Washington S, 1902-1976

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Notes taken from Shelton Mason County Journal files, 1928-1930:

‘Sept. 17, 1928:

FIEND MURDERS COUPLE - Satsop man kills Soe Kirk and wife at maxtor
Home. Albert Schafer, suspected slayer, escapes in Kirk car.
----Joe Kirk, wife Jaunita Ki Hickson Kirk, children 10 mo. to 4 yrs. Old. |

AE gino engine nS,

Albert Schafer, son of Dennis Schafer, early Satsop valley resident,
é -and who also hed as aliases names Melton & Olson. Kirks had just returned
from a charivari at the Ogg home when murder was committed.

, Peart tet pi tieg Howard Best & John Olson came to see why Kirk had not come to take them

ERTL a to work at Camp One. (Simpson's logging camp) -- The body of Kirk

p ipeiataitos ies Jom teed was found in the open doorway and by his side was little boy, Jimmie,
playing with a cat. The 10 mo. baby was in his crib and 2-yr old
was lying on the floor. They turned Kirk's dog loose and he went to
her lying in a pool of blood in the brush about 125 ft. away. Mrs.
Kirk was rushed to the home of Rex Kidd nearby and men sent for sheriff
and doctor. ;

Dr. Beach came in a taxi driven by Fritz Thompson. Mr. and Mrs. EE RI Sn,
Kirk had returned from the Ogg chivari about midnight and were sétting yes
in the living room when a shot rang out. Joe dropped dead. The shot had i
come through the window and Mrs. Kirk grabbed up a gun and fired back.
Sheriff found bullet holes from inside the room anc shot from outside ©
had been through the window.

She tried to get her husband's body to the car and got as far es
the door. The attacker grabbed Mrs. Kirk and beat her horribly--broken
ribs and body bruises--- and shot her, the bullet penetrating right nostril
$3 sane Sabine and coming out right ear. fhe Doctor sent her to the hospital by
s fixing a place in the rear of the taxi. She passed away at 11:00 AM.
ane children were taken to Oggs to be cared for.

3 ' Schafer was sbout 25 years of age, 5 ft. 8" tall, 180% brown hair,
ea ee blue eyes, slouchy, and a logger when working. Described as queer, had
“2 been inmate at Medical Lake, an institution for the insane. He took
the car, a Star Six, drab solor, #8x #98-072, went through murdered
man's yalpniah Sane

SSA Sept. 20, 1928: :

Sus pected élesen Held in Hospital - When arrested at Snoqualmie he
ene’ his throat with a razor blade.
eleva Ree Mrs. Kirk was born in Ballard, Wash. 4/24/1904 and came to Dayton at ijt
s if age of 35.
: 4 Joe Kirk was born 5/28/1904, 24 years old, in Dayton 2 years, emplpyce
| OR or ewe He of Simpson's Camp Onee
OE Pa ROE Allan - 8 months old
Doris - 2 and 1/2 years
Jimmie - 4 years.
Children being cared for by mothers family

Sept. 24, 1928:

a tig 3 oH nA

Nei shat SACO

ESE SRT Te Cae te
Aeieiienks

Articles of Kirk's found in brush near Mason-Thurston County line.

ef oes ‘ re erty »
cobtar es en venee obi es

tt rs alt eo Cie od

Fiver Sethe
re
Ag RS Ce:
as sa shes
. sa

y? a
. rs ate Fe 99 uF R
Eee CATERER 02

» 2-

Sept. 27, 1928:

out of the car, placed them in the house and drove off with the car.
He begged to be electrocuted.

Dec. 13, 1928:

of Dayton ©
Arthur Schefer, Confessed Killer of Mr. & Mrs. Joe Kirk/feces First
Degree Murder charges Monday December 17.

Prosec. by J. We Graham, Prosecuting Attorney, Def. attorney is 0. Me
Nelson of Montesano.

The most brutal crime in the history of Mason County was. perpetrated at
the Kirk's home at Dayton at midnight of September 16. Schafer was
arrested at Snoqualmie Falls two days later and while in the King County
hospital following an attempt at suicide made a complete confession of
his crime to Sheriff W. A. Tucker.

He was later brought hereand after being formally charged with first
degree murcer on two counts was taken to the Kitsap County jail where
he has remained under close guarding. The brutal murder left three
gmall children orphans who have since been adopted by Mr. end Mrs.
Geo. Hickson, parents of the slain mother, ane Mr. and Mrs. Fred
Hickson, brother of Mrs. Kirk.

12/17/28:
Schafer Case Jury Panel Completed

Commission and Change of Venue Denied Slayer. :

Court adjourned st 5 o'clock, such good time having been made that

the entire jury had been secured and the opening statements of attorneys
head been made before the panel which includes the following: Harry
Deyette, rancher, We F. Betsworth, farmer, G- Cc. Britton, retired, :
Edna Hosher, resort owner, Tony FonzZoy business man, Mrs. H.- Jemison,
housewife, A. C- Lord, farmer, S. P- Huston, farmer, Wm. Randolph,
farmer, Lantz Wiss, logger, Pete Olson, Tom Webb, farmer.

Trial opened 1:30 Dec. 17, 1928 with Judge John M. Wilson on bench.
Def. counsel Saturdey asked for insanity commission and change of
venue, both denied.

Dec. 20, 1928 -

Courthouse Sags Under Triel Crowd.

‘The old Mason County Courthouse was tested to its capacity by the

crowds of attendants at the trial of Albert Schafer for the Kirk
murders, and Tues. PM while all available standing room was fully
occupied Auditor Ida Rex Loughnan called attention to sagging floors
above her office and the jammed doors which indicated strain upon
the old building. Judge \wilson took prompt action in ordering

from the courtroom all those standing and limiting the attendance to

[he ROAR we gi Re Seen I

sompraegei 9 4
igh Ataris O% DP a ad

“se ERIN UO ae Cece ie ea

_ ater

those who could be seated,
removed and hegspafter no large ga

of building.
---The Courthouse

being built in 1888 by C
rs or more later.

10 yea

foundations it is app

is a large rambling frame
harles & Eliab Dunbar, and the so
While some repair work has been done on the

arent that many of the timbers are dry rotted and

---- It was also ordered that some seats be
therings be permitted on upper floor .

structure, the main building
uthern addition

the old building has long since outlived its usefulness and safety. ---

(County has saved
next year for new

(Long article about trial)
In part: John Olsen, the fl
discovered the murder; Howard Best & Rex Kidd,
di

Arthur Schafer
killed Joe Kirk in sel

hed shot at him/sthroug
sleeve to snow 448 n
Mrs. Kirk hed dragee

imagined waye

Deputy Sheriffs fr
rational, giving eviden

for

Olsen told of

near her s
a her husband's body to the
was shot the first time had gone into the woods;
her and did not shoot her the second time.
car, denied searching the
but admitted throwing 4
ditching the car on & b
committing the crime except

10 years for new buildin
pbuilding.)

took the stand.

an insane person would.

Feb. 4, 1929

Short news item &

bout Arthur Schafer,

of lst degree murder.

Aug. 28, 1950

Short news item refers to

Schaffer, who is in the pe
hang for this murder

sentenced to

f defense, and also shot Mrs.

h the window, exhibiting 2 bu

hots hed come to hitting him.
doorway and after she

that he had not molested
itted taking the Kirk

house and taking any money or
blank check book out along the

yroad near Puyallu
to claim the Kirks ha

om Seattle gave their opinions t
ce of mental irresponsibility bu

murderer of Mr. and Mr
nipentiary at Wakla We
on Apr. 1929.

g and will have $130,000.--

rst caller at the Kirk home who
neighbors called to the
a evidence of the Gouble crime, and their
eaeegey/eas given in the Journal following commission
f¢Ah/ finding Joe Kir

his home that morning
se to his call for Mrs. Kirk,

mall children.
they found Mrs. Kirk badly wounded lying in

the brush not far away, an
"That goofy guy." (More tha
18 for defense, mostly from
early life and mental defic

k dead and lying
when he called

With

o “Who did this?"

n 12 witnesses for prosecution. More than

who dwelt on his

His story in effect was that he
Kirk after she
llet holes thru his coat

He claimed

articles away,
highway and also

He gave no reason for
d abused him in some

{

25, mentions verdick Dec. 21, 1928

s. Joe Kirk, Arthur
lla, Wash. and
(Was executed 8

/29/30)

shite Mania aires ecmagen:
A EET PMCS SAO

hat prisoner was
t did not act as

who was

Notes taken from Shelton Mason County Journal files, 1928-1930:
Sept. 17, 1928:
FIEND MURDERS COUPLE - Satsop man kills Joe Kirk and wife at Dayton

Home. Albert Schafer, suspected slayer, escapes in Kirk car.
----Joe Kirk, wife Jeaunitea K7y# Hickson Kirk, children 10 mo. to 4 yrs. old.

Albert Schafer, son of Dennis Schafer, early Satsop valley resident,
and who also had as aliases names Melton & Olson. Kirks had just returned
from a charivari at the Ogg home when murder was committed.

Howard Best & John Olson came to see why Kirk had not come to take them
to work at Camp One. (Simpson's logging camp) -~- The body of Kirk
was found in the open doorway and by his side was little boy, Jimmie,
playing with a cat. The 10 mo. baby was in his crib and &-yr old

was lying on the floor. They turned Kirk's dog loose and he went to
her lying in a pool of blood in the brush about 125 ft. away. Mrs.
Kirk was rushed to the home of Rex Kidd nearby and men sent for sheriff
and doctor.

Dr. Beach came in a taxi driven by Fritz Thompson. Mr. and Mrs.
Kirk had returned from the Ogg chivari about midnight and were sétting
in the living room when a shot rang out. Joe dropped dead. The shot had
come through the window and Mrs. Kirk grabbed up a gun and fired back.
Sheriff found bullet holes from inside the room anc shot from outside
had been throagh the window.

She tried to get her husband's body to the car and got as far as
the door. The attacker grabbed Mrs. Kirk and beat her horribly--broken
ribs and body bruises--- and shot her, the bullet penetrating right nostril
and coming out right ear. fhe Doctor sent her to the hospital by
fixing a place in the rear of the taxi. She passed away at 11:00 AM.
The children were taken to Oggs to be cared for.

Schafer was sbout 25 years of age, 5 ft. 8" tall, 180% brown hair,

blue eyes, slouchy, and a logger when working. Described as queer, had
been inmate at Medical Leake, an institution for the insane. He took
the car, a Star Six, drab color, #@x #98-072, went through murdered
man's clothing.

Sept. 20, 1928: -

Suspected Slayer Held in Hospital - When arrested at Snoqualmie he
slashed his throat with a razor blade.

Mrs. Kirk was born in Ballard, Wash. 4/24/1904 and came to Dayton at
age of 3.

Joe Kirk was born 5/28/1904, 24 years old, in Dayton 2 years, emplpyee
of Simpson's Camp One.

Allan - 8 months old

Doris ~ 2 and 1/2 years

Jimmie - 4 years.

Children being cared for by mothers family

Sept. 24, 1928:
Articles of Kirk's found in brush near Mason-Thurston County line.

Sid

Non - Profit Organ.

MASON COUNTY AISTORICAL SOCIETY
BELFAIR, WASHINGTON 98828 oe
PAID

Permit No. 5
Rettair, WA 98528

Soe ky, go de He fRPT AS TST — arse,
Piss e 3 2 ee Fae fe
JUDGE CHARLES T WRIGHT “1964

UNION WA 98592

Watt Espy

Law Library

Box 6205

University, Alae 35186

September 21, 1977

The Honorable Charles T, Wright,
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court,
Temple of Justice,

Olympia, Washington 98501,

Dear Mr, Chief Justices

The Honorable Elaine Prevince, Clerk of Masen County, has very kindly sent me a cepy of her
letter of September 19, 1977, to you in which she transmitted a copy of my letter of Sept.
5 requesting information concerning legal hangings that might have occurred in Mason County
prior te 1905 when the State of Washington took over the burden of putting condemed felons
to death,

If you have any record of any hangings that might have taken place in Mason County, I shall
appreciate it very much if you would previde me with the names of those exeéuted and the dates
of the executions as a basis for further research, If there were never any legal hangings
there and you can definitely confirm this fact for me, please do so,

If you are unable to assist me, then I would welcome any suggestions that you might make as

to other potential sourees of information, Enclosed is a prepaid addressed envelope for
your reply and you will, of course, be given credit in the work itself for your assistance,

Thanking you for your cooperation, I am,

Respectfully yours,

September 28, 1977

Dear Mr. Espy:

I think our letters probably crossed in the mails. In any event
I have suggested that the old files of the Shelton-Mason County Journal
would be the best source. The Journal (originally knwwn as the Mason
County Journal) was founded many years ago, my memory is it was about
1890. There is a complete file maintained by someone. In a town the

size Shelton was before 1905, a hanging would be big news and would be
fully covered.

(over)

page 2

I said a file is maintained by someone. I put it that way
because the paper was founded by a pioneer publisher, Grant C. Angle.
I do not know if his family kept the old files or if they went with
the ownership of the paper. In either event they are maintained {#

She/foy, (The # NYC 17 er” ALS 7 gu Ph)
be a W421

TEMPLE OF JUSTICE

The Supreme Court
State of Washington amare ahi

(206) 753-5077

CHARLES T. WRIGHT
CHIEF JUSTICE

September 21, 1977

Mr. Watt Espy

Law Library

University of Alabama
Box 6205

University, Alabama 35486

Dear Mr. Espy:

Your letter to the Mason County clerk has been
referred to me--mainly, I suppose, because I am
a long-time resident of Mason County and also because
I was a Judge on the Superior Court there for many
years, as was my father before me.

I regret I have no particular information to
give you except that you might contact the Shelton-
Mason County Journal in Shelton. They may have some
items in their archives. I personally think that
would be your best source of information.

Very truly yours,

CHARLES T. WRIGHT, C.J.

CTW:dc
cc: Ms. Thompson
Mason County Clerk's Office

Watt Espy, Jre
Box 67
Headland, Ala. 36345

11 November 1976

Mrs, Irene Davis, Chairman,
Mason County Historical Society,
Route Three » Box 60,

Belfair, Washington 98528.

Dear Mrs. Davis:

Thank you so mach for your letter of November | concerning my inquiry for information about
Arthur Schaffer, sentenced from Mason County and hanged at the State Prison on August 29,
1930, I have just obtained a copy of TRUE DETECTIVE MAGAZINE for January, 1950, in which
there is an account of this case entitled "Night Terror" by Jerry Wallace on Page 26 and it
provides me with the information that I needs Following is amcondensation of this article
as you might wish to have it for your Society's records:

Mrthur Schaffer, @ 29-year-old white native of Gray's Harbor Co., Wash., was an unstable and
sadistic member of a prominent and wealthy family. He was finally committed to 4 State Hos-
pital where he remained for two years before he walked away. In September, 1928, he appeared
in Dayton, Mason County, where he lived in an abandoned logging shack, He went to the home
of Joseph and Juanita Kirk and offered to do some work for them in return for food and what-e
ever wages they could pay him. On his second day on the job, he made advances to Mrs, Kirk
who was alone in the home with their three children while Mr. Sirk was at his job at a lumber ©
mill, The woman repelled his advances and Schaffer left after stealing a revolver and some
bullets, On the night of September 16, the Kirks attended a dance and returned home around
ll otelock, As Mr, Kirk sat smoking, Schaffer shot him through a window. Mrs. Kirk dragged
her husband to the doorway, hoping to take him to a doctor, where she was met by Schaffer who
yhen shot her and dragged her into the woods. There he raped her and mitilated her body. The
Kirks were found the next morning by some of his fellow workmen who became suspicious when he
failed to pick them up to go to their jobs, Mrs, Kirk, though dying, was able to tell the
Sheriff that it was Schaffer w ho had killed her husband and a&’tacked her. He was arrested at
Snoqualimie Falls on Sept. 18, 1928, after he had sought help from a cousin who notified the
authorities as to his whereabouts, A£ first Schaffer denied that he had killed the Kirks and
said that he did not even know them. However, when he was told that the Sheriff of Mason Co,
and another man were coming to identify him, he attempted suicide by cutting his throat with
a razor, Returned to Mason County, he admitted the murderous attack on the Kirks but denied
that he had raped Mrs, Kirk, claiming that he had killed the couple because Kirk had fired on
him first. Convicted and sentenced to die, he was k&nged at the Washington State *rison on
August 295 1930,

Of course, I still need information on any legal hangings that might have occurred in Mason
County prior to 1909 when the State took over the function of executing condemned felons, and
I shall certainly appreciate any information that you or the Society's members can provide
concerning those. Just the names and dates of executions would be helpful because that would
at least give me something on which to base further research, but further information would
be wry, very helpful, If there has never been a legal hanging in Mason County and you can
confirm this for me, please do 50.

Enclosed is 13¢ postage for your reply and thanks again,

Respectfully man cb pop

With best wishes, I am,

December 2, 1976

Mr. Watt Espy, Jr.
Box 67
Headland, Ala. 36345

Dear Mr. Espy:

Thank you for the information contained in your letter
of November 13, regarding Arthur Schafer. I enclose some rough
notes about Schafer and Leuch, if you wish to compare this
with the information you already have. “iy Judy _ Mee! ther ,

Prior to 1889, when Washington became a state, our
county's criminal cases were handled in Thurston County and
I believe any information would be in the state's Archives
in Olympia. This isn't as easy as it sounds. Our Society
has indexed Mason County Court records according to subject
from 1889 to 1895. We found no records of any hangings then.
The County records are indexed as to name and date, not
according to subject. All old county records are on microfilm
only, with most of the original papers shredded. From 1896
to 1909 the only way I can find to search for hangings is to
go through thirteen years of newspaper files.

If we can find volunteer workers to spend some time
on it we might be able to satisfy your request.

Our present court house was built in 1929 with jail
and gallows included. County officials tell me the gallows
has never been used.

If we uncover any further information I will send it
to you.

Sincerely,
MASON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY

President

Route 3, Box 60
Belfair, WA 98528

Pt ah AL WI

FLICKERING kerosene
A lamp on the table cast a
pale yellow reflection on
the windows of the Kirks’
shingled cabin on Goldsborough
Creek, Washington. A pot-bellied
stove in the center of the room
glowed red, for it was close to
midnight on September 16, 1928,
and a tinge of the coming winter
was in the crisp, cold night.
Outside, a lone figure ‘crouched
under the shadows of the trees
that skirted the cabin, and, stared

-at the windows... .

Through the uncurtained frame
could be seen youthful good-
looking Mrs. Juanita Kirk—good-
looking despite the fact that she
had three children, the eldest four
years old. “She was starting to
undress. There was no need ’for
shades to be drawn, as the closest

ada

house was a full quarter mile
away.

In an easy chair her husband,
Joe Kirk, was enjoying a last
pipeful before retiring. They had
just returned from a wedding
charivari for friends in Dayton,
a few miles away. The three
youngsters had been tucked in
bed a short time before.

Mrs. Kirk unbuttoned the front
of her dress agd let it fall from
her piei A as she stood in front
of the stove before the welcome
heat. The soft lamplight fell on
her rich, full breasts in a warm-
ing glow.

Joe Kirk rose from his chair.
es I'll turn in, too,” he
yawned.

He put down his pipe and
gathered his beautiful young wife
in his arms.

BY SHE!

.”. Mason
AS TO

“The Robe
happy,” he w
derly, referr
couple whose
attended that
won't be any
will they, ho:

Juanita si
Kirk kissed t
hollow of |
Then he hel
to admire the
beauty.

Outside, th
ing under th:
tableau. His
hatred and
came to his |

Slowly, wi
tion, he drev
pocket-and :
arm as he
sights.

AMBbuUS

Artist’s sket
man at,the
pulled the tric

a moment, J

«swayed; hi

slipping: f
wife’s should
he slumpe.

floor.

il quarter mile

iir her husband,
enjoying a last
iring. They had
‘om a_ wedding
ends in Dayton,
vay. The three
been tucked in
before.

uttoned the front
| let it fall from
she stood in front
‘ore the welcome
lamplight fell on
easts in a warm-

2 from his chair.
cn in, too,” he

n his pipe and
vutiful young wife

‘
)

SHERIFF. G.. E. BYRNE,

_ BY SI .&
Mason County, Washington

“The Roberts are going to be
happy,” he whispered to her ten-
derly, referring to the young
couple whose charivari they had
attended that evening. “But they
won’t be any happier than we are,
will they, honey?” ;

Juanita snuggled close, and
Kirk kissed her gently in the soft
hollow of her bare shoulder.
Then he held her at arms length
to admire the ripe fullness of her
beauty.

Outside, the figure was crouch-
ing under the tree, staring at the
tableau. His eyes flashed jealous
hatred and a whispered curse
came to his lips.

Slowly, with exultant delibera- *
tion, he drew a revolver from his /
pocket-and-steaditd it across his f

