New York, G, 1876-1971, Undated

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spend some time with us. She’s anxious
to meet you in person. You've never met
anyone like her. She’s swell. And I’m
very much in love with her.’ It’s signed
‘Bill’ and is postmarked Lowell, Mass.”

“Bill?’? Moore repeated. “Jack’s
brother?”

“T’ve got an idea how we can find out
in a hurry,” the chief said. “If what I’m
thinking is right—’ He started for the
door.

Not far from Ronk’s office was that of
the town clerk. Here the chief requested
Bill Grace’s marriage certificate.

‘“‘He swore,’’ Ronk’s blunt finger
pointed to one of the questions on the
certificate, “that he’d never been married
before. Then what about this wife he
had in Lowell?”

“Perhaps Jack threatened to tell about
it, and despite Jack’s death we have
learned the secret beyond the grave,”
Moore said grimly, “Was Bill Grace com-
mitting bigamy? If not, what happened
to his other wife? Why did he try to con-
ceal his previous marriage?”

Discussing the new turn, they decided
to investigate the background of Strangler
Jack’s younger brother. Questioning of
close acquaintances that night revealed
Bill Grace was deeply in debt. Moreover,
as he hadn’t had many painting jobs
lately, his income was slender.

“A poor risk for a prospective bride-
groom,” Ronk observed dryly. “Saturday.
night he cadged $5 from the Eagle bar-
man. Wednesday morning he went off
on a honeymoon. Where'd the honey-
moon money come from?”

The question had an ugly implication.
For the time being neither man answered
it aloud. Continuing the rationalization,
Ronk pointed to the fact that it was
Bill Grace who had told them about the
threat against Simpson.

VE the thing was a patent falsehood.
Had Bill Grace invented it? If so, it
had served him well for a while. Nor could
the coincidence of the salesman’s hasty
departure be overlooked.

Within the hour Ronk had made his
mind up. The case against Strangler
Jack’s brother was highly suspicious, Bill
Grace was placed under arrest.

He was unpacking his valise when the,
officers walked into his home. While
Grace protested hotly to Moore, Chief
Ronk went through his things.

Grace’s clothing contained nothing un-

- usual. But from a small side pocket of

the bag Ronk drew forth a shaving mug
with a tightly rolled up handkerchief
crammed into it. He felt something hard
in the center of the handkerchief,

Watching with ashen face, Bill Grace
saw the chief unfold the linen. When he
drew forth two large diamond rings and
a diamond tie pin, the murdered man’s
brother collapsed on a chair,

Later, at the police station, Grace told
the full story of his fatal intrigues, He
was haggard and taut but he appeared
relieved.

Grace said he had been married not
once but twice before. He had deserted
his first wife in his home town of Fall
River. His second spouse, wed biga-
mously, was similarly left husbandless.

“Jack knew I liked to love ’em and
leave ’em,” he laughed bitterly. “He quar-
reled with me for ruining the lives of two
decent girls. Well, when we came to
Walden I promised him I wouldn’t get
mixed up that way again.” .

But the Strangler left for Newburgh.
When he learned that his brother was
to wed again, he grew angry. “So I spread

VA AMES PITMAN BAILEY
did not feel that he had

done a bad job of murdering
his wife. As he stood beside the sedan
that sheltered her body from the win-
ter’s cold, young Bailey smiled. He knew
that he would have to answer questions,
but was not disturbed.

He was an auctioneer and had a gift
of gab. He had plotted the crime care-
fully and he could see no flaws, no place
for a slipup. He would simply tell the
authorities that he had not seen Mary,
that at the time of the accident he was
crying a farm sale ten miles from the
scene, .

Step by step he went over the past
leading up to the deed. Mary had been
hard to get along with because he had
been gambling at the Red Owl. When
he turned a deaf ear to her pleading,
Mary went out and found employment
as a telephone operator. She had been
on the job exactly one month that day.

But James Bailey knew that he had
not been gambling. He had merely in-
vented that story. What he had been
doing with his evenings and his money
was far from dice and cards. He had
spent both on the new young widow
from Oklahoma. And when he verified
that she was very rich, with several pay-
ing oilwells on her farm, he made up his
mind to remove Mary from his path.

He had called her asking her to drive
over to the farm where he was crying
the livestock sale. They would have a
long talk, he told her, and he would
prove to her that he would never gamble
at the Red Owl again.

By taking a shortcut he had headed

her off. They were serving ice cream and ~

cake at the farm as a preliminary to the
sale which was to begin at 3 o'clock, and
James Bailey figured that he wouldn’t
be missed before he could get back. He
had gone to great pains to establish his
alibi and considered it foolproof.

Mary had slowed down when she saw
him standing in the road. The moment
she stopped and put her head out the
window he struck her with the heavy
rock he had picked up for that purpose.
Then he had pushed the car down the
hill, until it had crashed against a big
rock known as The Dutchman’s Head.

It looked like Mary’s skull had been
broken against the steering wheel. He
reached in and picked up her purse from
the floor where it had dropped‘ as the
car slanted downward. “Mary, you don’t
have any use for this money where you
are going, but here in this world a fellow
needs lots of it.”

He did not count the money but knew

there was plenty by the thick.

roll of greenbacks. He knew

that Mary had sold her cow and

calf that morning.. Placing the

money in his pocket he returned

the purse to the seat beside the

corpse. Then he looked around,

saw that the coast was clear and

disappeared through the dense

brush on the roadside, being

careful to Jeap from bare rocks

to grassy tufts so as to leave no

tracks at the “accident” scene.

When he got through the sale,

James Pitman Bailey was feel-

ing pretty chesty about the

whole thing. They had come

to inform him of his wife’s

death. He saw the sheriff, a fat, bald

old man, hesitate, and then plunge for-
ward.

“T’ve got some sad news for you,
Jim,” Sheriff Olaf Singleton said. “You
must brace yourself for a shock.”

“I—” Bailey gasped and rubbed his
eyes, then jerked convulsively when the
old sheriff finally got the words out. Two
hours later Bailey was in the court-
house at Poplar Bluff, Mo, with Sheriff
Olaf Singleton,

“You didn’t see your wife: at all
today?” Singleton asked.

“That’s right, sheriff. I left home this
morning after Mary had gone to the

telephone office. I meant to call her, but

in the pressure of business, forgot to.”

“She was murdered, we figure, by
someone who sought to rob her,” the
sheriff said.

“No. I. disagree with you there,”
James Bailey heard teestell saying. “It
was plainly an accident. She struck her
head on the steering: wheel—”

THE old sheriff gave him a sardonic
look. “Do you mind if I search you?”
he asked sharply.

“Certainly not.” Bailey got up and the
sheriff went through his pockets, It did
not disturb the suspect when Singleton
removed the roll of money. There was
no way they could prove that it had be-
longed to his wife.

“She sold a cow and a calf today for
$100,” the sheriff stated. “There’s just
about that much in this roll.” He began
to unroll the money, wetting His thumb
and forefinger and counting it: .

Suppose it turns out the same amount?
Bailey thought, They may suspect me
but if I stick to my story of not having
seen her today, they can’t prove any-
thing by that.

All the same he was getting uneasy.
He forced a laugh to break the tautness
of the atmosphere.

But he did not laugh when, with
the money unrolled, he saw a check
lying on top of the sheaf of greenbacks.
It was the telephone company’s pay-
check made out to Mary Bailey for her
month's work, and it was dated that
very day.

And he had said that he hadn’t seen
Mary at all!

Bailey was tried and convicted, taking
a change of venue from Poplar Bluff to
Cape Girardeau. The sentence was life
and he started serving it on November
20, one year lacking a month, from the
day he killed his wife, December 16,
1930.—By Rex Whitechurch, Jr.

mre

REE POSES ETS

PP rescore

“T wonder what he wanted?” Ronk
mused aloud. He consulted his watch.
“We'll go to his place and find out.”

Simpson habitually stayed at a well- .

known boarding house in Walden, and
the two men got there at 11 o’clock. The
owner, an elderly spinster, offered some
startling information.

“Mr. Simpson packed his things and
left at 8 o'clock Sunday morning,” she
said with some asperity. ‘He gave me
some excuse about returning to New
York on business suddenly. But from
the way he acted, I was sure there was
more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?” Ronk inquired. .

The boarding house keeper said that
Simpson, unlike his usual blustery’ self,
had been furtive and hurried.

An examination of Simpson’s room re-
vealed nothing. He had left no papers
or effects.

Early the following morning, the
county detective was preparing to return
to Walden when he got a call from Ronk.

“Simpson got a ride to Newburgh at
half past eight Sunday morning,” the
chief said. “I checked the livery stables
and found he rented a4 rig here in town
because he didn’t want to wait for a bus.”

The next few hours were busy ones
for the Walden police chief. He dis-
patched a telegram to Simpson’s home
office in New York, asking where the
salesman could be located. Then he set
about trying to trace Jack Grace’s move-
ments in town prior to his death,

If the Strangler had left Newburgh at
7, then he should have arrived in Walden
close to 8 p.m. Where had he spent the
next few hours? Ronk tried the cigar
stores and saloons as the most likely
places.

| THE Eagle Hotel. bar, he finally
_came upon a lead. The bartender, a
friend of the wrestler, had seen him come
in soon after 8. They had talked and had
a drink together.

“Jack was waiting for someone, a girl.
He told me,” the bartender winked sug-
gestively, “that she was something spe-
cial. Just then Bill Grace came in and
the two of them talked for a while. Before
he left, Bill asked me for some money,
so I loaned him $5.”

The Strangler had hung around the bar,
chatting and having an occasional drink.
He paid for"his liquor, the barman said,
by peeling a $20 bill from a roll “half
the size of my fist.”

At about 11:30 Fred Simpson had
walked in. He had drawn Jack Grace aside
for an earnest conversation.

“Simpson sure looked worried when
he walked out,” the bartender said. “Jack
had a last drink and said to me, ‘That
dirty skunk!’ That was about midnight.”

Toward noon, Detective Moore ar-
rived. With him he brought a. small,
metal-bound trunk and a bulging suit-
case. He had stopped at Strangler Jack’s
room in Newburgh and gathered up the
-man’s possessions. He stacked the two
articles in a corner, beside Ronk’s desk.

The chief explained, meanwhile, what
he had accomplished. After leaving the
Eagle, he informed Moore, he had gone
again to see the 20th Century Club secre-
tary. He was told that Simpson, though
not a regular member, had a key to the
place. Rechecking with the pn Bose
landlady, Ronk had learned that she had
heard him ‘come home Sunday morning
at about 1:30.

“And he caught the noon train for New
York from Newburgh,” Moore declared
pointedly.

His meaning was not lost on the chief.

In the intervening time Simpson could
have gone half way across the country.
Or he could have lost himself in New
York City. j

Just then the telephone rang. It was
long distance from New York. Ronk
drummed his fingers until the connection
was completed. The caller was Bill Grace.

“I—I got the paper at my hotel a few
minutes ago, Mr. Ronk,” Grace’s voice
was tremulous. “Jack—he’s really been—
murdered?”

“Yes, Bill,” Ronk answered gently.
“You'd better get home right away.” He
caught the sound of a sob as the slain
man’s brother murmured, “On the next
train. This afternoon.”

Shadows were beginning to lengthen
when Bill Grace walked into the Walden
police station. He set his bag down, shook
hands solemnly with Ronk and nodded
abstractedly at Moore.

“How did it happen? Have you caught
the murderer? Tell: me—”’ He faced the
officer with tears in his eyes.

Ronk held his hand up. “We haven't
found out who .did it, Bill, There are
some things we're still trying to learn.
Why did your brother come here Sat-
urday night?” : ;

“Jack told me when I spoke to him
over the phone Saturday that he had a
date with a girl,” the painter said slowly.
“She was coming up from New York,
and he was to meet her rather late.”

“Who was she?”

Grace shook his head. “Jack didn’t say.
But he was supposed to see Fred Simp-
son—” Bill Grace suddenly became ex-
cited. He grabbed Ronk’s arm. “Simpson!
That’s who did it!” —

“Calm down, Bill,” the chief admon-
ished. “What's this about Simpson?”

In a few minutes Grace’s angry flash
had abated. He told Moore and Ronk that
he had met Jack at the bar in the Eagle
Saturday evening.

“Simpson was in trouble with a girl,
Sam Brown’s sister,” Grace said. “He
told Jack that Brown had sworn to beat
him within an inch of his life and wanted
Jack to protect him while he was in
Walden.”

After having a drink with his brother,
Bill had gone to his fiancee’s home.
Around 11 o’clock, he continued, he had
departed. He had stopped in at the club
for an hour, lost some money at poker
and then gone home to bed.

When Bill Grace had gone, the two
officers puzzled over his story. Samuel
Brown owned a small dairy farm a few
miles out of Walden and was a respected
man. But if he fitted into the picture,
which they realized was highly doubtful,
why should’ the victim have been
Strangler Jack?

“We still come back to Simpson
Moore said. “Only club members had
keys to the place. Brown’s name is not
on the list. Perhaps Simpson got Jack
3 there after the club had closed and
pleaded with the Strangler to help him.

”
’

’ When Jack refused, Simpson became en-

raged. He caught him off his guard and
hit him with the cleaver.” :

Ronk listened to the detective’s theory.
Abruptly his fingers ceased their desktop
tattoo.

“I wonder. Do you think Simpson is
the sort who has enough nerve to kill?”
He reached for his hat. “Let’s go to
Brown's place.”

They drove out to the dairy farm in
Moore’s car. The farmer was just finish-
ing his dinner. His comely, dark-haired
sister was clearing the table. The chief
dispensed with the amenities and came
to the point.

“Did you ever threaten Fred Simpson?”
he asked bluntly. ‘

A powerful man with a broad, deeply-
tanned face, Brown returned Ronk’s gaze
without a qualm. “Why should I want
to harm Simpson?” he asked.

“Your sister—”

A derogatory sniff from the girl cut
the sentence short. “I told Fred off just
last week,” she said firmly. “He was wast-
ing my time. When he began to pester
me, I told him I'd tell Sam. Really, I
— did, but Simpson stayed away after
that.”

Brown himself looked astonished.
When Ronk informed ‘the couple of ‘the
reason for the visit, their expressions
changed to one of incredulity.

“It’s hard to believe,” the farmer shook
his head. “I knew Jack rather well. You
know, I was in town late Saturday night
myself, I thought J heard his voice when
I passed the club—”

“What time was that?” Ronk asked
sharply.

“About 2:30 in the morning,” Brown
replied, Seeing lights on in the club, he
was about to go upstairs when he heard
a voice he recognized as Jack Grace’s
say:

“While I’m alive, I’ll never let you do
anything like that to her! She’s a fine
girl. I’ll tell—”

Not wishing to intrude in a quarrel,
Brown had gone on without discovering
with whom the Strangler was talking.

Ronk and Moore went back to town,
convinced that Brown was above re-'
proach. There was a lengthy telegram
on the Walden official’s desk when they
returned, Ronk read it, handed it. silently
to Moore.

FRED SIMPSON, the message from
his.employer read, had been discharged -
in disgrace. Irregularities in his accounts
had. been discovered amounting to $600.
The company had gotten a warrant for
his arrest and he was already the object
of a police search.

Could his desperate need for money
to cover his defalcations plus rage over
Jack Grace’s refusal to act as his body-
guard have driven Simpson to attack the
wrestler? Ronk pondered this question
and other points in the baffling case.

Recalling the words farmer Brown had
overheard, Ronk told Moore, “A woman
is involved, but who is she? Why should
Jack threaten he would ‘tell’? And what
was there to tell?”

“Most everybody liked Jack Grace,”
the county detective observed. “Perhaps
it was something from the past. Before
he and Bill came from Massachusetts.”

Ronk was gazing at the wrestler’s
trunk and suitcase. He put the bag on
his desk, opened it. “Maybe,” he mut-
tered.

Together they rummaged through the
bag’s contents. They found nothing sig-
nificant. Moore pulled over the trunk and
pried open the lid.

Soon there was a heap of clothing on
the floor. But toward the bottom of the
trunk the officers uncovered things other
than wearing apparel. There were packs
of clippings concerning Grace’s ring ex-
ploits, some medals and trophies he had
won,

They passed through these quickly.
Finally, at the very bottom was a string-
tied bunch of letters, Ronk pulled several
of the missives out and began to read
them. .

“Say, listen to this!’ he said suddenly,
He read aloud from a letter: “My wife
is thrilled that we have a champion in
the family. She says you must come and

ote ies

ae ee

“Did you see two men walking?”
Freeman asked. :

“Yeah,” the driver replied. “They’re up
the road about half a mile.”

Freeman pushed the accelerator to the
floor then. Wurzburg unsnapped his
holster and checked his big .38. Farmer
Paulus tried to hang on as the car jolted
along the country road. The troopers had
no way of knowing that the bandits had
abandoned their car. They knew only,
from earlier radio reports, that its radia-
tor had been smoking. But two walking
strangers in this lonely area were sus-
picious.

The prowl car lurched around a small
bend, screened by trees—and nearly ran
over the walking pair. The two men
turned, then broke apart, one to one side
of the road, one to the other.

When he saw the men, Freeman, in.a
single motion, had pulled the emergency
brake, opened the door and hit the ground
on the fly, his gun out. Wurzburg went
out the other side as fast. Paulus ducked
below the seat level in the back of the car.

The stranger on Freeman’s side dodged

into the ditch, jerking at a rear pocket. ,

‘The trooper, almost on him, fired once at
the man’s legs. His slug ripped through
the sole of the man’s shoe.

The’ man on Wurzburg’s side was
frozen, motionless, looking into the
gaping end of the trooper’s revolver.

It was over that fast. Both strangers
were armed. Their pockets were full of
currency—$2,725 in all. They were, of
course, James Gallagher and Thomas
Martin. Meek and subdued, they were
manacled and taken to the nearest farm-
house where Trooper Freeman put in a
call to East Lansing to report the cap-
ture.

At 6:10 p.m., as the last daylight faded,
Operator Green . began broadcasting:
“Attention, all units in manhunt. Return
to your posts. Subjects have been appre-
hended.” There was both relief and ela-
tion in his voice.

And, in the little radio room, Captain
Cleghorn patted the big transmitter with
a heavy hand, “You're okay,” he said

softly. Already his mind was seeing the

next day’s headlines: “POLICE RADIO 5
SNARES BANDIT KILLERS.” He.

knew what that meant to police radio's
development.

Michigan’s justice worked swiftly. The
very next morning Martin and Gallagher
went into St. Joseph County Circuit
Court at Centerville and pleaded guilty to
first degree murder. Judge Glenn Warner
sentenced them to life imprisonment.

At 10:15 a.m., Troopers Freeman and
Wurzburg, going back to their post at
Jackson, took Martin and Gallagher
along—not to the post, but to Jackson’s
big prison where they remain today.

SECRET FROM
BEYOND THE
GRAVE

[Continued from page 23]

Shocked, the club’s secretary swiftly
produced his membership books. There
were 35 names on the list, including the
brothers Grace. Ronk recognized every
single one. :

“When was the club last in use?” he in-
quired,

“We haven't had any big parties lately,”
the secretary told him. “Been too hot.
Saturday night seven or eight fellows
were playing cards there. You see,” he
added, “each member has his own key,
and everyone can come and go any time.”

He gave the officer the participants’
names. Ronk jotted them down and went
back to the police station,

Detective Moore, waiting for him, had
little useful information. He had tried the
cleaver for fingerprints, but the handle
apparently had been wiped clean.

No one knew where the newlyweds
were staying in New York City. Before
the wedding, Bill Grace had spent anxious
hours telephoning Murphy's Hotel in
Newburgh. The. Strangler, who was to
have been best man, was nowhere about.
He hadn't been seen since Saturday eve-
ning. Reluctantly, Bill had permitted the
nuptials to go off on schedule.

“Judging by Dr. Hadley’s estimate of
the time the murder occurred,” Ronk
said to the detective, “let’s see if the card
game could have had any bearing on it.”

Interviewing the participants involved
legwork, as-the men’s homes were in scat-
tered sections of the town, Long before
Ronk and Moore had gotten to the final
name on the list, the news of the tragedy
had spread.

What the officers learned of the poker

session added little information. There
had been no heavy winners or losers. A
quantity of beer and liquor had been con-
sumed, but nobody had gotten drunk.

Bill Grace had played for a while. He
was loser by about $4 when the game
broke up at ‘midnight. Checking on all
the men showed they had reached their
homes within a reasonable time after-
ward, An irate young woman residing at
the same boarding house where Bill Grace
stayed gave him an angry alibi. “That
Bill Grace cdme home shortly after
12:30,” she declared. “I should know! He
woke me up out of a sound sleep with
his slamming the gate.”

“What brought Jack to Walden, any-
way?” Detective Moore wondered as he
and Ronk discussed the case inthe police
chief's office.

“Try calling Murphy’s,” Ronk sug-
gested. “Perhaps something at the New-
burgh end might give us a clue.”

The chief's idea was prophetic. Twenty
minutes of conversation with the New-
burgh hotel manager set off an entirely
new train of speculation.

Moore had learned, he told Ronk, that
Strangler Jack had received several phone
calls early Saturday morning. When the
first had come, Grace had been out. The
caller had left his name. Later, two more
phone calls came, but these times Grace
was in.

Early that afternoon Jack had asked
the manager for the night off. Grace was
last seen leaving the hotel at 7 o'clock,
dressed in his best clothes and jewelry.

“Jewelry?” Ronk frowned. “I remem-
ber now. He used to sport a couple of
diamond rings and a big diamond tie pin.
They weren’t onthim when we saw his
body!” ‘

The county detective had one more
item. “Do you know who it was who
called him? Fred Simpson.”

Ronk's brow creased. Simpson was a
salesman who made Walden his head-
quarters for a couple of months each
year. More than one merchant had eriti-
cized his high pressure methods, But the
merchandise, he sold was of good quality,
so they bore with him,

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it around that he'd be my best man. He’d
have a hard time explaining that away.”
Grace continued. “However, Jack got
madder than ever. I figured I’d have to
shut him up somehow.”

Bill Grace had racked his brain for
a solution, One night the week before
the slaying, he had been. drinking with
Fred Simpson. The salesman, his tongue
loosened by drink, confided how he had
withheld peony d from his company.

Grace’s plot began to take shape. Later
on he planted the fictitious threat of Sam
Brown. Saturday morning he advised the
agitated Simpson to call Strangler Jack
and hire him as a bodyguard.

Simpson’s phone calls preceded Bill
Grace’s. With Simpson’s name thus in-
jected into the picture, he himself tele-
phoned his bartender brother.

“I told him I’d made a date for him
with a girl from New York. I said she
was a fast number so he'd better be ready
to spend a lot of money on her.

“We met at the Eagle Hotel bar, and
I told him she’d be late. She had asked
me, I said, to tell him to wait for her down
near.the church at midnight. Jack fell
for it.”

His plan was involved and meant play-

ing one person against another, Grace
said, but it was working. He'd gone from
the Eagle to his fiancee’s, then to the
club. Grace had made a noisy entrance
at his boarding house deliberately. He
stayed but ten minutes, pretending to get
ready for bed. Then he slipped out of his
room.

Back in town, he looked for Fred Simp-
son. Fortunately he found the salesman
without trouble. He told Simpson that
one of his customers suspected he was
crooked and was going to warn Simpson’s
company. Sickly white with fear, the em-
bezzler had headed for the nearest bar.

Jack Grace was waiting impatiently
near the church. The brothers sat around
on the steps for a while until Bill per-
suaded Jack to go up to the club. He
could sleep there for the Newburgh bus
had stopped running.

The rest of the story concerned their
argument, climaxed by Strangler Jack’s
assertion that he would tell. Bill had pre-
tended he was going into the kitchen to
get some beer. He came out with the meat
cleaver instead.

He struck his brother while the unsus-
pecting man was seated with his back to
the door. From Jack’s pocket Bill took

almost $350. He stripped the jewelry from
the corpse, then placed the body where
it was later discovered.

William Grace, a confessed Cain, was
indicted for murder in the first degree.
His trial was set for that December, 1912,
in Orange County Court.

Meanwhile, Fred Simpson enjoyed a
couple of months of freedom. Late in No-
vember, he was recognized on the strect
in New York City by an employe of his
former company.

The erstwhile salesman was arrested
and subsequently brought to trial. He
pleaded guilty and was given a sentence
of three years. In prison, however, he
suffered an appendicitis attack. He died
of poisoning after an emergency opera-
tion.

The State’s case against Bill Grace was
laid before Judge Arthur S. Tompkins.
On December 10 the jury brought in a
guilty verdict. The sentence was death.

An appeal was taken but the higher
court affirmed the sentence. In August,
1913, Bill Grace died in the electric chair
at Sing Sing.

(The names Fred Simpson and Sam Brown are

fictitious to protect the identity of persons innocently
involved in the murder investigation,—The Editor.)

DEATH RANG
IN THE NEW
YEAR

[Continued from page 6]

go back to the cafe. As he did so, he
swung the flashlight beam in a wide arc
over. the deserted sidewalk—and stopped
short in his tracks.

About 20 feet down the sidewalk, the
roving finger of light had touched some-
thing that sent back a glittering reflection.
Was that the knife—the murder weapon—
down there, or was, it just broken glass
and another clue vanished in the night?

The detective covered the distance in
long, quick strides, knelt down to study
his find. It was no knife; it was glass that
had reflected the ray from the flashlight—
but it was no ordinary glass. Before some-
one stepped on ‘it, it had been some kind
of a light bulb, a strangely shaped bulb
not much larger than a man’s thumb.
Bills carefully scooped the fragments of
glass and the metal base into an envelope
and walked swiftly back to the cafe.

“Well?” Walker raised his eyebrows.

Bills dumped the contents of the en-
velope on the table cloth. “Just a broken
light bulb—but a curious kind of a bulb
that can’t be too common. No threads
for a socket, just.-two prongs sticking out
of the base. And the glass seems to be
held together by some kind of tough
film.”

Walker picked up a fragment of the
glass and noted that it looked like a safety
glass windshield—broken but not shat-
tered. Then he remembered.

“That's a flash bulb,” he said. “A
‘peanut’ bulb used by photographers.
Easy to pop in and out of the flash guns
on their cameras. Maybe it’s mere co-
incidence that it was dropped out there
tonight, but it’s the closest we have come
to a lead so far.”

He stepped over to Parsons. “By any
chance was there a photographer in here
tonight—say just before or after Frank

Satterfield left your place?” he asked.

Parsons wrinkled his brow. “No,” he
answered. Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Come
to think of it, there is a photographer
who spends a lot of time in the neighbor-
hood. She’s a girl, goes around taking
pictures of customers in night clubs,
taverns and restaurants.”

Walker and Bills asked the question in
unison: ‘What's her name?”

“Grace is all I’ve ever heard her called,”
Parsons replied. “Short, pretty, dark girl.
Don’t know who she works for, or with,
but I do know she sometimes works in
the night spot in the next block.”

The detectives were soon talking to a
waiter in the night club mentioned by
Parsons.

“Sure,” said the white-coated waiter in
response to their queries. “I know that
girl, Her name is Grace and she was
around here in her party costume about
midnight, when things were really hot.
She played up to a party at one of my
tables, trying to get them to have their
picture taken.”

“T)i2 you notice anything unusual?”
asked Bills.

“Well, yes, I did. It looked for a while
as though there would be trouble, but it
all quieted down. One of the men at the

table made a pass at Grace and a husky

fellow standing nearby doubled up his
fists and gave the man a mean look.
About then, Grace wandered over to an-
other table and that’s all there was to it.”

“Hmmm,” mused Detective Bills
thoughtfully. “Do you know where I
could find this girl photographer now?”

“Probably at the Golden Pheasant
down the street,” replied the. waiter. “She
usually stops in there for something to
eat when she knocks off work.”

Within a matter of minutes the detec-
tives were at the Golden Pheasant, their
¢yes scanning each customer in the half-
dozen occupied booths as they walked
toward the back of the cafe and sat down.
Hardly were they seated when Bills
nudged his partner. “Did you notice that
one with the black-haired fellow in the
sharp clothes near the front? Looks like
our girl all right.”

Walker jerked his chin toward the back
of the nearly deserted bar. On a shelf in

back, its reflector gleaming, they saw it—

‘the press-type camera that is also the
trademark of night club photographers.
What else they saw was that the youth
with the girl was getting up now and
walking toward a man in another booth.
Walker got up. “I'll talk to her now,” he
said quietly, “and you see what you can
find out about the guy with her.” And he
headed for the booth.

“Flashing his badge, Walker identified
himself, Fora second the girl seemed to
be debating flight. Then she settled back.

“Are you Grace?” Walker asked, slid-
ing in beside her. ;

She nodded. “Grace Roberts. What do
you want?”

“Do you know a man named Martin
Franklin Satterfield—Frank, he’s usually
called—a cab driver?”

For one brief, racing moment, the
whites around the girl’s dark pupils
seemed to widen and her breath caught in

*her throat. Then her face was impassive
again and she spoke calmly, almost non-
chalantly. ;

“Sure, I know Frank. Not a bad guy.
But say—if Frank’s got himself in trou-
i pad me out. I don’t know him that
well,”

The detective looked deep into her
eyes. “Frank Satterfield did get into
trouble—real trouble,”. he said quietly.
“He was murdered tonight.”

Grace Roberts suddenly underwent an
almost incredible change. All her sophis-
ticated aloofness, her wordly flippancy
were gone. Her shadowed eyes opened _in
a wide stare and her cupid’s-bow lips
parted in a gasp. What Walker had just

. told her had obviously frightened her, and

what she saw in the booth across the
way—where her male companion had just
gone—apparently frightened her more.
There the slick-haired youth was de-
fiantly answering Detective Bills’ ques-
tions. “What do you mean, do I know
Frank Satterfield?” he was sounding off,
loud enough to be heard 20 yards away.
“Sure I know him, and I don’t like him,
I told him to stay away from Grace,
and if I see him around here again there’s
going to be trouble. Did he send you
here?”

Bills’ voice was calm and cold. “Head-
quarters sent me. Police headquarters.
And I'd like a little information. I already

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In half an hour the Boek was tis tt . | ‘Then, Jess than an hour later, Patrolman

drove it away and parked it near ‘st?
Mary was waiting.
her eyes bugged wide with astonixhmer:
when he pointed out the car. “Butt:

we're going to a jewelers.” In a iittle
while Mary had the ring that she had a!
ways wanted.

But she was upset. “To cant ranagins
where you got all this money, Dan. I dont
believe that story about the inheritance
I know you too well. dear, and [| know
you're not telling the truth.” She sighce
“I hope you haven’t gone in with the boot
leggers.” Dan didn't argue.

Mary had to get back to Brooklyn. ~
Graham went over to Terry’s apartment
on the West Side. On the way he stopped
and picked up a Journal, PAYMASTER
FOUND SLAIN, the headline read. Quick-
ly he scanned the article and found that
the police were without clues to the mur-
der. He saw that Detective John B. Kunse:
was working on the case, along with De

’ tectives Irving Frey and Joseph J. Hennes

sy. Relieved, he tossed out the newspupe:
and went to Terry’s.

When she heard about the car the brassy
blonde whipped some clothes around her
and insisted they go for a ride. “I’m
night owl,” she laughed, “I want to set
out in the air and see how the other hal!
lives.”

EANWHILE the investigation into the

death of Pratt, discovered by Patro!-

man Arthur J. Costa of the Kings-
bridge Road Police Station shortly «after
noon, was proceeding slowly. Soon Depu-
ty Inspector Henry Duane and Captain
Henry Bruckman, accompanied by Chief
Medical Examiner Carl Kennard, were ev-
amining the dead man in the car. ken-
nard reported he had only been dead ,a
couple of hours. By this time they had
linked the missing paymaster, for whom an
alarm had gone out at 10:05 a.m., with the
victim in the parked car.

A search of the car yielded nothing, but
Captain Bruckman ordered the car towed
to the police lab and gone over for finger-
prints. Returning to his office with Duane,
Bruckman set the investigation in motion,
ordering detectives to trace the route Pratt
usually took between the bank and the
Campanile, and to question people all along
the route as to whether anyone had noticed
the coupe that morning.

“This thing was done so smoothly 1!
has to be an inside job,” Bruckman told
Duane. “At first I was sore about the ab
sence of clues, but I figure that telly us
more than if the killer had left a few ob.
vious ones around.”

Bruckman called the Rhoades Construc-
tion Company and asked them to check on
everybody in the accounting section who
had anything to do with the disbursement
of the Campanile payroll. Then he did the
same with the Seaboard Bank. Learning
that a policeman was usually assigned to
guard Pratt, Bruckman then called the 17th
Precinct to get the policeman’s identity.
Things struck a snag when he was told
that Daniel Graham, who usually had that
assignment, was on sick leave.

Meanwhile, Detective Hennessy had
found a witness. A woman living at 40S
E. 52nd Street reported that she had been

sitting by her window when she heard :

what sounded like a shot or a backfire. She
looked out and saw a coupe stopped in
the street. A man got out, ran around to
the other side, got into the driver's sew
and drove off.

“I saw someone in a straw hat slumped
forward in the car,” she said. “The man
who got out was tall and dark and goo!
looking.” Hennessy repotted his findinss
to Bruckman.

She kissed him, arg,

sat

_
tafe

PETS a

-
.

oe - BP PEETS

Hil ES

oo | HF

|
|

Roy Frayer was pounding his beat when a
youngster named Charles Alfano asked
him what all the cops and dicks were do-
ing in the neighborhood that afternoon.
Frayer told him about the stickup and the
murder.

“Did you see anything?” Frayer asked.

“We were playing stickball this morn-
ing, and down at First a car stopped.
Sounded like it had engine trouble—a big
loud backfire, and then it stopped. A guy
got out-——-"

“Did you recognize him?” Frayer asked.

“Sure. He was that cop who's got a
beat near here. The one they call Sheik.”

That was enough for Bruckman, when he
got the report. He had talked to the police
surgeon and found out that the “sick”
leave was suspect; and the police captain
knew that Graham would know the timing
of the route from the bank to the Cam-
panile. He called at Graham’s home and
found that “The Sheik” was out.

“He’s got a report due at the station
house,” Bruckman told his mother. “I
wondered if it might be on his desk.” He
flashed his credentials. “Mind if I take a
quick look? It would save a lot of time.”

Mrs. Graham let: him in. There was
nothing on Graham’s desk, and the wet

suit hanging in the closet proved nothing.
‘He smelled it to see if there was any smell

of. cordite. There was none. Bruckman
knew he was sticking his neck out by barg-

|ing into the man’s home, but he was con-

vinced Graham was his man. He looked

‘into the waste-paper basket from force of
' habit.
‘important.

He didn't expect to find anything

But a drawing caught his eye. He picked
up the slightly crumpled paper and unfold-
ed it. He had what he wanted. It was

ithe map Graham had drawn, complete
| with timetable, and Buckman saw that even

in drawing the map Graham had made a
mistake. The spot marked X was one
block out of the way.

Bruckman ordered detectives to wait
near Graham's home and pick him up as
soon as he appeared. It was evident that
he would return, because the police had
continued to issue bulletins that the slay-
ing was a complete mystery which seemed
destined for a long, drawn-out investiga-
pa ‘The murderer would certainly feel
safe.

T wasn't until dawn that Graham ap-
peared, and he was immediately whisked
to Bruckman’s office. A day-long diet

of champagne had done Graham no good,

and he didn't look much like “The Sheik”

he was reputed to be, though the lipstick

| sald, “then please explain this to me.

smeared over his face indicated he had
been living up to it.

Graham played dumb from the start.
He said he didn’t know what Bruckman
was talking about, and when the captain
asked him where he had gotten his sudden
wealth, Graham replied: “That’s a_per-
sonal matter, sir. That’s not the depart-
ment’s business.”

“You know that Judson Pratt was killed
yesterday, dont you?” Bruckman_ finally
asked after the suave patrolman had played
innocent long enough. Even this informa-
tion brought a surprised look to Graham’s

face. “I was out on a tear. I didn’t see any

papers.”

“All right, Graham,” Bruckman’ finally

He placed the map Graham had drawn
on the table. The patrolman took one look
at it, then slumped in his chair. “I won't
talk. I have nothing to say. I want a
lawyer.”

A short time later District Attorney Mc-
Geehan formally charged Graham with
the murder of Pratt, but all the men con-

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factor was necessary to tie up the net of
circumstantial evidence that had been
woven*around the culprit: to ‘place him
in the vicinity of the spot near Kingsbridge
Road where the car had been abandoned.

Lieutenant James Finn, of the East 51st
Street detectives, was the man who man-
aged to do it. He queried all the taxi oper-
ators in the vicinity and, gaining nothing,
canvassed all the subway conductors who
had been working the Jerome Avenue line
that morning.

When he spoke to Carl Amano and
showed him the picture of Graham, the
conductor burst out laughing. “So that’s
who the guy was!” He proceeded to tell
the lieutenant that he had been conductor
on the 10:31 train out of Woodlawn, and
both he and his fellow conductor had no-
ticed Graham when he got on board.

“The guy kept. looking around,” Amano
said. “He kept looking at me—and then
at Phil—and I thought maybe he was
taking the number of the car, the way he
looked over everything. He must have had
a guilty conscience.” Amano _ laughed
again. “And all the time we thought he
was a spotter for the company making
a lousy report on us!”

On November 28, 1927, after having
tried to confuse a sanity board on his men-
tal status and having been found to be

sane, Graham was tried before Judge Mor-

ris Koenig and found guilty of murder in
the first degree. On August 9, at Sing
Sing, Daniel Graham—who needed money
and flashy cars to keep his harem going—
died in the electric chair for the murder of
his friend, Judson Pratt. .

Epitor’s Note: The names Terry Mason
and Mary Farney are fictitious.

WILD NIGHT IN MANHATTAN.
Continued from page 17

wo.

night needed men. They left the night club
and embarked upon a quest for gentle-
men friends—an easy mission to accom-
plish in Times Square. Almost imme-
diately they fell in with three lovable
characters named, _ respectively, . Bob,
Frenchie and Cockeye.

Bob was about 20 years old, clad in

a splendid draped suit and sporting a:

set of sideburns which crawled down his
face almost to his cheekbones. Frenchie
wore a pink shirt and tie, the color of a
rather embarrassed salmon. His upper
‘lip was adorned with a stubby moustache
which Jooked as if it had been rubbed
with shoe polish. Cockeye was a pasty-
faced youth who had been named ob-
viously and -accurately.

All six of them promptly repaired to
a bar and ordered drinks. During the
course of the conversation Roberta told

the story of the eighteen-thousand-dollar

windfall. Bob looked at her admiringly.
Frenchie appeared slightly dubious. Cock-
eye was frankly sceptical.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. He paused
for a moment, then fashioned -an epi-
gram. “I’m from Missouri.
show me.”

Roberta fumbled in her purse, produced
the key to the locker in Grand Central
Terminal.

“There,” she said. “There’s the key to
the locker where the money’s stashed. Do
you believe me now?” :

Cockeye permitted himself to be con-
vinced. The talk turned to other matters,
and shortly afterwards the girls left en
masse to attend the powder room.
Roberta carelessly left her pocketbook
behind her.

When the girls returned to the table
the boys had gane.

“What do we care?” asked Marilyn
rhetorically. “We can pick up some

You

. more.”

' Eileen said anxiously, “Roberta!

left your purse behind. Do you
think T
Roberta grabbed the pocketbook,

searched it and produced the locker key.
The trio breathed with relief. They re-
turned to Times Square. This time they
drew Wayne Eckhart, a 24-year-old prize-
fighter, and Ellsworth Leo Cusson, who

had just passed his 21st birthday and |

come from Massachusetts to seek his
fortune in New York.

This pair, the girls agreed, was far
more compatible than Bob, Frenchie and

'-Cockeye.

You got to.

Cusson and Eckhart believed the tale
of the stolen money without question.
After a long talk it was decided that the

' five of them should go to Mexico to-

gether. First thing in the morning, Cus-
son would buy a second-hand car and

_they’d make an early start.

At two in the morning they all went
back to the Endicott Hotel and made
happy plans. At four Cusson was given
the key to the locker and dispatched to
pick up the cash. Eileen and Marilyn
went to bed.~ Eckhart and Roberta, crav-
ing privacy, left the others, registered at
the Dixie Hotel on. 42nd Street under
the name of Mr. and Mrs. John Daly of
Cedar Rapids, lowa.

At this point Eckhart either didn’t
know that Roberta McCauley was only
15 years old or he didn’t care. It proved
to be a statistic which was destined to
cause him a great deal of trouble.

Eileen Jeffrey awakened at 8:30 in the
morning. Leo Cusson hadn’t yet re-
turned with the money. Eileen dressed
and went outside for a pre-breakfast stroll.
It was then that Detective William Ryan
saw her.

Y THIS time Doctor Covner had re-
ported his monetary loss and the miss-
ing baby sitter.

and Marilyn were also gone. A five-state
alarm carrying detailed descriptions of
the three girls had been broadcast some
20 hours ago.

Ryan, noticing that the teen age girl
looked very much like one of the Nahant
runaways, quietly followed her back to
the Endicott Hotel.’ After she had gone
into her room, Ryan knocked at the door.

Eileen opened the door. Marilyn stood
in the center of the room, completing her
dressing. Ryan said sharply, “Which of

‘you is Roberta McCauley?”

’ “She’s not here,” said Eileen innocently.
“She went off to another hotel with her

fellow.”

“I’m a detective,” said Ryan. “And if
you kids don’t want a lot of trouble, tell
me where’s the eighteen thousand dollars
you stole?”

Eileen and Marilyn exchanged a nerv-
ous glance. “Why,” said Marilyn, “it
ought to be here any minute. We sent a
guy to pick it up for us.”

Ryan blinked. “You don’t ever expect
to see him again, do you?”

Leo Cusson answered that one himself.

' Excitedly: he burst through the door, a

The Nahant police.
‘had investigated and learned that Eileen

t She’s

noney-
of the
0 and

), N.Y.

your
idress

Again he crossed the street. Suddenly
he stopped as he noticed the traffic cop on
the corner looking his way. But the police-
man was signalling to a driver nearby. He
was making the fatal mistake of calling
attention to himself, Graham knew, so he
tried to relax and take it easy without ap-
pearing to loiter. -He glanced at the clock
on the bank building on 42nd; 9:20 and
still Judson Pratt hadn’t showed.

Suddenly he wanted to shout for joy. For
around the corner of 43rd came Judson
Pratt’s car, and moments later it nosed
into a parking space facing north on Madi-
son. Judson Pratt, attired in a yellow
slicker and a hard straw hat, got out and
went into the office building. .

Graham shifted his position to the bank
side of the street, near Fifth. He saw Pratt
come up the street to the Seaboard Bank.
Then Graham went past the bank, stroll-
ing leisurely. He waited near Pratt’s car.
When the paymaster came around the cor-
ner he was carrying a brown manila en-
velope—and Graham knew that every-
thing was all right at last.

“Hi, there,” Graham called, and the
startled Pratt whipped around and reached
for his hip pocket. “It’s only me, Jud,” he
said, laughing. Now Graham knew Pratt
had his gun with him.

“You scared me, Dan,” Pratt said. “What
are you doing down here?”

“Plainclothes duty now,” Graham said,
looking around. There were few people
around and he didn’t want to waste time.
“Let’s get in.”

NCE inside the car Graham .said that
today was his day off and that at the
last minute headquarters had called and

told him to report in plainclothes to do his
payroll guard duty. It was absurd police
procedure, but an outsider wouldn’t know
it was a lie. “I hope no one decides to
try a stickup today,’ Graham went on.
“Like a fool I went and forgot my gun.
I haven’t done duty in civvies in so long
I just went and forgot my belt.”

“We can’t take chances,” Pratt said. He
reached into his pocket and produced his
gun. “Here, take this. Ill feel better.”
Graham took the gun and slipped it into
his pocket. His own gun was in a shoulder
holster, but now he wouldn’t have to use
it. This was much better, using the vic-
tim’s own gun. Even though Dan had
figured the gun he planned using couldn't
be traced, this way he wouldn’t have to
mony: He wouldn’t even have to dispose
of it. :

Pratt slipped the car into gear and start-
ed north on Madison. The engineer start-
ed to talk about the weekend he and Mar-
gie were planning, but Graham wanted to
scream at him to shut up. The blocks were’
ticking off slowly—48th, 49th, 50th—and
he watched them like a guy with a buck
in his pocket watching a taxi meter click
toward his limit. They turned down 52nd.

“What’s the matter, Dan?” Pratt asked.’
“Still not feeling so good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right,” Graham
grunted. Now. they were headed for Lex-
ington. One more block would be Third—
the spot where he had marked the big
black X. He looked at Pratt and saw
that he was frowning.

Suddenly Pratt spoke. “I don’t get this.
How come they assigned two men to the
payroll job .today?”

Graham caught his breath. “What do
you mean?” he demanded.

“IT saw Patrolman Marty McGowan yes-
terday, and he told me you were sick and
he would be covering when I got back to-
the shanty. It just occurred to me.”

Third Avenue and 52nd Street. X. The
car leaped across the intersection. “The
usual red tape. Somebody gets things

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wrong when they change a plan.” So Mc
Gowan would be around? They were com
ing to Second Avenue now. One more
block. Beads of sweat stood out on his
forehead as Graham heard Pratt makg
appropriately scornful remarks abou @®
tape in general. Now they drew near Fis

It wasn't far. But it was now or nevel
And there was too much at stake for it to
be never, So

Graham slowly pulled out his gun, the:
suddenly whirled around and pointed 1
into the startled, then panicky face o
Pratt. “Don’t, Dan!” Pratt whispered, bu
the crash of the gun drowned out his voic:
forever. Quickly Graham pulled back th:
emergency brake so the car stalled to :
stop. He pushed open his door and ri
around to the other side and leaped in
The shot had interrupted nothing in th.
hurly-burly tempo of East Side life. |
sounded like the backfire from any on
of the. dozén trucks that were grindin:
along the cobblestones of First Avenue.

Dan shoved the body over, put th:
coupe into gear and headed south. H:
drove carefully, having noted as he turne
that there were no familiar faces at the ir
tersection so close to the Campanile—n
one who would notice that Pratt’s car ha
appeared and then turned inexplicab:
away.

Pratt's head bobbed and weaved like
drunk’s, but he was covered with blow
Graham slowed up and with disgust pushe
the doughy body face down to the sec

“Watch where you're going,” someo:
yelled. A policeman had noted the wave
ing approach of the car as Graham stru
gled, but for some reason didn’t stop hir
Dan made for the !2Sth Street brid
linking Manhattan with the Bronx, cross:
over and got onto Southern un @

It was raining now, and he thought
ingly of taking Pratt's raincoat but St
that it was streaked with blood even at U
back. :

He turned onto Mosholu Parkway, th:
brought the car to a stop near the eleva
ed structure of the subway lines. The ra
was good for his work. There were fe
people passing, and the car windows we:
dimmed with the steam of Graham's hi
breath. Quickly he pulled up the slump.
body and went through the pockets.
the right hand coat pocket he found t!
manila envelope.

He decided to count the money late

He stuck the envelope in his pocket, le
the car and walked slowly through t!
rain, letting his clothes get soaked da:
so that in case there was any blood
wouldn't be noticeable. Then he took t’
subway back to Grand Central.
- Back in his room at his home—it v
only a little after 11:00 A.mM.—he open:
the envelope and began to count the mone
When he was finished a look of baffled ra:
replaced the one of smug satisfaction |
had worn at the start. There was only
little over $4.500 in the payroll. Aga
he counted it, but the answer was still t
same.

Quickly he got dressed, hanging his »
clothes neatly on a hanger. There we
no blood spots on his suit. No clues, the
He had wiped the gun clean, and a
prints that might be around the car cou
be easily explained. He had ridden
Pratt’s car a score of times.

He left the house and took a cab to;
Broadway. Well, he mused, no hou:
Rosedale. But he was going to get !
car. He smiled. Terry would get a ba
out of the flashy Buick. But he wat
have to meet Mary and show her the c:
He stopped the cab and told the driver ¢
wait. He called Mary and told her
meet him at 54th and Broadway. then ¢
over to the showroom.

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nected with the case knew that an added
factor was necessary to tie up the net of
circumstantial evidence that had been
woven around the culprit: to ‘place him
in the vicinity of the spot near Kingsbridge
Road where the car had been abandoned.

Lieutenant James Finn, of the East SIst
Street detectives, was the man who man-
aged to do it. He queried all the taxi oper-
ators in the vicinity and, gaining nothing,
canvassed all the subway conductors: who
had been working the Jerome Avenue line
that morning.

“The guy kept, looking
said. “He kept looking ;
at Phil—and 1 thought
taking the number of the:
looked over everything. F ,
a guilty conscience.” ‘*
again. “And all the tim
was a spotter for thax
a lousy report on s®

On November 28,
tried to confuse a sanity b
tal status and having b
sane, Graham was tried b«
ris Koenig and found gui
the first degree. On At
Sing, Daniel Graham—wt
and flashy cars to keep hi
died in the electric chair f
his friend, Judson Pratt.

Epiror’s Note: The na:
and Mary Farney are fic

WILD NIGHT IN MANHATTAN
Continued from page 17

Bob was about 20 years old, clad in

a splendid draped suit and sporting a-

set of sideburns which crawled down his
face almost to his cheekbones. Frenchie
wore a pink shirt and tie, the color of a
rather embarrassed salmon. His upper
lip was adorned with a stubby moustache
which looked as if it had been rubbed
with shoe polish. Cockeye was a pasty-
faced youth who fad been named ob-
viously and accurately.

All six of them promptly repaired to
a bar and ordered drinks. During the
course of the conversation Roberta told

the story of the eighteen-thousand-dollar

windfall. Bob looked at her admiringly.
Frenchie appeared slightly dubious. Cock-
eye was frankly sceptical.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. He paused
for a moment, then fashioned -an epi-
gram. “VD m from Missouri. You got to
show me.’

Roberta fumbled in her. purse, produced
the key to the locker in Grand Central
Terminal.

“There,” she said, “There’s the key to
the locker where the money’s stashed. Do
you believe me now?”

When the girls returned to the table
the boys had ggne.

“What do we care?” asked Marilyn
rhetorically. “We can pick up some

L more.’

Eileen said anxiously, “Roberta! You
left your purse’ behind. Do you
think 2

Roberta grabbed the- pocketbook,
searched it and produced the locker key.
The trio breathed with relief. They re-
turned to Times Square. This time they
drew Wayne Eckhart, a 24-year-old prize-
fighter, and Ellsworth Leo Cusson, who

had just passed his 21st birthday and .

come from Massachusetts to seek his
fortune in New York.

This pair, the girls agreed, was far
more compatible than Bob, Frenchie and

' Cockeye.

Cusson and-Eckhart t
of the stolen money v
After a long talk it was

' five of them should go

gether. First thing in th.
son would buy a- secon

_they’d make an early star

At two in the mornin
back to the Endicott }F
happy plans. At four C
the key to the locker ar
pick up the cash. Eile
went to bed.- Eckhart an:
ing privacy, left the othe
the Dixie Hotel on. 42:
the name of Mr. and Mr
Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

At this point E®
know that Roberta c
15 years old or he didn't
to be a statistic which
cause him a great deal o

Eileen Jeffrey awakene:
morning. Leo Cusson
turned with the money.
and went outside for a pre
It was then that Detectis
saw her.

Y THIS time Doctor
ported his monetary
ing baby sitter. The

‘had investigated and lea:

and Marilyn were also gc
alarm carrying detailed
the three girls had been
20 hours ago.

Ryan, noticing that th
looked very much like on
runaways, quietly follow
the Endicott Hotel. Afte
into her room, Ryan knoc

Eileen opened the door
in the center of the room
dressing. .Ryan said sha:
you is Roberta McCaule:
’ “She’s not here,” said E
“She went off to anothe:

fellow.”

“I'm a detective,” said
you kids don’t want a lot
me where’s the eighteen :
you stole?”

Eileen and Marilyn e
ous glance. “Why,” &
ought to be here any }

guy to pick it up for us.”
Ryan blinked. “You d

to see him again, do you?’
Leo Cusson answered tl

' Excitedly: he burst throu:

196 THE BERLIN MURDER CASE

I cud weap night and day I did rong in telling you them at all Asl
did not think that it wold make you dislike your wife at all As
you told mee you love hir and mared hir for love If sow how cold
you wish to do sow very rong If you had been deceive in enny
way you cold have left her in a onerable way you told mee shee
was a virtus girl and I believe you and I have binn sorry th [ told
you enny hear say reports Aas I dont believe them at all. If this
should be the caus of enny that has Hepen I shall weape night
and day as I did not wish to make you on happy at all Will you
for give me and will god for give mee O i aske it In solem prare

‘to night as the case will soon be desided be carefull what you say

and doo for youre life depends on it [ want to see you very much
Indead right to me once and lett mee now the hool matter as it
is as soon As git this without delay do it Let now on [no one]
see this on now account I remain your sincier frind and mother
till deth mee part good by till we meat agan

Sally Green

Henry G. Green

Apparently it was in compensation for the wedding they had
missed that Henry organized a sleighride for his disappointed guests
the day following his mother’s visit. They were his young friends
of the town: Anson Niles. Porter Dennison, Alzina Rhodes, Mary
Ann’s brother David and—Alzina Godfrey. It is difficult to deter-
mine the actual relations between Alzina and Henry. The Saturday
before his marriage, he told Niles that he supposed Alzina expected,
or had expected, they would marry. This is hardly the statement

of a rejected suitor; yet renewed hope in Henry’s mind or an un-

favorable comparison of his wife and Alzina are about the only
explanations which will fit into the facts which follow. —
The party left Berlin about noon, heading north down the Little
Hoosick River until they came to Hoosick, where they visited the
home of Caroline Groesbeck. On the way there happened a little
incident of some considerable portent to those involved. All we
know of it is that Alzina Godfrey said or did something to make
Green regret his marriage. Whatever it was, with whatever intent,
it was potent enough to change Henry Green from a happy and
contented bridegroom to a headstrong murderer. Rumor declares
that Alzina jokingly said she had expected she was going to marry
Henry, and that he took this jest seriously, felt he still had a chance
with her. It seems more likely that, after some months of absence

LOUIS C. JONES 197

from Berlin and Alzina, her previous attraction for him in all its
ramifications, physical, financial, social, stood out in vivid contrast
to the poor, pretty little waif to whom he found himself married
after an acquaintance of less than a month. It also clarifies the
picture a bit to know that Alzina was considered “something of a
highflyer.” bg ae

Mary Ann was slightly indisposed on Thursday; consequently
she was susceptible to the cold on the ride to Hoosick. Her brother _
heard her comment on how cold she was, and saw her drink a cup
of ginger tea with her hostess. The party returned to Berlin about
ten o’clock on Thursday night. :

The first move Henry made on Friday morning was to visit his
old family physician, Doctor Rhodes. After some genial chat and
congratulations to the bridegroom, Green left with some physic
pills for Mary Ann who was still slightly indisposed. Though it
was not disclosed until his confession, he then procured some opium
pills, which he made to resemble the pills he had from Doctor
Rhodes. He thought these would kill his wife, out she merely
vomited them. More effective measures had to be found. .

It was on Friday afternoon that Green dropped into Dennison
and Streeter’s tavern. The group of men around the bar gave
him the jests which are the bridegroom’s due, but Henry seemed
serious. After a bit he stood at the bar with old Daniel Green,
magistrate and schoolmaster. In an offhand way he said that
he had been putting some arsenic about his store (which had been ©
closed up since the fire) to get rid of the rats and mice. He won-
dered how much it would take to killa person. William Sheidon,
another schoolmaster, said he understood you could hold enough
on the point of a knife to kill anyone. They failed to tell him that
too much arsenic merely delays the death of the victim. Sometime
that same afternoon he slipped behind the counter and took arsenic
powders wrapped in papers from Dennison and Streeter’s store.
The custom of self-service in the village made this easy. |

It can serve little purpose to recite in detail the story of the next
two days. Green seemed very attentive to his wife; he hovered
over her bedside constantly ; repeatedly he administered liquids in
which were white powders at a time when the physician prescribed

pew VoRK AisTORK
Vol. 27, (746 ,

THE BERLIN MURDER CASE*
-IN FOLKLORE AND BALLAD

Louis C. JONES

HE American people have always been interested in crime
: and murder trials. We think of this as a recent devel-

opment in our nationai character but anyone who has read
our early newspapers, or who is familiar with the popular murder
ballads and broadsides, knows that interest in homicide has long
been a part of our folkways. A case in point is the tremendous
popular excitement aroused when, in 1845, Mary Ann Wyatt
- Green, a temperance player, was murdered by her bridegroom
of a week, the weaithy Henry G. Green.

This murder has left a considerable literature behind it. The
complete testimony of the trial, the confession of Green published
after his execution, the long columns in the contemporary dailies,
a poem published with the testimony, a broadside of twenty-four
stanzas, and ballads still sung in Vermont attest, ninety years later,
to the public hysteria of the time.

The scene of this tragedy is Berlin, Rensselaer county, a beautiful
little mountain village of some 300 inhabitants, about twenty miles
from Albany and about five from the Massachusetts line. The
family of Henry Green had been substantial citizens of this com-
munity for several generations. Henry’s father was dead; his
mother, Mrs. Sally Green, and a sister, Mrs. Crandall, lived six-
teen miles away in Troy; his brother had married in the village.

‘Henry was born in 1823; this made him twenty-two in 1845. He
started working at the age of sixteen or eighteen as a clerk in Troy.
Just when he returned to Berlin and opened his own store we do
‘not know, but it was about 1842 and it was about that time too that
he was publicly reprimanded and expelled from the Baptist Church
for intoxication. In the summer or fall of 1844, a few months

* This paper, by Mr. Jones of the English Department of the State College
for Teachers at Albany, was submitted as a valuable contribution to local his-
tory.—Eprrors.

eer ae ee eae oon j ES ee ~si
eRe hs Secs a ee Neds i cis

abla

iii an

iteiialticad

5 rOERENY hy

2 a

SEE gee see ce sas

Ai ailicha. cima i

THE

THE CASE OF HENRY G. GREEN,

OF BERLIN, RENSSELAER COUNTY, N.Y.

Come, young and old attention give and lend a listening ear,
While i relute n case of love that proved a fate severe:

There was a guy and sprightly youth who lived in Berlin town,
Who saw 2 dainsel, young aud fair, that could not.on him frown.

Twas in a brilliant Temperance play on one bright new-year's night,
In which she played her part so, well, she gave him great delight;
He then with rapture gazed on her, and plan’d how he could gain
This damsel, beautiful and fair, Maay Ann Wyatt, by name.

A history now of this young maid Vil briefly to you give ;

| She stood the fairest of her sex, with prospects fair to live ;

Her long black hair in shinieg rinciets round her neck did hang,
Her features were most iavely—and with melody she sang.

Hex voice it was so charminz, and her mien it was so fair, {
There were but few young maidens that with Mary could compare,
- She journeyed with her brother dear, who travelled thro’ the State,

To act upon the stage and show the drunkard’s awful fate:

Now so enamoured by thé play was this merry young man,
That he determined then straicht-way to jain this temp’rance cian,
He left his store, and for six wees he journeyed with this maid,

“To her expressed an ardent love, and thus he kindly said :—

Dear Mary, | have wealth for yor: and many goods in storey
And if you will but marry me, you ne’er shall trave! more ;

To this she gently did reply, If you'll ne'er prove unkind,

T will-conscnt to be your wile, most true and chaste in mind.

He says to her, O, Mary Ann, [ ever will prove kind,

Tf you will only marry me, for frat is all my mint,

So then this-faie maid dud consens that married they would be,
‘And tho’t with him she would be bless’d and live most cheerfully.

So then the pledge of marriage live, each to the other gave,

Little she thought when giving her hand, she gave ittoa knave; .
But, Oh! the horrid tale of crime. that pains me to relate, °

And which reveals the hidden fiend and seais the traitor’s fate!

Now,when these fairones married were, they quit the temp'rance play,
J Pp! play,

And back to Beilin straicht ticy came, the place of Henry’s stav) |

Here they seemed happy, blithe and gay, and to their comrades said,
Come, let us have a second part, and take a pleasant ride,

. But, in the cup of pleasure bright, oft bitter dregs we find ;

And so with this young bridal pair, who even now repined ;
The trait’rous deed of Henry G., was soon to be performed,
And e’er the pleasure ride was o'er, he looked on her, and georned,

But tho’ he scorned, .Me scorned sione, for all beside admired
‘Phis fair, this chaste, this truly franic and undissembling bride
But trait’rous G. began to plot her sudden overthrow 5

Hence forward, how to take her life, he sought nought else to know, i

One lowry evening she complained of fecling quite unwell,
He says, with feigned tenderness, I will the doctor tell ;

So then he hastened, fully bent, to try his murd’rous skill,
‘And soon returned to his {air bride, bringing some opium pills.

—

21Ma-, Mary Ang, said he to her, iva got some pills for you,

; The docior suys, take two of them, and that will surely-do;
4 She took them, then said, give me water e’er { throw them up;

He brought the water, gave it-her, with arsenic in the cup.

With dreadfal pains and horrid shrieks, poor Mary Ano did ery,
‘The doctor call quick, Henry G., or Lmust surely dic ;

Then Henry stood close by her side and tried to pacify,

Well knowing that the dose he gave vould cause her soon to dis.

O, then, with criee and groans she called, saying give me water, pray,
The water and the arsenic he gave co her straight way;

She took the cup, the poison’d cup, and drank it in a breath,
Unhceeding still that he she loved, gave her the cup.c- Seas ess

But soon the dying struggic came—cail Henry to my. bed,

Said she, with eyes now rolling round and sunken. in bar head,
He came, to him she said, “O, Henry, have [ e’er deceived 7":
She then closéd up her eyes in death, and was from pain relieveds

And novv her friends and brother dear, atound her bot did’ stand.
And fieard her dying breath declare, “’ts ali by this young man *
Now all who stood and saw her die, how they did weep and cry!
But this hard-hearted Henry G., he ne'er did wipe an eye. :

And,ob! the horror that [ feel, while I this tale re!ate!

To think the deeds of one short week, should bring tosncit a fata
Une so beloved, so justly lored, as was Many Axn Wvat?,

That one so loved as G., could on his lover basely riot.

But Oh! the fate of this young man, when moptthes pris get ae
. Wie” when hicom’s before the court, says, nosy, Vil baat them strat

At Jt hedid fairly have—was sentenced to be hun-, {long.
_ Then he turned paja, and trembling begged, his time they wo'ld pro-

The judge then rose, and said, dear sir, your wish we can't comply;
And now, [say to you, young man, prepare for soon you'll die. <
The tenth day of September next, in eighteen forty-five,

You then must hang long by the neck, till all can see no life.

Now, he was taken to his cell, whero thoughts of his dead wits
Caused him to call the minister, to whom he told his life ,

He says, dear-sir, what shall I do, for [ am soon to die ;

My dreadfal life to you Vil tell, IL cannot pass it by.

My wile, she felt quite ill one night.andbeceed mo get same pris;
L went and got some opium and made that into pills,

I then gave her just three of them, and told her they were rigit,
And surely thought that she would dic upon that very night.

Then [seme arsenic did give, and meant to surely kill,

And oh, the dreadful deed! it does my mind with horror fill;

If V'd ne’er took that Hoosick ride along with my young mates,
I ne’er had killed my dear young wife—a dee hard to reiats.

But now tis done, I can’t escapo.o murd'rer’s awful grave |

Oh! pray to God for me, dear sir, that he my soul will save
Farewell, young mates, | am-no moro, { pray remember ine
And think how cruel | have been—and shun bad company ;

Sea SSeS sess sisse®

ty]
i
5
Gi
iy

;

Sees

Se sesi

~ fl

LOUIS C. JONES - 193

before his marriage, there was a suspicious fire in the store he
owned in Berlin. The insurance people settled for the loss, but it
was noted laconically at the trial that Henry’s uncle, Joel Mallory,
was a director of the company.

