An Experiment With Crystal-Gazing; Or, The Man Who Learned Too Much

"The Crystal Ball," John William Waterhouse

There have been many cautionary tales about the hazards involved with trying to see into the future, or using the paranormal to gain knowledge of any sort.  The odds are very good that, if you are successful, you will find out much more than you really wanted to know.  Some people learn the hard way that there truly is such a thing as “too much information.”  The following story, told by a Dr. Edmond Waller, is a perfect example.  It was published in the “Annals of Psychical Science” in May 1905.

Two summers ago, my father ordered from London an object known under the name of a Crystal-Gazing Ball. He and his family left Paris on a visit to our country seat before the object arrived. It was I who received the packet from London; it came a few days after the departure of the household, just as I was on the point of setting out to rejoin my parents. I brought the crystal with me and after dinner all of us--father, mother, sister, friends, and even domestics--tried to see what the glass ball could show us: the only result was tired eyes, we could see nothing. On the evening of the following day one of the servants, a faithful old woman who had been in our service for years, as soon as she looked into the crystal (we had resumed our experiments of the preceding night) turned very pale; we asked her what she saw? “A coffin!” she replied. A few weeks afterwards her brother, a young fellow of twenty-three years of age, died of typhoid fever; he was apparently in good health at the moment of our experiment. For several evenings in succession we tried the crystal, but with the exception of the above incident we saw absolutely nothing; finally the crystal was put away in a corner and neglected by everyone.

A few months later, I went one day to see my parents in Paris. I felt suddenly a strong desire to possess the crystal, and I asked my mother to allow me to take it away with me. The next evening for forty-five minutes I conscientiously tried, but could see absolutely nothing. I worked--if I may use that word--with the crystal for nearly three weeks, without any better success. I lost my fervour, or rather I became tired of my repeated failures, and I put the object, which had given me so little satisfaction in the bottom of a drawer, with the fixed determination never again to tire my eyes and waste my time with such an uninteresting article.

However, one afternoon a few months later a curious morbid sensation seized me. I went home much earlier than usual in hopes that a good night's rest might restore me to my normal state of mind. I went to bed, but it was impossible to sleep; and, moreover, I could not help thinking of the crystal. After several hours of insomnia, I got up and, somewhat hesitatingly, I opened the drawer in which the crystal lay. I took it out and put it on the table in the dining-room; I sat down in front of it, and scarcely had I put my hands on the table and raised my eyes, when I saw one of my friends in the crystal. Only her bust appeared; the likeness was striking, and yet on the face there was something which I saw in that crystal, which I had never seen on my friend's face. It was not so much the features which were different, it was something more profound; I will not enlarge on this point, but will leave the reader to draw his own deductions. This experience left me sad and happy at the same time; happy, because I had at last seen something in the crystal; sad, because of that curious expression on my friend's face.

For the sake of the relation it bears to this history, I ought to say that the young woman who happens to be its heroine had been for me, but a few years previously, a young girl for whom I had felt more than simple admiration. She was one of those whom the vilest of us respect; an atmosphere of purity surrounded her. She was for me what a woman ought to be in the finest sense of the word. I used to see her and her mother frequently. We were suddenly separated, to my great grief. We corresponded with one another for a few months; but little by little--I ought to confess it was my own fault--our correspondence became rarer, and finally ceased altogether. Two years had gone by when one day I heard of the marriage of my friend; she was now Madame D. She and her husband came to Paris on their honeymoon. Madame D. brought her husband to see me; he was one of those men one often sees among English officers, a fine athlete, a big, impulsive, generous-hearted man. From the very first moment a great--a very great--friendship sprang up between that man and myself. I often saw the young couple together, but I saw D. more often still. Unfortunately, my friend was obliged to leave with his regiment, which was ordered to the Transvaal. As one of his wife's oldest friends, and possessing the greatest confidence in me, D. asked me if, during his absence, I would watch over his wife,—the being he loved more than all else on earth. This was an indescribable joy to me, first of all to be able to protect this young woman against the insolences of life in a great city, a life for which she was unfit, for she was morally too beautiful to be able to see the hideousness of the masses surrounding her; secondly, it was a proof of the confidence her husband had in me. Most unfortunately I was unable to fulfill my promise of protection; for, soon after her husband's departure, Madame D. was obliged to accompany her mother to America. I wrote to her three times but received no answer to my letters. It was the crystal, which served to bring us into touch with one another again. And now, having given these few, I think necessary details concerning my two friends, I will return to the evening following the one when I saw my friend's face in the crystal.

I felt extremely fatigued that day, and again went home very early. Notwithstanding my fatigue, I took up the crystal and gazed into it for a good quarter of an hour, but without the smallest result. My eyes were positively in a state of congestion, when at last I threw myself on my bed, and quickly dropped off to sleep. In a few hours I awoke, surprised to find myself in that position. I got up, sat down in front of the crystal, and instantly I saw the silhouette of my friend side by side with that of a man; the latter was less distinct than my friend, they were both surrounded by trees and people. I closed my eyes for a second, opened them and looked again into the crystal; this time I distinctly saw Mme. D. and the man who was with her--a man whom I had never seen before--as well as the paddock of the racecourse at Longchamps, with all the customary surroundings of this race-course during a meeting.