. arm as he squinted . down the /
~~~ siphts. ‘:

‘ y
a ‘ e~

AMBUSHED

Artist's sketche—"The-
man atthe wittdow ng
pulled the trigger. For. ~

Ng momeat, Joe Kirk

swayed) his hands

fh ping from wis...

wifes shoulders. Then

he slumped to the
floor.”

When Joe Kirk failed to pick up his
co-workers along road (above), dis-
covery of brutal double crime resulted

require a substantial sum of money, and
there wasn’t enough coming in to permit
it.
: Red-haired Juanita finally suggested
& a plan to solve their financial problems,
‘i “I can get a part-time job in town,” she
told her husband one night after the
children were in bed. ‘Mother can take
care of the youngsters while I’m work-
ing; and after we get caught up again,
I’li quit. I really won’t mind it a bit,
Joe, and it will help us so much.”

At first he wouldn’t even listen to
such a thing. He was perfectly capable
of taking care of the family, and he was
determined that no wife of his should
ever seek employment. But eventually
she convinced him that she would be
much happier if she could help them get
out of the hole and thus be able to have

a the long-wanted work done on their

home.
“All right, then,” Joe told her. “But
5 I won’t stand for you doing anything too

hard. You work enough here just tak-
ing care of the kids and the house.”

A short time later, Juanita went into
Shelton and made arrangements to work
a few days a week at a laundry. She told
Joe it would be rather tedious but not
wh ee strenuous, so ne reluctantly gave his
consent.

With the extra income, the couple soon
were able to pay all their bills and put
aside a little for the house improve-
| ments. In the early part of September
that year, they happily bought the lum-

ber with which Joe would build the ad-

dition they needed so badly; but it prom-
ah ised to be a slow process, as he labored
Me long and hard in the woods and was ex-
hausted when he arrived home each
evening. There also was a great deal
of work to be done in clearing trees and
brush from their acreage, and this took
all the young husband’s spare time.

And so they considered it a stroke of
good luck when a young man, a stranger
| | ge eee in the Dayton district, appeared at their
a cabin early Wednesday morning, as Joe
was preparing to leave for the logging
camp, and asked for work.

Dazed, the stricken housewife stood in doorway of
cabin (above), torn between the urge to run for her
life and compulsion to defend her wounded husband

“I'll do anything,” declared the stocky,
blond newcomer. “I’ve got to earn about
thirty dollars to get me’ east of the
mountains.”

“We haven’t anything like that to
spend,” Kirk told him, “but we do need
a little help around the place and we'll
pay you what we can.’

The stranger expressed gratitude for
the opportunity. He said his name was
Arthur Schafer and that he was from
Grays Harbor County, where his family
had extensive logging interests. He had
quarreled with his parents, he declared,
and had left his luxurious home in Sat-
sop Valley and struck out on his own
some months ago.

That day Schafer chopped down sev-
eral small trees and cleared some un-
derbrush near the cabin. As Juanita
wasn’t scheduled to work at the laundry
until Friday, she gave him his meals
and chatted with him while he ate.
He told of his travels since leaving
home -and expressed intention of see-
ing the eastern part of the state when he

could earn enough money for the rail--

road fare.
The girl had the feeling, when they
talked, that he was regarding her with
more than casual interest; but he made
no suspicious move and his conversation
was Strictly proper in every way.
Thursday morning, after Joe had left
for camp, the stranger
returned and resumed his
work. However, rain soon *”
interfered and he asked
Juanita for permission to
wait in the cabin until the
downpour stopped. Again
that peculiar feeling as-
sailed her; but she dis-
missed it as being pure
imagination, since he had
done or said nothing out
of the way. She allowed
him to come in, and his
behavior was beyond crit-
icism. He showed keen
interest in the children,
playing quietly with four-

Fe cle ot is ace

A conference in sheriff’s office.
at Shelton (above) led to the unco
ering of vital data about; killer.

uF
Pi

year-old-Jimmie and 24-year-old Doris. _

Juanita prepared lunch for the group ~
and the newcomer ate heartily. “I sure’,
enjoy home-cooked food,” he remarked
when the meal was finished. “T’ve been. ce
batching since I left home and I can’t Bay
I like it’ much.”

When the girl inquired as to where he},
was staying, he said he had moved into,
an abandoned shack in the forest. “He oe
did not specify its location. 4
He offered to help Juanita with the.
dishes and she accepted, as she was in _
a hurry to get ready for a club meeting ©
at the Dayton community hall, a short ©
distance away. As they were attending a
to that chore, she suddenly turned from ,
the dish pan, and the expression on his |
face gave her a start. Something in his |
eyes made her fearful and he appeared it
to be on the verge of grasping her with |

his powerful arms.

But quickly his attitude changed and >
he went on with his dish-drying, as
though nothing had happened. ~

Frightened now, but keeping her fear
hidden, she finished her task, then lost
no time in getting the children together...
and taking them to her parents’ farm S
near by. From there she went to the
club gathering, where she told her —
friends of her startling experience with —
the stranger. ees

-“When I saw that look on his face, a)
would have run out of the’.
cabin and shouted for
help,” she declared, “ex-~°
cept that I have a good .
pistol in the cupboard and ©
I wouldn’t hesitate to use ; ‘a
it. ” bi

The others nodded and
remarked that it was for-
tunate for the stranger
that he hadn’t made a’
suspicious move, as Ju- _
anita could handle a gun ,
and was one of the best
shots in the district. ,

When the meeting™
ended late that afternoon, |
the young wife returned |

*. thing rash.

i ' for stealing,’’ asserted the deputy.
’.' sides, I don’t like the idea of him carry-

to the cabin; but she made sure Schafer
wasn’t there before entering. Going into
the kitchen, she discovered that it had
been ransacked. Her .32-caliber re-
volver and a large supply of shells had
been stolen, along with canned goods and
other food. Where her revolver had
been, Juanita found an empty .38 Colt
automatic pistol.

Alarmed over-the situation, she hast-
ened to the Dayton store and telephoned
the sheriff’s office at the courthouse in
Shelton. Deputy Eugene F. Martin took
the call, and she told him of her fears
and asked that a loaded gun be brought

' to her, as she was afraid Schafer would

return and she wanted some means of

‘protection.

Martin relayed her request to Sheriff
William A. Tucker, and within half an
hour, Deputy Gerald Byrne reached the
Kirk cabin with a .32-20 revolver and
shells for the distraught young woman.
The officer questioned her at length, ob-
taining all the information he could con-
cerning the stranger and the events

“,° which had taken place.

“JT don’t want to tell Joe about
she added. ‘He would go after
the man and probably do some-
Ican take care of my-
self as long as there is a loaded gun in
the house.”

“But that bird ought to be locked up
“Be-

ing a gun. I’m going to take him in if'
I can find him.”

However, a thorough search of all
abandoned shacks within a mile radius,
as well as the outbuildings in that area,
failed to yield a sign of the stocky, blond
stranger. Nowhere did Byrne locate

' signs in these places that anybody had

slept there, nor did he find any of the
loot from the Kirk place.

Before returning to town, the deputy
promised Juanita that he would be out
the next day to continue his hunt for
Schafer. When he came back early
Friday afternoon, Byrne learned that the
girl was working in the laundry at
Shelton and that the children were with
her mother.

Although no one in the neighborhood
had seen the Kirks’ erstwhile hired man
within the past twenty-four hours, Byrne
once more conducted a canvass of places
in the near vicinity where he might
have made a camp. Again finding noth-
ing, he covered a large area of the forest
itself, and still there was no trace of
the quarry. It seemed obvious that
Schafer, after committing the theft at

*the Kirk cabin, had left the community
‘to avoid arrest.

Deputy Byrne returned to head-
quarters and made a full report to Sheriff
Tucker, who agreed that the blond
stranger probably was many miles away
by now. Since Juanita Kirk had made
no formal complaint against the man, the
officials could do nothing more, except
to keep a sharp lookout for him in the
event that he showed up again in the
county.

On Saturday night a certain young

couple, residents of the Dayton district,
were married, and on Sunday evening
their friends gathered at the community
hall for a charivari. Joe and Juanita Kirk
and their children were present, and
heartily enjoyed the gay party.

Juanita had dismissed the appre-
hension. aroused by Schafer’s actions,
feeling certain that he no longer was
in the vicinity. Joshed by their neigh-
bors for having a hired man, Juanita and
Joe laughingly defended their “extrav-
agance,” and Joe remarked with a smile
that the stranger evidently couldn’t stand
Juanita’s cooking, as he had disappeared
suddenly without an explanation.

Since the next day was Monday and
the men had to be at work in the woods
or on their farms shortly after sun-up,
the party broke up at eleven o’clock. As

- Juanita bundled her sleepy children in-

to their coats, she commented to a neigh-
bor about little Allen’s improvement.
“He’s getting along so well,” she said,
“that the doctor is sure all the danger is
past.”

Joe and Juanita put the children into
their car and drove the short distance
to the cabin. Leaving the youngsters in
the auto momentarily, the parents went
inside and lighted a lamp. “I'll have a
smoke while you get the kids to bed,” the
husband said, sitting down at the kitchen
table and lighting a cigar.

As Juanita turned and started for the
door, a blast and the sound of broken
glass spun her around. She saw Joe
slumped on the floor, blood issuing from
his mouth. Instinctively, the horrified
girl ran to where she had hidden the

‘gun brought by Deputy Byrne, seized it

and fired blindly at the bedroom win-
dow through which the shot had come.
Three times she pulled the trigger and,
when silence followed the volley, she
felt confident she had hit the assailant.

Then, the one idea dominating her
bewildered mind was to get Joe to where
he could have medical help, and, grasp-
ing the back of his shirt, she half-pulled,
half-carried him across the floor to the
front of the cabin. She flung open the
door and was dragging him over the
threshold, planning to get him into their
car somehow and take him into Shelton,
when another shot pierced the still night
air. It raked her cheek and, as she was
attempting to straighten up, she was
struck again, this time in the left side
above the breast.

Releasing her hold on Joe, she stood
erect, dazed and bleeding, torn between
the urge to run for her life and the
compulsion to defend her wounded
husband. . But before she could make
a move, a figure emerged from the sha-
dows and clutched her with powerful
arms.

* * *

At six-twenty-five next morning,
John Olsen, one of the neighbors who
worked with young Kirk at the logging
camp, stood by the road impatiently
waiting for him to come along in his
car. Olsen and several others were in
the habit of riding with him every
morning, and (Continued on page 70)

Prosecutor Joseph W. Graham iti
(above) presented evidence mur- ©
ders were cunningly planned ~-

Able direction of general alarm S a;
details by Deputy Martin (above ye a

Sheriff Tucker (above):

“He 5
must be the same one respon. °): ©,
° ER
sible for the McCoy outrage” ~

Amazing story told to Deputy ee
Byrne (above) by distraughtwom- | .;+°—
an started search for stranger). °

At
around, She sawher husband slumped
on the floor. Instinctively, she

gun and fired blindly at the ‘window
through which the shot} vm

Fao it ue
Maal eb ig i>!

(Continued from page 29) until now, Joe
sad never been late.

As it was ten minutes past the usual
pick-up time, Olsen wondered what could
have detained him, and he decided to walk
down the road toward the Kirk place. He
reached the point of the highway opposite
the cabin without seeing any sign of Joe
or any smoke coming from the little house.
Puzzled, Olsen turned into the lane lead-
ing to the dwelling and a moment later
discovered his friend’s dead body sprawled
across the doorstep, his head inside the
door and his feet outside.

Six puppies snuggled on his chest and
in the crook of his arms; little Jimmie
was playing with a kitten by the body of
his father. The child exclaimed, ‘I found
Daddy, but I can’t find Mama.”

Olsen rushed into the cabin and dis-
covered the other two children asleep in
their beds. Juanita was not there and the

neighbor found nothing to indicate where

she had gone. Olsen ran to the nearest
telephone and notified the sheriff’s office
at Shelton. Then he started back to the
Kirk place.

En route, he met several other neigh-
bors who were accustomed to riding to
the logging camp with Joe and were on
their way’ to his house.

LSEN excitedly reported what he had

discovered, adding: “Somebody has
done Joe in.”

When the puzzled men reached the
cabin, they heard the frantic barking of
the Kirk dog in the back yard. When the
animal was released, it made a dash for
the thicket flanking the lane leading to
the highway. Its whimpering attracted
Howard Best into the underbrush, where
he found Juanita, nude and covered with
blood. Her head was battered and there
were several wounds on her body. Her
clothing, redstained and torn to ribbons,
was on a stump near by.

Discovering that she was still alive, he
worked to revive her, and after some
minutes she opened her eyes and tried
to speak. “Is Joe—all right?” she managed
to ask with great effort. She sobbed and
then wanted to know whether the chil-
dren were safe.

“The children are okay,” Best assured
her. Then, bending low, he asked: “Who
did this thing, Juanita? Do you know?”

She nodded feebly.. “That—stranger,”
she gasped. “Shot Joe through the win-
dow. I tried to drag him to the car.
Then—that devil shot me. I fought him.
But—”

When she lapsed back into unconscious-
ness, Best sprinted to the cabin, informed
the others of what he had discovered, and
in a short while she was gently wrapped
in a blanket and taken to the farm of Mr.
and Mrs. Rex Kidd, some half-mile south
of the Kirk place. Another call was then
made to the courthouse, reaching there
just as Sheriff Tucker and Deputy Byrne
were about to leave.

Learning that Juanita Kirk had been
found in what appeared to be a dying
condition, the officers raced to the home
of Dr. William M. Beach, one of Shelton’s
leading physicians, and enlisted his ser-
vices. They also located Fritz Thompson,
a taxi operator, and engaged him to use
his vehicle as an ambulance, since there
was no regular service of that kind in
the county.

Driving at high speed, the sheriff's car
and the taxi reached the Kidd farm in a
few minutes. Dr. Beach shook his head
after a brief examination of the un-

Night Terror

conscious woman. “She hasn’t one chance
in a million to pull through,” he declared
in a grim tone. “However, it’s a miracle
that she’s still alive, considering the awful
wounds she has suffered, so she may sur-
prise me.”

As Juanita was being moved to the taxi,
she opened her eyes and saw Sheriff
Tucker. Again she identified her assail-
ant as the blond stranger who had been
working around their place. Then, mum-
bling so that her words were scarcely in-
telligible, she told something of the horri-
ble events of the previous night. .She de-
clared that the itinerant had criminally
assaulted her and then had clubbed her
with the butt-end of the revolver.

Her recital made the officials, as accus-
tomed as they were to dealing with vio-
lence, shudder at the thought of the or-
deal she had gone through. They vowed
to themselves that the brute who had com-
mitted the vile crimes should be captured
and given fitting punishment.

“T haven’t any doubt,” the sheriff told
his companions, ‘that this Schafer is the
same one who was responsible for the
McCoy outrage. Only a sex maniac could
have committed either crime.”

Alibi cunningly
planned by this
man boomeranged,
sealing his doom

eer ie
Favre AG ae

Tucker referred to one of the state of
Washington’s most infamous sex cases,
which had occurred five years previously
in adjoining Thurston County, not more
than twenty miles east of Dayton. It was
a bright starlight night, such as the one
on which the Kirks were attacked, when
Martha McCoy, a beautiful girl in her late
teens, approached her rural home with her
sweetheart after they had been to a
movie in Olympia, ten miles to the east.

They had made the trip by bus and
as they walked along the lane from the
highway to the farmhouse, a masked
figure stepped from the trees and leveled
a revolver at them. Threatening to kill
the two if they disobeyed him, he fol-
lowed them into the dwelling and forced
them, together with Martha’s mother
and younger sister, into an upstairs bed-
room.

After tying up Martha’s sweetheart, he
tore the clothes off the mother and her
daughters and ripped the garments into
shreds. Then, during the three horror-
filled hours that followed, he committed
two criminal assaults on each of his terri-
fied victims, repeatedly threatening them
and the helpless young man with death if
they cried out or attempted to escape. He
subjected the mother and daughters to
acts of sadism which cannot be described
here. He then bound and gagged the wo-
men and disappeared into the night. A

short time later, the heinous attack was’

reported to the Thurston County sheriff,
and during the night and the next day,
posses searched for the criminal, but they
were unable to pick up his trail.

The victims, Sheriff Tucker now re-
called, gave descriptions of the masked
assailant which strongly resembled that
of the blond stranger who had attacked
the Kirks.

“We've got to find this rat before he
commits any more crimes,” Tucker as-
serted. “There’s no telling what he might
do next.”

Juanita Kirk was placed in Thompson’s
taxi and, watched over by Dr. Beach, was
rushed to the Shelton General Hospital.

The sheriff and his deputy then drove
over to the Kirk cabin, where they found
a score or more-neighbors standing by
the young husband’s body. After deter-
mining that the victim actually was dead,
having been shot in the back of the head,
the officers entered the humble dwelling.
They saw that two of the bullets Juanita
had fired at the unseen slayer had entered
the thin casing below the bedroom win-
dow and that the third had penetrated the
casing above.

Leaving the cabin, Tucker and Byrne
followed the crimson trail left by the
young wife as she attempted to fight off her
assailant: after he had shot hef twice. The
fierce struggle had carried them some
fifty feet from the house into the thicket
where, as shown by trampled ferns and

bloodstained rocks, the attacker had over-.-

powered her.

However, she had been found approxi-
mately ten feet from this point, and it was
apparent that, despite the bullet wounds
and bludgeoning, she had dragged her-
self this distance in a futile attempt to get
back to the cabin to her husband and
children. On visiting the scene, while I was
investigating this case for TRUE DETECTIVE,
Dell Adams, a neighbor of the Kirks,
pointed out to me the spot where Juanita
had been found.

When the officers discovered no other
evidence there, they rejoined the neigh-
bors. Sheriff Tucker arranged for two of
them to transport the body of Joe Kirk to
the Willey undertaking parlors in Shel-
ton. Then the investigators questioned the
remaining onlookers.

Howard Best, who had followed the Kirk
dog and discovered Juanita, reported that
he must have heard her cries of agony at
about eleven-thirty the previous night. “I
told my wife that a cougar was screaming
in the woods,” declared Best, who lived
about three-quarters of a mile up the
road. “I wish I’d gotten out of bed and
come up here with a rifle. I might’ve got
a shot at that monkey.”

Best and the others who had seen Arthur
Schafer, the stranger hired by the Kirks,
described him as about twenty-five years
old, five feet, eight inches tall, weighing

about 180 pounds, and having blue eyes, |

light brown hair and a medium complex-

ion. He was wearing blue overalls and a.

jumper.

Somebody in the crowd suddenly re-
membered that the Star touring car owned
by the Kirks was missing. The officials
learned from the neighbors that {It was a
muddy color and bore the license number
98072.

The sheriff hastened to the nearest tele-
phone and contacted his office deputy,
Gene Martin. Relaying all the informa-
tion that had been obtained concerning

the killer and the Kirk car, Tucker in- | |

structed his assistant to notify authorities

throughout the entire Pacific Northwest :

to take up the hunt.

ETURNING to the cabin, Tucker or-

ganized the Dayton residents into
groups and led them into the woods to
search for Schafer, even though there was
a big chance that he had used the Kirk
auto to get him as far from the scene of
the crime as possible. The civilian posse,

“T’ve tried to raise him on the radio
several times since then,” the dispatcher
said. “But he didn’t answer. I thought
maybe he was staying out at the air-
port waiting for a fare.”

Gemmill had been driving a newly.

painted, bright orange cab, No. 46, with
Washington license R 0422, which he
owned. The cab was nowhere in sight
at the death scene. Had the killer taken
it? :

Chase, Booth and Brien headed for
the bus depot and Connolly and Eddy
went to the airport while Sprinkle
called in the description of the cab to
headquarters. It was broadcast immedi-
ately to all law-enforcement agencies
throughout the Northwest. Through a
special arrangement McCullough has
with the operators of truck lines, busi-
ness firms and cab companies which
have radio communication with their
drivers, the cab would be sought by
these civilian drivers as well as by the
officers.

[7s going to be a rough one unless

we’re lucky enough to grab the fellow
while he’s still in the cab,” Sprinkle
commented. .

Roskie looked at his watch. “Two
hours have passed since he picked up
the fare. The killer would be a com-
plete dummy if he hasn’t dropped that
cab by now.”

Northey meanwhile had roped off the
area near the body and set up power-
ful floodlights to illuminate the scene.
But he could find nothing in the way
of physical evidence.

Chase, Booth and Brien, however,
were having better luck at the’ bus
depot. A cab driver who had received the
alert on the slaying reported that he
had been parked behind Gemmill at the
time he picked up his Passenger.

“Ralph and I were shooting the
breeze just before this guy came up,”
the driver said. “I was asking him about
his wife.”

Mrs. Gemmill was Seriously ill and
confined to her bed at home. Gemmill
had been debating with himself
whether to take another call or to go
home.

“Did you get a look at his passenger?”
Chase asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t pay too much
attention to his face,” the cabby replied.
j “A good description would help a
lot.”

The driver recalled that the fare had
been rather a rough-looking customer
with bushy hair, possibly in his mid-30’s
and about average height and weight.
He thought the man had been wearing
slacks and a jacket.

;

“Somehow, I got the idea he might be
a logger.”

“Why?” ,

“I guess it was his luggage.”

“What about his luggage?”

The driver said it appeared to be
homemade. One Piece was fashioned
like a suitcase and another was a roll
with a rope handle. Both were made of
canvas.

Brien called in the description of the
passenger and his luggage. They were
relayed immediately to Connolly at the
airport.

Connolly and Eddy had been ques-
tioning other cab drivers, porters, bag-
8age attendants and ticket agents,
asking if any of them could recall hav-
ing seen Gemmill. However, the well-
known and well-liked driver had not
been spotted aroynd the airport.

They started their round of question-
ing all over again with the description
of the bushy-haired stranger and his
unusual luggage. -

At the bus depot, in an effort to back-
track on the stranger, the detectives ob-
tained the schedules of all buses that
had arrived at the depot previous to
the time Gemmill had picked up his
fare. They would look up the drivers
to see if any could recall the man from
his description. Some of the drivers had
finished their shifts and gone home.
Others were en route to various cities.
The detectives had to run each one
‘down as quickly as possible.

+ At the scene, Sheriff McCullough sent
deputies to cruise the highway to the
airport and beyond, all the way to Ta-
coma, and question service-station
attendants and operators of road side
business places that were open, in the

The two sheriffs, Tim McCullough at left, and Frank
Stojack, ex-wrestler and pro football player, below

po that someone had noticed the
cab.

“Anything else we can do here?” Mc-
Cullough asked Chief Nault when the
body had been removed by the coroner,

“Not until morning. We'll search the
entire layout again when it’s light.”

McCullough made arrangements for
deputies to guard the area during the
night.

Tacoma, in Pierce County, is only 23
miles south of Seattle. At 10:50, the
switchboard operator at Tacoma police
headquarters received a local call. A
man’s muffled voice said:

“I just killed a cab driver. I’m at.

Fifty-Sixth and G Street.”

THE Operator asked for the man’s
name. It sounded something like
“Higgenback.” When he asked the man
to repeat it the connection was broken.
Captain Robert Drost and a score of
patrolmen and detectives raced to the
location. No one was in sight.

As Drost stood there wondering
whether to begin a search of all the
buildings in the area, a Yellow cab came
down G Street. It was a Seattle cab,
No. 47. Drost had seen the message
about the slaying of Gemmill and the
disappearance of his cab, No. 46.

With guns drawn, Drost and his men
stopped cab No. 47. A frightened and
confused driver got-out, his hands held
high in the air. He gave his name as
George Duppenthaler; he had just de-
livered a fare to Tacoma from Seattle
and was on his way back, he said.

Yes, on his radio he’d heard about the
death of Gemmill, but he knew noth-
ing about any telephone call to Tacoma
Police.

Ralph Gemmill took his last ride on
this lonely road, toward the airport

“I knew Ralph well, but I sure don’t
know nothing about his killing,” he
said.

Sprinkle, Roskie and McCoy sped to
Tacoma to assist in the investigation
there. First, however, they called the
Seattle cab dispatcher, who confirmed
Duppenthaler’s identity and added the
fact that he had reported in on his fare
to Tacoma.

The detectives questioned the pas-
senger. He could not have made the call
because he had been in the cab at the

time it was received by the Tacoma.

police. Nor could Duppenthaler.

Obviously, only by some uncanny co-
incidence had Seattle Cab No. 47 hap-
pened to pass the spot where police
had a rendezvous with the Purported
killer of the driver of Cab No. 46. Dup-
penthaler went on home.

Whoever had called in apparently
had changed his mind about surrender-
ing. The detectives were unable to find
him. Nor could they locate any spot in
the vicinity from which he might have
Placed the call.

“How do you figure it, Don?” Roskie
asked Sprinkle. “Why would somebody
call in and say he’d be here and then
not show up?”

Sprinkle scowled. The call could have
been made by a crank, since the news
already was on radio and TV. Or it
might have been made to decoy police
away from some other place. Or it
could have been from the killer who'd
then had a change of heart.

Sprinkle, Roskie and McCoy went to
Tacoma police headquarters with Cap-
tain Drost. A call was put through to
McCullough in Seattle.

“This fellow might call in again,”

2 ie -
WNPA |
CLIPPING SERVICE
Phone ME 2-2381 - Seattle

ga cers atk AOE B si m
|
\
4
4

WENATCHEE WORLD =)
Wenatchee, Wash, : aoe ,
To. p é ayes. iP
Agu 2088 : |
is CAPIFAL PUNISHMENT RIGHT?” °°

" Hanging Makes Reporter An |
Anti-Death Penalty Convert

(From no Poagtle Daily News) —

The year is 1963. The time is the night of

June 19-20. The place is the Washington State

Penitentiary. The event is murder — legal
murder. i : )

it was a typical June night in Walla Walla.

— warm and humid. The kind of night any-

one who’s been in Eastern Washington knows

well. i i3 Shek :
But for one resident, the night wasn’t warm

or at least he wasn’t dressed as if it were, ~
-dred miles to witness the execution.

His name was Joseph Chester Self. He was
wearing jlong-john winter underwear and a
heavy suit of clothes with shirt and tie,
Joseph Chester Self wasn’t concerned ahout
the heaf. He was going to die that night. on
the gallows ofthe sovereign State of. Wash-
ington. His biggest concern that day and
night was preparing himself to meet his mak-

er. : ;

With his confessor, Fr. George McCabe
Catholic convert Self had spent most of the
day on his knees on the concrete floor of his
ceil praying. As a matter of fact, Self was to
die that night with a prayer on his lips-

Self was 31 years old. He had a lengthy
criminal record. Three years earlier, in
March. 1960, he shot a Seattle taxicab driver in
a $2 robbery near the Seattle-Tacoma air-
port, The drivér died of the wounds. Now
Self was to die for the murder.

Around the “joint,” as the prison is called
by the inmates, tension runs high on the day
exception. It was to be the first execution in
three years. The guards were edgy and so
were the inmates.

During the day, guards tested the elec-
trically operated twin trap doors in the cingy
gallows. The rope, which is looped through
an eve-bolt: anchored in the ceiling, . was
checked. So was the noose.

Sometime during the day, Warden Bob
Rhay had walked back to Self’s death row
cell in the maximum security building and
read him the death warrant — a distasteful
formality required by law. Self was quiet

and composed. Fr. McCabe was there too. - .
_ After 10 minutes, a doctor mounted a ladder

As early evening arrived, Self exercised the
traditional right of a condemned man and
ordered his last meal — in this case Cornish
game hen with’an ice cream sundae for dessert.

About 8 p.m, a detail of guards moved Self .

from his cell to an isolation cell only a few
steps from the gallows. He immediately sank
to his knees with Fr. McCabe: to resume
praying.

The gallows are located in the north end

of No. 6 Wing at the prison. The room is 30
or 40 feet square. There is no ventilation.
The walls are of depressing grayish yellow
plaster, cracked in spots with numerous wat-
er stains. It’s a high room. That, because
of the wooden platform. The platform fills

out about half the length and width of the ,

room.. It’s prebably 10 feet or so from the
floor. ; “

As you stand and look at it you see the
following: A door at the right which leads to

the holding cells. Two eyebolts in the ceiling,

and directly beneath them, two trap doors.
The most distasteful sight is the old, yel-
lowed and stained bedsheet which is suspend-
ed from the front of the platform towards
the floor. It’s there, prison personnel say, 50
you can’t see. the body drop. But you can
because there's’ a bright light bulb glaring
from behind the sheet, and it makes shadow-
ed figures out of anything between it and
the sheet. . & REE TT a Oa
Prison officials don’t tell most people, but
the sheet is there for another reason, Many
years ago, the hangman miscalculated on the
length of rope needed (hanging requires spe-
cial knowledge of the victim’s height and
weight) and the resuit was that the rope cut
part way through the man’s neck and set his

«.

body spinning. As it spun, blood splattered,

‘causing some. of the witnesses to retch. at
- Tease, that’s how the story goes. :

On that muggy June night, Self was due
to die shortly after midnight. By 11:30. p.m.
the administration .building was filling with
people there to watch. There were three
newsmen, ‘including this writer, a variety of

. ‘prison personnel who had never seen an ¢xe-
_cution, some ministers and several policemen

some of whom had driven several hun-

A few minutes before the appointed hour,
the entourage — totaling 35 or .40 — was. led
to the chamber by Warden Rhay. Everyone
was nervous. Some felt nauseated. Tension
ran high. The chamber quickly became ex-
ceedingly hot. All present were perspiring
heavily. ; ,

Prison officials on the platform moved ner-
vously about or talked in hushed tones. The
hangman accidentally dropped the black head
hood and it caught on the top of the sheet. He
got down on his knees and leaned over to
retrieve it.

As the second hand swept past midnight,
Self was brought in quickly. He looked like a
school teacher, you thought. His arms were
already bound so that he could only move his
wrists. His hands were clasped and his lips
moving in prayer. His feet were quickly
bound.

Rhay stepped in front of him and asked,
“Have you said your prayers?” Self didn’t
reply but his lips kept moving in prayer. The
black hood was placed over his head and the
noose was put around his neck. As it was
drawn tight, Self made a noise like “*gaack,”
as if he were being choked.

The hangman stepped back. The captain of
the guard pressed the button and in the back
room, five guards hit the switches. They
didn’t know which one was connected.

Self dropped to his death and the only
sound was the electric trap buzzing.

Immediately witnesses down on the main
floor moved behind the sheet to see the body.

and put a stethescope on Self’s chest. He was
officially pronounced dead.

Prison officials untied the rope and let the
body down onto a funeral cot. The rope and
were quickly removed so the doctor could
cut out Self’s corneas, which he had willed to
a Seattle eye bank. A rope burn was clearly
visible on his neck. -

Then everyone left the same way they came
— except Self. He left on the funeral cot.
Not far behind was Fr. McCabe, so distraught
he was near collapse.

“He died a good death,” the priest says.

One witness didn’t think so. He didn’t sleep
well that night, and had stomach cramps the
next day. He didn’t sleep well for several
nights. ee t

Why bring all this up now? Because the
issue of capital punishment is a live issue and
will remain so as long as the laws of Washing-
ton and other states permit it.

- In California right now there-are 59 men
on Death Row. The courts have’ sentenced
them to die, in compliance with the law but
there is great reluctance to, put them to
death. This week all executions in California
were halted until at least August 3 by an or-
der of the U. S. District Court. On that day
a judge will hold a hearing on an atiempt to

get the death penalty declared unconstitution- ,
al under present state laws, We hope it is £

successful. i

Laws permitting capital punishment would
be repealed quickly enough if hangings and
electrocutions had to, take place in public
where all could see. Witnesses to executions
don’t come away approving of what they
saw. We know. We saw éve.

{| SELF, Joseph Chester, white, hanged “ashington
Prison (King County) on 6-20-1963,

nkle reported. “We'll stick around
for awhile.” ‘

‘ou might as well, we haven't
ed up much here,” McCullough
him. “Connolly and Eddy are pret-
ire Gemmill didn’t reach the air-

{ow about the bus depot?”
fot much there, either. The boys are
trying to locate some of the bus
ree
2:30 in the morning, while the
‘ County deputies were still in Ta-
1, Gemmill’s cab was spotted near
‘ailroad depot in that city.
rinkle called in with a request for
hey and his identification men to
: down at once. The Tacoma police,
e County sheriff’s men and =
ity investigators searched the rail-
yards. Sprinkle obtained a list of
reight and passenger trains that
left Tacoma during the evening.
* computing the various places
would be, he put out a call asking
. thorough search for the bushy-
‘d man with the odd luggage.
the front seat of the abandoned
Northey found Gemmill’s cap, a
paper and a flashlight. On the
was a .32-caliber shell that had
ejected from an automatic.
com the wounds, the blood and the
it looks like the killer was sitting
e front seat,” Northey surmised.
* about fingerprints?” Sprinkle

it’s going to take some time to
nate the victim’s. Those that are
aay have been made by the killer
nost any previous passenger.”

iis fellow is dangerous,” Sprinkle

enty of them,” Northey answered. °

All the cabbies knew, and liked, Ralph Gemmill, top, and all
the neighbors knew, and feared, the jug-eared man at right

‘

declared. “Chances are he will either
steal a car or try to hitchhike his way
from here just as far and as fast as he
can,” ia

‘Because of this, he phoned the radio
stations and asked for hourly broad-
casts giving the description. of the
stranger, with a particular warning to
motorists.
~ “Anyone picking him up could be in-
viting himself to a funeral—his own,”
he said. “One man has been killed al-
ready.” °

When Sprinkle, Roskie and McCoy
returned to Seattle, they found Northey
bre iad for them. He had a right thumb
print.

“A beauty,” he said. “I picked it up
from the flashlight on the seat. It isn’t
the victim’s, so there’s a strong possi-
bility it could belong to the killer.”

PI way of checking the records with

“Not unless you can come up with
nine more. But if you get a suspect,
this print should nail him.”

By early morning every bus driver
who had been in the depot the previous
day had been questioned. Not one could
recall the bushy-haired man as a pas-
senger, or his strange luggage. Possibly
the killer had not been on a bus. He
might have walked to the station mere-
ly to find a cab. ’

‘The persistent efforts of Chase, Booth
and Brien, however, finally dug 4 an-
other witness. They felt certain that if
the man had been around the depot
‘Someone would recall him and his lug-
gage. And someone did, in the baggage
room. The two odd pieces of luggage
had arrived from: San Francisco with-
out the passenger. :

This unusual situation was explained
by the baggageman. The passenger had
bought a ticket in Great Falls, Mon-
tana, through to San Francisco, with
a night stopover in Twin Falls, Idaho.
“Somehow he missed the bus in Twin
eco the baggageman said, “while his
uggage went on to San Francisco. Then,
in Twin Falls, this fellow traded in the
unused portion of his ticket for passage
to Seattle and asked that his baggage
be sent up here from San Francisco.”

In making the request for forwarding
his baggage the man had to give his
name. It was Joseph Self, he had said.

“He came in here about three o’clock
yesterday afternoon to pick up his lug-
gage,” the baggage clerk went on. “It
was here, all right, and it had a three-
dollar-and-fifty-cent charge against it.
He said he didn’t have any money and
tried to give me an argument.”

The charge had been made because’

the two pieces of luggage were shipped
from San Francisco to Seattle.

“I asked him how come he changed
his mind about going to San Francisco
and he told me he got drunk in Twin
Falls and lost his money.”

The man had returned at six o’clock
in the evening and paid the clerk with
four one-dollar bills. Apparently he had
walked out of the depot then into Gem-
mill's cab.

The baggage clerk was able to give a
good description of the suspect. In ad-
dition to the bushy hair, he’d had prom-
inent, jug ears, was between 25 and 27
years old and was wearing tan trousers
and a sweater.

“And he stuttered,” the clerk added.
“He stuttered pretty bad.”

(Continued on page 50)

a +

Cnn

Case of the

STUTTERING

This is the pistol
which, police say,
stuttered when it
was fired by a man
who stuttered too

PISTOL

Alone, unarmed, the sheriff from Tacoma went after the gunman
while the sheriff from Seattle waited and listened for a shot

Ta two sheriffs shook hands while
the woman watched in silence.

“Good luck, Frank,” said Sheriff Tim
McCullough of King County.

“Don’t worry about me,” replied
Sheriff Frank Stojack of Pierce County:
Then he repeated his words to the
woman, “Don’t worry about me.”

Her hands were knotted in a ball in
her lap, her lips trembled and she
didn’t answer.

Then Stojack drove off and they
watched him go.

“Say a prayer,” Sheriff McCullough
whispered.

Fiercely, the woman answered, “I
have! I have! He’s my husband, isn’t
he?”

Stojack’s car lurched around a bend
in the rutted mountain road and disap-
peared from sight. Alone and unarmed,

he was on his way to meet a man he

had good reason to believe was a killer.
—And his wife and his fellow sheriff
watched, helpless.

HE Killer couldn’t have picked a

more inauspicious moment to

have his crime reported than the
one that came along on the evening
of March 16, 1960. Because that night
found most of the top brass in the
Seattle, Washington, police department
and the King County sheriff's office to-
gether; it was initiation night for Chap-
ter Seventeen of the International
Footprinters Association.

By 7:30 the neophytes and members
were awaiting dinner and the enter-
tainment. Then the telephone call sent~
Sheriff Tim McCullough’s men racing
to their cars without either.

Two teen-aged couples, out for a
drive, had turned their car around on
a lonely, tree-lined road near the
Seattle-Tacoma Airport. In a small
clearing their headlights shone on
the body of a man lying in the tall
grass. The kids had stopped only long
enough to see the glistening blood. They
raced to a telephone. ;

Undersheriff Don Sprinkle, Chief of
Detectives Thomas Nault, Lieutenant
Ken Roskie, Sergeants Roy McCoy and
Mike Connolly, Detectives Frank
Chase, Harold Booth and Harry Brien
and Deputies Winthrop Eddy and Carl
Hartwig were among the men who
raced to the scene from the dinner.
They were followed by Sheriff McCul-
lough,, Captain Wilbert Northey, in
charge of the identification bureau, and
Coroner Leo Sowers and his deputies.

“A cab driver,” Sprinkle announced.

The deduction had been made easily
from the man’s uniform and from
identification in his wallet. He was
Ralph Gemmill, a driver for the Yellow
Cab Company in Seattle.

“It looks like he was shot twice,”
Northey added.

One slug had entered the cabby’s
side. ‘The other appeared to be a coup
de grace, with the barrel of the pistol
held at the base of the victim’s skull.
He had died instantly.

Who had killed him, and why? A tele-
phone call to the cab dispatcher in
Seattle produced the information that
Gemmill had been heard from last at
6:15. He’d picked up a passenger at the
Eighth Avenue and Stewart Street bus
station and was on his way to the air-
Port.

By Jack Ward Special Investigator for OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES,

July, 1960,

Even before the prime suspect was
caught, Sheriff Tim McCullough felt his
men had built good case against him

The’ sheriff asked,
him?”

A look of pain crossed Sprinkle’s
face. “Sure, I know him,” he said
sadly. “He used to be quite a football
and ‘soccer player around town. I
hadn’t seen him for years. I didn’t
recognize him out there, all covered
with blood the way he was.”

Sergeant Eddy said the trip sheet
at the Yellow Cab Company office
showed that Gemmill had .checked
out by radio with a fare from the bus

“You know

‘station at Eighth Avenue and Stew-

art Street at 6:15 p.m. Gemmill had
given as his fare’s destination the
International Airport.

“That checks,” the sheriff said,
nodding his head. “The murder scene
is only a couple of miles from the
airport.”

“Other things check, too, Sheriff,”
Eddy said. “The description of Gem-
mill from the company records tallies
in every detail with the description
you gave me of the dead man.”

The manager of the taxi firm later
told probers that Gemmill was a
trusted veteran employee. The for-
mer football star was married and
lived on the East Side. The couple
had no children. Arrangements were
made for a relative to identify the
murder victim’s body. A short time
later, positive identification © was
made and entered into the record.

“Who in the world would want to
do a thing like this to Ralph?” the
stunned relative asked Undersherift
Sprinkle.

“Ralph,” he continued, “was a big,
easy-going guy without a real care

_ in the world. Hell, he didn’t have an

enemy in the world. He lived quietly
—there was just the wife and him-
self. Although he no longer played,
Ralph loved sports. He spent a lot of
time, when he wasn’t working, either
coaching a _ neighborhood football
team or watching the college games.”

When the victim’s kinsman asked
again why anyone would kill a guy
like Ralph Gemmill, Sprinkle told
him it appeared fairly certain that
Ralph was murdered for the money
he was carrying. The relative seemed
surprised to hear this.

“Then he didn’t get much for kill-
ing a man in cold blood,” he. said
bitterly. “Ralph never carried much
money with him—just about enough
so he could make change.”

With positive identification taken
care of, Sheriff McCullough swung
into action on several investigative
fronts. First he ordered a broadcast
to all Western Washington police
agencies to be on the lookout for
Gemmill’s taxi, No. 46 of Seattle’s
Yellow Cab fleet.

“The killer has probably ditched it
out in the woods somewhere, but
maybe we can turn it up in a hurry,”
he said hopefully.

Hoping to ferret out a likely sus-
pect from the M.O. files of active local
criminals, Chief Nault and Lieuten-
ant Roskie began checking the cards.
Sprinkle called the State Peniten-
tiary at Walla Walla to ask for a list
of all recently released inmates with
armed robbery records. The sheriff
himself checked with the. parole
officers for a. possible lead to a sus-
pect. pari

None of these efforts, however,
bore much fruit. A few of the local
criminal types bore looking into, but
the probers were not optimistic as
they assigned detectives to check
them out.

Within the hour, word came from
police in Tacoma, 30 miles south of
Seattle, that they had found Gem-
mill’s taxi parked in front of the
Tacoma Steel Company plant at 23rd
Avenue and Commerce Street.

“The motor was cold when our
men found it,” a detective reported.

The sheriff told the caller his men
would drive down to process the cab
and return it to Seattle. He assigned
this task to Roskie and Northey, then
told Chief Nault to get over to the
bus station with some men to see
what they could learn. That was
where Gemmill had picked up his
last fare, who probably was the
killer.

Accompanying Chief Nault were
Detective Sergeant Mike Connolly
and Detectives Frank Chase, Hal
Booth, ‘Marshall Dallas and Tom
O’Rourke. As Nault and Connolly
tackled cab drivers in the hack line,
the others spread out in the terminal
to question employes. The results,
through no fault of the probers, were
disappointing, mainly because a new
shift of drivers had come on duty

and the same was true of the bush

station workers. The depot manager
suggested they return the following
evening.

“Tomorrow may be too late—this
is a murder case,” Detective Dallas
told him gruffly.

The manager then promised to get
on the telephone and rout out every-
one who had been on duty earlier
in the evening. Chief Nault made
similar arrangements with the Yel-
low Cab Company.

By 7 am. a dual interrogation was |
in progress, one at the bus terminal, |

the other at the taxi company office.
In the meantime, however, Lieuten-
ant Roskie and Captain Northey had
had the victim’s stolen taxi towed to
the sheriff’s garage in Seattle, where
they began checking for fingerprints
at once. Both men were identifica-
tion specialists.

Carefully opening the unlocked
doors, they peered inside. The steer-
ing wheel and dashboard glistened
brightly under their floodlights.

“Wiped clean,” Northey said dis-
gustedly. A rag lay on the floor of
the back seat. “And this is probably
what the killer used.”

Gemmill’s trip card, held to the
sun visor by a rubber band, showed
that his last fare was indeed one
bound from the bus station to Seattle-
Tacoma International Airport.

Dusting of the cab’s surfaces, in-
side and out, turned up only an
occasional smudge, but nothing of
value. “The killer, whoever he is,
did a very thorough job of tidying
up,” Northey said. “Looks like he
might be a real pro.”

The glove compartment contained
only odds and ends such as gas
receipts and business cards. As
Northey leaned down to peer under
the front seat, Sheriff McCullough
joined them. He was just in time to
hear Northey exclaim, “Hey, here’s
something!” Slowly he edged his
hand under the seat. When he pulled
it clear he held a long Eveready
flashlight by the ring in its base.

Holding it high so he could exam-
ine it better, he suddenly exclaimed,
“Look ”

There, imprinted on the shiny cas-
ing, was a clear print. “It’s a thumb-
print, Pll bet,” the captain muttered.

He and the others could only hope
it was not the victim’s. Northey took
the flashlight to the lab on the tenth
floor of the County-City Building.
Then he raced down to the street
level and into the morgue. When he
emerged he carried with him a set
of fingerprints he had rolled from the
slain taxi driver. Ten minutes later
he burst into the sheriff’s office with
news.

“That print is not from Gemmill’s
hand,” he reported. “It may not be
from the killer’s, either, but I sure
want to talk to the guy who made it.”

Nault’s and Connolly’s interroga-
tion of the cab drivers that morning
was through. They found two driv-

ers who had
from the bu
6 p.m., but r
look at his f
said he’d be
mill, recall«
from the bi
and chat w
his cab.

“T didn’t ;
guy, but I<
ing a sleepi:
that,” the |
suitcase wa
its size, he
it like it w
the man we
weight.

“Wait an
claimed. “T
remember rn
from where
I noticed the

Chief Na
information
terminal qu
this first bi
they requesi
found a wor
recalled see
carrying an

“It wasn’t
she said. “I
esters Pack-
out into a s
still enoug!
clothes and }

The wor
memory. T!
gotten off
Montana, s!
checked hi
through to
for some 1
decided to d

“He want
his bags se
cisco,” the
after I mad
and he sign:

Return o!

- San Franci:

ress and tl!
sent all the
ness office
detectives >
manager’s «
intently, th:
in another
with a sm:
Dallas read

“Joseph (
was clear
detectives r

Nault or
the bus dep
tioning; m:
more infor:
rious Mr. £
to headqua
pany form
and _ order

against the
sent across
tle Police I
cers failed

“Let’s to
here,” Nav

GALLOWS BAIT

A Northwest Crime Classic

ORD had been received at the

King County Sheriff’s office in

Seattle a few days earlier

that the Washington Supreme

Court’s ruling, in the case
Sheriff . Tim McCullough had once
called “the ugliest, most senseless
murder I’ve ever encountered,” would
be handed down on January 17th. An
assistant district attorney who hap-
pened to be in the office when the
message was handed to him asked
him how he thought it would go.

Big Tim McCullough shrugged and
said, “Nothing would surprise me,”

t was a philosophical reply,
Prompted, no doubt, by the baffle-
ment he shared in common with any
number of other lawmen throughout
the country at some of the strange
decisions being handed down by high
courts in recent years, The murderer
whose petition was up for review by
the justices of Washington’s top court

gone the route. Thus far, to be
sure, he had struck out every time
he went to bat in a series of endless
legal maneuvers which he hoped
would help him wriggle out of the
hangman’s noose. Appeal followed
appeal, all the way to the United
tates Supreme Court. One after
another they were turned down, but
that, McCullough knew all too well,
was no guarantee that his latest peti-
tion would suffer the same fate,

The sheriff stil] remembered viy-
idly the harrowing details of the case
which had been reported to him by
his detective chief, Tom Nault, at
8 o’clock on the evening of March 16,
1960, three years earlier, Only a
quarter of an hour before Nault
called, on the road between Puyallup
in the southern part of King County
and U.S. 90, just south of Seattle In-
ternational Airport, four youngsters

had come upon a body.

by ROLAND PHILLIPSON

Special Investigator for OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

It lay almost in the middle of a
dead-end dirt road, and they stopped
their old car and got out to examine

the prone man, they raced to a gas

station and called the sheriff’s office. +

A couple of radio car officers had
been sent to the scene and Under-

When Sheriff McCullough reached
ody cir-

corpse,
‘ ‘He’s

Moving in closer, the sheriff noted
that the yictim, a man of about 45,

ground around him, McCullough was
sure he had died on the spot.

crouched
beside the coroner. “He’s wearing
some kind of a uniform,” he said.

The victim was wearing a wrinkled
short Eisenhower type jacket of slate
gray, with matching pants, “He’s
either a taxi driver or some other
type of chauffeur,” Sprinkle added.

But there was nothing further ‘in
the murdered man’s clothing which
might help to identify him. Sowers
turned the victim's pockets inside

out, but exc

ept for a

small pencil anj

a comb, they were Singularly devoij

of clues, “

oO wallet,

the pencil and comb,”
To all appearances, the victim hai
to the lonely spot, where

been driven

he was robbed, an

no money, jug
Sowers said.

d then shot t

death. The absence of any sign of
Struggle made it almost certain that

death had co
victim had a

to defend himself.
“How long has he been dead?” the

sheriff asked

me suddenly, before the
chance either to flee or

“Not long,” Coroner Sowers said

“

ot more than two hours, at most’
The Possibility that

the killer

might not be far from the scene
spurred McCullough
search of the area. Also, he realized,
it was essential that the slaying vic.
tim’s name be learned without delay,

“Have your men
peeled for a cap or a hat,” Coroner

Sowers suggested. He

victim’s

circled the entir
the thick hair ar

“That was
with a tight
made not |]
curred,”

clearly,
Sheriff Mc

oner backed

wig began shooti
victim and the are

Sowe
wise you woul
”»

forehead, where a
crease showe

to order ;

keep an eye

pointed to the

d in the skin. The mark

made by

e head, matting down
ound the ears, :

a hat ora cap

inner band, and it was
ong before death oc.

Cullough

rs declared.
dn’t be able to see it so

“Other-

away from the body as
Captain Northey and

‘Tll take the body

id. “Dr. Gale

ilson is on call; you should have

the postmorte
ing. ”
As the

worked swift

m report

photographic
ly, McCullough made _

in the morn- |

experts

OFFICI AL DETECTIVE,

November, 1971

thin -

ie the roun

his - inve:
reported
to find a
“The 5
have bec
the kill:
“THis pri:
the gun,
items aw
the victin
Whater
articles
murder
called of
darkness,
cordoned
on guard
out the n
Unders
torical
likely pe:
taken o
robbed?”
answer,
driver.”
Chief }
he’d be «
like thos:
over, th:
crease ar
bies arou
caps.”
The su;
port whe
Seattle a
quired to
a_ picture
along wit!
Using }
Cullough
and order
a systema’:
panies to
had a driv
ly, as mc
murdered
hearse, th
town.
Sergean
them at d:
cabbie id
said. “Yel)
drivers is
notes, th
name: “Rz
“Gemmi!
Undersher
name in as

The:

away

ers who had seen Gemmill pull away
bye | tom the bus depot at a little after
; §pm., but neither had gotten a good
lok at his fare. Another driver, who
gid he’d been parked behind Gem-
this | mill, recalled seeing a man come
Dallas | ftom the bus station entrance, stop
and chat with Gemmill, then enter
to pet his cab.
every- “T didn’t get much of a look at the
carlier | guy, but I did notice he was carry-
made § ing a sleeping bag, or something like
Yel- | that,” the hackie said. The bag or
suitease was noticeable because of
in was | its size, he added. “The guy lugged
rminal it like it was real heavy.” He said
na’, | the man was of average height and
euten- weight.
ey had “Wait a-minute,” he suddenly ex-
ved to | daimed. “The guy had big ears.
-here | remember now. Real big ears. Even
oeints | from where I was sitting in my cab
<ca- | Inoticed them.”
Chief Nault quickly relayed the
Jocked | information to his men at the bus
steer- terminal questioning employes. With
itened this first bit of tangible information,
they requestioned several and quickly
i dis- found a woman worked who instantly
sx of recalled seeing a man with big ears
obably ] carrying an odd-sized bag.
“It wasn’t a sleeping bag, though,”
to the she said. “It’s what they call a For-
howe esters Pack—my son has one. It rolls
1 one out into a small bed roll, but there’s
tthe still enough room to store a few
clothes and personal items in $6.07
oe The woman diligently culled her
Me. AN memory. The man told her he’d just
ins o gotten off a bus from Great Falls,
ieee Montana, she remembered. And he’d
UGYINg checked his suitcases all the way
He through to San Francisco, although,
ne for some reason or other, he ha
tained decided to debark at Seattle. —
. oo “He wanted me to arrange to get
Oe his bags sent back from San Fran-
rps cisco,” the woman recalled. “He left
oe after I made out the necessary forms
sh iallicnd and he signed a change of route slip.”
ds had Return of the man’s luggage from
eae page San Francisco was already in prog-
pulled
eready i oe woman ee
e sent all the paper work to te bry A handwriting sample and witnesses’ testimony that the man seen entering the

€
a ness office in the second floor. The Mh
oxam- victim’s cab had very big ears led detectives to question ex-convict (above)

ae
anager
lowing

i nneil detectives made a_ beeline for the

ion manager’s office. The latter listened

y eae intently, then went to a file cabinet
wie in another room, returning presently phone and placed two calls, one to dossier on Joseph Chester Self, 29.
Hered, with a small yellow slip. Detective the Idaho State Police headquarters “Our records show that Self has a
nels Dallas read the signature aloud: in Boise, the other to Oregon State criminal record dating back to when
v took “Joseph C. Self.” The handwriting Police in Salem. The latter call came he was eighteen,” the officer said. At
tanith was clear and bold. Delighted, the through first. Oregon promised a fast that time he was convicted by Army
Hiding detectives reported to Chief Nault. check and callback. _ - courtmartial of stealing and selling
‘erent Nault ordered them to remain at Meanwhile, the Boise call came government property and served 2%
¥ the bus depot and continue the ques- through and the Idaho trooper on years at the U.S. Disciplinary Bar-
. bel ¢ tioning; maybe they could get still . duty there said to hold on and he’d racks at Camp Cooke, California.
« the | more information about the myste- have an answer shortly. It was neg- Then he was given an undesirable

lates rious Mr. Self. Nault himself rushed ative. They had nothing on any Jo- discharge.

vith ® to headquarters with the bus com- seph C. Self. The trooper promised He had been arrested a dozen
pany form bearing Self’s signature to havea check run with Boise police times since then for theft and lar-
nmill's and ordered the name checked and the local sheriff’s office and to ceny of automobiles. He had been
és Soe against the files, Another officer was call back as soon as they were com- booked in Indio and San Francisco,
na ag Sent_across the street to check Seat- pleted. California. He served two years at
de it.” tle Police Department files. Both offi- Chief Nault’s di» opointment was San Quentin for the San Francisco
rogae oS failed to find any card on Self. of _ short duratio - the Oregon beef. Released in 1954, he came to
orning “Tes try other states around State Police called vack a few -min- Oregon and was arrested in Grants
. driv— here,” Nault said. He grabbed the utes later to report they had a hefty Pass, Salem (Continued on page 58)

| pencil and

varly devoid

» ho money, just
Sowers said,

es, the victim had

: lonely spot, where

bY rhe

and then shot to
ice of any sign of
almost certain that
uddenly, before the
ice either to flee or

ne been dead?” the

Sowers said.
vO hours, at most.”
that the killer
r from the «scene
ugh to order a
i. Also, he realized,
iat the slaying vic-
rned without delay.
en keep an eye
or a hat,” Coroner
He pointed to the
where a_ thin
the skin. The mark.
ead, motting down
ad the ears,
y # tat Or a cap
hand, and it was
nce death oc-
declared. “Other-
be able to see it so

‘2h and the cor-
irom the body as
ind Deputy Hart-

# pictures of the
around him,

‘y in tor autopsy
through with the
said. “Dr. Gale

you should have
ort in the morn-

graphic experts
fcCullough made

}
i

pak:

the rounds of the area, checking with

his investigators. One by one, they

reported that they had been unable
- to find anything significant.

“The gun, wallet and hat all must

- have been taken from the scene by
the killer,”

Chief Nault declared.
“His prints were probably all over

the gun, and he carried the other
items away to delay identification of

the victim.”

Whatever the killer’s reasons, the
articles certainly were not at the
murder site. Sheriff McCullough
called off further searching in the
darkness, but he ordered the area
cordoned off and deputies to remain
on guard at the crime scene through-
out the night.

Undersheriff Sprinkle posed a rhe-
torical question: “Who's the most
likely person in casual uniform to be
taken out in the country and
robbed?” Without waiting for an
answer, he suggested, “A taxicab

. driver.”

Chief Nault quickly agreed. “Sure,
hed be wearing a jacket and pants
like those of the victim, too. More-
over, that would account for the
crease around the head. Most cab-
bies around here wear tight-fitting
caps.” ;

The suggestion gained further sup-
port when it was remembered that
Seattle area cab drivers were re-
quired to wear caps which contained
a picture of the individual driver,
along with an identification number.

Using his car radio, Sheriff Mc-
Cullough. contacted his headquarters
and ordered the office detail to begin
a systematic check with all taxi com-
panies to ascertain if any of them
had a driver unaccounted for. Final-
ly, as morgue attendants lifted the
murdered man’s body into the
hearse, the officers headed back to
town.

Sergeant Robert Eddy greeted
them at detective headquarters. “The
cabbie idea really panned out,” he
said. “Yellow Cab says one of their
drivers is missing.’ Consulting his
notes, the sergeant read off the
name: “Ralph A. Gemmill, 39.”

“Gemmill? . . . Ralph Gemmill?”
Undersheriff Sprinkle echoed the
name in astonishment.

Gemmill’s cab wiped clean of fingerprints, but luckily
thumbprint

Detectives found Ralph
the killer had overlooked a flashlight with a clearly identifiable

Undersheriff Don Sprinkle (left) and Detective Chief Tom Nault (right) led the
intensive probe into the murder of former football star Ralph Gemmill . . .

There’s no telling how. many crimes this veteran lawbreaker got |

away with, and by all odds, he figured to go scot-free again after

murdering a former football star. He would have, too, if it

hadn’t been one of ‘he slickest homicide probes ever recorded

the cold, icy
| him he had

cash register
of the draw-
roney into it.
ar him but in
to view and a
Instantly she

customers in
hirled around.
or three men
dit didn’t hesi-
sent two shots

rasped. “The
a slug!” With
1e bag contain-
ius’ hands and
t door.
nd the bandit’s
ned motionless.
itrance and dis-
surged forward.
get to the door.
walk, he shouted

; DETECTIVE

At his cries, F. H. Henry, a passing
pedestrian, paused and seeing the fleeing
bandit, gave chase. A few feet farther
on several other men joined him and
the three pounded after the gunman.
For a moment the running man
seemed unaware that he was followed
but as he turned into 5th street, he
glanced back and saw ‘his pursuers.
Swinging about, he fired twice.

Deputy Takes Up Chase

HE first shot missed but the second

grazed Henry’s shoulder. Realizing
that they were weaponless and could not
hope to cope with the armed desperado,
the trio reluctantly slackened their
pace.

Meanwhile, other men who had
paused to secure guns had joined the
chase. Otis Halloran, learning from
Henry which way the gunman had gone,
started after him.

As he passed George Schultz’ garage,
revolver in hand, the proprietor—who
had been sworn in as a deputy during
recent J.W.W. riots—ran out and
stopped him.

ADVENTURES

hte ae ok eke

wees

MEETS

&
he

j
fa
‘
i
e
Ee
a,
E
Be
e

“What’s up?” he derhanded sharply.
Halloran told him. Schultz took his
: revolver.

“You keep out of this, Otis,” he said
with decision. “This fellow sounds dan-
gerous—it’s' my job, not yours.” He
hastily broke open the gun and saw that
it was loaded. “Which way did he go?”

Halloran pointed

Schultz thought quickly. In that direc-
tion lay the railroad yards. Ten to one
the man was making for there in an
attempt to shake off pursuit among. the
empty cars. If he hurried, there might

be a chance of heading the bandit off.
Instantly, he dashed to the corner
and then- up Franklin to 6th street.

- Turning again there, he headed for

Jefferson street. As he reached it, he
almost collided with A. J. Frisch, an
employe of the nearby knitting mill and
an acquaintance of his. Frisch, too,
had been running and on glimpsing
Schultz’ gun, immediately guessed his
mission,

“T just saw him,” he gasped. “He ran
in between those two houses there! I’m
on my way to call the police now!”

was being
into Ohio,
tler joined
unable to

ip we re-
ested me
1 a coupe
ut no one
convinced,
was Brest

the day

Captain
snider and
es of the
Our per-
all of us

len black

it will be
der,” and
edo.”

I agreed.
the cow

desk ser-—

te police.
.’ Tread

[ shouted
ving for

-uthless
the
ind

police
federal
elusive
ag con-
ory in

“LING

URES,

He yawned behind his hand and, with
scarcely a glance at them, said: “Upstairs.
First door to your right.”

Thanking him, the men passed through
the lobby and made their way up the stairs.
The upper landing was empty. Walking
quickly down the passage to a door marked
“Manager,” the stocky fellow listened a
minute. Then grasping the knob, he jerked
open the door.

Inside, Frank Steffy, the manager, had
been chatting with the superintendent, Ben
Larson. At the sound of the intrusion he
whirled around in his chair.

“What's the big idea—?” he began, then
broke off abruptly. The muzzles of two
black automatics were staring him in the
face.

“Put ’em up! And make it snappy !” the
stocky man rasped. As the hands of the

two men raised, he nodded towards Steffy. .

“Bind him,” he tersely told his companion.
As \the taller bandit moved to obey, the

.Stocky man swung to face Larson. “You,

there! Open the safe!” ;

Though taken completely by surprise, the
superintendent kept his head. “I’m sorry,”
he temporized, “but I don’t know the com-
bination. The cashier is the only one who
can open it and he’s gone for the night.”

For an instant the bandit stared at him,
then his mouth hardened ominously. “Well,
that’s just too bad—for you,” he said slowly.
“In that case you’re no more good to us,
alive than dead!” He raised the gun as he
spoke. As Larson hesitated, Steffy broke
in quickly :

“It's no use, Ben. Open it up—these fel-
lows mean business!”

Larson stepped to the safe and a moment
later the doors swung open. Reaching in-
side, he took out several brown canvas bags
and placed them on the floor. The bandit
glanced at them.

“How much is in there?” he inquired
suspiciously. °

“Oh, $1,000—maybe $1,200,” Larson said
quickly. “It’s the day’s receipts. Yesterday’s
cash is already banked.” :

Tensely, he waited while the bandit stared
at the bags. Was the man going to open
them up and count them? Then as the gun-,
man turned away with a grunt and mo-
tioned his companion to bind him, the super-
intendent breathed a sigh of relief. There
was only $500 in the bags—$300 in silver
and $200 in currency—but tucked away in
another drawer in the safe was $2,000 more.

Quickly, the tall bandit bound Larson to
a chair. Then, placing the bags of money in
the basket, the gunmen prepared to leave.
As they reached the door, the stocky man
paused.

“Keep your traps shut for 5 minutes—
or we'll come back some night and finish
the job.”

The déor closed behind him. With the
click of the latch, Steffy snapped to life.
Although too tightly bound to loosen him-
self, the sight of the phone on the desk
had given him an idea.

Holding himself rigid, he pulled his body

forward and the chair moved a few inches. °

Satisfied his plan would work, he rapidly
hunched the chair toward the desk.
Reaching the corner on which the phone
rested, he knocked the instrument over with
his head. The receiver fell loose. Straining-
toward the mouthpiece, he shouted: “Hold-
up at the Coliseum theater! Get the police !”
He repeated this several times and then
sank back in his chair to await the results,

ADVENTURES

They were not long in coming. The call
was received at headquarters at 10:36 and
within ten minutes several police cars were
on their way to the ‘spot. ; os

Reaching the theater, the police hurried
upstairs and, after releasing Steffy and
Larson, began a thorough search of the dis-
trict. But their most intensive efforts failed

to reveal any trace of the bandits and when

morning arrived the two theater men were
brought to headquarters to glance over the
“mug” books. After some hesitation both
picked the photo of Green as resembling
that of ‘the stocky bandit! :

To say this surprised mé is putting it
mildly. It hardly seemed possible that,
already wanted for holdup and murder, he
would pull another bold job so quickly. But
there it was—and with. the knowledge be-
fore us, we redoubled our efforts to locate
the slayer,

New Crime Wave

POSTERS were sent out to every city

and town in the country, while locally
every available man was put on the case.
But once more, just as we were getting well

Started, a new series of crimes arose to

distract us,

This time it was filling station robberies.
As a rule, because of their accessibility, an
occasional holdup of one of these places can
be expected as routine. But when they oc-
cur on a wholesale scale—at least one, and
sometimes two or three in an evening—it
becomes a serious matter, And that is ex-
actly what happened.

Night after night stations in various parts
of the city were held up. In almost all cases
the procedure was exactly the same. The
gunman, always alone, would appear at the
door, line the attendants against the wall
and coolly go through the till. Then, march-
ing his victims outside at the point of a

‘gun, he would walk them down the street

for a couple of blocks and disappear.

The boldness was amazing. Seemingly,
he disdained all thought of arrest. -

Every conceivable plan to trap him was
tried. But either through sheer luck or some
uncanny intuition on his part, all our efforts
proved useless.

Meanwhile, the holdups went steadily on.
When the total reached 70 in less than three
months we realized something would have
to be done. And then suddenly came what
appeared to be the first break in the case.

Shortly after 10 o’clock one evening a
call was received at police headquarters
from a man named Lincoln, who said he was
a collector for the Standard Oil Company.
Excitedly, he told how on leaving the com-
pany’s station at 13th and Madison an hour
before a man had stepped up and, shoving

a gun into his ribs, forced him ‘to drive to~

a graveyard some miles out of town. There
he had been robbed of the night’s collec-
tions and abandoned while the bandit drove
back to town in his car,

Was it the long awaited clue at last?
Quickly the officer demanded the license
number of the machine and flashed it to
every prowl car in town. Ten minutes later
the grim hunt was on.

Car 5 was the first to spot its quarry.
Turning into Railroad avenue, its crew no-
ticed a small roadster pass at high speed
and glancing around, they saw that it car-
ried the much-sought-for license. They
swung around about and gave chase.

But apparently the occupant of the road-
ster had also seen them, for he promptly

- increased his speed. In another moment the

two ‘cars were rocketing down the street
while drivers of other machines and fright-
ened pedestrians scattered to either side.

Slowly the powerful police car gained.
But they were now approaching dense traf-
fic and, realizing the man had no intention
of halting, the police fired two shots as a
warning.

Instead of Stopping, the car sped on and

the officers opened fire in earnest. The first

few shots missed but at the second volley,
the roadster gave a violent lurch, careened
wildly on its side for an instant and then
overturned on the railroad tracks.

Police found the driver unconscious some
distance from the machine and, seeing that
he had been wounded as well as stunned by
the fall, they rushed him to the hospital.

hen word reached headquarters that
the “phantom” bandit had been captured ‘it
brought general rejoicing, and Detective
Captain Tennant left at once to question

‘the prisoner. Five minutes later, he re-

ceived the shock of his life.

For the wounded man absolutely denied
that he was the bandit. He said that his
name was Elwood Cox—that he was walk-
ing along the highway near town and had
found the car abandoned. When the offi-
cers pursued him he thought they were
after him for stealing the machine and he
tried to escape.

t first police refused to believe the
story. They thought he was lying to cover
up his crimes. But when several of the
bandit’s numerous victims declared he was
not the man who had robbed them, they
were forced to believe it true.

' With the knowledge that a mistake had

made—that the real bandit was still at
large—the authorities once more took up the
hunt. But suddenly, as abruptly as they had
Started, the filling station holdups ceased.
Months passed and with no recurrence of
the crimes, it looked as though the bandit
had been frightened or had left town.

Hunt for Killer Renewed

MEANWHILE, I had not forgotten
: Green, wanted for the brutal murder
of Schultz in Olympia. A number of tips
had been received regarding the man’s
whereabouts, but investigation of these
proved worthless. We were about ready to
believe the man had covered his trail for
good when in January, 1921, a man walked
into my office. Asking if we were still
looking for Green, and being assured that
we were, he said he knew the former con-
vict well, and had seen him playing cards
in an Oakland, Cal., poolroom less than

‘a week before.

This sounded like a real lead. Selecting
one of my best deputies, I dispatched him
to California with instructions to camp on
the man’s trail until he had made the arrest.

Hardly had he left, however, than a new
crime wave broke out in the city. A num-
ber of safe cracking jobs were pulled in
rapid succession, climaxed by the ruthless
shooting down of Officer Volney Stevens
when he attempted to battle the thugs. A
city-wide search was ordered and all po-
licemen instructed to bring in every suspi-
cious person.

With the death of their comrade fresh in
their minds, officers needed little urging.
Consequently, a couple of nights later when
Patrolman W. T. Angle noticed a roughly
dressed man standing on the corner of
Broadway and Harrison street, he turned

Schultz glanced at the narrow lane,
shrouded in darkness. To approach it
a man would have to expose himself
with the light at his back while the
gunman lurked unseen in the shadows.

It was a desperate risk but Schultz
didn’t hesitate. Turning, he had taken a
step toward the spot when Frisch
grabbed his arm. “Don’t do that!” he
pleaded. “That fellow’ll get you sure.
Wait for the police!”

Schultz shook his head. “He may be
a mile away by that time,” he said
grimly, starting across the street.

Reaching the first of the two houses,
he edged his way along until he could
peer into the lane. But the gloom was
too deep to penetrate. He strained for-
ward, listening, trying to detect some
faint movement of his quarry among
the shadows. Minutes passed. Had the
man gone?

He resolved to try a bluff. Stepping

‘forward, gun ready, he called: “You

there! Come out! I’ve got you cov-
ered!”

The answer came instantly. From a
point near the far wall orange flame
suddenly spurted. It missed—and jerk-
ing his gun up, Schultz fired twice at
the flash. Then—so rapidly it sounded

like a single explosion—came two more
shots from the shadows. This time one
didn’t miss. The deputy spun half-way
around, .then toppled face down on the
sidewalk.

As Schultz fell, the killer darted out
of the gloom and raced down the street
while Frisch, who had watched in hor-
ror, hurried to his friend’s side. Seizing
his gun, he fired several times at the
fleeing figure, then dropped to his knees
by the prostrate form on the side-
walk.

One glance told him that Schultz had
been slain. The bandit’s bullet had
pierced his right eye and plowed
straight on through his head.

Police Begin Search

S Frisch straightened up, running

*K\ feet sounded and a moment later
Chief of Police Cusack and several other
officers arrived. Searching the railroad
yards nearby, they had heard the shots
and hurried at once to the scene.

On learning what happened, Chief
Cusack wasted no time. He at once in-
formed Sheriff Gifford of the murder
and the two officers prepared to launch
a city-wide search for the fugitive.

Meanwhile, as word of the brutal

bette! i wpa LHF e
WRN S Renae aay

An air view of grim Walla
Walla penitentiary in Wash-
ington, where the ruthless
Killer in Red ended his
hideous crime. career after
pleading for an early trial
and refusing to help his law-
yer fight his case.

slaying spread, public feeling rose high.
Seldom, if ever, had the little capital
city been so aroused by a crime, for
Schultz, since coming to Olympia a few
years before, had become one of its
most popular citizens.

Breezy, good natured—a member of
the local Elk’s lodge and agent for two
of the most widely sold automobiles of
the day—he numbered friends by the
score. As a result, fully 50 men came
forward to aid in the search and within
an hour after the shooting a dozen
parties were busy combing the city.

Because of the intense feeling
aroused, anyone answering the killer’s
description who could not give a good
account of himself, was immediately
hustled off to jail. Soon a score of sus-
pects had been assembled but, on being
viewed by McManus, he declared that

STARTLING DETECTIVE

the slayer
Greatly
sult of th
Ordered a;
made. By
less and
elapsed wit!
he decided
list our aid
With hir
the chief w
together we
“mug” book
we searchec
store manag
clamation, F
Photographs,
fully.
“That lool
Said at last.

ADVENTUR

z rose high.
ittle capital
crime, for
ympia a few
one of its

member of
gent for two
tomobiles of
ends by the
0 men came
h and within
ng a dozen
g the city.
nse feeling
x the killer’s
give a good
immediately
score of sus-
but, on being
declared that

DETECTIVE

the slayer was. not among them.
Greatly disappointed at the re-
sult of the roundup, Chief Cusack
ordered another search of the city
made, But this, too, proved fruit-

less and when several days had

elapsed with no trace of the fugitive,
he decided to come to Seattle to en-
list our aid.

With him he brought McManus;
the chief witness of the robbery, and
together we carefully went over. the
“mug” books. For an hour or more
we searched in vain and then the
store manager uttered a sudden ex-
clamation. Bending over one of the
photographs, he studied it care-
fully.

“That looks like the fellow,” he
said at last. “That is—all but the

ADVENTURES

Former Sheriff Matt
Starwich is shown above
as he took the smiling
killer to the penitentiary.
After calling his trial “a
lot of bunk” the madman
assumed an amused atti-
tude. At the right is De-
tective Captain Charles
Tennant, veteran head of
Seattle’s famous detective
bureau, whose men cap-

tured the four-time mur-
derer in a bloody fight.

“1 glanced at the photograph. ‘It was that 6f
-Oliver.Green, a three-time loser, who had been
discharged from. Walla Walla penitentiary a few
‘months before. It perplexed me, for Green had
“never been known as. a killer. ‘However, you
Never'cah tell what will take place‘in the warped
tind. of ‘a ‘criminal. eS eee
~. With this information to go on, I launched a
“widespread search for the slayer, Hardly had it
_ gotten well under way however; when there

“came. a rude interruption in the form of a

theater’ robbery—one of the boldest and smooth-
est the city had known: re

Shortly after 10 o’clock on a Saturday night
two men sauntered up to the doorman of the
Coliseum theater, newest of. Seattle’s movie
palaces. :

“Where can we find the manager ?”. the

younger, stockier-of the two inquired.’ As he

spoke, he tapped a small market basket under his
arm. “T’ve got something for him.” Pie
The hour was late and the doorman was tired.

re [Continued on page 63]

“eyes. I’ can’t’ be sure about then in a picture.”

~elawayeod ‘the:
' now redoubled sea
‘ho had left: the® ee

1 at ‘the place where he got off was not far from
the interurban trolley station, and it would have been easy for
im to. board the ‘electric line for Seattle. The conductor on
¢ car leavin phordly after the arrival of the bus
confirnied my. Stispicion ‘when I “described to him the young
man I sought.c}
“T think he got off the car at Puyallup,” said the conductor,
referring to a town in the valley between Tacoma and Seattle.
And there the trail was seemingly lost. The robbery of the
Penney store and the murder of Ed Schultz seemed one of
those perfect disappearances which was to leave the perpe-

weer eer.

late-on the day after the murder, I was confronted with a
new clue which seemed to make all my previous conclusions
incorrect.

Evidence that the killer might have spent the night in a
shack near the waterworks pumping station had been found.
Muddy footprints had been discovered there by John Rank, a
resident of the section, and he ‘had also seen a young man
answering the description of the murderer enter the place
about seven o’clock on the previous evening. The youth had
fled as Rank approached.

It seemed a hot lead, and posses were being gathered to
scour the countryside when I got a telephone call from Seattle
police which | made me Reid my original theory was

* correct.

afternoon,” said the officer. “It happened at the same time of
day and in a manner similar to the Penney stare stickup in
Olympia yesterday. Can you give me a complete description
of the man you-want, and also the kind of gun he used ?”

I gave him the description and told him the gun that killed
Schultz was a 7,65 Luger, this having been determined from
the shells picked up in the alley near the knitting mill. And I
realized that the man we sought would kill at the drop of a
hat when the officer went on to describe the holdup.

The bandit had entered the store, kept his gun at ‘his side,
and had shot E. S. Howe, a clerk, in the leg when he ‘refused
to obey commands. He then turned and blasted away the
jaw of Ralph M. Hetges, a salesman who had entered to
make a purchase. The gunman then fled—leaving shells of
the same caliber we found in Olympia—and no trace of him
had since been found.

trator forever a. mystery. But, upon my return to Olympia, ©

“There was a holdup at the Morey station store here this

JOURNEY'S
END

Seen manacied to
Sheriff: Matt Starwich
and guarded by sev-
eral other officers, the
multiple’ murderer
(wearing cap) scowled
for the camera immedi-
ately ‘alter making an
amazing confession.
“Ordinarily I: don‘t ap-
prove of capital pun-
ishment, but. in my
case. I. do.” he ‘said.

N THE following day Ed Schultz was laid to rest by his

brother Elks in Olympia, and the widow was left alone
to face the task of raising four small. children. Public feeling
was at white heat, and the county commissioners immediately
offered a reward of $500 for the arrest and conviction of the
decent-looking killer.

But it was all:to no avail. Days passed into weeks, and
weeks into months, but all my efforts to pick up the trail were
fruitless, as were those of the Seattle police.

Late in the fall of 1920 a curious event happened which
caused all of the officers who had worked on the case to won-
der more than ever just who the murdering holdup artist really
was. It came in the.form of a letter from a woman in an
eastern state to Sheriff Matt Starwich, of King County, Wash-
ington.

The woman was requesting aid in a search for her son whom
she said had disappeared two years previous, and whom she
believed was on the Pacific Coast. Starwich was amazed as
he scanned the fine handwriting and read the description of
the missing boy. It fitted closely with that of the Olympia
killer !

The woman requested that her identity be kept a secret and
admitted the name she signed on the letter—‘Mrs. H. I, War-
ner”—was not a true one. She said this would not hinder
the search for her son, as she believed he was using an as-
sumed name himself, and, as she had married a second time,
the boy’s name was also now different from her own.

“T cannot imagine what has happened to my son,” wrote
‘Mrs. Warner.’ “He was such an exemplary young man; he
didn’t drink, smoke, or associate with bad women or men.
But what worried me most was that when he left home he
took with him a revolver which had belonged to his father.
I am afraid that he has committed suicide. He wrote last
from Spokane, Washington, and said that he was going to
Seattle. He didn’t have much moncy, but he has not written
home for funds. I hope you will do your best to find him.
He is fond of books and may be found loitering around the
City Library, if he has no money with which to buy his read-
ing material.”

Now here was a young man who fitted very nicely the de-
scription of the killer as given by McManus and Mrs. Belless
—a young man who would have all the gentility and breeding
with which they had been so (Continued on page 57)

freely confessed firing the shots that struck
down Patrolmen Angle and McMillian, as
well as those in the battle in which he him-
self was wounded. Seattle’s one-man terror
reign was ended!

oe had been shot in the groin,
the leg and the ankle. Rut since none
of his wounds were serious, he was taken
next day before Judge A. W. Frater for
arraignment. I was present when the killer
was brought in, although I had finished
my term as chief of police. I had with me
McManus, the assistant manager of the
Penney store, and I felt certain from the"
description I had read of the young killer
that he was also the murderer of Ed
Schultz.

While the arraignment was taking place,
grim news was whispered about the court- ‘
room: Patrolman Angle had died.

Louis Silvain, a young and efficient
criminal lawyer, was appointed by the court
to defend Johann Schmitt, but the youth
insisted he would do nothing but plead
guilty. Judge Frater set the trial for
Thursday, and I came back to Olympia.

The Wednesday afternoon papers carried
the story that Neil McMillian had_ suc-
cumbed to his wounds. Even while Prose-
cutor Malcolm Douglas prepared to try
Johann Schmitt, a funeral cortege more
than a mile long, with police bands laying
and all the uniformed forces of the bre and
police department afoot behind the three
hearses, filed slowly along the streets bear-
ing the three victims of the twenty-six-
year-old, unperturbed killer to their graves.

On Thursday morning Attorney Silvain
presented his prisoner before the bar and
announced that he was ready for trial,
which, under the laws of the State of Wash-
ington, had to be held in spite of the plea .
of guilty. : vo

Johann Schmitt limped into the courtroom
in custody of Sheriff Matt Starwich ‘and.
Deputy Sheriff William Sears, ‘now chief ©
of police of Seattle. He-had come’ but: a
short. time previous from’ a “show-up” in.
wliich; many Northwestern officers | as-
sembled for the funerals had wanted to see »
if they could recognize him as a bandit who’
_had pulled jobs in their cities. After. view-

ing Schmitt in this lineup, .all those who

had seen him in Olympia were quite posi- .

tive he was the man who
Schultz. ON ee
However, although he had admitted vari-
ous other crimes in Tacoma, Bellingham,
Everett, Renton an . Spokane, * Washing-
ton, he would not say he had murdered
Schultz. a
The selection of i
A. M., Thursday. By 4:05 that afternoon ‘
the evidence had been presented, and the
jurors had left the room, At ‘4:57: they’ re-.
turned with a verdict of guilty, with hang=
ing as. the penalty. Only seventy-two hours -
had elapsed: since the murders. 7 °°. ae
“That’s fine,” said Schmitt.as he thanked
the jurors. “Ordinarily I don’t believe in
capital punishment, but in my. own case—
I do. It is the only way out both for. the
State and for myself. I prefer to be hanged
than to spend my life in prison, Let’s go, -
Sheriff, it’s all right.” doe
On February 1, Johann Schmitt. was
brought before Judge Frater to receive
formal sentence. abl
“Do you know who this boy's relatives
are?” asked the judge of Attorney Silvain.
“J do not, Your Honor,” replied the -
lawyer. “He refuses to tell me.”

”

ACE. sentence had been _ pronounced
and Schmitt knew he was to die April
1 on the gallows in Walla Walla, as he was

wich, he made a request.

“I'd like something. to reac Ais he said.
“Some back numbers of the Scientific

geards, and

jurors began at 9:30 ay

being led back to his cell by Sheriff Star- -

INSIDE DETECTIVE

American, if you have them.”

“Pll get them for you,” answered Star-.
wich. “But don’t you want to talk to these
fellows? They are reporters and would
like to have a statement from you.”

“D’ll give them one,” said Schmitt. “Let’s
git down, boys, and I'll tell you all about
it.”

And there, as the pencils of the news-

apermen scribbled eager. notes, Johann

cla ed as cold a story of robbery
and mu ever fell from the lips of
man. That confession solved the mystery
of the murder of Ed Shultz!

“T never cared to gamble, so it wasn’t
the excitement that kept me at it,” began
Schmitt. “I simply made it a business.
I was never afraid, and I’ll keep my nerve
to the last, but sometimes I was actually
nauseated when I shot aman, I hated it
‘and yet I stayed with it.

“They say that human life means noth-
ing to me, but that is not true. There were

many times when I could have killed to get:

people out of the way but I didn’t. I took
more than $50,000 at the point of a gun in
the past few years, but it was not until
I killed that fellow in Olympia that I
definitely made up my mind never to be
taken alive. I didn’t expect to come through
either of these last fights with the police.”

“But how did you avoid capture so
long?” asked one of the reporters.

“T took. no one into my confidence; I
have no faith in mankind, I have never
been in love’ and in all my life have never
had a close friend. There were no stool
pigeons to tell on me and no cheap women
to follow around and lead the police to my
hiding place. I spent no time in the under-
world, the poolrooms, and refreshment par-

lors, frequented by crooks and naturally by.

the officers in search of criminals.

_ “You see, I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, is
and I have never used drugs.: I don’t play...
I took long. walks to ec ae

condition. Look at me now—I'm in’s

. for an athletic contest.”| . >

-0What ‘did you. do with
“was: asked. PERE eG Bee.

aS ee T pulled a job I usually’ rented a
“room in a high-class hotel and spent most...

‘of my time in study and in reading. the

‘sciences: and philosophy.” 0" > sst08"

“You. have a pillosopay st life, then?” <
“Oh, yes,” ‘answer: hmitt.. “If ‘you
“have followed, my jobs closely you wi
‘notice that
stations. I never: had ‘
thief, but I felt:I was living to _m
when I took money from. John D-
feller. He had plenty.” 89.00%
“Tell us about your early. life,”
/ one of the newsmen. ©) =>
-< “There isn’t much to tell,” sai
<“T was born <in .Menz, Germany.» My
grandfather was a professor, and my father
—we'll pass i

any use for a sneak

; that. I came to America wh
‘|. was ‘fifteen. «The war came on, and yo

“your time 2 he x

I robbed many Standard Oif.=

code
ocke~

in Tacoma, and he there caught a train
for Spokane. He had_ not robbed the
Seattle store on the following night, as
suspicioned at the time, he said, In Spo-
kane he held up another Penney store and
got $250 to add to the $1,000 taken in
Olympia.

“T never abused anybody,” said Schmitt,
“unless they resisted; then I shot them,
just as I did Schultz. When they did as
I asked I was pleasant—I liked to kid with
them. I liked to change my clothes and
wander back to a place where I had pulled
a job, It was a thrill to hear people talk-
ing about the ‘terrible robber.”

“On the night when I shot the police-
men, I was just roaming around. I had
planned to rob a bank either in Puyallup
or Auburn during the week. I had them
both staked out and expected to: make a
fair cleaning. When I saw the policemen
coming, I intended to hold them up, take
their guns and escape, as I had done many
times before. I'll bet they don’t always
report those things at headquarters, but
they beat me to the draw, and I knew the
jig was up, so I started firing.

“For the life of me, I don’t know why
I went right down into the main part of
town—I guess I was just due, that’s all. I
felt something pulling me down the hill
and every moment I expected to be shot.
I wish to God I had.

“The minute I met O’Brien and Mont-
or ‘bulls’ I saw

ou forget about that? Call
Tit a e under that

AFEW DAYS before
* “arrived
“FF, Hart in

E extcutive, but w
sipher names fs

native-born Americans didn’t like us. Ger-'

- down near Aberdeen, in this state, when

proke into.a hardware stgre and stole two...)

revolvers. Wie

“I sold one of those’ guns for somethin i

to'eat and with the other one I operate
all over the Northwest. It was with this

gun that I killed my first’man—Schultz—in

obo I destroyed it then, and, got an-
other.” ; ab eg:
“The pencils scratched faster; in detail

Schmitt related just what had happened:
1919. He.
I read it 1,

on that fatal night in December,
told the story straight; when
knew it was the truth, —- ‘

CHMITT .. admitted’ he was the young

man who had been in the Capitol Cigar
Store both before and after the murder.
i; He was the lad who left the -Olympia bus

. v

i age only as Johann

of.'af

“foggy mornin
of. cler

ut an

known then and now:

ul_blond

fold and was

o“T am: ul that I have. been abl
_. preserve my true identity.!2.ag%

eta a al i Rng a Tas Sn Be ak uk a al kd —
t e ¥ wares A Seb Ns
t = - Bo “

Shines “

The Wo:

Co
(Continued

_ coast. with all their fu
. But we paid scant attent
as we drove to

town for the crucial sta-

¢ Sg gation into what we n¢*
2. crimson trail of mur¢.
_ Assisted by Jesse S:
May County detectiv:
Poteck, Townsend’s Inlc
we went to work, Ch
recalled Ambrose’s visit
that first day of Octobe:
lice records revealed tha:
lieved to have drown
found alive.

Shortly after noon on
had hired a rowboat {
: Sandt and when, sever:
if had failed to return, the

tion was notified. Capt.
ton; in charge of this st:
conduct a search, and o:
had later found Ambros

We could now underst
had failed to carry o
sinister plan to kill a ma
ness and to dump the
after he had hired ar
adrift. His recognition
the coast guard had uy
_... at the critical moment a
» act of the ghastly drama

».brose’ had found himself
=. corpse on his hands.

& The: Ambrose’ yb

ito h

“said.

In at the start of the
tion, Trooper William. Pane -
owe it through to cabre *

Olympia Knitting Mills, half a block away across the tracks.
Then all was still.

Running across the tracks, I found three men standing over
a figure on the sidewalk; blood was slowly trickling toward
the gutter. I knew the man—it was Ed Schultz, and I saw
that he must be dead. The bandit had added murder. to
robbery !

“What happened?” I demanded of Tony Frisch, whom I
knew as an accountant in the mill.

“T had just come out the door,” said Frisch, “when I saw
a tall young man with a pistol in his hand leap the fence in the
Fitzsimmons yard and run into the alley. I called to Schultz
and Cass to look out as they came under the street lamp at
the entrance to the alley, but Schultz walked squarely into the
light. A gun roared and Schultz fell.”

Schultz, I realized, never heard the sound of the discharge
which killed him, for the lethal lead struck him squarely in
the eye.

ITH a hastily gathered posse, I started combing the
railway yards, leading up a valley in the direction of
the city waterworks. But, even as I prepared to push the
search in the brush in the vicinity of the Waterworks, I was
called aside by Jess Fitzsimmons, a youngster I knew, and
was given a clue which caused me to take an entirely different
course. f
“That fellow ran out of the alley and over toward the water-
front,” said Fitzsimmons. “I saw him. He didn’t go up the
valley.”
This meant that the bandit had doubled on his tracks and
had probably gone back into the very heart of the city, I had

4 good description of the killer from McManus, who had joined

the posse. He was about five feet, seven or eight inches tall,
light complexion, blue eyes, wore a brown cap, long brown
mackinaw, and gray shirt with military collar.

“He wore no mask,” said McManus, “and he was a fine-
looking young man, I want to emphasize that—don’t look for
a young tough. You'll never believe a lad of his type could
do such a thing as he has done.”

“He was so gentle in appearance,” said ‘Mrs. Belless, “that
I felt sure he would let me have his gun when I grabbed at it
—but I guess he isn’t as harmless as he looked.” /

Evidently I was searching for an unusual type of young
bandit; maybe a thrill-hunter, the scion of some fine family.
But, whoever he was, he was
clearly a crack shot and a deliber-
ate murderer, and he had made
orphans of four small children and
left a widow with small means of
support.

I took Fitzsimmons’
and walked over toward the
waterfront and began trailing
along the alley adjacent to Fourth
Avenue. In the rear of the Willard Hotel I came across a
cap which later McManus identified as the one which the
bandit had worn in the store. I knew the youth might have

POLICE HERO

Though wounded twice
ond out of ammunition,
Detective T. G. Mont-

gomery swung so hard a
hunch blow on the killer's jaw
that it broke his hand.

been staying at the Willard and have entered by a back stair- 2

way, so I hastily investigated the house, only to be assured’
that no young man answering the killer’s description had
stopped there. ;

I continued down the alley until I came to the rear entrance
of the Capitol Cigar Store, and went inside to find everyone
there discussing the robbery and murder.

“You know, I think that fellow was in here just a few min-
utes before he went to rob the
store,” a clerk told me. “He went

didn’t have the mackinaw on. He came in the back way,
stopped here at the cigar counter, and asked the time that the
stages left for Tacoma.” °

Waiting to hear no more, I hurried out and reached the
stage depot just as a bus was pulling away. In the quick
glance [ got, I could see no one in the coach who resembled
the fugitive killer. Nevertheless I telephoned ahead to the
Tacoma police and asked that they search the occupants of
the coach when it arrived there.

This was done, but no trace of the bandit-killer was found.
However, the driver related that a young man about the age
and description of the fugitive had left the coach three blocks
before the stage depot was reached.

“He talked about the killing all the way over,” the driver
told Tacoma police. “He said whoever did it should be strung
up. But he couldn’t have been the murderer—why, he was the
nicest looking young duck I have talked with in years. Noth-
ing mean about him.”

That last statement convinced me that we had let the killer
slip through our net. His pleasant appearance had stood him
in good stead. I believed he had made his. getaway on the
stage which I had seen leave the station, and I now redoubled
my efforts to get a trace of the young man who had left the
coach in Tacoma.

I learned i
the interurb:
him to boar
the car leav'
confirmed m:
man I sough:
“T think he
referring to a
And there |
Penney store
those perfect
trator forever
late-on the
new clue whi:
incorrect.
Evidence t/
shack near th:
Muddy footpr:
resident of th

* answering thc

about seven o’
fled as Rank :
It. seemed a
scour the coun:
police which
correct.
“There was
afternoon,” sai.
day and in a

Olympia yeste:

of the man you
I gave him
Schultz was a
the shells picke.
realized that th

“hat when the of

The bandit h:

“STOP, THIEF!"

and had shot E.
* to obey comma:
- jaw of Ralph )
‘make a purchas:
the same caliber

back into the lavatory; he hadon sg. yo a) yurséeen ‘wits
a long brown mackinaw and a hard on the heels of the
cap. And I think he was in here bandit as he raced up
again about five minutes ago; I Fifth Avenue as shown by
believe it was the same fellow, but domed Vem bes he shot

‘ one of them down and
he was wearing a hat and he made good his escape.
40

“*

: 6S pig ie tu.
ed with -Attomeys
snted “McCall. - E
e immediately:
ile before Judg

ng artist was 1
itentiary: guard:
{ pe. He

anyone. about “at>
‘ington Hotel,” h
ce, drew: a dia=

“The Killer With:
== No Bad Habits

(Continued from page 41)

no_other_ cour:
ack to<the
y there_long,
ery. necessa’

UM, | See
l of Nixon’s bri
r be known. Fou

wurdered, and thre
| stark horror,’
othing to halt him
nan.” As eviden
ng into the deat
e I appeared as

r, with his right ~~~

-pound policeman,
the audience when
Elmer Johnson to»

widower’s rage
strength, he
Nixon’s face.
ashed against the
purted from a gash
‘ly shook his head:
the jungle snarl
led the threatening
ed the murder on
another second he

d around him kept
good ten feet from
ireman passed back
it happened !

anthropoid cata-
dragging his man-
le was through the
‘rrounding him be-
move a finger, and
from a left to the

chair, the snarling
his usual immobile

tremendous exhibi-

ind swiftness I have |

vholesome truth out
ice in preparing the
inst the ape man—.
es. | made two bad
irst, I doubted the
of Jimmy Thomp-
1 humbled before a
Second, I sent an
enitentiary, and for
little consolation to
put himself by his
{ circumstantial evi-
a bitter experience.
te Keeley, the man
his tribe increase !

, °
ARE!

‘ECTIVE with any other

it any price. You'll see

vitching every month

all, -ensation—

ECTIVE

; sie RBS FADE RE :
AND SO ‘matters stood when once again

take. H
sgrace, 9, |

CRP

the. Christmas season approached in
1920. Then began a series of holdups and
shootings in Seattle the like of which that
city had. never seen. They followed in
rapid succession in a wave of crime which
actually terrorized the Northwest. Peace
officers were shot down night. after night,
and among the bandits often described was
the smiling young man with the blond hair
and blue eyes, wearing a mackinaw and a
cap, whom I believed to be the same lad
who had killed Schultz.

Such a young man held up a gas station
in Spokane, ‘and I rejoiced when I found
that his fingerprints had been left there
on a showcase. His mode of operation in
this and other Spokane stickups was so
similar to that. used in the Penney store
that I was sure he was the killer of
Schultz; maybe he could be identified now
by his prints. But a check of the prints
through all ‘agencies failed to reveal the
desperado’s name or place of habitation,
and I had begun to despair of hearing of
him again in the Northwest when a parade
of stickups began again in Seattle.

On the night of January 14, 1921, Police
Officer Vernon Stevens was shot down and
killed while chasing a robber gang in the
outskirts. of the city. The press at first
thought this was the same bandit who had
been so prominent in the city just prior
to the holidays, but, in a surprise move,
brought on through the recognition of one
of the men whom Stevens had engaged in
the gunfight, this gang was rounded up
and no member of it fitted the description
of the smiling, blue-eyed young killer whom
we had so long sought.

Then, shortly after nine o’clock on the
night of January 23, 1921, Patrolman W. T.
Angle saw a youth wearing a red mack-
inaw, and who answered the description
of the lone wolf, walking along the street
at Broadway and Harrison. Patrolman
Neil H. McMilliah, partner of Angle, had
just paused to try the door of a store
building to ascertain if it was locked, when
the youth paused beneath a street light and
Angle started to walk toward him.

There was a flash of flame as the young
man pulled an automatic and fired. Angel
fell to the sidewalk, badly wounded with a
bullet directly under the heart. Wheeling,
the desperado tarned his gun toward Mc-
Millian. Twice again the gun roared, and

~ ytall Miee re © eR: ors
Convinced that two of his men had ‘again | _
{~)met up with theemystery gunman we had

_ so long sought, Lieutenant William F. Kent
“ordered every defective in the city to hit
the street and. to’ keep searching until the’
murderer was-found, It was quite evident
‘that. Angle would die and that McMillian
had little chance to live. Every uniformed

_, Policeman in the city was called to duty, and

the city was scoured by angry officers with
hands on their. guns, a

letecttves James O’Brien and T. G. Mont-

caused the detectives to peer searchingly at

him. Seeing he fitted the description of the |

man wanted, the officers both started to
approach the lad.

“Stop!” called Montgomery as the
shadowy figure slunk into the entrance of
the Hoge Building. “We want to talk
with you.”

The answer was two quick shots, one of
which struck Detective O’Brien squarely
in the heart. Nevertheless, the brave officer
miraculously managed to reply to the fire
of the man who had shot him. Dead on his
feet, gasping his last, he fired three times
at his assailant.

The lamp-lighted street re-echoed in a
bedlam_ of blood. Aiming at the slight
figure in the nearby entryway, Detective
Montgomery saw his partner go down—
saw Carman fall to the sidewalk with an
agonized cry. He felt two bullets sting
his own flesh, and he knew he had hit his
adversary. Yet the youth’s gun still
spurted fire. And then Montgomery’s own
weapon snapped on empty chambers... .

In two gigantic bounds the wounded de-
tective reached the killer. With a powerful
lunge he landed a blow in the youth’s face.
The two men staggered across the side-
walk, then fell into the gutter with the
detective on top.

Bleeding from three wounds and stunned
by the force of the officer’s blow—a blow
so hard it broke Montgomery’s hand—
the gunman lapsed. momentarily into un-
consciousness. The detective snapped hand-
cuffs on his wrists.

By this time police whistles were blow-
ing all along the street, and soon a patrol
car and a dozen bluecoats were at Mont-
gomery’s side. O’Brien was beyond mortal
aid, but Montgomery and Carman, not
seriously wounded, were rushed to a hos-
pital.

As. he lay on an emergency dressing
table at the police station, the murdering
youth first gave his name as John Smith,
‘then later said it was Johann Schmitt. He

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dangers of monoxide, yet he did not realize
during his spare minute that his insensible
companion was being poisoned.

With the collapse of the second man,
I, familiar with the theory of monoxide,
knew immediately what had happened,
took the air pressure off the primus so
that it was ey‘ingmmsuc., and directed the
man who v.as low down near the door
to open it. Even so, neither of the two
still conscious was strong enough to help
the others, or to do more than just crawl
outdoors and then lie flat. om

There were only two men in the tent
on White Island and they apparently were
on the same level, so that they may have
lost consciousness within a minute ot each
other, in like manner to Tannaumirk and
Anderson.

Seemingly, the two in the White Island

- tent did not pass out quite as close together
as Tannaumirk and Anderson. For if they
had, the second man to faint would not
“Shave removed the pressure from the stove,
which would then burn itself out. This
did not happen, for the stove was found
still uarters full of kerosene in
1930; and, as we have said, in working
condition. . :

We think it was Andrée who was cook-
ing, with the stove on a ledge by his side,
where Horn was to find it. Likely the

- reason why I suffered less than the other
three from the monoxide was that I, being
cook that night, was right by the stove
where its heat created circulation, bringing

a stream of comparatively fresh air in to
the vicinity. :

Andrée, then, still conscious and feeling
mo symptoms, saw Fraenkel collapse on
the middle of the floor. Perhaps he no-
ticed because Fraenkel had been standing.
Andrée now did what I did: he gave the
vent screw a half-turn and the primus
ceased burning. I did this because I feared
monoxide; Andrée may have done it for
that reason, or simply because he wanted
to leave the cooking and be free to help
Fraenkel.

Anderson and Tannaumirk eventually
came to within our camp because Natkusiak
had opened the door. Fraenkel and Andrée
never came to because there was no third
man to open their door.

In 1930 when the bodies were discovered
on White Island it may not have been too
late for a technical determination of
whether monoxide was the cause of death.

Professor Yandell Henderson of Yale
University, a foremost authority upon car-
bon monoxide, has studied the evidence
as presented by Andrée’s Story and feels
convinced that Andrée and Fraenkel died
of monoxide poisoning. The long winters
and snows of White Island almost certainly
preserved enough of the body tissues so
that a laboratory test for monoxide could
have been made. Can it be that enough
still remain under the conditions of the
