“I directed my steps through unfrequented streets to a handsome residence on the outskirts of the town, which I had been told by one of the townspeople, in reply to an off-hand question, was the property of a wealthy family who were then absent for the summer season. I was also told that the only persons in charge of the place, in the absence of the owner, were two or three female servants and an old butler.
“A brisk walk brought me to the hedge surrounding the grounds, which I readily recognized from my informant’s description, and, peering over, I could see the house—a fine old place surrounded by stately elms, as near as I could judge in the darkness. An oil lamp at the carriage entrance threw out the only light visible in the immediate neighborhood, and, as if to further aid me, the dark wind-clouds scurrying across the sky made the blackness more profound, while the muttering thunder in the distance gave promise of a storm. Every condition seemed favorable to a successful termination of my venture.
“‘Just such a night as I could have wished,’ I murmured to myself, and, pulling my hat down so as to somewhat disguise my features, I grasped my valise firmly, and, leaping lightly over the hedge, paused for a further inspection of the place, which showed me that the house was about fifty yards back from the road, and was surrounded by many shrubs and plants.
“I carefully began a circuit of inspection to make sure of leaving no source of danger between me and my base of operations, and it was well I did so, for at the rear I came upon a large dog asleep in front of his kennel. So still did he lie that he might have been taken for a stone image, but his presence was most unwelcome at that particular time and place. He seemed a fine fellow, and I was loath to do so, but I knew it was necessary to deprive him of the means of giving an alarm, so I grasped my jimmy and approached him as noiselessly as a panther. To raise the terrible weapon with both hands and bring it down on his head was the work of an instant. I don’t believe he ever knew what killed him, for the blow caused the heavy bar to crush through his skull, and he uttered not a sound, a convulsive quivering of his body being all that denoted it to have possessed life a moment before.
“Quickly recovering my balance, for I had been well-nigh overthrown by the sudden termination of the stroke, I hastily withdrew to the protection of a large bush and awaited developments. The wind moaning in the trees about the mansion, coupled with a feeling of repulsion at the deed I had just committed, gave me the ‘creevils’ (as old nurse was wont to term the uncanny feeling produced on her nerves by anything unnatural in her vicinity), but the fast flying moments warned me to proceed.
“Banishing the uneasiness which had begun to steal into my mind, I crept to the nearest window and peeped in. A chance flash of lightning illuminated the interior, and showed me that I was at a favorable point for entrance, so I inserted the jaw of my jimmy under the sash, the blinds being open, and cautiously forced it upward. Slowly it rose, with a crunching sound, the screws of the old-fashioned catch giving way under the strain, and presently I had an opening wide enough to put my arm through. I waited a few minutes to see if the slight noise had aroused any of the inmates, but, all remaining as silent as before, I raised the window and stealthily entered. My heart thrilled with a new and strange emotion as I realized that I was actually committing an unlawful act, and, feeling the danger of my position if discovered, I panted with excitement till it seemed to my sensitive nerves that I would surely betray my presence. But I grew calmer, and with careful tread began an inspection of the rooms. That in which I stood seemed to be the library, while beyond was the dining-room, the drawing-room being located on the opposite side of the wide hall, the linen-covered furniture within it standing out in ghostly prominence as the constantly recurring flashes of lightning chased the darkness from the rooms for an instant. Without, the storm was now at its height, and the thunder crashed and rumbled so incessantly that I doubt not I could have upset a table with very little danger of the sound reaching the dull ears of the persons sleeping above. A strong odor of wine pervaded the dining-room, and I saw by the remains of a feast that the servants must have been carousing earlier in the night, and the empty bottles and glasses, soiled table, and generally untidy appearance of everything encouraged me to look for little interruption in my work, as far as the revelers were concerned, and so it proved; for although I spent an hour or more rummaging the rooms for booty, nothing occurred to cause me any alarm, and I left by the open window, having secured a French clock, several fine bisque pieces, which I wrapped in heavy linen napkins from the buffet, some small articles of table silver, and such other things of value as I could stow into my valise without arousing suspicion, and was altogether quite satisfied with the results of my maiden effort.
“I reached my lodgings without attracting attention, though feeling wet and uncomfortable from the still falling rain, and the next day left town at an early hour, once more attired in my expensive clothes, and not at all a suspicious-looking individual. Arrived at home, and having bathed and attired myself in a lounging suit, I called Elias and instructed him not to permit any one to disturb me, and entered my library, to all intents and purposes with the idea of spending an afternoon with my books.
“I was highly elated at the unbounded success which attended my first adventure, and truly a burglar could not have been more favored had his patron saint arranged his affairs for him. I swung the book-case concealing the secret stairway, and, drawing it into place behind me, descended to the vault. Here I opened one of the small strong boxes and deposited my ill-gotten property, pasting upon the outside of the door a paper bearing the date of the burglary, name of the place, and a brief list of my trophies.
“When I returned to my easy chair, with all traces of my late expedition removed from sight, I gave myself up to keen enjoyment. That I had proved my theory to be correct, and given an exhibition of my skill (perhaps I should say my good fortune), was patent, and I resolved to try again.
