THE "EVENING MOON" IS INUNDATED WITH CORRESPONDENCE
CONCERNING THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BODY OF M. FELIX.
"As was to be expected, the news of the disappearance of the body of
M. Felix caused the greatest excitement. In small villages trifling
incidents are sufficient to create an interest; in great cities events
of magnitude are required to stir the pulses of the people; and in
both village and city, to arouse the public from their normal
condition of apathy, it is necessary that the incidents must have
local color. Soho was sufficiently central, and, it may be added,
sufficiently mixed and mysterious in the character of its population,
to fulfil this imperative condition of popularity. Every resident in
London knows the locality, and is to some extent familiar with it; it
is contiguous to the most fashionable thoroughfares; it is within a
stone's throw of theatres of magnificent proportions; it gives shelter
to foreign princes deposed for a time from their high estate, and to
foreign votaries of vice of both sexes who, being outlaws, cannot
pursue their infamous courses in their native lands. If we were asked
which part of London contains the most varied material for the weaving
of modern romance we should unhesitatingly point to the region of
Soho. A careless stroller through those thoroughfares little dreams of
the strange and wondrous life which beats beneath the apparently
placid, the undeniably squalid, aspect of this pregnant locality. The
elderly woman, poorly clad and closely veiled, who glides past him is
a prominent member of a Royal family who for a long period held the
reins of power in one of the greatest European nations; she lives now
in a garret upon dry bread and German sausage, and makes her own bed
and fire. Yesterday she wore a crown of diamonds, to-day she wears a
crown of sorrow. The attenuated man, whose worn-out garments hang
loosely upon his spare body, and who is now studying _carte du jour_
in the window of a low French restaurant, nervously fumbling at the
same moment the few loose coins in his pocket, was, in years gone by,
one of the greatest financiers in the world; yesterday he dealt in
millions, had scores of carriages and hundreds of servants, paid
fabulous prices for rare gems and pictures, and provided funds
for mighty wars; to-day he is debating whether he can afford an
eighteen-penny dinner. The man with an overhanging forehead, who
strides onward with teeth closely set, and the fingers of whose hands
are continually clinching and unclinching, is the head of a secret
society whose members number hundreds of thousands, and whose deed of
blood shall next week convulse the world with horror. We could dwell
long upon this fascinating theme, but our business is with M. Felix,
and we must not wander from him.
"As we have already stated, we were the first to give the public the
intelligence of his strange disappearance, and so intense was the
interest the news excited that our printing-machines could not supply
one-fourth of the demand for the various editions of our journal. The
letters we received upon the subject would form a curious chapter in a
new 'Curiosities of Literature.'
"'Dear sir' (wrote one correspondent), 'you speak of the disappearance
of the body of M. Felix as an unparalleled incident. Allow me to
correct you, and from my own experience to furnish your readers with
an identical case. It is now ten years ago since I formed the
acquaintance of a gentleman of great attainments and peculiar habits,
and whose nationality was always a matter of curiosity with me. Once
or twice I delicately approached the subject, but he skilfully evaded
it, and I did not feel warranted in pressing it. He was a wonderful
chess-player, an accomplished linguist, and his knowledge of the
niceties of every new discovery in science was simply marvellous. He
had only one failing--he drank and smoked too much. In those days I
also was a free liver. We were both single men, I certainly, he
presumably; there are topics upon which it is good breeding to
preserve a friendly delicacy. We met frequently, and dined together at
least twice a week, at my expense. He was a good judge of wine and
liquor, and very choice in his food. Being much superior to me in this
respect, I invariably left it to him to decide where to dine and to
arrange the courses. Perhaps occasionally we took half a bottle of
wine too much, but that is neither here nor there. It was no one's
business but our own. He took a peculiar interest in all new
inventions, and was in the habit of throwing out hints of an
extraordinary invention of his own which one day was to revolutionize
the world. He told me very little of his discovery of which anyone
could make use, but he was so jealous of his secret that he bound me
down to solemn secrecy on the point; and I trust I am too much of a
gentleman to violate the confidence he reposed in me. I may, however,
without scruple, reveal that his invention related to combustion. One
evening, when we had arranged to dine as usual together at the Royal,
in Regent Street, he confided to me that he was in temporary want of
funds, and I lent him all the money I had about me, some fifteen or
sixteen pounds. Then we dined, and he paid for the dinner. Over the
meal he talked more frequently than he was in the habit of doing of
his invention. "It is near completion," he said, "and before I go to
bed I intend to make some experiments which I am in hopes will put the
finishing touch to it." Then he looked at me searchingly and
thoughtfully, and said I might accompany him home if I liked, and
assist in the experiments. Burning with curiosity, and delighted at
this mark of his confidence, I gladly consented, and we issued forth
and proceeded to his rooms, which, singularly enough, were in
Glasshouse Street, at no very great distance from the house in which
M. Felix lived. On our way he purchased two bottles of brandy,
remarking that even when the soul was in its highest state of
exaltation the body required nourishment and sustaining. I acquiesced.
