Chapter VI: The Morgue at Bellevue Hospital

The event having made a great stir through the noon editions of the papers, an immense crowd gathered in the vicinity of the morgue, and was with difficulty kept back by twenty policemen.

The corpse was already exposed, and the impatient crowd were jostling each other in order to satisfy their curiosity by a sight of it.

This was the condition of things when the massive Kelly alighted from his carriage at the door of the Bellevue Hospital.

The body found in the river by the sailors a few hours before occupied the middle of the exhibition hall, hardly a yard away from the glass partition before which the curious filed by. Completely nude, as it was when taken from the water, excepting a leather apron which reached the knees. The corpse was seen to be a woman about twenty-five years old, who must have been remarkably beautiful. With a figure above medium height, of rich but not exaggerated proportions, her shoulders and limbs were admirably modeled. Her hands were small, and her feet not so large as those of a young girl of fifteen. Around her head floated her long fair hair. Her features were but little disfigured. Her countenance betrayed no painful struggle except, perhaps, around her mouth, the upper lip being slightly contorted. Although her eyes were open, it was difficult to certify to their color, for they were beginning to be glazed, but one could divine that their now sightless pupils had cast many a bewitching glance.

This is what the men said who gazed at it cynically, the majority with more curiosity than pity, and the policemen had some difficulty in making the line of spectators, to whom the drowned woman was unknown, move on.

At the same time, the chief of police had received Doctor O’Neel’s report, and, after casting an indifferent glance at the dead, he returned to his office, where, comfortably ensconced in his large leather arm-chair, he began to examine the work of the legal physician.

* * * * *

The document read as follows:

The body submitted to my examination and of which I have this day,
Wednesday, made an autopsy, is that of a woman from twenty-two to
twenty-five years old. In spite of its perfect state of preservation
it would be impossible for me to say within two or three days how
long it has been in the water, for the use which the living must have
made of arsenic like a great many American women, with the intention
of preserving the freshness of their complexion and the roundness
of their forms, retards, as is well known, to a great degree the
decomposition of corpses. That which I can attest is that the body is
not that of a drowned woman. Indeed, I have proved that there is no
trace of foam in the larynx. The lungs are congested, but they have
not increased in volume or density. Now the absence of a frothy mucus
in the air passages is an incontestable proof that death is not due
to submersion. This woman had ceased to live when she was thrown into
the water.

What kind of death did she suffer? This is impossible to state. It
was not a case of strangulation nor poisoning. The neck shows no
sign of violence, and a chemical analysis of the stomach, liver, and
intestines has not so far shown the presence in these organs of any
poisonous substance; but it will be necessary to wait several days to
obtain absolute certainty on this particular.

No wound, no contusion on the body, excepting above the right knee,
where there is a bluish mark of the rope fastening the tar barrel to
the body, and which, in the belief of the murderer, would hold his
victim at the bottom of the water.

On the contrary it was this barrel of tar, staved in by fermentation
or the shock, which caused the body to float sooner than it would
otherwise have done.

The woman had a good constitution and no organic affection. She took
nice care of herself.

I have observed that among her teeth--which are very beautiful--the
second canine on the right is wanting, and that the inferior lobe of
her left ear bears the scar of an old wound.

To resume, I think that this woman, surprised in her sleep, must
have been overpowered by inhaling some strong narcotic--chloroform
or ether. But I have not discovered any natural disturbances in the
organs to absolutely confirm my hypothesis. Three or four hours had
elapsed between the death of the victim and her last meal.

(Signed) O’NEEL,
Head Surgeon at Bellevue Hospital.

“Well, well, all this is curious,” murmured Fat Kelly. “When this young woman is recognized, Master Young will put himself in the field; if she is not recognized then, that dear William Dow must take it up.”

Master Young, as the chief of the metropolitan police familiarly called him, was the captain of the detectives. William Dow, whom Kelly so affectionately designated, was a strange and mysterious character.

Less than two years before the time in which this story took place, William Dow was one of the most distinguished, most wealthy, and honorable physicians in Philadelphia; but one day he suddenly left that city to establish himself in New York. There he joined the force of the chief of police, and had gradually become one of his auxiliaries, as a voluntary aid, who showed himself disinterested and very useful.

Several times already he had done wonderful things, quietly, by the means of his sole resources, intelligence, courage, persistency, and energy.

What was the reason of this transformation of a doctor into a policeman? It was a mystery to everyone, even to Mr. Kelly. We may reveal it some day.

Meanwhile let us return to the honorable chief of the metropolitan police of New York, who had rung for his secretary, and had given him the order to send for Captain Young. The latter appeared a few minutes later. He was a tall man, about forty years old, built like a giant, and brave as a lion, but of moderate intelligence, and as obstinate as a mule. When he was on the wrong track he would stick to it, whatever effort was made to put him on the right one. The administration kept him in his position because he was good at a blow, and no one was more intrepid than he in a hand-to-hand scuffle.

