law-writing executed in all its branches, etc., etc., etc.
It is somewhere about five or six o'clock in the after-
noon, and a balmy fragrance of warm tea hovers in Cook's
Court. It hovers about Snagsby's door. The hours are
early there; dinner at half-past one, and supper at half-
past nine. Mr. Snagsby was about to descend into the
subterranean regions to take tea, when he looked out of
his door just now, and saw the crow who was out late.
"Master at home?"
Guster is minding the shop, for the 'prentices take tea
in the kitchen, with Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby; consequently,
the robe-maker's two daughters, combing their curls at
22


Charles Dickens
the two glasses in the two second-floor windows of the op-
posite house, are not driving the two 'prentices to distrac-
tion, as they fondly suppose, but are merely awakening
the unprofitable admiration of Guster, whose hair won't
grow, and never would, and, it is confidently thought,
never will.
"Master at home?" says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
Master is at home, and Guster will fetch him. Guster
disappears, glad to get out of the shop, which she regards
with mingled dread and veneration as a store-house of
awful implements of the great torture of the law: a place
not to be entered after the gas is turned off. Mr. Snagsby appears: greasy, warm, herbaceous, and
chewing. Bolts a bit of bread and butter. Says, "Bless
my soul, sir! Mr. Tulkinghorn!"
"I want half a word with you, Snagsby."
"Certainly, sir! Dear me, sir, why didn't you send your
young man round for me? Pray walk into the back shop,
sir." Snagsby has brightened in a moment.
The confined room, strong of parchment-grease, is ware-
ihouse, counting-house, and copying-office. Mr. Tulking-
horn sits, facing round, on a stool at the desk.
"Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Snagsby."
"Yes, sir." Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas, and coughs
behind his hand, modestly anticipating profit. Mr. Snagsby,
as a timid man, is accustomed to cough with a variety of
expression, and so to save words.
"You copied some affidavits in that cause for me lately."
"Yes, sir, we did."
"There was one of them," said Mr. Tulkinghorn, care-
lessly feeling—tight, unopenable Oyster of the old school!
—in the wrong coat-pocket, "the hand-writing of which is
peculiar, and I rather like it. As I happened to be passing,
and thought I had it about me, I looked in to ask you—
but I haven't got it. No matter, any other time will do—
Ah! here it is!—I looked in to ask you who copied this?"
"Who copied this, sir?" says Mr. Snagsby, taking it,
laying it flat on the desk, and separating all the sheets
23


Detective Stories
at once with a twirl and a twist of the left hand peculiar
to law-stationers. "We gave this out, sir. We were giv-
ing out rather a large quantity of work just at that time.
I can tell you in a moment who copied it, sir, by referring
to my book."
Mr. Snagsby takes his book down from the safe, makes
another bolt of the bit of bread and butter which seemed to
have stopped short, eyes the affidavit aside, and brings his
right forefinger traveling down a page of the book. "Jewby
—Packer—Jarndyce."
"Jarndyce! Here we are, sir," says Mr. Snagsby. "To
be sure! I might have remembered it. This was given
out, sir, to a writer who lodges just over on the opposite
side of the lane."
Mr. Tulkinghorn has seen the entry, found it before the
law-stationer, read it while the forefinger was coming down
the hill.
"What do you call him? Nemo? " says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
"Nemo, sir. Here it is. Forty-two folio. Given out on
the Wednesday night, at eight o'clock; brought in on the
Thursday morning, at half after nine."
"Nemo!" repeats Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Nemo is Latin
for no one."
"It must be English for some one, sir, I think," Mr.
Snagsby submits, with his deferential cough. "It is a per-
son's name. Here it is, you see, sir! Forty-two folio.
Given out Wednesday night, eight o'clock; brought in
Thursday morning, half after nine."
The tail of Mr. Snagsby's eye becomes conscious of the
head of Mrs. Snagsby looking in at the shop-door to know
what he means by deserting his tea. Mr. Snagsby ad-
dresses an explanatory cough to Mrs. Snagsby, as who
should say, " My dear, a customer!"
"Half after nine, sir," repeats Mr. Snagsby. "Our law-
writers, who live by job-work, are a queer lot; and this may
not be his name, but it's the name he goes by. I remember
now, sir, that he gives it in a written advertisement he sticks
op down at the Rule Office, and the King's Bench Office,
24


Charles Dickens
and the Judges' Chambers, and so forth. You know the
kind of document, sir—wanting employ?"
Mr. Tulkinghorn glances through the little window at the
back of Coavinses', the sheriff's officer's, where lights shine
in Coavinses' windows. Coavinses' coffee-room is at the
back, and the shadows of several gentlemen under a cloud
loom cloudily upon the blinds. Mr. Snagsby takes the op-
portunity of slightly turning his head, to glance over his
shoulder at his little woman, and to make apologetic mo-
tions with his mouth to this effect: "Tul-king-horn—rich
—in-flu-en-tial!"
"Have you given this man work before?" asks Mr.
Tulkinghorn.
"O dear, yes, sir! Work of yours."
"Thinking of more important matters, I forget where
you said he lived?"
"Across the lane, sir. In fact, he lodges at a—" Mr.
Snagsby makes another bolt, as if the bit of bread-and-
butter were insurmountable—" at a rag and bottle shop."
"Can you show me the place as I go back?"
"With the greatest pleasure, sir!"
Mr. Snagsby pulls off his sleeves and his gray coat, pulls
on his black coat, takes his hat from its peg. "Oh! here
is my little woman!" he says aloud. "My dear, will you
be so kind as to tell one of the lads to look after the shop,
while I step across the lane with Mr. Tulkinghorn? Mrs.
Snagsby, sir—I shan't be two minutes, my love!"
Mrs. Snagsby bends to the lawyer, retires behind the
counter, peeps at them through the window-blind, goes
softly into the back office, refers to the entries in the book
still lying open. Is evidently curious.
"You will find that the place is rough, sir," says Mr.
Snagsby, walking deferentially in the road, and leaving the
narrow pavement to the lawyer; "and the party is very
rough. But they're a wild lot in general, sir. The ad-
vantage of this particular man is, that he never wants sleep.
He'll go at it right on end, if you want him to, as long as
ever you like."
25


Detective Stories
It is quite dark, now, and the gas-lamps have acquired
their full effect. Jostling against clerks going to post the
day's letters, and against counsel and attorneys going home
to dinner, and against plaintiffs and defendants, and suitors
of all sorts, and against the ^general crowd, in whose way
the forensic wisdom of ages has interposed a million of
obstacles to the transaction of the commonest business of
life—diving through law and equity, and through that kin-
dred mystery, the street mud, which is made of nobody
knows what, and collects about us nobody knows whence or
how; we only knowing in general that when there is too
much of it, we find it necessary to shovel it away—the
lawyer and the law-stationer come to a rag and bottle shop,
and general emporium of much disregarded merchandise,
lying and being in the shadow of the wall of Lincoln's
Inn, and kept, as is announced in paint, to all whom it may
concern, by one Krook.
"This is where he lives, sir," says the law-stationer.
"This is where he lives, is it?" says the lawyer un-
concernedly. "Thank you."
"Are you not going in, sir?"
"No, thank you, no; I am going on to the Fields at
present. Good-evening. Thank you!" Mr. Snagsby lifts
his hat, and returns to his little woman and his tea.
But Mr. Tulkinghorn does not go on to the Fields at
present. He goes a short way, turns back, comes again
to the shop of Mr. Krook, and enters it straight. It is dim
enough, with a blot-headed candle or so in the windows, and
an old man and a cat sitting in the back part by a fire.
The old man rises and comes forward, with another blot-
headed candle in his hand.
"Pray is your lodger within?"
"Male or female, sir? " says Mr. Krook.
"Male. The person who does copying."
Mr. Krook has eyed his man narrowly. Knows him by
sight. Has an indistinct impression of his aristocratic
repute.
"Did you wish to see him, sir?"


Charles Dickens
Krook takes it, goes to the fire, stoops over the red
embers, and tries to get a light. The dying ashes have
no light to spare, and his endeavors are vain. Muttering,
after an ineffectual call to his lodger, that he will go down-
stairs and bring a lighted candle from the shop, the old
man departs. Mr. Tulkinghorn, for some new reason that
he has, does not await his return in the room, but on the
stairs outside.
The welcome light soon shines upon the wall, as Krook
comes slowly up, with his green-eyed cat following at his
heels. "Does the man generally sleep like this?" inquires
the lawyer, in a low voice. "Hi! I don't know," says
Krook, shaking his head and lifting his eyebrows. "I
know next to nothing of his habits, except that he keeps
himself very close."
Thus whispering, they both go in together. As the light
goes in, the great eyes in the shutters, darkening, seem
to close. Not so the eyes upon the bed.
"God save us!" exclaimed Mr. Tulkinghorn. "He is
dead!"
Krook drops the heavy hand he has taken up, so sud-
denly that the arm swings over the bedside.
They look at one another for a moment.
"Send for some doctor! Call for Miss Flite up the
stairs, sir. Here's poison by the bed! Call out for Flite,
will you?" says Krook, with his lean hands spread out
above the body like a vampire's wings.
Mr. Tulkinghorn hurries to the landing, and calls "Miss
Flite! Flite! Make haste, here, whoever you are! Flite!"
Krook follows him with his eyes, and, while he is calling,
finds opportunity to steal to the old portmanteau, and steal
back again.
"Run, Flite, run! The nearest doctor! Run!" So
Mr. Krook addresses a crazy little woman, who is his female
lodger: who appears and vanishes in a breath: who soon
returns, accompanied by a testy medical man, brought from
his dinner—with a broad snuffy lip, and a broad Scotch
tongue.
29


Detective Stories
"Ey! Bless the hearts o' ye," says the medical man,
looking up at them after a moment's examination. "He's
just as dead as Phairy!"
Mr. Tulkinghorn (standing by the old portmanteau) in-
quires if he has been dead any time?
"Any time, sir?" says the medical gentleman. "It's
probable he wull have been dead aboot three hours."
"About that time, I should say," observes a dark young
man, on the other side of the bed.
"Air you in the maydickle prayfession yourself, sir?"
inquires the first.
The dark young man says yes.
"Then I'll just tak' my depairture," replies the other;
"for I'm nae gude here I" With which remark, he finishes
his brief attendance, and returns to finish his dinner.
The dark young surgeon passes the candle across and
across the face, and carefully examines the law-writer, who
has established his pretentions to his name by becoming
indeed No one.
"I knew this person by sight, very well," says he. "He
has purchased opium of me, for the last year and a half.
Was anybody present related to him?" glancing round upon
the three bystanders.
"I was his landlord," grimly answers Krook, taking the
candle from the surgeon's outstretched hand. "He told me
once, I was the nearest relation he had."
"He has died," says the surgeon, "of an over-dose of
opium, there is no doubt. The room is strongly flavored
with it. There is enough here now," taking an old tea-pot
from Mr. Krook, " to kill a dozen people."
"Do you think he did it on purpose?" asks Krook.
"Took the over-dose?"
"Yes!" Krook almost smacks his lips with the unction
of a horrible interest.
"I can't say. I should think it unlikely, as he has been
in the habit of taking so much. But nobody can tell. He
was very poor, I suppose?"
"I suppose he was. His room—don't look rich," says
30


Charles Dickens
Krook, who might have changed eyes with his cat, as he
casts his sharp glance around. "But I have never been in
it since he had it, and he was too close to name his circum-
stances to me."
"Did he owe you any rent?"
"Six weeks."
"He will never pay it!" says the young man, resuming
his examination. "It is beyond a doubt that he is indeed
as dead as Pharaoh; and to judge from his appearance and
condition, I should think it a happy release. Yet he must
have been a good figure when a youth, and I dare say, good-
looking." He says this, not unfeelingly, while sitting on
the bedstead's edge, with his face towards that other face,
and his hand upon the region of the heart. "I recollect
once thinking there was something in his manner, uncouth
as it was, that denoted a fall in life. Was that so?" he
continues, looking round.
Krook replies, "You might as well ask me to describe
the ladies whose heads of hair I have got in sacks down-
stairs. Than that he was my lodger for a year and a half,
and lived—or didn't live—by law-writing, I know no more
of him."
During this dialogue, Mr. Tulkinghorn has stood aloof
by the old portmanteau, with his hands behind him, equally
removed, to all appearance, from all three kinds of interest
exhibited near the bed—from the young surgeon's profes-
sional interest in death, noticeable as being quite apart from
his remarks on the deceased as an individual; from the old
man's unction; and the little crazy woman's awe. His im-
perturbable face has been as inexpressive as his rusty
clothes. One could not even say he has been thinking all
this while. He has shown neither patience nor impatience,
nor attention nor abstraction. He has shown nothing but
his shell. As easily might the tone of a delicate musical
instrument be inferred from its case, as the tone of Mr.
Tulkinghorn from his case.
He now interposes; addressing the young surgeon, in hi»
unmoved, professional way.
31


Detective Stories
"I looked in here," he observes, "just before you, with
the intention of giving this deceased man, whom I never
saw alive, some employment at his trade of copying. I had
heard of him from my stationer—Snagsby of Cook's Court.
Since no one here knows anything about him, it might be
as well to send for Snagsby. Ah!" to the little crazy
woman, who has often seen him in court, and whom he has
often seen, and who proposes, in frightened dumb-show, to
go for the law-stationer. "Suppose you do!"
While she is gone, the surgeon abandons his hopeless in-
vestigation, and covers its subject with the patchwork
counterpane. Mr. Krook and he interchange a word or
two. Mr. Tulkinghorn says nothing; but stands, ever, near
the old portmanteau.
Mr. Snagsby arrives hastily, in his gray coat and black
sleeves. "Dear me, dear me," he says; "and it has come
to this, has it! Bless my soul!"
"Can you give the person of the house any information
about this unfortunate creature, Snagsby?" inquires Mr.
Tulkinghorn. "He was in arrears with his rent, it seems.
And he must be buried, you know."
"Well, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, coughing his apologetic
cough behind his hand; "I really don't know what advice
you could offer, except sending for the beadle."
"I don't speak of advice," returns Mr. Tulkinghorn. "/
could advise"
"No one better, sir, I am sure," says Mr. Snagsby, with
his deferential cough.
"I speak of affording some clew to his connections, or
to where he came from, or to anything concerning him."
"I assure you, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, after prefacing
his reply with his cough of general propitiation, "that I
know no more where he came from than I know"
"Where he has gone to, perhaps," suggests the surgeon,
to help him out.
A pause. Mr. Tulkinghorn looking at the law-stationer.
Mr. Krook, with his mouth open, looking for somebody to
speak next.
32


Charles Dickens
"As to his connections, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, "if a
person was to say to me, 'Snagsby, here's twenty thousand
pound down, ready for you in the Bank of England, if you'll
only name one of them,' I couldn't do it, sir! About a
year and a half ago—to the best of my belief at the time
when he first came to lodge at the present rag and bottle
shop"
"That was the time!" says Krook, with a nod.
"About a year and a half ago," says Mr. Snagsby,
strengthened, "he came into our place one morning after
breakfast, and, finding my little woman (which I name Mrs.
Snagsby when I use that appellation) in our shop, pro-
duced a specimen of his handwriting, and gave her to under-
stand that he was in want of copying work to do, and was—
not to put too fine a point upon it"—a favorite apology
for plain-speaking with Mr. Snagsby, which he always offers
with a sort of argumentative frankness, "hard up! My
little woman is not in general partial to strangers, particular
—not to put too fine a point upon it—when they want any-
thing. But she was rather took by something about his per-
son; whether by his being unshaved, or by his hair being
in want of attention, or by what other ladies' reasons, I leave
you to judge; and she accepted of the specimen, and like-
wise of the address. My little woman hasn't a good ear for
names," proceeds Mr. Snagsby, after consulting his cough
of consideration behind his hand, " and she considered Nemo
equally the same as Nimrod. In consequence of which, she
got into a habit of saying to me at meals, 'Mr. Snagsby,
you haven't found Nimrod any work yet?' or ' Mr. Snagsby,
why didn't you give that eight-and-thirty Chancery folio in
Jarndyce, to Nimrod? or such like. And that is the way
he gradually fell into job-work at our place; and that is
the most I know of him, except that he was a quick hand,
and a hand not sparing of night work; and that if you gave
him out, say five-and-forty folio on the Wednesday night,
you would have it brought in on the Thursday morning.
All of which "—Mr. Snagsby concludes by politely motion-
ing with his hat towards the bed, as much as to add—" I
33


Detective Stories
have no doubt my honorable friend would confirm, if he
were in a condition to do it."
"Hadn't you better see," says Mr. Tulkinghorn to Krook,
"whether he had any papers that may enlighten you? There
will be an inquest, and you will be asked the question. You
can read?"
"No I can't," returns the old man, with a sudden grin.
"Snagsby," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "look over the room
for him. He will get into some trouble or difficulty, other-
wise. Being here, I'll wait, if you make haste; and then
I can testify on his behalf, if it should ever be necessary, that
all was fair and right. If you will hold the candle for Mr.
Snagsby, my friend, hell soon see whether there is anything
to help you."
"In the first place, here's an old portmanteau, sir," says
Snagsby.
Ah, to be sure, so there is! Mr. Tulkinghorn does not
appear to have seen it before, though he is standing so close
to it, and though there is very little else, Heaven knows.
The marine-store merchant holds the light, and the law
stationer conducts the search. The surgeon leans against
the corner of the chimney-piece; Miss Flite peeps and
trembles just within the door. The apt old scholar of the
old school, with his dull black breeches tied with ribbons at
the knees, his large black waistcoat, his long-sleeved black
coat, and his wisp of limp white neckerchief tied in the bow
the Peerage knows so well, stands in exactly the same place
and attitude.
There are some worthless articles of clothing in the old
portmanteau; there is a bundle of pawnbrokers' duplicates,
those turnpike tickets on the road of Poverty; there is a
crumpled paper smelling of opium, on which are scrawled
rough memoranda—as, took, such a day, so many grains;
took, such another day, so many more—begun some time
ago, as if with the intention of being regularly continued,
but soon left off. There are a few dirty scraps of news-
papers, all referrring to Coroners' Inquests; there is nothing
else. They search the cupboard, and the drawer of the ink34


