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  “You offer me a doubtful compliment, Mr. Barnes. Proceed with your case. It is interesting, to say the least.”

  “It grows more so as we proceed, for we have once more an evidence of the futility of planning a crime which shall leave no clue behind.”

  “Ah, then you have found a clue?” Mr. Mitchel removed his cigar to speak, and did not resume his smoking, but seemed more attentive.

  “Listen,” said the detective. “The policeman immediately notified his superiors, and by ten o’clock Burrows was at the house, having been detailed to make an examination. Having done so, and recognizing that he was face to face with a crime of unusual importance, he hastened to solicit my assistance, that I might be early upon the scene. I am satisfied that I reached the house before any material alteration had been made in any of those small and minute details which are overlooked by the careless eye, but which speak volumes to one with experience.”

  “I suppose, then, that you can describe what existed, from your personal investigation. That is more interesting than a report at second hand.”

  “I went over the ground thoroughly, as I think you will admit when I have told you all. Here was one of those wonderful cases where the criminal exercised extreme caution to obliterate all traces of the crime. His actions could only be surmised through analytical and deductive methods. There are some facts which cannot be hidden, and from these a keen mind may trace backwards. For example, the head and extremities had been removed, and a minute scrutiny of the remaining parts might disclose many things.”

  “Ah, here we note the triumph of mind over matter.” There was just a slight sneer, which nettled the detective.

  Mr. Barnes proceeded with some asperity. Indeed, he spoke more like himself; that is, with less hesitancy, as though heretofore he had found the story hard to tell, but that now his scruples had vanished.

  “An examination of the stumps of the arms proved conclusively that a sharp knife had been used, for not only had the tendons and vessels been cleanly severed, but in two places the cartilage capping the ends of the bone had been shaved off smoothly.”

  “Come, Mr. Barnes,” said Mr. Mitchel, “do not dwell so upon unimportant details.”

  “The weapon is always counted as a very important detail,” said Mr. Barnes, sharply.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” said Mr. Mitchel. “But you are above the ordinary detective, and you surely perceive that it is a matter of no consequence whether the knife used was sharp or dull. In either case it could be hidden or destroyed, so that it could not be found to serve in evidence.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Mr. Barnes, testily. “I will come to the deductions concerning the neck. Here there were several points of interest. Again it was evident that a sharp knife was used, and in this instance the condition of the edge of the knife becomes important.”

  “Indeed! How so?”

  “The most minute scrutiny of the body disclosed no wound which could have been the cause of death. Unless poison had been administered, there are but three ways by which death could have been effected.”

  “And those are?”

  “Suffocation, either by choking or otherwise; drowning, by holding the head under water in the bathtub; or by some mortal wound inflicted about the head, either by a blow, the use of a knife, or a pistol shot. I doubted the pistol, because so careful a man as the assassin evidently was, would have avoided the noise. A stab with a knife was possible, but unlikely because of the scream which would surely result. A blow was improbable, unless the man brought the weapon with him, as the house was empty, and nothing would accidentally be found at hand. To drown the woman, it would have been necessary to half fill the tub with water before thrusting the victim in it, and such an action would have aroused her suspicion. Besides, the clothes would have been wet, and this would have interfered with burning them. Thus by exclusion I arrived at the belief that the woman had been choked to death, a method offering the least risk, being noiseless and bloodless.”

  “What has the sharpness of the knife to do with this?”

  “It was, in my mind, important to decide whether the head had been removed before or after death. A dull knife would not have aided me as a sharp one did. With a sharp knife a severing of the carotid artery before death would have resulted in a spurting of blood, which would have stained the walls or floor, so that it would have been difficult, or impossible, to wash away the telltale marks. But after death, or even while the victim was unconscious, a cool hand, with a sharp blade, could cut down upon the artery in such a way that the blood would flow regularly, and, the body being in the bathtub, and water flowing from the faucets, no stains would be left.”

  “Then you think that the woman was choked to death?”

  “I have not a doubt of it. There was a terrible struggle, too, though in an empty house we could find no such signs as would inevitably have been made in a furnished apartment. But the woman fought for her life and died hard. This I know because, despite the precaution of the assassin in removing the head, there are two or three distinct marks on the neck, made by the ends of his fingers and nails.”

  “Well, having discovered so much, you are as far as ever from the identity of the criminal, or of the woman.”

  “Every point unravelled is so much gain,” said Mr. Barnes, evasively. “My next deduction was more important. Let us picture the scene of the crime. For causes as yet unknown, this man wished to kill this woman. He lures her into this empty house, and, choosing a favorable moment, seizes her by the throat and strangles her to death. To prevent the identification of the corpse, he decides to remove the head, hands, and feet, parts which are characteristic. He takes off the clothes and burns them. We found the ashes in the kitchen stove. He takes the body to the bathroom, and, placing it in the porcelain tub, turns on the water, and then proceeds with his diabolical scheme. Even though we suppose that he first filled the tub with water, the better to avoid stains, when we remember that he took away the severed parts it is inconceivable that not a stain of blood, not a smudge of pinkish tint, would be left anywhere. Granting that he might have endeavored to wash away any such drippings, still it would be marvellous that not one stain should be left.”

