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It was shortly before 6 p.m. Monday, February 7, 1898, when Mr. William W. Place, who is an insurance adjuster with offices in Manhattan, arrived in front of his home at No. 598 Hancock Street, Brooklyn. There's a small yard in front, and a high brownstone stoop leads to the parlor floor.

The outer storm doors were locked, and the curtains in the front parlor were drawn down.

Mr. Place took the latch key from his pocket, opened the outer door,

and then finding himself in the vestibule, closed the storm door again, and opened the door which led to the

hallway. He noticed that the entire parlor floor was in utter darkness. Believing that his wife and

daughter were not at home, Mr. Place stepped into the front parlor, walked through to the back,

and was about to return to the front parlor when he through to the back, and was about to return to the front

parlor when he heard somebody moving on the floor above. Martha, Martha, is that you? He cried,

but there was no response. He heard hurried steps coming down the stairs from the second floor,

and he ran out in the hallway. Just as he reached the foot of the stairs,

he saw the lights above had been turned on and he saw his wife running toward him. In her hands,

she held an axe. She raised it high above her head and brought it down with full force toward him. He tried to

dodge the blow, but the axe struck in his forehead, inflicting a deep wound.

Murder! Murder! My God, Martha, you're killing me! he cried, and then he turned and ran toward

the closed storm door and grabbed the knob.

"'You will not escape me,' cried the infuriated woman, again lifting the axe,

and again, bringing it down with full force upon her husband's head. Again, he dodged,

and the blow landed on the back of his head, cutting a deep gash in the scalp,

from which blood gushed forth.

Murder!

Murder!

...