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II
SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor
VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 41:1
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The Maiden's Last Victim
A Scottish maiden! What a pleasant vis
ion do not these words call up! Who that
has ever kept his twelfth of August on the
northern moors could fail to be reminded by
them of some bright-eyed - Highland lassie
whom he has met at early dawn of day cros
sing the mountain stream barefoot, with her
plaid thrown over her fair hair, and her clear
voice singing out an old sweet ballad of her
native land; or haply, if he has had an en
tree to the homes of the Scottish aristocracy,
they will bring before hint some yet fairer
picture of a pure, pale face, where eyes of
blue, tender as the morning sky, spoke of a
noble and truthful soul within; and ho has
learnt to love the race that once had such
deadly feuds with his Saxon ancestry, be
cause of the "glamour" cast around him by
the golden-haired daughters of the land.
But very different is the real picture of
that Scottish maiden of whom we are about
to speak; nor was she any vision of the fan
cy, but a terrible reality, whom all men knew
and feared throughout broad Scotland, two
hundred years ago. A dark and stern lady
was she truly, and one who brooked no ri
vals—fur they whom she had once embraced
were never clasped to mortal heart again;
and the lovers whom she pillowed on her
bosom slept a sleep that knew no waking.
Few there were, even of the bravest, who
did not shudder somewhat as they saw her
unchanging watch through storm and sun
shine, betteath the shadow of old St. Giles,
the principal church of the northern capital;
and oftentimes, when they saw how the
ground beneath her feet was stained with
blood, they muttered curses on the "luathly
maiden," that had dune to death so many a
gallrnt Scot. Yet to some, this ghastly la
dy (which was none other than the public
guillotine) appeared to have attractions,
such as many a bright-eyed damsel would
:have euvied; fur it is recorded of the noble
Marquis of Argyle, the last who had died in
her embrace, when our story commences,
that he ran eagerly up the steps, and ex
claimed, us he laid his head urou the block,
-"This is the sweetest maiden I ever
kissed." This saying of his was often cited,
and the world wondered what hidden pang
bad so darkened life for the gallant noble,
whose homage was courted by the fairest
ladies, that he shuuld die with words of such
bitter meaning on his lips; but when, some
few years later, the maiden pressed with her
cold hand the throat of him who proved to
be her last victim, the strange and tragic cir
cumstances of Lis death obliterated all
recollections uf the Marquis and his dying
words.
It happened, singularly enough, however,
that these two, the Lord of Argyle and Ken
elm Hamilton, who succeeded him on the
block, had been in life the deadliest enemies;
and, by a peculiar chain of circumstances,
which we shall now proceed to detail, the
death of the one caused that of the other.
It was about a month after the execution
of the Marquis that Hamilton, whose race,
so closely allied to the kings of Scotland,
was eves prouder than Argyle's, found him
self eompellod, by political business, to pass
a night in the little town of Inverary, close
to which stood the magnificent castle of the
same name, which had been the heritage of
his dead rival.
Never, perhaps, did any one approach that
beautiful spot with greater than lien
elm Hamilton; ho was a young man of pe
culiarly fiery and impetuous disposition, of
whom it was often said that his love and his
hatred were alike to be dreaded, so ardent
and passionate was he in either; be was the
. second son of that noble family of Hamil
tons, between whom and the Argyles there
had bean a deadly feud for many generations
past. Never, however, had it burnt more
fiercely than in the time of which we write,
when the families had been represented by
the marquis who had just been compelled to
lay his lofty head at the maiden's feet, and
Kenelm, with his wild and angry temper;
for his elder brother was an idiot, who Lore
the family title, but lacked the wit to defend
their honor when assailed. Deep had been
the hate between Argyle 4.12(.1 Hamilton,
which even the new-shed blood of the form
er had not availed to quench; for, in addi
tion to the old clan feud, there was a guar.
rel between thorn which had fearfully embit
tered their traditionary hatred. The Mar
quis of Argyle had been betrothed almost
from boyhood to his cousin—the Lady Ellen
Graham—and although their engagement
had been a matter of family arrangement,
he loved her well and truly. Not so the la
dy, however. She had not been consulted
when she was bound, while yet a child, to
the Marquis, and with the true feminine
spirit of contradiction, she resolved to choose
for herself, and accepted the addresses of
Kenelm Hamilton, who, by some unlucky
chance, had tallen in love with his rival's
bride. Their wedding was even now fixed
to take place in a few months, and this cir
cumstance, no doubt, explained the last
words of Argyle, which were destined to be
the means of one day bringing his enemy to
the arms of this same cruel maiden, whom
beh imself had embraced with so much fervor.