Charles Dickens
splashed table. There is not a morsel of an old letter, or of
any other writing, in either. The young surgeon examines
the dress on the law-writer. A knife and some odd half-
pence are all he finds. Mr. Snagsby's suggestion is the
practical suggestion after all, and the beadle must be called
in.
So the little crazy lodger goes for the beadle, and the rest
come out of the room. "Don't leave the cat there!" says
the surgeon: "that won't do!" Mr. Krook therefore drives
her out before him; and she goes furtively downstairs,
winding her little tail, and licking her lips.
"Good-night!" says Mr. Tulkinghorn; and goes home to
Allegory and meditation.
IV THE CORONER'S JURY
Mr. Tulkinghorn is received with distinction, and seated
near the Coroner; between that high judicial officer, a
bagatelle-board, and the coal-box. The inquiry proceeds.
The Jury learn how the subject of their inquiry died, and
learn no more about him. "A very eminent solicitor is in at-
tendance, gentlemen," says the Coroner, "who, I am in-
formed, was accidentally present, when discovery of the
death was made; but he could only repeat the evidence you
have already heard from the surgeon, the landlord, the
lodger, and the law-stationer; and it is not necessary to
trouble him. Is anybody in attendance who knows anything
more?"
Mrs. Piper pushed forward by Mrs. Perkins, Mrs. Piper
sworn.
Anastasia Piper, gentlemen. Married woman. Now,
Mrs. Piper—what have you to say about this?
Why, Mrs. Piper has a good deal to say, chiefly in paren-
thesis and without punctuation, but not much to tell. Mrs.
Piper lives in the court (which her husband is a cabinet-
maker), and it has long been well beknown among the neigh35


Detective Stories
bors (counting from the day next but one before the half-
baptizing of Alexander James Piper aged eighteen months
and four days old on accounts of not being expected to live
such was the sufferings gentlemen of that child in his gums)
as the Plaintive—so Mrs. Piper insists on calling the de-
ceased—was reported to have sold himself. Thinks it was
the Plaintive's air in which that report originatinin. See the
Plaintive often and considered as his air was feariocious and
not to be allowed to go about some children being timid (and
if doubted hoping Mrs. Perkins may be brought forard for
she is here and will do credit to her husband and herself
and family). Has seen the Plaintive wexed and worrited by
the children (for children they will ever be and you cannot
expect them specially if of playful dispositions to be Me-
thoozellers which you was not yourself). On accounts of
this and his dark looks has often dreamed as she see him
take a pick-axe from his pocket and split Johnny's head
(which the child knows not fear and has repeatually called
after him close at his eels). Never however see the Plain-
tive take a pick-axe or any other wepping far from it. Has
seen him hurry away when run and called after as if not
partial to children and never see him speak to neither
child nor grown person at any time (excepting the boy that
sweeps the crossing down the lane over the way round the
corner which if he was here would tell you that he has
been a-speaking to him frequent).
Says the Coroner, is that boy here? Says the beadle, no,
sir, he is not here. Says the Coroner, go and fetch him
then. In the absence of the active and intelligent, the Cor-
oner converses with Mr. Tulkinghorn.
O! Here's the boy, gentlemen I
Here he is, very muddy, very hoarse, very ragged. Now,
boy!—But stop a minute. Caution. This boy must be put
through a few preliminary paces.
Name, Jo. Nothing else that he knows on. Don't know
that everybody has two names. Never heerd of such a
think. Don't know that Jo is short for a longer name.
Thinks it long enough for him. He don't find no fault with
36


Charles Dickens
it. Spell it? No. He can't spell it. No father, no mother, no friends. Never been to school. What's home? Knows
a broom's a broom, and knows it's wicked to tell a lie. Don't
recollect who told him about the broom, or about the lie,
but knows both. Can't exactly say what'll be done to him
arter he's dead if he tells a lie to the gentlemen here, but
believes it'll be something wery bad to punish him, and
serve him right—and so he'll tell you the truth.
"This won't do, gentlemen!" says the Coroner, with a
melancholy shake of the head.
"Don't you think you can receive his evidence, sir?" asks
an attentive Juryman.
"Out of the question," says the Coroner. "You have
heard the boy. 'Can't exactly say' won't do, you know.
We can't take that, in a Court of Justice, gentlemen. It's
terrible depravity. Put the boy aside."
Boy put aside; to the great edification of the audience;—
especially of Little Swills, the Comic Vocalist.
Now. Is there any other witness? No other witness.
Very well, gentlemen! Here's a man unknown, proved
to have been in the habit of taking opium in large quan-
tities for a year and a half, found dead of too much opium.
If you think you have any evidence to lead you to the con-
clusion that he committed suicide, you will come to that
conclusion. If you think it is a case of accidental death,
you will find a Verdict accordingly.
Verdict accordingly. Accidental death. No doubt. Gen-
tlemen, you are discharged. Good afternoon.
While the Coroner buttons his great-coat, Mr. Tulking-
horn and he give private audience to the rejected witness
in a corner.
That graceless creature only knows that the dead man
(whom he recognized just now by his yellow face and black
hair) was sometimes hooted and pursued about the streets.
That one cold, winter night, when he, the boy, was shivering
in a doorway near his crossing, the man turned to look at
him, and came back, and, having questioned him and found
that he had not a friend in the world, said, "Neither have
37


Detective Stories
I. Not one!" and gave him the price of a supper and a
night's lodging. That the man had often spoken to him
since; and asked him whether he slept sound at night, and
how he bore cold and hunger, and whether he ever wished
to die; and similar strange questions. That when the man
had no money, he would say in passing, "I am as poor as
you to-day, Jo," but that when he had any, he had always
(as the boy most heartily believes) been glad to give him
some.
"He wos wery good to me," says the boy, wiping his eyes
with his wretched sleeves. "Wen I see him a-layin' so
stritched out just now, I wished he could have heerd me
tell him so. He wos wery wood to me, he wos 1"
As he shuffles downstairs, Mr. Snagsby, lying in wait for
him, puts a half-crown in his hand. "If you ever see me
coming past your crossing with my little woman—I mean a
lady—" says Mr. Snagsby, with his finger on his nose,
"don't allude to it!"
It is anything but a night of rest at Mr. Snagsby's, in
Cook's Court; where Guster murders sleep, by going, as
Mr. Snagsby himself allows—not to put too fine a point
upon it—out of one fit into twenty. The occasion of this
seizure is, that Guster has a tender heart, and a susceptible
something that possibly might have been imagination but for
Tooting and her patron saint. Be it what it may, now, it
was so direfully impressed at tea-time by Mr. Snagsby's
account of the inquiry at which he had assisted, that at
supper-time she projected herself into the kitchen, preceded
by a flying Dutch-cheese, and well into a fit of unusual du-
ration: which she only came out of to go into another, and
another, and so on through a chain of fits, with short inter-
vals between, of which she has pathetically availed herself
by consuming them in entreaties to Mrs. Snagsby not to
give her warning "when she quite comes to;" and also in
appeals to the whole establishment to lay her down on the
stones, and go to bed. Hence, Mr. Snagsby, at last hearing
the cock at the little dairy in Cursitor Street go into that dis-
interested ecstasy of his on the subject of daylight, says,
38


Charles Dickens
drawing a long breath, though the most patient of men, "I
thought you was dead, I am sure!"
What question this enthusiastic fowl supposes he settles
when he strains himself to such an extent, or why he should
thus crow (so men crow on various triumphant public oc-
casions, however) about what cannot be of any moment to
him, is his affair. It is enough that daylight comes, morn-
ing comes, noon comes.
Then the active and intelligent, who has got into the morn-
ing papers as such, comes with his pauper company to Mr.
Krook's, and bears off the body of our dear brother here
departed, to a hemmed-in churchyard, pestiferous and ob-
scene, whence malignant diseases are communicated to the
bodies of our dear brothers and sisters who have not de-
parted; while our dear brothers and sisters who hang about
official back-stairs—would to Heaven they had departed!—
are very complacent and agreeable. Into a beastly scrap
of ground which a Turk would reject as a savage abomina-
tion, and a Caffre would shudder at, they bring our dear
brother here departed, to receive Christian burial.
With houses looking on, on every side, save where a reek-
ing little tunnel of a court gives access to the iron gate—
with every villainy of life in action close on death, and
every poisonous element of death in action close on life—
here, they lower our dear brother down a foot or two: here,
sow him in corruption, to be raised in corruption: an aveng-
ing ghost at many a sick-bedside; a shameful testimony to
future ages, how civilization and barbarism walked this
boastful island together.
Come night, come darkness, for you cannot come too
soon, or stay too long, by such a place as this! Come, strag-
gling lights into the windows of the ugly houses; and you
who do iniquity therein, do it at least with this dread scene
shut out I Come, flame of gas, burning so sullenly above the
iron gate, on which the poisoned air deposits its witch-oint-
ment slimy to the touch 1 It is well that you should call to
every passer-by, "Look here!"
With the night, comes a slouching figure through the
39


Detective Stories
tunnel-court, to the outside of the iron gate. It holds the
gate with its hands, and looks in between the bars; stands
looking in, for a little while.
It then, with an old broom it carries, softly sweeps the
step, and makes the archway clean. It does so, very busily
and trimly; looks in again, a little while; and so departs.
Jo, is it thou? Well, well! Though a rejected witness,
who " can't exactly say " what will be done to him in greater
hands than men's, thou art not quite in outer darkness.
There is something like a distant ray of light in thy muttered
reason for this:
"He wos wery good to me, he wos!"
ON THE WATCH
IT has left off raining down in Lincolnshire, at last, and
Chesney Wold has taken heart. Mrs. Rouncewell is full of
hospitable cares, for Sir Leicester and my Lady are coming
home from Paris. The fashionable intelligence has found
it out, and communicates the glad tidings to benighted Eng-
land. It has also found out, that they will entertain a bril-
liant and distinguished circle of the elite of the beau monde
(the fashionable intelligence is weak in English, but a giant
refreshed in French), at the ancient and hospitable family
seat in Lincolnshire.
For the greater honor of the brilliant and distinguished
circle, and of Chesney Wold into the bargain, the broken
arch of the bridge in the park is mended; and the water, now
retired within its proper limits and again spanned grace-
fully, makes a figure in the prospect from the house. The
clear, cold sunshine glances into the brittle woods, and ap-
provingly beholds the sharp wind scattering the leaves and
drying the moss. It glides over the park after the moving
shadows of the clouds, and chases them, and never catches
them, all day. It looks in at the windows, and touches the
ancestral portraits with bars and patches of brightness,
40


Charles Dickens
never contemplated by the painters. Athwart the picture of
my Lady, over the great chimney-piece, it throws a broad
bend-sinister of light that strikes down crookedly into the
hearth, and seems to rend it.
Through the same cold sunshine, and the same sharp
wind, my Lady and Sir Leicester, in their traveling chariot
(my Lady's woman, and Sir Leicester's man affectionate in
the rumble), start for home. With a considerable amount
of jingling and whip-cracking, and many plunging demon-
strations on the part of two bare-backed horses, and two
Centaurs with glazed hats, jack-boots, and flowing manes
and tails, they rattle out of the yard of the Hotel Bristol in
the Place Vendome, and canter between the sun-and-
shadow-chequered colonnade of the Rue de Rivoli and the
garden of the ill-fated palace of a headless king and queen,
off by the Place of Concord, and the Elysian Fields, and
the Gate of the Star, out of Paris.
Sooth to say, they cannot go away too fast; for, even
here, my Lady Dedlock has been bored to death. Concert,
assembly, opera, theatre, drive, nothing is new to my Lady,
under the worn-out heavens. Only last Sunday, when poor
wretches were gay—within the walls, playing with children
among the clipped trees and the statues in the Palace Gar-
den; walking, a score abreast, in the Elysian Fields, made
more Elysian by performing dogs and wooden horses; be-
tween whiles filtering (a few) through the gloomy Cathe-
dral of our Lady, to say a word or two at the base of a pil-
lar, within flare of a rusty little gridironfull of gusty little
tapers—without the walls, encompassing Paris with dancing,
love-making, wine-drinking, tobacco-smoking, tomb-visiting,
billiard, card and domino playing, quack-doctoring, and
much murderous refuse, animate and inanimate, only last
Sunday, my Lady, in the desolation of Boredom and the
clutch of Giant Despair, almost hated her own maid for
being in spirits.
She cannot, therefore, go too fast from Paris. Weariness
of soul lies before her, as it lies behind—her Ariel has put
a girdle of it round the whole earth, and it cannot be un41


Detective Stories
clasped—but the imperfect remedy is always to fly, from
the last place where it has been experienced. Fling Paris
back into the distance, then, exchanging it for endless ave-
nues and cross-avenues of wintry trees! And, when next
beheld, let it be some leagues away, with the Gate of the
Star a white speck glittering in the sun, and the city a mere
mound in a plain; two dark square towers rising out
of it, and light and shadow descending on it aslant, like the
angels in Jacob's dream!
Sir Leicester is generally in a complacent state, and rarely
bored. When he has nothing else to do, he can always con-
template his own greatness. It is a considerable advantage
to a man to have so inexhaustible a subject. After reading
his letters, he leans back in his corner of the carriage, and
generally reviews his importance to society.
"You have an unusual amount of correspondence this
morning? " says my Lady after a long time. She is fatigued
with reading. Has almost read a page in twenty miles.
"Nothing in it, though. Nothing whatever."
"I saw one of Mr. Tulkinghorn's long effusions, I
think?"
"You see everything," says Sir Leicester, with admira-
tion.
"Ha!" sighs my Lady, "he is the most tiresome of
men!"
"He sends—I really beg your pardon—he sends," says
Sir Leicester, selecting the letter and unfolding it, "a mes-
sage to you. Our stopping to change horses, as I came to
his postscript, drove it out of my memory. I beg you'll
excuse me. He says "Sir Leicester is so long in taking
out his eye-glass and adjusting it, that my Lady looks a
little irritated. "He says, 'In the matter of the right of
way 'I beg your pardon, that's not the place. He says—
yes! Here I have it! He says, ' I beg my respectful com-
pliments to my Lady, who, I hope, has benefited by the
change. Will you do me the favor to mention (as it may
interest her) that I have something to tell her on her return,
in reference to the person who copied the affidavit in the
42


Charles Dickens
mouth, and general uncomfortable tightness of the face,
rendering the jaws too eager, and the skull too prominent.
There is something indefinably keen and wan about her an-
atomy; and she has a watchful way of looking out of the
corners of her eyes without turning her head, which could
be pleasantly dispensed with—especially when she is in an
ill-humor and near knives. Through all the good taste of
her dress and little adornments, these objections so ex-
press themselves, that she seems to go about like a very neat
She-Wolf imperfectly tamed. Besides being accomplished
in all the knowledge appertaining to her post, she is al-
most an Englishwoman in her acquaintance with the lan-
guage—consequently, she is in no want of words to shower
upon Rosa for having attracted my Lady's attention; and
she pours them out with such grim ridicule as she sits at
dinner, that her companion, the affectionate man, is rather
relieved when she arrives at the spoon stage of that per-
formance.
Ha, ha, ha! She, Hortense, been in my Lady's service
since five years, and always kept at the distance, and this
doll, this puppet, caressed—absolutely caressed—by my
Lady on the moment of her arrival at the house! Ha, ha,
ha!" And do you know how pretty you are, child ?"—" No,
my Lady."—You are right there!" And how old are you,
child! And take care they do not spoil you by flattery,
child!" O how droll! It is the best thing altogether.
In short, it is such an admirable thing, that Mademoiselle
Hortense can't forget it; but at meals for days afterwards,
even among her countrywomen and others attached in like
capacity to the troop of visitors, relapses into silent enjoy-
ment of the joke—an enjoyment expressed, in her own con-
vivial manner, by an additional tightness of face, thin
elongation of compressed lips, and sidewise look: which in-
tense appreciation of humor is frequently reflected in my
Lady's mirrors, when my Lady is not among them.
All the mirrors in the house are brought into action now:
many of them after a long blank. They reflect handsome
faces, simpering faces, youthful faces, faces of three-score45