The pickpockets and malefactors in the city and State of New York feared him alone more than all his brigade. When he, at the head of his men, made a raid in the most dangerous quarters of the city, in the midst of an affray or a riot among working-men, there was a general stampede.

But when there was any delicate mission, one of those cases that need working up, finesse, a keen scent and patience, Master Young was stupid; the game would slip through his hands.

He was then delighted to see the intelligent William Dow appear on the scene, of whom he was a little jealous, but whose superiority he had the good sense to recognize.

“Captain,” said Kelly, giving Young the report of the Saint Vincent coroner, “read that and set to work. It is about the drowned woman found near Wharf 32, opposite Shakespeare’s tavern. Have Bright’s establishment watched, and scour all the bad places on the wharf. It is probable that she is some girl whose clothing and jewelry have tempted the assassins.”

“I am going to give orders to my men,” answered the detective, taking the papers.

“Do not forget to station intelligent agents at the morgue and in the vicinity of the hospital.”

“That was my intention, sir.”

“It will also be well to put one of your agents on the wharf itself in the costume of a guard. Malefactors can hardly resist the desire to revisit the places of their crime, and, although the woman certainly was not thrown in the water where she was found, it might be that those concerned would be prowling around in that direction. But be sure and keep me informed of the slightest incidents which take place in regard to this affair. If the body is not recognized to-day or to-morrow, there are certain measures I shall think about taking. Go ahead, captain.”

Young gave a military salute and left to execute these orders, while the honorable chief, drawing other documents toward him, set himself to work without thinking any more of the body, past which the crowd, becoming more and more numerous, continued to move in file.

Night came on and the drowned woman had not been recognized, and the doors of the morgue were closed; but the event formed the staple of the evening’s conversation all over the city, and Shakespeare’s tavern was crowded.

The next morning at daybreak more than ten thousand persons thronged around Bellevue Hospital, and at eight o’clock the dreary visiting began again. Suddenly, toward noon, one of the curious crowd cried:

“Why, I recognize her; it is Miss Ada Ricard. Yes, it surely is she.”

“Ada Ricard?” questioned the bystanders.

Without giving him time to answer anyone, the agents on watch at the morgue hastened to the man who was the first to speak this name, and drew him to the clerk’s office.

Although somewhat moved, the man was otherwise quite calm, and seemed to have nothing to fear. He was about thirty years old, correctly dressed, and seemed to be a servant in some well-to-do family.

“Do you recognize the dead woman?” asked the clerk, to whom one of the detectives had imparted what had happened.

“Yes, sir,” answered the stranger, “I think so, at least. It seems to me that it is Miss Ada Ricard, who lived at No. 17 East Twenty-third Street.”

“What is your name?”

“Robert Fowl; I was Miss Ada’s coachman once.”

“Then you think you could recall her features?”

“Without doubt.”

“And are you certain that you recognize her?”

“To be absolutely certain I must see her nearer. You can understand how surprised I was.”

“We can understand that. I am going to order the curtains to be drawn down.”

Around the dead in the New York morgue there are heavy curtains of green serge with which the windows are covered; in order that the body may not have to be moved when it is recognized, the officials separate it from the crowd by dropping the curtains.

A few moments later, while the curious spectators, deprived of their view, were entertaining all kinds of suppositions and murmuring a little, the clerk, the director, and Fowl entered the exhibition-room and approached the corpse.

“Oh! yes; it is really she,” said the coachman, with considerable emotion, leaning over the face of the drowned woman. “Poor creature.”

“It was Miss Ada you said?” asked the clerk.

“Miss Ada Ricard, yes. There is another way by which I can make sure of it; I often remarked when Miss Ada laughed, and she was very lively, that a tooth was wanting on the right side.”

“And this woman lacks a tooth on the right,” affirmed the director of the morgue, pointing to the dead woman’s mouth, whose upper lip, slightly raised, permitted them to attest the fact asserted by Fowl, a fact to which Doctor O’Neel had already certified in his report.

“It is really she, it is really she,” murmured the dead woman’s former servant.

Convinced that the man could not be mistaken the clerk conducted him into his office and, after taking his full name, and the address of the victim, immediately telegraphed the information to Mr. Kelly.

“Ada Ricard!” cried the chief of police, after having read the despatch; “why, it is that girl about whom that fat Saunders wished to interest me a week ago--and they really carried her off.” Calling his secretary he ordered him to invite the honorable cracker-merchant to immediately call at his office.

We already know the effect of this invitation on the impressionable Yankee, and in what state of fear he gasped out to his coachman as he left Mr. Kelly’s--

“To Bellevue Hospital!”