And now the recollection of that last bloody
scene was doubtless heavy on the heart of
Hamilton as he rode down the mountain
path which led to luverary Castle, and the
little village which lay at its foot. It was a
cold and gloomy night. The darkness was
intense, and the wild north wind went shriek
ing and howling through the pass as if it
bore upon its wings the souls of those who
had expired in sonic great agony, while the
dark Scotch 1'0.4 stood up like spectres among
the bleak gray rucks. Truly, it was an eve
ning on which the stoutest heart might
gladly seek a shelter; and. Hamilton was
thin, though sorely against his will, to rest
for the night in the domain of his enemies.
This had been no part of his intention when
he' set out on his journey. He had been ac
companied by two of his retainers, and he
designed to have passed at a little distance
fin Inverary early in the day, and to hit-:e
lodged for the night in a castle at some dis
tance, and belonging to a kinsman of his
own; but, unhappily, that morning one of
his guides had been thrown from his horse,
and injured so severely that his life was de
spaired of. Some hours were spent in con
veying the wounded man to a resting-place;
and Hamilton, whose mission admitted of
no delay, was obliged to leave him in charge
of leis comrade, and push on his road, al
though the short December night was already
closing in when he started again. •
He rode on as rapidly as ho could, but the
darkness soon became so impenetrable that
he frequently lost his way; and when at last
the lights of Inverary gleamed through the
driving mist and rain, he felt that it had be
come a matter of necessity that he should
rest there for the night, as his jaded horse
was stumbling at every step from sheer fa
tigue.
ET]
In these turbulent times, when every man's
hand was against his fellow, there would
have been considerable risk in a Hamilton
venturing into Inverarv, and especially this
particular Hamilton, bud he been known.—
But Kenelm trusted that the darkness of the
night would prevent his being seen by any
but the landlord of the inn where ho meant
to sleep,to whom he was personally unknown,
and who would not be likely to suspect that
a solitary horseman, unattended by a single
retainer, could hear so proud a name.
In this supposition he was a proved to have
judged rightly. Kenehn rode unmolested
and unobserved through the little town, the
streets of which were, in fact, almost desert
ed, as the tempestuous weather bad driven
all the inhabitants into their houses; and he
saw, to his great satisfaction, that even the
dour of the inn was shut—a sufficient proof
that no guests were expected at the "Argyle
Arms" that night. The landlord, a Camp
bell, of course, and as sturdy a Scot as ono
could wish to see, himself came to the door
to welcome the stranger, and after sending
his tired horse to the stable, he ushered him
into the huge stone kitchen, briefly remark
ing that tie must be content with such cheer
as the family provisions could afford, for
that he little expected any visitors on a night
so "uncanny."
Hamilton assured him he was not dispos
ed to be fastidious; and having thrown off
his dripping mantle, and disencumbered him
self of his heavy riding boots, he sat down
on the oaken settle opposite the huge fire
place, while Campbell went out to see that
the horse was attended to.
Loft to himself, Kendra began to look
around him, and ho was much struck by the
scene which presented itself within the room.
The huge fire-place, which was filled with
wood, sent a bright and ruddy glow over the
whole room, and lighted up with a brilliant
glare the figure of a young woman, who sat
at ono corner of the ample hearth, and who
was the only otheroccupant of the apart
ment besides himself. There was something
very peculiar in the appearance of this girl,
which riveted Ilaznilton's gaze in spite of
himself. She sat perfectly motionless, ex
cepting fur the rapid movement of her fin
gers, which she was employing in knitting;
her plaid thrown back from her head left
her pale face exposed to view, which was
marked by a singularly frigid and yet by no
means vacant expression. This was caused
in part, no doubt, by the fixed stare of her
large, light blue eyes, which never moved
in their sockets, nor brightened with a spar
kle of life; it was evident that she was stone
blind, while there lurked certain lines around
the thin compressed lips which seemed to
indicate that she had all the acuteness,
amounting almost to cunning, which often
characterizes persons thus afflicted.
