California, F-G, 1856-1987, Undated

DIU AR 24 see ver--O-- 7

comes in early. If he
me and I’ll send out
nd out a deputy to-
- sure. I don’t want
e men here, for if he
ouldn’t go near the
id the bodies.”
de 1 right to me
nd men left.
admitting, however,
new after dark that
ay possible of getting
the ferries stopped
yt very little that

ly eyes would drop
ome wide awake, sit-
d, staring out of the
ng if Martin was out
1 his flashlight and

noments, I could feel
ther in beads on my
hrobbed until I could
eat in the still room,
Buster at the foot of
mighty glad when the
and I could see the
of the morning sun
iget Sound.

y do any work during
aS peering constantly
raiting to see Martin’s
ling up the highway.

‘e o’clock in the eve-
n finally drove in. I
ough a crack in the
iy bedroom. He went
\ few moments later,

iis Ss move and I
irsing aloud to him-
stance was too great
Is.
ross the field and into
at led to a growth of
ear a swamp at the
rm.
going?
the bodies hidden
it, I reasoned to my-
n the search-warrant
g down to make sure
| discovered.

1 staying in the house,

iat danger I would be
me spying on him.
auld crossed his field,
o the fence. Martin
into the woods.

1ade my way along,
sre he had gone and to
ing me trailing him.
tedlund!”’

e from behind me.

1 up from the back.
uu looking for?” His
- and commanding.
ed up in my throat.
pe

err lants,”’ I said
t to plant some wild
ts in my garden. I
find some of them out
e of the woods.”
.sneering. Then, “I’m
you see those damn
re snooping around?”
put here,” I admitted.

panes

ey

Me wee ia es SS. = ie

the elbow.
Was this the end?

house so weak you couldn’t have hurt
anyone. I could—”

Mrs. Bess Nelson, in tears, is shown here with a deputy
sheriff, center, and Claude Forbes, her lover, who saved

a life and took one.

He pushed open the back door and

-motioned me into the kitchen ahead

of him. I walked inside and he fol-
lowed. I saw him snap the lock on
the door as he stepped inside.

I was locked in with him. Locked in —

the house with a killer and the near-
est help a mile away. Screams would
do me no good. I fought with myself
to keep cool and use: every ounce of

courage and wit I could muster.

“Read that!” He pointed to the
search-warrant on the table. I pre-
tended the best I could that I never
had seen it before and carefully read
through it twice.

“What do they mean?”

“T dont: know. My. lips were
trembling and my voice sounded like
a thin squeak. oF

“You: lie!”’

He thrust his face close to mine. I

looked into his. cold, merciless eyes. |

His face was so close I could feel his
hot breath blowing out on my skin.

“You told them!”

“T didn’t tell them anything.” I
cringed back, away from his leering,
ugly face. His hair was rumpled and
there was a mad glaze over his eyes.

I heard a car pull up. into the drive-
way at my house. It was the deputies.
It must _ be the deputies, I told myself

Pe Sees, oe Pee eee

Turn to Page 28 for this story

&

“Would you?” he cried eagerly.
We were practically on even footing

now. The deputies had started to cross’

the distance between our two houses.

He was willing to bargain. To try
to silence me by force now would be a
risk for him. The next few moments

would decide my fate.

“T am the only one who can help
you,” I cried. ‘‘You’ve got—”’

Martin let go of my wrist.

L had won,

A knock sounded at the door. Mar-
tin opened it and the deputies stood
outside. .

I ran past them.

“There’s your man!” I cried, point-
ing to Martin. “He is the killer. He as
‘much as admitted it to me a moment
ago. I think I can show you where he
buried the bodies of Pete and Milo.”

Martin cursed with rage. Vile oaths
fell from his lips as he called me
names.

One of the deputies drew his gun
and held it on Martin, while the other
slipped handcuffs on his wrists.

With Martin manacled, I led one of
the deputies down to the swamp, while
the other stood guard over Martin.

We did not find the bodies, but we
did make a discovery that was an im-
portant aid in

2 oe

making us certain that

ing right on
to run Miss
team.

“When we
hang you,
you tell us \
If you coope:

fluence a juc

Martin sat
were bloodl«
ahead at the
said:

“All right.
the bodies 1
all right, bu
tell you. The
adie told.
which was g!
til Sheriff B
What happe:

Martin ha
he took som
Old. Bab. Pr
him and wl
robbed him.

On the w:
Pete and M
pay them |
months the.
refused to d

They thre
laughed at
never could
they couldn’
to pay them

The two
beat Martin:
him to the g
got the dirt
wounds on !

Martin pr
them, if the
They let hi
house. Mart
get the m
morning.

‘ Pete and

When the
the gun he >
Milo’s room
Milo’s head.

ETE was
sion, and
room with t
happened.
.. He raised
his life.
But Mart
the bullet s
of Pete’s h:
. Martin pun
heart.
Dragging
barn, he dv
with only ¢
ness. Late)
kets and m
The nam:
never have
than that
Milo. Mart
their last 1
ported the
Martin
- Port Orche
jury found
gree murd
serve fiftec
-Penitentiar


Prt, Or) boos v
‘I was helping her
p a picture of James
| that she had the
ck of the picture-
it was her bank.”
tail that Moock had
ntiated by his wife.
volunteered: “Mrs.
-box here when she
have forgotten it in
ing everything into
it this morning while
e house.”
Brower said. “There
5 in it that would give

rly tore into it. There
s, and at the bottom
that fixed their at-

ny out the box.
|

y with a letter folded

closely written
about

es.

igh the
rs learned much
‘atherine Clarke.

1 at No. 327 Hunting-
in Boston, Massachu-
1 the diary told about :
jJealing in oriental rugs.
ny references to being

. January 1, 1928, read:
Here is a new year.
I am tempted to write
ship Club. Perhaps it
O have someone to write

i:
: I finally sent the letter
rith a dollar in it. No
know, and maybe...
+ The mail-box was full
’ J wonder if I should
a will read them all
7: IT have always wanted
There is one letter from
phy in Spokane. He
1, awfully nice man in his
ve written him. I won-
1 happen...”
y: He says he loves me.
ry picture and I have his.
: J wonder if Iam fool-
believe he really likes me.
he will inherit $100,000
1er’s estate when he pre-
> with a wife and $10,000
how that he has been a
He says that he has
already and is now look-
jfe. I have not told him
but if I. decide that we
I cart easily let him have
ne needs to get the inher-

ary: I told him I had the
him. Guess what he has
Te says when he gets his
we will take a honeymoon
the world. Won't that be
I can hardly wait. I must
siness and go West to meet

ary: We are off to the West.
what he will be really like.
and pictures are SO nice.
he must be nice, too, and
aver so much in love. . My

I shall

in return and:do many things for you.
You shall know that you have found

“Oh, my
ing lonely for you.
dear, will you bring
along? We will read them over, yours
and mine, and we will have fun. That
is, if you have not already destroyed
them. I shall always keep yours, Dear.
I think in later years they will be nice
to read again and again.

“T have made ready to receive you
and V’ll have the proofs to show you
that I am what I tell you, and we will
be married right then and there, Dear.
So I am trusting you are prepared.

“Of course you know the conditions
which I have already explained to you.
But, Dearie, as I told you, this is a big
surprise to my friends, even my sister
does not know it yet and I won't tell
her. And then I want that bet with
Dad’s old lawyer, SO don’t make no
public notice until the day we marry.
We'll have a joke on him, what say,
Baby?

“My ambition is to make you
and love me. You may be sure, sweet-
heart mine, that I am not lazy. Tm
on the go all the time. I am truly
faithful. and honest. of my
friends call me ‘Old Faithful.’ I am
not trying to brag,
an outline of myself,
am a man. Good morning,
heart, your own lover, James Murphy.”

As they finished reading the letter,

happy

» Brower exclaimed:

“What a devil!”

“He didn’t overlook a thing,” Mc-.
Ewen said. ‘He got her to get all cash
and made sure she’d have it on her
person so he’d know where to look
for it.”

“And told her to keep everything
secret,” Collins added.
all right.”

“Telling her to bring all of the let-
after he
killed her was_a but it
Brower said. “We've
got this one and it may help in track-
ing him down.”

Mrs. Moock, who was listening to the
conversation, said: “I don’t think that
will do any good. Archie wrote most
of the letters to Mrs. Clarke for Mr.
Murphy.”

1I\VOUR husband wrote Murphy’s let-
ters!” gasped Brower. “Why?”
“Mr. Murphy could not write very
He wanted to make a good im-
Archie has a

lar to
wasn’t quite the
Archie wanted Mr. Murphy to settle
down and become a good Christian
man, so he agreed to do it. Archie
always gave me the dollar to put in
the church collection.”

Brower shrugged
guess there isn’t anything that this guy
Murphy overlooked. He’s planned the
crime so well we'll have the devil’s
ee ate agnvicting him—even if we

“Fe’s clever, —

Mrs. Clarke’s body.

his shoulders. as @

Oils KNOW, +L
‘“Tt?s lucky you
the start and

p Bg, ©
sigh.
us from
you out.
spot right now

After talking to Moock,
back to his office.
night, fellows,” he said. “It’s going on

Un-

Simon:
he drove a killer toa
fatal appointment. Read about it
in the story beginning on Page 28

Cab-driver Melvin

knowingly,

one o’clock in the morning. We'll

meet here tomorrow and see what —
9

more we can do.’
When Brower
down in the morning,

and McEwen came
the newspaper

had a colorful story on the missing
Mr. Murphy and the love-murder
uzzile.

Looking over the story, Brower said:
wouldn’t do any harm to
Murphy’s

since the news came out about finding
the papers

chance someone reading
will see him.”

on the strength of
how he operates.
is too smooth to give
caught.”

A short time later, Josephine Clark,
living at No. 2507 Sixth Avenue (no
relative of Mrs. Clarke), came into the
office.

“T was reading in the paper about
that case of Mrs. Clarke being killed,”

cha <aid. '

That racket of his
up unless he’s

iiT™ ——_— -—_ ©

“Does this
said Mrs. Cla:
den in?”

Moock exa!
the same one

ROWER w
office and
“That m
come bac!
soned.
Brower w!
in a sigh. ~
gets more an
McEwen Ss:
Murphy was
on Moock.
write all the
address. It
would lead
not Murphy.

- take the w'

slips him a
her off wit
Moock’s car
right at Mo:

“Tye tho:

ture.
Moock in t!
was -discov:
holding the
‘to Moock,
Brower
question &'
“What ¢
Ewen sai
knocked h
get rid of
the dit
plants
case anytl
“Yes, bi
“That’s
Brower
fore spea’
‘“TLet’s |
of view,”
“Murp!
“Sure.
to marry
two thou
him. Sh
him the
given he
going to
chance <
get the
McEw ‘
sink in.
Brow’
other ¢ *
Knows
knows *
McEv
“Woo
had jus
Murph:
only al
on the
kno*'<*
was PD:
Murph
kill he
to mal
broke}
Moock
being
mp},

ESET ETN *

—

i

PERSE Re ee

Once again the two officers sped out
to the Nelson home,

“This husband of yours,” sald Mul-.
hern to Mrs.'Forbes. “How' come he
was around when Mrs. Nelson tried to
kill herself?”

“He just happened to be here, that’s
all,” said Mrs. Forbes. “He’s a chauf-
feur, as I told you, and when he
wasn’t working he’d come here and
drive the car for Mrs. Hulett or Mrs.
Nelson.”

“Did he do that often?”

“Yes, pretty often.”

“Did Toby here know him?”

“Yes, sure, he and Toby were great
pals.”

“Where is he now, Mrs. Forbes?”
asked Goodnight.

She hesitated.

“T really don’t know,” she said.
“Just after that time when Mrs. Nel-
son tried to kill herself he said he
was going to get a job out of town
somewhere and he left. I haven’t heard
from him since.”

“Does he go off like this very
much?” :

“Well, yes,” she said. “It’s the In-
dian blood in him. He’s part Indian,
you know, and he’s kind of restless.
He doesn’t hold any job very long.
But he’s been good to me.”

The Forbes angle meant only that

' there was another person to add to

the list of those well enough acquainted
with the Nelson home to have found
the ladder and the pipe used as a
jimmy and to have entered the home
without arousing the dog.

But as Goodnight and Mulhern
checked fpver that list his name, grew
in importance. For each person, one
by one, established ‘alibis for the night
when Harry was killed. They had
been in bed asleep, they had been out
of town, they had been visiting friends.
Most of them could substantiate their
alibis; some could give the officers
only their own word.

Often the most natural and the true
alibi is the weakest one. There was
a grocery clerk who delivered to the
Nelson home. He was home alone that
night, he said, sleeping. No one had
seen him, no one could corroborate his
story.. Yet we believed him.

When the list was exhausted we
were left with the possibility of four
suspects—Martin, the World War vet-
eran, who had ‘a motive but a. good
alibi; Forbes, the maid’s husband, who
had disappeared and who probably
could offer an ‘alibi when and if we
found him and who had no motive at
all; the grocery clerk, whose story
could not -be substantiated, .and the
nebulous :man who had climbed out
of a taxicab a few blocks from the
scene of the killing, but who had
walked away in the wrong direction.

Coup one of these four be the

murderer? Which one? Or was it
someone else—someone we had not
come across yet?

We knew one thing—if either Mar-
tin or the clerk was implicated, then
our fantastic theory of double murder
would have to be eliminated. For
neither of them had been out of Oak-
land since before Mrs. Nelson had left.

We were puzzling over this list the
following morning when the telephone
rang. It was Mrs. Hulett.

“T’ve just heard from Bess, Cap-
tain,” she said.

I almost dropped the telephone.

“She’s coming right home,” Mrs.
Hulett went on. “She’ll be here any
minute, now. She read about it in the
papers—” I could hear: Mrs. Hulett
sobbing.

“You heard from Mrs. Nelson?” I

-shouted at her. “Are you sure? Where

was she?”

“Of course I’m sure,” said Mrs.
Hulett. “I don’t know where she was.
It was long distance, though.”

Our pretty picture of the case was
shot to pieces when we got that mes-
sage. Mrs. Nelson was alive and well.
coming home as soon as possible.

But where was she? Why had she
waited so long to return? . ‘

I didn’t waste any time checking up.
She would have to explain her long
absence. Not that it could have any-
thing to do with the murder of her

AD—12

husband—she hand not been in Onke
land that night, we knew,

After some time the telephone com-
pany traced the call for us. It came
from a hotel in Santa Cruz, a resort
town about 100 miles from Oakland.

Santa Cruz happened to be one of
the cities we had queried when we
were looking for Mrs. Nelson’s body.
The chief of police there, Martin
Towne, is .an old friend of mine. I
wot him on the phone immediatel
and asked him to investigate the ca
—to hold Mrs. Nelson for us if she
had not started back for Oakland by
that time.

HALF an hour later Towne called
me back.

“Nobody by that name in the hotel,
Bodie,” he said. “No .Mrs. Nelson’s
been registered here for weeks,”

“What the Hell is this?” I said. “Did
you trace the call?”

“Sure,” he said. “It was made by
a woman who answers pretty close
to your description of Mrs. Nelson. But
she’s registered here with another man,
as Mr. and Mrs. Claude Forbes.”

Mr. and Mrs, Claude Forbes!

“Hold her,” I yelled at Towne. “Don’t
let her get away. Him either.” ‘

Goodnight and Inspector Leon Car-

roll were in Santa Cruz as soon as a |

fast police car could get them there.
Chief Towne had put “Mr. and Mrs.
Claude Forbes” under technical cus-
tody in their hotel room and they were
waiting for the Oakland officers.

It was Mrs. Nelson, all right. Good-
night recognized her from pictures he
had seen in the Nelson home,

Lolling nonchalantly in a chair was

a dark young man with a mop of black:

hair, bold black eyes and rather high
cheekbones.

“You’re Claude Forbes, aren’t you?”
said Goodnight. rr :

“That’s right,” said the young man.

“What of it?”

“You’re both under arrest,” the In-
spector said.

Late that night Goodnight and Car-
roll brought the couple into my office.
I talked to Mrs. Nelson first.

“You were registered with Forbes as
man and wife, is that right?” I asked.

She flushed and bit her lips.

“Yes,” she said, with her head
bowed. -

“How about the night of June 13?”
I asked her. - ,

“I was at a lodge meeting in Santa
Cruz,” she said: “I got back to the
hotel about midnight.”

“And where was Forbes that night?”

“He was asleep in the hotel room,”
she said.

“Why did you kill your husband?”
I asked her.

“Oh, but I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t
—I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Somehow her attitude didn’t ring
true. She didn’t react as an innocent
woman would when accused of killing
her husband.

They brought Forbes in then.

“T’m- not going to waste any time
with you,” I told him. “Just give me
your alibi for the night Nelson was
killed.”

“How should I know what night that
was?” he asked.

“June 13.”

“June 13? Why, I was in Albion,
California, that night,” he said. “Spent
the whole night with some friends of
mine. They’ll back me up.”

“That’s funny,” I said. “You and
Mrs. Nelson must have got your stories
mixed up.” ;

Forbes paled.

There was a commotion in the hall
and Mulhern entered with a man in a
uniform. It was Melvin Simon, the
cab driver.

He stared at us for a moment. Then: |.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” he said. “You
got, him, didn’t you?”

“Recognize this man, Simon?” asked
Goodnight.

“Sure,” said the cab driver. “That’s
him. That’s the guy I drove to the

-known. In addition to these material benefits, I

a

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corner of Shafter and Clinton the
night of the thirteenth.”

Forbes snarled at him.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s enough to
send you up, Forbes. Why don’t you
admit it?” :

“L tell you, I was in Albion that
night,” he said.

But it didn’t take an awful lot to
convince Forbes that we had him in
a spot. He talked.

His romance with Mrs. Nelson be-
gan when he was acting as her chauf-
feur, he said. She told him she wasn’t
happy with Nelson, that they quarreled
all the time. She would be much hap-
pier without him, she said—much hap-
pier if he were out of the way.

“She tried to kill herself a couple
of times,” Forbes said. “But it was

just’ a bluff. She ain’t the suicide
kind.”

The more Mrs. Nelson became in-
volved with the husband of her maid,
the more she came to hate her own
husband. Finally she left him—to visit
her grandmother, she said—and = she
and Forbes traveled to Wisconsin. All
the way there, and on the return trip,
she was harping at him about getting
rid of Harry.

Finally, in Santa Cruz, Forbes de-
cided to do it.

“I bought a piece of iron pipe in
Santa Cruz,” he said. “I didn’t tell
her that I planned to do it that night.
I got into Oakland and hung around
town until about 11:30 or so. Then I
took a taxi, like the guy said, and got
out near Nelson’s place.

“There was a light in his room. It
didn’t go out until late. At 3 a.m., I
sneaked into the garage and’ got an
iron bar I knew was there and the
ladder from the little girl’s playhouse.
The dog heard me but I called to him
and he knew my voice,

“I opened the door to Nelson’s room
and switched on the light and let him
have it. I buried the pipe in a vacant
lot near there (we found it the next
day) and hiked to the bus depot and
went back to Santa Cruz.

“I told Bess about it the next morn-
ing. She cried a little bit and then
helped me fix up that alibi about Al-
Liane Slipped up a bit, though, didn’t
she?”

We showed Forbes’ confession to
Mrs. Nelson the following morning.

“He's told!” she walled. “He’s told!
I won’t let him take the blame alone.
It was all my fault... .”

On June 21 the Alameda County
grand jury indicted both for murder.
I Nelson pleaded not guilty by
reason of insanity but the jury found
her guilty and Superior Judge Fred
V. Wood sentenced her to life im-
prisonment.

Encouraged by this, Forbes pleaded
guilty too, with that same_ sardonic
smile on his lips. Judge Wood prompt-
ly sentenced him to be hanged. His
appeal was dismissed and he went to
the gallows on December 8, 1933.

Bess Nelson still is in prison.

Other pictures with this story are
on Pages 37 and 50.

Trapped by the Killer | Hunted (Continued from Page 33)

me a chance to look around. Will you
come over with me?”

I went along. I wasn’t afraid of
John Martin any more. I knew the
secret of his rudeness now. He was
afraid that I might find his moonshine
still and tell the officers. I secretly
hoped that I would find it.

Martin came up to the house when

Hardin hailed him. He gave me a cold

look, but told Hardin about the beat-
ing the boys had given him.

He led us inside the house. It was
the first time I had been in it since he
had moved there as a neighbor.

The front room looked like a typical
bachelor’s place. His shoes—a new
pair with mud on them—were sitting
in the middle of the floor and there
were papers and clothes scattered over
the floor, chairs and table.

He took us into the bedroom where
the boys had attacked him. The bed
was still unmade and the sheets and
pillows were soaked with blood, There
was a foul-smelling pipe and a kero-
sene lamp with a smudged chimney on
a little table beside the bed.

SNIFFED. I had electric lights in

my house. Martin must have been a
miser to be using kerosene lamps.

While I was looking things over,
Hardin questioned Martin about the
two fellows, Pete and Milo. He said
that he had picked them up on the
skidroad in Seattle. He did not know
their last names, but he gave good
descriptions of them.

“Miss Hedlund told me that you
didn’t want us to handle the case,”
Hardin said.

“T didn’t. I usually take care of my
own affairs, but I’ve changed my mind.
I am not afraid of them. They never
would have gotten me if I hadn’t been
sleeping. But I’m afraid. they may
come back and harm Miss Hedlund.
They know she lives there alone.”

“T can take care of myself, too,’ I
interrupted him.

Ignoring me, he went on. “And just
to make sure you get them,” he said,
“IT am offering one hundred dollars
reward for their capture.”

“One hundred dollars reward?” I
gasped.

Martin smiled at my surprise. “Yes.
You see I would hate to feel that I
had harmed a neighbor. After all, I’m
responsible for bringing them out
here.”

I started to say something but
stopped.

What kind of man was this John
Martin? At times he seemed to be a
really nice person and at other times
... It was too much for me.

On the way back to my house, after
we had left Martin, I asked Hardin
about it.

“Why do you suppose he offered that
reward?”

“It’s pretty obvious. He wants us to
think that he. desires their capture.
I’ve an idea that he will try to
move his moonshine still, and when

we get the fellows he will claim they
are liars when they say he is a moon-
shiner and will use the gag about the
reward to prove that he wasn’t afraid
to have them caught or say anything
about him.”

It sounded logical, although I wasn’t
sure. I’ve always tried to believe the
best about everyone, but this man
John Martin was just too much for me
to figure out.

Before leaving, Hardin said:

“I wish you would do a favor for
me, Miss Hedlund. Kind of keep an
eye on Martin and see where he is
working. I think he’s going to move
his moonshine still.”

I promised I would.

For the next several days I watched
John Martin. He spent most of his
time plowing and harrowing the
ground in back of his barn.

I spoke to him one morning as I
walked back to my house from my
hen-house.

“Getting your plowing done early,”
I called to him.

“No law against that, is there?” he
snapped back, uncivil-like.

In the weeks that followed, I
watched Martin closely but I was un-

able to find him doing anything ex-~

cept fixing the ground in the rear of
his place for Spring planting.

We seldom spoke except when we
met within a few feet of each other
and then we only exchanged the time
of day.

It was on an occasion like this, a
few days before Christmas, that he
mentioned that he was going to move
his barn to the back of his place near
the woods. It was near the place
where he had been plowing.

“TI thought you might be doing some
moving,” I told him, jibing him be-
cause of what the Deputy had told me.

“Why did you think I would move
my barn?”

I didn’t answer for a moment. I
wondered if I was overplaying my
hand. But I could see no harm in it,
so I went on: :

“I’ve thought you might be doing
wig: moving ever since Milo and Pete
eft.”

“What do you mean, woman?” Mar-
tin exploded. ‘‘You’ve been hinting at
a lot of things lately. -I’d advise you to
mind your own business.”

“IT intend to,” I told him, coldly.
“And thank goodness it isn’t the same
kind of business you have.”

That night, things began to happen.

I had just gone to bed, after secure-
ly locking all of the doors, when
Buster started to bark. I listened for
a few moments, wondering if there
was a prowler around or if some wild
animal was after my chickens.

A light flashed in my room.

It came through the window.

I could see the round spot dancing
along the wall—as though looking for
something. I was paralyzed with fear
until it dawned on me that the light
was looking for me.

I had presence of mind enough to
roll off my bed on the far side and
lie quietly on the floor a moment. Then
I crawled on my hands and knees until
I reached the corner of the room. I
stood up there shielding myself behind
a window curtain.

The light jumped from wall to wall
and I could see it as it found my bed.
It ran up and down the bed and the
person holding it must have seen that
I was not there.

Who had the light?

What did he want?

I thought of Milo and Pete. Had
they come to kill me for my money
like they tried to kill John Martin?

I could see the window. The glass
acted as a reflector so that I could not
see who was holding the light. But I
— see the hand that was holding
i

And another hand...

It was holding a revolver!

Whoever had that light meant to kill
me. '

All the while Buster was barking
like mad. I silently prayed that the
stout chain that held him to the back
porch might break.

I never had known fear until this
moment. It was a real deadly fear—
I was being hunted—hunted to be
murdered ...

The light flashed out. Once again
my room was dark.

Dared I move? Or would the light
catch me? Would I be a target for the
revolver in the hand I had seen out-
side the window?

The telephone was in the living-
room. I wanted to run for it and call
the Sheriff. But would the flashlight
beam catch me out there for the killer?

I didn’t know what to do.

Would the killer come in? Would he
smash down a door and come in?

Dared I scream? Would John Mar-
tin hear me and come to my rescue?

I knew that whoever was outside
would not be able to come in through
the back door where Buster was on
guard. He would have to come in
through the front door.

| CREPT out of my corner and inched
along the wall as I made the front
room. I looked out the window.

A figure was going out the front
gate. It must have been the person
who had flashed the light in my room
and who was carrying the gun.

I watched it.

It walked along the road and then
turned into the front gate at the home
of John Martin,

The man was John Martin!

John Martin—and at my bedroom
window with a gun. The man meant
to kill me—kill me, his neighbor.
Why?

As the thoughts raced through my
mind, I was trembling with fright.

Would he come back?

But why? Why? Why?

Over and over again the thought
beat into my consciousness. I hadn’t

done him any harm. Surely he
wouldn’t want to kill me because he
thought I suspected he had a moon-
shine still.

Then, suddenly, like a light explod-
ing it came to me.

I knew why Martin wanted to kill
me!

Little things. Things I had passed
over without thinking about before
came into my mind crystal clear. Each
one of them had a sinister, significant
meaning. s*

The morning John Martin had come
over to have me bandage his head. He
had been wearing his coat. There had
been blood and dirt on it.

Yet he said that Pete and Milo had
attacked him while he was in bed.

And the clay in the wounds. How
would that get there if he had been in
bed when they beat him?

And the story he had told me. He
said that he had fired Pete and Milo in
the morning, and that they had come
back that evening angry and tried to
kill him, Yet old Bob from the camp
said that Martin was with Pete and
Milo when they went to his place and
all got drunk together. Pete and Milo
weren’t angry with him them.

I remembered how he flared up and
stomped home mad when I told him I
had called the Sheriff. I knew why
he didn’t want to see the Sheriff.

I knew—but I trembled with the
knowledge as I peeked out of my
darkened window to where the light
was burning in Martin’s house.

Would he come back? Or would he
wait? How soon could I expect a bul-
let to plow through my heart to silence
my lips for the things he suspected that
I knew?

I shivered and crept back to my
bed.

What should I do? What could I do?

I thought of other things. Old Bob
had told me that someone had stolen
his new shoes. And a new pair of
shocs with mud on them had been in
Martin’s house.

I knew why the mud was on them.

I remembered other things. The
kerosene lamp on the table beside his
bed where he said Milo and Pete had
beaten him. If there had been a strug-
gle, the lamp surely would have been
broken,

The early plowing, It came to me
then, as I huddled in my darkened
home, alone, why he was plowing
early.

Should I call the Sheriff? Dared I
stir in my house, or was John Martin
watching me? Waiting to see if I was
really home? He must have left be-
cause he thought I had gone out. Once
in a while I went to friends’ homes
and spent the night. He likely thought
I was visiting my school-teacher friend
and that is why he left to go home
after seeing that I was not in my bed.

It would take a couple of hours for
the Sheriff to’arrive. And if John Mar-
tin saw me stirring, even minutes
would be too long.

The May Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES Goes on Sale Wednesday, April 17

48 :

a

AD—12


39 P 94h
FREDERICKS, William M., white,.22, hanged San Quentin (San Francisco) 7-26-1895.

"William M, Fredericks was hanged at San Quentin.prison yesterday for the murder of WW.
A. Herrick, cashier of the Market Street branch of the San Francisco Savines BAMK Union,
This particular crime was committed on March 23, 189), XMX but Fredericks had a long
criminal record and had earned the death penalty in many.cases before he was finally
convicted, He had served several terms in the penitentiaries of this State for various
desperate deeds before he boldly walked into the bank at Market and Fell sts. one
morning and shot the cashier in an effort to rob the institution, For nearly a year
the condemned man pretended to be violently insane, but some months ago he changed his
tactics and became one of the most exemplary men in the prison, He professed to have
experienced religion, and was received'into the Roman Catholic Church, in which he
died. Fredericks spent a very quiet night, He retired soon after 9 o'clock on Thurs-
day evening and slept until 1 o'clock, Then he was awakened by his guard and engaged
in religious.devotion, only to fall asleep again, ~o remain quiet until daylight,

He declined to see anyone save his spiritual advisers. He had been cleanly shaven
and attired.in a new suit of clothes of dark color, KEXKMAXMMUKXERRXHEXKX As the hour
for his execution neared, he lost none of his buoyancy, but declared that he wasready
to face the ordeal, He did so bravely and without flinching. About 100 persons had
gathered to see the murderer receive his punishment. Among these were many physicians
who had special invitations, and the usual.raft of people who are generally present

on such accasions, These had found their way into the execution, room long before 10
o'clock, comfortably filling the place, At precisely 9:50 Warden Hale entered from
the prisoner's rooms, preceded by Chaplain Drahms and,Father,Logan, Fredericks was
cool, calm and composed. He was the least perturbed person about the prison and
apparently had nerved himself for the inevitable, With a firm step and jaunty air he
marched to the gallows, glanued up at the instrument of death and appeared to be ex-
amining it critically, He smiled once or twice and nodded to such persons as he
happenéd bo recognize in the crowd. Then he ascended the stairs with a firm step,
When warden Hale called on Fredericks at 9:55 and informed him that his hour had come,
!redericks said that he was ready, With the Warden and the condeyned man was Guard Lunt,
who is the recognized hangman of the prison, The latter took his position in the room
provided for him on the gallows whence he springs the bolts of the trap. A hush fell
over the audience as the murderer appeared on the scaffold and it was intensified

when Warden Hale announced that Fredericks desired to say a word or two, Fredericks
spoke in a composed manner, as folloffs: 'Gentlemen: I heartily forgive all my enemies
as I hope to be forgivens The blindness of human justice will now be gratified an’ I
leave behind me the chains of slaveky and the bonds of the flesh,.' Here he, lost the
thread of his written statement, smiled and jokingly spoke of his inability to make

a speech, XBXXKKX 'By the will of KXXX#MHXK our omnipotent creator, I die in the

faith of the Roman. Catholic Church and cheerfully consign myself to the infinite
justice and mercy of the one who is over and with and above all, Blessed is his name
forever, Amen.'..He was able to complete this speech only with the promptings of. the
priest. Fredericks. ascended the gallows at 9:59 o'clock and at 10:02 the trap was
sprunz, and twelve and a half minutes later life was pronounced extinct. Dr. He We
Hunsaker of San Francis ‘co was the physician-in-chief, and he was assisted by Drs.
Daly, Cook, Mattner, and others. Death was almost instantaneous, the neck having

been broken at the first fall, No autopsy was held as everything pointed to instan-
tane@us death, They physicians were surprised that death came so suddenly, Freder-
icks't arms had been securely pinioned, and when the black cap was placed over his
head, he said to the executioner, 'Tighten up the rope,' meaning he should adjust

the rope so that the noose could not slip. He did not show the least ¥ tremor or
uneasiness, but stood rigid and firm until the trap was sprung. He fell about five
feet, and there were but a few convulsive movements of the body after it straightened
out. The execution was in every respect a successful one, After thephysicians
announced that Life was extinct the body was cut down and placed in an ordinary pine
coffin, Today it will be buried in the cemtery at San Ouentin, Among those who wit
nessed the execution were three of the sone of the late Sheriff Pascoe, who, it is
believed, met his death at the hands of Fredericks, These young men have taken a
lively interest in the case, and as the dead body was hanging at the end of the rope
they felt that the death of their father had been avenged, Sheriff Pascoe was murder=

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Crime from BEE, 12-7-191), (Photos of Foutain & victim, page 1, Photo of him at execution better} ©
Foun-ain still denying crime but admitted that one one occasion, while robbing a house in Pennsyly-
ania, had attempted to assault a housewife who had surprised him, Had also beenarested in Phila-”
delphia for assault and battary on clergyman there, Claimed to have memory lapses and cenceded
he might have killed girl.-. According to own statement was a 5-term convict, wf c :
that-—he-was—at a nittéd bitttferr said he had gone td-several bars
and drank beerxthat mo ning and had gone to a movie that afternoon, -N o one could substantiate
alibi, Fountain admitted to sexual abnormalities, By own admission had spent two years in ~
Cherry Hill, Pas, prison and terms of 2{XSXMMAXAXERARXXKKXAKAKIK two, five, two and seven years
at Fort Madison, Iowa Prison , %XXHXMKMXHAXKKAMXREXKKAXREAKK Said he was realsed as cured from
Mount Pleasant, Missouri prison, two years before and went to California, Child's mutilated body
found in sitting posture against south wall of room which is directly under bell tower of church, .
Said he left church, in which he lived, at about 3XBOXx 11:30, eating down fown, going to movie
and drinking beer, Returned between 3 and 3:30 and found doors open. Said he went to roomin *
garret and got tobacco and then was preparing to dust pews when he went downstairs and sicovered
body. Immediately notified pastor's wife. (Pastor was Rev, Charles F, Oehler), Body was still
warm when found, Autopsy revealed she had been assaulted and horribly cut and bruised. Face and
hands lacerated and deep cutsin cheeks’ ahd breasts, Kad been stranged with a rope placed around’ if
neck and drawn tight. Had been dragged about on cyncrete floor in basement, - Fountain suspected |
because. of strange composure, A piece of rope similar to that‘uséd to strangle her found in his
room, Feathers-from his ‘duster found near body and a spot of blood on his clothes, - Had sevéral
times been rebuked by pastor for such familiarities with girls and women as brabbing them by arms
while talking with them, Ironically, the victim's father, father ‘of 7 children, Had lost his job.
and applied for position as janitor, ‘This paid only $25 per month and pastor felt that he could
not suppert family and gave to Fountain instead, eat rr ane Sh psi «a poe
Following from BEE-of 12-8-191),, Confession: Cdaimed girl came in while he was arranging chairs...
about 12 o'clock, ‘she beganm trhowing chairs about and scuffling, telling him he could not catch,
When He caught, her clothes came up and he says he doesn't know what happérid,* Said hewas away
from church then until’ 2:30 when‘he returned and saw girl, relaixing what had Happened, left church
again after unlocking doorsy and carrying body to attic and placing next to rafters, Went to movie
“hen he returned from movie, carried body back to basement’ and reported finding, Said child in.,
basement playing piano when he went over and started caressing her, Said he was’ overcome by
passion and could not remember killing but remtembered bringing body down from attic back to basee
ment. Examination showed no intefourse. Taken to church to reenact what he claimed to remember, .
When Rev, Oehler came in, he grabbed a piano stool and demarided $29 he Claimed owed to, him, When,
Oehler, said he -didn't want» to talk to him then, exclaimed: "You give it to me now I want it for.
uxuries'in jail, + Officers had to hold to keep from attacking minister, * Vay Rie f
Record, from BEE, 12-8-191)); es A ia fete Wee
At one time was driven from Shenandoah, Iowa, for insluting women and children, Record follows:
188)-Two, years in Iowa SP for breaking and entering house at Des Moines,
March, 1887-Arrested for attack on little girl, | sis
August, 1887-Sent to Mount Pleasant, Iowa, Insana Asybum,” icin ahi tek ince
Sept.e, 1887-Transferred to Clarinda Asylum, ~ Pokitre rie t

ous ee
+18
ae te

May, 1889-Escaped from Clarinda Asylum, _. . af oe a

Nove 27, 189)-Discharged from two year sentence in penitentiary from Clarke County, ..

1896Given 7-year-séntence for burglary in Page County, Iowa, ngs sacle as

August, 1907-Five years in penitentiary for assault oh Mrs, Floy Reed, a4 A pat te
The records at Fort Madison, Ia,, show he also served 3 years in pehitentiary at Cherry Hill, Pa,
3orn in Illinois, Jan, 20, 1862, his occupation is given as 'tailor! his préson record as 'bad,!
Frist record as 'married' infirst sentence; single in second and widower in fourth (sin-le in 3)
Iowa record fumnished by Sppt. Max E, Witt of a State Hospital who said: 'Frank Fairchild (the ;
name under which Fountain then went) was committed by Page County to Mt. Pleasant Hospital on 9-8~
1887 at age of 30. Transferred to Clarinda State Hospital on 12-15-1888 and escaped on 25-1889,
Previously had been in pr&son and on day of release attempted to ourage the first little girl he ©
met, Diagnosed a victim of insanity of sexual persersion time, Inreviewing life he said he was
born in Elizabeth County, Iowa, 51 years previously, At age of 10 ran away from home becguse of —
brutal treatment of drunken father. Paid tribute to goodness of mother for whom he expressed the
only kind sentiments he was heard to utter, In leaving home, said he dressed in girl's clothing &
took another outfit of girl's clothing with him, Got work on ranch and managed to save enought to ©
buy a yoke of oxen and small bit of land, Father appeared and got him drunk, While he was drunk
his father sold oxen and land, leaving himdestitute, Then he joined a circus and traveled about
the country, Two years later he returned to Boone County, Iowa and got job on farm, But he had.
become an alcoholic and always drank up wages," ay
At arraignment repudiated confession and pleaded not guilty, BEE, 12-10-191),


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NAME oe Api E ge: a 9g 526 | PLace’ —‘city or co OE & MEANS

“David stint Fountain. BNA »| Folsom Prison q oes County) | Hang ed’ Shio-ns La

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SACRAMENTO BEE, Sept. “to, 91e, PProtorrion of Fount & n ‘on page one, rt Bi nis
"Davis © ountain who murdered 10-year-old Margaret Milling in the basement of ther German: Tarhavand
Church ‘in Sacramento Ded, 5, 191h,. left his, cell at 10. o'clock and ten. seconds later-the trap was

we

‘sprung. © Inktwelve minut es - and fifty-five seconds he oificially was pronounced dead, Fountain, ..
“ipathoeaa! ne, steps, to the gallows with ponacr ny pio g seeming eagerness, 3 His face was drawn and

in‘ a ‘eine ing, an n Almost Tipercopttble » nition was made e by warden Je. Je Smith; and the > SCR trap

ssabalbh

moment . ° That was peaatie to ‘Be peviad in. aricon ceuctery: Hes. had eabraced: she Poiscopal asthe
faith on 9-8-1915... seAVoided subject. of crime and did not confess to minister. His only request of
him was that his sister not know of his death, On afternoon before execution, hewas allowed the
‘prison phonograph ‘incell and. seemed to epjoy, laughing. “when ‘ragtime. music played andcrying when .
Sacred music played,” Slept fairly well on last night, but e ID

ved eather, hac or Pray share Saas on sgiecabees ‘The warden e caoarga victim: 8 athe permss~

bout, neck.» His pe-
aii Say actions and story of Se eaetl ig aa suspicion and he was ‘eel abaly arrested, - tt first
maintained innocence but on night of 12-7 confessed and' took officers to the scene of crime, lead- °
ing then into garret and dark belfry of church where he carried her remains after murder, | Indicted
on 12-8-1918, Repudiated confession on 12-10 and when arraigned plead not guilty. Girl s father »
endeavored to get at him in court when trial began on 2-16‘ and cread disturbance,, “Girl had ¢g
et paren tas make doit clothes zor ted ete Re RaSeP ES. her in- gps a itt was a dearned. fhe ie

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EXECUTION

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THE BLACK GARE

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Execution of Collins}

had

’ ° . ad
Three Hangings in One Daye
ey

,

at Sun Quentin. {4m

The Condemned Men Go to . my
Scaffold Serene in the | 2p
Catholic Faith. 7 yam

a neg ie

os tae

,

the Wife-murderer, But the.”: :

¥,+
Oilok bea morning Warden ale walle

too Cheer coll Faoterry orotd dttem den the p
yard tn the thtid ature of atleh the alk
Vrach Drorete eget tered Foor Ofpee erecutions *é ‘
Patete le F  C’odbeee, Nevette Carella @
Viele oiny Neo be stotterdd tha ennfenne
tereee Fie bette ec ble mtd Ceoseed them ef
tub The aamden prepate-t tw c5oad thef
lenath warrantee. Collie offered tao w
the reactiow, Bit the warden carried
ther Gortsslitivn of the tow to the srttaq Ss
loci the reading tha e-mtemned :
pablt Wttle allention, They seemed .

Heved when the preliminaries were:
Paheut, “2 RS
Qarcla passed a good night. He we
to bed early and slept aonmily, bul.” Ohare
aluiotere of Collins and Asof were die
turbed. At To'clock breakfast was ai:
The three ate heartity of frult, eoffee &
bread, At an early hour Vather oat
aid other Catholle " prieata fren . Sate
P

7

ers

> Poa *] ~ 20°
he Ge Xess

a
Ay

Bead 105s -ksen 2 EI eh

=
= 7 ee

a

Yee ee

Hafael arrived at the prison and off
ronaolation ta the three nen. Coline ani
Garcia were Catholics amt embraced |

=

rites of the church, Aso at the e's
hour wae baptized In the Catholla falth zn
AY 8°30 o'clock the condemned men Bath PrN 3
and downed tlack trousern aint Re ft
hlivaes ods aha

/M & >

fl glSntin

4

x

ca
oh ft

Carcia and Azoft. “Ses

‘w.
Ft:
” oe a ay

Father Lagan Makes a Statemant | oot

b a

Other Two Men Speak ae

for Themaelves. » ao belhe

i Cann ae os

|, ee

Aponsstet Meese leused- wire Servier. es ays me

: aes Tie 5
An soon as the 7:40 o'clock tra

rived from fan Franctaco, _ with about”

Amoe Taint, the etecuuoner. The &

hundred eltizene Invited to witness ¢
evecuttons, Garcia waa-takea from’
coll and led to the gallows. Before
walked two priests chanUog the
service, tHe emtled as ba walked up:
atalre feading to the teap, On elther
ecte Chaplain Drabine of the priecs

wae quickly adjusted, the black cap .s!
over the head of the loumead man, while
he looked about and amiled. With
wortla, “thent-by, ading,”? o« hia lips, they
trap wae eprung, and at 93t = e'clesh.|
(erela esplated hia erime, Ie dled,
“game,” his vech being braeken by the full,
He td not make a move after the fa,
After the haty had heen avapended ¢

toon estoutes, Lem B. Of. Mattner, V 3
motor, Marvey and ierry pronounced Bla
ectinet The remains were taken down}
and put in a raugh woolen cota

tuctal. we,
Ago, murderer of Lea Harris, the ms,
ular Houthern Pacifia detective, came $
and priests precedal Aim. As be wal :
up the atsire he looked abuul, ’ smlle&
and nodded at the people Im attendance!
tle had made eareful preparations for the
event Ole muatecha was wased and B
hair neatly combed, He tremble
ceptibly, but assumed an alr of braved
ae the cap wae pullel over his beads
After the rope bad heen adjusted, be oat
tn a loud tone, “Coaud-by all; here gees
brave man.” Aa. the Anal words pode
uttered the (rep was spruog and the
fell with a thud. It ewung hack
forth fur a while, but other than @ few!
luveluntary movements of (he Angertys
tiere was no etrugala. ee
Voetrtok J. Collina wae a changed ama aa!
he walked to (Se seaffold. The cold

that he carried during the Utal aod come}
etetlen foe the murter of Rin wife Baki
| Veappearel and a benign espreraico

bad*
tehen Ite place, He eavidenty had made

‘peace with God and man. We walked up:

the gallows-atepa firmly with ,the chap--
lain eat hie left emi the ercecutiome at tis
right, The priests preceded bim, readmgi.
and chanting respemeest as they proceeded.
The condemned man eat nut a word aa}
he aleppel emo the trap. Father Lagaa’
wivancel (oe the call, however, and, ja his
tehell, sant: “This ts an awful moment, 5
fur the ecousedl. He cannot be expected ta,,
express his thoughts. Ile comes here*
with @ eineere heart and etpresees bisa
econthhwece In the future. He cammitted »
the awful crime while drunk and was pot 4
reep nasble altcxether. Ile wishes me te
sture that he belleves that he is forxivem ¥
fur ble alan, aml be furg.vee everybody on

earth and anke the forgiveners of au.“2

‘The priest then e1rpresseal the thanks of

the three men executes! to Che privoa om-"4
osle (cr kiral Creatine. rye
At the cow-lusicn of Faber [agan’s rh
narks, the cap wie adjustal and he trap:
sprung. Bacept) for a few apascaoiia *f
movemetts of the Hmhs, Collins did nott
move after the Call. Mle newk was brotiea A
and tu fourtees minutes, ile betag OR 254
tnet, hie remene were cut diewo and’:
plaved io a ceche! hemile thee of Careia ’

£
Land Ago Wirth the resmowel of tha #4

tralless the trigukee esewuliess was OVOP, and 9:
the vie.ture stawly let cst of the prises -
and took the fest trae foe howe. x,
*


July, 1931

The Master Detective

69

Pasadena’s Infamous Society Horror

his life, in a battle of wits waged within
the solemn confines of a court of law.

By the close of the first day—after
repeated clashes between the two able
attorneys who defended the accused,
and Deputy District Attorney Denni-
son, in charge of the prosecution—a
jury of nine women and three men was
finally chosen.

With the fiery eloquence for which he
was distinguished, Prosecutor Dennison
outlined the case against the defendant
Garbutt, whom he branded as the bru-
tal and calloused murderer of a noble
and generous woman who had _ be-
friended him—for the purpose of rob-
bery. He indicated that the State would
demand the death penalty.

ONE after another, led by Fred Gib-

son, prosecution witnesses took the
stand and by their testimony wove a
net of circumstantial evidence from
which it truly seemed there could be
no escape!

The dramatic climax of the seven
days’ trial was the appearance of
Virginia Lee Hunn as a witness for the
State. It was the first time in the
State’s judicial history that a man’s life
or liberty hung upon the word of a wit-
ness of such a tender age.

The silence of the grave reigned in
the court-room as the trim-looking
little bobbed-haired girl, her brown eyes
fairly snapping, took the solemn oath
that had been explained to her, and in
a clear, childish treble told what she
had seen and heard on the night her be-
loved foster-mother met her death.

“... We had dinner together—my
mamma, Mr. Gibson, Mr. Garbutt and
me. There was a lot of talk. Some
things I didn’t understand, but every-
body was smiling and happy. Then
mamma told me to go to bed. As I
got up from the table, Mr. Gibson be-
gan to cough very bad and went into
the bathroom.

“IT went in my bedroom, undressed
and put on my nightie. Then I kneeled
down and said the prayer my mamma
taught me. All at once I heard noise
like tables and chairs being. pushed
around and then—an awful bang!

“T screamed for mamma and ran out
into the dining room. I didn’t see any-
body. Everything was awful still and
quiet and I screamed again ‘Mamma!’

“Then the kitchen door flew open
and Mr. Garbutt came running past me
_ and right on out the front door. I ran
into the kitchen. There were red spots
all over the floor, and my mamma was
lying in the doorway with her head all
cut. Mr. Gibson was kneeling down by
her, and when I started to cry, he said
‘Be quiet! Your mamma’s hurt... .’

“There was a hammer on the floor
right near my feet. I picked it up. It
was all stained. And then Miss Keyser
came in. I began to cry and gave the
hammer to her. Then she took me
home with her... .” :

Lengthy and_ skilful cross-examina-
tion failed to shake the child’s testimony.
She was firm in her statement that Fred
Gibson had gone to the bathroom, leav-

(Continued from page 29)

ing Harry Garbutt for those fateful ten
minutes, alone with Mrs. Hunn.

On November 23rd, -interest again
ran high when the defendant took the
stand in his own defense and swore to
the same facts he had stated on the day
of his arrest. Nor did he waver in any
detail under Prosecutor Dennison’s
withering cross-examination.

Defense counsel stressed the fact that
it was almost unbelievable that a man
should commit a murder with two per-
sons in the house, either one of whom
was almost certain to come upon him
in the commission of his homicidal act.

Early on the morning of November
24th, the defense closed. The jury was
then exhorted by the State’s Attorney
to bring in a verdict of “guilty,” with
the penalty of “death.” Defense coun-
sel stressed with fervid eloquence, the
fact that there had been no eye-wit-
ness to the actual crime; that all evi-
dence against the accused was circum-
stantial and that he should be given the
benefit of every reasonable doubt.

The jurors retired to deliberate. Four
hours later Harry Garbutt stood be-
fore them to hear his fate pronounced.

The faces of the three men were sad
but stern as though they were about to
discharge a painful but unescapable
duty. All of the nine women were in
tears as the foreman delivered their
verdict,

It was “Guilty of Murder in the First
Degree,” with no recommendation for
mercy.

Harry Garbutt, center of the emo-
tional storm that for a few moments
fairly rocked the packed courtroom,
maintained his stoical calm.

Was that calm a hardened criminal’s
composed acceptance of the doom he
knew he full well deserved—or was it
the fatalistic resignation of innocence
that could not be proved?

Al any rate, Harry Garbutt prompt-
ly launched a fight for life that
lasted fourteen months.

His attorneys at once appealed for
a new trial. Formally sentenced to
death on November 29th, on January
19th, 1925, Garbutt was granted a stay
of execution, and consideration of his
appeal was deferred until June.

In April the State Supreme Court
took under advisement a motion made
by his attorneys for a reversal of the
death sentence. Later the sentence was
affirmed, and on October Ist, 1925, it
was definitely decided that he must pay
the extreme penalty.

Interest in Garbutt’s case did not
lessen with the passing months. On the
contrary, many persons came to believe
in the possibility of his innocence. From
various sources generous funds wére
provided in an effort to secure a new
trial, or at least a commutation of
his sentence to life imprisonment.

However, on January Ist, 1926, his
execution was set for the 13th of Feb-
ruary. : :

In the meanwhile, Ernest Spagnoli,
a prominent attorney, had interested
himself in Garbutt’s behalf, and during

the second week in February made des-
perate efforts to secure a stay of execu-
tion, on the ground that he had newly
discovered evidence that would prove
the condemned man’s innocence. The
exact nature of this evidence was never
made public.

The morning of February 13th
dawned without any favorable action
having been_ taken. With all hope
abandoned, Garbutt dictated to C. A.
Alston, a guard on the death-watch, a
brief statement in which he solemnly
and for the last time asserted his in-
nocence of the crime for which he was
about to die.

THE statement closed with the words:
It was an accident. I ran be-
cause I was an ex-con and I knew
they would pin it on me sure. An
ex-con never has a chance though

Innocent as a baby. Gibson has no

record, so they believed him. I

am innocent—as God is my Judge.

The execution was set for 10 a. M.
At the last moment the death march
was halted to await the result of a pe-
tition for a writ of habeas corpus filed
with the State Supreme Court by Mrs.
Roma de Roza, sister of Attorney Spag-
noli. Nervous tension tortured all those
involved, as forty-five minutes of time
sped into eternity—waiting . . . wait-
Wg;

Then came the telegram stating that
the writ had been denied.

Attorney Spagnoli had been admitted
to the execution chamber as an official
witness. As Harry Garbutt, walking
firmly between two guards, started to
mount the thirteen steps to the gallows,
Spagnoli sprang to his feet.

“Stop this execution——” Guards
tried to force him down into his seat.
Warden Frank J. Smith, nerves taut
under the long strain, signaled the
guards to proceed.

“Warden, for God’s sake, stop! We
desire to take this case to the United
States Supreme Court!” the attorney
shouted hoarsely.

But already the black cap had
dropped over the face of the con-
demned man, and the noose had slipped
about his throat.

“Warden! For the sake of an inno-
cent man about to be——”

The harsh clang of the trap, the
nerve-rending snap of the doomed
man’s neck, cut short the attorney’s
last vain appeal.

Fourteen minutes later, Harry Gar-
butt was pronounced dead.

A life for a life: so says the Law;
rif one more debt had been paid in
full!

The case had aroused deep and last-
ing interest. Public opinion as to the
guilt or innocence of the accused was
divided to the last, inasmuch as the man
held to answer for the crime was en-
meshed in a net of evidence that was
purely circumstantial—and for the
first time in California’s criminal an-
nals, the fate of a man on trial for his
life, hinged upon the testimony of a
ten-year-old child.

7 OE ee

fale athe Snes: hh


ee

GARBUTT, Harry, white, hanged San Quentin 2-13-1926,

Dated “
Sot De SAI pt eS aR CY Be he we TEARS SVR: St ele 2 ~é

a a a a i ae a es ee ee a

Rabe sag ew *

ah toads pt

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eae oe
Delerates, shot and

wou = Anna
vile oa” policeman

“sons, then §
die was’ dis-
mS Orb gt) a rel fr papery hearing |
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(hershooting.« was. acct-

SUPRENE'GOUAT
UPHOLDS A DEATH SENTENCE:
I

fanged at; rate cael for
Murder After Losing Last.

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Adee ited Preag,

ASHINGTGN, Fah.
SPORES,
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ae last -mbaute » chty ie 3
espite ‘from’ othe Supferie- Courts}
> After several: individual ustices ?
ari court had refused in-turn {
Petocerint bis plea for-a stay of ex-4
veoutton, “his: counsel: suceeedede.in =
: themperahip of the -
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Nee was iHlegal be-!
suneed upon hit |

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Se

ed, and with that same caution he dications of returning conscious-
had previously displayed, walked ness. Gurgled mutterings came it
silently down the stairs and out from his puffed and swollen lips. ed
of the house. The two officers tried to make some an
P sense out of them. Nothing, how-
MAN of methodical habits, who ever, sounded like a word. at
invariably appeared for break- Then the murmurs subsided, to wh
fast at 7:30 in the morning, Mr. be succeeded in a few moments by ‘
Nelson’s failure to keep to his more jumbled mouthings. The in- kir
schedule was immediately noted by jured man’s eyes opened for a few the
Mrs. Forbes, the maid. When her moments, flickering uncertainly as Cite
employer had not appeared at eight though he were struggling to regis- ‘
o'clock, she went upstairs and rap- ter on his brain the import of the wh:
ped on his doorr After repeated uniformed figures at the side of Int
knocking had elicited no answer, his bed. can
she reported her failure to the still- Once again his lips started to | get
sleeping Mrs. Hulett, and then went move, and once more the officers | ne
downstairs. bent down. Now they at last caught if
In a few moments 4 shriek from @ word—or at least they thought os }
above sent her hurrying up the they did. To both of them it sound- saat
stairs. Mrs. Hulett, white-faced and ed like “loud.” dete
on the verge of collapse, was com- —, It was repeated several times, this
ing out of Mr. Nelson’s room. Loud—loud—loud.” “J
: “Harry!” she gasped. “Something “He means we should talk louder oer:
__terrible — hurry — Mrs. Manzer— —-make our questions louder. Isn’t abi
tell her—call police—tell her—” that what you get?” the one of- kn od
The maid looked into the room. ficer asked his partner. - conj
The sight that confronted her sent The other nodded. Then he bent be t
a chill of fear and horror through close to Nelson’s ear. “Who struck any
il her. She raced next door to con- you?” he asked, putting into his “y
if vey the news of whatever had hap- voice a far greater volume of sound it po
pened to their neighbor. than he had previously used. able
Mrs. Manzer had her wits about But the only answer he received hasn
i her. She didn’t attempt to satisfy Was that same muttered “loud”, was j
| . her curiosity concerning the nature pint on irs nae and injur:
of the emergency. Instead,’ she en ng 0 nto wheezing, scal
HARRY NELSON: The last word he promptly phoned headquarters. struggling breathing. , dooms
| uttered puzzled the police officials. The message was flashed through Time and again the two officers eo used
Pr; Fi the ether to the prow] car of Ser- tried to get something further from 1 ticula
geant Austin Page, who was cruis- — the obviously dying man, frantic- weath
ing in the neighborhood. It took ally shouting into his ear pursuant a
‘ ,... the sergeant but a few moments to 0 what they thought was his way is
ae sradany hi iene on reach the Nelson home. He raced of ' telling them he could not hear ia
the door open and stood inside the in and up the stairs in the direction What they were saying. | cia 9,
room 3 aug he’ gg Mfrs. nae pe coe bed Boa vue oe a
4 ulett pointed. s r he reached the hospital.
ee uta ow weno the SE hen many aetna sine word cone
PS intruder took his time. It required other disasters during his connec- than that one which had led the tify ra
a full two minutes for him to tion with ,the force, but never had eager officers to believe they were ance
reach the slumbering one’s elk: On beheld a bloodier sight 9” the edge of a revelation, only out by
where he could use the heavy weap- than confronted him in Nelson’s to have their hopes die with the that’s
on he was carrying. room. He turned away. passing of the man they were dears
’ A low, sighing sound startled him. watching. h
He had just started to raise it : Phone
when Nelson, probably as the re- Whirling around, he gazed intently Back at the Nelson residence, In- reply a
sult of a curious protective instinct, - the figure on the bed. He pent  spector James Goodnight, his part- to her.’
suddenly opened his eyes. Still in closer until his ear almost touched ner John Mulhern, ‘and Officer Ed- Good
that semi-daze, intermingled with the carmine-blanketed head. Then ward Robinson were working fever- her te:
panic which affects a violently- he ran out of the room and raced_'ishly to create a logical pattern out send ir
awakened person, the pald, middle- down the steps three at a time, of the tragic events of the past The ]
aged man was only partly aware calling for someone to show him _ night. Assigning the latter two to as had
of that lethal apparition. the telephone. search the house and grounds for what st}
He gurgied out a frightened half- For the sound he had heard was clues, Goodnight began interview- “Have
trangled “Wha—what?” ores ee breathing. And it wascom- ‘0B the only two people, apparent looking
strangle : aan a had ing from the mutilated figure on ly, who were in the house with the recently
weapon descended on ie the bed. | murdered man at the time of the “No, :
stn aa merged, into ® ‘The Highland Hospital was clone attack, “Has :
a 1g expaland a red, spreading by. Its ambulance reached the Bi first talked with Mrs. Hulett, recently
“tream blanketed the white fore- scene before any of the men from. elson’s mother-in-law. The Won’ mre, 90
an was still so distracted that it der?
ead. headquarters, ‘but not before two was difficult to pi po 1 Pyeng “Wh
Again and again the maw brought. officers from © squad car had been pate woras with oe on po Soede
the weapon down on the head and assigned to watch at the victim’s answered questions, as om pois | vantage
face of his victim. After the last bed in the hope of catching some = tjnually went off on a tangent by ( Maine’ >
plow had been struck, he examined coherent word from him which mentioning something extraneous ly, ‘lw
_would point the way to his attacker. ates ex,
with cool, professional detachment WOU which she thought was related to & yo
the wounds which he had inflected. Even while, the doctors were the tragedy, but which Goodnight “Well
Satisfied that life had fied, he turn- working over him, Nelson gave in- was sure had nothing to do with J sad wh
“6d pa 0) ~ Oo with-


conscious-
ngs came
wollen lips.
make some
thing, how-
ord.
subsided, to
moments by
igs. The in-
ea for a few
acertainly aS
ling to regas-
mport of the
the side of

os started to
-e the officers
at last caught
they thought
them it sound-

several times,

suid talk louder
ns louder. Isn't
9” the one of-
rtner. :

a. Then he bent
ar. “Who struck
putting into bis
- yolume “A soun
iously used.

wer he received
muttered 7
xy four times te
f into wheezing,

ht was h
“te could not hear
» saying. :
yrts were futile. Four

ital,
ned the hosp!

caking no the
. which had le
‘e believe they —_
of a revelation, wo
- hopes die with nt
she man they wer

2 Nelson residence, nn"
s Goodnight, his i
iwhern, ‘and Officer

lett,
with Mfrs. Hu

a The wom-
law. that it

ce together the

nich she
ie en

tangent bY

talked

acon i A a

it. Finally, when. the inspector talk-
ed to her sharply, she calmed down
and became more coherent.

“I don’t know anything about it
at all,” she asserted. “I was asleep
when it happened.” ie

“You heard no sounds of any
kind, no unusual sounds such as
that of blows being struck, or ex-
cited voices, or anything like that?”

“Nothing at all. I had no idea
what had taken place unti] I went
into Harry’s room this morning. I
can’t understarid how anyone could
get into the house without disturb-
ing Toby.”

“Who's Toby?”

“He’s the dog. He sleeps in the
‘garage. He’s awakened us many
times when he heard unusual
noises, I don’t know why he didn’t
this time.”

“I think I do,” the inspector com-
mented. “Whoever did this prob-
ably knew the dog, and the dog
knew him. However, that’s only
conjecture which may or may not
be true. Did your son-in-law have
any enemies?”

“I don’t think so. I hardly think
it possible. Harry was a very ami-
able and kindly man. Besides, he
hasn’t been well since the war. He
was in the Lost Battalion, and was
injured in the head, Part of his
scalp was torn off, arid the sur-
geons put a silver plate there. It
used to hurt him very much, par-
ticularly in the kind of cold, damp
weather which we’ve been having.”

“He was a widower, I take it?”

“Why, no. His wife is living.”

“You mean they’re separated?”

“No, indeed. Bessie—that’s his
‘wife—is visiting our folks in Me-
nomonie, Wisconsin. She’s been
gone for about ten days.”

“Don’t you think you’d better no-
tify her?”

“I’ve already done that. I wrote
out a telegram and told Muriel—
that’s the maid—to take it next
door and have Mrs. Manzer tele-
phone it in. I haven’t received any
reply as yet. It’ll be a terrible shock
to her.” f

Goodnight nodded. He dismissed

her temporarily wr told her to |

send in the mai
The latter gave the same answer
as had Mrs. Hulett when asked
what she knew about the murder.
“Have you seen any suspicious-
looking persons around the house
recently?”

“No, I haven’t.”
“Has anything unusual happened

recently which you think might |

have some bearing on the mur-
der?”

“Why, I—I “

Goodnight was quick to take ad-

_ vantage of the woman’s hesitation.

. “Come on,” he commanded sharp-

ly, “I want you to tell me every-
thing you know.”

“Well, this may not—I don’t
know whether this has anything to
do with———_—” ,

“I'll decide that,” the officer in-
terjected sharply. “What do you
have in mind?” :

“Well,” the maid replied hesitant-
ly, “about a month ago Mrs. Nel-
son tried to shoot herself.”

“She did, eh? Why did she do
that?” . .

“It was after a quarrel with Mr.
Nelson. He took the gun away from

* her.”

“Did they quarrel often?”

“No, not’ more than most mar-
ried couples usually do, I suppose.”

“Do you know what they quar-
reled about generally?”

“No, I don’t. They were always
careful to shut the doors. I sup-
pose they were afraid I would
hear.”

“Now, Mrs. Forbes, I want to ask
you a question which you may feel
your loyalty to the family might
prevent you from answering. But
you understand, if you hold any-
thing back, you can be punished
for it. Was Mr. Nelson, to your
knowledge, friendly with any other
woman, or did Mrs. Nelson have
such a relationship with any man?”

The woman shook her head em-
phatically. “Neither one,” she de-
clared. “Mr. Nelson usually came
directly home from the office—he’s
deputy tax assessor, you know—as
he suffered a great deal from that
injury in. his head. Mrs. Nelson, too,
outside of occasional shopping and
luncheon dates, seldom went out.
Both of them were very fond of

- reading and spent much of their
. time that way. My husband told

me once he had never seen a more
happily married couple.”

“Your husband? Does he live here
too?”

“No, indeed. Claude lives in San
Francisco, but of course he visits
me frequently, except when he’s
traveling around.” ;

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. The last I heard
from him was two weeks ago, when
I got a letter from him from Los
Angeles. He’s looking for a job.”

Additional questioning revealed
nothing apparently to indicate ei-
ther the motive for the murder or
the identity of the slayer. While
Goodnight was puzzled as to how
it was possible for such a brutal
murder to be committed without
‘awakening either Mrs. Hulett or the
maid, he had nothing whatever to
indicate their stories were not true.
He hoped that Mulhern and Rob-
inson might develop something
conclusive in their search of the
house and grounds.

His hope was partially realized.
Thee two officers had discovered
several possibly important things.
First, they found out: why the dog
had not raised an alarm. He was
lying in the garage dead, having
been strangled by the killer.

They had also ascertained how
the latter had gained entrance.
Near the garage door was a tire

BESSIE NELSON: The officers re-
ceived a shock when they met her.

iron, to the sharp edge of which
several freshly-broken pieces of
wood were clinging. A bit of splint-
ered sash in the dining room win-
dow showed where this utility
“jimmy” had been used. And a
small ladder just. beneath it told
its own story of the way in which
the intruder reached the window.

Mrs. Hulett identified the ladder
as a toy taken from the little play-
house on the grounds which the
kindly Nelson had built for the
neighborhood children.

Goodnight sent the ladder and
jimmy to the police laboratory. Ex-
amined microscopically, and sub-
jected to various tests, they were
found to contain neither finger-
prints nor other clues.

| T gonad that the house and
grounds had yielded all pos-
sible leads, the inspector instructed
Mrs, Hulett and the maid to hold
themselves available for further
questioning, and then prepared, to
depart.

-The telephone rang just as he
was leaving. It was a message from
one of the officers stationed at Nel-
son’s bedside, informing Goodnight
that the latter had died, -and that
the only word he had uttered was
the one which sounded like “loud.”

(Continued on page 51)

19


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foot piece was of white pine. The’
wood detective smiled to himself ’
for, right then and thére, the myth
of Columbus’ shoe was blasted. Our
Northern states were the home of
white pine. It grows nowhere else.
In the early days white pine was

shipped down the Mississippi by

the hundreds of thousands of board
feet; both lumber and logs flowed
into New Orleans in streams. In

1492 white pine was unheard of. —

Its existence was only known $ to’
the Indians of North America.

. It was apparent that the shoe
was whittled by some: indolent
wharf worker with an artistic call-
ing who, no doubt, was killing
time reclining 1n the warm Louisi-
ana sunshine. Columbus and the
figure 1492 just naturally came to-

THE

ee Ward a

gether in his mind. : ;

These instances are but a few of
the cases that Koehler is called
upon to solve, and each case pre-
sehts an. entirely hew set of pos-
sibilities, usually. Few modern
criminologists have a greater vari-
ety of problems but, of.course, not
all the perplexing questions put up
to the wood: sleuth involve crime,
but most. of .them encompass the
human element. The big problems
are largely-technical, yet man man-
ages somehow to inject himself one
way or another; into most of them.

Arthur’ Koehler is 60 now but
his appearance ‘belies his age: His
numerous. cases have . taken. him
all over the country and he is ready,
even now, to be off on a junket at
a moment’s notice. 5

INVISIBLE CLUE

(Continued from page 19)

“The officer slowly replaced the.
receiver, pondering over the pos- >
sible significance of this one ut>
terance of the dying man. He was

interrupted in his cogitations by a~

messenger boy delivering a wire
from Mrs. Hulett’s folks at Menom-
onie: .
“Bessie left here a week ago.
Said she would stop off at
several places. Did not ‘say
what they were.” ‘
Goodnight was bitterly disap+
pointed. He had hoped that the
newly-made widow might be able
to throw some light on the iden-
tity of the killer, or at least on
the possible motive. Now he had
one .more barrier to. surmount.

