The Buried Bullet

A Detective’s Story

The story I am about to relate is one of the most singular instances of a long-hidden crime brought to light at last, that has come under my notice during my whole professional experience as a detective. 

About ten years ago I was especially detailed from headquarters at Washington to proceed to a small town on the New England coast, where it was suspected a gang of coiners were at work. It was an out-of-the-way place, little more than a fishing village, and though now taken in by a branch railway, at the time of which I write the only means of reaching it was by a stage from the nearest town of any importance, which was fifteen miles distant. 

The coach in which I had taken my passage did not start until about eight o’clock in the evening, and as it was late in the fall, by that time it was dark. The road was a lonely and desolate one along the coast, and a heavy mist was rolling in from the sea with a most depressing effect upon the spirits of the passengers. 

In almost utter silence we had traversed more than half the distance, when suddenly the coach came to a standstill. The next moment a woman’s face peered through the window. 

“Please, gentlemen,” she said, in a voice trembling with agitation, “is there a doctor or a clergyman among you?” 

There was a movement among the passengers for a moment or two, and then a benevolent face peered out from the folds of an… Read More