The conversation was prolonged and during the entire time Miss Lizzie controlled her emotions wonderfully for a young lady who had so recently been called upon to witness the blood of her father and step-mother flowing from dozens of hideous wounds. When the officer left her he went to the City Marshal and related his experience. The public was not informed that then and there suspicions were aroused in the minds of the police that the daughter knew more of the circumstances of the tragedy then she cared to tell, but nevertheless this was true.
All through that eventful day the police searched the house, cellar, yard and barn but found nothing to confirm any suspicions which they might have entertained as to who was guilty of the crimes.
Hon. John W. Coughlin, mayor of the city, who is a physician,
was among the first at the house and he took an active interest in the search for evidence. From cellar to attic the police and physicians delved into every nook and corner; every particle of hay in the barn loft and every blade of grass in the yard was turned over; and when the day was done the harvest had been nothing, except the discovery of the double murder of a peaceful old man and his harmless wife, struck down in their home like an ox in the stall. There was no assassin, no weapon, no motive; just the crime and veil of mystery surrounding which apparently time alone could lift.
They found the house in perfect order. The front and cellar doors were locked; and every window sash was down. Even the victims as they lay showed no signs of a struggle and the blood which spurted as the weapon fell had not bespattered the rooms and furniture as it generally does under circumstances such as these which surrounded the butchery of the Bordens. They found two persons in the house living and two dead; and the living could throw no light upon the darkness which clouded the stark forms of the dead. A sturdy old man, rich in this world’s goods, highly esteemed, retired from active life, without a known enemy, and his equally unoffending wife were cut down in their own house, in the broad daylight; and the assassin had left absolutely no trace of himself. No man had seen him enter the house and no one had witnessed his departure. The city was excited as it never was before; thousands of people hurried from their places of business, from the workshop and the mill, and gathered in the street in front of the house. Newspaper men from the principal cities of New York and New England, to which the telegraph had communicated the news of the astounding crime, arrived on the afternoon trains; and as the day wore on, the dark mystery grew darker and the task of fastening the crime on the guilty party took on the semblance of an impossibility.
Medical Examiner Dolan and a corps of physicians held an autopsy on the bodies in the afternoon and found that thirteen blows had rained upon the head of the unsuspecting Mr. Borden, and that no less than eighteen had descended upon the skull of Mrs. Borden. The cuts were deep and long and any one of them would have produced instant death.
Could any but a maniac have inflicted those pitiless wounds; or could any but a madman have struck so ruthlessly and unerringly and watched the effect as the weapon sped on its mission of death, time and time again? These were questions which suggested themselves to the public, but they were unanswered and seemingly unanswerable.
This was the baffling condition of things which beset Marshal Hilliard and his officers after the scene had been hurriedly gone over. Out of this chaos of bloody crime and bewildering uncertainty, the police were expected to bring light and order. It was a herculean task yet they went to work with an energy prompted by duty, and spurred to greater efforts by the public demand that justice overtake the author of the foul deeds.