Although at that time I often went to races, my many social duties made it almost impossible for me to be present at the Race Meeting to take place on the Sunday following the evening in question, and, most certainly, if it had not been for the crystal I should never have postponed several important rendez-vous in order to go to the races that Sunday. I was unable to be present at the first two races; but one of my uncles had a horse running in the third, and for various reasons I was rather interested in this trial, so I did my utmost to arrive in time for it. I arrived at the gate of the weighing yard just as the bell rang announcing the start. I rushed to the winning post, thinking little of the crystal which was the cause of my presence at the Course and still less of the visions I had seen in it. As I came up to the stand, a little to the left of the President's box, how great was my stupefaction to see (1) Madame D. and (2) to recognise beside her, for the second time in my life, and for the first time in flesh and blood, the man of my crystal! I saw absolutely nothing of the race; after my first moment of astonishment, in spite of every convenance, I drew near to Madame D. and the individual accompanying her; but I had been seen, and they both avoided me in so marked a manner that I dared not insist. I took a chair and sat down. I felt suddenly cold all over, I saw nothing, heard nothing; it was only several minutes later that one of my friends, with a formidable slap on the shoulder, succeeded in arousing me out of the state of lethargy, into which I had fallen. Believing I was ill, and telling me I was positively livid, he tried to insist upon my leaving the race-course and taking me home. But a profound fascination held me to the spot, and, like a hound on the track, I followed the two individuals of my crystal. Thoroughly upset, when the meeting was over, I took a cab and drove to the Hotel where Mme. D., her husband and her mother generally stayed when in Paris. I left a letter imploring my friend to grant me an interview as soon as possible. For a reply, she sent me a short note, in which she told me I would see her soon, underlining the words "you don't know all.” For seven months I did everything in my power to obtain an interview with her. Finally, I was told at the Hotel that Madame D. had gone to the south of France.

Meanwhile I had continued my experiments with the crystal, though more or less intermittingly. Several times I saw therein Mme. D., her husband, the individual whom I had seen with her at Longchamps, war scenes in the Transvaal, but there was nothing very precise in my visions.

Seven days after I heard of Mme. D.'s departure to the Riviera, I saw the following vision in the crystal : Madame D. accompanied by a man--not the one of whom I have been speaking, but a totally different individual. I saw them take a cab, and the following scene unrolled itself in the clearest fashion before my eyes, just as though I were sitting in an orchestral stall at a theatre:

The streets were dirty, the cab was an ordinary one, and went in the direction of, and stopped in front of, a well-known restaurant close to the Opera. The two occupants got out of the cab, entered the restaurant, walked down a long corridor, went upstairs, turned to the left, and were shown into a private room by a head waiter. I saw everything, furniture and other utensils, very clearly. The man who accompanied Mme. D. left her alone in the room and followed the waiter; then it was that I had a sensation of speaking with Mme. D. as though I were really present with her. Simultaneously with this sensation, the scene disappeared and there was nothing before me save the crystal ball.

Two days afterwards I had a great surprise. Whilst I was attending to a patient, the domestic came into the room and handed me a card. It was D., who I thought was still in the Transvaal. He was in a hurry and could not wait to see me; he fixed a rendez-vous for afternoon tea in a shop in the Rue Caumartin. It was with a certain emotion that I went to the spot agreed upon. My friend was alone. While shaking hands he told me he had been wounded and sent home; he said he had refrained from telegraphing in order to give us a surprise, and he thanked me at the same time for the proof of friendship I had given him in taking such a brotherly interest in his wife. A more disagreeable sensation than mine at that moment it would be impossible to imagine, with my friend's big, honest eyes fixed upon me, , feeling myself grow paler and paler beneath his regard, and unable to mutter a word! What would he imagine ? The situation was not rendered any pleasanter by Mme. D.'s sudden appearance on the scene. She came hurriedly towards us, shook me warmly by the hand and made me understand by her looks that she wanted me to tell little, and that little falsehood.

At that moment, a double reasoning rose within me: Ought I to consider the day at Longchamps as black as I had painted it? And as for the scene in the private room, could not a crystal have lied ? and was it not only my pessimistic nature, which had made me see evil where none existed ? If such were the case, my strict duty was to think no longer of my past fancies and suspicions, and especially to refrain from speaking of them to D. On the other hand, I could not understand Mme. D.'s conduct, and, without knowing why, I could not help believing what the crystal had suggested to me; it was with the greatest difficulty, that I was able to pass the following half-hour with D. and his wife without making any allusion to the crystal. Our conversation was in fact very troubled and disjointed; there was something disagreeable in the air, so to speak.

I arranged to meet D. again the next day and to dine with him and his wife; but when the moment came, I felt in such a bad mood that, fearing my gloomy countenance might mar the evening, I begged my friends to excuse me. I went home early in a state of excessive and unaccountable excitement. Instead of dining, I took my crystal, sat down in front of it and gazed at it. For several minutes I saw nothing, then all at once and very clearly I saw Mme. D. with the same individual who, in the previous vision, had accompanied her to the restaurant. For the second time the crystal made me a spectator of the scene in the private room, with this difference: I remained until Mme. D. and her restaurant friend left the building; I saw the man lead the woman to a private carriage, and without hearing a word, unable to explain how the phenomenon was produced, I understood that he fixed a rendez-vous with Mme. D. at a spot which was unknown to me, and that he would return on Wednesday at the same hour and at the same restaurant. I understood that the order had been given for the same room to be kept for them. Everything was so clear, that I had not the slightest doubt but that I was gazing at a reality--for several minutes I was thoroughly convinced of it.

