Bucholz and the Detectives

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Upon the occasion of his next visit he found a marked change in
William Bucholz. He appeared to be silent and depressed in spirits.
Horrible dreams had visited his fitful slumbers, and the accusing
voice of the murdered man had rung in his ears during the solemn
watches of the night. The pallid, blood-stained face of Henry Schulte
had appeared to him, and his conscience had been an active producer
of unrest and terror. Try as he would, that awful presence followed
him, and he found sleep to be an impossibility. Hollow-eyed and sad,
he greeted the detective, and as he cordially shook him by the hand,
he noticed that a spasm of pain crossed the face of the prisoner.

"What is the matter, William?" he anxiously inquired. "Have you seen
a ghost?"

"Oh, no," replied the other, with a shiver--"it is nothing, only a
little cold, I guess."

The quick eye of the detective could not be deceived--something had
occurred of more than usual import, and he was determined to
ascertain what it was. Pressing him closely, Bucholz admitted, with a
forced smile, that on the day before, he had been reading Schiller's
play of "The Robbers," and that becoming excited by the heroic action
of "Carl von Moor," he had thoughtlessly plunged his penknife, which
he had in his hand at the time, into his own side. The blade had
touched a rib, however, and that prevented the wound from being very
serious. The blood had flowed copiously from the incision thus made,
and the wound was even now very painful.

Sommers, at a glance, saw through this flimsy pretext, and realized
at once what had happened. The miserable man, nervous and excited,
had, in the excess of fear, attempted to take his own life. The grim
specters of the night were too horrible to endure, and he had sought
to escape their torments by the act which he had attempted.

His shirt had been saturated with blood, and he had been compelled to
destroy it to prevent detection.

Sommers lectured him roundly upon this exhibition of weakness, and,
after a time spent in friendly advice, he succeeded in reassuring
him.

Bucholz related to him at this interview a dream which he said he had
the evening before. He had seen the court assembled--the room was
filled with people and his trial was going on. Then, stopping
suddenly in his narration, he gazed wildly at his companion, and
exclaimed:

"If you are a detective, you have made a nice catch this time. But,
you see I have a steady hand yet, and if you were to take the stand
against me, I would rise in my place and denounce you to the court.
Then I would plunge a knife into my heart."

The detective looked unflinchingly and scornfully into the glaring
eyes of the man before him, and laughed lightly at his ravings. He
resolved, however, in order to prevent accidents, that every
precaution should be taken against the occurrence of such a scene.

He had no fear that Bucholz would do what he threatened. At heart he
knew the man to be a coward. No one who could stealthily creep behind
his unsuspecting victim and deal the deadly blow of an assassin
could, in his opinion, possess the moral courage to face a death by
his own hands, and particularly after the failure of this first
attempt.

He did not communicate this opinion to the prisoner, but he treated
the subject in a jesting manner, and told him that if he heard any
more of such nonsense he would inform the prison authorities and his
liberty would be curtailed.

He then proceeded to unfold a plan which he had concocted for the
relief of his friend, and to manufacture evidence that would bear an
important part in the coming trial.

He would procure an old shirt and a pair of pantaloons, which he
would first stain with blood, and would then bury them in the ground
near to the scene of the murder, and would then write an anonymous
letter to the State's attorney and to the counsel for Bucholz,
informing them of the place where they could be found.

The prisoner eagerly accepted this suggestion. He seemed to forget
his pain, his fears and his suspicions as he listened, and when
Sommers had concluded he laughed heartily, then he added, hurriedly:

"You must get an axe also, and bury that with the clothes; that
was----"

He stopped abruptly, as though afraid of saying too much, and Sommers
looked inquiringly into his face.

"How would it do to get the axe from the barn?" he asked; "the one
that had blood on it when it was found."

"That was chickens' blood," quickly replied Bucholz, "and it will not
do. No, you must get an old axe from some other place and bury it
with the clothes."

Sommers promised to comply with all these things, and on leaving the
prisoner for that day his frame of mind had considerably improved,
and thoughts of a suspicious character were entirely dissipated.

The anonymous letters were soon prepared, and it was arranged that
they should be sent to San Francisco, Cal., and be remailed from
there to Mr. Olmstead and to the counsel for William Bucholz.

