Anna Green - The Leavenworth Case

As far as she, Molly, knew, Hannah was what she had given herself out to be, an uneducated girl of Irish extraction, who had come from the country to act as lady’s-maid and seamstress to the two Misses Leavenworth. She had been in the family for some time; before Molly herself, in fact; and though by nature remarkably reticent, refusing to tell anything about herself or her past life, she had managed to become a great favorite with all in the house. But she was of a melancholy nature and fond of brooding, often getting up nights to sit and think in the dark: “as if she was a lady!” exclaimed Molly.

This habit being a singular one for a girl in her station, an attempt was made to win from the witness further particulars in regard to it. But Molly, with a toss of her head, confined herself to the one statement. She used to get up nights and sit in the window, and that was all she knew about it.

Drawn away from this topic, during the consideration of which, a little of the sharpness of Molly’s disposition had asserted itself, she went on to state, in connection with the events of the past night, that Hannah had been ill for two days or more with a swelled face; that it grew so bad after they had gone upstairs, the night before, that she got out of bed, and dressing herself—Molly was closely questioned here, but insisted upon the fact that Hannah had fully dressed herself, even to arranging her collar and ribbon—lighted a candle, and made known her intention of going down to Miss Eleanore for aid.

“Why Miss Eleanore?” a juryman here asked.

“Oh, she is the one who always gives out medicines and such like to the servants.”

Urged to proceed, she went on to state that she had already told all she knew about it. Hannah did not come back, nor was she to be found in the house at breakfast time.

“You say she took a candle with her,” said the coroner. “Was it in a candlestick?”

“No, sir; loose like.”

“Why did she take a candle? Does not Mr. Leavenworth burn gas in his halls?”

“Yes, sir; but we put the gas out as we go up, and Hannah is afraid of the dark.”

“If she took a candle, it must be lying somewhere about the house. Now, has anybody seen a stray candle?”

“Not as I knows on, sir.”

“Is this it?” exclaimed a voice over my shoulder.

It was Mr. Gryce, and he was holding up into view a half-burned paraffine candle.

“Yes, sir; lor’, where did you find it?”

“In the grass of the carriage yard, half-way from the kitchen door to the street,” he quietly returned.

Sensation. A clue, then, at last! Something had been found which seemed to connect this mysterious murder with the outside world. Instantly the backdoor assumed the chief position of interest. The candle found lying in the yard seemed to prove, not only that Hannah had left the house shortly after descending from her room, but had left it by the backdoor, which we now remembered was only a few steps from the iron gate opening into the side street. But Thomas, being recalled, repeated his assertion that not only the back-door, but all the lower windows of the house, had been found by him securely locked and bolted at six o’clock that morning. Inevitable conclusion—some one had locked and bolted them after the girl. Who? Alas, that had now become the very serious and momentous question.

IN the midst of the universal gloom thus awakened there came a sharp ring at the bell. Instantly all eyes turned toward the parlor door, just as it slowly opened, and the officer who had been sent off so mysteriously by the coroner an hour before entered, in company with a young man, whose sleek appearance, intelligent eye, and general air of trustworthiness, seemed to proclaim him to be, what in fact he was, the confidential clerk of a responsible mercantile house.

Advancing without apparent embarrassment, though each and every eye in the room was fixed upon him with lively curiosity, he made a slight bow to the coroner.

“You have sent for a man from Bohn & Co.,” he said.

Strong and immediate excitement. Bohn & Co. was the well-known pistol and ammunition store of – Broadway.

“Yes, sir,” returned the coroner. “We have here a bullet, which we must ask you to examine, You are fully acquainted with all matters connected with your business?”

The young man, merely elevating an expressive eyebrow, took the bullet carelessly in his hand.

“Can you tell us from what make of pistol that was delivered?”

The young man rolled it slowly round between his thumb and forefinger, and then laid it down. “It is a No. 32 ball, usually sold with the small pistol made by Smith & Wesson.”

“A small pistol!” exclaimed the butler, jumping up from his seat. “Master used to keep a little pistol in his stand drawer. I have often seen it. We all knew about it.”

Great and irrepressible excitement, especially among the servants. “That’s so!” I heard a heavy voice exclaim. “I saw it once myself—master was cleaning it.” It was the cook who spoke.

“In his stand drawer?” the coroner inquired.

“Yes, sir; at the head of his bed.”

An officer was sent to examine the stand drawer. In a few moments he returned, bringing a small pistol which he laid down on the coroner’s table, saying, “Here it is.”

Immediately, every one sprang to his feet, but the coroner, handing it over to the clerk from Bonn’s, inquired if that was the make before mentioned. Without hesitation he replied, “Yes, Smith & Wesson; you can see for yourself,” and he proceeded to examine it.

“Where did you find this pistol?” asked the coroner of the officer.

“In the top drawer of a shaving table standing near the head of Mr. Leavenworth’s bed. It was lying in a velvet case together with a box of cartridges, one of which I bring as a sample,” and he laid it down beside the bullet.

“Was the drawer locked?”

“Yes, sir; but the key was not taken out.”

Interest had now reached its climax. A universal cry swept through the room, “Is it loaded?”

The coroner, frowning on the assembly, with a look of great dignity, remarked:

“I was about to ask that question myself, but first I must request order.”

An immediate calm followed. Every one was too much interested to interpose any obstacle in the way of gratifying his curiosity.

“Now, sir!” exclaimed the coroner.

The clerk from Bonn’s, taking out the cylinder, held it up. “There are seven chambers here, and they are all loaded.”

A murmur of disappointment followed this assertion.

“But,” he quietly added after a momentary examination of the face of the cylinder, “they have not all been loaded long. A bullet has been recently shot from one of these chambers.”

“How do you know?” cried one of the jury.

“How do I know? Sir,” said he, turning to the coroner, “will you be kind enough to examine the condition of this pistol?” and he handed it over to that gentleman. “Look first at the barrel; it is clean and bright, and shows no evidence of a bullet having passed out of it very lately; that is because it has been cleaned. But now, observe the face of the cylinder: what do you see there?”

“I see a faint line of smut near one of the chambers.”

“Just so; show it to the gentlemen.”

It was immediately handed down.

“That faint line of smut, on the edge of one of the chambers, is the telltale, sirs. A bullet passing out always leaves smut behind. The man who fired this, remembering the fact, cleaned the barrel, but forgot the cylinder.” And stepping aside he folded his arms.