At four o'clock on the following afternoon D. came to see me. Almost at once the conversation turned upon delicate ground--his wife. Was it the expression of my face, my manner of acting, which made him suspicious  I cannot say, but, suddenly and abruptly, my friend demanded a concise and precise account of my state of mind concerning himself and his wife. Without stopping to think, and convinced somehow that I had to tell him everything, I explained all to him.

Bitter words followed, and it was only out of respect for the spot we were at, that we refrained from committing violent acts--acts which we would certainly have regretted. I loved the man more than ever, I was jealous of his stubbornness and, for his own sake, I was now determined not to permit him to live any longer in his fool's paradise.

As for his wife, I could not help feeling a great pity for her and doing all in my power to prevent her from falling any lower. I implored my friend to watch very closely the people with whom she came in contact. After a few more or less flattering epithets--which might be summed up very simply in his looking upon me as a fool--D. made me promise to go to the theatre with him and afterwards to sup in the very same private room where, according to the crystal, his wife was to be. I accepted without any hesitation, convinced that my friend was right, that all would be for the best, and that henceforth my little glass ball would but serve as letter-weight and nothing more. I had not felt so happy for a long time.

We were punctual at our rendez-vous; we passed a most agreeable evening, criticising rather the crystal and my mild folly than the spectacle at which we were present. We went straight from the theatre to the restaurant, where the crystal was going to be definitely, once and for all, condemned as a liar of liars. We arrived at the restaurant at twenty minutes past twelve. The room which my friend had reserved resembled very little the room I had seen in the crystal. We were overflowing with good humour and light-heartedness; we sat down to supper and threw far away-ah ! far away-every thought of the crystal and its manifestations. We spoke of things which had nothing whatever in common with the cause of our tête-à-tête in that private room. Half an hour passed by, when all at once, without any reason, what seemed like a hallucination to my friend and myself seized hold of me; my gaiety disappeared and I could scarcely articulate a single word. A few minutes passed in this way, when, suddenly, my friend and I recognised the voice of Mme. D. I knew not what to think, much less what to say. D. rushed out of the room like a madman. I followed him as quickly as I could, but not quickly enough to prevent a catastrophe. D. sprang upon the individual who had been so faithfully reproduced by the crystal, and only released his hold of him at the door of the restaurant. The man was in a sorry state; he disappeared immediately--probably to avoid any further scandal.

Almost without saying a word to each other, D. and I separated. He went to his hotel; and I, acting on his wish, looked after his wife.

The consequence of this drama was the separation of the husband and wife and, for me, the loss of the man for whom I had such a deep friendship. Quite recently and indirectly I learned that Mme. D. was confined in an asylum.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

The staffers at Strange Company HQ are getting ready for Easter!

Was there a real Miss Havisham?

The mysterious sinking of a Pakistani submarine.

The Harvard lecturer who was executed for murder.

In which we learn that Joseph Conrad lost £40 thanks to the sinking of the Titanic.

And here's an author who foresaw said sinking.

The Hindenburg disaster in contemporary newspapers.

Some Canadian alternate history books.

A handy reminder that I really, really hate eggnog.

The origins of the Easter Bunny.

A remarkable escape from Auschwitz.

The strange case of the nurse impostor.

A guide to Regency-era slang.

How to have a brunch, 1950s style.

The regulars and fainters of Philadelphia funerals.

The demise of the literary feud.

An ancient bowl from Tibet may depict Alexander the Great.

The life of an unusual Georgian-era painter.

A triple tragedy.

100-year-old wax recordings are about to be heard.

The bride-to-be who survived the Titanic.

The oases of Antarctica.  You still wouldn't want to spend a vacation in them, though.

The short and tragic career of HMCS Margaree.

A notable 15th century English Parliamentarian.

A reassessment of Durer's Four Horsemen.

A 1,000 year old Peruvian surgical kit.

A medieval health manual.

A really weird cloud over Alaska.

This may be the oldest known name in the world.

A look at a new biography of Tolstoy.

The amazing Italian villa that nobody wants to buy.

A battered wife fails to get justice.

A military blockade from the Napoleonic era.

The East London Waterworks scandal.

The legend of Jenny, Titanic cat.

John Harvey Kellogg's weird inventions.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a man who did some crystal-gazing...and eventually wished he hadn't.  In the meantime, here's one of those songs from Back In The Day.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This curious little tale of a haunted barn in Ohio (complete with Mystery Blood!) appeared in the “Logansport Pharos-Tribune,” January 15, 1894:

PORTLAND, Jan. 13,—Weird stories have been told for some time of the ghostly occurrences on the old Cantover farm, two miles west of Fort Recovery, O., and near the state line. Many years ago a death occurred there under peculiar circumstances, and a recent event added to the mystery. This was the suicide of Peter Fendle, an old farmer. He had fixed a rope to hang himself, but changed his mind and took poison, apparently. He was found dead in the barn, and the rope still hangs where he put it. Ever since then the barn, it is said, has been haunted. 

Not a night passes but that a light, as that of a lantern, springs up near the house and makes its way to the stable. When it gets there the doors are heard to open and close, yet do not move, and the air is full of weird sounds which no one has ever yet been able to describe. The animals in the barn show the greatest alarm, but have not yet been harmed. The most wonderful thing of all is the fact that they, as well as the hanging harness, are found every morning liberally sprinkled with fresh blood. This unaccountable spectacle has been seen by many reputable people.