He lived on the second floor, in two rooms, one his bedroom, the other
the room in which he conducted his experiments. There was no evidences
of the nature of these experiments visible, and he explained this to
me by stating that, distrusting his housekeeper, he kept them in his
cupboard. The first thing he did was to light a large fire; then he
brought forth a brass frying-pan, upon which he emptied a packet of
powder. "You must not be frightened at what I am about to do," he
said. "There is no very great danger in it, but it needs courage."
Being already primed with the wine we had at dinner, and with three
glasses of the brandy he had purchased, I told him I was prepared for
anything. Then he informed me that his experiments must be made
without light from candle or lamp; so that, with the exception of the
fire, we were in darkness. Then he put the brass frying-pan on the
fire, and a blue vapor floated through the room. I felt a little
nervous, but I would not confess it, and I helped myself to another
glass of brandy, and puffed away at a very large and very strong cigar
with which he presented me. He bade me sit in a particular chair by a
little table (upon which he considerately placed the two bottles of
brandy, one by this time half empty), and he drew around me upon the
floor, which was destitute of carpet, a circle with a piece of
billiard chalk, and said that as long as I did not move outside that
charmed circle I should be safe. "Help yourself to some more brandy,"
he said, "and do not be frightened." I obeyed him as to the brandy,
but I must confess I was in great trepidation, more especially as the
dim objects in the room appeared to be going round and round. He threw
some more powder into the brass frying-pan, and this time the vapor
was green. He then asked me if I had anything in the shape of metal
upon my person, and I answered yes, of course; upon which he stated
that I might be in danger unless I divested myself of them, as he was
about to do. At a little distance from me, between me and the fire, he
drew upon the floor a smaller circle with his piece of billiard chalk,
and within it placed a trinket or two of his own. I handed him my gold
watch and chain, my diamond ring, my pearl and ruby pin, and a
valuable charm of gold which I kept in my pocket for luck. These he
placed with his own trinkets within the smaller circle, and said that
now no harm could befall me. The objects in the room went round more
and more as he muttered some cabalistic words, and to prevent myself
from being overcome by terror I took some more brandy. Then he threw
about half a dozen little packets of powder into the fire, one after
another, and all sorts of colors appeared, and filled the room with a
peculiar smell, which so affected me that I helped myself to brandy. I
must not forget to mention that he had locked the door and put the key
in his pocket. "If what I am doing alarms you," he said, "you may
close your eyes. You have great courage, and to prove my friendship
for you I shall present you with half the profits of my invention." I
tried to thank him, but to my surprise my words were not very clearly
spoken. Presently my eyes began to close, and I fell asleep. When I
awoke the room was in darkness. I called to my friend, but he did not
answer me. Fearful lest he himself should have fallen a victim to his
hazardous experiments, I rose unsteadily to my feet and felt around
till my hands reached the door, which, of course, was locked. Luckily
I had in my pocket a box of matches, and striking one I lit the
candle. My friend was gone; I was alone in the room; but upon the
floor was a small heap of ashes. Not only was my poor friend gone, but
all his trinkets as well as my own were also gone. But there upon the
floor was the fatal heap of ashes. I could arrive at but one
conclusion, namely, that the combustion which was the kernel of his
great invention had reduced him to ashes and destroyed him. There
could be no other explanation of the extraordinary occurrence, because
the door was still locked. Fearful lest I might be accused of his
death, I forced the door open and fled, and from that day to this the
affair has remained wrapped in mystery. This is the first time I have
mentioned it, and I do so now in the interests of justice, lest some
unfortunate person should be accused, as I might have been in the case
of my friend, of spiriting M. Felix away. May not his disappearance be
set down to combustion? Are there any charred marks upon the floor of
the room where his body lay? Were any ashes left? Was he given to
dangerous experiments? My own experiences may lead you, sir, to the
proper solution of the mystery which hangs around his fate. I shall
follow the further developments of the case of M. Felix with interest,
and am, Yours, etc.'
"Another correspondent wrote:
"'Sir--I am a Spiritualist, and I possess the power of summoning from
the Caverns of the Unseen and Unknown the spirits of any individual
upon whom I may call. There is but one way of arriving at the truth of
the disappearance of the body of M. Felix, and I offer to you the
exclusive privilege of revealing this truth to an anxious and eager
public. My fee will be five guineas. Upon your remitting to me this
sum I undertake to summon the spirit of M. Felix, and to ascertain
from his own lips what has become of his body. The power I possess is
worth considerably more than the sum I name, and you, with this
exclusive information in your possession, will obtain an advertisement
for your valued newspaper which you could not otherwise obtain for
five hundred times the amount. I enclose you my name and address,
which you may or may not publish as you please, and upon the receipt
of the five guineas I will set to work at once. If you decline my
offer the disappearance of this particular body will forever remain a
mystery. I urge you, in your own interests, not to neglect this
opportunity.