The most picturesque of Green’s escapades was his participation
in an antirent riot in October 1844. Disguised as Indians he and
eleven followers freed a fellow townsman, Schuyler Jones, from -
constable John J. Nichols, who was taking him to Troy for trial.
The case was eventually settled ; Jones paid his rent, and our friend
Green paid a $125 fine. However participation in such an atfair
would weigh against him far less in a strong antirent section like
Berlin than it would in Troy, the county seat.

We should also notice that at this time Henry had a strong attach-
ment for a young woman named Alzina Godfrey. At the trial.
Porter Dennison, one of Green’s two best friends (the other was
Alson Niles), testified that the intimacy between Henry and Alzina
had continued all through the summer of 1844. He further stated
that Josiah Godfrey, Alzina’s father, was “considered a man of
large property.”

In 1845 Mary Ann Wyatt was twenty-two, the same age as
Henry Green. There can be no question but that “she was not
of high degree,” as the ballad says. Her native hearth was in
Thornton, N.H., where she was one of a family of eight children.
At the age of eighteen she left home with her brother David to
work three years in the mills at Lowell, Mass. Sometime late in
1843 or early in 1844, Mary Ann and David Wyatt joined a travel-
ing company of temperance players, presenting The Reformed
Drunkard. This may have been a pirated version of P. T. Bar-
num’s The Drunkard, which had appeared first in 1843.

In late November or early December they played in Washing-
ton Market, Troy. On December 30, they opened a three-night
run in Berlin. Mary Ann was observed by the villagers, observed
and approved. The next stop of the company was Hancock, across
the Massachusetts border. Two Berlin men, Palmer and Crandall,
joined them there; then to Lebanon Springs. It was here that
Mary Ann and Henry first met, though Green had undoubtedly
seen her in Berlin. The next stand was ‘New Lebanon, where

194 THE BERLIN MURDER CASE

Green and a Berlin man named Lyman Bennet joined the company.
At first Henry merely sang, but soon he had a part in the play.

Early February found the company in Kinderhook. Whether |

it disbanded there, or whether the principals of this story merely
left the company, I do not know. The intimacy between Mary
Ann and Henry had been ripening under the observing eye of
brother David since the young storekeeper had turned actor.
Mary Ann took her brother’s arm less often than had been her
wont, turning more and more frequently to Henry for that service.
It was with no surprise, then, that David heard Mary Ann ask his
opinion of her engagement—his opinion and his consent, which
he gave. ;

On February 5 or 6 (Wednesday or Thursday) Mary Ann and
‘David Wyatt, Henry Green and Lyman Bennet arrived back in
Stephentown, where they had previously given their play. Green
and David seem to have left Mary Ann there and gone on to
Berlin. Henry busied himself with preparations for his coming
marriage which was fixed for Sunday, February 17, a week and
more away. On Friday, the 8th, he invited a number of his friends
to attend the wedding. These included Alson G. Niles and Porter
G. Dennison, Alzina and Mary Rhodes (possibly the daughters
of Doctor Rhodes, Green’s family physician), and Alzina Godfrey,
his former sweetheart.

Sunday, February 10, Green left Berlin for Stephentown to
see his bride-to-be. Unexpectedly and without explanation Mary
Ann Wyatt and Henry G. Green became man and wife that same
day, a full week before they planned. David Wyatt was a witness
to the wedding performed by Elder Spoon in the Christian Chapel.

On Tuesday, February 12, the bride and groom, with David
Wyatt, left Stephentown, where they had remained after the wed-

ding, and came to Berlin. David went to the home of Lyman

Bennet, the man who had been in their theatrical company. The

Greens went to a tavern, only to move the next day to the residence
of Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand Hull at whose home Mary Ann had
stayed when she came to the village as a player. Mary Ann was in
perfect health at this time.

LOUIS C. JONES 195

On the morning of Wednesday, February 13, the third day
after the wedding, there came to Berlin from Troy Mrs. Green,
Henry’s mother, and Mrs. Crandall, his sister. Sally Green did
not meet her new daughter-in-law, but established herself in the
tavern of Dennison and Streeter (now the Colonial Inn), diagonally
across the road from the Ferdinand Hull home (now the Man-
chester Market), where the newly-weds were staying. She sent
for Henry to come to her in the parlor of the tavern.

At the keyhole of the door between the parlor and diningroom
there was pressed the attentive ear of Polly Ann Boone, maid of
all work for Dennison and Streeter. At the trial she was to testify
that the tone of the voices within the room was so restrained that
she had to listen quite attentively to gather what little she did. Her
largest tidbit from the conversation was Sally Green’s statement
to her son that she had heard what Mary Ann’s character had been
when she was in Troy. This referred to the four-day engagement
of The Reformed Drunkard in Troy, December 1844. Apparently
Henry’s answer was that he believed his wife to have been and to
be virtuous, that he married her for love. Later that afternoon,
after his mother and sister had gone, he repeated these sentiments
to his friend Niles, adding that he had a wife that suited him,
that he had married her for love, that in comparison with the dis-
position of his recent ladylove, Alzina Godfrey, his wife’s was by
far the better. Green also told Niles that his mother was going
to meet a note of his at the bank; but Niles said at the trial that he
could not remember what Green had said regarding his mother’s
opinion of the marriage. Whatever that opinion was, Sally Green
did not cross the street to meet Henry’s bride.

After the death of Mary Ann, and Henry’s arrest, Mrs. Green
wrote her son a letter which corroborates Polly Boone’s testimony.

Troy Feb’y 20th 1845
Deare son

It is with the greates anxiety that I wright to you, At this time
I feel to morne with you at this time If weeping wold doo enny
goo[d] but my head has been sow hot that I cant shead a tear
to day I am all most distracted that thay will prove you gilty if that
should be the case [ am ondo[ne] and sow are you and ail the rest

of the family Henry tell me you are inisont and dont deceive mee
Henry I have binn sorree that I told you the reports that I hird that

730 XVII, AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

have no influence on your opinions, one way or the other. It
must matter nothing to you whether the prisoner is a humble
and friendless man, or whether worthy and wealthy citizens
are standing by him, to secure to him all the favor and all
the rights that are to be had in such a case. All persons are
to be dealt with equally and justly by you. The public look
to this court for a faithful and just administration of the
law, and for an honest, upright, pure discharge of the duties
devolved upon it. All classes of community, whether of high
or low degree, are equally concerned in the faithful admin-
istration of the laws. Unless the fountain of justice be pure,
those who have acquired wealth by their industry, cannot
be protected in the enjoyment of their acquisitions, and the
humble citizen can look nowhere but to the protection of the
courts against the power and influence of those above him.
I am confident you will enter on the discharge of the great
duty devolving upon you, by excluding from your minds all
considerations, whether urged on one side or the other, con-
nected with the standing of the prisoner or of his friends.
They should not influence your verdict in any, the slightest

particular.

The proof in this ease—and I speak of facts which are not
contradicted—shows that, early last winter, the prisoner at
the bar became acquainted with the deceased; that a few
weeks after they were married; that on Tuesday following
the marriage he brought his wife to Berlin, the place of his
residence; that on Friday she was taken ill; that on Saturday
a physician was called; and that on Monday morning she
died. These leading facts are not contradicted—and it be-
comes thercfore unnecessary that I should call your atten-
tion more minutely to the testimony in regard to them.

To find the prisoner guilty of the crime charged against
him, certain other facts must be established beyond a reason-
able doubt. It must be shown not only that the ‘person
charged to have been murdered is dead—and the fact is not
disputed—but that she came to her death by poison admin-
istered with a design to effect her death. And a further, and
more important fact must be shown. You must be satisfied

HENRY G. GREEN. 731

xs that ie the act of the prisoner at the bar. These stern
cts must be established beyond a reas

onable doubt
you can say the prisoner is guilty. When they are 50 pai

lished, you have: no .
; io alternative b
dict accordingly. ut to pronounce your ver-

yo alae Green poisoned? And did She die of poison?
may properly remark that that f

now hardly contradicted. Th ie beeen

- 4he proof is that when Dr. Hull

ips ele = on Saturday, her Symptoms were those of poison

prescribed however for another disease. Her symptoms

ee ig the asophagus and duodenum were taken out and
a it to ha a examined by chemists and physicians
Toperly subjected to the usual t
ests to ascertain th
presence of arsenic. There wer i i
' e found in the st
about it, some six i i i Me
: X grains of arsenic. It is conceded
and a half grains will pr ree an ate
produce death; and though
case 1s found where life has b ty lees tha ee
een destroyed by less th
quantity, yet physicians hold th ae
; hat a less quantit il
duce death. You have h ini : a ficriht
: eard the opinions of th hysici
and the comments of coun nigh sud Gat
sel thereon. The i
could ascertain no other oe ie ao
cause for the death of Mrs. G ,
: . Green:
ra ig ye: enough found in the stomach to have caused
- 4\nd this fact taken in connecti i
toms, renders it hard] i : ne ie: ae
eereel ee y worth while to consider it a contro-
r a eee hs en to her death by poison, the next and far
1 portant question to be settled j i i
istered with design to take her 1j oy the Se
| s er life, and was that th
the prisoner? Did he i / fl be denise
? commit the murder? Did h i
administer the arsenic th death ana
at caused her death? And thi
must be satisfactorily ‘and ea torantbaces
. : ,
neue inn y easonably established to authorize
lt; :
ov . — i va on the part of the prisoner, that the
ced to support this part of the ea a
se is cireum-
— Ifa person witnesses the very act of taking life, and
Ts he saw it, that would be direct and positive sviddies

732 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

But in all cases where no one witnesses the commission of a
murder, but where it is inferred from circumstances, it is
called circumstantial evidence, and in such case, is it that a
jury convict, if they convict at all.

Much has been said of the nature of circumstantial evi-
dence, and of the credit that ought to be given to it, When a
witness appears before you, and swears that he saw the fatal
blow struck, or the act done which deprives another of life,
the only question left is, does he swear to the truth? Does
he commit perjury, or is he mistaken in regard to the cireum-
stance named? When evidence is circumstantial, it may be’in
some cases more satisfactory than positive evidence. As, for
instance, when a circumstance is proved by many witnesses—
or where similar circumstances, tending to the same point,
‘are proved by different witnesses; or when circumstances are

shown beyond all doubt, which lead necessarily to one con-
clusion, and are irreconcilable with any other, they may be
more satisfactory than direct or positive testimony. In both
cases, it is possible that injustice may be done. It is the
nature of human tribunals; and whether the evidence be posi-
tive or circumstantial, in all cases, there is a possibility, a bare
possibility, that perjury may be committed. But in all these
cases, you are bound to take the evidence as true that is given
by the witnesses, whether positive or circumstantial, if there
be nothing in the case to shake their credibility, or to au-
thorize you to doubt the statement made—especially when
the statements concur to support each other, and where there
is no contradiction between them. Because a jury cannot
arbitrarily discard testimony, whether positive or cireum-
stantial. In both eases you should scrutinize the evidence,
and see whether there is any reason to believe that the wit-
ness swears falsely or is mistaken—and when the facts are
established beyond all question, you are to see to what infer-
ences they necessarily lead your minds.

In examining the evidence as to the point whether the
prisoner is proved to have committed the act charged, it is
‘claimed on the part of the prosecution, and the counsel insist’
that they have proved that he had arsenic—that he had it

HENRY G. GREEN. 733

in his possession at the time. It is proved that there was
arsenic at. Dennison .& Streeter’s store. It is shown who had
possession of the key and who were in there on Sunday, that
one of the. owners of the store, on going in that afternoon
found the jar of arsenic out of its place and the cover partly
removed. He tells you that about 4 o’clock that afternoon,
the prisoner came to him and got the key to get oats for his
horse—that he was gone a few moments and returned with
the oats. It is claimed by the prosecution that there is enough
in these circumstances to lead your minds to the conclusion
that the prisoner (who was the last person in the store before
the owner went in at five) must have taken arsenic from the
jar. It is claimed also on the part of the prosecution that
originally there were nine or ten papers of arsenic in the jar,
and that this number was reduced to seven when the investi-
gation by the Coroner was had and that one paper only had
been sold—and that this is a circumstance, in connection with
the other mentioned, to show that one of the papers was taken
by the prisoner. Now doubtless, this is evidence of consider-
able importance, though by no means controlling. If it be
satisfactorily established that he took arsenic from the store
on Sunday afternoon, that would not account for the use of
it by the prisoner before; and much if not all the evil that
was done was by arsenic administered before that time. But
it is claimed on the part of the prisoner, that the missing
papers were sold previously; and two witnesses have sworn
that sometime in the fall or winter they purchased arsenic
at this store—each one paper. And the question is, whether
the papers purehased were purchased before the nine or ten
papers came into the hands of Dennison & Streeter. They tell
you they purchased it on the 16th of December last—and it
is for you to say from the evidence on both sides, whether
the papers sold, were sold: before or after the 16th December,

But, as I before said, I by no means regard this as a con-
trolling circumstance in the case; whether the fact be estab-
lished or not that the prisoner took arsenic on Sunday from
this store. For if no other be traced to his possession before
Sunday, the arsenic claimed to have been administered on

726 XVI. AMERICAN-STATE TRIALS.

wine in with it, and the next we
gave her had wine mixed with it.
Gave this to her every little
while, Mrs. Streeter and I.

Had suspicions against Green
before any were communicated
to me about 4 o’clock Sunday
afternoon, from medicines I saw
him offer. Saw him offer a tum-
bler half full of some water and
something like a teaspoonful of
a white substance which he was
stirring up in it; he was stand-
ing by the table and stirring it
when I came in; he started to
the bed with it and said, “Come,
Mary Ann, it is 4 o’clock and it
is time to take your medicine.”
She said she did not want to
take it just then. He replied:
“The doctor said you must take
it at 4.” She then said, “I can’t
take it, Henry!” I then step-
ped up to the bed and com-
menced conversation with her.
I asked her what the matter
was, if she thought they were
giving her too much medicine,
and she replied in a low tone,
yes. Henry was standing perhaps
four feet from her, and I should
think he must have heard her.
She groaned, turned in the bed,
and said, “Yes, too much al-
ready,” in reply to my question.
Never saw the contents of the
tumbler afterwards.

The time I gave my sister med-
{cine I gave her Bateman’s drops
and sweet spirits of nitre. After
my sister made communication
to Dr. Hull and Mr. B. Streeter,
she made communications to me,
the first about 12 o’clock Sunday
night. The conversation com-
menced by asking her whether
she thought she took much cold.
On Friday morning Green gave
her six pills. That after she had
taken them they caused a great

distress in her stomach, caused
her to vomit. She then went on
to say that Green had adminis-
tered to her a powder a number
of times, He called it soda and
water. She said he had mixed
powder with the doctor’s medi-
cine, and in almost everything
that he had given her. She said
she asked him for soup on Sun-
day towards morning; she
thought everything he had given
her distressed her and _ she
thought she would take notice
how he would prepare it. She
saw him put his hand to his
pocket on his side, take out a
paper, put some of it in the soup
and put the paper back into his
pocket.

When he came to the bed with
it she asked him what he had
put in it; he told her he had
put a little flour in it; I asked
her why she drinked it; she said
she couldn’t believe he meant to
poison her, and she drank a part
of it. She said after she found
how sick it made her, she re-
fused anything from him that he
prepared for her. She remarked
that she was poisoned to death.
At about 3 o’clock she made an-
other statement to Lyman Ben-
nett and his wife, of which I
only heard the last. She said,
“He has poisoned me to death.”
I asked who, and she said,
“Henry.”

Cross-eramined: First became
acquainted with Green at Leba-
non Springs three or four nights
after New Year’s. Had seen him
before in Berlin at a number of
places—had seen him at the
church in the door. Acted three
nights at Berlin. Think sister
first became acquainted with him
at Lebanon Springs. Green and
my sister talked together at New

HENRY G. GREEN. er;

Lebanon, below the Springs
where he took Part with us, He
went on the stage and sung with
us; think he acted with us five
weeks, during which time he
went to Berlin and back again
Noticed an intimacy between him
and my sister, can’t exactly rec-
ollect at how early a period
after they fairly got acquainted.
We traveled together and all be-
came pretty intimate, They were
married in some six days after
I heard of their engagement.

It was about 4 pD. m. Sunday
when I saw him stirring some
thing in a tumbler as I went
into the room—her refusal to
drink it first excited my sus-
Picion and the appearance of it
together; it didn’t look to me
Proper to give a Powder in go
much water; didn’t think the
doctor had ever ordered a pow-
der to be given in so much water
When Henry went to her she at
first said, “I don’t want to take
it now Henry,” and next “I
can’t take it, Henry.”

When I asked her how she felt,

Mr. Pierson stated that notwiths

hibited the introduction of a let

David Ww. Wyatt: Am not pos-
sessed of any property. Have to
depend on my constant exertions
for my living. My sister had no
property that I know of. Before
we commenced the enacting these
Plays my sister had been work.
ing in the mills at Lowell. Have

she said she felt very bad
her, “Do you think you fog
when you went to Hoosick?” she
Said, “I think not much. Green
gave me six pills on Friday
morning. After taking them they
caused great distress in my stom-
ach and vomiting; he then gave
me what he called soda and
water (or soda water) a great
many times.” Asked her, “Did it
look like that I Saw him offer
you at 4 o’clock?” She replied
I think it did. On Sunday near
morning I asked him for some
soup—I thought I’d take notice
and see how he prepared it; he
took a paper out of his pocket
put something in it, and then put
the paper back into his pocket
When he came to the bed with it
I asked him what he put in it—
he said he put in a little flour.”
I said to her, “Why did you
drink it?” “I did not believe he
meant to poison me and I drank
part of it. After I found it made
me so sick I refused taking any-
thing prepared by him.”

July 16.

improper, but as the jury were

e papers, it may be ho ed th
tion would not be ine oS

worked some eight days in Ber-
lin since my return in hoeing
corn and potatoes. When my
Sister spoke to me about marry-
ing Green, I told her I heard

nothing against him; I
consent. eet

728 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

THE WITNESSES FOR THE DEFENSE.

Porter G. Dennison: Have been
intimately acquainted with the
defendant about six years; have
been in his store a great deal.
Saw him in Berlin three or four
days before he was married—he
announced his intention of mar-
rying when he came back —he
expressed himself attached to
Miss Wyatt—he spoke of her
beauty and good disposition, but
nothing of her intelligence—he
designated as the time of their
marriage a week from the next
Sunday. Was invited to go on the
ride to Hoosick on Wednesday.
Besides the bride and the bride-
groom, and myself, David Wyatt,
Mr. Niles, Alzina Rhodes, Mary
Rhodes, her sister, and Alzina
Godfrey, composed the party. We
left Berlin between 12 and 1
o’clock. We went in a sleigh;
heard the patient say she ought
not to have gone out that day in
consequence of being unwell in
the morning. Believe she as well
as Green sung on the way back.
First heard of Green’s wife being
seriously ill on Saturday, from
her husband; he appeared dis-
tressed for his wife’s illness—
said she was bad—he was crying
at the time, said his wife was
dying, and wished me to get Dr.
Rhodes. Green’s character for
honesty and integrity I consid-
ered to have been very good—as
good as most of the young men’s,

Alson G@. Niles: Have been ac-
quainted with Green for 14 or 15
years. His character and stand-
ing in the community up to the
time of this charge, I should
think as good as most of young
men. Think Green informed me
of her illness. He appeared to be
much affected when he gave me
the information.

Samuel Hull: Know Franklin
Maxon; saw him in Brimmer’s
store inquiring for arsenic. Brim-
mer informed him that he had
none but Dennison & Streeter
had. He went there and soon
came back, saying he had some,
then said I wish I had some,
and afterwards went over to D.
& S.’s and got a paper. Dennison
let me have it, noticed that he
took it from a glass over the post
office, had a whole paper as it
was in the jar, half as long as
my finger. Paid six-pence for the
paper, couldn’t say how many
papers were left in the jar.

Rufus Allen: Reside in Berlin.
Am acquainted with Dennison
and Streeter—was often at their
store—know Franklin Maxon.
Was present some time last sea-
son when Maxon purchased a
paper of arsenic at that store,
Took hold of the jar and looked
into it—didn’t count the papers
but should think there might
have been seven or eight.

July 17, 18.

Daniel P. Hull, Winter Green,
Thomas Hull, Jr., Jonathan Bur-
dick, Sanford Lott and Lyman
Saunders testified that they had
known the prisoner for many
years and had never heard any
thing against his reputation be-
fore this charge.

Barzaleel Streeter (recalled):
Prisoner had some very hard fits
while living with me; don’t know
what they were called. He lay in
a cramped condition for some
time and wanted assistance to
hold him. This was as much as
four years ago; do not know that
they have been continued since.

Cross-eramined: Didn’t notice
that the fits had any effect upon
his habits after he recovered,

HENRY G. GREEN. 729

Dr. Rhodes (recalled): I have
attended Green in these fits—he
would be taken with spasms.
They came as near epileptic as
anything. After the spasms

would leave him. he would h

, ave
strength enough to get up. Did
not think him sensible of his
condition at such times,

The Counsel on both sides addressed the jury at length.

THE JUDGE’S CHARGE.

JUDGE Parker: Gentlemen—To all concerned, this ease is
one of importance ; to the prisoner at the bar it is certain]
one of vast importance, for his life hangs on the issue. To ihe
public it is of infinitely great importance, because the good
order of the community depends on the prompt and faithful
administration of justice, and the punishment of crime where
erime is proved to have been committed. It is of no len im-
portance to you, who are acting in the discharge of a duty
which you have solemnly engaged to perform faithfully, and
according to the evidence. And for the manner in which you
discharge that duty, you will be held hereafter to a just ac-
countability to your own consciences and to God.

I repeat, the patience with which you have listened to this
long trial, and to the arguments of counsel, satisfy me that
you do feel the importance of the considerations I have sug-
gested, and that you will endeavor to do your whole duty.
This Is a case certainly of most extraordinary character. In
examining the cases of capital crimes recorded in the books,
there is nothing to be found precisely of this character; nor
is there anything like it in the experience of any Saoneated
with the courts. A young man just entering on life—seareely
twenty-two years of age—connected with some of the most
respectable families in the county—stands indicted not only
for the highest crime known to our laws, but for the murder

of his wife; and that too, of a wife to whom he had been
married but a very few days.

I have spoken of the standing of the prisoner’s friends,
and much has been said by counsel on both sides on this sub-

ject ; and appeals have been made to you on both sides, based
on this circumstance. The standing of these friends should

Ber er ee ee ee

ees, er Ga So. ri esr ee ee

CASE FILE

Some recent cases brought you by
TRUE DETECTIVE had not finally
been disposed of when the issue
went to press. To keep our readers
informed, we will bring you in each
issue of TD a Case File report.

| TURNED IN MY HUSBAND

(December, 1952)

The beaten and strangled body of
14-vear-old Mary Louise Zaris was
found in a brush patch several
miles from Santa Barbara, Califor-
nia, on July 27th, 1952. A young
Navy veteran, Robert Aldridge, was
arrested and accused of the murder
after his wife, suspicious of his ac-
tions and appearance, had provided
detectives with clues connecting him
with the crime.

Aldridge subsequently pleaded
guilty, but stood on a second plea of
not guilty by reason of insanity,
waiving a jury trial. During a week-
long hearing before Superior Judge
Ernest Wagner, four psychiatrists
testified that Aldridge was sane.

On November 7th Judge Wagner
found him guilty of first degree
murder and two weeks later, after
hearing the report of the probation
department, sentenced him to life
imprisonment. The district attor-
ney’s office had not demanded the
death penalty and Judge Wagner,
in pronouncing sentence, stated, “I
feel justified in not decreeing the
extreme penalty in this case because
I believe there is something wrong
medically with this man. He is in
desperate need of medical and psy-
chiatric treatment.”

BLUDGEONED BEAUTY

(January, 1953)

Following a trial which lasted five
days, William M. Gardner was con-
viceted of the brutal bludgeon mur-
der of Agnes Jaeger. The body of
the attractive telephone operator,
described by the autopsy doctor as
“horribly mutilated’? was found in a
field near Fond du Lae, Wisconsin,
the morning of August 16th, 1952.
A jury of seven women and five
men brought in a verdict of guilty
after less than an hour and a half’s
deliberation,

As Wisconsin does not have a
death penalty, Gardner was sen-
tenced to life imprisonment and im-
mediately sent to Waupon. prison.

WAR BRIDE, BUTTERFLY AND
A STRANGLER

(Pebruary, 1953)

Leo Walling. tried in Los Angeles
for the murder of Irene Black. was
found innocent by Judge William
Neeley. acquitted December 18th,
1952.

DEATH RINGS THE DOORBELL

(December, 1952)

Henry Agard, 17, and Anthony
Simo, 18, two waterfront hoodlums
whom Marcus Harrelson had be-
friended, repaid him with a bullet
during an attempted holdup of his
apartment in Brooklyn, New York,
on August 8th, 1952. Harrelson,
mortally wounded, died in the hos-
pital the next day.

Because of the difficulty of prov-
ing premeditation, Henry Agard,
who had fired the fatal shot, was
allowed to plead guilty to second-
degree murder and, on December
2nd, was sentenced to 20 years to
life by Judge Samuel S. Leibowitz.
A plea of guilty to first-degree man-
slaughter was accepted from his ac-
complice, Anthony Simo, who re-
ceived a sentence of 10 to 20 years
imprisonment.

KILLER IN THE CLASSROOM

(January, 1953)

On November 13th, 1952, Circuit
Judge Ben Eovaldi sentenced
Charles Petrach, lovelorn insurance
salesman, to 150 years in prison
and ordered him to spend Septem-
ber 3rd, the anniversary of his
crime, in solitary confinement each
year. In a last minute switch, Pe-
trach had changed his plea from in-
nocent to guilty of murdering
Georgine Lyon in a high school
classroom in Lawrenceville, Illinois,
because she had broken their en-
gagement. Seven bullets had been
pumped into the body of the attrac-
tive young librarian when she was
found slumped in a chair by one of
the teachers at the school.
Following his guilty plea, Pe-
trach’s attorneys asked for a life
sentence which would have made
the killer eligible for parole some

4
day, The judge refused and gave
him the 150-year term’ instead,
which will keep Petrach in prison
for as long as he lives.

PISTOL PANIC

(November, 1952)

As their wives watched helplessly,

22-year-old William Hopkins was.

murdered and his father-in-law shot
during an attempted kidnap-holdup
in New York City last August 2nd,
1952. A young reformatory pa-
rolee, Barry Jacobs, was caught hid-
ing on a rooftop near the crime
scene and admitted firing the shot
that killed Hopkins. In his confes-
sion he implicated John Green, an-
other parolee. Following their trial
in Bronx County Court the two
thugs were convicted, on November
25th, 1952, of first-degree murder
without recommendation for mercy,
thereby dooming them to death in
the electric chair.

BEAUTIFUL DANCER'S
SECRET LOVE

(October, 1952)
On December 8th, 1952, an all-

male circuit court jury found
Joseph Romero guilty of first-de-
gree murder in the slaying of Mrs.
Irene Thompson, former dancing
instructress. Her partly clad body
was found in a St. Louis, Missouri.
hotel room on June 22nd, an elec-
tric cord wrapped around her neck
and a sliver of glass thrust in her
neck, Although Assistant Circuit At-
torney William O’Toole had asked
for the death penalty, the jury, as
permitted by Missouri law, fixed
Romero’s punishment at life im-
prisonment. The prosecution’s prin-
cipal evidence included a tape re-
cording made by police of Romero’s
confession shortly after he was
taken into custody.

"—two cups of flour, one cup of sugar and one ounce of

WESLEY
THOMPSON

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Pistol Panic

(Continued from page 10)

The man with the pistol slipped out the
rear door, met Hopkins as he reached the
sedan. “Get in,” he said, sharply, jabbing
the gun into Hopkins’ stomach.

Hopkins got into the back seat and the
gunman ordered McCullaugh to start the
motor. As McCullaugh pressed the starter
button, he saw his daughter, Rose, rush-
ing across the street, his wife following
her.

‘“What’s the matter?” Rose cried.

Warned by the gunman to stop the
women, Bill shouted to his wife, “It’s okay,
Rose! Go in the house. We'll be back.”
But Rose dashed toward them, her dark
hair streaming behind, her.

Desperately McCullaugh tried to get the
motor going, to pull away before the
women ran into the danger—the pistol and
the tensed trigger-finger. But in his anx-
iety he stalled the motor and Rose reached
the car.

The pistol jabbed viciously out of the
rear window. “Get out of here!” the gun-
man shrieked at her.

Sight of the weapon—realization of what
was happening—was too much for the
young wife. She whirled, shoving her

mother back. Both women fled frantically .

toward their porch, screaming with terror.

The screams worked like a starter but-
ton on the tightly-strung gunman. He
began squeezing the pistol trigger in. panic.

Shot after shot boomed in the car,
echoed up and down the street. Both thugs
leaped out. The pistol skidded into the
gutter as they ran off madly. William
Hopkins staggered from the car’s rear
door, clutching his chest. He took a num-
ber of lurching, futile steps.

“Help me! Help me!” he cried, then col-
lapsed on the steps of a nearby porch.

As the terrified women watched, Alfred
McCullaugh toppled slowly from the seat
of his ear onto the pavement.

Lights flashed on in neighboring homes.
Heads popped out of windows, voices

shouted excited questions, feet pounded ©

_in the night. Within seconds, telephones
were buzzing in several police precincts.
Twenty patrol cars sped.to the scene from
the Ryer Avenue, Kingsbridge Avenue
and Bronx Park stations.’ -

But death had arrived first, William
Hopkins, with two bullets in his chest,
was dead.

Ambulance doctors discovered that Al-
fred McCullaugh had not been seriously
injured, as had been thought. A bullet
had creased his head and had knocked
him unconscious. He was taken to Ford-
ham Hospital for treatment.

More than fifty police quickly formed a
cordon around the immediate area. They
found a .38 caliber target pistol frame,
fitted with a .22 barrel, under a parked
car. Patrolmen, guns in hand, began to
search through the alleys by flashlight, as
neighbors shouted instructions.

“They ran in opposite directions,” one
neighbor explained. “I saw one of them
enter that apartment house down there.”
She pointed.

Four officers started into the building to
stalk the killer. Cautiously they climbed
each flight of stairs, waiting tensely for
shots to ring out. Finding nothing inside
the six-story bulding, they moved out onto
the open roof.

A foot scuffed on roof gravel and the
four officers drew up short. “Come out of
there or we'll blast you!” one officer
ordered.

There was no answer. They moved for-

ward again, Pwo ol Wy roubadcd a& Veil
tilator at the same moment, spied a slender
youth crouching behind it and jumped
him. He struggled like a wild animal but
was quickly overpowered.

“What are you doing here?” he was
asked.

“I came up to see my grandmother,”
was the unexpected reply. :

“Sure, my grandmother lives on a roof,
too,” a cop rejoined sarcastically.

The captive changed his story, “I had a
date with this girl and she stood me up.
I was going home, heard the commotion
down the street and came up here to get
a better view of it.” :

“View?” a policeman said.
even see the street from here

Taken to headquarters and questioned
by Assistant District Attorney Edmund
Farrell, Deputy Chief Inspector Edward
Byrne and Captain Thomas Anderson, the
suspect parried police queries for twelve
hours. He was a sleek-haired, dark, Hol-
lywood-type criminal who wisecracked
with the officers and put up a brazen
front. He described himself as Barry
Jacobs, 20, of Brooklyn.

A check of the police records revealed
that he had pulled ten armed holdups
back in 1949, when he was only 17 years
old. He had spent one year of a five-
year sentence in the penitentiary at El-
mira, then had won a parole.

More interesting was the fact that he
was the son of Jesse Jacobs, one of Lucky
Luciano’s top men during the latter’s
reign as white slavery king in the 1930s.
The father had been head of Luciano’s
bail bond squad, had kept prostitutes out
of jail when vice squads’ had rounded
them up. The son was a rather stupid
chip off the old block, a small-time thug,
who had bungled an ordinary stickup job
and had resorted to his gun in panic.

But, like his father who had turned
state’s evidence to get out of a twenty-
five-year sentence, young Jacobs soon lost
his brassy attitude and confessed all, in-
cluding the name of his accomplice. He
admitted that he had pumped the shots
at William Hopkins and Alfred McCul-
laugh.

“The gun went off,” Jacobs said. “That’s
all I remember.”

Police wasted no time in picking up his
partner in Brooklyn. He was 24-year-old
John Green. Both the infamous mobster’s
son and the man he betrayed were in-
dicted on August 10th by a Bronx grand
jury for first-degree murder, attempted
robbery, kidnaping, assault and violation
of the Sullivan Law.

Jacobs told’ police, “I don’t care if I burn.”

Rose Hopkins, the wife whose dream
world was shattered by a gun-crazy thug’s
bullets, thinks he should. As she left the

“You can’t

ihe

Boyertown Funeral Chapel after viewing

her husband’s body, she demanded that
the full penalty be paid by Jacobs for
Bill’s life.

“But that won’t bring Bill back,” she
said, sobbing uncontrollably.
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105

“! QUESTIONER > oa

ht, District Attor: f
+ John z McGeehan, whe
helped solve the mystery o
the Judson Pratt murder case,

‘dent murdered |/.°. $4,700 ae

V , y

/ missing. . Routine ‘robbery,

, thought’ palice, but \ when!
; they began to dig into the >)”
friends of Judson Pratt a+
strange case came to light
«+ the case of a man who’!
trusted someone whose greed ©
was greater than friendship. ©.”
~\ ) Drink, feigned insanity, wild ine
‘\< emotions . . , all were to
play their parts, « before

+ Below, the pistol that barke
death for Judson Pratt,
was displayed by police next.
to the famous hat-without-a
ie, bow exhibit,

SEARCH LEADER |

Below, Inspector Bruckm
“whose direction of the de
tectives solved the murder,

* TCRIME'S SCENE)
(@ Under the bridge where Patro
“man Walter. Costa found ;
“) death car (shown. at. left. with |
“i. officer, standing next to “It ‘

o) Saldeaseevesche te el Sic.

, :
tg nh cas eae

f i war
I Ras KRONOR EET Em: as

moment, most anxious to hear .. . the bow of the hat had been found! :
It was soaked with rain and dirt. Had it been a dry, windy day, the bow |
might have been carried away, never to have been recovered. It might have vy
been taken up by street sweepers. The material even to the broken threads |
matched the remainder of the hat band. :

“Where the bow was found,” said Inspector Bruckman, “is where Pratt
was killed.”

check the story of Pratt’s sub-
stitute on the construction job.

Did Pratt call for a guard
that day? Yes. He always
asked for a guard. Andaman
had been sent over? Sure.
But when the guard arrived
Pratt had left in his car.

’ Jt was a payroll hold-up.
Of that, the police were now
certain.

But had Pratt planned to
take the money and had some
accomplice shot and killed him
and gotten away with the
$4,700, or had someone, know-
ing that he went for the money
at that hour, met him and mur-
dered him?

The Seaboard National Bank cashier proved helpful. ; :

He said Pratt had obtained the money and that it had been given to him
in crisp, new $5, $10 and $20 bills. The bank had a record of the
numbers on the bills. ae

Detectives were given the job of interviewing all residents living across
the street from the construction job and on either side of it; especially
those whose apartments faced East 52nd street.

In the course of their questioning, the detectives talked to Mrs.
Babette Shytle, whose apartment oyerlooked East 52nd street.

“Yes, I saw a maroon Chrysler sedan this morning,” said Mrs. Shytle.
“I was in the front room and I heard what sounded like the backfire
of a car. I went to one of the windows and looked out. I
saw a tall man push something over on the front seat, get in
and drive off. When I first saw the car it was across the

THE questioning of residents of the street continued.

And no one else had seen Pratt drive away.

Detectives sought the names and addresses of all of Pratt’s friends. The
list was long. Pratt was well-liked. Merely the task of interviewing these
persons was a herculean job, but it was done with tremendous speed. Detec-
tives interrogated, too, all the workers on the construction job.

The police found no one, during this preliminary work, who aroused the
slightest suspicion.

At the station they asked to see the man who had gone to the construction
job to guard Pratt and had found that he had left. They wanted to discover
whether he had noticed anything peculiar about the situation when he arrived
at the place.

“It was my first day on the job,” said the would-be guard. “Dan Graham
usually goes over there. I just went over and called for him and didn’t find
_ there, so left. I-didn’t take long getting over but I figured he had got tired
of waiting.

“If Dan had been on the job he might have seen something that I’d miss.
Graham and Pratt are good friends. Better see him. Pratt gave him an
engagement party just the other day.”

Handsome Dan patrolled East 52nd street, near the construction job.

“Tl talk to Graham,” said the detective.

“He isn’t on duty. He’s home—on the sick list.”

“Anybody else around here know Pratt ?”

“Yes. Osher Brennan. But he’s off duty.”

Detectives went at once to Graham’s home to talk to him. They could not
wait for him to return to work. Speed is always an essential in a murder case. He

Graham was not at home. Fe.

The detectives lolled around, waiting for him. #

It wasn’t until eight o'clock, Sunday morning, that he drove up in his roadster.

PRESENTS

Left above, Marion Scott,

Boston hostess, poses for

the newsreels. She re-

ceived a shower of gifts
from Graham.

sete

ee ea

street.” He was intoxicated. He had four bottles of champagne in his car and in get-
‘When was that ?” DEFENDER ting them out almost dropped them.
“Oh, about 11 o’clock, I’d say.” Leonard A. Snitkin, the The detectives helped him handle them.
She thought she could identify the man. killer's defense counsel,

“Come on in, boys!” he said. [Continued on page 101
And then Bruckman received the word he was, at that who visited him, said: y pag J

"He's crazy as a loon.”

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spital, 283 Elms Blvd.,

“T hat was J ack, like I told you yesterday.

He used my name. You know: we look a
lot alike.” — Si sy i a ;
- “Bill,” the chief said coldly, “that’s a
pretty sorry alibi you’ve-dreamed up. No-
body in New England ever mistook you
for the Strangler. He was too well known
for that to happen. You have two wives
up there, and Moore talked to both of
"em. One you married bigamously, and
now you've added another. You'd better
come: clean.” - ‘.

Bill Grace stared at the officers, a snarl
on his face. “What you trying to do—
accuse me of murdering Jack?”

“You guessed it,” Ronk said. “You're
under arrest.”

Instantly Moore, who had been stand-

{ ing nearby, snapped a pair of handcuffs

on Grace as he made a move toward the
door. — ’

“No you don’t!” the detective snapped,
twisting the manacles sharply and forcing
his prisoner into a chair. “We've got you
dead to rights, Bill.”

A moment later Chief Ronk was going

_through drawers and two suitcases that
were partly unpacked. He failed to find
the pink garter that had aroused his sus-
-picions, but in the bathroom he came up
with convincing evidence. Looking into
a shaving mug standing on the wash
stand, he noticed the soap wasn’t tightly
stuck to the bottom of the cup. Upon re-
moving it, he found Strangler Jack’s dia-
mond rings and the stone from the scarf
pin. ; baci

Bill Grace declared his brother had

‘fgiven them to him for safekeeping the

night he was murdered. :

“He said he was afraid he might be
rolled and didn’t want them on him when
he ‘met his girl.”

“A likely story,” Moore interposed.
“You mean you stole them after you
killed him, don’t you?”

“You can’t prove it,” Grace shouted.
“I had no reason to kill my brother. I
didn’t have to steal from him. He would
have given me all his money had I asked
for it.”

“No, Bill,” Ronk interrupted, “robbery
wasn’t the motive for your killing Jack.
That was an afterthought, and it fitted in
with your plans perfectly. Ill tell you
what your motive was.”

The chief cleared his throat and went.

brother was because he knew about your
.bigamous marriages and had decided he
wasn’t going to let you go through with
another. He came here to tell you to lay
off or he would expose you to the girl]

. Jack had a date, so you thought you could

“Your real reason for murdering your .

you were about to deceive. You knew

make it appear he was slain either by a
woman or some enraged husband. You

knew that when he had a date in Walden .
and was going to miss the last bus back ©

to Newburgh he always went to the club
to sleep. You were sure you could find
him there, and you planned to sneak in
and murder him in his sleep. But luck

played into your hand; Jack had forgotten ‘ ’

his key and asked to borrow yours. So
instead of loaning it to him you said

you'd meet him there and: let him in, ~

which you did. You thought in this way
you would establish an unbreakable alibi.
You even planted the garter to give the
aprearance Jack had taken his girl to the
club.

club you went in with him and begged
him not to interfere with your plans to be
married. He refused to be called off, so
there was nothing for you to do but go
through with your plot.
bus driver, heard you quarreling.

“After you slugged Jack with the clea-
ver, which you probably had hidden some-
where in a handy place, you planted the
garter, then stole his jewelry and money

~ and went out, leaving the door unlocked

to make it appear a non-member without
a key had committed the crime.

“After that you met your girl and went
to New York, where you contracted an-
other bigamous marriage, registered at the
hotel and then called me on ‘Thursday.

“I first became suspicious of you, Bill,
when Moore discovered you had been
married in Massachusetts. When you se-
cured your license to marry in New York
you failed to mention any previous wife,
divorced or otherwise. When I saw. that
garter I was certain we were on the right
trail. I didn’t arrest you Saturday be-
cause Moore had additional information
to get, but you were being watched all the
time after that.”

Three months later, almost to the day
of the murder of Jack Grace, his brother
went on trial for the crime in Orange
County Supreme Court before a jury and
Judge Arthur S. Tompkins. He was prose-
cuted by District Attorney Jonathan D.
Wilson.

Convicted of first-degree murder on De-
cember 10, 1912, William Grace was. sen-
tenced to death, and eight months later,
after the conviction and sentence had been
affirmed by the Court of Appeals, he was
electrocuted in Sing Sing Prison.

Epiror’s Note: The name Helen Wake-
field is fictitious. ;

DESPERADO ROUNDUP

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 23

Harold verified this when cuffs were
snapped on his wrists. “Alvin’s got Luke
Smith’s gun and swears he’ll never be
taken alive.”

Smith had slipped from the cabin be:
hind Harold.. He now joined the party.

“That Alvin is sure a mean hombre,”
he said. “You boys be careful, or some-
one’ll get killed. These fellers came to my
place last night, made me feed them. One
of them stayed awake all the time, watch-
ing me. I made some tea, then spilled the
pot on the bed as an excuse to put the
signal blanket outside to dry, like your
deputies told me.” >”

The officers bombarded the attic with
lead. Alvin returned an occasional shot.
Beaudry turned to a deputy.

“Hightail it to Polson and get an ele-

phant gun,” he ordered. : “We'll smoke
him out.” wt :

When the gun arrived; Beaudry again
called toward the silent cabin: “We're
going to gas you, Alvin. Harold must
have told you how the stuff hurts your
eyes. You'd better come out.”

Alvin Vinge replied with a shot
clipped a fir branch over Beaudry’s head.

The sheriff's face was grim. “Okay.

Let him have it!” . hag ree eta
. The gun was loaded and twice tear-gas

shells were sent’ whooshing through the

broken attic window. Soon fumes began <2

seeping out. |

“Watch the door, boys,” Beaud y
warned. “He can’t stand much of that.
‘ Ve Stet Sah aS 8 * eT he <a

“When the two of you arrived at the

Ed Miles, the.’

that |

sya sThe. door was
~- poured through.

flung
Like
tg a pes face ap

as Alvin Vinge stagger

his blinded ves ns

€ recaptured bar

back to Polson and |

constant day-and-night

- mied knowing where (

.. but the officers believed

_ Ing date scheduled wi
future date, ;
Harold and Alvin Vi
before Judge Albert Be
16, 1950. They pleaded
and jail-break. Alvin —
sentence of 15 years
Deer. Lodge Penitentia
Harold was given ten -
handcuffed together an
penitentiary, where the:

-{M@APTURE of the \
broke up any plan '

for forming a crim
rorize the nation. He re
several months, but the
at his heels and he four
him. He committed ma:

oar

, knock on his door. Hi

quickly, as if somebody
in the face. He smiled
nerves. Walking quickly
opened it. He gulped, a
the pit of his stomach.
was standing there.

“We picked up Bell a
said, “You'll have to co:
with me to identify then

“Sure, I'll have to do
claimed, a wave of relic
him. “Sure, I'll have to
he repeated. ‘

At Eminence he was ta
of Sheriff Norton. Ne
Yancey was there. A you
Sharp face and penetratin;
Sheriff Norton. Earl didn
as Prosecuting Attorney £

“Earl,” the sheriff said

.MOW exactly what happe:

Earl repeated what he |
Darling, speaking slowly s
wouldn’t vary in importa
sheriff and Searcy listened
asked no questions.

When he had finished,
them. Their faces were
The sheriff was reaching |
a series of pictures that la

Finally the sheriff spoke
story, eh, Earl?” 5.0 aks

“Yes, Sheriff. That’s th
pened.” ts Fale
. chat’s the way it didn’

‘Sheriff said sharply. “Earl,
every word you just utterec

At first Earl Phelps wasn
had heard right. “What dic
asked. ale

The sheriff repeated his

by JOSEPH UNGEMACH

T WAS a soggy, sultry day. Earlier, there had
been rain and the skies threatened more.
Patrolman Walter Costa was on his way to the

King’s Bridge police station, New York City.

Costa, coming alongside the damp, moldy under-
pass at Jerome avenue and Moshulu Parkway,
noticed a maroon Chrysler sedan just inside the
entrance. There was nothing unusual about the car.
There was nothing strange about its being parked
there.

But it impressed Costa. Uncannily he thought to
jot it down in his memory.

Hours later a light drizzle was descending when Costa had
occasion to pass the same spot again.

The car was still there.

Costa walked over and looked inside.

A man was slumped on the cushion beside the driver’s seat.
The posture was not that of a man asleep. The body was rigid.

Costa opened the door of the sedan. He touched the inert
form.

The man had been dead for hours. :

Costa's quick, appraising eye, took in a great deal in the few
seconds he stared at the body ... The man was young, and he
was neatly dressed . . . Blood had soaked, and, drying, had
caked the leather cushion. The man had been shot in the left
side of the head .. . The bullet had come out of the right side
of the skull ... His straw hat lay on the floor ... The bullet had
passed through the crown of the hat, and, emerging, had torn
away the bow. .

Costa peered around for the hat-bow but he couldn’t find it.

He did not move the body. He had first to call his station

my val
Py Te

41 iW M AGE

“FIND ITI"
When police found the body, In-
spector Bruckman looked at the hat.
“Find the missing bow and you'll
know where he was shot," he said.

HE morgue wagon was called, the body removed, and the
maroon sedan was driven to Morrisania police station.
Bruckman ordered that all fingerprints be taken from the car.
At the Winthrop street home, detectives learned that Pratt

was superintendent of a construction job on East 52nd street,

Manhattan. The car license disclosed that the machine belonged

to Pratt. Detectives found illuminating information at the 52nd

street construction job.

“Why, Pratt is superintendent of construction here,” said the
man taking Pratt’s place. ‘We've been waiting for him for
hours. The men want their pay.”

“He carried the payroll?”

“Sure, he always got it shortly before noon on Saturdays.”

“Didn't he have a guard?”

“He called the East 51st street station, as he usually does,
and asked for a guard, but he didn’t wait for the cop. The cop
went back to the station.” .

“How much was Pratt to get at the bank?”

“Forty-seven hundred dollars.”

“Where does he go for the money ?”

“Over on Madison avenue to the Seaboard National Bank.”

The moment Inspector Bruckman learned that Pratt was em-
ployed on the construction job, he called eighteen detectives into
his office.

He showed them Pratt’s hat, the bullet holes, and the band.

“You see the bow’s missing,” he said. “Find the bow !”

He assigned them to make an inch by inch search of East 52nd
street, from Lexington avenue to the East River.

The eighteen were at work in half an hour.

The report of the fingerprint experts was received in little
time. It-was only one sentence...

“There isn't a print on the car, except Pratt's.”

In the meantime, detectives had gone to the police station to

-g ‘y20z MON peqnoorqoeTe 24

a2
=

€,
¥

um **e*Terueg

and report the ghastly discovery in the vault-like tunneling.

A squad, headed by Inspector Henry Bruckman, in charge
of Bronx detectives, rushed to the scene. There were Detec-
tives John and Michael Foley, John Carroll, Edward Burns,
and District Attorney John E. McGeehan.

In the pockets of the dead man were found apers and cards
identifying him as Judson H. Pratt, Jr., of Winthrop street,
Brooklyn.

A detective was assigned to visit the home and another to
check the license of the car.

Then Bruckman picked up Pratt’s hat.

“Where’s the bow ?” he asked.

A thorough search of the car was made. Detectives hunted
throughout the pass and in the mud around the entrance. The
little black bow could not be found.

“This man was not murdered in the Bronx,” said Bruckman.
“Find the bow, and you will probably find the murderer in a
short time.”

; <

a”

DEAD AT WHEEL

Top photo shows Judson H. Pratt
as he was found, dead at the wheel
of a maroon sedan,

FRIEND

Daniel Graham, Jr., was the patrolman
called rc pal Dan.” He was a pal of
man. Photo at right: Graham

the murdere:
in street clothes.

Bes a a

“STRANGLER JACK

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 37

track of them. We never bothered to
question him about any of them,” he said.

There was little more the brother could
add, and he and Mrs. Grace left to claim
the victim’s body and make arrangements
for the funeral. :

As they were leaving, Chief Ronk
asked, “By the way, Bill, where are you
folks staying? We might want to get in
touch with you.”

“Same place I've roomed for years,” he
replied. “We'll be there until the funeral.”

That night Ronk and Moore decided to
probe into the background of Jack Grace
more thoroughly in the hope of finding
some clue to a woman who might have
been jealous of the fellow’s amorous an-
tics and exacted bloody vengeance,

The two letters postmarked from Fall
River five years before were unsigned by
any identifiable name. However, the
Strangler had been well known in New
England in those days, and it seemed to
be a reasonable place to start. Moore
left for Massachusetts on a morning train.

Friday morning Ronk received a report
from New York City fingerprint experts,
who had been requested to aid in the in-
vestigation. It stated that a large number
of impressions had been taken in the club-
rooms and were being classified; but it
would be a week at least before any im-
portant evidence could be deduced from
this phase of the probe. Moreover, the
daily reports of pawnbrokers in the me-

‘tropolis had been examined, and no trace

of. the Strangler’s diamonds had been un-
covered.

Ronk telephoned New York, and a de-
tective captain told him, “Yeah, we looked
Bill Grace up at the marriage license bu-
reau. He and the woman got their li-
cense a week ago and were married Sun-
day noon.” He mentioned the name of a
local minister.

“I’m sending you a certified copy of the
license with the names of the two wit-
nesses,” the captain concluded,

By Friday night every member of the

Twentieth Century Club had been found

and questioned. Only one key had been
given to each, and all still had them.
Moreover, every man denied having
loaned his key to Jack Grace or having
admitted him to the clubrooms on that
fatal Saturday night.

After dinner that evening Ronk re-
ceived a visit from one of Moore’s depu-
ties, who brought with him Edward Miles,
one of three bus drivers on the Goshen-
Newburgh-Walden run. Miles had come
to the detective with a story of having
talked with Jack Grace on the trip to
Walden almost a week before.

Later that. Saturday night, after he had
made his last trip back to Walden, the
driver had heard voices in the Twentieth
Century Club as he was passing on his

~ way home. It sounded like two men ar-

guing about a woman.
_. “Jack used to ride over with me lots
of times,” Miles said. “He ‘always was
boasting about his women, and last Sat-
urday he told me he was meeting an old
friend he hadn't seen in years. He said
she was an actress and was coming up
from New York especially to see him.”
“So far, so good, but what about the

- argument?” Ronk asked.

-Miles went on to say that at about
three o’clock Sunday morning he had run

his bus in the garage and was on his way
home when,.as he passed the club, he

ae AM Ree

noticed a light and heard loud voices.
His first thought was that the poker game
was lasting longer than usual and that a
couple of the players were arguing over
a pot. But then he heard a voice he
didn’t recognize say angrily, “You stay
away from her after this if you want to

- keep out of trouble!”
“Then what?” the chief prompted as

the bus driver hesitated.

“Well,”’ Miles continued, “someone
laughed and then the first voice shouted,
‘It won't be so funny if you keep picking
on innocent women.’ ”

Miles said he had then continued on his

way and had thought no more about it
until he heard about the murder of Jack
Grace on Friday.-
- Early Saturday Ronk received a tele-
phone call from Moore in Fall River.
After’ hanging up he rushed out of the
office. ;

Ronk found Bill Grace and his wife in
their room. He asked the bridegroom
about Falk River.

“Well, Chief, I was thinking of Jack’s
carryings-on up there last night and tried
to recall the names of some of the dames
he played around with. It was a long time

ago, you know, and Jack never was one’

to mention who his friends were. The
only one he ever was serious about died
a couple of years ago.”

“Was her name Helen Wakefield?” the
lawman inquired. :

Bill nodded. “Sure was. It seemed to hit
Jack pretty hard when he heard she was
fatally injured in an accident.”

“Was she married at the time?”

Again Grace nodded. “Yes, she wasn’t
living with her husband. He was out
west somewhere, but he came east to bury
her. Jack was so scared when the old man
heard about their romance that he left
town.”

Bill Grace hesitated, then continued.

-“I guess I should tell you this now, al-

though I never said anything about it be-
fore to anyone. Jack used my name while
he was courting the gal.”

Something on the dresser suddenly at-
tracted Ronk’s attention. ‘Turning his
gaze away, he continued the conversation
for a few minutes, then took his leave
after telling Bill Grace he would keep him
informed of the progress being made i
the investigation. ‘

UNDAY morning Moore returned and
immediately went into conference with
the chief. When they emerged from

the office they went at once to Bill
Grace’s room.

“Anything new?” he asked pleasantly, -

admitting the officers. |.

“We don’t know for sure; but we want
to ask you some questions, Bill.”

“Shoot.” .

“In the first place, what became of that
pink silk garter that was on the dresser
yesterday when I was here?” the chicf
asked.

Grace scowled. “What garter? I don’t
know what you're talking about,” he re-
plitd. ; f

“Very well, let that go for now,” Ronk
went on. “But maybe you can explain
about those two wives you’ abandoned up
in Lowell and ‘Pall River five years ago
and how you happen to have married
again without getting a divorce.”

The man laughed nervously. “You got

_it all wrong, Chief,” he started to explain.

BALLET in
the BOUDOIR

It happened down Havanaway,
A lensman sauntered by one

day, ae
As I was dancing a ballet
In just my—well—thin
negligee.

Of course, I really did protest
’Cause after all, I wasn’t
dressed, :
But now it’s done—
.and I’ve confessed, -
The picture really is my beat!

P.8. If you don’t see it—
what a shame,
For Lana (me)—has quite a -
frame!
°

COLOR SLIDES
GLAMOROUS STILLS

HOME MOVIES

8 & lomm

SEND 25< — for sample siide

and still of LANA, the gor-

geous star of ‘‘Shocking.””

Send now for 200 feet reel!
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:
Please send Shocking in (mm...) {1Smen...) (16mm sound. . .). 1
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1 may return the film within 5 days of receipt and my, money |
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will be refunded—and we'll still be friends. ,
sieans 1 enclose 25¢ for sample color slide and still of Lane. ~

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terton, now Graham’s last hope was also George Appel followed him to the
r eyes gone. chair three minutes later. He walked
nat he descr s jauntily and unassisted into the death
know On the night of August 9, 1928, room puffing a fat cigar. He took
/ Graham ad his last supper. As. along drag, and handed it to. a keeper.
‘ourt,” his head was shaved and his trouser Then he calmly seated himself as
t you — leg slit. to receive the death-dealing — though it were an arm chair he was
son at electrodes, he wept: “I am innocent, - getting into. . A> broad grin spread wasting Gas!—trim dollars off
Father. They are killing an innocent over his face as the keeper strapped gas ills—get more power—quicker
ion in man.” : him in. ; Se pe : Bick aD terete prtoe Voce eti
-o five ‘At 11:10 p. mM. he was led along the | Death wasa minute away, but look- ereege oe eral AT pecgtere eg
last mile to the little black door which ing at him, it was difficult to realize . Automatic SUPERCHARGE PRINCIPLE
aught. leads to eternity. He collapsed as he. it. He was a prankster to the end. His Vacu-maticisentirely different! Svoner
entered the brightly lit death cham- last words were spoken in a firm, clear ea eee of extra oxygen
ber. Two keepers strapped him into voice and. the witnesses heard it Ag ye a
the chair and at 11:12 the first lethal , distinctly; 9 motor to “‘breathe’’
3 ficti- current shot through his body. At — They were: “I'll be a baked Appel jpop
on in- 11:16 he was pronounced dead. now.” ee ; oe ee
a : AGENT
. ' ‘ere’s a spl
AMAZING) “NO PRISON CAN [F
HOLD ME!”
DETECTIVE
Lf Phere tt f (Continued from page 25) || MONEY RETURNED
: | af NOT SATISFIED!
anyone to go out and attempt it. At ten minutes past four the badly | § in ee eset aal INDIVIDUALLY
vas re- The Warden looked about the room. wounded Pardue call Danny Dan- Our Made from YOUR
ques- “who will volunteer?” he asked. iels to his side. /mathed ingarenzons mone? | MouthimeresSo=
would “T will,” said Father O'Neill. “Danny,” he. pleaded, “end it now. 90 DAYS. WEARING TRIAL lets you jadge for
2 basis A spontaneous cheer arose, sileric- I can’t stand it any longer. ‘ Fonreeltt You Most SEND NO MONEY
olman ing Warden Crawford’s objections, Daniels looked around him. Lying Send a post rd of letter for free deat pasion
rial. and plans were speedily made. Cap- on the floor were the crumpled bodies teri! You follow sng eer Don’t delay] — Write Dow!
Judge tain Keith instructed his National of Erwin, who had died of his wounds Geld crown siven witatection and pS at an as
iminal Guardsmen to lay down a barrage Guards Eeles Rinker, Shepherd and | Ward. Destal_ta»_sus_W. Sid St, Dept. 43-H, Chicago. ill.
et. of machine gun fire to cover the gal- McClellan, while still lying outside in we
‘d the lant priest. the courtyard. were the bodies of AS
sistant : Brown and Wiggins: Guards Shillo, nua
others A nine that night, the beam of a Pease and Shea had gone out as mes- TRE SELLER
orn in searchlight playing over besieged sengers and had not returned. Guards enere MS res
nd. - Cell House Three, picked up a figure Osborn, Hollister, Roche and Earl had
emerging from the killer’s fortress. ein ete in the confusion following ait
1 Pratt It was John Pease, one of the captured the blast. Duncan was on the floor, | Gen ‘Bies, Bhella, Biot en bes G
of the guards. unconscious. ei te oe
“Warden, I’ve come with Daniels’ “we're licked, Danny,” pleaded | tpiqi”
lly, “I final message. He wants those cars Pardue weakly. | “The Warden won't
right now. He just shot McClelland give in. End it for me, Danny!” ye
n this and Shepherd in cold blood. He’s giv- Daniels looked at his. chief hench= | orisauey, Wee cater oe
Shrys- ing you just half an hour.” man. Both Red Majors and Al Davis, TinGEN TimpORT COMPANY. __Dept. S461,
u |, Say. Action was imperative. He had to look of blank despair on POE Ancning. Hew. Porular
a save his remaining men. Guard Pease faces, nodded. “Yeah, for him and for | PY GU Gib to
tt went out, shouted that the answer us, Danny,” Red said. vera ANY PHOTO OR, PICTURE
LOM would come in five minutes. This was ; Slowly. Dann Daniels, still tight- | clesty f2Phte dae. Mac |
d gear a stall and it gave Father O’Neill time lipped and indomitable, placed, the | jesse 1 A price:
half- to prepare for his rendezvous with muzzle of his against Pardue’s
5 sup- death. temple and pu ed the trigger. The
of the Staggering under the weight of 100. stricken convict jerked spasmodically
rd me pounds of dynamite, and accompanied and lay still, a crimson stain widening rns ae
then by an intrepid miner who volun- on his head. oe Dept. F-123
re are teered to affix the electrical con- “You ‘want it?” Daniels looked once
second nections which were to set off the dr? at his lieutenants.
ition— explosion, Father O'Neill stepped into Slowly Majors and Davis nodded.
> what the open courtyard. The convicts saw Fire spurted twice from Daniels Amaze yt Srienes une:
him and a hail of bullets came from n and the.two desperate men fell MARKED Playing Cards
, Cell House Three, but somehow they to the bloody floor. ot een i terent re ~ oo
er mii reached their objective safely. ; The corridor of Cell Block Three —Bee, Bicycle. tic., with explana-
left Quickly the dynamite was put in was deathly still as the remainin tion and key identification marks $1.00.
ie left. place. The wires were connected. convicts, numb. with fear, watched |i @ wes ee TELLURIUM CO. sho
sistant Then the heroic priest and miner’ Danny Daniels. ; PROTECT YOUR HOME ‘
sis aa raced back. A guardsman rammed For a long moment the leader of | onty $7.43—Double Action Re-
med Ss home the plunger. Z the prison break paced the bloody, Folver worth mores, Grand new-. 28 erful
th The roar of the explosion shook the debris-strewn corridor.» Then he | f5t' ditwee practice. 8 antes S Fsai” Send WO)
e prison, but when the smoke had stepped carefully to a barred window Bi with order. .Carteidges, jul, 30e extra.
“Tt j cleared away, the west wall of Cell of the cell block. Beyond the walls €0., “Box 195, __ Woodbine, _Tenne:

s Block Three still stood intact, and the 2 faint tint of ‘ight was showing. 5. uffer Varicos
a waiting officials could hear yells of de- Soon the sun woul cast its first long mT) e
heth se rision from the embattled convicts. shadows of light across the clear green p
ng ft. The minutes ticked away through hills and rest on the delicately-co ored
; ert. the long night and as the dawn ap- brown and yellow leaves. _ sf
rh win proached, the confidence of the jail- From without, amid the acrid fumes |. F you suffer pain and misery of Varicose Ulcers,
d him breakers waned. Throughout the of gunpowder and smoke the morn- | pooxtet “ cn Le Sores, oe ROR HOME Use”

night bullets from the machine guns ing air rushed. in, clean and fresh. Tells all about this, 407 Thepe,_ Methods, — and en-

radi of the National Guard Battery con- ‘As if to himself, Dann, Daniels | 3264 N. Green Bay Ave., Mitwaukee, Wisconsin. ete
- KNOW tinued. their never ceasing drumming spoke. “No prison can hol me.” He INVENTIO We successfully
. against the building. raised the still smoking gun to his a eer
Sin “ paten and un:
g. ‘A barrage of chlorine gas had sent head and. pulled the. trigger. The WW ANTED ise‘: Write us, if you
raham dozens of choking convicts out into great prisgy break was over! Danny pave 8 yemeuee’. <n
e, but the open, their arms upraised. Daniels was free ane Chartered Institute, Dept. 100, Washington, D. C.

recrence ne Ne

THE SHEIK—
Graham was willing to murder for women.

HERE was a sweet-looking blonde—she couldn't have
been more than 16—standing on the corner of Second
Avenue and 52nd Street, and as Patrolman Dan Graham
passed her he looked away.

“Hello, Dan,” she said, real low. He ignored her, speeding
up his pace as he turned down the street toward the East
River. He was an engaged man now; he was going to marry
a politician’s niece. He couldn’t be bothered with the neigh-
borhood jail-bait any more.

Halfway down the block to First Avenue a hard-looking
man stepped out of a doorway and swung into step alongside
him. “Made up your mind yet, Graham?”