A party from Fort Recovery concluded to solve the mystery. They slipped out without informing anyone of their intentions, and reached the spot at 10 o'clock. Quietly entering the barn they heard a moaning noise, but nothing happened until midnight. The interior then grew lighter, and a shadowy, bowed figure glided before them and faded from view, apparently into space. The awe-stricken watchers started to run, but were confronted by a tall figure which gave a shriek and for an instant blocked their way and disappeared. The ghost hunters got away as fast as possible, and they say they are content to leave the haunted barn a mystery.

The Deacon's Alibi: An (Almost) Perfect Murder

"New York Age," July 10, 1937, via Newspapers.com

That doyen of vintage true crime writers Edmund Pearson once dubbed wife-murderer Frederick Small “The Man Who Was Too Clever.”  Small devised an elaborate and quite ingenious plot to rid himself of his spouse, only to be foiled in the end by an unexpected few inches of water.  Pearson was of the opinion that a successful murderer was one who stuck to the direct approach, commenting that Small "had not fared as well as the stupid assassin who makes no plans and deals in no tricks, scientific or physical."

In general, Pearson was not wrong.  However, there was at least one near-exception, when a man came up with a complex and unusual plan for getting away with murder.  Thankfully, the evildoer paid for his crime in the end.  But it was a damned close-run thing.

In 1937, Arthur and Phennie Perry lived in a small New York City apartment with their two-year-old daughter.  The Perrys were a young couple:  Arthur was 22, Phennie 20.  They had been childhood sweethearts in their hometown of Jamestown, South Carolina.  They were both children of poor sharecroppers--so poor that Arthur had to quit school in the fourth grade to go to work.  After Arthur and Phennie married, they managed to get together enough money to move to New York, in the hope of bettering themselves.  Although Arthur had no particular skills, he was a hard worker, and managed to get steady employment as a laborer for various contractors.  The work didn’t pay much, but Arthur had high hopes it would eventually lead to better things. 

On the morning of July 2, 1937, roofing contractor David Nutkis was working alone in his office in the Jamaica section of Queens.  At 7:20 a.m., he was rudely interrupted by a stranger abruptly barging into the room.

“There’s a dead woman in the lots!” the man shouted, waving towards the nearby Long Island Railroad right-of-way.  The messenger then dashed out again.

Nutkis went to investigate.  About 100 yards from his building was an empty lot with a pathway that was commonly used as a shortcut to the railroad underpass.  Along that pathway he found the corpse of a young woman.  She was lying on her back, with her head in a pool of coagulated blood.

There was no doubt the woman was dead, so Nutkis was startled when he heard a cry.  As he was mustering the courage to examine her more closely, he saw a small face rise up from the other side of the body.  There was a toddler, very much alive but covered in blood, crawling towards the corpse.  This new shock was too much for Nutkis’ frayed nerves.  He fled back to his office to telephone for the police.

When police arrived at the scene, they found no shortage of clues to examine.  A bloodstained piece of concrete--presumably the murder weapon--was found in some weeds fifty feet from the corpse.  The woman’s dress had been torn.  Near her right hand was a man’s black oxford shoe.  A couple of feet away, they found a shopping bag containing baby clothes and a woman’s blouse.  No purse was found.  Detectives initially assumed that sometime during the night--the woman had obviously been dead for some hours--she had cut across the lot when she encountered a thief out to steal her purse.  She put up a fight, during which her dress was torn.  Her unexpected resistance so alarmed the criminal that in a panic, he picked up the piece of concrete and bludgeoned her to death.  The thief then grabbed her purse and fled.  However, there was one problem with this scenario: although the little girl was covered with her mother’s blood, the child was uninjured.  Presumably, the mother had been carrying the girl when they were attacked.  If the woman had fought back, how did the child avoid getting hurt?

For about an hour, the victim remained unidentified.  Then, a woman passing by the grisly scene noticed the little girl.  She screamed that the child was Shirley Perry.  She also informed detectives that the dead woman was the child’s mother, Phennie Perry.  She explained that the Perrys had been her neighbors, but they recently moved--she could not say where.  This identification was soon confirmed by the dead woman’s brother-in-law, William Perry.  William, who lived nearby, also took custody of little Shirley.  Soon after this, two officers arrived, escorting a very hungover man.

The policemen explained that the man was the watchman in a nearby junkyard.  They found him sleeping off his heavy drinking from the night before.  When they awakened him, he immediately started shouting that he knew something had happened, but nobody would listen to him.  He explained to the detectives that a little after 10 p.m. the previous night, he was walking past the lot on his way to his job at the junkyard.  Suddenly, he heard moans and screams coming from the direction of the lot.  The frightened man ran to the nearby Bull’s Head Tavern to phone the police.  Unfortunately, by the time the squad car arrived, the man was very drunk.  (He explained that he had been “feeling good,” but wasn’t intoxicated when he heard the screams.  “Those quick drinks at the Bull’s Head after my scare were what got me.”)  He explained that the two patrolmen immediately dismissed his story as the ravings of a “drunken bum,” and left.

When the body was turned over, the investigation went into overdrive.  She had been lying on top of a bloody electric iron and a pile of papers.  It was thought that during the struggle with her assailant, these papers had fallen out of the man’s pocket.

