The Trial of John Nobody & Other

Stories A. H. Z. Carr
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/the-trial-of-john-nobody-other-stories-a-h-z-carr/
T he T rial of John Nobody
a n d O ther S to ries from th ep a g es o f E llery Q ueen 's M ystery M agazine

A. H. Z. Carr
 a b o u t th e authoh : Sherlock Holmes was the divinity o f A . H . Z. Carr's
boyhood. Last year, while driving through Switzerland, Mr. Carr actually
detoured to make a pilgrimage to the Reichenbach Falls — to the utter
astonishment o f Mrs. Carr who, obviously, is not an initiate in these mat­
ters. The ledge from which Professor Moriarty fe ll, Mr. Carr is happy to
report, is unmistakable; Mr. Carr lookedfo r a monument, or even a bronze
plaque, to commemorate that epic event in homicidal history, but there was
none, and Mr. Carr cannot help butfeel that the Baker Street Irregulars are
singularly remiss in their duties.
Today, Mr. Carr tells us, kis tastes in detectivefiction are muck broader
in scope — bounded on the left by Sam Spade and on the right by Father
Brown. (Is it significant that Mr. Carr combined those particular sleuths
and directions, that he did not say, fo r example, bounded on the left by
Father Brown and on the right by Sam Spade?) Today, continues Mr.
Carr, private-eye personality takes precedence over the piquancy o f problem
— which is as it should be, and which brings us to a few facts
abo u t th e s t o r y : “ The Man Who Played Hunches" was written as the
solution to a problem. The story had its origin in a curious chance encoun­
ter, much as described in the opening incident; impelled to invent an ex­
planation, Mr. Carr created the circumstances o f the rest o f the story. But
note that, while the proximate cause o f the story was an actual problem,
Mr. Carr did not make the problem itself the dominating detectival point.
Using the problem purely as a skeleton, Mr. Carr added theflesh o f charac­
terization and the blood o f verisimilitude. Personally, w efound Mr. Carr's
tale one o f thefinest stories o f its kind we have ever read: it has mood and
Machiavellian make-believe, it has a slow but spellbindingsense o f sus­
pense; it has an extraordinary^ quality o f quiet but ever quickenmg menace.
It is not a story you drop in the'middle . . .

T H E MAN WHO P L A Y E D H UN C H E S
by A . H. Z. CARR

N o one has ever called me super-

stitious or even tender-minded.
In the past when people have told me
at second hand about mysterious
phenomena and occult forces (“ I
didn’ t see the spirit myself, exactly,
but I know the fellow who did” ), I
Copyright, 1935, by Harpers
have generally been a little bored.
But since my experience with the man
called Leg-’n’-half I have sometimes
— well, wondered,
These are the facts. I was driving
through suburban Westchester one
warm Sunday afternoon with a girl.

135
136 ELLERY QUEEN’S
She was — is — a very pretty girl.
Possibly I was less concerned with the
car and the road than with her profile;
we were not married then. At any
rate, while we were going through
Ryeneck, one o f Westchester’s
wealthy towns — you know the type;
wide streets, stone and stucco man­
sions for the upper middle-class,
Tudor-style apartment houses for the
middle middle-class, dingy wooden
cottages for the lower middle-class,
neat, red-brick, glass-fronted stores
downtown — while we were in the
commercial district I passed a traffic
light — a red light.
I advance in excuse that the light
was badly situated and partly obscured
by some construction work, although
the crosswise stream of traffic should
have warned me. However, seeing no
signal, I inferred that here was one of
those every-man-for-himself lightless
intersections that used to make motor­
ing exciting. The prospect of wait­
ing indefinitely while New York-on-
wheels returned home did not attract
me; and at a propitious moment I
charged across the road.
Blasts from horns, remarks reflect­
ing on my parentage and intelligence,
and requests for data on my eyesight
and my destination rose all about us.
The girl said, “ Oh. I see the light now.
You passed it.” Simultaneously a
large policeman advanced from no­
where and yelled, “ Pull over to the
curb, you!” I did.
This policeman was elderly, and
life, no doubt, had thwarted him; he
was bitter and vengeful. I have al­
MYSTERY MAGAZINE
ways believed that when dealing with
Nemesis in a blue coat a candid admis­
sion of one’s iniquities goes farther
than a claim to know the chief of po­
lice, unless one happens actually to
know him. But what I intended to be
a disarming apology evoked in this in­
stance only the little pad of sum­
monses and a sarcastic, “ Smart guy,
hey?”
Stimulated by a deep-rooted aver­
sion to the payment of fines, 1 pointed
out that although I had been at fault,
the violation had been (a) unimpor­
tant, (b) unintentional, and (c) due
in part to the inconspicuous position
of the traffic light. To this the police­
man replied while examining my
licenses, “ Trying to lie your way out
of it, hey?” and his tone was more
than usually offensive.
Had I been alone it would never
have occurred to me to resent what a
policeman said, lest worse befall. I
suppose the girl’s presence made my
ego unduly sensitive. At any rate, I
replied something to the effect that I
did not like his manner.
He said, “ Oh, is ’at so? Tough guy,
hey?”
Having committed myself thus far,
I became reckless. I said, no, I was not
tough. I said that I merely wanted
him to be civil.
He said, “ Shut up.”
Up to this point I had been aston­
ished and delighted at my own te­
merity; the summons seemed cheap at
the price. But now, like so many in­
experienced orators, I was carried
away by my own eloquence. I pointed
 THE MAN WHO
out that he was a public servant (a
statement that does not ring cheer­
fully in the ears of an American po­
liceman) paid by the community’s
taxes to exercise a little intelligence,
although, I implied, the community
should have known better. I pro­
claimed my determination to make an
issue of this case. I told him that he
would regret his insolence, his arro­
gance, his discourtesy, and so forth.
These were, of course, empty mouth-
ings.
The speech was very soothing to
me, but not to him. His complexion
was red to begin with; it became
apoplectic now; and breathing hard,
he made some notes in his notebook
which, he said, would do me no good
in court.
While this was going on I was dimly
aware that several men were watching
us from a sleek black touring car
parked at the curb some fifty feet
away. I doubt whether they over­
heard the dialogue, but the panto­
mime was sufficiently clear. They
grinned broadly; and one of them
winked sympathetically at the amused
girl next to me.
The policeman finally handed me
the summons, and with an attempt at
dignity, I drove away. When we came
abreast of the other car, a man who
had been standing at its side detached
himself and called, “ Hey!”
I stopped. He was a heavy-set,
powerful man, round-faced, small-
featured, swarthy, with a greasy skin
— a South-Italian, I should guess. His
costume consisted of a pair of shape-
PLAYED HUNCHES *37
less gray trousers, a dirty yellow
“ wind-breaker,” and an old cap.
When he moved out into the street
limping, I instinctively glanced at his
feet. One leg was perhaps three inches
shorter than the other; and he wore on
its foot a shoe with a grotesquely high
heel to make up the difference.
He said, casually, “ Get a ticket?”
I said, “ Yes.”
He said, “ Aw, ’at’s only ol’ Scanlon.
Let's have it, ’n’ I’ll fix it fuh yuh.”
M y first idea was that I had stum­
bled onto a new racket, in which a
policeman gave out tickets which his
associate down the street then “ fixed”
for a consideration. But there was an
air about this man, a kind of placid
confidence, that did not fit into this
view. He was not sly or furtive. He
stared at me steadily and waited for
my answer.
I said, “ What do you mean, you’ll
fix it? Why should you?”
He said, “ Whut duh hell’s ’uh dif­
ference s’long’s it’s fixed ?”
I said, “ How do I know you can fix
it?”
He looked surprised. “ Sure I’ll fix
it. Jeez, I fix a dozen of ’em ev’y
week.”
“ How?” I asked.
“ How yuh think?” he retorted with
a trace of irritation. “ I know all ’uh
right guys. Cripes, fella, I’m tryin’
’uh do yuh a favuh.”
“ Yes,” I said doubtfully, “ but sup­
pose you didn’t fix it. That’d leave
me in a fine spot, wouldn’t it?”
“ But I’m gonna fix it,” he repeated
impatiently. “ Hell, ev’ybody here
*38 ELLERY QUEEN’S
knows me. Henry Milano, ’ey call
me Leg-’n’-half. I run all ’uh rackets
roun’ here. Ask anybody.” He did not
say this boastfully, but with a quiet
authority, as a statement of fact.
I believed him. But I could not
understand why he should go to any
trouble on my behalf. While I was
hesitating, he said, “ You f ’m Brook­
lyn, aintcha ?”
I said, “ No, I’m from Manhattan.”
“ Oh,” he said, “ I thought yuh was
f m Brooklyn, f ’m yuh license plates.”
I shook my head.
He continued, “ I thought maybe
you was one of Augie” — I think he
said Geronimo — “ Augie Geronimo’s
boys. Yuh know Augie?”
I had never heard of Augie. But
while Leg-’n’-half — to give him the
name by which I always think of him
—- was talking I became aware of sev­
eral things. Scanlon, the policeman,
had watched the scene for a moment
and then moved away with a discom­
fited air too authentic to be simulated.
The young men in the car were ges­
turing at the girl alongside as if to say,
“ G o ahead. Do it.”
I no longer seriously doubted Leg-
’n’-half’s good intentions; but his
motive remained incomprehensible.
Then a theory occurred to me. I was
wearing a new hat, an excessively
jaunty affair into the purchase of
which an unscrupulous salesman had
intimidated me. It gave me, I felt, a
rather sinister appearance. Could this
feet, together with a sunburned skin,
an unfortunate assemblage of features,
an unpleasant attitude toward the po­
MYSTERY MAGAZINE
lice, and a presumptive Brooklyn
license number have suggested that
one of Augie’s boys was taking his
moll out for a drive? Was Leg-’n’-
half extending the courtesies of the
town to a fellow-racketeer? I could
think of no less implausible explana­
tion.
Obviously, I saw, a connection
with this Augie should not be too
quickly disowned if I wanted to avoid
the trouble which had visited me. Ac­
cordingly, I said with what I hoped
was the proper inflection, “ Well, I
don’t know Augie personally, but one
of my pals knows him very well.”
I heard the girl in the car choke, but
Leg-’n’-half seemed relieved. He said,
as if everything was settled, “ Deh
y ’are. Let’s have it.”
I handed him the ticket. Perhaps
there was a trace of doubt still in my
manner, because he said, “ I’ll give yuh
my ’phone numbeh. Four-three-six.
If yuh worried, just gimme a call so I
won’t f ’get.” With that, he crumpled
the ticket, stuffed it into his pocket,
and began to limp away.
A few flakes of gratitude were crys­
tallizing out of my bewilderment. I
said weakly, “ Thanks very much.”
He looked round and said, “ O kay.” I
got the impression that he was waiting
for something, and an uncensored im­
pulse made me ask, “ Do I owe you
anything?” He answered curtly,
“ Nah. What the hell.” And this time
with finality he turned his back.
We drove off while the men in the
other car laughed. For a while the girl
and I were amused and excited; but
 THE MAN WHO
after a few hours the incident dropped
out of our consciousness. I forgot to
telephone Leg-’n’-half; a week elapsed,
and I had not heard from the Ryeneck
police, and the episode began to slip
into the mists of the faintly unreal.
About ten days later I went to the
public library to consult recent copies
of the metropolitan newspapers for
the purposes of an article on which I
was engaged. Glancing down a page,
my eye caught a brief item which
read: “ Ryeneck, July 8th. Late last
night Henry Milano, reputed West­
chester racketeer, was shot outside the
Helicon Restaurant by two unknown
men who effected their escape by au­
tomobile. Milano was wounded in die
abdomen and chest and was taken to
the Ryeneck hospital. His assailants,
with whom he exchanged several
shots, escaped unrecognized, but the
police believe that they are members
of a Brooklyn gang who have lately
been attempting to ‘muscle in’ on
Milano’s ‘ territory.’ Milano’s condi­
tion is grave.”
M y encounter with Leg-’n’-half
had taken place on the sixth. He had
been shot the next night. I was
vaguely sorry; and I dismissed a faint
uneasiness about my summons with
the reflection that time would tell.
But a new worry arose to plague
me. Suppose this Brooklyn gang was
that with which I claimed connection.
M y name and address were on the
summons. Might not Leg-’n’-halfs
friends regard me with suspicion?
I remained unmolested, however,
by gangsters or police, and my fears
PLAYED HUNCHES *39
gradually wore thin, until a day about
six months later, when while riding in
the subway I became aware of another
strap-hanger who was watching me in­
tently. I turned and saw Leg-’n’-half.
As soon as our eyes met he forced
his way through the crowd and took
the strap next to mine.
“ Yeah,” he said without any pre­
liminaries. “ I thought it was you.”
His manner struck me as being
alarmingly enigmatic. “ How are
you?” I stammered.
“ O kay,” he said.
An embarrassing pause ensued. “ I
read in the newspapers that you got
shot,” I said, frantically wishing I
could think of something else to talk
about.
“ Yeah,” he said. “ Right after you
came along.”
M y imagination began to conjure
up discouraging possibilities, i f in
Leg-’n’-half’s mind I was in some way
associated with the attack on him, the
immediate future was not inviting. I
wanted to protest my innocence, but
I felt that anything I said might be
interpreted as a consciousness of guilt.
With desperate caution I began, “ The
papers said some fellows from Brook­
lyn did it.”
He answered significantly, “ Yeah.
’E y got theirs las’ month.”
1 w'as not troubled about the fate of
the fellows from Brooklyn but I re­
call being a bit confused about the
proper etiquette for the occasion.
Did one offer congratulations? I mum­
bled something vague and hurried on.
I said, “ I’ve never thanked you
I40 ELLERY QUEEN’S
enough for fixing that ticket o f mine.”
He shrugged. “ ’A t’s okay.”
I decided to clear the matter up
once and for all. “ You know,” I said
jocularly, “ you asked me whether I
was from Brooklyn — whether I
knew some fellow — Augie some­
thing?”
His eyes flickered, and I plunged
into awkward explanation. “ I was
kidding when I said I knew' a friend of
his. I really never heard of him, but I
thought maybe you wouldn’ t fix the
ticket if I said I didn’t know him.”
He smiled slightly, for the first
time. “ Sure, I knew yuh was lyin’,”
he said. “ I jus’ ast yuh tuh make sure
yuh wasn’t one o’ Augie’s guys. If
you’d ’a’ bin, you’d ’a’ said yuh
neveh hoid of him. Deh was a couple
of ’em around just ’uh day b’fo’, and
I wasn’t takin’ no chances. I wasn't
fixin’ no tickets fuh none o’ his guys.”
This revelation of subtlety startled
me, and all my former curiosity re­
turned. “ Look here,” I said, “ if you
didn’t fix the ticket for me on ac­
count of — well, why did you fix it
anyway?”
His face became somber and he was
silent for a moment. Then he said,
“ Well, I’ll tell yuh. I play hunches,
see? I was in kind of a spot wit’ Augie,
see, ’n’ I was lookin’ fuh a hunch.
When I see you and yuh dame ah-
guin’ wit’ Scanlon, right away I get a
hunch. I say to the boys, ‘Dat guy’s
gonna gimme luck. I’ll fix it fuh him,
’n’ I’ll tell Augie tuh’ ” — he re­
peated what he had told the boys he
would tell Augie to do. Then he
MYSTERY MAGAZINE
added, rather bitterly, “ Well, I fixed
’uh ticket okay, but a hell of a lot o’
luck you was. A jinx.”
“ I hope not,” I said, trying to
smile.
“ Not any mo’,” he answered
promptly, with an air of having con­
sidered the question. “ ’S soon as I see
yuh just now I had a hunch it was
okay. ’A t’s why I come over tuh talk
tuh yuh. I got a deal on t’night, ’n’ I
need some luck. Well, I’m countin’
on yuh to give it tuh me dis time.”
There was a challenge in his voice.
“ I’ll do my best,” I said, idiotically.
“ Okay,” he said, as if satisfied.
There was a long and difficult pause.
Then he added, “ Well, here’s wheh I
get off,” turned abruptly as the train
pulled into a station, and limped onto
the platform.
Without quite knowing why, I was
perturbed, hut my wife, to whom I
related the incident, laughed, possi­
bly at the thought of my bringing
good luck to anybody. In an effort to
create a little concern on my account,
I pointed out that he was an avowed
murderer, whose annoyance might
easily carry a fatal connotation. But
the detective stories and gangster
movies to which my wife is addicted
have made murderers too familiar to
be very terrible.
“ T he least you can do,” she said, “ is
give the poor man what he wants.
T ry concentrating.”
The next morning at breakfast I
turned a page of my newspaper to find
a small headline staring at me: “ Gang1
ster Killed, Slayer Wounded In Gam-
 THE MAN WHO
bling House.” The story read: “ Last
night, a little after nine o’clock, Henry
Milano, whom the police describe as a
racketeer living in Ryeneck, New
York, shot and killed Pasquale Vin-
centi, of 1258 West End Avenue, who
was discharged from Sing Sing only
last month. The shooting occurred at
Jack Maguire’s Club at 10th Avenue
and 57th Street, raided by the police
as a gambling dive on several occa­
sions. Milano was seriously wounded
in the right shoulder, but whether by
Vincenti or another is not known. A t
C ity Hospital he refused to give any
information to the police.”
The report went on at some length.
It was quite clear to me that Leg-
’n’-halfs superstition, derived from
heaven knew what obscure Mediter­
ranean origins, would hold me respon­
sible for his casualty. And, actually, an
absurd feeling of responsibility for
what had happened to him did bother
me. I could not get him out of my
thoughts. A childish but nonetheless
oppressive notion that I had been
singled out to play a mysterious role
in the life of this man defied every
reference to common sense and seemed
to adumbrate some impending calam­
ity. Although my wife continued to
dismiss my fears with regrettable
lightness, I could not help hoping that
Leg-’n’-half would go to jail for a
long sentence. I watched the news­
papers closely. In a month or so I
read that he had proven to the dis­
trict attorney’s satisfaction that the
killing had been in self-defense, and
had pleaded guilty to a technical
PLAYED HUNCHES i4r
charge of manslaughter. Sentence had
been deferred. After that I saw no
reference to the case.
Under the pressure of my own af­
fairs the matter slowly slipped out of
my mind. Then, one evening about
eight months after the previous en­
counter, my wife and I stopped for
dinner in a Westchester roadhouse.
M y first intimation of Leg-’n’-half’s
presence was a shuffle of feet behind
me and a gasp from my wife. I turned
and saw him standing back of me.
He was thinner and paler than the
last time I had seen him. I looked for
a clue to his feelings in his face, but it
was as impassive as ever. W'hen he
spoke, however, his voice had an omi­
nous undertone.
“ Listen,” he said to me, “ I wanna
talk tuh yuh. Come on oveh to duh
bah.”
Before I could reply, my wife said,
smiling pleasantly, “ Why not talk
here? I’m not in the way, am I?”
He looked at her for perhaps ten
seconds, then said, “ Naw, I guess
not," and dropped into a chair at our
table. “ Listen,” he resumed, “ you
jinxed me.”
M y wife said to me reproachfully,
“ I do think you might introduce me.”
I mumbled an introduction, which
Leg-’n’-half acknowledged with a
nod. “ I remember your kindness very
well, Mr. Milano,” said my wife.
He cleared his throat, and turned to
me again. “ Listen,” he said, “ I jus’
got sprung on parole yestiddy. Duh
las’ six mont’s I bin thinkin’ about
you.”
I42 ELLERY QUEEN’S
“ I was mighty sorry,” I said, “ to
hear about that business — you know,
the time we met on the subway?”
He paid no attention to my words.
“ Funny,” he said thoughtfully, “ my
hunches a’ways clicked up t ’ I met
you. Twice yuh jinxed me. I thought
for a while you was doin’ it on poipus,
but when I look atcha I dunno. I keep
gettin’ ’uh same hunch I had b’fo’.”
He broke off, and there was a little
silence. Then he looked at me from
under his heavy lids and said, “ Yuh
know, if I thought you was jinxin’
me” . . . and stopped again, with a
glance at my wife. She was no longer
smiling, and I did not like the situa­
tion in the least.
I said, “ You know I’m not jinxing
you. How could I?”
He merely looked at me, and I
hastened to drop the rational argu­
ment.
“ Well, then,” I said, “ why should
I? You were decent to me up in Rye-
neck. I wouldn’t want to see you in
trouble, would I? It’s just a coinci­
dence.”
He passed his fingers slowly across
his lips. “ Yeah,” he said. “ Only how
do I know?”
M y wife started to speak, and he
interrupted. “ Listen,” he said. “ Yuh
needn’t be scared. If I was gonna do
anything, I’d ’a’ done it. It’s like I say,
when I look atcha, I dunno. I keep
gettin’ ’at hunch. When I saw yuh
t ’night, I says t’ myself, ‘Deh’s duh
jinx. I can’t rub him out here, so I
better beat it b’fo’ he sees me.’ Den
I’m not so sure. I keep thinkin’ maybe
MYSTERY MAGAZINE
duh jinx is oveh. I keep feelin’ you’re
luck if I can make it come.”
I shook my head and then hastily
reversed the motion to a nod.
He said, “ Listen, guy. I don’t have
nothin’ against yuh. But I don’t stand
for no more jinxes. Twice is enough.
Three times is out. T ’night I’m goin’
back to Ryeneck to split wit’ duh
guys that’s been lookin’ after things
while I bin away. Maybe dey’ll split
easy, and it’ll be okay. Maybe it
won’t. It’s up to you. G et it?”
I nodded again, vaguely.
“ If you put the jinx on me again,”
he said simply, “ it’ll be duh last time.
Yuh gotta be lucky. Get it? Lucky!”
With that he rose, in his usual
abrupt fashion, and left us.
For the first time I saw my wife
frankly alarmed. She wanted me to
go to the police. I objected, however,
that to do so would be a direct invita­
tion to disaster; whereas if events were
left to chance, Leg-’n’-half’s luck
might turn. Certainly the law of prob­
abilities owed him — and me — some­
thing. Besides, what could I tell the
police that would not sound like the
timidities of a neurotic; and what
could they do?
But Leg-’n’-half had said, “ Three
times is out.” I did not like the sound
of that. The next morning my wife
and I scanned every column o f our
newspaper. We found nothing. I was
plunged into a state of unresolved
suspense. Had I been confirmed as
Leg-’n’-half’s jinx? Or had the boys
“split easy” ? The incredible fact grew
upon me that some night, any night.
 THE MAN WHO
as I walked along the street, I might
quite casually, quite abruptly, be shot
to death.
This was not a pleasant thought to
live with. And although for a while
nothing happened, there can be a kind
o f terror in nothing happening. A t
first, my wife and I buoyed up our
spirits with wishful thinking. We
told each other that Leg-’n’-halfs
affairs had probably prospered, failing
reports of a shooting in Ryeneck; and
that even if something had gone
wrong, the man could not be fool
enough to hold me responsible.
The truth is that the obvious in­
sistence of circumstance on turning
what should have been a joke into a
tragedy had an air of predestination.
M y wife denies that she expected my
murder hourly; but I know that I be­
gan to entertain a sort o f resigned
conviction that I was doomed.
It was after three days of morbid
tension that Leg-’n’-half reappeared.
He came while my wife and I were at
the dinner table. We had been trying
to talk of inconsequentialities, when
she rebelled, saying, “ This Suicide
Club atmosphere is getting on my
nerves. Let’s go away for a while.
L e t’s go to the country.”
I had been secretly toying with the
same notion, but naturally, I did not
want to admit it. I said that I would
not be forced out of my home by a
gangster’s threat; a man owed some­
thing to his self-respect; what were we
coming to; and so on.
M y wife is not easily deceived by
heroics, especially mine. She said,
PLAYED HUNCHES
m
“ Nonsense. We can’ t go on like this,
looking up and down the street every
time we go out of doors, jumping at
every noise. And we’re so helpless.”
A t this point the doorbell rang. I
answered; we had previously agreed
that Leg-’n’-half would not dare to
cal! at our apartment, under the eyes
of doormen and elevator boys. I had
imagined several versions of an en­
counter with him, in all of which I
came off with credit and alive; but as
I opened the door and saw him stand­
ing there with another man I could
not speak or move or slam the door; I
was paralyzed.
He said, “ Hello, guy.”
I muttered something that I did not
understand myself.
He said, “ I come to tell you it was
okay.”
“ Okay?” I gasped, and he nodded.
I remember that my knees literally
trembled with relief as I caught the
implications of his words. “ That’s
great,” I managed to say. The thought
crossed my mind that it was extremely
decent of him to have taken the
trouble to call.
“ Yeah,” he said. “ Duh boys come
through okay.”
M y wife, with a look of panic, had
joined me at the door, and I said hur­
riedly, “ Mr. Milano just stopped by
to say that everything went off all
right the other night.”
“ O h,” she cried, beaming at him.
“ I’m so glad. How nice of you, Mr.
Milano, to let us know.”
He cleared his throat, and said,
“ ’A t’s okay.” And then, with sudden
144 ELLERY QUEEN’S
bravado, “ M y hunches a’ways bin
good. ’A t’s how I got wheh I am.”
“ I’m sure of it,” my wife smiled.
He turned to the man with him, a
big, tough bruiser, and said, “ Beat it a
minute, Pete. I wanna talk tuh dis
guy alone;” and the man strolled
down the corridor.
“ Listen,” Leg-’n-’half said to me,
lowering his voice. “ I knew my
hunch couldn’t be wrong if you was
pullin’ fuh me.”
“ No,” I said, cheerfully making
conversation. “ O f course not.”
He paused for a moment before re­
plying, as if considering my remark,
and I began to feel vaguely uneasy.
Then he said, “ Listen. I’m f ’gettin’
about ’ose uddeh times. M y hunch is,
you’re duh guy I been waitin’ fuh.”
“ Waiting for?” I repeated stupidly.
He said, “ I bin lookin’ fuh a good-
luck guy. I used tuh have a lucky kid
but he died on me. Now I know yuh
okay I’m all set tuh make a couple o’
deals I bin thinkin’ about fuh a long
time, see?”
I merely stared at him, and he went
on. “ I’m makin’ a deal wit’ a couple
o’ big shots downtown next Satiddy
night, an’ I ain’t takin’ no chances.
I’ll need plenny luck. So I’ll be
cornin’ in tuh see yuh on my way
down. About eight o’clock, you be
here.”
This was not a question; it was an
order, given by a leader to his hench­
man. I said, “ But look here . . .”
He broke in impatiently. “ I ain’t
got time now. If yuh know whut’s
good fuh yuh, guy, yuh won’t try no
MYSTERY MAGAZINE
funny stuff. You’ll pull fuh me. You
be here.” With this he turned and
started to limp away.
M y wife closed the door, and we
looked at each other. The bitter un­
fairness o f it all was what I resented
most, I think. I felt rather like )ob.
W hy should I, among millions, have
been chosen by Leg-’n’-half to bear
the responsibility of his dangerous
fortunes? And I wondered again, was
there in truth some unfathomable hu­
man relation between us that he could
sense, and I could not?
M y wife, however, is a realist. She
wasted no time in idle reproaches to
destiny, or in philosophical excur­
sions. While I was dismally contem­
plating the agonies o f uncertainty
that would fill my brief future before
its inevitable, violent end, she went
to the telephone, where I heard her
calling a real-estate dealer.
The result was that after a few days
o f unbelievable effort, on the morning
of the very Saturday when Leg-’n’-
half was to call, we moved into a
small house in the country, about a
hundred miles from New York. The
place is not entirely satisfactory; but
one cannot expect too much when
one rents on such short notice.
I do not know what has happened
to Leg-’n’-half. We left no forward­
ing address, and I think I am safe
from him. In my more optimistic
moments I hope that he is dead. But
every now and then I get the quite
ridiculous feeling that if he is dead, I
may somehow — I don’t know how
— be to blame.
 WINNER OF A SECOND PRIZE: A. H. Z. CARR
Where do detective-story writers get their basic p lot ideas? From the cloth
o f real life or from threads pulled out o f the spinning wheel o f imagina­
tion ? These are the popular, the proverbial questions . . . A n d how long
does the germ o f the idea, whether derivedfrom fa c t orfancy, lie dormant
in the writer's brain? A n d what other ideas, relevant and irrelevant, at­
tach themselves, barnacle-like, to the original conception — ■ to grow,
develop, and mature? Surely the writer's subconscious is the true melting-
pot — o f reading, overhearing, experiencing, wondering, talking, probing,
experimenting — a ll the “ ings” o f life, rather than the “ isms” . . .
The answers to some o f these riddles, as they apply to the birth o f
A . H . Z. Carr’s “ The T rial o f John N obody," are, “ although puzzling
questions, not beyond all conjecture.” B utfirst, read one o f the threefinest
stories submitted in last year's contest . . .

