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bead er mma Ws

the killer, Wetroski was to open fire the
moment Stabinski reached for his gun.

No-sooner had Petroski disappeared into
the designated store than Stabinski, appar-
ently unsuspecting the trap, walked b and
approached ‘Taylor and illiams. ait-
ing until he was within ten feet of them the
officers suddenly pulled out their guns and
leveled them at the surprised slayer.

For a split second Stabinski stood rooted
to the spot. Petroski’s calm voice broke
the spell. “One move and I’ll shoot!”

Startled, Stabinski turned his head. As

- he did Taylor and Williams hurled themselves

at him and snapped handcuffs. on his wrists.
Teeuwen mad dog had finally been brought
to ;

The next day the killers were united in
the Lehigh County jail at Allentown. “Hello,
pal—lots ‘of luck,” was Tetrosky’s greeting
as he extended his manacled hands and the
two shook hands.

“Hello pal,” Stabinski replied curtly.

Stating he was sorry he had not killed
himself, Stabinski corroborated his com-

panion’s confession, fle spoke wlth a
noticeable Polish accent.

Placed on trial before Judge John S, Fine
at Wilkes-Barre on Januar , 1933, for
the Malinowski murder, Stabinaki based his
defense on insanity. He listened calmly on
February 2 when a jury found him guilty
of first degree murder and doomed him to the
electric chair. ?

On February 13 before Judge Willian A.
Valentine, Tetrosky began his battle for life
and placed his hope on the identical plea
used by his accomplice. He too was found
guilty and sentenced to death.

Thus, shortly after midnight on January
8, 1934, after their attorneys had battled their
appeals unsuccessfully to the State supreme
court, the two killers went silently and calmly
to their deaths behind the green door of the
death chamber at the Rockview Prison,

Bellefonte.

Eprtor’s Note: The names Joe Yetko and
Charlie Pesky, as used in this narrative, are
not real bus fictitious. ‘

Santa

(Continued from page 27)

and loved ones they had disgraced by evil
deeds. - bn :

“But something must be done,” insisted Big
Mike. “This is sinful, a scandalous condi-
tion!”

“What can you do?” shrugged Hayden.
“If you threw a Christmas party, they’d
sneer, call you softheaded and stay away
in droves.” . % .

“What: we need,” mused Big -Mike, his
canny brain clicking like clockwork, “is a
Christmas party in disguise—like a fancy
drink that covers up the taste of the whisky.”

Glowing now with a spirit of evangelism,
he ordered the driver of the carriage to halt
at the Cheyenne Palace, a low resort that
catered to the dregs of crookdom. He and

* Hayden, alighting, floundered through a deep

snowdrift to enter the drinking place.

“Merry Christmas, everybody !” boomed
Big Mike, his nose red from the cold and
the liquor he had consumed.

Blank, unfriendly faces were , turned
toward him. But no one in the crowded
saloon returned his greeting or even ac-
knowledged it with so much as a nod.

“This is terrible, terrible,” sighed Big
Mike. “They act as though Christmas was
dead and buried.” :

The owner of the dive, Larry Galvin, hur-
ried forward to. welcome his “distinguished”
guests. . :

“A most disgraceful situation exists in
Hell’s Half Acre, Larry,” Big Mike in-
formed him sorrowfully. “In.the Loop, just
a mile away, Christmas cheer is everywhere,
and it’s wonderful. But all you find down
here is gloom, and this is my bailiwick.”

“Have a drink,” urged Calvin, slapping him
on the back, “and things will look a lot
brighter.”

A’ THIS JUNCTURE the door of the
saloon opened and 24-year-old Lame
Jimmy coughed his way in. For months the
crippled young man, who played the violin
in honkytonks and parlor houses, had been
coughing almost continuously. The racking
paroxysms shook his frame so that when

he walked along it appeared that he was be-

i ropelled by his coughs.
there,” dictased Big Mike,’ seized with
an inspiration, “is the excuse for our party.
A testimonial affair for Lame Jimmy! All
Hell’s Half Acre will attend; everybody
likes and pities the poor lad. ,

“We'll raise money to send him to Denver

where the. climate might help him. It'll
be a worthy cause—and a swell disguise for
my Christmas party. We'll hold it tomor-
row—Christmas Day!”

Big Mike pulled strings and got quick
action. Within an hour he had rented Walt’s
Palace, a dancehall later known as Frei-
berg’s, on Twenty-second Street. Five
hundred ‘tickets were printed and delivered
that night. Big Mike’s satellites made their
rounds of the sinful establishments of Hell’s
Half Acre and by dawn had disposed of all
the tickets at $2 each. .

So it was that ‘gn the evening of Christmas,
1885, 400 persofs jammed Walt’s Palace.

One of the first to enter was Carrie Wat-
son, queen of the brothels, who drove up in
her snow-white carriage with bright yellow
wheels. It was drawn by two coal black
horses and driven by a Negro coachman in
scarlet livery? Five pretty doxies accom-
panied her.

Minnie Shouse, arrested 300 times in six
years as a thief, slipped in after first making
sure that no policemen were in the house,
for she was even then being sought on a
charge of jack-rolling a cattlemam of $1,600.

Others who strutted in to make Lame
Jimmy’s party a success included Big Jim
O’Leary, the strait-laced gambler who al-
lowed no swearing or cigarette smoking in
his swank establishment; Mickey Finn,
whose name today is: applied to knockout
drinks which he used in his saloon daily
to render customers helpless so that they
could be robbed with ease, and Emma Ford,
a female footpad, six feet tall and 300 pounds
in weight, who liked nothing better than to
pluck out a policeman’s whiskers and throw
them in his face. .

As a precaution against bloodshed, Big
Mike stationed a committee at the door to
relieve the guests of their weapons. A news-
paperman- of that period wrote that the
checkroom of.the dance hall “held 143 re-
volvers, 33 blackjacks,-a bushel basket of
razors, daggers and knives, four cigar boxes
packed with brass knuckles; and a_ wire
noose, the property of a lady named Mary
White, who was known as the Strangler.”

The assemblage cheered -wildty when Big
Mike presented Lame Jimmy with a purse
containing $950.

“The only deduction made,” explained the
political bigwig, “was $50, the rent of the hall.
Everything clse was contributed, including
the drinks that await you at the bar.”

He turned to Lame Jimmy and asked for
his last name.

“Some gentlemen of the press are present,”
he said, “and they want it for their stories.”

“Just Lame Jimmy—that’s all,” coughed
the popular musician. “That’s the name my
friends know me by. What’s good enough

a gu
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cops
half
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start:
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foca

“Must have four aces . . - he’s betting his Pepsi-Cola!”

workmen who had gotten to know him.
One man said ‘Knight had mentioned that
his son, Robert, lived in Stockton at that
time. Stockton police ascertained that the
boy had recently been living in Sacramento,
and then a workman who had once known
the boy on the Shasta dam project said he
heard he was living in an auto court in
Sacramento. .
Sheriff Duggins and Deputy John King
went to the capital city. After three days
they found Robert Knight, now aged 29,
living in a cabin with Velda Rhoades, the
slain woman’s 13-year-old daughter. _ Other
camp dwellers said he had been passing the
girl off as his own child.
The pair stubbornly denied any knowledge
of the elder Knight’s whereabouts. All they
knew was that he had gone away somewhere
months before, with Wanda and little Wayne.
Velda didn’t know what had become of her

* mother,

The Sacramento police took them into
custody and Sheriff Duggins, on a hunch,
searched the auto court cabin. Sure enough,
hidden behind a bureau drawer, he found
recent letters from Louis Knight to his son,
postmarked from Provo, Utah.

Duggins wired to Sheriff Theron S.: Hall
of Provo, which is some 50 miles south of
Salt Lake City. Sheriff Hall replied almost
immediately that Knight had left town that
very morning.

The Utah authorities blocked all roads and
threw out a dragnet. On the afternoon of
July 22—almost a month after the body
had been found in the mine shaft—Utah State
Patrolman Melvin S. Grant found Knight
camped by a roadside, with 17-year-old
Wanda and little Wayne. He surrendered
without a struggle. .

Sheriff Duggins and District Attorney
Daniel S. Carlton took the first train for
Provo.

Young Robert Knight meanwhile was found
guilty in Sacramento of illegally taking
little Velda into his home, in violation of the

- State juvenile code, and was given a 30-day

suspended sentence. .

At Provo, the 57-year-old Knight, at first
denied everything. Then, after five hours of
questioning, he broke down and confessed
that he had thrown his wife’s body in the
mineshaft—but told an incredible story of
how she had committed suicide by hitting her-
self on the head with the hatchet.

He waived extradition and was brought
back to Redding, where he was formally
charged with murder and held to answer ‘in
the superior court:

Finally, as his trial drew near, he changed
his story and admitted that he had killed
Ruth with the hatchet, but maintained that
he had wrested it away from her after she
had struck him in a quarrel. He said the
fight had taken place in the car, as they were
driving up to Redding to look over mining
possibilities:

District Attorney Carlton thought other-

‘wise, and planned to prove that Knight had

deliberately murdered his wife in order to
run off with her daughter. :

However, on the eve of his trial Knight
offered to plead guilty to second degree mur-

-der. Considering Knight’s: age and the fact

that first degree murder might be difficult to
prove to a jury; Superior Judge Albert F,
Ross on September 3, 1946, accepted this
plea and sentenced Knight to the statutory
term of from five years to life in San Quentin
—his exact term to be set later by the board
of prison terms. .

Eprtor’s Nore: To spare possible em-
barrassment to innocent persons, the names
Helen Josephs pao ap James Murphy and
Henry Harris, used in this story, are ficti-
tious.

Polish Accent

(Continued from page 36)

home addresses of the youths in question,
The addresses electrified the officers.’ Both
Yetko and Pesky lived next door to each
other less than three blocks from the Malin-
owski home, both were described by the maid
as being about five feet and nine inches and,
she added, Pesky owned a new Hudson
coupe ! .

Elated at the unexpected break, the officers
hurried back to their squad car. As they
reached the automobile, Hess suddenly
grabbed Carr’s arm. “Lieutenant, I just re-
membered, John Malinowski told the major
one Me the fellows spoke with a Polish ac-
cent!”

It looked like a hot lead, but it fell flat.
Arrested, Yetko and Pesky proved they had
en at an all-night cafe at the time of the

crime,

N° SOONER were the two suspects re-
leased than another break developed.
From the police department at Hazleton, a
city 32 miles miles south of Wilkes-Barre, I
received a report that. Patrolman Charles
Moyer had attempted to halt a Packard coupe
after the machine sped through a red light
in town and narrowly missed running him
down. Moyer fired several shots at the
car but was certain the shots went. wild.
However, he did have the presence of mind
to jot down the license number, Pennsyl-
vania 440, ;

Referring to our files at the barracks, we
discovered the car had been reported stolen
from central Wilkes-Barre the morning pre-
vious to the Malinowski: murder.

While we had nothing definite to connect

the Packard with the Hanover and Forty’.

Fort jobs, we did suspect the Hazleton police
report that two men were in the car somehow
tied in with the murder.

“Get that car,” was my teletype flash to
all state police stations,

A_ few hours later, things began to happen.
Cruising slowly along the highway on
the outskirts of Allentown, Pa., Patrolman
James Koniff of the Allentown police depart-
ment leaned forward, then called the atten-
tion of his driver, Patrolman George Martin,
to a car ahead. ;

“Say,” he exclaimed excitedly, “isn’t that
a 440 on that Packard coupe in front
of us

Martin peered at the license plate. “By
gosh, you're right!”

Martin slammed the gas pedal of the
police car to the floor. At the same time the
Packard gained speed rapidly. Taking care-
ful aim, Koniff opened fire. Instantly the
officers say an arm protrude from the left
side of the car and puffs of smoke from the
answering revolver shots. ,

Siren wailing, the police cruiser closed in

on the speeding Packard as Koniff silently ~

prayed for a good target. “Look out, we’re
going to swing over,” warned Martin as he
twisted the steering wheel, literally spinning
the car down a side street to remain close
behind the coupe. Within a few moments the
two cars were racing at breakneck speed
down the city’s main street sending startled
pedestrians running for cover,

“We'll never get them in this traffic,”
groaned Koniff. “Shoot over to the Allen-
town Pike and we'll head them off if they
try to beat it for the state line.” .

Ten minutes later the chase had ended.
Several miles up the road the two disap-
pointed officers pulled their car alongside
the ditched and wrecked Packard. No trace
of the desperadoes was to be found. i

At 6 o'clock on the night of November 15,
Peter Cutler busied himself checking over
the day’s receipts at his hardware store at


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surprised at their job when the woman
awakened and screamed in terror. Cursing
savagely, one of the thugs leaped toward her
and fired a bullet into her abdomen. By
the time Mr, Hahn reached the bedroom the
Intruders had fled,

“Two boys did it,” murmured Mrs. Hahn
weakly just before she lapsed into uncon-
sciousness. Rushed to an emergency hospital,
she was immediately operated on, but doctors
first expressed fears she would not. sur-
vive, Fortunately she eventually recovered.

Screaming police sirens howled throughout
the city as an aftermath to the latest out-
break of terror. In a matter of seconds all
roads leading in and out of Allentown were
blocked off as grim-faced policemen stood
ready to carry out their orders: “Shoot to
kill . . . don’t take any chances!”

Racing to their assigned station to cut
off an escape over the Allentown-Bethlehem
Pike, Officers Robert Atkins and Wayne
Elliott sent their squad car roaring through
the west end of the city.

Without warning to his companion, Atkins
suddenly slammed on the brakes of the car
and threw the gear into reverse. “That
Chrysler we just passed,” he explained, “I
could swear I saw two men hiding behind it
as we drove by.”

“You're right,” shouted Elliott pointing
across a field. “There they go now, heading
for the alley.” Leaping from the car the
officers broke into a running pursuit.

the other, obviously the slower runner of
the pair, stayed within sight of the officers.

“He’s heading down Brown Court,” panted
Atkinson. “It’s a
We've got him now!” yh

Reaching the entrance of the narrow court,
the officers paused to pick up a sound that
would give them a target. -Cautiously ex-
ploring the blackness of the court, Elliott
finally broke the silence. “Take it easy,”
he warned. “He’s;in here somewhere, but
there’s no sense in giving him a shot at us
until we have him cornered.” '

Realizing every moment gave the fugitiv
an advantage, Atkins remained to guard the
entrance as Elliott returned to the police

car. They had decided to drive the car
to the entrance of the court and use the
spotlight.

Atkins inched his way down the court
toward the 30-foot wall at the dead end, As
the gingerly felt his way forward, he saw a
form step: from behind a nearby garagé.
Au THOUGHTS of his own safety cast
garage. Fifteen feet away he stopped in
his tracks as the sharp beam of the pollen
spotlight came focused squarely upon a
crouching figure, gun in hand, but tempor-
arily blinded by the powerful searchlight ray.

As Atkins raised his revolver, all resistance
left the gunman. Throwing his gun to the
ground, he raised his hands. “Don’t ‘shoot—
for God’s sake don’t kill me!” he whimpered.

But once at police headquarters, the youth,
who identified himself ‘as Anthony Barron,
assumed a surprising nonchalance. Display-

The chase continued for several blocks as -
one man vanished completely from view but.

dead end with a high wall. :

e

; aside, Atkins broke into a run toward the -

ing his trousers where a bullet fired at him as
he fled across the field had drilled its way

‘through without touching his skin, he now ex-

pressed disappointment he had not killed
Atking before the police car returned,

Categorically denying any knowledge of
the Luzerne County crimes, Barron told me
he was from Philadelphia but had never been
in Wilkes-Barre. Readily admitting his part
in the Hahn burglary, he asserted, “But I
didn’t shoot the dame.” $

Asked to identify his accomplice, he merely
sneered at me. “You guys are cops. Sup-
pose you find out for yourselves.”

“And I don't suppose you'll tell us where
you got this,” asked Detective Captain Det-
wilder of the Allentown police as he held a
gold wristwatch in front of the prisoner. On
the timepiece were the initials “H.F.Jr.”

For a moment Barron lost his composure.
“Where did you get that?” he quavered.

The captain shook his finger in Barron’s
face. “You know very well you lifted this
last Thursday night in the Frazier home at
Germantown. Better come clean with us,
Barron. You're going on a one-way ride.”

The watch, Detwilder explained to me, had
been found under the front seat of the Chrys-
ler car abandoned by the prisoner and his
accomplice after it had run out of gas. The
watch was part of a $9,000 jewelry loot lifted
from the Germantown residence.

An all-night grilling of Barron seemed only
to give him added confidence and arrogance.
“You'll never get the guy who was with
me,” he kept repeating.

That morning his demeanor underwent a
sudden change when Carr led Russell Ed-

wards down the cellblock and stopped in front- —~-

of his cell. “Remember this fellow?”
lieutenant inquired casually.

Suspecting a trap, Barron eyed his visitors
in silence, then shook his head. “Nope,
never saw the guy in my life.”

“But I saw you,” broke in Edwards quietly.
“You killed Peter Cutler.”

Barron’s defiance disappeared as he stared
at Edwards. “That’s right, I’m the guy,”
he whispered. ;

Expressing a desire to “come clean,” Bar-
ron was led into the presence of Detwilder,
Powell and myself. He then admitted ‘that
his real name was Anthony Tetrosky, that he
was 18 years old and lived in Ashley. His
parents had been dead since he was an infant,
he told us,

“Now then, Tetrosky,” Powell snapped,
“we want the name of your accomplice.”

“Frank Stabinski,” was this laconic an-
swer.

During the hours that followed, we learned
that Tetrosky and Stabinski had been “class-
mates” at the Pennsylvania State Reforma-
tory at Huntingdon and had been released
together on August 13, a few months before
they decided to embark on a two-man crime
wave. , .
Blaming his predicament on his 21-year-
old accomplice, Tetrosky calmly related de-
tails of the Malinowski, Unger, Cutler,
Frazier and Hahn cases.

“At the Unger home Frank slugged the
kid over the head while she was still asleep,
but he didn’t do much of a job because she

the

only by mail, turned all her assets into
him. Blinded by love, she had

plot spun by a callous killer.

Look for the whole thrilling story,

cents everywhere.

MURDER FOR A LOVESICK LADY

Mabel Corley was foolish when she fell in love with a man whom she

had met

cash and traveled to Milwaukee to marry
no suspicion that she was walking into the toils of a

How could the police trap her murderer? How to find a man no one had seen
——a man who seemed in fact more of an evil shadow than an actuality?

along with many others, in the January Inside
‘Detective—the nation's bast detective stories at the nation's fairest price.

Ten

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j-—

-had pulled around the block and further

woke up and we had to beat It,” he said. Te
insisted no harm was intended to Miss Malin-
owski, “When we entered the room we
didn’t even bother her, but when Frank saw
her roll over he slugged her a couple of
times. ‘Thée.next thing we knew she was try-
ing to get out a window, so Frank really gav;
it to her.” He added that at no time di
she scream for help. .

Continuing his bizarre narrative, he
described the Cutler murder as “a pure
accident.” He and Stabinski, he told us,
“just happened to be passing by and saw
the guy (Cutler) going over his books. It
looked like easy pickings.” .

“Did Cutler offer any resistance?” I in-
quired. .

“No,” was the bland answer, “but he might
have so Frank knocked him off.”

URNISHED with a complete description

of Stabinski, we immediately launched a
state-wide hunt for his capture. He was
quoted by Tetrosky as asserting he would
never be taken alive, and we were prepared
to shoot him down on sight if he made one
false move. a

The following Thursday Stabinski struck
on his own. This time, with amazing bold-
ness, it was in the heart of Ashley less
than six blocks from his own home, which we |
had covered day and night. i

Entering the office of Dr. Thomas Evans, a
dentist, Stabinski jammed a revolver into
the surprised dentist’s ribs and curtly ordered
him to open his office safe. Recognizing his
visitor from his photo in newspapers, Dr.
Evans coolly reached into his pocket and ex- |
tracted a roll of bills which he handed to the
gunman.

“How about the rest of the dough, doc?”
sneered Stabinski as he grabbed the money
from the profferred hand.

Playing a desperate game, Dr. Evans
pointed to his desk. “There’s more money in
the top drawer,” he said disarmingly. “I'll
get it for you.”

knowing grin spread over the- killer's
face. “No dice, doc. I'll get it myself and
take along the gun in the drawer for a
keepsake.” Then his face reddened with sud-
den rage and he waved the gun at the dentist.
“You know, Doc, I should knock you off
for being so smart.”
.. Backing against the office wall as Stabin-
ski crossed the room to the desk, Dr. Evan
lunged out of the door, slammed and bolte
it. Racing to the sidewalk to spread the
alarm, he heard a side door slam shut. Sta-
binski had once again escaped.

That night troopers swarmed over the
area, with squads covering bus and train
terminals and others patroling freight yards.

Directing the manhunt in Wilkes-Barre,
Chief Taylor remained at his desk keeping
in constant touch with radio cars. As he
was issuing instruction to City Detectives
John Williams and Joseph Petroski, Ser-
geant Harry Reynolds rushed into the room.

“Chief, I just got a call from Adler’s store
on Franklin Street. A clerk told me he
just sold a hat to a guy who answers Sta-
binski’s description !”

In a matter of seconds Taylor and the two
detectives were en route to the store. “When
we get there, drive up the street at a normal
rate of speed,” Taylor ordered. “We're all
in plain clothes and he may not get suspi- |
cious until it’s too late. I’d like to take him
alive.”

Turning up Franklin Street, the officers ap-
proached the store. About a block ahead they
could see a short youth walking quickly up
the street. As they drew closer, Taylor bent
anxiously forward. “That’s him, all right!”
he announced, quickly unfolding his plan.
Petroski would get out of the car after they

up the street to head off the suspect. The
detective was directed to walk into a store
that Stabinski would have to pass while
Williams and the chief would walk toward

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STABINSKI and TRETOSKY, whites,

> r . lay
Mary, frighteningly still, maybe
unconscious — maybe dead!

(Spectatty posed by professional model)

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46

get married. He didn’t say how much
he had or where he got it. But:he told
me to say that we were bundling all
night that night if anybody ‘asked me.
I trusted him because I loved him and
I didn’t ask him anything about it. I
was just happy, that’s all. Mother
didn’t know that he went out~ that
night. That’s the whole truth.” She
looked at the men. “And you think he
killed Mr. Gable to marry me?”

“We think so,” said Kemer.

“Oh, how awful... how awful!”
she cried again as she buried her face
in her slim white hands and wept.

The men felt sorry for the girl who
obviously had been duped. They left
an aide with Zelma and went in to
Strawser, who was sitting lazily in a
chair smoking a cigarette.

“Well, Strawser, the jig’s up with
you,” said Kemer. '

“I didn’t kill him!’ Strawser
shouted.

“No?. Well, listen, Strawser. We’ve
got you dead to rights. You knew
Gable carried money on him all the
time, and you needed some of. that

"$20,000 — If You

in the heart of Buffalo. He entered
the lobby with a casual look around,
then took a seat. Inwardly he seethed
with excitement. What would be the
outcome of the night’s task? Would he
escape with his life? He paid no at-
tention to his friend, Reese, who was
seated alertly in a lounge chair where
he could command a view of the en-
trances. Loitering by the exits were
Sergeants Conroy, Mack and O’Leary.
At least he was surrounded with
friends—but would that prevent an
unknown gunman from...

The hands of a clock regulated by
the Naval Time Bureau pointed to
eight minutes past the hour when a
uniformed bell-hop walked into the

“Mr. Barbeau, please. Mr. Bar-
beau, please,” he droned in a mono-
tone.

“Here, boy,” said Barbeau excitedly.
“What is it?”

Reese and the detectives watched
as the bell-hop conferred with the
clubman, then led the way to a row
of phone booths. What was up? .

“It’s a call,” Barbeau whispered out
of the corner of his mouth to Reese,
as he passed.

In the booth Barbeau’s hand shook.

slightly. with nervousness as he picked
up the receiver. Visions of movie
scenes in which men had been shot
in mane booths passed through his

nd. :
“Hello,” he said. .
“That you, Mr. Barbeau?” said a
husky voice. '
“Yes,” was the reply.
“You got it with you?”

“If you mean the money, yes, It’s in.

a brown bag,” Barbeau answered.  :
“Good!” The voice smacked with
satisfaction. “I just wanted to make

sure you were there and that you had

it. You’re alone?”

“Of course,” replied the manufac-
turer. :

“Well, you better stay that way,”
said the voice on the wire. “You
wouldn’t look pretty in a coffin.”

‘“What’ll I do?” asked Barbeau im-
patiently.

“Leave ‘and come back at eight
o’clock. I’ll call again then and tell
you what to do,” was the reply, and a
click in Barbeau’s ear told him the
caller had hung up. Contact had been
made.

FEW minutes later in a secluded
spot Barbeau, Reese and the de-
tectives conferred.
“Boy, if we can only trace the next
call when it comes!” said Mack.

of the telephone company he returned
with glum face. Rs
“Tt can’t be done,” he said discon-

solately. “We'd have to keep the ex-:

tortionist on the wire ten minutes and
they’d. have to have eight men tap-

money to get married. You had dupli-
cate keys made in Lewiston—keys
that got you: into Gable’s barn. ‘And
you weren’t bundling all that night
with Zelma. You set the alarm for
three. You got: out, and went to
Gable’s and got back at six-thirty.
Zelma told us that.” ~

“Let me go to Zelma!” he shouted.

“Wait, Strawser, you almost got
Zelma into the worst sort of trouble.
You. better tell the truth now. Did
you kill Charles Gable?”

Strawser looked around wildly as if
to run. His eyes shone with cowering
fright.

t'TELL us the truth!” commanded

Runkle.
“Yes, yes,” he screamed, “I killed
him ... I killed him! I'll tell you

everything, but let me go to Zelma!”

“Tell us first!’ ordered Carl sternly.

And Strawser told, passionately,
vehemently —the story of a _ love-
crazed young man driven by his inner
impulses to get the thing he loved no
matter at what cost—even murder.

His story agreed with the evidence
found by the officers.

On February 12, he said, he let him-
self into Gable’s barn at 3:30 in the
morning and waited, hammer and gun
in hand. Gable came in and said to
himself: “I wonder who opened the
door,” and then Strawser hit him over
the head with a hammer. Gable fell.
Strawser said he got frightened and
shot him once, grabbed Gable’s wallet
and dropped his gun in his haste. He
didn’t remember where he had put the
hammer and glove. Then he ran out
of the barn, jumped into his car
parked down the highway, and went
back to Gill’s, where he warned Zelma
never to say that he was out that
night.

His trial came up six days after the
date he and Zelma had set for a wed-
ding. He made no attempt at defense,
pleading guilty as charged. He ex-
pected a life sentence, hoping that he
might see Zelma on visiting days.
But his fervent, twisted love led him
to death. He was sentenced to the
electric chair.

Don't Want to Die" (Continued from Page 27)

ping lines to do it, then it would be
only one chance in ten that the call
could be traced.”

“Well,” offered Barbeau, “appar-
ently he’s going to call back. We may
be able to make the contact yet.”

“Right,” O’Leary agreed.

At a few minutes before eight
o’clock Barbeau walked back into the
hotel lobby and seated himself once
again. The expected call came prompt-
ly. Again it was the same person
with the guttural voice.

“Go to the tavern at 132 Niagara
Street right away and we'll get in
touch with you there,” the caller said
and hung up.

In less than five minutes cars car-
rying Barbeau, Reese: and the detec-
tives cruised from their parking places
near the hotel, nosed across Lafayette
Square into Court Street and rolled
downwards past the Federal Building
and around Niagara Square in the lee
of the city’s magnificent municipal
hall. There the police car swung away
to approach the appointed tavern
from another angle, while Barbeau
guided. his machine into. Niagara
Street. It would never do to let the
unknown extortionist know that Bar-
beau had an escort—it might be fatal.

Barbeau glanced at his wrist-watch
and saw that it was 8:15 as he walked
into the tavern about a block from
the place where, less than a year
before, John Barbera had been mowed
down by gangsters’ bullets. Barbeau
walked to the. bar and. stood where
he. could be seen plainly from the
outside. He ordered a drink. Reese
hovered near. by.. Just outside in am-
bush waited the detectives

A few minutes later the bell on the
tavern’s phone clanged insistently. A
bartender walked over and pulled the
receiver from the hook.

“Yes?”

He turned to the men standing at
the bar. ~

“Any of you called Barbo or some-
thing like that?”

“I am,” Barbeau said, stepping for-

ward eagerly. He picked up the re-
ceiver.
. “Go to Wilkeson Street. There’s an
alley running between Seventh Street
and Busti Avenue. Drop the bag
there,’ he was instructed.

“Okay,” said Barbeau. “Right

J.
Quickly he reported to Reese and
- the detectives, then hurried to the
appointed alley a few blocks away in

. his hide-and-seek with death. As his

eyes became accustomed to the dim

_ + light Barbeau. could see the passage-
But after he had contacted officials

way was deserted.. He walked delib-
erately to the center, dropped the
squash bag; then strode on. From
points.of vantage the detectives waited.
Minutes ‘passed slowly. ‘Then from
one end. of the alley approached a
dark figure of a man... Resolutely he

walked. In the center of the alley he
almost sprawled over the bag. Bend-
ing, he picked it up, glanced around,
resumed his march. In a trice the
detectives were on him.

“Got you!” they snorted.

But not long afterwards the de-
tectives conferred disconsolately with
Barbeau and Reese.

“He was okay. Happened to stum-
ble over the bag and just naturally
picked it up,” the detectives re-
ported. “Looks like a bad break.”

A wad of newspaper around which
was wrapped a marked one-dollar bill
was withdrawn from the squash bag.
It was a discouraged group of men
that parted late that night. Now what?

“Only thing we can do is wait to see
if they make another move,” Bar-
beau was told by Buffalo police. “Be
alert and let us know of anything
unusual.”

In Barbeau’s mail on October 14
was a letter in the same scrawly hand-
writing in which the original threat-
ening note had been penned. That
day agents of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation entered the case.

“Now we are free to act,” Agent
Warnes told Barbeau. “Sending a
threatening letter in the United States
mail gives the FBI jurisdiction.”

AREFULLY the epistle was scanned
: ‘for finger-prints. There were none
legible enough to be of any value.
The letter instructed Barbeau to ad-
vertise in the personal column of the
Buffalo Evening News in order to
show his willingness to continue nego-
tiations. The message was to be ad-
dressed to “Edna.” :

The ad was duly inserted at direc-
tion of the G-Men, and said:

Edna—Mother very ill and need
you.—Dad.

’ Three days later agents of the FBI
pounced on another ad in the same
column. It read:

Dad, love to mother; sorry.
‘Wire general delivery. Edna.

Hopefully a letter addressed to
“Edna’’ was prepared and mailed care
of general delivery. Agents of the FBI
lounged within close range of the
wicket. The following day a smartly
dressed young woman entered the
massive Buffalo Post Office Building.
The heels of her shoes clicked with a
staccato rhythm as she stepped rapidly
along the corridors. At the wicket
she paused, gave her name, asked if
there was a letter for her. Could a
woman be involved in the extortion
plot? .

Giving a prearranged signal to the
G-Men, the postal clerk fumbled
through a pile of letters, and as the
agents sidled close, handed the young

op—s


“He better,” said -Carl: : “Now,;:Mrs.
Gill, me -ask..you a few questions.
mn erstand Sherman Strawser is

to marry your daughter, Zelma.”
at’s right. He’s set the date for
Fobrware 20.”

“Was he here last night?”

“Yes, he’s been here .a good many
nights. Zelma’s crazy about him.”

“Did he sleep here last night?”

“Oh, yes. He and Zelma bundled
all night He left here only a while
ago.”

“Where is Zelma?”

“Upstairs. I’ll call her.” She went
to the bottom of the stairs and called:
“Zelma! Zelma!”

Within a few moments a very at-
tractive young girl came down the
steps. She kept smiling as she saw
the men, even Herman, in State troop-
er uniform. She was poised as she
asked cheerfully: “What is it, Ma?”

“These men here want to ask you
a few questions, I guess.”

“You want to ask me some ques-
tions? What. about? My Pa?”.

‘No, about Boerbian. ” said Carl
Runkle. ;

“Has Sherman been’ arrested for
speeding in that tin can of his?”

“No. We want to know what you
and Sherman were doing last night.”

She looked glowingly at her mother.

“Sherman and I were bundling all
night,” she answered.

At 1:30 p.m. Herman was talking
to the finger-print expert at Lewis-
ton, who already had examined the
revolver and the hammer.

“What did you find?” asked Herman.

“There’s a few prints on the ham-
mer-handle . . . nothing on the gun,”
said the expert. “The prints on the
handle are freshly made, not more
than a few hours ago, I would judge.
I would say, but it’s only a guess, that
the handle had been wiped clean, and
then someone picked it up.”

“Tl bet a million those prints are
the farmer’s who picked the hammer
out of the feeding-trough,” said
Runkle.

“Well, we’ll find out,” said Herman.
“Let’s go back and bring in the
farmer.”

An hour later finger-prints of the
man were compared with the ones
found on the handle. The prints
were his. But that did not involve
him in the case. His prints had been
made accidentally, Runkle and Her-
man knew.

Two days later Kemer returned in
mid-afternoon from a mysterious trip
to Lewiston, 20 miles from Middle-
burg. He met Carl in the Sheriff’s
office.

“J have a definite lead,” he said
jubilantly. “It’s about those keys.”

Kiana dug into his overcoat pocket
og brought forth a key to a Yale

OiSee this key?”

“Certainly I see it. I’m not blind.”

“Well, that key fits the lock on
Gable’s barn door.”

“So what?”

“So this. I got it from Mrs. Gable. .

I just wanted to check in all hardware
stores and all places that make keys
to find out if anyone had some keys
te these made recently. And I found
out!”

“Well, out with it, man!
keys made?”

“Sherman Strawser!”

“Strawser? When?”

“This is February 14. Gable was
killed two days ago. Strawser was
fired on the second. He had keys made
on the first!”

“Well, maybe he had the keys made
for Gable.”

“Ah, but Carl, Gable always. bought
his hardware supplies from Heller’s in
Middleburg. If Strawser wanted to
buy keys for Gable, why go to Lewis-
ton, which is twice as far, for two
keys for a quarter?”

“In other words, you think that
Strawser had these keys made pur-
posely to get into the barn and kill
Gable?”

“T think he took that job just to get
the lay of the land. That’s why he

Who had

‘didn’t care about being fired. I think

he stole Gable’s gun, too. And I’ll bet

cn--3

that glove and that hammer are
Gable’s,. too.”

“But we can’t arrest Strawser on
evidence like this,’ said Carl. “Why,
Zelma and Mrs. Gill could knock our
evidence into a loop.”

“I know that. -But look here, Carl.
We're not going ‘to arrest him yet.
We're going to wait until we see what
he does with the money‘he stole from
Gable. You’ know, Strawser’s been
broke for a long time. And he wants
to get married. Well, I was down to
see Gill, the girl’s father, and he told
me he wouldn’t give Strawser permis-
sion to get married unless he raised
the fifty bucks to get him out of jail.”

“That sounds good .'. . it sounds
great!” replied Carl. ‘But look here.
Mrs. Gill and Zelma said that Strawser
was bundling all night with Zelma, and
left the place about nine o’clock to
go to the Gable’s. We saw him there.
How about that?”

“I don’t believe it!”
heatedly.

“You think Mrs. Gill and Zelma
are lying?”

“I think Zelma is—I don’t know
about Mrs. Gill.”

said Kemer

“All right,” replied Carl. “What’re
your plans?”
“Just wait, that’s all. Just make

Strawser believe that he isn’t guilty.
We'll let it be known that we suspect
somebody entirely different, and he’s
the kind that’ll get cocky, and he’ll
feel safe to spend the money if he has
it. Let’s gamble on my theory. It’s
the best we’ve got.”

“Okay.”

“Now the first thing he’s liable to
do is get Gill out of jail. We'll warn
the office here to keep watch on him,
or anyone who comes in to pay the
fine for Gill. If he does, that will be
enough to nab him, and. then we can
get at Zelma again and break her
down if she’s lying to protect him.”

“Good. We'll do that.” j

The two brothers were excited. That
afternoon they planted a story in the
newspapers. It was an exciting story
which said that a certain individual
near Lewiston who long had a griev-
ance against Gable was about -to be
arrested for the murder of Charles
Gable.

The story appeared on the streets at
5 p.m. February 14.

At 9 p.m. the vivacious and: smil-
ing Zelma Gill walked into the Sher-
iff’s office, very happy. Both Kemer
and Carl greeted her cordially.

She returned the greetings just as
cordially and Kemer asked her
courteously what she wanted. —

“T've come to get Pa out of jail,” she
said happily. ‘“He’s been in .long
enough, and Ma is almost sick to
death about it.”

“Well, that will cost fifty dollars,
Zelma,” said Carl.

“Yes, I know,” she said sweetly. “I
have the money. Here it is.” She
opened her bag and brought forth a
roll of bills which she counted. “It’s
exactly fifty dollars.” She placed it
on the desk before Kemer.

“Well, that’s fine,” said Kemer, con-
trolling his jubilance. ‘“‘That’s fine. I
bet you had a hard time raising it.”

“Well, not exactly,” she answered.
“Sherman got it for us. That’s swell
of him, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Where’s Sherman now?”

“He’s gone on another errand while
I pick up Pa.”

“Do you know where Sherman got
the money?”

“No. He didn’t tell me. He gave it

“to me tonight and Ma’s very happy.”

“I guess you can get married now.”

She laughed. “But we had to get
Pa out first.”

The telephone rang and Carl an-
swered it and said: “Yes ...yes..
thank you... I'll be right over.” He
hung up and called Kemer out into
the hall.

“That was Goldsmith’s Jewelry shop.
Strawser’s over there—hold on to
Zelma, I’ll go over and pick him up.”

Carl left. The shop was only a block
and a half away. Carl walked hastily
to it, entered and found Strawser ex-
amining wedding rings. He walked uw
to him and greeted him and said
“Zelma’s. in trouble, Sherman. She

-wants to see you right away. ' * Come,

along.”

Strawser’s face went white. He
dropped the tray of rings and followed
Runkle out of the store.

’. “What happened to her?” he asked
eagerly.

“Nothing,” said Carl, taking a firm
hold ‘on Strawser’s arm. “She’s all
right. But you're not.”

“I don’t get it, Runkle—what’s the
idea?”

“The idea is that you’re under ar-
rest for the murder of Charles Gable!
You were at the Gable farm the morn-
ing he was killed.”

gtr oases stopped in his tracks, an
expression of dumfounded amaze-
ment coming to his face.

“But Zelma and I .were bundling
that morning. You know .that. Are
you crazy?”

At Headquarters Strawser was
taken into a room far from Zelma and
guarded. Zelma was still talking with

_ Kemer when Carl entered and told his

brother that everything was all right.
Then they moved into another room
for a moment and discussed procedure.
Then they returned to Zelma. Carl
said:

“Zelma, we
father.”

She looked at Carl in complete be-
wilderment and said slowly:

“Why not? I have the money—
that’s all you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes, under ordinary circumstances,
but these aren’t ordinary. You see,
Zelma, this money was stolen.”

“Stolen! Do you mean to tell me
Sherman stole the money?”

“Yes. He killed Mr. Gable to get
this money to marry you!”

Deep fear was in the girl’s eyes as
she clasped her long fingers on her

ap.

“Oh,” she cried, “I can’t believe it.”

“Now, look, Zelma,” said Kemer.
“you said that Sherman was in bed
with you bundling all that night we
asked you about. That’s not the truth.
Is it? Now tell us if it is or isn’t be-
cause if we find out you and your
mother are lying it. will be terrible for
both of you.”

She looked up again and her eyes
filled with tears. It was evident that
her hopes for a married life had been
suddenly crushed. She seemed trapped
and fearful, and then she said:

“No, it isn’t the truth.”

“What is the truth?”

“Will you believe me now if I tell
you?”

“Yes,”

_ “Sherman wasn’t bundling with me
all night. ‘We got into bed about ten
o’clock and he set the alarm for three
in the morning. Then he got up and
got dressed and went out. Then he
came back about half-past six and
told me he had gotten enough money
to get my Pa out of jail and we could

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J

CC Those w GABLE MURDERED!...
Those who stood over his body, look-
ing down upon his pallid features,
could not yet believe it. This awful
tragedy was just a nightmare. Who would
have killed Charlie Gable—Gable, the
best-beloved, the most influential farmer
in all of Pennsylvania’s Snyder County?
Something else must have happened—
some fantastic accident. Something other
than murder... .

But no. It was murder, sudden and
brutal, as if committed by a phantom who
struck within the space of a few minutes
and then vanished, leaving in his wake
tragic-death. Yes, it was murder. Charlie
Gable must have had some obscure enemy
or enemies. And that fact was as in-

_ credible as the killing itself.

Gable lay dead on the floor of his ca-
pacious barn, his strong face staring up
sightlessly. Around him were gathered
friends, officers of the law, relatives. They
listened in stunned silence to Dr. R. W.
Johnson’s verdict of his close friend’s*
death.

“Charlie has been murdered!” he said
with definite finality. “He was shot behind
his left cart”

Even as he uttered this statement, the
doctor realized that perhaps among these
very people present stood the murderer,
hiding his crime behind a false show of
sorrow.

Similar ideas were running through
Sheriff Carl EB, Runkle’s mind. Directly
across from him stood Bill Hager, Gable’s
hired man. Next to Hager, Edith Keister,
dark-haired, red-lipped, attractive, was

sobbing quietly, She was, the sheriff re-.

called, Mrs. Gable’s cousin. An orphan,
she had lived for the past few years with
the Gables. y

The sheriff’s eyes continued to search.
William Foster, Ben Witt, Laurence Boyer,
all friends of Gable—all, like him, pros-
perous, respectable farmers. Sherman
Strawser, his arm around a young girl’s
waist, was whispering in her ear. Some-
thing clicked in Runkle’s mind. Strawser
had worked for Gable. He had been em-
ployed for only about a week, then fired.
Why? Gable had been a just man. If he
had discharged Strawser, then this wild

First right: When the truth be-

came known, Zelma Gill said, “I

thought so! | thought so, but |

wasn't sure.” Far right: The

passion of this man to possess a

young girl supplied ‘the motive
for the farm slaying.

FEBRUARY, 1941

young fellow must have been at fault.

Where was Mrs. Gable? Runkle then re-
called what Dr. Johnson had told him.
Mrs. Gable, upon hearing of her husband’s
death, had collapsed, struck down by the
terrible news, and was now resting under
drugs which the doctor had administered.

The sheriff squinted at his old-fashioned
watch in the dim light. It was 8 o'clock.
Better get started.

“OQ. K., Kemer,” he said to his brother,
who was also deputy sheriff. ‘Friends,
we'll have to clear this place. There’s
plenty of work to be done, and I know
you're as anxious as I am to find the
guilty person. And oh,. Miss Keister,” he
added, pointing to each one, “I want you
and Doc Johnson and Hager and Strawser
to remain, if you don’t mind.”

“Sheriff,” Strawser asked, “could Zelma
here stay too?”

Runkle hesitated. “All right.”

Kemer Runkle opened the door of the
barn, and those not ordered to stay trooped
out. Dr. Johnson got a view in the early
morning light of a group of men in overalls
and working clothes, standing near the
barn, tense, talking restlessly, their voices
rising to a swell of anger. ‘They meant
business. Dr. Johnson didn’t envy the
criminal just then.

Everyone liked, respected, and even
loved Charles Gable, the most prosperous
farmer in the vicinity. His farm of three
hundred acres was located in Freeburg,

fifteen miles from Selinsgrove, in Snyder
County. Gable was a man in his early
fifties, powerful, handsome, honest and
charitable. He was president of the town-
ship council, chairman of the school board
and a political leader.

His death by violence the carly morning
of February 12, 1935, filled this peaceful
rural community with rage, and one sensed
that the nearby farmers, devoted to Gable,
would make short shrift of the murderer,
if they could get hold of him before the
authorities did.

Kemer carefully closed the door. Day-
light was coming in through the dusty win-
dows high up over the rafters, so that the
faces of those present could now be studied
more readily. The cattle in the stalls
moved about, kicked at the enclosures,
scraped their feet.

“Miss Keister,” Carl Runkle began,
“maybe you can tell us what happened, if
you’re not too nervous.”

“Well, I guess I’d_ better start at the
beginning. We had breakfast at around
five... .”

“Who?” .

“Why, Mr. and Mrs, Gable, Bill Hager
and myself, ‘Then about 4:30 Mry Gable
finished eating, got up, and walked over
to the barn. He did that every day, to feed
and water the stock. Usually Bill here
went with him, but this lime Mr, Gable
went alone.”

“J overslept,” Hager interrupted. “I

27

ene

SiR tS LEER S ez

ZL NAW IN, ;nerman, Wl,

elec. PA (snyder), 7/22/1935

as V ttt

‘That's what a chief suspect
said he was doing when this
Pennsylvania murder occurred

c]

The manner in which Charles
Gable was struck down as he
entered his barn to feed the live-
stock is vividly portrayed in this
artist's sketch.

Canaan a

BY

C’
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But
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and |
tragic
Gabk
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FER

‘aah

Ulrich searched carefully through
Gable’s heavy clothing while the others
combed through the barn for the murder
weapon and other clues.

The coroner found nearly $200 in bills
tucked away in the vest pockets. Sher-
iff Runkle discovered a blood-clotted
hammer with bits of gray hair stuck to
it in a feeding trough, where the slayer
apparently had tossed it. He handled it
with a handkerchief to preserve possible
fingerprints. His deputy brother picked
up an old leather glove lying near the
body. They took their gruesome finds
to the farmhouse where the thoughtful
Miss Keister served them steaming
coffee.

OMEWHAT calmer now after Dr.

Johnson had given her a sedative,
the bereaved Mrs. Gable was able to
join in the: supplying of information.

“Tell us exactly what happened this
morning,” Sheriff Runkle urged.

“Why, we got up before the men as
usual and made breakfast,” said Mrs.
Gable. “The first down was Charles.
Hod came a few minutes later and they
talked about the turkeys my husband
bought yesterday. He was so proud of
them—” Her voice broke.

“Mr. Gable finished eating first and
went to the barn to start the milking,”
assisted Miss Keister.

“About what time was that?” asked
the sheriff.

“J should judge it was five or ten
minutes: of six.”

Mrs: Gable nodded ‘confirmation.

“And when did Hod Miller go out?”

“About five after six.”

“How long was he gone?”

“Only three or four minutes,” an-
swered Miss Keister promptly.

“Are you sure it was no longer than
that?” The sheriff inquired, studying
her closely.

IN BED—BUNDLING——.
with Zella Mae, was the calm alibi
young Strawser gave the sheriff.


to be in jail yet, but we'll look into that later.’

Deputy Sheriff Runkle rushed in at this moment, red-
faced and puffing, and made a startling announcement.
Hod Miller could be found nowhere on the farm!

“Maybe he’s just taken a walk, grieving; he liked
my husband very much,” suggested Mrs. Gable timidly.

“We can’t take a chance on that!” the sheriff replied.
“He’s left himself wide open to suspicion by his actions!”
He dispatched his brother to Millersburg to form a
searching party and also requested the State Police at
_ Lewiston to be on the lookout for Miller. Meanwhile, a
_ hearse arrived and bore the corpse away to an under-
taking establishment at the county seat.

Coroner Ulrich, feeling he could no longer evade a
disagreeable task, displayed the blood-stained claw
hammer to the two women. While they looked at it
with eyes full of horror, he asked, “Have you ever seen
this before?”

“It was Mr. Gable’s,” said Miss Keister,
control her voice. “It disappeared recently.”

“Exactly how long ago?” interjected the sheriff.

“About a week,’”? murmured Mrs. Gable. “Charles
was very upset about its loss. I remember it was just
about when Sherman Strawser left the farm, and he
thought maybe Sherman took it.”

“Then Hod Miller hasn’t been here long?” asked the
sheriff.

“No,” supplied Miss Keister. “Sherman and Mr. Gable
didn’t get along well so Mr. Gable hired Hod in his
place.”

“And this glove?” asked Coroner Ulrich.

Neither woman had ever seen it before.

The coroner departed then, taking along both
glove and hammer for examination for fingerprints
by the veteran expert, H. E. Runk, of the State Police
Bureau of Criminal Identification at Harrisburg.

fighting to

ZELLA MAE’S——
home, scene of the quaint old
Colonial custom of bundling.

For a few moments, Sheriff Runkle mulled over a re-
cent encounter with husky young Sherman Strawser at
the County Jail where he had come to visit Lester Gill,
serving sentence for a liquor violation. Strawser had
brought Gill’s family along in his old flivver. Patrolman
C. F. Overgard of the State Highway Patrol had arrested
the youth himself for driving with the previous year’s
license plates. Strawser had been released on his promise
to pay a fine as soon as he got the money.

Finally the sheriff phoned Patrolman Overgard and
asked him to drive to Strawser’s home in Chapman
Township and bring the farmhand to the Gable place
for questioning. —

Corporal John P. Herman and Trooper George Hahn
of the State Police arrived to assist in the investiga-
tion.

Sheriff Runkle briefly outlined the case to them. He
now had three suspects—Hod Miller, Sherman Straw-
ser, and Merrill Bickert :

“Of course both Miller and Strawser, having worked
here, would be acquainted with the fact that Gable often
carried large sums of money on him,” he said. “Strawser
needed money to pay his fine. And we must remember
also that Gable thought Strawser stole the hammer when
he fired him about a week ago.”. :

Corporal Herman pointed out another reasonable pos-
sibility—that some fiendish stranger might have lurked’
that morning in the shadowy barn and had felled the
old farmer with the hammer upon which he had
chanced somewhere about the farm.

The sheriff agreed the attack appeared too vicious
to have been perpetrated by either of the young sus-
pects, but edded, “It’s mighty certain Gable was struck
first with the hammer, then shot. It seems to me an ~
ordinary, itinerant thief would have been satisfied with
just stunning Gable, but who- (Continued on: page 81)

REMORSE——.
The killer reads the Bi-
ble as he broods in jail.


THE MURDERED.
i farmer’s body was found in the
| cattle barn by Edith Keister.

Her answer was calm and deliberate. “Per-
haps five minutes, but certainly no longer.” .
“Surely you don’t think Hod could have done
such an awful thing as this,’ said Mrs. Gable. 7
her voice trembling. “Why, Hod and Charles }
have always been good friends." s
“Which reminds me,” said the sheriff. “When L
h
t

is Hod now?”

Both women looked startled. “Why, he must
be out around the barns,” said Miss Keister.
flushing. “In all the excitement I’d forgotten c
just where Hod did go off to.” fF

v
t

The sheriff dispatched his brother Kemer to |
make a quick search for the young farmhand :
“Mrs. Gable,” said Coroner Ulrich, “you

husband was like many other farmers—he didn't c
trust banks, did he?”

“He used them occasionally,” said the widow.

“Most often, though, he liked to carry his money X
on him or keep it here in the house.” é
“I see,” said the coroner. He counted out the t

money he had found on the body. “I suppose
that was all he had at the moment?”
“Why, no! Didn’t you find his wallet?”
The coroner shook his head. G
“How much was in it?” asked Runkle eagerly. }
“There was $75 in it!” ]
“Now we have the motive—robbery,” he re- ‘
marked thoughtfully. Then he added. “But
of course there might be an added one. I'm
thinking of Merrill Bickert. You’ll remember
{ that Gable had Bickert jailed for stealing
some wheat from him. Bickert’s supposed

THE BARN—
ON THE NIGHT—— “* right, where the bloody

of murder, Sherman Strawser Tamang " death of Gable occurred.
was courting—legally—in bed.

Onn alarm clock calls fime on a


CRIME DETECTIVE

81

BUNDLING BED ALIBI

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 65

ever killed him must have used the
gun for fear the old man had recog-
nized him.”

The trio made another search in the
big barn for the murder gun, but re-
turned to the farmhouse empty-
handed.

The sheriff immédiately checked
with County Jail and discovered that
Merrill Bickert still was there, and
could scarcely have committed the
savage assault upon Gable.

Patrolman Overgard drove up and
reported that young Strawser was: not
at his home.

“We'll try the Gill place,” said
Sheriff Runkle. “He drove the family
to jail that day—and sure, I'd forgot-
ten. He’s sweet on Zella Mae Gill.
He’s been courting her since his wife
died in childbirth—the second one of
his to die that same way.”

Corporal Herman and Patrolman
Overgard got into the sheriff's car
with him and they drove to the Gill
home, about five miles away.

Lovely Zella Mae opened the door
for them herself. Only sixteen, her
gracefully curved body already had
achieved the fullness of beautiful
young womanhood. She tossed her
pretty, dark-featured head and
laughed. “The Law seems to be out
in full force today,” she said.

“Yes indeed,” said Corporal Her-
man. “Just want to see Sherman for
a while. He’s here, isn’t he?”

“Sure! Step in out of the wind.”
She started up the hallway stairs
with lithe strides. ‘“J’ll tell him to
come down!”

In a moment the husky, full-faced
Sherman calmly descended the stairs.
His keen blue eyes spotted Patrolman
Overgard first in the dim hallway and
he said immediately, “Oh, I suppose
you want the five dollar fine for me
using old license plates on my car.
Well, I’ve got a little money now,
but I haven’t it with me. I'll drop by
with it tomorrow.”

“Where did you get the money,
Sherman?” asked the sheriff, step-
ping to the fore.

Strawser avoided his direct gaze
and said, “Well, to tell the truth,
sheriff, I’ve had it right along. But,
you see, Zella and I plan on getting
married Sunday—that’s only five
days off now—so I’ve been trying to
hold on to what I could for a Jong
time.”

“But now you'll pay the fine to-
morrow?” asked Corporal Herman.

“Well, if I’ve got to to keep out of
jail. Getting married Sunday and
all, I don’t want any trouble.”

“J suppose you've heard about
Charles Gable being murdered?”
asked the sheriff.

“Guess the whole State has by
now,” said young Strawser. “Feel
kind of sorry for him, even if he did
fire me a week or so ago.”

“By any chance did you take a
hammer along with you by mistake
when you left?” a:ked Sheriff Runkle.

“No, But I remember Gable yell-
ing about a hammer being missing—
that was even before I left.”

“Where did you stay last night,
Sherman?” the sheriff inquired.

“Right here.” The powerful young
man smiled. “I stayed in bed with
Zella. We were bundling—courting.”

“All night?”

“Sure, you can ask Zella’s mother.
She’s right there in the parlor.”

“Pye been listening and what Sher-
man says is true,” said the unseen
Mrs. Gill from the parlor.

The frankness with which the
mother asserted that her lovely 16-
year-old daughter had spent the night
in bed with a young man did not as-
tonish the officers. The whole idea
dated far back to pre-revolutionary
days when, in order to conserve fire-
wood, young sweethearts in their
courting days often let the fires die
out and bundled up close to each
other in bed. Some parents took vari-
ous precautions to preserve the
chastity of their daughters. Some fit-
ted the beds out with “bundlin
boards,” placed down the center an
keeping the sweethearts apart. Others
made their daughter slip into large
“bundling bags” which were pad-
locked at the tops.

The bundling practice still is em-
ployed in many remote sectors of the
country.

Zella Mae came gaily downstairs
and readily admitted she had bundled
all night with Sherman.

“Are you sure he didn’t slip out
real early?” asked the sheriff.

“Took here!” said Strawser sharp-
ly. “If you’re trying to connect me
with Gable’s murder you're crazy!”
He placed his right arm possessively
about the girl’s shoulders. She snug-
gled against him. “Why, I'm in love
with lla,” the youth continued.
“Why should I take a chance at such
a thing and lose her forever?”

The sheriff ignored him and looked
straight into the girl’s shining dark
eyes. “What time did you get up?”
he asked.

“Sherman stayed all night,” she
said, smiling. “We didn’t get up until

a little after six this morning.” -

Conroy with this strong
alibi of the courting bed, the
officers drove back toward the Gable
Farm to ascertain if any develop-
ments had occurred there. They
found a startling one.

Hod Miller had returned!

The news was imparted to them by
Deputy Sheriff Runkle whose posse,
collected to search for the strangely
vanished farmhand, now had turned
to doing the chores the savagely slain
Gable and Miller would have been
performing on ordinary days.

Miller, arose from the table with his
heavy, red face contorted by fright
when the officers entered.

“Well, Miller, we’re ready for your
confession!” the sheriff shot at him
immediately. ;

The burly farmhand’s eyes wid-

‘ened. “Why, I didn’t do nothing,”

he protested.
“Why did you run away then?”
asked Corporal Herman sharply.

“J was as scairt as a shot-at rabbit,”
said Miller dully. “I was afraid you
policemen would come and right
away would figure I done it. So I
kind of ran off over the fields. I ran
and ran and—”

“To hide the money and get rid of
the gun, that’s why you ran, wasn’t
it?” interrupted the sheriff in a
piercing voice.

“No!” cried the young farmhand.
His powerful body trembled.

“And where did you run to?” asked
Corporal Herman quietly.

“Way off to the creek and I sat
there a long time trying to think
things out.”

“T see,” said the State policeman,
nodding slowly. “So then you real-
ized you had brought a lot of sus-
picion on yourself by running off and
figured it would be best to come back
and face things.”

“That’s right!” The youth looked
eagerly and gratefully at the corporal.

“Miller,” said Sheriff Runkle, “did
you ever bundle with Zella Mae Gill?”

Miller frowned and said, “No,
never.”

“She’s a mighty pretty girl,” per-
sisted the sheriff. “Maybe you thought
you’d like to marry her instead of
seeing Sherman Strawser do it next
Sunday. Maybe you thought if you
had the money Gable was carrying on
him you could have gotten Gill out of
jail and he would have let you marry
Zella.”

“T don’t want to marry no one,” said
Miller sullenly.

Corporal Herman motioned the
sheriff aside and they whispered to-
gether a few moments. Finally the
State policeman said, “All right.
Miller. We believe you. Now you had
better go out and help take care of
things.”

“Thanks! I was worrying about the
cows and turkeys while I was away.”

“But remember,” Sheriff Runkle
shot after him, “you stay right here on
the farm in case we need you. And
if you run off again that posse out
there will come after you shooting!”

“Yes, sir,” replied. the farmhand,
gulping. He hurried out.

“He’s either putting on a wonderful
act, or he really is scared and innocent
as he maintains,” said the corporal.

“Can’t tell about these rugged and
honest looking folks,” observed the
sheriff. “Some have strange quirks in
their makeup. Well, what do you think
about Strawser?”

The State policeman paced the small
kitchen silently a few moments. Then
he said, “There’s a young man who
undoubtedly had great need of money.
As I gather, it’s the usual thing for the
prospective son-in-law hereabouts to
give the parents a dowry for the
bride.”

“That’s right. And it would take
one hundred dollars to pay Gill’s fine
for the liquor violation and get him
out of jail. Maybe they demanded
that of Strawser as a condition for the
marriage.”

“But still it doesn’t seem Strawser
would have been crazy enough to risk


Poh enc dceet

aS rics ool PERG AT ONIES
vo ‘Fogatt )
aaah :

MURDERS<.

kkk Indicates a case in which the
detective work was of outstanding and
exceptional merit.

ek Indicates a case in which the ar-
resting officer captured the criminal
under circumstances showing particu-
lar gallantry.

** Indicates a case in which excellent
cooperative work among several of-
ficers or offices solved the crime.

* Indicates a case presenting some
difliculties to the police.

No star is placed before cases in which
_ the criminal gave himself up without
resistance before being suspected.

wkkkk Victin—Joseph Famularo, at
New Orleans, La. Method—Stabbing
with knife. Motive—Robbery; Famu-
laro tortured with small stabs during
holdup to make him reveal hiding place
of his money. Held for trial—Dominick
Periano. Detective work by—Chief of
Detectives Grosch. Remarkable features

* —Murder took place in 1933; Grosch

trailed Periano to Los Angeles, where,
police say, he confessed involving ac-
complices.

wkekk Victim—Alfred Holub, Wheeling,
West Va. Method—Shooting (re-
volver). Held for trial—Mrs. Daisy
Holub (wife). Detective work by—
Deputy Sheriff Earl Hinkle. Remark-
able features—Mrs, Holub, who, officers
say, has signed a confession, claims she
shot her husband in a room during a
quarrel in which he attempted to attack
her. Police say they have proof bullet
came through an open window from
outside.
kk Victim—Policeman, Michael Tfth,
Chicago,’ Illinois. “Method—Shogting
(revolver). Motive—Toth interyupted
holdup. Held for trial—Stanley
ski and Frank Whyte. Detecti
by—Chicago officers under Qhief of
Detectives J. L. Sullivan. Regarkable
features—Both men confessed/ and _ re-
enacted crime, police state, but Whyte
later denied-he had fired shotsjat Tath.
Chicago detectives found both\ .38 and
.45 bullets in Toth’s body and @ .45 on
Whyte. Tip off.

* Victin—Levi.Green, New OWeans,
La. Method—Shooting (rifle). Metive
—Quarrel between trappers and poas
ers, Green believed a poacher. Ques>
alg be Sylvester, George Teapo.
New rleans police investigating.
Remarkable features—Green was ain-
bushed. Tip off.

*x* Victim—Joseph Centolella, at Syra-
cuse, N. Y. -Method—Shooting (re-
volver). Motive—Gang Killing; officers
report $400 paid for the job. Ques-

*% . ‘
(Anerilae 94

tioned—Nicholas Nole, Donald Gibbons,
Gordon Newell, Mrs. Mildred Falcone.
Policemen of Utica and Syracuse forces
in cooperation. Remarkable features—
Mrs. Falcone, while being questioned,
following arrest on another charge, let
slip details that led to the arrests.

* Victim—Mrs. Susie Adams, Dallas,
Tex. Method — Shooting (revolver).
Motive—Unknown, Held for trial—J.
C. Adams (husband). Arrest by—
Dallas police. Remarkable features—
Son and daughter-in-law witnessed
shooting ;.Adams claims it accidental.

Victim—Etta Johnson, Petersburg, Va.
Method — Shooting (revolver). Held
for trial—Mrs. Jenny Brown. Remark-
able features—State claims during a
quarrel with her husband Mrs, Brown
fired a revolver at him, but missed and
struck the 13-year-old Johnson girl
instead.

** Victim—Elwood Matthews, Four
Corners, Md. Method—Shooting (re-
volver) and drowning. Held for trial—
Lawrence Gingell, W. Joseph Kirby.
Motive—Revenge; Matthews had testi-
fied against another member of this
gang in a previous court case. Arrests
—of Kirby by Charleston, W. Va.,
police, during an attempted holdup ; of
Gingell by Policemen Spotwood Gravel
and Norman Gray, Wager, D. Cc.
Remarkable features—Gravely and Gray
were reporting to headquarters from
their squad car by phone when a call
came in saying Gingell had been seen
crossing the Highway Bridge. The
phone operator_accidentally left the key
of the-switchboafd open; they over-
d the report, and being en near
e bridge, returned to their car“
were in time to catch Gingell. Kirby’s
confession reported by police.