burial in Sweden for a test that would

ield a verdict?
pig oe ahh Henderson writes under date
of November 5th, 1938:

“I believe . .. Andrée and Fraenkel died
of carbon monoxide asphyxia, or else were
frozen while in a state of carbon monoxide
coma: the difference is immaterial It is
possible that the spectrum of carbon mon-
oxide hemoglobin might have been found
in some drop of blood in the fragments
the bears left. Was it ever looked for?
It should be even now—particularly in
the bone marrow where it would never
have been exposed to the air.

iving below the text of a letter
| Ponta from a man well placed for
having a sound opinion on the problem of
how Andrée and Fraenkel died.

Dr. Harold Ulrik Sverdrup studied both
at the University of Oslo and the Uni-
versity of Leipzig, and is Ph.D. from Oslo.
He has been research assistant at the
Carnegie Institute of Washington and pro-
fessor of dynamic meteorology at the Geo-
physics Institute of Bergen, with several
other posts of scientific distinction, among
them his present directorship of the Scripps
Institute of Oceanography, La Jolla, Cali-
‘ornia. ;

; He was second-in-command and chief
of scientific staff for Amundsen’s Maud
expedition while it was in the field
and was in charge oz its scientific publica-
tions, thus occupying the years 1917-25.
He was in charge of scientific work for the

“Martha! Your bath runneth over!”

Nautilus expedition of Wilkins in 1931.
By scientific training and field experience
Sverdrup is, then, about as well placed
as anyone could be for an opinion on what
happened that tragic night of October, 1897,
upon one of the Spitsbergen islands.

On a recent visit to New York, Sverdrup
spoke of the narrow escape which Amund-
sen had from carbon monoxide poisoning,
as related on pages 112-113 of Amundsen’s
book, Nordostpassagen, Oslo, 1921. When
Sverdrup learned that the Explorers Club,
of which he was a member, was concerned
with the publication of a book that deals
in part with the Andrée mystery, he wrote
me as follows:

University of California

The Scripps Institution
of Oceanography

La Jolla, California,

November 25, 1938

Vilhjalmur Stefansson, President
The Explorers Club >
10 West 72nd Street

New York City

Dear Stefansson:

I wish to repeat in writing what I
told you about my opinion as to the
cause of the death of Andrée and
Fraenkel, knowing that this opinion
coincides with yours.

It occurred to me in September, 1930,
that the two might have died because
they had left their primus stove burn-
ing in the tent which might have be-
come covered with snow and thus made
practically airtight. If they had died
when the primus stove was burning one
should expect to find the stove with
the air-valve closed, but if they had
turned it off and had died from ex-
posure the air-valve would have been
open. In the report by Dr. Gunnar
Horn who found the camp it was men-
tioned that the primus stove was found
half filled with kerosene. I wrote
Dr. Horn asking if he could remember
whether or not the air-valve was
closed. He replied that he remembered
distinctly that the valve was closed. In
my opinion, this fact in connection with
the fact that the primus stove was
found standing between the bodies
and still half filled with kerosene
strongly supports the view that the
two had died of carbon monoxide pois-

nin

° ‘Although I have not rs my

rrespondence with Dr. Horn, I re-
pee that on receipt of his letter

I wrote a note to one of the leading
newspapers in Oslo, but the note was
never published because the paper
considered further discussion of the
cause of death unnecessary.

In view of your own experience and
in view of Amundsen’s experience,
about which I told you. it seems to me
that the above explanation of Andrée’ 's
and Fraenkel’s death is a logical one
and that it represents the explanation
which fits best when all known factors
are considered.

Very sincerely egg Sicus
i . U. Sve
— Director

2 ERO See
ai a Se Al erg

Eprror’s Note ;

The foregoing story by Vilhjalmur
Serhchioun 4s a condensation from his
book, Unsolved Mysteries of the Arctic,
published by the Macmillan Company,
New York. Our thanks are extended to
both Mr. Stefansson and the a
Company for their unstinting aid in 7
presentation of this absorbing saga 0,
the North.

THE ELUSIVE MR. SCHMIDT

‘Continued from page 11) became tired of

the detective’s imsistence.

O'Brien had omly one clue, the Luger
Shells. Every dealer handling them in
Seattle and other near-by towns was in-
terviewed by the detective, but not one re-
membered selling shells to anybody even
faintly resembling the killer.

During that summer, reports about sta-
tion holdups came spasmodically from other
towns: Spokane, Everett, Portland, Tacoma,
Bellingham; all had two or three scattered
robberies. All nad been committed by a
cold young bandit. who often. if he seemed
to have the time. methodically entered his
take in a smail notebook.

Then, on August 11th, 1920. a tall good-
loo'.ing young man entered the Frank
Cufé at 622 Madison Street, Seattle. It was
a few minutes after 6:00 and the place
Was crowded with hungry workers. The
young man wore a cap low down on his
forehead and a long brown overcoat hid
most of his figure.

He coolly walked behind the counter,
jammed a gun into the cashier’s back and
whispered into her ear, “You want to see
your sweetie again? If you do, open the
cash register and give me the money.”

Shaking like a leaf, the girl complied.
The bandit stuck the cash into his pocket
and started to leave. The girl screamed.
Several men jumped up.

Coolly the bandit raised the gun in his
hand and leveled it at the gir. “If any-
body takes just one step,” he announced in
a hard voice, “I'll blow her head off.”

The next moment he was gone.

O’Brien received the call as he was about
to leave headquarters. He rushed to the
café. A few minutes’ conversation with
the cashier told him the Olympia killer
was back in Seattle.

He first ordered Detective T. G. Mont-
gomery to make the rounds of all service
stations and put the men on the alert. Then
he turned to Miss Armstrong, the cashier.
“The café will be closed tonight so that
Lieutenant Bradley, our identification ex-
pert, can search it for fingerprints. How'd
you like to come home with me? My missus
has chicken fricassee and dumplings for
supper. And,” he added, whims: ically, “she
always gives me the deuce if I'm late on
dumpling night.”

The girl agreed willingly and. having put
her at her ease, OBrien questioned her
shrewdly. Then he retired to his own den,
Miss Armstrong to help Mrs.
O’Brien with the dish-s.

For many minutes. the detective mulled
over the various items of the bandit’s ap-

had gleaned from the
Suddenly be snapped his fingers.
“Te got it,” he exuited.

The next morning Miss Armstrong and
O’Brien went from one clothing store to
another. Finally in a second-hand atore
on First Avenue, the girl pointed to a lon?
brown coat. “That's the kind he wore,”
she said.

O’Brien nodded. “I thought so.” He
took the coat off the hanger, stuck his
hand into the sleeve-and reversed it. When
he had turned the other sleeve inside out,
the brown coat was 2 whitish-gray one.

“Simple enough,” OBrien said to him-
self. “A reversible coat A felt hat in his
pocket and perhaps a white shirt yor his
dark one. He ducks imte an alley, - - a
quick change and stamds there, bay ing
us look for him. Gee, what a goat he’s
evhea he returned to sagem att ame
quietly passed the word er Paes — ae
force. “Don't look for the - ata.
the cap. He'll be wearmé eal ay
coat and feit hat. = ,

LOO ee nena ee Somme are § ee

But though every officer kept his eyes
open for the bandit-killer, no one saw him.

Tuen a week later on August 18th, at
10:30 p.m, the lone bandit walked into
the Coliseum Theatre. The last show was
nearly over and the manager, Frank Steffy,
smiled in a friendly Way at the tall neat-
looking young man in the long brown over-
coat. “Sorry,” he said, “you're too late.”

“Not too late to get what I came for,”
the bandit answered grimly, poking his
gun into Steffy’s stomach. “Get back into
your office, if you don’t want to die.”

Steffy gulped. “You’re—the—bandit,”
he stammered.

“Sure, and I want
safe. Get going.”
harder into the
stalling.”

Steffy slowly opened his office door.
Then, pushed by the bandit, he stumbled
inside. Superintendent Ben Larson was
counting the cash. He gasped as he saw
the gun und the killer’s ice-cold eyes.

The young man smiled coldly. “Don’t do
anything rash,” he said. “The money isn't
worth dying for.” He motioned to Steffy.
“Tie him up in a chair.”

Under the watchful eyes of the intruder,

the money in your
The gun pressed a little
manager’s body. “Stop

This young man
was a. difficult
person to find

Larson complied. Then he was ordered
into another chair and the bandit tied him
there. Coolly he checked Steffy’s bonds.
“Nice work,” he smiled, “you must have
been a sailor. You sure know how to tie a
knot.”

Calmly he counted the cash lying on the
desk and stuffed it into his pocket. Then
just as calmly he entered the amount,
$535.43, in his notebook. “I like to keep
my books straight,” the bandit grinned.
Then he politely wished them goodnight
and vanished.

O’Brien didn’t receive word of the thea-
tre holdup until the two bound men were
found by the janitor after the show closed.
He knew then, of course, that it was too
late to make a search. The bandit would
be under cover again. _

The next morning O‘Brien went
Chief Tennant’s office. “Chief,” he told
him, “this bandit lives in Seattle. That’s
certain. We’ve got to dush him into the
open and I need help.”

_Tennant nodded. “Whatever you want,
Jimmy,” he replied, “you can have.”

“I want to
rooming house,
hotel,

into

“Well,” O’Brien replied
do it during the i ‘OL

_ And I don’t

€ might give us the

o'clock in the morning?” "0 ere mae

Pram agh hi omy bee set Sheriff Matt

\ 'Y coverj

leading out of Seattle, ang Til keeg were

man on duty.” er
“How about Putting pr,

Mager = mob aire on the boys
‘Tennan

¢ said he would see that every

stoolie spilled what he knew. “That punk,”
he added, “can’t be such a lone wolf that
no one knows him.”

All day a long Procession arrived at
headquarters. Shady characters, loose girls
and their men friends, bar-punks, a motley
crew, were interrogated by O’Brien and
his men. “Give us a line on this service
station bandit,” O’Brien told them, “or I'll
make Seattle a bad place for You to hang
your hat.”

At midnight that night O’Brien had to
admit that once again he had failed. He
was convinced that no one in the under-
world knew the killer. There were no
symptoms of fear, no desire to hold any-
thing back. “The punks just don’t know
him,” O’Brien groaned.

Everyrnne was set for a search of the
town, so the detective slept for a few
hours on a bench at headquarters. At 4: 30,
with the first gray streaks of dawn, he was
awake.

The men were dispatched in two’s to each
block. Each - street intersection was
guarded. Police prowled the alleys,
watched back doors and rear windows
while the search was on.

For over three hours nearly 400 search-
ers investigated every possible hiding place.
A number of wanted men were picked up.
More than a dozen were taken to head-
quarters for questioning, men that looked
somewhat like the bandit-killer. All were
dismissed, when their alibis proved cor-
rect.

Then, on October 8th, the robber smil-
ingly walked in on C. A. Lincoln at his gas
station at Madison and 13th Avenue.

Holding the Luger steadily against his
hips, he smilingly said, “Sorry, buddy, but
T'm shy of cash. How much have you
got?”

Lincoln, recognizing the stickup and re-
membering O’Brien’s warning, silently
handed over all he had. The bandit counted
it swiftly and expertly. “Three hundred -
and fifty-six dollars,” he said, entering that
amount in his book. “Would you believe
it, buddy, that makes nearly 350.000 I’ve
earned so far?”

As the bandit turned to leave. he said
calmly, “By the way, I've been told that
the cops instructed you fellows to be kind,
to me. I wouldn't stick my nose out of the
door for at least five minutes.” Grinning he

added, “I’m a very good shot, even at
three hundred feet.”
Lincoln believed him. He waited until

he was sure the bandit Was gone, then hur-
ried to a phone.

Excitedly he explained to headquarters
what had happened. “He left a big thumb-
print on the showcase,” Lincoln shouted
into the phone.

O’Brien rushed Levi Bradley to the sta-
tion. The print was there, clear and dis-
tinct. “Now I'm sure we'll have some-
thing,” the detectives exulted.

But when finally the last returns came
in, every agency stated that they didn’t
have the print on record.

O’Brien felt dejected. He had hoped for a
great deal from the fingerprint. “That
punk’s having the luck of the devil,” he
groaned, then added, “but I'll keep after
him till I get him, or he gets me.”

On November Ist, O’Brien received a
phone call from Sheriff Matt Starwich.
“Come over to my office, Jimmy,” said the
latter. “I’ve got something to show you.”

It was a letter from a woman in Chicago.

To the Sheriff «
King County a
Washington

Two years ago my son left me here 87

roy eee ey

cae Oe ee ee

that the killer

‘At the jail it was found :
but not seri-

had been hit five times,

. ously.

At first the prisoner gave his name as
John Smith, but later changed it to Johann
Schmidt. “It isn’t my right name,” he told
the officers, “and that [ll never tell, be-
cause it is a very aristocratic name and I
“ao not want to bring any disgrace on it.”

When asked what he had done with all
the money, he replied, “I have most of it
buried, together with my private papers,
including my account pook. You'll never
find it.” 7

He was right. Neither the money nor the
papers have ever been located.

He smiled a little sadly. “J am sorry I
killed O’Brien. He was such a good scout.
Twice I helped him look for me. I was
right in the crowd at the Morey place
when he arrived. I practised quick chang-
ing every day in my hotel room. Some-
times I would wear @ butcher’s apron
rolled under my coat and when the hunt
was on, I’d drop that down and nobody
ever looked twice at me.”

Schmidt was arraigned before Judge
A. W. Frater the day after his capture. In
the middle of the legal proceedings, the

*judge announced that he had just been
informed that Officer Angle had died.

Two days later Neil McMillian died of
his wounds and when, two days after that,
a mile-long
funeral procession, with fiag-draped coffins

window and told Judge Frater, “
those guys and

The selection of a
minutes. The presentation of the evidence
was completed by 4:00 o’clock and a few
minutes before 5:00 the jury returned a
verdict of guilty of quadruple murder,
without any recommendation.

On February Ist, 1921, Judge Frater
sentenced Johann Schmidt to be hanged
in the Washington State Penitentiary at
Walla Walla, on April Ist.

“That, Your Honor,” the prisoner said
in a clear voice, “is the right day for my
hanging. I have been a fool and All Fools’
Day is a splendid choice.”

Asked whether he had anything further
to say, he replied, “I do not believe in
capital punishment as a rule, but in my
case it is necessary. I have no respect for
any human life. I deserve my punishment.”

While waiting to be taken to Walla
Walla, Schmidt
him to look at
Morey holdup.

- was just as curious

When Starwich brought the photograph,
Schmidt studied it for a moment, then
jabbed a lean finger at a figure near the
ambulance. “That's me,” he grinned. “I
as the rest of them.”
He winked at the i i
didn’t even bother to change
overcoat.”

A few days
Sheriff Matt Starwich arrived at the office
of Governor Louis F. Hart in Olympia.
With him was a heavily veiled woman.

“This lady, Your Excellency,” Starwich
said to the governor, “ig the mother of
Johann Schmidt. She would like to re-
main incognito, but begs for a chance to
say good-bye to her son.”

The governor readily gave his permis-
sion and the night before the execution,
mother and son were alone for nearly
three hours.

What passed between them no one else
knows. Johann Schmidt died at the break
of dawn under his chosen alias, three
hours after his mother left him, a weeping,
broken woman.

my cap or

before the execution,

Eprror’s NoTE
A picture of Johann Schmidt appears
on page 87.

HONEST

(Continued from page 27) the miniature
Wonder Separator in the armored truck.
“These,” he pointed out, “are the latest
assays.” He opened a jar and poured some
of the contents inte his palm. “Part black
sand,” he said, “and the rest pure platinum,
second only to radium in value.” Which
indeed it was. “Here,” he said to one man
—the one who had asked where in Oregon
the Wonder Separator was functioning—
“take it out and have it analyzed. Every-
thing’s aboveboard in this office!”

_ Someone inquired as to the price of
stock. Mr. Barton said he was glad he had
been asked that. “Par value is a dollar a
share,” he said, “and we are incorporated
to sell six hundred thousand shares. We
guarantee the original investment back in
sixty days after operations begin, which
will be in about six weeks.” He grinned.
“After that, everything is gravy.”

Just then a local real estate man entered
the office and introduced himself. Mr. Bar-
ton had sent for him by telephone. Honest
Epton, president of the company, wished
the real estate man to line up a nice loca-
tion within five miles of Aberdeen—some-
thing with a view and comprising about
twenty-five acres. “Tt is Honest’s—I mean
Mr. Epton’s—intention to begin building a
home for himself right after he arrives,”
said Barton.

Another curious caller inquired why Mr.
Epton was called Honest. Barton smiled.
He was glad that question had been asked,
too. “They called him that at the State
House in Olympia, where we leased the
Ruby Beach property,” Mr. Barton said.
“Tt’s because he’s so conservative. He told
the state officials when we were incor-
porating that investors would make four
hundred per cent a year on their money.
Then, when the officials got the govern-
ment reports on the Ruby Beach assays,
they realized that quadrupling the invest-
ment in a year’s time was a gross under-
statement of fact, and that making twenty
times the original investment annually was
nearer the figure.” Mr. Barton laughed

heartily. “No wonder they nicknamed
uJ. E. ‘Honest’!”
The whole business seemed too wonder-

ful for words, but then Mr. Barton put a
damper on things. He was sorry, he said,
but he was authorized to accept no money.

He reached into his desk and produced a
Postal Telegraph night letter which a con-
federate had sent him from Washington
the night before. He handed it around for
all to see. It read:

Ross I. Barton, Aberdeen, Wash.
Hold up on accepting any stock money
until my arrival there, as I insist upon
personally interviewing all prospective
stockholders. We need only six hun-
dred thousand dollars to begin full
operations Ruby Beach and consider-
ably more than that could undoubtedly
be raised in fine community like Aber-
deen district. I therefore wish to see
that only most deserving citizens par-
ticipate and am frankly more desirous
of having the benefits spread out
among the less wealthy and deserving
than to permit a handful of prosperous
men to reap the rewards to which
after all the common people are en-
titled. Regards

Honest

Needless to say. a pall fell over the field
office when Honest Epton’s night letter had
been read by all. Mr. Barton made things
a trifle more uncomfortable by stating that
he knew for a fact that the ethical Mr.
Epton would absolutely refuse to permit
participation in the wonderful project by
anyone who owed so much as a penny.

“Honest,” Mr. Barton went on, “or Mr.
Epton, rather, feels very strongly about
people who do not meet their obligations,
so I would advise any of you who hope to
participate to settle all of your debts be-
fore Honest reaches town.”

Word of what took place in Barton's of-
fice was widely repeated in the vicinity
and there was much scurrying by individ-
uals who had neglected over-due pills.
and many accounts long since forgotten by
creditors were suddenly paid.

There were a few doubting Thomases.
and one of these—a leading merchant—
stopped Mr. Barton to have a word with
him when R. B. was going into the field
office one day. The merchant went straight
to the point. He said he didn’t believe
that the sands of Ruby Beach contained the
fabulous deposits claimed in the newspaper
advertisement.

EP AND THE PLATINUM WILDCAT

“['m very glad you
were aboveboard enough to come to me
with your doubts,” he said. “Step inside;
I want to show you something.”

Barton reached into his desk and got a
photostatic copy of an old Washington,
D. C. newspaper and handed it to his
visitor. There was an article on the find-
ings of one Dr. David T. Day of the United
States Geological Survey, in which the
doctor stated that after two extensive tests
of the sands in the vicinity of Aberdeen,
Washington, he had concluded that price-
less minerals were deposited there, await-
ing only the proper method of extracting
them at a cost that would not cancel all
the profit. That's where the Wonder Sepa-
rator came in.

The merchant was not thoroughly con-
vineed. “I think you ought to give us a
demonstration of how the Separator there
works.” he said. pointing to the miniature
contraption in the rear.

“A very good suggestion,” said Barton.
“That will be arranged when Honest ar-
rives.”

Barton learned during the next few days
that the merchant's doubts had been freely
communicated to the townsfolk and that
certain of the i i
begun to waver, too.
Scotch in his hotel room,
far into the night. The result of his labors
appeared as the following advertisement
in the newspapers of the vicinity:

Mr. Barton smiled.

SWEEP OUT A CELL FOR
DOCTOR DAY!

The Warden at Leavenworth
Should Be Advised by Wire to Get
3 Nice Corner Suite in Readiness
If Following Statements Are Not
True!

Excerpts from U. S. Government
Report on beach sands of the Pacific
Coast, by Doctor David T. Day of the
United States Geological Survey:

“Values of untold billions of dollars
are to be found in the sands which
line certain portions of the Pacific
Coast.”

“Values of gold running from six
dollars to six hundred dollars 2 ton

: zea be extracted, also platinum and
.. Citizens! The rivers even now are
= ceaselessly carrying this precious sand
My wn their entire course and dumping
ae the Pacitic Ocean where, by
ferent currents, it is returned to the
Mainland to build up the sand beaches

_ of the Pacific Coast.

The high class minerals, such as gold,
platinum, etc., can be easily and cheap-
ly separated from the surrounding
gangue by methods of concentration
_ now im practical use by the Wonder

Separator. The United States Govern-

ment, through Doctor Day, has pointed

the way to fabulous fortunes and gigan-
tic enterprise through the sands of

Ruby Beach.

So GET BUSY, WARDEN, AND SWEEP OUT

A CELL FOR DOCTOR DAY IF THE ABOVE

STATEMENTS ARE NOT TRUE IN EVERY

DETAIL!

Virtually everybody in town was either

reading or discussing the newest adver-
tisement, and its daring wording silenced
the minority of scoffers. In a way, the
advertisement was truthful; in another
way, it wasn’t. That is to say, the Dr.
Day referred to had, some twenty years
before, been given certain minor assign-
ments by the U. S. Geological Survey. An
obscure geologist, he had made no startling
contribution to mankind when he had
stated that fortunes in minerals were to
be found in the Pacific Coast sands. The
catch was that it would have cost more
than the value of the prizes extracted to
obtain them. Then, too, the advertisement
neglected to mention one important point
—and that was that Dr. Day had been
dead for a number of years!

_But that didn’t deter Ross Barton. Forty-
eight hours after the much-discussed ad-
vertisement had appeared, an elderly man
calling himself Dr. David T. Day arrived
in town. He was immediately in confer-
ence with Barton, and afterward walked
through Aberdeen, his head down, his brow
wrinkled, apparently in deep thought. Dr.
Day, in fact, immediately established him-
self as something of a character by making
small purchases in the stores, such as
cigars and newspapers, and laying down
ten- and twenty-dollar bills and forgetting
his change. The breezy Barton explained
this peculiarity. “All great scientists are
forgetful.” he told eager listeners. “And
besides, the doctor is a millionaire many
times over because of his geological dis-
= and money means nothing to

Eager townsfolk awaited the i
Honest Epton. Farmers, aes: gedns
chants and housewives had their’ refer-
ences and their money ready, all set to
make an impression on the” great but
severely ethical man.

F wa.ty, the day arrived. Mr.
the “engineers” and other mimes at at
the fabulous, staked-off property, together
with dozens of local citizens, were down
at the railroad station to meet the dis-
tinguished visitor whose decisions were
either to make fortunes for the lucky ones
or doom the unworthy to disappointment.
_ Barton had had a local man make
a big banner reading: .

~ “WELCOME TO ABERDEEN,
. HONEST EPTon!
The train pulled in and Mr. Epton, who
the preceding three
while Mr.

Juggage. most of it empty. .
temples, had knitted

brows, wore silver-rimmed eye-glasses and
was conservatively attired, giving the ap-
pearance of a college professor. He carried
a briefcase, smilingly shook hands with
Barton, then noticed the “welcome” sign
and said:
“You shouldn’t have done this, R. B.
You know how I dislike display.” ‘

Then the distinguished visitor looked
over the townsfolk there to greet him. He
saw a woman with a ten-year-old boy. He
patted the boy on the head, chatted with
him, then gave the lad a twenty-dollar
bili, pretending that he was going to some
pains to shield his act of generosity, but
in reality fumbling with the bill long
enough for those around to see that it was
a gold-back. “Save your money, and in-
vest it wisely, son,” was the great man’s
advice. “And always be absolutely honest
with yourself as well as others.”

Honest shook hands all around, after
which Barton drove him to the hotel.

The two men were in seclusion the re-
mainder of the day, giving out word that
they were in conference. Actually, they
were (drinking together, while the “engi-
neers _made frequent visits to their hotel
quarters with samples of sand from Ruby
Beach. The elderly visitor calling himself
Dr. Day was bustling in and out of Hon-
est’s quarters. During the afternoon,
Epton sent out for some files from the

pital

ot eo

a. Mes 5 terns. to reap the “platinum

The letters were returned to Mr. Barton
late that night, but not before their con-
tents had been carefully noted by the curi-
ous finder, and widely disseminated!

N exe morning Honest Epton made hi
arst visit to the field office. The doors site
locked, and prospective investors, standing
outside the window with their cash and
references, could see the great man busy
with papers. The doors were thrown open
about noon, and the line formed to the
right. Mr. Barton talked first with the
applicants, and if he approved them, he
would introduce them to Honest.
- Epton, severe, businesslike, and suffering
from a hangover, tentatively okayed the
first three applications. He would accept
- Pen de ae as yet. “Your refer-
e said, “must first be thorough]
checked to my satisfaction.” a
The fourth applicant didn’t fare so well
He was a farmer who had driven some dis-
tance with $1,500 in cash. Epton looked at
him sharply. The man had a red nose.
“Do you drink?” snapped Honest.
The farmer admitted he did.
Application rejected,” said Honest,
whose own head was splitting from over-
indulgence. “Although a teetotaler myself,
I have no objection to others taking an

AND WELL MERITED,
TOO!

The most costly typographical
error ever made was a three-letter
omission. In 1631 the firm of
Barker and Lucas, London print-
ers, issued an edition of the Bible
in which not was omitted from the
seventh commandment. making it
read: “Thou shalt commit adult-
ery.” _Though the error was un-

1, the blishers were
fined $25,000.

field office, Dr. Day going to fetch them.
On the way back to the hotel, the eccen-
tric and absent-minded doctor dropped

something in a spot where he was certain ~

it would be picked up. What he dropped

were two letters, clipped together.

One

of them was fastened to an envelo st-
marked New York, addressed to Mr. here
ton at the Aberdeen field office, and bear-
ing in the, upper left hand corner the
return address:

- J. P. Morgan Enterprises
Wall Street, New York
The letterhead, like the envelope itself,

had been faked, and the commftnication
had been mailed in Manhattan by a con-

ederate of Barton and Epton. The letter

to Barton bore the news that the J. P.

Morgan Enterprises,

having learned in

Washington about the miraculous
\ sands of
— Beach, wished to open negotiations
or outright purchase of the property for
oe ea: and — willing to pay $3,000,-
e exclusive patent ri
Wonder Separator. : siagmaleaiie

Attached to this communication was a

carbon copy of a letter that Mr. Barton had

apparently sent in reply.

This stated,

pre other things, that “while the final
ps * in a matter rests with our presi-
on Epton, I can state even without
item ie that your offer is
Separator : capebie pe gendee oe
ey xtracting se
oe core —— of ore net dae, nad.
course of onion? ~~
Then Barton had added that Mr. Epton

intended giving his “future neighbors” the

mal drink. But I want no stock-
holder in this enterprise who abuses 8
bottle, as you obviously do, my good man!”
Barton had obtained from his local sec-
retary who, it should be added, was a
thoroughly honorable person and entirely
unaware of the character of Barton and
his associates, considerable inside knowl-
edge of certain of the townsfolk, particu-
larly those who had paid off long-standing
obligations so that their records would be
clean when they faced the man called
Honest. He had apprized Epton of the
names of these persons. When the first cf
them showed up, Epton said: ei
‘Have you any outstanding debts?”
The man said he hadn't.
to were you last in debt?”
e man stammered. Epton kn
—. serge this individual had
- ‘oc ill j
few days previously. et ae
cae now,” snapped Barton.
ean metcnt told the truth.
Hone: sneered. “You wouldn’
paid that debt if you had not we eo
clean credit record so you could partici-
pate in Ruby Beach, now would you?”
“I—er—” :
“Now would you?
“Well, no, sir.”
Fag goreeniy rejected! Next?”
it went for the duration of the s
Armed with imside knowledge, the _—
Epton made a profound impression as he
rejected application after application. By
late afternoon, he had taken “under con-
sideration for investigation” the references
of dozens of the gullible who, he knew, had
a total of almost one hundred thousand
dollars that they were itching to part with.

“The

The truth, man!”

Wane the field office was still crowded,
Epton’s eyes chanced upon a newspaper
advertisement in which Dr. Day was quoted
as saying that minerals found on the Pa-
cific Coast assayed as high as six hundred
ag to a ton of sand.
ton read that passage aloud. then ex-
ploded. “Day!” he sh “D
eer is aoe outed. “Day! Day!
“Out at the mine, Honest,” sai
“Why, what's _—- ee
a ‘Why is Day coming out with this state-
ent that leads people to believe we're
going to get six hundred dollars a ton out
$1

in Chicago and I nave not heard from
him for a long time. I wonder could
you help me find him?

He is now twenty-five years old and
nearly six feet tall. He weighed 161
Ibs. when I last saw him. He has blond
hair and amazingly dark blue eyes.

Ge wrote to me last from Spokane,
Washington, saying that he was going
to Seattle to find work.

He speaks English with hardly any
accent, although he was brought up in
Germany. I do not believe he uses his
own name, a highly respected name
in Germany before the war.

What makes me so very much afraid
is his attitude towards life. He often
has said that if he cannot earn a living,
he can at least take what he wants. He
took his father’s Luger and I am afraid
for him.

He always has been a very good boy.
He never takes the Lord’s name in
vain; he doesn’t drink, nor does he
smoke. He is a great student and loves

to read good books in the library.
The name signed to this letter is not
my own, but he will recognize it.
Please try to find him, Sheriff, and
tell him to write to his mother.

O’Brien read the letter over twice.
“That’s our man, I'll bet on it,” he said.
“Now if she’d only send a photograph.”

“Pll write for one,” Matt Starwich said.
He did, but the letter came back some
weeks later from the dead letter office as
“unclaimed.”

Every spare moment of his time O’Brien
haunted the library. He had every book-
store in Seattle under surveillance. Every
branch library was covered. But appar-
ently the killer had forsaken his literary
ambitions.

On November 4th, the cool bandit robbed
a service station in Georgetown of $75.

Two nights later, he calmly entered an-
other $250 in his little book after holding
up the gas station at East 27th Street and
Brooklyn Avenue.

Then on November 20th he made another
small entry. Only $45 this time, taken
from a service station at North 45th Street

and Stone Way.

O srEn and the whole police force
were beginning to feel that the bandit had
a charmed life. “If he had the power to
make himself invisible.” O’Brien despaired,
“he couldn’t be harder to lay hands on.”

But all of the detective’s thoughts didn’t
keep him from acting. He asked Chief
Tennant for fifty men to stake out at likely
gas stations. Tennant agreed. Day in and
day out, the stations were covered.

And for several weeks nothing happened.
Then on December 5th the bandit appeared
again at Lincoln’s service station.

“T need a little money for my Christmas
vacation,” he told Lincoln, “so I came back
to you again. How much have you got for
me this time?”

Lincoln debated what to do. But the
look in the hard eyes of the bandit de-
cided him. He handed over his money, a
little more than $200.

“Tell the cops,” the killer told him,
“to give the boys a rest watching the sta-
tions. I’m laying off until after Christmas

and.” he added, squeezing his ungloved
hand fiat on the show case, “here’s a nice
picture of my paw for that sap O’Brien.”

Transferring the gun to his left hand, he
took his notebook from his coat pocket and
did some more bookkeeping. “Can’t kick
w about my earnings this year,” he laughed.
8 Then he added, “I guess O’Brien figured |

wouldn’t hold you up a second time so he

gave you no guard. Too bad. But I'll be
8 back next year. Merry Christmas.”

With that he was gone. When O’Brien
listened to Lincoln’s story, a thought struck
him. The bandit knew too much about
him and what he was doing. Where could
he have found out about the guards? Only
from the operators at whose stations
guards were placed.

“So,” O’Brien told himself, “he must be
chumming with some operator. I’ve ques-
tioned the boys who have been held up.
Now I'll try the ones who haven't.”

. At headquarters he made out a list of
the stations at which guards were placed.
Then he. called Detective Montgomery.

“This bandit,” he said, “may own a car.
You go to Olympia and check every driving
license against his description. We may
find something.”

O’Brien himself interviewed the station
operators on his list. He didn’t ask this
time about a man in a cap and brown coat.

“ve got a letter from a mother in Chi-
cago,” he repeated over and over again.
“She wants me to find her boy and send
him back to her for Christmas. He drives
a nice car and is about six feet tall.” He
added the wanted man’s description.

At the station on Fourth Avenue and

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Marion he had his first piece of luck.
“That sounds like Johnny Smith,” the oper-
ator told him. “But he left Seattle three
weeks ago. He said he was going back
home to Chicago.”

“What kind of a car did he drive
O’Brien asked, trying to keep elation out
of his voice.

“He’s got a new Ford roadster.”

O’Brien groaned inwardly. Of course,
it had to be a Ford, with every second car
in Seattle a Ford. But undaunted, he set
to work checking car registrations.

Then he smiled. The third name down
from the top of the second page was John
Smith. His car was a Ford roadster. The
address was Ravenna Boulevard.

O’Brien rushed out there and found John
Smith busy behind the counter of his little
store. He was sixty-eight years old, an
inch or so over five feet, and weighed well
over 200 pounds.

The detective returned to headquarters
and, grimly determined, continued check-
ing the car registrations. There was one
other John Smith, registered at a hotel in
Spokane.

O’Brien asked the Spokane department

9”

to check the man. The answer came in a
few hours.

John Smith around twenty-five years
old, student. Tall, blond, blue eyes.
Description from dealer who sold car.
Checked out here August 3rd. Pres-
ent address unknown.

“That must be the bandit,” O’Brien

thought. “Ill check every garage.”

O’Brien found the Ford roadster in the

garage at Second Avenue and Virginia.

“It’s been here for nearly four weeks

now,” the attendant told him. “Smith said
he didn’t like driving in winter, so asked

me to take care of it.”

With the help of Levi Bradley, O’Brien
checked the roadster and found quick proof
that it belonged to the killer. Bradley de-
veloped several sets of good prints, that
checked with those of the killer. In tbe
back of the automobile was a large stzck
of Scientific American magazines and sev-
eral books on psychology. In the left front
pocket O’Brien found a map of Seattle.
Every service station that had been held
up, was checked off.

Warning the attendant to keep his lips
shut tight, O’Brien put cover on the car
every minute of the day. But John Smith
didn’t come near the garage, nor did Mont-
gomery find any driver’s license issued to
the killer.

O’Brien, figuring that the killer would
probably be living somewhere near, him=-
self haunted the neighborhood continually
and at other times had plainclothesmen
staked out.

But the days slipped by without results.

Trey, on January 14th, Police Officer
Volney Stevens was shot down by a
gang of robbers. The local papers blamed
this killing on the Olympia killer.

“I don’t think that’s true,” O’Brien told
Chief Tennant. “Our John Smith is a lone
wolf.”

He was right. Police Sergeant Edwin
Herald recognized a member of the gang
and when they were all rounded up, they
proved to be Craighton Dodge, GA:
Brown, Louis Madson and Jack Daniels.
None of their prints checked with John
Smith’s.

In his office, O’Brien mulled over all
he knew about the killer, then went in
to see Tennant.

“J think, Chief,” he said, “we’ve done
this thing backwards.”

“What are you driving at, Jimmy?”

“Well, we searched every dump, every
cheap rooming house in Seattle for this
killer and we drew a blank. I think we
should search the best joints in town in-
stead. All the good apartments. All the
top hotels.”

“Why?”

“Look at that letter from the mother.
I bet he was brought up right. He's edu-
cated, reads psychology books. And look
at the money he’s pulled in. Must be close
to sixty thousand. Enough to put him up
at the best joints in town.” Tennant hesi-
tated at the idea of searching all the better
places in Seattle. Finally he compromised.
“Tl put a man on duty in every hotel and
apartment house. If they see him, we'll
get him.”

“Wait a minute, Chief,” O’Brien said.
“T’ve got an idea.”

For some time the detective figured
every angle of his plan, then turned to
Tennant. “Let’s call in the newshounds
and give them a line. Or better still, let
me do the bragging. I can put it over. ru
tell them I know the killer is hiding out
in a high-class joint and that I’m going to
search till I find him. I figure he’ll move
and we'll have every street covered. May-

4
3

street came the

be the sheriff wiil help again.”
amg thought it might work and gave
; Brien his okay. So when the detective
eft the office and was asked for news by
the reporters, he acted as if he were con-
cealing important facts.

Better get set for some real news soon,
boys,” he told the newsmen. “We'll have
the killer in the jug in a few hours.”

At their insistence he added, “I've had
this killer figured all wrong. We've hunted
for him on skid row, but he’s in one of
Seattle’s best places and we're going to
search every doggone one from cellar to
attic and I bet we'll find him.”

O’Brien contacted Sheriff Starwich and
asked for his help. “You bet,” the sheriff
replied. “Every one of my deputies will
ad Fee ro ——. bt tae cover the whole

until it’s like a aper ai

of — fly season.” oar : _——

e@ evening papers carried O’Brien’
planned statement in large headlines. The
detective grinned. There wasn’t much
chance of the killer’s not knowing what he
intended to do. “Hope he falls for it,”
= a en nervous in spite of him-

. Wo e killer see thri i
and just lie low? cdi at

Ar 8:00 c’clock that night, January 21st
the officers took up their stations, two
to each block. O’Brien had carefully re-
peated the killer’s description. “Don’t for-
get,” he told them, “that he’s really two
men rolled in one. When he’s out to rob,
he wears the brown coat and cap pulled
over his eyes. When he’s just sight-seeing,
he’s a fashionable young man in a light-
gray coat and a decent hat. He’s a killer,
a rattlesnake, without the rattles. So
= _— step, boys.”

Patrolmen W. T. Angle and Neil H. Mc-
Millian had been assigned the block be-
tween Broadway and Harrison on Tenth
Avenue.

It was cold. An Arctic wind was blowin
up from Puget Sound. “I don’t think this
punk will come out on a night like this,”
Angle growled. “I bet he’s nice and warm
preditin.- the blankets, and I wish I were,

Suddenly the officer’s figure stiffened
pang ge Dh “What is it?” He turned

e ion in which
jookie the other was
Angle said, “I saw somethin
, g by that
small cypress across th ,
eget e street. Let’s take

Both officers started across the str

eet. A
tall figure stepped from behind the cypress
a in = hand flamed. ;

gle stumbled, fell sl i
a bullet under his eet en

A mirthless grin flitted across his face.
Then he looked up at Mrs. W. T. Buffum,
her daughter Ethel and friend Johnson,

who, attracted by the shooting, had come

out on their veran
He motioned with his gun. “Get back in-

side,” he snarled, “o

off.” &

‘As the three hesitated. awed by
callous shooting, the murderer sent a bullet
crashing into he Pras, sod over oe Poe a ‘
They ran im nding of many ) ge

TRE SE ee ree aa pene enerre et =
<3 == - bs FFE DL OLE EL Ee ET EE
2 >. EE ee eS Gite Pat ee tee

ee were rushed to the hos-
pital, but it was aj ent
little hope for pH aa Se ae
As the news of this new killin
g spread
through Seattle, every officer, aman
more determined, intensified his hunt.

Orn their section, O’Brien turned to his
partner, T. G. Montgomery. “He'll try
to get his car, I think, and if he does, he’ll
have to come by here.”

Montgomery pointed across the street.
“There’s Dean Carman. I’m going to ask
him to keep his eyes open.”

O’Brien nodded and walked up Second
Avenue. Out of the corner of his eyes he
Saw a movement in the shadow of the en-
trance to a business building.

O’Brien shouted, “Hey, you there, come
on out into the light!”

(Carman and Montgomery, hearing
O’Brien’s shout, rushed toward him.

Montgomery yelled, “I see him!”

Then two shots blazed out of the dark
entrance. The first hit Detective O’Brien in
the heart. Dying on his feet, the splendid
officer emptied his service gun at the dark
shadow. Then he slowly sank to the pave-
ment, staining it red with his blood.

The second shot hit Carman. He fell to
the sidewalk, his leg shot from under him.

Again the killer’s gun roared. Mont-
gomery felt hot lead tear at his arm. It
—— his gun hand and made him: miss.

_ He aimed steadily. His gun sent bellow-
ing blasts echoing across the street from
building to building. He knew he had
ha _ ag F sds But, biting his lips, he

I a e spurting in i
killer’s hand. ie cael gina:

Then Montgom s rT i
entity: ery’ evolver clicked

With an angry curse, Montgome:

: 1 ry threw
his empty pistol at the killer. He hurled
himself across the sidewalk. The killer’s
gun exploded in his face.

; Yet Montgomery never hesitated. Seeth-
ing with anger at the killing of his partner,
he smashed his fist into the bandit’s face,
and only when the killer lay stretched out
on the cement, did he realize that he had
broken his wrist with the fury of his blow.

Montgomery smapped handcuffs on the
pew ing a ig ag Then he staggered,
swaying wi the loss of bl
Jimmy Paci lood, toward

ut the brave detective w
_ He was dead. ite aatane

rhe sound of the shooting brought qui
re x gy ned and ares pt

she ° e hospital, th i
ry to jail. f lems

‘o Levi Bradley, photographer for th
police department at that time, fell the
es mar . taking a picture of his beloved

rade, lying stretched
Rima out on the cold

Unashamed tears ran down Bradley’

2 1
rena a O’Brien and he had pa

police department on the same d

— been buddies ever since. a ear ee
ight after night. whenever he
spare the time, Jimmy O’Brien had paces
> to Bradley's small den in the rear of
€ city jail and talked over with him the |
Progress of the hunt, and perhaps even

asked for a little
after the killer. eoment to keep

fered to take Ji > ORT
his studio Sout

‘ear.
When Lieutenant Bra,

details of O'Brien’s dley told me the

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two bandits had finished up on cold slabs
in the morgue.

“I would have liked to let you rest up
until after Christmas,” Chief Tennant
continued, “but I need you. Take a
gander at this.”

The chief handed O’P.ien a sheet of
paper. On it was a lang list of service
station holdups.

“Thirty-eight robberies,” Tennant
went on, “between August 8th and last
night, December 22nd. And all by a
good-looking punk not over twenty-
four years old. Always cool as a cu-

cumber.” Then Tennant added grim-
ly, “Get him. That’s your job from
now on.”

O’Brien started to leave when an

orderly brought in a bulletin. Chief
Tennant glanced at it, then said, “Wait
a minute, Jimmy.” He read the bul-
letin, then continued. “It’s your man,
Jimmy. Only this time it’s murder. In
Olympia.”

Less than an hour later, a few minutes
before 7:00, O’Brien introduced himself
to Harry Cusack, police chief at Olym-
pia. “I think,” he told him, “your killer
is a bandit we’ve long been looking for.”

Cusack and O’Brien went to the
Penney store and interviewed McManus
and Mrs. Belles.

O’Brien received a good description
of the killer, but he already knew it by
heart. Nearly six feet tall, about 150
pounds, dark blue eyes, blond hair, dark
cap and a long brown overcoat. It was

“| need a litle money for my
Christmas vacation," said bandit
as he held up gas station (r.)

the service station bandit.

In the rear of the store Cusack said,
“He fled this way,” pointing toward the
lower end of Fifth Avenue to the Union
Pacific Railway yards. “Schultz was
shot near the fence by the Olympia Knit-
ting Mills. Just a kid gone bad,” Cusack
continued. “Can’t understand how a
well-brought-up boy can go that way.
But he’s a killer now.”

O’Brien nodded. To him it was the
Same old story. First petty thieving,
then armed robbery, and finally murder.
“Tll phone Seattle,” he said, “‘and get
that end covered.”

Chief Tennant promised that every
means of getting into Seattle would be
guarded.

O’Brien and Cusack. assisted by a
Posse, searched the waterfront and the
railroad yards for several hours, but to
no avail. From Tony Irish, accountant
at the knitting mills, they received an
eyewitness account of the killing.
“Schultz,” Irish said, “didn’t have a
chance, being in the light and the killer
hidden by the fence.”

O’Brien climbed over the fence and
searched the ground. Nearly trodden
out of sight in the soft dirt, he found an
empty shell. “7.65 Luger,” he said to
himself, “and,” looking at the footprint,
“a number 915 shoe. New, with rubber
heel. I'll make a cast of that.”

As O’Brien resumed his trail he found
a cap in the rear of the Willard Hotel.
When he showed it to McManus. the

store manager
killer’s.

“Let’s search the hotel,” O'Brien sug-
gested to Cusack. “He may ce staying
there.”

But the officers drew a Dilank. No
young man had boarded at the Willard.
“ll go from rooming house to rooming

Was sure it was the

house,” O’Brien said to Cu “You
could search the hotels.”
It was nearly midnight when the two

officers met again. One look at Cusack’s
face told O’Brien that the chief had had

no luck. ~The killer,” Cusack said.
“isn’t an Olympia man. Noo scdy knows
Aim or has seen him.”

“No,” O’Brien agreed gr “he’s

from my bailiwick. And I’m 2oing back
to Seattle and try to pick up his trail
there.”

On his way back, O’Brien stopped at
the bus depot in Tacoma. th rty miles
south of Seattle. Several drivers were
there drinking coffee. The detective
gave them a description ot the bandit
killer. “If you see him, do let him
get wise. Phone ahead and ‘ve’ll ‘meet
your bus somewhere on the road.”

One young driver looked thoughtful.
“I've just come back from Puyailup,” he
told O’Brien. “and I believe I had the
killer on board when I went there. He
Sot off at A Street.”

O’Brien waited for no more. He raced
to Puyallup. The sleepy little town w-s
deserted. Getting the local m
of bed, O’Brien and he made = *-

(L.) As killer blazed away -rom
door, Det. O'Brien collapsed sr
(2) and Dean Corman fell a+ {hj

Above) Unknown to Det. O'Brien
fears fide bandit (left arrow)
had joined curious throng at crime
scene to watch proceedings before
seeking unsuspected hideout (inset)

house search for the fugitive. But again
it was in vain. :
At an all-night lunch counter they

were told, “That bird had coffee and
cakes here less than two hours ago, but
I haven't seen him since.”

With the first light of dawn, a posse
was hastily formed and every possible
hiding place was searched. From Olym-
pia came word that a reward of $500 had
been posted for the killer. dead or alive.

But when O’Brien finally sat down to
a much needed breakfast. he had to ad-
mit that the killer had ped through
their fingers. :

When O’Brien reached Seattle again,
he reported to Chief Tennant, then tried
to get a little rest. But the oarely healed

wound in his igh bothered him and
wouldn't let him sleep. He got up and

om one service station
to the next. Everywhere he left the
same warning. “This bdird is a killer
now and he'll kill again. Let him have
the money, but watch him, watch where
he goes, watch what he does and, above
all, phone headquarters the first chance
you get.”

drove his car

As O’Brien neared the Morey place, he
noticed a large gathering outside. He
forced his way through the crowd and
went in.

E. S. Howe, the owner, sat on the
floor, swaying to and fro with an ugly
bullet wound in his leg. Stretched on
the counter was another Bleeding man.
He was Ralph M. Hedges. ;

“I was just filling Hedges’ order,’
Howe told O’Brien, “when this guy
comes in here. He wants our money
and I told him to go to the devil. He
fires without saying anything and knocks
my legs from under me. Then he shoots
Hedges’ jaw off and cleans out the till.
He quite cooily counts the money and
enters the amount in a little book and
then beats out of here.”

O’Brien xed up an empty shell near
the door. was from a 7.65 Luger.
Howe's description of the stickup man
fitted the Olympia killer, item by item.

An ambulance had already been called
and now police cars were roaring up to
the place. O’Brien deployed a car in
each direction. He telephoned Chief
Tennant for more men and phoned

Sheriff Matt Starwich for an additional
posse. :
Within minutes a huge circle of polite
officers formed around the store. C
Tennant took personal charge.
the circle closed in. Every house.
basement, every shrub, every po ‘
hiding place was searched inch by <nch
and yet, when the net finally ccosed
around the store, it was empty. The
killer had not been seen. _
O'Brien felt let down. He had ceen
on the scene so early. He had thrown
the huge circle around the holdup scene
so quickly and the search had been so

thorough. Yet the killer had esceved.
How? How? O’Brien kept asking =-m-
self.

Several months passed, yet he cou,
forget the killer. Every spare me
he kept on the trail. Over and
again he questioned men who had
held up. How tall was the despe
How much did he weigh?
wear? How old was he?

Over and over again O’Brien <ept
asking those questions, until even and
station operators (Continued on page 87)

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160

“we have thousands of customers. I
can’t remember what he looked like.”

The sheriff asked whether the man
had left a Seattle address. He was
told that Frawley was staying at the
Diller Hotel.

Carroll replaced the receiver, then
quickly picked it up again. This time
he called the Seattle police and asked
that someone be sent to the Diller to
learn if William Frawley was stopping
there. He also requested a description
of the man together with any
information concerning his car, if he
had one. If the machine could be
found, Carroll wanted it examined.

* * *

ETECTIVE L. E. Himes undertook

the assignment. When he arrived
at the hotel, he found a William
Frawley registered, though he was
not in at the moment. However, in
his letterbox was a tag that indicated
where his car was parked.

Lieutenant Himes received a chilly
reception at the garage. For a while
the attendants flatly denied that they
had the automobile he sought. To get
results, Himes finally had to bear
down. :

“All you cops do is make trouble
for some poor guy,” one of the at-
tendants complained. “This lad has
been having a fight with his wife and
doesn’t want her to know where the
car is.” :

“I'm hot here to take the car,” the
detective snapped. “And if this fel-
low’s on the level, he hasn’t any wife.
And he isn’t young, either. Where’s
the machine?” he demanded.

Grumbling, the employees led the
way to a dark corner of the garage.
There was Frawley’s Ford coupe,
identified by Himes through the li-
cense number.

The Seattle sleuth examined every
inch of the automobile. He stopped
short when he came to the rumble-
seat section. Brownish blotches cov-
ered the floor and seat—undoubtedly
blood stains!

Himes raced to the garage office
and in a few minutes he was report-
ing his discoveries over the phone
to Carroll.

The sheriff could not conceal his
excitement. “Keep an eye on that fel-
low’s room,” he said, “and have some-
one stationed at the bank. I'll hop to
Seattle immediatedly.”

* * &

T TWO o’clock that same Wednes-

day afternoon, a young man
walked up to the teller’s window of
the Seattle bank and asked whether
the money had arrived for William
Frawley’s draft. Himes strode over
and placed a firm hand on the youth’s
shoulder.

“Are you Frawley?” the detective
queried.

With a surprised look the young

man pivoted to face Himes. “Why,
yes, I am,” he. replied. “Who did you
think I was?” .

Himes was not fooled by the fel-
low’s nonchalance. For, although the
detective had no knowledge of what
the real William Frawley looked like,
he thought this man was far too
young to be a retired army sergeant
He took the youth to police head-
quarters to await Carroll’s arrival.

Several hours later, the sheriff
bounded in. He took one look at the
lad in custody, then surprise and
bewilderment flashed over his face.

It was Ollie Stratton, a 25-year old
lad who worked in a meat market at
Port Townsend. He was a hard-work-
ing, likable fellow who had recently
completed three years of service in
the U. S. Army.

“Gosh, I’m glad you're here, Sher-
iff,” the youth gasped. “I’m in a
mess. I’ve been tricked, and bad, too.”

“Pll say you’re in a mess, Ollie,”
Carroll agreed. “What's it all about?”

“On the morning of August 26,” he
began, “two fellows I had soldiered
with called me up at the butcher
shop and said they had to see me
right away. Smokey Jones and Bob
Hankins were their names.”

“I know them,” the sheriff said.

“Well, I went to the waterfront
hotel where they were staying, to see
what in heck they were so excited
about. They told me they were going
to skip town. Then they asked me to
get them some .22 rifle bullets, so
they could go up into the hills and
shoot animals for food. I went home,

-got the ammunition, and took it to

them. ;

That night they called me at my
house. When I got to their room,
Smokey said: ‘Something went wrong.
You’ve got to go to Seattle with us.”

Young Stratton paused long enough
to light a cigarette and take several
deep drags. “Well, I finally agreed
to go,” he continued, “although I had
a date with my girl.” He smiled.
“We're going to be married this com-
ing Sunday, by the way.

“Jones and Hankins told me to
meet them at the boat, and when they
showed up they had Bill Frawley’s
car. They said they'd been hired to
rob Bill and scare him off his place
by a man who wanted the property.”

“Who was the man?” asked the

Sheriff.

“They didn’t mention any names,”
the youth replied. “Just said some-
thing went wrong. They had old Bill’s
bankbooks. They told me I was in the
thing as much as they were, because
they had used my bullets.

“When we got to Seattle they told
me to get Bill’s money from the bank
or they'd give me what they gave
him. You see, I had to do it Sheriff!”

Detective Himes broke in. “Any

FEATURE DETECTIVE CASES

idea of what bec:
riends?” he asked.

“Probably hanging a
ow where I was su;
them,” replied the you
“I hope that’s the
Sheriff Carroll declar
Bgoing to be an awfu
ent—the girl you’

arry.”

“We'll be married,

wouth said confidently

"ll be on our honey
* *

TRATTON was lox
jail as a materi:
heriff, Himes, and
pent the rest of that

t day in an unsi
for the former sold
rity’s cheap boarding-
noon, when every a
heir prey had fail:
ave up the hunt.
‘Sheriff Carroll |

‘Btratton to the cou
Bownsend. On Frid:
ficer qugstioned |
determined to

th.

“Ollie,” Carroll ple
ess sake don’t hol

you know where ;

ill Frawley’s bo

e, tell me!”

But the youth's
nto a stubborn line.

had revealed eve:

That afternoon, v

s being feted by a

ends at her fat

Vhidby Island in Pu
f Carroll telephone«

plaining that Olli

asked her to «
ediately.

An hour later Ri
nto her sweetheart’
“T’ve been tricked,
he youth. “They thi
been murdered and
pid them I’m in:

aid they don’t be

“How do they kno:

ed the girl. “Ha,

es 7
Young Stratton’s
question seemed to !

“That's right, Mr.
more boldly now. “}
Bill’s dead if you |
hod y?"

That was a que
bother to answer ju
Rita returned to |
he was firmly co

ce had _ told
Smokey Jones and

confident th:
leared of all suspi:

ould be married. °
tatically to a frie:
will be our weddin

FEATURE DETECTIVE C/

nes. “Why,
ho did you

xy the fel-
though the
ge of what
ooked like,
is far too
y sergeant.
lice head-
arrival.

he sheriff
ook at the
rprise and
his face.
‘S-year old
market at
ard-work-
d recently
service in

cere, Sher-
‘Il’m in a
{| bad, too.”
‘ss, Ollie,”
ul about?”
ust 26,” he
| soldiered
e butcher
‘0 see .me

* and Bob

iff said.

waterfront
ing, to see
so excited
vere going
ked me to
vullets, so
hills and
ent home,
took it to

ne at my
cir room,
ent wrong.
with us.’ ”
ng enough
ke several
ly agreed
ugh I had
‘e smiled.
this com-

ld me to
vhen they
Frawley’s
hired to
his place
oroperty.”
isked the

names,”
id some-
old Bill’s
vas in the

', because

they told
the bank
hey gave
Sheriff!”
in. “Any

IVE CASES

a of what became of your:

ends?” he asked.

“Probably hanging around the skid-
w where I was supposed to meet
‘m,” replied the youth.

‘I hope that’s the truth, Ollie,”
seriff Carroll declared. “If not, it’s
ing to be an awful blow to Rita
‘ent—the girl you’re supposed to

ary.

‘We'll be married, all right,” the
auth said confidently. “Sunday night
tll be on our honeymoon.”

TTON was lodged in the city
Vjail as a material witness. The
ff, Himes, and another sleuth,
t the rest of that evening and the
wt day in an unsuccessful search
t the former soldiers among the
ts cheap boarding-houses. Toward
wn, when every attempt to trace
xir prey had failed, the officials
ve up the hunt.
Sheriff Carroll then took Ollie
ratton to the county jail in Port
wnsend. On Friday morning the
ficer questioned him again, this
ne determined to get the whole
uth,
“Ollie,” Carroll pleaded, “for good-
ss sake don’t hold anything back.
you know where your friends took
il Frawley’s body, in heaven’s
ime, tell me!”
But the youth’s mouth hardened
to a stubborn line. He insisted that
Shad revealed everything.
‘That afternoon, while Rita Trent
as being feted by a throng of happy
ends at her father’s home on
Vhidby Island in Puget Sound, Sher-
Carroll telephoned the bride-to-be.
laining that Ollie was in trouble,
asked her to come to his office
ediately. ‘
‘An hour later Rita Trent rushed
sto her sweetheart’s arms.
‘T’ve been tricked, honey,” declared
youth. “They think Bill Frawley’s
en murdered and that I did it. I’ve
d them I’m innocent, but I’m
raid they don’t believe me.”
“How do they know he was killed?”
d the girl. “Have they found his
dy 7
Young Stratton’s eyes lighted. Her
estion seemed to fill him with hope.
‘That's right, Mr. Carroll,” he said,
boldly now. “How do you know

i's dead if you haven’t found his
4 beds

That was a query Carroll didn’t

her to answer just then. But when
returned to her island home,
was firmly convinced that her
_had told the truth about

okey Jones and Bob Hankins. She ©

confident that he would be

AD Rita Trent. uttered those words

the next day, however, Sheriff
Carroll would have been inclined to
disagree with her. By buzzing around
the town’s hardware and gun shops,
he found out that Ollie Stratton had
rented a high-powered .22 rifle on
the morning of August 26th, and re-
turned it that same afternoon!

On the large desk in his office, Car-
roll placed the gun which the boy had
rented, a half-empty box of .22 rifle
shells, and many of Frawley’s per-
sonal effects. Next to them he laid
the magazine that the old man had
been reading, the piece cf paper with
the mysterious figures on it, and the
lethal bullet.

He turned a single flood-light upon
the display, then ordered an officer
to bring in the youth. For several
minutes the prisoner gazed at the
tell-tale articles with stoic calm. Not
a muscle twitched; his eyes became
marble slits. ’

The sheriff picked up the gun.
“This is what you killed old Bill with,
Ollie,” he accused sharply. “Then you
took his bank books and figured up
how much money you could get. You
even listed what you were going to do
with some of it and how much would
be left for you and Rita to spend.”

Still the boy’s face was a mask.

Carroll’s next words came with
soft, but deadly impact. “It’s highly
probable your girl knew what you
did,” he said. “So I’m going to charge
you with first-degree murder, and hold
her as an accessory after the fact!”

The youth went white. His legs
turned to rubber and collapsed under
him. He dropped into a chair and
held his head in his trembling hands.

“Don’t bring Rita into this, Sher-
iff!” he pleaded. “She didn’t know
anything about it. I killed him to get
money for our wedding and a nice
honeymoon trip. I dumped him over
a bluff on to a garbage heap at
Whidby Island. I'll take you to him.”

* * *

T same day, Carroll, Stratton,
and Prosecuting Attorney William
Dailey, went to the Port Townsend
dock. Aboard the Coast Guard Cutter
Zev, under the command of Boat-
swain’s Mate Tony Sofie, they sailed
to Whidby Island. And there, just as
Stratton had said, lay the decomposed
body of Bill Frawley. At the sight of
his own handiwork, the boy fainted.
Rita Trent had no honeymoon that
year, for on April 9, 1932, her lover
had to keep another, more important
date—with the hangman at the Walla
Walla State Prison.

The names Molly Johnson, Rita

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ed of all suspicion and that they Trent, Smokey Jones, and Bob Hank- P NAME. co cccee eee eeaees AGE,.....,. !
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be our wedding night.” volved in this case. (Include your zone number)
RE DETECTIVE CASE: 61
ros. ee ae eee Pb 2! ars eR <a gee Nees ABS Se mat -

peculiar, Art, that
‘h about Frawley’s

so.” Trast replied
n. “Bill became
my wife and me.
tly how much he
»ecause he said he
> it to us when he

sunded sincere and
-d his doubts about
the bizarre riddle.
Carroll asked,
nurdered by some-
his money?”
There can’t be any
eriff, I'm sure he

1 observed, “the
taken the bank

s a study in per-
at I can’t under-
red, “is why the
them, and also do
if he couldn't get
f the bank.”

i of the flock of

Stratton (right), a
in a meat market,
ted to Sheriff Car-
eft) that two men
2d him to draw
‘'y from Frawley’s
account.

Pa OTS EPI NT,

‘ ®
e .
» §

‘J

questions I’ve got to answer,” was
the terse reply. .
° * * «# .
was late afternoon by the time

Carroll had. returned to his of-
fice. Hastily summoning an_ identi-
fication expert and two deputies, he
instructed them not only to hunt for
fingerprints, but also to examine the
cottage thoroughly and make an inch-
by-inch search of the grounds.

Because it was long past closing
time at the American National Bank,
Carroll knew that Frawley's savings
accounts could not be checked that
day. Nevertheless, the sheriff did not
stay in his office. Pulling on a jacket,
he started down the street. He was
going to try something. This wasn’t
the first time he had started and
solved a case on a hunch,

Knowing that Frawley occasion-
ally went on a drinking spree, the
oficer conjectured that old Bill, while
under the influence of liquor, might
have incurred someone’s wrath. True,
this might be a long shot—but Car-
roll was willing to take it.

For hours, the sheriff made a quiet
tour of the city’s taverns, attempting
to unearth a clue. But not until mid-
night was his persistence rewarded.
He discovered that a young woman,
Molly Johnson, a frequent visitor at
one of the bars, had been noticeably
friendly with Bill Frawley. When
Carroll also learned that she lived
in a nearby apartment building, he
eagerly hurried there.

The sheriff had a long wait before
the woman answered her bell. Finally
she opened the door.

Though the young blond had just
emerged from bed and was not yet
fully awakened, Molly Johnson pre-
sented a striking picture. She was
exceptionally beautiful of face and
figure.

Carroll couldn’t understand why
such an attractive woman had been
interested in a man about three times
her age. Had she discovered that
Frawley possessed a substantial bank
account? Or was she really enamored
of the ex-soldier?

Molly Johnson stared at the sheriff
quizzically. “Do you mind telling me
why you're here?” she asked finally.

Carroll began cautiously. He told

her that he had received an impor- .

tant message for Frawley, but had
been unable to locate him. One of
the old man's friends had suggested
that she might tell him where to find
Bill.

“I haven't the faintest idea,” the
gir! replied languidly. “I haven’t seen
him for more than two weeks. Be-
sides.” she added, “I. know him only
slightly.”

“I've heard different,” Carroll re-
marked pointedly.

(Continued on page 59)

FEATURE DETECTIVE CASES

IT EET ce MLO ee eee Ls

Molly Johnson stared at
» the sheriff quizzically.
; “Do you mind telling me
why you're here?” she

asked finally,
* (Specially posed)

he said the cattle”

him,
‘artwig four times,
ing me. Then the

iid: ‘You can go to
> had no intention

‘ about it, getting
After a few days

id to speak to him

usan to the rink,
ne out to his car.
eside him on the
the few blocks to
ome,

f killing him,” he
ured I'd threaten,

e house I knocked
vaited, but there
I got tired of
d went over to
vindow, When I
s wife just sitting
heard me knock
ag to bother an-

me boil.
at came over me
window with

ve it.

y Kenneth Rufi
of the complaint
irst-degree mur-
rt that he would
: April 14th, Rufi
is a hearing? I
than I already

suce Lamboley,
by District At-
the prosecution
to convict Rufi,
to appear be-
y Circuit Court

3rinkley, Susan
apin, and Gor-
itious to spare
ssment to per-
‘ed in this case.

you wash
ipe.”’
(Specially posed)

HONEYMOON WITH THE

(Continued from page 19)

Blushing, Molly Johnson admitted:
“Well, I did ask him up to have a few
drinks with me—but he isn’t more
than a friend!”

“Would anyone resent your inter-
est in Frawley?” the sheriff con-
tinued.

“I should say not!” she replied in-
dignantly. “Nobody has any claim on
me. I like Bill and I’ll see him when-
ever I want to.”

Still suspecting that the young wo-
man knew something about the ex-
soldier’s disappearance, Carroll took
her into custody as a material witness.

* * *

[. was nearly two in the morning

when Carroll returned to his office.
He was anxious to see if the deputies
had uncovered anything at the Fraw-
ley cottage earlier in the day. How-
ever, their reports contained nothing
that threw any light on the case.

The identification expert had found
only valueless smudges on the prem-
ises, and other officers had uncovered
no additional clues.

Completely exhausted, Sheriff Car-
roll went home for much-needed rest.
But at eight he was back on the job.

He summoned the two deputies who
had been at Frawley’s home on the
previous day. “We've got to find out
the approximate time of old Bill’s dis-
appearance,” he told them. “We can’t
check any alibis until we know when
he vanished. I want you fellows to xO
back and talk with Frawley’s neigh-
bors. Stay out there until you get a
lead, then report here immediately.”

After his men had departed, the
sheriff headed for the police labora-
tory with the bullet found in Fraw-
ley’s cottage. An hour later he knew
definitely that the fatal slug was of
.22 caliber, and that it had been fired
from a rifle.

Carroll instructed the ballistics ex-
pert to make microscopic photos of
the missile so that a check on its
riflings could be made with any sus-
picious guns. Then, with rapid steps,
he proceeded to the bank where
Frawley had kept his money.

The manager stated that no with-
drawals had been made during the
past two weeks. It meant that the
killer took the two bank books only
to camouflage the motive for the
crime. Molly Johnson had some defi-
nite place in the murder pattern.

Returning to the tavern where he
had received his first information
about her, Carroll prodded the pro-
Prietor for more details about the
girl’s association with Frawley.

“Well, Molly’s a sweet-lookin’ kid,

FEATURE DETECTIVE CASES

but she’s got quite a temper,” the
tavern owner finally declared. “She
got into an awful argument with old
Bill a couple of weeks ago. She said
he’d be plenty sorry for giving her
the brush-off.”

Carroll’s heart jumped. At last, he
felt, he was on the right track. Only
one matter still puzzled him: If Molly
Johnson had brutally shot the old

. man for jilting her, what had she

done with his body?

Had she calmly dragged the bleed-
ing corpse to the garage, stuffed it
into the Ford coupe which Frawley
owned, then disposed of it in some
obscure place? Or had she hired a
man to commit the merciless slaying ?

These conflicting questions still
raced through the sheriff’s mind when-
his deputies trooped into headquar-
ters. Their faces were’ bright with
optimism. They had established, be-
yond a doubt, that Frawley disap-
peared on the 26th of August.

Several neighbors had greeted the
old man that morning, but none had
seen him since. However, not a soul
had noticed a stranger near the Fraw-
ley cottage on that fatal day.

Carroll’s eyes glinted with hardened
purpose. “Now,” he said, ‘‘we’ll see if
the glamorous blond has an alibi for
the 26th. If she hasn’t, the Frawley
murder will be solved in less time
than it takes to say ‘Molly Johnson’.”

Escorted to the sheriff's office, the
voluptuous friend of the missing man
raved with incoherent fury for several
minutes. Carroll waited until she
paused for breath, then said calmly:

“Look, Molly, we aren’t keeping
you here just for the fun of it. Bill
Frawley is missing and we think you
know where he is. In fact, we’ve
heard that you went up to his cot-
tage on the 26th of August—the day
he was last seen.”

The last was a shot in the dark.

“Thatisn’t true!” the girlexclaimed.
“Why I don’t even know how to find
Bill’s place!”

“Then where were you on the
26th?” Carroll demanded.

The suspect thought for a moment.
Finally she answered with flaming
defiance. “Sure, I remember now. |
was in Seattle. I had a chance to get
three days’ work in a store there, so
I went over. Worked on the 25th,
26th, and 27th.”

“Can you prove that?”

“Certainly. Just call the man I
worked for.’

When Carroll located the store ex-
ecutive, the case he had built to such
lofty heights crumbled before his dis-

JIANGMAN

appointed eyes. Molly Johnson was
undoubtedly innocent—-her alibi was
confirmed to the letter. The blond was
released, and the sheriff found him-
self staring once again at a blank
wall.
coo + # & '
URPOSELY, Carroll had made no
attempt to trace Frawley’s Ford

_ coupe. The sheriff’s reasons were

sound. If he publicized the slaying, ’
the culprit would learn that the crime
had been detected. Then the police
would be hampered by an avalanche
of worthless tips and rumors that al-
ways follows the announcément of
murder.

Further, the sheriff theorized, a
killer who planned so carefully, had
undoubtedly hidden the Frawley car
where it would be difficult to find.
And if that were true, spreading an

. alarm would be a waste of effort.

As the days sped by, Carroll fol-
lowed countless angles and obeyed
wild hunches, but none bore fruit.
Then, just when it appeared as though
he would be forced to ask for public
assistance, the case took a startling
turn.

Working on the faint possibility that
robbery had been the murder motive,
the sheriff made periodic checks at
the American National Bank. One
morning, Dolores Hart, an employee,
called him aside.

“The manager asked me to be on
the lookout for any draft on Mr.
Frawley’s accounts,” she said. “One
just came through here an hour ago,
and I don’t think the signature is
genuine. Mr. Frawley made a queer
flourish on the capital ‘F’ of his
name. The ‘F’ on this one doesn’t
look right to me.”

The draft for $250, dated the pre-
vious day, had come from the Seattle
National Bank of Commerce. Carroll
telephoned the institution, asking who
was the maker. He received a curt
reply. The bank did not give out such
information.

The sheriff started to sizzle. “TI’ll
find a way to make you talk!” he
snapped. “I’ll stop payment on the
grounds that the draft’s a forgery!”

“Mr. Carroll,” sternly replied the
clerk, ‘I’d advise you to move cau-
tiously. Mr. Frawley presented him-
self here yesterday with his bank
books. He said he’d decided to stay in
Seattle and wished to transfer some
of his money. He asked only for the
smaller of his accounts at present. I
think you’ll find everything in order.”

“Describe him for me,” Carrcll said.

“Well, now,” was the evasive reply,

saler
cure
hing

high
two
ient
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eces-
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veral
ls at
and
gent a

that
a few
in a
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uties

t over
t they
d him
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at ap-
aghed

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office
taking
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find it,

»fficers
{ went
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ig their
exam-
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ap door
rich the

passive ¢
{ began
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itened to

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us Wed-
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ung man
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ickels as-
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}

the tale,
the August
questioned
d that he

been on
iearly two
ght over a

girl, and that the boat owner had vowed to
get even for the beating he suffered.

August was able to prove, by the testi-
mony of his family, that he hadn’t left the
house on the night of the Knapp murders.
Another fact that blasted Stickels’ state-
ment was that his acquaintance wore size
ten boots and couldn’t possibly have left
the bloody print at the scene of the twin
slaying.

Satisfied that August was innocent, the
investigators returned to the jail and con-
fronted the prisoner with their findings.
They pointed out to him that his shoes had
left the tracks in the elderly couple’s house,
and that he had no chance to clear himself
no matter how much he lied.

He then changed his story, admitting that
he had been at the Knapp home and had
helped search for the money believed to be
there; but he insisted that August had done
the actual shooting. He also claimed that

PENNIES FROM HEAVEN:

Kenneth A. Barker, Sr., president of
a Louisville asphalt firm, gave to one
of his employees what he thought was
a one-dollar bill. Upon reaching home
he discovered he no longer had the
$10,000 bill he had planned to show
his wife. The employee to whom he
had mistakenly given the bill, how-
ever, was honest, and he returned to
_his employer the extra $39,999.

the other had overheard the elderly man
in the saloon tell about getting a large sum
from his brother, and had proposed the
murder-robbery.

On the day after the arrest, Sheriff Kirby °

and Captain Simmons again went to Castle
Rock and made inquiries among the persons
who had been in the drink establishment
on Wednesday afternoon. None of them had
seen August there, thus discrediting the
suspect’s final attempt to involve his enemy
in the crimes.

When Kirby and Simmons returned to
Kalama, Studebaker and the other deputies
were in a state of extreme excitement. Word
of Stickels’ arrest and partial confession
had spread like wildfire throughout the
valley, and threats were being made to
execute a lynching.

The Sheriff and the detective immediately
whisked the prisoner out the back door of
the courthouse and made for the railroad
yards, where they hid in a freight shed
until the next northbound train arrived.
Just as it was pulling out, they clambered
aboard, only a moment before a mob of
shouting citizens stormed the depot.

Reaching Tacoma, nearly one hundred
and fifty miles to the north, the officers de-
livered Stickels to the Sheriff and asked
that he be kept there until conditions at

Kalama permitted his return.

On the following day, Kirby and Simmons
went back to the Cowlitz County seat and
obtained an information from Prosecuting
Attorney W. F. Magill, charging the thirty-
year-old defendant with three counts of
first-degree murder.

Public fury abated rapidly after the first
outbreak, and two days later Stickels was
returned to Kalama under heavy guard and
taken before Justice of the Peace Joseph
Smith, where the accused waived prelimi-
nary hearing and was ordered held for trial
without privilege of bond.

Although the threat of lynching seem-
ingly had subsided, Sheriff Kirby returned
the prisoner to Tacoma for safekeeping.
While there, Stickels was visited by Salva-

tion Army workers, who succeeded in “con- |:

verting” him, and he sent for Kirby, making
a full confession of the three killings and
exonerating Ben August.

He said that he had met Bill Shanklin in
Kelso on the day the latter had received
$25 for the cow, and when the rancher
mentioned that he planned to send the
money to a relative in the East as a Christ-
mas present, Stickels decided to kill him
for it.

After the murder, he took the cash and
the watch and hunting knife.

The Knapp robbery, however, hadn’t been
as profitable as he expected, for he found
only the $500 check and no money, He took
the woman’s trinkets, however, to make it
appear that a common prowler was respon-
sible for the crime. —

“It’s a good thing you caught me, Sheriff,”
he déclared with a fervor his newly found
“religion” had given him. “I had some others
lined. up for what Bill Shanklin and the
Knapps got. Killin’ didn’t mean a thing to
me, if I could get anything out of it.”

He said that he twice had tried to kill
George Kerr and his father on Mount Craw-
ford, because he had heard they kept a
sizable sum in their cabin. But on each
occasion, only one of his intended victims
was at the supper table, and he knew that
if he didn’t shoot both of them at the same
time, the other might kill him.

The same situation prevailed in his
scheme to murder Theo Fordham and Sam
Smith, who operated a small sawmill on
Clark Creek, west of Kelso. Another per-
son marked for death was “Cap’n” Ole
Olson, who ran a store at West Kelso, al-
though the Cowlitz killer hadn’t made an
attempt on his life. ;

The confessed slayer was brought back to
Kalama and arraigned before Superior
Judge A. L. Miller.

Although the defendant expressed a de-
sire to plead guilty, the Court refused to
accept the plea, since he was without the
counsel of an attorney.

One was appointed for him, and when
Stickels again appeared before the Judge,
on December 19th, he pleaded not guilty by
reason, of insanity.

A jury was quickly chosen, and the trial
got under way shortly before noon on
the same day.

The accused’s only defense was that he
was temporarily out of his mind during the
commission of the three murders. The
jurors deliberated less than an hour before
returning a verdict of “guilty as charged
with no recommendation of mercy.”

Judge Miller ordered him to be hanged
in the Cowlitz County courtyard on the
morning of January 25th, 1901, and the sen-
tence was carried out by E. E. Huntington,
who had succeeded Kirby as Sheriff at the
beginning of the year.

Norte: The names Ted Parker, Dave Flem-
ming and Ben August as used in this story
are not the real names of the persons con-
cerned. These innocent persons have been
given fictitious names to protect their
identity.

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Of the Seattle, Washington,
Homicide Squad, as Told to

Jack Heise

SMALL car shot around the
hairpin curves of the narrow,
angerous gravel road that cuts

ton. A white-faced, startled man
clenched the wheel with bloodless
hands,

A swirl of dust followed his course,
drifting up into the cool, tall pine trees
that lined the road. It was mid-after-
noon of August 17, 1931, and not an-

be the most primitive in America.

At the edge of the road, which slant-
ed to a steep drop, could be seen the
blue water of the Juan de Fuca
Straights. The small car with its dizzy
pace was making for Port Angeles, a
small town on the inside point of the
Peninsula,

fg CAME into town, swerved and

skidded on a corner, then ground to

a screeching stop before the office of
ff.

“the Sheri

The white-faced driver leaped from
the machine before it was fairly
stopped and burst into the office of
Sheriff John M. Carroll.

“You the Sheriff?” the driver barked.

Carroll nodded.

“There’s been a murder!”

The Sheriff came to attention, wait-
ing.

“Somebody’s done away with my
friend Bill Frawley who lives up in
the mountains,” f

“Just a minute,” Sheriff Carroll in-
terrupted. “Let’s Set this straight. Sit
down and tell me all about it from
the beginning. It’) be quicker and
then T’ll know what you're talking
about.”

The driver wiped his Sweat-stained
face and took a chair, Coming to a
partial calm, he resumed.

‘Ym Art Trast. ‘I’m in the Coast

: right,

“at the refuse

Guard service, My ship’s in dock never left a thing out of place, What’s
ere now and I’m on leave. We come more, a rack of pipes he always kept

Sheriff John Carroll, center, talks with the
dump where ‘the body

in here often and when we do I g0 in the front room

up the mountain and see Bill Fraw- all of his hats. He must have had fifty

* fine Stetson hats,
« “I know him well. Most everybody was his hobby. There wasn’t a hat
in these Parts either knows him or there, I went outside and his car
knows about him, I guess,” the Sheriff wasn’t in the garage. After that I
answered, drove back here as fast as I could to

ley. You know him?

“T drove up to his shack today, I get you.
had expected him to meet me, but “That’s all,”

when he didn’t I borrow a car and The coastguardsman stopped. The
drove up there, I thought he was sick Sheriff drummed his i
or something,” uneven rhythm on

TR coastguardsman Paused signifi- out of the window to the golden sun-
cantly, and then said slowly, “He light that was sinking in the Summer

llie Lee, white, hanged Wash. SP (Jefferson) 7 7
3

murderer,
was found **

Collecting them

wasn’t there!” sky over the water. He turned and :
“Yes,” Sheriff Carroll prompted. studied Trast, then spoke, Norma Solid, the girl who
“I went inside and the place was up- “I thought you said he was mur- was to get a honeymoon
set. I knew something was wrong dered.” from murder -

then. Bill was an Army man and he “T—_that is,”

OF FIeiAe

LE ce

the coastguardsman

De TECTIWE

NBER, 1, [7

shh bie hed

4 Biel
elena

ane putes

sascqieeat nts

His Purpose Was Marriage—His Need Money
—So He Chose the Strangest of Ways to Get It

faltered. ‘You see, I was pretty ex-
cited. All I really know is that he is
gone.”

“Then he might just be out visiting!”

“No, sir. Nothing like that. Bill
wouldn’t have left his house upset for
anything. Something’s wrong. You
gotta’ go up there and see.”

HE Sheriff wasn’t at all keen on
making the long trip up into the
mountains. He knew of “Old” Bill, as
he was affectionately called in the re-
gion, and he knew that “Old” Bill was
rumored to have quite a bit of money.
There was a slight chance that some-
one might have gone to the lonely spot
in the mountains and tried to rob the
old man.

Frawley had bought his place up in
the mountains overlooking the Straights
of Juna de Fuca shortly after his re-
tirement from the Army. His most in-
timate friend was Art Trast, the coast-

End of the

ee me ce ha me eae BTN whl a eel!

guardsman. At Trast’s insistence, he
and the Sheriff made the return trip
to the shack.

It was nestled on a cliff with stately
pine trees on three sides and an abrupt
drop-off on the fourth side. It was a
lonely spot. The closest neighbor
was more than six miles away.

When the Sheriff and Trast reached
the shack the Sheriff climbed the three
steps to the only door to the house. He
tried the knob. It was locked.

Turning to Trast, he demanded, “I
thought you said you were inside?”

Trast swallowed hard and replied,
“I did. I got in through the secret en-
trance. It’s over here.”

E LED the Sheriff to a concealed

door near the ground at one side of

the building. Opening it, the entrance

to a pit showed. Trast lowered him-
self into it.

“Come on,” he shot back. over his

shoulder as he slid into the dark, for-
bidding interior.

The pit led under the kitchen.
Trast, fumbling in the darkness, found
a trap door that slid open. The two
men pulled themselves up into the
house. The Sheriff, coming into the
room, was struck by the neat arrange-
ment of every article in the small cot-
tage.

“See, what did I tell you?” Trast ex-
claimed, leading the way into the liv-
ing room. The Sheriff glanced around.
An open magazine lay on the table.
A coffee-stained cup was overturned
beside it. Behind the table a chair lay
on its back on the floor.

Sheriff Carroll walked over to the
chair and righted it. He walked back
to the entrance way of the kitchen,
squinted, and then walked across the
room to the far wall.

“Look at this,” he commanded,
pointing to a small hole in the wall.

trail for Bill Frawley—the dump where his body was found. Arrow at left indicates the killer, his‘

“Why——why it’s a bullet hole,” th:
coastguardsman stuttered as he cam:
up close to examine it.

The Sheriff brought a knife out o
his pocket. A .22 shell was picked ou
of the hole.

“Frawley didn’t own a .22, did he?’
the Sheriff asked.

vy But it’s been missing for som
time. Bill and I tried to find i
the last time we were here, but w«
couldn’t locate it.”

The Sheriff returned to the chair
He examined the floor closely.

“Blood has been wiped up fror
here,” he announced simply. Then
after digging into the floor and ex-
amining the chips, he added, “ ‘
hasn’t been so very long ago.
ty-four hours at the very most.

The Sheriff lifted and examine €
book on the table. It was an old novel.
As he flipped over the pages two tiny

‘head -sunk’ in remorse, At «the. right the arrow shows officers gathered around the body of the victim ELSE oy ee

slips of paper fluttered out. Both had
numbers scrawled upon them,

“Bill have any money?” the Sheriff
asked.

“Believe he had one account at the
bank with about two hundred and fifty
and another with over five thousand
dollars,” Trast answered, searching
about the house.

The Sheriff looked again at the slips
of paper. One had the number “250”
written on it. The other had “5,500.”
He placed the paper slips in his pocket.
Then the Sheriff stooped and picked up
a cigarette butt that had been crushed
underfoot.

“Frawley ever smoke cigarettes?”

“No. He hated them. I used to try
and give him one of mine but he
claimed a man was a sissy unless he
smoked a pipe. He had a whole rack
of pipes over here,” Trast added as
an afterthought, pointing to a spot on
another table alongside the wall,
“They’re gone.”

“You don’t happen to have an extra
smoke?” the Sheriff asked.

TRAST extended a package and the

Sheriff took a cigarette, while he
slipped the crushed butt he had found
on the floor into his pocket.

Carroll and Trast went over the rest
of the house without finding anything
that seemed important to the case.

“This is a queer one,” the Sheriff
finally announced. “Other than the .22
slug and the faint trace of blood by
the chair there isn’t a thing that points
to foul play. I guess we had better
get back. I'll have a couple of the
boys come up with me tomorrow
when it’s light and we'll search around
the house. It’s getting too dark to do
much now.”

The Sheriff and the coastguards-
man were silent on the trip back to
town. The Sheriff’s mind was working
furiously piecing together the small
bits of evidence he had gathered at the
cottage. Occasionally he would look
towards Trast, who was driving, and
note the tense lines on his face.

At the office, the Sheriff invited

Trast in to go over Frawley’s history. ;

He learned that after being retired
from the Army Frawley had come’: to
Port Townsend to live. He had built

Another view of the cluttered ravine where the body was thrown,
showing the searching party of officers and newspapermen

his little cottage high up on the moun-
tain, overlooking the sound, and spent
his days puttering about the place and
playing cards with Trast when the
coastguardsman was in port.

Once, shortly after the retirement,
“Old” Bill had gone back East to visit
his relatives, When he left he gave
the keys to his house, his car and to his
mailbox at the Port Townsend _ post
office to Trast, asking him to take care
of his belongings for him,

TR Eastern relatives gave “Old” Bill

the cold shoulder when he arrived
there. Disappointed and sensitive to
the rebuke he came right back to Port
Townsend, resolved never again to
make another trip. And he kept his
word, Occasionally, however, he went
to Seattle, located across the a
from Port Townsend and the larges
town in the state, for clothes and sup-
Plies,

When those infrequent times came
Frawley would give his keys to Trast.

Shortly before his disappearance
Frawley had made such a trip. As
usual, Trast was the keeper of the
keys.

Sheriff Carroll questioned Trast
about the returning of the keys,

“Soon as Bill came back home I
took him his keys,” he assured the
Sheriff.

The next few days Sheriff Carroll
spent futiley searching the woods near
the cottage and tracing the recent ac-
tivities of the missing Army man. Just
three days before the mystery Trast
had ordered a radio for “Old” Bill.
When the Sheriff learned that he im-
mediately went to the Post-office to
see if the radio had arrived.

In the little glass-enclosed mailbox
that every resident had, a small card
for Frawley was resting. It was the
advance notice that the mail order
house sends to out-of-town customers
notifying them of the arrival of their
purchase at the express office.

Sheriff Carroll enlisted the aid of the
mail clerk, asking him to watch Fraw-
ley’s box.

Carroll had hardly returned to his
office when his telephone rang. It was
the clerk at the post office.

“Sheriff! Sheriff!” the clerk cried

“Was it him?”
“No.”

The Sheriff returned to his office,
He turned the situation over slowly in
his mind. Maybe Frawley had re-
turned and sent someone for the radio.
He went out to his car and drove up
the mountain road toward the shack,
half expecting to find “Old” Bill there
when he arrived.

When he drew up before the cottage
he was surprised to see Trast’s car
already parked in the driveway. The
Sheriff parked his own car and started
towards the cottage, then stopped
short when he heard noises in the
garage,

UIETLY he tip-toed to the garage
oY’. and peeked in. Trast was digging
in the dirt floor.

The coastguardsman looked up with
an odd expression on his face when he
felt the presence of the Sheriff.

“Oh,” he announced in a self-assured
voice, “I was looking for some more
clews.”

Sheriff Carroll examined the dirt
floor of the garage carefully, but found .
nothing suspicious.

Trast and the Sheriff together went -
through the small house once more,
but they found nothing else in the way
of evidence, All through the search
the Sheriff watched Trast carefully.
The coastguardsman seemed to be act-
ing a bit strange, the Sheriff thought.

ge
ae 2

Unable to stand the sight of his own handiwork, the
murderer slumped in a faint when the body was found

excitedly. “The card! It’s gone!” Trast followed the Sheriff back to
“Gone?” town, going to his own home while |
“Yes. I was busy in the rear of the Carroll went to his office. {
office for a moment. When I came When the Sheriff was seated at his {
back the card was gone. Somebody massive desk again he reviewed the H
had taken it. Somebody who had a case. He thought of the two slips of
key to Frawley’s mailbox.” paper he had found beneath the maga-
zine on Frawley’s table. He took them
SHERIF CARROLL dropped the out and studied them. Funny, he
phone and hurried over to the ex- thought, that they should be the same
press office. But he was too late. A as Frawley’s bank account totals,
stranger had presented the card and On a sudden idea, the Sheriff went
obtained the radio. to the Port Townsend bank. He ap-
“He said Frawley had sent him,” the proached the head teller and asked him
attendant declared, if any drafts had come in on the Fraw- |
“What did the fellow look like?” ley accounts, |
Carroll snapped. The head teller, who knew Frawley
“Sort of a young chap. Didn’t pay intimately, replied in the negative, |
much attention to him.” Saying that “Old” Bill’s accounts were
“Do you know Art Trast off the still intact and that no drafts had ar-
coast guard boat?” rived. . j
“Yes,” Carroll was just leaving the bank

sh-looking
itted with
issed his
had first
s also on

yrried for
“T still

is is over
¢
d.
by Island,
‘dy of Is-
cars and

ey drove
where a
sea, the

) stop.

he whis-

the slope.
rusty tin
) stretched
ip of birds
ie officers’

‘fuse heap,
» work of
‘e lay all
murdered

llie Strat-

unted dead

that day,
with Art

the latter

a sealed
looks on.

_ The veteran peace officer smiled. “It was
that book on the floor—that book of Per-
sian proverbs.”

“But I don’t see——”

“The proverbs underlined referred to
taking ‘a miser’s gold.’ Frawley would
not have referred to himself as a miser.
He was a saving man. But.a younger man
like Stratton very well could think of poor
Frawley in such a way.”

“And did you——”

“Furthermore, those passages were un-
derlined in red ink. There was no red
ink in Frawley’s cabin. Someone must
have taken the book there. It was, in
those underlined parts, a regular textbook
for murder. Stratton; the other man who
had disappeared and who knew Frawley,
was a logical suspect. It was his book
and Frawley had borrowed it.”

Sheriff Carroll went to his safe, and
brought out the envelope sealed at the time
they had searched the cabin.

“T wasn’t trying to get your fingerprints,
Trast, or a sample of your handwriting,”
Carroll said. “I really was just making
my prediction on the murder, and I didn’t
want you to think I pulled any shenani-
gans with the envelope later. Read what
I wrote.”

Trast opened the letter and read aloud,
“*Stratton killed Frawley’, it says. You
hit it right on the nail, sheriff!”

Trast later was publicly thanked for
helping to bring to justice the murderer of
his friend.

LLIE STRATTON went to trial on
October 26, 1931, for the murder of
William Frawley. His sweetheart, Norma
Solid, wept and kissed him as he entered
the courtroom door.
His defense was that he was tempor-
arily insane at the time of the shooting.
But the fact that he had borrowed the
murder rifle, and his later cool behavior
when he tried to impersonate his victim,
weighed heavily against him.
“Murder in the first degree, with death
as the penalty,” the jury of twelve Wash-
ingtonians decreed on October 29.

The killer took the sentence calmly. Miss -

Solid was hysterical. She, like Frawley,
was an innocent victim of the wily killer.

During the next year, while vain ap-
peals were being made to save Stratton’s
life,: Coroner Otto Mittelstadt of King
County, Washington, a brilliant Northwest
criminologist, made a study of the case for
his crime files.

“Ollie Stratton was a strange mixture
of dreamer and realist,” Mittelstadt toid
this writer recently. “His love for fine
literature, such as the Persian proverbs
which trapped him, showed his attempts to
absorb the finer things.”

Yet the same volume also itidicated
Stratton’s baser nature. As Mittelstadt
pointed out:

“Out of the thousands of splendid prov-
erbs written by the wise ancient Persians,
Stratton had selected and underlined as
his guide these few which served to bolster
up his evil design.”

Strattci: was hanged in Walla Walla
prison in the early hours of July 28, 1933.
He left a last written message to the
world with Warden J. M. McCauley and
the prison chaplain, Rev. E. T. Allen. It
read:

“T, Ollie Lee Stratton, desire to leave
this word. I have said goodbye to my
father today. I wish to thank all
officers for their kindness and help and
cheerfulness which they have shown me
during my imprisonment here. I have the
spiritual advice and consolation of the
chaplain and I feel I am ready to meet my
Maker with no fear whatsoever. (Signed)
Oliver Lee Stratton.”

Then he stepped upon the gallows, and

INSIDE DETECTIVE

died without a word.

The name Eddie Graham, used in this
story, is fictitious and is used to protect an
innocent person who had nothing to do
with the crime.

Venom in
the Mails

(Continued from page 45)

dangerous degenerates as this man can
simply walk away. Checking the records
of various Midwestern asylums, postal in-
spectors were surprised to find an institu-
tion which had simply marked Arnold off
their books as of January 21, 1931, with
the notation that if he were picked up they
did not want him back!

Arnold was brought to trial on charges
of placing in the United States mails, filthy,
indecent, obscene and prohibited matter.
The court found Arnold hopelessly insane
and he was ordered committed to the Illi-
nois State Insane Asylum at Kankakee.
Postal inspectors sighed with relief, closed
out their “Kid Rape” files and turned their
attention to other pressing work.

Nine months after seeing Arnold safely
locked away at Kankakee, postal inspectors
at St. Louis received a very indignant call-
er. He was the manager of a local com-
pany and he handed the interviewing in-
spector an obscene letter which he had re-
ceived through the mails.

The inspector looked at the letter in
amazement. It contained rambling remarks
about “bedbugs running around the walls,”
and “you will be blown off the face of the
earth with a blue steel pistol.” It contained
degenerate suggestions and obscene draw-
ings in red crayon.

But Arnold was supposedly in Kankakee !
Yet this letter had a postmark only a few
days old.

An inspector immediately dispatched a
wire to the Chicago office, asking “Where
is Kid Rape?”

The Chicago office assumed that he was
in the asylum at Kankakee, but just to
make sure, they queried the institution. Was
Mr. Arnold still safely confined there?

The reply was a shock. The asylum
regretted that Mr. Eugene Arnold was
missing. He had disappeared on or about
May 29, 1933—about seven months before.

The P. O. Inspection was annoyed, to
put it mildly. After a-twenty-month search
they had finally apprehended a particularly
difficult type of violator, an insane degen-
erate mailer. Now he was on the loose

again. The very nature of their work is.

bound to make postal inspectors patient
philosophers. Luckily this time they had
Mr. Arnold’s picture, Bertillon measure-
ments and samples of his handwriting, the
latter a most important aid as we shall
set. It ought to be a fairly easy job to
pick up “Kid Rape” in short order. All
his old haunts and usual working places
were quickly combed. No trace, however,
was found of the man.

Several years elapsed. Filthy and dis-
gusting letters signed “Kid Rape” and
“District Attorney Beatty” were almost for-
gotten. At least none were filed with the
postal authorities. His physical condition
had been_very bad when he was sent to the
asylum, so inspectors concluded he had
either died or been confined to some insti-
tution under another name where letter-
writing could not be carried on. While
“wanted” circulars were kept out on him,
no active search was carried on. There
were no further complaints or anything to
indicate that he was operating.

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INSIDE DETECTIVE

The Persian
Proverb Horror

(Continued from page 30)

“And then?”

“T took the car over to Whidby Island,
near Norma’s house, and threw the body
over a cliff onto a garbage dump. Then,
after visiting Norma for awhile, I came
to Seattle. She didn’t know a thing about
what I had done.” c

“Where’s the car now?” Chief Tennant
asked.

“In a garage, here in Seattle.”

There was a pause, then Stratton turned
a puzzled look on the sheriff.

“T didn’t think I missed a trick, sheriff.
I thought I had it all worked out per-
fectly.”

Carroll grinned. ‘You forgot one thing.
You forgot your book of Persian proverbs
on the floor, when it fell from Frawley’s
hands.”

ACK IN Port Townsend, where she had
rushed when she heard of her sweet-
heart’s arrest, Norma Solid was_ heart-
broken,
“How could he do it?’ she sobbed. “Oh,
he must have been-temporarily insane.”
When the sheriff returned to Port An-
geles with his prisoner, he explained to
Graham. “I was confident you had nothing
to do with it, but I needed you handy in
case Stratton—whom I’d never seen—had
kept on insisting he was someone else.”
The next day Sheriff Carroll, Prose-
cutor William Daly, deputies and news-
papermen climbed aboard the U. S. Coast
Guard cutter Zev, and headed with their
prisoner through a drizzling rain for Whid-

by Island.

Ollie Stratton, frail and boyish-looking
in the cap he always wore, chatted with
newspapermen and freely discussed his
crime, Art Trast, the man who had first
reported Frawley as. missing, was also on
the Zev.

“You had me puzzled and worried for
awhile there, sheriff,’ he said. “I still
don’t see——”

“Come into my office when this is over
and I'll explain,” Carroll grinned.

When the Zev docked at Whidby Island,
they were met by Sheriff Kennedy of Is-
land County. He had several cars and
drivers ‘waiting for the party.

With Stratton as guide, they drove
through a wilderness. Finally, where a
huge cliff dropped down to the sea, the
killer motioned for the caravan to stop.

“I dumped him over there,” he whis-
pered,

The party scrambled down the slope.
Old bedsprings, broken bottles, rusty tin
cans littered the place. The dump strétched
as long as a city block. A group of birds
around some object attracted the officers’
attention.

“That may be it,” said Carroll.

He was right. Tossed on a refuse heap,
in indescribable condition due to work of
the elements and animals, there lay all
that was left of Bill Frawley, murdered
by his friend.

“Look at your handiwork, Ollie Strat-
ton!”

Sheriff Carroll’s voice was flinty.

“TJ—I can’t,” Stratton whimpered. The
sheriff’s eyes blazed,

“LOOK!”

But Ollie Lee Stratton had fainted dead
away.

Back in Port Angeles. later that day,
Sheriff Carroll sat in his office with Art
Trast.

“How did you figure it out?” the latter
asked,

The young killer (right) whose name Sheriff John Carroll (center) kept in a sealed
envelope until he found proof, is seen grinning. Sheriff J. B. Kennedy looks on.

Skene eae

The ve
that hook
si \

taking ‘
not have
He was :
like Strat
Frawley
“And d
“Furthe
derlined
ink it F
have take
those und
for murd
had disay
was a lo
and Fraw
Sheriff
brought o
they had
“T wast
Trast, or
Carroll s:
my predic
want you
gans with
I wrote.”
Trast o
“*Stratton
hit it rig!
Trast
helping to
his friend

LLIE
Octob
William F
Solid, wey
the courtr
His def
arily insai
But the
murder ri
when he

weighed h

“Murder
as the nen
inj 5

ke
Sc s
was an int

During
peals were
life, - Coro
County, W
criminolog:
his crime

“Ollie §
of dreame
this write
literature,
which trap
absorb the

Yet the
Stratton’s
pointed our

“Out of
erbs writte
Stratton h
his guide t!
up his evil

Stratten
prison in t]
He left a
world with
the prison
read :

“T, Ollie
this word.
father toda
officers for
cheerfulness
during my
spiritual ac
chaplain anc
Maker With
Oliver Lee

Then he

STRATTON 4 -
» Ol@ie Lee, wh, hamged WA (Jeffersen) July 28, 193
as YU. 25, 1933

4
‘
4
}
}
j
i

an.

2
/f

(Same article, FEATURE DETECTIVE, 1945,p16)
’ 2 )

SPECIAL DETECTIVE MAGAZINE, May
9

HERIFF John Carroll’s face was
" afternoon in early September, as
tensely to the excited youn
sitting in an office
house of Jefferson Coun
Washington.
The agitated caller w
of the U. S. Coast Guard. Perspiration rolled off
his brow and
talking in jerky sentences.

grim that
he listened
g man, They were
in the old brick court-
ty, at Port Townsend,

as Art Trast, a member

he fidgeted with his cap, while

“Py sure that old Bill Frawley has been mur-

son,” he said with a hint of
“Let’s go up to Bill's pl
*

S THE pair drove along the windin

the youth declared emphatically. “There’s

dered!”
no other explanation for his disappearance!”
Carroll nodded soberly. “You may be right,

doubt in his voice.
ace and look around.”
ee *

g road

leading to Frawley’s hilltop cottage, several

miles from Port Townsend, Trast e

19/2

Jaborated on

Sey

Greed changed q | callous ar

killer's wedding mar h
into a funeral dirg

morning,
while, I v
and I wa)
“But he
Ford cou;
town ther
noticed tk
“T knev
That’s wi
the stains
blood!”
The sh
Everyone
generous-
Carroll
were unf.
taken a t)

rim that
a listened
hey were
2k court-
‘ownsend,

4 member
rolled off
zap, while

been mur-
ly. “There’s
sarance "
y be right,
n his voice.
around.”

jnding road

tage, sever
laborated on

- abeCiat) DETECTIVE CASES
aR
_ ’ a

the suspicion that had sent him racing to the sheriff.

“My wife and I have a cabin near old Bill’s place,”

- the man explained. “I got back from a cruise this

morning, and after chatting with Mrs. Trast for a

while, I went to see Bill. We’ve become good: friends
and I wanted to invite him over for lunch.

“But he wasn’t home. I. peeked into the garage. His
Ford coupe was gone. I thought maybe he’d gone into
town then, so I started to leave. But all of a sudden I
noticed that the back door of the cottage was ajar.

“Tl knew Bill wouldn’t go away without locking up.
That’s why I went inside and looked around. I saw
the stains on the kitchen floor—stains that look like
blood!”

The sheriff frowned. He liked old Bill Frawley.
Everyone did. The retired army sergeant was a kind,
generous-hearted fellow. _

Carroll hoped desperately that Trast’s suspicions
were unfounded, that the elderly man had merely
taken a trip somewhere without bothering to tell his

Friendly like

’ abl
disappeared wale
Several miles

neighbors about it. But still... .

‘The sheriff braked his car to.a stop before the
modest Frawley cottage. Trast tried the front door.
It was still unlocked. Without hesitation, the pair
stepped inside.

To Carroll’s trained eye, nothing seemed disturbed
in the living room. On the table lay an open magazine,
apparently left by a reader who had been suddenly
interrupted. Yet there were no signs of a struggle,
nor the slightest evidence that the place had been
ransacked.

Carroll walked into the kitchen followed by Trast,
who pointed to several tiny reddish-brown spots on
the floor. The officer, balanced on his hands and knees,
inspected them at close range.

“Somebody tried to wipe them up, but didn’t do a
thorough job,” the official declared. “It looks like you
had a good hunch. These are bloodstains, all right.”

The sheriff rose to his feet and walked purposefully
from the room. A moment later, calling excitedly to

Art Trast (right) of the U.S. Coast
Guard told Sheriff John Carroll
(left) that he believed a retired
army sergeant was murdered,

4 ve
PSD rts

eee

7%.

“STRINGER, Glenn Rey white,

: os the
; : i Ses aes Struc.
: -. +e ~~ odeled

fa Late ndte aur! SOOT sie eee esas. StOLe=

"=" on by

‘hanging that Stringer. had told “him

4 with him through his trial and who

ee ay in che death cell Wednes-

2liy “hanged Washington GUM (Clark) ,-May 29,. 19%,

Slaver of Vancouver 1 Man
«Hanged Shortly. Aft-

e ~Midni ht.<-i:
eae res , Rees : Stu

WALLA WALLA; ‘Wash:, “May 29—
aie cies R. Stringer, 23, paid his
debt: to- ‘the state .early~ this morn-
ing ‘on: -the penitentiary: _gallows... r
‘The young Vancouver: holdup man