THE TRIAL OF JOHN NOBODY

by A . H . Z . C A R R

h e train was late, and the con­
T ductor harassed. W hen, on a
hasty passage through the coaches,
he was stopped b y a clergym an who
had already questioned him twice,
he suppressed his annoyance only out
o f deference to the collar. Yes, he
adm itted coldly, they had lost more
time. T h e y would not reach W icheka
much before three o ’clock. T h e acute
concern manifested b y the clergyman
at this news caused the conductor to
look at him atten tively. Suddenly he
found something familiar in the tall
figure, the baldish, gray-fringed head,
and the bony, lined, worried face. His
eyes widened, and he said:
“ Say, yo u ’re D r. M illard, aren’ t
you?”
T h e clergym an glanced quickly
around him with a touch o f appre­
hension, and winced as he saw eyes
turn toward him from seats within
hearing distance. “ Y es,” he mur­
mured. Instantly a chain o f whispers
was audible in the car: “ D r. M illard.”
“ W here?” “ O v e r there, talking with
th e c o n d u c to r .” “ D r . M illa r d .”
“ O v er there.”
“ W ell, well,” said the conductor,
mingling respect w ith satisfaction,
“ I’d like to shake you r hand, R e v ­
erend.”
“ W h y — certainly,” the clergy­
man replied, extending a thin reluc­
tant hand to the other’s eager grasp.
T h e conductor was no longer in a
hurry. “ R ig h t from the first I felt
about this thing the w ay yo u do. I
told m y wife, ‘ Y o u m ark m y words,
 THE TRIAL OF
this is a real miracle.’ T h e w ay I look
at it, this John N o bo d y is kind o f a
Joan o f A rc. Those voices. W e’ve
been going to church a lo t more
regular since this happened, R e v ­
erend. A n d w e’ve go t yo u to thank
for it.”
D r. M illard said slowly, “ I — I’m
glad.”
“ Say,” the conductor exclaimed,
as i f struck b y understanding. “ T he
trial! T h a t’s w h y yo u ’re so — I get
it. I’m sure sorry w e’re late, R e v ­
erend. B u t y o u ’ll make it all right.
Y o u don’t have a thing to worry
about. T h ere’s no ju ry in this coun­
try would find John N obody gu ilty.
W hen he killed Durgeon, he was
performing the service o f G o d !”
W ith an air o f challenge the con­
ductor looked around the car, and
relaxed when he saw nothing but
approval in the faces o f the listening
passengers. “ W ell, good luck, R e v ­
erend,” he said, and pursued his way
up the aisle.
A t once a throng gathered around
D r. M illard; a little girl who wanted
an autograph, a sailor who wanted to
shake his hand, an old woman, con­
tent only to touch his hand, a man
who wanted to ask questions, and
others, many others; until in des­
peration he arose and, w ith apologies,
made his w ay through the admiring
crowd to the platform o f the car.
There for the rest o f the journey he
stood breathing deeply o f the cold
air, and looking o u t a t the gray,
w in try landscape.
W hen the train reached W icheka,
J OHN NOB ODY 119
D r. M illard hastily secured his suit­
case and joined the crow d jostling
for taxi-cabs outside the station. A
taxi-driver recognized him, and in­
d iffe r e n t to c o m p e titiv e claim s,
proudly ushered D r. M illard in to his
car and drove away.
“ T hank you ,” said D r. M illard.
“ I did not like to take advantage,
bu t this is something o f an emer­
gen cy. W ill you drive to the M unici­
pal Courthouse, please?”
“ Yes, sir,” the driver answered,
pu ttin g on speed. “ I b et y o u ’re
anxious to get there.”
“ Yes, I am .”
“ T h e y ’ve had a lot o f stu ff on the
air about it all day. E v e ry hour. I ’ve
been listening. Looks like it w ill be a
short trial.”
Absorbed in his own thoughts,
D r. M illard did not reply. A fter a
moment the driver switched on his
radio and picked up a news broad­
cast. Presently the sound o f his own
name cu t through D r. M illard’s re­
flections and captured his attention.
“ — D r. M illard’s absence con­
tinues to puzzle everyone present.
In all other respects, however, the
trial has followed expectations. In
his b rief opening address, D istrict
A tto rn ey Parnall did n ot at any
tim e refer to the conviction held by
m any people that John N o b o d y was
divin ely inspired when h e killed
Elm o Durgeon. M r. Parnall stuck
entirely to the legal facts. H e re­
minded the ju ry o f seven m en and
five women that John N o b o d y is the
confessed killer o f D urgeon. Psy­
120 ELLER Y Q U EEN ’S
chiatrists w ho have examined him
agree that N obody is p erfectly sane.
A lth ou gh he claims to have lost his
m em ory prior to the slaying, he
shows none o f the usual signs o f
amnesia. I want to read you a passage
from M r. Parnall’s address — and
now 1 am quoting M r. Parnall: ‘T he
defense does not contend that the
man who calls him self John N obody
is o f unsound m ind. And so far as
anyone has been able to establish, he
never heard o f Durgeon, or had any
contact w ith him. H ow , then, does
the defense dare to enter a plea o f
justifiable homicide? W hat justifica­
tion can there be for killing a man
yo u have not even heard of? In the
eyes o f the law D urgeon’s death is
m urder — wanton murder.
“ ‘John N o bo d y says that voices
told him to kill D urgeon. N o w the
law is tolerant, but i f we once started
to let people get aw ay w ith crimes
just because they say th ey heard
voices, there would soon be anarchy
in this country. John N obody m ay
sincerely think he heard voices, or he
m ay not, but those voices cannot be
evidence in his defense.’ E n d o f
quote.
“ T h a t is the essence o f D istrict A t­
torney Parnall’s case. H e did n ot try
to suggest a m otive for the killing,
l i e is staking his case on legal logic.
W hether th at' will satisfy the ju ry
remains to be seen. A t the end o f his
address he demanded that John N o­
body p ay for the slaying o f E lm o
D urgeon w ith his life — the full
p enalty o f the law. T h e few witnesses
M YSTERY MAGAZINE
whom he called m erely confirmed the
details o f the killing which everyone
now knows. T hen M r. Parnall rested
the prosecution’s case.”
“ P r e tty smart, h ey ?” said the taxi-
driver, grinning over his shoulder.
“ T h e D . A . hasn’ t go t a chance and
he knows it. H e isn’ t even trying
hard, for fear h e ’ll g e t everyb ody
sore at him .”
“ — counsel for the defense,” the
radio continued. “ M ost o f us who
were in the press section o f the court­
room felt that the ju r y were far
more responsive to M r. L e v a tt than
th ey had been to M r. Parnall. W hen
I left the courtroom to make this
broadcast, M r. L e v a tt had n ot y e t
finished his opening address. H e be­
gan by referring to his anxiety over
the absence o f D r. M illard, his ch ief
witness. H e even hinted that the
prosecution m ay have contrived to
keep D r. M illard aw ay from the trial.
This brought an indignant objection
from M r. Parnall. A fter the court­
room quieted down, M r. L e v a tt be­
gan his impassioned speech to the
jury.
“ H e asked if the prosecution dared
deny that Joan o f A rc had heard
voices. H e quoted the Bible, and
cited the records o f prophets, saints,
and holy men throughout the ages
who heard voices from above. T hen
he went on to tell the story o f John
N obody as the world has now learned
it — a man whom no one ever re­
members having seen before — a
man who seems to remember nothing
o f his past, n ot even his real name
 THE TRIAL OF
or his place o f origin — a man whose
clothing at the time o f arrest bore no
marks o f identification and who says
he does not know how or when the
rifle which shot D urgeon came into
his hands.
“ M r. L e v a tt was extrem ely effec­
tive on the subject o f the rifle. H e
said — and I quote — ‘T he prosecu­
tion has placed this rifle in evidence.
Look at it closely, I beg you, ladies
and gentlemen o f the jury, for there
is something strange and awesome
in that instrum ent o f death. W hat
mysterious hand held it before it
came to John N obody? W hat fiery
fingers erased from its metal and
wood every numeral and mark that
might have identified the rifle? Y o u
may say, if you are a materialistic
cynic — as I know you are not —
that John N obody did it. B u t is it
likely that John N obody walked out
o f nowhere, w ithout any other pos­
session than a rifle from which he had
deliberately eliminated every mark,
just so as to prepare it to kill a man
he had never met, and never heard
of? O h, ladies and gentlemen, this is
a very strange theory that the prose­
cution has advanced. For m y own
p a r t— ’ and I am still quoting M r.
L evatt — ‘I do not claim to know
how that rifle came into the posses­
sion of John N obody, or how the
marks were removed from it. B ut
this much I say — if John N obody,
in his previous incarnation, whoever
he was, whatever his name was — if
John N obody did rem ove the marks
from that rifle, then the forces which
JOHN NOBODY 121
prompted him to do it were the same
mysterious forces which directed him
to the balcony o f the C iv ic A u d i­
torium on N ovem ber 14 th — which
helped him to aim the rifle unerringly
at its despicable target — and which
helped him to pull the trigger.’ End
o f quote.
“ This speech o f M r. L e v a ft’s un­
doubtedly made a great impression
on the jury. Rem em ber that M r.
L e v a tt had questioned all the ju ry ­
men before the trial to make sure
that th ey were people o f strong re­
ligious beliefs. T he defense attorney
also made a sensation when he claimed
that only heavenly inspiration could
account for John N o bo d y’s action,
since he had no other possible m otive
and is not insane. N ow m y tim e is up,
and I shall return to the courtroom.
A t four o ’clock, I w ill be back w ith
further reports on this trial o f John
N obody, which has already become
one o f the most w idely discussed
cases in America’s legal history. N ow
I return you to — ”
T h e driver switched o ff the radio,
and was about to speak, when in his
rear-view mirror he caught a glimpse
o f D r. M illard’s eyes. Sensing the
dark and inward nature o f the min­
ister’s thoughts, he swallowed his
words and drove in silence until they
reached the courthouse. As he took
his fere, he could not resist saying,
“ Thanks, doctor. I want to tell you,
y ou ’v e done a great thing for this
town. Business has been booming
ever since this — ”
W ith a little gesture o f protest D r.
122 ELLERY QUE EN ’ S MYSTERY
M illard picked up his worn suitcase
and hastened up the steps o f the
M unicipal Courthouse. His entry
in to the courtroom made an enor­
mous stir. Reporters left their seats
and rushed for telephones in the cor­
ridor. A photographer took a flash­
light picture o f him, and was repri­
manded by the court. Uniformed
guards deferentially relieved him o f
his suitcase, and escorted him to the
front o f the court.
M r. L e vatt, the short, stout ch ief
counsel for the defense, was about to
question a witness then on the stand;
bu t on seeing D r. M illard he uttered
an exclamation o f satisfaction and
rushed to him.
“ As tim ely as an angel!” he ex­
claimed, and added in a low voice,
“ W here have you been? Y o u ’ve had
us practically crazy.”
“ I must talk to you ,” said D r.
M illard.
“ N o tim e now,” M r. L e v a tt an­
swered, dropping his voice still fur­
ther. “ W e’ve got to get you r testi­
m ony in this afternoon. Just look at
that jury. W e can fix their minds to­
d a y so that nothing Parnall or the
Judge can say w ill ever change them.
Y o u ’re all we need.” W ithout wait­
in g for a reply, he turned confidently
to the judge, a burly, impassive man,
and declared, “ Y o u r Honor, D r.
M illard’s providential arrival makes
it possible for me to save the court’s
tim e. W ith your permission I shall
dismiss the present witness and ask
D r. M illard to take the stand.”
T h e w orry and indecision w ritten
MAGAZI NE
on D r. M illard’s face did not escape
the judge’s eyes, but after a moment
he nodded to M r. L e v att, w h o took
the minister’s arm and with an air
o f veneration escorted him to the
now vacant witness chair. T h e clerk
o f the court rattled o ff the oath, and
M r. L e vatt, his voice gentle and
respectful, disposed o f the routine
questions.
“ N ow , D r. M illard, you were
present in the C ivic Auditorium on
the afternoon o f N ovem ber 14, were
you not?”
“ Y es.”
“ W ill you describe to the jury,
please, in you r own words, what
took place in the auditorium that
memorable afternoon?”
A profound stillness descended on
the courtroom, and D r. M illard
lifted his eyes and looked around him
for the first time. H e saw M r. L e v a tt’s
clever, eager face, the judge’s atten­
tive gaze, the district attorn ey’s
watchful interest, the rapt concentra­
tion o f the ju ry; he saw the wide-
eyed excitem ent o f the spectators,
including some members o f his own
congregation, from whom emanated
almost palpable waves o f encourage­
ment and sym pathy. Finally, his
head turned to the small, silent man
sitting in the prisoner’s box. Their
eyes m et in a long glance w hich struck
the observant as having in it some­
thing mysterious and secret, as i f a
message had passed between them.
T he man known as John N obody
looked aw ay first, and his hand made
a. curious fum bling gesture below his
 THE TRIAL OF
thin, pale, bu t not unattractive face.
W ith an effort D r. M illard brought
his attention back to the waiting a t­
torney. “ T he events o f that after­
noon.” A flood o f vivid recollection
swept into his mind.
E xcep t for the cultivated, ironic
voice o f the lone, lanky figure on the
stage the auditorium was still with
the concentrated silence o f homage.
Observing the fascinated eyes around
him. D r. M illard thought o f a flock
o f birds, mesmerized by a serpent.
And indeed — he carried the reflec­
tion further — the words o f Elm o
Durgeon were the words o f the
Serpent.
“ People have accused me o f en­
couraging sin. T h a t is nonsense. T h ey
might as well accuse me o f encourag­
ing volcanoes. L ike the volcano, sin
is nature’s w ay o f letting off steam.
It becomes dangerous only when it is
bottled up too long. L e t me tell you,
sin is one o f our most misunderstood
institutions. I t is not sin, but excess,
whether o f sin or anything else, that
produces trouble for us. Real evil is
more likely to flow out o f attem pts to
be excessively virtuous, than from
normal, moderate sinfulness. I f I had
to select a single piece o f practical
advice to give to young people to­
day, it would be, ‘G o forth, m y son,
and sin intelligently, in moderation.’
L e t me tell yo u a story — ”
W hen D urgeon had first walked
out on the stage and leaned over the
little table w ith its inevitable carafe
o f water, the applause had been w eak;
J OHN NOBODY 123
most o f the uplifted feces stern w ith
disapproval. N early every woman in
the afternoon audience — and it was
composed mainly o f women, w ith a
scattering o f reluctant husbands —
had felt obliged to censure his no­
torious atheism, however delightedly
th ey had read his prize-winning, best­
selling novels, and however zestfully
th ey had rushed to hear his famous,
or infamous, lecture, D efense o f Sin.
F o rty minutes o f contact w ith his
incandescent personality had rubbed
away the masks o f propriety. R u e­
fully, D r. M illard considered that he
never saw such captivated expressions
at his sermons.
“ — what it would be like to live
in a sinless world? C an you imagine
anything duller than a life o f un­
broken virtue? Sin is the essential
pigm ent o f life, providing the color
o f existence. W hat would w e talk
about w ithout the sins o f our friends
and neighbors? W hat would we find
to remember in our old age i f it were
n ot for the delightful sins o f our
youth? F or each o f us the secret
story o f his own heart is the best
story o f all, and what would it be
w ithout its scarlet passages?”
A murmur o f half-shocked amuse­
m ent swept the audience, and D r.
M illard shook his head. T h e theme,
he told himself, was as old as Eden,
but there was a vibrant force about
the man himself that gave a certain
plausibility to anything he said. It
was not D urgeon’s words that made
him dangerous, so m uch as th e per­
sonal magic that reached o u t from
*24 ELLERY QU EEN ’S
him to his audience, concealing the
hollowness o f his sophistries. E v e ry
churchman o f experience knew that
th e on ly w ay sin could be kept “ in
moderation” was to fight it relent­
lessly. G ive n encouragement, such as
Durgeon was giving, sin could sw iftly
expand, like an exploding gas, into
disaster for the individual spirit and
for society as a whole. Across Dr.
M illard’s mind flitted an ancient
te x t: “ A n ungodly man diggeth up
evil, and in his lips is a burning fire.”
Burning fire. Yes; Durgeon's words
had a cool sound, but a searing qual­
ity , like dripping acid.
“ M y friends, what we call our sins
are no more than the normal, emo­
tional responses o f healthy human
beings to a difficult life. Consider
lust, for example. L e t’s talk about
lust for a moment. L e t’s talk about it
sensibly, like the intelligent people
we are — and o f course y o u ’re in­
telligent, otherwise you would not be
here. L e t’s not raise our hands in
pious horror, but regard lust for
w hat it is — proof that nature wants
us to reproduce and continue the
species more than it wants anything
else from us. W h y else are w e con­
structed the way we are? M y friends,
the man who would have you cease
to lust, at least while you are young,
would destroy the essential hum anity
o f you, would take away your emo­
tional life and leave you sterile.”
D r. M illard regretted, now, his
decision to attend the lecture. He
had yielded to ladies o f his congrega­
tion, who had pressed him to hear
M YSTERY M AGAZINE
Durgeon in order to prepare a reply
from the pulpit. It occurred to him
now that by persuading him to go,
th ey had provided themselves with
an excuse. H e could understand
their curiosity. T he publicity for the
lecture had been relentless and ef­
fective. D urgeon’s publishers and the
bookstores o f the city had advertised
the author’s books and his impending
visit for weeks past. H e was a fash­
ionable subject at every woman’s
club and sewing circle. T he news­
papers had carried flamboyant ac­
counts o f his storm y lecture tour
across the country, and only that
morning a first-page story had been
headed, Famed A uthor W ill D efy
Heavenly Wrath.
“ Isn’ t it a joke, friends, that people
should still crowd into church on
Sundays, to hear sin denounced by
some dear, good man who knows
nothing about it? T h e only people
qualified to give advice about sin are
the sinners — like myself. W hen your
clergyman talks to you about sin, if
he really is a holy man, he can only
give you second-hand opinions, if,
however, he has led a sinful life, i f he
knows about sin from personal ex­
perience, then he has no right to be
up there in the pulpit, scolding you.
W hy, I once knew a minister — a
sweet old soul — whose children were
juvenile delinquents practically from
the cradle, but he never — ”
D r. M illard had an impulse to get
up and leave, but he considered that
to do so would make him unpleasantly
conspicuous, and doubtless add grist
 THE TRIAL OF
to D urgeon’s sardonic mill. H e won­
dered how effective his reply to
Durgeon next Sunday would be for
the patently enthralled women in the
audience? So far as charm and mag­
netism went, there could be no con­
test. H e smiled w ryly as he confessed
to his heart that between a primrose
path described b y Durgeon, and a
strait-and-narrow path described by
M illard, the primroses would prob­
ably win, petals down.
“ According to the dear, good men
who talk to you on Sundays, I have
been uttering blasphemies. O n the
basis o f what I have said to you this
afternoon, G o d — i f there is a G od
— ought to have n a hesitation at all
about destroying me. It would be a
great thing for religion i f H e were to
send down a well-aimed thunderbolt
about now, and put an end to me.
D on ’t you think so? In feet, if He
fails to hurl a bolt or two, I think it
w ill be decided negligence on His
part, don’t you ? L e t’s see i f we can’ t
persuade H im .”
A quiver o f anticipation made the
audience seem for an instant to be
physically responding to the satirical
voice, as if this was the moment they
had been waiting for. Dream ily, D r.
M illard thought, how wonderful it
would be if a miracle did now occur
— a flaming hand — a voice o f thun­
der. He thrust the fantasy aside, as
unworthy o f his calling. T h e aware
mind needed no spectacular proofs
o f G o d ’s existence. His attention
returned to the stage. Cheap and
hackneyed though D urgeon’s per­
J OHN NOBODY 125
formance was in its conception —
and, after all, publicity-seeking athe­
ists had been using the same trick for
generations — y et the author man­
aged to invest it w ith a certain
dramatic suspense. W ith devastating
m ockery he was addressing the roof
o f the auditorium.
“ A ll right, G od, I in vite Y o u to
destroy me. I urge Y o u to do it. I
ask Y o u to send down Y o u r lightning
as proof that Y o u really exist. I ’m
quite willing to be the sacrifice. W h y
permit a voice like mine to go on
challenging Y our existence? Here are
all these good people, sitting here
expectantly. D on ’ t disappoint them,
G od. I’m putting m y watch out here
on the table. H ow long does it take
to work up a good thunderbolt and
hurl it? F ive minutes ou gh t to be
plenty o f time. N ow , while the audi­
ence sits quietly waiting, G od, give
proof, if Y o u can, that Y o u are up
there, listening.”
There were a few boos from the
audience, but th ey died away. Some
o f the faces which D r. M illard could
see wore frowns; others were amused,
but all were entirely interested.
Rum pling his hair and cocking one
eyebrow in a deliberately Satanic
twist, Durgeon began to pantomime
his role — stifling a yaw n, taking a
drink o f water, glancing at his watch.
“ O n e minute has gone by, friends.
G od still has four minutes to make
H im self heard. D on ’t give up hope.”
H e had barely finished the sen­
tence, when the dull crack o f a gun­
shot filled the auditorium. Shocked
126 F.LI.ERY QUEEN’ S MYSTERY
and staring, the audience saw Dur-
geon clutch his chest with an expres­
sion o f surprise. A strange noise,
resembling the word, “ N o ,” escaped
him, and he slid slowly to the floor.
T hrough a sense o f horror, as he
looked at the trickle o f red blood
which appeared on D urgeon’s white
shirt, D r. M illard became aware o f a
feeling o f elation, as if suddenly his
whole life had been vindicated. In­
stan tly he was contrite at harboring
so callous an emotion, but it was
there, deep in him. A phrase from the
Psalmist came unbidden to his lips:
“ Yea, H e did swoop down upon the
wings o f the w ind.” In the same
m om ent he realized that all around
him elation and awe and gu ilt and
terror were rampant in the breasts
o f people who had been challenging
o r encouraging Durgeon in their
secret thoughts. Some were pale and
