The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1881-12-20
BITTEN FINGER NAILS.
How They Provided a French De-
tective with Murder
Clew

looked frightened, abJect and
wretched. He had the look of rag.
man, and was hollow checked, with
sunken eyes and unkempt hair. He
wore an old blouse and pants which
were threadbare and patched.
1t was Oh the 31st Of January, 1868,
that this man ran into the presence of
the commissaire of police, Jules Min
teaux, in Paris. The officials oh duty
IN the office at sight of this object
glanced from one To the other. and
then at the commissaire Each of
fetal mentally photographed him upon
his memory.
May l speak with YOU, MONSIEUR
repeated the man.
Who are you? What d" YOU
WANT" said the commi,saire, CURLY.
My wife - Nine. Purvois-has
committed suicide. She is dead,
monsieur. live in the Rue Feron,
No. T."
',Suicide-when?
Some time during the night, mon
sieur. Last night when came home
from looking for work she was alive
and in her usual spirits. She always
had a smile for me, Poor as am. and
even though we hadn't sou in the
house,
"Well?" broke in the commissaire,
abruptly.
We were very hungry, both of us,
bu: ! cheered her by the good news
that / had obtained the promise of
work at nv trade, and We went to bed
supperless, thinking of what good
things We would have when | had
earned my first five francs. An hour
ago awoke. | spoke TO her, and
mon Dieu,
SHE WAS DEAD.
She was not Wing beside me on our
pallet, but on the floor, Monsieur. In
her hand was razor, and she had
cut her throat from ear to ear. The
blood was Oh her face-the floor. 1t
seemed to be everywhere in the room.
Oh. monsieur, it was horrible
slight"
"A woman does not usually com
nit suicide with razor. and people
Of your appearance 10 not usually
possess SUCH tool, said the COM
n2issaire.
''Ah. but the razor is not mine. for
| have none: | do not know where
she got it. She must have thought
vi killing herself before"
''She may have been murdered ?"
That is impossible, monsieur. The
door was fastened on the inside with
a wooden bar, and had there been
struggle it would have awakened me
az we'll as our neighbors.
Had she been drinking"
She? No, monster; she disliked
liquor"
"Umph!" said the official; "she
must have been a woman Of nerve to
cut her throat with razor. and you
q sound sleeper not to have been
aroused by the fall"
Il was tired from walking the
streets, monsieur, and slept heavier
than usual. The tired and hungry
always sleep sound. They are like
the dead, for they do not dream"
II will be at the Rue Feron, No. :,
directly"
The man, who had given his name
az Ambrose Purvois, put his ragged
cap over his tangled mass of hair and
and went ont. Following him, at a
signal from the commissaire, was a
mouchard, i'm plain clothes.
DO not let him get beyond your
reach" said the commissaire.
Within the half hour the Com
"a issaire, with two or three Of his
officials and a surgeon of police, en-
tered the dingy Rue Feron. To reach
the abode of Purvois, they had to
pass through court, blind passage,
and up three flights of narrow wooden
stairs. Entering the apartment, or
rather narrow room, they beheld the
victim
LYING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR,
stark and cold, the CLASSY eyes wide
open, and one of her hands clutching
the handle of the blood-smeared
razor.
On the pallet sat the husband with
bis hands over his face, moaning as if
Attic ted with the most inconsolable |
grief. The officials babe him stand !
up. he did 80. The Commissaire |
questioned him sharply, while the |
eurgeon made his customary examina- |
ton of the body.
"Where were you married to this
woman ?"
In Marseilles, monsieur"
"How long ago?"
"In March next it will be three