Graham swallowed, then slowly shook his head. “Not yet,
Silvera.” It wasn’t much the mobster was asking——just to un-
load a liquor truck at the speakeasy near First. Graham didn’t
mind looking the other way when the beer trucks rolled by,
and he didn’t mind picking up another couple of bucks a day
by ignoring the existence of the blind pigs.

“It’s another fin a week,” the gangster sneered. “You could
use it.”

Now, in 1927, when a New York cop was making the
princely sum of $35 a week, an extra five looked good. But
it was a big risk. If the sergeant or a captain or one of the
revenue men saw the truck it would be the end of Graham
as acop. “Pll think it over some more, Silvera,” he said, and
swung around the corner toward the signal box at Sist and
First and made his report.

A few minutes later his relief. came along.
the officer said to Graham, “take a breather.”

“Okay, Sheik,”

DQWARTERS = Detective Za

Graham, known as “The Sheik” to the boys at the 17th
Precinct station house, left and walked quickly down to the
dead end of 52nd to the foreman’s shanty of the T. E. Rhoades
Construction Company. “Hi, Pratt,” he said to the blond
man sweating cver the two-burner stove inside. He sat down
at a rough board table and undid the collar of his blouse.

“Minute steaks today,” Judson Pratt said. “Real fancy.”

Pratt was construction engineer and paymaster for the com-
pany that was building a swank ‘apartment overlooking the

_ East River, and these lunches had been a twice-weekly occur-

rence since the police department had _assigned Graham as
Pratt’s guard when he went downtown for the payroll on
Saturdays. As Pratt set the food on the table he noticed that
the big, handsome patrolman was looking absently into space.

“You look like you got worries,” the engineer said.

Graham grunted. “Plenty.” And he helped himself to some
steak,

They ate in silence for a while, Graham reflecting that things
suddenly seemed to have come to a head. There was the en-
gagement to Mary Farney, the niece of a big-shot in city poli-
tics, which could lead to a political job or quick promotion
on the cops. The offer from Silvera. All his local affairs with
the girls on the beat—all thinking he was serious. And he still
hadn't told Terry Mason, the night-club singer who considered
Graham her property, that he was going to be married.

“Yeah, Jud,” he said after a while, “T got plenty of worries.”

“IT was like that before I got married, too,” laughed Pratt.

‘They discussed the pros and cons of bachelor life for a while,

and finally it came time to leave. (Continued on page 38)

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Borgwardt stared at the floor, then
looked up at the officers and nodded.
“Yes, I did it,” he said. “I thought that
by going barefoot I would throw you guys

off.

“Why did you kill her?” asked Stark.

“J hated her,” he said venomously.
“She broke up my marriage to Evelyn. |
waited outside her window until she
looked up and saw me. I wanted her to
suffer, to know it was me who was killing
her. Then, just as she was about to
scream, I shot her.”

“After you killed her, what did you
do?” Gosney asked.

“I went up to Evelyn’s room.”

“But first you reloaded the gun, re-
member? Why did you do that?”

“I don't know,” replied Borgwardt sul-
lenly.

“f can tell you,” said Gosney, “You
were going to kill the girl, too. You
turned on the light so you couldn't miss,

but you were scared off when her brother
turned into the driveway.”

Borgwardt protested wildly that he
hadn’t intended to kill Evelyn. But when
he went to trial on November 29, he was
unable to convince the jury on this point,
and it scored heavily against him. De-
fended by two prominent attorneys ap-
pointed by the court, he waged a bitter
battle for freedom. But the evidence
against him was too damning.

The jury retired on December 7;.1937,
and after deliberating but two hours,
brought in a verdict of guilty of second-
degree murder. Three days later Judge
W. F. Lones sentenced Borgwardt—the
killer who had nursed his ill-conceived
grudge for two years—to_ a life term in
the state penitentiary at Columbus.

Fpiror’s Note: The names of the Shu-
macher family and Andy Valdeck are fic-
titious.

ANYTHING TO PLEASE THE GIRLS

Continued from page 25

“You ought to take a day off,” Pratt said
when Dan left. “You don’t look so good.
Besides, then you’d be in shape to help me
with the big payroll on Saturday.”

“Why big?”

“Some back pay due the boys. More
bookkeeping headaches for me.” Pratt
walked along with the patrolman toward
his construction job. “Well, I'll see you,”
he said, and Graham went back to his beat
with the blood suddenly pounding in his
ears.

A big payroll! Out of those casual words
came an idea—a thought that kicked
around in the mind of.a man desperate for
dough so he could show off and impress
people, a thought that stayed with him all
the rest of the afternoon and finally
emerged as a definite plan.

Ten or fifteen grand, he mused, would
fix everything for him nicely. He had put
down.a deposit on a small house in Rose-
dale, Long Island, that Mary had admired,
but it had meant getting her a cheap en-
gagement ring. With $10,000 he would be
able to buy the house outright, get Mary
a flashy ring and buy that car he had his

“eye on.

Actually the car came first. It was a
snappy, green Buick roadster he had seen
countless times standing in the showroom
at Broadway and 55th Street. It had plenty
of style, with nickel-plated headlights and
radiator, wind deflectors alongside the
windshield, and a pickup that could get
him any dame in town.

“I’ve got to get hold of that money some-
how,” he said aloud. For six months he
had accompanied Pratt when he went after
the payroll, and he knew the route cold.
Almost to the second when Pratt stopped
at the Seaboard National Bank at 20 East
45th Street, got into the car and drove ex-
actly 13 city blocks north and east back
to the construction job. Anything that was

‘done would have to be done in the six

minutes it took to drive from the bank
back to the job.

Now, if Graham should take sick-leave a
couple of days before the Saturday pay-off,
the police department wouldn’t assign an-
other man and Pratt would have to make
the trip to the bank alone. A holdup dur-

‘ing that six-minute trip would be the only

way to do the job. Only then would Pratt
be vulnerable, because as soon as he ar-
rived back at the job there would be a
hundred witnesses to anything that hap-
pened.

As he walked along 52nd Street Graham
had to laugh. Who would ever suspect a
cop? He was in a wonderful spot.

Graham squared his shoulders as a likely
looking housewife emerged from her apart-
ment building and gave him the eye. He
gave her a big hello, wondering what she
would say if she saw him in the Buick.
He walked on. He knew that it would
be impossible to pull a quick stickup—just
pull a mask over his face, slug the paymas-
ter and then beat it with the dough. He
would have to kill Pratt, he was afraid. It
was too bad—kind of hard on Pratt’s young
bride, but there were other men. He liked
Pratt; he was a real friend. But it was no
time for sentiment. When he pulled the
stickup there could be no witnesses to
recognize him—especially not Pratt, who
would be able to identify him by his voice
or his walk no matter what disguise he
wore.

Daniel Graham had made his decision
at last.

up early for: his eight-to-four tour of

of duty and complained for everyone
around to hear that he was fecling awful.
“Go see the police surgeon and grab your-
self some sick-leave,” someone suggested.
Graham shook his head.. “I'll be all right,
I guess,” he said with a show of bravery
and devotion to duty.

But before the morning was over he was
back at precinct headquarters. Just before
going in he stepped into an alley and lit a
cigarette, inhaling deeply and swallowing
smoke until the tears streamed down his
face. By the time he finished the cigarette
he really was sick.

Half an hour later he was being exam-
ined by Doctor Charles H. Nammack, a
police department surgeon, and after doing
a once-over-lightly on the ruddy, six-foot-
two patrolman, Nammack turned him
down.

“Sorry, Graham,” he said. “I can’t get
you any leave. You're not sick.”

Panic seized him as Graham emerged
from the offices on East 56th Street. His
big opportunity, his plans and his time-
table of operations were all shot to pieces
by the doctor’s words. But the doctor had
added, “Maybe it’s something I don’t see.
Something psychological. Better go see
your district surgeon when he comes by
tomorrow—he’s got more jurisdiction than
I have.”

0’ Thursday, August 25, 1927, he showed

his fi: ‘

hear
of bl
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7, 1937,

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the Shu-
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That night Graham broke a date with
his fiancee and went to the night club to
hear Terry sing. He drank cup after cup
of black coffee, then went back to Terry’s
apartment for the rest of the night. When
he showed up the next morning the ser-
geant made an appointment for him with
the surgeon. This time it worked, and” he
was free for the weekend.

One of the first things he did when he
got into civilian clothes was to go around
to the Buick salesroom. Salesman Frank
A. Gibson didn’t have to use any salestalk
to clinch the deal. “When can you make
delivery on the car—complete with all ac-
cessories?” Graham asked.

“Next week sometime.”

“Eve got to have it tomorrow,” Graham
said.

Gibson frowned. “How do you plan to
pay for it? Itll take a few days to look
up your credit.”

“Cash on delivery,” Graham said firmly.

“You'll have it tomorrow,” Gibson re-
plied. ;

Graham went to a movie for the rest of
the day, sitting through show after show
until nightfall. He wanted to keep out of
sight.so that none of the boys from the
precinct would see. him. Then he went
back to his home on 209 East 74th Street,
where he lived with his widowed mother.
He went to his room and drew a rough
map of the East Side between 45th and
Fifth, where the bank was, and 52nd
Street, where The Campanile, the apart-
ment under construction, was located. In-
cluded in the map was the office of the
Rhoades Construction Company at Madi-
son Avenue and 45th, where Pratt would
stop for the payroll check before going to
the bank to cash it.

Then he put down his final mark, a big,

black X where 52nd intersected Third Ave-
nue on his map. Here was where Pratt
would be shot dead and Graham would
walk quietly away with $10,000 or more
in cash which would give him a fragrantly
fresh start in life. He smiled as he thought
of the Buick, and the look on Mary’s face
when he put a $500 diamond ring on her
lovely finger.

Of course, Mary would wonder where
he had gotten the money, and a lot of the
boys would be curious about the Buick.
But he had ‘thought of that. There was an
aunt in Albany who had died recently; her
obituary from the Albany papers was in
his pocket. She had left only a heavily
mortgaged house and some sticks of furni-
ture, but that wasn’t the story Dan Graham
would tell. He would really lay it on thick
about the sum of money she had left her
favorite nephew.

The next morning he took -the Third
Avenue trolley down to 42nd Street. It
was about 8:40 when he hit midtown, and
he knew that Pratt would be at the bank
at 9:10 .after picking up the check and
would leave at 9:15 with the cash. His car
would be parked either on 45th near the
corner of Madison, or on Madison, between
44th and 45th. Graham hung around
Grand Central Station until 9:00 and then
ambled over to 45th. At Madison Avenue
he started looking for the car.

He couldn't see it. He went around the
corner, and it wasn’t on 45th. A cold wave
of fury, then panic swept over him. He
retraced his steps, speeding up as he dart-
ed through traffic across to the East side
of the avenue. No car. He broke out into
a cold sweat, cursing Pratt for a double-
crossing louse, losing reason as he saw his
plans being .thwarted. What could have
happened?

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IISTORY OF TIIE CITY OF TROY.

St. Paul's Episcopal church, corner of State and Third streets,

Rev. R. B. Van Kleeck. :

St. John’s church, corner of Third and Congress streets. Rey.
R. Cox.

Christ church, North Second street, between Federal and Jacob
street. Rev. R. B. Fairbairn.

Church of the Holy Cross, Eighth street, head of Grand Division
Strect. Rev. J. Ireland Tucker.

First Baptist church, Third street, between Congress and State.
Rev. George C. Baldwin.

Second Baptist church, Ferry street, between First and Second
streets.

North Baptist church, corner Fifth and Elbow streets. Rev. L.
Howard. .

The Disciples worshiped in a building No, 221 North Second
street, above Hoosick, known as Moody’s church.

St. Peter’s Roman Catholic church, North Second street, corner
of Hutton street. Rev. Francis Donohue.

St. Mary’s Roman Catholic church, corner Washington and Third
Streets. Rev. P&ter Havermans. J

State Street Methodist Episcopal church, between Fourth and
Fifth streets. Rev. J. Covell. a

North Second Street Methodist Episcopal church, corner North
Second and Jacob streets. Rev. S. L. Sullman, 1845.

Zion Methodist (colored,) Fifth Street, near Liberty. Rev. R.,

Noyes.

True Wesleyan Methodist church, Federal street, between North
Second and River streets. Rev. M. Bates.

An Act to incorporate the Troy Gas Light Company was applied
for in January, 1845. ‘Ihe directors named in the bill were Stephen
1846. Warren, David Buel, Daniel Southwick, Amos S. Perry,

Philander Wells, George F. Lee, and Joseph Battin. The
two latter, Lee and Battin, were manufacturers of gas in Philadel-
phia, and were to take a large amount of the stock should the com-
pany be organized ‘The Troy Gaslight Company was not charter-
ed until Feb. 16th, 1848. The organization was effected March 1 5)
1848. The first officers, elected April sth, 1848, were: Daniel
Southwick, President; Jonas C. Heartt, John A. Griswold, William
Samuel Sands, J. T. McCoun, E. Thompson Gale, George B. War-
ren, Charles Dauchy, and Lemuel H. Davis, Directors. ‘The com-

EME

IIISTORY OF TIIE CITY OF TROY. 197 e

pany began operations in October, 1848. ‘The capital stock. was
placed at $100,000, of which $11,000 was taken by the citizens of
Troy, and the remainder by the Philadelphia manufacturers. In
April, 1850, five miles of mains had been laid, sixty-one street
lamps, and thirty-two private residences, together with several
churches, were lighted with gas.

From statistics it appears that in the scason of 1844, the number
of vesscls trading to and from Troy, and running on the river during
the season of navigation, was:

8 Passenger steamers, owned in Se IDY, OF ke: 4,028 tons.
10 Towing 4 “ eee anes 2,795 *
24. Freight Barges, 2. : os. 25 ecco s oc 7,256 “
77 Masted Vessels, -.......22.22--...22.- 6,253 “

119 20,312

In the year 1845, two murderers suffered the penalty of the law.
On Tuesday afternoon, January 28th, William Miller, a German, was
hung in the hall of the upper story of the jail, in the presence of
the Sheriff and about fifty citizens, for the murder of George West,
a German, in Sandlake. “

Henry G. Green, twenty-two years old, convicted of the murder
of his wife by poison, was executed in the jail on Wednesday,
September roth, at 4 o'clock, p. m. :

Mathematical and philosophical instruments were manufactured
in Troy at this early day, by Phelps & Gurley, 319 River street, five
doors below Washington Hall. From this establishment originated
the present extensive manufactory of civil engineers’ and surveyors’
instruments of W. & L. E. Gurley.

The night boat Swallow from Troy to New York, on Monday
night, April 7th, at eight o'clock, struck a ledge of rocks opposite
Hudson, a short distance north of the village of Athens. The
scene on board the steamboat, when she struck, is thus described by
one of the passengers: “At the first severe shock, the passengers.
rushed below, but their fears were calmed for a moment by the out-
cry that we had only come in contact with a raft. But our ears
were specdily assailed by the appaling sounds of the rending of
timbers and the evident destruction of the boat, while the stern
settled with frightful rapidity. Those who had retired in the after
cabin had barely time to leap from their berths before the water was
upon them. You can imagine the horrors of the scene at this mo-

% te CLs y [a0g MY 7. : lerse TRox,a'v:lewiivnn fe fog Plo.,

GREEN, Henry G,

Green, a 22—vear-old white man, was the son of a prominent and well-
to-do Berlin, New York family, Marly in 1El5, he attended a temper-
ance show and became infatuated with the voung star » Mary Ann Wyatt,
He left his employment and joined the temperance troupe to be near
Miss Wyatt who he persuaded to marry him on Feb. 10, 18))5, They re-
turned to Berlin where his mother rapidly made it plain that she did
not approve of the match And considered the girl beneath her son,
Nonetheless, he planned a Sleigh ride composed of all of his old
friends. During the course of the ride, one of his former girl
friends, the daughter of wealthy Eerlin parents, stated that she had
onde had hopes of marrying Green hers&lf, Whether it was this or his
mother's active disapproval of the match ROOXKEEREXKEXRKEX or a com-
bination of the tio will never be known, but Green returned from the
match a changed man, When Mary Ann came down with a cold the next
day, Green obtained medicine from the “rug: ist which he insisted on
giving her himself, Instead of medication, he fed her arsenic andy

less than one week from the date of her marriage, she died in agony,
areen Was speedily tried, convicted and sentenced to hang and on
eptember 10, 18/5, he was executed at Troy.

rer 4

“a pee

—

Louis C, Jones, from NEW YORK ee Vol, 27, 1936, pp 192-205.
‘Filéd in Dark Bi ith k cases
~ Filéd“in Dark Blue Binder with other few Yor .
See excerpt from MYSTERIES OF CRIME AS SHOWN IN REMARKABLE eee :
TRIALS, by a Member of the Massachusetts B rs; Boston: Samuel Walker & _
Co., 1870, pp 131-139, Filed in dark blue binder with clear frente:

Greane, Henry G., no race or age given; hanged for

his wife near Troy, N.Y., in Sept. 1845.

Richmond Enquirer, Wed., 17 Sept., 1845, p.2.

"This afternoon, at four o'clock precisely, the prisoner, Henry

@. Greene, who was convicted for the murder of his wife, was
brought out for execution. Rev. Mr..Van Kleeck made a most

solemn and impressive prayer, and followed by some appropriate
remarks. The prisoner during the time was heard to respond ‘amen’:
after this he made a short prayer himself, and on the ‘word"amen"
being pronounced by him and the persons assembled, the rope was
put around his neck and he was immediately run up; the gallows

was so constructed as to run up instead of dropping. In 30 minutes
he was pronounced dead, and was then cut down. Neither his hands
nor feet were tied, and he died without any perceptible struggle.

He made a confession, which will be made public, and in which he
expressed the justice of his sentence, and said that he had no
hard thoughts against anyone."

From New York Express

GREEN , Henry G, qx

A ref
Bane nile drunk and Strong temperance ad
wig in 1623, poisoned hig 12 trates acvrocate, Green,
1 arseni 2 UT SRL MOLd wi “i
He : wii tt because his inother asa. vife, Mary Ann,
was nanged at 7 ; ae m “LG Not approve f
roy, Ne Y pa of her,
es ON vept. L9, 185
= e

SOURCE: Bloodletters and Sad Men °

334, 38S, 3 Fe 387, 352 SEI ad, send

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GREEN, Henry Ge, white, hanged at Troy, Ne Ye, September 10, 18h5.

THE TRIAL OF HENRY G. GREEN FOR THE
MURDER OF HIS WIFE, TROY, NEW
YORK, 1845,

THE NARRATIVE.

In the autumn of 1844, a company of Temperance per-
formers gave a musical and dramatic entertainment in the
Town of Berlin, New York. Among them was a young
woman, Mary Ann Wyatt, whose personal appearance and
manners won the admiration of audiences at all the places
where the company had appeared. One young. man, Henry
G. Green, was so charmed by the attractions of Miss Wyatt
that he at once enlisted in the company in order to be near
her. He was a native of Berlin, related to several respectable
families there, and about twenty-one years old. He had been
a merchant but his store having been burned and he thrown
out of business, he was ready to join the tra¥eling company.
But it met with bad luck and soon had to distaid. He, how-
ever, had better success in gaining the affections of Miss
Wyatt, for when he returned to Berlin he informed his friends
that he was to be married a week from the next Sunday, and
invited them to attend his wedding. But the parties were
impatient for the consummation of their happiness, and the

nuptial ceremony was performed a week earlier than the ap-
pointed time.

On the Tuesday following the marriage, which was in
February, 1845, the bridegroom and bride returned to Berlin.
The next day Green’s mother and sister, who were opposed
to the hasty marriage and looked upon the bride as unfit to
be the wife of their son and brother, visited him, and had a
long private interview with him. What was said was never
revealed ; but it is probable they condemned the marriage and

said things derogatory to the character of the bride. Whether °

the bridegroom’s mind was then poisoned by jealousy, dis-

705

dictisihcck ltl kiki La Lh bebe bad sipbeleal hlacitiazta alia
bli 5 * a

a
eer |

en dencieai . ren SANSONE ASE NG

List babs "i

ene eine!
——- =

706 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

gust, or hate, or the foul purpose sprang up in his heart
spontaneously, or from what causes, was never known.

On Thursday the bridal couple went on a sleighing party
with a number of friends and on their return, the bride com-
plained that she was not well. The next morning Green went
to a local physician and procured a box of pills which he
stated were for his own use, and returned to his boarding
house. Mrs. Green, having a slight cold, was induced to take
six pills at the hands of her husband, although against her
better convictions. .

At twelve o’clock Green was in the store of one Dennison,
among a number of his friends. During a pause in the con-
versation, he exclaimed, ‘‘A rat! no, a mouse!’’ pointing to
the shelf, and stating that a rat had run behind the cinnamon-
- bag; but no one else noticed a rat or mouse. Green then asked
Dennison why he did not put arsenic on the shelf. Some con-
versation ensued as to the safety of using arsenic, when Green
said he did not think it dangerous, and casually inquired how
much arsenic they thought it would take to kill a person.
Soon after he went to Hall’s and prepared a solution for her,
remarking that he was going to give her some soda. Shortly
after, Green having left the house, Mrs. Hall found Mrs.
Green vomiting, in great distress, and apparently at the point
of death. Dr. Hall was immediately sent for, and he found
the sufferer under the extraordinary symptoms usually at-
tending poisoning by arsenic. He made inquiries as to the
medicine administered, left prescriptions, and took his de-
parture, leaving also a strict injunction that no drink should,
in any event, be given her. Not long after the doctor left,
however, Green presented his wife a tumbler with a white
solution in it. Mrs. Streeter, who was present, stated that the
doctor had prohibited any drink; but Green said it was cream
of tartar, which might be taken. Mrs. Green was finally per-
suaded to take it, and soon after the vomiting returned with
inereased violence. Dr. Hall, during the evening, visited his
patient several times, and pescribed for her for cholera
- morbus. The patient was then put under the charge of a Mrs.
Whitford, who remained with her until Sunday morning.

reat YY

HENRY G. GREEN. 707

Up to this time there was not the least suspicion enter-
tained of the patient having been poisoned, except with Dr.
Hall, who mentioned his suspicions to his wife on his return
from his first visit, which had, however, been quieted by the
answers he had received to his inquiries. During Sunday the
patient remained in charge of Mrs, Whitford, who had admin-
istered the prescriptions left by the doctor. During the night
Mrs. Whitford went below, leaving the patient in charge of
her husband. When she returned she found Green in a cot,
and the patient informed her that her husband gave her a
powder. She exclaimed that the doctor had prohibited pow-
ders! The patient said that Henry had given it to her. Mrs.
Whitford looked upon the table, and found all the powders
which had been left by the doctor untouched. Her suspicions
being aroused, she watched the motions of Green, and soon
after saw him offer his wife some coffee, which he had been
some time in preparing. The patient tasted, but remarked that
it did not taste as the coffee did when Mrs. Whitford made
it, and insisted on having it from the pitcher, as usual,

Early in the morning Green left the house on business,
when Mrs. Whitford examined closely some chicken broth on
the table, and discovered arsenic remaining in the spoon; and
subsequently a substance was found on the top of the soup, .
which was dried and preserved, and, when analyzed, was also
found to be adulterated arsenic. For four or five times, at
least, a substance was found in drinks and medicines, admin-
istered to his wife by Green, which resembled arsenic, but
specimens of some of them were not preserved or saved. This
husband of a week’s standing, during the whole of his wife’s
illness never once inquired after the patient’s situation or
prospects, or the character of the disease.

A brother of the deceased on Saturday night inquired as
to the condition of his sister, when Green informed him she
was doing better—the disease had taken a favorable turn,
and he need not give himself any uneasiness as to her re-
covery. But at four o’clock on Sunday the brother inquired
of the attending physician as to his sister’s prospects, and
learned that she must soon die. He immediately visited his

708 AXVIT. AMERICAN. STATE TRIALS.

sister, and informed her that she must soon expire. She called
her husband and asked him if she had ever deceived him in
any respect, and he replied, ‘‘No;’’ if she had ever said or
done anything to injure his feelings, and he made the same
answer. She then called Dr. Hall to her bedside and informed
him that she knew she was about to die, and told him that
everything her husband had administered to her since she
was taken sick had distressed her; once, when she asked him
for some wine and water, he poured out the liquor, and taking
out of his pocket a paper, poured a white powder into the
wine. Mr. Streeter was called in and the same facts were
communicated to him also. She was compelled to suspend her
narrative until she rested, but became worse, and never was
able afterwards to tell the remainder of her story. Her
malady increased constantly until 10 a. m., on Monday, when
she died.

A post-mortem examination showed conclusively that she
had been poisoned, and a chemical analysis of the food and
drink, which had been preserved when suspicions were
aroused, revealed the presence of arsenic. An investigation
also led to the belief that the jar of arsenic in the store of
Dennison and Streeter had been taken down from the shelf,
and some of its contents taken out on the Sunday afternoon
before Mrs. Green died, and previous to that time.

The fact of poison being thus clearly established, there was
little doubt that it was administered by the husband of the
unfortunate victim. He was accordingly arrested, indicted,
and brought to trial for murder. .

The witnesses, giving detailed accounts of the transactions
which came within their observation respectively, established
certain facts beyond a doubt, and the story thus made up,
pretty clearly proved the guilt of the accused. Against the
strongly linked facts proved by the Prosecution, the defense
was weak, consisting mainly of the evidence of his friends and
acquaintances as to his good character and reputation, before
the date of the murder. The jury, after listening a weck to
the testimony and the speeches of the lawyers, returned a
verdict of guilty and Green was hanged.

HENRY G. GREEN. | 709

THE TRIAL.

In the Court of Oyer and Terminer of Rensselaer County,
«\ Troy, New York, 1845.

Hon. Amasa J. Parker,? Judge.*
July 7.
The prisoner having been previously indicted for the mur-
der of his wife, Mary Ann Wyatt Green, by poisoning, in the
town of Berlin in February, 1845, and having pleaded not
guilty, his trial began today. The following jurors were se-

lected and sworn: Daniel A. Cornell, William Austin, William .

Kittle, Richard Gardner, Bernard H. Lord, Matthias Ove-
rocker, Adam Brust, Richard Valentine, John E. Ryan, John
Franklin, William S. Clapp, Leiah Budd.

John Van Buren,' Attorney General, and Martin I. Town-
send,’ for the People. Joshua A. Spencer,® Job Pierson,"
Gardner A. Stowe® and Robert A. Lotteridge,® for the Pris-
oner.

1 Bibliography.* “Trial of Henry G. Green for the Murder of His
Wife. Containing the District Attorney’s opening, the testimony
complete, Judge Parker's Charge in full, the verdict and sentence,
the letter of his mother to Green, a poem suggested by the occasion.
Troy. Printed for the Publisher, 1845. On the cover of this pamphlet
is a wood cut of the prisoner seated in the dock, drawn by F. A.
Lydston of Boston, now Staying in this city.”

*“The Confession of Henry G. Green, as written by himself in a
letter to a friend... to which is added his Trial and Sentence and
the letter of his mother. ... Albany. Printed for the Publisher, 1845.”

2 PARKER, AMASA JUNIUS ( 1807-1890). Born Sharon, Conn. Repre-
sentative N. Y. State Assembly, 1833; Regent State University, 1835;
Representative in Congress, 1837; Circuit Judge and Vice Chancellor
1844 and afterward Judge of the Supreme Court of New York,
United States District Attorney, 1859.

8 With him also sat County Judges Davis, Bull and Waite.

4See: Trial of Freeman, 16 Am. St. Tr., p. 323.

5 See: 11 Am. St. Tr, 534,

¢See: 7 Am. St. Tr. 66.
7See: 11 Am. St. Tr. 534.

a STOWE, Garpner A. Atty. Gen. N. Y., 1853; Dist. Atty., Troy, 1851-

® LOTTERIDGE, RoBert A. Dist. Atty. 1847-1853, 1856-1859, 1865-1868.

GREEN 116

while reading his trial and sentence for the murder of his wife. New York,
printed for the publisher. 1845. NHi. |

12 p. 20cm. sewn.

387

Life and confessions of Henry G. Green, who was convicted of
a murder, the most revolting and unnatural; paid the forfeit of his crimes
at Troy, N. Y., Wednesday, September 10, 1845. He was hung at ten min-
utes past 4 in the afternoon... . Troy, 1845. PCMe.

7 (1) p. 21cm. sewn. execution cut on tp.

388

Trial of Henry G. Green, for the murder of his wife. Containing
the District Attorney’s opening, the testimony complete, Judge Parker’s
charge in full, the verdict and sentence, the letter of his mother, to Green,

a poem suggested by the occasion. Troy, printed at the Budget Office, 1845.
DLC, MH-L, MWA, NHi, N-L, NN, NNB.

48 p. 23cm. print. wraps. cover title, port on cover. dbl.col. There is

a variant of this Troy imprint: “Printed for the publisher.” MoU-L. There
is also a 44-p. ed. NNB.

389
Trial of Henry G. Green, for the murder of his wife. New York,
printed for the publishers, 1845. MH-L, NNB.

32 p. 22cm. sewn. dbl. col. port. on t.p.; text begins on v. of tp.

390 ~=6©Green, Samuel

An account of the execution of Samuel Green, who suffered the
sentence of the law, April 25, 1822 for the murder of Billy Williams, which
crime was committed on the 8th November 1821, in the State prison yard,
both being fellow convicts. With suitable reflections. Boston, printed for
N. Coverly, No. 16 Milk-street, 1822. PCB.

12 p. illus. 18.5 cm. sewn.

As a juvenile delinquent Green had committed such offences as drowning a dog
in a well, stabbing a swine, destroying a hogshead of cider, and stealing numerous
articles. He became a burglar and a passer of counterfeit money. While serving a

ay oS

mo MD

m™oos

113 NE(2) 1493 117 NE (2) 904; 118 NE (2) 1lhs3 119 NE (2) hh; 121 NE (2)636,
JACOBS, Barry, and GREEN, John Dale, whites, electrocuted Sing Sing (Bronx) Aug. 26, 195)

"while trying to scare off would-be automobile thieves, William Hopkins, 22-years-
old, of 295 Troy Ave., Brooklyn, was killed at 12:5 o'clock this morning near the
cohner of Creston Avenue and 197th St., the Bronx, His father-in-law, Alfred McCull-
ough, 50, of 2805 Creston Avenue was shot in the head and was taken to Fordham Hos-
pital, Early reports were that the two men had just entered Mr, MeCullough's car
and were about to drive to the nearest subway station when 2 thugs approached and
threatened them, Mr, Hopkins resisted, jumped out of the car and tried to grapple
with them, One of the thugs fired several shots, killing the young man and gravely
wounding his father-in-law, An automatic pistol, believed to have been tossed away
as bhe two gunmen fled, was found under an automobile parked at 1976h Street and the
Grand Concourse, a distance away, Police cars from the Ryer Avenue, Kingsbridge Ave,
and Bronx Park Stations searched the district for the thugs,"

TIMES, New York, NY, 8,2,1952/ (1237)

"A 20-year@old ex-convict from Brooklyn, who was caught on a Bronx roof top overe=
looking the scene of a killing on the street, confessed to the slaying after 13
hours of questioning. Soon afterward the prisoner named his accomplice and both
were booked last night on charges of homicide, The confessed slayer..,.and his
accomplice John Green.eesaid they were laborers, The police said that Green had
been picked up by detectives in Brooklyn and confessed his part in the slaying...
both Jacobs and Green had been on parole for a year from Coxsackie, N. Ye, State
Vocational Training School...Mr. Hopkins and his wife and Mrgxand Mrs, McCullough
had just returned in separate cars from a family outing at Rye, NY. The younger
couple had locked their car and started walking towards the house with Mrs, McCul-
lough, The two thugs approached and ordered Mr, McCullagh back in the car, They
also ordered Mr, Hopkins into the car and when he walked back to investigate and
told Mr. McCullagh to 'get going.! The older man had trouble starting the car and
the women returned to see what was happening, Jacobs, who was sitting in the back
seat with Mr, Hopkins, brandished a pistol, a .22-caliber barrel mounted on a 38
caliber frame and shouted to the women: 'Get out of here,' When the women screamed
in fear, Yacobs began shooting. He fatally wounded Mr, Hopkins with two bullets
and nicked Mr. McCullagh on the ear with a third, The two thungs then fled in
Opposite directions...Twenty police cars rushed to the scene in response to tele-
phone calls from neighbors, The policemen threw a cordon around the area and began
a hasty search, The police found Jacobs on the roof at 2815 Creston Avenue, His
first story to the police was that he had been visiting his grandmother, After
questioning Jacobs falsely admitted that he had served as a lookout for 2 men
alleged to have attempted the kidnapping and car theft. At 2:30 pem, he broke down
and confessed to the shooting, Jacobs full confession came after his gray-haired
mother who had waited for hours at the tation house, The mother was reported to
have told him 'You'll have to help yourself,' The youth said later that he would
rather burn that se@ my mother come up to prison every month with a package, ‘At
least if I burn she'12 mourn me a little while, then she'll forge me,' he added,
In his confession, Jcaobs said the pistol went off when the women screamed, He
said he had met his accomplice in Manhattan and thet they had met later in the
Bronx to 'prowl around for a score'..e.Inspector Byrne said Jacobs was the son of
the late Jesse Jacobs, former bail bondsman and acquaintance of Charles (Lucky)
Luciano." TIMES, New York, August 3, 1953 (0:3.)

"Two young men died in the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison tonightThey had
refused to ask clemency from Gov, Dewey. John D, Green, 25, entered the death cham-
ber at 11:02 pem., accompanied by Luther Hanniim, the protestant chaplain, He smiled
before being strapped in the chair, He was pronounced dead at ll :05 poem. Four
minutes later, Barry Jacobs, 22, entered the chamber with the Jewish chaplain,
Irving Koslowe. He was pronounced dead at 11:13 p.m."

TIMES, New York, NY Aug. 26, 195) (6:2).

FRONT PAGE DET ECTIVE, NOVEMBER, 1952,

A PUNK’S PROGRESS

New York, N. Y., August 3, 1952

@ KIDS PICK, HEROES—men they want to be like. Brooklyn born John Greert, were on the prowl. On a Bronx street they saw a
Barry Jacobs picked a gangster. His father worked for Lucky car stop. Two women got out. Barry, gun drawn, slid into the
Luciano, boss of a prostitution ring. Luciano was cunning and _ seat beside the driver, Alfred McCullaugh, demanded his money.
wealthy and, at the time, seemed arrest-proof. Barry wasn’t McCullaugh’s son-in-law, William Hopkins, ran up, was ordered
smart enough to be another Luciano. But he was persistent. At into the car. Jacobs started shooting. Hopkins got out, staggered
16 he bungled a stickup, was jailed. At 18 he was given a_ to a nearby porch and died. McCullaugh fell out of the car,
stretch in the reformatory. At 20 he was out, still determined to wounded in the head. Green ran, was picked up later. Police
make a killing. On the night of August 3, Barry and a buddy. cornered Jacobs on a roof. He had finally made his killing.

cj ae
bry
- . ~~» Oe
a Wee

Before the arrival of an ambulance, Alfred McCullaugh lies
where he fell from his car, bleeding from a head wound.

A boy’s life glimmers out,
destroyed by a hoodlum who

chad always craved headlines

. .. and finally made them pl aoe Sie oN a ZS 5, a MS re :

A bungler at crime, hardened jailbird at 20, Barry Jacobs
again: faces a cell, this time to await trial for murder.

i bid Bisp eg er
Her sister, and mother, left, share the grief of Mrs.
Hopkins, who reels from shock of seeing husband slain.

NS
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vepth. of clear
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hat it always
it “the water is

than it appears
ater looks to be
eally be nearly
you're trying to
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estimate; you'll

river or stream
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he width of the

‘our town inter-
for hunters that
nealy interested

Tf there is

@ 's of guns
” - of charge,

sor that. are

1 and gun clubs,
schools, others.
-xciting titles as
/histling Wings,”
“Silvertip, She
minute movie is

GREENE,

@ ound

about a hunting expedition, one for Rocky
Mountain sheep, one for ducks, one for
pheasant, and one for grizzly bear in
Canada. Each one is also a vivid demon-
stration of safety precautions for hunters,
as well as an illustration of the conserva-
tion practices being carried out to safe-
guard the existence of American game.
There is no charge for these movies except
for their transportation to and from the

~~ group interested. All hunters -should see

them, they should be shown to young
people interested in shooting, so, if you
belong to a recognized organization and
want them to be shown in your town,
write to this column for information on
how to make a date for a showing.

@ Most first aid kits, are expensive. Yet,
for a stamped-self-addressed envelope,
Major will send you instructions for
making an inexpensive home-made first
aid kit no bigger than a tobacco can, that
will hold all the little things you need for
taking prompt emergency measures.

@ Bread is no problem at home, but if
you’d like to try some light camp bread,
I have a recipe for one that is guaranteed
not to turn out heavy, won’t feel like
putty. There isn’t room to include it in
these columns, but if you'll send me a
stamped, addressed envelope, I'll send you
my formula for it.

m Has your dog ever come home reeking
from having wallowed in some long de-
funct and putrid carcass? Here is a simple
way to give your dog a break in the event

this should happen to him. All you do is
wet a wad of cotton or cotton cloth with
carbon tetrachloride (from any drug
store) and swab him down with it. Then
soak him in warm water and soap flakes.
After he’s dry the smell will be gone or
very very faint. Soap alone won’t do the
trick.

aa, March, 19536

Bd RONT sane DETECTIVE MAGA

“The cleanup
spot

ACQUITTED AND CONVICTED —
The fourth person to be tried for the slay-
ing of Otis Gurganus (FRONT PAGE, Decem-
ber, The Grocer Who Wouldn’t Drop
Dead), has been acquitted. Miss Leighn
Skidmore, 23, has been found not guilty.
But life sentences have been imposed on
2 of her three companions.

SAVED FROM GAS CHAMBER—Be-

cause he returned of his own free will to
face charges in the killing of Mrs. Irene
Thompson (FRONT PAGE, October, Part Time
Hussy). Jose Romero has been sentenced to
life imprisonment instead of death.

[Guiry ‘AS CHARGED — Brooklyn,
N.

Y. hoodlums Barry Jacobs, 20, and John

Greene, 26, have been sentenced to death ,
for slaying William Hopkins, 24. (FRON
PAGE, November, A Punk’s Progress.)

TO HANG — William Merle Martin,
Kansas desperado is under sentence of death
in the murder of Johnson County Deputy
Sheriff, Willard Carver (FRONT PAGE, Octo-
ber, Killin’ Kin). Martin was on the FBI
list of ten most wanted criminals.

GETS LIFE—For ‘the ‘ander of 14-
vear-old Mary Zaris (FRONT PAGE, Novem-
ber, A Girl Called Shadow), Robert E.
Aldridge has been sentenced by a Cali-
fornia court to life imprisonment.

AGE SAVES KILLER — Roy C.
Broughton convicted of the killing of Santa
Ana, California taxi driver, Dick Grimsley
(FRONT PAGE, November, Somebody Stop
Me). has been sentenced to life imprison-
ment by a California Superior Court.

IN THE SECOND DEGREE—William
(Red) Moody has been sentenced to life
imprisonment by Circuit Judge William
Jackson for the murder of John Davis
Haskell, 27..(FRONT PAGE. May, Fast Car,
Fast Buck, Fast Girl.) Moody could have
been given a 20 year minimum sentence.

CONVICTED OF MANSLAUGHTER
—Benton J. O’Connor AWOL. from the
navy at the time he killed Sam Whiteman,
California photographer, (FRONT PAGE,
October, The Man Without A Face) has
been convicted of manslaughter. He faces
a one to ten year sentence.

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You can easily prove th
yourself. Just apply the tonic
using to one side of your he:
Vitalis to the other. See if yo
that the Vitalis side looks fa

GREEN, John Dale, and JACOBS, Barry, electrocuted at Sing Sing (Bronx)

BY JOHN EDWARDS

Pistol
Panic

WO YOUNG THUGS, one with
a target pistol stuck in his trou-
sers belt, prowled the darkened
streets looking for trouble and easy
money. At about the same time,
William Hopkins, 22-year-old clerk,
lined up his golf ball with the tin
cup on the eighteenth hole of the
arc-lighted Rye Beach, New York,
miniature golf course. Neither the
thugs nor Hopkins knew that on this
night of August Ist, 1952, fate also
was lining up something—death!
Rose Hopkins, 20, petite and bru-
nette, watched her husband with
loving pride. It seemed to her that
such happiness was all a girl could

8/26/1956

ieee
aS
t

William Hopkins lies dead on steps where he fell after being shot

as he attempted to foil kidnaping of his father-in-law during a holdup

ask. Her mother and father, Mr. and
Mrs. Alfred McCullaugh, had liked
Bill from the beginning. Now, after
their two years of marriage, Bill and
her father worked together, played
together and neither ever discussed
any plans without including the
other. Her life, Rose thought hap-
pily, was as ideal as any girl could
wish.

She smiled as Bill tapped the ball
with his club and popped it into the
tin cup.

He looked up, laughing. ‘Guess
that does it for tonight,’ he said.
“It’s getting late.”

Her father agreed and the four-

Two years ago young Bill
Hopkins and his lovely
bride, Rose McCullaugh,
thought life held all the
joy one could ask—they
never dreamed that it
could end so tragically

OQ Aa Tae , Norcashen (F

MOREE Sse

w a

Se eo ee he snd “Rem mex

some moved off toward their cars.
They reached her parents’ home in
the Bronx at 12:45 a.m. Bill drew
up on one side of the tree-lined
street, her father on the other. Arm
in arm with his wife and mother-
in-law, Bill Hopkins started toward
the porch of the McCullaugh home.
But Alfred McCullaugh, 50-year-old
warehouse superintendent, lingered
behind to lock his sedan.

Two figures loomed suddenly out
of the darkness, converged on Mc-
Cullaugh. “We’re taking over,” a
voice snapped.

A shove sent McCullaugh sprawl-
ing into his sedan, a pistol prodding
his back. Before McCullaugh could
recover, both attackers had entered
the car, one in the front, the other
in the rear.

Hopkins, puzzled at his father-in-
law’s slowness, turned at the porch
and looked back. He heard the sound
of a scuffle, saw unfamiliar figures
climbing into the McCullaugh car.
He started across the street.

“What is it, Pop?” he called.
everything all right?”

The pistol dug into McCullaugh’s
ribs. A desperate voice whispered
instructions into his ear.

“Yes—everything’s okay,” McCul-
laugh replied, as commanded.

But something in the tone of his
voice didn’t ring right. Bill Hopkins
suspected trouble and began tc run
toward him. (Continued on page 105)

“1s

Ane rapa ees tte oN

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82°

at 9:15. This would give him ample time

because he knew that Pratt would not
leave with the cash until his police guard
had arrived at the Campanile. He’d offer
to accompany Pratt to the building. Dur-

ing the drive he would wait until they |

came to a likely corner. He’d slip out his
revolver and while Pratt’s eyes were glued
on the road, would fire a single shot. He’d
grab the wheel out of the paymaster’s
lifeless grasp and pilot the car to the
curb. It would be the work of only a
minute to take the brown envelope with
the $10,000, climb out of the car and dis-
appear from the scene.

The minutes were interminably long.
Graham was on edge. The details of the
plan ran through his mind time and time
again until he was letter perfect in every

minute detail.

On Saturday morning, August 27th,
Graham pulled up the shade in his bed-
room and looked out on a dreary scene.
A gray haze had descended upon the city
while a teeming rain poured down. There
was a chill in the air unusual for August.
He looked in the mirror, rubbed the slight
stubble on his chin, decided against shav-
ing. He selected a baggy, dark suit from
the closet, dressed and walked into the
kitchen where his mother had a_ piping

hot breakfast ready.

“*\ RE you going anywhere this morn-
ing?” she asked.

“T’ve got to see some friends,” he told
her.

“You ought to wait until the rain lets
up.”

Graham looked over his shoulder
through the kitchen window. “The rain’s
letting up. It ought to stop soon.”

When he had finished his breakfast he
went back to his bedroom and carefully
closed the door, Taking out his service
revolver, he broke the’ cylinder, . looked
down the barrel, reloaded the gun and put
it in his jacket pocket. He left the house,
walked slowly down the steps. In the
street he saw that the rain had turned to
a light drizzle. He looked at his wrist-
watch, It was 8:40. A trolley ride would
take only fifteen minutes. This meant
that he was almost a half-hour early. He
lounged against the window of a store
located on the ground floor of the house
in which he lived. Time and again he
nervously consulted his watch only to be
confronted by a seemingly frozen minute-
hand.

At 8:50 he strolled toward Third Ave-
nue, took a trolley south to 45th Street.
A quarter-hour later he took up his vigil
on the opposite side of the street from
the bank, Five minutes which seemed like
five hours passed without a sign of Pratt.
Graham thrust his hands deep into his
pockets, hunched his shoulders in an
attempt to conceal the lower part of his
face. He leaned against the side of a
building, tried to make himself as unob-
trusive as possible. Men and women in
a never-ending stream walked by. Traffic
was heavy. On the corner a policeman
blew his whistle and issued sharp com-
mands in an effort to clear a traffic snarl.
Finally the stream of cars flowed smoothly
again. '

Suddenly Graham’s heart sank. ‘The
traffic cop was coming toward him. It was
the first time he realized the full power of
the unjform. He stood his ground, curs-
ing silently at his stupidity in standing in
one spot—the easiest way in which to
attract attention. But the officer stopped
near a parked car, warned the driver to
move on and returned to his post. It was
tempting the fates to remain there longer.
Graham strode up to Fifth Avenue in-
tending to circle the block until he should

True Detective Mysteries

(Continued from page 80)

spot Pratt’s car. At first he walked cas-
ually but then the fear that Pratt might
pick up the payroll and leave before he
returned, spurred his footsteps until he
was almost running when he rounded 46th
Street. He was breathless when‘he re-
turned to his place in front of the bank.
He pushed back the cuff of his jacket
sleeve, stared down at his wrist-watch.
The time was 9:20.

A wave of fear swept over him. What
if Pratt were changing the routine today?
What if he had- already missed him? It
was too late to back down now. He had
already committed himself with the auto-
mobile concern. The roadster would be
ready at noon. He looked at the traffic
cop but the latter was paying no attention.
In spite of this it made Graham nervous
to be within sight of him. He strolled
toward Madison and rounded the corner.

Suddenly the blood leaped wildly in his
veitts, his heart pounded madly, for
parked on the cast side of the Avenue
facing north was Judson Pratt’s car. And
at that very instant Pratt, himself, wear-
ing a yellow slicker and stiff straw hat,
a small brown parcel under his arm, was

Daniel Graham as he appeared while
waiting for the jury to return its
verdict

crossing the street toward his car. In the
next five’ seconds a dozen thoughts raced
through Graham’s brain. Why had Pratt
parked near his office instead of close to
the bank? Should he go up to him now?
If Pratt had not yet secured the payroll,
it wasn’t likely that he would let fall
some remark to the bank clerk that he
was being escorted to the Campanile by
a patrolman? But what if that brown
parecl under his arm was the payroll?
Then, once Pratt got into his car, his
(Graham’s) last opportunity would be
gone.

Graham came to a swift decision. Just
as the paymaster was opening the door
of his car, the patrolman came. striding
along the sidewalk.

“Hello, Jud,” he called, in the friendli-
est tone he could summon.

Pratt’s head jerked. up. “Oh hello.
Dan,” he said. “You had me frightened
for a second.”

Graham laughed. “How about giving
me a lift over to 52nd Street?”

“You bet I will,” Pratt said eagerly.

“You don’t know how glad I am to have
protection when I’m carrying this.” His
eyes indicated the brown package.

Graham slipped into the seat beside
him and slammed the door shut.

“You never know what can_ happen
these days,” he agreed.

Pratt kicked the motor into life, eased
the clutch into first and the car rolled into
the stream of traffic,

Graham’s right hand was stuck in his
side’ pocket, his fingers convulsively
clenching the butt of his service revolver

“What brings you up this way?” Pratt
asked.

Graham was prepared for the question.
“Margie wants to invite you and your
wife out to her place.”

“We'd love to come,” the paymaster

replied. “By the way, how is Margie?”

“She’s fine,’ Graham said. “How is
Margie?”

This was a standing joke between them
since both Pratt’s wife and Graham’
sweetheart had the same name,

Pratt grinned, keeping his eyes on the
road. He halted at 49th Street for a red
light and, when it changed to green, shot
forward and made a right turn onto 52nd
Street.’

Graham’s mind was in a turmoil. Now
was the time to act. The palm of his
right hand was wet with perspiration.
Madison Avenue had been too crowded.
He’d act as soon as they got into quieter
52nd Street. His hand tightened on thi
revolver and slowly began lifting it from
his pocket when his eyes suddenly spotted
a woman standing on the stoop of her
home midway down the street. Silently
cursing his luck, he shoved the gun back.
They crossed Third Avenue. They wer
now only two and one-half blocks away
from the Campanile,

ATROLMAN MARTIN M’GOWAY

was there ready to protect Pratt the
moment he alighted. For a wild instan
Officer Graham thought that his plot had
failed.

Pratt looked quickly around at him
“What’s the matter, Dan? You're tren-
bling.”

“It’s cold and I came out without m
coat,” Graham said, drawing his shoulder
together.

“This is the kind of weather that ca:
give you a cold,” Pratt said.

They crossed Second Avenue. Agai:
Graham’s right hand slowly lifted the gu:
from his pocket. A punch ball game wi
going on and a dozen youngsters rompe:
in the street. There was black despair i:
Graham’s heart. It would be suicide t.
attempt anything here. Pratt was honk-
ing the horn, but the kids made no effor
to get out of the way. Only when th:

car was almost upon them did they mox:
aside,

At First Avenue they were stopped | |
a red light. They were now only 2 |
yards from the building. Graham thoug},
he saw the blue of Patrolman McGowan:
uniform in front of Pratt’s shanty. Beads
of sweat glistened on his forehend.
cursed the luck which put a group ¢
people on the corner of First Aven
The light changed. Traffic on First Aw-
nue came to a halt. Pratt stepped on th
clutch, put the car in first and mov.
forward slowly, They were but 100 yan:
from the Campanile. Dan knew now th
in the next few moments he would hav
to kill Pratt. The street was deserted
cept for two young boys seated on ti
curb and the workmen on the river fror

It was now or never. Like a drowni:
man, » thousand thoughts shot throug
Graham’s mind. He saw all he was losin:
his commitments to the automobile cor.
pany, the green Buick roadster.

Ther
of the
punctur
aoshary
weak i:

Pratt
the whe

Grah;
out of
Was we!

Pratt’:
glass,

Grahe
his che
squeezed
flame sg;
head sh
jumped
but did:
leaned 0)
gear, anc
This act
he sat sti
roar of t]
heard by
minute |).
was 002)!
in the ce
of gray >
Graham |

Eoha
close
dare get «
neighbor!
was he 1
lightning
the body
street as -
raised his
two kids \
ear, The
deserted.
out and \
thing -*+"'
ment,
He
in bela
running.
straighten:
Tirst Ave
car bumpe
Pratt’s he:
Was a gap)
head, too,
aund-out wy
down the =
At 125t}
traffic jam
them havi
on the na
Harlem Ri:
the Brony.
wait before
right turn
time he w:
cars. He ¢
down for
might wond
tilted the s
shield the
He turne
Mile after 1:
crowded st)
dead body «
side. Then
Parkway loo
the car. It
Graham swit
Ahead of hi:
by Jerome A
Parkway, A!
elevated sti
Rapid Trans
Graham s]|
the side of
off the moto;
out and _ too!
which lay on
blood had sp
he slit the ce
Wrapping, — J

38 True Detective Mysteries

ready put down a deposit on a small house in Rosedale, Long
Island. Five thousand dollars in cash would pay for it and
he could move in with his bride free of all worry. He would
spend $500 to buy jewelry for his sweetheart, beautiful, viva-
cious Margie Wogan, niece of the powerful Brooklyn political
boss; another $500 would go for gifts for his aged mother.
Graham was the apple of her eye and he would show her how
much he thought of her.

forse remaining money he would bank. This, coupled with
his salary, would be enough to permit him to live like

a king. Throughout the afternoon Graham daydreamed in:
this vein. He watched the automobiles as they. drove along.

First Avenue, mentally evaluating them in the réle of a
‘prospective purchaser. In the end he came to the conclusion
that the Buick roadster was still the best buy. He pictured
himself seated behind the wheel and the sensation was a pleas-
ant one. By the time he had checked in at the 17th Precinct
on East 51st Street and had changed into his civilian clothes,
the payroll was as good as his. Other mugs get caught no
matter how smart they are because there’s always another
time with them; but not Graham. This was to be his first
and last attempt. He didn’t want any more than this $10,000.

All that night he thought about the money. By the fol-
lowing morning as he walked his beat, it became more than a
mere desire. All the science which the New York City
Police Department had at its disposal in catching criminals
had been taught him. He would use that knowledge to get
the payroll in safety.

Six months as police guard for his friend Judson Pratt ‘had
made him thoroughly acquainted with the routine the pay-
master followed in getting the money. On Thursday night
of each week Pratt made up the payroll figures and handed
them in to the treasurer of the
pany at their offices in the Canadian Pacific Building at 342
Madison Avenue. Here the figures were verified and a
check for the total amount drawn. On Saturday morning
Pratt would go directly to the Campanile. At nine o’clock he
would stop work, get into his automobile and drive to
his office. The cashier would hand him the check. He would
take it to the Seaboard National Bank at 20 East 45th
Street where he would cash it. From here he drove directly
to the Campanile where the police guard would meet him:
In his shack he sorted the money, placing the proper amounts
into small brown envelopes. Accompanied by the police
guard he took the donkey engine from floor to floor to pay
off the men. Pratt was vulnerable only during the few
minutes it took him to drive the thirteen blocks between the
Seaboard National Bank at East 45th Street and the Cam-
panile at East 52nd Street.

Obviously the thing to do would be to get his friend dur-
ing those few minutes. It would be too much of a hit-or-miss
problem to wait for him on a corner along the route. The

Good-looking Daniel Graham was nicknamed “The
Sheik” by his fellow officers. But when his care-
fully planned “perfect crime” collapsed, and he
attempted to feign insanity, he looked anything
but handsome (right). Graham and Pratt spent
much time together on the construction job (pic-
tured below), where the latter was employed

oades Construction Com-.

best thing to do was to wait near the entrance to the bank,
watch where Pratt parked the car and stand near it.

Slowly Patrolman Graham’s plan of campaign took shape.
Since his post was on East 52nd Street on Saturday, it would
be impossible for him to travel to the bank without excit-
ing undue suspicion. The only thing to do. was to apply for
sick leave. That would give him absolute freedom of move-
ment. There were two plans of campaign open after Pratt
walked out of the bank with the cash. Slipping a mask on
his face he could pull a hasty stickup and run for it. But there
were weaknesses in this. Pratt might recognize him even
though his face was covered since it is difficult for a person
to disguise the mannerisms of his body. Also, it would place
him in the category of the ordinary mug stickup man, giving
him no more chance for escape, and no less, than the lowest of
that breed.

The second plan was to wait beside the paymaster’s car and
greet him in his usual friendly fashion when he returned.
Graham could think of a dozen plausible reasons for his be-
ing there. And even if the reasons weren’t plausible Pratt
would never suspect a police officer who was also his inti-
mate friend.

Thus the plot took form in Graham’s mind. He deliberated
on ways and means as he patrolled his beat, jauntily twirling
his nightstick and greeting his friends along the Avenue in
a cheerful fashion. It was impossible to suspect from his neat
and handsome exterior the black thoughts that seethed be-
hind his arched brows.

Since he liad already settled the means by which he was
to get the $10,000, a new problem arose. What about Judson
Pratt? He was the only stumbling block in an otherwise
foolproof scheme.

Throughout his planning, the vague thought persisted in
the back of Graham’s mind that he would have to “dispose”
of his friend. Unemotionally and without any qualms the
patrolman’s brain leaped the gap to murder. All the more
horrible because it was his own friend, it nevertheless did not
disturb Graham. A single bullet and the money would be
his. The heinous nature of the crime probably never

Tal ene

aaeee

» to the bank,
d near it.
n took shape.
eday, it would
without excit-
s to apply for
lom of move-
n after Pratt
ig a mask on
cit. But there
ize him even
for a person
t would place
) man, giving
the lowest of

ster’s car and
he returned.
is for his be-
iusible Pratt
ilso his inti-

e deliberated
atily twirling
.e Avenue in

rom his neat
seethed be-

hich he was
bout Judson
‘n otherwise

persisted in
to “dispose”
qualms the
.ll the more
‘less did not
y would be
ably never

' Murder On 52nd Street 39

struck him. For a price, he was cold-bloodedly planning the
murder of Pratt. Though it is hard to imagine anything worse
than cold-blooded murder, Patrolman Graham’s plan was
more horrible. For, aside from the fact that he was killing
a friend, he was also betraying the trust placed in him by the
entire city. He had sworn an oath that his life would be
dedicated to preventing just such an occurrence as he was
now planning. . ,

Patrolman Graham felt not even the slightest twinge of
conscience, as I will later show. He sought no excuse for
the murder. He still liked Judson Pratt and thought him a
swell fellow. It was. unfortunate that he stood in the way.

On Wednesday: morning, August 24th, 1927 (Graham was
assigned to the eight-to-four day tour all week), he set the
plan into operation. This was the day he was going to
play sick in order to get the remainder of the week off. It
would be too “pat” if he were only to take Saturday. The
thing to do, he reasoned, was to act normally until noon,
then be laid low by abdominal pains, since these symptoms
were so vague they might mean anything.

The immediate problem was to do something which sug-

gested a police mind free of external worries, such, for in- .

stance, as being meticulous in carrying out some detail which
would go into the record. His chance came shortly before
noon. A blue sedan traveling north along First Avenue slid
by a red light. Patrolman Graham gave a shrill blast on his

whistle and the car ground to a halt.

ba HAT’S the matter with your eyesight?” Graham

barked, coming up to the side of the car. “Can’t you
see a red light when it’s hung in front of your nose?”

The driver’s face flushed. “I’m sorry, officer, I didn’t have
time to stop. The light changed just as I came to the inter-
section.” j

Graham paid no attention to the excuse. “Let’s have your
license, buddy.”
wire driver dug into his coat: pocket ‘arid came up with his

illfold.

Graham filled out a summons for Harold Stern of 1710:

Bathgate Avenue, The Bronx, New York, returnable at the

Manhattan Traffic Court on August 29th.

He walked around to the back’ of the car, inspected the
license number, and searched through his assignment book
to see whether that number was listed among the stolen
vehicles. It wasn’t.

Graham controlled himself as he walked to the front of
the car. He mustn’t be too harsh. That might be a give-
away.

“I hate to be tough with you drivers,” he ‘said with a
friendly smile, “but half the motor accidents in this city hap-
pen because the regulations are violated. Move ahead, now.
In the future try to be a little more careful.”

The gears in the car meshed noisily -and the sedan shot
forward. Graham eyed it until it passed from view. Then he
walked to the patrol box and lifted the receiver.

; “T feel sick as a dog, Sarge,” he told the sergeant on desk
uty.

“Can you hold out a while?”

“I—I guess so.”

“O. K. I'll have a man down to relieve you.”

Fifteen minutes later Graham walked slowly toward Pre-
cinct Headquarters. He ducked quickly into the vestibule of
a dilapidated tenement, drew out a pack of cigarettes. Taking
quick, deep drags on the cigarettes and smoking them chain
fashion soon had the desired results. He stepped back onto
the hot pavement feeling slightly nauseated. He dragged
slowly up the stone steps and pushed into the Precinct.

Sergeant Coogan looked up from behind the desk. “What's
the matter, Dan? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Graham leaned weakly against the railing, clutched his right
hand across his stomach. “I don’t know, Sarge,” he said,
with a wobegone shake of his head. “My stomach is doing
somersaults. I feel faint.” j

bee Sergeant looked concerned. “Do you need any help,
Dan?” '

“N—no, I guess I’ll manage all right.” In the street again
after having changed into civilian clothes, he found it diffi-
cult to control his elation. ‘Lucky he had thought of the
cigarette gag. That gave a realistic touch to his imaginary
illness. He had to laugh at the ease with which he fooled
them all. Why, he had never had a sick day in his life.

Halting in front of 130 East 56th Street where Dr. Charles
H. Nammack, a police department surgeon, maintained offices,
he squared his shoulders, tensed himself for the coming
ordeal. The maid who answered the door ushered him into
the waiting-room. A few minutes later Dr. Nammack ap-
peared. ,

“Step this way, please.”

“Patrolman Daniel Graham attached to the 17th Precinct,”
he announced.

“What seems to be troubling you?”

“T’ve been having some awful (Continued on page 80)

(Left) Madison Avenue, looking north from
43rd Street, where Pratt emerged with payroll
from building at left, crossed the street to his
car and there met the man who was plotting
his death. Together they drove north. (Be-
low) The roadster which the killer bought im-
mediately after committing his. shocking crime

ee a I

FP Ree

pains in my stomach, Doctor. I don’t
think T’ll be able to stand it much longer.”
“Where does it hurt you most?”
The patrolman passed his hand vaguely
across his abdomen.

Dr. Nammack’s keen, gray eyes sur-'

veyed the patient. “I think you’d better
strip and let me examine you.”

Graham slowly got out of his clothing.
“It’s not only my stomach,” he said as he
undressed. “I’m run down. I know I'll
feel a lot better after my vacation.” He
stretched out on the examination table.

The police surgeon applied a_stetho-
scope, hunted for signs of appendicitis
and other scrious abdominal ailments.:

“T can’t seem to find much wrong with
you,” he said, ordering Graham to dress.

HE patrolman’s heart sank. “It’s not

only that, Doctor,” he. said.. “My aunt
died last week and I’ve got to be in
Albany when they read the will. I’m one
of the beneficiaries.” He added quickly,
“I’m really as sick as a dog, and I need
the rest. I just thought I’d combine the
two. All I need is a few days’ sick leave.”

Dr. Nammack nodded his head sym-
pathetically. “I’m sorry, Graham. You
know that it isn’t within my province to
grant you that. You’ve got to fill out
your departmental slip and turn it in to
the Commissioner.. At best I could state
my reasons and recommend that you be
placed on sick leave.”

Graham’s head bobbed eagerly,

“But since your ailment isn’t serious,”
the doctor continued, “why don’t you wait
until your own district’ doctor returns
from his vacation?”

“When does he come back?” Graham
asked,

“Tomorrow.” :

“Thanks, Doctor,”. the “patient” said,
extending his hand. “That’s what I’ll do.”

A _mood of black despair descended up-
on Graham. -He had calculated the actual
robbery and murder to such a degree of
perfection that he felt it was impossible
for him to be caught. Yet here a small,
insignificant part of his plan reared up
and became a stumbling block of mam-
moth proportions. Sick leave was not a
diffeult thing to manage. It was a
routine matter and police surgeons usually
took the word of the patrolman. This
privilege was rarely abused because a
patrolman was docked in pay for each day
he was out. Was it possible that the doc-
tor suspected: that the leave was required
for an illegal purpose?) Graham laughed.
The idea was too fantastic. He had better
get a good grip on himself because this
was.a sign of jittery nerves,

That legacy story was a touch of genius.
Whenever a patrolman blossoms out with
evidences of wealth beyond his apparent
income, there is always the grave sus-
picion that he is a grafter. Graham was
jealous of his reputation and he didn’t
want this rumor to become broadcast. The
thing to do was to make the “legacy” in-
formation available to his fellow officers
in the most judicious manner possible. As
far as sick leave was concerned, he would
have to see Dr, Trancis’ Roberts, his own
district physician, the following day and
that might tell a different story.