silent, others cried out inarticulately.
A man m uttered, “ G od has spoken.”
Several women fainted, creating little
eddies o f movement in the mounting
confusion. Bewildered voices asked
w hat had happened, and other voices
demanded, contrapuntally, “ W ho did
it? ” “ W ho shot him ?”
D r. M illard dismissed from his
m ind a feeble notion that Durgeon
m ight be faking, to lend excitem ent
to his act; there was a hideous and
convincing realism about the limp
posture o f the body on the stage.
M en rushed from the wings to where
the author lay, and above the strident
babble a voice roared from the bal­
con y, “ I ’v e got him !” Another
MAGAZI NE
yelled, “ G e t his gun!” M uted shrieks
rose from the audience, died away
and rose again. As in a violent and
oppressive dream D r. M illard watched
the efforts o f the management to.
keep order, the arrival o f a doctor
on the stage, a subsequent invasion
o f police, ambulance interns, news­
paper reporters, and photographers,
and the removal o f D urgeon’s body.
Presently a police officer announced
that D urgeon was dead, that the
man who had fired the shot had been
apprehended in the balcony, and was
giving no trouble; the audience
would please leave quietly. O n the
way out D r. M illard caught a glimpse
o f the prisoner being led qu ietly away
by police — a small, ragged man,
with sunken eyes in a heavily un­
shaven face o f waxlike pallor, and a
scarred and twisted jaw.
“ T hank you, doctor,” said M r.
L evatt. “ I know that this excellent
jury felt the essential truth in every
word you have spoken.”
T he lawyer noted the tense w hite­
ness o f D r. M illard’s face, and the
tight grip o f his hands on the arms o f
the chair in which he was sitting.
Autom atically, he expressed his con­
cern in a w ay calculated to win y et
greater sym pathy for his witness from
the jury.
“ Y o u look tired, D octor,” he said
in an audible murmur. “ I know this
must be a great strain for you. Y o u ’re
sure you feel well enough to g o o n ? ”
“ Yes, I ’m all right. L e t’s proceed,”
D r. M illard replied.
 THE TR I AL OF
“ W ell, then, D octor, after w it­
nessing the remarkable scene you
have described, you became inter­
ested in the arrested man?”
“ Y es.”
“ I think it will save time i f you
describe for the court in your own
way just how that happened, and just
what your relation to John N obody
has been.”
Again D r. M illard glanced at the
prisoner, who was watching him w ith
almost breathless intensity; and he
brought to his mind the circum ­
stances under which they had first
met, face to face . . ,
It was a newspaper reporter who
first called the nameless slayer “ John
N obody,” and the name had caught
on. From the first, he was the darling
o f the press. A ll except two o f the
numerous psychiatrists who exam­
ined him refused to credit his pro­
testations o f lost m em ory; but it was
the two exceptions whom the press
preferred to quote, and the public to
believe. T h e prevailing opinion was
that the amnesia was genuine, but o f
“ some unknown ty p e .”
C ertainly John N obody never wav­
ered in denying knowledge o f who
he was, and where he came from. T o
all questions about his past, he replied
with a slow, regretful, “ I cannot
remember.” Photographs o f his face
and fingerprints circulated by the
police and press all over the country
brought no identification. People
close to D urgeon — fam ily, friends,
publisher, agent, m anager — were
J OHN NOB ODY 1 27
sure th ey had never seen John N o ­
body, sure that D urgeon had not
known him.
As the only clergym an who had
witnessed the slaying, D r. M illard
was prom ptly besieged b y newsmen.
D id he consider D urgeon’s death an
act o f G od? Was John N obody an
agent o f divine wrath? P u blicly he
refused to make a statem ent; pri­
vately he wrestled w ith his own
feelings. He had always preferred to
keep his religious concepts on a high
and rather abstract plane, and had
never encouraged belief in the inter­
vention o f the D e ity in personal
affairs. H e was not a credulous man,
superstitious, or inclined to easy be­
lie f in miracles. B u t his vivid m em ory
o f his own emotions in the auditorium
made him unwilling to regard the
slaying o f Durgeon as mere mundane
murder. Besides, no m otive had been
found for murder.
M eanwhile, from the press, from
other clergymen, from his congrega­
tion, from the public, increasing
pressure came on him to speak out.
F inally, the president o f a W icheka
businessmen’s club, conscious o f eco­
nomic aspects o f the case which had
never occurred to D r. M illard, made
an inspired suggestion: would the
minister, esteemed by everyone in
the city , head a public C om m ittee
o f Investigation? N o t w ithout mis­
givings, D r. M illard consented, and a
com m ittee o f six was organized, con­
sisting o f reputable citizens w ith
church affiliations, three o f them
women.
ra8- ELLERY QU EEN ’ S
O n orders from the M ayor, the
j ml ice permitted the C om m ittee to
have a private interview with the
prisoner. John N obody was brought
into the room where the Com m ittee
awaited him, and having been given
a chair, quietly subm itted to their
scrutiny and questions.
Studying him carefully, D r. M il­
lard saw a lace o f sharply formed,
firm features, with small but intelli­
gent brown eyes. T h e heavy scar
which deformed the lower jaw gave
an odd, stern twist to the m outh; but
the face could not be called mean, or
humorless. John N obody, the minis­
ter estimated, was well over forty
years old. His dark hair, heavily pep­
pered w ith gray, was thin at temples
and crown. M ost noticeable was his
complexion, o f a dead pallor that
could not be accounted for by his
short stay in prison, and his breathing,
which was somewhat labored. The
man was obviously under a strain,
but his manner was composed. His
on ly pronounced sign o f nervousness
was an occasional curious gesture o f
his hand around the collar o f his shirt
— a fluttering o f the fingers, which
he repeated unconsciously from time
to time in the hour that followed.
His slow speech was direct and
grammatical, and his voice too sug­
gested a better-than-average educa­
tion. D r. M illard found he could not
give his accent a regional origin; it
could have passed w ithout notice
almost anywhere in the United
States.
R ep lyin g to the C om m ittee’s ques­
M YSTERY M AGAZINE
tions, John N obody said, in deliberate
sentences, and w ith a direct gaze,
that he had tried hard to remember
who he was, but that nothing came
to him. Perhaps he sensed a certain
good-will in the attitude o f his in­
quisitors, for he spoke with more
freedom and fluency than in his re­
sponses to the police. Particularly,
he seemed drawn to D r. Millard,
at whom he looked continually when
speaking, and to whom, some mem­
bers o f the com m ittee felt, he was
making an unspoken plea.
“ T he first thing I remember,”
John N obody said, “ was sitting on a
stone fence, alongside a country road
just outside W icheka. I had on an
old suit and an old overcoat that I
never saw before, so far as I know.
M y head ached a lot. I was cold,
particularly m y feet, and for a little
while I felt kind o f sick. Then I no­
ticed that I had this gun on m y lap.
A 30-30 repeating rifle it was. I
knew that. I must have known some­
thing about guns. I pulled back the
breech and saw that the gun was
loaded. B u t I didn’t have any idea
how I got it. T h at was when I found
I didn’ t know m y name — or any­
thing about myself.”
“ And then?” asked D r. M illard.
“ I sat there, for a while, trying to
think. Then it seemed to me I heard
someone speak, and I looked around.
There wasn’t anybody. It was kind
o f w indy, and raw, and I couldn’t see
a soul any place. Then 1 heard some­
body speak again. It wasn’t exactly a
voice. I t was more a kind o f a whis-
 THE TRIAL OF
per, a rustling sound. It said, ‘ Y o u
have been chosen. Y o u have been
chosen.’ O v e r and over. I thought I
was crazy. T hen the wind blew a
piece o f newspaper along. It caught
on a bush near me, and I reached
over and go t it.
“ T he first thing I saw was the
name o f this Durgeon. I couldn’t
remember ever having heard o f him
before, but somehow I knew right
away that he was im portant to me. I
read about how he was going to
speak. T hen I heard the voice again.
A nd it said, ‘A faithless generation
looks for a sign.’ ”
T h e man called John N obody
paused, and sat frowning, his eyes
obscure, like a man trying to under­
stand something that puzzled him
endlessly.
“ D o you have any recollection at
all o f having attended church in the
past?” a woman com m ittee member
asked gently.
H e shook his head. “ N o, I can’ t
remember anything like th at.” H e
took a deep breath, and resumed his
narrative. “ I was sitting on that
fence, telling m yself I was crazy, but
I knew right then this wasn’t m y
imagination. I just — knew. I knew I
had to do this thing right away. I
read the newspaper again, and put the
sheet in m y pocket. T he police have
it now. It told where this man D ur­
geon was speaking.”
“ D id you have an y feeling about
Durgeon? D id you hate h i m — or
anything?” the woman inquired.
“ N othing like that. I didn’ t feel
J OHN NOB ODY 129
anything about Durgeon. B u t I
knew what I had to do. There just
wasn’ t any doubt about it in m y
mind. I started to walk along the
road. It was a long way, but I never
even knew it. A ll the tim e m y head
was kind o f buzzing. I remember I
carried the rifle under m y overcoat,
and it was awkward. M ayb e you ’ll
think I ’m making this up, like the
police did, but I knew in advance
just where I was going and what was
going to happen, and y e t everythin g
was new to m e.”
He paused again, and presently
went on, in his slow pensive manner,
“ I didn’ t seem to hear the voice again
until I reached the auditorium . T hen
the voice said, ‘E n ter and ob ey.’ I
heard it as plain as I can hear you,
only it was kind o f a whisper. I felt in
m y pocket and found I had m oney
there — just about enough for a
ticket in the balcony. So I go t the
ticket and went in. I just sat there
listening. I didn’ t get mad or an y­
thing. I just listened. T h en I heard
the voice say, ‘Now, m y son.’ So I
stood up and went to the rear o f the
balcony, and knelt down and rested
the rifle on the back o f a seat, and I
shot him. I don’ t remember having
aimed or anything, but I suppose I
did. I knew I would kill him w ith
one shot. T hen I just stood there,
and the ushers came and grabbed m e.”
A fter questioning him at con­
siderable length, the com m ittee went
away to confer. D r. M illard was
searching within him self for the es­
sential conviction that he felt was
130 ELLERY Q U E E N ’ S MYSTERY
needed, but the rest o f the com m ittee
plunged without delay into argu­
ment. T w o o f its members — a
woman and a man — were certain o f
John N o bo d y’s sincerity and took
the position that regardless o f who
he was or what his past, he had been
in fact the agent o f the Lord. O ne
woman wondered i f N obody m ight
not have been hypnotized, or m ight
not have hypnotized himself. T he
third woman said she thought the
prisoner crazy, but sincere. T h e only
out-and-out skeptic was a physician,
who said flatly, “ He looks like a sick
man, but he’s not sick in mind. H e’s
just a fake.” Unable to agree, they
finally appealed, to D r. M illard for
his opinion.
W ith some hesitation he said, “ I
am unwilling to believe this is a fake.
I am not able to judge what is a
miracle and what is not, but what
this man did certainly appeared to be
the answer o f the Lord to a blas­
phemer. A t least we cannot say with
assurance that John N obody was not
divin ely inspired.”
Starting from this qualified posi­
tion, as the discussion went on, he
found himself gradually becoming
more definite in his stand. In the
end he and the entire com m ittee
approved a public statem ent which
concluded: “ T he Com m ittee, w ith a
single exception, agrees that the
law should give every consideration
to the fact that 'John N o bo d y’ be­
lieved himself divinely inspired when
he killed Elm o Durgeon, and m ay
have been so inspired.”
MAGAZI NE
This statem ent made a profound
impression not on ly in W icheka, but
in the nation as a whole. Newspapers,
radio, newsreels, magazines — every
agency o f pu blicity blazoned it forth
to the people. O vern igh t D r. M il­
lard, to his astonishment, found him­
self a national celebrity, hero o f the
devout, target o f the skeptical. A l­
though he refused all offers o f per­
sonal a d v a n ta g e — radio a p p e a r­
ances, magazine articles, and the like
— he could not avoid occasional
statements, which were over-simpli­
fied into such headlines as, D ivine
Wrath K illed Blasphemer, Says M illard.
His church became a magnet, not
only for Wichekans o f his own de­
nomination, but for religious folk o f
all faiths and places, until he had to
consent to deliver sermons to special
meetings, as well as to his adoring
congregation. A wave o f religious
sentiment in the country was a t­
tributed directly to his influence, and
John N obody’s. Locally, it required a
hardy spirit to challenge the com m it­
tee’s findings. T h e dissenting physi­
cian found his practice endangered
by public resentment, and the D is­
trict A ttorn ey was embarrassed by
the unpopularity o f his prosecutor’s
role. H e and the police were inclined
to postpone court action until they
could learn more about their prisoner,
but public pressure forced them to
set an early date for the trial.
A C om m ittee o f Defense was
formed, and D r. M illard was pressed
into the chairmanship. Religious peo­
ple everyw here contributed funds.
 THE TRIAL OF
Into D r. M illard’s home and into the
ja il p oured en velop es con tain in g
checks and currency from all over
the United States, and even from
abroad. Enough m oney was re­
ceived to enable the C om m ittee to
retain the most successful lawyer in
the state, H ector L evatt, for the
defense. D r. M illard felt uplifted by
the thought o f the good people who
were renewing their faith through
John N obody. And his own faith was
strengthened and enlarged b y theirs.
N o t only the generality o f G o d ­
fearing folk, but the businessmen
and politicians o f W icheka threw
their support to the defense. F or one
thing, the feme which the case was
giving to their city and the large
number o f visitors arriving daily had
a practical value that could not be
ignored. T he eyes o f an awed and
reverent world were on John N obody
and D r. M illard; and the pocket-
books followed the eyes.
Concealing under a grave demeanor
his sense o f impending triumph, M r.
L e v a tt permitted a little pause to
follow D r. M illard’s quiet and factual
statem ent o f his interest in the case.
W hen the courtroom was still and
expectant, the lawyer said, “ Then,
D r. M illard, is it correct to say that
your opinion about John N obody is
based on prolonged personal investi­
gation o f the facts?”
“ T hat is correct.”
“ Now, D r. M illard, am I correct
in stating that having made this per­
sonal and unbiased investigation,
J OHN NOB ODY 131
w ith all the sincerity and hum ility
for which the world admires yo u —
having made this investigation, you
came to the conclusion that the
prisoner m ay, in feet, be considered
as acting under a conviction o f divine
inspiration, and so in that sense, be
the agent o f divine anger, addressed
to the destruction o f a blasphemer,
as a sign to an unregenerate world?”
Everyone in the court was aware
that this was the real clim ax o f the
trial. It was a deliberately long and
tortuous and leading question, de­
signed to achieve a powerful effect.
M r. L evatt was taking advantage o f
the fact that the state could not
challenge his examination o f his
revered witness without irritating
the jury.
D r. M illard did not reply a t once,
and the courtroom waited one sec­
ond, two seconds, three seconds,
until a wave o f uneasiness began to
rise among the spectators. T hen, as if
summoning up reserves o f strength,
the minister lifted his head, and look­
ing directly at M r. L e v att, said, “ I
did at one time hold such an opinion,
but I no longer hold it.”
M r. L ev att fell back as i f he had
been struck a physical blow, and
gaped at his witness incredulously.
A ll over the courtroom amazement
was visible and audible: on the faces
o f the staring prisoner, o f the jury,
even o f the district attorn ey; and
in a rising murmur from the specta­
tors. T h e judge rapped sharply w ith
his gavel, and M r. L ev att attem pted
a chuckle. “ E v id e n tly ,” he said, “ I
132 ELLERY Q U E E N ’ S MY S T E R Y
failed to make m y question clear.
D id you understand the question,
D octor?” and he m uttered under his
breath, “ Say no!”
B u t D r. M illard said, “ Yes, I un­
derstood your question. It is the
deepest sorrow o f m y life that I must
give you this answer. I do not now
believe that the prisoner was divin ely
inspired.”
Bedlam broke ou t in the courtroom
as reporters dashed for the door, and
unbelieving voices rose everywhere.
T h e judge pounded for order without
avail, while the prisoner was seen to
sink back in his chair, breathing
heavily, his face twisted in an expres­
sion o f pain. D istrict A ttorn ey Par-
nail was on his feet, tense w ith new
hope.
T h e defense law yer looked coldly
at D r. M illard, and then said, “ T h a t is
an astonishing statem ent to come
from you, D octor. I feel certain there
is some misunderstanding which can
easily be cleared up. In the meantime,
i f it please the court, since this w it­
ness’s testimony w ill obviously take
longer than expected, and the hour is
late, I ask for an adjournment — ”
T h e D istrict A ttorn ey objected
strongly, and the judge refused the
adjournment. M r. L evatt, his face
deeply flushed with anger, turned to
his witness again, and rasped, “ I
m ust ask you, D r. M illard, to tell the
court and ju ry — and to tell me —
what influences have been brought to
bear to make you change your ex­
pressed convictions at thelast m inute.”
“ O b jectio n !” shouted M r. Parnall.
MAGAZI NE
There was a brief legal clash, the
question was re-worded to eliminate
its ugly implications, and D r. M illard
answered in a strained voice, “ I had
m y first doubts some days ago,”
“ D ays ago! I f you had doubts w hy
didn’t you mention them before?”
“ I was not sure. I could not speak
before I was sure.”
“ O f course.” M r. L e v a tt was heav­
ily sarcastic. “ Y o u kept these so-
called doubts to yourself, you waited
until the last moment, so as to be
sure o f getting all the publicity — ”
T h e prosecution objected, and
argument followed. D r. M illard did
not hear it. His eyes had turned
again, with infinite sadness, to the
prisoner, and his thoughts to the first
dreadful moment o f suspicion.
H e and L e v a tt and John N obody
had been in the warden’s office at
the jail, and had been examining mail
addressed to th e prisoner from all
over the nation. M ost o f it, offers o f
money, prayer, or marriage, had
been assorted and classified b y the
warden’s staff; a few letters o f un­
usual character were held apart. R u n ­
ning through these, D r. M illard found
an odd, brief missive that differed
from all the others. Printed on plain
cheap paper, in sprawling black le t­
ters, was the single word, H E L P !
H e studied the sheet curiously,
and glanced at the envelope attached
to it. T he address was also printed:
John Nobody, W iche\a, and the letter
had been mailed in C ottersville, a
town in the southern part o f the
 T HE TRIAL OF
state. Tossing it to John N obody, he
said, “ This is odd.”
John N obody glanced up with a
smile that he always had for D r.
M illard, a smile which seemed to
suggest that th ey were linked by
invisible bonds o f mutual faith and
understanding, to the exclusion o f
others. B u t as he glanced at the le t­
ter, D r. M illard saw a sudden cloud
pass over his face, and heard the
stertorous breathing that always be­
tokened em otion on the prisoner’s
part. Instantly he mastered himself,
shrugged, comm ented, “ Just a crank,
I guess,” and put the letter in a pile
o f others. N othing more was said.
B ut D r. M illard had an unpleasant
impression that the letter had given
John N obody a shock, and held some
hidden significance for him.
T he doubt, as it m et the wall o f
his determ ined faith, ebbed away.
Probably h e had been wrong, he told
himself. T h e prison doctor had said
that John N o b o d y’s health was bad;
it was easy to misread the expression
o f a sick m an’s face. Thus repressed,
the incident m ight have dropped out
o f D r. M illard’s memory had it not
been for something that occurred a
few days later, when he and L evatt
were questioning John N obody about
certain details o f his story. A t the
end o f their talk the prisoner arose
and stood, facing the door, his face
partially turned from them, awaiting
the guard who would take him back
to his cell. L e v a tt chose this moment
to remark to D r. M illard in a low
voice, “ I don ’t think we’ll have to
J O HN NOB ODY 133
p u t him on the stand. Looks to me
like an open and shut proposition,
just with your testim ony.”
Glancing at John N obody, D r.
M illard saw that he was close enough
to, hear, and was startled a t an ex­
pression o f exultation on his profile.
I t was gone quickly, but it stayed in
the minister’s mind. H e was certainly
not disposed to judge any man by a
fleeting change o f countenance, and it
seemed absurd to m agnify anything
so trivial by speaking o f it. N everthe­
less, the incongruity between the
John N obody he had glimpsed then
and the John N obody he had helped
to present to the world was a chal­
lenge and a disturbance.
Something else had been working
obscurely in his brain, during his
weeks o f reflection about th e prisoner
— John N o bo d y’s curious mannerism
in moments o f strain — that m ove­
ment o f his fingers in the air, just at
the level o f his collar. It had struck
D r. M illard that the gesture was not
unfamiliar, y et for the life o f him he
had been unable to identify it. N o t
until a night just before the opening
o f the trial did an explanation come
to him. H e was trying to fall asleep
at the time, and the flash o f realiza­
tion brought him bolt upright.
T h e gesture was that which bearded
men habitually make when they
stroke their beards.
T h e implications o f his discovery
startled him. I f John N obody had
worn a beard, that m ight account
for the failure to identify the pu b­
lished photographs showing him clean-
*34 ELLERY Q U E E N ’ S MY S T E R Y
shaven; for the police had prom ptly
shaved off the heavy stubble he had
worn when arrested.
D r. M illard told himself th at he
was assuming too much. H e m ight be
wrong about the beard; or even if he
were right, it was possible that John
N obody had forgotten in his amnesia
that he had once worn a beard, while
retaining the mannerism. N everthe­
less a terrible suspicion stayed with
