Thunderstruck

SUICIDE

THE WORLD SEEMED GALVANIZED.

In Chicago police arrested a man named Albert Rickward, despite the fact that he was English and only twenty-nine years old, two decades younger than Crippen. They searched him and found English notes with a value in American currency of about $2,000. This increased their suspicions. They held him for hours as they interrogated him and searched his luggage, which he had left at the train station. Rickward was furious. Eventually the police let him go, without apology.

In Marseille a shipping agent notified police that he had spotted Crippen and Le Neve boarding a steamer bound for Antwerp. French detectives and the British consul raced to the wharf but found the ship had just departed.

In Halifax, Nova Scotia, police intercepted a steamer, the Uranium, just as it arrived. They kept everyone on board while they searched it from bow to stern. They found no one of interest.

From Brussels came the report that the owner of a café outside the city had noticed two customers who exactly fit the description of the fugitives. One of them, the café keeper reported, was a woman dressed as a man. He was sure of it.

In fact, this last report was likely correct, but it was impossible to know which reports to take seriously, which to discard. As the New York Times noted, “Many meek looking men with glasses have been looked on with suspicion, and the number of people who have been shadowed by amateur detectives anxious to gain the police reward of $1,250 is beyond count.”

And then came this, from the French city of Bourges:

On the night of Wednesday, July 13, a lovely young woman registered at the Hotel France. She wore an elegant dress and carried herself in a refined manner. She was about twenty-five years old, brunette, and of slight build. Overall she had “a prepossessing appearance.” The name she gave was Jeanne Maze. She claimed to be French, though no one at the hotel believed it.

Upon receiving her key, she went directly to her room.

One hour later hotel staff heard three gunshots. They hunted for the source and eventually came to the woman’s room, which they found locked. Using a spare key, they entered. The woman was sprawled across the bed. A note lay on a nearby table.

“I request that my identity be not sought. The cause of my suicide is known to me alone. I ask to be allowed to rest tranquilly in my tomb.

“I am a foreigner. I leave 100 francs to defray my funeral expenses.

“Life to me, alas! appeared unsmiling.”

The local police investigated but learned nothing of the woman’s identity and let the matter rest. Clearly she was a victim of failed romance. Only when they received Dew’s circular did they realize the young woman could be—had to be—the fugitive typist, Ethel Le Neve.

They found the resemblance uncanny.