Victims—Joseph Benda; Mrs. Helen
Benda; Mrs. Mary Vukelja; Milan
Vukelja; Mrs. Laura Bacon, all at
Duquesne, Pa. Method—Shooting (re-
volver). Held for sanity examination—
Policeman Martin Sullivan. Remarkable
features—Sullivan, a veteran patrolman,
had been accused of molesting a 10-
year-old daughter of the Vukelja family.
The Bendas were members of his
estranged wife’s family; Mrs. Bacon
was the social worker who had brought
the charge against Sullivan. All the
shootings occurred within a few minutes
of each other.

kk Victim—Robert O'Brien, at Ch
PEO ini Methad==Sheeting (re-
volver). Held for trial—John Watson.
Motive—Watson says O’Brien was
drunk, became abusive and tried to take
money from the cash register of the
restaurant where . Watson worked.
Arrest by—Memphis. Tenn., police

force, following tip off Watson was in:

that city.

tee

\icksburg, Va.

MONTH

wk Victim—Michael Kane, near Troy,
N. Y. Method—Slugging with iron
bar.. Motive—Robbery. Held for trial
—William Franko, Miss Jean Mack.
Arrests by—Inspector E, O. Hageman,
New York State Police. Remarkable
features—Murder took place six years
ago. State Police reported to have re-
ceived tip off on Franko’s whereabouts.
Kane was a taxi-driver in Bennington,
Vt.; found slumped over his wheel near
Troy, with the considerable sum_ of
money he usually carried missing. Car
bearing Franko’s license was seen at the
spot at the time.

kkk Victim—Anna T. Smoak, Wil-
mington, N. C. Mcethod—Poisoning
(strychnine). Motive—Supposed _ in-
surance. Held for trial—E, L. Smoak
(father) and Genette Harker, house-
keeper. Detective work by—District
Solicitor John J. Burney. Remarkable
features — Burney’s suspicions were
aroused when three doctors reported
themselves unable to agree as to the
cause of death of girl, who died in con-
vulsions. ..He recalled that Smoak’s

two wives and another daughter had all

died in the same manner, in all cases
Smoak had coliected insurance and set
up no gravestones. Toxicological _ex-

amination revealed presence of strych- ~~

nine in the body.

* Victim—Carlos Vela, at Goose Creek,
Texas. Method—Shooting (revolver).
Held for trial—Bill Malone. Arrest by
—Capt. Roy Young, and Tom Beard,
Texas Rangers. Remarkable features—
Police claim Malone got into a quarrel
over a woman with a group of Mexicans
in a Goose Creek dance-hall, that as he
left the hall, seeing he was surrounded,
he opened fire with his revolver, wound-
ing three and killing Vela, an innocent
“bystander, who had come to the door to
vhat the trouble was. Young and
courageously blocked Malone’s

xk Victhw—Lewis Rose, near East
Avon, N. '¥. Method—Burning, in cab
of truck. Héld for trial—Harold Smith.
Detective wark by—Sergeant Harry De-
Hollander, N. Y. State Police. Remark-
able featurds—Smith, who was with
Lewis in the cab of the truck, claims the
latter hurt) his head and when he
(Smith) igtiited a match to see what
, Lewis’ oil-soaked clothes
caught fe. Police claim evidence of
premegfation, still unrevealed.

Victim—George Carter, at Freder-
Method—Shooting. (re-
volver). Motive — Supposed quarrel
over woman. Held for sanity examina-
tion—M.. Landon Bolling. Arrest by—
Policemen S. W. Burgess and Leavelle
Billingsley. ‘Remarkable features —
When arrested Bolling talked wildly
about the war and would not accompany
officers till they said they would “take

him up to the front.”
95

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inthe sacs sale di doa a Pe.


Accused of one foul crime, a police
officer answered the charges with
still another—mass murder.

This is how Patrol-
man Martin Sullivan,
left, looked without
his wig. rouge and

ipstick.

.

ATROLMAN MARTIN SULLIVAN said he was sorry
Pater he had murdered five persons during a mad rampage
in Duquesne, Pa. ‘

But it wasn’t the slaughter of three women and two men
that caused his regret. “My revenge was not complete,” he
said in jail afterward. “I wanted to kill the sixth one, too.”

The police officer took his bloody vengeance after he was
accused of criminally attacking a small girl. Sullivan was-on
his way back to jail from a hearing on the charges. He
slipped away from a fellow officer assigned to guard him.

Then his astounding revenge began. Methodically he
found the people against whom he bore a grudge, and one
by one he shot,them down. His victims were: Joseph Benda,
53, his father-in-law; Helen Benda, 45, his mother-in-law;
Mrs, Mary Vukelja, 49, mother of the girl he was accused of
attacking; Michael Vukelja, Jr., her brother; and Mrs. Laura
Bacon, 53, a welfare worker who brought the charges against
him. Sullivan, a patrolman for 25 years, was 70 years old. He
was father of eight children, grandfather of 16. In recent
years he had grown effeminate, rouging his lips, using lip-
Meas | stick, wearing a wig, and penciling his eyebrows. He was

a? _married to a 19-year-old girl who left him. He accused his
‘ parents-in-law of causing the estrangement, and so they were

included in his deadly vengeance.

After the five murders he returned to the custody of police
and said, “I’m ready for the electric chair.”

NOW O
AT YOU

RINTE >
e InN

use

¥ ea _ |
Jona ie Zs EMVECITIOE

LY 27d


* )

Turner (extreme
M. Lankford, Jr.,
Attorney for
nty, Virginia, who
the bomb slayer

(below) ancestral
» family, was the
ne most shocking
story of Virginia

ras family was one

: the community. No
ictim. He and all those
‘carded and the entire
me.
4d in seeret, and so the
nembers of the Thomas a oe a
n arguments or trouble Lai _& (Above) Martin ATHER of eight
a) ?

icial difficulties that the Sullivan smirks, grandfather of sixteen, murderer of

self-antinficd, five. These are the chief vital statistics in the life of

know about? Wasthere , ee: : t : :
he Uy lay dead? ; \ ie ER “ase ee after his quin- Martin Sullivan, Duquesne, Pennsylvania, policema
‘roughly checked, and (ae ff AS tuple killing At this writing he seems pleased with the record ai
lorougnly ci , spree. (Left) filled with the satisfaction of having done well hele ane an
ey were eliminated from - “a ; - = Mrs. Laura Ba- in his seventy-odd years of life. y His country
rible crime. : aig ‘ con, shot down “T’m satisfied,” he said, after his five slayings in forty-five

ieir attention to Mrs. . 4 inherown home minutes, the r inati
. nutes, the result of a determination expressed in his w :
ee nee is the day I clean the slate.” : mys pores:
m sorry, though, that I missed one.” h :
aes : Piers e added lat a
dicating that his achievements fell short of his on :

ye of hers have done this

che was born in Carroll ser ae The “fly in his 03 ”
ot is oi : ; :
that, as Elsie Dickinson, c : im girl of t val h ointment” was Antoinette Vukelja, a little
He iowne Finally atelie 3 < ; Poca ie \ mee 10 had attracted his fancy. She was to have
Ue . d y an Se : Gi, , 3 Ee 1S six victim J
-ried John Salmons, also : oon Joseph Vukelj Martin Sulliv: ee
ce ja (left), artin Sullivan was , i : ,

0 TE RE ery echoed, actin Sultan a oxeny one af Dssburahs “Fina
irriage, a boy and a girl, acd 4\8 &¥ AS Vukelja (below), slain. oe ontinued on page 118)
he rae _y ey District At-
fhe children went to live i nf RC orney Andrew T. Park —
: : : *e left F
‘ the young wife, in 1931, Si

Dr. 1. R. Hege, at Mount Ne anh eh fesaion. to five darters
venty-three miles from : :

livorce from Salmons and
‘ew days before her mar-
‘1th, 1936. ;
wife?

+ J

another man? :
‘red. For he was located .:
ly, that he was no longer
‘or her had waned when
‘ements before and after
‘1 to the complete satis-

~ eliminated from any»

Montinued on page 88)


aR. an

’ barat tas oe
. ees OR a Rea ry

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

BLOODY HOLIDAY

(Continued from page 37)

as if an actor, his performance ended,
had wiped off his makeup with cold
cream and a towel.

And that was exactly what had hap-
pened. Somewhere in the Pittsburgh
prison, his hair was lost—it had been a
toupée! His lips and cheeks had been
painted on, and the warden refused
summarily to furnish him with rouge
and lipstick despite his pleas,

Marty Sullivan, the Beau Brummel
of the Duquesne police force, no longer
existed. Never had existed: For thirty
years this monster had fooled the wary
patrolmen and skilled detectives who
had been his day by day companions.
And this transformation, proof as it
was of .the man’s ‘degeneracy, hurried
his doom.

On May 18th, before a jury composed
of nine women and three men, the
aged, sallow murderer, pleaded his
case. His family and his counsel sought
to prove that an attack of sex dementia
had driven him temporarily mad. But
all evidence introduced to this effect
could not overweigh the horror of his

Mm: bl Re, : \
Martin Sullivan, former police officer,
whose mad escapade spelled multiple
+ ° murder.

crimes. Conclusive testimony to prove

‘that his attack on the Vukelja girl had

actually taken place weighed the scales
more heavily against him. :

He was sentenced to die on the elec-
tric chair. sos ;

And with strange nonchalance,
knowing that no hope existed of ob-
taining a commutation of sentence, he
returned to his cell, lit his pipe, and
waited with equanimity for his fate.

The strange case of Martin Sullivan
will remain unparalleled in criminal
annals for many years to come. Crim-
inologists will discuss its puzzling con-
tradictions, will arrive at various con-
clusions. Perhaps the real truth behind
the patrolman’s actions will never be
known; but it does afford an interest-
ing case history of a man’s life—a man
who for thirty years served his city as
a law enforcement officer—then made
a complete about-face and turned into
that city’s most brutal killer. These are
the facts in an almost unbelievable
case. What is your opinion of Martin
Sullivan’s actions?

THE DIVORCEE—THE CHINAMAN—AND THE

(Continued from page 11)

RENO DOPE RING

with axes and caught him. They found
the marked money in his pocket.
Every variety and amount of nar-
cotics was found and seized, ranging
from one dollar decks and bindles and
“toys” of smoking opium to ounce
envelopes of morphine that sold at
prices around two hundred dollars.
Also taken and smashed were all sorts
of gambling apparatus, most of them
crooked. Another raiding party

.crashed and entered Woo Sing’s sep-

arate opium smoking parlor at 219
Peavine Street.

This establishment was as elabor-
ately protected as any figment of a

. Hollywood scenario writer’s imagina-

tion. In the floor, near the door, was
a false board, which, when stepped
upon by a visitor, sounded a warning
bell throughout the upper floors. Care-
fully hidden individual rooms were
found for persons who desired to traf-
fic in popp dreams or in illicit ‘amours,

W020 SING and six of his Oriental
Staff were taken to prison by Sher-
iff Root, while his deputies were hunt-

ing for Hansen and McAvoy. Mean- —

while, searchers were combing the
Public Club and its companion estab-
lishments for further evidence. Several
thousand dollars in cash was found in
a safe, also a machine gun, a shotgun,
and several pistols. The attack had
been timed so perfectly and executed
with such precision that the Chinese
had been unable to get to their weap-

ons and put up any sort of a defense.
Not a single shot was fired.

Joyce, after leaving the Public Club,
was spirited away to a secret hideout
by Sheriff Root, where she was kept
under armed guard. The sheriff and
the Federal men were taking no
chances of having their prize witness
silenced by tools of the gang.

By six o’clock McAvoy and Hansen,
despite their thunderous protests, were
lodged in the prison under a Federal
warrant charging them with conspir-
acy to violate the narcotics law. “This

is a frame-up,” the agent shouted in-.

dignantly. “I am innocent. Take a look
at my record and see if this makes
sense!”

The fifty-seven-year-old investigator
had compiled a long and honorable
dossier in the government service. Al-
most single handed he had cleaned up
the vicious Chinatown of Los Angeles,
a feat which stood at the top of.a tall
list of creditable achievements. It
seemed incredible that such a man,
seasoned in the pursuit of criminals,
should have turned crook himself.

Feeling that Hansen was too sea-
soned in the methods of police ques-
tioning, District Attorney Ernest S.
Brown decided to concentrate on Mc-
Avoy. But it took little to break the
peddler down. He admitted making
the two deliveries to Joyce, whom he
knew as “Jeanne” and admitted tak-
ing money for them. He obtained the
morphine, he said, from Chris Hansen

in the toilet of the Tobacco Shoppe and
in the men’s room of the Alpine Club,
both in Reno. ;

He said that he was the husband of
a choir singer in the divorce city, had
once been an internal revenue agent,
and had entered the dope racket the
last few. days because he was out of a
job. The previous ‘month, he said, he
had gone to Elko, Nevada, with Hansen
and,wh running out of funds, the Fed-
eral man had wired a Chinaman in
Reno for money, which had come by
return telegram.

On the twenty-first of May last, the
district attorney went to work on the
Chinese in his custody—and, under a
prolonged grilling, Woo Sing broke
down and confessed. He gave a de-
tailed account of his dealings with
Hansen and admitted that his Public
Club establishment was the local
source of the narcotics retailed by the
agent. .

He declared he paid “protection
money” to Hansen in the form of
“loans,” aggregating $650 in the past
few months; that he and Hansen were
“partners” in a well organized, well
defined narcotics traffic system, under
which from time to time he bought

‘from Hansen and at other times Han-

sen bought from him. Each had their
own clientele.

He said that he obtained his nar- -
cotics in weekly supplies from San
Francisco. Disclosing the tremendous
profit in the narcotics trade, Woo Sing


118

nad a luncheon date with the minister
Saturday.

(jes regarded as significant
the statement of George Baker, a
brakeman on the Hyannis-Boston pas-
senger train. It was this train that Mrs.
Linnell took from Boston at 4.28 P.M.
Friday. Baker said:

“I saw the girl kiss her mother good-
by and then walk from the platform to
the train shed. There she met Rev-
erend Richeson and I saw the two of
them leave the station together by the
main entrance.”

Had Reverend Richeson given the
girl a deadly poison and told her it
was a harmless drug intended to re-
lieve her condition? Evidence that the
minister had seen Avis Linnell on both
afternoons preceding her death
prompted officers to entertain this
theory seriously. Therefore, acting on
the assumption that Reverend Riche-
son had actually purchased the fatal
drug, a systematic canvass of all drug
stores in and about. Boston was ordered
by Superintendent Watts and Prose-
cutor Pelletier.

Six days passed. Six days of cease-
less activity for the half-dozen detec-
tives assigned to the investigation. As
was inevitable, word of the probe
soon reached the avid ears of reporters.
Rumors of the suspicion directed
against Reverend Richeson swept over
Boston like a tidal wave.

Still in seclusion at the home of
his wealthy fiancee’s parents, Rich-
eson declined to issue any statement
or to see anyone. Members of the
Edmands household assured officers
and reporters that as a result of the
wave of malicious innuendo directed
against the name of Reverend Rich-
es6n, Miss Edmands and her mother
were both in a state of nervous pros-
tration, necessitating the attendance
of the family physician.

The first encouraging break in the
case came late Friday night, six days
following the death of the attractive
music student. A telephone call reached
Deputy Superintendent Watts at his
home. The caller was former Repre-
sentative Elias B. Bishop of Newton
Center, a prominent attorney. Bishop
explained that he had been retained
by William Hahn, a Newton Center
druggist who possessed information of
value in connection with the Richeson
case. The attorney added that Hahn’s
delay in notifying police was prompted
by his reluctance to involve Reverend
Richeson, his friend, in the crime of
murder.

Late that night, in Hahn’s drug
store, located on Union Street, Newton
Center, the little druggist, nervous and
obviously agitated, told his story.

“The Newton Theological Institu-
tion is near here and my store is some-
thing of a gathering place for seminary
students,” he began. “Richeson stopped
in to see me on the night of Tuesday,
October 10th. I have known him sev-
eral years. He talked about everything
and I thought his visit was just a social
call until he said:

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

use on my dog? She’s going to have
pups. I want to kill the pups but don’t
want to injure the dog.’

“{ said I didn’t know of any such
drug. I then suggested that he use
chloroform, but he objected, saying
he didn’t like the odor. I suggested cya-
nide of potassium and he at once
agreed. I sold him enough of the stuff
to kill ten people.”

Greatly distressed, the little druggist,
torn between loyalty to his friend’and
a deep-rooted sense of duty, added
that before departing Richeson had
said:

“You'd better not mention to any- .

body that I bought cyanide. While my

_use of the poison might look mysteri-

ous, my purpose is strictly legitimate.
And remember,” he had added, “I
want you to come to my wedding Oc-
tober 31st.” Hahn produced an en-
graved wedding invitation he had re-
ceived the day following Richeson’s
visit.

It was 1:30 a.m. when a squad of de-
tectives, led by Deputy Superinten-
dent Watts and Chief Dugan reached
the Edmands mansion. Sensing that
something important was afoot, a score
of newspaper reporters trailed the
officers. However, despite all their ef-
forts to gain admission to the darkened
mansion, they were unsuccessful. As
a result officers and reporters were
forced to loiter about the premises
until daybreak.

At 7:00 a. M. a maid arose, and a
burly seargeant of detectives conversed

with her through a rear door. Mr. Ed-
mands appeared, explaining he had
believed the crowd were all reporters.
After a telephone conversation with
his attorney, the millionaire permitted
Watts to go to Richeson’s room. The
latter found the minister in a second
floor bedroom, in bed but wide awake.
The tall, handsome young cleric arose
and proceeded to dress.

“T'll go peacefully,” he assured the
officer in a calm voice. “You need have
no worry about a scene.”

Watts noted the steadiness of his
fingers as he donned his clothing.
Coolly, he directed Deputy Watts to re-
quest a maid to bring him a glass of hot
milk, The latter complied and Richeson
drank with apparent relish. He re-
fused a proffered cigarette, explaining
that he neither drank nor smoked.

N A TEARFUL farewell scene, Rich-

eson’s attractive young fiancee, ill
in bed, embraced him passionately.

“I believe in you,” she sobbed. “I
know you are innocent.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” the young min-
ister said tenderly. “I'll clear myself
of these abominable charges if it’s the
last thing I do.” ;

To reporters, Moses Edmands said:

“Mr. Richeson will have as good a
defense as money can buy.” And, as
if to prove his. statement, the million-
aire at once consulted the famous Bos-
ton law firm ‘of Brandeis, Nuttor and
Dunbar, headed by Louis D. Brandeis,
now Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.

Mass Slayer On Way to Chair

Martin Sullivan, center, the veteran Pennsylvania policeman who ran amuck and
killed three women and two men in December, 1936, is shown as he started his last

eee ee

Richeson, ou
lodged in the
8:00 a.m. Later
he was led acr
to the municip-
dred curious p:
to stare at th:
the handsome
having murder

Saturday aft
tations were re
family.

Richeson was
gree murder, s)
ministered fifte
potassium to A
urday the priso
William Hahn,
whose damagin
arrest. Richeson
rancor. Extendi
warmly:

“Hello, Bill!”

Hahn appeare
meeting than t¢!

In the presence
and accuser, Dep
entire statement.
Richeson threw
claimed:

“I’m_ innocent.
have no comme:
he ordered food.
relish, consumin;
potatoes, milk,

. The jailed mi:
rallied to his su
burg, Tom Ris}

THOU
THEIR

As Wo
A:

CIENTISTS h:
sands of peo
only because they
B and iron in thei
vital elements yc
not get the most
what you eat.
Once se ele
they pia nae ae
Yeast tablets, th
in a short time
sands report won
to 25 pounds in « f
urally clear and ¢)
tiveness that wins

Why they

Food cheniists })
richest sources «
Vitamin B is th:
English ale.

Now by a oney
formula, this rich
concentrated, taki:
make just one pou;
ing it many times
strength than ordi
strength-building j:
ale yeast are adi.
this Ironized Yeusr
Vitamin RB strener
building power,
_The result is thes
Yeast tablets, wi
skinny, rundown ps
elements hail

building and heal:
time.

“Bill, do you have anything I can journey to Rockview Penitentiary where he will be electrocuted.

NICO CT cf CLF


eee

SWINGLER, Peter (Peaches)  - LARGE CARD

Executed June 5, 1879; a Negro; Franklin Cosy Paes victim
not known to compilers; "had a fight in Broad Lane at a
dances; went to his home in wolfstown, got his shotgun,
returned to the dance and shot and killed the Negro with
whom he had quarreled't; source: PUBLIC OPINION, Chambers-
burg, May 11, 1911, in retrospect; Judge Kimmel was on
the bench; Sheriff Michael Gable the executioner.

SCAFFOLD AND CHAIRBY TEETERS. PART II. PAGE 143

ee “8
Execution of a Negro Murderer, -

CHAMBER-BURG, Pa., Juno 5.—Pcter, alias Peachy;
Swingler, colored,'who murdered John Anderson, a
colored man, at 4 ball in this place on the night of
December 17 last, was hanged in the jail yard hero to-
day.. The prisoner rested well last niyht, ate a hearty
‘breakfast this morning and “showed a remarkable
nerve throughout the whole proceedings. He was
taken irom bis cell at a few miputes before ‘eleven |
o'clock. Upon reaching the scaffold he placed the
rope around his. neck himself. The sheriff had him |
remove it to allow him to make any remarks he wiebh- |
| ed. The prisoner then said that whisky and bad com-
| pany had brought him: there, and advised all to ab- |
stain irom both, He thanked the sheriff and the at-
tendants for the kindness shown him, and said he was
ready, and again placed the rope around his neck, |
which the sheriff again had removed.

eoe9- Bene atte ay


SWINGLER, Peter ("Peachy")

Swingler, a black man, was a resident of Wolfstown, Pa. On the night
of Dec. 17, 1878, he went to a dance in the home of John Anderston at
Broad Lane, Franklin County, during the course of which he got into
and argument with and struck Anderson's wife. Anderson demanded that
he leave the premises and Swingler then went to the home of his mother,
about one mile away, obtained a pistol and returned to the dance,
arriving around midnight. Without saying a word, he walked up to
anderson, who was dancing at the time, plaved the pistol next to his
abdomen and fired, He then struck Anderson over the head with the
pistol and fled, Anderson died fifteen minutes later and Swingkter
was found hiding underneath a bed at the home of his mother and
arrested the next day, A strong plea was made to the Board of Pardons
for a commutation of his sentence on the grounds that, though he was
not insane, he was of a weak mind, Even though this effort was joined
by the Sheriff, most of members of the Franklin County Bar and the
leading citizens of Chambersburg, the Board declined to interfere and
Swingter was hanged at Chambersburg on June 5, 1879, He went to his
death calmly and, after he had ascended the scaffold, he placed the
noose about his own neck. He made a brief speech in which he blamed

Ad

his predicament on whiskey and bad companions and advised his lise
teners to shun both, | :

| Chamhersburg PUBLIC OPINION, Chambersburg, Pa,, May 11, 1911
SCAFFOLD AND CHAIR by Teeters, Part II, Page 13 >

WANIOML POLIGE OXTHEEE, 2I5-1879(10-1); 6-1ABTH(IOA8); 6elaBT9
(= : )

oS

=)

548 COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant,
Opinion of the Court. [246 Pa.

verdict and judgment which shall be given, after mak-

ing such amendment, shall be of the same force and ef-

fect, in all respects, as if the indictment had originally

been in the same form as it was after the amendment
was made.” But it is urged that the amendment in the
present case, having been made after verdict, was too
late. This overlooks what was required of the prisoner
by the 11th section of the same act, which provides that
“Every objection to any indictment for any formal de-
fect, apparent on the face thereof, shall be taken by de-
murrer, or on motion to quash such indictment, before
the jury shall be sworn, and not afterward; and every
court before whom any such objection shall be taken for
any formal defect, may, if it be thought necessary, cause
the indictment to be forthwith amended in such particu-
lar by the clerk or other officer of the court, and there-
upon the trial shall proceed as if no such defect ap-

peared.” a
When the prisoner was arraigned and the indictment
was read to him, he heard that it charged him with hav-
ing committed the murder on October 31, 1914,—an im-
possible date—but he made no motion to quash ard on
his plea of not guilty permitted the trial to proceed on
its merits. If he had moved to quash before the jury
were sworn, “The court could then have taken care of
the interests of the public by sending back the indict-
ment to the grand jury, if in session, for amendment; or
if not, could have held the defendant to answer a fresh
indictment. But after going on to trial, when the jury
could not be safely discharged, the power to amend
comes in aid of justice, to prevent a failure. Then the
last provision of the 13th section is, that ‘every verd e
and judgment which shall be given, after eee h
amendment, shall be of the same force and effect, in au
respects, as if the indictment had originally been in oe
same form in which it was after such an amendment was

made:’” Rough v. Commonwealth, 78 Pa. 495.
In Myers v. Commonwealth, 79 Pa. 308, the defendant

, &

COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant, 549

1914.] Opinion of the Court.
below was convicted of murder of the first degree on an
indictment which charged at the time the Jury were em-
paneled that the crime had been committed on October
11, 1874. After the Jury had been sworn the indictment
was amended, under the prisoner’s objection, by chang-
ing the date to November 11) 1874.> In holding that this
amendment was Properly allowed, we said: “The
amendment of the indictment from ‘October,’ 1874, to
‘November,’ 1874, is justified by the 13th sect. of the
Act of 31st of March, 1860, relating to the criminal pro-
cedure, especially when read in connection with the
powers of amendment set forth in the 11th and 12th
Sections. A clause in the 13th sect. reads thus: ‘Or in
the name or description of any matter or thing what-
Soever therein named or described.’ The month of Oc-
tober was named in the indictment, and the precise day
described by the number eleven. The amendment fell
clearly within this power, which is strengthened by the
large powers of amendment intended to be conferred by
the sections stated.” 7

The court below, in the case at bar, having had power
to allow the amendment before verdict, had the same
power after verdict: Brown y. Commonwealth, 78
Pa. 122. So after all the question is as to the power of
the court below to have allowed the amendment at any
stage of the proceedings. No statute of limitation runs
in favor of a murderer and time is therefore not of the
essence of his crime when he is called for trial upon the
indictment charging him withit. A mis-statement in an
indictment of the date of the commission of a crime is a
mere formal defect if it be shown.on the trial that the
offense charged had been committed: Commonwealth vy.
Major, 198 Pa. 290; Commonwealth y. Powell, 23 Pa. Su-
perior Ct. 370. The wrong date disclosed in the indict-
ment returned by the grand jury in this case having been
a mere formal defect, it was cured by the amendment
clearly allowable under the Act of March 31, 1860.
and there is, therefore, no merit in the main conten-

, a

990 COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant,

Opinion of the Court. [246 Pa.
tion of learned counsel for the prisoner, which we dis-

_Iniss with the following from the opinion of the learned

court below denying the motion in arrest of judgment:
“The defendant testified that he was with Collata on
October 31st, and that, while they were in the wagon to-
gether, Collata was shot. He denied that he shot him, but
said that he was shot by a man by the name of Santo, who
jumped in from the back of the wagon, stayed about two
minutes on the wagon, and then ran away. That testi-
mony could only have applied to a past and not to a fu-
ture time. It seems, therefore, to us to be almost trifling
with justice if, in the face of all the testimony presented,
and after a fair and impartial trial, the court should set
aside the conviction, which was most righteous under the
testimony, because some official inadvertently blundered
concerning a fact which on the trial was not in dispute
and the correction of which was in no wise prejudicial to
the defendant.”

The Act of June 19, 1918, P. L. 528, directing that the
death penalty shall be inflicted by means of electricity,
is not an amendatory enactment. It is complete in itself
and does not require the reenforcement of any other
Statute to give it effect. It is, therefore, not violative
of Article III, Sect. 6, of the Constitution: Clarion
County v. Clarion Township, 222 Pa. 350.

Nothing more remains to be said except that the judg-
ment is affirmed, with direction that the record be re-
mitted to the court below for execution of the sentence
according to law.

Shaffer, Appellant, v. Wilmore Coal Co.

Actions—Res adjudicata—Ejectment—Prior suit in equity be-
tween same parties—Binding instructions.

1. The rule that a cause of action once finally determined,
without appeal, between the parties, on the merits, by a competent

Cee ay Ahi eer

Ee ki uk ara 2 ARMS Ree Ma hs 54a

PRE

Sete

ERA Ne elas ape gig ey <<.

SHAFFER, Appellant, vy, WILMORE COAL CO. 551

1914.] Syllabus—Opinion of the Court.

tribunal, cannot afterwards be litigated by new proceedings,
either before the same or any other tribunal, applies where the
cause of action, while not technically the same, is nevertheless so
related to the cause in the prior litigation that some matter, the
establishment of which is essential to recovery in the second, was
determined in the first.

2. At the trial of an action of ejectment where it appeared that
plaintiff's right to possession had been finally adjudicated against
him in a suit in equity for specific performance of a contract to
convey the land in suit to defendants’ assignors, wherein the de-
eree which was unappealed from, determined every question
raised on the trial of the action of ejectment, the court made no
error in directing a verdict for defendants. :

Argued Sept. 28, 1914. Appeal, No. 53, Oct. T., 1914,
by plaintiff, from judgment of C. P. Somerset Co., Feb.
T., 1912, No. 132, on directed verdict for defendants in
case of Lewis D. Shaffer v. The Wilmore Coal Company,
The Berwind-White Coal Mining Company, and The
Pennsylvania Railroad Company. Before Fru, ©. J.,
Brown, Mersrrezat, Porrer, ELKIN and STEWART, JJ.
Affirmed. |

Ejectment for lands in Somerset County. Before
BALprice, P. J. |

The opinion of the Supreme Court states the facts.

Verdict for defendant by direction of the court, and
judgment thereon. Plaintiff appealed.

Error assigned, among others, was in directing a ver-
dict for defendants.

Alexander King, for appellant.

Chas. IF. Uhl, Jr., with him Chas. H. Fialy, for ap-
pellees.

PER CurIAM, October 26, 1914:
This appeal is from a judgment entered ona verdict in
an action of ejectment. The defense at the trial was that


: & “he

546 COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant,

Opinion of the Court. (245 Pz

In the indictment returned by the grand jury April
20, 1914, the date of the commission of the crime ix laid
as October 31, 1914. On April 27, 1914, six days after
the prisoner had been found guilty of murder of the first
degree, his counsel made a motion in arrest of judgment
on the ground that the indictment upon which he had
been found guilty charged the offense ax having beon
committed more than six months after the trial. On
May 20, 1914, on motion of the district attorney the
court permitted the indictment to be amended by chang.
ing the date of the commission of the offense to October
31, 1913, and subsequently the judgment appealed from
was entered on the verdict. The allowance after ver-
dict of the amendment and the dismissal of the motion
in arrest of judgment are two of the three grounds upon
which this appeal is pressed.

Whether, under the common law, the amendment of the
indictment ought not to have been allowed and the judg.
ment should have been arrested, are not questions to be
considered on this appeal. The amendment was allowed
in the exercise of what the learned court below believed
to be power conferred upon it by our Criminal Pro-
cedure Act of March 31, 1860, and if that act confers the
power which was exercised, the judgment that followed
the amendment was properly pronounced and cannot be
disturbed. As the question before us is Whether under
our statute the court had the power to do what it did, we
need not consider the rulings of courts in other juris-
dictions cited by learned counsel for the prisoner in
Support of his contention of the lack of power in the
court below to have directed the amendment.

Less than a century and a half ago, one hundred and
sixty offenses were punishable with death in England,

and the rigorous strictness then required by the courts

of that country in the framing of indictments can now
be readily understood. With so many crimes involving
the death penalty at that time, “Humane judges would
catch at any slip when a life was to be saved. But in

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COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant, 547

1914.] Opinion of the Court.

this State, where but a single crime is capital, and where
the whole criminal code is administered in mildness and
mercy, there is no such reason for strictness of plead-
ing”: AGNEW, J., in Commonwealth v. Keenan, 67 Pa.
203. From time to time Parliament abolished the death
penalty for various crimes until life was the forfeit for
but few, and then came the Statute of 9 Geo. IV allow-
ing amendments of indictments in misdemeanors. This
was followed in 1851 by a Statute (14 and 15 Vict., c.
100) giving to the courts the broadest power to amend
in felonies as well as misdemeanors, the preamble of the
act being as follows: “Whereas offenders frequently es-
cape conviction on their trials by reason of the technical
strictness of criminal proceedings in matters not ma-
terial to the merits of the case; and, whereas, such
technical strictness may safely be relaxed in many in-
stances, so as to ensure the punishment of the guilty,
Without depriving the accused of any just means of de-
fense; and whereas, a failure of justice often takes
place on the trial of persons charged with felony and
misdemeanor by reason of variance between the state-
ment in the indictment on which the trial is had and the
proof of names, dates, matters, and circumstances therein
mentioned, not material to the merits of the case, and
by the misstatement whereof the person on trial cannot
have been prejudiced in his defense. Be it therefore en-
acted, etc.” The reason set forth in the foregoing pre-
amble led less than ten years later to our Act of March
31, 1860, P. L. 427, permitting amendments of indict-
ments in all cases. By the 12th and 13th Sections of that
act the power of a trial court to direct the amendment
of an indictment is given in broadest terms and may be
exercised whenever “there shall appear to be any vari-
ance between the statement of the indictment and the
evidence offered in proof thereof,” provided that the
court shall consider the variance not material to the
merits of the case and that the defendant cannot be
prejudiced in his defense upon such merits; “and every

pistol in his

‘em up!”
shoot to

1c thud the
o the pave-
ysed in. At-
1andcuffs on
vhile Elliott

d no other
red him into
ied back to
by radio of
rs were sent
, a Chrysler,
nen had at-
sas-tank was
vhy the fugi-

vrisoner gave
Barron. He
Captain Wil-
Allentown
ad informed
LL
, and sallow
and shifty-
an his fingers
> of straight,
the Hahn at-
/wski murder,
the detective

. “I was in
I didn’t do no
it murder in
om the wrong
in that town.”
i to be identi-
mes of which
id stubbornly
1is accomplice.
k and Luzerne
of Powell ar-
id been towed
lot and thor-
der the front
found a gold
~ "nr .Det-

| Pa & ‘sup-
, vais from the
antown Thurs-

fore,” Barron
‘tive chief had
s part of $9,000
n from a Ger-
) nights before.

interrogation
ect, Clark tele-
varracks asking

who had seen
m Cutler’s de-
ought at once

‘ailed so many
tify a suspect,
at Barron and
“That’s one of
-re’s no doubt

twilder’s office,
* face to face
ad members of
orce. .
ou,” the Major
just positively
man who killed
man in Wilkes-
for murder in
Are you going
the man who
Cutler?” .
vhite. “Okay,
My name’s not
ky. Anthony
“t do no shoot-

5 Powell’s icy

query. “Come on, speak up, Junior!”

“Frank Stabinski,” came the reply.
“We were buddies at reform school.
We just got out in August.”

Tetrosky said he was an orphan and
that he lived in Ashley, outside of
Wilkes-Barre. He and his partner
had met at the State Reformatory at
Huntington, he confessed, and to-
gether had started the reign of ter-
ror which had held Luzerne County
in its grip for eight days. But he
ascribed all the attacks to Stabinski.

“Frank slugged the Unger kid over
the head while she was asleep,” he
testified. “But she screamed and we
beat it. We wouldn’t have hurt the
Malinowski woman if she had kept
still, But she rolled over, so Frank
slugged her on the head. First thing
we knew she was trying to get out the
window, so Frank really let her have
it then. Frank plugged Cutler be-
cause he thought the guy was going
to resist.”

“But you'll never get Stabinski,”
Tetrosky added with finality. “That
is, you’ll never get him alive.”

Now began one of the most gigantic
manhunts ever launched in Pennsyl-
vania. Warned that the fugitive was
armed and dangerous, every officer
for miles around was on the lookout
with instructions to take him dead or
alive. Clark’s men were stationed
uay and night near the house where
Barron said he lived in Ashley. Still
the alleged murderer evaded the
police.

Five days later, Thursday, Novem-
ber 24, in broad daylight, Dr. Thomas
Evans, a dentist, ran into the street
not six blocks away from Stabinski’s
-home, and shouted: “He’s in there!
In my office! He held me up. Stabin-
oe. the fellow who’s wanted for mur-

er.”

Police rushed to the building. But
once again, the killer had escaped.
Dr. Evans had backed out of his of-
fice after luring the gunman into ran-

‘ sacking a desk for purported cash.

_ “I recognized him from his picture
in the paper,” the dentist explained.
“I locked the door on my way out.”

“I know,” returned a sympathetic
detective, “but he escaped out a side
door.”

The reign of terror was not yet
over. Determined to end it, the
state, county and city police doggedly
kept up the hunt. ey were watch-
ing, trigger-fingered, in Allentown,
Hazelton and Wilkes-Barre.

That night, Chief Taylor of Wilkes-.
Barre got a,tip that a man answering:
Stabinski’s description’. had just
bought a hat at the Adler store on
Franklin Street. Summoning Detec-:
tives John Williams. and’ Joseph

Petroski, Taylor motioned them into
a police-car. All three were in
plainclothes. En route to the store,
the chief outlined a plan.
“If we spot him, go slow,” he or-
dered. “Don’t let him get suspicious.”
As they drove down Franklin
Street, they saw him—a short, swag-
gering figure, hastening up the street.
“We'll go right past him and down
a side-street two blocks up,” Taylor
said hurriedly. “You, Joe, get out
and go in a store he’ll have to walk
past. We’ll approach in front of him.
We'll hold him up, then you come out
of the store, with a second command
to halt. He’ll look around. That’s
when John and Ill jump him.”
Unsuspectingly, the round-faced,
boyish Stabinski walked past the store
and into the barrels of two revolvers
aimed at him by the “civilians” whom
he had barely noticed a second be-
fore. The suspect stopped short and

automatically his right hand jutted-

into his coat pocket.. '
“Make a move and I’ll shoot!” came
a booming voice from the rear.
Stabinski turned. Instantly Taylor
and Williams were upon him.’ Hand-
cuffed to the two officers, he was

taken to headquarters and lodged in |}

jail.

Confronted with Tetrosky’s con-
fession, he too broke down and gave a
similar version of the crimes the two
had committed. Their statements
completely cleared the Kowalski
brothers, Benny and Charlie, of all
suspicion in the case. Mrs. Hahn,
who was rushed to the hospital for
an emergency operation, recovered.

Stabinski was the first to go to trial.
Brought before Judge John S. Fine
and a jury in Wilkes-Barre January
29, 1933, he claimed insanity as a de-
fense. Four days later he was found
guilty and sentenced to death in the
electric chair.

Tetrosky, his partner in crime,
faced trial on February 13 of that
year, in a court presided over by
Judge William A. Valentine. His plea
of insanity also failed and on Janu-
ary 8, 1934—after the State Supreme
Court had denied the appeals from
the decisions of the lower courts—
Anthony Tetrosky and Frank Stabin-
ski paid the supreme penalty for their
crimes.

The confessed murderers, who had
killed two persons, seriously injured
two more and spread terror through-
out eastern Pennsylvania, walked to
the electric chair at midnight, in
Rockview Prison, Bellefonte.

THE ENp

Eprror’s Note: The names Benny
and Charlie Kowalski are fictitious.

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89


LIKE MANY. reformatory .“gradu-*"%,
ates,” Anthony Tetrosky (above) and. ™)::.
Frank Stabinski (below) were anyz,.,."
thing but reformed. \Tetrosky was —

i

18, Stabinski three years older.

WHEN THE housewifé, awoke and
screamed in terror, the. trigger-
crazy gunmen shot her and made
their escape. (Large photo is spe- %.
cially pésed by professional models )";

OHN MALINOWSKI’S story of the brutal early morning

assault on November 11, 1932—Armistice Day—that cost
his semi-invalid sister her life, was well-nigh fantastic. And
yet, as Chief Luzerne County Detective Richard Powell agreed
with me, the story rang true,

The state police had been”summoned to the home of Mr. and
Mrs. Emile Malinowski on St. Mary’s Road in fashionable
Hanover Township, a suburb of Wilkes-Barre, Pa., by Detec-
tive Powell whose brief comment to me over the telephone had
been, “Mary Malinowski has been murderd in Hanover Town-
ship, major. It looks very much as if we have more than one
angle to figure out.”

After Lieutenant Jack Carr, Sergeants Jacob Hess and Ben
K. Lee—the latter a fingerprint and ballistics expert—and my-
self had heard John Malinowski’s version of the nocturnal
visit paid by two masked men, plus the strange conduct of the
killers, Powell’s words took on an ominous twist. i

Besides Mr. and Mrs. Malinowski, their spacious 16-room
home was occupied by John, Stanley and Mary Malinowski.

”

The father, regarded as the political leader of .the Polish-
American population of the county, was owner of the Franklin
Brewery in Wilkes-Barre and president of the First National
Bank at Nanticoke, a city .12 miles southwest of his home.

Their oldest son, John, 39, a former Luzerne County assessor
and an official of his father’s bank, was extremely active in
political circles, while Stanley, 32, was a vice-president of the
brewery. It was common knowledge that the Malinowskis were
financially secure, as testified by the numerous generous dona-
tions made by the family for charities throughout the anthracite
region.

Nor did it escape our minds that it was very probable that
both the father and John had incurred political enmities during
their careers. At the same time it was almost impossible to
visualize a hatred so deep and so bitter that satisfaction could
be obtained only at the expense of an innocent life.

For his part John told us a straightforward story backed by
unmistakable evidence we found in the home.

He had been awakened shortly after 3 o’clock by two masked


men, he said. One of the intruders had pressed a revolver
against his chest, warning him to “Keep your damned mouth
shut or I’ll blow your brains out.”

While this was taking place, he told me, the other thug
snatched his watch and wallet from. his dresser, then both
men bound his hands and feet with his neckties, stuffed a
handkerchief in. his mouth, raced down the stairs and made
their escape out a basement door. Shortly after hé heard the
door slam, he added, he heard the sound of an automobile
speeding down St. Mary’s Road.

The remainder of the story he related briefly. “I managed
to free myself and ran to Stanley’s room. He was still sound
asleep and had not been molested, I quickly told him what had
happened and we both hurried to Mary’s room. We found her
on the floor with blood gushing from a deep cut in her scalp.
She was still breathing but was unconscious. As I attempted

‘to revive her, Stanley went to the telephone to call Dr. Hugo

(Dr. T. L, Hugo of Hanover Township). Stanley found the
wires cut and had to call from a neighbor’s home.

‘$-\ Wh

waft po f wo Fe
a) OXECC. Le wl

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: \ iG
L_ WERE CAUGHT!

By MAJOR WILLIAM A. CLARK
Pennsylvania State Police
» With George E. Clark *

“When the doctor arrived,” continued John, “he ordered
Mary removed to the hospital. You know the rest,” he con-
cluded as his voice faltered. “Mary died soon after she reached
the hospital.”

The grief-stricken brother raised his eyes and looked directly
at me. “Major, I want you to get the dogs responsible for this 7
there is no question of expense involved.”

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Malinowski, Powell told me, had been
disturbed or heard any sounds to arouse them. “I can easily
understand that part of it,” conceded Powell. “They sleep in a
rear bedroom. But I can’t understand why John and Stanley
weren’t awakened by the sounds of the scuffle that must have
taken place in Mary’s room. You'd think the girl must have
screamed.”

In the meantime Carr, Hess and Lee had been examining
the victim’s room. Under the bed Lee discovered the weapon
that had crushed out the woman’s life. The instrument of
death, a crudely fashioned homemade blackjack, had been
broken in two—evidence of the fury of the attack. To the

in High
+ fy he
OY


_

ieee

their getaway. The mysterious intruders left no fingerprints.

trained eyes of the troopers the trail of blood leading from the
bed to the window clearly reconstructed the terrific battle the
unfortunate woman waged for her life.

“It looks to me as if Miss Malinowski managed to break —
‘away and had reached the window before they grabbed her

again,” ventured Carr. ,
. Lee nodded. “But if that was the case isn’t it possible she
had at least one opportunity to cry for help?” .

Carefully wrapping the blackjack in a cloth, Carr shook his
head ‘slowly. “Not necessarily. In the first place she might
have been dazed by a blow on the head or so terrified she was
unable to yell. And judging by the thickness of this carpet,”
he said as he lifted the border of the rug, “I’d say it would
deaden sound somewhat.” .

If we were puzzled at the failure of the apparent struggle to
arouse the family, we were more amazed at what we discovered
in the basement. Partitioned into a game, furnace and supply
room, every window was protected by stout steel bars set ‘six
inches apart. Both John and Stanley assured us every window
on the ground floor as well as the doors had been locked and
‘had not been disturbed.

“I’m positive they entered the house through a basement
window,” insisted John. : ;

Sergeant Hess solved the mystery. Pointing to a chair that
had been placed directly under the furnace room window, he
turned to Powell. “That’s right,” he declared. “This chair was
placed here to break the jump of the second man after the first

_ one entered.”

“But how in the world could anyone squeeze between those
bars?” countered Powell.

“Yes, and why should the accomplice bother to force his way
through the bars when the first man could easily have opened
the door from the inside?” I interrupted.

“Doors sometimes squeak,” Hess pointed out. “And didn’t
Mr. Malinowski say that both men were under average height ?”
Hess cinched his argument by climbing on the chair and exam-
ining the window ledge. “Look here,” he called to Lee, “you
‘can see where the dust has been wiped off as they slid over
the window ledge.” '

As the sergeant stepped down, Lee mounted the chair. “Yes,
and they did more than wipe the dust away,” he muttered.
“There’s not a trace of a fingerprint on the window panes or

the bars.”

Act ING on my instructions scores of troopers fanned out to
interview residents of the exclusive St. Mary’s Hill section
of the township in hopes of picking up a possible clue. Powell

3 and I returned to state police headquarters at the Wyoming

. to remember anything.

Barracks to map out plans for the apprehension of the killer—
or killers—of Miss Malinowski.

First sending out a teletype flash ¢o all regional state police
stations requesting them to be on the lookout for two short men
who might possiby be driving a high-powered car, I picked up
a stack of overnight reports that had accumulated on my desk.

After scanning several reports I involuntarily emitted a
whistle of surprise that brought Powell quickly to my side.
“This is very interesting,” I remarked, handing him a type-
written report. : .

The report, received from the Forty Fort police department,
stated that at 2 o’clock that morning the home of Mr. and Mrs.
Wood Unger on River Street in that town, 12 miles from the
Malinowski residence, had been entered and the Ungers’
daughter beaten up by two masked intruders. The report con-
tained startling similarities between the two cases.

Awakened by the terrified screams of his 16-year-old daughter,
Mr. Unger hurried to her bedroom, almost knocking over two -
men who brushed by him in their haste to race down the steps
and escape from the home. His primary concern the safety of
his daughter, Unger paid little heed to the burglars and con-
tinued toward the daughter’s bedroom.

Cold fear gripped him as he switched on the bedroom light
and ‘saw the child sprawled across the foot of her bed, blood
streaming from a deep gash just above her right eye.

By this time Mrs. Unger had joined fer husband. The
mother began to administer to the child as Unger ran down
the stairs to summon assistance. As in the Malinowski home,
the wires leading to the telephone had been cut and it was neces-
sary for him to run to a neighbor’s home to call a doctor and
the police. ;

Fortunately, aside from the deep cut and shock, the girl was
not seriously injured. but could -offer little help in identifying
her assailants. To all their questions she could only reply that
from the moment she fell asleep until she was revived, she failed

“This certainly ties in with the Hanover Township case,”
commented Powell as he handed the sheet back to me. “You
notice Unger said both men were short and each wore a mask?”

I nodded. “And if the same pair pulled both jobs you’ can
bet your bottom dollar they'll strike again and we know now
they won’t stop short of murder.”

That morning as residents of Wyoming Valley prepared
their annual Armistice Day tribute, we launched an intensive
manhunt for the mysterious assailants. As state troopers checked
hotels and boarding houses in Wilkes-Barre. and surrounding
communities, fellow officers blocked off all. major highways as
well as secondary roads in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Armed
with powerful rifles, the troopers halted scores of motor vehicles
in the needle-in-the-haystack search. Still, I felt.confident we
had forced the rats to hole up and in the meantime I had high
hopes of a break to lead us to the hideout.

With virtually no workable leads, I assigned Carr and Hess
to investigate the family of the victim. “Check closely every
acquaintance of the Malinowskis,” were my instructions to my
men. “I want you to pay particular attention to the political
activities of Mr. Malinowski and John. Being in politics,” I
reminded them, “isn’t the hardest way in the world to make
enemies.” ;

The two troopers began their check by traveling to nearby
Plains’ Township where Mary Tresnowski, the Malinowski
maid, resided. The officers were fully aware ‘the girl had fre-
quently dated several young men residing in Hanover Town-
ship and had also established the fact that Miss Tresnowski
possessed a high reputation in every respect.

Obviously ill at ease under the questions asked by the troopers,
the girl hesitated for several moments when Carr inquired as
to the identities of the youths with whom she had been keeping
company. . a

“Well, I haven’t been going with anyone steady,” she finally °
stammered. “I’ve had dates with a lot of boys but most of them
are perfect gentlemen.”

“You say most of them are gentlemen, Mary,” broke in Carr
quietly. “Were there any you didn’t like ?”

The girl again hesitated. “I don’t like Joe Yetko or Charlie
Pesky,” she admitted. “They drink too much and are always
gambling and just last week I told them to stay away from the
Malinowski house.” ;

Carr and Hess exchanged glances. “Suppose you tell us
where Joe and Charlie live,” suggested Lieutenant Carr.

The girl furnished them .with the (Continued on page 40)


‘ring the description of the
ized bandits had been subject-
close interrogation. But all
arrested were released when

TOV: ey had been nowhere
he g of the crimes at the
they committed.

addition, hotels and rooming
s had been canvassed for some
of the hunted pair.

. a * *

fact that several hours after
2 attacks the thugs still had
sen apprehended led Clark to
se that they were holed in
vhere near Wilkes-Barre.

; hard to believe they could
rough that dragnet,” he told
ll when the two had returned
, state police barracks to map
rr plans. “My idea is they may
‘al boys.

e have two good clues,” the

OUBLE TROUBLE in the

rm of the two young killers. vis-

»d Peter Cutler in his hardware -

ore, shown here. Arrow points to
ot where getaway car parked.

Y

officer continued, sumr‘ing up.
Polish accent and the odd fact
90th of them are undersized.”
rching through, the police files,
lajor came upon several case
ies of parolees, former con-
and men wanted for various

s, who might answer this de-.

ion. Those known to be in the
st were rounded up, but none
be linked with the crime.

rk enlisted the aid of Police
J. Russell Taylor of Wilkes-
, requesting from that officer
ames of all Polish-speaking
s who had figured in com-
ss in recent weeks, no matter
rivial.

e’re only interested in little
ys,’ the major explained.
2r mind the big guys.”

a short while, the police chief’s
ar came back.

1 we can find to answer your
ications, Major, are the Kowal-
rothers, Benny and Charlie.
were up two weeks ago on sus-

TREN RR Ve ne

v

:
4

WORM TURNS on his former pal. When it
_ looked like the jig was up, Anthony Tetrosky spilled
his guts to the police, blaming his ex-buddy for all
the dirty work in a futile attempt to absolve himself!

picion of a car, but we
couldn’t hold them. The evidence
was too thin. But they were tough
ones. Benny’s nineteen, and Charlie’s
twenty-one. They’re both blond,
weigh about 110 pounds and are ap-
se cai five feet, three inches

“I'd like to talk to them,” Clark
came back. “Where do they live?”

“We followed up on it,” the chief
returned. “They’ve left town. The
family says the two of them started
out a week ago to hitchhike to
Philadelphia to look for work.”

“And the relatives haven’t heard

from them, I take it?” the state of-

ficer guessed.

“Right.”

Clark hung up the phone and
turned to Detective Chief Powell.

“That’s an interesting angle,” he
pointed out, after relating what Tay-
lor had said. ““These birds were sus-
pected of car theft. Now, it’s ten-to-
one that a couple of thugs who'd

commit murder for a watch and the
small amount of money they got
from the Malinowskis are desperate.
I doubt whether they own a car.
But they left in one, so it probably
was stolen. Maybe our best bet is
to send out teletype alarms con-
centrating on stolen car license num-
bers, and on the Kowalskis.”
Powell agreed. Within the hour,
police officers all over Pennsylvania
were scrutinizing license plates of
all black Ford sedans and Packard
coupes, trying to spot two sets of
numbers of stolen cars they had
memorized. A check had shown that
two such cars were reported stolen.
By mid-afternoon, this had borne
fruit, but of a disappointing kind.
Clark, at his desk, received a call
from police headquarters in Hazel-
ton, some thirty miles south of

.Wilkes-Barre. Patrolman Charles

Moyer of that city had fired on the
Packard coupé when it raced
through a red light.

WOMEN CROUCHED BENEATH THEIR COVERS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT....

FALLING OF A LEAF WAS NOISE ENOUGH TO MAKE THEM GASP WITH FEAR....

THEIR LIVES WERE NOT SAFE. ... NOT WHILE THE WOLF PATROL PROWLED!

SLIPPERY as they come was gun-toting Frank
Stabinsky. He gave the law the run-around: for
- quite some time, but finally. walked right into their
waiting arms. Under questioning he, too, cracked!

“It had two small, blond young
kids in it,” the officers reported,
“but they got away.”

Word was quickly flashed to the
Allentown police to be on the look-
out, since the car had headed in that
direction.

Two hours later, pedestrians go-
ing about their business on the main
street of that peaceful city were
galvanized by a running gun battle
between the occupants of two auto-
mobiles that sped through the traf-
fic. The first was a Packard coupe
containing two men; the second a
screeching police patrol car that
tried to overtake it.

A half hour later, Clark got the
report in Wilkes-Barre.

“Two of our men sighted that
stolen Packard just outside the city,”
the Allentown police chief told him
over the phone. “They gave chase,
and opened fire. The fire was return-
ed. But the car was swallowed up in

(Continued on page 42)

THE

WOLF PATROL!

(Continued from page 19)
the traffic. Our men tried to head
it off on the Allentown Pike, but it
was too late.”

“Any idea where it’s headed for?”

“Yeah,” came the laconic reply.
“The junk pile. We found it in a
ditch—wrecked.”

Like bees swarming to a hive,
police patrol cars sped to the area
but no trace of the escaped gunmen
could be found. Fingerprint men
hurried to the scene to dust the car
for clues, but as with the case at the
Malinowski house, no telltale im-
pressions had been left.

* * 2

ESS fell, dawn came again
and still the bandits remained
at large. Then, plainclothesmen cov-
ering the Kowalski house in Wilkes-
Barre arrested Benny as he sneaked

through the yard to his home. .
One of the detectives stepped up

. quickly and spoke gruffly.

“They want to talk to you up at
the state police barracks,” he said.

The youth stiffened, then paled,
as the officer began to frisk him.

“Humph! A .32!” the detective re-
marked caustically as he pulled a
nickel-plated Colt revolver from
Kowalski’s eoat pocket. “I suppose
you use this for target practice.”

The boy made no reply. And to
the query. ‘“‘Where’s your brother?”
he muttered a scarcely audible, “I
don’t know.”

Grilled by Clark and Powell at the
Wyoming barracks, the youth made
a number of conflicting statements.
He claimed to have wandered from
town to town for eight days, and he
and his brother had parted after a
quarrel on the fourth day.

When pinned down to a day-by-
day, hour-by-hour account of his
time, however, he floundered for-
lornly.

“We're interested specifically in
where you were from one o'clock
Friday morning until we picked you
up in your yard,” the state officer
declared.

“I slept in a haystack somewhere
near Hazelton, Thursday night,” the
youth asserted. “‘That’s all I can

“Where'd you get that cut on your
head?” Powell asked. :

Kowalski ran a finger over a long,
thin gash above his left eye.

“Dunno,” he said. “I woke up
with it one morning.”

“You didn’t by any chance get it
in an automobile accident near Al-
lentown, did you?” Clark interposed.

The youth glowered. “I wasn’t in
no accident, and I ain’t been in no
crime,” he maintained.

“Then what did you have a gun
for, and where’s your license to car-
ry it?” was the major’s sharp retort.

The suspect had no comeback for
this, save a statement that he had

Clark weighed the evidence—the
Polish accent, the pistol, the dishev-
eled appearance of the youth, the
weak alibi. He was glad that he
could at least keep him under lock
and key on a charge of carrying a
concealed, unlicensed weapon.

“That bird will bear further in-
vestigation,” he told Powell. “Added
to all the other suspicious aspects is
the fact that the brothers broke up.
That could easily mean they'd rather
not attract attention by traveling as
a pair.”

For the next two days, the case
was at a virtual standstill. Clark’s
men combed the St. Mary’s Hill sec-
tion near the Malinowski home for
someone who could give a clue to the
crime. Had loiterers been noticed
near the place, casing it for the rob-
bery, they wanted to know? Had any
of the servants observed anything or
overheard any snatches of conver-
sation among their acquaintances
that had seemed suspicious?

Finally, on Tuesday afternoon a
Polish-American laborer was
brought to the state police barracks.

“This man says he saw a young
fellow loitering near the Malinow-
ski's home two days before the
murder,” a trooper explained to
Clark. “I thought maybe he ought
to take a look at young Kowalski.”

The prisoner was brought from his
cell. From behind a screen, the tall,
gaunt laborer watched while Ko-
walski was paraded up and down.

When the youth was led away, the
man emerged from where he had
been sitting, and .with a bony,
gnarled finger scratched his close-
cropped head.

“It could be,” he declared finally,
with a shrug. “I'm not sure.”

Spurred by this half-identifica-
tion, Clark sent out another alarm,
asking for the apprehension of the
missing brother.

“If we could get Charlie in here,”
the major asserted, “we could play
one Kowalski against the other. If
they’re guilty, we could undoubtedly
break them that way.”

But a sudden, fearful turn of
events that night tended to clear the
young Kowalskis altogether.

: * * Ad

was six p.m., and Clark was on
his way out to dinner when a call
from Chief Taylor in Wilkes-Barre
brought him running back down the
hall to his office.

“Another murder, Major,” the
chief said. “Peter Cutler, hardware
dealer—East Market and Sher-
man Streets. Two bandits, pint-
sized. Escaped in a black sedan. I’ve
got every available man out hunting
for them.”

“Blackjack?” the officer asked.

“No. Shot four times; head and
chest.”

The alarm was swiftly flashed,
and teletype machines whirred.
Within minutes, state patrol cars

A Pine nAmntnt

ing the directives, Clark himself
sped to the city and to the Cutler
hardware store.

Sprawled on the floor in a pool of
blood behind the counter was the
bullet-ridden body of the young-
looking proprietor. Swarming over
the place were a number of city of-
ficers, including the medical ex-
aminer, identification men, a pho-
tographer and detectives. Chief Tay-
lor was standing at one side, talk-
ing with a well-dressed, dark-haired
young man who seemed excited.

Taylor motioned to the state offi-
cer to join them. .

“This is Russell Edwards,” he
said, by way of introduction. “He
says he got a good look at those
thugs—good enough to identify them
if they’re caught.”

“That's right,” Edwards explain-
ed. “I was walking down Sherman
Street when I heard shots. I saw
those men run out of here and into
a black sedan. They were little guys.
I tried to get the license number of
the car, but it was too dark. I could-
n’t make it out.”

“But you’d recognize them again,
if you saw them?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” the man replied.
“I’m positive of it.”

The officers determined by the
open cash register, stuffed with
change and bills, that the bandits
had fled without taking any loot. A
balance sheet, half-filled with fig-
ures, lay on the counter. On the floor
nearby lay a fountain pen, mute
testimony that Cutler had been add-
ing up.the day's receipts when he
had been surprised by the gunmen.

Clark’s face was drawn and gray
as he conferred with the city police.

“These birds didn’t get anything
here,” he said. “And they must need
money. They’ll strike again, unless
we stop them. I’ve told my men to
give them no quarter. They’re to
shoot to kill, if they find them.”

Taylor nodded. “Those are my or-
ders, too,” he said.

“And unless Charles Kowalski has
picked up a pal, which I doubt, this
lets those boys out of it,” the major
added.

As on the other occasions, the
roads were blocked, and auto camps,

TURNED OUT

When he showed up, she said, he had
no camera and he started to make ad-
vances. After a struggle, Mrs. Barnem
eatt che Grally tarned him ont.

roomin;
vassed
‘tives. T
pair m:
or Alle
especia:

blaring,
circle t
guns re
their e;
slightes
Two
kins an
ing to
lehem
wheel,
screechi
“T the

A wu
beer
in $10,0
on char;
their ho:
house cd

Mrs. Ff
that her
of the bh
side, sh
called n
door an
leading
34, said
of an ac

1953 CRIMI

A ‘succession of calls brought a
pltysician, an ambulance and state
and eounty officers to the Malinow-
ski residence, which was located on
St. Mary’s Road in a fashionable
district on the outskirts of Wilkes-
Barre, Pennsylvania.

The -response to the alarms was
swift, but the victim was beyond
medical aid. She died shortly after
admission to the hospital to which
she had been rushed.

Chief Luzerne County Detective
Richard Powell and Major William
A. Clark of the Pennsylvania State
Police, who were searching for clues
at the crime scene, were informed
at once of the young woman’s death.

_ ‘Clark, who took the message,
turned grim-faced to the county of-
ficer.

“Murder!” he said, turning in his
hand a broken, crudely-fashioned
blackjack which he had found under
.Mary Malinowski’s bed, “and to my
mind it was the same pair who at-
tacked the Unger girl over in Forty
Fort this morning.”

The detective chief nodded. “The
description of the two men tallies,
and in both cases the telephone
wires were cut. And from what I
gather, that blackjack could well be
the weapon that was used on both
victims.”

The officers were referring to a

crime which had occurred an hour
and a half earlier at the home of
Mr. and Mrs. Wood Unger, in the
nearby town of Forty Fort.
. Awakened by their’ sixteen-year-
old daughter’s screams, the Ungers
had rushed to her room just in time
to see two masked bandits dash
down the stairs. The girl, who re-
membered nothing of what had hap-
pened to her, was lying on the bed
in a dazed condition, with blood
pouring from a deep wound on her
head. Clark’s men, as well as the
Forty Fort police were even now
working on the case.

“Well, we know now how lucky

the Unger kid was,” Powell de-
clared. “She’ll live. Poor Mary Mal-
inowski fought for her life, but it
wasn’t any use. Those thugs beat
her to death.” :

The detective chief was following
with his eyes a trail_of blood which
led from the young woman’s bed
to’ a window on the other side of
the room.

“She must have tried to escape
that way,” he theorized, “and they
dragged her back here and finished
her off.”

{ One thing puzzled the officers. In
spite of the signs of resistance, no
one in the house had heard an out-
cry. Neither John, nor Stanley, nor
the young woman’s parents—Mr. and
Mrs. Malinowski, who occupied a
rear bedroom—had heard a scream.

