Massachusetts, B-C, 1796-1988

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SERMON:

DELIVERED

oo WR GE eerie WEES oleae

At SALEM, January 14; 1796,

OCCASIONED BY THE

Crecution of HENRY BLACKBURN,

@ : ON THAT DAY,

For the Surber of GEORGE WILKINSON.

BY

NATHANIEL FISHER, 4.M. ee

Rector oF SAINT PeTer’s CuurcH, SALEM.

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PUBLISHED AT THE DESIRE OF THE WARDENS AND VESTRY.

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Printed by S. Hart, in Boston, for J. DABNEY, in SALEM.

1796.


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BILLINGTON, John, White, 40, hanged Mass., 9/30/1630....

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‘oomat A FORMER WHALING vessel pitched and tossed off the But it was in the summer of 1630 that he topped all his
thot shoreline of Massachusetts, while the man in charge of the previous crimes. John Newcomin had _ arrived after the
ship contemplated the advisability of landing. The ship was the founding of Plymouth. When he approached the rebel Bill-
Mayflower; the man, Governor William Bradford. The decision ington in the interests of work and church attendance, Billing-
es in was to establish a settlement here, rather than to go on to ton was enraged.
bette Virginia, the original destination. One day the two met in the woods. Billington promptly
thout Bradford knew the technicality of a land patent could be drew bead with his musket and fired. Newcomin was unarmed
) are easily put to rights with the king. But a few Pilgrims grum- and tried to escape, seeking shelter behind the rocks and trees
Wels bled and made threats. One of’ these was John Billington, and shouting for help. But Billington, grimly disregarding the
‘ : who had boarded the ship at Southampton with his wife, commotion he was causing and the certainty of apprehension,
Eleanor, and two sons, John Jr. and Francis. He had been reloaded and stalked his enemy. Before long a bullet found
arest resentful ever since Bradford had ordered him to spank his its mark. Newcomin lay dead. i
it of son when the pesky lad had got hold of Billington’s gun and Caught red-handed, John Billington was hauled off to jail,
- fired it into the ship’s powder magazine, endangering all. charged with murder. A jury swiftly found him guilty and
omes e498 ‘ ° *
Rake It was natural for Billington to side with the others. sentenced him to be hanged. :
The governor reacted to this rebellion with his usual firm- Billington angrily declared that the colonists couldn’t hang
ness. He called the passengers together and ordered them him. There was nothing in their charter to authorize capital
to sign a compact agreeing to the founding of Plymouth punishment. That penalty could be exacted only by the
Colony and affirming their duties and obligations thereto. All king’s court in England.
signed, Billington included. All seemed willing to drop the He knew it would be impossible to hold his trial in Eng-
) controversy—Billington excepted. land. That would involve not only transporting him and the
Once they had landed, Billington profanely objected to an witnesses against him, but also providing for their families
order from Captain Miles Standish. One of the epithets he while they were absent. Under the circumstances, Billington
hurled at Standish was “Captain Shrimp.” brazenly suggested, it might be well to forget the affair.
Standish was furious. Bradford was sternly indignant. As Governor Bradford rejected this easy solution. But the
; punishment for his conduct, Billington was placed on public murderer’s arguments had raised doubts in his mind. He
p) display, his heels tied painfully to his neck. jcurneyed to Boston, where he conferred with John Winthrop,
This humiliating experience apparently produced further governor of the newly-fcunded Massachusetts Bay Colony, and
rebellion, for Governor Bradford noted in his journal Thomas Dudley, a civic leader. Both agreed that despite the
that Billington was “often punished for miscarriages.” He lack of precedent and specific charter authorization John Bill-
later added, flatly, “A knave he is and -a knave he will ington legally could be hanged by the colony—and most cer-
die.” tainly should be.
\ Billington’s offenses mounted. Three years later he was On September 30th, 1630, exactly 322 years ago, Billington

jailed for attempting to divide the colony, “religiously and
politically,” but was released due to lack of proof.

ny A

was hanged from. the scaffold at Plymouth—the first convicted
and executed murderer in America.

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‘hah 0 excouti was P(¢ th, as. hm (712 49° vari
suspected. As it wes custwmry to date executtm exacriy
days after Sentence during this period, we mey conclude ato
340 DIARY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. (1712. 1712.) DIARY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 34]

Novel [novelty]; and should not know whether any had
ibove two votes ; some others seconded me; and that was
best.

