What a Piece of Waistcoat Did

Written for The New York Clipper

by Vandyke Brown

Briefly stated, the facts in the case, so far as known, were these. Mr. Richard Walton had returned to his rooms in West Twenty-third street at half-past twelve o’clock Wednesday night. He had been seen that evening in one of the Broadway theatres, and later in the cafe of the Hotel Brunswick, where he had partaken of supper and drunk a bottle of champagne. He appeared in excellent spirits, and before leaving the Brunswick made an appointment with Col. Poynton Payn to meet that gentleman at eleven o’clock the next day. He was then driven to his residence, and, having given instructions to be called at nine o’clock, retired. That was the last ever seen of Richard Walton alive. When a servant went to his room the next morning and endeavored to awaken him by knocking at the door, there was no response; and when, at last, the door was forced open, his body was found upon the floor lifeless and cold. Examination disclosed the fact that he had been shot through the heart. Apart from the absurdity of such an idea, it was plain enough that Richard Walton had not committed suicide, inasmuch as his own pistol was found in his pocket with a cartridge in each of the chambers, while there was no other weapon in the room. It was then established beyond the shadow of a doubt that murder had been committed. And here all certainty ended. Beyond the one simple and terrible fact there was nothing but mystery and guesswork.  

Death, they tell us, is always sudden.  It must then, be considered startlingly sudden when its messenger is a bullet. That Richard Walton was dead would in itself have caused sincere sorrow among his many… Read More