“She wasn’t gagged, either,” Clark
pointed out. “And there weren't
any ‘marks on her throat to show
that she’d been choked. It doesn’t
make sense. Well, we'd better get
18

on downstairs and see how those fel-
lows got in.”
* * *

HE brothers, John and Stanley,

who had locked up the previous
night, insisted that before going to
bed they had bolted every door and
window on the ground floor of the
spacious, sixteen-room house. The
basement door, too, had been locked,
but they were not sure about the
basement windows. ;

“We never bothered about those,”
John said, “because they have steel
gratings on the outside. Nobody
could get through them. The bars
are only six inches apart.”

Clark nodded: and led the way
from door to door and window to
window. Everything was intact on
the ground floor. But in the base-
ment, the door was unlatched.

“That’s how they got out,” the
major observed, “but how in thunder
they got in is beyond all—”

The others rushed into that sec-
tion of the cellar. The detective
chief stood by a small, grated win-
dow, pointing to a chair directly
underneath it.

“See where that dust in the sill
is smeared off? And those dirty foot-
prints on the chair?” he exclaimed.
“Well, your thugs squeezed through
those bars. It’s quite a drop from the
sill to the floor. The first one in
evidently put this chair here for the
other fellow.”

Clark looked incredulously at the
narrow space through which the
bandits obviously had come. “Those
birds sure must be pint-sized,” he
muttered. “Let’s hope they left a
fingerprint.”

An identification officer, who had
come from the Wyoming state police
barracks with the major,
work at once dusting the sill, wiri-
dowpanes, chair and doorknob for
prints.

“Not a thing,” he finally an-
nounced. “They must have worn
gloves.”

Probing for a motive for the mur-
der, Powell-and Clark tentatively
concluded that it was robbery.

True, the victim’s father, well-
to-do owner of the Franklin Brew-
ery in Wilkes-Barre and president
of the First National Bank in the
adjacent city of Nanticote, was a
Luzerne County political leader and
as such conceivably could have in-
curred enemies. But ther: would
have been no reason, for au enemy
of the Malinowski family also to
have bludgeoned the little Unger
girl, and the officers were convinced
that the similarity:-of the circum-
stances in both crimes was not co-
incidental.

Ever since the state police had re-
ceived the first alarm, at approxi-
mately two-thirty a.m., the major
roads throughout northeastern
Pennsylvania were being watched
for the fugitives. Hundreds of cars
had been stopped and their occu-
pants questioned. Anyone remotely

set to’

answering the description of the
boy-sized bandits had been subject-
ed to close interrogation. But all
those arrested were released when
they proved they had been nowhere
near the scenes of the crimes at the
hours they were committed.

In addition, hotels and rooming
houses had been canvassed for some
trace of the hunted pair.

* * *

bag fact that several hours after
the attacks the thugs still had
not been apprehended led Clark to
surmise that they were holed in
somewhere near Wilkes-Barre.

“It’s hard to believe they could
get. through that dragnet,” he told
Powell when the two had returned
to the state police barracks to map
further plans. “My idea is they may
be local boys.

“We have two good clues,” the

DOUBLE TROUBLE in the
form of the two young killers vis-
ited Peter Cutler in his hardware
store, shown here. Arrow points to
spot where getaway car parked.

state officer continued, sumr‘ing up.
“That Polish accent and the odd fact
that both of them are undersized.”

Searching through, the police files,
the major came upon several case
histories of parolees, former con-
victs and men wanted for various
crimes, who might answer this de-
scription. Those known to be in the
district were rounded up, but none
could be linked with the crime.

Clark enlisted the aid of Police
Chief J. Russell Taylor of Wilkes-
Barre, requesting from that officer
the names of all Polish-speaking
youths who had figured in com-
plaints in recent weeks, no matter
how trivial.

“We're only interested in little
fellows,” the major’ explained.
“Never mind the big guys.”

In a short while, the police chief's
answer came back.

“All we can find to answer your
specifications, Major, are the Kowa]-
ski brothers, Benny and Charlie.
They were up two weeks ago on sus-

1953 CRIME YFAPROAY


ANDSOME

ry Techesy 4
tda af bbawed 4
n brits

pressed

Opening t

nightmeé
mare, It Wiis Print
looking he masked face
bent los rol } areund his
that This) accomplished
cold hitfaoted|y ]
ofa révalver
aminously im the
“If you make a se
you. fulk of lead” n
threatened into the reo

vp

had spoke!

WHILE THEY WALKED FREE—WOMEN WEPT. ... WHILE THEY STALKED THE TOWN —
MURDER HAD A WILD JAMBOREE. ... WHILE THEY LIVED, INNOCENT PEOPLE DIED!

By ERIC GORDON


» Sherman, white, elec. 7-22-1935.
DE

A BLOODY MURDER
COMMITTED FOR NO

- APPARENT REASON
PROMISED TO REMAIN

fey A DARK MYSTERY—
BUT SHREWD POLICE

A WILY
ASSASSIN

BELIEVE IT OR NOT but this picture
illustrates exactly how young and re-
spectable couples “spooned” in the good
old days gone by. . . . It was called
“bundling” and they‘re still doing it in
some remote parts of the U. S. A.

a


Send peers : ie, olde who: Jived

with them, f turned pil from the sink where they had : Jeput}

pad. You Tight a antern: “while: Teall doctor. : While
the. older ‘woman tremblingly fixed the light Edith tele-
phoned Doctor H. W.. Johnson at Selinsgrove. . - Some-

burg, the county ‘seat five miles away. ee

latch the barn” ‘door and ‘they stepped fearfully inside.
Instantly Mrs. Gable ‘stumbled forward on her knees.
“Charles!” she moaned piteously. ~

The sixty-three-year-old farmer lay imply on the

‘en:

thing in Sam Cobb’s voice had stirred an impulse within
her; she also ‘called Sheriff Carl E. Wea af here

The two women bundled into heavy coats ‘snd hore ve
ried across the lawns and road. Cobb had failed to’
“-out to start the chores.
minutes later.’
-< “And he came back in about five minutes and told i
us about—about it, said (Contunued on Page eee

women carefully on the time element of Gable’s murder. :
~-..“We had breakfast ready for the ‘menfolks at five- © 3
thirty-as usual,” said Miss Keister. “Mr. Gable came

“downstairs. first. A few minutes later Sam showed Ty oe
- We all sat down and ate'then. :
“Poor Mr, Gable ‘talked abét the turkeys he had

‘bought yesterday. At five or ten minutes:to six he went

pam followed him about fifteen

MOPS

e
2


=
=
es

rIVE ;

are you sure he stayed all night ?”

“Sure, he stayed all night. What do you
phink he is, tired of me?”

“He didn't get up at all? He didn’t leave
you for an hour or so, say?”

“No,” She stared at the floor.

“Look at me. Zelma, this is a murder
we're discussing. You slept part of the
night, didn’t you? I don’t suppose you
stayed awake and bundled all night.”

“Well, maybe I did sleep for a little
while.” ;

“Then how can you be so sure Strawser
didn't. get up, leave, and come back while
you were asleep?”

“He didn’t do that. I know he didn’t,”
she said obstinately. ‘

“Zelma,” the sheriff said sternly, “I’m
tired of fooling with you, You shouldn't
have lied to me about Strawser staying with
you all night. We know he went out for
a couple hours, and you know it, too. I’m
warning you for the first and last time that
unless you tell me the absolute truth, I’m
going to arrest you and your mother as
accessories after the fact. You know what
that means? Ten to twenty years in jail.
When you get out you'll be a broken-down
woman, and you'll never be able to live
down the disgrace. Come on, talk. Strawser,
I’m letting you know, killed Charles Gable.
The money you were going to give us to
pay ‘the fine is blood-money—money stolen
by Strawser when he shot Gable.”

The girl’s face turned deathly pale. She .

swayed, and for a moment Dr. Johnson
was afraid she was going to faint.

“T thought so,” she said dully. “T thought
so, but I wasn’t sure. Sherman lies so well
he fooled me. And I hate him!” she cried
out. “I hate him now! He’s a murderer!
Why should I ruin my life or hurt my
mother? If I tell everything now, will you
let me and Mom alone?”

“Sure, we will,” Kemer said.

In a voice fighting hard to hold back
the tears, Zelma described what happened
that night. She had fallen asleep about
midnight, with Strawser’s arms around her.
The alarm clock going off awakened her.
She saw Strawser putting on his shoes. She
got out of bed, looked at the clock, and saw
it was 3 in the morning. Strawser explained
he had forgotten some tools in his car, and
was afraid they would be stolen, but she
knew he was lying. He came back at around
6:30, and threatened her into keeping quict
about his leaving, warning her not to tell
anyone, not even her mother. If she told,
he'd kill her. Her mother woke up perhaps
five minutes after Strawser got in.

“All right, Zelma,” the sheriff said sym-
pathetically. “That will be all. I’m sorry for
you, girl, but it’s better your finding out

now.” Then he turned to Kemer. “Bring
in Strawser.”
The murder suspect was led in. Zelma

burst into tears at sight of her lover, and
ran out. Strawser followed her disappear-
ing form, his mouth open, his body starting
to tremble as if he had the ague.

He tried to pull himself together. “What’s
the big idea? What have you been telling
Zelma?” he asked, with some show of
bravado.

“You know what we told her, Strawser,”
Kemer said softly. “Or would you have me
repeat it for your benefit?”

“Go ahead,” Strawser sneered, trying to
look unconcerned.

“We told her you murdered and robbed
Charles Gable.”

Strawser turned fiery red, then pale.
“Don't make me laugh. I was with Zelma all
night.” The guilt showed so plainly on his
face that Dr. Johnson could not look at him.

“You killed Charlie Gable! And you're
going to burn for it. You killed him. You're
wasting your time trying to deny it. You
stole his gun from the bureau drawer while
you were working for him. Edith Keister
saw you take it out. (Here Kemer stretched
the truth a little.) We know that you
had duplicate keys made at Lewistown for
Gable’s barn. Oh, that did surprise you?
We're not as dumb as you think. And now
Zelma has admitted you didn’t bundle
with her the entire morning of February
12, that you left her at 3 A.M‘ and didn’t
get back till near 6:30. And how about the
money you gave her to pay the fine? It’s
Gable’s. You stole it. You don’t have a
chance, Strawser.”

“{ didn’t do it!” the accused ‘man
screamed. “Let me out of here! Let me go
to Zelma. I can explain it to her.”

“Explain it to us.” Questions, accusa-
tions, pounded against Strawser’s confused
mind as rapidly as machinegun bullets.
Strawser stared wildly about him, as if for
help—help that never would come. He was
licked and he knew it. The grilling lasted
for three hours. Finally Strawser, wilted,
broke, confessed his guilt.

The story he told was a sordid one, of
a lust-maddened man who would let noth-
ing stay in the way of possessing his woman.
Zelma was a.good girl, she wouldn't yield
to an illicit relationship, she insisted on
marriage. And Zelma’s father wouldn’t give
his consent while he was in jail. His consent
was necessary, as Zelma was a minor, and
besides, she was an obedient daughter.

The passion Strawser felt for the girl
was too strong, too irresistible, to allow
him to wait patiently. He secured work
with Gable with the idea in his mind to
rob his employer. He stole the gun, had
another key made, and lay in wait in the
pitch-black barn for Gable, who, he knew,
always came to feed the stock at that time.

Gable walked in, remarking with some
surprise that the door was open. Those
were the last words he ever spoke, Strawser
hit him over the head with the hammer
he had found in the barn, then, frightened,
shot him. He removed the wallet and fied.
That was all. He began to curse women
and what they had done to him.

Dazed by the sudden turn of events, sob-
bing, gesturing wildly, his hair rumpled,
Strawser was conducted to his cell.

Six days after the date he and Zelma
had set for their marriage, Sherman Straw-
ser stood before the bar of justice, having
pleaded guilty to a charge of murder in the
first degree. ;

Strawser had hoped and prayed for a
life sentence. But the judge, stern in his
concept of justice, sentenced the culprit to
the electric chair—sentenced him to travel
that short passage which always is one-way.

Editor’s Note: To spare possible em-
harrassment to an innocent person, the name
Joe Peters, used in this story, is not actual
but fictitious.

Coming Next Month—

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Mrs. Gable.

The Sheriff, portly and ordinarily
affable, suddenly looked grimly at the
two women and asked, “Do you think
Cobb might have..... »

“Oh, no!” cried Eduih Keister, her
cheeks aflame. “Sam is a good man.
He was as terrified as we at the sight
of the body.”

Mrs. Gable was equally emphatic.
“I can’t see what possible reason he’d
have to do such a terrible thing. My
poor husband liked him. They got
along fine.”

“Where is Cobb now?” asked
Deputy Sheriff Runkle.

Mrs. Gable hardly heard. “Oh, out-
side,” she answered vaguely.

The women could recall no enemies
of Gable. He was a quiet man, hon-
est in all his dealings, prospering in
a small way on his farm. Who then
could have made the murderous as-
sault upon him? For what possible
motive?

Sheriff Runkle and his deputy
brother felt it had not been robbery.
They had found two hundred dollars
in small bills tucked in Gable’s vest
pocket. Runkle was not surprised at
this. Many men of this rural district
did not trust banks.

The Runkles decided to have a talk
with Cobb. They went into the barn
where the corpse still lay awaiting
the Coroner’s arrival, and called out
for him. He wasn’t there. Two neigh-
bors in the little group that had gath-
ered joined the officers in a search
through the several outbuildings scat-
tered about the frozen fields. They
stepped from the last little shed and
stared at each other.

Sam Cobb had vanished.

Runkle thought fast. If Cobb actu-
ally was guilty why had he so fool-
ishly tipped his hand and run off? Of-
ficially there was no single thread of
evidence to link him with the old
man’s murder. Cobb must have known
that. He knew, too, that the women
of the Gable household were insistent
on his innocence. Panic? Cobb was
too stolid a product of the soil for
flights of mental fancy.

The best person to answer those
questions was Cobb. Runkle dis-
patched his brother to Middleburg to
organize a posse. He also telephoned.
the Pennsylvania State Police at
Lewiston.

Coroner Ulrich arrived. “Dr. John-
son’s right,” he confirmed. “The blow
on the head stunned the old man but
it didn’t knock him out. He started to
struggle. His attacker got mad—or
frightened. He shot Gable. There’s
no exit wound for the bullet and it’s
still lodged in his head. It must have
killed him instantly.”

The aged victim was removed to
Parker F. Garman’s undertaking par-
lor in Middleburg.

Near where the body had lain Cor-
oner Ulrich found a worn leather
glove. “Odd, just one glove lying
around,” observed Sheriff Runkle.

The officers began a minute search
for the murder weapon. They probed
carefully through the stock | stalls,
grain bins, feed troughs, leaving the
difficult hayloft with its tons of hay

FHOM AULHENLIC FrFULILE novuUny,s

LOVE BED ALIBI

(Continued from page 13)

for the last. In an overhead feeding
trough close to where the body had
been they found a small claw-ham-
mer, sticky and red.

“It was this, and not a revolver
butt, that the murderer first used to
attack Gable,” said Ulrich.

The officers pondered this new de-
velopment. It began to be startlingly
clear that this fiendish crime was a
deliberately planned one. The mur-
derer who had lurked in the barn’s
deep shadows and leaped out to his
savage attack had meant to use only
the small hammer. He must have
known that his intended victim was
an aged man. Confident that his own
youthful strength would overcome the
elderly Gable he had thought to avoid
the risk of firing a pistol shot. He
wore gloves so that there would be
no fingerprints.

Brushing aside as fantastic any
idea that the motive for the murder
was one of pure sadism, Sheriff Run-
kle and- his deputy were certain that
the old man had been killed for one of
two down-to-earth and practical rea-
sons—robbery or revenge.

“That revenge angle’s a pretty good
one,” drawled Runkle, “except that
the only man it would fit is in jail
right now. And has been for six
months.”

“I mean Merrill Bickert,” he an-
swered the Coroner’s question. “Gable
accused him of stealing his wheat and
yanked him to court. The charge
stuck and Bickert’s doing time.”

“Could Bickert have slipped—” .

“Of course not,’ snapped Runkle.
“He’s in a jail, not a country club.”

An eager light shot suddenly into
Runkle’s eyes. “Come on,” he said.
“I’ve got a hunch. Let’s go back to
the house.”

“Sorry to trouble you again,” he
told the prostrate Mrs. Gable, “but I
guess I have been taking something
for granted. That two hundred dol-
lars we found in your husband’s vest
pocket. Was that all the money he
had on him?”

The red-rimmed eyes of the dis-
traught woman widened. “Why, no,”
she said. “Didn’t you find his wallet?”

“No!” Runkle experienced the thrill
of his first bit of progress on the case.
Mrs. Gable figured that after spending
sixty dollars the previous day for the
young turkeys her husband should
have had seventy-seven dollars left
in his wallet. .

“Seventy-seven dollars. Now we’ve
got something to work on,” cried
Runkle. He performed the disagree-
able task of displaying the single
glove and hammer to Mrs. Gable.
She turned quickly away. “I don’t
know whose glove that is, but the
hammer is my husband’s. He men-
tioned that it was missing about a
week or two ago.” :

“That glove couldn’t be Cobb’s, by
any chance?”

“No,” said Edith Keister. .

“How long has Cobb worked here?”

“About a week,” said Miss Keister.
“He came after Mr. Gable let Sherman
Strawser go. They didn’t get along too
well together.”

“Strawser? When did the hammer
disappear?”

“While Strawser still worked here.”

Vaguely, Sheriff Runkle recalled
the name of Sherman Strawser. While
at the jailhouse recently, a young man
had driven up with the neighboring
Gill family in a rickety T Model Ford
and requested permission to visit Les-
ter Gill who was serving a year for a
liquor violation charge. He had given
his name as Strawser. While the visit
was in progress, sharp eyed Patrolman
C. F. Overgard of the Milton State
Highway Patrol noticed Strawser’s
car still bore last year’s license plates.
The young man was promptly arrested
but released on a promise to appear
before a justice of the peace and pay
a fine.

A telephone call to the Milton State
Highway Patrol dispatched Patrolman
Overgard to the Strawser home _ in
Chapman Township, about _five miles
away, to pick the former Gable farm
hand up for questioning.

Meanwhile, Corporal John P. Her-
man and Trooper George Hahn of the
Pennsylvania State Police arrived to
work with the Runkles. A thorough
search of the hayloft by this com-
bined force failed to reveal the mur-
der revolver. They did, however, dis-
cover the mate to the glove found
downstairs. The gloves, together with
the bloodstained hammer were sent
to the astute H. E. Runk, State Police
Identification expert at Harrisburg on
the chance they might bear finger-
prints.

Overgard reported a couple of hours
later. “Young Strawser wasn’t home.
I searched the place to make sure.
His father said he wasn’t home all
night.”

Deputy Sheriff Runkle recalled a bit
of neighborhood gossip he had heard
recently. “I have a notion where he
may be,” he said. “They say he’s been
courtin’ that Zella Mae Gill girl re-
cently.” He smiled __ reflectively.
“Quite a young lady, that Zella Mae.
Only sixteen and he’s been trying to
marry her since she was fifteen.”

“What about this chap Strawser?”
asked Corporal Herman.

“Oh, he’s a likable enough chap.
About twenty-nine. Lived around
here all his life working out on farms
since he was a youngster. Married
twice and both wives died in child-
birth. He’s a member of a church and
has a cute young son.”

“Sounds all right,” said Herman.

The Sheriff and his party drove to
the home of the bewitching little belle
of the countryside, Zella Mae. The
girl answered the door. She wore a
thin clinging black dress that ac-
centuated the early fullness of her
lovely young figure. Her shining eyes
looked coquettishly at the sheriff and
her rather wide, seductive lips curved
in a naive smile.

“Zella,” said Runkle casually, “I
want to see Sherman Strawser. Is he
here, now?”

“Why yes.” The vivacious girl
turned and called into the house, “Oh,
Sherman! Sherman!”

There was a husky intimate quality
in her voice that told the sheriff plain-
ly that Sherman Strawser’s courting
had not been in vain.

The young man came to the door

AT


“Yes, he was here one day last week
to borrow some tools.” ‘

“He couldn’t have had a key to your
barn, could he?”

“No. There are only two keys. My hus-
band kept one attached to a.chain on
his belt. George Williams has the other.”

“How long has Williams been working
for you?”

“About a week. He came to us well
recommended, and he’s certainly pitched
in with the work. My husband was well
satisfied with him.”

“He was the last person to see your
husband alive, and we’ll want to check
on him,” Runkle said. “Did you have a
hired man before that?”

“Yes. Young Sherman Strawser, who
lives across the valley. But he didn’t last
long. My husband fired him and then hired
George Williams.”

“Was there bad blood between your
husband and Strawser?”

“Hardly that. Strawser just didn’t like
to work.”

“Could he still have a key to the barn?”

“No, he gave it back. I saw him hand
it to my husband.”

Runkle next asked whether Gable
normally carried much money with him.
“Usually quite a bit,” the widow re-
plied. “People made deliveries at the farm
and my husband was a man who liked to
pay cash. He counted his money at the
table this morning, then put it back in
his wallet. There was more than $80
there.”

“Eighty dollars?” Runkle echoed. “But
$200 was found in his pocket.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” the widow said.
“He put $200 in his shirt pocket to buy
turkeys when he went to Selingrove later
in the day. He wanted to keep it separate
from his other money.”

Runkle thanked the woman, then re-
turned to the barnyard where his brother,
Kemer Runkle, was_ still questioning
neighbors. He drew the deputy aside.
“Apparently it was robbery after all,” he
told Kemer. “The killer stole part of
Gable’s money and overlooked the rest.
But the man we’re looking for definitely
knew where Gable’s gun was kept. He was
somebody Gable knew.”

“Well, practically everybody for miles
around is here by now,” Kemer said. “The
killer must be among them.”

“Is Jim Harding here?”

“No, not yet. He has no phone and it
could be that nobody told him about the
murder.” :

Sheriff Runkle regarded the serious-
faced group of men and women before
him, He knew many of them personally
—William Foster, Benn Witt, Laurance
Boyer—all men of excellent reputation
who were friends of Gable.

“Most of the men have alibis,” Kemer
said. “They were at breakfast with their
families.”

The sheriff nodded toward a young man |

in working clothes. .

“Has Sherman Strawser been ques-
tioned yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Kemer said.

Runkle summoned Strawser over. A
pretty brunette with dark, flashing eyes
stepped forward with him. She looked to
be in her early teens, but was well de-
veloped for her age.

“She’s my fiancee,” Strawser explained.
“We’re going to be married soon.”

Runkle gazed at the girl with interest.
He was certain he had seen her before,
and quite recently.

“Aren’t you Miss Gill?” he asked.

“That’s right.” The girl smiled. “Zelma
Gill.”

“Then your father is the man I’ve got

64 >

over in the County Jail at Middleburg
for bootlegging.”

“Yes, and I came to see you about get-
ting him out. You said he’d either have
to pay his fine or serve out his sentence.”

Strawser put his arm protectively
around the girl’s waist.

“I’m getting a job in town when we're
married,” the farmhand said. “We'll get
Zelma’s father out of jail and see that
it doesn’t happen again.”

“You didn’t do so well at the job here
on Gable’s farm,” Runkle observed. “Why
did Gable fire you?”

“He was a man who worked like a
horse from morning till night,” Sherman
said. “I’m more easy-going. I did my
work, all right, but he didn’t think I
worked fast enough. We had no hard feel-
ings when he paid me off, though.”

“T hear you had a key to the barn.”

“T did while T worked for him, but 1
save it back. Mrs. Gable will tell you
that.”

“When were you at the farm last?”

“I came back last Friday to get some
work clothes I’d left here.”

“Did you talk with Gable?”

“Yes, but we didn’t say much. He just
gave me my things.”

“Where were you this morning when
he was murdered?”

.A sheepish look came over Strawser’s
face,

“Well, I was bundling with Zelma,” he
said. “She and I have been going steady
and I was at her place all evening, There
was a cold snap in the air and I don’t
have a car. So I asked her mother if I
could stay all night with Zelma. She said
it was all right as long as I stayed on
top of the covers.”

Sheriff Runkle knew very well the
practice of bundling, still existant in re-
mote regions of Pennsylvania. According
to the custom, an engaged couple or a
couple “going steady” lies together in the
same bed during cold weather, sometimes
all night, the ostensible purpose to keep
warm. The practice originated with the
early settlers, when houses were drafty
and fuel and blankets scarce.

In the old days, a “bundling board” was
sometimes placed between: the pair, or
the girl was enclosed in a “bundling bag.”
Nowadays, where traces of the custom
remains, the girl usually’ sleeps under
the covers and the man, fully dressed, on
top of the blankets.

“You say you were bundling with
Zelma all night?” Sheriff Runkle asked.

“That's right. Her mother was sleeping
in the next room, and she’ll vouch for
me. We got up at 6 o’clock, and a little
while after that, Ike Peters stopped by
in his car and told us Mr. Gable had
been killed. We drove over right away
in Zelma’s jalopy.”

“He was with me the whole night and
until after the murder,” the girl echoed.

» “So how could he have anything to do

with it?” .

The alibi had a true ring. But Sheriff
Runkle decided to check with the girl’s
mother, who had remained at home to
look after the chores. As Kemer Runkle
continued talking to neighbors, the sheriff
took the couple in his car a half-mile
or so to the cabin where Zelma lived.

The girl’s mother confirmed that Straw-
ser had not left the house until after
Peters had.come with news of the murder.

“I was the first one up this morning,”
she said. “That was 6 o’clock, and Sher-
man Strawser was still sound asleep. I
had quite a time waking him.”

When the sheriff left, he was unable to
see how the former farm hand could be
involved in the murder. He returned to
the Gable farm, where he found that his

brother had questioned most of the farm
people and let them return to their work.

“I can’t find a single reason to be sus-
picious of any of them,” he said. “I think
our best bet is a prowler who spent the
night in the barn and then killed Gable
for his money. He may be an escapee
from either a prison or mental institu-
tion.”

The officials’ hopes were somewhat
dampened, though, when a call came
through from the state police. So far they
had found no one who had seen a stranger
in the neighborhood. They had already
checked and found that no one had re-
cently escaped from an institution any-
where nearby. ;

“Tm afraid my men have been barking
up the wrong tree,” Corporal Herman
said. “I still think there was a personal
motive involved in the slaying, and
robbery was only incidental. I believe
the killer lives right here in the com-
munity.” .

Runkle talked again with the hired man, *

George Williams. His clothing had already
been searched and now the Gable house
and the outbuildings were searched. No
trace of Gable’s wallet could be found.

Williams’ story was a believable one
and was largely confirmed by Mrs. Gable
and Edith Keister. Still there were fifteen
or twenty minutes during which he had
been alone with Gable. And he had had
access to the gun. Runkle decided to
check his background.

Then Sheriff Runkle and his brother
went to the farm of Jim Harding. The
dour-faced elderly farmer expressed
amazement at hearing that his neighbor
was dead.

“But why come to me about it?” he
demanded. “I haven’t been off my own
farm for the last three days. I’ve got too
much work to do.”

The farmer gestured toward the black-
ened embers and twisted metal that had
once been his barn and toward the shacks
he was erecting nearby.

Harding readily admitted that he had
borne a grudge against Charles Gable.
“If ’'d had his money, I certainly wouldn't
have been so stingy with it,” he said.
“But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“Mrs. Gable said you went to the Gable
farm to borrow some tools last week,”
Runkle said. “Did you go into the kitchen
then?”

“Of course I did. It was a cold day and
Edith Keister got me a cup of coffee.”

“Where did Gable keep his revolver?”

“Now, how would I know that? I’ve
watched him plug away at rats many a
time. Missed them nine times out of ten,
he did. But I don’t know anything about
where he kept his gun.”

Sheriff Runkle asked to make a search
of the house. The farmer permitted it but
nothing of any importance was found.

The sheriff and his brother left. Arriv-
ing at Middleburg, they first made ar-
rangements to have a fingerprint expert
come over from a nearby city to report
on the gun and the hammer.

He soon arrived and examined the two
clues. He shook his head. “They’ve both
been carefully wiped. There are no fin-
gerprints on either.”

This negative report, at least, supported
the theory that the gloves found in the
barn had been worn by the killer.

Sheriff Runkle pa once more with
state officials. He learned that they had
questioned two vagrants. Since nothing
could be found to link either of them
with the crime, they had been released.

The sheriff spent much of the-afternoon
checking into the life of George Williams,
the farm hand. Williams had no criminal

record, and persor:
of him as a law-
working as a hire:
money to buy his
That evening th
over with his bro!
it, we’ve gotten e:
he said. “Of our
have nothing co
Harding. Moreov:
long enough to |
might kill a m:
never steal fror
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“Sherman Stri
man, has a wate
went on. “He °
fiancee when the
Zelma and her :
“Then we hav
far as we can find «
Where do we tur

Kemer Runk
“Still I think one
he said. “A vagrar
where to find G
did manage to sli;

to be one of thos

them again.”
The three were
office and patient!

the following day.
admissions and t.

home again. Furt

Gable and Edith
shady chapters i

enemies who mi;
revenge.

“Well, I have jt
Sheriff Runkle t
son who took t!
der probably n:
Let’s get the «
papers. We'll
we've cleared :
and now believe
of some vagran.
what happens. |
starts spending '
mally spends, ‘
who the killer |

“Sounds goo’
get over to the :

On the follo
1935, a front }
pressed the aut
headway in t)
that the killer
morning local
watch for any

For two days.
usual financia!
Runkle though’*
failure.

Then about 1
old car pulled
office and a pret
out. She was
bundling comp:

“What can I
sheriff asked.

“IT came to s
of jail,” she re)

“Tm afraid t!
do about it,” Ri
to serve his tim.

“But you said
his fine, you’d }:

The sheriff |
“Have you got

She nodded
from her hana:
bills.

“Hmm,” he s
legal formaliti:
but it should:
minute, pleas:

The sheriff |:
do you make o:


- of George Williams: The sheriff Jocated his brother. “what written them for thi money:
do you make of it?” he asked. e shou

rnost of the
in te thelr Bowed record, and persons who knew him spoke “well, I certainly don’t think she could
eagorrgo be poston of him as a law-abiding man who was be the killer,” came the reply.
he said. “I think working as 4 hired hand to save enough “Nor do I.”
; who spent the money to buy his own farm.
‘en killed Gable That evening the sheriff talked the case that alibi of his could be rigged?
be an escapee over with his brother, Kemer. “Let's face “tts hard to imagine his killing one
mental institu- it, weve gotten exactly nowhere so far,’ man to get another out of jail,” Kemer
| he said. “Of our three possible leads, we said. “But it’s possible. He might have
were somewhat have nothing concrete against old Jim stolen the gun on Friday when he came
sn a call came Harding. known Harding back for his clothes. Then he could have
long enough to believe that though he come over the afternoon before the mur-

slice, So far tl

1 seen a stra pee m kill a man out of revenge, hed der and sneaked into the barn at some

rey had already never steal from that man or from any- time when the door was unlocked.”

no one had re- one else. “ye a better idea,” the sheriff said. |
Sherman Strawser, the former hired “Strawser could have had a duplicate key

institution ian : .
any man, has a watertight alibi,” the sheriff to the barn made while he was working

ive been b
“orporal ee fiancee when the Murder occurred. B ‘, “Try to put the git! off somehow,”
was a personal Zelma and her mother agree to that. Kemer said. ey] get Gable’s key and try
e slaying, and Then we have George Williams. ‘As to check up.”
‘ental. I believe far as we can find out, he’s a model citizen. Sheriff Runkle returned to his office. He
-e in the com- | Where do we turn next?” explained to the girl the difficulties in-

. P volved in releasing her father. It had to

+) the hired man . Kemer Runkle sat looking thoughtful. be approved by a judge, who was home

sing had alread ’ “gtill I think one of those three is guilty,” for lunch. Tt must then be entered in

‘he Gable hou y _ he said. “A vagrant wouldn’t have known the records, and the records were locke
on where to find Gable’s gun, ven if he U and somebody oF other, also absent,

sre searched. No f rer e .
wuld be found did manage to slip into the barn. Its got had the key. . :
; to be one of those three. Let’s question “But Ill give you a receipt for the
| 4 believable on them again.” money, and you come pack in two or three
| ed by Mrs Gable Pas, vege we brought aes sheriff's hours ace wea “Th
| che : office an patiently questione throughout “well—all rig ” Zelma agt _“L have
E sein mp the following day. None would make any another errand to do in town.” Who Can Not Submit
admissions and they were finally taken: Tt was ‘less than an: hour afterward that To Surger y

And
nd he had had home again. Further questioning of Mrs. Runkle’s telephone rang; His caller identi-

unkle decid " ‘
ed to Gable and Edith Keister revealed no fied himself as a local jeweler. 5 The man condemned to, live with rupture, all
and his brother shady chapters in Gable’s past, no old “J don’t know whether this has anything too often faces ® grim future. : ,
fim Harding. The enemies who might have turned up for to do with your murder investigation,” ennten is only one known oe + Ase and that 16
ne : revenge: the jeweler said, “but a pretty teen-aged poet Sag vy orrechione Siyes, many, this reile
mer. expressed y g ; : ne I , 3 $ denied oF elayed for any one of
‘uat his neighbor Well, I have just one more suggestion,” girl just came in here and chose @ wedding pareesy _ reasons, Monts 0 hod group seniors
Sheriff Runkle told his brother. “The per~ ring. She handed me $25 as & payment. co gar two choices—to “ar oe. te ‘not
ne about it?” od son who took that wallet after the mur- Well, somehow she looked too young to to yess one. ‘But, since hernia never heals itself,
seen off my OW der probably needed the money badly. set married and too young to be carrying one een 6 Ss ues to ty eli » ects inat
y n
days. I've got too Let’s get the cooperation of the news- around that much money- ni jeaves only one question a ming of the
Y : 5 a sufferer: e: 8, n russ uu
papers. We'll run a story saying that But you sold her the ring? Runkle hernia? Until recently kind vas vie Lerey
ward the black we've cleared any ssible local suspects, asked. , 2 Most, trusses, fered, ec nike They consistes of
~ 4 114 e rin Cc n
| metal that had and now believe the killing was the work “Yes. Shouldn t Ihave?” around the hips: firmly Spessing an r ngielding
-oward the shacks of some vagrant. Let & lie low and see It’s all sight. ’ keep the monn pad, 8801 ese to hernia, oPraias eae rity
anor hep Poems If somebody ae here separate: Tm afraid you may lose that ger of franguiation, rather than wear a (russ:
at ? s spending more money an he nor- sale. Now a New Way t 8 { Hern!
-— is hes mally spends, then we'll have an idea Zelma Gill reappeared before Runkle Less oa sh eat 0 Sup mT an #0 had
ae s Gaple. who the killer is.” had heard from his prother, and again suffered from ‘Pernia, nimself for many years
¢ one A adgrie t “Sounds 200 ome,” Kemer said “Let's he had to stall for time. derseent new KIN or qubises ey*tne round
wi it, e said. , ffice.” : “KS % oing to et married to States 6° rnment recognized its exclusive de-
killed him.” get over to the newspaper © ce. o youre going ee%, : States yegranting him & patent.
cent to the Gable On the following day; February 15, Sherman Straven? Zelma, the sher} Mow this new seviee, 18-8 table to hernia
tools last kk.” 1935, a front page newspaper story e€%- mused. “How soon? . . sutferers every wnene: ei is revoluon rd There
» into thi kite whe ressed the authorities’ complete lack of “In a few days now, she replied ob a mae rings. No.ty yer NO ard, FORE.
ore headway, in the case and their opinion prightly- “Sherman is here in town see- GAR: > i th pew ner th support At been
ras a cola d d , that the killer was not a local man. That’ ing the preacher about it now.” named. tS straps, ande Or he mes. Se ound, the
cat boll ay, am morning local merchants were alerted to Syave you got the ring yet?” no chp ehafe and Tun. or SPs comfortad’e $9
CUP, OF CONSE. watch for any large sums of money: She nodded. “Sherman told me to &° weer ror pat of trousers—and just as easy 10
Ses mirc For two days, no one reported any un- and pick it out, I just go it.” Pnere are nO complications—such 2% ordering
gat att ave usual financial transactions, and Sheriff She reached impulsively into her hand- a “double.” “right Of AR RUPTURE -GARD
y at rats many Runkle thought their plan was Jestined to ae and withdrew aD attractive but n- vanes “cate of a ton. ciple ineulnel een double
Ppl Se of ten, failure. expensive ring. The sheriff admired it and hernia, and desirable spalanced’’ pressure for the
w anything about Then about noon the next day @ rickety let. her put it back in her mn, 5 ae aa mae A just cone ;
j j broa' at pa molded from irm, yet
i old car pulled up 1 front of the sheriff's Then the phone ran scoope ecntiarvabie _ fiat Peder, covere CO top BY
make a search office and 2 pretty young brunette steppe! yy the regenye? He heard Kemer Be OF strong nylon mesh for cool comfort and complete
permitted it but out. She was Zelma Gill, Strawser’s cited voice. ; wasnability.
ce was found. pundling companion “Pm over in Lewiston, Carl, and I've you'll ike RUPTURE-GARD- Re you nave
iv rr le ‘ “a nernia—or now someone suffering from s
rothat left, Arriv~ “What can 1 do for you, Zelma?” the located the hardware more where Strav affliction—won t you do yourself a real favor
vy first made ar- sheriff asked. ser had that key mace He had it made right now, and mail the coupon below? There's
fingerprint expert a € to see about getting pop out here on February 1, the day before he absolutely no obligation—and you'll get _the
rby city to report em sail ogee replied with a smile Jost his joD- he man made the key complete facts on RUPTURE-GARD py return
peso dom afraid there’s still nothing I can describe Strawser perfectly as the mail, in a plain envelope -
examined the tip do about it,” Runkle said, “He'll just have puyer.” hed ; THE KINLEN CO. Dept. FM-66
d. “They’ve both to serve his time.” «Good going,” Runkle said. “Get back g09 Wyandotte, Kansas City 5: Mo.
There are no fin- \ “But you said jf I could raise $50 to pay here as soon as you can and bring the penne TD WATE!
| his fine, you'd let him go.” Jocksmith with you.” eke ‘TEA rR oUT AND M Ally
-at least, supported The sheriff looked at her with interest. He turned pack to the girl. “Zelma, | UT His CO uPON NOW!)
‘loves found in the “Have you got $50?” where did you get the money to relees® : phe Kinlen Co-, Dept. FM-66W |
oy the killer. She nodded ‘and produced the money your father and buy that ring? : 3 809 Wyandotte St. Kansas City 5 Mo. 1
‘Jked once more with 1 ft her h dbag in five and ten-dollar The girl looked at him 1n surprise. } Rush me in A plain envelone. full inform@« 4
rned that they had mills. wie: tet “Why, Sherman gave it ‘a ; tion about RUPTURE teation “anders a ‘
-ants. Since nothin ——" ” ey i “where did Sherman Strawser get the there 1s absolut walls “4
[Se | ee ae ot
y had bate released. wat it shouldn’t take long- Just wait a “From relatives in California. He’s been 1 address __-Zone-————""_
uch of the afternoon i ante, please.” telling me about them an he said he’d | 0 City err 1
minw e, please 1 You see, pop | oY —acaacneee eee

2 65

=


he was still in jail, that he wouldn’t give
his consent. So Sherman got the money
to get him out.”

“Did he show you the check or the letter
from California?”

“No, I didn’t ask to see them.”

“Is Sherman still in town seeing about
the preacher?”

“Yes, we're going to drive back in my
car.”

As soon as Kemer returned with the
locksmith, the sheriff asked him to pick
up Strawser for questioning.

He then turned back to the girl. “Zelma,
are you absolutely certain that Sherman
Strawser was in the bedroom with you
every minute of the night before Gable
was murdered?”

“Oh, yes. He was lying right beside
me.”

“Are you a heavy sleeper?”

“Well, perhaps I am.”

“How do you wake up? With an alarm
clock?”

“Yes. The clock wakes mom, and mom
wakes me.”

“Does the clock keep pretty good time?”

At last the girl’s face grew pale and
she stared at Runkle in horror. “You
don’t mean you think Sherman—Mr.
Gable...”

“It’s only a few minutes’ walk from
your place to Gable’s. And Sherman
Strawser had a key to Gable’s barn.”

“Oh, but I can’t believe he’d do a thing
like that.” Zelma burst into tears. “If I
thought he’d killed Mr. Gable—I—I’d
never marry him if he was the last man
in the world.”

“Well, we hope he didn’t kill Gable,
too,” Runkle said gently. “But we’ll have
to ask you to stay here while we talk
to him.”

The sheriff went to the room to which
his brother had taken Strawser.

The ex-hired man seemed to be under
a greater strain than when he had been
interviewed before. Runkle used his cus-
tomary quiet manner of questioning until
Strawser gradually relaxed his guard.

Then the sheriff threw in casually:
“About that duplicate key you have for
Gable’s barn. Why did you go all the way
to Lewiston to have it made?”

Strawser’s face blanched. “I didn’t have
any key made. I don’t know what you're
talking about.”

Kemer brought in the hardware mer-
chant, who had been waiting in another
room.

Runkle handed him Gable’s key and
asked him if he had made a duplicate of
it recently.

The elderly man looked at it carefully.
“I certainly did,” he replied. “I remember
the pattern of the key, and I remember
the transaction especially because it was
the last blank I had of that type of key,
and I had to order more.”

“Would you remember the man who
had the duplicate made?”

“I certainly would. He was a stranger
to me, and in the locksmith business we’re
supposed to be careful to whom we sell
duplicates.”

“Is that man in this room?”

“He is. He’s that man standing over
there now.” The locksmith pointed to
Strawser.

Strawser avoided the official’s gaze. “It.

couldn’t have been me,” he insisted. “I
was nowhere near Lewiston the day
you're talking about.”

Runkle asked the locksmith to leave,
and began to question Strawser again.
But now the suspect’s nervousness had
returned. He began to answer evasively.
Then, at last after three hours, he broke
down completely.

He admitted that he knew Gable often

carried large sums in his wallet, and
said he had planned to rob him as soon
as he stopped working for him.

“I took his gun when I was there to
pick up my clothes,” Strawser went on.
“J planned on using Zelma and Mrs. Gill
as an alibi. They’re both heavy sleeeprs.
I stayed awake that night and got up
around 4:30 so I’d have plenty of time.
I set the clock back an hour so as to be
sure the alarm wouldn’t go off before I
returned.

“I entered with the duplicate key and
waited there in the barn until Gable came
in. I hit him on the head from behind with
a hammer. Then I shot him and took his
wallet. I ducked around the barn and
into the woods as fast as I could. Then
I ran most of the way back to Zelma’s
place.

“Both she and her mother were still
sound asleep. I set the clock ahead again
and got onto Zelma’s bed. When the alarm
went off a few minutes later, I pretended
to be asleep and fooled both of them.

“They didn’t know anything about my
part in the murder at all and still don’t
know I’m guilty. I just wanted to get her
father out of jail so we could get married.”

Strawser was promptly arrested and
was later indicted by a grand jury.

Since he had pleaded guilty and no
real doubt of his guilt existed, his lawyer,
Miles Potter, pleaded ‘that he be spared
the electric chair. But Judge Curtis C.
Lesher took the view that killing a man
for money to get another man out of jail
was a capital offense.

The judge sentenced Sherman Strawser
to be executed, and he died in the electric
chair at Rockview Penitentiary on July
22, 1935.

_ (The names George Williams and Jim Hard-
ing are fictitious to protect the identity of
persons innocently involved in the investiga-
tion.—The Editor.)

Hunting Down the Terror
of the Desert

[Continued from page 45]

that lay on+ the table between them.

Finally, in a voice no longer husky with
the controlled desperation that had
marked his earlier words, the wavy-
haired gunman said conversationally:

“Well, it oughta be light soon. And then
we'll co in and you can give me that
clean shirt.”

Tra: » had started to rise when he heard
the so.ind of a car pulling up outside the
cottage at 2096 Betty Lane on the northern
outskirts of the Nevada city. He turned
and looked questioningly toward the other
man. The ugly black revolver was again
in the man’s right hand, and again pointed
directly at his head.

“If anyone comes to the door, answer
it,” the man breathed hoarsely. “But don’t
let ‘em in. I'll be behind the door and
this rod will be within a foot of your fat
head.”

Decisive steps sounded on the walk out-
side. Tracy pulled his robe more tightly

about him and stood waiting. Again the

same harsh whisper came from behind
him: ‘Remember, now, no tricks or you’re
a dead man. If it’s the cops, I can get
you before one of them gets me.”

It was the cops. Two uniformed officers,
who recognized the middle-aged bar-
tender and expressed mild surprise that
he should be up and about at that early

66 >

hour, stood in the opened doorway the
next minute.

Tracy explained that he had been un-
able to sleep and had gotten up for a
snack.

One of the police officers explained that
they were looking for a man who‘had been
injured in an automobile accident several
blocks from Tracy’s cottage during the
early morning hours.

“tellow was picked up for speeding out
near the Nellis Air Force Base and Sgt.
Dick Barbour was following him into the
stationhouse to book him,” the officer went
on. “They were over on College Street
when the guy sped off. Dick followed him
for half a mile, until the man’s car crashed
at the corner of College and Betty Lane.
The man climbed out of the wreckage and
got away, though, before Dick caught
up with him.”

“That right? Then that’s why I heard

police sirens a coupla hours ago.”

“Yeah, we’ve been searching the neigh-
borhood for him. There’s a Bloody trail
from his car and we figure he might have
broken into some place around here and
still be hiding out.” .

Tracy said he had neither seen nor
heard anything to arouse his suspicions.
The uniformed men thanked him and left.
Tracy turned back into the room and the
gunman pushed the muzzle of his weapon
into his belly and ordered him to continue
on to the bedroom. “We'll get dressed
now and be on our way,” he ordered
sharply.

“We”

“Yes, we. You're going to take me for

a little ride. That’s your car outside, ain’t
it?”

Tracy did not trouble to lie. He simply
nodded in silence and went on before the
other into the bedroom. There he found
a clean shirt for his captor, and quickly
dressed as the other stood watching with
cold eyes.

An hour later, after the gunman had
gone to the window half a dezen times
and looked up and down the street to
see that all was clear, the pair left the
cottage and went out to Tracy’s car. For
nearly another hour they drove about
the city.

Finally, near the corner of College and
Statz street, in the Arrowhead Acres sec-
tion half a mile from their point of de-
parture, the gunman ordered Tracy to
pull over to the curb.

“Ym going to get out here and take
your car keys with me. I'll not go far,
though. And I’ll not be where I can’t
watch you. If you make any move to get
out of the car, or attract the attention of
anyone who comes along, I'll let you have
it. And it won’t be with this cap pistol.
It’ll be with a high-powered rifle that can
pick off a prairie dog at half a mile.”

The man started to get out of the car,
but at a sudden thought turned and
handed Tracy a small rectangular card.
“Here, take this,” he said. “It might be
valuable to you when you learn it’s from
a desperado.”

A moment later the man was out of the
car and gone. Tracy made no attempt to
follow. He sat looking down at the small
white card. Printed on it was the name:
Kenneth R. Short, Burbank, California.

At the end of ten"
back along the street
other had taken. It w
and the traffic was -
turned to the empty
on it he saw a gold-

Had the man lo:
accidentally? he w
there intentionally~
dissuade him from .
Tracy looked again
in his hand, and th
other’s words on lc
when you learn it’s

That certainly so:
man with the gun:
ably would hear m:
tender decided to ¢
had been bluffing :
rifle warning. He -
behind the wheel o:
later was striding
closest police station,
boulevard.

At 10:30 o’clock «
Tracy sat in the |
his harrowing ex)
later word was 1!
Lieut. William O'R
car at College and
traced to one Ke:
year-old electron:
left his home in P:
ago for the Colli
headquarters in C«

Kenneth Short
complexioned, tal!
spectacles. Califc
formed that his
up in the Nevads
i with his -
sociates and ¢al!

Sergeant Barb«

had stopped the
Buick sedan for
Force Base shor!
morning, describ:
as being from &:
feet and seven in‘
175 pounds, light
brown wavy ha:
work trousers a
the elbow.

The description

of the man who
Tracy a prisoner
kidnaping him te
long way from m
R. Short, whose
handed to Tracy
Within minutes
converging on the
tion, while the s!
ting up roadblock
on highways leac
Shortly after |

detail reported t!

household artic!

automobile had
from two norti

«, the month befc
From one of

owned by C. A.

street, severa:

two pistols w‘

the firearms 4

not found in

owned by D:

street, had |

household fur
Also found

license and

made out to >

stolen from t:

Before nig’

California p‘

Short’s wife,

lowing story:

The well


Daniel F, Sullivan, hanged Philadelphia, Pa.
January 6, 1881.

"Sullivan, it will be remembered, shot Josie S, Irwin, a woman who had left her husband and
followed the murderer from Oil City. One version of the crime, which was committed on May 5, 1879,
at No, 218 South Eighth St., was that Sullivan was actuated by jealousy and maddened by intem =
perance; but another, and that upon which the jury convicted, took a mich less romantic turn,
assigned as a motive for the murder the desire to obtain some money which the woran had in her
possession, Judge Paxton of the Supreme Court, in refusing the prisoner a new trial, dwelt
forcibly on the deliberate and brutal character of the crime, as evidenced by the second shot
which the mrderer fired, on seeing that the first had not proved fatal, That second shot
lodged in the abdomen and cauded the death, The notorious Dr, Harbison, who attended the dying
woman, was afterward arrested as an accessory for not having notified the police of the dan-
gerious character of the wound, thereby prevenhing them from obtaining the dying woman's con-
fession. .4..Sullivan's nearest relatives were his aged mother and a brother, who is a man of
some standing in the community where he lives, Sullivan's attorney forwarded to Governor a
last minute plea for a respite. “As visited twice on last day by brother, but his mother did
not visit because it would have been too terrible an ordeal,,,..Sullivan was described by a
Protestant clergyman who had conversed with him informally as resigned to his fate, but ner-=
vously sensitive of its horror..e..Slept none during last night....was self=possessed, but
thoughtful, and seemed to fully realize the terrible position he occupied and this continued
with him until the end...,avoided any attempt at cheerfulness, Could not eat breakfast that
was set for him but an hour or so later asked for and ate a half dozen raw oysters, The only
remark he made concerning approaching death were to the effect that he felt it very hard to
give up the world with the bright hopes it possessed for one so young as himself, For a mo-
ment his steps weakened as he ascended stairs, Stood with eyes composedly fixed on cricifix

he held in hands, After white cap had been lowered over head, repeated after Father Keul:
"Into the hands of the law I resign my bodys into the’ hands of God I give my soul, May the
‘Lord have mercy upon my soul... Trap sprung at 10:33 AM in corridor of jail, After fall, his
hands worked in seeming agony, legs drawn up so convulsively that his shoes clattered against
each other for a few moments, while his hands clenched and twisted, and his arms writhed ;
with painful vigor. Pronounced dead 17 minutes after trap fell, Neck not broken and died @
of strangulation,Buried in St. Mary's cemetery immediately after hanging, PHILADELPHIA IN-
QUIRER, January 6 and January 7, 1881.

93 Pennsylvania 28)


Fea RES = St a

36 | FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

all of them. They won’t frame me any more!”

Petraitis gasped as he felt the heat of the gun. He
looked hard at the indicted patrolman. “Then you’re the
killer... .” Sullivan nodded. Gallagher stepped forward.

“Lieutenant,” he said. “Marty just shot a woman... .”

“I know all about it,” said Petraitis ““We’ve been hunt-
ing him for three quarters of an hour.”

“But that’s impossible, Sir,” said Gallagher. ‘He only
shot this woman five minutes ago.” The blood had drained
from his face. “Right across the street here. A Mrs. Laura
Bacon... .”

“What!” shouted Petraitis. “Say that again.”

Gallagher repeated his information. Petraitis looked
at the rubicund, grinning Sullivan and mopped his head.
“How many people have you butchered tonight, Marty?”
he asked. He was too stunned to be angry.

Just then Chief Flynn entered, followed by District At-
torney Andrew T. Park, a flock of county detectives, and

newspapermen. Order was restored to the frantic head-

quarters building, and the dragnet was called in, except
for detectives who were assigned to the scenes of the
-murders,

ii TOOK NO longer than an hour for the police and
county detectives to fit a complete picture together
out of the crazy bloodstained jigsaw fragments of crime.
Photographers took pictures of the bodies before removal
to the morgue, and shot the murder rooms from all angles.
The casualty list included five slain and one man‘who
lingered waveringly between life and death with a bullet
in his brain and was not expected to survive.

By midnight a large crowd had collected outside of the
Municipal Building. Its mood was one of curiosity, but

At right, Mary Vukelja Malik poses with

her little sister, Antoinette Vukelja, the

innocent cause of the massacre. It was

Mrs. Malik who braved the enraged pa-

trolman’s bullets to lead the youngster
away to safety.

Below: Milan Vukelja, who died from a
. wound in his abdomen, received when he
fiung himself in front of his mother in a
vain effort to save her life. Only twenty-
three years old, he was dead before the
ambulance arrived.

mill town officials, familiarized through strikes with the
variability of mob sentiments, decided not to take a chance
on its turning toward violence. Any slight occurrence
might change its friendly curiosity to the raging lust for
lynching, and the night might bring further death and
injury once a thirst for vengeance was aroused.

So, at twelve forty-five, Sullivan was taken from the
Duquesne lockup in a county detective car with an es-
cort of police vehicles carrying machine guns and police-
men. He was thus conveyed to nearby Pittsburgh for a
hearing in District Attorney Park’s office.

In the bleak December dawn, Sullivan faced his ac-
cusers. The sixty-seven-year-old grandfather smiled
happily at the thought of having killed three women and
two men, and took snuff from a box and held it to his nos-
trils as he sat back in a swivel chair.

His confession was more like a boast than the revela-

“WP ata met


FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE er 37

tion of a hideous crime. He appeared to be proud of the
fact that he had slain those he had sworn to protect. But

he denied vehemently having committed the outrage -

against the little girl, though his indictment on this charge
was the cause of the massacre.

“I'm glad I did it,” said the pudgy-faced, ruthless killer
as he smoothed his chestnut hair. With his rosy cheeks
and full red lips he looked more like a man of forty than
the grandfather he was.

“I'm glad I did it,” he repeated, “and I’d do it again.
I'm pretty well satisfied, even if I did miss a couple. If
I'd caught up with them, I’d have killed them too and
made a clean sweep.”

Revenge, he said, was his motive. Revenge upon the
Duquesne citizens who had charged him with the at-
tempted rape of Antoinette Vukelja.

“As if I cared that way about little girls,” he said sar-

Joseph Vukelja, at
right, who was shot
in the head and
whose family was
virtually wiped out
because he sought
to save his daughter
from debauchery.

Left. Jeseph Benda
after he attacked
Sullivan for shoot-
ing his wife, Helen.
isa The raging patrol-
RELA man showed mercy

. . te no one, man,
woman, or child, as
he brought ven-
geance on those
who unmasked him.

castically. “The whole thing was a frameup. But I showed
them they couldn’t get away with it.” He laughed, a joy-
ous hearty laugh that curdled the blood of his listeners.

During his berserk hour he had killed Mrs. Vukelja,
her son, who had tried to protect his mother, Mrs. Helen
Benda, who had warned Mrs. Vukelja of his attentions to
her daughter, her husband, Joseph, and Mrs. Bacon, a
prominent social worker who had advised his arrest.

“I sure fooled Tommy,” he said, referring to Constable
Gallagher. “He waited for me while I went out the back
door and evened up my scores.” He laughed again. “I
can still see his expression when he found out what had
happened.

“I went out the back door of my son’s house, ran eight
blocks to my own home, where I got my gun, and ran
through a back alley to Erwin Street. I went inside and
gota drink of water. Mr. Benda came in, and I asked him
where his wife was. She entered the room, and I shot her.
Then I gave him the works.

“I reloaded my gun and went to the Vukelja’s house on
McRae Street. I found the whole family there and told
them what I thought of them. Then I shot the old man,
and he fell down the cellar stairs. His son, Milan, got in

front of the old lady, and I shot him. The mother ran up-
stairs and locked herself in a bedroom. I followed her and
broke in the door and shot her. She jumped through the

_ window.

“The other two kids, Antoinette and Walter, ran and
hid, and I didn’t figure I’d have time to look for them, so
Tileft the house. I shot Mrs. Vukelja again as she lay on the

coming to the house.

“She brought Antoinette out of the house and began
to lead her across alot to her own place. I fired at them,
but they got away. Then I went back to my son’s home
and talked to him a few minutes before I went out and
rejoined Tommy.

“I saw Mrs. Bacon as we were across from headquar-
ters and went over to her and asked her if she thought the
things she’d said about me were true. When she didn’t
answer, I shot her too. Then I came across and gave
myself up.” :

It was learned that Sullivan had fired twenty-one bul-
lets from his service revolver. He had calmly reloaded
when his chamber was empty: The most puzzling feature
of the whole ghastly affair was the fact that though the
fiendish slayer, an elderly fat man, had covered long dis-
tances with the speed of an Olympic marathon runner,
he had not even been breathing hard when he reported
back to Gallagher, or when he appeared in headquarters
to surrender. He had, apparently, been possessed of su-
perhuman strength and endurance while the blood-lust
was upon him,

FTER A WEEK of incarceration, a strange metamor-

phosis came over Marty Sullivan. He was no longer

the rosy-cheeked, red-lipped, brown-haired patrolman
who had looked twenty-five years less than his actual age.
His color faded rapidly away, his lips grew white and
thin, and his hair of chestnut brown was replaced by a
shining bald pate. Such a change was almost incredible

to those who watched it. It was (Continued on page 128) |

eo

, Sidewalk. Then I saw the married daughter, Mary Malik,

De
ae
oa
‘ ‘a
2
a
‘te
a
4
ee»
.
.:
“4
u

es ee


Se

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“Above is Sullivan's service revol\
ed flame throughout,

(CARY _Oz7vER

A few minutes later he elbowed his way through a
turbulent crowd on the sidewalk and entered Ten Erwin
Street. In a second floor apartment he found a patrolman
standing guard over the bleeding bodies of a man and a
woman lying across each other in a grotesque maltese
cross.

“The other boys are after the killer now,” said the
patrolman. A siren whined into silence outside, and two
white-coated internes came into the room. “This is no
hospital job,” said one of them after looking at the bodies.
“These two go to the morgue.” Leaving the patrolman on
guard, Petraitis hurried to the McRae Street address, two
blocks away.

The crushed and bleeding body of a woman lay on the
pavement outside. It was evident that she had jumped
from an upper window. A convulsive motion of her arms
bore witness to the fact that life still lingered.

“The ambulance is on its way, Lieutenant,” said an
onlooker. ‘“There’s two more of them inside.”

ARDLY BELIEVING his informant, Petraitis cursed
impotently as he dashed inside. In the hall a police-

’ man was kneeling beside a young man who was lying in

a pool of blood on the floor. The lieutenant went down

¢

on one knee. and pulled the shirt away from the abdo-
men. He could see right into the entrails where a bullet
had cut a huge hole through the skin. This boy was obvi-
ously to be added to the list of dead.

“The other one’s in the cellar,” said the patrolman to
his superior. Petraitis ran down the stairs and almost
tripped over the huddled body of an elderly man who
was bleeding from a serious wound in the head. It was a
massacre,

Back in the hall upstairs, the lieutenant paused to ask

the policeman by the corpse if it was known who was

staging this one-man war against helpless citizens. The
officer shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Nobody’s around talking that’s had a look at him,”
he said. “The boys are out trying to catch up with him
now.” :

“It’s like chasing a mountain goat with a machine gun
in his beard,” muttered thé lieutenant, thinking of the
speed with which this series of horrors had been com-
mitted. He found two sergeants ‘outside.

“I’m going back to headquarters and call in the day
shift,” he said. “We’ve got to stop this maniac before he
wipes out the city. You boys keep after him and if you
see him, don’t be slow on the draw. He isn’t.”

othe Paes


Nt et ett

|
}
'
'
|
i

a
‘J
«

‘

Forthirty-one
years Marty Sul-
livan was the
genial patrolman
you see at left. It
took almost a
generation be-
fore he was un-
masked for the
glacier - veined
killer that later
events proved
him to, be.

Fifteen minutes later the day shift.was streaming into
the Municipal Building and being assigned to duty. The
dragnet was beginning to sweep the city. The operator
was vainly essaying to locate Chief Thomas J . Flynn, who
had apparently left his home for the evening. ...
Gallagher was still stamping his feet outside of Sulli-
van’s home, when the burly little patrolman came quietly

through the front door and shut it behind him.

“Come on, Marty,” said the constable. “I’ve got to get
back to headquarters. Something’s up. They’ve been send-
ing the cars out so fast the sirens haven’t stopped.”

“I noticed, Tommy,” said Sullivan. “Well, let’s go,”
They strolled back towards the prison. In doing'so, they
came abreast of the Municipal Building.

Gallagher heard the indicted patrolman utter a sud-
den curse. Before he could stop him, Sullivan had drawn
a pistol from his pocket, crossed the street, and shot down
a woman in cold blood! —-

“Marty!” cried Gallagher. “Put that gun away!” Sulli-
van, perfectly calm, turned to his escort. “Okay,” he said.
“I guess I won’t be needing it now.” But Gallagher had
already run to the woman. He called an ambulance and
left her in the charge of some onlookers. Her name, he
learned, was Mrs. Laura Bacon, and she was seriously
wounded. His eyes still bulging, he looked around for
Sullivan, but could not find him. So he ran across the
Street to headquarters. ©

There he found his former companion tossing a still-
warm service gun to Lieutenant Petraitis.

“I’m giving myself up,” Sullivan said. “I was framed
on that charge today, but I guess I squared accounts with

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EXECUTION

Abe Ma, 543 (191)


&) ‘

544. COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE Appellant

Assignment of Errors—Arguments. [246 P
a.

Indictment for murder. Before LANpis, P. J

The opinion of the Supreme Court states the fa t

y erdict of guilty of murder of the first in -
which sentence of death by electrocution was : ei a
fendant appealed. oe.

