Chapter XIV

“One morning some three months after my arrival in Philadelphia, I was seated at the breakfast table of the Girard Hotel, when a servant laid a letter on my plate. I saw from the postmark that it was from Memphis, and I recognized the handwriting as Harry’s; I lost no time, of course, in opening it. Before I had read it half through I was perfectly paralyzed with horror, and made an effort to rise from my seat with a view of going immediately to my room. I staggered like a man intoxicated, and would have fallen to the floor, but that the steward caught me and kindly led me from the room.

“‘Your letter brings you bad news, I fear, Mr. Demar! You seem to be quite overcome; shall I get you a glass of wine, sir?’

“‘No, thank you,’ I groaned, rather than spoke; ‘help me to my room--I wish to be alone.’

“Several of my friends, seeing that something serious had happened, surrounded me, insisting that I should tell them what the matter was, but I begged them to leave me, as I wished to be alone.

“‘It is nothing, my friends,’ said I, ‘in which you can be of any assistance to me. I have received awful news from home, and shall take the first train to go there. I implore you leave me alone; I must think, I must act, and that immediately.’

“My request was complied with, and the steward kindly assisted me to my room, and left me alone. My hands trembled so I scarcely could hold the letter still long enough to finish reading it; and when I read it to you--which I mean to do--you will not be surprised at the manner in which its contents shook my nerves. It is true that I had been anticipating evil, but never had dreamed of such an awful thing as was described in Harry’s letter; my mind was not prepared for such dreadful news. I turned the paper on which the fatal news was written over and over; read and re-read the lines, endeavoring to find something that would raise a doubt as to the handwriting; but no, it was Harry’s hand beyond all question--the awful tidings were too true. I fell on a sofa, buried my face in my hands, and endeavored to collect my scattered thoughts, in order that I might take such action as the nature of the case demanded. How long I remained in that position I am unable to say, but it was a great while before I could regain composure sufficient to write. As soon as I could command my nerves I hastily penned the following note:

“‘DR. VANNESSE:

“‘Dear Sir--I would esteem it a very great favor if you would visit
me at my room at the Girard Hotel without delay, as I wish to
consult you about a matter of the gravest importance. News of a
most distressing character has just reached me from my home in
Memphis, Tennessee, which makes it necessary for me to go there
immediately. I would have gone to your quarters, but the shock
caused by the awful news has almost prostrated me; hence I must
implore you to come to me.

“‘Respectfully, “‘EDWARD DEMAR.’

“I rang the bell; it was answered by a little boy.

“‘Take this note to Doctor Vannesse, at his rooms, over at the Continental Hotel, as quickly as you can; tell the porter to come up after my baggage at one o’clock, and have it checked to Memphis; and tell the clerk to prepare my bill--I wish to settle it,’ were the orders I gave to the bell boy.

“Then I began to pack my trunks and arrange everything for my journey southward, while the only consoling thought that came to my relief was that I should soon see Lottie, at all events. The bell boy had been gone with my note but a very few moments when Doctor Vannesse came dashing into my room, his handsome features blazing with excitement.

“‘Demar, what on earth has happened? You look like a corpse! tell me, quick, I beseech you! It must be something dreadful to make you look so pale!’

“‘Indeed it is dreadful! nay, it is horrible! I never have heard of such a thing before, in all the days of my life.’

“‘No doubt, no doubt whatever; but why do you not tell me what it is?’

“‘Be seated, doctor,’ said I, ‘and you shall know; but first let me ask you to furnish me the name of the best and most experienced detective officer in Philadelphia. I want one to go with me to Memphis. We have splendid officers there, but I am requested to bring one from here, so that we can have the services of both departments. There is a strange case to be worked up; great skill and experience will be required, as I think, and I sent for you to get your advice about the employment of some one here whose reputation is his recommendation.’

“‘Dabbs, Zip Dabbs is the man you want; if he can’t work up your case, it is not workable. He can pump all the secrets out of a man, while he makes the fellow think he is receiving, instead of giving, information. I guess you have heard of Zip Dabbs--everybody knows him by reputation--he is the very man you want; I’ll go with you to see him; it is doubtful whether you can induce him to go with you so far from his usual field of action; then it might cost you more than you are willing to pay--he charges very high for his services.’

