Tarlton Law Library
Jamail Center for Legal Research

"Something is rotten in the State of Denmark." 

                                                                      Hamlet.

     "Never mind the front door, but tell us why you left this Mrs. 
Wilson?" 
     "Shure, and it was she as left me, being as she went sailing to the 
ould country the same day when on her recommendation I came to this 
very front door—" 
     "Well, well; no matter about that. You have been in Mr. 
Leavenworth's family a year?" 
     "Yes, sir." 
     "And liked it? found him a good master?" 
     "Och, sir, niver have I found a better, worse luck to the villain 
as killed him. He was that free and ginerous, sir, that many 's the 
time I have said to Hannah—" She stopped, with a sudden comical gasp 
of terror, looking at her fellow-servants like one who had incautiously 
made a slip. The coroner, observing this, inquired hastily: 
     "Hannah? Who is Hannah?" 
     The cook, drawing her roly-poly figure up into some sort of shape in 
her efforts to appear unconcerned, exclaimed boldly: "She? Oh, only 
the ladies' maid, sir." 
     "But I don't see any one here answering to that description. You 
didn't speak of any one by the name of Hannah, as belonging to the 
house," said he, turning to Thomas. 
     "No, sir," the latter replied, with a bow and a sidelong look at 
the red-cheeked girl at his side. "You asked me who were in the house 
at the time the murder was discovered, and I told you." 
     "Oh," cried the coroner, satirically; "used to police courts, I 
see." Then, turning back to the cook, who had all this while been 
rolling her eyes in a vague fright about the room, inquired, "And 
where is this Hannah?" 
     "Shure, sir, she's gone." 
     "How long since?" 
     The cook caught her breath hysterically. "Since last night." 
     "What time last night?" 

     "Troth, sir, and I don't know. I don't know anything about it." 
     "Was she dismissed?" 
     "Not as I knows on; her clothes is here." 
     "Oh, her clothes are here. At what hour did you miss her?" 
     "I didn't miss her. She was here last night, and she isn't here 
this morning, and so I says she 's gone." 
     "Humph!" cried the coroner, casting a slow glance down the room, 
while every one present looked as if a door had suddenly opened in a 
closed wall. 
     "Where did this girl sleep?" 
     The cook, who had been fumbling uneasily with her apron, looked up. 
     "Shure, we all sleeps at the top of the house, sir." 
     "In one room?" 
     Slowly. "Yes, sir."
     "Did she come up to the room last night?" 
     "Yes, sir." 
     "At what hour?" 
     "Shure, it was ten when we all came up. I heard the clock 
a-striking." 
     "Did you observe anything unusual in her appearance?" 
     "She had a toothache, sir." 
     "Oh, a toothache; what, then? Tell me all she did." 
     But at this the cook broke into tears and wails. 
     "Shure, she didn't do nothing, sir. It wasn't her, sir, as did 
anything; don't you believe it. Hannah is a good girl, and honest, 
sir, as ever you see. I am ready to swear on the Book as how she never 
put her hand to the lock of his door. What should she for? She only 
went down to Miss Eleanore for some toothache-drops, her face was 

paining her that awful; and oh, sir—" 
     "There, there," interrupted the coroner, "I am not accusing Hannah 
of anything. I only asked you what she did after she reached your room. 
She went downstairs, you say. How long after you went up?" 
     "Troth, sir, I couldn't tell; but Molly says—" 
     "Never mind what Molly says. You didn't see her go down?" 
     "No, sir." 
     "Nor see her come back?" 
     "No, sir." 
     "Nor see her this morning?" 
     "No, sir; how could I when she 's gone?" 
     "But you did see, last night, that she seemed to be suffering with 
toothache?" 
     "Yes, sir." 
     "Very well; now tell me how and when you first became acquainted 
with the fact of Mr. Leavenworth's death." 
     But her replies to this question, while over-garrulous, contained 
but little information; and seeing this, the coroner was on the point 
of dismissing her, when the little juror, remembering an admission she 
had made, of having seen Miss Eleanore Leavenworth coming out of the 
library door a few minutes after Mr. Leavenworth's body had been 
carried into the next room, asked if 
her mistress had anything in her hand at the time. 
     "I don't know, sir. Faith!" she suddenly exclaimed, "I believe 
she did have a piece of paper. I recollect, now, seeing her put it in 
her pocket." 
     The next witness was Molly, the upstairs girl. 
     Molly O'Flanagan, as she called herself, was a rosy-cheeked, 
black-haired, pert girl of about eighteen, who under ordinary 