The papers made interesting reading.  There was an envelope addressed to Mr. Ulysses Palm, at 110-08 153rd St., Jamaica.  It contained a letter from his mother.  There was another envelope addressed to Mr. Ulysses Palm.  There was a postcard addressed to Mr. Ulysses Palm, signed by his niece.  There was a note addressed to “Dear Member,” and signed “C.K. Athetan.”  There was an electric bill with the name and address of Mr. Ulysses Palm.  There were three photographs: one of a man standing in front of a car, one showing the same man standing in front of a boat, and a photo of a woman.  There was a receipt book, apparently listing donations to some organization, signed “J. Walker.”  Also found underneath the body was a bloodstained strip of blue cloth, obviously torn from something.  After studying these items, the three detectives on the scene became one mind, with but one thought: It was time to have a chat with Mr. Ulysses Palm.

Palm turned out to live only half-a-mile from where Phennie Perry was murdered.  When the police arrived, they were surprised to find two other detectives outside the residence.  These two detectives, while trying to find where Mrs. Perry lived, discovered that she and her husband were renting a room from Mr. Ulysses Palm.

When the officers entered Palm’s first-floor apartment, they soon noticed a man’s black oxford was sitting off in a corner.  There were several brown stains on it which seemed to be dried blood.  It was a perfect match for the shoe found at the murder scene.  In Palm’s bedroom, they found a blue shirt that was missing a piece of material near the pocket.  The bloodstained strip of cloth fit exactly into the tear in the shirt.  Other tenants in the building identified the man and woman in the photos left at the murder scene: they were Ulysses Palm and his wife of sixteen years, Hattie.

At this stage, the police must have thought that Mr. Palm was making things only too easy for them.  However, when they began to examine Palm’s background, a bit of unease crept in.  The 39-year-old Palm was a deacon of the Amity Baptist Church, who had the task of keeping the church accounts up-to-date.  He was liked and respected by all who knew him.  He and his wife were active in various church groups and committee meetings.  His reputation was spotless, and his marriage was, to all appearances, one of perfect mutual devotion.  Everyone the detectives talked to scoffed at the idea that Palm might have been involved with Phennie Perry, or any other woman besides his wife.  He simply was not that sort of man.

That afternoon, Palm was found at his job at a department store, and he was brought in for questioning.  When told he was suspected of Mrs. Perry’s murder, for a moment, he simply stared at them in shocked silence.  Then he cried, “Why should I want to kill her?”  Palm identified all the items found with the body, including the church receipt book.  He had brought the book home with him the night before the murder.  He professed to have no idea how the items wound up at the murder scene.

Perry was also found at his job.  Police did not initially tell him his wife was dead; only that she was in the hospital, critically injured in an accident.  As they were riding in the police car, Perry told the officers that he had last seen Phennie on the previous day, when she went with their child to spend the weekend with her sister in Brooklyn.  As a test, one of the detectives suddenly asked him, “Why did you kill your wife?”

“Kill my wife?” Perry exclaimed.  When the detective nodded, Perry slumped back in his seat and said slowly, “That means Phennie is dead.”  There was silence for the rest of the trip.

At police headquarters, the first thing Perry was asked was, “Why should anybody want to kill your wife?”

“Palm threatened to kill her,” he replied.

Perry explained that back on June 20, a letter arrived addressed to his wife.  Phennie was not at home, so he opened it.  The note was signed “Ulysses Palm.”  It warned Phennie that if she did not submit to his advances, he would kill her.  Perry, assuming the letter was some sort of strange joke, resealed the note and gave it to Phennie without telling her he had read it.  A week later, Phennie told him about the note, but she too thought it must be someone’s practical joke.  Palm, she noted, never even spoke to her outside the usual polite greetings.

Perry had more--much more--to say.  On the evening of the murder, Phennie was at the Plaza Theatre in Jamaica to play Bingo.  On his way home from work, he stopped at the Plaza to speak with her.  He wanted to confirm her plans for the weekend.  She confirmed that after finishing her evening entertainment, she was heading off to her sister’s home.  Perry went to his apartment, where he lounged around for two hours.  Then he recalled that he wanted Phennie to tell her brother that he, Arthur, would come by on Sunday to go fishing.  He returned to the Plaza, where the Bingo game was just wrapping up.  When he saw Phennie, she told him that earlier in the day, Palm had tried to break into her room, but she scared him away by threatening to scream.  She added that Palm had admitted writing the letter.

Perry said that when he confronted Palm about Phennie’s accusations, the deacon denied it all.  The outraged husband packed a bag and went to spend the night at his sister’s home.  As he was leaving, he saw that Palm was dressing as if he was going out as well.  Perry said he left the apartment at exactly 9:53 p.m.  The letter, Perry said, was at his sister’s place.  When detectives retrieved it, they found that it read exactly as advertised.

Phennie’s sister told detectives that Mrs. Perry had told her about Palm’s letter.  William Perry stated that on the night of the murder, he had run into his brother, who told him that he was on his way home to have it out with Palm.  Perry’s sister and brother-in-law confirmed that after arriving at their home a little after 11 p.m., Arthur had spent that night with them.  

Despite this onslaught of damning evidence, Palm continued to insist that he had not written the letter, and knew nothing of Mrs. Perry’s murder.  However, he could not explain how his shirt got torn, or how papers and photographs of his came to rest under the murder victim.  He admitted that the bloodstained shoes had once been his, but he claimed he had given them to Perry.

