American Sherlocks

by Nick Rennison

  Without further comment he raised the photographs once more and studied them carefully.

  The first depicted a woman, beyond doubt Mrs Buck at a period much earlier in her life, standing before a small cottage of the style of architecture most frequently seen among the houses of the ocean fishermen. The second showed a large open boat, a trawler, fully manned, and lying just below a wharf with the wharf’s buildings visible in the background. The last showed two fishermen standing on the steps of a hotel, and holding between them a strange monster of the deep, while, from above, curious guests peered down from over the balcony rail.

  ‘There, Lamson, I think we have our clue.’

  ‘But how? What in the deuce is there to all that stuff that shows you anything?’ Lamson was fairly staggered with bewilderment.

  ‘Look here!’ Quincy flipped the second photograph into view. ‘That trawler indicates, as do all three photographs, a fishing community. Now look at the buildings in the background. On the central building you can dimly distinguish the sign of the fishing company: The Bay State Codfish Company. Now look at this third photograph. Above the fishermen’s heads is the sign of the Puritan Hotel. By coupling those two names we have our clue. Both the Bay State Codfish Company and the Puritan Hotel are located in Gloucester. In the photograph of Mrs Buck herself we find her standing before a typical fisherman’s cottage. Therefore, does our clue not point toward Gloucester as a starting-point in our search for the woman’s identity and that of her murderer? I also have another clue, but I shall leave that out of the matter for the present.’

  ‘Then you will go to Gloucester?’ Lamson questioned.

  ‘At once, although I would suggest that you do not mention the fact to the police. It might only serve to further muddle their brains, and they are sufficiently at sea in regard to this case already.’

  ‘You may use my car for the trip if you want to,’ Lamson volunteered immediately.

  ‘No, I thank you. I prefer to go in the train. I shall be pleased to have your car take me to the station, though, if that will not inconvenience you.’

  As the pair descended the stairs they paused a moment to gaze at the activities of the police. The room remained in much the same condition as when they had originally viewed it, except for the fact that the body had been removed, thus doing away with the most gruesome feature of the case. Seeing them, the chief paused for a moment.

  ‘Giving up so early in the game, Mr Sawyer?’ he inquired, a slightly sneering accent in his voice.

  ‘Not exactly giving up, Chief,’ Quincy replied, ignoring the tone. ‘But my business temporarily calls me elsewhere, and, for the present, I shall be obliged to absent myself. I expect to return here later on, though, unless in the meantime you have been able to solve the mystery. You have found no trace of hidden wealth as yet, I suppose?’

  ‘No, we have found nothing, but there must be some clue to it somewhere. I am about to act on your suggestion and search the cellar.’

  ‘Before you do that, Chief,’ said Quincy, smiling frankly, ‘I would suggest that you search the woman’s chamber. There are some bank books there which will be of interest to you.’

  ‘You mean that her money was deposited in a bank?’ the chief demanded sharply.

  ‘It was, and still is, in a bank, or in banks, to be more exact. I fear you will be wasting your time if you search farther for it here.’

  For a moment the chief stared silently, but at last a slow grin began to relieve the hard lines of his face. ‘Mr Sawyer,’ he said, ‘you have put one across on us. I held you lightly in the beginning because, several times of late, my department has been considerably hindered by the actions of amateur detectives, and I took you to belong to the same class. I see you know your business, and I apologize for my former abruptness of speech.’

  The speech came as a complete surprise to Quincy, but he was not to be outdone in courtesy. ‘Chief,’ he said, ‘I accept your remarks in the spirit in which they were intended. Frankly, I am now starting out on a clue which I think will prove valuable. If I am successful I shall notify you of the fact on my return, and it is highly probable that we may be able to act together in the final scenes.’

  The chief regarded him with increased respect. ‘I shall be pleased to act with you if you are successful,’ he said simply.

  In ten minutes’ time Quincy was seated in Lamson’s car and hurrying toward the railroad station. Shortly afterward he was aboard a train for Gloucester and, bending over the three photographs, was carefully arranging his plans for the campaign he intended to wage in that peculiar city.