circumstances would have found herself able to answer, with a due 
degree of smartness, any question which might have been addressed to 
her. But fright will sometimes cower the stoutest heart, and Molly, 
standing before the coroner at this juncture, presented anything but a 
reckless appearance, her naturally rosy cheeks blanching at the first 
word addressed to her, and her head falling forward on her breast in a 
confusion too genuine to be dissembled and too transparent to be 
misunderstood. 
     As her testimony related mostly to Hannah, and what she knew of her, 
and her remarkable disappearance, I shall confine myself to a mere 
synopsis of it. 
     As far as she, Molly, knew, Hannah was what she had given herself 
out to be, an uneducated girl of Irish extraction, who had come from 
the country to act as lady's-maid and seamstress to the two Misses 
Leavenworth. She had been in the family for some time; before Molly 
herself, in fact; and though by nature remarkably reticent, refusing to 
tell anything about herself or her past life, she had managed to become 
a great favorite with all in the house. But she was of a melancholy 
nature and fond of brooding, often getting up nights to sit and think 
in the dark: "as if she was a lady!" exclaimed Molly. 
     This habit being a singular one for a girl in her station, an 
attempt was made to win from the witness further particulars in regard 
to it. But Molly, with a toss of her head, confined herself to the one 
statement. She used to get up nights and sit in the window, and that 
was all she knew about it. 
     Drawn away from this topic, during the consideration of which, a 
little of the sharpness of Molly's disposition had asserted itself, she 

went on to state, in connection with the events of the past night, that 
Hannah had been ill for two days or more with a swelled face; that it
grew so bad after they had gone upstairs, the night before, that she 
got out of bed, and dressing herself—Molly was closely questioned 
here, but insisted upon the fact that Hannah had fully dressed herself, 
even to arranging her collar and ribbon—lighted a candle, and made 
known her intention of going down to Miss Eleanore for aid. 
     "Why Miss Eleanore?" a juryman here asked. 
     "Oh, she is the one who always gives out medicines and such like to 
the servants." 
     Urged to proceed, she went on to state that she had already told all 
she knew about it. Hannah did not come back, nor was she to be found in 
the house at breakfast time. 
     "You say she took a candle with her," said the coroner. "Was it in 
a candlestick?" 
     "No, sir; loose like." 
     "Why did she take a candle? Does not Mr. Leavenworth burn gas in 
his halls?" 
     "Yes, sir; but we put the gas out as we go up, and Hannah is 
afraid of the dark." 
     "If she took a candle, it must be lying somewhere about the house. 
Now, has anybody seen a stray candle?" 
     "Not as I knows on, sir." 
     "Is this it?" exclaimed a voice over my shoulder. 
     It was Mr. Gryce, and he was holding up into view a half-burned 
paraffine candle. 
     "Yes, sir; lor', where did you find it?" 
     "In the grass of the carriage yard, half-way from the kitchen door 
to the street," he quietly returned. 
     Sensation. A clue, then, at last! Something had been found which 

seemed to connect this mysterious murder with the outside world. 
Instantly the backdoor assumed the chief position of interest. The 
candle found lying in the yard seemed to prove, not only that Hannah 
had left the house shortly after descending from her room, but had left 
it by the backdoor, which we now remembered was only a few steps from 
the iron gate opening into the side street. But Thomas, being recalled, 
repeated his assertion that not only the back-door, but all the lower 
windows of the house, had been found by him securely locked and bolted 
at six o'clock that morning. Inevitable conclusion--some one had locked 
and bolted them after the girl. Who? Alas, that had now become the very 
serious and momentous question.