Palm stated that on the night of the murder, he had been at work in Flushing until 10:10 p.m.  A trolley and bus brought him home at 11:15.  He acknowledged having words with Perry,  but he insisted the quarrel was right after he returned to his apartment.  His wife was then attending a church play.  He had a quick meal, worked on church books for a short time, and then went to bed.  Some experimentation had convinced the detectives that 10:10 p.m. was the time when Phennie Perry was attacked.  The manager and assistant manager of the store where Palm worked were questioned.  They had both been present when Palm left on the murder night.  They placed the time of his departure as 10:05.  It would have been impossible for Palm to have reached the murder scene via trolley and bus, but an auto could have taken him there in 15 minutes.  However, Palm pointed out that for the last few days, his car had been in a repair shop.

The store manager added as an aside that the establishment was usually closed up at night.  However, on the night of the murder, he had to take midyear inventory, so that morning, when Palm came to the store, he was asked to work overtime.

The detectives took note of this remark.  So, nobody knew Palm would still be at work, not at home, on the night Mrs. Perry was killed?  Interesting.

The manager’s statement inspired police to bring Perry back for more questioning.  Perry had stated he spoke to Palm at 9:53 p.m.  How was this possible, considering Palm was at his store eight miles away at that time?  Perry shrugged and said that perhaps his clock had been wrong.  As for the black oxfords, he stated that he returned the shoes to Palm because they were too tight.

An usher at the Plaza Theatre said that on the night of July 1, he saw Perry twice inside the movie house, talking to a woman.  When the Bingo game was over at 9:51, Perry, accompanied by a woman and a small child, left the Plaza.  He could not see the woman’s face.

It was obvious to the police that Mrs. Perry was murdered either by her husband or her landlord.  Both men had certain discrepancies in their stories, but they both stubbornly stuck to their initial narratives, and refused to admit guilt.  Detectives had no choice but to put them both in custody.

There was a case to be made against each of the suspects.  The direct evidence strongly implicated Palm, but the timeline appeared to provide him with a solid alibi.  As for Perry, it could not be ignored that he was the last known person to see his wife.  If they left the Plaza right after Bingo ended, they would have reached the murder scene at about the time the watchman heard the screams.  Police learned that Phennie had written a letter to her mother complaining about Arthur spending all their money on himself, leaving her without the means to take proper care of their baby.  There was another factor that pops up in so many murder cases: insurance.  Perry had a small policy covering himself, Phennie, and the child.  The policy lapsed after he failed to keep up the payments.  The day before Phennie was murdered, a man appeared at the branch office of the insurance company and paid the back premiums on the policy.  The clerk who was on duty at the time could not say who made the payment.

It was basic forensics that finally cracked the case.  A scientist at the police department’s Technical Research Laboratory noticed that one of the black oxfords had a small hole in the sole.  He asked to see the socks owned by both suspects.  A tiny clump of dirt was in the middle of one of Perry’s socks.  When a benzidine reagent blood test was done on the clump, it showed a faint trace of blood.

Perry and Palm were still wearing the same clothes they had on when they were taken into custody.  A sleeve of Perry’s shirt was found to have another trace of blood.  As for the letter Palm allegedly wrote Mrs. Perry, handwriting experts asserted that it was a clumsily disguised version of Arthur’s writing.  Paper matching the one used for the letter was found in one of Perry’s drawers.  An examination of the blue strip of cloth showed that it had been cut first for about half-an-inch, and then torn by hand, in order to simulate it being torn off during a fight.  All this was enough to convince police which of their suspects was the true guilty party.

On September 23, 1937, Perry was indicted for first degree murder.  His trial began on November 8.  Unfortunately, a key witness--the junkyard watchman--was unable to testify.  He was in the hospital, being treated for his acute alcoholism.  The prosecution asserted that Perry killed his wife for the insurance money, a claim the defense countered by pointing out that no beneficiary was named in the policy, and that Perry had waived his rights to the money in favor of Phennie’s sister.  The defense also made much of the fact that Palm usually kept the church book found with the body under lock and key.  Perry himself took the stand.  He gave the same story he had told from the beginning.  He declared in the strongest terms that he was innocent of his wife’s murder.  After two days of deliberation, the jury announced its verdict: guilty.  Perry was sentenced to die in the electric chair.  However, the Court of Appeals reversed the conviction on the grounds that the letter Phennie wrote to her mother was hearsay evidence which should not have been presented to the jury.  A new trial was ordered.

Perry’s second trial opened on November 14, 1938.  The now-sober watchman was finally able to give his testimony.  The prosecution introduced a surprise witness: Perry’s employer, a man named Falke.  Falke said that shortly before the murder, Perry borrowed money from him, saying he would use to to pay some insurance premiums.  Also new was some rather dodgy testimony from a New York police detective, Sidney Cusbeth.  He claimed that while Perry was in jail awaiting his first trial, the District Attorney had Cusbeth (posing as an accused murderer) planted in Perry’s cell block.  Cusbeth said he befriended Perry in the hope of getting him to say something incriminating.  One day while they were playing cards, Cusbeth brought up Phennie’s murder.  After a bit of persuading, he said Perry admitted his guilt.  When Cusbeth asked why he killed his wife, Perry replied, “I don’t know.  I was in love with my wife, I don’t know why I did it.”

The D.A. did not offer an explanation for why they neglected to call Cusbeth to the stand during the first trial.  The detective was not questioned further by either side.

The defense now conceded that the letter Palm allegedly sent Mrs. Perry was in the defendant’s handwriting, but that the letter in evidence was not the original.  Rather, it was a copy the police had asked Perry to write out.  This copy was then substituted for the real thing.  Perry also denied that the bloodstained sock introduced in evidence was his.  The defense suggested that the papers found under Phennie’s body had come from her purse.  Perry claimed that on the night his wife was killed, she was carrying a large purse with $68 in it--the money intended for the trip to see her mother.  Surely, she was killed by some robber, he argued--perhaps that never-identified stranger who had told David Nutkis about the body?