The countenance was far from beautiful
—scarcely oven pleasing—yet it impressed
Hamilton with a sense of power such as we
often feel and yet cannot define in the pres
ence of persons unknown to us. She gave
no sign of being conscious of his presence,
but he felt she was aware that he was in the
room; and, as Ito continued to watch her, sit
ting there in her strong impassiveness, an
indefinable feeling of shrinking and dread
took possession of him, for which he could
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL ca, 1559.
not account. He had been thinking of his
rival's bloody death, and it struck him that
the implacable "maiden" who had taken
Argyle's young life might have been fitly
represented by this weird damsel, who sat
there so like a blind inexorable fate, weav
ing a web of inevitable doom.
The gallant knights of those times, who
feared neither death nor danger, were great
ly prone to superstition; and Hamilton, hot
blooded and impetuous as ho was, proved no
exception to the rule. He was, therefore,
heartily glad when the innkeeper returned,
and broke the ominous silence which had so
oppressed him.
"Here, Elspeth," said Campbell, addres
sing the figure in the broad Scotch of those
days,—which we will not attempt to repro
duce—"here's a gentleman cold and hungry,
come and sec what you can find for his sup-
per."
Hamilton listened anxiously fur the sound
of her voice, feeling as if it would be a re
lief to hear her speak; but she never opened
her lips. She rose up, however, at once, and
began to move about in a strange, mechani
cal manner, her blindness becoming more
apparent as she guided herself by the touch,
while the staring, glassy eyes seemed to him
absolutely ghastly, as she passed near him.
She placed some out-meal cakes and dried
fish on the table, along with a jug of whis
key, and then returned to her place by the
fire, where she sat immovable as before.
"Is that your daughter?" said Hamilton
to the innkeeper, us he invited him to draw
near and eat.
"My only child, and blind from her birch,"
was the reply, uttered almost with sternness,
as if the subject were painful„"Elspeth's
not like other folks, and you had better take
no heed of her."
Hamilton took the hint, and said uo more,
while ho applied himself to the rude fare set
before him with a keen-set appetite. Nor
did he spare the whiskey, which was won
derfully cheering after his wet ride; and
when he had finished his repast, he felt, as
he paid, like a new man altogether. Filling
his glass again, he invited Campbell to join
him, and the two began to converse together
on the events of the day. Kenelm sat with
his back to the blind girl, and as she never
moved nor spoke, he soon forgot her pres
ence altogether, and had well-nigh forgotten,
also, the necessity of concealing his name
and lineage from those retainers of his foes,
when he was startled into a sudden remem
brance of Lis posttion. Alluding to some
political event, he mentioned that ho had
been at Holyrood the day before.
"Ye come from lidinbro', then," said the
innkeeper, kindling with a sudden fierce
ness; and, clenching his fist, ho struck it on
the table with a violent blow, exclaiming—
" Curses on the bloody city!—the city of
murderers!—and may the fire from heaven
come down upon it and consume it!"
"Amen!" said a deep, stern voice, almost
at Kenelm's ear; and he started involuntar
ily as lie saw that it had come from the blind
woman's lips. Something, too, in the sad
den passion of the Campbell had stirred the
angry blood within himself; and, whilst an
involuntary instinct told him what train of
thought had thus fired the retainer of Ar
gyle, he had snuck ado to hide his own an
tagonistic feeling.
"You speak sharply, Master Campbell,"
he said, at last. "The capital of Scotland
is beholden to you in truth."
"Ay," said the Highlander, his brow
growing red with suppressed rage; "but
why should I curse the senseless stones,
though they were stained with the blood of
the noble Lord Argyle? Rather let me
curse his enemies, who drove him to the
death—his bitter foes, who made his life so
dark to bins that ho was fain to break some
petty law that lie might die. Curses, then,
I say, upon the traitor Hamilton, who stole
his bride!"