“‘I care not for his charges,’ was my reply; ‘he shall be weighted down with money, if he wants it; money is no object with us in this case.’

“‘Then I advise you to go and see Zip at once, for he worships money, and will go with you to the end of the world if you will pay him well. You have, of course, heard the old maxim, “set a thief to catch a thief;” well, that applies to Zip Dabbs, with double compound force; he is well acquainted with the inside walls of many prisons, and has spent a great part of his life therein; but he has discovered a great secret, and that is, that he can make more money by putting other men in the penitentiary than he can by going there himself. He can change from a well-dressed politician to a dray driver in five minutes; and the change is so radical that no one can detect him. I have seen him spading a garden, in an old red flannel shirt, the hottest day of the summer season, and at night, dressed with exquisite taste, making the most melodious music on a piano. He is a splendid musician--sings and plays as well as anybody. He is as industrious as a honey bee, a splendid piano tuner, and, by this means, often gains admission to high circles where he wishes to obtain secrets that are locked safely from ordinary people. He is the most extraordinary man I ever saw; plays political demagogue to perfection; makes a splendid speech when he sets his head to the business; can change from a green, bashful back-woods Hoosier to a polished man of the world in ten minutes. He has reduced the art of disguising to a perfect science, and can make his way through locks without keys. I hope you will be able to engage him; he is the very man you want. But, by the by, old fellow, you have not informed me what has happened that causes you to want a detective.’

“‘Please let us go and see this man first. I wish to leave on the 2:30 train this afternoon; he may want time to get ready--we had better see him first. I can talk with you more at leisure after we have conferred with Mr. Dabbs. If you will accompany me I shall be under many obligations, and then I will detail to you the unfortunate intelligence which has made it necessary for me to employ a sharp detective.’

“‘Ah, yes! yes, you are right, Mr. Demar; I see you understand how to economize time; that’s quite a gift; time, you know, rolls on, whether we roll or not. It is a great thing to know how to roll on so as never to be behind time. We can go and find Mr. Dabbs first, and confer with him; then, while we talk matters over, he can make his arrangements so as to be ready to go with you.’

“‘Come along then, Demar; we’ll go to Dabbs’ quarters now. He holds forth on Chestnut street, just below Independence Hall; you may have noticed his sign sticking on a shabby panel at the foot of the stairs, on the right as you go down the street, beyond the hall. Queer man is Dabbs; you had better let me do the talking, as I know better how to manage him, perhaps, than a mere stranger would. I hope we shall find him disengaged, though it would be the merest accident if we did, for he is nearly always busy; he does more work than all the other detectives in the city. By the by, here’s his headquarters now; shabby quarters, aren’t they? Seems to me if I could coin money as he does, I’d rent more comfortable rooms. Just look at the dirt on that floor! don’t think it has been swept since the Declaration of Independence. I declare, I can’t see how people can stand so much dirt. Phew! what an infernal stench comes up through that hole! I must call the attention of the sanitary board to it; I declare, it is abominable, detestable! But come along, and let us get away from this place as soon as we can.’

“‘Where is Dabbs?’ inquired Doctor Vannesse of a little squint-eyed man with a very sharp nose, the end of which seemed to be making a desperate effort to get into his mouth.

“‘Gone out, sir,’ was the answer, made in a voice that sounded like the grunt of a hog.

“‘I guessed he was out, sir, as it is very plain that he is not in!’ said the doctor, angrily.

“I confess that the man’s very looks was an insult, and his voice was worse than assault and battery. He was smoking a cheap cigar, his shirt-front all stained with tobacco juice; his little round head was covered with a profusion of coarse black hair, standing out like porcupine quills, and I thought he was drunk as soon as I saw him.

“‘When will Dabbs be in?’ asked the doctor.

“‘Dunno,’ was the grunt.

“‘Where can he be found?’

“‘Dunno.’

“‘What do you know about Dabbs?’

“‘Nuthin’.’

“‘Come along, Demar--that fellow’s drunk. Maybe we can find some one on the next floor who can give us some information.’

“We had not reached the door when I heard some one behind me call Doctor Vannesse in a most pleasant voice, and turning round, we discovered the sharp-nosed man laughing as if he would shake himself to pieces.

