I have often since that day tried to analyze the feelings which I had at the time of Pitezel’s death. I felt it to be a terrible matter, and certainly could not have deplored it more had he been a relative, but I did not then, nor have I since felt the great horror concerning it that I experienced at the time of Nannie Williams’ death in Chicago, which was wholly unprovoked and for which I felt that I was the indirect cause; while in this case, his death occurred as the result of his own premeditation, in consequence of his having allowed himself to slowly drift into pernicious habits for which he was more than any one else to blame. Upon reaching Indianapolis, I was occupied until Wednesday noon, September 5th, in arranging comfortable quarters for my wife, at which time I started for St. Louis, reaching that city about 7 P. M., having bought upon the train a St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_, giving in a Philadelphia dispatch an account of the finding of Pitezel’s (Perry’s) body in the Callowhill street house upon the previous day. After a short delay I went at once to Mrs. Pitezel’s place of residence, about an hour’s ride from the centre of the city, hoping to be in time to tell them of the matter myself. Upon reaching the house, however, I found all in a state of commotion. The neighbors were there, a physician had been summoned, and it was some time before I could obtain a suitable opportunity to talk with Mrs. Pitezel. I found her in a very nervous and over-wrought condition, and I thought it best to palliate her fears for a time, and, therefore, said to her, “Perhaps Ben is not dead. There may be a mistake in the person, as I saw him alive last week.” [Illustration: HOLMES’ “CASTLE” CHICAGO.]