Error 31 rere j i
8 assigned were in permitting the indi
to be amended after verdict, in ref a i ecen
2 « , S uly r S 7
eee etusing to arrest judg.
4 € sentence of the court

Benjamin C. Atlee, for appellant.—Where an indic;
ment charges the commission of an offense es
es after the date of the finding of the indictment
Ania to arrest judgment, even after verdict the
_ ; ton is fatal and Judgment must be arrested: Pore.
a McKee, Addison, 33; Commonwealth Vv.
Lage Pa. Superior Ct. 271 >; Commonwealth
x ee 0 Mass. 103; Terrell y. State of Indiana 15
ae 2 epr. 884; Jacobs y. Commonwealth, 5 S & R
: oe tae 255 Tl. 530: Obnunpascuid

: air, 147 Mass. 539- :
ee As 8. 539; Commonwealth y. Bickum,
oe Act of March 81, 1660, 2 1. 427, Secs. 11, 12 and
co sige ne amendment of indictments only ee trial
: oe a ae has been allowed to Separate: Con

: Se, 14 ba. Superior Ct. 1: Qj

a. » 4; Girts y. Com., 22 Pa.
oe y ge v. Bubnis, 197 Pa. 542; Com. y. aie ist
ae - ; nee v. Gurley, 45 Pa, 392; Com. v Duffy 49

» Superior Ct. 344; Brown v. Com. 7 Ba. Ol.

| - Com., 78 Pa, 122- Oli-
ver v. Wheeler, 26 P i a
eee oe ae a. Superior Ct. 5; Dougherty y

Section 11 of said act confines the power of amend-
pee to formal defects: 29 Cyc. 435, note 56: Res. y

: . F oO Y:.
liver, 13 Cox C. ©. 588; 36 L. T Repr. (N 's ) iid:

Reg. v. Larkin, 2 0. L. R. 77%
7b: 7 S
Frost, 3 C. L. R. 665. J 8 COs C Cay, Reg x:

Rg es oe 1) fos, Pd, 528, offends against
Provisions of Art. ITI, See. 6, of the Coisiie

as having

&
. e
‘ey
-&

AROS

; @

COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant, 545

1914.] Arguments—Opinion of the Court.
tion of Pennsylvania, and sentence was unlawfully im-
posed thereunder: Barrett’s Appeal, 116 Pa. 486.

John M. Groff, District Attorney, with him Chas. W.
Eaby, for appellee—The court made no error in allow-
ing the amendment of the indictment: United States v.
Howard, 132 Fed. Repr. 325; State v. Patterson, 18 N.
E. Repr. 270; Commonwealth v. Major, 198 Pa. 290,
Opin. pp. 300; Commonwealth v. Powell, 23 Pa. Su-
perior Ct. 370; Myers v. Commonwealth, 79 Pa. 308;
Rough vy. Commonwealth, 78 Pa. 495; Rosenberger v.
Commonwealth, 118 Pa. 77; Brown v. Commonwealth,
78 Pa. 122; Traviss v. Commonwealth, 106 Pa. 597;
Commonwealth vy. Chauncey, 2 Ash. 90; Davis v. Com-
monwealth, 4 Cent. Repr. 711; Commonwealth v. Wil-
liams, 149 Pa. 54; Myers & Murray v. Commonwealth,
79 Pa. 308; Rough v. Commonwealth, 78 Pa. 495;
Commonwealth v. Shields (No. 2), 50 Pa. Superior Ct.
194, Opin. 205; State v. West, 21 Mo. App. 809; Walker
v. State, 76 S. E. Repr. 762; People v. Darr, 104 N. E.
Repr. 389; State v. Hughes, 82 Mo. 86; Commonwealth
y. Livingstone, 18 Pa. C. C. 236; Kilrow v. Common-
wealth, 89 Pa. 480.

The Act of June 19, 1918, P. L. 528, is constitutional:
Clarion County v. Clarion Twp., 222 Pa. 350, Opin. 352;
Searight’s Est., 163 Pa. 210; Commonwealth v. Muir,
180 Pa. 47; Commonwealth v. Shaleen, 30 Pa. Superior
Ct. 1; Commonwealth v. Curry, 4 Sup. Ct. 356.

OPINION BY Mr. JUSTICE Brown, October 26, 1914:

Tony Collata, an Italian fruit-dealer, while driving
along a public highway leading to the City of Lancaster,
was murdered on October 31, 1913. A jury found that
the appellant had murdered him. On this appeal no
question is raised as to the sufficiency of the evidence to
sustain the verdict returned and there is no complaint
of any error committed by the learned court below in

the course of the trial.
VoL. CCXLVI—35_

Sone »

542 vIMMONWEALTH v. CROSON, Appellant.

Opinion of the Court.
Justice required fuller instructions to the jury upon the
rights of a householder to defend himself against a vio-
lent intruder, Upon the last trial the court met this
suggestion by dwelling fully upon this phase of the case
and the result is, that counsel for appellant now om.
plain of the extent of the instruction, and of the detailed
illustrations that were given. It would seem that in
this particular it is difficult to Satisfy the requirements
of counsel. Their complaint is in this respect, some-
what captious, and is not well founded.
In the ninth assignment, an extract from the charge
ail presented which is alleged to have been erroneous.
Wherein it was incorrect does not appear. It was
merely a recital of the substance of the testimony of two
of the witnesses, This evidence was properly a subject
of argument for the jury, but it presents no question of
law which properly calls for consideration upon our
part. : |
Upon the case as a whole, we find that the evidence
presented by the Commonwealth, contained the ingredi-
ents necessary to constitute murder of the first degree.
Beyond this inquiry it is not our duty, or our province
to g0. We are not to review the facts in order to de-
termine the question of guilt or innocence. That was
for the jury. Appellant has had the benefit of a second
trial, very carefully conducted, and has been afforded
full opportunity to present the facts upon which he re-
lied, as a defense. Hig counsel] have been untiring in
his behalf, and have exerted themselves with a zeal that
has gone to the extreme limit, in invoking the aid of
every possible legal position Which they deemed might
be of advantage to the defendant. The microscopic
Scrutiny of the record by counsel for appellant has not
resulted in presenting to us anything which we feel can
fairly be regarded as erroneous in the trial of the case.
It remains therefore but to say, that the judgment is
affirmed, and to direct that the record be remitted to
the court below, for the Purpose of execution.

[246 Pa.

Peeks Soar, cm cere enee aR aaa

TSE EPPA che Sis ca wate Meng Bionesgug "+s

COMMONWEALTH v. TASSONE, Appellant, 543
1914.] Syllabus—Statement of Facts.

Commonwealth v. Tassone, Appellant.

Criminal law—Criminal procedure—Act of March 31, 1860, P.
L. 427, Sections 11, 12, 183—Amendments.

1. A misstatement of the date of the commission of a crime in
an indictment is a mere formal defect if it be shown on the trial
that the offense charged was committed.

2. Sections 11, 12 and 18 of the Criminal Code of March 31,
1860, P. L. 427, which relate to the amendment of indictments,
permit an indictment, which erroneously alleges the date of the
offense, to be amended, after a verdict of “guilty” has been ren-
dered, so as to allege the true date of the offense.

Constitution of Pennsylvania, Article III, Section 6—Revival
and amendment of laws—Act of June 19, 1913, P. L. §628—Death
penalty—Electrocution—Valid statute.

3. The Act of June 19, 1913, P. L. 528, providing that the death
penalty shall be inflicted by means of electricity, is complete in
itself and does not require the re-enactment of any other statute
‘to give it effect. It does not therefore violate Article III, Sec-
tion 6, of the Constitution of Pennsylvania, which provides in
effect that so much of an act as is revived, amended, extended or
conferred, shall be re-enacted and published at length.

4. Where an indictment for murder charged the offense as hay-
ing been committed on October 31, 1914, which was six months after

. the date of trial, and at the trial the defendant denied that he shot

deceased, but said that deceased was shot by another person, the
testimony could only have applied to a past, and not to a future
time, and after a verdict of guilty of murder of the first degree
was rendered, the court made no error in directing the indict-
ment to be amended so as properly to allege the date of the crime,
and in imposing sentence of death by electrocution, under the
Act of June 19, 1913, P. L. 528.

Argued Sept. 28, 1914. Appeal, No. 300, Jan. T.,
1914, by defendant, from judgment of O. & T., Lancaster
Co., April Sessions, 1914, No. 31, on verdict of guilty of
murder of the first degree in case of Commonwealth v.
Rocco Tassone. Before FELL, ©. J -» BROWN, MESTREZAT,
PoTTER, ELKIN and Srewart, JJ, Affirmed.

*ST6T~g~e (Aquncp weqseouey) *eg *oeTe foqtym ‘000° *aNO

STABINSKI and TRET OSKY, whites, elec, Pa, (Luzerne) 1/8/1934...

Part of the $9,000 loot recovered by
police after capturing the murderous —
mites. I¢ was located in their sedan.

nO By PETER W. COOPER

Then he felt a momentary sense of suffocation as it wai

rudely stuffed into his mouth. Another handkerchie!

; was tied around his face.

ANDSOME, 39-year-old John Malinowski stirred in This accomplished, the bandits lightfootedly left the

his sleep. Something was pressed against his chest. room and pattered down the stairs. A door shut, Mali-

Opening his eyes he felt gripped by a sickening nowski, squirming on his bed. He heard a car start up |
dread, as in some awful nightmare. But it wasn’t and speed away. Minutes later he freed himself from

\ a nightmare, it was real. He was looking into the his bonds and dashed into the room of his brother

masked face of a small man, bent low over his bed. The Stanley. The younger Malinowski, aged 32, had heard

thing pressing against him was cold steel—-the shiny nothing. He listened aghast to his brother’s story, ther

barrel of a revolver which glistened ominously in the hopped out of bed.
: “Tet’s see if Mary’s all right,” he said.

moonlight.
“Make a sound and I’ll pump you full of lead,” the Together the men hurried down the hall to the room

intruder threatened, in a thick, -

Polish accent. |
As he spoke another man—also

short, slight and masked—whisked

a wallet and watch from the top ; ’

of the dressér.. In another second

this individual had grabbed a

batch of neckties from a rack and

was tying up Malinowski’s hands

and feet.

Eyes bulging, the victim watched
while the gunman whipped a
handkerchief from ‘his pocket.

- Ride the Knife-Edge of Terror as Polic ]

Kea Qrctecbipe


PER

is it was
kerchief

left the
it, Mali-
start up
elf from
brother,
id heard
ry, then

ne room

This murderous mite was caught first by the
alert police. He confessed te taking part in
the robberies but claimed he had not kiiled.

occupied by their younger sister. John knocked, re-
ceived no response; then opened the door and flipped on
the electric lights. A cry of shock escaped both men.
Lovely, blond Mary Malinowski lay in a crimson pool in
the middle of the thick, green carpet, blood pulsing from
an ugly gash in her head. The older brother dropped to
his knees beside her.

“She’s alive,’ he breathed: “Get a doctor.”

Stanley raced downstairs to the telephone, but it was
dead. “Line’s been cut,” he muttered to himself and
grabbing a coat from the hall'closet, he rushed outside
and across the street to a neighbor’s. It was shortly
after 3 a.m., Friday morning, November Ll, 1932.

A succession of calls brought a physician, an ambu-
lance, and state and county officers to the Malinowski
residence, which was located on St. Mary’s Road in a
fashionable district on the outskirts of Wilkes-Barre,
Pennsylvania. But the victim was beyond medical aid.
She died shortly after admission to the hospital to which
she had, been rushed.

Chief Luzerne County Detective Richard Powell and
Major William A. Clark of the Pennsylvania State Po-
lice, who were searching for clues at the crime scene,
were informed at. once of the young woman’s death.
Clark, who took the message, turned grim-faced to the

county officer.

The little man below was captured only after
police had improvised a hurried trap for him.
He and his pal were practically midget-size.

’

tS

aid

“Murder,” he said, turning in his hand a crudely-
fashioned blackjack which he had found under Mary
Malinowski’s bed. “To my mind it was the same pair
who attacked the Unger girl over in Forty Fort this
morning.” :

The detective chief nodded. ‘The description of the
two men tallies. In both cases the telephone wires were
cut. From what I gather, that blackjack could well be
the weapon that was used on both victims.”

The officers were referring to a crime which had
occurred an hour and a half earlier at the home of Mr.
and Mrs. Wood Unger, in the nearby town of Forty Fort.
Awakened by their 16-year-old daughter’s screams, the .
Ungers had rushed to her: room just in time to see two

masked bandits run down the stairs.

The girl, who remembered nothing of what had hap-
pened to her, was lying on the bed in a dazed con-
dition, with blood pouring from a deep wound on her
head. Clark’s men, as well as the Forty Fort police
were even now working on the Case.

“Well, we know now how lucky the Unger kid was,”
Powell declared. ‘“She’ll live. Poor Mary Malinowski
fought for her life, but it wasn’t any use. Those thugs
beat her to death.”

‘The detective chief was following with his eyes a
trail of blood which led from the young woman’s bed

irk mnigture

Pursue Two Pint-Sized Punks Along a Ghastly Murder-Trail!


up and looked in the gun-barrel. One

‘pullet gone. Gable shot behind the

left ear. But would Charlie Gable
commit suicide? What for? Had he
shot himself standing up and fallen
heavily to the hard earth, cracking his
skull? Why would he shoot himself
behind the left ear? Gable was right-
handed. If he had indeed shot him-
self, wouldn’t he have shot himse‘f
through the right side- of his head.
It was mystifying and strange. He re-
placed the gun where he found it.

HE Doctor looked around, feeling

certain that the hired hand, Hager,
was somewhere near.

“Hager!” he called. “Hager!” There
was no response.

“Mighty strange,” said Doctor John-
son to himself. “I am sure Charlie
Gable did not commit suicide...
Charlie Gable must have been mur-
dered!”

But even as he heard himself utter
the words he laughed ironically. Who
in the world would kill Charlie Gable?
Why, there wasn’t a man in the county
who was more generally loved than
Charlie Gable. Murder? Ridiculous.
Suicide? That was even more ridicu-
lous. Then what?

And as he hurried to the house to
call the Sheriff’s office at Middleburg,

the county seat of Snyder County, he .

reflected on the sensation— the un-
doubtedly mournful sensation—Gable’s
death would cause throughout the rich
farmlands of the central part of Penn-
sylvania.

In the house, Mrs. Gable was sit-
ting on a chair in the parlor, cover-
ing her face with a handkerchief and

Sherman Strawser: While bun-
dling, he thought of a way to
free a man from a county Jail

7

And While This Young Couple Bundled
Through the Night, One of Free-
burg, Pennsylvania's, Most Prominent
Farmers Was Mysteriously Murdered

”

still weeping bitterly, while over her
hovered Miss Keister. Hager was not
there. Doctor Johnson saw the tele-
phone on a table in the hallway and
walked to it. In a few seconds he was
telling Sheriff Carl E. Runkle to come
right over. Then he walked back to
Mrs. Gable and Miss Keister.

“What happened, Miss Keister?” he
asked softly. “I mean, when did this
happen? And what do you know about

“It happened just after breakfast,”
answered the attractive, dark - eyed
young woman; as she embraced Mrs.
Gable. “George came running into the

‘house just after—perhaps about twen-~-

ty minutes after they both left for
work—and told us that Mr. Gable was
hurt. We ran out and saw him lying
face downward in the barn, and Mrs.
Gable turned him over on his back.
We saw that he was badly hurt and

- we called you. It seemed as if he had

fallen to the ground and was knocked
unconscious .. .”
“Did you say Hager found him?”
“Yes.” :
“Where is-he now? Have you seen

Accident? Sulcide? Murder?
fatal head-wound, was found

him at all within the last fifteen
minutes?”

“No, I haven't.”

“I'11 see if I can find him,” said
Doctor Johnson as he arose and
walked from the house. But within
the 20, minutes it took Sheriff Runkle
and his brother, Deputy Sheriff Kemer
H. Runkle to arrive at the farm, Doc-
tor Johnson had not located Hager,
and he returned to the house just as
the two officers arrived. Both men
were big, and rather stoutish with
smooth faces.

“What’s happened?” asked Carl
Runkle of the physician, whom he
knew very well.

“Looks like Charlie Gable’s been
murdered, Sheriff.”

“Murdered?” asked Runkle incredu-
lously. ‘““Where’s the body?”

“In the barn . . . come with me.”

It was full, bright daylight now, but
in the barn it was dim.

HE lanterns were still flickering as

the three men stepped to the body.

“Who found him?”

“The hired hand, Hager, but he
seems to have disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“yes, I’ve looked for him but I
can’t find him.”

“Well, that’s funny, beating it like
that . . . Kemer, go out and look
around and see if you can find him.
Tell Kemer what the man looks like,
Doc.” Doctor Johnson told him and
Kemer left.

“1’q like to know just where he was
lying when he was found,” said Run-
kle. “Who else saw him?”

“Mrs, Gable and Miss Keister—I’ll

Charles Gable’s body, with its
on the barn floor at this spot


STR

AWSER, Sh

=

Zelma Gill: Who could blame her for not ques-
tioning her bundling companion’s financial acumen?

erman, wh, elec. PA (Snyder) July 22,

By David K. Gordon

Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

EAR and hysteria ~ hysteria born
of sudden tragedy —throbbed in
the woman’s voice. Doctor R. W.

Johnson switched on his bedlight and
saw by the clock on the telephone-
stand that it was 6:12 a.m.

“Oh ... Doctor Johnson,” the wo-
man began again, obviously trying
hard to control her sobbing, “some-
thing terrible has happened to Charles
+. . come over right away.”

“Charles?” answered Doctor John-
son. “Charles who?”

“This is Mrs. Gable, Doctor John-
son,”

“Mrs. Gable!” he repeated excitedly.
“What’s happened?”

“We don’t know ... we found
Charles lying in the barn a few min-
utes ago, and his head’s bleeding ter-
ribly ... . he must have fallen... I’m
afraid he’s dying... please hurry,
Doctor, please!”

“Tl be over as fast as I can get
there, Mrs. Gable.”

This was February 12—Lincoln’s
birthday—in 1935.

Within five minutes Doctor Johnson
in his car was speeding over the quiet
Pennsylvania countryside to the Gable
farm near Freeburg, fifteen miles from
his home in Selinsgrove, speeding as

, he had never done before. His friend,

Charlie Gable, stalwart and good-
natured Gable, was dying. What a
tremendous shock his death would be
to Snyder County! Gable was one of
the. county’s wealthiest farmers, an
intelligent power and leader in the
community, president of the township

aes ah aS, Sea Se ENS: bah te aS aS all

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES,

council, chairman of the school board
leader in politics, philanthropies and
each worth-while community project.

At 6:27 Doctor Johnson pulled up
in front of the-Gable home and leaped
from his car, medical bag in hand. As
he was about to ascend the steps of the
house, a man came running down the
sidewalk from the rear and stopped
before the Doctor.

“You’re Doctor Johnson, ain’t ya?”
asked the man, who trembled as he
spoke.

“Yes,” answered Doctor Johnson,

“He’s in the barn... follow me...
hurry up!”

The man turned quickly and ran
toward the barn in the rear. He was
Bill Hager, Gable’s hired man, Doctor
Johnson knew. He’d been working for
Gable for only a few weeks, a stolid,
taciturn individual. in his early thir-
ties, and a resident of Middleburg, five
miles to the east.

The hired man stopped outside the
open door of the low frame barn, and
as the physician approached, . he
pointed and said fearfully: “He’s in
thar... . on the ground.” He was still
trembling, and in the increasing light
Doctor Johnson could see that the
man’s blue eyes were luminous with
the fright or anxiety he manifested,
and it was strange to Doctor Johnson
that so big and rugged a man should
be acting like a frightened child.

Mrs. Gable was kneeling on the
earth, weeping unrestrainedly, as she
held the blood-covered head of her
husband to her bosom and rocked

Who was the scheming killer who lay in wait in
this Pennsylvania barn for kind Charles Gable?

back and forth and sobbed as if sing-
ing a_ dirge-like lullaby, _ saying:
“Speak to me, Charles . .. Speak to
me... Charles ... Don’t die..,
Oh, don’t die!” Kneeling beside her
was another young woman, crying as
she attempted to console Mrs. Gable.
She was Edith Keister, the Doctor saw,
a close friend of the Gables.

“Oh, Doctor, I’m glad you’ve come,”
said Mrs, Gable as the physician knelt
on the opposite side of her. “Help
him! . . . Help him!” she added as she
tenderly placed her husband’s head on
the hard earth.

Miss Keister arose as Doctor John-
son, swiftly and eagerly, went to work
—opening his bag and removing a
stethoscope, and adjusting it to his
ears, and placing the disk on Gable’s
breast. Mrs. Gable and Miss Keister
reper studied his face. Seconds ticked
(0)

“Is he dead?” Mrs. Gable asked.
“I’m afraid he is, Mrs. Gable... he
was dead before I got here.”

SH looked at the blood-smeared
features of her husband. Tears
welled into her eyes... and then she
uttered a piercing scream.

Doctor Johnson looked down upon
Gable’s body. It was incredible, un-
believable that Gable was dead. Some-
thing unusual must have happened.
Why the blood all over his face? Did
he trip and fall as he came into the
barn? Did something fall on his head?
Where was this blood coming from?
He looked around. Gable was at least
20 feet inside the barn. The Doctor
knelt down again beside the body and
examined the head. Blood was flow-
ing from a deep gash in the back of
Gable’s head—a gash and a hole be-
hind the left ear!

He turned the body over and there,
beneath his left shoulder, he found a
revolver. What was this? Suicide?

He took a handkerchief from his
pocket and carefully picked the gun

oD—3


go into the house and send out Miss
Keister. She’s a good friend of th
Gables and lives with them.” :

“Okay. Go ahead,” said Runkle,

“The gun’s under his left shoulder,
Sheriff,” said Doctor Johnson before
he left. i

In a few moments the slim Miss
Keister, red-eyed and nervous, en-
tered the dim barn and saw Runkle
on his knees examining the dead man’s
wounds. Runkle looked up as she
approached.

“Miss Keister?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

Runkle arose.

alt ar me the position of this body
when you saw it first.”

“He was lying just about where he
is now,” she answered without hesi-
tation. “Except he was lying on his
face and bleeding terribly.”

“What time was that?”

“T would say it was a few minutes
after six.”

“How would you fix the time?”

“Well, Mr. Gable had finished
breakfast about half-past five and he
went out to work.”

“Alone?”

“Ves,”

“When was he found?”

“About six.”

“Where was Hager when Mr. Gable
went out to breakfast?”

“He was still eating.”

“When did he leave the table?”

“Our clock was striking quarter to.
six just as he was leaving.”

“And he came back within fifteen
minutes and told you Mr. Gable was
hurt?”

“That’s right—and Mrs. Gable and
I ran out here and saw him and then
we called Doctor Johnson.”

“All right, Miss Keister, that will
be all for the present,” said Runkle.

Sheriff Carl E. Runkle: His
investigation disclosed one of
the strangest alibis on record

ing the skull, while his eyes looked at
the gash.

“Yes, a fracture,” he said.

“Now Miss Keister says~he was
found on his face .. . if he fell face
forward, could he have fractured the
skull in that place?”

“Hardly—this fracture and this gash
were not caused by the fall.”

“What then?” ,

“He was struck over the head with
terrific force with something heavy,
like a chisel or a hammer, or some-
thing similar.”

Gable liked him: He’s an industrious
sort.and doesn’t talk a lot.” PA

“Do-you know whether Mr. and Mrs.
Gable: got along all right?”

“Yes. They were genuinely in love
with each other.”

Kemer Runkle entered the barn.

“Find Hager, Kemer?”

“No. I looked everywhere around
here. Can’t find no hide or hair of
him. Looks like he’s beat it.”

“He might be out in the fields some-
where,” said Doctor Johnson.

“Well, maybe he is, but I covered
a lot of territory. What do you make
of this, Carl?”

“Go in and call the coroner and the
State police,” answered Carl. “Gable’s
been murdered. I’ll tell you more
about it when you come back.”

Kemer left to telephone.

Runkle again removed the revolver
from’ his pocket, walked to one of
the lanterns, bent over and examined
the weapon closely, .

“Well, what do you know about
that!” he exclaimed. “Look here, Doc.”

Doctor Johnson stepped over to
Runkle.

“Look -here—the serial number’s
been filed off!”

AR asi right and that’s fresh filing,
re) ”»

“Yes, it is. Now that’s something,
I'll say.” Runkle rewrapped the re-
volver and returned it to his pocket.
“This was a planned job, a deliberate
murder!” _

Kemer entered again.

“The coroner’ll be here right away,”
he said. “Also the State police. Now,
what’d you find, Carl? Let me hear
At?” :

Within ten minutes, while Doctor
Johnson stood by silently, Carl Run-
kle outlined to his brother what he
had already uncovered.

“That’s not much, yet,” said Kemer

look a roll like this? Not on your life,
Kemer. No, sir.”
‘“All right. -I agree. What now?”

“Several things. First I want to talk
to Mrs. Gable and Miss Keister again.
And then Hager. We've got to find
him quick...”

Runkle went in the house and sought
out Mrs. Gable.

“Mrs. Gable,” he said gently, “I am
sorry but I must ask you a few ques-
tions.”

“I understand, Mr. Runkle,” she
answered bravely, looking helplessly
at him.

“Now, Mrs. Gable, tell me, how long
have you known Bill Hager?”

“Oh, many years. I have known his
family all my life. He’s a good boy
and a hard worker.”

“How long has he been working
here?”

“Several weeks. Three, I think. He
worked for the Schmauchs before he
came here. He was there for many
years.”

“Mrs. Gable, did your husband al-
ways lock the barn at night?”

“Oh, yes, always.”

“Who had keys to the barn?”

“My husband and Bill Hager.”

“Did your husband always give the
farmhand a key to the barn?”

“Oh, yes. That’s the way it had to
be, because if my husband had to go
away early in the morning the farm-
hand was sure to have a key to get
at the cattle.”

UNKLE stuck his hand in his over-
coat pocket and withdrew the
wrapped-up revolver. Mrs. Gable
stared at him as he did so.
“Did you ever see this, Mrs. Gable?’
asked Runkle, displaying the weapon.
“That’s.my husband’s gun!” she ex-
claimed almost in a scream. “It’s his
gun!”

This peaceful countryside was visited by a ruthless slayer who had armed himself with stolen keys and his victim’s own gun

“Will you please tell Doctor Johnson
to come back?”

Within a few minutes Doctor John-
son returned.

“What is it, Sheriff?” he asked.

“What time did you arrive here?”

“IT was called at exactly six-twelve.
I got here around six-thirty.”

“How long would you say he was
dead when you arrived?”

“Close to an hour—more or less.”

“Then that would place his death
somewhere around 5:30, or a little
later, maybe.”

“That’s just about right.”

“All right. Now please look at this
gash carefully.”

“I have already, but let’s look
again,” the physician said as he knelt
over the body.

“That skull’s fractured, isn’t it?”

Doctor Johnson’s fingers were study-

18

“Could it have been caused by the
butt of a gun?” ee

“Certainly.”

Runkle removed the gun from _his
pocket, unwrapped the handkerchief
and held the gun close to the lantern.

“No, if it was caused bythe butt of
a revolver, then it wasn’t this. gun.
The butt’s clean as a whistle, There’d
be blood and hair on it if this was
used to crack his skull.”

“Yes, I know,” said Runkle, arising,
a grim expression settling on his face,

“What do you know about Miss
Keister and that fellow Hager?”

“Well, Miss Keister is a cousin of
Mrs. Gable. She has no family. And
she’s been living here for several
years. Hager’s been working here for
a few weeks. He’s from Middleburg.
You'll be able to find out more about
him easily. I do know, however, that

when his brother completed the de-
_tails. “What about a motive? Have
tae ry his clothes?”

“ ‘o.”

“Well, let’s do it right now. I hap-
pen to know that Gable liked to carry
a lot of cash in his pockets. He might
have been knocked off for his dough.”

Kemer was swiftly searching pockets

~in the big mackinaw Gable yet had
on, in his trousers, and windbreaker,
and then from a vest pocket——

“Look, Carl, look. at this roll!”

“Enough to choke an ox—count it.”

Rapidly Kemer counted.

“Two hundred dollars,” he said.
“Exactly.” .

They stood up.

“Well, that just about knocks down
any robbery theory,” said Carl. “Sup-

“pose anyone knew just where Gable
carried his money, would they over-

“Did he always carry it on him?”
“Why, Charles never carried a

“How do you think it got into the
barn?” Runkle asked softly.

“Why, I don’t know, I don’t know,”
answered Mrs. Gable in complete puz-
zlement.

“Didn’t you see the gun when you
ran into the barn?”

“No. I had eyes only for Charles,’”
she said. “Where did you find it?”

“It was under his left shoulder,”
interjected Doctor Johnson.

“Now, Mrs. Gable, tell me— how
did your husband and Hager get
along?”

“Very good. He was the most will-
ing worker we’ve had in a long time.
Charles found no fault with him.”

“Now just a few more questions,

(Continued on Page 44)

oD—3

"But Zelma and

Mrs. Gable. Was your husband in-
sured?”
Her tear-filled eyes met Runkle’s.
“Oh, yes. He was careful about such -
matters. I don’t know how much he
carried, though.”
“And who is the beneficiary?”
She smiled wanly: “I am.”

Carl Runkle found Miss Keister in
the kitchen, sitting near a window
and crying. She arose as Runkle en-
tered, and tried to smile.

“I suppose it’s my turn to be ques-
tioned again?” she said.

“Yes, Miss Keister. Just a few ques-
tions. And don’t be frightened. Now
you’ve been here for several years.
How many farmhands came and went
since then?”

“Two, besides Bill Hager.”

“Who was here before Hager?”

“Sherman Strawser. He’s also from
Middleburg.”

“Yes, I know Strawser. Who else?”

“Hart Bicker.”

“Hart Bicker! I plumb forgot him.

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Wasn’t he the one who stole a lot of
wheat from Gable and went to jail
for. it?”

“Yes. He’s the one. He was caught
red-handed and Mr. Gable had him
arrested.”

“He served six months for that job.
Be was here for some time, wasn’t

e?”

“Yes, for nearly two years. I don’t
know what ever got into him to steal
the wheat. He didn’t seem that sort
of person.”

“Now how about Strawser?”

“He was here for about a week.”

“Why did he leave or was he fired?”

“Strawser was fired. He left here
February 2.”

“Was he sore because he was fired?”

“Oh no. He’s been fired from. so’

many places that he thought it was
just a joke. He’s a happy-go-lucky
type. He didn’t care about being
fired. He’s been in and out of trouble
so much, I suppose, that one job more
or less didn’t mean a thing to him.
He’s been married twice and both of
his wives died in childbirth. And I
happen to know that all the. girls
around here steer clear of him. But
he’s going with Zelma Gill now.” |

“There’s a Lester Gill‘in jail at
Middleburg for making moonshine
whisky. Is that her father?”

“Yes. That’s her father. She’s about
sixteen. And Strawser’s all of thirty.
I hear he’s going to marry her, too.”

“Thanks,” Runkle said as he left her.
He walked in to Mrs. R eeas again,
who was now quite ca

“Mrs. Gable, if you aont mind, I’d
like to ask you a few more questions. 44

“All right, Mr. Runkle.”

“Did your husband usually carry a
lot of money on him?”

“Yes. Quite a bit at times. He
drew a lot. from the bank yesterday
to buy some young turkeys.”

“How much did he have on him?”

“Before he went to bed last night
he counted it. He had two- hundred
seventy-nine dollars in cash.”

“Did he carry it all in his vest:
pocket?”

“I remember him putting some
money in his vest pocket and the rest
in his wallet.”

“He carried a wallet?”

“Yes. A big one.”

“How much did he put in his vest
pocket?”

“He put two hundred in~his vest:
pocket and said that would be for
the turkeys. when they came - this.
morning. The rest of it he put in his
wallet.”

“We found the two hundred—here
it is, Mrs. Gable.” He gave her the
money. “Where did. he any the wal-
let?” he asked.

“In a back pocket.”

ABLE was robbed, thought Runkle,.
killed for his money... . But who
would rob Gable at daybreak? Even:
though Gable’s wallet was missing, it;
didn’t seem _ possible that anyone
would enter the barn before dawn and
kill him to rob him. No, Runkle.
couldn’t see it that way. But he knew
it was not a motive to be’ overlooked,
even though it did appear incredible..
Then several cars drew. up. One of
them belonged to Henry F. Ullrich,

‘} Coroner ‘of Snyder County.’ Another:

car contained Corporal: John P.. Her-:
man and Trooper George Hahn of: the;
State. police barracks. at Lewiston,;
while another was driven by a wide-
shouldered young man with a bat-
tered felt hat, big mackinaw and high-
laced boots. It was Strawser, Gable’s
former hired hand. He alighted and
ran to the group of men, recognized
Runkle and said: “Say, I hear Gable’s
been shot and killed.”

“Yes, Strawser,” said Runkle. -

“That’s right.”

“Where’s Mrs. Gable?”

Runkle told him.

Strawser left the group and ran up
the steps to the house.

Runkle turned to the Coroner and .

the police and led them to*the barn,
where Coroner Ullrich immediately set

to work,: while. Runkle outlined to the
officers what he already had learned.

“Now, Runkle,” said Herman when
the Coroner was through, “I think we
ought to make a thorough search
around here. There might just be a
possibility that the killer dropped
something else besides his gun.”

And while the Coroner and his as-

sistants removed. the body, Runkle

and the State Troopers, assisted by
several farmers, began a minute
search of the floor of the barn. After
e. half-hour a farmer who had begun

to rummage in the feed-trough just
above where Gable’s head had rested,
pulled his arm out and yelled: “y

found something—look!”

Runkle and Herman walked over to
him swiftly. In his hands the farmer

-held a leather glove and a hammer.

On the blunt end of the instrument
they found hair, and dried blood.

“This is it!’ exclaimed Runkle
jubilantly. “This is what was used on
Gable’s head.”

“This is a left-hand glove,” said
Herman. “There is a hole in the end
of the forefinger.’ The hole was
about a half-inch in circumference.
“There might be a chance that the
right one is around, too. Let’s see if
we can find it.” But further search
proved futile.

“Hahn,” said Herman, “run these
back to Lewiston and have them ex-
amined right away for finger-prints.”
He handed the trooper the gun and
hammer.

Just then Kemer Runkle was seen
coming toward the barn.

“There’s| Kemer!” exclaimed - his
brother. “That must’ be Hager with
him.” And it was. Kemer swiftly led
him to his brother. “Here he is,” he
said jubilantly. “He was lying under
a tree away out there in the corner
of the big wheat field. He said he
had run all the way and laid down
and cried.”

Carl Runkle: didn’t waste much time
with the big man, who acted as if he
“was tremendously frightened. ..

“Did you kill Mr.: Gable, Hager?”

“Oh, no, not me—I didn’t,” he said,
trembling.

“Then why did you run away?”

“I was scared. The sight of dead
people makes me sick.”

“All right. Come in here and show
us what you found this morning and
how you found Mr. Gable.”

Then followed a long grilling, but

.Hager maintained that. he didn’t kill
.Gable; that he had no reason to kill

him; that he was being paid well and
didn’t have any use for more money;
that. he was entirely, satisfied with
everything. And after it was all over,
both Herman and Runkle were satis-
fied that he was telling the truth.
The officers were thoroughly puz-
zled. What tack could they. pursue

now?

Kemer spoke. up.

“If someone got into the barn they
had a key. Where did they get. the
key? Who. had keys?. The hired men
and Gable. Let’s find out about the
keys, Carl. And did you find out who
was here before Hager?”

‘“Yes. Sherman Strawser and Hart
Bicker.”
“I know both ot them . . . look

-Carl, I'll go after Bicker: You find

Strawser.”
“That won’t be hard. He’s inside

‘the house.”

“Good.”

Kemer left for the Bicker home out-
side of Middleburg, and Herman and
Runkle entered the house. They found
Strawser talking with Miss Keister.
He looked up as the Sheriff entered
said said: “H’ya, Runkle. . . this is
mighty awful.”

“What are you doing back here,
Strawser?”

“Why, I came back to tell Edith
how sorry I am, and I sure am. Mr.
Gable was a swell guy, he was.”

“But he fired you.”

“Yeh,” said Strawser, laughing, “and
I deserved it, I did. But that don’t
keep'-me from feelin’ mighty sorry

Read It First in

(Continued:‘from Page 18) orriciaL DETECTIVE STORIES

for Mrs. Gable. Anything I can do to

help ya?”

“Strawser, did you: ever have keys
to the Gable barn?”

“Sure. But I turned them in when
I was fired. I had to. Mr. Gable, he
asked for them. Anyway, I wouldn’t
want them.”

“Strawser,” Herman suddenly in-
terjected, “where were you between
five and six this morning?”

“Why, I was with Zelma Gill,” he
said matter-of-factly. “We were ‘bun-
dling’ last night. Me and Zelma’s
gonna get married pretty soon, you
know.”

ROSELE was not surpriséd by the
statement, as perhaps a police officer
ih another part of the country might
have been. Bundling, a custom prac-
tised by the early settlers of New
England and the Pennsylvania Dutch
communities, was a practical way for
young lovers on cold nights to solve
the fuel question, when there were
no oil-heating or central-plant heat-
ing systems; when there was nothing
but open hearths which were banked
early on Winter nights. The couple
would go to a bedroom, and be placed
in a “bundling bag,” or else go to
bed with their clothes on, and lie on
either side of a big board partition
which seperated them. Bundling
still is practised in Snyder County
among some families, and considered
a certain sign that the bundlers will
soon get married.

“I just came from the Gills right
now, just as soon as I heard Mr. Gable
was murdered,” added Strawser. “You
can go and ask Mrs. Gill or Zelma.
They’ll tell you the same thing.”

“What are you doing now? Are you
working?”

“T’m on my way to Selinsgrove. I
heard about a job driving a meat-
wagon there.”

“When are you going to get married,
Sherman?”

“In a few days, maybe, when Old
Man Gill gets out of jail, I guess.”

“But you’re broke, aren’t you?”
asked. Herman.

Strawser laughed. “Sure. But I’
get a job and settle down and stick to

it and we’ll live at the Gills’ until I

get on my feet.” _
Well, that seemed to eliminate
Strawser and Runkle told him so.
Certainly the kid couldn’t be in two
places’ at the same time—bundling

-with Zelma and in the Gable barn.

Nevertheless, the officers knew it was
simply good routine to check his
story.

At noon Kemer returned to: the
Gable farm and spoke with Carl and
Corporal Herman.

“Bicker’s eliminated,” he said. ““He’s
been sick in bed for three days. Doc-
tor Thorne was with him almost an
hour this morning. Between five and
six. Couldn’t have been here. What
about Strawser?”

“Strawser was in bed, too,” said

Carl, smiling. “He said he was bun-

dling with Zelma Gill last night.”
“What now?” asked Kemer rather
hopelessly as he saw the case becom-
ing more and more baffling.
“Let’s go on to Mrs. Gill,” suggested
Herman, “and check with her.”
“Okay, but wait for me. I want to
ask Mrs. Gable something.”
Kemer left and returned: in a few

minutes. -
“What did you ask he asked Carl.
“Something about ke said Kemer.
At 12:30 the officers Were knocking
on the door of the low frame house
occupied by the Gills. It was situated
in the poorer section of Middleburg.
A thin, dark-eyed woman, whose face
seemed heavy with worry, answered
the bell. She was visibly shocked by
the presence of the men. She asked
them in and fearfully inquired: “Has
anything happened to my husband?”
“No,” said Kemer. ‘“He’s all right.
He’ll get out when he pays that fine of
fifty dollars.”
~ “Oh, I wish I had it. I always told

‘Lester to stop making ‘that stuff.”

op h Pea VW OLULY ’

on

July 22,

coat white, elec, Pennsylvania State Prison (Snyder Co
935-6 -

BY DON RENO

“Murder woos g eed when

OD MILLER’S voice held something
of the violence of the February
gale against which he had just shut
the farmhouse door.

“Better call for help right quick!” he
shouted. “Mr. Gable’s met with a ter-
rible accident out in the barn!”

“What do you mean?” the elderly
Mrs. Charles E. Gable cried out. She
stared with wide, fright-fille¢ eyes at
the farmhand.

“He’s been hurt bad,” said Miller
tersely. ‘‘He’s layin’ out there on the
barn floor all covered with blood.” The
burly young man turned and banged
out into the turbulent early morning
again.

Miss Edith Keister, a comely brunette,
hurried from the sink where she had
been stacking the breakfast dishes and
placed a comforting arm about Mrs.
Gable. “There, there, now,” she said.
“It probably isn’t as bad as Hod imag-
ines. I’ll call the doctor. You get our
coats and we'll go out and help
Charles.”

She phoned Dr. H. W. Johnson at
Selinsgrove, about three miles from the
broad, rolling acres of the Gable farm in
central Pennsylvania. Then the two
women flung on their coats and hurried
from: the snug farmhouse across the
wind-swept road to the big cattle barn.

They found the sixty-three-year-old
farmer sprawled on the hay-strewn floor
beside the first cow stall, about ten
feet inside the barn. His lantern stood
upright beside him and they saw in its
yellow glow the jagged wound on his
head that spread a still widening pool
of crimson under him. eSare

The anguished Mrs. Gable flung her- ‘WMPORTANT CLUES——
self down sobbing beside her husband, were hammer and gloves, shown
but the calmer Miss Keister placed her [iRugbMog Coroner Henry F. Ulrich.
hand on his breast a moment, then tried Below, beautiful Zella Mae Gill.
the left wrist. “I’m afraid he’s dead,”
she announced softly.

Dr. Johnson arrived a half hour later
and immediately verified the young
woman’s verdict. He examined the
corpse carefully for five minutes and
when he was finished there was a grim
straightness to his lips. He walked
swiftly across the road and made two
phone calls to the Snyder County seat,
Millersburg.

In another half hour, Coroner Henry
F. Ulrich, Sheriff Carl E. Runkle and his
brother, Deputy Kemer H. Runkle, ar-
rived and gathered with Dr. Johnson
in the barn.

“Men, you'll notice that. wound on the
left side of the head,” said Dr. Johnson
gravely. “Looks like it might have
been accidental, of course. But there’s
also a bullet wound down there in the
left side of the neck. This was murder!”

“You're right,” said Coroner Ulrich,
bending over the body. “And the powder
burns show that the bullet was fired at é
very close range.” y & €.\

4


and Zella Mae slipped upstairs. Sher-
man was a thick-shouldered youth of
medium height, brown-haired, blue-
eyed.. It was not hard to understand
Zella Mae’s infatuation for him.

He recognized Overgard. “Oh,” he
said mildly, “it’s about that fine for
using old license plates. I didn’t have
the money but I’ve got it now. I'll
drop in today or tomorrow and.pay
it,”

“Okay,” returned Runkle. “By the
way, Sherman, you heard about Gable,
didn’t you?”

“Sure. A tough break for the old

man. I used to work for him, you
know. It’s a dirty bit of business and
I feel bad about it—even if we didn’t
get along very well.”
_ “Iunderstand. Just want to ask you
a couple of questions. Did Gable say
anything to you about a hammer be-
ing missing before you left?”

The young widower seemed to
search his memory. “No,” he said
finally. “Don’t remember that he did.”

“Mrs. Gable said something about —

your leaving a pair of gloves at the
farm. Don’t you want them back?”

“Gloves?” Strawser was frankly
puzzled. “I never left no gloves there.”

“Where were you last night, Sher-
man?”

“Right here.”

“All night? Are you sure?”

“Ask Zella Mae,” the husky widow-
er said smiling. “I was in bed with
her all night. We bundled.”

Runkle was not shocked. The in-
timate sharing of beds by sweethearts
in that rural section of Pennsylvania
was, he knew, no cause for scandal.
Bundling dates far back to Colonial
days and still exists in several remote
corners of this country. It was origi-
nally a fuel-saving device. Weary
parents who wanted to retire early
but still did not want to deprive
sweethearts of each other’s company
put out the fires and let the young
ones climb into bed together.

Numerous devices were employed
to safeguard maidenly chastity. Some
beds were fitted with a large board in
the middle that could be raised and
lowered like a sailboat’s keel. The
most popular was use of a large, strong
cloth bag into which the maiden
slipped her lovely form. The parents
tied it tightly around her neck. Some
used padlocks on the bag’s collar, even
though the adage “Love laughs at
locksmiths” was as well known then
as now.

Bundling, then as now, generally
leads to marriage. So Sheriff Runkle
asked, “You two planning on getting
married?”

“Yes. Next Sunday,
teenth.”

It’s hard to see, thought Runkle,
how a young couple wanting each
other as eagerly as Zella Mae and
Sherman would risk becoming in-
volved in robbery, leave alone mur-
der, with their wedding day only five
days off. Still—

Runkle tried another tack. “Sher-
man,” said he with piercing swift-
ness, “where did you get the money
to pay your fine? You were broke
three days ago when you were ar-
rested.”

Sherman Strawser’s frankness was
disarming. “To be honest, Sheriff, I
had the money all along. But I needed
it for getting married to Zella. I
thought maybe you’d let the fine ride
for a month or so, long enough for me
to catch up.”

Runkle stayed long enough to check
Sherman’s bundling alibi with Zella

amt

the seven-

AMAZING DETECTIVE CASES

Mae and her mother. “It’s true,” af-
firmed Mrs. Gill. “I supervised the
bundling myself.”
“Could Sherman have slipped away
a little before dawn, this morning?”
Devils of mischief danced in the
curvaceous girl’s dark and passionate
eyes. “He could,” she said smiling
faintly, “but he didn’t. I know that.”
The officers drove back to the Gable
farmhouse. From the bottom of a
slight rise on which the Gable farm
was situated they could see a sizeable
crowd had gathered. It was the posse.
The leader waved the officers’ car
to a stop. “Got news for you boys,”
he said “Sam Cobb walked right back
into the farm house before we got
here. You don’t need us any more.”

Deputy Sheriff, KEMER H. RUNKLE: He took
nothing for granted and was instrumental
in cracking a tough murder case.

The amazed Runkle parked the car
and hurried into the kitchen where he
found the trembling, livid-faced
Cobb. The sheriff’s eyes were the color
of blue steel as they fastened on the
shrinking youth.

“Well, Cobb. So you came back to
confess.”

Cobb looked pleadingly at the
sheriff while he jabbered. “What
would I have to confess? I just walked
into the barn and found Mr. Gable. It
was terrible. I couldn’t understand
a

“So you ran away!” barked Runkle.

“I knew officers and everyone else
would come around and I got scared,”
mumbled the powerful young farm-
hand. “Without even knowing what I
was doing I started walking. I was
afraid they would try to blame me. I
waiked and walked over the fields. I
didn’t know where I was going.”

Corporal Herman, a shrewd and in-
telligent officer, studied the youth
carefully. “And then, after a long
time,” he said quietly, “you realized

it made you look all the more guilty—
running away like that.”

Cobb looked gratefully at him.
“Yes, corporal, I got thinking like that,
so I came back. You can ask me any-
thing you like. You can put me in
jail. But I still don’t know what hap-
pened out there in the barn. All I
know is that it was awful. I couldn’t
do a thing like that.”

“Maybe you could if you wanted
money badly enough,” said Runkle
thoughtfully. “Maybe you would if
you thought you could throw suspicion
strongly enough on some one else.
Sherman Strawser, maybe. Maybe
you would if you wanted to marry
some one. Say, Zella Mae.”

“No!” Cobb sounded genuinely
alarmed. “I never thought of such a
thing!”

Runkle’ studied him carefully.

“Cobb,” he said, “did you ever bundle
with Zella Mae?”

“That girl? I never even met her.”

Runkle and Herman held a whis-
pered conference. “Okay, Cobb,” said
Runkle at last. “You go out now and
take care of the evening chores. These
neighbors have stock of their own to
tend to.”

Cobb jumped up and cried, “Thanks.”
He stamped heavily out.

Corporal Herman lit a cigarette and
reflectively watched the thin smoke
curl up about the lamp hanging from
the ceiling. “So they are going to get
married Sunday, five days from now,”
he said. “Seems to me there’s a young
man who would have a very. urgent
need for money.”

“Not necessarily,” argued. Runkle.
“The Gills like him, and I expect he’ll
live there.”

“Still, parents around here sort of
insist on a dowry, don’t they?” The
sheriff nodded and Herman continued,
“Then there’s the father, Lester Gill,
doing time in your Middleburg jail.
The family’s probably pinched for
funds.”

“Right,” said Runkle. “They couldn’t
pay his fine.”

Irritably, Runkle rubbed the stubble
of his beard. “It doesn’t make sense,

‘Herman. That pair are crazy in love.

Especially Sherman. Would it be
reasonable for him to take a chance
on losing that desirable young girl
forever by murder and robbery?”

“No, it isn’t reasonable,” agreed
Herman. “But neither is anything else
about this case ..... Cobb running
away..... the murderer overlook-
ing the two hundred dollars Gable still
had onhim..... that second glove
we found up in the hayloft. What was
the killer doing up there?

“And I don’t like Strawser’s alibi.
It’s too pat. He could have slipped
away, easy. There’s other things, too.
We know he did not get along with
Gable. The hammer was missing
while Strawser still worked out there.
Those gloves belong to a man with
large hands and Strawser’s are large.
He didn’t have money a couple of
days ago and he has now.”

“Tt seems to add up, all right,” Run-
kle admitted.

“And what’s more,” the clean-cut
State Trooper warmed up to his sub-
ject, “we haven’t any alternative but
to pick Strawser up at least for ques-
tioning; our only suspect, Cobb, seems
to be in the clear, Bickert is out of the
question, and the gloves and hammer
came back marked ‘No Fingerprints’.
Strawser’s all we got.”

The two officers worked out a plan
and a little later Sheriff Runkle was
driving out to the Gill home once

SEERA DRE RA eect A,


FROM AUTHENTIC POLICE RECORDS

more. He brought Strawser, wordily
protesting his ignorance of anything
connected with the crime to the
Middleburg jail.
orporal Herman left the tragedy-
uded Gable farm an hour after
nkle. He felt sure, as he drove
toward the Gill home, that Cobb
would obey his quietly-voiced order
to remain on the farm where he could
be reached for further questioning.

Luscious was right, the trooper
thought, as the volyptuous young
Zella Mae admitted him into the house.
Her first. thought was of, her lover.

“Did you bring Sherman back?” she
asked.

“Sorry, but he’ll have to answer
some questions first.”

Mrs. Gill, her eyes worried, invited
him into the parlor and asked what
they could do for him.

“Well,” said Herman, “first Zella
Mae can tell me whether Strawser
actually stayed in the bundling bed
with her all night.”

“Oh, yes,” the girl said quickly.
“I told Sheriff Runkle that!”

“Mind if I have a look at-the bed
you and Sherman used?”

They nodded. Upstairs, the trooper
merely glanced at the iron-posted bed.
His eyes sought—and found—the little
stand by the head of the bed. A little
thrill went through him at what he
saw. Nonchalantly, however, he re-
turned downstairs and then departed.

Quickly, he drove to Sherman
Strawser’s home. Sherman’s father
was out in the fields, at work. To the
trooper’s request to “look around”
the older Strawser merely waved a

wenterested assent. Herman set to

k. If Sherman had killed Gable
tire money he had stolen would be
cached somewhere around the house.
It was the only place he could safely
keep it. :

Methodically, the trooper probed
every piece of furniture in the youth’s
room, the deep-cushioned bed, chairs,
bureau. He went through Sherman’s
clothes, not excepting overalls, a pair
of old black work shoes and a blue
vest. He found nothing.

An hour later, however, he made a
dramatic discovery. Concealed be-
neath a pile of logs and boards in a
small outbuilding near the house he
found a roll of bills. He counted sixty-
one dollars.

Hardly proof of murder, Herman
knew, but he had an ace yet to play.
He drove to the Middleburg jail and
got permission to take Strawser up to
the State Police Barracks at Lewiston
. for the night.

“Sherman,” he said after they had
driven along in silence a few miles,
“where did you get the money you
pec. pidden under that pile of lum-
er?”

“Why, I’ve been saving for a year.
You’ve got to have a little money to
get married on!”

“Of course.”

The trooper was satisfied to make
small talk the rest of the thirty-five
miles to the barracks. After dinner
he strolled casually into the detention
r, where Sherman was deep in
Qi. .

~hey tell me you’ve been a widow-
er twice, Sherman.” His voice, low-
pitched; was fraught with sympathy.

“Yes, they both died in childbirth,”
said the young farmhand quietly.
“One left me a little son.”

“It must have been pretty tough,
having a woman you love dying, and
leaving you with a baby,” pursued
Herman.

Young Strawser looked wondering-
ly at him. It was obvious he had ex-
pected rough treatment, a relentless
barrage of questions about Gable’s
brutal death. He stammered, “It was
tough, awfully tough.”

“J guess so,” said Herman. “And
wouldn’t it be tough if something like
this happened—a man who has com-
mitted murder marries a girl. He’s
found out after a few months, and
he’s electrocuted. The girl is left all
alone with a baby perhaps, branded
for life as the widow of a killer. That
would be mighty tough on the poor
girl, wouldn’t it?” He arose and
strolled toward the door.

About noon the next day, Corporal
Herman sat pondering in his barracks
office. Technically, he was holding
Strawser on the old charge of driving
with last year’s license plates. He had
ten days to work on the phlegmatic
farmhand—phlegmatic, that is, except
where the warm-blooded Zella Mae
was concerned.

In Zella Mae, Herman knew, he had
a point of attack on his suspect’s de-
fensive armor. He had_ already
pricked his calm with it last night
and he would play it to the hilt again.

The officer had young Sherman
brought from the detention room.
“Sherman,” he said, “we’re going to
take a little ride for a chat with Dis-
trict Attorney Sommers.”

On the way to the office of H. A.
Sommers, in Selinsgrove, the shrewd
corporal talked sympathetically about
Strawser’s dead wives again. The
burly young man’s lips were set in a
straight line and his eyes clouded and
became sad.

“Zella Mae, now,” Herman chatted
aimlessly, “there’s a sweet girl. Only
sixteen and innocent as a lamb. Pretty,
with a whole lifetime of wholesome
happiness ahead for her with the man
she marries.” An imperceptible direct-
ness was creeping into the officer’s
voice. Gradually he was slowing down
the car, bringing it to a halt along the
road. Strawser was too engrossed in
his own mood to even notice.

“Swift as a shot Herman turned on
him. ‘Come on, Strawser, be a man.
Zella Mae trusts you, yet you are going
to marry her, with blood on your
hands. Gable’s blood. You killed the
old man. You’ll die in the chair for
it. You haven’t a chance.

“Give Zella a chance. You can’t
ruin a fine girl like that for life. Do
the only decent thing left. Give your-
self up! Now!”

“All right,” the youth blurted out,
“Tll tell you what I know about it.
But I didn’t kill Gable. I swear it. I
left Zella Mae in bed at 6 o’clock. I
went downstairs and got the car and
drove toward Freeburg. The engine
of my car started getting hot while I
was passing the Gable farm. I got
out to get some water.

“I met Gable and we exchanged
hellos. He went into the barn and
I made for the well. I was pumping
when I heard a shot. It came from
the barn. I ran in. Gable was lying
on the floor, dying. I tried to hold him
up and one of my gloves slipped off.

“Suddenly I heard some one com-
ing in the barn. I got panicky. I
thought it was still the murderer. I
ran up the flight of stairs to the hay-
loft. Sam Cobb came in. He saw
Gable and ran out. I beat it out to
the car and drove away.

“I must have left my other glove up
there.”

“I see,” said Herman quietly. “Let’s
tell Sommers your story.”

Inside the District Attorney’s office
Strawser’s story came again in a tur-
bulent flow of words. “I didn’t kill
him. I didn’t kill him,” he repeated
over and over.

“Look, Sherman,” Sommers voice
was gentle as a lullaby. “We know you
killed the old man. We've got proof.
But maybe you had to kill him. Self
defense. We know Gable didn’t like
you. A jury might believe you killed
him to save your own life. It’s your
only way out. Believe me.” :

“Okay,” Strawser became sullen.
“It's like I said except for one thing.
Gable wouldn’t let me have water for
my car; he tried to chase me off his
farm. He walked into the barn and I
went after him, arguing. He got mad
and grabbed a pitchfork. I grabbed a
hammer from the rack. I hit him but
he lunged at me. I had to shoot him
te save myself. I didn’t mean to kill

im.”

The two men stared steadily at him.

Strawser looked up_ uncertainly.
“You believe me, don’t you?” he
asked tremulously.

The corporal nodded and they left
for the barracks.

Early that evening, Herman slipped
quietly into the detention room again.
“You told us you started for your
home in Freeburg at six o’clock,” he
said.

“That’s right!”

“Then why was the alarm clock on
the little stand beside the bed in which
you were bundling with Zella Mae
set to go off at 4 A.M.?”-

“Tt wasn’t!”

“But it was. I saw it.”

“Well, I really don’t know whether
it was or not. I don’t know why it
should have been.”

On Saturday, the day before he was
to have been married to the alluring
Zella Mae, Sherman heard the ques-
tion again.

“Why was the alarm clock on the
little stand beside the bed in which
you were bundling with Zella Mae
set to go off at 4 o'clock?”

“IT don’t know,” cried the tortured
youth hoarsely. :

“It would be awful for a girl to
marry a man and then have him found
out and electrocuted for murder,”
slowly intoned the officer.

These words, like an oft repeated
push against a raw nerve, touched off
a sudden spring. The young man’s
voice rose to a shriek.

“I took the wallet! I had to get
money to marry Zella! I had to buy
her beautiful clothes. I had to have a
hundred dollars dowry to get Gill free!
I couldn’t live without Zella Mae! I’m
crazy in love with her. She’s—
she’s—” His bulging eyes fixed on
Herman. “You’ve seen her! You un-
derstand!”

The burly, love-starved widower
broke down. He sobbed out a confes-
sion. His lurid tale began with his
being fined twelve dollars for using
old license pac on his car. He had
no money. His passion-inflamed mind
saw him going to a lonely jail instead
of the bride’s bed on Zella Mae’s six-
teenth birthday.

He knew Gable carried a roll of
money with him. The shadowy out-
line of the idea to rob the old man
became a goading devil under’ ad-
ditional pressure of the promise he

made to buy pretty clothes for his |

sweetheart and his desire to look big
in Zella Mae’s eyes by paying her
father’s $100 fine before they were
married.

An so on that fateful morning of


February 12, 1935, he had left the

Aeigeryg| bed of Zella Mae and killed

ee old farmer to get money to marry
er.

For a long time he had lurked
in the shadows of the barn, gripping
the claw-hammer he had stolen from
Gable when he was fired. And when
the farmer stepped inside, happily
swinging his lantern, the love-crazed
youth had tried to smash the hammer
down on his head. But it was only a
glancing blow. Strawser, in a panic,
fired his revolver into his victim’s
head.

The lusting widower went to-trial

on her way to the postoffice, when the
two young men appeared in the en-
tranceway and watched the taxi swing
into Broadway and disappear, charg-
ing south. i

Half an hour later, the same taxi
swung into the curb where it had
picked her up. The driver asked for
a fare of $3.95. Miss Harvey pro-
tested. The driver insisted, where-
upon the young woman drew a roll of
bills from her handbag and paid the
fare. The two young men, loitering
in the entranceway, saw her take out
the roll of bills.

A little after 10 the following morn-
ing Miss Harvey again stood in the
entranceway. The pair of idling young
‘men were standing at the curb, and,
for the first time, they fell under her
scrutiny. She went up to the tallest
of the two and asked, “Would you-
all mind tell me how to get to the
main postoffice downtown?”

The tall man tipped his soft hat
and smiled. “Jefferies is my name,”
he said, “and I’m sure glad to be of
help to anybody from Dixie.” He
pointed to a subway kiosk at the cor-
ner and Miss Harvey hurried towards
it.

Two'nights later she was sitting at
a table in an uptown restaurant when
she noticed, sitting at an adjoining
table, the tall, well-dressed cavalier
who had introduced himself as Jeffe-
ries. “This is sure a small world,”
Jefferies grinned at her. “Get to the
postoffice, all right?”

“T sure did,” she smiled back. She
finished a piece of pie and left.

A sudden, violent storm on the
night of September 10 completely up-
set her plans to attend the uptown
movie for which she had been given
the pass. She was sitting alone in
the mezzanine balcony of the hotel
famed for its southern hospitality
when Jefferies sauntered up to her
attired in a suave new blue suit, a
white carnation gracing a smooth
coat-lapel.

“I’ve just discovered,” he an-
nounced, “that Ed Benton, an old
chum of mine, and his bride, Julie—
a charming New Orleans girl—are
staying right here in this hotel.
They’re both upstairs in their room
now. You’ll go crazy about Julie.

“Have them come down,” Miss Har-
vey beamed. “I adore New Awleans
people.”

“Tl see.”

cnr

Jefferies picked up a

AMAZING DETECTIVE CASES

two weeks later before Judges Curtis
C. Lesher, Alvin Walker and J. W.
Herman.

Strawser pleaded guilty and ex-
pected to the last that he would only
get life imprisonment.

But on March 2, the young man who
had hoped to hold blissfully in his
arms the tender Zella Mae, heard him-
self sentenced to be strapped in the
lethal arms of the electric chair in
Western Penitentiary, Center County,
Pennsylvania.

(The name of Sam Cobb is fictitious
in order to protect an innocent per-
son.)

PHANTOM BRIDE

(Continued from page 15)

house phone and spoke into it loua
enough for Miss Harvey to catch the
conversation. Presently he rejoined
the young woman. “Ed and Julie
want us to come up,” he said. “She
can’t come down because she’s in the
bath. But Ed says for us to come
right up. They’re on the seventh
floor.” He led the way to the ele-
vator and they were on their way to
room 737, Miss Harvey all aflutter
over the opportunity to meet and look
over a charming young bride from
New Orleans.

WENTY-FIVE minutes later the
the quiet of the lobby was broken
into by the voice of a woman calling
out frantically, “Quick. There’s
something wrong. I just heard a wo-
man scream over the wire and the
receiver in room 737 is off the hook.”
It was the telephone girl hidden be-
hind the key rack. Startled, the clerk
on duty snatched up a bunch of pass
keys, and summoning the bell cap-
tain, gave him the keys and ordered
ry to lose no time getting to room
“Two men have that room,” said
the bell captain. “I—” -
“Never mind who has the room,”
the clerk yelled back. “Get up to it.”
Two minutes later the terrified voice

of the bell captain crackled over the

phone. “For God’s sake send up the
house physician. There’s a woman in
this room and she’s dying. Poisoned.”

The house physician, roused out of
bed, hurried to the room followed by
the House Detective, Austin G. Den-
niston, former member of the U. S.
Secret Service, who had phoned an
alarm to Police Headquarters where
the report was turned over to Detec-
tive George W. McNulty, veteran of
the hotel beat, and star man on the
staff of Chief Inspector John Cough-
lin. A police flyer sped McNulty to
the hotel and an elevator, held for
the emergency, shot him up to the
seventh floor.

On a double bed in room 737 lay
Miss Harvey, writhing in agony with
great red splotches about her mouth.
The house physician stood over her.
“Chloroform,” he muttered to Mc-
Nulty. “No details of what happened
yet but I think she’ll be able to say
something in a little while.’ The
Headquarters man glanced around the
room, noticed that the bathroom door
was open and the water running. He
spotted a cheap, imitation leather bag

on the floor at the foot of the bed. He ~

opened the bag and looked into it.

On a crumpled piece of newspaper’

lay three pieces of common red brick.
“Is this her bag?” McNulty inquired.