“‘Ha, ha, ha! didn’t know me, did you, doc? thought I was drunk, too, ha, ha, ha! Come back and take seats; what can I do for you?’

“I was filled with astonishment; he was the very man we were looking for, so completely disguised that Doctor Vannesse, who had seen him a thousand times, did not recognize him. I never heard a more pleasant tone of voice, and his manners were those of a well-bred gentleman.

“‘By Jove, Dabbs!’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘I came very near knocking you down with a chair; who would have thought it was you? What’s up, Dabbs, that makes you look like old Nick’s engineer?’

“‘Some of old Nick’s agents have been out on an excursion, but I’ve got ‘em jugged; had just finished up the job five minutes before you came in. It’s a case of poisoning--always very difficult to work up, you know--but I peeled the peach at last. They had the wrong man arrested, as is usual in such cases, but I unearthed the guilty one, and he’s sure to get a through ticket.’

“‘Well, Dabbs, Mr. Demar here, who is a friend of mine, has a job on hand which he wishes you to work up; he wants you to go with him to Memphis; money is no object in this case--the pay will be liberal. Can you go?’

“‘I guess so, unless the boss has something on hand, just wait here a moment--I’ll go and see him. Nothing would suit me better than a trip down in Dixie.’

“Thus saying, he disappeared through a back door, leaving the doctor and me alone.

“‘Deuced sharp fellow, I assure you, Demar--works like a beaver, and hangs on like a badger; never fails to bring the truth to the surface; I hope you will secure him.’

“‘I shall consider myself lucky, indeed, if I can take him with me to Memphis. The case he has been telling us about is somewhat similar to the one I have on hand.’

“‘Ah, indeed! then he will be the better prepared to work it up; by the way, here he comes now. How is it, Dabbs, can you go?’

“‘Yes, it is all right; when do you wish me to start, Mr. Demar?’

“‘On the 2:30 train this afternoon--Pittsburg line; can you be ready by that time?’

“‘Oh, yes, I’m always ready; let me know the nature of the case you wish me to investigate. It may be necessary to send a telegram immediately; nothing like getting an early start in affairs of this kind; a warm track is much easier to follow than a cold one. I happen to have an old partner in Memphis, which I consider quite a lucky thing in this instance; I’ll send a dispatch directing him what to do until I arrive. Mr. Tadpoddle will be of invaluable service to me, for he has worked in Memphis, in my line, for many years. Give me your case at once, Mr. Demar, and then I’ll telegraph Mr. Tadpoddle what to do.’

“‘This will lead you into the light of the matter, Mr. Dabbs,’ I said, handing him the letter I had received from Harry.

“When he had read the letter he handed it back to me, saying:

“‘Bad job, Mr. Demar; these kind of cases are very difficult to manage; but Tadpoddle and I can do it if it can be done. I have just finished up a case similar to this one, and I must say that crimes of that kind are increasing fearfully; and the worst of it is the suspicion, in a majority of such cases, falls on the wrong man; I trust it will prove so in this one. If it should, however, turn out that they have arrested the right one, I must say it is a most horrible affair. I am glad that your friend Wallingford acted so promptly in having the premises placed in charge of an officer--it will facilitate our work very much; then it prevents any smuggling, or putting out of tracks by accomplices, which is often done by partners in crime. You may go now, Mr. Demar; I’ll meet you at the depot in time for the 2:30 train; I have nothing to do but pack up my traps, which won’t take many minutes.’

“‘Well, Demar,’ said Doctor Vannesse, ‘let us go to your room now, and then I will hear a history of this case of yours.’

“I went by the telegraph office and sent a dispatch to Harry, informing him that I would start immediately, accompanied by the best detective officer in the city. ‘Guard the premises closely--life and death may depend on that,’ were the closing words of my dispatch. Arriving at my room, I handed Harry’s letter to Doctor Vannesse, and while he was reading I sat and watched the changes in his countenance wrought by the dreadful news it contained.

“‘By Jove! Demar, this is most horrible! It beats anything I ever heard of; do you think she is guilty?’