Every hour’s delay gave the slayer .
just that:much more time for a .
. Betaway. It might be several days

or even a week more before Mrs.
Nelson put in an appearance or got
in touch with her family, as Mrs.
Hulett informed him that her
daughter was “not much of a let-
ter writer.”

But he had to accept the situa-

tion with such grace as he could. -

He and Mulhern, assisted by sev-
eral officers assigned to them, used
the interval to make a check of
the backgrounds of the widow and
her slain husband, as well as of:
the maid, who had been with the
family so long that she was almost.
a part of it. They found nothing’

to indicate that those. composing

the Nelson household were any dif-
ferent than thousands of other
commonplace, middle-class fam-
ilies.

Interviews with the neighbors
living within a couple blocks of the

Nelsons’ gave promise of: yielding

better results. Several of them had
observed a, badly-dressed,: rather.

of the slain assessor’s home around
seven o’clock on the ‘night he was
killed. Two ‘of them had seen him
stop in front of Nelstn’s place-and
survey the house and grounds, As
he moved away, one testified, he
had glanced back over his shoulder
several times as though to make
sure-he. had not been. noticed.
Encouraged by-what appeared to
be the first real opening wedge in

the case, Goodnight concentrated |}
- on trying to locate this shadowy

figure. He impressed: upon the of-
ficers he. assigned to the job the
necessity for speed.

“From. his description,” he told
them, “he might be a maniac who
kills just for the sake of killing.
Don’t take any chances. If you see
& man who answers his descrip-
tion, bring him in for question-
ing.” f

The detectives followed instruc-
tions. During the next few days
they brought to. headquarters a
half-dozen unprepossessing indi-
viduals and made them give an
account of themselves.

They were all: released after
those who had seen the-one ob-
serving Nelson’s place had failed
to identify any one of them.

But the next one picked up was
not so fortunate. He was promptly
“pegged”. as the “furtive-looking”
stranger who had-been seen “cas-
ing” the’ Nelson home.

He admitted he had been near
the: Nelson place at the time the
witnesses alleged he had, But he
insisted that he had been hungry
and was merely looking for a hand-
out. bit

“I was just: trying to judge what
the chances. were,”’.-he asserted. “I

‘looked. -over. some of the other

houses too.,Then I made up my

‘ap Address.
i City.

furtive-looking .man in the vicinity .~:mind that. the. neighborhood didn’t

Kt)

he

(

.

L

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20SE

ied with
erything -
the caw
aking his
the home
satellite

2 was ap-
nce from
ock in the
' a suspi-
it the way
listen ev-
d his fre-
him and to

doubt that
some sin-

ind came to
cound, panic-
ear gave way
ne noted the
ing noise. It
ning over the

se to the rigid
imes, and then
man in the
JI canines have
pe petted.
animal’s affec-
jad to
iead and speak-
it in whispers.
that the danger
the man

toward the ga-

followed by his

_ He intended =
|, But when the
sually precedes 4
the dog did not
; ad, the man
nis

dining room,
y before proceeding

he objective of the
yre creeping softly uP
the landing

the in-

She looked into

the

The sight that confronted
er sent a chill of fear
and horror through her.

Specially Posed.

The dyin
g man's |
ast word was important, but what did
id it mean?


Se ie ee that Fredericks had shot and severely wounded a

:
‘man named Bruce, a brakeman, near Colfax, and it is believed that he had later, in
‘fleeing into Nevada County, shot and killed Sheriff Pascoe,. There.is no means of ascer=
‘taining howmanf murders and other crimes Fredericks was guilty of, He was a des-
perate man, and did not value human life, He declined to speak of his past and would
“net discuss his crimes. 1t is certain that MXKAKEXAKXXWA Fredericks was not his name,
but even the prison officials do not know.his real name, It is know, however, that
his family, a bovther and sister, have communicated with him and knew that he must
die. tt is said that Fredericks! father died some years ago and left him about, $120,
000 which he.succeeded in spending in two years, whereupon his brother was compelled
to send him back to California, Jt is thought that Fredericks was about 28 years old,
though he claimed to be only 23, eight.of which he says he spent in this country. It
was hoped that Fredericks would leave a confession behind him, but he did not do so and
he carried his screts into that 'big six-foot hole' as he called his.pros pective grave,
During his last night on earth, he told the guard on duty near him that he had
‘planted! the arms for George Sonntag and other prisoners at Folsom which led to so
AXXARKAKBURXAXMUKRA disasterous a break, He said he couldn't help doing that, as he
had given his promise to do so before leaving Folsom Prison, He denied having killed
Pascoe or shooting W. K. Bruce, and he.would not make any further revelations, ‘He
lived like a brute and died like a brave man,' said one of the sons of Sheriff Pascoe
after the body had been dropped. 'I did not believe that he would die.game, but he did,
and he is entitled to that credit. We are certain that he killed father, and we have
naturally taken great interest ih the casee'e...e"Salt Lake, July 26 = A special to the
TRIBUNE from Butte, Mont., says: According to a story told the City Marshal by August
Barrenstein, a young German, William M, Fredericks, who was hanged in California today '
was living in Rutte from Aug., 1893, to Jan., K 189, and was the murderer of three
| Chinese who were found butchered and robbed in their cabin near this city on Sept. 306
He also committed a number of daring highway robberies in Butte about the same time,
Barrenstein says he roomed with Fredericks, who at that time went by the name of
William Berrigan, and the murderer frecuently related incidents of his career and
boasted. of his crimes to him, but threatened to kill the young man if he ever betrayed
him, Barrenstein was so much afraid of him that he kept the secret tntil he knew that
Fredericks could not escape the gallows, Fredericks told Barrenstein that he belonged
to the Chris Evans band of outlaws in California, and had murdered a Sheriff and
| brakeman in that State, and came to Montana to escape the officers, After leaving
Butte Fredericks committed a highway robbery in Salk Lake and wkote his young German
| friend an account.of it, Barrenstein has a photograph of Fredewicks, whitch he took
from his pockets, and it leaves no doubt that Berrigan and Fredericks were one and the
same," CHRONICLE, Ban Francisco, California, July 27, 1895 (8/1-3) Woodcut likeness
of Fredericks.e ao
According to CHRONICLE of 7/26 (11/5), he said that he was a German, a native of the
Rhenish provinces, and that his pzrents were still living, that he had cormunicated
with them, telling them of his circimstances and bidding them farewell, lefused to
identify them as he did not want to disgrace them. Declined to admit that he killed
Herrick, but refused to MAXKEXEKE place the blame on Melvin (or Marvin), .H. errick's
assistant, who the defense had tried to show accidentally shot him,,..Speaking of .
his religion, said his father was a Lutheran and his mother a Catholic and that he.
was raised a Catholic, : mf


‘

‘

}
de

ves
Ui

)
|

“THE GALLOWS.

‘Slayer Fredericks Pays
the Penalty

ee ene

‘Of His Life forthe Mur-
i] . ar “> ,
agerot W.A. Herrick,

j -
!

The Cashier of the San Fran-
cisca Savings Union,

‘He Was Responsible % sr Several
Robberies and His Gun Had
Many Notches.

|
|
|
|
|

Bythe Associated Press.

| Sax Quentin, Cal, July %5.— William |
| M. Frederiche, the murderer of a halt |
‘dozen nen, was banged thie morning,
for the killing of W. A. Hornek, cashier |
lof the branch of San Frarciseo Savings;
/Union. Hemade @ lopg speech and |
\forgave everybody. He died calmly.

|
Berre, Mont., July 28 --Acording to|
‘the story told the city marshal by |
| Aug. Barrenstein, Wm. M. vrédarick, |
‘who was hanged in Caltfornia today, |
wae living io Butte from Auguet, 1893, |
-to January, 1804, and was the murderer |
of three Chinamen who were found
batichered eet robtes! dua themr cabin:
bene thie city on September 30, and |
aleo committed «a number of highway,
robberies in Bitte about the same time, |
Barrevetein savas he roomed with
Fredericks who at the time went by the
name of William Barrnygen. The mor:
derer frequently related incidents of
bis carver and boasted of bis crimea to
bim snd threatened to kill the young
mao if he ever betrayed bin. Barren-
atein was eo much efraid of him that
he kept the eecret until he knew Fred-
ericky conld not excape the gallows,
Fredericks told Barrenstein that he be-
longed to Charlie Evans’ band of out:
lawe in California and had murdered a
eberiff and brakeman jo that estate and
came to Montana to escape the officers.
After leaving Butte Vredericka com:
mitted highway robbe. ew ou Salt Lake
and wrote hie young German triend an
account oof it. Barrensteip liae  &
photograph of Fredericks which he.
took frou: bis pocket and it leaves oo |
doubt thet Barreneatein and Fredericks
were one and the eame,


ce earned thé death pen
hy dases before he was fina!

esha i

He had served several terms |

cue

‘Here: he losi tne hited o
statement, smiled and jokingly
his inability to make a ch. Prompt
ed by the. priest he conc ludéed: “By the

1 af ouy ormnigiotent creator I die in|.
| the faith of the Roman Cath

. “) Alta
fea ils my

nett

by od fre
ioe et .

¢ Church.

Nt “ pawd Ay ALYY Ai Pha sind fi

. mu the mona yan eas
’ : ¥ ni f ake a tie

and ‘cheérfully consign: myself to the | icki,::

infinite justice and mercy. of the one who
is over and with and above
in his hame forever. Amen," '\-
* He’ was‘abie to complete this sbkacks
only. with the promptings ©
Vredericks ascended the gallows at
9:69 o'clock, and’ at 10:02 the trap was

an felt an & CHROMICKE artist a

|" YREDERICKS, THR MURDERER — :
few moments betore he walked to the. ately

sprung, ‘and ers ang a nals minutes:

tentiaries of this State for
te deeds before he bold-
into the bank at Market and.
one St toe and shot the

ly a year the condemned man:
‘to. be violently insarie, but,
ths ago he ¢hanged his tac-
e’ one of the most exem-

in the pri e professed:
sree i was re-

| others. ate ‘

later life was pronounced extinct, ‘Dr. | w
was

H.'W. Hunsaker of San Frar
the physician-in-chief, and he w
sisted by Dra, Daly, Cook, Mattner ee

Death was almost: Inbthntedeount ens

of the priest. | Hos

1 the) |

5 ltnupdered on Jtine faa It
) {Wins Fredericks had'shot anid
wounded a man named Bruce,
jin, near Colfax, ‘and it is be-

te had later, in fieeing into
eunty, fees ee Repel

ai aor Daal | other ttthe,

ws guilty a He was'a
and nia not value’ hu-
speak of his

his crimes,

¢, but even. e.(p rigon officials |
prod ol ag /Itis known, |
ily, ab jther and |
Ave communicated th him |
‘that he mustidie, It is said,
flericks’ father died some years |
d llett him’ about $120,000, “which |
te efi in spending in two years, |
herdupon his brother was obmpelled
to se a: him’ back to’ to California, It ts |
{hou at Fredericks.was rbout 28°
rs fa age, though jhe) claimed to be |
only , eight of which he says ne spent | |
in ‘this country. | ;

| {Xt -was|hoped that Freferickn would |
be a confession

ind him. buf he
@ not do so and he ed hip secrets
to that “big six-foot hole,” as he called
his prospéctive grave, During his last
hight| on earth he told' the guard on
duty near him that he had “planted”
the the arms tor George Sonntag and other
ers at Folsom which. led to so dis-

iret 6 a break. He said he couldn’t
Help ong. thet, as he jhad given his
do. 30 anh leaving Folsom
He, denied having killed Pas-
ng W, (Bruce, and he:

ke ahy er revelations.

éd like a d died like a
cont said ,one’ of the:sons of
after'the y had been

3 \“ did: not) believe that he

‘ale’ ‘game, but he /did, and he is

ta that ‘cred @ are certain

hat: @ killed father, and we have hat-
cen great interest in this case.”

neck nevis been, 1, broken) at the, brat

Abuniols ye Gine, o; Yabfona Y-ATLSIS-

FREDERIK KS, §

—


; never talked with him
Ase, Quinlan, I think,

~

ine Castle pretty much

Emes was there. Quin-
a there in winter and
an summer.
fious that Quinlan, as
y else, should tell the
and conceal nothing.
ra, Howard ‘to testify
pardiess of where it
aie does, it will be in
We are anxious to
ay rather than to throw
way, as has been said.
stood that he desires
the.truth.”

{AMS AT DENVER.

July 28.--The unfortu-
Hams and her sister,
s accused of having
o Denver early in 1892
e ‘o was in poor
bout 25 or 26
ides being ap-
Ce... Was an accom-
rt.. She appeared for
the stage of the old
porater as a mem-

pany. The brother
% purt of the winter,
ok the body home to
ession prevails among
new the girl that she
m she knew only as
go. He appeared in
e after the World's
arious friends of the
d married and had
with her husband.
s before or after the
| cannot be learned.

IANA VICTIM.

, duly 26.—Mmeline
ted victim of Holmes,
here. She went to
891, where she was a
ter ‘rienda were In- ,
hat she waa with the
g ‘Company of Sixty- |
ago, and was soon tO
ror. Robe rt Is. Vhelps.
‘ng to cards re-
. in December,
} fayette friends
eu oT.

ARTNIER TALKS.

y 26.--The World will
vrederi¢ k (feorge Nind,

yo Omg: agreed fn bustness
3 7 1} i tres

|

We. M., white, hanged Calif,
proke Jil at Ferngndiaa; t
and’ Bid ta the sorub aioay the heaed.,
| werr 4 Tr ow ,
ee

A Asked 5. Witness t¢ Me Wa
ttolney aa

Carrollton, Mo., July 20.—There were
plenty of vacant seats in the court-

j house this morning when the trial of

the Taylor brothers began. So far lit-
tle new testimony has been brought

out, and t of the people here to at-
oa het have heard it once be-
ore.

This afternoon during the cross-ex-
abination of Jérry South, the man from
Arkansas, who captured the Taylors,
Attorney Conkling asked: “Are you
armed, Mr. South?” |

“It is none of your business,” said
South, “but I know my rights. a te this
court, and if the Court cannot protect

| me, I am capable of protecting my-

self.’

There was a moment of excitement,
and the Court rapped for order, and
said: “Such language is not permissi-
ble in this court. 1 will not allow the
witness to be insulted, Mr. Conkling. I
want you to keep out of this cross-ex-
amination and stop these side re-
marks.”

Apologies followed and quiet Was re-
stored.

Henderson’s Record.

Denver, July 26.—Con Sullivan, alias
A. B. Henderson, who killed Clarence
Barr, a Chinatown guide in Ban Fran-
cisco, served nearly ten years in the

Colorado penitentiary for shooting Jack.

Lessit through the hand at Granite.
He was pardoned just before his sen-
tence expired.

- Foul Crime at Boston.

: Bostott, July 26.—The body of Alberta
Stewart, a fourteen-year-oldtechoolgir!
who disappeared from her home, 29
npesle street, yesterday afternoon, was

ound in the Charles river to-day.
dipthen Examiner Harris found evi-
ed, ae}

that she was criminally assault-
aivie | believed she was thrown

into 4 water while unconscious.’

~ A Bootlegger Shot.

‘Chetopa, Kan., July 26.—City Marshal
Sam Coulter to- day . arrested J. T.
trie wu bootlegger, who later es-
caped and resisted arrest, defending
himself with a knife and hatchet. The

Marshal then shot him, the ball enter-
ing his back. Dowdall is dying.

ZX Confessed on the Gallows.

“ Washington, July 26.—Joseph A.
"Hear was hanged in the United States
jail to-day for.the murder of his step-
daughter, Annis Lehl, last December.
Beam confessed,

the SECOND NEMAND ON FRANCE.

(San.

Fran.) July 26, 1895.

Fredericks Han- 4 “and John
Brady Capture
LAKE _ Dp TAH

LTBUN NE

THEIR RECORDS. “OF CRIME,
Bag Ee.
fae |

Fredericks Shot a Cashier and Had
Committed Other Murders—Mur-
dered Three Butte Chinamen and
Committed a Robbery at Salt Lake
—Brady Charged With the Mur-

der of Cornelius Stagg. le

m
LT

KA
4.

\ z Z >
\ SG ah “J fe BVGDF ‘i ’ Ss

San Francisco, July 26.—W illiam
Fredericks, who murdered Cashier
William A. Herrick In an attempt to
rob a San Francisco savings bank in
March, 1894, was hanged at San Quen-
tin to-day. Fredericks was an: associ-
ate of Evans and Sontagg, the train
robbers, and took part in some: lof the
most sensational crimes ever ¢ommit-
ted in California.

Yredericks is known to have mur-
dered three men. While serving: a term
in the penitentlary at Folsom he con-
spired with a number of other des-
peradoes to lead a jail-break. 'At the
expiration of his sentence Fredericks

smuggled a number of weapohs into
the prison, and in the outbreak that
followed three convicts were killed. A
few months later Fredericks killed a
brakeman in Nevada county who at-
tempted to put him off a freight train,

_and when Sheriff Pasco tried to _cap-
ture him, Fredericks killed*him.—

After he was convicted and sehtenced
to be hanged for the murder of Cash-
ler Herrick, Fredericks felgned ‘insani-
ty, but a few weeks ago he gave up hape
of a commutation of sentence, and
ie then has discussed his fate stol-
cally

MURDERED BUTTE CHINAMEN.

Butte, Mont., July 26.—Special to
Tribune. —According to a story told the
City Marshal by August Barrenstein,
a young German, William M. Freder-
icks, who was hanged in California to-
day, was living in Butte from August,
1893, to January, 1894, and was the
murderer of three Chinamen, who were
found butchered and robbed in their
cabin near this city September 30th,
and he also committed a number of
daring highway robberies in Butte
about the same time.

gava ha roomed with

oe ee

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ch

MURDERER

Governor Has Not Granted
a Reprieve “>

Meno

ie
ee

HS EXECUTION = TODAY

Will Mount the Scaffold Be-
tween Eleven and Tweive
to Pay Penalty for Mur-
der of Louis Yeager at
Humboldt.

[EWOIMEERS REPORT
~ OE ARKHNSAS. NERS

e

Brings Protests to Washington From

Bint 2

Representative Macon.

&

Washington, July 24.—(Special Cor-
respondence of The Republican.)—
Representative Robert Bruce Macon
of Arkansas, who’ recently introduced
a delegation of his constituents to the
board of engineers for rivers and
harbors ‘who came here to ask for a
reconsideration of the report on the
survey, of the St. Francis and L’An-
guille rivers, in Arkansas, although
he has earned a reputation as a sen-
tinel on the watch tower against ex-
travagance in government expendi-
tures, may he regarded as a liberal
in respect of zealous care for inter-
nal improvements. He thoroughly en-
dorses the policy of the National Riv-
ers and Harbors cungress for a broad
and comprehensive system of river
and hirbor improvement as foresight-
ed economy and especially coymends
adherence to the policy of annual aps
propriations to maintain a = nation-
wide system of improvement as im-
peratively necessary to prevent waste
of public moneys in the deterioration

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TO THOSE WH(

CLASS
ED

1.50 Man

of public works so often incident to;
The dawn of the day set for his intermittent appropriations, the prev- Y
execution will find Alejandro Gal- preuee ut Sh Was, one of Bo daa S
ue the murderer of Louis Yeouer | siheoeg beech ets of S&S $2 00 Man
without hope of reprieve and  pre- . ationa ivers ance arbors con-. : Z - ‘ +
wee iy bee ates he PRAT OE Mes” Z S tH
Hah its me a ae ite es Sipe “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Macon, “I have é ‘
eal a: yest dite Sis baits Aiba 'talways been an ardent friend of in- pig $2 () an
ony being — visited by PrICh WL eta improvements; and I am_ fully | Hex * 4
came to administer the consolations persuaded that -in ethe improvement S = GZ a
of religion: No one has intimated or of oy navigable waters tre obviously | Z S 3 50 VM
suggested to him that. efforts have wise ees es the sited of a ‘aihate RS “ g all
been made to secure the commuta- comprehensive system uf approjitia - 3 3
tien of his sentence. tions. Take the appropriations han- | py: , M n
Secretary Norvell left for Prescott} gig py the Mississippi river commis- | Apa 2 a ,
last might to confer with Governor sion, for instance. They are applied K S .
Sloun in regard to granting Callegos | \ here they are most needed in preser- {3
‘a reprieve until his case can be CONn-| vation of the channel of the ,‘Father Lins
sidered, and other matters which have! op waters.’ That kind of policy would oy (r
come to the governor's office during |pho pest for the permanent care of the | ZBS |
his absenee in California. national svstem of waterway im- S az a |
No one has any intimation of Gov- | provement.” ARS ee ¥
ernor Sloan's intention regarding the The delegation which appeared with ; F :
commutation of Gallegos’ sentence,| Mr. Macon before the board of en- S SE Ls ANN
but it is not believed that he willl gineers came to make complaint] s y sleet Mi | |
take any action at. this late hour. against a local engineer’s report on ote | :
The appeal for the commutation of|the survey of the St. Francis and| @ RANC
the sentenee was presented to him{ L’Anguille) rivers, in, Arkansas, au- = : CLEA
July 10 by Henry ©. Yueger, and it] thorized by the act of 1910, with a TRS .
is thought that had the governor de-|{ view to securing year-round naviga- Bing 1D
sired to grant) Yaeger’s request he|]tion.. They claimed that the report | FE
would bave. dene something before} of. Captain Clarke S. Smith, engineer S Z
the day set for his execution. in charge, showed te their Knowledge Z S NO IN FULL S
,fore he left. for Prescott, Mr.] his information upon whieh he based Z 1 :
Norviel communicated with Mr. Yae-|[his conclusions with regard to the | AMM :
ger, who stil has hope of freeing {commerce of the two rivers was se- x BETTER HURRY!
Giallegos from the seaffold, and he|riously inadequate, and to prove it ie RS!
was the bearer of messages to Gov-{ they brought along with them nu- < ie yo GET YOU e
erner Sloan urging him to commute | merous affidavits of individuals, busi- | 4 :
the sentence Untilthe hour set forthe | ness firms and. transportation compa - 4 x
execution at. Florence, which will be | nies. Captain Smith’s “meager in- | 36a
hetween 11 and 12 o'clock today. Mr. formation,” they aver, was obtained | 7®S
Yaeger will be expectantly awaiting | by letters that were not from the | aZ | he H
word that Governor Sloan has grant- | best informed people. The data with | ¢
ca whe jnurderer” of Ris “Bon a ‘Pee which the Arkansas delegation was S Z
Hrieve, equipped showed that the commerce | 2k
Although he has’ seemed. unnerved | Of the St. Francis and L’Anguille riv- & “es a
ines he was taken to the prison un- | &FS amounted to three times as much pile S N
der sentence of death, it was stated | 45 ociaolbb hi UP eA eid acon idl ct al Se emi si
last night by an. official of the ter- which the government has spent over
ritorial prison that Gallegos seemed $2;000,000,° a commerce: BTeaMer Lay
more courageous, and he judged from on the White river, in Arkansas, the @
the quiet manner in which he passed Ouachita in’ Arkansas and Louisiana S ft Shirt {
the day that he would give no tron- and the Green river, in Kentucky, O S,
ble when the hour came for hisdeath, [PE Oe wasas ae Sass angi ee oi
lke spent the night with the death Berry While pate a little Oeet Ree .
Wateh and sleneé tittle Ohad meer IVER Cae eee , O1S€
featnctre Wien abd LAnguille. The commerce on
SURE! SARAH SHOT ’EM. the two rivers, it IK forcibly indicated,
RON Pcie would he immensely  inereased by S rr 4g SS Ss SB
They Wondered In England. if Mme, kins {he rivers navies tne 1) ile a a ee
. i toe) ee) ‘ se Ps he ; ‘ } eer
Bernhardt Killed Crocodiles. of the L’Anguille te Marianna. | a i
The St Francis  hasin, through} ~ |” :
hich Ane <tivers 4e-deseribede- ANAT WATCOMCI NG vp tok ohh


a a

THERE ARE SOME THINGS

NO MAN CAN STAND FOR

(Continued from page 15)

himself from his creditors,” he explain-
ed blandly.

“A likely story!’ Overholt retorted.
“T hope for your sake that Jim Kipp
turns up alive. When you can cook
up a better yarn, let me know.” He
waved his hand. “Lock him up, boys,”
he ordered. -

When news of Al Fuller’s arrest was
relayed to Marjorie Fuller she hurried
to the sheriff's office. The strain of
weeks seemed to have lifted from her
face. The tenseness was gone.

“Now,” she said, “I'll really talk.”

She began with a recital of marital
difficulties actuated by her husband’s
unreasonable jealousy. She told of sep-
arations and subsequent reconcilliations.
Her husband, it seemed, thought that
money and still more money was nec-
essary if he hoped to regain and hold
her affections.

“But I was through,” she hastened to
explain. “Completely through. I didn’t
want him to bother me and I kept on
the move to keep away from him.”
Her tone was grim, quiet. “But Thurs-
day night somehow he located me and
demanded that I meet him in his car
parked on Palm Avenue.

“T didn’t know what to do. I was
afraid mot to go, and when I met him
he showed me an assignment for Jim’s
share of the insurance money.” Her
voice faltered. ‘“‘Well, I—I knew then
that Jim was dead!”

At this point Sheriff Hill interrupted.
“Are you sure it was Jim Kipp’s signa-
ture?”

“Tt was Jim’s handwriting all right,”
she replied. “I’d know it anywhere.”
She leaned forward. “I asked Al how
he got the assignment and he said, ‘I
fixed him! I put three bullet holes
through him!’

“T couldn’t believe it at first,” she
went on, “but I knew how cruel Al
could be. I decided then that I’d have
to tell somebody—get an investigation
started. So, I did.”

+ “Then it was you I heard crying when
the call came through,” Hill asked.

She nodded. “That night, Friday, Al
showed up again,” she continued. “He
told me I'd have to help him conceal
the crime. He threatened to kill me if
I didn’t. That was the night he forced
me to go to Merced with him in our
car. We got Jim’s car out of the garage
where Al had stored it: 4

Once more Hill and Overholt glanced
sharply at each other. Her story was
checking with the police reports on the
movements of Kipp’s car. It was im-
possible to doubt her story.

“T knew then that Jim was dead,”
Marjorie continued, “because Al said,
‘I'll get rid of this damned evidence.’
Tl drive this. jalopie into the bay at
Oakland.’

“He headed north,” she went on, her
face working convulsively, “and I knew
then exactly what he planned to do.
He was going to drive Kipp’s car into
the bay—with me in it! I was desper-
ate. I jumped out of the car and flagged
the first bus back to Fresno,” she said,
almost inaudibly. “His -idea,” she ex-
plained, “was to get rid of Jim and
me both, so he could say we had eloped.
That would have covered any explana-
tion about the insurance assignment,”
she pointed out.

“But what makes you so sure your
husband planned to get rid of you?”
Hill persisted.

“Because he wanted all the insurance
money,” she answered quietly. “He
couldn’t get Jim’s money with Jim

alive. And if he did,” she added, “he
probably would have had to give me
half.”

“Why?” .

“Because in,my divorce suit I was
suing him for half of everything he
had.”

of the tunnels or shafts that honey-
combed the Madera Hills near Raymond
would be Jim Kipp’s sepulcher.

“He told me once when we were
driving through the district that if he
ever had occasion to bump a guy off,
he’d drop him into a mine shaft,” she
said.. : . P

And Sheriff Rhodes, working on the
same theory, was making some progress.
He had learned that Al Fuller owned
half interest in a mine there. Driving
to it, he discovered nothing more sus-
picious than recent car tracks. He ‘fol-
lowed them up a hill to a spot where
a car appeared to have been parked
for some little time before being backed
around and headed back for the main
road. He found clear impressions of a
man’s footprints from which impres-
sions were made. Other prints appeared
to have been made by a woman’s French
heel. But Rhodes were certain they had
been made by a peg-leg. Acting on this
hunch a search was started for Kipp’s
body.

Confronted with the news that Mar-.

jorie had “spilled,” Al Fuller snarled,
“Hell, she’s only trying to cover up
for the way she feels about Jim Kipp.”
Beyond that remark he would say noth-
ing.

Investigators went into action to cinch
the case. Fuller was positively identi-
fied as the man who brought Kipp’s
car to the Auditorium Garage in Oak-
land and attempted to pass himself off
as Jim Kipp. His return to Fresno by
devious routes, was traced. He had even
registered under still another alias at
an isolated hotel en route back.

All this had been easily accomplished
since Fuller was only required to pick
up the mail bag in Seville at ten o’clock.
This gave him many uninterrupted hours
in which to carry out his scheme.

The body of the murdered cobbler
was discovered in an abandoned shaft
150 feet down where it had caught on
some timbers. Only this kept the body
from disappearing completely. Curiously
enough a sodden ball of fur—a rabbit’s
foot charm, was discovered adhering
to the inside of Kipp’s hat when it and
a crutch, which he sometimes used to
assist him in walking, were also recover-
ed. A bloody rock near the mine en-
trance was thought to have been the
weapon used to batter the helpless Kipp
into submission and later unconscious-
ness,

It was George Kinp, shaking with
emotion, who identified the body.

“T can’t believe it, even now, looking
at him like this,” he managed to say
through a voice that quavered uncon-
trollably. “Someone will have to pay
for this. I'll bring formal murder charges
now against Al Fuller!”

Reconstructing the crime, officers de-
cided the murder had been committed
near the mine. In accordance, Fuller
was transferred to the Madera County
Jail pending his arraignment and trial
for murder.

He feigned great surprise at being ac-
cused of the crime. “Can I help it if
me and Johnson look something alike?”
he demanded.

Fuller was held in jail in lida of
$10,000 bail until the last week in

Marjorie Fuller felt certain that one

December when his trial opened. On
the stand he finally admitted the mur-
der. But he pled “the unwritten law.”

He accused Jim Kipp of breaking up
his home. “He knew Marjorie and I
were about to make up,” Fuller ex-
plained earnestly, “and he didn’t want
that to happen. What I did was merely
to protect my life, my home and my
wife’s reputation.”

Challenging this statement, the State
quoted Fuller’s divorce plea in Visalia.
In this action Fuller alleged that Mar-
jorie Fuller had been openly consorting
with other men. Consequently the case
hinged on the insurance motive.

Witnesses testified that Kjpp’s last
act on earth had been in the line of
doing a favor for the man he consider-
ed his friend. Fuller had asked Kipp
to drive him to the mine to pick up
some tool that had been left behind.
Kipp assented and drove to his death.

The day before Christmas the case
went to the jury. During the three
hours the jury debated, Fuller sat un-
perturbed, toying with his good luck
token. He seemed certain of an ac-
quittal. Hadn’t his good-luck token al-
ways protected him? Through. a long

career of crime, it had been his guiding
Star.

But it failed him utterly when the
jury returned a verdict which found
him guilty of first-degree murder, with
no recommendation for mercy.

Fuller took the verdict stoically. The
muscles of his jaws contracted tightly
but he gave no other sign of emotion.
But Marjorie, who sat through. the en-
tire proceedings, swayed as if on the
verge of collapse.

Fuller still banked on the luck of
his token, it seemed, for he was granted
seven reprieves during the eighteen
months which the case was appealed.
But if such a token held any luck it
deserted him when he lost the original
at the scene of his bloody crime.

On the morning of July 14, 1933 the
convicted man mounted the gallows. At
10.06 the death trap was sprung and
Fuller’s body swung grotesquely in the
searing desert sunshine. At 10.26 he was
officially pronounced dead. Thus did the
State of California exact full toll for a
crimson pay-off.

x~*e *

(Since the events in this story have
transpired, Marjorie Fuller has passed
awav.)

Play This Game to Tell Your Fortune

Don’t forget to
mention numerals
and picture value
of cards you pe-

FOR @ USE H
FOR @ USE D
FOR & USE C
FOR @ USE 8

lect! 1. FOR YOU

2. YOUR DESIRE

3. UNEXPECTED

5. YOUR DESTINY

4. YOUR FUTURE

HOW TO CHOOSE
YOUR CARDS

Shuffle an ordinary deck of cards and
then make a wish. Keep them face
down and choose twenty-five cards.
Put your cards in four stacks of six
cards each. The remaining card will
be your card of Destiny. Fill in the
diagram or use a separate piece of
paper to write down the cards you

ave chosen. The first stack is for
you, the second is for your desire, the
third is what you least expect and
the fourth is for your future while
the last card is for your destiny.
When you have filled out your dia-
gram send it to Vera. Send a self-
addressed, 3c-stamped envelope to-
gether with 25c to cover clerical ex-
penses.

Copyright, 1941,

VERA

TrRU-LIFE DETECTIVE CASES

103 Park Avenue

New York, N. Y.

Dear Vera:

I enclose the chart of the cards I
have laid out. Please tell me what
they mean. Also I am_ sending
TWENTY-FIVE CENTS and a self-
addressed, 3c-stamped envelope for
a private reading. 30c in Canada.

NIG  socsicnssscscccscssvsssnssssaccesesssonsbessucszesessesaness
Street OF BOX............ccccccsssccsscsssssssseseeeees

Blonde or Brunette
by M. Cardinale

ae rognemipetn An

SATURDAY MORNING,

EP RT, NES ay

14 PAGES

Siw.

A COCHISE TOWNSHIP.

fe-survey of !¢ Has Been Or-
; dered.
‘ashington, D. Cc. July 28.—(Spe-

)—Delegate Cameron having been
led to by the residents of town-
south, range 26 east, Cochise
ity for a re-survey of that town-
. has succeeded in securing an
r from the cemmissioner of the
| office authorizing the surveyor
saral to proceed at once with the
red survey.

ey. Dierk Lay has been appointed
mester at Sacaton.

GOLF CHAMPION.

Will Bean Amateur From}
Chicago. .

etroit, Mich. July 28—The next

teur golf champion of the west

again be a Chicago man,
1 the semi-finals today,

kel, -downed Eben M. Byers, of
sburg, former national champion 7

Albert

and six, and Robert A. Gardner,
e's great pole vaulter, eliminated

| national champion F. C. Fownes,

‘4 up and 3. Seckel made SUG

. of °33, a record for the course.
oO ;

TALKING THE FAIR.

retary Christy Interesting Califor-
nia Horsemen.

Jensanten, Cal. July 28.—Shirley
Christy, secretary of ‘the Phoenix
gona Fair association, visited the
ck here today and succeeded
sresting the California horsemen in
igbmeect to be held at Phoenix No-
nbher 6th to 11th.

ALVATION
OF COUNTRY

king Over of the Tennessee
Company

TERESTED WITNESSES

[  eeamemaaioation!

efore the Committee In,

vestigating Stee! Trust.
Couldn't Explain How
Taking Up Loan of Six|

Contrary to

in]

The Murder ofLovisD. Yaeger
Expialed

NU SENSATIONAL SCENE

Geecorapert aennerascweh

Expectation
Doomed Man Faced His
Fate With Calmness.
Story of His Crime—Ef-
forts To Save Life.

There was no intervention in behalf
of Alejandro Gallegos and the murder
of Louis D. Yaege® was expiated on
the scaffold within the walls of the
territorial penitentiary yesterday.

The sentence was executed at 10:45
and eleven minutes later Dr. Brock-
way the prison physician said that
the law had been fully satisfied.

The hanging was attended by no
sensational incident. The prisoner
had manifested no nervousness as his
eondition for several days previous
had indicated that he would @o, It
was feared that he would have to be
carried to the place of death.

The ministrations of Father Heita
who had brought to him all the con-
solation religion hud to offer to one
in his extreme situation, had left him
ready to face his fate with calmness.

Hardly a word was spoken on the
seaffold; only
ceremonies” made necessary. The
hands and feet of Gallegos were
bound, the hood of death was adjust-
ed, the noose was put into place and
then a section of the floor under. the
doomed man gave way,

The spectators only
suddenly become taut:
thit shook the scaffold.
the rebound; the rope became taut
with less violence and then for oa
few moments swayed with the move-
ment of a pendulum, each
shortening until it became. still.

On the 9th day of May, 1911, Ale-
jandro Gallegos, a sheepherder in the
employ of C. C. Hutchinson, fired ‘two

saw the rope
with a jerk
Then came

white «fen ee mth oot Tels

such words as the last}

sweep fF

cli ve aieking aT Sth

turn before the execution, took the
case up with Acting Governor Young
who declined to act on the greund
that the matter was under consider-
ation by the governor.

Gallegos was not informed until
yesterday morning of this unusual
though futile effort in his behalf. It
had been thought best by the au-

Which might not he realized
which probably would not be.

When he was told of the wish
Mr Yaeger to save his life, he
pressed his thankfulness.

4)

FOR TUS ESE PROTEST.

and

of
@e@X-

manne nan inntgtee

Objection to Meuin Permitting Mon-
archist Base of Operations.

perennation <sentae

Lisbon, July 28.—Col.
ister of war

Barreto, min-
is preparing to depart
for the north to visit the fronties
camps and to discuss the situation
with the commanders of the repub-
lican traaps. Another squadron of
cavelry was detached from the local
garrison and sent north.

The government continues energetic
representations to Spain against Ga-
licia being made the monarchist base

for military enterprises against Por-
tugal.
t)
MILWAUKEE TO CHICAGO.
Aviator Atwood Will Attempt the

Flight.

let

Washington, July 28.—Arrange ‘ments
are said to have been completed here
today whereby Harry Atwood, the
Massachusetts aviator will mm: ake an
aeroplahe flight from Milwaukee to
Chicago for a purse of $10,000.

The start will be mode August 109,
and the route will be along Lake
Michigan.

y
{)

EIGHT WERE KILLED
INA MAINE WRECK

FOURTEEN KNOWN TO HAVE
BEEN INJURED.

An Excursion Train in Collision With

Passenger.
Grindstone, Maine, July 28.—Eight
were killed and fourteen injured when

en excursion train and a regular pas-
senger train on the Bangor and Aros-
took railroad collided at this sta-
tion shortly after 9 o'glock tonight.
Five passengers of the exc ursion train
were killed. The engineer of the ex-
cursion train and two firemen were

among the killed.

AN EARLIER REPORT.
Bangor, Maine, July 23. —fFifteen
persons were reported killed in a head-

:

oe a

on collision late tonight between a
Pea i RS Oa RAS and

| WANT A $2800.00 |
room cement block

$8 per cent interest.

ZA

ithorities not to fill hin with the hope.

he nae artis atti aileaslns

= EAM TCR AT a

VOL. KXIL N

INSPECTION OF P

pA ne eo ena

Made Qn the ‘
Highway — Fou
At More Advan
Than Expected-
Through Road.

Thomas G. Norris and R
of Prescott, two of Ariz
apostles of good roads, we
yesterday on their way h
eight-hundred mile motor
the territory.

Mr. Norris wrote the
ways act which was passe
islature of 1909—the act
office of territorial engin
viding for special taxes
territorial highways fun
raturally he has been ke e
to know in detail the ma
this law has been carrte
territorial administration,
vequaint himself with
made under the various
readway which have bee
by the board of control,
cided some weeks ago thi
best to visit each piece
the trip just finished Ww
Mr. Ling, being equally |

with Mr. Norris on the \

tour. Incidentally on ¢t
two Prescott tourists mé
ty» talk with ettizens, €or
ors and newspaper men
counties, in order to asce
dency of public sentime
the general scheme of te
Ways.

Speaking of their obs
terday, both Norris and

thusiastic. They were
pleased with the const
has been done by Terri

G irand.

They also warn
- which has bee

lal VE CE Fee lg. een hie fate

ready to face his fate with calmness. | An Excursion Train Mm VLornsion vin |

Hardly a word was spoken on the by the board of control, Mr. 4
Ompanl scaffold; only such words ‘as the last} Passenger. cided some weeks ago that It
ceremonies made necessary.’ The se cae best to visit eaeh piece of
Z is hands and feet of Gallegos were the trip just finished was |
We bound, the hood of death was adjust-] Grindstone, Maine, July 28.—ight _ Ling. being equally Inte
ae led, the noose was put into place and) were killed and fourteen injured when pias ae. Sere the very
then a section of the floor under the et tour. Incidentally on their

RESTED W LTRESSES doomed man gave way. EL oat aaa train and a regular pas- [two Prescott tourists made
ahh | The spectators only saw the rope she at teen he ies eee oe Oe to talk with citizens, county
i suddenly become taut’ with a jerk ee yee : ae as ; ee ic we ae lors and newspaper men in t
i =" Formcneoe Gi erafiald, Than GOMe| cn een er 9 oglock tonight. | counties, in order to ascertal

site Five passengers of the excursion train

the rebound; the rope became taut i ; dency of public sentiment
I were killed. The engineer of the ex- p

We the Goninsitee We cae wien ene mine. CORI ene ee, Steen Wer Ene RCnErSt ReDEInS Of. TA
Cd ‘ % SS > ¢ e ’ % ‘ ae »
few moments swayed with the move-7 PAO ore | ways.
among the killed.

43 . ] ment of a pendulum, each sweep} ee aaa Speaking of their observe
igating Steel Trust, shortening until it ‘hecame still. ; terday, both Norris and Lin
AN EARLIER REPORT. ,

’ | Or . 9th day of May, 1911, Ale- |’ giastic. They were
uldn. t Explain How ane eae ae ms Beh eedor in ‘he Bangor, Maine, July 28.—Pitteen cee ritt et seas :
¢ aivaipe stgaabaage oe persons were reported killed in a AP 2. Arka canna iii 1 ho constr

* : > Sas | eee OP shinson, ad twe i e * Territoris
king Up Loan of Six sabbath ok e eres sr Sede 7 on collision late tonight between a et pe Bh Re
se | ee ‘lorowded train on the Bangor and lirand. They also warmly

Vi i Taeger, ¢ re yyer, killing low wen: he '
illion Averted Panic. Yaeger, 8, fOVmer oad abet KHNING | ostock railroad and the midnight the policy which has been p
him instantly. The murder was com-]|) 0 pony VanBuren to Bangor eonfess that I started out
: mitted at a watering place in Yavapai phd : ayes prejudice against the polle

nan Pt es a ak t sh Thirty or forty persons are known
wee and was done in a spirit of bravado id have Ween injured de ele been followed,” said Mr. Ne

developed by liquor, as the relations

vy York, July 28—No ulterior mo- of the two men had been of the most
friendly character.

lurked behind the taking over of Yueger was one of the best knows

ennessee Coal and Iron company |and best liked flocksmasters in Ari-
@ United States Steel corpora- | zona. Most of his time wnen he was
luring the financial panic of 1907, | not on the range, was spent in Phoe-
» opinion of L. C. Hanna of Cleve- | nix, though he also had a summer
one of the syndicate owners of | home in Flagstaff. On the morning
ennéssee concern before the mer- | of the fatgl day he arived in Hum-
who spent the day on the witness | boldt, etapa ,county, a half mile
l before the steel trust investigat- | from where his flocks were ran zing. a . Ait : :

ommittee of the house of pent. eneniny camp he found a navel of Wranks eecrey, — of #.bank aide looking into it I was dispo
‘een. his. sheep mixed with ‘a: band of | of Presque Isle, Harry Clat ‘ 7 cise the board of control fo
at surreptitious motives had been Hutchinson’s shcep, the herders of Presque Isle. mark Raenrer, of Phi ale tion of this work in Yava
ested, Mr. Hanna, who is 2 broth- neither men seeming able to separate burn, Dr. H. ee tear tae ea, Hine le that.t
f the Jate UWnited States Senator | them. fallegos was in_ the party, fees he Band ISS ageom” jother counties were jul Me

j : ‘ : ‘od the excursionists was among tthe people of
a, ad Ay 2 a threatening, armed with a panied ‘ 1e people of the north to §
padntithed but; hé never had | Grim athe ee hed those killed( and J. R. Billington, @} fits of the road law, and a

thought several others are beneath the example, the northern sec
wreckage. , territory is extremely anxto

The collision occurred outside Grind- highway project to run thre
stone station, seven miles north of | pai and Coconino counties,
Millinocket. A special train was the Grand Canyon with tt
rushed from. this city shortly after }part of the territory shall
midnight with surgeons and medical }completed. Several miles
supplies and nurses. If was expected [road from Prescott south
it would take two hours to reach }structed, and then the we
the Wreck. While other sections in va

Among those reported killed are: fof the territory were taken.

ited the reports. He believed the | rifle. Yaeger approached, | disarmed al i ae
saction in necessary to avert the | him removed the cartridges from his mail clerk wae hurt. ‘ something of the tremendu
re of the New York banking and; sun an handed the weapon back to]- ' brought to bear wpon th
erage firm of Moore & Schley, who | him, calling to the others to come and many communities interes
too much Tennessee Coal andsIron | help him separate the sheep. LABOR LEADERS Iter seeing the excellent ¢
< ‘as collareral for loans and to All responded but Gallegos to whom ' the work that has been do
t diwespread business disaster. Yaeger paid nor attention. A few min- : sections, I was more tha
‘an you tell me why the taking up utes later Gallegos reloaded his. rifle AFTER DETECTIVE withdraw all criticisms. It
nly $6,000,000 in loans on the Ten- with.a eartridge in his pocket and ministration has done $}
ee Coal and tron collaccral = of slipping around to one side of Yaeger view of the limited fund:
me & Schley effected that restora- fired twice killing him instantly. oe goleitd and in view of the
of confidence in the business worl Gallegos fled on foot but was pur- ‘ : 6 cessity of pushing constru
eh the United States eedeeaas sued by two men from Humboldt, on Report of Application for Requisition | corent points in order to
Morgan millions hag been unable horseback, and was captured before for Man Who Took McNamara public. It was really as
1? asked Mr. Beal. dark of the same day. He talked like note the amount of we
rhe only explanation,” Mr. Hanna a madman when taken into -custody Out of Indiana. been done, and the high’ 4
ied. “is that the panic up to that and declared pe had killed several Between the Roosevelt dai
e had not reached that character of men in Texas‘ an was 80rry he did Seo MS for instance, there is a
iness houses which were involved not. | HECEY Dx ies aa ge pea Indianapolis, Ind., July 9o9-—Atiarneys stretch of road which is
this transaction.” Later he beeame calm. and almost for’ the labor union leaders ola Camuent my judgment, to the f

Weepinie Fee tea did net Know wie Be than an application for a requisition for
had killed Yaeger as he was his best an oh BP sad Sanaa

| Om- +
aS Tee tionately. And down Ii
; Jan-cs Hosick, 2 Los Angeles detective, por : ‘
| friend. : 4 , iE eee 1. {ty they are building throu
DERATION ALLIANGE A special grand jury was convened charged with kidnapping Jang ke Ne Rita countains a magn

Lae m6 rah Ve 194 nee ‘
by Judge FE. M. Doe. When arraigned Ret Soa-ted Aaday th Op me which will connect Tucsor

; or Marshall.
5 : fallegos pleade ity Bat’ te court PPh ON ETO
WITH MINE WORKERS Fgh oy ia * iletes then The geverncr is not in the city end om Rovaias, Te roe FE
: | | pe eh eae. CL tie office denied bnawisdget ts Beno” ave ee

sentenced the man to death. He was ; penne ae

paul ae the penitentiary at once and of the application. Hosick was indicted and the expense necessa
doting. his ‘confinement acted’ Nke Pony with William J. Burns by the ae iG duatided piers not
tte nventi ide. i | ACER ERE iS eg amore ays _|grand jury-of this county. Burns has ridge across the Gila at
Convention Decides Relations}one in utter despair, wringing his j aoe weeuctire. kot

ae eae ‘ ; see ar : or- | siven pond. Hosick too McNamara to ; ‘
Are Already Sufficiently Close. hands and awaiting his saciid ice Los Angeles after his arrest. spans the Verde river, on

Roosevelt road, and it ¢

iment. read from Prescott to
| } Yaeger’s body was prought to Phoe- ee f ; ;
| nix and buried with full Masonic ALMOST HIS MATCH. Pia rate ee pela:
lutte. Mont, July 28.—Ry a vote of | honors, delegations from Preseott and . * : : lass ‘ls ects ria " mr
) to 9%. the Western Federation: of | Flagstaff coming to attend the tuner- Philadelphia Boy Meets English Light) | aig Sipiatiedl
ners today defeated a resolution | al. He is survived by @ vk , and Weight Champion. teetth sila Ke ss
‘oring the surrender of the charter | several children, his parents and oth- Philadelphia, Pa.» July 28.—Matt , Ai ch t sede the pra
the Western Federation and as afer relatives. : Wells, the lightweight champion of Een southerly from .
1ole going into the United Mine} <A few days ago an unusual and | England, ‘fought for six rounds with apes epee a
orkers organization. ) perhaps unprecedented thing hap- } Willie Moody, a local boy here to- n comfort Prom so
-resident Moyer declared that a vote} pened, -a petition for the commuta-}night and had a shade the better of Ang..26.1 bays. ogeRy
that resolution would be a vote to] tion Af Gallego’s sentence, by Mr.]} the bout. (Continued on &
band the federation and tose; Herfry C. Yueger, the father of his SS cea

oh

s identity in the bey of the United | victim. In the petition Mr. Yaeger EERE ATTEN TERY PEOTEND
ine Workers. Attention was called | wa be att by his wife and the widow } Z ogee

, Mr. Moyer to the fart that the} of Jhis murdered son. . rene | W che Di ds and J way o
deration ts affiliated with and has It was not a formal petition bug-anis at S, amon : , ewer J
charter of the American Federation | earncst plea based on the grow i that) oe oe
Labor, and thereby also has an af- | Gallegos was crazed with liquerahen
Hatien with the United Mine Work-{he committed the murder. His hang-
s through the ecennection of the lat- ing in these circumstances, Nr... Yae-
r body with the American Fede- | ger declared, would be a cfime,. °.
tion. The application for the ‘commuta-
Followme the vote a number ofjtion was made to Governor Sldan who
legates predicted that Mr. Moyer}soon after left the territory. Mr.
ould be re-elected president. | Yaeger fearful that he would not r--

‘ 7 is | : ‘ . a.

Sold and exchanged. Highest cash price paid for Old @
and preci us stones.

N, FRIEDMAN

Mtg. Jeweler and Watch Repairing. 33 W. Wash. St,

ALIN, EATON ORE See ES Ht a ans
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~ CONFIDENTIAL DETECTIVE CASES”

and knew all about it. I had for-

| gotten about; the ‘mutt, and when |

he looked as though he was going
to bark, I choked him. When I got
into Nelson’s room I found that,
coming in from the outside, I
couldn’t see so well. But. I knew

I got to him though before he
knew what it was all about and
cracked him on the sec several
times.

“With a piece of atioes pipe, I
was sure I had killed him. It’s too
bad he. didn’t croak right away.”

The inspector, accustomed as he
was to heartless depravity, regard-
ed tne now-calm, matter-of-fact
killer incredulously. Forbes was
speaking in the same off-handed
way as he would discuss a baseball
game or any other commonplace
subject. Goodnight was curious t
know if there lay in the soul o
this supremely callous slayer one
spark of regret or remorse.

“How do you feel, about it now?”
he asked. $

“I told you how I feel,” the pris-
oner answered. “I. feel it was too
bad I didn’t finish the job there,
because then he couldn’t have told
you who did it.”

The inspector’s curiosity was sat-
isfied. He was sure now that the
rather handsome young man before
him was as near a conscienceless
human being as any in the large
category of selfish and ruthless
men with whom he had _ had. to
deal.

“Mrs, Nelson says in her -con-
fession that. you were both in it
together,” the officer commented,
once more resorting to bluff. “That’s
correct, isn’t it?’:

“Sure,” Forbes assented. “She

to use several aliases, he was said
to wear a Phi Beta Kappa key, have
expensive tastes and to pass bad
checks, as well as argue with wait-
ers and read books on psychology.
* On the basis of this description
of his appearance and ~habits, he
was recognized by .a reader, Leone
Brilles, of Kenosha, Wisconsin. Miss
Brilles got in touch with local
authorities and brought about the

| swift capture of Fassburg.. Miss
Brilles was mailéd a check for $100

as a reward for her efforts.
_ In the September, 1945, issue of
CONFIDENTIAL DETEcTIvE CasEs, there

Barnard, wanted for embezzlement

of Government ‘property. He was

where the switch was and I twist- ~
| ed it, and the light woke him up,

| appeared: a picture’ of Alfred Paul
Barnard, alias Captain Alfred Paul

wanted him out of the way for..a-
long time, wanted to mafry me. So
I agreed to do the job.”

“Where’d -you get the pipe?”

“Bought it in a hardware shop in
Frisco.”

He mentioned the name of -the
store, and then said that he had
thrown the pipe in a-pile of rub-
bish on a dump after he had used
it in his fiendish attack on his in-
mocent and unsuspecting victim.

The killer, still in that same cas-
ual manner which infuriated the
inspector, but which the latter was
careful not to show, filled in some
of the details of the ghastly mur-
der, and then signed a confession.

Less than an hour later Mrs. Nel-
son,
made a complete confession in com-
plete corroboration of Forbes’ gris-
ly admissions,

The woman’ displayed the heart-
lessness akin to that of Forbes.
Shown the body of the man they
had done to death, she looked at
it calmly and then made but one
comment:

“The embalmer put entixity too
much powder on his ‘face.”

The self-made widow, pleading
guilty, was sentenced to life im-
prisonment in the California Pris-
on for Women at Tehachapi.

Forbes, still hard, sneering and
apparently indifferent, heard him-
self sentenced to execution. He
Swaggered out of the courtroom
with a display of bravado which
melted rapidly when he reached
the death house at> San Quentin

: Prison.

On: ‘December 8, 1933, trembling .

and sick, he mounted the scaffold.
A few minutes later he had paid
the inevitable penalty.

FUGITIVES APPREHENDED

(Continued from page 25)

described. as 44, years of age, five
feet, ten inches tall and: weighing
170 pounds, with black hair, blue
eyes, olive complexion and white
teeth. showing a sliver of gold. He
was known to wear silver-rimmed
glasses part of the time, have an
appendectomy scar, dress immacu-
lately and drink considerably. His
fingerprint record also was re-
produced.

A keen-eyed San Francisco read-
er, who for business reasons wish-
es to remain anonymous, promptly

‘notified local police that he knew

the whereabouts of this fugitive
and, Barnard was taken into cus-
tody. The San Francisco man re-
ceived a check for $100.

A picture of John W. McGraw,

shown the statement, also ,

-

~ 8

alias J:
wantec
al rele:
in the
VEALI)
McG)
er, Gor
timore,
ing Ba!
rested ]
ceived t
The A
ING DE
ready h
ture of
Kenoshz
measure
Amon;
this issv
son, ac
Sixty-eig
scribed <
weighing
eyes, as
@ crookec
formerly
itinerant
by a tra
ex-felon,
tions als:
The ed
of Police
Texas, tk
Collins, 1
16, had
which lec
fugitive.
Anderso
man carn:
him from
REVEALI}
After talki
hour and
fully, they
Because
directly fr:
the, two re
a check fo
Thus, on
the long a
out and a
from justic
of these m:
ageous coo}
ers.
' If, as Mr
the nation
ence of crin
REVEALING
FIDENTIAL

“will be glac

bringing wa
bar of justi:


obviously an ‘Inside Job, ‘andthe slayer _
as smart enough to leave very few clues ae

nv ues posuey uetTpUu

\ 7)

=]

’

the NIGHT

was made for

URDER

By MICHAEL PETERS

ra RR RIT INIT

T precisely 7
‘aneains of June 14, 1932, the
alarm clock on Mrs. Mae Hulett’s
bedside table at Oakland, Cali-

a discreet rap. “Harry, time to get
p

There was no answer. |
Mrs. Hulett knocked again.
Nelson, you get up this minute or
that 8:30 appoint-
Bess told gs Roe be
to remind you about,” she ex-
claimed. her tone expressing a Ripe
ture of exasperation and motherly

you'll be late for
ment downtown

Mrs. Hulett opened her eyes with a
and blinked dazedly
moment, as if trying to recall what
had awakened her, and why.

with an abrupt exclamation,
swung herself erect, reached out to
shut off the alarm with one hand, and
groped for her dressing gown with
One moment later,
thrust her feet into slippers, walked
out of her own room, and padded

across the hall to knock on a closed
Aoor. diagonally ennosite hers

Still no answer. -
tt hesitated briefly. Then,
oe of determination,

iskly, and pushed the door i
or ee =k started to say.

As Mrs. Hulett’s glance moved past
across the large,

corner, the name on her lips
rier into a choking scream. For
there, sprawled near the outer edge
of the bed, his pajama-clad arms
upflung in an eloquent gesture of ter-
ror and self-defense, lay her he Soo
old son-in-law, his face and hea
covered by rhe dark reddish-brown

ing b z

ar sendtent pronouncement was
needed to tell Mrs. Hulett that her
son-in-law, a World War hero =e
an. Alameda County tax official, hig
been brutally bludgeoned to death in

We ee Lord!” she gasped, staring
as if transfixed at the inert figure in
its frame of disheveled, | blood-
soaked bedding. Then, shaking —
self, as if by so doing she might war
off some evil nightmare, she sped
across the room and, dropping to one
knee beside the bed, put out a
trembling hand to touch aoe
clenched right fist. Beneath ne’
shuddering touch, the flesh was stl
wewith a sharp gasp of unmistakable
relief, Mrs. Hulett got to her _
and turned around. When_she % 7
she discovered that Jessie ey. oe
17-year-old granddaughter, and rs.
Muriel Forbes, the child’s nurse, —
standing in the open doorway as 1
f fear. :.
OL kate happened to mg he
the child quavered, craning her nec
to get a look at the bed. iea’
“There, there, honey, weveryt ing’s
going to be all right, said Mrs.
Forbes soothingly, deftly ——
ing the child out of range of the grisly
1 i . ;
Pe Hadn't we better get in touch with
Mrs. Nelson at once! Mani Forbes
whi ed to Mrs. Hule 7
we Tinlets shook her head. “We
can’t—unless you happen to =—
where my daughter’s gone, because i:
don’t. /She didn’t say anything about
her plans for last evening to me ex-

ACE SLEUTH
Inspector Leon Carroll, whe recognized
the gruesome Slaying as aa inside job.

bes replied, sighing.

chauffeur her
I didn’t even

as going to pick
Mr. Neison’s of-

“Well, we ce

rtainly can't
waste time s 4 afford to

ig here, speculat-
ett said with a shudder-
ver her shoulder at the
going downstairs and tele-

doerway, she ra

n to th i
the lower hall. ~~ 2 Slepigee in

Within a matter of seconds, the
telephone in Oakland Police Head-
quarters rang shrilly. Unhooking the
receiver, the desk sergeant drew a
pad and pencil toward him. As Mrs.
Hulett’s excited voice trembled over
the wire, he methodically repeated
the address she gave him.

“Number 5314 Boyd Avenue,” he
said into the transmitter as he wrote.
“We'll send a couple of men out there
right away.” And he hung up.

Losing no time, the desk sergeant
at once communicated with Captain
of Inspectors Bodie Wallman, who
in turn immediately assigned In-
spectors Leon Carroll and James
Goodnight to the case.

ESS than half an hour after Mrs.
| Hulett’s call had been received at

headquarters, Carroll and Good-
night were parking their cruising car
at the curb beside the Nelsons’
graveled driveway. Mrs. Hulett, who
had been watching for them,
promptly let them in and led them
directly to the master bedroom on
the second floor. There, the two
sleuths found a neighborhood physi-
cian, who had been summoned by
Mrs. Hulett, winding: up his examina-
tion of the stricken man.

“I'm afraid I can’t hold out much
hope.” the doctor said gravely as he
turned from the bed. “I’ve already
sent for an ambulance to take him
to the hospital, but a man who’s sus-
tained multiple fractures of the skull
from the sort of heavy, blunt instru-
ment that was used in this instance,
well—” He broke off with a resigned
shrug.

As soon as the bloodstained figure
had been removed by the stretcher-
bearers, Carroll and Goodnight set
about searching the room for clues.
Except for the bloodstained bedding,
they found nothing of interest.

Reinforcements under the charge of

Inspector “James Mulhern § arrived
while the vartnere warn -+:71

hunt for clues in the Nelsons’ bed-
room, and so Carroll and Goodnight
were free to turn their attention to
questioning the members of the
household while the new contingent
of sleuths swarmed over the grounds
and first floor of the house on the
track of the vicious assailant’s traces.

Still other detectives, dispatched by
Captain Wallman, sped to the hospi-
tal to maintain constant watch at
Nelson’s bedside in the hope that he
might regain consciousness long
enough to give them some informa-
tion concerning the attack and, pos-
sibly, its perpetrator.

The hospital ward vigil went un-
rewarded. Nelson, his skull crushed
like an eggshell at four basal and
frontal points, lingered on the border-
line of death in the paralysis of deep
coma, his secret locked from the wait-
ing detectives’ ears. Nor did Good-

PROMINENT VicTIM— =
Harry Nelson—what was the motive for
Sie

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EW,

CONFIDENTIAL DETECTIVE CASES
‘look good, so I went somewhere

else.”

“Ever. been arrested before?”
Goodnight asked.

“Only for panhandling and vag-

The records showed that he was _
lying. He had served three jail
sentences for petty larceny and had
once been. charged with assault
with intent to’ kill. He had, how-
ever, beaten this rap:

The inspector sent his finger-
prints to the FBI in Washington,
and the frowzy suit he was wear-.,
ing to the laboratory. The latter
reported almost immediately that
the: clothing contained neither
bloodstains nor the..other thing .
Goodnight had asked them to look
for, The report from the FBI, which
came a few days later, duplicated
the information disclosed by the _
local records, but contained noth-

.ing additional.

During all ‘this time the inspector

' waited impatiently for a call from

Mrs. Hulett ‘telling ~him that she
had heard from her daughter.

It came at last, almost a week
after the tragedy. “She just tele-
phoned from Santa Clara,” the
mother reported.-“‘I asked her why
I had not heard from her before,

a | and—she—said—she-had-—not- known”

about Hary’s death until she heard
it over the radio just. a short while
ago. She’s starting for home in a
few hours.” .. .

“Let me know when she gets in,”
Goodnight instructed in’ a casual
voice which was far from reflect-
ing his feelings. Something in Mrs.
Hulett’s report, he felt sure, just
didn’t add up.

The next half hour was for him
a fever of activity. He got in touch
with the telephone company and
the various radio organizations
which served that part of the Pa-
cific Coast, instructed some of his
subordinates to keep a constant
watch on the Nelson home, and
then, with Officer kee Carroll,
jumped into his car and raced to
Santa Clara, about a hundred
miles distant.

N his arrival he hurried with
Carroll to the Graystone Ho-
tel, from which, he had ascertain-
ed, the call to Mrs. Hulett from her
daughter had come. Chief Towne,
of Santa Clara, to whom Good-
night had telephoned from Oak-
land, met them in the lobby.
“Did ‘you pick her up?” the in-
spector. asked eagerly... .,; :
-The chief shook -his head, “She
isn’t registered here,” he reported.
“Probably . just. used the. hotel
phone.” Ms hie
Goodnight felt a disappointing
‘let-down. He wondered if Mrs, Nel-
son was deliberately keeping out

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52

all? Did that baffling word “loud”,

of the way. What was back of it~
muttered by the dying man, have’

something to do with it? If so,
what?

A thought struck him. He went
to the desk and examined the reg-
ister. ue

There, three days before, and
four lines down, was the inscrip-
tion: g ‘

“C, E. Forbes, Oakland.”

With explosive suddenness, 2
brilliant flash'of understanding il-
lumined the dark chamber of his
mind, He knew exactly what he
would find in room No. 3 as soon as
the clerk told him the party there
had not checked out.

“Come on, we’re going upstairs,”
he said to Carroll and Chief Towne.

Followed by them, he hurried to
the elevator and up to the third
floor. Here he collared a maid.

*“Rap on 3, and say you want to
make up the room,” he instructed,

’ displaying his badge.

The maid complied. As the door
was opened a couple inches, Good-
night, trailed by the other twe,
pushed it open and entered.

Sitting on the bed was Mrs. Ne)-
.son, wife of the brutally murdered
assessor. Lounging in a chair on
the other side of the yoom was 2
dark, saturnine-looking young man ,
whom the inspector recognized im-

‘ymediately—as—Claude—Forbes, -hus--———

band of the Nelson maid! j
Forbes leapt to his feet. “What

do you mean by. breaking into my

room like this?” he demanded truc-

’ ulently.

He advanced toward the inspec--
tor, but stopped when he saw the
latter’s hand slide toward his hip.

“Keep your shirt on,” the officer
advised calmly. “But,” he went on,
“take your coat off.”

“My—coat—off!"” Forbes repeated.

The white-faced woman sitting
on the bed spoke for the first time.
The words themselves were bel-

_ ligerent. But they were ,belied by
the quavering: tone in which they
were uttered: f

“Don’t do it, Claude. He's got no -

right to———”

“Shut up,” the officer interrupted
peremptorily. “Get that. coat. off,
and get it off quick.”

“Oh, all right,” the somewhat
subdued young man_ responded,
“put I don’t know what you want
my coat for.”

“Maybe you. don’t,”
snapped, “but I do.”

Forbes passed the garment over.
“Will you be kind enough to tell
us what this is all about?” he ask-
ed coolly. ft

“Sure,” .the officer answered
grimly, “after you've answered one “
question of mine. Just what are you
doing here?”

“Me?” the young man answered
with a suggestion of a sneer in his
voice. “I’m Mrs. Nelson’s chauffeur.”

“A strange story,” the inspector
commented ironically, “since her
car is back in Oakland. Now 1]
answer. your question. You're want-

Goodnight

tng 4

~

)

ed for the .
son.”

“Why, th.
Nelson flare
know about
over the ra
ago.”

“You have

‘ night shot b:

“Just what
woman snap

“It means
that are neve
retorted. “Th
concerning tt

“Why, that
well, I may h:
“Don’t do®:

» inspector cou
here for seve
pers have bee
course you kr
didn’t hear it
night. Come <
arrest.”

T headqiua:
the’ man

iterated their :
edge of or co)
der. They cool]
relationship :h
months, and t
band of the «
the other had

. “But we hac
killing him,”
the twentieth

_ from the labo
whispered sor
night’s ear. Th:
ly, and turnec
suspect.

“So you dic
how d@ you a
that the sleev:

. full of the ha
strangled in the

“I can’t—I ¢
trying to put s
Oh, I can exp)
went to the hc
I played with

He grinned a
umphantly. “TI
guys,” he follc
“is that when ;:
brains to get
try, to pin the
else. Well, I’m
fall guy for you
Goodnight w:
the other’s exp]

‘occurred to hin
jury, inclined t
the benefit of '
probably credit

But he had le
ly ‘hoped would

It was the one

suddenly into hi

was revealed t

cance of that wv

So many times v

of the dying m:

that what he u

vey to the eager
ing officers was
name of the’har


it? If so,

n. He went
1ed the reg-

before, and
the inscrip-

and.”

jddenness, 4
rstanding il-
mber of his

tly what he

3 as soon as ~
» party there

ing upstairs,”
Chief Towne.
ne hurried to
to the third
d a maid.