"Amen!" the deep voice answered, but
this time Kenelm heard it not; his fiery
passions were aroused beyond control; ho
forgot all but that he had been called a
traitor, and, starting to his feet, be advan
ced on the Campbell, saying:
"Man, know you to whom you are
speaking?"
"I neither know nor care," said the inn
keeper, rising also. "But I say yet more:
not only curses upon him, the traitor, but
upon her, his lady light-olove, who would
have brought a stain upon Argyle's time
honored house had she become his bride!"
This was too much. In another moment
Hamilton's dirk was gleaming in his hand.
"Villain, unsay that word!" he thundered
out: "she is pure as driven snow."
"His lady light-olove!" repeated the
Campbell, with a mocking smile, at the
same time preparing to defend himself; but
the furious Hamilton had closed with him
ere the words had well passed his lips—one
fierce struggle followed, then the High
lander fell heavily to the ground, as his
assailant plunged the dagger into bis breast
up to the very hilt, exclaiming:
"Die, then, with tho foul lie in your
throat!"
Ono decp groan—ono strong, convulsion
of the slalwart limbs—and Campbell was a
corpse
Hamilton stood transfixed, while his
boiling blood gradually subsided, and his
passion cooled in the presence of death.
The whole thing had taken place so sud
denly, that ho could hardly believe the
living, breathing man, he had been talking
to so amicably but a few minutes before,
was lying there murdered by his own hand.
But suddenly, as he gazed, he felt his flesh
creep with a strange horror, as ho saw the
soulless eyes of the blind maiden upturned
t - ,wards him, as she knelt ou the ground by
her dead father, towards whom she had
crept with a step so stealthy that he had not
heard her. Hamilton drew back, shudder
ing, from the fixed stare, so dreadful seemed
the expression of hate on her white, ghastly
face; but, as ho receded, she crept towards
him on her knees and laid her hand, which
she had steeped in her father's blood, on
his, till it born the same red stain, and
said, in a low, stifled voice: "You have mur
dered him, and you shall die for it. None
saw the murder, for ray blind eyes saw it
not; but think not to escape; the vengeance
of Heaven will track you out one day!"
Then, flinging up her arms to heaven, she
exclaimed:
"My father, oh, my father!" and fell
upon the corpse with a shriek so wild and
piercing that Hamilton felt as if it must
have rung upon the ears of every person in
the town, and reached even through the
massive walls of Inverary Castle.
That cry recalled him to himself: he
must escape right speedily, or another mo
ment would see him surrounded by those
whom it must rouse; the instinct of self
preservation at ouco took the place of every
other feeling, and with one bound he
darted to the outer door, opened it, rushed
to the stable, mounted the horse Without
saddle or bridle; and the clattering of his
horse's feet, as ho galloped away, was all
that the inhabitants heard of him as they
rushed to the inn, whence the blind girl's
shrieks where still heard echoing.
Hamilton never slackened his pace till
he had laid ten miles between him and
Inverary. In those days the course of
justice was as stern IL3 it was summary;
and he felt well assured that the present
Marquis Argyle, the younger brother of his
rival, would never rest till he had found out
the murderer of his retainer, especially
when he heard from Elspeth the circum
stances of his death; and, if he succeeded
in his search, the services of the "maiden"
would right speedily be called into action
for Keneim himself.
When at last he ventured, under cover of
a dark fir wood, to stop his furious (-aurae,
he began to consider the best means of
avoiding discovery, with no small nnxiety
as to the issue. His best hope was in the
fact that none had been present during the
murder but the blind girl, who could nut
identify him, and that not single inhab
itant of Inverary had seen him, except her
dead father himself. He was now not very
far from the house of his kinsman, where
he originally intended to have passed the
night. The time he had spent so fatally in
the inn at Ittrerary had not extended be
yond an hour, and the rapid pace at which
he had traversed the last ten miles had
fully brought him to the time when he
would, according to the ordinary style of
traveling, have reached his destination.