“‘If she committed the murder she was insane--she never did it while in her proper mind; she was more like an angel than a murderess. The idea that she committed murder for money is absurd; she hated money, and was scattering her fortune promiscuously among the poor and needy. There has been a strangeness in her conduct for the last eight months which has greatly puzzled her friends, and it may be possible that her mind was not right. She had had a misunderstanding with a young gentleman to whom she was very much attached.’

“‘Ah, yes! I see how it is; she has been laboring under temporary insanity,’ said the doctor; ‘but I fear that will not avail her in this case. The pleas of insanity are becoming so frequent that all courts view them with suspicion; I most earnestly hope you will be able to establish her innocence. Write to me, Demar, often, and keep me posted as to the progress of this case; I shall not be able to discard it from my mind until I know the final result. Good-by, old fellow, I must leave you now; success to you. My respects to that charming girl you are always talking about; I’d give a quarter’s salary to see her. If she is half so pretty as you say she is, it would delight me to look at her; Lottie, yes, Lottie--that’s the name, I believe--by the by, a very pretty name for a pretty girl; adieu.’

“When the doctor closed the door behind him as he passed out I began to arrange my baggage, while Lottie’s dear image floated before my mind; and my heart fluttered with excitement when I thought of the great pleasure it would afford me to be with her once more. I was at the depot twenty minutes ahead of time, and impatient and nervous; so much excited that I could not sit five minutes in one place. I think my pulse must have counted at least ninety to the minute; I snatched up a newspaper and tried to read, but couldn’t do it; looked at my watch a dozen times--compared it with the railway clock as often--then began to notice the crowd of travelers as they came hurrying in, hoping to see Dabbs among them, but he did not arrive until the conductor cried ‘All aboard!’ when I saw him elbowing his way through the crowd.

“‘I was afraid you would be left, Mr. Dabbs,’ I said, as he came up.

“‘Never was left in my life, sir; don’t think of me at all; I’m one of those kind of fellows that ain’t left; I know the value of time, sir; have been dispatching instructions to Tadpoddle; he’s got ’em before now--good, we’re off.’

“I found it a great relief to my restless mind to be with Dabbs, for he was an incessant talker, well posted on general subjects, and appeared to be willing to impart what he knew without any questions from me. He gave me an interesting history of many notorious criminals whose dark deeds had been brought to light by him as a detective officer. I would interest you with a repetition of them here, but my business is to describe occurrences more directly connected with my story. I will, therefore, read you Harry’s letter, as I think it will throw more light on the matter now in hand than anything I could say. Here it is:

“‘DEAR ED--Come home as quickly as you can; we are all in the
deepest distress; a great misfortune has fallen on us, and we need
you here to help us. Poor Lottie is in great sorrow, and your
presence may help to console her. I beseech you not to lose a
moment in coming. Viola is in jail, charged with the murder of her
little brother. Oh, it is horrible! To think that poor girl should
be thrust into a dungeon--like a common murderer--when she is as
innocent as a lamb! the very thought makes the blood run cold in my
veins. My conscience tells me that I am responsible, to some
extent, for this terrible calamity, though not intentionally. The
bare idea that Viola would commit such a foul, cruel murder, is
preposterous! If every man, woman and child in the city of Memphis
were to swear she is guilty, I would believe they were mistaken.
Some awful mystery, some deep-laid scheme of villainy, has mixed
itself up with the whole affair, and I mean to devote my life to
the task of unearthing it. I have registered a solemn vow in Heaven
never to seek rest until the perpetrator of this horrible crime is
brought to justice. That the poor child has been cruelly murdered
by some treacherous, cowardly villain, is a fact beyond all
dispute; but the perpetrator has covered up his tracks so
effectually that I fear we shall have no little difficulty in
catching him. I love Viola; and since this trouble has come upon
her I love her more than ever. I hate to use extravagant language,
but the circumstances will justify it; I pray God to give me
courage, strength and prudence, until I shall have unraveled this
strange mystery. I must confess that the evidence points directly
to Viola as the perpetrator of this unnatural murder; and there is
where the mystery comes in. I happen to know that she loved her
little brother devotedly, and instead of killing him, I believe she
would have given up her own life to save his. She is an angel in
gentleness, as pure as Diana, and I would stake my life, and all my
hopes of salvation, on her innocence; yet many people believe her
guilty. The poor child was murdered by poison, administered in his
medicine. The post-mortem examination developed this fact, so as to
place it beyond question, large quantities of strychnine being
found in the stomach. I was led to hope that the evidence would
establish the fact that the poison had been administered by
mistake; but that hope was extinguished when Doctor Dodson made
his statement. The child had been suffering with chills and fever
for several days, and Doctor Dodson was called in to take charge of
the case; he left five small doses of quinine with Viola, directing
her to administer one dose every two hours, commencing at four
o’clock P. M. The quinine was wrapped in small slips of blue paper,
and the bottle out of which the doctor took it was found setting on
the mantel, where he had placed it when he measured out the
quantity to be given the patient; and after the child was dead two
of the doses of quinine which the doctor had made up were found on
the table by the bedside, which, upon examination, were found to be
unmixed with any poison; that, of course, destroyed the theory that
strychnine had been administered by mistake. Viola says that she
gave the child three doses of the medicine, commencing promptly at
four o’clock, as instructed by the doctor, and that soon after she
gave him the third dose he began to complain of a burning in his
stomach, which continued to grow worse until she became alarmed and
called a servant to go after Doctor Dodson. The servant was gone a
long time, and, when he returned, said that he had been unable to
find the doctor; that he had been called to see a patient, and no
one could tell when he would be back. By this time the child was in
convulsions; Mr. Ragland and his wife were at the theatre, and no
other persons were on the premises except the servants, one of whom
was dispatched with instructions to bring the first physician he
could find, while another was sent to the theatre after Mr.
Ragland. The servant who had been sent for a doctor returned in
about an hour, accompanied by Doctor Plaxico. It was ten minutes
after ten when the doctor arrived, and he found the child in a
dying condition. Mr. Ragland and his wife reached home a few
minutes before the doctor. The child expired at 11.45 P. M. He had
been dead twenty minutes when Doctor Dodson came in, completely
overwhelmed with astonishment at finding his patient dead. Doctor
Plaxico requested Doctor Dodson to grant him a private interview,
and they went into another room, when Doctor Plaxico closed the
door, turned the key in the lock, and made a cautious survey of the
room to assure himself that they were alone; then approaching
Doctor Dodson, he spoke in a low, cautious tone, as if measuring
every word he uttered:

“‘“The poor child has been murdered, as sure as God is on His
throne.”

“‘“Merciful Heavens! Doctor Plaxico, don’t tell me that!” exclaimed
Doctor Dodson, as he staggered to a sofa.

“‘“I tell you the truth, and nothing but what I know to be truth!
Would to Heaven it were not so, but the evidence is overwhelming.
That boy died from the effects of poison administered to him by
some one in this very house, this very night; I know what I say,
and mean what I assert.”

“‘“Stop, Plaxico! stop, I implore you; you don’t know what you are
saying; you have been taking over-much wine.”

“‘“No, you are wrong there! not a drop have I tasted within the
last twenty-four hours; my brain was never more clear than it is
this moment; and again I tell you the child has been murdered!”

“‘“Don’t say _murder_! it takes malice to constitute murder; who
could bear malice against an innocent little boy like him?”

“‘“Does the highwayman bear malice against the poor traveler when
he kills him for his money?”

“‘“But who gets any money by the death of this poor child?”

“‘“The very one who administered the death-dealing drug.”

“‘”’Tis untrue! and who utters it is an idiot!”

“‘“Keep calm, Doctor Dodson, I beseech you; I can forgive your
strong language, knowing, as I do, that you will soon be sorry for
having used it; but you will be of my opinion as to this case
before long. We must make an autopsy, and then you will doubtless
be convinced that the child has been dosed to death with poison.”

“‘Doctor Dodson leaned back on the sofa, buried his face in his
hands and groaned. After remaining silent for a long time,
endeavoring to collect his thoughts, he said:

“‘“What evidence have you that causes you to conclude the child has
been poisoned?”

“‘“Having seen several persons die from its effects, and seeing the
boy die from it this very night. I knew it was poison as soon as I
arrived, and might have saved him if I had been here an hour
sooner; but it was too late when I came.”

“‘“Is that all your evidence?”

“‘“No, no! not by any means; I have found something which I guess
will startle you when you see it; look at that and tell me if you
know what it is?”