' you want to
he instructed,

i, As the door
inches, Good='
je other twe,
entered.
was Mrs. Ne)-
tally murdered
in a chair on
ye yoom was &
ing young man .
recognized im-

e Forbes, hus-

maid!

iis feet, “What
eaking into my
demanded truc-

ard the inspec~
hen he saw the
toward his hip.
on,” the officer
ut,” he went on.
ff.”
Forbes repeated.
i woman sitting
or the first time.
selves were bel-
- were belied by
.e in which they

aude. He’s got no

sfficer interrupted
et that. coat. off,

iick.”
the somewhat
man _ responded,

w what you want

don't,” Goodnight
do.”

the garment over.
nd enough to tell

ill about?” he ask-

officer answered ;
ju’ve answered one
., Just what are you

ung man answered
yn of a sneer in his
Nelson’s chauffeur i
tory,” the inspector
mically, “since her

Oakland. Now Bm)
estion. You're want-

¢

¢

—

pte tte

dcncat eet Fors

re as sens

_

i)

ed for the murder of Harry’ Nel-
“son.” x

“Why, that’s ridiculous,” Mrs.
Nelson flared, “We didn’t even
know about.it until we heard it
over the radio just a few hours
ago.” é

“You have.excellent ears,” Good-

night shot back.

“Just what does that mean?” the
woman snapped.

“It means you can hear things
that are never said,” the inspector
retorted. “There was no broadcast
concerning the murder last night.”

“Why, that’s a—I tell you I—
well, I may have read something—”

“Don’t domany more lying,” the

. inspector counselled. ‘“‘You’ve been

here for several days and the pa-
pers have been full of the case. Of
course you knew about it, but you
didn’t hear it over the radio last
night, Come on, you’re both under
arrest.”

A’ headqiiarters in Oakland both
the: man and the woman re-
iterated their denials of any knowl-
edge of or complicity in the mur-
der. They coolly admitted that their
relationship ‘had existed for many
months, and that neither the hus-
band of the one nor the wife of
the other had been aware of it.

_ “But we had nothing to do with

’ killing him,” Forbes asserted for

the twentieth time, just.as a man
from the laboratory came in and
whispered something into Good-

~ night’s ear. The latter nodded grim-

r

ly,.and turned once more to the
suspect.

“So you didn’t kill him! Well,
how d@ you account for the fact
that the sleeves of your coat are
full of the hairs of the dog you
strangled in the garage that night?”

“I can’t—I don’t believe—you’re
trying to put something over... .
Oh, I can explain it. Whenever I
went to the house to see my wife
I played with the dog.” 4

He grinned at the inspector tri-
umphantly. “The trouble with you
guys,” he followed up insolently,
“is that when you haven’t got the
brains to.get the real guys, you
try, to pin the rap on somebody
else. Well, I’m not going to be a
fall guy for you or anybody else.”

Goodnight was taken’ aback ‘at
the other’s explanation. It had not
‘occurred to him. He knew that a
jury, inclined to- give a defendant
the benefit of every doubt, would
probably credit it.

But he had left what he ardent-
ly hoped would be a trump card.
It was the one which had come so
suddenly into his hand when there
was revealéd to him the signifi-.
cance of that word “loud”, spoken
so many times with the last breath
of the dying man— the revelation
that what he was trying to con-
vey to the eager ears of the watch-
ing officers was “Claude”, the first
name of the’hard-faced, contempt-

opposite side of

- at his bedside. repeatedly. that

- conclusion of a-baffling case.

-“Y’d been,in the house many times

es by hig *

—

wous man lolling in his chair on the
the’ inspector's
desk. , in :

“Okay,” the latter followed up, ¢
‘Jet’s say your explanation about
the dog’s hair is true.”

He tossed a hewspdper clipping
over to Forbes. “I assume you've
already seen this or one like it,”
he advanced, ‘As you will: note, it
says that Nelson, despite the ter-
rible beating he received, did not
die for several-hours. Well, before
he passed away, he told the officers

‘Claude’ had attacked him. These
officers,” he -bluffed on, “as well as
two-doctors who. were present, are
ready to testify to that, How are
you going to explain that -one
away?” at ’

“I—I_ .don’t—don’t believe it,”
Forbes asserted..But there was. no
conviction in the voice of the now-
perspiring man as he searched the
face of his inquisitor. i

As the inspector had previously
arranged, an officer again came in
and whispered something to him. .

“Has, she. actually signed it?”
Goodnight asked, keeping his voice
low, but putting sufficient volume
in it to make sure that Forbes
heard. é :

“Yes,” the subordinate answered,

pitching his voice in the same vol-
ume, “signed ‘and swore to it.”
. The inspector completed the lit-
tle act by: having his face register
satisfaction and. triumph. . Once
more he turned to the obviously-
disturbed prisoner.

“We don’t need your statement
now,” he said, rising from his chair
as though the interview were at an
end. “Mrs, -Nelson has just made
a complete confession’ implicating
you.”

He pressed the buzzer on his
desk..An officer appeared. “Take
this young man over to jail,” he
directed.

Forbes, his jaw sagging- and
his previous assurance completely
evaporated, started to follow the
cfficer out. Near the door he hes-.
itated, and then stopped.

“Inspector,” he begged tremulous-
ly, “if I told you everything, would
it—would it make any—do you
think it would—help me any?”

“It might,” Goodnight answered
indifferently. “I can’t make any
promises. You can do as you please
about it.” | ;

‘ He began going over: some papers
on his desk, But inside he was
rigid and tense. For a moment there
was no sound save the whirr of
a self-winding clock, which broke
the stillness with a suddenness that
made the three men jump. Then
Forbes spoke again. And with his
words Goodnight felt that glow of
gratification which every peace of- -
ficer experiences at the successful

- “I croaked the guy,” he declared:

Ay" aoe

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“53


never known, but he apparently had been
born in Germany about 1867 and had
come to the United States with his fam-
ily in 1887, Fredericks was probably
spoiled as a youth. His parents were
wealthy and when the father, a reported
German baron, died, the three children
came into a nice share of the estate. Wil-
liam’s share was said to have been
$120,000, which he managed to spend
within two years. His family apparently
refused to help him anymore so he left
in a short time for the West.

There was some indication that Wil-
liam Fredericks worked as a barber in

At right. a disheartened
Fredericks posed for this
sketch, shortly after his arrest
for bank robbery. Below,
Fredericks faced his execution
with unusual calm and
dignity.

THE LAST ACT IN MURDERER FREDERICKS' MISGUIDED Lire

Shasta County soon after his arrival in |
California in 1890. Later that year he
moved to central California. In what i?

crime, he tried to hold up a stagecoach
near Mariposa, but was captured and

thrown into jail. By the end of the year (3

he was in Folsom Prison serving a
three-year sentence for armed robbery.
The life of the free-spending young man
of a few years before, whose future
should have been so safely assured, had
dramatically changed course.

IS PRISON was situated in the foot-

hills east of Sacramento on the
American River. “Nowhere in America,”
wrote convict Ed Morrell, “is there a jail
built like Folsom. Its physical appear-
ance is frowning and terrible. Its build-
ings are made of solid granite... .
There are no walls around it. Folsom
needs none. ° ;

“Below the prison the American River
flows. It serves as the front wall. No
convict dare approach it with thoughts
of escape. Death lurks in its choppy,
boiling water. On the other three sides
Gatling-gun posts stand high above the
landscape. .. .”

Fredericks had been in Folsom several
years when he made the acquaintance of
lifer Frank Williams, a federal prisoner
doing time for mail robbery. Williams
was a jovial sort who made friends
easily and was known as “Smiling” Wil-
liams, There was another side to his na-
ture, however, and Fredericks soon dis-
covered that Williams and another lifer
named Sontag were carefully planning
to escape.

George Sontag was something of a
celebrity at Folsom. He belonged to the
noted Evans-Sontag gang of alleged train
robbers who had received nationwide
publicity after several shoot-outs with
lawmen. Sontag could swagger all the
more because Chris Evans, and his broth-
er John Sontag, were still at large.
George implied that this pair would be
helping him make his escape.

One day Frank Williams took Fred-
ericks aside with a bold proposition.
Williams, Sontag, Anthony Dalton and
several others were in on the plan, but
everything hinged on outside help. Since
Fredericks was due to be paroled shortly,
he was needed to fill that bill. The plan
was simple and there was no danger in
the part he would play.

Upon his release Fredericks was to
travel to Visalia and solicit the aid of
the Evans family. He was to obtain
guns, smuggle them back to Folsom, and
cache them in a nearby quarry where
prisoners worked. He was to leave a note
with the guns explaining where he would
rendezvous with his fugitive friends to
provide them with clothes and supplies.
Fredericks agreed to the assignment.

Yet despite every precaution by Son-
tag’s group, word of the impending break
was soon being whispered in the prison
yard, Eventually it reached the warden’s
ears. As a former Wells Fargo detective

and captain of guards at San Quentin,
Warden Charles Aull knew the implica-
tions of such talk and quietly made
preparations for a_ breek. For some
(Continued on page 44)

True West

Ke
thought to be his first excursion into |

sts

At right,

(L to R) Miss Emma Mustard; Mrs. Clarinda Mustard Wilson; Mrs. Lucretia
Mustard Williams. Seated is Mrs. Cephas Mustard (nee Aurelia Welch). Taken near
Thurman, Iowa about 1902.

TERE WE CHENEY TWEE WY CH PTUN WTOP NY CHP TUNONereyare? | UW UMUC TURP WY RHO TEN TEP WY CHO TevOrEr. yr

MEH PETOT TPT PTT rr rr prerry verry yyy Po rrry

TVRTOPTP TP Ove) Py try yey

A wild race of two miles armed only with a buggy whip!

FEUNWTE PH EMUVOTUPE ITE THE TEN TOP WU MHP Ter ene reve er: vm

PUNUG PT UPU ITY WH WTUY TE PT IY Ne Tet iors rey

WHTTV TTT yyI rT ye ere

yy a civilized area such as the Thurman,
Iowa community was in 1907, few
people carried a gun. And certainly no
one would expect to need one on a short
trip to visit friends during the holiday
season.

My aunt, Lucretia Mustard, lived near
Thurman. on that fateful first day after
Christmas in 1907. Lucretia had married
Horace Williams in 1883 and had con-
tinued to manage the farm, with the aid
of her two sons, after her husband’s
death.

One of Aunt Crete’s horses had been

September-October, 1979

VRIMTIEVPP POV ETT TO Vee) Pr rrry yyy Poerero veer ve Prryoyre meee

sick for several days. Unable to de-
termine the reason, but doing all she or
the boys knew to aid him, they fastened
him securely in the barn and left for
the day. Before they returned, the horse
went on a rampage and kicked the barn
to pieces—‘“all to smithereens!” my
mother said—and escaped to the open
road.

Here Mr. and Mrs, M. A. Stephenson
encountered him on their way home to
Thurman after a day spent with their
friends, the S. L. Kelloggs. Their light
driving team pulled a single buggy, fort-

By LOIS STEVENS

Photo Provided by Author

unately with the top up. Mr. Stephenson
first noticed the horse ambling a few
yards ahead of them, crowding the hedge
at the side of the road. They both no-
ticed that he would careen into pro-
truding branches, stop, veer to one side
until he had cleared the obstruction, then
again crowd into the hedge.

This seemed a bit unusual but Mr.
Stephenson concluded the horse must be
blind and attributed his staggering gait
and collisions with the low branches to
natural causes. Stephenson said the fol-
lowing day that he should have recognized
that the horse’s erratic behavior held a
greater portent.

When the couple attempted to pass
and the buggy was directly opposite the
animal he suddenly wheeled about, sprang
into the middle of the road ahead of the
team, then turned and came toward them
in a savage attack, striking and biting
Stephenson’s left hand _ horse. The un-
Icoked for attack so frightened the two
horses that an upset of the buggy was
narrowly averted.

Stephenson kept the team in hand, how-

(Continued on page 53)


By WILLIAM B. SECREST

lustrations Provided By Author

THE dapper young fellow looked as if
he had just come from a barber shop.
He wore a light suit and overcoat, and
his neatly trimmed mustache was just
a shade darker than his blond hair. He
was obviously a young businessman.

As he stepped up to the glass-paneled
teller’s cage of the San Francisco Sav-
ings Union Bank, he offered a folded
paper to the clerk. Referred to the teller
in the next cubicle, the young man again
offered the folded paper. As the teller
read the note, his customer looked around
the room and blew cigarette smoke at
the ceiling. It was 9:30 on a Friday
morning, March 23, 1894.

SOT MO

A FOLSOM GRADUATE

Looking up from the note, teller Bill
Herrick slowly shook his head. The mes-
sage was a strangely-worded notice that
the bank was being held up and if the
teller didn’t cooperate the whole place
would be destroyed by nitroglycerin. As
Herrick pushed the note back, the robber
displayed a small vial. “I mean business,”
he said earnestly. Herrick took a step
backward, still shaking his head.

Seeing that the note and vial hadn’t
accomplished their purpose, the robber
then pulled a .44 revolver. As he pointed
it at Herrick, the teller grabbed his own
pistol and both men began firing. Her-
rick’s shot went through the cage glass,
sending a splinter of glass into the rob-
ber’s right eye, before he himself caught
a bullet and slumped to the floor.

As the robber turned and fled, book-
keeper Charles Melven sent a bullet
through the front window but had to
move the dying Herrick before he could
dash out in pursuit. Shouting for pedes-
trians to “stop him,” Melven stooped to
look after Herrick and the maney lying
behind the teller’s cage.

The personable young man_ had
planned his robbery well, but in the ex-
citement and confusion he made a wrong
turn. He rushed into a stable on West
Mission street, stole a horse and cart,
and drove up an alley which he soon

found was blocked, Jumping from the’

cart the robber ran into a cellar. Panting,
he sat down in a dark corner and caught
his breath. :

It was just a few minutes later that

ry

SO

The story of Fredericks’
bungled bank robbery made
the headlines in the San
Francisco Chronicle.

AULD NABANK.
a\ Case reed by 2

4

aN ee

nt ‘

~~ > Resistance.
“, i : “a ocean :

Fredericks.

——nee

His Slay

_ ‘ up el
Made to. Blow 'P ©
_Taret © Banke Uf,

4 nl
as This Did Not Succeed

ee SOB 8

¢ gold ba
Seigdeny hgh vranch bank .of

Franciscp Savings uote

: f
+ the counter yesterdsy Derwirado though

tered,

On
youns ie not fook dapeere sonatl :

he was, he ¢y
6 bis rather ¥
blonds mustache fc

oathful face *

“William A Merrick’s Brave

er Ex-Convict W.

“the Des YY
iperado Began Shoo?

° Yie wat qui

ne had apparensy

William M. Fredericks, as sketched by a San Francisco Chronicle artist, on the

day of his execution.

peer
te

be

ML. |

; fy

te band-

eT...

officers Shields and Gallagher traced
the hunted man to the cellar. A few
minutes more and they were leading him
up the stairs and back to the street. He
had been blinded in the right eye and
a spent bullet had hit and bruised his
chest. Besides carrying his two holstered
44 revolvers on a cartridge belt,
he also had a knife, notebook and some
skeleton keys.

At the receiving hospital the robber
gave his name as E. W. F. Bonnemort
and said he had arrived in town two
weeks earlier from Colorado.

CAPTAIN Isaiah W. Lees arrived at

the hospital as soon as he received
word of the bungled robbery. Lees, at
sixty-four, was a_ legendary figure

robber’s personal effects then returned
to police headquarters.

Opening the man’s notebook Lees read
a Latin quotation on the inside cover
which translated to “the event justifies
the deed.” The book was filled with
strange characters interspersed with an
occasional recipe for making explosives.
Red ink had been used throughout.

Lees had a brilliant mind. In trying
to unravel criminal cases, his method
was to assemble all the clues and put
them together. If they didn’t give him
the answer, he had simply assembled
them incorrectly so he began again. He
knew the answer to the notebook was in
locating a key to the coded writing, and
before long he had: it. Slowly he began
the translation.

nnn nt

—he never should have made that

first reunion!

wherever great detectives were dis-
cussed. He had been on the force since
1853 and had been one of the first police
detectives in the West. As Captain of
Detectives for nearly forty years he had
solved hundreds of crimes using his own
unique means of deduction. As Lees
again asked the prisoner his name, he
instinctively knew the young man was
lying.

The questioning went on for over an
hour, but provided no information of
substance, When Lees decided further
talk was fruitless, he asked for the

Lc nnn Mt nit

Above, William A. Herrick, the cashier
who shot it out with Fredericks, and lost
his life. At left, Fredericks as he appeared
during court proceedings. At tight, a news
article relates the story of the bloody
escape attempt.

In reading the notebook the detective
made some startling discoveries. There
were scattered references to the noted
outlaw, Chris Evans, and his partner
Sontag who had been captured the pre-
vious year. Other references to locations
identified with the outlaws made Lees
look up and give several orders. Soon he
knew the identity of the prisoner at the
hospital.

Though operating under the protection
of many names, during the last few
years the robber had called himself Wil-
liam M, Fredericks. His real name was

SMT OT

hy
George Sontag, a principal figure in the,
disastrous escape attempt from Folsom =
Prison in which Fredericks aided by sup+)
plying weapons from the outside. ts

es
C2

Tit *Sy

WeT

i]
ra

er

Tle Tells the Tale of the} =

 utrak, oe
~The Outlaw Says Williams, . :
~ > Was Leader, . = 3
“Plans That Wery Not Well b

REPL Laid eee ®

ee 4

est

Eager to Leave Prison and Go
$e Sone to Africa.’

i}

** Furnished by an +
Kx-Conviet, : f

Warden Ault Thinks the Guns Were:

pe ge

°c6gt 692 Aur uo (co:

theo

'S Spectal Despatches ta the Cerone,

\. Foneom, June 28.—-Tuteresting things

p, have developed here toxlay i regard to

“the ontbreak at 3:30 o'elock yesterday af
ternoon of George Sontag, Charles Abbott,


-

Ct ied

252 PRODIGAL SONS

knew you vould help me get vork, but I could not
find you. I asked at several teatres, but no von know
vhere you live. I haf been here for two veeks and I
haf had little to eat. I am hongry.”

Fredericks, his real name, was wanted for his share
in the Folsom break, and his fate was sealed when
Herrick, the teller, died from his wounds. Eva hired

a lawyer, but it was no use. The handsome blonde’

scion of a German baronial family, the prodigal son
who had gone to a far country, was hanged at San
Quentin on July 26, 1895. Michelson wrote as fol-
lows about what he saw and experienced there that
day:**

“Fredericks, the murderer who was executed at San
Quentin yesterday, was the gamest man I ever saw
hanged. . . . It is not a pleasant thing to see a man
hanged, and no one wonders as much at the spirit
which prompts men to go to executions as those whose
business or duty forces them to attend them. I never
expect to attend another. Indeed, it was on a promise
of the editor of this paper that I would not be required
to again perform this unpleasant duty that I under-
took the reporting of the execution of William Fred-
ericks.

“Now I am glad that I went. Fredericks was a
brute, an enemy of society, all that was vile and malig-
nant, and yet his demeanor on the gallows was such
that he compelled a certain amount of admiration. He
was as thoroughly self-possessed as any business man
going about his regular course and realizing that he
must have all his regular faculties alert to cope with

an irene

THE FOURTH ESTATE 253

difficulties and rivals in the commercial world. Fred.
ericks came into the room with the little procession
that has moved from the condemned cells at San
Quentin to the gallows chamber so often of late, and

he was by all odds the most composed man in all that

line... He was easy, interested, and debonair. As he
passed through the doorway and came into sight of
the execution apparatus and the crowd which was
waiting to see him die, he cast his eyes about as another
man might have done on coming into a strange par-
iGt 5:

“In one of my talks with the condemned man he
told me that when he had left the little school in Ger-
many his ambition was to be a soldier, and the career
that he had marked out for himself was that of a com.
mander of men . . . Possibly if the boy Fredericks had
been given a cadetship instead of being forced by his
necessities to go to sea and generally make his way
among the hard walks of life, there might have been
a Captain Fredericks or a Colonel Fredericks, whose
dashing courage would have made him world famous.
At all events that is the thought that came to me when
they cut his muffled body down.”

That was written while Charles Michelson was a cub
reporter. In time he gained in stature and dignity, and
eventually became a member of the staff of Hearst’s
New York Journal. In 1929 he was appointed director
of publicity by the Democratic National Committee;

his “smear Hoover” tactics were copied from the Am-

brose Bierce attacks on Collis P. Huntington. In 1933-
1934 he served as public relations director of the Na-
tional Recovery Administration (NRA).


Spaulding. Dr. Whitman located here,
Rev. Spaulding on the Lapwai among
the Nez Perces, and Rev. Eels among the
Spo’ nes. I think I am not clear as to
the .ocation of Father Eels, but I know
that to his energy and devotion belongs
the honor and credit of founding and
erecting the Whitman College at Walla
Walla, in memory of the man who with
many others was foully murdered.

To Dr. Whitman, it is believed, belongs
the praise and credit for saving the State
of Oregon and the Territory of Wash-
ington for the United States by his timely
appearance at the capital, and showing
the worth of this part of the Pacific
Coast to. the Government. Sure it is that
he was a great and good man, and that he
lies in an untimely grave. A monument to
his memory will soon stand out in bold
relief as a reminder of the trials, hard-
ships and vicissitudes that old timers
and pioneers had to pass through and
suffer before less venturesome but more
wealthy men could be induced to come
forward and assist in making two of
the finest States in the Union.

Of the massacre at Whitman station,
which has been thoroughly written up by
many able writers, who had statistics
to assist them in compiling their works,
I shall make short mention, as I am
writing mostly of myself, and of men and
incidents that came within my own knowl-
edge. But I shall venture, from time to
time, to give my opinion on matters that
I am forced to speak of, in trying t9
portray to the reader the incidents that
occurred prior to my arrival in this coun-
try, and of circumstances as I remember
of having heard them related by eye-
witnesses a few years after their oc-
currence.

From the many conversations I have
had with different survivors of the Whit-
man family (those who were living at the
station at the time of the massacre)—
prominent among whom were the Kimball
family of four: Mrs. Munson, nee Miss
Sophia Kimball, Mrs. Wert nee Miss
Kimball, and Nathan and Byron Kimball,
all of whom were my neighbors for some
years at Shoalwater bay, and each, of
whom are, I believe, now living in As-
toria, Oregon—and from my own knowl-
edge of the Indians and their supersti-
tions, especially in regard to doctors and
being doctored, I am led to give- some
opinions, and my reasons for having
formed them.

It appears that some emigrants, who
wintered with Doctor Whitman, had the
measles; that the Indians contracted the
disease; that Doctor Whitman attended
many of them; that they would take his
prescriptions and then revert to their
own mode of treatment, which consisted
of coming out of their sweat-houses
reeking with sweat, and plunging into
cold water, and—well! “another good In-
jin,” and, as is usually the case, mis-
chief-makers saw their opportunity, and
at once commenced to inflame the minds
of the ignorant savages. Some of these

' mischief-makers had been fostered by

Doctor Whitman. Although they were
half-breeds, they persisted in their mis-
representations and inflamed the super-
stitions of the Indians until the latter
were worked to a pitch of excitement

44

which culminated in the fiendish, brutal
and hellish atrocities that took place at
the Whitman mission.

As Judas had done with his Master,
so did Whitman’s half-breed friends with
him, with the exception that the one
acted from pecuniary motives, while the
others were prompted by prejudice and
superstition to commit their fiendish
crime.

I do not believe that the representatives
of any Christian Church would lend aid
to or countenance so damnable an out-
rage, nor do I believe there is a par-
ticle of evidence that would lead a reason-
ably intelligent and unbiased mind to
think they did.

I will say that it is well known among
old pioneers, who have had any con-
siderable acquaintance with the Indian
modes and habits of doctoring among
themselves, that when a “medicine man”
loses a considerable number of patients
he is held responsible, and not infre-
quently his life atones for the offense
of having failed to cure.

And the fact of Whitman having
prescribed for what to them was a new
and strange disease, and the fatal results
following because of their own ignor-
ance, led to the dreadful scenes at Whit-
man station on that fatal day. But I must
return to the fight.—To be continued in
the November ‘79 Frontier Times.

Previously published episodes appeared
under the titles: “A-footin’ Alone”’—July
°19 Frontier Times, “Panning at Old Hum-
bug”—August ’79 True West, “Rogue
River Indian War”—September ’79 Fron-
tier Times.

These issues can he ordered for $1.00
each from the Circulation Department,
Western Publications, Inc., P. O. Box
3338, Austin, Texas 78764.

A Folsom Graduate
(Continued from page 8)
time newspapers and other sources had
been suggesting that Evans and John
Sontag were making plans to storm the
prison and release George. As unlikely
as this seemed, Aull knew that as a lifer
George Sontag might very well be the
center of any escape plot.
When Aull received word that Dalton,
Williams and other lifers were constantly
in each other’s company, he had them

“No, no, tenderfoot—that ain't what we

mean by ‘bottoms upl’”

‘

watched even more carefully. Neither did
he miss the fact that young Fredericks
had become a member of the select group.
Just before Fredericks was released on
May 26, 1893, he was summoned by the
warden.

“T brought him to my office,” recalled
Aull, “and talked to him at some length
about the friends he had made and about
his [rumored] return to the prison to
help his friends escape. I warned him
that any such attempt would result in
loss of life.”

Fredericks played dumb about the
whole matter, although he must have been
startled that the plot was suspected.
“He never flinched,” as George Sontag
put it. Later that day William Fred-
ericks became a free man.

MMEDIATELY heading south for Vi-

salia, the ex-convict nursed the few
dollars he had by riding the rails. He
was thrown off several times as the rail-
road men recognized the cheap clothes
of a convict.

In Visalia he first heard the news that
Chris Evans and John Sontag had been
captured, Ambushed in the hills by a U.S.
Marshal’s posse, both men had been dan-
gerously wounded after a desperate, all-
night gun battle. They were in the Fres-
no jail.

Fredericks hesitated about what to do.
Finally he decided to go ahead with the
plan and was able to locate the Evans
family who were living with relatives of
Mrs. Evans in Visalia.

It wasn’t too difficult for Fredericks
to play the part of a tramp when he
knocked on the door of the Byrd home.
When Eva Evans, Chris’ daughter,
brought him some food in the back yard,
he quickly told her of his purpose. Since
he had no money or friends locally, Eva
must get the guns for the escape plot.
“George feels bad in prison,” Fredericks
told Eva in his German accent, “and is
willing to take any risk to get out.”

Sixteen-year-old Eva was in a quan-
dary. To aid George in his escape plot was
to possibly participate in the death of
both prisoners and guards should some-
thing go wrong. It was a terrible deci-
sion for one so young to have to make.
To further complicate matters, she was
engaged to John Sontag who lay mortal-
ly wounded in the Fresno County jail.
Could she in good conscience refuse to
help the brother of her dying sweetheart?
Of a wild and romantic temperament, in
the end Eva gave in. After being assured
that the guns would not be used unless
in an absolute emergency, she agreed to
help.

Eva was really in pretty much the
same shape as Fredericks so far as ob-
taining guns was concerned. She was the
daughter of the most famous outlaw in
America at that time and could hardly
make a move without being observed by
a battery of lawmen or railroad detec-
tives hoping to catch her with some of
the train robbery loot. No, it wouldn’t do
for her to try to obtain any weapons, but
she had an idea that was even better.

Many of the men who made up the
posses that had been hunting her father
for the reward money made Si Lovern’s
Visalia saloon their headquarters. While

True West

drinking and playing pool out front, the
men usually kept their weapons stacked
in Si’s back room. Wouldn’t it be poetic
justice if Fredericks could steal those
guns and use the lawmen’s own weapons
to free George Sontag?

The scheme was quite practical. Late
that night Fredericks broke into the sa-
loon and the plan went through without
a hitch.

When Fredericks again showed up at
the Byrd home, Eva helped him wrap
up two Winchesters, two pistols, a knife,
and some cartridges in a blanket. As he
made his way north, Fredericks would
look just like any other hobo with a
blanketroll on his back. Eva wished him
luck as he walked up the road.

We know nothing of Fredericks’ trip
back to Folsom, but on June 15 a stage-
coach robbery was attempted in Amador
County and the guard was killed. The
dead man was one of the most famous
of the Wells Fargo express messengers,
Mike Tovey. The killer was never caught
and since Fredericks was at that time on
the road between Visalia and Folsom, he
was later accused of the crime.

Nearly a month had elapsed by the
time Fredericks made his way back to
Folsom. Williams and the other convicts
were concerned that maybe their con-
federate had decided to just keep going
after his release. George Sontag voiced
the suspicion that Fredericks “had been
attacked with a chill in his pedal ex-
tremities.”

AFTER secreting the guns in the stone

quarry according to plan, Fredericks
made some chalk marks that would tell
the prisoners all was ready. He left a
note with the gun informing his friends
he would meet them with supplies at a
deserted stamp mill near Bear Valley.
Then he headed south.

George Sontag had been jolted by the
news of the capture of his brother and
Chris Evans, both of whom had been
badly shot up with Sontag probably
mortally wounded. It must have made
George think twice about the escape ven-
ture.

Then it happened. On June 25 he was
told by Williams that the guns had ar-
rived and everything was set. The after-
noon of June 27 was to be the day of
the break, Final plans were made. .

On the 27th Sontag joined his fellow
conspirators in the quarry. It was about
3:30 in the afternoon and as he saun-
tered past Lieutenant Frank Briarre, the
guard looked up and told him to halt.
Sontag had no business being in the
quarry.

As Briarre questioned him the guard
was seized from behind by the power-
ful Dalton, Briarre was really startled
when Williams then ran up with two
rifles and gave one to Sontag. The two
revolvers were given to convicts Henry
Wilson and young Charles Abbott. A
convict known as “Buckshot” Smith
wielded a hammer while one of the others
grabbed Briarre’s rifle.

Pushing the guard in front of him,
Smith hooked his hand in Briarre’s belt
while the other convicts scrambled in
front of them. Facing away from the

September-October, 1979

gun towers, the convicts lined up in front
of Briarre, using him as a shield. Only
Smith was exposed to fire, but if he were
shot at, Briarre had a good chance of
being hit also. Feeling perfectly safe, the
convicts began walking with their hos-
tage toward a brush-choked gully.

As they crossed a rocky precipice,
Briarre either slipped or deliberately
jumped over the cliff. Smith, his hand
hooked into the back of the guard’s belt,
tumbled screaming after him. It was
nearly a seventy-five foot drop, but
the two landed virtually unhurt at the
bottom. “I guess Buckshot acted as a
drag and saved me,” recalled Briarre.

Although dazed, Buckshot threatened
the guard with his hammer, but was
smashed in the head with a rock by
the alert prison guard. On top of the
precipice the rest of the convicts were
suddenly without their protective hos-
tage. In a moment the Gatling guns and
Winchesters of the tower guards were

pouring a deadly fire into the rocky area

where the convicts clambered for cover.

It was all over in less than an hour
as noted in the San Francisco Chronicle:
“Sontag was the first to appear. He
crawled out into the open from behind his
battered fortress seeming more dead than
alive. Blood covered him from head to
foot. . . . After him came his fellow-
desperado Abbott, who was also bleeding
from several wounds, and who, like Son-
tag, was too weak from loss of blood to
walk... .”

Warden Aull and several guards then
approached the two wounded convicts
and looked over the scene.

. “The men advanced,” continued the
Chronicle, “and on turning the corner
beheld a sight so ghastly that it tried
even their nerves of steel. There lying,
piled one on another, in a little hollow
that was splashed with their lifeblood,
lay the dead bodies of Dalton, Wilson,
and Williams .. . riddled with bullets.”

It was a bitter end to a daring break
and only the fact that no guards had
been killed prevented a thorough investi-
gation that might have led to Eva Evans’
door. As it was, she must have been
quite nervous for the next few months.

FTER waiting several days for his
convict pals at the stamp mill near
Bear Valley, Fredericks knew something
had gone wrong. Afraid that he too
would be discovered, he burned the sup-
plies he had brought and made his way
into the valley. He first read of the
escape try in one of the valley news-
papers and must have been shocked to
read that he was immediately suspected
of supplying the guns for the break.
Fredericks had picked up a hobo com-
panion in his recent travels and the two
men immediately jumped a freight train
headed north. Under his coat Fredericks
carried two holstered pistols and he made
up his mind never to go back to prison.
When a brakeman ordered him off a
train near Colfax, the two protested that
they would be injured. As the trainman
grabbed at Fredericks, anyway, Fred-
ericks pulled a pistol and shot him dead.
His companion was horrified and fled
to the opposite end of the train; Fred-

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45


ee

Neem coe

28 The Master Detective

Then began a slow cruise up and down East Fifth Street.
Miss Kerckhoff scanned the rows of buildings with worried
eyes. The detectives were convinced she knew the hotel
where Garbutt was staying, but apparently she could not
make up her mind to give the information that would de-
liver her lover into the hands of the law.

Meanwhile, the keenly observant eyes of Detective
O’Rourke were scrutinizing the faces of all pedestrians on
the sidewalks. His glance suddenly fell on a man walking
with exaggeratedly stooped shoulders and a noticeable limp.
When this individual stopped to look into a clothier’s win-
dow, O’Rourke whispered a few words to Culver, who
eased the car to the curb a few yards ahead.

In the man with the limp Detective O’Rourke had rec-
ognized—Harry Garbutt!

HE two officers alighted from the police car and unob-

trusively tailed the suspect to a room in a near-by hotel,
where they placed him under arrest. Garbutt admitted his
identity with no show of. emotion except a slight shrug of
his then erect shoulders. He later admitted assuming the
gait and appearance of a man partly crippled by rheuma-
tism in an effort to evade detection. No weapons were found
on his person or in his room.

Garbutt and Miss Kerckhoff—who wept heart-brokenly
when she learned of his arrest—were rushed to the Pasadena
Jail. Garbutt was booked on suspicion of murder, and the
girl was held pending further investigation.

Chief Kelley and Detectives O’Rourke and Gulver he
pared to grill the ex-convict, who was undoubtedly
the calmest man in the room when the interrogation
began.

At first, he denied all knowledge of the death of Oe
Mrs. Hunn, except what he had read about it in the a
newspapers. He readily admitted having been a %
dinner -guest at
the Madison Ave-
nue bungalow on
the evening of
September 19th,
but insisted that
Mrs. Hunn was
entertaining: Fred
Gibson when he
left, about 8
o'clock.

For three hours
he was the target
—stoical, sullen
or defiant—of a
merciless ma-
chine-gun fire of
questions. And
then suddenly,
with a groan of
utter | weariness,
he slumped in his
chair.

“I shot her!”
he mumbled.
“Yes, I shot her
—but I swear it
was an accident!”

’ During the few
moments of
deathly _ silence,
charged with ex-
pectancy, that
followed his dra-
matic admission,
Garbutt rallied

coolness hardly to be expected after his recent ordeal, he
explained how what he called an “accident,” had occurred.

“I called at Mrs. Hunn’s between five and_ six
o'clock, and she invited me to stay to dinner. Fred
Gibson was there. He and I, with Mrs. Hunn and her
little girl, had dinner together. Right afterward Mrs.
Hunn sent Virginia to bed. About the same time, /
went into the bathroom.

“I came out in a few minutes and walked into the
living room. Mrs. Hunn and Gibson had gone into the
kitchen. I was surprised when I heard: them. talking
rather loud. They seemed to be having .an’ ‘argument
and then I heard Mrs. Hunn scream. I ran to the
kitchen door and saw Gibson hit Mrs. Hunn with a
hammer. To protect her, I jerked out my gun and
jabbed it in Gibson’s ribs. it grabbed hold of the

arrel and tried to take it away from me. While we
were scuffling, the gun went off. Mrs..Hunn was close
to us—we were al] near the back door—and the bullet
struck her!”

“If Mrs. Hunn’s death was an accident, why did you run
away—like a murderer?” Chief Kelley shot the question.

Beads of perspiration were glistening on Garbutt’s sal-
low face.

“It was an accident; but good God! how did it look for
me—an ex-convict—a man with a record? Who would
take my word against Gibson’s? There was only one thing
to do—to run—and | did!

“I had a roll of money in my pocket, and when | jerked
out my gun it fell on the floor. I didn’t miss it until I got
into Los Angeles in. that taxi. I didn’t have enough change

to pay the taxi bill, so I got out of it by going into
the Fifth Street lobby of the Rosslyn Hotel, and
slipping out on the Main Street side.

“T never left Los Angeles. I’ve stayed at a dif-
ferent hotel every night since the nineteenth. I was

" “A in Lincoln Park with Miss Kerckhoff all this morn-

”

ing.

“What did you
do with the -gun
you had on the
night Mrs. Hunn:
was killed?”
Chief Kelley
asked.

“I sold it for
three dollars to a
bell-boy at the
Montcalm _Ho-
tel.”

AS soon as the
District At-
torney’s Offfice
was informed: of
Garbutt’s _ state-
ment, a sweeping
investigation into
the case was at
once ordered.

In the’ mean-
while Mrs.
Hunn’s_” grief-
stricken husband
had arrived from
Chicago. Impres-
sive funeral rites
were held for the
slain woman. The
throng of persons
who mourned her
tragic death and
a great mound of

from his collapse
and again - sat
erect. With a

Another pose of Mrs. Hunn. What was the motive behind her strange .
murder? the affection and

elaborate _ floral
pieces, attested to

26 The Master Detective

it to Gibson; hence it was useless to expect finger-prints of
value from the handle. ,

Gibson expressed the opinion that robbery was the mo-
tive for the murder: Harry Garbutt had intended to knock
Mrs. Hunn unconscious before she could make an outcry
and then strip the jewels from her person. When the blow
with the hammer was followed by a shriek for help, Gar-
butt had shot his victim dead. Gibson’s dash toward the
kitchen had frightened him off before he had time to seize
Mrs. Hunn’s rings and necklace. ;

When Gibson advanced this theory, the two detectives
exchanged glances. The unspoken -
thought of both was that it seemed
unbelievable that a man would kill a
woman while one of her able-bodied
male relatives was in the same house!

“Who is this fellow Garbutt?” De-
tective O’Rourke demanded.

‘T DON’T know much about him,”
Gibson answered tersely, “except
that he’s an ex-convict, and a nephew
of Mrs. Fanny Morehouse; a long-
time friend of Mrs. Hunn. I believe
She induced Mrs. Hunn to use her
influence to get Garbutt paroled from
an Illinois penitentiary about a year /
ago, and both women have been fh
helping him financially ever since,”
Further inspection of the kitchen
disclosed a blank check lying on j
the drain-board. Gibson informed /
the officers that Mrs. Hunn had /
an account at that particular i
bank, but he knew of no reason

ma

f 4 6

why she should have had the
blank check in the kitchen, /
He then suddenly — re- j
membered that Mrs. Hunn js
kept certain valuable J —_
jewelry in her trunk, and tia >.
expressed the belief that >< ; i
Garbutt also knew of this
fact. The detectives Jo-
cated Mrs. Hunn’s keys &:
and opened the trunk. f
Jewelry valued at $30,-
000 was found undisturbed.
The Coroner arrived and took = j
charge of the body, over which Mr.
Latham had kept watch, and the
detectives went over to the adjoin-
ing bungalow to question Virginia
Lee Hunn.
She was a bright-looking girl of
ten years, and in spite of the shock
received from the terrible scene she
had witnessed shortly before, was
able to tell her story intelligently
and coherently. ,
She said she had dinner
with Mr. Gibson, Mr, Gar-
butt and her foster-mother,
shortly after which, Mrs.
Hunn sent her to bed. As
she left the table, Mr. Gib-
son began to cough and
went into the bathroom.
In her own ‘room, she un-
dressed and was saying her
prayers, when she was ter-
ribly frightened by a noise
like furniture being thrown
down, followed shortly after-

Virginia Lee Hunn, ten-year-old adopted daughter of the
murder victim. What part did little Virginia play in the
solution of the mystery? house that-he had collected

ward by a sound which she described as “an awful bang.”

Running out into the dining room, she saw Mr. Garbutt
dash out of the kitchen, through the house and out the front
door. She ran into the kitchen, where she saw her mamma
lying on the floor, all beaten up, and Mr. Gibson kneeling
beside her. She began to scream. Mr. Gibson told her to
stop screaming, as her mother was -hurt. Then she picked
up a hammer off the floor. When Miss Keyser came in she
handed the hammer to her . . . .

The description of Garbutt that detectives received from
son was that of a man forty-five years of age, about five

feet, six inches tall, weighing from 125 to 130 pounds.
His face was thin, with rather pointed features. That
night he had worn a light checked suit, light cap and
tan shoes,
Gibson stated that he, himself, was a retired busi-
ness man, and agreed to be in readiness to testify
at the inquest whenever summoned. He assumed
the sad duty of sending a telegram to Mrs.
Hunn’s husband, a wealthy manufacturer, of
Chicago, informing him of her tragic death.

Detectives O’Rourke and Culver returned to

Police Headquarters and laid the known
facts before Chief Charles H. Kelley.
Within thirty minutes every available
officer was busy on the case. Telephone
and telegraph wires hummed, as one
of the most intensive man-hunts in
the history of Los Angeles County
was launched for Harry Garbutt.
Mrs. Fanny’ Morehouse, Garbutt’s
aunt, was promptly located and
questioned at length.

She was at first overcome
with grief and horror by the
news of the murder of her
dear friend. With a great
effort she mastered her
feelings and declared her
willingness to assist the
detectives in every

way. possible,

She said that Gar-
butt had served time
in Joliet Penitentiary for robbery. At her
request, Mrs. Hunn had used her influence
to have Garbutt paroled, about ten months
before. She and Mrs. Hunn had united
their efforts to help the ex-convict to “90
straight.” Garbutt had met Mrs. Hunn
several times when the latter was a visitor
at the Morehouse home and on two or
three occasions Mrs. Hunn had asked Gar-
butt to drive her home or to Los Angeles.

ROM the time he came from Chicago,

in December, 1923, until May, 1924,
Garbutt had lived at his aunt’s house. He
had been regular in his habits—always
being present at meals and coming in
early at night. He had re-
marked more than once
that “crime didn’t pay” and
that he was through with it.

Mrs. Morehouse further
Stated that on May 28th,
1924, Garbutt had been in-
jured in a collision between
a truck and a street car,
and had brought © suit
against the Railway Com-
pany. About the middle of
August he told Mrs. More-


iwful bang.”
Mr. Garbutt
vut the front
her mamma
son kneeling
told her to
she picked
came in she

‘eived from
, about five
30 pounds,
ures. That
ht cap and

tired busi-
to testify
€ assumed
1 to Mrs,
cturer, of
¢ death.
‘turned to
le known
Kelley.
available
Telephone
|, as one
‘hunts in
County
Garbutt,
sarbutt’s
ited and

‘vercome
- by the
‘ of her
a great
red her
ired her
isist the

every

it Gar-
d time
At her
fluence
nonths
united
to “go
Hunn
visitor
vO or
| Gar-
igeles,

icago,
1924,

He
ways
g in
d re-
once
and
*h it.
‘ther
8th,
i in-
veen
car,
suit
om-
‘of
Te-

ted

> Se Ra renemarato ete eentneree tee) een neers

Pasadena’s Infamous Society Horror a7

$750 damages from the Company. On the following morn- trusted the ex-convict from the first. She believed that no

ing he had gone away, leaving the impression that he in- good would come to the girl from this association, and was

tended to put up at a hotel in Los Angeles. Mrs. More- anxious to save her from his evil influence.

house had not seen him since. Miss Lane had an appointment to meet Irene Kerckhoff
He had always seemed grateful to Mrs, Hunn for her at the Hill Street Pacific Electric Station at 2 o'clock that

Kindness to him, and Mrs, Morehouse was unable to be- afternoon. It was arranged that the officers should be on

lieve that he had brutally killed her. She agreed to cooper- hand, to shadow the Kerckhoff girl and keep her under sur-

ate to the fullest extent with the authorities, in their efforts veillance until she led them to her lover,

to locate him. Captain of Detectives George K. Home (of Los Angeles)
Early on the morning of September 20th, officers got in detailed Detective Lieutenants E. W. Hull and Jack Trainor

touch with a taxi-driver who had driven a Party answer- to cooperate with the Pasadena officers in this phase of the .

ing Garbutt’s description from Pasadena to Los Angeles _ investigation.
about 9 o'clock the night before. This man had directed Miss Kerckhoff was trailed after her meeting with Miss
the driver to the Rosslyn Hotel in Los Angeles. There, Lane. She appeared to suspect that she might be followed,

without paying his fare, he had instructed the taxi-driver for she led the detectives a merry chase through several |

to wait, and had gone into the crowded department stores until, finally out of patience,
crowded hotel lobby by the O’Rourke and Culver stepped quietly up and placed her

A convicted killer hears
the death sentence!
(Left to right): Defense
Attorneys C. O. Bacon
and S. W. Thompson;
the convicted killer of
+ Hunn, Superior
Judge Crail, and Deputy
District Attorney
Dennison

.

Fifth Street entrance. When he failed to return in twenty under arrest. Her attitude, at first, was calmly indifferent,
minutes, the driver had gone to look for him, only to dis- She readily admitted her friendly relations with Garbutt,
cover that his passenger had evaded payment of fare by but denied all knowledge of his Present whereabouts;  in-
leaving the hotel via the Main Street door, sisting that he had left the hotel where he had Stopped the

Armed with specimens of Garbutt’s handwriting, ob- day before, without telling her where he was going. When
tained from Mrs, Morehouse, the detectives began a pa- told that she would be taken to Jail, however, for aiding in
tient canvass of likely hotels and rooming-houses. At one the escape of a fugitive from justice, she broke down in tears.
small hotel the name “Harry Cooke” appeared on the “Harry -didn’t kill that woman!” she sobbed. “I know
Tegister in writing similar to Garbutt’s. However, he didn’t!”

ing no forwarding address. His description, as given by [7 was evident that her belief in her lover’s innocence was

the clerk, tallied with that of the ex-convict. sincere, and Detective O’Rourke chose his next words
On September 23rd, an inquest was held over the body accordingly :
of Mrs. Hunn. Fred Gibson and Virginia Lee Hunn testi- “We are not charging Harry Garbutt with this crime,” he

fied to the facts Previously told to Detectives O’Rourke and said gently, “but he was at Mrs. Hunn’s house on the night
S$ jury rendered an open ver- she was killed, and we must question him, as we questioned
dict, pending further developments in the case, all the others who were there. If he’s innocent, no doubt
It was four days after the slaying before Detectives he can prove it. Until he does, he’s a hunted fugitive. He'll
O’Rourke and Culver received their first real “break.” This be caught in time, and hiding from the law only puts him
came in thé form of a telephone call from a woman who — under graver suspicion,”
gave her name as Gladys Lane. She offered to give import- The girl was deeply impressed and her confidence seem-
ant information relative to Harry Garbutt if the officers ingly won. She did not know the name of the hotel where

Miss Lane informed them that her chum, a pretty girl The officers escorted her to the Police car and ‘seated her
named Irene Kerckhoff, had been keeping company with in the tonneau between two other detectives. From this
Harry Garbutt for some time, and was seemingly infatuated Position she could hardly be seen or recognized by persons
with him. Miss Lane Professed to have disliked and dis- in the street.

Gite eee

Sorsogon seemenrseereagecenea


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Renee ese ema

Pasadena’s Infamous Society Horror 29

esteem in which she had been held by all who knew her.

On September 24th, the day after Garbutt’s arrest, he and
Gibson were taken to the Hunn bungalow by Deputy Dis-
trict Attorney Dennison, Chief Kelley and Detectives
O’Rourke and Culver.

A tensely dramatic scene was enacted in an effort to recon-
struct the tragedy in accordance with the contradictory
stories told by the two men who had been in the house on
the fatal night.

Harry Garbutt coolly repeated and acted out the story
he had previously told the investigating officers, ending with
the scuffle with Gibson and the accidental discharge of the
gun, resulting in the death of Mrs. Hunn. ;

Then Garbutt strode up to Gibson and glared steadily
into his eyes,

“That's how it happened,” he almost shouted in a voice
hoarse with anger and contempt.

“Why don't you tell the truth,

Gibson?” snort

Gibson, cool and
suave, with none of
the nervousness that
had marked his man-
ner on the night of the
shooting, made no re-
ply until addressed by
Deputy District At-
torney Dennison.

“Is Garbutt. telling
the truth ?”

“There’s not the
slightest truth in any
of his statements,”
was Gibson’s disdain-
ful answer.

The ex-convict
flushed darkly and he
fairly spat his next
words at Gibson:

“What did you pick
up off the floor after I left?”

“Nothing,” Gibson snapped.

“That's a lie! You picked
up a roll of bills—two hun-
dred and eighty-five dollars—
and a blank check that fell
out of my pocket when |
pulled the gun.” Thus Gar-
butt claimed ownership of
the hitherto unexplained
blank check.

“I saw no roll of bills,”

ware stores in Pasadena and Los Angeles. On the second
day—September 25th—they were covering the vicinity of
the hotel where Garbutt had been arrested.

In the Chicago Hardware Store, on East Fifth Street, a
clerk named Clarence E. Boaz promptly identified a picture
of Garbutt as that of a man to whom he bad sold such a
hammer during the second week in September. He recalled
the transaction as the first sale of such a hammer for some
time. Although mostly used by boxmakers, police records
proved that it was frequently employed by burglars to
jimmy certain types of locks.

T the County Jail, Boaz unhesitatingly identified Garbutt

in a general show-up. Confronted with Boaz, Garbutt

stoutly denied having bought the hammer and insisted that
he was a victim of mistaken identity.

Then, under persistent grilling, he

broke down and admitted having pur-

amen chased the hammer; later taking it to

the Hunn Bungalow.
He swore that he
bought the tool at
Fred Gibson’s request;
the latter having ex-
plained that he
wanted such a ham-
mer to open some rare
sea-shells, This state-
ment was indignantly
and emphatically de-
nied by Gibson.

With the death-
hammer thus traced
to Garbutt, the in-
vestigators considered
the case against him
practically complete.
Investigation had
shown that Garbutt
had spent almost all
the money collected from the
Railway Company. After
leaving Mrs. Morehouse, he
had made several expensive
trips to San Diego and Tia
Juana; had given the Kerck-
hoff girl many costly presents
and had promised her further
gifts.

MOTHER—AND KILLER!

This is Kitty Malm, Chicago's two-gun girl, with ‘‘Tootie,”
her baby. Kitty isnow doing a life sentence for murder, and

HE officers concluded that
Garbutt intended to: re-

Gibson snapped. “And I nextmonth THE MASTER DETECTIVE will publish fulldetails store his finances by stealing
didn’t see the check until the of the infamous crime for which she forfeited her liberty the gems from Mrs. Hunn’s

officers found it afterward on

the drain-board;” he retorted in an assured manner,
It was noted that the stories told by Gibson and Garbutt

tallied up to the time each declared that he went to the

bathroom, leaving the other—the murderer or assailant of

Mrs. Hunn—alone with the ill-fated matron.

N the following day, the Grand Jury heard the testimony

of all witnesses involved, except Garbutt, who was ad-
vised by his attorney not to testify. An indictment was
returned, charging Harry Garbutt with the murder of
Dorothy Lee Hunn.

The next task before the investigators was to establish
ownership of the hammer found in the Hunn kitchen on the
night of the crime. Both Gibson and Garbutt denied all
knowledge of the tool. On the other hand, the two ham-
mers included in the regular inventory of house-furnishings,
had been found in a kitchen closet.

Detectives O’Rourke and Culver, with the death-hammer
and a picture of Harry Garbutt, prepared to check all hard-

trunk, and had brought the
hammer to jimmy the trunk-lock.

It was also learned that he was disposed to misconstrue
the friendliness between Mrs. Hunn and Fred Gibson, and
it was believed that the actual murder was the culmination
of an attempt to blackmail Mrs. Hunn into signing the blank
check—ownership of which Garbutt had admitted.

The overturned kitchen furniture indicated that Mrs.
Hunn had resisted Garbutt’s demands, and had probably
threatened to denounce him, whereupon Garbutt struck her
with the hammer. When the vicious blow failed to cause
death, or even unconsciousness, he made sure of her silence
by firing a bullet through her heart.

On November 7th, 1924, Harry Garbutt was brought to
trial in the Superior Court of Los Angeles County, Judge
Crail presiding.

The case had aroused much interest in the community and
the court-room was jammed throughout the trial by those
morbidly curious persons who are thrilled and fascinated by
the spectacle of a man fighting for (Continued on page 69)

”

ORI son ~


18 The Master Detective
“Oh, Muriel,” she choked, “run next door... get the the house. Mrs. Hulett must know where she was. Despite Me:
neighbors . . . the police . . . quickly!” the numbing shock of the tragedy, she was in a subdued searc}
The maid, not knowing what had happened, yet sensing mood; anxious to help; willing to answer questions. whic!
that some terrible tragedy had visited the house, hurried I went straight to the point. must |
out to call Mrs. Tessie Manzer, next door neighbor, “Mrs. Hulett,” asked, “where is your daughter—Mrs. But :
Later, the Northern Police Station was notified and Ser- Nelson?” finger-

geant Austin Page, on duty in the neighborhood, came to She stiffened perceptibly, as though this were an un- Just

the room of horror, pleasant subject. But her answer was prompt. “Te
With practiced eye he bent over the bed, examining the beside
figure, puzzled by the fact that Nelson’s head was at the “FRANKLY, I don’t know,” she began. “We
wrong end of the bed. He saw that some blunt instrument “Bess left here on May 30th, about two weeks ago. | band,
had descended on the man’s unprotected skull, perhaps five know she drew considerable money out of the bank, but | left he
or six times, in crushing blows. don’t know where she went. She and Harry had been quar- him si
Suddenly he straightened up. reling a bit lately, though I’m sure it was nothing serious.” The
“Say, this man is still alive!” he snapped. “You'd better “How did she go?” | said. “Was she alone?” She
call an ambulance and get him to a hospital!” Mrs. Hulett seemed a bit annoyed, “Ab
Mrs. Hulett, still dazed, obeyed mechanically. “Why, it’s my guess,” she said, “that Bess went to see rela- to shi
And while, on the instructions of Captain of Inspectors tives. And I’m sure she went alone.” from
Bodie Wallman at Police Headquarters, we were speeding “What did your son-in-law say when she left?” [| per- and t
to the house, Harry Nelson was being carried away to _ sisted. hand
Highland Hospital. “Harry didn’t say much of anything.” Mrs. Hulett re- Wh
That was the situation at approximately 8 a. mM. When __ plied wearily. “He just sat around the house; kind of lonely. trage:
Mulhern and | rapped on the door of the Boyd Avenue Anyway, Bess will hurry back when she hears about this.” ters, |
home, Mrs. Hulett, deathly white, plainly on the verge of
hysteria, took us directly to the room of death where we found Ser-
geant Page waiting.
“Well, what does it look like, Sergeant?” | asked. Soc ta EMG po
Page pointed to the bed. ———

“It's murder, sure enough,” he said. “But it looks queer to me
... he was lying there with his head at the foot of the bed, away
from the pillow. But he was probably asleep when it happened . . .
never knew what hit him.”

“Anything stolen, money or valuables?”

“Not a thing.” Page shook his head. “His money is on the bureau
there with his watch.”

I MADE a thorough search of the room in the next few minutes.

But there were no tell-tale finger-prints, no footmarks, no sign
of a lethal weapon. It was as though tragedy and violence had never
intruded, and the only evidence to the contrary was the white bed
linen with its dull crimson stains. I left the bedroom and went
through the rest of the house, examining the catches on all the win-
dows. Finally, in the dining room, I found that for which we were
searching.

There | saw a window—unlike the rest in that it was open.

“Look at these marks, John,” I said to Mulhern, indicating a row
of scratches on the inside of the sill. “Looks like it was jimmied.”

Mulhern nodded, leaning out over the edge.

“Here’s the tip-off,” he cried with elation. “look down there.”

I followed his gaze and saw a ladder, about six feet long, resting
against the side of the house. This then, was the killer’s mode of
entrance into the house where Harry Nelson slept, unaware that he

was marked for death. Obviously the assailant had moved with ex- '

treme care, for there were no finger-prints on the window or the
ladder.

We went downstairs, found Mrs. Hulett and took her outside
where the ladder stood.

“Whose ladder is that?” I asked. “Ever see it before?”

“Oh, yes,” the woman brightened. “It belongs in the playhouse
used by Mrs. Nelson’s little girl, Jessie.”

There was one point cleared up.

“By the way,” I asked, “did you hear any noise last night? Any
sound at all; a cry, perhaps?”

Mrs. Hulett shook her head.

“No, I didn’t,” she answered. “Even Toby wasn’t awakened.”

1 couldn’t repress a start.

“Toby? Who's he?”

“That's Mr. Nelson’s dog . . .” she explained.

So there was a watch dog in the house. Toby—why hadn't he
barked? Here was a puzzling, yet vital discovery, a clue indicating
to me-that the dog must have recognized the killer as a friend.

Just then | realized for the first time that Nelson’s wife was not in

RE
WHERE MRS. MAY HULETT SLEPT SLEP

MAID'S

AND JESS

n~*

HARRY A. NELSON'S BED ROOM

WHERE HE WAS FOUNO WITH = DINK
SKULL BADLY CRUSHED 6 = - = ==2;

?
| 3
— = | sera
—
e
~~
a, a
So -—

DEN

RECEIVING
HALL


so drawn in

or’s bureau,
ded me.

exclaimed,
' brief mes-
‘te born of
> read:

r in early

here ac-
t twenty-
Clarke, a
rted June
1own,.”

thorities at
I was con-
of definite
ny of the
hing in my
the Nelson

to tell me
Nelson had
wife’s resi-
maid. She
a few days
re to work
| the home
nally came
on’s chauf-
about the
» numerous

her club

.s told that
never re-
were con-

|

to do,” I
ight, “and
ad identify
Wisconsin
ome df ahe
nt to find
h she’s not

ick to the

ews of his”

rough the
ceived the
the sound
occupants
one in the
y, I cannot
ext action,

emeditated
ation that
telephone.
re the first
ions.

lling,” the
is on the

ble action,

ithority to
operator,
i.” T hung
the chief
trace the
call. Mrs.
ear room,
ined Mrs,

chief op-
emanated

eel, eae

iS a A A a

from the
Cruz.

I determined to play my hunch to the
limit and got Martin A. Townes, Santa
Cruz chief of police, on the phone, in-
structing him to question the party at
the hotel.

Soon afterward Townes called back.
“Say,”—his voice vibrated with excite-
ment—“a woman at the hotel calling
the Nelson home says she is Mrs.
Nelson, but she's registered as the wife
of a man named Forbes. I guess you'll
want to talk with them so I’m holding
them both.”

I almost dropped the receiver. In ten
minutes, with Inspectors Goodnight and
Leon Carroll, I was roaring over the
highway to Santa Cruz, about 100 miles
south of Oakland.

At the hotel I consulted the register.
Under date of June 12 appeared the
entry: orbes and wife—Oak-
land—Room 3

We went to the room. Mrs. Nelson,
who made no effort to conceal her
identity, sat in pajamas beside Claude
Forbes, who was similarly clad. Their
appearance of ease and unconcern in
each other’s company, under circum-
stances which would have led any other
couple to frantic embarrassment and
confusion, mystified me, but Mrs. Nelson
explained her position with a disdainful
shrug.

“We're in love,” she volunteered.
“We've been lolling about the beach
taking life easy. I picked up a news-
paper today and saw i sar happened to
Harry. That's why I relivhoned—or

Graystone Hotel at Santa

Mulhern led Forbes to another room
while I talked to Mrs. Nelson. Their
stories coincided—Forbes said he had
visited Albion, a small town near Santa
Cruz, on the night of the crime, June 13,
and when his automobile broke down
on the highway, spent the entire night
repairing it, returning to Santa Cruz
early on the morning of June 14. Mrs.
Nelson maintained she had been in the
hotel practically all of that time.

Nothing could shake their story. We
guarded them that evening at the hotel,
and next day Mulhern and I went
through the town on what we knew
was a “fishing” expedition.

But it proved the means of cracking
Forbes’ alibi wide open. In a hardware
store we learned that a man of Forbes’
description had purchased a fourteen-
inch length of fas. pipe on June 13, pay-
ing ten cents for it.

And from an automobile stage driver,
we discovered that a man also resem-
bling Forbes, had been a passenger in
his bus from Oakland to Santa Cruz on
the day preceding the slugging of
Nelson.

We confronted Forbes with both the
hardware dealer and the stage driver.
Their identification was immediate and
positive.

Forbes smiled coolly.

“You gentlemen are both right—I
bought that pipe and was a passenger
in that bus—and J killed Harry Nelson!”

Mrs. Nelson sank into a chair, her
face ashen. Forbes continued calmly,
without noticing her.

“Before I eloped with Bessie,” he be-
gan, “Nelson had been viciously cruel
to her. I love her and got to brooding
over the way she had been treated. I
decided to teach him a lesson that he
wouldn't scon forget. I told Bessie I
was going to Albion. Instead I bought

the gas pipe, put it in my pocket, and
took the bus to Oakland.

Horrible Revelations

me HE house was still as I entered
by the window. I lit the light in
his bedroom. Nelson lay there, breath-
ing regularly. Walking over to his side,
I gripped the pipe, raised it high over
my head, and gave him the works. He
never screamed but rose up, and then
fell with his head at the foot of the
bed. He never saw me. I struck him
again and again. I didn’t know whether
he was dead or alive, but I ‘didn’t care.
I left the lights burning and went out
by the window. You'll find the gas pipe,
bound with tape, in a lot near the home.”

Returning to Oakland, we grilled Mrs.
Nelson. We showed her where Forbes’
motive was impossible to reconcile with
the nature of the crime, pointed out
that she was beneficiary of her hus-
band’s insurance policies, that she had
apparently rifled his safety deposit box,
and that she must have known Forbes
had gone to Oakland on the night pre-
ceding the assault.

“I love Claude,” she repeated again
and again. “Harry was cruel to me—
but I am innocent.”

Then, without previous warning, the
inevitable break came. In the midst of
our interrogation, she stopped us,

“What’s the use,” her voice was apa-
thetic. “It’s true—I told Claude to get
Harry, to put him out of the way. We
were short of money after our: trip to
Wisconsin. I knew Harry carried in-
surance, although I wasn’t certain of
the amount. With him dead, I planned
to move into my home here, continue
my relations with Claude, and event-
ually marry him. I telephoned yester-
day intending to return alone. Claude
was going away until we buried Harry.”

She sank back, exhausted. Forbes
was brought in and they embraced.

Not ten minutes later a telegram ar-
rived from Nelson’s father at Hutchin-
son. He expressed amazement that his
son had been married to Bessie Nelson
and was the father of an eight-year-old
child. A St. Paul woman, his wire re-
vealed, had married Nelson in 1913, Two

ears later a daughter was born to them,

he woman had never been divorced,
she insisted.

This information stunned Mrs. Nelson.
She realized, in view of the Minnesota
couple’s status, that the murder of
Nelson—paralleling the grisly Snyder-
Gray killing in New York—even had it
been perpetrated without discovery of
the guilty, would have profited the two
by only a few thousand dollars.

Mrs. Nelson collapsed and when the
grand jury indicted her on June 21, she
presented in her jail cell a pitiful spec-
tacle of crushed womanhood. Forbes,
on the other hand, never lost his at-
titude of contemptuous nonchalance,
fostered no doubt by the part-Indian
blood which he says courses through
his veins.

Forbes, the love thief who slew Oak-
land’s war hero, pleaded guilty to a
charge of first degree murder late in
December, and was sentenced to be
hanged at San Quentin prison on April
April 7, 1933, while Mrs. Nelson for the
love of whom ie committed murder
pleaded “not guilty by reason of in-

sanity,” and prepared to stand trial. She ©

was adjudged sane and sentenced to life
imprisonment in San Quentin.

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ADVENTURES 63


ES, Claude, NA, hanged CA@ (Alameda) December 8, 1933

MURDER

OAKLAND’S AMAZING

ae , Ph High above his head a

Psi My.

woman leaned out of a cell

window. She threw the
a ' manakiss. But he was in
| a joking mood. He raised
his hand and drew his fin-
gers over his taut throat,
laughing. “Oh, my God!”
The woman’s scream rang

through the morning air

URDER;
It has: been my life, day after day.
Tragedy and crime and violence lie in

the ‘path of the homicide squad, and |'ve

looked through the soul of man at his
worst—when greed or jealousy or hate drive him
to kill another human being.

But on this bright morning of June 14th, 1932,
murder was an alien thought in my mind as |
drove to Oakland’s Police Headquarters to meet my
partner, Inspector John Mulhern.

And yet, a few minutes later, | was to be plunged
into one of the strangest mysteries of my career—
a murder so vicious and brutal, that it shocked
everyone concerned with the investigation. Step-
ping into the homicide squad rooms that morning,
I saw that Mulhern was already there.

“Hello, Johnny,” I greeted him, “nice day, huh?”

He nodded.

“ll say it is.’ He rubbed his hands. “We
ought to go out and play a round of golf and for-
get the Police Department for awhile.”

I was still chuckling when the telephone rang.

Watching Mulhern’s lean face as he answered the
insistent call, I knew something had happened.
Somewhere in the city ...

“A murder, you say .. .” Mulhern’s voice rose
as he held the mouthpiece close. “. . . at 5314 Boyd
Avenue? Okay, we'll be right out!”

Boyd Avenue...

It was familiar, somehow . . . I tried to remem-
ber if any of my friends lived on that street, as
Mulhern and I grabbed our hats and ran down-
stairs to a waiting police car. Suddenly it came
te Nebaces, dis dewsie Wee ee "hed gait back to me as we raced through Oakland streets,
pital paren alive from the War Math the ‘Crone te Sheerre, taty with peotor throbbing and nia ey nminig. -

to fall a victim years later to a mysterious slayer Johnny,” I-said, “that’s Harry Nelson’s house!

t

Pemba,

DE

Wh,
wheel
“WN ny
The fell
in his s}
Legion.’
Mulhe
“H'm
Let's
house. .
The f:
Ing arour
Harry N
fast I
likely he
low und
Stairs te
Hulett
“Pleas
son isn't
Mrs.
“Well,
he'll be |

HE <.
quiet]
law’s bed
what wer
Warily s
Then s
“Oh, m
to her ¢}
Staring
Hulett
wake ag:
Pillow ar
gaping w
the grues.
lett, tremt
from the
den, stun

A string c
neck and ¢

out from u
was the wo:

figure in


NG

ead a
facell
ew the
was in
raised
his fin-
throat,
God!”’
n rang

ng air

after day.
iolence lie in
uad, and I’ve
man at his
ite drive him

I4th, 1932,
mind as |
to meet my

to be plunged
my career—
it it shocked
ation. Step-
hat morning,

e day, huhp”

nands. “We
golf and for-

one rang.
nswered the
happened

s volce rose

it 5314 Boyd

i to remem-
at street, as

ran down-

ror KISSES

LOVE KILLING
By Police Inspector

JAMES GOODNIGHT

Oakland, California, Police Department

As told to

DEAN S. JENNINGS

“Who’s Harry Nelson?” Mulhern muttered, gripping the

wheel. ‘
“Why, you know,” I replied, “the deputy county assessor.
The fellow that came home from the wat with.a silver plate
in his skull and a lot of medals. He’s connected with the
Legion.”

Mulhern grunted.

“H’m—I wonder what happened. .. .”

Let’s turn back for a moment, and look inside the -:
house. ...

The family maid, Muriel Forbes, putter-
ing around the kitchen, thought it odd that
Harry Nelson had not come down for break-
fast. Perhaps he had arisen early; more
likely he had overslept. She turned the gas
low under the bubbling coffee and went up-
stairs to a room occupied by Mrs. Lotta May
Hulett, Nelson’s mother-in-law.

“Please, ma’am,” she apologized, “Mr. Nel-
son isn’t up yet. It’s almost eight .. .”

Mrs. Hulett frowned.