D r. M illard. T h e prisoner’s con­
strained response to the enigmatic
letter; the sudden revelation o f his
eyes when he heard L ev att speak of
certain v icto ry; the possibility that
a bearded man came beardless to
W icheka — all this suggested some­
thing untold and perhaps sinister in
John N o bo d y’s background.
E a rly the next morning he w ent to
the jail and saw John N obody alone.
Sittin g face to face with the prisoner,
D r. M illard said abruptly, “ John,
did you ever wear a beard?”
T h e hand started toward the chin,
and stopped in mid-motion; the
rhythm o f the heavy breathing broke;
but when John N obody spoke he
said calm ly, “ I don’ t think so, D oc­
tor. I don’t remember ever wearing
a beard.”
D r. M illard reflected, and said,
“ John, I think you know I am your
friend. I have believed in you. I
want you to realize something. Y o u
are no longer just an individual. Y o u
are a symbol o f hope and faith for
millions o f good and kind people all
over the world. Y o u know that,
don’ t you?”
MAGAZI NE
“ Yes, I do, D octo r.”
“ Y o u would not betray all those
people, would you? N o m atter what
it cost you? Y o u would not lie to
me?”
T he small brown eyes m et D r.
M illard’s gaze steadily. “ N o, sir. I
wouldn’ t do that, D octo r.”
“ T ell m e — do you remember that
letter — the note that said, H E L P }"
“ N o te?”
“ Yes, it was in the mail, last W ed­
nesday, I think. I showed it to you .”
“ W ednesday. N o, I don ’t seem to
remember it, D octo r.”
W hen D r. M illard left the jail, he
found that he could not shake him ­
self free from gnawing doubt. He
tried to tell himself it was too late to
do more than pray th at the L o rd ’s
will be done. For even if John N o bo d y
knew something more than he had
told, would it n ot be better to le t it
remain hidden, rather than risk shak­
ing the faith o f the devout men and
women who were givin g the prisoner
their spiritual and financial support?
B u t the trouble worked ceaselessly in
the minister’s m ind. E arly the next
morning, w ithout explaining his pur­
pose to anyone, he left the c ity on a
southbound train.
C ottersville was a small and sullen
town in a backward rural area. D r.
M illard prom ptly sought out a fellow
minister, a young man named K inter,
to whom he said, “ I should not like
to have it known that I am here. M y
mission is rather curious and delicate,
and I cannot as y e t reveal much
about it. M a y I ask yo u to take me
 THE T R I A L OF
on faith, and give m e your coopera­
tion?”
T h e younger minister, a little over­
whelmed at the presence o f the cele­
brated D r. M illard in his house, freely
offered his services.
“ In brief,” explained D r. M illard,
“ I should like to know whether you
can tell me o f any bearded man in this
vicin ity who has not been seen for
the past tw o m onths.”
T h e Reverend K in ter looked at
him with surprise, but staunchly re­
pressed his curiosity. “ N o,” he said
reflectively, “ I can’t think o f anyone
like that. Beards aren’ t very common
in these parts. B u t I ’m not the best
person to ask. T h e man who really
knows e v e ry b o d y around here is
Charlie G ifford, the T ow n Clerk.
W ould you like me to take you over
to him?”
I f D r. M illard’s question had sur­
prised the Reverend K inter, it had
also sounded grotesque to the D octor
himself. H e was glad o f the negative
answer, more than willing that his
quest prove fruitless and that his
suspicions be revealed as the products
o f a fatigued mind. N ow that he was
in Cottersville, the m otive for his
coming was no longer as clear to him
as it had been. Surely the association
o f a postmark w ith a presumptive
beard was a tenuous piece o f reason­
ing. H e sighed as he reflected that he
was getting old and foolish. However,
now that he had gone so far, he
would do what he could to make
peace w ith his own unworthy mind.
T h e T ow n Clerk, whom th ey found
J OHN NOB ODY 135
in his barren office, turned ou t to be
an ancient, wrinkled, but keen, Iong-
memoried and garrulous man. T o the
request made o f him for information
and secrecy, M r. G ifford eagerly as­
sented, after which M r. K in ter some­
what reluctantly left them. W hen
G ifford heard D r. M illard’s question,
he looked up sharply, and at that
shrewd glance all the minister’s senses
sprang to attention.
“ F un n y you should ask that,” said
M r. Gifford. “ O n ly a couple o f days
ago I was out M ills Poin t w ay. T h a t’s
in this township, about seven miles
from here. I had some other business
there, so I thought I’d drop in and
see these people named Cullen. T h e y
got a little house ou t there. M atter o f
taxes they haven’ t paid. T h o ugh t I’d
better ask ’em about it before I had
to sic the law on ’em.”
H e cocked his head humorously.
“ M ayb e I was a little curious, too.
T h e y tell me I’m a gossip. A bout all
I got to live for is what other people
do, ’cause I can’t do much m yself."
H e chuckled heartily. “ W ell, these
Cullens. I been wondering about ’em.
T h e y keep to themselves. D on ’ t think
I’ve seen Cullen more’n a couple o f
times since he’s been here. Funny,
hey? D on ’t come into town much
except for shopping, and the wife
does that. D rives in about once a
week in their little jalopy. O r did
until the grocer and butcher stopped
givin g her credit.”
Scratching his head reflectively, he
added, “ C ullen’s got a beard. B ig and
heavy. Hair all over his face.”
136 ELLERY QU EEN ’S
D r. M illard said tensely, “ Has he
left Cottersville?”
“ T h a t’s what I’m saying. W hen I
called, there wasn’t only M rs. Cullen.
I asked her where he was, and she said
he was away — abrupt. ‘Been away
long?’ I asked her, ’cause I hadn’ t
heard about it, and she says to me,
‘W hat do you want?’ Hard, like that.
She ain’t a bad looking woman, so I
figured maybe she thought I was
getting fresh” — he cackled — “ so I
told her quick I was just calling about
the taxes. She said her husband’d pay
the taxes soon. I told her to remind
him ’cause he was bad overdue.”
A sense o f impending revelation
was in D r. M illard’s heart as he asked,
“ W hat does Cullen look like?”
“ A little bigger’n me. Brownish
hair and beard. Shaggy eyebrows.
D on ’t remember the color o f his
eyes.”
“ D o you think you could recognize
him without his beard?”
M r. G ifford looked up quickly, a
glint o f comprehension in his eye.
“ M igh t.”
D r. M illard took a photograph o f
John N obody from his pocket, and
M r. G ilford studied it attentively.
“ P len ty o f these in the papers lately,”
he said. “ N ever noticed any resem­
blance before. D on ’t look much like
Cullen. B u t now, wait. In a way it
does, too. N ever saw the scar, but
that would be on account o f the
beard. Hair looks the same, and fore­
head. B u t the eyebrows are different,
and the lashes look smaller.” H e hesi­
tated. “ Hold on, though. I remember
M YSTERY M AGAZINE
Cullen had long lashes, the kind
women like. Suppose he trimmed
those, his eyes m ight look different.
Same with the eyebrows. T hen take
away the beard, and yep, I wouldn’ t
be surprised.”
“ Y o u ’re not sure?”
“ W ell, not to swear to.”
“ C an you tell me anything about
Cullen — the kind o f man he is?”
“ M aybe. I hear things about peo­
ple. Best part o f this job ,” said M r.
G ifford cheerfully. “ Cullen. L e t’s see.
T h ey came down here about six
months ago. I met him when he took
title to drat little place o f theirs. N o t
country folk. H e talked real glib.
Said he was w riting a book, but didn’t
say about what. D idn ’ t strike me as a
book writer. M ore like the kind you
see at cou nty fairs, selling stuff. N ever
g o t a n y m ail, postm an tells me.
Couple o f times I wondered if they
wasn't hiding o u t.”
“ W hat did they do for a living?”
“ N ever could make out. Had a
little bank account, but I hear it
shrunk away to nothing back a while.
M ust have been living o ff capital.
Fool thing to do. Cullen told people
he’d had a heart attack and had to
rest quiet. Looked like it, too. N eigh­
bors tell me about all the exercise he
took was when he’d go into the woods
and shoot birds. W ith a rifle, too.
T h a t’s dum b. B u t,” M r. Gifford
added significantly, “ I hear he can
shoot real good.”
D r. M illard’s face was haggard.
“ W hat sort o f woman is M rs. C ullen?”
he asked slowly.
 T HE TRIAL OF
“ Looks to m e like she m ight have
been a chorus girl back a ways. N o t
bad looking, but hard. M ayb e y o u ’d
like to talk to her, R everend? I ’ll be
glad to drive you out there.”
M r. G ifford’s modest car took them
over a bum py road to an area o f
squalid farms and shabby houses ou t­
side the town. T h e y turned in at a
small, isolated, and unkem pt dw ell­
ing, surrounded by a few acres o f
overgrown land. A big woman, in
w hom vestiges o f b lo n d e b e a u ty
showed through untidy hair and slat­
ternly dress, came to the door. A t
the sight o f D r. M illard she stood
suddenly still, her hand at her throat.
“ Perhaps,” D r. M illard murmured
apologetically to his companion, “ it
would be best for me to speak to her
alone.”
M r. G ifford looked disappointed,
but he said, “ Sure. I ’ll w ait.”
D r. M illard approached the mo­
tionless woman, in whose face surprise
had given w ay to calculation. “ Mrs.
C ullen ?” he said form ally. “ M y name
is M illard. M ay I talk to you alone?”
S ilen tly she stood aside to le t him
enter.
M r. L e v att, playing for time, and
unwilling to relinquish his witness for
cross-examination, was asking D r.
M illard questions designed to em-
. barrass him, rather than to reveal
information. In particular, he chal­
lenged the minister’s m em ory o f the
exact words used b y M r. G ifford.
F inally the judge intervened.
“ I f you care to make a statem ent
J OHN NOB ODY 137
using your own words, D r. M illard,
o f the information M rs. C ullen gave
you, the court w ill hear y o u .”
H e waved away M r. L e v a tt’s irate
protest, and turned his full attention
to D r. M illard.
A radio was chattering as th ey
entered the din gy parlor, and M rs.
C ullen snapped it off. “ H ave a chair,
R everen d,” she said, and cleared a
litter o f magazines and newspapers
from an armchair, ousting a gray cat,
which minced out o f the room w ith
an indignant mew. D r. M illard no­
ticed that the woman’s high voice was
throaty and blurred, and simulta­
neously he caught a smell o f liquor in
the room. She followed his glance to
an open whiskey bottle and partially
filled glass on a table.
Shrugging, she said, “ L ik e a drink,
Reverend? No? W ell, you won’t mind
if I finish mine.”
“ I shall come to the point, M rs.
C ullen ,” he said, handing her the
photograph o f John N obody. “ I have
reason to believe that this man is
your husband.”
H er blue eyes stared at him stonily.
“ Y o u ’ve got it wrong, Reverend. M y
husband is away on a trip. I’ve seen
this John N obody’s picture before,
and he’s nothing like m y husband.”
He frowned. “ Y o u have a choice
between talking to me or to the
police. I f they add a beard and heavy
eyebrows to the photograph, would
you know him then?”
She licked her lips, pretended to
look at the picture more closely, and
138 ELLERY QUEEN'S
m uttered, “ Y o u didn’ t say anything
about a beard. I’m n ot sure.”
“ His name, M r. G ifford tells me, is
Am brose Cullen.”
“ T h a t’s m y husband’s name.”
“ M rs. Cullen, you can’t conceal
th e truth long, and you w ill be wise
to speak it to me. Surely you know I
have been a friend to your husband.”
She glanced a t him appraisingly.
“ Y o u mean yo u ’re still on his side?”
“ I am on the side o f the truth,” he
said sternly.
She looked dissatisfied. “ Suppose it
is A m b y ,” she said carefully, “ and
mind you, I’m not saying it is. B u t
even i f you can p ro ve it ’s him, that
doesn’t mean he isn’ t divin ely in-
spirj^ .”
H e was genuinely startled. “ B u t
surely it is plain th at the shaving off
o f his beard showed prem editation.”
“ T h e voices m ight have told him
to do that too.”
T h e last atoms o f illusion vanished
from his leaden heart. “ D o you se­
rio u sly e x p e c t an yo n e to believe
that?”
“ W h y not? T he ju ry will, anyw ay.
W orst that could happen is that
th ey ’ll disagree. T h e y ’ll never con vict
him .” She eyed D r. M illard defiantly.
“ Besides, you can’t p rove anythin g.”
“ I can telephone to W icheka and
say that I have discovered new evi­
dence,” he said qu ietly. “ T hen, the
police — ”
“ T h e police can’ t make a wife
give testim ony against her husband,”
she flashed ou t. “ I know the law.
W h o y ou tryin g to kid? I thought
MYSTERY MA GA Z I NE
you said yo u were his friend. Y o u
don’ t act like it.” She tossed o ff the
remainder o f her drink, and raised
the bottle, on ly to find it em pty.
“ And th at’s the last one]” she said
disgustedly. “ W hat a life. N othing
to drink, on ly canned stuff to eat,
nobody to talk to. I ’ll go nuts!”
She seemed struck b y an idea. “ Say,
Reverend, since yo u ’re so interested
in A m b y, how about lending me a
little money? I ’ll pay it back when,
well, soon.”
“ I ’m sorry,” he said uncertainly.
H er expression became cunning,
her voice wheedling. “ N o w look,”
she said. “ M aybe we can make a deal.
Y o u want to ask me questions. O .K .
I’ll answer them — a t a price. Say a
hundred — no, yo u preachers don’t
have m uch — fifty bucks.”
“ D o I understand,” D r. M illard
said thoughtfully, “ that you will give
truthful answers for fifty dollars?”
“ W h y not?” She giggled. “ W hat
have I go t to lose? M y word is as good
as yours. Y o u couldn’t prove a thing.
A m b y saw to that. H e’s smart, m y
A m by. This thing is fool-proof. B e ­
sides, after what yo u ’ve been saying,
Reverend, if you tr y to turn against
him now, you ’ll only make yourself
a laughing-stock. I can’t figure you
out, but y ou ’re not th at m uch o f a
dope. H ow about the fifty ?”
D r. M illard made up his mind.
Exam ining his thin wallet, he replied,
“ I haven’t that m uch w ith me. I
can spare tw en ty-five.”
She pursed h er lips. “ N o th in g
doing.” Suddenly her eyes widened
 THE TRIAL OF
and glistened, and she smiled a t him.
“ I tell you what. Y o u can give m e a
check for the other tw enty-five.”
“ H ow can I be sure,” he asked
doubtfully, “ that you w ill tell me
the truth?”
“ D on ’t you trust me?” She giggled.
“ G iv e me the check now. Then ask
ahead. W hen I ’ve answered, y ou ’ll
know I’ ve told you the truth, and
you give me the other tw enty-five in
cash. O .K . ?”
D r. M illard nodded, and taking a
blank check from his wallet, uncapped
his fountain pen and wrote. She seized
the check and scrutinized it eagerly.
“ A ll right, R everend, shoot. W ait a
minute, though, le t me ask you some­
thing. W hat made you come here?”
“ T he letter you sent to the jail.”
Her face darkened. “ I was afraid o f
that. H e told me n ot to. I shouldn’t
have done it.” A nger melted her
caution, and the words came out in
a torrent. “ W hat could I do? I was
broke, and the d irty tightwads in
town wouldn’ t let me have credit.
And the taxes overdue. I wouldn’t
put it beyond that G ifford to toss me
out on the road.”
It seemed to D r. M illard that she
was asking absolution for having dis­
obeyed her husband. She went on,
“ I couldn’ t think o f anything else
to do. H e wanted me to stay here.
T h e radio said a lo t o f people were
sending him m oney at the jail, and I
figured he m ight find a w ay to get a
little o f it to me. I didn’t know how,
but he’s clever. I knew he’d guess
what I meant. F o r a second when you
JOHN NOBODY 139
came along I thought m aybe he sent
you. I still don’t get how you found
out. W ith all the mail he was getting,
how could anybody figure anything
out from just one word?”
She checked herself, and scowled.
“ E ven if they can prove I sent it,
that still wouldn’ t mean he knew
anything about it. Listen, I’m talking
p retty free to you. I don’ t know what
your game is, but you better not try
anything funny. See this check?” A
contemptuous smile flickered on her
m outh. “ O n e squawk ou t o f you,
Reverend, and you know what I’ll
say? I’ll say you came here, inquiring
about A m b y, and when you found I
was alone, you started to get gay.
I’ll say you knew I was broke, so you
offered me the check for m y fair
white body. G e t it? M ayb e not every­
body will believe me, but plenty will,
and you can bet the papers will like
it. T h a t would finish you , M r. M in ­
ister. So keep your trap shut.”
T h e genuine horror in his face
made her laugh. T h e cat mewed
loudly in the next room, and she
called, “ Here, pussy, pussy.” I t came
running to her, sprang in to her lap,
and began to purr as she caressed it.
Relaxing, she continued. “ N o w that
we understand each other, Reverend,
I’ll earn that other tw enty-five, be­
cause I don’ t want to part w ith this
check. So ask your questions,”
G rim ly, he said, “ W h y did you r
husband kill D urgeon?”
“ I don’t think he intended to kill
him. Just wound him, was the w ay he
had it figured.”
L40 ELLERY QU EEN ’S
“ B u t w h y?”
“ W e were broke, that’s all.”
“ B u t how could shooting D u r­
geon— ” /
“ Y o u are a dum b bunny, Reverend.
B u t no dum ber than the rest. W hy,
after the trial, th ey’ll pay him a
fortune for newspaper articles, and
lectures, and m aybe even movies. It
can’ t miss, the w ay A m b y figured it.
W e’ll be rich. A nd nobody could ever
prove th at’s w h y he did it. D on ’ t
you get it? ”
T here was a silence as D r. M illard
considered the enorm ity o f her state­
ment, and the more terrible enorm ity
o f her satisfaction. “ Surely,” he said
a t last, “ he w'as taking a great risk.”
“ N o t so great. Durgeon was a per­
fe c t set-up, with those lectures o f his.
People around here are suckers for a
stunt like that. A m b y said the worst
thing th at could happen was that
th ey ’d call him crazy and p u t him
away for a while. A n d that wouldn’t
be any worse than living in this hole
w ith his bad heart and asthma and
nothing to do while we ate up our
m oney. M ost women wouldn’t have
stood for it.” Tears o f self-pity welled
up in her eyes. “ B u t I love the gu y .”
“ B u t couldn’ t he have made money
in some other way, w ithout murder?”
A t the word, her scowl returned.
“ There were reasons w h y he didn’t
w ant to — that’s none o f you r bus­
iness. A n yw ay, he had to take it easy,
D u r g e o n d e serv e d to be sh o t —
everyb od y knows that. Blaspheming
G o d the w ay he did. A m b y ’ll be a
kind o f saint — you w ait and see.
M YSTERY M AGAZINE
O n ce this thing is over, he’ll be rich
and famous. W e won’ t have to worry
about the future, or the past either.”
“ Wasn’t he afraid o f being recog­
nized?”
She sneered: “ W hen he shaved off
his beard, and I fixed his eyebrows
and eyelashes, I didn’t know him
myself. H e ’s worn different kinds o f
beards for tw en ty years, ever since
he got that scar, and he never had his
fingerprints taken. N obody saw him
going up to W icheka, either. I drove
him myself, at night. N obody would
have recognized him i f you hadn’ t
poked your nose in.”
“ W hen did he first plan to kill
Durgeon?”
“ Started when he read about D ur-
geon’s lectures, and said what a joke
it would be i f he did drop dead while
he was defying G od . T hen he started
to think. H e said he would be a public
benefactor if he killed Durgeon. H e ’s
smart, m y A m b y. H e planned it all
out, like a m ovie — just what people
would do, and what he would do.
W hat he would say to the police.
E ven the tone o f voice. I always tell
him, he should have been an actor.”
H er tongue and pride were thicken­
ing together. “ H e had everything
figured out. H ow he wouldn’t re­
member anything, but otherwise be
perfectly normal. T h a t w ay the doc­
tors m ight say he was faking, but
th ey couldn’t call him crazy. H e
knew the public would be on his
side and get him off. H e’s smart.
Listen, R ev, when you see him, tell
him I’m waiting, w ill you? T ell him
 THE TRIAL OF
I ’m going nuts, but I ’m waiting.”
W ith an irritable gesture she brushed
the cat from her lap and rose to her
feet, staggering a little.
D r. M illard said, “ M ay G od forgive
you .”
“ O h, can that stuff!” she flared out.
“ And don’t think you can walk off
w ith o u t le a v in g th e tw e n ty -fiv e
bucks.”
As he handed her the money, she
said with a touch o f uneasiness, “ So
now you know all about it, and what
good will it do you? Y o u can’ t prove
anything. I f you talk, you’ll only
ruin yourself. And don’ t forget this.”
She waved the check in his face. “ If
you try to make trouble for A m by,
your name will be m ud. D irty m ud.”
She laughed at him. “ A m b y w ill be
proud o f m e.”
N um b in spirit, D r. M illard heard
her out, and went back to the car,
where he was joined b y M r. Gifford.
As th ey drove off, the T ow n C lerk
glanced a t D r. M illard’s unhappy
profile, and said, “ D on ’t look so
worried, Reverend.” H e chuckled.
“ She m ight be able to say that one o f
us was a liar, but not both.”
As his meaning sank in, D r. M illard
turned to him unbelievingly. “ Y o u
heard her?”
“ Well, sure. I wasn’ t going to miss
out on a ju icy thing like that. I would
have died o f curiosity, sitting in the
car. So I just w ent around the house,
and sneaked in the back door. Heard
it all. T hought that blamed cat was
going to give me away, once, but m y
lu ck h e ld .” M r. G iffo rd laughed
JOHN NOBODY 141
lo u d ly. “ S h e’ll sure be surprised.
M akes her a kind o f accessory, I
guess. M y idea is this C ullen must
have swindled somebody, and decided
to hide out in a quiet place until
things cooled off. Som ething like
that, I bet. W ell, Reverend, you can
j u s t c a tc h N u m b e r S ix t e e n to
W icheka if we step on the gas. Y o u ’ll
have to stall ’em off at the trial until
I get there. I guess this is going to be
tough on you, no m atter how it goes.
B u t it ’ll be jam for me. Y e p .” H e
grinned in anticipation. “ I ’ll have to
pack a bag and tell the wife I’m going,
and I’ll be up on the next train.”
D r. M illard could sense the seeth­
ing antagonism o f the courtroom as
he completed his statem ent. A feeling
that they had been duped and cheated
rankled in the minds o f ju ry and
spectators alike. Resentful eyes turned
from the prisoner, his pallid face
working endlessly, to the grim w it­
ness, and back again. A reporter in
the press benches said audibly, “ H e’s
th ro u gh .” A harsh v oice replied,
“ T h e y ’re both through. M illard gave
the people a miracle and now he’s
taking it away. T h e y w on’ t stand for
that.”
M r. L e vatt, w ith a shrug o f resigna­
tion, relinquished D r. M illard to the
prosecution. T h e D istrict A ttorn ey
said prom ptly, “ Y our Honor, I in­
tend to move for an adjournment,
pending the arrival o f this new w it­
ness, M r. G ifford. B u t first I should
like to say this to you, D r. M illard,
that the state rejects the insinuations
I42 ELLER * QU EEN ’S M YSTERY M AGAZINE