7 day, March 22.1713 Daniel Hasting waits on me;
Col. Hathorne, Mr. Corwi rin, with Cipt. Cushing set out for
Plymouth. Maj’ Gen! stays at home. Set out between
10 and 11. Din’d at Mills’s, Baited at Cushings, Got to
Job Randal’s about Sunset, where we were kindly re-
ceiv’d.

Lords Day March 23. Heard Mr. Eels.
last night and somthing this day; Thin Meeting:

2" day, March, 24. ‘The under-Sheriff, Joseph Briant,
being our Guile, we went over Bisby’s Ferry, 2’ Horse,
and Man, the North River Bridge being down. Rain’d at
our first setting out. Got comfortably to Cook’s where
we din’d. While there it Hail’d pretty much, Thunder’d,
though I heard it not. When had been there about 2
Hours, Mr. Sheriff came with his Guard. Went to Plim-
outh: Snow’d all the way. Got to Mr. Witherel’s about
4p.m. Laus Deo.

3° day, March, 25. 1712. About 10. m. Col. Thomas
arrives, and brings a Letter and Packet from Mr. Cooke
over, shewing his incapacity of attending the Court;
Viigroupon the Justices apointed Major Russel, Clark ; Mr.
Little was in doubtfull circumstances by reason of the
Gout and sickness of which was scarcely recover’d.

John Rickard, Ordinary-keeper, our quondam Landlord
dyes this day. 7

Midweek March, 26. Oyster Island is by Review Con-
firmed to Nathan and Zacheus Wicket, Indians, &c.

Hittee, an Indian Girl, found Guilty of Burning her
Master Little’s Dwellinghotied. Adjourn’d to the Meet-
inghouse by reason of the Press of people, and there the
Negro Betty was Try’d for Concealing the death of her
Rieti Child: Found Guilty.

Rain’d hard —

Be Ry a

heard upon the Prohibition to the full before Difter. Col
Thomas, Col. Byfield, Col. Otis, Capt. Cushing, being in-
vited, Din’d with us. Ministers. Col. Byfield would have
some time set for attendance next Court: I said should
not be call’d before Noon of the second day of the Court:
could not before hand fix a day.

Betty Condemn’d. Hittee’s Master pray’d she might
not be Condemn’d; was under sixteen years old. Upon
this she was rémanidéd to Prison, and the Court adjourn’d
to Six a-clock next morning.

Sixth-day, March, 28. Court met: order’d Oyster-
Island not to be sold; but the Attorney, Mr. Parker, to
represent the state of it at the next Term. Upon read-
ing Hittee’s Indenture (which was now brought), Left her
in Prison uncondemned; and order’d Col. Otis her first
master, and Major Basset, to take Affidavits concerning
her Birth. Adjourn’d sine die. Left my Statute Book
with Capt. James Warren. Came homeward; Rain’d hard
quickly after setting out, went by Mattakeese Meeting-
house, and forded over the North-River. My Horse stum-
bled, in the considerable body of water, but I made a shift,
by GOD’S Help, to sit him, and he recover’d and carried
me out. Rain’d very hard that went into a Barn awhile.
Baited at Bairsto’s. Din’d at Cushing’s. Dryed my Coat
and Hat at both places. By that time got to Braintry,

_ the day and I were in a maiier spent, and I turn’d in to

Cousin Quinsey, where I had the pleasure to see GOD in
his providence shining again upon the persons and Affairs
of the Family after long distressing Sickness and Losses,
Lodg’d in the chamber next the Brooke.'

7° day March, 29. Rode home, Mr. Rawson overtook
me and accompanied me on the Neck; Got well home

1 This old Quincy mansion is still in good preservation. ‘ The chamber
next the Brooke ’’ — which still flows, is known as Tutor Flint’s chamber.
— Eps.

March, 27. 5'" day, Col. Byfield and Mr. Valentine were He de bo WH Lead Le BP, ee

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Betty, "Negro," executed, Magsathusetté "LTL2.

ere)

WOMEN: WHC KILL, by Ann Jones; New York: Holt, Rinehart &
Winston, 1980; p 9

"'Betty,' nesro servent to Isaac winslow of

warshafield vnurged with ‘about the beginning
yi PRN roe wae. i ha ss fe, BD So ae
of October, 1711, concésledthe death of a bas

turd child born of her body & privately buried
the @nild so that 1% could: not:.dome: to tight .
whether the child was born alive or not. Desatn
Werrant issued March 2¥¢th, L7Ley...: executed at
bivmgunth, wasa.,, on #pril Tlyrigle." Lee. dtd.
Trom-tReéBee of Keg, hexbe wO0 ODtr Ime trfesasticn

personal clerk to

vuceewewall, 1712, loceted in Wa sSsachusetts

otute arCnives,

O22 om Weatial Mi amont

Betty, negro servant of Isaac Winslow of Marshfield MA. :
Executed at Plymouth in 1712. ‘