‘dfopped through the trap at 12: 08
a. m. Fifteen minutes later a: staff
of physicians: pronounced him: dead.
% Stringer ‘Jeft~ his: death. cell: at
inidnight: "and walked. calmly. to the
execution room:. Warden: McCauley

asked. ppd had: cenpthing e-news

izgk: AS

SERS

Cie ‘Peter Schmidt wad: oamanil
spiritual. advisor. .He- said after” the

he was ready to‘die Yor his: jmurder
of.. Herbert Lee: ‘Caples, ‘21-year-old
-Vancouver tobacconist:’ in a back-
yard aati Mari 10; 1934, and

a ae
77 :
Aer,

in su
dest

| ates ‘who. led” to: his! downfall, e3-
pecially against:° ‘Ralph Tremaine,
his alleged accomplice in. the. hold-
up-murder, who- he: said fired two
shots, ito- ‘his: one - at- "Caples. ..- ‘Tre-

#8: “ Stringer} left. s. letter ‘for. Beulah
Wilcox, . Grants Pass, :Ore., -who was

sought. permission: to-marry him af-
ter -his- conviction, ‘fn =:Vancouver,

‘March <26.. Miss Wilcox’ “-visited

THE COLUMBIAN
Bancouver, Washey

5/29 /" Bs

the roof of Rend Dyer’s house. If they had, they would have
spied eight saucer-wide young eyes watching them. They were
the eyes of Reverend Dyer’s school-age children, viewing in
fascinated horror a forbidden scene which none of them would
ever forget.

224

Sidney R. S. Gray, first vicar of Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Eastsound.
Courtesy Emmanuel Church.

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APPEALS

EXECUTION

Sept. 27, 1928:

Kirk Murder Suspect in Confession. - Schafer Breaks Down - Tells
Sheriff Tucker of Crime - Sheriff locates car near Puyallup. He shot
them when they went in to light the lamp. Afterwards he took children
out of the car, placed them in the house and drove off with the car.
He begged to be electrocuted.

of Dayton
Arthur Schafer, Confessed Killer of Mr. & Mrs. Joe dick /vasee Pires
Degree Murder charges Monday December 17.

Prosec. by J. We Graham, Prosecuting Attorney, Def. attorney is 0. M.
Nelson of Montesano.

The most brutal crime in the history of Mason County was perpetrated st
the Kirk's home at Dayton at midnight of September 16. Schafer was
arrested at Snoqualmie Falls two days later and while in the King County
hospital following an attempt at suicide made 4 complete confession of
his crime to Sheriff W. A. Tucker.

He was later brought hereand after being formally charged with first
degree murder on two counts was taken to the Kitsap County jail where
he has remained under close guarding. The brutal murder left three
small children orphans who have since been adopted by Mr. and Mrs.
Geo. Hickson, perents of the slain mother, and Mr. and Mrs. Fred
Hickson, brother of Mrs. Kirk.

12/17/28:
Schafer Case Jury Panel Completed

Commission and Change of Venue Denied Slayer. ;

Court adjourned at 5 o'clock, such good time having been made that

the entire jury had been secured and the opening statements of attorneys
hed been made before the panel which includes the followings Harry
Deyette, rancher, W. F. Retsworth, farmer, Ge C. Britton, retired,

Edna Hosher, resort owner, Tony Fonzo, business man, Mrs. H. Jemison,
housewife, A. C- Lord, farmer, S. P. Huston, farmer, Wm. Randolph,
farmer, Lantz Wiss, logger, Pete Olson, Tom Webb, farmer.

Trial opened 1:50 Dec. 17, 1928 with Judge John M. Wilson on benche
Def. counsel Saturday asked for insanity commission and change of
venue, both denied.

Courthouse Sags Under Trial Crowd.

The old Mason County Courthouse was tested to its capacity by the
crowds of attendants at the trial of Albert Schafer for the Kirk
murders, and Tues. PM while all available standing room was fully
occupied Auditor Ida Rex Loughnan called attention to sagging floors
above her office and the jammed doors which indicated strain upon
the old building. Judge \wilson took prompt action in ordering

from the courtroom all those standing and limiting the attendance to

those who could be seated.---- It was also ordered that some seats be
removed and hempafter no large gatherings be permitted on upper floor

of building. |

---The Courthouse is a large rambling frame structure, the main building
being built in 1888 by Charles & Eliab Dunbar, and the southern addition
10 years or more later. While some repair work has been Gone on the
foundations it is apparent that many of the timbers are dry rotted and
the old building has long since outlived its usefulness and safety. ---
(County has saved for 10 years for new building and will have $130,000.--

next year for new building.)

(Long article about trial)

wy In part: John Olsen, the first caller at the Kirk home who
‘* Giscovered the murder; Howard Best & Rex Kidd, neighbors called to the
ding evidence of the couble crime, and their
| geyaetyes given in the Journal following commission

ion Sept. 16th. Mr. Olsen told of f¢f/ finding Joe Kirk dead and lying
Xe half outside the front door of his home that morning when he called

to go to work, and of getting no response to his call for Mrs. Kirk,
but seeing inside the little home only the three small children. With
Mr. Best, who came next, they found Mrs. Kirk badly wounded lying in
the brush not far away, and getting her response as to "Who did this?"
"That goofy guy." (More than 12 witnesses for prosecution. More than
18 for defense, mostly from Satsop and Grays Harbor, who dwelt on his
early life and mental deficiency and irresponsibility. )

Arthur Schafer took the stand. His story in effect was that he
killed Joe Kirk in self defense, and also shot Mrs. Kirk after she
had shot at hia ee the window, exhibiting 2 bullet holes thru his coat
sleeve to show J near her shots had come to hitting him. He claimed
Mrs. Kirk hed dragged her husband's body to the doorway and after she
was shot the first time had gone into the woods; that he had not molested
her and @id not shoot her the second time. He admitted taking the Kirk
car, denied searching the house and taking any money or articles away,
but admitted throwing a blank check book out along the highway and also
ditching the car on a byroad near Puyallup. He gave no reason for
committing the crime except to claim the Kirks had abused him in some
imagined waye

Deputy Sheriffs from Seattle gave their opinions that prisoner was

rational, giving evidence of mental irresponsibility but did not act as
an insane person would.

Feb. 4, 1929

Short news item about Arthur Schafer, 25, mentions verdick Dec. 21, 1928
of lst degree murder.

Aug. 28, 1930

Short news item refers to murderer of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Kirk, Arthur
Schaffer, who is in the penitentiary at Watla Walla, Wash. and who was
sentenced to hang for this murder on Apr. 1929. (Was executed 8/29/30)

Notes about Bernard R. Leuch, executed Aug. 4, 1959.
Mason County Journal files:
June 2, 19383

Mysterious Death of Wife Yesterday -
Mrs. B. We. Leuch, mother of seven children, found dead with towel wrapped >)

pistol close to body.
Husband, part-time employee of Rayonier plant, was held. \ WV

Wife Lene, 37, at 1221 Franklin St. across street from Jr. High School,
found daad from bullet of .38 cal. automatic pistol in front room of
home found several feet away wrapped in towel.

seven children 3 to 16 years cared at home of Mrs. Helen Gow at 8th &
Franklin Sts. under direction of American Legion Post.

Leuch claimed he left the house to go down town and when he returned
home he found the body.

Wife had gone to Prosecutor a month previously and said her husband
hed threatened her life. Children said thefts had been marital strife,
for some time and quarrels were quite violent.
father and oldest 2 children came to Shelton 2 yrs ago, from Pine Bluff,
Minn. Later 3 more children arrived, then Mrs. Leuch and 2 youngest
arrived shortly before last Christmas.

Esther 16, Dorothy, 14, Marion, 13, Donald LeRoy, 12, Katherine 9, Iucille 6,
and Bernard J., 2-1/2, who was playing in the yard outside the home when

the tragedy occurred. -teech is a World War Veteran.

om nw eee Leuth

June 7, 1938:

Leuch asked to attend funeral, Leuch claims innocence.

June 14, 1938:

Judge John M. Wilson called for jury duty and list of vendremen to report
July ll.

June 21, 1938:

Leuch pleads Not Guilty to Murder County. Shot her through the heart

in the back bedroom of their home June lst. He claims she shot herself.
June 30, 1938:

Prosecutor Brodie will team up with Smith Troy, Thurston County Prosecutor.
July 5, 1938:

Leuch Case is First on Jury Slate Monday.

July 7, 193583

Prosecutor will ask death penalty. Chas. R. Lewis, Shelton City Attorney
was appointed by Court to defend him.

July 12, 1938:

Noted figures to testify in murder trial, jury picked.

Iuke May, Stanley MacDonald, Dr. Frank Menne, Hollis Fulty, Among 45
witnesses subpoenaed in Murder Trial. May is ballistics expert from
Seattle.

July 14, 1938:

State Witnesses Damaging to Leuch; Experts testify woman couldn't fire
CU») «+Se-4+- Case has drawn overflow crowds, bringing their lunches to

hold their seats and arriving at seven in the morning.

-— =

Leuch purchased an insurance policy on wife a month earlier. Defendant
claimed insurance purchased months ago and that Mrs. Leuch knew of other
woman in Olympia. Claims wife took her own life because of Leuch
revealing other woman's pregnancy.

July 19, 1958:
Both sides rest cases; Juky to Retire Wed. with Evidence in Murder Trial.
Other woman was Betty Irwin, a 26 year old Olympia theatre usherette and
ticket seller, pregnant. Loech had promised to bring her to Shelton.
Insurance was $1000. and insurance agent had advised $500 was plenty,
in view of his earnings. Miss Irwin knew Loech at St. Cloud, Minn.
and claimed she came West to him, not knowing he was married. She
Lived with him and the children before wife came and helped take care
of the children. She moved to Olympia and Loech told her his wife
was getting a divorce.

They started to get divorce but didn't go through with it, because
wife didndét want it.

July 21, 1938:
Liktkntaca Leuch Convicted, Death Asked.
Jury Verdict given at 11:08 today only 5 hrs. taken. Convitédd of
Firet Cegree Murder end death penalty (hanging). Trial took 10 days
(very warm weather) Judge allowed jury to go homand sleep and jury
gave verdict next morning to a very small crowd.
Jurors were Foreman John T. Whiting, Mrs. Hattie Bateman, Mrs. Gladys
Nelson, James Frazier, Chas. Hunter, E. G. Wolf, Mrs. E. C. Miller,
Frank Fentiman, Mrs. Marie Meek, Mrs. Agatha Norby, Theodore Deer, and
Bernis Yenter. Mrs. Joe Vail was alternate juror.

Leuch reclaimed his gun from pawn shoW 3 days before killing.
His daughter and friend saw him go out back door after the murder.
Aug. 9, 1938:
Second Day of Leuch Search Completed without success.
Escaped from Mason County Jail Sunday.
Aug. 11, 1938:
Leuch Departed on Spur of Moment. He Says After Capture.
Caught at the home of wife's cousin in Beverly Heights district of
Shelton. At least 50 people plus bloodhounds searched for him.
Coupsin's husband turned him in.
Aug. 3, 19393
Leuch Execution Due Fri. Aug. 4. Governor taking no action.
Bernard W. Leuch, 41 year old wife slayer, was convicted Auge 1958 of
murdering his wife and mother of his seven children on June 1, 1938.
in tiny Franklin St. home because of love of other woman. Leuch was
formerly of St. Cloud, Minn. police officer and state reformatory guard
before coming to Shelton, where he was employed as extra laborer at
the pulp mill.

Escaped from Mason County Jeil last Aug. He was free 2 days and
3 nights before being recaptured at home of wife's relatives.

Wait Bspy

Law Library
University of Alabama
Box 6205 )
University, Ala, 35,86

September 5, 1977

the Clerk of the Magon County Circuit Court,
The Mason County Court House,
Shelton, Washington 9858).

Dear sir or madams

TI em currently engaged in research on Capital Punishment in owr Country which hopefully will
culminate with the publication of a work which will contain a brief biographical sketch of
each person to have been legally executed in the United States as well as a brief account of
the crimes of each, te

I have received from the Sbate of tashington a list of all persons to have been Legally exect}
ted there after 1905 when the State took over the function of executing the condemned felons —
at the State Prison, However, my problem is that, prior to 1905, persons sentenced to die

in your State were hanged locally by the Sheriffs in the Counbies of their convictions and,

as no Sbate Departments or sgencies maintain a listing of those earlisr, local executions, I
am endeavoring to solicit this ififormation from the respective Counties, ;

If your office has any record of any legal hangings that might have taken place in Shelton or
in Mason County prior to 1905g then I shall appreciate it very much if you will provide me
with the namas and the dates of executions as a basis for further reseanch,

If you cannot help meg please provide me with the names and addresses of some of your local
Histordans or persons well-versed in local History anc I shall contact them,

This is tle first time that. a scrious effort has ever heen made to chronicle all of the legal
execubions in our Country and I hope to have it as complete and as comprehensive as possible,
Hopefully, the first volume with will carry accounts of the executions in the States of Washe
ington, Oregon, Idaho, Hawaii and Alaska will be ready for publication in March, 1978. Howe —
ever I do need the information prior to 1905 from three Counties, including Mason, in ashe ~¢
ington and two in Oregon, | i

Enclosed is a prepaid addressed envelope for your convenience in replying and you will,.of
course, be given credit in the work itself for your assistance, 1 shall look forward to
hearing from you at your convenience, |
Thanking you for your cooperation, I am,

Respectfully yours, |

Watt Espy

Law Library
University of Alabama
Box 6205

University, Ala, 351,86

September 5 may -
"“RECETVED
AND FiLESD

The Clerk of the Mason County Circuit Court, 9 4
The Mason County Court House, SEP 1 219/77

Shelton, Washington 9858), ELAINE PKUVINCE

CLERK OF THE SUPERIOR COURT
MASON COUNTY, WAdH.
Dear sir on macams BY, casusconvssonsssssssrsssconssusosenececcenecerensanors :

I am currently engaged in research on Capital Punishment in our Country which hopefully will
culminate with the publication of a work which will contain a brief biographical sketch of
each person to have been legally executed in the United States as well as a brief account of
the crimes of each,

T have received from the State of Washington a list of all persons to have been legally execu-
ted there after 1905 when the State took over the.fynction of executing the condemned felons
at the State Prison, However, my problem is that, prior to.1905, persons sentenced to die

in your State were hanged locally by the Sheriffs in the Counties..of their convictions and,

as no State Departments or agencies maintain a listing of those earlier, local executions, I
am endeavoring to solicit this ififformation from the respective Counties.

If your office has any record of any legal hangings that might have taken place in Shelton or
in Mason County prior to 1905p then I shall appreciate it very much if you will provide me
with the names and the dates of executions as a basis for further reseanch,

If you cannot help me, please provide me with the names and addresses of some of your local
Historians or persons well-versed in local History and I shall contact them,

This is the first time that a serious effort has ever heen made to chronicle all of the legal
executions in our Country and I hope to have it as complete and as comprehensive as possible,
Hopefully, the first volume with will carry accounts of the executions in the States of Wash-
ington, Oregon, Idaho, Hawaii and Alaska will be ready for publication in March, 1978. How-
ever I do need the information prior to 1905 from three Counties, including Mason, in “ash-
ington and two in Oregon,

Enclosed is a prepaid addressed envelope for your convenience in replying and you will, of
course, be given credit in the work itself for your assistance, I shall look forward to

hearing from you at your convenience,

Thanking you for your cooperation, I am,

Respectfully yours,

CHARLES T. WRIGHT Che Supreme Court TEMPLE OF JUSTICE

CHIEF JUSTICE : ‘ OLYMPIA, WASHINGTON
State of Washington wend

(206) 753-5077

September 21, 1977

Mr. Watt Espy

Law Library

University of Alabama
Box 6205

University, Alabama 35486

Dear Mr. Espy:

Very truly yours,

anges

ha a
LO

i
a
a “

ie N ian

a 4 wz Ty ;
+ 9 go QQ hatin
Ca pole he ‘ LD IE

CHARLES T. WRIGHT, C.J.

CTW:d
cor 1. Thompson
Mason County Clerk's Office

OFFICE OF THE

Mason County Clerk a

PHONE - 426-3315

ELAINE PROVINCE

P.O. BOX 340
SHELTON, WASHINGTON 98534

September 19, 1977

The Honorable Charles T. Wright
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court
Temple Of Justice

Olympia, Washington 98501

Dear Justice Wright:
This office received the enclosed request on September 12, 1977. It

has been suggested that perhaps you might have such information among
the records of your father. We are therefore sending the same on to

you, and thanking you for any assistance you can give Mr. Espy.

Sincerely,

ELAINE PROVINCE
Clerk of Mason County

By: Betty Thompson
Chief Deputy Clerk

Ene. (1)

cc: Watt Espy ~

Marshal Benagon stands behind the bed, his deputy at the
tight while the killer is seen lying under guard after his cap-
ture and subsequent attempt at suicide. The scar resulting
from the try is indicated by arrow in the profile picture.

turned to the bed in which Kirk and his wife usually slept.

The bed was empty. Furthermore, it showed no signs of
having been occupied that night. Tragedy apparently had
struck the Kirk home before the young couple retired. The
man shuddered as he thought of that tragic figure sprawled
across the doorstep. A ghastly fear was forming in his mind.
What had happened to Juanita Kirk?

For a moment he debated whether to search for the missing
woman; but at length, convinced that further investigation
was useless at the time, he turned from the cabin and hurried
to the home of the nearest neighbor.

Ten minutes later he had reached Sheriff W. H. Tucker
by telephone and was reporting the news of his shocking
discovery,

The sheriff listened intently. “Go back and see that noth-
ing is disturbed,” he requested. “We'll be right out.”

As Sheriff Tucker turned from the phone his face was
grave, Joe Kirk dead and his youthful wife missing! It was
unbelievable. They were a friendly, hard-working couple
without an enemy in the community. What lay behind this
tragic mystery ?

STARTLING

Sudde
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phoned t
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and the:
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stolen g:
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been try:
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Da \
tnety? This is the cold, brutal face
* hich greeted the frail house-
“R wife and mother as_ she
‘*s sought to aid her mortally
=" 4 wounded husband. She
429" fought long and bravely, but
. the odds were far too great.

g8ese ay

SCHAEFER. Ar :
HARPER, Arthur, wh, hanged WASP (Magon) August 29, 1930

MORTON
FABER

Poin the early by the brisk walk

in the early. morning air and

sunshine of the forest, a neigh-
boring lumberman strode across the
clearing toward the little cabin of
cedar shakes on Goldsborough
creek. The man had walked over
from his own place on the Shelton-
Dayton highway in the state of
Washington to ride with Joe Kirk
to the logging camp where they both
worked.

As he neared the cabin, the man’s
brow wrinkled in perplexity. For
there was Joe stretched across the
doorstep, apparently sound asleep.

Then the big lumberman grinned.
Apparently Joe had dozed off while
he played with the family pets. Six
squirming puppies were scrambling
for the most comfortable cuddling
places on his chest and in the crook
of an outstretched arm.

“Wake up, Joe. It’s time to—”

But the words trailed off into hor-
rified silence. Joe Kirk’s mouth was
flecked with dried blood. A fatal
wound was apparent in the back of
his head. Joe Kirk had been mur-
dered !

For a moment, the neighbor was
too stunned to think clearly. Then
other terrible possibilities flashed
through his mind. The three chil-
dren—Joe’s pretty young wife, Jua-

nita—where were they?

The man stepped over the body of
his friend and cast’ a quick glance
around the front room of the little 4
cabin. Nothing seemed to %

. have been disturbed. There

were no apparent signs of a

struggle except for a shattered pane

of glass in the window nearest the
table and certain dark stains upon
the floor.

The neighbor pressed on to the
family sleeping quarters. With a
feeling of relief he noted that the
three children were asleep. But he
received another shock when he

lem ee

ios ne

540

TLING DETECTIVE, November,

We are
aboratory
ecause we
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St. Louis.
your per-
vu first try
ofessional
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rsonnel of
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ations. A
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a field for
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<« City.

n have al-
tific circles.
ing science
of doing the
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right in its
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o answer by
or one thing,
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in a highly
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prove itself
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ill cause the
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For this pur-
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from which
een removed.
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le to identify
soles of their
., Tiffin, O.
any American
identifying

Palm prints
where finger-
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tity.

en play an im-
J. C., Cincin-

iction writers.
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and compan-
‘rate mainly in
s and thievery.
oman criminal
n, and she met

NGS"

Beast Man!

(Continued from page 45)

“Pl! admit I am Schafer,” he said, “But
I don’t know anything about any murder.
1 was afraid you fellows were out to get
me for something. That’s why I lied.”

“When did you see him last?” Tucker
asked the relative, nodding toward Schafer.

“He was in here a while ago and changed
clothes. He borrowed those overalls he is
wearing from me.” ‘

“Where’s the clothes he took off ?”
Tucker snapped.

“They are in the house.”

“Let’s get them. You keep him covered,”
Tucker said to me as he and the relative

‘went in the house.

They came out in a few minutes. Tucker
was holding a pair of blue serge trousers:

“See the snag in the seat of these pants t
he said, shoving the trousers in front of
Schafer’s face. “Do you know where you
snagged those? Well, I'll tell you. You
> 9 them while you were killing Mrs.

irk,

“Yes, she died. You killed her, and you

killed Joe Kirk. And if I weren’t sworn to —

uphold the law, I'd kill you right here in
cold blood with my bare hands fr

Schafer cowered.

“T didn’t,” he, whimpered. “T didn’t.”

We took him’ back to Shelton and locked
him up. We brought in witnesses who
quickly identified him as not only Schafer,
but also as Melton, the hired man at the
Kirk place!

Still Schafer denied the crime, saying
that he was miles away at a dance at the
time of the double slaying.

Then we started to build our evidence.
We had the threads of the trousers that
matched. The plaster casts of the foot-
prints also matched. Bullets found in trees
near the house were found to have been
fired from the same gun as the one that
killed Joe Kirk, This placed it as the gun
Schafer had stolen from Joe.

Confronted with this evidence, he
changed his story. He said he had returned
to the house to get ‘his belongings and
Kirk had accused him of making love to
his wife and had started to shoot at him.
He'said he returned fire and killed Kirk.

He denied he had attacked Juanita Kirk
as the physician’s autopsy revealed. His
story was that someone must have come
after he left and attacked the woman and
killed her.

O N DECEMBER 15, 1928, the case went °

to trial. The evidence was perfect—
but there was a hitch.

Schafer having been in the State School
for the Feebleminded for several years, his
attorney pleaded not guilty for him by
reason of insanity. It was a hard hurdle
to get over.

But the State had an able prosecutor in
Joseph Graham. Graham went before the
court and contended that feeblemindedness
does not constitute criminal insanity. He
declared that Schafer knew the difference
between right and wrong, and that was the
ony question involved.

fter a terrific battle between the at-
torneys, the case went to the jury at noon
on December 24.

The jurors returned at two o'clock the
same day with a nice Christmas present:

“Guilty, with a recommendation for the
death penalty.”

Schafer, with wealth behind him, fought
the case through the higher courts, but
lost every round. Once, with the execu-
tion a matter of only hours away, he was
given a stay while a sanity commission
examined him. He was pronounced sane.

INSIDE DETECTIVE

On August 29, 1930, almost two years
after the murder of Joe Kirk and the
merciless assault upon pretty Juanita Kirk,
Schafer was led to the scaffold to pay for
the double killing. :

We had tried to get him ‘to confess to
the. Olympia assault, but he steadfastly
maintained his innocence. We were con-
vinced that he was the man, and believed
he refused to admit his guilt because ‘he
hoped until the last to have his sentence
commuted to life imprisonment.

Until the time he walked up the last
thirteen steps to the hangman’s noose, he
declared that he had only killed Joe Kirk
in self-defense, and that someone else had
murdered Juanita Kirk and assaulted her.
As the black hood was adjusted around his
head before slipping the circle of rope
about his neck, he cried out:

“I'm being robbed of my life for some-

‘ thing another brute did.”

But the trap sprung from under him,
cutting off his last words and writing
“finis” to the most atrocious crime in the
annals of the Washington State police.

Federal Thieves
—in Skirts!

(Continued from page 5)

Since bankers make mistakes like every-
body else, the Treasury must recheck their
count of this old money—and that is the
sole duty of the dull-eyed women in the
redemption room. So many years have
they been doing this work that they can
slit open a package of bills with wondrous
dexterity and flip through its contents al-

-most as rapidly as a card-sharp shuffles his

deck, and have every last dollar counted.
These women, wearing shapeless house
dresses and old shoes and black cotton
stockings, must keep a _ record of their
tally. If their count of any particular
package agrees with that of the bank, they

check it “O.K.” If the bank has erred and

sent in a few dollars less than it says it
did, they make a note of that. And if
the bank has delivered a dollar or two too

_much, that also goes into their records.

So long have these women been working
together that they know each other by
their first names. Years ago, it developed,
old Kitty, a stringy-haired and stoop-
shouldered woman at a desk in one of the
far corners began to wonder, and to worry.
Her wage barely supported her in. Wash-
ington, where living expenses are higher
than in any other city in the country. Her
grocery bills were beginning to pile up and
she had not had, as she later confessed,
a new winter coat in six years.

What a shame it was, she thought as she
counted money almost automatically, that
some of it could not be hers! Even as her
mind wandered down this channel, she
discovered that the bank which had de-
livered the particular package under her
scrutiny at the moment had made a
mistake.

The label said “$1,000,” but Kitty
counted $1,008. She counted the package
a second time. Yes—the bank's clerk had
included an extra five-dollar bill and three
too many ones.

Kitty glanced wildly at her neighbors,
all industriously counting. None was
paying her the slightest attention. Quickly
she tucked the five-dollar bill in her ample
bosom and credited the bank with three
dollars too much on her tally sheet. Then
she slit open the next package, guiltily,
and resumed her counting. ~

And why not?

That’s how she reasoned, how she justi-
fied her thievery. The mistake was that

REDUCED My WAIT

IGHT INCHES

WAITES GEORGE BAILEY

Wear the

WEIL

BELT

for 10 Days
At Our

Le Expense!
¥

NO DRUGS, DIETS
OR EXERCISES

bed j
SUPPORTS FALLEN |
ABDOMINAL — |
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Name _
Address

City _ Stale

Use Coupon or Send Name and Address on Penny Post Card
ATT TE LN

PLACE — CITY GR COUNTY

Seattle, “Jashincton

008 OR AGE OCCUPATION patos

"4026-1900

VICTIM

beet

MOTIVE

SYNOPSIS > ms te ws) a1 : Had dereil
‘illism Alden Seaton hanged au B AM on Ja is Pronounced desd at end of 7 mins, Had murdere
; = 3 re "hi Sn t+ the sara time ke cerianusly infurel treo
sa ty Tz TCLs 3 PS Bea Sam s o8: Tail Uoyg = : = sa 2 : : ; = -
: : 3 . ‘te 2 } ft am he Ieontiv
little girls and ALOE s riously cut his sister, Mrs. % arke, Afterward he ‘slightly
cS al

fal 1 he nerk by Denuty Sheriff kelly vhile resisting

~9junded 3. -neischbor normed Kennedy

ste

srrest SPATTLE POST@INT TELLIGENCER
e }

earres oP ahs SD Dee LN Leu snUuln,

Found cuilty of murder in lst degree on 3-7-1901, Jury delibersted 50 minutes, Seaton received
verdict with hardly any show of emotion, the only effect noticeatle being a slizht pallor about the
Tips, ‘Seaton's only defense was mental irresponsibility, Seaton vas living in hone of his mother
in suburb of South Park, Became angry with sister Annie because he believed her conduct to be
“iroroper and attempted to Kill ner with ax. He struck her dow and tried eee to solit her
skull, but missed his aim.and she escaped to neighbor's house,
ettacked +yro bittte sirts 5 tyrtte and Hazet hebrood t
with the ax and threw their appartently dead bodies into a mangen, He then returned to house where
Danitichards, was lying asleep, Seaton struck Richards .in forehead with hack of ax and
throat with same instrument besides inflicting other wounds, He then armed himself with a
er and stated for the city, Meeting tvo yomen of neighborhood, he told them what he had done
sked them to look after a bahy that was left in the house, He then proceeded towards the city
bo was met by Dep, Sheriff Mike Xelly, and, resisting arrest, was shot through the neck, After his
“arrest, he repeatedly told the story of his attack on nae of the family, and expressed no
remorse. He indignantly denied for the first few days that he was insnace, and then began to quale
“ify that statenent realizing that nis only escape lay in provine madness, His sister and tre tuo
little girls recovered from their snguries, the latter _Underbo sg Severe and difficult oper stan
Ce Save their tives, Hotvithstandine Perse attack upor hers Seaton Ss Sx tear Oo eealsS ecevst edt GS hims
and was present at every session of the trial, SEATTLE POST*INTELLIGENCER, March 8, 1901 (Photo
On_page ten), 3—a5el9%l: witnesses testified that after mrder Seaton had denied oe snity and said
he knew what hewas doing when he killed Richards; that he had spoken harshly towards the two
little girls; and that he had said that Richards had heaten him in years past and he had sworn ree
venge before homicide, POSTINTELLIGENCER, 3-6-1901; ‘
Over for account of crime

APPEALS

LAST WORDS

EXECUTION

FRANK NEWTON OFFICE SuUPBLY—COTHAN

Victims: Dah Richards (i 8); Mazel Hapgood (5); Myrtle Hapgood (7) and ‘nna Seaton (23),

Crime between 2:30 and 1i:00 on afternoon of 12-86, The girls were stepdaughters, A neighbor, John
received slight bullet wound when he tried to enter house while Seaton was still there,
criss attacked first. They were in stable in rear of house playing while Seatonwas there

ng wood, After attacking them and throwing bodies in manrer, their stepmother, Anna Seaton,

Sheard their screams, appeared, and was running toward barn when met. by Seaton who attacked,
n continued into house where uncle, Richards, was sleeping in front bedroom Struck Richards

three times with ax and then shot through breast. Closed and locked house and when neish-
ied to enter, fired five tires, one bullet aa om: and slishtly wounding Kennedy. Then :
and started walking toward station at the end of the Grant St. car Line, a distance of a littlc
ne mile, To such neighbors as he met, he admitted crime and said he planned to give self up,

at Station by Dep, Sheriff Mike Kelly and when Kelly ordered his surrender, Seaton sought to
run and begdn shooting at Kelly who returned fire and:shat Ceaton in neck. Seaton fell on street
car trestle, Throughout crime, Anna Seaton's llemontk-old baby lay slecping in room in which Mr,
Ss Seattle at time of crime and it

in about 1 year previously, Seaton J

t Pine St. “ichards was a carpenter.

ter first husband and she was caring

d not Lived the richt kind of life

in ‘.
TU fe ¢

ae |
~~

+14. (nN st

-ichards was killed, Mrs,*Mary Lankins, $ 5 mother,
occurred in her house, Family had one Lo Se: atl from ty
employed as a laborer at E., ©, Sauire's steve faetory on f
Anna had been twice married and the children were those of
For them, He claimed that his sister vas a bad woman who ha
and that prompted the attack, POST-INTFLLIGENCER, 12-7-1900

"Seattle, “ashe, Dece 7, 1900. = Millian Seaton, ared 92 years, formerly of Becatur,
Illinois, attempted to exterminate an entire family of his relatives at South Park,

ine miles from Seattle. ‘tith an ax Seaton smashed in the heads of four people,

leaving them for dead, then shot one man in the back and att vempted to kill a Deputy
Sheriff, Before finalyy being captured Seaton was shot twice, but not fatally, by
Teputy Sheriff Kelley, The only one killed outright was Seaton's uncle, Maniel

Vichards. Seaton broke in the head of his sister, Mrs, Roy Clark, but her recovery

s hoped for, The other two victims were Myrtle and Hazel Hapgood, assed about 10 years,

cildren of a former husband of Mrs, Clark, The skulls of the lit tle ones were crushed
and then the bodies were throw into a manger in the barn, It was supposed they vere
dead, but a lste report from the County Hespital says the skull of one of the chil-
dren had been trephined and there is a hope of. recovery, The other childwill
Undoubtedly died Under the belicf that all nis intended victims were actually dead,
Seaton told the first story as follows: 'I was disgusted with the actions of my
sister, and after I had struck her in the head with an ax I came to the-conclusion
that I might as well make a clean sweep, I smashed the skulls of the children, then
threw their bodies into the manger, Returning to the house I saw my uncle asleep on a
sofa. I chopped his head almost off.' ‘hile telling his story Seaton gave no evidence
of insanity, In fact, he made the specific statement that he was not sane," NEWS,
Birmingham, Alabama, December 7, 1900, page onee :

tight-lipped and grim, carried guns of all
kinds and were prepared to use them if
they met the suspect and he resisted arrest,

Back in the courthouse at Shelton, mean-
while, Deputy Martin flashed) a_ pick-up
order for Schafer and the stolen car, Then,
feeling that an even more thorough cov-
erage was necessary, if Schafer were to
be located after the long head start he
had had, the officer long-distanced the wire
news services at Olympia, the state capi-
tal, and asked that full details of the crime
be carried up and down the West Coast,
with particular emphasis being put on the
description of the suspect and the Kirk
auto.

Martin also put in a long-distance call to
Sheriff W. A. Hamm at Montesano, seat of
Grays Harbor County, some _ forty-five
miles to the southwest, as Schafer had said
he came from there.

Hamm confirmed this statement and
added, “I’ll have my men cover all the
places around here that he might attempt
to reach. Then I’ll come over there and
tell you everything I know about Schafer.
That might help you trace him.”

While Hamm was on his way to Shelton,
Deputy Martin received word from the
hospital that Juanita Kirk, despite a coura-
geous battle for her life, had died. The
end had come shortly after 11 a. mM. The
deputy ordered an immediate autopsy,
hoping it would provide additional evi-
dence against the slayer.

The Grays Harbor sheriff arrived in
Shelton at noon and went into a confer-
ence with Martin. Hamm told him that
Arthur Schafer was the black sheep of a
prominent pioneer family which held vast
timber interests in the Northwest and at
one time had been the largest logging
operators in the United States.

Arthur, from the time he was only a few
years old, had shown sadistic tendencies,
deriving much pleasure from seeing others
suffer. When in his teens, he enjoyed in-
juring and mutilating animals, and on one
occasion, he made bombs from dynamite
and threw them among his own family’s

herd of sheep, killing a number of them and .

wounding many others.

This and other acts of violence caused
his relatives to have him sent to the state
hospital at Medical Lake. He was there
about two years and, according to reports
which had reached Sheriff Hamm, he had
been considered very nearly normal after
the long course of treatments. And so,
when he walked away from the institution
one day, the authorities there had merely
notified his family and had not requested
law-enforcement agencies to hunt for him.

“Schafer never was insane,” Sheriff

Hamm went on, “but he has caused his
family an awful lot of grief, and they’re
fine folks who don't deserve it.”
HILE Hamm and Martin were discuss-
Ing the case, Sheriff ‘Tucker and Deputy

Byrne returned from Dayton. After the
latter two had exchanged greetings with
the Grays Harbor officer, Martin informed
them of Juanita Kirk’s death.

“We found no trace of Schafer around
Dayton,” Tucker then reported. ‘“There’s
no doubt that he used the Kirk car to put
as many miles as possible between himself
and the cabin. Right now it’s a question
of which way he went.”

This question wasn’t answered until late
that afternoon when several residents of
Olympia, east of Shelton, read of the
double murder in the papers and notified
Thurston County Sheriff Claud Havens
that they had seen a man _ resembling
Schafer around noon in the downtown
district. He was driving a Star touring
car tallying with the description of the
Kirk auto.

Sheriff Havens and his deputies imme-
diately formed a posse and combed the
county; but no sign of the wanted youth
was found.

Later, a berry picker named Frank
Cheadle found Joe Kirk’s checkbook in
some brush along the highway near the
Mason-Thurston County Line, providing
further evidence that the slayer had fled
in an easterly direction.

The far-flung hunt continued through-
out the night; but neither Schafer nor the
stolen car was sighted.

Meanwhile, the autopsy on Juanita Kirk
showed that, in addition to being crimin-
ally assaulted, she had been mutilated in
an unspeakable manner, which only a
sex maniac could have conceived.

At eight o’clock Tuesday morning, a
disheveled young man walked into the
general store of Otto Reinig at Snoqualmie
Falls, situated high in the Cascade Moun-
tains some distance east of Shelton. Reinig,
who also was postmaster of the little town,
looked up from the mail he was sorting
and recognized the youth as his cousin,
Arthur Schafer, whom he hadn’t seen in

years.

“Why, hello, Arthur,” the merchant
greeted him. “What are you doing around
here?”

“Thought I’d visit a while,’ was the
calm reply. “I’ve hiked quite a ways and
I’m pretty hungry. Can you fix a fellow
up?”

Reinig gave him some food and, after
eating it, Schafer asked for directions. to
the ranch of Dan Reinig, another cousin.

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‘cide that,” the marshal said.

The postmaster obliged, and then the
youth told him good-by and left the store,
The proprietor had read of the Dayton
murders in the morning newspaper, and
the Instant Schafer went out the door, he
telephoned Marshal Tom Benagon. The
latter hurried to the store and picked up
Reinig, and the two then set out in the
direction taken by the fugitive. They
caught up with him on the highway a
short time later and Benagon, his revolver
drawn, told him he was under arrest.

“What in the world for?” he asked, his
face mirroring surprise. Looking at his
cousin, he continued, “Why are you here,
Otto?”

The marshal answered for both of them:
“They want you in Mason County for kill-
ing the Kirks. Otto is only doing his
duty.”

“Why, I didn’t kill anybody,” declared
the youth. “When did all this take place?”

Told that the crime had occurred late
Sunday night, he asserted that he had at-
tended a dance that night at Elma, in
Grays Harbor, his home county. “And I
never heard of the Kirks,” he added:
“You’ve got the wrong man.”

“We'll let the Mason County officers de-
“If you're in-
nocent, you haven’t anything to worry
about.”

Benagon quickly frisked him, finding no
gun. The three men then returned to
town and Schafer was taken to the State
Bank Building where the marshal notified
Sheriff Tucker by long-distance phone that
he had been arrested. Tucker promised
to get there as quickly as possible and to
bring someone who could identify Schafer
as the man hired by the Kirks.

Wee waiting for the sheriff to arrive,
Benagon and Postmaster Reinig sat talk-
ing with the stocky youth, attempting to
gain an admission of his guilt. But he
continued to deny any knowledge of the
murders and stated that he could prove
he was more than thirty miles from the
Dayton district at the time of the crime.

Completely fooled by Schafer’s meek
manner and pleas of innocence, Benagon
did not watch him closely and, when the
marshal’s back was turned for an instant,
the youth whisked a razor blade from an
inside pocket and slashed his own throat.

Benagon and Reinig rushed him to the
near-by Snoqualmie Lumber Company
hospital, where the flow of blood was
stopped and the long gash sewed up. The
physician in charge announced that
Schafer was not in critical condition, al-
though he undoubtedly would have been
if he hadn’t received prompt treatment.

A few hours later, Sheriff Tucker and
Howard Best, the Dayton resident who had
discovered Juanita Kirk dying in the
thicket, arrived at the mountain town, ac-
companied by Sheriff Claude G. Bannick
of King County and two of his deputies.
Bannick assumed official custody of Scha-
fer, as the arrest had taken place in his
jurisdiction.

Best then unhesitatingly identified Scha-
fer as the man who had worked for the
Kirks.

Since the suspect was not in a serious
condition, although quite weak from loss
of blood, he was removed to the King
County jail in Seattle for recuperation
and safekeeping. Sheriff Tucker, knowing
how intense the feeling was in his county
against the slayer of the popular couple,
feared that a lynching attempt would be
made if Schafer were returned to Shelton.

Questioned in his cell that evening, the
prisoner still denied the murders, although
his try at suicide was enough of a con-
fession for everyone. He claimed that he
had walked and hitch-hiked from Elma to
Snoqualmie Falls to visit his cousins, and

he said that he had never driven a Star
touring: car,

A search of the route supposedly taken
by Schafer failed to turn up the Kirk auto,
and date that night, Sheriff Tueker and
Best returned to Shelton.

Next day, the Mason County officer again
confronted the suspect in jail and exerted
every effort to obtain a confession. While
this was going on, funeral services were
held in Shelton for Juanita and Joe Kirk.
It was the largest event of its kind in the
county’s history, with many hundreds pass-
ing through the mortuary to view the
bodies. Girlhood chums of Juanita were
her pallbearers, while the young husband
was attended by his fellow workmen.

Sheriff Tucker was unsuccessful that
day in his attempt to break down Schafer’s
stubborn claim of innocence, and it wasn’t

The Strange Case of
the Three Zeros

(Continued from page 4) under fire,
now published only a few bald lines
about my vindication. And to what
account in my ledger of life shall I
charge the suffering, the expense, the
tribulation, the loss of four good years
from my activities, the social and busi-
ness prestige that have been taken away
from me and can never be entirely re-
stored? Of course my friends all know
that I was the victim of a terrible mis-
take; the world now knows of my inno-
cence. I am trying to fight my way
back, hard though the struggle may be.”

He told friends later that, shortly be-
fore he was accused, a salesman had
wanted to sell him a Protectograph that
shreds the amount of the check into the

paper fiber. This would have made it
tamper-proof. But he had put off the
purchase.

“Now,” he said, “I would cut off my
hand before signing any check without
that device.”

Wasserman died a suicide.

Many years after this miscarriage of
justice, famous in American criminal
trials, Theodore Wasserman’s words re-
main unheeded by many businessmen.
Crime by check took from them $400,-
000,000 in 1948. It is now the fastest
growing crime in America.

—WALTER ROWLEY

until the following Monday night, Septem-
ber 24th, 1928, that the prisoner confessed.
Then, with Sheriff Bannick and Deputy
O. K. Bodia as witnesses, he told Tucker
that he had shot the Kirks—but he claimed
he had acted in self-defense. His ridiculous
story was that they had fired at him as he
approached the cabin. Of course, there
was no evidence to support this tale; on
the contrary, the evidence backed up
Juanita Kirk’s dying statements in every
detail and established Schafer as the cold-
blooded, cowardly killer.

The confessed slayer, however, denied
that he had criminally assaulted the girl
and mutilated her in a horrible manner.
But he did state that, after shooting the
couple, he had carried the three children
from the car into the cabin and put them
to bed. Then he had rifled the pockets of
Joe Kirk, obtaining about twenty-five dol-

Bane y «

lars in cash and his checkbook. He had

thrown away the latter item as he drove af

in the victims’ car toward Olympia, be-
cause he didn't want to be in possession of
any dnerininating evidence,

Aesee leaving Olympia, he proceeded to
Tacoma, then eastward ten miles to
Puyallup and seven miles on Summit road
toward Mt. Rainier. He had turned north
for a mile and a half to a country road,
which he followed for a quarter-mile and
then drove the auto into the brush at day-
light Monday. He said he had left the
murder gun in the car.

He walked back to Puyallup and at 6
Pp. M. boarded a bus for Renton, some
twenty-five miles north, where he remained
over night. In the morning he caught a
ride on a truck to Falls City and then got
a lift in a passenger car to Snoqualmie
Falls, where he was arrested.

As soon as Schafer had made and signed
a formal confession, Mason County’s prose-
cuting attorney, Joseph W. Graham, ,
journeyed to Seattle and interviewed him
at length. Satisfied he was sane, although
a sadist and sex maniac, the prosecutor ,
filed an information charging him with ,
two counts of first-degree murder. Taken
to Shelton, the defendant pleaded not
guilty by reason of insanity and the trial
was scheduled for December 17th before
Superior Court Judge John M. Wilson.

In the four-day trial, Prosecutor Gra-
ham presented evidence to show that
Schafer deliberately planned the murders
and that, in making his escape, he displayed
cleverness in covering up his tracks.

“He has admitted,” Graham told the
jury, “that he got rid of Joe Kirk’s check-
book as soon as he could, because he knew
it would link him with the murders. He
also took a lot of pains to hide the stolen
car where it wouldn’t be found. An insane
man would never have been so cautious.”

The prosecutor also pointed out that the
officials at the mental hospital where
Schafer had been placed had not consid- | =
ered him insane, else they would have put |.»
out an alarm when he walked away. ss

The confessed slayer showed no emo-
tion during the trial. Taking the stand,
he admitted the shootings but continued
to claim self-defense. This effort, plus his
attempts to evade questions concerning |.
the criminal attack and mutilation of “>
Juanita Kirk, convinced the jury that he
knew the difference between right and 9%
wrong, which made him legally sane. P

He was convicted and sentenced to be ~~
hanged; but a new trial was demanded by ,
the defense.

When a new trial was denied, Schafer’s ©
counsel appealed the case to the State —.
Supreme Court, which later ordered a san-
ity hearing by three prominent Northwest .~
alienists. After a thorough examination, ~
he was found sane, whereupon the supreme -»
court upheld the death sentence.

On July 23rd, 1930, Judge Wilson set
the execution for August 29th, and Schafer ».
finally was transferred to the State Penl- _~
tentiary at Walla Walla, where the execue «*
tion took place as scheduled.

na SF
FA

aah 3

Schafer never did admit the criminal as- ©
saults on pretty Martha McCoy and her
mother and sister, but there is no doubt ;°~
in anyone’s mind that he was the perpe- \,
trator. :

Epitor’s Note:

The name Martha McCoy, as used in
the foregoing story, is not the real name
of the person concerned. This innocent
person has been given a fictitious name
in order to protect her identity. Picture
of the perpetrator, Arthur Schafer, ap-
pears on page 70.

McCullough surrested that these
move in on the hill behind Elbe
\ effort to keep Self from working
way deeper into the mountain
ty

men from the two sheriffs’ of-
and the volunteer posse members
d form a wide semi-circle around
Purdy home, with the Mounted
' closing it in. They would move
her slowly.
nd take no risks,” McCullough
ed his men. ‘There's no reason to
ve he won’t fire. With those rifles
as, he will be able to hit anyone
a good distance.”

nightfall Saturday, the small
itain hamlet of Elbe had been
‘d into an armed camp. No car
-d without being stopped a score of
;. Residents of the area were tele-
‘ed to be sure they were all right.
» were asked to call the sheriff’s
» if they planned to leave their
es or if they should see anything
icious.
sCullough’s concern was that the
ive would take hostages. ‘He has
ing to lose and everything to gain
lasting his way out of here,” Mc-
ough warned.

NDAY morning the net of officers
pread around the area slowly began
ose. McCullough cruised the roads
ng with the men as they pushed
the woods.

two o'clock in the afternoon he
2 up to Sheriff Stojack, who was in
‘ar with his wife. Mrs. Stojack was
him in the belief that, should Self
them, the sight of a woman would
his suspicions.

nything new?” McCullough asked.
just spotted the Mounted Posse
ugh my glasses on the hill back
e. But no sight of the man we

1e radio crackled in Stojack’s car.

ho Danced Carol

iphis police. At about ten o'clock,
‘y Eakin and another couple had
ped by their home on Van Horn,
ss from Overton Park, and had
d if Carol could go dancing with

Rs
didn’t hestitate to let her go,” Mrs. —

ens went on. ‘They're all nice kids
Carol never asked to go out except
*riday and Saturday nights. I al-
; wanted her to have the good times
ver had.” ;
did they say where they were go-
” Goodwin questioned.

imagine they came over here to
of the clubs. There aren’t many
es in Memphis where kids dance,
know.”

5 there any special place you know
at she was in the habit of visiting?”
Vell, once or twice a month, the kids
\d get together and drive to the
on Club. Maybe they went there.”
»odwin nodded to a deputy, who left
\ediately to question the operators
1e club, a popular night spot on the
kirts of West Memphis. Then, turn-
back to Mrs. Stevens, the sheriff
. “Please go on.”
irol, the grief-stricken woman said,
loved to dance. “She was a wonder-
jancer. Sometimes, they’d clear the
se floor just to watch her. She was
iys the last to want to leave.”
didn’t you worry about her when
was out so late?”
Yo!” Tears filmed her eyes. “Not the
some mothers might worry about
r daughters. I taught-Carol what
right and I trusted her.”
n occasion, Mrs. Stevens explained,
» would go home with a girl-friend
ra date. “That's why I wasn't wor-
when I awoke this morning and
id she hadn’t come home. I let Carol
wherever she pleased because I

A report from headquarters said that
a telephone call just had come in from
someone named Battle,

“He wants to meet you at the store
in Alder,” the deputy said. “He says
if you're alone and unarmed, he can
take you to where Self is hiding.”

McCullough and Stojack raced to the
store, which is operated by Oris Sey-
fert, the postmaster.

“Does someone by the name of Battle
live around here?” Stojack asked.

“Sure,” Seyfert replied. “Up the road
a way.”

“Has he been in here today?”

Seyfert shook his head. “Nope. He
ain’t even around; he’s off visitin’ in
Tacoma.”

Battle, the sheriffs learned, was an
elderly man who kept bees and also op-
erated a small lapidary. He lived alone.

Stojack called his office. “Are you sure
the call said. I was to meet somebody by
the name of Battle here at the store?”
he asked.

“That's what the caller said. Although
his voice was kind of muffled, like he
could have been talking through a
handkerchief.”

Was the caller Self?

“Maybe he wants to make a deal,”
Stojack said. ‘““That’s why he asked for
someone to go in unarmed. He knows
he’s surrounded. From where they say
Battle's place is, the Mounted Posse
must be above him and he can see our
men on the road below.”

“T’ll bring him in,” McCullough an-
swered. “The only deal he’s going to
get is if he surrenders.”

“T’ll go in,” Stojack insisted.

Because they were in Pierce County,
McCullough had no alternative except
to volunteer. And because Stojack was
the sheriff of Pierce County, he turned
McCullough down. He’d go himself.

Seyfert told them they would have a
difficult time locating the place. Only
a narrow road led to it, winding up a
hill into a clearing.

Stojack and McCullough arranged a

to Death? (from page 34)

trusted her. She never smoked or drank
or used bad language.”

Further questioning brought out that
Carol's date, Harry Eakin, was about
20, a handsome young man she’d met
since moving to the Van Horn address
with her mother three months earlier.
The other couple had been Beatrice
Wilkey and Paul Crawford, both school-
mates of the younger girl.

“Carol was only fourteen,” Mrs.
Stevens said brokenly. “She was looking
forward to her fifteenth birthday on the
twenty-fourth of this month.”

The dead girl, it developed, was one
of five children, a beautiful, sensitive
girl, whose burning ambition was to be
an airlines hostess. She earned excel-
lent grades in school, in spite of the
‘fact that her mother had moved fre-
quently in an effort to provide for her
family. They had lived in Florida, North
Carolina, Arizona and now in Tennes-
see, where Mrs. Stevens worked as an
inspector for a Memphis laundry.

“She never got to finish a whole grade
at any one school in all her life,” Mrs.
Stevens said. “I was planning to move
back to Miami but Carol begged and
pleaded with me to let her finish this
one year at South Side.”

Goodwin said, “This Eakin boy—was
he a steady boy-friend?”

signal. If Self was there and agreed to
surrender, Stojack would radio for all
cars in the area to “freeze,”

“If I don’t use the radio, or I say any-
thing else, you'll know something is
wrong,” Stojack said. “Give me fifteen
minutes in there. If you don’t hear from
me by that time, I suppose you'd better
come in with the boys.”

They shook hands and Stojack drove
up the rutted road. McCullough and
Mrs. Stojack could see him for only a
few hundred yards, until his car crossed
a railroad track and then bounced out
of sight in the heavy timber.

The wait started for Mrs. Stojack and
McCullough.

Tense, anxious moments for the word
“freeze’’ to come over the-radio.

Stojack bounced up the heavily rudted
trail to an opening with a small house
and several outbuildings jin it. ‘He
parked his car and got out of it slowly,
holding his hands up and_ turning
around so anyone watching could see
that he was unarmed. ‘

“Anybody here?” he called.

Only his echo replied.

_ Stojack strode over and tried the door
to the small house. It was locked. He
could see no one inside. ,

One of the outbuildings was a shed
with lapidary tools. Another stored
farm tools and equipment for the bee
hives. No one was around.

Stojack went back to his car. Down
the trail from the clearing was a barn.
The sheriff slowly drove toward it.

A motion in his rear-view mirror
caught Stojack’s eye. He looked up. A
man was standing in the trail behind
him.

Stojack came to a halt and got out.

“Are you Self?” he asked.

The man nodded.

“I’m Sheriff Frank Stojack.”

Stojack walked up to him. Self had
no weapon.

“Where are the guns you took last
night from the Purdy place?”

Self pointed to a nearby tree. At the.

Mrs. Stevens shook her head. She
said that Carol never had. been too
interested in any one particular boy.
“Carol seemed mature for her age,” she
explained. “She wasn’t boy crazy or
giggly. One reason I trusted her so
much was because she was very sen-
sible.”

The mother said Carol had not
planned on going out the previous night
until her friends appeared. “She was
going to stay home with me, as she
does most of the time,” Mrs. Stevens
said. “But when they suggested going
dancing she just had to go along. Carol
loved dancing that much.”

Goodwin told the woman about the
black ink smudge on Carol's hand. “Is
it likely your daughter would have
drawn anything there?” he asked. “Ini-
tials, or something of that sort?”

“Heavens no!”

After she had given her permission
for an autopsy to be performed, Mrs.
Stevens was driven back across Hara-
han Bridge to her home in Memphis.

Sheriff Goodwin telephoned Chief
Young and notified him officially that
identification had been established. He
was told that the Memphis officers who
were sent out to question Carol's danc-
ing companions had not reported in yet.

“We should have some news before
long,” Chief Young said hopefully.

- Shortly after this conversation, the
deputy who had gone to re-question
Lacey came in. The watchman, he told

The pretty little redhead never

realized her burning ambition to

be an airlines hostess someday

base were the two rifles and blankets
that had been reported in the burglary
of the farm home.

“Where is Mr. Battle?”

“He isn’t here.”

“How did you know his name?"

“I saw it when I broke into the house
to use the telephone. I’m ready to sur-
render.”

Stojack drove out to the road with
Self. On his car radio he gave the sig-
nal “freeze.” Five minutes later he and
Self got out of the car and walked up to
a posse member. It was all over.

“T could have killed a lot of you guys,”
Self said, according to the officers. “I
could have picked you off in the woods
if I had wanted to. I’m not a killer like
you keep saying.”

However, McCullough claimed, he ad-
mitted shooting Gemmill.

On the way back to the King County
jail in Seattle, McCullough said, Self
claimed the slaying was an accident.
' “I figured I would get a couple of
bucks from the cab driver,” McCul-
lough quoted him as saying, “but when
I pulled the gun on him, he made a
grab for it and it went off.”

“The second shot through his head
was no accident,’ McCullough said.

“The—the gun—it kind of stutters,”
Self replied according to the sheriff.
“It went off again by itself.”

McCullough claims that the state-
ment does not fit the physical facts of
the crime. Only one expended shell
had been found in the cab. The evi-
dence indicates Gemmill had been shot
the second*time after being, dragged
out of the cab, the sheriff says.

Self led Sprinkle, Roskie and McCoy
to a spot in the woods where the gun
was recovered, they announced later.

Charges of first-degree murder were
filed against Self. At this writing he is
being held in the King County jail,
pending further legal proceedings.

In this story the name Lewis For is
fictitious.

the sheriff, did not recall hearing any
suspicious noises during the early
morning hours and was certain he
knew nothing helpful.

But the officer dispatched to the Cot-
ton Club had uncovered some interest-
ing bits of information. The manager
and several patrons recalled having
seen the tiny redhead on the dance
floor during the early morning hours.
Some of these witnesses remembered
that she had come in with Eakin but,
thus far, no one had been located who
saw them leave together.

And the officer also had a possible
solution for the black spot on Carol’s
hand.

“When you go into the club,” he ex-
plained, “the doorman stamps the back
of the patron’s hand with a rubber
stamp reading ‘Cotton Club.’ This is for
identification in case a patron leaves
the building and wants to come in
again—the stamp shows he’s already
paid the cover charge.”

“Then, the killer undoubtedly was
stamped, too,” Goodwin observed.

“Sure, but so were a hundred other
men who went in there last night.
That’s one of the most popular spots
in the county and the place is jump-
ing from the time it opens until it
closes around four or four-thirty.
Especially.on week ends. Besides, it
probably would wash right off.”

So the puzzle of the black smudge
seemed to have been cleared up. But
what about the punctures inside both
legs? What could they mean?

“We'll have to keep plugging away
here until we find somebody who saw
the girl leave the club,” Goodwin told
his deputies. ‘We'll need all the wit-
nesses we can find.”

As the Arkansas officials scattered
on this phase of the investigation,
Coroner McGough made arrangements
to have the body taken to Little Rock,
where more facilities were available
for an autopsy.

Case of the Stuttering Pistol (from page 37)

McCullough immediately wired the
police in Great Falls, Twin Falls and
San Francisco to see if they recognized
the name, Joseph Self, or the descrip-
tion.

Sprinkle took the fame to Northey.
“What can you do with it?” he asked.

Northey went through King County
and Washington identification books.
No one was listed under the name
Joseph Self.

“We'll try the FBI,” he said. “If this
fellow's ever been arrested anywhere
under that name they'll have a record
of it. However, it sounds phony to me.”

At about the same time,. Captain
Drost in Tacoma received a caller at his
office. The man introduced himself and
said, “I may have something to tell you
about the killing of that cab driver in
Seattle. Only, I must have your promise
that I won’t get any publicity on it.”

Drost explained that he could make
the promise only if what the man had
to reveal did not become pertinent to
the prosecution and therefore a part of
the court record. ‘|

“T’m an electric sign repairman,” the
informant said. “I drive a company car
and they have strict rules about picking
up hitchhikers. However, I did pick one
up last night.

“When I read the description of that
killer in the papers this morning I felt
pretty certain that he’s the man.”

“Where did you leave him?”

TH repairman explained he had
picked the man up just outside Ta-
coma and taken him as far as Tenino.
En route, the hitchhiker had said he
was heading for Portland, Oregon.

“When we got to Tenino, it was dark
and raining hard,” the repairman said.
“This fellow said he thought he’d have
a hard time picking up another ride at
that time of night, so he asked me if
he could wait until I finished my re-
pair job and then ride back to Tacoma
with me where he could rent a cheap
room for the night.”

He had taken the hitchhiker to the
skid-row section of town.

“Did this fellow stutter?”
asked.

The repairman shook his head. “Not
so far as I noticed.”

Drost and his detectives located a
hotel where the clerk recalled that a
man answering the description of the
bushy-haired suspect. had registered at
ten o’clock in the evening. He had used
the name Lewis Fox.

“He sat in the lobby for awhile
watching TV,” the clerk recalled. “The
news came on at half-past ten with a
flash about the cab driver being killed
in Seattle.”

Shortly before eleven, the guest had
made a phone call from a pay booth
in the lobby. Following that, he had
gone upstairs to his room.

The time of the telephone call
matched the time the police in Tacoma
received the message from “Higgen-
back” that he had killed the cab driver.

No one had seen Lewis Fox leave the
hotel in the morning. :

And at the time he hitched a ride to
Tenino and back and went into the
hotel, he had not been carrying the two
home-made canvas bags.

When Drost called in the report to
Sprinkle in Seattle, Sprinkle had an
idea.

“He had his bags sent here to Seattle
by bus freight in the first Place,” Sprin-
kle said. “And he must have known, if
he heard the news reports, that we were
looking for someone with that type of
luggage. Chances are he checked the
stuff somewhere. Try the train depot
near where he abandoned the cab.”

The stranger .had not checked his
luggage at the train depot. Drost went
next to the Tacoma bus depot. There
he learned that a man giving the name
Joseph Self had sent two pieces of lug-
gage by bus freight to Spokane.

Drost

‘However, a man of the same descrip-
tion, bushy-haired, with jug ears and
Stuttering, had bought a ticket to
Puyallup.

' Puyallup is just outside of Tacoma.
Spokane is all the way across the state.

The Spokane police were notified.
Sure enough, the two pieces of luggage
were there.

“Stick with them and arrest anyone
who calls for them,” Sprinkle requested.

Next, bus drivers to Puyallup were
questioned. One was almost certain he
had carried the bushy-haired man on a
trip that left Tacoma shortly after ten
o'clock in the evening.

Sprinkle reported to Sheriff McCul-
lough. “If this fellow went to Puyallup
at ten o’clock, then he couldn’t be the
one who made the telephone call to the
Police in Tacoma,” he said: “That ¢all
must. have been a phony—a crank.”

“What about the luggage in Spo-
kane?” McCullough asked. ,

“I asked Spokane to go through it
and they found only work clothes. Noth-
ing to make any further identification
of the owner. Our only hope is that he
may head for Spokane from Puyallup
and call for it.”

“If he doesn’t kill someone else before
he gets there,” McCullough said grave-
ly. “He got only a few bucks from the
cab driver. When he uses that up he'll’
try his gun again for more.” :

Sprinkle was well aware of this. The
killer was on the run. As police closed
in, he would become more and more
desperate.

“How much of this do you want re-
leased. to the press?” Sprinkle asked.
“If he went to Puyallup and is heading
for Spokane, somebody may spot him
trying to hitch a ride.”

“We have to warn the public he’s in
that area,” McCullough said. “But I
think we can keep the information
about the baggage being’ in Spokane
under our hat for awhile. Otherwise
he’ll never show up to claim it.”

“Maybe,” Sprinkle said. “It doesn’t
have anything of value in it. He may
have sent it there with the idea of
throwing us off the track while he heads
someplace else.”

As Sprinkle and McCullough were
talking, Captain Northey entered. the
sheriff’s office.

“There’s your man,” he said, drop-
ping a police identification photograph
on McCullough’s desk.

“Are you sure?” asked the sheriff,
picking up the photograph.

“I’m _ sure of this. much,” Northey
said. “He was in the front seat of that
cab and put his right hand on the
flashlight. Here is the comparison of
the thumb print I picked up from the
flashlight and the thumb print of
Joseph Chester Self.”

Northey had found twelve points of
Similarity between the prints. and no
points of dissimilarity. “And that will
stand up in court any day,” he said.

The police photograph was from the
Oregon State Penitentiary.

“How did you come up with it?”
Sprinkle asked. “I thought you couldn’t
get a make from a single print.”

“You can’t. But I figured if this Self
character wasn’t from here, he might
have a record ina nearby state. Oregon
age him, all right. That’s all there was

The print, the name of Self, and the
fact that Self had used the name in
shipping his baggage, left little doubt

. in the minds of the detectives that he.
was the man they had to find.

Where was he now?

A complete record was obtained from
Oregon. It showed that Self had been
born in Tacoma on January 16, 1931.
His mother had died when he was six
years old and he had lived with an old-
er sister, leaving to go it alone when he
was only eleven years old. hs

He had been in trouble with the police
as @ juvenile and joined the Army when

he was only fifteen by lying about his
age. Self was sent lo Japan with a cav-
alry division where he was punished for
insolence, disobedience and being
AWOL. He was found guilty of selling
Government property on the black
market in Japan and was given a dis-
honorable discharge and a two-and-a-
half-year sentence in a military prison.

After he was released from this
sentence he went to the Oregon Peni-
tentiary for burglary. Paroled in Ore-
gon, Ke had been convicted on the same
charge in California and sentenced to
San Quentin Penitentiary. He’d been on
parole from there for only eight months.

THE record showed that he had been

in one Federal prison,*, two state
penitentiaries, four county, jails’ and
numerous city jails. Since he was sey-
enteen he had spent two out of every
three years of his life in police custody.

“He’s con-wise and with a serious
rap hanging over him, he’s going to be
plenty dangerous,” Sprinkle said. “We
are going to have to grab him quick or
he'll run up his score higher.”

“Release his picture and let it. be
known he was seen last in the Puyallup
area,” McCullough ordered. “I’ll call in
every man we’ve got and ask the Pierce
County sheriff to let us help in a search
around Puyallup.”

That was how the case switched from
the metropolitan centers of Seattle and
Tacoma to the rugged, almost inacces-
sible country at the base of Mount
Rainier. And that was how Sheriff
Frank Stojack of Pierce County got into
the case.:

For, once Self’s name was known,
officers in Tacoma, his birthplace, had
addresses to look up and neighbors and
acquaintances to question. They learned
that Self had spent quite a bit of time
in.the woods near Puyallup. Radio and
TV newscasts mentioned that fact.

Friday afternoon Mrs. Geneva An-
dermann, proprietress of the Alpine Inn
in the small town of Ashford, tele-
phoned Sheriff Stojack’s office.

She'd just seen Self ; She’d just served
him at her lunch counter, she breath-
lessly told the officer who answered
her. A woman who'd been there at the
same time also recognized him.

Later the same day, Mrs. Kenneth
Trummert and Mrs. Oscar Anderson
reported that they had seen a man

walking along the road whom they
identified as Self.

Sheriff Tim McCullough brought
every available deputy and car he had
into the area. Sheriff Stojack had all of
his men join in the search. Police of-
ficers from Tacoma, Morton, Elbe, La
Grande and other cities volunteered to
help. Loggers and farmers with their
hunting rifles joined the posses.

Many of the police officers and depu-
ties were there on their own time, When
they finished their regular shifts, they
just stayed on.

By Saturday night, the normally
quiet little communities in the foothills
were bristling camps with tense men
holding their guns in readiness.

“We've got to dig him out of here and
fast,” McCullough said. ‘“He’s des-
perate; he may try to take some family
as a hostage to break through.”

Stojack agreed.

Word was being carried on the radio
that Self was in the area. Families of
the community were warned to lock
their doors and admit no ong. Every
farmer and logger had his gun loaded
and ready. Few persons slept.

Only one road leads out of the area,
which is a national park. At the town
of Elbe it branches, with forks going
north and south. Road blocks were set
up.

During the night, campfires burned
as the posse members waited and
watched.

Saturday afternoon, the situation be-
came even more tense.

Mrs. Sylvia Purdy, living near Elbe,
reported that when she had returned
from a shopping trip, she found the
lock forced on her front door. Two
hunting rifles, a quantity of ammuni-
tion, some food and two heavy blankets
had been stolen.

“He’s going to make a siege of it,”
McCullough said when he heard this.
“And with the rifles, he could make it
really tough in these woods.”

McCullough called a conference be-
tween his men and Sheriff Stojack’s,
Stojack is a former wrestling champion
and college and professional football
player.

“He’s on foot and he'll probably stay
that way because he knows we have the
roads blocked,” McCullough said. “Our
only chance now is to surround him and
close in slowly.”

Patrolman Wall, completely disguised as a woman, prior to going:
on duty lights a cigarette with the mannerisms of a man (page 17)

ur outstanding).
MONTH ($33.3

CRIME (Foon The Gorrrs OF Man-116£2)

THE HANGING
OF JOE SELF

continued

¥
A

first minute of tomorrow—Jyne 20th, 1963,
The hangman's noose ie choke the i
breath Joe Self would ever draw.

Joe heard every word of the death war-
rant Warden Rhay read. He'd heard it
three times .before—the three times he'd re-
ceived a stay of execution. But this time,
Joe knew, only the governor’s last-minute
reprieve stood between him and the hang-
man. One chance in a billion. That’s what
his lawyer had told him when the last ap-
peal was turned down.

“... hanged by the neck until dead...”

That’s what the judge had said, and Self,
recalling the solemn judicial pronounce-
ment, now whined: -

.-. They’ve got no right to hang me...
I’m not a cold-blooded killer...1 didn't
want to kill that guy...I'm not going to
leave this damned cell...

BEADS of sweat popped on Joe’s fore-
head, His throat tightened and there
was a hint of a dull pain at the pit of his
stomach,

Warden Rhay finished reading, slipped
the typewritten death warrant into his
breast pocket and waited. The guards
moved behind Joe—ready to start the
march,

Self looked at the chaplain, a short,
slender man with com white hair. The
priest's compassionate blue eyes seemed to
magnetize Joe into action. Slowly, as if in
; dream, Self turned toward the open cell

oor. i

' Joe felt like two people—one wanted to
fight, dig in his heels and stay put... while
the other Joe Self, looked on, resigned to
his fate. Joe’s feet moved without sensation,
and the sound of his heels against the floor
startled him as he walked, flanked by the
guards, down the long, sterile corridor.

.».What was it Father McCabe said
once, after I told him I wanted to be bap-
tized... Oh, yeah... that Christ had over-
come the fear of death and death itself...

Joe swallowed hard. “I’m not scared,” he
said to his escorts, But his throat was so
constricted that his words came out in a
choked whisper. ~*

Strange how his legs worked all by them-
selves, Joe thought. ... Left, right, left,
right... just like in the Army... Hup, two,
three, four... Man, what a laugh... Back
in °48, the drill sergeant almost had a stroke
when I tried to march in step, and look at
me now... Hup, two, three, coll ... And
the warden and the guards keeping step

. with me, the foul ball of C Company...

They walked out of the building and the
sunlight made Self blink. On the left, past
the water tower, stood the prison chapel,

.»+ Would they kill a man in the chapel?
...A hundred-foot sprint and he could be
inside... safe...down on his knees and
praying... They wouldn't kill a:man at
prayer... a 2

But Joe meekly turned right with his
grim escort. The dining hall and the admis-
sions building flanked the narrow paved
walk. At the end ‘of the walk was Tower
Three. The guard looked down at the
marching procession, and without letting
go of his rifle, he mopped his red face with
a large handkerchief,

«++ The bullet is better and quicker than
the rope... That's what the guys said...
Now’s a chance to make a run for it...
Let the guard fire...

The two guards ahead of Self turned the
corner, into the shade of the laundry build-
ing. The: condemned man followed. The
shade gave only an illusion of coolness.
Sweat now ran down Joe’s face. He licked

his parched lips,

<.-One more corner and we'll be there...

Joe, as everybody else in the peniten-
tiary, knew where the death house was—the
two nine-by-nine. cells and the gallows...

per ygapeonprs oT

nT ETT

cote ee RES

a4)
e
;

“end of the road
“ oriternal Light h
A. shaded ele ~~~
night above th
house. The lieu!
as though hortunw~
moan of air escapir
between the door a:
.,..Lord have m
What was it that gu
souls of the hang
howled around that
The lieutenant ©
massive breath of
the dark interior.
guard to walk in st
with a final thump.
Up one flight of
steel door by the
moan of the souls
short half-flight u)
left and another d
time Self hesitated
he knew, would 0;
last door that wot
earth. ;
The sun still sh
skylight, casting
bars on the whit:
death cell. The sin
with a blanket an
knew he wouldn't
that hard, clean
called. ‘
Right outside
was a telephone !
wall, so that th
guard could get
at the last mome:
... They say ¢
lint is a good guy
“Joe, 5 a ‘
right,” Fathei
i see nodded ab
..» Why didn
with me that da
Why wasn't the:
tell me what was
was wrong...
do?

That ra
three year:
off the bus Co
Terminal, walk:

sleepy waiting 1
his head outside
He felt in his
Two coins — tw:
enough to get !
coma.

. Self looked a
fluence all arou
office buildings
ater resplenden!
...a restauran'
Joe thought. K
bucks or maybe

... How can
in this damned
odd jobs ata b
Joe pulled out
rettes, fished o
ened it careful!
cursed softly. !

HoLninc t
a redcap.
gotta light?”

Startled by
didn’t move a
at Joe.

A wave of !
neck and mad
hair tingle.
his distended
cigarette, thr
and stomped

Liat athnetrst tt euanred Oe: 2 fdas spar
Meh A Ma tnntn at a 4 LAS Stithioa bdo doar Oberg

1 Ma

(Bett Let ge Lhariff Lt; AM Ak ¢A1,

Be oe

[22/21 1/23/21, 1/24/21 “Wasp
2/27 ; thst VE

th, Arkansas furniture maker
h have now been acquitted.
‘rown, 20, and Raymond Wood,
found innocent by separate
‘lier, Frederick Rush, 26-year-
son of the victim, had been
of murder and is serving a life

d been tried first, then Wood’s
and finally, Miss Brown’s ac-
ne through July 11, 1963. In
n’s Case, Judge Paul Wolfe
iry a choice of four verdicts:
in prison, accessory after the
ocent. The jury, consisting of
1 two women, got the case at
and returned the verdict at

same day the defense had
lout calling any witnesses,
ad rested its case the previous
0. Miss Brown’s trial lasted

BEEN KILLED!"

mber, 1962)

er charge against Rita Shaw
ity, Oklahoma, was dropped
3, but that did not end the
ms of the 19-year-old wife
d murderer Homer Ottie
Shaw was moved earlier to
unty jail June 26 to be held

3 charges.
3 plans for prosecuting Mrs.
inaping, Osage County At-
es said he did not think she
been convicted of murder.
's husband is serving a life
state penitentiary at Mc-
aad shot Mrs. Bertha Bar-
the back of the head after
ad forced their victim to
1em to an abandoned gran-
ounty. The Shaws had ab-
3artholomew and her two
1 from Osage County when
‘Mm burglarizing her home,
Osage County wanted the

Ding.
vere arrested July 27, 1962,
‘ined in the same jail for
'(r without appearing in
nee had she been out of
jail, when her court-ap-
‘rs sought a change in
‘and was tried for
Rita listened to
I.

S / dreaming” while
tita has written letters,
1Zazines and love Stories
‘red table cloths and
and look at the four walls
ill you can do,” she said,

LATEST REPORTS ON
CASES PUBLISHED IN MD

Bat laktiw Pat TES Wey

Rita Shaw escaped a murder rap in one
county, but was immediately grabbed by
another county to face kidnap charges

“NEXT DOOR TO THE GALLOWS"

(MD June, 1963)

Joseph Chester Self, convicted slayer
of a Seattle taxicab driver, was executed
on Washington’s Walla Walla gallows on
June 20, 1963. An hour before Self was
hanged, Washington Governor Albert D.
Rosellini refused to commute the con-
demned killer’s sentence to life in prison.

A series of legal postponements thus

came to an énd, with Self giving up his
life in return for the one he took March
16, 1960. On that day, Self was hungry
and broke. “I had the gun and decided
to rob someone,” he confessed to police,
so he got into Ralph Gemmill’s taxicab.
While riding, Self pulled the gun and
demanded the cabbie’s money. But Gem-
mill put up a fight, and in the struggle
he was shot in the head and in the ab-
domen. The killer’s haul: $17.

Self was careful to wipe off the inside
of the cab before abandoning it, but he
left a fingerprint on a flashlight. “I for-
got about the flashlight,” he told police.
“T knew I'd touched it.” He was arrested
four days after the crime in Sumner,
Washington,

In June of the same year, a jury found
Self guilty of murder in the first degree
and sentenced him to die by not recom-
mending mercy, but his struggle to stay
alive had just begun. Self appealed to
Washington’s Supreme Court and lost.
He appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court

and lost. Again he appealed to the state’s |

high court, but its verdict remained un-
changed. Finally he appealed to the gov-
ernor for clemency and was rebuffed.
And so the trap was sprung beneath Self
at 12:01 a.m. on June 20th. A physician
Pronounced him dead 11 minutes later.

Self had been Causing trouble since he
was 18. At that time an Army court mar-
tial convicted him of stealing and selling
so0vernment property. He spent 24 years
in the USS. Disciplinary Barracks at
Camp Cooke, California, then received
an undesirable discharge. Self then spent
two years at San Quentin for theft and
another two years at the Oregon State
Penitentiary for auto theft. West Coast
Police arrested him a dozen times for
theft and larceny of automobiles. But
when he was 33 years old, the law and
the rope saw to it that Self caused no
more trouble,

Although Ralph Gemmill, 39, had died
in the same manner his killer was to die
four years later—violently—he had lived
a different kind of life. “Ralph was a
big, easy-going guy without a real care
in the world,” said his younger brother
John. “He lived quietly; there was just
the wife and himself, Although he no
longer Participated, Ralph lived sports.
He spent much of his off-duty time either
coaching a neighborhood football team
or watching the college games.”

When King County Sheriff Tim Mc-
Cullough saw Gemmill’s body lying be-
side a dirt road just south of the Seattle
International Airport, he didn’t recog-
nize it; the face was covered by too
much blood. But he recognized the name,
for Gemmill had been a local football
and soccer hero,

Three former athletes then combined
their talents to help apprehend Self.
Sheriff McCullough, a former basketball
star, organized the search for the killer.
King County Prosecutor Charles O. Car-
roll, a former All-America football Star
at the University of Washington, filed a
first-degree murder charge against Self.
Pierce County Sheriff Frank Stojack, a
one-time star at Washington State Uni-
versity and former light heavyweight
wrestling champion of the world, en-
tered the cabin where Self was hiding
out, spun him around and clapped a

Pair of handcuffs on the fugitive.

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Rees ms RSL Se

Reeteee Saas

us. Why not

pay dirt al-
iight ticket
ure as that
zht a ticket
n. the night

wo tickets,”
re said he
» and I sold
or so later,
-d the Spo-
bought an-

d the Sum-
to the wait-
. little later,
oft, she had
onger there.
orogress re-
ugh before
sheriff had
fe said that
flashlight
ictim’s taxi
’s prints on
son,
ullough said

‘ht have felt
for a set-
and Roskie,
Sounty De-
Archer and
» little daf-
y were

of Joe

-. driver
‘om Tacoma

\L DETECTIVE

‘we

the night before, and he didn’t rec-
ognize the mug shot as’ anyone he’d
ever seen, on his bus or elsewhere.

Returning to Seattle, they found
that another link had been forged in
the chain of evidence against the
suspect. McCullough’s . men _ had
checked with police in Great Falls,
Montana, whence Self had told peo-
ple he had come by bus, and learned
that he was wanted by police there.
He had bought a gun a week ago and
paid for it with a rubber check.

Dropping a couple of slugs out of
an envelope onto his .desk, Sheriff
McCullough said: “These are_ the
bullets Doc Wilson took out of Gem-
mill’s body during the autopsy.
They're 7.65 millimeter, probably
fred from.a foreign made gun. And
Great Falls detectives tell me Self
bought a 7.65 German automatic.”
While a ballistics comparison test
would have to be made if and when
Self and the weapon were located,
McCullough felt his men had already
gathered an overwhelming case
against the suspect. The sheriff now
conferred with King County Pros-
ecutor Charles O. Carroll. Carroll, a
one-time All-American football star
at the University of Washington,
fled a first-degree murder charge
against Joseph Self.

The elusive suspect remained at
large for another two days. On the
19th, Saturday, he was sighted twice,
once in the morning, once in the
afternoon, in the general vicinity of
Eatonville, near the entrance to
Mount Rainier National Park. The
second time time he nearly fright-
ened a housewife in a remote area to
death. She had just been watching a
news report on the hunt for the mur-
der suspect on her TV set. She
looked up from the screen as his pic-
ture was flashed on it to see the man
himself peering in her window. He
ran away when she screamed. Pierce
County Sheriff Frank Stojack and
several deputies rushed to the area
in response to her frantic telephone
call, but Self had disappeared into
the woods.

Early the next morning, some two
score King and, Pierce County dep-
uties, headed by Sheriffs McCul-
lough and Stojack, fanned out in a
large area, then moved to form a
large circle around the place where
Self had last been seen. Slowly the
deputies closed the ring.

This gambit continued until Sher-
iff Stojack was summoned from the
posse by radio to hear that a man
claiming to be Joe Self had tele-
phoned minutes before and said he
wanted to give himself up. He said
he was holed up in an unused sum-
mer cabin not far from where the
posse was searching. He gave direc-
tions how to get there, and warned
that he wanted the sheriff to come
alone and unarmed, or he’d start
shooting.

Sheriff Stojack, one-time athletic
star at Washington State and former
light heavyweight wrestling cham-
pion of the world, did not hesitate.
Putting his service revolver in his

car, he walked to the cabin and

knocked on the door. There was a
shuffling noise inside, then the door
opened and a heavily bearded man
came out.

“You Joe Self?” Sheriff Stojack
asked.

“D’m Self,” the man replied.

Stojack spun the man around and
clapped a pair of handcuffs on him.
“Where’s the gun?” Stojack de-
manded.

Self nodded in the direction of a
cluster of small shrubs. Keeping a
wary eye on Self, the _ sheriff
searched beneath the shrubs and
came up with a pistol.

“This the one you used on Gem-
mill?” Stojack asked.

Self stared sullenly at the sheriff
and remained silent. Stojack marched
him up the road and turned him over
to Sheriff McCullough of King County,
who put the suspect in his car and
rushed him to Seattle. :

The sheriff, Chief Nault and Lieu-
tenant Roskie questioned him, but
Self wasn’t talking. Patiently they
spelled out the case they had built
against him. It was a thoroughly con-
vincing recital, even in bald, un-
adorned outline, and at 9:10 p.m.,
Self, after another moment of inde-
cision, began talking and gave a
statement which took two and a half
hours to complete.

Joe Self said he arrived in Seattle,
broke and hungry, on Tuesday. He
got enough money to eat and take a
room for the night by pawning a few
things, including a stolen watch. Next
day he was broke again.

“T had the gun and decided to rob
someone,” his confession stated. “I
got in this guy’s cab and told him to
take me to the airport, but I had him
stop along the way. I loaded the gun
in a filling station and told the cab-
bie to take me to Puyallup instead.
This made the driver suspicious and
he turned. around to say something.”

Gemmill found himself staring into
Self’s loaded gun. “’Get off the main
highway,’ I told him,” the confession
read. “I told him he wouldn’t get
hurt.” Self said Gemmill told him:
“For a minute you scared the hell
out of me.”

After he had turned off the main
highway, Gemmill was ordered to
drive toward Puyallup. Self spotted
a side road and forced Gemmill to
drive up it.

“I told him I wanted his money
and I got out of the cab,” Self’s con-
fession went on. “He got out and
started giving me his money. Then,
as I was putting the money in my
shirt pocket, this cabbie jumped me.”
Self insisted that the gun went off
in the struggle. “I heard him moan
and he let go of my wrist.” Self
denied firing a coup de grace shot
into Gemmill’s head.

“T fell on top of him and the gun

went off again,” Self claimed. He
then jumped back in the taxi and
drove to Tampa, where he aban-
doned it after wiping off the inside
of the car. “I forgot about the flash-
light. I knew ra touched it.” Self
said he walked to the Tacoma bus
station and bought a ticket for Spo-
kane.

Changing his mind, he turned back
the Spokane ticket and bought an-
other for Sumner. He had hitch-
hiked a ride with a truck farmer
from Sumner to Eatonville, where
he thought he could lose himself in
the woods.

“How much did you get off Gem-
mill?” Lieutenant Roskie asked.

“Just seventeen dollars,” Self re-
plied disgustedly.

Joseph Self was brought to trial a
few months later before a jury in
King County Superior Court. The
jury, agreeing with sheriff's investi-
gators who testified the evidence
indicated that Gemmill was shot
down without warning, brought in
a verdict of guilty. By failing to
include a recommendation for mercy
in their verdict, the jury expressed
its intent that Self should die on the

.gallows in Washington State Pen-

itentiary. He was taken to the prison
at Walla Walla and lodged in a cell
on Death Row.

For two years, one appeal after
another delayed his date with the
hangman. All were rejected by. var-
ious state courts, including the
Washington Supreme Court. In one
portion of their opinion, the justices
commented that rarely had they seen
such a wealth of evidence of guilt.
Self’s attorney then took the case to
the United States Supreme Court.
When it finally was examined by
that tribunal, they refused to admit
it for hearing after studying the
evidence. Then Self’s lawyer found
grounds on which to resubmit the
case to the Washington Supreme
Court. The decision on this final
appeal was the one which was to be
rendered on January 17, 1963.

When, the word came, Warden
Bobby Rhay went to Self’s cell and
broke the news, all bad. The state
Supreme Court had turned down his
petition.

The only thing that could possibly
save Joe Self from the hangman’s
noose now was executive clemency.
Meanwhile, a new execution date,
June 20, 1963, was set.

Almost till the very last minute,
Joe Self clung to the hope that he
would never climb those steps to
eternity, but exactly one hour before
he was due to die, he got the last
bad news he would ever receive.
The Governor of the State of Wash-
ington had refused to commute the
condemned murderer’s death sen-
tence to lifein prison. —

Right on schedule, therefore, Jo-
seph Chester Self, at the age of 33,
mounted the scaffold at the Walla
Walla prison. The noose was ad-
justed around his neck and moments
later, the trap was sprung.

Joe Self’s career of crime was
ended. kkk

Gallows Bait (from page 51)

and Eugene. Tried and convicted of

auto theft, Shelf served two years in

the Oregon State Penitentiary before

being released in 1956,

“We have no further record on
him,” the reporting officer stated. At
Nault’s request, he agreed to rush
Self’s criminal record, a prison mug
shot and, most important, a set of
fingerprints to Seattle on the next
bus. All of this material, the officer
estimated, should arrive in Seattle
sometime in the early evening.

“Good,” said Chief Nault. “Pll
have a man at the bus depot waiting
to pick it up.”

The detective chief now was all
but convinced that Self had been
Ralph Gemmill’s last taxi fare. “All
we need to cinch it is a couple of
more witnesses who may have seen
him near the bus station. Then, of
course, we’ve got to find this guy.”
Nault promptly sent detectives to
check out several cheap hotels in the
general vicinity of the bus station.

Lieutenant Roskie, along with De-
tectives O’Rourke and Frank Chase,
was assigned to interview bartend-
ers and patrons of the neighbor-
hood’s taverns. It seemed likely that
Self might have whiled away some
time in a tavern or two over a few
drinks.

Catching this Suspect might take
some doing, Nault realized. The stir-
wise Self, knowing he faced a mur-
der rap if caught, probably had made
tracks out of the area. Tacoma detec-
tives, working with Sheriff McCul-
lough’s men, had not been able to
pick up the suspect’s trail since he
ditched his victim’s taxi near the
Tacoma Steel Company.

“But then we haven't had much
of a description to work on,” Chief
Roy Kerr of the Tacoma Police
Department pointed out.

Chief Nault assured the chief that
as soon as Self’s picture arrived from
Oregon, he’d have copies made and
rushed over to Tacoma. Until then,
there was little else to do except
wait.

Shortly before 5 p.m. the after-
noon after the murder of the taxi
driver, one of Nault’s hunches paid
off handsomely. Sergeant Connolly
and Detective Dallas, scanning the
register of the Albion Hotel at Sixth
Avenue and University Street, lo-
cated Joseph Self’s signature. He had
checked in early on the 15th and out
the following day. The two officers
impounded the hotel register and
took it to headquarters. The signa-
ture on the register and that of the
luggage slip were almost identical;
another link in the fast-growing
chain of evidence against Self was
forged.

At almost the same moment the
two signatures were being compared,
Lieutenant Roskie encountered the
bartender owner of a small tavern at
Eighth Avenue and Pine Street. The
man was almost certain that Self had

een a customer in his place on the
evening of March 15th.

“The guy had big ears and he
mentioned he’d just gotten off a bus
from Montana,” the bar owner said.

Just after 7 o’clock that evening,
two sections of a Greyhound bus trip
from Portland arrived at the Seattle
bus station. Detective Hal Chase was
waiting as the driver of the second
bus alighted, package in hand. Chase
rushed the package to headquarters
where Sergeant Roy Reirson, head
of the sheriff’s photo lab, waited.

Reirson, a former newspaperman,
swiftly copied the mug shot of Self
and began to run off copies for the
waiting detectives. Chief Nault
grabbed one and hastened to the
home of the woman bus company
employe.

“That’s him!” she exclaimed in-
stantly when she was shown the mug
shot. “I think he looks a bit older
now, but that’s the man who called
himself Joseph Self.”

Although the photograph was
taken in 1954, when Self entered the
Oregon State Penitentiary, it bore a
remarkable likeness to the suspect
as he looked now, the woman stated.

Half an hour later, several other
employes of the bus station baggage
department, as well as the bartender
and the manager of the Albion Hotel,
had identified Self’s picture.

Another sheaf of copies of the mug
shot went to Undersheriff Sprinkle
and Lieutenant Roskie. They took
off on the run for Tacoma, where a
squad of local detectives were wait-
ing. As the photos were passed
around to each officer, Sprinkle made

a suggestion.

“This guy travels by bus. Why not
try the bus station here?”

The detectives struck pay dirt al.
most immediately. A night _ ticket
seller identified the picture as that
of a man who had bought a ticket

for Spokane about 10 p.m. the nightf

before.

“Actually he bought two tickets,”
she explained. “First he said he
wanted to go to Spokane and I sold}
him a ticket. But an hour or so later,
he came back. He turned the Spo-

kane ticket back in and bought an- |

other for Sumner.”
She didn’t see him board the Sum.- |
ner bus. He had walked to the wait-|

ing room and sat down. A little later, |

after the Sumner bus left, she had
noticed the man was no longer there,

Sprinkle telephoned a progress re-
port to Sheriff McCullough before
leaving for Sumner. The sheriff had
news for Sprinkle, too. He said that
the thumbprint on the flashlight
found in the murder victim’s _ taxi
had been matched to Self’s prints on
the records sent from Oregon.

“Self’s our man,” McCullough said
grimly.

The elation probers might have felt
about this time was due for a set-
back, for when Sprinkle and Roskie,
accompanied by Pierce County De-
tectives Sid Biven, Ward Archer and
Paul Otto, had scoured the little daf-
fodil town of Sumner, they were
unable to turn up a trace of Joe
Self. They located the bus driver
who had driven the trip from Tacoma

A7Haesick |

I “You're allowed one telephone call, and if | was you I’d dial-a-prayer,”

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE

‘a

the night b
ognize the
ever seen, 0
Returning
that anothe
the chain
suspect. |]
checked wi
Montana,
ple he had
that he wa:
He had bou
paid for it \
Dropping
an envelop
McCullough
bullets Doc
mill’s bod:
They’re 7.
fired from
Great Fall:
bought a 7.6
While a
would have
Self and tl!
McCullougt
gathered
against the
conferred «
ecutor Cha
one-time /
at the U:
filed a_ firs
against Jose
The elus
large for a
19th, Satur«
once in th
afternoon, :
Eatonville,
Mount Rai
second tim:
ened a hou:
death. She
news repor’
der suspec
looked up f
ture was fiz
himself pec
ran away \
County Sh
several der
in response
eall, but S
the woods.
Early the
score King
uties, head
lough and
large area,
large circle
Self had 1:
deputies clo
This gam
iff Stojack
posse by r
claiming tc
phoned mi:
wanted to
he was hol
mer cabin
posse was ;
tions how
that he we
alone and
shooting.
Sheriff ©
star at Wa:
light heavy)
pion of the
Putting his
car, he w

$1,300

tk grabbed his
soft-spoken rob-
away from the
re shown above.

[TS |

ed up the cash
in his pocket.
‘id coolly, “and!

indit had gone
ed that one so
. such a calling.
inusual type of
1 walked across
iva Belless was

Montana police
ig change from
d the gun from

ircumstances, for
oung man’s gun-
sed the cylinder
fe she called for

as he jerked it,
red into the open

- attempt to close

sandit. shoved the
the store into the

AM atacand aban abit roto |

BY FORMER CHIEF OF
POLICE HARRY CUSACK

Olympia, Washington
WITH HOLLIS B. FULTZ

t- week rigs

a4
NER RE ere ea

"HE DIDN'T SMOKE AND
“DIDN'T TOUCH LIQUOR
—BUT HIS FINGER ON
THE TRIGGER SPELLED
DEATH FOR FOUR!

darkness. As he started to flee along the slippery side-
walk, McManus rushed from the building and began to
shout, ‘Police! Police!”

I must have missed hearing those yells by only a frac-
tion of a minute, for in addition to being Chief of Police
of Olympia in that year of 1919, I was operating the
Stewart Hotel only a block and a half from the Penney
store. I had hardly seated myself at the dinner table when
the telephone rang and the desk sergeant informed me of
the robbery.

Hastening down the stairs, I heard firing of two differ-
ent pistols down near the lower end of Fifth Avenue in
the vicinity of the Union Pacific Railway yards. Toward
that firing, in company with a ‘patrolman whom I had
met on the street corner, I now hurried. :

But I was not the only one, I soon learned, who had
been attracted by the cries of McManus. C. R. Cass and
E. H. Schultz, working on an. automobile in the garage
of the Schultz Auto Company, half a block from the
looted store, had heard the yell of “Stop, thief!” and
Schultz, the proprietor, had grabbed a gun from his desk
and given chase. It was the firing of his gun and that
of the bandit which I heard as pursued and pursuer ran
along Fifth Avenue.

As I reached the high board fence over which the ban-
dit had evidently scrambled, followed by Cass and Schultz,
I heard the bark of a big pistol from the vicinity of the

casa DAwitiAnies:.

wet eek

He slew four men and died at a rope’s end—yet no one
“except his mother knows the real identity of the youth who
ohn Smith, then Johann Schmitt.

Lae

eat

_ one side, the bandit’s gun follow

to his companion, Patrolman McMillan.

“That fellow doesn’t look good to me,
Neil. And that bulge in his pocket doesn’t
look like a handkerchief, either !”

McMillan glanced at the man and nodded.
“Let’s shake him down.” The two started
across the street.

Though the man saw them coming, he
made no attempt to move. Hands in his
pockets, he continued to loll nonchalantly
against a light post. Not until Patrolman

Angle reached the curb, slightly in advance ©

of his companion, and stepped up to accost
him, did the man betray the least sign of
their presence,

Then it happened!. i

Like a flash, the stranger’s hand came
out of his pocket, clasping an automatic.
Flame spurted twice and the officer stag-
gered, spun around and crumpled to the
pavement.

McMillan reached for his gun. Too late.
Thrice more came the vicious spat of the
automatic and he, too, doubled up and sank
in’ his: tracks. :

The double slaying over, the killer wasted
no time,:Whirling around, he ran up Har-

- rison street. As he passed the home of W.

B. Buffom, a half-block away, Mrs. Buf-
fom-andiher daughter, hearing the shots,

’-. rushed ‘to the door. “Get back there, you!

he shouted, and a bullet crashed into the
* woodwork less than a foot from their heads.

~- Rounding the corner, he vanished.

Passing autoists picked up the bodies of

~ the two policemen while nearby residents

frantically notified headquarters of the
shooting. A general alarm was sounded and

within a few minutes practically every of-.

ficer on the force was hunting the killer.
Dercmrs T. G. Montgomery and James
O’Brien, however, engaged in a mission to
Chinatown,. had not heard the :news. Re-
turning to headquarters, they were stopped
by Patrolman Mull. He told them what had
happened and gave them the man’s descrip-
tion. “If you see a fellow—young—light~
hai ing a red mackinaw—don’t try

to arrest him! Shoot—or he'll get you”

first |”

Grimly, the officers nodded. Both had -

known McMillan and Angle well and the
news was a great shock’to them. As they

_ started up Second street, Dean Carman, a
: ier civilian acquaintance, fell into step-

de them. Noticing the set look on their
faces, he asked the reason. As Montgomery

_ started to tell them, O’Brien uttered a sharp

erctermapcn

faa ‘glanced up and his jaws
came together. Less than a half-block away
a red mackinaw! NP Fe
Gecttead’ each fox your rent ae

4 Pt O'Brien had already done so. Asihis +
gun whipped out, the killer’s, too, streaked - - took
r

om his pocket. Police gun and automatic
exploded almost together. As the sharp,

° down, a bullet under his heart. ;
_° Caught in the blazing line of fire, Car-
~ man sought to escape. But as he ged to

An instant later, he, too, fell; shot through
the groin. Re 2
: ' .*. The Killer is Felled ge
Y NOW, Nouns had but. one
‘bullet left. As the gunman s to-

took careful aim. The two reports rang out
a split second apart. A bullet ripped through
M mmery’s coat but the killer went
It was
been

that the man wouldn

walking straight at. them—was a man in

staccato sound split the air, O’Brien went:

him, °

ward him and leveled his gun, the officer

second gun. Before he could draw it, the
‘detective’s fist crashed into the gunman’s
jaw and the killer went down again.
Hearing’ the shots a score of people had
“rushed to the scene. Among the first to
reach there was Mull. While Montgomery
held the man, he securely handcuffed him.
Other officers took charge of the dying de-
tec’’'ve and wounded civilian, while the
triple killer was.rushed to headquarters.
Although the whole affair had been but
a matter of minutes, word of the shooting
had already preceded him. Three of the
‘most popular men on the force had been
shot down in a single night! No wonder
the silence was ominous as they hurried
him past pose of stern-faced men to the
office of. Captain Tennant for griljing.
- Sensing the feeling around him, the pris-

- oner adopted an air of defiance. Asked why

he had killed the policemen, he snarled:
“No cop is going to lay his hands on me
and get away with it. I’d do it.again—
any time!” é
-"To all other questions he preserved a
sullen silence except when asked his name.
“Smith,” he jeered. “And if you don't
believe it, try and find out. That’s what
you smart detectives are paid for!”
» Realizing further grilling was useless—
t talk—Captain Ten-
nant ordered him removed to a cell.
. Meanwhile, as word of the killer’s atti-
tude got around, feeling in the department
mounted high. Soon it had reached such a
“o that the authorities decided to turn
im over to me for safe-keeping. Shortly
after midnight, I smuggled him out to the
county jail and placed him in a cell in
“Murderer’s Row.” . ‘

, Set Early Trial

ECAUSE of the enormity of his crimes
and the belief, despite admissions of
guilt, that he would put up a bitter fight for
his life, state attorneys decided to ask that
the trial date be set as quickly as possible.
But to their surprise at the arraignment the
following day, it was the killer who pressed
for an peal hearing. y
. “I’m guilty—and I expect to hang,” he
‘told Superior Court Judge Ronald. “Why
ae out? Let’s have it and get it over
with!”
Surprised, the judge asked him if he
had secured a lawyer. To this he replied

. no, that he .intended to plead guilty and
~ would have no need of one. Judge Ronald

told him the law did not allow such a plea
/4n a first. degree murder case and that if

«~he did not secure counsel, the state would

have to appoint one. The prisoner’s only
answer was a and a cool: “All right.

- But he'll get no help from me!” -

Convinced that he wanted an early trial,
piige Ronald set the date for the follow-
ding

ook place.

“> When court opened that morning, Smith

' was as as his word. He listened in
“bored. silence as the’ state witnesses took
the. stand and if their testimony took long,
open impatience showed on his face. When
the defense turn'came, not.only did he de-

‘cline to say anything in his own behalf, but
“he refused to permit his attorney to do so.
- Consequently, his counsel’s plea consisted
~ of but 20 words: “God Almighty put the
» breath of life into this young man’s body;
~ God alone has the right to take it away.”
~~ At 4 o'clock that afternoon, the case
_-went to the jury. Realizing their delibera-
> tions were bound to be brief, I took Smith
< to a small room adjoining the court to
await their return. While his fate was be-
z. pans decided, he 8 “a
(“funny paper” and laugh:
Ten ra eetinies a verdict’ was an-

and:I led Smith back to the court- ly

tt the time reading a
hing ! ‘

hursday—just 6 days after the crimes

room. As the customary lega] formalities
were gone through the killer’s face regis- 4
tered disgusted impatience and he audibly : it «
muttered: “Bunk!” qa 1

A moment later the verdict was read. As i te
the words; “Guilty of first degree murder” i "

fell on his ears, Smith grinned and turned ™ Oly
to me. “Well, that’s over. Come on, sheriff whe
—let’s go!” cou

As we left court I said: “For a man just i ther
receiving the death sentence, you don’t seem 4 H
very depressed!” He sobered for an in- : uall

stant and then his lips quirked into what
Captain Tennant called his “cruel” smile. “He

“I Was Born to Hang” den
és HY should I be?” he replied. “I ; slip}
. knew it was going to happen soon- a char
er.or later. Some people are destined to: be Si the
killed by autos. Some are born to fall out 4 “4
of a rene window. But J was born to ; all 1

df to b
As he uttered this statement, I looked at star!
him closely. From the first 1 was convi ( any<
he was no ordinary criminal. His col Be said
steely eyes and his hardness were those : 1 me t
a ruthless, experienced killer-—yet a thor- j ther
ough search by Captain Tennant had failed hanc
to find his face in the “mug” books or his ran

prints in the files. -. :

But I wasn’t satisfied, There was some-
thing about the man that impressed meas. ss
being familiar. But it eluded me and as I : 3 ‘
locked the man up my thoughts must have 7 k
shown in my face, for again he ‘smiled that

peculiar smile. day:
“““Trying to figure me out, ch, sheriff? deci
Better not ‘waste your time!” the

“Don’t be too sure,” I replied. I locked big
myself in my office and ransacked my mem- it 8
ory. Finally, I. got out his picture and tae

description and studied them. And then, a ?
suddenly, -something clicked! = :

The red mackinaw he had been wearing! had
Somewhere, in some recent crime, a man besi

_ had worn such a garment. and it had im- arou
‘pressed me forcibly at the time because it be «

- had seemed such a conspicuous color. 4 ento
But where had the crime happened? ; ¥ “I
When? And then it came to me. The ban-’ . | I sti
dit who had held up the store in Olympia . 3 tow:
—who had later killed Schultz—had worn : di

. a red mackinaw! : r
* But Green, whom McManus had identi- 4 til
fied as being the robber—how about him? : “D

ag the store manager been wrong—or was

Quickly, I sent. for the “mug” book and
laid the picture of Smith beside that of .
Green. Instantly, the riddle was clear—
for outside of the eyes, the faces were alike:
During the holdup and the excitement that
followed, it would have been easily pos-
sible’ to have mistaken one for the -other.

Satisfied I was right, I went to the con- _ He
crete roo own as the “gray room” of a 2 was
confessions—I had’ Smith s . a 1932

When he ‘came in, I motioned him to a ing