o f the defense that you have been dling old fool! Shut u p !” As a guard
serving any personal end a t an y tim e forced him back, his waxlike face
in this case. I f there is anything else became suffused with blood, and he
you care to add, D octor, I’m sure the rattled o ff a string o f obscenities that
court null be interested in hearing it.” put the courtroom in an uproar before
“ T hank you ,” replied D r. M illard, the guard could silence him w ith a
constrainedly. His face looked old and heavy hand upon his mouth.
tired. “ I must confess that when I D r. M illard rose, and long-sup­
came into the courtroom I hoped pressed anger had its way w ith him.
that there might be some w ay of He stood tall, erect, and formidable,
avoiding this shock to all the people and his eyes blazed with forgotten fire.
who sincerely believed, as I believed, A t that instant all compassion was
in John N obody. B ut it was too late. gone ou t o f him ; he wanted to hurt
A nd perhaps it is for the best that the and to frighten the impious man
truth comes out in this w ay.” opposite him. He stretched out his
“ I am sure,” the judge interposed, long arm and pointed an accusing
“ that no one can blame you for your finger at the prisoner; his voice took
part in the case.” ' on sonorous depths, quieting the noisy
F or the first tim e the emotion courtroom; and he spoke old, pro­
within him showed in D r. M illard’s phetic words which sounded like
voice as he said, “ W hether they the clanging o f great bells: “ ‘ Behold,
blame me is not important. It is the the whirlwind o f the Lord goeth forth
in ju ry to the faith that matters. T o with fury, a continuing whirlwind; it
the millions o f good men and women shall fall with pain upon the head o f
in whom bitterness and cynicism will the w icked’.”
grow when th ey hear the truth about H e stood there for an instant, full
John N o b o d y.” H e paused, and shook o f wrath. Then, w ith an effort, he
his head. “ I have seen m uch wicked­ mastered him self and stepped down
ness in m y life, but this is the wicked­ from die witness stand. A s he did so,
est thing o f all. D urgeon, at least, excited voices rose in the neighbor­
fought religion frankly and openly. hood o f the prisoner’s box.
A theist though he was, he spoke out “ W hat’s the m atter w ith him ?”
like a man. The evil he did to men’s someone cried.
souls was nothing compared to the A guard answered, “ Looks like he’s
e v il his murderer has done by prac­ passed o u t.”
ticing upon the desire o f m en to A woman cried, “ H e’s dead!” And
believe.” another: “ John N obody is dead!”
. In the prisoner’s box there was A bove the torrent o f sound, defying
sudden tum ult, as Ambrose Cullen, the judge’s gavel, a voice screamed
alias John N obody, leaped to his feet “ — died when he pointed his finger!”
and screamed, “ Shut up, you med­ Someone else shouted, " I t ’s a real
 THE TRIAL
miracle, this tim e!” “ He put the
curse o f G od on him !”
“ N o !” answered D r. M illard, sud­
denly and loudly. “ N o! T h e man had
a bad heart!”
N o one listened to his words. M en
were staring at him w ith awe. Several
women openly began to pray. One
o f them burst through the guards,
fell on her knees before him, and had
to be bodily lifted and dragged away.
D r. M illard stood com pletely still
before the witness stand. Some who
observed him thought he was filled
OF JOHN NOBODY
*43
with sublime exaltation. I t was n ot
so. W ithin him was a sense o f terror,
o f painful hum ility, and o f ignorance.
He felt unsure, and weary. H e did
not raise his eyes, but presently his
lips moved a little, as ou t o f his
remembered store o f prayer there
came to him a saying that struck
him as appropriate to his need:
“ G iv e therefore T h y servant an
understanding heart,” he murmured
earnestly, “ to judge T h y people, that
I m ay distinguish between good and
e v il.”