Detective Stories
and-ten that will not submit to be old: the entire collection
of faces that have come to pass a January week or two at
Chesney Wold, and which the fashionable intelligence, a
mighty hunter before the Lord, hunts with a keen scent,
from their breaking cover at the Court of St. James's to
their being run down to Death. The place in Lincolnshire
is all alive. By day, guns and voices are heard ringing in
the woods, horsemen and carriages enliven the park roads,
servants and hangers-on pervade the Village and the Ded-
lock Arms. Seen by night, from distant openings in the
trees, the row of windows in the long drawing-room, where
my Lady's picture hangs over the great chimney-piece, is
like a row of jewels set in a black frame. On Sunday, the
chill little church is almost warmed by so much gallant
company, and the general flavor of the Dedlock dust is
quenched in delicate perfumes.
The brilliant and distinguished circle comprehends within
it no contracted amount of education, sense, courage, honor,
beauty, and virtue. Yet there is something a little wrong
about it, in despite of its immense advantages. What can
it be?
Dandyism? There is no King George the Fourth now
(more's the pity!) to set the dandy fashion; there are no
clear-starched jack-towel neckcloths, no short-waisted coats,
no false calves, no stays. There are no caricatures, now,
of effeminate exquisites so arrayed, swooning in opera-
boxes with excess of delight, and being revived by other
dainty creatures, poking long-necked scent bottles at their
noses. There is no beau whom it takes four men at once
to shake into his buckskins, or who goes to see all the ex-
ecutions, or who is troubled with the self-approach of hav-
ing once consumed a pea. But is there Dandyism in the
brilliant and distinguished circle notwithstanding, Dandy-
ism of a more mischievous sort, that has got below the
surface and is doing less harmless things than jack-towel-
ing itself and stopping its own digestion, to which no ra-
tional person need particularly object?
Why, yes. It cannot be disguised. There are, at Ches46


Charles Dickens
ney Wold this January week, some ladies and gentlemen
of the newest fashion, who have set up a dandyism—in
religion, for instance. Who, in mere lackadaisical want of
an emotion, have agreed upon a little dandy talk about
the vulgar wanting faith in things in general; meaning, in
the things that have been tried and found wanting, as
though a low fellow should unaccountably lose faith in a
bad shilling, after finding it out! Who would make the
vulgar very picturesque and faithful, by putting back the
hands upon the clock of time, and canceling a few hun-
dred years of history.
There are also ladies and gentlemen of another fashion,
not so new, but very elegant, who have agreed tc puc »
smooth glaze on the world, and to keep down all its
realities. For whom everything must be languid and
pretty. Who have found out the perpetual stoppage. Who
are to rejoice at nothing, and be sorry for nothing. Who
are not to be disturbed by ideas. On whom even the fine
arts, attending in powder and walking backward like the
Lord Chamberlain, must array themselves in the milliners'
and tailors' patterns of past generations, and be particularly
careful not to be in earnest or to receive any impress from
the moving age.
Then there is my Lord Boodle, of considerable reputa-
tion with his party, who has known what office is, and who
tells Sir Leicester Dedlock with much gravity, after dinner,
that he really does not see to what the present age is tend-
ing. A debate is not what a debate used to be; the House
is not what the House used to be; even a Cabinet is not
what it formerly was. He perceives with astonishment,
that supposing the present government be overthrown, the
limited choice of the Crown, in the formation of a new
ministry, would lie between Lord Coodle and Sir Thomas
Doodle—supposing it to be impossible for the Duke of
Foodle to act with Goodle, which may be assumed to be
the case in consequence of the breach arising out of that
affair with Hoodle. Then, giving the Home Department
and the leadership of the House of Commons to Joodle,
47


Detective Stories
the Exchequer to Koodle, the Colonies to Loodle, and the
Foreign Office to Moodle, what are you to do with Noodle?
You can't offer him the Presidency of the Council; that
is reserved for Poodle. You can't put him in the Woods
and Forests; that is hardly good enough for Quoodle.
What follows? That the country is shipwrecked, lost, and
gone to pieces (as is made manifest to the patriotism of Sir
Leicester Dedlock), because you can't provide for Noodle!
On the other hand, the Right Honorable William Buffy,
M.P., contends across the table with someone else, that
the shipwreck of the country—about which there is no
doubt; it is only the manner of it that is in question—is
aitriDuta' .e to Cuffy. If you had done with Cuffy what
I ou ouglu ic have done when he first came into Parliament,
and ha prevented him from going over to Duffy, you
would have got him into alliance with Fuffy, you would
have ! ad with you the weight attaching as a smart debater
to Guffy, you would have brought to bear upon the elec-
tions the wealth of Huffy, you would have got in for three
counties Juffy, Kuffy, and Luffy, and you would have
strengthened your administration by the official knowledge
and the business habits of Muffy. All this, instead of be-
ing as you now are, dependent on the mere caprice of Puffy!
As to this point, and as to some minor topics, there are
differences of opinion; but it is perfectly clear to the bril-
liant and distinguished circle, all round, that nobody is in
question but Boodle and his retinue, and Buffy and his
retinue. These are the great actors for whom the stage is
reserved. A people there are, no doubt—a certain large
number of supernumeraries, who are to be occasionally ad-
dressed, and relied upon for shouts and choruses, as on
the theatrical stage; but Boodle and Buffy, their followers
and families, their heirs, executors, administrators, and
assigns, are the born first-actors, managers, and leaders,
and no others can appear upon the scene for ever and ever.
In this, too, there is perhaps more dandyism at Chesney
Wold than the brilliant and distinguished circle will find
good for itself in the long run. For it is, even with the
48


Charles Dickens
stillest and politest circles, as with the circle the necro-
mancer draws around him—very strange appearances may
be seen in active motion outside. With this difference:
that, being realities and not phantoms, there is the greater
danger of their breaking in.
Chesney Wold is quite full, anyhow; so full, that a burn-
ing sense of injury arises in the breasts of ill-lodged ladies'-
maids, and is not to be extinguished. Only one room is
empty. It is a turret chamber of the third order of merit,
plainly, but comfortably furnished, and having an old-
fashioned business air. It is Mr. Tulkinghorn's room, and
is never bestowed on anybody else, for he may come at
any time. He is not come yet. It is his quiet habit to
walk across the park from the village in fine weather; to
drop into this room, as if he had never been out of it since
he was last seen there; to request a servant to inform Sir
Leicester that he is arrived, in case he should be wanted;
and to appear ten minutes before dinner, in the shadow
of the library-door. He sleeps in his turret, with a com-
plaining flag-staff over his head; and has some leads out-
side, on which, any fine morning when he is down here,
his black figure may be seen walking before breakfast like
a larger species of rook.
Every day before dinner, my Lady looks for him in the
dusk of the library, but he is not there. Every day at
dinner, my Lady glances down the table for the vacant
place, that would be waiting to receive him if he had just
arrived; but there is no vacant place. Every night, my
Lady casually asks her maid:
"Is Mr. Tulkinghorn come?"
Every night the answer is, "No, my Lady, not yet."
One night, while having her hair undressed, my Lady
loses herself in deep thought after this reply, until she sees
her own brooding face, in the opposite glass, and a pair
of black eyes curiously observing her.
"Be so good as to attend," says my Lady then, address-
ing the reflection of Hortense, "to your business. You
can contemplate your beauty at another time."
49


Detective Stories
"Pardon! It was your Ladyship's beauty."
"That," says my Lady, "you needn't contemplate at all."
At length, one afternoon a little before sunset, when the
bright groups of figures, which have for the last hour or
two enlivened the Ghost's Walk, are all dispersed, and only
Sir Leicester and my Lady remain upon the terrace, Mr.
Tulkinghorn appears. He comes towards them at his usual
methodical pace, which is never quickened, never slackened.
He wears his usual expressionless mask—if it be a mask—
and carries family secrets in every limb of his body, and
every crease of his dress. Whether his whole soul is
devoted to the great, or whether he yields them nothing be-
yond the services he sells, is his personal secret. He keeps
it, as he keeps the secrets of his clients; he is his own client
in that matter, and will never betray himself.
"How do you do, Mr. Tulkinghorn?" says Sir Leicester,
giving him his hand.
Mr. Tulkinghorn is quite well. Sir Leicester is quite
well. My Lady is quite well. All highly satisfactory.
The lawyer, with his hands behind him, walks, at Sir
Leicester's side, along the terrace. My Lady walks upon
the other side.
"We expected you before," says Sir Leicester. A gra-
cious observation. As much as to say, "Mr. Tulkinghorn,
we remember your existence when you are not here to
remind us of it by your presence. We bestow a fragment
of our minds upon you, sir, you see 1"
Mr. Tulkinghorn, comprehending it, inclines his head,
and says he is much obliged.
"I should have come down sooner," he explains, "but
that I have been much engaged with those matters in the
several suits between yourself and Boythorn."
"A man of a very ill-regulated mind," observes Sir
Leicester, with severity. "An extremely dangerous per-
son in any community. A man of a very low character of
mind."
"He is obstinate," says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
"It is natural to such a man to be so," says Sir Leices50


Charles Dickens
ter, looking most profoundly obstinate himself. "I am not
at all surprised to hear it."
"The only question is," pursues the lawyer, "whether
you will give up anything."
"No, sir," replies Sir Leicester. "Nothing. / give up?"
"I don't mean anything of importance. That, of course,
I know you would not abandon. I mean any minor point."
"Mr. Tulkinghorn," returns Sir Leicester, "there can
be no minor point between myself and Mr. Boythorn. If
I go farther, and observe that I cannot readily conceive how
any right of mine can be a minor point, I speak not so
much in reference to myself as an individual, as in refer-
ence to the family position I have it in charge to maintain."
Mr. Tulkinghorn inclines his head again. "I have now
my instructions," he says. "Mr. Boythorn will give us a
good deal of trouble"
"It is the character of such a mind, Mr. Tulkinghorn," Sir Leicester interrupts him, "to give trouble. An ex-
ceedingly ill-conditioned, leveling person. A person who,
fifty years ago, would probably have been tried at the Old
Bailey for some demagogue proceeding, and severely pun-
ished—if not," adds Sir Leicester, after a moment's pause,
"if not hanged, drawn, and quartered."
Sir Leicester appears to discharge his stately breast of
a burden, in passing this capital sentence; as if it were the
next satisfactory thing to have the sentence executed.
"But night is coming on," says he, "and my Lady will
take cold. My dear, let us go in."
As they turn towards the hall-door, Lady Dedlock ad-
dresses Mr. Tulkinghorn for the first time.
"You sent me a message respecting the person whose
writing I happened to inquire about. It was like you to
remember the circumstance; I had quite forgotten it. Your
message reminded me of it again. I can't imagine what
association I had with a hand like that; but I surely had
some."
"You had some?" Mr. Tulkinghorn repeats.
"O yes!" returns my Lady carelessly. "I think I
51


Detective Stories
must have had some. And did you really take the trouble
to find out the writer of that actual thing—what is it!—
affidavit?"
"Yes."
"How very odd!"
They pass into a somber breakfast-room on the ground
floor, lighted in the day by two deep windows. It is now
twilight. The fire glows brightly on the paneled wall, and
palely on the window-glass, where, through the cold re-
flection of the blaze, the colder landscape shudders in the
wind, and a gray mist creeps along: the only traveler besides
the waste of clouds.
My Lady lounges in a great chair in the chimney-corner,
and Sir Leicester takes another great chair opposite. The
lawyer stands before the fire, with his hand at arm's
length, shading his face. He looks across his arm at my
Lady.
"Yes," he says, "I inquired about the man, and found
him. And, what is very strange, I found him"
"Not to be any out-of-the-way person, I am afraid!"
Lady Dedlock anticipates.
"I found him dead."
"O dear me!" remonstrated Sir Leicester. Not so
much shocked by the fact, as by the fact of the fact being
mentioned.
"I was directed to his lodging—a miserable, poverty-
stricken place—and I found him dead."
"You will excuse me, Mr. Tulkinghorn," observes Sir
Leicester. "I think the less said"
"Pray, Sir Leicester, let me hear the story out" (it is
my Lady speaking). "It is quite a story for twilight.
How very shocking! Dead?"
Mr. Tulkinghorn re-asserts it by another inclination of
his head. "Whether by his own hand"
"Upon my honor!" cries Sir Leicester. "Really!"
"Do let me hear the story!" says my Lady.
"Whatever you desire, my dear. But, I must say—■—"
"No, you mustn't say! Go on, Mr. Tulkinghorn."
52


Charles Dickens
Sir Leicester's gallantry concedes the point; though he
still feels that to bring this sort of squalor among the upper
classes is really—really
"I was about to say," resumes the lawyer, with un-
disturbed calmness, "that whether he had died by his own
hand or not, it was beyond my power to tell you. I should
amend that phrase, however, by saying that he had un-
questionably died of his own act, though whether by his
own deliberate intention, or by mischance, can never cer-
tainly be known. The coroner's jury found that he took
the poison accidentally."
"And what kind of man," my Lady asks, "was this de-
plorable creature?"
"Very difficult to say," returns the lawyer, shaking his
head. "He had lived so wretchedly, and was so neglected,
with his gypsy color, and his wild black hair and beard, that
I should have considered him the commonest of the com-
mon. The surgeon had a notion that he had once been
something better, both in appearance and condition."
"What did they call the wretched being?"
"They called him what he had called himself, but no
one knew his name."
"Not even anyone who had attended on him?"
"No one had attended on him. He was found dead. In
fact, I found him."
"Without any clew to anything more?"
"Without any; there was," says the lawyer meditatively,
"an old portmanteau; but—No, there were no papers."
During the utterance of every word of this short dialogue,
Lady Dedlock and Mr. Tulkinghorn, without any other
alteration in their customary deportment, have looked very
steadily at one another—as was natural, perhaps, in the
discussion of so unusual a subject. Sir Leicester has
looked at the fire, with the general expression of the Ded-
lock on the staircase. The story being told, he renews his
stately protest, saying, that as it is quite clear that no as-
sociation in my Lady's mind can possibly be traceable to
this poor wretch (unless he was a begging letter writer)j
53


Detective Stories
he trusts to hear no more about a subject so far removed
from my Lady's station.
"Certainly, a collection of horrors," says my Lady,
gathering up her mantles and furs; "but they interest one
for the moment! Have the kindness, Mr. Tulkinghorn,
to open the door for me."
Mr. Tulkinghorn does so with deference, and holds it
open while she passes out. She passes close to him, with
her usual fatigued manner, and insolent grace. They meet
again at dinner—again, next day—again for many days in
succession. Lady Dedlock is always the same exhausted
deity, surrounded by worshipers, and terribly liable to be
bored to death, even while presiding at her own shrine. Mr.
Tulkinghorn is always the same speechless repository of
noble confidences: so oddly out of place, and yet so per-
fectly at home. They appear to take as little note of one
another, as any two people, inclosed within the same walls,
could. But, whether each evermore watches and suspects
the other, evermore mistrustful of some great reservation;
whether each is evermore prepared at all points for the
other, and never to be taken unawares; what each would
give to know how much the other knows—all this is hid-
den, for the time, in their own hearts.
VI
tom-all-alone's
My Lady Dedlock is restless, very restless. The aston-
ished fashionable intelligence hardly knows where to
have her. To-day, she is at Chesney Wold; yesterday she
was at her house in town; to-morrow, she may be abroad,
for anything the fashionable intelligence can with confi-
dence predict. Even Sir Leicester's gallantry has some
trouble to keep pace with her. It would have more, but
that his other faithful ally, for better and for worse—the
gout—darts into the old oak bed-chamber at Chesney Wold,
and grips him by both legs.
54


Charles Dickens
Sir Leicester receives the gout as a troublesome demon,
but still a demon of the patrician order. All the Dedlocks,
in the direct male line, through a course of time during
and beyond which the memory of man goeth not to the
contrary, have had the gout. It can be proved, sir. Other
men's fathers may have died of the rheumatism, or may
have taken base contagion from the tainted blood of the
sick vulgar, but the Dedlock family have communicated
something exclusive, even to the leveling process of dying,
by dying of their own family gout. It has come down,
through the illustrious line, like the plate, or the pictures,
or the place in Lincolnshire. It is among their dignities.
Sir Leicester is, perhaps, not wholly without an impression,
though he has never resolved it into words, that the angel
of death in the discharge of his necessary duties may ob-
serve to the shades of the aristocracy, "My lords and
gentlemen, I have the honor to present to you another Ded-
lock certified to have arrived per the family gout."
Hence, Sir Leicester yields up his family legs to the
family disorder, as if he held his name and fortune on
that feudal tenure. He feels, that for a Dedlock to be
laid upon his back and spasmodically twitched and stabbed
in his extremities is a liberty taken somewhere; but, he
thinks, "We have all yielded to this; it belongs to us; it
has, for some hundreds of years, been understood that we
are not to make the vaults in the park interesting on more
ignoble terms; and I submit myself to the compromise."
And a goodly show he makes, lying in a flush of crimson
and gold, in the midst of the great drawing-room, before his
favorite picture of my Lady, with broad strips of sunlight
shining in, down the long perspective, through the long
line of windows, and alternating with soft reliefs of shadow.
Outside, the stately oaks, rooted for ages in the green
ground which has never known ploughshare, but was still
a Chase when kings rode to battle with sword and shield,
and rode a-hunting with bow and arrow; bear witness to
his greatness. Inside, his forefathers, looking on him, from
the walls, say, "Each of us was a passing reality here,
55