“I see you're still wearing your red a,
nieidnaw tet began. ‘ with

He glanced at me in surprise. “Why, the «
sure, That’s my lucky coat. Or it was un- ericl
til the other night!” i Hog
’ “Lucky coat?” I inquired. “Lucky for a si

, what—murder?” ‘ ; a serv

He stared at me. “What are you getting in B

at, sheriff?” ; offic.

’ “You know what I’m getting at,” I replied.

“Why did you kill those three officers the nag

other night—rather than face arrest?” - B
He continued to stare, said nothing. Whi
“All right,” I went on. “I'll tell you. The as a

reason was, not because you objected to

being searched—but because. you were o'clo

afraid that if you were arrested, we might negr

pin that Olympia killing on you!” be guar
At my. words, he grasped the chair tight- — { man:
and for a moment we looked at each 3 then

alities
regis-
idibly

d. As
irder”
urned
heriff

n just
seen
in in-
what
smile.

ed. “I
soon-
| to. be
ill out
orn to

ked at
vinced
cold,
10se of
thor-
failed
or his

some-
me as
das I
it have

uuacanl=
-e and
| then,

caring !
a man
ad im-
ause it

pened ?
1e ban-
)lympia
1 worn

identi-
t him?
of was

ok and
that of
clear—
-e alike.
ent that
ly pos-
> other.
he con-
om” of
imoned.
m to a

our red

“Why,
was un-

rere
ght

ur ught-
at each

“SCTIVE

7
q
Ri
q

—

other. Then with a shrug, he relaxed.

“Okay, sheriff—you’ve guessed it. Well,
it doesn’t make much difference.” He
paused and again that inexplicable smile
flitted across his face. . :

“Yes, I killed a man named Schultz in
Olympia once. I held up a store there and
when the chase got hot, I hid between a
couple of houses. He followed me and
there was nothing to do but plug him.”

He spoke of killing the deputy as cas-
ually as he might have mentioned the
weather. I waited a’moment, then asked:
“How did you make your getaway?”

He grinned. “That was easy. After the
deputy dropped, I hurried over to my hotel,
slipped a raincoat over my mackinaw and
changed my cap for a hat. Then I went to
the bus station.

“A bus was there, bound for Seattle,
all ready to pull out but just as I started
to board it, a party of men rushed up. They
started asking the driver if he had seen
anyone of my description and when he
said ‘No,’ one of them turned and asked
me the same thing. For an instant I thought
there was going to be some shooting. My
hand was on my gun when another man
ran up. He called out something and they
all started off down the street.”

Bored, He Robs Again

‘RIGHT after that the bus pulled out
to Seattle. I hid out there a few
days but one night I got tired of it and
decided to take in a picture show. It was
the Coliseum theater, and when I saw the
big crowd lined up, paying in their money,
it gave me an idea. I hunted up a pal and
a couple of nights later we held up the
place.

“After that job and the Olympia one, I
had money but I spend pretty freely and
besides, I don’t like to stay idle. So I looked
around. The gas filling stations seemed to
be doing pretty well—so I decided to go
into the oil business.

“During the next three months I guess
I stuck up just about every gas station in
town—some of them two or three times. If
I didn’t get enough—a hundred dollars or
so—on my first haul on a night, I kept on
until I did.

“My best night’s work’ was when I

robbed a collector named Lincoln—and I
can thank the newspapers for that. After
a holdup one time, they mentioned that if
I had been just ten minutes earlier I could
have caught the collector making his
rounds. I remembered that. The next night
I was there.

“After that fellow—Elwood Cox, I think
his name was—got shot in the car when
the police mistook him for me—things got
pretty hot and I decided to pull out for
Spokane. I stayed there a couple of months

and then went on to Portland and other .

cities. I did so well I figured on starting
the racket all over again in Seattle. I was
ies getting set when those cops grabbed
me ”

As the man unfolded his story, I listened
in growing amazement. Never, in 25 years
of law enforcement, had I heard a more
extraordinary confession.-At one swoop he
had not only cleared up the Schultz mur-
der but the Coliseum and filling stations
holdups as well—crimes which had never
been solved and of which he was not even
suspected !

And not the least remarkable part of it
was ‘the deadly. calm, unemotional way ih
which he spoke of his deeds. The self-ad-
mitted killer of four seemed to feel not the
slightest concern over his acts. It puzzled
me, .
“Don’t you feel any remorse for your
crimes—for the men you shot down?”

“Remorse?” he flared. “Why should I
feel remorse? I risked my life when I
tackled a job—why shouldn’t the cops?
That’s what they’re paid for. If they’d have
got me, I wouldn’t have squawked. So why
should they?” .

He paused and his deep-set eyes gleamed.
“Besides, if it. wasn’t fora cop, maybe I
wouldn’t me here now. Listen—

“My real name is Schmidt. I was born
in Germany, of: a good family—where
doesn’t matter. One day after I came to
this country, two men got into a street
fight. I stopped to watch and a cop came
running up. The crowd scattered—and in-

stead of grabbing the fellows who had been ©

doing the fighting—he jumped on me and
knocked me down.”

Again he paused and that queer smile
quirked at his lips. “As I told you—my

family was a good one. I wasn’t used to ©

treatment like this. Well—I spotted that
fellow. I tracked him down and I got even
with him—no need to go into that here.
But that’s why I hate coppers!”

As he. paused, his eyes flaming, I saw
he had whipped himself into a crazed
frenzy. I knew there was little chance of
getting more out of him and ordered him
taken back to his cell.

The following morning, I took him to
court to hear his sentence pronounced.
Asked by Judge Ronald if he had any
statement to make, he shook his head.
Then, as a hushed silence fell over the
courtroom, the judge leaned forward. “The
sentence of this court is that-you be taken
to the state prison at Walla Walla and
there on the first day of April be hanged
by the neck until you are dead.”

Jokes At Sentence

S THE words fell on his ears, Schmidt’s
lips tightened, but only for an instant.
Then he turned to me with his usual grin.
“Gee what a bum April Fool’s joke to play
on a guy!”

Two days later, we left for Walla Walla.
As the doors of the steel,death cell clanged
shut, his face whitened. And coming away,
I wondered if his iron nerve was breaking
at last. Facing death, would he crack like

‘ most of them do?

_ But that was his one moment of weak-
ness. To his guards he remarked: “Death
interests me,” and true to his strange phil-
osophy, he kept his courage up to the end.

When they came at dawn on the fateful
morning to get him, he was ready. Taking
his place ‘at the head of the procession, he
walked quickly out of the cell house and on
to the lawn that led to the scaffold. Reach-
ing it, he rapidly climbed the steps and
whirling about, clicked his heels and raised
his hand in rigid salute. “I’m ready,” he

* called.

And then a curious thing happened. As
the guards adjusted the black hood over
his face and stepped back, a lark perched
on the scaffold and burst into song. Be-
hind a cloud, the morning sun glowed pink.

There came a dull thud.

John Schmidt, confessed murderer of four
men, had paid for his crimes.

(The name Oliver Green used in this

_ Story is fictitious.)

He again escaped on July 11, 1929, and.
was not caught until January 19; 1931. In
1932, he broke jail in Frederick, Md., lead-
ing a rush on the jailer. Earlier in his
career, he walked out of the Washington
county jail at Hagerstown, Md., mingling
with the outside help when they left for
the day. His home is in a section of Fred-
erick County back of Braddock, known as
Hog Bottom.

Swiggard, aged 33, was a first. offender,
serving five years for robbery with pistol
in Baltimore after he held up a small loan
office, and was so successful he returned
two weeks later to again rob the cashier,
but was recognized and arrested.

Both men were trusties in the laundry.
Whipp was a mechanic. Swiggard worked
as a presser.

When the laundry closed down at 2
o'clock, Whipp and Swiggard, with four
negroes, remained to clean up. The regular
guard was on leave. Swiggard in some
manner checked in with the other prisoners,
then backtracked to the assorting room and

ADVENTURES

climbed into a bin under the soiled laundry.
Later Whipp and the two negroes checked
in, and Whipp backtracked and joined
Swiggard. Later the guard returned to the

laundry, made his.inspection and locked up.

Whipp and Swiggard waited about half an
hour in the assorting room then went to
work. The tools had been hidden in the
bins earlier. }
We learned Whipp had been planning
this break for ten months, and three months
before had asked Swiggard to join him.
We also learned of another break being
planned by ten others. Whipp knew about
this and was supposed to go with them. He
did not tell. them anything about his own
plans, however. :
Assistant Deputy Warden Rudkin’s in-
vestigation explained why the laundry door
had been jimmied on the hinge side. To
make sure of getting through, Whipp had
made wooden pins for the hinges and, re-
moving the steel pins, inserted the others.
The broken pieces of the wooden pins were
on the floor in back of the door. The steel

pins had beerr replaced in the hinges, after
the men had succeeded in getting into the
laundry proper.

Officers searching the countryside learned
the men had boarded the 6:25 local at Jes-
sups for Baltimore, mingling with a group
of Camp Meade soldiers awaiting the same
train.

Assistant Deputy Warden Rudkin, three
officers and myself hurried to Baltimore,
picked up the trail of the. prisoners at
Camden Station and followed it to the
home of Whipp’s sister, Mary Lurson, in
South Baltimore. We arrived 10 minutes
too late.

Trail Leads South

pect noon the second day after the
escape—Christmas eve—we heard that
the men were hiding out in a house in the
900 block of South Broadway, the home
of Mrs. Lurson’s mother-in-law. Eastern
District Police rushed there, but the fugi-
tives, the woman and another man were
gone. Later they were reported traveling

aly

VALIANT VICTIM

From his garage, E. H. Schultz saw the
bandit run by, grabbed a gun and gave
chase. A few seconds later he fell
dead, a Luger bullet through his eye.

MISSED BY INCHES

Ex-Chief of -Police Harry Cusack, co-
author of this story, got to the Olympia
bus terminal only seconds too late to
catch the innocent-looking fugitive.

LOOTED OF $1,300

Although a woman clerk grabbed his
arm and screamed, the soft-spoken rob-

ber made a quick getaway from the,

Olympia department store shown above.

THE KILLER!

WITH NO BAD HABITS

the capital city of the state of Washington, on Monday

afternoon of December 23. A drizzle of rain dampened
the sidewalks, but not the ardor of those bent upon holiday
buying ; a spirit of festivity filled the air.

Inside the J. C. Penney store on Fifth Avenue busy clerks
hurriedly wrapped packages and hastened on to other cus-
tomers. To expedite sales, the customary sending of all money
received to an upstairs cashier’s office had been temporarily
abandoned, and tills in separate parts of the store were being
used as cash drawers. ;

Shortly after 5:50 o’clock a tall, intelligent-looking young
man, probably twenty-five year old, approached Assistant
Manager Henry McManus and asked to see some ‘underwear.
He selected the first one displayed and then requested a hand-
kerchief. As McManus turned to get this, the man stepped
behind the counter. From the pocket of a long brown
mackinaw he pulled a Luger pistol, which he held low by
his side.

McManus turned around. He saw the young man standing
close beside him, blue eyes blazing with a fierce determination.

“See this gun?” said the bandit. “I want the money in that
till. Keep your hands down.”

The young man turned toward the money drawer, one of
those old-fashioned affairs, with wires and pulls underneath.
He tried to open it, but failed:

“You open it,” the bandit ordered.

Cte expat shoppers thronged the strects of Olympia,

McManus complied. The young man scooped up the cash

and checks from the till and placed them in his pocket.
“Now I’m going to get the other side,” he said coolly, “and. ~

you had better stay here.”

Impressed by the manner in which the bandit had gone 4

about the holdup, McManus was yet surprised that one so

young and decent-looking would be engaged in such a calling. ~
He decided instantly that this was a most unusual type of
desperado, and he made no outcry as the youth walked across ~
the store to the counter behind which Mrs, Elva Belless was ~

working.

Mrs. Belless, for sixteen years the wife of a Montana police ; :
officer before coming to Olympia, was making change from ;
her till as the bandit approached and flashed the gun from 7

beneath the long mackinaw.

Mrs. Belless knew what to do under such circumstances, for -

her husband had told her. She grabbed the young man’s gun-
hand, intending to slip the catch which released the cylinder

of the pistol and then to grapple with him while she called for

help.

till.

Mrs. Belless screamed and made a futile attempt to close
the till on the man’s fingers.

But with $1,300 in his possession, the bandit shoved the
shrieking woman aside and backed out of the store into the

“Let go of that gun,” hissed the bandit-as he jerked it,
viciously from the woman’s grasp, and reached into the open ‘

HE Di.
DIDN’
—BUT
THE °

DE/

darkness. As

walk, McMan:

shout, “Police
I must have
tion of a minu
of Olympia in
Stewart Hotel
store. I had h
the telephone ;
the robbery.
Hastening dc
ent pistols dow
_ the vicinity of
that firing, in
met on the str:
But I was 1

been attracted |

E. H. Schultz,
of the Schultz
looted store, h
Schultz, the pr:
and given chas
of the bandit \

along Fifth Ay

As I reached
dit had evidentl:
I heard the bar

Se et ny re

(ng

O’Brien read the letter over twice.
“That’s our man, I’ll bet on it,” he said.
“Now if she’d only send a photograph.”

“Tl write for one,” Matt Starwich
said. He did, but the letter came back
some weeks later from the dead letter
office as “unclaimed.”

Every spare moment of his time
O’Brien haunted the library. He had
every bookstore in Seattle under sur-
veillance. Every branch library was
covered. But apparently the killer had
forsaken his literary ambitions.

On November 4th, the cool bandit
robbed a service station in Georgetown
of $75.

Two nights later, he calmly entered
another $250 in his little book after
holding up the gas station at East 57th
Street and Brooklyn Avenue.

Then on November 20th he made
another small entry. Only $45 this time,
taken from a service station at North
45th Street and Stone Way.

O’Brien and the whole police force

were begir to feel that the bandit
had a char: life. “If he had the
power tO inake himself invisible,”

O’Brien despaired, “he couldn’t be
harder to lay hands on.”

But all of the detective’s thoughts
didn’t keep | ‘rom acting. He asked
,Chief Tennas: ‘ur fifty men to stake out
at likely gas stations, Tennant agreed.
Day in and day out, the stations were
covered.

And for several weeks nothing hap-
pened. Then on December 5th the
bandit. appeared again at Lincoln’s
service station.

“T need. a little money for my Christ-

mas vacation,” he told Lincoln, “so I
came back to you again. How much
have you got for me this time?”
‘ Lincoln debated what to do. But the
cold killer-look in the hard eyes of the
bandit decided him. He handed over
his money, a little more than $200.

“Tell the cops,” the killer told him,
“to give the boys a rest watching the
stations. I’m laying off until after
Christmas and,” he added, squeezing
his ungloved hand flat on the show.
case, “here’s a nice picture of my paw
for that sap O’Brien.”

Transferring the gun to his left hand,
he took his notebook from his coat
pocket and did some more bookkeeping.
“Can’t kick about my earnings: this
year,” he laughed. Then he added, “I
guess O’Brien figured I wouldn’t hold
you up a second time so he gave you no
guard. Too bad. But I’ll-be back next
year.. Merry Christmas.”

_ « With that he was gone. When O’Brien

listened to Lincoln’s story, a thought
struck him. -The bandit knew too much
about him and what he was doing.
Where could he have found out about

_ the guards? Only from the operators

at whose stations guards were placed.

“So,” O’Brien told himself, “he must .

be chumming with some operator. I’ve

. questioned the boys who have been

held up. Now I'll try the ones who
haven’t.” ;
At Headquarters he made out a list

: of the stations at which guards’ were

placed. Then he called Detective Mont-
gomery. :
“This bandit,” he.said, “may own a

car. You go to Olympia and check
every driving license against his de-
scription. We may find something.”

O’Brien himself interviewed the sta-
tion operators on his list. He didn’t ask
this time about a man in a cap and
brown coat.

“T’ve got a letter from a mother ‘in
Chicago,” he repeated over again. “She
wants me to find her boy and send him
back to her for Christmas. He drives
a nice car and is about six feet tall.”
He added the wanted man’s descrip-
tion.

iy j / t
Ie pipe :
A
tee

John Smith around twenty-five years old,
student, Tall, blond, blue eyes. Description
from dealer who sold car. Checked out here
August 3rd. Present address unknown.

“That must be the bandit,” O’Brien
thought. “I’ll check every garage.”

O’Brien found the Ford roadster in
‘the garage at Second Avenue and Vir-
ginia.

“It’s been here for nearly four weeks
now,” the attendant told him. “Smith
said he didn’t like driving in winter, so
asked me to take care of it.”

With the help of Levi Bradley,

From doorway (3) the killer blazed away. At (2) Detective O'Brien
fell mortally wounded, while Dean Carman collapsed at (1)

At the station on Fourth Avenue and
Marion he had his first piece of luck.
“That sounds like Johnny Smith,” the
operator told him. “But he left Seattle
three weeks ago. He said he was going
back home to Chicago.” :

“What kind of a car did he drive?”
O’Brien asked, trying to keep elation
out of his voice. '

“He’s got a new Ford roadster.”

O’Brien groaned inwardly. Of course,
it had to be a Ford, with every second
car in Seattle a Ford. But undaunted
he set.to work checking car registra-
tions.

Then he smiled. The third name
down from the top of the second page
was John Smith. His car was a Ford
roadster. The address was Ravenna

"Boulevard. Ih}

O’Brien rushed out there and found
John Smith busy behind the counter of
his little store. He was sixty-eight
years old, an inch or so over five feet,
and weighed Well over 200: pounds,

The detective returned to Headquar-

. ters and, grimly determined, continued

checking the car registrations. There
was one other John Smith, registered
to a hotel in Spokane. |}
O’Brien asked the Spokane depart-
ment to check the man. The answer
came in a few hours, {|

" ddesbhicosLinektaties

O’Brien checked the roadster and found
quick proof that it belonged to the killer.
Bradley developed several sets of good
prints, that checked with those of the
killer. In the back of the automobile
was a large stack of Scientific American
Magazines and several books on psy-
chology. In the left front pocket
O’Brien found a map of Seattle. Every
service station that had been held up,
was checked off.

™@ WARNING THE attendant to keep
his lips shut tight,.O’Brien laid cover
on the car every minute of the day. But
John Smith didn’t come near the
garage, nor did Montgomery find any
driver’s license issued to the killer.
O’Brien, figuring that the killer

would probably be living somewhere |

near, himself haunted the neighborhood |

continually and at other times had
plainclothes men staked out.

But the days slipped by without re-
sults,

Then, on January 14th, Police officer

‘Volney Stevens was shot down by a

gang of robbers. The local papers
blamed this killing on the Olympia
killer, :

“I don’t think’ that’s true,” O’Brien |
told Chief Tennant. “Our John Smith |

is a lone wolf.”

TRUB DETECTIVE

bo aon Wo EO)

CTIVR

He was right. Police Sergeant Edwin
Herald recognized a member. of the
gang and when they were all rounded
up, they proved to be Craighton Dodge,
C. A. Brown, Louis Madson and Jack

Daniels. None of their prints checked

with John Smith’s.

In his office O’Brien mulled over all
he knew about the killer, then went in
to see Tennant.

“T think, Chief,” he said, “we’ve done

this thing backwards.’’‘
“What are you driving at, Jimmy?”
“Well, we searched every dump,

tective left the office and was asked for:

news by the reporters, he acted as if he
were concealing important facts. °

“Better get set for some real news
soon, boys,” he- told the newsmen.
“We'll have the killer in the jug in a
few hours.”

At their insistence he added, “I’ve
had this killer figured all wrong. We’ve

hunted for him on skid row, but he’s in
one of Seattle’s best places and we’re”
going to search every doggone one from’:
cellar to attic and I bet we’ll find him.” -
O’Brien contacted Sheriff Starwich™.

Ambulances remove the woulided officers and Detective O'Brien ( right arrow)
enters his car, all unknowing that the desperado (left arrow) is close by

every cheap rooming-house in Seattle
for this killer and we drew a blank. I
think we should search the best joints
in town instead. All the good apart-
ments. All the top hotels.”

“Why?”

“Look at that letter from the mother.
I bet he was brought up right. He’s
educated, reads psychology books. And
look at the money he’s pulled in. Must
be close to sixty thousand. Enough to
put him up at the best joints in town.”
Tennant hesitated at the idea of search-
ing all the better places in Seattle.
Finally he compromised. “I’ll put a
man on duty in every hotel and apart-
ment house. If they see him, we’ll get
him.”

“Wait a minute, Chief,” O’Brien said,
“T’ve got an idea.”

For some time, the detective figured
every angle of his plan, then turned to
Tennant. “Let’s call in the news-
hounds and give them a line. Or better
still, let me do the bragging. I can put
it over. [ll tell them I know the killer
is hiding out in a high-class joint and
that I’m going to search till I find him.
I figure he’ll move and we'll have every
street covered. Maybe the Sheriff will
help again.”

Tennant thought it might work and
gave O’Brien his okay. So when the de-

DECRMBER, 1941

and asked for his help. “You bet,” the
Sheriff replied. “Every one of my
deputies will be at your disposal. We’ll
cover the whole town like a flypaper
at the end of the fly season.”

The evening papers carried O’Brien’s
planned statement in large headlines.
The detective grinned. There wasn’t
much chance of the killer’s not knowing
what he intended to do. “Hope he falls
for it,” O’Brien muttered, nervous in
spite of himself. Would the killer see
through his plan and just lie low?’

At eight o’clock that night, January
21st, the officers took up their stations,
two to each block. O’Brien had care-
fully repeated the killer’s description.
“Don’t forget,” he told them, “that he’s
really two men rolled in one. When
he’s out to rob, he wears the brown
coat and cap pulled over his eyes. When
he’s just sight-seeing, he’s a fashionable
young man in a light-gray coat and a
decent hat. He’s a killer, a rattlesnake,
without the rattles. So watch your step,
boys.”

Patrolmen W. T. Angle and Neil H.
McMillian had been assigned the block
between Broadway and Harrison on
Tenth Avenue.

It was cold. An arctic wind was blow-
ing up from Puget Sound. “I don’t
think this punk will come out ona night

E. H. Schultz, garage owner,
chased a fleeing shadow and
was fatally shot

like this,” Angle growled. “I bet he’s
nice and warm between the blankets,
and I wish I were, too.”

Suddenly the officer’s figure stiffened.
McMillian asked, “What is it?” He
turned in the direction in which the
other was looking.

Angle said, “I saw something by that
small cypress across the street. Let’s
take a look.”

Both officers started across the street.
A tall figure stepped from behind the
cypress. The gun in his hand flamed.

Angle stumbled, fell slowly on his
face, a bullet under his heart.

McMillian’s gun roared. The killer’s
gun hurled a snarling answer. Mc-
Millian rocked on his feet. Mortally
wounded, blinded by blood running
into his eyes, he emptied his gun at the
shadowy figure.

Across the street the killer’s gun
blazed again. McMillian rocked with
the shock of tearing lead. Then he
shaped across his unconscious part-
ner,

The killer stalked’ with slow, long
steps across the street. The gun was
steady in his hand. He touched the two
bodies with his toe.

@ A MIRTHLESS grin flitted across -

his face. Then he looked up at Mrs:
W. T. Buffum, her daughter Ethel and
friend Johnson, who, attracted’ by the
shooting, had come out on_ their
veranda.

He motioned with his gun. “Get back
inside,” he snarled, “or I’ll blow your
heads off.”

As the three hesitated, awed by the
callous shooting, the murderer sent a
bullet crashing into the doorway over
their heads. They ran into the house.
From up the street came the pounding
of many feet.

Both patrolmen were rushed to the
hospital, but it Continued on page 105

eal

Continued from page 45—was apparent
that there was little hope for them.

As the news of this new killing spread
through Seattle, every officer, more
grim, more determined, intensified his
hunt.

On their section, O’Brien turned to
his partner, T. G. Montgomery. “He’ll try
to get his car, I think, and if he does, he’ll
have to come by here.”

Montgomery pointed across the street.
“There’s Dean Carman. I’m going to ask
him to keep his eyes.open.”

O’Brien nodded and walked up Second
Avenue. Out of the corner of his eyes he
saw a movement in the shadow of the
entrance to a business building.

O’Brien shouted, “Hey, you there, come
on out into the light!” .

mM CARMAN AND Montgomery, hearing
O’Brien’s shout, rushed toward him.
Montgomery yelled, “I see him!”
Then two shots blazed out of the dark

entrance. The first hit Detective O’Brien

in the heart. Dying on his feet, the splen-

did officer emptied his service gun at the

dark shadow. Then he slowly sank to

the pavement, staining it red with his
blood.

The second shot hit Carman. He fell
to the sidewalk, his leg shot from under
him.

Again the killer’s gun roared. Mont-
gomery felt hot lead tear at his arm.
It jerked his gun hand and made him
miss. '
He aimed steadily. His gun sent bellow-
ing blasts echoing across the street from
building to building. He knew he had
been hit twice. But, biting his lips, he
fired at the spurting gun in the hidden
killer’s hand.

Then Montgomery’s revolver clicked
emptily.

Snarling an angry curse, Montgomery,

threw his empty pistol at the killer. He
hurled himself across the sidewalk. The
killer’s gun exploded in his face.

Yet Montgomery never hesitated. Seeth-
ing with anger at the killing of his partner,
he smashed his fist into the bandit’s face,
and only when the killer lay stretched out
on the cement, did he realize that he had
broken his wrist with the fury of his
blow.

Montgomery snapped handcuffs 6n the
unconscious bandit. Then he staggered,
swaying with the loss of blood, toward
Jimmy O’Brien.

But the brave detective was beyond all
help. He was dead.

The sound of the shooting brought quick

assistance. . Montgomery and Carman
were rushed to the hospital, the killer was
hurried to jail.

To Levi Bradley, photographer for the
Police Department at that time, fell the
sad duty of taking a picture of his be-
loved comrade, lying stretched out on the
cold pavement.

Unashamed tears ran down Bradley’s
face. Jimmy O’Brien and he had joined
the Police Department on the same day
and had been buddies ever since.

Night after night, whenever he could
spare the time, Jimmy O’Brien had come
up to Bradley’s small den in the rear of
the city jail and talked over with him the
progress of the hunt, and perhaps even
asked for a little encouragement to keep
after the killer.

Only the night before, Bradley had
offered to take Jimmy O’Brien’s picture
at his studio, and now he was taking it,
not sitting in a comfortable chair in a
warm studio, but lying stretched out, a
real officer and a real gentleman who had
not known fear.

When Lieutenant Bradley told me the
details of O’Brien’s courageous police
work, he showed me the picture, but felt
that he couldn’t release it for publication.
And I thought the more of him for that.

At the jail it was found that the killer
had been hit five times, but not seriously.

At first the prisoner gave his name as
John Smith, but later changed it to
Johann Schmidt. “It isn’t my right name,”
he told the officers, “and that I’ll never
tell, because it is a very aristocratic name
and I do not want to bring any disgrace
on it.”

When asked what he had done with all
the money, he replied, “I have most of it
buried, together with my private papers,
including my account book. You'll never
find it.”

He was right. Neither the. money nor
the papers have ever been located.

He smiled a little sadly. “I am sorry I
killed O’Brien. He was such a good scout.
Twice I helped him look for me. I was
right in the crowd at the Morey place
when he arrived. I practised quick chang-
ing every day in my hotel room. Some-
times I would wear, a butcher’s apron
rolled under my coat and when the hunt
was on, I'd drop that down and nobody
ever looked twice at me.”

Schmidt was arraigned before Judge
A. W. Frater ihe ‘er his capture.

In the middle of th: proceedings,
the Judge announced he had just
been informed that © Angle had

died.

Two days later Nei! \icMillian died of
his wounds and when, two days after that,
the trial got under way, a mile-long
funeral procession, with flag-dtaped
coffins in the lead, passed the court-
house. '

The killer glanced casually out of
the window and told Judge Frater, “I
killed those guys and I want to be
hanged.”

The selection of a jury took only a few
minutes. The presentation of the evi-
dence was completed by four o’clock
and a few minutes before five the jury
returned a verdict of guilty of quad-
ruple murder, without any recommenda-
tion. ;

On February Ist, 1921, Judge Frater
sentenced Johann Schmidt to be hanged
in the Washington State Penitentiary at

‘Walla Walla, on April 1st.

“That, your honor,” the prisoner said
in a clear voice, “is the right day for my
hanging. I have been a fool and All
Fool’s Day is a splendid choice.”

While waiting to be taken to Walla
Walla, Schmidt asked the Sheriff to allow
him to look at the picture taken at the
Morey holdup.

M WHEN STARWICH brought the photo-

graph, Schmidt studied it for a moment,
then jabbed a lean finger at a position near
the ambulance. “That’s me,” he grinned.
“I was just as curious as the rest of them.”
He winked at the Sheriff. “That time I
didn’t even bother to change my cap or
overcoat.”

A few days before the execution, Sheriff
Matt Starwich arrived at the office of
Governor Louis F. Hart in Olympia. With
him was a heavily veiled middle-aged
woman,

“This lady, your excellency,” Starwich
said to the Governor, “is the mother of
Johann Schmidt. She would like to re-
main incognito, but begs for a chance to
say good-by to her son.”

The Governor readily gave his per-
mission and the night before the execu-
tion, mother and son were alone for near-
ly three hours.

What passed between them no one else
knows. Johann Schmidt died at the break
of dawn under his chosen alias, three
hours after his mother left him, a weep-
ing, brcken woman.

Along the Main Stem

Continued from page 49—from that
stacked deck in a very expert way indeed,
because he does nothing less than lay
down a Royal Flush! I blink some, and
Eddie who is excitable by nature is so
greatly surprised that before he, can pre-
vent it he lets out a yell that can be heard
all over the rattler. “Dammit!” he roars,
“That is certainly not the hand we gave
you!”

Usually, however, nothing so unfor-
tunate as this occurs. But what sométimes
happens at this point is that the sucker
feels so glum about blowing this much
folding scratch that he begins to suspect
what has been going on. It seldom does
him any good because Eddie and I have
run up against that sort of thing many
times before and we know the answers.
Sometimes we have fitted the conductor

DECEMBER, 1941

with a percentage of the touch so that
when the mark squawks he only gets the
old run around. :

Of course it is not always possible to
fix the kayducer, and so quite a number
of cute ways have been worked out to
blow a mark off so that he does not think
of beefing. In a huge duke game as above
one of the best is the tear-up, a very neat
dodge that is calculated to cool off the
most suspicious chump in such a way that
he never even realizes he gets the works,
at least not until it is way too late.

The way it works is this. I accept the
mark’s check for the amount he loses and
Eddie speaks up and says, “I do not think
it is quite fair to take this man’s money
because he is not a very good player and
I did not expect to play for money when
we started, myself.” Whereupon I agree in

a very charitable way and proceed to tear
up the check in small pieces and light a
match to them. The reason I burn it is so
that the savage never has any chance to
examine those pieces. Because, if he does,
he will discover that it is not his check
at all!

Due to some sleight-of-hand that takes
place, it is only a blank that looks like
his. I always carry quite a few blank
stiffs of different colors and sizes to match
anything I am likely to run up against.
I fold the mark’s check, start to put it
away in my kick, and make the switch
just as I decide that it would not be at all
gentlemanly to take the jack.

When Mr. Bates sees me tear up the
check, that is the convincer. He rests
much easier in his mind and decides that
everything must be on the up and up after

105

ecm aR

el ae tel nisin iiadiniailalas

Ast contel ‘bandie’ whi carne and’
‘vanished “like -8 ghost slew three
“= bOpe on’ bis. read. te ‘the iohors

ae - ee 2%

. “O’Brien was a good

HIEF of Police Charles Tennant of Seattle, Washington,
spoke apologetically to’ Detective James O’Brien who
faced him atross the desk: “Sorry, Jimmy, to recall you to.
duty ‘so soon, but. it couldn’t be helped. This service station”
mugg has become a one-man crime wave.. Thirty-eight robberies
since August and it’s now only December: twenty-second! He’s.

got to be stopped, and from now on that’s your job. How’s your -

wound?. Think you're equal to it?”,

He referred to 4 flaming gun battle between two bandits and
O’Brien which sent him toa hospital with 2 45 slug in his
» thigh, and the two highbinders to the morgue.

The Irishman grinned. “Fit as a fiddle except for a little
stiffness. What’s the dope on this fellow?”

Tennant’s face sobered. “Although little more than a boy,

say twenty or sd; he’s as smart, cool and methodical as an old-
timer. A lone-wolf, too. Evidently well-educated, and is de-
scribed as blonde, tall, handsome and often smiles and jokes
with his victims.”

“Sounds like ‘some thrill-hungry college boy gone wrong.”

m sorry

had to

~ O’Brien chuckled: “Maybe he tan be breaght back to le of ; :

righteousness.”

The chief shook his head. “Don't gamble on het’ He basa

shot or killed anyone yet, but he’s as dangerous as forked light-

* ning: “And keep that in‘ mind when you run into him. You'll
probably have a live lead anytime. now, as he'll doubtlessly go *

for some of this heavy Christmas money. Good-luck, Jimmy—
and be cautious.”

Tennant’s prediction was soon realized. The bandit was to
strike and strike again with the viciousness of a cobra.

- Henry McManus, assistant manager of the J. C. Pennéy store '

at Olympia, Washington, sixty miles south of Seattle,. glanced
tiredly toward the mezzanine where the offices were situated.
It was December 23rd, 1919, and the last’ minute Christmas
rush had reached its peak. The money drawers were bulging
with cash, most of which was concentrated in his section due

_ to making change. This made him a bit apprehensive, and ad-

dressing a floorlady, Mrs. Elva Belles, he complained: “I wish
the ‘boss would pick up this money dnd get it safely upstairs.

‘Slain olficers marked | the axe

cop

kill

After being caleed in a gun duel that

. brought death to three cops, the slayer
(right) was reported by doctors to be
the smartest killer they had. ever seen.

‘the cultured

STICKEL, Martin, white, hanged at Kalama, ‘“ashin

gton, on January 25, 1901.

The Last Hanging in Cowlitz County

By Watt Espy
Martin Stickel, a white man who was
born on February 9, 1870, lived alone in a
scow which he located near the mouth of
the Cowlitz River in Cowlitz County,
Washington.

On the night of November 22, 1899, he
shot and killed William B. Shanklin
through a window of his home near Kelso
as Shanklin was eating his supper. After
taking money and other valuables in-
cluding Shanklin’s watch and keys from
the cabin, Stickel burned it.

Tne body was discovered in the ruins
the next day, and it was at first believed
that he had perished in the fire. But a
subsequent examination of the remains
revealed that he had been shot.

There were no clues as to the identity
of the murderer and in spite of the fact that
Governor John R. Rogers offered a $300
reward for his apprehension and con-
viction, no progress was made on the case.

Over a year later, on the night of
November 28, 1900, as they sat at their
supper table, Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius
Knapp, an aged couple residing near
Castle Rock, were shot and killed through
a window of their home. The house was
ransacked and money taken, including $6
received that day by Mrs. Knapp for the
sale of some turkeys. No effort was made
to destroy the dwelling and the bodies were
discovered early the next morning.

The sheriff, an expert tracker who
happened to be in the area at the time,

(Continued from Page 9)

have been more history-concious. The
early St. Louis mug shots have beeu
preserved as previously noted and un-
doubtedly other records around the
country have been preserved.

When the Cleveland Police Depart-
nent cleaned out its early files it was very
much aware of the materiai’s value. It had
retained all its early mug shots dating
from the first in 1867 to photograph No.
2942, which was made by its own police
photographer on October 14, 1894.

Research on the origins of the Rogue’s
Gallery has been as scattered and scanty
as the beginnings of the system itself.
Perhaps this article will be the fuse which
ignites further research and hopefully one
day a book will be done on this fascinating
subject which has contributed so much to
combating crime in the world.

References
The Vidocq Dossier, The Story of the World's First
Detective, by Samuel Edwards, 1977 (There are a great
many biographies of Vidocq).
Professional Criminals of America, by Inspector
Thomas Byrnes, 1886.

About the Author: William B. Secrest is a
Contributing Editor of our Association. He
is Art Director in a Fresno, California
advertising firm and is a partner in a
publishing firm, Saga West Publishing
Company. He has done _ considerable
writing on western outlaws and lawmen.
His address is: 4614 N. Bond Avenue,
Fresno, California 93726.

The Pinkertons: The Detective Dynasty that made
History, by James D. Horan, 1967.

Collector's Guide to Nineteenth Century
Photographs, William Welling, 1976.

The History of Photography, Its relation to
Civilization and Practice, by Erich Stenger, 1939.

Policing the City, Boston 1822 — 1885, by Roger
Lane, 1967.

History of the Chicago Police, by John H. Flinn, 1887.

The Classification of Police Photographs, by Hugh
C. McDonald and Harry Rogers, 1941.

Finger Print and Identification Magazine, ‘‘History
of Identification in the United States’, by Harry J.
Myers, II, October, 1938.

The Denver Police Dept.: An Administrative,
Organizational and Operational History, 1858 —- 1905, by
Eugene E. Rider, University of Denver Dissertation,
1971.

Some Notes on the Early History of the Use of
Photography in the Field of Law Enforcement, by
Harris B. Tuttle, Sr., two manuscripts in the collection of
the University of Louisville Library.

Material on the life of I.W. Lees and his pioneer work
on the Rogue’s Gallery concept is in the collections of the
writer,

Acknowledgements

I want to thank David Horvath, Assistant Curator in
charge of the photographic archives in the University of
Louisville Library. Mr. Horvath was most helpful in
supplying material from the collections of Harris Tuttle
who had done much research on forensic photography
while acting as consultant to the Eastman Kodak
Company. Mr. Tuttle’s pioneer research work included
the sending of questionnaires to police departments
around the country in search of data on the beginnings of
police photography. My thanks also to that most
knowledgeable connoisseur of early photography,
William Welling, who supplied several valuable early
references.

My thanks also to the Missouri Historical Society,
the Denver Public Library, the George Eastman House,
the Wyoming State Archives and the Los Angeles Public
Library.

Ron Mahoney of the Special Collections, University
of California at Fresno Library, was especially helpful
as always. Ron is due the thanks of all western historians
for saving the early San Francisco police mug books
from being lost forever.

10 Quarterly of the National Association and Center for Outlaw and Lawman History

arrived shortly afterward and followed a
trail which led him directly to Stickel’s
scow. At first Stickel denied any
knowledge of the murders, but when
Shanklin’s watch and keys were found
hidden on the scow, he made a partial
confession in which he named a neighbor
as the instigator of the crimes and the
actual murderer.

Stickel was taken to Pierce County for
safekeeping and there he became con-

verted to religion and joined the Salvation

Army. He then made a new confession,
stating that he did not wish to harm an
innocent man, and said that he alone had
killed Shanklin and the Knapps for the
purpose of robbery.

On the advice of his attorney, he
pleaded not guilty at his trial which was
heid at Kalama on December 19, 1900. The
only defense offered was that he had an
uncontrollable criminal disposition and, in
an effort to prove this claim, his mother
testified that during the entire period in
which she had carried him, she had been
“mad at everybody’’. His attorney
maintained that this prenatal influence
had warped his entire personality and
that, as a result, he was not responsible for
his actions. After one hour deliberation,
the jury convicted him without a recom-
mendation for mercy and he was sen-
tenced to be hanged.

There was no appeal and on January
25, 1901, he was executed from a gallows
enclosed within a high plank wall directly
behind the Court House in Kalama, less
than 150 feet from the cell wheze he spent
his last days. One hundred fifty witnesses
saw him firmly mount the gallows and
heard him speak his last words: ‘‘Gen-
tlemen, I bid you all goodbye. God forgive
me. This is the last time I’ll see you on this
shore. Jesus help you all. Jesus, take me —
take me now!”’

References
Kalama Bulletin, Kalama, Washington, Nov. 24, 1899;
Dec. 8, 1899; Nov. 30, 1900; Dec. 7, 1900; Dec. 14, 1900;
Dec. 21, 1900; Dec. 28, 1900; Jan. 25, 1901.

About the Author: Watt Espy is a member
of our Association. He is in the antique
business. Currently he is engaged in
research on capital punishment in the
United States. He hopes to have the first
volume of this work completed by the
latter part of this year. His address is:
c/o Law Library, Box 6205, University,
AL 35486.

that did not believe them guilty of the
murder of Eli Cummins. To the citizens
relief, all were found guilty.

On the morning of January 29, 1883,
Ezra Snoderly was taken into court and
sentenced to be hanged by the neck until
dead. With almost insolent indifference
the prisoner received his sentence, re-
marking to an officer that he did not have
“to die but once.” McPherson and Owenby
were also found “guilty as charged” and
were sentenced to die by hanging.
McPherson’s attorneys were making
moves to appeal the case to the supreme
court, much to the disapproval of the
general public.

McPherson appealed to the public
through a letter in the Columbia Chronicle
while his attorney filed a petition for the
stay of proceedings which would give the
convicted a 19-month lease on life and a
possible acquittal.

July 30 the editor of the Chronicle
published the following: “Lumber is on the
ground and work will commence tomor-
row on the scaffold from which Snoderly
will take his final leap into eternity. It
does not look exactly right for the one
least guilty of the crime to be the first to
swing while those who actually committed
the deed gain another year’s lease of life
and a possible acquittal if the case should
come up for another trial. If McPherson is
allowed an appeal, Snoderly should not be
hanged until the case is decided. .”

the first to die

On Saturday night, August 4, McPher-
son was lynched.

That day the town was bustling with an
unusual number of people; conversations
were struck and finished with an air of
secrecy on the sidewalks. At about 10 p.m.
a body of masked men, numbering about
60, took possession of public square and
the seaffold, proceeding to the jail.

Upon making forced entry to the jail
house, the mob took McPherson from his

eel! and with shackles still on his feet, put |

the noose about his neck. Begging for

Beat

mercy, McPherson to!d the men they were
hanging an innocent man, offered a prayer
and when finished he was pushed off the
scaffold. The rope was either too long or
had slipped and McPherson’s feet reached
the ground. Strong hands grasped the
rope letting the body ‘swing clear
between the heavens and earth”, in the
words of the Chronicle. In relating the
incident, the Chronicle vindicated the
vigilanties with: “It appears, then, that
this summary and unlawful proceeding
was simply the result of incontrollable
impatience at the law's delay.”

High noon, August 7, Ezra Snoderly
was taken from his cell and from the same
scaffold that McPherson was lynched, he

---the lynching scene---

took adieu of all earthly things as the
death sentence was carried out.

Owenby escapes:

death still knocks

Following the hangings of McPherson
and Snoderly, Owenby was conveyed to
Walla Walla and confined in the county jail
there. On the evening of December 23,
1883, Owenby and another prisoner es-
caped. Stealing horses in the cover of
darkness, the men left town not having

Sapeimtn batt ob i c . ’ ints Hi}
ae a A lad Dian ne ai

time for hats and coats. Ten days later
Owenby was captured near Milton, Ore-
gon, having been found in a barn suffering
from frozen feet, the loss of blood and
extreme hunger.

Safely landed in the Dayton jail, a guard
found Owenby ina state of articulo mortis,
a sure symptom of death. Asked if he had
told the truth of the other two men,
Owenby, in his dying statement re
asserted that he had told the truth.

Thus ends the tragedy at New York
Bar; each participant of the crime having
been summoned to final judgement, two
by the hangman's noose and one by illness
in a desperate attempt to escape punish
ment.

ret Pree Pe

| om

lis

ia Bat ai WIR Sei be

WA i 6 US ean AS ala oi SiR i i cts! ne NN ivan San a kts di tia 8s le Rac SLD Aa IE

The years 1882, 83 and the early part of
’84 in Columbia County were marked by a
brutal murder, robbery, a lynching, a legal
hanging and the death of a third principal
involved in the original, tragic crime.

It was July 26, 1882 that William Suttie
and John Butterfield of Pataha City, went
to New York Bar for freight. On their
arrival, the men found it unusual that no
one was in the vicinity and decided to
retire to the warehouse to await the
arrival of Eli H. Cummins, agent for the
Oregon Railroad & Navigation Company.
Darkness set in and still no agent so the
men slept in the warehouse until about 2
a.m. when Butterfield entered Cummin’s
room to ascertain the time.

agent's body

discovered

Horror and consternation grasped
Butterfield upon entering the room; the
agent’s body lie in bed, weltering in blood.
No taking time to further investigate,
Butterfield informed Suttie of his dis-
covery and together the men procured a
boat and pulled across the river, giving
alarm, and returning with several other

away to wire for the coroner at Dayton,
the murder having been committed in
Columbia County.

August 5th, the Chronicle published the
following account of the murder: ‘An
examination of the house and corpse
disclosed the following: The cabin in which
deceased was found consists of one room
adjoining the warehouse. In the end
toward the warehouse is the door, near
which, on the right, sets the stove.
Opposite the door is the bed. In the side of
the cabin opposite the warehouse is a
window which showed signs of having
been disturbed. When found, the body
was lying on the left side of the bed,
dressed only in shirt and drawers, with a
heavy quilt thrown across him and a
doubled quilt over his feet. There was one
bullet wound in his hand, one in his right
hip, one in the left shoulder, one in the
back of his head on the right side behind
the ear, another in the back of his head,
and one in his back under the right
shoulder. There was, also, an ax wound on
the top of his head, one across the mouth
and one over the eye. The throat had been
cut with a knife, the blade of which had
entered the left side of the neck and been
drawn around to the front, severing the
wind pipe and jugular vein. There was a
pool of blood and bloody footprints by the
side of the bed and also bloed on the

Cummins. A hardware merchant in Pom-
eroy was located that had just two weeks
earlier sold Qwenby a box of cartridges
for the weapon.

Subsequent to his arrest, it was shown
that Owenby had attempted to bribe his
guards to allow him to escape. He had
been willing to accept desperate chances,
even to the extent of leaping, handcuffed,
from a second story window. Another
time he had tried to bribe a guard to
swear that he had been in Pomeroy the
night of the murder. At another time
Owenby told a guard that his wife would
swear he was at home the night of the
murder, yet, at the trial Owenby refused
to allow his wife to testify. A shirt was
offered in evidence upon which it was
claimed traces of blood could be found.

Explained, all these details that seemed
of great importance may have been
trivial; unexplained they bore an ugly
look. The questions were raised—where
did Owenby get his money?—why
wouldn’t Owenby allow his wife to
testify?—all were met by silence.

The strain of the trial soon began to
show on the defendant, the trial having
been sent to the jury no verdict could be
reached after 23 hours of deliberation and
Saturday evening declared to Charles
Lofland, his cell mate, that he could keep
his secret no longer. The sheriff was

firing Cummins cried out, “My God! Don’t
murder me!” I was not in the house after
placing Cummins on the bed. McPherson
used the knife and the ax after I left the
room. He also covered up Cummins and
placed a cover over the window while I
was outside the building watching. While I
was outside McPherson got the money
and kept it all with the exception of $50
which he gave me at the time, until I came
from the mountains a week from the next
Saturday, when I met him at McBride’s on
my return from the mountains where he
gave me $550. We took from the cabin the
shot sack that contained all of the money—
McPherson having put the greenbacks in
the sack which he took from a pocketbook,
leaving it on the floor. We then im-
mediately left the cabin and rode up the

‘main road to Hagen’s house, near the

Territorial road where we separated...
“Snoderly told me after the robbery
that the reason he did not meet McPher-
son and me was because Snoderly at that
time was at work threshing, I think, at
Henry Kraushe’s ranch, and could not
leave at night without attracting atten-
tion. At the time I went to find a horse I
had bought from Wilson, I had a conver-
sation with Snoderly about the murder,
and I told him the whole thing. I do not
know how much money McPherson got on
the night of the murder. He told me he got

ysep, Suogkeq pesuey Seqtum Seazq ‘ZTUACONS

BUT

*19QT=ST=T fu04

men,

Proceeding then with an examination of
things, Cummins lay on the bed, two
heavy quilts thrown across his body. A
frightful gash ran across his mouth,
another in his cheek and his skull was
crushed at the top of his head. Bloody
footprints were traced across the floor to
empty coin and currency purses laying on
the table. An ax, stained with blood and
covered with hair, was found near the
stove, undoubtedly one of the weapons of
death. The money drawer was open. and
had been rifled of its contents. They
estimated the agent had been dead for 20
hours, possibly a little less, as freight
teams had left the bar at 4 p.m. the
previous day. Mr. Butterfield hurried

more Starbuck

slowed by then with new buildings going
up only here and there throughout the
village.\ Wanting a city government, 66
residents of Starbuck presented a petition
to the county commissioners in December
1903 asking, for the privilege of voting on
incorporation. The election was held
February 29, 1904, but incorporation was
defeated, largely die to the fact that the
railroad property was left outside the city
limits. Some of the citizens, especially
those doing the planning, feared the
influence of the comhany would defeat the
movement, hence it \was excluded from
the city limits. But, it\was this very fact
that caused many of the'citizens to oppose
it, desiring incorporation\had the railroad
property been included. \

/ It was two years later, by special
election September 9, 1905, that Starbuck
was incorporated as a city of the fourth
class. First elected officers of the town of
400 were W.E. Sprout, mayor; J.H.
Walters, treasurer; C.A. Blackman, John
Roddyn, Frank Actor, W.E. Gardner and

PE LIOR

M, Ray. cornell

side of the bed and also blood on the
bottom of the dead man’s feet.

“At the examination, four battered
bullets were picked up in the cabin and
one had gone entircly through the wall.
Since then, two more bullets have been
found, making seven in all which it is
thought missed the deceased, and as his
body showed six bullet wounds, it is
evident there were 12 or 13 shots fired.”

July 27 a coroner's jury was impanceled
consisting of S.L. Malcom, C.J. Mulkey,
Q.S. Davis, Richard Dooley, A.A. Hazen
and C. Griffith. Convened by Coroner
Clarke, the jury returned a verdict in
accordance with the facts stated above.

A native of Wisconsin, the 35-year old
Cummins was buried on a knoll near the
warehouse whose interests he had heroic-
ally defended at the expense of/ his own
life. His mother and sister resided in Iowa
and other relatives resided in Oregon,
near Salem. A pathetic feature of the
tragedy was that Cummins was engaged
to be married soon to a young widow in
Forest Grove, Oregon.

the search continues:

-anarrestis made

Incidents concerning the vicious murder
kept interest in the case at a high pitch
and several parties had been arrested on
suspicion, only to be released. Late in 1882
one Canada Owenby was arrested as one
of the principals, if not the only one, in the
crime.

January 10 the trial of Qwenby was
commenced before district court. It
showed that the defendant was a man of
limited means; but, that shortly following
the murder he spent money quite freely;
that he was familiar with the crime scene;
that the day prior to the commission of the
murder he was seen in Pataha City,
leaving late in the evening and returning
the next morning when he had his horse's
shoes removed by the blacksmith. It came
out that Owenby possessed a pistol of the

payee a Gan Wig KOREN SHY ME CULL ACCP
his secret no longer. The sheriff was
notified and the clerk of the court hurried
over to the jail, informing Owenby that his
confession must be done freely and volun-
tarily, without hope of reward or release
from punishment.

Owenby confession
implicates others

in the presence of Lofland, the jailer
and clerk of the court, Owenby confessed
—and signed the following:

“McPherson and I left his house about
10 o'clock and we went to New York Bar.
Between one and two o'clock we reached
the bar. I remained a little ways behind
McPherson when he approached the house
because Cummins had a dog that did not
know me. McPherson made friends with
the dog and walked up to the house,
pushed his finger through a hole in the
door and raised the latch, then opened the
door and commenced firing at Cummins on
the bed. McPherson fired five shots. .at
the first shot Cummins cried out, but I do

not know what he said. McPherson

continued firing until he emptied the five
chambers of his pistol and then stepped
back from the door. Cummins than came
to the door and closed it. I think I then
heard Cummins Say something about
“water”, and I think he took a drink, but I
am not positive. McPherson fired very
rapidly. After Cummins closed the door
McPherson found an ax near the house
and with it broke in the door. When he
struck the door a knot flew out of it. No
shooting was done through the knot hole,
When the door flew open I was right
behind McPherson, and Cummins recog-
nized McPherson and said “Mack, what in
the world have I done to you?” McPherson
answered, “Nothing, goddamn you; I'll
finish you!”

“About this time I commenced firing
and fired three shots, when Cummins fel]
to the floor. We picked him up and laid

him on the bed and I immediately went

saree tywee assatds IMUMCY SACL HOPSON QOL On
the night of the murder. He told me he got
$1,600." Signed: Canada Owenby.

From this confession can be gleaned
quite a sizeable discrepancy in the details
of this rather confused and conflicting
affidavit, apparently which went unnot-
iced by authorities. He said that after
firing three shots he assisted McPherson
to place the body of Cummins on the bed,
and went out of the room and was not in
the house afterwards, yet he was able to
describe in minute detail the actions of
McPherson, adding “We then immediately
left the cabin and rode up the main road to
Hagen’s house.” From this it is apparent
that he must have returned to the cabin, if
in fact, he ever left it.

Nonetheless, warrants were issued for
the arrest of McPherson, Snoderly and
one Porter. At Pomeroy Deputy Sheriff
Cavanaugh encountered Sheriff Wilson of
Garfield county and took Porter in that
city. McPherson and Snoderly were
arrested at their respective farms in Gar-
field County and were taken to Dayton on
Monday. McPherson waived examination
and was committed to jail to await the
action of the grand jury. Snoderly was
examined by Justice Drake and on the
sole confession of Owenby was sent to jail
until the next term of the district court.
Porter was released, that he was innocent
of any implication in the crime the officers
were firmly convinced.

Ezra Snoderly and James T. McPherson
were tried at Dayton at the June term of
the district court before J udge Wingard.
Those that were preseni never forgot the
sensational details of the trials, each when
arraigned having pleaded not guilty.

the verdict is:
they willswing

Jury for the Owenby trial retired for a
short half-hour and returned with a
verdict—guilty as charged. While the
juries were out in the several cases, fear

was expressed that they would not
convict. Amone tha ctranta af Martane.

i — . ‘ -s sci asa ai i + a ————— 22

They had scarcely seated themselves second cafe they visited, they came _
| in a back booth when a young chap across an employee who fitted the de- he addé
|: rushed in, strode to where they were sit- scription of the girl they sought. At curious
| ting and opened up with a tongue lashing first, she denied being involved in the to ene
| | which consisted mainly of profanity. episode, but when they convinced her ere
| “T hopped over there to quiet things that they knew otherwise, she admitted IPs
down,” the proprietor said. “The kid that she had accompanied Shanklin to sively
| | was madder than a wethen. Heclaimed the grill. who _
1} the girl was his sweetie and had stood The young man, she revealed, was d ous"
|| him up on a date that night. Later, Ted Parker, aged twenty. They had oe o.
| | while walking around town, he had seen been going together for several months, t _
| her come in here with aman. He cussed and he had assumed that he was the only ue

Shanklin out for foolin’ around with her, one who had a right to date her. He .
and he called her plenty for having any- became extremely jealous, she said. and <a
thing to do with a guy old enough to be had accused her of paying too much at- ites |
her grandfather.” tention to the men who patronized the Stud:
q The owner. declared that he had tried restaurant where she worked. where
to get the irate youth to leave peace- They had quarreled on the previous o'tlock
| fully, but that he had refused to do so. Saturday afternoon, and she had _ in- | to fore:
| unless the: girl went with him. When formed him that their date for that night | body 7
she told him she wouldn’t, he grabbed was off. He had stormed out of the cafe fellow
i her by the arm and started to pull her after warning her to meet him at a local The «
' away. dance hall as planned, or else she’d be until 5
; (Above) Deputy Studebaker’s wood- Shanklin had jumped up and lashed - sorry. by rest
( craft. knowledge Jed to murder trail out with his right fist, catching the young Shanklin had come into the eatery | approx
fellow flush on the jaw. He went down that evening, and she had waited on him. His
\ as if struck by lightning. Wishing to Sensing by her manner that she was time. ;
Nt had scuffed the ground around the house avoid further trouble, the proprietor had troubled, he asked the reason. Finally | the off
h| to such an extent that there was no pos-~- persuaded the older man and his com- she told him, adding that she didn’t Shank!
" sibility of finding any footprints the panion to leave before the fallen youth know what to do. | headed
\ killer might have left behind. regained consciousness. “P’]] meet you when you finish work, they c
\ Although widening the area of their When he came to, the lad swore a blue and we’ll go somewhere and talk it pleasu:
| hunt to take in all the victim’s property, streak and vowed to get even with his over,” he suggested. “Maybe we can one el
i they failed to locate anything of value. adversary if it took a lifetime. Although figure it out together.” | borne
hy “If Shanklin didn’t have anything the owner played ignorant as to Shank- The bachelor had escorted her to the { Thev
H worth stealing,” the Sheriff theorized, _ lin’s identity, the youth declared that he grill, where they could converse in pri- } seemed
| “it’s obvious that somebody shot him to would find out somehow and pay the vacy; but before they had a chance to individ
| settle a grievance of some kind. If the debt in full. begin, young Parker had entered. She except
1| people around here don’t know of any The witness hadn’t seen either of the was of the opinion that he had been ~» Barten
1 trouble, we’ll have to look elsewhere.” young folks before, but he was able to watching her place of employment and | F guentls
i Since it had been learned that he fre- give good descriptions of them. Kirby had followed them. | only -
| quently went into Kelso in search of and Studebaker were hopeful, as they She had not seen him since the fight, own b
{ recreation, they drove there and left the grill, that they could at least lo- hence it couldn’t be possible that he had i Next
| launched a canvass of places he likely cate the girl, as there couldn’t be many learned Shanklin’s name from her. } inques'
| had visited. Shortly, they ran across places where the bachelor could have The investigators wasted no time In the cu
some interesting news. met her. looking up the youth at the grocery store i hands
The owner of a combination bar’ and “Restaurants should be our best bet,” where he was employed as a clerk. He i She:
‘ grill, who knew the bachelor by name, the Sheriff speculated as they walked readily acknowledged the fact that he } returné¢
| related that he had come into the estab- along the main street. “Shanklin had created the scene at the restaurant. and ré
i lishment on the previous Saturday night, might’ve taken a fancy to a waitress and and that he had been knocked uncon- | seekit
i with an attractive girl who appeared to asked her for a date.” scious by his girl friend’s escort. | which
| be in her late teens or early twenties. It proved a good hunch, for, at the “But I haven't forgotten the matter.” An ¢
|
‘|
} ‘ .
i
\
|
|
|
i
7)
\
\
‘y
i
|
| One puzzling aspect of the case was how killer reached the scene of his crime without being seen. When a path of broken twigs raenad
| and trampled brush led to Cowlitz River, the police realized he had rowed up the river and hiked three miles to the farmhouse } ent
} t
| H
| 48

ip ti

ey came
the de-
ight. At
ed in the
inced her
admitted
ianklin to

iled, was
They had
months,
the only
He

said, and
much at-
mnized the

previous
had in-
that night
the cafe
at a local

she’d be

eatery

ed on him,
she was
Finally
didn't

h work,
talk it
we can

her to the
rse in pri-
enhance to

She
had been
yment gna

the fight.

that he had
her

» time in

ocery store

clerk. He

that he

staurant

1 uncon-

» matter.”

broken twigs

the farmhouse

sta &

he added significantly. Then, suddenly
curious as to why these strangers were
prying into his private affairs, he wanted
to know who they were. .

Kirby told him, and explained eva-
sively that someone had attacked the man
who had bested him and that they
thought Parker was the one who had
done it.

“I wish I could claim the honor,” he
returned flippantly, “but I haven’t seen
the guy since Saturday night. I don’t
even know his name yet. I’ve been
looking for him, though, and I’ll run
across him again.”

Studebaker said, “Suppose you tell us
where you were last night around 6
o’clock. If you’re in the clear, we want
to forget about you and look for some-
body else with a grudge against the
fellow.”

The clerk declared that he had worked
until 5:30, and then had gone to a near-
by restaurant for dinner, leaving there
approximately forty-five minute? later.

His employer verified his quitting
time, and a check-up at the cafe satisfied
the officers that he had been there when
Shanklin was killed. With the hot-
headed youth eliminated as a suspect,
they continued their rounds of the town’s
pleasure resorts in an effort to find some-
one else who could conceivably have
borne ill-will toward the victim. ;

They failed in this quest. Shanklin
seemed to have been a good-natured
individual who had avoided trouble
except in the one instance related.

.Bartenders in the saloons he had infre-

quently visited said that he had taken
only a drink or two and had minded his
own business while there,

Next morning, Coroner Bell held an
inquest at Kalama, and the jury returned
the customary verdict of “death at the
hands of parties unknown.”

Sheriff Kirby and Deputy Studebaker
returned to the bachelor’s neighborhood
and requestioned the residents.at length,
seeking some fragment of information
which might develop into a lead.

An elderly rancher who had been par-

Home of Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Knapp, in the Cowlitz River
Valley, where elderly couple were slain as: they ate supper

ticularly friendly with Shanklin was the
only one who could offer any help along
this line. In the previous summer, he
recalled, the other man had hired an
itinerant farm hand to help with the
harvesting, but had fired him a few days
later because he refused to obey in-
structions.

“Bill told me the fellow was pretty
sore about it,” the friend reported. “But
it don’t seem to me like enough for mur-
der—not after two or three months, any-
way.”

The officials, however, weren’t letting
anything-pass without making a thor-
ough probe. From the rancher, who had
met the transient worker, they learned
that he had given the name of Flemming,
and that he was about forty years of
age, medium in build, swarthy in com-
plexion, and had a long cut scar on the
right side of his jaw. They relayed the
information to police agencies through-
out the Pacific Northwest and requested
that a search be instituted for the man.

Three days later, the Sheriff at St.
Helens, Oregon, across the Columbia
River and approximately twenty-five
miles south of Kelso, reported that a
farm hand answering the description had
been found working a short distance out
of town. However, he had insisted that
his name was Rodgers and that he never
had been in Shanklin’s employ or near
his ranch. ;

Kirby and Studebaker, accompanied
by the neighbor who had seen the vic-
tim’s hired man, drove to the Columbia
County courthouse, where the worker
was being held for further investigation.

When the farmer instantly recognized
him, the scar-faced individual reluc-
tantly. admitted that he was Dave Flem-
ming. “I heard about Shanklin gettin’
croaked, and I didn’t want to get mixed
up in it,” he contended. “Me and him
had some hot words when he canned me,
but I didn’t kill him.”

He declared that he had gone straight
to St. Helens after losing his job, and
had found another almost immediately.
He hadn’t returned to the vicinity of the

Detective Captain Simmons, of Port-
land, who came to Kelso to help on case

“murder, he further told the Sheriff.

Asked where he had been on the pre-
vious Wednesday evening, he rubbed his
chin and reflected briefly. Then he re-
plied that he had come into town to buy
supplies for his employer, arriving
shortly after 5 o’clock. After making
the purchases, and consuming “a drink
or two” at a saloon, he had gone back
to the farm, reaching there about 7, he
related.

Kirby and Studebaker, accompanied
by a Columbia County deputy, escorted
him to the general store where he said
he had bought the merchandise. The
merchant remembered his visit Wednes-
day afternoon, but he was unable to set
the time definitely. However, he esti-
mated it to be closer to 4 o’clock than 5.
The suspect declared that the store-
keeper was wrong.

At the saloon, another discrepancy
was discovered in Flemming’s story.
The bartender recalled that the patron,
acting extremely (Continued on page 91)

Mrs. Roy Stevenson is standing where the murderer stood as
he fired a shotgun through the kitchen door of the Knapp home

T
L)

ver the iso-
the heavily
Mountain in
three miles
ston, on that
gs of Novem-
{1 of gunfire
ness.
sard it, how-
amed, for it
yody to shoot
which came
rounding the
dat night.
hour later,
nerging from
B. Shanklin,
ghbors going
otted the fire
iat the dwell-

re they could

Wn
» man shouted
Receiving

The robberies brought him practi-
cally nothing, yet he ruthlessly
shot down three defenseless people

negative replies, he signaled for several
of the others to join him, and then he
dashed into the burning building.

The fire was raging fiercely, and the
group encountered considerable diffi-
culty in searching the interior. Their
faces scorched and their lungs filled with
smoke, they finally came across Shank-
lin in the kitchen. He was sprawled on
the floor by the blazing table, his cloth-
ing a mass of smoldering cinders.

They managed to drag him out the
back door, and, in the glow of the flames,
they saw why he had remained in the
house after the fire had begun. His

charred face and neck were punctured ©

with shotgun pellets, some of which
were still imbedded in his .blackened
clothing.

William Tefts, the victim’s closest
neighbor, rode into town and put in a
long-distance call té the Sheriff’s office
in Kalama, seat of Cowlitz County,
twelve miles to the south.

Notified at his home, Sheriff A. F. Kir-
by picked up his Chief Deputy, Clarke
Studebaker, and the Coroner, Dr. F.M.

‘Bell, and drove to the Shanklin farm.

Reaching there shortly before 8 o’clock,
they found a dozen or so men and women
excitedly discussing the fate of their
neighbor.

Examination revealed that he had
been hit with almost a full charge of
Number One buckshot. It was obvious
that he had died instantly.

While Dr. Bell conducted a more thor-
ough inspection of the remains, in an
effort to determine whether they carried
other marks of violence, Sheriff Kirby
and Deputy Studebaker questioned the
onlookers.

Several told of hearing a single blast

of gunfire at about 6 o’clock and of
seeing the fire a half-hour or so later.
Although none had observed anyone
entering or leaving the premises that
evening, it would have been possible for
the assailant to have approached from
the rear, which was screened off by a
grove of firs, without being observed.

“What kind of .a fellow was Shank-
lin?” the Sheriff inquired of the spec-
tators. “Anybody have it in for him?
Did he keep any money around?”

Everybody declared that he was sin-
cere, hard working:and easy to get along
with. They knew of no incident in his
ten years of residence there that would
have led to his slaying. As to his finan-
cial situation, they said that he couldn’t
have possessed much cash, as he applied
every spare dollar to the mortgage on
his property, hoping to pay it off with-
in the next few years.

“Bill wasn’t a recluse, or anything like
that,” one woman explained.
to go into town once in a while and have
a good time. And he visited all the
neighbors pretty regularly. He was so-

‘ciable, but he always attended to his own
_ business and didn’t bother anybody.”

Since darkness made an accurate ex-
amination of the scene virtually impos-
sible, the officials decided to postpone it
until daylight. After instructing the
ranchers to stay off the Shanklin prop-
erty, they took the charred body to a
mortuary in. near-by Kelso, where Cor-
oner Bell, who. had been unable to locate
any wounds other than those caused by
the buckshot, called in two local sur-
geons to assist him in the autopsy.

The Sheriff and his assistant then

ILLUSTRATION BY

PETROCELLI

“He liked —

drove back to Kalama for a'few hours
of sleep before resuming their investi-
gation. At 7 o’clock Thursday morning,
they returned to the neighboring town
and found the post-mortem report wait-
ing for them in the undertaker’s office.

It substantiated the earlier assump-
tion that the bachelor had been dead
when the fire started, as there was no
smoke in his lungs. It also stated that
no other evidence of violence was dis-
covered on the body. The only addi-
tional information of any value was that
undigested food had been found in the
stomach, establishing the fact that the
victim had been eating when slain.

“That ties in with what we’ve already
learned,” Kirby commented. “He was
lying by the: kitchen table, and the
neighbors say he always started eating
supper at 6 o’clock after feeding the
stock. It looks like the killer knew this
schedule and ambushed Shanklin then
so he wouldn’t have a chance to defend
himself.”

Deputy Studebaker, who later became

. Sheriff and made an enviable record for

solving difficult crimes, nodded sol-
emnly. “This doesn’t shape up as a
casual murder by somebody who just
happened along,” he observed. “I think
the thing was carefully planned and ex-
ecuted; but if the people out there aren’t
holding back any information, I can’t for
the life of me see any motive.”

“And that makes it a pretty tough nut
to crack,” Kirby remarked. “It appears
that we’ve got a lot of digging to do, so
we'd better get started.”

Driving to the Shanklin farm, they be-
gan a search for some clue‘to the killer’s
identity. They soon discovered, much to
their disappointment, that the spectators

or een

D anxness had settled over the iso-
lated farming district on the heavily
forested slopes of Braynon Mountain in
the Cowlitz River Valley, three miles
northeast of Kelso, Washington, on that
cold, raw Wednesday evening of Novem-
ber 22nd, when the sound of gunfire
pierced the customary stillness.

The few ranchers who heard it, how-
ever, failed to become alarmed, for it
was not unusual for somebody to shoot
at one of the wild animals which came
out of the dense woods surrounding the
fertile fields in search of food at night.

Approximately half an hour later,
smoke and flames began emerging from
the farmhouse of William B. Shanklin,
an elderly bachelor. Neighbors going
about their final chores spotted the fire
and hurried there to find that the dwell-
ing would be leveled before they could
summon apparatus from town.

‘““Anybody seen Bill?” one man shouted
above the roar of the flames. Receiving

negative
Sof the
dashed
The |
group
culty ir
face
smoke, ¢
lin in th
the floor
ing a mz
They
back do:
they sav
house
charred
with st
were st
clothing
Willia
neighbo:
long-dist
in Kal:
twelve 1
Notifie

by picke
Studeba!
Bell, an
Reaching
they four
excitedly
neighbor

Exami
been hit
Number
that he |

While
ough ins
effort to
other mz
and Dey
onlooker
Sever:

who had ant in Sherlf! Carroll's offlee
the night before and confessed killing
_a man. This morning he joked about
the gloomy weather and bummed cig-
arettes from the newspapermen.

When we landed’ on Whidby Island
we were met by Sheriff Kennedy of the
Island county. Sheriff Carroll had tele-
phoned him long distance and notified
him of our coming.

We all climbed into Kennedy’s car
and started across the island, on the
direction of Ollie.

Under the youth’s guidance we trav-
eled to the other side of the island. I
was looking out the side window when
Sheriff Carroll nudged me.

“See that big place 9ver there?” he
said, pointing to a large house that
loomed in the fog. ‘“That’s where Nor-
ma lives. Poor girl. She and Ollie were
to have been married tomorrow!”

I noted that Ollie must have hidden
we body close to his sweetheart’s

ome.

UDDENLY Ollie rolled down the
window on his side and looked in-

tently out into the fog. .

“Stop!” he shouted.

Sheriff Kennedy slammed the heavy
car to a jarring halt. We climbed out.

“This way,” Ollie said, pointing
down a little road. I stepped quickly
to his side and the two of us led the
way.

We walked a block, Then we came
to a high cliff with garbage and ashes
strewn along the steep sides. We leaned
over and stared at the piles of refuse.

Ollie stood to one side watching us.

_ When he saw that we found nothing

he walked on farther down the road.
He plodded along, staring blankly at
his feet. I kept pace beside him.

At the next garbage dump there was
nothing, just old tin cans, papers and
scattered rubbish. We walked slowly
on, a silent, forboding group.

Suddenly Sheriff Carroll froze in his
tracks.

“My God!” he cried in horror.

We looked in the direction of the
Sheriff’s outstretched hand. Near an
old bed spring and half covered with
rotten garbage was what remained of
“Old” Bill Frawley. It was a ghastly,
revolting sight. The face was hardly
recognizable. The flesh had been
gnawed: away by rats. All that re-
mained were the teeth and hair. The
clothing was torn and stained by gar-
bage.

Hundreds of huge scavenger rats
scurried away as we approached. We
carefully put the remains in a basket
and carried it back up to the road.

I looked for Ollie. He had fainted.

Ollie had to be half-carried back to
the car. During half of the return trip
to the boat he was silent and despon-
dent. Then he suddenly grew light-

‘hearted,

Tle tallcad freely to newspa-
permen and continually said, “1 told
you I’d lead you to the body.”

Back at Sherif Carroll's oMce, Ole
told us a new story. It wasn’t the. trip
around the Peninsula thaf caused him
to kill’ the ex-service man, It was his
need of money to marry Norma.

He had rented the rifle, killed Fraw-
ley and placed the limp body in the
victim’s own car. Then he drove home,
left Frawley’s car parked out in front
with the body stuffed down in the
closed rumble seat, and” ate supper.
After supper he took Frawley’s car to
Whidby Island, drove to the deserted
garbage dump and threw the body over
the bluff. Then he went to Norma’s
house and took her to Seattle.

EAVING Norma at the home of a

friend, he rented the hotel room,

waited several days and tried to trans-
fer the dead man’s bank account.

Norma had known nothing of her
sweetheart’s heinous actions.

The girl lost all hope for her prom-
ised husband when she learned that he
had led us to the body. She was brok-
en-hearted, refusing to leave her room
for days, spending the time crying.

On October 26, when Ollie came to
trial, just two months after the killing
and the time when he was supposed to
have been married, Norma came to
him.

Norma walted Inthe courtroom antl
Ollie made his entranee. She rushed
to him, flung her arms about his neck
nnd declared her love for the youth
who might have been her mate through

life. They clung desperately to each
other for long moments before the
stern-faced bailiff separated them and
Ollie went on trial for his life.

He pleaded not guilty by reason of
insanity. The jury heard his pitiful ex-
planation of why he_ had murdered
Frawley—that the killing had been
committed when he was not in his right
mind.

The damning evidence of the state
was presented against him. It was too
much, On the twenty-ninth day of Oc-
tober, just two days after the trial
started, the jury returned a verdict of
murder in the first degree. The judge
sentenced Ollie to hang by the neck
until dead.

The boy made no sign as the sen-
tence.was pronounced. He listened to
the voice of the judge, then went slow-
ly back to his jail cell. When fellow
prisoners tried to console him he mere-
ly laughed and remarked, “Aw, what’s
the difference?”

On a bright morning on July 28,
1933, Ollie Stratton was executed at
Walla Walla State Penitentiary. He
payed with his life for murder he ‘had
committed to finance his honeymoon
trip.

The Bandit in Holy Garb (Continued from Page 17)

who lived in a section where not a
few prosperous criminals had been
found in the past.. I had a strong
hunch I was on a warm trail, and I
decided to raid the apartment. I told
Sergeant Disteldorf:

“We hit the place at five in the
morning, when everybody will be in
warm homes except this suffering
squad.
August.”

| FIGURED we might have dug up a

real hideout spot and that there was
a possibility of plenty of action. I
phoned Captain Burns to come over
with reinforcements and give his valu-
able aid. His men and mine then cov-
ered that building, front and rear, dur-
ing the long, bitter night, alternating
the watches with intervals for warmth
and coffee in a restaurant.

At 5 o’clock we went into action.
We had plenty of guns. I picked a
nice machine gun. I put men in the
street in range of the front windows
and others in the lobby covering the
alley. Burns and I went onto the rear
porch and found the rear door locked,
but not too strong to keep us out..-We
put our shoulders against it and
crashed off its bolt.

We made a lot of. noise and I ex-
pected something to happen as we
rushed through a hallway guided by
Captain Burns’ flashlight. We found

a door forward of the kitchen and I°

opened it ‘and we stepped in. The
flashlight showed a bed and a man
and woman in it just rising to a sit-
ting position, their eyes bright with
fear in the light beam.

“You’re covered,” I called.
officers. Get the hands up.”

They obeyed. Burns found a light
button and we had a good look at
the pair. The girl was the one who
had met Eva, a buxom person with
platinum blond hair falling about a
blue silk nightgown. She stared at us,
obviously very frightened. The man
was bulky and swarthy. He had black
hair and looked plenty tough. His
dark, heavy face was vaguely familiar
to me. I ordered them to sit on the
bed where I could see their hands.
Then, while Burns covered them, I
opened the front door and let my
squad men in.

I began a search of the house, con-
vinced by the chain of -preceding
events that it was Brower’s refuge and
possibly a hideout for others. I found
another bedroom and snapped on the
light and held my machine gun ready.
Covers on the bed were thrown back.
I touched the sheet and it was warm,
but no one was visible.

“Police

This raid would be nicer ‘n.

I poked the muzzle of the machine
gun under the bed and called:
“Better come out or I’ll spray you.”
There was a sound of movement
under the bed and then a big .45 auto-
matic came sliding out on the rug.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” a big
voice said. I squatted down and
looked under the bed. There was a

Johnny Sheets, with the handker-

chief over his face, is seen con-

ferring with counsel when he was

adjudged not guilty of the Oak-
lawn Bank robbery

big figure in white under it, moving
out with difficulty. Disteldorf came
in and he and I helped pull out the
big man whose shoulders bumped
against the bedspring.

UFFING with exertion, the big fel-

low sat on the edge of the bed and

looked with terror at the machine
gun,

“You ain’t going to shoot me, are
you?” he*pleaded. He was an odd-
jooking figure, huge, in a white night-
shirt of Victorian mode, round-faced,
with black hair and big black eye-
brows. :

“You’re Brower,’ I said. And he
fitted the description of the bandit
chief. ‘“You’re the bad man from the
West.”

He, shivered and said:

“You don’t have to put a machine
gun on a guy. I’m Brower. You’re
coppers, ain’t you? What do you want
with me?”

I answered by handcuffing him and
turning him over to Disteldorf while

I began a search to determine whether
I really had accomplished anything
on the bank case. I found a loaded
.38 revolver in the other man’s room.
And while he sat there, cursing the
officers. guarding him, I placed him in
my memory. He was known as “Bill
the Greek” Adams, a, stickup man
who had done time and‘had been re-
leased on parole. When I put it to
him he admitted his identity. 5

ND one of the Oaklawn robbers was

of his description, an encourag-
ing fact that indicated I was making
progress. In the big man’s room, in a
closet, I found a black silk smock and
a wing collar. Brower said:

“T’m a hairdresser, and I used the
smock at the beauty parlor. The col-
lar is for my Tuxedo outfit.”

I did find a dinner jacket in the
closet. But the black silk could very
well have served in the guise of a
Priest’s black shirt. And the collar,
reversed, would have been clerical-
looking. :

“I’ve made you, Brower,” I said.
“Yow’re the bogus Priest that stuck up
the Oaklawn bank.”

“Honest, you’ve got me wrong,” he
said. “I ain’t a robber.” :

After our three captives dressed we
rushed them in a squad car to the
Criminal Courts building. There State’s
Attorney Thomas J. Courtney and
Captain Gilbert began the question-
ing. One of the first results was

Brower’s statement that he had con-.

tact with a paroled convict known as
Johnny Sheets who lived at a North
Side hotel.

I went over to the hotel with the
squad, but we missed Sheets. He had
moved that very day. But by ques-
tioning residents of the hotel I got a
line on him. He had left with one
man there, weeks before, a phone
number at which he could be reached.
I found the number was for a tavern
on North Clark Street.

PUT detectives into the tavern.

After two days’ vigil they spotted a
patron as Sheets and tailed him when
he went out, with a view of locating
a hideout and evidence. He went to
a first floor apartment in Ainslie
Street west of Halsted Street, on the
North Side. The detectives phoned
me and kept a watch on the place.

It was after midnight when we were
set for action. I had reconnoitered
and found a window of the apartment
which touched the rear porch.

I rapped on the window with the
muzzle of my machine gun. It bore
results instantly. We saw a man in

shirt sleeves in the living room with
a pistol gleaming in his right hand.

I fapped on the window with the
machine gun and yelled. He saw us
then, saw the machine gun. He want-
ed none of that. :

WE RUSHED him out for a grilling

with the other prisoners, Larsen, _

Adams, Brower and Sheets, and won-
dered if I had had the good luck to
grab all the Oaklawn bandits. We
decided that Brower was most likely
to talk, and my hopes of cleaning ‘up
the case were centered on him.

Mr. Courtney and Captain Gilbert
and I began grilling him. I told him
that we knew he had left the Drake
Avenue flat in Priest’s garb on the
morning of the robbery and had re-
turned in the afternoon. I told hin
Larsen had described the Oaklawn!

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Stop Getting Up Nights

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The right harmless and inexpensive way to stop

‘this trouble and restore healthy action to

kidneys and bladder is to get from any druggist
a 85-cent box of Gold Medal Haarlem Oil
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and genuine—right from Haarlem in Holland—
a grand kidney stimulant and diuretic. Remem-
ber also that other symptoms of kidney and
bladder trouble are backache, leg cramps, puffy
eyes, moist palms and neryousness. 2

aye pom SecureA

One
overnmentPosition
Tells About These and Other Positions

STOREKEEPER (LIQUOR)
GAUGER $2,000-$2,500 A YEAR

FILE CLERK $1.260-$1,440
A YEAR
CUSTOMS POSITIONS
$1,260-$3,300 A YEAR :
FREE BOOK {efron

For 8 years I

Name

neon ae

when one of the employees, a Miss
Dolores Hoyt, came running up and
grabbed him by the arm.

“Sheriff,” she whispered, “a ‘draft
just came in from Seattle a few min-
utes ago. It doesn’t look right to me.
Frawley always made a funny flourish
on the capital ‘F’ of his name. And
this signature didn’t have it!”

The two hurried to her window and
examined the draft, She was right.
The capital “F” was minus the peculiar
flourish that Frawley had always used.

The draft was for two hundred and
fifty dollars, the smaller of the two
accounts. It had come from the Seat-
tle National Bank of Commerce:

[* WAS a new clew but a confusing

one. Maybe Frawley was in Seattle.
Perhaps he had celebrated a bit too
much and had made out the draft when
his hand was shaky. Not counting the
capital “F,” the rest of the signature
looked genuine. And again, if the
murderer—if there were one—was try-
ing to get the money, why hadn’t he
tried to get it all at once? Why: had’
only the smaller of the two. accounts
been sent for?

The Sheriff’s thoughts were inter-
rupted by Miss Hoyt. “I know it’s not
genuine,” she insisted. “T’ve cashed
about all of ‘Old’ Bill’s checks and I
know his handwriting.” :

“Maybe you're right,” the Sheriff
muttered. He called Seattle immedi-
ately, getting the Seattle National Bank
of Commerce on the phone. s

“We're sorry,” came the answer to
Sheriff Carroll’s inquiries, “but we
can’t give out information, about our
clients.” '

The Sheriff's strong insistence finally

Miss
missed a customary flourish

Dolores Hoyt, who

brought one of the bank officials to
the phone.

“Why yes,” the official admitted, “a
man did come in here and make the
transfer. But he had a lot of papers
to identify himself. I’m sure you’re
making a mistake.”

“Never mind the mistake,” Sheriff
Carroll cut him short. “When will he
come in again?” :

“In about an hour. He called a few

minutes ago and asked if the transfer
had been made. I told him it had and
he said he would be in to write a
check.”

“When he comes in,” the Sheriff or-
dered, “point him out to Seattle de-
tectives, understand? YJ] get in touch
with the Seattle police right away.” .

It was just a few moments until Car-
roll had the late Chief of Detectives
Charles Tennant on- the phone. He
told him what he wanted, then hur-
riedly packed and started for Seattle.

©O* HIS way to the ferry, the Sheriff
stopped at Trast’s home. There he
received a shock. Trast was gone.

Right after the phone call to Chief
Tennant, I was called into the chief’s
office and told what Sheriff Carroll
had asked. It seemed a strange re-
quest, but seeing that the Port Town-
send peace officer had been so confi-
dent of himself, our department went
ahead.

I was connected with the homicide
squad and this job required a check
man, so I made arrangements with the
check detail and Detective Harry M.
Barton was sent to the bank,

Barton had been standing about in
the bank for nearly an hour when a
strange man walked to the first win-
dow and handed a check through to the
teller. The teller made a sign and
Barton: stepped forward.

“You’re under arrest,” the detective
said, slipping handcuffs on the wrists
of the stranger.

“What’s the idea?
rage!” the stranger exclaimed.
a man have a check cashed
being arrested?”

“What’s your name?”
at the stranger.

“Bill Frawley,” came the answer.
“What did you think it was?”

Detective Barton didn’t reply. He
placed a heavy hand on the suspect’s

This is an out-
“Can’t
without

Barton shot

But no fainting here:
them with great interest while the party

Ollie Stratton sat on a log

searched

arm and led him from the bank, de-
spite his loud protests. As the stranger
was being shoved into the police car
he jerked loose from Barton and faced
him defiantly.

“Who gave you orders to arrest me?”

“Sheriff Carroll of Port Townsend,”
Barton informed his prisoner,

“Why I know Sheriff Carroll well.
Wait until he comes, He'll tell you
that I’m Frawley. Then there's going
to be trouble because of this arrest.”

Still protesting, the suspect was
brought to headquarters, I questioned
him, but he insisted that he was Fraw-
ley, showing me letters and personal
papers to back up his statements, I
was becoming dubious about the arrest.

“Where are you staying?” I asked
him.

“At the Diller Hotel, You can go
there and search the place if you want
to.”

I and several other detectives went
to the hotel. We looked through his
room carefully. There was the leather
coat that Carroll had said Frawley
usually wore, there were keys to the
post-office box and to the car. And
there were more personal papers.

I gathered all of the belongings and
took them to headquarters, then ques-
tioned the suspect again. He insisted
that he was Frawley. I was sure then
that we had made a false arrest, which
is a very serious thing.

| WAS on the verge of turning the

stranger loose when Sheriff Carroll
called again. He had arrived in Seat-
tle and was down at the dock.

“Tl be right up,” he said excitedly.
“Hang on to the fellow.”

I met Sheriff Carroll out in the hall
at police headquarters,

“I think we’ve made a false arrest,”
I told him. “This fellow is really
Frawley.”

“How old is he?”

and watchea
for the body

“Oh, he’s just a kid.”

“Well, Frawley’s an old man!”

I led the Sheriff to my office and sent
a jailer after the Suspect. When the
jailer returned with the prisoner Car-
roll jumped to his feet.

“Why, Ollie!” he exclaimed. “What
are you doing here?”

“Oh, Sheriff,” the prisoner sobbed.
“Gee but I’m glad to see you. I’ve
got into some trouble. I’ve been
tricked. I’ve got to get out of it. I’m
going to be married in a few days.”

CARROLL saw the puzzled expres-
sion on my face and turned to me.
“This is Ollie Stratton,” he said.
“Ollie is a butcher’s apprentice in Port
Townsend.”

I sent Stratton out of the room and
Carroll outlined the entire case to me.
When he was through we called young
Stratton back in to question him. He
told one story and stuck to it. ‘

“TI left Port Townsend on August 27,”
he declared. “I was going to Seattle to
buy some clothes. On the boat I met
two fellows who said they had robbed
Frawley, and that they intended to get
his money from the bank. I needed
money so that I could get married, so
I agreed to help them. I was supposed
to make the draft transfer.”

“Where’s Frawley?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he answered without
a moment’s hesitation.

“How were these fellows going to get
in touch with you to get the money?”

“They said they would meet me at
my hotel some time soon. They didn’t
say when. They just said they would
see me.”

Sheriff Carroll had been quiet
through most of the questioning. Sud-
denly he cracked out, “Who were these
fellows you met on the boat, Ollie?”

Ollie’s voice was perfectly level as
he answered. “One was called

(Continued on Page 42)

Murder for a Honeymoon (Continued from Page 11)

agreed, and we sct about putting it
into effect,

First, we found a young girl acquain-

‘Smokey’ and the other went by the
hame of Rowland. That's the only
names I know them by.”

“Do you know Art Trast off the
coast guard boat?” the Sheriff ques-
tioned.

Stratton nodded.

“Was he one of the men?”

“Gee, no. No he wasn’t one of the
men. They didn’t even look like him.
Mr. Trast is a swell fellow. He was
one of Bill’s best friends.”

“How well did you know Frawley?”
I asked. v

“We were pretty good friends. He
was going to let me take his car to
go on my honeymoon with my girl
when we got married. She’s Norma
Solid of Whidby Island. She knew
him, too. I took her up there once.
Bill used to tell me a lot of things.
Once he told me he was going to leave
all of his belongings to Trast when he
died. He said Trast was the best man
he knew.”

F bce awhile we sent young Strat-
ton back up to jail. I turned to
Sheriff Carroll.

“Listen,” I told him, “I’m an outsider
in this thing and I’m going to say a
few things that maybe you, knowing
these people, wouldn’t like to say.
First is, what about Trast? He looks
to me like the man who would profit
if anything happened to Frawley. He
discovered the old man gone. He had
the access to the keys. You found him
up there digging in the garage. What
do you think about it?”

“But if he was going to get every-
thing, why would he send Ollie Strat-
ton over to get the monzy and cut part
with him?” Carroll asked.

“To get immediate cash,” I pointed
out. “If he were going to build up a
disappearance case it would take a
long time before the courts would give
him the property.”

Sheriff Carroll was silent.

_. are we going to do with the
kid? Do you think he’s in the
clear enough to send him to his hotel
and put a couple of men on his trail
and see if the other fellows show up to
collect the dough?” :

“I don’t think there is a chance,”
Carroll pointed out, thinking clearly.
“They probably had him watched at
the bank so that he wouldn’t run off
with the money—if there were two
aides,”

“You're thinking my way,” I told
the Sheriff. “I can’t figure the kid
going in with two strangers on a deal
like this. If he knew Frawley that
well he would have come running with
the information the first thing, unless
he was in on the deal at the first.”

Sheriff Carroll decided to take young
Stratton back to Port Townsend with
him. He asked me to come along and
help him with the investigation. We
left immediately.

We spent all night trying to break
down the youth. He stuck to his story
of the two strangers with the dogged-
or suggested he was telling the
ruth,

Early the next morning, after we
had given up hopes of cracking him,
Carroll and I were going over his bag-
gage minutely to see if there was any-
thing we had missed on our first hur-
ried examination. And we found a
car check.

We went to the cell and asked Ollie
about it. He said it did not belong to
him and he did not know how it got
into his grip.

Sheriff Carroll left the first thing in
the morning for Seattle to investigate
the car claim stub. It was for a down-
town hotel garage.

When Carroll presented the check
the attendants said they had no record
of the car.

“It must have been taken away from
here,” they said.

“You wouldn’t let the car go without

‘December I5 Issue
42

taking the claim check, would you?”
Carroll demanded,

“It’s not your car, what do you
care?” one of the attendants snapped.

“How do you know it isn’t my car?”
Carroll jumped back at him. Then
he flashed his badge. “I want to find
out all about that car or there is going
to be a lot of trouble.”

de attendants hurriedly explained.

A young fellow brought the car in
several days before and wanted to hide
it for a few days.

“He gave us each a ten-dollar bill to
steer away anyone who made in-
quiries,” they explained. “He said he
was having trouble with his wife and
he didn’t want her to get hold of the
car.’

It was Bill Frawley’s. car.

In the meantime, in Port Townsend,
Norma Solid, Stratton’s fiancee, came
to the jail. It was on Friday. They
were to be married at her home on
Whidby Island across the Sound on
the following Sunday. She had been
entertaining friends and relatives who
had come to stay over for the cere-
mony. Then she heard the news and
came immediately to the jail.

Ollie was sitting opposite me when
his sweetheart entered. When he saw
her he jumped to his feet. She ran to
him and flung herself into his extend-
ed arms, sobbing, “Oh, Ollie, Ollie——
I know you’re innocent.”

The youth held the girl tightly.
“T’ve been framed; tricked,” he told
her in a thick whisper.

It was hard to break them up, but I
finally had-to. She clutched frantical-
ly at him when I pulled them apart.
Then she regained her cornposure and
smiled sweetly at him.

“IT know you aren’t guilty of any-
thing,” she told him confidently, while
a love light shone brightly in her eyes.

Ollie still had much to explain, but

wasn’t exactly sure whether he
was guilty or not. He seemed to be an
honest and straight-forward youth.
One of the nicest girls I had ever seen
was his promised wife. He had a good
job. He was well liked. But there
was something strange about Ollie’s
story.
My thoughts were interrupted by the
entrance of Sheriff Carroll, who had
returned from Seattle. ~

“T found the car,” he announced sim-
ply. “And Frawley’s gun was in it.
The .22, Probably the same one that
he was killed .with, if that’s what hap-
pened to him.”

I was about to answer when the
Sheriff’s phone rang. Carroll lifted
the receiver to his ear and listened.
Suddenly his face became grave and
he blurted, “Say that again.”

After a second the Sheriff put down
the phone and turned to me. “It was
the clerk at the local hardware store,”
he announced in a strange voice. “He
heard about us arresting young Strat-
ton and he said that on the same day
Frawley disappeared Ollie came in and
borrowed a high-powered .22 rifle. He
said he kept it for several hours and
then returned it.” The Sheriff’s lips
were pressed tightly together as he
finished talking. I could actually feel
nen effect the information had upon

| WAS doubtful of Ollie’s guilt until
now, feeling that he might have been
the unwilling accomplice who had
merely cashed the checks, as he said he
had, to finance his honeymoon. He
was well liked in the community and
had a steady job.

It was difficult to believe that the
boy could be guilty of cruel murder.

There was one way to test him. He
was madly in love with Norma. I

‘turned to the Sheriff.

“There is one way we can find out
if Ollie is telling the truth,” I said.

“How’s that?”

I quickly outlined a plan to him. He

tance of the Sheriff's, I took her into
the deputy’s office.

“When you hear the door to the
Sheriff’s office slam shut,” I instructed
her, “you start crying. Don’t cry too
loud, but sob just enough so that you
can be heard in the Sheriff’s office.
Make it sound real. A lot is going to
depend upon how well you can act.”

She promised to do her best. I closed
the door and left her there. é

Back in the Sheriff’s office I pulled a
chair to the center of the room. A
few feet from the chair I placed a lamp
and turned its strong light towards the
empty chair.

The Sheriff and I put our chairs be-
hind the desk, in the shadows, and sat
down.

“All right,” Carroll told the jailer.
“Get Ollie. Bring him in and lead
him to that chair in the light.

“Remember, when you leave slam
the door.”

The jailer nodded and disappeared.
In a few minutes footsteps sounded
outside in the hallway. The door
opened, and the white-faced Ollie ap-
peared.

The youth looked around the room
slowly, taking in every detail. His pale
face grew even more chalky.

“Sit down,” the jailer said quietly,
eae Ollie to the chair under the
ight.

The jailer turned and left. The door
slammed! :

| wees was a death-like silence.
Then a faint sobbing was heard.

Ollie grew taut. He swallowed hard,
wetting his dry lips with the tip of his
tongue. He jerked his head from side
to side. ‘

“That’s Norma,” I whispered. “She’s
getting the third degree. We think she
is going to crack. If she does it will
mean you will both hang for this,
Stratton.”

He sat listening to the broken sobs.
His fists clenched and he licked his
cold, thin lips. There was a terrific
struggle going on within him. It was a
battle to protect his own life or the
life of the girl he loved.

The clock in the room beat out the
seconds like booming sledges. Sudden-
ly the boy leaped up.

“She didn’t help me! She didn’t help
me!” he screamed. “I swear she didn’t
have anything to do with it!”

“Who killed Frawley?”

“TI did,” he cried. “I killed him. I
threw him over the bluff—on the gar-
bage dump.”

He cringed as he finished. The cold
sweat stood in beads upon his forehead.
Sobs shook him. He leaned forward,
burying his head in his hands,

“T didn’t mean to shoot him, honest
I didn’t. It just happened. It happened
before I knew. But Norma wasn’t
there. Norma doesn’t know anything
about it.”

The Sheriff laid his hand gently on
the boy’s shaking shoulders.

“I know she didn’t, Ollie,” he said,
consoling him. “But just tell me and
Detective Himes how it all happened.”

“We had an argument,” Ollie began
in a choked voice. “We argued. And
——and I shot him.”

“Start at the beginning,” I interrup-
ted softly.

“It was last Wednesday. ‘Old Bill’
had promised to take me and Norma
for a drive around the Peninsula. The
day before we were to go—that’s
Wednesday—he suddenly changed his
mind. And without any reason.

“It was an awful disappointment. 1
wanted to make the trip real bad. So
did Norma. We had been planning it
for days, and then he changed his
mind. When he said he wouldn’t take
us, well—well I got mad and argued
with him.”

“When did you shoot him?”

“Tt was afterwards, After T hed left
his collage and come back again. —
went to the hardware store, just like
they say I did, and got that .22. I went
back to the cottage.

“Frawley was reading a magazine. I
asked him if he would take us on the
trip. He said no. I looked at him for a
moment, then—then I raised the gun
and fired, It was awful the way he
locked when he fell. I hadn’t meant to
kill him,”

The youth collapsed and slid from
his chair to the floor as he uttered the
last words. His face was deathly white.

The Sheriff and I stood silent for a
moment, studying the face of the boy
lying before us. He had confessed a
cold-blooded murder. It was I who
leaned over and rubbed his forehead
until he revived.

After he had regained his composure
we continued our questioning.

“Ollie,” I asked sternly, “what did
you do with the body?”

HE STARED unseeing, as if he had

not heard me. Then his thin lips
parted. “I’ll take you to it,” he croaked
in a hoarse whisper.

Sheriff Carroll looked quickly at
Ollie. He peered at him intently for a
moment, then he reached over and took
hold of his shoulder.

“No,” the Sheriff coaxed. “Just tell
us where it is.”

“I won’t! I killed him and I’ll get
him.”

“But it’s dark out now.”

“I don’t care. I won’t tell you. I want
to get him myself.”

It was no use arguing with him. The
boy was nearly crazy from his confes-
sion.

“Ollie,” the Sheriff said. “I’m going
to take you back to your cell now. To-
morrow morning early we’ll all go over
to where you hid Frawley’s body.
You’ll lead us there, won’t you?”

The boy nodded his head. “I put him

there, and I want to go get him,” he
sobbed.
’ Carroll led Stratton back to the jail
and then came to the outer office where
I was waiting. We made final arrange-
ments about the next day and then we
parted.

It was in the small hours of the
morning that I climbed out of bed the
next day. I dressed hurriedly and went
over to the Sheriff’s office. He was al-
ready there.

“Hello, Himes,” he greeted me.
“We'll start right away.”

Together we got Ollie Stratton, then
we went down to the Port Townsend
dock where we were joined by Pro-
secuting Attorney William Daly, two
of Carroll’s deputies and the news-
papermen,

ee Coast Guard Cutter Zev, a for-.

mer rum runner, was standing by.
We boarded her and headed for Whid-
by Island, where Ollie said he had left
the body. :

Art Trast, the coastguardsman, was
aboard. Sheriff Carroll introduced me
to him.

“I owe you an apology,” I told him,
extending my hand. “I’ll have to admit
that for a time I thought maybe you
were mixed up in this.”

“Will you accept my apology, too?”
Sheriff Carroll offered.

“It’s all right,” Trast said. “I was
so, excited and‘so certain something
was wrong that I probably did a lot of
foolish things that would seem queer
to anyone looking at the situation
sanely.”

Big drops of rain fell softly on the
water as we headed for the island. It
was foggy, and the murky mist com-
pletely enveloped the small boat. We
all sat in the cabin. Everyone was
quiet and heavy with thought, all ex-
cept Ollie who was in the best of
spirits.

It was a different Ollie who was
leading us to the body than the one

of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES—Out Friday, November 27

ten.

STRAT" 11 i 1 WAS
RATION, Ollie Lee, white, hanged WAP (Jefferson Co.) July 28k 1933

THE PRISON yard was bright as day, though it was night
outside. In the dazsling floodlights stood a gallows; an old
but strongly built machine of death which had done its duty
many times. :

Now it was due to serve again.

The midsummer breeze whispered in the alder trees out-
side the prison wall. From somewhere came the gasping
wail of a nightmare-ridden man.

A door opened on the courtyard. The sound of feet on gravel
could.be heard. : i

In the center of a stony-faced group came the thirty-fourth
man to walk up the gallows steps in old Walla Walla prison.
Of the others before him, none had walked down again.

The man-was fully dressed, save for a hat. His step was
