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“That last case appealed to me, like many others,” he ruminated, “just because it was so unusual, so gruesome, as you call it.”

He reached into the pocket of his coat, hung over the back of a chair.

“Now, here’s another most unusual case, apparently. It begins, really, at the other end, so to speak, with the conviction, begins at the very place where we detectives send a man as the last act of our little dramas.”

“What?” I gasped, “another case before even this one is fairly cleaned up? Craig–you are impossible. You get worse instead of better.”

“Read it,” he said, simply. Kennedy handed me a letter in the angular hand affected by many women. It was dated at Sing Sing, or rather Ossining. Craig seemed to appreciate the surprise which my face must have betrayed at the curious combination of circumstances.

“Nearly always there is the wife or mother of a condemned man who lives in the shadow of the prison,” he remarked quietly, adding, “where she can look down at the grim walls, hoping and fearing.”

I said nothing, for the letter spoke for itself.

I have read of your success as a scientific detective and hope that you will pardon me for writing to you, but it is a matter of life or death for one who is dearer to me than all the world.

Perhaps you recall reading of the trial and conviction of my husband, Sanford Godwin, at East Point. The case did not attract much attention in New York papers, although he was defended by an able lawyer from the city.

Since the trial, I have taken up my residence here in Ossining in order to be near him. As I write I can see the cold, grey walls of the state prison that holds all that is dear to me. Day after day, I have watched and waited, hoped against hope. The courts are so slow, and lawyers are so technical. There have been executions since I came here, too–and I shudder at them. Will this appeal be denied, also?

My husband was accused of murdering by poison–hemlock, they alleged–his adoptive parent, the retired merchant, Parker Godwin, whose family name he took when he was a boy. After the death of the old man, a later will was discovered in which my husband’s inheritance was reduced to a small annuity. The other heirs, the Elmores, asserted, and the state made out its case on the assumption, that the new will furnished a motive for killing old Mr. Godwin, and that only by accident had it been discovered.

Sanford is innocent. He could not have done it. It is not in him to do such a thing. I am only a woman, but about some things I know more than all the lawyers and scientists, and I KNOW that he is innocent.

I cannot write all. My heart is too full. Cannot you come and advise me? Even if you cannot take up the case to which I have devoted my life, tell me what to do. I am enclosing a check for expenses, all I can spare at present.

Sincerely yours,

NELLA GODWIN.

“Are you going?” I asked, watching Kennedy as he tapped the check thoughtfully on the desk.

“I can hardly resist an appeal like that,” he replied, absently replacing the check in the envelope with the letter.