This time Graham would not reveal the
Albany legacy. He would merely report
sick with his abdominal ailment and stick
to the story. If during the examination
he felt that there was any doubt in the
doctor’s mind he would throw in a few
additional symptoms for good measure.
This was nothing unusual for Patrolman
Graham for he had applied for and re-

True Detective Mysteries

Murder on 52nd Street

(Conlinucd from page 39)

ceived sick leave on a half-dozen previous
occasions, ,
Thus on the morning of August 25th,

he stepped out of Dr. Roberts’ consulta- .

tion room with sick leave until the follow-
ing Monday. The last obstacle had been
removed.

Wednesday night he traveled to Brook-
lyn and kept his appointment with Mar-
garet Wogan to whom he had been en-
gaged for two years. Margaret was twenty-
three years old, pretty, shapely and high-
spirited. They were to be married at the
end of the summer.

As he kissed her, Graham suddenly
realized that he would have to find some
logical explanation for his new-found af-
fluence. The story about the aunt in
Albany would not ‘suflice since she knew

Detective John B. Kaiser whose bril-
liant work helped clinch the case
against Graham

no such person existed,

The patrolman led ‘his sweetheart into
the living-room, put his arms about her
waist. “Honey, I’m getting a new car,”
he said enthusiastically. “It’s a knockout;
a light green Buick roadster,”

Margaret’s pretty gray eyes
wide. “How much will it cost?”

“Tm getting it for $1,700.”

The gray eyes were a question mark.
“And what are you going to use for
money?”

Graham took his arms from about her
waist, led her to the couch and seated
himself beside her. There was a good-
natured grin on his handsome face,

“You know the beer trucks that roll past
my beat every morning? Well, ’ve made
a deal with the head ‘of the syndicate.
They're paying me plenty to let them
keep rolling,”

“Don’t you dare-—” she beenn,

But Graham's lips pressed against hers
effectively cut short the warning,

Now the strain of waiting set in. He
had all Thursday and Iriday to live
through before the big day arrived. It
was important that he keep out. of sight,
at this time so as to foster the fiction of
the inheritance. It wasn’t necessary for

opened

him to actually make a trip to Albany
because there was no way of checking on
the tickets purchased, and besides, he

-knew that the investigation would never

reach that point, for it was ridiculous for
anyone to even momentarily suspect that
the paymaster would be held up and
robbed by one of his best friends—least
of all if that friend happened to be a
member of New York’s Finest! ‘

Thursday morning found him jumpy
and irritable. He was impatient to get
the thing over with. It wasn’t the murder
that preyed so heavily on his mind as the
fact that he itched to take possession of
the new Buick roadster. Finally, unable
to contain himself any longer, he flung out
of the house and, walking a cireuitous
route, arrived at Broadway and 55th
Street where the Buick Motor Company
maintained a large showroom. For a
while he stood outside covetously eyeing
the roadster. .Then he entered,

Frank A. Gibson, one of the salesmen,
hurried forward, .

“Can I be of assistance?” he asked.

“Y’m interested in that model,” Graham
said, pointing.

Gibson began to enumerate all the fine
points. of the car, |

Graham cut him ‘short. “I know all
about that,” he said with a smile, “I
want to know' how much it will stand me.”

“That all depends on how much equip-
ment you want.” Gilbson went on to list
the standard equipment. :

“When can you make delivery?”

“We can have it for you in a week.”

The patrolman rubbed his chin re-
flectively. “That’s no good,” he said. “I
want it this Saturday.”

“B* the way, how did you plan to buy
y ; this car? On our time payment plan
or—” '

“T’'ll pay cash on a C.O.D. basis.”

Gibson’s face was wreathed in a happy
smile. This was the sort of sale he liked.
“You will have the car on Saturday,” he
promised,

Graham took his wallet from his pocket,
opened the bill compartment. He had
$26. $25 of it he left as a deposit. “I
want the owner’s license made out. to
Mrs, Bridget Graham of 209 East 74th
Street,” he said. “She’s my mother and
this is my gift to her.”

As he left, Graham said, “Take care of
the license plates and add the charge to
the cost of the car.”

“See you on Saturday,” Gibson said,
escorting him to the door.

Patrolman Graham managed to stay out
of sight on Friday. In the evening he
went to a movie but he paid little atten-
tion to the story unfolding on the screen.
For the hundredth time he reviewed the
details of his plot. *

Judson Pratt usually left the Cam-
panile at nine o’clock and went directly
to his office, from there to the bank and
thence back to the Campanile. The total
time consumed was little more than a
half-hour, since post four called for the
officer to arrive at the Campanile at 9:30,

The construction company office was on
Madison Avenue near 45th Street while
the Seaboard National Bank was just
around the corner. This meant that Pratt
could park his car either on Madison
Avenue or on 45th Street. It was his
custom to park on 45th Street, as close
to the bank as he could so that he would
walk the shortest possible distance with
the eash in his possession,

Graham decided to arrive at the bank

(Continued on page 82)

f
{

fed et s ; #
ON aaa fa i ine Seal sal Val Liok. ps ae ache 4

ice
~ b)
Zl A4/

i
4 =

3
sate

Louk 24

, Conelidle-

vn an @ death with a club. Caught and held in
it 42.0% fedolst the Meaning of which he had no

jmsorrg why
}

} Grats c's sequittal dt ‘acea not ‘aDpeai that Cameron;

~S Scillivray orteceacal ths eharte on: testified against
‘eum on his triat foc ubeft. Leal, whe was apparently:

om ; pala sects. 2 more prominent

é t on that score, iespite he caolive
aliescd, @ point must still be preatly dark," the,
Malignity may perhaps be ag-°
gtavated and nursed to suck a pitch of malevolence as-
to cause the malignant to commit murder nierely to be
'rid of annoyance; but the maligzity ascribed to tiraham
' fatlowed his imprisonment in irons for over eight mouths,
while Paul Beardsley wes working up a case aguinst’
him and he was helplery cian do anything in his owa!

behalf.

The mystery of these murders, 1f there is one, must.
in the motive or Jack of motive for them. Ne mute;
adequate was sbown.on-the trial, and noe has

been since suggested. The canaequence has been that;
fur 2enerations Graham hag been pointer ©. us the per-

rere

iits have seldom if ever team exceeded. ta framy ses

Neen ete er a ee coer tt le a nS

i
t
:petrator of murders which for sheer, unmitigated brutal-|
>

: “has, tie Gxo Magnon man ts put to death for an act
ade srminal by an age ten thousand years later than
inate to which he helonced, and his neolithic brawn and
erat are dissecieu f+. the benefit of a surgery little
better than tbat of the barber, und almost as remote j
from that of ibe tort? “av as were Graham's reactions
and restraints Teme oro the day in which '- lived;
Wad his sialt. wisi perhaps now- adorns sore countr |
Sorter’ oe been Yuriecd under the gall-«s >and dal be ited: but acquitied or pot. they knew
arm‘! > spolouis POre Bow tes Fi ’ 5 ' axe en argu : + at,
pee sc ET Fs =: ee or ine rie ba 5 2 would | { beeis : age uniet.. Geianam provasiy dei wel Maeve thati>
wre ale > . : 'de6 s ileidel-j I he «:uld not.be retried for the theft. If in fact guilty, |
cestry eh evha) HE etd Atilaan: rhe Ee Meher such a statement from Camerun and McGillivray woutd |
pant ele ra ohacst pei : eee tas* led bim to think of ways to silence them. -It ts]:
Sah pete ys Riecasae var £ gears Sees eater their | an old, If false, aphorism that dead men tell no tales.
oo . enti: {peccer men than Grahanr have relied upon jts sinister
zt A : e iysruese. One may say that such = metive docs wol
exruse murder, but adds ‘cet to {:= cnormity, True,
bur at least the murder? wesid be «<omething more than
tiacter for its OVG: SRROe, fT ite other Una ie

wiarde

igku:nan and bruta; adoof a mac % oi something dose}

and restraints are Uenctifet oe bee. OT a - Ra Bag
his tithless fury as that oi for Rursitane > Eig remutae,
Ho uny, haz never heer mentioned - ane
Suppose that en. ta eer use, the pbeawsrad, Woes
Craham says Cameron and McGillivray quarreled, what
actusily happened was that ther then ‘ld Graham that!
they hed seen him tuke the money at iasiv sore andes §
if they had testified to what they saw he could not

sid eteeratingetiethee eta

satud in

1OG 01

elemental than the cfushing. impact -f a falling tree or}
‘4 wroke of Jichtning - Weax out cessevdie men bare
| gitled and will continue te kel uite:s cay the delusive
of insuring the:s own. safer : ;
~ py Cameroon aud Meiidiivray tulad urnham that, irre-
ecective of bis acquittal, they knew he had stolen Leal’s
tunes, the murders would have an understandable mo-
Hive. und Graham, while perhaps the zroater crintiaa:,
weold at least not scem a mete batlid OU Ga the 1am-|
nage. But in truth we know nothing of what was sald!
-» ‘“s tw» men to Graham-as they came over the moun-|
iyo Be ES Row that weeks before they had taunted;
oraham with stealing, and as they emerged into Gra-
ace clearing he set upon them with a fury that left |
Aree Denton, mabyled and dead in the feotpath © “he }
3 contains no hint at the cause of to: ws emer,

“5 the stalo.taunt, and that Grahata wie - sen of}

ot ht oxi hs

; > ee ar “ Pye *
ay rs ae

Aavha Reet shoce ples ter Graben cunst peat er eG : oan Res) so es COE
Ae jrts fy counsel a<8 og Ponsa eh a: “ alae j { eet Ly GY 1 ed ELH e a Gore Ate these 205
Te eblulic, Acne public eye ez2 ear ia Delt lens nae : @ $e eis of ee wm~8N7 jesmuee ts wie et
ifnen SIF Vo held many ofices, ard years ufter-| + ( 4¥eeam wes then taken back to his -+', and of the:) | Fy yen chat ge® GaN fale ty cesmet28 Teg exp ye
“yn da whemharged with érunxenness lu the Senate) - leary of vongeance there beyucathed his son, the re | ajidaakin. cf aurquit the guilty, an@ awfully re
f.«c.er at Albany, where he presided as Licutezant pier hes this to cay: if Af ca y ge intentions iy ‘fa the conde
im arner, he was deseribed as “emphatically the child of . ‘eon after his raturn to tho prison, he orineed |: of ‘eceeeeah Upon your esths, theretora ‘decide
po. favor." By some process not now understood he the most inveterate malignity, an4 actually exhorted | K, yet lel Yaneous circumstances Mecano eee
acausted Crocker’s tavern after 1814 and conveyed tt _j. @8d commanded hia son Wiliicm Graham, a boy of | ' etre A sndid; be cautions; be frm fn all your
in 1839. How he hoped to bemuso 4 jury of hardheads siztecn, to kill Paul Bearda'cy 224 James MeAdzms, | cbcbualét#™ and render such a verdict as st ie
)faraicrs with a pathetic speech tn favor of the stony-|- i” "| who, he said, had testificd false!7 agcinst him. His jq@ pustofg °* YOUr consciences, to your country and
eyed malignant James Graham, is not epparent. Ervi-}.- é ; whole conduct was characterized by bitterness of re | { fark 8.” ioek te
dence and cross-examination discrediting the footprint} -- : ponach and violence of renentmont.” ; at will be obearved that the judge does not leave th
tesiimony was what was peedcd; but Moot, if he ap- ¥ } The “obdurate prisoner,” az he wis called, was brought. boss hie presence of-a third person, other than Grah a
preciated this. canie. into the caze iso late azd made into court on June 2th whes ‘he follawing scorence| : . with “he phrase, “an iliusion of fancy.” He Koes secactte i
no effort to get iime to prepare any such rebuttal, end of death was pronounced upea dim: es “© toe heart of the suggestion and points out ‘that if
{
|

his pathetic plea scams 2 stagwiariy: teept — | “The sentence of the Court is that you be taken “a8 such a person, Graham, If present, must have
~ Mr. Justice fpencer is described by one who knew from hence to the place from which you last cane, ES * of it, Graham never mentioned such & person;
‘him as a stern, upright, impartial. just and homane acd that you there remain until the 29th day cf ‘is story was that he left his two companions securing

_- fudge. “In his ‘judicial capacity, it was the peculiar eles July next, and that on that day, between 12 and 2 | | or swinging clubs, with the impossible inference that they

Beale wht akan 4%
Cee re eer ae

fignd tummanding sitcogth of his {ntellectral powers ree o'clock, you be hung by nee 8) vou Ar | mus’ have fought and kill eit . ‘

. | which chiefly made him a man of mark ard gave him|- ode “and ae obi boey ii a gical pre tga : ,, | fro the piace of Han eee ta deck os ce beet
:bis superiority,” is the verdict of his costemporaries. t hrose Bryan and: Asahel E. Paine. surzeot:. for. ‘i _| son twenty-six rods, showed that Graham aes oe
t. “Between Juty, 18:2 and June, 1816, Eleasor Cameron “ @issection. And imzy the Lord have -mercy upon |} - ; oa’ <fter and behind both of the dead men. He came
; married James Davie, who risked his life in Ladd’s barn] « E “your soul.” yee to “# sugar camp where the handsptkes were ahead of

)-} im thy secayiare of Graham. and we may perhaps as- bisa] Ambrose Bryap was a wo 13 rae it Judge Eteneser; ih-.3 and he left that place bebind them -— pent

pa aa
kee RE ct

gume that ter gricf at the teath of Hugh Cameron did). - eas Foote, a member of the court that tried and sentenced | oBes lor twenty-six rods to their rendezvous with death
_lnot long survive -his burial. The records of the court}. - } 22"! Graham, and was also the clerk cf the court: Aszhsl E.! a he ‘Sly Graham had not left the decearad tin. ZO a ;
at Delhi show that on June’ 18, 1814. st wax ordered on : « <.-{ Paine. was. earller and later clerk ¢f the same court.! ‘ve they were attacked. If perchance he wan in ue
<i jthe prayer of Mery MeoGoillvray that Ube treasurer o? the} go 5.) Sursery, court functions, the fudiclar procecs,-and uti-|[[ io 7 | SU0e" camp when they were attacked and killed ‘een
feounty of Delaware pay her the sum of $15 for herj — cee litathon of; the by-product af the latter fu thé Sotereat (11 : (:- 280 have acen’ thelr bodies when he passat ag
“axpenses, time and trenhle 38 2b@ abst the prosecu ;. ‘ “4,2.” # ihe former, though sumewhat mulxed, seen. bere id iach: y -°@ path—and this he denicd. Whatever ma be cod
~Ttien nad conviction ef James:Grakam. Doubtless om the : “he element of rural economy. ° l pot Tt ate ked blnod etuitis, the featprints ae- agg cared :
{ deatn of her husband ste found herself perbiicss, anne Le Samuel Sherwood was a Member of Congress in-1814 'f Sea, tnd tty te! Those whe have eyes to exten ae
this payment ordered hy the eourt wns perhaps in-}: : <4 His house, built in 1804, still stands behind a screen of} Rim did no: co home unt! Carniweron and MeGittyr ae
‘tended to rmlievs ter of geetitation, at Teast in some | >. trees at Sherwood’s Bridge, irs sbutters drawn, its scene} 1s) aot <e ‘bed cho place sere they were found dead Ar
- measure. What became of Mary MeGillivary is mepe geeetes: i 2S @amp and cold. its waiks and driveways oversrown with | ) hoe appareny that the mind-of the judge Dichet-ated:
; “Jawes Grabem was hung in 4 field just east © mee y (oj) is. Bess*, tts gateways fenced and barred these qany years. ; : eo Oo~r ibte the question pre<ented by the evidence. znd:
und it is reported that the execution |.» \ | With the silent, eddying river across the road, and the! “ walye sided more in its solution than that set's
rts of the coun- A ,*° » {ominously named hill for a backsreund, tt cries aloud jae et SOE eh ee '
. for mutder, demands to be haunted. asd with Stevenson, | | “Hie all of this sifting of th’ “evidence was geins.
lone may be sure that on frosty nixh-s “ang ago urgent ‘oterahem, who by a rule of the common law rk,

‘e8Gs> io himsel?, preserved, as the reporter sars

cemetery in Delhi, a
i i a
icatied together more people from Pp
budings. in Delhi could lodge. The

Gection of and

ty than ali of th.

“| eireus aspect of the execution was a Tevec > od harsemen on tragic errands often. retiied with their|] . ia : ae
: recompense for the disappointment ri eee : ; i. =pWhips on Its front door. And yet, sttarae te say, the (, 7s" most astonishing presence of miad; he scemed en-|

prieve of Stephen Arnold, sentenc Ree jonly historical notice of such visitors w <be story that/]} . a rate ee by the testimony of the witnesses as!
hang at Cooperstown nine years before. 12.2); the poatrider and his horse were so punctual in their Gesivered in, in bis presence, and was not apparently!

ae
| perhaps a

j crowd at the re

A While no defense worth mentioning Was sce fotos ToAt. | see j calls that Mr. Sherwood knew at exactiy what minute on| Zyhe cf Bee ated in the least by the charge of his honor, the judze.”|
yale ot Graham, the prosecution seems to “ave age abt : _;, Thereday evenings to go to the door to get his weekly Wis anid ne at F246 “vlock, and in twenty-five min-'
lies evidence fully and fatrly, and no pegtry tbs see! | "d paper. Tt is certain, however, that in 1813 young Wil- tatee to Rs urned “into cour witb a verdict of guflty. Then!
Feat exist as to his guilt, .The evidence of tho oes ee | Nam: Graham, sent for the coroner, passed the frown- a : + id Grst time Graham seemed. disturbed and per-|
Vand related facts, if the witnesses who eaety i oe es : “« | {og portal of that grim house on the most tragie errand|| : H eee + Assuring a determined look, he said he wished’
veuld “the trait, the whole truth aad feos) Rossiter “7 ss) boy conld ever go upon. One may wonder if, as he} <_ te - Poa fing ‘4 the court. Judge Spencer in‘:mated !
Licuth.” cons: tules alinvst conclusive proof of ee sie G crossed the brides that Sunday morning, he had any|. \: (MNO GE! it wins smedhing very material be might bel
jeuite. One >a but be impressed, however. slag a0 “Premeneicn thal che las eck shoo ier? tp the ehuttered; oo. _ Besid - The reporter says: : ;

tic ht whee tawefinnt, assigned as 4% whet st of : i -{ hoger. ‘vould be instruments! ix sera:ce, his father to! a -he privener then in a stern and vindicetlve tone
| amnion prensa ef lege ever Retired mit SO | 3 Aa, ae we, - : i ee ‘Sut Se btew not how the deceased came
defacto the asts odo geld: Mowers? Fish SN ce (Sit, te was Innoeeat ad teat te
ane See Oe BOE ORS RET atch Lit ‘tuesses had that day sworn falsely azainst
deevie taunt of theft was Boot & a Oo :
y was pending. and west J frrpsalel bya

Sth OTP TW Le eee Th ae

|
|

ry se ea

dat “ax

ioe

SUES ros
° ae
i

of *

tania Alas! If this sin be upon Mrs. vag ud rh? pte tee

fe reasonable doubt of it, your nile + Cia 7 ey “wn.

aoipz-es point you to your duty.

The charge. of Mr. Justice Spence: st dew
the reporter. as “solemn and impressite. ¢
‘mentioned “the most singuler coinci adhe
circumstances” shown by the evidences, said” 4):
perpetrator of the crime “must have bent, Ret
a mind almost unequalled for ferocity,” and came quickly
to the point that the two deceazed bad been murdered
by some third person with the handspike produced in
evidence. “Whoever used that club in taking the lives
of the deceased,” said the court, “must have used it o8
; unarmed and unresisting men," and was a murderrr
' The only question ts, is the oat the one who ust
the club, The evidence relating to the footprints wa

| pevlewed, and it was sald that it showed that Graham 3

end the two deceased came by the footpath thr ough the}
woogs together. Said the court: —

“Those circumstances combined show that the thir
persons who entered ‘the woods from Kellorx’s trust,
iu all probability, have progressed-together until their
arrival at or near the sugar camp, and tnence fh the.
fatai pot.” 3
The question for the jury was then stated:

“Now, gentlemen, is it at all. probable, is it pos- ”
sible, that any third persca, under the expectation
of. the: deceased persons. passing that footpath, so-.
crete! -himealf at that sugar camp: and: thus . way-
‘laid the deceased to kil] them?”

The question was instantly followed by ‘the- Withering) ;

“observation:
“Tf .so, what became of the prisoner at the bar?

Br sete whort “you have fn: charge dd | pelle gate ae rs
‘Zs enormous erime of murderin: t. fs were ota

Where was be while the third persca was coming | -~

out? Where was Graham while the 7‘ person
made the fatal attack? The prisoners imnucence |
depends on the fact that he had separated from his

swmpanions .before they were murdered. if Ne: had ss

fot, he must either have known of their being at-
tacked or he must himself have attacked feean. It
is inconceivable that an attack could have.s-:n inade

Zon them whilst he was in. their compat yo-asil he be LES

fanorant of it.”
The charge then discussed the at reg ped inconsistent

“ stateanents of the prisoner, and it was asserted that they :
, were “entirely irreconcilable,” though in truth they were‘

i :not inconsist ent, except the statements teliting to the
|} iaxes. The stains on the prisonrrs tow shirt and fruck
| were mentioned, with a strong intimation that the court;
ib i believed oe were of blood, but stil, it. was for the jury
| ~

1 ae
)

: eae AE ie hal 213
thet Ue. nial htop

Ai ed GIF :

Live fr 2g aS sorter says: “For the best cf reorons
(tie aT iba thit boy is not noted.” The
> on bbe ae not disrcadit the testimony -¢ Wil.

al
*

aval

r ¥S NOt renertecd Je tg

> L “masterly, and tiowt mas: “%
“very Ingenious attempt toe convince the

Pat the riurdercd might have met their fate from‘

hird person other than Graham.” The address}°

Sherwood baz becn reported in fnll. After admon-}
ro the fury te to the desapeigseeds he said, “if orl
“anst, humanity tid be in favori
f.o* - prisoner.” fs ‘ sree was con-!
trvurd, he said the crim patent ed “the aggrava-!
s Of ruthless barbarity wiheut parallel i ‘the history?
hos she present time.” Ie dwelt upon the weichr +» he
}Rivei elreumstaatlal evidence, and said that the human
mind Js as well satisticd “by a ccherent combination of

_: circumstances aq (by) any species of testimony what-o>)
{eses He atonanget aside the “ingenious” argument of:
r& Root as “but the illusion of fancy,” spoke of the:
av eint given by Graham, and of his violent threats, F

Sec dad:
“Wiha heart thus depraved and thoughts thus

t+ -fomilarized with butchery and blood, we find the = *"
prisoner at Kelloge’s between sundown and dark with .*-

the two deceased... They a alt sect. oul together to re- -*

turn-to the turnpike, a distance ef two miles, on a>

sTectpath through the woods; Ne Ber meray that>.

Right traveled that way. The next storniag the
« prisoner {3s found apparently unconcerned at home:

‘to the two Gaceased are found upon the road abent a

“guarter of a mile from the prisoner’s house, mangled

“j< and Gead. It was natural to look to the prisoner zi
P tor @ correct: account of his companion It was |

indispensably necessnry for him to give one.* :
He then emphasized the alleged inconsistencies in: ike
prisoner's. account, Graexstane as inconsistencies those
‘things told by Graham at one time and omitted at anuth-..
er.° Turning to the encase cf the footprints, he da-=

peribed them fully, and said they were !eft “as if marted
by the finger of Providence to develope that which other-

}-wise maght have been mysterlous.” He pictured the fatal...

assauli thus: “Cameron <aa Srst approached from be-
hind and struck dowti upon bts face: this gave the alarm -.

ito BicGillivray, who turned around and was met by @

blow in:front which knocked him down berkwerd.” tus

: address ended:

i "The evidence is all before you. You will weigh =~;
te with soter attention; deliberate upon tha circum- ° >:

tances, av % can sce no escape from chying the

athite doogreme) that it is but tse true that the

niher ¢anie bh eme het ore.

Siilinm, had the nose bleed;

REPEL ORY OME ett BOE ER IRE RY pe
Sa ee Ly cee oo, be nN TIP SEE

i 7.2)
Oth <i 1813 were not +
Ate ‘ fosetations there sein no “dietscems cag anerhade"t
cy Musa) of the “Vrisever ot + Lin wor henieit
“sr the jail held a prises. ofeteoet GS |
eeeae, his limbs was [nds @- Cin tradas 8
‘. pglevous and unrelenting as sao Ay
af iron, the sight of McGillivy. > Heam tp Wed x aii’
ale horror in Mary McGillivray s 4 74 hich}
” “i or waking Graham could bever rig ies itd
excn more nbdenitie: To Graham's distraa-t+, ifecteeq
i and deluded mind, the keg ince that he suw wre - uly;
tw real, and the burning bands and heavy chai ee |
“his Jimbs were forever remit iding him that therr neéudey

ing spectres had yet to be appeased. |

Through the fall, winter and erring after his cep
tore the “violent passiors and implacable temper” —~- the
prisener were tantatized into near madness by the + «ful
visions that haunted his bedside, while his gorriie thEe-
strength was rendered impotent to proride an esrrape E+
the irons that at once galled him into fury and held -
him helpless in their grasp. When June, 1814, with ite
perfect days, and Mr. Justice Spencer with th sicm of

Sharon and the character of a stern judge strangely
mingled in what peopie said of him, vane « Patt James

Justice of the Court of Common Pleas of the pardewar <.
county, with a jury of twelve [reeholders of the. 2 Ate
It was the duty of this court “to deliver th: <cosl of
the prisonera therein, according to law.” 37 ?sne 1et4
the Judges of the court In Delaware tou 4

brose Spencer, justice of the supreme «--

-bauy Ebenezer Foote, judge, and Gide:.. Frisher,
sistant justice, of the Common Piens.- 1s f:ihe :
Jana Graham’s irons were struck off, aud ue was brought -

into court and asked if he had couns-}, . He sa'd that “f

he tad not, and that he “had no means of gitmuring ner
rewarding them;” and he asked ths! isra-tus Newt and
; Samus! Sherwood be asslxned as his eouneet Phe di's-
itriet auterney informed the court that fs gad retalieal
Mr Sherwood on behalf of the s+.; ths cont
Wawa ‘The prisoner was arraigned cae (vest day - eid
‘piesa: d pot guilty, and bis trial comnienced at 7 a. m.,
e}on June 17th. Although the murders had been som-
j mitted nearly a year befure, and the pote vers ¢ .cul
ihad only one day to prepare fo: tes trial, they s-ned

‘for no further time. The reporter tells us that Lisirtet |.)
-t Attorney Street Opened she case Yo the jury “in 2 very

,Mild, candid and interfet:ng mauner.” The witnesses
i then proceeded to tell the story set forth in the earlier
, bart of this narrative. Graham could not ‘estify so his

Hothic 2 meek, sib nee ‘

ye hs

his youthful romance with the girl called the fos0 of ;

Craham, festering in his irons, was ready to be Felivered. */!
In 1814 courts of “Oyer and Terminer and General Gaal -
Delivery” for the several counties of the state constatcd .-
of a supreme court justice, and the judge and assistant © -

{ti ¢ereupon assigned Mr. Rost. aor 1s Yous lac & aut

ecle AeA a,

ee
ole ya

Me Sa ee cect

phos i SE Vs Sich cx sean

pall S 5: AAEM PRS Fae AS gs

Sete
nS thea Ja ae,

r Se eee ae ~ermpe

er oe he * Sige: See eee ae
- Th of Fee Est:

_ Inddx to pertinent bates:

Claudius SMITH, hanged Jan. 22, 1779 = PP 72-80

The THAYER brothers, hanged July 17, 1825 - pp 27-36
Indian JOHN, hanged in 1818 = pp 36-39,

Mary ANTONE, hanged Sept. 30, 181) and John a : “s
; ANTONE, hanged Sept. 12, 1823 = pp 39=),)0, ae, a
= @ *. @

GREEN, Henry Ge, hanged Sept, 10, 18h5 = pp 1-hh3.

DAMON, Joseph, -hanged May 15, 1835 = pp 5-18. | : B O OTS -
; pa "te

-BRITCHES

J.B. Lippincott Company

o: PHILADELPHIA

wg ; NEW YORK - LONDON - TORONTO
TALS &,
Ror. 1940

nee

5 |
44 BODY, BOOTS AND BRITCHES.

and her code when she said: “She got away with my man and de-
served to die.” Legend reports that Sheriff Elijah Pratt, who con-
ducted the execution, escaped the vengeance of Antone by migrating -
to a western state. The principal witness for the prosecution, a half-
breed named John Jacobs, did not fare so well. He too removed
from the neighborhood but foolishly accepted Abram’s message of
amnesty, returned to a farm near Middleport, and fell before the
knife of an avenging father. 5
For some time, the old man escaped arrest by posses of Indesins
and whites, but was finally captured by a stratagem well known to
our Injun-killers. A man named Curtis induced him, through pride
in his markmanship, to shoot at a target; when Antone’s rifle was
emptied, officers overpowered him and took him to the Morrisville

jail, where he is said to have answered the exhortations of pious —
Christians by the simple declaration, “I believe in the God of my

fathers”. At his trial an attempt to deny the jurisdiction of New York
State was over-ruled. Two or three tribes petitioned for him; it was
noted, however, that his own people, the Oneidas, were silent. He
seems to have been puzzled by the whole proceeding. After all, this was
not his first murder; he stated indignantly that the claims of justice
had been fulfilled when he paid $270 as peace-ransom to the proper
Indian authorities. Dissatisfaction with the court’s sentence he ex-
pressed in curt, Indian fashion: “No good way to hang like a dog.”
Before a huge crowd and amid the wails of Indian women he was
“turned off” in September, 1823; his title of Terror of Madison
County passed to a band of Yankee horse-thieves. Mr. D. H. Teed,
who has written the completest account of the case, supplies an
_ Ironic after-word: Curtis, who had betrayed old Abram, moved to
Ohio, where he was murdered by Indians.

A desire on my part to present in truthful fashion the folklore of
our frontier has compelled the inclusion of a few Indian murderers.
Justice demands that I call your attention to the fact that if you
scrutinize our history after the Revolution, you will find the record
of the Red Men clean compared with that of those savage Injun-
killers to whom I have devoted an entire chapter. Mention of justice
recalls an unforgettable anecdote about Red Jacket. After watching
the trial of an Indian, he pointed to the coat-of-arms of the State.

ASME rene IG AR ley 4 AT NA OE

ST ek Ce hee te,

i ita ke Ms oar eas ae ae aa ene a aed

MURDERERS . 441

“What him call?”

“Liberty.”

_ “Ugh! What Aim call?”

“Justice.”

“W here—him—live—now?”

As you have seen, greed and pride have taken their toll in York
State. The case of Mary Antone reminds us that here (as everywhere)
a third motive has not been lacking—what is vaguely called Jove, what
might better be called envy, jealousy, and hate. Murdered wives,
husbands, and lovers are recalled in many a ballad or folktale, some-
times of local fame, at least once of national renown. For example,
in our northeastern counties and in Vermont you may still hear
the doleful ballad of The Murdered Wife: or, The Case of Henry G.
Green, of Berlin, Rensselaer County, N. Y., which might also be
called, The Strolling Player, or, The Bride of a Week. Let me give
a summary of the facts behind the ballad.

On Sunday, February 10, 1845, a few days before the date pre-
viously announced for their nuptials, Green was married at Stephen-
town to pretty Mary Ann Wyatt, who had been an actress in a
wandering troupe which presented The Reformed Drunkaré. On
Tuesday, when the supposedly happy couple returned to the groom’s
house at Berlin, N. Y., Mary was in perfect health. On Wednesday,
Green’s mother told him of rumors—almost certainly false—regard-
ing the actress, whose profession was still regarded with disfavor :n
the “deeply rutted villages”. On Thursday, Green organized a
sleighride attended by several friends of the groom including Alzina
Godfrey, who is said to have declared at the party that she*had ex-
pected to be the bride. It seems likely that Alzina’s charms—social,
financial, and‘sentimental—made her former lover resent his captivity
to another; at any rate, on Friday he obtained from a physician some
opium pills for a “slight indisposition” of his wife. An: overdose of
this medicine would have served the groom’s purpose if Mary had
not had a fit of vomiting which rid her of the ‘poison. Green thén
secured in less formal fashion some arsenic. On Monday, the eighth
day after her marriage, Mary Ann died.

The trial for murder opened at Troy, the County-Seat, on July 7th,

2 : S$ AN
44 BODY, BOOTS AND BRITCHES

and lasted for what was then regarded as a long session of twelve
days. Though the hanging on September 10th was a “private” one
to which only fifty carefully selected spectators were admitted, for
twenty-four hours before the execution crowds flocked from aie
until two or three thousand were jammed into the interesting
proximity of the jail. At 3:40 P. M. the murderer-bridegroom
mounted the scaffold to join the fifty fortunates in singing Rock of
A ges thereafter his power to entertain was limited to a confessian
published five days after the execution, and to a printed brosddside-
ballad in twenty-four stanzas, probably first sold before Green was
hanged.

The following version was handed down from a member of the
sleighride Party who remembered the “other girl” as Priscilla
Brownell, instead of Alzina Godfrey, and reported that she said:

Why did you marry Mary? I would have married you in the end.”

Come listen to my tragedy, young people young and old;

1’ll tell to you a story that will make your blood run cold,
Concerning a young lady, Miss Wyatt was her name,

Who was murdered by her husband, and he hung for the same.

This lady she was beautiful, not of a high degree.

Young Henry Green was wealthy, as you shall plainly see.
He said, “My dearest Mary, if you will be my wife,

I'll guard you at my peril throughout this gloomy life”.

She said, “My dearest Henry, I fear that ne’er can be:
bd a7 . :
It’s you have rich relations, I’m not as rich as thee;
And ar your parents came to know, they would spurn me from their
Oor,

They'd rather you would wed someone had wealth laid up in store.”

He said, “My dearest Mary, why thus torment me so?
For if you longer me deny, I vow I'll take my life,
For I no longer wish to live unless you are my wife.”

Believing all he said was true, she thus became his wife:
Oh little did she think, poor girl, or e’er did she expect
He’d take away the life of one he’d just sworn to protect!

BE ME a AE OCU AR RAL YONA Eh ls amit

i
¢
?
F
t
t
;
‘3

.
ae

MURDERERS : ; . 443

They had been married scarce a week when she was taken ill,
Or was it e’er expected he meant his wife to kill.

Great doctors they were sent for, and none of them could say;
Soon it was proclaimed by them she must go to her grave.

Her brother, hearing of the same, straight unto her did go,

Saying, “Sister dear, you’re dying; the doctors tell me so”;

Saying, “Sister dear, you’re dying, your life is at an end.

Say, have you not been murdered by the one you think your friend?”"—

“It’s as I'm on my bed of death and know that I must die,
I’m going to my Maker, the truth shall not deny.

I know that Henry poisoned me, but, brother, for him send,
For I do love him now as well,as when he was my friend.”

When Henry got the tidings, he went his wife to see.

She said, “My dearest Henry, have I e’er deceived thee?”

Three times she said, “Dear Henry!” then sank into death’s swoon.
He gazed on in indifference, and in silence left the room.

An inquest on her body held according to the law,

And soon it was proclaimed by them that arsenic was the cause.
Green was apprehended, lodged down in Troy jail,

There to await his trial—the courts could not give bail.

On the day of his trial, he was brought on the stand

To answer for the blackest crime committed on our land.
Judge Parker read the sentence, He ’peared to me unmoved;
He said he was not guilty, although it had been proved.

He said he was not guilty, and he did her friends defy;
He pled that he was innocent, although condemned to die.

Green’s stupid crime recalls a more recent mountain-murder which
the genius of Theodore Dreiser has celebrated. His An American

Tragedy, you recall, is based upon the killing at Big Moose in the,

Adirondacks of Grace Brown by Chester Gillette, a dazed young
Yorker who decided too late that he wished to marry another girl.
The following ballad about the case is a version sung at Gloversville

GRERN, Henry G.,. white, hanged Troy, NY 9-10-1845,

GREEN 115

383 Green, George W.

Life of the Chicago banker, Geo. W. Green, alias Oliver Gavitt,
who was found guilty of poisoning his wife and who committed suicide
by hanging in the jail of Cook Co. Chicago, Ill. printed at the Chicago
Democrat office ... and published by Mellen & Co. (1855). ICHi.

48 p. 23cm. wrap. cover title; port. on cover.

In his History of Chicago (Chicago, 1884-86), Volume I, page 157, A. T.
Andreas states: “The rulings of Judge Morriss in the case of George W. Green.
for the alleged murder of his wife, covered some new points in the jurisprudence
of Illinois, as it was the first case tried here in which the testimony of experts
as to the presence of poison, ascertained by chemical tests after death, were
admitted as evidence.”

384. Green, Henry G.

Confession of Henry G. Green, who was executed for the murder
of his wife, at Troy, N. Y., on Wednesday, September 10, 1845, as given to
the Rev. Robert B. Van Kleeck ... with the sentence of Judge Parker. Troy,
N. Y., published by R. Rose, under sheriff, and F. Belcher, 1845. MWA,
N-L, NNB.

12p. 19.5cm. sewn. There is also an 11-p. ed.

Green, twenty-two years old, met his wife, Mary Ann Wyatt, eighteen years old,
during some temperance lectures. They had been married less than a week
when he poisoned her with arsenic at Berlin, New York. The crime seems to
have been induced by his mother’s disapproval of his wife.

385

The confession of Henry G. Green, as written by himself, in a
letter to a friend, before he disclosed his guilt to the Rev’d Messrs. Van
Kleeck and Baldwin .. . his trial and sentence .. . . Albany, printed for
the publisher, 1845. MoU-L. + ie

t
31 p. 245 cm. =
}
h
i
!

386

The execution and last moments of Henry G. Green: with his

confession. To which is added the letter of his mother, and lines suggested :
Cc :
A

Ulwwal 7, MMtixden, ty ' /, DULO-O Y/ 2

Norwuau / 0 K | / hii’ : 04 Wha Fines , q

’
4

744 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

to decide. It is not proper that the Court should express an
opinion, or attempt to control you in settling it.

On the part of the prisoner it is urged, and many witnesses
have been introduced to prove, that up to the time of this
occurrence, the prisoner sustained a fair character. Now, in
case of doubt, this is very important evidence. If the evidence
stood balanced, or nearly so, or if it admitted of doubt, it
would be more satisfactory to know what had been the true
character of the accused before—and he is entitled to the
benefit of former good character. But if the crime be proved
upon him to your satisfaction, then it is of no consequence
what his character was. You have heard, however, what the
witnesses have said on this point—what was drawn out on the
direct and cross-examinations; and if this case be one of doubt
in your minds, then you must resort to the question of charac-
ter, and give to the prisoner all the benefit you shall think
character entitled to in case of doubt.

I have thus called your attention to the prominent issues —

involved in this case. In all such cases, it is the rule of law—
and it is a salutary one, which has prevailed from time im-
memorial—that if there be a reasonable doubt of the guilt
of the accused, he is to have the benefit of that doubt. But by
a reasonable doubt, I do not mean a bare possibility of inno-
cence; because that may be true, in all cases. Even where a
witness comes before you and swears that he saw a murder
committed, there is a possibility that he swears to an untruth.
I mean to say that if there be a conviction on your mind,
from the evidence before you, that the prisoner is guilty—if
in your hearts you feel that there is no reasonable question
on that point, you must then find him guilty.

Throughout this whole trial it has been the intention of
the Court to insure the prisoner a fair trial. In all questions
of doubt as to the admissibility of evidence, the Court has
been governed by views favorable to the prisoner. So with
you. Where a circumstance is of a doubtful character, or
doubtful in its bearings, you are to give the prisoner the
benefit of the doubt. But where a fact is established, which
leads the mind necessarily to the conclusion that he is guilty,

ae
ss Ake
ee 5

HENRY G. GREEN. 745

though there may be a bare possibility that he is innocent
still you must find him guilty.

In all these cases, gentlemen, there are appeals to the sym-
pathies of the human heart—appeals which, if not made by
counsel, grow out of the cases themselves. Our sympathies
naturally tend in favor of the prisoners arraigned for capital
offence. In this case, no doubt, you would gladly acquit, if you
could. It is the natural tendency of the human heart. But
you must bear in mind that mercy is not an attribute that
belongs to Courts. We must pass upon the laws and the facts
as they exist. We have nothing to do with sympathy in this
case. If mercy is to be extended to the prisoner, it will be
extended by a different tribunal. The Executive alone can_
interfere. And in this ease, as in all others of great impor-
tance—in capital cases especially—it is urged that attempts
have been made to operate on your minds by local appeals
and prejudices, by influences other than those legitimately
to be drawn from the testimony. I have no doubt you will
guard against such influences. A high and solemn duty de-
volves upon you. I have no doubt you will meet it as becomes
yourselves, though it be the most painful act of your lives.
Probably this is the first time that you have been called upon
to pass upon an issue so momentous; and I trust it may be
the last. You are to soar above all extraneous influences,
political and local—to discard everything foreign to the case
before you. You are above it and beyond it. You have a high
and holy duty to perform. You are to mete out justice with
a firm and impartial hand ; and under every obligation to your
country, to your own consciences, and to God, to discharge
your whole duty, without fear or favor. You have been told
of the consequences of a wrong verdict in this case. You have
nothing to do with conjectures and possibilities. You are to
say, on your consciences and your oaths, whether, upon the
evidence before you, the prisoner is guilty. If you discharge
that faithfully, whatever may be the true state of the case,
you can have hereafter no cause for regret. You will always
be sustained by the reflection that you have faithfully dis-
charged your duty according to the lights before you at the

’

eee eee ee

746 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

time; and whether you acquit the guilty or convict the inno-
cent, your consciences will tell you that you acted from an
honest and firm purpose to discharge your whole duty.

I cannot close the discharge of the duty that devolves upon
me without urging upon you the importance of agreeing upon
a verdict. The case has occupied two whole weeks. A vast
deal of time and money has been expended. The case has
been very fully presented. Many witnesses have been ex-
amined, and most ably has the case been argued by counsel.
You see, therefore, the great importance of endeavoring to
agree on a verdict. Not that I anticipate any difficulty ; -but
in all such cases I deem it my duty to present to the jury the
importance of agreeing. And I must add, that you ought not,
any of you, to place your minds in that fixed position that
* you cannot yield to conviction by reason and argument among
yourselves; but rather cultivate a disposition to seek after,
and arrive at, the truth. I have no doubt your duty will be
most faithfully discharged—kindly towards the prisoner—
weighing carefully the ingenious and able arguments used in
his behalf—at the same time with a due regard to your con-
sciences and the publie interests. And whatever result you
may arrive at, if you arrive at it under a full sense of duty
faithfully discharged, it will be, it must be, satisfactory to all.
It will be enough for you, however, to know that it is satis-
factory to you yourselves and to your own consciences.

THE VERDICT AND SENTENCE.

The Jury retired and in an hour returned with a verdict
of Guilty.

JuDGE Parker: Henry G. Green stand up. Have you any-
thing to say why the judgment of the law should not be pro-
nounced against you.

Green (faintly) : Not guilty.

JupcE Parker: That is adding nothing to what has been
said before. That plea was put in for you by your counsel
and the issue has been tried with every advantage on your
. part. You have had the advantage of very distinguished
counsel, whose endeaors have been unremitting to secure your

HENRY GQ. GREEN. 747

acquittal. You have had the aid of rich and powerful friends
—friends of high respectability and character, who have se-
cured you every opportunity of presenting your whole case
to the jury, fully: and fairly.

Notwithstanding this an intelligent and honest jury have
found you guilty, and it is not to be denied that there is no
individual who has heard this trial that does not concur fully
in the righteousness of that verdict. You stand condemned
as guilty of having murdered your wife. Your case in all its
aspects, exceeds in enormity any of which I have ever heard.
It will no doubt stand out on the page of history the most
criminal, awful case of murder that ever came before a court
and jury.

You murdered her deliberately. You murdered the woman
whom you had sworn but one short week, I may say but four
days before, to cherish through life. The woman whose destiny
had been placed in your keeping, in less than one week after
marriage, you deliberately poisoned. You pursued your de-
sign, day and night—repeating the deadly potion from time
to time until she expired—and thus added to the crime of
murder, the black crime of perjury ; for you violated the most
solemn vow, taken at the altar.

Was it ever known that so interesting and holy a relation
as that of man and wife has been followed thus soon by a
result so shocking and sinful to all the feelings of our nature?
Now, the law pronounces your sentence. You are to be
executed; cut off in the prime of life, or rather just as you
are entering on life; where you had rich and powerful friends
to aid you; when you might have been respected; but from
which you are to be cut off and consigned to an early grave.
And those friends who have stood by you, will not share in
the disgrace that awaits you. They have been disgraced more
by your foul deed than by the ignominious execution which
the law has provided for you.

We shall give you the extent of time, nearly, which the
statute authorizes you to live. And this, that you may have
opportunity to prepare for the fate which awaits you, and

742 XVII. AMERI CAN STATE TRIALS.

tant to examine into the motive. If, however, the evidence of
murder by design, be direct and positive, then the guilt is
established without looking further. And in all these cases
a question as to the adequacy of motive almost always arises,
It is claimed generally that the motive is inadequate—that
it is not sufficient to induce to the commission of murder,
But all this must depend on the peculiar circumstances of
each case, and the peculiar character of the accused. There
is no motive which, to the mind of an honest man, ean be
adequate to the commission of crime; and just in proportion
as the mind is debased and immoral, to that extent the motive
may be less. That induces the criminal act. Hence there can
be no one rule for all cases, as regards adequacy of motive.
It must depend on the moral character of the person accused,
in each case. The worse it is, the less the motive which will
tempt it to the commission of crime.

It is urged, and very plausibly, on the part of the prisoner,
that the relation existing between him and the deceased, for-
bids the supposition that he could have murdered her—that
they were just married—and had barely entered on that im-
portant and interesting relation in life—and that it could
not be supposed, under the circumstances detailed, that the
prisoner could for a moment have entertained the idea of
taking the life of the young woman, whom he had ‘so recently
sworn at the altar to love, cherish and protect. This consider-
ation has weight, and you are to consider carefully this and
all other cireumstanees favorable to the prisoner, and to give
them their full and due weight, comparing them at the same
time, with the other evidence in the case.

It is urged by the prosecution that the prisoner’s acquaint-
ance with the girl he afterwards married was of short dura-
tion—that he had known her but a few weeks—that in fact
he married her a week before the time appointed.. And it is
claimed that the marriage was not agreeable to other members
of his family. An attempt has been made on the part of the
prosecution to introduce a letter alleged to have been written
by the mother to the prisoner, after his arrest, and found in
his possession. That letter has been excluded. It was improper

door, and then heard a remark made by the mother, casting
suspicion on the character of the prisoner’s wife, alleging that
she understood what her character was in Troy, or something
to that effect. Now, this igs evidence—legitimate evidence.

desirable and abiding affection which is supposed to be incom-
patible with the feeling that induced the commission of this
crime—and that a former attachment to Miss Godfrey (the

dence, gentlemen, and sce whether this igs proved. You must
look at this question of motive and give it due weight; be-
cause this is all a question of fact, and belongs to the jury

CAAT RT TE ee

748 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

that if errors have been committed in the course of the trial,
that your counsel may avail themselves of it.

The judgment of the law is, that on Wednesday the 10th
of September next, between the hours of 8 o’clock in the
morning and 5 o’clock in the afternoon, you be taken to the
place of execution, and there hanged by the neck until you
be dead.

The Counsel for the prisoner gave notice of an appeal and
asked that a bill of exceptions be duly approved.

Juvce Parker: Certainly ; but I wish to say that the verdict
of the jury is concurred in by the whole court. Of all the
murders of which the books contain accounts er which the
experience of our profession can recall, this is one so extraor-
dinary in its audacity as to stand out on the page of history
unapproached and unapproachable and unredeemed in unre-
lenting cruelty and horrid barbarity by one single palliating
circumstance. It is a case which calls aloud for prompt punish-
ment and no effort or ingenuity of counsel . an or ought to
save this culprit from the ignominous fate- ‘which the law
has provided for such offenders. \

sasdbhisbisbckaseiaisbsisiasy

not the motive. From the dead man’s

True Detective Mysteries

Captain Bruckman drove to the offices

arrived, dozens of bricklayers, plasterers

d hip pocket, Captain Bruckman withdrew of the T. I. Rhoades Construction Com- and other workmen were gathered about.
: a wallet. The driver’s license was made pany and checked on the character of the unable to understand why their pay was
> out to Judson Hewitt Pratt of 38 Win- dead man. He found it to be excellent. not forthcoming. ,
es throp Street, Brooklyn, As far as they knew, no one ever accom- Captain Bruckman walked over to
- The name told the story since a city- panied the paymaster on the trip to the Lawrence McCabe. the man who operated
i wide alarm was out for the paymaster. Campanile. Miss Elizabeth Stock, the the donkey engine hoist. “When did you
> “Whoever killed him must have known cashier who handed the payroll to Pratt, see Pratt last?” he asked.
7 exactly what they were after. They didn’t explained the routine to the officer. “He was on the job at nine o’clock this
. bother with this small change,” Bruckman _“Was there anything unusual in his ac- = morning.” :
* said, brome ie he ap ia morning?” Cap- “Was there anyone with him?”
fain Bruckman asked, . ;
R. KENNARD opened his instrument “As far as I could see he was the same O, sir. Not as far as I could see.” He
case and gingerly got in beside Pratt. as usual.” went on to tell how he hoisted Pratt
The plush scat had absorbed a large “Did he say anything about seeing a up to the thirteenth floor and then bac!
. quantity of blood which had run down _ friend?” re the street when a workmeds: ‘shouted
' the splash panel onto the running board. “I know he wouldn’t do that. He was up that Pratt was wanted on th aiaty ~
= the right side of the i just apni always ery careful when he carried the ickephor This call was Paar on . :
lw? ear JOINE was a rounc wounc sur- moncy,’ [ 4
: rounded by an area of discolored skin. Captain Bruckman stroked his chin. aoe bc Menta yr Fg We si ger
On the left side of the head about two “Then he called for the payroll today.in their luncheon enga mien for that after-
. inches above the ear and slightly behind much the same fashion as he did every noon Be
0 it was another hole. Dr. Kennard de- Saturday.” “Was there anyone with Pratt when he
; duced that the murder weapon was a “Oh, no,” the cashier interrupted. “It left the job?”
ui 88 caliber gun, was a little different today. He left the “No po I know he left alone
As he stepped out of the car, he said, office with the money instead of getting because as he got into his automobile
7 “This man never knew what hit him’ it from the bank.” I yelled to hi . d pointed to his head.
a Death was instantaneous.” “Who knew about this change?” ei webte the Bot hat th t he
ad “How long would you say he’s been “No one, with the exception of Pratt, only wears on Ae iob He | ughed took
dead?” Bruckman asked, myself, the bank clerk and the officers of it oft went into tha shanty ial eaute out
7 “Since rigor mortis has not set in as this corporation. You sce, on Thursday wearing his straw hat.”
d yet, I would estimate that the killing oc- night Pratt made up the payroll and sent “Have you been on the job long?”
. Haig sometime within the past two or y: to me. I went to the Seaboard Bank, “Since June 7th” } ¥
: ree hours. rew out the money and locked it in the “Did rar gel ’s fri 3 -
le It was easy to reconstruct the murder. office safe. Pratt put the moncy into in- vite There?” ro
The angle of the shot and the absence of dividual envelopes on Friday and when “No. sit never saw one.”
the bullet and hat bow showed clearly he left here at 9:28 he had it with him.” “You mean you never saw a single
that Pratt had been seated behind the . Since the investigation led to the 17th erson call cad ask for him?” Ca tein
3 steeringwheel, the left window Open, at Precinct Captain Bruckman called on one Briskuins asked with a trace of nadia y= ! 4
“ eae wee soaked a was also i his shrewdest sleuths, Lieutenant James am : {
t¢ eviden nat the killer ha riven the finn, chief of the precinct detectives. f : |
to body to this spot. . Lieutenant Finn, aimee acquainted with McCabe, who felt that his powers of {
ile Dr. Kennard motioned to the ambu- the disappearance and murder since Pa- observation were being slighted, _ said f
e- lance surgeon and gave permission for the trolman McGowan who had been assigned 'rtly, “Sure, he had a visitor, Every ‘
rT removal of the body to the Tordham to guard the payroll had reported the Saturday morning a tee showed: up - i
<3 Hospital morgue, paymaster missing, listened with interest guard the payroll.” He grinned at his
_ “Was there any other information broad- toa report of the questioning of Eliza- OW? humor, ;
cast in the alarm?” Inspector Duane asked. _ beth Stock. From other workmen the, detective
Bruckman nodded. “Pratt had already “Have you got any leads?” Lieutenant learned that Pratt did not mix business
started out from his office with the pay- Finn asked, with his outside affairs. The only per- !
ne roll. He never arrived at the Campanile. Captain Bruckman shook his head, 80n seen visiting him was the patrolman i
d In other words, stickup men who had “The killor didn’t leave a single clue.” who guarded the payroll. All. the Manis i
we cased this job carefully waylaid him along “The very absence of clues is our best knew him since his beat was in the neigh- iy
le the route.” ~~ lead.” commented Finn. borhood, }
ld Inspector Duane looked dubious, “That “How is that?” Back at the East 51st Street Precinct
We would mean that they forced Pratt to “It tells us in the most unmistakable Captain Bruckman asked Lieutenant ~
ut drive them here or that they drove his manner that this was an inside job, The George Marxhausen who sat behind the }
he body. Stickup men don’t act that way.” killer was able to chart with absolute ac- desk for the name of the officer who could j
ee Although men from the Homicide Squad curacy every move made by Pratt.” best acquaint him with Pratt’s routine. :
10 went over every inch of the car, they did It was only a short drive from the pre- “That’s Dan Graham,” the Lieutenant
not find a single clue. cinct to the Campanile. When Bruckman replied,
it 0 4
ns . e e
he PRIZE SOLUTION CONTEST — July, 1938, True Detective Mysteries
j
a 3 X, PHANTOM KILLER
rt 1
ms FIRST PRIZE—$10.00 j
of
ry Mr. George F. Jackson, 212 East Eichel Avenue, Evansville, Indiana 4
<t- . :
n- FOUR PRIZES—$5.00 EACH i
cy H
ey | Miss Geraldine A. Curry, 2143 Starling Avenue, Bronx, New York; Joseph C. Calestini, P.F.C. Quartermaster Det. Supply, i
im | Corozal, Canal Zone, Panama; Mr. W. O. Morse, M. & M. Dental Laboratory, 216 Medical Arts Building, Tulsa, Okla- }
us | homa; Lieutenant C. H. Carmichael, 700 Melrose Avenue, Verdun, Montreal, Canada. i
he
ily | FIFTEEN PRIZES—$2.00 EACH
ne ! : ‘
in | Mrs. Harry A. Chandler, 375 Riverside Drive, New York, N. Y.; Mr. Edgar Carnes, South Zanesville, Ohio; Mrs. Caroline ‘
us | Andrews, 4702 North 15th Street, Omaha, Nebraska; Miss Rita Dale, 118-53 Metropolitan Avenue, Apartment 7D, Kew Gar- ,
ny | dens, New York; Miss Rena Faul, Gregory, South Dakota; Mrs. Maude Palmer Ward, 186 Elm Street, Albany, New York;
: _ Mr. Elton Frakes, Post Office Box 24, Rushville, Missouri; Mrs. Barbara S. Rogers, 1115 E. Whitton Avenue, Phoenix, Ari-
ar | zona; Miss La Vera Mecoy, Route 1, Tiplersville, Mississippi; Mrs. W. C. Hale, 218 Indiana Avenue, Weslaco, Texas; Mr.
ts | M. H. King, Theressa, Florida; Miss Lulu Nethaway, 458 West Seventh Street, Wahoo, Nebraska; Miss Margaret E.
265 | O’Toole, 221 Cohasset Street, Worcester, Massachusetts; Private Harold L. Spencer, 34th Ordnance Company, United
at | States Army, Fort Bragg, North Carolina; Mrs, Edith Quatman, Fort Loramie, Ohio.
te . |
'

A ORE

jewel-studded platinum bracelet for $260.
Graham paid for these in $50 and $20
bills, which he stripped from a big roll.

Kobrin eyed his customers shrewdly.
“When are you two getting married?” he
asked,

“Next month,” Graham replied.

“Then let me be the first to give the
bride a wedding present,” smiled the
jeweler. He ducked behind the counter
and came up with a silver candy dish.

As they drove toward Times Square
once more, Margie said, “Where did you
get the money?”

“T told you about those beer runners,”
Graham replicd. ‘Well, they paid off.”
He reached into his pocket and handed
her $900. “Hang onto this, Margie,” he
said. “I’m liable to spend it foolishly.”

Patrolman Graham was a half-hour late
for his appointment with Berman.

When the latter climbed in_ beside
Graham he asked, “Isn’t Margie coming
along?”

RAHAM laughed shortly. “I’m out for
a good time tonight—as a bachelor.
Tl be married to Margie for a long time.”

Externally Graham presented the same
picture of smooth, vigorous manhood he
always had. Only his voice, slightly high-
pitched and eager, might have betrayed
the feelings that seethed within him.

He drove his new Buick to Coney
Island, parked in a space provided by the
Shelbourne Hotel in which the Boardwalk
Club was located. This was a small,
smoke-filled room termed, for want of a
better name, “intimate.”

“What’ll. you have to drink?” Graham
asked, after he and his friend were seated
at a corner table.

“I’m hungry,” Berman responded. “I
want to get something solid inside my
belt.”

Joe Kass, the headwaiter, approached
the table and nodded to Graham, whom
he had seen on a previous occasion.

“Send Rita over,’ Graham said.

The headwaiter motioned to a dark-
haired, beautiful girl sheathed in a black
satin dress which accentuated each
shapely curve of her lithe body.

“Hello, Sheik,” she said, resting her
hand familiarly on the back of Graham’s
chair. She only knew him by his nick-
name. ,

Rita Madison had come to New York
f-om Massachusetts to try for the stage.
She was in the front line chorus of “The
Dancing Girl” at the Winter Garden.
When show girls’ jobs were scarce, she
became a hostess and entertainer in vari-
ous supper clubs and speakeasies.

“Sit down, Rita, and have a couple of
drinks with us.”

The girl slid into a chair beside him.

“What’ll you have?”

“Champagne.”

Berman ordered a sandwich,

Graham looked up at the waiter. “I
want six bottles of champagne all at
once. Line them up around the table so
we can’t miss them.”

Rita sipped her sparkling drink slowly
while Graham gulped down a full bottle
within a few minutes. Then the Sheik
piloted the hostess onto the dance floor
and attempted in a somewhat unsteady
lianner to keep time with the music. As
the music stopped Graham pressed her
to him. .

“You're a good kid, Rita. I like you.”
He slipped a $5 bill into her hand.

At. midnight Graham called for his
check. It amounted to $150 as the pro-
| rietor later testified. The patrolman dug
iato his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills
und, concealing them under the table,
stripped off the needed amount.

Berman caught a quick flash of the
money as Graham’s hand ducked under

Lrue Detective Mysteries

the table and he whistled.

“Where did you get that dough,
Danny?” he asked. “Rob a bank?”

Graham’s face reddened. “Mind your
own business,” he said sharply.

Berman’s head) snapped) back.
he asked in surprise.

“T’m sorry,” Graham quickly apologized.
“T guess I had one drink too many. Let’s
get out of here and get some air.”

They walked for a while on the board-
walk and Graham’s head cleared. As they
passed a news stand he peered at the
headlines. Black and heavy across the
front page of an afternoon paper he read,
“Paymaster Found Slain.” In small type
he saw, “Police were baffled today by the
discovery of the body of Judson Pratt,
paymaster for the Rhoades Construction
Company ...” The lead for, this story in
another paper was, “Police were without
clues late this afternoon in the murder
puzzle on Mosholu Parkway when the
body of Judson Pratt... .”

Graham gratefully breathed in deep
gulps of fresh air.

“Come on back, Osher,” he said. “Let’s
have a helluva time.”

Back in the Boardwalk Café Rita Madi-
son immediately joined them. The Sheik
was too good a spender to be neglected.

“en?”

members of the jury and

counsel visited 52nd Street near First

Avenue, scene of the murder, in the
course of the Graham trial

Judge,

The first order was for a case of cham-
pagne. As the evening wore on, Graham’s
speech became thicker, his movements

“more unsteady.

The first time he took the beautiful
hostess onto the dance floor he gave her
$20. “Buy yourself a new fall outfit,” he
said.

At four o’clock when the place was ready
to close, Graham, in a sudden generous
gesture, took out a handful of bills and
gave them to her. They amounted to
$120.

“Want you to have breakfast with me,”
he whispered hoarsely,

“We close in a quarter of an hour.” she
told him. “Meet me around the side.”

Graham weaved back to his table,
seated himself heavily.

It had all been so ridiculously easy.
Here he was enjoying himself with every
cop in the city up a tree looking for the
man who had pulled the Pratt job. Even
though his mind was befogged with drink,
he knew what he was doing; knew well
enough what would direct suspicion upon
him. He paid a second bill of $250 and
ordered that the bottles of champagne
which had not been consumed be placed
in the back of his gar.

The hostess, meanwhile, had drawn the
waiter aside and hastily slipped $145 into
his hand. “Hang on to this, Joc. I'll pick
it up tomorrow.”

“What's the idea?”

She jerked her thumb in the direction
of Graham. “I’m afraid when he sobers

up he might want it back.”

Graham, Berman and the hostess had
breakfast at 5:00 A. Mm. at Roth’s restaurant
on Broadway and 54th Street. Then
Graham drove the girl to her apartment

In the chill, gray dawn Graham's {cel-
ings underwent a change. The liquor was
beginning to wear off. His mind was
clearing. Away from the stimulus of en-
forced gaicty he felt suddenly depressed.
He shivered so badly from a chill from
within that Berman asked to take the
wheel.

‘Tl be all right,” Graham told him
“I guess my nerves are shot.”

As they rounded the corner onto the
street in which they lived, Graham spoke
quickly. “What was that? Didn’t some-
one just go into our house?”

Berman laughed, “It’s your imagination
I don’t sce anything.”

He braked the car in front of the house.
climbed out slowly. He could have sworn
he had seen someone go into the vestibule
Berman remained behind to take care oi
the things stacked in the back of the car
while Graham slowly mounted the flight
of stone steps. He couldn’t shake from
his mind the feeling that something wa
going to happen. Down the street a milk-
man’s horse cloppety-clopped, empha-
sizing the quict of the deserted street.
Graham shivered. He put his hand
on the doorknob, pushed open the door

and stepped into the vestibule. He
started up the stairs ....stopped....
listened ....

* Oe OK

At 12:45 p.m., one hour after Pratt was
reported missing, Patrolman Arthur J.
Costa, attached to the Kingsbridge Road
Police Station in the Bronx, jumped into
the police flivver and set out for the di-
vision office with the precinct’s daily re-
ports. As he drove through the drizzle he
noticed a car parked in the underpas
formed by Jerome Avenue crossing over
Mosholu Parkway. The busy hum oi
traffic and the rumble of the trains on
the elevated structure above did little to
disturb this quiet byway. In the car he
saw what seemed to be an oddly-shape!
bundle. He maneuvered his own machine
as close to the parked coupé as possible
without slackening speed, but all he could
make out in the hazy light was a yellow:
ish blur. He continued his journey bu
on the return trip pulled alongside the
parked car. What looked like a package
was a man, wearing a yellow slicker, who
appeared to be asleep.

OSTA opened the door and shook him.

It was then that he first noticed that
the man he shook was dead; that stream:
of blood had hardly coagulated on the
side of his head.