firm, but his head was bowed so his white face could scarcely
be seen.

Was this to be the end of that dream of life and love he once
had known? :

They wheeled him to the right, and up the steps his feet
were hurried. Speedily straps went around his ankles.

“Have you anything to say?”

The man shook his head. Too much had been said and done
already. A Persian proverb, written centuries before, was
sending him to his death.

The youth who stood in the sheriff’s office at Port
Angeles, Washington, was trembling in excitement.
Sheriff John M. Carroll reached for his hat. “Where’s the
body ?” :
“TJ don’t know where the body is,” the boy said.
Sheriff Carroll sank back into his chair. “Murder is a

Gitte y Ollie Stratton’s been murdered !”

tough word, son,” he said mildly. “Who is this Stratton and.

January, 1940

- ly. “Ollie is a young fellow—

“days ago.”

-sula, often called “America’s

how do you know he’s been
murdered ?”
The boy spoke more calm-

friend of mine—who works in
a.butcher shop in Port Town-
send. He disappeared a few

“Well, maybe he’s just off
on a hunting trip,” Sheriff
Carroll suggested.

Port Angeles and Port
Townsend, in the northwest-
ern tip of the United States,
are in the Olympic Penin-

Last Wilderness.”

Sheriff Carroll reached for
a pencil. “By the way, what’s
your name?”

“Eddie Graham’s my name.
I’m a grocery clerk and Ollie’s
my “best friend. I’m sure
something terrible has happened to him.’

“Why are you so sure?” There was a hint of steel in the
sheriff’s voice. ,

“Because he was due to get married in just a few days to
Norma Solid, a swell, girl who lives on Whidby Island,” the
youth went on., “Nobody would run out on Norma—especially
Ollie. Everybody is crazy about her.” ;

Sheriff Carroll scribbled on a pad of paper. “Strange,” he
commented. “So he was going to get married. We'd better
put out a ‘missing’ report on him, But frankly, son, I can’t
figure any murder—yet.”

ith Proves
perienced
ng Crimes

Ulysses, “I got a
sand finally trailed
y where they con-

eyes widened in
2 are they now?”
“* +7]d me where
lock. I found
’ fingerprints

r beamed. “From
2arn the names of
end out an alarm
»’s the lock?”
Ulysses blurted

to Johnson’s resi-
e amateur sleuth
But ten minutes
covered far more
ice: the hacksaw
rut the lock, That
ediately traced to
—Ulysses Johnson,
district Attorney
nfessed wrecking
about the Kansas
true, but Ulysses
) unwitting hobos
ace their finger-
> that the offense
hem. The tremb-
Johnson further
d pulled the rail-
hope of solving
ieralded a genius,
i, he was certain
ted to the force

se, had suspected
Nhen the young
stance, they pre-
ng that by acting
eoon trap him,

ty and re-

erm in the
mn. Today he is
he United States
ne because he

L DETECTIVE CASES

SPECIAL DETECTIVE CASES

wrath. True, this might be a long shot
—but Carroll was willing to take it.

a nearby apartment building, he eag-

erly hurried there.

The sheriff had a long wait before
the woman answered her bell. Finally
she opened the door.

Though the young blond had just
emerged from bed and was not yet
fully awakened, Molly Johnson pre-
sented a striking picture. She was
exceptionally beautiful of face and
figure. The flimsy dressing gown
which she held loosely around her
body, did nothing to conceal her vol-
uptuous curves.

Molly Johnson stared at the sheriff
quizically. “Do you mind telling me
why you're here?” she asked finally.

Carroll began cautiously. He told
her that he had received an important
message for Frawley, but had been
unable to locate him. One of the old
man’s friends had suggested that she
might tell him where Bill could be
found.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” the girl
replied languidly. “I haven’t seen him
for more than two weeks. Besides,”
she added, “I know him only slightly.”

‘T’ve heard different,” Carroll re-
marked pointedly.

Blushing, Molly Johnson admitted:
“Well, I did ask him up to have a few
drinks with me—but he isn’t more
than a friend!”

“Would anyone resent your inter-
est in Frawley?” the sheriff continued.

“I should say not!” she replied in-
dignantly. “Nobody has any claim on
me. I like Bill and I’ll see him when-
ever I want to.”

Still suspecting that the young wo-
man knew something about the ex-
soldier’s disappearance, Carroll took

her into custody as a material witness. -

Molly Johnson protested bitterly,
claiming she knew nothing of
Frawley’s fate. But the sheriff, faced
by so many perplexing problems, re-
fused to take anything for granted.

red

(Continued from page 13)

T was nearly two in the morning
| when Carroll returned to his office.
He was anxious to see if the deputies
had uncovered anything at the Fraw-
ley cottage earlier in the day. How-
ever, their written reports contained
nothing that threw any light on the
case.

The identification expert had found
only valueless smudges on the prem-
ises, and other officers had uncovered
no additional clues.

Completely exhausted, Sheriff Car-
roll went home for much-needed rest.
But at eight he was back on the job,
diligently picking up the threads of
the maddening riddle.

he vanished. I want you fellows to go

back and talk with Frawley’s neigh-
bors. Stay out there until you get a
lead, then report here immediately.”

Carroll instructed the ballistics ex-
pert to make microscopic photos of

_ HONEYMOON WITH THE HANGMAN:

the missile so that a check on its
riflings could be made with any sus-
picious guns. Then, with rapid steps,
he proceeded to the bank where
Frawley had kept his money.

The manager stated that no with-
drawals had been made during the
past two weeks. Carroll was encour-
aged by this report. It meant that the
killer took the two bank books only
to camouflage the motive for the
crime. Molly Johnson obviously had
some definite place in the murder
pattern.

Returning to the tavern where he
had received his first information
about her, Carroll prodded the pro-
prietor for more details about the
girl’s association with Frawley.

“Well, Molly’s a sweet-lookin’ kid,
but she’s got quite a temper,” the
tavern owner finally declared. “She
got into an awful argument with old
Bill a couple of weeks ago. She said
he’d be plenty sorry for giving her
the brush-off,”

Carroll’s heart jumped. At last, he
felt, he was. on the right track. Ex-
ultantly, the sheriff drove back to his
office. Only one matter still puzzled
him: If Molly Johnson had brutally
shot the old man for jilting her, what
had she done with his body?

Had she calmly dragged the bleed-
ing corpse to the garage, stuffed it in-
to the Ford coupe which Frawley

The police hurried
to Whidby Island,
where they found
the horribly de-
composed body of
Frawley on a muddy

garbage heap.
(Bpecially Posed)

“That’s just one of the flock of
questions I’ve got to answer,” was
the terse reply.

* bd *

T WAS late afternoon by the time

Carroll. had returned to his of-
fice. Hastily summoning an identi-
fication expert and two deputies,
he instructed them not only to hunt
for fingerprints, but also to ex-
amine the cottage thoroughly and

make an inch-by-inch search of the -

grounds.
Because it was long past closing
time at the American National
Bank, Carroll knew that Frawley’s
savings accounts could not be
checked that day. Nevertheless, the
sheriff did not stay in his office.
Pulling on a jacket, he started
down the street: He was going to
try something. This wasn’t the first
time he had started and solved
case on a hunch.
Knowing that Frawley occasion-
ally went on a drinking spree, the
officer conjectured that old: Bill,
while under the influence of liquor,
might: have incurred someone’s
(Continued on page 41)

Trast, he pointed to a bullet hole
in the door between the kitchen
and the bedroom!

From the brightness of the splint-
ers the sheriff knew instantly that
the perforation was newly made.
Expertly, he traced the line of the
missile’s flight. Then, suddenly, his
lips pursed in a soundless whistle,
and whipping out his pen-knife, he
extracted a .22 caliber bullet!

“Did Bill own a gun?” Carroll
asked. The other man shook his
head. “Then I’m’ afraid,” the of-
ficer said with grim humor, “that
I’ve got a murder to solve without
even a corpse to start with.

* * *

| Seabee aroused now, the
men proceeded to the back porch,
where they found other suspicious
stains. And in the garage, too, they
noticed red-brown splotches.

“ither the killer carted Frawley
off in his own car,” Carroll specu-
lated, “or buried him here. We've
got some digging to do!”

The coast guardsman procured
two shovels from the garage, and
the pair started turning back layer
upon layer of rich black earth. But
after more than three feet of ground
had been removed, in several spots
surrounding the house, they found
no sign of a body. Wearily, the
diggers gave up the job and re-
turned to the cottage.

The canny sheriff staunchly be-
lieved that a killer, no matter how
clever, always left a calling card at
the scene of his crime. In this case,
however, where the corpus delicti
was missing, that theory probably
would not apply. But Carroll had
to be certain.

With painstaking care the sheriff
combed the. living room. It wasn’t
long before he discovered some-
thing—a crumpled sheet of paper
that had been tossed under the
table.

“Looks like old Bill was doing
some bookkeeping,” remarked
Carroll. “But I can’t make head or
tail out of these figures. See what
you can do with them, Art.”

The youth studied the sheet for
several minutes: ;

$3,839 100
250 50
4,089 Hs
190 “pf
3,899 190

“J think I know what the larger
amounts are,” Trast finally said.

12.

“Olite Stratton (right)

tlerk In a meat mar
orted to Sheriff C
m

“They're probably his bank bal-
ances. He kept two savings ac-
counts—one for current expenses
and the other for his nest-egg. But
I’m dead sure Bill didn't make
these figures. The writing isn’t like .
his.” fe

Carroll pondered a moment, then
inquired with disarming frankness:
“Isn't it rather peculiar, Art, that
you know so much about Frawley’s
money affairs?” ;

“T don’t think so,” Trast replied
without hesitatfon. “Bill became
quite attached to my wife and me.
He told us exactly how much he
had in the bank because he said he
was going to leave it to us when he
died.”

Trast’s words sounded sincere
and the sheriff dismissed his doubts
about the youth’s role in the biz-
arre riddle.

“Do you think,” Carroll asked,
“that old Bill was murdered by
somebody who wanted his money?”

Trast nodded. “There can’t be
any other reason, Sheriff. I’m sure
he had no enemies.”

“Then,” Carroll observed,” the
killer may have taken the bank
books.”

Trast’s face was a study in per-
plexity. “But what I can’t under-
stand,” he declared, “is why the
killer would ‘take them, and also do

all this figuring, if he couldn't get | ‘ 7

Bill’s dough out of the bank.”

scab sca aden ae tbe ‘

owned, then disposed of it in some
obscure place? Or had she hired a
man to commit the merciless slaying?

These conflicting questions still
raced through the sheriff’s mind when
his deputies trooped into head-
quarters. Their faces were bright
with optimism. That afternoon, they
had established, beyond a doubt, that
Frawley disappeared on the 26th of
August.

Several neighbors had greeted the
old man that morning, but none had
seen him since. However, not a soul
had noticed a stranger near the Fraw-
ley cottage on that fatal day.

Carroll’s eyes glinted with hardened
purpose. “Now,” he said, “we'll see if
the glamorous blond has an alibi for
the 26th. If she hasn't, the Frawley
murder will be solved in less time
than it takes to say ‘Molly Johnson’.”

Escorted to the sheriff’s office, the
voluptuous friend of the missing man
raved with incoherent fury for several
minutes. Carroll waited until she
paused for breath, then said calmly:

“Look, Molly, we aren't keeping
you here just for the fun of it, Bill
Frawley is missing and we think you
know where he is. In fact, we've
heard that you went up to his cot-
tage on the 26th of August—the day
he was last seen.”

The accusation was a shot in the
dark. Tensely, the officials waited to
see what reaction it brought.

“That isn’t true!” the girl exclaimed.
“Why I don’t even know how to find
Bill’s place!”

“Then where were you on the
26th?” Carroll demanded,

The suspect thought for a moment.
Finally she answered with flaming
defiance. “Sure, I remember now. I
was in Seattle. I had a chance to get
three days’ work in a store there, so
I went over. Worked on the 25th,
26th, and 27th.”

“Can you prove that?”

“Certainly. Just call the man T
worked for.”

When Carroll located the store ex-
ecutive, the case he had built to such
lofty heights crumbled before his dis-
appointed eyes. Molly Johnson was
undoubtedly innoéent—her alibi was
confirmed to the letter. The sensuous
blond was released, and the sheriff
found himself staring once again at a
blank wall. What was the answer to
the mystery? If a jealous woman had
not ended the likable old man’s life,
who had? And, most important, where
was his body?

* * *

URPOSELY, Carroll had made no

attempt to trace Frawley’s Ford
coupe. The sheriff’s reasons were
sound. If he publicized the slaying,
the culprit would learn that the crime
had been detected. Then the police
would be hampered by an avalanche
of worthless tips and rumors that al-

ways follows the announcement of
murder. .

Further, the sheriff theorized, a kil-
ler who planned his crime so care-
fully, had undoubtedly hidden the
Frawley car where it would be diffi-
cult to find. And if that were true,
spreading an alarm for the pick-up
would be a waste of effort,

As the days sped by, Carroll fol-
lowed countless angles and obeyed
wild hunches, but none bore fruit.
Then, just when it appeared as though
he would be forced to announce
Frawley’s supposed murder and ask
for public assistance, the case took a
startling turn,

Working on the faint possibility that
robbery had been the murder motive,
the sheriff made periodic checks at
the American National Bank, One
morning, Dolores Hart, an employee,
called him aside.

“The manager asked me to be on
the lookout for any draft on Mr.
Frawley’s accounts,” she said. “One
just came through here an hour ago,
and I don’t think the signature is gen-
uine. Mr. Frawley made a queer
flourish on the capital “F” of his
name. The “F” on this one doesn’t
look right to me.”

The sheriff started to sizzle, “T'll
find a way to make you talk!” he
snapped, “If necessary, I'll stop pay-
ment on the grounds that the draft’s
a forgery!”

“Mr. Carroll,” sternly replied the
clerk on the other end of the wire,
“I’d advise you to move. cautiously.
Mr. Frawley presented himself. here
yesterday with his bank books. He
said he’d decided to stay in Seattle
and wished to transfer some of his
money. He asked only for the smaller
of his accounts at present, I think
you'll find everything in order.”

‘Describe Frawley for me,” Carroll
demanded.

“Well, now,” was the evasive reply,
“we have thousands of customers in
this bank. I’m sure I can’t remember
what he looked like.”

Very near losing his patience now,
the sheriff asked whether the man
had left a Seattle address, He was told
that Frawley was staying at the Dil-
ler Hotel,

Carroll replaced the receiver, then
quickly picked it up again. This time
he called the Seattle police and asked
that someone be sent to the Diller to
learn if William Frawley was stopping
there. He also requested a descrip-
tion of the man together with any in-
formation concerning his car, if he
had one. If the machine could be

PoE a ee Sys sith

found, Carroll wanted it examined.
* * *

ETECTIVE L. E. Himes undertook

the assignment. When he arrived
at the hotel, he found a William
Frawley registered, though he was
not in at the moment. However, in
his letterbox was a tag that indicated
where his car was parked.

Lieutenant Himes received a chilly
reception at the garage. For a while
the attendants flatly denied that they
had the automobile he sought. To get
results, Himes finally had to bear
down.

“All you cops do is make trouble
for some poor guy,” one of the at-
tendants complained. “This lad has
been having a fight with his wife and
doesn't want her to know where the
car is. Now you have to spoil things
for him,”

“‘T’'m not here to take the car,” the
detective snapped. “And if this fel-
low’s on the level, he hasn’t any wife.
And he isn’t young, either. Where’s
the machine?” he demanded.

Grumbling, the employees led the
way to a dark corner of the garage.
There was Frawley’s Ford coupe,

‘ identified by Himes through the li-

cense number Sheriff Carroll had
given him. ,

The Seattle sleuth examined every
inch of the automobile. He stopped
short when he came to the rumble-
seat section. Brownish blotches cov-
ered the floor and seat—undoubtedly
blood stains!

Himes raced to the garage office
and in a few minutes he was report-
ing his discoveries over the phone
to Carroll.

The sheriff could not conceal his
excitement. “Keep an eye on that fel-
low’s room,” he said, “and have some-
one stationed at the bank. I’ll hop to
Seattle immediately.”

* * *

T TWO o'clock that same Wednes-

day afternoon, a young man
walked up to the teller’s window of
the Seattle bank and asked whether
the money had arrived for William
Frawley’s draft. At the mention of
that name, Himes strode over and
placed a firm hand on the youth’s
shoulder. .

“Are you Frawley?” the detective
queried. .

With a surprised look the young
man pivoted to face Himes. “Why,
yes, I am,” he replied. “Who did you
think I was?”

Himes was not fooled by the fel-
low’s nonchalance. For, although the
detective had no knowledge of what
the real William Frawley looked like,

he thought this man was far too’

young to be a retired army sergeant.

He took the youth to police head-

quarters to await Carroll's arrival.
Several hours later, the sheriff

SPECIAL DETECTIVE

nee eae

ile oho

bounded in. H
lad in custoc
bewilderment

It was Ollie
lad who work:
Port Townsenc
ing, likable fe
completed thr
the U. S. Arm

“Gosh, I’m ;
iff,’ the you

mess. I’ve bee

“Tll say yo
Carroll agreec

“On the mo
began, “two -
with called 1
shop and sai:
right away. £

Hankins were

“I know th:

“Well, I w
hotel where t!
what in heck
about. They t
to skip town.
get them sor
they could g
shoot animals
got the amu
them.

“That night
house. When
Smokey sai
wrong. You’y
with us,’”

Young Strat
to light a cig
deep drags.
to go,” he cor
a date with
“We're going

SPECIAL DETECT!

w. He
m their
vas the
thered.

ag into

of the
Thur-

nured.

* said.
e gets

Have
atrol-
omer’s

may

1 the

sk,

Vancouver’s hobo jungles and underworld dens were
raided, scores of suspects rounded up. But nothing
could be found to connect any of them with the
murder,

Sergeant Brady questioned taxi drivers, streetcar
operators, bus depot employes, railroad station clerks,
airport attendants, all to no avail.

The police of Portland—across the Columbia River
from Vancouver—gave full cooperation. Chief of De-
tectives, Captain J. J. Keegan,+assigned two of his
veterans, Bill Fetters and John McCulloch, to the case
on the chance that the killers had’ fled to Portland.

Pawnshops in both cities were haunted by the inves-
tigators in the hope that the murder guns would be
pawned, Then, just as it began to appear that the Caples
case was doomed to failure, the Portland detectives hit
the jackpot. They finally found a’ revolver which
matched the markings on one of the murder slugs,

They quickly obtained the name and address of the
person who had pawned the gun. His name was Jimmy
White, a boy in his early twenties, :
“I found the gun in a vacant lot,” he told them.
“When?” Fetters demanded.

ba for a friend!”

> break they had been waiting for so long?

aaa
LOVED TOO WELL——
Death plank became altar
of Glenn Stringer (above).

aes

ee Bait veh Ae aaa
TRAGIC SPOT——

House (center) where killers lurked. Rita (left)
said she was. tired of living on just small change.

“This morning. I thought maybe I could get a few
bucks on it, so I took it to the pawn shop.”

His story seemed plausible. It was substantiated by
the fact that he had given his right name and address
at the pawnshop.

But if he was telling the truth, then who had thrown
away the death gun?

McCulloch decided to try a bluff.

“You're lying, White!” he shot at him. “You didn’t find
that gun in any vacant lot. If you had, it would be
muddy or rusty. It’s been raining for three solid days.”

White’s face became putty gray. Beads of perspira-
tion popped out on his forehead.

“I’m telling the truth!” he exclaimed.

“You're in hot water up to your ears!” McCulloch
went on. “That gun was used in a killing and if you
don’t come clean, you'll be facing a murder rap!”

The boy’s face betrayed terror. “I don’t know any-
thing about no murder! I was only keeping the gun

The detectives glanced at each other. Was this the

: See é

_Bul was he Just trying to ave
his own skin? _ Was Glenn Stringer ‘only a mythical
person on wholn he was trying to shift the blame? >

onths and I haven’t got the.

e is now.” 2: ‘
0 look this baby up,” Fetters sa

pho: ey, y

f Then’ they,
cords and discovered a Glenn Stringer
in the Oregon State Peniten= +
house only the month before!
Fetters ‘and McCulloch and Chief.
d succeeded Chief Cresap at Van
mand confronted young Stringer
" i f 19

‘SHE HAD HIM——
around her little pinky, and
he wanted her at his side.

ITA JOHNSON lived a life of drudgery in Portland,
Oregon, eking out a measly existence, but she was
not reconciled to her fate. She had ambitions—
ambitions that were dizzy to contemplate. _

She wanted to feel only the softest silk against her
milk-white skin. She craved expensive perfume,
dazzling jewelry. She wanted expensive Paris gowns
and a fur coat that would make the other girls green
with envy. s

But Rita was smart enough to know she couldn’t
have all those things on the money she earned.

That’s how she came to take up with the Kid.

The guy was just a cheap crook, but Rita saw pos-
sibilities in him. In the first place, he had nerve enough
to try anything. In the second place, he had gone over-
board for her.

She had met him in a cheap bar over on Portland’s

notorious Burnside Street and soon after they began to
live together. Aaa He

The Kid was a second-story man and did fairly well
at it. But after awhile Rita got tired of the peanuts he
was bringing in. That kind of coin wasn’t getting: her
the things she wanted. She decided to have a show=
down. : ay

One night, she put it up to him cold turkey. ’ Wher
she’d said her piece, the Kid looked at her in amaze-
ment.

“But, honey, I been doing all right,” he protested.

Her crimson, inviting lips formed a pout. “Kid, we're
not getting anywhere. It takes every cent the both of:
us make to pay for this dump and get our three squares...
a day. How Jong can you be satisfied with this kind’ o
a setup?” : -

He looked puzzled. “But, baby, what can I do about.

— ee

it? All I know is how to bust into buildings and take
whatever’s: laying around. The big dough’s in heist
jobs and I ain’t no rod handler, you know that. I

-wouldn’t know how to stick up a guy.”

“Well, it’s time you learned!” she snapped. “Other
guys get into the folding-dough class. Take Blackie,
for instance. Him and you got out of stir together. Now
he’s got a bankroll and you got nothing. You gonna
be a small-timer all the rest of your life?”

The Kid poured himself a healthy snort of whiskey,
tossed it off in a single gulp. Then he slid down onto
the chair, pulled her down on his knees and threw his
arms around her. |

“Yl do anything for you, darling!
whispered hoarsely. ‘

Next day the Kid was fired with new ambition. No
more penny-ante stuff for him. He was all set to play-
ing for bigger stakes. He was going to keep his woman
no matter what!

He found Blackie in a cheap hotel in the North End
and told him what the score was.

“I got just the thing for us,” Blackie told him. “There’s

Anything!” he

_&@ guy who runs a tobacco route over in Vancouver. He

takes in plenty of jack every Saturday. I cased the set-
up myself and it’s a lead-pipe cinch.”

The Kid listened eagerly. Here was the chance to
show Rita what he could do when he really wanted to.

A FULL moon bathed the countryside as 21-year-old
Herbert Caples drove his. delivery truck to his
house in an outlying suburb of Vancouver, Washington.
It was a few minutes before twelve on Saturday
night.

As he left the garage and started for the house, two
shadowy figures sprang from the darkness. Two pistols
flashed in the moonlight.

“What’s this?” Caples demanded.

“Take it easy and you won't get hurt.
your wallet!”

Caples started to hand it to him, then suddenly leaped
at his assailants.

Both pistols barked. Caples whirled, staggered, col-
lapsed with a moan.

“That'll teach this punk to pull funny stuff with
me!" one of the bandits snarled. Deliberately, he fired

Let's have

FATE FIXED——
My _ doom of Herbert L. Caples
on (below) when kid met Rita.

twice into the writhing figure. Caples lay still now. He
was dead.

One of the killers snatched the fat billfold from their
victim's pocket. Then they raced into the night.

In less than ten minutes, the Caples place was the
scene of feverish excitement. A crowd had gathered.
Police cars roared up and grim-faced officers swung into
action.

Chief Ira Cresap and Sergeant Bob Brady of the
Vancouver Police Bureau and Deputy Sheriffs Thur-
man and Pearson examined the body.

“He didn’t. have a chance,” Cresap murmured.
“Blasted four ‘times!”

“We'd better.spread an alarm pronto,” Brady said.
“There’s still a chance to nab the killer before he gets
too far away.”

“Okay,” the Chief said. “Call the station. Have
every prowl car’ search the city. Notify every patrol-
man to pick up anybody who looks suspicious.”

Brady hurried away.

A few minutes later, an assistant from the Coroner’s
office drove up.

“We want the slugs,” Cresap told him.
be our only lead.”

“We'll have an autopsy report first thing in the
morning.”

The victim’s brother, Phillip, was ques-
tioned in an effort to determine a motive
for the ruthless killing. Dazedly, he in-
formed them that robbery could be the
only possible reason for the attack.

“Herbert always was careless about
flashing his money,” he said. “He probably
had several hundred bucks on him—his
Saturday collections.”

“That’s it then,” Cresap said grimly.
“We found no money in his clothing.”

Tears rolled from Phillip Caples’ eyes.
“I don’t know how I'll tell Herbert’s wife
about this. She and their kid are visiting
her folks at Ostrander. It’ll break her
heart.”

During the remainder of the night, po-
lice scoured the city. They found abso-
lutely no trace of the killers. They had
vanished.

Next morning, the bullets taken from
the victim’s body were rushed to Portland
and examined by ballistics expert Orvle

“They may

LOVE PULLED——
the trigger, ending one
life, shooting up another.

Williams. He reported that they were made
for a .32 calibre automatic but that one of the
pellets had come from a revolver, as there
were almost no rifling marks on it. The other
three were from an automatic.

This told the police they had to find two
killers instead of one.

The manhunt was widened. An alarm was
broadcast throughout the Pacific Northwest.

ered

seater,

Sean

At first he denied knowing anything about the Caples
murder, but after hours of relentless grilling, he finally
admitted he was one of the bandits who had snuffed out
Caples’ life.

“I knew something would happen if I tried to pull a
stickup,” he said bitterly. “It was my gal drove me to it.
Then, after she spent most of my share of the dough we
got off Caples, she gave me the gate for another guy!!”

“Who was with you in the stickup?” Osmond de-
manded.

“Hal Tremaine.
Blackie.”’

“Yeah, we know him,
“Where’s he now?”

“Darned if I know. About a week after the Caples
job he blew town. I ain’t heard from him since.”

“How much did you get from Caples?”

“We each got about three hundred bucks.”

Stringer explained that he and Tremaine had con-
cealed themselves in a. wooded lot across from the
Caples house and waited until their victim drove up
in his truck. After shooting and robbing him, they had
returned to their hiding place and waited until the ex-
citement died down. They slipped away and proceeded
in a roundabout way to the business district, where they
hitch-hiked back to Portland.

So, at long last, one of the most baffling murders in
the Pacific Northwest had been cracked.

Governor Charles Martin cooperated with the Wash-
ington authorities by granting Stringer a conditional
parole so that he could be removed for trial.

Eugene Cushing, Clark County Prosecutor, delayed
arraignment as long as possible in the hope that Tre-
maine would be captured and brought to trial at the

You guys probably know him as

all right,” Fetters said.

IN ON PINCH.
Chief Osmond (left)
heard kid confess.

BRAIN TRUST——
Fetters, M’Culloch,

(below) nailed kid.

same time. But no trace of him was found. At this
writing, he still remains at large.

Stringer was tried before Superior Judge George B.
Simpson at Vancouver and found guilty of first degree
murder with no recommendation of mercy. Two years
after the Caples murder he dropped through the death
trap of the gallows at Washington State Penitentiary
at Walla Walla.

The Kid had killed for his woman, only to lose her
and his life as well.

In Portland’s business section, a woman, who seemed
old and bent from a distance, listlessly crossed a
crowded street, indifferent to the narrow margins by
which speeding autoists missed her. She clambered
with an effort to the sidewalk, paused a moment, and
shuffled to the newsstand on the corner.

She stood immobile as she read the headline on the
front page. As she lifted her face to the sun, the light
revealed the tear-stained features of a woman much
younger than the premature lines on her countenance
would indicate. Her eyes grew moist; her shoulders
still sagged limply.

Rita Johnson shook her head hysterically as she re-
turned to the headline, sobbing softly. ‘No, no, oh, no.”
She drew her handkerchief from her bag and wiped
her eyes. Then she turned to the back section of the
paper, and proceeded to comb the want-ad section.

She paused at a line which read: “Help Wanted—
Female. Waitress.”

Rita Johnson had a new ambition.

NOTE: For obvious reasons the names Rita Johnson
and Jimmy White are fictitious.

A a ene er ene natn lata es,

ait,

” SS» SCHAEFER, Arthur; “white, hanged Washington’{Mason County) on 8-29-1930.

Belfair. Wosh
eltair, ash ington

November 4, 1976

Mr. Watt Espy, Jr.
Box 67
Headland, Ala. 36545

. Dear Mr. Espy:

‘This is in answer to your letter of Oct. 18th asking
for information about Arthur Schaffer, who was executed
in 1950.

According to the newspaper files of the Shelton Mason
County Journal, Arthur Schaefer, 25, was found guilty of
first degree murder on Dec. 21, 1928, for the brutal murder
of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Kirk. He was sentenced to be hanged in
April 1929 but was granted a stay of execution to investigate
his sanity. He was executed at Walla Walle state penitentiary
on Aug. 29, 1950.

I expect to go to Shelton this coming week and spend
more time searching through newspaper files for more information
and will send you what I can. We are having trouble getting
clear copies of the news items on the copy nasa as the
| old papers are in bound books.

Sincerely,
M : MASON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY
. ere
Chairmen | avec

Route 3, Box 60
Belfair, Wash. 98528

= a
CHARLES T. WRIGHT Che Supreme Court TEMPLE OF JUSTICE
CHIEF JUSTICE 5 OLYMPIA, WASHINGTON
State of Washington 98504

(206) 753-5077

OCLOber 297-1977

Mr. Watt Espy
Law Library

University of Alabama
Box 6205

University, Alabama 35486

Dear Mr. Espy:
Enclosed you will notice that your request
is still being worked on and perhaps you will

hear from somebody with the information you
are seeking.

Best wishes.

Be
| aes Rea
f :

a “y a. ;
a oy : a Uy } if if
C4 o A Z 2 fe fi A) = Lb wf / 4 v :

‘Charles T. Wright
Chief Justice

Brel,

Mason County Historical S ciety Prosents:~

sa te 6 a 8 TN pa

es
tH
=
K
6,
x
cA
i
te
tH
©
ae
i
ia
to
pA
KH
ra
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cA

Never before shown, a set of 100 original glass rhotographic slides have
been made available to the Society. They will be the program subject
for the regular October mecting Thursday the 15th, so says program
chairman Berwyn Thomas. The slides were made between 1915 and 1925.
Some ave Shelton town scenes and a lot of them are of prominent Shelton
residents, many of whom may still reside in the area.

ETE TES ETE NEEL SEE TEESE SEE TESTE TOSSES

October meeting is Answal Meeting and Election Night for the Society.

A brief business meeting will preceed the program. The Nominating
Committee expects to submit two or more names for each office. Nomin-
ations may also be made from the floor. The four offices, plus five

card, or a Life Membership, are eligible to vote and/or Hold ei fics.

or bake ban)

th Ae ‘
wigs hen oe be one
ae é ¥: ay

Syma yA
7” viel

WROTTLES" were the subject of Frank Gray's talk which was well received-
by all who attended the September meeting at the Tribal Center at
Kamilche. He learned the locations and history of the Phoenix Logging
Co. on the West side of Hood Canal in Mason County partly from his
father, who worked there in the 1920s and 1930s. Mr. Gray, genior,
moved his family to Hoodsport when Phoenix shut down, so his chilcres
could go to school. He became a trapper end sti11 does, et the see

of 93. An unusual climax to Frank's talk was a free antique bottle

as a gift to each person in the audience whose birthdey was in February
or August. (More about bottles on page <2.)

e™ LSE Mac abl RL SES LAL OL SE SOBA Ee lal oF ete Aes
f ier me a’ rai 5 he he et A OO LS Pa a ae a CD

in Mason County before 1905. ‘The County Glerk and Sheriff have been

asked to help search. We need someone willing to look at Shelton
Journals before 1905 and verify that there were none, or i. there were,
who were they and why? Please cali Irene Davis, 275-2052, if you can /
give time for this research. —

ROS O NP NGS NI AY EONS ASE ery Me
GE UDO TN IN AN OI

WE WELCOME new members Arthur John Holden and Elizabeth Rublin of Shelton.
The Society now has a record 527 paid-up members. Membership remains
at 11,00 pe, year per person oF #25.00 for a Life Membership. Dues for
1978 may be paid any time after Oct. ist. If you wish to renew your

either for 1977 or 1978, you may use the blank below:

. ese ya ke iw poe
£4 OE SOL tales ehh te set coe le &
ae woe ‘ »

at
a

Pines ales i 1 ae BOGC GS

t os County Historical Society and mat
Chairman Gladys Flakus; Rt. 1, Box 291, Belfair, WA Veo-c.

Name 7 | __Gmount ¢

Address Zip

October 1977 News letter Peace <<
Mason County Historical Society

Another request is for letters, diarics, land claims Yecords, ete. about
Lr. Anson G. Henry, who served as Surveyor General of Wash. Terr. from
1861-65. He was deeply involved in Ore. & Wash. politics. Also needed
is info. about Vietor Gmith;, who served as Collector of Custonug for
Puget Sound during the Civil War yeers,; end Benjamin Kencall, who was
pupt. of Indien Affaire 207 Wash. 1627. Guring the game period, Anyone

with information, slease notliy Mark M. Newbold, 527 Gov. Stevens,
Olympia, WA oo

A “ 4 a
Be AED CD ERE SH ST BEAU AE See Sn DOSES) Stain tei

PLS ie vee | i at 1 ee ie ee er Te be fae 8

DONATIONS of the fovlowsne were made to fae Sao tote in September and are
much appreciated:

RP NP BP AP Ae = Sc, Ns
mle SL Nie SP eft SE,
NTS ION IN

A set of Hood Canal News, June 1947 to Aug. 1951, a weekly published
by Gad Mann. -Doneted by Mes -Myrtie- Rarcy of-Belfeir; they--were
collected enc saved by J. P. Taylor of Bremerton. Uils is the
Society's first newspaper collection, has news about Belfair, Union,
and Hoodsport.

A book "A Review of the Resources end Industries of Washington 1905"
published by the Bureau of Statistics, Agriculture and Immigration,
Olympla. (“Included Is a map of the stete in 1905. Donor is Beurence
A. Munson of Shelton.

A ten-gal. wooden wine barrel used by Dr. Deegan to make strawberry
wine in the 1930s was donated by his daughter, Bonnie Ford, of Calif.

A six-foot crosscut sew was also donated by Bonnie Ford.

The 46-star flag mentioned last month was donated by Mrs. Merritt
Wyngard of Shelton.

A "Shelton" Railroad sign, removed when the railroad through Shelton
was discontinued, was donated by Rudy Oltman of Shelton.

Two cross-cut eae a a ae fas Sorte, were donated by ben Taylor of Shelton.

Pema a ae : RN a et NE whe
oo rier tern ay g EGS vaT

ABOUT BOTTLES:

The oldest bottle Gray found in the Phoenix dumps was an 1850 whiskey
botile, found 18 6 1915 dump. He believes 40 ged been used as 35 0ll Opti
to oil saws.--~--- In the early 1900s there was a Shelton Soda Works, John
Kubik, Prop. (It was a two-story bldg. about where the Art Gallery is now,
according to Mud Clay) The bottles had tops that would pop. These tops

were discontinued because they were unsanitary~-~---Camp Cooke usec products
of the Buckeye Extract Co. of. Olympia, which was first distributed locally
‘by- wagon end later by truck.«---- LOcpers usea ge oat. quentities of medicine,

including Dr. Kilmer's Swamp root, kidney, liver, & bladder remedy; ana.
Davis vegetable pain killer. Some of the medicine contained 90% alcohol

and they would rub it on themselves or drink it, whichever helped the
most-----~- Luring prohibition, geome. medicines were king cf a front for respecn-
eble drinking .--=3<- Over a hundred bottles of Hostetter Stomach Bitters were
found near the erea of the Homan cebin at Leke Cushman. Some fancy condiment
bottles from England were also found at this site.-----Gray uses a metal
probe and potato digger to unearth bottles A metal detector is no good;

it i uncovers pete eee and pan of Ole ee

MASON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOC IE TY
eecy. Barbera Griviey Pres, irene Devis
P.O. Box Y2, Allyn Yeo He. 6,» BOx 60, Eelieir 96520

Ps
* * a
* > :

‘ + ey

% 3
a

» j
*

% y . wR i.

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«
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25 around.”
same gun,”
t have tried
rybody does
ding around

- the ballis-
re from. the

feeling they
out enemies

oe had been
ied that) the

was out of
wee or four

- slugs were
‘ton and get

moun-
futable
r gun

the aid
Byrne eh
ashion,

he killer. The
uldren..

on this case,”
cast a descrip-
d Schafer that

che description
e to six feet.

ivy dark hair.

paper. ‘‘Here’s
. five feet nine
the right side,
them. Large
ie bridge. Full

schafer are the

“THAT

INSIDE DETECTIVE

same, this case is as good as solved,” Tucker cried. “It is
too good to be true, but we'll check it to the end.”

When we hit Shelton, I got on the telephone and warned
police agencies to be on the lookout for the Kirk car and the

men Melton and Schafer. After starting to explain the case

to the Olympia police, they stopped me.

“We've already heard about the murder,” they said.

“How did you find out?” I asked.

“A fellow came through here this morning. One of the
patrolmen was in a cafe eating with him, and he told him all
about it.”

“Is the patrolman still around ?”

They called him to the telephone.

“What did the fellow you talked to look like?” I cried.

“Sort of stocky built with a full face and funny eyes.”

“Did you see his car?”

“Yes, I walked out to the curb with him. He was driving
an old muddy Ford touring. He left here about two hours
ago.”

“My God!” I shouted. “That’s the killer.”

I turned to Tucker. “Let’s get going. It’s only twenty

miles to Olympia. ‘He’s only got a two-hour start on us.”

“Wait a minute,” Tucker halted me. “First of all, he’s
going to drop that car pretty quick. The other cities can
watch for it a lot better than we can chase after it. In the
second place, we are going on the theory that the killer is
either Melton or Schafer, which may be all wet. We haven't
got a thing to link them with it. More likely it was some
bum who came down the road and tried to rob the place and
killed Joe first. The rape of Juanita was probably an after-
thought.”

“What will we do, then?” I asked, anxious to be under way
on the investigation.

“Tet’s turn the search for the car and tracking the man in
it to the other cities. They are bound to find it somewhere.
You and I can better spend our time trailing Melton and
Schafer, because we know more about them.”

We decided that we would run Schafer down first.

“TE it is Schafer, he will probably head east of the moun- -

tains to hole up with his relatives,’ Tucker pointed out. BAG,
we leave now we can make it there by late evening. At any

rate we can get a line on him over there and either tie him
into the picture or eliminate him.”

Before leaving town, we stopped at the hospital.

“Mrs. Kirk say anything?” we asked the doctor.

“She died a few minutes ago,” he informed us. “She re-
gained conciousness for just a moment, but she could only
cry out for Joe. I couldn’t get her to say anything about the
man who attacked her.”

We were now hunting for a double slayer !

After a hard, fast drive across the Cascades, we reached the
ranch of Schafer’s grandparents. We were received cordially,
but informed that Arthur had not been heard from in more
than a month.

It was Tucker who adroitly drew the names of other rela-
tives in the state from the aged grandparents. The only other
relative in that part of the country was an uncle who lived
at Snoqualmie Falls, a city part way up the mountain divide
on the western slope.

We telephoned Olympia to ask about new developments.

“The car was found in Seattle,” they informed us. “They
figure the guy has probably lammed out for California.”

This was another disappointment. We were in the eastern
part of the state, several hundred miles away, while our
quarry was apparently fleeing to the south.

It was well past midnight before we had eaten and started
on our drive back. We hit the divide of the Cascades at about
five in the morning.

Coming down the mountain, we saw a figure trudging along
the road. He was headed in the opposite direction. We had
passed him before I could call out to Tucker who was driving.
“That looks like Schafer!” 1 shouted. “Drive down a ways,
then turn around.”

S WE CAME back, the hitch-hiker jerked his thumb and

we pulled up. He got into the back seat. We drove on

for a short distance, and suddenly I turned around to him.
I had my gun in my hand.

“Stick ’em up Schafer,” I commanded.

The man blanched white, staring at us.

“What do you want? I haven’t got any money,” he faltered.

I knew I might be all wrong, but I wasn’t taking any
chances. I whispered to Tucker: “Is it Schafer?”

Tucker shrugged his shoulders. “It looks like him, but
I’m not sure. I’ve only seen the pictures we got while he was
a kid in the nut house.”

I wasn’t certain either, but I didn’t let him know.

“You're Schafer,” I told him. “We are from the sheriff's
office in Mason County. We want to question you about a
murder that happened there the night before last.”

“T don’t know what you fellows are talking about, but I’m
not Schafer and I don’t know anything about any murder. My
name is Howard Morford. I came from Salem, Oregon,” he
told us. :

We were in a tough spot. We hated to take this fellow all
the way back to Shelton with us and then find him the
wrong man.

“T have it!” Tucker cried. “I’ve got the name of a relative
of Schafer in Snoqualmie. It's only a short way down from
here. He’ll know quick enough.”

The man in the back seat kept protesting and insisting he
wanted to go on, and that we were trying to take him for a
ride. But I kept him covered with the gun and we went on
to Snoqualmie.

As we pulled up in front of the house, I warned the man
not to talk until I told him to.

“Do you know this man?” Tucker asked the relative, as he
came to the door.

“Yes. That’s my nephew, Arthur Schafer.”

“So you're Howard Morford,” I said to Schafer.

He suddenly turned pale. (Continued on page 59%)

MAN LOOKS JUST LIKE THE FELLOW WE'RE AFTER!”
45

INSIDE DETECTIVE

I had seen Mrs. Kirk, too, and she told me she was glad the
hired man had left, She said that he had attempted to make
love to her and she was afraid Joe might learn of it and start
a fight.

While it was a-lead, it was hardly “hot.’ The fact that
the hired man stole the gun and tried to get intimate with
pretty: Juanita did not necessarily make a murderer and a
beast man of him.

When we arrived at the cabin, there was already a crowd
gathered. Several women were caring for Mrs. Kirk.

“She’s still unconscious and looks pretty bad,” they told us.

But it wasn’t until the physician arrived a little later that
we learned how serious her condition was.

“I don’t think she has a chance to live,” the doctor said.
“She’s lost a lot of blood and has a severe case of exposure.
This is the most brutal, savage case of rape I have ever
witnessed. She has been literally torn apart.”

“Will she regain “consciousness?” Tucker asked.

“Maybe. But I will have to give her a sedative if she

‘ does. The pain will be unbearable.”

“Just ask her one question,” Tucker pleaded. “Ask her
who did this. We’ve got to know.”

The doctor prontised he would ask her. Mrs. Kirk was
rushed into Shelton in the ambulance, and Tucker and T went
ahead with the reconstruction of the crime.

The broken window, the blood on the floor, the buttons on
the porch and the torn clothing in the brush made it simple
to piece together what had happened.

“But where was Mrs. Kirk dragging her husband?” Tucker
asked.

“Out to their car,” I answered.

“But I don’t see their car!”

“It isn’t here,” I gasped.

So the attacker had driven away in the Kirk car! That
might be a help, might give us a clue to the direction he had
taken, for he would have. to abandon it sooner or later, or be
caught in it.

I got as minute a description of it as neighbors and friends
could give. It was an old Ford touring car with license
98316. The number was found among papers in the house.

Next, we gathered the pieces of torn clothing that the
madman had ripped from the body of his victim. Each article
was closely examined for telltale marks that might give some
indication of the killer. There was one other significant reason
why we wanted to preserve the clothing. If Mrs. Kirk had
fought with her attacker, as the evidence showed, she might
have scratched him and drawn his blood. A scientific test of
this would be good evidence when we had captured him, as
experts can determine different blood specimens.

We roped off the scuffed area so that plaster casts could
be made of the footprints later. Then, at the last spot along
the road where the fiend had carried the nude body of
Juanita Kirk into the tall grass to complete his ruthless at-
tack, we made an important find.

It was several threads caught in a broken branch on the
ground. :

Mrs. Kirk was nude when the killer carried her from the
road. The threads could only have come from the clothes of
the slayer! :

CLOSE examination indicated that they were from heavy

blue serge, and the shininess of the threads suggested
that they might have come from the seat of a pair of trousers.
Here, we felt, was our most valuable clue.

We went back to the house for one more piece of evidence
we knew we could find. The bullet that killed Joe was there
somewhere. A diligent search revealed it embedded in a
corner of the room.

It was from a .32 caliber gun.

“Tt was a .32 that Kirk said this hired man stole from him,”

I exclaimed. “Still, there are plenty of other .32s around.”

“TL know how we can tell if it is from the same gun,”
Tucker declared. “If Kirk had the gun, he must have tried
it out by shooting at stumps around here. Everybody does
that. Get some of those folks who are just standing around
to search the trees and stumps for bullets.

“We can have them compared by Luke S. May, the ballis-
tics expert in Seattle, and he can tell if they are from the
same gun.”

The crowd went at the search with a will, feeling they
were aiding in the investigation.

Meanwhile, we questioned everybody there about enemies
of the Kirks’ and about the hired man.

No one knew of an enemy. Both Juanita and Joe had been
lovable, good-natured young people. We learned that the
hired man’s name had been Melton.

Joe had brought him home because the fellow was out of
work and hungry. He had been with them three or four
weeks. We received a good description of him.

Tucker and I were forced to leave before any slugs were
found in the trees, as we had to get back to Shelton and get

When a hunted suspect was captured in a moun-

tain pass, he carried no weapon—but irrefutable

evidence showed he had fired the murder gun
(identical with the above).

Sheriff W. H. Tucker (right), after asking the aid
of state police, went out with Undersheriff Byrne
and rounded up the wanted man in dramatic fashion.

a search started for the missing Kirk car and the killer. The
parents of Mrs. Kirk came and took the three children.

“T am going to get a state-wide search started on this case,”
Tucker said on our way in. “I’m going to broadcast a descrip-
tion of both that hired man Melton and that bird Schafer that
we suspect in the Olympia case.”

“Say,” I exclaimed, “listen to this. Here’s the description
of the hired man:

“‘About thirty years old. Somewhere close to six feet.
Around 175 pounds with a flat nose and heavy dark hair.
Funny eyes that kind of pop out.’”

“Yeah,” Tucker said.

I reached in my pocket and brought out a paper. “Here's
Schafer’s description: ‘Twenty-seven years old, five feet nine
inches, 178 pounds, dark brown hair parted on the right side,
gray eyes that bulge out with pouches under them. Large
mouth with a flat nose and a line scar across the bridge. Full
face and prominent ears.’

“Get it?” I asked.

“I wonder. If Melton, the hired man, and Schafer are the

“STOP THE CAR,” | SHOUTED TO SHERIFF TUCKER. “THAT

same, this
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we leave

INSIDE DETECTIVE

The figure of Joe Kirk was clearly outlined in the light of
the window.

Crack!

The slug shattered the window . . . found its mark in the
head of Joe Kirk.

For a second Joe swayed. His hands loosened on his wife’s
shoulders and he slumped limp to the floor. A gushing stream
of red spilled from the base of his skull.

Frozen with horror, Mrs. Kirk stood rigid, unable to grasp
what had happened. A moment before her husband had kissed
her—now he lay dying at her feet.

Wild-eyed, she turned to the window. Its broken pane told
her that the death shot had come from outside. Snatching her
dress back up over her shoulders, she dashed across the room
to a bureau drawer and pulled out a revolver.

Revenge! Someone had shot her beloved Joe. The gun in
her hand was ready to make reparation. :

She ran across the room and flung open the door. Outside
all was still. The star-studded night cast only heavy shadows
under the surrounding trees.

The stalking, phantom figure remained motionless under the
protecting shield of darkness, watching . . . and waiting. A
sinister smile wreathed his lips as he watched the frantic
woman.

Juanita Kirk stared into the darkness. There was nothing
upon which to vent her attack. In desperation she fired three
shots into the darkness. Then, in utter anguish she raced back
to her dying husband’s side. Kneeling beside the still body,
she lifted his bloody head to her lap.

What to do? Dayton was the closest town. The closest
hospital was in Shelton, twenty miles away. She had no tele-
phone. Her nearest neighbor was a quarter of a mile away,
and there was no telephone there.

She must get Joe to a doctor. The old touring car was
outside. Perhaps she could start it, and drive him to the
hospital.

UT THE children! She couldn’t leave them with a mad

marauder roaming loose in the woods around the house.
She would take them with her. First she must get Joe into
the car, and then she could wake the kiddies.

Grasping Joe under the arms, she dragged his heavy body
to the doorway. _

The figure under the trees moved. Stealthily he glided
across the open space to the porch. Springing with a lunge,
he encircled the woman in his powerful arms.

A scream was smothered on her lips under his loathsome
kiss. Like a beast, slobbering and panting as he grasped her

soft flesh, the killer crushed her to him with savage passion.

Juanita Kirk fought with all the tremulous strength of her
frail body, kicking, scratching, biting. But she did not cry
out again. Even in her terror, she thought of her three
sleeping babies in the next room. She did not want to wake
them and have them exposed to the maniac’s fury.

Relentlessly the man held her at arm’s length, even as her
husband had done a moment before. Then, with a guttural
growl, he grasped her undergarment at the neck.

His hand swung back and ripped it wide open.

Holding the writhing, fighting young woman by her bare
shoulders, he thrust her into the doorway to feast his greedy,
lust-filled eyes on her soft beauty under the lantern light.

Suddenly the man relaxed his grip to paw at her, and in
the split-second, she slipped from his grasp and was free.

With a hoarse scream of rage, the man gave chase. Out the
dirt driveway. and on to the gravel road Juanita Kirk fled.
But her pursuer gained. Fifty yards down the road, he
caught up. :

With a single blow of his fist, he sent her sprawling into
the weeds.

Courageously, Juanita Kirk struggled up. Another blow
felled her.

Exhausted from the run, dazed by the blows, she still
struggled to rise. A third, terrific smash on the top of the
head laid her unconscious, and the leering brute quickly bent
over her.

Piece by piece he ripped the clothes from her body. He
tore them to shreds as they came off, flinging them to one side.

Juanita Kirk, on the damp grass under the starlit sky, was
nude except for her shoes as the man stood over her. He
bent down to her feet to unfasten the shoes.

But the cold night and the wet grass was reviving Mrs.
Kirk. She gathered her strength for one leap. Taking hin
by surprise, she was able to spring past him as he made a
futile clutch for her.

Her glistening body flashed away in the darkness, but the
beast man did not chase her.

Instead, he raised his revolver. Twice it spat its ugly bark.

Mrs. Kirk pitched headlong into the rocky road. One of the
bullets plowed a crimson course through her right cheek. The
other creased the side of her neck.

The shots echoed in the silence, but there was no one to
hear them but a sex-crazed man and the stricken Juanita.

The man walked to the fallen woman. He gathered her up
in his arms and staggered off the road into the tall grass.

Two hours later the madman, tired of further mutilating the
nude body with his abhorrent practices, walked up the road

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INSIDE DETECTIVE ©

toward the dark and_ silent farmhouse of the Kirks.

He went to the Kirks’ old Ford touring car and cranked it.
He climbed in, backed out to the road and headed for Shelton.

Behind him he left Joe Kirk dead in the cabin doorway,
Juanita Kirk dying from his lascivious attack—and_ three
babies asleep in the cabin.

It was thus that John Olson found them the next morning.
Olson, a friend, called every week day morning to pick up
Joe Kirk and drive him to the logging camp where they
worked.

It was a little before five o’clock when Olson repeatedly
honked his horn. When no answer was forthcoming, Olson
drove up to the doorway.

He saw Joe Kirk sprawled halfway out of the door and on
the porch. Leaping out of the car and running to the house,
he could see the dull-red stains and the gaping wound in the
head of his friend.

Stunned, Olson flew into the house. He was thinking of
Juanita and the children. He found the youngsters sleeping
soundly.

The shattered window glass and the bloodstained floor
quickly gave him the story of how Joe Kirk had met death.
But what about Juanita?

Dazed and baffled, Olson nevertheless realized he must get
the sheriff. Murder had been done, and the law was needed.
Hurrying to his car, he backed out to the main road, intending
to speed to Dayton and put in a call to the sheriff in Shelton,
the Mason County seat.

Jamming the car into high, Olson shoved the throttle to
the floor and then slammed on the brakes and skidded to a
stop. He had travelled the fifty yards to the place where Mrs.
Kirk’s torn clothes hung like beckoning flags in the weeds and
bushes.

The beaten-down grass and spots of blood told Olson that
more violence had occurred here, but he could find nothing
but the smeared clothes. He went on again, only to jam on
his brakes once more.

It was the sight of the nude, bleeding body of Mrs. Kirk
that stopped him. In one last desperate effort-after the assault,
she had painfully pulled her battered body to the side of the
road, where she fell mercifully unconscious.

Though her flesh was turning blue from exposure, dotted
with purple bruises and streaked with red blood, she was still
warm. She was still living!

Olson wrapped her in his coat and rushed her back to the
house. He tumbled her into a bed, covered her with quilts,
and then fled for help.

It was ten minutes to six when I heard his excited voice

ARN pe
= SLEPT THROUGH HORROR)
Already asleep when a bullet winged its ‘way into.»
Joe Kirk's head, the three Kirk children did ‘not awake...
until dawn found them motherless and fatherless.*

ata Se

over the wire. In a rush of words, he gave me the details of
his gruesome find. I was horrified, for both Juanita and Joe
Kirk had lived in Shelton as kids before they were married
and moved out to their little house on Goldsborough Creek.

“Sheriff Tucker and I will be right out,” I promised. “I'll
put in a call for a doctor and ambulance from here.”

1 was undersheriff of Mason County at the time.

Within fifteen minutes, Sheriff Tucker and I were speeding
to the scene.

“A pure sadist case from what I could get over the phone,”
I explained to Tucker. “Sounds like it might be that Olympia
fiend we've been after. They usually start out with attacks
and work up to murder.”

Sheriff Tucker and I had spent a lot of time working on
an attack case from Olympia, the state capital, which is about
twenty miles from Shelton. We had some pretty definite ideas
but lacked concrete evidence.

A “beast man” had made a savage assault upon a young
girl and her mother that had shocked the whole state. The
girl, the daughter of a prominent family, was returning from
a movie with her sweetheart when a prowler waylaid them.

After a brutal assault upon the girl, he herded the pair into
the house at the point of a gun and continued his bestial
attack upon the girl and her mother.

Every police agency in the state was called upon to aid in
the case. Despite a good description, the search had been
fruitless. . . .

Except for our suspicion.

We hadn’t enough evidence to support an arrest, but we
continued to work steadily, knowing that if we didn’t catch
him he would attempt another of his repulsive crimes. For a
sex fiend never stops until he is behind bars, or under the sod.

The man we suspected was Arthur Dio Schafer, the twenty-
seven-year-old grandson of a prominent and extremely
wealthy Eastern Washington rancher. The young man had
been confined to the State School for Feebleminded and had
escaped in 1925 and never returned. The wealth and position
of his family had kept him free.

It was because of this same wealth and position that Tucker
and I had been forced to go slow. We knew there would be
trouble if we made a false arrest, or tried to “sweat” him.

I had one other hunch on the Kirk case. I told Sheriff
Tucker about it on the way out to the house.

Only a week before, Joe Kirk had come into the office and
borrowed a gun from me. He said that a man he had hired
to clear brush at his place had left, stealing his pistol.

“The wife gets scared nights when I have to work late,” he
explained. “I'll get a gun the first time I go into Olympia.”

Dell Adams, neighbor of
victims, who pointed out
to author spot where
wounded girl was found

TRUE DETECTIVE, January, 1950.

SCHAEFER, Arthur, white, 29, hanged Washington 'State (Mason County) .
on August 29, 1930,

“When I saw that look on the stranger’s face,”

REDHEADED Juanita Hickson
and handsome Joe Kirk, black-haired and
dark-eyed, fell in love when they were

students of the public school at Dayton, a’

community center in the farming and log-

ging district in the foothills of the Olympic

Mountains of northwestern Washington.

From that time on, neither Juanita nor Joe
had the slightest interest in anyone else of
the opposite sex, although either could have
had opportunities for other romances, had
they been so inclined.

But it was a case of “being made for each
other” and there never was a doubt in their
minds or in those of their parents and friends
that they would be married when they
finished school and could set up housekeep-
ing.

The expected happened, and Joe built a
shake cabin in the woods for their home,
then he went to work as a faller at Camp
One of the Simpson Logging Company’s
vast operation in the rugged frontier country,
to earn their livelihood.

No couple could have been happier than
the young Kirks, although they were forced
to live a:rather primitive life, with none of
the modern conveniences which most newly-
weds now consider absolute necessities.
There was no running water, no electricity,

plucky redhead, “I’d have run out and shouted for help,

except that I have a good pistol and wouldn’t hesitate to.

said the»

use it.”? Sooner than anyone imagined, the occasion arose

t
sm SBE

no telephone—nothing that smacked of }
luxury. :

But they were deeply in love and nothing {
else seemed important. They worked hard }
from daybreak to sundown every day in the >
week—Joe in the forest and his lovely bride
in their modest home—and they felt that
life was good to them.

At the end of their first year together, they f
became the parents of a son, whom they: ~ “4
named Jimmie. Later they had a daughter,
Doris, and finally another boy, Allen. a

With three youngsters to care for, the.
young couple, each of whom was twenty-: ¢
four years old, found themselves in rather:
pinched financial circumstances. Joe had
bought a car to take him to the logging
camp several miles away, and this was aj
source of considerable expense. The situa-"°
tion become more acute when the baby, less 4 =:
robust than his brother and sister, needed '
the constant attention of a physician, who_
came out from Shelton, the Mason County
seat, eight miles to the east, almost every
day for several weeks. This was costly
draining away every cent that didn’t go else-
where, and putting them in debt.

Then there was the matter of enlarging and -
improving the little cabin to make it more ;
adequate for the growing family. This would ide

eputy at the
ifter his cap-
car resulting
ofile picture.

isually slept.
no signs of
varently had
retired. The
ire sprawled
in his mind.

- the missing
nvestigation
and hurried

._H. Tucker
us shocking

2e that noth-
yut.”

us face was

sing! It was

‘king couple
behind this

CTARTLING

res

Officers on the case: are,
left to right, Deputy
Gene Martin, She

and Joe Kirk are seen,
below, shortly before the
twin tragedy.

Suddenly the sheriff’s eyes narrowed.
Less than a week before Juanita had
phoned to report the theft of a pistol from
the Kirk cabin. Was there any connec-
tion between this seemingly trivial event
and the nocturnal attack which had taken
her husband’s life?

Quickly Tucker called Deputy Sheyiff
Gerald Byrne who had investigated the
stolen gun report. As the two of them
sped toward the death cabin Tucker ques-
tioned his assistant about the incident.

“Mrs. Kirk called me on Thursday
night,” said Byrne. “She reported that
their hired man had disappeared and had
taken her revolver and ammunition with
him. She asked me to bring out another
gun for her protection.”

The hired man, continued Byrne, had
been trying to get work at every home in
Dayton. He called himself Melton and
said that he was trying to get enough
money to visit relatives east of the moun-

DETECTIVE

tains. The Kirks had felt sorry for the

man and had given him a job of slashing
brush on their place.

Rain had kept Melton inside the house
most of the day on Thursday. Mrs. Kirk
had said that he had bothered her in
various ways. He had asked her to guess
where he got his wrist watch and other

‘ridiculous questions which she refused to

answer. That afternoon she had gone to
a meeting in Dayton and had returned to
find that Melton had disappeared with the
revolver, ammunition and some canned
goods.

Mrs. Kirk, continued Byrne, seemed
somewhat frightened by the man. Hence
he had gone out to the cabin to make a
search for any trace of the fellow and
had left a gun with the young mother
for protection in case the missing farm-
hand returned.

Sheriff Tucker pondered over the
deputy’s story. Had the missing .farm-

hand returned? Was that the answer to
the tragedy in the cabin on Goldsborough
creek? Then what had happened to
Juanita Kirk? Had she likewise met:
disaster—or had the mysterious Melton
overcome her fears, somehow persuaded
her to go away with him? Tucker gave
scant thought to this latter theory. It
was unthinkable. Juanita Kirk loved her
husband and her three small children too
much to encourage the attentions of an-
other man, Tucker had a hunch that the
underbrush around the Kirk cabin un-
doubtedly held the secret of the woman’s
disappearance—a theory shared by Dep-
uty Byrne.

Presently Tucker swung the car into
the rough lane which connected Kirk’s
place with the highway. As they neared
the cabin they noticed a group of men
gazing at something on the ground. Con-
trary to expectation, they were not at the
house but were clustered about a pile of
brush just off the roadway. The two
officers looked at each other grimly as
the car was stopped. Both knew instinc-
tively what the men had found.

As the officers pressed forward, the
men fell back. In the center of the group,
lying on a bed of crushed ferns and
briars, was the figure of Juanita Kirk.

“She’s still alive,’ volunteered one of
the men as Tucker kneeled beside the still
form. The sheriff nodded, practiced gaze
quickly taking in the salient details of the
scene. The victim’s clothing had been
torn, and her head and shoulders were
discolored by blackening crimson stains.
A cursory examination revealed that she
had been shot at least twice—once
through the neck and once through the
cheek. She was still breathing faintly
but it was plain that she had not long
to live.

Suddenly the woman stirred, trying to
fight her way back out of the delirium
that engulfed her. Her lips moved almost
imperceptibly. Sheriff Tucker leaned
forward intently, straining to catch the
mumbled message. But the words were

[Continued on page 72)

——

ae OER RP
SSiiiieererdaieec?lats seteanceadhsctaatildteeeentetentenenenddaienipaemtnnninnnepenentnenenedionnnt .

Twin Tragedy of Goldsborough Creek

[Continued from page 57]

indistinct. Tucker could catch only one
comprehensible phrase—something about
“dragging Joe.” Then she lapsed again
into silence,

Shortly afterward .an ambulance ar-
rived and the dying woman was rushed
to the hospital. Then Sheriff Tucker
and Deputy Byrne began their investi-
gation in earnest. But before they turned
to a study of the physical evidence
Tucker was anxious to learn what the
neighbors knew about the last move-
ments of the Kirks—whether any light
could be thrown on the mystery.

But the stories of the neighbors fur-
nished little assistance. The Kirks and
their children had attended a charivari
party in Dayton on the night before,
held by a group of friends of a newly
married couple. Since the night was
Sunday, the party had disbanded early.
Kirk had bundled. his little family into
his old touring car and had driven toward
home. That was the last time Joe Kirk
had been seen alive.

Satisfied that no further information
could be elicited from the group, the
officers turned their attention to the
shingled cabin, An examination of Kirk’s
body showed that a single shot had torn
into the back of his head and out through
his mouth. From the nature of the wound

death had undoubtedly been instantane- ~

ous. How, then, had he reached his
present position, sprawled across the
doorstep?

The children had been removed to a
neighbor’s and the two officers sought an
answer to their query in the interior of
the cabin. A shattered pane of glass told
from what direction the fatal shot had
come. A pool of blood and a half-smoked
cigar on the floor beside a chair near the
living room table indicated where Joe
Kirk had died. He had apparently settled
down for a smoke after the charivari
party with his back to the window and
had been ruthlessly blasted down by an
ambushed killer.

Striding to the window, the officers
made a significant discovery. There were
two bullet holes below the window casing
and one above. Juanita Kirk, in swift re-
prisal for the fate meted out to her
husband, had apparently gone into action
with the gun furnished by Deputy Byrne.

A smeared trail of blood leading across
the rough flooring furnished the next clue
as the two officers began to reconstruct
the crime. Leading from the spot where
Kirk was shot, the crimson trail indicated
that a body had been dragged to the
doorstep.

The inferénce was obvious. Believing
that her shots had driven off the mys-
terious gunman, Juanita Kirk’s thoughts
had naturally turned to her husband, She
must get Joe to a doctor. Straining
every fiber in her slender body, she had
half carried, half dragged, her husband to
the door with the intention of getting:
him into their car. FY

But at the door she had been met by
the man who had lurked in the darkness
to strike her husband down. Juanita Kirk
had dropped her husband’s body half over
the doorstep and had begun a futile battle
for life. Trampled ground furnished evi-
dence of the terrific struggle which the
frail woman had put up against the
skulking madman.

It was an unequal contest waged so
fiercely there in the starlit grove beside

Goldsborough creek—a slender, terrified
woman pitted against a brute. Exactly
what happened next was difficult to de-
termine. But slim clues indicated that
Mrs, Kirk had broken away from her
assailant and had fled down the rutted
lane. Later evidence proved that the
killer had fired at her as she fled, finally
overtaking her at the spot beside the
toad.

At this spot the killer had torn 4%t

Juanita Kirk’s clothing. But Juanita
Kirk, although twice wounded by the
killer’s fire, had not submitted without a
desperate struggle. All about the place
were churning footprints—marks of a
fragile, struggling woman and a giant
man. .
Officers and neighbors gazed grimly at
the mutely tragic scene. Each was visu-
alizing in his own mind the horror that
Juanita Kirk had endured. Their faces
hardened as they stared at the spot where
she had fallen exhausted, unable longer
to continue the unequal struggle.

One of the men shivered. “I must have
heard her cries,” he said. “I live about
three quarters of a mile up the road.
About 11:30 last night I told my wife that
I heard a cougar screaming.” His body
trembled. “I wonder what would have
happened to me if I had come up here to
investigate?”

His question was unheeded; all knew

the answer.

| Pacha Sede search revealed that after
the attack the woman had not ceased
to struggle. Mortally wounded, she had
pulled her broken body back toward her
home. The marks of her painful progress
were plainly visible. Inch by precious
inch, her will had forced her body on-
ward. Racked by excruciating pain—with
her brain swimming in delirium—Juanita
Kirk had tried to get back to the cabin
which sheltered her babies. But at last
her strength failed and she collapsed be-
side the road as merciful unconsciousness
blotted out her hideous memories,

A diligent search of the premises re-
vealed only that the Kirks’ automobile
was gone. There were no further clues
to the sex-crazed assassin. Satisfied that
they could do nothing further at the
scene, the officers returned to Shelton,
hoping that Juanita Kirk might still be
living—might be able to give them some
lead which would help to trap the slayer.

But the woman was toc. far gone to be
of any material assistance. She rallied
slightly when Sheriff Tucker visited her
but she was able only to gasp out one
significant phrase before she sank again
into unconsciousness: “The goofy guy,”
she whispered, “the goofy guy.”

By telephone and telegraph—by radio
and newspaper—the news went forth
over the Pacific coast that a killer was at
large, And back in the sheriff’s office at
Shelton, Bill Tucker pondered over his
problem,

There was no difficulty in ascribing a
reason for the tragedy. Juanita Kirk’s
horrible fate told only too plainly what
had motivated the death of her husband.
But trapping the maniac was something
else again, Melton, the missing farmhand,
was the logical suspect, of course. But he
had left the Kirk place three days before
the Sunday night on which the fatal
assault had occurred. There had been no

reports to place him in the vicinity since
that time and no evidence to connect him
with the crime. And yet Mrs. Kirk had
mentioned a “goofy guy,” a phrase which
seemed to describe Melton’s actions be-
fore his disappearance. A search for the
vanishing farmhand was indicated. And
there was one promising clue to aid the
search—the stolen Kirk automobile.

The sheriff turned to his deputy.
“Byrne,” he said, “I have a hunch re-
garding this man who calls himself
Melton. I think I know who he is and
we're going after him, If he keeps on
driving Kirk’s car we ought to be able
to locate him, Didn’t you say that he
wanted money to make a visit east of the
mountains?”

“That was what he said when he asked
for work,” replied Byrne. “But I think
that was just a stall to get into some-
body’s house.”

Suddenly the telephone rang. It was a
call from one of the Kirk neighbors in the
Paxton community, The sheriff took the
call.

“IT wouldn’t be too sure that Mrs. Kirk
meant that stranger when she spoke of
the ‘goofy guy,’” the caller began. “Do
you remember Ed Bingham—the man
who was suspected of those assaults near
Olympia? He’s disappeared—hasn’t been
seen for several days.”

Tucker thanked his caller, then turned
again to Deputy Byrne. “Might be some-
thing to that,” he mused. “Look up Ed

-Bingham. I want to talk to him.”

“Was that the man you had in mind?”

“No,” answered Tucker slowly, “but I
could be wrong.”

Strangely enough, the sheriff had been
thinking about the Olympia assaults just
before the telephone call came through.
About five years before the state had
been shocked by a series of incredibly
brutal assaults in adjoining Thurston
county, twenty miles away.

As in the Kirk case, the attacks had
taken place at night. The daughter of
a Thurston county family had been to a
theater in Olympia, ten miles away, when
she and her sweetheart were waylaid as
they walked toward the house. The girl
had been attacked by the piowler who
then herded the pair into the house.
There he assaulted the widowed mother
and her daughters.

The subsequent hunt for the man had
been fruitless despite the fact that a
reasonably good description had been
furnished by the mother and the oldest
of the girls. What interested Sheriff
Tucker now was the fact that the de-
scription of the Olympia attacker coin-
cided almost exactly with that of the
Kirks’ missing farmhand!

For a long time Tucker had entertained
a theory regarding the identity of the
Olympia brute. The Kirk case seemed
to furnish corroboration of that theory.
For Tucker's suspect in both attack
cases had a relative “east of the moun-
tains.” The sheriff placed little faith in
the tip naming Ed Bingham. And
presently his opinion was justified when
an unshakable alibi placed Bingham in a
logging camp some distance from the
Kirk place at the time of the murderous
assault.

Coincident with the establishment of
Bingham's alibi came a surprising report
from Olympia police. Some time before
they had received word of the Kirk

———

murder. i
driving a
and talk

presumil

“They
at Shelt:
look at
shot in |!
only sh«

Havin
Olympia
But the
jotting
machine
issued t

Sheri:
quiet sé
stolen
of mur:

was th

hand. .

that he

Henc
stead ¢
the tr:

Grays

drive |

home ¢

It was

familie

listed
operat

It w
famil)

Tucke

The

a vici

been

a sadi

conce

which

Artht

famil:
perso
It v
enjoy
mals.
mani
time
of s
satis
Sh
the
Scha
days
nam
of

ee sais

-_-

vicinity since
> connect him
{rs. Kirk had
phrase which
s actions be-
earch for the
idicated. And
ue to aid the
omobile.

his deputy.
a hunch re-
calls himself
ho he is and
he keeps on
it to be able
say that he
sit east of the

hen he asked
But I think
t into some-

ing. It was a
ghbors in the
sriff took the

at Mrs. Kirk
she spoke of
- began. “Do
m—the man
assaults near
—hasn’t been

then turned

zht be some-
Look up Ed
m.”

id in mind?”
owly, “but I

riff had been
assaults just
me through.
e state had
of incredibly
g Thurston

attacks had
daughter of
id been to a
away, when
2 waylaid as
ise. The girl
towler who
the house.
wed mother

he man had
fact that a
1 had been
d the oldest
sted Sheriff
hat the de-
tacker coin-
that of the

. entertained
itity of the
‘ase seemed
that theory.
»oth attack
the moun-
tle faith in
sham. And
-stified when
ingham in a
e from the
’ murderous

lishment of
ising. report
time before

the Kirk

murder, a stocky, fair-complexioned man,
driving a muddy automobile, had stopped
and talked with them about the crime,

presuming they had knowledge of it.

“They've got that all wrong over there
at Shelton,” the stranger said. “I took a
look at that fellow Kirk and he wasn’t
shot in both the mouth and head—he was
only shot once.”

Having no details of the crime, the
Olympia police had not detained the man.
But they had shown the foresight of
jotting down the license number of his
machine—and that license had been
issued to Joe Kirk! ;

Sheriff Tucker received the news with
quiet satisfaction. The possession of the
stolen car was almost conclusive proof
of murder. The description of the driver
was that of Melton, the missing farm-
hand, And Tucker had a strong hunch
that he knew who “Melton” really was.

Hence he did an unusual thing. In-
stead of speeding to Olympia to pick up
the trail there, he swung south into
Grays Harbor county instead. An hour’s
drive brought him to a large country
home overlooking the Satsop river valley.
It was the estate of one of the pioneer
families of southwestern Washington,
listed among the biggest logging
operators in the country.

It was a wayward young relative of this
family—Arthur Schafer—whom Sheriff
Tucker now sought!

The Olympia attacks had been of such
a vicious nature that Tucker had always
been convinced that only someone with
a sadistic turn of mind could possibly have
conceived them. And from the stories
which neighbors brought to Shelton,
Arthur Schafer, ever a trial to his fine
family, was apparently that type oO
person.

It was said that even as a youth he had
enjoyed torturing and mutilating ani-
mals. One story alleged that he had
manufactured dynamite bombs at one.
time and had thrown them into a flock
of sheep, killing several of them to
satisfy his perverted notions of sport.

Sheriff Tucker was received politely at
the house. He learned that Arthur
Schafer had not been home for several
days. Further questioning elicited the
names of his people including the name
of a relative in a city east of the
mountains.

Satisfied with the results of his trip,
Tucker returned to Shelton. There he
found that Juanita Kirk was dead. She
had regained consciousness just before
she died, however, and had named
“Melton” as the man who had attacked
and shot her.

But even with this death-bed state-
ment in his possession, Tucker was not
disposed to move too hastily. He wanted
to be sure of his ground before launching
a manhunt for Schafer. There was still
no positive link between the wayward
youth and the missing Melton.

Schafer had a record of sorts. Some
years before he had been confined ja the

state school for the feebleminded from :

which he had escaped in 1925 and never
been returned, But he was the scion of
a wealthy family with many friends and
a false arrest. was certain to cause trouble.

Before going into action Tucker de-
cided to check once more with residents
of the community who had seen Melton,

hoping to establish the necessary link.

between him and Schafer. And at last
he succeeded. In Dayton he found a man
who knew Schafer and had seen the
missing farmhand. He was positive that
Schafer and Melton were the same
person.

Armed with this information, the

~
sheriff acted quickly. His first move was
to telephone Schafer’s out-of-town
relative.

He said that Schafer was wanted for
murder and requested that he be held
for questioning in the event of his ap-
pearance. Anxious to assist the law, the
relative readily agreed.

“Schafer will most likely’ hit across
the mountains,” said Tucker to Deputy
Byrne. “We might as well be on our
way.

Feeling certain that the killer would
undoubtedly put up a struggle if he were
trapped, Tucker stopped in Seattle and
enlisted the aid of. Claude G. Bannick,
sheriff of King county. Bannick readily
agreed to accompany him and also as-
signed two of his best deputies to the
manhunt, Then the posse started out,
hoping there to pick up the trail of the
vanished Schafer.

Perhaps the detectives were psychic.
At any rate, three days after the double
murder Schafer’s relative looked up from
his desk to see the fugitive standing in
the doorway. ;

Careful not to arouse any suspicions,
the relative greeted him cheerily. “Hello,
Arthur,” he said. “What are you doing
here?”

“Just came: over for a little visit,” re-
plied Schafer. “I’ve walked for some
distance. I’m hungry and my clothes are
dirty. Can you help me out?”

HE host nodded. Presently he had

outfitted Schafer with, fresh clothing,
given him something to eat and directed
him to go up to the house to get some
sleep. But as soon as Arthur had left
the office, the relative put through a rush
call for the town peace officer, Marshal
Benagon.

Five minutes later Benagon and the
relative overtook the fugitive as he
trudged along the road, Schafer offered
no resistance when told that he was
under arrest on suspicion of murder. He
denied all knowledge of the Kirk tragedy,
however, and insisted that he: had ‘at-
tended a dance in Grays Harbor county,
thirty miles away, on the night of the
double murder.

Taken off guard by Schafer’s docile

manner, Benagon did not watch his
prisoner closely as they waited for the
arrival of the officers from Shelton and
Seattle. Suddenly there was a loud cry
from Schafer’s relative. Benagon wheeled
toward the prisoner. Blood was spurt-
ing from a wound in Schafer’s neck. A
crimsoned razor blade lay on the floor
at the suspect’s feet. He had cut his own
ae in a desperate effort to cheat the
aw !
- Failing rapidly from loss of blood,
Schafer was rushed to a hospital. There
physicians worked frantically to stem the
crimson flow and stave off impending
death. At length science triumphed.
Schafer’s suicide attempt had failed.

Soon afterwards Sheriffs Tucker and
Bannick arrived and by nightfall Schafer
was in Seattle. There he was lodged in
King county jail until he could recover
his strength. .

Two days later a neighbor of the slain
Kirks stood before Schafer and posi-
tively identified him as the itinerant
farmhand given work and shelter by the
ill-fated couple. Other neighbors made
similar identifications. Under the weight
of these damning statements Schafer
broke and made a confession to Sheriff
Tucker. He admitted the killings but
said that the Kirks had fired at him as
he stood in the road in front of the cabin.
But he denied emphatically that he had

outraged Juanita Kirk in the sadistic
manner revealed by the autopsy.

With that partial admission Sheriff
Tucker had to be content. But he was
not discouraged. At the time of the Kirk
slayings Mason county had one of the.
shrewdest prosecuting attorneys ever to
try a man for murder. As he listened, a
few hours later, to Sheriff Tucker’s story
of the confession, Joe Graham’s mind
was already grappling with the prob-
lems of prosecution. The man’s defense
would undoubtedly be based upon an
insanity plea but Graham was confident
of overthrowing that argument. Accord-
ing to Washington state law it was only
necessary to show that the killer was
able to distinguish between right and
wrong to prove his sanity. Graham’s
confidence was further bolstered after he
had driven to Seattle and questioned
Schafer. He came away with the firm
conviction that the slayer should hang.

But how was this to’be accomplished?
How could he hope to get a jury to
sentence a man to death who had escaped
from an institution for the feebleminded?
Still listed on the rolls of one state in-
stitution, how could he be taken to
another and hanged? Undismayed, Joe
Graham dug into his task; and when the
case went to trial in December, 1928, he
had on the tip of his tongue every de-
cision regarding insanity and murder
the state supreme court had ever made.

Arthur Schafer pleaded not. guilty by
reason of insanity as Graham had antici-
pated, But the prosecutor had an answer
for that argument. He contended that
feeblemindedness did not constitute
criminal insanity, and that the very fact
that the state officers had not seen fit to
take the young man back after his escape
was evidence that they did not believe
he was now insane.

Schafer sat through the trial with little
show of emotion. He took the witness
stand himself and admitted the shootings
but claimed that the Kirks had fired first.
He had a ready answer for every question
and appeared wholly unruffled by the
proceedings. That was to prove his un-
doing. For his apt replies, his demeanor
on the stand, his adroitness in evading
incriminating questions, all tended to
convince the jury of his sanity. They re-
turned a verdict of guilty and the prisoner
was sentenced to hang. The verdict was
immediately appealed but the supreme
court shortly afhrmed the decision of the
lower court.

But Schafer continued to fight for
freedom, At one time, with but a few
hours between himself and the gallows,
Schafer was given a reprieve in order
that a sanity commission might examine
him, The commission was summoned an
examined the man closely. And again he
was pronounced sane.

At length every possible means of
saving the killer’s life had been ex-
hausted. On August 29, 1930, almost two
years after that horrible night on Golds-
borough creek, Schafer was led into the
gallows yard at Walla Walla. Protesting
that he was being “robbed of my life for
something some other brute did,” he
mounted the scaffold.

Quickly the hood and noose were ad-
justed. A moment later the trap boomed
and Schafer’s figure shot downward. The
murderer had at last paid the penalty.

While police were certain Arthur
Schafer was involved in the Olympia
atacks, this has never been definitely
established.

(To protect the identity of an innocent person the
name, Ed Bingham, used in this story, is not actual
but fictitions.--The Editor.)

ef the nature of tne information filed a-ainst him, charging him with the
crime of MURDER IN THB FIRST DEGHER, committed on the 6th day of Devember,
1900, in Fine County, “tateof Washincton.

And defendant was informed that he had been duly arraigned
upon said charge, and that he had entered a plea of “not cuilty" of the
offense charged insaid Information, and that thereafter he had been
duly tried upon said charge, and that the jary, duly impanelled and sworn

to try said defeniant, hed returned, against the defendant, a verdict of
*ruilty of Murder in the First Degree*.

The defendant was then asked by the court in open court in the
presence of his counsel if he had any legal cause to show why judgment .
should not be pronounced against his, to which he replied that he had

ne, and no sufficient cause being shown nor appearing to the court

‘thereupon tae court.rendered its sidement, hat, wnereens the paid de-
ferdant having been duly eodeehaese in this court of tm crim of ‘murder
in the first degree.
IT 18 THERKPORE, By TRE comr, ORDERID, ADJUDGED AND DECREED,
that the defendant is guilty of the crime of murder in the first decree, |
ari that the defendant be punished by being taken hence and hanged by
the neck until dead, and defendant was then remanded to the custody of
the Sher iff of xine County to await the execution of said Sentence and
Judgment, the sam to be carriedinto effect at a tine tobe hereinafter ; eS
zaxed bY the court. : nate . | : 1a

“; Thereupon the’ defendant: thréaehn his counsel, | he oper ‘court,
eave notice that the defendant appealed from paid Rhos act and Sentence
te the Suppene Court of the State of Washingt on. Pk pas habe

Done in open court this beer day of ort, 1901.

| ARTHUR E. GRIFFIN. *
‘ hes

And, Whereas, the appeal of the defendant to the Supreme Court
of the State of Washincton, was thereafter, to-wit, on the ae :

ay of Cctober, 1901, ¢ ily discissed ty the Supreme Court of the State

*
«™

* Waavinwteone

Ke Sherif’ of Ying County, fn the 3tete of Faske
reteon, do-heret: cartify thst | received the annaved Deoth Warrert

on the 2?nd day of Jevember, 1901; that or the ore day of séenuary,

190%, hetween the hours of 7:00 o'clock ir the forenoon and 4:00 9°

clock ‘n the afternom, to-wit: at the hour of 9:00 oteloek A, Ve of
said div, in the Jarret Roem cf the Court House, ir King County, State
of Wasringten, pursuant to law and the directicrs to me in said Deoth
Warrant? contstred, 7 executed the same ty inflicting the punishment
of daath on Filifem Alcon Sentor, he being the defendert named in r#2id
Denth Varrant, ty hanging him ty the neck urtil decd:

That thereafter, } delivered the tody of the said William

Seaton *o his friends for burtal:

Wherefore, J return aaid Death Warrent to the Clerk of tre

vered therein, with my doings thereunder, as shove set fortr,.

WIVHESS KY RAND this Grd day of Janvary, A. De , 1902,

ED, CUDIKKK, Sheriff,
BY oy i<or>? rl 4} ot

and said cause remanied to this court, and
Whereas the Renittitur upon the decision dismissing said
appeal was thereafter duly sent down and filed in the above entitled
court on the &th day of November, 1901, and is now on file herein. :
WOW TUFREFORE YOU ARE EXREBY COMMANDED, DIRECTED AND AUTHORIZED
to carry cut the Judgment and Bentence of Death herein, and to this end
you are hereby commanded, and directed to execute said Judgment md
Sentence of Death, by taking the defendant hence in King County, State of
Washington, on Friday the RG day 1908, between the hours
of seven o'clock asm. and four o'clock ily of said day, and to execute
and carry out the J Judgment md Sentence of Death herein, by hmging :
by the neck the defendant, William Aldon Seaton, until he is dead, in
f all respects as peat ree by —_ and this warrant, and due retum of this
warrant make, =~ * Fae ‘ bs on ihe, Sa per
Witness my hand, one of the y Judges of 1 the avore entitled oor

attested by the Clerk of this court and coe peal of this court, in open
pourt this oe , day of, Hovenber, ‘1901. i Doe es Se ue eee eae

3 =F : ¥ ea «diced ke bea a,

‘State of Washington, in and for King , 3
“eountye ti

IN THR SUPFRIOR COURT OF TFR STATE OF WASZINGTON, FOR KING COUNTY.

eeeeeoeeeeees

SC te ek ia a HIE BS yy
0s RE

WASPINATON,

Plaintiff. Hoe. LZ 37

DEATH WARRANT. —

To Bd. Cudihee, as sheriff in and for the County of King, State

ef Yashington, Greeting:-

Chicos
re

> ¢
mig) ede a a * r
ie ge a ote he

Whereas, the defertant, Willies ‘don Seaton was charged ‘tn the
: ‘Supericr Court of the ‘State of Wesntne eye ‘ené-for- King County» by i
Information, duly filed, with the crime of MURDER te THE FIRST. DEGREE,
alleged to have deen committed in King County, ‘State of Mashinet ey oe
6th day of Decexber, 1900, ana? ¥ wee bare eee

Whereas ,on January 21st. 1901, “the Aafendant entered s plea
of "not milty’, and | \ : 7 Bile

Whereas, nis case was thereafter auly tried before. a . jury uly.

a : i
Man b i” $

expaneled ma wrerns sald jury returning ante, ‘oourt « e serdict 8 funding the
ae charged te :
the isterantioa, end “3 4 2

Whereas on ‘fori 15th, 1901, “the following - Judement oat’ “Sentence <P

: of Death was duly signed and entered te ‘the above entitled soerti ae
* "Now on this 15th day of april, 1901, comes the Prosecuting : <
Attorney, in and for King County, State of $ret deta into court with oe, ;
defendant and the defentant's counsel. : : a
Whereupon the court announced that defendant's notion tor a new :
trial, heretofore interposed and duly aries and Bape bee te the court

and taxen under edvisenent, was denied.

Ard the defendant was thereupon duly informed by the court of

ara a 1

yperthyroid eyes
3s for a moment,
. “T’ve got a split-
2 you some other
could react she
gone...
le to win Jenny’s
ier to drop her
2 and tell me her
iiddle-class home.
but stern woman
ndard of behavior
a kind, indulgent

» her rides on his.

to do this even
r a little girl.
in an orgasm for

[—I couldn’t help
used to hold on
caid I’d black out
s. I'd die in case
ever find out my

» much, but I was
ny mother. Some-
iat she fell off a
ke care of Daddy
ied, “Not a very
y mother, was it?
‘is really a good
oC} that she was
y started running
‘d at school, and
Soon, needing
ay for drugs, she
ling the merchan-
“--« ime she was
on; the sec-

m school.
uswy .or drugs,” I
| have gotten it
-itution. Why did-

eferred shop lift-

ne to the State
in a completely
y the change?”
here away from
‘Isn't it natural to
in’t get?”
to lead Jenny to
out her behavior.
ner upset reaction
view, when I had
ig “childish” and
vard a doctor “old
or.” Jenny’s subse-
nfirmed my suspi-
problem.
zuilty and anxious
‘e in riding on her
90 about her death
or, She had turned
smotional conflict.
z rather than pros-
abit indicated that
sex-driven as her
ol indicated.
iden her recurring
had sought to blot
on her father by
er men. The more
aer to corner men
-e she was able to
her conscience,
2 able to play the
1 who went to any
” I explained, “you
e girl who had or-
her father’s bactr,
other dead so that
loving all to here

‘--ny the ironic
ad sought out

id enough to

. =~ 46-year-old
:-old custodian she

had been caught with on the'roof,

I was able to help Jenny, work out her
emotional conflicts by reassuring her that
she had no need to feel guilty or anxious
about them because millions of other girls
were similarly troubled. Wher she was no
longer driven by her secret dread, Jenny
lost her compulsion to throw herself at
men. Her behavior improved so rapidly
that she was released a short while later.
Returning to high school she graduated.
Six months later she sent me an invitation
to her wedding.

If Jenny only posed as a girl with an over-
powering sex urge, Doris was the real
thing. A thin, red-headed girl who had been
sent to Northdale for “incorrigibility” on
the complaint of her parents, 15-year-old
Doris came to my attention by “going over
the wall”—escaping over the wire fence
that surrounds the State School. She re-
turned voluntarily a day later. I asked Mrs.
Landon if I could see her.

“In a week,” she replied. “She has been
placed in an isolation cell on bread and
milk.”

“But isn’t it important to know why she
ran away?”

“We already know why, Doctor. The
girl is sex-crazy. She spent her whole day
away locked up in a motel with a soldier. ,

“But will severe punishment solve her
problem?”

“J understand your point, Doctor. But
we believe it is necessary to make an ex-
ample of her, to discourage any other girls
from trying to run away.”

I saw Doris when she was let out of soli-
tary a week later. Pale and emaciated, she
entered my office sullenly, her attitude
clearly lumping me as among those respon-
sible for the punishment she had suffered.
She sat down unwillingly.

“Doris, why did you stay outside only
24 hours?”

“That’s all I needed.”

“For what?’

“To get serviced.”

“You mean intercourse with a man?”

“Have it your way,” she said sarcasti-
cally. ;

“Did you know how severely you would
be punished before you went over the
wire?”

“No.”

“Would you have gone if you had real-
ized it?”

“Yes.”

“Was it that important to you?”

She threw me a scornful glance. “Are
you kidding?”

“Many girls up here manage without in-
tercourse. So do many girls on the out-
side—”

“J’m not many girls, Doctor. I’m me.
About once a month I need it. That’s how

" T’m made. Sue me?”

Fifteen years old, I reflected ruefully.
“You've been here three months, Doris,”
I pointed out. “Why haven’t you gone over
the wire before this?” :

She hesitated. “Because I tried to make
it the hard way. I did what all the other
poor slobs up here do. Solo polo.”

I'd heard the term. “Masturbation is a

‘legitimate form of sexual release for un-

married youngsters. Wouldn’t that be bet-
ter than a week in solitary on bread and
milk?”

“Masturbation is for creeps!” she flared
suddenly. “I’m no creep, And I’m no queer,
either! Whaddeya want, I should be a ‘good
girl’ and join the doll racket? I’d kill myself
first. Understand, Doctor? I’d jump out a
window!” ' :

ith great bitterness she told me about
the homosexual pressures she had
been subjected to since her incarceration.
“They half-murdered one girl in my cot-

tage,” she said grimly. “For squealing to
her. social worker on a pop who wouldn’t
let her alone. The pop called a kangaroo
court with herself as judge. She sen-
tenced this poor kid to twenny bumps.
They stripped her, grabbed her arms and
legs, and threw her up in the air so she
landed on the hard cement. Twenny times.
They left her bleeding and knocked out,
naked, with a Coke bottle shoved into her
and broken off.”

Doris had fought clear of the homosex-
uals, but had been constantly stimulated by
the sex talk of the other girls, “They swap
stories all the time about experiences on
the outside they’ve had with boys,” she
sighed. “Some girls even give you a descrip-
tion of how many times, and how, and
what the boy did, and what he said, and
what they did to the boy. One girl even
has snapshots of herself and a boy in bed!”

Frustrated and overstimulated, Doris
had sought to relieve her tension by mas-
turbating with fantasies about boys she
had slept with before coming to reform
school. But she could not overcome the
contempt she felt for the practice, and after
three months had felt desperate enough to
break out of the institution for a day with
a male sex partner.

" “What is a normal girl supposed to do?”
she demanded crossly. “I felt I’d go crazy
if I was kept locked up in here with all
this talk about jazzing and no jazz. Maybe
I’d even get twisted enough to give in to
some of them dirty pops. No thanks! When
I need a man, I want a man!”

“You intend to go over the wire again?”

Her eyes met mine defiantly. “You're
damned right I do. When I’ve got an urge,
I’m going. Let them stick me in the cooler!”

Three weeks later, at the identical time
in her menstrual cycle, Doris broke out
again, Getting a lift from a salesman for a
wholesale drug house, she rode off with him
to a state park and had prolonged sex rela-
tions with him for a whole afternoon. He
drove her to a point half a mile from the
State School for Girls, and she returned to
the institution on foot.

‘This time she was placed in a cell with-
out light or fresh air. Her beautiful red
hair was cut off, and she was forced to take
“runaway pills’—laxatives to “help her
run.” She was placed in solitary confine-
ment for two full months, on bread and
milk for the first two weeks, watered-down
stew and milk for the rest of her punish-
ment,

never saw Doris again, because the pres-

sure of other commitments required me
to terminate my services as a visiting psy-
chiatrist to the State School for Girls, But
when I said goodby to Mrs. Landon I said,
“You'd better find a more satisfactory an-
swer than solitary confinement for Doris.
Otherwise I can promise you that girl is
going to continue to break out for a ‘serv-
icing night’ on the 22nd or 23rd day of
every menstrual cycle, when she feels in-
tense desire.”

I don’t know what the answers are for
girls like Diane, Jenny and Doris as long
as society insists that the way to correct
their failings is to lock them up in an all-
female world for as long as three years. A
world where the only possible love relation-
ship is homosexual, at the very time when
a young girl’s need of love is overwhelming.

The warping of psyches is bad enough
when it is confined to adult men and wom-
en. It seems to me unforgivable when it is
committed on adolescents at the most im-
pressionable time of their lives. Until we
find some way to humanize our reform
schools so that .at least innocent contact
with the opposite sex is possible, we should
not be too surprised when frustration makes
troubled youngsters bad, and bad young-
sters worse, A

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Hanging of Joe Self.

(Continued from page 13)

satisfaction, feeling sure nobody would
recognize him now as the bushy-haired man
who got into the cab the night before in
Seattle. Besides, from Puyallup he would
head for the foothills of The Mountain—his
mountain...and Mt. Rainier would hide
him well.

He walked, hitching a ride only when
he had to rest his feet; and by the end of
the day, he made it to Eatonville, a small
town on the edge of Mt. Rainier National
Park. He found a suitable camping spot in
the woods, lit a cigarette and wondered if
he should build himself a fire.

Who'll see it here, deep in the woods?
he thought. And even if somebody does,
who’d expect to find a killer building a bon-
fire in the hills. “But I’m not the cold-
blooded killer people think I am,” he mut-
tered to himself, gathering wood. “I swear
I didn’t want to kill that guy .. . If he’d only
let me go.” ,

Relaxing by the fire, Joe heard a twig
snap, then another and another. Silently,
he rolled over into the shadows, crawled

‘behind a large tree stump and waited, his

gun drawn.

A state trooper cautiously approached the
fire. :

Joe Self drew a bead. I could drop him
with one shot, he thought. He felt the silky
touch of the trigger and shook his head. He
was not a cold-blooded killer. He would

let the trooper go. He tucked his gun back ©

in and silently crawled away, into the dark-
ness of the woods.

That night, Joe shivered under a felled
log. In the morning, hungry, frozen and
stiff from fatigue, he headed back toward

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: in paradise.’ "
a, a robber...”

ld do the same for
you before—just

ened and a guard
thes—a dark suit,
ks, shoes.

‘h hurry he could
is hands trembled
cing his shoes. As
2 noticed that the
zady limp from
ood, helpless, be-
ssor.

Father. Nobody
before. I want to
~for showing me
for the baptism,

c guards stood in '

an so quickly
1

midnight—time
ato infinity.

oor. Another one
iining belt—light-
les, tough, heavy
ver...Hurry upl
till a chance...
vreak... Once he
1, I'll never make

1 on Joe’s wrists.
st wells in his in-
itened throat and,
upon itself in a
’s jugular veins
into a glistening

.¢ guard says,

(Trere are four steps to the door. Six more
. to the black, silent telephone on the
wall, sil

.++ Faster, faster...why can’t I walk
faster? The floor is uphill... like the mead-
ows in the mountains ...God, it’s cold...
We have to start a fire...- .

It’s like a slow motion movie. The steel
door to the staircase takes forever to open.
Two guards post themselves at the head of
the stairs, blocking the way down.

... The guys say that on your way down
..+just before the rope snaps your fall...
you live your whole life over again...1
don't want to live my stupid, miserable life
over again ...clawing my way around and
around, like a squirrel chased on top of a
telephone pole by a pack of dogs...No-
ing to go...No right to a family...a

ome...

The door to the gallows opens onto a
balcony, as in a theater; only the stage is up
here, and down, beyond the steel rail, stands
the audience—the witnesses,

There’s the rope. Three-quarter inch clo-
verleaf manila. Looped ‘ough a heft
steel eye in the ceiling, the rope ends wi
a wide noose and the thick, coiled hang-
man’s knot.

A three-foot square trap door has two
footmarks painted on it for Joe to stand on.

Thirty seconds ape midnight.

Turning his back on the witnesses below,
Warden Rhay stands between Self and the
rail, “Have you anything to say, Joe?”

Joe’s heart pounds against his rib cage.
He feels like a trap) wild animal fur-
tively seeking to escape. He breathes fast
through his dilated nostrils—quick, shallow
breaths.

.+» Listen, | have something to say ...Why
are you killing me?...1t won't bring that
guy back to life...God have mercy upon
i

my soul...1 don’t want to die... Christ,
you know I’m not a cold-blooded killer...
You know I am sorry for all my sins...
Why are they killing me then...

Joe’s head feels as though there is a band
around it—a tight band of ice-cold steel
pressing, squeezing it.

As Warden Rhay speaks, two guards, one
on each side, lean down and strap Joe’s
legs together—above the knees and at the
ana. Their hands tremble, but they work

ast.

Forty seconds past midnight.

A drop of sweat forms at the point of
Joe’s chin.

The executioner unfolds the black hood.

The engineer stands behind Joe—at the
back wall—poised to push a switch. Above
that switch there is a naked white bulb. The
switch lights another electric bulb—a red
one—on the floor below, where in a small
room four guards stand ready in front of
four push-buttons, When their light flashes
on, all four of them push the buttons, al-
though only one releases the trap-door
mechanism.

Joe Self’s jaw is now cramped shut. He
wills it to open. He wants to tell the warden
—His jaw relaxes and the drop of sweat falls
to the floor, on the trap door, between Joe’s
strapped feet.

oe’s voice sounds even and calm. It’s as if
somebody else is talking... “Warden,
I’m sorry if I ever caused you any trouble.
I’m very sorry about it, That’s all. Forgive
e ”

Joe looks at Father McCabe. Their eyes
meet.

Fifty seconds past midnight.

Warden Rhay nods,

‘The executioner slips the black hood over
Joe’s head.

..» They say that if you tighten your

neck muscles real hard, you can live
through the hanging...and if you live
through it, they won’t hang you again...”

Joe inhales a powerful breath and holds
it. He tenses his wiry neck and his entire
body stiffens,

... Why don’t they hurry it up...I’m
suffocating ...1 can’t hold my breath for-
ever...Why aren’t they doing it...The
ringing... Telephone! ... Must be the gov--
ernor!...Reprieve!...Come on, get this
hood off my head! ...Let me breathel

The executioner deftly slips the noose
over Joe’s hooded head and tightens the
heavy knot hard behind Joe’s left ear.

The second hand on the prison electric
clock touches 12. One minute past mid-
night.

The warden nods again.

The engineer punches the button. His
white light flashes simultaneously with the
red light on the floor below, where four
index fingers simultaneously press four
switches,

Sixty-one seconds past midnight, the trap
door eee from under Joe’s feet. His heart
leaps to his throat. He lets the air out in a
loud gasp just as the Manila rope snaps his
fall with a dull thump.

Underneath the gallows, Joe Self’s body,
with its hooded head grotesquely cocked to
the right, spins gently as the rope unwinds
under the dead weight. Two guards wheel
black painted steps directly under the body.
The prison doctor climbs them, feels for
Joe’s pulse, then listens for his heart beats
with a shiny stethoscope. He knows this is
only a formality, but it’s up to him to de-

. Clare Joseph Chester Self legally dead.

Twelve-fifteen.

Prison officials file out of the death
house, Only the doctor remains to remove
the cornea from the corpse’s eyes—Joe’s gift
to an unknown fellow-man.

eis

‘—June 20th

wuld choke the tos
+ om

of the death war-
d. He'd heard it
iree times he'd re-
on. But this time,
‘mor’s last-minute
im and the hang-
llion, That’s what
when the last ap-
“k until dead...”
‘ad said, and Self,
licial_ pronounce-

it to hang me...
killer «od didn't
I'm not going to

>d on Joe’s fore-

itened and th
at the pit of his

Teading, sli

th inter ee
> e rd

ly to pane hen:

+ wanted to
at... while
; resigned to
vithout sensation,
against the floor
» flanked by the
‘tile corridor,
'’ McCabe said
anted to be bap-
Christ had over- .
d death itself...
1 not scared,” he

s throat was so.

came out in a
ed all by them.

eft, right, left, 343

ly... Hup, two

‘ep, and look at
é, four... And
5, Keeping step
Company...

uilding and the
n the left, past
ison chapel.

1 in the chapel?
ad he could be
his knees and
kill a-man at

right with his
and the admis-
narrow paved
ilk was Tower
down at the
vithout letting
3 Ted face with

1 quicker than
’ guys said...
run for it...

self turned the
laundry build-
followed. The
1 of coolness.

Te licked

there...

tne peniten-
1ouse was—the
he gallows...

_ with me that day in Seattle...

cies
the end of the road...and then oblivion.

... Eternal Light have mercy upon me...

A.shaded electric light burned day and
night above the steel door to the death
house. The lieutenant fumbled with his key,
as though horrified by the low, whistling
moan of air escaping through the cracks
between the door and the frame.

...Lord have mercy upon my soul...
What was it that guy had said: It was the
souls of the hanged that moaned and
howled around that death house door...

The lieutenant opened the door.and a
massive breath of cooler air blew out of
the dark interior. Joe shivered. The last
