and from which she had vanished from sight three years previously. Mrs. Hayes said that it was, the high constable noting she was pleased he remembered.
Mrs. Hayes explained that shortly after that incident Mary and her mother, financed by funds supplied by Mary’s half brother, a seaman, had rented this residence from one Peter Aymar.
They eked out a small living running the boardinghouse here. Mary’s mother was able to do little, feebleness and bone fatigue having set in, so it had fallen on Mary to take charge of the daily chores and administration. Mrs. Downey said that of late, there had been an air, nearing desperation, surrounding Mary, but when pressed, she could not speak of what disturbed her.
Hays returned his attention to the grieving mother. If she had been listening to the course of his conversation with Mrs. Hayes, she gave no indication. In deference to her years, her loss, and the devastation such tragedy had obviously wrought upon her person, he chose not to press her personally with any undue questions at this time.
Instead, he requested of Mrs. Downey if a list of all boarders over the last year might be prepared for him, any tradesmen who frequented the house, and any visitors.
With that Hays bid his leave. He once more took Mrs. Rogers’ frail hand in his thick fingers and told her he was sorry for her loss. He said that he hoped God would give her strength, and then left.
Once outside, against the hubbub and racket of the district’s afternoon traffic, the daily standard commerce and hurried foot transit on Nassau Street, Balboa had already helped his superior up into the police carriage in front of the boardinghouse when a tall, thin-faced gentleman in a great rush made his appearance from the rear of the building.
“High Constable, a word with you, please!” he shouted, running at great speed to catch up.
Balboa reined the horse at once.
Hays glanced at this individual, a florid man in a gray suit, with matching vest, white cravat, and well-combed and oiled hair. This gentleman’s flinty gray eyes met the high constable’s steady gaze momentarily before breaking off.
“Pardon me, sir,” the thin man said, stepping close to the carriage and speaking through the open window. “I am Arthur Crommelin, perhaps you have heard of me.” His breath came heavily from the exertion of having run to catch the carriage. “It is most urgent, High Constable, that you are made aware of certain elements involved in this case,” he continued, his intake of air now regulated. “Last night, following the medical examiner’s inquest, much to my annoyance, I was forced to lay over at the Jersey City Hotel due to a delay in my testimony in front of the coroner. I returned as soon as I was able early this morning on the first ferry across the Hudson. High Constable, excuse me, but I must express my feelings,” stated Crommelin. “There is something amiss, sir.”
“Amiss beyond murder, you mean, Mr. Crommelin?” said Hays, studying the man. “Because, indeed, sir, murder itself strikes me most assuredly amiss enough.”
Crommelin blinked. “Without question, of course. A most unfortunate choice of words on my part. But what I mean, sir, last night, while I was delayed, my friend and companion Mr. Padley returned to the city after giving his coroner’s testimony in Hoboken. He told me that he entered the Rogerses’ home with a certain intent neither to render harm nor fear unto the widow or intrude on the grief that would surely descend upon her as soon as she was informed of the horror that had befallen her poor, wronged daughter. But upon delivering the terrible news, sir, it was Mr. Daniel Payne at her side, and although, according to Mr. Padley, she, the elderly and bereaved mother, took in air in great sucking gulps to steady her breath and seemed shocked with the most certain knowledge of her child’s death by murder, Mr. Padley has confided in me that Mr. Payne was strangely calm, as if the fact of his intended’s death was already a foregone conclusion, if you see what I mean. As if he knew; had foreknowledge, sir.”
“Foreknowledge?”
“Exactly, High Constable.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, sir,” Crommelin cried, “in deference to you, it seems suspicious, sir, that Mr. Payne’s reaction—the man who was lover and betrothed to the deceased—would not show a forewhisker of emotional reaction, if you see what I’m getting at, and when last night Mr. Padley came right out and in no uncertain terms suggested to Mr. Payne he cross the river to attend the coroner’s inquest and perform the duty of a gentleman, he declined. All this strikes me as strange, High Constable Hays.”
“Strange. And suspicious?”
“And suspicious, too, sir,” Crommelin admitted. “Most certainly.”
Hays ended the conversation, hoping his distaste for this gentleman was not evident. “Just so,” he said—what might have been taken by a certain kind of inferior mind as agreement.
In the Lair of the Green Turtle
Due to the fact that Mary Rogers’ body was found in New Jersey, by law the high constable was required to procure the approval of the mayor’s office before embarking on a full investigation.
Mayor Robert Morris had taken ill with gout, however, and to Hays’ irritation, the acting mayor, Elijah Purdy, an effete, ineffectual man not much to the high constable’s liking, refused to be forthcoming.
“The morass and implication,” declared Purdy, “the potential for disaster, are more than needs to be undertaken on the behest of our city at this time. If this poor young woman was indeed murdered in New Jersey, High Constable, as indicated by her body washing up on their side of the North River, it follows it is then New Jersey’s responsibility to pursue inquiry, not ours.”
“I think their local authorities might refute that conclusion,” Hays responded without trace of a smile.
“What, might I be so bold to ask, would those in authority in Hoboken desire to happen?” asked the acting mayor.
“Coroner Cook and Justice Merritt both would be happy to see the constabulary here in New York take charge. Although they acknowledge the tragedy of the murder, both feel strongly that the crime falls neither under their general auspice nor within their expertise, and that they, therefore, would be better served, as would the victim, if they were not made responsible for its solution. They assert the crime of murder has been carried out on one of our citizens within the confines of our own city limits. Their contention is the body of Miss Rogers has only by chance and current found its way to their shore, perhaps even after being dumped on our side of the river.”
“And what do you think, High Constable?”
“I see their point. Dr. Cook and Justice Merritt are both respectable men. Both feel we are better suited to proceed with such an investigation. I do not disagree. My single concern is to see justice done for this unfortunate young woman.”
“As is mine. But the fact is, High Constable, dead bodies found floating in the waters surrounding