“Well,” she said, “I’ll have to wake him or
he'll be late at the office.”

HE crossed the hall, turned the knob and

quietly opened the door to her son-in-
law’s bedroom. Yes, he was still asleep. But
what were those crimson spots on his pillow?
Warily she stepped closer to the bed.

Then she saw...

“Oh, my God!” the cry rose automatically
to her throat.

Staring at the still form on the bed, Mrs.
Hulett knew Harry Nelson would never
wake again. The browning splotches on the
pillow and coverlet told one story. The ugly
gaping wound on the man’s head completed
the gruesome picture. Lotta Hu-
lett, trembling, faint, backed away
from the bed and its bloody bur-
den, stumbling into the hall.

A string of pearls hung round her
neck and two frightened eyes peered
out from under her black hat. She
was the woman in the case, the central
figure in a brutal love slaying

_—o,

22 The

trudged into the office, her face paler by contrast with the
black dress she wore. A string of pearls hung around her
neck, and two frightened eyes peered out from under a
black hat whose severe line was broken only by a white
band.

“| didn’t do anything . . .” she was sobbing like a child.
“| don’t know anything about this...”

Captain Wallman raised his hand as though he were a
reproving parent.

“At this time,” he said, “I want to ask you just one ques-
tion. Where were you on the night of June 13th?”

To his surprise, her answer was immediate, palpably un-
rehearsed.

“I went to a lodge meeting in Santa Cruz. I got back
to the hotel about eleven o’clock and Claude was already
in bed.”

Wallman made a note of it.

“All right,” he motioned to my partner. “Take Mrs. Nel-
son outside and bring Forbes in here.”

FORBES, whose Indian ancestry was even more discern-

ible in the bright lights of Captain Wallman’s office,
stepped inside lightly, as though this ordeal were nothing
more complicated than having lunch.

Coolly he eyed us, smoothing his wavy, black hair down
with one hand, grinning like a schoolboy at a picnic.

“Forbes,” Captain Wallman began sternly. “Where were
you on the night of June 13th?” :

The chauffeur, digesting the question slowly, plucked at
his ear.

“Let’s see,” he murmured, “June 13th. .
went out to Albion that night.
Santa Cruz it is.”

“What time did you get back?” Wallman was deliberate.

Again Forbes ‘hesitated for a second. Then he spoke.

“Oh, yes, | remember now. It:
was just midnight and Mrs. Nel-
son was already in bed.”

Unable to keep silent now, |
barked at Forbes:

“So you went to Albion! . And
you got back at midnight! Well,
listen, young fellow, how does it
happen that Mrs. Nelson says
she returned to the hotel at eleven
o'clock, an hour before that, and
found you in bed? What about
that?”

A shadow passed swiftly over
the tanned face of the man stand-
ing there. It was as though he
understood at last. And his an-
swer, coming like a bullet from a
hidden gun, stunned us.

MAUL right.Ce call tight i.
he muttered, shrugging his shoul-
ders. “I'll talk. Sure, I gave
Nelson the works!”

His outburst was a tremendous
weight off our minds.

For Claude Forbes “broke” without knowing our secret—
that unhappy Harry Nelson had given up the fight at 1:40
o’clock that morning, despite the heroic efforts of his physi-
cian, Dr. C. R. Nelson, and his assistants. He was gone...
beyond recall.

And here was his murderer . . . in our hands..

The blood-chilling story he babbled out that night in
Police Headquarters was a sensation not soon forgotten.
And it brought to mind another vicious crime, quite similar,
the well-known murder case in which Ruth Snyder and Judd
Gray were the principals in New York City some years ago.

Many readers will recall this case, in which Judd Gray
and Ruth Snyder, his paramour, brutally killed the woman’s

Oby yes aE
You know, not far from

Master

Detective

Cowering at the rail the
woman whose kisses in-

| face. A court bailiff
| stands between her and
her paramour

(Left) The slayer, extremely
jaunty, supremely aloof. The
blood-chilling story he babbled out
in Police Headquarters was a sen-
sation not soon forgotten

husband, Albert Snyder, with a
sash weight.

Claude Forbes’ story, too, was
one of illicit love, jealousy and
greed. It was pitiful that Harry
Nelson had to pay the supreme
price for the inflamed emotions
of a primitive lover. But here is
Forbes’ amazing confession, just
as we took it down in question
and answer form:

Q. Did you ever make love to
Mrs. Nelson?

A. (Laughing) Yes, I did. it was mutual.

Q. What happened the night before you left the Nelson
home?

A. Mrs. Nelson and the little girl, Jessie, and I went for a
ride and got back to the house about 9:15. It was May
29th. Nelson and Mrs. Hulett were out. There was a note
there asking Mrs, Nelson to come out to a friend’s house
and play cards with her husband, that she’d be sorry if she
didn’t.

Q. Then what happeiied? ;

A. Mrs. Nelson went and got a revolver in Nelson’s desk
and was going to commit suicide. She got excited and |
fought with her, holding her down on the chesterfield. 1

| spired a murder hides her , ome

got the
the batt!
acid, |
She rar
cried.
file and
ing it a
talk to
around
Then sh
note to
QO. W
A. Sh
am goir
QO. Di
A. Ni
Nelson
day we
we dro.
There w
11:30, a
and told
her thin;
Marks, |
and wife


Murder for Kisses 19

s. Despite Meanwhile, Officer Ed Robinson, whom I had asked to
a subdued search the yard, walked into the house with a long bar to
ns, which were clinging tirly slivers of wood. This, I] knew,

must be the jimmy with which the window latch was sprung.
iter—Mrs. But again, despite minute examination, I ‘could find no

finger-prints. :
re an un- Just before leaving the house, I turned to Mrs. Hulett.

“Tell me,” I said, “does anyone else live in the house
beside you and Mrs. Forbes?”

“Well, yes . . .” she hesitated, “there’s Mrs, Forbes’ hus-
‘eks ago. I band, Claude, who was working as our chauffeur. But he
ink, but I _ left here a couple of weeks ago, and we haven’t heard from .
yeen quar- him since,”
g serious.” The maid confirmed this story.
She told me something else more important.
“About a month ago,” she whispered, “Mrs. Nelson tried
o see rela- to shoot herself. But Mr. Nelson grabbed the gun away
| from her and then she cried. Next day she tried it again,
I per- and this time Claude snatched the revolver out of her
hand and hid it. I guess she wasn’t very happy... .”
Hulett re- What a tangled situation, I thought, leaving the house of
of lonely, _ tragedy with Mulhern. On the way back to Headquar-
out this.” ters, we decided to drop in at the hospital. The in-

MAID'S BED ROOM
WHERE MRS. MURIEL, FORBES %

mM
____ [AND JESSIE MAE NELSON (@)
LETT SLEPT | SLEPT F
L aS
(Above) Police Inspector James Goodnight. He tells the
inside story of the investigation which finally led to the
KITCH EN solving of the mystery (Left) Diagram of the Nelson

home, showing the locations of the various rooms and
the route taken by the slayer to reach the bedside
of his victim.

CROWBAR

USED BY
KILLER

FOUND HERE

jured man might have talked. . . naming the killer. Certainly the
visit would do no harm.

But Harry Nelson lay in a coma. And four physicians, gathered
around his bedside, shook their heads .. . he couldn't live. Fate, |
realized, plays strange tricks with men. I recalled how Nelson, as ‘a
member of the famed “Lost Battalion,” was wounded and gassed...
again and again. He came home with the Croix de Guerre, a silver
plate in his skull and a bad lung—but he was at least alive.

And now...

That night, going over the evidence with Inspector Mulhern, |
knew there were too many missing links in this mystery. These things

WINDOW WHERE]||
MURDERER ||| , STE,

ENTEREO AND LEFT USED To I was anxious to know:
2) oe =) I entice Where was Mrs. Nelson now?
TO DINING Why didn’t the dog bark?

ROOM

Had anyone in the district seen a prowler around the house?

We were convinced that robbery was not the motive, but that
revenge for some fancied wrong, perhaps, was behind this attempted
murder. I had already learned that Nelson was custodian for several
shell-shocked veterans and that at least one of them had threatened
his life. Leaving no stone unturned, I made a note to have those ex-
soldiers brought in for questioning.

The next step was to wire the authorities at Menomonee, in Dunne
County, Wisconsin, where Mrs. Nelson's relatives lived. My tele-
gram read: .

SEEKING WHEREABOUTS MRS BESS NELSON VISIT-
ING RELATIVES IN MENOMONEE STOP PLEASE WIRE
ANY INFORMATION THIS IS URGENT STOP GOOD-

E 72 A NIGHT. POLICE DEPT. OAKLAND CAL.

LIVING
<= ROOM


20 The Master

Captain of Inrpectors Bodie Wallman under whose

direction Inspector Goodnight and his partner

Inspector John Mulhern acted in their search for
the motive and the murderer

“With the telegram speeding on its way, Johnny and |
jumped into the squad car and drove once more to Boyd
Avenue. For three hours we questioned men and women in
the neighborhood, asking if they had seen any strangers
near the Nelson home the night of June 13th. It seemed a
hopeless task until we ran across Melvin Simon, a Yellow
Cab driver, who gave us a valuable clue.

“Yes,” he said, “now that I think back, | remember
driving a passenger to the corner of Shafter and Clifton
Streets that night. He was a young fellow, ‘and he made

Detective

some remark about the weather being chilly. And say,”
Simon went on, “he had something in his coat pocket that
made a big bulge.”

The taxi driver's story gave us new hope; we felt that
we were no longer shooting in the dark: that our juarry
was like all other criminals, careless, whose movements
could be put together like the pieces in a jig-saw puzzle

But the next day I had disappointing news.

It came in a telegram:

“MRS. BESS NELSON SPENT FOUR DAYS WITH
GRANDMOTHER MRS CLARK IN MENOMONEF
STOP LEFT HERE JUNE EIGHTH STOP PRE-
SUME SHE RETURNED TO CALIFORNIA”

The message was signed by the police chief of the Wis-
consin town. Johnny and [ shrugged our shoulders, know-
ing We must wait until the absent wife returned to her home

“YOu know, Johnny,” | said, “I have a hunch. | think
I'll go out to the Nelson home and stick around there
for a few hours. Maybe something will turn up.”

“Sure, Jim,” my partner brightened, “that’s a good idea.
Go ahead!”

I never dreamed what startling consequences this decision
would have when | rang the bell at the Boyd Avenue house
a little later. Mrs. Hulett, still suffering from the shock, led
me to the living room, and we sat down to talk. Suddenly,
interrupting the conversation, the telephone bell rang shrilly.

“Now, who can that be?” Mrs, Hulett muttered in annoy-
ance.

She picked up the instrument.

eres or

The answering voice at the other end of the wire came
like that of a phantom in the night:

“Hello, Mother, this is Bess . . .”

“Where on earth are you, Bess?” Mrs. Hulett asked as
the telephone shook in her quivering hand. “Where have
you been?”

The daughter’s voice floated over the wire clearly

“T’m all right, Mother . . . how are your”

Then silence, irritating.

Mrs. Hulett listened- patiently.

“Mother,” the voice was rising, “I just heard about Harry.
The barber, Bud George, told me, . . .”

“What barber?” Mrs. Hulett was still in the dark.
“Where are you?”

Again stillness for a brief moment.

“I’m at the Hotel Grayson in Santa Cruz. Bud said he
heard it on the radio...”

In the next few minutes, Mrs. Hulett quickly told her
daughter the details of the crime and urged her to return
to Oakland at once—a request she was promised would be
complied with.

Mrs. Hulett was beaming when she returned to the room,
to tell me the news,

“That was Bess,” she said happily:, “she’s coming back to
Oakland.”
A moment later, with the address “Graystone Hotel, Santa

The iron bar and gloves which the murderer used in ac-
complishing his nefarious deed

Cruz,”
phone ar
“Fine,
at Santa
you and
and brin;
I shou:
would be
to pick .
hundred
roads, to
In the |
“Hello,
room, | \
prise you
He pic
Yapidly, .
“Look,’
Then |
“Mr. ar
Finally
“Let's §
An offic
turned
fallen, he:
“Hello,
She tur
Stridins
was not a

f

sash


y. And say,”
rat pocket that

; we felt that
at our quarry
se Movements
i-saw puzzle.

S.

JAYS WITH
NOMONEE
STOP PRE-
(NIA”

ef of the Wis-
oulders, know-
d to her home.

unch. I think
< around there
n up.”

s a good idea.
s this decision
Avenue house
the shock, led
Ik. Suddenly,

\| rang shrilly.
‘red in annoy-

he wire came
ilett asked as
“Where have

clearly.

about Harry.

in the dark.

Bud said he
ckly told her
her to return
ised would be

4 to the room,

»ming back to

e Hotel, Santa

er used in ac-

lal

Oe 2s

Cruz,” running through my mind, | leaped for the tele-
phone and called Captain Wallman to report. -

“Fine, Jim,” he said, “I’ll*telephone Chief Martin Towne
at Santa Cruz and have her detained at once. Meanwhile,
you and Inspector-Leon Carroll better hop right down there
and bring her back for questioning.”

] shouted a hasty “goodbye” at Mrs. Hulett, told her: I
would be back next day and sped to Police Headquarters
to pick up Inspector Carroll. And together we made that
hundred mile drive in fast time, over winding mountain
roads, to the famous California coast resort.

In the lobby of the Graystone Hotel I found Chief Towne.

“Hello, Jim,” he shook my hand, “before we go up to the
room, | want to show you the hotel register. It may sur-
prise you.”

He picked up the heavy volume, thumbing. the pages.

rapidly, until he found a scrawled line,

“Look,” he said.

Then I knew what he meant. For there was written:

“Mr. and Mrs, Claude Forbes, Oakland.”

Finally I found my voice.

“Let’s go up, Martin,” I said.

An officer stood guard outside the door, on the third floor.
[turned the knob and saw a woman standing there, crest-
fallen, her eyes red-rimmed from tears.

“Hello, Mrs. Nelson,” I said.

She turned her head away, ignoring the greeting.

Striding into the room, | suddenly saw that Bess Nelson
was not alone. In a chair by the wihdow, plainly unmoved

“Before we go up to
the room,” said Police
Chief Martin Towne
(Left) of Santa Cruz
to Inspector
night, “I want to show
you the hotel register.
It may surprise you.”

(Right) H. F. Faneuf,
the Santa Cruz hard-
ware dealer, who lent
valuable assistance to
the police in pinning
the crime on the guilty

Murder for Kisses 21

by the interruption, sat a darkly-handsome young man
whose high cheek bones, slightly curved nose and thin mouth
Suggested Indian heritage. His expression was one of
mingled affability and boredom.

“Who are you?” | asked sharply.

The smirk changed to a smile.

“I’m the lady’s chauffeur,” the man replied glibly.

I turned to the flustered woman.

“Is that right?” I questioned.

She nodded, dumbly.

“Well, how does, it happen that’ the register says ‘Mr.
and Mrs. Claude Forbes?’” I demanded, watching their
faces.

BESS NELSON’S already reddening face acquired a
darker hue and she looked helplessly toward her hand-
some companion. But he was glowering as he answered.

“T am Claude Forbes.”

I sensed their antagonism and decided to cease further
fencing. :

“I’m sorry,” I said with finality. “But I have instruc-
tions to take you both to Oakland for questioning.”

Late that night our dusty, smoking automobile rolled into
the police driveway at the Oakland City Hall.

In it was Bess Nelson. With her, still jaunty, supremely
aloof, was Claude Forbes. The same Claude Forbes whose
quiet little wife, Muriel, had sensed trouble in the Nelson
home that ghastly morning when her master failed to come
down for breakfast.

Captain Wallman was waiting in his office. I found him
there, tense, expectant.

“They’re here, Captain,” I said.

“Good!” Wallman rubbed his hands.
bring the woman in first.”

Clearly on the verge of nervous collapse, Bess Nelson

“You and Johnny

Good-

It did

person


76

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The Master Detective

slowly. The two statements had been
identical, except for the few questions
asked by the officers and included in
this story. The man’s statements were
accepted and the trial proceeded.

On the afternoon of the fourth day
of the trial, Henry Reagen was brought
into the court-room, sworn and placed
on the witness stand; the State’s star
Witness against his accomplice. Again
he repeated his confession, before a
jury this time, while the defense coun-
sel filled the record with their objec-
tions and exceptions and the crowd
hung breathlessly on his every Word
The greater part of the fifth ay was
spent in Reagen’s cross-examination by
the defense but he stuck to his story.
The State rested its case,

The defense counsel had been making
a great point of the time element in
the case, trying to show that when the
murder was committed, their client had
been walking on Main Street,

DEFENSE witnesses testified that the

body had been entirely limp when
it was brought from the burning house.
Testimony was introduced to prove
that Sheril had not been drinking on
that night; that his every action was
calm and deliberate,

George McKay testified that Reagen
had once told him that the old lady
wouldn’t bother anybody much longer.

Another witness testified that he had
seen Mrs. Gibson, alive and_ fully
dressed, leaning against a tree in front
of her hcme, at about ten minutes be-
fore midnight. Expert witnesses, for
the State, testified that half an hour
after midnight she had been dead.

Then the defense introduced their
surprise witness, the owner of a lunch-
room on West Fourth South Street.
He testified that on the night of the
slaying, between the hours of ten-thirty
and eleven o’clock, Sheril Dunkley had
been at his place of business. The
crowd gasped, for Sheril himself had
stated in that court-room that he had
been walking on Main Street, alone.

Under cross-examination by Mr.
Gustin the witness failed to remember
one other specific date on which Sheril
had been there.

“It was very convenient for the de-
fense to have you remember the night
of March 27th, wasn’t it?’ Mr. Gus-
tin said pointedly. The question was
denied hotly and the witness excused.

Doctor Walter Keene was the last
witness for the defense. He was asked
to state how soon after death rigor
mortis began in the body. He replied
that it began immediately and was usu-
ally complete in a few hours. However
he admitted on cross-examination that
it had been known to be as late as six
hours in becoming complete. Since he
had not seen the body of Freda Gibson
he could not be sure that such a thine
had, or had not, occurred in her case.

At 4:10 on the afternoon of June
l4th, the State began its opening ad-
dress to the jury. Mrs, Bosone followed
for the defense; the first time in the
history of the State of Utah where a
woman had taken part in a mvirder
trial, as counsel.

The case went to the jury at 7:35
that evening and four hours later it
returned with a verdict of guilty of
murder _ in the second degree against
Sheril Dunkley.

He was sentenced on Saturday morn-
ing, June 17th, to serve forty years in
the State prison, but a stay of judg-
ment was granted at the request of the
defense counsel who notified the Court
they would ask for a new trial.

Reagen entered a plea of guilty to
second degree murder on June 24th
and the charge of first degree murder
against him was dismissed.

He was sentenced on the first day of
July to serve forty years in the State
Prison,

WENTY-NINE days later, Horace

Beck, one of Dunkley’s defense coun-
sel, issued a statement made by Reagen
in the State Prison, in which the man
absolved Dunkley of any guilt in the
slaying of Freda Gibson. He repudi-
ated the confession he had made to
Chief Payne and the testimony he had
given at ‘the trial,

On August 5th, 1933, Horace Beck
again appeared before Judge Allan G.
Thurman. Armed with the statement
from Reagen, he asked for a new’ trial
for his cousin and client.

The request was refused and Sheri!
Dunkley was ordered committed to
prison immediately.

Mr. Beck then filed notice of appeal
on the grounds that the evidence
against his client was not sufficient te
Warrant the verdict of the jury and as
this story is written, the appeal is stil!
pending in the Supreme Court of the
State of Utah,

Murder for Kisses—Oakland’s Amazing
Love Killing

(Continued from page 23)

I felt instinctively that the story was
not complete ... the motive was miss-
ing. I was positive, too, that Bess Nel-
son knew her lover’s terrible mission
when he left Santa Cruz that day.

Of course, | had suspected from the
first that Mrs. Nelson was in some man-
ner involved in the crime. The attack
could have been engineered only by
someone familiar with the premises,

friendly to the watch dog; someone who
knew where to find a ladder and a crow-
bar without having to bring them to
the scene.

It was pure luck, | thought, that Mrs.
Nelson had telephoned from Santa
Cruz—and that | was in the house at
the time.

I guess Bess Nelson’s curiosity got
the better of herr What was | going

to do wv
lem
l-inal!
cided tc
charge.
brought
Forbes’ «
“Read
tioned.
As Be
from on
fell open
documen
seemed
her eyes
“T car
mumblec
I knew
“Now,
did you :
your hus
The
hanging
“T lov
loved hin
and I hc
I told C)
we could
together
he do sor
“What

“ H
get
and told
Wrapped
land. |
when he
I got him
he did it
ee. 1 ce
toad...
Mrs, }
matron |
a murder
Our ca
The ne
tifying \
lors of (
without <
at the nc
dered h
brushed ;
form and
“They’\
his face,”
man lyin;
someone :
appearanc
portance
dead.
Later 1
to a vacar
Streets, \
pipe. It
it was tu
Cassero, :
it and h
board.
Simon
tified For
cab that
from the
the pipe
Store. The
an accus:!
prisoner.
“Tnsurai
part in t!
explained
Warren.


a

Warn agin

FORBES, Claude, white, hanged CAS (Alameda) December 8, 1933.

ow

|
|

t

TRAGEDY SCENE
Into? this quiet Oakland
home crept a midnight mar
rauder, aeho .bludgeoned ‘a
sleeping man to death, and
left a strange clue that

finally trapped him;

[le

A FEW GRAINS

OF SAND SOLVE

THE MYSTERY OF
THE MURDERED
ASSESSOR AND
THE LOST WIFE

WITH THE scream of our
siren clearing the downtown
traffic, Inspector John Mul-
hern and I hurtled out of the
City Hall basement garage
in a headquarters’ car
shortly after nine o’clock on the morn-
ing of June 15, 1932. Rocketing across
Washington Street, we swung left on
Broadway for a fast run to the northern
edge of town. Above the siren's de-
moniacal screeching Mulhern yelled
into my ear:

“What's the dope on this killing we're
going to, Jim?”

“No killing—yet !” I yelled back. “But
it will be. Harry Nelson, the Deputy
County Assessor, was found early this
morning with his head beaten to a
bloody pulp. They've taken him to
Highland Hospital, but he’s unconscious
and not expected to live.”

“Who found him, Jim?”

His hea
pulp, Har
County

dying in
of his eff

“His mi
him that w
—with ou
into Boyd
bungalows
home ot

An elde
way. Her
poignant
ing horr¢

“Thank
the way
we found

There
parently w
only by a
of sympat
hysteria,

“What

“Mrs.
this’”’—in
ward us-

Mulher:

‘

was the last
le was asked
death rigor
He replied
and was usu-
rs. However,
lination that
is late as six
te. Since he
‘reda Gibson
such a thing
n her case.
on of June
opening ad-
one followed
time in the
tah where a
n a mrirder

ury at 7:35
urs later it
f guilty of
sree against

irday morn-
rty years in
‘y of judg-
juest of the
| the Court
‘ial,

f guilty to
June 24th,
ree murder

first day of
n the State

ter, Horace
fense coun-
by Reagén
h the man
uilt in the
He repudi-
1 made. to
ny he had

orace Beck
e Allan G.
statement
2 new trial

and Sheril
mitted to

of appeal

evidence
ifficient to
Iry and as
eal is still
urt of the

sing

ieone who
id a crow-
them to

that Mrs.

Santa
house at

eee

to do with her? There was a prob-
lem.

Finally, Captain Wallman and | de-
cided to hold the woman on an open
charge. Thegnext morning, I had her
brought to fe office and handed her
Forbes’ confession.

“Read it over carefully,” I cau-
tioned.

Bess Nelson’s tired eyes swept
frofjone page to another, her mouth
fell "open and she bit her lips. The
document rattled in her hands and she
seemed on the verge of fainting, closing
her eyes.

“I can’t read any more . . .” she
mumbled. |

| knew the end had come.

“Now, tell me,” I said softly, “wh
did you send Claude Forbes out to kill
your husband?” :

The woman slumped into a chair,
hanging her head.

“I loved Claude,” she wept. “I
loved him more than | ever did Harry
and I hoped to marry him some day.
I told Claude if we were rid of Harry
we could move into my home and live
together . .. it was my suggestion that
he do something to Harry.”

“What did he say?” | prompted.

“OH . +. he said: ‘Don’t worry, I'll
get him.’ He bought an iron bar
and told me to stay in the hotel, He
wrapped it in tape and went to Oak-
land. I met him at the stage depot
when he got back and he said: ‘I think
I got him.’ But he wouldn’t tell me how
he did it. I would never have given in
I couldn’t send Claude over the
toad... I loved him too well.”

Mrs. Nelson burst into tears as a
matron led her away to be booked on
a murder charge.

Our case was complete.

The next afternoon, I took this mys-
tifying woman to the undertaking par-
lors of Coroner Grant Miller where,
Without any emotion, she gazed down
at the now peaceful face of her mur-
dered husband. She leaned over,
brushed a speck of dust from his uni-
form and arranged his medals of valor.

“They’ve put too much powder on
his face,” she said calmly, as though this
man lying there in eternal sleep were
someone strange to her; as though his
appearance in death was of more im-
i sas than the fact that he was
aead.

Later the same day, Forbes led us
to a vacant lot at Fortieth and Webster
Streets, where he had hidden the iron
pipe. It was gone; but subsequently
It was turned over to us by Vincent
Cassero, a 10-year-old lad, who found
it and hid the thing behind a sign-
board.

Simon, the taxi driver, readily iden-
tified Forbes as the man who took his
cab that fatal night, and we learned
trom the killer himself that he bought
the pipe in a Santa Cruz hardware
store. The hardware dealer too, pointed
an accusing finger at our handsome
prisoner,

“Insurance—greed—also played a
part in this, as well as illicit love.” |
explained to District Attorney Earl
Warren. “There were two policies,

The Master Detective

worth a total of $11,500, and Mrs. Nel-
son was the beneficiary in each.”

Justice moved swiftly against Bess
Nelson and her lover.

On June 21st, 1932, the Alameda
County Grand Jury voted to indict the
25-year-old’ part-Indian murderer and
the once popular clubwoman ten’ years
his senior, and the case was set for
trial before Superior Judge Fred V,
Wood in Oakland. Bess Nelson, like a
she-wolf driven into a corner, sought
escape from the trap through a plea of
not guilty by reason of insanity.

But it was a futile gesture,

“Sane!” the jury voted.

She was sentenced to life imprison-
ment.

Forbes, facing the death penalty, was
advised to plead guilty and take a life
term in San Quentin Prison, which he
did. But Justice is not always blind
and when he stood before Judge Wood,
chewing gum, still smiling, his world
spun around as he heard these words:

“And you are hereby sentenced to be
hanged by the neck until dead on April
7th, 1933, and may God have mercy
on your soul,”

He swayed for an instant, but his
iron nerve held and he walked jauntily
from the court-room, through the court-
yard toward the County Jail. Sudden-
ly he halted his steady march and
cupped his hands.

“Bess! Oh, Bess!” his voice echoed
from the granite walls of the jail,

High above his head, a woman leaned
out a cell window. It was Mrs, Nel-
son. She threw him a kiss, But Forbes
was in a joking mood and, as she
watched, he raised his hand and drew
the fingers across his taut throat—
laughing.

“Oh, my God!” Bess Nelson’s scream
rang through the morning air.

AND then, like a wounded deer, she
tumbled to the floor in a faint, as
Forbes, shaking with insane merriment,
walked on to his cell. They never saw
each other again—those two who loved
beyond the law and murdered in the
hope of perpetuating illicit kisses,

On January 23rd, 1933, Bess Nelson
was taken to the grim fortress at San
Quentin to serve a life sentence. And
for a time she was but 200 yards away
from Claude Forbes—no onger gay,
but fearful—for he was in “condemned
row,” in the shadow of the ghastly ma-
chine of death with the thirteen steps
and the square hole to eternity.

On November 4th, 1933, Bess Nelson
was taken to the new California state
women’s prison at Tehachapi.

“I hope Claude gets a break,” she
said in leaving,

But the Indian killer had played his
last ace card. An appeal filed with the
State Supreme Court automatically
saved him from execution on April 7th,
1933. Then the high court of Califor-
nia crushed his hopes, ruling there were
no extenuating circumstances, and
Claude Forbes was again doomed.

The court fixed the date as December
8th, 1933. On that day after sending a
telegram of farewell to his mother,
Claude Forbes paid the extreme pen-
alty for his crime.

+e ope acta.

77

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{Not obtiente me. “"(Plense’ print plainly.)

oe Sy

Sewers

ghee

extremely
loof. The
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nyder, with a

tory, too, was
jealousy and
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' the supreme
med emotions
r. But here is
onfession, just
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make love to

‘ft the Nelson

d I went for a
It was May
‘re Was a note j
friend’s house
e sorry if she

Nelson’s desk
excited and |
hesterfield. |

Murder

(Right) The maid who, while
getting breakfast in the Nelson
home, wondered why her em-
ployer was so late in arising.
She notified his mother-in-law,
who discovered the crime

got the gun away. She went into
the bathroom and got a bottle of
acid. | took that away from her.
She ran into the bedroom and
cried. She got up and got a nail
file and | sprained my wrist tak-
ing it away from her. I tried to
talk to her; I put my arms
around her and_ hugged her.
Then she sat-down and wrote a
note to her mother,

Q. What did she say in it? :

A. She wrote: “Mother, I can’t stand it any longer. |
am going.”

Q. Did you leave then?

\, No, we heard Mr. Nelson and Mrs. Hulett come home.
Nelson grabbed a magazine and went to bed. The next
day we rode around together selling poppies and that night
we drove to Stockton, getting back about nine o’clock.
There was a card game and Mrs. Nelson got in it. About
11:30, after Nelson drove some friends home, he came back
and told Mrs. Nelson to get out and stay out. She packed
her things and I went with her.. We went to the Hotel St.

Marks, put the car away and registered as “Joseph Wilson
and wife.”

for Kisses 23

Q. Where did you go the next day?”

A. Mrs. Nelson drew $190 out of the bank and gave it
to me. Previously she had bought me some clothes.

Then Forbes related how he and Mrs, Nelson abandoned

- Nelson’s automobile at the railway station, and went to

Minneapolis, and from there to Menomonee, to visit her
relatives.

Four days later, they started back for the Pacific coast,
he said, and went by stage from San Francisco to Santa
Cruz;

Q. When. did you leave Santa Cruz?

A. June 13th, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. | reached
Oakland at 6:30 and went to the Plaza Theatre, saw the
‘show and got out about 9:30.

Q. Did you bring a piece of pipe with you from Santa
Cruz? :

A.. Yes, I bought it there.
had it. Terr

Q. What happened after you left the theatre?

A. | loitered around for about two hours and then went
out to the Nelson house in a taxi. The pipe was in my
inside coat pocket.

Q. Did you expect to see Nelson there?

A. Yes, | knew he was home, his light was on. I waited
until about 3:00 or 3:30 in the morning. The house was
dark. I went around the back and got a step-ladder from
the playhouse. I put it by the dining room window, jim-
mied the window with a bar I got in Nelson’s garage.

Mulhern and I looked at each other.

“Go on,” I urged, with bated breath,

Forbes smiled, as though he were amused at his awful
deed.

“Oh, I just went up to his bedroom,” he said airily,
“turned on the lights and gave him the works.”

We were astounded. There was no sign of remorse in this
killer’s voice, no pity. He might
have been carved from stone.

Q. How many times. did you
hit him?

A. Oh, several times. I didn’t
touch him with my hands, |
didn’t touch the bed. I didn’t

_ know if he was dead or not. He
never made a sound. I walked
out the front door and got a
stage back to Santa Cruz.

Q. Did you tell Mrs. Nelson
anything?

A. No—not then.

Q. Did you and she later try
to frame an alibi?

A. Well... yes.

Q. Why did you do this?

A. Because of the treatment he
gave his wife.

Q. Did you love Mrs. Nelson?

A. Yes.

Forbes explained that he wore
gloves that night.

“You didn’t find any finger-prints, did you?” He grinned
like a schoolboy.

“No, not a one,” I replied.

Forbes chuckled.

“Well, I didn’t intend that you should.”

But | was anxious to know Bess Nelson’s reaction when
she heard of the attack,

“What did she say when you told her?” I demanded.

“Oh, she cried a little,” Forbes said, lighting a cigarette
and watching the smoke curl upward to the ceiling. “We

decided we'd go back to Oakland and pretend to know
nothing.”

Forbes, cheerfully bidding us goodnight, was taken to
a cell in the city prison. But (Continued on page 76)

Mrs. Nelson didn’t know |


INSIDE DETECTIVE

CITY HALL

In this Oakland
municipal build-
ing were ana-
lyzed the queer
grains of sand
that tracked a
killer and his
paramour to
their hideout
« after a cross-
country tele-
graphic .search.

victim; an arm raised in the thick, cloying darkness. Then the
horrible “chunk” of a skull crushing under the impact of a
murderously wielded weapon. I glanced at Mulhern,

My partner’s plump, good-natured face was set in stern
lines. “I know Harry Nelson well,” he said, visibly affected.
“He’s a prince of a fellow, too. Who do you suppose could
have done this?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, John,” I replied.

For the time being we shook off all personal feelings of

sympathy and became calculating instruments of justice.

walked to the room’s single window, the bottom sash of
which was raised to its fullest extent.

“Come here!” I called to my partner,

Under the window was a thick bed of nasturtiums. Scanning
the ground carefully, we noticed that at two different points
about eighteen inches apart the plants were crushed. At
these spots the soft garden loam was indented to a depth of
about two inches.

“Ladder marks?” Mulhern asked with quick interest.

I reached into my pocket and took out a small folding
magnifying glass. In spite of humorous comments made
about them, nearly all detectives use these handy aids to vision.
I passed the glass over the window sill.

“Looks like it,” I answered. ‘‘Let’s see if we can find ‘any-
thing around this window.”

Suddenly I made a discovery. “There you are, John!” I said
exultantly. “There’s no fingerprints, but look at those marks !”

“Yeah, I get it.’ Mulhern peered over my shoulder. “Two
marks. parallel with the ones outside. Looks like a ladder
was used, all right, and that’s where it rested!”

“Sure! The assailant was clever, too—the only reason he
used a ladder was to prevent leaving footprints on the soil
below. Any ordinary man could crawl in this window from
the ground.”

“A wise guy, eh, Jim?”

“He was foxy in a way,” I replied, “but not quite smart
enough.” I extended my inspection with the glass to include
the floor below the window. “For instance, we can make
a guess at his weight from the depth of those holes in the
ground outside. I’d say between a hundred and fifty and a
hundred and sixty pounds. The weapon, and possibly the

lqgdder, might tell us a lot more about him if we locate them.”
I folded the glass and put it back in my pocket. “Let's take
a quick look under the bed and dresser and inside the clothes

closet. The prowler may have been crude enough to leave

the weapon behind him.”

A thorough search of the room, however, failed to reveal
anything that might have been used as a weapon by Nelson's
assailant. Whatever the prowler used, he had carried it out
of the house with him. We entered the living room.

HE two women looked up as John and I entered. Mrs.

Hulett's faded blue eyes and careworn face reflected the
same look of dazed horror as when she had greeted us at the
front door. The eyes of the Forbes girl were wide and star-
ing, her face deathly pale, and her hands kept up the same
monotonous twisting motion in her lap.

Mulhern and I drew up a couple of chairs and sat down
facing the women. “Now Mrs. Hulett,” I said, “please tell
us just exactly what happened, so far as you know.”

The elderly woman reached over and grasped the hand of
the Forbes girl as though seeking support for the trying or-
deal.

“There isn’t very much we can tell, Inspector,” she said
“We heard Harry’s alarm clock ringing at six, the same as
always. It kept ringing and ringing and he didn’t shut it off.
I opened the door of his room and looked in. When I saw
him I screamed. Mrs. Forbes came. Then"— she stopped
for a moment, shuddering—“everything was hazy for a while.

TRIAL SCENE
In the Alameda County courthouse at
Oakland, Claude Forbes and Mrs. Nel-
son were convicted and sentenced for the
ingurance murder that followed their
illicit’ romance,

The next thing I remember clearly was the police ambulance
coming to take Harry away.”

I glanced inquiringly at the young housekeeper.

“Yes,” she answered my look in a_ fiat, toneless voice.
“That’s the way it was, except that I went into the room
and put my hand on Mr. Nelson’s chest. I could feel his heart
beating, and I was the one who phoned for the police.”

“Did you try to help Mr. Nelson in any way?” I asked.

The girl nodded. “I knew he was terribly hurt and had to
be taken to a hospital right away. But I went in the bathroom
and got a towel and some water and bandages. | was going
to tie up his head and try to stop the bleeding, but the am-
bulance came before I got a chance to do anything for him.”

“Do you know if any money or jewelry is missing from
Mr. Nelson’s room?” I probed.

This time Mrs. Hulett answered. ‘‘The police officer who
came with the ambulance asked us that. We looked in Harry’s
pockets and found ninety-seven dollars, He always carries quite
a bit of money, and I don’t know whether he had more than
that or not when he went to bed. But his watch was on the
dresser where he always puts it at night, and his other jewelry

a

was in t}
“Ha
tinued
Bott
one,”
Wat
ness i
at lea
howe Ver
Forbes

to other

to some
badly he
“And
Awa
‘Dor
Mrs.
and her
A couph
become
As w
this ca
seeming |\

pahence

“How
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Mrs
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Struck
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and | ¢
we dont

The gi:
than befor
she asked

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“Well”
who kr
can Leg
come out
hats and ¢


AINS

| SOLVE
RY OF
/ERED
AND
WIFE

scream of our
the downtown

John Mul-
tled out of the
ement garage
iarters’ car
on the morn-
‘keting across
wung left on
» the northern

siren’s de-
iihern yelled

killing were

ed back. “But
the Deputy
nd early this
beaten to
iken him to
s unconscious

BATTERED

His head beaten to a bloody
pulp, Harry Nelson, Alameda
County official, was found
dying in his bedroom. None
of his effects had been stolen.

“His mother-in-law and the housekeeper. They found
him that way, in bed.” We swerved west on Clifton, then
—with our tires whining on the asphalt—swung quickly
into Boyd Avenue, a quiet residential street of modest
bungalows. I yanked the brake in front of No. 5314, the
home of Harry Nelson. Mulhern and I piled out.

An elderly, gray-haired woman stood in the front door-
way. Her normally placid face was distorted into lines of
poignant grief, and her eyes held a look of stark, haunt-
ing horror.

“Thank God, you’ve come!” she greeted us, leading
the way into the house. ““We’ve been almost crazy since
we found Harry.” :

There was an hysterical catch in her voice; she ap-
parently was keeping herself from going utterly to pieces
only by a supreme effort of will. Knowing that a display
of sympathy on our part would merely aggravate her
hysteria, I spoke to her in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What is your name, please?” I asked:

“Mrs. Mary Hulett. I’m Harry’s mother-in-law; and
this” —indicating a much younger woman who came to-
ward us—“is Mrs. Forbes, the housekeeper.”

Mulhern and [ sized up this second woman in a swift
’

MISSING
Bess Nelson “didn’t. get
along” with her husband.
She disappeared mysterious-
ly, leaving no address, tao
weeks before he was slain,

INQUISITOR
Inspector James Goodnight,
co-author of this story,
cracked a baffling crime enig-
ma by asking questions and
using a vacuum cleaner.

glance. Hardly more than a girl, she had a comely, good-
humored face and a youthful, well-proportioned figure.
Her glossy brown hair was disordered, however, and in
her brown eyes was the same brooding horror I had
noticed in those of the older woman. Mrs. Hulett pre-
ceded us to the doorway of a bedroom on the right.

“This is Harry’s room,” she said, pausing on the
threshold, “I can’t’”—her voice broke—“can’t bear to go
ie

“Never mind, Mrs. Hulett,” I said quietly. “Just sit
down in the front room until we finish our examination.”

Meanwhile the Forbes girl sat down on the chesterfield
in the living room, twisting her hands aimlessly in her
lap. Mulhern and I strode into Nelson’s bedroom—and
stopped, aghast.

“God!” my partner muttered under his breath.
_ The room, or rather the bed, was a shocking sight.
Great gouts of partially-clotted blood were spewed over
the rumpled bedclothes and pillows. A crimson trail of
horror still dripped sluggishly to feed an equally sinister
pool on the polished hardwood floor, As my eyes took
in the scene, my mind conjured up a fleeting vision: a
mysterious night intruder; the sleeping, defenseless


e locate them.”

“Let's take
ide the clothes
1ough to leave

uiled to reveal
m by Nelson's
carried it out

room,

entered. Mrs.

reflected the
eeted us at the
wide and star-
pt up the same

and sat down
ad, “please tell
<now.”
ed the hand of
the trying or-

* she said.

x, the same as
in’t shut it off.
When I saw
— she stopped
izy for a while.

lice ambulance

per
pet

neless VOW

nto the room
{ feel his heart
police.”
’ T asked.
irt and had to
n the bathroom

] was going
}

yut the at

ce officer who
; [1]. ’

ced in Parry s

was in the top drawer. So far as we know, nothing was taken.”

“Has Mr. Nelson any enemies that you know of?” I con-
tinued. :

Both women shook their heads emphatically. “No. No
one,” Mrs. Forbes answered.

Watching the girl closely, I sensed an inexplicable eager-
ness in her voice and expression. Intuitively I knew that she
at least suspected the identity of the night prowler. I realized,
however, that we would obtain no more information from Mrs.
Forbes than she was willing to give. I switched the inquiry
to other channels.

“Now suppose you tell us something about the family, Has
Mr. Nelson any children ?” ;

“Yes; a little girl,” Mrs. Hulett replied. “But we sent her
to some friends early this morning. She doesn’t know how
badly her father. is hurt.”

“And the mother—where is she?”

“Away on a trip.”

“Don’t you know where she went?”

Mrs. Hulett shook her head. “No. You see, my daughter
and her husband haven't been getting along very well lately.
A couple of weeks ago she left, and we don’t know what has
become of her.” ;

As we sat there questioning the women, I reflected that
this case was like a scattered jig-saw puzzle—a jumble of
seemingly unrelated fragments which would require infinite
patience to fit into any logical pattern.

“The household, then,” I continued, “consists at present of
you and Mrs. Forbes, Mr. Nelson and the little girl. Is that
right 2” ‘

“Yes,” Mrs. Hulett said nervously. “Just the four of us.”

“How about the front and rear doors?” Mulhern cut in. “Do
you keep them locked at night?” He turned to me. “Those
ladder marks may have been a blind, you know.”

Mrs. Forbes spoke up. “Both doors are always locked be-
fore we go to bed. That’s one of my duties.”

Struck by a sudden hunch, I leaned forward tensely. “In
that case, here’s something that occurs to me. My partner
and I found ladder marks outside Mr. Nelson’s window. If
we don’t find any more, wouldn’t that seem rather significant ?”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. Her face became even more pale
than before, and one hand flew toher mouth. “Sig—significant ?”
she asked with a little catch in her voice. “What do you mean?”

“Just this,” I answered. “Assuming that there are no
ladder marks or footprints under any other window, doesn’t

SLEUTH
Inspector John
Mulhern col-
laborated with
Inspector
Goodnight in
following the
faint clues that
finally re-
vealed a sor-
did plot of lust

and greed,

it stand to reason that the prowler knew the exact location
of Mr. Nelson's bedroom ?”

“Well’—the girl relaxed a trifle—‘there’s a lot of people
who know that. Both the Nelsons are very active in Ameri-
can Legion affairs, and a great many of their Legion friends
come out here in the evenings. The men always leave their
hats and coats in Mr. Nelson’s room. So you see there may

be twenty or thirty different people who could have gone

directly to Mr. Nelson’s window.”

“Yes. I see,” I said slowly. “Is there a ladder of any
kind around the place?” «

_“No, there isn’t, Inspector,” Mrs. Hulett answered. “Harry
isn’t very keen on making his own repairs, and we’ve never
had any use for one. Although,” she added as an afterthought,
“he never begrudges paying for any necessary work.”

All this time an idea had been milling about in my mind. I
rose to my feet. “Well, there’s just one thing more, ladies,
then we won't have to bother you any more,” I said. “I'd
like to use your vacuum cleaner for a few minutes.”

Both women stared at me in amazement. “The vacuum
cleaner!” Mrs. Forbes exclaimed. ‘What on earth for ?”

“A. vacuum cleaner sometimes tells quite a lot about a
crime,” T explained.

LOVER— |
SLAYER
What fatal fas-
cination caused
Claude Forbes
to forego his
stolen cross-
country honey-
moon with an-
other man’s
wife, and return
near the scene
of his crime to
be claimed by
the gallows?

Without another word the housekeeper got the cleaner. Re-
moving the bag, I took it out and emptied it of all dust and
trash. After shaking the bag thoroughly, I put it on again.
John and I then took the machine into Nelson’s bedroom.

“What now, Sherlock?” my partner jibed. “Have you
gone suddenly crazy?” ‘

“Perhaps so,” I answered. “But if I’m crazy, then so is
Chief August Vollmer of Berkeley. I heard him lecture at
the University of- California a couple of weeks ago. He
stressed the value of evidence sometimes obtained from an
analysis of floor sweepings in crimes of this nature. Of
course it’s just a chance, but it’s worth trying.”

Mulhern grunted, but I noticed that his eyes gleamed with
interest.

After vacuuming the floor thoroughly—avoiding, of course,
the pool of blood—we took off the bag, wrapped it in news-
papers, and explained to the women that it would be returned
the following day. They looked at me strangely. They had
not heard my explanation to Mulhern, and probably still re-
gard me as some sort of lunatic.

We next made a search of the flower beds and bushes
around the house in an effort to find the murder weapon. A
telephone conversation with the authorities of Highland Hos-
pital had disclosed that this was probably a length of narrow
iron or lead pipe. Nelson had four distinct skull fractures
and they were of such a nature that no other weapon could
have been used. The deputy assessor was still in a coma, and
it was impossible to obtain a statement from him.

Failing to find the weapon, we next questioned the neigh-
bors. Not one of them had seen or heard anything unusual
around the Nelson home the night before. We also drew a
blank when it came to locating the ladder which the assail-
ant had evidently used. (Continued on page 40)

35


A Chat with
the Chief

MANY ex-convicts have come to us with
the solemn assertion that “I’m going
straight.” Sometimes we have believed
them, sometimes not. And in the majority
of cases we have observed, the resolution
to stay within the law sooner or later has
been broken. One man is driven back into
crime by alleged police persecution. An-
other man is weak, content to rely upon
his wits, rather than hard work, to earn
a living. A third cannot shake off his old
companions, and is dragged by them back
into thievery and headquarters lineups.

Observation has made us skeptical, and
that is why we were on our guard when
“The Ninth Man,” last '
survivor of the Coll
gang, came to us with
his story.

But after hearing
him describe the web
of circumstance that
threw him into the un-
derworld, after check-
ing carefully every de-
tail of his recital and
interviewing his sick
wife, we became firm-.
ly convinced that here
at least was one form- ,
er crook who was DororHy KiLGALLEN
honestly striving to
reform, and one who deserved a chance.
Readers of INstpe Detective will be glad
to know that at this writing a prominent
law, enforcement authority has. interested
himself in the case of “The Ninth Man,”
and that the author of “Nine Mad Dogs”
has good prospects of obtaining an honest
job far from the metropolis where his
record has had but few parallels. P

We are doing everything within our
power to help “The Ninth Man” rehabili-
tate himself, to fight his way back to de-
cency and happiness. Maybe he will be. an-
other disappointment—but we don’t think
so. Read the first installment of “Nine
Mad Dogs” in this issue and you will un-
derstand why, This is not a mere gang-
land story; it is that and much more—the
graphic portrayal of one man’s life, the
sincere confession of a product of the
slums who “went wrong” through no fault
of his own and who now is trying to make
the world’s toughest comeback.

Cynicism dictates the tule, “Once ‘a
crook, always a crook.” But we believe
“The Ninth Man” will prove the excep-
tion to the rule.

* * *

In the “Chat” this month we present a
picture of Dorothy Kilgallen, author of
“The Red Riddle of the Childhood Sweet-
heart” which begins page 16 this issue,
and who in the past has contributed “Guilty
as Hell,” “They Called Her a ‘Modern
Borgia,’” etc. Miss Kilgallen; for four
years a star reporter on the New York
Evening Journal, inherited the qualities
necessary tO a journalistic career. Her
father, James L. Kilgallen, was a “big
name” correspondent for International
News Service for two decades and now is

an executive with King Features Syndi- -

cate, His chppings from thousands of
newspapers if arranged for book publica-
tion would make an excellent history of
the United States from 1915: to 1935.
Daughter Dorothy, incidehtally, was on
the point of becoming a tearoom hostess
when. she landed her job on the Journal,
Being Irish, she thinks that newspaper
work is much more fun.

INSIDE DETECTIVE

Within another month or two, we hope
to have an extrarspecial piece of news for
our readers. Watch for it in this depart-
ment ... Another all-star number of In-
sIpbE DeErTEctTIvE will be the July issue, on
sale everywhere June Ist. "Contents are
scheduled to include the’ second installment
of “Nine Mad Dogs;” a graphic descrip-
tion of the Michigan torch slaying involv-
ing George Blank, who loved not wisely
but too well; “Phe Nude Body in the
Woods,” a Virginia-New Jersey story of
a crime of passion, and many other out-
standing features. Don’t miss this great
forthcoming issue of America’s most. in-
teresting fact-detective magazine.

—THE Enprror.

House of Blood

(Continued from page 35)

After leaving the Nelson home we
took the bag of sweepings down to the
city hall for analysis. The afternoon was
occupied in questioning Nelson’s friends
and business associates in an effort to
learn whether he had any enemies who
might have had strong enough motive to
commit the assault.

I handled this part of the investigation,
while Mulhern checked the hotels, rail-
road stations and bus terminals in the
hope that we might learn something of
Mrs. Nelson’s movements from the time
she had left her home, two weeks before.

My partner and I met again at six
o’clock that evening, and both of us had
obtained some startling information, In-
spector Mulhern, armed with a photo-
graph and description of Mrs. Nelson,
had succeeded in tracing her movements
up to within three days of the crime.

ON the very night she left home, Mrs.
Nelson had walked into the Saint
Mark Hotel in Oakland, accompanied by
an unknown man. The couple registered as
“Joseph Wilson and wife,’ and had spent
the night, there. The hotel clerk was
positive in his identification, and he also
supplied my partner with a good deserip-
tion of the woman’s companion. By dog-
gedly following almost impossible ‘clues,
Mulhern learned that the couple had
bought tickets for Minneapolis, Minneso-
ta, the next day, and left town. A tele-
gram to the Minneapolis police brought
out the fact that “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson”
had spent only a couple of days in that
city, then left again for the Pacific Coast.
During the early part of their flight,
Mrs. Nelson and her male companion
seemed to have the unfortunate faculty -of
making themselves conspicuous wherever
they went. One reason for this was the
fact that “Mr. ‘Wilson” was obviously
very much younger than‘ Mrs. _ Nelson.
Everyone who observed ‘them stated that
there was at least ten years difference in
their ages. After leaving Minneapdlis,
however, the couple had apparently
dropped from sight.
'For my part, I had fearned that Harry
Nelson carried a ,000 insurance policy,
made out in favor of his wife. An analysis
of the sweepings from Nelson’s bedroom
also uncovered a significant clue. Ac-
cording to the expert who did the work,
in addition to ordinary house. dust the
vacuum bag contained a small quantity of
beach sand. Ordinarily this would have
meant nothing, since the California coast
line alone has over a thousand miles of
beaches.
Strangely enough, however, this par-
ticular sand ‘was mixed with a noticeable

amount ‘of gold and another metal known
as titaniferous iron. The expert informed
me that this compound was peculiar to the
region around Santa Cruz, a beach resort
about eighty miles from Oakland!

A telephone call to Mrs. Hulett elicited
the information that none of the family
had been-to Santa Cruz for years, Al-
though it seemed fantastic, I evolved
the theory that Nelson’s attacker had
brought the sand into the bedroom either
in the cuff of his trousers or perhaps on
his shoe. Having run up against a blank
wall so far as other leads were concerned,
Mulhern and I decided to take a chance
and go to Santa Cruz. It was the merest
possibility, but we were working on the
theory that the culprits might return to
the vicinity of their crime.

We drove there that

r same evening
through a terrific rainstorm — which
pounded and slashed at us the whole

eighty miles. With the assistance of a
Santa Cruz officer we started a tour of
the local hotels, searching for “Mr, and
Mrs, Wilson.” After two futile calls the
errand began to look hopeless, but we re-
solved to cover every hotel in town before
returning.

At our third call—the Hotel Greystone
—we asked the clerk at the desk if a Mr.
and Mrs. Wilson were staying there. His
answer quickened our pulses.

“Yes,” he said. “Shall I ring them for
you?”

“No,” replied Mulhern grimly,

go up!”
_ So we confronted the couple, interrupt-
ing their illicit, wandering romance. They
put up no resistance, and we hurriedly
bundled them in our car and sped back to
Oakland.

In Oakland “Wilson” was grilled mer-
cilessly. He finally broke and made a
full confession—a ‘confession of vengeful
hatred and sordid lust for money that cul-
minated in brutal murder.

“Wilson,” we discovered to our sur-
prise, was in reality Claude Forbes, the
husband of Nelson’s housekeeper. After
carrying on a secret love affair with Mrs.
Nelson, Forbes had finally plotted with his
paramour to kill the deputy assessor, col-
lect his insurance, and live in luxury on
the proceeds. Forbes stated in his con-
fession that on the night of the assault he
had come to Oakland on the bus, picked
up a length of lead pipe, crept into the
house with the aid of a ladder secured
from a vacant building, and clubbed Nel-
son to his eventual death.

Forbes told the story of their strange
cross-country journey, and admitted that
he had returned to Santa Cruz with his
mistress so that they could more closely
watch developments in the case.

At the time of the confession, Nelson
had not yet died, so we held the scheming
couple in the city Prison awaiting the out-
come of the victim’s injuries. On the
third day the deputy assessor died, and we
then placed a formal charge of murder
against them and transferred them to the
county jail.

Mrs. Nelson received a life sentence in
the women’s prison at T ehatchapi, Cali-
fornia, while Forbes paid the supreme
penalty at San Quentin Prison, Decem-
ber 8, 1933. A strange, brooding figure,
he marched stoically up the thirteen steps
of the gallows. The adjustment of the
black cap over his head and the thud of
the trap marked the end of his lurid and
se reous Tomance with another man’s
wife.

“Queer about that Nelson case,” Mul-
hern said to me some time later. “A few
grains of sand really solved it for us.”

“They sure did, John!” I agreed. “A
few grains of sand in a house of blood,
and—a lot of luck!”

“We'll

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Oz.

Someone familiar with the Nelson
home had killed Harry Nelson.

First there was Nelson’s dog, Toby.
When Inspectors Jim Goodnight and
Johnny Mulhern of the Oakland, Cal-
ifornia, homicide squad raced up to the
home, Toby came bouncing out at
them, barking as loudly as he could.
Mrs. Muriel Forbes, the Nelson maid,
said’ that Toby always barked at
strangers. And he hadn’t uttered a
sound the night before.

Then there was the ladder the offi-
cers found leaning against the house,
and the length of pipe that had been
used to jimmy the window. The lad-
der came from the playhouse of Nel-
son’s little girl, Jessie Mae. The pipe
had been hidden on a back shelf in
Harry’s garage. How could the killer
know where those two articles were
kept—how could he find them in the
middle of the night—unless he was
familiar with the household?

So it was quite apparent that the
person who had bashed Harry Nelson’s
head in during the night was someone
who could find his way around the
Nelson home and grounds.

But who? Bob Martin, the World
War veteran who quarreled with Har-
ry a few hours before the attack? He

Te: evidence was pretty conclusive.

was a likely suspect, beyond doubt.

But did he know his way around Nel-
son’s home? Did Toby know him well
enough not to bark at him?

28

Mrs. Muriel Forbes:
She said Toby al-

ways

barked when

strangers were near

Chief of Police Bodie A. Wallman:

the minute

By Bodie A. Wallman

“| itched to get out there from.

| first heard of it”

Chief of Police, Oakland, California, as Told to

~ Hobart

Those were the questions Goodnight
and Mulhern were puzzling over when
they reported to me by phone that
morning of June 14, 1932. I was Cap-
tain of Inspectors then and it was a
desk job. I had to stay at Headquar-
ters and assign the men. That rankled
me, because I had known Harry Nel-
son personally and I itched to get out
there from the minute I first heard of

it. Ei

The call came in early on the morn-
ing of June 14. Mrs. Mae Hulett, Nel-
son’s mother-in-law, found the body
when she tried to rouse Harry. His
head had been beaten in with some
blunt instrument. I sent Goodnight and
Mulhern out immediately and called
the district station nearest to Nelson’s
house, the Northern Station, asking the
Captain there to send some of his men.

The Nelson home was a simple and
unpretentious bungalow at No. 5314,
Boyd Avenue, Oakland. When Good-

Stanley

night and Mulhern drove up every-
thing was quiet until they stepped out
of the car and the dog came running
at them.

Sergeant Austin Page of: Northern
Station opened the door.

“Looks like attempted murder,” he
said. “It’s Harry Nelson, the deputy
assessor.”’

“Attempted?” said Goodnight. “Is he
still alive?”

“Didn’t think so at first,” said the
Sergeant. “But he was breathing, so
I called the ambulance and they took
him to the hospital. They left just a
minute ago.” ;

“How badly was he hurt?” asked
Mulhern.

Page shook his head. ‘

“He hasn’t a chance in the world,
I’d say. Looks like he’d been hit five
or six times by some heavy instru-
ment. While he was sleeping, too. He
probably didn’t know what hit him.”

“Hold everybody in the house while
we look over the bedroom,” Goodnight
said, as he and Mulhern entered.

Except for tumbled and _ blood-
stained bed-clothes the room was in
perfect order. On the bureau lay Nel-
son’s watch and some loose bills and
silver, apparently just where he had
placed them when he undressed the
previous evening. Nothing in the room
had been disturbed. The drawers of
the bureau were unopened.

“Not robbery, anyway,” said Mul-
hern. “Some other motive. Who’s in
the house?”

How could officers deduce
the sex of Harry Nelson’s
murderer. from wounds
made by this iron pipe?


the demands of justice, that he had
convinced the Commonwealth's chief
executive that he had been a martyr,
a blameless pawn in life’s ironic game
—it was just that things were differ-
ent now and the odds were naturally
against him.

Herbert remarked one day early in
March, 1939:

“We can’t continue to sponge on
your folks, I’ll leave you here at your
mother’s for a few days—”

“And what do you intend doing,
Young Man?”

“Ride a freight train up toward
Knoxville,” was his laconic reply.
“Maybe I can find work up there. At
least, I’ll be frée now to visit my boy-
hood’ home and visit my mother and
sister.”

OTHER'S telephone awakened me
late: on the night of March 22. A
premonition~of disaster crept over me
before I lifted the receiver. A nervous
chill shook me until I scarcely could
stand on my feet when an unfamiliar
voice said without preamble:
“This is the city desk of the Com-
mercial Appeal.”
Then the unemotional voice broke

He Wouldn't Bark .for Murda:

“What about the dog that barked at
us?” asked Mulhern.

“That’s Toby,” said Mrs.
“Mr. Nelson’s dog.”

“Does he _ sleep
night?”

“Oh, yes, in the kitchen.”

“Was he there last night?”

“Ves.”

“Well, didn’t he bark or make any
disturbance at all?”

“No, he didn’t. I’m sure, because it
would have awakened me if he did.
I’m not a heavy sleeper.”

“This man Martin,” said Goodnight.
“Did Toby bark at him?’

“At first he did,’ said Mrs. Forbes.
“But Mr.:Martin came here so often
that Toby got used to him.” '

“Strike two against Martin,” said
Mulhern, when the two officers had
finished questioning Mrs. Forbes and
had embarked upon a thorough search
of the entire house. “First he quarrels
with Harry and threatens him just a
few hours before Harry gets his head
knocked in. Then we find that he’s so
friendly with Toby that the dog doesn’t
bark at him.”

Goodnight was at the dining-room
window, peering closely at the sill.

“Hey, John,” he called, “here’s where
he came in. This window’s been jim-
mied. It’s all marked up.”

He threw open the window and
gazed below.

“And here’s a ladder against the
wall. Let’s go.”

Officer Ed Robinson joined them in
the yard.

“Search around the house, Ed,” Mul-
hern told him. “May be something in
the grass or the shrubbery.”

The ladder was short, almost a toy.

“That’s Jessie Mae’s ladder,” Mrs.
Forbes said from the kitchen. “It be-
longs in her playhouse.”

The inspectors examined it closely
for finger-prints but they found none.
They were interrupted by the return
of Officer Robinson, who was carrying
an iron bar, wrapped carefully in his
handkerchief.

“Found it on the grass in the yard,”
Robinson said. Mulhern took it from
him. There were slivers of wood and
scrapes of paint on the edge.

“That’s what he jimmied the window
with,” he said. ‘Ever see this before?”
he asked Mrs, Forbes.

“Yes,” she said promptly. “Mr. Nel-
son kept it.on a shelf in the garage.
He used it for opening boxes and
things like that.”

“Was it kept where anybody could
see it?”

“No, you’d almost’ have to know it
was there. .

“Was Martin familiar with the play-
house and the garage?” -Goodnight
asked.

AD—12

Forbes.

in the house at

the tragic news that a man tentatively
identified as Herbert Fellows lay deud
in the county morgue at Tuscumbia,
Alabama.

A few minutes later Sheriff O. H.
MeWright of Tuscumbia called over
long distance to request that I hasten
to that city to complete the identifica-
tion. I was instructed to call at the
Sheriff’s office upon my arrival.

With my sister and brother-in-law,
the sad journey to the town 200 miles
away was Started in the eery hours
between midnight and dawn. Upon our
arrival in Tuscumbia, we were re-
ceived sympathetically by Sheriff Mc-
Wright and his deputies. They imme-
diately escorted us to the Brown Fu-
neral Home. Please spare me the pain-
ful ordeal of trying to depict that scene.

It was Herbert.

Stumbling out of the silent chamber
poten his body lay, I heard the Sheriff
sa

“Aipectnd him and five others for

. beating their way on a freight train.

When we'locked the bunch up, this
man happened to be put in a cell by
himself, and before anybody knew it
he had tied a big handkerchief around
his neck. It was self-strangulation that

“No,” said Mrs. Hulett. ‘I’m sure
he wasn’t. He always came in the
front door and went out. the same
way.”

There were no other’ clews in or
around the house. No one had heard
the mysterious assailant enter or leave;
no one had seen or heard anything
wrong.

Goodnight and Mulhern called me,
then left to find Martin, their Number
One suspect—in fact, their only sus-
pect.. They had no trouble locating
him at the Veterans’ Memorial Build-
ing.

E WAS a jumpy middle-aged man,
thin,. with reddened .eyeballs.

“Yeah, I’m Martin,” he said. ‘What
do you want?”

“We're inspectors from the homicide
squad, Martin,’ Mulhern said. “We
want to.ask you a few questions.”

Martin’s hands were restless. He put
them in his pockets, took them out
again, looked at them. His face
twitched,

“Sure, go ahead, shoot,” he said.

“You know Harry Nelson?”

“What about him? Sure I know
him.”

“You quarreled with him last night,
didn’t you?’

Martin put his hands on his hips,
then crossed them behind his back.

“So' what?” he asked. “That’s my
business, ain’t it?”

“He’s dying,” said Mulhern. “Some-
body got in his house last night and
beat him up with a club.”

Martin stepped back a pace. He
looked from Mulhern to Goodnight
and back at Mulhern. His eyes were
wide and his face twitched again.

“Harry Nelson!” he said. There was
incredulity in his voice. “Harry Nel-
son! What’re you tryin’ to hand me?”

“Harry Nelson’s dying, Martin,” said
Goodnight.

The veteran put his hands over his
eyes and bowed his head. Then he
looked up at the detectives and thrust
his hands in his pockets. His mouth
was working at the corners.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Harry
Nelson. Why .. .” His voice faded
away and he stood there staring at the
two officers, twitching his face, clasp-
ing and unclasping his hands.

“What did you do last night after
you quarreled with Nelson?” asked
Goodnight.

“What did I do?” Martin repeated.
Then he seemed to grasp the meaning
of the detectives’ questions. He stepped
back again and his hands flew to his
throat. :

“IT didn’t do it!” he cried. His voice
was high-pitched and cracked, almost
a scream. “I didn’t do it, I tell you!”

“Take it easy, Boy, take it easy,”

got him before we could get in there
and cut him down,”

“How did you find out who he was?”

my brother-in-law asked. ‘
' “He had a letter in his pocket which
indicated that his name was Ehude
Herbert Fellows and that he received
mail at the Memphis post office, but we
found nothing to suggest whom we
should notify in a case—”

“And it was not until your meager
clew was passed on to the Memphis
newspapers that you managed to reach
us,” Sister helped the kindly officer
to clarify that point.

Too late to give him a crumb of
comfort, I knew that Herbert had
killed himself on the impulse of the
moment. He just simply could not en-
dure the sight of another set of prison
bars. He had said less than a month
before that he. never: again would be
deprived of his freedom. He did not
realize that trespassing upon a railroad
train might land him in jail.

Herbert moved like a tarnished and
frayed thread .through. the tapestry of
a bustling world. The thread is broken
now. My lover is dead.

May his i cecammea soul rest in
peace.

(Continued from Page 29)

said Mulhern. ‘“We’re not accusing
you. We just want to ask you a few
questions. Sit down here and take it
easy.’

The inspectors led Martin to a chair
and made him sit down. . Gradually
his composure: returned and he an-
swered them,-with many flutterings of
his hands and ‘contortions of his face.
* He had been in ‘the Veterans’ Hall
until around ‘11 p.m., he said. He’d
played cards until that time with three
other veterans: Then he went to bed
and slept until eight’ in the morning.
His roommate could-corroborate that
and the. other card-players would back
him up, too...

“Where. are these. fellows?”
Mulhern.

Martin pointed out four of them in
the lobby then, including his room-
mate. Mulhern walked over and ques-
tioned them, returned. in a few min-
utes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Their stories
check, all right. Looks like you’re in
the clear, Martin.”

“In the clear?” said Martin. “Of
course I’m in the clear. I—

“Take it easy, Boy,” said Goodnight.
“We didn’t mean a thing by question-
ing you, but we’ve got to check every
angle in this game.”

On their way out Goodnight stopped
at the desk. He rejoined Mulhern on
the street ten minutes later.

“What'd you find?” Mulhern asked.

“Not a thing,” said Goodnight. “The
night-clerk says Martin didn’t go out
at all last night. But there’s a back
stairway and an exit through the
basement, where nobody would have
seen him.”
~ “What about his roommate?” asked
Mulhern.

“Doesn’t prove a thing,” said Good-
night. “Martin could have sneaked out
and come back in without awakening
sori Such things have happened be-
ore.”

“Somehow,” said “Mulhern, “T don’t
think he had anything to do with it.”

“Me, neither,” said Goodnight. “But
we've got to keep an eye on him any-
way.”

asked

FoR three hours the two inspectors
questioned neighbors of the Nelsons’.
It was slow work and it was unpro-
ductive. No one had heard any dis-
turbance at the Nelson home, no one
had seen any person entering that
home or any suspicious characters in
the neighborhood. . -

One girl did remember a strange
young man who climbed from a cab
at the corner of Shafter and Clinton
Streets about 11:30, the previous eve-
ning. That was within a block of the
Nelsons’. But the man, the girl said,
had walked in the opposite direction.