“This isn’t my room and the bag
isn’t mine.” The words came from
Miss Harvey. McNulty shot a glance
at House Detective Denniston. “The
old story,” Denniston remarked. “Two
men, who gave the names of Jefferies
and Benton, took this room last night
and used the bag as a stall when they
registered. Miss Harvey, here, has
room 1202.”

“How did she happen to get into
this room?” McNulty inquired.

Miss Harvey attempted to speak
again but was unable to do so until
the house physician lifted from her
lips a handful of moist cotton with
which he had been bathing the chloro-
form burns around her mouth. Then
she sat up, and between gasps nar-
rated a sequence of events which at
times stunned McNulty.

She made it clear, at the start, that
she had not flirted with the two men
who had attacked her, explaining that
they must have seen her rings and the
money she carried in her handbag
when she was paying off the gouging
taxi driver who had driven her to the
postoffice. She was certain that her
pronounced southern drawl had given
them the clue to the section of the
country where she made her home.
She told of meeting Jefferies on the
mezzanine balcony, and how, through
what must have been a fake telephone
call, he had gotten her to accompany
him to room 737 to meet his friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Ed Benton from New
Orleans.

“When we got to the door of this
room,” she explained, “Benton, who
was much shorter and heavier than
Jefferies, opened the door and Jeffe-
ries introduced us. Benton apologized
because his wife Julie was still in
the bath. I noticed that the bath-
room door was closed and I could hear

‘water running. Jefferies offered me

a chair. On the bed I noticed a wo-
man’s pink silk undergarment. Ben-
ton saw that I was looking at it. He
picked it up, opened the bathroom
door slightly, and saying ‘Julie dear,
here,’ he handed the garment in then
closed the door. I was listening to
hear his wife’s voice, just to sort of

judge what type of woman she might <

be. But she said nothing, and, any-
way, the running water was making
quite a noise.”

Pointing to a chair with its back
to an open window, Miss Harvey went
on. “Benton told me to sit in that
chair, adding that it was quite stuffy
in the room. I did that, and sat with
my back to the window. I could still
hear the water running in the bath-
room but there was no noise of
splashing and I concluded that per-
haps his wife, Julie, was taking a pro-
longed shower. Jefferies sat on the
bed and he seemed rather nervous. I
noticed that he kept looking at my
hands. Finally Benton, who appeared
rather annoyed, opened the bathroom
door, and exclaiming, ‘Goodness Julie,
aren’t you ever coming out,’ went into

the bathroom, closing the door after ©

him. From where I was sitting I
couldn’t see into the bathroom. But

I could hear a voice in the bathroom. @
“About a minute later Benton came %
out of the bathroom with a pink silk -#
garment clutched in one hand. He 4
smiled at me and said, ‘Julie’ll be }
He stepped to the window 4

right out.’
in back of me.”


he

The wounded were Joseph Vukleja, 52, father of the little girl who was recovering McKeesport
Haspital,. and Walter Vukelja, 13, brother of the girl, prazed on the ankle by a bullet, The
slaughter began a few minutes after 8 o clock last night after Patrolman Sullivan ahd been held
for court without bail at a hearing before Alderman C, Dewain King, in. Duquesne, on a charge
of assault. With Gallagher, who had brought him to the hearing,-Sullivan left the-alderman s
of@™me, to go to the Duquesne jail to spend the night before beins transferred to the Alle-"
ghémey County Jail at Pittsburgh. Gallagher later explained he had known Sullivan always as a
‘quiet fellow' and for that reason did not believe it necessary to handcuff him as he was
taking him from the aide en s office. to the jail, As they passed the jail, Sullivan per-
suaded Gallagher, his. friend”of 30 years, to allow him to see his son before he was locked up.
Gallagher waited outside at the home of the son, Martin Sullivan, Jr.) as the policeman went
in. The son was not at home.and Sullivan left- through a. back window, police said.

"He ran eight block s.up a hillside, turned and ran a half-, ile more to his own home... “here
Sullivan grabbed his gun, a ,38-caliber, and a box of Malle. Returning two blocks, he
stopped first at the Benda home, ,e entered quietly, went up the stairway to the second~
floor apartment, entered the kitchen and steadied himself with a glass of water,.. The elder
Benda came in and Sullivan asked for Mrs. Benda. When Benda brought her into the ecrens
Sullivan began shooting. He leaped out of the house, leaving the two victims dying, then
the craved policeman hurried down an alley three blocks to another street and ran 50 yards

to the Vukeja home. ‘4nside he found Mr. and Mrs. Vukelja, their sons, Milan and Waler, and
>the tirl he had been accused of mistreating, Antoinette, 10,

"In a flash, Sullivan began to shoot, The father stumbled mortally wounded into the basement,
Milan lurched after him, dying. Mrs. Vulrelja ran upstairs, Walter and Antoinette hid , But,
Sullivan, not to be denied his prey, dashed up the stairs and killed the woman, Then, ete
strength of a madman, he picked up her body and flung it through a window into the dimly lit

‘street below, Then Sullivan retraced his steps to the home of his son and there Constable
Gallagher was waiting, Together, they began walking back to the jail, As they reached, the
home of Mrs, Bacon, Sullivan knocked on the door, Inside,. he inquired of Mrs, Bacon* tdAre
all these things true about me?! As she opened her mouth to answer, he shot her dead, Then
he walked back quietly to Gallagher and the two went to the Duoiesne jail, When they entered
. and,a squad of detectives were already waiting. 1/7 bullets had been blasted out of
sien s gun, He had reloaded the weapon several times, tn his bloody tour he had
covered Steep distances that would have taxed a youthful athlete, Once in jail, he became
calm and collected, as calm as es had been on his dail tours of a beat he had patrolled for
81 years," TIMES.PICAYUNE, New Urleans, ha., Detember 19, 1936 i tees

SULLIVAN, Martin

?2-year-old former Duqueshe, Pa,, policeman, electrocuted
at Western State Penitentiary, Pennsylvania, March 21,
1938, for murder of five persons who he claimed had framed.
him on a rape charge, See crime notebook #1, page 109

%

. saew

before write-up. From Allegheney County”

ALSO WORKSHEET PREPARED -~ PENNSYLVANIA = NwU - Bound,

FRONT PaGE DETECTIVE, October, 1937, page 32,
PENNSYLVANIA, BOOK AND MAGAZINE EXCERPTS,

Ce dots BO / 2-1 2A1EE


MARTIN SULLIVAN (Pennsylvania)

"“seeeseMartin Sullivan, a 70-year#old Duquesne policeman who
rouged his cheeks, penciled his eyebrows, dyed his hair and capped
a bald spot with a toupee held on by a string under his chin, always
likedto have little girls accompany him on his beat, carrying 7
nightsticke. Four years ago he married one of the,’ aged 152 She
lately deserted him. Last week in Duquesne he was taken to court on
a charge of having raped another girl, agea 12. On the way back to
jail he asked Constable Thomas Gallagher if he might leave hims for @
few minutes to visit his son, The constable agreede

"Marching to the home of his estranged wife, Policeman Sullivan
drew his service revolver, shot her father and mother deade Reload=
ing, he proceeded three blocks to the home of the girl he was accused
of raping, killing her mother and brother, Then he rejoined Constable
Gallagher, downed a drink with him, asked to be taken to the home of
the social worker who had brought the rape charge against him, Whe
she answered the door, he fired a fifth fatal shot, harided his gun to
Gallagher, When Gallagher and Sullivan finally reached their destie
nation, police jailed the accomodating constable tooo"

TIME MAGAZINE, 19366

—/oFr-


; SULLIVAN, Martin, white, electrocuted, Pennsylvania (Allegheney Co.) on 3-28-1938,

"Pittsburgh, Dec, 17, 1936-A burst of.revolver shots in suburban Ducuesne tonight left 5

‘ persons = 3 of them women -,dead, Police arrested a man they identified as Martin Sullivan

@=: held him for questioning. ‘they said he was a policeman, Officers said the shots were
fired in a rooming house neighborhood after a dispute between their prisoner and the mother
of a girl acquaintance, Fellow officers of the 70-year-old Sullivan said he blamed two men

. who were killed for the estrangement of his young wife. : :
"He also had been accused recently of an attack on.a 1?-year-old girl, and. believed the two
were responsible for charges in connection with the case, they said. The dead were identifi

- ed by police as: Mrs, Mary Vukelja, \9-years-old; Jack Vukelja, 19, her son; Jobeph Benda,
53, Sullivan s father-in-law; Mrs, Helen Benda, 15, Benda's wifes Mrs. Laura Bacon, 53, a
social worker. Sullivan told officers he was on his way to a police station to surrender
when he was caught. Mrs, Bacon had investigated the reported attack on the 12-year-old
girl, Mrs..Vukelja was the mother of the girl, who was unhurt in the wild fusillade of
bullets. Police Chief Thomas J. Flynn of the suburban force said Sullivan strode into a
yard at.the Vukelja home, shot the mother, then pushed his way into, the house and fired 2

- more bullets. They killed the girl's borther and wounded her fatker, Joseph Vukelja, Ear-
lier the Bendas had been shot, their daughter married Sullivan four years ago when she was
16 and he was 66, A week ago, police said, she. left him, District Attorney Andrew T. Park,
Chief of County Detectives Peter A, Connors and six detectives took Sullivan into custody
for. questioning, r : : :
"Police Chief Flynn told them Sullivan had eluded a constable sent to take him toa magistra-
te's court for a hearing on the assault charge. The shootings followed within a few minu-
tes. Mrs, Bacon, who furnished information that led to filing of the charges agains Sulli-
van, was head of the Duquesne community center and of welfare activities at the Carnegie-
tllinois Steel Corporation plant,., Flynn asserted Sulliven slipped away from the constable
at the home of a son, hurried out a rear door, and walked into the kitchen of the 2nd«floor
apartment of the Bendas, A shot was fired and Benda fell dead in the living room of the
apartment. Another shot struck Mrs. Benda who had leaped up from her chair in terror, She

@iica on the way to a hospital, Two sons of the Bendas, John, 32, and Julius, 22, escaped
the shots «~ John ran into the kitchen and hid, Julius climbed through a window. ‘The Vukel-
jag were shot next at their home three blocks auay. Mrs, Bacon came next, Flynn said Sulli
van strode into her home, A shot, was fired and she sumpled," JIMES-PTCAYUNE, New Orleans,
Lac, Dec. 18, 1936 (1~7.)

"Duouesne, Pacey Dec, 18, 1937-Satisfied because he had finally achieved 'revenge,! 53-year-
Old Martin Sullivan, a patrolman for 30 years, sat in his jail cell today after an almost
incredible orgy of murder that took the lives of three women and two men, The mild-mannered
Sullivan expressed only relief that he had finally been revenged on thosewho 'persecuted!
him through all the years, His arrest on a morality charge of allegedly mistreating a l0=
year-old girl was the lever that snapped Sullivan s emotional balance and sent him off on ar
expedition of death, Momentarily eluding a constdble, his friend of 30 years who had known
him as a quiet, well-behaved man, and with whom he had a drink in a barroom while being tae
Ken to jail, Sullivan trotted over more than a mile of hilly streets to achieve his mission,
He shot and killed the parents of his former housekeeper, who came to work for him when she
was 15 and left last year at the age of 21 to marry another man out of protest to Sullivan's
continual threats on her life and his friendship for little girls, according to police, The
he wiped out methodically the mother and brother of the little girl he was accused of mo«
lesting and the sovial worker who had investigate d the case,
"The girl,s father was shot and seriously wounded and her brother was grazed by a bullet on
- the ankle, His gun empty, Sullivan surrendered quietly to the constable, Thomas L, Gallage
her, and was rushed to jail, where detectives, aroused by the orgy of killing, had gathered,
~ After his surrender, Sullivan talked of the killings with little more emotion than if he
were discussing a baseball bame. 'I know I'm going to the electric chair, but I'm not sorry
he said to Dist. Atty. Andrew T, Park, As detectives Looked at him in amazement, he became
@csitcss and inguired* ‘What's the matter with you? You look at me as if I was insane}?
These were the dead: Joseph Benda, 50, father of Sullivan's housekeeper; Helen Benda, 52,
his wife; Mary Vukelja, 8, who accused Sullivan of Mistreating her daughters; Milan Vukelja,
23, he son; Mrs. Laura Clawson Bacon, 58, a divorced social worker who investigated the cha-
rges against Sullivan.

s


ISTEN, TOMMY,” the round little man in the
grey topcoat said to Constable Gallagher of
the Duquesne Police, “I’d like to see my boy

before I go inside. You ought to understand.”

“I understand, Marty,” said Gallagher doubtfully,
“but you know as well as I that it’s against regula-
tions.”

They were standing in front of the Duquesne jail.
It was a strange assignment for the Constable. He was
taking Patrolman Marty Sullivan, a fellow force mem-
ber and friend for thirty years, to prison on a serious
statutory charge.

“My son’s place is only a little way up the street,”
Sullivan pleaded. “It won’t take more than a few min-
utes. Be a pal, Tommy. I was framed anyway.”

“All right, Marty,” said Gallagher. ‘““You know how
I feel about things.” They walked slowly up the
street.

“You’ re a swell guy, Tommy,” said Sullivan when
they’ reached his front door. “I’ll even this up with
you when I get cleared. Do you mind waiting here
while I go in? You know, I’d sort of like to be alone
with the kid.”

“Sure,” said Gallagher, good naturedly. “Take your
time. That jail will be standing for awhile.” Sullivan

- smiled jovially and brushed a lock of brown hair back

under his hat. Then he swung on his heel and entered
the house. Gallagher stamped on the sidewalk and
threshed his arms to keep him warm. For this was the
evening of December 17, 1936. -

At twenty minutes to nine, in police headquarters in
the Municipal Building, the telephone rang. The desk
sergeant called to Lieutenant Petraitis, acting night
chief, who had just entered to take the nine o’clock
rollcall.

“Somebody’s too excited to make sense,’ the ser-
geant said, handing the receiver to his superior. “It
sounds like a killing, though.”

' Petraitis held the instrument to his ear and listened
intently. After a moment he put it back on the hook
and turned to bark orders at lounging patrolmen.

“Get down to Ten Erwin Street!” he snapped.

-“Somebody’s been shot there! To hell with the rollcall,

but call in when you get the score.”

An ambulance had been instructed to proceed to
the address when the telephone rang again. Petraitis
paused in buttoning his overcoat as he prepared to
follow his men.

“What is it this time?” he asked.

“My God, Lieutenant, it’s another!’ said the ser-
geant. “Fourteen McRae Street.”

“Give me that phone,” said Petraitis. “Hello,” he
spoke into the mouthpiece. “Cool off and give me the
details.” A moment of tense silence followed. The
acting chief slammed the receiver down hard.

“It’s another one, all right,” he said grimly. “Some
maniac’s loose with a gun. Take charge here. I’m on
my way.” Petraitis eased his gun and blackjack into
an overcoat pocket as he sprinted through a corridor
to the police garage.

eee et oe ee en , H

THORS eWay

—e :
TTT rey Wilkie, cor


is to say, that death is the State's pen-
alty for what he has done. The
craziest of them know that much. But
why argue the point further? All lust
murderers are pathological maniacs,
and all are legally sane.

I prefer to make my own investiga-
tions. For I am concerned with a
simpler and much more realistic prob-
lem: Could or could not the subject
have been spotted in advance as a
moron who should be sterilized for the
protection of Society?

I questioned dozens of persons about
Martin J. Sullivan’s past. There was
little to be learned, but that little was
highly significant. The old cop ad-
dicted to wig, rouge and lipstick had
been a “regular” citizen, not very
bright but well-behaved and happy
until he had reared his flock of chil-
dren and his wife had died.

Suddenly, when he was in his sixties,
Sullivan went queer. Vanity about his
personal appearance developed like a
malady. Chief Thomas Flynn of
Duquesne began to receive complaints
that he was “running after’ little girls
on his beat. I’d hesitate to make this
last statement, if it were not for the
fact that Flynn took the witness stand
at Sullivan’s trial and admitted that he
had had many complaints but had done
nothing about them. Flynn had been
ores to believe that his best traffic
c ras capable of having evil designs
yn children.

In the wretched widower’s home,
however, there was a succession of
schoolgirls who came to work for a
pittance and who told revolting tales
to their playmates about what had
been done to them there.

One somewhat older girl—she was
‘bout nineteen—was there so often
that the rumor went around that Sul-
livan had married her. The first news
stories about the killings contained the
issertion that he had an estranged
wife of that age. He was supposed to
nave gone berserk because the morals
tharge widened the breach between
this mythical bride and himself.

Helen Benda, sixteen, worked for
him as a maid. It was she who intro-
tuced Antoinette Vujelka to the house,
got her a job at cleaning. The little
girl said in court:

"EY ELEN told me about those things
he does and everything — them
jad things.”

It is easy to see how the original
‘complaint filtered through the Benda
amily to Laura Bacon. Also how the
1ate-maddened brain of Sullivan fast-
ned upon Mr. and Mrs. Benda as his
irst victims. He had a vicious com-
lex against all his neighbors, anyway.
Chey had begun to avoid him on ac-
count of the gossip that was abroad
‘egarding his debauching of children.

The Killer of

sheet that covered the remains was
‘tripped back. Harris tottered and
ilmost fell. Sweat popped out on his
orehead.

“I know it’s a horrible sight,” said
‘lanagan, “but, Harris, take it easy; it
nust be identified. Is it Gladys?”

“It's impossible to tell,” murmured
he horror-stricken man. “The con-
lition of the body—”

Flanagan removed some of the
‘hreads from beneath the fingernails of
he slain girl and placed them in an
mvelope.

“Ever see these before?” he asked
darris, unfastening the string of beads.

“No,” replied the uncle.

Flanagan’s alert eye missed nothing.

“The mole,” he said, pointing.

“Mrs. Harris should know if Gladys
iad one there,” said Harris.

‘Let’s go then.” Flanagan started
yut.

In her home in St. Louis, Mrs. Har-
‘is nodded when she was told of the

nole.

“Yes, Gladys had one there.”

The beads made her identification
umost positive. .

“A neighbor boy, Bob Forshee, gave
1er a string just like those on the day
‘he disappeared.”

Later in the day I checked further

40

It’ had reached the point where no
adult, except a bachelor, would visit
at his home.

In view of the above, I charge gross
negligence. Sullivan should have,
been recognized as a senile pervert,
action should have been taken before
he committed murder.
was without a sterilization law, so that
that preventive measure could not
have been applied. But he could have
been removed from the police force.
He was a proper subject for a mental
test. I believe that if he had been
given one at any time within the past
five years the examining board would
have ordered him confined in a lunatic
asylum.

Sullivan came to trial in Pittsburgh
on May 17, 1937, before Judge J. Frank
Graff. Assistant District Attorney
Chauncey Pruger was in active charge
of the prosecution. The court had as-
signed Attorney Edward G. Coll to the
defense.

Coll relied wholly upon the plea of
insanity. He admitted that the killings
were atrocious but he said that the
very nature of Sullivan’s bloody tour
of Duquesne streets showed that he
was obeying an obsession. He quoted
the defendant as having declared:

“In the twilight of my life, with
everything behind me, these people
(the victims) ruined my reputation.”

Pruger’s answer was to induce the
judge to lead a procession that re-
traced the path of Sullivan’s rampage
on December 17. The prisoner, the
attorneys and the jury composed of
nine women and three men were taken
to all the murder houses. Pruger
hoped to show that the killings had
been committed in cold blood, that as
the traffic cop walked through the
streets he had plenty of time to “cool
off” and to make his plans.

The attitude of Sullivan on this trip
and his behavior in court were what
interested me. By some freak his fa-
mous wig had been lost by jail at-
tendants at the time of his arrest.
Unaware of this, he had counted on
wearing it at the trial and was gro-
tesquely upset when told that it had
vanished and he would not be pro-
vided with a new one. He tried to
cover his bare dome with a hand as he
huddled in the dock, his double-chin
propped on the rail. By the second
day, however, he had overcome his
embarrassment. His manner there-
after was one of smirking self-satis-
faction. He even chuckled now and
then.

While he was being driven through
the streets to revisit the scenes of his
crimes he grinned frequently and
waved to persons he recognized. This
caused resentment. There was mut-
tering that he ought to be lynched.
His salutes were not returned.

Cabaret Slough

through the family dentist, who had
charts of the young woman's teeth.
There could be no further doubt—it
was Gladys Marler.

His head bowed in grief, Harris
spoke of the murdered girl.
“She was only sixteen,” he said.

“She came here a few months ago from
her Ozark Mountain home, near Van
Buren, Arkansas.

“She wanted to make her own way
in the world. She had been employed
for the last two weeks or so as a
ponent ee only job she could

Gladys had ‘disappeared two days
before during the absence of Mr. and
Mrs. Harris.

“T was at a mission,” he said. ‘My
wife was at a softball game. We could
tell that. Gladys had been home while
we were gone. She had changed the
clothes she wore that morning and put
on her new, orange-colored outfit.”

1s Harrises went to bed. They be-
lieved their niece was at a party or
a dance.

“She used to go out with the boy’

across the street,” explained the uncle.

“He’s a nice lad. She was so happy

planning and saving to marry him.”
Mrs. Harris began to sob softly.

Pennsylvania -

(Continued from Page 25) orrie1

He seemed oblivious to the con-
tempt he aroused. I do not believe he
was bluffing. His exhibitionism took
the form of a conceit so vast that he
credited the silence of old acquain-
tances to their fear of the judge and
of the dignity of court.

The trial itself brought out nothing
new. The State saw fit at the last
moment to call a third alienist, Doctor
George A. Wright, professor of neu-
rology at the University of Pittsburgh
and a member of the staff of several
hospitals. Doctor Wright declared that
Sullivan was sane, although for a
brief period in January he might have
suffered from prison psychosis.

The case went to the jury on the
sixth day. Under Pennsylvania law
five verdicts were possible. The most
severe was promptly decreed: Guilty
of murder in the first degree, with a
recommendation of death in the elec-
tric chair. Judge Graff wiped the
grin from the roly-poly killer's face by
sentencing him to die. He will have
reached the age of 73 before he is
executed.

I stress this senile destroyer as an
example. He illustrates the impor-
tance of sterilizing the old offender, no
less than the young. No other measure
would have been effective with him.
This should have been done as soon
as he began to give evidence of his
perversion.

I am in receipt of a letter from a
correspondent in Iron Belt, Wisconsin,
who writes:

“T have read all of your articles and
I agree with you about 99 percent.
The one point is that you say steriliza-
tion, while I believe in castration. My
idea is that castration would make it
impossible to ever cohabit again. But
your idea is near enough so that it
would do a lot of good.”

This gentleman is wrong, unfor-
tunately, in thinking that the castration
of a man past middle age results in
preventing the physical gestures of sex.
That result is obtained only when the
patient is comparatively youthful.
Fertility is ended but the adult brain
remains capable of stimulating the
muscular reactions to which it has
been accustomed so long.

Martin J. Sullivan certainly was no
longer fertile sexually and obscene
gestures were the limit of his capacity.
If he had been castrated in his sixties,
when he became mentally abnormal,
the radical nature of the operation
might have embittered him and caused
him to indulge in still more brutish
excesses. Sterilization, on the other
hand, has a calming effect. It is a
reasonable, humane process.

As to the difficulty of keeping track
of such persons as Sullivan, let me
quote the experience of South Dakota,
a sterilization State since 1917. In an

Patting her shoulder, her husband
cried:
“The worst is yet to come. Who will

break the news to her parents? I
can’t.”

“And her boy friend?” asked Flana-
gan. “Did he see her the night she
disappeared?”

“No,” answered Harris. ‘He said he
didn’t. She was out when he called,
he told me.”

Lieutenant Flanagan stepped into the
hall and ordered Sergeant Gantner to
snornen the sweetheart of the slain
girl.

“Make sure that he can account for
his movements,” cautioned Flanagan,
“and check them thoroughly.”

Returning to the bereaved uncle and
aunt, the police officer asked:

“Is there anyone outside of this lad
she used to go with?”

“No other boys,” replied Harris,
“though she could have had plenty of
them, she was so pretty. Her only
friend was Wanitta Forshee, who lives
down the way a bit.”

“Yes,” sobbed Mrs. Harris, ‘Wanitta
is a sister of the little boy who gave
Gladys the beads that were around her
neck. And when he handed them to
her, he said, ‘These are for good luck’.”

A detective was dispatched to ques-

annual
convention of the American Associa-
tion on Mental Deficiency, Doctor F. V.

address last May before the

Willhite,
Dakota State Institution for
ble-Minded, declared:

“Control under our law means iden-
tification, registration, adjudication as
defectives under the law, prevention of
marriage and supervision in the com-
munity. A continuous census is kept
and constantly built up by field work-
ers.”

I do not know of any other State
that has so thorough a system. But
what South Dakota can do her sister
commonwealths can imitate for their
own salvation.

Doctor Willhite described a far-see-
ing policy in connection with the com-
ing generation.

“The State commission is required
by law to file complete lists of all men-
tal defectives in the State with every
marriage licensing agency in the
State,” he said. ‘The agencies are
prohibited, under a severe penalty,
from granting licenses to any of these,
unless upon proof that one or both
of the couple have been. sterilized.
When defectives cross State lines to
marry, they become subject to the
sterilization law.”

superintendent of the South
the Fee-

TT is to say, if a South Dakota
moron goes elsewhere to contract
matrimony, he is sterilized upon his
return to South Dakota. What could
be more intelligent?

The movement continues to make
progress in the United States and its
possessions. Puerto Rico is an over-
populated island, with a low standard
of living and the inevitable accom-
paniment of a high rate of insanity.
Over the opposition of conservative
forces, the legislature has just passed
a eugenics law with teeth in it. The
bill provides for a board empowered
to decide the fitness of persons for
marriage and to order the sterilization
of sufferers from incurable hereditary
and social diseases. Governor Blanton
Winship made a public ceremony of
his signing of the bill.

In Colorado, the Psychopathic Hos-
pital of Denver took action which I
commend to the officials of all similar
institutions. It recommended the ster-
ilization of Mrs. Thelma Baxter, 32,
mother of eight children and again
pregnant. The woman had confessed
that she put one of her sons, Donald,
aged three, under a hot water tap be-
cause he “soiled his clothes.”” The boy
had been taken to the hospital suffer-
ing from severe burns. Mrs. Baxter
was classified as a borderline case,
mentally defective and of bad heredity.
The State would share her guilt if it
allowed her to continue reproducing
her kind.

Read It First in
AL DETECTIVE STORIES

tion the Forshee girl. Lieutenant
Flanagan picked up a photograph of
the murdered girl.

“ll have copies of this made and
give them to my men,” he said, “so
they can ask around to learn if any-
one saw her near the’ slough or
Venice.”

“Gladys’ boy friend is out of the pic-
ture,” Sergeant Gantner reported
shortly. “He’s all broken up. He
said he didn’t see her the night she
was killed. He has no idea where she
might have gone, or who might have
murdered her. He suggested we talk
to Wanitta Forshee, Gladys’ friend.”

“T have someone doing that,” re-
plied Flanagan. “You search Gladys’
room back there.”

Then, lowering his voice so that Mr.
and Mrs. Harris could not hear him, he
added:

“Might be some letters or some-
thing. She may have been keeping
company with another fellow.”

A detective entered with Miss For-
shee, an attractive seventeen-year-old
brunet.

“Lieutenant, I thought you might
want to talk to her,” the detective ex-
plained. “She tells me that Gladys
used to go down near the Twelfth
Street viaduct in the evening looking

05

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FORTY:

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Movieb antry
mt

EEE Broad Sie Aoatbu 12

A FRONT PAGE STORY
ABOUT PITTSBURGH

TUT ee ne atta

BY H. L. WATKINS

Special Investigator For
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

Fiendish Patrolman Martin Sulli-
van bathes his hand at Duquesne
Police Headquarters after his orgy
of murder. He appears unconcerned
about his victims, one of whom, Mrs.
Laura Bacon, is shown in death,
below. ,

ab ek os

SIX MANGLED CORPSES _

ut


9n the CRIME SPOTLIGHT

Latest Sensations in the Crime Whirl and What the Law Is

Doing About Them

IDNAPING, believed to have been
K stamped out in 1936, reared its
ugly head as the year closed,
December 27, an armed, masked ma
broke the glass of a sunporch and eji-
tered the living room of Doctor W. /W.
Mattson’s home at Tacoma, Washipg-
ton. He snatched ten-year-old Ch¢rles
Mattson under the eyes of the
sister, Muriel, 14, and a girl frgend;
tossed a ransom note demanding 628,-
000 on the floor, and escaped. | The
Feds and all other crime fighting
agencies, were instantly on the tra of
the kidnaper, who is described as nN
dle-aged, swarthy and black-beardew
Breathitt County, Kentucky, notor-
ious for feudist murders, again broke
the news. As Johnny Shepherd, 18-
year-old cripple, was being arraigned
in the Jackson court house for the
killing of Harvey Gabbard, 17, Mrs.
Viola Wickline, 35, mother of the vic-
tim, started to shoot. Two bullets in
the stomach ended Shepherd’s life.
Three spectators were wounded, one
seriously with a punctured lung.

After two gunmen had robbed a fill- ©

ing station at Land o’ Lakes, Wiscon-
sin, the fiends incarnate slugged Har-
len Pitts, the attendant, spiked his left

Martin Sullli-
an: He killed
five

10)

Reenactment of the shooting of Dominic Scaduto In a Chicago poolroom

band toa Bench with a la¥ge-nail_and

clamped his right hand in a vise. ~

Pennsylvania, Martin Sullivan, 70, an
ex-cop, slew five persons, under con-
ditions which branded him as a sex-
mad sadist. Four years before he had
married a girl of 15. A social worker,
Mrs. Laura Bacon, had accused him of
seducing a 12-year-old girl, and_his
wife left him. So Sullivan shot Mrs.
Bacon, the parents of his wife and the
mother and brother of his alleged child
victim—all in the course of half an
hour.

: Adams

quors

Crow, driven homicidal by,
ged a gory holocaust in Le

a

ington, Tenné d “Sho “young
wife dead. Her grandfather and his
own father tried to interfere. Crow

loosed a blast at the older man which
tore away his right hand. In a body-
to-body struggled with his father, he
bit off the latter’s right thumb. A self-
inflicted bullet wound proving inade-
quate, he fetched the rope from his
well and hanged himself.

Christmas Day tragedies were num-
erous and weird. Levi Frost, 43, and
Alvin Stout, 34, reservation Indians
near Syracuse, New York, got into an

Viola Wickline:
She killed in
court

In Duquesne, a suburb of Pittsburgh, *

argument over belief in Christ. Stout
said he didn’t believe, and Frost shot
im mortally ... In Norfolk, Virginia,
band of white men set out to shoot
Négroes with buckshot, “just for Yule-
tideXfun,” according to George Hal-
chief of county police. Two men

eyself in Toledo, Ohio, with her
l’s skipping rope. She left a note
that the suicide was a Christmas
tt to her husband and three chil-
ei... In Philadelphia, William
‘aulis, 17, was held for slaying his fa-
ther. Said he: “Dad was drunk. When
he chased my mother into the room and
threatened to punch her, I guess I lost
my head.” Said Mrs. Faulis: “He (the
dead man) was a model husband, ex-
cept on Christmas Eve every year,
when he came home drunk.”

George McKeever, bank _ robber,
killed Sergeant Ben Booth and Sheriff
Wilson when he stuck up the Farmers
& Merchants, Mexico, Missouri, in
1933. They hanged him in Fulton last
December, with Mrs. Booth and Mrs.
Wilson present, as guests of the county,
Mrs. Booth voiced regret that the au-

pres¢
EOS.

Charles Matt-
son: He was
kidnaped

thorities had not allowed her to bring
along her two children, aged twelve
,and eleven.

Brooklyn, New York, gangsters
caught up with Dominic Scaduto, 24,
in Chicago. They lined up patrons of
a West Side pool room, drew a bead on
Scaduto and shot him to death. Last
July, his brother, Giueseppe, had been
slain in Brooklyn while having his
shoes shined.

Lodgers in a Hot Springs, Arkansas,
heard Mr. and Mrs. Earl A. Grover
quarreling during the night, and the
woman pleading. “Don’t hurt me.”
Then bloodcurdling screams. They
found Mrs. Grover writhing in a blaz-
ing bed, her clothes burned off by the
flames. Before she died, she accused
her husband. *He is charged as a torch
murderer.

Albert Shepard, 44, of Whitecille,
North Carolina, was arrested by a
posse, on complaint of Estelle Shaw, a
school girl, 14, who had been missing
for a month. She said he had lured
her from her school room by a note
saying her father wanted her at home.
He held her in a hay loft for a week,
then took her to an underground hide-

(Continued on Page 45)

Valentine Orri-
go: Deaf mute
slayer


rs

SWALES, John, white, hanged at Yorktown, Pa., on 5/21/1753.

05-14-1753 PENNSYLVANIA May 10th; On the 26th instant at a Court of Oyer
Sao & Terminer held at --~--~~- one JOHN SWAIT was
SEE FOLLAINK apy indicted and found guilty of the murder of John --------- and re-

CONT H. Ake 7 ceived sentence of death. And on Monday following CATHERINE -----
----- was tried at Lancaster for the murder of her bastard child

Dates are fron. “ees being proved against her, she likewise received sentence of
eath.

was TT eR ok ee ae ote. Sg hcg
ae Ee ~

06-11-1753 PENNSYLVANIA June 7th; Extract of a letter from York-town
i (York PA) dated June 4th 1753. "Last Saturday
near four o'clock P.M. the unhappy John Swales was executed
pursuant to his sentence for murdering of John Relay menttoned
tn this paper no. 1272 on the town land in the presence of a
large assembly. He behaved with surprising stuptdity and to all
appearance died hardened, impenitent and dissatisfied with all
concerned about his trial. His body after hanging about twelve
_ minutes was delivered to his friends who carried it to his late
dwelling-place and there buried it. He made no confesston at the
gallows of any crimes he might have perpetrated in the course of
his life save such as were publically known before nor could he
be prevatled upon at the gallows so much as to say the Lord's
Prayer.


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s

CLUBS IN”
ANNIVERSARY

‘om New England and
antic States Assemble
for Celebration

CLUB AFFAIRS

business and professional
ting the Rotary Clubs of
nt ectty and town in the
c and New England States,

this city this morning to
an elaborate celebration
iniversary of the establish-
Ational organization. They
nied by thelr wives and
nd will be kept on the
{me of their arrival until
by the loc... committee in
ngements.

registered at the Hotel
vent to Kugler's, where the
ms will be held. They will

by I. J. Cattell, city sta-
Guy Gundaker, president.
Club of thia city. E. J.
local organtzation, and
‘e-presidents of the inter-
ization, will preside.
Club js an international
Iness men's associations.
ich city is composed of one
of each profession and
organization’ was founded
>» In Chicago by Paul P.
ew rapidly. Branch clubs
nany cities and before long
rd to Europe and the or-
4 made international. Al-
become a potent factor in
her into closer sympathy
on the business and com-
ats of the United States
s countries of Europe. The
ne of the largest and most
he chain. The largest vis-
ns are from New York and
-{s also @ big turnout from
iss. .
ion will start at 12.50 with
t ‘Kugler's. The delegates
yurn to the banquet room
‘+s session and® the
on a - sight-seeing tour of
Gundaker and Mr. Berlet
idresses. Samuel Y. Cook,
i» Rotary Club of Syracuse,
‘Hitting the Bull's Eye tn
curt (. MeFarland, a mem-
t.4burgh Club, will read a
“Overstones of the Rotar-
val’

ror the ladies began with
ight-seeing tour of the city.
time was spent in Faltr-
About fifty touring cars
procession, each decorated
iry colora,

dl

4

ladies }.

1
CM gd
a

7 Seen ae a
STATE SENDS FIRST ~

(Continued from the First Page.)

fitting end ‘to that melancholy! journey
which was exactly like that which, all
condemned murderers .must, make here-
after. A .deputy with big shears) |en-
tered Talap’s cell this morning and ‘cut
a long elit in the left leg of hia black cot-
ton trousers. This was to make room for
one electrode. A prison barber ha shav-
ed the top of the condemned man’s head
two days ago to make a clear passage
for the invisible lightning volt from the
other,
BILENCE SIGN NOT NEEDED.

The gray white walls of thé lethal
Pchamber, like all the doors and cqrridors
leading to it, are painted with tha single
word ‘Silence’ in red and gilt letters. The
signs aren't necessary. The sixteen wit-
nesses permitted by law were white and
speechless: on their stone benche
the door to the cell corridor was thrown
back. The chair was new and it had
never been subjected to the ultimate test,
that was why some of the attendants
were white as the walls. -
Talap following immediately. on the
heels of the young priest, walkg¢d) wear-
ily and seemed to have actua dim-
culty In moving his feet. A \deputy
wurden supported him at each elb w.:He
started forward as if to go to the Op-
posit wall from that where: the| chair
stood, Obviously he

right of th
and got hi
instrument,
mitted the attendants
seat. Ho sat with his head throwhp back
and his eyes partly closed for | about
forty seconds before his face was hidden
by the leather mask. The attendants
were a shade slow in fixing th
straps, the usual time being les
a minute. ’ ae

The last buckle was fixed in Onpr
ute and ten seconds. A hurried | re-ex-
amination of every strap and buckle took
fifty seconds. A deputy warden’s hand-
kerchief flashed behind his back, and
then a man at the switchboard, |!
ately behind the chatr, turned to th
and snapped a switch.

The five men who tixed the strap
ped back and Talap’s body rose
tremendous blow had hit it from
The hands, which
on the chair arms,
gers curled inward an
chalk {In a second or two.

{
HOW CURRENT ACTS ON VICTIM.

The switches used are automatic. In
the first contact the full force o 2 300)
volts js appited. Another switch op¢rating
an automatic contrivance then duces
the current to the minimum of 6H) volts.
At the first contact the man {n th¢ chalr
is rendered unconscious. In the six sec-
onds that follows while the machine re-

closed “his eyes, an

duces the voltage, the current | meets
the exact resistance of the man fin the
chair and kills him. The subspquent

shocks are precautionary.

Witnesses formally summoned to ob-
serve the execution Included Stat Rep-
resentative Aaron B. Hess, of Lancaster,
“he fn 1918 introduced the bill t sub-

| hr hai oo

MURDERER TO CHAIR

when |

to back him/to the]

medi- |!
right |’

4.0 3 ibe pe
THEE

es

+

ee

Ao ower ed:

PosS

aa oe

e pt


p> Into m taxtenh,
(room {es now
n the German-
sietrate Pennock
under $406 hail
(o%~morrow. The
Thomas Nughbes.
' also taken to
wes iater dis-

brother of the
ly this moring
one rummaging
wers in his bed-
nolae, he raised
nd saw his sis-

and aroused his!
and the two men
few yards from
e taxi standing.
iauffeur but re
Ruspecting that
. they summoned
of the German-
n wast in a dark

che girl appeared
nant walked hur-
They were about
BAP. pa? men
piece an grab-
4-be -

.fa If

of the
ave deen a fight.
protesting {o the)

the ticker and
‘ who was going
via discharge he
‘as told to chase
be threshed out

Siiverstein’s pos-
‘r broke up the
nging to Mr. Sil-

TAH TOWN

iforcements § are
~. Utah, to-day.
engaged in a

t fe said de-
I night within

It Is believed

to eacape
1e jeaders of the
them off.
original e of
{ ates Marshal
' @ detach-
~e lated tn the
Ty} a Tn

The visitors were not placed tn a body,
but at their own requesé were seated in
blocks of fen in various parts of the au-
aitorfum, pa that they might see Sunday”
In action fromyevery angie.

The Boston delegation,! most of whom
reached Philadelphia last night, will see
Sunday to-morrow and try to get a de
finite promise from him to come to thelr
city after he has finished his engagement
in Paterson, N. J.

The evangelist has wrif{tan to the Rev.

Courtland Myera, pastor jof the Tremont
Temple, the largest Baptist Church tn
Boston. and to Duncan! McPhie, secre-
tary of the Boston Evangelical Alliance,
that he wants to condyct a campaign
there. but, must be assured that his~in-
vVitation is practically unanimous.
Among the ministers in the party are
the Rev. J, I. Campbell, Cambridge Bap-
tist Church, the Rev. H.: V. Willama,
Firet Baptist Church of Woburn; ‘the
Rev. A. Conrad, Park; Street Congre-
gational Church, the Rev. G. L. Cady,
the Pilgrim Congregational Church, Bos-
(Ceatinaed on the SeventeentD Page.) 4

STANDS BY. NOMINATIONS —

Sls eg , er : ye
The Frexent a by Talk of

' Senate Fight on Trade Board—

a Calls Parry Republican’

‘Washington, Feb. 23—President Wilson
et rumbiings of a Genhte fight on Kis
nominations to the new, Federal Trade
Commission to-day by the announcement
that he Intended to stand by them. W.

H. Parry, of Seattle, Washington, the
President gald. had been) appointed as a
Republican. Parry hitherto had been de-
acribed as a Progressive | Republican,
along with George Rublee, of New Hamp-
shire, both supporters af Roosevelt, in
1912. }

Theo ther men named iwere Joseph E.
Davies, Edward N. Hurley and Wiliam
J. Harris, Democrats.

The chief. complaint of ithe Republicans
fe that the President tn making the selec-
tions has practically ignored the Republil-
can Party and has runiperilously close
to ignoring the prohibition written in the
Trade Commission bill that not more than
three members of the mmission shall
belong to any one party.

There !s also some objection to Mr.
Davies on -the ground at he retaine
his political office as secretary of th
national committee, while exercising sur-
veillance over ths corporations of the
country. The Democrats raised a hue
and cry over George B.{ Cortelyou’s ac-
tivities as Republican campaign manager
In view of his position as Secretary of
Commerce and Labor. +s Republicans

contend that Mr. Davies's appointment
is much more open to ¢riticigm on the
same ground. It is prdbable, however,
that there sill be less opposition to ne

e

vies than to the other appointees of
commission. . |
ay Sones eae |
STILL HOPES FOR|SHIP BILL |

The President Thinks Hjs Measure Hab

Still a Chance ini Senate
Washington, Feb, 23.—Hresident Wilson
has not yet given up hops of passing the
Ship Purchase Dfil at this session of
Congress. He thinks there is a chance

that the measure may through. To-
day he deciined to comm
question of an extra sess!

should it fall

himself on the]:

Wwe aur,. 44443 Mab ine stev

Ulanitzky, who presides t thee
¥ over & eck +

parish at Remey, | Pa. — mt 7h

‘PRIEST DOMINANT FIGURE, | rs
The guards and the witnesses, unaccts.: !!
toméd as the priest to the chatr, wer a
racked. Their faces were stone grey as °°:
that of the condemned. But the priest,’
the one calm man present, stroda into the »"#
room like a man; approaching a triumph;
He dropped to his knees on a mat imme "+:
Giatdly at the foot of the condemned man. :.'{' |

and, with a smile lke a child’ a
big crucifix before PAD pencedie.
the victim.

‘There he. held It niin after the AYY
leather mask haa been fitted pt ai

Antonio |

first sheck Mung the body of the condem
ed man outward paths the \straps- wit
a snap iike a whip crack. | He remaised:.
motionless oh hig knees, his; face. lifted!
and shining, a scarlet stole folded in his
l¢ft hand against! his breast. | als
At the second shock.a tiny cprkscrew of’:
blue smoke as falnt as| that which mighé, ;
arise from & cigarette, 'went up from. the
left leg of the man tn the~chatr and,
drifted up,through the metal «lome abovd! ’
the chair. Still the prfest remained ,mo4’,.
tionless. Only when the spry; young @oc?'
tor folded his stethescope,, stepped - forex.
ward .and saftd, ‘‘Gentlemen,
this man dead,”

SIL) aye

fessed the murder. When he entered th

room, a foot or two ahead of the doomed ,

man, he was whispering the litany. for. .
the dead. ie ae ae
*“God have mercy on me, Christ Have | amd

mercy on me,” Talap whispered in reply.|%*) >!
Warden Prameten was not a wiknoad ath ty

the execution. Prison keepers are usually} ° |;

oppoped to capital) punishment. ea eR

1) D¥NAMO THROBS STEADILY, |’

The deputies and the experts who §n-| ;' 4:
stalled the chair and the general equin.|.. ”:
ment had spent most of the night groam-
ing the great gasoline engine in ' the
power-room immediately under the row
of six death celle. Every terminal and
circuit had been tested. When the power
plant was ant gerne at 6.30 this morn.
ing the muM® uproar penetrated up-|' |.
ward through the steel and concrete); : :
floor. . te E

Talap, who at ‘that Instant was on)
his knees, stopped praying to cry. Hal: |;
refused to eat any breakfast. Tt was
\eleven and a half minutes after 7 when
the chief keeper of the death house e¢n-
ered his cell.

‘It's time, John,” he said.
“Yes,” said Talap, uncertain, and look-
at the priest. |. i"
his way, John,” Father Ulanitsky at
sald, and the march began over the| =:
twenty-one feet of corridor that inter-| |;

venes! between the six death cells and)
me ae gg ) duri t! of th
alap c uring most! of the
ht. He refused to sleep. He had been! .
‘ought up from the Norristown jail last}. °:
onday handcuffed to a detective apd oe
under the eye fl Sherif! Schwartz, of
Montgome county. . ‘ rae aera
“the antad wale a bit.” said the condyce| .. i
tor of the train t brought him up.| .
‘They gave him cigars and things, but]:

he always cried when he) looked at the.
trees.”"' ; “hfe

he trip from cell to the,chair wasia"}: 7
t (Continued jon Third Pase) a ee
| { . a : ne . ,
| | ’ “hn
‘Unsettled with probably rain to-night) <1."

and Wedneaedav warmer to-night i is 4

eos t

PHILAD ECE

4 wy

z nae den MCLEAN)

‘ ;
7 '
ae <

| UjaN aa CUNY |

113 “HI

dang thir
is afteraoori.

ISH VES

b. 2.—A SeRpatch from Ky.

h collier is

n can be

ATA EVENING POLED i
Y TRAIL” AT TABERNACLE)

een men and wornen "hit the trail’ af

HesHac

SEL IN DISTRESS IN CHANNEL

8/19 )8,
cae

‘the Sunday

.

’

{ \

,

«

.
at bourne says a ship that ts belleved

‘ '
In distress about twelve miles from that place. Quan-

‘en rising from her. and it is belleved phe has been

German submarine. A life bout hie Kune to her! ansistance.

on the Ena@lish Channel, about nity

-

miles went of Dover.
Psy

{

4

“APA
TAXI E

Brother,
»0m Pines

OPERS

Stopped by
and Near-

in Cell
ANTS HIS FARE

planned elbpement. ar-

5s Marie Rope Silverstein,
s old, 711 Germantown
and @ young man named
uns, who gives an address
was frustrated at 3.39
sorning when an angry
«nant elder brother und a
1am sMNatch the counle
‘oul to step Into a taxicab.
e bridegroom ‘is now
a cell in the German-
tiou, Blagistrate Pennock
‘eld him under $400 hall
hearing to-morrow. The
oe ‘“tax!,” Thomas Hughes.
at., Was also taken to
‘use, but wes later dis-

stein, a brother of the
cened early this morning
of sumeone rummaging
i\reau drawers in hia bed.
making a noise, he raised
elbows and raw hie ats-
{

urriedly and aroused his
verntein, and the two men
etreet. A few yards from
, maw the taxi standing.
d the chauffeur but re-
jsfaction. Buspecting that
in the alr, they summoned
iceman of the German-
“hey lay in wait in a dark

ite later the girl appeared

y and a mart walked hur-

3 mreet. They were about

s car when the throe men

ir hiding place aps grab-
-be .d

he m
, was tbo. vr, If
shof ihe preeinee of ee
1 wight have af
iken off, protesting to the
and the girl w, carried
Ig was
| away on a visit.

‘worth of “taxi"
Pie saat Sy ticker and

ALTS (BOSTON MIN

there toa?

|
i
:

ISTERS
‘LOOK SUNDAY OVER’

Nere to Ask Him to Campaign at
Hub, They Attend’ Service
at Tabernacle

OLD LADIES, SING HYMNS

Billy Sunday described Job as the “one
perfect man who measure up to God's
high standard,”’ in his sefmon at the tab-
ernacle, 19th and Vine ate, this after-
noon, while seventy mintaters and lay-

men from. Bostgn Natened to every word
and watched every gesture.

The visitors were not placed in a body,
but at their own reques¢ were seated In
blocks of ten in various parts of the au-
ditorium, ga that they might see Sunday)
in action fromyevery angie,

The Boston delegation.! most of whom
reached Philadelphia last night, will see
Bunday to-morrow and try'to get a de-
finite promise from him {fo come to their
city after he has finish his engagement
in Paterson, N. J. .

The evangelist has wri{ten to the Rev.
Courtland Myers, pastor jof the Tremont
Temple. the largest Baptist Church in
Boston, and to Duncan! McPhie, secre-
tary of the Boston Evangelical Alliance,
that he wants to condict a campaign
there, but, must be agsu Bead his~ine
vitation Is practically uan .

Among the ministers in the party are
the Rev. J; I. Campbell, Cambridge Bap-
tiet Church, th iv. «| Vv. Willams,
Firet Baptist urch of Woburn; ‘the
Rev. A. Z.. Conrad, Park) Street Congre-
gational Church, the Rqv, G. L. Cady,
the Pilgrim Congregational Church, Bos-

(Coatinaed on the Beverteenth Pare.) ¢

STANDS BY. NOMINATIONS

ent ‘by Talk of
{menate Fight on e Board—
, ” Calle Parry biican!

Washington, Feb. 23.—Vreaident Wilson
met rumbi(nge of a Benhte fight on Kis
nominattona to the new’ Federal Trade

STATE SENDS FIRST
MURDERER TO‘HTATR

Wife Slayer Electrocuted in N es
| Death’ House of Western Peni- aes
—_tentiary |Near Bellefonte: |]. ;'#

CURRENT Hg ss
:

—_

‘i oy

’ 7 aaa Pie
yy Very

el 4

”
aes Ts

\
“| ,

4

APPLIED 3 TIM

wemecond Oa,
BELLEFONTE, Pa., Feb, 23!
| The first exetution tn Pennsylvania: :
“under the Jaw | substituting the eieprtié:
chair for the Nows took place-at' 214° °
o'clock this madrning tn the new.-death . a
-house of the Western Penitentiary, at:
Rockview, four| and # half miles from .*”
here. There Johp Talap, a friendless eat Be
recelved an electric bolt powerful enough
to move a subway train and died almost
without a quiver. 4 |}
Talap whimpering, with a face like that
o? a man already dead, was helped td
the chair by two deputy wardens. “it
took just one Minute and ten seconds to
strap him in position. The, lat 7.14,
the flick of a white handkerchief in’ the
Orange-colored gloom was the signal that™
sent 2,300 volts; through his body. | ‘At
7.17% @ second dharge was hurled at him
and at 7,20, after the doctors had de-
tected some faint signs of life, a thir
charge of 2,300 volus was applied. hoe
All through the appalling’ stillness, -in |’
which the guards and witnesses were do-
ing the aude came the tiny metall{o
pong from the wall apparatus, the pound
of the automatic whirring switch as it:
dropped each charge gradually from 2,300
to OD volte. At.72: Dr. R. J. Campbell,
one of the resident physicians at the
New Jersey Penftentiary, pronounced Ta-
lap 'dead. 1 se
The execution of Talap, a wife murder,
¢r, Staged in a gray, bare room, had ona +
atately accompaniment. The condemned
man was precede into the death cham.

ber by a tall, s ight-shouldered.. you

priest, with a Pa like the morni “that
was just then lighting the tumbled hills
outside. This was the Rev. Antonia

Ulanitzky, who presides over a tiny Greek ,
parish at Remey,| Pa.

‘PRIEST DOMINANT FIGURE, * || .

\ The guards and the witnesses, unaccus
toméed as the priest to the chair, were
racked. Their faces were stone grey as
that of the dondemned. But the prieat,|
the one calm man present, strode into the
room Itke a man; approaching a triumph.
aakaiy eet to his knees on a mat imme-'
Giatdly at the foot of the condemned man
aud) with a amila like a child’s, Hrted his
big grucifix before the anguished eyes 0
the victim. nt Coe a
‘Thpre he held jt even after the heavy,
Weather mask haa been fitted over the '
mags face. No tremor of. ¢motion touoh}, *
ed (he priest's countenance ‘even after the
firgt shock Mung the body of the condemns!
ed man outward against the straps with!
& snap Itke a whip crack. | He remained).
motionless on hig |knees, his face lifted)
and shining, a an Hg stole folded tn hig,
left hand against! Kis breast. | . A,
At the second stock a tiny corkscrew of
blue smoke as fajnt as| that which might,
arise from & cigarette, Pp from the

py
’

of
yt

ee

PLS: ais

a
rs

5
y es

‘went

Jeft leg of the an in the chair an j
drifted up through the metal dome abov
the chalr. Still dhe priest remained mo!

tfonless. Only whbo the epry, young loc:
tor folded hia stethoscope, stepped f
ward and safd, “Gentlemen, { pronoup
thia man dead,” Mi he arise, Then h
moved to the stone bench with the othe
witnesses, silpped his crucifix under h
lang cassock and finally left the TOpr |
smiling. ds i
The priest had divant the entire ge in
the doomed man’s cell. Talap had con- |": .

foaned tha murder When he center nd tha

—

able—when
‘ination—of
vr, it turned
2 screen in
‘reen stars.
he same
ocence-—
on the

m. Besides

r produced
of these in-
‘orgia.

he trial was
stick to his

rtooned pic-

o illustrate
of could be
as not acci-
dy find him

udge A, A.
', stated for

servation. I
ard the ex-
‘otten away
iy life have
; More true

gotten by
.on you de-
vith malice
ly hope that
isider your

that Pekor
f ten years
rdict, Dep-
rote: “The
selfish and
n. He is a
at times a
commended
ined for the
or the pro-

‘ of Pekor,
at he had
orgia Chain
‘ter serving
crime was
‘/hen Pekor
on term in
ied over to

pod!

ting to
0, tries
*t work.

| DETECTIVE

“Where'd you a that cut on your
head?” Powell asked.

Kowalski ran a finger over a long,
thin gash above his left eye. “Dunno,”
he said. “I woke up with it one
morning.”

“You didn’t by any chance get it
in an automobile accident near Allen-
town, did you?” Clark interposed.

The youth glowered. “I wasn’t in
any accident, and I ain’t been in no
crimes.”

“Then what did you have a gun
for, and where’s your license to carry
it?” was the Major’s sharp retort.

The suspect had no comeback for
this, save a statement that he had
bought the pistol from a stranger in
Hazelton.

Clark weighed the evidence...
the Polish accent; the pistol; the
dishevelled appearance of the youth;
the weak alibi. He was glad that he
could at least keep him under lock
and key on a charge of carrying a
concealed, unlicensed weapon.

“That bird will bear further inves-
tigation,” he told Powell. “Added to
all the other suspicious aspects is the
fact that the brothers broke up. That
could easily mean they’d rather not
attract attention by traveling as a
pair.”

For the next two days the case
came to a virtual standstill. Clark’s
men combed the St. Mary’s Hill sec-
tion near the Malinowskis’ for some-
one who could give a clue to the
crime. Had loiterers been noticed
near the place, casing it for the rob-
bery? Had any of the servants ob-
served anything; overheard any
snatch of conversation among their
acquaintances that had seemed sus-
Picious?_ Finally, on Tuesday after-
noon a Polish-American laborer was
brought to the state police barracks.

“This man says he saw a youth
loitering near the Malinowskis’ two
days before the murder,” a trooper
explained to Clark. “I thought maybe
he ought to take a look at young
Kowalski.”

The prisoner was brought from his
cell. From behind a screen the tall,
gaunt laborer watched, an impassive
expression on his broad Slavic face,
while Kowalski was paraded up and
down in Clark’s office. When* the
youth was led away, the man emerged
from where he had been sitting and
with a bony, gnarled finger scratched
his close-cropped head.

“Tt could be,” he declared finally,
with a shrug. “I cannot be sure.”

Spurred by this half-identification,
Clark sent out another alarm, asking
for the apprehension of the missing
brother. '

“If we could get Charlie in here,”
the Major asserted, “we could pla
one Kowalski against the other. if
they’re guilty, we could undoubtedly
break them that way.”

But a sudden, fearful turn of events
that night tended to clear the young
Kowalskis altogether.. It was 6 p.m.,
and Clark was on his way out to din-
ner when a call from Chief Taylor
in Wilkes-Barre brought him running
back down the hall to his office.

“Another murder, Major,” the chief

‘(Continued from page 35)

a

said. “Peter Cutler, hardware dealer.
East Market and Sherman Streets.
Two bandits; pint sized. Escaped in a
black sedan. I’ve got every available
man out hunting for them.”
“Blackjack?” the state officer asked.
“No. hot four times. Head and

Now the alarm was flashed and
teletype machines whirred: Within
minutes state patrol-cars swung to
the chase. After completing the
directives, Clark himself sped to the
city and to the Cutler hardware
store.

Sprawled on the floor in a pool of
blood behind the counter was the bul-
let-ridden body of the young-looking
proprietor. Swarming over the place
were a number of city officers, includ-
ing the medical examiner, identifica-
tion men, a photographer and detec-
tives. Chief Taylor was standing at
one side, talking with a well-dressed,
dark-haired young man who seemed
unusually excited. Taylor motioned
to the state officer to join them.

“This is Russell Edwards,” he said,
by way of introduction. “He says he
got a good look at those thugs—
good enough to: identify them if
they’re caught.”

“Yes,” Edwards explained. “I was
walking down Sherman Street when
I heard shots. I saw those men run
out of here and into a black sedan.
They were little guys. I tried to get
the license number of the car, but in
the darkness I couldn’t make it out.”

“But you’d recognize them again, if
you saw them?” 5

“Oh yes, sir,” the man replied. “I’m
positive of it.”

The officers determined, by the
open cash-register stuffed with change
and bills, that the bandits had fled
without taking any loot. A balance-
sheet, half-filled with figures, lay on
the counter. On the floor nearby lay
a fountain pen, mute testimony that
Cutler had been adding up the day’s
receipts when surprised by the gun-
men.

Clark’s face was drawn and gray
as he conferred with the city police.
“These birds didn’t get anything
here,” he said. “And they must need
money. They’ll strike again, unless
we stop them. I’ve told my men to
give them no quarter. They’re to
shoot to kill, if they find them.”

Taylor nodded. “Those are my
orders, too,” he said.

“And unless Charles Kowalski has
picked up a pal, which I doubt, this
lets those boys out of it,” the Major
added.

As on the other occasions, the roads
were blocked, and auto-camps, room-
ing-houses and hotels were canvassed
for some trace of the fugitives. The
investigators. believed the pair might
be headed for Hazelton or Allentown,
and these two cities were especially
alerted.

Word of the latest outbreak of
terror quickly spread, and that night
and ‘the next—and for days: there-
after—residents of the county went
to sleep with dread in their hearts.

_ No one knew where,the bandits would

strike next, nor who would fall prey

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B37


Chief of Police of Wilkes-Barre, Russell Taylor,
gave able assistance to Major William A. Clark of
the Pennsylvania State Police in this unusnal case.

to an open window on the other side of the room.

“She must have tried to escape that way,” he the-
orized, ‘and they dragged her back here and finished
her off.”

One thing puzzled the officers. In spite of the signs
of resistance, no one in the house had heard an outcry.
Neither John, nor Stanley, nor the young woman’s
parents—Mr. and Mrs. Emile Malinowski who occupied
a rear bedroom—had heard a scream.

“She wasn’t gagged, either,” Clark pointed out.
“There weren’t any marks on her throat to show that
she’d been choked. It doesn’t make sense. But we’d
better get on downstairs and see how those fellows
got in.”

The brothers, John and Stanley, who had “locked up”
the previous night, insisted that before going to bed
they had bolted every door and window on the ground-
floor of the spacious, 16-room house. The basement-
door too, had been locked, but they weren’t sure about
the basement windows. ‘

“We never bothered about those,” John said, “be-

. cause they have steel gratings on the outside. Nobody

34

could get through them. The bars are only six inches
apart.”

Clark nodded and led the way from door to door and
window to window. Everything was intact on the
ground-floor. But in the basement, the door was un-
latched.

“That’s how they got out,” the major observed, “but
how in thunder they got in is beyond alJ]—”

“Look here,’ Powell called from the furnace room.
“This’ll knock your eye out.”

The others rushed to that section of the cellar. The
detective chief stood by a small, grated window, point-
ing to a chair directly underneath it.

“See where that dust on.the sill is smeared off? And

those dirty footprints on the chair? Well, your thugs
squeezed through those bars. It’s quite a drop from the

Chief County Detective Richard Powell was first to
arrive on the scene of the first murder committed
by the trigger-happy murderers of two fine people.

sill to the floor. The first one in evidently put this chair
here for the other fellow.”

€lark looked incredulously at the narrow space
through which the bandits obviously had come. “Those
birds: sure must be pint-sized,” he muttered. “Let’s
hope they left a fingerprint.”

An identification officer who had come from the
Wyoming state police barracks with the Major, set to
work at once dusting the sill, windowpanes, chair and
doorknob for prints. :

“Not a thing,” he finally announced. “They must have
worn gloves.” :

Probing for a motive for the murder, Powell and
Clark tentatively concluded that it was robbery. True,
the victim’s father, well-to-do owner of the Franklin
Brewery in Wilkes-Barre and president of the First
National Bank in the adjacent city of Nanticote, was a
Luzerne County political leader and as such could have
conceivably incurred enemies. But there would have
been no reason for an enemy of the Malinowski family
also to have bludgeoned the little Unger girl. The of-
ficers were convinced that the similarity of the circum-

_ stances in both crimes was not coincidental.

Ever since state police had received the first alarm,
at approximately 2:30 a.m., all major roads throughout
northeastern Pennsylvania were being watched for the
fugitives. Hundreds of cars had been stopped and their
occupants questioned. Anyone remotely answering the
description of the boy-sized’ bandits had been sub-
jected to close interrogation. But all those’ arrested
were released when they proved they had been nowhere
near the scenes of the crimes at the hours they were
committed. In addition, hotels and rooming houses had
been canvassed for some trace of the hunted pair.

The fact that several hours after the attacks the thugs
still had not been apprehended led Clark to surmise
that they were holed up somewhere near Wilkes-Barre.

“It’s hard to believe they could get through that drag-


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to their dramatically fiendish attacks.

During the three days following: the
Cutler slaying, many young DPolish-
American men were brought in for
questioning from various places
within a_50 mile radius of Wilkes-
Russell Edwards obligingly
viewed them all. But with discourag-
ing regularity he shook his head.
None looked like the men he had
seen escaping from the hardware
store.

Suddenly, at 2 a.m., Saturday,
November 19, the killers made an-
other bold appearance. William G.
Hahn, head of a motor truck firm in
Allentown, was awakened by the ter-
rified screams of his wife, who was

‘sleeping in an adjacent room.