“The newspapers of the following morning contained a graphic account of the crime, and announced that a tramp, who had been seen about the place the previous day and could give no satisfactory explanation of his presence, was in custody on suspicion of having committed it. I could not restrain a feeling of fraternal sympathy for the poor wretch, but eased my conscience (for I still had one), with the thought that he was probably where he belonged. One thing that caused me huge delight was the fact that the owner of the house was reported to be a Mr. Scarborough, who I remembered, with a start, was my father’s former law partner! The idea was so inexpressibly funny that I was strongly tempted to drop him a line stating that I had knowledge of the thief, who could be persuaded to return the stolen property if assured of immunity from prosecution, but a realization of the embarrassing position in which I should place myself warned me not to attempt it. Dignified old Judge Scarborough! How amazed he would have been to have learned that the son of his old friend had called to see him in his absence, and feloniously abstracted some of his goods and chattels!
“As time passed I added to the property in my vault, choosing as the scenes of my exploits the houses of wealthy persons who were away from home, until six of the boxes were filled and labeled, and the newspapers teemed with reports of mysterious burglaries, no clue to the perpetrators being discovered. I remember the sense of humiliation which weighed down my soul upon reading in one of these accounts: ‘The burglar is evidently a novice, as he took articles of small value, passing over property worth ten times as much as he secured.’ I allowed sufficient time to elapse for the occupants of that house to be lulled into a sense of security, then I went and removed the more valuable property that I had overlooked on my first visit. I think those people will be more reticent when talking to press reporters in future.
“Flushed with success, in an evil moment I attempted an entrance into a house in this city and made a signal failure of it. Indeed, I nearly met my Waterloo there, though I managed to escape detection by a fortunate train of circumstances. This led to unusual activity
among the local police, and an abandonment of any more attempts in my immediate neighborhood; but to make sure that no suspicion could rest upon me, I thought it necessary to commit a cautious robbery of my own house, by which I lost considerable property, the difference between me and my other victims being that I knew where to find mine. As a further precaution, I employed a detective to trace the perpetrator of this last impudent theft, but so well had I managed that he was finally compelled to admit himself baffled, though he said he strongly suspected my butler. I could hardly maintain a straight face at this remarkable conclusion of my efforts to hide my tracks, but I managed to conceal my amusement and, with an affected sigh of disappointment, paid the detective’s fee, and he retired, rather crestfallen at his failure.
After his departure I did not make another attempt for several weeks, and, indeed, it was not until ten days ago that I renewed my ill-favored pastime. This last burglary has been the most profitable of all, and box number seven contains property of great value. Among other things, there reposes within it a masterpiece of the jeweler’s art in the form of a Swiss watch of priceless worth. I rather pitied the owner for its loss but kept it with the idea that I might be encouraging the jeweler’s trade by so doing.
“One by one my—”
Here the strange narrative of young Marden abruptly terminated, and though I searched for further documents bearing upon his case, I could find no more, so there was nothing to be done but to wait for the return of the inspector, who I thought could probably throw more light on his subsequent history. In the mean time I read the story again and again, with added interest, and found myself hesitating between amazement at the direction taken by the genius of the young fellow and admiration at the skillful way in which he had escaped detection. One thing which puzzled me a good deal was the fact that the inspector had spoken of him as being “unfortunate,” whereas, according to his own account, he appeared to have been anything but that. But my musings were brought to an end by the arrival of the old man, who, seeing me still occupied with the manuscript, surmised what I had in mind.
“Well, sir,” said he, “what do you think of him?”
“I hardly know,” I answered. “It is most disappointing to find the manuscript incomplete. I wish he had finished it instead of stopping so abruptly. Can you tell me anything more about him? You spoke of him as being ‘unfortunate’—what did you mean?”
“Certainly, I can tell you what our investigation disclosed, though it was by the merest accident. You will observe that Marden speaks of his dog Mac. Well, the brute was the unwitting cause of his unhappy master’s death, and the way it happened was this: those papers which you have in your hand I found scattered about the floor of the vault-room. His statement that the police could find no trace of the person who committed the robberies is quite true, for I was captain of this precinct then, and confess I was never more puzzled and chagrined in my life. One day, when the mysterious crimes were still fresh in the public mind, I was seated at my desk writing, when a note was brought to me by the sergeant on duty. It was evidently written by an illiterate person, or one unaccustomed to handling a pen, and stated that Mr. Ernest Marden had been absent from home for such a long time that it was feared something had happened to him. The note was signed by ‘Elias Comerford,’ who proved to be the butler of whom the manuscript speaks. I thought little of the matter then, as mysterious disappearances are quite common occurrences, the missing persons generally turning up all right, and I made up my mind that the same thing was true in this case, especially as I knew young Marden was somewhat eccentric about his traveling. But nothing was heard of him, and at the earnest entreaty of the family servants up at the homestead I sent an agent there to look into the matter. He returned after an absence of two or three hours, wearing a most perplexed look on his face, and asked me to go back with him, as he could not account for the queer actions of young Marden’s dog.