Ile therefore resolved to proceed thither at
once, as if he were only arriving from the
village where he bad left his servants, and
to trust that no ono would over suspect him
of having made his unfortunate detour into
the domain of his enemy. This plan suc
ceeded perfectly; he was expected by his,
cousin; and next morning his servant joined
him, hating left his comrade doing well;
so that no doubt was for a moment enter
tained that he had deviated from the road
he had been expected to take, and he had
once more started fur Edinburgh before the
news of the murder had spread beyond
Inverary. Nevertheless, when the fact did
become known, it created a great sensation,
chiefly owing to the peculiar circumstances
of the case. A murder committed by an
unknown assassin in presence of one sole
witness, and that one deprived of the power
of seeing the murderer, was, even in those
days of bloodshed, a striking event, and the
mysterious escape of the criminal seemed
altogether unaccountable.
The Marquis of Argyle, who was at his
castle on the fatal night, left no atone un
turned in his efforts to discover the perpe
trator of the deed; being stimulated to un
usual activity in the search by the strong
suspicion he entertained that the assassin
was in some way connected with the family
of his foes, the Ilarniltons. This he gath-
erod from the conversation between the I
murderer and his victim, which Elspeth
detailed word for word; but it afforded no
clue whatever to the actual individual, and
Kendra himself was never suspected.
After a few words of useless investiga
tion, the search was given up; but the de•
tails of the murder were carefully recorded
by the court of justice, and the Lord of Ar
gyle declared that, if ever in his lifetime
the assassin were discovered, he would
bring him to the scaffold, be the interval
ever so long. Elspeth found a home in the
Marquis' household, after the good fashion
of dune times, Nvhi eh recognized a claim on
the part of the clan to find a refuge with
the family of their chief; and Kenelm had,
to all appearance, escaped With perfect im
punity.
Yet he, gay and reckless as he seemed,
was secretly haunted by one dark forebod
ing, which never left him night or day.—
Campbell was not the first man ho had
slain in the course of-his stormy career:
but he was the first he had murdered—the
first whose life he had taken otherwise than
in honorable warfare; and already the un
failing retribution of actual crime had com
menced in the deep seer t of his heart.—
Wherever he went, alone or in crowds,
from the hour when the low, solemn warn
ing of the blind girl came to him, as he
stood with his feet dabbling in the blood of
her father, he heard that voice ringing in
his ear, and telling him that vengeance
would surely find him yet, and the sleepless
justice of the Invisible track him out when
least be looked fur it. Not even the joy
bells, on his wedding morning, could drown
that ominous in his soul, nor the sweet
tones of the gentle Lady Ellen while she
murmured her bridal vows. Still was it
sounding there, when the feeble cry of his
first-born spoke of new ties to make life
sweet and later, still,the heard- it through
the firing of the salutes that greeted him
as ambassador on a foreign shore. Years
passed on, most of which were spent at one
of the continental courts; and when, at last,
he returned with his wife and family to
Edinburgh, the murder of the innkeeper
had not been thought of by any one fur a
lung time past.
One day, about a month after his arrival
in the Scottish capitol, Hamilton was walk
ing along the most fashionable part of the
old town, whore the houses of the nobility
were chiefly to be found, when his attention
was attracted by a fray which was going on
iu the streets between two young men.—
, Such a sight was by no means uncommon
in those days; but tle fury of the lads was
so great that it Wa..3 evident some serious
mischief would ensue if they were not sep
! armed. Hamilton, whose rank in the city
entitled him to interfere, at once rushed in
between them, calling to them in a loud
voice to desist immediately from fat ther
quarreling, and, wait a firm grasp of his
strong hands on the shoulder of each, he
sent them reeling to the opposite sides of
the street.