Detective Stories
and left this colored shadow of himself, and melted into
remembrance as dreamy as the distant voices of the rooks
now lulling you to rest;" and bear their testimony to his
greatness, too. And he is very great, this day. And woe
to Boythorn, or other daring wight, who shall presumptu-
ously contest an inch with him!
My Lady is at present represented, near Sir Leicester,
by her portrait. She has flitted away to town, with no in-
tention of remaining there, and will soon flit hither again,
to the confusion of the fashionable intelligence. The house
in town is not prepared for her reception. It is muffled and
dreary. Only one Mercury in powder, gapes disconsolate
at the hall-window; and he mentioned last night to another
Mercury of his acquaintance, also accustomed to good so-
ciety, that if that sort of thing was to last—which it
couldn't, for a man of his spirits couldn't bear it, and a
man of his figure couldn't be expected to bear it—there
would be no resource for him, upon his honor, but to cut
his throat!
What connection can there be, between the place in Lin-
colnshire, the house in town, the Mercury in powder, and
the whereabout of Jo the outlaw with the broom, who
had that distant ray of light upon him when he swept the
churchyard-step? What connection can there have been
between many people in the innumerable histories of this
world, who, from opposite sides of great gulfs, have, never-
theless, been very curiously brought together!
Jo sweeps his crossing all day long, unconscious of the
link, if any link there be. He sums up his mental condi-
tion, when asked a question, by replying that he "don't
know nothink." He knows that it's hard to keep the mud
off the crossing in dirty weather, and harder still to live
by doing it. Nobody taught him even that much; he found
it out.
Jo lives—that is to say, Jo has not yet died—in a ruinous
place, known to the like of him by the name of Tom-all-
Alone's. It is a black, dilapidated street, avoided by all
decent people; where the crazy houses were seized upon,
56


Charles Dickens
writing, which has been suspended for a few hours, recom-
mences. Jo, and the other lower animals, get on in the
unintelligible mess as they can. It is market-day. The
blinded oxen, over-goaded, over-driven, never guic .d, run
into wrong places and are beaten out; and plunge, red-
eyed and foaming, at stone walls; and often sorely hurt the
innocent, and often sorely hurt themselves. Very like Jo
and his order; very, very like!
A band of music comes and plays. Jo listens to it. So
does a dog—a drover's dog, waiting for his master outside
a butcher's shop, and evidently thinking about those sheep
he has had upon his mind for some hours, and is happily
rid of. He seems perplexed respecting three or four; can't
remember where he left them; looks up and down the street,
as half expecting to see them astray; suddenly pricks up
his ears and remembers all about it. A thoroughly vaga-
bond dog, accustomed to low company and public-houses;
a terrific dog to sheep; ready at a whistle to scamper
over their backs, and tear out mouthfuls of their wool; but
an educated, improved, developed dog, who has been taught
his duties and knows how to discharge them. He and Jo
listen to the music, probably with much the same amount
of animal satisfaction; likewise, as to awakened associa.-
tion, aspiration or regret, melancholy or joyful reference to
things beyond the senses, they are probably upon a par.
But, otherwise, how far above the human listener is the
brute!
Turn that dog's descendants wild, like Jo, and in a very
few years they will so degenerate that they will lose even
their bark—but not their bite.
The day changes as it wears itself away, and becomes
dark and drizzly. Jo fights it out, at his crossing, among
the mud and wheels, the horses, whips, and umbrellas, and
gets but a scanty sum to pay for the unsavory shelter of
Tom-all-Alone's. Twilight comes on; gas begins to start
up in the shops; the lamplighter, with his ladder, runs along
the margin of the pavement. A wretched evening is be-
ginning to close in.
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Detective Stories
In his chambers, Mr. Tulkinghorn sits meditating an application to the nearest magistrate to-morrow morning for
a warrant. Gridley, a disappointed suitor, has been here to-
day, and has been alarming. We are not to be put in
bodily fear, and that ill-conditioned fellow shall be held
to bail again. From the ceiling, fore-shortened Allegory,
in the person of one impossible Roman upside down, points
with the arm of Samson (out of joint and an odd one)
obtrusively towards the window. Why should Mr. Tulk-
inghorn, for no such reason, look out of window? Is the
hand not always pointing there? So he does not look out
of window.
And if he did, what would it be to see a woman going
by? There are women enough in the world. Mr. Tulk-
inghorn thinks—too many; they are at the bottom of all
that goes wrong in it, though, for the matter of that, they
create business for lawyers. What would it be to see a
woman going by, even though she were going secretly?
They are all secret. Mr. Tulkinghorn knows that very
well.
But they are not all like the woman who now leaves him
and his house behind; between whose plain dress, and her
refined manner, there is something exceedingly inconsist-
ent. She should be an upper servant by her attire, yet, in
her air and step, though both are hurried and assumed—
as far as she can assume in the muddy streets, which she
treads with an unaccustomed foot—she is a lady. Her face
is veiled, and still she sufficiently betrays herself to make
more than one of those who pass her look round sharply.
She never turns her head. Lady or servant, she has a
purpose in her, and can follow it. She never turns her
head, until she comes to the crossing where Jo plies with
his broom. He crosses with her, and begs. Still, she does
not turn her head until she has landed on the other side.
Then, she slightly beckons to him, and says " Come here!"
Jo follows her, a pace or two, into a quiet court.
"Are you the boy I've read of in the papers?" she asked
behind her veil.


Detective Stories
Jo attends closely while the words are being spoken;
tells them off on his broom-handle, finding them rather
hard; pauses to consider their meaning; considers it satis-
factory, and nods his ragged head.
"I'm fly," says Jo. "But fen larks, you know. Stow
hooking it!"
"What does the horrible creature mean?" exclaims the
servant, recoiling from him.
"Stow cutting away, you know!" says Jo.
"I don't understand you. Go on before! I will give
you more money than you ever had in your life."
Jo screws up his mouth into a whistle, gives his ragged
head a rub, takes his broom under his arm, and leads the
way; passing deftly, with his bare feet, over the hard stones,
and through the mud and mire.
Cook's Court. Jo stops. A pause.
"Who lives here?"
"Him wot give him his writing, and give me half a
bull," says Jo, in a whisper, without looking over his
shoulder.
"Go on to the next!"
Krook's house. Jo stops again. A longer pause.
"Who lives here?"
"He lived here," Jo answers as before.
After a silence he is asked, "In which room?"
"In the back room up there. You can see the winder
from this corner. Up there! That's where I see him
stritched out. This is the public 'ouse where I was took to."
"Go on to the next!"
It was a longer walk to the next; but Jo, relieved of his
first suspicions, sticks to the forms imposed upon him, and
does not look round. By many devious ways, reeking with
offense of many kinds, they come to the little tunnel of a
court, and to the gas-lamp (lighted now), and to the iron
gate.
"He was put there," says Jo, holding to the bars and
looking in.
"Where? O, what a scene of horror!"
62


Charles Dickens
"There!" says Jo, pointing. "Over yinder. Among
them piles of bones, and close to that there kitchin winder!
They put him wery nigh the top. They was obliged to
stamp upon it to get it in. I could unkiver it for you with
my broom, if the gate was open. That's why they locks
it, I s'pose," giving it a shake. "It's always locked.
Look at the rat!" cries Jo, excited. "Hi! Look 1 There
he goes! Ho! Into the ground!"
The servant shrinks into a corner—into a corner of that
hideous archway, with its deadly stains contaminating her
dress; and putting out her two hands, and passionately
telling him to keep away from her, for he is loathsome to
her, so remains for some moments. Jo stands staring, and
is still staring when she recovers herself.
"Is this place of abomination consecrated ground?"
"I don't know nothink of consequential ground," says
Jo, still staring.
"Is it blessed?"
"Which?" says Jo, in the last degree amazed.
"Is it blessed?"
"I'm blest if I know," says Jo, staring more than ever;
"but I shouldn't think it warn't. Blest?" repeats Jo,
something troubled in his mind. "It ain't done it much
good if it is. Blest? I should think it was t'othered my-
self. But I don't know nothink!"
The servant takes as little heed of what he says, as she
seems to take of what she has said herself. She draws off
her glove, to get some money from her purse. Jo silently
notices how white and small her hand is, and what a jolly
servant she must be to wear such sparkling rings.
She drops a piece of money in his hand, without touching
it, and shuddering as their hands approach. "Now," she
adds, " show me the spot again!"
Jo thrusts the handle of his broom between the bars of
the gate, and, with his utmost power of elaboration, points
it out. At length, looking aside to see if he has made him-
self intelligible, he finds that he is alone.
His first proceeding, is, to hold the piece of money to
63


Charles Dickens
at low water; where stranded proceedings, offices at anchor,
idle clerks lounging on lop-sided stools that will not recover
their perpendicular until the current of Term sets in, lie
high and dry upon the ooze of the long vacation. Outer
doors of chambers are shut up by the score, messages and
parcels are to be left at the Porter's Lodge by the bushel.
A crop of grass would grow in the chinks of the stone pave-
ment outside Lincoln's Inn Hall, but that the ticket-porters,
who have nothing to do beyond sitting in the shade there,
with their white aprons over their heads to keep the flies
off, grub it up and eat it thoughtfully.
There is only one Judge in town. Even he only comes
twice a-week to sit in chambers. If the country folks
of those assize towns on his circuit could see him now! No
full-bottomed wig, no red petticoats, no fur, no javelin-men,
no white wands. Merely a close-shaved gentleman in white
trousers and a white hat, with sea-bronze on the judicial
countenance, and a strip of bark peeled by the solar rays
from the judicial nose, who calls in at the shell-fish shop
as he comes along, and drinks iced ginger-beer!
The bar of England is scattered over the face of the
earth. How England can get on through four long summer
months without its bar—which is its acknowledged refuge
in adversity, and its only legitimate triumph in prosperity—
is beside the question; assuredly that shield and buckler of
Britannia are not in present wear. The learned gentleman
who is always so tremendously indignant at the unprec-
edented outrage committed on the feelings of his client by
the opposite party, that he never seems likely to recover it,
is doing infinitely better than might be expected, in Swit-
zerland. The learned gentleman who does the withering
business, and who blights all opponents with his gloomy
sarcasm, is as merry as a grig at a French watering-place.
The learned gentleman who weeps by the pint on the small-
est provocation, has not shed a tear these six weeks. The
very learned gentleman who has cooled the national heat of
his gingery complexion in pools and fountains of law, until
he has become great in knotty arguments for term-time,
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Detective Stories
when he poses the drowsy Bench with legal "chaff," inex-
plicable to the uninitiated and to most of the initiated too,
is roaming, with a characteristic delight in aridity and dust,
about Constantinople. Other dispersed fragments of the
same great Palladium are to be found on the canals of
Venice, at the second cataract of the Nile, in the baths of
Germany, and sprinkled on the sea-sand all over the English
coast. Scarcely one is to be encountered in the deserted
region of Chancery Lane. If such a lonely member of the
bar do flit across the waste, and come upon a prowling
suitor who is unable to leave off haunting the scenes of his
anxiety, they frighten one another, and retreat into opposite
shades.
It is the hottest long vacation known for many years. All
the young clerks are madly in love, and, according to their
various degrees, pine for bliss with the beloved object, at
Margate, Ramsgate, or Gravesend. All the middle-aged
clerks think their family too large. All the unowned dogs
who stray into the Inns of Court, and pant about staircases
and other dry places, seeking water, give short howls of ag-
gravation. All the blind men's dogs in the streets draw
their masters against pumps, or trip them over buckets. A
shop with a sun-blind, and a watered pavement, and a bowl
of gold and silver fish in the window, is a sanctuary. Tem-
ple Bar gets so hot, that it is, to the adjacent Strand and
Fleet Street, what a heater is in an urn, and keeps them
simmering all night.
There are offices about the Inns of Court in which a man
might be cool, if any coolness were worth purchasing at
such a price in dulness; but, the little thoroughfares im-
mediately outside those retirements seem to blaze. In Mr.
Krook's court it is so hot that the people turn their houses
inside out, and sit in chairs upon the pavement—Mr. Krook
included, who there pursues his studies, with his cat (who
never is too hot), by his side. The Sol's Arms has discon-
tinued the harmonic meetings for the season, and Little
Swills is engaged at the Pastoral Gardens down the river,
where he comes out in quite an innocent manner, and sings
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Detective Stories
stretch, prepares the little drawing-room for tea. All the
furniture is shaken and dusted, the portraits of Mr. and
Mrs. Snagsby are touched up with a wet cloth, the best tea-
service is set forth, and there is excellent provision made of
dainty new bread, crusty twists, cool fresh butter, thin slices
of ham, tongue, and German sausage, and delicate little
rows of anchovies nestling in parsley; not to mention new-
laid eggs, to be brought up warm in a napkin, and hot but-
tered toast. For, Chadband is rather a consuming vessel—
the persecutors say a gorging vessel; and can wield such
weapons of the flesh as a knife and fork, remarkably well.
Mr. Snagsby in his best coat, looking at all the prepara-
tions when they are completed, and coughing his cough of
deference behind his hand, says to Mrs. Snagsby, "At
what time did you expect Mr. and Mrs. Chadband, my
love?"
"At six," says Mrs. Snagsby.
Mr. Snagsby observes in a mild and casual way, that " it's gone that."
"Perhaps you'd like to begin without them," is Mrs.
Snagsby's reproachful remark.
Mr. Snagsby does look as if he would like it very much,
but he says, with his cough of mildness, "No, my dear,
no, I merely named the time."
"What's time," says Mrs. Snagsby, "to eternity?"
"Very true, my dear," says Mr. Snagsby. "Only when
a person lays in victuals for tea, a person does it with a
view—perhaps—more to time. And when a time is named
for having tea, it's better to come up to it." -
"To come up to it!" Mrs. Snagsby repeats the severity.
"Up to it! As if Mr. Chadband was a fighter!"
"Not at all, iny dear," says Mr. Snagsby.
Here, Guster, who had been looking out of the bedroom
window, comes rustling and scratching down the little
staircase like a popular ghost, and, falling flushed into the
drawing-room, announces that Mr. and Mrs. Chadband have
appeared in the court. The bell at the inner door in the
passage immediately thereafter tinkling, she is admonished
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Charles Dickens
by Mrs. Snagsby, on pain of instant reconsignment to her
patron saint, not to omit the ceremony of announcement.
Much discomposed in her nerves (which were previously
in the best order) by this threat, she so fearfully mutilates
that point of state as to announce " Mr. and Mrs. Cheesem-
ing, least which, Imeantersay, whatesername!" and retires
conscience-stricken, from the presence.
Mr. Chadband is a large yellow man, with a fat smile,
and a general appearance of having a good deal of train oil
in his system. Mrs. Chadband is a stern, severe-looking,
silent woman. Mr. Chadband moves softly and cum-
brously, not unlike a bear who has been taught to walk up-
right. He is very much embarrassed about the arms, as
if they were inconvenient to him, and he wanted to grovel;
is very much in a perspiration about the head; and never
speaks without first putting up his great hand, as delivering
a token to his hearers that he is going to edify them.
"My friends," said Mr. Chadband, "Peace be on this
house! On the master thereof, on the mistress thereof,
on the young maidens, and on the young men! My friends,
why do I wish for peace? What is peace? Is it war?
No. Is it strife? No. Is it lovely, and gentle, and beauti-
ful, and pleasant, and serene, and joyful? O yes! There-
fore, my friends, I wish for peace, upon you and upon
yours."
In consequence of Mrs. Snagsby looking deeply edified,
Mr. Snagsby thinks it expedient on the whole to say Amen,
which is well received.
"Now, my friends," proceeds Mr. Chadband, "since I
am upon this theme"
Guster presents herself. Mrs. Snagsby, in a spectral bass
voice, and without removing her eyes from Chadband, says,
with dread distinctness, " Go away?"
"Now, my friends," says Chadband, "since I am upon
this theme, and in my lowly path improving it"
Guster is heard unaccountably to murmur "one thousing
seven hundred and eighty-two." The spectral voice repeats
more solemnly, " Go away!"