“I found Mac stretched out at full length in front of a book-case in the library, growling savagely. At first I supposed him mad, and ordered my assistant to shoot him where he lay, but the old butler pleaded so hard, and seemed so confident that that was not the trouble, that I countermanded the order and tried to coax the dog from his position. I used every means known to me, but without success, and then I noticed that once in a while he would stop growling and sniff under the case, the bottom of which he had gnawed in a dozen places. Now, I knew very well that an intelligent dog would not act that way without cause, assuming that he was not mad, so I fearlessly crossed the room and made a hasty examination. At this the dog showed every sign of delight, running about me and sniffing in a state of great excitement. I called John, my man, to my assistance, and we exerted our united efforts to move the case, but it would not budge. Then I told him to get something with which to pry it out, and he presently returned with an iron bar, which we inserted in the narrow opening behind it. In response to the pull which we gave, it swung outwardly with a crash, accompanied by the sound of the snapping of the lock, and, to our surprise, moved off to one side without upsetting. Then we saw the stone steps leading to the vault, down which the dog bounded like a flash, I followed him as fast as possible, but quickly repented my rashness, for I came into collision with the door at the foot of the steps. I opened this, but could see nothing in the pitchy darkness of the vault. Calling to John to procure a candle, I retreated to the steps and waited for the light. Meanwhile the dog had entered the vault-room and presently there came from him a howl that made my hair rise on my head in spite of myself. I was mighty glad to get the light which John held, and drawing my revolver, cautiously entered the mysterious chamber. The dog was crouched in front of the vault-door, with his muzzle raised, emitting the most blood-curdling howls.
“I finally succeeded in dislodging him, and opening the door carefully, by means of the combination knob, I beheld a startling sight. Crouched in a corner, his form almost reduced to a skeleton, was all that remained of Ernest Marden. The knees drawn up to the chin, the clenched hands and terrible appearance of the face, told me the story as plainly as though the dead man was speaking to me in life. By his side we found this”; and going to a cabinet containing various articles collected in the course of his professional life, the inspector brought me an ordinary linen cuff, on which were still discernible the straggled lines made in the dark by a lead-pencil. They were in the same hand as the manuscript I had just read, and were in truth a message from the dead. With straining sight I read:
August 14th, 1887. When this is found I shall be beyond hope of life. While standing before the boxes above me, I heard Mac coming down the steps, and too late it flashed through my mind that I had not drawn the bookcase into place, intending to return at once. The poor fellow could see nothing in the darkness, and before I could prevent it he struck the door of the vault, which was closed behind me. To my horror I find that the jar has thrown the bolts just enough to cause them to catch in the sockets, and I am caught as a rat in a trap. Bitterly do I regret the folly of the past few years of my life, and yet I cannot but acknowledge the justice of my punishment. I desire that if my body is found it shall be buried beside those of my parents; my attorney has instructions as to my estate.
I am calm now, but it is the calmness of utter despair, for I do not hope for rescue from my strange tomb. I can live but another day in this confined space, and already the weakness of dissolution is stealing upon me. Farewell.
Ernest Marden.
The terrible document fell from my nerveless hand, and I stared at the inspector in speechless horror. When I recovered myself I managed to gasp: “For Heaven’s sake, tell me the end of this fearful tale!”
“There is nothing more to tell beyond the fact that the stolen property was all sent back to the rightful owners by the help of the labels on the boxes. I have always thought poor Marden intended to return it at some time. Certainly he did not need more wealth who was so rich himself.”
1895
MARY E. WIL
KINS
The Long Arm
Recognized today as a first-rate author of ghost stories and supernatural fiction, MARY E(LEANOR) WILKINS (FREEMAN) (1852–1930) began writing while still a teenager, producing short stories and poetry for children before turning to adult novels and stories. She worked for a time as the secretary of Oliver Wendell Holmes, the noted author and poet and father of the distinguished Supreme Court justice.
Writing prolifically, with nearly thirty books published between 1883 and 1914, Wilkins created a vivid picture of New England in many of her books, combining the natural realism of normal, everyday life with chilling supernatural overtones. While somewhat reclusive and not a significant member of the flourishing literary circles of New England, she was awarded the very first William Dean Howells Medal for distinction in fiction by the American Academy of Arts and Letters, in 1926, and in the same year she and Edith Wharton became the first women inducted into the National Institute of Arts and Letters. When informed that the institute might be divided on the question of admitting women, Wilkins wrote with characteristic wryness that she could “very readily see that many would object.”
Although it is her tales of the occult that remain read today (the prestigious publisher of horror fiction Arkham House released her Collected Ghost Stories in 1974), she also played a significant role in the history of detective fiction. The Long Arm and Other Detective Stories, issued in 1895 in London, is the first anthology of detective fiction ever published. Ironically, as Wilkins was far more successful in her own country than in England, it never found an American publisher.
“The Long Arm” was first published in the December 1895 issue of The Pocket Magazine; it was first published in book form in The Long Arm and Other Detective Stories (Tales); the word stories appears on the title page, while the word tales appears on the spine (London: Chapman & Hall, 1895).
The Best American Mystery Stories of the 19th Century Page 46