Twenty years have passed since the happening of the events, the history and sequel of which I am going to relate. It is the tale of a crime committed in one of the large cities of this country, and which, baffling the authorities at the time, still remains a mystery to all but myself and one other. Even now, at this late day, in deference to a plea that bore the seal of death, I shall only write of it with such changes of scene and names as I hope may prevent identification. To me the history of

On a Monday evening in January, 1883, I had returned comparatively late from work in the District Attorney's office in New York, and was in my rooms at the Crescent Club on Madison Square, corner of Twenty-sixth Street, making a leisurely toilet for dinner, when a note was brought me from Arthur White. In it he asked me to join a few mutual friends at his rooms on West Nineteenth Street off Fifth Avenue later in the evening for supper. He named the men—Gilbert Littell, Ned Davis, and Oscar Van B

It was ten o'clock when I had finished my cigar and coffee in the library—where I had gone after dining—and I left the club and started for White's. It was a rainy, sloppy night, such as New York often provides in winter, and I hurried over the few blocks that separated me from my destination. As I approached the house, I saw the light shining beneath the shade—which was not quite down—at the front window, and it held out promise of cheerful warmth within. As I have said, White's rooms were on N

I was awakened the next morning earlier than usual by a servant who announced in a hushed voice that Mr. White's man wanted to see me at once. I was naturally disinclined to get up at that hour, it being but a little after seven o'clock, and so directed that the man send me White's message. The reply that Mr. White was dead took me out of bed in a flash, and while I hurried into my clothes, the servant, in obedience to my order, went after Benton. Although but a few minutes had elapsed, I was ab

On reaching the offices, I at once sought an interview with the District Attorney and found him expecting me. He had, of course, learned of the tragedy from police headquarters, and of my presence on the scene. There was little I could tell him that he did not already know. The information he had received, however, was but a meagre statement of facts and supplied no clue to the criminal. "I suppose," he said, "it will prove an ordinary case of burglary and incidental murder, and I have no doubt

The next day at the time appointed, three o'clock, I attended, as representative of the State, the Coroner's hearing. Since my interview with the Inspector, reported in the last chapter, I had seen no one likely to throw any light upon the case. I had also avoided any personal investigation as I did not wish to form conclusions, preferring to give an unprejudiced hearing to the evidence as it was offered from the lips of the witnesses on the stand. When I entered upon the scene, the usual pomp a

Whatever my inclination may have been, I had no opportunity the next day to work on the case and scarcely any for thought of it. An important business matter took me out of town by an early train and kept me away over night so that I got back only in time to attend poor White's funeral the morning following, and then to hurry to the adjourned hearing before the Coroner. In some respects I regretted my absence, as I might have become more familiar with the case in the interim had I been at hand,

Upon the conclusion of the hearing I left at once and, avoiding any chance of interruption, went directly to my rooms. Once there I pulled my chair up to the fire, lighted my pipe, and sat down to think it all over. If I were going to work intelligently upon this case I must understand it, and if I meant to proceed upon the theory that the accused was innocent and try to establish that fact, I must have good reason for such course. Hasty conclusions would not do. They must be deliberate and be l

The next day was Sunday, and I passed it in restless impatience over the enforced idleness, occupying myself as far as I could with the newspaper reports of the Coroner's hearing. I found much to read, but little to please me in them. With few exceptions they accepted the police version of the case, treating Winters almost as a convicted criminal and praising unstintedly, in some cases fulsomely, the work of the Inspector's department. It was only necessary to scan their columns to learn that: W

A week had elapsed since the happening of the events related in the last chapter, and I sat with Littell and Van Bult in one of the private rooms of a quiet downtown restaurant, where we had been lunching together by my invitation. For some time past I had seen little or nothing of these two friends. Van Bult had been off again somewhere, and I had been too busy to look up Littell, for my whole time and attention had been given to investigation of the White case: but now being at the end of my r

It was the morning of the day of the trial and I sat at my desk getting through some routine duties in an entirely perfunctory way prior to attending the opening of the court. It had been determined that I was not to participate in the conduct of the case in any way: indeed, there was little alternative left the District Attorney in the matter after I had explained to him the course I had been pursuing and my views on the subject. He had not appeared much surprised by my disclosures and was prob

When I took my seat again the next day and looked about me upon a scene now become familiar, I entertained little hope of the result of the day's proceedings. I knew better than others how meagre was the evidence of the defence and I could not see how the unsupported testimony of the prisoner, even if he were physically capable of giving it coherently, could have much weight; and yet I knew that that was all Littell had to offer. But even I, as I was yet to learn, failed to appreciate the splend

The jury did not agree. They stood nine for conviction and three for acquittal when the court met in the morning, and there being no prospect of an agreement, they were discharged. It was looked upon as a victory for the defence, but only because a conviction had been generally expected. As it was the case had to be tried over again. Upon leaving the court-room, Littell accompanied me to my office, for he was anxious to secure some little delay before the next trial and wished to see the Distric

It was nearly two weeks after my little dinner that I sat late one afternoon alone in my office. The rain without pattered dismally against the single window that looked into a deserted court and within the room was dimly lighted by the fading daylight and the fire that flickered on the hearth. The gloom of the close of a rainy winter's day was over everything and my thoughts and heart seemed full of the vague shadows that haunted the room. I was awaiting the coming of Miles, who that morning ha

"This report relative to the case of the death of Arthur White covers the period of my work from the time of the trial of Henry Winters to date. The facts discovered before the trial were presented in the evidence and need not be re-stated. "They pointed to Winters as the criminal, but I did not believe him guilty. If Winters was not guilty, theft was not the object for which the crime was committed, for all the money missing not traced to him was otherwise accounted for. This made it likely tha

Let me now pass quickly on with my tale over the few succeeding hours which witnessed its final scenes. What remains to be told is as well told shortly and I have no wish to linger over it. It was the next morning, and I again sat in my office, when the shrill voice of the office boy interrupted my bitter reflections. "Mr. Littell to see you, sir," it said. "Show him in," I answered mechanically. I had been thinking of him and accepted the announcement as a matter of course, though I had no reas

"You are right; your dogged persistence has at last accomplished its purpose and my end, and to what good? White is dead, Winters is dead, and I shall be within a few hours. The tragedy has worked itself out. I do not know that I am sorry the game is played,—life's game it has proven with me; neither do I reproach you for your part in it. I might have lived a few years longer, but I am not sure that I wish to. My life has lasted sixty years, and they have not been so free from trouble that I sho