The affair had collected a considerable
. crowd, and Hamilton's rank and position
; were well known amongst them, so that
: they all made way for him as he turned to
resume his walk. One moment he stood
there in all his proud prosperity, receiving
the homage of the people as his right, and
scarce bending his lofty head in acknowl
edgement of it—the sunshine of a bright
summer sky, streaming down upon his no
ble and commanding form, seemed but to
typify the brilliancy of his worldly pros
pects. One moment he stood thus, and the
next the vengeance that had so long tracked
his steps unseen laid hold upon him with a
deadly grasp, and the sun of Hamilton's
career sunk down to set in blood. A shriek
so thrilling and intense that it seemed to
pierce his very heart, suddenly rung through
the air, and. all eyes, as well as his own,
were turned to the spot from where it*ap
peared to have arisen, and there a sight
presented itself which caused the stately
Hamilton to grow pale and tremble like a
child. On the highest step of the stone
stair which led to the door of the Marquis
of Argyle's town residence, a tall, haggard
looking woman was standing; her arms
were outstretched towards Hamilton: and
I her eyes whose glassy vacancy showed that
they were sightless, seemed to glare upon
him with a horrible triumph as she shrieked
out in tones that were heard far and near;
'"Seize him! seize that man, whoever he
may be: he is the murderer of my father—l
know him by his voice!" Many of Argyle's
retainers were amongst the crowd, and the
Marquis himself had been drawn to the
window by the noise of the quarrel. All
knew Elspeth Campbell, the blind woman;
and remembered her father's mysterious
murder—all could testify to the acuteness
of her sense of hearing, and to the repeated
expression of her lunging desire that she
might hear the voice of the assassin so long
sought in vain; for she remembered the full
rich tones that had called on her father to
unsay his words one instant ere he fell a
corpse, and she felt certain she should know
them again if she could but once hear the
murderer speak; and now, after the lapse
of all these years, the well-known voice
had struck her oar, and again and again
she screamed out: "Seize him! seize him!
I know ho is my father's murderer!" In
another-moment A rgyle was confronting
Hamilton, too thankful to have such a
charge established against his ancient ene
my. The people crowded round; and if
any had been disposed to doubt the blind
woman's recognition, Hamilton's own awe.
struck conscience sot a seal upon its truth, 1
for he attempted no defence, but keeping
his appalled look still fixed upon the blind
woman's ghastly face, Inc le e his hands fall
at his side, and exclaimed: "It is the hand
of God, and I um lost!"
He spoke truly: he was lost indeed. 'Ar
gyle speedily brought hint to justice.--
The blind woman's evidence was unques
tionable, nor did he attempt to controvert
it, it was ns if the very blood of the mur
dered one had risen up to cry for vengeance;
and all men deemed it a righteous sentence
which doomed him to the scaffold.
Not many days after that htiglit morning
when he stood, as it seemed, on the pin
nacle of fortune with admiring crowds
around him, he found himself "again the
centre of a large assemblage, the object of
interest to all. The deafly "maiden" had
been prepared to receive another
and at her feet the noble Lady Ellen Ham
ilton sat weeping bitterest tears, as she
saw the lover of her youth, the husband of
her riper years, led up to die.
They let him pause one instant to take
leave of her.
"31y Ellen do not weep," he said: "title
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE.
is but the work of hod's unsleeping justice.
I ex er knew that I must die for that rash
deed. The blind woman's voice hus haunted
me through all these years, as it seems
mine has haunted her. She told me ven
geance would overtake me, and it is come
—merciful it is that it meets me on the
scaffold, and not in the fires of hell:" Ile
kissed her pale lips and passed on.
Still nearer to the fatal maiden stood the
blind woman, who had murdered him as
surely as he had killed her father. He laid
his hand on hers: "Elspeth, you are aven
ged!" he said: "I am about to die! Now,
let your hatred pass away, and pray for
ME
"I will," she answered, and tears fell
from her sightless eyes as Ile passed on to
s rec.
Tn another instant the "maiden" had
done her work, and the last of her victims
lay slaughtered in her terrible embrace.
The instrument of death thus stangely
named was never used again. It NV:I. ,
supereeded by the more modern fashion of
executed criminals; and it may now be seen
in the Museum of the Society of the An_
actuaries in Edinburg, with the dark stains
yet corroding on the fatal knife, which
were left there by the blood of him, who,
in very deed anti truth, was brought to
justice by the signal retribution we have
recorded.
The Mysterious Deaths in Castellane.