The defense arguments again failed to convince a jury.  This second panel also returned a guilty verdict.  This time, the Court of Appeals upheld the decision.  Perry went to the electric chair in August 1939, asserting his innocence to the last.

Although I believe the two juries came to the correct verdict, there is one lingering mystery to the case: motive.  The insurance policy was widely considered to be too small to make a convincing reason for murder.  There is no evidence of any “other woman” in Perry’s life.  Phennie's sister said that Arthur was "jealous" of his pretty young wife, and there is the intriguing fact that when Phennie went out with friends, she had taken to using her maiden name, introducing herself to people as "Miss Brown."  Was she contemplating taking her child and going back to South Carolina...for good?  It's also possible that Arthur Perry was simply weary of the responsibilities of being a husband and father--so weary, that he was willing to sacrifice the lives of two innocent people and deprive his young daughter of her mother.  If it had not been for that accident of fate which kept Palm at his job until an unusually late hour, he may well have been the one to take a seat on Old Sparky.

Instead of becoming a murderer, Perry should have turned his hand to writing crime novels.  He obviously had an innate talent for them.

Weekend Link Dump

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

Feel free to bring a friend!

An unsolved murder from 1890.

The "crime boulevard" of Paris.

Some real-life murders mentioned by Agatha Christie.

The Crimean War's White Sea Theater.

Three times when the American Civil War could have ended a lot earlier than it did.

The "Tom Thumb of Pennsylvania."

The mysteries of the Crank Caverns.

The joys of collecting seaweed.  No, really.

The political career of Charles Spencer, 3rd Earl of Sunderland.

The first female jockey to win the Grand National.

How Britain came to really, really love its ghosts.

The "Queen of Montmartre."

The first licensed American female pilot.

A guy who really needs to avoid bridges.

That time when the Soviets almost nuked New York City.

Stolen Charles Darwin notebooks have been recovered.

One of the last women in England to be burned at the stake.

A look at the world's oldest pants.  They're darn good pants, too.

Tombstones that tell murder stories.

Some notable food hoaxes.

A rescue at sea, 1879.

A famous--and deadly--1935 dust storm.

Walking the ancient Black Path.

The female spies of WWII.

One very dedicated autograph collector.

A look at the (very long) history of poisoning.

A really nifty photo of Jupiter.

Reconstructing the smells of ancient tombs.

Some newspaper guy was upset that Mark Twain thought Bacon wrote the works of Shakespeare.

Witches, skeletons, and Edinburgh's Nor Loch.

The beginning of printing in England.

The world's most important missing treasures.

Why "Ralph" is sometimes pronounced "Rafe."

Some lesser-known facts about Jane Austen.

When Katherine of Aragon was Regent of England.

So, let's talk headless badgers and witchy rabbits.

The cats and goat of Fire Patrol 3.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an inventive effort to get away with murder.  In the meantime, here's some German folk-rock with pagan trimmings.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This little news item relating stories of everyday life in 19th century Iowa appeared in the “New York Times,” May 7, 1874:

The following thrilling story of ghosts and ghostly manifestations is given to the world by the Des Moines (Iowa) Register: 

Ever since the Third street spook raised such a rumpus, ghostly visitors appear to have become numerous. Closely following the sudden demise of the uncertain spirit that disturbed the denizens of the Fourth Ward, were heard rumors of ghost-power running sewing machines. Several citizens well known testify that the wheels were turned by some unknown and invisible agency. This was followed by unnatural lights blazing on the walls and looking as green as an evening paper man afflicted with yellow jaundice. 

On Cherry street a resident reports that invisible bells are tinkled at unseemly hours. The tintinnabulation is like that of a Chicago charm bell, and is heard in different parts of the house, but never very close to any person. When any one goes to the place where it has been heard, the tinkling appears to be just back of him. 

A house on Locust street is afflicted with a bright light shining in a certain place on the wall of a bedroom. The light is plainly visible at a distance, but disappears whenever any one gets close to it. Another peculiarity is that it shines as brightly during the day as at night, although it is necessary to close the shutters and darken the room during the sunlit hours in order to see the spook in all its brilliancy. 

A Tenth street dog sees ghosts, but whether of man, beast, or book peddler is not explained. The animal will suddenly start from sleep and make a fierce attack upon some invisible foe, frequently following it around the house, growling and barking all the time. It has indulged in this phantom fighting for over two years. The phenomenon always occurs In daylight. 

One night last week a prominent citizen was awakened by the music of his piano, played most sweetly to the tune of “Robin Adair.” His daughter, the only musician in the house, was absent at the time, and he hurried to the parlor to see who it was thus charming the night with the sweetest melody of the time. Arriving there he found the apartment empty and the piano closed and locked. 

A lady residing in East Des Moines became very much interested in the Third street ghost, and made several visits to the locality where it was reported to be boarding. One evening, accompanied by several other ladies, she was at the house, returning home about 10 o'clock. Two of the ladies went into the parlor with her, and sat down to talk over the ghost. Suddenly a large music-box on the mantel commenced to play, continuing through five tunes, the instrument being geared for ten. When it ceased, the box was examined, and found to be entirely run down. It was replaced on the mantel, and a moment later it commenced to play again, continuing until all the tunes were played. 