He rushed to the nearest telephone and
notified his precinct. They in turn called
the Police Telegraph Bureau and in short
order detectives from various division:
converged on the scene. In charge 0;
the case were Deputy Inspector Henry
Duane, Captain Henry Bruckman, Assis‘-
ant Chief Medical Examiner Carl Kon-
nard and Assistant District Attorne
Samuel Foley. What they saw when ther
opened the door of the car was a victir,
of slim build, a straw hat propped on his
head, its bow missing. In place of th
bow was a neat, round hole evident!
caused by the bullet which killed hin
Neither the bow nor the bullet was ‘:
the car and a careful search in. the in:
mediate vicinity also failed to reveal an:
trace of them.

Captain Bruckman leaned into the ex
and carefully went through the pocke:
of the dead man. In one he found $2
in cash. This, coupled with the fact th:
the victim wore an expensive wris-
watch, made it appear that robbery w:.

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There was a broken bottle in the middle
of the street. “Watch out, Jud, you'll
puncture your tires!” He meant it to be
i sharp warning but the words sounded
weak in his own ears,

Pratt saw it and braked the car, twisting
the wheel to the left.

Graham’s right hand moved once again
out of his pocket. The stock of the gun
was wet and his hand trembled.

Pratt’s eyes were intent on the broken
glass,

Graham steadied his right hand against
his chest, took deliberate aim and
squeezed the trigger. An orange burst of
flame spurted from the muzzle. Pratt’s
head shot to the side, his straw hat
jumped as though it were a live thing,
but didn’t fall from his head. Graham
leaned over quickly, threw the car out of
gear, and pulled up the emergency brake.
This act he performed mechanically. Then
he sat’ still not daring to look around. The
roar of the weapon must surely have been
heard by near-by residents. For a long
minute he sat staring at his friend. Blood
was oozing from a gaping hole squarely
in the center of Pratt’s right temple. Bits
of gray were mixed with the blood and
Graham knew what that was.

E hadn’t intended killing Pratt so
close to the Campanile. He didn’t

dare get out now for fear someone in the
neighborhood would recognize him. What
was he to do? His mind worked with
lightning speed. He had to get the car,
the body, and himself away from that
street as soon as possible. Cautiously he
mised his eyes and looked about. The
two kids were paying no attention to the
car, The remainder of the street was still
deserted. He opened the door, climbed
out and walked around the back. Some-
thing vital to him lay there on the pave-
ment, but Graham failed to observe it.
He shoved Pratt’s body over and got
in behind the wheel. The motor was still
running. He backed the car to the curb,
straightened the wheels and drove on to
First Avenue where he turned north. The
car bumped along the poorly paved road,
Pratt’s head rolling grotesquely. There
was a gaping hole in the left side of his
head, too, showing that this was an in-
and-out wound. The blood was flowing
down the side of his face.

At 125th Street the car ran into a
trafic jam. Here three streets, two of
them having trolley-car lines, converged
on the narrow bridge which crosses the
Harlem River connecting Manhattan and
the Bronx. Graham had a_ five-minute
wait before he was permitted to make a
right turn onto the bridge. During that
time he was hedged in by two lines of
ars. He didn’t dare bend Pratt’s head
flown for fear that a near-by motorist
night wonder at this action. Instead, he
‘ilted the straw hat over to the right to
shield the wound,

Ile turned onto Southern Boulevard.
Mile after mile he continued through the
rowded streets of New York with the
dead body of his friend lurching at his
side. Then he twisted onto Mosholu
Parkway looking for a likely spot to ditch
ihe ear. It began to drizzle again and
Graham switched on the windshield wiper.
‘head of him was the underpass formed
iy Jerome Avenue passing over Mosholu
Parkway, Above Jerome Avenue was the
rlevated structure of the Interborough
Rapid Transit Lines,

Graham slid the car to a halt along
the side of the underpass and switched
of the motor. Eagerly his hands reached
wt and took the brown-wrapped parcel

which Jay on the seat. <A few flecks of’

‘lood had spotted it. With a penknife
vw shit the cord and ripped off the, outer
srpping. In a cardboard box were

True Detective Mysteries

scores of brown envelopes. Graham’s
fingers felt them and knew that they con-
tained the cash for the payroll. With his
handkerchief he wiped the stecringwheel
free of fingerprints and polished the
handles on both windows. Pratt’s head
rested against the window which Graham
had raised for this purpose. The eyes of
his friend, wide open and glassy, stared
unseeing into his own. Graham tilted the
straw hat over them. ,

It was exactly 10:34 a.m. when he
dropped a nickel into a turnstile in the
Mosholu Parkway Station of the Jerome
Avenue branch of the Lexington Avenue
Subway. The train ground to a halt and
the doors banged open. He entered the
first car and took a scat just inside the
door.

Patrolman Graham sat back and_ re-
laxed. Through his mind flowed the swift
sequence of events. One hour had spelled
the difference between cop and _ killer,
though this thought probably never oc-
curred to him. What he did see was how
well his plan had worked. No one had
seen him get: into the car with Pratt. The
victim had had no opportunity to tell
anyone that he expected Graham to meet
him. The body would be found more
than ten miles from the Campanile, direct-
ing suspicion away from the actual mur-
der spot. Why, they wouldn’t even have
the murder bullet.

The glow of satisfaction left him sud-
denly and in its place came a feeling of
uneasiness. Glancing up quickly he found
himself looking into the dark eyes of the
conductor. who was seated opposite.
The latter held a newspaper as a screen
before him. Graham felt the hot blood
rush into his face. He lowered his eyes.
It wasn’t possible that the conductor
could suspect him of anything. He told
himself that his nerves were going bad;
that he’d have to get a better grip on
himself. Just because someone stares is
no. cause for alarm. To steady his nerves
he took an envelope from his inside coat
pocket and began to scribble meaningless,
figures on it. When he raised his head
once more he found the conductor still
staring at him with frank interest. The
only time the trainman took his eyes
from Graham was when he opened and
closed the doors at each station. After
the fourth stop the conductor walked up
to the motorman’s booth and rapped on
the door. It was opencd and there was
a hurried conference, at the end of which
the motorman also looked back at
Graham.

HE patrolman was now thoroughly

alarmed, As casually as he could he
examined his clothing for some sign of
bloodstains. It was against all human
reason that they could suspect him of a
orime the very existence of which no
one but himself was aware.

There was a reason behind the con-
ductor’s apparently unwarranted interest
—but Graham wasn’t to learn it until
some time after. This strange coincidence
will be explained later in the story.

Graham left the train at 72nd Street,
walked quickly to his home and locked
himself in‘his room. He carefully cleaned
his revolver and replaced the used shell.
Then his fingers eagerly tore open each
brown envelope. There were forty-one
$50 bills, eighty-four twenties, twenty-five
tens, sixty-one fives, and two hundred
ones, ninety halves, thirty-two quarters,
thirty dimes, sixty nickels and thirteen
pennies, The entire thing totaled $4,544.13.

Something was wrong. Graham was
positive that the payroll would amount
to $10,000. Was it possible that he had
overlooked a second package carried by
Pratt? He upbraided himself for not
having searched through his friend’s cloth-

ing. A moment’s calm reflection, however,

. assured him that Pratt could not have had

any other company money on his person.
Besides, the $10,000 figure which Graham
had hoped to get from this job was, at
best, only a guess he himself had made.
Besides, $4,500 for two and one-half hours
work was darned good pay!

He undressed and minutely inspected
each article of clothing. He had done his
work well. There was not a’ single spot
of blood. He redressed in a gray checked,
single-breasted suit, black shoes and a
gray cap,

Shortly past noon he handed Gibson
$1,705, got behind the wheel of the new
Buick roadster and proudly drove off,

The thrill of actual possession swept all
other feeling from him. He was a success
now. It just went to show what a really
intelligent man with an accurate knowl-
edge of police methods can do when he
tries his hand at crime.

Patrolman Graham’s first stop was at a
public telephone booth. He phoned his
good friend Patrolman Osher Berman.
The latter’s mother owned the apartment
house in which Graham lived. Berman
also was attached to the East 51st Street
Precinct, :

“T want you to meet me at Broadway
and 54th Street,” Graham said.

“At what time?”

“Get there about two.”

“Can’t make it,” Patrolman Berman
responded. “I’ve got an added patrol

.from three to six today.”

“T’ll have you back in time,” Graham
said. “I’m ‘expecting you.”

He replaced the receiver, lifted it once
more and dropped another coin into the
box. This time he phoned his sweetheart
who was employed by the New York
Telephone Company and only worked a
half-day on Saturday.

‘Te got a surprise for you, Margie,”
he announced happily. “I want you to

meet me on Broadway near 54th Street.” .

“What’s the matter?” Margie Wogan
asked. “You sound excited.”

’ “Tam. I’ve got a big surprise for you.”

Graham entered a Broadway barber
shop and ordered “the works.”

Patrolman Berman showed up first and
was duly impressed by the splendor of the
new car. He couldn’t stay long, however,
since he had to be back at the Precinct.
Graham drove him there, making a date
to meet him at eight o’clock that night
on the corner of 77th Street and Fourth
Avenue in Brooklyn.

When he returned to Broadway, Margie
and a girl friend were already waiting for
him. He pulled up to the curb, leaped
out and kissed his sweetheart.

“What do you think of it?” he asked
with pride in his voice.

“Gee, it’s a knockout,” the friend said.

Margie could only stare in open-
mouthed wonder,

Graham drove the girl friend to the
Hudson Tube Station at 33rd Street, then
swung about and went uptown.

“Ts this the surprise?”

“Only part of it.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

Graham grinned engagingly. “It won’t
be a surprise if I tell you now.”

“Where did you get the money for it?”

Graham took his hand from the wheel,
and slipped his arm about her shoulders,
pulling her to him. “Don’t worry your
pretty head about that.”

He stopped on Broadway just north
of 147th Street and escorted her into
Kobrin’s Jewelry Shop. He told Irving
Kobrin, the proprictor, that he was in-
terested in a ring and bracelet.

Margie went through tray after tray
of rings, finally selecting a diamond in a -
platinum setting valued at $175 and a

ee ee ete

aes

2 wes

“Will you send for him?” *

Marxhausen consulted a chart. “Dan
was due for duty on Post 4—that’s the
Campanile—but he’s been on sick leave
since Thursday and doesn’t come on again
until Monday.”

Bruckman phoned the Rhoades Con-
struction Company for the list of dis-
charged employees but they had not com-
pleted it as yet.

He assigned Detectives Irving Frey and
Joseph J. Hennessey to make an exhaus-
tive search for the missing straw-hat bow
and the bullet. Starting at the Campanile
they were directed to walk back to Madi-
son Avenue and 45th Street. If they
couldn’t uncover the articles then Bruck-
man would enlist the services of the street
cleaning department. Knowing the exact
murder spot might prove an aid in de-
ciphering what at this moment was a
deep puzzle.

Detective Hennessey found the bow, a
neat hole through the center, on the
north side of 52nd Strect, 150 feet east
of First Avenue. During the search a
pair of curious eyes peering intently
through a heavily curtained window fol-
lowed their every move. Finally the
figure at the window rapped sharply on
the pane. Hennessey responded.

ai you men are looking for some infor-
mation about that car maybe I can
help you.” It was a middle-aged woman
who spoke from her ground-floor apart-
ment at 407 East 52nd Street. Her name
was Babette Shytle. “I was in my apart-
ment this morning when I heard what
sounded like an explosion. I thought it
was a ¢ar backfiring or a blowout. I
looked out of my window and saw this
coupé stop in front of my house. A man
got out and walked around the back. I
thought at first he was looking for the
flat tire, but he only climbed in again
on the left side, started the motor, backed
up and drove west again. That was the
first time I noticed that there was some-
body else in the car who was sort of
slumped over in the seat.”

Pressed for a description of the man
who walked around the car, the woman
hesitated. “I couldn’t see the face of the
man who was sort of lying down,” she
said. “The fellow who got out of the car
was tall and dark-looking. I’d know him
again if I saw him. When the car reached
First Avenue I could see a straw: hat
through the rear window.”

Although dozens of men were called in
to assist in the hunt for the bullet it was
never recovered.

Later in the day Patrolman Roy Frayer
was approached by Charles Alfano, a
twelve-year-old neighborhood boy. “What
were all the cops doing around here?” the
boy asked.

“There was a stickup and murder,”
Frayer told him.

Charlie’s eyes opened wide with inter-
est. “When was that?”

“This morning.”

“Say! That must have been it!” He
snapped his fingers. “I’ll tell you a funny
thing that I saw this morning—right here
on this street. I was walking along with
Jackie Nevins when I hear a tire blow out
and a car stops in the middle of the block.
I was waiting for the guy to get out and
fix his flat but nothing happens. Then
a fella gets out and climbs in through
the other door. He shoves another guy
over and drives away. The fella he
pushed looked drunk or sick or some-
thing.” ,

“Did you know, either of those men?”

“Sure, I know the guy who drove away.”

Eagerly Frayer asked, “Who is he?”

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t
know his name, but you know who he is.
He’s the cop they call the Sheik.”

True Detective Mysteries

Jackie Nevins corroborated his pal’s
story.

At’ six o’clock Captain Bruckman en-
tered Graham’s apartment only to be told
by Mrs. Graham that her son was out
and she didn’t know what time he would
return. He drove the police car around
the corner and took up his vigil. With
Bruckman were District Attorney Mc-
Geehan, Inspector Arthur Carey, head of
the Homicide Squad, Deputy Inspector
Duane, Assistant District Attorney Samuel
Foley, and Detectives John B. Kaiser and
Joseph Hennessey. The men_ waited
throughout the long night. Finally, with
the dawn. breaking in the East, Bruckman
and Kaiser walked toward Graham’s home.
Just as they were disappearing into the
hallway a snappy green Buick roadster
rounded the corner and pulled to a halt
in front of the door.

x ok Ok

Officer Graham sensed that something
was wrong. He squared his shoulders,
took a deep breath and walked into the
hallway. Two men who had begun to

THE BERNARR MACFAD-
DEN HEALTH RESORT invites
you to find again life’s most
precious possession—spirited
youth. @ This resort is at
Dansville, N. Y., patronized
by boys and girls of all ages,
from sixteen to eighty. @ If
you have forgotten how to
play’ they will teach you.
@ All
eases scared to death by
physcultopathic measures.
Write for information.

non-contagious dis-

mount the steps wheeled about and walked
swiftly toward him. He recognized De-
tective Kaiser. .

“You're under arrest,” Kaiser said.

Graham’s face went a pasty white; he
leaned weakly against the wall for sup-
port. “What for?” He tried to make
his tone belligerent.

“NTEVER mind,” Captain Bruckman

told him. Expertly he “fanned” the
patrolman, removing a roll of bills, a
blackjack, and a 38 caliber service revol-
ver, With his thumb he clicked open. the
chamber, saw that the weapon was, fully
loaded. A glance through the muzzle re-
vealed that it was clean.

“How much money have you here?”
Bruckman asked sharply.

“Seven or eight hundred dollars.”

“T have that money in my hand.
want you to keep it in view until such
time as we reach the station house and
‘JI can count it.”

The officers in the street had already
taken Patrolman Berman into custody.
Hennessey was lifting bottle after bottle
of champagne from the rear of the car.

At the precinct, where Graham was
driven in silence, Bruckman took over the
questioning.

“Suppose you tell me what you did yes-
terday,” he said,

Graham replied somewhat testily, “I
don’t see why you should wish to pry into
my personal affairs.”

“You were on sick leave and as your
superior officer I have every reason to
investigate your conduct if you applied
for that leave fraudulently.”

Graham was somewhat mollified. “Well,
if it will do you any good, I got up at
10:30 and went to the home of my cousin.
I played checkers with him until two
o’clock.”

“What is your cousin’s name?”

“None of your business,” Graham
snapped, notwithstanding he was address-
ing his superior officer, a captain of de-
téectives. His eyes shifted in desperation.

“Whose car were you driving?”

“It belongs to my mother. She bought
it for the family.”

“What ailment caused you to apply for
sick leave?”

*“P’m not exactly suffering from any-
thing,’ Graham replied. “I just needed
a rest,”

“Did you tell Dr. Nammack that you
expected to be left a legacy by an aunt
in Albany?”

Graham stared at his superior, declined
to reply.

“Did you go to Albany?”

“Yes, sir. I went last Thursday.”

“Whom did you see there?”

“Only some personal friends.”

“How about your aunt?”

“T have no aunt living in Albany.”

“Did you receive a legacy?”

“No, sir.”

“Who are the friends that you stayed
with?”

“T refuse to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s a personal matter. They
are good friends of mine.” Graham drew
himself up. “I’m not saying another word
until you tell me what this is all about.”

“Did you know that someone held up
and shot Pratt?”

A look of apparent surprise crossed
Graham’s features. ‘Gee, that’s a shame,”
he said. “But what have I got to do
with that?”

RUCKMAN shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.
Now, after you were through playing
checkers, what did you do the rest of the
day?” .

“T decided to visit my sister on Long
Island.”

“Did you go?”

“No, instead I walked down the Avenue
to 59th Street and then rode across town.
I walked around for about an hour and
then I rode out to Rosedale, Long Island,
where I made a first payment on a house.
From there I went back to the city and
walked about in Central Park until dawn.
Then I had breakfast and when I came
home you picked me up.”

“You know ¢thal’s a le!” Bruckman |
thundered. “What is the source of your

income?”
There was no reply.

“When I asked you how much money |

you had on your person, you said seven
or eight hundred. I count only five hun-
dred here. What happened to the rest of
it?” Bruckman’s voice was hard. Little
beads of sweat stood out on Graham’s
forchead,

“Where did you get the money?”

Graham wiped his brow feverishly.

“Tell me how a man making $35 a week
can have $500 in his pocket and drive a
car that must have cost $1,600 or more,”
the officer continued in a rasping voice.

“What is this rigmarole about?’
Graham’s voice was little more than a
whisper.

“You want to know what this is all
about?” mimicked Bruckman.

“For ‘God’s_ sake, yes!” — implored
Graham. He was terror-stricken now. His
knuckles showed white as_ his hands

& }
squad
fear
he, as
crim)
Dix
him,
voice,
are {c
Judso
Gra
not t
lips.
to sec
Wh
Deter
comp!
trolm:
witnes
implic;
pleasa:
ally o:
partme
ability:
pect is
famou:
CUSCS,
of gat
son, \
agency
Gral
his an
over te
her |)
story,
Whe
and C}
police
to Gr:
shove s
wheel ;
spot.

UT
ten:
of the
clin *
son:
in t
retu
or taxi
crime,
elevated
Pratt’s |
would us
of the m
take ap}
the Cam
time inc
car to t!
Accord
train reg
all condu
11:00 4.
He show
Graham,
Finally
ductor Ol
left Woo
know tha
that trip.
Licuten
can you 1m
of passen:
since that
“T felt
company,
mgaist m
This ex
that had -
way train
Graham
first degre
made a. di
Unable to
of eviden:
frame was
long. He
refused al!
At his }
eral Sessio:
cern by a;

Ps we ’ ‘
Marck ges 7

WY aa ae

a ey a

IVORY
UO by ab CPN COUN Lk

RONDACKS.,

Life Aftor
Lbla Aecidont.
ial Says: From
vondack wilder-
pwing pathetie
heroic struggle
with a terrible
trative of tthe
L limberman’s
sed an unusual
P ‘interest,
don the shores
in the town of
prinan iby the
Rd contracted to
mill at Pieree-
th his wife and
ry cabin on ithe
dy was ‘at work
e forest, felling
y last weelx he
about itwo and
, and in falling
in some nearby
on occurrence,
gaging, tthe tree
nd is the cause
uit off” the tree
unguarded, mio-.
eked down, his,
earth under tthe
neonscicus for
regaining his
to realize the
e situation in
re. knew that
for any length
to death. te
lax, Which had
h his knife he

. For

helve that he
better advan-
ition,

he’ stars ap-
P Ihneavens, and
ed on. Often-

xX in despair.
Wife and baby
nian 'to ttake up
igor, At
, anid with all
he rolled the
imb. He was
nt his streneth

2 sank to the

his leg he
nh two places

reached the
st dead from
pod. He had
the broken
Od trail, drag.
shed and ]
ot loved ones
rength to ac-
Pan task. His
$ Was in her
through the
ver a mille to
erything wag
mitil a physi-
le village of
away,
had suffered
th could en-
nd child be-
rhom he had
rd away. His
mee was in
P instance of

vo-

mR COAL.

bn County to
bVorsville, :
competition
versville are
tinim

esent

last.

PRICE OF HUMAN LIFE,

| A Correspondent Saye lt Ie Slowly on the
Inorenseo In Fulten County,

A correspondent in last evening's
Gloversville Leader writes ‘as follows:
litty-four years aco the ti Wenty-fourth
day ot last January the last criminal
was executed in the county ef Fulton
for poisoning her husband. Since that
‘time but two persons who have killed
people in this county ‘have been con-
vieted of murder in ithe first degree,
haimely, Horatio Grant anid Josef Zla-
mel. Dhe fnst named secured a sec.
ond trial, when he Was pronounced

“not guilty.” The last named was
quite recen'tly electrocuted at Danne-

mora. Many persons hare premaiture-
ly passed away in this county, and
vigorous efforts have ‘been made to

discover the cause of their deaith,

Many years ago Fulton county jus-
tice became a by-word throughout the
istate, and one of the juries in one of
our celebrated murder trials, where
the prisoner was acquitted, was de-
nominated a setoot horseblocks, by'the
press outside of this county.

Of the many 'vidthns who have met
Violent deaths in the count Y of Fulton,
four ‘have tbeen remales,

Lewis Erkerbrack of : this ‘counity was
killed at Caughnawaga. Unfortunate:
ly for ‘hig assassin, the trtal was held

in Fonda, where the transgressor ‘was
promptly ‘pronounced “guilty,” by

twelve residents
Montgomery,

Various ways have been employed
to end 'the victims’ lives in this county,
One has been peisoned, some have
been pounided to death, one had his
heck broken, some killed with shot
guns, one brained with a haitchet, some
shot ‘with revolvers, one killed with a
stone, some pounded with clubs, some
kicked ‘to death, one burned (to a erisp,
one stabbed with ta knife, another stab-
bed ‘with shears, and one beanutiful vic-
tim had her throat cut with a razor
almost from ear ‘to ear.

Two
death while in their. sick rooms. One
Victim received his dea, th wounds in
the berry fields, one when performing
his official dw itles, one in her cellar, one
‘tn ‘his ‘woodsheld, one on her kitchen
floor, one in a bank, some on the
streets, some in ‘their dwell Ings, and
several itn drunken bar-rogm figlutis,

Phe wily lawyers have resorted to
various pleas to shield ttheir Victous
cHentis, including jusititiable homicide,
accidental falling, emotional insanity,
murderer unknown, and “slipping of
the foot.”

Much indignattion expressed by
law-abiding citizens since ithe verdict
in the recent Lunkenheimer be-
cane known. ‘Some appear to be al-
most discourageld in regard Ito the ad-

of the county of

mas

ministration of justice in this county
and others believe it sadly on ithe
wane.

Such, however, is not the case, a's the
official records show tiait the price of
huanan Hfe Slowly becomes more val-
uable in the county of Fulton,

Joseph Lunkenheimer, who y ras tried

for manslaughter, was fined $150 in
money,

Twenty-six yenrs ago a certain wo-
man was tried for manstaughter in the
Fulton county court house, and fined
$50. The record says she paid the fine
to the district attorney,

Let all good people be encouraged
by the record whieh appears to plainky
Show that the price of human dite Is
advaneing inthe eyes of Multon xt

the rate of 93.4 $43 par annum.

of the vidtims received their.

WATER COM MMI

Will Issue Bonds te the
000~Other Busines

LYesterday’s Daily

Ata meeting of the
commissioners held at
ing lasit evening, the
present: President Geo
Commissioners Brow
Rowles. The followi
audited and ordered 108:
Superiniendent’'s pay 1¢
Oo J toeting oa
Brag es Ni ounglove was a
As Dae a
Kober Day
William H. Streeter ...
Mary Hacer: 95 o5e5)

Upon motion of Mr.
resolved that a warran!
the city chamberlain
bank of Jchnstown for
nronths’ interest due ot
series of 1898,

Upon motion of Mr.
resolved that the city ¢
and is hereby directed,
the Peoples bank on th
city of Johnstowny $950
est on bonds.

‘Upon motion of Mr,
lowing resolution was a

Whereas, pursuant to)
ferred upon the board
missioners of this city by
election, held in this cit
day of August, 1898, whl
er's and taxpayers autho
board to borrow on the
city for procuring the a
Ply of water for said cit
$75,000, and pursuant ta
adopted by the said do!
commissioners at ithe sp
of said board held on th

tember, 1898, the sum o
borrowed for isaid purpos
as the sum of $20,000 adc
to is now required for ‘t}
pose, be it resolved that ¢
sum of $20,000 be borrov
credit of the city of Jo
procuring additional supp
for the city, that said loar
at 4 per centum per annu
est payable semi-annually
of the principal payable e
to secure the payment of |

water conumissioners of
make, execute and del
bonds ‘to be signed by t

three of them as water Co

and dated April 17, 1900,

interest semi-ann ually ad
the principal payable eacl
the whole of satd swum. be
and interest are fully paid
further resolved, that the
ney be and is hereby instri
pare coupon bonds ‘for sis
cordingly; and be it furtl
that the said $20,000. i
bonds so-to be issued be ¢
tion to the highest bidder

the 17th day of April, 1¢
o'clock in ithe afternoon of

the office of the city eler}
town; that sealed preposals
tire number of bonds or fq
thereof be received at any |
the sale, and that the city
nish very person Wishing: te
for with a copy of the

showing the proper authori
issue and sell the said bond
the city clerk is required t

under the guidance amd <
the city attorney ‘the sale

bonds in the oflicial papers

DEALERS IN BOB”

peerage ’
vee
Vies\

e rr.
SSS

colo

Send us your name and
address. When your
postman brings your
complete set of CRIMES
OF LOVE AND PAS-
SION pay only 98c plus
stage. (If you send
1.00 with order, we pay
all charges). Examine
for S days. You must be
thrilled, or return the
books to us for prompt
refund.

TARCH BOOK “wv York 16,
118 East acum

Name

| rooms they got an affirmative an-
swer from the manager. “Sure. We
had one of those a while back. An
old guy bought it.”

“Do you recall his name?” pressed
DiSessa.

The manager shovok his head. “No,
| I don’t. But he lives right across the
way, on Corning Street.”

The officers thanked him, then
hustled across the street to a typical,
three-story tenement. The names in
the battered letter-boxes meant noth-
ing to them without Tubby’s last
name, By asking more questions and
describing the two. suspects, the offi-
cers learned that two men answering
that description lived on the third
floor in the rear. The younger man
was called Tubby McGillvary. The
older man’s name was Joe Dolan.

Climbing to the third floor, DiSessa
knocked on the door of the rear flat.
A key scratched in the lock and the
door creaked open grudgingly. A
surly-looking youth peered out at
them.

“Whaddaya want?” he grated.

“We want in,” snapped DiSessa,
pushing the youth aside and entering.
It was.a poorly furnished three-room
apartment. Except for the youth, it
was empty.

“What’s the idea, coppers?” bristled
McGillvary defiantly.

“We want to speak to you about the
killing of Deedy Brennan,” said Di-
Sessa sharply. “And don’t tell us you
don’t know her. We happen to know
different.”

McGillvary sneered. “I didn’t kill
her. She was okay when she left
here.”

The suspect watched sullenly as a
search of the flat revealed a complete
feminine wardrobe ranging from a
fur jacket to several pairs of slippers.
A_ walnut vanity was amply stocked
with filmy underthings.

“I suppose these belong to you,”
chuckled DiSessa. “Come on, kid.
We're taking you in.”

At the Warren Avenue station, 18-
year-old Arthur McGillvary vehe-
mently denied any knowledge of
Dorothy Brennan’s murder. He said
she left for work one morning and
never returned. Meanwhile, it was
learned that his roommate, Joseph
Dolan, was an ex-convict with a long
police record, including a term for
manslaughter in New York State.

“Where’s Dolan?” DiSessa de-
manded.

McGillvary shrugged, refusing to
talk. A letter was found in his pocket.
however, which bore a_ Brooklyn,
N. Y., postmark. It was signed “Joe.”

that it was the home ot Philip Ever-
good, a noted artist whose works have
been exhibited all over the world. She
was also aware that Evergood was
spending the summer at a resort in
Long Island, and had not sublet his
city place.

Not sure what action to take, the
woman notified a neighbor concerning
what she had just witnessed, and the
neighbor in turn telephoned the police
department. A fraction of a minute

DiSessa immediately sent Detec-
tives Sullivan and Frank Glavin to
Brooklyn by plane. to pick up the
suspect.

After several hours of questioning,
young McGillvary is alleged to have
broken down and confessed that Mrs.
Brennan had shared a room at the
Corning Street address with Dolan
and himself for several weeks prior
to the murder.

“She was getting on our nerves
something awful,” he is reported to
have said. “Joe resented her bossin’
me around. On Saturday night, Feb-
ruary 7, I'd been drinking especially
heavy. When I got home, I found
Deedy alone. She started harping on
my drinking. She kept it up for more
than an hour. I finally got sick of it
and struck her,

“She slapped me back, and I saw
red. I grabbed the penknife from my
pocket and stabbed her. I don’t know
how many times. Then I returned to
my room and fell asleep. When I
awoke in the morning, Joe told me
she was dead.”

McGillvary continued. “He went
out and bought the boiler, and after
removing her teeth so she wouldn't
be identified, we stuffed her into it.
Then he rented a horse and wagon,

_We waited around until it was dark,

then we carried the wash boiler to the
wagon and threw it from the Dover
Street bridge. That’s the whole story.”

Meanwhile, Sullivan and Glavin,
assisted by New York City Detectives
Robert Nannery and Martin Buckley,
picked up Joe Dolan in a Clinton
Avenue rooming house. Taken to
Boston, he persistently denied any
knowledge of the murder. Later, how-
ever, he is said to have admitted a
ing young McGillvary dispose of the
body.

James Selkirk and Frank Eberle
were, of course, cleared of all sus-
picion in the case. It developed that
the woman Selkirk was reported to
have beaten up was a girl friend with
whom he-had argued.

Arthur McGillvary and Joseph
Dolan were formally indicted by a
Suffolk County Grand Jury on May
7, 1948—the youth for murder in the
first degree; Dolan for being an ac-
cessory after the fact. Their trial is
expected shortly, at which time their
participation in the crime, or their
innocence, will be determined in a
court of law and justice.

Note: The names Jack Ducase,
James Selkirk, and Frank Eberle
used in this story are fictitious, to pro-
tect the identity of innocent persons

THEY HAVE WHAT
IT TAKES

(Continued from page 6)

later the message was spilling out over
the radio in Patrolmen Gargan’s and
Hughes’ car, and in even less of a
fraction, the machine, siren open, was
speeding toward 132 Bank Street.

The officers shut off the siren a
couple of blocks away and proceeded
noiselessly to their destination. They
found the entire building dark. The
woman who had first noticed the
break-in met them and repeated her
story.

TEE TT,

oo nen en nereneneneeeate

He
“Please pe
Gargan 1
as silently
building, st
and listeni:
here wer:
elr eyes
to the dar}
undoubted];
might be in
watching th:
of killing j;
Stalking its
Yet they a
flashlights yw
left hands. If
room they wy
nated targets
ey spent
tense alertne
aay to ti
a. Y; eir eye
the darkness.
the room.
around the fu;
a closet door a:
The closet. to,
intruder mana;
elng seen aft
or was he Jur
house?
Their though
: sight sound
Tipped his par
his head rh ad
interloper was
not he was aw
they didn’t kno\
or not, it was
what might pro
trap. And wit

thur sound
trigger of
Stopping ev.., ..
€ started up {

With a Service-ty,
loaded with a a.
gun shell. And h,
Officers downstairs
at complete Silenc
the head of the st:
toward the Stairs,
itter hatred of a
Is finger an itch
that lethal bit of ¢
would release a Spr
His alert ear cau

of the officers’ feet
Familiarity with tk
een using the uno,
is headquarters fi
weeks—told him al
step the Officers \:
thoroughly accusto:
blackness, he wait
mined not to be tak
His fingers becam
hair appeared, then
»Tass-buttoned unif
inexorable finality,
on the slightly-ben;
The studio room
reverberating roar
spurt of flame leapt

and lungs, and send);
less body hurtling
Hughes, Staggering th
most hurling him to t}

Patrolman Gerard Hughes, nose in-
jured by the blast that slaughtered
his partner, braved the same fate to
wreak vengeance on the murderer,

ya-Heroic Patrolman Gargan. Death
. lurked upstairs; but nothing could ”
keep him from going up—nothing but |
hot. lead tearing through :his: body. :

- ++ AND THEY DEMONSTRATE IT AGAIN AND AGAIN WHENEVER

0” needs but little imagination’ THE NEED ARISES. IF THEY'RE LUCKY—THEY LIVE; IF NOT .;.
to realize what stami d _ er = Bey:
coureaye te requieed, to go into. WELL; READ THE TERRIBLE.FATE OF GALLANT PATROLMAN GAR..

a darkened room where there is ' —— ’

esayareason to believe an armed GAN. BUT WIN OR LOSE, IT'S ALL PART OF THEIR CODE OF

burglar, quick on the draw, is lying

> “SELFLESS DEVOTION TO LAW AND ORDER ae
Yet, it is something which many . 5 mS Moy:
policemen are called upon to do. If eo RNS

there are any who shrink from it, Cop-killer Harris Grey, gravely wounded, is questioned by Det. Joseph Altomari “in.
even when all the advantage lies St. Vincent's. Hospital. Officer holds: the gun used by Grey with deadly effect.
with the intruder, such instances .

have never been recorded. It is all
a part of a cop’s job, and they do
it without fanfare and with selfless
devotion when circumstances make
it necessary.

And it becomes necessary at the
most unexpected times, when every-
thing in a policeman’s life seems
routinely dull. Thus it came to
Patrolmen Thomas J. Gargan and
Gerard Hughes, touring the Green-
wich Village section of New York
City, on the night of August 17,
1947.

It came in the usual roundabout
way. A Bank Street resident look-
ing out her window saw a man open
an iron grille door at No. 132, on the
opposite side of the street, then
force’ or unlock an inner door and
enter the building.

She knew (Continued on page 48)

If, y
Leb Le LhA Lye ZU

remarka
ABLE |
home. F
6-foot «
astonis}):
more th
handy i1

82 NORTHEASTERN (2) 789
GRAY, Harris, black, 18, electrocuted Sing Sing (New York) on 1-6-1919,

"Harris Gray, 19-years-old, died in the electric chair in Sing Sing tonight. He had
been convicted of the fatal shooting of New York Patrolman Thomas gargan in a bur-
glary in Manhattan, August 17, 1917. Patrolman Gargan was shot when he surprised
Gray in the home of Philip Evergood at 132 Bank Street, Manhattan,"

TIMES, New York, NY XXX¢MMWH January 7, 199 (2:h.)

"Patrolman Thomas J, Gargan of the Charles Street Station, a holder of the Police
Department Combat Medal, was shot fatally shortly after 10 o clock last night by a
burglar whom he surprised in a dark, unoccupied attic ##X studio apartment at 132
Bank Street in Greenwich Village, The burglar was shot and captured by Patrolman
G@rald Hughes, Patrolman Gargan's partner in a radio car, Both Mr, Gargan and the
burglar, an 18-year-old youth were taken to St. Vincent's hospital where the AXxxd#
policeman died soon after being admitted, The prisoner described himself as KAHRXS
Harris Gray of Scotland Neck, Ne. C. The police said that Patrolman Gargan was shot
in the chest with a charge from a 12-guage shotgun shell fired from a SS#XaxXKE
service type signal pistol, Such a weapon can only fire once, Patrolman Hughes
used three shots to bring down the burglar, The studio apartment is above a two
story building, According to the police, Mrs, Mag& Margaret Monahan of 131 Bank St.
saw an intruder open an iron grill door leading to the basement of the house across
the street, She then saw him force an inner door and enter the building, Mrs,
Monahan notifed a neighbor, Fred Andrews, of 136 Bank Ste, who had a telephone, and
as it was known in the neighborhood that BM&xXxaWawmky the tenant of 132 Bank Street,
Phillip Evergood, was in Patchogue, L. I., for the summer, Mr, Andrews called Ba%
XX&XAXK police headquarters. Patrolmen Gargan and Hughes, arriving at 132 Bank St.
in their radio car, entered the building by the same basement door the burglar had
used and climbed the stairs with Gargan in the lead. When Gargan stepped into the
unlighted attic, he was K#&X#a felled by X the KX blast from the makeshift pistol.
The police said the burglar had been rummaging through some of the tenant's personal
effects in the attic. Hughes was patrolling as Gargan's partner in a radio car last
night for the first time, For the last 12 years Gargan had been teamed with Patrole
man Joseph McEvoy, On Saturday, Mc“voy had put in his application for retirment but,
after hearing of Gargan's death, he asked that the application be withdrawn, At

the Charles Street Station, it was said that B&#M both Gargan and McEvoy had received
police honors for rescues from the Hudson River.,.Gargan was married, 42, and had
four sonseeeGray was not seriously wounded and Mr. Evergood was a well-known
artist..e.'! TIMES, New York, August 18, 197 (1:2.)

eeeSvergood was arrested the next day for illegal possession of the flare pistol...
TIMES, New York, August 19, 19,7.

724

A VII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

out weighing; the whole quan-
tity was originally half a pound.
We divided it into nine or ten
parcels; have no knowledge of
any having been sold up to this
time. The books show the sale
of one paper to Mrs. Boon, in
Harvey Streeter’s handwriting.
We made an examination of the
jar to see how many papers there
were in it on Monday — found
seven in it; think either Samuel
or Harvey Streeter aided in the
examination. The reason we ex-
amined was from the suspicions
I heard on Sunday night. Was
not in the store again Sunday
night. I didn’t part with my key
after Henry returned it, nor after
I heard of the suspicion of poi-
soning. Harvey usually opened
the store and presume he did
that morning.

Cross-ecamined: We had very
few calls for arsenic at our store;
noticed the jar daily for I was in
the habit of looking round the
store to see whether things were
in their places; didn’t notice on
Sunday particularly as to the jar.

Jemima Crandall: Saw Henry
Green’s wife Saturday evening
before her death, Did not on Sat-
urday night give Mrs. Green any
drink, food or medicine; did not
have with me any arsenic or any
other powder. Saw the patient on
Sunday as many as five times;
didn’t give her anything on
Sunday—had not with me on
Sunday any arsenic or any other
powder, did not on Saturday or
Sunday in any way interfere
with her drink, food or medicine
except that on Sunday about
noon I handed some coffee for
her to her brother to give to her,
as he stood nearer to her than
I did, that was all.

Harvey Streeter: Was clerk

for Dennison & Streeter in Feb-
ruary last. Knew where this jar
of arsenic stood in the store—
did not know of its being taken
from its place upon the shelf on
Sunday previous to the death of
the patient or in the neighbor-
hood of that time; its place was
on the shelf over the post office.
The middle shelf I think. Was
not in the store on Sunday or on
Sunday night—had not in my
hands the means of entering.
There was two keys only that I
knew of—had no key; don’t re-
member who opened the store on
Monday morning; did not see
the papers of arsenic counted on
that day; did not take any pa-
pers out of the jar on Monday.
Recollect of selling one paper
out of that jar but no more. That
was sold to Mrs. Boon and was
the same one charged on the
book.

Ferdinand Hull: Green was in
my store on Saturday afternoon.
He obtained some salts and cream
of tartar at two different times.
Was in the patient’s room on
Sunday forenoon before she died.
Did not in any way interfere
with the medicines or drinks
upon the table, nor the bow!
which was there on the table;
did not at any time carry any
\powders into the room.

Charles Wheeler: Know pris-
oner; he was married last win-
ter at my house—eight days be-
fore the death. Mary Anne Wyatt
was the sister of Mr. Wyatt, the
young man now present. She was

ny.
in his company vai 1

Dr. R. Thomas: Don’t know of
more than one experiment on the
shovel at Elder Rogers’ shop.
Result of the experiment with
the shovel was that when first

HENRY G. GREEN. 725

heated my impression was that
I smelt a garlic odor—on second
trial with same portion, suppose
I heated the shovel more, was
not satisfied that I ‘then discov-
ered the smell, The quantity of
arsenic taken from the phial
was small.

Allen @. Streeter: Am a car-
penter; was in Berlin at the
time of death of Green’s wife.
Proposed to him to make a cof-
fin for her, same day she died.
He replied, “As long as the peo-
ple have suspicions on me I shall
order nothing and pay for noth-
ing and so that ends it,

Cross-examined: J afterwards
made the coffin, by Green’s re-
quest.

David W. Wyatt: Mrs. Green
was my sister; was with her
enacting temperance plays in
Berlin on the last two nights in
December and on New Year’s
night; continued generally in her
company from that time up to
her death; our route from that
time was to Hancock, Lebanon
Springs, New Lebanon, East Nas-
8au, Malden, Talatie, Coxackie,
and Kinderhook, which was the
last place we Played at. Was
present at the marriage of Green
and my sister; she was 22 years
old; returned to Berlin with her
and Henry, and continued there
till the time of her death. My
sister and myself had been en-
gaged near one year enacting
these temperance plays; was one
of the party who took a ride to
Hoosick Corners on Thursday—
we all went in one sleigh. Next
Saw my sister on Friday at 11.
On our arrival at Hoosick heard
my sister complain of being cold.
She desired me to go into the
kitchen and get some “composi-
tion,” and afterwards said, “Guess

I will go myself, perhaps I can
do better in the kitchen than
you.” We had stopped there be-
fore, but not to play.

After drinking in the kitchen,

heard her say she had had some-
thing good and felt better. We
got home about 10 o’clock, She
then complained of being unwell
and wanted me to look at her
eyes and see if they did not look
swelled; she remarked that she
thought she would not throw by
her work as_ she thought she
would get over it. She did not
at that time speak of having
taken medicine, Saturday saw
her about 6 > She was then on a
bed in the room where she finally
died; Green was there. Asked her
if she was very sick; she said,
“pretty sick,” but hoped she
would be better in the morning,
I came again into the hall that
night about eight — met Henry
coming down Stairs, asked him
how my sister was getting along.
He said she was better and was
asleep, Never knew of my sister’s
having any arsenic in her pos-
session. First learned that my
sister was Seriously ill on Satur.
day after Dr. Hull had been
there; first saw my sister on
Sunday morning about 3 o’clock.
Met Dr. Hull, he told me her
Symptoms were those of poison.
He did not allude to any sus-
Picion of any one; caused Dr,
Thomas to be consulted.

Did not give anything to my
sister on my second or third
visits on Sunday. After 1 o’clock
the first thing I gave my sister
was lemonade—this was pre-
pared on the table in the room
where she was; it was composed
of lemon juice, Sugar and water,
Before I gave her any more, the
doctor thought had better put

. 722 XVII. AMERICAN.STATE TRIALS.

Eerlin; am a magistrate there.
Saw Henry on Friday or Satur-
day previous to his wife’s death,
at Dennison & Streeter’s tavern.
He said he had got some arsenic
to put in or had put into his
store to kill rats and mice and
asked me if I thought there
would be any danger. I replied
that if he put it where nothing
but rats and mice got it, it would
do no injury. That was all the
conversation,

Cross-examined: No person was
present but myself and Henry.
It was in the bar room that we
had the conversation. I first men-
tioned this conversation on Mon-
day evening after his wife died.
Had not mentioned it before be-
cause I did not know of any sus-
picions and it had slipped my
mind.

Monday, July 14.

Mary Ann Brimmer: Was at
Hull’s the Sunday before the
death of Green’s wife. Assisted
in the care of Mrs. Green. Didn’t
give her any medicines. Heard
it stated by Dr. Hull that the
Bateman’s drops were to be given
one spoonful of drops to two of
water. Henry was there at the
time. The color of Bateman’s
drops was red. The sweet spirits
of nitre were of a_ yellowish
color. About 12 on Sunday saw
Henry take a teaspoon to his
wife and tell her it was time for
her to take her medicine. She
spoke and said she didn’t want
to take it, or couldn’t take it.
Mrs. Hull then spoke and said it
wasn’t time. Mrs. Hull then
asked Henry what he had put in
it, and I think he said nothing

but water. She told him he had

not fixed it according to the di-

rections. I asked then to take

the spoon. I took it and touched

ongue to it twice. The con-
rae a the spoon tasted rather
gritty. The liquid in the spoon
tasted like Bateman’s drops, the
color was red. There was in the
bottom of the spoon a white sub-
stance like a powder. I handed
the spoon to Mrs. Daniel Street-
er. She put it across the tumbler,
Mrs. Streeter threw the contents
of the spoon into the fire, re-
marking that she would put
some more of the same kind in
and see if it looked the same,
She then poured some more of
Batemans drop’s in the spoon,
but it didn’t look the same—
there was no powder in the bot-
tom.

Miss Sophronia Streeter: Got
to Ferdinand Hull’s on Sunday
before Mrs. Green’s death. Found
there Mrs. Brimmer, Mrs. Cran-
dall and the prisoner. Had no
arsenic or other powder; did not
administer any powder of any
kind to Mrs. Green; gave her
crust coffee to drink twice. Heard
Mrs. Brimmer speak of Green’s
offering his wife a spoon with
something in it. The contents of
that spoon looked like Bateman’s
drops. There was some kind of
powder in the bottom. That
which was under the drops was
of a reddish color, There were
some specks of powder around
the edge of the spoon that were
white, The reason why the spoon
was emptied was that Mrs. Brim-
mer said that Mrs. Hull said that
she thought there was something
wrong about it.

Mrs. Polly Ann Boon: Was at
Dennison & Streeter’s on Wed-
nesday previous to patient’s
death. Was in the room adjoin-
ing the parlor occupied by Gréen
and his mother and sister a por-
tion of the time that they were

ITENRY

G. GREEN. 723

there. Heard conversation going
on there in a common tone of
voice; distinguished a few words
spoken by an individual in the
room. Took the voice to be that
of Mrs. Green, Green’s mother,
As near as I can recollect, think
she said, “She understood what

her character was when she wag
in Troy.”

Cross-examined : Don’t know
Positively who Green’s mother
was speaking to, Only saw her
in the room; did not see Green
there. Felt anxious to hear the
conversation at that time. To see
Green’s mother I looked through
a hole that was in the lock of
the door—don’t know that I put
my ear there,

Samuel §. Streeter: Ama mem-
ber of the firm of Dennison &
Streeter; we last winter kept a
store and Public house. Myself
and partner Daniel E. Dennison,
and my brother Harvey had the
care of that store. There were
two keys belonging to the store.
Had one of the keys all day on
Sunday. Was in the store twice
in the afternoon on Sunday; the
first time was about 3 o’clock Dp.
m., and the second time as late
as 5. The medicines were kept,
some in jars, and some in papers
(Dist. Atty. exhibited q jar of
arsenic). This jar of arsenic was
kept on the shelves. When in the
store at 3 on Sunday I did notice
this jar of arsenic. The last time

I was in at 5 o’clock I noticed

it, it stood then on the lower
shelf which rested on the top of
the letter case. There were other
Medicines Standing on this same
shelf, Saw the jar as soon ag I
went there. That was not the
place where the arsenic was
kept. Do not know of my own
knowledge how the arsenic came

to be displaced. When I found it
at 5 o’clock on Sunday no sus-
Dicions had reached my ear from
any quarter. Do not of my own
knowledge know whether Green
had had the means of going into
the store that day; don’t recollect
selling or disposing of any pa-
pers of arsenic from that jar
until after this transaction, nor
had I known of any of the pa-
pers being taken out from the
time they were first put in there,
My customers sometimes go be-
hind my counters. They gZ0 be-
hind the counter where the to-
bacco is kept but not where the
medicine is, The jar was labelled
“Arsenic—Poison” at the time,
and had always been. Henry
Green had the Same access to
our shelves that other custom-
ers had. He was in the habit of
being and sitting in the store,
Never have seen more than one
sale of arsenic on the books,

Daniel fF. Dennison: Was a
member of the firm of Dennison
& Streeter, was in Berlin on the
Sunday before the death of Mrs.
Green, had Dossession of one of
the keys of the store on that day.
Furnished my key to the pris-
oner, Henry Green, about 4
o’clock, early chore - time. He
asked for the key to get some
oats for his horse.

Had not known of the jar be-
ing removed from its place. The
store is kept locked on Sunday
except when we are in there.
Henry had the key from 3 to 5
minutes when he went in there,

The arsenic was procured of
Thompson & Co., Troy, on the
16th December, 1844, done up in
& paper, all in one parcel, When
I took it home we divided it
into smaller Parcels, as equal in
8ize as we could get them with-

720 XVIi. AMERICAN

STALE TRIALS.

tress, and it seemed a
that she could not live. She tere
“T had such a burning throug
me that it seemed sometimes =
if I could not Jive a minute. Ss @
says, “Henry has been feeding
me with white powders ever
since I took those pills—he a
put it into my coffee and into
my broth, and almost all my
drinks. Yesterday I asked eri
for some drink,” or think i
said some wine and water. e
got some, turned his back to =
took a paper from his ie
and dusted something into
that was white; he gave it to ae
I asked him what it was he pu
into it, and he says a little flour.
I drank it and it distressed re
very much.” She appeared to be
worried a good deal at this time,
and I remarked that her com-
munication was of such a nature
that I should be glad if ane
would endeavor to. I then er
on Mr. B. Streeter and asked i
he would consent to sit by and
hear her communication, I could
not hear her to understand =
when talking to Mr. Streeter, her
manner of speaking was in a low
whisper, her strength was feeble,
very much so; her mind was un-
impaired as far as I could judge,
remarkably so. Never saw her
previously before Saturday after-
noon. Thought her to be very in-
telligent from my _ intercourse
with her from Saturday until
she died.

fter my first visit to Mrs.
eins my wife asked me what
appeared to be the matter with
her. I replied that I did not
know—that her symptoms ap-
peared to be like those of poison.
Did not state to my wife that I
thought she had taken poison
voluntarily.

I said to her that I should
sooner think of her taking it :
her own accord than I should =
Henry’s giving it to her at tha
time. Don’t know any antidote
for arsenic; should be glad to
find one; don’t know anything
that will destroy the effects of
arsenic after it is taken into the
stomach and remained there.

Barzaleel Streeter: Am _ hus-
band of the elder Mrs. Streeter
who was sworn yesterday. The
prisoner boarded in my house
for the period of a year; might
have been five years ago. —
nessed the temperance exhibl-
tions at Berlin at which Henry’s
wife participated in the fore Lora
of January. They were exhibit "5
a play called “The a
Drunkard.” It had a moral ob-
ject, I judged. The appearance
of this young woman as to in-
telligence was very fine. ahere
were three or four of our citi-
zens, as I was informed, went as
far as Hancock with the com-
pany when they left Berlin. oie
Mrs. Green Sunday previous :
fore she died; was present in an
out from that time until she
died. Did not give the deceased
any medicines or drinks during
the day on Sunday, or in —
way interfere with her gers
cines, drink or food; had no
then in my possession arsenic or
any powder of any kind.

Mrs. Green on Sunday evening
made a communication to me;
Dr. Hull proposed to me first to
listen to that ee
She first said, “I am dying,
wish to communicate to you what
I have seen and heard before I
die.” She said Henry offered her
pills on Friday and she refused
to take them. She said, “I did
not consider my ill health serious

HENRY G. GREEN. 721°

and thought it not proper to take
the pills. He urged them upon
me and told me they would make
me feel better, and I took them.
Such a feeling as, those pills
made me have I never felt be-
fore. I became numb all over.
My eyelids drew down and I
could not keep them apart. I
began to vomit terribly—a _ter-
rible feeling at My stomach, the
most deathly feeling I had ever
experienced, After that Henry
brought me a powder, I saw him
take something from his vest
pocket and put into it. After he
Offered it to me I asked him
what he put in. He said nothing
but a little flour; he brought me
some drink a spell afterwards, a

white substance appeared in it;

I asked him what it was, he says
@ little soda.”

She here became very faint
and weak and Said she must rest
and could not tell me anything
more then, but would after rest-
ing a spell, She never resumed
this communication to me. She
observed to me in this conversa-
tion that the medicine which
Henry gave her had a terrible
effect upon her, more so than that
which was administered by the
others who had dealt medicine to
her, Spoke very easily while she
had breath; stopped at intervals,
panted a while, and then resumed
the conversation. Samuel Street-
er, of the firm of Dennison &
Streeter, is my son. My son, Har-
vey Streeter, was their clerk,
Late on Sunday evening I com-
municated to my son Samuel that
it was Suspected there had been
Poison there. In Mrs. Green’s
communication to me she spoke
of a very bad burning sensation,
She said it seemed as if her
stomach would burn up. She said

also, “There was a terrible break-
ing out upon my stomach and it
burned violently; it seemed as
if I could not avoid scratching
my skin off; such a thing never
appeared upon my person before.”

Cross-examined: J never knew
anything against Henry’s char-
acter up to the time of this
charge; he has been an intimate
of my family, I witnessed the
performance on the stage; saw
Henry there on one occasion,
Mrs. Green was handsome, grace-
ful, accomplished—very much so,
Only know Henry was gone from
the place after the company went
away from information. He was
gone three or four weeks and his
store was locked up. When he
came back on Friday before his
marriage, he publicly announced
his intention to marry Miss
Wyatt. He designated a week
from the next Sunday as the day
of his marriage and invited the
guests to his wedding. Under-
stood he was in fact married on
Sunday, just one week previous
to the time appointed,

Re-examined: J heard it said
that he disguised himself and
led a band who took a prisoner
from the deputy sheriff in the
night time. Did hear a report
while Henry was gone from Ber-
lin last winter that he was keep-
ing away to avoid being arrested
for that offence. There was a
talk as there is in many other
such cases, that Henry set his
own store on fire to get the in-
surance. I did not believe it.
Henry was always a favorite of
mine. Never heard of his being
deak with in the church for in-
toxication. Henry was a clerk in
Troy some four or five or six
years ago.

Daniel B. Green: Reside in

718 XVII. AMERICAN

STATE TRIALS.

must not drink for one hour and
as much longer as she could do
without it; Henry was present
at the time this direction was
given, Henry, in about 15 min-
utes after this, presented her
with some drink in a tumbler
more than a third full. It looked
white when he was fixing this
drink for his wife; told him the
doctor said she must not drink;
he replied that the doctor did.
Mrs. Green drank what was in
the tumbler. A short time before
Henry prepared the drink, he
said, “Mary Ann, the doctor said
you might have a little cream of
tartar and water if you wanted
it.’ Did not either on Saturday
or Sunday have about my cloth-
ing or with me any arsenic.

Saturday afternoon Dr. Hull
said he thought some chicken
soup would be good to settle Mrs,
Green’s stomach.

Mrs. Polly Ann Boone: Was
at the house of Mr. F. Hull the
Saturday afternoon before Mrs.
Green died; didn’t give her any
medicine while there; gave her
some drink, tea, from a cup, not
more than once.

Rhoda Streeter: Have known
Henry Green from a child.
Am an aunt of his. Was with
his wife on the Sunday be-,
fore her death. Mrs. Sophonia
Streeter came with me; found
there Mrs. Crandall and Mrs.
Brimmer; there was no one else
in the room. About 12 o’clock or
little past, Mrs. Whitford and I
took some powder from a bowl.
From the time I came there until
we took the powder out, Mrs.

Samuel Streeter, Mr, Wyatt, Drs.
Thomas and Hull were in the
room while I was there, besides
those before mentioned. From
the time I came there until I

took the powder from the bowl
I gave the deceased no medicine.
It was a small bowl; think it
would hold from half pint to a
pint. They told me there was
chicken soup in it. Saw a white
curd on top of it that looked like
a cheese curd in chunks. Some
of it stuck tight on side of the
bowl, down in the soup a little
ways. Took up the bowl and took
it out with a spoon—examining
this curdy stuff it turned out to
be a powder; it appeared that
the grease in the soup had ad-
hered to it and stuck it together.
When we took it out we put it
on a piece of paper, folded it up,
put it in my pocket, kept it till
Tuesday and then gave it to the
coroner,

Cross-exanvined: First knew
his wife when she was sick; saw
her on the stage three evenings
where I saw her in that village.
She was very pretty and inter-
esting looking woman. She came
to Berlin the last of December.
Henry then kept a store. His
company, the patient among the
rest, was there only three days.
They performed every evening.
They then went south. Henry
afterwards joined them, He was
gone three or four weeks. His
store was closed during that
time. He returned to the village
about one week before he was
married.

There had been some unfavor-
able reports against Henry be-
fore this charge, but I did not
know that they were true. Before
this company of actors came it
was said he had his store of
goods burned. He got new goods
after the fire and put them into
another store. The goods burned,
I understand, were insured.
Heard some suggestions that he

HENRY G. GREEN. 719

set his store on fire himself, but
it was not a current report. It ©
was talked when Henry went off

last winter that h
e had gone off folk

on acco : olks say you
peer unt of an indictment for on the point eae hold enough
. ing himself.and stopping any on of a knife to kill
feghey re, nad heard of a dif- *
for foto aa she. cheyrek Dr. E. Huil: oO

an PSS Mee ull: ;
behaviour. ‘They Herero Wyatt inquired . Sunday Mr.
too. tauch < aie: he drank of Seeiii ea mA a I thought

e enr " € z epli
member of the ik rahe Cnaten, thought she pct ra ny :
By his disguise I mean an A sy night through, and me ive the
Rent Indian disguise, He _ * better communicate it to My had
censured by the ch : was ter. He said to h ae aon
he dran! urch because doetor : rer, “Mary, the
Berlin: tei too much. Among the r Says you can’t live.” She
ing at ait cost drink- my mother?” After }
The church called him te" ae communication she alt ta =

: ace « ‘ie a reen,

count and he acknowledged his Henry, have I ever deceived

fault and >. . . you?” qQ . :
T hence retained his standing, Mrs Geetetene sue estar Shis,
: . er Says to me,

me “My sister wants c
Sheldon: Was at home munication to von me . "oe
re she

in Berlin on Saturday previ i

aa " previous dies.” I returne

net ay = Denon wife. Was with the broinec: Need a
ree n & Street- and sat down by her bed aa
ae ee pel yor remarked that I undesstood wi
ob, id, There wanted to make a comm ee
I asked where. ie ance el ve don’ ‘Shee oe se ai
and said it was not a rat but a stunting — 8 aa eg ayia
en,

mouse. c i
e. I looked around; it was David W. Wyatt: A
. ait? Am brother

on the north side of th 0
b e st
that the. ect ted. I wai I di of the deceased, Heard Dr Hull

see any. a ck just now—what he
yas ; ated in reference t

aid it went behind the cin- Munication to my ected t on

rue,

namon bag. Daniel E. Dennij A

nine i nniston S soon as the do i

neo arrameag bo ay be mis- from the room my hints Gree

not seen an me if th

bina y e doctors i

ra Stove rae be ed cat in 8iven her up, I told iis thee ae
’ enry asked wh She th i ;

“gi y : en said th

re a res —— orton up thing that she vaied sax to

; thought it Dr. Hull. f i

woul Wises

pis 7 - oe as it might down to the kitchen and ene
. nniston — said 9 .

thought there would be no dam lente

ger as there was nothing on the

shelf to be eaten, and nothing

under it but some crackers,

Henry then ask

y t ed how
arsenic it would take to oie
person. I told him I had heard

July 12,

The dece i
after I sat down by page that
after taking those pills which
Henry gave her on Friday she
had been in the most awful dis-

replied, “Must I die and not see °

BILL: GRACE:

Victim's: brother: married:often’ and never: bothered:to learn’about divorce.

2 — beatin f

Grace nodded and grinned. “Sure am,
Ben. A swell gal... actress from New
York.” P,

“She comin’ here? Do I know her?”

Benny turned to draw a beer, then
came back and offered, “I’ll watch for
her, Strangler. Who is she?” .

Grace shook his head and winked.
“Nope, you don’t know-her. She’s going
to meet me here if she can make it before
midnight, but if its later than that she’s
going t 9 ;

The bartender again had moved away
to wait on a customer and failed to hear
the rest of the sentence. When he got

back to Grace he didn’t press the subject

further.

Soon Strangler Jack joined some friends
at a table, and Benny did not notice him
again until shortly after midnight, as the
former wrestler was leaving. : :

Jack Grace had just departed when his
brother Bill came in. “Where’s Jack?” he

~ asked.

¥; “Just went out this minute,” Benny told
im. sp
“Did he say where he was going?”
The bartender shook his head. “Nope.
Just that he was meetin’ a girl friend
somewhere. Why?”

“Oh, nothing particular,” Bill replied:
“Thought I’d tap him -for a double saw-
buck. I just lost some dough in a game
up at the club, and all my money Is home.

Guess I'll have to call it a night.”

Benny withdrew a roll of bills from his
pocket and stripped off a twenty. “Here,
if that’s all you want,” said he extending
it across the bar. “Goin’ to play again?

Bill Grace accepted the loan and
nodded. “See you tomorrow,” he said.

HAT was the last anyone saw of the
Grace brothers around town until
© Wednesday afternoon. Early Sunday
morning Bill and his bride-to-be took a
train for New York City, where they were

married. As far as anyone in Walden

knew, Strangler Jack had had his fling
with the mysterious actress and returned
to his job tending bar at the Murphy
Hotel in Newburgh. wi i

September 11, four days after Jack
Grace had departed from the Eagle
Hotel, the janitor of the Twentieth Cen-
tury Club, on the second floor of a busi-
ness block in Main Street, Walden,
climbed the stairs and inserted his key in
the lock of the clubroom door. Finding it
unlocked, he scowled. His hand moved
along the wall and groped for the light
switch. An instant later he stepped back,
blinked and looked again at what he saw
sticking out from behind a large daven-
port. There was no mistake about it—a
man’s legs were in plain view.

The janitor moved forward, and as he
went empty beer bottles, cigar and cigar-

* ette stubs and rubble on the floor at-

tracted his attention. A large chair in the
center of the room was bloodstained. Be-
hind it was what had been a puddle of
gore, now dried, and to one side was an
ugly looking meat cleaver,: also smeared
with blood. From there to the daven-
port was a brown trail, unmistakable in
its implications. .
'. Terrified, the janitor ran to the police
station diagonally across the street, where,
breathlessly, he told Chief of Police
George Ronk that someone had been
murdered up in the club rooms. .

Hurrying to the scene, the chief and a>
patrolman pushed aside the davenport and
saw a man face down in a welter of con-
gealed blood. The back of his head had
been split open by a single blow, obvious-
ly with the meat cleaver. Turning the
dead man over both Ronk and the uni-
formed -man were astounded. It was
Strangler Jack Grace.” A

When Coroner Fred S. Buss and Coun-
ty Detective William H. Moore arrived
an hour later the coroner said it appeared
the fellow had been dead three or four
days. He ordered an autopsy to deter-
mine the exact time. - ?

Questioning the frightened ianitor was of
little help. The fellow said he usually -
waited until the middle of the week to
‘clean up the rooms since the members

oo PEO en

if
4 i

. rarely used them before
. The club was of a purely social nature.

fae

ED en aR ae NER

There was no bar connected with it, but a
small kitchen in the rear was used for
making sandwiches and coffee; it was
from ‘there the cleaver had come. Each
member was supplied with a key, and
about the only use to-which the estab-
lishment was ever put was for the weekly
Friday and Saturday night poker game.
The man said he hadn’t been in the place
since he had cleaned it up the previous
Wednesday. ;

It didn’t take long to ‘obtain a list of
the members, some of whom lived in
other Orange and Rockland County
towns, and Detective Moore immediately
dispatched deputies to find and question
all of them. Safe!