Detective Stories
"Now, my friends," says Mr. Chadband, " we will inquire
in a spirit of love"
Still Guster reiterates "one thousing seven hundred and
eighty-two."
Mr. Chadband, pausing with the resignation of a man
accustomed to be persecuted, and languidly folding up his
chin into his fat smile, says, "Let us hear the maiden!
Speak, maiden!"
"One thousing seven hundred and eighty-two, if you
please, sir. Which he wish to know what the shilling ware
for," says Guster, breathless.
"For?" returns Mrs. Chadband. "For his fare!"
Guster replied that " he insists on one and eightpence, or
on summonsizzing the party." Mrs. Snagsby and Mrs.
Chadband are proceeding to grow shrill in indignation, when
Mr. Chadband quiets the tumult by lifting up his hand.
"My friends," says he, "I remember a duty unfulfilled
yesterday. It is right that I should be chastened in some
penalty. I ought not to murmur. Rachael, pay the eight-
pence!"
While Mrs. Snagsby, drawing her breath, looks hard at
Mr. Snagsby, as who should say, " You hear this Apostle!"
and while Mr. Chadband glows with humidity and train oil,
Mrs. Chadband pays the money. It is Mr. Chadband's
habit—it is the head and front of his pretensions indeed—
to keep this sort of debtor and creditor account in the
smallest items, and to post it publicly on the most trivial
occasions.
"My friends," says Chadband, "eightpence is not much;
it might justly have been one and fourpence; it might justly
have been half-a-crown. O let us be joyful, joyful! O let
us be joyful!"
With which remark, which appears from its sound to be
an extract in verse, Mr. Chadband stalks to the table, and,
before taking a chair, lifts up his admonitory hand.
"My friends,"says he," what is this which we now behold
as being spread before us? Refreshment. Do we need
refreshment, then, my friends? We do. And why do we
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Charles Dickens
need refreshment, my friends? Because we are but mortal,
because we are but sinful, because we are but of earth, be-
cause we are not of the air. Can we fly, my friends? We
cannot. Why can we not fly, my friends?"
Mr. Snagsby, presuming on the success of his last point,
ventures to observe in a cheerful and rather knowing tone,
"No wings." But, is immediately frowned down by Mrs.
Snagsby.
"I say, my friends," pursues Mr. Chadband, utterly re-
jecting and obliterating Mr. Snagsby's suggestion, "why
can we not fly? Is it because we are calculated to walk?
It is. Could we walk, my friends, without strength? We
could not. What should we do without strength, my
friends? Our legs would refuse to bear us, our knees
would double up, our ankles would turn over, and we should
come to the ground. Then from whence, my friends, in a
human point of view, do we derive the strength that is
necessary to our limbs? Is it," says Chadband, glancing
over the table, " from bread in various forms, from butter
which is churned from the milk which is yielded unto us
by the cow, from the eggs which are laid by the fowl, from
ham, from tongue, from sausage, and from such like? It
is. Then let us partake of the good things which are set
before us!"
The persecutors denied that there was any particular gift
in Mr. Chadband's piling verbose flights of stairs, one upon
another, after this fashion. But this can only be received
as a proof of their determination to persecute, since it must
be within everybody's experience, that the Chadband style
of oratory is widely received and much admired.
Mr. Chadband, however, having concluded for the
present, sits down at Mr. Snagsby's table, and lays about
him prodigiously. The conversion of nutriment of any sort
into oil of the quality already mentioned, appears to be a
process so inseparable from the constitution of this exem-
plary vessel, that in beginning to eat and drink, he may be
described as always becoming a kind of considerable Oil
Mills or other large factory for the production of that ar71


Detective Stories
tide on a wholesale scale. On the present evening of the
long vacation, in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, he does
such a powerful stroke of business, that the warehouse
appears to be quite full when the work ceases.
At this period of the entertainment, Guster, who has
never recovered her first failure, but has neglected no
possible or impossible means of bringing the establishment
and herself into contempt—among which may be briefly
enumerated her unexpectedly performing clashing military
music on Mr. Chadband's head with plates, and afterwards
crowning that gentleman with muffins—at which period of
the entertainment, Guster whispers Mr. Snagsby that he is
wanted.
"And being wanted in the—not to put too fine a point
upon it—in the shop!" says Mr. Snagsby rising, "perhaps
this good company will excuse me for half a minute."
Mr. Snagsby descends, and finds the two 'prentices in-
tently contemplating a police constable, who holds a ragged
boy by the arm.
"Why, bless my heart," says Mr. Snagsby, "what's the
matter?"
"This boy," says the constable, " although he's repeatedly
told to, won't move on"
"I'm always a-moving on, sir," cries the boy, wiping
away his grimy tears with his arm. "I've always been
a-moving and a-moving on, ever since I was born. Where
can I possibly move to, sir, more nor I do move 1"
"He won't move on," says the constable, calmly, with a
slight professional hitch of his neck involving its better
settlement in his stiff stock, "although he has been repeat-
edly cautioned, and therefore I am obliged to take him into
custody. He's as obstinate a young gonoph as I know.
He WON'T move on."
"O my eye! Where can I move to?" cries the boy,
clutching quite desperately at his hair, and beating his bare
feet upon the floor of Mr. Snagsby's passage.
"Don't you come none of that, or I shall make blessed
short work of you!" says the constable, giving him a pas72


Detective Stories
you, and you were a respectable housekeeper, and if I'd
call and make the inquiry, he'd appear. The young man
don't seem inclined to keep his word, but—Oh! Here is
the young man!"
Enter Mr. Guppy, who nods to Mr. Snagsby, and touches
his hat with the chivalry of clerkship to the ladies on the
stairs.
"I was strolling away from the office just now, when I
found this row going on," says Mr. Guppy to the law-
stationer; "and as your name was mentioned, I thought it
was right the thing should be looked into."
"It was very good-natured of you, sir," says Mr. Snags-
by, "and I am obliged to you." And Mr. Snagsby again
relates his experience, again suppressing the half-crown
fact.
"Now, I know where you live," says the constable, then,
to Jo. "You live down in Tom-all-Alone's. That's a nice
innocent place to live in, ain't it?"
"I can't go and live in no nicer place, sir," replies Jo.
"They wouldn't have nothink to say to me if I wos to go
to a nice innocent place fur to live. Who ud go and let a
nice innocent lodging to such a reg'lar one as me?"
"You are very poor, ain't you?" says the constable.
"Yes, I am indeed, sir, wery poor in gin'ral," replies Jo.
"I leave you to judge now! I shook these two half-
crowns out of him," says the constable, producing them to
the company, " in only putting my hand upon him!"
"They're wot's left, Mr. Snagsby," says Jo, "out of a
sov'ring as wos give me by a lady in a wale as sed she wos a
servant and as come to my crossin one night and asked to
be showed this 'ere ouse and the ouse wot him as you giv
the writin to died at, and the berrin-ground wot he's
berrid in. She ses to me she ses 'are you the boy at Ink-
which?' she ses. I ses 'yes' I ses. She ses to
me she ses ' can you show me all them places?' I ses 'yes
I can' I ses. And she ses to me 'do it' and I dun it and
she giv me a sov'ring and hooked it. And I ain't had
much of the sov'ring neither," says Jo, with dirty tears,
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Charles Dickens
* fur I had to pay five bob, down in Tom-all-Alone's, afore
they'd square it fur to give me change, and then a young
man he thieved another five while I was asleep and another
boy he thieved ninepence and the landlord he stood drains
round with a lot more on it."
"You don't expect anybody to believe this, about the lady
and the sovereign, do you?" says the constable, eying him
aside with ineffable disdain.
"I don't know as I do, sir," replies Jo. "I don't expect
nothink at all, sir, much, but that's the true hist'ry on it."
"You see what he is!" the constable observes to the au-
dience. "Well, Mr. Snagsby, if I don't lock him up this
time, will you engage for his moving on?"
"No!" cries Mrs. Snagsby from the stairs.
"My little woman!" pleads her husband. "Constable,
I have no doubt he'll move on. You know you really must
do it," says Mr. Snagsby.
"I'm everyways agreeable, sir," says the hapless Jo.
"Do it, then," observes the constable, "You know what
you have got to do. Do it! And recollect you won't get
off so easy next time. Catch hold of your money. Now,
the sooner you're five mile off, the better for all parties."
With this farewell hint, and pointing generally to the
setting sun, as a likely place to move on to, the constable
bids his auditors good afternoon; and makes the echoes of
Cook's Court perform slow music for him as he walks away
on the shady side, carrying his iron-bound hat in his hand
for a little ventilation.
Now, Jo's improbable story concerning the lady and the
sovereign has awakened more or less the curiosity of all the
company. Mr. Guppy, who has an inquiring mind in mat-
ters of evidence, and who has been suffering severely from
the lassitude of the long vacation, takes that interest in the
case, that he enters on a regular cross-examination of the
witness, which is found so interesting by the ladies that
Mrs. Snagsby politely invites him to step upstairs, and
drink a cup of tea, if he will excuse the disarranged state
of the tea-table, consequent on their previous exertions.


Charles Dickens
pearl, you are to us a diamond, you are to us a gem, you
are to us a jewel. And why, my young friend?"
"I don't know," replies Jo. "I don't know nothink.""My young friend," says Chadband, "it is because you
know nothing that you are to us a gem and jewel. For
what are you, my young friend? Are you a beast of the
field? No. A bird of the air? No. A fish of the sea or
river? No. You are a human boy, my young friend. A
human boy. O glorious to be a human boy! And why
glorious, my young friend? Because you are capable of
receiving the lessons of wisdom, because you are capable of
profiting by this discourse which I now deliver for your
good, because you are not a stick, or a staff, or a stock, or a
stone, or a post, or a pillar.
"' O running stream of sparkling joy. To be a soaring human boy!'
And do you cool yourself in that stream now, my young
friend? No. Why do you not cool yourself in that stream
now? Because you are in a state of darkness, because you
are in a state of obscurity, because you are in a state of sin-
fulness, because you are in a state of bondage. My young
friend, what is bondage? Let us, in a spirit of love, in-
quire."
At this threatening stage of the discourse, Jo, who seems
to have been gradually going out of his mind, smears his
right arm over his face, and gives a terrible yawn. Mrs.
Snagsby indignantly expresses her belief that he is a limb
of the arch-fiend.
"My friends," says Mr. Chadband, with his persecuted
chin folding itself into its fat smile again as he looks round,
"it is right that I should be humbled, it is right that I
should be tried, it is right that I should be mortified, it is
right that I should be corrected. I stumbled, on Sabbath
last, when I thought with pride of my three hours' improv-
ing. The account is now favorably balanced; my creditor
has accepted a composition. O let us be joyful, joyful!
O let us be joyful!"
77


Charles Dickens
VIII
MR. BUCKET
ALLEGORY looks pretty cool in Lincoln's Inn Fields,
though the evening is hot; for, both Mr. Tulkinghorn's
windows are wide open, and the room is lofty, gusty, and
gloomy. These may not be desirable characteristics when
November comes with fog and sleet, or January with ice
and snow; but they have their merits in the sultry long
vacation weather. They enable Allegory, though it has
cheeks like peaches, and knees like bunches of blossoms,
and rosy swellings for calves to its legs and muscles to its
arms, to look tolerably cool to-night.
Plenty of dust comes in at Mr. Tulkinghorn's windows,
and plenty more has generated among his furniture and
papers. It lies thick everywhere. When a breeze from
the country, that has lost its way, takes fright, and makes
a blind hurry to rush out again, it flings as much dust in
the eyes of Allegory as the law—or Mr. Tulkinghorn, one
of its trustiest representatives—may scatter, on occasion, in
the eyes of the laity.
In his towering magazine of dust, the universal article
into which his papers and himself, and all his clients, and
all things of earth, animate and inanimate, are resolving,
Mr. Tulkinghorn sits at one of the open windows, enjoying
a bottle of old port. Though a hard-grained man, close, dry,
and silent, he can enjoy old wine with the best. He has
a priceless binn of port in some artful cellar under the
Fields, which is one of his many secrets. When he dines
alone in chambers, as he has dined to-day, and has his bit
of fish and his steak or chicken brought in from the coffee-
house, he descends with a candle to the echoing regions
below the deserted mansion, and, heralded by a remote
reverberation of thundering doors, comes gravely back, en-
circled by an earthly atmosphere, and carrying a bottle from
which he pours a radiant nectar, two score and ten years
79


Charles Dickens
"Not at all," says Mr. Tulkinghorn. "You told me,
Snagsby, that you put on your hat and came round without
mentioning your intention to your wife. That was prudent,
I think, because it's not a matter of such importance that
it requires to be mentioned."
"Well, sir," returns Mr. Snagsby, "you see my little
woman is—not to put too fine a point upon it—inquisitive.
She's inquisitive. Poor little thing, she's liable to spasms,
and it's good for her to have her mind employed. In con-
sequence of which she employs it—I should say upon every
individual thing she can lay hold of, whether it concerns
her or not—especially not. My little women has a very
active mind, sir."
Mr. Snagsby drinks, and murmurs with an admir-
ing cough behind his hand, "Dear me, very fine wine,
indeed!"
"Therefore you kept your visit to yourself, last night?"
says Mr. Tulkinghorn. "And to-night, too?"
"Yes, sir, and to-night, too. My little woman is at
present in—not to put too fine a point on it—in a pious
state, or in what she considers such, and attends the
Evening Exertions (which is the name they go by) of a
reverend party of the name of Chadband. He has a great
deal of eloquence at his command, undoubtedly, but I am
not quite favorable to his style myself. That's neither here
nor there. My little woman being engaged in that way,
made it easier for me to step round in a quiet manner."
Mr. Tulkinghorn assents. "Fill ~our glass, Snagsby."
"Thank you, sir, I am sure," returns the stationer,
with his cough of deference. "This is wonderfully fine
wine, sir!"
"It is a rare wine now," says Mr. Tulkinghorn. "It is
fifty years old."
"Is it indeed, sir? But I am not surprised to hear it,
I am sure. It might be—any age almost." After render-
ing this general tribute to the port, Mr. Snagsby in his
modesty coughs an apology behind his hand for drinking
anything so precious.
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Detective Stories
"Will you run over, once again, what the boy said?"
asks Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting his hands into the pockets
of his rusty smallclothes and leaning quietly back in his
chair.
"With pleasure, sir."
Then, with fidelity, though with some prolixity, the law-
stationer repeats Jo's statement made to the assembled
guests at his house. On coming to the end of his narra-
tive, he gives a great start, and breaks off with—" Dear me,
sir, I wasn't aware there was any other gentleman
present!"
Mr. Snagsby is dismayed to see, standing with an atten-
tive face between himself and the lawyer, at a little dis-
tance from the table, a person with a hat and stick in his
hand, who was not there when he himself came in, and has
not since entered by the door or by either of the windows.
There is a press in the room, but its hinges have not
creaked, nor has a step been audible upon the floor. Yet
this third person stands there, with his attentive face, and
his hat and stick in his hands, and his hands behind him,
a composed and quiet listener. He is a stoutly built, steady-
looking, sharp-eye man in black, of about the middle-age.
Except that he looks at Mr. Snagsby as if he were going
to take his portrait, there is nothing remarkable about him
at first sight but his ghostly manner of appearing.
"Don't mind this gentleman," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, in
his quiet way. "This is only Mr. Bucket."
"O indeed, sir?" returns the stationer, expressing by a
cough that he is quite in the dark as to who Mr. Bucket
may be.
"I wanted him to hear this story," say the lawyer, "be-
cause I have half a mind (for a reason) to know more of
it, and he is very intelligent in such things. What do you
say to this, Bucket?"
"It's very plain, sir. Since our people have moved this
boy on, and he's not to be found on his old lay, if Mr.
Snagsby don't object to go down with me to Tom-all-
Alone's and point him out, we can have him here in less
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Charles Dickens
than a couple of hours' time. I can do it without Mr.
Snagsby, of course; but this is the shortest way."
"Mr. Bucket is a detective officer, Snagsby," says the
lawyer in explanation.
"Is he, indeed, sir?" says Mr. Snagsby, with a strong
tendency in his clump of hair to stand on end.
"And if you have no real objection to accompany Mr.
Bucket to the place in question," pursues the lawyer, "I
shall feel obliged to you if you will do so."
In a moment's hesitation on the part of Mr. Snagsby,
Bucket dips down to the bottom of his mind.
"Don't you be afraid of hurting the boy," he says.
"You won't do that. It's all right as far as the boy's
concerned. We shall only bring him here to ask
him a question or so I want to put to him, and he'll be paid
for his trouble, and sent away again. It'll be a good job
for him. I promise you, as a man, that you shall see the
boy sent away all right. Don't you be afraid of hurting
him; you ain't going to do that."
"Very well, Mr. Tulkinghorn!" cries Mr. Snagsby
cheerfully, and reassured, " since that's the case"
"Yes! and lookee here, Mr. Snagsby," resumes Bucket,
taking him aside by the arm, tapping him familiarly on the
breast, and speaking in a confidential tone. "You're a man
of the world, you know, and a man of business, and a
man of sense. That's what you are."
"I am sure I am much obliged to you for your good
opinion," returns the stationer, with his cough of modesty,
"but"
"That's what you are, you know," says Bucket. "Now,
it ain't necessary to say to a man like you, engaged in
your business, which is a business of trust and requires a
person to be wide awake and have his senses about him,
and his head screwed on tight (I had an uncle in your busi-
ness once)—it ain't necessary to say to a man like you,
that it's the best and wisest way to keep little matters like
this quiet. Don't you see? Quiet!"
"Certainly, certainly," returns the other.
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Detective Stories
"I don't mind telling you," says Bucket, with an engaging
appearance of frankness, " that as far as I can understand
it, there seems to be a doubt whether this dead person
wasn't entitled to a little property, and whether this female
hasn't been up to some games respecting that property, don't
you see?"
"O!" says Mr. Snagsby, but not appearing to see quite
distinctly.
"Now, what you want," pursues Bucket, again, tapping
Mr. Snagsby on the breast in a comfortable and soothing
manner, "is, that every person should have their rights
according to justice. That's what you want."
"To be sure," returns Mr. Snagsby, with a nod.
"On account of which, and at the same time to oblige a—
do you call it, in your business, customer or client? I for-
get how my uncle used to call it."
"Why, I generally say customer myself," replies Mr.
Snagsby.
"You're right!" returns Mr. Bucket, shaking hands
with him quite affectionately,—" on account of which, and
at the same time to oblige a real good customer, you mean
to go down with me, in confidence, to Tom-all-Alone's, and
to keep the whole thing quiet ever afterwards and never
mention it to anyone. That's about your intentions, if I
understand you?"
"You are right, sir. You are right," says Mr. Snagsby.
"Then here's your hat," returns his new friend, quite
as intimate with it as if he had made it; "and if you're
ready, I am."
They leave Mr. Tulkinghorn, without a ruffle on the
surface of his unfathomable depths, drinking his old wine,
and go down into the streets.
"You don't happen to know a very good sort of person
of the name of Gridley, do you?" says Bucket, in a friendly
converse as they descended the stairs.
"No," says Mr. Snagsby, considering, "I don't know
anybody of that name. Why?"
"Nothing particular," says Bucket; "only, having al84