M r. Carr wrote to your Editors that he fo u n d the seed o f his story, “ The
Trial o f John N obody,” in a newspaper item which he read in the early
195 os. It described a lecture given by Sinclair Lewis somewhere in the
midwest. M r. Carr recollects that in his lecture, to emphasize his b elief in a
dramatic way, Sinclair Lew is made use o f a common em otional ex­
pression : he invited the Lord to strike him dead i f he was wrong,
M r. Carr began wondering what w ould have happened i f the challenger
had dropped dead on the spot. B ut M r. Carr only wondered — it was
merely an interesting and stimulating speculation: the subsequent process
o f incubation proved very slow indeed. Fifteen years passed. True, there
were a few times during the fifteen years when the idea popped back *nt0
his mind — rather, thrust its head above the surface o f his m ind; but
nothing happened. A n d yet, without M r. Carr's realizing it, the creative
function was at work — slowly, patiently, but inexorably.
Then E Q M M purchased M r. Carr's story, “ The M an Who Played
H unches,” and, to quote the author, “ my thoughts started to roam once
again into detective chan n els'' Another ideafloated up from the deep p ool
o f M r. Carr’s subconscious — the character o f D r. M illard. A ctually, the
conception o f D r. M illard had its origin in an entirely different type o f
story — a tale o f the conflict between fa ith and fa ct. B ut one day the two
elements — the lecture situation and the character o f D r. M illard —
coalesced, and M r. Carr began to scribble.
It is always thus; the creative mind is the true Philosopher's Slone, the
author is the true alchemist. M ind and man make a miracle, transmuting
the intangible into the tangible , . .
 W IN N E R OF A SECO ND P R IZ E :
A. H. Z. CARR

M ost readers o f E Q M M -w iU n o t fo rg e tfo r a long tim e A . H . Z . Cards .

“ T he T ria l o f John N obody which w on a Second Prize in our F ifth
A n n u a l Contest. In yo u r E ditors' opinion, th is w as one o f the fin e st origi­
n a l stories w e have read in the past decade, and have had the privilege o f
publishing in these pages since the birth o f this m agazine.
In last year's contest A . H . Z . Carr again w on a Second Prize — b u t
th is tim e w ith an entirely different kind o f detective story. A s M r. Carr
h im se lf w rote to yo u r E ditors, “M urder at C ity H a ll" w as “m y first
attem pt at a fo rm a l detective story, and in w riting it l fe lt a greater respect
than everfo r the m asters o f the a rt."
D o n 't let M r. C arr's m odesty fo o l y o u : his fir s t attem pt a t the straight­
fo rw a rd detective story, “com plete w ith clues, suspects, and deductions
is otie w hich any Mm aster o f the a rt" w oidd be ju s tly proud o f.
L ike a ll M r. C arr's stories] “M urder at C ity H a ll" had its origin, its
proxim ate cause, in a com bination o f real-life incident and creative im-~
agination. Som e years ago, M r. Carr m et a group o f big-city politicians
on a holiday, and•he .becatne fa scin a ted w ith their specific view o f life.
Then, later, he had a ta lk wtth-a W eather Bureau official who pointed out
the com m ercial im plications o f w eatherforecasting and rain-m aking. A n d
in those tw o sources o f'su p p ly, M r. Carr fo u n d the essential ingredients '
o f w hat he calls “liis brew ." Precisely how the actual plot o f the story
je lle d is now lo st in the m ists o f M r. Carr's m em ory, as is also the precise
origin o f his fla tfo o te d n a rra to r ■
— although Babe Higgins; the narrator,. . .
is undoubtedly the synthesis o f a ll the cops M r. Carr has kfiown and lilted
in his ow n lifetim e. \. \ '. '■ •

MURDER AT C I T Y HALL
■ by A . H . Z . C A R R

, I am the guy.
o n fid e n t ia l ly He says that is why he likes to have
C who steered the Conimish to the me around, because out of the mouths
answer in the Holcombe case, fust of babes. He is joking, of course. . . .
ask him, if you do not believe me. On the Force they call me Babe Hig-
3
4 ELLERY QUEEN’S M Y S T E R Y - M'A-GAZINE

gins, on account l am six feet two and ing‘ in' fh ^ o B by-is Inspector -Stotter,
weigh two hundred and twenty. - <who is. a smart:-cookie, even though
We got the news about Holcombe he looks and talks-like a college pro- -
at theiast big party rally before elec- lessor. -- He.-tsays;-^“ Commissioner, I •
-tion. The Comnlish had to be there; - have justcom e.ffom .C ity Half, and I
o f course. Politics. I go along, being • thought you.would want to know right
his -bodyguard and under orders from away . Somebody shot D r. Holcombe-.”
His Honor the Mayor, Johnny Con- It takes me a .second before I get -
nors himself, to stay on the job at all - who he means. Holcombe is the guy
times. This has been going on. ever who makes the. rain — made the rain,
since the Commish busted up the big that is, for Stotter'says he is dead,
gambling Syndicate and we got word The Commish' frowns and says,
-that-some of-those lice had threatened . - “ T h at’s a rotten shame. H ejvas.a fine. ■
to get him. The Mayor says he is tak- . young fellow.” -
ing ho chances on losing the best When the M ayor borrowed H oi-
Police Commissioner the city ever had. combe from the state university, even "
A t the rally Johnny Connors is though he voted w ith 'th e , wrong'
sitting near us. He is wearing his big party, the -newspapers played it up
grin over a maroon bow tie, with his big. This' was a good time for th e ’
empty cigarette holder at the usual M ayor not to- think about party ■ '
’ cocky angle, but you can see the cir- politics,-because-for a while the dry
cles under his eyes getting darker by spell we had- looked like it could' go
the minute. The boys are whooping on forever. The reservoirs were way
it up for victory, and the fifth speaker 1 down, not only, the ones upstate,-
on the platform is saying what the where the-watershed starts, but also -
first four said, every vote counts, the the two big reservoirs inside the city
pari y got to get but the vote tomor- limits. Although people laughed about
row and win, and I am thinking, not taking-baths, they were plenty
“ Praise be, this is the last one of these sore, and down at C ity Hall every-
things I will have to sit through for body got new creases in the forehead
two years no matter who wins,” trying to answer complaints. Then
when a cop in uniform comes in and Holcombe begins to go up in that
hands me a note and whispers, “ For plane o f his and spray clouds with
Commissioner Dan wood.” dry ice,-and. sure enough,'every time
I give it to the Commish. He reads he' does s i t — wKammo, raini Some ' "
it and gets up quiet and eases himself say he was lucky , but if it was luck he *<
down the aisle. I go after him. When sure made a pass every tim e he rolled
he passes the Mayor I see Johnny wink the dice; The level in ' the reservoirs -
'affirm and hear him whisper, “ Where ' went up a little and he was a kind of;
you going, Danny-boy?” The Com- public hero, and Johnny Connors took "-
mish just smiles and slides out. Wait- a lot of credit for hiring him.
 MURDER AT
The Commish stands there.in the
lobby o f the auditorium and thinks
for a second. Whenever I look at him,
I always wonder how some o f these
detectives in, books got the nerve to
pretend they can tell what a guy is
just from his appearance, .Over jthat
sawed-off, middle-aged .figure o f his
the Gommish just has a .common
American face — gray hair,, what he
has o f it, which isn’t, much, stubby
nose, big jaw, steady blue, eyes. Jn his
tux, which he was wearing that night,
he could have been taken for any­
th in g— a business man, or, a lawyer,
or a politician. Instead, he was just a
,cop. T hat is all he ever was — rookie,
plaindothesman, Dete.ctiye-Sergeant,
Lieutenant, Inspector, C hief Inspec­
tor — but always a cop. When Johnny
Connors called him in ,and said, he
wanted him to be the new Commis­
sioner of Police, I guess nobody , was
more surprised than the Commish.
But it was a smart move by . the
Mayor. He was getting hit- hard by
the papers about that ..time, because
the Department was in bad shape —
lots o f graft and funny .business...He
knew that the Commish was, popular
with the reporters, and sure,enough,
the papers, called him an honest cop
and said i f anybody could clean Up
the Force he could. T h ey were right.
He fired the precinct captains who
were protecting the gamblers and.re­
organized the Department. In two
years you would not know the Force,
the way the morale zoomed. .
Everybody was set. up about it
except the Commish. ,He. does not
CITY HALL
5
like sitting at a desk and sounding off,
and he keeps wishing he was hack out
there with the boys. Once he says, to
me, deadpan; “ Babe, if anybody
brings me another report to read, to­
day, shoot him on sight.” He is jok­
ing, of course. But another time he. is
not joking, because he looks tired and
worried, and he says, “ Babe, politics
is a rotten business. I hate to think
what is going on around this town and
what is being covered up. Thank
God, my Department is fairly clean.”
. “ You bet it is, boss,” I tell him, and
he slaps me on the shoulder and grins.
Now he says to Stotter, “ How was
Holcombe killed?”
Stotter says, “ A bullet through the
left temple. There is np chance o f its
being suicide. The gun has disap­
peared and so- has the cartridge case.
The hole looks like a, .32-. The Medical
Examiner was probing for the slug
when I left.”
A short guy wearing a natty tux
and carrying a brief case comes out
o f the auditorium and lights up a
cigarette. He is short and dark-haired
and for a second I think it is the
Mayor, but then I see it is only Lloyd
Thompson, his brother-in-law, who is
also his public relations man. When
Johnny Connors appointed Thomp­
son after Mrs. Connors died a few
years back, some claimed it, was what
they call nepotism, but they , tell me
Thompson is really pretty good at his
job.
Seeing Thompson reminds the
Commish to ask Stotter, “ Have, the
papers got it yet?”
 6 ELLERY QUEEN’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE

“ N o,” says Stotter, “ I thought we and underneath- that smile o f his I

had best keep it to ourselves for an know he is ready to crack.”
hour or two.” “ I t’s a strain, all right,” says
“ Good,” the Commish agrees. He the Commish. “ We had better get.
turns to Thompson and-says, “ M r. started.” -He nods to Thompson, and
Thompson, after the Mayor has we go out to the car which Stotter
finished his speech tonight, will you- has waiting outside. It is a dark,,
give him a message in my name? Ask cloudy night, -but warm, and the
him to come to G ity Hall as soon as Commish does not even let me go
the rally is over. I don’t want to dis- back for his hat and topcoat. The
turb him befofe he speaks.” driver touches the siren and gets up
“ Glad to, Danny,” says Thompson, speed, and the Commish says, “ L e t’s
— That is-the.kind-of.guy.he is_-^,ealling have it.” ___ ___ _ . __
the Commish by his nickname, like Stotter gives. “ The Medical Ex-
the Mayor. He is always aping Con- 'aminer says it happened between six
nors in everything. He goes on, “ Care and seven tonight, probably closer to
to tell me what it is about, Danny?” seven. In Holcombe’s office at the
T he Commish hesitates, but finally Hall. A scrubwoman found him, a
hesays, “ You willrealizeitisimportant . Mrs. Barkowsky. T h a t , was around
not to have a leak on this until the nine thirty, when, she .went into his
Mayor gives the word. Dr. Holcombe office to clean up. He was sitting at
was murdered'tonight at C ity Hall.” his desk, or rather, slumped over his
Thompson lets out a whistle. “ Boy, desk.”
oh boy,” he says. “ That does it. T he Commish says, “ Bill, a minute-
Can’t you see the headlines tomor- ago you said the doc was probing for
row? 'M U R D E R A T C I T Y H A L L ! ’ ” the slug. I should think a .32 fired into
“ I’m afraid so,” says the Commish. the temple at close range would come
“ Hell,” says Thompson. “ D on’t out the other side,” ...
think I’m not sorry about Holcombe, “ T hat has been bothering me, too,”
but this election is so close a few thou- says Stotter, in his careful way.
sand votes one way or another could “ When I questioned the doctor he
swing it. This could wreck us unless said the bullet might, have been de-
we-handle it just right.” He turns on fleeted by the cranial wall, and so fol-
what he thinks is his charm and smiles lowed the curve o f the skull, instead
at the Commish. “ Iknow w ecancount o f going through. But what really
on you to cooperate with us, Danny.” ' puzzles me is that there were no
“ The first step,” says the Commish, powder burns around the .wound.
■ “ is to give my message to the M ayor.” Whoever shot him apparently stood
“ This will be tough on Johnny,” some distance away and yet uner-
Thompson says. “ We have-been on . ringly hit the mark.”
the go since four o’clock this afternoon “ Anybody hear the shot ?”
 MURDER AT
“ N o one we have yet questioned,1”
says Stotter. “ We have sent for Hol­
combe’s secretary, a girl named
Maxine Austin. Also for the mam who
has the office next to Holcombe’s,
D r. Kreedlin,”
I knew this guy, Kreedlin. It is a
joke down at the Hall that whenever
Johnny Connors runs into trouble he
hires himself a new consultant, and
this Kreedlin was the first bird the
Mayor picked when the water short­
age began to look bad. He is an engi­
neer, and he has big ideas and makes
big plans, but nothing happens until
Johnny gets wise and brings in Hol­
combe, who makes it rain.
“ I thought the M ayor had dropped
Kreedlin long ago,” says the Com-
mish, but I am not surprised; Johnny
Connors hates to fire anybody who
works for him, even the stinkers.
“ No, Kreedlin is still on the pay­
roll,” Stotter says. “ T h ey tell me he
has very good connections at the
Hall. Besides him and the secretary,
I have put out a call for two others,
either one o f whom might well be the
killer. One o f them is Frankie Co-
le tti.”
I let out a whistle, because o f course
this Coletti Is one o f the gambling
syndicate that the Commish wrecked,
and a very hard cookie, and he is still
operating around town, although not
on the same scale.
Stotter goes on, “ Holcombe wrote
Coletti a letter, making an appoint­
ment between five and six today, I
saw the carbon copy on his desk. And
he was dead by seven.”
CITY HALL
“ Hmm,” says the Commish. “ Who
is the other man you are bringing:
in?”
“ It’s a woman. Name o f Vera
Loomis. Did you know Bill Loomis,
who owned the Mohawk Amusement
Park across the river? She is his
widow, and she seems to be running,
the Park now. I found a letter from
her to Holcombe. It has a rather
threatening tone. I thought we had
better invite her and Coletti both in
for questioning without telling them
our reasons.”
“ Right,” says the Commish. “ A n y­
thing else, Bill?”
Stotter shakes his head. “ Nothing
was touched in the office. N o sign of
a struggle. The door handle was wiped
clean. Evidently we are going to have
to concentrate on motive and hope
for a break. Unfortunate that this
had to happen on election eve. It will
give the press a field .day, and
Johnny — ■”
“ The Mayor,” the Commish cor­
rects him.
“ I mean, the Mayor,” says Stotter,
“ is going to want the killer in hand­
cuffs on the front pages tomorrow
morning.”
The Commish nods. We pull up at
C ity Hall, where there are a couple
o f police cars and lights turned on in­
side. Stotter leads the way through
a side door and down a couple o f long
marble corridors, and at the end o f a
row o f offices we reach one where it
says on the door, D r. Richard H o l­
combe, M eteorological C onsultant to
the M ayor. It is a' long narrow room,
8 ELLERY QUEEN’S M YSTERY MAGAZINE