While this was going on, Chief Ronk.

telephoned the Murphy Hotel bar in New-
burgh, where it was known Grace worked.
He was informed by Murphy that the
Strangler hadn’t worked on Saturday and
that he hadn’t returned Monday as he had
agreed to do. Reciting the story Jack had
told of having a date with some mysteri-
ous actress from New York, the proprietor
said he hadn’t thought much of the bar-
man’s absence, believing he had gone on a
binge and would return in due time,

. “Did he have money with him?” Ronk
asked. ,
__“TIl say he did,” Murphy replied.
“When I asked him if he wanted his pay
for the week he said he didn’t and flashed

~*~ <a roll of bills that would choke a hippo- -
+~,potamus. He was wearing those big dia- ,
““monds of his like he always did when he

was going to meet some dame.”

‘ While the chief was telephoning, De-
tective Moore and Coroner Buss had been
conducting a systematic search of the

.premises. There was no money, except

some change, in the pockets of the vic-
tim, and the two diamond rings and scarf
pin were’missing. The gold watch, chain
and locket hadn’t been touched.

Knowing the man never gambled, it
seemed probable the motive for the crime
was robbery. Moreover, Walter Murphy’s
story of Jack having said he was meeting
an unnamed woman fitted in with this
theory, and the officers believed he had
been lured to his fate by a female who
either had slain him herself or had been
operating with a confederate.
~ The examination of the large card room
at first failed to produce any clues other
than the cleaver, but upon removing the
cushions from the davenport Detective
Moore found a pink silk garter. It ap-
peared to be comparatively new, but there
was no distinguishing mark by which the
manufacturer or store where it was sold
could be identified.

Ordering everything in the room to be
left undisturbed until fingerprint experts
could be summoned, the coroner had the
corpse removed to an undertaking estab-
lishment for an autopsy and the cleaver
examined for print impressions.

Meanwhile, county deputies had visited
the Eagle Hotel and heard the story told
by Benny the bartender, which confirmed
Murphy’s account of the Strangler’s pros-
pective date with the mysterious charmer.

Y THURSDAY morning most of the

members of the Twentieth Centu

Club had been found and questioned.
The names of a dozen men who had par-

ticipated in the Saturday night poker -

game were easily obtained, but each of
them said the Strangler hadn’t been seen
in the club that night although he, too,
was a member and possessed a key to the
rooms. + Ts

The game had broken up at about two
o'clock Sunday morning. Bill Grace had

played from about 10:30 until ‘midnight, x

ee LT Sots CDE we ee see

Friday evening. ,

. part-time playmates.

‘i Meat

e- 4.

“then, after losing what money he had with

him, had gone out and returned a half an
hour later, winning back his losses and
about twenty dollars besides. He then
had walked home in the company of two
other members, who lived in the same
rooming house, and had gone to bed.
When first questioned Benny had failed
to tell what Grace had said about meeting
his girl friend at the Eagle Hotel before
midnight or somewhere else if she arrived
later than that. Remembering the con-
versation after the initial excitement of

‘the affair had passed, he went to Chief

Ronk and told him about it.

“Did he say where he was going to
meet her if’ she didn’t show up at the
hotel?” the lawman inquired.

Benny scratched his head, and his
brow wrinkled in deep thought as he tried
to remember. “To tell you the truth,
Chief,” he said, “I was waiting on some
customers at the time, and I didn’t pay
much attention to him. You know Jack.
He was always mysterious about his wom-

en and would never tell anyone who they .

were.”

Ronk concluded that Jack had been go-
ing to take the woman to the club rooms.
The boys would be through playing cards

by that time, and it would be deserted. |

He had his own key. Why not? Where
would there be a better place? They
would be undisturbed certainly until Sun-

day afternoon.

In an attempt to reconstruct the crime,
the chief pictured the former wrestler,
decked out in his diamonds and carrying
a pocket full of cash, leading the way to
the Twentieth Century Club. Perhaps

the woman had gotten him drunk and at-:

tempted to roll him. He had put up a
fight and been killed. Or maybe she was
married and had been followed by a jeal-
ous and wrathful husband, who had burst
in upon the intimate rendezvous and
wreaked his vengeance in bloody fashion,
then stolen the victim’s money and jewels.
Jack had frequently boasted he wasn’t a

" marrying man himself, but he hadn’t been

fussy about the marital affiliations of his

» Until noon Thursday,

couldn’t be located; but then a telephone

gece ace eice= Ax Scent Soaks yom | tata nad hae gn ye Ye

MURDER WEAPON—
Cleaver split the b

' trophies won through the years as a pro-

_dinary latchkey, and he started to drop it

‘and that a single blow with the meat

' disclosed the victim hadn't eaten since

tie Weren't sufficient traces. of. alcohol in the
i race
_.the time of the. attack. . There..was_evi-

fet 5 ; Pia oer as :
+ < Sw SD GCE I ig BOB Ak ces Se ME OO! NE hn Nias, aD

Grac

call from him in New York informed —
Ronk he just had seen the account of the
murder in the morning papers and was re-
turning to Walden immediately with his
new wife. He had been registered at the
Hotel St. Dennis since Sunday with Mrs.
Grace. 2
Meantime; County Detective Moore
had visited Newburgh and had questioned
friends and acquaintances of Strangler
Jack. Everyone seemed to know the
wrestling champ had been a great ladies’
man, but none knew the names of his
girls. It was agreed, though, that the vic-
tim had taken his romantic affairs lightly,
jumping from one conquest to another as
the novelty wore off. ie
Moore visited Jack’s rooming house and
was admitted to his apartment. He found -
a wardrobe of startling clothes, numerous

fessional wrestler and several scrapbooks
of newspaper clippings. In a small trunk
there were a number of letters, some dat- —
ing back ten years. Most of them appeared
to be in feminine handwriting, but they
were signed with first names or endearing
terms which meant little or nothing. In
none of them was there any intimation of
jealousy or other difficulties that might
lead to a violent crime such as homicide.
Two were postmarked five years previous-
ly.at Fall River, Massachusetts. The land-
lady said she was certain no one had been
in the rooms sincé Grace had departed
Saturday morning. cee $ Pe.

Moore visited Jack’s rooming house and,
one of the bureau drawers. It was an or-

ae
back, then changed his mind and put it in
his pocket. : ‘ a
Returning to Walden, the detective ~
found Coroner Buss and Autopsy Surgeon
Dr. Fred Hadley in Ronk’s office. The
autopsy had determined that Jack Grace
had died sometime before noon Sunday

cleaver had brought instant death. Ex- ‘
amination of the contents of the stomach

dinner time Saturday night and that there

viscera to indicate he had been drunk at

tae a 4 + ey i;

Pane toe meng

‘dence of fingerprints on the cleaver ~
handle, but they had been smeared and
weré useless for comparison.

After listening to the coroner, Moore
said he wanted to go back to the club-
rooms for a closer inspection of the
premises. The place was being guarded
by patrolmen, so that when the detective
arrived with Chief Ronk the door was
open. An hour later, with nothing found
to add to the case, the lawmen were about
to leave when Moore, jingling some
change in his pocket, felt the key he had
picked: up in the rooms of Grace. He
pulled it out, inserted it in the lock of the
open door. It fitted perfectly and turned
the bolt -easily.

Turning to Ronk, he asked, “By the ae é
way, George, did they find Jack’s key to Sais weg Ser ape Bt Mane aac Sea
this dive?” -.. . George: Ronk: led: murder: investigation

“Come to think of it, no. Why?” ee a ‘ere

Moore pointed to the key in the lock.

“Well, unless the boys have more than
one apiece, the Strangler didn’t have his
with him,” he said. - :

Suddenly the importance of that key
struck the investigators. If Grace hadn’t
had a key to the club with him, who had
let him in after the gamblers had de-
parted? ‘ eet

Renewed questioning of the players in
the poker game brought out that one of
_the men, the last out, distinctly remem-
bered locking the door. This meant that
Jack Grace either had borrowed a key
from someone or had been let into the
rooms by a member, who had then left
the Strangler alone with his mysterious
guest. This member, then, may have seen

Jack’s companion or heard her name men-
tioned. ; ages

sea ih Wanita NN Sa Bill kb Da Cee BG

i ie

ATE Thursday afternoon Bill Grace

and his new wife returned to Walden

and went at once to Ronk’s office.
Deeply grieved over the fate of his
brother, Bill said he had seen Jack Sat-
urday evening, at which time the Strangler
had given him a _ wedding present of enmmenmesea
$100. He said Jack had mentioned his Sop amet a ; 2 ¥
date with some New York actress but Fis Te gap Pe tee ee
“He. had so many girl friends nobody : nwa: “by murder.
could have kept (Continued on page 63) ict f gun i! Walder tubs nee BY

# bat A ches

Dba

GRACE, Antonio, electrocute

19
_the welterweight wrestling championship .

LUTHER LOCKE
UNCENSORED DETECTIVE,
: ‘> February, 1951.

OHN (STRANGLER JACK) GRACE

liked to think of himself as God’s gift

to women—and not without reason.

Of medium height, solidly built, pow-

erful, yet trim and handsome, he
hadn’t acquired the nickname by which he
was known in the wrestling profession
through the medium of any personal af-
fectation of feminine trivia; yet he was a
sucker for silk stockings—if they encased
Shapely legs. . :

Like everything else Strangler Jack did,
he dressed in accordance with his taste,
which matched the accepted formula of
gambling and sporting men of the era.
He possessed money and spent it lavishly
on the opposite sex. Altogether, he was
flashy and aggressive.
-On Saturday morning, September 7,
12, the Strangler, who had once held

of New England, swaggered into the bar
of Murphy’s Hotel, in Newburgh, N. Y.,
where he was employed as a bartender.
A resplendent sight, indeed, was he,
clothed in a black and white checkered
suit, pateut leather shoes. A _ flame-
colored scarf was wound around his bull-.
like neck and secured with a flashy dia-
mond pin. The ends of his ascot were
tucked into the “V” of an aquamarine-
colored waistcoat, across the front of
which was a gold watch chain of log-
hoisting dimensions. At the center of this
gaudy ornament was suspended a large
locket set with small jewels, and on each
hand he wore a huge diamond ring.
Crowning a shock of black hair glistening
with goose grease and parted in the mid-
dle, a brown derby hat was cocked at a
rakish angle. es :

Walter Murphy looked up from behind
the bar, where he was setting put bottles
of grog, polishing glasses and otherwise
preparing for the day’s business. For a
moment the saloon proprietor was speech-
less with awe. At last he gasped, “Strang-
ler, where d’ya think you’re goin’ in that
outfit?”

Grace whipped a black stogie from his
breast pocket, lit it and blew rings of
smoke into the air before replying.

“Thought I'd take the day off, Walt,” .
he announced airily, examining the glow-
ing end of the cheroot to be sure it was
burning evenly. “Got a date this after-
noon with a beautiful dame over in Wal-
den. Actress from New York,” he added
impressively. ;

Murphy scowled, less than pleased that
his bartender was taking off on the busiest
night of the week. But he restrained him-
self, knowing Grace didn’t have to work
and remembering that he was extremely

popular and brought much business to the
saloon.

“When’ll you be back? Monday?”

The Strangler nodded.
babe can spare me by that time,” said he,
laughing uproariously.

The saloon keeper failed to see any hu-
mor in the remark and resumed his work,

~ a sour expression on his face:

“Who’s the babe?” ;

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Grace
chided mysteriously, whereupon he turned
and walked out.

Two hours later Jack Grace alighted
from a bus in Walden and went imme-

sag

; ‘

“Yeah, if the

diately to the Eagle Hotel, where he
greeted Benny, the barman, noisily and
ordered a drink. After lunch he dis-
appeared for several hours, returning at
six o’clock with his brother, William |
Grace, who was scheduled to be married
the next day. They drank together until
about eight o’clock, when Bill departed,
saying he was off to see his fiancee,
Thereafter Jack remained at the bar,
visiting with Benny, buying drinks now
and then for friends who came in and fre-
quently consulting his watch. . Noticing ©
this, the barkeep asked, “Expecting to
meet someone, Strangler?” is

a half-Nelson on the New Englanc

GRAHAM, Daniel, white, elec NYSP IlINew York) August 9, 1928.

@.. as your

very reason to
if you applied

nollified. “Well,
id, I got up at
ie of my cousin.
him until two

name?”

ness,” Graham
he was address-
captain of de-

{ in desperation.

driving?”

her. She bought

you to apply for

ving from any-
“I just needed

mmack that you
zacy by an aunt

superior, declined

ny?”
Thursday.”
here?”
riends.”

t?”

x in Albany.”

gacy ?”

: that you stayed

onal matter, They
ie.” Graham drew
ying another word
this is all about.”
someone held up

surprise crossed
e, that’s a shame,
<e I got to do

red his shoulders.
trying to find out.
“through playing
do the rest of the

ny sister on Long

{ down the Avenue
1 rode across town.
-bout an hour and
edale, Long Island,
‘yment on a house.
‘k to the city and
il Park until dawn.
and when I came
po

a Tel’? Bruckman
the source of your

how much money
on, you said seven
sunt only five hun-
ened to the rest of
e was hard. Little
out on Graham’s

the money?”

row feverishly.
making $35 a week
pocket. and drive u
»st $1,600 or more,”
n a rasping voice.
rigmarole about?”
little more than a

ww what this is all
vuckman.,

yes!” implored
‘or-stricken now. His
hite as his hands

gripped the arms of the round-backed
squad room chair, and he squirmed with
fear in exactly the same manner that
he, as a police officer, had seen countless
criminals do,

District Attorney McGeechan answered
him, and there was a stecly ring to his
voice, “Patrolman Daniel Graham, you
are formally charged with the murder of
Judson Pratt!” '

Graham fell back in his chair. “I’m
not talking,” he mumbled through thick
lips. “I’m not saying a word. I want
to see my lawyer!”

While Graham was being questioned
Detective John B. Kaiser gathered the
complete story of the evening from Pa-
frolman Berman. Berman was a helpful
witness, but at no time was he in any way
implicated or involved. Kaiser, husky,
pleasant-faced, a cheerful smile perpetu-
ally on his lips, is one of the police de-
partment’s outstanding investigators. His
ability to trace down the past of a sus-
pect 1s unmatched and he proved it in the
famous Stretz, Titterton and Gedeon
cases. Upon his shoulders fell the task
of gathering information from Rita Madi-
son, Margaret Wogan, the Buick sales
agency and Kobrin, the jeweler.

Graham’s sweetheart took the news of
his arrest in stunned silence. She turned
over to Kaiser the money and jewels given
her by Graham. Simply, she told her
story.

When Babette Shytle, Jackie Nevins
and Charlie Alfano were brought to the
police precinct they unerringly pointed
to Graham as the man they had seen
shove somebody from behind the steering-
wheel and drive away from the murder
spot.

BY it remained for slim, wiry Licu-
tenant James Finn, the capable head
of the East 51st Street detectives, to
clinch the case against Graham. He rea-
soned that since Graham had driven Pratt
in the latter’s car, the only way he could
return home would be either by subway
or taxi since it obviously was a one-man
crime. The fact that the Jerome Avenue
elevated was directly above the spot where
Pratt’s body was found, indicated that he
would use that conveyance. Since the time
of the murder was placed at 9:35 it would
take approximately an hour to drive from
the Campanile to Mosholu Parkway. This
time included the walk from the murder
car to the platform of the station.

Accordingly Finn secured a copy of the
train register which listed the names of
all conductors on duty between 10:00 and
11:00 a. mM. on the day of the murder.
He showed them each a picture. of
Graham, '

Finally Carlo Amano, who was con-
ductor on the first car of the train which
left Woodlawn at 10:31, spoke up, “I
know that man. He sat near the door on
that trip.”

Lieutenant J’inn asked shrewdly, “How
cin you recognize him from the thousands
of passengers you’ve carried before and
since that day?”

“I felt sure he was a spotter for the
company. I already had a few complaints
against me:so I had to be very careful.”

This explained the mysterious actions
that had so alarmed Graham on the sub-
way train,

Graham was indicted for murder in the
first degree. Lodged in the Tombs, he
made a desperate effort to beat the rap.
Unable to combat the overwhelming mass
of evidence, he shammed insanity. His
frame was gaunt. He let his beard grow
long. He went on a hunger strike and
refused all food.

At his pleading in the Court of Gen-
eral Sessions, the Judge showed his con-
cern by appointing a commission of six

True Detective M ysterves

pyschintrists,

1 was present in the courtroom that day
and slipped into a seat beside Dr, Perry
M. Lichtenstein, world-renowned psychis-
trist, who was at that time Chief Prison
Physician of the Tombs,

“He looks crazy to me, Perry,” I said.

Dr, Lichtenstein smiled knowingly. “He’s
us sane as you or [,”

“What makes you say that?”

“You'll have to wait until the hearing,
Mike. You'll see then.”

Dr. Lichtenstein testified that one of
Graluim’'s ihsane acts was his great slop-
piness in dress, but from observation he
discovered that the killer still carefully
cleaned his fingernails each morning and
when he retired at night hung his trousers
neatly in order not to wrinkle them,

Graham was brought before the board
and seated. One of the doctors took a
handful of coins from his pocket. “How
much is that?” he asked, pushing a quar-
ter in front of the prisoner,

“Bifty cents.”

“And this?” holding a dime.

“Twenty cents.”

“Raise your right arm.”

Graham’s left arm went ceilingward.

“Stand on your left foot.”

Graham stood on his right.

Dr, Lichtenstein knew that Graham was
a devout Catholic. “What is this?”. he
asked suddenly, pushing a crucifix under
his nose,

Graham went white. It was a sacrilege
to lie about it. “A crucifix,” he said
quietly,

The next day Dr. Lichtenstein walked
into the prison barber shop, saw Graham
getting a shave.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

Graham grinned’ sheepishly. “I guess
there’s no sense acting crazy any more,”
he said. “I couldn’t fool you anyway.”

* ok Ox

Harold Stern, the driver who had been
summoned to court for passing a red
light, appeared before Magistrate Ewald
in Traffic Court and had the charge dis-
missed when Graham failed to show up
to prosecute,

Although Graham’s trial lasted three
weeks, the outcome was never in doubt.
On November 28th, 1927, the jury found
the former patrolman guilty of murder

in the first degree and Judge Morris
Ixoenig sentenced him to be electrocuted

at Sing Sing during the weck of July 16th,
1928

HIERE were delays, but on the night

of August 9th, Graham ate his last
supper, He had changed greatly from the
man who hid proudly driven away from
the Buick sales agency in a snappy green
roudster. Those who had nicknamed. him
“Sheik” would never have recognized him
now. He had been a paragon of physical
perfection—200 pounds of bone and hard
muscle—now he weighed wa mere 140
pounds. His face was gaunt and lined.
As his head was shaved and his trouser
leg slit to receive the death-dealing elec-
trodes, he wept,

“T am innocent,” he cried to his spiritual
adviser. “Father, they are killing an in-
nocent man!” he wailed, no doubt giving
little thought then or’at any other time
to the sorrow and despair he had brought
in brutally murdering his friend, Pratt,

At 11:10 p.m. he was led along the last
mile through the little black door which
leads to eternity. He collapsed as he en-
tered the brightly-lighted death chamber.
Two keepers quickly strapped him into
the chair and at 11:12 the first paralyzing
current shot through his body.

At 11:16 he was pronounced dead.

Note: For ebvious reasons the name Rita Madi-
son, used in this story, ts fictitious.—-Epitor,

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me right out of the dumps!

They say it’s the triple
guard airtight package that
keeps Beeman’s so fresh and
full of flavor—all I know is,
it’s good!”

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while you did the work?” asked Mc-
Neill.

“See if you can guess,” replied Pot-
terton, with a sullen grin.

They put him in the city jail. An
hour later he had a companion, a
man named Lennie Gillis, who had
been picked up for mere vagrancy.
Potterton and Gillis got rather
chummy.

“Look,” said Gillis, “I get out of this
clink tomorrow and I need a little
dough to get out of town. If I can do
something for you on the outside, pal,
will you slip me a piece of change?”

“Sure,” said Potterton, and wrote
down an address in the northwest sec-
tion of Miami. “Tell this guy that Pll
be out tonight, or tomorrow. This crib
is a cinch to bust out of. I’ll meet him
at his joint. Tell him to give you ten
bucks.”

Lennie Gillis was released the next
morning. What young Potterton didn’t
know was that Gillis, although a
legitimate vag, had been employed as
a stool to pump him. So Gillis, Mc-
Neill and Howard went to the address
given Gillis and caught one Leo Jones,
who was quite gullible when told that
Potterton had confessed, which he
didn’t, and said that Jones was the
ringleader.

“He’s a liar!” roared Jones. “All I
did was wait in the car. He pulled all
the robberies!” __

During the week following his ar-
rest, Potterton confessed to fourteen
of a certain 30 holdups. But the
police were convinced that he had
nothing to do with the $260,000 Moore
jewel robbery.

On April 7 Potterton presented a
sorry sight as he stood before Judge
Willard for sentence. Beside him was
his mother, the mother who had prac-
tically supported him for years and
who worked as a clerk in the same

courthouse where her son’ was sen- .

tenced.
64

AMAZING DETECTIVE CASES

“Do you want a trial by jury?”
asked Judge Willard.

Potterton dropped his head and re-
fused to answer.

“I am asking you, Potterton, do. you
want a trial by jury?” went on Judge
Willard.

“What’s the difference?” said Pot-
terton. “It won’t do me no good.”

“Then, have you anything to say
before sentence is passed on you?”

No answer. .

“Mrs. Potterton,” said Judge Wil-
lard, turning to his mother. “I have
known you for years. around this
courthouse and_I feel sorry for you.
But if I show this boy any mercy, I
am convinced that sooner or later he
will be killed or kill someone else.”

[AMAZING

DETECTIVE:

his skill as a checker player. He was
the champion of death’ row.

Graham accepted the deal with
alacrity and this should have warned
Georgie, but the latter was too blown
up with pride at his own genius—for
wasn’t he making a cop, and Graham
was a cop no matter what he had done
—pay for his, Georgie’s deed?

The checker board was set up that
afternoon and the grimmest match in
the history of that game begart. It was
one game, winner take all... and
Satan held the stakes. ~ -

Appel, who had beaten every other
man in death row, found himself up
against keen competition. He made his
moves with deliberation. Graham was
sweating: freely. The perspiration
stood out on George’s brow, too. :

Two and one-half hours after -the
game had started, Appel looked at his
single king held in check in one cor-
ner of the board by Graham’s Pare of
kings, then he glanced up ruefully.
> “You win,” he admitted.

Death row had a new checker
champion.

EORGE APPEL was a man of
honor and he paid his debt. Two
days after the checker game, he
stopped a keeper in the corridor, told
him that he had an important con-
fession to make.

He was taken to the Warden’s office
where he dictated and signed the fol-
lowing:

“To whom it may concern: I am

making this statement of my own free
will to clear an innocent man, Daniel:

Graham, who was convicted of a crime
which I did. However, I would have
confessed to this matter before, but
because I knew that Daniel. Graham
was a police officer, I was against him
on account of what the members of
the police department did to me.

“At this time my mind and opinion
have changed, I state this time that
I planned and committed the murder
of Judson Pratt which crime Daniel
Graham has been accused of.”

Was an innocent man about to go
to the electric chair? That question
an ever intriguing one, persisted and
sympathy for Graham gained state-
wide proportions.’ To prevent a mis-
carriage of justice, Governor Alfred
E. Smith gave both convicts a two
weeks’ reprieve.

“Your Honor,” said Mrs. Potterton,
as her fingers twitched and her eyes
welled with tears, “it seems that he
just can’t go straight. I don’t know
what to do.”

“It is the sentence of this Court,”
intoned Judge Willard, “that you
serve 25 years in State’s Prison at
hard labor.”

Leo Jones, for his participation in
the robberies, was sentenced to five
years in the same prison.

Crime pays—until you get, caught.
And you always get caught.

Then the payments stop.

(The name of Lennie Gillis is ficti-
tious in order to save the person in-
volved from further embarrassment.)

... AND SATAN
HELD THE STAKES

(Continued from page 43)

Appel, shackled to a keeper, was re-
turned to New York, to undergo ques-
tioning at.a hearing which would

_ determine whether or not, on the basis

of this new evidence, ex-patrolman
Graham was to receive a new trial.

The hearing was held before Judge
Morris Koenig in the ancient Criminal
Courts Building on Centre Street.

“You planned and committed the
murder of Judson Pratt?” Assistant
District Attorney George N. Brothers
asked after Appel had: been sworn in
seg Fg taken the witness stand:

se es.”

“You were in the car in which Pratt
met his death on the day of the
murder?”

“In it,” Appel said scornfully, “I
drove it.”

Shrewdly Brothers seized on this
note. “The murder car was a Chrys-

ler coupe. You drove it, you say.

Did you have a driver’s license?”
Appel sneered, “Of course not!”
“But you drove the car. Then you

would know if it had a standard gear
shift.” Brothers held one _half-
clenched fist forward. “Let us sup-
pose I am holding the knob of the
gear shift. I pull it back toward me
and slightly to the left, it is then
in one particular speed. There are
three forward speeds—low, second
and high. There is a fourth position—
reverse. Perhaps you can tell me what
speed the car is in now.”

Appel scratched his head.

“Come now,” Prosecutor Brothers
urged. “I have the gear shift lever
pulled back toward me and to the left.
Any driver can answer that.”

ppel looked up at the Assistant

District Attorney. His eyes gleamed as

he sensed a trick.

“You got the car in reverse,” he
announced boldly.

“Wrong,” snapped Brothers. “It is
in first, or low speed.”

There were more questions—the
position of the ignition key, whether
it was turned to the right or left.
George Appel flunked them all, one
after another. Brothers waved him
from the stand, triumphantly.

“That’s all,” he said. “You never
drove the murder car. You don’t know
the first thing about driving.”

ave was returned to Sing Sing.

His last hope was gone when Graham

beat him in the checker game, but

now Grab
gone.

N the
Grahi
his head \

last mile t
leads to e
entered t!
ber. Two
the chair
current s
11:16 he

anyone

The W
“Who wi

“I will

A spo!
ing Wa
and plar
tain Ke
Guardsn
of mach
lant pri

T ni
sea
Cell Ho:
emergin
It was J
guards.
“War
final m:
right n
and She
ing you
Actio)
save his
went 0
would «
a stall <
to pret
death.
Stage
pounds
by an
teered
nection
explosi
the op¢
him ar
Cell H
reache
Quic
place.
Then
raced
home
The
prison
cleare
Block
waitin
rision
The
the lo
proac!
break:
night
of the
tinuec
again:
At
dozen
the o

Detec-
rlavin to
up the

stioning,
to have
that Mrs.
n at the
th Dolan
wks prior

r nerves
vorted to
‘ bossin’
ght, Feb-
‘specially
I found
arping on
» for more
sick of it

nd I saw
from my
on’t know
‘turned to
When Ii
« told me

‘He went
and after
wouldn't
er into it.
nd wagon.
was dark,
iiler to the
the Dover
ole story.”
id Glavin,
Detectives
n Buckley,
a Clinton
Taken to
enied any
, how-

| help-
of the

ak Eberle
{ all sus-
loped that
‘ported to
“riend with

id Joseph
icted by a
‘y on May
der in the
Ing an ac-
reir trial is
time their
e, or their
nined in a

k Ducase.
ink Eberle
ous, to pro-

nt persons

(HAT

ige 6)
ae

ling out over
‘argan’s and
n less of a
n open, was
. Street.

the siren a
d proceeded
iation. They
» dark, The
noticed the
epeated her

“He’s still in
“Please be careful.”

Gargan nodded. He and his partner,
as silently as Possible, entered the
building, stopping inside the entrance
and listening intently for a moment.
There were no sounds of any kind.
Their eyes had not yet become used
to the darkness, but the intruder’s
undoubtedly were by this time. He
might be in the same room; might be
watching them with that same thought
of killing in his mind'‘as has a lion
Stalking its prey.

Yet they did not dare switch on the
flashlights which they carried in their
left hands. If the interloper was in the
room they would merely make illumi-
nated targets of themselves.

hey spent a few moments of in-
tense alertness, eyes straining, ears
receptive to the slightest noise. Gradu-

there,” she said.

around the furniture, then pulle open
a closet door and stepped swiftly aside.

The closet too was empty. Had the.

intruder managed to get away without
being seen after all, they wondered,
or was he lurking elsewhere in the
house?

Their thoughts were interrupted by
a slight sound from above. Gargan
gripped his partner’s arm and nodded
his head toward the staircase. The
interloper was upstairs. Whether or
not he was aware of their presence
they didn’t know. But whether he ‘was
or not, it was their duty to go into
what might prove to be a murderous
bel a And_ without hesitancy they

Gargan, slightly in the lead, his un-
lighted flashlight in one hand, his gun

steps and listened. There was no fur-
thur sound. With his finger on the

he started up the stairs, followed
closely by Hughes. :

There was someone up there—a man
with a Service-type Signal-flare pistol
loaded with a deadly 12-gauge shot-
gun shell. And he had heard the two
officers downstairs, despite their efforts
at complete silence. Now he stood by
the head of the steps, his gun pointed
toward the stairs. In his heart was a
bitter hatred of all authority, and in
his finger an itch to press down on
that lethal bit of curved metal which
would release a spray of leaden pellets,

His alert ear caught the soft shuffle
of the officers’ feet on the stair carpet.
Familiarity with the interior—he ad

thoroughly accustomed to the murky
blackness, he waited, grimly deter-
mined not to be taken.

His fingers became rigid as a tuft of
hair appeared, then a face, then a blue,
brass-buttoned uniform. Slow] , with
inexorable finality, he pressed down
on the slightly-bent pin.

he studio room resounded with a
reverberating roar as a projecting
spurt of flame leapt from the pistol’s
mouth. The load of buckshot, tearing
from the muzzle not five feet away,
dug a score of tiny scarlet corridors
into Gargan’s chest, piercing his heart
and lungs, and sending his inert, life-
less body et Lge back against
Hughes, staggering that officer and al-
most hurling him to the lower floor.

e recovered balance almost in-
stantly. He had no way of knowing

that the peculiar gun which the killer
carried could fire only once. It was
more likely that it was an automatic
and could discharge a half-dozen
bullets. ‘

No, he didn’t know. And he didn’
care. All he knew was that his fel-
low-officer was lying sprawled ma
on the steps, terribly wounded or dea ;
With a blazing fury which seared his
blood toa white-hot fever, he bounded
up the remaining steps and fired at
the shadowy bulk standing at the top;
fired again and again and again until

lay on the carpet, a half-dozen bullets
in his body.

goed apartment and that, when he
earned its owner was away for the
summer, he decided to use it as his
temperorary home and storage place

the police combat cross to Patrolman
George Hughes and the Departmental
Medal of Honor to Gar an’s next of
kin. His name was added to the long
list on the plaque at the entrance of
ascontg headquarters of officers who

ave lost their lives in the perform-
ance of their duty.

This continuing self-sacrifice on the
part of so many policemen has saved
the lives of countless citizens. They
should be eternally grateful for the
at courage of these heroic

ike Patrolmen Gargan and
Hughes, have proven so many times

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GRAY, James; white, hanged Geahavia, Ne Ys, on November bri, 1830,
Z ; ; ’

"..e(The fdllowing) were done. by a former Leroy. (NY) Town Historian, Albert F, Mac- ‘
Veans.,: GEM, Jane 9, 1830, p 13 = Murder - Ye extract from the Morning COURIER °° *°4
the following particulars of the Le Roy murder, We have just received the Leoy on
GAZETTE from which we Léarn that the affray took place between 6 and 7 o'clock;
that the peesons concerned were Elijah Grey (Senior), James Gray, Elisha Grey and
Moses Herrick, These men, after two of them had been warned*to keep clear of the :
premises, and one of them forcibly turned out, ehbered the house of Mr. Samuel Davis,‘ —
situated about a mile east of the village of LeRoy. Mr. Davis called some disin-

terested persons present to assist in forcing the disturbers out, when a general

scuffle ensued; and while Mr. D, and anothertperson‘tere in the act‘tof putting out

James Gray, Mr. D. received a deep wound in the abdomen, supposed to have been in-

flicted by a common jack-knife., The above first founamed persons were immediately

arraigned - James Gray was committed to jail to await a trial for assault and

battery, with intent to kill, 4nd the other three gave bail for their appearance

before the county court for a riot and assault and battery, Mr. Davis died of the

wound next morning at about 11, A coroner's inquest was convened at the house of

Mr. Davis, the deceased, on Sunday evening, which returned a verdict of wilful

murder, committed by James Gray, and that Elijah Gray (senior) was feloniously

present engaged ih a riot and fray, abetting thereto, The latter was then also

committed to the county jail for trial, It is also stated that an enmity has

existed with the Grays concerned, against Mr. Davis, which was undoubtedly height-

ened bt the time the affair took place by the influence of liquor, The senivr

Gray is represented as ,uite an old man, and has a wife and numerous children in the
vicinity of Lefoy, The other two engaged in the same affray are his sonse Mre De

was 56 years of age - he was one of the earliest settlers of LeRoy, and was weal-

thy. He has left a wfie and numerous family."
"RR, Jan. 12, 1830 (3=5)=MURDER IN LEROY. The LeRoy GAZETTE of dan, 7, gives the

following account of the murder committed in that town on the 2nd instant:

'On Saturday evening last, between 6 and 7 o'clock, four persons named Elijah

Gray (senior), James Gray, Elisha Gray and Mosee Herrick entered the public house

situated about a mile east of this village, and that too, after the first named had

been warned not to enter, and once foréibly put out of the house, Mr, Davis called

some disinterested persons present to assist in forcing the disburbers out when a

general scuffle ensued; and while Mr. D. and another person were in the act of

putting out James Gray, Mr. D. received a deep wound in his abdomen, supposed to

have bee inflicted by a common jack-knife. The above four first named persons

were immediately arraigned, Mr. Davis died of the wound on the next morning about

ll o'clock, A coroner's jury was convened at the house of the deceased oh Sunday

evening which returned a verdict of wilful murder committed by James Gray, and that
Elijah Gray (senior) was feloniously present engaged in a riot and fray, abetting
thereto, The latter was then committhd to the county jail for trial."
"RO, Jane 15, 1830 (11-3) MURDER AR LEROYx..,the murder of Mr, Davis, an inn Keeper,
who resided about a mile east of the village of Le“oy, Elijah Gray (senior), James
Gray, Elisha Gray and Moses Herrick were returning in the evening of the 2nd inst.
from LeRoy, and called at the house of Mr, Davis. The Grays had before manifested a
hostility to Mre De and he warned the first twa named not to enter, Mr. Davis called —
assistance to put them out of the house, a scuffle ensued and Mr, D. received a wound in
;he abdomen from a jack-knife in the hand of James Gray, from which he died the next
morning. A coroner's jury was called and returned averdict of wilful murder against James
Gray, and a verdict against Elijah Gray (senior) of having been present ‘and fe-
loniously engaged in a riot and fray abetting thereto,' These two were committed to
jail for trial and the others admitted to bail on a charge of assault and battery.
Mr, De Was a very respectable and werthy citizen. - The assailants were heated with
yiquor at the time of the affray." : :
GEM, Nove 13, 1830 pe lll, col. 2. THE EXECUTION, On Friday last, James Gray was
executed in this village, for the murder of Samuel Davis, He was taken from the
jail a little after 12 o'clock, and walked the distance of about half a mile, to the
gallows. He appeared strong and resolute, keeping the most perfect time with the

i ich was playing his death march. On arriving at the gallows, he asce ded
viele flere Bg A eal. and without any daatanance. A sermon was preached on

the scaffold by the Rev. Mr. Fillmore of Rochester and prayers were made by several

of the reverend gentlemen present. At fifteen minutes befére two, he was informed by the
sheriff that his time had arrived,..He immediately sprang to his feet, and sbood, unaseisted
by anyone, while the haltér was‘tied around his héék, “He‘then shook hands with the
sheriff, and the clergymen who had attended him - the cap was drawn over his face, aNB he
resolutely stepped upon. the drop - the sheriff cut, the rope.and he was launched into, 3
eternity. The concourse, of people that assembled to witness the éxecution’ was *.
immense = not. less than 20,000. No accident occurred during . the day. = BATAVIA —_
TIMES AND PRESS,". r ater Fl pe aia a:
"From other notes at the museum, I find‘ eae following: 'James Gray was hanged tor,
Murder, the last public execution in.Genesee County. . Elijah Gray, his father, was
pardoned after serving seven years in, prison b écause. he. was a veteran of -the
fevolutionary ware" Letter dated March 5, 1983, pee Nae eee Ce Tastee Daneacagtat
LeRoy Historical. Sopdetys be Ee Main ahs "LeRoy, NY tHHP Ec oc

‘ tf nant ) : ' i‘ i ‘

716 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

directions as to the medicines.
There was some crust coffee pre-
pared for Mrs. Green, in a pitcher,
which stood on the table. There
was some chicken soup brought
into the room that night about
11 by Miss McLaughlin. I sprink-
led salt and pepper into the soup
in the bowl; did not put any-
thing into the pitcher of crust
coffee that night. Mrs. Green had
vomited occasionally during the
night before I went down to
tea; the vomiting was violent;
she had also been affected with
purging. She complained of pain
and numbness in her limbs, also
of burning heat in her throat,
stomach and chest, Green was
about the bedside and room un-
til near midnight; he then laid
down upon a bed in one corner
of the room. Left no one in the
room but Green and his wife
when I went down to tea; was
gone about half an hour. Green
was lying on the bed when I
went down, and when I returned
was lying there yet. Brought his
wife a cup of tea, some of which
she drank; she said she had
been drinking a powder when I
came in with the tea; I asked
her what powder, she said she
didn’t know, it was a white pow-
der that Henry gave her; told
her it was not time to take any
medicine—that the doctor didn’t
give me any directions to give
her powders; went to the table
and found the two powders there
that the doctor had said need
not be given; told her there were
the two powders the doctor had
left; there was nothing more

said.

After I came up and gave Mrs.
Green her tea, Green got up and
soon after I laid down. While I
was lying down Green had

charge of his wife; could see him
and her from my bed.

She requested him to give her
coffee, and he took it from the
table and carried it to her in a
tumbler; saw Green busied at
the table preparing the coffee;
could not see what he was about.
He appeared by the noise like
stirring the coffee; when he of-
fered the coffee to his wife she
enquired of him what he had
been putting into it; said she
wouldn’t drink it and told him
to fling it into the fire; she then
wished him to bring the pitcher;
he told her she couldn’t drink
out of the pitcher; she said she
could. He then went to thetable
and again returned to the bed.
She wished then that I might
prepare the medicine for her; I
got up but he prepared the medi-
cine for her and it was taken.
I laid down again on the same
bed; Henry sat by the fire stir-
ring and warming the soup. I
saw him mashing white lumps
that were on the top of the soup
against the side of the bowl—
fine white powder that had got
into lumps. That morning after
Henry left the room I made a
search to see what I could
find, at the suggestion of Mrs.
Green, and found a_ teaspoon
with white powder in it; the
spoon was filled half the length
of the bowl at the smaller
end; the spoon was lying on the
table on the forward part; I put
that powder into a piece of paper
and saved it and gave it to Dr.

Hull in the morning when he

came; that was the same pow-

der I showed Mrs, F. Hull and
which she tasted. Some of the
powder stuck to the spoon after

I had taken out what I got; the

spoon appeared to have been wet

vom

HENRY G. GREEN. 717

before it was put into the pow-
der. After Green went out again,
I saw the coffee in the pitcher
and discovered a white powder
upon the crusts on‘ the surface
of. the coffee; have no knowledge
as to how the powder came upon
those crusts; have no knowledge
how the spoon with the white
bowder init came upon the table;
Carried the pitcher down and
showed it to Mrs. Hull.

On Sunday a little after 12
o’clock, I took out some of this
white substance from the bowl
which Mrs. Streeter had left in
it. The white stuff which Mrs.
Streeter and I took out of the
bowl appeared like the same
which I saw in it'in the morn-
ing. Sunday morning heard the
Patient speak of dying; she said
she could not live until the doc.
tor got there. Did not give her
any medicines on Monday; gave
her no Medicines on Sunday
other than those which were
ordered by Dr. Hull on Saturday
night. When Henry carried the
coffee in a tumbler to his wife
on Saturday night, she said that
it tasted like medicine—that it
tasted different from that which
I had given her. This is the
Same I spoke of when she asked
him what he had put into it. I
had no arsenic in my Possession
or about my clothing when I
went to Mr. Hull’s,

Cross - examined: Never saw
Mrs, Green until Saturday night;
reside in Berlin; had known
Green from a child; knew before
going to Mr: Hull’s the Patient
had been there with a company
that performed on the stage. She
was a lady of fine personal ap-
pearance,

July 11,

Just before Dr. Hull left he

went to the table and showed me
what medicine to give. He told
me to give a teaspoonful of the
drops in the Phial once in four
hours, and also a teaspoonful
from the cup. Dr. Hull put his
hand upon the table, Saying those
Powders you needn't give, Heard
tell of Green’s leaving Berlin
with the company of stage per-
formers. Think he was in busi-
ness in the village as a merchant
up to the time when they were
said to have come there.

Pamela Ann McLaughlin: Was
living in F. H. Hull’s family at
the time of the death of Green’s
wife; aided in Preparing chicken
soup on Saturday evening; car.
ried some to the patient’s room
in a deep dish; didn’t Put pow-
der or flour of any sort into the
soup, nor into the Pitcher of
crust coffee on the table; had
not at that time Possession of
any arsenic, nor did I know of
there being any in the house;
&ave patient nothing but some
soda from Friday morning till
she died.

Rhoda Streeter: In February
last lived in Berlin; my husband,
Samuel Streeter, kept a public
house there. Green and his wife
were at our house Wednesday
evening previous to her death:

his mother and sister there on
that day, who resided in Troy.
Henry had boarded at our house
the principal part of the time
from the Ist of April. Saw
Henry’s wife about two o’clock
Saturday afternoon. Dr. Hull was
there and also Polly Ann Boone
and Mrs, Ferdinand Hull. Dr,
Hull thought she had better not
drink for. two hours; she said
she should faint away before that
time; the doctor then said she

710 XVII. AMERICAN, STATE TRIALS.

The prisoner appears not more than 21 ee rags gene
j ea u -
ossessing appearance, appears to be in goo
week He is dressed in a black suit and has a weed in his hat.

July 8.

Mr. Townsend: The crime for which the prisoner is arraigned _
the murder of his wife in the town of Berlin in this county
February last. (He told the story of the crime as related in the

rrative, ante p. 707.)
— then proposed to read to the jury a letter found on a <
oner after he was arrested, dated Feb. 20, and written to him by

mother.

Mr. Pierson objected. ;
Jupcr Parker, after examining the paper, said that that the Pros

ecuting Attorney had better simply, at this stage, allude to its con-

tents.
Mr. Townsend then said to the jury that the letter would in part

i s : It went to prove that his
show a motive for the prisoner’s act. t
mother had probably so prejudiced him against his wife as to lead

him to take her life.10

10 This letter which the Court subsequently refused to allow to

be read in evidence was as follows:
Troy, February 20th, 1845.

Dear Son: It is with the greatest anxiety that I write to you i
this time. I feel to mourn with you at this ime, if — _—
do any good, but my head had been so hot that I can’t shed a oe
today. I am almost distracted that they will prove you = : ch
If that should be the case I am undone and SO are = prety cc
rest of the family. Henry, tell me, are you innocent? nah
deceive me. Henry, I have been sorry that I have gi seas
reports that I heard and I could weep night and day. I .reighcbawd
in telling them to you at all, as I did not think that it — Anger
you dislike your wife at all—as you told me you loved he ve
married her for love. If so, how could you wish to do so etd ns :
If you had been deceived in any way, you could have le Pale
an honorable way. You told me she was a virtuous girl an : fi
believed you. And I have been sorry that IT told you wy yoni
reports, as I don’t believe them at all. If this should be i e er ;
of anything that has happened I shall weep night and ay, _
did not wish to make you unhappy at all. Will you —— es 7
will God forgive me? Oh, I ask it in solemn prayer ton ee a
the case will soon be decided be careful what you say ae _ a
your life depends on it. I want to see you very much indeed. =A
to me at once and let me know the whole matter. As soon as i
this—without delay—do it. Let no one see this, on no 5 oe
I remain your sincere friend and mother, till death we part.

bye, till we meet again.
Sally Green.

Henry G. Green

HENRY G. GREEN. | 711

THE WITNESSES FOR THE PEOPLE.

Ferdinand H. Hull: Reside in
Berlin. Green spent a few days
in my family in February last:
his wife Mary Ann died at my
house on Monday 18th February
last.

Harvey Betts: Was coroner in
February last; held an inquest
over the body of Mary Ann Green
of Berlin; Dr. Christie was pres-
ent and aided in the examina-
tion; a portion of the stomach
and intestines were brought
away by Dr. Christie; some pow-
ders were given me by Mrs,
Streeter, said to have been taken
from a bowl of soup; Dr. Emer-
son Hull gave me a powder which
he said he had received from
Mrs. Whitford; gave these pow-
ders to Dr. Christie.

Dr. James Christie: Am a phy-

sician; have been constantly en- -

gaged in the theory and practice
since 1834, also as a practical
druggist; have had the powders
in my possession except a por-
tion which was used in the Jab-
oratory of the Rensselaer In-
stitute; Dr. Robbins, Dr. Backus,
Dr, Wright, A. F. Parke, J. H.
Cook, Prof. G. H. Cook and my-
self were present at the analyza-
tion; all noted for their skill in
the science.

Prof. Geo. H. Cook: Am profes-
sor of chemistry and the natural
sciences in Rensselaer Institute;
have been engaged in the study
of chemistry some 10 or 15
years; conducted the analysis of
powders brought to me by Dr.
Christie in February last. Those
powders were mostly arsenious
acid; one of the powders con-
tained some greasy substance;
arsenious acid is the common
arsenic sold in the form of a

white powder; tried two experi-
ments upon the contents of the
stomach that were satisfactory;
it contained arsentius acid; ob-
tained between a half and a
whole grain of arsenic from the
stomach; examined the inner
surface of the stomach of de
ceased — first at Berlin, before
coroner’s jury and the surgeons;
the stomach was collapsed, the
external membrane was expand-
ed, and red blotches like inden-
tations.

The death of the woman was
caused by arsenic. There can be
no doubt upon the subject; an
overdose does not destroy life as
rapidly as a moderate dose: if
an overdose it will be thrown
off by premature vomiting and
will not remain in the system;
after administering arsenic,
death usually ensues from two to
seven or eight days; there are
instances of arsenic producing
death within 23 hours.

Dr, John Wright: Am a prac:
ticing physician and surgeon in
Troy; I assisted with Prof. Cook
and Dr. Christie to analyze a
stomach last winter said to be
Mrs, Green’s from Berlin, at the
Rensselaer Institute Laboratory,
Dr. Christie brought the stom-
ach to the laboratory. The indi-
cations of arsenic were sufficient
to account for the death of the
deceased. The symptoms which
ordinarily appear on taking ar-
senic are a burning sensation,
vomiting and a stricture across
the chest, sometimes spasmodic
action. Four to five grains of ar-
senic will produce death, but a
less quantity is highly danger-
ous.

liz XVI. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

July 9.

William H. Rhodes: Reside in
Berlin; am a practicing physi-
cian and surgeon; sold Green a
small box of pills the morning
of Friday previous to his wife’s
death, at my office; said he was
unwell. and wished for some
physic pills; the pills were com-
posed of aloes, soap, gamboge,
rhubarb, and jolly, and perhaps
a little oil of annis; a dose of
four would operate as a cathar-
tic; never have seen them pro-
duce vomiting taken in that
quantity.
. Emerson Hull: Am a practic-

ing physician in Berlin; known
Green from his boyhood up; his
wife in February last was sick
at the house of Ferdinand Hall;
was first called to visit her on
Saturday 15th February. Mrs.
Green was on the bed in the act
of vomiting when I came in,
complained of great distress at
the stomach, a prickly sensation
through the extremities and
laborious breathing; quick small
pulse; mouth very dry and pa-
tient thirsty; said she felt as if
she was burning up inwardly; it
was difficult for her to keep her
eyes open; said Henry thought
I had better take a little physic
and gave me some pills; some
time after taking the pills said
she was taken with violent pain
at the stomach; said she had
taken nothing but the pills ex-
cept a little wine and water, and
when she took the wine and
water it distressed her very
much; gave her an anodyne
camphorated pill, for the purpose
of quieting the stomach and
allay irritation; my impressions
in first examining the patient
was that she had taken poison
by mistake, and after investi-
gating what she had taken, I

don’t see how she could have
been poisoned by mistake, but yet
considered her case like that of
poisoning; treated her case as
for cholera morbus; the pill I
gave her she immediately vom-
ited up; soon after I gave her
another; my first prescription
was to take warm water enough
to rinse her stomach out, but
it was not given as her husband
remarked that she had already
puked herself almost to death
and that I had better give her
something to stop her puking.
Went home, returned about sun-
down; patient complained of a
burning sensation clear through
her; after giving a third pow-
der or pill, I remarked to her
attendants that they had better
give her no drinks in two hours
if she could do without them,
but if she couldn’t do without
them for that time she must do
as long as she could; didn’t give
permission for her to take cream
of tartar at any time through
her illness; on my return found
patient about same as when I
left, and made three camphorated
powders.

Green was present at the time
I gave directions as to the medi-
cines to be taken. Next saw de
ceased Sunday morning; found
her very feeble, pulse not as
quick as it had been, extremities
cold; gave her injections on
Sunday of flour water and gum
opium, for the purpose of cooling
the system—a remedy frequently
used in cases of cholera morbus.

During Sunday she was grow-
ing worse all the while; she fre
quently exclaimed, “Oh, dear, I
can’t live;” her brother came to
me Sunday afternoon and asked
me what I thought of her case.
Told him she couldn’t live and
would probably die before morn-

HENRY G. GREEN. 713

ing. He soon after communicated
to her my views of her situation
in my presence; he said to her:
“Mary, the doctor Says you can’t
live.” She groaned— said in a
low voice: “Must I die and not
see my mother?” The brother

of the testimony.
Tue Court stated the case to

came to me and said: “My sister
wants to make a communication
to you before she dies.” I took a
chair, sat down by the bedside
and told her what David said,
and would hear her,

be a very nice one; and decided

against receiving the testimony at this time,

Dr. Hull: Did not see her un-
til Monday—an hour after she
died. On Sunday heard deceased
say to prisoner: “Henry, have I
ever deceived you in any way?”
He answered, “No.” She said:
“Have I ever said or done any-
thing that you disliked?” and he
answered “No.” She then said,
“Oh, Henry!” and nothing more,
During the sickness and up to
the death of deceased, prisoner
never asked what condition she
was in or the prospect of her
dying.

Cross-exramined: Didn’t allow
the use of either of the two pow-
ders after the bad effect of first,
and nothing else except the soda
and drops; think prisoner was
present when I told Mrs. Whit-
ford to discontinue the use of
the two remaining powders. Had
no arsenic in any shape in my
saddle-bags at any of my visits.

July 9.

Rowland Thomas: Am a prac-
ticing physician in Berlin; was
called to attend Mrs. Green Sun-
day morning about 10 o’clock;
considered her recovery then as
very doubtful; if the symptoms
continued for six hours her death
was certain. Saw her Monday be-

tween 8 and 9 o’clock; she was
then apparently dying. Dr. Hull
administered the medicine, Did
not see any medicine left other
than the medicine spoken of by
Dr. Hull. Was Present at the
post-mortem examination of de.
ceased. The stomach exhibited
an inflammatory appearance, the
blood vessels much affected; was
of opinion that one of the coats
of the stomach was destroyed in
the spots where the indentations
appeared; arsenic wil] inflame
other portions of the intestines
beside the stomach.

Dr. Hull communicated to me
on Sunday morning that the girl
had been poisoned; she exhibited
symptoms of cholera morbus; the
effect of poison is the same,

Mary J. Hull: Am the wife of
F. H. Hull: wife of Henry G,
Green died at my house. On
Tuesday previous to her death,
Mrs. Green, her brother and hus-
band came to my house; Mrs,
Green and husband remained at
my house Tuesday night; she
spent Wednesday night at the
Public House kept by Dennison
& Streeter, Opposite; she re-
turned the next morning about
9 or 10; on Wednesday after-

714 XVII. AMERICAN SUATE TRIALS.

noon she complained of being a
little unwell; when she returned
Thursday morning she said she
had taken some peppermint. Fri-
day morning she did not com-
plain of being sick and came to

reakfast with my family and
ate as usual.

She was sick after dinner on
Friday; she came into the kitchen
whero I was and said she should
vomit; Henry had given her
some pills and they made her
very sick; next saw her in about
15 minutes when I went into the
parlor where she was; she had
a strange appearance, her eye
lids would fall slowly together;
said it wasn’t in her power to
keep her eyes open; saw her
about dark again in the parlor—
she soon went into the lodging
room next to the parlor and vom-
ited two different times; she sat
down in the kitchen and drank
a cup of tea; did not partake of
any food; she hiccoughed while
drinking the tea. Her husband
came to breakfast—she did not.
He said his wife was better but
would not come down to break-
fast. He carried up a cup of tea
to her. She appeared sick on Sat-
urday morning; said she had
vomited once or more times that
morning. On Saturday defendant

came to the kitchen with a tum-
bler about dinner time, requested
me to put some saleratus in that
tumbler. There was a white pow-
der in the bottom of the tumbler
and some water. After I put the
saleratus in, defendant took it up
and left the room. She appeared
worse; complained of distress in
her stomach and cold and numb-
ness in her limbs. Advised Mrs.

Green to have a physician; she

said wait till Henry comes. Saw
Dr. Hull give deceased some medi-
cine; did not take notice what
Dr. Hull’s prescriptions were;
Mrs. Boon was there; Mrs. Sam-
uel Streeter came before the doc-
tor left. I gave her no medicines
except some peppermint. Mrs.
Whitford spent the night with
Mrs. Green. Know that there was

some crust coffee prepared for —

Mrs. Green—prepared it at Mr.
Green’s request, took it to her
room in a pitcher; did not put
any flour or white powder into
the crust coffee.

Mrs. Whitford brought the
pitcher of crust coffee when she
came down stairs; there was a
white powder scattered in on the
crusts; do not know what that
powder was; none of it was pre-
served,

July 10.

Jupce Parker announced that the Court have since yesterday
examined the authorities, and have determined to admit the testl!-
mony (the dying conversation of deceased to Dr. Hull), then

deferred.

Mrs. Hull: Heard her speak on
the subject of dying during the
day on Sunday; she held up her
hand and she and I looked at
her nails and saw they were set-
tled; she said, “This morning I
did not expect to live till now.”

Saw Henry offer his wife medi-
cine on Sunday; he brought it
to her in a teaspoon; there was
some red drops in the spoon and
some whitish powder in the bot-
tom of it. Mrs. Mary Brimmer
and Mrs. Sophronia Streeter were

HENRY G. GREEN. — 715

also in the room when Henry
offered his wife this medicine;
he told her it was time to take
her medicine; did not hear his
wife reply; said I thought he
had not prepared the medicine
according to Dr, Hull’s orders,
told him I understcod it should
be given a teaspoonful of the red
drops in water; he replied there
Was only water in it; told him
I understood the dector to say
she should not be disturbed to
take anything. One of the other
ladies then asked Henry what the
medicine was; don’t remember
what he answered, or whether he
said anything more about this
medicine at that time; the spoon
was then laid across a tumbler
with the medicine in it; don’t
know how long it remained
there.

Daniel Wyatt: Am brother of

deceased. Mrs. Green was not in
a situation that she could get
up and walk about the room on
Sunday; looked at the phial of
Bateman’s drops as it set on the
table, didn’t see any white pow-
ders in it, but didn’t look at it
to see how the Stuff looked; did
not at any time administer or
help administer drops from that
Phial; didn’t see any of these
drops poured out with a view to
see how they looked in a spoon;
the white powders in the bottom
of that spoon were Plainly vis-
ible. Saw prisoner on Sunday
evening just after dark brushing
something from the skirt pocket
of his coat; took something first
from his pocket then turned the
pocket out and brushed it off:
think what he took from his
Pocket was something he left on
the mantel shelf; it was some.
thing in a Paper; it was a long
piece, thought it was candy.

When Mrs. Green told me of
her complaint she didn’t say she
had a bad cold. Don’t remember
when Green went out on Satur-

day that he spoke of goin
the docter. : i

Dr, Emerson Hull: The powder
I gave Coroner Betts was given
by Mrs. Whitford Sunday,

Called on Dr. Thomas and he
and I made a test with part of it
and the remainder I kept in a
wallet in my pocket. The test we
applied was by a heated shovel
and the test showed it to be ar.
Benic acid; it smelt of garlic.

We made another experiment
at Elder Rogers’ shop, when Dr
R. Thomas, Elder R., myself and
perhaps one or two others were
present. Shouldn’t suppose any
other powder could have been
substituted for this, though it
might have been.

Joseph D. Rogers: Was pres-
ent at the experiments at my
shop spoken of by Dr, Hull Dr,
Hull presented @&@ paper there
containing a white powder; ho
opened it and looked at it, then
looked through a microscope; it
had been suggested that there
might be poison; wag unable to
say from the appearance of the

powder whether it was arsenic
or not.

Mrs. Julia Ann Whitford:
Watched with deceased on Sat-

‘urday night before she died;

found in her room Mr. Green
and Dr. Hull; Dr. Hull remained
not long after I came. He told
me to give her some medicine
during the night in a phial and
80me in a tea cup, from only one
Phial. There were two papers on
the table which the doctor said
need not be given, Henry was in
the room when the doctor gave

"Nat Hentoff

Auction sale for slaves in Charleston, South Carolina, 1861

There Was More Than
ws» One Holocaust

Slave ships were death ships for many. And for others they
were awful holds of filth and disease.... Despondency of
spirits and packed conditions made it difficult to reach the
few receptacles provided for excrement, so men relieved
themselves where they could. ... Slave ships were thus noto-
rious for their stench. They could be smelled miles down-
wind. Other seamen preferred to give them a wide berth.

—Black Odyssey: The Afro-American Ordeal in Slavery,
Nathan Irvin Huggins

A friend of my son, who is a history buff, gave him, as a

Christmas present, copies of several pages from the March
_2,_1862, issue of Harper's Weekly. One story particularly
' struck me because it brought back to mind a continuing
argument between some blacks and some Jews as to wheth-
er the Holocaust—that term of boundless horror—should
apply exclusively to the slaughter of 6 million Jews, and
many who were not Jews, by the Nazis.

Many blacks say that no people can hold exclusive title
to the word and image, the Holocaust—pointing out the
slaughter and maiming of untold numbers of blacks during
the slave trade and for centuries afterward in this country.

The story in that 1862 Harper's Weekly was titled “The
Execution of Gordon, The Slave-Trader.” It begins:

“Not the least important thing among the changes which
are taking place in the current of national policy and public
opinion is evidenced by the fact that on Friday, 21st
February, in this city (New York), NATHANIEL GOR-
DON was hung for being engaged in the slave-trade.

“For forty years the slave trade has been pronounced
piracy by law, and to engage in it has been a capital offense.
But the sympathy of the government and its officials has

| been so often on the side of the criminal, and it seemed so

_ absurd to hang a man for doing at sea that which, in half

_ the Union, is done daily without censure on land, that no
one has ever been punished under the Act. The administra
tion of Mr. Lincoln has turned over a new leaf in this
respect.... The hanging of Gordon is an event in the
history of our country,” (Emphasis added.)

Gordon, a native of Maine, had been an exceptionally
successful—and an exceptionally monstrous—slaver for
many years. The trip that brought him to the gallows was
cn the ship Erie, which was detected by the United States
steamer Mohican on August 8, 1860, on the West Coast of
Africa about 50 miles outside the river Congo.

After a gun from the Mchican was fired, United States

THE BETTMANN ARCHIVE

The slave ship Erie was flying the American flag.

The account continues: “.. . they appeared to be in great
agony. The details were sickening. ... We will but mention
that running sores and cutaneous diseases of the most
painful as well as contagious character infected the entire
load.”

Those who died had been thrown overboard, a loss in
profits not only to Captain Gordon but also to the crew,
each of whom had been promised a dollar for every captive
safely landed.

Intense lobbying to save Captain Gordon from meeting
his maker below was engaged in by members of what
Harper’s Weekly called “the slave-trading interest.” (Lob-
byists have always been with us.) Their target was Abraham
Lincoln, but he was unmoved.

Shortly before his execution, Captain Gordon asked that
a lock of hair be cut from his head and—along with the
ring on his finger—be given to his wife. The marshal did as
he had been asked and left the cell, “quite overcome with
emotion.”

Plied with large amounts of “clear whiskey,” the captain
reached the scaffold where “the cap was drawn over the
whitened, meaningless features, the noose-knot was careful-
ly adjusted under his ear and he stood, an unthinking,
careless besotted wretch waiting for he knew not what,
when, with a jerk he went high in the air, and fell to the
ength of the rope. ... The body swayed hither and thither
lor a few moments. ... His legs opened once, but closed

gain, and he hung—a lump of dishonored clay.”

he fate of Captain Gordon, the history of the prosper-
ous slavers before him, the immeasurable suffering inflict-
ed by them on those they had taken from their homes in.
Africa—none of this was in the history books | studied in
the public schools of Boston.

We learned white history. And even that history, in my
experience, did not include the white abolitionists. From
kindergarten through sixth grade, I went to the William
Lloyd Garrison elementary school. It was one of the best.
schools in the city and it still stands in Roxbury, a part of
Boston which is nearly all black.

In my time—with the pupils and teachers nearly all
white—we weren’t even told who William Lloyd Garrison
was. For all I knew, he was a dead friend of our eternal
mayor, James Michael Curley.

Only recently, I read what Garrison, an unrelenting abo-
litionist, said in 1829:

_ Navy Lieutenant Henry Todd went on board and took

command of the slave ship. He found—according to the

| account reported in Harper’s Weekly—“807 negroes, men,

_ women, and children, ranging from the age of six months

to forty years. They were half children, one-fourth men,

_ and one-fourth women, and so crowded when on the main

| deck that one could scarcely put his foot down without

_ stepping on them. The stench from the hold was fearful,

and the filth and dirt upon their persons indescribably
_ offensive.”

j
i

“Are we—in the Fifty Third Year of the Independence of
the United States—to gravely discuss the question whether
all men are born free and equal as if it were a new doctrine?
Are we to learn whether the colored of our race are really
bruits or human beings? Whether they have bodies capable
of suffering, or souls which can never die? Whether it is ‘
consistent with the principles of our government to shackle
some of our species with the galling chains, and to mar
their image by applying the whip and the brand? Or wheth-

; i = ee ; P22 0 nerbhos Ala ena

197.

PTFE EERE SO ETS ROE

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, July,

Jack was out to paint fe town
red," the bartender said. "He

TEENS AIT aaa ca aR enema nme

HE doors and windows of the 20th

Century Club in Walden, N. Y.; had

been thrown wide open. But even
the inrush of fresh air failed to dispel
entirely the odor of death which clung
like a vile incense.

Police Chief George M. Ronk looked
again at the body sprawled on the floor
behind a heavy sofa. He noted the
meat cleaver—encrusted with dried
blood—that lay nearby. Empty whisky

and brandy bottles were scattered over
the floor and chairs, while long-drained
tumbiers stood in a neat assortment on
a small card table.

Turning on his heel, Ronk stepped to
the doorway and gulped deeply of the

fresh air. A hatless little man with-

thinning gray hair and greasy coveralls
stood on the lower step. He sucked
meditatively on a cold pipe and then
returned it to his pocket.

“What happened to him, chief?”

Ronk looked at the man sharply.
“You say you’re the janitor here? Why
did you wait until Wednesday after-
noon to clean up after a party that was
held on Saturday night?”

“The boys never meet more than
once a week,” the little man explained.
“IT had other work to do and I knew
there was no hurry about getting this
place straightened up.”