guard to walk in shut the door behind him
with a final thump. ¥i

Up one flight of concrete stairs. Another
steel door by the window and again the
moan of the souls of the condemned. A
short half-flight up. A steel door on the
left and another door ahead. For the first
time Self hesitated. That door on the left,
he knew, would open for him soon... the
last door that would open for him on this
earth. :

The sun still shone through the narrow
skylight, casting oblique shadows of the
bars on the white wall in front of Joe’s
death cell. The single steel cot was made up
with a blanket and a pillow, although Joe
knew he wouldn’t get a chance to sleep in
that hard, clean cot, unless the governor
called. :

Right outside the ceil; there
was a telephone mounted on the
wall, so that the death ‘watch
guard could get the word even
at the last moment. 5. an

... They say Governor Rosel-
lini is a good guy...

“Joe, I'll stay with you, if it’s
all right,” Father McCabe said.

Joe nodded absently.

...Why didn’t anybody stay

Why wasn’t there somebody to
tell me what was right and what
be wrong...tell me what to
0. eae

That rainy day in Seattle,
three years before, Joe Self got
off the bus at the Greyhound
Terminal, walked through the
sleepy waiting room and pok
his head outside, into the street.
He felt in his jeans pocket...
Two coins — two quarters — not
enough to get him back to Ta-

coma. ms

Self looked at the signs of af-
fluence all around him—the tall
office buildings ...a movie the- .
ater resplendent with neon signs
...a restaurant. Yeah, dough’s the thing,
Joe thought. Real dough, like a hundred
bucks or maybe even a grand...

... How can you get this kind of dough
in this damned, screwed up world? Doing
odd jobs at a buck and‘a quarter an hour?
Joe pulled out a'crumpled pack of ciga-
rettes, fished out the last one and straight-
ened it carefully. He patted his pockets and
cursed softly. No matches. ;

J{OLDING his cigarette, Joe approached
a redcap. “Ca-a-a-n you... you-u0-u0-
gotta light?”

Startled by Self’s stammering, the redcap
didn’t move a muscle, just stared wide-eyed
at Joe. ae :

A wave of hot blood came up Self’s wiry
‘neck and made the roots of his long, bushy
hair tingle. He sucked in the air through
his distended nostrils, crumpled his last
cigarette, threw it under the redcap’s feet
and stomped away. ae -

_ ceeeRet 5 BR 1 Fon hy a
4 gg NRE

Joe walked to the exit again and searched
his pockets once more, The 50 cents would
get him another pack of smokes and
matches. But then what? His hand felt the
reassuring, hard shape of the gun tucked
behind his belt. Man, if that lousy redcap
had known, he would have...

Yet, getting that rod wasn't such a bad
idea. Thirty five bucks. Well, it just has to
pay off now, Now or never.

HE looked up and down the street. It was
raining. A lone cab idled at the taxi
stand. He could see the driver’s right hand
scribbling on a clip board.

Cab drivers make good dough, They’re
bound to, especially in this damned rain.
Joe pulled his jacket tighter around himself
and started for the cab, A_rain-soaked
stranger also made a bee-line for the same
taxi. Joe saw the man. He leaped forward
and grabbed the door handle.

“No-o-o-body’s going to-0-0-0 cro-0-0-
oss me up!”

“Where to, Mister?”

Self shook the raindrops off his hair.
Yeah, where to? A string of cars splashed
past. As Joe watched them one by one, he
spotted a bus with its headlights already on
and a sign over the driver’s windshield:
“Airport.”

“Airport!” he said.

The driver flipped down the nieter flag

JOE SELF

“) don’t want fo hang... 1 don’t want to die... .”

and pulled into the steady stream of traffic.

Good. Now, there’s time to figure things
out. Joe knew the city well; there wasn’t a
single spot where he could pull a hold up
between here and the airport without at-
tracting attention. He had to tell the driver
to go somewhere else.

They sped along Route 99 now. It was
getting dark but the lights from the super-
markets, gas stations, taverns and motels
on both sides of the highway made it seem
even more cheerful than the drizzle-soaked
daylight had been. :

Self read the name on the hack license:
Gemmill, Ralph. Funny name. There was a
kid by that name in C Company ... Or was
it Gimmell? A nice kid, anyway... square
but nice.

The cab stopped for a traffic light and
Joe looked out. It was stilt raining and the
idea of him sitting in a nice, warm cab,
about to tell the driver he changed his mind
about his destination, struck him as funny.
That, and the fact that the driver didn't
know what was going to happen to him and

Joe did, gave him comfort... and for the a

first time that evening: he relaxed, sinking
back into the seat. a

Whenever Self relaxed, which was not 3

often, his stammering vanished. Now, feel-
ing strangely confident as to his future, he

leaned forward. “Say, I guess I'll go and see,

a friend first...” fens

up. “You mean, you don’t want to go to
Sea-Tac?”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Forget the
airport.” cee
“Where to, then?” te
“Take the first left after that drive-in.”
“The Military Road?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Military Road... what

a laugh. Joe had always wanted to be in |

the Army, ever since his mother died, Joe

was seven then. He wanted to belong some-: ©”
place, be one of the gang, go fight the Ger-. «:
mans or the Japs. Four years later, when.
his dad also died and Joe was left alone, he ©... ©

just couldn’t wait to enlist.
They took him in at 17, but Self’s hap-

piness was shortlived. “I got booted out -
for fouling things up,” he told his Tacoma -

friends after he got a discharge. “I guess
I didn’t belong there, either.” d hs
The cab turned into Military Road..

There were only a few street lights and ~

practically no traffic in this suburban area.
“What’s the street number?”

you where to stop, just keep on
going.”

ahead. No. street lights, no
houses—just fields, it seemed.
'. Self leaned forward. “Why
don’t you pull up right here?”: -.

“But there aren’t’:.any
houses...”

“I know it. I just want to get
into the front seat; can’t see too
good from:back here.” .

The cab pulled over and Joe

out. Holding the pistol in his

door and slid inside. “Okay, Just
don’t make any fuss and don’t

calls you, tell him... No. don’t
say a thing. Understand? I'm:

the dough, all you got.” ‘
Raloh Gemmill slowly reached

wad of bills.
As Self stuffed them into his
jeans, he thought he saw Gem-
mill move. The driver’s hand
missed the gun in the dark and hit Self’s:
wrist instead. The gun went off. Gemmill.
grabbed Self’s wrist and pulled him on top
of himself. : sis ;
Self wrestled himself free of the wounded
driver. He didn’t feel his finger tighten on
the trigger—he just heard another shot and
felt Gemmill’s 'y slump.

SF dragged the body into the wet field,

got into the cab and drove to his home-
town—Tacoma. He fingered the wad of
money in his pocket. Must have been 30,
maybe 50 bucks there. This won't get me
far, he thought. I’ve got to head for the hills
and lay low until the heat’s off ....

He parked the cab in a dark alley in
downtown Tacoma, wiped
wheel and the door handles and headed for
a small hotel he knew. The next mornin;
he took a bus to Puyallup, where he st
at the nearest barber. “Give me a hai
Make it as short as you can.”

When he looked at himsclf in the mirror,
he smiled with (Continued on page 83) _

reached for his gun as he got |
left hand, he opened the front ¥

get any fancy ideas like reaching _
for the mike. If the dispatcher’,

Sie tea Sig aa eee oa

into his pocket and pulled out a

the | steering...

Mie
pS:
Pe

the road. Knowing police might be on the
alert, he watched an isolated house near
the village of Elbe for an hour or more,
There was no car in the garage and no
sign of ‘life inside. He let himself through
the kitchen door and a minute later came
out carrying two rifles, ammunition, a can
of coffee and a small pot.

However, it rained hard all that day and
Self didn’t see anything to hunt. He spent
another restless night deep in the woods and
the next day made up his mind to surren-
der. “Hell, I can explain to them about the
driver,” he muttered to himself. “They’ve
got to believe me.”

He walked to the nearest telephone booth

‘and dialed the operator. “Gi-i-i-ive me the

po-o-o-olice.”

The operator put Self through to Pierce
County Sheriff Frank Stojack.

“You the sheriff?” Joe said, suddenly
calm again.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“This is Joe Self. I guess you guys have
been looking for me the past few days. I
want to give myself up.”

There was silence on the other end of
the wire.

“I want you to come... You. know the
dirt road that comes down to Route 5 near
Elbe?”

“Yes,” Sheriff Stojack said.

“There’s an open field there. I want you
to leave your car and come up that hill
alone, No guns and no tricks, and you’ve
got to be alone, or there'll be shooting.”

Self put down the receiver and started
walking. The rain stopped and even the sun
broke through as he headed into the hills.
He reached the crest and there, showing
through the firs, was Mt. Rainier, snow-
capped in all its glory—Joe’s Mountain.

That was the last time Joe Self saw it...

Bd time is it, Father?” he said.

“Six.”

“I'd like to go to confession again.” Joe
knelt by the cot. He spoke in halting whis-
pers for a time.

The priest gave him absolution and stood
up. “Be back in a little while with the Holy
Communion.”

The guard locked the steel bars behind
the priest and Joe Self was left alone with
his thoughts.

The pain in his stomach has now inten-
sified, pushing up against Joe’s heart and
making him breathe faster. He rubbed his
clammy palms against the rough blanket on
the cot, Less than six hours to go... He
remembered what the guys in the Wing said
about the last hanging at Walla Walla. The
man’s name was Broderson. He thought he
was Jesus Christ and he wanted to die.

...Man, he had to be a crook to want

to die... Especially on the gallows.

AS the inmates had told Joe, the execu-
tioner always carefully figures the
length of the rope—the length of the lethal
drop. The heavier the condemned, the
shorter the length necessary to sever his
spinal cord with the bony spindle of his
own vertebrae, called the axis.

But this Broderson went on a feeding
spree a couple of weeks before the execu-
tion and gained a lot of weight after they
had figured out the length of his rope. When
they sprung the trap door, Broderson fell
too far and force virtually tore his head
off his body, blood squirting all over.

. . « Have they figured it right for me...
FOR ME?

Joe felt his throat. It was as if the rope
was pulling tighter... tighter.

... Jesus Christ, help me...I don’t want
to hang...1 don’t want to die...

Self fell to his knees, quietly sobbing a
prayer. He got up, dried his eyes and paced
the small cell. Without Father McCabe’s
calming influence, he rebelled again.

...1 won't let them... They'll have to
carry me out of here...

He sat on his cot and grasped the bolted
down steel frame until the pain in his
cramped forearms brought him to his
senses, He knew it wouldn’t work—there is
a way of getting people to the gallows even
if they don’t cooperate.

... They strap your thighs and your
ankles to a special chest-high board with a
little step for your heels to rest against...
With your hands tied to the restraining belt,
they carry you out to the gallows ... stand
you up right‘on the trap door...slip on
the hood and the noose and drop you, tied
like a screaming hog, until your neck snaps.

Joe shuddered at the thought. He didn’t
want to go strapped to any board. He didn’t
want to walk to his death, either. Rivulets
of sweat flowed down the sides of his wiry,
muscular neck.

... Why don't they get it over with? Why
don’t they kill me right pow?...Why do
they let me wait and sweat? ... What differ-
ence does it make to them... to anybody .?

Joe wanted to scream at the guard to call
the warden and the executioner—to start the
hanging right away, but his throat was shut
tight as though the hangman’s noose al-
ready was choking the life out of him.

... Yeah... that’s what the guys say...
the executioner pulls the noose around the
neck so tight before they drop you that you
suffocate before your neck snaps... Every-
body is an expert...How the hell does
anybody know if you choke first or not...

Chaplain McCabe came back. Joe re-
ceived Holy Communion and seemed to re-

“Can't you accelerate a little more evenly! Look at the way you’re steering!
You didn’t check the oil like | told you! Watch that rear view mirror . .

lax again. The tightness in the throat wasn’t
so bad, although now his stomach twisted
and churned, ;
Self sat on the cot doubled over, holding
his belly. bad
; Wh guard came to the bars, “You okay,
oe?” f
The condemned man lifted his head. His
face didn’t show the strain and pain. “Sure
I’m okay.”
uw" about some dinner? Anything you
ike.”

Js looked away. Food was the last thing
he wanted right now, but Father Mc-
Cabe patted him on the shoulder and Self
knew he would order a dinner.

“I'll eat with you, Joe. All right?” Father
McCabe said.

Joe nodded. “Okay. Bring us something
Father likes. Me... I don’t care so long as
it’s meat and potatoes and coffee, You want
something special, Father?”

Self’s mouth was working, his teeth were
chewing the steak—he was swallowing...
eating—but he didn’t hear the scraping of
cutlery _— the ary It was the same
feeling of unreality he’d had walking from
the Death Row to this death cell earlier to-
day. He knew he was sitting across the
small table from the chaplain, yet he didn’t
feel the stool under his buttocks.

The priest was watching Joe.

‘ “Father... this'll sound stupid to you,
but I've got to ask you... Father, am I dead
already... or are we still eating the dinner
... Still sitting in my cell?”

“No, you're not dead, Joe.”

“But I have no feeling in me...”

“It’s probably better this way, Joe.” _

“Father, tell me again what Christ said
to that gangster on the cross next to him?”

The priest spoke in a very low voice.
“‘amen, I say to you, before this day is
over, you will be with me in paradise.’”

Pay the guy was a con, a robber...”

“ es.”

ae figure Christ would do the same for
me?” :

“Sure, Joe. As I told you before—just
have faith and ask Him.”

The door to the cell opened and a guard
brought in the death clothes—a dark suit,
white shirt and a tie—socks, shoes.

Joe dressed in a feverish hurry he could
not;explain to himself. His hands trembled
so that he had trouble lacing his shoes. As
he was knotting his tie, he noticed that the
starched collar was alread _— from
sweat. He finished and stood, helpless, be-
fore his friend and confessor. .

“You taught me a lot, Father. Nobody
was ever so good to me before. I want to
thank you for everything—for showing me
ba right from wrong, for the baptism,
Of ke

front of the ce

... The guys say it all pappens so quickly
... there’s no time to think...

But at that instant—at midnight—time
started to stretch for Joe into infinity.

A guard unlocks the door. Another one
comes in with the restraining belt—light-
brown leather, steel buckles, tough, heavy
leather... He takes forever... Hurry upl
...No, don’t... there’s still a chance...
my last chance to make a break... Once he
gets my wrists strapped in, I'll never make
it...
The leather feels rough on Joe’s wrists.
A mighty scream of protest wells in his in-
nards, It rams into the sores throat and,
frustrated, doubles, back upon itself in a
burning knot of pain. Joe’s jugular veins
pound and his face sets into a glistening
mask of strain.

“You all right, Joe?” the guard says.

..-Am Lall right...

Spey

mer ny

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Warden aay and four guards stood in

here are four steps t
to the black, sile
wall

.. Faster, faster..
faster? The floor is up/
ows in the mountains
We have to start a fire

It’s like a slow mot
door to the staircase t:
Two guards post them
the stairs, blocking th

... The guys say th
... just before the ro
you live your whole
don’t want to live my
over again... clawins
around, like a squirr:
telephone pole by a
where to go...Nor
home...

The door to the ¢
balcony, as in a theate
here, and down, beyo:
the audience—the wit:

There's the rope. 1
verleaf manila. Loo
steel eye in the ceilin
a wide noose and tl
man’s knot.

A three-foot squa:
footmarks painted on

Thirty seconds pas

Turning his back o
Warden Rhay stands
rail, “Have you anyt!

Joe’s heart pounds
He feels like a trap
tively seeking to esc
through his dilated n
breaths.

... Listen, I have son
are you killing me? .
guy back to life...

yquired,

around
ris eYeSy
\), They
-ed steel.
1e shirts.
he said

gaze, he
The shirt

sasaki m9 fig Bcc emir

it
pane >§

Sprain

indicated was white silk—one of
the most expensive in stock—and
seemed hardly in keeping with the
red mackinaw and rough clothes
the man was wearing. Still, he
knew that loggers working in
nearby camps were given good
wages and were reputed to be
good spenders.

Stepping behind the counter,
the assistant manager removed
three shirts from a box and turned
back to his customer. “Here they

”

are,” he said pleasantly. “Any-

[ay hate coppers!”
snarled this suave-
faced confessed killer
of four, who shot
police in the course
of a long one-man
crime wave. Then he
smiled: “I was born
to hang anyway!”

we thing else that you would like to look at?”
The man shook his head. “That'll be all,”
] he said shortly. “How much?”
1 McManus bent down and rapidly figured
i the purchase slip, As he did so the stranger
glanced swiftly around. The rest of the
shoppers were intent on their errands—
for the moment the two men were alone
at the counter.

McManus glanced up. “Let’s see, it will
be—” he began and stopped, frozen with
terror. Held close to the stranger’s side—
pointing straight at him—was the muzzle
of a black automatic. y

“This is a stickup. Act natural and you
won’t get hurt!” came the command.

As McManus—too surprised to speak—
nodded dumbly, the bandit jerked his head
toward the big cash register at the end of

) Detective James
O'Brien, right,
wajked into the Kil-
-» ler in Red and was
. £ruelly mowed down
. in a. duel. He was
» the third police vic-
-- tim of the despera-
0. in a single night,

m the shadows ~~
the path between)
o houses im. |
‘Wash, the =

stare of his eyes—that told him he had ms tb
better: obey. ’ bandit.
Slowly he stepped to the cash register Or kes
| and, taking a bag from one of the draw- the thr
| ers, began scooping the money into it. Bae:
| The bandit turned to cover him but in seemed
. doing so exposed his gun to view and a hue ae
| woman customer saw it. Instantly she glanced
uttered a piercing scream. Swinci,
| At the sound the other customers in meng
| the rear of the store whirled around. I
Seeing the robber, two or three men HE
started forward. The bandit didn’t hesi- 7
tate. Raising his gun, he sent two shots that ie
crashing over their heads. hope ic
“Get back there!” he rasped. “The the tric
next one who moves gets a slug!”” With pace
the words, he grabbed the bag contain- Mean
ing $1500 from McManus’ hands and eaiiead :
backed towards the front door. chase a
Cowed by the shots and the bandit’s Henry wl
threat, the crowd remained motionless. started af:
But as he reached the entrance and dis- As fies
appeared, the shoppers surged forward. revolver
McManus was first to get to the door.
‘ : had been
Running out on the sidewalk, he shouted recent [.|

the counter.

“Take out the money and put it in a bag,
And no funny business—”

For an instant the storekeeper hesitated.
But there was something in the clipped

nd’ killed ‘Deputy
“an eputy
ae rge. Schultz
‘after fleeing from

partment store. This
was the beginning
of his crimson trail,

- the holdup of a de-

tones of the gunman—in the cold, icy

for help.
STARTLING DETECTIVE

Stopped hi;
ADVENT

vee

“~

COT TVET

H (SCHMIDT), John, white, hanged WA@ (King)
~ yommeee es

eae a

QACuIMThymnN

As told to FRANK WAIT HANFORD

T WAS just two days before Christ-
‘mas, 1919, and crowds thronged the
streets of Olympia, Wash., intent on

their holiday shopping. 3

Toward 6 o’clock, when the press was ..
the greatest, a short stocky man in work:

clothes sauntered into one of the town’s
largest stores. Instead of joining the
eager shoppers milling about within, he

took up a post by the door and let his .

gaze travel slowly over the room.

Cal

cs
ee
+
+
e
+
a
"
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ig
-
A
-

sis Sy %
Pram Ly eines

By MATT STARWICH

Former Sheriff of King County, Washington

Presently he seemed to find what he
sought and with quick, purposeful
strides crossed to the far side. Pausing
before a counter containing men’s shirts,
he looked over the contents.

‘In a few moments he made his selec-
tion and glanced about for a clerk. At
that instant W. H: McManus, assistant

-manager, came along and, noticing the.

man had not been waited on, stepped to
his side,

Pay

“Something you wish?” -he inquired,
politely. :

At his words the-man swung around
and as McManus encountered his eyes,
he experienced a sudden chill. They
were cold eyes, hard as tempered steel.
The man pointed to one of the shirts.

“I’l] take three of those,” he said
brusquely. “Size 16.”

As McManus followed his gaze, he
received a second surprise. The shirt

erte

AID ETH ean:

indic
the 1
seem
red
the I
knew
nearl
Wages
ood s
Ste;
the as
three s
back t
are,” }

ET he

ant street
N jump a

n roared.
treet, shot

le, Wash-
orth, De-
{ the door
Tennant’s
oom,

yur phone
wrting for

rry I had
nmy,” he
fow’s the

Kad shot
ms. A .45
h, but the
>» on cold

ou rest up
’ Tennant
Take a

a sheet of
of service

Tennant
1 and last
all by a
’ twenty-
as a cu-
‘d grimly,
‘rom now

when an
in. Chief

"said the
are of it"

> DETRCTIVE

Tennant glanced at it, then said, “Wait
a minute, Jimmy.” He read the bulletin,
then continued, “It’s your man, Jimmy.
Only this time it’s murder. In
Olympia.”

Less than an hour later, a few min-
utes before seven, O’Brien introduced
himself to Harry Cusack, Police Chief
at Olympia. “I think,” he told him,
“your killer is a bandit we’ve long been
looking for.” I]

Cusack and O’Brien went to the Pen-
ney store and interviewed McManus
and Mrs. Belles.

O’Brien received a good description
of the killer, but he already knew it by
heart. Nearly six feet tall, about 150
pounds, dark eyes, blond hair, clean-
shaven, very genteel, good-looking, dark
cap and a long brown overcoat. It was
the service station bandit.

In the rear of the store, Cusack said,
“He fled this way,” pointing toward
the lower end of Fifth Avenue to the
Union Pacific Railway yards. “Schultz
was shot near the fence by the Olympia
Knitting Mills. Just a kid gone bad,”
Cusack continued. “Can’t understand
how a well-brought up boy can go that
way. But he’s a killer now.”

O’Brien nodded. To him it was the
same old story. First petty thieving,
then armed robbery, and finally mur-
der. “I’ll phone Seattle,” he said, “and

‘get that end covered.”

Chief Tennant promised that every
means of getting into Seattle would be
guarded,

O’Brien and Cusack, assisted by a
Posse, searched the waterfront and the

railroad yards for several hours, but to
no avail. From Tony Irish, accountant

at the Knitting Mills, they received an i

eye-witness account of the killing.
“Schultz,” Irish said, “didn’t have a
chance, being in the light and the killer
hidden by the fence.”

O’Brien climbed over the fence and
searched the ground. Nearly trodden
out of sight in the soft dirt, he found an
empty shell. “7.65 Luger,” he said. to
himself, “and,” looking at the footprint,
“a number 9% shoe, New, with rubber
heel. I’ll make a cast of that.”

As O’Brien resumed his trail he
found a cap in the rear of the Willard

. Hotel. When he showed it to McManus,
the store manager was sure it was the
killer’s.

“Let’s search the hotel,” O’Brien sug-
gested to Cusack. “He may be staying
there.”

But the officers drew a blank. No
young man had boarded at the Willard.
“T’ll go from rooming-house to room-
ing-house,” O’Brien said to Cusack.
“You could search’ the hotels.”

@ IT WAS nearly midnight when the °

two officers met again. One look at
Cusack’s face told O’Brien that the
Chief had had no luck. “The killer,” Cu-
sack said, “isn’t an Olympia man. No-
body knows him or has seen him.”

“No,” O’Brien agreed grimly, “he’s
from my bailiwick. And I’m going back
to Seattle and try to pick up his trail
there.”

On his way back, O’Brien stopped at
the bus depot in Tacoma, thirty miles

‘south of Seattle, Several drivers were

gave them a description of the bandit
killer. “If you see him, don’t let him

. Set wise. Phone ahead and we'll meet
_ your bus somewhere on the road.” ee
. One young driver looked thoughtful.
“T’ve just come back from. Puyallup,” :
he told O’Brien, “and I believe I had .

the killer on board when I went there.
He got off at A Street.” J

O’Brien waited for no more. He raced
to Puyallup. The sleepy little town was
deserted. Getting the local marshal out
of bed, O’Brien and he made a house-to-
house search for the fugitive. But again
it was in vain.

At an all-night lunch counter they
were told, “That bird had coffee and
cakes here less than two hours ago, but
I haven’t seen him since.”

With the first light of dawn, a posse
was hastily formed and every possible
hiding place was searched. From

Olympia came word that a reward of ,

$500, had been. posted for the killer,
dead or alive.

But when O’Brien finally sat down
to a much needed breakfast, he had to
admit that the killer had slipped
through their fingers.

When O’Brien reached Seattle again,
he reported to Chief Tennant, then
tried to get a little rest. But the barely
healed wound in his thigh bothered
him and wouldn’t let him sleep. He got
up and drove his car from one service
station to the next. Everywhere he left
the same warning. “This bird is a killer
now and he’ll kill again. Let him have

The bandit robbed C. A. Lincoln's gas station (above) and while he made a note

of the take, bragged of his unlawful

DECEMBER, 1041

“earnings'—thon loft a thumbprint behind

Pane apes

Handcuffed to Sheriff Matt Starwich, the book-
keeping killer (left) goes to meet his doom

the money, but watch him, watch
where he goes, watch what he does and
above all, phone Headquarters the first
chance you get.”

As O’Brien neared the Morey place,
he noticed a large gathering outside. He
forced his way through the crowd and
went in.

E. S. Howe, the owner, sat on the
floor, swaying to and fro with an ugly
bullet wound in his leg. Stretched on
the counter was another bleeding man.
He was Ralph ‘M. Hedges.

“I was just filling Hedges’ order,”
Howe told O’Brien, “when this guy
cemes in here. He wants our money and
I told .him to go to the devil. He fires
without saying anything and knocks
my legs out from under me. Then he
shoots Hedges’ jaw off and cleans out
the till. He quite coolly counts the
money and enters the amount in a little
book and then beats it out of here.”

O’Brien picked up an empty shell
near the door. It was from a 7.65 Luger.
Howe’s description of the stickup fitted
the Olympia killer, item by item.

M@ AN AMBULANCE had already been
called and now police cars were roar-

ing up to the place. O’Brien deployed a .

car in each direction. He telephoned

‘Chief Tennant for more men and

phoned Sheriff Matt Starwich for an ad-
ditional posse.

Within minutes a huge circle of police
officers formed around the store. Chief
Tennant took personal charge. Then
the circle closed in. Every house, every
basement, every shrub, every possible
hiding place was searched inch by inch

and yet, when the net finally closed:

around the store, it was empty. The
killer had not been seen. .
O’Brien felt let down. ‘He had been

on the scene so early. He had thrown
the huge circle around the holdup scene
so quickly and the search had been so
thorough. Yet the killer had escaped.
How? How? O’Brien kept asking him-
self.

The answer to that question was just
as elusive as the killer himself and as
during the following weeks the orgy
of holdups died off, O’Brien was as-
signed to other duties. .

Several montis passed, yet he
couldn’t forget the killer. Every spare
moment he kept on the trail. Over and
over again he questioned men who had
been held up. How tall was the des-
perado? How much did he weigh?
What did he wear? How old was he?

Over and over again O’Brien kept
asking those questions, until even the
station operators became tired of the
detective’s insistence.

O’Brien had only one clue, the Luger

shells. Every dealer handling them in

Seattle and other near-by towns was
interviewed by the detective, but not
one remembered selling shells to any-
body even faintly resembling the killer.

During that summer reports came ,

spasmodically about station holdups
from other towns, Spokane, Everett,
Portland, Tacoma, Bellingham; all had
two or three scattered robberies. All
had been committed by a bold young
bandit, who often, if he seemed to have
the time, methodically entered his take
in a small notebook,

Then, on August llth, 1920, a tall
good-looking young man entered the
Frank Café at 622 Madison Street,
Seattle. It was a few minutes after six
and the place was crowded with hungry
workers. The young man wore a cap
low down on his forehead and a long
brown overcoat hid most of his ‘figure.

He coolly walked behind the counter,
jammed a gun into the cashier’s back
and whispered into her ear, ““You want
to see your sweetie again? If you do,
open the cash register and give me the
money.”

Shaking like a leaf, the girl complied.

The bandit stuck the cash into his pocket
and started to leave. The girl screamed.
Several men jumped up.
' Coolly the bandit raised the gun in
his hand and leveled it at the girl. “If
anybody takes just one step,” he an-
nounced in a hard voice, “I’ll blow her
head off.”

The next moment he was gone.

O’Brien received the call as he was
about to leave Headquarters. He rushed
to the café. A few minutes’ conversa-
tion with the cashier told him the
Olympia killer was back in Seattle.

™@ HE FIRST ordered Detective T. G.

Montgomery to make the rounds of
all service stations and put the men on
the alert. Then he turned to Miss Arm-
strong, the cashier. “The café will be
closed tonight so that Lieutenant Brad-
ley, our identification expert, can
search it for fingerprints. How’d you
like to come home with me? My missus
got chicken fricassee and dumplings
for supper. And,” whimsically he
added, “she always gives me the deuce
if I’m late on dumpling night.”

The girl agreed willingly and, hav-
ing put her at her ease, O’Brien ques-
tioned her shrewdly. Then he retired
to his own den, leaving Miss Armstrong
helping. Mrs. O’Brien with the dishes.

For many minutes, the detective
mulled over the various items of the
bandit’s appearance that he had
gleaned from ‘the cashier. Suddenly he
snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it,” he
exulted.

The next morning Miss Armstrong
and O’Brien went from one clothing
store to another. Finally in a second-
hand store on First Avenue, the girl
pointed to a long brown coat. “That’s
the kind he wore,” she said.

O’Brien nodded. “I thought so.” He
took the coat off the hanger, stuck his
hand into the sleeve and reversed it.
When he had turned the other sleeve
inside out, the brown coat was a
whitish-gray one.

“Simple enough,” O’Brien said to
himself. “A reversible coat. A felt hat
in his pocket and perhaps a white shirt
under his dark one. He ducks into an
alley, makes a quick change and stands
there watching us looking for him.
Gee, what a goat he’s made of me.”

When he returned to Headquarters
he quietly passed the word to the uni-
formed force. “Don’t look for the
brown coat and the cap. He’ll be wear-
ing a whitish-gray coat and felt hat.”

But though every officer kept his eyes
open for the bandit-killer, no one saw
him.

" Then a week later on August 18th, at
10:30 p.m. the lone bandit walked into
the Coliseum Theatre. The last show
was nearly over and the manager,
Frank Steffy, smiled in a friendly way

at the tall neat-looking young man in’

the long brown overcoat. “Sorry,” he
said, ‘‘you’re too late.”

_ TRUE DETECTIVE .

him, “
certai:
open :
Ten
want,
have.”

i | “ey Vv
roor
cheap
I need
“Wh:
“Wel
want t:
might )
And I
might ;
How at
Tenn
Matt S:
roads |]
keep e\
“Hov
boys ar
Tenn
stoolie
punk,”
wolf th
All d
Headqu
girls an:
a motle
O’Brien
on this s
told the
Place fo
At mi
to admit

DECEMBER

SMITH, John, white, hanged Wash,

— RRR

ae; acm de?

SP (.4/1/1921/...

TAUE DETECTIVE, December, 1941,

ber 23rd, and the J. C. Penney store

in Olympia, Washington, was
crowded to overflowing with Christ-
mas shoppers bent on last minute
purchases.

Henry McManus, the assistant mana-
ger, glanced at the clock. A few min-
utes to six. He turned to Mrs. Elva
Belles, the saleslady in charge of men’s
ties and socks. “I wish the boss would
get the money out of the tills into the
safe upstairs. I haven’t the time to
take it up.”

Behind him a soft voice said, ‘Don’t
worry about the cash. I’ll take care
of it.”

As McManus started to turn, the
muzzle of a gun rammed into his ribs.
“Steady, buddy; if you want to spend
Christmas with your wife and kids.”

McManus stood still. The bandit
came forward. He tried to open the
cash drawer, but couldn’t manipulate
the buttons underneath.

“Open it up,” he ordered McManus,
“if you know what’s good for you.”

McManus stared at the bandit. He

L: WAS Monday afternoon, Decem-

was young, a little over twenty, tall

and blond. His eyes were dark blue,
cold and hard as ice. They made the
manager shiver, as he reached under
the till, pressed the correct buttons and
drew the cash drawer out.

Unhurried and calm, the bandit lifted
the paper. money, guessed its value
roughly and stuck it into the pocket of
the long, brown overcoat he wore.

Then he turned to Mrs. Belles, keep-
ing McManus covered with the gun low

ge ty gg

bb RIN

down at his side. “If you don’t want
your friend to die, open your cash
drawer.”

Mrs. Belles knew there was nothing
else to do. She did as, she was told,
wondering how all the customers in the
shop could calmly go on about their
business without realizing that the
store was being robbed.

When her till was empty, the bandit
leaned casually against the counter.
“I’m going out the back door. If either
of you start yelling before I’m outside,
it’ll be just too bad.”

He tapped the gun in his hand. “I’m
a dead shot. Don’t try to make me

prove it. Good-by and a Merry Christ-

mas.”

He turned away and Mrs. Belles’
caution cracked. She screnmed.

McManus lurched fo !, made a
grab for the fleeing ho! man, only
to be smashed down | » bandit’s
gun.

Others took up the hue and cry. In
the rear of the Penney store two men
were loading a truck. They ran
forward.

The bandit’s gun roared. Whistling
lead hissed over their heads. The men
fell back.

Half a block away, E. H. Schultz and
C. R. Cass, working on a repair job in
the former’s garage, heard the shot and
the shouting.

Schultz grabbed his gun from the
cash drawer and as he raced for the
street, a fleeting shadow passed his
door.

He gave chase. It was dark outside.

But in the glow of the distant street
lamp he saw the tall shadow jump a
picket fence.

Through the pickets a gun roared.
Schultz dropped dead in the street, shot
through the eye.

At the same time in Seattle, Wash-
ington, seventy-five miles north, De-
tective James O’Brien opened the door
of Chief of Police Charles Tennant’s
office and. limped across the room.

He saluted smartly. “Got your phone
call, Chief,” he said. “Reporting for
duty.”

Chief Tennant nodded. “Sorry I had
to call you, back so soon, Jimmy,” he
said kindly. Then added, “How’s the
leg?”

Six weeks before, O’Brien had shot
it out with a couple of hoodlums. A .45
had smashed through his thigh, but the
two bandits had finished up on cold
slabs in the morgue. ,

“T would have liked to let you rest up
until after Christmas,” Chief Tennant
continued, “but I need you. Take a
gander at this.”

The Chief handed O’Brien a sheet of
paper, On it was a long list of service
station holdups.

“Thirty-eight robberies,’ Tennant
went on, “between August 8th and last
night, December 22nd. And all by a
good-looking punk not over twenty-
four years old. Always cool as a cu-
,cumber.” Then Tennant added grimly,
““Get him. That’s your job from now
on. ”

O’Brien started to leave when an
orderly brought in a bulletin. Chief

"Don't worry about the-cash," said the
man (above). "I'll take care of it"

Boa ‘cas

ace

h Sead eel

TRUE DETECTIVE mee

ore

1e.
aarters
ie uni-
yx the
» wear-
it hat.”
jis eyes
ne saw

18th, at
-ed into
st show
,anager,
dly way
man in
rry,” he

)PTECTIVH

“Not too late to get what I came for,”
the bandit answered grimly, poking his
gun into Steffy’s stomach. “Get back
into your office, if you don’t want to
die.”

Steffy gulped. “You’re—the—ban-
dit” he stammered. - ¥ '

“Sure, and I want the money in your
safe. Get going.” The gun pressed a
little harder into the manager’s body.
“Stop stalling.”

Steffy slowly opened his office door.
Then, pushed by the bandit, he stum-
bled inside. Superintendent Ben Lar-
son was counting the cash. He gasped
as he saw the gun and the killer’s ice-
cold eyes.
The young man smiled coldly. “Don’t
do anything rash,” he said. “The money
isn’t worth dying for.” He motioned to
Steffy. “Tie him up in a chair.”

Under the watchful eyes of the in-
truder Larson complied. Then he was
ordered into another chair and the
bandit tied him there. Coolly he checked
Steffy’s bonds. “Nice work,” he smiled,
“you must have been a sailor. You sure
know how to tie a knot.” ;
Calmly he counted the cash lying on
the desk and stuffed it into his pocket.
Then just as calmly he entered the,
amount, $535.43, in his notebook. “I like
to keep my books straight,” the bandit
grinned. Then he politely wished them
goodnight and vanished.

O’Brien didn’t receive word of the
theatre holdup until the two bound men
were found by the janitor after the
show closed. He knew then, of course,
that it was too late to make a search.
The bandit would be under cover again.

The next morning O’Brien went into
Chief Tennant’s office. “Chief,” he told
him, “this bandit lives in Seattle. That’s
certain. We’ve got to flush him into the
open and I need help.”

Tennant nodded. “Whatever you
want, Jimmy,” he replied, “you, can

— “I WANT to search every dive, every

rooming-house, apartment house,
cheap hotel, at the same time, Chief.
I need every man we can scrape up.”

“When do you want them?”

“Well,” O’Brien replied, “I don’t
want to do it during the day. Our bird
might be out to a show, or something.
And I don’t want it late at night. He
might give us the slip in the darkness.
How about five o’clock in the morning?”

Tennant agreed. “I'll get Sheriff
Matt Starwich to help by covering the
roads leading out of Seattle, and I'll
keep every man on duty.” ;

“How about putting pressure on the
boys and girls, the wise ones?”

Tennant said he would see that every
stoolie spilled’ what he knew. “That
punk,” he added, “can’t be such ‘a lone
wolf that no one knows him.”

All day a long procession arrived at
Headquarters. Shady characters, loose
girls and their men friends, bar-punks,
a motley crew, were interrogated by
O’Brien and his men. “Give us a line
on this service station bandit,” O’Brien
told them, “or I’ll make Seattle a bad
place for you to hang your hat.”

At midnight that night O’Brien had
to admit that once again he had failed.

prommnen, 41

He was convinced that no one in the
underworld knew the killer, There
were no symptoms of fear, no desire to
hold anything back. “The punks just
don’t know him,” O’Brien groaned.

Everything was set for a search of
the town, so the detective slept for a
few hours on a bench at Headquarters.
At 4:30, with the first gray streaks of
dawn, he was awake.

The men were dispatched in twos to
each block. Every street intersection
was guarded. Police prowled the alleys,
watched back doors and rear windows
while the search was on.

For over three hours nearly 400
searchers investigated every possible
hiding place. A number of wanted men
were picked up. More than a dozen
were taken to Headquarters for, ques-
tioning, men that looked somewhat like
the) bandit-killer. All were dismissed,
when their alibis proved correct. ;

Then, on October 8th, the robber

‘ smilingly walked in on C. A. Lincoln at

his gas station at Madison and. 13th
Avenue.

Holding the Luger steadily against
his hips, he smilingly said, ‘Sorry,
buddy, but I’m shy of cash. How: much
have you got?”

Lincoln recognizing the stickup and
remembering O’Brien’s warning, si-
lently handed over all he had, The
bandit counted it swiftly and expertly.
“Three hundred and fifty-six dollars,”
he said, entering that amount in his
book. “Would you ‘believe it, buddy,
that makes nearly $50,000 I’ve earned

*so far?”

As the bandit turned to leave, he
said calmly, “By the way, ‘I’ve been
told that the cops instructed you fel-
lows to be kind to me. I wouldn't stick
my nose out of the door for at least five
minutes.” Grinning he added, “I’m a
very good shot, even at three hundred
feet.”

Lincoln believed him. He waited
until he was sure the bandit was gone,
then hurried to a phone.

Excitedly he explained to Head-

quarters what had happened. “le left

‘a big thumbprint on the showcase,”

Lincoln shouted into the phone.
O’Brien rushed Levi Bradley to the

-station. The print was there, clear and

distinct. “Now I’m sure we'll have
something,” the detective -exulted,
But when finally the last returns
came in, every agency stated that they
didn’t have the print on record.

O’Brien felt dejected. He had hoped -

a great deal from the fingerprint. ‘That
punk’s having the luck of the devil,” he
groaned, then added determinedly, “but

’ll keep after him till I get him, or he :

gets me.” : pene OMe
Was it his Irish premonition that

made Detective O’Brien add the last.

phrase? Who knows?

m ON NOVEMBER ist, O’Brien re-

ceived a phone call from Sheriff Matt

’ Starwich. “Come over to my. Office,

Jimmy,” said the latter. “I’ve got

something to show you.” ee
It was a letter from a woman. in

Chicago. ;

To the Sheriff
King County
Washington

Chicago and I have not heard from him for
along time. I wonder could you help me find
him?

He is now twenty-five years old and nearly
six feet tall. He weighed 161 lbs. when I last
saw him, He has blond hair and amazingly
dark blue eyes. :

He wrote to me last from Spokane, Wash-
ington, saying that he was going to Seattle to
find work.

He speaks English with hardly any accent,
although he was brought up in Germany. I
do not believe he uses his own name, a highly
respected name in Germany before the war.

What makes me so very much afraid is his
attitude towards life. He often has said that
if he cannot earna living, he can at least take

* what he wants. He took his father’s Luger

and I am afraid for him.

He always has been a very good boy. He
never takes the Lord’s name in vain; he
doesn’t drink, nor does he smoke. He is a
great student and loves to read good books in
the library. :

The name signed to this letter is not my
own, but he will recognize it.

Please try to find him, Sheriff, and tell him
to write to his mother.

From the deep shadows near this house the
brown-coated bandit stepped out, gun in hand

SHE eae
Age ts

Ri Ze
nee

us eae

{
+
a
hie

‘%

fia an ise eK ln

a S a ~

super-human gesture, fort, hurled his useless gun at the bandit, |
hand and fired; then slumped to. “sprang close, and balling his fist, crashed”
vement. (Si Syn ee et into hie: face. Like ’s pole-axed steer
he near-distance came the ominous
: sirens as police cars thundered
© the spot, and shouts of running men, _
“As scon as the two wounded officers —
the way to the hospital, a fine-
search of the neighborhood was
-made. But no trace of the sharpshooting
‘gunfhan was found. fee pte : Bis iketee
=* The bunt ‘was now. in high gear. By But Jimmy O’Brien, brave officer, good.
couriers, the police on the different beats friend, faithful Public servant, would nev-
~_were informed of the shooting. When . er speak to: anyone in this world again.
O’Brien got the news he told his partner, A bullet. had pierced: his heart.
T. G. Montgomery. “Listen, Monty, after re BAS
this he'll just have ‘to get out of town.
‘And to do so he’ll try to get his car and

the fellow collapsed, unconscious. >» 2
- "The battle was’ over, © 7 * a!
_ Monty called; “Carman! Jimmy!" The
former weakly “answered.” Weaving over
to. where Jimmy, his partner lay, silent,
inert, on the . frozen pavement, Monty
Pleaded: “Jimmy, old boy, speak to me.
Are you all: right?” Be Be ate

were

= ae

, ae Tee ee | Fae at Ss
T the hospital it was ascertained that
, Montgomery’s and Carman’s wounds,
will have to c here. So kee x ‘While critical, would not prove fatal. The
Se pea feo bd es hat ig 3 ee ring Angle be pers el
feet any. fa ae a eects ofthe bullets caused as much dam-
© TI g0 tell him.” 2 Hi 3 age as Monty’s fist. An interne, impressed
Es gp: ~- by: this, remarked: “You seem to bear a
Charmed life.” 8: Wine ipernity ee 5»
ra __ <= “Yes,” he laughed sardonically, “charm
‘enue. Rey af ed as gallows bait." 9 4 BRUCE
a The street: was lined with better class © And the police busied themselves bring-
sho About six doors along ‘Jimmy no- ing that to pass.” eee eee
ticed a man lounging nonchalantly in- "Later the same night, with doctors’ per-
j the areaway Of a department store. mission, the blonde triggermap was ques-
=" Whether it was the fellow’s easy. unsus- {Toned And -he was the coldest, most
Ficious-appearing attitude, or that he intelligent killer these men ‘in long careers
thought. him an officer, that prevented had ever seen, He was. murder personi-
iramy from taking more direct action, fed! — od sates be Seem ;
“T'm sorry Y had to kill O'Brien,” he
admitted; in paying a quéer tribute_to
“him. “There was a man. Square, honest,
a good cop. It was a pleasure to match
wits with him. On two occasions I tried
to help him. At the Morey place F, with-
out using my disguise, stood in the crowd
_ and watched him organize the hunt for
me. Then, as you know, I left my fin-
_. erprints for him.” 3 zo
“~ “Those disguises,” he was asked: “Did
O'Brien figure them. correctly?” 2 -
“Partly. I practiced all sorts of rapid
changes. One of my best was a butcher's

_ Several hundred dollars’ worth of
merchandise missing. Among the po-
lice officers-who arrived on the scene
“was Detective’ Lieutenant Josep! A.
“Faurot, “just ‘back © from England
‘where! he “had studied the strange
new science of fingerprinting at Scot-
}land Yard. He was attracted by a
~"pane of glass which the burglar had
-Temoved to gain entrance. On it was.
‘2 perfect set of fingerprints, A no-
toricus burglar named Ceasar Celia.
Was suspécted: Faurot: ordered his
artest. Cella’s fingerprints: matched
_ those on’ the windowpane,

‘was brought to trial... =>

a Seba F

“their beats; two to a block.’ Sheriff }
Starwich, always co-operative,
~ city force

he=

Meecery

tastic. The controversy became’ so
heated that the judge turned to the”
deputy and, indicating Faurot, © or-
dered: be ‘ ; ay cee Ah a ;
Be “Take this man and lock him up in
‘my chambers!” SELL TEAS

. It was a black moment for the de-

“shoot first and ask questions afterward.
O’Brien called: “You there, in the door-
way, come out into the light where I can
look you over.” Opposite, down. the:street; —

“Montgomery, ‘running, yelled:. “I see
Dries P79 3 Sas? og eee? A eae tae tea

~The lurking man didn’t change’ his in-

; -dolent slouch except for an ‘incredibly
vapid flick of his right hand, which grasp-

_ ¢d a gun. It exploded’ twice in staccato
_/ Succession. Jimmy, fighting valiantly to

* his last bullet, dropped first, and lay still.

trolling their sector i Tenth Av
Owing to the incl weather,:
ple were abroad. McMillian, breath

his Ford roadster there e but it was parked |
there right then! “It’s: been here over

arrest. After a miserable hour he was
ushered back into the courtroom and —
led to one of the windows, on which
the twelve members of’ the jury had

~< through on the deduction, it was evident, pressed their fingers: Then he was

also, that the bandit, to make contacts, -

> possessed a car. With hopes again up-
_. lifted, Jimmy began interviewing ed

station men not. yet questioned.
man ticked off station after station with-

--* =: out reward. Finally, the next to last, the

-.¢attendant never hesitated in his reply.

“Sure,” he offered. ““That’s Johnny Smith.

Only he musta beat you to it—because he
left Seattle two weeks ago to go home
to Chicago.” No, he didn’t know where
Johnny lived here in town; he’d just drop
in. to chew the fat. “What kind,”—and
O’Brien’s voice quavered between hope
and fear—‘‘what kind of car does John-
ny drive?”

“A ew Ford roadster,” was the en-

a month,” the mechanic explained. “The
fellow said he’d call for it when he want-
ed to use it again. Said he traveled a lot
ard had no permanent residence here.”

Levi Bradley soon proved, by compar-
‘ing fingerprints on the car, that it be-

“longed to the wanted man. In the turtle-
back a number of books on anthropology,

chol and philosophy were found,
iaieag with a sant ot Seattle with a circle
around every robbed filling station!

A twenty-four hour stake-out was
planted on the car.

But O’Brien had no delusions. Despite
his daring, the detective knew the killer
would be too shrewd to spring the trap
on himself. Therefore, Jimmy concocted
‘a plan and submitted it to Tennant for

: ata
avin the way, Chief. We've simply got

for their guns. Ffom across

a roar and streak of arrie BS
down; falling upon his face, a 8 :
above his heart. McMillian, peerage
advanced, his gun booming! Again tis
across that narrow no-man’s land, 4

and burst of flame. McMillian abruptly 32

stopped short; swayed to his knees, still

+ pumping lead. Another explosion a ~

other side of the roadway.
body recoiled from the impact

- ; ¥.

” gon

Carman next was felled, with both legs
= broken and a paralyzing skull crease.
= Monty moved up a step at a time, his
spouting. The seemingly indestructi-
_ ble killer shifted his position and gave
“battle to Monty. His first slug caught
the policeman in ‘the arm, spoiling his
aim. Struggling against numbing pain for
control, Monty steadied his arm and
whanged away, dodging closer. The men
were now directly facing each other, fight-
‘ing savagely to the death. The bandit’s
gun flared again. Monty felt another sear-
ing hot slug bury itself in his flesh; he
stumbled. almost went down, but some-
how kept his equilibrium and charged
forward. His finger, working like a piston,
pulled the trigger until it responded only
with a hollow click. Flame and death
were hurtling still from his antagonist's

weapon. With a sob of impotent rage,

apron rolled up under my ccat. I'd just
let it down and no one paid me the*
slightest attention. Especially,” he added,
grinning, “cops!” ~
Next day,. Angle died. And two days
following McMillian also lost his fight
to live. It was now, counting Schultz’
killing at Olympia, quadruple murder!
And within forty-eight hours their mur-
derer faced the bar. A jury was drawn in
Teccrd time, by four o'clock had heard
the evidence, retired and returned at five
with the inevitable verdict: “Guilty with-
out recommendation for mercy.”
Thereupon, Judge Frater sentenced him
to die by hanging at Walla Walla prison
on April ist, 1922. .
Addressing his guard, the condemned
man smiled “There’s irony for you, I’m

to die on All Fools Day!”

-—"-

given a small pane of glass on which
one of the jurors had made a second
set of prints. “Now,” challenged the
judge, “tell me which fingerprints on
the window are duplicated on the
smal} pane.” 3 :

A hush fell over the courtroom as
Faurot compared print after print.

Suddenly Faurot stepped back .
from the window and pointed dra- ~~
matically. “There are the prints
which match these on the glass.”

Cella was pronounced guilty—the —
first man in New York ever to be
convicted on fingerprint evidence.

Ld
=

2OF

R2Pe Vee ¢

Big 3 can’t ne in ie ‘40 it” :

“Fifteen” minutes later, ‘Tennant. received the “squeal” in

Seattle. Hurriedly ‘summoning O’Brien, he grimly announced
- as he handed him. the a= _ “Here's your man, Jimmy. In,
~ Olympia—and, it’s murder!” ;
“In a trifle more than an hoor ‘O'Brien, by scorching the high-~
way, was conferring with -Olympia ‘Chief_of Police Hey, Ci- P
2 = The<latter welcomed his old friend’s assistance.” ree:
« “Pye got the town bottled up,” Cusack said, “and. don't ‘see: RE
— he. can get away.”> "5° :

» After, briefly interviewing: Mr. McManus, “and. Mrs. Belles,

“athe Seattle sleuth traversed the course taken by the’ slayer. In,

a knitting mill “diagonally opposite Schultz’ garage he ‘located a

: good witness to the actual killing; Tony Irish, an accountant.

“A drawling voice, with the otodistakalle accents ot an se.
cated man, came from behind him. “Put te ibd, at. rest. T=
take care of the money for you.” 2

So pleasant was the voice ant gentlemanly, ee appearance
of the young man who confronted ‘him when he: turned around,
that McManus thought it a jest..But he was quickly disillusioned
by one look at those granite-hard bine eyes that belied the smile
on his lips. ~ ©

Exposing-a gun palmed in his right” hand, the bandit snapped:

» “Tf you don’t want to spend Christmas underground just be+

“:have yourself. Now open all the drawers in‘ that register.”

There was nothing for McManus to do but obey.
# And, with hundreds of carefree holiday’ shoppers within a
afew feet of him, the frosty-éyed* gunman unhurriedly emptied

“;the tills of the paper money, stuffing it into his overcoat pocket.

Through, he curtly admonished Mrs. Belles and the manager:
“T’m going out that back door yonder: If either of you squawk
before I'm dutside somebody will surely get hurt. Please don’t
force me to use violence.”

As he turned away, the tension broke Mrs. Belles’ control—
she screamed. This in turn provoked McManus to action and

however, lost interest when he fanned a couple bullets a above
: “their heads.

cr was evident ‘at this stdge, considering what “eppaned" a few

seconds later, that the thief was trying to avoid killing so
Icng_as his own life or liberty was not seriously threatened.

f'+,To the mingled yells of “Robber! Robber! Stop him!” the

“bandit sprinted lightly down the avenue. Darkness was falling
and the street lights-flicked on. A few doors away, Mr. E. H.
Schultz, garageman,heard the shouting and say the fleeing man
streak past his window. Snatching up his gun, he dashed out-
side and took up the pursuit. The quarry, loping like a wolf
before huntsmen and looking warily back over his shoulder, was
several paces ahead. Schultz commanded: “Halt! Drop~that
gun or I'll fire!” and raised his gun. The bandit, in one swift,
whirling motion, vaulted_a-fence for protection and blazed away.

Schultz staggered a step or two forward and crashed to the
ground, a bullet in his. brain. The bandit, now murderer, van-
ished in the gloom of the alley.

‘SMuttering, “I should kill. you ¥ fools.” the {fellow jerked free_
and, using his.gun as a-sap lkhocked the manager cold; And
~ before the stunned: crowd could act, he was through the deer, ~~
~ At the back, two workman loading a truck, hearing the uproar « —
~ within and seeing the racing man, tried to intercept him. They,

~ “Schultz,” the latter related, “never hada chance. The bandit
sprang over that, fence with the agility of a monkey and fired
simultaneously. Either he’s a dead shot or was lucky!”

With his flashlight, O’Brien examined the ground behind the
fence. He was elated when he saw. a footprint clearly etched in
the soft earth. From long experience he knew it was made by
a 9 or 9 1-2 new shoe with a rubber heel. Covering. it with a
‘board against the time a moulage cast could be made, he resumed
his search. His next find filled him with downright glee. “Ah,”
he gloated happily, as he dug a bright object out of the soil.
Sniffing it, he said: “Looks like a shell from a 7.65 Luger!” That,
with the bullet from poor Schultz’ head, would be evidence: in-

deed if the gun could be traced and if and when the murderer “

was caught. 5

The trail from that point ended at the ‘back of the nearby’
Willard Hotel, where an expensive cap, obviously too new to
be discarded, was found. Inspecting it, O’Brien softly swore—the
lining containing the dealer’s name had been removed. Hurry-
ing with it te Mr. McManus, the latter told the detective he
was positive it belonged to the killer. -

“Come on, Jimmy,” Cusack exclaimed, “we're going to shake
down that hotel!”

But a- cellar to attic combing of the place was fruitless; as
was that of every other likely hotel and rooming house in the

toty. A colixe net was literally ated over the cntine. Olympia:
‘rooms, all other haunts of shady characters; heat was turned on-

‘area—waterfront, railroad yards and terminals, bus depots, pool-—

“ stool-pigeons, but nary a clue to the young slayer was netted.
No one, apparently, had seen him after be bert aes and.
vanished into ie night. x a : 3

¥ tite 3

5S ie

.T 3 A. M. OBrien and” Cusack Coarpared Saeetoand it was
precious little they had “to compare. “Well,” the’ chief
glumly admitted, “looks like he’s given us the slip; unless he’s .
“holed. up somewhere here in town. Andi don’t think he is. In
any case, I know he’s no local thug.” Res

“No, he isn’t,” O'Brien bitterly echoed: “He’s from: Seattle;

“and no doubt is: heading straight back there. In fact, he’s our

current crime wave. And now,” he added -worriedly, “that he’s:
got the taste of blood, God alone knows here else he'll murder ©
before he’s nailed.” :

Perhaps: it was just as well that O’Brien could net foresee.
who would eventually be “lead emcees by this deadly youth's
equally deadly gun.

Enroute back to Seattle, the ‘Gdiactiea stopped at every ham-
let, gas Station, and roadhouse, seeking some trace of the culprit.
He was luckless until he visited the bus depot at Tacoma, mid-
way between Olympia and Seattle: One of the drivers lounging
in -the lunchroom gave him a hot lead. “‘Why,” be declared, “T -
carried that chap 'on my last run from here. Took him to
-Puyallup. Even recall that he got off at A Street.”

O’Brien, hopes soaring, rocketed down the concrete, gunning
his big Cadillac for all it would stand.

As day was breaking, he roused. the Puyallup police chief
from bed and, starting at A Street, they made a to house
search wherever practicable. No results. At a cafe in the busi-
ness district he got’a nibble. The night-man confirmed the bus
driver's tip. Giving a.good description of the hynted man, he

id: “He was in here about three hours ago. F got the im- _
pression he lived around here.” Further search only. convinced
O’Brien that the cunning~killer had (Continued om page 50)

moby p es geese 2 eel
in eluded him. And upon -reaching -
* Seritle, he learned that if_the phantom-
"Tike slayer bad in fact returned there he

a likewise’ evaded be pore set for ~

fest

cOn- =

coiacid tes tana oe
tity. He went, primarily, from filling sta- +

tion, to. station. At. each he. firmly. ad
vised the employees: “If “you're held
‘don’t resist. Do as you're told; let

Seo provocation! Observe, hin close-

. - Jy; his clothing, mannerisms, everything.
Then phone Headquarters as soon as pos- <

“ible.” As he approached the Morey sta- .

‘tion, he noticed a crowd. milling asta
about the door. ay SS Be
; “This is probably it!” he cried gis
Spurting into the driveway, he slam-
~ * med on the Seabee and tushed into the
5 poding: EAE 3
~ =~ The. small room resembled -a . slaughter
: house: The owner, E. S. Howe, was sit-
ting in’ a pool of blood on the floor, his
“leg shattered into pulp, a- mystified ex-
"pression still on his face. Stretched on
a counter was another man, Ralph M.
Hedges, a customer, whose face dripped
blood. O’Brien felt his pulse; it was
strong. After rendering first aid, the de-—
tective questicned the proprietor.
Howe’s eyes glinted angrily. “This fel-
low, only a kid, tall, good-looking, well-
dressed, came in’ just as-I was giving
Mr. Hedges his change. Smiling, he threw
a gun on us and said: ‘I want your mop-
ey.’ I said: ‘Go to the Devil. He looks
at me surprised-like for a second then
begins firing. Knocks my legs out from
under me and shoots at Hedges. Then he
cleans out the till. And.”—the astonished
lock deepened in Howe’s eyes—‘I’ll be
darned if he didn’t stand there, count the
money, and enter the amount in a little
book! Then he walks out.”

ATPHERE ‘was sib doubt about if being ~ “implacable, icy éyés. As one mesmerised, -
ih the

Olympia killer after O’Brien found she mutely handed him the money. ~~~

eat tmpky 205, Lagen, shell on tbe: Bove. 2 ae
bulance. departed with the- “fully put the bills in his pocket and turned
ens ie <to go. The cashier shrieked. A number of

seriously bat fot fatally wounded’ men;:

the’ silver, the bandit care-

“several cars loaded with policemtén con- men jumped up and started forward

~ verged on .the Scene. The gun-wielder, } Pivoting, the gunman leveled the gun at

‘oot, had been gone a _ the Gil. “If any of you,” he “snarled,
a nda dejailed the * “makes one move I'l blow her head off.”
“¢fficers in a broad, ever expanding circle; © And backing to the door, he stepped into

: Everybody,
awe -to think the Crime-Wave | had d

~ print; cap; bullet removed: from Schultz’
brain and exact description. of his: man.

In his of hours he haunted gunsmiths,

- hardware stores, - pawnshops, * “wherever |

gen frie emery gas eines phe. Sires and Sore ees

sede oo. ese site, Jewn: foot

guns were sold or exchanged, within a { the cther.

hundred mile radius, trying to find.a deal-: ©
er who could recall selling such shells *
or gun. He likewise investigated every»
filling station hold-up- im- the. northwest--
“From time to time he secured faint leads ~
which upon being run-deWn came to noth~

He felt that his bandit still in_-
‘eager he “Sus. And,” he reflected, “if heis as smart ~

the area; if not operating, then lying
~ doggo, waiting for the heat. to- simmer
‘down. All he got for his hard work was _
disappointment and increased determina- ;
tion. a 5 =
“At the dinner hour, yore: 11, 1920, ‘the
Frank Cafe in Seattle was crowded with
diners. A tall young man, wearing what
leoked like a long motoring duster or
coat and cap low on his face, sauntered
in. Pausing inside the door, he scanned
the place, then walked over to the cash-
ier’s counter. Smiling frigidly, his blue
eyes agate-hard, he said: “My dear, life
should be sweet to a lovely girl like you.
So if vou want to live give me the money
in that register.” And he showed her a
gun cupped in his hand. It is obvious
that he utilized this conversational build-

up in order not to stampede his victims -

with too sudden fright.

An. ambulance was on the way; and — The girl, like- McManus, thought he

‘O’Brien called for reinforcements,
a “ -
«$9 *

was joking until she looked into those

So that's how the lug does his chame-
“leon act, is it?’ O’Brien said. “Pulls a
«<Héist, ‘steps into’ a hallway, reverses his”
coat; no doubt’ exchanges his cap for.

“felt hat carried in his pocket; maybe a
: white shirt under his dark one and ambles -
away. And makes monkeys out of all of -

-as I think he is, he'll have several varia-
\ aati kee) or aaine Se.
ness.” _*

Accordingly, he prepared a carteees

tal. memo advising all officers to disre

gard, as a positive lead, the apparel of
“ the wanted man; to. visualize him wearing
almost any type ‘of clothing. ~ *

He again went the rounds, re-warning
potential victims, and earnestly tracked
a spocr that at best was cold and con-
fused.

Mt, in time, led him ‘to the Coliseum a

Theatre.
Around 10:30, August 18th, our tall,

good-looking young man walked into the ~

deserted inner lobby cf the movie. Frank
Steffy, manager, came forward and po-
litely informed him: “Sorry, sir, the per-
formance is almost over. I fear you're
too late.” .

Tessenkx ie tee wand te £

- come - for.” And

“gun,” palmed- as usual

: “I want

. If you don’t swatit a stom:

lead, lead me to your office.”’

‘Steffy, no coward, but no fool, either,

= acquiesced: “All right. There'll be no need

for gunplay. My assistant is in the office
—please give him a chance.”

The gunman, winked. “Right. Get mov-,

of |

: Tnside the office, the jocose bandit

produced some stout cord and command-

ed the eer assistant- Ben Lar- ~

‘gen bind Steffy to a chair; then he

ins roped Larson. After’ relieving

the men of their personal ike the gun-

the theatre ©

fa bank-

ima notebook. Leaving, the grinning young

Money in the mint isn’t worth, dying for.

3 wo Bours later the captives-were te-
Bot 2 ppt tags ‘to*clean ~

information’ he
old story The
anpehgor Jad; cap

socming he pa Chief Neancr

met for a strategy session. Neither
‘of the men underestimated the caliber

of the man they were ‘ecetpine Arar tt

“Chief.” O’Brien confessed, “frankly,
worried. Not so much because of

the stick-upe—bad as they are—but this

~ one jnakes.# suspitious move, before him,
~~ they'll be dead. One more and he'll doubt-
--_ less’ from then on be simply kill-crazy.
We've got to get him.” ‘

“T know, Jimmy.” Tennant agreed con-

~ solingly. “But you, all of us, have done

humanly possible. After all,

_ everything
he’s only been back on the prowl a couple
- weeks. At any rate, what do you suggest.”

“Thanks, Chief. Here’s my angie: I’m
certain the fellow lives in Seattle. And

in Seattle polic teeny

‘was ‘thrown out. Noe hundred plain:

‘clothes men, plus uniformed forces, plus
Starwich’s: men; went to work. Stool--
- pigeons were sweated dry. But it was
wasted effort; they knew nothing of the
killer or else ‘the threat of his gun cowed.
“them into silence. And all-day long and
far inte the night a motley string of
suspects filtered into headquarters. A
number of 4vanted men were hocked but
not the one most desired: He was the
tall young man that wasn’t there!

» At 2 A.M. O’Brien conceded temporary
- failure. “Now what?” he thought, as he
"wearily sought his bed. ~~

_ Part of the answer came on ‘October
sth, at a service station at. 13th and
Madison Streets. Our. tall young man,
_ smiling amiably, ° walked -in,/ showed the

~ greeted: *Goid eveling. sit. I trust you" ve
had S peottable. way: 52 Sapa your

For. 2 fleeting ame ote

in kind; which might have signed

Shia: dosth-wisrant. But O’Brien’s. warning

ganoke in his mind. Witenes a word, he
his money. ~ 3

‘otioning’ to ‘a chair, Hise Poet a

“fected: “Sit down there and fold your

“arms.” Mr. Lincoln obeyed, but watched

the young man intently. The latter went
through his routine. Counting the money,
“he exclaimed: “$388! Not-so- bad.” And
then jotted the ‘sum in his account book.
“You know,” he tcld’ Mr. Lincoln with
satisfaction, “that makes almost. sixty
thousand dollars I've squeezed out of

". the citizenry so far.” At the door he ‘un-

loaded this parting quip: “I’ve been in-
formed -that the police instructed you
- business. men to grant me every civility.

“side this docr for at least five minutes. I
ee eee Seen
away.” ‘ ;
Mr. Lincoln Jesenartichabe got on the 5
phone. “Yes,” he told the detective bu-
reau, “it was your man, all right. And,”
he included triumphantly, “he left you
something, too. A nice, clear thumbprint
on the showcase!”

Lt. Levi Bradley, famed identification
expert, was sent to take photographs of.

‘while he might be anywhere when not on. the print. When O’Brien saw it, he was

the loose with that Luger I want to dust
every joint, suspect hotel, rooming house,
in ‘this town; as well as yank in every

‘'stoolie and put them through the hoop. —

Somebody in the underworld could at
least have heard something about him.
We'll get Sheriff Matt Starwich to put
a ring of men around the city limits to
handle the county territory.”

“All right, Jimmy. It’s your show.”
And Tennant reached for the phone to

At 5 A.M. next morning, one: of the

cheered. “At long last we've got some-
thing tangible!” And got busy on it.
But his enthusiasm was premature. A
laborious scrutiny of their cwn extensive
tecords; those of all Pacific coast depart-
ment and the F.B.I. at Washington, yield-
ed a blank. The killer had no police dos-
sier that could be checked by means of
a single print.

ATE in November the will-o’-the-wisp
gunman robbed a Georgetown gas
Station of $80. Sixteen days later he

or libel now seemed in pros-

= pet But the Kindly rabbi, who iad
; listening to the testimony, now. =
~_Stepped forward and ‘said, “I suggest =
~~ that the lining behind the left pocket

apn teped open. te, wee whether, there
“is.any money there.”

~The magistrate agreed, aad when
the lining was slit $600. in crisp new.
“bills fell out! Prison

BRE GR i FHA Jaca “ Sih yg x
ea Mk TT} il ae i rr

“Wy OM Es ah a a

Ir WAS MONDAY AFTERNOON, De-
cember 23rd, and the J. C. Penney store
in Olympia, Washington, was crowded
to overflowing with Christmas shoppers
bent on last minute purchases.

Henry McManus, the assistant manager,
glanced at the clock. A few minutes to
6:00. He turned to Mrs. Elva Belles, the
saleslady in charge of men’s ties and
socks. “I wish the boss would get the
money out of the tills into the safe up-
stairs. I haven't the time to take it up.”

Behind him a soft voice said, “Don’t
worry about the cash. I’ll take care
of it.”

As McManus started to turn, the muz-
zle of a gun rammed into his ribs.
“Steady, buddy, if you want to spend
Christmas with your wife and kids.”

McManus stood still. The bandit came
forward. He tried to open the cash
drawer, but couldn’t manipulate the
buttons underneath.

“Open it up,” he ordered McManus,
“if you know what’s good for you.”

McManus stared at the bandit. He
Was young, a little over twenty, tall and
blond. His eyes were dark blue, cold
and hard as ice. They made the manager
shiver, as he reached under the till,
pressed the correct buttons and drew the
cash drawer out.

BY MARTIN REDFERN

Unhurried and calm, the bandit lifted
the paper money, guessed its value
roughly and stuck it into the pocket of
the long, brown overcoat he wore.

Then he turned to Mrs. Belles. keeping
McManus covered with the gun low
down at his side. “If you don’t want
your friend to die, open your cash
drawer.”

Mrs. Belles knew there was nothing
else to do. She did as she was told,
wondering how all the customers in the
shop could calmly go on about their busi-
ness without realizing that the store was
being robbed.

When her till was empty, the bandit
leaned casually against the counter. “I’m
going out the back door. If either of you
start yelling before I’m outside, it’ll be
just too bad.”

He tapped the gun in his hand. “I’m
a dead shot. Don’t try to make me prove
it. Good-bye and a Merry Christmas.”

He turned away and Mrs. Belles’ cau-
tion cracked. She screamed.

McManus lurched forward. made a
grab for the neeing holdup man. only
to be smashed down | he ban zun,

Others took up the hue and In
the rear of the Penney store o men
were loading a truck. They ran forward.

The bandit’s gun roared. Whistling

lead hissed over the men’s heads. They
fell back.

Half a block away, E. H. Schultz and
C. R. Cass, working on a repair job in
the former’s garage, heard the shot and
the shouting.

Schultz grabbed his gun from the
cash drawer and, as he raced for the
street, a fleeting shadow passed his
door.

He gave chase. It was dark outside.
But in the glow of the distant street
lamp he saw the tall shadow jump a
Picket fence.

Through the pickets a gun roared.
Schultz dropped dead in the street, shot
through the eye.

At the same time in Seattle, Washing-
ton, seventy-five miles north, Detective
James O’Brien opened the door of Chief
of Police Charles Tennant’s office and
limped across the room.

He saluted smartly. “Got your phone
call, Chief.” he said. “Reporting for
duty.”

Chief Tennant nodded. “Sorry I had
to call you back so soon. Jimmy,” he
said kindly. Then added, “How’s the
leg?”

Six weeks before. O’Brien had shot
out with a couple «
had smashed throug

+
ig

hoodlums. A .45
his thigh, but the

A smart detective was forced to try every one of his wiles in a deter-

“You want to see your sweetie
again? If you do, open the
register and give me the money”

mined effort to trap a brainy bandit who had lots of wiles of his own

——__—_————-MASTER DETECTIVE MAGAZINE, ‘August, 1950.

a)
{ J Koes ATT AY

|
HERIFF John Carroll’s face was grim that

afternoon in early September, as he listened the sus;
tensely to the excited young man. They were “My
sitting in an office in the old brick court- hu ton
house of Jefferson County, at Port Townsend, morning.
Washington. while. 1
The agitated caller was Art Trast, a member and I w:
of the U. S. Coast Guard. Perspiration rolled off “But
4 his brow and he fidgeted with his cap, while Ford cot
talking in jerky sentences: town. the
“Tm sure that old Bill Frawley has been mur- noticed ¢
| dered!” the youth declared emphatically. “There’s “T kne
no other explanation for his disappearance!” That's «
1 | Carroll nodded soberly. “You may be right, the. stair
ale son,” he said with a hint of doubt in his voice. blood!”
“Let’s go up to Bill’s place and look around.” The
—"*. * Everyon:
AS THE pair drove along the winding road generous
leading to Frawley’s hilltop cottage, several Carrol)
miles from Port Townsend, Trast elaborated on were u!
taken a

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several
ted on

the suspicion that had sent him racing ,to the sheriff.

“My wife and I have a cabin near old Bill’s place,”
the man explained. “I got back from a_ cruise this
morning, and after chatting with Mrs. Trast for a
while, I went to see Bill. We’ve become good friends
and I wanted to invite him over for lunch.

“But he wasn’t home. I peeked into the garage. His
Ford coupe was gone, | thought maybe he'd gone into
town then, so I started to leave. But all of a sudden I
noticed that the back door of the cottage was ajar.

“T knew Bill wouldn’t go away without locking up.
That’s why 1 went inside and looked around, I saw
the stains on the kitchen floor—stains that look like
blood!” s

The sheriff frowned. He liked old Bill Frawley.
Everyone did. The retired army sergeant was a kind,
generous-hearted fellow.

Carroll hoped desperately that Trast’s suspicions
were unfounded, that the elderly man had merely
taken a trip somewhere without bothering to tell his

wley mysteriously

st hillto
send. Pp cottage

m this mode
m Port Town

Several miles fro

neighbors about it. But still... .

The sheriff braked his car to a stop before the
modest Frawley cottage. Trast tried the front door.
It was still unlocked. Without hesitation, the pair
stepped inside.

Carroll walked into the kitchen followed by Trast,
who pointed to several tiny reddish-brown spots on
the floor. The officer, balanced on his hands and knees,
inspected them at close range.

“Somebody tried to wipe them up, but didn’t do a
thorough job,” the official declared, “It looks like you
had a good hunch, These are bloodstains, all right.”

The sheriff rose to his feet and walked purposefully
from the room, A moment later, calling excitedly to

Art Trast (right) of the U.S. Coast
Guard told Sheriff John Carroll
(left) that he believed a retired
army sergeant was murdered,

$43

—

SoS}

Ms “wets
on TS ee

See es

Trast, he pointed to a bullet hole
in the door between the kitchen and
the bedroom!

From the brivhtness of the splint-
ers the sheriff knew instantly that
the* perforation was newly made.

f Expertly, he traced the line of ‘the

missile’s flight. Then, suddenly, ‘his
lips pursed in a soundless whistle,
and whipping out his pen-knife, he
extracted a .22 caliber bullet!

“Did Bill own a gun?” Carroll
asked. The other man shook his head.
“Then I'm afraid,” the officer said
with grim humor, “that I’ve got a

- murder to solve without even a corpse

to start with.”

* al

NTENSELY aroused now, the men

proceeded to the back porch, where
they found other suspicious stains.
And in the garage, too, they noticed
red-brown splotches.

“Bither the killer carted Frawley
off ‘in his own car,” Carroll specu-
lated, “or buried him here, We've
got some digging to do!”

The coast jsuardsman
two shovels from the garage, and
the pair started turning back layer
upon layer of rich black earth. But
after more than three feet of ground
had been removed, in several spots
surrounding the house, they found
no sign of a body. Wearily, the dig-
gers gave up the job and returned
to the cottage,

procured

a. with disarming frankness:

With painstaking care the sheriff
combed the living room. It wasn’t
long before he discovered something
—a crumpled sheet of paper that had
been tossed under the table.

“Looks like old Bill was doing
some bookkeeping,” remarked Car-
roll, “But I can’t make head or tail
out of these figures. See what you
can do with them, Art.”

The youth studied the sheet for
several minutes:

$3,839 100

250 50

——— 10

- 4,089 30

190 -

190

3,899

“Il think I know what the larger
amounts are,” Trast finally — said.
“They're probably his bank bal-
ances. He kept two savings ac-
counts --one for current expenses

and the other for his nest-egg. But
I’m dead sure Bill didn’t make these
figures. The writing isn’t like his.”

Carroll pondered a moment, then

“Isn’t it rather peculiar, Art, that
you know so much about Frawley’s
money affairs?”

“I don’t think so.”

Trast replied
without hesitation. “Bill became
quite attached to my wife and me.
He told us exactly how much he
had in the bank because he said he
was going to leave it to us when he
died.”

Trast’s words sounded sincere and
the sheriff dismissed his doubts about
the youth’s role in the bizarre riddle.

“Do you think,” Carroll asked,
“that old Bill was murdered by some-
body who wanted his money?”

Trast nodded. “There can’t be any
other reason, Sheriff. I'm sure he
had no enemies.”

“Then,” Carroll
killer may have
books.” ,;

Trast’s face was a study in per-
plexity. “But what I can’t under-
stand,” he declared, “is why the
killer would take them, and also do
all this figuring, if he couldn’t get
Bill’s dough out of the bank.”

“That's just one of the flock of

“the
bank

observed,
taken the

Ollie Stratton (right), a
clerk in a meat market,
reported to Sheriff Car-
roll (left) that two men
forced him to draw
money from Frawley’s
bank account.

questions I
the terse rey

was lat
Carroll h
fice. Hastils
fication exp:
instructed t!
fingerprints,
cottage thor
by-inch sea
Because
time at the
Carroll kne
accounts c
day. Never!
stay in his .
he started
going to t:
the first t
solved a ca:
Knowing
ally went
officer con)
under the :
have incurr:
this might
roll was wi
For hour
tour of the
to unearth
night was
He discove:
Molly John
one of the
friendly
Carroll als.
in a nearb
eagerly hu:
The sher
the woman
she opened
Though °
emerged f:
fully. awak:
sented a s
exceptional

of the ex-s
Molly Jot
quizzically
why you're
Carroll t
her that h:
tant messa.
been unab
the old m:
that she m
Bill
“| have:
girl replies
him for nr
sides.” she
slightly ”
“Ive he
marked yx
(Ci

FEATURE DE-

—

—
—

iol rae an sel aay Se aa

here with me Wednesday like he said. I
didn’t want to admit it for fear my husband
would find out. But I can’t let you arrest
Dave for something he didn’t do.”

She declared that the other man had
reached her house about 4:30 on the after-
noon of the murder and had remained until
after 7. He hadn’t left during that period,
she insisted.

Satisfied that she was telling the truth,
the officers thanked her and returned to the
Columbia courthouse, where they instructed
that Flemming be released from custody.

They went home greatly disappointed
over the fact that such a promising lead had
exploded, leaving them not only without a
suspect, but without a motive as well. And,
although they interviewed every settler in
the Braynon Mountain area, they were un-
able to uncover any other incident in Bill
Shanklin’s orderly life that might have re-
sulted in his slaying.

“We've apparently eliminated every pos-
sible reason except robbery,” Deputy Stude-
baker remarked one afternoon as they dis-
cussed the case in their headquarters in the
Kalama courthouse. “I wonder whether
Shanklin had something that the killer knew
about and decided to get, There doesn’t
seem to be any other answer.”

“T've thought about that, too,” Kirby said,
“but the neighbors were so positive there
wasn’t anything in the house to provoke
robbery that I took their word for it. How-
ever, as you say, Clarke, there doesn’t seem
to be any other explanation, and I think we
ought to investigate along that line.”

From-the farmers who had known the
victim best, they compiled a list of his
possessions, finding that the only items of
much value were a silver pocketwatch and
a hunting knife. In an attempt to determine
whether these had been stolen, the officials
went to the fire site, rigged up a large screen,
and began carefully sifting
through the blackened debris.

PRA 5

the State Capital, and persuaded Governor
Rogers to post a $500 reward for informa-
tion leading to the killer’s arrest and con-
viction. But even this incentive failed to
bring any worthwhile results.

As the months passed, the Cowlitz officials
were forced to turn to other matters, and
gradually the Shanklin case slipped into
the background.

On the morning of Thursday, November
29th—a little more than a year after the
Braynon Mountain slaying—Chet and Ward
Rice, teen-agers, were sent by their mother
to the home of their nearest neighbors, Mr.
and Mrs. Cornelius Knapp, in the Hazel Dell
farming district, three miles west of Castle
Rock in the northern part of the Cowlitz
River Valley, to borrow some flour.

HE Knapp homestead was approximately

a quarter of a mile from the Rice place,
and the boys romped over the fields rather
than going by way of the old military road
which connected the two properties. This
route led them to the back of the neighbor-
ing farmhouse, and the moment they got in
sight of the kitchen door, they saw that the
screen had been torn in a wide area.

Hurrying closer, they found smears of
blood on the stoop. Startled, they peered
in through the shattered screen and
glimpsed the elderly couple lying on the
floor in a welter of crimson.

The boys ran down the road, and had
negotiated half the distance to their home
when they encountered Walter Edmunds, a
cattle buyer, who was on his way to the
Knapp farm to see whether the old couple
had any animals to sell. Learning what
the lads had seen, he spurred his horse to a
gallop, and a few minutes later entered the
rear of the building. *

There was no doubt but that the couple
were dead; and the absence of any weapon

1 Ri aa 3; NSE ANNE ARR CII eR es

near by told Edmunds that they had been
murdered. He raced into town and tele-
phoned Sheriff Kirby at Kalama. The lat-
ter, together with Deputy Studebaker and
Coroner Bell, reached the scene two hours
later. They found that the victims had been
slain with a charge of Number One buck-
shot, which had caught the man in the throat
and his wife behind the left ear.

The Coroner’s estimate that death had
occurred bewteen 6 and 7 o’clock on the
previous evening was substantiated by the
fact that the kitchen table held a partially
consumed supper and that the couple had
obviously tumbled from their chairs after
being hit.

This time, there was no question as to
the motive for the attack, since the entire
premises had been prowled. The pockets
of the farmer’s trousers had been pulled in-
side out, and the drawers of all the furni-
ture in the house had been opened and rum-
maged through, as if the intruder had been
searching for the hidden valuables.

The circumstances were so similar to
those surrounding the murder of Bill
Shanklin that Kirby and Studebaker
quickly reached the conclusion that the
same person was responsible. The same
type of buckshot had been used in each in-
stance, the victims had been ambushed
while eating supper, and robbery undoubt-
edly had spurred each attack.

The Sheriff’s face was grim as he declared,
“Clarke, I’ve dealt with some heartless
criminals in my day, but this devil is the
worst ever. He’ll keep on killing until we
put him behind bars; and I won’t be able
to rest until that time comes.”

After the Coroner had removed the
bodies, the investigators began their hunt
for additional evidence. Earlier, they had
observed smeared footprints in the blood
on the kitchen floor, and now they searched
for one which could be measured.
Studebaker finally found a fairly

Hours later, when they had
completed the task without lo-
cating the timepiece or the knife,
they were convinced that they
had been taken by the killer.
This theory was relayed to the
Kelso newspaper, which fea-
tured it prominently in the next
edition.

A rancher living several miles
from the murder scene read the
story, hurried into town and
telephoned the Sheriff at Kalama,
saying that he had bought a cow
from Shanklin two days before
the slaying and had paid $25 in
cash.

“Seeim”’ as how you think a
thief killed Bill, I thought you
ought to know about this,” the
caller added. ‘“’Course, Bill
might’ve got rid of the money
afore he was shot, but maybe he
had it and somebody found out.”

Kirby and Studebaker drove
to Kelso at once and began a
check-up. They learned from the
bank that the bachelor had not
made a payment on his mortgage
for several weeks prior to his
death, and that he had not main-
tained a savings account there.

None of his neighbors ap-
peared to know about the money
or what he might have done with
it. As no strangers had been
seen in the community recently,
it seemed obvious that some local
person had committed the cold-
blooded murder. But weeks of
tedious canvassing brought to
light no one on whom the slight~>
est suspicion could be placed.

With the case at a standstill,
Sheriff Kirby went to Olympia,

“Nothing, thanks ... I'm
to test my will power!"

on a diet and just came in

clear specimen in the hallway
between the kitchen and one of
the bedrooms. When a ruler was
laid alongside, the track was seen
to have been made bya size
eight boot.

But that seemed to be the only
clue to the assailant’s identity,
and the officers realized that it
would be useless unless they en-
countered definite suspects and
could examine their footgear.

A tour of the district brought
nothing to help solve the mys-
tery. As in the previous case,
several persons had heard a
shotgun blast about 6 o’clock, but
had not thought anything was
amiss. No one had seen anybody
going to or from the Knapp place
that evening, nor had any stran-
gers been observed in the region
for some time.

However, J. W. Rice, whose
sons had discovered the bodies,
said, “Cornelius might’ve had a
considerable sum in the house.
He was planning to buy a flock
of sheep, and he said his brother
was going to loan him the money.
His brother came up from Kelso
yesterday morning, so I imagine
he brought the cash with him.”

Kirby and Studebaker drove
to Kelso and hunted up the home
of P. J. Knapp. After informing
him of the murders, they asked
whether he had taken any money
to the farm. The stunned man
replied that he had gone there
to talk over the deal, and, after
satisfying himself that his broth-
er’s idea was sound, he had made
out a check for $500.

“Cornelius put it in the writing

desk for s:
around anc
lated. “The
so I could
home.”
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Each was
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Kirby and S:
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Next day
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On Friday
the State wc
resulting in °
The Cowlitz
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The County
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Saturday r
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Kalama and
Deputy Stud

The Portla:
with keen eyes

recounted al] 1

the fellow was rather young, as he sent the
craft ahead with powerful strokes. The in-
formant remembered that the person had
worn a cap,

It was a start, and the heartened officials
set out in an attempt to trace the vessel.
But no one else in the vicinity apparently
had seen it. When darkness again halted
their search, the party returned to the
county seat for the night, resuming their
activity shortly after sunup on Monday.
This time, they headed downstream from
Castle Rock, looking for a skiff whose owner
fit the meager description, and inquiring at
farmhouses and landings in the hope that
someone could supply the information they
sought,

Toward noon, they received their first
jead. The operator of a barge which plied
the length of the river informed them that
he had seen a certain young man, whose
reputation was not too savory in the valley,
rowing his skiff toward Castle Rock on the
previous Wednesday afternoon,

This individual wore a cap, according to
the barge man, and had a gun in his boat,
though the witness had been unable to tell
whether it was a shotgun or a rifle,

Learning where the young man lived, the
officers rowed to the point nearest his home,
and then walked to the farmhouse. They
found him doing chores in the barn, and
he readily admitted that he had gone to the
near-by town on the afternoon in question
to buy some groceries for his parents, They
corroborated this statement, declaring that
he had returned before 6 o’clock,

But to make certain, the investigators
measured his boots. They were size ten.
And, it developed, the gun he had had with
him was a .22 rifle, with which he had taken
potshots at various targets along the river.
He was eliminated as a suspect.

Other similar disappointments were en-
countered by the trio of discouraged but
determined sleuths. Plenty of skiffs had
been observed heading north on the Cowlitz
on the day of the murder, but none of their
owners could be linked with the crime.

Darkness again interrupted the tedious
investigation; but .early Tuesday morning,
the officers once more were on the river in
search of something to put them on the
right track. Hours later, after running
down several new leads, which proved
equally valueless, they talked with a boat-
man whose landing was midway between
Castle Rock and Kelso.

“I saw at least a dozen skiffs go upstream
last Wednesday,” he reported, “but the only
fellow who had a shotgun was
Martin Stickels. He always has

he hadn’t seen Cornelius Knapp, whom he
knew by sight, for several weeks.

The investigators measured his boots, and
found them to be size eight. However, an
examination of the shotgun in his cabin
revealed it to be loaded with birdshot. No
buckshot shells were included among his
possessions, and he said that he hadn’t had
any for more than a month.

When his clothing was searched, nothing
of an incriminating nature was discovered.
A thorough inspection of the scow likewise
failed to produce any of the loot supposedly
taken from Bill Shanklin and the Knapps,
nor any other telltale evidence.

Since there was nothing, other than the
size of his boots, to tie him into the murders,
the officers left his craft and proceeded back
to Castle Rock, where they returned the
rented rowboat, and then drove to Kalama.

That evening, while discussing the case
in the Sheriff's office, Captain Simmons re-
marked that he couldn’t get the idea out of
his head that Stickels was connected with
the crimes. “I’ll admit that the size of his
shoes is the only thing we’ve got against
him; but I’d like to check a little further
before giving him a clean bill of health.”

Next morning the detective started out
alone, at his own suggestion, to probe. into
the river man’s activities. First, he drove
to the saloon in Castle Rock where Cornelius
Knapp had announced his intention to buy
a flock of sheep with funds provided by his
brother.

Although they knew the boatman, neither
the proprietor nor the bartender was able
to remember whether he had been there at
the time, but the latter thought he had been
around that afternoon. Simmons then be-
gan hunting up the patrons who definitely
had heard the victim tell of his plans.

The first wasn’t acquainted with Stickels,
and the second, who knew him slightly,
couldn’t be certain that he had seen him
there on Wednesday. But the third cus-
tomer stated without hesitation that the
young man had been at the bar, not far
from the Knapp brothers, when Cornelius
revealed his intentions.

“I know it was Wednesday, because that
was the only time last week I went into the
saloon,” the informant declared.

Satisfied that he was getting somewhere,
the sleuth launched a tour of hardware
stores and other firms handling ammuni-
tion, and soon he learned that Stickels had
bought a box of Number One buckshot
shells the previous Wednesday.

“He told me he was going into the hills

to get a deer for fresh meat,” the dealer
reported. “It was such a common occur-
rence for him that I didn’t think anything
about it.”

Simmons left the establishment in high
spirits. Having succeeded in baring two
lies in the suspect’s story, he was confident
that he was on the right trail. Still, he real-
ized that more evidence would be neces-
sary for a conviction, and he set about to
find it. Learning the names of several
youths who had been seen with Stickels at
various times, he talked with them, and
eventually heard something that brought a
smile of satisfaction to his lips.

One of the acquaintances revealed that
he had been on the suspect’s scow a few
months ago, and that the boatman, in a
bragging mood, had asserted that he was
smarter than the Sheriff and all the deputies
put together.

“I’ve got something right here, not over
two feet from where you're sittin’, that they
been lookin’ for,” the informant quoted him
as saying. When the youth glanced around
the cabin without seeing anything that ap-
peared important, the other had laughed
and remarked with superior pride, “I’m
smarter than you, too.”

Simmons returned to the Sheriff's office
and relayed the information his painstaking
investigation had gained, adding, “It’s obvi-
ous that he’s got some kind of a secret com-
partment on his boat, and when we find it,
I think we’ll have him hooked.”

Although darkness had set in, the officers
hastened to Stickels’ moorings and went
aboard, again encountering him in the cabin
preparing a meal. Without explaining their
mission, they began an inch-by-inch exam-
ination of the interior. A few minutes later,
Deputy Studebaker discovered a trap door
beneath the battered stove over which the
suspect had been working.

The boatman’s face remained impassive
as the trio opened the small panel and began
withdrawing articles from the hidden con-
tainer. They found a silver pocketwatch,
the serial number of which had been filed
until it was virtually obliterated, a hunting
knife, several pieces of cheap jewelry, and
a box of Number One buckshot shells.

The scow owner showed no alarm as the
investigators turned to him in an accusing
manner, “I guess I'd better tell you how
they got there,” he remarked. “Ben August
made me hide them, and he threatened to
kill me if I told anybody about it.”

Without comment, the officials escorted
him to the county jail at Kalama, where he

made a statement in the presence

it, though, because he makes his
living hunting and fishing.”

Stickels, who invariably wore
a cap, was a native of Cowlitz
Valley, was in his late twenties
or early thirties, and lived alone
on a scow, which was anchored
a mile or so south of Kelso near
the mouth of the river. He never
had been involved in any trouble,
as far as the informant knew.

The officials rowed to the loca-
tion mentioned. Stickels, a me-
dium-sized, dark -complexioned
individual with several days’
growth of whiskers on _ his
weather-beaten face, was busy
cooking a meal in the small cabin
of his scow.

Seemingly surprised at the ap-
pearance of the trio, he promptly
acknowledged that he had been
in his skiff in the vicinity of
Castle Rock on Wednesday aft-
ernoon. “I went ‘into town to get
some supplies,” he stated, “and
I started back before sundown.”
He declared that he hadn’t been
in any saloon that day, and that

"| said it was your fault—are you calling the United

States Government a liar?"

of a court reporter. The prisoner

® claimed that August, another
native of Cowlitz Valley, had
come to his boat late one No-
vember night a year ago, and
had forced him to put the hunt-
ing knife and the timepiece in
the secret compartment.

Again, on the previous Wed-
nesday night or early Thursday
morning, the other young man
had visited the scow and made
the same demand, this time turn-
ing over some jewelry and a box
of buckshot shells, Stickels as-
serted. The latter said that, al-
though August hadn’t mentioned
why he .was hiding the articles,
he was certain that his acquain-
tance had committed the mur-
ders and was putting the evi-
dence where it wouldn’t be
found.

Plainly skeptical of the tale,
the officers went to the August
farm near Kelso and questioned
the man. He declared that he
and Stickels hadn’t been on
speaking terms for nearly two

_ years, having had a fight over a

girl, and
get even
August
mony of
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VIFE AND
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PO ee aN

from the electric switch had set off the
blast. The police were also investigating a
long-distance call, the visitors were told,
which had been made to Hardy by a large
metropolitan newspaper a short time before
the explosion.

“From what you have learned, do you
think Hardy is the man involved in the
Boston slaying?” McCarthy asked.

Schreiber did not know. Waitresses
thought they had seen him in Westfield eat-
ing breakfast at 9 o’clock on the morning
of the murder. However, it was known he
had been boasting about a big job he ex-
pected to have and it was further estab-
lished he owned a .22-caliber pistol, for he
had been in a local shop seeking repairs
a week before. Out at the hospital, the
officers had a talk with Mrs. Hardy; she
said she had driven her husband to the
Grand Central Terminal in New York City
on Sunday night, June 9th, to board a train
for Boston where he had an appointment
at 10 the next morning for “a big job” he
hoped to land.

The investigators, digging in the wreck-
age, made more recoveries which included
the dead man’s photograph and a single
sheet with scribbled notes that could be
important. The photograph was flown back
to Boston for witnesses to scrutinize. Then
the Captain and the others went to the
morgue where they conducted a further
examination of the dead man. When they
finally emerged, McCarthy and Mutz were
tight-lipped and uncommunicative, catching
the next plane to Boston.

Back in Station 2, other colleagues greeted
them. They stood by as McCarthy spread
out for inspection the various articles sal-

vaged from the wrecked apartment—a hat, ‘

rumpled suit, a mechanical pencil, a sample
of ink from the inventor’s inkwell, speci-
men sheets of legal backs found in Hardy’s
desk and the paper with the scribbled notes.
One of the detectives reported that the two
girl secretaries thought they could identify

the slayer from the photograph of Hardy.

For the moment, McCarthy did not reply.
He was studying the photographic copy of
the agreement with the single fingerprint
he had taken from the files. Turning, he
drew from his brief case the fingerprints
taken from Hardy after death. The others
watched as he selected a print and com-
pared it with the one on the agreement.
The two matched.

“Hardy was the slayer,” the Police Cap-
tain stated.

Further proof of the man’s guilt was the
pencil similar in make and design to the
uncapped fountain pen found on the mur-
dered millionaire’s desk; the ink sample
which proved to be the same as the ink in
the pen which had dated one of the agree-
ments, and the specimen legal sheets with
the watermark, Park Lane Manuscript. The
notes scribbled on the paper found in
Hardy’s apartment in his handwriting fol-
lowed the text, phraseology and spelling of
the triplicate agreement. Hat and suit were
later identified as the garments worn by
Hardy at the time of the crime. The gun
and brief case were never recovered.

As the authorities saw it, Hardy, desper-
ate and out of work, had staked everything
upon his ability to force Whitcomb to give
him a lifetime job. How he expected to
make such a contract stick when signed
under duress was not explained, but it was
thought through his Millinocket connec-
tions he had picked up some-sort of in-
formation which he hoped to hold over
Whitcomb as a blackmail club. In New
Jersey he had already been in trouble with
the police. His attempt to blackmail Whit-
comb was in keeping with his character.
Then came the call from the newspaper.
Exposure seemed close and he chose death
as the only way out.

Norte: In order to prevent embarrassment
among the several Hardys in no way in-
volved, addresses and locations of the
Hardys named have been changed to ficti-
tious locations.

Kelso Killer

(Continued from page 49) nervous, had
asked what time it was, and when told it
was 7:30, remarked that he was late getting
back to the ranch and probably would get
a bawling out. After two quick drinks, he
departed hurriedly.

Taken back to the St. Helens courthouse,
the farm hand was grilled relentlessly for
more than an hour. Finally, he admitted
that he hadn’t told the truth, although
stoutly maintaining that he was not involved
in the slaying.

“I got acquainted with a married dame
one night in a tavern,” he declared, “and
she told me to come up to her place when-
ever I was in town after 4 o’clock. That’s
when her old man goes to work at the lum-
ber mill.

“T went there a couple of times, and that’s
where I was Wednesday after I did the
buyin’. I didn’t want to tell you this and
get her in trouble.”

Disbelief was clearly etched on the faces
of the officials. They had heard similar alibis
before, and, almost without exception, the
suspect never did divulge the woman’s
name, pretending he would rather take un-
due punishment at the hands of the law than
to betray his paramour.

“All right, Flemming,” Sheriff Kirby said.
“Tll make a bargain with you. If you tell
me her name, I’ll promise to question her
when her husband’s away. That will pro-
tect her. If you don’t, I’ll take you back to
Kalama and get a murder complaint against
you.”

After considerable stalling, he told who
she was and where she lived. Waiting until
after 4 o’clock,. when her husband would
have left for work, the Cowlitz officers went
to the address, where a large blond woman
of forty or so, not entirely unattractive, an-
swered their knock.

The Sheriff identified himself and his aide
and inquired whether they could come in
and ask her a few questions. Puzzled, she
nodded and led them into a plainly fur-
nished parlor. Then Kirby told her that
Flemming was suspected of having com-
mitted a crime Wednesday evening and had
used her as an alibi.

She appeared indignant. “Why, he’s got
his nerve,” she exclaimed. “Just because I
happened to talk to him in a tavern is no
reason he can say things like that. I haven’t
seen the fellow more than the one time, and
that was weeks ago.”

Expressions of satisfaction flashed over
the faces of the callers. “We thought he
was lying,” Studebaker remarked, “but we
had to prove it. You've just the same as put
a noese around his neck, and he deserves it
after trying to hide behind you.”

The woman bolted in her chair. “A
noose?” she demanded. “What—what do you
mean—a noose?”

“Just that. He was fired off a farm in our
county and he got even by killing the
owner.”

The blonde’s moon-shaped face seemed to
take on a lighter shade. “Oh, no,” she cried.
“No, Dave couldn’t have done it. He was

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y had been
1 and tele-
1. The lat-
baker and
two hours
s had been
One buck-
1 the throat

death had
ock on the
ited by the
a partially
couple had
hairs after

stion as to
» the entire
The pockets
n pulled in-
ll the furni-
ed and rum-
er had been
ables.
similar to
ier of Bill
Studebaker
mn that the
The same
{ in each in-
n ambushed
ry undoubt-

he declared,

heartless
devil is the
ing until we
on’t be able

emoved the
n their hunt
er, they had
1 the blood
hey searched
be measured.
ound a fairly
the hallway
n and one of
1 a ruler was

ck was seen
ie by a&size

to be the only
int’s identity,
alized that it
iless they en-
suspects and
r footgear.
trict brought
ive the mys-
revious case,
iad heard a
6 o'clock, but
anything was
seen anybody
> Knapp place
1ad any stran-
i in the region

Rice, whose
ed the bodies,
ight’ve had a
in the house.
to buy a flock

d his brother
iim the money.
ip from Kelso
_ so I imagine
sh with him.”

debaker drove

d up the home

.fter informing
ers, they asked

ken any money
stunned man

iad gone there

ieal, and, after
that his broth-
i, he had made

500.

t in the writing

ase aia a nae

desk for safekeeping until he could scout
around and pick up a good flock,” he re-
lated. “Then he took me into Castle Rock
so I could catch the 4 o’clock train for
home.”

When.the Sheriff inquired as to whether
they had discussed the transaction in the
presence of any outsiders, he answered in
the negative. However, he hastened to add:

“Well, we did talk about it when we had
a drink in a saloon while waiting for my
train. Cornelius told several of his friends

Martin Stickels .

there that he was going into the sheep
business and that I was backing him. He
didn’t mention how much money I had
loaned him, but he did let on that it was
quite a bit.”

The brother was unable to recall the
names of the persons who had been in the
saloon, although the other Knapp %ad in-
troduced several to him. Learning the loca-
tion of the place, the officers hurried back
to Castle Rock and questioned the proprie-
tor. He couldn’t state with any certainty
just which customers were present when
the Knapps were there, as the establishment
had been unusually crowded that afternoon,
and he was hard pressed to keep up with
the orders.

After obtaining the names of several
patrons who had been there at the approxi-
mate hour, the investigators hunted them
up, and eventually were able to locate four
who had been present when Cornelius
Knapp told of his new venture.

Each was able to establish an iron-clad
alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the
murders, and, as none wore size eight shoes,
Kirby and Studebaker were convinced that
the quartet were in the clear.

Next day, Coroner Bell held the official
inquest, and once more the jurors returned
the only possible verdict: “Murder at the
hands of a person or persons unknown.”

The entire State of Washington was
stirred by the brutality of the slayings; and
the residents of Cowlitz County were on
the verge of panic, for with such a killer
at large, no one was safe. Shotguns and
rifles were kept within quick reach in every
farmhouse after the sun went down; all
doors and windows were blockaded, lest
the phantom should attempt to repeat his
crimes.

On Friday, the Governor announced that

the State would pay $1,000 for information _

resulting im the capture of the murderer.
The Cowlitz County Commissioners added
an offer of $500, and the citizens of Castle
Rock subscribed a like sum, making the
reward total $2,000.

The County officials also authorized Sher-
iff Kirby to bring in any outside help he
deemed necessary, and he immediately put
in a long-distance telephone call to Chief
of Police Dan M. McLauchlan in Portland,
Oregon, the closest metropolis, requesting
that one of his best investigators be assigned
to the case.

Saturday morning, Detective Captain Sam
Simmons, who had achieved considerable
fame for solving several unusually difficult
murder cases in his home town, arrived in
Kalama and conferred with Kirby and
Deputy Studebaker.

The Portlander, a heavy-set individual
with keen eyes, listened quietly as the others
recounted all the facts of the two cases, in-

terrupting infrequently to ask for more
elaboration on certain points.

After satisfying himself that he had the
complete picture in his mind, Simmons
voiced agreement to their theory that the
same person was responsible for both out-
rages.

“What puzzles me,” he declared, “is how
the fellow got to the scenes of his crimes
without being seen. You’d think that some-
body would have spotted him, because it
must have been daylight when he started
out. That’s the first question I want to an-
swer.”

They drove to the Knapp ranch to give
the newcomer a chance to seek clues which
possibly had been previously overlooked.
However, he was unable to find anything
in the dwelling that seemed significant,
aside from the aforementioned evidence.

Turning his attention to the terrain sur-
rounding. the house, he tried to visualize
how the slayer could have effected his ar-
rival without being observed. Obviously,
he hadn’t taken to the road, hence the con-

clusion was drawn that he had come |.

through the fields to the west or the wooded
sector to the east.

Had he approached by the former route,
it appeared to Simmons that he would have
been glimpsed by the ranchers as they went
about their outdoor duties. So the detective
led his companions to the wooded area,
where they began a careful search of the
ground and underbrush in the hope of ser
ing up the hunted man’s trail.

Deputy Studebaker, who had spent con-
siderable time in the woods before becom-
ing a law-enforcement officer, finally de-
tected signs that someone had tramped
through the forest recently. Twigs and ferns
were broken and crushed, and some of the
brush was still out of place where the per-
son had passed.

The trail led approximately three miles,
ending at the bank of the Cowlitz River. At
