“At this time the police have not the slightest clue on which to proceed. At the central telephone station no one remembers having been asked to connect 1611 Courtland, which was Marchburn’s number. As no record is kept of the thousands of daily calls, the telephone office can throw no light on the murder. There is no known motive for the crime, as Mr. Marchburn was not supposed to have an enemy, and was highly respected in business and social circles. The inquest to-morrow is expected to throw some light upon the awful crime.
“Mr. Marchburn was president of the International Bank Note and Engraving Company, whose offices are on the eleventh story of the Empire Building, their factory being in New Jersey.
“He came to New York about five years ago from the West, and started the Bank Note Company, which has been remarkably successful. He was a member of the Central League, the Cosmopolitan, and the Hudson Bay Clubs.
“Deceased was a director in the Seventeenth National Bank and other financial institutions, and was a member of the Jackson Avenue Presbyterian Church. He leaves a daughter, his only child, and, his wife having died several years ago, the sole heir to his vast wealth, which is estimated at millions.”
Like all detectives, Brixton was interested in any story of crime; but just now a case of his own engrossed the larger part of his attention. For some months past the country had been flooded with counterfeit notes, and, although the entire secret service force and the police of all the leading cities had been hunting the counterfeiters, they had made little progress. The bills were so nearly perfect, they so closely copied the genuine article, both as to the work of the engraver and the paper upon which they were printed, that only an expert was able to discriminate between them. People began to be thoroughly alarmed. Many got rid of their paper money as quickly as possible, and exchanged it for gold and silver so as to avoid risk. The newspapers denounced the Secretary of the Treasury for not being able to capture the criminals.
The newspapers next morning contained long accounts of the murder of Mr. Marchburn; but they were able to add little to the reports printed in the extras of the evening before. The murder of a wealthy business man in practically broad daylight, in a building on one of the most frequented streets of the city, caused a tremendous sensation, and in business circles the tragedy was more eagerly discussed than the course of the market. The coroner’s inquest brought out these facts:
Mr. Marchburn had spent the day at the factory, and returned to his office about five o’clock. The clerks had not expected him back that evening, and some of them had left. To his chief clerk he said he had stopped in on his way up town to fetch some papers which he wanted to look over at his house, and that while in the office he would write some personal letters. No one need wait for him, as he would latch the outer door after him. Then Mr. Marchburn threw open his desk, the chief clerk wished him good-evening, and in a few minutes, except for the president, the offices appeared to be vacant.
It was explained to the jury that the company occupied five rooms, all of which opened into the main corridor. Mr. Marchburn’s private room was at the extreme end of the suite. The company employed seven clerks, two of them girls. One of the girls and Mr. Marchburn’s private secretary had left before the return of that gentleman, and the other clerks testified that no stranger was in any of the rooms when they left. The last persons to leave were John Rogers, the chief clerk, and the cashier, William Harding. Rogers swore that while he was waiting for Harding to close the safe Mr. Marchburn came into the general office from his room, and asked if a certain account had been paid. Both men were positive that nobody could have been secreted in the rooms at that time, and at the close of the short conversation Mr. Marchburn again said “Good-night,” and returned to his room. Rogers put down the spring latch and tried the door from the outside. It was safely locked. They walked across the hall to the elevator, and while waiting for the car met the janitor, who inquired if the offices were empty. Rogers told him that Mr. Marchburn was in his room and would be busy for a short time.
The janitor told a straight enough story. After leaving Rogers and Harding he had worked on the other side of the building, and then went to the first floor. He was on the third story at the time when Bridget Martin’s screams alarmed him, and he hastily ran to the elevator and told the conductor to take him upstairs. At that time he did not know whence the outcry proceeded, but as the elevator went rushing up some one shouted that Mr. Marchburn had been hurt. When he reached the eleventh story and entered the company’s rooms he found the Martin woman and three or four other persons, tenants of the building. His evidence as to the finding of the body was merely corroborative of that of the other witnesses.
There are four elevators in the Empire Building. The conductor of No. 4 elevator, Richard Wright, testified as follows: “I have been employed only two days at the Empire Building. It is the rule to close down two of the elevators at half past five; at six o’clock the third is closed, and the other half an hour later. I am ‘late man’ this week. Just as six o’clock was striking and elevator No. 3 was making its last downward trip, the annunciator in my car dropped for the tenth story. I ran my car up and took in a young man. I do not remember to have seen him before. He stepped into the car, and as I pulled the rope to go down I noticed that he had a handkerchief wrapped round his right hand and he was holding it with his left, as though it hurt him. I said to him: ‘Have you hurt your hand?’ He replied: ‘Yes, I squeezed it in the door.’