Charles Dickens
/owed his temper to get a trifle the better of him, and
having been threatening some respectable people, he is keep-
ing out of the way of a warrant I have got against him—
which it's a pity that a man of sense should do."
As they walk along, Mr. Snagsby observes, as a novelty,
that, however quick their pace may be, his companion still
seems in some undefinable manner to lurk and lounge; also,
that whenever he is going to turn to the right or left, he
pretends to have a fixed purpose in his mind of going
straight ahead, and wheels off, sharply, at the very last
moment. Now and then, when they pass a police-constable
on his beat, Mr. Snagsby notices that both the constable
and his guide fall into a deep abstraction as they come to-
wards each other, and appear entirely to overlook each
other, and to gaze into space. In a few instances, Mr.
Bucket coming behind some under-sized young man with a
shining hat on, and his sleek hair twisted into one flat curl
on each side of his head, almost without glancing at him
touches him with his stick; upon which the young man,
looking round, instantly evaporates. For the most part Mr.
Bucket notices things in general, with a face as unchanging
as the great mourning ring on his little finger, or the brooch,
composed of not much diamond and a good deal of setting,
which he wears in his shirt.
When they come at last to Tom-all-Alone's, Mr. Bucket
stops for a moment at the corner, and takes a lighted bull's-
eye from the constable on duty there, who then accompanies
him with his own particular bull's-eye at his waist. Be-
tween his two conductors, Mr. Snagsby passes along the
middle of a villainous street, undrained, unventilated, deep
in black mud and corrupt water—though the roads are dry
elsewhere—and reeking with such smells and sights that
he, who has lived in London all his life, can scarce believe
his senses. Branching from this street and its heaps of
ruins, are other streets and courts so infamous that Mr.
Snagsby sickens in body and mind, and feels as if he were
going, every moment deeper down, into the infernal gulf.
"Draw off a bit here, Mr. Snagsby," says Bucket, as a
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Detective Stories
kind of shabby palanquin is borne towards them, sur-
rounded by a noisy crowd. "Here's the fever coming up
the street!"
As the unseen wretch goes by, the crowd, leaving that
object of attraction, hovers round the three visitors, like
a dream of horrible faces, and fades away up alleys and
into ruins, and behind walls; and with occasional cries and
shrill whistles of warning, thenceforth flits about them
till they leave the place.
"Are those the fever-houses, Darby?" Mr. Bucket coolly
asks, as he turns his bull's-eye on a line of stinking ruins.
Darby replies that " all them are," and further that in all,
for months and months, the people "have been down by
dozens," and have been carried out, dead and dying "like
sheep with the rot." Bucket observing to Mr. Snagsby
as they go on again, that he looks a little poorly, Mr. Snags-
by answers that he feels as if he couldn't breathe the dread-
ful air.
There is inquiry made, at various houses, for a boy
named Jo. As few people are known in Tom-all-Alone's
by any Christian sign, there is much reference to Mr. Snags-
by whether he means Carrots, or the Colonel, or Gallows,
or Young Chisel, or Terrier Tip, or Lanky, or the Brick.
Mr. Snagsby describes over and over again. There are
conflicting opinions respecting the original of his pic-
ture. Some think it must be Carrots; some say the
Brick. The Colonel is produced, but is not at all near the
thing. Whenever Mr. Snagsby and his conductors are
stationary, the crowd flows round, and from its squalid
depths obsequious advice heaves up to Mr. Bucket. When-
ever they move, and the angry bull's-eyes glare, it fades
away, and flits about them up the alleys, and in the ruins,
and behind the walls, as before.
At last there is a lair found out where Toughy, or the
Tough Subject, lays him down at night; and it is thought
that the Tough Subject may be Jo. Comparison of notes
between Mr. Snagsby and the proprietress of the house—a
drunken face tied up in a black bundle, and flaring out of
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Detective Stories
bers being on the first floor), Mr. Bucket mentions that he
has the key of the outer door in his pocket, and that there
is no need to ring. For a man so expert in most things
of that kind, Bucket takes time to open the door, and
makes some noise too. It may be that he sounds a note of
preparation.
Howbeit, they come at last into the hall, where a lamp
is burning, and so into Mr. Tulkinghorn's usual room—
the room where he drank his old wine to-night. He is not
there, but his two old-fashioned candlesticks are; and the
room is tolerably light.
Mr. Bucket, still having his professional hold of Jo, and
appearing to Mr. Snagsby to possess an unlimited number
of eyes, makes a little way into this room, when Jo starts
and stops.
"What's the matter?" said Bucket in a whisper.
"There she is!" cried Jo.
"Who?"
"The lady!"
A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the middle of
the room, where the light falls upon it. It is quite still,
and silent. The front of the figure is towards them, but
it takes no notice of their entrance, and remains like a
statue.
"Now, tell me," says Bucket aloud, "how you know
that to be the lady."
"I know the wale," replies Jo, staring, "and the bonnet,
and the gownd."
"Be quite sure of what you say, Tough," returns Bucket,
narrowly observant of him. "Look again."
"I am a-looking as hard as ever I can look," says Jo,
with starting eyes, "and that there's the wale, the bonnet,
and the gownd."
"What about those rings you told me of?" asks
Bucket.
"A-sparkling all over here," says Jo, rubbing the fingers
of his left hand on the knuckles of his right, without taking
his eyes from the figure.
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Charles Dickens
The figure removes the right-hand glove, and shows the
hand.
"Now, what do you say to that?" asks Bucket.
Jo shakes his head. "Not rings a bit like them. Not
a hand like that."
"What are you talking of?" says Bucket; evidently
pleased though, and well pleased too.
"Hand was a deal whiter, a deal delicater, and a deal
smaller," returns Jo.
"Why, you'll tell me I'm my own mother next," says
Mr. Bucket. "Do you recollect the lady's voice?"
"I think I does," says Jo.
The figure speaks. "Was it all like this? I will speak
as long as you like if you are not sure. Was it this voice,
or at all like this voice?"
Jo looks aghast at Mr. Bucket. "Not a bit!"
"Then, what," retorts that worthy, pointing to the figure,
"did you say it was the lady for?"
"Cos," says Jo, with a perplexed stare, but without being
at all shaken in his certainty, "cos that there's the wale,
the bonnet, and the gownd. It is her and it an't her. It
an't her hand, nor yet her rings, nor yet her woice. But
that there's the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd, and they're
wore the same way wot she wore 'em, and it's her height
wot she wos, and she giv me a sov'-ring and hooked it."
"Well!" says Mr. Bucket, slightly, "we haven't got
much good out of you. But, however, here's five shillings
for you. Take care how you spend it, and don't get your-
self into trouble." Bucket stealthily tells the coins from
one hand into the other like counters—which is a way he
has, his principal use of them being in these games of skill—
and then puts them, in a little pile, into the boy's hand, and
takes him out to the door; leaving Mr. Snagsby, not by any
means comfortable under these mysterious circumstances,
alone with the veiled figure. But on Mr. Tulkinghorn's
coming into the room, the veil is raised, and a sufficiently
good-looking Frenchwoman is revealed, though her ex-
pression is something of the intensest.
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Charles Dickens
down the staircases, and along the galleries and passages,
and through the rooms, to witness before he grows any
older that everything is ready; that floors are rubbed bright,
carpets spread, curtains shaken out, beds puffed and
patted, still-room and kitchen cleared for action,—all things
prepared as beseems the Dedlock dignity.
This present summer evening, as the sun goes down, the
preparations are complete. Dreary and solemn the old
house looks, with so many appliances of habitation, and
with no inhabitants except the pictured forms upon the
walls. So did these come and go, a Dedlock in possession
might have ruminated passing along; so they did see this
gallery hushed and quiet, as I see it now; so think, as I
think, of the gap that they would make in this domain
when they were gone; so find it, as I find it, difficult to
believe that it could be, without them; so pass from my
world, as I pass from theirs, now closing the reverberating
door; so leave no blank to miss them, and so die.
Through some of the fiery windows, beautiful from with-
out, and set, at this sunset hour, not in dull gray stone but
in a glorious house of gold, the light excluded at other
windows pours in, rich, lavish, overflowing like the summer
plenty in the land. Then do the frozen Dedlocks thaw.
Strange movements come upon their features, as the
shadows of leaves play there. A dense Justice in a corner
is beguiled into a wink. A staring Baronet, with a
truncheon, gets a dimple in his chin. Down into the bosom
of a stony shepherdess there steals a fleck of light and
warmth, that would have done it good, a hundred years
ago. One ancestress of Volumnia, in high-heeled shoes,
very like her—casting the shadow of that virgin event be-
fore her full two centuries—shoots out into a halo and
becomes a saint. A maid of honor of the court of Charles
the Second, with large round eyes (and other charms to
correspond), seems to bathe in glowing water, and it ripples
as it glows.
But the fire of the sun is dying. Even now the floor is
dusky, and shadow slowly mounts the walls, bringing the
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Dedlocks down like age and death. And now, upon my
lady's picture over the great chimney-piece, a weird shade
falls from some old tree, that turns it pale, and flutters it,
and looks as if a great arm held a veil or hood, watching
an opportunity to draw it over her. Higher and darker
rises the shadow on the wall—now a red gloom on the
ceiling—now the fire is out.
All that prospect, which from the terrace looked so near,
has moved solemnly away, and changed—not the first nor
the last of beautiful things that look so near and will so
change—into a distant phantom. Light mists arise, and
the dew falls, and all the sweet scents in the garden are
heavy in the air. Now, the woods settle into great masses
as if they were each one profound tree. And now the
moon rises, to separate them, and to glimmer here and there,
in horizontal lines behind their stems, and to make the
avenue a pavement of light among high cathedral arches
fantastically broken.
Now, the moon is high; and the great house, needing
habitation more than ever, is like a body without life. Now,
it is even awful, stealing through it, to think of the live
people who have slept in the solitary bedrooms; to say
nothing of the dead. Now is the time for shadow, when
every corner is a cavern, and every downward step a pit,
when the stained glass is reflected in pale and faded hues
upon the floors, when anything and everything can be made
of the heavy staircase beams excepting their own proper
shapes, when the armor has dull lights upon it not easily
to be distinguished from stealthy movement, and when
barred helmets are frightfully suggestive of heads inside.
But, of all the shadows in Chesney Wold, the shadow in the
long drawing-room upon my lady's picture is the first to
come, the last to be disturbed. At this hour and by this
light it changes into threatening hands raised up, and men-
acing the handsome face with every breath that stirs.
"She is not well, ma'am,"' says a groom in Mrs. Rounce-
well's audience-chamber.
"My Lady not well! What's the matter?"
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Detective Stories
of her hand in the dance. On these national occasions,
dancing may be a patriotic service; and Volumnia is con-
stantly seen hopping about, for the good of an ungrateful
and unpensioning country.
My Lady takes no great pains to entertain the numerous
guests, and, being still unwell, rarely appears until late in
the day. But, at all the dismal dinners, leaden lunches,
basilisk balls, and other melancholy pageants, her mere
appearance is a relief. As to Sir Leicester, he conceives it
utterly impossible that anything can be wanting, in any
direction, by anyone who has the good fortune to be re-
ceived under that roof; and in a state of sublime satisfac-
tion, he moves among the company, a magnificent refriger-
ator.
Daily the cousins trot through dust, and canter over road-
side turf, away to hustings and polling-booths (with leather
gloves and hunting-whips for the counties, and kid gloves
and riding-canes for the boroughs), and daily bring back
reports on which Sir Leicester holds forth after dinner.
Daily the restless men who have no occupation in life,
present the appearance of being rather busy. Daily, Volum-
nia has a little cousinly talk with Sir Leicester on the state
of the nation, from which Sir Leicester is disposed to con-
clude that Volumnia is a more reflecting woman than he
had thought her.
"How are we getting on?" says Miss Volumnia, clasping
her hands. "Are we safe?"
The mighty business is nearly over by this time, and
Doodle will throw himself on the country in a few days
more. Sir Leicester has just appeared in the long drawing-
room after dinner; a bright particular star, surrounded by
clouds of cousins.
"Volumnia," replies Sir Leicester, who has a list in his
hand, " we are doing tolerably."
"Only tolerably!"
Although it is summer weather, Sir Leicester always had
his own particular fire in the evening. He takes his usual
screened seat near it, and repeats, with much firmness and
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Detective Stories
"The son who wished to marry the young woman in
my Lady's service?'
"That son. He has but one."
"Then upon my honor," says Sir Leicester, after a
terrific pause, during which he has been heard to snort
and felt to stare; " then upon my honor, upon my life, upon
my reputation and principles, the floodgates of society are
burst open, and the waters have—a—obliterated the land-
marks of the framework of the cohesion by which things
are held together!"
General burst of cousinly indignation. Volumnia thinks
it is really high time, you know, for somebody in power to
step in and do something strong. Debilitated cousin thinks
—Country's going—Dayvle—steeple-chase pace.
"I beg," says Sir Leicester, in a breathless condition,
"that we may not comment further on this circumstance.
Comment is superfluous. My Lady, let me suggest in refer-
ence to that young woman"
"I have no intention," observes my Lady from her win-
dow, in a low but decided tone, " of parting with her."
"That was not my meaning," returns Sir Leicester. "I
am glad to hear you say so. I would suggest that as you
think her worthy of your patronage, you should exert your
influence to keep her from these dangerous hands. You
might show her what violence would be done, in such
association, to her duties and principles; and you might
preserve her for a better fate. You might point out to her
that she probably would, in good time, find a husband at
Chesney Wold by whom she would not be "Sir Lei-
cester adds, after a moment's consideration, " dragged from
the altars of her forefathers."
These remarks he offers with his unvarying politeness
and deference when he addresses himself to his wife. She
merely moves her head in reply. The moon is rising; and
where she sits there is a little stream of cold pale light, in
which her head is seen.
"It is worthy of remark," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "how-
ever, that these people are, in their way, very proud."
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Detective Stories
a young rake—he was a captain in the army—nothing con-
nected with whom came to any good. She never did marry
him, but she gave birth to a child of which he was the
father."
By the light of the fire he can be seen looking towards
the moonlight. By the moonlight, Lady Dedlock can be
seen in profile, perfectly still.
"The captain in the army being dead, she believed her-
self safe; but a train of circumstances with which I need
not trouble you, led to discovery. As I received the story,
they began in an imprudence on her own part one day,
when she was taken by surprise; which shows how difficult
it is for the firmest of us (she was very firm) to be always
guarded. There was great domestic trouble and amaze-
ment, you may suppose; I leave you to imagine, Sir Leices-
ter, the husband's grief. But that is not the present point.
When Mr. Rouncewell's townsman heard of the disclosure,
he no more allowed the girl to be patronized and honored,
than he would have suffered her to be trodden underfoot
before his eyes. Such was his pride, that he indignantly
took her away, as if from reproach and disgrace. He had
no sense of the honor done him and his daughter by the
lady's condescension; not the least. He resented the girl's
position, as if the lady had been the commonest of com-
moners. That is the story. I hope Lady Dedlock will ex-
cuse its painful nature."
There are various opinions on the merits, more or less
conflicting with Volumnia's. That fair young creature
cannot believe there ever was any such lady, and rejects
the whole history on the threshold. The majority incline
to the debilitated cousin's sentiment, which is in few words
— " no business — Rouncewell's fernal townsman." Sir
Leicester generally refers back in his mind to Wat Tyler,
and arranges a sequence of events on a plan of his own.
There is not much conversation in all, for late hours have
been kept at Chesney Wold since the necessary expenses
elsewhere began, and this is the first night in many on which
the family have been alone. It is past ten, when Sir
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Detective Stories
leads. There he again walks slowly up and down, in the
same attitude; subsiding, if a man so cool may have any
need to subside, from the story he has related downstairs.
The time was once, when men as knowing as Mr. Tulking-
horn would walk on turret-tops in the star-light, and look up
into the sky to read their fortunes there. Hosts of stars are
visible to-night, though their brilliancy is eclipsed by the
splendor of the moon. If he be seeking his own star, as
he methodically turns and turns upon the leads, it should
be but a pale one to be so rustily represented below. If he
be tracing out his destiny, that may be written in other
characters nearer to his hand.
As he paces the leads, with his eyes most probably as high
above his thoughts as they are high above the earth, he is
suddenly stopped in passing the window by two eyes that
meet his own. The ceiling of his room is rather low; the
upper part of the door, which is opposite the window, is of
glass. There is an inner baize door, too, but the night
being warm he did not close it when he came upstairs.
These eyes that meet his own, are looking in through the
glass from the corridor outside. He knows them well. The
blood has not flushed into his face so suddenly and readily
for many a long year, as when he recognizes Lady
Dedlock.
He steps into the room, and she comes in too, closing
both the doors behind her. There is a wild disturbance—
is it fear or anger?—in her eyes. In her carriage and all
else, she looks as she looked downstairs two hours ago.
Is it fear, or is it anger, now? He cannot be sure. Both
might be as pale, both as intent.
"Lady Dedlock?"
She does not speak at first, nor even when she has slowly
dropped into the easy-chair by the table. They look at each
other, like two pictures.
"Why have you told my story to so many persons?"
"Lady Dedlock, it was necessary for me to inform you
that I knew it."
"How long have you known it?"
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Charles Dickens
"I have suspected it a long while—fully known it a little
while."
"Months?"
"Days."
He stands before her, with one hand on a chair-back and
the other in his old-fashioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, ex-
actly as he has stood before her at any time since her mar-
riage. The same formal politeness, the same composed
deference that might as well be defiance; the whole man
the same dark, cold object, at the same distance, which
nothing has ever diminished.
"Is this true concerning the poor girl?"
He slightly inclines and advances his head, as not quite
understanding the question.
"You know what you related. Is it true? Do her
friends know my story also? Is it the town-talk yet? Is
it chalked upon the walls and cried in the streets?"
So! Anger, and fear, and shame. All three contend-
ing. What power this woman has to keep these raging
passions down! Mr. Tulkinghorn's thoughts take such
form as he looks at her, with his ragged gray eyebrows a
hair's-breadth more contracted than usual, under her gaze.
"No, Lady Dedlock. That was a hypothetical case, aris-
ing out of Sir Leicester's unconsciously carrying the matter
with so high a hand. But it would be a real case if they
knew—what we know."
"Then they do not know it yet?"
"No."
"Can I save the poor girl from injury before they know it?"
"Really, Lady Dedlock," Mr. Tulkinghorn replies, "I
cannot give a satisfactory opinion on that point."
And he thinks, with the interest of attentive curiosity,
as he watches the struggle in her breast, "The power and
force of this woman are astonishing!"
"Sir," she says, for the moment obliged to set her lips
with all the energy she has, that she may speak distinctly,
"I will make it plainer. I do not dispute your hypothetical
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Detective Stories
case. I anticipated it, and felt its truth as strongly as you
can do, when I saw Mr. Rouncewell here. I knew very
well that if he could have had the power of seeing me as I
was, he would consider the poor girl tarnished by having for
a moment been, although most innocently, the subject of my
great and distinguished patronage. But, I have an interest
in her; or I should rather say—no longer belonging to this
place—I had; and if you can find so much consideration for
the woman under your foot as to remember that, she will be
very sensible of your mercy."
Mr. Tulkinghorn, profoundly attentive, throws this off
with a shrug of self-depreciation, and contracts his eye-
brows a little more.
"You have prepared me for my exposure, and I thank
you for that too. Is there anything that you require of
me? Is there any claim that I can release, or any charge
or trouble that I can spare my husband in obtaining his
release, by certifying to the exactness of your discovery?
I will write anything, here and now, that you will dictate.
I am ready to do it."
And she would do it! thinks the lawyer, watchful of the
firm hand with which she takes the pen!
"I will not trouble you, Lady Dedlock. Pray spare
yourself."
"I have long expected this, as you know. I neither
wish to spare myself, nor to be spared. You can do nothing
worse to me than you have done. Do what remains,
now."
"Lady Dedlock, there is nothing to be done. I will
take leave to say a few words, when you have finished."
Their need for watching one another should be over now,
but they do it all this time, and the stars watch them both
through the opened window. Away in the moonlight lie the
woodland fields at rest, and the wide house is as quiet as
the narrow one. The narrow one! Where are the digger
and the spade, this peaceful night, destined to add the last
great secret to the many secrets of the Tulkinghorn exist-
ence? Is the man born yet, is the spade wrought yet?
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Charles Dickens
Curious questions to consider, more curious perhaps not
to consider, under the watching stars upon a summer
night.
"Of repentance or remorse, or any feeling of mine,"
Lady Dedlock presently proceeds, " I say not a word. If I
were not dumb, you would be deaf. Let that go by. It is
not for your ears."
He makes a feint of offering a protest, but she sweeps
it away with her disdainful hand.
"Of other and very different things I come to speak to
you. My jewels are all in their proper places of keeping.
They will be found there. So, my dresses. So, all the
valuables I have. Some ready money I had with me,
please to say, but no large amount. I did not wear my own
dress, in order that I might avoid observation. I went, to
be henceforward lost. Make this known. I leave no other
charge with you."
"Excuse me, Lady Dedlock," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, quite unmoved. "I am not sure that I understand you.
You went?"
"To be lost to all here. I leave Chesney Wold to-night.
I go this hour."
Mr. Tulkinghorn shakes his head. She rises; but he,
without moving hand from chair-back or from old-fash-
ioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, shakes his head.
"What? Not go as I have said?"
"No, Lady Dedlock," he very calmly replies.
"Do you know the relief that my disappearance will be?
Have you forgotten the stain and blot upon this place, and
where it is, and who it is?"
"No, Lady Dedlock, not by any means."
Without deigning to rejoin, she moves to the inner door
and has it in her hand, when he says to her, without himself
stirring hand or foot, or raising his voice:
"Lady Dedlock, have the goodness to stop and hear me,
or before you reach the staircase I shall ring the alarm-bell
and rouse the house. And then I must speak out, before
every guest and servant, every man and woman, in it."
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Detective Stories
He has conquered her. She falters, trembles, and puts
her hand confusedly to her head. Slight tokens these in
anyone else; but when so practiced an eye as Mr. Tulking-
horn's sees indecision for a moment in such a subject, he
thoroughly knows its value.
He promptly says again, " Have the goodness to hear me,
Lady Dedlock," and motions to the chair from which she
has risen. She hesitates, but he motions again, and she sits
down.
"The relations between us are of an unfortunate de-
scription, Lady Dedlock; but, as they are not of my making,
I will not apologize for them. The position I hold in refer-
ence to Sir Leicester is so well known to you, that I can
hardly imagine but that I must long have appeared in your
eyes the natural person to make this discovery."
"Sir," she returns without looking up from the ground,
on which her eyes are now fixed, " I had better have gone.
It would have been far better not to have detained me. I
have no more to say."
"Excuse me, Lady Dedlock, if I add, a little more to
hear."
"I wish to hear it at the window, then; I can't breathe
where I am."
His jealous glance as she walks that way, betrays an in-
stant's misgiving that she may have it in her thoughts to
leap over, and dashing against ledge and cornice, strike her
life out upon the terrace below. But, a moment's observa-
tion of her figure as she stands in the window without any
support, looking out at the stars—not up—gloomily out at
those stars which are low in the heavens—reassures him.
By facing round as she has moved, he stands a little behind
her.
"Lady Dedlock, I have not yet been able to come to a
decision satisfactory to myself, on the course before me. I
am not clear what to do, or how to act next. I must re-
quest you, in the meantime, to keep your secret as you have
kept it so long, and not to wonder that I keep it too."
He pauses, but she makes no reply.
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Detective Stories
very dry here; "are, I need not say to you, Lady Dedlock,
inseparable."
"Good."
"Therefore," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, pursuing his case
in his jog-trot style, " I have much to consider. This is to
be hushed up, if it can be. How can it be, if Sir Leicester
is driven out of his wits, or laid upon a death-bed? If I
inflicted this shock upon him to-morrow morning, how could
the immediate change in him be accounted for? What
could have caused it? What could have divided you?
Lady Dedlock, the wall-chalking and the street-crying would
come on directly; and you are to remember that it would
not affect you merely (whom I cannot at all consider in
this business) but your husband, Lady Dedlock, your hus-
band."
He gets plainer as he gets on, but not an atom more em-
phatic or animated.
"There is another point of view," he continues, "in
which the case presents itself. Sir Leicester is devoted to
you almost to infatuation. He might not be able to over-
come that infatuation, even knowing what we know. I am
putting an extreme case, but it might be so. If so, it were
better that he knew nothing. Better for common sense,
better for him, better for me. I must take all this into ac-
count, and it combines to render a decision very difficult."
She stands looking out at the same stars without a word.
They are beginning to pale, and she looks as if their cold-
ness froze her.
"My experience teaches me," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who
has by this time got his hands in his pockets, and is going
on in his business consideration of the matter, like a
machine, "my experience teaches me, Lady Dedlock, that
most of the people I know would do far better to leave mar-
riage alone. It is at the bottom of three-fourths of their
troubles. So I thought when Sir Leicester married, and so
I always have thought since. No more about that. I must
now be guided by circumstances. In the meanwhile I must
beg you to keep your own counsel, and I will keep mine."


