The Sun. — 1859-05-10 (London, England)

THE SUN.  TUESDAY, MAY 10, 1859.  Our Detective Police are certainly beginning to want the assistance of Monsieur C. AUGUSTE DI:PIN, the astute Parisian friend of EDGAR ALLAN POE, the American Poet and Romancist. Neither the " Mystery of MARIE ROGET," nor the mist of doubt surrounding the " Murders in the Rue Morgue " can be said to eclipse in interest the impenetrable and inscrutable horror enveloping the tragedies of the Carpet Bag at Waterloo Bridge, and of that other Carpet Bag on the sands at Margate, with the dead body of the man to whom it had belonged lying upon the beach seven miles off near the foot of Augusta-stairs, at Ramsgate. From the first there were manifest, in the former of these two atrocious incidents, the evidences of a diabolical assassination having been perpetrated. At the last there is beginning to grow out of the first supposition, in reference to the latter, that the cause of death was an ecceistric kind of suicide—a conviction that a thousand significant details point here again to murder, brutal and fiendish murder, as the real cause of the catastrophe. The correspondent of the chief of our morning contemporaries—an anonymous writer, signing his communication with the initials C. D.—who has recently scrutinised anew the whole of the evidence laid before the Coroner's jury at Ramsgate when the dead body of the poor German traveller was earliest discovered there under the cliffs—has shown with extraordinary sagacity how utterly preposterous it is to dream that the cause of death there was the act of deliberate self-destruction. The peculiarity of the wound in the breast, immediately under the left nipple, being upwards and the bleeding from it inwards, showing that the blow must have been administered when the body was in a recumbent position ! The orifice of the wound being enlarged by the movement to and fro of the knife struck through the heart—when the very gash through the heart shows that death must have been absolutely instantaneous ! The considerable amount of property known to have been in his possession directly before death, having altogether disappeared—money, watch, signet ring —nay, the very instrument of death, with which, as we have already remarked, he must have been killed instantaneously ! Casual circumstances again, in regard to the condition of the few articles of his apparel found scattered along the shore near Margate, in the vicinity of his empty carpet bag, and near Ramsgate, in the vicinity of his naked corpse —such peeilliar circumstances, for example, as that showing that the tops of his boots (according to the evidence of a cobbler examined before the coroner's jury) had been cut off with the skill of a practised shoemaker ! Together with that other additional evidence which went to prove that, upon the beach near Margate (on the morning of the discovery of the poor -wretch's body near Ramsgate), a portion, not the Whole, but a portion of one of his shirts, was seen there covered with blood—that it afterwards, on a second examination, was found to have been made away with—that there were tokens on that spot of a fire having been kindled—that there was a partially burnt inciter match l • ymg there, and imprinted upon the sands the mark of the footsteps of a man and woman ! All these and other sinister and suggestive hardly less appearances carefully enumerated by C. D. in the columns of the Times, point, we do seriously believe, in this instance clearly, distinctly, unmistakeably to the murder that unfortunate foreigner, and a murder,  too, it must be repeated, of the most brutal and fiendish character. The evidences of murder found months before inside that other carpet bag on one of the abutments of Waterloo-bridge, we all remember with a shudder to have been, as we have said from the first, glaringly apparent. Yet to this day in neither instance has there been traced by one inch the faintest clue to the perpetrators of these hideous assassinations. Our Detectives are all of them at fault. Mr. BUCKET is evidently a creature wholly born of CHARLES DICKENS'S vivid imagination. There is not anywhere to be found in the whole police corps the most shadowy semblance of the original of that character. The Detectives of England are manifestly but a small improvement upon the old Bow-street Runners, who were so effectually baffled by the undiscovered destroyer of