The Leo Frank Case 1913 Part V Chapter 1 Crime First Discovered

He had to complete his round at 2:30 on a Sabbath morning in April 27, 1913. On the second floor of the National Pencil factory, it was chilly, so Newt warmed himself by rubbing the palms of his black hands across the dusted lantern's glass surface. The corners' shadows danced and drew nearer to him.

The face of the big time talk, whom he was obligated to punch once every thirty minutes, was revealed by the lantern light. In a short while, Newt would have circled the abandoned factory building, punched the air, and sat down once more for another rest. He felt like he needed to rest because he was exhausted as well.

Yes, he admitted to himself, a little tired. With only a narrow path of light illuminating the flight of stairs he had to descend, Newt began to descend the stairs to the first floor as the darkness engulfed him from behind. At the same time and location, another man would not have been mute but rather experienced icy shivers running up his spine.

He had been in the same location every night for several months during which time he had witnessed the same shadows flickering on the bare walls and the same ghostly traces left by the lantern on the stairs. However, despite the fact that Mr. Frank, the factory's superintendent, had given him nearly the entire afternoon off, he was exhausted tonight.

As he descended the stairs and started to scan the empty first floor with his lantern, he talked to himself as he did so. Many lonely nights spent, as this one had taught Newt Lee the value of quiet conversation and plenty of sleep. At three o'clock, this arrives because Mr.

Frank muttered sickly, "Frank says it's holiday and he wanted to get off fur.". He tells me to go out and enjoy myself and not to return until six in the evening as his first instruction. That's a great moment.

I spent the night sleeping at home instead of traipsing around the city. I'm unsure of Mr. Frank's current situation, but he seemed to be acting nervously to me today, rubbing his hands together while he sat there, and when I yelled at him to come with Mr. Gantt.

Just as he was concerned that the man had stolen something, Gantt went to get his shoes. People of color don't steal anything. In any case, not black niggers.

By this time, Newt had finished his calmly routine inspection of the first floor. Naturally gloomy, there were no busy workers, no men frantically packing pencils, and no little factory girls hunched over the machinery like there were during the day. The machines were there, shining and motionless.

To a night watchman, the ordinary meant safety, and Newt liked them still for their stillness. He would only need to go up one more floor to finish. The basement is the next-to-darkest floor.

Always mute, always evil. Over the scuttle hole, he opened the trap door. A faint light appeared.

As usual, the gas jet was burning, but it was reduced. Newt muttered to himself, "That's pretty low.". They are orders, orders.

Newt conceived. And having that light was always per Mr. Frank's instructions.

He could see down the ladder because of how brightly he was burning. He ascended, carefully fastening his feet to each rung as his lantern wavered its light, piercing the basement's paler lighting with wan gleams and adding to the gloom and silence. At the bottom rung, his feet made contact.

He was lying on the basement floor. The lantern flicked its yellow rays to every corner. This is fine.

That's all good. However, wait there on that sawdust pile by the boiler. Newt took three steps forward before stopping motionlessly.

A small pile of clothes and something else were illuminated by the burning light, which Newt had never seen before. His pulse beat. Its pulse was audible to him.

He made an effort to hear other sounds with his ears. But from the sleeping city outside, everything was as still as a tomb; the only sound was the quick, hard thump thump of his heart. For the first time in his life, the Negro experienced a deadly, nauseating fear as the silence pressed in on him and encircled him.

He attempted to disrupt it. He attempted to laugh as he swallowed something in his throat. Joe, he murmured aloud, is just trying to scare me with this little holiday joke.

In the silence, his voice came across as stern and irritating. He muttered frightenedly, "Just a little joke. His voice then became silent after a brief period.

Muttly stumbled back after taking just one more step forward and one more flicker of the lantern. With one bound, he was sobbing his way up the ladder after witnessing something that had frozen his blood like an icy dam. It wasn't a joke or a seasonal prank, that thing by the boiler.

No blood was smeared on jokes. Jokes lacked hair, piercing eyes, and bruised and scarred faces.