Charles Dickens
i
"I am to drag my present life on, holding its pains at
your pleasure, day by day?" she asks, still looking at the
distant sky.
"Yes, I am afraid so, Lady Dedlock."
"It is necessary, you think, that I should be so tied to the
stake?"
"I am sure that what I recommend is necessary."
"I am to remain on this gaudy platform, on which my
miserable deception has been so long acted, and it is to
fall beneath me when you give the signal?" she said
slowly.
"Not without notice, Lady Dedlock. I shall take no step
without forewarning you."
She asks all her questions as if she were repeating them
from memory, or calling them over in her sleep.
"We are to meet as usual?"
"Precisely as usual, if you please?"
"And I am to hide my guilt, as I have done so many
years?"
"As you have done so many years. I should not have
made that reference myself, Lady Dedlock, but I may now
remind you that your secret can be no heavier to you than
it was, and is no worse and no better than it was. / know
it certainly, but I believe we have never wholly trusted each
other."
She stands absorbed in the same frozen way for some little time, before asking:
"Is there anything more to be said to-night?"
"Why," Mr. Tulkinghorn returns methodically as he
softly rubs his hands, "I should like to be assured of your
acquiescence in my arrangements, Lady Dedlock."
"You may be assured of it."
"Good. And I would wish in conclusion to remind you,
as a business precaution, in case it should be necessary to
recall the fact in any communication with Sir Leicester, that
throughout our interview I have expressly stated my sole
consideration to be Sir Leicester's feelings and honor, and
the family reputation. I should have been happy to have
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Detective Stories
made Lady Dedlock a prominent consideration, too, if the
case had admitted of it; but unfortunately it does not."
"I can attest your fidelity, sir."
Both before and after saying it she remains absorbed,
but at length moves, and turns, unshaken in her natural and
acquired presence, towards the door. Mr. Tulkinghorn
opens both the doors exactly as he would have done yester-
day, or as he would have done ten years ago, and makes
his old-fashioned bow as she passes out. It is not an or-
dinary look that he receives from the handsome face as it
goes into the darkness, and it is not an ordinary movement,
though a very slight one, that acknowledges his courtesy.
But, as he reflects when he is left alone, the woman has
been putting no common constraint upon herself.
He would know it all the better, if he saw the woman
pacing her own rooms with her hair wildly thrown from
her flung back face, her hands clasped behind her head,
her figure twisted as if by pain. He would think so all the
more, if he saw the woman thus hurrying up and down for
hours, without fatigue, without intermission, followed by
the faithful step upon the Ghost's Walk. But he shuts out
the now chilled air, draws the window-curtain, goes to bed,
and falls asleep. And truly when the stars go out and the
wan day peeps into the turret-chamber, finding him at his
oldest, he looks as if the digger and the spade were both
commissioned, and would soon be digging.
The same wan day peeps in at Sir Leicester pardoning
the repentant country in a majestically condescending
dream; and at the cousins entering on various public em-
ployments, principally receipt of salary; and at the chaste
Volumnia, bestowing a dower of fifty thousand pounds upon
a hideous old General, with a mouth of false teeth like a
pianoforte too full of keys, long the admiration of Bath
and the terror of every other community. Also into rooms
high in the roof, and into offices in court-yards and over
stables, where humbler ambition dreams of bliss, in keepers'
lodges, and in holy matrimony with Will or Sally. Up
comes the bright sun, drawing everything up with it—the
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Charles Dickens
Wills and Sallys, the latent vapor in the earth, the drooping
leaves and flowers, the birds and beasts and creeping things,
the gardeners to sweep the dewy turf and unfold emerald
velvet where the roller passes, the smoke of the great
kitchen fire wreathing itself straight and high into the
lightsome air. Lastly, up comes the flag over Mr. Tulking-
horn's unconscious head, cheerfully proclaiming that Sir
Leicester and Lady Dedlock are in their happy home, and
that there is hospitality at the place in Lincolnshire.
XI IN MR. TULKINGHORN'S CHAMBERS
FROM the verdant undulations and the spreading oaks
of the Dedlock property, Mr. Tulkinghorn transfers himself
to the stale heat and dust of London. His manner of com-
ing and going between the two places, is one of his impene-
trabilities. He walks into Chesney Wold as if it were next
door to his chambers, and returns to his chambers as if he
had never been out of Lincoln's Inn Fields. He neither
changes his dress before the journey, nor talks of it after-
wards. He melted out of his turret-room this morning,
just as now, in the late twilight, he melts into his own
square.
Like a dingy London bird among the birds at roost in
these pleasant fields, where the sheep are all made into
parchment, the goats into wigs, and the pasture into chaff,
the lawyer, smoke-dried and faded, dwelling among man-
kind but not consorting with them, aged without experience
of genial youth, and so long used to make his cramped nest
in holes and corners of human nature that he has forgotten
its broader and better range, comes sauntering home. In
the oven made by the hot pavements and hot buildings, he
has baked himself dryer than usual; and he has, in his
thirsty mind, his mellowed port-wine half a century old.
The lamplighter is skipping up and down his ladder on
Mr. Tulkinghorn's side of the Fields, when that high-priest
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Detective Stories
of noble mysteries arrives at his own dull court-yard. He
ascends the door-steps, and is gliding into the dusky hall,
when he encounters, on the top step, a bowing and pro-
pitiatory little man.
"Is that Snagsby?"
"Yes sir. I hope you are well sir. I was just giving
you up, sir, and going home."
"Aye? What is it? What do you want with me?"
"Well, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, holding his hat at the side
of his head, in his deference towards his best customer, " I
was wishful to say a word to you, sir."
"Can you say it here?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Say it then." The lawyer turns, leans his arms on the
iron railing at the top of the steps, and looks at the lamp-
lighter lighting the court-yard.
"It is relating," says Mr. Snagsby, in a mysterious low
voice: " it is relating—not to put too fine a point upon it—to the foreigner, sir?"
Mr. Tulkinghorn eyes him with some surprise. "What
foreigner?"
"The foreign female, sir. French, if I don't mistake.
I am not acquainted with that language myself, but I should
judge from her manners and appearance that she was
French; anyways, certainly foreign. Her that was up-
stairs, sir, when Mr. Bucket and me had the honor of
waiting upon you with the sweeping-boy that night."
"Oh! yes, yes. Mademoiselle Hortense."
"Indeed, sir?" Mr. Snagsby coughs his cough of sub-
mission behind his hat. "I am not acquainted myself with
the names of foreigners in general, but I have no doubt it
would be that." Mr. Snagsby appears to have set out in
this reply with some desperate design of repeating the
name; but on reflection coughs again to excuse himself.
"And what can you have to say, Snagsby," demands Mr.
Tulkinghorn, "about her?"
"Well, sir," returns the stationer, shading his communica-
tion with his hat, "it falls a little hard upon me. My do116