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However, just to be sure, the in-
spectors checked cab company rec-
ords and located the driver, Melvin
Simon.

“Sure, that was my cab,” Simon said. °

“Time’s about right, too. Picked up
the fare down-town. ‘Drive north,’ he
says to me, ‘and I’ll tell you where
to stop.’ So I drives until we gets to
this corner. ‘Right here,’ he says. ‘I’ll
take you any place you want.to go,’ I
tells him. ‘This corner’s fine,’ he snaps
at me, and he pays my fare and beats

“What'd he look like?” asked Good-
night.

“Youngish, clean-shaven, sort of
dark complexion. He wore a snap-
brim hat and a dark overcoat.”

“Sure he wasn’t middle-aged and
jittery?”

“Sorry, Inspector,” said the taxi-
man, “I can’t make them to order for
you. This guy was young, like I told
you.”

“Would you recognize him if you
saw him again?”

“Guess I would,” said Simon. “If
it wasn’t too long before I saw him.
You meet too many strangers in this
business to remember ’em all.”

When we checked over the case that
afternoon we discovered that we had
just about nothing. There was only
one suspect, Martin, and he’d given
us what amounted to an iron-clad alibi.
The young fellow in the taxicab
might be considered a remote pos-
sibility—very remote indeed.

“Better go back to the Nelson home,
boys,” I told the two _ inspectors.
“Whatever we learn just naturally has
to come from there.”

“IT can’t get over the fact that it
was someone mighty familiar with the
home,” said Goodnight. “Somebody
who probably knew them well.”

“How about one of those two wo-
men?” I asked.

“T’ve been thinking,” said Good-
night.

“That would mean the ladder and
the jimmy were fakes,” said Mulhern.
“Pretty elaborate fakes, too. It doesn’t
sound probable.”

“And there’s no motive, either,” said
Goodnight. “And on top of that, no
woman would try to kill a man that
way, beating his head in.”

“Well, keep it in your mind,” I said.

Back at the Nelson home, Goodnight
and Mulhern found Mrs. Hulett with
an opened telegram in her hands.

“It’s from Mother,” she said. “Bess
—_ be home any time now. Poor
en...

She showed the message to the offi-
cers. It read:

MENOMONIE, WISCONSIN

JUNE 15, 1932

BESS LEFT FOR CALIFORNIA EIGHTH
IF ANYTHING WRONG PLEASE WIRE
MOTHER

“IT didn’t tell them what happened,”
said Mrs. Hulett. “I just asked Bess
to'come home right away.”

But the inspectors were not listen-
ing to her. They were staring instead
at the telegram.

“The eighth,” said Mulhern. “And
this is the fifteenth.” He turned to
Mrs. Hulett. ‘She got other relatives
back there, or anyone she might stop
over to see?”
~ Mrs; Hulett shook her head.

ATCHING Mulhern’s meaning,
Goodnight strolled out to the
porch, where his partner joined him.
“You thinking the same thing I am?”
said Goodnight.

“Sure. It doesn’t take eight days
from Wisconsin to California. What’s
happened to Mrs. Nelson?”

“She could have found that ladder
and that piece of pipe that was used
for a jimmy, ” said Goodnight.

“Aw, we’re imagining things,” said
Mulhern, “She’ll come running when
she gets the newspapers.”

But by the next morning Mrs. Nel-
son had not put in an appearance. Nor
had she communicated with her
mother.

Where was she? Why hadn’t she
come home? Did this mean that she
was implicated?

46

Shortly after midnight Nelson died.
He hadn’t regained consciousness once.

And with the continued failure of
Mrs. Nelson to appear, we checked in-
to her life as fast and as thoroughly
as we could. I sent men, armed with
complete descriptions of her, to every
railroad and bus station in San Fran-
cisco and Oakland and to the airport.

It was. their job to find out if Mrs. .

Nelson had returned to Oakland. And
if she had returned before her hus-
band was killed—

Mulhern and Goodnight checked on
her reputation: They talked first with
the neighbors. A strong motive for the
woman would be infidelity, we knew.
And if there was any hint of this it
would be borne out by. neighborhood
gossip.

But the inspectors could learn noth-
ing at all that incriminated Mrs. Nel-

Lawrence Kubal: He had infor-
mation on a rape slaying that
never appeared in the papers.
This story will be found on Page 14

son. She had been an upright woman,
her neighbors all said, a good church
member, a fond mother and a faithful
and hard-working wife. No, she never
had been seen with another man. No,
she did not leave her home alone, ex-
cept for her club work or to go some-
place where there would be many
other women around.

Fellow-members of the various wo-
men’s clubs to which Mrs. Nelson be-
longed’ verified all of this. Nowhere
was there a breath of scandal against
her. Nowhere could the officers find
even an unfounded rumor on which to
base their unformed theory.

In desperation the men turned to
Mrs. Hulett and the maid. They should
know, if anyone did,

“Mrs, Hulett,” Goodnight said when
they were closeted with her, “I want
to ask you a strange question, and I
want you to answer it frankly. What
was the trouble between Mrs. Nelson
and Harry?”

Mrs, Hulett gasped.

“Why—why—I should have told you
before, I guess,” she said. “I might
have known it would come out. But
oars have anything to do with

ia."

“What was it?” Goodnight asked
again. “‘Were they separated?”

“No, nothing as. bad as that,” said
Mrs. Hulett. “They just seemed to be
getting on each other’s nerves all the
time. That’s all. They quarreled so
much, over little things. They bickered
all the time.”

“But why?” asked Goodnight.

“Why? I couldn’t tell you. Harry’s
never been himself since the War, you

‘know. And lately Bess got cross, too.”

a: it another man?” asked Mul-
hern “abruptly.

“Another man?” Mrs. Hulett gasped.
“Why, I should say not! Why, there’s
never been anything like that, That's
preposterous,”

“Are you sure?” asked Goodnight.

“Of course I’m sure,” said: Mrs.
Hulett. She was thoroughly indignant.
“Of course I’m sure. Don’t you think
I'd know if there was? My own
daughter?”

The officers got rid of. Mrs, Hulett
and summoned the maid, Mrs. Forbes.
She was plucking nervously at a tiny
handkerchief as she sat down.

“It’s all right,” said Mulhern to her.
“We just want to ask you a few ques-
tions. Why did Mrs, Nelson leave her
husband?”

HH maid started visibly and rolled
the handkerchief into a ball in the
palm of her hand.

‘Did Mrs. Hulett tell you that?” she
asked.

“We know they quarreled and she
left him,” said Mulhern. “We want
you to tell us why.”

She shook her head.

“TI—I don’t know, Sir,” she said.

“But you lived here with them. You
must have heard something.”

“It wasn’t anything you could tell,”
Mrs., Forbes said. “Just trivial things.
Nothing big at all. They just quarreled
all the time.”

“A woman doesn’t leave her husband
over trivial things,” said Goodnight.

“Well, this was going on so long
that Mrs. Nelson got pretty despondent
about it,” said Mrs. Forbes.

“Was it another man?” asked Mul-
hern.

“Another man?” Mrs. Forbes was
shocked. ‘I should say not! It. was
nothing like that at all. It was just
that they quarreled all the time and
Mrs. Nelson couldn’t stand it. She
tried to kill herself, you know.” -

“She did?” said Mulhern.

“Yes, twice. She even left a note
saying she was tired of all the fights.
And she turned the gas on and locked
herself in the kitchen. But Claude
found her and stopped her that time.”

“Claude? Who’s Claude?”

“My husband,” said Mrs. Forbes
simply.

“What about the other time?” asked
Goodnight.

“Why, that was when she grabbed
Mr. Nelson’s gun and was going to
shoot herself. But he got it away
from her.”

“Did she ever say anything to you
about why she did it?” askey} Good-
night.

“No, she didn’t. But she didn’t have
to. It was because of the piecing
all the time.”

Those two suicide attempts "threw
an entirely different light on the case.
Was it possible that Mrs. Nelson had
killed herself somewhere between Wis-
consin and Oakland? It looked as if
we were very wrong in suspecting her.

No one resembling Mrs. Nelson had
been seen entering Oakland or San
Francisco. No one like her had re-
served space on any incoming train or
plane.

We had the coroner’s report on Nel-
son’s body, too. Death had been caused
by a number of brutal blows with a
heavy instrument. That is not the way
a woman kills. If Harry had been
stabbed to death, or shot in the head,
we might have suspected a woman.
But bludgeoning with a heavy weapon
definitely is not a woman's method.

We were convinced then that Mrs.
Nelson had not killed her husband.
But we had a new cause for concern.
For Mrs. Nelson still had not shown
up, still had not communicated with
her mother. Where was she?

Had she finally committed suicide,
somewhere between Menomonie, Wis-
consin, and Oakland?

Or had the same person who killed
Mr. Nelson found her and killed her,
too?

We immediately tried to trace her
from her grandmother’s home in Wis-
consin. She had boarded a train for

Chicago; we verified that fact. But
in Chicago she disappeared completely.
There was no record of a single wo-
man of her description taking a Cali-
fornia-bound train out of that city.

Where was she?

Inspector Goodnight favored the the-
ory that she, too, had been murdered.

“Look,” he said. “The guy who
killed Harry knew how to find his way
around the Nelson home. He must
have known the Nelsons—he must
have known her as well as him.

“Maybe he was an old friend of
theirs who met her in Chicago and
killed her, then came out to Oakland
and killed Harry, too. A lot stranger
things have happened.”

“But why?” I asked him. “What
was the motive?”

“Look,” said Goodnight. “We don’t
know what the motive was for killing
Harry, do we? It would have to be a
good, strong motive. Well, it could be
enough to get rid of both of them,
couldn’t it?”

On the other hand, Inspector Mul-
hern favored the suicide angle.

“She tried it twice,” he said. “And
it just happened that somebody was
around to stop her both times. She
visited her grandmother for a couple
of weeks and then she started back
home. She got to thinking about com-
ing back to all the quarreling and she
figured it wasn’t worth while. So she
killed herself.”

Meanwhile, where was she? News-
papers had carried stories of Harry’s
death. She must have read about it.
It wasn’t logical that she would remain
silent, not even communicating with
her mother or her daughter, in such
an emergency, unless something dras-
tic were wrong. She had to be dead.

Somewhere in the thousands of
miles between Chicago and Oakland,
we decided, was the body of Mrs. Nel-
son, either a suicide or the victim of
some mad double murderer. But
where would it be found?

We wired every town that was a
train-stop on the main railroads be-
tween the cities. No, there were no
unidentified dead women, anywhere.

Meanwhile we checked into Good-
night’s theory of double murder as
thoroughly as we could.

T= Nelsons were not wealthy, al-

though they were comfortably well
off. Harry had not left much of a
fortune and, we discovered, he had
not left a will.

Both of the Nelsons were insured
for moderate amounts. But the angle
there was peculiar, Each had named
the other as beneficiary. The only per-
son who stood to profit financially by
the death of both of them -was their
little daughter, Jessie Mae. And she,
of all the persons in the case, was
above suspicion.

From Mrs. Forbes, Goodnight ob-
tained a list of all the people. who
might be familiar with the house and
who would be known to the dog, Toby.
These included friends, relatives, bus-
iness acquaintances of Harry’s, even
tradesmen,

“You mean to say the dog wouldn’t
bark at all these people?” he asked the
maid.

“That’s right,” she said. —

Goodnight looked at the long list
again and grumbled. Toby was stand-
ing in a corner of the kitchen eying
the Inspector and growling ferociously.

“Looks to me like that dog only
barks at cops,” said Goodnight.

He and Mulhern went over the list
at Headquarters in an attempt to cross
off several of the persons named there.

“This is silly,” said Mulhern. “I'll
put up a good dinner at the St. Fran-
cis that she killed herself.”

“Sure, I know,” said Goodnight. “She
tried it twice before but two people
stopped her—”

“Yeah, Nelson and—” Mulhern
stopped in the midst of his sentence.

“Nelson and the maid’s husband,”
said Goodnight.

“Wait a minute,” said Mulhern.
“Wait a minute. This guy Forbes.: Is
he on your list?”

Goodnight scanned the. list again.

“Forbes?” he said. ‘“‘No, by. gosh, he
isn’t.”

AD—12


n elderly lady, a young woman
s the maid, and Nelson’s little
’ Page said. “They’re in’ the
1en.” -
ie three officers went over the
1 minutely but there were no
s, no finger-prints or footmarks,
lood-stained murder weapon. The
oom window was open a few
2s at the top and bottom but there
no prints on the glass or the

ter they had arranged for an offi-
o stay at Nelson’s bedside at the
ital in case he should recover con-

Mrs.

Bess Nelson::

Officers feared they
would find her body
somewhere between
Wisconsin and her &
home

in California

Harry Nelson: He died when

his dog failed

‘to bark

Why Was This Faithful Watch-.
dog Silent When a Murderer
Crept Through His Master's
Window in Oakland, California? >

sciousness, the Inspectors went to the
living-room of the bungalow, where
Sergeant Page ushered in a trembling,
semi-hysterical woman almost -at the
point of collapse. She identified her-
self as Mrs. Hulett. :

“Poor Harry,” she sobbed. ‘Poor
Harry. It was that Bob Martin. He

‘killed him. And all Harry was trying

to do was to help him.”
“Bob Martin?” said Mulhern.
“Who is he?” asked Goodnight.

UT Mrs. Hulett: had broken down

completely. It was several minutes
before she regained her composure.

“I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing at her
eyes. “Martin is a World War veteran.
Harry was custodian for several vet-
erans. He was in the Lost Battalion
himself, -you know, during the War,
and he won the Croix de Guerre.

“He was custodian, as I said, and it
wasn’t easy. They wanted him to do
things for them that he couldn’t do
—like giving them a lot of money all

at once. That’s why Martin had a
violent argument last night with
Harry.”

“What was the argument about?”
Goodnight asked. .

“It was about money, but I don’t
know just what,” said Mrs. Hulett.
“We heard him clear out in the
kitchen. He shouted something like
‘It’s my money, ain’t it?’ and then he
slammed the door and left.”

“And you think this man did it?”

“It must have been him,” said Mrs.
Hulett. “There was only Mrs. Forbes
and Jessie Mae and I in the house all
night.”

“Is Martin a pretty tough customer?”
asked Mulhern. ‘

a.

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Hulett. “No, not
at all. He was always very polite and
mild-mannered when he called until
he and Harry talked business. Then
he’d get mad and shout.”

“How about Mrs. Nelson?” asked
Goodnight. +

“That’s Bess, my daughter,” said
Mrs. Hulett. “She’s in Wisconsin vis-
iting my mother. She’s been gone for
two weeks.”

“Better wire her right away,” said
Goodnight. ‘

Mrs. Hulett told the officers how she
had_ discovered the body. Nelson
usually arose from.bed about seven
in the morning. That day, when he
hadn’t appeared by 7:30, Mrs. Hulett
walked into his room to awaken him
—and she had found him apparently
dead, lying in a welter of blood.

The maid was brought in next. She
was an attractive blonde and she
was much more composed than her
mistress. Her name, she said, was
arian Forbes; she was’ 26 and mar-
ried.

“Husband living?” asked Mulhern.

“Yes. He’s working out of town ait
present. He’s a chauffeur.”

Mrs. Forbes’ story tallied with that
of Mrs. Hulett. She had gone to bed
about 10 p.m., she said, and had slept
without interruption. She, too, re-
membered the threats Martin had
uttered the night before. —

(Continued on Page 45)

29

eey
a


‘*He started turning around and | hit him with a steel pipe half a dozen

In half an hour the house echoed to the

heavy tread of many feet—police, pho-
tographers, reporters, a few city officials,
and some of Nelson’s shocked. friends.
The injured man had already been rushed
to Highland Hospital, not many blocks
from his home, and three of Oakland’s
leading surgeons began a struggle to save
his ebbing life.

In the room of tragedy itself were
two of California’s ace detectives—pink-
cheeked, soft-spoken Inspector James
Goodnight, whose cherub .face masked a
mind as sharp as a new blade, and his
partner, burly, two-fisted Johnny Mul-
hern.

“TI left everything just the way it was,”
Sergeant Page told them.

“Nelson was on the bed?”

“Yes. He had his pajamas on. Funny
thing, though; he was turned completely
around, with his feet on the pillow.”

“Probably saw what was coming and .

tried to put up a fight.”

Sergeant Page nodded. ‘“That’s pos-
sible. In any case, it wasn’t a robbery
motive. His money is still over there on

’ the bureau, along with a watch and some
other jewelry.”

Goodnight looked around the room
thoughtfully, and his gaze paused on the
windows, two of which overlooked the
yard.

“Those windows haven’t been open for
eweeks, Jim,’ Mulhern broke, in, reading
his partner’s thoughts. “I just looked at
them. The catches are rusty and there’s
a thick layer of dust on the sill outside.”

“How about Mrs. Hulett?” Goodnight
asked Page. “Ask her to come in, will
you?”

* “Sure thing.”

Lotta May Hulett was a stunned and
stricken woman when Sergeant Page
brought her to the room. Her eyes were
dry and swollen, her hands were trem-
bling. Goodnight looked at her curiously,
wondering how much she knew and feel-
ing instinctively that this quiet, elderly
woman had been the ‘ruling force in the
household.

“Sit down, Mrs. Hulett,” he said softly.
“We're just trying to get to the bottom of
this, and perhaps you can help.”

“TI don’t know anything about it,” she
answered promptly. “It’s horrible.”

“You slept in the next room, I be-
lieve?” :

“Yes. But I didn’t hear anything.”

“No strange voices? No cry of any
kind?”

“Not a thing. If there had been any
noise I would have—why, even Toby
didn’t budge all night.”

“Toby?” the detective echoed, puzzled.

“That’s our dog,” Mrs. Hulett ex-
plained. ‘He sleeps in the garage.”

“Has Mr. Nelson had any trouble with
anyone lately? Anybody threaten him?”

“Indeed not!” she said emphatically.
“Harry was a wonderful man. Every-
body loved him.”

“Everybody loved him . . .” Goodnight
repeated under his breath. He twirled a
pencil in his fingers and philosophized to
himself that Harry Nelson truly fitted the
formula for cases like this. Such men

never had “enemies,” such men deserved
_to live. And -yet— He shoved the pencil
back into his vest pocket, turned to Mrs.
Hulett.
““By the way,” he asked, “where is
your daughter?”
Mrs. Hulett stiffened a little. “You
don’t think she... .”
“Of course not!” Goodnight snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Hulett said, abashed.
“T know Bess ought to be here. But she
went east a couple of weeks ago, to see
our folks in Wisconsin. Place called
Menomonie. I know she’ll hurry back as
soon as she hears about this. Harry had
been pretty lonely without her.”

“T understand. You can go now, Mrs.
Hulett. . We'll talk to you again later.”

a | HE DETECTIVES went back to their

examination, covering every room on
“the second floor, and when they finished
it was obvious that the attacker had not
broken into the house there. -All the
windows were locked, there was no sign
of a weapon, and there were no finger-
prints visible.

Searching the lower floor, Mulhern
came upon an unlocked window in the
dining room, and the paint on the sill
outside was marred with the telltale
scratches of a jimmy. There were faint
smudges of dirt on the polished hardwood
floor, and Mulhern went out into the
yard on the assumption he would find
footprints in the earth under the window.

That was how he found the ladder. It
was propped up against the dining room
wall, half hidden under the leaves of a
climbing vine. It was small, not more
than five feet long, and not built for
heavy duty. Mulhern carried it gingerly
around to the back door and summoned
the maid from the kitchen.

“Mrs. Forbes,” he said, showing her
the ladder, “did you ever see this. be-
fore?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. ‘That belongs
in the playhouse.”

The slayer (left) is pictured
making his confession to Cap-
tain Bodie A. Wallman.

“Playhouse?”

“Yes, that little shack right over there.
Mr. Nelson built it for his little girl,
Jessie.”

“All right, thanks. That’s all.”

Mulhern was rejoined at that moment

by Goodnight, and- by Officer Edward
Robinson, who had been going through
the garage and basement of the house.

“Looks like we’ve got the jimmy,” said
Goodnight, holding a long, thin tire iron
between two fingers. “It’s still got some
wood ‘slivers sticking to it.”

“Where'd ydu find it?”

“Just outside the garage door,” Robin-
son said.’ A

“Well, here’s something else.” Mul-
hern displayed the ladder and explained
where he found it. Goodnight inspected
it thoughtfully. ’

“We'll take them both to the lab—the
ladder and the iron. Ought to get some
prints from one of them unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless this fellow was a lot more
clever than I think he was.”

So the day passed, and evening came.

And with it came death—for Harry Nel-:

son. The wounded city official and Amer-
ican Legion leader died at the hospital
without ever regaining consciousness, and
with the sealing of his lips went all hope
that he might whisper the name of his
killer. Thus passed Harry Nelson, with-
out flags or glory—a soldier who survived

‘a dozen thunderous battles and, at the .

end, found destiny catching up with him
and crushing the skull he had so carefully
protected with silver for fifteen unexcit-
ing years.

In the office of Captain of Inspectors
Bodie A. Wallman at police headquarters
that night, Goodnight ard- Mulhern as-
sembled their evidence and gave it stern
appraisal. Goodnight had already wired
the police in Menomonie, Dunne County,

Wisconsin, asking for information about*

Mrs. Nelson.
And now, with a laboratory report on

An innocent victim, little Jessie
May Nelson, leaves jail after
calling on her mother.

times,’’ the callous slayer said. ‘‘After that he didn’t make a sound.” : @

the ladder and jimmy in their hands,
and with some additional information
available, the case was assuming bewilder-
ing proportions.

First, Muriel Forbes had confided to a
neighborhood patrolman that Mrs. Nelson
had attempted suicide with a gun not
more than three weeks before the mur-
der. She and Harry had had a minor
quarrel, and Harry had torn the gun from
her hand as she was about to fire a slug
into her head. Second, the Nelson family
automobile had been found abandoned on
a downtown street about the time Mrs.
Nelson departed on her trip, but no one
in the house had turned in a “stolen car”
report to the police.

Why hadn’t Mrs. Hulett revealed these
circumstances? Was she shielding some-
one? Was there some hidden flaw in the
structure of the family? Why had Bessie
Nelson taken a trip?

It was fairly clear to the investigators
by this time that the murderer of Harry
Nelson was no prowler, no stranger to
the place. Instead, it was someone who
knew where to find the ladder in the
playhouse, someone who came not to rob,
but to kill. Someone who silenced the
watch dog’s bark with a friendly pat.
And, indubitably, a man or a woman
clever enough to leave no damaging clues.
For the laboratory report on the material
evidence read: “No fingerprints.”

But why should anyone want to mur-
der Harry Nelson?

Could it have been a madman with a
fancied wrong? It was not improbable.
For Nelson, Goodnight had learned, was
custodian for a number of shell-shocked

MRS BESS NELSON SPENT FOUR DAYS
WITH GRANDMOTHER MRS CLARK IN
MENOMONIE STOP LEFT HERE JUNE 8
PRESUME SHE RETURNED TO CALI-
FORNIA

POLICE DEPT MENOMONIE

“Well Ill be damned!” Mulhern
blurted. “She left there June eighth.
Why, that’s over a week ago.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Where do you suppose she’s been since
then?” :

“T'd like to know, believe me.”

“Jim, you don’t think she. . .”

A cryptic smile crept across Good-
night’s pleasant face. “I don’t know,
Johnny. Women are doing some funny
things these days. Even murder.” The
plump detective reached for his straw
hat, tapped it lightly on his head. “I

. think T’ll take a little ride out to Boyd

Avenue, Johnny. Give me a ring out
there if anything turns up.”

“Okay, Jim.”

The detective found Mrs. Hulett in a
calmer mood when he rang the bell at
the Nelson home that morning; shock
and horror were replaced by sorrow, and
she was still plainly puzzled by the pall
that had been thrown around her family.

“T meant to ask you the other day,”
Goodnight said, “whether you or Mr.
Nelson had ever hired any tramps or
itinerants to do odd jobs around here.”

“Why, no,” Mrs. Hulett replied.
“There was never anyone like that.”

“Ever take in a boarder?”

“Oh, no.”

“Then Mr. Nelson did all his own work

war veterans, one of whom was know —cleaning the yard, washing the car?”

to have threatened him. The detective
made a note to check the whereabouts of
those veterans on the night of the mur-
der. .
The following morning Goodnight
opened a telegram in his office and read
it aloud to Mulhern with a significant
glance:

“Bessie Nelson aged rapidly fol-
lowing her conviction. Compare
this with picture on page 21.

SSNS

“Oh, he didn’t do that work,” she said
chidingly, as though Goodnight should
know. “Claude took care of the car.”

“Claude? Who’s he?”

“Why, I thought you knew.”

“Never heard of him!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Claude is Muriel’s
husband—you met Muriel, our maid.

The fourth line on this hotel
register gave detectives a vital
clue in the murder probe. ©

wR

z

Ce:

Lads Sg >

ee 22d
he Ar mi ; sf “ Ra 37
has. : 0 his 5 aa NG? |e
pnt tl de Desens Nth

He’s the nicest young fellow, too.” She
paused, startled by the. detective’s sud-
denly tense -expression, the suspicion
clouding his eyes. “Oh, for goodness’
sake!” she said, flustered. ‘You're not
going to suspect Claude?”

“Mrs. Hulett,” Goodnight said flatly,
“we suspect everybody. Where is Forbes
now?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t been around
here for several weeks.”

“Where does he live?”

“He has a room at...” The sharp
jangle of the telephone cut her short at
that moment, and she padded out into
the hall to answer. _ Goodnight heard
Mrs. Hulett talking, and her words sent
shivers down his back: “Why, Bess!
Where on earth are you?” Silence for a
moment. Mrs. Hulett was talking again,
and the detective strained to listen: “Well,
of course it’s awful, Bess. But you should
be here. We were holding up the funeral
until we heard from you.” Another
nerve-wracking pause. “You're leaving in
an hour? Good. And for pity’s sake,
Bess, hurry!” The instrument clicked,
and Mrs. Hulett came back into the room
with a smile of obvious relief.

“That was my daughter,” she said.
“She'll be home tonight.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Goodnight drawled,
struggling to be casual. “Did she have
a nice trip?”

“I suppose so. She’s in Santa Cruz—
though I don’t know what she’s doing
down there.”

_“Too bad she has to come home to
such trouble. Santa Cruz, eh? Nice
place this time of year, right on the ocean
and all. She’s staying at a hotel, I sup-
pose.”

“Oh, yes. The Graystone. She said
she heard about Harry on the radio there
yesterday.” °*

“Yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Goodnight was already halfway to the
door, and his nerves were throbbing with
impatience. Claude Forbes could wait
another day, but’ not Bess Nelson.
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Hulett,” he said.
“I’ve got to hurry out on another job
now. I'll call you later.” :

He was gone, speeding up the street,
even as Mrs. Hulett was trying to recall
where Muriel’s husband had gone to live.

ULHERN WAS OUT when the agi-

tated Goodnight reached headquar-:
ters. The inspector did not learn until
later that his aide had gone downtown
to’ interview Melvin Simon, the taxi
driver, who had finally come forward with>
his story. But Goodnight could not wait
now.

“Take Lee Carroll with you,” Captain
Wallman said, after listening to the de-
tective’s story. “I'll get Chief Towne on
the phone at Santa Cruz while you’re
driving down.”

“Yes. Tell him to detain Mrs. Nelson
at the Graystone until we get there.”

“You're pretty sure about this, Jim?”

“Certainly. It jumped up like a sore
thumb the minute I heard that gag about
the radio.” (Continued on page 44)

23

i a: aia ti lee Paes i).

FORBES, Claude, NA, hanged CA (Alameda) December 8, 1933

CONFIDENTIAL

DETECTIVE, June, 1946

By DANIEL MONTROSE

HE swirling fog clothed with
T- ghostly aura everything -

within a few feet of the cau-
tiously-stepping man making his
way over the lawn of the home
of Harry Nelson in the satellite
city of Oakland.

The very fact that he was ap-
proaching the residence from
the side at three o'clock in the
morning was in itself a suspi-
cious circumstance. But the way
in which he paused to listen ev-
ery few seconds, and his fre-
quent glances behind him and to
both sides, left no doubt that
he was engaged on some sin-
ister errand.

A soft, padding sound came to
his ears. He whirled around, panic-
stricken. His look of fear gave way
to one of relief as he noted the
cause of the disturbing noise. It
was a small dog running over the
lawn.

The animal ran close to the rigid
figure, sniffed a few times, and then
jumped up on the man in the
friendly way which all canines have
when they wish to be petted.

The object of the animal’s affec-
tion was only too glad to respond,
stroking the dog’s head and speak-
ing soothingly to it in whispers.
Apparently assured that the danger
of barking had passed, the man
turned and went toward the ga-
rage in the rear, followed by his
four-footed friend. He intended to
lock the latter in. But when the
whining which usually precedes a
bark showed that the dog did not
intend to be deserted, the man
took other measures to assure his
silence.

Then, as though impatient at the
unexpected interruption, he turn-
ed, retraced his steps, and a few
moments later was standing inside
‘the house in the dining room, again
listening intently before proceeding
further.

Three people were .asleep in the

‘ upstairs rooms. One was Harry Nel-

son, the owner of the house; ‘the
second, Mrs. Lotta May Hulett,

‘Nelson’s mother-in-law; and the

third, Mrs. Muriel Forbes, the maid.

It was the room of the first
which was the objective of the
menacing figure creeping softly up
the stairs. Reaching the landing
outside of Nelson’s door, the in-
truder bey his ear to the crack and
listened. A grim, ugly look flitted
over his saturnine countenance as
there came to his ears the heavy,
wheeze-like breathing bespeaking
a person in deep slumber.

With the noiselessness of a snake

16 -


HEY CALL IT the House of Death.
Tot so long ago it was a home where

laughter rang through paneled halls,
and where the men and women of a
family lived in harmony.

. Now, on somber evenings, when the
wet mist billows down from the bare hills
behind the town and vanishes over San
Francisco Bay, neighbors pass its lonely
doors and shiver. Some imagine they can
still hear that one haunted cry from
Harry Nelson’s throat and hear the thud
of.the weapon that mashed his brains.

For those with sharper memories the
house on the quiet Oakland street is a
Stage for murder, and the ghosts of its
sinister players still march across it in
bloody ‘procession. Gentle Harry, with
the silver plate screwed into his skull;
plump, sensuous Bess, who dreamed about
love; Claude, the half-breed, and his
silent, mousey wife, Muriel; little Jessie,
who was too young to know about hate
and lust; Lotta May, whose mind held
secrets; Inspector Jim Goodnight, who
worked feverishly on the riddle—and all
those others who spoke lines in the
drama from hell. , :

The story of the House of Death began
on a June evening, a night typical of
northern California in summer, when the
winds spill a gray spume around San
Francisco bay and breathe a chill into
the air. In downtown Oakland an electric
train slid into the Sixteenth Street sta-
tion, and among the passengers who came
down the iron stairway to the street was
a tall, lithe man whose face was half-
buried behind the upturned collar of his
coat. He threw a furtive glance at the
other travelers, then moved to the taxi
line and jumped into a Yellow cab.

BY WARD

WINSLOW

_ The driver, Melvin Simon, swung
around in his seat and caught a glimpse
of a sharp, somber face. - :

“Where to, sir?” he asked.

“The corner of Shafer Avenue and Clif-
ton Street.” The answer was brusque, un-
friendly.

“Yes, sir,” Simon nodded. He shifted
gears, swung around the station driveway
and shot across town toward the resi-'
dential district. The fog was heavier
when Simon reached his destination, and
his passenger stepped out on the sidewalk
with a mumbled curse.

“Nice weather you have here,” he said
tartly.

“Yep,” Simon agreed. “It’s cold all
right.”

“I should have stayed where I was,”
the passenger growled.

“Where you from, the South?”

The unpleasant stranger shoved a silver
dollar at the cabbie, swept him with a
cold and hostile stare. :

“None of your business,” he snapped,
and strode away. Simon watched him
vanish in the swirling mist. In a moment
he -was swallowed up in the -fog, and
Simon climbed back into his cab witha
shudder. He would remember that in-
human face, that whip-sting of a voice,
many a night thereafter... .

A. single light
glowed on the sec-
ond floor of the
House of Death.
On this night it
was still an undis-
tinguished, com-
fortable dwelling
like many. another
on Boyd Avenue.

It was more an abode of loneliness and
futility, and of time that had slipped
away from Harry Nelson’s grasping
fingers.

On nights like this, when the dampness
brought sharp aches to his tired head and
body, Harry sometimes sat up for many
hours in his bed, reviewing the ill-fitting
pieces of his life. How he had gone off to
war those long, vague years ago . . . those
frightful days with the “Lost Battalion”

. . the shell that ripped off the top of
his head. How he came home with a lot
of medals—and a bald pate whose scarred
skin covered the silver plate the surgeons
had grafted into his skull. A hero—and
an old man before his time. If it hadn’t
been for Bess and her love, those post-
war years would have boiled over with
failure and despair.

He had found a success of sorts later
when he went into politics and climbed
up the ladder to a responsible post as
deputy county assessor. But there he
stopped. And time took other tolls—the
pain in his head sometimes became un-
bearable; the job, and the eternal struggle
to hold it, was a stone around his neck.
Even his home was not the same.

And Bess... . What was the matter
with her lately? She seemed in pursuit
of something elusive—her vanished youth.

roi ome les seers yy

sonra tiene QP rampageriaincs Pears

perhaps. Bess had become plump and
careless, the wistful beauty of her face
destroyed by encroaching flesh. And with
the physical change had come a form of

defiance that often led to quarrels and -

misunderstandings. :

On this June night Harry Nelson
brooded more than he ever had before;
Bess was away on a trip, and the weather,

~unusually humid and chilly, was shooting
pain through the torn nerves in his head.
It was midnight when he called down
to Mrs. Lotta May Hulett, his mother-
in-law:

“Good-night, mother. I’m going to bed
now. See you in the morning.”

At one o’clock he was still awake. At
two a.m. he was trying desperately to keep
his mind on a book. At three, exhausted
and furious with himself, he reached for
the light over his bed and turned it out.
And at 3:30, when a shadow came to life
in the yard beneath his window and crept
silently against the wall, he was deep in
sleep.

He never woke again.

THE ‘NEXT morning, which was June

14, the house. was quiet. In the large
kitchen on the rear of the-ground floor,
Muriel Forbes, the Nelsons’ maid, glanced
at the electric clock on the wall with a

start. The hands read eight o’clock. She
came out into the hall and listened for a
familiar step on the stairs. Finally, dis-
turbed at the break in her daily routine,
she clumped upstairs and plodded down
the hall to the end room.

“Mrs. Hulett,” she called out without
entering, “isn’t Mr. Nelson coming down
today?” .

“Coming down?” Mrs. Hulett echoed.
“Of course he is.” :

“But it’s eight o’clock.”

“Oh... . Well, I'll go see.”

Mrs. Forbes went, back to the kitchen
and Mrs. Hulett, slipping into a dressing
gown, went to Harry’s bedroom, which
was separated from hers by a bathroom.
And in a moment the house was no longer
still; it was ringing to a woman’s
anguished cries, and Mrs. Forbes came
rushing out of the kitchen with her heart
pounding.

“What’s the matter?” she called up-
stairs. :

“Muriel, for God’s sake, do something!”
she heard Mrs. Hulett gasp. “Call Mrs.
Manzer! Call the police!”

Mrs. Forbes did not wait for an ex-
planation. She stumbled out the front
door, down the steps, and ran next door
to the home of Mrs. Tessie Manzer.

“Mrs. Manzer!” she shrilled. “Call the
police. Something
terrible. has hap-
pened!”

“What is it,
Muriel? What’s
wrong?” :

“Oh, I don’t

know. But Mr. Nelson—she went to call
him and.‘ ; :' 2%

“Sit down, Muriel,” Mrs. Manzer said
gently. “I'll call the police for you.

: Everything's going to be all right.”

But things were far from right.

Sergeant Austin Page had no difficulty
understanding that much. Page, cruising
in the neighborhood when an emergency
call was broadcast from the Northern
police station, ran into the house and
needed only one swift glance into Harry
Nelson’s room to know he was confronted
with an appalling crime.

The genial war veteran was sprawled
in a pool of his own blood, and some
frightful instrument had turned his skull
into a mass of torn flesh, brain and bone.

“Who found the body like this?” Ser-
geant Page called out.

“I did,” sobbed Mrs. Hulett, hovering
outside the door.

“What happened?”

“T don’t know.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“No.” ;

Sergeant Page started toward the win-
dow, but stopped suddenly when a queer
wheezing sound came from the bed. He
swung around, bent over the grotesque
figure and listened for a moment. He
straightened up like a snapping spring
and strode out into the hall.

“Where’s your telephone?” he asked
crisply.

Mrs. Hulett pointed to the foot of the
stairs. “Right down there, in the hall.”

“That man—” said Sergeant Page, tak-
ing three steps at a time “—is still alive.”

Arrow indlegtes window Inthe
~ house on Boyd Avenue, Oak-
land, California, where the

killer made his entrance.

‘fsuguod

¢

pesuey

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44

Headline Detective

HOUSE OF DEATH

(Continued from page 23)

“Gag?
broadcast.”

Goodnight snorted. “Sure, Captain. But
—it wasn’t on the radio yesterday!”

And with that parting shot he bounded
down the one flight of stairs to the street
and slid behind the wheel of the police car
in which Carroll was already waiting. They
made the 100-mile trip to the cgast resort
city in a little over two hours which, con-

She might have heard a news

sidering that half the route consists of hair-—

pin turns on a mountain’ road, was nothing
short of spectacular.

When they burst into the Graystone lobby
they saw Chief Towne slumped in a chair,
frowning. ‘<

“What’s the matter, Chief?” Goodnight
said breathlessly. “She skip out?”

“No—she’s not registered.”

“Hell!”

“Of course there’s a chance that she’s using
another name. But there’s only one regis-
tration from Oakland. Come on, I'll show
you the page.”

They crossed the lobby and obtained the
registration sheet from the clerk. Goodnight
ran his fingers down a few lines and then
stopped. The name fairly leaped out at
him: “Mr. and Mrs. C. F. Forbes, Oak-
land.” Mr. and Mrs. Claude Forbes . . .
impossible . . . fantastic. It couldn’t be
Muriel—he had seen her in: Oakland just a
few hours before. His mind was seething
. .. a Stark picture was taking shape...
Claude and Bess . . . Claude and Bess...
He dropped the page, plucked Carroll’s
sleeve.

“Come on!” :

He puffed up the stairs to the second
floor, glanced at the numbers, paused at
the door he sought. This was no time for
ceremony. He turned the knob, walked in
boldly.

Bess Nelson was sitting on the edge of
the bed, a stricken, fear-paralyzed woman,
and she knew Goodnight’s grim mission even
before he pulled out his gold star and flashed
it in her eyes like the beam-light of justice.

“Hello, Mrs. Nelson,” he said.

She swallowed, and her fat cheeks sagged
like wet bags on a clothesline, and whatever
answer she had stuck in her constricting
throat.

Goodnight’s glance swung quickly across
the room toward the window and fastened
on a man sprawled lazily in a big chair,
with one knee flung over the upholstered
armrest. He was a dark, sinuous figure of
youth, as tough and as supple as a raw-
hide thong, with lips like a thin curving
sword and a hawk-beak of a nose that was
a heritage from his Indian ancestors.

“Well,” Goodnight demanded, “what are
you doing here?”

Claude Forbes narrowed his black eyes
and looked up defiantly,

“IT am the lady’s chauffeur,” he said,

The detective smiled and glanced at Mrs.
Nelson.

“He says he’§ your chauffeur. Is that
right ?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.

! “And in your spare time,” Goodnight said
sarcastically, “you’re Mr. and Mrs, Claude
Forbes.”

Forbes grinned and he allowed his eyes
to flicker over the full, soft body of the
woman whose passion he had answered. But
he didn’t speak, and neither did Bess Nel-
son. There was nothing to say, no answer
to that stinging accusation. And because
talk was futile then, and because he had
not yet written a murder off the books, Jim
Goodnight hustled them down to the car
and started back to Oakland. :

Late that night, prodded and unnerved
by damning facts, Bess Nelson and her lover
loudly and bitterly denied that they had any
knowledge of Harry Nelson’s murder. But
as the hand slid around the clock on the
wall of the homicide squad office, they found
their tongues becomingentangled in incon-
gruities, in confusing alibis. They were

separated, and each gave a different version -

of their movements; they were brought face
to face again and confronted with each
other’s lies. And finally, with the stage set,
Claude Forbes was taken into a room alone
and given a resume of the crude story he
had spun. He saw the holes in it, the loose
ends—and at last he cracked.

“Sure,” he said with a weary shrug. “I'll
talk. I gave Nelson the works.”

“You killed him?” Captain Wallman
asked.

“Yep. I came up from Santa Cruz and
took a taxi out to the house. I went around
to the playhouse, got the ladder and jimmied
the window. I got in and went right up
to his room. . I turned on the lights .. .”

“You did what?” Goodnight interrupted
in spite of himself.

“I said I turned on the lights. Ischad to
see where to hit him, didn’t I? He started
turning around and I hit him with a steel
pipe. Half a dozen times. He didn’t make
a sound after that. So I walked out the
front door and caught a bus back to Santa
Cruz.”

APTAIN WALLMAN and the other de-

tectives stared at Claude Forbes in hor-
ror. They had seen murder and heard the
ghastly words of men who killed for love
or greed or hate. But in all their years—
Inspector Goodnight admitted to this writer
that he himself was profoundly shocked—
they had never come upon Claude Forbes’
equal in cold, utterly inhuman brutality. He
knew he was chilling their blood as he
talked; he took an unholy pride in his ruth-
lessness and even boasted to them of his
cleverness in not leaving fingerprints at the
scene.

“You told Mrs. Nelson what you had
done?” Goodnight asked.

“Sure. She cried a little, but then we
started figuring out our alibi.”

“You had made love to her?”

“Yeah. For a long time. Nelson never
knew it, and neither did my wife.”

“And you were on that eastern trip with
her?” .

“All the way. We took Nelson’s car and

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“THE ONLY MISTAKE Mable made was to
fall hopelessly in love—with the wrong man. It
wasn't her fault. But here she is—murdered!”

That was the comment of the Colorado sheriff
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of a beautiful woman found under a bridge by
a party of picnickers.

Back of this brutal murder lay a romantic

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left it near the station in Oakland before
we took the train.”

An hour later, in a cell at the city prison,
the infamous Bessie Nelson confessed that
she had sent Claude Forbes out on his
deadly mission, that she had urged him to
“do something” to her husband.

“TI loved Claude. I loved him more than
I ever did Harry,” she sobbed. “I wanted
to marry him. I told him if we got rid of
Harry he could move into, my house. So
I talked to him about it, and he said, ‘Don’t
worry. I'll get him.’ I met him when he
got backefrom Oakland. If Claude hadn’t
told you about it, you never would have
gotten a word out of me. I still love him.”

And so was solved the mystery that turned
a respectable, quiet Oakland home into the
House of Death.

Goodnight and Mulhern cleaned up the
missing pieces in a week. They found the
store where Forbes bought the murderous
piece of ‘pipe; they discovered that Harry
Nelson had taken out two new insurance
policies for $12,000, with Bess as beneficiary ;
they retrieved the murder weapon from a
vacant lot near the house.

Twenty-four hours before Bess Nelson
and her fiendish lover were indicted, by the
Alameda County grand jury, Inspector Good-
night took her to see Harry Nelson’s body
in the funeral parlor. He was lying there
in his world war uniform, and his kindly
face was a symbol of all that he had been
to his wife. But it was not a youthful
face, not virile, and therein lay the answer
to this incredible tragedy. Bess Nelson
wanted a strong, young body, strong arms
to circle her in stolen love. And that sensu-
ousness blackened her heart and soul.

What did she say, gazing down on the
man whose life she had crushed? Just this:
“They’ve put too much powder on his
face... .”

Even the hellish Ruth Snyder had more
warmth and remorse in her blood.

Bess Nelson pleaded guilty to a murder
charge just before her case was called for
trial, and she was given a life sentence at
California’s Tehachapi prison for women.
Claude Forbes, likewise looking for a loop-

" Headline’ Detective ©

her because she was good to me:~ She liked

to have me around.”

Later, reporters interviewed the brakeman
on the lawn in front of Sheriff Dewey Bow-
man’s house in Belair, seat of Harford Coun-
ty jail, where Mrs. Stone had been locked up.
His reason for not coming forward for ques-
tioning in the case, he asserted, was that
he hadn’t been reading the newspapers and
didn’t know he was wanted.

“T have left Mrs. Stone,” he said. “I am
back with my wife and children. Mrs. Stone
doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

He went on to say that he knew nothing
about George’s being poisoned, that he had
already left the Stone home two weeks be-
fore the boy died. He insisted, also, that
Mrs. Stone had never mentioned to him her
intention of eloping with him. “The whole
business is news to me,” he concluded.

He was held as a material witness.

Hattie Stone vented her fury against her
sister-in-law in an interview at the jail. She
said she couldn’t understand how May could
have lied about her.

“J was always terribly kind to her,” she
declared. “I have shielded her for a long
time. I have been as loyal to her as one
woman could be to another. Well, I certainly
received my thanks.

“The very night she said I made a con-
fession to her, she and I made a trip to the
grave of my dear son, George. Does anyone
believe she would have gone with me to pray
beside George’s grave if I had told her I had
poisoned the boy?”

“Perhaps it was after you came back,” a
reporter suggested.

“That’s a lie!” she retorted.

Then she pulled herself together and con-
tinued. “I felt terribly bitter toward May
when she said those lying words, but since
I have been back here in my cell I have
come to the conclusion that her lies may help
me in the end. I don’t believe anyone thought
she was telling the truth.”

A reporter asked how she planned to spend
the Summer. She replied that she would do
some embroidering and might also write a

yook—the story of her life. Right now,
though, she felt a little too upset to devote

hole to life, pleaded guilty to the same charge “ herself either to fancy work or a literary

and begged the court for mercy.

But there is no mercy for monsters.

Even Bess Nelson would not have escaped
if California’s sentimental courts had not
clung to the tradition that no woman ever
has—or ever will be—hung in the Golden
State.

But Claude Forbes was a man, and he
had to take it the hard way.

The writer was there, on the morning of
December 8 in 1933, when the killer, wearing
his cruel, savage smile, mounted to the
gallows platform at San Quentin Prison.
The lust, the animal-like sneer of his mouth
and eyes, was still stiffly fixed when the
black cap slipped down over his head and
the trap banged out from under his feet.
And there was no sound on his lips. ; . .

FAMILY CURSE

(Continued from page 27)

poison,” said Wolfington emphatically.

“Ed wouldn’t touch a morsel of it. He
threw it out saying, ‘This is one time she
didn’t get me!’”

HE SEARCH for Aberts ended in Balti-

more on June 19. Detectives Comen and
Itzel, tipped off, seized him as he alighted
from a Washington-New York train on
which he worked. They took him at once
to police headquarters in Baltimore and be-
gan to question him.

“I was intimate with Mrs. Stone,” he ad-
mitted, “but I didn’t know anything about
the deaths in her family. I just stayed with

career.

Mrs. Stone did not make a good impres-
sion on the gentlemen of the press. They
agreed that she was tough—very tough, in-

* deed. “There’s a woman,” one remarked,
“who I believe could kill her own children,
one by one, in the most horrible manner
imaginable, and think nothing of it.”

The bodies of Edward and Edgar Stone
were removed from their graves on June
24, and the viscera of each was sent to Balti-
more for analysis. When Mrs. Stone heard
of this, she stated at once, “I’m delighted
that they decided to dig ’em up. It will help
my case, for it will prove my innocence.”

Then she hedged a bit by adding, “If they
do find poison, then somebody else done it.”

Subsequently, the chemist’s report stated
that no poison had been found in Edgar’s
body, but that a trace of strychnine had
been present in the body of the father.

“That’s a lie!” cried Mrs. Stone furiously.
“Tt’s a frameup! The police can’t convict
me on the lousy evidence they have!”

She was tried late in September at the
courthouse in Belair. Clothed in widow’s
weeds, she watched the proceedings with a
frozen smile on her unpleasant face. On
September 27 her expression changed to one
of horror when the jury found her guilty of
murder in the second degree. The verdict
was a compromise, for some of the jurymen
wanted her hanged.

Judge Preston gave her the maximum
penalty—eighteen years—and the “woman of
iron” fainted dead away.

The natives of Havre de Grace are still
wondering just how many members of her
family died natural deaths, and how many
Hattie helped along to Angel Hill.

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45


PRODIGAL SONS

Ka

THE ADVENTURES OF
CHRISTOPHER EVANS AND JOHN SONTAG

KINSS COUNTY FREE LIBRARY

CHRISTOPHER EVANS

From a snap-shot taken by his daughter Ynez in the living
room of her home at Marshfield, Oregon. Evans was then

hi a -
Rp erening the age Benen THE CHRISTOPHER PUBLISHING HOUSE
BOSTON, U. S. A.

KINGS COUNTY FREE LISRARY

*cé6gt *92 Aine (costouerg ues) uTquend ueg pesuey *eqtym **W wWeTTTTM “SyOrY

Si nme

COPYRIGHT 1951 ; TO
BY WALLACE SMITH

EVELYN, PATRICIA, AND LUCIA

PRINTED IN
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

250 PRODIGAL SONS

nounced publicly his intention of invading the outlaw
territory. He did this purposely so that Evans and Son-
tag would have forewarning. Michelson took with
him James Swinnerton, then a cartoonist for the Ex-
aminer, and later a famous painter. They wanted both
pictures and a story. Since neither of the outlaws was
ever photographed in his prime, it is a regrettable fact
that no contacts could be established. Michelson and
Swinnerton joined a small posse going into the hills
from Fresno. It was their intention to trail along with
the posse until they had learned the lay of the land;
then they planned to drop out in the hopes of being
picked up by the two outlaws. But it did not work out
that way. Evans and Sontag knew that the two San
Francisco men were in the hills seeking an interview,
but were afraid to get in touch with the representatives
of the Examiner because the posse remained too close
for comfort. The plan failed. All. Michelson got out
of the trip was a reputation for making super-excellent
flapjacks over an open fire.

Men who were hunting Evans and Sontag had come
to feel, especially after having read the articles by Bige-
low and Miller, that the reporters from the Examiner
were partisans of the outlaws and not to be trusted.
Deputies vented their spleen and valley editors showed
their antipathy by dubbing Mr. Hearst’s paper the San
Francisco Eczema, no doubt meaning that it irri-
tated them and made them itch. They had developed
an unholy urge to scratch someone, especially an Ec-
zema newspaperman.

Michelson was to have an unexpected opportunity

THE FOURTH ESTATE 251

to write an account about a man who played a unique
part in the Evans and Sontag history. After the stage-
play had folded up in Oregon, Eva Evans was given
a part in a Shakespearian play then being produced
in the Valencia Street Theatre. This was in 1894. Go-
ing to rehearsal one morning she suddenly heard_re-
volver shots. This was nothing new in her life. She
did not know the significance of the shooting until
she read the evening paper. A would-be robber had
entered the bank at the corner of Market and Valencia,
one of those flat-iron corner buildings so common in
San Francisco. There were two tellers in the bank;
when the bandit pointed a gun at one of them, the
other fired at the thug and hit his fellow-worker, a
man named Herrick. The bandit ran, but was found
hiding in a house on Valencia Street. The captured
man gave his name as William Fredericks.

When Eva read this, she hurried to the jail to inter-
rogate Fredericks. Why? Because it was he, under
the assumed name of Johnson, who had gone to Visalia,
and had carried the guns to Folsom which had been
used by George Sontag and his fellow convicts in their
attempted break for freedom.

Eva asked him:

“Why in the world did you come back to Cali-
fornia? You promised me that you would never return
to the Coast.”

Fredericks’ answer is a sad commentary on condi-
tions during the so-called Cleveland depression:

“T know I did, but dimes are vorse back East den
dey are here. So I sought I vould come vunce back. I

~~

Then he as awakened by his guard | |} {

and‘ engaged in religious devotion, only | '[
- to fall'iagieep again, to remain quiet
ght. He declined to see any
is spiritual advisers. |
n cleanly shaven and at-
‘new suit of clothes of dark
‘the hour for his execution
lost none of his buoyancy, ®:

that he was ready to face
He did so bravely and with-

About oge hundred persons had gath-
the murderer receive his
t. Among these were many
who had special invitatiogs,

| phys! 7 | 7
; — bef jal raft of people who are! |:
gen present on: such occasions.’ };
— hadjfound their way intotheexe-| |”.
cution room long before 10 o'clock, com-
fortably filling the place.
AG precisely 9:59 Warden Hale en-
-t the prisoner's rooms, pre-
plain Drahms and Father

red was cool} calm and.com- |
_. posed. He was the least perturbed per-
t}the prison ‘and apparently
himeelf fof the inevitable.

feady, With the Warden | thing pointed to instantaneous dee
demned man was Guard | The physidians were surprised , that

the recogmixed hangman| death came so suddenly.

“hr bee a

prisan. ‘The latter took his poal-| Fredericks’ arms had been’ securyly, :
in room provided for him on pinioned, and when the black cap was ¥ en

of the! ‘oaliinate.
‘All the

shal b

"

murderer {f
of hin career afl
to tim,

w

en Hale called on Freder-| | aa ci leon’ wes ant i Sern A GS Bet iy bree
grolook andl inforined bim |____7=#_*487_Act my MDRDERER (FREDERICK (MYOGUIDED 11) .
had come Fredericks said | fall. No autopsy: was held, as every- | whqm iwete interested in the taking off

tt i
* Hw ) Pos, £5
reparations for, the execution
. "pean |thadp days tn advange, and
carried out to the letter by War-
le and hia ¢ubordinates, |.

}

$6. special ts
Butte,, Mont, saya:

ed inaldent:
of his crime
Kili the youn,

"Barren:


US

and Chi-

Robert
e address
2nt.
l-dressed
ced him-
unn, and
‘urnished

ess body
2. Three
one out-
her still
tly dia-
showed

Latham,
1 called
ed him
the kit-
tor An-
| imme-
inn be-

‘idently
1 some
1 in the

heart,
ed into
id been

1e Cor-
it offi-
arding
events

nt, he
m and
yout 5
caller,
1 Gib-
> also
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irl to
from
with
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n the
when
affled
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hur-
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out

ying
adly

d to

Socrery

Who committed the murder that
mystified the “City of Millionaires’’?

The bulls were puzzled. Then the

tip:
“Nab the man with the limp!”

aay

What a setting for a murder! This is the house on Madison Avenue,

move, he saw the inner kitchen door open and Harry Gar-
butt running through the house. An instant later the front
door slammed behind him.

As Gibson then hurriedly knelt beside Mrs. Hunn and
tried to ascertain how badly she might be hurt, little Vir-

ginia ran into the kitchen. At the sight of her foster-
mother lying on the stained floor, she began to scream with
terror. Her cries brought Miss Madeline Keyser, a next-
door neighbor, to the scene, and Gibson begged her to take
the hysterical child away temporarily,

Gibson then called Mr. Latham and Doctor Bonthias,

MURDER AMID LUXURY!

ial

Pasadena, California, where Mrs. Dorothy Lee Hunn (shown in

circle) was mysteriously done to death on the night of September 19th, 1924. Mrs. Hunn was a wealthy society matron of Pasadena and
Chicago, and her murder was one of the strangest in the history of Pacific Coast crime annals

as before stated. When informed that his cousin was dead,
he at once notified the police.

His story concluded, Gibson accompanied the officers to
the kitchen. There on a table lay what was undoubtedly
the blunt instrument that had crushed the dead woman’s
temple. It was a small nickel-plated hammer of the type
used by boxmakers. The metal head revealed the use to
which it had-been put.

Gibson explained that little Virginia Hunn had first no-
ticed the hammer lying on the kitchen floor, and picked it
up. She had handed it to Miss Keyser, who in turn gave

25

Beaker


See 239 PACIFIC 1080

GARBUTT, Harry, hanged at San Quentin Prison (Los Angeles Co,) on Feb. 13, 1926,

"San Francisco, Feb, 13, 1926-Harry Garbutt, paroled Joliet (Ill.) donvict, who was
convicted of the murder of aged Mrs. Doroghy Lee Hunn in Pasadena in September, 192h,
was hanged today in San Quentin after losing a spectabular last-minute effort for a
respite fromthe U, S, Supreme Court as well as a stay from the State Supreme Court,
The trap was sprung at 10:2 a.m, and at 10:56 Garbutt was pronounced dead by Prison
Physician Proctor W. Day and his assistant, Dr, Moner Marston, The execution was
carried out despite the shouts of Ernest B, D. Spagnoli, Garbutt's counsel, directed
at Warden Frank J, Smith, ‘Warden, warden,' yelled Spagnoli, as the condemned man
was mounting the scaffold, 'stop this execution, We desire to take this to the
United States Supreme Court. Delay this execution,’ Warden Smith walked away from
the attorney, and carried out the execution, In Washington, according to Associated
Press dispatches, the fight to secure a stay of execution was first taken up with
individual justices of the court by a representative of Spagnoli, and then by the
court as a whole,
"Undismayed by the fact tha} several of the justiwed as individuals refused in turn
to grant his plea, Spagnoli s representative succeedéd in assembling the membership
of the highest tribunal in Chambers to consider collectively his plea that the death
sentence was illegal because it was pronounced upon Garbutt in his absence, After
a consultation, unusual in the history of American jurisprudence, the court as a
whole ans@unced that it would not interfere with the execution, By coineidence, the
case cited as a precedent for today s action by the U, 5S, Supreme Court was that of
Isaac Wolfgang, convicted in Los AnSeles for killing a policeman
who tried to arrest him for stealing a bottle of milk, Spagnoli was the attorney
jn this case also, In an effort to stay execution, the papers in the Wolfgang case
were takenacross the country by airplane. lhe effort to halt the execution before
thw State Supreme Court was made by Mrs. Roma DeRosa, sister of Spagnoli, It took
the form of a petititon for a writ of habeas corpus, which was denied at 10:53 a.m,
On Friday morning Moe C, Davis, formerly attorney for Garbutt made a personal plea
to Gov, Richardson to act in halting the hanging, 'All you have succeeded in con-
vincing me,' Davis today quoted the Governor as saying, 'is that ome other man
should have been arrested and hanged also in this murder,
"Bhere were 28 witnesses at the hanging, including Spagnoli, Garbutt walked
unaided to the gallows accompanied by Reve K, A. Vail, an Episcopalian minister,
The execution had been layed pending word from the various appeals for a stay,
arden Smith, once having given the order to proceed, refused to heed Spagnoli s
sensational plea, Guards rushed over to the attorney, whispering to him to st6p his
shouting. Only when the trap was sprung did Spagnoli stop, and bow his head, Gar-
butt discussed the murder of Mrs, “unn at length in his cell with C, A, Alston, one
of the death watch, His acwunt was virtually the same as the explanation he gave
to the police in los Angeles upon his arrest, It was to the effect that Fred 2,
Gibson of Pasadena had a&tacked Mrs, Hunn with a hammer - previously purchased by
Garbutt O in her home, then Garbutt rushed into the room from the bathroom, drew
his automatic pistol and in a scuffle with Gibson, tried to shoot him, but that the
pulley struck and killed the woman, 'I realized what a position it put me in, me
being an ex-convict, and I oh. Garbutt told the guard." DAILY TIMES, Los Angeles,

California, Feb. ll, 1926 (5/he)

i

Ve

By D. L. MICHEL

re,

wealthy society matron of Pasadena and Chi-
cago.

Within five minutes Detectives Robert
O’Rourke and Lee Culver arrived at the address
given—a handsome bungalow apartment.

They were met at the door by a well-dressed
man of middle age, who briefly introduced him-
self as Fred Gibson, cousin of Mrs. Hunn, and
at once led the officers into a richly furnished
living room.

Outstretched on the floor lay the lifeless body

; ‘anand of a woman, about fifty-five years of age. Three
- ‘resplendent diamond rings flashed on one out-

flung hand, and against the flesh of her still

firmly moulded’ throat glittered a costly dia-

mond pendant. Her. body, however, showed
signs of a terrific struggle.

In the background stood Mr. F. M. Latham,
owner of the apartment, who had been called
by Gibson shortly before and had helped him
to carry the body of Mrs. Hunn from the kit-
chen door to the living room, and Doctor An-
drew Bonthias, who had been summoned imme-
diately afterward, only to find Mrs. Hunn be-
yond medical or surgical aid.

In her right temple was a deep gash, evidently
caused by a vicious blow with some
blunt instrument. A powder burn in the
fabric of her dress, over the heart,
showed that a bullet had been fired into
her body at close range. Death had been
almost instantaneous, °

The detectives at once called the Cor-
oner. Pending the arrival of that offi-
cial, they questioned Gibson regarding
his discovery of the body and the events
leading up to it.

According to Gibson’s statement, he
called on Mrs. Hunn that afternoon and
was invited to stay to dinner. About 5
o'clock Mrs. Hunn had another caller,
in the person of a man known to Gib-
son as Harry Garbutt, who was also
urged to remain for the evening meal.

- At 7 o'clock, Mrs. Hunn, her two guests
and her adopted daughter, Virginia Lee
Hunn, dined together. Shortly after 8
o'clock Mrs. Hunn sent the little girl to
bed. At this time Gibson, suffering from
chronic throat trouble, was seized with

WHO IS HE?

a spasm of coughing and went to the
bathroom, after bidding little Virginia

This is “‘the man with the limp.” Just what was his connection with the good night.

murder that aroused Southern California?

i Y name is Gibson,” said a man’s voice. “Send
officers to Ninety, Madison Avenue! Mrs. Dor-
othy Hunn has just been shot—and killed!”

This was the first intimation of the tragedy
that the Pasadena Police Department received.

It was in the form of a telephone call’and came through

shortly after 9 o'clock on the evening of September 19th,

1924,

Later, all Southern California was to be shocked by the
discovery of this brutal murder of Mrs. ‘Dorothy Lee Hunn,

24

Gibson stated that he had been in the

; bathroom less than ten minutes when

he was startled by sounds of scuffling, followed by a muffled

scream, and then—a shot. He rushed out to investigate.

Finding both the dining and living rooms empty, he hur-

ried to the door of the kitchen, only to find it held fast by

some person inside. He ran back through the house, out
the. front door and around to the rear.

There he almost fell over the body of Mrs. Hunn, lying
half outside the door, her head on the kitchen floor, .badly
battered.

As he stood for a moment, too'stunned and shocked to


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nonsored trade ex- Py - jucting.’ the service on
enzion ca San Ber-: Thanks gotve rather then on
“4 ¥ > eh F of commerce and. the tris ay it t= helfeved that
hp “ - axssoviation. Tne the tendance will be even larger
; iza s nave st red than.in. £ sat since fa
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Slayer of Mining Engineer at
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Scaffold at Folsom

vohn C, Fleming, self-styled “big

10t gambler’ and gunman, ig to

ang between sunrise and noon to-

day at Folsom prison for ie
murder May 21, 1932, of Amos
Leese, Randsburg mine. stipesrin-
tendent, at the Midw Service ata-
tion near Hed Mountain,
Efforts to obtain a commutts'

of the death penalty to

sonment failed wt -
mreme cor Trt de lined tn recopyyMen st

—pre;>r

clemency. Fleming hash n
som .prisgn since convic in the
court of Stperior Judge C. L, Hi-
son, neariy a year ago.
APPEALS FAIL
Fleming appealed the ease to th

fourth district appellate court nd
the supreme court, his appeal!

specifications of

carry.

error, ¢€

1s pr ul charges he had
in xe ense because he
ed [leese was about to
him with an. atitom e
crank, that he had committed
mansiaugiiter, and that ti
attorney hai been prejudicial in

the eideriv

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the

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the ‘Amaticge Natioral hank accept-

ed the warrants for deposit but
wold not cach them otright, In
Instances where the holder of the San Rernardino county's
warrant waa apatron of the bank ; ;

, “ Lae: on és Poe? “spate (’ pr rojects for tne une:
the warrants were deposited to their ;
accounts, If the state emp! was Will be resumed today, efter

oye

not a depositor, the banks required been suspended Tuesday und
+} ha a : é -
hat he open an account and leave structions from R. C. Branien
on orremt a portion of the amount .
sid. keh ine ( ste Aa fornia emergency relief acm
or Which the warrant was issued. |:tor:for:the state and Féedet
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of the warrant holders. Be :
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g for murder in Kern county. !
y wera t sterred from pris-!

‘on to the state hospital as insane
| patients and Governor Rolph was
| notified recently that both men had

The spaces below area
strin contairing clues.

umbered to correspoad

one soiution for any

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is among trem. It cou

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using CAPIT person,” he said.

an Quentin and Folsom pri-

regained normal intelligence. H
“Persons once committed to an|
asylum are liable to break at any
time, and of course the l!aw ovro-
t bitte Fram hanging an 4 7
its trom hanging an-insane

Collie, according to testimony at
the trial, killed Slater while the
jlatter was asleep.

ite mame and address

under. sentence

Loyd

vesterday from
pal church. Tt
| Patton, rector, officlated. Musical! xryra the
selections were given hy the choir. !

CMU SCALE MUdpPbar,

a condemned man

» hospital he is likely to remain
there indefinitely so far ag Gover-

nor Rolph is concerned.

| take the stand

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LEGAL ADVERTISEMENT

ineral rites for Mrs. Elizabeth
sister of Mrs. W

y

Rogers Payly. Burial was in
1

Bobbitt were in charge of ar-

~" ‘
tinued from Page Seventeen) |

standing local actors,
ttler and Frank Dav-. ..,
of Judith and David | |

LOYD BLANDY | y5;,,

vamp who is planning to}

; Win the love of
Palibearers were J. B. Claypool, ! Inerny as Richard Great
ho came to the home be
er, Frank Curtin and cause he had never been thera he-

v just what he}

M. Claypool Jr., nephews of Mrs.;lomat w
Charles H. Mil!
N

| Mountain View cemetery. Stephens. wag

getting into.
Margaret McInern
, of Jackie Coryton,

San Bernar-: *
aun date tu be
bonds, until
paid;

shall:

pay-
being
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unvruvements,

and the acquisition

with
described and


FORBES, Cyaude, Indian,

hanged San Qyentin (A laneda Coun’ y) .12-8-19 33.