Flco3l TIII: nteußikt OF A TRENCH IiCTECTIrr
I had some renown as a successful rogue
catcher; and I had some experience, too.—
My field of operation, as a usual thing, lay
within the confines of the Department of the
Lower Alps; and though I served under the
Sub-Prefect of the third Arrondisement, yet
the Prefect of the Department called upon
me when he chose. One morning—it was in
the latter part of May—l received a note
from the Prefect, ordering me to come to
Digne, and see him with all possible des
patch. The missive came through the office
of our Sub-Prefect, so I had nothing to do
but get ready and start. I took an early
dinner; assumed the dress of a peasant;
browned my hands and face, and set forth.
I reached Digno just at nightfall, and as soon
as it was dark I waited upon the Prefect.—
He seemed to be relieved when he saw me,
and at once took me into his private closet.
"Now," said I, "have you got work for
me?" •
"Yes," he replied; "sit down and listen."
We sat down, and having taken a glass of
wine, he proceeded:
"Within a few months past there have
been some of the most irnsterious murders
committed in this Department, and in the
Department of Var, that have over come un
der my notice. They aro done, mostly, on
the road from Castellane to Aups. The first
victim was a Marseilles merchant, who had
come up to Castellane to purchase preserved
fruits. His body was found by the roadside
near the lion of the two Departments; and
at first it was supposed that he had fallen
there and died in a fit, as no marks of vio
lence could be found upon his person. His
pockets had been rifled, however. The neat
one was found near- Annot, and under the
same circumstances. Ho was a merchant
from Nice. Since then five or rix have died
upon the road in the same mysterious way:
and no marks of ill usage have been found
upon any of them; but they have all been
robbed."
"Hare most of them stopped in Castel
lane?" I asked.
The Prefect told me that they had.
"And I suppose they must have put up at
some inn there?"
"Yes," was the reply.
I then supposed that some of the landlords
must be concerned. But my companion in
' formed me that they had been narrowly
watched, and that no shadow of evidence
could be found against any of them.
"But," said I, "is there not some poison
in this matter. Some innkeeper may ad
minister the poison, and then send an accom
plice after the victim."
"No," returned the Prefect, with a shake
of his head. "Experienced physicians bare
examined the stomachs of several of the
dead men, but no trace of poison has been
found. It is a mysterious affair. The Sub-
Prefect has done all he could, but without
effect; and now we mean to give too whole
thing into your hands. You-must go to Cas
tellano at once, and there you can get such
further information as tho Sub-Prefect can
give you."
After conferring awhile longer with the
Prefect, ho let me have a suit of tradesman's
clothing; and thus habited, I went to a hotel
and put up for the night. In the morning
I procured a horse and set out, reaching
Castellano before noon. During the day I
pretended to be doing business. I went to
the woolen factory and examined a lot of
stall; and also visited several places where
preserved fruits were put up. I learned
that most of the people who came there on
business stopped at an inn kept by a man
named Juan Fontaix; so I left my horse there
and engaged lodgings for myself.
After dark I called upon the Sub-Prefect.
Ile told me that he had used all the means
in his power, but had been able to gain no
clue to the gailty party. Most of the mur
dered victims had been from Marseilles, and
the excitement in that city was intense.—
Gendarmes had been sent out upon all the
roads, and secret police had also been upon
the watch. The last victim had fallen only
[WHOLE NUMBER 1,498.
four days before, and the policemen bad
passed the spot.
I asked the Sub-Prefect if he had any sus
picions. Ile answered that all the suspicion
he held, was fastened upon Juan Fontnix.
Nearly all the murdered men had stopped at
his house, and he must hare known some
thing of their business.
I bade the officer keep perfectly quiet, and
not even let any of his men know that I was
hero. Then I returned to the inn, and fin
ally entered into a conversation with my
host upon the subje. t of the mysterious
deaths. lie pronounced it wonderful, and
assured me that it had dune him a great deal.
of injury.
"Parblieu!" he muttered, "they'll be sus
pecting me next, if they have nut dune so
already!"