neat and dean, with white woodwork must have fallen. The rest is just what
and pale green -paint on the walls, you would expect — a desk set, half
and walnut desks for Holcombe and a dozen pipes, a jar o f tobacco, some
his secretary. books, a wooden tray marked Pending
The flashlight and fingerprint boys with some papers in it, and some big
and the doc have finished arid gone technical-looking charts.
when we come in. Under a sheet in “ These are the letters I told you
the center of the room is the corpse. about,” Stotter says, reaching into
Lieutenant Harris, who is a nice guy, the wooden tray. “ They-were in the
is waiting to report. He salutes the drawer o f the desk.”
Commish and says to Stotter, “ This The Commish reads the letters,
is going to be mean. No fingerprints and when he is through I sneak a look
on..the.desk,except.his. The slug.was a _a t.them. One is a yellow, carbon of. a .
.32 like you said, and I sent it down to letter to M r. Frank Coletti at the
Ballistics.” Lancaster Hotel on Park Avenue and
“ Then all we know,” says Stotter, it says: D ear M r. C o letti— M y secre­
looking gloomy, “ is that someone tary tells m e that yo u telephoned and
shot him through his left temple as asked m e to call on yo u M onday after­
he sat at his desk, and he died in­ noon. I f yo u wish to see m e, I shall be in
stantly.” m y office at C ity H a ll on M onday be­
“ T hat’s right,” Harris admits. tween fiv e and six. Very tru ly yours. -
Meanwhile the Commish has drawn The other letter has great big red '
back the sheet and is looking at the and blue printing at the top —
corpse. Holcombe must have been a M ohaw k A m usem ent Park — E xecu­
handsome guy. The things you no­ tive O ffice. It is written in black ink —
ticed especially were his dark eye­ a splashy handwriting — D ear D r.
brows, which were very thick, and H olcom be: I f yo u w ill not listen to rea­
his chin, which had a kind of “ I’ll-do- son, I am going to have to take action, as
what-I-please” look about it. Lying {w arned yo u . Y ours truly, Vera Loom is.
there dead, he reminded me o f the “ Have they been brought in yet?”
bird-on the ten-dollar bills — what’s the Commish asks.
his name? Hamilton. Harris says, “ I talked to Mrs.
After a while the Commish says Loomis on the phone, and she said she
with a. sigh, “ Better have him taken cannot possibly leave the park until
away.” Harris gives the order to a it closes at one o’clock, and how about
cop outside the door,: arid' pretty soon tomorrow morning? She wanted to
some guys come in and lug out the know what it was all about, but f just
body. The Commish sits in Hol­ told her I would call her back. We are
combe’s chair and looks over the desk. still looking for Coletti. Kreedlin,
The desk blotter, which is gray, shows ■* Mrs. Barkowsky, and the Austin girl
a bloodstain where Holcombe’s head are in the office across the way.”
 ; MURDER AT
The Commish stays in the chair,
and begins to look around the room,
not missing a thing. Just an ordinary
office. Filing cabinets, armchairs with
leather seats, and some photographs
of clouds on the wall. I got the feeling
that the Commish was kind of pleased
to be in on the ground floor of a mur­
der case again. The way he squi nts up
his eyes and runs his hand oyer his jaw
reminds me o f a cat figuring out a way
to get at the goldfish. None of us says
anything.
After a while he gets up and goes
to the door, and then I notice that on
the door-frame, just inside the room,
there is a little dark streak, which
shows up against the white paint at
the level o f the Commish’s. eyes. You
would not notice it unless you were a
sharpie. The Commish touches it with
the tip of a finger, and says,'“ Ash?”
“ I saw that,” says Lieutenant Har­
ris. “ Looks like somebody brushed it
with a cigarette or cigar sometime.”
The Commish turns back to the
desk and says to S.tqtter, “ We will
have to try to get at the motive, as
you said, Bill. Suppose you handle the
questioning, and I will just sit by, if
that is all right with you.” . .
“ Fine,” says Stotter.
“ The Barkowsky woman, js talcing
it pretty hard,” .Harrismentions.
“ All right,” says Stotter. “ W e’ll
talk to her first,” . ..
When they bring her in, she turns
out to be a short, stumpy dame with
a red, sad face and a: Polish, accent,
and she is crying, because she thinks
we suspect her. But Stotter handles
CITY HALL
9
her gentle, and she tells how she came
into the office, put on the light, saw
the body, yelled, and ran out to find
a cop.
Stotter looks at the Commish, who
says, “ You liked Dr. Holcombe, Mrs.
Barkowsky?”
“ Oh, yes,” she gulps. “ He was a
fine man. So handsome, and always a
smile. When he works late here and
I come in, he always says good
evening, and asks me about my son,
who is sick, jaundice, for six weeks
now — ”
“ I see,” the Commish says. “ And I
suppose you always cleaned this of­
fice carefully?”
“ Like it was my own home,” she
comes back. “ Everything spotless. He
noticed how good I clean. Once he
says to me I am Mrs. D utch Cleanser
herself.”
“ When did you clean the office
last?” he asks her. “ Yesterday?”
“ No, yesterday was Sunday. On
Saturday afternoon I cleaned.”
He wants to know whether she re­
members cleaning . the woodwork
around the door, and she says, “ Yes,
Saturday is my day for a thorough
cleaning. I wash all the woodwork
then.” •
The Commish goes to the door and
points out the little streak. “ If that
had been there Saturday,” he says to
Mrs. Barkowsky, “ do you think you
would have noticed it and wiped it
off?” ..:
“ Oh, yes,” she says, “ I do not.miss
any dirt in this office.”
“ Thank you very much,” says the
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 A week after we went to Gauhati, news came from Manipur that
Mr. Heath, our successor, was very ill indeed with dysentery. And as
every day went by, bringing reports of his condition, sometimes
better, and then worse again, we began to fear that he would not
recover. At last one day a telegram came saying that all was over,
and that he had died the previous evening. We were both very sorry
to hear it. We had liked what we saw of him so much, and had been
so sorry to leave him there, apart from our own sad feelings at going,
knowing that he disliked and dreaded the place so much. It seemed
terribly sad. I knew well, too, that it would mean our returning there,
and much as I had regretted leaving, I did not want to go back.
I cannot tell why the dislike had arisen within me at the thoughts of
returning; but the journey was so long, and the time of year so trying,
and on the top of that there was the feeling that a man whom we had
known and liked had just died in the house, and that if we went back
it would be to rooms that were full of his things, and associations
quite unlike those we had left behind us. Maybe that a warning of all
that was yet to come filled me with some unknown presentiment of
evil; but it seemed as though our return there was inevitable.
Within twenty-four hours after we had heard of Mr. Heath’s death
came the letter offering Manipur again to my husband. I watched his
face light up as he read it, full of eagerness to get back to the place
he loved, and I knew that I could never tell him that I did not want
him to go. My reasons for not wishing to return seemed childish, and
I thought he would not understand the superstitious ideas which filled
me with dread at the idea of going back. So when he came to me
with the letter and asked me to decide whether we should say yes or
no to it, I said we had better accept what it offered.
As it was so late in the year for travelling, and the weather so hot
and unhealthy, my husband decided to leave me in Shillong on his
way to Manipur, and let me follow in October. It was with a heavy
heart that I superintended the arrangements for the return journey.
An undefinable dread seemed to predominate over all I did, and I bid
good-bye to my husband when he left me behind in Shillong with a
very heavy heart, and my anxiety was not lessened when I heard
from him day after day, giving me terrible accounts of all he was
going through on the way. Every one of his servants, with the
exception of the Khitmutghar, got ill with fever and other complaints
peculiar to the time of year. They had to be carried the whole way,
and my husband had to cook his own dinner and groom his horses
himself every day, besides having to unpack all the necessary tables
and chairs at each halting-place, and do them up again before
starting off next morning. It was only a mercy that he did not get ill
himself to add to the other miseries, and that I was not there to make
extra work for him. Very glad was I to hear from him at last that he
had arrived safely at Manipur. I don’t think he felt very bright at first.
He was quite alone there. The regiment was still away in the Chin
Hills, and rumours were afloat that when it did return most of the
men were to be drafted to Shillong, and only a wing left to garrison
Langthabal. My husband complained, too, that the Residency had
somewhat gone to seed since we left. During Mr. Heath’s illness and
the time which elapsed between his death and our return the
servants had all taken a holiday, so there was a good deal to be
done to get things into order again. Several rooms in the house that
contained the dead man’s effects were kept locked up, and it was
some time before my husband could get the whole house opened
and the things sent away down to Calcutta.
Meanwhile I was enjoying myself very much, having got over my
first feelings of loneliness, and made friends with everyone in the
place, more or less. Shillong is a lovely little station nestling away
amongst the Khasia Hills, in the midst of pine woods, and abounding
in waterfalls and mountain-torrents. The climate is delicious all the
year round, and the riding and driving as good, if not better, than any
hill-station in India. Life there was very pleasant, not a
superabundance of gaiety, but quite enough to be enjoyable. I have
spent some very happy days there with some good friends, many of
whom, alas! I can never hope to see again; and the memories that
come to me of Shillong and my sojourn there are tinged with
sadness and regret, even though those days were good and
pleasant while they lasted.
Things have changed there now, that is, as far as the comings and
goings of men change, but the hills remain the same, and the face of
Nature will not alter. Her streams will whisper to the rocks and
flowers of all that has been and that is to be. So runs the world.
Where others lived and loved, sorrowed and died, two hundred years
ago, we are living now, and when our day is over and done there will
be others to take our place, until a time comes when there shall be
no more change, neither sorrow nor death, and the former things
shall have passed away for ever.
 CHAPTER VIII.
A terrible experience—A Thoppa and a journey in it—Its difficulties and dangers—
The Lushais—Arrive at Sylhet—Find the Coolies have levanted—A pony
journey ends disastrously—A night walk—Accident to Mr. A⸺.—Arrive at a
teahouse—Not a shadowy dinner.

I left Shillong early in November, 1889, travelling part of the way

towards Manipur quite alone, and had a terrible experience too. I had
arranged to journey a distance of thirty-eight miles in one day. I sent
one of my horses on the day before, and started in a ‘Khasia
Thoppa’ down the last hill of the range upon which Shillong is
situated, which brings you down into the plain of Sylhet. A Thoppa is
a very curious mode of locomotion. It is a long cane basket, with a
seat in the middle, from which hangs a small board to rest your feet
upon. Over your head is a covered top made of cane, covered with a
cloth. You sit in this basket and a man carries you on his back,
supporting some of the weight by tying a strap woven of cane on to
the back of the Thoppa, which he puts over his forehead. The
Khasias, luckily, are very strong men, but they think it necessary
always to begin by informing you that you are much too heavy to be
lifted by any single individual, unless that said individual be
compensated at the end of the journey with double pay.
You ask him what you weigh, and he scratches an excessively
dirty head, shuts up one eye, spits a quantity of horrible red fluid out
of his mouth, and then informs you that he should put you down as
eighteen or nineteen stone, and he even will go as far as twenty
sometimes. This, to a slim, elegant-looking person, partakes of the
nature of an insult, but eventually he picks you up on his back and
proceeds along the road with you as fast as he can, as if you were a
feather weight. Going along backwards, and knowing that, should
the man’s headstrap break, the chances are you will be precipitated
down the Khud,[7] are certainly not pleasurable sensations; but it is
astonishing how exceedingly callous you become after a lengthy
course of Thoppa rides up in the hills. Sometimes your Thoppa
wallah[8] may be slightly inebriated, when he will lurch about in a
horrible manner, emit a number of curious gurgling noises from the
depths of his throat, and eventually tumble down in the centre of the
road, causing you grievous hurt.
At other times he will take into consideration that it is a cold night,
the Memsahib is going to a Nautch,[9] and will be there four or five
hours, while he is left to his own reflections outside, waiting to carry
her home again when her festivities have subsided. Having arrived
at the conclusion that the cold will probably by that time be intense,
he will come to take you to the scene of action enveloped in every
covering that he can get together. After he has carried you a short
way he begins getting hot, and rapidly divests himself of his many
wrappers, placing them on the top of your machine, where they
flutter about, hitting you now and then playfully in the mouth or eye,
as the case may be, and making themselves as generally
unpleasant as they possibly can. Having done so, they end by falling
off into the road. Your Khasia perceives them, and immediately
descends with you on to his hands and knees, and grovels about
until he recovers the fallen raiment. During this process your head
assumes a downward tendency, and your heels fly heavenwards;
and should you move in anyway ever so slightly, you immediately
find yourself sitting on the ground in a more hasty than dignified
attitude, upbraiding your Khasia in English. You may swear at a
native and abuse all his relations, as their custom is, in his own
language, and you will not impress him in any way; but use good
sound fish-wife English, and he will treat you as a person worthy of
respect.
On my journey from Shillong, at the time of which I write, I fell in
with two very amiable Khasias. One could speak Hindostanee rather
well, and he walked beside me as I travelled down the hill and talked
to me on various interesting subjects. He asked me a great deal
about the Lushais, and I invented some wonderful anecdotes for his
delectation. When we parted, I think I had impressed him with the
idea that I was a person of great moral worth.
 At the foot of the hill I got into a small train, the only railway to be
found at present in that side of Assam. I think it only extends over
about twelve miles of country, and there are about four trains, two up
and two down daily. They do not trouble themselves by putting on
too much speed. We, my servants and I, travelled as far as we could
in it, and then I found myself within twenty miles of Sylhet—my
proposed destination—in lots of time to ride in comfortably before
dark, and get my servants and baggage in at the same time. But,
alas! the inevitable fate of the traveller in Sylhet was destined to be
mine, too, on this occasion; and when I got out of the train, expecting
to find my coolies waiting for me, I found a wretched police inspector,
who informed me that the coolies had all run away, and he could not
get me any more. What was to be done I knew not, but after some
delay I met a young fellow whom I knew slightly, as he was
connected with the railway, and I had seen him passing through the
district once before. He was a perfect godsend to me on this
occasion, and after some hours’ hunting for coolies he managed to
get the requisite number, and started them off with my luggage.
The next thing to be done was to start myself. Mr. A⸺ kindly
offered to go with me half-way, as it was then four o’clock, and only
two hours of daylight left. Off we started, he on the most
extraordinary pony I have ever seen, that looked as though it might
fall down at any moment, and I on a small Manipuri pony I had taken
with me up in the hills. We started off galloping, and went as hard as
we could for six miles. I hoped that about seven miles from Sylhet I
should find a pony-trap waiting for me which a planter had offered to
send to meet me, so I did not spare my small steed, as I knew he
would not think anything of twelve miles.
By the time we got to the river, where I expected the cart to meet
me, it was almost dark. My poor pony was terribly tired and hot, but
Mr. A⸺’s curious old beast seemed none the worse. We crossed
the river on a ferry, and then found there was no cart on the opposite
side. It was a terrible blow, for our ponies had done enough as it
was. Night was rapidly overtaking us, and seven miles of the road
lay before us to be got over somehow. I had passed all my coolies
three miles away on the road from the railway, and knew that they
would not be in for hours. There was nothing to be done but to go on
as best we could. There were tracks of the cart-wheels in the road,
so I knew it had been there, and it made it all the more annoying. It
was no good trying to gallop on, as my pony was so tired he could
scarcely crawl.
We proceeded slowly for about two miles. It was getting darker
every minute, and at length we could see nothing at all, but knew
that we had still five more weary miles to travel over. Mr. A⸺
suggested our urging our horses into a canter, which ended
disastrously for me, as my pony caught his foot in something on the
road and landed on his head. That was the end of all idea of riding,
so I got off, hauled him up on his legs by dint of much persuasion,
and started off walking. The road was ankle-deep in loose sand,
jackals hurried by us at every moment, and noises startled me at
every turn. At last I remembered that the planter who had sent the
cart out lived somewhere in that neighbourhood. When we had been
quartered in Sylhet, I had often ridden past his house, though I had
never been actually up to it, and I told Mr. A⸺ that I thought we
had better steer for his bungalow, if we could only find the road up to
it. We went on as fast as we could, considering, and at length saw
the lights of the house standing some distance to our left away from
the road.
The next thing was to find the way up to it. My companion asked
me to look after the ponies—a rather unnecessary precaution, as
they were too tired to need any looking after—and he proceeded to
try and find the road. After a little while I heard a stifled call in the
distance, which was repeated, and then I discovered that poor Mr. A
⸺ had fallen into a horribly wet, slushy rice-field, and needed my
help to extricate him. Having given him the necessary aid, and
hauled him out, we decided that any more searching for the road up
to the house would be a futile waste of energy, and were preparing
to make the best of our way into Sylhet, when a coolie woman came
by, and we rushed at her and asked if she could show us the way to
the Sahib’s bungalow. She seemed very much alarmed at our
sudden appearance, as we were then only dimly visible by the light
of the rising moon. However, she said after a little that she would not
mind conveying us up to the house, provided that we would allow her
a fair start in front of us, as she professed to be much alarmed at our
horses.
We proceeded slowly and solemnly behind her, and at length
found ourselves not at the bungalow, but at the tea-house, an
erection made of corrugated iron in which the tea was manufactured.
All round this building there were wire stays which were fastened in
the ground and attached to the roof, to prevent the latter being blown
off in storms of wind. My poor tired pony caught his feet in one of
these wires and tumbled down; so, thinking that it was better to take
what rest he could, he did not trouble himself to get up again. It was
not much good scolding our guide, but we seemed no better off than
we had been in the road below, and the lights of the bungalow
gleamed just as far away as before. Mr. A⸺ suggested shouting,
so simultaneously we all lifted up our voices and shouted as loud as
we could.
At length, after doing this a great many times, a light appeared in
the door of the bungalow; and a few minutes afterwards the figure of
my friend the planter became visible descending the hill upon which
his house was situated, and coming armed with a big stick to see
what evil spirits were in possession of his tea-house.
Very much surprised was he when he found there was a lady in
the case, and not a little disconcerted over his own appearance, as
he was not clad in raiment suitable to the entertaining of female
visitors.
I was much too tired, however, to notice whether he was got up for
the occasion or not, and he seemed a perfect godsend to us both
after all we had gone through.
He soon took us up to his house, and in half an hour gave us
dinner. Real dinner, too—not a shadowy make-belief; but soup,
entrée, and joint, just as though we had come by invitation, and this
had been the result of some days’ preparation.
How we did eat! There was little doubt that we appreciated the
excellent fare set before us, and at the end of it I felt a different
being.
Our friend the planter had meanwhile got himself up regardless of
expense, and offered to drive me into Sylhet, an offer which I most
gladly accepted, leaving the poor Jabberwock in a comfortable
stable, with a large bundle of grass in front of him, which he was too
tired to eat.
We did not take long to get over the four miles to Sylhet, where I
bade farewell to the planter and Mr. A⸺, who returned with him to
the garden.
I had the pleasure of lying down on a bed with no bedding, and
waiting until my coolies and baggage should arrive, with part of my
muddy habit rolled up to serve for a pillow; and very well I slept for
three good hours, when at two o’clock in the morning my goods and
chattels commenced dropping in, and I was able to go to bed in real,
sober earnest.
Next morning the Jabberwock arrived, looking rather miserable,
with a very large swelling on his leg, and a bad girthgall; so there
was no possibility of our continuing our journey that day, as the
servants all said they were dying, and could not move on at any
price. However, the day following they had recovered sufficiently to
proceed another fifteen miles; and after three more days I arrived at
Cachar, where I found my husband, who had come down from
Manipur to meet me.
 CHAPTER IX.
Return to Manipur—Mr. Heath’s grave—Old Moonia—A quarrel and fight between
Moonia and the Chupprassie’s wife—Dignity of the Chupprassies—The
Senaputti gets up sports—Manipuri greetings and sports.