Sharkey | ficitorde|
OF Kelson Dies \Calmly |
Appeal Pails

fart Spurng Drinks
Candy Bats

: obe bite

4

: ¥? assessor,
y in a ste awit Mis ess: Nelson,
tthe ascessor’s wife, was bade ‘mea
today, '
= The trap WAS: pete at 10:02 a
was. pronounced |
[dead at 10:15: a) m: a 3
4: Forbes -made~ no reajiest for. the
half pint of whisky given. to |¢on-
demneéd: ‘ih’ the final“hours preced-
execution» ‘He paid no attention to |]
& phonograph in his “cell adisining 'f Ht
the galldws room, but quietly tTead
adventure ‘stories in a’ magazine.
Guards said he breakfasted- with |

1
Harry Nelson. E
if

Apparent relish on hain, eggs, towst | ' ‘

and two: cups “nf -rotfeé | yee 4
Forbes’ only. special request was |
tor tip bars “of iepndy which he}
ate about ant heur tore a was to)
Rang, os yaad
Shortly before the dealt vil
Started, Forbes. shook x Wands’ with:
Dr. “Lo DeStanley, acting wardert?
and with three deaik house guards,
He thagked them for their kindnest

Sioreh
8 mother
ends ini
ines wae not di
re
s { ‘
A Wifes Muri att wh
“elgipe’ ie Sa
turned to Wik prin to- Mise “sith |
heP parents: ys cet
ALL. PLEAS FOR |
GL FMENC Y FAIt
+The condemned man declared to
fre Jast: that he had been “double-
rosso] ile edi
0 atreeme img with the distgict ‘at-
wey’s ol. ce td pleads guilty and
eer # life diftence, «A Supebior®
Wuidiey Bowe:
hat, to deaths Ti %
rete : ted sees -
then ,
ft allmeect “har.
Gover.
used cl

that -hé made Be

ter fae arrival
ent: months he has
bes from "Outside"
2 " “hocia Ker vice Workers
> Nor did ‘iiss make any requests
Con Dr Rey ow ta Nelson, who is serv-
eR a ee new “women's
" ehac tor ty
crime," j bid lh ¢ wing ty
aah whose, wife was employed |
Nelson: home. pa with
Piso. When’ their » aromance |
4o tall through for tack [ll
TS el fo festimnory. 9
orn Santa Oru z,
“heen |

a three Bays jater, Sth]
Raining conscinti: ness. 4
© murder was ‘plotted by) Mrs,
SON and Forbes, ptosect,
ony showed, to get Net
ihttiranice.
A Jater plea for cletnency.
overnor. Ralph . tailed = when

Kovernor declared he wi
tervene,

Poloist Claas

NEW YORK, N. Y—Waxey Gordon,
wealthy beer baron, was found guilty by a
Federal jury here today on a charge 0
income tax evasion, and was sentenced to
ten years’ imprisonment and a fine of
$80,000.

EL PASO, Texas—A freshly-washed
electric iron may be the means of identi-
fying the murderer of Mrs. Irene Die-
bolt, Cleveland widow, whose body was
found near Van Horn, Texas, on Novem-
ber 7th. The iron left behind in a camp
cabin by a man who apparently had left
in a hurry was tested in an El Paso labor-
atory, and in a crack which had not been
cleaned out by the washing, human blood
was discovered.

CANON CITY, Coto—Walter Jones,
the last murderer to be executed by Colo-
rado’s strange hanging machine, will die
tonight. Lethal gas has replaced hanging
in this State but Jones, sentenced before
the new law was enacted, must die by the
old means. Hanging, as it has been prac-
ticed here, is said to be the most in-
human method of execution used in any
State, the condemned being tossed into
the air at the end of a rope.

DECEMBER 2

SAN QUENTIN PRISON, Catir—
Execution of David A. Lamson, convic-
ted of killing his wife, was postponed
indefinitely today by receipt of formal
notification that an appeal would be filed.
Lamson was under sentence to hang on
December 15th. (The story of his crime
was told in February True DrrTscrive
under the title, “The Nude Corpse in, the
Tub.”)

DECEMBER 4

WASHINGTON, D. C—The United
States Supreme Court today ordered
John (“Jake the Barber”) Factor re-
turned to England to face trial on stock
fraud charges. Factor is accused of
having mulcted British citizens of some
$7,000,000 by fraudulent stock schemes of
4 nature which would be within the law in
this country.

QUINCY, Mass.—A gung of five bank
bandits today robbed the Wollaston
Branch of the Quincy Trust Company and
escaped with $20,000 after beating a cus-
tomer and terrorizing employees.

DECEMBER 5

in a new Ford sedan, with headlight
glaring. Finger-prints identified the vic

tim as Anthony Russo, a gangster with\

five convictions.

NEW YORK, N. Y—The youthful
gangster, Gerald Simonson, who slid over
the walls of the Tombs on a rope of bed-
sheets and wire on September 3rd, was
dragged from beneath the bed of his
sweetheart yesterday by detectives, who
smashed in the door of her apartment.

DECEMBER 6

LOS ANGELES, Catrr.—Clubbed over
the head and shot, the body of Dr. Dewey
Whightman, 48, wealthy and socially
prominent physician, was found today in
his palatial home. A small rifle, apparently
the death instrument, lay beside the body
with the stock smashed.

DECATUR, Ata.—Clarence Norris, the
second of the Negro defendants to be re-

True Detective Mysteries

tried in the Scottsboro case, was convicted
by a jury here today. The jury fixed the
penalty at death, the same as in the case
of Haywood Patterson, the first to be
convicted. Both defendants, protesting
their innocence, were sentenced to die on
February 2nd. Appeals will stay the
executions.

DURHAM, N. C.—Kidnapping on 4
small scale was practiced by a sixteen-year-
old boy, when he abducted a pet dog and
attempted to extort $5.00 from its owner.
After the dog vanished, a note was found
directing the owner to place $5.00 in a
tin can behind a certain billboard. He
did so, and the boy was arrested. He led
his captors to the tethered dog.

CHICAGO, Itu.—Half a million dollars in
counterfeit bills and a complete counter-
feiting plant were seized by U. S. Secret
Service agents tonight in a raid on a cot-
tage here. The raid followed the arrest
of two men, said to be members of a
nation-wide counterfeiting gang. One of
these men, William E. Davis, said to be
a henchman of Al Capone, was seized in
his automobile with $30,000 in counterfeit
money.

DECEMBER 7

BROOKLYN, N. Y.—Salvatore Papania,
thirteen, seeking his mother, questioned his
father, who professed not to know where
she was. Later the boy heard moaning
in the cellar and investigated. In a closet
he found his mother, unconscious and
stabbed many times. He ran upstairs
again but his father was gone. Neigh-
bors called police. Mrs. Papania died
some hours later. A general order was
issued for the arrest of Papania.

ATLANTA, Ga—John Stevens, 32-year-
old recluse, who tried to end the suffering
of his aunt, who was seriously ill, by striking
her, was today exonerated by a coroner's
jury of having caused her death. Doctors
attributed it to cancer, rather than to the
blow he struck her.

DECEMBER 8

BOSTON, Mass.—The longest special
police guard in Boston’s history, a guard
that has been maintained over the home
of Frederick C. Kutsmann, former As-
sistant District Attorney: of Norfolk
County, ever'since the execution of Nicola
Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti six years
ago, was ended today. Two policemen in
separate shifts have guarde
night _since~ ust 23rd, 1927.

SAN QUENTIN, Catir.—Claude Forbes,
25, who pleaded guilty to murdering Harry
Nelson, Alameda County official, in a con-
spiracy with the latter’s wife, was hanged
here today. He refused to take a drink
of whisky which was offered to him as a
possible means of easing his drop to death.
“J didn’t drink before, and I won’t sta
now,” he sai

rt
|
Kansas City, Mo.—Clarence Click, 27,
whose house was rented to Walter Mc-
Gee, and used for the kidnapping of Miss
Miry McElrey, was today convicted by
a jury who‘ fixed his penalty at eight
~~ in prison. Click claimed he had
een terrorized by McGee and that he
did net know the house was to be used
for a kidnapping prison. (The story of
Miss McElroy’s abduction was started in
the November, 1938, issue of Trur De-
TECTIVE.)

DECEMBER 9
WELFARE ISLAND, N. Y—After six-
teen rebellious convicts had barricaded
themselves in a dormitory for three days
and nights, the revolt was quelled by

111

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WOUNTAIN, David, white, hanzed CAsP (sacramento) september 10, 19

MURDER in the CHURCH BASEMENT

By THEODORE N. KOENING

Formerly Chief of Police, Sacramento, California

rang in my office.
“Dr. Oehler, Pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church,
speaking,” said an agitated voice. “The sexton has just
found a girl strangled to death in the Sunday School room.”’

“T’ll be over immediately. Tell nobody and keep everyone
out,’’ I instructed.

When Captain of Detectives Arthur Ryan, Captain Max
Fisher of the Identification Bureau and myself arrived, we
found the Rey. Charles Oehler and David Fountain, the
sexton, awaiting us at the rear entrance on the alley. The
church covers nearly half a block at the southeast corner
of Seventeenth and J Streets in the downtown district and
is one of the largest places of worship in Sacramento.

We followed the minister and the sexton to the basement
in which the Sunday School was held. The body of a girl
was slumped in a half sitting posture on the cement floor
at the foot of the spiral stairway which led to the belfry.
The body was still warm. Bloodstains besmeared the pink
dress and a rope was wound tightly about her neck. She
appeared to be about twelve or fourteen years of age. Beside
the corpse was a large doll and on the wall above it hung
sprays of holly and mistletoe.

I turned to Fountain. ‘How long is it since you made this
discovery?”’

“About fifteen minutes ago, sir, when I came to get my
broom and duster to clean up for the Sunday services.”

“Who is this girl?”

“IT think it is Miss Milling, sir. She frequently came to
practice on the piano and I remember the dress.”

Fountain was a man in the fifties, almost bald, with regular
features and a heavy gray mustache. He was strongly built
and but for a pronounced stoop would have been six feet tall.
His manner was quiet.

“Did you enter the basement immediately on arrival?”
I asked.

“No, sir. When I found the front door and the side door
leading to the parsonage across the pathway both unlocked,
I went to the parsonage and asked Mrs. Oehler who was
working in the church.”

“What did she say?”

“She said nobody had been working there.”

“What made you think somebody might have been working
there?”’

‘“Well, it’s the Christmas season and I thought some members
of the congregation might have been decorating.”

“Can you identify the body, Dr. Oehler?” I asked.

“T cannot, Mr. Koening.”’

“Mr. Fountain, we must hold you as a material witness
until this matter is cleared up,’’ I said as Deputy Coroner
Dan Burke entered.

Captain Fisher found numerous finger-prints on the chairs,
among which those of Fountain predominated, as might be
expected since he was continually handling the furniture.
Other prints, indicating those from a big rough hand, were
developed.

Meantime any doubt regarding the identity of the victim
was settled when Mrs. Margaret Milling telephoned Mrs.
Oehler that her daughter Margaret had not returned for
supper. The parents were summoned and instantly rec-
ognized the body as that of their daughter, the oldest but
one of a family of seven.

Wilhelm J. Milling, the father, was superintendent of the
Sunday School and a hardworking painter. He had been
out of employment for several months and the family were in
straitened circumstances.

Fountain readily accompanied us to the jail and that night
was locked in a single cell.

We checked his record. Dr. Oehler explained that the
sexton had been engaged in October on the recommendation
of a religious worker connected with the Squirrel Inn, a chari-
table institution in the lower end of the city. Fountain had
done odd jobs for T. L. Enwright and Thomas B. Jamison,
prominent business men, prior to becoming sexton.

60

[ was 3:30 that Saturday afternoon when the telephone

We left Fountain to his own thoughts for twenty-four
hours during which we learned that Thomas Graham, the
sextgn preceding him, had frightened the Sunday School
children the day before the murder by peering through the
basement windows while they were making Christmas dolls.
One of the girls had screamed and Elsie Koch, the teacher,
went outside and remonstrated with the former caretaker,
who protested that he meant no harm but was looking for
Fountain, an old acquaintance.

Since it was quite possible that Graham had retained a key
or secured a duplicate, the mystery of the open doors could be
explained on the theory that he was implicated. The case
against him was strengthened when Willard Donovan, chauf-
feur for City Councilman Carmichael, whose garage opened
on the alley in the rear of the church, said he had several
times recently noticed Graham loafing about the premises.
Richard Olivera, a former guard at Folsom Prison, came to
police headquarters and told of having had several drinks
with the former sexton during the week before the murder.

A good description of the suspect was broadcast up and
down the coast and an intensive search was undertaken among
the thousands of idle men in the waterfront district.

On Monday at noon a man was brought into my office.

“This fellow says he is Thomas Graham, Chief,’ said Desk
Sergeant Maley.

M* visitor was about thirty-five years of age, of medium
height, smooth-shaven and with the weather-beaten
face of a man accustomed to hardship and exposure. He
was roughly clad in blouse and overalls and plainly under
the influence of liquor, though in control of his faculties.

“T read in the paper that you were looking for me, Chief,’’
he began in a thick cockney accent.

‘You know of the murder of Miss Milling?” I asked.

“Sure, Chief.’’

‘Now, Graham, we have the testimony of several witnesses
who saw you loitering about the Lutheran Church last Friday.
You also frighicned the Sunday School children by peering
in at the basenient windows. Take that chair and tell your
story and for your own good stick to the truth for we know
a lot about you.”

The man’s pale eyes shifted uneasily and then he seemed to
pull himself together. He tore open his blouse, exposing his
chest, hairy and gaudily tattooed with female figures. His
long muscular arms were similarly ornamented and his big
rough hands explained the finger-prints found on a chair in
the church basement.

“I’m a seafaring man, Chief,’”’ he began in a sobered voice.
“Last August | felt like staying ashore for a spell. So when
the barkentine Ada docked in Frisco, I left her and hiked to
Sacramento and got the job in the church. The pay was only
twenty-five dollars a month, with free room and lights and
stove for cooking, so I didn’t stay long. Dave took my place.

“T left my address with the British consul in Frisco and got
word that an uncle had died in London and left me three
hundred pounds. Three weeks ago I got the money and since
then I have been taking it easy, meeting old chums. You
may think I’m telling a cock-and-bull yarn but I’ve got
papers to prove it.”

He handed me a thick leather wallet.

“When I looked in the church windows I didn’t know I was
searing the children. I only wanted to see Dave,” he concluded.

“Then you did meet Fountain?”

‘Yes, Chief. Me and him was together Friday night.”

I examined the wallet and papers. The man had $740
in bills and documentary evidence supporting his statements.

“Well, Graham, your story sounds all right but we can’t
let you go just now. In a day or two probably we shall have
the murderer.”’

“Pretty tough, Chief, on a guy who’s told you all he knows.”

“You’ve nothing to fear, Graham, if you’re innocent.
You'll have a chance to sober up and can send out for meals.”’

Graham was confined in a single cell and I gave strict
orders that Fountain should be kept in ignorance of his friend’s

Ae

(F2L

detention.
Meantir
He develo
being held
The sex
of Detect
tell his w
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ena eee

True Detective Mysteries 61

detention.

Meantime Fountain began to show marked restlessness.
He developed a grouch and demanded to know why he was
being held.

The sexton was brought into my office and in the presence
of Detectives Max Visher and Arthur Ryan was asked to
tell his whereabouts at the time of the murder, which Dr.
C. B. Jones, the first physician to examine the body, said
had been committed about 2.30 P.M.

‘What were you doing, Fountain, on Saturday from noon
to three o’clock?”’ questioned Ryan.

“T rose about eleven-thirty and after eating went to the
Fairyland Theater,’ he answered in a surly voice. “After
the show I visited a saloon at Seventeenth and J Streets.
Then I came to the church to clean up for Sunday.”

“What time did you reach the church?”

“About a quarter past three.’’

“Describe the show at the Fairyland.”

Fountain went into great detail regarding the movie,
which was an Indian war film. Suddenly he burst forth,
‘You don’t mean that you suspect me of this crime!”’

“Not at all, David,” I assured him, “but it is necessary to
investigate every angle even if only for your protection.

“Now, David,” I continued, “about that piece of rope with
which the girl was strangled. There is rope exactly similar
in the closet where you keep your tools and you are the only
person who has a key to that closet.”

“Probably there is,’’ he answered readily. “I always keep
rope on hand for tying bundles of church magazines and
papers. I use it every day. If I had wanted to remove
it I could have done so before telling Dr. Oehler about the
body.”

That was good sense too. The rope was of common make
and Fountain’s explanation was obviously in his favor.

“Tell us about your life, David.”

“T was born in Des Moines, Iowa, fifty-three years ago.
My parents were poor people and my father died when I
was aninfant. My mother died when I was about nine
years of age and I was placed in an orphanage. After a few
months I ran away and since that day have made my living
in harvest fields of Dakota and Kansas and at odd jobs where-
ever I could find them.”

‘How about your friend, Tom Graham?”’

“T became acquainted with him when I succeeded him as
sexton. He visited me Friday night and we had a few drinks.
He left about ten o’clock and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Couldn’t he have entered the church on Saturday when
you were at the movie?”

“T guess so, for almost any key will open the basement
door. But I don’t think Graham’s that kind of a man.”

“Then whom do you think was the murderer?”

“Probably some tramp with a skeleton key. Every day
I am bummed for a handout.”

In spite of Fountain’s reasonable explanations we felt he
was keeping something back; he showed suppressed excite-
ment.

So, we tried another plan. Detective Jim Harris, dis-
guised as a prisoner charged with assault to kill, was un-
ceremoniously thrown into Fountain’s cell in the hope that
the latter might loosen his tongue to a cell mate. But though
he was friendly and communicative regarding his experiences
as an itinerant worker, he only reiterated his story of innocence
when the pseudo-criminal sympathized with him.

RAHAM was subjected to the same test. He talked

volubly with his cell mate and declared that he had been

drinking heavily and could not account for his time on the
day of the murder.

After forty-eight hours Harris admitted defeat and we were
at a standstill. Neither Fountain, Graham nor any other
man had been seen entering or leaving the church between
the hours of eleven a.m. and three p.m. on Dec. 6th.

Though both Graham and Fountain had given themselves
up willingly, I was satisfied that one of them was the murderer.

Yet the sexton, if guilty, could easily have made at least a
temporary getaway.

Graham was a deep-water sailor, a member of a class that
includes many odd characters. His unexpected appearance
at my office did not impress me that he was innocent, for he
had probably realized that his sailor swagger, identifying
tattoo marks and cockney accent made it practically certain
that he would be picked up before long.

The next morning Fountain prptested against his continued
imprisonment. His dark blue eyes snapped with rage when
I ordered him again to accompany me over the course he
travelled on the day of the murder. We revisited the saloon
at Seventeenth and J Streets. The bartender could not
recollect serving him on the afternoon in question, though he
identified the suspect as an occasional customer. The girl
ticket-seller at the Fairyland also remembered Fountain as a
steady patron.

There was no evidence against him except the similarity
between the rope with which the girl was strangled and the
odds and ends of rope in the church closet. This evidence,
instead of pointing toward guilt, in the hands of a sharp
criminal lawyer could be cited as proof of his client’s innocence,
for only a very stupid criminal would leave such a clue.

Detectives Ryan and Fisher and myself again submitted
the prisoner to a severe cross-questioning. He demanded an
attorney and then sat in sullen silence.

Detective Ryan rose quickly and leaning over the man,
whispered, ‘‘When did you escape from that Iowa asylum,
Fountain?’ The detective afterwards said he could hardly
account for his action except that it was based on a sudden
impression of startling vividness, supported by the fact that
he guessed from several incidents that Fountain had been in
trouble in Iowa.

The effect of this query was instantaneous. The man
paled and wilted in his chair as if dreading assault, his eyes
closed and his lips moved soundlessly. We poured a drink
of water down his throat and in a few moments he partially
recovered.

‘Now, David, we know everything,’ I told him. “It
won’t hurt you to confess.”’

“I made the getaway five years ago,’’ muttered Fountain.

“Why did you kill Margaret Milling?’ thundered Ryan.

“JT didn’t kill her,’’ he flared back. “I know nothing
about it.”

“If you didn’t kill the girl, how is it that you recognized
her when neither the minister nor his wife could do so?”
again thundered Ryan, grasping the man by his shoulders
and looking steadily into his eyes.

“Because of her pink dress and the doll she had,” he an-
swered defiantly.

‘How was it that you described the movie so carefully?’’ con-
tinued the detective. ‘“I’ll tell you. You went there several
times in order to establish an alibi, but you overplayed your
hand. You knew too much.”

“T’m innocent,’’ was the reply.

“Lock him up!’ I ordered.

On our inquiry the Clarinda State Hospital in Iowa tele-
graphed us that Fountain was an escaped inmate and with this
lead his life became an open book. The man was a five-time
loser, with a record of eighteen years in penitentiaries, ending
with commitment to the asylum.

When confronted with this record, Fountain admitted it was
true but he still denied knowing anything of the murder.

A request came from District Attorney Eugene Wachhorst
that the prisoner be turned over to him for examination.
Though Fountain was on the verge of confession we took him
to the courthouse where the District Attorney interviewed him
in his private office.

Twenty minutes later, Wachhorst handed us a confession,
signed by the prisoner, admitting that he had strangled the
girl and carried her up four flights of stairs into the belfry;
“because nobody ever goes up there,” he explained. Then
he thought she was entitled to a “Christian burial” and car-
ried her down again to the basement. A few minutes later he
notified Mrs. Oehler that he had found a body in the Sunday
School quarters.

The next day he repudiated the confession saying he had
made it under stress and to avoid further questioning and
“torture”? by the police.
ze\We were convinced that we had the guilty man and Graham,
who was entirely innocent of any connection with the crime,
was given his freedom.

Fountain was indicted by the grand jury and in February,
1915, was arraigned before Superior Judge Malcolm C. Glenn.
He pleaded “Not guilty.”” A verdict of murder in the first de-
gree was returned by the jury on the first ballot.

On September 10th, 1915, ten months after he had tightened
a rope round the neck of his victim, Fountain felt the strangling
embrace of the hangman’s knot. He walked unassisted to the
scaffold and a moment later plunged through the trap.

?


sate g
etd dae th ok ea ok

Blilt9t6 Bithed Fetan

Tha. ri.


JOSE FORNI — Continued

the rope that supported the platform beneath his feete.ceoccee"

This is San Francisco, by Robert O'Brien

whittlesey House, McGraw Hill Book Company, Ince,» New York Citye

Copyrights 1948, Robert O'Brien.

NOTE: This evidently happened during the year 1852 or thereabouts.

For more details, consult Retrospection by Hubert Howe Bancroft,

—-ZI-


—

FREDERICKS,

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by Harold L. Edwards

illiam Fredericks had been
condemned to the gallows

for murder. The press and
public opinion supported the
court’s action, as his criminal
jeeds were merciless and were
widely reported in the California
newspapers. He was hanged on
the scaffold in San Quentin
Prison on July 26, 1895, and the
execution seemed a proper end
for a man who was a continuous
public threat.

Fredericks was German-born
and spoke with a heavy accent.
At times he claimed to be a
barber or a machinist; however,
at a rather early age he turned to
a life of crime instead of pursuing
these occupations. On May 26,
1890, at age eighteen, he entered

-Folsom Prison on commitment

from Mariposa County for rob-
bery. The term was for four years,
and with one year off he was
released on May 26, 1893.

While in prison he conspired

“with fellow inmate George Con-

tant to aid in a prison break.
Contant and several other pris-
oners planned to shoot their way
ut of confinement. Since Fred-
aricks was soon to be released,
he would procure the weapons
on the outside and. secrete them
in the prison quarry which had no
fence or walls around it. Contant

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and the others who worked in the
quarry would grab the guns at a
preset time and make good their
escapes. By this time, Fredericks
would have moved on and have
no further role in the episode.

Immediately after his release,
and in accordance with the plan,
Fredericks journeyed to Visalia,
where Contant had friends. He
became friendly with John Todd,
who was a bartender at the Barr
and Fox Saloon, and eventually
shared quarters with him. On the
night of June 15, 1893, Si Lovern’s
saloon was burglarized. Two
Winchester rifles, a “dirk knife,”
and several bottles of whiskey
were taken. Seven dollars in cash
was also stolen. During the bur-
glary, the culprit cut his hand on
the knife and left a trail of blood
from the scene to Todd’s room.
In ashort time the officers arrived,
but Todd and Fredericks nad
already left town and were not
apprehended. It was later sus-
pected by lawmen that Lovern
had, in fact, given the guns to
Fredericks and reported his estab-
lishment burglarized in order to
cover his part in the conspiracy.
However, the matter couldn't be
proven, and Lovern was never
arrested.

Fredericks left the weapons in
the quarry, as planned, and

caught a freight train out of town.
Tne train headed east into the
Sierra Nevada Mountain Range.
The following day, on June 28th,
Contant and his companions
secured the weapons and tried to
shoot their way out of prison. The
attempt resulted in several fatali-
ties, none of which were prison
personnel. Contant survived his
wounds and eventually impli-
cated Fredericks.

In the meantime, Fredericks
was riding on the freight train. It
stopped near Colfax where con-
ductor Newton saw “a tramp” sit-

ting on top of one of the cars. He :
ordered brakeman James F. .
Bruce to eject the tramp. Bruce :

climbed to the top of the car and
saw the tramp lying down. He
approached the rider and ordered
him off the train. The tramp drew
a pistol and fired it at Bruce. After

the shot, the tramp said, “Run, —

you son of a b----, or Ill give you
another one.” Bruce retreated to
the locomotive cab and informed
the engineer that he had been

shot. A search was made imme-

diately for the assailant, but he
had fled.

Bruce was shot through the
right lung, and his condition was
serious. He was transported to
the Railroad Hospital in Sacra-
mento, where he eventually reco-

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vered from his wound. the hunt
for his assailant progressed, and
on the following day Constable
Dyer of Colfax arrested two
“tramps” whom he believed were
involved in the shuvting. Both
men were soon released because
of lack of evidence connecting

Calitornia State Library

:

to the driveway of Lakewood’s
Foundry and turned into it.
Pascoe followed and Richards.
stationed himself at the gate in
front. in the event that the man
came back out that way. Richards
heard four shots fired in quick
succession, and the suspect

William Fredericks, as Wlustrated in the San Francisco Call (July 27, 1895).

them to the crime, but ihey had
seen Fredericks on the train and
gave lawmen a physical descrip-
tion of him. The word was passed
to officers in the adjoining areas

—

I

About 9:30 p.m., on June 30th.
Nevada County Sheriff William 4.

Pascoe called Constable Richa: ds
4 out of a Grass Valley saloon and

pointed to a man leaning against
an awning pole. He asxed
Richards if he knew the man.

~ Richards replied that he didn't. At

that moment the man walked
away on Main Street, and the
lawmen followed in order to get a
better look at him. Pascoe stated

- that he thought the man might be

the one involved in the Bruce
shooting. The officers separated,
and Richards followed Pascoe by
about 50 feet. The suspect came

approached Richards. Richards
ordered him to halt, but the
suspect ran. Richards fired one
shot at him. The suspect escaped
and Richards ran toward town to
secure aid. He met Officer
Denman, who had heard the
shooting and was coming down
to investigate. Together they
returned to the foundry buildings
and looked around. They found
Sheriff Pascoe’s body on a
pathway. He was lying face down
with his pistol under him. They
found that he had been shot
through the heart at close range,
as there were powder marks
around the wound. His revolver
had three fired cartridges in it.
Posses were organized for a
search, as it was felt that the killer
nas still close by.

The killer wasn’t located, and
on July 3rd he passed ditch-
tender Anderson and asked him
for directions to the various pla-
ces in the area. Later that same
day, it was discovered that a
cabin some short distance from
Grass Valley was plundered of
supplies. The fugitive also ap-
proached an isolated home and
found a man reading about She-
riff Pascoe’s murder in a news-
paper. The fugitive said, “I have
been accused of that murder, but
| am innocent and | will not be
taken alive.” The intruder spoke
broken English and fit Freder-
icks’ description. Anderson was
shown a picture of Fredericks,
and he affirmed that it was the
same man who had asked him for
directions. Posses searched the
area, but the killer had disap-
peared. The officers believed that
he had turned back toward the
Sacramento Valley and would
“try to jump a train” at Marysville.

Fredericks was_ traveling
through the mountain country on
foot, which gave him advantage
of concealment and moving in the
terrain. On July 5th he was
reported seen near Marysville,
and several posses embarked on
a search, but the fugitive again
eluded pursuit.

The citizens of Nevada County
were incensed over the killing of
Sheriff Pascoe and by July 6th
had held several meetings and
took subscriptions to raise a
reward for the capture of his
slayer. The citizens were hoping
to “induce the best detectives to
interest themselves” in the
search. As usual in matters of this
kind, Fredericks was reported to
be in different areas at the same
time, and as far away as Oregon.

In the meantime, Constable
Richards was criticized by the
large city newspapers for his
conduct during the Pascoe kil-
ling. It was alleged that his pistol
was found under Pascoe’s body.
It was stated that he had con-
cealed the sheriff's shooting until
the murderer could escape. It
was even charged that Richards
had killed Pascoe. Finally, a cor-

23

ericks jumped and disappeared into the
landscape.

Hunted and always looking over his
shoulder Fredericks began a roving ex-
istence which is difficult to trace. He
was accused of the murder of Sheriff
Pascoe of Nevada County, but it. was
never proved. Reportedly he was walk-
ing down the street in Grass Valley
shortly after the brakeman’s murder
when he was spotted as a suspicious
character by the sheriff. As the lawman

began trailing him, Fredericks suddenly

whirled and shot Pascoe down. Posses
were quickly on the trail of the killer,
put he disappeared into the wild sur-
rounding country.

Riding the rails and stopping in the
larger cities so he could more easily re-
main inconspicuous Fredericks traveled
through Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado
and Wyoming. He kept a notebook and

_ made references to each of the holdups
and burglaries he committed during his
travels. Eventually he landed in Butte,
Montana, where he used the name of
William Berrigan.

In Butte, Fredericks engaged in a
number of holdups, including the re-
ported murder of three Chinese in their
cabin late in September 1893.

By January 1894 Fredericks again felt
compelled to move. He made his way to
Salt Lake City. Here he committed
another robbery, although in all his trav-
els he seems to have netted a mere
$350 by this method. In early March he
was back in California, broke and living
from hand to mouth.

On the evening of March 14, Fred-
ericks stopped in at the saloon of Dick
Hanley in San Francisco. He told Hanley
he had just come from the East and
wanted to exchange his sealskin cap and
a small bag for some food and drinks.
Hanley agreed and Fredericks left about
nine.

Walking over to Golden Gate Park,
Fredericks accosted a man named Martin
Smith. In the course of the holdup he
shot Smith and got away with $150. The
following morning he turned up again at
Hanley’s saloon where he redeemed his
cap and bag and bought several rounds
of drinks for the crowd.

oe ams CUEY I
=a /1 (jy

ss

“Out here they're either uninhabited or
uninhibited!”. a

46

In looking about for his next oppor-
tunity, Fredericks noted a particularly
vulnerable-appearing bank at the corner
of Market and Fell Streets. It seemed
a getaway would be quite easy. Going
into the Savings Union Bank on March
21, he noted that only two tellers were
present and that ample money seemed to
be lying about. The place was a push-
over. : :

That night in his room Fredericks
made plans for the robbery. He printed
up a note in red ink, worded so as to
appear to be the work of an anarchist.
He filled a small vial with alcohol to
simulate nitroglycerin since part of his
plan was to threaten to blow up the place
if they didn’t comply with his orders.

At 9:30 the following Friday morning
Fredericks stepped into the bank. He
was nattily dressed in a light suit and
overcoat and looked like a young busi-
nessman as he strolled up to the teller’s
cage.

B* the time Captain Lees had finished
reading the bank robber’s notebook,
a subordinate had returned with a wanted
poster. The old detective grabbed the
notice and quickly read it. The description
seemed to fit perfectly, even to the nu-
merous tattoos. The man being held at
the receiving hospital was none other
than William Fredericks, the ex-Folsom
inmate wanted for supplying guns in the
prison break the previous year.

Lees lost no time in rushing over to
the hospital. A dangerous killer _was
lying only slightly wounded, with a
single guard, Lees quickly made arrange-
ments to transfer the prisoner to the city
jail after being assured by the doctor
that his wounds were minor. In a short
time Fredericks was securely locked up
and Lees could relax. ‘

After permitting his prisoner to rest
for a time, Lees summoned him to his
office. “Well, Cap,” Fredericks is re-
ported as saying, “I knew it was only a
question of time anyway until you would
find out who I am.” He freely admitted
smuggling arms into prison, and the
attempted bank hold up, but insisted he
had shot Herrick in self-defense. He also
denied robbing and shooting Martin
Smith or having any knowledge of
other crimes. He claimed that the police
would try to pin all local unsolved cases
on him, as was their policy.

The capture of Fredericks was big news
and for some time the prisoner basked
in the light of a celebrity. Captain Lees
and Chief Crowley referred to him as
“one of the worst men in America” and
besides the murders of brakeman Bruce
and Sheriff Pascoe, he was being accused
of killing the Wells Fargo guard, Tovey,
the previous June.

In a speedy trial the following month,
Fredericks was easily convicted of the
murder of William Herrick. He was sen-
tenced to death, but an appeal made the
appointed execution date invalid.

As time dragged on and it appeared
that a new execution date was going to
be set, Fredericks took matters into his
own hands. He began acting strangely
and generally behaving like a madman.
On May 16, 1895, when he appeared in
Judge Murphy’s court for sentencing, he

behaved even more violently and had to
be restrained several times. All except
Fredericks’ attorney believed that the
prisoner was feigning insanity in order
to be given a life sentence.

Five days later another hearing was
held at which a number of physicians
testified that the prisoner was indeed
sane. Fredericks was sentenced to hang
on July 26. The end had come. In those
last few days allotted him, Fredericks
accepted the Catholic faith and became a
model prisoner. When he was hanged at
San Quentin he was the calmest man
in the room. One of the sons of the mur-
dered Sheriff :Pascoe witnessed Fred-
ericks’ death and commented that he had
“Jived like a brute and died like a brave
man.”

Charley Michelson, a writer for the
San Francisco Examiner, also witnessed
the execution. Later he was to become
chief speechwriter for Franklin Roose-
velt’s administration, but at this time he
was just a young cub reporter.

“Pyedericks,” he wrote, “was the
gamest man I ever saw hanged. ... In
one of my talks with the condemned
man he told me that when he had left the
little school in Germany his ambition was
to be a soldier, and the career that he
had marked out for himself was that of
a commander of men... . Possibly if the
boy Fredericks had been given a cadet-
ship instead of being forced by his
necessities to go to sea and generally
make his way among the hard walks of
life, there might have been a Captain
Fredericks or a Colonel Fredericks, whose
dashing courage would have made him
world famous. At all events that is the
thought that came to me when they cut
his muffled body down.”

Apparently the destiny of young cash-
ier Herrick never occurred to reporter
Michelson.

Canyon Country Cowpuncher

(Continued from page $1)
get a few cows together, that looked
good, Cowpunchers were making from
$35-$50 a month and found, only a lot
of the cowmen never found it! They were
mostly greasy sack outfits, trying to get
rich off of your belly. Boiled beans, bis-
cuits, coffee, “no cream,” was the usual
fare.

One spring during lambing, about 45
days, I worked for a small sheep outfit
owned by Bill Wier. There was also
another short-time employee, a young
Eastern dude who had an accent that
cracked us up. Most of the time we
couldn’t understand him. We were a pack
and drag outfit—pack mules, tent, etc.,
including Dutch ovens to cook anything
and bake biscuits in.

We were camped at Maybell, Colorado
on the west side of Yampa River, There
was a grave up on the hill a little way
off the road, fenced in by four posts
with some boards nailed to them. It was
the grave of some old-time cowboy who
had drowned swimming cattle across the
river before the bridge was built.

We watched the dude carry his bed up
there and bed down for the night in the
little sunken place. (I don’t think the
old cowpuncher minded.) No one said

. True West

anything until the next morning when he
came down to camp and told us about
what a nice place he had found to roll
out his bed. Then someone told him he
had slept on top of a grave.

About this time we thought we ought
to have some fun out of him, so we told
him to always bury the Dutch oven lids
because the sun would warp them. This
he did every morning, not realizing they
got almost red hot when we cooked with
them. This was a lot of fun; we nearly
split our sides laughing when he wasn’t
around!

At one of our stops there was a party
of tourists or whatever, and the dude
went down to camp to visit. There was
a couple of good looking young ladies,

o our eastern friend thought he would
put on a little show or something to
impress them. He came back to our camp
and asked Art Lyon, the foreman, if he
could borrow Art’s angora “woolly” chaps.

He put them on and started back to
the tourist camp. The old horse he was
riding was gentle as a dog, but had prob-
ably at one time had fire. The dude hung
his spurs in the old horse’s shoulders, and
for a minute he must have thought he
was once again in somebody’s rough
string. He bucked the dude off head
first, and all you could see was a pair of
legs encased in woolly chaps sticking up
in the brush.

The outfit lambed around Duffy Moun-
tain above Juniper Springs. That coun-
try was literally alive with rattlesnakes;
there was seldom a day we didn’t kill
three or four. We had a tent set out about
a mile from the main camp. Art Lyon
and I was there one night when it started
to rain. Pretty soon the water began to
seep up right to our bed. If you laid
still in the same place it wasn’t so bad,
but if you moved it was a cold shock.
Neither one of us was asleep but we
weren’t talking. °

Suddenly Art rolled out of bed into
about an inch of water and said, “Jesus
Christ, there’s a rattlesnake in bed with
us.” I gently rolled out on my side into
my own cold water.

Art had a big long-barreled six-shooter.
He struck matches with his thumb nail,
while I turned down the bed. All the
time he had his pistol at the ready.
Pretty soon I got the covers turned back
far enough to expose a little baby mouse.
He was just as cold and miserable as I
was. I put the little shivering creature
in my shirt pocket, and when the morning
sun came out I turned him loose with
best wishes.

Duffy Mountain isn’t most people’s
idea of a mountain—it is just a long
bluff of sandstone chunks the size of a
house that have fallen away from the
face of the main bluff. Our camp was
two or three hundred yards away, One
evening we were shooting a .30-30 at a
mark on the bluff when our dude friend
asked us to hold up long enough for him
to get behind one of the big rocks. He said
he wanted to see what it would be like.

We waited for him to get set and he
yelled, “OK!” We poured four or five
rounds into the bluff before he let out a
squall to stop. He was a little shook up,
I guess, at the ricocheting.

‘About this time the dude wasn’t need-

September-October, 1979

ed any more, so the boss took him to town.
When we went to dig up the Dutch oven

‘lids, we found he had buried them about

ten feet deep and filled the hole with
rocks, cactus, tin cans, horse manure,
garbage, and anything else he could lay
his hands on. He had wised up some-
where along the line and went along
with our joke, biding his time!

We had a lot of laughs out of him,
but he had the last one. Dudes may not
always know the customs of the coun-
try—but not all of them are dumb!

ADDIE was about the best pack horse
anyone could ask for. He only had one
eye, I don’t know what happened to his
other eye. We only led Laddie far enough
to get him away from camp, then we tied
up his lead rope and headed him down the
trail we wanted to go. He would peg
along, and if we wanted to branch off
from the trail all we had to do was ride
alongside of him and turn him. This
is just to give you an idea of how gentle
and cooperative he was.

Laddie belonged to my good friend
Charlie Mantle. When Charlie got mar-
ried to Evelyn Fuller, and they were
moving from the summer camp down
to the winter camp in Pats Hole, they
sent out for a dozen hens and a rooster
to be delivered by the mailman, Mr.
Carver. When Mr. Carver brought the
chickens he used his own cage, which he
wanted to keep. So we whipped up one of

~ our own out of willows, brush, barbed

wire, spit, and chewing gum.

We packed old Laddie with a barrel on
one side, a trunk on the other, and the
chicken cage on top. All went well until
Laddie struck a little jog going across
a wash. Then one of the white leghorn
hens ran her head up through our home-
made cage and said, “squaaack.” Laddie
went crazy! He scattered chickens over
about a square section of sagebrush,
and we had to run them down. We’d catch
one, tie it to a saddle string, and take
off after another. We finally ran them

“all down, along with our horses. White

leghorn chickens can fly like a sage
chicken, or almost like a buzzard.

After we repaired our chicken cage
and gathered up the rest of our pack, we
led Laddie, When we reached Rat Spring,
which was about half-way to the winter
camp, the chickens were about to expire
from the chase and the heat. Charlie
said, “I think we better water our
chickens.” I agreed, so we turned them
loose to water—a stupid thing to do, but
it was the only way we could water then
because we had no cup, or any other way
to give them water.

They drank and fluffed in the spring,
and recovered from their chase. And
when we went to catch them again, the
same thing happened, only this time we
were on the side of a mountain. If-they
get airborne they could fly a mile. We
got some of them, but the rest went wild
and roosted in the cottonwood trees at
Rat Spring. Charlie went up there and
pistoled them. They would have frozen
during the winter anyway, and they
made a change in our diet.

CHARLIE'S winter camp was along
Bear River at the foot of Hell Can-

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yon, and usually along in the spring our
horses would swim the river to better
grazing on the other side. Once in a
while we could coax the dog to swim
over and chase them back, but the dog
was too old and smart to hit that ice
water more than once or twice a year.
Then we had to get up on the rocks with
a .30-30 and shoot across the river until
we spooked the horses back onto our side.
This used up our ammunition and didn’t
always work.

Years before, there had been a crew
surveying for a possible railroad down
the Yampa Canyon. They had camped
in Hardin’s Hole, about six or seven miles
above Charlie’s camp, and had left a
handmade rowboat made of very rough
1 x 10 boards. It had laid out on the bank
for years and had cracks in it you
could throw a pack-saddle through.
-Qne spring after shooting all of our
ammo to get our horses back on our
side of the river, we decided that we
would drag the old boat down on the
ice the next year. So that winter, along
in the spring, I drug the boat down, broke
my horse through the ice, and had a
hell of a time getting him out. Anyway,
I got back with the boat, which laid on
the river bank for a month or two.

Sure enough one morning there were
our horses on the opposite side of the
river, which was at flood from the run-
off of snowbanks above. We tried the
dog but he wasn’t even a little interested
in swimming that ice water. Charlie said,
“Jt looks like we’re going to have to caulk
up our boat.” '

While Charlie chopped a pair of oars
out of a small cottonwood tree—they
were five feet long with a blade of about
four inches in width—I whittled some
willows into a sort of wedge and wrapped
them in strips of underwear, and drove
them into the cracks of our boat. No tar,
no pitch, no anything, not even time to
soak the thing up before launching.

We were ready to float our man-trap
when Charlie said, “Maybe you better go
back and get some cans, it might need
bailing.” Little did we suspect how much!

We loaded the dog and launched our
ark. Charlie paddled furiously, 1 bailed
furiously, and we made it across the
river even though we were about to sub-
merge. We went up the river to where
the horses were and set the dog on them,
and he boomed them across, but when we

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EXECUTION


A woman of about 28, her eyes swollen from tears, ad-
mitted us.
“He’s in there,” she said, pointing to a door opening off the

dining room. “It’s Mr. Nelson.”

The sight that greeted us when we walked through the door
she had indicated, was revolting..

Harry A. Nelson, 42, one of the few heroic survivors of the
famous ‘Lost Battalion” in the World War, known through-
out California for his American Legion leadership, and a chief
assistant in the Alameda county assessor’s office, lay uncon-
scious in a crimson splashed bed. He was clad only in
pajamas,

His crushed and broken head was a terrible sight to behold.
He had evidently been slugged in his sleep by a fiend whose
first blow must oe been dealt with such vicious intent that
the victim never had a chance to awaken and defend himself
or cry out for help.

Not once but several times the bludgeon—hammer, pipe or
other instrument—had descended with tremendous force. Five
fractures were plainly visible on the scalp and left side of the
head near the ear. And still Nelson lived! A groan escaped
his clenched teeth. His tense face was ghastly.

The bed was a crimson mass. Even at that moment blood
dripped from it onto the floor and the sound penetrated the
tragic silence in the bedroom with a dreadful regularity that
made the spine creep.

Here, in the dead of night, into the bedroom of a home
situated on one of the finer residential streets of the city, an
assailant had crept to bludgeon the sleeping war hero to a
point near death. ;

On entering the bedroom I had observed that Nelson’s head
was at the foot of the bed. Was it possible, 1 conjectured,
that the first cruel blow had miraculously failed to render him
senseless, and that he had risen to protect himself, only to fall
under the impact of the second smash so that his head lay at
the foot of the bed?’

If this were so then Nelson, possibly only for one frightful

_ moment, had actually seen his attacker outlined in the eerie
light from the moon that had shone during the night.

But I was convinced from my first glance at the crushed
skull that the prostrate victim would never be able to utter
any coherent phrase that might help our investigation. He
could never survive that terrific beating.

Mystery Of The Electric Light

TURNED to the woman who had admitted us. She had

led the ambulance crew into the room and now stood star-
ing out a window like one transfixed by hypnotism.

“Who found this man?” I asked her.

“Mrs, Hulett—Mae Hulett, Mr. Nelson’s mother-in-law.”
Even in the deathly quiet of the room her voice was barely
audible.

“What is your name?”

“Mrs. Muriel Forbes. I am the maid, I was the last per-
son in the house to see Mr. Nelson before this terrible thing
happened.” Goodnight motioned her into a chair and asked
her to relate eyerything she knew of the case.

“I took Mr. Nelson coffee and a light lunch on a tray
shortly before midnight. That was just after he had gone to
bed. I did that every night, for he always worked late and
wanted something to eat before going to sleep. .

“Then I retired. My room is beyond the kitchen, directly
across from Mrs. Hulett’s bedroom. Mr, Nelson’s 8-year-old

ee ill

In a vacant lot near the murder house two boys found the ta:
are shown giving the pipe to Inspectors James Good

22

gas pipe used to beat Harry Nelson to death. They
ht, left, and John Mulhern, author of this story.

STARTLING DETECTIVE ;
:

—

arene

The killer use
eliminate finge
this pinchbar
window throug
ered in the ni;
mission

daughter slept :
night, but abou
like groans con
door. Mr. Nel
but I didn’t no:
up about it. It

“When he f:
Hulétt went in
screamed and |

“Where is M

“After telepl
down in her ro

“And Nelson

“Visiting rel:

“When did s!

“Let me see

Goodnight ar
was furnished
disturbed or m:
evidence that t!
where Nelson’s
In one I found
bery had been t
his purpose.

At my comm:
spectacle, was t:
to Highland ho

Goodnight a:
in which Mrs, }
from Nelson’s |
curly brown ha:
must break.

While Goodn
Mrs. Hulett an

It was heart-
his mother if s
“I heard nothin
night when he \

“Was there a:
itself when you

She shook he
then suddenly e>

“Why, the ele

“Had your so:
sibly falling ask

“No, never; |
he did.”

“Did you turn

“TI suppose I
was so grief stri
the present at le.

But her state:
on a new train
dare to turn on
tended to rob, «

every criminal p

ADVENTURES

ll P 323 See
FONG AH SING, Chinese, hanged at San Francisco, California, on M&&& November 19, 1886,

"San Francisco, Nove 19 (By the W,stern Associated Press) = Fong Ah Sing, the Chinaman
convicted for the murder of a Chinese woman more than four years ago, was hanged at |
12:08 pem. today. About one hour before the time set for the execution he became

very much excited and rapidly lost his self-control, As the time for the execution

grew nearer and nearer, he finally fell on his knees before Mr, Ackerman, the attorney
for Sheriff Hopkins, who waspresent in his cell and begged him to save his life, 'I

did not commit the crime,' cried he wildly, 'and you must not let them hang me,' He

at last became hysterical, crying and wringing his hands and occasionally lifting them |
toward heaven in a most piteous manner. He would not listed to advice and the com-
forting words of the priest and paid no attention to any of his surroundings. When |
the time came for him to ascend the scaffold he managed to regain his composure and
walked steadily to the death-trap, A few minutes before 12 a dispatch wasreceived from
Governor Stoneman which read: 'I will not interfere.' Final preparations were then

made and the trap was sprung. When the rope was stretched its full length it was

noticed that it had caught under the doomed man's left arm so that his body hung at an
acute angle with it, There were loud exclamations of horror and considerable ex-
citement. An attempt to pull the body on to the platform of the scaffold proved
unsuccessful, Finally a latter was procured and the rope was loosened, Life was

already extinct, death having been apparently instantaneous," TIMES, Los Angeles,
California, Novamber 20, 1886 (2/3.)


I ROMEO TRE I 8 eR BS

Ranwrione

AILLED

akland’s Noted

Battalion’’
Jroom—his

ctric lights
t America’s

‘iatinspired
2 mystery.

o my ear as I
or’s bureau of
morning, June

It seemed that
wire could no
» identify the
ious. A man’s
the voice had

in the manner
date an erring
ould I get one
you? Where

beads on my
ied my ear to
ime at last.

leaven’s name
2, then silence.
1 the telephone
ispector James
investigations.

DETECTIVE

os

Placing a ladder as indicated at a window of Nelson’s

home, a brutal marauder pried open the window, stole

into the war hero’s room and beat him unmercifully

on the head with a length of gas pipe. A curious group
of boys answers questions of an investigator.

“Come on, Jim, looks like murder!” He grabbed his hat
from a rack and a minute later, with wide-open siren melting
the congested traffic before us in downtown Oakland, we
raced at mile-a-minute clip to the Boyd avenue address. A
block back of us the police ambulance screamed its way
through the path we had cut in the lines of automobiles and
street cars.

Within a few minutes we came to a grinding halt in front
of a single-story home on Boyd avenue. The number 5314
could be seen over the door at the top of a flight of stone steps
that rose from the sidewalk level.

“Jim, this is Harry A, Nelson’s home!” I exclaimed as we
jumped from our squad car.

“Not the county official and American Legion leader ?”

“Sure thing. I was here once working on an angle of a
case involving a war veteran.”

Goodnight whistled softly as I pressed the doorbell. The
ambulance drew to the curb a moment later and two stretcher
bearers leaped to the sidewalk.

ADVENTURES

W
Now
i mR.

ADA eutanaate ccna

neem yey “ae
Pan rae cocks STE nance pet ci wan wd ONMonih tihen y 8R SR EL 8 a

roe

Investigators who cracked Oakland’s scarlet mystery
examine the stained bedding after the removal of
Nelson’s body. In the picture, left to right, are R. T.
Lewis, police investigator; Inspector John Mulhern who
tells this story, and Inspector James Goodnight.

21


I Solved the Mystery of the

LOVE THIEF

Harry A. Nelson, heroic survivor of the famous “Lost
Battalion,” who was fatally beaten with a gas pipe while
he lay sleeping in his California home. He was one of the
tattered half of the battalion (pictured above) that escaped
after being surrounded by the enemy in the Argonne Forest
and subjected to terrible gunfire for several days.

20

One of the few survivors of the famous ‘‘Lost Battalion’”’
lay unconscious and dying in his own bedroom—his

skulled battered.

But his assailant in vanishing had left the electric lights
burning in the death chamber as avital clue in America’s
latest and most terrible love crime.

Here is the first inside story of the mad love that inspired
a murder that startlingly revealed a double mystery.

A woman's voice cried those words into my ear as I
answered the telephone in the inspector’s bureau of
oy aa Police Department early Tuesday morning, June

; b

The voice trailed off into a soul-searing sob. It seemed that
the stricken speaker at the other end of the wire could no
longer control herself sufficiently for me to identify the
source of the call. Minutes, I knew, were precious. A man’s
life was evidently slipping into eternity. And the voice had
said it was murder.

“Pull yourself together,” I ordered gruffly, in the manner
that a traffic policeman might employ to intimidate an erring
motorist, for I knew that only by such means could I get one
or two precious questions answered. ‘“‘Who are you? Where
is this dying man?”

I could feel the perspiration breaking into beads on my
forehead as I gripped the telephone and strained my ear to
the receiver to catch the faintest response. It came at last.

“I am Mrs. Hulett—5314 Boyd avenue—in Heaven’s name
hurry!” A crashing sound flashed over the wire, then silence.
The woman had obviously collapsed and dropped the telephone
to the floor. I sprang to the door, shouting to Inspector James
Goodnight, veteran of innumerable criminal investigations.

STARTLING DETECTIVE

Hi: us! He’s dying—it’s murder !

sonia, — - te

Jiahlery LD leotie

Cord i

Placing a 1:
home, a bru
into the we
on the head
of boys

“Come or
from a rack
the congest
raced at mi
block back
through the
street cars.

Within a
of a single-
could be see
that rose fr:

“Jim, this
jumped fro:

“Not the

“Sure thi
case involvi:

Goodnigh
ambulance
bearers leap

ADVENTU

ler has ju
ince: he, got: up this morning, right

“Start in from th
is morning.” »

“Sure. I slept late. Didn’t get up ‘un

around eleven-thirty. Then I had a
bite to eat and went down to see the
noon show at the Fairyland Theater.
It had just started when I got there.”

“Anybody with you?”

“No, but you can ask the girl who
takes the money at the window. She
knows me. I go there pretty regular.
She’ll remember seeing me go in.”

“Then what?”

“The show was over about two
forty-five and it was time for me to
be getting down to the church. I was

_ thirsty, so I dropped into a bar on

Seventeenth and J Streets and had a
couple of beers. You can check up on
that, too, if you like. The barkeeper
there knows me, too. Then I went on
to the church—and you know what
happened after that.”

NODDED. “Now, about that rope,

David. You’re pretty sure it came
from your cupboard?”

“Well, it’s the same sort of stuff I
keep there, and the bunch of rope had
been pulled out front, like I told you.
And any old key would open that
door.”

Koening luoked the janitor squarely
in the eyes. “David,” he said quietly,
“I'm not saying you killed that girl,
mind you. But you could have done it
quite easily, couldn’t you?”

“Sure,” Fountain promptly agreed.
“But I didn’t do it. And would I have
left all that rope lying around if I’d
pret a piece of it to strangle that poor

“Doesn’t sound reasonable,” Koening

* ag agreed. “Now tell us about those keys
wet yours. Where do you keep them,
n

d have you lent them to anybody
else recently?”

“They’re always either in my pocket
or up in my room. Nobody’s ever bor-
rowed them from me since I came
here.”

“Besides your keys and those at the

» parsonage, has anybody else got dupli-

cates?”

“No, sir. Not that I ever heard of.
The ladies, the church organist, the
various men on committees and things,
none of ’em have keys. Either they
come to me or they go to the parsonage
if the church is locked up.”

“That’s all for now, David. I’m hold-
ing you as a material witness.”

The janitor flared into a _ passion.
“What's the idea?” he stormed. “You’ve
got no more right to hold me than you
have to hold Doctor Oehler, yet he
goes free and I’m locked up. Where’s
your justice? Why isn’t he in here
alongside of me or why ain’t I out
same as he is?”

“I’m sorry, Fountain, but that’s how
it is for now. You were closer to the
girl and closer to the crime than he
was. His explanation of his move-
ments is satisfactory and checks with
what Mrs. Ochler told us. We haven’t
checked on your story yet.”

“Check away,” Fountain yelled.
“Oh, sure. I know. Doctor Oehler is
somebody in this man’s town. He’s
got a position. He’s respectable. But
me, I’m a bum the way you look at
it. Just a low-down, ornery bum who
dropped into your blasted town from
nowhere. So you try to pin a murder
on me, that’s what. Well, go ahead.
Check up on my story. I ain’t afraid.
But let me tell you this—”

rt us ect | he did

down.‘to.'the moment ‘when you found °
Margaret’s body. Now it’s your turn.” »
“Okay,” he answered amiably. “I
~ got nothing to hide—and not much to ~~
tell that-you don’t already know.” “~ <=
time you got up.
. the real murderer’s running around

He stopped dead then, and whatever

ith indignation. ‘
“No. use getting “mad about it,
ave,” I told him. “We’ve got to hold
you, and that’s all there is to it. If,
you're. innocent you'll, be- grelenved :
right away.’’.

“If I’m innocerit! If I'm inmocentl™
he raved. “It’s shameful the way you
cops are trying to pin this on me while.

free, giving you the ha-ha.”

We got him calmed down after a
while and started him telling us some-
thing of his background... A common
enough story. He was 53, born in

.

Ise he had meant to say remained un- -
“said. He sat there regarding us angrily,
his face’a fiery red. en lips trembling

hand: Somebody besides Fountain was

in that room recently.”

Koening half started ‘to his feet.
“You mean—?”
“Might be our = Shusdaver,” Fisher

‘ said quietly. /

“By thunder, Max!” the Inspector

‘shouted, thumping the table. “Maybe:

~ you’ ve 7 the answer. It wasn’t
hler. Maybe it wasn’t even Foun-

-tain.- What if it was this fellow with

-the big fist? And who would he be,
“anyway? Let’s get Fountain back
and—’

A: tap on the door interrupted him.
An officer thrust in his hea

“Lady name of Koch_—Flsic Koch—
to see you, Inspector,” he said. ““Some-
thing about the murder.”

One of these guns held by Sheriff H. E. Watkins killed Clifford
Ramey. The other was the victim’s weapon fired by the killer
to make the death appear suicide. See the story on Page 12

Iowa; parents poor. Both of them died
when he was nine, and the authorities
put him in an orphanage. He ran away
after a while and ever since he’d been
an itinerant, wandering wherever his
fancy dictated or a job promised.

Farming, laboring, odd-job man,
fruit picking, harvesting; Dakota,
Kansas, and clear across country to
California. When he got through,
Koening ordered him locked up.

“We'll check on this story of his,
every detail of it,’ he said. ‘How
about those finger-prints, Max?”

FISHER slapped a handful of wet
photo prints on the desk.

“All kinds of ’em,’” he mourned.
“Mostly kids. There’s some of a wo-
man’s fingers; probably this teacher.
And these larger ones are probably
Fountain’s. There’s a couple here I
can’t place, though. Got ’em off one
of the chairs.”

He took a pencil, pointed out the
specimens. “Big ones,” he said. “Made
by an unusually large, work-calloused

Miss Koch, a prepossessiny, woman
of about 26, went straight to the point
despite her evident distress.

“lve just heard,’ she breathed. “I
had to come. There’s something—but
maybe it isn’t important.”

“Never can tell. Let’s have _ it,
please,” Koening grunted impatiently.

“Last night I had a class of girls in
the basement room singing carols and
sewing dolls’ clothing for Christmas
gifts. One of the girls suddenly
screamed and pointed to the window.
The windows, you know, are almost
level with the lawn. ‘Oh, Miss Koch!’
she cried. ‘A man. He looked right in
at me and made a face.’

““Ton’t be silly, child,’ I told her.
‘You’re imagining things.’ But the
child insisted she had seen a man peer-
ing in at her. The class was just about
to break up and I didn’t like to send
the girls home through the dusk if
there was some man hanginy around
the church.

“So I went outside, through the side
door that faces the parsonage. It was

‘almost supper-time; it would soon b
dark. Clumps of bushes grow alon;
the wall of the building, and right i
the shadows I saw a big, burly mai
standing.

“I was scared myself then, but
tried not to show it. ‘Who are yot
and what do you want?’ I demanded
He stepped out where it was lighte
and I saw a huge bulk of a mai
wrapped in a heavy overcoat.

“It’s okay, Miss,’ he said, giving m
a sort of clumsy salute. ‘tts only me
Tommy Graham, you know, as usec
to be janitor here afore Dave. I'n
lookin’ for Dave now, Miss. You don’
happen to know if he’s around by an:
ehance?’

“Well, I was relieved at this, bu
when he came stumbling toward me
was a little frightened. Graham wa
drunk. His breath reeked of liquo
and his eyes were red and staring.
didn’t know quite what to say. If
told him Mr. Fountain wasn’t here h:
might make himself unpleasant, and i
I said he was he would have com
inside looking for him. So I tried t
scare him off.

“‘Mr. Graham,’ I said. ‘You knov
you’ve no right to come here in you
condition, Pastor Oehler’s likely to sc
you at any minute and you might ge
into trouble. You’d better go before hi
comes.’

“He sort of leered at me, but I gues
he saw I was talking sense. ‘Thankce
Miss,’ he said, uncorking a flasl
with his big teeth, ‘maybe you're right
I'll be off. You wouldn't take a nij
yourself, now?’ he wheedled, holdin;
out the bottle.

“Then, seeing the look on my face
he laughed again and staggered off to
ward town. I watched him go, the:
went back inside and told the childre:
it was all right; that it was just Mr
Graham, who used to be janitor, look.
ing for Mr. Fountain. By and by I sen
them all home.”

OENING was so excited he coul

searcely thank the Sunday schoo
teacher for this new lead. As soon a
he had got rid of her he sent for Foun
tain again.

“Well, what’s it now?” Fountain de
manded surlily. “Want to charge m:
with murder, hey?”

Koening ignored the thrust. “Knoy
the man who had the janitor job be
fore you took it over, David?” he in
quired.

“Sure. Tommy Graham. What abou
it? Want to charge him, too?”

“When did you last see this Gra
ham?”

The janitor thought for a moment
“Night before last,” he declared. “Eh
come down to the church after mc
Sat and waited in the basement roon
till I got through.”

“Pastor Oehler believed Graham hai
gone back to sea. How come he's stil
hanging around town?”

“On a drunk. Come into a bit o
money unexpected and he’s blowing :
in, that’s what. Nothing wrong in tha‘
is there?” Fountain was still surly.

“Where’s he live?”

The janitor named an obscure room
ing-house in the lower part of tow:
Koening rubbed his hands. ‘Max,’ h
told Fisher, “go down and_ brin
this Graham in. Somehow I've an ide
we’re going to crack this case wid
open pretty soon.”

Sut half an hour later he wasn
so sure, Fisher came back without ti
man. “Gone, Inspector,” he reportec
“Checked out early this afternoo:
Didn’t say where he was headed fo:

Wires hummed, telephones jangl
all that busy week-end. Graham’s sud

den departure set in motion a man
hunt that reached all up and down th
Sacramento River; that fingered sus

pects at ports as close as Stockton, a
distant as Los) Angeles,  Portlanc
Seattle.

The February Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES of
‘Women in Crime Goes on Sale Wednesday, January 17

AD--9

3;

?

Sheriff. ed, reached over and
patted € 3 mother’s hand. She
and Mr. Vs were smiling, too.

Watkins turned to Elmer Britton.

“Mr. Britton,” he said, “you saw
Clifford, you said, pass your house
early Friday morning.” -

Mr. Britton replied, “Yes, I did.
About six o’clock. He was walking in
the general direction of the old place.”

“You’re positive about that? Think
it over very carefully.”

Britton rubbed his hands together.
“I—I’m positive, Sheriff,” he answered.
“But if you’ve got the fellow’s finger-
prints already, I don’t see why—”

“You will—you all will soon. But
my next discovery made during our
investigation is a bit more complicated,
and will need careful explanation. I’ll
show you.”

The Sheriff reached into a desk
drawer and drew out two shotgun
shells.

“These are both twelve-gauge,” he
said, “but they contain different loads.
The first one is commonly used for
general squirrel and quail hunting. It
uses No. 6 shot. The second shell has
No. 4 shot.” Sheriff Watkins paused,
held up the second shell.

“It was this type of shell that killed
Clifford—one that is seldom used be-
cause of its heavier load. Clifford’s gun,
however, contained a shell like this.”
He displayed the first one. “This
clew alone eventually would have
proved to us that Clifford Ramey was
murdered instead of being a suicide.”

The Sheriff turned back to Elmer
Britton. “You also said, Mr. Britton,
that you heard two shots from the
direction of the Ramey place at eight
o’clock. Right?”

“That’s what I said.” Britton’s lips
were clamped tight with determina-
tion. “And that’s the time Clifford

was killed.”
No

until Mrs. Oehler came to him with
the news of the discovery of the dead
girl in the basement.

“Who had the church keys last?”
Koening asked.

“Miss Koch, the Sunday school
teacher. She and the girls have been
working all week dressing dolls that
they were to give to needy children.
Miss Koch brought the keys back early
last night; I’m certain she would have
locked up the place when she left.”

‘\ROUNTAIN, of course, had his own
keys?”

“Certainly. A complete set.”

“Was there, among your own keys,
any one that fitted the store closet in
the basement?”

“None in particular, but several of
the doors in the church could be
opened with one of the master keys

36

the Sheriff said. “And you, too,
Brooks.”

Both men halted as though a stone
wall stopped them.

“I guess we’d better go,” whispered
Clifford’s mother. “We can find out
what it’s all about after a while.”

Mr. Kibler and I nodded, stepped out
into the hall.

Sheriff Watkins’ voice carried to us:
“Just a minute, folks. I'll need you,
too.”

Mrs. Ramey patted my hand as we
re-entered the office. “Don’t worry,
Lela,” she said. Then to Sheriff Wat-
kins: “What did you want, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff's gray eyes were nar-
row. His voice had lost its gentle tone.

“You ought to know the answer to
that question better than I,” he re-
plied. “You killed your son!”

Mrs. Ramey stood there stock-still,
her face white. She didn’t utter a
sound. Then Charlie Kibler leaped
forward. He was mad.

“What do you mean?” he shouted.
“You're crazy!”

The Sheriff’s voice was slow. “Sit
down, Kibler,” he said. “You, too,
Effie. I’m arresting you both for the
murder of Clifford Ramey.”

IBLER glowered at the Sheriff for a
moment. Then he plumped down
in a chair.

“You’ve got nothing on me,” he
muttered sullenly.

“That’s what you thought when you
smeared the place on Clifford’s gun to
obliterate your finger-prints,” said the
Sheriff. “You, of all the group here,
were aware that there could not be
legible prints on the gun when I said
I had them. I watched your face. You
were the only man in the room who
was smiling. I said what I did for
effect—your own expression gave you
away.

you, Charlie’”’ Watkins observed dri

“Sure, they were made out'to Ef

And you've already been in town, bc

of you, trying to collect on them, and
Clifford’s body hardly - cold.”
Sheriff cast an apologetic glance at
me. “You were clever enough not to
make the claims personally. You hired
another man to handle the deal for
you, and you promised him a hundred
dollars when the policies were paid.”

“That still doesn’t—”

“I’m not finished yet. Do you know
an old woman named ‘Aunt Teeney,’
in Olney? I believe she calls herself
a fortune-teller.” ; Ee

Kibler’s cheeks grew flabby, turned
the color of lead. “No!” he shouted.
“You couldn’t have found that out!
This is all lies. You’re making it up.
You don’t—know—”

“By a curious stroke of luck, some
people from Newton were in Olney
yesterday and saw you go into ‘Aunt
Teeney’s’ place, you and Effie. They
told Sheriff Harvey Moore there and
he had a little talk with ‘Aunt Tee-
ney.’ It was very interesting, Charlie,
very interesting.” -

Kibler tugged at his shirt-collar.
“Ask her!” he shouted suddenly, point-
ing at Clifford’s mother. “Why don’t
you ask her? She knows more about
this than I do!”

“T will, but it won’t be necessary.
Aunt Teeney has told us. When you
began to read in the papers how
swiftly the investigation was progress-
ing, you went to Aunt Teeney and
asked her to read the cards for you—
to tell you if you were going to be
charged with Clifford’s murder. You
wasted your money, Charlie—I could
have told you that last Sunday, right
after you told me the lie about seeing
Clifford pass Elmer Britton’s house on
the way back home.”

Watkins turned to Britton who, with

The:

Charlie Kibler did not reply to that.

hollow silence blanketed the office,

‘med almost to stop my breath in
my throat. I could not stand the ten-
sion any longer. I stood up, made my
way to the door and out into the
crowded corridor, vnseeing, unhear-
ing...

Ceenrr WATKINS, State’s Attorney

Kasserman, Investigator Malone and
others continued to question Mrs.
Ramey and Charlie Kibler all that day
oe Effie broke first, late that
night. :

“Charlie killed Clifford,” she said. -

brokenly. “If you'll bring him in here
where I can see him, I’ll tell him to
his face.” &

She did, and Charlie broke down.

“Yes, that’s true,” he said. “I shot
Clifford.”

At first he claimed that it was in
self-defense; that Clifford had fired at
him first and he had chased Clifford
and killed him before Clifford could
shoot again. But the officers were

sure that story was false; if Clifford .-

were running for his life he har
would be eating a pear.

Charlie made a second’ statemeni
then and confessed that he hid near
the cabin waiting for Clifford. His mo-
tive was the insurance money entirely.

And on November 1, he and Effie
pleaded guilty before Circuit Judge
James G. Burnside. They both were
given life sentences.

I don’t know that there is much
more to say. My emotions are all con-
fused now. Clifford is gone; so is his
mother, although in a different way. I
must change my life completely, try
to forget the entire horrible experi-
ence. Because I still have little Gordon.

For another picture with this story
see the facing page.

Carols for Little Margaret (Continued from Page 21)

we had. Quite possibly this applies
also to the door of the store closet,
though I never have had occasion to
open it myself, so far as I recollect.”