  All that day, and throughout the night, Lamson and the chief anxiously awaited the return of Quincy or the coming of some word which would indicate his progress. The affair by that time had been spread broadcast through the medium of the press, and the grounds swarmed with reporters, to the disgust of Lamson, who cordially hated the notoriety which was thus being brought to his door. The second forenoon following the murder passed away without result in the desired direction, and Lamson, unused to the necessary tedium of a police investigation, and suffering from the strain involved, was at his wits’ end when Quincy suddenly reappeared as unostentatiously as he had departed. Lamson rushed eagerly from the house to greet him, the chief, no less eager, hurrying after, while the handful of reporters clustered around, listening intently for the first hint which might be incorporated in their several stories. Quincy waved them laughingly aside.

  ‘Not yet, boys,’ he adjured them. ‘I have a good story for you, and you shall have it very shortly, but I must first make my report to Mr Lamson.’

  Obediently the reporters fell back, accepting his assurance without question. Lamson and the chief reached him simultaneously and, above the hurried hum of the reporters’ voices, rose Lamson’s appeal:

  ‘What luck, Sawyer? For heaven’s sake tell me the result quickly.’

  Quincy took him soothingly by the arm. ‘It’s settled, Lamson,’ he said quietly; ‘but my investigation has had a most remarkable result. A most surprising result! Come into the house, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  When they were seated in the library, or at least when the chief and Quincy were seated, Lamson being too nervous to do anything other than to fidget about the room, Quincy digressed slightly from the point of the matter in hand.

  ‘I notice that you have gained considerable notoriety, Lamson,’ he said.

  ‘Notoriety!’ Lamson snorted the word furiously. ‘Notoriety! Yes, I certainly have, thanks to the press and its representatives outside! Look at the headlines which have been running. “Wealthy Epicurean’s Cook Murdered”, “Lamson’s Elysium Wrecked by Murderer” and so on without end! Why in the world must I be dragged into the case in that manner?’

  Quincy allowed himself a smile at Lamson’s expense before proceeding. ‘You are merely the victim of circumstances, Lamson; but that was not what I intended to tell you. I wish to warn you that you are to receive still more notoriety because this case is about to produce one of the greatest sensations the press has had for years.’

  Lamson paled at the words, and his agitation increased perceptibly. ‘You don’t mean,’ he stammered, ‘that you suspect me of the murder?’

  ‘Oh, no, Lamson, great Scott, no!’ Quincy hastened to assure him. ‘I have the murderer, and he has confessed. I merely wished to warn you that Mrs Buck, regardless of her own identity, will still continue in the eyes of the public to be Lamson’s cook, and as such she will be handled by the press. But sit down, man, nobody suspects you. I’ll tell you my story at once, so that your mind may be placed at rest in that direction at least. You know of the photographs which I discovered before going to Gloucester?’ he inquired, turning toward the chief.

  ‘Yes, Mr Lamson told me of them,’ the chief informed him.

  ‘Very well, then, I wished you to know of them before telling my story,
because I desire you to be in possession of the several clues which led me to Gloucester. As you are aware, one of those pictures showed the wharf of the Bay State Codfish Company. Now, Chief, remember. Do you not recall that the knife with which the murder was committed was stamped on the hilt with the letters “B. S. C. Co.?” From that fact I argued that the person connected with the Bay State Codfish Company in whom Mrs Buck was interested years ago must still be there, and that Gloucester was the spot which I must search for the murderer. As I said before, I found him; but in order to place you thoroughly in possession of the facts I am going to retrogress twelve years and begin my story at that point. The discovery of the man after I reached Gloucester was a very simple act, so simple as to hardly be worthy of recognition in the story, while his confession followed almost as a matter of course. He is at present being held by the Gloucester police. I recognized him, Lamson, from his photograph. He is the man on the right of that sea monster in the third picture; he also appears in the second photograph and, as the other does not, I naturally settled on him at once as the man whom I desired to find.