I experienced no difficulty in arranging this, as I have
correspondents in almost every town and city in the United States;
and the letters were upon the way to that distant Western city in a
few days.

The letter was as follows:

"FRISCO, AUG., '79.

"I AM NOW OUT OF REACH OF JUSTICE, AND WILL NOT SUFFER THAT A
INNOCENT MAN IS HELT FOR THE MURTER OF SCHULTE, AND VILL NOW
STADE WERE THE CLOTHES AND BOCKET BOOKS WERE TROWN. U MAY FIND
MORE BY SEARGEN THE GROUND, ABOUT TWO HUNDRED YARDS FROM WHERE
SCHULTE WAS KILLED THERE IS A STONE FENCE RUNNING N. AND S. AND
ONE RUNNING W., WERE THESE FENCES JOIN THERE IS A TREE CUT DOWN,
AND U FIND BETWEEN THE STONES, AND IN THE GROUND SOMETHING THAT
WILL SURPRISE U. I HOPE THIS WILL SAVE THE LIFE OF A INNOCENT
MAN.

"NAMELESS."

It was printed in capitals and purposely misspelled, in order to
convey the impression that the writer was a foreigner, and perhaps a
tramp--many of which had infested that neighborhood.

This letter pleased Bucholz immensely. It was, in his opinion, a
wonderful production, and must certainly result in deceiving the
State's attorney.

Mr. Bollman had now returned from Germany, and his errand had been
entirely successful. He had seen the relatives of Bucholz, and they
had promised to aid him financially in his trouble. Further than
this, they seemed to take no great interest in his welfare. Shortly
after his arrival a draft was received, which, upon being cashed,
placed in the hands of the prisoner sufficient moneys to enable him
to secure the services of the additional counsel who had been loath
to act energetically in the matter, until the question of
remuneration had been definitely and satisfactorily settled.

In order to recover the amount loaned to Bucholz for Mr. Bollman's
expenses, Sommers suggested that in order to avoid any suspicion, he
would demand of him the return of the same, and which he would inform
Mr. Bollman his friend was greatly in need of.

Mr. Bollman thereupon repaid two hundred and fifty dollars of the
amount loaned, and Bucholz executed another due-bill for the sum of
one hundred dollars, payable to Edward Sommers.

Shortly after this occurrence Bucholz informed Sommers on the
occasion of one of his visits that on the day previous he had been
visited by two of his attorneys.

They had labored assiduously to induce him to confess as to the
relations existing between himself and Sommers. They told him that if
he had made any revelations to him it might not yet be too late to
counteract it, but if he refused to tell them the truth in regard to
the matter they could not and would not be answerable for the
consequences. General Smith graphically portrayed to him the effects
which would follow a failure to confide entirely in his counsel, and
Bucholz's frame shook perceptibly as he pictured the doom which would
certainly follow if his attorneys had been deceived.

But all their arguments were of no avail. He remained firm, and
protested to the last that Sommers knew nothing about his case. The
iron will upheld him during this ordeal, and the influence which the
detective had gained over him had been of such a character as to
outweigh the solicitations of those to whom he ought to look for
relief on the trial that was now fast approaching.

How far again the question of self-interest may have induced this
action cannot be ascertained. Bucholz had been led to believe that if
he communicated the existence of the money which he had secured, to
his lawyers, and if they should succeed in obtaining control of it,
his portion would be very small indeed, after they had paid
themselves therefrom.

This idea may have been of sufficient weight to compel his silence,
but the result--whatever the cause--proved that the detective had
achieved a victory over the attorneys, and that he wielded an
influence over their guilty client which they could never hope to
possess.

CHAPTER XXIX.

_Bucholz grows Skeptical and Doubtful._--_A Fruitless Search._--_The
Murderer Involuntarily Reveals Himself._

The days sped on, and the trial of William Bucholz, for the murder of
Henry Schulte, his employer, was fast approaching. Regularly Edward
Sommers had visited the imprisoned man, and upon the occasion of each
visit had endeavored to assure him of the possibility of escaping
from the charge against him.

The mind of Bucholz was in a chaotic state of worriment and unrest.
Between his confidences to Edward Sommers and the repeated warnings
of his counsel he scarcely knew what to do or what to say. At times
he would bitterly regret having informed Sommers of anything about
himself, and at others he would hug him to his breast as the only
human being upon whom he could rely.

