Anne Donovan had been in the employ of Madame Conti for approximately one year prior to her death and was described by her employer as “kind, gentle, a redhead, who never gave me a day’s trouble, which can’t be said for a lot of these girls.” Most have been hardened by the age of Miss Donovan, handy with a knife and inclined to steal from the clients, but by all accounts these rough qualities did not apply to the victim. Madame Conti explained that she had let the victim’s current amour, John Thiroux, into Donovan’s room at eight p.m., and retired to her private salon to write letters to acquaintances. She heard nothing out of the ordinary until two a.m., when Mr. Thiroux sought her out. There was blood on his hands, in his hair, and on his right leg. According to Madame Conti, he said simply, “Anne’s dead.”

The sight that greeted the stout miss upon repairing to the girl’s room was a scene from a nightmare. “I’ve seen a lot in my life—I’ve seen murdered people before—but this was unlike anything I’ve ever laid eyes on. It was unbelievable. Blood everywhere.” What she saw was Anne Donovan, lying supine on her narrow bed, dressed in a simple chemise, her face and upper body mutilated by stab wounds. A knife rested in her left hand, and blood covered the bed, the floor below, the wall behind her head, and filled the room with a sickly sweet smell.

What did Madame think of Mr. Thiroux? “I never thought of him as a violent sort at all, but he was there, wasn’t he? I figured he must have done it.” When asked if she was afraid to be alone with him at that time, she replied, “Not at all. He had returned to his chair and was starting in on a brand-new bottle, eyes closed. I lit his pipe for him and figured I’d have a good two hours before he so much as stirred.”

Yet when police arrived, they made no attempt to arrest Mr. Thiroux, whom most of our readership will recognize as a wealthy artist, who has contributed greatly to the improvement of the arts in our city. It is also widely recognized that Mr. Thiroux does not pass a day without descending into drink or opium.

MURDER OF LOCAL BAWD HAS FELLOW STRUMPETS IN ARMS