“‘“Of course--that is a small phial of strychnine; but what does
that signify; will you please tell me?”

“‘“I found this in a little drawer of a bureau in Miss Bramlett’s
room. Her brother died from the effects of poison, and she was
ordered by you to administer quinine to her brother, but she
administered something else. Do I speak sufficiently plain? Do you
understand me? Shall I say anything more by way of explaining what
I mean?”

“‘“Hush, hush! for Heaven’s sake, stop! give me time to think. How
many papers of the quinine had been given to the child when you
arrived?”

“‘“Miss Bramlett said that she administered three doses, and that
the last one made her brother sick!”

“‘“Did you find the doses that had not been given to the patient?”

“‘“I found two papers on the table near the bed containing quinine,
and have them here now.”

“‘“Have you examined them to see whether they contain quinine or
something else?”

“‘“Yes, their contents is pure, unadulterated quinine.”

“‘“You don’t mean to say that you think Miss Bramlett has
intentionally killed her brother!”

“‘“But I do mean to say that very thing; who else could have done
it? How could it have been a mistake? Didn’t she administer the
medicine? Hasn’t the boy died from poison? Doesn’t she make a large
fortune by his death? Wasn’t she alone with him all the time? What
was she doing with this bottle of strychnine in her bureau? All the
lawyers in Tennessee can’t save her neck!”

“‘“Plaxico, you are crazy as a March hare! You don’t know what you
are talking about! I knew that girl when she was a mere child--have
known her ever since--and I tell you she is one of the most
amiable, sweet, gentle, pure girls in the world. She doted on her
little brother, and it is absurd to say that she has murdered him.
As for money, she despises it, and has been squandering it by
thousands, among the worthy poor of the city. I think the best
policy for you to pursue is to keep your absurd opinions to
yourself. The poor girl has plenty of sorrow to endure, without
your help to increase it.”

“‘Doctor Plaxico began to pace the floor rapidly; after a few
minutes spent in that way he squared himself in front of Doctor
Dodson, and, looking him earnestly in the face for several seconds
in silence, he said:

“‘“Dodson, I have many faults, I know--faults of which I am
heartily ashamed--I have a weakness, when it comes to wine and
other stimulants; but I profess to be an honest, Christian
gentleman--a God-fearing man, if you please--and I cannot get the
consent of my conscience to let this matter drop here. As I am a
living man, I believe that child has been murdered--most cruelly
deprived of his young life by his unnatural, heartless sister! Oh,
sir! my heart grows faint when I think of it. She, whose duty it
was to love and guard that young life, has slipped in instead like
a thief and stolen it. Of all the crimes that ever were committed,
this one appears to me to be the blackest, the most cowardly and
damnable!”

“‘“Is it not possible that you may be mistaken, after all, as to
the cause of the child’s death?”

“‘“Not at all; the symptoms were unmistakable and certain.”

“‘“What course do you mean to pursue in regard to the case?”

“‘“Notify the coroner, of course, have an inquest, make an autopsy,
lay the evidence before the civil authorities, and then let the law
take its course.”

“‘“Be it so, then, and I pray God to give that poor girl strength
to endure this great calamity, for of her purity and innocence I
have no doubt whatever; and you will some day regret the share you
had in bringing this suspicion down on her.”

“‘“I never shall regret doing what is my plain duty; though I shall
be more than delighted if it can appear that she is innocent; but I
beg to say that I think you do me injustice when you speak of my
bringing the suspicion down on her. It rather seems to me that the
circumstances are responsible for doing that, and not me.”

“‘“One question I forgot to ask--have you said anything to Miss
Bramlett about the phial of strychnine which you say you found in
her bureau drawer?”

“‘“No, I did not; nor have I mentioned it to any one but you. Mr.
and Mrs. Ragland know nothing whatever about my suspicions.”

“‘“Wouldn’t it be advisable not to mention your suspicions until
after the autopsy?”

“‘“Probably it would; if you advise that course, I shall gladly
concur.”

“‘“Be it so, then; let the coroner be notified at once.”