To Sommers this experience had been a trying one indeed. He had been
compelled to endure the various moods of Bucholz with patience and
equanimity and to endeavor to disabuse his mind of frequent-recurring
doubts. Many times during his visits he would be vexed beyond
endurance at the doubtful questionings of his companion, which he
frequently found very difficult to parry or explain. Then, too, he
became extravagant in his demands, and required the choicest
delicacies that could be procured. He wanted new clothing, and even
expressed a desire that Sommers should procure for him a uniform
dress of the regiment of hussars of which he was formerly a
member--in fact, became so importunate in his demands and so
ridiculous in his fancied wants, that Sommers, fearful of affording
grounds for suspicion in the minds both of the inmates of the prison
and of the counsel for Bucholz, was compelled to emphatically refuse
to gratify his wishes.

These denials of course were productive of differences of opinion and
angry altercations. Fresh doubts would be engendered, which would
require the exercise of all the ingenuity of the detective to allay.
Bucholz seemed to have no idea that a liberal expenditure of money at
this time would be very injurious to his case, and that as Mr.
Bollman had sole charge of the money received from Germany, he would
naturally become suspicious of his client should he discover that
Sommers was supplying his wants from a source which his counsel was
ignorant of.

He thirsted also for a glance at the money which had been found,
especially the gold-piece with a hole in it, and besought Sommers to
bring it with him, so that he might feast his eyes upon the wealth
that was soon to be his. So frequent and imperious became these
demands that Sommers had the greatest difficulty in convincing him of
the danger to both of them which would be attendant upon any such
proceeding.

He had informed Bucholz that the money had been securely placed in
the vaults of a safe deposit company in New York City, but he did not
tell him that the German Consul carried the key.

Upon the occasion of almost every visit he would be compelled to
wrestle with this doubtfulness of his companion before he could
induce him to converse upon the matters that would naturally be
considered of the utmost importance to him, but after long and
arduous labor, he usually left him more cheerful and hopeful than he
found him.

The time drew near for the anonymous letters to arrive from San
Francisco, and Sommers went to South Norwalk, and, locating the spot
mentioned in the letter, he dug up the solid earth in such a manner
as to convince whoever came to look for the hidden articles mentioned
in the communication, that some one else had anticipated them, and
that the articles had been removed.

The letters were duly received, and Mr. Olmstead, who, of course, had
been informed of their manufacture, upon receiving his paid no
attention to the important information it was supposed to convey. The
attorneys for Bucholz, however, visited the spot, and to their dismay
and disappointment they found the earth broken, and every indication
that the articles, if any existed, had been removed in advance of
their arrival.

When Bucholz heard of the disappointment of his counsel, he was much
chagrined, and accused Sommers of having arranged it so that Mr.
Olmstead received his before the other was delivered. This, however,
was proven to the contrary, and the fact was that even had there been
anything hidden under the ground, Bucholz's defenders were too
dilatory in going in search of them.

It was at the visit after the information had reached them of this
fruitless search for important testimony, that Bucholz related to
Sommers another dream, in which his former prison companion was said
to have appeared to him as a detective, and as he finished the
recital, he turned to his companion, and said:

"If you are a detective, and if you do take the stand against me, it
is all over. I will tell my lawyers to stop the trial--that will be
the end of it--and me."

Sommers laughed at this and turned the drift of the conversation to
the question of the approaching trial and the evidence that would
soon be produced against him.

He asked him in a quiet manner, if he had thrown the two old pistols
where they had been found on the night of the murder, and Bucholz,
with a smile, answered him:

"Oh, my dear fellow, you make a mistake; the murderers threw them
there."

Sommers looked incredulously at him for a moment, and then replied:

"I did not ask you whether you killed the old man or not; but you
must not think me such a fool as not to know it."

Bucholz laughed, a hard, bitter laugh, and the glitter of the
serpent's came into the wicked blue eyes, but he made no denial.

"I never thought when I first became acquainted with you," continued
Sommers, "that you knew anything about this murder, but rather
thought you an innocent, harmless-looking fellow. Indeed I never
imagined that you had nerve enough to do anything like that."