  “Yet you found none?” Mr. Mitchel smiled, and resumed his smoking.

  “Yet I found none,” said Mr. Barnes. “But this was a most significant fact to me. It led me to a suspicion which I proceeded to verify. The plumbing in this house is of the most approved pattern. Under the porcelain bathtub there is a patent trap for the exclusion of sewer-gas. This is so fashioned that some water always remains. Supposing that bloody water had passed through it, I should find this trap partly filled with water tinted in color. I removed the screw, which enabled me to catch the water from the trap in a bowl. It was perfectly clear. Not a trace of color.”

  “From which you deduced?” asked Mr. Mitchel.

  “From which I deduced,” said the detective, “that the woman had not been killed, or dismembered, in the house where her body was found. By examining the other houses and emptying the traps, I found one which yielded water plainly colored with blood, and I also found a few smudges about the bathtub; places where blood had splashed and been washed off. The assassin thought that he had made all clean, but as so often happens with porcelain, when dried there still remained a slight stain, which even showed the direction in which it had been wiped.”

  “Very good! Very good indeed!” Mr. Mitchel yawned slightly. “Let me see. You have discovered—what? That the knife was sharp. And that the woman was killed in one house and carried to another. How does that help you?”

  At this point Mr. Barnes gave Mr. Mitchel a distinct surprise. Instead of answering the question, he asked suddenly:

  “Mr. Mitchel, will you permit me to examine that watch-chain which you are wearing?”

  Mr. Mitchel sat straight up in his chair, and looked sharply at the detec
tive, as though trying to read his innermost thoughts. The detective stared back at him, and both were silent a moment. Then without speaking, Mr. Mitchel removed the chain, and handed it to Mr. Barnes, who took it with him to the window, and there examined it closely through a lens. Mr. Mitchel threw the remains of his cigar into the fire, and, placing both hands behind his head as he lay back in his chair, awaited developments. Presently Mr. Barnes returned to his place by the mantel, and in resuming his narrative it was noticeable from his tone of voice that he was more than ever troubled.

  “You asked me,” said he, “how my discoveries helped me. I say from the bottom of my soul that they have helped me only too well. That I proceed in this matter is due to the fact that I must follow the dictates of my conscience rather than my heart.”

  “Brutus yielded up his son,” suggested Mr. Mitchel.14

  “Yes. Well, to resume my story. The point of importance was this. Imagine the assassin with both hands at the woman’s throat—two things were inevitable. The woman would surely struggle, with arms and legs, and the murderer would be unable to resist, his own hands being occupied. What more natural than that the arms of the dying woman should be wrapped about the body of her assailant? That the hands should grasp and rend the clothing? Might perhaps come into contact with a watch-chain and tear it off, or break it?”

  “And you are intending to examine all the watch-chains in the neighborhood upon such a chance as that?” Mr. Mitchel laughed, but Mr. Barnes took no notice of the intended taunt.

  “I have examined the only chain I wished to look at. Deducing the struggle, and the possible tearing off of some part of the assassin’s attire, I was glad to know which house was the scene of the crime. Having satisfied myself in this direction, I proceeded to search for the missing link in the chain of evidence, though I must confess that I did not expect it to be truly a link, a part of a real chain. The idea that a watch-chain might have been broken in the struggle did not occur to me until I held the evidence in my hand.”

  “Oh; then you did find your missing link?”

  “Yes. I personally swept every room, and the staircase, and at last I found the link. But it would be more correct to say your missing link, than mine, Mr. Mitchel, for it was from this chain that it was broken.”

  “Indeed!”

  Mr. Barnes was amazed at the imperturbable manner in which this statement was received. Becoming slightly agitated himself, he continued:

  “As soon as I picked up that link, I was shocked at my discovery, for, from its peculiar shape, I recognized it as similar to your chain, which I had often observed. Still, I hoped that there might be some mistake; that it might have fallen from some other man. But you permitted me to examine this chain, and the last doubt is swept away. I note that every alternate link is solid, the intermediate ones having a slit, by which the links are joined into a chain. The wrench given by the dying woman strained one of these links so that it opened, allowing the chain to part, and later this particular link dropped off. Either you did not observe it at once, or else, being small, you could not find it. If this occurred as I have described, what would be the result? Your chain, where parted, would terminate at each end with a solid link. Thus, to unite the chain again, my lens shows me that you have sawed through one link, and so rejoined your chain. And not only do I see the freshly sawed link, but, as must necessarily be the case, we have two links adjacent, each of which can be opened.”

  “And your next move will be?” asked Mr. Mitchel, still apparently undisturbed.

  “I have no recourse open to me except to arrest you. That is why I have found this whole interview so painful.”

  “I understand your position, and sympathize with you thoroughly,” said Mr. Mitchel. “And yet, see how easily you might dismiss this whole theory of yours. These houses are in my neighborhood, immediately back of me, in fact. I am a householder. What more natural than my taking an interest in property so near me? Why may I not have visited the houses to examine them? Then what more possible than the chance that in passing from one room to another, my chain should have caught on a door-knob, and have been broken, the link dropping as you have suggested? My repairing the damage would be but a natural sequence, and the subsequent murder and your train of reasoning is resolved into a mere coincidence.”