  ‘But now for the story. Twelve years ago Amos Buck and his shrewish wife, Elizabeth, your cook, Lamson, lived in a small cottage at the far end of the Gloucester water-front. Amos was a trawler in the employ of the Bay State Codfish Company and, being a steady, temperate man, was regarded by the heads of his department as being one of their most reliable employees. But in his case, as in that of every other man, his home environment played a great part in the matter of his value to his employers. His wife’s shrewish nature developed, and her constant nagging eventually began to play its part in his ultimate downfall, the result being that he finally became a steady patron of the nearest groggery, and it appeared that his complete degeneration would be merely a matter of time. Daily indulgence soon became protracted into sprees of a week’s duration, and Mrs Buck became more vituperative than ever.

  ‘Then another link in the peculiar chain of circumstances was forged. Amos brought to his home a widowed cousin, Emma Bray by name, and insisted upon her taking up her permanent residence with himself and his wife. Mrs Bray greatly resembled Mrs Buck in figure, although their features were vastly dissimilar, and their dispositions were as far separated as the poles. The cousin proved to be a pleasant, even-tempered woman, and she showed every desire to alleviate the constant friction between Buck and his wife.

  ‘Her attempts at intervention only added to Mrs Buck’s fury, and within a few weeks Mrs Buck had developed a hatred for both her husband and his cousin that was almost inhuman in its intensity. The demeanour of his wife at last had its effect on Buck himself, and, instead of meekly submitting to her verbal assaults, as he had done in the past, he soon commenced to reply in kind, with the result that the house became a veritable inferno. This continued until one day Buck’s temper, grown ragged from the constant warfare, gave way entirely and he struck his wife, knocking her down. Then, overcome by the deed, and by the scenes which had led up to it, he rushed from the house to his favourite haunt in a cheap saloon.

  ‘Although naturally a reticent man, his tongue soon became loosened by liquor and, when one of his associates pointed to a fresh cut on the side of Buck’s head, inquiring as to its origin, he replied that his wife had made it, but that he had fixed her so she wouldn’t do it again. The savage look with which he accompanied the words, and the dark hint which seemed to be contained in them, caused the speech to be remembered. Shortly afterward Buck purchased a quart of raw rum and disappeared, going nobody knew where.

  ‘The next morning he was aroused by the chief of police from the drunken slumber into which he had sunk behind the sheltering piles of a lumber wharf. The rough handling by the chief, together with the black looks and muttered threats of the small body of men who accompanied him, completely sobered Buck, and he demanded the reason of his arrest. The reply was unsatisfactory, being merely a gruff “Guess you know” from the chief, and a volley of threats from the crowd, which was constantly growing larger.

  ‘To Buck’s surprise he was taken directly to his own house and, when led indoors, the last trace of liquor was driven out of him, and his surprise was turned to horror. The main room of the cottage was indeed in a terrible state, its floor and walls being covered with blood, its meagre furnishings broken and scattered, and its every appearance being as if a terrific battle had been waged within it. To make the nature of the crime which had been committed doubly sure, a blood-stained axe lay at one side of the room, where it had evidently been thrown by the fleeing murderer. But, whatever hopes the chief may have had of securing a confession from Buck by taking him to the place were speedily dashed, for Buck, instead of breaking down, appeared too utterly stupefied by the scene for speech of any kind.

  ‘No trace of either woman had been found, and there was consequently nothing to do save to hold Buck on suspicion while the search for the bodies was being conducted. The search speedily bore fruit, for, within an hour of Buck’s arrest, the body of a woman was found floating in the harbour. The features had been obliterated, being so badly hacked and battered as to make recognition impossible, but the clothing on the body was speedily identified as being that of Mrs Buck. As no trace of the cousin was found it was decided that her body must have floated out to sea on the tide, and Buck was held, charged with the murder of both women.