the water’s edge, the searchers found sev-
eral footprints, which, when measured,
proved to have been made by a size eight
shoe.

“That explains how he got to the Knapp
place without being seen,” Captain Simmons
remarked. “He simply came up the river,
left his boat here, and hiked through the
woods.”

“It must have been the same plan he used
in the other killing,” the Sheriff said.
“Shanklin’s place is about three miles from
the Cowlitz, too.”

When a thorough inspection of the vicinity
failed to-yield further clues, the group re-
turned to the Knapp ranch, and then drove
back to Kalama, as darkness prevented fur-
ther action that day.

Early Sunday morning, they journeyed
to a boat house near Castle Rock, hired a
rowboat and headed up the Cowlitz. When-
ever they spotted a farmhouse on the rich
bottom land, they went ashore and ques-
tioned the residents. Several hours of this
procedure, however, failed to locate anyone
with pertinent information.

ANY vessels had been seen on the river
on the day of the murders, the officers
were told, and there had been nothing to
suggest that any of them had been involved
in the crime.

It began to appear to the investigators
that the chance of locating the multiple
killer was extremely slim. However, they
stuck to the discouraging task, and several
hours later, their persistence paid dividends.

A rancher whose place was not far from
the spot on the river bank where the foot-
prints had been found told them that he
had seen a skiff on the fatal afternoon. He
said that he had seen it as he was rounding
up some of his livestock just before sun-
down. He hadn’t been close enough to get
a good view of the boatman, but he thought

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who it. is--Frawley,. or anyone else—l want to know
about it.”

The telephone in the sheriff's office rang the next morning.

“This is Dolores Hoyt at the bank,” a voice said. “A draft
on Mr. Frawley’s account has just come in from the National
Bank of Commerce, in Seattle.”

According to business practice, the person who had pre-
sented the draft would return to the Seattle bank later to pick
up the money after it had been credited from Port Townsend
to the institution in the city across Puget Sound.

Sheriff Carroll long-distanced the Seattle bank.

“Yes, Frawley has been in,” he was told. “He furnished.

perfect identification, and will be back soon for his money.”

The sheriff then phoned a second time to Seattle—this time
to the then Chief of Detectives Charles Tennant.

That done, Sheriff Carroll called his staff of deputies. “Bring
in Eddie Graham,” he ordered.

Within the hour, two deputies returned to the office.

- “Graham must have left town,” they reported. “We've
looked everywhere—his place of
business, pool halls, restaurants, but
he can’t be found.”

“Get him—he’s essential to the
case!’ Sheriff Carroll barked.

He rushed from his office to catch
a ferry to Seattle. As .he waited at
the wharf for the boat, he met Art
Trast.

“J hear Frawley’s alive in Seattle
and that you’ve issued a_ pick-up
order for Eddie Graham,” Trast ex-
claimed. “I must have had the case
doped out wrong.”

“Maybe you did,” Carroll said
dryly.

“You figure it was Frawley or
Graham who killed Stratton up at
Frawley’s place?” Trast persisted.

“We'll see,” Carroll said curtly.

A deputy came puffing up to the
wharf. “We’ve just got Graham,”
he announced. “He denies knowing
anything about who killed Stratton,
or where the body is.”

“Hold him until I get back from
Seattle,” Carroll directed.

As he crossed the gang plank, he
called back to Trast: “And by the
way, please be around when I get

In Seattle, Carroll received full
cooperation from Chief Tennant.

“Detective Harry Barton picked Frawley up when he went
back to the bank to get his: money,” Carroll was informed.
“Then Barton went to the Diller Hotel, where Frawley was
staying, and picked up his clothes. Frawley’s mad as the
devil, sheriff. He’s threatening to sue everyone for false ar-
rest. Hope this isn’t a bum pinch.”

“Let me talk to him,” Carroll asked.

The desk sergeant telephoned the jail on the fifth floor of
the police station. “Bring down Frawley.”

As Carroll waited to interview the prisoner, some doubts
assailed his mind. Suppose his theory was wrong? Suppose
Bill Frawley came stamping into the room in a rage at being
jailed when he was merely taking a pleasure trip to Seattle?

Carroll knew the old soldier could make things mighty
unpleasant if the arrest proved a mistake . . . But no, Carroll
reasoned, he knew his theory must be right.

“Here’s Frawley,” a patrolman announced, as the prisoner
was brought into detective headquarters.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” the man’ growled.
Sheriff Carroll’s eyes lighted with the gleam of the veteran
manhunter at the capture.

BANK CLERK Dolores Hoyt—she informed
back.” the sheriff that a man with full identifica-
tion was drawing from Frawley’s account.

“Hello, Ollie Lee Stratton,” he said with quiet conviction. :

“Stratton?” Tennant exploded. “Isn't this Frawley?”

“Oh no,’ Carroll said, smiling. “This kid is Stratton.
Frawley was past middle age. 1 just asked you to pick up
the man who was cashing Frawley’s checks. You've done it.”

H* TURNED to the trembling youth, whose mouth was
gaping in surprise.
“Out with it, Stratton. Why did you knock off your good
friend Frawley?”
“You must be crazy!” cried Stratton. “I didn’t kill Fraw-
ley—I swear it! Why, he was one of my best friends!”
“Yeah?” said the sheriff. “Then maybe you can explain
why you were¥in Seattle drawing Frawley’s money.”
“Well,” Stratton faltered, “when I was coming over here
on the ferry I met two strangers. They—they told me they
had killed Frawley, and they gave me some of his things. I
tried to get some of his cash out of the bank, and I was
arrested. I only wanted the money to get married on.”

Sheriff Carroll looked sternly at
the quaking youth. “So two perfect
strangers walked up to you, not
knowing you or that you knew
Frawley, and told you that they had

. killed him! . . . That, my boy, is
pure, unadulterated baloney.”

Stratton gulped. “That's not
true——”

“You're the man who needed the
money to get married on!” Carroll
shouted. ‘You're the one who has
tried to assume old Bill’s personality
Yn order to get his money out of the
bank. You're the one who killed
him!”

Stratton fainted dead away.

(During succeeding days, Stratton
proved to be what police term a
“wingding artist,” fainting when-
ever external pressure became too
great. His fainting spells were not
faked; they were a mental defense
mechanism. )

When he came to, he looked wanly
around him. “All right,” he whis-
pered. “You've got me. 1 killed
Bill Frawley.” :

' “Better get it all off your chest,”
Carroll urged.

Stratton took a deep breath.
“Frawley had promised to take me
and Norma Solid, my fiancée, for a

long ride around the Olympic peninsula,” Stratton began.
“But when I went to see him about final plans for the trip,

_ he changed his mind and said he would not take us. I got

awfully mad. We had words, and I left the cabin.”

Perspiration beaded Stratton’s forehead.

“As I went toward Port Townsend, I got madder and
madder, Frawley promised that trip, and I had counted on
it. So I borrowed a .22 pistol and went back. Bill was
sitting reading. I said ‘Bill, are you going to take us on that
trip?’ Bill said ‘no.’ ”

Stratton gulped. “Gimme a glass of water,” he asked.

A policeman shoved a glass of ice water into his trembling
hand.

“And so I up with the .22 and let him have it,” he finished
in a shaking voice.

Carroll lit a cigar in the silence that followed.

“What did you do with the body, Ollie?” he asked.

“Frawley was shot through the head. He died at once, I
guess. I put the body in Frawley’s own car and covered it
over with newspapers. Then I drove home. I left the body
in the machine while I ate dinner.” (Continued on page 60)

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We'd better
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“RB | HORROR

By Stuart
Whitehouse

“BILL SAID he wouldn't. so I
let him have it with the .22,”
the killer finally confessed. At
lower right is the »proverb .
which developed into a clue.

”

He wrote down the description of Oliver Lee Stratton as
the missing man’s friend gave it:’ twenty-two years old, five
feet six, widely-set gray eyes, slim build, usually wearing a
cap.

Sheriff Carroll had little time for idle speculation that
August 17, 1931. No sooner had Graham scurried out than
in came Arthur Trast, one of the U. S. Coast: Guardsmen
who patroled the inland sea called Puget Sound, on which
the two ports are located.

“Sheriff, I hate to bother you,” young Trast said apolo-
getically. “But I think I’m duty bound to report that Bill

Frawley seems to have disappeared from: his home.”
Sheriff Carroll looked startled, then relaxed with a wry grin.
“You're the second man here this afternoon to tell me

about somebody’s disappearing,” he grunted. “If this keeps up,

there won’t be anyone left in this neck of the woods.”

“But, sheriff—”

“Let’s have it,’ Carroll said wearily. “I know Bill Frawley.
He’s probably off on a trip. An ex-army sergeant on a pension
has no particular reason for sticking around home all the time.”

Trast broke in. ‘He never told me he was leaving.”

“Just because a man isn’t home is no reason to think he’s

disappeared and is a police case,’ the sheriff countered.
Trast leaned forward earnestly. “Listen, sheriff; you know
how these old army men are. Neat as a pin, after.years of
training. Frawley’s a regular old maid about his cabin.”
“So what ?”
“Out of service, he still has the same habit. Old Bill always

-keeps his place slicked up. But today i

Trast nervously bit on the stem of his pipe before he went on.

“Today I come ashore on leave. I go up to see Bill. I
knock on the door. No answer. I go in. Well, things aren’t
wrecked, sheriff, but they’re messed up, and different than
they would be if Bill was going away.”

“Explain that,” Carroll said.

“Well, I noticed some of his hats and clothing are gone—
and his pipes, the whole rack of them, including his meer-
schaum.”

“Maybe he took them with him,’ suggested Carroll.

“That isn’t reasonable,” Trast protested. “A man just doesn’t
walk out of his place that way, without leaving word, and
leaving the place messed up. Not Frawley.”

ILLIAM FRAWLEY, Sheriff Carroll recollected, had

served a long and honorable career in the army. His
last post had been Fort Worden, northwestern outpost of
continental United States.

A short time previously, Frawley had retired. He was
a single man, jokingly known among the more happy-go-
lucky soldiery for his saving habits. .Frawley had been able
to save enough to buy a snug little cabin in the wilderness,
looking out over the beautiful Straits of Juan de Fuca.

“There’s local gossip that Bill has a lot of cash, too,” Trast
pointed out.

Sheriff Carroll made a few notes on a report sheet. “I
know you are one of Frawley’s good friends,” he said. “Who
else is intimate with Bill?”

Trast thought a moment. “Bill didn’t have many intimate
friends, sheriff. I guess—outside of me—his best friends
were Eddie Graham and Ollie Stratton, of Port Townsend.
They used to—” :

“Graham and Stratton!” the sheriff interrupted. “Graham
was just in here, telling me that Stratton has been mur-
dered—in his opinion. Let’s go up to Frawley’s cabin. I
want to look around.”

A winding road, cut deep through the heart of the woods,

led Sheriff Carroll and Art Trast up to Frawley’s lonely
cabin. There was no sign of life in the clearing around the
neat little place.

As Trast opened the door of the cabin, the sheriff suddenly
halted. “Say, wasn’t this place locked when you got here?”

“It was,” Trast replied briefly.

“Well, then, how did you.get in?”

Trast hesitated. “I don’t know as I should tell you, sheriff, |

because it’s Bill’s secret, but there’s a secret way to get in
through the cellar.”

“Does anyone but you know this entrance?” :

“T don’t know,” Trast replied.

Inside the cabin, the sheriff’s trained eye quickly took in
the point which Trast had made. Things were not neat, as
an ex-army man would leave them. A’cup was overturned on
a table, and coffee dregs spilled. Scatter rugs on the floor
were kicked askew, ;

On the floor, a book lay opened on its face. Its cover ap-
peared as if some heavy object had fallen on it, breaking the
binding. ~

“Look!” Trast pointed a finger toward the wall.

The sheriff stepped closer, and saw a tiny hole. Taking
a penknife from his watch chain, Sheriff Carroll dug into
the woodwork, carefully extracting a battered _.22 caliber
bullet.

“You have keen eyes, Trast,” he said cryptically.

Trast did not reply. The sheriff looked around further.
With an exclamation, he suddenly stooped and rubbed’ his
finger on the floor.

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rawiley

“Say, this is blood and it’s not quite dry !”

He looked keenly at Trast.
Frawley being in trouble. At least somebody has been shot
here.”

“It must have been Bill Frawley,” Trast insisted:

“Wait a minute, young fellow,’* the sheriff said. “No use
going off half-cocked on this thing. You haven’t seen Frawley
or his body since the time you figure he was shot, have you?”

“No, .I haven’t.”

Sheriff Carroll continued. “Only one person really knows
what happened here, and that is the one. who did it. All we
have is two men missing, Ollie Stratton and Bill Frawley—
two men who knew each other. We've got this bullet, and
we've got that—”

The sheriff pointed to the blood smear on the floor.

“Then, sheriff, you mean it’s a question—

“One may be dead, and the other may be hiding. But it
doesn’t sound right that good friends like Frawley and Strat-
ton should reach. such a stage.” :

Carroll looked intently at Trast.

“Ollié Stratton, I’m told, is a young fellow getting ready to
marry, with the date all set and his whole life before him.
Frawley is an elderly man, with an honorable career behind
him, and a pension for the future.. It doesn’t look to me like
either would be a killer.” -

“Then what could have. happened?” Trast asked.

“There’s another possibility. Maybe there’s a third person,

someone who knows them both well, who came as a friend-

and killed them both.”

“T hadn’t thought of it that way, sheriff.”

Carroll stroked his chin reflectively. “Or maybe someone
came here and killed Frawley for his money. While the
murderer was looking for the loot, in, walked Ollie Lee Strat-
ton to visit his old friend.”

“And then?” Trast asked.

“The killer then committed a second murder, killing Stratton
to get rid of the witness to his first crime. How does that
strike you as a theory, Trast?”

“Tt’s a possibility,” Trast admitted, “but it doesn’t sound
probable.”

“Theories are all we have to go.on, so far,”
said. “Why man, we haven’t even a body ! fr

the sheriff

HERIFF CARROLL idly reached down, picked up the
book that was lying on the floor and glanced at its open
pages.

“Highbrow stuff,” he commented. “Persian writings.”

“You maybe right about -

“Frawley has been a great reader, ever since he got out

of the army,” Trast said.
' “Strange writing,”. the sheriff remarked. “It’s opened to a
bunch of short proverbs called The Gulistan—whatever that
means—by a fellow named Sadi. Or maybe Sadi was a
woman, eh, Trast ?”

‘“T wouldn’t know.”

Sheriff Carroll studied the opened pages. ‘“Someone’s taken
a lot of interest: in this book,” he declared. “Some sentences
have been marked in red ink. Listen to this one: ‘Riches were
intended for the comfort of life, and not life for the purpose
of ‘hoarding riches.”

The sheriff flipped over a page. :

“And here’s another red-inked one: ‘Whoever has his foe
at his mercy and does not kill him, is his own enemy.”

“That’s rough philosophy,” Trast commented.

The. sheriff thumbed over several more pages.

“There’s more in the same vein, such as this one: ‘Gold is
got from the mine from digging, and from the grasp of the
miser by taking away his life’ ”

The cabin was deathly still as Sheriff Carroll closed the
book. He looked carefully around again, glanced at a rude
desk in one corner, a shelf of books in another.

“All right, Trast, let’s get going,” he said,

Outside, in the cool air, Sheriff Carroll halted.

_“Trast,” he said, “I think I know who committed the crime
that was done here. But I can’t spring it—yet.”

The coast guardsman looked at him curiously. “You mean
you know what happened ?”

“I’m going to prove to you I know, so you can’t accuse
me of second-guessing later,” the sheriff grinned.

From his pocket he dragged an unused envelope in which
was a blank card. He ¢arried such envelopes for memoranda
and to carry evidence. With a stub of pencil, he wrote some
words on the card and slipped it back in the envelope, which
he sealed.

“Now write your name on the envelope, across the flap,
so I can’t switch it on you,” he said.

Trast, mystified, did as directed.

“Shall I carry it for you?” Trast asked.

The sheriff smiled. “No, thanks; I’ll just take this and lock
it up in my office safe.” __

The sheriff left Trast at Port Townsend and went to the
bank there. A check showed that Frawley had more than
$5,000 on deposit in the institution.

“Let me know if anyone tries to cash a check on Frawley’s
account in the next few days,” Carroll asked. “No matter

umined.

indertook
ie arrived
. William
1 he was

rwever, in
; indicated

ed a chilly
or a while
i that they
ght. To get
d to bear

ike trouble
of the at-
is lad has
iis wife and
, where the
spoil things

he car,” the
if this fel-
n’t any wife.
aer. Where’s
ided.
yees led the
f the garage.
Ford coupe,
‘ough the li-
Carroll had

amined every
. He stopped
» the rumble-
blotches cov-
—undoubtedly

garage office
ye was report-
ver the phone

‘ot conceal his
2ye on that fel-
and have some-
ank. T’ll hop to

t same Wednes-
a young man
ler’s window of
_ asked whether
ved for William
the mention of
jtrode over and
on the youth’s

2” the detective

look the young
ve Himes. “Why,
3d. “Who did you

soled by the fel-
For, although the
aowledge of what
awley looked like,
man was far too”
‘ed army sergeant.
1 to police head-
Carroll’s arrival.
later, the sheriff

CIAL DETECTIVE CASES: 3 /,

4 ca a

a 4 cj has
pounded. in. He

~g date with my girl”

iinet ll aeli »
ae oe py

took one look at th
lad in custody, then surprise and
bewilderment flashed over his face.:
It was Ollie Stratton, a 25-year old
lad who worked in a meat market at
Port Townsend. He was & hard-work-
ing, likable fellow who had recently
completed three years of service in

the U.S.

Army.
“Gosh, I’m glad you're here, Sher-
iff,” the youth gasped. “I’m in a

‘the way,
Hankins told me to
meet them at the boat, and when they
showed up they had Bill Frawley’s
car. They said they’d' been ‘hired to

sheriff.
“They didn’t mention any names,”
the youth replied. “Just said some-

“LEGGOI! | SAW HIM FIRSTI"

{ff

mess. I’ve been tricked, and bad, too.”
“P}, say you're in a mess, Ollie,”
Carroll agreed. “What's it all about?”
“On the morning of August 26,” he
began, “two fellows I had soldiered
with called me up at the butcher
shop and said they had to see me
right away. Smokey Jones and. Bob
Hankins were their names.
“T Jenow them,” the sheriff said.
“well, I went to the waterfront
hotel where they were staying, to see

what in heck they were S° excited

about. They told me they were going
to skip town. Then they asked me'to
get them some 22 rifle bullets, so
they could go up into the hills and
shoot animals for food. I went home,
got the amunition, and took it to
them.

“That night they called me at my
house., When I got to their room,
Smokey said: ‘Something went
wrong. You've got to g0 to Seattle
with us.’ ” \

Young Stratton paused long enough

to light a cigarette and take several

deep drags. “Well, I finally agreed
to go,” he continued, “although I had
He smiled.
“We're going to be married this com-

SPECIAL DETECTIVE CASES

TEN i NS b) ’
! seis FIERA,
Rs ROE Se ak

thing went wrong. They had old Bill’s
bankbooks. They told me I was in the
thing as much as they were, because
they had used my bullets.

“When we got to Seattle they told
me to. get Bill’s money from the bank
or they’d give me what they gave
him.” Stratton’s face clouded and he
turned pleading eyes toward Carroll.
“You see, I had to do it Sheriff!”

Detective Himes broke in. “Any
idea of what became of your
friends?” he asked. “If they're around
here I want to get after them.”

“Probably hanging around the
skid-row where I was: supposed to

_ meet them,” replied the youth.

“T hope that’s the truth, Ollie,”
Sheriff Carroll declared. “If not, it’s
going to be an awful blow to Rita
Trent—the girl you're supposed to

marry.

“We'll be married, all right,” the
youth said confidently. “Sunday
night we'll be on our honeymoon.”

* & *

ae was lodged in the city
jail as a material witness. The
sheriff, Himes, and another sleuth,
spent the rest of that-evening and the
next day in an unsuccessful search

ia eta. 3 te Pit ai seh oad pW Ro ii Beall ies aN
os Be SRR eee vl a Rom seyn ye

«Rie

a ae as

ahs ita

for the

‘when Rita returned to

Smokey Jones and Bob

"would be married.

city’s cheap boarding-houses. Toward

- noon, when every attempt to trace

their prey had failed, the officials
gave up the hunt. ;

Sheriff Carroll then took Ollie
Stratton to the county jail in Port
Townsend. On Friday morning the
officer questioned him again, this

time determined to get the whole.

truth.

“Ollie,” Carroll pleaded, “for good-
ness sake don’t hold anything back. If
you know where your friends took
Bill Frawley’s body, in heaven’s
name, tell me!”

But the youth’s mouth hardened
into a stubborn line. He insisted that
he had revealed everything.

‘That afternoon, while Rita Trent
was being feted by a throng of happy
friends at her father’s home on
Whidby Island in Puget Sound,
Sheriff Carroll telephoned the bride-
to-be. Explaining that Ollie was in
trouble, he asked her to come to his
office immediately.

An hour later Rita Trent rushed
into her sweetheart’s arms. Their
embrace was long and fervent.

“Pye been tricked, honey,” declared
the youth. “They think Bill Frawley’s
been murdered and that I did it.
I’ve told them I’m innocent, but I’m
afraid they don’t believe me.”

“How do they know he was killed?”
asked the girl. “Have they found his
body?”

Young Stratton’s eyes lighted. Her
question seemed to fill him with hope.

“That's right, Mr. Carroll,” he said,
more boldly now. “How do you know
Bill’s dead if you haven't found his
body?” .

That was a. query Carroll didn’t
bother to answer just then. But
her island
home, she was firmly convinced that
her fiance had told the truth about
Hankins. She
was confident that he would be
cleared of all suspicion and that they
“Yes,” she said
ecstatically to a friend, “Sunday
night will be our wedding night.”

e * *

AD Rita Trent. uttered those words

the next day, however, Sheriff
Carroll would have been inclined to
disagree with her. By buzzing around
the town’s hardware and gun shops,
‘he found out that Ollie Stratton had
rented a high-powered .22 rifle on
the morning of August 26th, and re-
turned it that same afternoon!

On the large desk in his office,
Carroll placed the gun which the boy
had rented, a half-empty box of .22
rifle shells, and many of Frawley’s
personal effects. Next to them he laid
the magazine that the old man had
been reading, the piece of paper with
mysterious figures on it, and the
lethal bullet.

eos at Poe | UE SNC re NORRIE A

former soldiers among the .

The sheriff picked up the gun.
“This is what you killed old Bill with, “No, bu
Ollie,” he accused sharply. “Then have . see!
store and
But at th

you took his bank books and figured
up how much money you could get. wt Ce NEN; 4 22s NS : :
You even listed what you were going Bila INCGIK ee wi i ‘iti a ag th

At Sa” Le | ge e a

to do with some of it and how much
would be left for you and Rita to & oo as if it wi
va | {AND
Still the boy's face was a mask.
EAN"
kitch:

Carroll’s next words came with
soft, but deadly impact. “It’s highly
probable your girl knew what you
did.” he said. “So I'm going to charge
you with first-degree murder, and
hold her as: an accessory after the

> Wee all ‘ | \ “on
BUGAMUSI TRE py is

fact!”
The youth went white. His legs ss mee street. I
, ‘ 5 aap Bis . apartme
acing? pues £08 99 ae ae HOMAS Parker, indicted for big-::. J told you he was My husband,” = te
held his head in his trembling hands. amy, sat.in. the witness chair ready. outdone inso~:" tell her
“Don't bring Rita into this, Sheriff!” to) testify in, his’ own behalf. But . home. F
he pleaded. “She didn’t know any- he couldn’t utter a word because two)” and he
thing about it. I killed him to get ed in front f th “A fe
money for our wedding and a nice sae} come to
honeymoon trip. I dumped: him over
a bluff on to a garbage heap at Jack N
Whidby Island. I i take you to him. tain ed that it was 2. oT Ne
HAT same day, Carroll, Stratton, : mistaken ara aia ried w«
Tana Prosecuting Attorney William 1m, eh. i the as if” the man had been | \ “T ¢
Dailey, went to the Port Townsend rather settle the argument oS of ae daught:
dock. Aboard the Coast Guard Cutter wt old-fashioned halr-pulll ; SAOOE NER : sgh T buy }
Zev, under the command of Boat- | rand : ratching contest. But, Anna
‘swain’s Mate Tony Sofie, they sailed when th house.
to Whidby Island. And there, just as ‘T bi
. Stratton had said, lay the decomposed for fiv
body of Bill Frawley. At the sight of in my
his own handiwork, the boy fainted. pervice
service
a few

Rita Trent had no honeymoon that
year, for, on April 9, 1932, her lover
had to keep another, more important
date—with the hangman at the Walla
Walla: State Prison. "

—_—

The flames Molly Johnson, Rita. }
Trent, Smokey Jones, and Bob Hank-' ¥
ins are fictitious to prevent embarrass-
ment to persons innocently involved

in this case.

Br >:

The body of a beautiful widow
was found brutally attacked!
Not one clue was at the scene
of the crime! How was the
fiendish murderer finally
brought to justice?

Read
“FIENDISH SLAYING OF
THE WEALTHY WIDOW”

in the May Issue of

SCOOP DETECTIVE CASES
Soon On Sale at
YOUR LOCAL NEWSSTAND

if. “A retired
1 go away and
ought to look

like wandering
ut permission,
rider and went
sailor went on
he reached the
ld he find the
sleep, or some-
ce guy, and it

2 bedroom door
? puzzled now,
7 slowly back

the devil. ..?”
OLD

PLATONIC
fHAT

x
‘
x
;
.

He paused in the kitchen door, and then his eye
caught on something he had not noticed. before. The
light slanting through the back windows showed up
some curious patches of color on the worn linoleum.
Larry Perkins took a quick step forward, and leaned
down, He gasped. -

“That’s. . . that’s blood!” the sailor whispered to the

empty house...
* * *

thoughtfully at the young sailor seated opposite him
across the desk in his office in Port Townsend, Wash-
ington,

PARTY—the attractive blonde was
seen drinking in a tavern with Frawley:
They were having a grand time at first,
at ut then a bitter quarrel broke out.

ty % ”

by CLYDE C.
CUMMINGS

: Alt photos used in this stery were spe~
cially posed by professional medels, Phetes
by Gregg Stevens and Ufiend ef Olebe.

1}
eu

“DIVIMATION ns girl admitted to the
detective that ‘she had Invited the retired
Army man to her apartment for a drink.

A
yA .
: a

ie young man in the uniform of the Coast Guard
trudged up the hill toward the little cottage. “Hey,

Bill!” he yelled as he leaped up the three shallow
steps to the front porch. There was no answer, 80

Larry Perkins grinned and leaned heavily on the bell |

beside the front door.

“That’s funny,” the young sailor muttered to himself

when the loud buzzing he could hear inside the house
still brought no response. “Bill ought to be home this
time of day.”

He went around the corner of the house and took a
look into the garage. “The old Ford’s gone,” he muttered
with a shrug. “Guess the old boy’s gone into Port
Townsend,”

The Coast Guardsman was turning away, and was
about to go back down the hill to his own cottage, when
he noticed that the back door.of Bill anys place
‘was standing open.

“That is i. Perkins told himself. “A retina

Army top-kick should kriow better than go away and
leave his house open like that. Maybe I ought to look
around

A little ‘esi, because he did not like wandering
around in another man's house without permission,
Perkins pushed the kitchen door open wider and went
inside, The rédorn was deserted, and the sailor went on
to explore the rest of the house. When he reached the
bedroom a néw fear assailed him. Would he find the
likable old ex-sergéant had died in his sleep, or some-
thing like that? Bill Frawley was a nice guy, and it
would be too bad .

But when Perkins had pushed open the bedroom door
that rdom, too, was empty. Thdroughly puzzled now,
the Coast Guardsman made his way slowly back
through the house to the kitchen. “What the devil. ..?”
he muttered.

WHY WOULD A GLAMOROUS YOUNG WOMAN BE INTERESTED IN AN OLD

EX-SOLDIER —- OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER FATHER? WAS IT A PLATONIC
_ FRIENDSHIP — WAS IT LOVE? —— OR WAS IT GREED FOR HIS MONEY THAT

AROUSED HER QUESTIONABLE EMOTIONS?

See, orrwa L/ fee

740

He p:
caught
light sl:
gome ci
Larry I
down, F

“That
empty |}

HERI

thou,

across t
ington,

it him racing to

ave a cabin near
: sailor explained.
cruise this morn-
ing with Elaine—
a while, I went
ood friends, and I
n over for lunch:
ouldn’t go away
That's why I went
around.”
ed. He liked old

veryone did, The . .

s a kind, gener-

t Perkins’ suspi-
d, that the elder-
aiken a trip some-
ering to tell his
But still, ...

his car to a stop
Frawley cottage.
ont door. It was
ssitation, the pair

ed eye, nothing
the living room.
open magazine,
reader who had
upted. Yet. there

@:-
mand a

208e wait-
id to part

. THIRTY

2. CASES

“PECULIAR—Aones Stone

were no signs of a struggle, nor the

_slighest evidence that the place had’

been ransacked.

Carroll walked into the kitchen,
followed by Perkins, who pointed to
several tiny reddish-brown spots on
the floor, The officer, balanced on his
hands and knees, inspected them at
close range. -

“Somebody tried to wipe. them up,
but didn’t do a thorough job,” the
official declared. “It looks like you
had a good hunch. These are blood-
stains, all right.”

The sheriff rose to his feet and
looked purposefully around the
room. A moment later, exclaiming
excitedly, he: pointed to a bullet hole
in the door between the kitchen and
the bedroom!

From the brightness of the splint- |
- ers the sheriff knew at once that the

perforation was newly made. Ex-
pertly, he traced the line of the mis-
sile’s flight. Then, .suddenly, his lips

pursed in a soundless whistle. Whip- .

ping out his pen-knife, he extracted
a .22 calibre bullet from the far
wall! ;

“Did Bill own a gun?” Carroll
asked, The young sailor shook his
head.

“Then I’m afraid,” the officer said.

with grim irony, “that I’ve got a mur-

der to solve—without even a corpse .-

to start with!”
ean

NTENSELY aroused now, the men
proceeded to the back porch,
where they found other suspicious
stains. And in the garage, too, they

noticed a peculiarity in the
signature on the bank draft.
She immediately called this}
to the attention of her su-j
perior who notified the?
police department, officials.§

SMASH DETECTIVE .CASES

Mere: “ —

‘noticed dark, red-brown splotches.

“Kither the killer carted Frawley
off in. his own car,” Carroll specu-
lated, “or buried him here. We've got
some digging to do!”

The Coast Guardsman procured.

two shovels from the garage, and the
pair started turning back layer upon
layer of rich black earth. But even
after more than three feet of ground
had been removed, in several spots
surrounding the house, they had
found no sign of a body. Wearily, the
diggers gave up the job and re-
turned to the cottage.

The canny sheriff believed that a
killer, no matter how clever, always
left a calling card at the scene of his
crime. In this case, however, where
the corpus delicti was missing, that
theory probably would not apply. Es-
pecially since Frawley might not be
actually dead. But Carroll had to be
certain.

With painstaking care the sheriff
combed the living room. It was not
long before he discovered something
—a crumpled sheet of paper that had
been tossed under the table.

“Looks like old Bill was doing
some bookkeeping,” remarked Car-
roll. “But I can’t make head or tail
out of these figures. See what you
can do with them, Larry.” :

a men port eo NE
a,

Hor, but with (

we a
Ree
The youth studied the sheet’ for

several minutes:

$3,839 oe
250° ee 30

4,089 10
190: ; 30

"3,899 - T90

“I: think I know what the larger
amounts .are,” Perkins finally . said.
They’re: his bank balances. He kept
two savings accounts—one for cur-
rent expenses and the other for his
nest-egg. But I’m dead: sure Bill
didn’t make these figures. The writ-
ing isn’t like his.” (cont. page 55)
2h.

. claimed, “Why

alibi for the 26th. If she hasn't, the
Frawley murder will be solved in
less time than it takes.to say ‘Lena
Tamint’.”

Escorted from her cell to the,
sheriff’s office, the voluptuous friend
of ‘the missing man was pale with
pent-up anger. She raved with in-
coherent fury for several minutes.
Carroll waited
breath, then said calmly:

“Look, Lena, we aren’t keeping you
here just for the fun of it. Bill Fraw-
rm is missing and we think you know
where he is. In fact, we’ve heard that
you: went up to his cottage on the
26th of August—the day he was last
seen.” :

The accusation, of course, was &
shot in the dark. Tensely, the officials
waited to see what reaction it
brought.

“That isn’t true!” the girl ex-
I don’t even “know
how to find Bill’s place!” :

“Then where were you on the
26th?” Carroll demanded. ;

The suspect thought for a moment.
Finally she answered with flaming:
defiance. “Sure, I remember now, I
was in Seattle, I had a chance to get
three days’ work in a store there, so
I. went over. Worked on the 25th,
26th, and 27th.” . ‘

“Can you prove that?” :

“Certainly, just call the man I
worked for.’

When Carroll located the store ex-
ecutive, the case he had built to such
lofty heights crumbled before his dis-
appointed eyes. Lena Tamint was un-
doubtedly innocent — her alibi was
confirmed to the letter, The attractive
blonde was released, and the sheriff
found himself staring once again at a
blank wall. What was the answer to
the mystery? If a jealous woman had
not en
who had? ‘And,. most important,
where was his body? .
| reteagc Carroll had made no

attempt to trace Frawley’s Ford
coupe, The sheriffs reasons were
sound. If he publicized the slaying,
the culprit would learn that the crime
had been detected. Then, the police

would be hampered by an avalanche .

of worthless tips and rumors that al-
ways follows the announcement of
murder. oa

Further, the sheriff theorized, a
killer who had planned his crime so
carefully had undoubtedly hidden the
Frawley car where it would be diffi-
cult to find. If that was true, spread-

ing an alarm for. the pick-up would —

be a waste of effort. .

As the days sped by, Carroll fol-
lowed countless angles and obeyed
wild hunches, but none bore fruit.
Then, just when it appeared as
though he would be forced to an-
nounce Frawley’s ‘supposed murder
and ask for public assistance, the case
took a startling turn.

- Working on the faint possibility
that robbery had been. the murder
motive, the sheriff made periodic
checks at the American National
Bank, One morning Agnes Stone, an

until she paused for .

ded the likable old man’s life, |

employee, called him aside.

“The manager asked me to be on
the lookout for any draft on Mr.
Frawley’s accounts,” Miss Stone said.
“One just came through here an
hour ago, and I don’t think the sig-
nature is genuine. Mr. Frawley made
a queer flourish on the capital ‘F’ of
his name, The ‘F’ on this one doesn't
look right to me.”

The draft for $250, dated the pre-
vious day, had come from the Seattle
National Bank of Commerce. Carroll
telephoned the institution, asking for
information about the maker. He re-
ceived a curt reply. The bank did
not give out such information.

The sheriff grunted angrily. “I'll
find -a a! to make you talk!” he
snapped. “If necessary, I'll stop pay-
ment on the grounds that the draft’s
a forgery!” ;

“Mr. Carroll,” replied the clerk on
the other end of the wire, “I'd ad-
vise you to move cautiously. Mr.

Frawley presented himself here yes-:

terday with his bank books. He said
he’d decided to stay in ‘Seattle and
wished to transfer some of his money.
He asked only for the smaller of his

accounts at present, I think you'll .

find Reh! ig in order.” —

“Describe Frawley for me,” Carroll
demanded.

“Well, now,” was the evasive re-
ply, “we have thousands of customers
in this bank. I’m sure I can’t remem-
ber what he looked like.” ~

Very near losing his patience now,
the sheriff asked whether the man
had left a Seattle address. He was
told that Frawley was staying at the
Diller Hotel. ‘

Carroll replaced the receiver; then
quickly r pines it up again. This time
he called the Seattle police and asked
that someone be sent’ to the Diller to
learn if William Frawley was stop-

ping there. He also requester a de- .

scription of the man together with
any information concerning his car
if he had one. If the machine could
be found, Carroll wanted it exam-~-
ined. a * .

ETECTIVE L. E. Himes understood
the assignment. When he arrived
at the hotel, he found a William
Frawley registered, though he was
not in at the moment. However, in
his letterbox was a tag that indicated
where his car was parked.
Lieutenant Himes received a. chilly
reception at the garage. For a while,
the ‘attendants flatly denied that they

had the automobile he sought. To get:

results, Himes finally
down.

“All you. cops do is make trouble
for some poor guy,” one of the at-
tendants complained. “This lad has
been having a fight with his wife and
he doesn’t want her to know where
the car is. Now you have to spoil
things for him.” .

“T’m not here to take the car,” the

had to bear

- detective snapped. “And if this fel-

low is on the level, he hasn’t any
wife. And he isn’t young, either.
Where’s the machine?” he demanded.

Grumbling, the employees led the

way to a dark corner of the garage.
There was Frawley’s Ford coupe,

identified by ‘Himes through the li-
cense number Sheriff Carroll had
given him,

‘The Seattle sleuth examined every
inch of the automobile. He stopped
short when he came to the rumble-
seat section, Brownish blotches cov-
ered the-door and seat—undoubtedly
bloodstains!

Himes raced to the garage office
and in a few minutes he was report-
ing his discoveries over the phone
to Carroll.

The sheriff could not conceal his
excitement. “Keep an eye on that fel-
low’s. room,” he said, “and have
someone stationed at the bank. I'll
hop to Seattle immediately.”

T TWO o'clock that same Wednes-

day ‘afternoon, a young man
walked up to the teller’s window of
the Seattle bank and asked whether
the money had arrived for William
Frawley’s draft. At the mention of
the name, Detective Himes strode
over and placed a firm hand on the
youth’s shoulder.

“Are you Frawley?” the detective
queried.

‘With a surprised look the young
man pivoted to face Himes. “Why,
yes, I am,” he replied. “Who did you
think I was?”

Himes was not fooled by the fel-
low’s nonchalance.. Although the de-
tective had no knowledge of what
the real William Frawley looked like,

‘ he knew this man was far too,young

to be a retired army sergeant. He
took the youth to Police headquar-
ters to await Carroll’s arrival.

Several hours later, the sheriff
bounded in. He took one look at the
lad in custody, then an expression of
surprise over his face.

The suspect was Ollie Stratton, a
25-year-old lad who worked in a
meat market at Port Townsend. He
was a hard-working, likable fellow
who: had recently completed three
years of service in the Army.
“Gosh, I’m glad you're here, Sher-
iff,” the youth gasped. “I’m in a
mess, I’ve been tricked, and bad, too.”

“T'll say you're in a mess, Ollie,”
Carroll agreed. “What's it all about?”

“On the morning of August 26th,”

he began, “two fellows I had sol--

diered with called me up at the but-
cher shop. They said they had to see
me right away. Oscar Thorney and
Ted Harrison — maybe you know
them.”

“I know them,” the sheriff said.

“Well, I went to the waterfront
hotel where they were staying, to see
what in heck they were so excited
about, They told me they were going
to skip town. Then they asked me to
get them some .22 rifle bullets, so
they could go up into the hills and
shoot animals for food. I went home,
got the ammunition, and took it to
them. -

“That night, they called me at my
house. When I got to their room,
Oscar said: ‘Something went wrong.
You've got to go to Seattle with ps.’ ”

. SMASH DETECTIVE CASES

Poe’

Young
enough to
several d
agreed to
though I
He smiled
ried this c

“Thorne
meet ther
showed u
car. They
rob Bill ¢
by a man

“Who \
sheriff.

“They «
the yout
thing we

- Bill’s ban

in the th
because -

“When
me to get
—or they
him.” Str
turned p)
“You see

Detecti
idea of
friends?”
here, I \

, “They’:

the floph
to meet
“I hoy
Sheriff ¢

_ Boing to
—the gir
“We'll
youth .
night w

TRAT

If you k
Bill Fr
name, t«
But t
into as
he had :
That:
was bei)
friends
Whidby
iff Carr
be. Ex
trouble,
office ir
An h
her sw
brace \
“T’ve
clared
Frawle\
did it:
‘SMASH D

he 2, a ral

“But maybe Bill just went off
somewhere,” the sheriff said- “Why
shouldn’t he? The man’s a free agent,
‘you know.” .

“Yeah,” Larry Perkins agreed ner-
vously, fingering his seaman’s cap,
“but what about those stains on the
kitchen floor?”

The sheriff shrugged. “It could be

something he spilled while dishing up’

breakfast.”

Sta” the Count Guardeman ‘said

emphatically, “I’ve seen blood, sher-
iff”’ He smiled grimly. “I know what
it looks like. I wish you’d come up

there and have a look at Bill’s’

place .. .”

“OK,” Sheriff Carroll sighed.
“Might as well take a ride.”

As the pair drove along the wind-
ing road leading to Frawley’s hilltop
cottage, Perkins explained how he
had happened to visit the ex-sergeant
... the visit that ended in the sus-

GALLOWS — Bill Frawley's

, life savings were supposed to.

buy: the killer and his gal a

wonderful honeymoon. . . . But .

blood‘ money never bought any-
thing worth while. Usually, as
in this case, it buys a one way
ticket to the gallows.

picion that had sent him racing to
the sheriff.

“My wife and I have a cabin near
old Bill's place,” the sailor explained.
“J got back from a cruise this morn-
ing, and after chatting with Elaine—
that’s my wife—for a while, I went
to see Bill: We're good friends, and I
wanted to invite him over for lunch:

“I knew Bill wouldn’t go away
without locking up. That’s why I went
inside and looked around.”

The sheriff frowned. He liked old
Bill Frawley, too. Everyone did, The
retired sergeant was a kind, gener-
ous-hearted fellow.

Carroll hoped that Perkins’ suspi-
cions were unfounded, that the elder-
ly man had merely taken a trip some-
where without bothering to tell his
neighbors about it. But still... .

The sheriff braked his car to a stop
before the modest Frawley cottage.

’ Perkins tried the front door. It was

unlocked. Without hesitation, the pair
stepped inside.

To Carroll’s trained eye, nothing
seemed disturbed in the living room.
On the table lay an open magazine,
apparently left by a reader who had
been suddenly interrupted. Yet. there

JAIL]—cold, stee! bars sepa-
rated the lovers ... and a

hangman's deadly noose wait-
ed in the background to part
them — forever!

“OLD SOLDIERS NEVER DIE, THEY ONLY FADE AWAY...'' BUT ONE EX-GI
FOUND HIS LAST RESTING PLACE ON A GARBAGE HEAP, AFTER THIRTY

20.

YEARS OF LOYAL SERVICE TO

HIS COUNTRY!

SMASH DETECTIVE CASES

‘rept

A NN AN ee

were no signs of
slighest evidence
been ransacked.
Carroll walkec
followed by Perk
several tiny redc
the floor. The off
hands and knees
close range. -
“Somebody tri:
but didn’t do a
official declared.
had a good hun
stains, all right.”
The sheriff r
looked purpose
room. A mome
excitedly, he. poi
in the door betv
the bedroom!
From the brig

. ers the sheriff k

perforation wa:
pertly, he tracec
sile’s flight. Th«
pursed in a sou
ping out his pe
a .22 calibre
wall!

“Did Bill ov
asked. The yo!
head.

“Then I’m af
with grim irony
der to solve—v
to start with!”

NTENSELY =<
proceeded 1
where they fo
stains. And in

PECULIAR—

noticed a pecu
signature on th:
She immediate!
to the attentio
perior who |
police departn

SMASH DETECTIY

icking up a butcher

insisted, he knew
ving the nails into

(ressed, he left the
to his former em-
actor. He collected
ies, Then he took
Columbia River to

going to his new.

»ok a bus and. went
‘egon’s largest city.

that night, then
car to Eugene, 125
‘land. From thereon
to Redmond, Ore-

'b on a farm, using °

:n Carlton.
f his wife’s murder:
‘s, he said, he had
just what had oc-
s spell, He stayed
he could, but his
drove him to his
‘y to make amends.
b finished his low-
: told the officials:
s to do away with
commit any more
the gallows to the

yner said: “I want
at shall be done to
o all I can to put
Him, so I can meet

ter.”

diately filed a
xs arge against
er. Robert Lemons,
leased, of course, as
ay involved in the

* &

Hutchinson’s trial
~ Studebaker and
mmey Hite Imus
: frequently, trying
tangible motive for
ne,
er admitted that he
cide had quarreled
re the myrder. He
gged him for not
.ey, and complained
he had to wear old
n a shabby house.
cened on the fatal
ted to brood about
1ess, and suddenly
overtook him,
rial, several of his
ves testified he had
y for more than ten
cutor Imus, on the
able to produce a
28, well acquainted
at, who declared he
1 rationally.

1 Elden Hutchinson
ree murder, but re-
y. Three tb later,
Homer Kirby sen-
diller to life impris-
tate Penitentiary at

arrassment to inno-~
3 Rose Sallow,
hn W. Robins

MASH DETECTIVE CASES

a ee poem aoe Mao

/ ; " a
» f ie

HONEYMOON
WITH THE
HANGMAN

(Continued from page 21)

Carrol pondered a moment, then
inquired with disarming frankness:
“Isn't it rather peculiar, Larry, that:
you know so much about Frawley’s
money affairs?”

“Tt don't think so,” Perkins replied
without hesitation. “Bill became
quite attached to my. wife and me.
He told us exactly how much he had
in the bank, as a matter of fact, be-
cause he said he was going to leave
it to us when he died.” :

The sailor’s words sounded sincere,
and the sheriff dismissed his doubts
about the youth’s role in the bizarre
riddle.

“Do you think,” Carroll asked,
“that old Bill was murdered, or
wounded and kidnapped, by somebody
who wanted his money?’

Perkins nodded. “There can’t be

any other reason, Sheriff. I’m sure

he had no enemies.”

“Then,” Carroll observed,” that’s
why we haven’t found the bank
books. The killer took them.”

Perkin’s face was a study in per-
plexity. “But I can’t understand,” he
declared, “why the guy should take
them, and also do all the figuring.
How could he sear get Bill’s
dough out of the. k?”

“That's a one of the flock of
questions I’ve got to answer,” was
the terse reply.

, & & &
WAS late afternoon by the time

Carroll had returned to his office.
Hastily summoning an identification
expert and two deputies he instructed
them not only to hunt for finger-
prints, but also to examine the cot-
tage thoroughly and make an inch-
by-inch sear¢h of the grounds.

Because it was long past closing
time at the American National Bank,
Carroll knew that Frawley’s savings
accounts could not be checked that
day. Nevertheless, the sheriff did not
stay in his office. Pulling on a jacket,
he started down the street. He was
going to try something. This was
not the first time he had started a
case—and solved it—on a hunch.

Knowing that Frawley occasionally
went on a drinking spree, the officer
conjectured that old Bill, while under

SMASH DETECTIVE CASES

the influence of liquor, might have
incurred someone’s. wrath, True, it

-was a longshot chance that he would

turn up an —but Carroll was
willing to take it.

For hours, the sheriff ‘made a quiet
tour of the city’s taverns, attempting
to unearth a clue. But not until mid-
night. was his persistence rewarded.
He discovered that a young woman,
Lena Tamint, a frequent visitor at
one of the bars, had been noticeably
friendly with Bill Frawley. When
Carroll also learned that. she lived in
a nearby apartment building, he eag-
erly hurried there. ;

The sheriff had a long wait before
the woman answered -her bell. Final-
ly she opened the door.

Though the young blonde had just
emerged from bed and was not yet
fully awakened, Lena -Tamint pre-
sented a striking picture. She was

exceptionally beautiful of face and |

figure. A flimsy dressing gown was
wrapped modestly around her body.

Carroll’s first reaction was to
wonder why such an attractive wo-
man had been interested in _a/man
about three times her age. Had she
discovered that Frawley possessed a
substantial bank account? Or was she
really enamored of the ex-soldier?

Lena ‘Tamint stared at the sheriff
quizzically. “Do you mind telling me
why you're here?” she asked finally.

Carroll began cautiously. He told
her that he had received an im-
peer message for Frawley, but had

een unable to locate him, One of
the old man’s friends had suggested
that she might tell him where Bill
could be found.

“I haveh’t the faintest idea,” the
girl replied languidly. “T haven't seen:
him for more than_two weeks. Be-
sides,” she added, “I know him only
slightly.” mo

“I've heard different,” Carroll re-

marked pointedly.

Blushing, Lena Tamint admitted:
“Well, I did ask him up to have a
few drinks with me once—but he isn’t

; anything. but a friend!”

“Would anyone resent your inter-
est in Frawley?” the s eriff con-
tinued. ;

“ should say not!” she replied in-
dignantly. “Nobody has an claim on
me. I like Bill and I'll see when-
ever I want to.” .

Still suspecting that the young wo-
man knew something about the ex-
soldier’s disappearance, Carroll took
her into custody as a material wit-
ness. Lena Tamint protested bitterly,
‘claiming she _ knew - nothing of
Frawley’s fate. But the sheriff, faced
by so many perplexing problems, re-
fused to take anything for granted.

* * #

was nearly two in the morning
when Carroll returned to his of-
fice. He was anxious to see if the
deputies had uncovered anything at
the Frawley. cottage earlier in the
day. However, their written reports
contained ‘nothing that drew any
light on the case.
The identification expert had found

only. valueless smudges on the prem- -

«ne ll A TLD LE EE LR ENE - en ey

" ises, and other officers had uncovered

no additional clues. ws
Completely. exhausted, Sheriff Car-
roll went home for much-needed
rest, But at eight, he was back on’
the job, diligently picking up the
threads of the maddening riddle.
He summoned the two deputies
who had been at Frawley’s home on
the previous day. “We've got to find
out the approximate time ©: old ‘Bill's
disappearance,” he told them. “We
can't check any alibis until we know
that. I want you fellows to go back
and talk with Frawley’s neighbors.
Stay out there until you get a lead;
theri report here immediately.”
After his men had departed, the
sheriff headed for the police labora-
tory with the bullet found in Fraw-'
ley’s cottage. A few minutes later,
he knew definitely that the fatal slug
was of .22 calibre, and that it had
been fired from a rifle.
Carroll instructed the ballistics

_ expert to make microscopic photos of

the missile so that a check on its
riflings could be made with any sus~
oo guns. Then, with rapid steps,

é proceeded to the bank where
Frawley had kept his money.

The manager stated that no with-
drawals had been made during the
past two. weeks. Carroll was encour-
aged by this report. It meant that the
killer probably took the two bank
books only to camouflage the motive
for the crime. Love, rather

- money, apparently had the keyspot |

in the murder pattern. That meant
Lena Tamint.

Returning to the tavern where he
had received his first: information
about her, Carroll prodded the. pro-
etails about the
girl’s association with Frawley.

“Well, Lena’s a sweet-lookin’: kid,

got into an awful argument with old

_ Bill a couple of weeks ago. She said

he’d be Bi enty: sorry for giving her
the brush-off.”

Carroll’s heart jumped. At last, he
felt, he was on the right track. Ex-
ultantly, the sheriff drove back to his
office, Only one matter still puzzled
him: If Lena Tamint had brutally
shot the old man for jilting her, what
had she done with his body?” \

Had she calmly dragged the bleed-
ing corpse to the garage stuffed it in-
to the Ford coupe w ch Frawley
owned, then disposed of it in some

_ obscure place? Or had she hired a

man to commit the merciless slaying?
These conflicting questions were
still racing through the sheriff's mind
when his deputies trooped into head-
quarters. Their faces were bright
with optimism. They had established
beyond a doubt, they said, that Fraw-
ley disappeared on the 26th of
August. - .
Several neighbors had greeted the
old man that morning, but none had
seen him since.. However, not a so
had noticed a stranger near the
Frawley cottage on the fatal day.
Carroll’s eyes glinted with hard-

. ened purpose. “Now,” he said, “we'll

see if that glamorous blonde has an
55

mi eM Miia 114 .
OIRATTON, Ollie Lee, whit, hanscedw;

ngton (gefferson) on 7/28/19 GF

, ed

z
ag
a
Re
>
\~
ex"
ie
Fr
"UO

“TY
e killer fi

‘

i"'He backed out on his promise," said t
(right) “to Sheriff Carroll (center) and Sher.
iff Kennedy. "’So | went: back and. shot him.” §

aac 2

1e at my
iz room,
it wrong.
vith ps.’ ”

TIVE CASES

emcee tre emcte eat o a

Young Stratton paused long
enough to light a cigarette and take
several deep drags. “Well, I finally
agreed to go,” he continued, “al-
though I had a date with my girl.”
He smiled, “We're going to be mar-
ried this coming Sunday, you know ..

“Thorney and Harrison told me to.

car. They said they’d been hired to
rob Bill and scare him off his place
by a man who wanted the property.”

“Who was the man?” asked the
sheriff.

“They didn’t mention any names,”
the youth replied. “Just said some-
thing went wrong. They had old

. Bill’s bankbooks. They told me I was

in the thing as much as they were,
because they had used my bullets.
“When we got to Seatle, they told

me to get Bill’s money from the bank ~

—or they’d give me what they gave
him.” Stratton’s face clouded and he
turned pleading eyes toward Carroll.
“You see, I had to do it, Sheriff!”

Detective Himes broke in, “Any
idea of what became of your
friends?” he asked, “If they're around
here, I want to get after them.”

“They're probably hanging around
the flophouse where I was supposed
to meet them,” replied the youth.

“I hope that’s the truth, Ollie,”
Sheriff Carroll declared. “If not, it’s
going to be an awful blow to Anita

‘ the girl you’re supposed to marry. .

“We'll be married, all right,” the

youth said confidently. “Sunday .

night we'll be on our honeymoon.”
* *&@ &
5 earracmey was lodged in the city
jail as a material witness. The
sheriff, Himes, and another sleuth
spent the rest of that evening and
rt. of the next day in an unsuccess-
1 search for the two former soldiers
among the city’s cheap boarding-

houses. Toward noon, when every —

ateengt to trace their prey had failed,
the officials gave up the hunt.
Sheriff Carroll then took Ollie

- Stratton to the county jail in Port

Townsend, On Friday morning the
officer questioned him. again, this.
time determined to get the whole

truth, eit

“Ollie,” Carroll pleaded, “for good-
ness sake don’t hold anything back.
If you know where your friends took
Bill Frawley’s body, in heaven's
name, tell me!” ee

But the youth’s mouth hardened
into a stubborn line. He ingisted that
he had revealed everything he knew.
~ That ep re, Sag Anita Callern
was being feted by a throng of happy
friends at her father’s home on
Whidby Island in Puget Sound. Sher-
iff Carroll telephoned the. bride-to-
be. Explaining that Ollie was in
trouble, he: asked her to come to his
office immediately.

An hour later Anita rushed into
her sweetheart’s arms, Their em-
brace was long and fervent.

“Tye been tricked, honey,” de-
clared the youth. “They think Bill
Frawley’s been murdered and that I
did it; I’ve told them I’m innocent,

‘SMASH DETECTIVE CASES

but I’m afraid they don’t believe me.” |

“How do they know he was
killed?” asked the girl. “Have they
found his body?” pee
' Young Stratton’s eyes lighted, Her
question seemed to fill him with

hope.

“That’s right, Mr. Carroll,” he said,
more boldly..now. “How do you know
Bill’s dead if you haven't found his
body?”

That was a query Carroll did not
bother to answer just then. But
when Anita returned to: her island
home she was firmly convinced that
her fiance had told the truth about
Oscar Thorney and Ted Harrison.
She was confident that Ollie would
be cleared of all suspicion and that
they would be married. “Yes,” she
said ecstatically to a friend, “Sunday
night will be our wedding night.”

HH’? Anita Collern uttered those
words in his presence the next
day, however, Sheriff Carroll would
have been forced to disillusion her.
By buzzing around the town’s hard-
ware and gun shops, he found out
that Ollie Stratton had rented a high-
powered .22 rifle on the morning of
August 26th, and returned it that
same afternoon!

On the large desk in his office,
Carroll placed the gun which the boy
had rented, a half-empty box of .22
rifle shells, and many of Frawley’s
personal effects. Next to them, he laid
the magazine that the old man had
been reading, the piece of paper with
mysterious figures on it, and the
lethal bullet.

He turned a single floodlight upon .

the display, then ordered an officer
to ‘bring in the youth. For several
minutes the prisoner gazed at the
tell-tale articles with stoic calm. Not:
a muscle twitched; his eyes became

marble slits.

The sheriff picked up the gun.

nig Petey a se

“This is what you killed old Bill with,

_ Ollie,” he accused sharply. “Then you

took his bank books and figured up
how much money you could get. You °
even listéd what you were going’ to
do with some of it and how much
mene be left for you and Anita to

ni ”

Still the boy’s face was a mask.

Carrol’s next words came with soft,
but deadly impact. “It’s highly prob-
able that your girl knew what you
did,” he said, “So I’m going to charge
you with: first-degree murder, . and
hold her as an accessory after the
fact!” .

The youth went white. His legs
turned to rubber and collapsed under
him. He dropped into a chair and

_ held his head in his trembling hands.

“Don’t bring Anita: into this, Sher-
iff!” he pleaded. “She didn’t. know

‘anything about it..I killed him to get

money for our wedding and a nice
honeymoon trip. I dumped him over
a bluff on to a garbage heap at Whid-
by Island. I'll take you to him.”

Toa same .day, Carroll, Stratton,
and Prosecuting Attorney William
Dailey went to the Port Townsend
dock. Aboard the Coast Guard Cutter
Zev, under the command of Boat-
swain’s Mate Tony Sofie, they sailed
to Whidby Island. And there, just as
Stratton had said, lay the decomposed
body of Bill Frawley. At the sight of
his own handiwork, the boy fainted.

Anita Collern had no honeymoon
that year, for a few months later, her
lover had to keep another, more im-
portant date—with the hangman at
the Walla Walla State Prison.

The names Larry Perkins, Elaine
Perkins, Lena Tamint, Agnes Stone,

Anita Collern are fictitious to prevent

embarrassment to persons innocently -
involved in this case.

NEVER JILT

(Continued from page 33)

I see a man running out. I only see
his back, though. I run out in the
street, but he’s gone.” ,

Meenahan was no longer impatient
or angry. There were reasons for Do-
mie’s reluctance to talk, and he meant
to find out what they: were.

Thomas “Happy” Intull, singing
waiter at the Hollywood, was brought
in next. He claimed he was talking to
Mamie Kowler, the blonde waitress,
when D’Aula and the still nameless

’ fated men were expected

victim entered.

“You knew the two men?”

Happy shook -his head, “Never saw
them before.”

Meenahan grunted skeptically. But
why were Happy and Domie unwill-
ing’ to admit they knew the. cus-
tomers? Aside from the fear of gang-
ster revenge, what could be frighten-
ing the pair? Had they known the ill-
i—and per-
haps tipped off the murderer? Or
were the silent witnesses simply try-
ing to keep out of the whole affair?

‘All right, Happy,” the lieutenant
went on easily. “What did you see
and hear?”

Happy said he had been sitting at
the far end of the bar, when he
looked into the long mirror and saw
a fellow, gun in hand, walking toward
ie two men at the street end of the

ar:

“Same minute I see the rod, I hear
it begin to bark,” Happy added. “I
jump off the chair and run behind the
uke. box. I stayed there until just

efore the cop came in.”

“Would you know the, murderer if

- oI
‘,

any
\
"

pi Sigs

ie WAS 8:30 in the morning, and Sheriff John M.
Carroll had just sunk into the swivel chair in his
office at Port Angeles, Wash., when the door flew open.
A dark-haired youth of about 17, hatless and wild-
eyed. rushed in. He was panting as though he had been
running for some distance.

fs “Where’s the sheriff?” he asked.

“You're looking at him,” Carroll said amiably.

“What’s troubling you, son?” .

The young man dropped into a chair. “Well, sheriff—
Ollie Stratton’s disappeared. I think he’s been mur-
dered!” -

The sheriff blinked. “Now, let’s start at the begin-
ning. Who is Ollie Stratton?” .

“He’s my best friend,” the youth said.
Ollie’s 23 or 24. He works in a butcher shop over in
Port Townsend—that is, he did. Three days ago he
didn’t show up for work, and nobody has seen him
since. I tell you, sheriff, I don’t like the looks of it.”.

“Maybe he just got tired of his job and decided to
push along somewhere else,” Carroll suggested. “It’s.
happened before.”

“But Ollie isn’t that kind, sheriff. He—he’s the con-
scientious type. He wouldn’t leave his job like that
without notifying his employer—not unless something
was wrong. I talked with the butcher he worked for,

_.and he can’t figure it either. He says one day Ollie
was there, working like a beaver, and the next day he
didn’t show up. No warning or anything.”

The boy hesitated. “Besides,” he, went on, “I went
to the place where Ollie stayed, and the people there

. can’t understand it either. They told me he didn’t
_ say a word about leaving.” os

“Hm,” the sheriff muttered. “If you’d been in this
business as long as'I have, son, you’d know that people
sometimes take sudden notions. Most of ’em come
back safe and sound in a little while, and then folks
laugh at all the fuss they made.” He eyed his caller
sharply. -“What’s your name?” :

“l’'m Ted Forrest. I work over in Port Townsend
too. That’s how I got to know Ollie.”

“But what’s this about a.murder? Whatever gave

you the idea that someone might have done Stratton
in?”

“Whoever has his fo
his own enemy :—
head convenient,

HOW COULD TWO MEN—OLD PALS—DROP OUT OF SIGHT THE SAME DAY?

' theory, young man, but maybe we'd better look into

“I guess

corner of the state.

[HE DATE was August 17, 1931, and the shel bed

“Well, it was partly this thing—him disappearing
like that, you know. And then, Ollie was due to get
married.” ee : ;

“Married? When?” ae

“In just a few days. He’s to marry Ellen Ortell—she
lives over.on Whidby Island. «She’s a:peach of a girl,

-and Ollie was crazy about her. That’s what makes -
me ‘think something happened to him. Otherwise he
wouldn’t run off at a time like this.”

“Well, well,” the sheriff said. “That is a little. pe-
culiar. I think you're being a bit hasty in your murder

it.” : :
He jotted down a description of the missing man—
five feet six in height, slight of build, sandy-haired and
with an infectious grin. He also took down Stratton’s
address, and that of the place where he had worked.
Port Angeles and Port Townsend are both on the shore ;
of island-studded Puget Sound in the far northwestern -

hardly settled back after young Forrest’s departure

when he had another caller. This time it was Arthur
Trast, one of the Coast Guardsmen who patrolled the
vast reaches of the Sound.

“Hello, Arthur,”. Carroll boomed. ‘“What’s on your .
mind?” :

Trast looked troubled. “Sheriff, I’m kind of worried.
You know Bill Frawley, don’t you?” ae

“Sure, I know Bill. What’s he up to?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out.. He seems to have
disappeared.”

“Disappeared!” The sheriff was startled at the re-
markable coincidence of having two men reported
missing within a few minutes of each other. He knew
Frawley as a retired U. S. Army sergeant, a man of
about 55, who lived in a wilderness cabin overlooking
the straits of Juan de Fuca. s a

“Just what makes you think he’s disappeared?” he
asked. : ¢

“Well, you know Bill and I are pretty friendly,”
Trast said, “and I stop in at his place for a chinfest and
maybe some checkers once in a while. I’ve been there -

~~ entra

‘

the apple-pie order Bill always keeps | “7 don’t think 50,” Trast said. “See ]
it in.”

at pipe rack? Bill’s a 8reat pipe- cid
i The Sheriff had to agree as to the smoker, you know.” : pu
i fa neatness of veteran Army men, After Carroll eyed the rack. It was made of
HI undergoing daily inspection for years,- of walnut, with eight holes in which ; Eve
& ps €y invariably eveloped methodical - to Pipes. There were Seven pipes F The
habits which stayed with them in later’ in the rack. The eighth hole was empty, disc
life, Frawley. had retired from ‘the - “That's where Bill kept his Meer- labc
-} Army only a year earlier and had built Schaum,” Trast went on. “It was an "Was
Hoe is cabin in the seaside wilderness, expensive Pipe, and he treated it like Fray
pp ough he was not a Particularly gre. a baby, It’s gone.” Side
ft garious man, this was a back-country - .“But I don’t see anything unusyal , like
i area where everybody knew something about that, He Probably took the pipe ) Th
i | about his’ neighbor. with him.” Spee
H . “Well, let’s 80 out there and take “No,. Bill wouldn’t ever do that,” the muck
a look,” ‘Carroll sai - “Maybe we'll Coast Guardsman Said decisively, —hac
find Frawley there, Snug as a bug in “That meerschaum was what he called’ of Fr
a rug.” F ; is ‘easy-chair Pipe. He wouldn’t ever Now,
They got into the Sheriff’s car and ‘take it outside—too afraid of losing or -‘myste
~~ ‘soon were rolling along the road that breaking ite. : nicely
hn skirted the Sparkling blue waters of His voice trailed off as he gazed murde
i ay the Sound, _ Teens fixedly at the paneled wall. “Look at 4 and d
- Detective Chief Tennant—he took :._“There’s another thing I don’t. like that!” he exclaimed, In f,;
charge at the Seattle end, nabbed about this,” said Trast, who obviously Sheriff
a man who swore he was Frawley, did not take as casual an attitude io. HE SHERIFF LOOKED. There was was, it
enn ward the matter as the sheriff. “You 4 small hole in the wall, Perhaps a facts a
a ee -know, Bill has saved up a little money, quarter-inch in diameter, In it, sunk - Frawle
| ae ' and he was drawing a Pension, Well, into the wood, could be seen something that, St
eae twice the last Couple of days, and the some. People said he had made some metallic. : ried in
Place is locked up. Bill isn’t there. He © smart investments, You know how - Carroll took out his jack-knife and likely ¢)
never said anything to me about Soing talk like that goes around. Before you . began digging into the wood with cau- - tie the )
away.” eee knew it, Some folks seemed to think tion. In a Couple of minutes he had and kil]
.' The sheriff was not impressed. “Bill’s Bil] ‘ad tons of $20 Sold pieces stowed extracted a misshapen leaden object There
free as air—not tied down like most away in his cabin.” “Hm,” ; he murmured. “It’s a .22 Positions
People,” he pointed out, “Ee’s retired, “You’re thinking Someone might caliber bullet.” ley, for
living on his Pension and Savings. \; have knocked him Over the head for — He began a more careful search of > Mmurdere,
Maybe he: just happened to be out is money—or the money they thought the Place. On the varnished floor about Or—it
hunting or fishing when you called on he had?” a dozen feet from where the bullet had é had come
him.” “It entered my mind,” Trast ad- lodged, he found a Sizable stain. It der the ;
“That’s what I'd think too,” Trast mitted. * was brownish and dry. The sheriff Posed ho.
replied, “if I hadn't one inside and A few minutes later, they turned looked up at Trast, , Stratton
looked around,” i into Frawley’s drive and soon pulled “Blood,” he Said. “I’m beginning to call on h
“You went inside? J] thought you _up beside the cabin, a smal] but well- be afraid you're right. It looks very nx been kille,
Said the place was locked up.” built Structure Situated on high ground much as though Something has hap- # . The she
“It was, but Bill told me about a so that it commanded a 8lorious view Pened to Frawley, Tell me about him. f letting his
Secret way to get in the basement of the shore and Sound. The roar of Who are his friends?”- him. He
i hatchway when he wasn’t ‘there, | the breakers was. clearly audible as . Trast Pondered, “Well, Bill’s not a - book that
H . went in that way and looked around. they got out of the car and entered the mixer, really. He’s friendly as can be, living roon
j sc Sheriff, the Place didn’t look ‘right to cabin, : : but seems to enjoy the quiet ‘life, ‘] book, he nc
E me? 7c). : The -door 8ave into a Wood-paneled Suess I’m one of his best friends. The ‘some Heay,
Pe “Hoy do you mean, it didn’t look living room, and there was @ small only other man I know who he used to had fallen {
| aoe . tight?” ara ; kitchen, bathroom and bedroom at the pal around with was Ollie Stratton. “It’s a kt
| a “Well, you know how neat these old far end, The sheriff Saw at once that No—there’s one other J] recall. A Proverbs by
if Be y men are. After 30 years in the the place, i by any means a young kid named Ted Forrest, who » - he said to"
: i Service, Bi model of neatness ves Over in Port Townsend Bill took é Proverbs: ‘}
ij} i rugs were badly a4 liking to the boy and used to have mercy, and ¢
NH} A book lay open, him up here once in a while.” enemy, ”
© beside a chair The sheriff was amazed. “This ig “That’s pre
window were not getting thicker every minute!” he ex- Guardsman C
claimed “Just before you came in to “Tt is. . Anx
riff Speculated, — tel] me about Frawley, that young For- that Proverb
to-leave in a Test fellow was in to say that Ollie as though th

Stratton had disappeared!” e Something ((

“This is it!” Ford smiled.

The barrel had the name Mossberg
Rifle stamped oni‘it.

Tipton’s friend identified the barrel
as part of the gun he owned. “I know
it’s mine,” he said, “because I rubbed
some lipstick into the trademark and

the serial number on the peep-sight. °

Look for yourself.”

The red substance in the letters and
numbers was easy to see. To make sure,
however, police technicians tested it
and determined that it was lipstick.

The barrel, and the stock and re-
ceiver previously found, were fitted to-
gether to make a complete rifle. The
next day technicians test-fired the gun.
Then the shell casings were compared
with those found in the Callahan bed-
room and in the car rented by Tipton.
Without doubt, all had been fired from

‘the same gun, making it the most im-
portant piece of evidence in the case.
It was the murder weapon.

The case against Tipton was further
strengthened when the suspect was. put
in a lineup and viewed by the woman
who lived two blocks from the Callahan
home and who'd reported a strange
man coming to her door and asking for
directions to West Sixty-seventh Street
Terrace. She looked at the: six men in
front of the bright lights and unhesi-
tatingly picked out Tipton.

““KILL’’ SAID THE PROVERB

(Continued from page 67)

special. Here’s another one, also
marked with red ink: ‘Gold is got from
the mine by digging, and from the
grasp of the miser by taking his life.’ ”

Both men pondered these strange
and bloodthirsty proverbs for a mo-
ment. They seemed to have a peculiar
aptness in the situation. Frawley, it
appeared, had been killed, and there
had been a story circulated that he
hoarded wealth at his cabin. Had some-
one taken this ancient proverb and
worked it out in real life?

Sheriff Carroll cast his eye over
Frawley’s bookcase. It contained some
three dozen books, all of them recent
novels or detective mysteries. .

“Frawley was quite a reader, eh?”
he asked Trast. r

“Yes, he liked to while away the time
with a book. After all, he was a bach-
elor and alone a good deal of the time.
Now and then he’d tell me about a
good book he’d read.”

Unconsciously, both Trast and the
sheriff were referring to Frawley in
the past tense as though he were al-
ready dead, though there was no proof
of that. ie

“But he seemed to go in for light
entertainment rather than heavy stuff,”

. here, and green ink,” he said, “but no

. . The two men drove to Port Town-

With the investigation pretty well
wrapped up, Burger got another call
from Mr. X. :

“Just called to let you know I read
about the latest developments,” the
mystery man said. “Good work. You
couldn’t have done better.”

“Thanks,” Burger said. “I guess you
still aren’t going to tell me who you
are.”

“No, I don’t think I'd better.” With
that, he hung up. .

Later Burger told Sheriff Williams:
‘That guy has me going in circles. His
voice is familiar but I can’t place it.
'Tve been awake most of the past three
nights trying to remember.”

“Well, maybe it’ll come to you some-
time. Maybe you'll suddenly remem-
ber.” > ;

“Maybe...”

Mary Callahan was tried for murder
in Olathe. The jury believed the prose-
cution’s contention that she and her
boy friend had plotted her husband’s
‘death, that she had let the gunman into
the house and led him to her sleeping
mate. She was found guilty and it was
recommended that she be given a life
term.

Ray Tipton decided not to waste time
with a trial. He pleaded guilty to mur-
der and was sentenced to life im-
prisonment..

Carroll went on. “Do you know if this
book of proverbs was his?” -

“I don’t know,” Trast admitted. “I
never noticed that particular book.
‘around here before.”

The sheriff pawed through a writing
desk in the corner. “There’s black ink

red ink. That book has been marked
with red ink. It’s my bet that someone
brought it here and loaned it to Fraw-
ley—very possibly the killer,”:

ey ATER SOME FURTHER search,

which turned up nothing more of
interest, Carroll and Trast left the cabin,
locking the door with a key they found
inside. They looked into the single
garage, at one end of the building.
Frawley’s car, a Chevrolet, was gone
and the swinging doors were locked
with a padlock.

send, where Carroll dropped Trast off.
His next stop was at the local bank.
An inquiry there disclosed that Fraw-
ley had more than $5000 on_ deposit
there, some of it in savings but most in
a checking account...
Carroll talked to the cashier, “If

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It was indeed a day of startling coin-
cidences. Sheriff Carroll, his brow
puckered, made a minute examination
of the kitchen, bedroom. and _ bath.
Everything there was in perfect order.
The kitchen, so often a place of mild.
disorder, looked as neat as a small
laboratory. In the bedroom, the bed
was tidily made and three pairs of
Frawley’s shoes, well polished, were
side by side on the floor of the closet
like so many soldiers. | t

The. sheriff was doing some high-
speed theorizing. It appeared very
much as though Frawley—or someone
—had been shot. Ollie Stratton, one
of Frawley’s few cronies, was missing.
Now, if this were one of those fictional

‘mysteries, he could wrap it up. very

nicely by deciding that Stratton had
murdered Frawley, taken his money
and decamped.

In fact, that was a theory that the
sheriff had to consider. The only thing
was, it didn’t seem to agree with the
facts as he knew them. Stratton and
Frawley were close. friends. On top of

that, Stratton was scheduled to be mar-'

ried in a day or two. It didn’t seem
likely that a young man just about to
tie the marital knot would go berserk
and kill his pal. ;
There was also the possibility that
positions were reversed and that Fraw-
ley, for some unknown reason, had
murdered Stratton.
Or—it could be that some third party
had come to the Frawley cabin to mur-.

der the former sergeant for his’sup- .

posed hoard. It could be that Ollie
Stratton had picked this moment to
call on his friend, and had likewise
been killed to silence him as a witness.

The sheriff shook his head. No use
letting his imagination run away with
him. He turned his attention to the
book that was lying face down on the
living room floor. The binding of the

book, he noticed, was broken as though
-some heavy object—possibly a body—

had fallen on it.

‘It’s a book of proverbs—Persian
proverbs by some fellow named Sadi,”
he said to Trast. ‘“Here’s one. of the
proverbs: ‘Whoever has his foe at his
mercy, and does not kill him, is his own
enemy. ”

“That’s pretty tough stuff,” the Coast
Guardsman observed.

“It is. And the strange thing is that
that proverb is marked with red: ink,
as though the reader thought it was
something (Continued on page - 89)

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bapalneey ae Se Sal
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Slayer faints in arms of Coast Guardsman aft

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- ‘

- disappearance,

ley’s account,” he said, “I want to know
about it, and fast. Even if it’s Frawley
himself.” q
He then called at the house where
Stratton had rented a room. The land-

lady there confirmed the story previ-.

ously told by Ted Forrest. :
“T can’t understand it,” she said. “Mr.
Stratton seemed like such a nice young

"man, but he didn’t tell us-he was going.

I wonder if something’s wrong.”

The sheriff was dead sure that some-
thing was wrong. Stratton, he learned,
had taken his belongings when he left.
He had also owed a few dollars in room
rent: » ‘ .

Stratton’s employer, the butcher, was,
likewise deeply puzzled over the young
man’s disappearance. “Nice lad,” he
said. “But one day he was working for
me like usual, the next he’s gone with-
out a word. I.can’t make it out.”

The sheriff also took pains to make
inquiries about young Ted Forrest, who
had first brought him news of Stratton’s
Forrest, he was in-
formed by several local people, was a
clean-cut youth with no known bad
habits. He had: occasionally gone out
to Frawley’s cabin and practiced target
shooting with him. :

_ Target shooting . . . Carroll mulled
that over for a moment. Then he called
it a day and went home. Perhaps the
morrow would bring something more
concrete in this double-barreled ‘mys-
tery of two vanished men. Already
he had a strong hunch as to the iden-
tity of the slayer, but as yet it was
only guesswork.

_ When morning came, the sheriff be-
gan a careful search into the back-
ground of William Frawley, former
Army sergeant. He learned that Fraw-
ley’s last post of duty before he re-

~ tired had been at Fort Worden, Wash.,

and he communicated with authorities
there. ,
Frawley, he learned, was now 54, and
had compiled an excellent Army rec-
ord. “A veteran of Chateau Thierry in
World War I, he had remained in the
service. after peace came and had
served at a number of Army posts. At
Fort Worden he was well liked by his
comrades, who used to josh him for his
conservative habits because he be-
lieved in saving his money for the
future rather than joining in the enter-
tainments many soldiers enjoyed while
on leave. A confirmed bachelor, he had

- little’ time for women. While stationed

at Fort Worden, he had come to like
the Puget Sound country so well that
he decided to remain there after re-
tirement. Ne

From people who lived in the vi-
cinity of Frawley’s cabin, Carroll

learned a little more—only a little.
Frawley was an enthusiastic huntsman,

- and now and then he could be heard
. blazing away in the woods. Though he

was friendly enough, he seemed to en-
joy solitude. Hé had never been seen
in the company of women, and the
neighbors were reasonably sure there
were no entanglements of that kind.
They admitted having heard stories
that the ex-Army man had plenty of
money, though they were inclined to
discount these tales, Frawley dressed
well, had a trim cabin and an almost
new car, but these could have been
merely the results of his thrift.

The sheriff pondered this information
for several moments. Frawley’s cabin
was remote, with no neighbors in sight.
Of course it was conceivable that he
had been carrying on an affair with
a woman—possibly'a married woman—
with enough circumspection to hide it
from nearby neighbors. Such an affair,
if it had been detected by the husband,
‘might have motivated murder.

If that was not the answer, then. it
had to be money—the story that Fraw-
ley hoarded considerable wealth at his
cabin. .

“Gold is got from the mine by dig-
ging,” the proverb had said, “and. from
the grasp of the miser by taking his
life.”

Could that be merely another coinci-
dence? Sheriff Carroll didn’t think so.
Someone, he was convinced, had read
that proverb and used it as a handbook
‘for murder. .He thought he knew who
that someone was, but he wasn’t sure.

HE GOT INTO his car and took an-
other run out to the Frawley cabin.
The sun was high in an azure sky, and
the sea was rolling down below. It was
a perfect spot for an old Army man to
retire to, but Carroll was thinking that
Frawley wouldn’t be enjoying it any
more.

At the rear of the cabin was a spot

, where a target had been placed against
a hump of ground. The target was well
peppered with holes that appeared to
be .22 caliber in size. The sheriff gazed
at it for a moment, then went inside.

This time he was looking for some-
thing specific. He went methodically

through drawers and desks. He ex-.

amined the contents of the pockets of
every pair of Frawley’s trousers. He
found a wallet which contained a few
dollars and a faded photo of an Army
captain—undoubtedly one of Frawley’s
old officers—but there were no identifi-
cation cards or papers ‘whatever..
Carroll nodded. Someone had taken
the ex-sergeant’s papers, that seemed
certain. He glanced at the pipe rack
with the empty socket where the
_ meerschaum had been kept, and at the
dried, reddish stain on the floor. Then
he headed back to town.
He had hardly gotten back to his
office when the telephone rang. It was

Dolores Hoyt, an employee of the bank,

“You wanted to know if any money

was withdrawn from Mr. Frawley’s ac-
count,” she said. “Well, a draft on that
account has just come in from the Na-
tional Bank of Commerce in Seattle.”

“The National Bank of Commerce,”
Carroll nodded. “Thank you.”

He rang off and immediately tele-
phoned the Seattle bank. .
’ “Yes,” an official of that bank in-
formed him. “Mr. Frawley was here
and presented that draft. He furnished
perfect identification. He’ll be back to
pick up his money after we’ve cleared

‘it through the bank in Port Townsend.”

“Well, hold up on it,” the sheriff ad-

‘vised. {Don’t pay him the money. Keep

him waiting in the belief that clearance
has been delayed.”

“You mean you think there’s some-
thing wrong about this?”

“I sure do, unless I’m awfully wrong
myself,” .

Carroll made still another call, this
one to Detective Chief Charles Tennant
in Seattle.

“A fellow is going to call at the Na-
tional Bank of Commerce,” he said to
Tennant. “He claims he’s William
Frawley, and he wants to pick up some
money. Will you have your men nab
him?”

Tennant agreed to do this. Carroll
then turned to one of, his’ deputies.
“Bring in Ted Forrest,” he said. “I
want to talk to that lad.”

A’ few minutes later, Forrest was
brought into the office. “Say, sheriff,”
he cried, “have you -found Ollie Strat-
ton yet?”

“Not yet,” Carroll admitted, eyeing
him narrowly. “We haven’t found Bill
Frawley. either.”

. Forrest seemed startled. “Bill Fraw-
ley? What’s happened to him?”

Carroll shrugged. “That seems to be
the pressing question at the moment.
I understand you knew Frawley pretty
well.”

“Why — yes,”

Forrest stammered.

“Bill has always: been nice to me. He’s .

a fine fellow.”

“You used to do a little target shoot-
ing with him?”

Forrest nodded. “Yes, we did some
shooting. Bill’s got a neat little range
out by his cabin. He was awfully good
about it. He’d buy all the shells and
furnish the gun, and let me shoot all
I wanted to.”

“Twenty-two rifle, eh?”

“That’s right. A nice repeater.”

The sheriff had found that gun at the
cabin, and had appropriated it as pos-
sible evidence. “How long since you’ve
been up at the cabin, or seen Bill?” he
inquired. ‘

. “Why, let’s see—it must be almost a
week. Yes, a week ago tomorrow it
was.”

Carroll pondered for a moment. Ted
Forrest gave every appearance of being
perfectly sincere.

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“Okay, son, you can go now. But be’
handy just in case we should need you
later.”

A FEW MOMENTS after Forrest de-

parted, the sheriff himself left the
office hurriedly ‘and went to the ferry
slip, where he boarded the next boat
for Seattle. Unless his theory was all
wrong, by the time he reached the
metropolis the police there would have
a man under arrest, and a good many
questions in this strange case would
be answered.

When he reached Seattle, he grabbed
a taxi to headquarters, where he was
soon conferring with Detective Chief
Tennant. ;

“Detective Harry Barton picked up
Frawley when he returned to the bank
to get his money,” Tennant said.
“Sheriff, Frawley’s hopping mad about
this. He’s threatening to sue for false
arrest and everything else. I hope this
isn’t a mistake.”

“I hope so too,” Carroll said with
considerable fervency. “If it’s a mis-
take, then I’m awfully wrong about a
lot of things. Well, bring him in and
let’s see.” ;

He felt a certain tension as he waited
for the prisoner to be escorted in. Sup-
posing he had the wrong slant about
this whole affair? Supposing this fel-
low turned out to be none other than
Bill Frawley in the flesh?’

His mind flashed back over the facts
in the case. Sure, it was faintly possible
that Frawley had decided to take a
little trip, and had been less tidy than
usual when he left. Sure, that bullet
hole in the wall might have occurred
accidentally weeks earlier. Sure, Fraw-
ley might have cut himself, explaining
that blood—might even’ have rushed
away to find a doctor.

If that was the way it was, the sheriff
would feel a little foolish. Then there
was no case at all—except for the mat-
ter of locating the missing Ollie Strat-
ton “4°.

The door opened and a detective en-
tered with the prisoner. “Here’s your
man, sheriff.”

Sheriff Carroll was all eyes. He saw
a slightly-built ‘young man who ap-
peared to be in his twenties and who
gave every evidence of great: .indig-
nation. ,

“What's this all about?” he de-
manded. “Why’ve I been arrested and
dragged in here like a—like a——”

“Like a murderer,” Carroll nodded.
“Exactly like a murderer.” )

“Wha-at?” the young man gasped."

“Because that’s exactly what you are,
Oliver Stratton,” the sheriff went on
inexorably.‘ “A killer.”

“Hey—wait a minute!” the prisoner
cried. “There’s some mistake here. My
name’s William Frawley!”

“Not by a jugful, Stratton,” Carroll

Se wg ot Ue ee te

ised to take Stratton and his fiancee on

Cai f q

snapped. “Frawley’s a man of 54, and
you’re a good 30 years shy of that. Of
course, if you want to be difficult about
it, we can bring in Ted Forrest to look
you over. And we can bring in your
landlady, and the butcher you worked
for-———” ,
“All right,” the young man groaned.
guess there’s no use kidding. I’m
Stratton, yes,” :
“Yes, and you murdered your good
friend Bill Frawley. Why?”
“I didn’t,” Stratton shrieked. “I don’t
know what you're talking about!”
“Well, then,” Carroll Pressed, “may-
be you'll explain just why you were

“T

passing yourself off in Seattle as Bill |

Frawley—trying to get his money out
of the bank.” :

Stratton looked very much like a
man who wanted desperately to sink
through the floor. “Well,” he quavered,
“maybe I didn’t do right, but—you see,
when I was on the boat to Seattle, I met
a couple of guys who told me they’
killed Frawley. They gave me some of
his things, and—well, I needed money
to get married. That’s why I tried to
pose as Bill.”

Carroll gazed at him for some mo-
ments with anh expression of pity.
“That,” he said, “is the poorest excuse
for an alibi I’ve heard in a good many
years.” He turned to Chief Tennant.
“What did you find on him?”

TRATTON’S . BELONGINGS were
spread out on a table. Among them
were several cards and papers belong-
ing to Frawley—and also an expensive,
beautifully-colored meerschaum pipe.
The sheriff took the pipe and waved it
at Stratton. -

“This, my boy, was Frawley’s easy-
chair pipe. He was so fond of ‘it he
wouldn’t even take it out of the house.
You knew it was valuable, and you
couldn’t resist taking it.”

Ollie Stratton gulped. He seemed
to be trying to say something. Then
he fainted dead away. ;

A little water splashed on his face
revived him a few moment later. “All
right,” he mumbled. “I did it.”

With a stenographer taking down
every word, he recited an account of
the slaying. Stratton declared that he
and Frawley had been friendly since
shortly after the Army veteran built
his cabin. Frawley, he said, had prom-

a pleasure drive around the Olympic
Peninsula. j _@e
“Then,” Stratton continued, “when I
went to see Bill about final plans for
the trip, he said he’d changed his mind
and couldn’t take us. JI got mad about
that. We had some words, and then
I left. :
“As I drove away, I got madder all
the time. Bill had Promised me ‘he’d

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inflamma? funeral oration. The judge, who was from What-
com, denied the motion; but held out the possibility of a reversal
of the ruling, if there proved to be any trouble selecting a fair
jury.

Friday Harbor citizens were determined to keep the trial at
home, and saw to it that the judge found no reason to change
his mind. One out-of-town observer commented wryly that for
a case which had been the chief conversation topic everywhere
in the county for weeks, it was most remarkable how the twenty-
four prospective jurors were the very ones who seemed to know
nothing whatever about it.

San Juan County’s regular courtroom was far too small to
accommodate the phalanx of local citizens, reporters, jurists and
others who needed or wanted to observe the trial, so court
officials agreed to move it across the street to the Odd Fellows
Hall. Tickets were printed and handed out to the lucky ones
authorized to attend. Some who were not so lucky tried through
various devices to get in anyway: one enterprising islander
managed to crawl under the stage and stationed himself directly
beneath the witness chair. He was discovered by the defense
attorney, Charles Repath, however, who raised an even greater
ruckus when it was discovered the eavesdropper was one of the
prosecutor’s witnesses.

The case against Irving Parberry was dropped when he agreed
to testify for the prosecution, which he did, stating Straub had
forced him at gun-point to take part in the shooting. Other
witnesses told of hearing Straub threaten to kill the Lantermans.
Pauline Burns and Ralph Blythe gave their account of the
incident, which was supported by Parberry’s testimony.

Repath put Straub on the stand and drew from him his version
of the shooting, which was that Leon Lanterman attacked
Parberry, and was shot by Straub, who just happened along at
that moment, in the teen-ager’s defense. But Parberry had already
blunted this claim by testifying Straub had cooked up that very

22?

Be ~“

yarn, and coached him in it, while the two were cowie
Friday Harbor.

The jury took seven hours to find Straub guilty of first-degree
murder, and the red-headed ex-schoolteacher was handed an
appointment with the hangman. After the usual appeals and a
plea to the governor for clemency had all failed, the date for the
deed was set and Sheriff Newt Jones found himself in the role of
executioner.

In contrast with the hanging of Kanaka Joe twenty-three years
earlier, Jones determined that Straub should pay for his crime in
private. A gallows was erected near the jail in the courthouse
yard, and surrounded with a 15-by-25-foot fence of 16-foot-high
boards laid closely together. Only persons who had business there
were admitted, including officials and a few reporters. Also on
hand was Straub’s spiritual adviser, Friday Harbor’s Methodist
minister, I’. L. Dyer, whose church and parsonage stood a short
distance from the grisly scene.

There is a legend in the San Juans that Straub agreed to
advance the time of his execution about an hour, to accommodate
reporters who were in a hurry to catch the last steamer for the
mainland. In point of fact, Sheriff Jones delayed the hanging
long enough to see whether the ship in question might bring a
last-minute reprieve. It didn’t, and Jones dropped the trap at
11:15 in the morning, April 23, 1897.

Straub was buried in a little plot across the bay at Channel
Prairie, on Point Caution, where the University of Washington’s
Marine Laboratory now stands. It used to be that Friday Harbor
children would sometimes row over to visit the grave of Richard
Straub and strew wild flowers over it. Now, its location is all but
forgotten.

Official records state that twenty persons witnessed the
proceedings behind the high board fence. The records are wrong:
there were twenty-four. Apparently no one present on that grim
occasion chanced to look above the fence, up the street toward

223

aa.

Lope Panes next eastern neighbor. But he apparently did not
reside on the island for any length of time. Blakely’s first
permanent settler seems to have been another prime mover in the
boundary dispute (who also, as justice of the peace in 1860,
helped Captain Pickett clean up lawlessness: and later pioneered
San Juan’s lime industry), San Juan’s first surveyor, I. C,
Gillette. Gillette moved to the island when Hubbs decided to
forsake white ways for those of the Indians.

Gillette remained a Blakelyite until about 1889 when he sold
out to a tall, red-headed schoolmaster named Richard H. Straub,
who was destined to become the central figure in the Islands’
most celebrated episode since the Kanaka murders of 1873.

Actually, Straub had preferred a piece of land adjoining
Gillette’s, and tried to homestead it; but was beat out of it —
as he reckoned — by one J. C. Burns, a railroad man who wasn’t
even home most of the time. Burns’ place was run by his wife,
Pauline, daughter of the pioneer Lanterman family of Decatur
Island.*

There were only a handful of families on Blakely but several
of these had children, so Straub —a man of fair education —
was hired to teach them in the little log house islanders threw
up for the purpose. But bad blood between Straub and the
Lanterman clan (though Straub always professed to get along
well with the absent Burns) marred the set-up. Gradually
sentiment turned against him throughout the island, as a result
of various quarrels, until finally Pauline Burns— who was a
member of the school board — came out openly against him and
tried to get him fired.

A school election was held to decide the issue, at which Mrs.
Burns’ brother, Leon Lanterman, tried to vote. Straub exploded
* The story is told that John B. Lanterman was a stutterer as well as a
comedian. Lanterman “ran” sheep on little Frost Island between Lopez and
Blakely. Asked how many he had there he replied, “Ei-ei-eighty-four

b-b-b-bands.” When his questioner doubted so small an island could hold
that many he explained “There’s 0-0-only o--o-one sheep in each b-b-band.”

Fie i

Ly AL a Mitac eo

218

Pine =

in indignation, pointing out that Lanterman didn’t even tive on
Blakely. But the disputed vote was allowed to stand, and Straub
lost his job. After the meeting the deposed schoolkeep traded a
few insults with Lanterman and the two were on the point of a
fist-fight when they were restrained by the womenfolk present.

About this time Straub’s wife died rather suddenly of kidney
failure, thus adding to the erstwhile pedagogue’s general depres-
sion and irascibility. He had no other relatives in the region.

Late in August 1895, Lanterman and a half-brother, Ralph
Blythe, came over from Decatur to help their sister harvest the
Burns’ potato crop. Toward evening, the three were busily hoeing
when an ally of Straub’s, smooth-cheeked, seventeen-year-old
Irving Parberry, appeared in the next field and began making
himself obnoxious. In a loud voice punctuated with curses he
accused Lanterman of deliberately setting some forest fires which
had been raging over the island, and which had caused consider-
able damage to the Parberry home. Annoyed, Lanterman tossed
down his hoe and walked toward the fence to talk to the boy,
who was armed with an axe. Nearby Mrs. Burns, who had a
presentiment of the tragedy which was about to occur, watched
apprehensively. Blythe, who was farther away, began striding
toward the fence to see what was up.

He arrived on the scene to see Parberry raise his axe and take
a mighty swing at Lanterman. In the next instant, Straub leaped
up from behind a nearby log, where he had been hiding, took
aim with a rifle and put two bullets through Lanterman’s body.
Lanterman was able to turn and run a short distance toward a
clover field, at the same time calling out in anguish to his sister.

Straub quickly turned his Winchester on Ralph Blythe who
dropped to the ground just as the rifle spoke. The shot missed,
but Blythe stayed put and played dead.

“Now Ill kill you!” roared Straub to the horror-stricken
Pauline Burns, who began running zig-zag across the field to the
house as slug after slug whizzed toward her, one of them piercing

219

‘ y fa Ws Pats é l MIRVIOT G ov WU Tc
“1691 *€2 Trady uo ‘ucqgutusey facqtey Aeptag ye pesuey feqTym €*H paeyoTy “anvuls

rowed a .22 caliber revolver and went
back to the cabin.

“Bill was sitting there reading. I said
‘to him, ‘Bill, are you going to take us

on that trip?’ Bill shook his head and

said ‘No.’ That’s when I pointed the

- gun and let him have it.”

It was a weird story, and one which

the investigators: did not entirely be-'

lieve. They were convinced that the
“ride” tale was a fabrication—that Ollie
Stratton had: been in desperate need of
money to get married, and had coldly

- plotted the slaying of his friend.

head,”

“Now, about the body,” Sheriff Car-
roll said.

“Well, the bullet went through his
Stratton went on. “He was
killed instantly. I loaded the body into
Frawley’s car. I drove home and ate
dinner, leaving the body in the car,
Then I took the car over to Whidby
‘Island. I tossed the body over a cliff
into a garbage dump there.”

He stopped, looking at the - sheriff
with some awe. “I—I thought I'd got-
ten away with it.. How did you know
it was me?” -°
_ The sheriff smiled faintly. “A little
book told me, Stratton,” he said. “A
little book of Persian proverbs.”

Stratton denied loaning the book to
Frawley, or that he had taken. an idea
for ‘murder from its pages. He even
denied that he had owned such a book.
Such an ‘admission, of course, would

have shown that the crime was clearly

' premeditated and would have put the
slim young man in line for the gallows

glance over in ‘the direction of the

cabin again. He blinked at what he

' saw. There was smoke coming up, all

right—a veritable cloud of it, much

‘more than one would expect to come

from a small stovepipé. Jennings won-
dered if.something was wrong. He hur-
ried up the hillside to a point on the
ridge from which he could see the
cabin itself,

His hunch was right. Smoke was
pouring out a window at the side, and
also from the door. There was no sign
of anyone around. Jennings broke into
a run, seized the back door and jerked

“it open. The kitchen was filled with

rox

smoke and flanie. Through the murk,
Jennings could see a figure lying on
the floor near the stove. He let out a
wild yell and dashed inside. Ii was
almighty hot: in there, and the smoke
was choking, but he managed to get
hold of the body and pull it out the
door. ~ Tee

Pato He saw that it was the young woman,

‘She was clad in pa-

—something he earnestly wanted to
avoid.

Later investigation proved that the
book was unquestionably Stratton’s. A
bottle of red ink, such as had been used
to mark certain passages, -was also
found in his room.

GQ RERUF CARROLL brought his
prisoner back to Port Townsend
where, with Prosecutor William Daly
and other officials, they took a Coast
Guard cutter for Whidby Island. There,
Sheriff J. B. Kennedy of Island County
was ‘waiting for them with cars.
Following Stratton’s directions, they
drove through the wilderness until he
told them to stop at a spot where a cliff
fell down toward the sea.
“I tossed him over the cliff, right
there,” he said, looking slightly green.
At the foot of the drop was a dump
containing. old mattresses, tin cans and
parts of cars. In the midst of this rub-
bish the investigators found Frawley’s
body, in dreadful condition because of
exposure and marauding animals.
“When the body was retrieved and
Stratton gazed at his handiwork, he
tottered and fainted for a second time.

' It. was an act he was to repeat several

times during his later questioning and
his. trial.. Several officers believed he
was shamming, but it was later deter-

.mined that his blackouts were real—a

defense mechanism brought on by fear
of the hangman.

The ‘most tragic figure in the whole
affair was Stratton’s pretty fiancee.

_ KILLER’S HOLIDAY

(Continued from page 13)

jamas, part of which had burned, and |

one side of her body was blistered. It
to determine that she was dead.
Where was her husband? Although
the fire inside was not as bad as Jen-
nings expected, still the cabin was no
safe place for anyone to remain in. He
shouted at the top of his voice, and was
about to dash inside again when the
bedroom window opened and Donald
Berrigan vaulted out. He was clad only
in his underwear and his long brown

' hair was tousled.

“What happened?” he croaked. Then
he saw the body of his wife. “My God!”

‘he gasped. “It’s Marjorie!”

He knelt down beside her for a mo-
ment, then apparently realized that
nothing could be done for her. He got
to his feet. “I was sound asleep,” he
mumbled. “Then I heard you yell and

. I noticed she was gone.”

¢ , ms 4

ENNINGS MURMURED words of
sympathy, but there was work to

Sah ak

A RES = SPR

took only a couple of seconds for him .

Just at the time she had counted on
marrying Oliver Stratton, she found him
arrested and accused of a murder
which, unknown to her, was intended
to pay for their honeymoon.

“How could he do it?” she sobbed.
“Oh, he must have been temporarily
insane!”

Stratton, a good-looking young man
who had never before been in trouble,
went ‘on trial for first degree murder
on October 26, 1931. Three days later
the jury found him guilty and he was
condemned to be hanged.

He remained in his cell for a year
and a half while appeals were taken in
a vain effort to save his life. At last
the final door of escape was closed.
Stratton. knew he had to die, and he
left the following written message with
the chaplain at Walla Walla prison,
Rev. E. T. Allen:

“I, Oliver Stratton, desire to leave
this world. I have said goodbye to my
father today .. . I wish to thank all
officers for the kindness and help and
cheerfulness they have shown me dur-
ing my imprisonment here. I have the
spiritual advice and consolation of the

chaplain and feel that I am ready to”

meet my Maker with no fear what-
soever.” ; :

On July 28, 1933, not long after dawn,
Stratton walked up the stairs of the
gallows and was hanged.

Eprror’s Nore: The names Ted For-
rest and Ellen Ortell, as used in this
‘narrative, are fictitious.

do. Unless he got busy in a hurry, the
whole cabin would go up. He found
a garden hose, connected it and
sprayed the stream into the burning
kitchen, soon putting out the fire. The
blaze was confined to the room, where
it burned a hole in the asphalt-tiled
‘floor and scorched the pine-paneled
walls.

Berrigan came in just .as the last

flames were sputtering out. He seemed
like a man in a daze. es

“I slept through it all,” he said,
“Marjorie liked to get up before I did,
get the fire going and start breakfast.
The flames must have caught her pa-
jamas.”

Jennings tried to comfort him, al-
though he didn’t look quite like a man

paralyzed by grief. “It’s lucky the fire

didn’t get you too,” he said.

Berrigan shook his head. “I wish it
could have been. me instead,” he mut-
tered. “Poor Marjorie! What have I
got to live for now?”

Jennings took a last look around to

stove goi
Since we
have ha;
fire this

“You c
up?”

’ “No, si
jorie wou
SO as not

Dower
screams o

- Sergeant N

with him,
“There a
case that a

’ “Berrigan t

all. He he:
whatever, }
crept out c
kitchen to ;

“Posing, thr:

pd “=

her ~ | close to the neck. While Straub concentrated on her,
he did not notice Ralph Blythe crawl away and then sprint
toward the house for a weapon.

Mrs. Burns succeeded in reaching the house first. Believing
both her brothers were dead, she collected her small son, Percy,
and the two travelled by rowboat to a neighbor’s home a mile
distant. Meanwhile, Straub again turned his rifle on the body of
Leon Lanterman, pumping several more shots into him as he lay
prostrate at the edge of the clover field.

With Pauline Burns and Ralph Blythe free to tell their story,
Straub knew his life would not be worth much if he remained at
large on Blakely. At the trial, Parberry claimed that he, too, was
concerned for his own skin, fearing his former mentor might be
tempted to do away with a damaging witness. But in fact Straub
talked the boy into accompanying him in a bold move. Together
they launched a skiff and rowed straight to F riday Harbor, where
they surrendered themselves to Sheriff Newton Jones and were
lodged by him in the county lock-up.

Lanterman’s well-attended funeral took place on Lopez two
days later, a Sunday, and was preached by a venerable Methodist
missionary, the eloquent Isaac Dillon, whose sermon added still
more heat to the flames of passion already burning in the breasts
of an enraged citizenry. There was talk of storming the not very
substantial jail at Friday Harbor, where Straub and Parberry
were imploring Jones to remove them to a safer place. By
Monday the streets of the Harbor were filling with purposeful-
looking men, many of them newly arrived from Blakely, Lopez
and Decatur Islands.

Toward dusk there were disjointed knots of these men gathering
ominously a short distance in front of the frail little building next
to the courthouse, and their intention was altogether too clear.
But Newt Jones had a plan, too. And as the gloom congealed
into darkness, covering the approach of the angry assemblage
to the jail’s front door, Newt was spiriting his prisoners out the

220

al z

back way and into the safety of the forest. There they remained
until morning, when they reappeared at the courthouse in time
for a preliminary hearing, at which both men were bound over
for trial.

Now it was determined to transfer the two prisoners to safer
keeping at Whatcom. There was no regular vessel scheduled to
call at Friday Harbor that day, and Jones was fearful of keeping
his two charges in the local jug for another night. So he contacted
the skipper of the U.S. Revenue Launch Scout and arranged for
the secret embarkation of the prisoners at six that evening. As
that hour approached Newt Jones again whisked the two out by
the back door and smuggled them down to the waterfront, where
a deputy concealed them on a narrow ledge jutting from behind
a rough lumber fence.

Somehow word of the plan leaked out, and the two prisoners
watched — limp with fear — as an armed and noisy crowd began
collecting a mere thirty yards from their hiding place! But they
were not discovered, and the sheriff went out bravely to face the
mob, to bluff them, keep them busy until the Scout’s arrival.

But six o-clock came—and the Scout did not. Straub and
Parberry, crouching on their little platform, were dissolving into
utter panic, expecting each breath to give away their presence
and bring the whole lynching party down upon them. They had
decided to dive into the bay and swim for it when the revenue
boat — twenty minutes behind its time — hauled into view at
last. The launch had scarcely berthed when the two prisoners
swung on board her with alacrity, and collapsed shivering into
the bottom as the Scout put out again immediately for Whatcom.

Richard Straub, in those days of speedy justice, was returned to
Friday Harbor within the month to face a jury of his peers. At
the first moment his attorney moved for a change of venue,
claiming Straub could not receive a fair trial in Friday Harbor,
and citing among other things the Reverend Isaac Dillon’s

“aod Pot

THE ULTIMATUM
She pouted and goaded him on,
demanding he grab a bankroll,

ely

wh seep

Metadata

Containers:: Box 43 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 2
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Arthur Schaffer executed on 1930-08-29 in Washington (WA)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: July 6, 2019

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M. Watt Espy Papers, 1730-2008

Collection ID	apap301
Total components	25982
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Last indexed	2025-11-11

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