I was soon satisfied that Juan Fontaix
knew nothing of the guilty party. Ile was
very fearful, and at times blanched and
trembled at the idea of being apprehended
for the crinf. Most people would have seen
in this signs of guilt; but I thought differ
ently.
I spent all the neat day in the town, os
tensibly engaged in business with the facto
rice, but in reality hunting after some clue
to the object of my mis,ion. Night came
again; but I had found nothing new. I was
perfectly satisfied that the murderer had laid
his plan so deeply that no circumstantial
clue could be found. If I would find him, I
must catch him with the proof upon him.
I had given an assumed name at the inn,
and stated that I belonged to Toulon. On
the next morning I called for my bill, and
informed my host that I was off for home.
Then I went to the fruit preservers and told
him the sante, stating that I must confer
with my partner before I concluded my bar
gain. After this I went to the woolen fac-,
tory, and saw the business agent. Ills name
was Louis Cazauben, and ho had come to.
Castellano about a year before. lle seemed
to be a straight-forward, business man, and ,
yet he was the only one I had seen whom' I
really wished to suspect. In conversing up--
on the murders, he had been a little too free•
and off-handed, treating the subject tearer
coolly than a man with a heart would be apt
to do. But still I had thus far been able to••
find nothing against him. On the present
occasion I told bins, as I had told the others,
that I must return to Toulon.
"If you have not the ready money with
you, we can give you credit," he said, urg
ing me to buy.
I told him I had plenty of money, but I
was not fully prepared to pny the prices be
had demanded. He said "Very well;" ar!d
added that he should be happy to sell to me
when I came again. I bade him good day,
and then departed.
As soon as I was alone, I began to suspect
M. Louis Cazauben in earnest. When I told
i him that I had money, but did not parches*
' because he charged me too much, why didn't
he banter me? Simply because he wished
me to leave town with the money in my
pocket. At least so it appeared to me. This
was sufficient ground for me to . work upon,
and I resolved to watch the man a little while;
so I rode to an out-of-the-way place, and left
my horse, and then returned and concealed
myself in a position where I could watch the
movements of Louis Cazauben. In a few
minutes he came out of his factory, and
walked away. His step was hurried and
eager. I felt sure that he was not the man
who did the direct work of death. Tho plot
was deeper than that, or ho would have been
discovered ere this. So I resolved to wait
awhile and see if he returned. I would
have fiapwed him, if I could have done so
with 'Mfy: hut he might have detected me,
and thr.t would not do. However, in less
than fifteen minutes he came. He walked
now with a sober, innocent air. It seamed
to sr.y—"Oh! I haven't been up to any mis
chief!"
I saw Cazauben nt his desk again, and
then I returned to my ligrse. I knew that I
had a risk to run now, but I was ready for
it. If the factory agent was at the bottom
of the crime, and meant to hare rue robbed,
he had already set his machinery in motion,
and the next derelopmetit must be upon the
road. I examined mf►pistuls, and then left
the town, taking the road along the river.
At the end of half an hour I came to the
slopes of the Darjois mountains, and soon
afterwards entered the weed. I now began
to be very careful and keep my eyes about
me. I will not say that I was wholly 'Ho:-
out fear; for the mysterious manner in which
'these murders bad been done verged so close
ly upon the marreilous, that a sort of super
stitious dread attached to them. Had the
victims been shot, or run through with a
sword, or had their throats behn cut, I should
have felt no sort of dread. But this was
new ground. Death had come here, nobody
knew how. It might hare come from an in
visible band, and in dead silence. Yet, when
I reasoned upon the subject, I felt that the
murderer must approach very near the vic
tim crc the bb2w was struck, since it must
be some direct and powerful agent that could
causo death in eo strange a manner.
I had crossed the little cascade of Saint
Esprit, and was descending a short, steep
hillside, when I saw a boy by the roadside,
at the foot of the de -cent, engaged in whip.
ping a mule. He was a slightly built fel
low, not more than fifteen years of age, and
his
his coarse garments were covered with meal,
I knew there was a mill upon a branch, of
the Verdon, not far back, and I supposed he
might he the miller's boy. As I osasepear ,
or, I saw a large sack upon the ground, des.