“And you had no ‘dea there was a
dead man inside?”

“Lord, no!” The janitor mopped his
forehead. “I called you as soon as I
found it.” :

County Coroner Fred G. Buss came
out and stood beside the chief. “Four
days is about right,” he said tightly.
“Death probably occurred on Saturday
night. His head was beaten in with that
cleaver.”

The chief nodded. “I want the body
removed, but nothing else is to be
touched,” he ordered. “As soon as the
room has been thoroughly aired we'll
get to work. And the first thing I will

need is a list of all the men who at-.
tended the poker session on Saturday |
night. This one certainly got out of :

hand.”

The gears of the investigation meshed
smoothly and the victim’s identity was
established without too much difficulty.
John Grace—called Strangler Jack be-

cause of his experience as a professional «

wrestler—was well known to the resi-
dents of Walden.

Employed as a bartender in a New-
burgh saloon, the Strangler was a dis-
tinct asset because of his ability to toss
humorous wrestling anecdotes across
the bar with the same expertness for-
merly used on his ring partners.

The Strangler was good; no one de-
nied that. In fact, few disputed: his
claim that he was once the welter-
weight wrestling champion of New
England. Now it seemed that Strangler
Jack had met one enemy he could not
whip. But it had taken a meat cleaver,
wielded while his back was turned, to
throw him for the long count.

Walden literally rocked back on its
heels when news of the slaying broke

Ss Poste. (a4 TUM ‘otuoqouy |

SUT

C* 00 @suei QO) Buts

wide open. The gay young members ;-—

of the- 20th Century Club were stunned,
one and all. They trooped into the
police station to give Chief Ronk what
information they could.

os
i

Om
i

sO
~“Fhis whole thing is like a night- a)
mare,” the club president stated ner-.

vously. “We started our game Satur-
day evening at 8 o'clock. It broke up
shortly after 1 in the morning. I put
the cards away, turned out the lights,
locked the door and was the last person
to leave. But Jack wasn’t there then.”

“When did he go?” Ronk asked curi-
ously.

GORDON, James, white, hanged Goshen, NY, on 1/22/1779,

"Perhaps the most notorious of these Torics wre Claudius smith who has
come down to us by the sobriguet "SowLoy of the ium.po Mountains!’ end
hanged for his misdeeds, including tie murder of Mi jor Nuthuntel
Strong, on Januery 22, 1779. he shared thesallows that duy at Goshen,
Orange County, New York, with two others of lesser reputcution, Thomus
Delamar and James Gordon. Delamar and Gordon were hanged for bur-
Glary. omitn and three of his sons terrorized the néishborhood by their
pillaging depredations, stealing horses and delivering them to the
British in New York City. after omith hod murdered Major Strong, a
bounty was placed on his head by Governor Clinton and the man-nunt was
on, He was apprehended on Long Island and Eventually brousht beck to
Goshen where he met his death from thebough of 2 cottonwood tree,"

".eeHang by the Neck..." by Teeters and Hedblom, pages 370~%371,

al Court of Over
& Terminer held there the beginnings of this month, six criminels were
found guilty and sentenced to be hanced on Friday next the 22n4
instant, , viz. the infamous Claudius smith and four other men by |
the names of James vordon, s#atthew Dolson, De la Marr ané Rines., and
&@ young woman for the murder of her basterd chila.," NEw YORK JOURNAL
AND GENERAL ADVenTI san, Poughkeepsie, NY, 1/8/17%9 (sare Books Division |
New York P ublic Library) Same sourcefor 3£29£17%9 stetes "The Leris-
lature of this state during their late Sitving at Poushkeepsie passed

an act for pardoning saiy suger for the felony therein mentioned,"

"We hear from Goshen in Orenze County thet at a Speci
tk si

"We hear from Goshen in Orange County that on Fridey the 22nd lzst
Claudius smith with the other men, (or some of them), lately condemned, |

were executed pursuant to their sentence," seme source, Feb, 1, 1779.

"On the 22nd last, pursuant to a sentence of the supreme Court of this
State, Claudius Smith, James Gordon end one de la Marr were executed

at Goshen in Orange County in the presence of 2 number of Spectators,
Claudius has been long noted for his villainy and had been often
committed to gaol, but though his rece has lested lonz, he has at last
mét with his deserts, He was convinced the people wisned for his death,
Which he mentioned more than once, arraigned upon three severel indict
ments, he wes found guilty of all. He bore the sentence of desth with
resolution. But at last when the order for his execution arrived, he
lost his courage. He confessed nothing of his crimes nor those of his
impious companions, but on the whole &ppeared to be a most hardened, im-
penitent wretch. Gordon, convicted of horse-stealing and de la Marr

of burglary, confessed their crimes und owned the Justice of their
punishment. His Excellency the Governor was pleased to respite the

execution of the other three criminals till March next." Sane source,
February 8, 17%9. |

Note: Smith' s son, James, was hanged on 6/8/1779,

The president spread his hands in an
expansive gesture. “That’s just it! Jack
wasn’t at the party at all. He must have
com? in later—after. we had gone
home.”

This was entirely possible, the chief
realized. The club was private ard
every member carried a key.

Delayed Wedding

Jack Grace and his brother William
had come to Walden two years before
and although Jack had been living in
Newburgh recently, he still retained his
ae rship and key to the Walden

ub.

“We've been trying to locate Bill

24 Grace,” the chief said worriedly. “Have

o~ ‘

ep Sr eens pe arr NI tine oe SE at et tg ene

Jack. Grace (left, above) was all set for
a date; instead he met his doom. Jack's
murderer (right, above) was no match for
the wrestler, so he used a meat cleaver.

®
Although he knew there was a girl involved
in the case, Police Chief George M. Ronk
(left) was positive no woman had committed
the crime. A letter gave the chief a clue.

In the bar of this Walden, N. Y., hotel
investigators got information that pro-
vided a part of the motive for Strangler
Jack's slaying. It was about a loan...

you seen him around? He’s the only
relative, and will have to give us-some
instructions for disposing of the body.”

“Bill was at the card game,” the club
president admitted. “But he left early
and I haven’t seen him since. You
might try his girl friend’s home. I have
the number.”

The chief put a phone call through,
identified himself and then listened
without comment as a voice crackled in
his ear. Replacing the receiver he said
flatly, “Bill Grace was married this
morning. He and his wife left for New
York City on their honeymoon just an
hour before the body was found.”

Later, when Chief Ronk in company
with County Detective William Moore,

paid a visit to the bride’s family’s home,

‘he was informed that the wedding had

been held up awaiting the arrival of
Strangler Jack who was to have acted
as his brother’s best man.

“No one knew what had happened,”
they said. “So finally we went ahead
without him.”

“Can Bill Grace be reached any-
where?” Ronk wondered. “It’s impor-
tant that we get in touch with him as
soon as possible.”

Once more, however, the officers
drew a dud. The newlyweds had not
given out the name of the hotel where
they proposed to stay on their wedding

trip.

“He'll be back soon enough,” Detec-
tive Moore remarked. “Even honey-
mooning couples read the newspapers.
Bill is certain to learn about the death
of his brother.”

Meanwhile a search of the dead man’s
clothing netted only a few cents in
change. Although no one knew the
amount of money carried by the victim,
robbery now loomed as the most logical
motive for the crime. His billfold was
missing, as well as the club key which
Grace undoubtedly had used to admit
himself to the premises.

But who had been with him? Why
had they gone to the clubhouse so late
at night?

These questions, among others,
plagued the chief as he went to the
Newburgh saloon where Grace had
been employed, in an effort to deter-
mine the victim’s movements on the
night of the slaying. But the informa-
tion gained here was meager indeed.

Brother Returns

‘ Jack Grace, according to his former
employers, had asked permission to
leave early on Saturday night. The
request- was granted, but the young
man had not been heard from since.

“That’s understandable,” the chief
muttered, “in view of what happened.
Now I want to find out how he got to
Walden and when.”

“By bus, probably,” Detective Moore
suggested. “Let’s check with the
driver.”

- The driver of the lone bus which
made regular trips between Walden
and Newburgh knew Jack Grace and
recalled: taking him into Walden as a
passenger on the night in question.

“Jack was all dressed-up in his Sun-
day clothes and said something about
a date,” the driver related. “But that’s
all I can tell you, except that he
traveled on the 6 o'clock bus.”

“That doesn’t help us much,” Chief
Ronk admitted.

“No, but here’s something that will,”
the bus driver said importantly. “My
last run takes me into Walden at 2:30
am. After putting the bus away I
usually walk past the 20th Century
Club on my way home.”

— chief looked at him speculatively.
“And... 2?”

“The lights were on,” the bus driver

announced. “In the club, that is. One
of the windows must have been up, too,

because I heard Jack Grace talking to

someone.” >
Ronk didn’t (Continued on page 42

Despite their being held in connection with
the yacht-blast deaths of wealthy Walter Over-
ell and his wife at Santa Ana, Cal., the vic-
tims' 17-year-old daughter Beulah Louise and
her fiance George Gollum seem able to laugh.
This apparently cheerful scene occurred when
the pair chatted with Gollum's mother. Police
say the pair plotted the Overells' deaths to
obtain a $500,000 inheritance for the girl.

As waitresses, say San Francisco police, the
two young ladies at far right were quite suc-
een! But as 5 eaeemiaes party Osborn,
- Leona um (laughing) 30,
When arrested, the police RK Setar a
work on the rear door of a tavern with crowbars,
and after their arrest both are said to have
confessed to previous efforts in the burglary
line, eight jobs in all around San Francisco.

Si Re ie
In the heap of rubble beneath a "booby-trap"” which
he himself set for burglars, New York City officers
discover the body of Langley Collyer, one of two re-
cluse brothers whose lives in. a junk-piled mansion

formed an almost incredible saga of eccentricity.
, Homer was found dead in March, Langley weeks later.

“He “id m* [= a Brooklyn hospital Josephine Gut-
tenkerg names her 19-year-old husband Robert as the
knife wielder who stabbed her with the blade held by
a detective. According to police, the couple eloped
to Maryland in Deuinibiir Josephine gave her age as
23. When Robert learned she was 31, they quarreled.

detective news
in tabloid

&
< =
= ee eee = FT OE Een
had never been married before,” the chief hei i Ghace tightened his- lips and | .- — next turned his atten me
recalled. said no S j : Possibility sitice attention_ meissiiiaiies ;
The detective stared. “Well, it does look Unable to obtain a confession of guilt, oo cts scene had eng en seen at | aos
| as though Bill: has some explaining to do. District Attorney Wilson and Chief Ronk dent es sg ihe vietin had } uke li- a

Le AGEL DE DG CGR OMES

Nobody today need go through life
with the handicap of a badly shaped
nose. disfigured features. Get your copy
of “YOUR NEW FACE IS YOUR
FORTUNE.” See how Plastic Surgery

after’ photos, answers all the questions

|
|
|
|

But I still can’t see

the connection with

Moore frowr.ed and said, “To borrow $5,

according to che bartender.”

“That’s just it,” Ronk said excitedly.

“Bill Grace was obliged to borrow money
so that he could sit in-on a poker game.

trip with his bride. I’m curiousgabout the

attempted to build a foolproof case out of
the circumstantial evidence on hand. And

Apparently he
to bring his brother to Walden with a roll
in his pocket and, after making sure there
was no late bus returning to Newburgh,
had persuaded the Strangler to sleep on
the 20th Century Club

into lending him money for the wedding.

they could, there cooperated as far as |

| a rch death than that,” Ronk th d instaking effort to reco’ ut no
ere’s more to Ii 2 ex- ey made a pa ing effor recon- i wo i record é
plained patiently. “I did a lot of thinking struct the crime. { mguhery wouring the wl Al walening |
on my way back from the license bureau. Bill Grace, they decided, had a double Months = could be found. of the |
Bill had the opportunity to commit this motive for the murder. He wished to pre- a. Wontin's ‘agged by. Picnickers ei |
Pp crime. He left the club early, according vent Jack from interfering with his mar- the glory h, peas in brush not ee
Yes, You Can Have to’the other members. Now, do you hap- __riage plans by telling the bride-to-be that with ‘ole grave, and in it was a m
A G d L okin No e pen to recall why he went to the Eagle he was a bigamist, and he also needed burgh See and address of a Pitt,
ood-L0 1 g S bar before the game?” money for the wedding trip. hopes iets the Again Sheriff Vin iar 3
. had arranged a fake date victim would a on. jdgng-buried oe = |

lvania. She'd pock |
be l \ dro
a while on a vacation lk aa |

quickly, easily re-shapes ugly noses, sets i P e .
back arene sorreecs other de- Yet a few days —_ ¥ brother oe the big couch in : =
fects. This book by a famous plastic murdered and_ rob of approximately rooms. tw ly to admit th: (
surgeon contains over 88 ‘before and $400 Bill was able to finance a honeymoon There, possibly, he had tried to talk Jack so aa Le on arene he had oe | r. j
! Agatha Christie

usually asked. Sent post-paid in plain ro
wrapper for only 25c. source of all that income.” Not only did his brother refuse, but and the fact tha: markin,
\ | FRANKLIN HOUSE, Publishers Moore reached for his hat. “There's threatened to expose Bill. Murder was the ; culosi 8
629 Drexel Bidg.. Philadelphia, Pa.. Dept. 3-¥ | only one way to find out,” he remarked. result. i Pointing to a small value, indeed, i
rs | “Let’s ask him.” This theoretical version of events leading j worth after oak Dee They might be of |
High School Course | Confronted by the two accusing officers, up to the slaying was outlined at the trial ‘ a female suspect body was identified ‘and |
tB rer’ | William Grace greeted their intimations which took place in the Orange County } before. + Was In custody, but hardl:
a ome Finish in 2 Years that he might be involved in the murder Supreme Court three months after the ‘ ., There was, h y
time and abilities permit, Coures | with shocked amazement which tured body of Strangler Jack Grace was found 4 lead to the Post cine still one tenuous
Standard H.S. texts supplied. Diploma. | quickly to anger. , in the clubrooms on the afternoon of Sep- dental chart and woman’s identity—the
catioa yer oes Tar ndvaccoment | “[’ve done all I can to help you fellows, tember 11, 1912. : i Glen R. Chafee of Views by Dr
aa Soot, Seat your aang SO he protested bitterly. “Now, by way of Despite the defendant’s plea of not : bi ictor before the corpse
eeeican Schedl, Devt. HBII, Drexel at 58th, Chicage 37 thanks, you try to get me involved.” . guilty, a jury found the circumstantial evi- This was
| “We're not involving you in anything,” dence sufficient to warrant a conviction, 3 which were sent reproduced on bulletins
| Chief Ronk said mildly. “I merely asked and returned a verdict of guilty in the first all over the to police headquar .

ase ee We 431-8, Chicago 5, tl. | next on the program?” : Grace, a man who carried .
| . “A trip to Lowell,” Ronk said-firmly. Cain on his cringing soul. journal read by all : Professional s
INVENTORS | Detective Moore journeyed to Massachu- Finally, in an i men in dentistry. We
= : setts and returned shortly with news that 1934, the ninietilous on < os summer of | Nl
age de 1 t o! . a Carri :. bd

en ner era eS registered to practice appeared sufficient to crack the baffling ~ Colorado murder victim’ diagram of ;

‘Office. Write for fur- | Case. : 5 D th T f letailed description of 's teeth, with

| Bill Grace was married before,” he an- ea rap or done upon of the work which
: ;

before the U. S. Patent
ther as to patent protection and

‘ure and “Invention Record” form at

| you a few questions. There’s no need to
| get riled up.”

“J think there’s plenty of reason,” Grace

snapped. “From now.on you'll get no help

| from me!”
| “You sure struck fire that time,” Moore ,
| chuckled, as they left the house. “What's

nounced exuberantly. “Four years ago he
married a girl in Lowell.”

degree. Judge Arthur S. Tompkins sen-
tenced him to death in the electric chair.

Defense attorneys appealed the decision
but the penalty was upheld. And in August
of 1913—11 months after the commission
of his crime—the fatal current was sent
coursing through the body of William
the mark of

a Lady in Love

Exciting New

MARKS THE SPOT

GEORGE HARMON COXE

once. No obligation.
McMORROW, BERMAN & hag ta “Four years?” the chief asked. “But that the with gn 3 H
174-D Victor Building, Washington 1. D. C. — was = five — ago!” (Continued from page 13) Teread the technical pe St, read and | D i No. 169 Murd k
oore nodded triump! y. “Acting on : Panying it. Th iption accom- | MYS TE : : urdock’s .
| niereees apteined in sapwrell, 7 aes on if Senter en rr) en = his phone. | | Wak mesial an Acid Test
to Fall River,” he report race has a car with the Nebraska plates. The slayer onths after the two pr sat | Now on Sale Everywhere « 25 | vacation in the eee takes his
} ¢ a finds three

| wife living there, also—his first one. The
bigamous ” gangsters —and murder — there.

| teat eso jages ore might have added two victims to his’ list

to prevent identification in the future.

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“That explains a lot of things,” the chief

| said, with quiet satisfaction. “Apparently

}
|
|

|
|
|

Jack knew of these former marriages and
tried to persuade his brother not to go
through with this latest one. When he
threatened to expose the whole sordid
affair, Bill killed him. This information
also explains the conversation which the
bus driver overheard.”

Jewelry Found

| home in, an effort to locate the

William Grace was immediately placed
under arrest on charges of first degree
murder. He emphatically denied the crime,
but a thorough search was made of his
missing
| diamond rings and stickpin belonging to
| the victim. Chief Ronk found the diamond
| jewelry concealed beneath a cake of soap

The following day Vinyard heard about
Jack Cota and Midge Vorla. He knew
about Jack, of course, since he himself had
run the small-time tough out of Cripple
Creek several weeks earlier. But what he
had not known was that Midge, Cota’s girl
friend, had not been seen around the cafe
in which she’d been a waitress since about
the time Jack shook the city’s dust from
his heels.

On top of that, only a couple of nights
before Vinyard ordered the undesirable
character to pack and get out, Jack and
Midge had had one of their innumerable
quarrels and the girl had shown bruises
and cuts afterward.

Cota, the Teller County sheriff decided,
could be capable of murder, and if Midge
Vorla could not be found ... .

Vinyard made inquiries. Cota, according

The via
“ e — showed a copy of the d.
—— ; pened at the Page bearin, a
Mee, Of 3 Set of teeth =
€ says they are Ida’s,”

rica. The last |
‘ose were her mi i
I'm afraid she is |
you found.” |

PHOEBE ATWOOD TAYLOR
No. 171 Octagon House

an ini
° do sinister murder in one of hii
offing and hilarious cases, >

HAKE TALBOT

No. 173 Rim of the Pit

Agh
Ghostly murderer who pparently fits through

the cir makes thi
this o thrillj
besten track. rilling mystery far off the

= at ow
=
= Se ae ong ~
~ . Sma <

If
you cannot obtain the titles

Me So

AGATHA CHRISTIE
No. 172 Sad Cypress

A client who aimost believes her

toxes the own guilt

ingenuity of th
Poirot to the limit oo

—_ - ~

CARTER DICKSON
No. 175 - . And So Murder

Murd:
wee er and attempted murder behind the
. ,
S of a big movie studio mokes thi
yarn tops in sheer excitement. °

ca
ain - se ee

fons
sion ined Tor casy | NOW |} camous 4 : “wi i
peston% | in Bill Grace’s shaving mug. to a couple of shady characters who had e kept the teeth,” vi . listed, mail thi
AMERICAN TEcHMICAL, SOCIETY | Confronted with this evidence, the sus- been as Eigse to him as anyone in Cripple aebose her dentist could po ona Pg ed Sich wil this coupon. Send 25¢ DELL PUBLISHING CO., In <
AMERICAN TECHNICAL SOClETY __ pect lost some of his affected nonchalance, Creek, had gone from there to somewhere | lentification by examining them.” te the 900d in the Us ace: This offer 149 Madison Ave. New Yau, PI
Laer apllapeeetartianey aa en wee sous si piled but quickly changed his story. He now in the vicinity of Victor, a few miles be- ; said at may not be n ” Fy -A. only. Please send 7 ork 16, N.Y. i
Biecusiy. incloding » corpseate cating me ie commating privileges | claimed that his brother had given him low the county seat. id. “I understand you found th j I enclose $ me the DELL BOOKS checked bel 3
Sop elcrn chem in 10 days and ome Fou nothing. be at kong them. f | the jewelry for safekeeping. The sheriff set out in search of him and | Mains wrapped in a Paisley hawt 7 rc) O#fe man ow. 3
wall sou $3.00 alver 19 dare, then $2.80 8 eo Chief Ronk looked at him long and hard. eventually located Jack’s shack, just across © agen aren this pattern? . Do THE SIGH G 4 * O#fi71 O72 O¢iz3
the county line. The door was opence, @ “ea brother spread out a length of Fi \ Goon aeanee Nome. * D #175 4
when Vinyard called, not by Cota but by 3 fabric. The sheriff stared at it with ® ae aaa 3
ing, robbery was the motive f Midge. Another possible lead to the mur- oes = Address =
You said Jack was never wii der victim’s identity had ended in futility. ” hy, that’s the same.cloth we. found DELL BOOKS 2 25¢ ¢- CY: Zone & Stote i < :
fae . = Tretia ne TET Tuas oncremeteeteantisinaiateeiusnisin F.P.77
S

Se ee ee ee ee ee ee ne ee es

a nee

ciara onsets Paria

eee

What’ John Grace knew
lived on after he died.

the query, Dr, Frederick A. Hadley,

physician attached to Orange County
Coroner F. G. Buss’ office, allowed the corpse’s head to sink
gently back upon the floor. He rose from his kneeling posi-
tion and rubbed his chin reflectively.

The graying police chief waited patiently for the answer.
George M. Ronk wasn’t accustomed to haste. The years
he had spent in the easy-living town of Walden, N. Y.,
had left their mark. Even murder wasn’t going to change
soft-spoken, deliberate Chief Ronk.

Besides Chief Ronk and the medical man, there were
three others in the room. Coroner Buss, County Detective
William Moore and the janitor of the 20th Century Sport-
ing Club.

“He's been dead about four days,” the physician finally
opined. ‘Jack Grace was killed late Saturday night or early
Sunday morning. His skull was split from the back right
through to the brain, Death must have been instan-
taneous.”

Detective Moore was holding a butcher’s meat cleaver by
its neck with his thumb and forefinger. The long blade was

“Hite long has he been dead, Doc?” At

This man thought his
past buried forever.

bloodstained. Several black hairs clung to it. He had picked
it up a few feet away from the body.

“This ?”

Dr. Hadley looked at it and nodded. “Unquestionably.
The blade would fit the wound perfectly.”

Chief Ronk turned to the janitor. “Do you recognize the
cleaver ?”

“Tt’s the club’s,” the overall-clad man affirmed. “It was
kept in the kitchen closet.”

‘The room in which the men were gathered was the main
recreation room of the sporting club, Many of the young
bloods of the town belonged to the organization, which some
townsfolk considered a “fast” group. The members liked
to indulge in card games and drink.

Located one flight up in a mainstreet building, the 20th
Centurites’ quarters consisted of two rooms and a small
kitchen. There were several card tables and plenty of chairs.
Around the sides of the two main rooms were divans.
Sporting prints decorated the walls.

“When was the last time you saw anyone here?” Ronk
asked the janitor.

“I only come once a_ week, Wednesdays,” the
janitor answered. “Mostly the fellows have their

Parties on Saturday nights. Like last Saturday night.”

All the lights had been turned on, and Chief Ronk and
the others saw plenty of evidence bearing out that the
room had been the scene of a party,

Ash trays were heaped high with cigar stubs and pipe
dottle. A light film of dust lay on the furniture. The stale
odor made the summer night air harsh, unpleasant to
breathe. In the kitchen, visible through the doorway, the
sink was filled with grimy glasses, empty bottles.

For the benefit of Detective Moore and the coroner, the
cleaning man told again how he had found the murder
victim.

This evening, Wednesday, September 11, 1912, he had
made the club his last chore as was his custom. He
had opened the Place shortly after 6 p.m. With his
mop and pail he had started for the kitchen. That was
when he had noticed the thick, black stain on the floor.

Tracing the paint-like blotch, he had
peered under a couch. In the gloom he
could see but a shapeless mass. He
scratched a match. The next moment, in
the flickering yellow flare, he saw an
outstretched hand, and then the face of a dead man!

Walden’s police station was little more than a block
away. He had run the distance and summoned the chief.
Ronk, before leaving with the janitor, had telephoned the
Coroner and the county detective at their homes in New-
burgh, less than 15 miles away,

Coroner Buss, taking notes on a pad, said, “Somebody
will have to notify Jack’s brother, I’ll hold an inquest.”

Chief Ronk shook his head. “That may not be so easy.
Bill Grace is on his honeymoon in New York right now,”

Preparations were made for the removal of the body to
a local funeral home. The dead man, when first discovered,
had been wedged behind the large couch. The officials had
pulled the bulky piece of furniture away and carried Jack
Grace’s remains to the center of the room.

Chief Ronk searched the pockets of the flashy summer
suit. His quest yielded a few coins, a silk handkerchief,
two ten-cent cigars and a box of matches.

He addressed Detective Moore, “You gO over to Bill
Grace’s new father-in-law, Maybe he knows where Grace

The janitor’s eyes widened’ in horror
as’ the flickering match revealed first a
hand and then the face of a dead man,

BY ARTHUR DIX

, *
and his bride are staying in New York and we can reach
them by wire or telephone.”

Only that morning, he explained, Grace had been married
at the Methodist Church, The girl’s father was one of
the town’s leading citizens. She was considered a “catch.”

Moore departed. Ronk, meanwhile, questioned the jani-
tor, a man he had known for years. Soon he was convinced
that the fellow couldn’t have had anything to do with the
crime. He obtained from him the name of the club secretary,

The chief waited until the arrival of a hearse. Two mor.
ticians placed the dead man on a stretcher and took him
downstairs, ~*

John Grace had been a man in his prime. He had a re-
doubtable physique and the tremendous strength of a
wrestler—which he had been. Now in his 30s, he had come
to Walden with his younger brother several years before
from Fall River, Mass.

Ronk knew the wrestler’s record. He had
been the welterweight champion of New
England. He was widely known as “Stran-
gler Jack.” After living in Walden for a
time, Jack had moved to Newburgh to take
a job as bartender at Murphy’s Hotel, Bill, a painter, had
remained in Walden.

As he strode through the soft night toward the home of
the 20th Century Club’s secretary, Ronk pondered several
things. What had Strangler Jack been doing in Walden ?
He had been a member of the club, but his visits to the
town the past six months had been less and less frequent.

What had he been doing at the club? Had he in-
curred the deadly hatred of a fellow member? Investi-
gation would bring the answer to this last. But there
were other angles.

The former grappler’s great muscle Power was assurance

surprise attack ? Nothing in the room pointed to a struggle.

Finally, there was the chance that a woman was involved,
The ladies liked virile, free-spending Jack Grace. Even in
a feminine hand, one blow of the heavy cleaver would

[Continued on page 57]

en *
Fini ioc ini acca cis e* i i “pea - mae
— ‘ the street. You can see it from the lobby = had come to tha el face ee
R ACTABLE / The Fatal Secret without trouble. Well, Jack would talk to = ises. But whetras familiar with jpn hn belonging 19 “ne 20th Comrie Ga pane
R POINT of Strangler Jack | 2eifsscwes tier. ‘Bock fo te bervout |=, Woman no one neyo WM # man from Joe yee OU tHOUEhE Was aan IGGER PAY THp
to the lobby. I gave him the razzberries ie yer jeonversation overheard b ief glan :
= | ‘ontinued from page 24) after half a dozen trips. Poor guy. No one = driver ‘doesn’t help much i thay, the bus as though tenho a at the bit of metal U
— / | . figured that it was his last night.” 2 pe Fi Moore said disgustedin, “cof” “Jack didn’t take ne seve What he saw. ] E TRAINI
= a) a -_ “What time did he finally leave?” Chief = or ms have been talking to tither’s race lubhouse,” he said in a a ceriag the | A better job NG
Af) | bother to conceal his interest. “Did he Honk asked curlousiy. = wp Granted,” Chief Ronk eaiq ..; couldn’t havc Key in this trunk "ec | theread%;PtePare now in spare Geom if you
: : mention the name of the person he was But I’m just beginn; said quietly “35 e! tell nerds of early F; reap
: ) with?” Jack Flashed A Roll a8] little we know ayenniné, to realize how tect; mebody must have let him in” tell how, thobookinns =, Ete 48-page books
DET aise: sak tbl ek a : brother Bill’ about Jack Grace and his - ve Moore said excited] in,” De- a ite your aid business field you
wxorsiiet"hind Skint gx anyone ater Once mere the bartender shook Ne end: | So eats age ft ame fo Walder bet inl Deed," "“Satcone wth , | Grannis Delia Cer aseyae
But I heard Jack say, ‘You can’: do that “Now you've got me, . m ¥ at accepted withe, in particular, was jue’ mar “S6 ara a | QHlther 2 : .
sg ae ak after 1 o’clock when I first noticed = ut question beca as Just where that cl 0 knew Manegeane, OBusiness Management
totes! By God ont eX © ork 3 d. I su the dame ~~ 3 good nature and reputation use f Ais Bet it without a. 7ver WAS and how to | & oflip, (gsieemanship
through with it I'll spill all I know, perry Ped aocm oe inet : But actually, n mim the ring. ici arousing his victim’, Commercial Law Oc. Pp,
“Well, Til be damned!” the chief ex- either showed up or Jack just got tired of =. his past. He may Mno™S anything about member OY the murderer must bea | AS ete Otachine Shorthand)
a Pefeah” the river modded. “I dint “How about money?” — ene way." 0? who wanted him out of te, hart lob one ied ae, £ A LLE extension UNIVERSITY
; 7 il heeled?” e 7; € club membe: id ef now Correspondence Li
brings know what the argument was about, but I he. seem to be well hee “His brother : a be heonia ac eee
se Se pee Bigured it was none of my business Sot | CATS, you Mle, point dees =f MR MY! 904” Moore reminded In'tain, "ete once more supine | ee PNM Dower Cee,
went on home. A ilt milk red. He showed me a roll big enough to ——— ily. ow all that,” the chief agreed sisted that he was pee But each in
There’s no use crying over Sp choke a cow. With 50s on the top. I figure : mid t the fact remains that wear- bus driver Noticed 1 at the time the A
or. lost opportunities,” Detective Moore there was about $400 in all. I told him it is dead—murdered. Maybe 3t 22k Grace at 2:30 in the iced the lighted clubhouse As
: —_ gong ge oes ak Pe ag ae to flash money around, but = gut of the past. There’s a fom i one came Two days Iota, "Che, lowas 50 for *J w= NAME
on ain tha G oma 3 tyros shies he: just eaghaal and said = could take ~—— oid tres o°FFesponding with a on diseust. meone is ix ook eave up in | one ‘Show exclusive Name Mr aaesval
t This is the got a hun t Grace Ps if.” = . c ien By going thro " of hi ut I can't f g,” dechovact fal Goi ‘ : ree Pee
ii. usb Jou the clubhouse!” ar ba a ‘ made i: = mgs we may find ” ugh his belong- “And gure out who it is.” BIG SELLERS me pent 22% om sales.
ee ee NS PRINT is mysteri foman? Chief Ronk now an effort to dis- a clue. d small chance that ; iN Box
png yer Siig fg Semone a sag cont ae pe found? warts nee _ | peers which might ee — = Hint In ; Detective Moore 2 at we — au.” Eco pros with 21 “Feature
« . Pay $1. lus few . . G - visi yy the former wrestler q Letter t er to Isconso) 3 ‘onertment — Nog re, 3! Christ
Dostage and C.O.D. charges on delivery, Or send $1.00 On the —_e pes hang triage feminine companion. He found no one, ; Enlistin . ; = from ket inply. Instead, he ifadiog or oortments a:
3 Feturn pen within 1¢ days and we return your money. — ay pee terminated their however, who had seen the pair on Satur- * District yy Anes me of William Grace and etter which ha in Si iver year-old A 5) ems vEversat, Wrap Emer new
"ALCO SALES CO. ymoon when the husband learned of day night. The Eagle bartender was the vee ey Jonathan D. Wilson, hu ESE een in Strangler Jack’s For Sampleawriew wow to een
311_W. Ontario St. Dept. H-156, Chtesge 18, Ti oe es brutal death. He called on —— known to have scen Strangler j Newburgh formerly’ = j bra room in you keep mane hop ar ualy. “Why did Sate ar stiviose. 1228 CHétere a ~.
Chief Ronk at once to offer his assistance ai ive. ; j His belong occupied by the vic. “I doe? ? ed. Rochester 5, New,
: “There wasn’t much time for them to 3 the landlady nes Were still intact on’t_know,” Chief ;
PERSONA anit “cart believe yet that it happened,” have gone anywhere,” Detective Moore | had been digryaeured them that nothing garhiy: “But I'still think et 2dmitted N T
CHRISTMAS Personal ill said dazedly. “Why, Jack didn’t have argued at the end of a fruitless quest. 3 “T just J Tace should deny writin 0 that
TERE curs 25 for fi wit mame, Frients, | Bill wey ts “Grace was in the Eagle bar until after 3 aor locked the door and wa} anyone even suggested thet v= this before "
others buy readily. Big profit for you. - | an enemy in the world. 1 o'clock. And at 2:30 he was in the club- : laine a’ tO Come after his thin, Waited for “Probably because th. at he had.” crstion om
ments, Everyday Cords, Stationery. ote. “We think robbery might have been the house.” . ee | Piained. “Poor boy, he was s%, ‘Pt &X- st the detects © names are’ sim- hae tae
Ne experience needed. Write for FREE motive,” the chief told him. “Have you Tecate die etic weston Sk dene 3 clean-cut youn g fellow.” such a nice, thought it mane’ - @ said easily, —
FREE Seathers frectiog tard Ge. ~ | any idea as to the amount of money your ©) wicaN Y Century Club with a friend. | og g a key in the lock she studied - thoomfusing.
SAMPLES mccall Bide Dest -37 Memsnis 3.Tenn. — ey oe oe but Jack was Was it the girl he had waited for so long? : Fast pes door and Motioned them Pre inf ones sundae as TR roe postmark.
wh eee ead. y 4 e ‘ ide. ry , i C
Learn Profitable vig ong - scar aaen without his two diamond rings Or se he ae crane else? : 3 You won't a long as s you like, gentlemen, — one and his brother meget softly.
king merit these questions, ~ “3 e urbed. » Mass. ne
3 with undis, riety looked around the Toom Handwrit
ndwriting Puzzle

in QO days at i ickpin in his tie: If they
: oo AND WOMEN, 18.70 30. ps: re meng a re the two officers went to the clubhouse. In
| E> BFS cx"even more per mega. Lange, full “They are,” Ronk said soberly. “In
foriuma, clube or private practice. Others | addition to his wallet and key to the club.

accordance. with previously issued orders, furnished with = curiosity. It was plain]
lace was guard thing bed, dresser, nj y
had gored pee Chief iock atarel : = ie Sons ° Bill Grace iectueres stand __ Feeling slightly foolish d
r omemade chest which had been to a ing to anyone, th ish, and saying noth-
; Pushed the iage’ The chief took the letter to

hits

~« ‘y — ‘Taake good money in spare time. You é .
& cam win is oecventy oy waning at Now, can you tell me the name of his girl po wee v phos inet nd ~~
~ ee ee ti rell ” Grace reflected for a mo- cigarette butts and empty bottles. é =p 3 ‘doubt # teal find examined tee license bureau where h,
- sch Mass «els i ° ge tng ; . > . .
as oestsisnidetobiet cert! | ment “T don’t believe Jack was serious "Grace oo — = ea ger ofl : in for,” he ‘said. “Bur pe youre look- which had be, i 5 license application
Se aver ere Se eee be meee fen wl rota ieee! ony race Bote lam Se
i er ; ae . rs
pease gerd hee had a fica he didn't tell Apparently the killer, ig er 8 out into the conak Graeaed the big chest doubt tar fing the fully. There oo
Sethe gifs ame thou, snd Tent down a vty, bad raged fay Rk the Keay kes ther Stn ho NY a te a
. Besa oe arran, f nm “I don’t e |
; “We've been trying to learn where he then placed the body behind it An at- 1 and the chest was heed fngms in order, ting at,” pig exactly what you're get
ase went and what he did on the night of the tempt had been made > oe ne Ee Togeneous assortment of with a hete_ ef relayed the atthe oore, when ‘the if
in the fetame | murder,” Detective Moore said smoothly; to its original position, Dut obstruction. | jcxttS and yellowed news ist DaPshots, tained. ust caremation he had ob- i
ie “If you saw him on Saturday, perhaps..." possible because of the Sty Sing some. | ining to Strangler Jack’, (iPPings per- Grace can be invaliqeeueve that Bill i “
GREAT SHOPS OF COYNE “Tm — Propet a? Lge lyr ness —_ thine like this.” Chief Ronk said Gaubretie ; a ring. S early days in death. Why, he even onl his_brother’s qo
soberly. “I only spok¢ to Ja or afew ; . out much h act as best to have J qf
Train in a Fou Short Weeks | | minutes in the bar of the Eagle Hotel. That “in the first place, could she have See’ sifted through ‘the #n of success, they “AP ai quan at & the wedding” e Jack if
Here at Coyne in a few short weeks you can | | was just before the poker game s at matter. Jack Grace was a heavy man.” S fo recent date and none Lory Teady had a wife,” R t letter he al- Hi
i opportunity in Electricity or The bartender might help you, though. that matter. vy requests for money. : none bore > NOnk ins: q i j
ae Sco male te actual fall-sise Electrical or Jack was still there when I left.” _ ; Some women ig eg * me fey dated five years (itt Kl Was one letter, out, r, ai died,” Moore pointed i |
Radio equigment. 48 yous waluing experiance. Moore and the chief lost little time in comenmnted ee Ee --nang 9 I Frotuleted Grace On a success writer con- written five vn — “The letter was ff
V . a 9 “ i ” . 4
NOT a swomrsvoore counss | | Sting tp the Eagle, Hota, There they ate wih an, scies from New York | fhe with oth armrest tout and diggreegs"" "8 58% Or maybe thy
All Coyne training is given here in oar bis duty at the time. He smiled briefly in | Ronk looked up . with quick interest. ~ you and says your ‘pi as azy to meet Cense, Grace stated that his tooeaie ich i
VETERANS! Coyne is authorized to train Vet- | | answer to the chief's question. Waet ae son eee lip thoughtfully. dsome. The next time yo, °K , Pretty less: Gusta rition. Greaseless. stain j
erans under the CL. Bill. Coupon brings details. “Bill Grace came in to borrow five bucks Moore gnawed dented x07: where near us you'll have to get any- tle proves tom ung fast. 35e tral bot. |
Two great opportunity fields so he could sit in the paker game,” theman “Well, that cleaver has been iden! kept and stay a few days.” come by your druggist for B.0-0: Proscesgs* j
FREE BOOK —22 couvon for free iltus admitted. “As for Jack—well, he practi- belonging to the club. It id. ey oak It was signed simply, “Bj1),» : Prescription. i
trated book on whichever | | Cally spent the night between the bar and in the kitchen. How would a woman not = William Grace li py
course you prefer—no obligation. a familiar with this place know where : it aloud. he sai ‘he chief read i
helps you get better jobs. the lobby. Lu ch short notice?” ‘ é Then Said, smiling, “7 pe i
Pe mE Your Choice of “Waite Lai Ray ry rs the “Ronk said, “I see what you mean. If « ""Ronk ioided th ‘
' B. W. COOKE, Dir. . “Waiting for hi te to show up,” the n . i tagage . , | Ro () e missive .
Hot aerate 2 Greet Fields bartender informed him. “The Strangler the girl had planned the killing in advance into the yellowed enve Tope wired it
5 500 S. Paulina St., Chicago 12, lil ; | was all excited. He said this babe was an she'd have come prepared with a t pt ' Bostmarked Lowell, Mass. was
* Sead FREE BOOK and full detailsoacoursechected: 1 | actress from New York. Apparently she On a spur of the moment go found ~ S2id cryptically. “You were j
§ OELECTRICITY crapio | | wasn’t sure just what time she'd arrive nly, eet . a 3 ey thee. dagyand the writer
s and he was to wait.” , e . : a ad a wife years ago!” *.
¥ NAME...--2-.0-eeeeceeerereseeseeetseeeeeees ; Moore asked, “Did she finally show?” “And when ie — pacar ea ., Once more they resumed their ; j
ADDRESS. .... 2. .eeeeeeeeeeee sees Pera er ' “I don’t aoe The hechesp — a wee ” Moore opportunity ined for Prosecutor Wi ; a Fatt
' his head. “Jack didn’t wan mee ct himself, that | important clue... This ee BS of An sxeeptlonal ‘rele ota!
the Boiled down, it was now. supers saacag Small key which, Williers Gra 3 ; a Pe Be ceant, Without your Panett denier the an foe Tadio “ |
é Brin 5 Se EE ee eee RECTRIC Company {All foreten onion

STATE... j here in the bar so she was to wait on

TB ed a ee eet eet epee ape

the red
himself
- is hot

1a cut
ather.”
York’s
wenty-
et and
waist.
m the
e, and
fellow
named

ly had
: from
epart-
Satur-

strong
‘s and
lazing

change that had come over the neighborhood, how
overnight New York’s worst slum had become the
city’s swankiest residential district; the health of Mar-
garet, Judson Pratt’s pretty wife; and Graham’s ap-
proaching marriage.

“Do I get you this Saturday?” Pratt asked.

Graham nodded. “I guess so. The schedule of as-
signments lists me for post four.”

The paymaster grinned. “And another payroll
reached its destination in safety,” he kidded.

Patrolman Graham had a far-away look in his eyes
but at these words his mind jerked back to reality.
“What did you say?” he asked quickly,

“T said, ‘And another payroll reached its destination
in safety.’ It’s a line of poetry—a, quotation.”

Graham laughed nervously. “I don’t read ‘poetry,
Jud.” He rose, buttoned his uniform coat, hooked it at
the throat and stepped out into the bright August sun-
shine. As he strolled toward First Avenue, the sen-
tence, “And another payroll reached its destination in
safety,” sounded like a refrain through his mind. Pay-
roll stickups were a common occurrence these days.
Although most of the bandits were caught, a small

number, either through dumb luck or careful planning,
made good their escape. In the end they answered for
their crimes because they weren’t so smart the next
time or the time after that.

But what if he—Dan Graham, who knew all the ropes
—were to reach out and lift it? Surely nothing could
be easier.

He didn’t know exactly how much money there was
in the payroll, but judging from the number of men
employed on the job and giving them an average wage
of $50 since most were skilled workers, it probably
contained at least $10,000. -

At the corner of First Avenue and 51st Street Gra-
ham opened the signal box and lifted the receiver. “Dan
Graham reporting.”

“O. K., Graham,” came the Sergeant’s voice.

He replaced the receiver and, absent-mindedly twirl-
ing his nightstick, began to patrol his beat,

Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, he mused.
If he had. it he knew exactly what he would do with
every cent of it. In the first place there was a snappy
green Buick roadster that he had seen in a Broadway
showroom and it was a “steal” at $1,600. He had al-

beyond all endurance.

the cabin. Little Bobby was unconscious.

For two hours Nurse Berdan and the
boy’s mother worked over him with arti-
ficial respiration. As if the young
mother’s anguish were not enough, Mor-
gan jeered their efforts and brutally
voiced the hope the boy would die.

Success rewarded their efforts, and
Morgan cursed all the more. For some
reason, he hated the sight of the little
chap.

HRISTMAS EVE, December 24th,

was the real night of terror aboard
the Aafje. Morgan had grown abusive
Even the little
boy did not escape the pirate’s brutality.
Elsie Berdan was beaten, too, when she
again repulsed Morgan’s’ advances.

himself again and again.

The food was nearly all gone. The
water supply had been partly replenished
the day before when it rained, but they
all knew there was less than 24 hours’
rations left, even if Morgan consumed
portions as small as those he doled out
to the others. And they doubted that.
As the night wore on a biting cold and
raw wind sprang up. Morgan’s pris-
oners went about their duties in silence
and bitterness. ‘He’s got to be killed,
he’s got to be killed,” Horne kept think-
ing.

‘It was near midnight. Morgan was on
watch, with only the two sailors on deck.
When Horne addressed a question to the
mad pirate, he appeared not to hear.
Horne spoke louder and Morgan jumped
suddenly.

“Sleepy,” thought Horne. “It’s finally
getting him.”

For another hour, Horne never took
his eyes from the man at the helm. Grad-
ually he started to slip aft to where a
heavy marlinspike lay. It was danger-
ous business and Horne knew what “the

consequences would be if he aroused the |

pirate’s suspicions. But he kept grimly
to his purpose. Once he thought he saw
Morgan’s head nod over the wheel. He
hoped if Spernack had divined his in-
tentions, he would be careful not to be-
tray him.

Finally, Horne was less than two feet
from the marlinspike. By now he was
almost directly behind Morgan. He
inched closer, and out of the corner of his
eye he caught the moonlight’s gleam on
the snub-nosed gun in Morgan’s relaxed
hand. Now he was almost in reach of the
marlinspike. Just as his fingers closed
over it Morgan straightened up and
barked:

“Horne! Where the hell are you?”

yue

They told him about Pratt.

Tears came into his eyes.

“The dirty dogs,’ he shouted. “That
was a white man. One of the finest men
I ever knew. I'll work on this case my-
self when I get over this party ... what
a party. . It’s still on, too, boys....
Have some champagne on me... .”

He drank more and became more and
more loquacious, but his thoughts could
not be brought back to the murder.

The detectives departed in disgust.

It was now or never.

Through bloodshot eyes Morgan
peered forward in the gloom of the deck
lights. He started to turn—

The heavy, hardwood wmarlinspike
crashed down on Morgan’s head. An-
other second and Horne would have been
too late. As Morgan slumped over,
Spernack dashed forward. Without a
word between them the two youths
seized Morgan’s form and rushed him to
the rail. A moment later the mad pirate
splashed into the dark waters.

Morgan’s reign of terror was over!

Eight bells tolled below and the tones
awakened Gertrude Turner. In half an
hour it would be her watch. Huddled
beside her in the bunk was the little boy,
asleep. She thought of other Christmas
Days and wondered if anywhere else in
the world there could be as much misery
as this held for her. A knock came at
the door. Horne’s voice came to her.

“Morgan’s dead,” he said simply.

Gertrude Turner never felt more re-
lieved in all her life. On deck she sat
with the two youths and talked for hours.
They looked to her for advice now.

“We'll wait for the sun to come up,”
she said. ‘We'll check our bearings by
that. We'll reach land somehow.”

They turned the Aafje about with light
hearts. But the sun did not appear on
Christmas morning because another storm
had blown up. This time, even with all
the sails reefed, it seemed as if the
schooner would never survive the heavy
seas. The food was all gone and there
was less than 50 gallons of gasoline left.
Then, one by one, they all became sea-
sick. They felt that Fate had deserted
them for good, even after the mad Mor-
gan, who had thought he was a reincar-
nation of the old buccaneer, had been
killed. All that day and all the next
they battled with the storm.

HE morning of December 28th

dawned clear and sunny. Suddenly a
Navy plane flew overhead and circled the
yacht. Gertrude Turner told the boys
to run up a sail and drop it, to attract
attention. Then she seized a pair of sema-
phore flags and with her meager know-

ledge of the international marine signal |

code, frantically waved an “SOS.” (As
the plane swooped low over the yacht,
they saw the pilot’s arm waving out of
his cockpit.

“We’re saved,” they cried in chorus,

“and hours after the plane had flown from

sight, they chatted happily.

Alas, they did not know then that Ger-
trude Turner’s amateurish attempt to sig-
nal the plane had gone awry. Actually,

- the pilot had mistaken her signals for a

friendly “hello.” ‘Hello” is abbreviated
in the code to “LO” and that is what the
pilot read when Gertrude Turner was
trying to wigwag “SOS.” This cruel
jest of fate was not learned until later.

They kept the Aafje on its course,
struggling with the sails to conserve the
fuel supply, which was dwindling rapidly.
And as the long hours slipped by and no
sign of rescue, their hopes began to wane.
As night fell, the realization came to them
that the plane must have mistaken their
signals. Fatigue and hunger forced their
spirits to the ‘lowest ebb. Death seemed
inevitable now.

The next day was again clear and
sunny. But it was a forlorn group which
remained on the Aafje. Horne and Sper-
nack obtained black grease from the en-
gine room and scrawled a huge “SOS”
on the mainsail. An hour or so later, an-
other Navy plane flew over the yacht.
Again they waved and signalled frantic-
ally, hoping against hope that at least the
lettering on the sail would reveal their
plight.

The Navy plane, an amphibian, circled
the yacht several times.

Then it landed less than a hundred
yards away.

Even as the amphibian was settling into
the water, Horne had swung a dory. over
the side and was rapidly rowing out to
the aircraft.

The crimson cruise was over!

Quickly the details of the tragedy were
given to the pilot who promptly wire-
lessed back to San Diego. A short time
later word came back that the Coast

Guard cutter Perseus was rushing to the

scene.

A few hours later the Perseus arrived,
almost at the same time as speedboats
bearing G-men sent from Los Angeles
by Chief Agent John Harold Hanson.

There was little for the officials to do
when the Perseus had_towed the Aafje
back to San Pedro. The survivors in-
dividually told their story of the ill- fated
cruise. Merely as a technicality, Horne
and Spernack were held on a charge of
homicide. But it was a foregone con-
clusion they would not be punished. Dis-
trict Attorney Ben Harrison informed the
grand jury his office did not want an in-
dictment. A few days later, when the
jury convened to hear the details once
more, it was only a matter of minutes be-
fore Horne and Spernack were exoner-
ated and praised for their efforts to save
three helpless women and a boy from the
mad plottings of a man who boasted the
blood of Sir Henry Morgan flowed
through his veins,

Case of the Fatal Hat Ribbon Bow

a Gestined from page 67 |

The police had, of course, notified all
banks to keep a lookout for the serial
numbers of the payroll bills.

And, Monday morning, from one bank
came word that a number of the bills
had been received there.

The depositor had been the manager
of a Buick Co. salesroom. He had re-
ceived $1,680 worth of the wanted
bills.

Then came another announcement to
the police ... this time from Brighton

Beach bank. A hotel manager had made
a deposit of about $1,000 of the bills.

Detectives were immediately dis-
patched to Brighton Beach and to the
auto salesroom.

At Brighton Beach, the manager of the
hotel didn’t know what patron of the
place had handed in the bills. They were
all crisp, new. $5, $10 and $20 bills. The
detectives were sure, however, that some
of the employes would recall who had
tendered them.

~ 101

But none of the day staff was of any
help.

It was different with the night staff...
they remembered vividly ... who could
forget that Saturday night, they said.
«.. The waiters and the little hostess,
hadn't they had the time of their lives?

“A fellow with oodles of dough,” said
the waiters. “He threw money around
all night. We got $5 and $10 tips every
time we turned around.”

“He gave me money for every song I
sang,” said Marion.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“I heard his friends call him ‘Dan.’ ”

“What did he look like?”

She said that he was more than six
feet tall, wide-shouldered, narrow-
hipped. His hair was dark and curly and
his features well-carved.

And then came the report of the de-
tectives who had gone to the Buick sales-
room,

The man who had handed in the $1,680
was Daniel J. Graham, a policeman.

Detectives raced back to Graham's
home.

They found him there, still drunk.
They asked him where his gun was. He
drew it from his pocket. They searched
his pockets and found $500—in crisp, new
bills, of $5, $10 and $20 demoninations.
They compared the numbers with the list
of the serial numbers of the payroll
money. They belonged to the payroll.

They examined his car... the speed-
ometer registered only 85 miles.

They took Graham to the Bronx
where were District Attorney McGeehan
and Assistant District Attorney Sam
Foley and Inspector Bruckman.

Graham went along willingly.

In the Bronx, Inspector Bruckman
told the cop:

“You killed Judson Pratt!”

Graham went into a frenzy of anger.
He raved. He screamed his innocence.

But it ‘was impossible to get a coherent
account of his whereabouts from Friday
night until the first time the detectives
saw him at his home.

N THE meantime, detectives inter-

viewing many of Graham's friends,
reported that Graham had told them all
that he was going to Albany, Friday
night, to collect some money left him by
an aunt.

Other detectives had interrogated
Brennan.

“Weren't you surprised to see him with
so much money?”

“I should say so but I asked him where
he got it and he told me:

““Mind your own business!’ ”

“Well, Graham,” they announced, “is
suspected of the murder of Judson
Pratt.”

“Good God!” he said.

In the Bronx they were still trying to
get some sort of statement from Graham.

“Did you pay $1,680 down on that new
Buick sedan you've got at your home?”
they asked.

“IT didn’t.”

“But the manager says you came in
there Saturday afternoon; that you
called him up Saturday morning and told
him to have the car ready for you.”

“It wasn’t I!” he shrieked. “Why Pratt
was a friend of mine.”

“But we found some of the payroll
money on you.”

“It isn’t the payroll money!”

“Where'd you get it?”

“From an aunt who died in Albany.
I got the check and the owner of a de-

102

partment store there, who's a friend of
a friend of mine, cashed it.”

“For how much was it?”

“Four thousand dollars.”

“What's the name of the store, and of
the friend?”

“IT don’t know the store’s name. My
friend I just happened to meet.”

They knew then he was lying.

A laboratory report on Graham's gun
was received. .It had been recently
cleaned and there was no evidence that
it had been fired within the past few
days.

With the new reports in hand, the de-
tectives in the Bronx hammered away at
Graham.

“We know,” they challenged him, “that
you went to the Buick agency ten days
before you paid for the car and picked
out the one you wanted.”

THAT did not phase the cop.
“It is not true!” he said.

They told him they had talked to his
fiancee and that they had taken from
her the money for the instalment on the
honeymoon cottage, the engagement ring
and the bracelet.

They told him about the
Beach party.

He said he knew nothing about it all.

They pointed out to him that they had
traced to him all but $1,280 of the $4,700
payroll... to his fiancee, $900, and $500
for the jewelry; for the party, $1,000;
for the car, $1,680; and in his pockets,
$500.

“As truly I stand before you,” he said,
“I did not rob and murder Judson Pratt.”

Graham was taken to police head-
quarters and detectives escorted Mrs.
Shytle there to find out whether she
could identify Graham as the man she
saw walk around Pratt’s car, push some-
thing over, then get into the driver’s seat
and drive away.

She failed to do so.

The police had a mass of evidence
against Graham. On much less many
a man had been convicted.

What they needed to clinch their ‘case
Was an eye-witness to Graham's meeting
Pratt that Saturday morning

And they found—not one, but two.

They were Joseph Alfano, eight years
old, and his pal, Jackie Nevins, seven.
They lived near 52nd street and they
often played near the construction job.

“Do you know Mr. Pratt?” a detective
asked Joseph, finding the two boys near
the job.

“Sure.”

“Did you see him around last Satur-
day?”

“Sure.”

“Where was he?”

“He was in his car.”

“Know where he went when he got out
of it?”

“Ile didn't get out of it.”

“No?”

Brighton

Dan got in and pushed him over,
and drove off!”

“Who's Dan?”

“Gee, don’t you know? He's the cop.
Handsome Dan, the Sheik. Don’t you
know who he is?”

“What's his last name?”

“Graham, of course.”

“Do you like Dan?”

“Sure. He's a swell guy.”

“ame have his uniform on?”

INO.

“Then how do you know it was Dan?”
That sent the boys into gales of laugh-

r.
“How do we know? Gee, we know

Dan! You think we wouldn’t know him
with his uniform off?”

Out of the mouths of babes had come
the final, damning evidence.

Daniel J. Graham, said the District At-
torney, walked up to Pratt’s car, almost
directly in front of the construction job,
stopped to talk to him, fired the bullet
that killed him, pushed the body over,
got into the front seat, drove the car
to Moshulu Parkway, and abandoned it
there, then went on a spree of spending.
When Dan stepped to the side of the car,
Pratt had no inkling that he was facing
death.

The police dug into Graham’s past, to
disclose surprising facts. ;

They learned that prior to his entering
the ranks of New York's “Finest,” he had
been arrested on an auto theft charge,
tried and acquitted.

And, on Dec. 20, 1925, he had been
taken into custody and charged with
felonious assault, as the result of a speak-
easy brawl. The Grand Jury failed to in-
dict him, as he pleaded self-defense.

On September 1, 1927, Graham was
arraigned in the Court of General Ses-
sions, before Judge William Allen, on the
murder charge. ;

He was nonchalant, leanihg flippantly
against the railing.

The following day, Attorney Leonard
A. Snitkin and Thomas McDonald visited
Graham in his cell in Thé Tombs.

“He's crazy as a loon!” they said, when
they emerged.

“Crazy?” asked reporters. !

“Crazy!” replied Snitkin. “I asked him
if he knew me and he said he didn't. I
told him I'd known him fon years and
he yelled: t

““Look! There! There’s
They're crawling all over.
me dizzy.

bugs!
They make
They're crawling into the
plaster. Into all the little cfacks:

“I told Graham to snap ‘out of it.
‘There are no bugs,’ I said. At that he
screamed: ‘Sure, there are! Big ones!
Big, green ones! Get ‘em away! For
God's sake, get ’em away!'”

Graham, the story continued, turned
his back on his two friends.

Then, suddenly, he turned around and
yelled:

“They're making faces at me!
’em are making faces at me!”

“Who, Dan?”

“The keepers! Everybody!”

He would touch no food. He refused
to be shaved, or to wash.

In a short time, he atte like a pic-
ture of a man of the Paleolithic Age.

Dr. Perry Lichtenstein, prison physi-
cian, visited Graham in his cell.

“He's a faker!” said Lichtenstein, after
passing several hours with Graham, “All
he's suffering from is a swelled head.
He's undoubtedly worried and he hasn't
had much sleep. That isn’t surprising.”

Forty-cight hours later, Graham was
again his normal self. He ate with gusto.
He washed. And he permitted shaving.

Attorney Snitkin asked Judge William
Allen to appoint a lunacy commission to
examine Graham.

Snitkin contended that Graham was
suffering with “dementia praccox, with
a paranoiac trend.”

Graham’s conduct was normal until
the morning of September 3. At
three o'clock he suddenly sprang from
his cot yelling and at five o’clock he was
shrieking, kicking at his cell bars, rip-
ping out fixtures, and throwing them at
the heads of keepers.

Other prisoners yelled at him to quiet
down. He became only crazier.

All of

The cell block turned into a veritable
madhouse. .

Newspapers printed the story of his
actions and the request of the other
prisoners that he be removed .

Snitkin, several hours later, received
a letter from Dr, Edward S. Cowles, fa-
mous psychiatrist. i,

After reading of Graham’s condition,
said the letter, Dr. Cowles believed Gra-
ham to be suffering from general paresis,
or dementia praecox. Dr. Cowles volun-
teered his services for Graham. .

The following day Graham’s actions
were again normal.

It was reported that when he thought
he was not being watched he consumed
huge quantities of bread, and that at last
he had eaten a big meal.

But when on September 8 he was taken
once more before Judge Allen, in General
Sessions, Graham looked the maniac.

His hair was standing on end. His

pyue

two million dollars is never strictly per-
sonal.

That was a bad week for Jack, because
while he was attempting to talk Judith
out of the suit, he was also busy explain-
ing to Delphine the base libel of several
stories which were appearing in the press
concerning his alleged running around
with lovely Nannette Manet, Paris model,
and Elinore Troy, little mid-western gal
who’d come to Hollywood to do a dance
in a goldfish bowl. It all started when the
goldfish bowl girl’s mamma arrived in the
film capital to take her girl back home.
Mamma told the press that Jack may have
been a good fighter, but that to her he
“is a no-good bum.”

And then, on October 5, Jack started
a series of first person articles in the
press of the nation, explaining it all. He
started out by saying his “Irish is up.”
This brilliant touch was followed ‘by a
couple of cracks about “the woman I
love.” Tlie phrase was just reaching its
popularity, after having been coined by
the late King of England upon his giving
up of the throne for the climbing primrose
from Baltimore.

Jack was smart and he didn’t mention
his woman by name either.

The fighter, in these articles, also said
that he didn’t believe his marriage to
Judith was ever really legal. He added
that’ naturally, as soon as he proved his
marriage to Judith to be illegal, the little
girl’s suit for two million would be tossed
out of court. He went on further:

“Everything between Judith and I was
broken off before I met the fascinating
Mrs. Godde. The recent publication of my
love letters to Judith has hurt me much.”

WROTE Jack, still
about It All:

“Tt took a little over two weeks for
me to get here and back to London. All
this time just to spend three days with
Judith.

“T broke training right in the middle
of the training period to ask her to wait
until a certain fight was over.

“One word from her would have been
enough to make me win the fight. But

breaking down

His face was

clothing was rumpled.
He wore

strained, his black eyes wild.
no collar, no tie.

Snitkin amended Graham’s not guilty
plea to “not guilty on the grounds of in-
sanity.”

The court accepted it, with the consent
of Assistant District Attorney George M.
Brothers.

On September 14, Graham was before
a lunacy commission of six famous psy-
chiairists, three named by the State and
three by Graham’s attorneys.

Their unanimous opinion was:

“He’s putting on a show! He’s a great
actor. He missed his calling.”

It was reported that when they asked
him what his name was, he answered:

“Dan Dan.”

His occupation he told the psychiatrists
was “being a chauffeur.” He added that
he would drive no car except a Rolls
Royce.

“Give hima shave. Puta clean shirt on
him, and some clean linen, and he’ll look
as he always did,” said one of the mental
experts.

On October 24 he went to trial in Gen-
eral Sessions, before Judge Koeing, and
a jury.

Patrolman Brennan testified. Mrs.
Shytle was called to the stand.

But tiny Joseph Alfano gave the most
damaging of all the testimony.

For hours, Attorney Snitkin tried to
break down Joseph’s story. It was im-
possible to confuse him, or to alter his
story in any way.

The jury retired, and at 1:22 o’clock,
the morning of November 23, they
brought in a verdict of guilty of murder
in the first degree.

Graham took the news calmly.

On August 9, 1928, he went to the
electric chair.

The Wild Irish Thrush

[Continued from page 41]

when she wouldn’t say the word I won in
spite of it.

“But I don’t know yet how I stood up
through twelve rounds of punishment and
beat that man—in my state of mind and
upset nerves. He was a dangerous foe.

“It was at this time that I wrote all
those letters to Judith. And I meant every
word of them at the time. They were
sincere then.

“T have hundreds of letters and tele-
grams from her, too, but I wouldn’t let
anyone see them. They were sacred and
personal.

“They belonged to me alone and were
written for no one’s eyes but our own,
And although she has shown my letters
to the world I wouldn’t show hers to
anyone.

“Now I’m ready to sacrifice my career
and turn over all I have to the woman
I love. This is no passing fancy with me.

“My love for Delphine is a very real
love for a wonderful woman whom you'd
all like very much if you knew her. She
is a very lovely person, a wonderful
hostess and a good cook.

“She had us all over for dinner the
other night—that is, my friends, James
McElveen, James Basco, his wife, her
secretary and myself—and fried the
chicken herself.

“We have lots of things in common.
We both like good books, good music,
symphonies, operas.

“Tt doesn't matter about me. T wouldn’t
care when Judith obtained the divorce if
it weren’t for Delphine. It’s because I love
her and am anxious to marry her that I’m
anxious for this divorce to go through
as fast as possible.

“T realize this alienation suit is very
regrettable and it is particularly upsetting
to Mrs. Godde, who is a very nervous
individual.

“And of course it upsets all our won-
derful plans, such as the purchase of a
200-acre estate out in North Ridge in the
San Fernando Valley where I intended
to bring over horses now pastured on my
cousin’s ranch in Ireland.