  “That is ingenious, Mr. Mitchel. But some instinct tells me that I am right, and that you did commit this crime.”

  “Intuition, which I suppose is what you mean by instinct, is not always reliable, but, oddly enough, in this instance you are correct. I did kill that creature. Moreover, the sequence of events was as you have deduced. I commend you for your skill, for, believe me, I used every precaution to prevent detection.”

  “Then you confess? My God! This is horrible!”

  At the prospect of arresting Mr. Mitchel, a man who had won his most ardent admiration, Mr. Barnes was so overcome that he sank into a chair and stared blankly at his companion.

  “Come! come!” said Mr. Mitchel. “Don’t break down like that. The affair is bad enough, I admit, but it might be worse.”

  “Might be worse!” ejaculated Mr. Barnes, amazed at the words as well as the half-jocular tone.

  “Why yes. Much worse. Why, Mr. Barnes, have you not had evidence of my ability to thwart detectives before to-day? Do you suppose that I shall permit myself to be detected, arrested, imprisoned in this affair? Nothing is further from my mind, I assure you. True, you have, with your uncommon skill, discovered a part of the truth. But that need not trouble me, for no other detective will be so shrewd.”

  “Do you mean to suggest that I should shield you in this matter?”

  “Well, yes. That is about what I expect from your friendship.”

  “Impossible! Impossible! I wish that I could do what you ask! But no! It is impossible!”

  “There. I have tried your patience long enough. Let me tell you the whole story, and then you may decide as you please. A few years ago, in Paris, a friend presented me with a poodle. French poodles, as you know, are considered the most intelligent of all dogs, and this one seemed to be the wisest of his species. My friend had already trained him to perform many tricks, and these were done at command, without special signals, so that I could but believe what my friend claimed, that the dog actually understood what was said to him. Thinking this matter over one day, it presented itself to me in a singular light.

  “In the training of animals, man has always aimed to make the dumb brute understand, and carry out, the master’s wishes. No one, so far as I then knew, had ever trained a dog to express his own wishes, in any way intelligible to the master. This I undertook to do, and was fairly successful. I printed words on cards, such as ‘food,’ ‘drink,’ ‘yard,’ etc., and, by means which I need not recapitulate, I taught my dog to bring me the special card which would represent his wishes. Thus, when he was thirsty, he could ask for ‘water’ or when he wished to leave the house, he brought the card marked ‘yard.’ Imagine my astonishment when one day a little sky-terrier, belonging to another lodger in the house, came to me with the ‘food’ card in his mouth. At first I supposed it to be merely an accident, but I soon discovered that the terrier understood the cards as well as did the poodle. How, unless the poodle had taught him? Do dogs, then, have a language by which they may communicate with each other?

  “This was a new thought, which attracted me more and more as I revolved it in my mind. Then it occurred to me that if animals have a language, monkeys would offer the best field for study, and I began investigating. The discovery that the apes do have a language has been made by Mr. Garner,15 and by him the fact has been published to the world. But I made the discovery several years ago, though I kept it to myself, for reasons which you shall hear.

  “I practised upon the monkeys in the Zoological Gardens in Paris and London, until I was a veritable crank on the subject of monkey language. Nothing would satisfy me bu
t a trip to Africa. Thither I went, and made great progress, so that by the time I captured a fine chimpanzee on the Congo, I was able to readily make him understand that I meant him no harm. At first he received my overtures with hesitation, his previous experience with my race rendering him skeptical as to my good qualities. But after a time, we became good friends; I might even say chums. After that I gave him his liberty, and we took strolls together. He was a very sociable fellow when one really got to know him well, but we found the resources of the monkey language inadequate to our needs. The experiment with my dog recurred to me, and I undertook to teach him a human tongue. I chose German as the best adapted to his limitations, and he made such progress that in a few months we could converse with tolerable ease.

  “I decided to tell him something of the world of civilization, and one day it occurred to me to expound to him the Darwinian theory.16 He listened with an expression of learned thought upon his face which would have well suited the countenance of a philosopher, but when I had finished, he astounded me by announcing that he thought he could show me that higher race of apes, which, being more humanly developed than any species now known, might well be designated ‘the missing link’ which connects the Simian race with man. I begged him to do so, and he undertook the task, though he said that it involved a long journey. I urged him to go, and he left me.

  “A month had passed, and I had begun to think that my new-found friend had deserted me, when one day he walked into camp, accompanied by the most human-like ape I had ever seen. It was neither chimpanzee nor gorilla, but a combination of both in those characteristics which were most manlike. The most conspicuous advance beyond the anthropoid apes now known, was the hairless skin. The hands and feet, too, were more human in shape, though on the latter the hallux still retained its prehensile character, which perhaps is necessary to a tree dweller. The face was peculiarly human, though the jaws retained certain distinguishing attributes of the ape, as, for example, the space between the anterior and posterior teeth, and the fang-like canine teeth.