Charles Dickens
mestic happiness is very great—at least, it's as great as can
be expected, I'm sure—but my little woman is rather
given to jealousy. Not to put too fine a point upon it, she
is very much given to jealousy. And you see, a foreign
female of that genteel appearance coming into the shop,
and hovering—I should be the last to make use of a strong
expression, if I could avoid it, but hovering sir—in the
court—you know it is—now ain't it? I only put it to
yourself, sir."
Mr. Snagsby having said this in a very plaintive man-
ner, throws in a cough of general application to fill up all
the blanks.
"Why, what do you mean?" asks Mr. Tulkinghorn.
"Just so, sir," returns Mr. Snagsby; "I was sure you
would feel it yourself, and would excuse the reasonable-
ness of my feelings when coupled with the known excite-
ableness of my little woman. You see, the foreign female
—which you mentioned her name just now, with quite a
native sound, I am sure—caught up the word Snagsby that
night, being uncommon quick, and made inquiry, and got
the direction and come at dinner-time. Now Guster, our
young woman, is timid and has fits, and she, taking fright
at the foreigner's looks—which are fierce—and at a grind-
ing manner that she has of speaking—which is calculated to
alarm a weak mind—gave way to it, instead of bearing
up against it, and tumbled down the kitchen stairs out of
one into another, such fits as I do sometimes think are
never gone into, or come out of, in any house but ours.
Consequently there was by good fortune ample occupation
for my little woman, and only me to answer the shop.
When she did say that Mr. Tulkinghorn, being always de-
nied to her by his employer (which I had no doubt at the
time was a foreign mode of viewing a clerk), she would
do herself the pleasure of continually calling at my place
until she was let in here. Since then she has been, as I
began by saying, hovering—hovering, sir," Mr. Snagsby
repeats the words with pathetic emphasis, "in the court.
The effects of which movement it is impossible to calculate.
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honor her. I will help you well, and with a good will. It
is what you do. Do I know that?"
"You appear to know a good deal," Mr. Tulkinghorn
retorts.
"Do I not? Is it that I am so weak as to believe, like
a child, that I come here in that dress to rec-eive that boy,
only to decide a little bet, a wager?—Eh my God, O yes!"
In this reply, down to the word "wager" inclusive,
Mademoiselle has been ironically polite and tender; then,
as suddenly dashed into the bitterest and most defiant
scorn, with her black eyes in one and the same moment
very nearly shut, and staringly wide open.
"Now, let us see," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, tapping his
chin with the key, and looking imperturbably at her, "how
this matter stands."
"Ah! Let us see," Mademoiselle assents, with many
angry and tight nods of her head.
"You come here to make a remarkably modest demand,
which you have just stated, and it not being conceded, you
will come again."
"And again," says Mademoiselle, with more tight and
angry nods. "And yet again. And yet again. And
many times again. In effect, forever!"
"And not only here, but you will go to Mr. Snagsby's,
too, perhaps? That visit not succeeding either, you will
go again perhaps?"
"And again," repeats Mademoiselle, cataleptic with de-
termination. "And yet again. And yet again. And
many times again. In effect, forever!"
"Very well. Now Mademoiselle Hortense, let me recom-
mend you to take the candle and pick up that money of
yours. I think you will find it behind the clerk's partition
in the corner yonder."
She merely throws a laugh over her shoulder, and stands
her ground with folded arms.
"You will not, eh?"
"No, I will not!"
"So much the poorer you; so much the richer I! Look,
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mistress, this is the key of my wine-cellar. It is a large
key, but the keys of prisons are larger. In this city, there
are houses of correction (where the treadmills are, for
women) the gates of which are very strong and heavy, and
no doubt the keys too. I am afraid a lady of your spirit
and activity would find it an inconvenience to have one of
those keys turned upon her for any length of time. What
do you think?"
"I think," Mademoiselle replies, without any action, and
in a clear obliging voice, "that you are a miserable wretch."
"Probably," returns Mr. Tulkinghorn, quietly blowing
his nose. "But I don't ask what you think of myself; I
ask what you think of the prison."
"Nothing. What does it matter to me?"
"Why, it matters this much, mistress," says the lawyer,
deliberately putting away his handkerchief, and adjusting
his frill, "the law is so despotic here, that it interferes to
prevent any of our good English citizens from being
troubled, even by a lady's visits, against his desire. And,
on his complaining that he is so troubled, it takes hold of
the troublesome lady, and shuts her up in prison under hard
discipline. Turns the key upon her, mistress." Illustrating
with the cellar key.
"Truly?" returns Mademoiselle, in the same pleasant
voice. "That is droll! But—my faith!—still what does
it matter to me?"
"My fair friend," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "make an-
other visit here, or at Mr. Snagsby's, and you shall learn."
"In that case you will send me to the prison, perhaps?"
"Perhaps."
It would be contradictory for one in Mademoiselle's state
of agreeable jocularity to foam at the mouth, otherwise a
tigerish expansion thereabouts might look as if a very little
more would make her do it.
"In a word, mistress," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "I am
sorry to be unpolite, but if you ever present yourself unin-
vited here—or there—again, I will give you over to the
police. Their gallantry is great, but they carry troublesome
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Charles Dickens
people through the streets in an ignominious manner;
strapped down on a board, my good wench."
"I will prove you," whispers Mademoiselle, stretching
out her hand, "I will try if you dare to do it 1"
"And if," pursues the lawyer, without minding her, "I
place you in that good condition of being locked up in jail,
it will be some time before you find yourself at liberty
again."
"I will prove you," repeats Mademoiselle in her former
whisper.
"And now," proceeds the lawyer, still without minding
her, "you had better go. Think twice before you come
here again."
"Think you," she answers, "twice two hundred times!"
"You were dismissed by your lady, you know," Mr.
Tulkinghorn observes, following her out upon the staircase,
"as the most implacable and unmanageable of women.
Now turn over a new leaf, and take warning by what I say
to you. For what I say, I mean; and what I threaten, I
will do, mistress."
She goes down without answering or looking behind her.
When she is gone, he goes down too; and returning with
his cobweb-covered bottle, devotes himself to a leisurely
enjoyment of its contents: now and then, as he throws his
head back in his chair, catching sight of the pertinacious
Roman pointing from the ceiling.
XII
CLOSING IN
THE place in Lincolnshire has shut its many eyes again,
and the house in town is awake. In Lincolnshire, the
Dedlocks of the past doze in their picture-frames, and the
low wind murmurs through the long drawing-room as if
they were breathing pretty regularly. In town, the Ded-
locks of the present rattle in their fire-eyed carriages
through the darkness of the night, and the Dedlock Mer123


Charles Dickens
"And there you are, my partner, eh?" says Mr. Bucket
to himself, apostrophizing Mrs. Bucket, stationed, by his
favor, on the steps of the deceased's house. "And so you
are! And so you are! And very well indeed you are
looking, Mrs. Bucket!"
The procession has not started yet, but is waiting for
the cause of its assemblage to be brought out. Mr. Bucket,
in the foremost emblazoned carriage, uses his two fat fore-
fingers to hold the lattice a hair's breadth open while he
looks.
And it says a great deal for his attachment, as a husband,
that he is still occupied with Mrs. B. "There you are, my
partner, eh?" he murmuringly repeats. "And our lodger
with you. I'm taking notice of you, Mrs. Bucket; I hope
you're all right in your health, my dear!"
Not another word does Mr. Bucket say; but sits with
most attentive eyes until the sacked depository of noble
secrets is brought down Where are all those secrets
now? Does he keep them yet? Did they fly with him on
that sudden journey?—and until the procession moves, and
Mr. Bucket's view is changed. After which he composes
himself for an easy ride; and takes note of the fittings of
the carriage, in case he should ever find such knowledge
useful.
Contrast enough between Mr. Tulkinghorn shut up in
his dark carriage, and Mr. Bucket shut up in his. Be-
tween the immeasurable track of space beyond the little
wound that has thrown the one into the fixed sleep which
jolts so heavily over the stones of the streets, and the nar-
row track of blood which keeps the other in the watchful
state expressed in every hair of his head! But it is all one
to both; neither is troubled about that.
Mr. Bucket sits out the procession in his own easy man-
ner, and glides from the carriage when the opportunity he
has settled with himself arrives. He makes for Sir Leices-
ter Dedlock's, which is at present a sort of home to him,
where he comes and goes as he likes at all hours, where
he is always welcome and made much of, where he knows


Charles Dickens
crime is discovered and, in the course of justice, punished,
I almost feel as if there were a stain upon my name. A
gentleman who has devoted a large portion of his life to
me, a gentleman who has devoted the last day of his life
to me, a gentleman who has constantly sat at my table and
slept under my roof, goes from my house to his own, and
is struck down within an hour of his leaving my house.
I cannot say but that he may have been followed from my
house, watched at my house, even first marked because of
his association with my house—which may have suggested
his possessing greater wealth, and being altogether of
greater importance than his own retiring demeanor would
have indicated. If I cannot, with my means and influence,
and my position, bring all the perpetrators of such a crime
to light, I fail in the assertion of my respect for that gentle-
man's memory, and of my fidelity towards one who was
ever faithful to me."
While he makes this protestation with great emotion and
earnestness, looking round the room as if he were address-
ing an assembly, Mr. Bucket glances at him with an ob-
servant gravity in which there might be, but for the audacity
of the thought, a touch of compassion.
"The ceremony of to-day," continues Sir Leicester,
"strikingly illustrative of the respect in which my deceased
friend;" he lays a stress upon the word, for death levels
all distinction; "was held by the flower of the land, has, I
say, aggravated the shock I have received from this most
horrible and audacious crime. If it were my brother who
had committed it, I would not spare him."
Mr. Bucket looks very grave. Volumnia remarks
of the deceased that he was the trustiest and dearest
person!
"You must feel it as a deprivation to you, miss," replied
Mr. Bucket, soothingly, "no doubt. He was calculated to
be a deprivation, I'm sure he was."
Volumnia gives Mr. Bucket to understand, in reply, that
her sensitive mind is fully made up never to get the better
of it as long as she lives; that her nerves are unstrung
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Detective Stories
miss; bless your heart, what you would think to be phenom-
enon, quite."
Volumnia, with her innocent little scream, supposes so.
"Aye, and even in gen-teel families, in high families, in
great families," says Mr. Bucket, again gravely eying Sir
Leicester aside. "I have had the honor of being employed
in high families before; and you have no idea—come, I'll
go so far as to say not even you have any idea, sir," this
to the debilitated cousin, "what games goes on!"
The cousin, who has been casting sofa-pillows on his
head, in a prostration of boredom, yawns, "Vayli"—being
the used-up for " very likely."
Sir Leicester, deeming it time to dismiss the officer, here
majestically interposes with the words, "Very good.
Thank you!" and also with a wave of his hand, implying
not only that there is an end of the discourse, but that if
high families fall into low habits they must take the conse-
quences. "You will not forget, officer," he adds, with con-
descension, " that I am at your disposal when you please."
Mr. Bucket (still grave) inquires if to-morrow morning,
now, would suit, in case he should be as for'ard as he ex-
pects to be? Sir Leicester replies, "All times are alike to
me." Mr. Bucket makes his three bows, and is withdraw-
ing, when a forgotten point occurs to him.
"Might I ask, by-the-bye," he says, in a low voice,
cautiously returning, "who posted the reward-bill on the
staircase."
"/ ordered it to be put up there," replies Sir Leicester.
"Would it be considered a liberty, Sir Leicester Dedlock,
Baronet, if I was to ask you why?"
"Not at all. I chose it as a conspicuous part of the
house. I think it cannot be too prominently kept before
the whole establishment. I wish my people to be impressed
with the enormity of the crime, the determination to punish
it, and the hopelessness of escape. At the same time, of-
ficer, if you in your better knowledge of the subject see any
objection"
Mr. Bucket sees none now; the bill having been put up,
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"Ah!" says Mr. Bucket, "a little spoilt? A little
capricious? Lord! What can you anticipate when they
are so handsome as that? And we like 'em all the better
for it, don't we?"
Mercury, with his hands in the pockets of his bright
peach-blossom small-clothes, stretches his symmetrical silk
legs with the air of a man of gallantry, and can't deny it.
Come the roll of wheels, and a violent ringing at the bell.
"Talk of the angels," says Mr. Bucket. "Here she is!"
The doors are thrown open, and she passes through the
hall. Still very pale, she is dressed in slight mourning,
and wears two beautiful bracelets. Either their beauty, or
the beauty of her arms, is particularly attractive to Mr.
Bucket. He looks at them with an eager eye, and rattles
something in his pockets—halfpence perhaps.
Noticing him at his distance, she turns an inquiring look
on the other Mercury who has brought her home.
"Mr. Bucket, my Lady."
Mr. Bucket makes a leg, and comes forward, passing his
familiar demon over the region of his mouth.
"Are you waiting to see Sir Leicester?"
"No, my Lady, I've seen him!"
"Have you anything to say to me?"
"Not just at present, my Lady."
"Have you made any new discoveries?"
"A few, my Lady."
This is merely in passing. She scarcely makes a stop,
and sweeps upstairs alone. Mr. Bucket, moving towards
the staircase foot, watches her as she goes up the steps the
old man came down to his grave; past murderous groups
of statuary, repeated with their shadowy weapons on the
wall; past the printed bill, which she looks at going by; out
of view.
"She's a lovely woman, too, she really is," says Mr.
Bucket, coming back to Mercury. "Don't look quite
healthy though."
Is not quite healthy, Mercury informs him. Suffers
much from headaches.
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Charles Dickens
have been, but for the audacity of the idea, a touch of
compassion. >
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, officer, but I am
rather later than my usual hour this morning. I am not
well. The agitation, and the indignation from which I
have recently suffered, have been too much for me. I am
subject to—gout; " Sir Leicester was going to say indisposi-
tion, and would have said it to anybody else, but Mr.
Bucket palpably knows all about it; "and recent circum-
stances have brought it on."
As he takes his seat with some difficulty, and with an
air of pain, Mr. Bucket draws a little nearer, standing with
one of his large hands on the library-table.
"I am not aware, officer," Sir Leicester observes, raising
his eyes to his face, "whether you wish us to be alone; but
that is entirely as you please. If you do, well and good.
If not, Miss Dedlock would be interested"
"Why, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet," returns Mr.
Bucket, with his head persuasively on one side, and his
forefinger pendant at one ear like an ear-ring, "we can't
be too private just at present. You will presently see that
we can't be too private. A lady, under the circumstances,
and especially in Miss Dedlock's elevated station of society,
can't but be agreeable to me; but speaking without a view
to myself, I will take the liberty of assuring you that /
know we can't be too private."
"That is enough."
"So much so, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet," Mr.
Bucket resumes, "that I was on the point of asking your
permission to turn the key in the door."
"By all means." Mr. Bucket skillfully and softly takes
that precaution; stooping on his knee for a moment, from
mere force of habit, so to adjust the key in the lock as that
no one shall peep in from the outer side.
"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I mentioned yesterday
evening, that I wanted but a very little to complete this
case. I have now completed it, and collected proof against
the person who did this crime."
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Charles Dickens
noise occasions her to turn; and then, for the first time she
sees Sir Leicester Dedlock in his chair.
"I ask you pardon," she mutters hurriedly. "They tell
me there was no one here."
Her step towards the door brings her front to front with
Mr. Bucket. Suddenly a spasm shoots across her face, and
she turns deadly pale.
"This is my lodger, Sir Leicester Dedlock," says Mr.
Bucket, nodding *t her. "This foreign young woman has
been my lodger for some weeks back."
"What do Sir Leicester care for that, you think, my
angel?" returns Mademoiselle, in a jocular strain.
"Why, my angel," returns Mr. Bucket, "we shall
see."
Mademoiselle Hortense eyes him with a scowl upon her
tight face, which generally changes into a smile of scorn.
"You are very mysterieuse. Are you drunk?"
"Tolerable sober, my angel," returns Mr. Bucket.
"I come from arriving at this so detestable house with
your wife. Your wife have left me since some minutes.
They tell me downstairs that your wife is here. I come
here, and your wife is not here. What is the intention of
this fool's play, say then?" Mademoiselle demands, with
her arms composedly crossed, but with something in her
dark cheek beating like a clock.
Mr. Bucket merely shakes the finger at her.
"Ah, my God, you are an unhappy idiot!" cries Mademoi-
selle, with a toss of her head and a laugh.—" Leave me to
pass downstairs, great pig." With a stamp of her foot, and
a menace.
"Now, Mademoiselle," says Mr. Bucket, in a cool
determined way, "you go and sit down upon that
sofy."
"I will not sit down upon nothing," she replies, with a
shower of nods.
"Now, Mademoiselle," repeats Mr. Bucket, making no
demonstration, except with the finger, "you sit down upon
that sofy."
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Detective Stories
high words with the deceased on former occasions—even
threatening him, as the witness made out. If you ask me,
Sir Leicester Dedlock, whether from the first I believed
George to be the murderer, I tell you candidly No; but he
might be, notwithstanding; and there was enough against
him to make it my duty to take him, and get him kept under
remand. Now, observe!"
As Mr. Bucket bends forward in some excitement—for
him—and inaugurates what he is going to say with one
ghostly beat of his forefinger in the air, Mademoiselle Hor-
tense fixes her black eyes upon him with a dark frown, and
sets her dry lips closely and firmly together.
"I went home, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, at night,
and found this young woman having supper with my wife,
Mrs. Bucket. She had made a mighty show of being fond
of Mrs. Bucket from her first offering herself as our lodger,
but that night she made more than ever—in fact, overdid
it. Likewise, she overdid her respect, and all that, for the
lamented memory of the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn. By
the living Lord, it flashed upon me, as I sat opposite to her
at the table and saw her with a knife in her hand, that she
had done it!"
Mademoiselle is hardly audible, in straining through her
teeth and lips the words "You are a Devil."
"Now where," pursues Mr. Bucket, "had she been on
the night of the murder? She had been to the theayter.
(She really was there, I have since found, both before the
deed and after it.) I knew I had an artful customer
to deal with, and that proof would be very difficult; and
I laid a trap for her—such a trap as I never laid yet,
and such a venture as I never made yet. I worked
it out in my mind while I was talking to her at
supper. When I went upstairs to bed, our house being
small and this young woman's ears sharp, I stuffed the
sheet into Mrs. Bucket's mouth that she shouldn't say a
word of surprise, and told her all about it.—My dear, don't
you give your mind to that again, or I shall link your feet
together at the ankles." Mr. Bucket, breaking off has
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Charles Dickens
made a noiseless descent upon Mademoiselle, and laid his
heavy hand upon her shoulder.
"What is the matter with you now?" she asked him.
"Don't you think any more," returns Mr. Bucket, with
admonitory finger, "of throwing yourself out of window.
That's what's the matter with me. Come! Just take my
arm. You needn't get up; I'll sit down by you. Now take
my arm, will you? I'm a married man, you know; you're
acquainted with my wife. Just take my arm."
Vainly endeavoring to moisten those dry lips, with a
painful sound, she struggles with herself and complies.
"Now we're all right again. Sir Leicester Dedlock,
Baronet, this case could never have been the case it is, but
for Mrs. Bucket, who is a woman in fifty thousand—in a
hundred and fifty thousand! To throw this young woman
off her guard, I have never set foot in our house since;
though I've communicated with Mrs. Bucket, in the baker's
loaves and in the milk, as often as required. My whispered
words to Mrs. Bucket, when she had the sheet in her
mouth, were, 'My dear, can you throw her off continually
with natural accounts of my suspicions against George, and
this, and that, and t'other? Can you do without rest, and
keep watch upon her, night and day? Can you undertake
to say, She shall do nothing without my knowledge, she
shall be my prisoner without suspecting it, she shall no
more escape from me than from death, and her life shall
be my life, and her soul my soul, till I have got her, if she
did this murder?' Mrs. Bucket says to me, as well as she
could speak, on account of the sheet,' Bucket, I can!' And
she has acted up to it glorious!"
"Lies!" Mademoiselle interposes. "All lies, my
friend!"
"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, how did my calcula-
tions come out under these circumstances? When I cal-
culated that this impetuous young woman would overdo it
in new directions, was I wrong or right? I was right.
What does si:a try to do? Don't let it give you a turn? To
throw the murder on her Ladyship?"
157 r