"Another correspondent wrote:
"'Honored Sir--I have been reading all about M. Felix, and now comes
the cruel news of his disappearance. Just as I was going to see his
body and identify it! Just as I was going to realize a life-long
dream! Will you allow me to explain, and will you render an
inestimable service to a poor widow? I feel that you will, for you
have a heart. Thirty-two years ago my husband left me suddenly. We
were having tea, and in the middle of it he got up and said, "I'm off,
and you'll never see me again." We had had a dispute about something
(I beg you not ask me what; it was a private matter), when he acted
thus. He was a most overbearing man, and I had enough to do to bear
with him. He left the house there and then, and I have never set eyes
on him since. His name was not Felix, but are you sure that was M.
Felix's proper name. I advertised for him, and said all would be
forgiven and forgotten, but he didn't turn up. I heard he had gone to
Australia, and no doubt he made his fortune there, and came home to
England to enjoy it; and as _he_ was a man who never forgot and never
forgave, he took the name? of Felix, and lived the lonely life he did.
It was only yesterday the idea flashed across me that he was my long
lost husband, and that, if he did not make a will disinheriting me,
his lawful wife, his fortune belongs to me by every legal and moral
right. I would put two or three questions to you, sir, to you who are
always ready to help the oppressed. Did the supposed M. Felix make a
will? If he did, where is it? Is there any portrait of him extant? I
have a portrait of my poor husband--alas! much faded--but it stands to
reason that it must differ considerably from the late portraits taken
of the deceased. Show me M. Felix's portrait and I am ready to swear
to my husband. I put only one more question. In the absence of any
evidence whatever, and failing the discovery of the deceased's mortal
remains, is it not competent for me to make oath that he was my
husband, and thus establish my claim to any property he may have left
behind him. In deep grief, I am, honored sir, your obliged and
obedient servant, A LONELY WIDOW.'
"We could fill pages with letters of this description, but the three
we have given are a sufficient indication of the interest excited by
the incident. Among all these letters there was only one which offered
any suggestion likely to be of practical value, and that was the
letter we have printed, signed 'A LONELY WIDOW.' Her interesting
hypothesis that M. Felix was her long lost husband was, of course,
ridiculous, but she made mention of two subjects worthy of
consideration. The first was did M. Felix make a will; the second, was
there any portrait of him extant. If a will were in existence, it
would probably be in the care of a firm of lawyers who could have no
good reason for keeping it in the background. We set to work at once
upon this trail, but it led to nothing. No lawyers were found in
possession of such a document, and it was not forthcoming from other
quarters. Nor were we more successful with respect to a portrait of M.
Felix. Mrs. Middlemore had never seen one, and a private search
through his rooms was futile. Indeed, it is a further proof of the
strange secrecy in which M. Felix's life was conducted that not a
document or written paper of any description was discovered in his
apartments, not even a letter. Some important statements upon this
head will be presented further on.
"In pursuance of the advice our reporter gave Mrs. Middlemore, she
communicated to the police the fact of the disappearance of the body
of M. Felix. There the matter rested, and would have been likely to
rest but for the initiatory steps we had already taken to throw a
light upon the mystery. It is all very well to say that nobody's
business is everybody's business; it is not the case. People talked
and wrote letters, but we acted. It must be admitted that the police
were not in a position to move actively in the affair. No definite
charge had been offered for their investigation; no person was accused
of a crime; it had not even been proved that a crime had been
committed. Conjecture was theirs, and that was all. The law cannot
move, cannot act upon conjecture; facts of a crime, or even of a
supposed crime, are necessary before the administration of justice can
be called upon to adjudicate. Suggestions were thrown out as to the
advisability of offering a reward for the discovery of the body, but
who was to offer it? Even in the case of a deliberate and ascertained
murder where the criminal is at large, the Government is notoriously
slow in issuing such a proclamation, and the full weight of public
opinion has frequently failed in inducing the authorities to offer a
reward. It was not, therefore, to be expected that they would do so in
this instance. Meanwhile there was one feature in the case which we
desire to emphasize, and of which we never lost sight. Between the
hours of twelve and one o'clock on the night of the 16th-17th January
a man with a red scarf round his neck was seen to issue from the house
in Gerard Street, in which M. Felix resided. The man still remained
undiscovered. It matters not who saw him, whether Mrs. Middlemore, or
Constables Wigg or Nightingale, or all three together. The fact seemed
to be established that he had been in the house for some purpose, and
had been seen to issue from it.
"Where was that man, and what motive had he for not coming forward?"