  ‘At the trial circumstantial evidence figured strongly in securing Buck’s conviction, but there was also a beautiful train of circumstantial evidence in his favour. He pointed out that no blood-stains had been found on his clothing, and defied the prosecution to demonstrate a way in which he could have hacked a body as his wife’s had been mangled and then have conveyed it to the water without having become stained with blood. He also showed a streak of genius by defying the police to show conclusively that his cousin, Emma Bray, was really dead, as no trace of her body had been found. This part of the indictment was shortly dropped, and he stood accused of only the one murder, that of his wife.

  ‘Of course his rash words in the saloon played an important part against him, but in his favour was the absence of blood-stains upon him and that fact, together with his drunkenness and the well-known frequency with which his wife had assaulted him, both orally and physically, saved him from execution. He was, however, convicted of murder in the second degree, and sentenced to imprisonment for life; but, even after Buck had been imprisoned, there remained many people who did not believe him guilty of the crime. Consequently, after he had served a term of years, a movement was set on foot to have him pardoned, the movement being eventually successful.

  ‘After his release Buck returned to Gloucester and quietly resumed his old life, taking up his residence in his former home and again entering the employ of the Bay State Codfish Company. For two years he lived quietly and then, like a sudden thunderclap, came a piece of news which entirely upset his every thought. An associate came to him, giving him positive assurance that he had seen Mrs Buck in Beverly, and had been told that she was employed by a rich man as a cook. For days Buck brooded over that information, striving to make himself realize that he had not only been sent to prison for a crime which he had never committed, but also for one which, possibly, had never been committed at all.

  ‘At last he could stand the strain no longer, and so set out one night for Beverly, to prove for himself the truth or falsity of the weird rumour. Before starting, moved by some instinct which even he himself cannot define, he secreted one of the company’s knives in his coat, giving it no more thought after his departure from Gloucester.

  ‘On his arrival in Beverly he had no difficulty in locating Lamson’s estate and, proceeding here at once, he slipped about in the darkness, searching for the woman who might or might not prove to be his wife. He soon stumbled on the cook’s cottage, and, peering through one of the lighted windows, he was able to clearly view the woman within and his feelings cannot be described when he realized that she was indeed
his wife. Overcome by a blind, insensate fury, he made his way quickly to the front of the house, burst open the door, and confronted her.

  ‘According to his story the woman showed no surprise at seeing him, but merely sat staring into his face with a smile of contempt on her lips. She made no reply when he accused her of allowing him to be falsely imprisoned, but continued to gloat over him with an air that aroused his already nearly uncontrollable fury to a pitch which it had never hitherto reached. He broke into savage denunciation of her, and, at last, stung her into replying to his charges. To his intense surprise she admitted them to be true. Not only that, but she boastfully asserted that she had killed his cousin out of revenge, and had then dressed the body in her own clothes to throw suspicion on him, had dragged it into the water and had then fled from the place in disguise. As she warmed up to the recital she added almost fiendish details, and through it all she continued to glory in her own success and Buck’s resulting conviction.

  ‘Naturally such a scene could have but one ending. Buck’s temper became more and more savage and at the conclusion of her story he had reached a point but little, if anything, short of insanity. He told her he was going to kill her and that he would be justified in the act. The announcement sobered her and silenced her tongue; but, instead of screaming for help as he had expected her to do, she launched herself fiercely at his throat. You know the result. The struggle was short-lived, and at its conclusion Buck hurried from the place, making his way immediately back to Gloucester, where I found him.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ and with the words Quincy straightened impressively, ‘now we come to the sensational part of the whole affair. The question to be decided, and it is an important one, is: Can Buck be punished for the murder?

  ‘At first glance the natural reply would be that he can; but, can he? Can the courts touch him in any way? When a man is tried and acquitted he cannot again be brought to trial for the same offence, even though it may afterward be shown conclusively that he is guilty. Therefore, can Buck be twice punished for the same offence? He has already paid the penalty, has paid in advance, so to speak, for the privilege of killing his wife. He was convicted when innocent, and, now that he is guilty, can he be again convicted of the same crime for which he has already paid the penalty which was legally demanded of him?