“This man Fountain, Doctor. Tell us
all you know of him.”

Doctor Oehler smiled faintly. “David
has been with us only since Septem-
ber. He replaced that sailoring man
we had. You remember him, Captain?”
Tne pastor turned to me. “Tommy
Graham?”

I returned his smile. Sure, I knew
Tommy. A rough egg, fond of his
liquor, boisterous, talkative; not the
sort of man you’d expect to find hold-
ing down a janitor job in a church. No
harm in him, though. Just a rough-
and-tumble sailor, a Britisher, with a
Cockney accent you could cut with a
knife.

“Graham didn’t fit in very well,”

Doctor Oehler proceeded. “He had—
ahem! Well, let’s be charitable. He
had his weaknesses. It was a good
thing for everybody concerned when
he decided to go back to the sea
again.

“That was when we got David. He
came to us with excellent recom-
mendations from workers at the Squir-
rel Inn, a charitable institution in the
lower part of the city. He had worked
for one or two businessmen in the
city, just doing odd jobs. All spoke
well of him.” :

“And his conduct since he came to
the job?”

“Excellent. He has proved himself
to be a good man in every way. Good
worker, willing, courteous, well be-
haved. Always ready to make himself
useful in any capacity. Our church
workers think the world of David.”

“No undue familiarity with any of
the church women or with any of the
Sunday school girls?”

The pastor shook his head emphati-
cally. “Never. His behavior always
has been exemplary. I’m sure I would
have heard of it had it been other-
wise.”

Koening dismissed the minister with
a word of thanks. “We may have to
question you again, Doctor Oehler,” he
said, “but in the meantime you are
free to .go. If anything else occurs to
you that may have even the slightest
bearing on this matter, let me know
at once.”

“Well?” demanded the Inspector,
after the Pastor’s departure. “How
does it look to you boys now?”

“Search me.” Fisher shrugged. “Let’s
talk to Fountain while the boys de-

AD—9

ae

as

Cui cil-—ana yuu What

wba ALLOW
happened after that.”

NODDED. “Now, about that rope,

David. You’re pretty sure it came
from your cupboard?”

“Well, it’s the same sort of stuff I
keep there, and the bunch of rope had
been pulled out front, like I told you.
And any old key would open that
door.”

Koening lvoked the janitor squarely
in the eyes. “David,” he said quietly,
“Tm not saying you killed that girl,
mind you. But you could have done it
quite easily, couldn’t you?”

“Sure,” Fountain promptly agreed.
“But I didn’t do it. And would I have
left all that rope lying around if I’d
— a piece of it to strangle that poor

id ”

“Doesn't sound reasonable,” Koening
agreed. “Now tell us about those keys

gt epeurs. Where do you keep them,
Sage

have you lent them to anybody
else recently?”

“They’re always either in my pocket
or up in my room. Nobody’s ever bor-
rowed them from me since I came
here.” :

“Besides your keys and those at the

- parsonage, has anybody else got dupli-

cates?”

“No, sir. Not that I ever heard of.
The ladies, the church organist, the
various men on committees and things,
none of ’em have keys. Either they
come to me or they go to the parsonage
if the church is locked up.”

“That’s all for now, David. I’m hold-
ing you as a material witness.”

The janitor flared into a passion.
“What’s the idea?” he stormed. “You’ve
got no more right to hold me than you
have to hold Doctor Oehler, yet he
goes free and I’m locked up. Where’s
your justice? Why isn’t he in here
alongside of me or why ain’t I out
same as he is?”

“I’m sorry, Fountain, but that’s how
it is for now. You were closer to the
girl and closer to the crime than he
was. His explanation of his move-
ments is satisfactory and checks with
what Mrs. Oehler told us. We haven’t
checked on your story yet.”

“Check away,” Fountain yelled.
“Oh, sure. I know. Doctor Oehler is
somebody in this man’s town. He’s
got a position. He’s respectable. But
me, I’m a bum the way you look at
it. Just a low-down, ornery bum who
dropped into your blasted town from
nowhere, So you try to pir 2a murder
on me, that’s what. Well, go ahead.
Check up on my story. I ain’t afraid.
But let me tell you this—”

specirm
by an

The February
‘Women in C

AD--9


ty

Monday morning found us still cn-
gaged in the search, with the peace
officers of every port on the Pacific
Coast helping us. We’d find Graham if
we had to tear loose every joint from
Seattle to San Diego.

And meantime we’d been busy
checking Dave Fountain’s story of his
movements on that fatal Saturday. The
girl at the movie theater said sure,
Fountain was at the early show that
morning; she remembered selling him

a ticket, but she wasn’t so certain
about the time. ‘The bartender at the
aloon where Fountain told us he had

drunk two glasses of beer was out of
town for a few days. But habitues of
the place said they were pretty sure
the janitor had been in the bar early
Saturday afternoon,

“Looks like he’s in the clear, Ar-
thur,” Koening told me. Then he
paused, listening. From beyond his
door there vose the shrill whine of a
rasping Cockney voice, blurred with
liquor—

“I wants ter see the Inspector, and
I wants ’im right now,” came the bel-
ligerent challenge.

Koening strode to the door, threw
it open. “Okay, Sergeant,” he called,
“bring him in.”

“He's drunk, Inspector. Just plain
drunk,” Sergeant Maley protested. On
his heels followed a heavy, thick-set
man of about 35; weather-beaten,
tanned; clumping in heavy boots. His
face was flushed, his eyes bleared and
bloodshot.

“Tommy Graham, sir, at yer sarvice.”
The fellow knuckled his cap in a
clumsy seaman’s salute, and dropped
heavily into a chair. “Drunk as a lord,
Cap. ’Appy as a king. An’ innercent
as any bibe in arms.”

“Sit up straight, man, and listen,”
Inspector Koening told him sternly.
“Or are you too drunk to understand
your position?”

Graham burst into a roar of laugh-
ter, “’Ark at ’im,” he rasped. “Am I
drunk, ’e arsks'me? Blimey, if I ain’t
blotto, somebody’s bin an’ mide a mis-
take, that’s all.” Then, doffing his sea-
man’s cap with a muttered “’Scuse
me, Cap,” he went on in the same
bantering tone: “LE reads in the piper
as ‘ow I'm a blinkin’ killer. Me, Tom-
my Graham! Crikey, that’s a good ‘un,
that is. “Ere.”

He ripped open his heavy flannel
shirt, baring a chest like a barrel,
hairy and sun-tanned, tattooed gen-
crously with a variety of nude female
figures, The backs of his hairy hands,
[ saw, were adorned with crossed
‘lags and other insignia.

He sat thus for a moment or two,
shaking his huge head as though to
clear it of the haze of liquor in which
t obviously swam.

“I’m ’arf-seas-over, matey,” he
growled, “but I ain’t so blarsted tight
{ cawn’t ’ear wot you ’ave to say. Yus,
sive you the straight of it, too, if
inybody scs Tommy Graham’s a killer,
‘welp me. I’m a sailor, I yam—deep-
vater sailor. Port o’ Lunnon to ’Frisco.
These ’ere pretty pitchers proves it,
lon't they?”

‘PLL accept them that way. Go on
with your story.”

“’Appy to do so, Inspector. Well, as

wus a-sayin’, I booms through th’
xolden Gite and into dear ol’ ’Frisco
ast August. Barkentine Ada. Yus,
hat’s correck. August. Well, I’m fed
ip on the blinkin’ ship, see? So I
‘omes. to Sacramento an’ gets me this
ere job as janitor in the church.

“Larf? Just abart larfed me blinkin’
ead orf; me pushin’ a mop in a berth
un by a bunch o’ religioners. Not ’arf
o dusty, though, at that. Twenty-five
ducks a month, an’ me own cabin to
unk in, just like a bloomin’ officer,
‘welp me.

“But us sailormen’s all alike. ’Ot-
oot, if yer tike me meanin’. I’m all
et to ’op it back to the blinkin’ briny;
uit me job an’ ’anded me mop an’
vail over to Davy Fountain, w’en s’welp
ne if the British Consul in ’Frisco
loesn’t up an’ tell me I’m a bleedin’
apitalist. A old uncle’s died in Lun-
ion, and I’m ’is ’eir to the tune o’
hree hunnerd quidlets—that’s nigh

38

onto fifteen hunnerd bucks United
States money, ain’t it?”

He reached into a pocket, drew out a
fat and grease-stained leather wallet
and flung it on the table.

“There’s me pipers, Inspector,” he
grinned. “An’ there’s orl what’s left
o’ me fortune. ’Avin’ a good time with
old pals. But it tikes plenty to keep
’arf-seas-over, an’. treat yer pals atop
o’ that. So Saturday mornin’ I ups
anchor an’ sets me course for good ol’
Frisco. Then I reads as ‘ow you wus
wantin’ me fer questionin’ in the mur-
der of this little nipper—an’ ’ere I
am.”

Koening counted the money in the
wallet—-more than $700. He examined
the papers. They were all correct and
in order.

“Your story’s all right so far as it
gocs, Graham,” he said at last, “but it

my opinion. I got him talking, all
right, and the more he said the more
I felt certain he’s telling the truth. I
don’t believe he killed that girl.”

“I’m half inclined to agree with you,
Jim,” I told him. “I’m going back to
talk with Fountain.”

The janitor was in a furious mood.
“Look here, Mister Cop,” he shot at
me. “I know my rights. You can’t
hold me day after day this way. Put
a charge against me, or let me go.
That’s the law and I know it.”

“How come you know so much about
law, Dave?” I quizzed him.

“Never you mind,” he yelled back
at me. “I demand my rights. I’ll get
me the best lawyer in this man’s town.
Tll show you guys—”

“Listen, Dave,” I soothed. “I know
it’s tough on you, but murder’s a seri-
ous matter, and we want to make

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doesn’t prove anything. I'll -have to
hold you till we get to the bottom of
this.”

“Go ahead an’ put me in jail if that’s
’ow it is,” the sailor exploded. “But
I’m innercent, an’ you bloomin’ well
knows it. I come back, didn’t I, an’
give meself up?”

“You'd have been picked up in any
case, Every peace officer in California
had your description, and was on the
lookout for you,” Koening countered.
“Where were you all day Saturday?
What were you doing between twelve
noon and three o’clock, for instance?”

“Beatin’ me way back to ’Frisco. like
I told yer. ’Old me in yer blawsted
cells an’ waste time checkin’ on me
w’ile the real killer of that child ’ops
it so far you’ll never get ’im. Fine
cop you are. Anybody could see wiv
’arf a eye that I’m not the bloke what
done it.”

Still protesting, Graham was finger-
printed and locked up. He was not
informed that we were holding Foun-
tain also. Later in the day Inspector
Koening tried the ruse of throwing
one of our men, Detective Jim Harris,
into the same cell with the sailor, un-
der the pretense that he was a prisoner
charged with assault to kill.

“Art,” declared Harris, after, he’d
spent several hours: with Graham,
“that guy’s innocent as you or me, in

sure you’re in the clear, that’s all.
We're. only waiting for that barkeep
to get back. What was that’ picture
like you saw Saturday afternoon?”

“Trying to trap me, eh?” he growled.
“Well, it was an Indian picture.”

“Tell me about it,” I urged.

For a moment he hung back, still
pretty mad. But I’d got him on a pet
subject, it seemed. He started in and
gave me every detail of that picture
from start to finish. ‘

“Some memory, Dave,” I compli-
mented him.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” he said mod-

estly. “It’s just that I like these Indian-

pictures better than any other kind,
that’s all. Now you go back and tell
ee Inspector he’s got to let me out of
ere.”

I went back, but it wasn’t to tell
Koening he’d have to let Fountain go.
I had an idea. Two of them, to be
exact.

“Inspector,” I said. “Fountain knows
quite a little law. Wonder where he
learned. it?”

Inspector Koening started. “Only
one place a man like Fountain picks
up things like that. In jail. That lad’s
got a record. Those prints Max got
should tell us something by tomorrow
or next day.”

My second idea led me to the cash-
ier’s window at the Fairyland Theater.

The girl smiled when she saw me
coming.

“The Cop and the Movie-Mad Jani-
tor,” she quipped. “What’s it this
time?”

“Wonderful memory that fellow’s
got,” I said. “Sees a picture once
and remembers every detail of it.”

She looked at me a moment, then
beckoned for me-to step close to the
glass. “Listen,” she said. “This may
not mean a thing, but—”

“You’re sure about this?” I asked
after I heard her story.

“Positive,” she nodded.

WENT away from that cage walking

on air. Those few words the blond
cashier had spoken in my ear had
given me a clew to the slayer of little
Margaret Milling!

At the saloon on Seventeenth and J
Streets the bartender was back on the
job. “Sure,” he said. “Fountain was
in here Saturday, all right. Just after

~ lunch some time. I remember, because

he asked for whisky. He’s always
drunk beer before. Two whiskies, he
had.” :

“Y’m not surprised,” I told him, and
went back to the office,

“Let’s have Fountain up again, In-
spector,” I said. “I want another talk
with him.” -

“What about?” he asked with’ a
growl. “I’m getting plenty sick of that
guy.”

“Movies.” I grinned. ©

He almost jumped down my throat.
“Listen, Art,” he yelled. “You go-
ing crazy, too? That bird’s just about
got me that way, hollering for me to
pin a charge on him or let him go.
Now you've started running hog-wild
on me. Besides, Graham’s prints
matched those big ones we found at
the church.” ; ‘ ,

“Maybe he left them there when
he was the janitor,” I countered. “But
I have a good angle.”

He grabbed the telephone. “All right,
it’s your funeral.” Then, to the desk
sergeant, “Bring Fountain up.”

The janitor came in fighting. “Lis-
ten,” he yelled, soon as he got inside
the door. “Do I get out of here or do
I have to start something?”

“Neither, Dave,” I told him. “Sit
down. I want to talk to you.”

“T’'m talking to nobody in this joint
again,” he yelled. “Either charge
me with this murder or turn me loose,,
see?” an

“Okay. Then I’m charging you with
the murder of Margaret Milling, Foun-
tain,” and I read him the usual statu-
tory warning. That shut him up. He
slumped in his chair, his eyes rolling
wildly.

“It’s that swell memory of yours,
Dave,” I began. “Just a bit too good.
It set me thinking. About that Indian
picture, you know.” |

“I—I don’t get you,” he muttered.

“Oh yes, you do. You saw that film
three times, not once.”

“So what if I did?” he ‘challenged.
“IT told you I like those Indian pic-
tures, didn’t 1?” :

“Listen, Dave,” I shot at him. “Quit
bluffing. You killed that girl and I
know it. And here’s how I know it.
First, though Pastor Oehler didn’t
know the child’s name, you could give
it to us. Right off. That shows you
had talked with the girl, made friends
with her, won her confidence. You
told her she could come to the church
Saturday afternoon to practice. You
knew nobody else was likely to be
there at that time.”

He gestured a feeble denial. Pers-
piration stood out in beads on his
brow. His hands trembled so that he
had to clench them tightly to keep
them still. I ignored the gesture and
went on: * f :

“You laid your plans well for that
alibi. You saw the Indian picture
Thursday night and again Friday. I -
know, because the cashier at the thea-
ter remembers selling you the tickets.
That’s how you could tell me all the
details so well. <) ) Y.

“Saturday morning you went again; «
but you didn’t stay to see the show
through; just wanted the-cashier to see
you going in, that was~’all., You left...


The girl smiled when she saw me
- coming. “ 3
“The Cop and the Movie-Mad Jani-

tor,” she quipped. “What’s it this
time?”

“Wonderful. memory that fellow’s
got,” I said. “Sees a picture once
and remembers every detail of it.”

She looked at me a moment, then -

beckoned for me-to step close to the

glass. “Listen,” she said. “This may ~

not mean a thing, but—”

“You’re sure about this?” I asked
after I heard her story.

“Positive,” she nodded.

| WENT away from that cage walking

on air. Those few words the blond
cashier had spoken.-in my. ear had
given me a clew to the slayer of little’
Margaret Milling!=°~ >».

At the saloon on Seventeenth and
Streets the bartender was back on the
job. “Sure,” he said. “Fountain - wa:
in here Saturday, all right Just after

~ lunch some time. ~I remember,
he asked for whisky. - He’s

“Neither, “Dave,”
wn. J want to

y

early. There was plenty of time still
for you to meet that little girl down
at the church.

“You were getting jittery about
things, too. You needed a drink to
strengthen your nerve. You went into
the saloon, all right—and ordered
whisky instead of the beer you’ve al-
ways drunk there previously. You
— a couple of whiskies and then

“Then you let Margaret into the
church and attacked her so violently
you killed her. You were so scared
you couldn’t do anything else to her.
Come on, tell the truth now. You
killed her, didn’t you?”

He slumped down in his chair, limp
as a wet dishrag. His lips trembled.
If ever a man was near the breaking-
point, it was Dave Fountain. Relent-
lessly I proceeded with my recital.

“Using some of the rope out of your
closet in the basement was just an-
other part of your alibi. You practi-
cally told us so yourself. Remember?
Then you sneaked out, leaving the

* chureh doors open so that you might

throw suspicion on-your Pastor or onto
some wandering itinerant. And your
way of ‘discovering? the body was the
final touch.- You thought all these

. things would be proofs of your inno-
- cence. Instead, they are more dam-

ning proofs of your guilt.”
“Walk : 3 =

‘just a picture and now it was inside

my head, my heart, my soul.

I do not know how long this went
on. There was no such thing as time.
I know after a while Senor Espino
jumped up and ran to this cross and
embraced it. He fell to his knees and
prayed. He prayed very long and
loudly, but not- words I have heard. I

. Know the prayers but he did not use
_ them. And then he began to chant:

“Eh! Eh! Bamba, eh! eh!”

There was much more to the chant
but it sounded all alike. He chanted a
long time, then he fell away from the
cross and lay as in a trance. I was

frightened.

After a while he rose and staggered
over to his crystal ball and gazed at
it for a long time. He was perfectly
motionless. When he turned away

_was. I could not believe I had seen
- it but I was ashamed. My stomach was
upset but my head was clear. I knew

that these things should not be.
I was brought up in the church. I
knew that. whatever this man claimed

: . to know—and Lupe said he knew all
_ things—they did not pertain to good.

If he wanted to practice evil he should
not have that cross in his temple. I

ew - that.
But there were other things I had
that 24 wAS lowecad

haard ahant avi

He flung himself out of the chair, his
hands flaying wildly.

“It isn’t so,” he shrieked. ‘You're
trying to frame me. I didn’t do it, I
tell you!”

My final shot was somewhat in the
dark, but it went home.

“And that’s not all, Dave. You’ve
been in trouble before. Isn’t that true?
We'll have your complete record by
tomorrow. It’s on the way here now.”

But still Fountain clung to his. des-
perate plea of innocence, and finally
Inspector Koening sent him back to his
cell. “He’ll break tomorrow,” he pre-
dicted confidently. “Nice work, Art.”

The following morning’s’§ mail
brought us Fountain’s criminal history.
Only then did we know the type of
man who had misled the church mem-
bers by his false, humble airs. Mental
degenerate. Sex pervert. Practically
everything that the calendar of crime
has to record was set against Foun-
tain’s name under various aliases.

HE HAD been convicted five times,
served a total of eighteen years in
penitentiaries. It wasn’t strange that
the knowledge of criminal-law he had
thus acquired should have come to the
surface.
_ That morning we turned Fountain
over to District Attorney Eugene
Wachorst for final examination. Twen-

rest of us.. They can do many wonder-
ful things. Once a neighbor was ill
and the witch-doctor came. He drove
up to their house in a beautiful car-
riage drawn by two mice. I did not see
this, but the old people have told me.
And now Lupe said the Senor Espino

~ was this very same witch-doctor.

Maybe this will explain to you the
rest of my story. This and the ciga-

- rettes—and Lupe.

“Can you not see that-your mother’s
only chance to live is through the
witch-doctors?” Lupe asked me.

I could not see it, but she gave me
another of the cigarettes and time
stood still and everything took strange
shapes. I recalled many of the things
I had heard as a child and they seemed
very real. So I helped Lupe with the
Eltamisa and we put it everywhere
about the house—and my mother grew
worse day by day.

She would plead with me. “This
medicine, Lonicia,” she would sob. “It
is bad. Do not let them give it to me.”

Sometimes when I had smoked no
cigarettes I -would make Lupe quit
and I would pray for my mother and
nurse her and then Lupe would come
and kneel by the bed and pray also.
But she prayed strange prayers.
~ And she would grab my mother and
shout, “Who is it that cast this evil
spirit into you? Tell me or you will
die! Who did this thing to you?”

“It is that I am ill,” my mother

ty minutes later Wachorst handed us
the janitor’s written confession.

“T don’t know why -& did it,” he
wrote. “The girl was alone at the
piano. I grabbed a piece of rope from
my closet and threw it around her
neck. I didn’t mean to kill her. Then I
carried the body up to the beliry
tower where nobody would ever find
it. But afterwards I figured she ought
to receive Christian burial, so I
brought her down again.”

Early in February, 1915, Judge %fs!-*
colm C. Glenn heard Fountain’s
of not guilty. But a jury hearse
evidence and on tne first vdar.vi
brought in their verdict. Guilty of
murder in the first degree. On Septem-
ber 10 Fountain stepped onto the gal-
lows. :

Sailor Tommy Graham took his $700
and went rolling off down the highway
to San Francisco, still merrily half-
seas-over, to use his own term. He
never came back.

Maybe he’s still roving the seven
seas somewhere, “Port o’ Lunnon to
Frisco,” with his hairy chest and the
tattooed nudes, the Cockney accent,
and the calloused hands that left their
prints on a chair years ago in a Christ-
mas-wreathed Sunday school room
where a little girl died with her blue
eyes on a picture of the beckoning
Christ.

re

"But the Devil Was in Her" (Continued from Page 34)

of the door opened like a cross it
would surely keep out the evil spirits.
The Eltamisa, though we had it wher-
ever it could be stuffed, did not seem
a strong charm. So I tried the scissors
and Lupe saw them.

She said, “The trouble with these
charms is that the evil spirit is already
here. These charms are best to keep
the evil spirit away. But once the evil
spirit is fast to the body it must be
driven away by force. That is,’ she
added, “unless it is possible to find the
one who cast that evil spirit.”

. “What is to be done, then?” I asked
er.

“Then they can be made to take the
evil spirit back,” she explained.

“But how can we find out who did
this thing?”

She said, “I will show you.” Then
she took three red peppers and filled
them with salt. These she put into the
fire. “It would be best if your mother ;
had told us, but this way never fails,”
she said. “The first person now to
enter this house is the one that cast
the spell. And that person cannot stay
away—he will be drawn here by
forces beyond his control.”

E SAT déwn to smoke and to wait.
In just a little while one came.

It was my stepfather.
Lupe turned pale. She whispered to
me, “No, this cannot be the one. There
is something I did wrong. We must

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stop for children in a school crossing
zone.

“That happened on Thursday after-
noon,” Overholt continued. “That night
the car was stored in a garage at Mer-
ced. It was taken out the same night.”

“By Kipp?”

Overholt leaned back in his swivel
chair. “The description of the driver
seems to fit the description we have
of Johnson. But there was a young
woman along when the car was taken
out. Later that night when the car
was put back, the man was alone. But
here’s something odd,” he continued.
“Kipp’s car is in the Auditorium Ga-
rage in Oakland right now with storage
paid on it for a month!”

“That’s funny!” Hill ejaculated.

“Yes, darned funny,” Overholt agreed
with a mirthless grin. He scowled down
at the typewritten reports on his desk.
Then he glanced up. “Hill,” he said,
“this whole set-up sounds screwy. In
the first place, if Kipp and Johnson
intended going to San Francisco, what
was Kipp’s Studebaker doing in Ray-
mond Thursday afternoon. Raymond’s
out of the way,” he reasoned. “It’s not
on the direct route to Frisco.”

HE PAUSED a moment in scowling

indecision while he calculated rapid-
ly.
_“Rhodes,” he said, “can you check
for us and find out how many were
in Kipp’s machine and which direction
it was traveling?”

“It’s practically accomplished,” Rhodes
replied, as he started for the door.

“And you, Hill, make another try
at locating Marjorie,” he urged. “I’m
going to talk to Oakland direct about
the car.”

Two hours later Sheriff Hill’s search
for Al Fuller’s pretty wife led him to
a furnished room in one of Fresno’s
expensive hotels.

With an air of resignation the shapely
brunette admitted her identity. “I heard
you were looking for me,” she said in
a hollow voice. “Come in!”

She sat on the bed, crossed her
slender legs, lighted a cigarette and in-
haled its smoke deeply before looking
again at the sheriff. It was hard to
guess Marjorie’s age. Under thirty, Hill
decided, as he noted that her beauty
was somewhat faded as though veneered
by the incessant agony of fear and
worry.

Nervously she admitted that she had
heard of Jim Kipp’s disappearance. She
added that she was greatly worried over
it.

Sheriff George J. Overholt played a prom-
inent part in the solution of the "Kipp"
case.

“You knew him well,” Hill stated.
“Did he have women friends?”

Marjorie Fuller’s cheeks burned a
fiery crimson. “Why, no—not that I
know of,” she answered, averting her

gaze.

Abruptly she ground out her cigarette
and sat leaning forward, elbows on her
knees.

“But Jim liked you a lot, didn’t, he?”
Hill persisted.

Marjorie raised dark, haunted eyes
to the sheriff. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Jim liked me a lot. And I liked him.”
She paused, then added almost defiantly,
“Jim was the best friend I ever had—
but he was only a friend.”

Sheriff Hill was properly sympathetic.
“I understand,” he said gently. “But
I understood you were divorcing your
husband.”

Marjorie nodded wordlessly. Then she
buried her face in her hands and broke
into a paroxysm of sobbing.

“Nobody in God’s world could ever
live with Al Fuller and be happy,” she
wailed, “He—he was crazy jealous. He
even accused me of being intimate with
Jim Kipp!”

“But you weren’t?”

She shook her head emphatically, dab-
bing at her eyes. “No, of course not,”
she snapped. “But Al was suspicious.
He thought all the men in the world
wanted me—that way.”

Again Sheriff Hill nodded. Marjorie
moistened her lips nervously. There was
bleak dejection in. the slump of her
shoulders.

“All this has been driving me almost
crazy,” she confided, clasping her hands
until the knuckles showed white. “All
during August I hid from him—tike
some criminal.” Her dark eyes searched
the sheriff’s face for understanding. “I
had to, don’t you understand? I couldn’t
go out for meals even, for fear he'd
find me. There was no telling what
he might have done to me or might
do yet,” she added grimly.

Wisely, Sheriff Hill withheld comment.
Marjorie Fuller obviously took this as
an indication that he disbelieved her
story.

“You think I’m afraid for no reason,
don’t you?” she demanded, “Well, you
don’t know Al Fuller like I do. He’s
a beast!” She straightened her shou!ders
defiantly. “You might learn something
of interest about him by contacting the
police at Macon, Georgia,” she hinted.

After this statement she clammed up.
Sheriff Hill was unable to pry further
information from her. The more he
tried the more hysterical she became.
So he gave up and hurried back to
Overholt’s “office. :

“She’s scared half out of her wits,”
Hill told the Fresno sheriff after he

concluded telling of his interview. “I’m’

sure ‘she knows something. Certainly
more than she’s telling. I’m quite sure
Fuller’s threatened her life if she talks.”

Overholt rubbed his chin reflectively.
“Do you think that if Marjorie thought
her husband was lo¢ked up where she
knew he couldn’t harm her, that she
would talk?” he asked.

“I think she would.”

“Then I think it can be arranged.”

“You mean——?”

“I mean that while you were gone
I talked to Oakland direct,” he replied.
“Kipp’s car was driven into the Oak-
land garage at four in the afternoon
by a chap about thirty with a peculiar
limp and a suitcase.”

Hill whistled. “That could be John-
son,” he said, “only for the limp.”

Overholt shrugged. “Sure, and it
could be Santa Claus, only it isn’ts You
know,” he said, “Sheriff Rhodes called
in on the Raymond clue. Kipp’s car

Rabbit's foot luck charm which the murderer carried after his dastardly crime.

went through the safety zone at 1:30
in the afternoon—headed north, away
from Fresno. Two men were in the
car and one of them was Kipp!”

“You're sure?”

“Positive! "They bought gas at a
combination filling station and restau-
rant,” Overholt continued. “The waitress,
Pearl Traumbower, served them sand-
wiches. She said both men had been
drinking heavily and that the younger
man kept urging the one with the peg-
leg to ‘drink up’.” é

“But here’s the pay-off,’ he con-
cluded. “About an hour and a half later
the younger man drove past the station
—alone. Now,” he pointed out, “this
same man develops a limp, says he is
Kipp and abandons Kipp’s car in Oak-
land. Figure it out for yourself. Per-
sonally I think Johnson and Fuller are
one and the same person.”

“But we mustn’t jump at conclusions
entirely,” warned Hill. “This still might
be a hate-killing.” :

“We'll be more sure of that maybe,
after we check Fuller’s record.”

POLICE teletype clicked off a query
to Chief-of-Police Ben T. Watkins
of Macon, Georgia.

His prompt reply stated that W. A.
Fuller was not the man’s true name.
It was, instead, Walter A. Faulkner.
The man stood accused but not con-
victed of a Georgia murder. This was
in cunnection with a bank holdup when
a resisting cashier was shot down in
cold blood. Y

He revealed that Texas records told
the story of Fuller’s shooting and kill-
ing a man there on the assumption

that he had been abusing Fuller’s small

son, then eight. (This was a child by
a former marriage.)

In the middle-west he was reported
to have killed a section boss in a re-
volver duel. And the California records
showed he had been arrested in 1925
and 1929 for running illicit liquor car-
goes into Big Creek.

“We'll give Marjorie her chance,”
Overholt said crisply. He ordered a
couple of his deputies to bring the
Seville postmaster in for questioning.

Fuller was cruising the streets of
Fresno in his own car when he was
picked up.

“I tell you Kipp said he was going
to Frisco Thursday with a fellow named
Johnson,” he insisted stubbornly. Then
he added, “This fellow Johnson, by
the way, is the guy I saw talking con-
fidentially with Kipp the night before
our Seville store burned.”

“Look here, Fuller,” Overholt snap-
ped. “Are you hinting that someone
set fire to your place?”

Fuller shrugged, twirling his rabbit's
foot insolently. “I'll guess with you,”
he retorted. “But if.anything has hap-
pened to Jim Kipp—I mean if he Aas
cashed in his chips, I'll bet you'll find
this bird Johnson mixed up in the deal.”

A search of Fuller’s effects showed
that he was in possession of an assign-
ment of Jim Kipp’s $1750 insurance
settlement.

“But you said you saw him last on
Wednesday,” Overholt reminded him.

“Yes,” Fuller admitted lamely. “I
guess I just got mixed up a little. I
was afraid you’d suspect me if you
knew I had it. But Jim made this
over to me before he left to protect

(Continued on page 29)
15

-

FULLER, Albezrt, wh, hanged CASP |IMaDERA) July 14, 1943

ty, California, gave his desk

drawer an emphatic shove and

reached for his hat. It was noon of an

? uneventful Friday—October 9th, 1931,
to be exact—and the sheriff was hungry.

i 4 He strode out of his office into the
: hallway when he. heard the insistant

i % jangling of his telephone.

° ° “That’s the way it goes,” he mutter-
ed, as he retraced his steps. “It would
ring when I was on my way to lunch!”

He took down the receiver and bark-
ed into the mouthpiece, “Hello, Sher-
iff Hill speaking.”
’ . “Listen—listen carefully,’ came a

tense, masculine voice over the wire.
“Jim Kipp, a fellow who used to have
a store over at Seville, has disappear-

ed!”

There was a note of urgency in the
speaker’s tone which gripped the im-
mediate interest of the sheriff. Some-
thing else gripped his interest, too. He
couldn’t be sure because of the buzzing
on the line, but the sheriff thought he

i R L. HILL, sheriff of Tulare Coun-

could hear a woman sobbing in the
| ern The speaker, he concluded,
must be talking from a telephone booth,

with a woman at his shoulder, listening
and sobbing, but urging him on. |
“Better look into this matter, Sher- |
iff,’ the voice continued. “You'll prob-
ably find——”
Unintelligible mumblings ensued. It
sounded like the man and woman were

arguing. Suddenly the connection was
broken.
Thoughtfully Sheriff Hill nelace?. the
receiver. Had the woman become fright-
. ened over something she feared the
man might reveal and in sudden panic
broken the connection? In that case
why hadn’t the woman herself done

By the talking?
Quickly the sheriff dialed the opera-
DORIS MCPAUL tor. “Trace that call,” he ordered.

When the operator’s report came, it
only complicated matters further. The
call had come over long distance from
Fresno and had been placed from a
public pay station in a downtown drug
store.

The sheriff pushed his hat back on his
head and sat for a moment in deep
thought. It had cost someone good
money to make that call from Fresno
to Tulare. Consequently that pretty well
eliminated the possibility that it had
been put through by a crackpot. Sheriff
Hill decided to go forward on the theory
that Jim Kipp was actually missing.

Once more he left his office. This time
he climbed into his little car and head-
ed toward Seville.

Jim Kipp! The name had a vaguely
familiar sound. Still, he heard so many
names. Tulare was more or less head-
quarters for migratory workers of all
kinds. They flocked there in droves
during the vegetable and grape-picking
seasons. They overflowed the miles of
snowy cotton fields surrounding Tulare.

Then, too, there was the unquench-
able lure of gold in the section. To the
north lay Sutter’s world-famed gold-
fields and the hills to the east and west
were honeycombed with shafts sunk by
hopeful prospectors in their search for
the precious yellow metal.

Still, Sheriff Hill’s anonymous inform-
ant had plainly stated that the missing
man was nothing more glamorous than
a storekeeper in the little mining town
of Seville. No, that was not right, he
had stated that Kipp “used to have”
a store in Seville.

Was this fact significant?

Sheriff Hill drove the twenty-eight
miles to Seville in nothing flat and
braked to a stop in the town’s one main
street. Curious loungers ventured out
of shady doorways at his arrivalé The


Law meant one of two things in Seville:
* either Hell had popped or there was
trouble in the making—maybe both.

The sheriff got out of the car, took
a hitch in his belt and walked toward
a small lunchroom where he ordered a
hamburger and coffee and engaged the
cook in conversation.

Did he know Jim Kipp? Sure, ‘the
cook knew Kipp. Everybody in town,
the cook explained, knew Kipp.

The sheriff, remembering the sobbing
woman, asked, “Is he married?”

“Kipp—married?” The white-aproned
cook grinned amiably. “Why Kipp’s not
the kind of a man you think about in
connection with women,” he _ replied.
“He’s more of a character—sort of a
father to everyone who knows him.” His
tone was now quite serious.

“I guess there isn’t anybody here
who hasn’t taken their troubles to Jim
Kipp at one time or another,” he said.
“It’s like that.” .

He slid the plate with the sizzling
hamburger across the counter and fol-
lowed it by a jar of mustard. While
the cook drew a cup of coffee from
the polished urn, Sheriff Hill asked,
“How about Kipp? Does he confide his
troubles to his friends, too?” .

The cook replied that everyone knew
most of Kipp’s troubles. At least, he
said, everyone knew about his latest
hard luck.

“Better talk to his old partner, Albert
Fuller, about that,” he suggested. “They
used to have a store together over ther
—see?” ;

He pointed down the street to the
charred ruins of what had once been
a store building.

“The place burned to the ground one
night about three weeks ago,” he said.
“Ever since then, Kipp has been wor-
ried and both fellows have been pretty
busy trying to get an insurance settle-
ment.”

The cook talked on while Sheriff Hill
ravenously devoured his sandwich and
gulped his coffee. He learned that the
Kipp-Fuller business venture had been
launched about a year previously. It
seemed a pretty sweet set-up because
W. A. “Al” Fuller had been appointed

village postmaster. To take care of the

mail and run the store without help
would have been out of the question.

So Kipp, who was a cobbler by trade,
set up his lathe and work bench in
one end of the store and waited on
customers whenever necessary.

But in the fire it seemed that Jim
Kipp received the worst of the bad
break since all of his cobbler’s tools
had been destroyed and consequently
his means of livelihood removed.

“Was Kipp what you'd call badly
worried?” Hill asked.

“Wouldn’t you be, at his age, if that
happened to you?” the cook demanded.
“Besides being fifty-two, he had a peg-
leg and a hand-whittled one at that.
That’s enough to feel sensitive about
without anything else.”

The sheriff nodded. Perhaps the men-
tal strain Jim Kipp had undergone had
unbalanced him to the point where he
had voluntarily disappeared or taken
his own life. Still, the anonymous tele-
phone call had suggested foul play.

Hill decided to talk to Albert Fuller,
but the cook said he had not seen the
postmaster in town since ten o’clock
that morning. He explained this was
not at all unusual. “He has to be here
to get the mail bag from the stage when
it comes through,” he explained. “After
that, he can do pretty much -as he
pleases. He usually hops in his car and
takes off.”

ty

Sees

Here is the mine shaft where the body was recovered. The body was raised from a depth of over a hundred feet.

ALBERT FULLER was definitely not

in town, as.further inquiry revealed.
No one knew where he could be unless
he had driven to Fresno to dicker .with
the insurance agents for a settlement.
Sheriff Hill drove to Fresno but failed
to locate him. But the next morning,
promptly at ten, he was back in Seville
standing before the General Delivery
window.

The good looking young man behind
the bars admitted his identity in a
voice pleasantly slurred with a Southern
drawl. “What can I do for you?” he
asked, flashing a good set of teeth in
a friendly smile.

The sheriff explained that he was in-
vestigating a report that Jim Kipp was
missing.

Fuller’s eyebrows shot up in an ex-
pression of amazement.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” he
said. “You see, Jim hasn’t reall lived

here since the fire. Before that, when
we. had our business and all, Jim stay-
ed with me and Marjorie—that’s my
wife. Since we got burned out he went
on up to Fresno. He’s got lots of friends:
there.”

“When did you see him last?” Sheriff
Hill persisted.

“Let me see—” The postmaster
thought for a moment. “Why on Wed-
nesday in Fresno. I had lunch with
him.”

“That was three days ago.” The Sher-
iff was thinking out loud.

Al Fuller’s soft voice broke in on
his thought. “Don’t tell me that you
drove over here just to check up on
a guy who planned a little trip out of
town with a friend?” he demanded.
“Jim’s only been away from Fresno
two nights. Besides he’s fifty-two—not
exactly a kid,” he pointed out.

Sheriff Hill frowned slightly. “You

say he planned a trip out of town?”
he asked.

“Sure, so there’s nothing to worry
about,” the postmaster replied. “He told
me at lunch Wednesday that he planned
to leave the next morning for San Fran-
cisco with a friend of his named John-
son. Jim didn’t say just how long he
planned to be away, but I’d give him
at least a week before getting excited.”
He paused a moment, then added. “I
wouldn’t be surprised but what Jim
would have his car stored in some pub-
lic garage while he’s away—just in case
you should want to check on him. He
takes good care of that machine.”

He described Kipp’s car as a 1927
Studebaker Victoria coupe with faded
blue paint, black fenders and red wir:
wheels. The California license number
he said, was 8K-7850.

Hill scratched this information on a
13


"Rugged", suitably describes the picture of Jim Kipp, the victim of foul murder.

pad for reference along with a descrip-
tion of Kipp’s companion, Johnson.

When asked if he knew Johnson’s
name or initials, Al Fuller said that
while he knew the man slightly he
wasn’t sure. But he thought the initials
were W.N. He believed the man was
a resident of San Francisco. He was
under the impression that Kipp and
Johnson were friends of long standing.

Sheriff Hill thanked the postmaster
for ‘his helpful information. Then he
talked to others in Seville. After that
he made a bee-line for Fresno where
he hunted up his old friend, Sheriff
George Overholt.

Quietly they discussed the case. Both

“Jack” Tarr, Under Sheriff of Fresno County,
was instrumental in apprehending the killer.

14

agreed that there was nothing amiss ex-
actly—at least nothing they could put
their fingers on. Jim Kipp might simply
be on a visit to the Bay City with
his friend, Johnson. But if so, why the
telephone tip-off? It had implied foul
play—possibly murder.

“We'll keep on the lookout here for
Kipp’s Studebaker,” Overholt told Hill.
“Meanwhile, I'll see what I can. find
out at Kipp’s local address. I’ll check
with you later.”

There were two encouraging factors
in the case. First, Kipp’s Studebaker
was easily identified by its red wire
wheels and Kipp, should he be seen,

could scarcely escape notice beacuse of

his conspicuous hand-whittled peg-leg.

It sounded simple. But as the hours
passed the mystery deepened. Sheriff
Overholt learned that Kipp had left his
shabby hotel room in Fresno on Thurs-
day morning, October 8th. He had seem-
ed happier than usual and told the
landlady, that he would soon be able to
get back in business again as a one
thousand ‘seven hundred and fifty dol-
lar insurance settlement was to be made
that morning.

“Checking with the insurance agent he

» learned that the settlement had been, -
; made. One had been made to Fuller,

also, but the agent stated plainly that

=; the two partners had not been together.

But Jim Kipp never returned to his
drab little room. After leaving the in-
surance office he seemed to have drop-
ped from sight.

- Radio shortwaves broadcast Kipp’s
description. Meanwhile police aid in
San Francisco was enlisted and a sys-
tematic check made of public garages
there. Results were nil.

The name of Johnson was so com-

s
mon that investigators despaired of at-
tempting to trace Kipp’s companion
through city directories—except as a
last_ resort.

The area of search widened to in-

’ clude Oakland and Berkley. And then,

because it seemed the logical thing to
do, a check was made of all public
garages on Highway 99 leading north
out of Fresno. Tourist camps were
checked, too, on the assumption that
the pair might have made some un-
scheduled stopover.

Since the mysterious Johnson ob-
viously knew. of the $1750 insurance
settlement, the case might well be mur-
der. Still, the obvious answer was not
always the correct one. So checking
further Fresno officials learned that Jim
Kipp had a half-brother, George, living
in Madera County. Had Jim stopped
there with his friend en route to Frisco?

Sheriff Hill drove to George Kipp’s
ranch, At mention of his step-brother,
George flared up.

“Jim, stop here?” he snorted, sar-
castically, “I should say not! He ain’t
set foot on my land in ten years.” He
was even more grim-visaged as he ad-
ded, “He wasn’t welcome here and he
knew: it. Why, in ten years we ain't
so much as said ‘Howdy!’ to each
other!”

He turned and walked off, apparently
irked at even hearing of his step-brother.

FrROM neighbors, the sheriff deter-

mined the reason for the trouble be-
tween the two. Jim Kipp had been
deeded 640 acres of the choicest land
in Watts Valley ten years before by
his father. George had received nothing.

“That’s right!” Hill agreed. Then

he said thoughtfully, “If I could only

figure out the woman angle on this
case!” He scowled deeply. “Maybe Jim
Kipp didn’t give a hoot for female com-
panionship and maybe he knew a lot
of women on the Q.T. That woman
over the telephone wouldn’t have been
sobbing like she was if Jim Kipp hadn’t
meant something to her.”

“That’s good sense,” Rhodes agreed.
“Fuller-and Kipp have been cronies for
years. If Kipp knew many women, Full-
er will know about it. Go see him.”

When Sheriff Hill went looking for
Fuller he found the: postmaster eager
to talk to him. “Say, it looks like Kipp
planned to disappear,” he stated dis-
gustedly. “I~ just found out that he
closed our joint account in Visalia be-
fore he skipped. I can’t find hide nor
hair of him.”

The amount of the joint account
was nominal. Yet combined with the
insurance settlement, it added up to a
pretty potent murder. motive. Hill’s
interest mounted. He urged Fuller to
tell of his meeting and association with
Jim Kipp, hoping for a clue.

Fuller made the Sheriff comfortable
in his office. Absent-mindedly he reach-
ed into his pocket and brought forth a
hairy rabbit’s foot attached to a small
chain, He twirled this. as he began talk-
ing in his soft vajce.

“T’ll make no bones about it,” the
young postmaster began. “In the be-
ginning I was no angel. I’m not one
now, as far as that goes. Maybe,” he
said, “I wouldn’t have met Jim Kipp
if I had been. You see,” he explained,
“I used to run booze into Big Creek—
been pinched a couple of times for it.
too. I hung out “at the pool hall there
and had my fingers in about every-
thing in the books, including gambling.”

Sheriff Hill perked up. It was unusual
to hear a man straightforwardly dis-
counting his own shortcomings.

“Was Big Creek where you met Jim
Kipp?” he asked.

‘

“Yes, I met Kipp in Big Creek,”
Fuller replied. “And Kipp introduced
me to Marjorie—my wife.”

He explained that Marjorie had been
a waitress in Big Creek and that when
she finally quit to take a job in Fresno
he followed her there and married her.
Jim Kipp, he said, was a dear friend
of both him and his wife and being
elderly and much alone, had made his
home with them most of the time.

According to Fuller’s account, Kipp’s
past had been none too savory either.
“But losing his leg slowed him down
considerably,” Fuller explained. “Jim
was pretty sensitive about it, too. He
talked sometimes about getting himself
a fancy, artificial leg when he could
afford one.”

“Funny he didn’t,” commented the
sheriff. “But it looks now like he'll
have plenty to get himself one—if he
feels in the mood.”

“That’s right.”

“Is your wife, Marjorie, living here
with you now?” Sheriff Hill asked.

The postmaster ceased twirling his
rabbit’s foot. It dangled forgotten in
his fingers as he stared at the floor.
Fuller lifted his eyes to face the sheriff.
“We're separated,” he said flatly, “since
July 23rd.” His face sobered as he
added, “‘I guess we’re getting a divorce.”

Slowly he replaced the rabbit’s foot
in his pocket. Then with an unsteady
hand he lighted a cigarette. It was easy
to see that his disrupted marital af-
fairs had changed his life greatly.

He spoke of his troubles at great
length. Marjorie, according to her es-
tranged husband’s account, had been
unable to curb her‘ fondness for hard
liquor and the passionate love-making
of other men. It was too bad, too, he
said, because he loved her deeply. But
there were some things, he explained,
that a man could not tolerate—and un-
faithfulness was one of them.

Queried about Jim Kipp’s interest in
women, Fuller gave the sheriff a peculiar
glance. Then he laughed shortly. “Why,
Jim was fifty-two,” he said significantly.
“Most of his romance was behind him—
if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I guess I know,” Hill replied.

Further conversation failed to bring
forth any hint that the Fuller marital
discord was in any way due to Jim
Kipp’s one-time presence in the home.
Fuller apparently considered Kipp a
trustworthy and honorable friend until
he disappeared with their joint account.

Still, Sheriff Hill was not satisfied.

re was a woman in the case—there
had to be. But whether or not it was
Fuller’s wife remained to be seen.

He returned again to Fresno and re-
doubled his efforts to locate Marjorie.
But all of her one-time friends seemed
reluctant to give out any information
concerning her. With fear-filled eyes
they all disclaimed any knowledge of
her whereabouts.

“The way they act, you’d think that
Marjorie had been murdered, too,” Hill
grumbled as he related the happenings
to Rhodes and Overholt.

“Then you think Kipp has been mur-
dered, do you?” Overholt asked.

“T can’t make myself think anything
else,” Hill admitted gloomily. “With
that insurance settlement for the motive
plus the amount of the joint account,
it’s pretty obvious.”

“We've had a report of Kipp’s car,”
Overholt advised him. “And it’s been
wheeling plenty.”

He related that the license number
of Kipp’s Studebaker had been turned
in to the Motor Vehicle Department
by junior traffic officers at Rayrfond.
California. The machine had failed to .


had heard a
1 soul in un-

the attack on
cided it was,
ett and Mrs.
it ‘had gently
it the night.
e victims of

attacker had
the dwelling
ig. Only a
neath which
awn himself

ving a dis-
‘ot one print
sill, They
feared, had
ehold, which
to the two
Mrs. Forbes
‘evelation of
The child

said.

‘tory phases
arters. My
| have to be

itation to be
ctures often

“TECTIVE

RE off %

graced the club pages of the newspapers; she had served as
president of the American Legion auxiliary, had worked in

the interests of numerous charitable enterprises, and was -

slated to become the next California state president of one of
the fraternal socicties to which she belonged.

Mrs. Nelson had risen to her high rank in Legion auxiliary
circles partly because of the war-time heroism of her husband
who had been known to his comrades in arms as “The Fight-
ing Fool” because of his recklessness in action. He went
overseas with the rank of sergeant and in the terrible fighting
in the Argonne forest he played a heroic part in those days
and nights when a detachment commanded by Colonel Charles
W. Whittlesey was surrounded by the enemy and subjected
to a terrible fire that killed or wounded half of the trapped
men before supports could reach them. Nelson was shot
through the lung during that fighting and rendered unfit for
further active service during the war. Mrs. Nelson had taken
great pride in his record and I disliked my duty that required
me to dispatch a telegram to Menominee, Wisconsin, the home
of her grandmother, where I understood she was visiting.

The following day, while Nelson still clung miraculously to
life, we received a telegraphic inquiry from his father. The
elder Nelson, living with his wife on a farm near Hutchinson,
Minnesota, had read in the newspapers of the attack upon his
son. His wire was not just a simple request for additional
information which any parent might make.

Nelson wanted to know how long his son had been married
and the age of his daughter!

A Dying Man’s Secret

Wwas it really possible that the couple in Minnesota had
never been informed of their son’s marriage? I deter-
mined to question Mrs, Hulett at once and drove to the Boyd

ADVENTURES

avenue home again with Goodnight. She studied the telegram
from Hutchinson for fully a minute.

“I don’t exactly know the meaning of this,” she said finally.
“Harry once said he did not care to have his parents know
of his marriage, but my daughter and I thought this was due
to some family division. Harry told my daughter that he had
been married but had divorced his first wife years ago.”

Mystified, I went to a telegraph office and wired the elder
Nelson, asking him why, in his opinion, he had never been
informed of his son’s second marriage, at the same time pro-
viding him with the information he desired.

Goodnight and I then visited the American Legion head-
quarters. We learned that Nelson had been a charter member
of the first post formed in Oakland. His reputation as an
indefatigable worker in behalf of his comrades had earned
him their confidence and placed him in a position of trust in
their ranks,

During the process of this inquiry, I was told that Nelson
had served by court appointment as guardian for ‘incompetent
veterans, handling their funds and generally aiding them to
rehabilitate themselves.

I pondered whether some veteran could have harbored a
fancied. grievance, against Nelson, nurtured by a mind weak-.
ened by the horrors of war to the point of homicidal frenzy.

Correspondence on file at the veterans’ bureau in San Fran-
cisco, however, soon settled this hypothesis in the negative.
Nelson’s service in behalf of his charges was of the highest
caliber, and he had unselfishly promoted their best interests.

Almost in desperation, I turned my attention to Mrs. Forbes,
the maid in Nelson’s home. She had been employed there
about four months, and her husband, Claude Forbes, 25, a
carpenter, lived at 431 Twenty-eighth street.

[Continued on page 62]

25

I Solved the Mystery of the Love Thief

[Continued from page 25]

THEY KILLED FOR LOVE
Claude Forbes, left, Mrs. Bessie Nelson, questioned on the death of Mrs.

Nelson’s supposed husband after being arrested

on an illicit honeymoon, are

pictured here with Inspector James Goodnight who helped to, solve the baffling
mystery of the love thief murder of Oakland’s war hero.

ra

Mire. Forbes had told me her husband
had left Oakland seeking work after
fruitless efforts to find a job in the city.
Goodnight and I drove to Forbes’ home.
The landlady described Forbes as a con-
genial man who had tried desperately
to get work.

“He and his wife were devoted to
each other,” she said. “When he left
my _ house, he didn’t take any effects
with him, because he had almost nothing
here. He merely said he was going to
find -a job somehow. I don’t know
where he is now.”

At the door, preparing to leave, Good-
night turned to the woman.

“By the way, what day was it that
Forbes left?”

She reflected a moment, then said:

“It was on a holiday—Memorial Day.”

An exclamation nearly escaped my
lips. Goodnight, too, suppressed his re-
action to this last statement with a
visible effort.

Our thoughts went back to a scene
in the Nelson home the day before, when
I had asked: :

“And Mrs. Nelson—when did she
leave?”

The reply had been—

Hurriedly I consulted my case book

62

to make doubly certain that my memory
served me correctly. '

The reply had been—“on Memorial
Day, May 30.”

Mrs. Bessie Nelson, wife of the slugged
war hero, and Claude Forbes, her_house-
keeper’s husband, had both left Oakland
on the same day!

Giving no intimation of the importance
we attached to the landlady’s statement,
we thanked her and departed, determined
to discover as quickly as possible whether
any foundation existed for the suspicions
developing in our minds.

From Nelson’s banker, we learned
that Nelson had rented a safety deposit
box several months previously, The
exigency of the situation enabled us to
have this box opened and we discovered
that it was empty. Only two persons
held keys to that box!

Nelson had not been seen at the bank
for about three weeks, but a clerk re-
called that Mrs. Nelson had made a
visit to the depository just before
Memorial Day! :

Veterans’ headquarters revealed, at
my inquiry, that Nelson carried a $10,000

ar Risk insurance policy on his life,
which named Mrs. Nelson as beneficiary,
and a fraternal society to which he be-
longed divulged the information that he

possessed a $1,500 policy, also drawn in
Mrs. Nelson’s favor.

I returned to the inspector’s bureau,
where Goodnight had preceded me.

“John, look at this!” he exclaimed,
extending a telegram whose brief mes-
sage I consumed with haste born of
anxiety and anticipation. It read:

“Mrs, Nelson was visitor in early
June at home of relations here ac-
companied by youth about twenty-
five introduced as Mr. Clarke, a
friend. Stop. Both departed June
eighth. Destination unknown.”

The wire came from authorities at
Menomonie, Wisconsin, and I was con-
vinced it held the first bit of definite
information supporting many of the
theories that had been seething in my
mind. I drove at once to the Nelson
home.

There I asked Mrs. Hulett to tell me
whether Forbes and Mrs. Nelson had
become friendly during his wife’s resi-
dence at the Nelson home as maid. She
revealed that they had met a few days
after Mra. Forbes came there to work
and that Forbes often visited the home
to perform odd jobs. He finally came
to be regarded as Mrs. Nelson's chauf-
feur, she said, driving her about the
city while she performed the numerous
social functions incident to her club
work,

Back at headquarters, I was told that
Nelson had died. He had never re-
ained consciousness. So we were con-
ronted by a murder case.

A Fateful Phone Call

<4 HERE'S just one thing to do,” I

said, addressing Goodnight, “and
that’s to find Mrs. Nelson and identify
this man Clarke. She left Wisconsin
in plenty of time to return home if she
was bound this way. I want to find
that woman. I've got a hunch she’s not
far from Oakland, either.”

He nodded. “I’m going back to the
Nelson home to break the news of his
death,” I said.

As I entered the home through the
unlatched front door I perceived the
dining room was empty, but the sound
of voices told me that the occupants
were in the rear. The telephone in the
dining room rang. To this day, I cannot
explain what prompted my next action,
except as a hunch.

Surely there was nothing premeditated
or capable of logical explanation that
turned me irresistably to the telephone.
I picked up the receiver before the first
bell had ended its shrill summons.

“This is long distance calling,” the
operator said, “Santa Cruz is on the
line.”

Following up my inexplicable action,
I made a sudden decision.

“There’s nobody here in authority to
answer the call,” I told the operator.
“Ring again in fifteen minutes.” I hung
up the receiver, then called the chief
operator instructing her to trace the
source of the Santa Cruz call. Mrs.
Forbes appeared from the rear room,
greeted me, and then rejoined Mrs.
Hulett.

Within a few minutes the chief op-
erator informed me the call emanated

from the (
Cruz.

I determin
limit and go
Cruz chief
structing hit
the hotel.

Soon afte:
“Say,”"—his
ment—“a w
the Nelson
Nelson, but
of a man nz
want to tall
them both.”

I almost «
minutes, wi'
Leon Carrc
highway to
south of O

At the h
Under dat«
entry: C.
land—Roon

We went
who made
identity, s:
Forbes, wh
appearance
each othe:
stances wh
couple to
confusion, :

- “explained |

shrug.
“We're
“We've be
taking life
paper toda
Harry. T
tried to.”
Mulhern
while I ta
stories co:
visited Alt
Cruz, on t)
and when
on the his
repairing
early on t
Nelson m:
hotel prac
Nothing
guarded t!
and next
through |
was a “f
But it
Forbes’ a!
store we
descriptio
inch lengt
ing ten c
And {rc
we disco.

bling For

his bus fr
the day
Nelson.
We cor
hardware
Their ide
positive.
Forbes
“You
bought t)
in that bi
Mrs. »
face ash:
without >
“Befor:
gan, “Ne
to her.
over the
decided |
wouldn't
was goin


-¢ at the crushed
be able to utter
nvestigation. He

ght

ted us. She had
d now stood star-
notism.

+ mother-in-law.”
voice was barely

was the last per-
his terrible thing
. Chair and asked
€.
lunch on a tray
r he had gone to
worked late and
p. .
kitchen, directly
‘lson's 8-year-old

eath. They
story.

: DETECTIVE

The killer used these gloves to
eliminate fingerprints and used
this pinchbar to pry open the
window through which he slith-
ered in the night on his brutal
mission of death.

“

daughter slept with me. Nothing peculiar occurred during the
night, but about 8 o’clock this morning I heard what sounded
like groans coming from this room. T bhociad. and opened the
door. Mr. Nelson seemed to be sleeping in a strange position,
but I didn’t notice his head, because the blankets were drawn
up about it. It seemed to me he was just sleeping.

“When he failed to arise at his regular time, 8:30, Mrs.
Hulett went into the room and walked to his bedside. She
screamed -and I rushed in.”

“Where is Mrs. Hulett now?” Goodnight inquired.

“After telephoning to the police, she fainted. She is lying
down in her room, The little girl is with her.”

“And Nelson’s wife, where is she?”

“Visiting relatives in Wisconsin, I believe.”

“When did she leave?”

“Let me see—yes, it was on Memorial Day, May 30.”

Goodnight and I turned to an examination of the room. It
was furnished comfortably and apparently nothing had been
disturbed or moved from its customary place. There was no
evidence that the room had been searched. Walking over to
where Nelson’s trousers lay on a chair, I examined the pockets.
In one I found a wallet containing $95 in currency. If rob-
bery had been the motive, the burglar fled before carrying out
his purpose. j

At my command, Nelson’s body, his bashed head a hideous
spectacle, was taken from the bed and rushed in the ambulance
to Highland hospital.

Goodnight and I walked through a hallroom to the room
in which Mrs. Hulett was waiting. The room was separated
from Nelson’s by a bathroom. “A comely child with lovely
curly brown hair sat in a chair, weeping as though her heart
must break.

While Goodnight comforted the child, I attempted to soothe
Mrs. Hulett and at the same time question her.

It was heart-breaking. “Harry treated me like he would
his mother if she were here,” the gray-haired woman said.
“I heard nothing—nothing. I saw him shortly before mid-
night when he went to bed, and he kissed me.”

“Was there anything strange in the appearance of the room
itself when you entered?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly, trying to collect her thoughts,
then suddenly exclaimed:

“Why, the electric lights were burning \”

“Had your son-in-law been in the habit of reading and pos-
sibly falling asleep without turnin them out?”

‘. By never; Harry was very methodical and exact in all
e did.”

“Did you turn them out ?”

“I suppose I did—if you didn’t find them burning.” She
was so grief stricken the interview was at an end, I knew, for
the present at least. She needed a physician’s care.

But her statement about the lights put Goodnight and me
on a new train of thought. That any ordinary thug would
dare to turn on the lights in the bedroom of a victim he in-
tended to rob, was beyond the realm of logic and counter to
every criminal practice.

ADVENTURES

PROSTRATED BY MURDER
Mrs. Bessie A. Nelson was prostrated by the vicious
murder of her hero, She was out of the city on a visit
when informed of the attack. This photograph was
taken at about the time of her marriage to the “Lost
Battalion” survivor.

I wondered whether it was consummate cunning or sheer
recklessness with which we had to contend. Of one point I
was positive. The blows that cracked the skull of the war
hero in that bedroom had not been delivered by a woman.
The physical evidence of the wounds themselves—deep, ugly,
terrible—indicated that the driving force of a muscular arm,
such as a strong, active man might develop, had inflicted
them.

Back in Nelson’s room, I turned to Mrs. Forbes.

“Were the electric lights on in this room when you looked
in after hearing what you thought were groans?”

“Yes, I believe they were. I think Mrs. Hulett turned
them off.”

. By this time, the fingerprint experts had arrived and went
to work immediately with camel’s hair brush and chemicals.

I walked into the dining room and peered through a window
overlooking a pathway extending along the south side of the
house—the side opposite from Nelson’s room. A ladder, so
short that it could not have been observed except by a person
standing directly beside the window, was propped against the
side of the house.

23


A Scream In The Night

Te window, I discovered, had been jimmied. Glancing
along the floor, I saw a small metal object and picked it up.
It was the latch from the window,

Goodnight and I walked outside to the pathway beside the
house where the ladder rested. On the ground, concealed by
shrubs, we found a pinch-bar, eighteen inches long, which
evidently had been used to jimmy the window. I turned it
over to the fingerprint experts.

A careful search of the entire grounds about the house later
failed to disclose the weapon which we were seeking—the in-
strument used to wreak such awful injury on Nelson.

The door of a tool shed in the rear of the home, where.the
family kept garden implements and other odds-and-ends, stood
ajar, Evidently the ladder had been taken from this shed,
which had only a latch that could be slipped open with ease.

A crowd had gathered in front of the house and as we ap-
proached the sidewalk a woman, clad in house dress and
slippers, left the group and walked toward us.

“You are police officers?” she asked. We nodded.

“This terrible thing that has happened to Mr. Nelson—I
think perhaps it has something to do with the screams I heard
last night.”

We quickly led her to a secluded place in the rear of the
home and listened intently to her story.

She lived next door to the Nelson home. She had heard a
blood-curdling scream—a scream that might have come from
some person in the throes of unbearable anguish or pain, dur-
| the night, and it had frightened her,

t had seemed so terrifying and unreal at the time, however,
that she believed, it was part of a dream and did not investi-
gate. Her husband, asleep at her side, had likewise been

24

aroused, she said, and thought that he, too, had heard a
scream that seemed to rush from the depths of a soul in un-
holy torment.

It was not until she was told that morning of the attack on
Nelson and spoke to her husband that they decided it was
actually a screani they had heard. Yet Mrs. Hulett and Mrs.
Forbes—and the Nelson child, too, for Goodnight had gently
questioned her—had slept undisturbed throughout the night.
Had this woman and her husband both been the victims of
nightmares ?

We examined the window against which the attacker had
placed the ladder. It was directly across from the dwelling
where the man and his wife had been sleeping. Only a
scraping of the woodwork on the window sill beneath which
the ladder rested, indicated that a person had drawn himself
through that window.

Goodnight and I re-entered the house, receiving a dis-
couraging report from the fingerprint experts. Not one print
had been found on the pinch-bar or the window sill. They
had found a few prints elsewhere, but these, they feared, had
probably been left by other members of the household, which
meant nothing. We turned our attention again to the two
women and the child. Both Mrs. Hulett and Mrs. Forbes
expressed wonderment at the neighbor woman’s revelation of
the scream in the night. They had heard nothing. The child
likewise had not been disturbed.

“They must have been dreaming,” Mrs. Hulett said.

Conjecturing on the mysterious and contradictory phases
of the case, Goodnight and I returned to headquarters. My
thoughts there turned to Mrs. Nelson. She would have to be
notified.

Mrs. Nelson was a woman whom I knew by reputation to be
held high in the esteem of the community. Her pictures often

STARTLING DETECTIVE

re npemnne > geome

graced the «
president of
the interest
slated to bec
the fraterna

Mrs, Nels
circles partl:
who had bec
ing Fool” |
overseas wit
in the Argo
and nights v
W. Whittle:
to a terrible
men before
through the
further acti
great pride :
me to dispat
of her gran

The follo
life, we rec
elder Nelsor
Minnesota, |!
son. His w
information

Nelson ui
and the age

AS it
never
mined to qu

ADVENT


The church, one of saera hed i Molt sand and We walked through from the rear “Ee long since you fond ¢)
! rrest oecupmed the | par one ' ot deer Theo rooms into the clureh. Tt was quiet wily Soenings asked. .
Ik tf Seventeenth id ‘ ind poucefal in there, with the late ‘ er fifteen or twenty ‘ninu
city’s downtown .ctior th 1 asemun A little afternoon sunshine streaming in ago, vir.’ The janitor shuddcred.
rely a day tout th ou : mings ce rum- through the stained-glass windows, came «own here to get my brooms an
asn’t panhandisd b: ve . “We'll be right and the white linen gleaming on the dusters from the cupboard—aind the
evant other I he church doors. altar table. Christmas decorations gave she was, poor little thing, the way yc
soing in, ma’am,” he called bo ! don’t *a word the surroundings a festive air. Down sce her now.”
vow ll it there a miiute o1 rac. a flight of steps into the basement, with Pastor Oehler’s trembling livs wei
te T look around.” dil yr Kocniny, finger- Fountain walking tiptoe as though he murmuring a prayer for t dead
ing open the door and s oppec ° vin TM “isher feared to walse somebody, we followed. child. ‘nspeetor Koening let bm co
cool, quiet chureh. wil! Hi ar, in has re- Across the cement floor of the base- clude. “Who is the girl, Pastor?” |
p Jed Took oan her fe Mr an th Wait ment splrod stairway led up into the  aske
widen ho odoasn and resviny he rou to the velfry tower. “She's there,” said) the “tT dowt know," the Pastor said so:
k Ww Mer, whom janitor, and stepped softly aside. rowfalls. “Our Sunday schoc classe

Five nutes Jater Fountain burg }ok stoop nuldered Slumped inca hels-sitting position at are baee, you know, and J doit con
from toe side door of the chue ch, hi nh ( Vopair of the foot of the staircase lay a golden- into personal contact with all ‘he chil-

! t hing excitedly, stai \ ‘astor, it) haired girl of about thirteen, clad in) dren who attend.”