It was strange finding myself back in Manipur after nearly nine

months’ absence; but though the house had had several
improvements made to it, and the grounds were prettier than when
we had left in February, I could not settle down in the place as I had
done before. Poor Mr. Heath was buried in our own garden, quite
close to the house—so close, in fact, that I could see his grave from
my bedroom window. There had been two graves there before—one
was Major Trotter’s, who was once political agent at Manipur, and
died there from wounds which he had received fighting in Burmah;
the other was that of a young Lieutenant Beavor, who had also died
at the Residency, of fever. But we had never known either of these
two men, so that I did not look upon them in the same light as I did
on Mr. Heath, and his sudden, sad death seemed to haunt me. Once
a friend of mine remarked to my husband, ‘What an unlucky place
Manipur is! I have seen so many political agents go up there, and
something always seems to happen to them.’ Hearing this gave me
a cold shudder, and I longed to get my husband to give up a place so
associated with gloomy incidents, and take some other district in the
province. Not that I was ever really afraid of anything tangible.
 THE GARDENS OF THE RESIDENCY AT MANIPUR.

I rode alone all over the country, fearing nothing from the
inhabitants, who knew me, and would have been only too ready to
help me had I needed aid; and I have been left for days together
quite alone at the Residency while my husband had to be out in
camp. Once he had to go down to Tammu in Burmah, five days’
journey from Manipur, and I was too ill to go with him, so stayed
behind.
For sixteen days I was there all alone. We had no neighbours
nearer than a hundred miles off, and I never even heard English
spoken until my husband returned. The old ayah used to sleep on
my doormat at night, and I always had sentries outside the house,
back and front. I used to hear, or imagine I heard, all kinds of noises
sometimes, and get up, waking the old woman from her noisy
slumbers to come and do a midnight parade all round the house,
searching in every nook and corner for the disturber of my rest,
which was probably nothing more harmful than an antiquated bat
roaming about in the roof, or a rat in the cellars beneath the house.
The poor old ayah used to pretend to be very valiant on these
occasions and carefully hunt in every dark corner which I had
already turned out; but she was always glad to get back when the
search was ended to her own venerable blanket, in which she used
to roll her attenuated form, and snore away the long vigils of the
nights.
Poor old Moonia! she was a faithful old soul, and has tramped
many a mile after me in my wanderings backwards and forwards.
She was a lazy old woman, but if I told her so, she gave me warning
on the spot. She did this very frequently—on an average, six times a
month; but after a little I got accustomed to it—in fact, I may say I got
rather to like it—and I never by any chance reminded her of her
promised flitting, or took any notice of the warning when she gave it
to me. She was a very quarrelsome old creature, and had some very
bitter enemies. First and above all she detested the head bearer.
She hated him with a deep and deadly hatred, and if she could do
him a bad turn she would do it, even though it caused her much
fatigue, bodily and mental, to accomplish it. Next to the bearer she
disliked the wife of one of the Chupprassies. This female was a
powerfully-built Naga woman, with a very good opinion of herself;
and she returned the ayah’s dislike most fully. They were always at
war, and on one occasion they had a stand-up fight. We had gone
out into camp, and as Moonia (the ayah) had not been well, I left her
at home instead of taking her with me, as I generally did. Two days
after we had started, a report reached us that she had had a terrible
fight with the Chupprassie’s wife, and the latter had injured her very
seriously. We heard nothing more about it at that time, so I imagined
that the ayah’s wounds were healing, and that I should not be
informed as to details at all. Not so, however. We returned to the
Residency a fortnight later, and I sent for my abigail as usual,
receiving in return a message saying that she could not come, as
she was still dangerously ill. Having, however, insisted on her
appearing, she came—very slowly, and with her head so enveloped
in coverings that I could not see even the tip of her nose. Groans
issued forth at intervals, and she subsided on to the floor directly she
entered the room. After a little parleying, I persuaded her to undo her
various blankets, and show me the extent of her injuries. They were
not serious, and the only real wound was one on the top of her head,
which certainly was rather a deep cut. However, I soon impressed
upon her that I did not think she was as near death’s door as she
evidently imagined, and let her return to her own apartments, vowing
vengeance on her adversary.
Moonia presented a petition soon afterwards, and my husband
had to try the case, which he proceeded to do in the veranda of the
Residency. The evidence was very conflicting. All the complainant’s
witnesses bore testimony against her, and vice-versâ; and the
language of the principal parties concerned was very voluble and
abusive. The ayah made a great sensation, however, by producing
the log of wood she had been beaten with, covered with hair and
blood, and the clothes she had worn at the time, in a similar gory
condition. The hair in the stick was very cleverly arranged. Where it
had originally come from was not easy to define; but it was stuck in
bunches the whole length of the stick, and must have been a work of
time and ingenuity. However, there were many exclamations of
commiseration for the complainant, and eventually the defendant
was fined one rupee, and bound over to keep the peace.
Then ensued a funny scene. The ayah argued that the fine
imposed was not heavy enough, and the adversary threatened her
with more violence as soon as she should leave the presence of the
Sahib; and they swore gaily at each other, as only two native women
know how to swear, and had to be conveyed from the court in
different directions by a small guard of the 43rd Ghoorkas, who were
mightily amused at the whole business. I thought at the time that
should the Chupprassie’s wife ever get an opportunity of wreaking
vengeance on the ayah, she was just the sort of woman to make that
revenge a deep one; and I pitied the ayah if she ever fell into her
hands. The day did come before very long; but of that I shall speak
later on.
Our Chupprassies were very useful, but very lazy, and puffed up
with pride in their own loveliness. Their red coats with the ‘V.R.’
buttons, covered with gold braid, lent them much dignity; and there
were many little offices which they absolutely refused to perform
because they wore the Queen’s livery, and considered themselves
too important. For instance, I requested four of them once to go into
the garden and catch grasshoppers out of the long grass with which
to feed a cage full of little birds. One of the four alone condescended
to go; the rest solemnly refused, saying that they could not demean
themselves by such a performance, and that I must get the Naga
boys out of the village to do it for them. And I had to give in to them
ignominiously.
These ten Chupprassies were all supposed to be interpreters of
some kind or another; but for the most part they could speak no
other dialect but their own, whatever that happened to be, and had
no idea of translating it into any other tongue.
Altogether, they were decidedly more ornamental than useful. Two
of them rode extremely well, and they acted as my jockeys in some
pony-races which the Senaputti got up one Christmas Day, amongst
other sports, for the amusement of our Sepoys and his own.
The Senaputti had got the idea of this Gymkhana from having
seen the 44th Ghoorka sports on one occasion at Langthabal, when
that regiment was stationed there, and besides the ordinary races
and competitions the Manipuris had some which I have never seen
anywhere else. One feat they performed was to lay a man on the top
of six bayonets. The bayonets were fixed to the rifles, and the latter
were then driven into the ground like stakes with the points upwards.
A man then lay down flat on the ground and made himself as stiff as
possible, when he was lifted up by four other men, and laid along the
tops of the bayonets. Had he moved they must have gone into him,
and we never knew how the performance was managed, or whether
they fixed anything on the points of the bayonets to prevent their
piercing his flesh; but it did not look a nice trick at all, and one always
dreaded an accident. There was wrestling, too, in which the princes
took part, and foot races, and the Senaputti gave the prizes, mostly
in money. And to wind up there was a play. The Maharajah had three
jesters, exactly like the old English fashion of having court-jesters to
amuse royalty.
The Manipuri specimens were very funny indeed. Their heads
were shaved like the back of a poodle, with little tufts of hair left here
and there; and their faces were painted with streaks of different-
coloured paints, and their eyebrows whitened. They wore very few
clothes, but what they had were striped red and green and a variety
of shades. They walked up to the tent where we were sitting to watch
the sports, all leaning against each other, and carrying on a lively
conversation in Manipuri, which seemed to amuse the spectators
very much. On reaching the door of the tent they all fell down at our
feet, making terrible grimaces by way of greeting, and then they
picked each other up and retired a few yards off and commenced the
performance. One disguised himself as an old woman, and another
as a native doctor, and the third as a sick man, lying on the ground
covered with a white sheet. Someone out of the crowd was
impressed into the play, and he had to call the doctor to the sick
man, who was meanwhile heaving up and down upon the ground in
a very extraordinary manner. The doctor came and poked him about,
making observations in Manipuri, at which everyone roared with
laughter; and then the old woman arrived and dragged the doctor off
home. She was supposed to be his wife, and as soon as she
appeared a scuffle ensued, in which the old woman’s clothes fell off.
We thought best to beat a retreat, as the play was beginning to be
rowdy and the dialogue vulgar; but I believe that it went on for some
hours afterwards, as we heard shouts of laughter proceeding from
the direction of the polo-ground, where the sports were held, late at
night; and the princes told us the next day that it had been a very
good play, and the only pity was that we had witnessed so little of it.
 CHAPTER X.
Bad relations between the Pucca Senna and the Senaputti—Rival lovers—
Quarrels in the Royal Family—Prince Angao Senna—Pigeon contests—The
Manipuris’ fondness for gambling—Departure of the Ghoorkas—Too much
alone.

All was peaceful at Manipur around us until September 11, 1890.

As day after day went by, we seemed to get to know the royal family
better. Rumours of strife amongst the brothers reached us from time
to time, and petty jealousies showed themselves in some of their
dealings—jealousies that the weak will ever have for the strong, in
whatever country or community it may be. But we were good friends
with them all, though it was difficult at times to avoid giving cause for
disputes between the Pucca Senna and his more powerful brother,
the Senaputti. If one came more often than the other, that other
would get annoyed, and refuse to come at all for some time. The
Pucca Senna got very angry, because the Senaputti frequently
escorted the young princesses on their visits to me, and on one
occasion he tried to arrest some of their attendants in the road when
they were leaving the Residency, which might have been the
beginning of a very serious disturbance, had not my husband,
hearing privately that something of the kind was meditated, sent an
orderly and a Chupprassie with the girls to see them safely as far as
the palace.
The Senaputti had left the Residency on that occasion some time
before the young princesses went away. Poor children! they were
very much alarmed at the attempt to waylay their attendants, and it
was a very long time before they summoned up enough courage to
pay us another visit.
We knew that the Pucca Senna and the Senaputti were rivals, too.
Both wished to marry a girl who was supposed to be the most
beautiful woman in Manipur. She rejoiced in the name of Maïpâkbi,
but I never thought her as pretty as some of the young princesses
who used to come and see me. She was not a royalty herself, but
was the daughter of a wealthy goldsmith who lived near the palace;
her father was a prominent member of the Maharajah’s durbar, or
council. She was taller, though, than the average Manipuri, about
sixteen years of age, and very fair, with quantities of long black hair.
She was always very well dressed, and had a great many gold
bracelets on her arms, and some necklaces of pure gold which
weighed an enormous amount.
‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ says an old proverb, and in this
case it was certainly true; but the two princes thought her beautiful,
and were at daggers drawn about her. We had a big nautch one
night, to which Maïpâkbi came as chief dancer. All the princes were
there to see it, and the two rivals for the young lady’s affections sat
one on each side of me. The Senaputti was all cheerfulness and
good-humour, but the Pucca Senna was very gloomy and morose,
and at the end of the evening my husband said we must never ask
the two brothers together again. Shortly afterwards we heard that
they had had a terrible quarrel, in which the Maharajah had taken the
part of the Pucca Senna, and that the Senaputti had sworn never to
speak to the latter again, an oath which he kept to the letter.
Meanwhile I went away to the hills, and all seemed to go on quietly
for two or three months, though a storm was brewing in the
meanwhile, which only needed an opportunity to burst forth and
overwhelm the reigning power in destruction. The eight brothers split
up into two factions—the Maharajah, Pucca Senna, Samoo
Hengeba, and the Dooloroi Hengeba formed one side; whilst the
Jubraj, Senaputti, Angao Senna, and the young Zillah Singh all
leagued together. Of the first four named, the Samoo Hengeba and
the Dooloroi Hengeba are the two that have not been mentioned
previously. The first of these was the officer in charge of the
Maharajah’s elephants, numbering about sixty. It was his duty to
manage all the arrangements in connection with them, and on grand
occasions, when the Maharajah rode on an elephant, his brother, the
Samoo Hengeba, acted as Mahout.[10] The name means Chief over
elephants, Samoo being the Manipuri name for an elephant, and
Hengeba head or chief.
The Dooloroi Hengeba had command of all the Maharajah’s
doolies.[11] This mode of travelling was confined to the rich, and was
considered a mark of great dignity; not everyone could indulge in this
luxury, and those who did had to get special permission to use them,
though sometimes they were conferred upon ministers of state by
the Maharajah as a mark of recognition for their services. The
Maharajah seldom travelled in any other style, as he was a very
stout, apoplectic kind of personage, and it suited him better to be
carried than to ride or go on an elephant. His dooly was a very
magnificent affair, made of wood, with gilt hangings all round it, and
a gilt top, which could be put over it in wet weather.
Prince Angao Senna was in charge of the road between Burmah
and Manipur. He was supposed to travel up and down it to see that it
was kept in a state of repair, but I don’t think he ever did so. He was
quite young, about two or three and twenty, and I never remember
seeing him without his having a large piece of betel-nut in his mouth,
which he used to chew. It gave him the appearance of having a
swollen face, as he stuffed enormous bits of it into his mouth all at
once, exactly as a monkey will do with nuts or anything of the kind,
and people said he never cared for anything but eating and drinking
and watching pigeon-fights.
The Manipuris are great gamblers, and they used to make these
pigeon-fights the occasion for betting considerably. A good fighting
pigeon was worth a lot of money—forty or fifty rupees. They were
handsome birds, larger than the ordinary pigeon sold in the market
for an anna apiece, and they had most beautiful plumage. The
contests between two of them were generally held in the middle of
one of the principal roads. Each owner brought his pigeon to the
scene of action tied up in a cloth, and they were then put under a
wicker cage, something like a hen-coop, where they fought until one
conquered.
It was very unexciting to watch it, we thought; but the crowd of
spectators used to take a breathless interest in the combatants, and
bet considerably upon them. I never quite understood how they
decided which bird had won, as they simply beat each other with
their wings, cooing loudly the whole time, and sometimes one
seemed victorious, and sometimes the other. However, there were
doubtless points in the combat which we did not understand, and the
Manipuris always took the deepest interest in them.
Latterly, after the expulsion of the Maharajah, his brother, the
regent, put a stop to these pigeon-fights, as the gambling over them
was becoming excessive, and several of the younger princes had
been seriously involved, and the state had had to pay their debts. A
heavy punishment was inflicted upon anyone found encouraging a
pigeon-fight, and even the casual spectators received a beating,
whilst the owners of the birds, and whoever had instigated the
proceedings, were hauled up before the durbar and fined large
sums. However, Prince Angao Senna was never caught red-handed,
though we heard that he still continued to encourage and attend
these séances on the quiet.
June, July, and August went by. Day by day came letters from my
husband at Manipur full of all the little details which went to make up
his life there, and never a dream of future trouble arose to disturb our
peace of mind. The only thing that rather worried my husband was
the approaching departure of our only neighbour, an officer in the
44th Ghoorkas, quartered at that time at Langthabal. Since the
regiment had left in the winter of 1888 for Burmah, we had never had
more than a wing of it back at Langthabal, and in the winter of 1889
it was decided that the troops should be removed altogether, and our
escort increased from sixty to a hundred men under a native officer.
But this decision took some time to effect. Barracks had to be built in
our grounds for the accommodation of extra men, and these took
time in building. So that it was not until January, 1891, that the
garrison at Langthabal departed.
 CHAPTER XI.
The Princes quarrel—Attack on the Maharajah—His retreat—His cowardice and
accusations—The Pucca Senna departs also—Conduct of the Jubraj.

Early in September, 1890, the storm that had long been gathering
amongst the princes at Manipur came to a head and burst. The
spark that kindled the blaze arose out of a very small matter indeed.
The young prince Zillah Singh had been quarrelling with the Pucca
Senna over everything and anything that could be found to quarrel
about, and at length the Pucca Senna got the Maharajah to forbid
Zillah Singh to sit in the durbar, at the same time depriving him of
some small offices of state which he usually performed.
The young prince lost no time in consulting with his powerful
brother and ally, the Senaputti. The result was that one night, about
midnight, when the Maharajah had retired and the rest of the palace
was wrapped in slumber, the young prince collected a handful of
followers, and with his brother Angao Senna climbed the wall leading
to the Maharajah’s apartments, and began firing off rifles into the
windows. The Maharajah had never had much reputation for
courage, and on this occasion, instead of rousing his men to action
and beating off the intruders, he rushed away for safety out at the
back of the palace, and round to the Residency.
Meanwhile, the first note of alarm was brought to my husband by
the bearer, who woke him up at two in the morning with the report
that a fight was taking place in the palace, which report was fully
confirmed by the whiz of bullets over the house; and in a few
minutes the Maharajah and his three brothers arrived in hot haste
from the palace, trembling for their safety. Some Sepoys came with
them, and a great many followers armed with swords and any sort of
weapon they had managed to snatch up in the general melée.
My husband went out as he was, to receive the Maharajah, and
got him to go into the durbar room and lie down, as he was in such a