The “Club” still remained my headquarters, and when I was not playing for my good patron, I was generally to be found there.  However, I no longer depended on playing at the “Club” to earn my living; I rather took rank with the visiting celebrities and, occasionally, after being sufficiently urged, would favor my old and new admirers with a number or two.  I say, without any egotistic pride, that among my admirers were several of the best-looking women who frequented the place, and who made no secret of the fact that they admired me as much as they did my playing.  Among these was the “widow”; indeed, her attentions became so marked that one of my friends warned me to beware of her black companion, who was generally known as a “bad man.”  He said there was much more reason to be careful because the pair had lately quarreled and had not been together at the “Club” for some nights.  This warning greatly impressed me and I resolved to stop the affair before it should go any further; but the woman was so beautiful that my native gallantry and delicacy would not allow me to repulse her; my finer feelings entirely overcame my judgment.  The warning also opened my eyes sufficiently to see that though my artistic temperament and skill made me interesting and attractive to the woman, she was, after all, using me only to excite the jealousy of her companion and revenge herself upon him.  It was this surly, black despot who held sway over her deepest emotions.

One night, shortly afterwards, I went into the “Club” and saw the “widow” sitting at a table in company with another woman.  She at once beckoned for me to come to her.  I went, knowing that I was committing worse than folly.  She ordered a quart of champagne and insisted that I sit down and drink with her.  I took a chair on the opposite side of the table and began to sip a glass of the wine.  Suddenly I noticed by an expression on the “widow’s” face that something had occurred.

I instinctively glanced around and saw that her companion had just entered.  His ugly look completely frightened me.  My back was turned to him, but by watching the “widow’s” eyes I judged that he was pacing back and forth across the room.  My feelings were far from being comfortable; I expected every moment to feel a blow on my head.  She, too, was very nervous; she was trying hard to appear unconcerned, but could not succeed in hiding her real feelings.  I decided that it was best to get out of such a predicament even at the expense of appearing cowardly, and I made a motion to rise.  Just as I partly turned in my chair, I saw the black fellow approaching; he walked directly to our table and leaned over.  The “widow” evidently feared he was going to strike her, and she threw back her head.  Instead of striking her he whipped out a revolver and fired; the first shot went straight into her throat.  There were other shots fired, but how many I do not know; for the first knowledge I had of my surroundings and actions was that I was rushing through the chop-suey restaurant into the street.  Just which streets I followed when I got outside I do not know, but I think I must have gone towards Eighth Avenue, then down towards Twenty-third Street and across towards Fifth Avenue.  I traveled, not by sight, but instinctively.  I felt like one fleeing in a horrible nightmare.