’ t Doctor chler, bviers, 1 i ready to col- a pink dress, her slim body revealing “T eon tell you who she is, | clieve.
a little cirt a the Th h scomed little the first faint out of approaching jhe janitor said. “I think her iame
dead : yomanhood. Ath ide, its blue eyes lilling—-Margaret Milling. [ } 1ow he:

here’ i v2?" Inspector Koe- as open and staring os those of the father. -he’s a painter. Maybe !'d bet
OR TULER Jooked 4 im der tbat camble, lead lay n ssed doll j him?”

i labor othe : four Hi The wall » were pay with | enough for that. [hoi kno
Hung open eere overilled mnestepped forward rreaths of Colored paper feat on, While we wait for
wife almost fe'l inte °} , sir, tn the basement. or little fanterns swe mn ihe ceiling, and oyiedics: examination, suppose vou t
ce at her faco drew ch _" red candle: a the final touch of xactly what happenc: .” Ke
Vhat’s the matior—?” “ "ho are you?” ‘hristrnas o> sested. “You came to |

id VS ‘0's little “on the chureh janiter, On } the , stairease i as soon as you entered

| church basement -dead—" or lain T've yo been Shes yung 2 rel: cinre of the type wn :

The Pastor gazed at bor un-) Octo oer. There another amilisr to y-school children. *. I went to the fro ot do
eompr nelingis Then, as the full ‘over mind now. Take ‘he eyes ¢ iodrbappearcd to vays do, first. I-clea; up t
taport eronews swept over him, he the ody.” 0 focused on picture as though chy nturday afternoons, vo 1 Kno

was (hi hey had scan in ready for Sunday.’
ife.
Children singing Christmes co. Is were fright- Captiin s} dded toward the G nodded. “Go on,” 1e sai
ened by a strange face at thes: church windovrs yicture, ofS: ! he said. It was a ; hear it all.”
sieture of the C)} L surrounded by a “yy my key in my hand, cady
froup of ehildrer child in the fore- «se; door. Then J] saw ii 1s Wie
‘round was blu¢ ed, golden-haired, 9 e was surprised, beceuse v
“= one? mi { like the little gir) crumpled there on »lven: cep the doors clos wh:
by ay * : , : he floor. {Ye Little Children,’ ” ‘ in the church. So macy bun
iia eee : - “isher road Iped. “Sort of pets; ind here
. : ou, doesn't it? muttered huskily. I figured Past ehler
. i Pea I stooped ang moved the child’s thin | nd forgot io close t+ doo
body gently was warm and limp} that onee or twic Mr:
in my han | as sitting on the po -sonas
“Alive an hour or two ago, Inspec- , , ind I told her about it, Sh
tor,” I said. “The killer hasn’t had di ildn’t have been the Pasteo:
‘ime to get far away yet. And maybe | because he hadn't been out-
he’s still got some of this in his, ty, and the keys were stil
ocket.”” I indicated the girl’s neck. 1) :h ‘| table drawer.
VYound tightly round it, so cruelly that T4 ’ the side door and ‘ound
had cut ¢ ilo the tender skin, Wits . too. T went in and looke:
was 'a piece of common rope. “Stran- 9 rorywhere. There woisn’t
led to death. Probably criminally at- ‘ i 1” place, and nothing hid bee:

tacked,” [ growled. distin . I felt sure it musi have
Fountain spoke up. “T believe that been | Pastor in spite of what Mrs.
rope came from my store cupboard, Ochler said. He might have gone ove:

Inspector,” he said mildly. “I keep a there * some books or papers; she
bunch of it there to tie up old news-— michi’) even have heard him
papers.” Finding everything in orde:

From the porch of this parsonage, Miro. Cherles Oehler, the Pastor s wife,
watched while the janitor investigate’ the mystery of the unlocke: doors

nm

retin

‘Wwwe i a«
Sng +

Former Captain of Detectives
Arthu: Ryan, co-author:
“Murder'’s a serious matter”

”) ws


though, I quit worrying about it, and
went on down to the basement, think-
ing I’d get my brooms and things from
the closet where I keep them—” he

turned and indicated an open door -

across the basement—‘“that’s it, over
there; then on my way upstairs I’d
tell Mrs. Oehler everything was all
right. She was worried, you know, and
waiting for me.

“Then, first thing I knew, there was
the door of my supply closet wide open.
I knew then somebody had been nos-
ing around, because I locked that door
myself last time I was down here.”

“Anybody else got a key to it?” Koe-
ning asked.

“Nobody that I know of, Inspector,
unless maybe there’s a key on the
Pastor’s bunch, or the last janitor had
a duplicate. But, anyhow, most any
key would unlock that door. It’s just a
common lock, Any of those five-and-
ten keys—”. :

“All right. Go on,” urged the Chief
impatiently,

“Nothing was gone from the closet
but the bunch of old ropes I told you
about. They were dragged out of the
corner where I always kept them and

playing. That’s how I come to know
her name.” :

. “Did you let her in today? Did you
know she was here?”.

“Oh, no, Inspector. I’d been up-
town all afternoon, and I just came on
to the church, like I told you, to start
my regular Saturday cleaning.”

Koening turned to Doctor Oehler.
“Doctor,” he asked, “did you know the
child was here?”

T= veteran clergyman eyed him

sorrowfully. “I haven’t been in the
church since yesterday. Today I have
not been out of the parsonage until
now.”

“Did anybody borrow the keys from
the hall table?”

“Not to my knowledge. And I think
it very unlikely that the keys could
have been taken and replaced with-
out either Mrs. Oehler or me knowing
about it. When members of the con-
gregation wish access to the church on
week-days they always come here and
ask for the keys. Nobody ever takes
them without first telling us.”

The arrival of Doctor C. B. Jones
interrupted Koening’s questions. Swift-

From her home here, Margaret Milling walked
to church and practised a fatal music lesson

lay in front near the door. That got
me going again, and I started to look
around. It was then I found the little
girl up by the staircase there.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, sir. Just like you see her now.
I didn’t touch her. Just took one look.
I knew she was dead. So then I ran
upstairs and yelled to Mrs. Oehler to
get the Pastor.”

“How come the child was in the
church alone?”

“She’s been dropping in pretty regu-
lar, sir, to practise on the piano there.
Any time she found the church open
she’d be likely to go in and start a-

ly the medical man made his examina-
tion of the pitiful little body.

“Death caused by strangulation,” he
declared. “Possibly not more than an
hour ago. There is no evidence of any
attempt at criminal assault, however.”

Koening spoke abruptly now. “Doc-
tor,” he said, “I want you and Foun-
tain here to come back to Headquar-
ters for further questioning. Must go
into every angle in a case like this.”

“Naturally,” Doctor Oehler agreed
quietly. “Whatever either of us can
do, we want to do. And I do not con-
ceal from myself the fact that until
this poor child’s slayer is found, both

Koening:

Inspector Theodore N.
“Lock all the church doors...
don’t say a word to anybody”

nese -

David Fountain: “There’s a little
girl in the basement—she’s dead—”

David and I are under suspicion. Isn’t
that so?”

Koening made no reply. “Let’s get
back to my office,” he snapped. “We've
got to work fast.”

Every man on the force was thrown
into the hunt for Margaret Milling’s
murderer. Investigators questioned
Mrs. Oehler, checked with residents in
the vicinity. Other officers conducted
a round-up of itinerants and suspicious
characters. State Highway Patrolmen
were notified and asked to question
possible suspects found roaming the
highways.

see in the Inspector’s office, with
Doctor Oehler and David Fountain
in the waiting-room, we reviewed the
situation as we had it.

“The locks weren’t damaged, so
whoever entered the church, if he
came through either door, had a key,”
Koening said. “That puts it squarely
up to the Pastor and the janitor, unless
somebody had duplicate keys. Only
other possibility is that some vagrant
got into the place somehow and killed
the child when she found the doors
open and went down to the basement
to do her practicing. But why would
an intruder leave all the doors open
while he was prowling around?”

We questioned Doctor Oehler first.
Briefly he outlined his movements. As
we had already been told, he had spent
the day working on his Sunday ser-
mon, and had not been out of doors

(Continued on Page 36)

2]

By

»

NA IN ede dN g ad

No Carols for
Little Margaret

By Arthur Ryan

Former Detective Captain,
Sacramento, California,
Police Department,
as Told to

Hobart . Stanley

could have believed the after-
noon’s events would burgeon into
one of the most important crimes in
the history of Sacramento, California?

David Fountain, janitor at Evan-
gelical Lutheran Church, had his key
to the front door ready in his hand as
he approached the -building at 3:30
p.m. on Saturday, December 6.

On the veranda of the parsonage,
across the lawn from the church’s side
entrance, Mrs. Charles Oehler, the
Pastor’s wife,.sat with some work in
her lap, her eyes vaguely on the jani-
tor’s blue-overalled figure.

She looked up again a moment later
ta hear Fountain’s step on the path.

“The front door’s wide open again,
ma’am,” he said with a grin. “Guess
it’s the Pastor—forgot to lock up, like
he did once or twice before. Bet he
left the side door open, too.”

Her gentle gaze was puzzled.

“Are you sure, David?” she asked
him. “The Pastor is in his study, work-
ing on his sermon. He hasn’t been near
the church today, I’m certain.”

Still smiling, Fountain walked across
to the side door and tried the latch.
“This one’s open, too, ma’am,”’ he cried
triumphantly. “Must have been the
Pastor.” ’ :

“But it wasn’t, David,” she protested.
“I know he hasn’t been outside the
parsonage today. You know what he’s
like when he is working on a ser-
mon” She laughed gently. Then her
face grew suddenly grave. ‘““Why, those
doors must have been open all night,”
she said apprehensively, “unless—wait
a moment—”

Ss stepped into the parsonage hall,
then reappeared at the door almost
immediately, a bunch of keys in her
hand. “They were in their regular
place, in the table drawer in the hall,”
she cried. “Better look around, David.
And be careful.”

“This lock ain’t been damaged,
ma’am,” he called back to her from
the side door. “Somebody used those
keys. If it wasn’t the Pastor, somebody
must have got ’em without you know-
ing it.”

“That’s impossible,” she interrupted.
“I know the keys were in the drawer
last night when the house doors were
locked. And nobody’s been in this
morning yet.”

“Some of those bums got in some-
how, ma’am, that’s what,” he told her
angrily. “Feed one of ’em, and you
get the whole bunch onto you.” Her
slender hands fluttered protestingly.
“Oh, I know, ma’am,” he said. “You
just can’t turn a man away when he
begs for food.”

It was with some reason that Foun-

Five such peaceful beginnings, who

i

ee

Tro BB

rT

-~ =

s

>
Margaret Milling: How
could she’ know that she
risked her life to practise
her piano lessons in the
basement of thig church?

f

oe

Re OD ER et ep were eee

| Thirteen-Year-Old Sacra-

mento, California, Girl in the Ch stmas-Decorated Church?
1% i ae ae wae a 719

;
i


tain spoke. The church, one of Sacra-
mento’s largest, occupied the best part
of a block at Seventeenth and J
Streets, in the city’s downtown section,
and there was rarely a day that the
pastor’s wife wasn’t panhandled by
some itinerant or other.

“Tm going in, ma’am,” he called.
“Maybe you’ll wait there a minute or
two while I look around.”

He swung open the door and stepped
inside the cool, quiet church. Still with
the puzzled look on her face, Mrs.
Ochler sat down and resumed her
work.

Five minutes later Fountain burst
from the side door of the church, his
arms threshing excitedly.

“The Pastor! Get Doctor Oehler,
ma’am. There’s a little girl in the
basement—she’s dead—”

PASTOR OEHLER looked up im-
patiently from his labors as the
study door was: flung open uncere-
moniously and his wife almost fell into
the room. One glance at her face drew
him to his feet. “What’s the matter—?”
“Charles! David says there’s a little
girl in the church basement—dead—”
The veteran Pastor gazed at her un-
comprehendingly. Then, as the full
import of her news swept over him, he

stretched forth a trembling hand and
telephoned Inspector of Police Theo-
dore N. Koening.

“In the church basement? A little
girl, you say?” Koening’s voice rum-
bled over the wire. “We’ll be right
down. Lock all the church doors.
Let nobody in. And don’t say a word
to anybody.”

Speedily, Inspector Koening, finger-
print expert Captain Max Fisher
(who, like the author, since has re-
tired) and I were at the church. Wait-
ing for us at the rear entrance to the
building were Doctor Oehler, whom
we all knew, and a stoop-shouldered
man in his fifties, wearing a pair of
work-stained overalls. The Pastor, it
was obvious, was almost ready to col-
lapse. The man with him seemed little
better.

“Where’s the body?” Inspector Koe-
nin; demanded without preamble.
“Who found it?”

The overalled man stepped forward.
“T did, sir. In the basement. Poor little
child—”

“Who are you?”

“T’m the church janitor, sir. David
Fountain. I’ve only been here since
October. There was another man—”

“Never mind that now. Take us to
the body.”

Children singing Christmas carols were fright-
ened by a strange face at these church windows

Former Captain of Detectives
Arthur Ryan, co-author:
“Murder’s a serious matter”

20

We walked through from the rear
rooms into the church. It was quiet
and peaceful in there, with the late
afternoon sunshine streaming in
through the stained-glass windows,
and the white linen gleaming on the
altar table. Christmas decorations gave
the surroundings a festive air. Down
a flight of steps into the basement, with
Fountain walking tiptoe as though he
feared to wake somebody, we followed.

Across the cement floor of the base-
ment a spiral stairway led up into the
belfry tower. “She’s there,” said the
janitor, and stepped softly aside.

Slumped in a half-sitting position at
the ‘foot of the staircase lay a golden-
haired girl of about thirteen, clad in
a pink dress, her slim body revealing
the first faint outlines of approaching
womanhood. At her side, its blue eyes
as open and staring as those of the
dead girl, lay a half-dressed doll.

The walls of the room were gay with
wreaths of evergreen. Colored paper
lanterns swayed from the ceiling, and
red candles added the final touch of
Christmas gaiety.

On the wall facing the staircase
hung a religious picture of the type
familiar to all Sunday-school children.
The eyes of the dead girl appeared to
be focused on this picture as though
ae the last thing they had seen in
ife.

Captain Fisher nodded toward the
picture. ‘See that,” he said. It was a
picture of the Christ surrounded by a
group of children. A child in the fore-
ground was blue-eyed, golden-haired,
like the little girl crumpled there on
the floor. “ ‘Suffer Little Children,’ ”
Fisher read—and gulped. “Sort of gets
you, doesn’t it?” he muttered huskily.
- I stooped and moved the child’s thin
body gently. It was warm and limp
in my hands.

“Alive an hour or two ago, Inspec-
tor,” I said. “The killer hasn’t had
time. to get far away yet. And maybe
he’s still got some of this in his
pocket.” I indicated the girl’s neck.
Wound tightly round it, so cruelly that
it had cut deep into the tender skin,
was a piece of common rope. “Stran-
gled to death. Probably criminally at-
tacked,” I growled.

Fountain spoke up. “I believe that
rope came from my store cupboard,
Inspector,” he said mildly. “I keep a
bunch of it there to tie up old news-
papers.”

“How long since you found the
body?” Koening asked. ‘

“Not over fifteen or twenty minutes
ago, sir.” The janitor shuddered. “I
came down here to get my brooms and
dusters from the cupboard—and there
she was, poor little thing, the way you
see her now.”

Pastor Oehler’s trembling lips were
murmuring a prayer. for the dead
child. Inspector Koening let him con-
clude. “Who is the girl, Pastor?” he
asked.

“I don’t know,” the Pastor said sor-
rowfully. “Our Sunday school classes
are large, you know, and I don’t come
into personal contact with all the chil-
dren who attend.”

“TI can tell you who she is, I believe,”
the janitor said. “I think her name .is
Milling—Margaret Milling. I know her
father—he’s a painter. Maybe I’d bet-
ter fetch him?”

“Time enough for that. He’ll know
plenty soon. While we wait for the
medical examination, suppose you tell
us just exactly what happened,” Koe-
ning suggested. “You came to the
basement as soon as you entered the
church?”

“No, sir. I went to the front door,
like I always do, first. I clean up the
church Saturday afternoons, you know,
to get it ready for Sunday.”

OENING nodded. “Go on,” he said.
“Let’s hear it all.”

“T had my key in my hand, ready to
open the door. Then - saw it was wide
open. I was surprised, because we
always keep the doors. closed when
nobody’s in the church. So many bums
come around here.

“Well, I figured Pastor Oehler’d
been in and forgot to close the door.
He’s done that once or twice. Mrs.
Oehler was sitting on the parsonage
veranda, and I told her about it. She
said it couldn’t have been the Pastor
this time, because he hadn’t been out-
side all day, and the keys were still
in the hall table drawer.

“I tried the side door and found it
was open, too. I went in and looked
around everywhere. There wasn’t a
soul in the place, and nothing had been
disturbed. I felt sure it must have
been the Pastor in spite of what Mrs.
Oehler said. He might have gone over
there for some books or papers; she
mightn’t even have heard him.

“Finding everything in order,

From the porch of this parsonage, Mrs. Charles Oehler, the Pastor’s wife,

Te

watched while the janitor investigated the mystery of the unlocked doors

% q
‘
paar’ 5 “cs.


S ,. FULLER, Albert, white, li), hanged San Quentin (Madera County) on July 1s, 19336

Sey a
pe |

ib C emmeneF
vag

ge ee

“ —_

P. O. BOX 478 E reek eee MADERA, CALIFOR:!
poe ‘i are x

James Vv. Kipp - Business partner of Albert Fuller in Seville,
Tulare County.

Kipp lived in the home of Albert Fuller some of the time,
Fuller's wife was suing for divorce. Jealousy was Fuller's
; reason for killing, or money. Fuller and Kipp had a store in
Seville, Tulare County. Fuller also was postmaster.
Fuller and Kipp had a fight; both were drinking. Fuller
claimed self-defense and said Kipp fell down the mine shaft.
Kipp was in financial difficulties. Fuller and Kipp ran a store.
The Wagner mine shaft where KApp was killed was just 10 miles
above Raymond. Puller was heard at one instance that he would
get Kipp for breaking up his home. Both men drank heavily.
Kipp's mother was a full-blooded Indian (California) and
his father, a white man, Kipp was a one-legged man, lost legoin
early youth, He was 48, No criminal background other than boot-
legsing, and was not proved.
Albert Fuller was a white man, married, wife Marjorie. He
| and sentenced
was convicted/to hang on December 24, 1931, Trial lasted 4 days.
He was taken to San 2uentin on December 28, 1931.

The crime apparently was planned. So much evidence indicated

it. Fuller used a sharp instrument and then pushed Kipp down the
shaft, “vidence showed the wounds on Kipp's head did not kill hin,

but rather he drowned in water at bottom of shaft.


Ls

P. O. BOX 478
Madera Daily Tribune
Madera, Mad SenA
Friday,
ALBERT FULLER PAYS PENALTY KIPP MURDER

San juentin Prison, July, 14 -- (UP) --

Albert Fuller, Madera coumty's "mine shaft murderer," was
hanged today for the slaying of James Kipp, one-legged cobbler
and jack-of-all-trades, whose broken body was found at the
bottom of a mine shaft.

The trap was sprung at 10:06 a.m. and Fuller was pronounced
dead at 10:26 a.m.

Puller was reprieved three times as attempts were made

to have his sentence commuted to life. He originally was
sentenced to be hanged March 18, 1931, but his life was
extended more than two years by the series of reprieves..


P. O. BOX 478 MADERA, CALIFORNIA

Kipp and Fuller must have had some knowledge of Madera
County because the crime was committed there. Information
states the two men had operated the Wagner mine at one tine,
called the Kipp and Fuller mine.

There was also a matter of insurance papers, the store
burned, and this apparently was planned. Both men had no

criminal record, unless this was one.

The murder was committed on either October 9 or 10, 1931.

EPS, Fuller Cane Prem QR wealthy family
and They paid all legal Pees for him


SATURDAY MORNING,

(San Bernardino) 11-17-1933,

PASAT ITOREVSINVY. 4.0 TAN
NIP V Eaavible ey 40, 2d

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‘Bi, Shot’? Gambler, Unafraid,
~—Waiks to Gallows, Expiates.
__. Slaying of Mining Man

John @. Sei ng, “Dig time”
gambterowhno shot to death Amos
Leese, .a mine stiperintendent, in a
bar room at Red Mountain a year
avo, was executed on the gallows at
Folsom yomites tary yesterday,

The tran was sprung at JO a.m.

and Fleming

15 minute
unafraid,
gallows un-

but accor

ath Dartriakk Croni
at ~ As the guards

the roose and) black cap,

osged regret for

ing the warden sa much trouble.”
». room of the prison
were 18 witnesses, Lagene’s widow,

ving.
CA? EER CF CRIME

Fieting’ death ended a coreer
hevan when he was

bu Pwice he was com-
mitted ; natories and twice
he serv } entiary sentences as

2 hur vy

WAIAN, H
nz of Leese, a wide-
uner known through-!
particularly brue |
7 yuerrelseme,!

; T
when I
se F
+ han
Pi} fr tT
‘ i o ry
i 12 if
TORY UNSUPPORTED
' fics vfter
- ° ¢ -
' ry try ar
5 tory AA.
4 A j ae
\ 4 ig
1
f
‘ ne
t
ee
Z “ el
3 té F é

a manpower ix urgentiv neede

ey organization whi

Red Cross

bernordino American Red C

= PUNS Chapters de to mala’ ayer

Ve need 300 more workers, and we nerd the: right

ge C, Cooper, campaign manager, and John-A. Pieree. nfs
sociate, ‘n a statement issued yesterday, }
"The roll eall in San Bernardino is facing 9 erisis,

enme will be deter

py the response of ¢ne public to

the next few

€
for

“The American fai oss is everyhe nization, and
I ody's : @ ore in’ Sar
ore th: wen ana omen \
devote ty > tion
rtant roll eal
about 260 woikets In the loci i timibe
found to be inst We need the additional 350 work
‘eo are to carry the 2 to a suecessful eoncitizion and
place among the thou Gs of eities ail oversthe United Sta

h are rallying to the support of the American Hed Cross
not only steps to the fore in eo

ster, administering aid to the suffering, but in addition ea:

year-round campaign of reiie

appiv ia persdu vi by. Cele Phi
T. R. Carlisle, executive secretary, at 201 Platt bul!ding.”

the stacement: said

ieving the ailing and destitute.

"San Bernardino cannot leg behind in this work of merey,
people can prove their sympathy with the htrmanitarian aims of t)
by enrolling for membership, or volunteering to work on
roi cai, volunteers sity

ne ie Hits Free County

Z

(Ge vOT Has saved TOK
charge ocities for police “Gunty,
hisouers held in. the county The. aecountants question
nt : propriety of the auditor's Ȣ
yrt charging a por a

defaicati £th
i agressor- A,” Ka A ney

Quentin prison, to
ricts ,

port. tn

tthe inte A frony District \
'g. the ti 4 tors MHUSSeIL WoO slates
the sinervisers ta estlect tribution of this |
ie cities ‘for thi ervige in abeyarece until a 7
audit. og company was em imo Tecovery fram
t the Abt Of eyPWisoTrg ty company nas been sé
irs , = aH
OUNLYV
ir t fir \e 7
: sth nvuinty the ces
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DETECTIVE

asked: “Who was the friend who tele-
phoned you, Mrs. Nelson?”

Unmistakable surprise was in her
tone as she answered. “Why, it was
Bill Henry, one of my husband's ac-
quaintances in the Legion,” she said.

Wallman jotted down the name.
“Thanks, Mrs. Nelson,” he said. “We'll
be expecting you here at headquarters
in a couple of hours.”

After Wallman had hung up, Car-
roll eyed him narrowly. “What's all

' this about a guy named Henry?” he

wanted to know.

Wallman shrugged. “That’s for you
boys to find out,” he replied. “Could
be Henry ’phoned Mrs. Nelson at the
Greystone in Santa Cruz out of noth-
ing more than friendliness. On the
other hand, how come he knew where
to locate her so easily when even her
own mother, who lives with her, didn't
know where she’d gone?” E

“It’s a point that bears checking.”
Carroll said, jamming his hat back or
his head and rising. “Come on, J.G.,
he added to Goodnight, “let’s get over
to Legion headquarters and see what
we can find out about this William
Henry guy.”

Ten minutes later, the partners had
sped across town to the second-story
offices of Nelson’s Legion Post, where
they asked the post secretary for
Henry’s address. In another ten min-
utes, they had recrossed town to the
law offices of Bill Henry in a sky-
scraper not far from the bay.

A flash of Carroll’s badge, and an
obviously-frightened secretary stum-

bled in her haste to lead them into -

Henry’s private office.

-As the two sleuths entered, Henry,
a tall, slender man in his late thirties.
rose, smiling, from behind a massive
mahogany desk.

“I gather that you’ve heard from
Bess Nelson, and that she told you it
was 1 who telephoned her the sad
news about Harry,” he led off, his tone
and manner showing gracious com-
posure. “Sit down, won’t you?” He
motioned to a pair of leather cush-
ioned chairs. “And do try. these cigars
—I have them made up especiaily for
me, in Havana,” he added, proffering
a humidor.

“Thanks, Ill stick to my own brand.
if you don’t mind,” Goodnight said,
producing a stogie from his pocket,
“but I will take a match.” .

“Oh, yes, of course,” Henry said.
Fumbling in the drawer of the desk,
he scooped up a folder and tossed it
across the blotter toward fhe big,
stolid-featured detective. “Help your-
self.”

With every appearance of casual-
ness, Goodnight picked up the folder
and pushed back the flap. Inside the
cover were two lone matches at the
righthand end of the cardboard base.

“I see you're left-handed, Mr.
Henry,” he observed, laying the folder
back on the blotter, unused. - °

Henry gave an easy laugh. “Yes,
I'm a southpaw, all right,” he ad-
mitted. “I've been trying to train my-
self to use my right hand, ard to a
great extent I’ve succeeded, but not

MADE FOR MURDER

THE NIGHT WAS

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 27)

where striking matches is concerned,
I’m afraid.”

“Well, in that case. perhaps you'd
better tell us where you were last
night.” Carroll put in quietly.

Henry’s jaw dropped. His some-
what prominent blue eyes widened
until the pupils were completely
ringed in white. Slowly a mottled
erimson suffused the smoothly-bar-
bered tan of his cheeks.

“Look here,” he sputtered at length.
“you aren’t accusing me of having had
anything to do with what happened to
poor old Harry, are you?” he blustered.
“Why—why Harry Nelson is one of
my best friends. We served together

in the AEF, and since he moved to |

Oakland and got interested in politics,
we've been working hand in glove in
half a dozen veterans’ organizaticns.”

“Does your work in such orgar iza- ©

tions necessitate your keeping up with
Mrs. Nelson’s out-of-town engage-
ments?” Carroll countered mildly.

LOWLY the color drained from
Henry’s cheeks, ieavi.g them ar
unhealthy yellowish-white. With
the heaviness of a much stoucer man.
he sank into his carved and cushioned
armchair.

“ll admit that it does look sort of
queer, my being the one to notify Bess
as te what happened to her husband.”
he said and sighed. “Well, I might as
well come clean about it—I’m fond of
her, damned fond of her. She's a
mighty attractive woman, in case you
didn’t know, and since she and old
Harry don’t get on any too well, why,
I—oh. you know how it is,” he wound
up, with a weary gesture.

“You're convincing us that we do
know only too well how it is,” Good-
night said, his tone stern.

“No, no, you’re all wrong!” Henry
burst out, sweat springing in gleam-
ing drops to his forehead. “I didn’t
have anything to do with this hideous
business, believe me. I didn’t. A dis-
creet flirtation with a woman who
gives you to understand she isn’t ad-
verse to a bit of fun on the side is one
thing, but a murderous attack on her
husband—good God!” He broke off.
passing a crumpled silk handkerchief
across his brow.

“About your movements last night.
Mr. Henry,” Carroll prorapted.

“Oh, yes.” Henry gave a start.
“Well, I attended a Legion meeting in
the early part of the evening—Harry
Nelson was there, too, as a matter of
fact. Then, after the meeting broke
up, I played poker here at the office
with some of the boys.”

“What time did the game break
up?”

Henry managed a sheepish grin.
“Not until eight o’clock this morning.
I regret to say. I just had time to
hurry over to my club to shower and
change before reporting beck here to
receive my first client of the day, at
nine. You'll want a list of the other
players to check. of course,” the law-
yer added, brightening visibily. “Here
it is.’ And he rattled off a list of
names the offers recognized as high-

“man at

ly prominent, professionally and
en: in the city. ches

Carroll’s only comment was to ask
Permission to use the telephone. Hur-
riedly he 9 through a call to Wall-

3 eadquarters, briefing his
superior on the afternoon’s develop-
ments and requesting an immediate
check on the personnel of the all-night
poker session.

Half an hour later, Wallman called
back to announce that half a dozen
of the city’s elite had sworn to Henry’s
preserve in his own offices from ap-
prox’mately 11 o’clock the night be-
fore until around eight that morning.

_ “Well, that seems to be that,” Good-
night remarked, getting to his feet.
And after bidding goodbye to the law-
yer, he made his exit, Carroll at his
heels.

“What do we do now?” Carroll chal-
lenged, somewhat sourly a minute or
two later, as he and Goodnight piled
into their cruiser. “There’s no use
going back to headquarters and ex-
Ppecting to find Mrs. Nelson and that
chauffeur of hers there—they haven't
~~ time to make it from Santa Cruz
yet.”

“Td kind of like to talk to some of
Nelson’s Legion pals,” Goodnight said,
Starting up the motor.

“I thought you were convinced the
attack on Nelson would necessarily
have had to be pulled by someone

_who’s pretty thick with the family.

That theory would seem to eliminate
Nelson’s run-of-the-mill soldier pals.”

“I wasn’t thinking so much of the
actual attack on Nelson as I was about
what Henry had to say on the subject
of Mrs. Nelson,” ight rejoined,
steering the snub-nosed prowler out
into the stream of rush-hour traffic.
_ “You mean, about her having a rov-
ing eye?”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe the eye only roves in
Henry’s direction.”

“And then again, maybe it takes in
a lot of other m ine scenery,”
Goodnight said, his mouth twisting.
“Anyhow, we’ll see—I hope.” And he
headed the prowler for the Bay Shore
residence of Kenneth Stone, the first
of the poker players on Henry’s list.

Stone, a prominent physician, gave
every evidence of being distinctly
nettled: by the police visit.

Nevertheless, he Teluctantly ad-
mitted, under the shrewd questioning
of the detectives, that, like Henry, he
had had occasion to discover that Bess
Nelson did not regard her marriage to
the partially-invalided veteran as
ideal.

“I won’t go so far as to say that I

~ actually know anything about Mrs.

Nelson’s behavior that could be con-
strued as reflecting on her wifely
character, Stone emphasized cau-
tiously. “Still, I have been the recip-
ient of her confidences, now and again,
and from what she told me, I got the
impression that she was only sticking
with Harry for the child’s

ago,” the physician replied
ey. {Perhaps even longer ago
Som that. Come to
haven’t seen much of her, these last
couple of mon of us in our

PGo th on friend Forbes, Chief?”

now that she has the services of a full-
time chauffeur.”

The comments of the other men
Goodnight and Carroll visited added
up in much the same fashion. All
sketched Bess Nelson as a dissatisfied
wife. None of the opinions, however,
were based on recent observation.

S the detectives headed back to

headquarters, Carroll rubbed his

chin thoughtfully. “You know,” he
said musingly, “if it wasn’t for her
keeping in such close touch with
Henry and apparently dotting him
know every place she’s going, I'd say
Mrs. Nelson had found that guy she
could really go for in this Claude
Forbes.”

“It could fit,” Goodnight agreed.
“Forbes went to work for her hus-
band about the time she took up out-
of-town travel in a big way. In that
case, she might be keeping in with
Henry as a sort of cover-up for her
real interest.”

“On the other hand,” he persisted,
scowling at the folder of matches he
had pulled from his pocket and was
turning over in his fingers, “it could
be the other way around.”

“You mean, it could be that she’s
really intersted in Henry, and is
—, using Forbes as a decoy, so to

“Tm not sure exactly what I do
mean — yet,” Goodnight mumbled.
And throughout the remainder of the
drive he sat in scowling silence, study-
ing the matchbook with grim concen-
tration.

Arriving at headquarters, the part-
ners were greeted by Wailman with
the announcement that Mrs. Nelson
and Forbes had returned from Santa
Cruz and were in his office.

“They both tell a straightforward
enough story of their movements after
Forbes picked up Mrs. Nelson at her
husband’s office yesterday afternoon,”
the captain of inspectors told his aides.
“We've questioned them separately,
and they both say that they drove
directly to Santa Cruz, garaged the
car, and then checked in at the Grey-
stone Hotel, where they had dinner.
After that, Mrs. Nelson went to the
women’s club to keep her lecture date,
and Forbes went to the movies.”

Carroll grimaced. “None of that
running around covers ’em after about
11 o’clock last night, does it?”

“No, but I’ve checked with the
Santa Cruz police, and they say that
the Nelson car wasn’t taken out after
Forbes garaged it, around six,” Wall-
man replied.

“They ba buses running from Santa
Cruz to Oakland, haven’t they?” Car-
roll reminded.

“Yeah, but I called the line, and they
say that the last bus leaves the Santa
Cruz end at 5:30, that is to say, half
an hour before Mrs. Nelson and Forbes
are known to have been seen around
the Greystone and the garage.”

.‘So maybe one or both of them
hitched a ride to Oakland after the
movies and the club-meeting let out,”
Carroll kept on.

So maybe they did,” Wallman con-
ceded wearily. “But it’ll take time to
check on that.. Meanwhile, Mrs. Nel-
nn by x7 her Clubmecting and Forbes

movie-stub both h:
mek te be air-tight alibis.” =

3 e Known air-tight alibi r
wide open before,” Scans —_
marked casually, fingering his booklet
of matches. “Mind if I try a little ex-

right ahead,” Wallman urged.

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; And swinging about, he led the way
into his office. :

As Goodnight strode into the office
| in Wallman’s wake, he spotted Mrs.
; Nelson and the chauffeur comfortably

ensconced in the visitors’ chairs under
| the watchful eye of Patrolman Lewis.
| As Henry-had suggested, Bess Nel-
| son, at 36, was an extremely attractive
| woman, plump and smooth-skinned.
| with glossy hair, luminous eyes and an
| air of vitality well-calculated to at-

tract the masculine fancy.

Forbes, too, was an arresting figure.
| as he lounged with almost feline grace

in the chair beside the woman’s, his
‘lean body, high cheekbones and
| bronze-skinned coloring giving un-
| mistakable evidence of Indian blood.
| Apparently unnoticing of such de-
' tails, Goodnight swung a chair around
; to face the pair. Taking his seat, he
| remarked conversationally: “I'd like
to ask you both a few questions, but
before I get started, how about a
smoke?” And he brought a packet of
cigarettes from his pocket and held
them out.

“I don’t indulge,” Mrs. Nelson said,
somewhat primly.

“How about you, Forbes?” Good-
night persisted, shaking a cigarette
from the pack.

“Don’t mind if I do.” With a flash
of even white teeth, the Indian held
out his hand.

As soon as Forbes had inserted the
cigarette between his lips, Goodnight
extended a book of matches, proffer-
| ing the folder in such a way that the
| printing on the brightly-colored cover
was revealed to Forbes upside down.

“Thanks,” Forbes said, taking the
folder. Without taking the trouble to
turn it right side up, he drew down
| the flap, pulled a match from its
moorings and struck it.

ATCHING closely, Goodnight
waited until the chauffeur had
raised the ignited match halfway
| to the tip of the cigarette bobbing in
the corner of his mouth. Then, just as
| Forbes was about to apply the flame.
Goodnight sprang swiftly to his feet,
snatching from his pocket a pair of
handcuffs.
| “All right, Forbes,” he growled, “the
| game’s up. You’re under arrest.”
| At the detective’s words. a piercing
scream broke from Mrs. Nelson’s lips,
followed by a snakelike turn of her
head in the Indian's direction and a
lashing spurt of words from her lips.
“You fool!” she fairly spat out. “TI
warned you not ‘to try to throw the
cops off our trail by dropping that
left-handed match-folder in the yard!
' Now look at what your smart-aleck
| tricks have got you into!” And with
| a strangled cry, she dropped her head
| into her hands and began to sob
» violently.

“He’s not the only one who's in
| trouble on account of a match-foider,
i lady.” Goodnight remarked, almost
| jovially. “However, were always
| anxious to listen to a lady’s story.”

Trapped by Goodnight’s seemingly

innocuous ruse, the pair soon dictated
detailed confessions of their plot to
murder Harry Nelson.

“We wanted to be rid of him so we
| could get married,” Forbes said, with

no outward show of emotion.
j planned to get a divorce for Muriel,
| see, and on Nelson’s $10,000 insurance.
Bess and I figured we'd do all right,
even with Mrs. Hulett and little Jessie
May to look after.

“We had. it all planned out weeks

ago, just how we’d manage it.” he

fn
went on calmly. “Then, yesterday,
without either Nelson or my wife sus-
pecting a thing, we drove to Santa
Cruz. Bess went to the women’s club
there, and I took in a movie, to give
ourselves an alibi. After her lecture,
Bess. went back to the hotel, like we'd
agreed for her to do. I hitched rides
on several trucks, switching every few
miles, until I beat my way back to
Oakland.

“I couid have used the key Mr. Nel-

‘son had given me to get in the house.

but I figured we'd stand a better
chance of puiling off the deal if I jim-
mied my way in through the window,
like I was a burglar. Not a burglar,
exactly, because I didn’t intend to
steal anything, but—well, like an out-
sider, anyway. That’s why I hit on
that dodge about the left-handed
matches—I thought they’d set you
guys looking for some southpaw with
a grudge against Nelson.”

Forbes paused in his dictation, his
lips twisted bitterly. “Me and my
bright ideas! My mother should have
dropped me on my head when I was a
baby!

“Anyhow,” he hurried on, “I got
into the house all right. and up the
stairs without rousing anybody. Nel-
son didn’t even wake up when I was
right there in his room, standing over
him with the piece of lead pipe in my
hand I’d brought with me, along with
the crowbar I used jimmying the win-
dow.

“The first time I hit him, he kind
of moaned and rolled over with his
arms up, like he was trying to protect
himself, so I knew I hadn't killed him.
I hit him again three, four more times.
Then I wrapped up the pipe in a hand-
kerchief I’d brought just for that, and
with another handkerchief wrapped
around my hand. I went over and
switched on the lights. There was so
much blood all over Nelson and the
bed, I figured I must have finished him
off, so I switched off the lights and
left the room.

“I didn’t have no more trouble get-
ting out than I’d had getting in, ani
getting back to Santa Cruz it was the
same story as it had been getting from
Santa Cruz to Oakland. I made it br
7 a... so that by 8 o’clock I’d had
breakfast at a diner and was up in my
room in the hotei—in bed.”

Although Mrs. Nelson’s confession
did not deal with the actual crime, it
contained many allusions to her love
for Forbes and freely acknowledged
her part in planning the crime.

Inasmuch as Harry Nelson was
alive at the time of the pair’s appre-
hension, they were booked merely on
charge of conspiring to bring about
the veteran’s death. with Forbes
booked on the additional charge of
armed assault with intent to kill.

On June 18th. however. Harry Nel-
son died, without ever having re-
gained consciousness, and the charges
against Mrs. Nelson and Claude Forbes
were changed to the single charge of

premeditated murder.

Promptly indicted and held on $25.-
000 bail each. Bess Nelson and Claude
Forbes were brought to trial in Janu-
ary, 1933. before Judge Fred V. Wood

At Mrs. Nelson’s trial. which opened
on January 4th, medical and legai ex-
perts for the defense attempted to
establish that their client had been in-
sane during the planning and carry-
ing-out of her husband’s murder.
However, the prosecution. which was
directed by District Attorney Charles
Wehr, succeeded in convincing the
jury <" eight men and four women

that Mrs. Nelson was of sound mind.
jury ee Morning of January 15, the
charged. ie: ea its verdict: guilty as
€anwhile, on January 10th, Claude
geckos had been brought to trial, and
= days later he, too, was found
ty. Both Mrs. Nelson and Claude
fae Were forthwith remanded to
D Quentin Prison, where she served

the first lap of the life-term imposed

by the court. and he was held until,

his execution by hanging on Decem-
ber 8, 1933.
Following Forbes’ execution, Mrs.

Nelson was transferred to the Califor- |

|

Epitor’s Note: The names of Bill |
Henry and Kenneth Stone are ficti- |

nia Women’s Prison at- Tehachapi,
where she still is at this writing.

tous to spare embarrassment to in-

nocent persons involved in the investi- |

gation of this case.

HEADQUARTERS

DETECTIVE

doubt on the man’s story. She assured
the officials that her husband had
returned home without his car, had
mformed her what had transpired
between him and the police officers,
and then had retired. Further cor-
toboration of his story came from a
Prestonburg resident who assured the
investigators that he had given Brady
a ride to his home around 10 p. m. To
the officials it now appeared that the
former policeman had told a truthful
story about what had happened.

out hao — that ‘life-and-death’
remark about you signify?” asked
Captain Hall. . a |

Laferty shrugged. “It could mean a’

lot of things,” he said. “After the time
I've spent in harness cornering some
of the most craven criminals in this
part of the state, there are bound to
be several who would like to see me
aye et of dirt.”

“Anybody threatened you } ;?”
asked Hall. a

Laferty could- recall!
threats or warnings.

HERIFF Sturgill’s deputies, how-
ever, moving with relentless per-
sistence through the environs of
Prestonburg, had taken into custody
a former Army sergeant whom relia-

no recent

. ble witnesses asserted had flourished

a gun during a fracas in front of a
roadside tavern a short distance out
of town. After being warned by the
tavern proprietor that unless he left
the premises the police would be sum-
moned, the sergeant had emitted a
tirade of insults that encompassed the
whole police force of the city.

Confronted by a grim circle of of-
ficials at headquarters, the ex-ser-
geant admitted that he had been at the
tavern until nearly midnight the pre-
vious night but had been too intoxi-
cated to recall clearly the events that
had transpired. _

“Didn't you claim that you had been
an M. P. under General Wilson jin
Naples and that you were tough
enough to wipe out the police force of
Prestonburg?” asked Sheriff Sturgill.

The sergeant, who had given his
name as Robert. ong rene rea =
sickl rin. “I mig ave sai at,
Sherif” he admitted, “but if I did, i
was just talking. But I don’t remember
any police officers coming to the
tavern. In fact, my Cte >
me leave there right after the argu-
ment.” sf hii

He provided the name of i eid
and a deputy was quickly rm.
to take her statement. ARs ons

ion

-(GONTINUED FROM PAGE 45)

DEATH RIDES
THE SCOUT CAR

of the .45 automatic recovered from
his home indicated that it Had been
fired recently. However, it was obvi-
ously of foreign make and not the

Moore.

However. fifteen minutes later Cap-
tain Blades, state crime expert. cast
another perplexing twist into the mys- |
tery. He reported that the slugs which |
had blasted Moore and Horn to their |
deaths had come from a pistol of 7.65 |
millimeters. This, of course, shattered |
the earlier conclusion of the investi- |
gators that the officers had been slain |

with Moore’s gun.

“And another thing that might be |

helpful,” went on Blades, “is the fact
that the killer was captured at a point
where there was considerable mud.

There must have been a brief struggle, ,

because on both Horn’s and Moore’s |

bag gh Aaa ot traces of mud.”
ow about fingerprints?”

Captain Hall. — — |

Blades grimaced. “Dozens of ’em. ;
They’re being checked now with those |
of the victims and the owner. Don't ,
count too heavily on anything along |
that line. As for anything that could |
be classed as a dependable clue, noth- |
mg at ‘= : h |

_“The fact that Moore and Horn were |
killed with a 7.65 gun and not with the
weapon taken from Orbin could mean
that there were two prisoners.” ru- |
minated Chief Laferty.

“Or that your men somehow over-
looked the smaller weapon in search- |
ing whoever they captured,” added |
Captain Hall. “A 7.65 can be easily |
concealed.” i

Faced with a complete lack of clues, |
Laferty decided to concentrate on the |
slender lead provided by Captain |
Blades. Inasmuch as there had been |
no heavy rain or snow within the past |
three weeks, the points around Pres- |
tonburg where the soil or terrain was
muddy were comparatively few.

Deputies and police officers quickly
began an intensive canvass along un- |
Paved streets and the points marked |
off on a map by Chief Laferty. It ap- |

peared to be i
dark move ‘. hopeless, shot-in-the- |

tonburg Bridge, had ob: y
fleeing across the bridge sh.
midnight on the night of th i
= erought jan pit2dauarters

V asse at she - |
ing home from her agora aa |
the local telephone

|
|
|

weapon which had been taken from |

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ino
i . Hulett and the nurse, Muri County See.
Peg Bye living room of the efficiency, but he had also found the that someone who bore the war hero of Salaam
attractive Boyd Avenue home, hear time and energy for much American a murderous grudge? presently thanked ‘i. e partners
anything that appeared to throw any Legion activity. Highly respected by It was Inspector Mulhern who pro- took: their leave Eat BP nese and
: light on the brutal assault. both business and social acquaint- vided a partial answer. Hailing Car- made: inquiries st: eeere. he ough they
: Both women denied having heard ances, Harry Nelson had made him- roll and Goodnight outside, he pointed neighborh they pa ouse in the
or seen anything of a suspicious na- self a popular figure in the Oakland to a ladder propped against one of confirm —_ fw: pra 4 no one to
a ture during the night. Mrs. Forbes that was his adopted home. the dining room windows. Then he nocturnal sights <i dl had e peculiar
2 told the detectives that she had last: “That’s what makes this dreadful pointed to several long, deep scratches the Mabsos teciae witnessed at
.. seen Nelson at Senet the Feng orig aS ag Lg = — job white paint of the window-sill ‘ residence.
evening, which she had serv to him, id, sighi s ing her hea rame. 3 T w ra :
Mrs. Hulett, and young Jessie May at as she wound up her recital. “Harry “This is where the attacker climbed din py Mowectinge aoe by the time
six o’clock. has such a fine reputation, it’s hard up and jimmied an entry,” Mulhern Glided . their eu finally con-
‘sn hour later, Mrs. Hulett said, to believe that anyone would want explained. “From the looks of the See cage yg «I osm _of Boyd
scratches, I'd say he used an ord: and “areve wie Eee mente

quarters. Arriving at Captain W:
— Sen they were scranhid z
~~ _— a that
<4 Mrs. Nelson. a eons
_. “We've had all the radio stati
in this part of California Srapacent
ing details of the crime for the past
oomke wot hours, but it looks like Mrs.
elson’s not a radio fan,” Wallman
a gf aides wryly. --
in response to a cue, the tele-
— on Wallman’s desk ronuptly
gan to jangle loudly. matching
the receiver from its hook, the

she had bidden goodnight to her son- to harm him.” : usec inary
i Mrs. Forbes, whom the detectives crowbar for the prying job, but that’s
questioned next, echoed the older merely a guess, since we haven't
Post of which he was the adjutant woman’s sentiments. Although she found any sign 0
"had worked in the Nelson household added glumly. ;
Forbes both said that they had re- . only three months, she expressed the “What about footprints or finger-
tired early and had not heard Nelson’ greatest admiration for her employer. prints?” Carroll wanted to know.
return. “He’s the kindest man you, can “Nary a one,” Mulhern told him.
In response to questions from imagine,” she told Carroll and Good- “The only possible lead we've picked
Goodnight, Mrs. Hulett sketched in a__ night. “Why, do you know, when he _ up so far is this”? And opening his
family background that appeared to found out that my husband was out hand, he revealed a cardboard book
offer no conceivable motive for at- of a job, he hired him sight unseen of matches.
tempted murder. She said that Nel- as a chauffeur, and at once offered ‘
son had brought her and her daughter him money to tide him over until er and turned i
Bess, who was his second wife, to pay day. Believe me,” she concluded between his fingers.
Oakland from Wisconsin, on orders solemnly, “they don’t make them like advertisement 0
of the physician who had been treat- Mr. Nelson every day in the week.” vertised headache remedy, the match-
ing him for a lung ailment contracted It was all too clear, however, that book was of a variety that could be
during the war. some person failed to share the obtained at any cigar counter.
“The doctor thought the California mother-in-law’s and the maid’s high Nevertheless, Goodnight frowned at
climate would. do him good,” she regard for Nelson. That the attack it in close attention as he pushed
explain upon him had not been incidental open the flap.
Apparently the change of scene had, to robbery was established in short “Well, well, what do you iknow
indeed, benefited the veteran’s order by Mrs. Hulett, who speedily about that?” he muttered, staring at
health. Not only had he succeeded informed the investigators that the few matches the booklet con-
: tained. “Whoever used this seems to

his ear in time to hear the
operator
announce a call f:
erg acyagh hie rom the nearby town
“This is Bess Nelson aking,”
breathless feminine oe pes
presently. ‘T've just received a

z.

hone call, here at the G

otel where I’m staying, torre end
of my husband’s who heard a broad-
cast a few minutes ago about what

Feil

: © "The match
DETECTIVES SEARCH FOR VITAL CLUES— ahd — og en see a.
Officers R. T. Lewis and James Mulhern (lett te right) and Inspector James stead of in the usual sequence, ‘from

i i Nelson’s blecd-stained bedclothes fer possible clues. the right.”
Geednight examine — on’s Pp so Paapslinen” Soe

Lewis, who was S' guard at
the front door. “Go inside and find
out if any member of the household
is left-handed, and if not, if either
Mrs. Hulett or the Forbes woman
recalls a left-handed person who’s
familiar with the layout around
here,” he directed.

“Pm on my way,” Lewis said, strid-

INTERROGATING VICTIM’ EA ,
S WIFE AND SERVANT— happened to cH I just

Inspector James Goodni i i
preg acy Fi a fist) questions Claude Forbes, the chauffeur, and oe on chegtlar sage T'm havin
zi — » in an effort te solve the mysterious murder. land, pela hig ger an
me left-handed acquai ip i + rx “to headgt
some left-handed acquaintance, and dark figure slip into the Nelson drive- rt ot one headauar-
the: ager stenee Ter chitome now omaly way from the other side of.the house pe S pine 8 yor .
evertheless, Goodnight placed the

; uae Zo tavord the soa I don’t know anything about thi
Nevert -# urITy 2 . dreadful thing, ural “4

parilivuaca” Qoict caafcly in q.Guzol gud Goodnleht exchanged docs either tut well bot help
leagues pursued their ay Ree a which the prowler had en- wit o oemat “that ea iene ae
Lie poumis becoatted SING ee eee, HPS ie oe crement i.
communicative neighbor’s. ioe

ee pe)

ee be 3 ‘4 =
~~ night and Carroll, patiently questiea- <> earrying out his duties as Deputy nothing was missing from the house- =. : : ; — : pro —— ,
el ‘Assessor with commendable hold. The question was, who was : ; - a aa sther soning tine eee
‘ : thing ee
|
|
|
|
|

to i
I ad it, scowling. thoughtfully.

hin another hour, the sleuths (Continued page 80)

stead he (Continued on page 90)

ing into the hall.

“What makes you so sure that the
man who attacked Nelson was
familiar with ‘the lay of the land?”
Mulhern queried, as’ soon as Lewis
was gone. .

“[’m sure our man knows the house-

brought their search
of the Nelson
house and grounds to an end withont

havi i
interes Searovarnat anything further of

Next they transf i
: erred =
tention to canvassing the sotuiee

heonicl they encountered their first
Peitorns i woman living diagonaily
Carrell e street from No. 5314 told

and Goodnight that she had

bl 637 | returning home shortly

and almost coe > tee
©

had seen the light flash én the

ctgied: room the Nelsons oc-

— light stayed on for about ten
the neighbor said.” “answitened off”
merning, however, it ae pis
PD ie gener 4 noticed the hour 'b
: pra couldn’t sleep—and this time
- ma iced someone moving a i

‘the eat round

iad you see who it was?”

anges. with undisguised oc nay on
conn en mmo her head. “I
arg see him clearly,” she ‘said
: m sure it was a man. And T'm :
_— a Pf ons Mr. Nelson. The ——

e cast agai : oS
pore aie ae ye
, S would have b . ss | ,
sides,” she added, “ fhe te
sides,” she ad od after thaight eae FASHIONABLE RESIDENCE OF WELL-TO-DO VICTIM—

hold well for two reasons,” Goodnight
replied. “In the first place. it’s not
likely a stranger would know where
Nelson sleeps and how to make his
way to the master bedroom without
attracting attention. And in the next
place, how would an outsider be sure
of finding his victim alone?”

“That makes sense on both counts,”

Carroll conceded. However, Lewis’s
return soon appeared to knock Good-
night’s theories as to the general
identity of the would-be assassin into
a cocked hat.

“No dice,” the patrolman reported
resently, as he rejoined his col-
eagues. “Mrs. Hulett swears that
neither she nor her daughter nor
Nelson himself is left-handed. And
Mrs. Forbes isn’t either, nor is her
husband, so she says.”

friends and neigh-

r.
— sa A curi i
inute ot twain: hs ay i ous throng of neighberhood children stand outside the Nelson house and

watch i i
the police inspectors examine the home and the surroundings for ciues.

27


JOSE FORNI (California)

"To the friendless MexicanuveeseeseWont the unique distinction of
being the first person legally hanged in San Francisco, His first
name was Jose; his last name has come down variously as Forni, Formi
and Foring One night he andeeesJose Rodriguez qQuarreled over a
monte game in Happy Valley, south of Market Street, Ina few minute
eoeoangry cries, triple-deck obscenities and the clash of knives ran
from one end of the area to the other. When they got through slash
ing each other, Rodriguez was dead and Forni was figuring out a case
of selfedefensee

"Thateeswas a waste of time. Determined to set an exapple, the
jury brushed aside his defense, declared him guilty and sentenced
him to be hanged at the end of Broadway on Russian Hill.

"Bang-bang went the hammers and up went the gallows, and when
the prisoner's last day arrived, more than half the population of th
city toiled to the hill top to watch the hanging. ‘It was a gloricu
site}! * wrote Bancroft (Hubert Howe, California Historian). ‘Russia:
Hill was thronged with a great concourse of peoplee The Marion Rifl.

and the California Guard were out, flaunting their gayest attire,

The streets were lined with carriages; husband s brgught thither the:

wifes and mothers their chiktiren, to witness the rare entertainmente
Three or four clergymen with attendant interpreters assisted at the
exodus of this soulocceese!

"As the crowd looked on, the executioners bound Forni hand and

foots, slipped a black hood over his face and with a hatchet chopped

ss 6

oner's inquest into the killing
established that Pascoe’s gun
was under his body; that the
bullet that killed the sheriff was a
different caliber than Richards’;
and that he acted within his duty
at the time. Richards threatened

lawsuits against these newspap- |

ers in a Grass Valley tabloid, but
the local paper supported him.
By this time local citizens raised
$1,000 for Fredericks’ capture.
However, as time progressed, the
outlaw was not apprehended,

and eventually the matter dwin- —

dled into inactivity.

On March 24, 1894, Fredericks
entered the Market Street branch
of The San Francisco Savings
Union at 9:00 a.m. He handed
Assistant Cashier William Herrick
a note which demanded money
and if the request was refused
the office would be blown
up by nitro-glycerine. Herrick
shook his head and returned the
note to Fredericks who hadn't
uttered a word. Herrick turned
away from the counter and Fred-
ericks drew a pistol and fired at
him. The shot missed and Herrick
drew his own gun. He fired at
Fredericks just as Fredericks
triggered another shot at Herrick.
Herrick fell to the floor mortally
- wounded as Fredericks ran to the
door. C.S. Melvin, a bookkeeper
in the office, had grabbed his pis-
tol during the shooting and fired
a shot at the fleeing bandit. Mel-
vin followed Fredericks to the
street and snapped another shot
at him. Herrick, shot through the
heart. expired in less than a
minute.

Fredericks fled to a horse-
drawn wagon and drove it away.
He was followed by a group of
citizens, but they didn’t get too
close to him because he kept
them back with his pistol. Offic-
ers Flynn and Shields joined the
chase, and finally, Fredericks
drove up a “blind alley.” He
abandoned his vehicle, climbed
over a fence, and ran through a
vacant lot. He. disappeared, and
the police officers felt that he was
hiding in a nearby house. Flynn
and Shields were supported by
Officer Gallagher, and they ap-

24

BAKERSFIRL

BY THE RUPE ROUTE.

Fredericks Hanged at San
(uentin.

A MOST —SICCESSFTL

AFFAIR.

Sons of a Man Murdered by Him
are Present at the
Execution.

San QUENTIN, July 26.—At 11

o'clock this morning William Fred-| Crime of a Century’’ as an outrage

ericks, the murderer of Cashier Her-
rick of the San Francisco Savings

Union's branch on Market street, was| production during the tral, or while
hanged in the prison here. Fred-|the case is pending in the Superior

ericks awoke at an early hour this
morning and ate a hearty breakfast,
seemingly indifferent to the approach-
ing end, to him, of allearthly things.

The morning was passed with his

spiritual adviser and in preparing a
This latter he

offered to a newspaper reporter for
$100, but upon its refusal at that

written confession.

figure, and an offer of $20 for it, an-

grily tore the on about ee dais States, shalf be permitted to possess,
and refus fe) in all kinds of prope gerecat
When the hour for exe- in all kinds of property, an ® .
sution arrived, hala mses: which sum shall be the limit
corted to the aaeabibe by seams ‘of private property in and for said
He walked without hesitancy | i ngividnal. guardian, trustee or other

any further.

.4

guard.
and stood on the death door with-

out atremor.

California State Library

of venue Jucze Murphy aaid whes
application was made some years ago
j23 the Goldenson case for a change of
venue, representations had been made
by the def... dant much stronger than
in the Durant case. The Supreme
Court apbeld the ruling denying the
application of Goldenson, which Icft
hitn im no doubt of the wisdom of}
trying Durant in San Francisco. Ile
gave the defense the right to renew

{
4

The Judge said that he considered
some of the publications in the news-
papers had been improper and tend-

person accused and to make it diffi-| “
cult to secure a proper: jury. Hef °
condemned the proposed play, ‘‘The

against decency, and said be would
take steps to prevent the proposed

Court.
After a brief recess the examination
of jurors began. It is expected that

this will take at least a week.

The following is the proposed con- |
stitutional amendment to limi. ,.vp-
erty holdings in this country :

“No citizen, nor resident, nor in-
vestor, in any or all states, territories
or district, comprising the United

value of more than one million dol-

individual, joint individual, guardian,
trustee or other form or device of

Notice of Fredericks’ execution in the Bakersfield Daily Californian (July 26, 1895).

proached the house in question.
With drawn guns, Shields guard-
ed the front of the house while
Gallagher watched the rear. As
Flynn inspected the place, he
realized that the area between
the ground and the house floor
was about eighteen inches. The
officers crawled under the house
and observed Fredericks lying on
his stomach and facing them with
a gun in each hand. The officers
ordered him out from under the
house, and Fredericks, seeing
that resistance was useless, Sur-
rendered. He had a bullet wound
over his left eye, and his face was
bloody. He was taken to the
receiving hospital, where it was

determined that he had another
bullet wound in his left breast.
Neither wound was serious, and
it appeared that Herrick and/or
Melvin did better shooting than at
first supposed. Upon-his~ arrest
Fredericks identified himself 2s
“Erederick Bonnemont,” and sev-
eral hours later he was correctly
identified as William Fredericks.
Fredericks was brought to trial
in San Francisco for the murder
of William Herrick. The defense
angled for mental mitigations.
Defense Attorney Colwell] asked
the court to permit evidence to be
taken in Germany where Freder-
icks’ mother died in an “insane
continued on page 47

the motion at a future time. =e

ing to arouse a fieling against the} . ee

# dE ssache Whig chy

; getia

iis

1 fp ui


“natural” as a villain, and in the
next two decades. of his busy
movie career, he would menace
and battle with nearly every
western hero of those eras. Dur-
ing those early 1930s, the King
and Steele fights on screen were
much talked about and copied by
the millions of “smail fry” that
witnessed their battles. In all his
screen brawls and battles, rec-
ords indicate that he never won
one of his screen fights against
the hero.

Charlie was a very versatile.

actor and could create comedy as
well as mayhem. Several of his
productions, such as Strawberry
Roan, which starred Ken May-
nard, proved he was an apt come-
dian. His nearest claim to star-
dom was in 1949, when he co-
starred in The Adventures of Sir
Galahad, a Columbia serial in
which he received second billing
under George Reeves, who would
eventually step into television
and become famous as “Super-
man.” These two productions
were among the very few where
he wore the robe of a “good guy.”
As the years passed and west-
erns became too expensive to
produce, he had put on consider-
able weight and had landed at
PRC where he was cast in nearly
all of their western series, When
PRC finally closed their doors in
1946 after six years of film pro-
duction, Charlie began looking
for jobs in the new field of televi-
sion. Unlike the movie-making
business television productions
were produced at a very fast clip
without “retakes” in many of the
series. Charlie’s last known job
was in a segment of a “Guns-
moke” production, playing the
role of a corpse, of all things.
Charles King passed away on
May 7, 1957, at the age of 62.
Conditions of his death were
indicated by one source as a
“heart attack”; another, that he
became despondent at his

demise as a screen heavy and that

he took his own life; and the last
source states that he died of
Pneumonia. Perhaps some of you
readers could help in clearing up
this question. ‘ RW

continued from page 24
asylum.” The court granted the
request but did not delay the trial
to wait for the results.

As the trial progressed Freder-
icks became desperate, and on
May 5th he attempted to escape
from the San Francisco jail. He
placed a dummy under his blan-
ket to deceive the night watch-
man, and about 12:15 p.m. he
picked the lock on his cell door
and walked out into the corridor.
He moved into a nearby room
and waited about two hours be-
fore Corporal Parrott walked
through the hallway. Fredericks
hit Parrott from behind with a
piece of gas pipe, and Parrott,
stunned, fell to the floor. Freder-
icks grabbed his keys, ran to an
outside door, and tried to open it;
however, Parrott regained his
feet and grappled with the pri-
soner. Sergeant Shields heard
the commotion and ran into the
room. He attempted to help Par-
rott, but Fredericks attacked him
with the pipe. Shields, fearing
that Fredericks might get away,
drew his revolver and fired. The
shot missed but Fredericks sur-
rendered. He was handcuffed,
chained, and led back to his cell.
Two days later, he was sentenced
to hang on July 11, 1894.

During the trial, the San Fran-
cisco Police Department asked
brakeman Bruce to appear in the
courtroom and identify Freder-
icks as the man who shot him in
June 1893. Bruce made a positive
identification. Later he inter-
viewed Fredericks in his cell, but
the outlaw denied that he was the
one who shot the railroader.

The case went through the
usual appeals, and the conviction
and sentence was upheld. The
execution date was reset for July
26, 1895. During the morning of

the execution day, the con-
demned man wrote a confession.

and offered to sell it to a news-
man for $100. The offer was
refused and Fredericks offered it

for $20. The offer was again -

refused, and Fredericks tore his
document to bits. At 9:55 a.m.
Warden Haie came to his cell and
announced that the hour had

arrived. Fredericks replied that
he was ready. He walked steady
to the gallows. His arms were
pinioned, and a black cape was
drawn over his head. As the
noose was fitted around his neck,
he said, “Make it good and tight.”
The “bolt was thrown,” and in
twelve and a half minutes Freder-

ickS was pronounced dead.
Fredericks took the secrets of

his crimes to the grave with him.
Other than the confession that he
wrote before his death, he never
admitted to a single crime, and no
one saw the confession he des-

troyed. Fredericks tried to avoid

his execution by feigning insan-
ity. He butted his head: against
the walls, and he refused to take
food. He set a fire in his cell: He
even created an uproar in the
courtroom. His tactics failed, and
when Fredericks realized that
they weren't working, he became
a model inmate.

Two of Sheriff Pascoe’s sons
were among the witnesses to
Fredericks’ demise. It was re-
ported that they had made the
vow over their father’s body that
they would avenge his murder or
witness the killer's execution.
Also present at the formality was
R.H. Miller, who was William Her-
rick’S Cousin.

William Fredericks exited life
“By The Rope Route,” and it was
a “Most Successful Affair.” These
newspaper comments were the
epitaph of Fredericks’ violent
Criminal careeer. RW

REFERENCE SOURCES:

California State Archives:
Fredericks, William — Folsom

Prison #2221, San Quentin Pri-

son #15960.
The Daily Californian, Bakers:
field, California. March 23, 24,

April 5, 16, May 5, 7, 1894; July

26, 1895.

Daily Morning Union,'Grass ©

Valley, California. June 29, July
1,4, 7, 13, 14, 28, 1893.
The Record Union, Sacra-
mento, California. May 8, 1894.
The San Francisco Call, San

‘Francisco, California. July 27,

1895.
Daily Morning Baltal Visalia, .
California. July 9, 1893.
47

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a
p-H
Co
UI
OV

+ es, Pa we F Ay es i\ , + Y
FREELAND, James, wh, hanged Auburn, CA, on June 6,

-~———

a Lons DELAYED FNECCTION. — James Free-
land was hanged at Auburn, Placer county, last
Friday, forthe crime of murder. The crime was
committed as lons ago as Ist October, 1851, at Oak
Grove Bar, when Freeland, who had gOt into a dis-
pute with a Greek named George, deliberately took
aritle and shot (ic orge, Who died in consequence a
few days afterwards. The Plaeer Press thus ex-
plains the delay be etwe en the crime and the punish.
ment: Hie «te pe eae ere ae i

-,.Preeland, Sas orien “<nuurn

=on

“sep er: was received: staying pre
Sen Ab the January terni-of the: ‘Supreme aconte
was heard ind Hdgmeat at eet hese
of the District~Gourt; the tt )


NO APPEAL

FREE, Mikey, hanged at Coloma, California on 10-26-1855,

"Kelly, one of the murderers of Howe and Ruggles at Leake Valley, was convicted at Sacrae
mento on Thursday, principally upon theevidence of an accomplice named George ‘“ilsony who
has turned State's evidence, It was upon his evidence that Mickey Free, who was hung at
Coloma some time since was also convicted, The following is Wilson's evidence, as given
in the SiAiF JOURNAL:

"tHe stated that himself, Free, and the prisoner Kelly, started in June last, from Mud
Springs for the mountains, iach of them had a gun, they had gone into Like Valley and to
Slippery Ford near the summit of the Sierras, where they remained eight or ten days.

When leaving there, they told the traders that they were going to Georgetown, but went to
Lake Valley. He became ucauainted with Howe ten or twelve days preious to the murder, Xa
HEXAZAWK When we came back to Lake Valley we encamped by a fallen pinek within twom hundred
yards of Howe's @4% log cabins we had a small fire at cams Tree before the mrder, went
to thecabin and sold blankets for a bottle of whiskey; we all went to the cabin and found
Howe and Ruggles sitting at a small table, reading. Free went close up to Howe and fired
his singleebarreled shotgun, loaded with a large ball, at him, ‘ree was so near that the
fire from the gun burned Howe's clothes; he was shot in the left breast. ‘luggles then
ran for the door and passed Kelly and I, standing in the door; Kelly said he struck with
his knife at Rupgles as he passed; can't tell whether Ruggles was wounded or not, Kelly
and Free brought Ruggles back. He said there was twenty or thirty dollars in the houséy
which we might take as it was our plain intention to murder him, He went behind the bar,
I had a loaded rifle in my hand and fired it at him while he was standin: behind the
counter, He fell on some liquor barrels; Free took theknife (a large bowie knife was
here shown, which he said was the same) and stabbea George (or Ruggles) in the lL&ft side,
George suffered much, Kelly said he would soon finish him, and took hold of the wounded
man, laid him against the wall and cut his throat from caretoeear, almost severhing his
head from his body, (A heavy rifle was here shown, the stock being broken entirely off where
it had been Lapped with rawhide.) Jhat is the gun which Keily took from the house after
the murder, Free tock the knife from the same placeg We got $12 in the cabin, part of
which we spent, and the balance we divided at Nancheriag Left Lake Valley and started
for Carson Valley, About ten miles this side of the summit of the mountains we met an
emigrunt train, and concluded to rid oubselves of the gun, as we deemed it unwise to pack
it into the scttlement, Free hid the gun under a flat rock in a little valley near the
top of the Sierras. ‘e returned and went to Rancheriag and thence to liddletown, where
Free gave theknife to a Mr. Burgoon, a resident in the vicinity; after committing the
murder, took the blankets we had sold for uhe whiskey; Kelly had a double-barreled shotgun
which he disposed of at Slip; ery Ford,'*

"It is said that Wilson gave this evidencein the coolest pussiblemanner, as though he were
relating a pleasant story, and, instead of having the air and appearance of a repentant
man, he seemed rather a defiant one, as though knowing he would not bepunished, he wished
to embrace this opportunity to make a hero of himself, In his crosseexaminatioh, he
stated theobject of himself and Free and Kelly in going to themunvains was to 'get money
_ by mrder and robberye" TIMiS, New fYorky No Yeg 1-30-1856 (2/5).