“‘I was soundly sleeping in my bed when a messenger from Doctor
Dodson came thundering at my door, demanding admittance. Before I
was fully awake he informed me that the doctor wanted to see me as
soon as I could come to his office. The messenger said that
something serious must have happened, for he never had seen the
doctor looking so nervous and unhappy. As soon as I could dress
myself I hastened to the office. The night was very dark, the
streets swimming in mud, the dim lamps at the corners cast a pale,
sickly light over the pavement, my boot-heels made a loud, lonely
sound as they struck the hard stones, while the messenger walked
quietly behind me. My mind was in a fit condition to anticipate
coming evil. And strange as you may think it, I felt sure that
something awful had happened, and that Viola was in some way mixed
up with it. The messenger had by no means exaggerated in his
description of Doctor Dodson’s excitement. I never had seen him in
such a state of agitation as I found him when I reached his office.
He hurriedly gave me the details of what had occurred, in substance
as I have given them to you, and I was astonished at the coolness
with which I listened to the horrible narrative, but I believe I
have become callous, and perhaps it is best for me to be so, as it
will enable me to do the work before me with the deliberation that
is so necessary. Doctor Dodson, Heaven bless him! agrees with me in
the opinion that Viola is innocent, and will aid me in establishing
it before the world. The first thing I did was to inform Lottie of
what had happened, and send her to stay with Viola, in order to
sustain her, as much as possible, under this great affliction.
Lottie is in great distress, but is a perfect little heroine, and
has been with Viola ever since the troubles commenced,
indefatigable in her efforts to comfort and encourage her. The next
step was to see the newspaper managers and induce them not to
mention the matter in the papers. I had a double object in view, in
that respect; in the first place, I wanted to keep Viola’s name out
of public print; my next motive was to keep everything as private
as possible, in order to let the detectives have a better chance to
work up the case. Doctor Dodson went to see the coroner--who is a
good friend of his--and that officer agreed that the inquest might
be held privately. Doctors Dodson and Plaxico made a post-mortem
examination, when the evidences of poison were unmistakable. The
inquest was held in Mr. Ragland’s house, and only a few witnesses
were examined. The verdict of the jury would have been different,
no doubt, but for the phial of strychnine found in Viola’s bureau
drawer, and what is most singular and unaccountable to me, is that
Viola acknowledges she purchased the strychnine, but refuses to
tell for what purpose. That circumstance alone caused the jury to
render a verdict implicating her. Here is the exact wording of the
verdict, after going on with the ordinary formalities and
recitations as to dates, venue, etc.:

“‘“We, the jury, do find that Harry W. Bramlett, whose body now
lies before us, died from the effects of poison administered to him
by Miss Viola Bramlett.”

“‘I was present when the verdict was rendered, and I did not faint;
in fact, you would have been surprised to see how calmly I received
the awful news that I knew would consign Viola to the walls of a
dungeon. I could not account for my calmness, unless it was
produced by hopeless despair; yet I am by no means hopeless, for I
tell you, Eddie, as certain as there is a God, Viola is innocent,
and I mean to prove it. She knows something more than she is
willing to tell, but I will yet influence her to tell all. She has
sustained herself remarkably well through the trying ordeal; but
there appears to be a callousness in her manner that frightens me.
She seems to be indifferent as to her fate--says she don’t wish to
live, but I hope she will be better as soon as the excitement
passes off. Bring with you one of the most experienced detectives
you can find in Philadelphia; don’t mind the cost; I have but
little money myself, but my friends will aid me. Come without a
moment’s delay. I have taken the precaution to have the premises
closely guarded, in order to let the detectives have a fair chance
to investigate the case. Everything in the two rooms occupied by
Viola and her brother remains just as it was when the child died,
and I have no doubt that a skillful detective will be able to
unearth something that will explain the whole matter. I think I
could put my finger on the guilty party in ten minutes, but what
good would that do unless I could prove it? If my suspicions prove
to be well founded, I shall raise a whirlwind here that will
startle some people who feel very secure now. I will not breathe my
suspicions to any one until I am able to confirm them. I believe I
am becoming superstitious; for there seems to be an invisible
influence at work upon me. It is the same feeling that told me to
ride on the pilot of the engine when I saved Viola’s life. That
same something tells me that I will again save her, and that she
will be my wife. But this letter is too long, anyway, and I will
sign the name of

“‘Yours truly,

“‘HARRY.’