In another house the gas in a certain room is frequently lighted by invisible matches. The person occupying the apartment has often gone to sleep after turning off the gas, and awakened hours after to find it brightly burning. Again it would be turned off, and at daylight the blaze would be as vivid as ever. This is a good-natured spook, for comparison of the gas bill before this phenomenon commenced and since its existence shows no increase in the amount consumed. 

A lady of eminent social position and undoubted truthfulness assured the author, a few days since, that her buried child frequently appeared to her when she visited the room where he died. In the course of the conversation the lady said that her sweetest moments were during those silent intervals with her lost darling.  Every feature of his face appears to her perfectly natural, and he always seems to clasp in his hands a favorite toy that lay on his bed when he died. Strange to say, the mother never remembers how the image is dressed. 

The above statements are told as given by the parties themselves, none of whom are of a character to be guilty of falsehood or of a desire to mislead.  They are undoubtedly sincere in the belief that they have seen and heard the phenomenon named.

I tip my hat to Des Moines for being a much more entertaining place than I had thought.  It sounds like a veritable Fortean Disneyland.

The Bride in the Well

"Charlotte Observer," January 23, 1937, via Newspapers.com

From all outward appearances, Lue Cree Overcash had, in a modest, unremarkable way, a charmed life.  Her family was decently well off and well-regarded.  The girl grew up to be one of the prettiest women in Iredell County, North Carolina.  She was described as a very cheerful person, and a devout Christian active in her local church.  In November 1936, the 20-year-old married 21-year-old Herman Westmoreland, a handsome, prosperous young man with an unsullied reputation.  His family was of some prominence in the community. The pair had been high school sweethearts.  In short, all looked bright for Lue Cree.  

Until the night when out of nowhere, life went full Strange Company on her.

After their marriage, Lue Cree and Herman settled in his family home, in the Amity Hill area.  As far as anyone could see, the new Mrs. Westmoreland got along excellently with her in-laws.  On the night of January 19, 1937, two months after her marriage, Lue Cree retired to bed after a day that was, as far as we know, uneventful.  In the house with her at the time was Herman’s father Harlee, two young sisters, Marie and Rachel, and Herman’s 17-year-old brother Clyde.  Herman was away at the time--during the week, he boarded with an uncle in order to be close to his job at Mooresville’s Cascade Mills.  There had been a severe storm during the day, and it was still raining hard when the family retired for the night.  The unpaved roads around the neighborhood were impassable quagmires.

Lue Cree’s bedroom was on the second floor of the eight-room house.  The rest of the family slept on the first floor.  We are told that no one in the household heard any unusual or suspicious noises during the night.  We are also told that the Westmorelands were completely baffled when they called Lue Cree to breakfast the next morning, only to find she was not in her bedroom.  Her watch and ring were on a table in her room, and the clothes she had worn the previous day were neatly draped on a chair.  Her bed had not been slept in.  The family immediately reported her disappearance to authorities.

As volunteers began to search around the home, someone noticed the odd fact that a mule was refusing to drink from a nearby well.  When searchers peered into the well, the mystery of Lue Cree’s whereabouts was quickly solved.

Mrs. Westmoreland was face-down in the well, wearing the silk pajamas she had donned the night before.  On one of her legs was a stocking and shoe, but the other was bare.   (When the well was drained, her other shoe and stocking were found at the bottom.)  She had a distinctive triangular wound on the back of her head.  Initial theories assumed that this was a case of either suicide or an accidental fall, but when the autopsy determined that she was already dead of a skull fracture before her body went into the well, police realized that, hard as it was to imagine, they had a murder case on their hands.  The coroner believed Lue Cree had been dead for about six hours before the body was thrown head-first into the well.  Another puzzling fact: her shoe prints were found on the opposite side of the house from the well.

"Statesville Record," January 26, 1937

The local authorities investigated her death as vigorously as they could, given their limited resources, but they were immediately hampered by an inability to find strong suspects or any trace of a motive.  Lue Cree’s in-laws were, of course, the most obvious culprits, but they all stoutly denied knowing anything of how their newest family member met her death, and no one could prove otherwise.  As for Herman Westmoreland, he was apparently able to show conclusively that he was in Mooresville at the time his bride perished.  

When the corpse was removed from the well, it was noted that the top of Lue Cree's one bare foot was heavily bruised. In December 1937, her body was exhumed and that foot amputated for forensic investigation.  Bits of clay were found between the toes, which strengthened the police theory that the murderer had planted his/her foot on that of Lue Cree's, either during the death struggle or during the progress to the well, where she was dumped to give the appearance that she had committed suicide.  This little revelation, of course, did nothing to help solve the case.

So that was that.  Although the investigation ended fairly early, the sinister mystery of Lue Cree’s death was one that haunted both the Overcash and Westmoreland families for many years later.  The case is still one that fascinates local historians.  Among them was a high school history teacher named Chris Stonestreet, who spent years researching the case.  After his story about the unsolved murder was published in the “Mooresville Tribune” in 2008, a member of the Westmoreland family sent him a poem titled “A Voice From the Grave,” which she had found in the attic of the family home.  Its author is unknown.  It read, in part:

I wonder why no arrest was made,

Was your sheriff so afraid?

Is his back bone of the hue?

Applied to jealousy and cowardice too?

Oh men, hang not your heads in shame,

Rise up, make your county worth its name.

That will probably be the closest we will ever get to an answer about who killed Lue Cree Westmoreland, and why.