‘Yes, Mr Lamson told me of them,’ the chief informed him.
‘Very well, then, I wished you to know of them before telling my story, because I desire you to be in possession of the several clues which led me to Gloucester. As you are aware, one of those pictures showed the wharf of the Bay State Codfish Company. Now, Chief, remember. Do you not recall that the knife with which the murder was committed was stamped on the hilt with the letters “B. S. C. Co.?” From that fact I argued that the person connected with the Bay State Codfish Company in whom Mrs Buck was interested years ago must still be there, and that Gloucester was the spot which I must search for the murderer. As I said before, I found him; but in order to place you thoroughly in possession of the facts I am going to retrogress twelve years and begin my story at that point. The discovery of the man after I reached Gloucester was a very simple act, so simple as to hardly be worthy of recognition in the story, while his confession followed almost as a matter of course. He is at present being held by the Gloucester police. I recognized him, Lamson, from his photograph. He is the man on the right of that sea monster in the third picture; he also appears in the second photograph and, as the other does not, I naturally settled on him at once as the man whom I desired to find.
‘But now for the story. Twelve years ago Amos Buck and his shrewish wife, Elizabeth, your cook, Lamson, lived in a small cottage at the far end of the Gloucester water-front. Amos was a trawler in the employ of the Bay State Codfish Company and, being a steady, temperate man, was regarded by the heads of his department as being one of their most reliable employees. But in his case, as in that of every other man, his home environment played a great part in the matter of his value to his employers. His wife’s shrewish nature developed, and her constant nagging eventually began to play its part in his ultimate downfall, the result being that he finally became a steady patron of the nearest groggery, and it appeared that his complete degeneration would be merely a matter of time. Daily indulgence soon became protracted into sprees of a week’s duration, and Mrs Buck became more vituperative than ever.
‘Then another link in the peculiar chain of circumstances was forged. Amos brought to his home a widowed cousin, Emma Bray by name, and insisted upon her taking up her permanent residence with himself and his wife. Mrs Bray greatly resembled Mrs Buck in figure, although their features were vastly dissimilar, and their dispositions were as far separated as the poles. The cousin proved to be a pleasant, even-tempered woman, and she showed every desire to alleviate the constant friction between Buck and his wife.
‘Her attempts at intervention only added to Mrs Buck’s fury, and within a few weeks Mrs Buck had developed a hatred for both her husband and his cousin that was almost inhuman in its intensity. The demeanour of his wife at last had its effect on Buck himself, and, instead of meekly submitting to her verbal assaults, as he had done in the past, he soon commenced to reply in kind, with the result that the house became a veritable inferno. This continued until one day Buck’s temper, grown ragged from the constant warfare, gave way entirely and he struck his wife, knocking her down. Then, overcome by the deed, and by the scenes which had led up to it, he rushed from the house to his favourite haunt in a cheap saloon.
‘Although naturally a reticent man, his tongue soon became loosened by liquor and, when one of his associates pointed to a fresh cut on the side of Buck’s head, inquiring as to its origin, he replied that his wife had made it, but that he had fixed her so she wouldn’t do it again. The savage look with which he accompanied the words, and the dark hint which seemed to be contained in them, caused the speech to be remembered. Shortly afterward Buck purchased a quart of raw rum and disappeared, going nobody knew where.
‘The next morning he was aroused by the chief of police from the drunken slumber into which he had sunk behind the sheltering piles of a lumber wharf. The rough handling by the chief, together with the black looks and muttered threats of the small body of men who accompanied him, completely sobered Buck, and he demanded the reason of his arrest. The reply was unsatisfactory, being merely a gruff “Guess you know” from the chief, and a volley of threats from the crowd, which was constantly growing larger.
‘To Buck’s surprise he was taken directly to his own house and, when led indoors, the last trace of liquor was driven out of him, and his surprise was turned to horror. The main room of the cottage was indeed in a terrible state, its floor and walls being covered with blood, its meagre furnishings broken and scattered, and its every appearance being as if a terrific battle had been waged within it. To make the nature of the crime which had been committed doubly sure, a blood-stained axe lay at one side of the room, where it had evidently been thrown by the fleeing murderer. But, whatever hopes the chief may have had