Again that diabolical laugh, and Bucholz, holding out his right arm
without a tremor of the muscles, replied, ironically:

"Oh, no; I have got no nerve at all."

The next day they referred again to the finding of the articles
hidden in the ground, and Sommers informed his companion that Mr.
Olmstead had secured the axe that was in the barn, and regretted very
much that he had not taken it when he was there.

Bucholz looked troubled at this information, but, rousing himself, he
inquired:

"What kind of an axe did you get?"

"Why, I got one as nearly like that in the barn as I could--about as
thick as the iron bars on the door of the cell there."

"Yes, that is right," said Bucholz, eagerly, while a glow of
satisfaction dashed across his face.

"I don't know about that," replied Sommers. "How large were the
wounds upon the head of Mr. Schulte?"

"One was about three inches long."

"Was that the wound that was made by the sharp edge of the axe?"

"Yes! yes!" replied Bucholz, eagerly.

"Well, how large was the other wound?"

"Well," said Bucholz, musingly, and making a circle of his thumb and
forefinger, he held it up before the detective; "I should think it
was a hole about this large."

No tremor of the voice, no shaking of the hand, as he held it up,
but, with a cold, unfeeling look, he made this explanation.

"I am afraid that the axe I bought was too large, because the back of
it was as broad as the bar upon this door--about two inches."

"That is right enough," quickly replied Bucholz, "because if you
would take the axe and strike the blow upwards behind the ear, where
that wound was, you would strike the head with the edge of the back,
and that would crush in the bones of the skull and produce just such
a hole as that was in Schulte's head."

He illustrated this by starting to his feet and raising his hands as
if he was about to strike the blow himself. The murderous glitter
came again into those flashing eyes. His words came thick and
fast--the demon smile was upon his lips. He was acting again the
scene of that dreadful night, and, oblivious of his listener, or the
impressions he was creating, he lived again that frightful moment
when he had inflicted the blows that laid the old man dead at his
feet.

There was a realism about his manner that was awfully impressive, and
the detective involuntarily shuddered as he looked into those
gleaming eyes, in which murder was clearly reflected. All doubts were
removed from his mind--the murderer of Henry Schulte stood before
him--and if the judges and the jury that were to hear his case in a
few days could have witnessed this scene, conviction would have been
carried to the minds of the most skeptical.

No confession seemed necessary now. If ever murder was depicted upon
a human face it was expressed in every lineament of the face of the
man who stood before the detective in that prison cell.

The wicked gleam had not died out from his eyes, as, unconscious of
the effect his manner had produced, he resumed his position, and
added, in a tone of entire satisfaction:

"Yes, yes, that axe is all right!"

Edward Sommers shuddered as he gazed at the man before him--the man
who had become as putty in his hands, and yet who possessed a heart
so black as to be capable of the damning deed for which he was so
soon to be tried for committing.

He thought of the tears this man had shed in the darkness of the
lonely nights; of the accusing voices that had rung in his ears
during his uneasy slumbers; of the conscience that would not down at
the command of the resolute will--and then of the incidents of this
afternoon, when the murderer stood revealed before him in all the
hideous deformity of his brutal passion and his self confessed crime.

Of a truth events and not men are alone worthy of consideration in
the life of a detective.

THE JUDGMENT.

CHAPTER XXX.

_The Trial._--_An unexpected Witness._--_A convincing Story._--_An
able, but fruitless Defense._--_A verdict of Guilty._--_The triumph
of Justice._

The trial of William Bucholz for the murder of Henry Schulte began in
the old Court House at Bridgeport on the ninth day of September, and
a ripple of excitement pervaded the city. The interest attaching to
this case had extended beyond the locality in which it had occurred,
and the reporter's table was crowded with representatives of the
various metropolitan journals who designed giving publicity to the
proceedings of the trial.

The judges, solemn and dignified, were upon the bench. The lawyers,
bustling among their books and papers, were actively engaged in
preparing for the scenes that were to follow, while the State's
attorney, quiet and calm, but with a confident look of determination
upon his face, awaited the production of the prisoner and the formal
opening of the case.

Bucholz had engaged the services of three lawyers--General Smith, who
had acquired considerable fame as an attorney; Mr. Bollman, who had
been connected with the case from its inception, and Mr. Alfred E.
Austin, a young member of the bar, who resided at Norwalk.

