[From the Philadelphia Sunday Mercury]

The Murder at the St. Charles

by C.M.

The inmates of the aristocratic St. Charles Hotel were, one morning, aroused from their slumbers by the dreadful intelligence that murder had been among them. Mr. Austin, a wealthy, retired merchant, had been found strangled in his bed. No evidence of robbery appeared; not an article had been disturbed; there was no signs of house-breaking; nothing to betoken violence but the horrible disfigured face. Shrewd detectives were immediately set to work to elucidate the mystery. Their practiced eyes soon concluded that no outside agency had been at work, but that it was the deed of some interested inmate of the hotel. But whoever it was, his track was well hidden. Their first hasty investigation criminated no one, but convinced them that the only party that could be benefitted by the deed was Charles Austin, the nephew of the deceased.

At this junction, Mrs. Austin, who had been absent, returned, accompanied by Mr. Smith, a close friend of the family. The poor lady’s grief was inconsolable on finding a realization of the terrible news she had heard. Mr. Smith, on being questioned by the officers, at first could think of none on whom suspicion could rest, but at last concluded with them that Charles Austin might have entertained hopes of an inheritance.

“But see here!” he exclaimed; “there is something clasped in the hand of the corpse.”

After striving for an instant to open the rigidly-closed hand, the officers watching with much interest, he handed the detective a coat-button, which seemed to have been torn off by main force. It was closely examined by all present.

“This is a most important matter,” remarked one of the officers, a tall, handsome man; “and may lead to a conviction of the murderer. Have either… Read More