Rushing to her side, the husband
found the woman gasping for breath.
Blood from a bullet wound in her
abdomen stained the bedclothing a
bright red. The dresser drawers were
open, their contents spilled on the
floor,

“It was two men,” the woman said
weakly. “I woke up. They were
going through my things. I screamed.
One of them came over and shot me.
Then they ran out.”

“They were small,” she added, be-
fore lapsing into unconsciousness.
“No bigger than boys,”

Like a city at bay, Allentown rose
to the attack. Patrol cars, sirens
blaring, sped through the streets to
ring the city. Grim-faced Officers,
guns ready, kept a constant vigil, their
eyes and ears attuned to the slight-
est movement or sound.

Two of these, Officers Robert At-
kins and Wayne Elliott, were speed-
ae to block the Allentown-Bethlehem
Pike, when Elliott, at the wheel,
brought the sedan to a screeching
stop.

“I thought I saw two men behind
that car parked back there,” he said,
shoving the gears in reverse. :

Atkins looked - around. “You're
right!” he cried. “They're beating it
across that lot.”

Backing up the patrol-car the of-
ficers stopped and leaped out. Guns
in hand, they began running, racing
across the lot and through a backyard
to an alley beyond. The night was
black, but in the darkness the officers
kept sight of a human shadow that
de in and out of view. Once At-
kins opened fire, but the fugitive con-
tinued his headlong flight.

“One of them’s disappeared,” At-
kins whispered, “but that guy’s headed
down Brown Court.”

“That’s dead-end,” Elliott re-
turned. “He’ll be trapped. The
Street’s cut off by a 12-foot wall.”

Ei, back and get the Patrol-car,”

Atkins suggested. “Turn the lights

| out and bring it alongside the entrance

to that court. . I’ll stand guard there.
When you have the car in position,
play :the spotlight over the alley.
It’s our only chance. If we use our
pocket flashlights we’ll just make our-
Selves targets.”

Stealthily, Atkins approached the
court on foot, ears cocked for the
slightest sound. Everything was
deathly still. It seemed like an
eternity before Elliott returned with
the police car, but actually it was
only a matter of a couple of minutes.
Suddenly the court was ablaze with
light as the patrolman played the car
spotlight over its narrow confines.

For a split second Atkins held his
breath, then aimed his revolver
directly at a slight figure of a man,

blinded by the rays. The man stood, |

back against the wall, a pistol in his
hand

“Drop that gun and stick ’em up!”
the officer shouted. We'll shoot. to
kill!”

With a harsh, metallic thud the
fugitive’s revolver fell to the pave-
ment. The patrolmen closed in. At-
kins snapped a pair of handcuffs on
the prisoner’s wrists while Elliott
frisked him.

Satisfied that he had no other
weapon, the officers shoved him into
the patrol-car and hurried back to
headquarters. Informed by radio of
the capture, other officers were sent
to guard the automobile, a Chrysler,
behind which the gunmen had at-
tempted to hide. The gas-tank was
empty, which explained why the fugi-
tives had abandoned it.

At headquarters the prisoner gave
his name as Anthony Barron. He
was grilled by Detective Captain Wil-
liam Detwilder of the Allentown
police, who already had informed
Major Clark of the arrest.

The bandit, slim, wiry and sallow
skinned, was nervous and shifty-
eyed. He continuously ran his fingers
through his heavy crop of straight,
blond hair. Accused of the Hahn at-
tack and of the Malinowski murder,
he stared arrogantly at the detective
chief. |

“Okay,” he admitted. “I was in
on the Hahn job. But I didn’t do no
shooting. As for that murder in
Wilkes-Barre, you’re on the wrong
track. I never set foot in that town.”

He steadfastly refused to be identi-
fied with the other crimes of which
he was suspected, and stubbornly
withheld the name of his accomplice.
By the time Major Clark and Luzerne
County Detective Chief Powell ar-
rived, the Chrysler had been towed
to the police parking lot and thor-
oughly searched. Under the front
Seat, the detectives found a gold
watch, initialed “H. F. Jr.” -Det-
wilder showed it to the prisoner.

“Remember this?” he said. “I sup-
pose you’ll deny taking this from the
Frazier home in Germantown Thurs-
day night.”

“I never saw it before,” Barron
snarled, but the detective chief had
recognized it at once as part of $9,000
worth of jewelry stolen from a Ger-
mantown residence two nights before.

When an_ all-night interrogation
failed to break the suspect, Clark tele-
phoned the Wyoming barracks asking
that Edwards, the man who had seen
the gunmen escape from Cutler’s de-
partment store, be brought at once
to Allentown.

Edwards, who had failed so many
times’ before. to identify a suspect,
took one long look at Barron and
then said to Clark: “That’s one of
them, all right. There’s no doubt
about it.”

Brought now to Detwilder’s office,
Barron found himself face to face
with Clark, Powell and members of
the Allentown police force.

“It’s all up with you,” the Major
said. “A witness had just positively
identified you as the man who killed
Cutler, the hardware man in Wilkes-
Barre. The penalty for murder in
this state is death. Are you going
to die alone, or with the man who
helped you kill Peter Cutler?”

The youth went white. “Okay,”
he said. “Tll talk. My name's not
Barron, it’s Tetrosky. Anthony

Tetrosky. . But I didn’t do no shoot-
ing. That was Frank.”
“Frank who?” was Powell’s icy

ow
manhu:
vania.
armed
for mik
With in:
alive,
uay and
Barron
the all<
Police.
Five d
ber 24, j;
Evans, ;
not six |

State, count
kept pe the
ing, trigge
Hazeltos an

That nigt
Barre got a
Stabinski’s
bought a h
Franklin S!
tives John

eC

AN

Hl

TT ie

o

* net,” he told Powell when the two had returned to the

state police barracks,
local boys.”

“We have two good clues,” the state officer continued,
summing up. “That Polish accent and the odd fact that
both of them are undersized.” i

Searching through police files the Major came upon
several case histories of parolees, former convicts and
men wanted for various crimes, who might answer this
description. Those known to be in the district were
rounded up. None could be linked with the crime.

Clark enlisted the aid of Police Chief J. Russell
Taylor of Wilkes-Barre, requesting from that officer
the names of all Polish-speaking youths who had figured
in complaints in recent weeks, no matter how trivial.

“We're only interested in little runts,” the Major ex-
plained. ‘Never mind the big guys.”

In a short while the police chief’s answer came back.
“All we can find to answer your specifications, Major,
are the Kowalski brothers, Benny and Charlie. They
were up two weeks ago on suspicion of stealing a car.
We couldn’t hold them. The evidence was too thin. But
they are tough. Benny’s 19, Charlie’s 21. They're both
blond, weigh about 110 pounds and are approximately
5 feet, 3 inches tall.”

“I'd like to talk to them,” Clark came back. “Where
do they live?”

“We followed up on it,” the chief returned. “They’ve
left town. The family says the two of them started out
a week ago to hitchhike to Philadelphia to look for
work.”

“And the relatives haven’t heard from them, I take
it,” the state officer guessed.

“Right.”

Clark hung up and turned to Detective Chief Powell.
“That’s an interesting angle,” he pointed out, after re-
lating what Taylor had said. “These birds were sus-
pected of car theft. Now it’s ten to one a couple of
thugs, who’d commit murder for a watch and the small
amount of money they got from the Malinowskis, are
desperate. I doubt whether they own a car. But they
left in one, so it probably was stolen. Maybe our best
bet is to send out teletype alarms concentrating on
stolen car license numbers, as well as on the brothers
Kowalski.”

Powell agreed. Within the hour,
police officers all over Pennsylvania
were scrutinizing license plates of
all black Ford sedans and Packard
coupes, trying to spot two sets of
numbers of stolen cars they had
memorized.

By mid-afternoon this had borne
fruit, but of a disappointing kind.
Clark, at his desk, received a call
from police headquarters in Hazel-
ton, some 30 miles south of Wilkes-
Barre. Patrolman Charles Moyer of
that city had fired on the Packard
coupe when it raced through a red -
light.

“It had two small, blond young
men in it,” the - officer reported.
“But it got away.”

Word was flashed to the Allen-
town police to be on the lookout,
since the car was headed in that
direction. Two hours later, pedes-
trians going about their -business
on the main street of that peaceful
city were galvanized by a running
gun battle between the occupants
of two automobiles that sped
through the traffic. The first was a
Packard coupe containing two men;
the second a screeching police pa-
trol car that tried to overtake it.

“My idea is that they may be

one of

The comfortable Malinowski home,
Wilkes-Barre’s fashionable

A half hour later, Clark got the report in Wyoming.
“Two of our men sighted that stolen Packard just out-
side the city,” the Allentown police chief told him over
the phone. “They gave chase, and opened fire. The
fire was returned. But the car was swallowed up in the
traffic. Our men tried to head it off on the Allentown

.Pike, but it was too late.”

“Any idea where it’s headed for?” the Major inquired

. excitedly.

“Yeah,” came the laconic reply.
found it in a ditch—wrecked.”

Like bees swarming to a hive, police patrol cars sped
to the area but no trace of the escaped gunmen could
be found. Fingerprint men hurried to the scene to dust
the car for clues, but as was the case at the Malinowski
house, no telltale impressions had been left.

Darkness fell; dawn came again and still the bandits
remained at large. Then, plainclothesmen covering the
Kowalski house in Wilkes-Barre arrested young Benny
as he sneaked through the rear yard to his home. One
of the detectives stepped up quickly and spoke gruffly.

“They want to talk to you up at the state police
barracks,” he said:

The youth stiffened, then paled, as the officer began
to frisk him. ia

“Humph! A .32!.the detective remarked caustically
as he pulled a nickel plated Colt revolver from Kowal-
ski’s coat pocket. “I suppose you use this for target
practice.”

The boy made no reply. And to the query: ‘Where’s
your brother?” he muttered a scarcely audible: “I
don’t know.”

Grilled by Clark and Powell at the Wyoming bar-
racks, the youth gave a number of conflicting state-
ments. He claimed to have wandered from town to
town for eight days, and said he and his brother had
parted after a quarrel on the fourth day. When pinned
down to a day by day, hour by hour account of his
time, however, he floundered forlornly.

“We're interested specificalty in where you were from
one o’clock Friday morning, until we picked you up in
your yard,” the state officer declared.

“I slept in a haystack somewhere near Hazelton,
Thursday night,” the youth asserted. “That’s all I
can say.” (Continued on page 87)

“The junk pile. We

located on St. Mary’s Road in
residential districts, proved

to be the starting point of a two-man crime-wave throughout Pa.

oo

to the city and to the Cutler
war ~“--?.
praw | the floor in a pool of =
ad bk the counter was the ~
jet-riauen body of the young-
cing proprietor. Swarming over
place were a number of city of-
rs, including the medical ex-
ner, identification men, a pho-
rapher and detectives. Chief Tay-
was standing at one side, talk-
with a well-dressed, dark-haired
ing man who seemed excited.
faylor motioned to the state offi-
to join them. 7
‘This is Russell Edwards, he
d, by way of introduction. “He
s he got a good look at those
igs—good enough to identify them
they’re caught.” .
‘That's right,” Edwards explain-
“J was walking down Sherman
eet when I heard shots. I saw
9se men run out of here and into
slack sedan. They were little guys.
ried to get the license number of
e car, but it was too dark. I could-
; make it out.” ;
‘But you’d recognize them again,
you saw them?” ;
“Oh, yes, sir,” the man replied.
m positive of it.” i
The officers etermined by the
yen ,cash register, stuffed with
ange and bills, that the bandits
.d fied without taking any loot. A
ance sheet, half-filled with fig-
es, lay on the counter. On the floor
arby lay a fountain pen, mute
stimony that Cutler had been add-
g up.the day’s receipts when he
1d been surprised by the gunmen.
Clark’s face was drawn and gray
he conferred with the city police.
“These birds didn’t get anything
‘d. “And they must need

i

as directives, Clark himself

ere,” c :
oney y’ll strike again, unless
re st m. I’ve told my men to

They’re to

dded.
As on the other occasions, the
oads were blocked, and auto camps,

scien

"TURNED OUT

no camera to make ad-
vances. After a
+e Ln Baath trened him out.

Stee Se

rooming houses and hotels were can-
vassed for some trace of the fugi-
‘tives. The investigators believed the
pair might be headed for Hazelton
or Allentown, and these two cities
especially were alerted.

* * *

ORD of the latest outbreak of
terror spread quickly, and that
night and the next, and for days
thereafter, residents of the county,
and indeed of adjacent areas, went
to sleep with dread in their hearts.
During the three days following
the Cutler slaying, many young sus-
pects were brought in for question-
ing from various places within a
fifty-mile radius of Wilkes-Barre.
Russell Edwards obligingly viewed
them all. But with discouraging
regularity he shook his head. None
looked like the men he had seen es-
caping from the hardware store.

Suddenly, at two a.m., Saturday,
November 19th, the killers made
another bold appearance.

William G. Hahn, head of a motor
truck firm in Allentown, was awak-
ened by the terrified screams of his
wife, who was ‘sleeping in an ad-
jacent room.

Rushing to her side, Hahn found
the woman gasping for breath. Blood
from a bullet wound in her abdo-
men stained the bedclothing a bright
red. The dresser drawers were open,
their contents spilled on the floor.

“Two men,” the woman said
weakly. “I woke up. They were go-
ing through my things. I screamed.
One of them came—shot me. They
ran out.”

“They were small,” she added, be-
fore lapsinz into unconsciousness.
“No bigger than boys.”

Like a city at bay, Allentown rose
to the attack. Patrol cars, sirens
blaring, sped through the streets to
circle the city. Grim-faced officers,
guns ready, kept a constant vigil,
their eyes and ears attuned to the
slightest movement or sound.

Two of these, Officers Robert At-
kins and Wayne Elliott, were speed-
ing to block the Allentown-Beth-
lehem Pike, when Elliott, at the
wheel, brought the sedan to a
screeching stop.

“T thought I saw two men behind

BURNED OUT

A QUEENS, N. Y., man who once had
been arrested for bigamy was held
in $10,000 bail in Queens Felony Court
on charges of throwing his wife out of
their home and then trying to burn the
house down.

Mrs. Patricia Vaughan, 32, told police
that her husband, Oscar, forced her out
of the house during an argument. Out-
side, she said, she smelled smoke and
called neighbors, who broke down the
door and put oat a fire on the stairs
leading to‘the second floor. Vaughan,
34, said the fire was purely the result
of an accident.

1953 CRIME YEARBOOK

that car parked back there,” he said,
shoving the gears into reverse.

Atkins looked around. “You're
right!’ he cried. “They’re beating it
across that lot.’’

Backing up the patrol car, the
officers stopped and leaped out. Guns
in hand, they began running, racing
across the lot and through a back-
yard to an alley beyond.

The night was black, but in the
darkness the officers kept sight of a
human shadow that darted in and
out of view. Once Atkins opened fire,
but the fugitive continued in flight.

“One of them’s disappeared,” At-
kins whispered, “but that guy’s
headed down Brown Court.”

“That's a dead end,” Elliott re-
turned. ‘“He’ll be trapped. The
street’s cut off by a high wall.”

“Go back and get the patrol car,”
Atkins suggested. “Turn the lights
out and bring it alongside the en-
trance to that court. I'll stand guard
there. When you have the car in

position, play the spotlight over the.

alley. It’s our only chance. If we use
our pocket flashlights, we'll just
make ourselves targets.”

Stealthily, Atkins approached the
court on foot, ears cocked for the
slightest sound. Everything was
deathly still. It seemed like an eter-
nity before Elliott returned with the
police car, but actually it was only
a matter of several minutes. Sud-
denly, the court was ablaze with
light as the patrolman played the car
spotlight over its narrow confines.

For a split-second, Atkins held his
breath, then aimed his revolver di-
rectly at a slight figure of a man,
blinded by the rays of the powerful
torch, who stood back against the
wall, a pistol in his hand.

“Drop that gun—and stick ’em
up!” the officer shouted. “‘We’ll shoot
to kill!’

With a harsh, metallic thud, the
fugitive’s revolver fell to the pave-
ment. The patrolmen closed in.

Atkins snapped a pair of hand-
cuffs on the prisoner’s wrists while
Elliott frisked him.

Satisfied that he had no other
weapon, the officers shoved him into
the patrol car and hurried back to
headquarters. Informed by radio of
the capture, other officers were sent
to guard the automobile, a Chrysler,
behind which the gunmen had at-
tempted to hide. The gas tank was
empty, which explained why the fu-
gitives had abandoned it.

* * *
T headquarters, the prisoner gave
his name .as Anthony Barron.
He was grilled by Detective Captain
William Detwilder of the Allentown
police, who already had informed
Major Clark of the arrest.

The bandit, slim, wiry and sallow-
skinned, was nervous and shifty-
eyed. He continuously ran his fingers
through his heavy crop of straight,
blond hair.

Accused of the Hahn attack and

of the Malinowski murder, he stared
arrogantly at the detective chief.
“Okay,” he admitted. “I was in
on the Hahn job. But I didn’t do no
shooting. As for that murder in
Wilkes-Barre, you’re on the wrong
track. I never set foot in that town.”
Barron steadfastly refused to be
identified with the other crimes of
which he was suspected, and stub-
bornly withheld the name of his pal.
By the time Major Clark and Lu-
zerne County Detective Chief Powell
arrived, the Chrysler had been tow-
ed to the police parking lot and
thoroughly searched. Under the
front seat, the detective found a
gold watch, initialled “H. F. Jr.”
Detwilder showed it to the pris-
oner. “Remember this?” he sneered.
“I suppose you'll deny taking this
from the Grazier home in German-
town Thursday night.”
“I never saw it before,” Barron
snarled, but the detective chief had
recognized it at once as part of

_ $9,000 worth of jewelry stolen from

a Germantown residence two nights
before.

When an all-night grilling failed
to break the suspect, Clark tele-
phoned the Wyoming barracks ask-
ing that Edwards, the man who had
seen the gunmen escape’ from Cut-
ler's department store, be brought
at once to Allentown.

‘Edwards, who had failed so many
times before to identify a suspect,
took one long look at Barron and
then said to Clark, “That’s one of
them, all right. No doubt of it.”

Brought now to Detwilder’s office,
Barron found himself face-to-face
with Clark, Powell and members of
the Allentown police force.

“It’s all up with you,” the major.
said. ‘““A witness has just positively
identified you as the man who killed
Cutler, the hardware man in Wilkes-
Barre. The penalty for murder in
this state is death! Are you going to
die alone, or with the man who
helped you kill Peter Cutler?”

The youth went white. “Okay,”
he said. “I'll talk. My name’s not
Barron, it’s Tetrosky—Anthony Te-
trosky. But I didn’t do no shooting.
That was Frank.”

“Frank who?” asked Powell.

“Frank Stabinski,” came the re-
ply. “We were buddies at reform
school. We just got out in August.”

Tetrosky said he was an orphan,
and that he lived in Ashley, outside
of Wilkes-Barre. He and his partner
had met at the State Reformatory
at Huntington, he confessed, and to-
gether had started the reign of ter-
ror which had held Luzerne County
in grip for eight days.

Tetrosky ascribed all the attacks
to Stabinski.

“Frank slugged the Unger kid
over the head while she was asleep,”
he testified, “but she screamed and
we beat it. We wouldn’t have hurt
the Malinowski woman if she had
kept still. But she rolled over, so

43


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the operations
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mysterious
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controls the
world-wide

big business
of syndicated
sin...

WHO IS
MR. VICE?

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POLICE

DETECTIVE.
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-.- another

crime shocker
by a killer
who should
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been allowed
at large...

NO GIRL
WAS SAFE!

READ THESE AND
MANY MORE TRUE
CASES IN

Rewrrate Hm »

Frank slugged her on the head. First
thing we knew, she was trying to get
out the window, so Frank really let
her have it then. Frank plugged
Cutler because he thought the guy
was going to resist.”

Now began one of the most gigan-
tic manhunts ever launched in Penn-
sylvania. Warned that the fugitive
.was armed and dangerous, every of-
ficer for miles around was on the
lookout with instructions to take
him, dead or alive.

Clark’s men were stationed day
and night near the house where Bar-
ron said he lived in Ashley. Still, the
alleged murderer evaded the police.

Five days later, on Thursday, No-
vember 24th, in broad daylight, Dr.
Thomas Evans, a dentist, ran into
the street not six blocks away from
Stabinski’s home, and shouted. “He’s
in there! In my office! He held me
up — Stabinski—the fellow who's
wanted for murder.”

Police rushed to the building. But
once again, the killer had escaped.
Dr. Evans had backed out of his
office after luring the gunman into
ransacking a desk for purported
cash. ;

“I recognized him from his picture
in the paper,” the dentist explained.
“I locked the door on my way out.”

“I know,” returned a sympathetic
detective, “but he escaped out a side

door.”
* * a

_ reign of terror was not yet
over. Determined to end it, the
state, county and city police dog-
gedly kept up the hunt. They were
watching, trigger-fingered, in Al-
lentown, Hazelton, and Wilkes-
Barre, too.

That night, Chief Taylor of Wilk-
es-Barre got a tip that a man an-
swering Stabinski’s description had
just bought a hat at the Adler store
on Franklin Street.

Summoning Detettives John Wil-
liams and Joseph Petroski, Taylor
motioned them into a police car. All
three were in plainclothes. En route
to the store, the chief outlined a
plan. “If we spot him, go slow,” he
ordered. “Don’t let him get leary.”

As they drove down Franklin
Street, they saw him—a short, swag-
gering figure, hastening up the
street.

“We'll go right past him and down a
a side street two blocks up,” Taylor *
said hurriedly. “You, Joe, get out 4
and go in a store he'll have to walk
past. We'll approach in front of him. °%

We'll hold him up; then you come ‘3

out of the store, with a second com-

mand to, halt. He’ll look around— *

and that’s when John and I will
jump him.”

Unsuspectingly, the round-faced,
boyish Stabinski walked past the
store and into the barrels of two re-
volvers aimed at him by the “civil-
ians” whom he had barely noticed
a second before.

The suspect stopped short, and
automatically his right hand jutted
into his coat pocket. :

“Make a move—and I'll shoot!”
came a booming voice from the rear.

Stabinski turned. Instantly, Tay-
lor and Williams were upon him.

Handcuffed to the two officers, he
was taken to headquarters and
lodged in jail.

Confronted with Tetrosky’s con-
fession, he, too, broke down and
gave a similar version of the crimes
the two had committed. Their state-
ments completely cleared the Ko-
walski brothers, Benny and Charlie,
of all suspicion in the case. Mrs.
Hahn, who was rushed to the hos-
pital for an emergency operation,
recovered.

Stabinski was the first to go to
trial. Brought before Judge John S.
Fine and a jury in Wilkes-Barre
January 29, 1933, he claimed in-
sanity as a defense. Four days later
he was found guilty and was sen-
tenced to death in the electric chair.

Tetrosky, his partner-in-crime,
faced trial on February 13th of that
year, in a court presided over by
Judge William A. Valentine. His
plea of insanity also failed, and on
January 8, 1934, after the State
Supreme Court had denied the ap-
peals from the decisions of the lower
courts, Anthony Tetrosky and Frank
Stabinski paid the supreme penalty
for their crimes.

The confessed murderers, who had
killed two persons, seriously in-
jured two more and spread terror
throughout eastern Pennsylvania,
walked to the electric chair at mid-
night, in Rockview Prison, Belle-
fonte.

psychology finally got at the truth.

New York, who had told a

Detective Lieutenant Ralph Petrone, of New Brunswick, >
of his own, was assigned the job of questioning 10-year-old Daniel Gugliemo, of
story of being attacked by two older hoys

Brunswick

CHILD PSYCHOLOGY

AU it took was a shiny police badge—and a bag of candy. . ;
With these persuaders, a patient detective who knew something about child

hespital for a blood


elec.e, Pa, (Cambria County)

11-30-19 31.

JANUARY, 19116.

By H. L. WATKINS

N INDEFINABLY electric ten-
sion hung over Conemaugh,

a small western Pennsylvania

town that raw morning of March 14.
Citizens on their way to work, and house-
wives going to the early markets walked
with a question on their lips. Had any-
one seen Betty Mowry?

The news was all over town. With the
passing of each hour public concern was
mounting, fears for the pretty 17-year-
old’s safety were increasing. Many
things could happen when a girl stayed
out all night. The possibilities, espe-
cially where the person sought was one
unaccustomed to being abroad after
dark, were hardly comforting.

John Mowry, the girl’s father, was
well aware of the fact that something
might have befallen his daughter, and
though he had lain awake all night seek-
ing to comfort his wife and at the same
time try to assure himself that Betty
would be home in the morning, he real-
ized now that his hopes were being
shattered slowly. Leaving his home, he
set off rapidly toward the ‘residence of
Milton Good, constable of the town,

The peace officer was not surprised to
see Mowry. In fact, he informed the
worried parent, he had been on the look-
out for Betty during his nocturnal

12

STARTLING DETECTIVE MAGAZINE, |

z The: place was. dar
~on,;, illuminating th
sharpl

rounds. He had been told that Betty
was missing earlier, Good said to
Mowry, and for a while shared the com-
mon belief that the high school student
had simply stayed out for a while.

With the formal request for aid be-
fore him now, Constable Good set about
organizing an exhaustive search for the
missing girl. Though he hadn’t slept, he
accompanied Mowry back to his home
to launch his investigation from the most
logical point.

The district in which the Mowry fam-
ily lived was a workers’ section, drab,
unpretentious and not overly pretty
architecturally. In a large, red brick
building on Chestnut Street, Good faced
the distraught Mrs. Mowry and the rest
of the children.

In gentle tones, Good asked what had
occurred the night before, striving to
ascertain who had seen Betty last and
where, whether she had said anything
which might give him a clue to her desti-
nation, As he listened to the meager
information they were able to offer, Good
understood the despair and feeling of
helplessness which possessed them.

Betty, the constable pieced together,

but: suddenly a’ spotlight: was turned:
heets'covered: body~ on: the* table».

< we flinched; hesitated.’ Then he: began.

to; edge: backward” slowly;but: strong» arms! checked him.>

4

had been at dinner the evening before as
usual. First to leave the table, she was
about to get her schoolbooks when her
mother asked her to call her younger
brothers, who had been playing late near
the Conemaugh Creek. For a while after
the boys returned no one missed her; it
was 9:30 when Mrs. Mowry, her evening
chores finished, realized that Betty wasn’t
in the house.

As yet neither parent was genuinely
alarmed, but when the time began to
slip by and their daughter failed to come
home the worry began to show plainly on
their faces. Mowry, with the help of
the children, began a canvass of the
homes of neighbors and friends.

“Did anyone see her?” Good in-
quired,

Mowry nodded. “Betty was over at
Harry Starchok’s house, on Greeve
Street,” he said dully. “She played with
little Georgie Starchok for a time, then
left with a couple of girls.”

From here, however, all trace of his
daughter had disappeared, Mowry added.

“Perhaps she stayed at a girl friend’s
house,” the constable offered. :

But this suggestion was met with the

STARTLING

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man. His story was simple. Friday eve-
ning he had gotten drunk with a couple
of friends, the pair with him, and had
decided to go to Johnstown to continue
their good time. Toward midnight, he
had gone home for some extra money he
had put away, and then had left for the
larger city by car. Now, after the fling,
he was returning home a penitent.

Gross said little during the recital. The
youth’s companions corroborated the
story in every detail. And further con-
firmation came not long afterward.
Johnstown authorities, asked to check
the boys’ hotel, the numerous bars and
dance halls they said they had frequented,
telephoned back to inform Gross that
the trio had been seen in every one of
the places over the weekend.

To make matters more convincing, the
youth’s earlier movements in a Cone-
maugh bar were checked; the barkeep
affirmed that he’d been there since 6:30
p.m. Friday evening, leaving at 11:30.
After this there was nothing more to
do but release him.

The situation which Gross had thought
of briefly before was now a reality. What
had he now? For long moments Chief
Gross thought hard, seeking to find some
path he had failed to take, some clue
he hadn’t recognized. Baffled at every
turn, his mind kept going back to the
last place Betty had been seen, to the girl
friends she had gone out with—and the
girl with crossed eyes. Yet Conemaugh
had been virtually turned upside down
and they hadn’t found such a girl. Why?

The moment he asked that question the
detective was almost shocked physically

by the force of the answer which im-

mediately suggested itself to him. There
was no such girl!

ALLING Detective McLavish, Gross
sent him to the Starchok house, after
first telling him of his plan. Then he tele-
phoned H. G. Wright, president of the
Conemaugh Council, and requested that
Wright come to Davis’ place.
Darkness had fallen when McLavish
returned with Starchok. Taken into the

undertaker’s office, where Wright, Davis —

and Gross were waiting, the detective
chief immediately began to question Star-
chok concerning the events of the pre-
vious Friday night, Starchok repeated
the same statements he had given the of-
ficer earlier.

Gross’ manner was easy and guileless
as he put each query. Starchok was
calmly unaware of any possible pitfall
when the officer asked, his voice casual:
“Was Betty still at your house when you
sent your wife out?”

“Betty was there when my wife went
out,” Starchok responded quickly. “She
went out with the girls right after my
wife left.”

The officer’s conversational attitude
had lulled Starchok completely. After a
few more aimless questions, he asked the
man to remain in the office a while longer.
Then he walked out, heading for Star-
chok’s home.

Once inside, Gross asked Mrs. Star-
chok but a few questions. She readily
told the detective chief that her husband
had asked her to go to his mother’s home
Friday evening, shortly after Betty had
arrived, to get him some tools he said
he had left there. He needed them to in-
stall the stove he’d gotten. Strangely,
though, the tools weren’t there.

-Mrs. Starchok hadn’t seen the girls
who'd called for Betty. Harry had told
her of their visit when she returned, and

she had no reason to doubt her husband.

Chief Gross returned to the undertak-
ing parlor, barely concealing a rising
sensation of elation. Starchok’s story
had been accepted without reservation
in the past, but now its fragility was be-
coming apparent. Gross was positive that
he’d made the thing up out of whole
cloth; there was no cross-eyed girl
friend of Betty’s, certainly no one had
called for her at the Starchok house.
Starchok was lying. Why?

The chief’s demeanor was grim when
he faced the man again. This time he
shot question after question at Starchok,
trying to find out exactly what had oc-
curred after Mrs. Starchok had gone out.
But the suspect—and Gross was in-
nately certain this man had indeed com-

mitted some terrible crime—had clamped
his jaws shut tightly. He refused to talk
further. F

Gross wasn’t stumped by Starchok’s
silence. He asked the man to strip, and
when he examined the clothing proffered
him his: face lighted up. There was a
distinctly discolored and stained area
just outside the right knee of the trouser
leg. Starchok’s pants were quite dark,
therefore the stain hadn’t been visible
except on close inspection.

Summoning state troopers; Gross re-
quested that they take Starchok to the
barracks at Ebensburg, for he feared that
if it became known that he were in cus-
tody in connection with Betty Mowry’s
disappearance, mob violence might,occur.
He further instructed the troopers that

THIS GRAVE
WAS FOR HER

SING the grave she said her husband meant

for her, Mrs. Elizabeth Amos, left, buried
the body of her husband after killing him in self
defense. The 34-year-old Putnam Co. W. Va.
matron admitted slaying her mine boss husband
with the gun shown in the left hand of Sheriff CLA.
Vaughn, below. In his right hand, the sheriff holds
a blackjack with which Mrs. Amos said her hus-
band hit her. Their 11-year-old son, Pearl Amos,
Jr., will be a star witness at the forthcoming trial
of his mother. He already has told police of his
father’s violent outbursts of temper, during one of
which he fired.a shotgun at Mrs. Amos and sent
part of the charge into the family’s radio. Deputy
H. E. Stricklin stands beside Sheriff Vaughn,
examining the grave from which they exhumed
Amos’ body.

The son told police he helped his mother drag
the body to the hillside grave after it had remained
hidden in their home all day following the fatal
quarrel September 6. The Amos home, according
to the young son, had been the scene of violent
‘family disputes for some time. It is located five
miles east of Hurricane, W. Va.

Rg.

Re erheearvenateidne: ie

rte EL ee Goth

:

nV

Abo Lees

Fae tia st Lsktu Pumas. onetieaiond

egedenate Sekiaeette eee eee

information that every known friend and
acquaintance of Betty’s had been called
upon, and none had seen her Friday
evening.

Good closely questioned Mowry about
his daughter’s habits, asking for the
names of all her friends, male and fe-
male, and probed into the girl’s school
and home life. The father answered the
constable categorically. Betty was at-
tractive and pleasant, and had quite a
few friends. She stood well in her work
at school; her home life was devoid of
friction, there was certainly no cause in
this latter quarter for her to leave volun-
tarily.

Pressed whether any incident, no mat-
ter how remote or trivial, had occurred
recently which might conceivably have
a bearing on the girl’s disappearance,
Mowry could offer nothing. The only
happening worthy of note in the family’s
average existence had been the removal
of a stove the night before, Friday night,
to the Starchok home.

Mowry had promised Harry Starchok
the stove, he told the officer, and the new
owner had called for it at supper time.
With a truck, Starchok had come with

EPI

“Who were these men?”

two other men to help him load it aboard
the conveyance.

At the mention of Starchok’s assist-
ants, Good grew even more attentive.
he inquired
sharply.

“Dominick Lenti and his son,”
answered.

“Did they~speak to Betty?” the con-
stable. persisted.

The reply was in the negative. Nor
had Mrs. Mowry heard them say any-
thing to her daughter. Good suppressed
a momentary twinge of disappointment.
Nevertheless, he determined that the
two members of the Lenti family should
be questioned as soon as possible.

Leaving the Mowrys when he felt he
had learned all the information he could,
Constable Good walked toward Greeve
Street, to the home of Harry Starchok.
Not more than a few hundred yards
away, he reached it in a matter of min-

Mowry

utes.

A young couple, the Starchoks proved
eager to be of assistance for they had
known the Mowry family well. Harry
Starchok readily answered the con-
stable’s questions.

“We, I mean Dominick Lenti and his
boy, got over to John Mowry’s house

just when the family was eating,” he

told Good.

“Betty was there then. In
fact, when we were loading the stove
onto the truck she was standing on the
sidewalk watching us.”

“But she was at your house afterward,
wasn’t she?” Good queried.

Starchok nodded. ‘“That’s right. She
must’ve taken the short cut through the
back way, because when we got here
she’d already come into my house. Any-
way, she played with our Georgie for
a while, then a couple of girls came look-
ing for her. She went away with them.’

“Why did she stop over here to play
with your boy? Any particular reason ?”
the constable pressed.

“Uh huh,” Starchok grunted; he ges-
tured expressively with his hands. “Why
she played with Georgie a lot. Betty
was pretty fond of the kid and came here
plenty of times.”

Good asked whether Starchok had
recognized either or both of the girls
who had called for Betty. The reply
was disheartening. No, he hadn't; in
fact, he’d never even seen either of the
pair in the neighborhood before. Both
were about Betty’s age and appeared
well dressed, and that was the best de-
scription Good could obtain. They had
stayed but a moment.

From this point on Constable Good

got no further information, useful or
otherwise. When he departed he de-
termined to seek out every girl who
knew Betty Mowry; there remained the
possible chance that her father had
missed one in his search the previous
night. Betty, unaware of the furore her
failure to come home had caused, might
still be with that as yet unkown friend.
Young people, Good reflected, are some-
times thoughtless about telling their
parents such things.

Throughout that day Good went into
every part of town, visiting house after
house, asking hundreds of persons
whether they had seen the missing girl.

_ That night he had to admit he had un-

covered not even the faintest trace, the
slightest indication of Betty Mowry’s
whereabouts.

Sunday morning Betty still hadn’t re--
turned home, hadn’t communicated with
anyone regarding her extended absence.
The townsfolk became genuinely aroused.
Their temper was growing uglier. Feel-
ing the responsibility was reaching such
a magnitude that he could no longer cope
with the situation, Good decided to notify
the county authorities. He telephoned
Chief County Detective John W. Gross
and explained the case.

Chief Gross arrived in Conemaugh

that forenoon, accompanied by Detective
John McLavish. After . listening to
Constable Good’s detailed report, he
agreed that the case was far more serious
than that of a youngster remaining away
from home for an undue period. He im-
mediately called the Pennsylvania State
Police barracks at Ebensburg, the seat
of Cambria County, requesting the com-
mandant to send a detail of troopers to
assist him in a widespread search.

Late that afternoon the customary
Sabbath quiet of the town was shattered.
Troopers systematically combed street
after street; vacant houses were being
examined, lots scoured. The shallow
waters of the Conemaugh Creek were
searched, and the deeper holes dragged,
particularly in the vicinity where the two
Mowry boys had been playing when
Betty had come to summon them for
dinner. But for all their intensive efforts,
the police found nothing,

Chief Gross, meanwhile, established
a sort of field headquarters in the under-
taking parlors of Carl Davis, the deputy
coroner for the district. In his years
as a detective, Gross had tracked down
many missing persons, he reflected, as
he marshaled all the known facts in his
mind. In those cases he had usually

[Continued on page 70]

‘3


[Continued from page 13]

been able to discover quickly either a lead
to where the man or woman had gone, or
a motive for their departure.

The instance at hand, however, pre-
sented a more difficult problem. Neither
lead nor motive was apparent here.
While Constable Good had been diligent
Gross foresaw there would be a good
deal more ground to cover.

Gross was convinced that his first step
at the moment was to ascertain definitely
whether Betty had indeed left her home
of her own accord. Depending on whether
that were proven or not would be his
subsequent investigation, one which
might assume more sinister aspects.

At the Chestnut Street apartment,
Chief Gross questioned Mrs. Mowry.
With the mother, he examined every
facet of the daughter’s character, per-
sonality and disposition. He inquired
about her boy friends. Was it possible
that Betty had been secretly interested
in some youth and had eloped?

The matron, though considerably worn
and depressed from the terrible ordeal
of waiting and praying for her daughter's
homecoming, smiled wanly. She shook
her head,

“Betty wasn’t the kind of girl who

-kept things like that from us,” she as-

sured Gross. “As far as we know she
didn’t go steady with anyone.”

Her daughter, Mrs. Mowry continued,
spent much of her leisure time at home
in study. At school she was a bright
scholar, Though the family was large,
Betty had good clothes and was supplied
with such spending money as she needed.
She had never evinced by word or action
any desire to leave home for any reason.
patty was a normal, happy and attractive
girl.

[ EAVING Mrs. Mowry with the assur-
ance that he would do his utmost to
find Betty, Gross next went to the home
of the Lenti family to interview the
father and son who had helped move the
stove from the girl’s apartment the night
of her disappearance.

Not much time was necessary here for
the detective chief to be convinced that
his visit was fruitless. Lenti and his
boy had seen Betty outside her home
while they were loading the stove upon
the truck. They had also noticed the
girl playing with Georgie Starchok when
they reached their destination. She was
still there when they departed a few min-
utes later,

The following morning, Monday,
Gross and his aide, McLavish, appeared
at the Starchok house. As Constable
Good had done, the chief interrogated
the man about the two friends who had
called for Betty. He urged Starchok to
try to give him a word picture, trying to
develop a better description of the girls.
Starchok wrinkled his brows, twisted his
lips in desperate concentration. Sud-
denly he jerked his head up.

“Say! One of them was cross-eyed,”
he said quickly. “I don’t know how I

70

“8 »

didn’t think of it before, maybe it was
because of all the excitement that I for-
got.” :

Gross experienced a feeling of elation.
Here, indeed, was a clue of a sort. Be-

yond that, however, Starchok recalled —

nothing else.

Back at the undertaking parlor, Gross
related the new information he had
gleaned from Starchok to the troopers
working with him. He declared that the
best procedure to follow now would be
to visit Betty Mowry’s high school, and
there question every pupil who knew her.
And if one of the girls should be cross-
eyed, well, perhaps she knew the answer
to the riddle, or held the key to its solu-
tion. .

With the cooperation of the teaching
staff, the officers spoke to virtually every

student in the school. Not one girl pupil, ©

they found, had crossed eyes. But the
names and addresses of two such girls
were obtained. Both, however, lived in
neighboring towns.

Interrogation of the boys developed
one lead. There was a youth, Chief
Gross was informed, who had been quite
“sweet” on attractive Betty. This young
man’s affection, however, was not re-
turned. The detective, noting the un-
requited swain’s name and_ address,
wondered whether he had at last un-
covered the much sought lead.

Presently the veteran sleuth began to
feel more certain. Added facts tended to
strengthen his initial surmise. Chums
of the 18-year-old fellow described him
as being a rather headstrong and tem-
pestuous sort, quick to anger when de-
nied his way and the sort of person who
would hold a grudge. He had fancied
himself quite a ladies’ man, among the
‘teen-aged elements of the school, and
Betty’s calm indifference toward him
lacerated his conceit.

Also, a teacher informed Gross that
the youth had not appeared in school this
day, spoiling a fine attendance record he
had built up over a period of years.

The officer recognized in the boy pre-
cisely the type of person who might be
driven to some desperate action when
emotion toppled ordinary reason. He
could not imagine, though, to what
lengths the student might go—if he had
indeed something to do with Betty
Mowry’s absence—but he determined to
ey this young man as quickly as pos-
sible.

Detailing two troopers to go to the
homes of the cross-eyed girls whose
names had been furnished them, Gross
and McLavish set out to see the spurned
youth.

On the other side of town from the
Mowry home, they were admitted to a
modest, neatly furnished frame dwelling
by a middle-aged woman. Her mild blue
eyes were red from recent tears and she
clutched a balled-up handkerchief in her
hand. Gross shrewdly judged that he
would have to handle the woman with
extreme care for she appeared, to his
appraising gaze, to be close to a nervous
collapse.

After introducing himself, he inquired
whether the woman was the youth’s
mother. When she replied in the af-
firmative, the detective chief asked
whether he was at home.

She began to weep, a softly anguished
sound which disturbed her interrogator.
Nevertheless he continued: “Where is
he?”

“My—my son hasn’t been home since
late Friday night,” she sobbed. Valiantly
she steeled herself to go on. “He came

home around midnight and I heard him
rummaging about in his room for a while.
Then he came past my room and I went
out to see where he was going.

“He didn’t want to tell me,” the dis-
traught mother continued plaintively.
“He sort of brushed me aside. He
smelled from “liquor. He never drank
before, I know. After that my son just
went out, and I haven’t heard from him
since.”

Sympathetic but firm, Gross asked if
she knew where he might have gone. His
answer was a shake of thé head. No,
her son hadn’t ever stayed out like this
before. Then Gross inquired quietly:

“Did you ever hear him speak of a
girl named Betty Mowry?” ‘

Puzzled, the woman looked back at the
officers blankly. “What does this girl
have to do with my boy’s leaving home?”

It was the detectives’ turn to be sur-
prised. Gross told her of the search for
the vanished girl, pointing out that both
young people were strangely missing on
the same night. '

Though the tactful and soft spoken
chief had striven to guard the mother
from further anxiety, he saw that if he
wished to continue questioning her he
would have to wait until she had calmed
down appreciably. Obtaining a descrip-
tion and a snapshot of the youth, he
finally left. :

Returning to the base of operations,
the Davis undertaking home, Gross was
in time to receive a telephone call from
one of the troopers who had gone to see
the cross-eyed girls. The report was
terse; the girl didn’t even know Betty
Mowry,

Half an hour later the other state
trooper turned in an equally discourag-
ing finding. The second girl was only
slightly acquainted with Betty and had
never gone out with her.

WHILE he felt the dashing of these
leads keenly, Chief Gross still was
sure he possessed a worth while avenue
of exploration. He now prepared to press

. the search for the young fellow, believing

that he and the Mowry girl’s disappear-
ances were definitely linked together. He
gave the youth’s description to the state
troopers and showed them his snapshot.
Copies were to be made for statewide
distribution.

There wasn’t much more the state of-

ficers could accomplish for the moment,.

in Conemaugh, so they started back to
their station in Ebensburg, there to aid
in spreading the word concerning the
missing high school youth. For the nonce,

then, Chief Gross was left to his own-

devices. He sat back in the undertaker’s
office, and with McLavish discussed
every facet of the perplexing case. —
Everything, they decided, appeared to
hinge on the finding of the young fellow,
of course, if Betty Mowry wasn’t located
first. Almost immediately the corollary
question occurred to Gross. Suppose he

had nothing to do with the girl’s disap- —

pearance? What then? The troopers
had gone little more than an hour ago
when the detectives’ conference was in-

terrupted. A state patrolman was call- -

ing the chief.

On the phone, Gross heard the trooper
say that the youth had been picked up
in a car heading toward Conemaugh with
two other fellows. He'd bring the trio
to Gross shortly.

Twenty minutes later the detective
chief was listening to a tall dark youth,
a somewhat bleary-eyed and worn young

ie rey ee ee

Pi


i

Starchok’s trousers be sent to the county
chemist at Johnstown for analysis of the
suspicious stain.

The following morning Gross, Mc-
Lavish and a miner of the town whom
they knew could be trusted implicitly,
arrived at the Starchok home. Enter-
ing the cellar, Gross surveyed the dank,
dim interior, mentally asking. himself
where the most likely place to conceal
a body would be. Finally he pointed to
a pile of ashes in a remote corner, asking
the miner to assist him and his subordi-
nate in digging into it.

They dug slowly, in silence for a while,
until the miner called Gross’ attention to
a moist, blackish patch imbedded in the
gray ash. The trio now dug with re-
newed zeal. At the bottom of the ash
heap, minutes later, they had found noth-
ing more,

Though they scrutinized every inch of
the earthen floored cellar, they could find
no indication of recent disturbance. Gross
now placed the black mass discovered in
the ashes in a corrugated carton and in-
structed the miner to take it to the under-
taking parlors. He told the miner to tell
whoever was there to have it sent to the
county chemist’s immediately.

As Mrs. Starchok had left the house
earlier, Gross and his aide now: were
free to continue their search through the
remainder of the place. They sounded

, walls and floors in the hope that they

might stumble on the hiding place of the
body, and they were now sure the girl
lad been murdered. By the time the
miner returned they had gotten to the
attic.

and McLavish played

Gross their

flashlights over the soft dust film which .

lay over every surface. Judging from
its undisturbed state, no one had been

@"p here for a long time. Moving slowly,

they surveyed the place thoroughly. Pres-
ently Gross’ beam of light stabbed at the
wall opposite kim. He gave an exclama-
tion as he made out what appeared to be
a hole large enough to put his head
through. The opening apparently pen-
etrated to the next house, the two dwell-
ings being identical in structure and
having a thin party wall.

Mounting the rickety steps, Gross
stopped at the attic’s portal, his scrutiny
directed at the tracks in the dust leading
to a walled-off corner. A crudely fash-
ioned door in the board partition opened
inward on creaking hinges, and the three

men found themselves in a cramped, °

musty cubby. What it had been used for
Was not apparent, but it seemed likely

/

that the small, secret room might have
been made for storage purposes.

The tracks in the dust continued right
on under the eaves. As the officers were
too large to crawl under the sloping roof,
the miner, who was considerably smaller
than either man, volunteered to continue.

Under the eaves, the miner took a flash-
light and played it about. Presently, at
Gross’ instructions, he began feeling at
the floorboards. One of them suddenly
came loose in his hand. The miner flashed
his light into the orifice beneath. His
startled exclamation told Chief Gross the
long search was over. Betty Mowry’s
body had been found at last.

An hour later, at the Davis Funeral

‘Parlor, the burlap sack in which the
pretty 17-year-old girl had been crammed '

after her murder was opened fully. The
victim had been trussed up securely. She
had been terribly beaten by some sharp
instrument. Deputy Coroner Davis de-
clared the weapon to be most probably
an ax.

Gross now decided to notify District
Attorney Weimer. The Cambria County
prosecutor, on hearing of the latest de-
velopment, hurried to Conemaugh with
his secretary, going immediately to the
undertaking parlors. In the conference
which ensued, the district attorney told
Gross that now that the body had been
found they should attempt to get a con-
fession from Starchok.

EALIZING that the 26-year-old

Starchok might be a tough one td
crack, Gross suggested that they get him
back and show him Betty Mowry’s
corpse. Possibly if he viewed his fearful
handiwork he might break.

A telephone call to the Ebensburg
Barracks resulted in the arrival of the
suspect under guard of two burly troopers
some time later. No one spoke to Star-
chok as he was ushered toward the room
where.the corpse lay upon a table. He
walked stolidly indifferent. :

The room was dark, but as Starchok
entered and approached the mortician’s
table a spotlight was turned on without
warning. It hit the table, illuminating
the sheet covered body sharply. Star-
chok flinched, hesitated, then continued
forward. Now, however, he was less

’ stoic.

Still the heavy silence persisted. Star-
chok began to shift uncomfortably, the
sweat beginning to break out on his face.
Then he began to edge backward slowly,

~

but he found strong arms holding him
from retreating. The struggle was of
short duration, for suddenly Starchok

shouted:

“Yes! I did it! I did it!” Then he
began to sob. While the district at-
torney’s secretary took down his confes-
sion, Starchok poured forth his grim
story.

“T didn’t mean it,” he said.
wanted to kiss her when I saw her with
my little, boy. I sent my wife out for
some tools I said I’d left at my mother’s,
to get her out of the way. When I started
to kiss her, Betty began to scream and
I got scared and choked her.” Starchok
then told how he’d carried Betty Mowry
to the cellar when she became uncon-
scious, tying her up with a clothes line.

When the high school girl regained
consciousness and again screamed, Star-
chok said he got frantic and had just
“reached out” to grab something to hit
her with. It was an ax....
he stuffed the body into the burlap bag
and buried it in the ashes. Early Mon-
day morning, while his wife and child
were asleep upstairs, Starchok said he
had unearthed the corpse and carried it
into the house next door and up to the
final hiding place in the attic. That was
when he had apparently gotten the blood-
stains on his trouser leg.

Clinching the case against Starchok,
the next day a bloodstained ax was found
in the confessed killer's home, and some
clothes line in the house was identified
as the same as that which had been used
to bind the pretty victim. From Johns-
town, too, came word that the stain on
Starchok’s trousers was human blood, as
was the mass found in the ash heap.

Further investigation of Harry Star-
chok showed that he had served several
terms in county and state prisons in his
young life. On May 10, 1931, he was
placed on trial charged with first degree
murder in the Oyer and Terminer Court
of Cambria County. District Attorney
Weimer handled the case against Star-
chok, and after four days the jury re-
ceived the case.

That body of men deliberated briefly,
then returned a verdict of. guilty. Star-

chok, who had regained his stolid atti- .

tude, maintained it throughout the court
proceedings. It never left him again,
even when he walked to the electric chair,
to pay the penalty for his terrible crime.

(The name Dominick Lenti is not real, and is
used here to protect a person figuring innocently in
the investigation.--The Editor.)

DOOM OF THE
TEXAS TAXI BANDIT

[Continued from page 11]

stationed, or that he would be picked up
by some of the radio patrolmen who had
been ordered to cruise in the vicinity of
Temple Street. But as the night passed,
so waned our hopes. The Phantom, as
usual, seemed to have disappeared.

We did get a half a dozen or so suspects.
Five men were picked up in the joints by
the men spotted there, and one fellow
wearing a blue suit and a gray hat was
picked up in the 800 block of Temple
Street by a prowl car officer about an

72

hour after the bus driver had been robbed.

Lonnie Beard and Quintana looked
carefully at each of the suspects as they
were brought in ta my office.

“That wasn't the guy who held us up,”
they stated positively on each occasion.

We checked their prints against those
of the Phantom, nevertheless. Finding
they didn’t match, we let them all go.

We were a pretty disappointed bunch
at headquarters the next day. Amacker,
Littlepage and I sat around the office
talking, trying to figure out our next
move. Amacker finally made a sugges-

“tion.

“This is the best idea I can think of,”
he said. “The guy who heisted that bus
driver that night has got a lot of small
change this morning. He’ll want to get
rid of it because it’s too heavy to carry
around.

‘“Let’s get about a half dozen more
officers, and we'll all go out in that neigh-
borhood around Temple Street. Let’s go
into every business establishment within
a radius of eight or ten blocks of there
and see if anyone had paid for stuff with
a lot of silver, or gotten it changed for
bills today. What do you fellows think?”
ap. guess it’s worth trying, Ed,” I told

im.

We decided to wait until afternoon to
Start so as to give the man time to try to
dispose of his small change, if that was
what he was going to do with it.

Littlepage and Amacker worked to-
gether. I worked alone. In addition to
us there were five other detectives and
Jim Craven, a special officer of the Public
Service Company, an old friend of mine
and a swell fellow, working out in that
area.

“IT just .

Afterward.

Fae ee ie ce

we Pia edi?

32 COMMONWEALTH v. THOMPSON, Appellant.
Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa.
selected and sworn, a different situation arises. The
substitution was not reversible error. ee
As an incidental question, appellant also se :
the action of the court below on an sep Sed remar 2
one of the jurors showing prejudice. Witnesses nbghioa’
amined by the trial judge, and his findings on t *: q at
tion will be sustained here unless there is an a a :
discretion. The judge found the juror peg ee si -
charged, “You niggers keep quiet,” but that he each
mark to his fellow jurors in going out of ~ aan pie
“Keep quiet.” The judge likewise found tha “e p maf
dice existed in the mind of the juror. This “ m ~
readily do from the juror’s ee oo ie wees 8
esti - by his words in denial. zs
ant kane bape by evidence will not be eshte
We reiterate what we said in Hostetler . Kntse ley, eS
Pa. 248, 253-255, that the impartiality eae fet aoc
the jury is the very foundation of our 2 eae ee @
istering justice. Jurors must so act as not oa - $i a
historically proven method of settling disputes betw %
an individual and the State, as well as those ee
dividuals. A remark of the kind here alleged, un¢ a ra
circumstances testified to, unless areatiien ha —
plained, would evince a bias and prejudice oi —
viction. Unexplained and unqualified, it woul pee ced
disrespect, contempt and lack of regard for appellé ashe
race as to render him not only an intolerant person,
incompetent juror.
We ‘ia spieted the record and it contains 3 se
ingredients of murder in ae first degree. Appellan
sel does not question this.
een is affirmed and the record is —
for the purpose of carrying the sentence into effect.

COMMONWEALTH v, STRANTZ, Appellant.

33, (1987).] Syllabus—Statement of Facts.

Commonwealth »v. Strantz, Appellant.

Criminal law—Parties—Principals—A iding and abetting in com-
mission of crime—Active partner in intent—Criminal conspiracy
— Acts in furtherance of common design — Evidence — Proof of
other crimes — Practice — Trial—Defendant wounded—Successive
trials—Charge.

1. One who aids and abets in the commission of a crime is
guilty as a principal. [40]

2. A person aids and abets in the commission of any crime if
he is an active partner in the intent which is the crime’s basic
element. [40]

3. Where two or more persons conspire or combine with one
another to commit any unlawful act, each is criminally responsible
for the acts of his associate or confederate committed in further-
ance of the common design. [40]

4. Concert of design does not necessarily involve participation
in every detail of execution. [42]

5. A criminal conspiracy may be established by proof of the cir-
cumstances attending its activities. [43]

6. Evidence of other crimes, committed before or after the spe-
cific crime charged, is competent to prove the crime charged when
it tends to establish a common scheme or plan embracing the com-
mission of two or more crimes go related to each other that proof
of one tends to establish the others. [43-4]

7. On appeal from conviction and sentence upon an indictment
charging defendant with malicious killing, it was held not to have
been error, under the circumstances of the case, to compel defend-
ant to go to trial in a wheel chair suffering from a wound in his
heel, sustained while resisting arrest. [44-5]

8. It was not reversible error to compel defendant, under the
circumstances of the case, to go to trial on a murder charge, im-
mediately after trial before three separate juries for other
committed_on the same night. [45]

9. A statement in the charge of the trial judge that if defendant
had a fully formed intention to kill, whether he killed deceased or
another, or aided and abetted in killing deceased, he was guilty,

was not, under the facts of the case, misleading and prejudicial to
defendant. [45-6]

crimes

Argued September 27, 1937. Before Kernart, C. J.,
SCHAFFER, MAXEY, Drew, LINN and STERN, JJ.
VoL. CCCXXvIII—3

Lead Es

1-2. (pueqze

gt é6I-

re

—

JON) EpUeaTAsuuey peqnooszoeTe *z0qTeM *ZLNVULS

qu

ERENT Te a eer ay


STEWART, Benjamin, black, hanged at Harrisburg, Pa., on 2lj-182)),

"Harrisburg, Sept. 12 - SHOCKING MURDER = A negro man,by the name of Benjamin Stewart,
was committed to the jail of this county on Sunday last, on suspicion of having
murdered a Mrs, Oberholzer of Swatara township, on the night of the 6th inst, An
inquest was held on the body by John Downy, Esq.e, and the facts given in evidence are
truly shocking to humanity. Mrs, Oberholzer was in the 70th year of her ages a
little girl who was sleeping in the room with her, heard a noise between 9 and 10
o'clock, and inquired what was the matter, Some person answered from the old lady's
bed, 'If you don't hold your tongue, I'1l come to you next.! The little cirl then
made her escape and alarmed the neighbours, Mr. Zimmerman, who lived at the distance
of a hundred yards, proceeded to the place with a candle, and finding a window
hoisted, held in the light and asked who was there, when a negro rose from the bed,
and wwore, if he would not let him pass he would shoot him dead, Zimmerman then
returned to his house, procured another candle, and being joined by some others,

went back, and found the negro gone,

"On examining the old lady&s bed, she was found lying on her back, with evident marks
of strangulation on her neck, It is painful to add that circumstances connected
with the transaction, leave no doubt but a rape was committed in the first instance,
before the tragical deed was consummated,

"The negro lodged in prison, is identified by Mr. Zimmerman, but we forbear inter-
fering between the accused and the laws of the country." AMERICAN AND COMMERICAL
DAILY ADVERTISER, Baltimore, Mde, 9-19-1823 (1:6.)


; nia Elk!

| sions, “but! without reaching a

Harry F Sinclair and the Califor- ¢-
Hills _ Teserye to B L.

ae ; Doheny, | aR SS Sols qe ae

re

noe

ft : ee

oe
Bel when it is nae

uc Thoreday, is
( within} thtea weeks. at
‘4 possibly in*-two, pe f
whe Ways| and
-and; Repres¢nta-
ranking. mo-!
shops iat eral

income’ rates, the
‘on the measure
ee the program ‘of the
“> /erithe: foodr Soelseas on
Bes ie nounea,
( = twas es a
=< the House bya. deci-
2 publican Steéring Com.
ies to qwithhold all other
wo tl

om’ the calenda,: during
fon,* with! the possible
appropriaticn-pilts tt-te-
» ered in its disposition.
man Gr “sand : Mr.
_gsed he pgtion that
Mi : sicdntest dis-
jasideration |. of the re-
te Wit could be completed
entae ‘which

ecm pyr THe Gastron Trubs. 3

, i mnounced tonight that’ he:

showed

f| tor. tus ipprt sn the lead :
ae ( bat m.) of) Mon- |

ithe (soldiers’. B is

reels, it was revealed yesterday |

3 {tuted the new. plan of taking By
=} |prisoners to ‘church. They. |say

___9¥EON, Feb. 32.—William]
Ee ito. the icaders of bis} )

“Membe of ‘all senatorial rats’
,|dtspo: ition today to treat as

; cident the ‘refusal of Presi-

ji dent Coo dge to entertain t e Senate's | ,
|| request | t hedemand “i mediately” :
Fy penny. 43

tion “of Secret

ary
ae as
h }

irsday he
 Tysol mn ‘Dropost
ga of all ‘of the

jog a 1 in’
offictal | “ ef|| Attorney . General
; | Daugherty. and of ‘all branches ‘of the
Departmpnt of | Justice under the
‘stewardship of. r., Daugherty.’
So | Creel Ia "On: Stand, - alt
~ Georg Creel, “former chairman x)
the committee o public information, |.

told. the] oil co ttee’ he had been
by heny as |

on Page Feo Feor, Por ial Three.

"| PRISONERS FORCED.

1 10 ATTEND CHURCH

Town "Adopts New Plan 0 Re.
: form ue Int Its

(séeeni Prmreos x To Tuer Gazerte “Tiere

JEANNET RB: PA., Feb. [12 .+-Eight |
Prisoners in| the jail at Irwin were
escorted thder. police guard’ to the
Methodist piscopal Church there
where’ they. were forced to attend the
éntire service Sunday night after
which they were taken back to their
ta
néaring before, Justice of the Peace
Jj E. Irwin who held three,of them
fdr court on. charges of violatin the
Shyder act. They are Charles Aid in,

{Charles Dedyn and John Jerkin,}

Huntington township and Constable
Russe!l Brown of North Irwin insti-
eidpy

e
[ela

{Constable W, F, McNully df } sane

idea ' ‘will be carried out BEG Su
hereafter, ste

- wep Ss fa | Se rag
_ SINKS quiT KL a

t. “ATLA NTA,”

'GA, Feb;! biter a SE
4 iofficial’ announcemént was madé
he ot

im ertaly pal

decision.
| witnesses at public sessions in effor
“| cumstances ‘surrounding ‘the Heabing ot the

“publicity

3 hes i th heats atx
to; ‘obtain more light on/|the Kote
aqennet| Dees | Te enve, to to

.
© '
a figs q
8+ $ j
va: We ree
oP x mF wi
%, F a |:

' Betyw

—

, Woun¢ed White Eee
| Near Yntontown. |

EIGHT?

ei fl: Ne ama

eg os aaa

| tSrecut TrLeGaam To “item. Gaserre Times.]
, UNIONTOWN,, PA,, ‘Feb, 12. A
deputy constable was, shot and. ‘Killed
and hree other '! persons" swere
wounded, one a state tropper from.

o'clock tonight ina pitched revolver
battle which - started as) 1a | raiding
party entered a home at Contirféntal

0. 3 of jthe H. C, Frick Coke Com-

ae fan, six miles south jof here. Eight

Negroes were arrested dn, connection
with ithe | shooting. | -
- THE DEAD. iE 3
aepads Constable Robert Ww Mason,
_ aged 3b. of New Salem./ Ga
,Norman | D. Macbean, aga : 35, or
E ‘Philadelphia, a state trooper” trom
-the Greensburg barracks; conai-
- tion. ge in Uniontown | “Hos-
pital. ne sige Secs ee

Pat Sep

“the ot cc iArick, Cake

Jumes | ‘Merchant,’ Peed 33,
“or Continental No. | 3.) “td | ;|

The raiding party, composed of
county detectives, state ‘police. from
Greensburg, officers of pak c LO com-

“| ae area =

‘Gontinoed on ech Two, Column 7 bh

Wants Trucks Taxe On
B; sis of.

vompany.

thee

+ “

erie TRG, Feb, ‘12.-

ae

An tha gr

tomorrc
ods to:
Easterr
pécond

; ‘Ther
Wester: |
tors an

who ky

‘dangerc

fhumane
| Smith ¢
said on

the: Greensburg barracks, at 10:20 4 ©

Harry “Cain, aged "55, of |

a “Negro,

Tonnage Hauled , 1Us

c (Spectaly fs

Ht Rumc

that. co
tent! ar

Départn
Jeés oth
un foresc
likely u

wfli be
Deir f
f er.
Jdnes. z

wo 0
péar toc

—A suggest on that the sta e: ‘Tequire (| LANES


[es York-San -fi pain airplane mat

e a | P.)Sister Mary Joseph

mys roadie Tetgh on a which“ r
= y\ | xgural om in the toni
m | [Kings, the royal mummy_{si <
{| yas beng sragess for py :

+} Contrary to tations wreat 8

were’ found, barring’ @ pathetic Little!
chapelet; of discolored and

withe
Rowers, chcircling the rely

a ee in front of the:
. House Drops

ee (St
‘Céatiaced. trem 1 Dirst, Fase.

the elimination of a cection: aNotting
$1,590,000 for maintenance of the ney

cae

seryjce. This.
cut on a ie of rot onaes b

sentative Gramiton ( er
. fgan, who contended t

3

‘enrowa
t Repre-
"Mich: }
ice

-| Was: githout power to grant ‘such
{funds in an appropriation bill.) 3 4,
-4TRe point raised by Mr. Cramton
cut short an effort led by|| Rep

{sentative ‘Lagaradia | (Rep. of, N

Yori: and Clancy (Dem.) of: ichigan
to imerease the appropriation ‘for atr-.
[plane mail to ‘$3,000,000. During de-
bate Mr. Clancy: charged that the
! ‘were seeking to have the
priation knocked out altog ether,

| \ Postal Bureau Gets Most,
eG the total carried in the bill 610,
Red 900,d00 is for the Postoffice epart-|

us | ment and $129,000,000 for the T: Ai
a Tncinged in the Treasury allpttment
aijis $10,629,770 for prohibition ‘afdr

ment, $10,632,000 fot the coas ‘gu
and: ~ $13,874,000 for the x st
Bervice, Medote = iE {
' Disposal of the bin,

“late this season, cleared’ the ‘way for.

uaguthorized : by law’ atid the be wae '

the ‘min
hour before tho shooting occured.

suspicious: _ per

"thre ret second ft
4 supply, measure to be sent to the Sen-. ate

soe pecee

OY, ...6. 3
(SOP. 564 aS

eaters on, 44

ult
“f
at

tween both ‘sites. Ap which any sb
were éxchan ed ti! a extant

tol the Union wn ‘Hospital,

Boon | afterward, Mafbean
removed to the hospital a
began soperat ng} ‘{mmediately in
{effort to gave bis Jife. Hd was sg]
through ‘the
emers

A jballet pi
and Merchan
leg jas he |
the shooting begs in.