“We weren’t going to have just a little
$50,000 ranch, We were really going to

have a big fine house and a fine estate
out there.”

Jack ended this opera-loving spasm by
saying he would use all of the resources
at his command to fight for Delphine.
Delphine was reported to be in a state of
collapse, as who would not, with someone
trying to nick them for a couple of million
in cold cash. Jack, in spite of all this, ad-
mitted that he was pretty proud to be
rated as worth a couple of million bucks.

A day or so later, the fighter said he
was planning to retire from the ring, as
his future wife did not like the idea of
having her husband pushed around by the
stumble-bums in the racket. He changed
his tone a day or so later and told the

ress:

“To hell with the millions. I, Jack
Doyle, am fighting now for love!” No one
seemed to know exactly what he meant
by this cryptic crack.

UDITH, however, is not keeping as
quiet as one might be led to believe.

She, too, has plenty to tell the nation:

“Delphine is offering Jack a thousand
dollars a week to be her husband,” said
the actress. “Of course she says that this
is only to compensate him for retiring
from the ring.”

Later she said: “Jack has already had
plenty of money from the woman.” This
last was denied at once by the boy with
the voice. re

By now the Thrush is back in New
York and new trouble awaits him. It
seems that the McGovern boys of Brook-
lyn, Tom, Andrew and Phillip, had at
one time more or less managed and
trained the Thrush for his fistic en-
counters. Jack was sitting in the swanky
Fl Morocco Club in Manhattan, with
Harry Langdon’s daughter, Virginia,
when a process server arrived on
the scene to serve him with papers in
a twenty-five grand suit brought by the
fight manager for money allegedly loaned
the Irishman. Jack took a sneak and was
seen the same night at the Cotton Club
with another lady. ‘

The Broadway columnists were quick
to tip off their city editors and the next

103

GRAHAM, Daniel, white, policeman, electrocuted Sing Sing

(New York County) on. August 9th, 1928...

‘TRUE DETESTIVE MYSTERIES, October,’ 1938.

The Slain Paymaster

UDSON HEWITT PRATT held a thick beefsteak
over the fire, his mouth watering at the savory
sizzle the juice made on the flame. Occasionally
he ‘stuck his head out of the door of the wooden
shanty to note the progress on the Campanile, a 20-

story apartment house that was being erected. , Although

only twenty-nine years old, Pratt, a slim, blond, seri-
ous-faced, Colgate University graduate, held down the
important post of construction engineer and paymaster
on this vast project.

The Campanile, located at the dead end of 52nd

Street and the East. River, was being built as a co-

operative for those people in the ultra social set of
New York City who demanded a residence in the
heart of the city with a yacht landing at their front
door. This street has been made famous in the motion
picture and play “Dead End.”

The steak was done now and Pratt tilted it onto a
large platter. At that instant the shanty door banged
open and a uniformed patrolman strode in.

“Hello, Dan,” Pratt greeted the officer. “What took
so long?”

“I didn’t get my relief until just now,” he said, re-

moving his stiff uniform cap and smoothing the red
welt it had left on his forehead. He plumped himself
down onto a stool with a sigh of relief. “It sure is hot
in this uniform.”

Pratt handed him a bottle of ice-cold pop and a cut
of juicy steak. “This will make you forget the weather.”

Patrolman Daniel Graham, member of “New York’s
Finest,” was an exceedingly handsome man of twenty-
nine. He stood six feet two in his stockinged feet and
had broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim waist.
His black hair was combed straight back from the
forehead; he had wide brown eyes, a short nose, “nd
full lips set in an oval face. Popular with his fellow
officers at the 17th Precinct he had been nicknamed
“The Sheik.”

When the T. E. Rhoades Construction Company had
begun work on the Campanile (single apartments from
$36,000 upward) they applied to the Police Depart-
ment for the protection of their paymaster on Satur-
days. Patrolman Graham had been assigned.

Between him and the man he guarded, a strong
friendship had developed. As they ate their steaks and
drank the cold soda, they talked about the amazing

change
overnigh
city’s sw
garet, Ji
proachin
“Do I
Graha:
signment
The
reached ;
Patrol:
but at t!
“What di
“T said,
in safety.
Grahan
Jud.” He
the throa:
shine. A:
tence, “Ar
safety,” si
roll stickw
Although

ee ee

“touse. He asked Graham to go with him to the placej ~~~

“the land bereabouts, bat of the lives of the Intter heft

URPNTES SERN 7 OPE

“mountain. When he arrived at the place where tho dead

item “lag MGivray as te the circumstances ander}.
Spach ne ted lett Catyeron aud McGillivray. the: rigit{
befor» except that he sald to, Beardsley that after Mee ~
Gili cay wont back “he saw the clud swinging by the
Met of the moon.” As thero had been no moon tho}

eyet.ng before, this remark gave food for thougat. "~~

«ge bis way for the coroner, Willam Grah steppes }
and told his érrand- to William Dlalr, a ruling elder of
the Scotch: Church near Leal’a store, who lived three
miles from Grnhams’ on the Little Delaware sido of
} Scotch Mountain, and Plalr at once went to Graham's

where Cameron and McGillivray lay, but Graham said
“he could not stand it to see them any longer.” Graha

were shaking them in one another's fares, and “he came

upon him and kill him” °

As he crossed the bridge over the Delaware, the great
house of Sherwood, the lawyer, at the foot of the hill)”
called by the Indians, Ohkanautaponk, or dust of bones,
met William Graham’s eye; be thovght at the same time
of Judge Foote, whose house was further down the river,
and it crossed his mind that here were people who
lived in a different world from that which he knew.}
Back of these and serrea by them he dimly understood

{were great landlords to whom rent was paid for all

had no conception. Fearful and yet curious as to what
these official folks on the Delaware might say and do
. about the two dead men in his father’s clearing, Wil-
liam arrived at Oliver Peake’s at ten o’clock and asked
tbe Coroner to go over the mountain, meaning Scotch
Mountain, as it was later called, saying “he did - not
“know, but two people were dead there; that they had|~
fought and killed each other.” The Coroner issued 2
‘summons for a jury, and went with William over the

lay, he found.a great number of people collected, Graham
among them. The Coroner subsequently said: “I saw
“the two deceased lying dead upon the ground. The corpses
of Cameron and McGillivray were both lying in a foot-
path. Cameron lay on bis face. There was a wound
in his head that reached from one temple entirely over
fo the ear on the other side of bis head—a gach that
might receive your arm—it was six inches long, three}.
“inches deep, énd three Inches wide. There were some
other slight wounds about Cameron’s person. His heed
lay from the rend or footpath. McGillivray lay on his}.
back in the footpath; his head was a few inches from
“<q beech tree that lay acroas the path, and be was cdcut
eleven feet distznt from Cameron. The maim ¥ozAd was
“oy bis face: his nose, cheek bone, Gxe #7# ami yekex jaw:
: ; :

< 2 i a 4

5 :

» ee? 1 2 * * % bee < at

j -é oF BAGS YF M . ony ale
sy wets €aving beet ’ thes with!
m? 2 asks.” j

“*Yer,” ana ‘but they pulled barArpizes| ©
teat Of Mr. Eellos3’a 2 {
“As sro left tho de », Crabim gald ko bed rather|
seo one-half of ths of Delhi Cead, thay sco that}

z ht.” }
But Mary MeGiils b
Graham's eras

reaiized that the
staized life im ibis -
Ay she turned tr sonmed f=.
jto Rear, 23 from a walling
{of the p’pcs ia 2s hog thonght
H ie —
of 2 ecld ch r afreng sy Tacuch. the}: :
smnerging sun W the % ts vision of} 4
“tho future that che cam was reSectod in the Isca—.
“Far up mio the wild hills Gusre’s a kirhyard oe
3 - guild and silt
: Be Bola Basal, wy OF
:Y Where tho frosts ie 2 morning,. ang tha: = f 07.
é mists hang low 22d chill.” eo =z

William MeKeg was not at Graham's ~ica the women
wont to look for thelr Dustands, but coming there scot

ftefter thsy teft, he exit that two cf Urctham's children f°
{hallooed from the bill that two sca ware desd up iat:

the woods. -Whon Cratam returned wilh tho women, bs

¢ 4 ested McKee not to go near ths ¢csd until the coroner
~~ }eame, Cilver Peake, who lred at the mocth af Pogke’s4- 3

Teteascor Domed wre?
Daiawere about. a mil

Brook on the west sits of th

rT}

Was coronsr, and souzg William Grekam was at ones
gent for him. Ths ¢istence from Graham's by way cf
the tavern ata tho Cootch BMeuntain rond leading north
from the tavern, thon im cco, tas ntarly ssven miles.
(o~] After Willem left to.co for ita ecromet, Paul Beardsley,
fof whem inqciry hed besn mado ¢arlier for Cameron::

ca abont alne o’cloct rohem ‘tela Beardsley that. both:

ha-Aaes é
2 ths-dcad bodies... When:

eompeny with Brords!

+), not to disturb enything, but the cine request. was Rot:
gogmade as to the other ito e ¢ : :

On the way. back to Crabam’s icuve.. Diardeley said f-
to Graham: i a ea

“Y should not Hke to be In yéts zines, you being fhe; |
igo eat man’ ecen with thom; I should be efratd ef Dejos }—-

Se ee nd

elow Sherwood’s Criize, where bo bad eatiied in 3783, 4°"

"4 ard McGillivray, come ts Graham's house. He arrivea! 2"

€

“feta .csaa, and hs wont fh--

Deardeloy Sogen to isok along the oastorly side of tho
path whore theres wos a bruc hozg, Crobam asked him ‘~
o db

ie %, suspected." : ee
‘ &. Putting s trembling bend on Ors ie Ebedlded, t 21:
te Graham replied: “O Lord, Mr Eogrtsier, Feet ay
“negrodce this farm, and Gre hetdro’t fsliare tee gh Dt

wags worth st if wea cicar af DW. pelo cia 4

a
et Fae pee oi ab oe ere SS A
oe ion aemained to deedheleg wee? 7
Yi ber feahane ee
vail ; ? arkophs ab recta at

és eS tay lpars
wWiIVIBY Ss Sarnils ut ~eis:,*
Sebiah otis ‘ a Tails yt -6s9:)
oXuited iy PO GN IES At

:*
:

Pkt enn: be 7) i? .
, i te carne toy he ee!
lepert re eal Tarvsicg'’y .
Pela gro Boot @ mile <2! af the raxerc Wee weed
trons litte gin) roturneg with , M Sapicl es
{a word iat her tettn as | are
¢ fe - 2

mot at McGiltivrey’
Roto paris ok and that Mei trray ad fer. rer, t

tome, the anvricus ; ;
4 ; aotous wivet, serompan $4 ae
irom the tarern, went to € : pb bbecmay Creede fe

Grehem’ ‘
Mery 4rahem's to imyztre fae ther

McGillivray tes
_ Me ‘vray takes wp the tele. Wee op ia
#SEO Mr. Graham where he lefr Mr ace EY see

1 teen, acter

bistsrd at Cameron and wx ce |

ek He sald he left them qusrcritims tm the lie! ae |

xe nq ae each other” J aaxed. re ek

Thy rare raham. ‘Bach had » ie

Re cbebtid MeGillivray n had takeu an axe and. cut):
serene Le Samco ray swore he would sacrifice Cam y "

caer: gfe ewarrelled there as he did at Leal’s*" ) 2
Aetd® Graham, ‘I’ - § ieee: cee
Lote I'll never forgive you for rating} 7S

1 GA #ettsay you did’”
ne Fh . j : ; ti
om 4 iar gece Graham, ‘don't refect on me. ri!

4 “A vifto get them along. but could not’” ie
cag gene’ pe Pag said te me tha ir
vad eKgwdind he lat! them a oa :
mtiey cite other side of 1he mountain
an with ine to find them : f

br tal he finally enusented.-
» OF Lee point Mrs. ¢: theren r 3
=. pesena 3 Crm emarked that while
— = cleagri *. Mr. Graham's gir} came in and poe
othe, -_ at goede that Mr. Cameron was dead. Where }
saline ace ce this was net explained. Mrs.
2 n then <d Graham if they had their axes, and

ng
Crctian : , ee
es Cesohed her narrative, Mra. McGillivray sald that):

. and the bor, Will
Hem Ciook fur Cameron an Mone ae

ling Ur, Graham said:

ant A _
ede ly gr the quarrel, and McGillivray to be
oo. agen ie & race with me. McGillivray fell
Acie ne peo ent on. McGillivray called to me to walt
ovmatge £0 and s¢e where Cameron was, I Kot tired
: cc for McGillivray, ang whistled, and then went
a ” iahers — last | ‘Saw or heard of thom.”
te ca ray then said: “TI was Waiking on toward
sot ay -y inv head down Whea ocar where I soon’ >
= aries Pie I asked Graham bow far it «as, and b ae
Pair at mo was Neary a tile. As we prosressed ; jor

ifttle farther, William Grah:
piiced Gar tance sTaham, who was ahead, turned Na

9 exclaimed, ‘Oh Lord! Wh

d McGillivray. As they went| ; A803

at have you seen?”
“Mr Graham instantly raucht
iy and turne i :
y: ‘ “ase = face avay: but as he did so 1 J pega Oo
eel ot . 10 E9 forward, but “rabam I erent
pate niny 7 Fie men are dead: you +: ead ba teaee : ty
ye Coroner comes” } Turner again cam nad

i as then abe ’ feet fr om
: was che ahon? thirt

& “Wit ameron ay. rs OLh: ert bars ty a om
« r lay fre Cro hor ried : that some

&tif{».at or oth
er creature tad exter
o2R / hee UP My hur 2
fred broke Sway from ¢:rabuin.”’ huRband's

hold of me under my bee or

rey Larter

—

gtzie> |

not ty Bboted, Myre.
keiftie omvet here kuown it;
i @ecire to #9 inform the jury of
would seem to confirm the in
eramined the wet garments and said the
to be the stains of blood, were it not fer the “inises

}
Spear.

rule of the common law
or against her husband. If Mra. Graham knew tis! thx

nd was prevented from
were permitted to guess that
blood, then Mrs. Graham is per-
athy sheo:d

stains were caused b
so testifying, Ww
they were caused by
baps not the least of those to whom sytsp
go out on this tragic morning.

Cameron and McGillivray were
MeGillivray’s sad reflections. dut vin
pasture, within a jaw hundred
Over their graves +2 & fashiuticd
cription may still be read:

“Jn Bemory of:

‘yard of Mary
upland meadow, now a
foet of the tavern.
‘| geld stone, this ins

HUGH CAMERON
McGILVERA aged 27 year, who were
siafered near 4Bis place on the nigh
‘of July, 1813. : ae E

-AMERON and McGILVERA* “were tovely and--
pleasant in their lives and {
not dtrided.”. ; :
[?--MecGillivray’s bame was
inever by any chance correctiy.]

The building containing the jail at Delhi.
Shertff Clark Lawrence Cc
now heid James Graham a prise:
1 and clerk’s office, and

which

'glco the court roon
-t @ total cost of $2,054.46.
heen at iafrequently used up to 1812 that the
-gtbat year provided for au
be kept ta the building.
as a tavern does not appear, but
in 3820. Here Graham was confined without
unti! September 20, 1813.
1.» resident in Delaware County at that tiie

s part of a district, including also fr.t-hess
d Ulster counties, for which a #6
by the Guvernor,.and in i
andall Si> Street of. Eecophbonpsles: |
f¢ Cameron. andi.
jnvestixa ed the case |

1179a

,W wet
Su rad ah

“ney #ar appointed
>the incumbent was 2
Left te their own devices, the neighbors 9
weilivray, led by Paul Beardsley,

s clothes were made + F
Grahim, who put Ue» -

y red mud a
bite others

inquest. fic: ta:lure

that a wife may nof %& stifs +

aged 36 years and ALEXANDER

Eghutaniy

t of the J4th

n their death they wert

S for evidesre te convict their murderer

Twenty-six rods along t
from where the bodies of Cameron and) Mrfaist
Graham fad a sugar camp on the weather site
ace about fowr rods in frem the

path. with a boiling pl
place extended

poth The cleared space for the bojling

Pee d

ed mad and
isthes in the,

£ = : 2 -

| dover was intoxicated, and one of therm fell down.
ware quarrelli: and pred to pet

b eT ) Tao: then

‘elas & dA by them beh

buried, not in the kirk

an “the shirt to be Bis, be:

e: “agreed exactly with the one on the shirt directly under.”
,2>Tke verdict of the inquest was that Cameron and Mc-

‘ “Graham, and Robert Leal,
‘=f Graham for murder. Tak
i evidences, the sheriff lodged Graham that night in Dethi

variously. spelled, put }
“}iragie one in the lives of the

‘< the ‘neizhborb
ioe kindly circle of their mutually helpful alliance, murder

Vin ‘4g most brutal aspect had raise
‘Tm ihe faces of Eleanor Camercn and Mary McGillivray,
“4ar-the terrible moment when they came to

- “bands @cad and mu
Saneuntafa path, Graham saw human a

from which
onnived at bis uct estape, an
ier, contained -
was built in -
The jail portion had
legigiat ite
thorizing an inn or isrerr to
How long it continued in use
the building was burred,
erent}

ae manricd face of her husband, was able to

at least. retained her hold upon reality ¢
i+. sickening moment. Graham's wife and bro
ysl seen that every circum

There wes no djsfries ottor-
--youn-
cypanre.

cre Bior-

Sid ainl Tet4,]

he footpaih towdtds Rellogi a).
ry day.)

palin eal ae be Ait nl Bai

Be ; aa ~,,
’ a) opty & aA shes
Oaakaw wen tifrecnsdes VES crieeery ta

=
“i Lg at 4 : 7]

Vit ve deciectel apt myself cet cut from Fok,
Jha Me a ErOss foctrath about two mile’ from
Wb Ein fizdsabout sy After we naa pro-

Cameron

+ * an
efaiyhalf a mile from Kelloga’s, ;
meQiiyray besan quarrelling. One of them
club; one

ttat-

stick or club, the
this one also siopped 1d so back,
ee F papsagry wern both In Hquor. I had~ been
be) wwe, and left them because I

pte see Pagano
sme dust after dark.

war afraid of them. 1 £0
As to the clsthes

Craham acknowledged
about owning the frock.
be carresponcing slesyes
be glbow,

to» by

It appeared, however,
of both garments, betw

there. were spots, two hey aecress, und om the
“rock and shirt being matched, the -one aon the frock

came to their deaths at the hands of James
the sheriff, thereupon arrested
ing the handspike along for}

eriiivray

jail. The stained clothes, after remaining at Crocker’s
until Tuesday, were taken away by Grabam’s family.

The morning of Sunday, July 25, 1513, was plainly a
seattersd ‘Inhabitants in

ood of Crocker’s tavern. Disrupting the
d its savage head.

their hus-
tilated beyond recognition on the
nguish in its most
“poignant form. Yet Mary McGillivray, looking in. the
Serepaency in Graham's explenation of these wounds.
yea at this heart-
ther must have
stance pointed to Graham as the
ish crime, and that his own story

<operpeirator of the fienc
spexenting that. Cameron an

another was wholly impossible. However, if Graham left

, out again—which was half full of blocd.”
‘tthe Beads of both men were pressed, driven or sunk inte!
: the ground. Onze of Camercn’s fcet was bare, and the}
muddy shoe of the other foot was off and lay under the |

jupon Wiliam Blair, when he essayed a search. At
length Parrick Beardsley crawled into the brush beap
‘tn oxmtaibe i*s contents more carefully, and in a few

“phe had tound was an ironwood handspike = ++ four

note the dis-!

She} ibicod, humen hair and brains.” The handspike was

? found with the bloody end sticking into the groucd. os

4 McGUlivray had killed one}.

oe iwo near the top of the mountain and came home

@garth person, seekin

houta $5

fare was plexi

head of them, one may imegine that perchance 509: ,
g the Hves of the two, was com: ’
sealed at the fatal spot and wielded the deadly hand-;
= pike. tut ‘the stains on Graham's tow chirt and frock, j_: .
Ss of Likst. left nothing to the imegination.. The scflt >
istgely af decomposed red sandsiens, and; |
of red mud in Mish Hovow. Jf thei ..

'ham's house and make a search.

BRS SPS SSE E EE BEV YE EE

“AY

Loot 210TH UR Bay ee oh eA ee ee hey are e
: po ae | ak Miabiae tae ; eae
a " i rs ee
(7322)
er 2
SEE
were jatrasM i a pumice: one tye only remnnined: ong

taeth lay ep one breast and one on the other, aad re |
rrzl tocth were rcattrred about near him He could
net be re¢ognized og McGillivray, he was so bruised and}
mutilated.
_ grownd, and there was a hole in the ground very near!
his facs that seemed to have been made by jaroming—!

fis hend was pressed considerably into the:

Into which some stick had been !ammed down aud puted!
Others sald:

sot or ankle. The cther shoo lay a Uttle distance from
Camercn, with his hat, and was clean. The dead bodies
ley fest within Graham's clearing, about one-fourth of
a rails from the turnpike; of the two bodies, that of Me-
Gillivray was nearer the turnpike, but behind the beech
treo that lay across the footpath. : :

A fury of Inquest was assembled ard sworn on the
spot, and a search for evidence was made in their pres-
enee, Footprints were found and examined, Lut no evi-

“?8onee of @ scuffle was discoverable, excep’. 2 “he fata!»
5

spot. A search was made for weapons, <3: none #ssy

‘acen. There was a pile of brush about thirty feet fos
‘the dead: several. including one Tinsley, fenrched “here

ewittew:t oesult, and it was observed that Uiraham “kept
his cya steadfastly and anxiously upon him,” az: he did

rmingies be came out exclaiming, “7 have fourd *° What:
feet lona and two inches thick, with one enc “sharpened
something after the manner of handspikes The «other
end for sixteen inches of its length “was cevered with

if it he@ been pitched there from the fuotpath . Alter
this discovery, the Coroner and his jury adjourned io
Crecker's tavern. In the discussion that there ensued,
suspicica was directed against Graham. If wae traticod
that he was dressed in “tow trousers, !aw sher partly
whitened, and an old vest, all evidently put on that tart-
ing.” The Coroner appointed a committee to Fo te tra-
There in a wash kettle)
full of water, the conimittee found a tow shirt and trock, j
and a pair of coarse linen trousers, the latter s+ which,
the folks of the house said, belonged to Grabam’s b: other.
The tow shirt and frock were taken to Crocker’a, and}.
on examination. disclosed spots, and “all appeared to
hays besn the stains of blood.”

SET

hit, hanged a Dethiy Nt, ‘on uly

ete

J 5/7

- History of . Delhi

By HOWARD F. DAVIDSON
County Historian

THE FIRST MURDER TRIAL

In June of 1814 the courthouse
became the scene for the first
trial for murder in Delaware
County.

The construction of that section
of the Ulster and Delaware
Turnpike between Andes and
DeLancey resulted in many
farms being leased in this section
for the first time. In 1806 a tavern
was built on the west side of
Cabin Hill close to the turnpike.
This, building, still standing was
kept in 1813 by Asa Crocker.

‘On Saturday July 24, 1813,

‘James Graham, Hugh Cameron

and Alexander McGillivray, who
all lived Jess than a mile from the
tavern went over the hill just

“south of the tavern into Fish

“Hollow to help other neighbors

roll up a log barn for Joseph
Kellog, a new settler who was
just cutting out a homestead for
himself.

Some time previous to. this
Graham had been accused of

‘Stealing money at the store of

Robert Leal which at that time
Steed near the entrance to the
present golf course. Although he
had been tried and acquitted of
the charge taunts from other two
men had caused him to hold a
resentment against them.

No quarre! oecurred during the
day and all worked well and a
short time after sundown the
three men were seen leaving
together on the trail leading to
the turnpike near Graham's
home. j

When Cameron and
McGillivray failed to reach home
an alarm was sounded. Sunday,
Graham was found to be home,
and on being questioned he
Claimed that he had Ieft the
Others #9 quarrelling with each
other.

Further search found the two
men dead on the trail near
Graham's home. Both had been
clubbed to death.

Oliver Peake, the coroner wit
lived at the mouth of Peake's
Brook was immediately sent for.
On his arrival a jury of inquest
was assembled and sworn on the

handspike about four feet in
length and* two inches in
diameter, was found in a brush
heap, about sixteen inches on one
end was covered with blood and
hair.

After the discovery of the
weapon, the jury adjourned to
Crocker’s tavern. Suspicion of
Graham resulted in a committee

being sent to search his house. -

There they found some bluuwd
stained clothes which they tonk
fur evidence.

The verdict of the inquest was
that Cameron and McGillivary
came to their deaths at the hands
of James Graham, Robert Leal,
the sheriff, arrested Graham for
murder and lodged him in the jail
at Delhi.

Cameron and McGillivary
were buried in a meadow a few
hundred feet north of the tavern.
Standing today by a stone wall on
the east side of the highway is a

“fashioned field stone on which

this inscription can be read:

In Memory of

“Hugh Caineron aged 36 years

and Alexander | McGilvera

aged 27 years who were

inhumanly murdered near this

place on the night of 24th of July
1813,

Cameron and McGilvera were
lovely and pleasant in their lives
and in their death they were not
divided.

On the night of Seotember 20,
Graham got somet.ow to the
fireplace in the jail and climbed

up through the chimney and .

made his escape and returned to
his home near the tavern, but of
course knowing he could not stay
there he started east along the
turnpike. ‘

When the neighborhood
learned that he had been seen in
Cabin Hill they set out to
recapture him and found him in
the hay mow of Thomas Ladd
who lived in the south corner of
what is now the ‘Town of Bovina.
After a fierce struggle Graham
was overpowered and tied with

_ ropes.

When Graham was returned to
the jail, Matthew Ray, the
blacksmith, forged leg irons
weighing forty pounds which he
riveted to Graham's legs, where
they were to remain until his trial
of June 15, 1814.

The district attorney at the

* time of the murder was Randall

S. Street of Poughkeepsie whose
district covered Delaware,
Dutchess, Orange, Sullivan and
Ulster counties. Ambrose
Spencer was the justice of the
Supreme court.

Graham was brought before

the court on June 15. Erastus
Root, with Mr. Douglas to assist
him, was assigned by the court to
defend him. The prisoner was
‘arraigned the next day and
pleaded not guilty, andhis trial
began at seven a.m. on June 17,
The witnesses proceeded to tell
the story and produced. much
undisputable evidence against
Graham. While Roote in defense
could produce no evidence that
some other person might have
com mitted the murder.

The jury retired at 6:39 o’clock.
ana twenty five minutes later
returned into the court with a
verdict of guilty. The prisoner

was brought into court on June 20:

and the following sentence
pronounced:

"The sentence of the Court {s that
. you be taken from hence to the

place from which you last came,
and that you remain until the 29th
day of July next, and on that day,
between 12 and 2 o'clock, you be
hung by the neck until you are
dead, and that your body then be
delivered over to Ambrose Bryan
and Asahel FE. Paine, Surgeons,
for dissection. And may the Lord
have mercy on your soul,”’

James. Graham was hung on
gallows. erected in a field just
east of the Delhi Cemetery. It is
reported that so many people
from all parts of the County came
to see the execution that many
could find no lodging.

by Wiis

foSo there en erp ee

=) >“) rige-into Northumberland; but possibly the charge came|*

bye. rt

Gye ae gee it RAL: 8a 4 eRe
Rebikticdk ga of Siasitieg 128, Bp Beep oP
train 62/2 F Sauer Livinesicnk tered tis hex $e

é60 Ceaser + tend st the idecth of the LNitts Detee
Lad a Ahiererr where the County ‘Hours now stands
1. eeeime prior. to Joly 24, 1813, Jormes Graham haa
exeyLarged with, tried for ang acquitted of stealing
Mex trom Leal’s store.- Leal wes sherif, and it may
42 ox® some czcess cf zeal om his part =3 sheriff, in
vis off interest as blorekecper, eesravated If it did not} ..
prods the charge of thift agzinst Graham. Clark
.GWFence, & predecessor of Leal as eheriff, seems to
have felt that way about the cf ce, Imprisoned in his
ews gmt for cbt, he permitted himself to escape ,and
the ¢erouer, locum tenens vicecomitis, wvas held Mable
2%, “s pay the debt, on the ground that [t was his euty
under the circumstances to keep the sheriff IS fail. It Ss
| | @003 met @ppear that Cemeron ang MeCiliivray were wit-
Seeses against Graham, but before his xs1r!tta} they bad
‘atnie@ him with the theft, and after his acquittal be!
had been heard to sey that ig taey 433 so again hal.
would “sacrifice” them. He told Willizm Blair “that if
‘any msn should thereafter cast that at him or any of his!
. fumnily he would sacrifice him; that his proud zpirit|:
iy Would not allow him to do less.” To Paul Beardsley!
be said: “I swear I would take their heart’s blocd, if}
‘: I knew I had got to be hanged the next minute.” Graham >
1}, Seems to have hed something of the langzuase as well
as much of the dour spirit of the Covenanters. The
. i charge of theft ecems, neverthelesa, to hava: preyed upon
js his saind rather more than would appear zatural in 2
{soa of the Dorder whose forbears’ hed played fast and
float» with other people’s Property and their own lives
when the Armstrongs, Ellicts and Grahors were wont to

\ Dearer honte than merely to recall tha habits. of ances-
ters two hundred years before. -at eny rate the taunt}:
~.4Was not. repeated, and no quarrel occurred in rolling

up the log barn,-at which Graham worked well. It
Trine? im the efternoon, ard a few minutos after son-| :
my sown thoas engaged ta the trork left for their homes, |”
- {None was intoxicated, but Joseph Meltoes, ta defence of}?
ig his hospitality, insfsted tha they had had encugh to feel
~ 4 merry. Graham, Cemeron’ pnd McOilltercy were econ to}
me: leave tesether by way of the trail Sadtoz to the tura-
4) Dike nenr’ Graham's. heuss, The journey cf thera three fi

men, less than twa. miles throorh the woods by tks

.flonely mountain path inthe gathering twilzht cf the
u{tMid-eemmer evening, temptizos In its brie? courss ent}
terrible consequences the mad trty ct a heman berrk!
Cane, the beaten, mangled std bloody bellon of tts ylocl

jfreedem. the long ‘bitter months Ne iloy Ip this “hits
tt ray da lay. Ip cipsey nat
=, Wlal for: Hfe, the charge. of wonsssncs nif on Desi
he wR tine convulsive strncgte 2t the rogo's end, Bj atts: iq
<. 0827 the dartnces of elornel night ~ eyiets Aah if ;
2 Conecuw and McGillivray nerer renched fi eg any FE
J Sheet ymmning breke fm Bitebt geomet i ¥
ae eel. far morning Nehh ef anna Mey ae cH
Hall cceag ye te M9 0 2s

elge F poker | beat ;

1
{
1

|
i

Btands withont 1:"s’#atial ches saute caldway betwotn

Andes god Pelaneey. With cpiates, tip room,
Pateit4 walls. narrew, steep an& conchad Btalrcate, aad
“ ptest Comemietroum vinstaitxs where iravelcrs on the
y Ade aL Adept, if wot im the soma fod at Icast ‘in the

epee Se ee

of Ireland. A ballad of the removal haa the lines: :.

-\lantry of the Grahams. Afflicted with a morose, broad-

ess Lethe tavern bay ataun it @ certain glemor of
EMA One instinclive:y Knows thet In times past ‘
girange and interesting thines must have happened there. t
In a mountain pasa Iczs than a mile from tho tavera, :
on @ tral! much used by the Indians leading from Bagley

Breok into Fish Hollow, a dustle murder was com-
mitted in 1813, the circumstances of which have been

told and retold with much diversity of Getall by suc- -
ceeting generations. ;
Saturday, July 24, 1213, James Graham, Hugh Cam-
eron and Alexander McGillivray. all residents of. the
neighborhood of the tavern, with other seiticrs en mearby
farms, wont into Fish Hollow to rail up a icg baru for
Joseph Kellogg. a new settler on the farm later owned j
by William Garrick. The names of the first three sug-{.~
gest thelr origins and antecedewts Aloxander MeGilliv-i
ray waa an ambitious voung settler whose name was the!

y abe

of bis clan who fell by the Well of the Dead, with ‘a
circle of his slain encmies around him, on the stricken: 4
field of Culloden. He was twenty-seven years old, and---f
lived on the turnpike about one-half mile east of the:
tavern. His wife Mary, two or three years younger,
reminded one of the Highland Girl, “her face with glad--:~-

_“Benignity and home-bred sense wok
Ripening in perfact imnocence.” se Seer
Flugh Cameron bore the name of the founder of his: ~
clan in Lochaber, and carried with him the reputation
for valor and chivalry for which his race was famous.---
He was thirty-six years old, had a wife Eleanor and
two children, and Mved about one-half mile morth of. -
jthe tavern. James Graham, called an Irishman, was.—
obviously a‘ descendant of one of those moss-trooping|
Grahams. ofthe Debatable Land, “a periect hive of; ~

about 1609 in the pacification of the Border to the north}.:’
“To wear the blue I think it best
St Of al} the colours that I #ie Ras #3
tees Ana Ti wear it for the gxaiisat Grahams, *:.*.g04
om That are banished from thei:
James Graham came to Americe cs» a child. He was a; -
man of as powerful physique as any of his sword atelAbie!
ancestors, but he possessed none of the traditional gal-j 0.

tug disposition, he was on fire with a fanatical pride
that conceived that the cmallest tngult must be avengod
‘d$m- blood: Of the like of him Wordsworth wrote:
Vas "He, struggling In the net of pride,

wae The future scorned. the past deficd.”
“1Gfaham lived about a balf-nille below the tavern, end
across Bagley Brook at the point whore the trall over: .
ibe*mountain from Fish Yollow Intersected the turn;
pike. His clearing ext) rfs4 south from the tarnpike,
abot one-fourth of a © “+. He was about forty end
ba@.a isrge family, croscing a son. Willlam, Sftoen
years old, and a wil. 6 42%_ rare :

game 23 and who much ‘«semiied the fair young chief ~~

nesa overspread,” wherein was traccd— 18 5 fag

brigandage” at the mouth of the Selway, transported; —

ein countrie.” tak

SB tapbianinaen pe? wines

ee by
<. Jehn D. Monrce

om = a field

Al me ae A at le

The Old Esopus Turnpike, extending from Kingston
‘|to Bainbridge in New York, was constructed between
1802 and 1307. Frederick Augustus, Baron de Zeng, a

Frederick II of Hesse-Caszel, who constructed the turn-
pike for the Ulster and Delaware Turnpike Road Com-
pany, came to America as a captain in one of the regi-
ments of mercenary troops hired by George III to fight
against the Americans in the Revolution. Resigning
his military commission and renouncing allegiance. to
the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, the erst-while merconary
remained in New York and devoted bis talents and ener-}
gies to many enterprises for the upbuilding of the new
State. As originally constructed, the turnpike extendcd
by way of Andes over Cabin Hill to Delancey, and thence
through Walton to Bainbridge. From Andes to Delancey
it ran through the wild lands of the Verplanck family
in the south half of Great Lot No. 39 of the Hardenbergh
Patent. The settlement of these lands accompanied and
followed closely upon the opening of the turnpike, and
many of the settlers were from the Highlands of Scot-
land.

Roferring to the non-u3er of stage coaches on the turn-
pike prior to 1839, Captain Mapes, who put the Orst four}>
horse coach on the road in that year, in some impatience

cept once a woek a boy on horseback with saddicbags.”:”

‘These young Lochinvara who rode out of the west into:.

: Kingston after 1826-were hardly boys; one, John Thomp-:
son, was born near the Scottish border in 1783, and

‘ gailed from Dumfries for America in 1819; another,
: Parrick Beardsley,. owned land on the turnpike czar
1 the «ite of the tavern on the west side ¢f *«ii>, Hitt
| -{m atd@ prior to 1813. This tavern, tak Bets. /><ot
| 3808, called Crocker'’s {a 1513, now ths frase 4 Rov.
{ “4sreim Thempson, a descendant of PLEO Tie} saa

Liss

+ sernet

+ ole er

ne. Elandspike Mu.

jrahain’s explanations of incriminating details inspire
lief in his innocence of the double-murder, and tt
evidence tightens ebout the settler who was soon to bu.
man in Delaware county to be sentenced to hanging. -«:

Saxon nobleman and Gentleman cf the Chamber tof -

with the static attitude of the Kingston merchants, said: .”
“Nothing of the kind evcr came in from the West ex-.._

Age She moire ce tA Liat tha ia

ate
“tite:

WNT ea

Re ee ee

pi alg for eat Os Beant

;
Me San eid

Lae

snes

ele DI

202 THE BERLIN MURDER CASE

saw it. Another legend says that her teeth were so beautiful that
the grave diggers divided them among themselves for souvenirs.

A monument was erected about the time her body was moved ;
the inscription reads:

This monument is erected by the Citizens of Berlin in memory
of Mary Ann Wyatt, wife of Henry G. Green, who was married
Feb. 9, 1845 and on the 14th day of the same month was poisoned
by her husband with arsenic without any real or pretended cause.

Beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous, she was wept over by the
community, and the violated law justly exacted the life of her
murderer as a penalty for his crime.

There are seven known versions of this story in ballad form. The
best known of these, Henry Green, was published by Mrs. Helen
Hartness Flanders and Mr. George Brown in their Vermont Folk-
Songs and Bailads (Brattleboro, 1932). That version was recorded
from the singing of Mr. Fred Ballard of Jamaica, Vt. This, how-
ever, was not the earliest printed verse on this subject.

On the back leaf of the testimony of the trial, printed in July
1845, there is a very sentimental poem, signed M. A. S. I quote

' two stanzas:
‘A poison’d chalice he obtain’d
Which to her lips he gave ;

She drank it off, its fatal dregs
Were deadly as the grave.

But ere her gentle spirit fled
She called him to her side—
“Oh, Henry, have I e’er deceived ?”
“No,” coldly he replied.

There are certain similarities between this poem and the version
transmitted by oral tradition, but this is not the place for a discus-
sion of these.

Mrs. Helen Hartness Flanders, that kindly and generous pioneer
collector of Vermont folklore, has shown me four versions of the
murder, recorded from the singers of her State. With her per-
mission I am printing one of these, called Mary Wyatt. This was
taken down from the singing of Mr. Elmer George of North Mont-
pelier, Vt. Excepting only the Henry Green Mrs. Flanders has
published, this is the finest of the oral tradition versions.

LOUIS C. JONES 7 203

Mary WYAttT

Come, listen to my tragedy

Good people young and old,

An awful story you shall hear

’T will make your blood run cold;
Concerning a fair damsel—
Mary Wyatt was her name—
She was poisoned by her husband
And he hung for the same.

Mary Wyatt, she was beautiful,
Not of a high degree,
And Henry Green was weaithy
As you may plainly see.

He said, “My dearest Mary,

If you'll become my wife

[ will guard you and protect you
Through all this gioom of life.”

“O Henry, i would marry you;

I would give my consent, .
But before that we’d been married long
I fear you would repent ;

Before that we’d been married long,
You’d make me a disgrace

Because I’m not as rich as you

Which ofttimes is the case.”

“O Mary, dearest Mary,

How can you grieve me so?

I’ll vow and ’clare by all that’s fair

I always will prove true;

But unless you consent to become my wife
You'll surely end my life

For no longer do I wish to live

Unless you are my wife.”

Believing what he said was true,
She then became his wife.

But little did she think, poor girl,
That he would end her life.

O, little did she think, poor child,
And little did she explain

That he would end her precious life

eocecvrececews eee ree eee eee eee wees eee

204

THE BERLIN MURDER CASE

They had not been married but a week or two
When she was taken ill

‘Great doctors were sent for

To try their powerful skill ;

Great doctors were sent for

But none of them could save

And soon it was proclaimed

She must go to her grave.

O, when her brothers heard of this,
Straightway to her did go

Saying, “Sister dear, you're dying,
The doctors tell us so.”

Saying, “Sister dear, you’re dying ;
Your life is at an end.”
Saying, “Haven't you been poisoned
By the one you call your friend?”

“T’m on my deathbed lying.
I know that I must die.
I know I’m going before my God
And the truth I won't deny. .
I know (my) Henry’s poisoned me.
Dear brothers, for him send.
For I love him now as dearly
As when he was my friend.”

When Henry heard those tidings ~
Straightaway to his wife to see,
Saying, “Mary my dearest Mary,

Was you ever deceived in me?”

Three times she called, “Dear Henry!”
Then and sank into a swoon

He gazed on her indifferently

And in silence left the room.

“Now Henry has deceiv-ed me.
How my poor heart is wrong!
But when I’m dead and buried, O
Don’t have poor Henry hung!

I freely have forgiven him,”
And she turned upon her side.

“Tn Heaven meet me, Henry” —

And she sweetly smiled and died.

wn. Sh PE BA ee

LOUIS C. JONES 205

_ There was also printed, about the time of the trial, a broadside
(8” by 1014”) called The Murdered Wife. Mr. Floyd Tifft first
showed me Green’s confession and the copy of the broadside then
owned by Mrs. Leila Nichols Shumway of Berlin, N.Y. A fac-
simile of the latter is printed opposite page 192. Mrs. Shumway
is the granddaughter of constable John J. Nichols who arrested
Schuyler Jones and later took Green to Troy for trial. }

198 THE BERLIN MURDER CASE

‘no liquids. Smail quantities of undissolved white powder were

found in- the crust-coffee, on the spoon which had been in the
chicken broth, in nearly everything liquid which Henry admin-

istered to his wife. Unknown to Henry one of the papers with

a bit of powder in it was picked up by Mrs. Ferdinand Hull. In
the meantime, Dr. Emerson Huil, who had been called on Satur-

-day, was beginning to despair. He called in another physician

for consultation. Hull urged that her stomach be rinsed with hot
water; her husband objected to this treatment, claiming that she
had already vomited too much; he obstructed every treatment for
poison which the doctors ordered. There seems to have been a
steady stream of solicitous and helpful callers to spell each other
in caring for Mary Ann. This continuous file of amateur nurses
was a handicap to Henry, for the sharp eyes of these women let
little pass unnoticed.

Saturday night and Sunday showed Mary Ann gradually sinking.
Twice on Saturday night the neighbor who spelled Henry in watch-
ing at the bedside observed him include white powders in his wife’s
nourishment. . .

On Sunday afternoon David Wyatt took Doctor Hull downstairs
to ask his frank opinion of his sister’s chances for life. Hull did
not think she could live through the night and that she should
be told. David-went back to her bedside. She asked him if the
doctors had given up hope; then he said to her, “Mary, the doctor
thinks you can’t live.”

“Must I die,” she replied, “and not see my mother?” Then

_ she turned to her husband, and asked him a startling question for

a bride of less than a week. She said, “Henry, have I ever de-
ceived you?” This simple phrase impressed the balladists so much
that you find it, in some form or other, in every version of the story.

Shortly after this Henry went out on a double errand. First his
horse was to be bedded down for the night in the stables adjoining

Dennison and Streeter’s store, and then there was more arsenic to ~

be filched from the glass jar in the store itself. He carelessly forgot
to replace the jar. He says in his confession that the first pangs
of remorse came about this time Sunday afternoon when he saw
how Mary Ann suffered.

ie ee

LOUIS C. JONES 199

Back in the Hull household Mary Ann told her brother David,
who was with her much of the time, that Henry was putting pow-
ders in her drinks and that the powders made her sick. Then she
asked if she could talk to Doctor Hull. The kindly physician was
called to her bedside where he sat close to her, for by this time
her voice was so weak that it could hardly be heard. At the trial
the doctor testified as follows:

Mrs. Green said after I sat down by her bed, that after taking
those pills which Henry gave her on Friday, she had been in the
most awful distress, and it seemed sometimes that she could not
live. .... . She says, ‘Henry has been feeding me with white pow-
ders ever since I took those pills . . . he has put it into my coffee
and into my broth, and almost all my drinks, yesterday I asked
him for some drink . . . He got some, turned his back to me; took
a paper from his pocket and dusted something into it that was
white; he gave it to me; [ asked him what it was he put into it,
and he says a little flour ; I drank it and it distressed me very much.’

The doctor then went on to tell how he asked her to repeat to
one of the elders of the town, Barzaleel Streeter, what she had just
told him. This she did, but in so weak a voice that Hull could not
hear her. At the trial Streeter’s testimony substantiated Hull’s.

She grew weaker all through Sunday night. At ten o'clock Mon-
day morning, the eighth day after her marriage, Mary Ann Wyatt
Green died. :

A coroner’s jury met in the church. The various witnesses told
of the mysterious white powders—white scum on the soup, white
sediment in the wine glass, white powder in everything Henry had
given his wife. The powder Mrs. Hull had salvaged from the sick
room was submitted to a crude but successful test by the watch-
maker and the physicians. It was arsenic. Then came surgeons
from Troy who removed the stomach, the esophagus, and part of
the intestines. These they carried off to the Rensselaer Polytechnic
Institute in Troy where a professor of the chemistry department
analyzed the contents. He found arsenic and a great deal of it.

The trial for murder opened in the county seat, Troy, on July 7
at “314 o’clock p.m.” There were four judges, but the court was
presided over by Judge Amasa J. Parker. The district attorney
and John Van Buren, attorney general of the State of New York,

ee ae

200 THE BERLIN MURDER CASE

prosecuted. For twelve days the trial went on, attracting increas-
ing public attention. The Troy papers reported the proceedings in
full. More than half their news was concerned with the trial. On
July 16 the Troy Daily Whig had this notice:

To our Readers: The testimony in the criminal case before the
Special Oyer and Terminer is so voluminous as to exclude from our
columns many interesting items of news. We are also compelled
from the same cause to curtail our commercial articles. When the
trial shell [sic] have been concluded we will make up our leeway.

Papers reported that “the courtroom [was| densely crowded
about half the assemblage consisting of ladies . . . some had come
from a distance of many miles.” Troy Daily Whig, July 19.

The defense was presented by outstanding lawyers, paid, it was
repeatedly noted by the State, by Green’s wealthy connections.
Though it seems unbelievable to one reading the testimony, Green
thought his influence and some few flaws in the prosecution would
save him. .

Day after day the facts piled up against him. The character of
his wife, the conversations about arsenic, the jar of arsenic he failed
to replace on the shelf, the keen-eyed observations of the village
wives who had nursed his wife, Mary Ann’s statements to David,
the doctor and Streeter—bit by bit these built a wall of indisputable
evidence around Green. :

When all was over, Judge Parker summed up the case, carefully

and fairly; the jury retired. .The verdict was Guilty and Henry

Green was sentenced to hang by the neck until dead on Septem-
ber 10. This gave him the full extent of the law for appeal.
During the weeks that followed, Green’s “rich and powerful
friends . . . of high respectability and character” brought great
pressure to bear upon Gov. Silas Wright for executive clemency.
The boy was called insane (which it seems quite possible he was) ;
time was requested for the legislature to change the murder laws;
time for Green to prepare adequately for death. But on Septem-
ber 3 Governor Wright wrote the sheriff of Rensselaer county that
he was refusing executive clemency despite these requests, despite
vague references to violence done one of Green’s supporters, and
despite equally vague references to the insanity in Green’s family.
In the meantime Green was in Troy jail. Sometime in August
he helped Hakes, his cellmate, to escape from jail. It was Henry

Hy i eis

LOUIS C. JONES 201

who got the key and held the blankets for the other man to slide
down. He did not escape himself because he was assured by his
lawyers that he would be reprieved.

Beginning August 29, at the request of Green’s shots the Rev.
Robert B. Van Kleeck, rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Troy,
was in daily attendance upon Henry. Bit by bit the confession was
made. When it was published five days after the execution, it
cleared up some minor. mysteries of the trial and Gxeeatet his
mother and Alzina Godfrey of all blame.

The execution on September 10 was all a journalist could hope
for, and the writer for the Troy Whig had a story that would be
the envy of any tabloid editor. He tells how the crowds from
distant points flocked into Troy for twenty-four hours preceding
the event. It was a “private hanging,’ but from noon to four
o’clock Ferry Street was jammed with two or three thousand specta-
tors, many of them females. The Troy Citizens Corps was called
out to guard the jail.

Green himself was weak as he walked to the scaffold with the
Rev. R. B. Van Kleeck, Episcopalian, and the Rev. George Baid-
win, Baptist. He mounted the scaffold at three-forty o’clock and
joined the group of fifty in singing Rock of Ages Cleft for Me.
The clergymen prayed for his soul and wept while they pressed his
hand and left him. The- rope was adjusted carefully about his
neck. He prayed, throwing himself on God’s mercy; the amen
being said, Sheriff Gideon Reynolds pulled the pin, the body
jumped three or four feet, a slight spasm crossed his face, there
were a few convulsions, and the husband and murderer of Mary
Ann Wyatt was dead. The Troy Whig had no end of praise for
Sheriff Reynolds, who was running for re-election on the Whig
ticket that fall.

So that is the end of the story except for a strange bit of lore
about Mary Ann and her burial. There is a well-substantiated tale
of the exhuming of Mary Ann’s body about 1885 to make room
for building lots. When her coffin came to the surface, it broke
open. There lay a whitened skeleton in the midst of rotted cloth,
but over the head and shoulders fell cascades of beautiful auburn
hair. Only for a moment was it visible, and then a gust of wind
shattered it to nothingness, save in the memories of the men who

734 XVII. AMERICAN STATE TRIALS.

Saturday, and on Friday in the pills, is not accounted for.
There is other evidence that the prisoner had possession of
arsenic before Sunday. I allude to the testimony of Mr. Daniel
B. Green. On Friday or Saturday before the death of this
woman, Mr. Green had a conversation in a bar-room with the
prisoner, in which conversation he admitted that he had
arsenic. This, certainly, is important evidence in the case.
For if you are satisfied that the prisoner had the means of
committing the crime charged, it is one step towards the
establishing of his guilt.

It is further claimed by the prosecution that the prisoner
administered arsenic to the deceased, and there are very many
circumstances tending to establish that point. And I do not
intend, on the present occasion, to call your attention minutely
to this mass of the evidence; because the counsel on both sides
have examined it more or less closely and have presented it
to you in all its bearings. It is all fresh in your recollections.
It is my duty, however, to call attention to the leading points
in it, to state issues involved in the trial, and which must have
an important influence in bringing your minds to a conclu-
sion—and to submit the case to you under suggestions merely
of that character. But to a few of these circumstances it is
my duty to advert.

The proof is that Dr. Hull was called in on Saturday. One
circumstance occurred at that time which has been the sub-
ject of some comment, and that is, that when Dr. Hull ree-
ommended warm water to rinse the stomach of the sick woman,
the prisoner objected. Now it has been urged on one side that
this objection was made from motives of humanity—from a
belicf that she had vomited enough, and that it should be
checked rather than provoked. But it is urged on the other
side, and with considerable force, that if the warm water
had been administered, as Dr. Hull recommended, the deceased
might throw up some of the poison which it is claimed the
prisoner had previously given her, and thus not only betray
the cause of her illness, but relieve the stomach, and perhaps
save her life. You, gentlemen, must pass on this evidence—
you must say what inferences are to be drawn from it—and

TENRY G. GREE
2 GREEN, 735

come to some satisfactory result as to the motive of th i
oner in objecting to the warm water at that time oie
: ra? circumstance urged by the prosecution, is that on
aturday afternoon the prisoner came down stairs with
tumbler two-thirds full of water, and a white powder in it :
rather at the bottom of it. He said it was ik caste re
some Saleratus to put in it, for his wife. The saleratus i
put into the tumbler, and he then went into the hall, and am
gone long enough to have gone to his wife’s sick toon and
to have administered it—and then came down to dinner =
is claimed on the part of the prosecution that the white 3
der in the tumbler, before the Saleratus was added, was Gaeis
—that he needed some pretense to cover up or ‘Sano the
arsenic, and therefore applied for saleratus. Because it i
urged, there could be no propriety, and it can scarcel Bs
supposed the prisoner believed there was any, in mixin gait
rermnlacss eae and soda. You, gentlemen, must Se of
“oa and give to it such weight as you think it
Again, it is claimed that on the same Saturday in the tae
noon—Dr. Hall having forbidden the deceased to take disks:
within an hour at least—the prisoner, within a quarter of on
hour of the time when this injunction was given, prepared
something white in a tumbler, and gave it to ny ate and
she drank it. And it is said the prisoner was present hak
Dr. Hall prohibited drinks as stated. It is claimed b the
prosecution, that this was arsenic, and being sdibinichepen in
a liquid against the doctor’s instructions, was proof that the
prisoner was not governed by honest motives in doing the

act in question. But you, gentlemen, must judge what weight
is to be given to this circumstance.

Again, on the part of the prosecution it is claimed that on
the same Saturday, at night, or during the night—the time
I believe has been fixed at about one o’clock, Mrs. Whitford
who had been watching with the deceased, had been out half
an hour, and on her return to the sick room, Mrs. Green sie
deceased, said to-her that the prisoner, during her abaenes
had administered to her a powder—and that she knowing that

738 XVI. AMERICAN §TATE TRIALS.

have been changed. Here were two different papers of pow-
ders taken by two different persons—one from the spoon and
the other from the soup bowl—both of which were delivered
to the coroner, by him delivered to the chemist, and by him
analyzed and found to be arsenic. The attempt has been made
on the part of the prisoner to show that it had been changed.
It is for you to say whether there is any probability what-
ever that such a transaction could have happened.

On Sunday at 10 o’clock, or about that time, it is proved
by Mrs. Hull, Mrs. Brimmer and Mrs. Streeter that the pris-
oner offered the deceased some red drops in a teaspoon, and
that there was white powder in the spoon. They state that
they asked him what medicine it was and he made no reply.
That on Sunday afternoon, after the prisoner had been to the
store of Dennison & Streeter to get the oats for his horse,
Mr. Wyatt, the brother of the deceased, came into the sick
room and found the prisoner mixing white powder in a

tumbler of water—that he offered it to his wife and she —

refused to take it—and at Wyatt’s special request, the pris-
oner left him to take charge of Mrs. Green.

There is other evidence also adduced on the part of the
prosecution—among other things the dying declaration of the
deceased. It is proved by Mr. Wyatt that she stated to him
that the prisoner gave her a white powder in some wine on
Saturday—that she wanted some wine and water—that he
turned his back to her, took from his vest pocket a white
powder and put into it—that she asked him what it was he
put in, and he said it was flour.

These occurrences are relied on by the prosecution to show
that arsenic was administered to the deceased by the pris-
oner; and it is claimed that here is a train of circumstances
all tending to one conclusion: That he continued to administer
to her, from time to time, some white powder, not only not
authorized by the physician, but against his positive direc-
tions, and that in two of these cases the powder was pre-
served, analyzed and found to be arsenic.

But there is another branch of evidence bearing strongly
on this point. I allude to the dying declaration of the de-

XAe
Su

HENRY G. GREEN. 739

ceased. This evidence was not admitted without time for

examination and reflection; because, it is evidence of great

importance, and should not be resorted to unless clearly ad-
missible, more, especially in a case of this moment. In this

‘ease it is proved that the deceased was very ill, suffering

indeed under great torture. Wyatt, her brother, applied to
the physicians, that he might understand the true state of her
case. The proof is they told him she could not live—that
Wyatt communicated that to his sister, and that after this
communication, the deceased, believing she was about to die,
requested and had an interview with Dr. Hull, to whom she
made the statements that are familiar to you. That subse-
quently, Barzaleel Streeter was called in, and a similar state-
ment was made by her to him, and afterwards to Mr. Wyatt.
These declarations are proved by these three witnesses—and
if made under the circumstances claimed, after she was in-
formed and when she believed that she could not live, then
they become evidence in the case—because if living, in a case
of that character, she could be a witness to testify to the
facts to convict him of an attempt to poison. But having died
under the effects of poison, the law still permits her to be a
witness in this way—by showing her dying declarations made
under a deep sense of her situation and when it is to be be-
lieved she spoke the truth. Now on the dying declarations, as
well as on the other circumstances alluded to, the prosecu-
tion rely to satisfy you that she was poisoned by the prisoner
at the bar.

Without going minutely into these declarations, they were
substantially these: That the prisoner advised her to take
pills on Friday—that she took them unwillingly, not believing
she was in a situation to require them. That soon after she
was seized with these violent symptoms, vomiting, distress, a
burning sensation in the stomach. She stated her continued
suffering, from that time down to the period when these dec-
larations were made—and further that in all the medicine
that Henry (the prisoner) had given her since, there was
mingled a white powder—sometimes in wine, again in soup,
again in crust coffee, and on the other occasions mentioned.

736 XVII. AMERICAN-STATE TRIALS.

the doctor had left two powders, but had not directed them
to be given, looked upon the table and found both powders
still there. And it is urged further, by the prosecution, that
this powder, thus administered without direction from the
physician, was not one of the powders left by him, and that
in no way consistently with the prisoner’s innocence can it
be shown why he administered it. And it is claimed by the
proseeution that this too was arsenic.

In regard to this statement of the deceased, I should say to
you that it was not made as her dying declaration. It is not
therefore of itself evidence unless said in the hearing of the
prisoner. In that case it would be evidence.

Now the proof is that the prisoner was then on a bed in
the same room, the situation of which has been described to
you; and if you are satisfied from the evidence that he heard
what was said on Mrs. Whitford’s coming into the room, then
it would be evidence. If not, it is barely a statement of the
deceased and is not evidence.

It is claimed also by the prosecution that soon after this
occurrence, he offered her some crust coffee, which she refused
to take—that on the same Saturday night the prisoner sat
by the fire stirring some soup in a bowl, and mixing white
lumps which appeared on the surface; and doubtless here we
have important evidence. It appears some chicken broth had
been prepared for her—that it was taken to her room in the
evening, and had been administered to the deceased. And
the proof is introduced by the prosecution that on the night
Mrs. Whitford saw the prisoner by the fire with some of this
broth, stirring it with a spoon and mixing what appeared to
be white lumps in it, mashing them against the side of the
bowl. It is claimed on the part of the prosecution that this
was/arsenic. If it was, then it partakes much of the character
of direct evidence. It is claimed by the prosecution that the
soup in the bowl thus stirred must have been administered
to the deceased, because in the morning very little was left
in the bowl, except a sediment having a white ceurdled ap-
pearance, which was taken out, analyzed and found to be
arsenic.

HENRY G. GREEN. 737

It is also claimed by the prosecution—and this ig important
evidence—that on this night, after this preparation of the
soup, Mrs. Whitford, who was watching with the deceased,
during a short absence of the prisoner from the room, at the
suggestion of Mrs. Green, searched to see what she could
find—that she found a spoon lying on the table, having in it
a powder—a white powder—extending half the length of the
bowl of the spoon—that she preserved it in a paper, and it is
claimed that this same powder, thus preserved, upon analysis,
was found to be arsenic. Doubtless this is most important evi-
dence. Because, it is claimed that no one but the prisoner
would have brought arsenic there; that all the witnesses
called, and all who assisted and attended the deceased, swear
they had no arsenic and brought none there. The physicians
state that there was nothing of the kind in the medicine they
left; and therefore it is urged with force, that the fact that
the arsenic was found in the bowl, after the soup was pre-
pared by the prisoner with the white powder—he only, his
sick wife and Mrs. Whitford, being in the room, furnishes
strong evidence against him that he used it and left it there
in the spoon, and that this is strong evidence of his guilt.

On the same night, it is claimed and the prosecution have
proved, by Mr. Hull and Mrs. Whitford, that the crust coffee
had on it a white powder. This alone would be of much less
importance. It is only by taking all the circumstances together
that they carry with them the weight as claimed for them by
the prosecution. Mrs. Whitford also states that on the same
night she saw the prisoner stirring something in a tea cup,
and that at the time there was a white powder on it in lumps.
These are the principal circumstances that occurred on Satur-
day afternoon and night.

Some things occurred on Sunday worthy of note. Mrs.
Whitford and Mrs: Brimmer swear that on Sunday morning
the white curdled substance found in the bottom of the bowl
in which the soup was, was taken out and preserved. It was
analyzed, and found to be arsenic. And perhaps I should
say that on the part of the prisoner, a very minute examina-
tion has been gone into, to ascertain if this powder could

740 XVII. AMERICAN.STATE TRIALS.

These are generally her statements, and they are introduced
on the part of the prosecution to show that it was the pris-
oner that administered to her this white substance, and which
caused her death. This is competent evidence. If you are
satisfied that these declarations were made under a sense that
she was about to die, they are entitled to great weight as
testimony. And it is for you to give them such weight as you
may deem them entitled to, contrasting them with other proof
in the case, and seeing if they are sustained by that evidence.

It is further urged by the prosecution that they have proved
an evident designed intention throughout on the part of the
prisoner to poison his wife. And it is claimed that there could
have been no accident or mistake on his part, in this con-
tinued administration of poison—that there could have been
no accident or mistake on his part in administering it, as is
claimed he did in her food, as well as in her drinks, and that
there are other circumstances going to show a deliberate, de-
signed motive throughout—and such as exclude all possibility
of accident or absence of design on the part of the prisoner.

It is proved that he called on Dr. Roberts on Friday morn-
ing to get pills, stated to Dr. R. that he wanted them for
himself—and it is claimed that this declaration of the pris-
oner was a concealment and a falsehood, going to show a dis-
honest and wrong motive in obtaining the pills. It is claimed
also that what took place between Wyatt, the brother of the
deceased, and the prisoner in regard to the condition of his
sister, on Sunday afternoon, shows also that he was governed
by design in what he did—that he told Wyatt that she was
asleep and better, when it is claimed to have been proved
that she was in fact worse. And it is urged that he made that
communication to lull him into a false security—and that
after his wife’s death the prisoner declined to order a coffin,
and it is claimed that his general conduct throughout the
sickness of his wife was not such as evidenced affection or a
desire to effect her recovery.

Without commenting on all the evidence bearing on this
point (and there is evidence on both sides) it is enough “for
me to say that you must look carefully at the whole history

HENRY G. GREEN, 741

of the case, as detailed in the evidence, and say whether there
did seem to be that anxiety and care on the part of the pris-
oner, which a husband would naturally exhibit in such a case.
Two witnesses have been produced on the part of the defence
who state that on one occasion he spoke of her as being very
ill and cried—and that in one ease after her death, he inter-
fered to arrange her hair. On the part of the prosecution,
they rely on other witnesses who were present all this time,
more or less by the bedside of the sick woman, and it is
claimed to have been shown that on the part of the prisoner,
there was a marked absence of that care and anxiety which
is expected in cases where there exists this relation of hus-
band and wife, and which are always found where honesty ©
of motive and sincere affection really exist. You must judge,
from all the evidence before you (giving the prisoner in all
cases the benefit of every reasonable doubt) whether his con-
duct was consistent with the relation in which he stood to the
deceased.

Before you can convict the prisoner at the bar you must be
satisfied not only that this woman was murdered by poison,
but that the prisoner administered it to her with the design to
take her life. This is indispensable to the crime of murder.
It is claimed on the part of the prisoner that no such design
could have been entertained—that the relations existing be-
tween the parties forbid the supposition; and it is urged that
there was no adequate motive on his part, and that none had
been proved for the commission of the offence. I think there
ean be no difficulty as to what the law is on this point. Your
own common sense will lead you to a just conclusion. If you
see one deliberately take the life of another, or if you have
satisfactory evidence of the fact, doubtless there is a motive
for the act. It is evident from the act itself. You see it done,
under circumstances that forbid the possibility of accident.
Where a murder is charged, and the evidence is wholly cir-
cumstantial, then it is always peculiarly proper to look at the
motive. And in all cases, you will naturally seek for the
motive. And where the proof is circumstantial, and there be
doubt about the circumstances, then it becomes most impor-

Metadata

Containers:: Box 26 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 12
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Antonio Grace executed on 1913-08-04 in New York (NY)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: July 2, 2019

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