The chief of police had said to him without any preamble:

“They described to me as Ada Ricard the woman who was drawn out of the river yesterday morning. She is exhibited at the morgue; go and see if it is she. You will not be mistaken, surely.”

The unfortunate Saunders, without daring to utter a word, went as he was bidden.

When he reached the door of the hospital he was frightened at the sight of all the people whom the policemen were driving back; for, since Fowl’s declaration, the curtains of the exhibition-hall had not been raised.

He, however, alighted from his carriage, and when, in a stammering voice, he had told one of the agents the motive that brought him there, the man made a passage for him.

Saunders crossed the public hall rapidly, but when he reached the door of the clerk’s office he felt his legs give way beneath him. If an arm had not supported him just then he would have fallen to the floor. He turned to thank the person who had aided him so opportunely, and just managed to stifle a cry of terror, for there beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder, as if he were a criminal, he recognized the terrible Captain Young.

“Come in, Mr. Saunders; come in,” said the chief of detectives, in his rough voice. He knew the cracker-merchant by sight, and knew why he had come to the morgue. “That man, perhaps, was mistaken, but you----”

While giving him a faint hope, these three words of Young reminded the unhappy man of the last words addressed to him by Mr. Kelly, with a kind of sinister irony. “You will not be mistaken, surely,” and, with his head hung down, he hurried into the clerk’s office, then from there, followed by the director, Captain Young, and two or three other persons, into the exhibition-hall.

When he reached the threshold of this horrible place, and perceived the motionless body they said belonged to her whom he had so much loved, and with whose death he had reproached himself, he put his hands to his forehead and veiled his eyes, while his feet were riveted to the damp flag-stones.

“Come, be courageous; come on!” said the director of the morgue.

Poor Saunders, summoning all the energy that was left in him, moved forward; but when he found himself face to face with the corpse, he gave an inarticulate cry and fell on his knees, murmuring:

“Ada, my Ada, forgive me! Unhappy man that I am, it was I who killed you,” and he sank fainting to the floor.

“By George,” muttered Captain Young, without attempting to conceal his satisfaction, “we have made a double stroke; we have found the name of the victim and the murderer in the same hour.”

Turning to the agents who accompanied him, he added:

“Hello, you two watch over this fat fellow here, and when he recovers take him to the central office. I will go and notify Mr. Kelly.”

The policemen raised Saunders and bore him to the clerk’s office.

“Pardon, my dear captain,” said some one just then to Young, whom the latter had not perceived, “perhaps you are going ahead rather too fast.”

“Why! is that you, Mr. Dow?” answered the chief of detectives. “Why do you think I am going ahead too fast? Did you hear the voluntary and spontaneous confession of this man?”

It was, indeed, William Dow, whom we need not describe to our readers. Having, like every one else, heard about the drowned woman, he was at the morgue through mere curiosity. When he perceived the captain and Saunders as they were entering the clerk’s office, he followed them there, and then into the exhibition-room, where, cool, calm, and observing, as he was always to be found, witnessed the scene we have just described.

“What you call the confession of Miss Ada’s former lover proves nothing. I can hardly believe that that fat man killed her. He is an honorable merchant, and very wealthy, and to arrest him on a suspicion is, perhaps, imprudent.”

“What is to be done, then?” asked the detective, visibly embarrassed.

“Is it my advice you are asking?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, if I were in your place, I should take Mr. Saunders home, for he seems to me to be threatened with an attack of apoplexy. If he is not the murderer, he is an important witness. Do not kill him in advance until he has told you all he knows or thinks about this strange event.”

“You are right, Mr. Dow--always right.”

The long-legged Young hurried into the office, where Mr. Saunders was beginning to recover consciousness.

“Ada, poor Ada,” he stammered, looking around him wildly.

Then he added, in a low voice:

“Oh, that colonel, I will kill him! He is the cause of everything. It is not I, gentlemen, it is not I; I loved her too much. Oh, the wretched masks--the Indians!”

“You see he is talking at random,” whispered William Dow to the chief of the detectives, and approaching the merchant, he said to him: “Come, sir, have courage. It is a misfortune, but what can you do about it? A man ought to have more pluck. We must now find the assassin. Return home; the magistrate in charge of the affair will question you when it is time. Do you wish me to accompany you?”

“Yes, sir, yes,” gasped Saunders, making an effort to rise.

William Dow took hold of his arm to support him, and, both leaving the clerk’s office, they passed through the crowd which had already learned the name of the drowned woman, and respectfully moved aside for the man they took for the father or one of the near relatives of the victim. The detective helped the cracker-merchant to enter his carriage, seated himself near him, and they drove off, while Captain Young jumped into a cab to give an account to Mr. Kelly of what he had just witnessed.