' According
home h ase

|e! veeks|

ced ‘Cain’s right

“because of. alleged

ratding Party. met in:
enieatee | about half:

) Those brrestdd following the sh

ing Wére| lodged isin |the Untonto

Police Bt ition on: L charges of being

ng, \Authorities be-

them at once ce
ootng. 6

| Constable Mason} was‘a son of A

Hose. consideration. of the tax bjil,.
which will. be taken up Thursday.
Tomorrow will be cevoted to the con.
sideration of miscellaneous measures.

Pe
Qs of. ‘ete D ce
TEELING, W. / VA., Feb. ary
Kain, ‘a sister,
e late Archbishop J.) J. Kain, of

| loft

_ | 8t Louls, former ‘bishop of Wheeling,
- Jone of the oldest merpderstor the Wheel-
‘ling community of Sisterd-of St Jo-

*. { erpn’s. died toda

gt the! Bt. Jojeph’a

oy: sity

Bris

4 bbe 2}

Fdaughte
She. served’

derman | we eee | Sr.

Feb, 12.+-(Spe-
Naacy. i Forsythe» Kuhn
Yhember. of one of the oldest
billed, in pAlisetchy, county and 2p
Wilkinsburg, © ‘died -!

hight | Ebehsbure. . Mrs. *Kuhh

abobt 21'years |
€ of ci

BO. She was a grand,
pt. ‘Peter Perchm

ithe oe

wh

with ‘distinction during
ara War ang who w
=

iy the é smoke of he. battle
, Mas ni Was oun mortally!
-on the floor,’ eiwas taken

right chest, ithe bullet,
4 fore ithe right shoulder. j

was shot in the: left
| | downstairs wh n

~ var

ed from Pittsburgh ‘to Ebensburg

ei

tl Gardnet
iiwere hr

‘iptried wi
[Egan a

ny and on, ad gono 0 a home,

id) to be pce pied by a mele. fam ly,
ite Investiga alleged gambling.
ae Open. Firg. On Polige.

As one ‘pf the falders, armed with
& search 3 t
door of t oun, a volley rang aut.
j There | fol d &) revolver duel be-.

ap! (George
ifwas nan

yj the pen

;

announ:
death ‘¢
John <A
oversee:
tentiary
mornin;
The |
the dot
Ha, Me
likoski,
althoug’
have tk
jail. r

a chart

‘sides ti
number’
charges
A rej
was fea
policg z:

sounded
penitent
started
bish jin
yard. =
| that | tb
but* the

unboatown police, the 1 is
under surveillance for} —

of appa:
fer priv
the sam
oughs a:
~The pr:
car ser\
‘originall:
view of
'Bervice (
ithis -pla
‘Board 0°
‘and téo!l
jatble acti
(LA trar
tng of A

Railway:
dimeuiti


38 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.

Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa.
State policeman Edwards told of the endeavor made a
few hours later to apprehend Yurcavage and Strantz in
a house in Mount Carmel Township. He commanded
both men to come out, saying that the house had been
surrounded by police. He testified: “They didn’t come
out but continued to shoot. One shot came through the
wall and hit me on the hat. After fighting for some-
time I called and asked if they would give up and some-
one said, ‘Yes.’ I stepped out in the middle of the room
and a shot came through the door.” The officer then
threw a gas bomb. He said further: “After the gas had
been thrown in we proceeded to the kitchen and shot
through the ceiling and shot Strantz. After hearing
groans we proceeded to the second floor and waited for
someone to come out. We waited for the gas to clear up
and then on calling and asking if they would give up,
someone said, ‘Yes.’?. . . We kicked the door open and
ordered Strantz to slide out, which he did.” The offi-
cers then entered the room and found Yurcavage
“slumped over the bed. He had been shot through the
head. We found a gun laying at his finger tips.” The

gun contained three empty and two loaded shells.

The Chief of Police of Mount Carmel testified that he
got a young fellow to search the pockets of Strantz after
he was arrested and he pulled out nine 38 caliber bul-
lets from his vest pocket. He also testified that about
9:30 a.m., several hours after Strantz was arrested,
he found in the house where Strantz and Yureavage had
barricaded themselves, a 38 caliber gun. This was of-
fered in evidence. The revolver contained four 38 cali-
ber bullets.

To furnish the jury with data which they might use
in deliberating as to the appropriate penalty should
they adjudge Strantz guilty of murder in the first de-
gree, the court permitted the introduction of certain
records from the office of the Clerk of the Courts of
Northumberland County, which showed that in 1925
Strantz had pleaded guilty to a charge of assault and

COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant. 39
83, (1937).] Opinion of the Court.

battery and making threats, for which he was fined $50
and sentenced to undergo imprisonment for three
months, and that in 1932 he pleaded guilty to a charge
of aggravated assault and battery with intent to iin
pr this he was sentenced to a fine of $200 and to cedees
§0 Imprisonment for not more than three years and not
less than one and a half years. The record showed fur-
ther that in 1935, Strantz and Yurcavage both pleaded
guilty to a charge of burglary and were sentenced to
pay the costs and to undergo imprisonment for not more
than four years and not less than two years; that at the
Same sessions they both pleaded guilty to « charge of
burglary and were sentenced to imprisonment for not
more than four years and not less than two years, sen-
tence of imprisonment to run concurrently with the pre-
vious sentence; that in 1937 appellant was sentenced
for aggravated assault and battery with intent to kill:
that in the same year he was sentenced for the theft of
an automobile and for assault and battery with intent to
kill, and sentenced also for carrying concealed weapons
and a little later for pointing firearms and Shou bi
same time for aggravated assault and battery.

In support of this appeal from a conviction of murder
and the death penalty, there are twenty-seven assign-
ments of error but the basis of the appeal is set soviet
aupenent’s statement of questions involved, to wit:

May first degree murder conviction be sustained, where
defendant was present when victim was killed 7s an-
other, the defendant doing no overt act, saying no word
giving no sign of aid or encouragement in connection
therewith, and without prearrangement, although de-
fendant committed other crimes, in company with as-
Sailant, on same night, before and after the killing?”

In its essence the charge against the appellant was
that he and Yurcavage entered into a conspiracy to rob
and murder and that, in furtherance of that conspirac
they, acting in concert, murdered the victim named in
the indictment. In his charge to the jury, the trial judge


34 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.
Statement of Facts—Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa.
Appeal, No. 325, Jan. T., 1937, from judgment of O.

and T., Northumberland Co., May T., 1937, No. 5, in

case of Commonwealth v. Walter Strantz. Judgment

affirmed.

Indictment charging defendant with malicious kill-

ing. Before MorGanrotH, DP. J.
The opinion of the Supreme Court states the facts.

Verdict of guilty of murder in first degree, with pen-

alty of death and judgment and sentence thereon. De-

fendant appealed.

Errors assigned, among others, were various rulings

on evidence.

J. Mettler Pensyl and Russell S. Machmer, for ap-
pellant.

Robert M. Fortney, District Attorney, for appellee.

OPINION BY Mr. Justice MAxry, November 12, 1937:
This is an appeal from the sentence of death imposed
upon the defendant, Walter Strantz, after he was con-
victed of murder in the first degree upon an indictment
charging him with the malicious killing of Earl E. Rowe.
At 4 p.m. on April 9, 1937, the appellant, in com-
pany with one Joe Yurcavage, bought a box of 38 caliber
bullets in Mount Carmel and gave some of them to Yur-
cavage. Later in the afternoon they went to the home
in Shamokin where Yurcavage’s estranged wife was em-
ployed, and there at 7 p.m. Yurcavage shot and fatally
wounded her. The shooting was without any provoca-
tion. Mrs. Yureavage in her ante-mortem statement,
declared that just before she was shot by her husband,
Strantz said to him: “Do not bother her, you have a
good wife.” However, after this shooting the appellant
remained in Yureavage’s company, and for several hours
thereafter, as hereinafter recorded, they engaged in a

COMMONWEALTH y. STRANTZ, Appellant. 35
» (1937).] Opinion of the Court.
oe campaign of robbery, murder, attempted murde
1d general deviltry. At the ‘
a4 ltry. close of their evening’
aoe enterprise there were the following saditeses
1¢ already ample chapters of thei i
. bs ‘ leir crimin "S:
rs oO hea including Mrs. Yurcavage, had sn
Jk iat Be :
sate ; two others had been shot in the abdomen: ne
ee Be aes revolvers either pressed to ‘heir
*S or pointed at them within i
re a distance of on
en ; — ne men had been robbed; several ase
*n shot at; State Police and
heck Sees fa and other officers had
‘ ‘one of the Stat i
been shot through the hat a, ee
Aft
eon wf the murder of Mrs, Yurcavage, their chronicle
ss és Sis as follows : They got into a taxicab and di-
ne a driver to ‘take them to Mount Carmel, En
A urcavage demanded that Sands, the taxi dtiver
see le car over tohim. Upon Sands’s refusal to do 30,
ne erage pointed a revolver at him and made hi
we — Peas the driver’s seat. Yureavage told i
0 keep the driver covered and '
Yureava
of Po car to enter the driver’s seat from he ice
» Appellant held Sands by hi
é é Y his overcoat colla
ahY caine at him, but Sands slipped out of er oe
Oled out to the road. Ty
ee: ad. vo shots were fired fro
: a com and it then started away in the direction o
= a About 8:30 p. m. this ear collided with the
ae e by one McElwee, which was parked on the
at aps When the car was stopped, Yurcavage and
, ba ant started to walk away. McElwee followed and
4 at dee turned and pointed a gun at him
eesti 5 Stop or I will kill you,” and appellant said
mtd Lim have it.” Appellant also “put a gun on” Me.
ek ¢ and said, “Let’s give it to him.” No further vio-
Rta oeticapen to McElwee. The two men then pro-
hapis - rae Mount Carmel. Officer Tassyn, who was
“ for these men i :
ce » testified that “both men pulled


36 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.

Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa.

At 9 p.m. both men entered the hotel of Londo Ave-
lino in Kulpmont. Yurcavage ordered beer and each
man drank two glasses of this beverage. Yurcavage
also secured a sandwich which he divided with appel-
lant. Yureavage asked Avelino to take him and the ap-
pellant to Mount Carmel. When Avelino refused, Yur-
cavage said: If you don’t take us, “I’m going to have it
in for you.” Avelino then made a request in the Italian
language to his wife to go upstairs and get his gun,
while he went out to the garage to get his car. When
he was out, Mrs. Avelino heard Strantz say to Yur-
cavage: “We will knock him off on our way down.”
Both Ayelino and his wife went to Mount Carmel in
Avelino’s car with Strantz and Yurcavage. Mrs. Ave-
lino sat half turned around in the front seat so that
she could observe the two passengers and she had her
hand on her gun (apparently concealed). Strantz kept
his hand in his pocket during the journey. A little
later the two unwelcome guests left the car after they
had found that “Hughesy is closed.”

About 10:15 p.m. both men entered the hotel of
Earl E. Rowe. They ordered beer and both were served
by Rowe and given change. About a minute later, with-
out saying anything, Yurecavage shot Rowe. The latter
staggered into the parlor and said to his wife: “They
got me.” He then became unconscious and died shortly
afterwards. After shooting Rowe, Yurcavage, covering
the bystanders with his gun, retreated out of the room.
Strantz also left the place immediately.

About 10:30 p.m. Yureavage entered the kitchen of
the home of Peter Profit, a man with one leg, in Mount
Carmel, and shot him in the stomach. Just before he
shot him he said: “I am going to give it to you.” Tle
then shot Peter’s son Walter in the stomach. These
wounds caused grievous and dangerous injuries.

Strantz was not in the Profit home but he and Yur-
cavage were seen together three or four minutes after

COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant. 37
33, (1937).] Opinion of the Court.

h é eS : ,
meng a walking in a direction away from the
‘Between 10:45 and 11 p.m. both appellant and Yur-
Suyeee walked into Bach’s hotel. Appellant asked:
How are things going?” and Bach answered: “Not so
hot.” Then appellant pulled the gun from his right-
hand pocket and said, “This is a stick up; I am not
kidding you either.” Yurcavage then held up another
person who was present. Strantz went behind the bar
and Yureavage held a gun against Bach and told ne
it was money they wanted. Bach gave him all the mone
a his pocketbook, which was $32. At the same Hing
Strantz was with his gun covering the bartender at the
cash register. After Bach gave Yurcavage all the mone
he had, Yurcavage said: “Where are the slot sale inen
Bach replied, “There are no slot machines in the shack
there is a nickel victorola.” Yureavage then started to
rifle the cash container of the victorola. Meantime
Strantz kept both Bach and the bartender covered with
a gun, Bach said: “There was one shot fired in the
pel ail I couldn’t learn which one of the two men
ot ce ager came into the hotel first, followed by
: AboRt 11 p.m. these two men entered the barroom of
Valter Pincoskie. Yurcavage ordered “two beers,”
Pincoskie filled one glass and as he reached for punkeee
Blass, Strantz came behind the bar with a gun and said
Stand there,” and “Open the cash register.” He ein:
manded a second time that the cash register be opened
He pointed a gun at Pincoskie who was only two and
one-half feet away from him. Pincoskie opened the reg-
ister and Strantz took out all the money there was there
Susanthig to three or four dollars. Strantz ‘aid.
Where are your bills?” and Pincoskie replied: “T don’t
have any bills.” Strantz then said, “Get around,” and
then Pincoskie pulled out a pocketbook of bills and

gave Strantzg “pretty near $200.” B
wl, oth
the place together, men then left


40 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.

Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa.
did not present the issue with this explicitness but that
was the charge’s tenor and-purport. The trial judge
correctly said: “Where two join in the commission of an
unjustified assault, which results fatally, both are guilty
regardless of which one inflicts the mortal wound.”
Also, “Where two combine to commit a felony or make
an assault, and in carrying out the common purpose
another is killed, the one who enters into the combina-
tion but does not personally commit the wrongful act
is equally responsible for the homicide with the one who
deliberately and directly causes it. Was Strantz acting
in concert with Yurcavage?”

If one aids and abets in the commission of a crime, he
is guilty as a principal. One is an aider and abettor in
the commission of any crime, i.e., he has “joined in its
commission,” if he was an active partner in the intent
which was the erime’s basie element. Chief Justice

yiRson in Rogers v. Hall, 4 Watts 359, said: “The least

degree of concert or collusion between parties to an ille-
gal transaction makes the act of one the act of all.” No
principle of law is more firmly established than that
when two or more persons conspire or combine with one
another to commit any unlawful act, each is criminally
responsible for the acts of his associate or confederate
committed in furtherance of the common design. In
contemplation of law the act of one is the act of all. See
Collins v. Com., 3 8. & R. 220; Com. v. Brown, 58 Pa.
Super. Ct. 300; and Com. v. Snyder, 40 Pa. Super.
Ct. 485.

That Yureavage and this appellant on’ the afternoon
of April 9, 1987, became partners in a criminal purpose
and that this purpose was robbery and murder and that
the murder of Rowe was an incident in the carrying out
of that conspiracy is so clear from the Commonwealth’s
proof as to exclude to a moral certainty every hypothesis
but that of appellant’s guilt of the imputed offense. It
was the appellant who at 4 p.m. bought the bullets with
which two lives were a few hours later deliberately

COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant. 41
33, (1937).] Opinion of the Court.
blotted out. He was present at the murder of Mrs. Yur-
cavage, and while just before it he uttered some words
which, if uttered with sincerity, could be construed as
expressive of momentary compassion, he did not then
and there abandon the company of the murderer but re-
mained with him, aiding and abetting and coéperating
sees him in the commission of other grave felonies. At
9 p.m. he and Yureavage, with loaded and pointed pis-
tols, commandeered and stole an automobile and he
made a sinister threat against its owner. At 10: 15 he
was with Yureavage when the latter killed Rowe. It is
an irresistible inference that these two men went into
Rowe’s place of business to commit a robbery, similar
to the other robberies committed on the aed: evening
and in similar places, and that both fled with this pri-
mary purpose unaccomplished after they, in their ex-
cess of felonious zeal, had committed murder. Twenty
minutes later, Strantz was in Yurcavage’s company as
both fled from the direction of a dwelling house where
Yureavage had just shot two inoffensive citizens in the
abdomen. Within thirty minutes thereafter, both
Strantz and Yurcavage were with loaded revolvers one
of which was discharged, holding up three men in one
hotel, and robbing two of them of their money, and were
holding up and robbing a fourth man in another hotel
these three robberies yielding the felons at least fee
hundred and thirty-five dollars.

If this evidence does not conclusively prove a criminal
conspiracy between Yurcavage and Strantz and that
Rowe fell an innocent victim of this conspiracy, then all
human evidence has lost its potency. In their paper
book appellant’s counsel ask: “Are these facts sur-
rounding the shooting of Rowe, sufficient to sustain the
conviction on the theory that the defendant aided, abet-
ted and assisted Yurcavage in the commission of the
crime?” and then they say: “The authorities in the
State of Pennsylvania are of very little help in deter-

ay

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42 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.

Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa.
mining this question. No case has been found in Penn-
sylvania where the facts are similar.”

The principles of law and logic here controlling are
so clear that the Commonwealth’s case needs no strength-
ening from factual precedents. However, if any are
needed, the case of Campbell v. Commonwealth, 84 Pa.
187 (one of the “Molly Maguire” cases), may be cited.
In that case it was conceded that the defendant charged
with the murder of one John P. Jones was not present
when the murder was committed, but this Court never-
theless held that the defendant was equally amenable to
the charge of murder “whether he was present and ac-
tively participating in the commission of it, or was only
present, encouraging and sustaining those who did com-
mit it, or whether, being absent himself, he procured
others to do the deed.” See also Hester v. Com., 85 Pa.
139, at p. 156, where it was held that certain evidence
was properly admissible where “its purpose was to ex-
plain the relations existing between the conspirators,
the reason, motive and opportunity for their combined
action, and the nature of the tie that bound them to-
gether [italics supplied ].”*

Appellant’s conviction is equally sustainable on the
theory that Rowe was killed by Yureavage while the
latter and Strantz were engaged in the attempt to per-
petrate a robbery of Rowe’s place of business and on the
theory that both of them planned to commit together
robbery and murder on the evening in question and that
Rowe was done to death by an act which was a part of
the concert of felonious action resulting from that plan.
Concert of design does not necessarily involve participa-
tion in every detail of execution. (See Com. v. Mur-

* One of the men, Lewis Payne, hanged for the murder of Abra-
ham Lincoln was adjudged by inference guilty of that murder as a
co-conspirator with Booth, largely because on the same evening
President Lincoln was shot, he, Payne, a close associate of Booth’s,
made a murderous assault on Secretary of State Seward at the

latter’s residence,

COMMONWEALTH vy. STRANTZ, Appellant. 43
33, (1937).] Opinion of the Court.

rano, 27 é
es pei Peres 120 A. 106, and Weston v. Com., 111
In the light of the record facts, appellant’s statement

of the questions involved presents in its kernel an ex-
ample of “petitio principii” or a taking for granted that
which is to be proved. The very “other crimes” referred
ma and which the appellant committed with Yurcavage

on the same night both before and after the killing” of
Rowe constitute facts from which the jury were justified
‘= inferring that there had been that evening a criminal

pre-arrangement” between the appellant and Yurea-
vage to rob and murder, and that the killing of Rowe
was one of its evil outgrowths. To assert in the state-
ment of “questions involved” that all these two lawless
characters did was done “without pre-arrangement”
simply “begs the question.” The heart of every con-
spiracy is a common understanding, no matter how it
comes into being. An explicit or formal agreement to
commit crimes can seldom, if ever, be proved and it
need not be, for proof of a criminal partnership is al-
most invariably extracted from the circumstances that
attend its activities. In Com. v. Jermyn, 101 Pa. Super.
Ct. 455, 465, the Superior Court, speaking through
J udge GAWTHRoP, aptly said: “The joint aint of
minds required to sustain a charge of conspiracy may
be inferred from facts which establish . . . that the
conspiracy had been formed.”

Our conclusion is that the evidence produced by the

Commonwealth to prove that Rowe was killed as a re-

sult of a partnership between his actual slayer and this
appellant, to rob and murder, amply met the test of
legal sufficiency for submission to the jury. It was the
jury’s province to “weigh the evidence and adjust its
value” (Brinks v. Heise, 84 Pa. 246). This the jury did
intelligently and justly.
The other “questions involved” and pressed upon our
atventiog require little discussion. The second one is:
Was it error to admit testimony of crimes committed

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44 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.
Opinion of the Court. [828 Pa:
by defendant and assailant, and by assailant alone, prior
to the killing, not connected with the killing?” The
answer to this inquiry is found in what we have already
said. In so far as they reveal a plan to rob and murder,
as they clearly do, they were connected with the killing.
In the famous case of People v. Molineux, 168 N. Y.
264, 62 L. R. A. 198, 61 N..E. 286, the Court of Appeals
of New York, in an opinion by Judge WERNER, said:
“Generally speaking, evidence of other crimes is compe-
tent to prove the specific crime charged when it tends to
establish (1) motive; (2) intent; (3) the absence of
mistake or accident; (4) a common scheme or plan
embracing the commission of two or more crimes so re-
lated to each other that proof of one tends to establish
the others: (5) the identity of the person charged with
the commission of the crime on trial. . . . To bring a
“ase within the exception to the general rule which ex-
cludes proof of extraneous crimes, there must be evi-
dence of system between the offense on trial and the one
sought to be introduced. They must be connected as
parts of a general and composite plan or scheme, or they
must be so related to each other as to show a common
motive or intent running through both.” In a footnote
in Wharton’s Criminal Evidence, Vol. 1 (10th ed.),
page 150, that author says: “When system is once
proved, each particular part of the system may be ex-
plained by the other parts, which go to make up the
whole.” Sce also State v. Kernan, 65 Md. 253, 4 A. 124.

The third “question involved” relates to the admission
of testimony of crimes committed by defendant and as-
sailant and, by assailant alone after the killing. Such
testimony is admissible on the principles of proof al-
ready discussed by us.

The fourth “question involved” is: “Was it error to
compel defendant to go to trial in a wheel chair suffer-
ing from an infected bullet wound in his left heel?”
Our answer is, “No.” Dr. Deitrick, who was called by
the appellant to support the latter’s petition for a con-

COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant. 45
33, (1937).] Opinion of the Court.
tinuance, was asked the following questions and made
the following answers: “Q. Will he [the appellant]
continue to suffer pain, the way the wound is healing?
A. Every time he gets his foot dressed he will have pain
Q. The foot will have to be dressed for some time? -
x es sir. It might take a year, or two years, before it is
entirely all right.” When a man sought by officers, for
an alleged murder, resists arrest with a fusillade of bul-
lets and gets shot in the leg he has no constitutional or
legal right to have his trial postponed until his wound
is healed.

The fifth “question involved” is: “Was it error to
compel defendant to go to trial on the murder charge
immediately after trial before three separate juries for
crimes unconnected with the murder charged, occurring
on same night, where same evidence was introduced in
murder trial?” While not accepting as a fact the state-
ment that the “other crimes” for which the appellant
was tried were “unconnected with the murder charged,”
we pass that by as unimportant in discussing this fifth
question and our answer is “No.” When a man plans
an extensive program of crimes and elects to complete
that program in a single evening, with only brief inter-
missions between acts, he cannot with justice complain
if the Commonwealth in bringing him to trial attempts
to imitate, even though it cannot equal, his celerity. No
right of defendant was invaded by these rapidly succes:
Sive trials.

The sixth and last “question involved” is: “Did the
trial judge err in his charge?” The error complained
of is that the trial judge said that “If he [Strantz] had
a fully formed intention to kill, whether he killed Rowe
or another, or aided and abetted in killing Rowe, he
wowed be guilty.” It is argued that the phrase,

whether he killed Rowe or another’ was misleading
to the jury and prejudicial to the defendant.” We aie
not so view it. If Strantz and Yurcavage went out that
night on a joint mission of robbery and murder, and, in


46 COMMONWEALTH v. STRANTZ, Appellant.
Opinion of the Court. (828 Pa.

the pursuit of that plan, the life of Rowe was taken by
one of them, either deliberately, maliciously, and inten-
tionally, or in the attempted perpetration of a robbery,
they were both guilty of murder in the first degree.

All the assignments of error are overruled.

The judgment is affirmed. The record is remitted so
that sentence may be carried out.

Weissbach et ux. v. Price, Appellant.

Practice — New trial—A fter-discovered evidence—Discretion of

trial court.
1. For a party to take advantage of evidence alleged to be after-

discovered, it must not have become known to him until after the
verdict was rendered and it must also appear that he could not have
obtained it before or during the trial by the use of reasonable dili-
gence, and that he was not guilty of any fault or neglect in con-
nection with its nonproduction. [48]

2. The refusal to grant a new trial on the ground of after-dis-
covered evidence will be reversed on appeal only where there has
been a clear abuse of diseretion. [48]

Argued October 1, 1937. Before Scuarrer, MAXEY,
Drew, LINN, STERN and Barnes, JJ.

Appeals, Nos. 164 and 165, March T., 1937, from judg-
ments of C. P. Allegheny Co., April T., 1938, No. 1324,
in case of Emil H. Weissbach et ux. v. R. A. Price.

Judgments affirmed.

Trespass for personal injuries. Before FLEMING,
P. J., specially presiding.

The opinion of the Supreme Court states the facts.

Verdicts and judgments for husband plaintiff in sum
of $650, and for wife plaintiff in sum of $6,000. Defend-

ant appealed.

Error assigned, among others, was refusal of new trial
on ground of after-discovered evidence.

WEISSBACH et ux. v. PRICE, Appellant. 47
46, (1937).] Opinion of the Court.
Arthur M. Grossman, for appellant.

Chauncey E. Pruger, for appellees.

OPINION BY Mr. JusTICE STERN, November 12, 1937:

In the trial of this action in 1936 for damages arising
from an automobile accident in 1932, the wife plaintiff
Mrs. Weissbach, was asked upon cross-examination
whether she had had any other accident either before or
aiter the one in suit, and she replied in the negative.
For some reason, not appearing of record, a juror was
thereafter withdrawn and the case continued. When it
came up again for trial in 1937 Mrs. Weissbach was not
interrogated as to any other accident. The jury ren-
dered a verdict in favor of plaintiffs. Defendant moved
for a new trial, the chief reason assigned being the re-
ceipt of information that Mrs. Weissbach in 1935 had
fallen on the steps of a store and suffered some of the
injuries for which she claimed compensation in the
present suit. Depositions were taken from which it ap-
peared that Mrs. Weissbach did have such a fall but, ac-
cording to her version, the resulting injuries were so
trifling that she required no medical services or thera-
peutic treatment beyond the application of aleohol to an
abrasion of the shin, and on the very evening of the
occurrence she attended a motion picture theatre. She
did not make any claim, but an adjuster for the United
States Casualty Company, which insured the proprie-
tors of the store, sought her out and paid her $100 fora
release. This adjuster informed Mr. Ringold, who was
the adjuster handling the present claim for the Mary-
land Casualty Company, insurer of defendant, of the
facts of the second accident. Mr. Ringold admitted re-
celving this information prior to the first trial, at which
he sat behind the counsel for defendant furnished by
the Maryland Casualty Company and assisted him: he
does not remember whether he communicated the facts
to counsel but he did put the information in the file of

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Pa, (snyder County) on July 22, 1935,

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* mania,

hands of G-men woke recently in
when U. S.
authorities announced that they were pre-
paring to deport Mrs. Anna Sage, the
“woman in red,” credited with having put
the arch criminal on the spot.

Es fee” of Dillinger’s death at the

Chicago immigration

Dillinger was shot
down as he emerged
from a movie theater
accompanied by Mrs.
Sage and Polly Ham-
ilton, his current girl
friend, on July 22, 1934.
Mrs. Sage’s present dif-
ficulties, however, have
nothing to do with the
Dillinger case. For a
year previous to the
slaying, proceedings had
been under way against
her for operating dis-
orderly houses—a form of criminal acfivity
which will return her to her native [Rou-

Closely following the Sage d
President Roosevelt purged our pri
151 criminal aliens by signing the
deportation order in U. S. histo}
splendid piece of executive action
in addition to reaffirming the manda
immigrants must obey American
suffer the. consequences, the Pfesident
lopped off $52,000 from our yearly jail bill
with one stroke of his pen!

WHITEWASHEDI

Arthur (Dutch) Schultz, beer baron, big
shot racketeer and Public Enemy No. 1
of New York state, has again been white-
washed in federal court.

Brought ,to book a second time after his
initial trial had resulted in a hung jury,
Schultz was acquitted by an upstate jury
of the government’s charge of evading
payment of $92,000 in income taxes.

Stunned by this surprise action, Judge
Frederick Bryant denounced the jury,
stating that the verdict “shakes the con-
fidence of law-abiding people. You will
go home with the satisfaction you have

.

rendered a blow against law enforce-
ment,”

* But the surprises in the case were not
over. Soon after the verdict was reached
Schultz announced through his attorney,
“We intend to pay.”

Following upon the heels of his ac-
quittal, this promise seems unusually gen-
erous. But Schultz can afford to be
magnanimous. ‘The jury’s action, whether
induced by honest doubt, a weak federal
case or fear of gang reprisals, was un-
looked-for immunity, saving Mr. Schultz
from the term in Alcatraz which he un-
questionably deserves.

DEATH FOR $77.00

Up toa certain point, Sherman L.
Strawser, 29, of Snyder county, Pa., was
much like other young men. He had a
sweetheart, wanted to marry her, but
lacked money for a wedding dress. That
was not an unusual situation, as countless
swains would testify. But Strawser’s
method of settling his financial difficul-
ties makes his case different.

Holding up his farmer-employer, Charles
Gable, the bandit-lover obtained $77, an
amount which would have bought a reason-
ably good bridal dress. But there was no
wedding. Gable was killed in the holdup
and Strawser went to the electric chair
at Bellefonte, Pennsylvania,

Strange arid diverse motives move
men to murder but there is a grim
similarity about the penalty which
society inevitably exacts.

REVERSION TO TYPE

Taking cognizance of our growing mur-
der rate, a reader has the following com-
ments to make concerning violent crime:

Murder is merely a reversion to
type—to the days when mankind,
like other animals, made a business
of killing, millions of years ago. Edu-
cation and the dread of punishment
here and in the hereafter will tend
to lessen crime.—Louis Lisemer,
Huntington, W. Va.

iw

Readers are invited to address their letters to this
department at 529 S. 7th Street, Minneapolis, Minn.

And the greater of these two is educa-
‘tion. If parents and teachers told young-
sters in their formative years the real truth
about crime and its consequences our
police problem would be solved.

TEMPERED JUSTICE

t jurists and prosecutors should
\incident significant. Youthful first
offenders should be given every chance at
rehabilitytion, A little tempered justice
will turn\a wayward boy into a useful man.

CHRONIC KILLERS

“Just to see them
kick,” Clyde Thompson,
then 17, killed two
brothers in Eastland
county, Texas, back in
1928. For the double
slaying, he drew a life
sentence; but the state’s
punishment failed to
change the murderous
dictates of his heart.

Three years ago he
killed a fellow con-
vic, Tommy Reis,
and received another
life term. Still the killer was not tamed,
for on May 30 of this year, he claimed a
fourth victim, Everett Melvin, another con-
vict.

As this is written, Thompson’s fate has
not been decided. Texas, however, has
an electric chair at Huntsville which
would permanently solve the problems of
what to do with the chronic killer. We
can think of no better argument for cap-
ital punishment than Thompson's crimson
record.

Clyde Thompson

1. PAROLES—Adopt stringent legis-
lation and supervision tending to
curb parole and pardon evils.

2. CODDLING—Tighten prison regu-
lation to reduce coddling of in-
mates and make jail an unpleasant
place to be.

3. PUBLICITY—Strip crime and crim-
inals of false glamout in all books,
plays and publications.

4. GUNS—Make purchase increasingly

difficult, investigate all sales and
register both gun and owner.

3. COOPERATION—Unify country’s
manhunters with centralized nation-

al office.

6. POLITICS—Take politics out of
‘the police force, making political ob-
struction of justice a federal offense.

7. REWARDS — Reward officer-heroes
and provide for dependents of men
shot in action.

DARING DETECTIVE’S ANTI-CRIME PLATFORM

8. LAWYERS—Adopt
paign to drive
from the courts.

9. CODES — Establish uniform codes
of state legal procedure to cut red
tape and speed up justice.

10. TRAINING—lInaugurate a federal
"crime school” for all prospective
peace officers.

rigorous cam-
lawyer - criminals

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inexperience—or perhaps because of it—
she undoubtedly aroused the strongest
sensual desires in men, Dr. Johnson could
understand why Strawser, who was about
thirty years old, obviously was so crazy
about her. Strawser kept his arm around
the girl even while he talked.

“You can ask Mrs. Gill if what we're
saying isn’t true,” Strawser concluded.

“So you're getting married,” Sheriff
Runkle remarked, as if speaking to him-
self, “Young lady, are you related to this
fellow Gill who is in the county jail in
Middleburg?”

“He’s my father. Sherman and I can’t
get married until he gets out. Pop won't
give his consent while he’s in jail.”

“Well, you pay the fifty-dollar fine for
his bootlegging and I’ll set him free.”

“T know,” the girl said tonelessly, “but
we're broke.”

“Pm flat, too,” Strawser said, smiling,
“but I'm figuring on a job in Selinsgrove,
and maybe the boss will advance me the

fifty bucks. I sure am hot and bothered -

about marrying Zelma. And say, if I was
you, I'd get in touch with Joe Peters. . . we

“All right, you two. You can go.”
Kemer let them out.

“Who's Joe Peters?” Dr, Johnson in-
quired.

The- question went unanswered, for at
that moment two cars drove up, and from
them emerged Henry F. Ullrich, coroner
of Snyder County, and Corporal John Fr;
Herman and Trooper George Hahn of the
state police barracks at Lewistown. They
had been summoned a short time before

FEBRUARY, 1941

“SURE, HE STAYED ALL
NIGHT,’ THE GIRL TOLD
THEM. “DO YOU THINK
HE IS TIRED

OF ME?’’

by Kemer Runkle, at his brother's orders.

After Sheriff Runkle repeated to the
newcomers what he had learned, the two
physicians kneeled down to examine the
body. While they were doing this, the
county and state law officers undertook a
thorough search of the barn.

There was no doubt about the cause of
Gable’s death, which must have been in-
stantaneous. The corpse was lying about
five feet inside the barn, covered with
blood which had poured from a_ bullet
hole behind the left ear. The dead man’s
skull also had been fractured in the back
by what must have been a heavy instru-
ment, but the gun wound had done the
fatal damage.

If Edith Keister was telling the truth
that Gable had been found lying face
downward, then the fracture could not
have come from a fall, and he must have
been murdered. Also, no instrument was
found on the floor to indicate that an
object had fallen from the rafters, or that
Gable had committed suicide.

Moreover, all the facts disputed suicide
as a theory. Gable was rich, happy, adored
by his wife and loving her in turn, promi-
nent, and with not an enemy in the world.

The bullet hole clinched the view in
favor of murder. He had been shot on the
left side of his head, near his ear. And
he was right-handed. The doctors agreed
that it. would have been impossible for
Gable so to wound himself, No, it was
murder.

Murder! The word sounded like a dirge,
solemn and terrifying, in the thoughts of

all those present in the barn that chill
February morning.

A revolver, with one bullet missing, was
found lying under Gable’s lcft shoulder.
The serial number had been tiled off, and
it was apparent the filing had been recent.

The windows of the barn were dusty
and barred, showing that the killer came
in and left through the front door... .
Came, murdered, and _ fied, all within a
period of fifteen minutes,

In a feed trough, just) above where
Gable’s head rested, ‘Trooper Hahn came
across 2 solitary leather glove, with a hole
in the end of the forefinger, and a heavy
hammer. On the blunt end of this  in-
strument were discovered follicles of hair
and dried blood.

“That’s it,” Sheriff Runkle said. “That’s
what did it.”

Suddenly Kemer let out a shout and
came running over with a roll of green-
backs in his hand.

“Where did you find it?” his brother’
wanted to know.

“In Gable’s vest pocket, underneath his
mackintosh.” Kemer elaborated by stating
that he had been rummaging through the
dead man’s clothing, but came across no
other money, or anything else of interest,
for that matter.

“Two hundred dollars! Whew! That
knocks the robbery motive for a loop,”
Corporal Herman observed.

“Veh, I guess so,” Sheriff Runkle agreed
gloomily. “I wish to Heaven I could figure
why anybody would want to get rid of a
fine man like Gable. I sorta had the idea
that it had to be robbery, but I guess that’s
out. Well, I suppose we'd better trot over
to the Gable house and talk to the Missus.”

“PIL take the hammer and revolver along
and test for fingerprints,” the corporal
offered.

“QO. K. Wait a minute there. I’d better
show Mrs. Gable the revolver. Maybe
she can identify it. Vl] hand it over later.
Let’s get going.”

Hk SMALL GROUP of investigators

filed across the yard to the unpretentious
frame dwelling and walked in.

Edith Keister was in the kitchen. She
was sitting near a window, her eyes red,
staring vacantly at the drab background of
bare fields, spotted with patches of dirty
snow. The sky was gray and overcast, and
a wind, stirring the curtains, promised
rain.

“Pd better go up and see how Mrs.
Gable is getting along,” Dr. Johnson said.
He climbed the stairs to the widow’s room.

Edith Keister looked up and saw the
men.

“T’ve told you everything I know,” she
said wearily.

“Miss Keister, I don’t like bothering
you, but this is a murder investigation, and
I’ve got to do my duty. Besides, I’m sure
you would want your relative’s death
avenged.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. Now, do you know of anyone
who might have it in for Gable? Made
threats, or something like that, you know
what I mean.”

“Let me think,” the girl said, “You un-
derstand, Charlie Gable was as fine a man
as ever lived. The only person I can think
of who hated him was Joc Peters, and I’m
sure I knew (Continued on page 41)

29


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BUNDLING

(Continued from page 29)

all the people Charlie knew. Joe worked for
Charlie a couple years, then was caught
stealing wheat from him. He went to jail
for six months, and ever since he got out
he’s been going around saying he'll get
even. He actually came here several weeks
ago and raised an awful disturbance.
Charlie had to throw him out.”

“That's fine. I sure do appreciate your
cooperation, young lady. Anybody else?”
The girl started to say something, then
changed her mind. Sheriff Runkle looked at
her. “How about Sherman Strawser?” he
asked ently. Edith’s face flushed, her eyes
glittered. “Why did Gable fire him?” the
sheriff went on, not waiting for the answer.
” the girl stammered, then
blurted out, “he was too fresh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was just fresh. You understand
—when it came to women. He wouldn’t let
Mrs. Gable alone. She was afraid to say
anything to Charlie, so I made it my busi-
ness.”

“And how about you? You're a mighty

pretty girl. And young.’

" “T_T guess I'd better tell you. Except I
don’t see what it’s got to do with mur-
der.”

“You let me decide that.”

Edith began to tell them about Strawser,
speaking in a low voice. She had, for a
while, kept company with him. She had liked
him, no use denying that—he was good
company, nice-looking, and full of pep. But
at the same time she was a little afraid of
him. Maybe the sheriff didn’t know it, but
Strawser had been married twice before, and
both of his wives had died while giving
hirth to his children. Naturally, people be-
wan fo talk, and then the way he acted was
sort of strange, like he was insane.

She decided to break with him, which she
did. He became awfully angry, scaring her
with his threats. The fact is, he was plain
woman-crazy. He couldn’t do without them.
That was why he had grabbed a child like
Zelma Gill. The girls who were older
wouldn’t let him get near them. When he
drank, he was particularly vicious. She was
really surprised when Charlie hired him.
She knew it wouldn’t last. She was scared
stiff all the time he was with them.

“What did Mrs. Gable think of him?”

“Mrs. Gable hated him,” Edith said in-
dignantly.

“And you?”

“I told you. I was through with him.”

“Don’t tell me, Miss Keister, that you're
a man-hater. A girl as pretty as you.’

“My personal life has nothing to do with
Charlie’s murder. I refuse to discuss it fur-
ther.”

At this point the girl left the room and
Mrs. Gable had walked in, leaning on Dr.
Johnson’s arm.

Sheriff Runkle, who knew her slightly,
stared amazed at her appearance. The shock
of her husband’s death had made her in a
few hours an old, trembling woman. Runkle
talked to her courteously.

At first she added nothing new. Yes, she
had found her husband lying face downward
on the floor. Charlie must have been killed
between 5:35 a.m. and 5:50 a.m. She con-
ceded that Joe Peters was mean enough to
have committed the crime. Sherman Straw-
ser, while an offensive young fellow, she
couldn’t believe to be guilty. Her story about
a key checked with what had been related

wfore,

The sheriff removed the. handkerchief from

the revolver and showed it to the widow.

“Why, that’s Charlie’s gun!” she screamed.
“Was that—?”

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41

came down to breakfast late. Isn't that
right, Edith?”

The girl nodded in agreement. “Bill
finished eating just as the clock struck a
quarter to 6. When he went out, he said
he was going to join Mr. Gable in the barn.
Then while Mrs. Gable and I were clearing
the table, we heard Bill yell. He rushed
in and said that Mr. Gable was in the barn,
hurt.” Edith~began to weep. “He was
there, lying on his face. Mrs. Gable turned
him over, and he was all bloody. We
couldn’t tell whether he was dead or not.
It was awful.” She buried her face in her
hands. :

“What time was that?”

“A little after 6. We called Dr. Johnson
right away.”

“That’s right,” the physician concurred.
“The call was made at exactly 6:12. I
arrived here a minute or two after 6:30.
Gable was dead. At first, I thought it was
an accident, or possibly suicide.”

“We'll go into that later,” the sheriff
interrupted. “Now, Hager, what have you
got to say?”

“Tt’s just like Edith here said,” the big
farmhand stated.

Here Kemer took a hand in the ques-
tioning. “Gable kept the barn locked at
night, I suppose,” he said idly.

“That’s right,” Hager responded, “T
locked it myself last night. Um sure of
that.”

“How many keys were there to the
barn?”

“Two. Mr. Gable and I each had one.”

“By the way,” Kemer remarked, turning
to Gable’s ex-farmhand, “when you worked
here, Strawser, did you have a key to the
barn?”

Sherman Strawser, though surprised by
the question, for some reason grinned. “‘1
sure did. But when I got laid off, I re-
turned it. Ask Mrs. Gable.”

f DITH CONFIRMED Strawser’s state-

ment, adding that she had seen him
hand the key over to her cousin. “Can |
go now?” she whispered. “I think Mrs.
Gable will be needing me.”

The sheriff excused her, then resumed
with Strawser. “Now, young fellow, how
did you happen to come around here this
morning?”

“T was staying the night at Zelma’s place
in Middleburg.” Then he added sheepishly,
“Zelma Gill and me were bundling.”

“You were, were you?” Runkle regarded
the couple keenly. “Engaged?”

“Yeh. We expect to be married in a
couple weeks.”

No one was surprised by Strawser’s
reference to bundling, which is an old
established custom in the rural communities
of New England and among Pennsylvania
Dutch farmers. The practice goes back to
the early settlers, and was made use of in
those days by young couples who: were in
love, to solve the fuel problem, and stay
warm against the cold. ‘The boy and girl

Mwvould go to bed and lock themselves in
an embrace in order to take advantage of
each other’s bodily warmth. ‘To protect
the girl’s chastity, however, she would be
placed securely in a bundling bag, or else
the two would lie in bed fully clothed,
with a bodrd partition separating them.
The custom is still followed in Snyder
County, but is usually limited to those who
are engaged to marry; otherwise it is not

28

considered respectable or proper.

Strawser, being questioned further, stated
that he had bundled with Zelma all night,
that around 7 o’clock in the morning Ike
Peters, a neighbor, had stopped at the Gills’,
and told about Gable being dead. The news
had spread quickly all through Middleburg.
So he and Zelma had driven over in his
rickety car. He had always liked his former
employer, he said, and was sorry for Mrs.
Gable.

“Maybe you liked him, and maybe you
didn’t. Anyhow, he didn’t like you. I under-
stand he fired you in no time.”

Strawser laughed good naturedly. “Well,
you see it’s this way. I’m a pretty lazy guy,
and I don’t blame Mr. Gable for kicking me
out. But we never had a harsh word. Ask
Mrs. Gable. Of course,” he continued, “I’ve
changed, now that I’m getting married. I
expect to find a job real soon, and don’t intend
to give no cause for trouble.”

“Is what Strawser says about staying with
you all night true, Zelma?” the sheriff asked.

“Ves sir,” the girl said eagerly. Too
eagerly, the doctor thought, his eyes travelling
over her frail beauty. She wasn’t exactly
frail, either, he decided. She was only sixteen,
yet her body, though rather thin, was deli-
cately, almost voluptuously, curved. Her ex-
pression was one of innocence, her skin lovely
and flawless, and, despite her look of

Arrow points to spot in

barn where Gable's body

_ was found lying face

downward. He was first
beaten and then shot
through the head.

The Gable farmhouse is
shown below. None of

the victim's neighbors
could imagine anyone
bearing a grudge against

the kindly man.

Though they had no part
whatsoever in the crime,
Zelma Gill's father and
mother, pictured at left,
unwittingly played a role
in the solution of the
strange case.

HEADLINE DETECTIVE

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FEBR


“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I'm sure. Tf you look care-

fully, you will see Xs scratched on the butt.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Gable, here they are.”

“But Charlie never carried the gun with
him. He used to keep it in the bureau
drawer in our bedroom.”

“Someone must have stolen it. Did you
hear any shots?”

“No, L didn't, but Edith and I were
laughing at the time. . . . Oh, God, forgive
me, I was laughing while poor Charlic lay
dying. And the barn is three hundred feet
from the house. ‘The door was probably
shut, and so were our windows.”

“Mrs. Gable, before I forget, here is two
hundred dollars we found on your hus-
band. It’s yours now.”

“Two hundred? Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” The sheriff.tried to
hide the excitement he felt.

“Why, Charlie had $279 on him. He kept
the two hundred separate because he in-
tended to buy some turkeys with that today.
The $79 he put in his wallet.”

And the wallet with the money was miss-
ing! The sheriff and his brother nodded
significantly to cach other. Here very likely
was the motive for the murder. The killer,
no doubt, on finding the $79, never thought
that Gable had more than that with him.
So it was robbery, after all! He had been
right! The sheriff felt some of his confidence
returning. ;

“Mrs. Gable,” Kemer inquired, “are you
sure there were no more than two keys
to the barne”

“I'm positive.”

Dr. Johnson gestured over Mrs. Gable’s
head, indicating that she had been questioned
long enough.

“Well, I guess that will be all, Mrs. Gable.
Thanks a lot.”

The woman smiled pitifully, then wearily
returned to cher room,

Sheriff Runkle tured to his brother.
“Say, Kemer, why all this fuss about keys?”
he demanded.

“T think it holds the solution to the mur-
der.”

“How come?”

“It’s simple. No question the barn was
locked last night. Gable was the kind of
man who'd sce to that, and Hager agrees.
This morning Gable opens it, and is no
more than five fect inside when he’s as-
saulted by the murderer. We can tell that by
the position of the body. Of course, some-
one might have been waiting outside, hid-
ing, then followed him in. But I don’t
think so. There’s no place to hide for
several hundred feet. It’s all open space,
and Gable must have been killed as soon as
he walked in the barn. That’s proven by the
time element and the position of his body
close to the door. Don’t forget, the cattle
were in the back, and that’s where Gable
was going. So IJ figure someone was inside
the barn waiting—-that someone must have
had a key to get in. I examined the lock.
It had not been tampered with.”

“You forgot something, Kemer. The mur-
derer had to he familiar with Gable’s
habits. «.. And don’t you fly off the handle
about this key business.”

Kemer set his jaw stubbornly. “I still
think we ought to follow up every possible
line of reasoning,” he insisted.

“All right, all right. But let’s get going.
We have plenty of work to do on this case.”

N THE EVENING of February 14, two
days after the murder of Charles
Gable, Dr. Johnson finished his supper and
sat down to read the newspaper. One glance
at the headlines brought him to his feet. He
sat down again and examined the exciting
news more carefully.
The murder of Charles Gable had been
solved! A prominent citizen of Lewistown,
who had long held a grievance against

42

Gable, was about to be arrested, The story
hinted rather vaguely about jealousy over
Gable’s excellent crops, his wealth and
popularity. It was a good story, but
naturally the criminal’s name was not
mentioned.

Dr. Johnson came to a quick decision.
After informing his maid that he would be
at Sheriff Runkle’s office in) Middleburg, in
case there were any emergency calls, he put
on his hat, gloves and coat, got in his car,
and drove off.

He found the sheriff sitting in back of his
desk, poring over some papers.

“Congratulations on solving the murder,”
Dr. Johnson said. “That was mighty quick
work.”

The sheriff’s face wore a queer expres-
sion. “What I am telling you is in the
strictest confidence,” he said, after a slight
pause. “That newspaper story is sort of a
decoy. It’s a fake. I had the bright idea
that it might fool the murderer into be-
lieving he was safe, and perhaps start spend-
ing that $79. We’ve told all storekeepers in
Middleburg to let us know if any of our
suspects come in and buy anything worth
more than five dollars.”

“Well!” the doctor said. “That’s sort of
a let-down. But it docs seem like a good
idea.”

“JT doubt if it will work. Anyhow, it’s a
possibility.”

“Where’s Kemer?” the doctor asked sud-
denly.

“Tf don't: know what’s gotten into him
lately, He's gone bugs over his key angle.
For the last two days he’s been checking
locksmiths and hardware stores to see if
they made any keys that matched the one
for Gable’s barn, Kemer’s borrowed Mrs.
Gable’s spare key.”

“What’s happened to your chief sus-
pects?”

They were a wash-out, Runkle confessed,
Ile and Kemer had gone to see Mes, Gill in
Middleburg. She swore up and down that
Strawser had stayed at her home all night,
that when she went up in the morning to
tell them that Gable was dead, Strawser was
sound asleep. Mrs. Gill, the sheriff con-
tinued, was a sick, nervous woman scared
stiff of the law ever since her husband had
been jailed, and they were convinced she
wasn’t lying.

“Have you checked Joe Peters’ move-
ments?”

“We're not so sure about him, but T don’t
think he’s: guilty. He had been sick in bed
for three days before the murder, and he’s
still in bed. He’s had a high fever, and Dr.
Thorne, who’s treating him, told us he
didn’t see how Peters could have gotten
out of bed, tramped to Gable’s farm, and
been strong enough even to lift the hammer.
Thorne admitted it might be probable, but
really was almost impossible. Peters is a
darned sick man. And his wife swears he
never left his bed.” .

“Tt seems that the best alibi a man can
have in this case is to say he was in bed
when the crime occurred,” the doctor
chuckled.

While they were talking, the clock struck
nine times. Just then Zelma Gill) walked
in. The doctor again was impressed by her
fresh, piquant beauty.

“What’s on’ your mind, Zelma?”

“Why, I’ve come to get Pop out,” she
said) brightly.

“That’s fine. I can see you’re a good
daughter. But you'll need fifty dollars.”

“Oh, TE have the money.” She began to
fumble in her purse.

The door was pushed open, and Kemer
rushed in excitedly, “Say, Carl...” he be-
wan, then stopped at sight of the girl.

“Zelma’s paying off her father’s fine,” the
sheriff explained.

Kemer drew a deep breath. “Well!” he
said, “Where did you get the money,

Zelma?”

“Sherman got it for Mom and me. He
wrote to some relatives in California, say-
ing he needed it to get married, and they
sent it to him. We'ré going to be married
soon.” The girl smiled happily.

“Where's Strawser now?”

“He's at Goldsmith’s Jewelry Store, buy-
ing the wedding ring, Pm to meet him
there.”

‘Look, Zelma,’? Kemer said, “I want you
to wait in the next room. It'll take some
time to set your father free. We've got
papers to draw up, and I have to talk in
private to Carl here.”

Obediently the girl walked out. The men
couldn’t help noticing the graceful sway
of her body. As soon as the door closed
behind her, Kemer turned to his brother.

“Send a man over to Goldsmith's right
away and have Strawser brought back,” he
said.

“What in the world—?” the sheriff sput-
tered, bewildered.

“Pl explain right away. But hurry it,
will you?”

“All right.” Sheriff Runkle gave the
necessary instructions to a constable who had
been sitting in the waiting room. “Now,
out with it. What have you been up to?”

“Just this,” Kemer said, trying hard to
be casual. “Someone has been making
duplicates of Gable’s barn keys.”

The sheriff became instantly alert. “Who?
Where ?”

“Sherman Strawser,” Kemer answered.
“Strawser was fired on February the 2nd,
He had keys made ‘on the Ist.”

“Maybe Gable asked him to do it,” the
sheriff argued without much conviction. He
wanted to make sure there were no loop-
holes.

“Not on your life. Why didn’t Strawser
tell us about it? We had questioned him
nbout keys, Besides, Gable had all his Keys
made or bought at Heller's Hardware Store
in Middleburg, but Strawser got his dupli-
cate made in Lewistown, just twice as far
from Gable’s farm. Why? It’s open and
shut. He wanted to make sure that we’d
never discover it. And that’s why it took
me so long to find it out. The clerk who
served Strawser, by the way, knew him,”
Kemer concluded triumphantly.

“Well, Kemer,” his brother said, shoving
out his hand, “that was mighty fine work.
You've clinched it. You were right about
the keys.”

“That was nothing,” Kemer replied, eb-
barrassed. “Didn’t you think of the news-
paper yarn? Didn’t it fool Strawser into
spending the stolen moncy right away?”

“When you two finish back-slapping each
other, maybe you ought to question Zelma
in an effort to break Strawser’s alibi,” the
doctor remarked dryly. “You've still got
that hurdle to overcome.”

The brothers grinned sheepishly, then
summoned Zelma. They left orders that
Strawser, when he arrived, should be de-
tained in the waiting room until they called
for him.

Fidget RETURNED, this time looking
nervous and distraught. The delay had
affected her calm.

“Zelma, sit down. We want to have a
little talk with you,” the sheriff said.

“What's the matter?” the girl faltered.
“Aren't you going to Ict Pop go?”

“It’s not about your Dad. It’s about

“Sherman Strawser. Remember how a couple

days ago we asked you if Strawser had
bundled with you the night before Gable
was murdered?”

Zelma faced the questioner defiantly.
“Well, we did. Sherman and IT have been
bundling every single night for the last few
weeks. Ever since we got engaged.”

“1 don’t doubt that. With a pretty girl
like you, you can’t blame Strawser. But

HEADLINE DETECTIVE

y

wie ot

nes

Aagscst

ae


Roa

1 BRIDE

, ve state police car drove rapidly along a back road near
Freeburg, Snyder County, Pa., and turned in at a rutted
farm lane of frozen mud. As the officials approached the
farm of Charles Gable, they saw a scattered group of local
farmers standing before the big, freshly-painted barn. Gable’s

 300-acre farm, one of the largest in the county, lay gleaming

in the sunlight. .
His tractor stood in front of the barn, a tool kit beside
it. It was the 12th of February and he had been getting it

. ready for the first good plowing day of spring.

As the state police stepped from the car, the farm people
parted silently to let them enter the barn. Inside, State Police
Cpl. John P. Herman saw Charles Gable lying face down-
ward in the middle of the barn floor, his head bathed in
blood. He was dead.

Sheriff Carl E. Runkle, who had arrived earlier, came up
to the state police. With him was a raven-haired, ‘red-
lipped girl in her early 20s. County Coroner Henry F.
Ullrich and Dr. R. W. Johnson were kneeling beside the

corpse.

“Jt’s murder,” Sheriff Runkle told Corporal Herman grimly.
“Charley was knocked unconscious by some heavy instru-
ment, then killed with one carefully placed shot behind
the left ear. Let Miss Keister here tell you what she
knows.”

Corporal Herman knew Edith Keister, just as he had
known Charles Gable. The girl was an orphaned cousin of
Gable’s wife, who had lived on the farm and contributed her
youthful energy toward working it. Gable, in his early 50s,
was one of the richest farmers in the community. A power-
fully built man, known for his scrupulous honesty, he was
chairman of the school board, president of the township
council, and a prominent figure in local politics.

“We sat down to breakfast this morning about five
o'clock.” Though her eyes were red from weeping, Edith
Keister spoke in a calm, straightforward manner. “Tt was a
morning just like any other. Mrs. Gable and I got breakfast,

Deputy Sheriff Runkel planted a phony story in news-
papers then sat back to wait for the killer to take the bait.

~

aan toatl oan

then we joined Mr. Gable and George Williams—he’s our
new hired man—at the table.

“Rveryone was happy as we planned the day’s work. Mr.
Gable was sure we'd have an early spring. He figured this
cold snap would pass and he’d be able to plow the high
fields within a few weeks. He was going to work on the
tractor again this morning. Then in the afternoon he planned
to drive the 15 miles to Selingrove and buy some young
turkeys.

“we all finished our coffee. Then Mr. Gable and George
Williams went out to start work. That was about half-past
five.

“About half an hour later, George came running back
toward the house, hollering. He said Mr. Gable had been
shot and was lying dead on the floor of the barn. That was
just about 6 o'clock.”

A husky, blond-haired man in overalls stepped forward
and said he was George Williams. He carried the story on:

“Mr. Gable and I left the house a few minutes apart. He
went to the barn and then I came out and went to the corn
crib to get the feed ready. Right after that I heard what I
thought was a backfire, and I figured Mr. Gable was trying
to start the tractor.

“About 15 minutes later I took the feed pails to the barn.
Mr. Gable had closed the door because of the cold. The door
has a snap lock on it and I opened it with my key—and saw
him lying there. We've no idea who killed him or why. He
didn’t have an enemy in the world as far as I know.”

“Could a vagrant have spent the night in the barn?”
Corporal Herman asked.

“J don’t think so,” Williams said. “Mr. Gable was very
careful about keeping the door locked.”

“TPs doubtful that robbery was the motive,” Sheriff
Runkle put in. “J can’t find his wallet, but there’s more than
$200 buttoned into his shirt pocket.”

“Sheriff, come over here a minute,” Coroner Ullrich
called.

Ullrich was holding a heavy-caliber revolver in a hand-
kerchief.

“This must be the murder weapon,” he said. “I found it
under some loose hay only a few feet from the body, and one
shot has been fired.”

“Why, that’s Mr. Gable’s own gun,” Edith Keister said.
“He usually kept it in a drawer in the kitchen.”

“Did anyone know he kept [Continued on page 63]

Coroner Ullrich examines hammer and gloves used by
killer which were found in a corner of the murder barn.


.ursday fol-
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» for lunch.
sn aware of
mselves on
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possibly be-

against the

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. of the police
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Two years
worked with
a briefly em-
& Martin, a

the possession
slice obtained
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> “J L Morton,
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.w now felt the
‘ker into cus-
obtained the
o'clock Satur-
the murder—
home to make
th. The ar-
at, but the
» than had
pocket of one
g in the closet ¢
Auliffe found
>n into three
with a maple

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dmitted, was

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shop, too, he
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indicted for
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5, in Superior
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There were

and the jury
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t was guilty.
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1906, prison
thile he pro-
..ad not mur-
nee was car-

jbeen tampered with. q

Runkle observed. “Revenge or jealousy

4man said. “Somebody who had it in for
‘

‘the kitchen, then killed him later.”

- Murder to Get a Bride

[Continued from page 39]

it there?” Runkle asked the girl quickly.

“Well, he used it once in a while to
shoot barn rats. I suppose some visitor
might have seen him put it in the kitchen
drawer.”

“He wasn’t carrying it when he went
out this morning?’

“t don’t think so. I haven’t seen him
use it in quite a while.”
, State Trooper George Hahn, who with
other police had been searching the barn,
‘came forward carefully holding a hammer.
| “J found it in a corner, where the killer
must have thrown it,” he said. “There’s

Jood and a few hairs on %.”"
| The doctor examined the hammer and
‘sid he was certain it was the instrument
cused to stun Gable. Further search of the
‘barn turned up a pair of castoff gloves
{much too small to have belonged to the
jvictim, and therefore might possibly have
‘been worn by the killer. But Gable’s
binge was not found. It was clear that
the slayer had entered the barn by way
of the door because the windows had not

“Tt looks like a personal motive to me,”

—something like that.”
“that’s what I think,” Sergeant Her-

Gable and knew his habits must have
taken the gun while nobody was around

| . Herman glanced at his watch. “Well,
‘it’s now 7 o’clock, and if the killer was a
‘vagrant, then he’s had only a little over
| an hour’s start. He can’t be far away. Hahn
' and I will contact the state police through-
| out the county and organized a manhunt
for him.”
“OK. ll stay here and see if I can find
a possible motive in Gable’s background,”
Sheriff Runkle said.
- After a police ambulance had removed
the corpse, Sheriff Runkle asked his
| brother, Deputy Kemer Runkle, to ques-
tion the neighbors who stood silently be-

| fore the barn. The sheriff established that ,

| the telephone operator had first broken

| the news of the murder when the sheriff
had been called, and it had spread rapidly
over the township.