The sheriff entered with his prisoner, and placed him in the dock, to
plead to the indictment that was to be read to him, and upon which he
was to be placed upon trial for his life.

He entered with the same careless, jaunty air which had marked his
first appearance at South Norwalk, and except for a certain
nervousness in his manner and a restless wandering of the eager
glance which he cast around him, no one would have imagined that he
stood upon the eve of a trying ordeal that was to result either in
sending him to the gallows or in striking from his wrists the
shackles that encircled them, and sending him out into the world a
free man.

He was dressed with scrupulous neatness, and had evidently taken
great care in preparing himself for the trial. He wore a new suit of
clothes, of neat pattern and of modern style, and his linen was of
spotless whiteness and carefully arranged. As he entered and took his
seat a suppressed murmur of surprise, not unmixed with sympathy,
pervaded the court-room.

The hall was crowded, and a large number of ladies, attracted,
perhaps, by that element of curiosity which is inherent in the sex,
and perhaps by that quality of sympathy for which they are
remarkable, were present, and Bucholz at once became the focus of all
eyes and the subject of universal comment and conversation.

From the nature of the charge against him many had expected to see
some ferocious-looking ruffian, whose countenance would portray the
evidence of his crime, and whose appearance would indicate the
certainty of his guilt. Their surprise was therefore unbounded, when,
instead of the monster their imaginations had conjured up, they
beheld the young, well-dressed and good-looking German who appeared
before them, and a strong feeling of sympathy for the unfortunate man
was manifested by a majority of those present.

Considerable difficulty was experienced in securing a jury, but at
length the requisite number were obtained, and Bucholz was directed
to stand up and listen to the charge that had been preferred against
him.

A profound silence pervaded the court-room as the indictment was
being read. The prisoner paid the strictest attention as the words
were pronounced:--

"How say you, prisoner at the bar; are you guilty or not guilty?" and
he answered in a firm voice: "Not guilty!"

The attorneys eagerly scanned the faces of the "twelve good men and
true," into whose hands was soon to be confided the fate of the man
who stood before them; but their impassive countenances gave no
indication of the thoughts which occupied their minds. They had been
chosen for the performance of a solemn duty, and were evidently
prepared to perform it without fear or favor.

Who can fathom the mind of the prisoner or conceive the myriad of
vexing thoughts with which his brain is teeming? He exhibits no
fear--he displays no excitement--but calmly and quietly and with
watchful eyes he gazes around upon the scene before him--a scene in
which he is an important actor, and in which his fate is being
determined.

Without the formality of an opening address, the State's attorney
calls the first witness--Mrs. Waring. This lady details the
occurrences of the afternoon and evening of the murder--the facts of
which are already known to the reader. She also testified to the
friendly relations existing between the murdered man and the
prisoner, except upon one occasion, when, shortly before the death of
Mr. Schulte, she had heard angry words in their apartments. No
importance was attached to this, as the disagreement was of short
duration, and their pleasant intercourse was speedily resumed.

The evidence of the two daughters and the son of Mrs. Waring was
taken, but they simply confirmed the story as related by the mother.
The various persons who were present at the finding of the body--the
physicians who had made the post mortem examination, were examined as
to their knowledge of the murder, and the circumstances incident
thereto.

The officers who had charge of Bucholz testified to his extravagances
during the time that intervened between the murder and the formal
arrest of the prisoner, and to the fact of the money which he had
expended bearing the peculiar marks which had been noticed upon it.

Frank Bruner had been found by my operatives, and he identified the
watch that had been found as belonging to Henry Schulte. He also
testified to the conversations which took place between himself and
Bucholz before he had left the service of Mr. Schulte, and also that
the old gentleman had called upon him on the morning of that fatal
day, and had informed him of his intention to dispense with the
services of Bucholz on the 15th day of the succeeding month, and
requested Frank to again enter his service; which he had promised to
consider before deciding finally upon.

The examination of these various witnesses had occupied two days, and
nothing very serious or convincing, except of a circumstantial
nature, had been proven. Bucholz appeared jubilant and hopeful--his
counsel were sanguine of acquittal, and even the jurors looked less
sternly as their eyes fell upon the prisoner.

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