Runkle then went into the house. Dr.
Robinson had given the distraught Mrs.
Gable a sedative.

i “She’s very eager to cooperate,” the
_ doctor told him. “But don’t question her
| too long.”

The widow sat dry-eyed and composed,

- but the lines of grief were clearly evident
' in her face.
\ When asked whether her husband had
| had any enemies, Mrs. Gable hesitated
briefly. “Well, Yd hardly call him an
enemy, but Jim Harding bore Charley a
grudge.” :
Runkle knew Jim Harding as Gable’s
nearest neighbor—an elderly widower
who seemed to have had one stroke of bad
) luck after another. His most recent dis-
aster was a fire that had destroyed his
barn the previous fall, ...
“My husband loaned Jim money from
time to time,” Mrs. Gable said, “and Jim
paid some of it back. But recently Jim
asked for a very large amount. My hus-
| band just couldn't afford to loan any more

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82

losing his neck just to get enough
money to marry Zella Mae.”

“Men madly in love have done,

crazier and riskier things,’ said the
sheriff philosophically. ; .

The phone rang and Miss Keister
called him to it. When he came back
he muttered, “That was the Burcau
of Criminal Investigation at Harris-
burg. Couldn’t get any clear finger-
prints from the hammer. The mur-
derer must have used that glove we
found out there.”

“And that was large enough to fit
either Strawser or Miller,” said Cor-
poral Herman. “Sheriff, let’s dig into
the Strawser angle again. Miller will
be watched and he might do some-
thing to clinch the case. It’s best to
let him be free.” :

A short time later, the sheriff drove
to the Gill home and took Strawser
into technical custody. He brought
him to the County Jail at Millers-
burg.

EANWHILE, Corporal Herman,
setting out fifteen minutes after
the sheriff, also drove to the Gill
home. Zella Mae admitted him. Fear
lurked in her deep, dark eyes now
and her red lips, shaped long and full,
trembled as she poured questions at
him, “Did you bring Sherman back?
Why did the sheriff take him away?
How long are you going to keep him
from me? Is it just over that measly
license business? You won’t let that
stop our getting married, will you?”
The State policeman parried the in-
quiries successfully and the wonder-
ing~ girl led him upstairs to see the
room where she had bundled with
Strawser until dawn, as she had said.
It was a rather meager room with
an old four-poster bed, now neatly
made up, a rickety bureau and a
couple of chairs. -The sleuth searched
around cursorily, but there was a
strange intentness and light in his
keen eyes as he studied a little wood-
en stand by the head of the bed.
He drove next to the nearby Straw-
ser home. He found the young farm-

hand’s father out by a barn and was’

given instant and disinterested per-
mission to inspect Strawser’s room.

This too was a dingy room, but the
corporal made much more thorough
search. He probed through the bed,
poked into the heavy stuffing of an
old armchair, and went carefully
through the clothes closet where sev-
eral pairs of overalls and sweaters
were hung. Then he went outside and
combed through the small barn and
a little outbuilding.

His search completed, he drove at
once to the County Jail and arranged
to take Strawser from there to the
State Police Barracks at Lewiston.

He made small talk with the frown-
ing young man most of the 35-mile
drive, but as they neared Lewiston
abruptly asked, “Sherman, I had a
long look about your place today.
Where did you get that $75 you had
cached under the boards in the little
outhouse?”

“It was only sixty-one!” flared
Strawser.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Corporal
Herman. “I was thinking of the $75
stolen from Gable by the murderer.
Well, where did you get it?”

‘I told you I’d been saving for a
year so I could marry Zella Mae! I
worked here and there and always
tucked something away out there
when I got paid.”

“TI see,” said the corporal. “Of
course you’d have to have a dowry

CRIME DETECTIVE

ready. I suppose you wanted to pay
Zella Mae’s father’s fine and get him
out of jail?”

“That’s what I wanted to do. But
the sixty-one was enough to get mar-
ried on. I figured I’d earn the rest
of the hundred bucks afterwards.”

“T see.”

The State policeman locked the
young farmhand up in a detention

cell and went out to dinner. He pon,’

dered the case. In his opinion, the

finger of suspicion was pointing more !

and more directly at Strawser.

The young widower had been sore-
ly in need of money. There was no
doubt about that. He had pleaded for
time to get five dollars for the license
plate violation. Now suddenly, he
had quite a bit of money. Was he
telling the truth about hoarding for
a year? Could his apparent fiery pas-
sion for Zella Mae have prompted him
to the brutal slaying of old Gable
with hammer and gun? Could he
have slipped out of the courting bed
without the infatuated Zella Mae
knowing it?

Of course, he thought, Hod Miller
still was an unknown quantity. Did
he have a secret passion for Zella
Mae? Could he have committed the
fiendish slaying, figuring on throw-
ing suspicion on Strawser by first
stealing the hammer, then making
everyone think Strawser had done it
—afterward leaving it at the scene of
the crime?

The corporal thought that was a
bit far-fetched, but then, there was a
touch of the fantastic in everything
about this case and he did not dismiss
the angle. However, he decided on
laying a barrage of kindness and sym-
pathy down on Strawser to see what
he might possibly admit. He could
hold the youth ten days on the license
charge.

At noon the next day, he took
Strawser for a drive to the office of
District Attorney H. A. Sommers in
Selinsgrove. .

“Just thought we’d have a chat
with him,” he explained.

“About the license business?”

“Ves,”

A little later, the corporal said
quietly, “It must have been pretty
tough on you, Sherman, having your
two wives die in childbirth.”

“It was,’ said young Strawser
huskily.

“Then you know how Mrs. Gable
feels—having lost someone she loved
through the years.”

“Yes, I‘ guess I do.”

“Of course Zella Mae loves you?”

Strawser’s heavy eyebrows lifted.
“Sure. What’s that got to do with
things?”

“Oh, I_was just idling a bit in
thought. I was thinking how girls
think they’re in love, but don’t know
much what it really means. They
marry, and then they really begin to
love, to love so strongly that their
lives are wrecked if their man dies,”

The burly young farmhand was
silent.

“It would be mighty tough on Zella
Mae, for instance, if she married
someone with blood on his hands and
then after she had really learned to
love him in a wife’s way he was dis-
covered and sent to jail.”

Again Strawser remained mute.
Corporal Herman halted the car with
a jolt, “Sherman,” he snapped, “you
got blood on your hands!”

“No!” The voice was shaky. Straw-
ser pressed against the car door,

cringing away from the corporal.
“You do have blood on your hands!
You murdered Gable to get the money
to free Gill and marry Zella Mae.
Try to be a real man about this,
Sherman. Remember how you felt
when your two wives died. Think
how Zella Mae will feel when you're
found out as you certainly will be in
time. Don’t wreck the life of the girl
you love, Sherman.” ;

GTRAWSER'S taut body and face
suddenly went loose. “All right,”
he said humbly. ‘For her sake I'l] tell
you. I did kill Gable. But it was in
self-defense. He charged at me with
a pitchfork.”

Corporal Herman nodded and drove
on to the district attorney’s office.
“This man has a story to tell,” the
State policeman announced.

“All right, go ahead,” said Sommers
quietly.

“Well, I got up with Zella Mae at
six o’clock like she said. I started
driving to Freeburg to look for work.
Right in front of Gable’s farm the
radiator began steaming so I stopped
for water. I was at the pump and
old Gable came at me with a -pitch-
fork. He was mad. I ran into the
barn. He came after me. I grabbed
the hammer from the rack and hit
him. I had to.”

“And then you shot him,” said the
district attorney. “Why?”

Sweat began glistening on_ the
young man’s broad forehead. “Why,
I—everything went red,” he stam-
mered. “I guess I was thinking when
he came to he would trail after me
with a shotgun, maybe kill me.”

“You're lying, Sherman,” said the
corporal calmly. “You got up at 4:30
to kill Gable.”

“T didn’t!”

“Then why was the alarm clock on
the little stand beside your bundling
bed set to go off at 4:30?”

The young farmhand stared silent-
ly at his accuser.

“It'd be a terrible thing for Zella
Mae if she married you, learned to
love you like a wife, then lost you
when you were found out. It would
be much better if she lost you now.
She’s young and time would heal the
wound easily.”

The corporal’s softly repeated re-
frain finally pierced young Strawser’s
armor. He broke and babbled out a
lurid story of passion and cold-blood-
ed murder.

Strawser had slipped out of the
house in the gray of early morning. He
must get that money to free her
father and marry her. He put his gun
in his pocket. When he reached the
Gable farm, he also took the stolen
hammer from his car and went into
the barn to take up his murderous
vigil for old Gable.

And so on that dark morning of
February 12, 1935, he struck with
gun and hammer in the eerie shad-
ows of the barn.

“I was crazy. My actions were be-
yond my control,” he moaned. “It
was terrible.”

Two weeks later he went to trial
before Judges Curtis C. Lesher and
J. W. Herman and on March 2 he was
sentenced to die in the electric chair
in Western Penitentiary, Center
County, Pennsylvania.

_Note—The name Hod Miller is fic-
titious to protect the reputation of an
imnocent suspect.


WSSehK , AKQAKNLW 7

m
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red

Old house a half-mile from murde

r site was where killer
turned an old custom into a new

and near-perfect alibi.
Some men will go to almost

any length to

gain their desire, but this man -

went too far and lost out in every way } A

BY KEN DAVIS a

Killer (below) admitted the fatal clubbing and shooting of
wealthy Charles Gable in a barn on Gable’s opulent Free- ' |
burg, Pa., farm. Slayer’s object:. money enough to wed his

sweetheart, the lovely, teen-age farm girl shown at right.

T
he st

Freebu:
farm |:
farm o!
farmers
300-acre«
in the si
His tr:
it. It wa:
ready fr
As the
parted si
Cpl. Joh:
ward in
blood. H
Sheriff
to the st
lipped gi
Ullrich :
corpse.
“It’s mi

“Charley

ment, thi

the left
knows.”
Corpo:

known C
Gable’s \

youthful
was one
fully bui
chairma:
council,
“We
o'clock.’
Keister
mornin:

Deputy
papers |


orn out and Danny Leach was ar-
ted, charged with the murder of
Cc. Hill.

Officer Poe and Deputy Woods visit-
the Leach home in Cisco and found
interesting item—a .32 caliber pis-

They broke it. One of the five
ambers was empty and that shell

d been ejected. They looked down
‘ barrel and saw it was fouled, evi-

nee it had been recently fired.

In the garage was Danny’s father’s

automobile. It was a Dodge sedan,
its color. dull green.

Danny himself vigorously denied the
crime and stuck to his account of be-
ing with the victim earlier that fatal
evening and leaving him near the
Daniels Hotel. But the state was ready
to go into court. The grand jury was
given the case by District Attorney
Jones and returned an indictment; the
trial was set.

Toward the end of May, nearly two

Martin Sullivan, Quintuple Murderer

revolver and shot Joseph Benda
ad. He swung upon the wife and
t a bullet through her body. She
ik to the floor screaming, with
,od spouting from her. The wound
1s mortal; she died later on her way
the hospital. Whether he would
ve shot the sons if they had re-
iined on the scene is doubtful. He
pears to have made up his mind
actly whom he intended to kill. But
hn and Julius did not wait to find
t. John ducked under a table and
{ there. Julius plunged through the
arest window and crawled to an ad-
ning roof. It took less than five
nutes for Sullivan to accomplish his
rpose in that place.
The crazed policeman then ran
rough an alley and made his way to
». 14 McRae Street, a few blocks dis-
it. There the Vujelkas lived in a
me house. It was necessary almost
slide down a hillside path to reach
for like many other dwellings of the
or in that part of Duquesne it clung
ccariously to the face of a steep
uff,
Sullivan stormed into the Vujelka
rlor. He found only a 23-year-old
n named Milan there. He yelled at
ilan that he wanted to see his mother
10 was in her bedroom upstairs with
tle Antoinette. Milan must have
‘own who Sullivan was, must have
ard from Antoinette that the cop had
en ordered held for trial a couple
hours earlier, But the young fellow
d not behave with much resolution.

said that he would call Mrs.
ijelka.
Presently the woman appeared at the
o of the stairs. Antoinette came
wn and sat by the stove. Sullivan
gan to talk wildly, accusing Mrs.
ijelka of telling lies about him. She
swered that she did not wish to have
ything to do with him and swung
ck into her bedroom. Sullivan
irted after her.

ALAS. got in the way, growling to
Sullivan to stand back. Instantly
© cop’s gun was out. He drilled Milan,
!ling him on the spot. While An-
inette shrieked like a mad thing he
abbed a poker from the stove and
ttered the bedroom door. Failing
break the lock, he smashed one of
e panels with his shoulder.
Frantic with terror, Mrs. Vujelka
mped from the window and fell two
ories into the yard. Frank Waggon-
. a neighbor who saw her leap, de-
ribed the finale in his broken English
follows:
“IT see her drop out of her house.
ie was lying there, crying. She
anted help, police! Sullivan he come
own. He say: ‘Here’s a policeman.
help you.’ Then he shot her two
nes.”
No attempt was made to harm An-
inette. She testified afterwards that
1e ran behind a door and hid among
father’s work clothes hanging
ere. But it is unlikely that Sulli-
n wanted to hurt her. He had other
h to fry. i
Notwithstanding the hubbub caused
the district by his orgy of gun play,
e bewigged fiend confrived to leave
e Vujelka yard unchallenged. If
ere were any pursuers he gave them
e slip, got clear of McRae Street and
‘turned to the corner where he had
ft Gallagher, after a total absence of
} minutes.
The constable did not notice any-
ing strange about Sullivan’s manner.
e believed that Sullivan had been
ilkking business with his son and he

found it natural that the old man
should be feeling a bit thirsty.

“He said we ought to get a drink,”
Gallagher stated, when called upon to
explain his negligence. ‘‘We did get
one. He had a whisky. I had a beer.”

So far as Constable Gallagher was
concerned, the worst was yet to come.
Sullivan began to talk to him softly,
persuasively. The prisoner wanted
them both to call at the home of Mrs.
Laura Bacon, the social worker. It
was Sullivan’s opinion that Mrs. Bacon
could be argued into dropping the
charges against him. Wouldn’t Galla-
gher help out a pal to the extent of
seeing whether that could be done?

ALLAGHER agreed. His compla-

cence is astonishing. But there is a
queerer angle to the incident. Why
did not Sullivan go directly to Mrs.
Bacon’s, without reporting back to his
guard? He was already a man with
murder on his soul, already with a
flock of witnesses against him. The
longer he delayed the nearer the hue
and cry approached him. Why did he
spend time winning over Gallagher as
an escort? We shall never know for
certain. But I see it as another proof
of the senile hate-killer’s fundamental
insanity.

The pair went together to No, 229
South Second Street, where Laura
Bacon lived with her only daughter
and the daughter’s husband, Howard
Wiesen. The younger woman, recently
a mother, was upstairs in bed. Wiesen
opened the door, admitting the two
policemen. He thought the visit was
excessively odd and he was worried by
the expression of fright on his mother-
in-law’s face as she came into the liv-
ing room and saw who was calling.

Sullivan addressed Mrs. Bacon po-
litely enough. ‘Do you believe what
you heard at that hearing?” he asked.

‘From all indications, I am forced
to believe it,’ the social worker an-
swered.

Sullivan glanced at Gallagher, who
of course was unaware that his charge
was armed. Then, grinning demonia-
cally, the veteran traffic officer pulled
the gun that had already taken four
lives and fired a bullet at close range
into Mrs. Bacon’s abdomen. The wo-
man collapsed, dying.

Seized too late by the trusting con-
stable, Sullivan made no resistance.
He surrendered the weapon. He al-
lowed himself to be led to the street,
pushed into a cab and rushed to
Headquarters, where he was turned
over to Chief of County Detectives
Peter A. Connors.

It did not prove difficult to obtain
a confession from the mass murderer.
Within a few minutes after his ar-
rival, he calmly told District Attorney
Andrew T. Park:

“I wanted revenge and I got it!”

He then admitted to Connors that he
knew “it means the electric chair for
me.” He added: “The sooner I get
the chair the better. I have no re-
grets. I’d do it again.”

But great interest attaches to the
details brought out by the interro-
gation, his crawfishing with the alien-
ists and his moral record as reported
by neighbors. They proved that he
should have been sterilized years be-
fore. I was present when Sullivan was
undergoing two separate mental tests,
one in behalf of the prosecution and
one for the defense. I also attended
his trial. So I know what I am talk-
ing about.

Sullivan's attitude towards his
crimes was really extraordinary. He

months after the discovery at the
gravel-pit, a packed courtroom heard
Danny Leach take the witness stand
to testify in his own behalf and repeat
his protestation he did not rob Hill
or slay him. But the state capped its
procession of witnesses by placing
Morton on the stand, star witness for
the state’s case, to relate the episode
in the hotel room when Leach threw
an empty shell from his pistol. The
jury accepted the typewriter sales-

In vain physicians labor over Mrs.
Helen Benda, victim of a pervert’s
horrible vengeance

denied that he ever had committed
rape, but by this he meant the techni-
cal definition of sexual possession by
means of violence. It made him fran-
tic if the word “rape” were mentioned.
Yet he freely acknowledged various
perverse acts with young girl children
and agreed that he had _ bulldozed,
tricked and lied to his victims in order
to beat down their mental resistance.
He seemed to feel that it was an awful
disgrace to be charged with rape but
he thought nothing of murder.

Early in his confession Sullivan as-
serted flatly that he had killed because
he believed certain persons had
“framed” him on the morality charge.
“They wanted to swear me into jail
and I might as well be dead as sworn
into jail,” he said. Yet he had no
rational answer to the argument that
if he had done the things he had ad-
mitted, accusing him of them before
a magistrate could scarcely be called
a “frame up.” He merely repeated
stubbornly that he had set out to slay
Mrs. Benda because she first accused
him of assaulting little Antoinette;
Mrs. Vujelka because she had believed
the story and signed a complaint; and
Mrs. Bacon, the social worker, because
she had snooped into his affairs and
hauled him before a magistrate. The
two other victims had been incidental;
they got in his way so he dispatched
them. Sullivan was asked:

Q. Well, why didn’t you kill the
magistrate who held you for court?

A. He was doing his duty.

Q. But so was Mrs. Bacon.

A. I don’t think so. She was just
butting into other people’s business.

Q. Do you know what a social
worker is?

A. I know they’re a lot of trouble
makers.

Q. Were you cool and collected, not

man’s testimony. They returned a
verdict of guilty.

The slim defendant, little more than
20 years old now, stood before Dis-
trict Judge George L. Davenport and
heard the sentence that would place
him in the state’s penitentiary for the
next fifteen years.

He did not appeal the case but ac-
cepted the sentence as it stood. Danny
Leach was taken away to pay to society
for the murder of the paralyzed man.

Read It First in

(Continued from Page 31) oFFiciAL DETECTIVE STORIES

impulsive, when you killed the people?
Had you reasoned it all out?

A. Yes. I guess that would be the
way to say it.

The alienists dredged some curious
reactions from the slime of Sullivan’s
subconscious ego. Doctor Edward
Mayer and Doctor C. H. Henniger were
the prosecution’s experts. Doctor
Mayer is a consultant in mental and
nervous diseases at three Pittsburgh
hospitals, psychiatrist of the juvenile
court and director of the city’s mental
health clinic. These two began their
examination of the old man on the
afternoon of December 18, the day
after the house-to-house murder tour.

“I did it on the impulse of the mo-
ment,” Sullivan ranted at them, con-
tradicting his former claim of coolness.
“The thought of killing came to me
just as quick as Squire King said I
was going to be held without bond. I
concluded that I would as soon go to
the electric chair as be sworn into jail
on a false charge.”

“False? How do you make that
out?”

“I tell you I didn’t rape the girl.
Whatever else I did is my idea of fun.
What’s the crime in having fun? But
analyzing won't do me no good now
... The impulse came to me too strong
to resist.”

Doctor Mayer reported that Sullivan
was “normal in intelligence, without
hallucinations or delusions or any
other morbid or abnormal states of
mind.” He added that although he
suffered slightly from senile tremors,
Sullivan had “no difficulty in remem-
bering or associating ideas alertly,
well and clearly.”

OR reasons best known to itself the

defense did not get around to test-
ing the prisoner until a month later. On
January 17, 1937, Doctors John N.
Frederick and Theodore Diller, alien-
ists, took him in hand. They were
told by the jailers that he had been
having periodic attacks of what ap-
peared to be amnesia and that he com-
plained of being haunted in his cell by
accusing voices.

Doctor Frederick discovered that
Sullivan could not remember his own
age, the number of children he had
had or the married names of some of
them. He had never read a book
through in his life. He thought that
Herbert Hoover was still President of
the United States. He could not say
which was the largest city in the coun-
try. He had forgotten what menth
Pittsburgh had been damaged by a
serious flood in 1936. Although he had
been a policeman for the greater part
of his life, in Duquesne and elsewhere,
he asserted that the only duties at-
tached to the job were ‘“‘to arrest peo-
ple who fight and to direct traffic.”’

“Sullivan was of low mentality
throughout his life,” testified Doctor
Frederick. ‘He indulged in sex per-
version without understanding his acts

. He stated over and over that he
was a good family man.” In the opin-
ion of this medico and of Doctor Dil-
ler, too, the defendant had been insane
on the night of the murders—and still
was.

As my readers must be aware by this
time, I am not much impressed by the
war of alienists that is fought over
every sensational murder case. Sane
or insane? It is always possible to
put up a convincing argument on
either side of the question. If legal
sanity is the expert’s theme, he need
only show that the criminal “under-
stood the consequences of his act’; that

39


2?

SULLI VAN, Martin, white, elec, Pa, SP (Allegheney) on 3/21/1938,,,

youth and debauched old age are

of notable value in the study of
homicidal mania and its most effective
remedy, sterilization. The dramatic
contrast focuses attention, excites hor-
ror and so serves a purpose in arousing
public opinion. But there is much
more to it than that. Both youth and
old age are danger periods in a moron’s
life. Each has its special pathology.
The police should watch suspects with
this in mind. A scientifically ordered
society would provide for the quizzing
of all doubtful cases as adolescence
ripens into manhood and as maturity
shades off into senility. It is impor-
tant to sterilize at these points—vitally
important.

I have told the stories of several boy
monsters. This time I shall deal with
a man of 72’ who just has faced judge
and jury in Pennsylvania. His hellish
acts culminated in a_ tragedy that
shocked the entire State. First, how-
ever, let me quote Doctor Von Krafft-
Ebing on senile abnormality, a subject
he featured in the opening pages of his
famous work, Psychopathia Sexualis.
He sounded the alarm against the
aging individual whose sex need sud-

Ts extremes offered by vicious

denly “manifests itself with greater’

strength and strives for perverse satis-
faction in a shameless and impulsive
manner.”

After defining the condition as being
one of moral decay, Krafft-Ebing
writes:

“The libido of those passing into

30

senile dementia is expressed in lascivi-
ous speech and gesture. The first ob-
jects for the attempts of these sub-
jects of brain atrophy and psychical
degeneration are children. This sad
and dangerous fact is explained by the
better opportunity they have of suc-
ceeding with children, but more espe-
cially by a feeling of imperfect sexual
power. Defective sexual power, as
well as greatly diminished moral sense,
explain the additional fact of the per-
versity of the sexual acts of such aged
men... Erotic delirium and states of
satyriasis may occur in the course of
the malady.”

It will be seen how the above diag-
nosis, by one of the world’s greatest
psychiatrists, accounts for the behavior
of the monster whose crime I propose
to trace. The pity of it is that the
final calamity need never have oc-
curred. It could have been prevented
by use of the surgeon’s knife.

Martin J. Sullivan was a traffic po-
liceman in Duquesne, a suburb of
Pittsburgh. He had been in the de-
partment for 20 years and for the
greater part of that time he had been
on duty at one of the town’s main in-
tersections. He was a fat man, totally
bald, but renowned for the vanity of
wearing a thick black wig which was
held in place by a string fastened un-
der his chin. Anybody could see that
it was a wig, for it was not well made.
But Sullivan clung to it with fierce
tenacity. The surest way of throwing
him into a violent rage was to try to

OFFI ClaL DETECTIVE STORIES, duly 15,

MARTIN
ULLIVAN

Quintuple
Murderer

By Ex-Operative 48

Martin Sullivan:
“That's my idea
of having fun”

“Old Marty,” be-
low, without his
toupe in court and
at right as he
looked when di-
recting traffic in
Duquesne, Penna.

1937.


eitv. That he might*do credit to the youth
and ardor of the police foree he graced,
and ineidentally augment his appeal to
the younger ladics of the town, he wore
uw toupee on his glistening dome, rouged
his vellowing cheeks, and carmined his
aged, sagging mouth. Thus for ycars he
successfully disputed with time the in-
evitability of his path to the grave, “Age
could not wither, nor custom stale. the
infinite variety” of his efforts toward
clernal youth. _
fouged and: lipstieked, with) femininely
arched and darkened eyebrows, and aided
by the toupee and the impressive buttons
of his uniform, he -“lothariocd” among
Duquesne’s younger feminine set.

IS penchant for youngsters appeared

to have ended when he married Helen
Bonda. fifteen-year-old girl, and May and
December united for four miraculous
Vvoaurs,

The nuptials and what followed did
little to dim the ardor in Officer Sullivan’s
eves. Antoinette Vukelja, a lively young-
ster of twelve summers, was his next
cynosure. Some said he had assaulted the
young lady. Among these was Mrs. Laura
Bacon, fifty-three-year-old social worker.
She insisted the aged youngster had over-
stepped the bounds of septuagenarian re-
straint. She had him arrested. The seandal
eaused Sullivan’s young wife to leive him.
These two events came crushinely down
on the old reprobate’s head, and engen-
dered the feeling that the day had come
te Celenan the shite.”

Here ais ai brief record) of sullivan’s
“cleaning,” undoubtedly his most active
forty-five minutes on the police force:

At seven po M.. December 18th, Sullivan
left his home in charge of Police Officer
Thomas L. Gallagher, who was to escort
him to jail.

On the way they passed a salooa. Sulii-
van. feeling — thirsty, invited — Officer
Gallagher to have oa drink. Callyeher
drank a beer while Sullivan took whisky.

They then visited the home of Suilivan’s
son, Officer Gallagher considerately waiting
outside at the front door, Sullivan obtained
his 38 caliber service revolver and a box
of shells and slipped out the back door

Star

For, Betty was charged with killing
Clarence, her star boarder-lover. She said
it was an accident; that, while riding one
night with Schneider, she pointed a gun
playfully at him and it went off. So did
Schneider—for good. He died where he
sat.

Betty immediately drove home to her
other man, carrying Schneider’s body with
her, She told her policeman-husband of
the accident, and they consoled each other
for the unfortunate taking off of their
mutual companion.

Friend husband believed her; unfriendly
police did't, Phe latter is the reason why
she was tried.

Police contended that Betty Baker,
thirty, had made twenty-four-year-old
Sehneider her “love slave” over a period
of six vears, while he resided in her home
as a non-paying guest. They insisted that
Betty had become jealous and that
Schneider had become tired. When Betty

True Detective Mysteries

“Cleaning the Slate”

(Continued from page 41)

Constable Thomas Gallagher of

Duquesne, Pennsylvania, who was

left waiting at the front door while
a killer killed

Running two blocks, he entered the
Benda home. Here he murdered:

1. Joseph Benda, fifty-three, father

of his youthful wife.

2. Mrs. Helen Benda, forty-five, his

wife's mother.

Leaving there he went to the home of
little Antoinette Vukelja and asked for
Mrs. Vukelja. As she eame down. the
steps he ran toward ier with his revolver.
Her son, Milan, stepped in between and
Was shot. Mrs. Vukelja fled upstairs,
climbed through a window to the roof of
a porch, and leaped to the ground, crying,
“Police! Police!” Officer Sullivan appeared
inthe vard. “Here are the police,” he said,
and shot her through the head. The added
dead:

3. Mary Vukelja, forty-eight, who
had accused Sullivan of mis-
treating her daughter,
Antoinette.

4. Milan Vukelja, twenty-three, her
son.

The wounded: Joseph Vukelja, fifty-two.
father of Antoinette, and Walter Vukelja,
thirteen, brother of Antoinette.

The shooting septuagenarian then  re-
turned to Officer Gallagher, who, still at
Sullivan's front door, was awaiting his
reappearance. Together they continued
the journey to the jail.

Before Gallagher was aware of it, how-
ever, Sullivan dashed over to Mrs. Bacon's
house and rang her door bell. He pushed
the door open as Gallagher ran up the
steps after him and followed him— into
the living-room. Mrs. Bacon had been
sitting there, but stood up as Sullivan
entered.

“Are all these things true about me?”
he shouted at her.

As she started to speak he fired a bullet
into her opened mouth, and:

5. Mrs. Laura Bacon, who had had
Sullivan arrested, sank to the
floor mortally wounded.

Five murders in forty-five minutes!

The journey to the jail was vesumed
without further untoward events.

“T wasn’t drunk, and I’m not crazy,”
said the shooting septuagenarian as he was
Incarcerated.

“ just wanted to get even with them
and I did.”

What manner of man will go to the
extreme of murdering five innocent. per-
sons, simply to “get even,” as he calls it?
We will let the reader decide that question
for himsclf.

Meanwhile Officer Gallagher bas been
held under a $20,000 bond. Said District
Attorney Andrew T. Park:

“We feel that Gallagher, in letting Sulli-
van be at liberty as he did, beyond his
sight and out of his custody, was guilty
of a grave malfeasance in office, and
morally guilty of the deaths of these five

"2 ge?)
persons,

Boarder and “Love Slave”

(Continued from page 23)

Pretty Betty Baker, former dancer

and torch singer, checks off the days

she has spent in jail. Perhaps she
wonders how long a life term is

learned that he was determined to with-
draw from the triple alliance, she killed
him.

Betty Baker, a former dancer, and ap-
parently as deft with her feelings as she
had been with her feet, admitted her
intimacies with Schneider for the six-year
period, but insisted that the discharge
of the gun was accidental.

“I loved them both,” she said, referring
to Schneider and her husband, “and I did
not want to hurt either.”

Betty called her trial the “A. B. CG.” of
her experionce, “A” for Albert, her hus-
band; “C” for Clarence, her clandestine
lover; and “B” for Betty, in between.

Her husband stood beside her through
her ordeal. But it was all to no purpose.
The jury found Betty guilty of murder
which means a life sentence in the Detroit
House of Correction, this being — the
sentence imposed by the judge.

Pr
VV Gas |

solutions of th:
Am Going For
in January T. J
of the danger o:
by prize winnes

First
Ralph A. Lea
Blvd., Los Ans

Five Second
Justus G.I:
Northampton, \
Donald by I.
Nebraska.
*Salvation A
quarters, 120° W
City.
Mrs. Mary M.
Mrs. C. H. Ri
Tyler, Texas.
We are delight:
in the contest, as
of letters receiv:
to decide on th:
excellence of the
detective work «
However, we fee!
should be given
Miss Cynthia
Avenue, Jackson.
Miss Nora Cap
Newark, N. J.
Mrs. Anna M.
Avenue, Portland
Staunton B. }.
San Francisco, C;
C. J. Powell, J
John O. Cun
Lynchburg, Va.
A. FE. Dorman.
Henry W. Staic
Lucian J. Kren
Francis J. W:
Kingston, Ontario
(*) Anrong tli
received was an un
we do not publi-
this one contains
different from ali
so filled with poss
we believe it wil
We shall be gla:
from those intere
whether they thin
mates the true o
pick as flaws in
letter follows:

True Detecti:

January, 1937.
Motive—Edward
young woman fron)

If you hz
graphs, dee
please add
TERIES, T!
York City,
ing full inf
fact crime

To Ne

pluck it from his head, as his com-
rades sometimes did.

“At the age of 70 this peculiar cop
began to apply rouge to his cheeks and
it was strongly suspected that he used
lipstick. He carried small containers
of both cosmetics on his person.
Pedestrians who saw him touching up
his complexion. thought it a joke. He
was just “Old Marty,” reputed to have
a kind heart. His eccentricities didn’t

matter.

Early in December, 1936, Mrs.
Laura Classen Bacon, a social worker
aged 58, startled the local police by
filing a complaint against Sullivan.
She was head of the Duquesne Com-
munity Center and director of welfare
activities of the Carnegie-Ilinois Steel
Corporation plant. Her territory in-
cluded the mill area at McKeesport as
well as Duquesne. She was a woman
of fine reputation who had held her job
for nearly a quarter of a century.

05

neighbor family.

greatest

Mrs. Bacon charged that Martin J.
Sullivan had impaired the morals of a
twelve-year-old girl named Antoinette
Vujelka. The girl had been going to
Sullivan’s home to do cleaning inas-
much as he had been a widower for
several years with all his grown chil-
dren married and gone. Mrs. Bacon
said that the scandal had been called
to her attention by the Bendas, a
She had investigated
and was sure of her facts.

A hearing was set for December 17
before Magistrate C. D. King, or Squire
King to use the term current in Penn-
sylvania. Mrs. Vujelka joined in the
complaint. Antoinette, Sullivan and
Mrs. Bacon were present. After the

social worker had made a statement

the little girl was placed on the stand.
She seemed horribly embarrassed and
insisted on whispering her story into
the Squire’s ear. Sullivan shouted
for her to talk louder. She then stam-

Antoinette Vujelka, the in-
nocent cause of Duquesne’s
tragedy, at

rts Before They Kill?

left

mered an account of perverted caresses
and virtual rape.

Squire King had no choice but to
hold the traffic cop without bond.
Sullivan raged. He denied everything.
The magistrate retorted coldly that he
was under arrest. He would be given
an early trial and would have his op-
portunity to offer a defense.

The prisoner was placed in charge

of Constable Thomas Gallagher -to be
taken to jail. There followed a series
of events so fantastic that their equal
is to be found only in the pages of
blood-and-thunder fiction. They never
could have occurred if Sullivan and
Gallagher had not been old cronies
and if Gallagher had not had the un-
fortunate idea that Sullivan was
physically harmless because of his
age.
Tt was after nightfall when the two
officers left Squire King’s court. They
sauntered along discussing the evi-
dence. Gallagher seems to have been
in no hurry to reach the jail; he is un-
der indictment at the time of writing
on a charge of neglect of duty, his
bond set at $20,000 as a result of this
and subsequent happenings.

Mrs. Laura Bacon: “She
snooped into my affairs,”
said Sullivan

Abruptly Sullivan asked permission
to call at his son’s home. He said that
he wanted to bid the younger man
good-by before he entered: prison, and
also to turn over the keys of his own
house. Gallagher thought that was
reasonable. He escorted Sullivan to
the door of the apartment building
where the son lived, then strolled to
the nearest street corner to await his
return. To give him credit he little
dreamed what hell-fire was seething
in “Old Marty’s” morbid brain.

SULLIVAN went into the building but
promptly slipped out the back way

and hurried to his own bachelor dwell-
ing. He obtained his service revolver .

there. He was back on the street in a
moment. He rushed over to a shabby,
unpainted house at No. 10 Irwin Street,
the home of the Bendas, and bulled his
way into the kitchen.

Joseph Benda, 53, his wife Helen, 44,
and their two sons, John. and Julius,
were seated about the fire. A young
daughter named Helen, aged: sixteen,
was in another room. Without a
word of warning Sullivan whipped out

(Continued on Page 39)

31

ota

oo

me

ve actual ditt.
eet. A. deputy |
each elbow. tte
» go to the op-
vhere- the chair
uldn't see.

wheeled bim to
.ediately Lo the
he looked down
of the terrible
eves, and per-
back him. to the
ead thrown back
losed for: about
face was hidden
The attendants
fixing the body |
being less than!

“The struggle that .¢ 1.0 eva.
Furope,  satd Tor Boas, “fias be
acPibed av cn unavoidable Bar of
As ar outcome of the crate he
Ba roe: between Teutonic, Siav anf Lat:
plen. that can never be pverco
argument and reason, hecaline it
to dee;p-xeated ‘racial instinct.”
were correct, the so-calleti ‘rac
atinc: would perpetuate wars

termination unti! one racP alor
vived |

een 29 See
oi te frm meres eR ery :

!
“Tepe and race do not reaaily «
In eur imagination the loca rac
of Furope have been ident{fed v
moder: nations, amd thus jthe s
hereditar: characterist! = $f t!

4xed in one min
A hurried re-ex-
) and buckle took
wardens hand- : i ; re . : :
aod back. and : >h BS fyse whe on gf 7 ws 8 ao os in Haye been confused willl mation
Pine ae ah ne COrte tte an dSatineathon +
a nae type, of languaKke and of tation
bear tromde thet has Qiulbthed a er

P dy mt root gootees at 1 OUP TAKA TION

breve straye step

’ . - ¢ . vere . tal i

poarya ves. its 4 [ sre meter te Tyger gett die reme

ip iy from behind against Choe wher titten Con

Veen spread flats | ee ~ tren Wart tas gen
Woacted the fn- PtPt oe ee sInte Cation quits
eame white as le; ltr ffi present strug leg thre

felecnerts of the Farepean pomul,

nirar.ed au!
“a Rrogped log
Lmnotte Patieotomdst The wont
, moth iri@ witateves fer es with r
2 entied ractall an
are feoli: ee That biave Koen u

Jotver beste 8 Mave been pive:

| fer. rae iad "fer pretation. |
| Vis term tue ee fe cetiiy fe Ate
ithe telew oof atfonadits wip hi?

Vel) iittte to. «he Wotay raetal
Card fhe cesmlene that have bee:
Ble Uliseme of wational errrmities
Vemorald artioat tes

— tore. a €mir Judgment of
Met « S 4h pete mergit we BtMourd

: min$ thet te a!! countries t!
| aie ef patioral ethbes. am teutt
means «af rational edacatbo:
DEATH Nouce Posed te thie wider view 9 De
— 3 A 2," Matiersss fe ta aee.t as the 4;
- Arts fr oom <inmtelitgihble why

. : meee! thrat Be 1
ptorea of Marearet Cain. aixty yearr old, * a othe very ex

- «et? a! Rallom ate KONO ked her apr the Balin ©: dangered ahouid.
«ee e: Bret 6 © thes rel witas:.t's ct
. | ’ = a atiesy
mtore Peew anal attenwood BUS net err " May Pry aaher than the pe
iret cletor, gut ste (0. a treat. truerited from a pre
pet : ; fs : Lior:
Prete Smt s a an Fr entered etare ar * “ata bh 3 } E
"re ro.inmergoue . bat 1 s neid up = ee
° ’ ae tarstal; ard Hoauttonws od osts. vat
= hee anaes DEATH HOUSE OF THE WESTERN PENITENTIAR: tne eta fa ueach ther ideale to the
e- or ° 4° : . oi 2% . . . _ : ~ 7 — : y
ee terre that: is Or tie Jower right ts the concrete teulding of the Waoemtern T's ee se A Vebedyare 21. night, entered shoe atore. t ; a ihe :deais to the
{owas a’ Sti te Too KV .ew four and a haif mies froin Hellefonce. fea where toe fs ae ee 4 cee oe gt Ptttner als. qou &eo ¥ orth of on uw faal taualit on
me Getal a, that eae be eioctricity tn this State took plae this mort ie rps tbe Rat “ - he stuf ‘ et ae sta individuallt. ap a
fe... 1Ons i% - . 4 which John Talap. a wife murderer, awafted the sturinors. 8 rt afver 7 ok en ne. war im sumtifiable exces
e&t: ik vi nm a . ; | .
7 torte ifs merning to the execution chamber orly a Sep Or TMs aw 4 id one oe ; aa — ’
je. nee o eatt ; S aon “ shine Like a Morris eh:alie witherut eye yons ta re trys amen? at THIEF CHASE IN OPERA HOUSE ’ idealn
Dp tee death’ aaas ce ee, a held the eandemred man tretith., acd ctest ther etal ots C4 ‘ 7 lyr. bvanes asked his audten
ewe we a? = , : ren ; pay a Weed. the deed sc upre@nt pores . eider whether a man cou}
, res le! prow and nea. tare cs white § . an
Dawe’ fs gOer = a ce ¢ _ pugitive Followed by Police Knock8! opie and moral, and retal:
yn « & Patie = = . c People Down :n Dash Through Dee he eee
a oo. w fe “ob a te. ‘9? . ~e Cc : frome thre econemic A
ee wanes oft THINK ROOW THIEVES’ SCHOOL : * onemic ght,
a eon TTT Te ae Doe ate ad Tre wt Amex { ; -\ SS RS 7 Departivg Crowd anti-Serittic outbursts have t
Vigo ee) ~ - 7 . we a % 83ee Wa Yat weoue re ee ar ate Srraet “pecrn wy cere st-ug@ies Sometimes
‘ teeee) RPolye Arre-tsns Nine st LD. one a a tet pedo astomett hy an sens are poitt! al--and we see
_ , oor Fl eter, atere Hunker H

avcr?r ‘at 64 tote tion? es

vee dew ibetd, Mado.

The celebration will start

lunctYeon at Kuxglera. The delegates
alll th¢n adjaurn to the banquet room
‘or thd buatness sesston and* the ladies
Ht be taken on on sight-seeing tour of
the cit Mr. Gundaher and Mr. Berlet
will deliver addresses. Samuel Y¥. Cook,
resident pf the Rotary Club of Syracuse,
ST taleoon UPEtting the Hulls Kye in
Rotary > Stewnrt Co Metarkend, a mem.
cer oof the Mt «burgh Club, with read oa
per on the “Overstones of the Rotar-
wn Processtonabl”’

The program for the ladles began vith
three hour sight-seeing tour of the elts

at 12.00 with

Moat of thta thine was spent in alr
nowunt puark About Qt. touring caus
vere dn the procession, each decorated
with the Rotary colora,

REARGUE MOTOR LICENSE CASE

supreme Court Reviews Effort of High-
way Commissioner to Get Con-

trol of Fees
The leval controversy between Audltor-
reneral AoW. Powell and State Treasurer
tobert I Young. oon the one side. ana

hate Pitghwas Cpemmiusstonmer Edward M

Siege bow oom the hither, yver the asserted
ht of the latter to the exclusive contro}
f the funds derived from automobile
s

egistration and Heense fees, estimated at
wer $1,000,000, Was  aguin strenuously
irgued before the Supreme Court to-day.
Vhe test litigation urose over the refusal
f the Auditor-General to draw a warrant
ino the Btate Treasurer upon a requisition
‘rom Coomissioner Bigelow for SILO in
aver oof the Natlonal tuimestone Co. to
av for certatn work done or miuatertala
‘urnished tin fle tinproverent > Of tive
siate highways

The principal potot oof diseussion was
Section 10, of the Act of July 7, 1015,
vnown as the Automobile Act. which sec-
“The

‘on provides as follows, tn part:
noneyrx derived from registrations and
‘rom Hicense feea under the provisions of

hie At «hall be patd by the State High-
way Department into the State Treasury,

for safe keeping, and shall by the State
Treasurer be placed In a separate fund,
ro be available for the use of the State

Highway Departinent upon requisition of
‘hea State Highway Commissioner”

On behalf of the Auditer-General and
State Treasurer, former Attorney-General
rodd contended that this section of the
Met was not a legal appropriation by the
legixiature as required by the State Con-
etitution, but was a decication of revenue,
sot in speettic or Hmited sums, but un-
imited both as te amount and the period
yf time A legislative appropriation, he
contended was the naming of a specilic
aim for a specific purpose. Mr. Todd de-
nounced thie section of the Automobile
Aet asa Vicious piece of legislation, which,
ie upheld, would upset all the restrictive
legisiation that haa been passed since the
‘apltal Graft scandals, which was aimed
‘oy opravent the heads of departments of
the State from drawing their personal
shecka aguinst funds derived from State
Revenue

Both Justices Elkin and Stewart pointed
out that there are no duties prescribed
in the Constitution for the Auditor-Gen-
era’ “hose duties are prescribed by the
legiouture; and that if the section of
the act under discussion was net an ap-
propriation, then it did nat conflict with
the Constitution.

Former Attorney-General John C. Bell,
on behalf. of the Commonwealth and the
Highway Commissioner, contended that
the legislature has an unrestricted power
over the public funds,

The purpose of the provisions of Article
4. section 1, of the Constitution, that
“no money Khall be pald out of the treas-
ury, except upon appropriations made by
law, and on warrant drawn by the proper
officers in puhsuant thereof,” Mr, Bell
argued war not to restrict the power of
the legislature, tut to reatrict ‘the power
of the puble officers of the Btate.

The Legislative body is free, he nald,
to authorize such expenditures as {ti may
eee fit And to’ direct the payments to be
made by the State Treasury. This direc-
tion having been given by law, no dis-
cretionary power !s left with the State
Treasury to determine whether the pay-

ment {8 @ proper one.

FIGHT FRANK'S APPEAL

feorgia Attorneys Say State Has Often

Olb cider © thakal paste
xers curled inward and became W Ite as

chalk in a secdnd or two

HOW CURRENT ACTS

ata diner, vat

ON \TCIPIM,

The sxwitches used are

the first contact the full) force oO 2,30")
volts is applied. Another switch opqrating
an automate contrivance then reduces
the current to the minimun of (OO) volts.
At the ffrst contact the man fn the chalr

fa rendered unconscious, on the w#ix sec-

onds that followa while the inach{ne re-
duces the voltage, the current meets
the exact resistunee oof the wnan pn the

chair ug kills hun. The 4subspquent

shacks ure Precautionary,

Witnesses formally summoned fo ob-
serve the execution included Statq¢ Rep-
resentative Aaron BK. Hess, of Lanbaspger,
Who In 1914 trtrodueed the bi Co) sub-
sthute the ehatr: Silas H. Rowland and
John WH. Melean, lawyers; J. HH. Hoy, eof
Bellefonte, and Dr. E. A. Kell, of. |Potts-
town |

Andrew Malinowski, a Pole of | Pitts-
burgh. ulso sentenced for wife murder, ts

the only other present occupant bf the
death cells. He was sentenced to be exe-
cuted this week, but at the last minute

was granted a repriese te March 2s. To-
day's execution was the most successful
first attempt made in any of the numerous
States where the chtir has been adopted.
It Was accomplished in lesa time than is
usual in such instances and was absolute-
ly lacking in the gruesome details that
have attended previous €lectrocutions in
other States

_Talap's bedy was taken from the chair
to the autepsy, room adjoining the death
chamber. After the usual examination it
Wa sturned over to a Bellefonte under-
tuker, representing John Zantck, a Hiun-
garian, of Norristowh, who will give It
burial, Talat's two children, who live in
Norristown, did not visit him after his
sentence. He shot. hie wife, he said, be-
cuxupe of jealousy.

The sixteen witnesses went out from
Bellefonte at &3u o'clock to the low, gray
execution building, which !s the first
Rtructure yet completed on the 5.400-acre
tract taken over at Rockview for ths
new Western Penitantiary. The utmost
formality posstble with speed wasn ob-
served in thelr reception at. the death
house, which topped a long gray hill
against the flaining red of the morning.
In the rocky wilderness the death house
presented a weird picture in the half light.
All the upper windows were brightly {lhu-
minated and the hum of the fatal dyna-
mos were plainty audible Atty feet away

There is a possibility that some change
tay be made in the death house in or-
der to bring the wer from an outside
plant and thus oDBviate the preliminary
horrors that attend the starting up of
the power plant !n the building itself.

The chair is in a room 2 by 2 feet,
of steel and concret@® which has\go other
article of furniture. The “bench
the witnesses are about from the
and every modern appliance for 8
and, painless execution has been installed.
A metal dome suspended over the chair
contains a powerful fan to draw off the
smoke of possible burning. i

The death machine rests in the ceptré
of a rubber mat. It is so arrang that
the |legs, wrists and elbows of tte cons
demned are held rigid by wide heavy
straps, while even heavier harness {8
passed across the chest and ‘abdomen. A
leather mask completely hides th face,
andiwith side straps attached to the high
back of the chair holds the head fast.

The main electrode is a contrivance of
copper mesh shaped much like the Helmet
of German infantryman, lined| with
sheet sponge and connected with a power
cable which descends through the dome.
Thin is doused tn brine {mmediately be-
fore it is applied because salt eam | aids
the action of the current.

The second electrode is a wide bracelet
like arrangement of atmilar copper esh,
similarly lined. It 1s buckled ¢ the
naked ankle of the condemned man after
he has been made fast in the chair. A
Philadelphia electrician pulled the awitch
that sent the current into Talap tn order
to make action certain. He represented
the contractors and according to the in-
avitable rule, his name was withheld by
the authorities.

TALAP’S CRIME.

Talap was convicted of the murder of
his wife, Mary, at Stowe, near Potts-
town, on the night of August 6, 191% The
couple had been to Pottstown and were
returning home throygh a heavy storm.
Their two children had been left at jhome
under the lcare of Mra. Fesco. the |mur-

dered weman's mother. When | Mrs.
) woe to onwatt her danghter’s

nutomafic. Int

lj week of March 22, and Nicola Mondallo,

DEATH HOUSE OP THE, WESTERN

On the lower right fs the conevete, piliding iof the Western
four and a half miles from Bell

Nockview,
tlon by electricity in this State took plac

cell in which John Talap; a wife murderer, aw
to the execution|chamber, only a step or
Like a Morris‘chair,without cushions, is
an tightly ani press the
ch the deadly|current pas«

o'clock this morning,
room is shown above.-
death. Straps hold the condemned
his legs, arms and head, through w

B.POLG18 8 aw wm
anes a“

ame
rte eye ee ee
oon

ty eg

PENITENT

efonte, Pa.. wher:
orning. On the
ed the summon:

@ this

—

where the «irl, Bertha Fisher, was ailt-
ting. and shot her dead. The only ex-
planation he gave for hia crime was that
he “must have gone crazy, he loved her
go much.” He waa tried fore tho late
Judge Kinsey and was sentenced July 17, |
1914. Rocco Tassome. of Lancasjer, will
be executed during the week of March
8: Arthur Simons of Tioga county, the.

of Favette county, during the week of
April 5. ; :

The electric chair is now used as the
Ine*sument of execution in twelve States
The idea of kiliing criminals in thin way
was first thought of by Dr. A. P. South-
wick, of Buffalo, N. Y.. in 1875, who be-
lieved It was the more humane way to
execute than I hanging. Ten years
later he succeeded tn meotting Governor
Hill to appoint a comminsion 60 experi-
ment along this line. It was not until
18m0, however, that the State of New
York adopted the electric chair as !ts {n-
strument of execution. The first chair
was created at Auburn and there. on
August 6, 1590, a murderer named Klem-
mer, was- put to death. It was threo
minutes after Klemmer had taken his
peat In the death chair before the current
was put on and he was declared dead.

Other States then began following New
York in adopting electrocution as the offi-
cial means of Snflicting the death penalty.
With’ Pennsylvania, the latest. and New
York, the other States are New Jersey,
Massachusetts, Ohio, Indiana, Nebraska,
Kentucky, North Carolina, South Caro-
lina Vircinia and aRanaye

SLAYER SENTENCED TO CHAIR

Roland Pennington, Murderer of Lewis
Pinkerton, Hears Doom and
Appeal is Made

Roland Pennington, who was convicte
of the murder of 8. Lewis Pinkerton at
fhe June term of the Delaware County
Court, at Media, was to-day gentpnced
to the selertric chair by Judge Isaac
jotewed An appeal will be carried to
the Bupreme Court Wy A. J. Wi}ilams,
hin attorney, :

Pennington bore the sentence unmoved,
having been prepared for it In advanca
by hie cotnsel, and was immediately af-
terward taken back to jail by @ deputy
sheriff. F :
‘Pennington oat Grocowe H. March lured
Pinkerton, who was farm manager for
G. Searing Wilson at the Iatter’s farms
{mw Edgmont townshtp, into a barn on
the Brick House Fartns, where Penning-
ton attacked Pinkerton with a blackjack.
‘After he had succeeded in knocking -Pin-«
kerton to the floor, March assisted by
jumping upon Pinkerton’s chest, driving
his ribs through his lungs and heart:

Trev then hanled the hadv tn a woods

THINK ROOM TH

Police, Arresting Win

1 '

A dinay Nttle room |
in 7th wt.. near Butto:
raided last night, ins :
used af a school to te:
stea] and to ure drug.

Nine prisoners, taker
to-day held for a furt!
2, by Magistrute Rens!
Station.. Timlin and
tives expect a score ©
tify the suspects, Son
haye confersed holdin
it Je mald, and burg!
probably be preferred
them.,

o/nlleged leader of
Matjack, who occuple~
with Walter Woods.
boxes of pepper und
lets were found in t?

The other prisoners a
Morgan, 7th x«t., near
erick ©. Robb, Brown
Hannon, known also nr
Bancroft st... near Shur
ltn, Hicks at., near S:
Kessler, (Folsom st., 1
oo Wessler, Frankli:

fl. Harry Morgan, w!
old, im the yaungeat.

Edward Hosenth::
store at 4th and |
Matiack and | Hannon

men'who rob him
revolver in his store
Hejsaid Wessler cam
Sunday night; and sw
blackjack, but that t!

Timiin ys that ‘%
driver, confe thy
machine near.Girard

a. passenger recently.
and Wessler were hei:
the others .were cor
defnult o 1,000 be
hearing by iatra

he police say that
ted, at. least two dozen
them e. ipebruary

=

flows: ebruary |!
store, Hicks and Jeffe:
Nght; .bound and gage
lam ,C. Batr, got &38

February 11, entere
@t., above .Diamond,
up! woman, got $20.

February 11, 9 A.
grocery ‘store, 4th:
captured proprietor «
$20. |

February 12, 9 A,


f2ik aA ate

a wm fy oS

Stewart pointed
tlea preavribed
Naudtter Qen-
vem mbed by the

the am tion of
wae wel an af
¢ a: | eon Aie t with

heuy toe

es. toeveral Jobm © Well,
e Cer man wealth and the
contended (hat
Lntreat(rctal power

eelofe’
Yoowm Al
Coctyde
f tie prwieatona of Article
f othe Conaetituthen that
be putd oat of the trena-
‘oappropebadiona made bs
‘pant drawn bv the proper
doant thereef Mr Bell
too restrict the power of
it ta reetrict the power
Ticera of the State.
‘ve bedy je free he aald,
wy expenditures as it may
Airect the payments to be
State Treasury. This direc-
cen alven by law, no dis-
wer iam left atth the State
\eterinina whether the pay-
per one
oof --

FRANK’S APPEAL

neys Say State Has Often
Verdicts Due to Hostile”
Yemonstrations

Agocclated Prees.)

Feb. @&—Warren Grice,
real for Qeorgia,. and Hugh
ton Coungy Solicitor. Aled
Supreme Court to-day In

th their argumeht against
the Georgia Pederal Court's
ng a habeas corpus reloabe
nk, aentenced to die for the
oy Phagan, a factory «irl.
ntends largely that habeas
be used “to overturn vir-
a conviction in a State
submitting Jmportant por-
ord upon which the judg-
tate Court was based.
-¢ Court of Georgta is sec-
ite In according trials free
Jamonstrations, the brief
haa gdug as far, We Vet
arn any State in the Union
'e verdicts where the same
' ty heatile demonetration
spectators, But thls is far
‘hat whenever an’ accused
\onen in a motion for new
rts whould grant a now

ntends Krank should have
eation of mob violdmce and
em court on his motion for
nd ahould not have waited
s them tn a petition to act
{het
contends that Frank was
action of his attorney In
wht to be present when the
endered, — : :
t-e

Nine Hurt in Train Wreck

23. -An engineer and a
hilled and nine passengers
yn and a mal) clerk were
rA jn a wréck on the Den-
irande Rallroad, fourteen
{ Colorado Springs, carly

; , 5 * a ,

wide
harness lea
Dasped acrosn the chest ami abdomen. A

detnned are held
Strapa, while even

rigid by heavy

heavier

leathar mask completely hides the fnce,
and with side etraps attached to the high
hack of the chair holds the head fast.

The main electrode’ is a contrivance of
copper meeh shaped much like the Helmet
of a Oerman Infantryman, Hed] with
aheet aponge and connected with a power
cable which descends through the dome.
Thin ta doused tn brine immediatoly be-
fore It is applied because salt cae alds
the action, of the current.

The second electrode is a wide bracelet
like arrangement of atmilar copper, mesh,
altnitarly Iined. It fe buckled ¢t the
naked ankle of the condemned man| after
he has been made ‘fast in thea chair. A
Priladelphia electrician pulled the awitch
that sent the current {nto Talap tn order
to make action certain. He repyesented
the contractors and according to the in-
evitable rule, his name was withheld by
fhe authoritias.

ad

TALAPS CRIME.

Talap warn convicted of the murder of
hia wife. Mary, at Stowe, near Potta-
“town, on'the night of August 6, 1918. The
couple had been to Pottstown and were
returning home through a heavy storm.
Their two children had been left at home

return, did nat appear at her own
her husband atarted to Stowe for! her.
On the road he stumbled over the| body
of fis daughter. She had been shot to
death. ,

Talap disappeared and search w im-
mediately begun. On August 20, ho was
recognized in’ a barroom at Bridgeport,
across the river from Norristown, but
slipped away before anyone detaine him.
The next day he walked into the office of
J. P. Hale Jenkins, a lawyer, at Noprris-
town, and surrendered. . Ho said the kill-
ing had been accidental, but that he had

tion was that he wag walking home| with
hia wife through the storm and found
that his pocket in which he carried
volver was gotting*wet To protec the
weapon he transferred: to the pac
hia wife's side. and In doing s0
accidentally discharged. the bullet
ing the woman. He failed to convi
jury at tho trial that the shoot!

accidental and

vehe date set
was set by Governor Tener just
his term expired“and in some way the
papers were lost. | “He: remained‘'in- jail
at Norristown {xnorant that the time had
‘bean set until: the matter’ was called. to
the attentlon of Governor Brumbaugh who
forwarded the papers calling for Talap’s
execution on the date set by Governor
Tener. Talap. was about thirty years old
and his wifo twenty-four.

e - a |
OTIJHR, SLAYERS AWAIT CRIME. |

Reside Talap, five other murderers |are
awaiting execution by, the new meth , of
electrocution. Andrew Malinowski, of
Allegheny county, ‘was to have died|'with
Talup ‘to-day, but was granted a respite.
James: Boyd, @ negro, who shot and killed
his: sweetheart In this. city in -August;
1912,: will be, the second nan ‘electrocuted,

ahd will go to the.chalr, noxt weak. Boyd
entered #'saloon' th

term,
‘ber 7, 1913. ‘ io

become frightened and hid.: His exrlana- |

Market; ata, the

Kentucky, North Carolina, South cCare-
lina, Virginia and Arkansas,

SLAYER SENTENCED TO CHAIR

ee ee eee

ee ‘ ‘

Boland Pennington, Murderer of Lewis

Pinkerton, Hears Doom and
Appeal is Made
Roland Pennington, who was‘ convicted
of the murder of 8. Lewis Pinkerton at
the June term of the Delawaré County
Court, at Media, was fo-day gentenced
to the electric chair by Judge Isaac
Johnron,. An appeal will be carried to
the Bupreme Court ky A. J. Williams,

his attorney. ;
Pennington bore the sentence unmoved,
having been prepared for it in advance
by his counsel, and was immediately af-
terward taken back to, jail by as deputy

sheriff. . : x
Pennington and George H. March lured
Pinkerton, who Was farm manager for

G. Searing Wilson at the latter’s farms
in Edgmont township,’ into a- barn on
the Brick House Farins, where Penning-
ton attacked Pinkerton with a blackjack.

‘After he liad succeeded {n knocking Pin-

kerton to’ the floor, March assisted! by
jumping upon Pinkerton’s chest, driving
his ribs through! his lunga and heart:
They then hauled the body to a woddr
eight miles away, where they burjed it. |
Three .weeks later Pennington: broke
down under a third degrée examination
and confessed ‘the crime, {He implicated
March, and the Jatter ‘1 the way to
the grave. They |were tried egveretety,
March being convicted at the March term
of court and Pennington at the following
The crime Was committed Novem:

| uh :

| UNITED: BER VICE ORDERS: °: -

”s

‘Washington, Keb. '$3.—NAVY%' Lieuten-
ant L. W. ownsend detiched Delaware
to Sacramento; Ensign R. J. English, de-
tached Tonapah to D-8; Chief Boatswain
Peter Emery detached - Naval! Training
Station Newport;' Machiniat George Kir.
gesnes. detached ‘receiving ship at, San
Francisco, to 8t. Loula.' Wa hare as

4. SHIP .MOVEMENTS—Arrived: Petrel,;
at Mobile; Jason, at! Bristol, “England; |
Galveston, at Shanghal:. Proteus- and }.

Cincinnat!, at Obdlongapo!: Yankton, at
Guantanamo; Peducah, at
Cuba;
Coltic,
Key est;.’ te hat La’ , ee

a ooga,, Galina, WA cCajutla;
Osceala, Tynas do, Dates tbe suUantanamo;
Rocket, Norfolk ‘for Indian: Héad;' Den-.
ver, San Francis no-
pah and E-1, Fernandino for Key) West;’
Benh Key Weat for Guantanh ne
napolis, Mazatlan |for La Paz..\ Ae

. attell’ Boas

‘ummings,| at Santiago"de Cuba;

<,
'

tam

‘Edward
store at
Matiack ar
men who
revolver [1
He, said W
Sunday ni
blackjack,

Timlin si
Griver, cor
machine ne
a fansenge
and Wessle
the others
defrult of
hearing by

he ,polic
ted at, least
them were
flows:
store, Hick
Hight; .boun
. Ba

February
6t.| above |)
up| woman,

February
grdcery ‘st
captured p
$20. § +,
Februar

Tunas de Zaza, |‘

at Port au. Prince;; Castine, at |.
a sBailed: |:

for, 8an Diego; ,Tono-4 -.;

time th p )
present: at) a

sochation. eh
was: thei principal (a

4


: J
.

THR EVENING BULLETIN-PHILADELPHIA, TUESDAY, F EBRUA

WHERE PENNSYLVANI

a

.

A's FIRST ELECTROCUTION TOOK PLACE TO-DAY

"Ra:
of Ma
morni{:
gress
ltgiou:
House
Boas,
lumbi
point,

dover
Mass
point
‘Th
Furo
scrib
as a
het w
ples.
argu
to 6

wer
stin
terr
vive
“ry
jin:
tof