"Pursuant to this Her Majesty's writ to me directed upon Wednesday

ye 7th May 1712 between the hours of three & five tn ye afternoon
the body of the within named Bettee negro woman was carrted from

the gayl to ye place of execution & there was hanged by the neck
unttl she was dead. Par me, Isaac Lothrop, Sherrif."™

So we must change the date from April llth to May 7th.

Letter dated

4% 28, 1988, from Hearn,

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328 THE COLONIA, “{QCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS, [JAN.

The two negroes escaped tue hazards of a trial and the possible
sufferings consequent thereon, but they encountered the dangers
attendant upon even a “ vehement suspicion” of an offence or
a crime, and furnish another illustration of the readiness of our
forefathers to see that their idea of justice did not suffer though
legal conviction, under the strict requirements which they insisted
upon, might be impossible.

Cheffaleer negro servant to Tho Walker brick maker

Cheffalee® negro ‘ a iti mi th 4 .
poy pa mae now in Goale on suspition of Joyning w" marja negro
in Burning of D' Swans’ & 1 Lambs houses in

Roxbury in July last The Court on Consideration of the Case Judged
it meet to orde’ that he be kep* in prison till his master send him out
of the Country & then dischardg y® charges of Imp‘isonment w°" if he
refuse to doe aboue one moneth the Country Tresurer is to see it donn

& when y* chardges be defrajd to returne the ouerplus to y* s* walker.
The like Judgment & sentence was declard against

James Pemberttons 8 r 1 o
eegre fakinne Jame’ pembe'tons negro in all respects as agt cheffa-

leer negro &c?

Two depositions in the Case remain : —
I.

Hannah Foster aged about 29 yeares testifieth & saith, that that
very night the fire was at Roxbury, I lay at M" Walkers house in a
chamber & about Eleven or twelve aclock in night, I heard, as I supose
a negro Grumble to himself, which lay Just over my head, And I testi-
fie I did not sleep at all betwixt that time & the raine w™ I supose was
between two & three aclock in w time I heard him with his feet on
the floor, and the reason I could not sleep was bec[ause } was some-
thing afraid of him, not being used to such, and farther saith not

Taken upon Oath the 16" of 5" mo = [ ] before mee

Antuony Stopparp ComiLiss]*

Ii.

Susannah Walker adged 36 yeares Testifieth yt last munday night
weh ye fire broke out at Roxbury, little before night I went over to
our neighbour Benits, and while I was there one of my children came
to me and told me yt our negro was come home and yt he had been a
drinking and she did not care to stay at home & desired me to goe

1 This blank is in the Record.
2 Records of the Court of Assistants, ii. 138.
8 Suffolk Court Files, cexii. 26.559: 1.


1900.] THE CASE OF MARIA, 831

a new and barbarous sentence to be inferred when another mean-
ing is possible, and when there is nothing explicit in the terms
to the contrary ?

The passage from Mather’s Diary, as quoted, seems on its face
explicit, and as such to be depended on, but there is at least one
statement in it equally important and definite which, in point of
fact, is unquestionably erroneous : —

‘in one of w [houses] a child was burnt to death.”

So far as found, there is nowhere else any mention or suggestion
of such an occurrence. Nothing appearsin the Court Records or
in the papers in the Court Files; there is not even a suspicion or
@ rumor mentioned, or a scrap of positive evidence direct or indj-
rect. On the other hand, the negative evidence seems conclusive.
The indictment of Maria was not for murder, but under the law
against “firing of houses.” So were the indictments framed
against the two negroes accused by her as accomplices. But,
taking Mather’s language as it stands, it does not necessarily fol-
low that the woman was burned alive. The expression “ burnt to
death ” is common in sentences in England and in references to
them, when, unquestionably, the burning was after execution ;
and Mather, knowing this, as of course he did, may have meant
no more. ‘Then, too, the words “the 1* y’ has suffered such a
death in N. E.” are not inconsistent with the mere noting of
the first instance of the adoption of a practice or procedure
borrowed from the mother country ; otherwise, the brevity of the
statement and the absence of any comment or reflection is some-
what striking.

During the Colonial period there appear on the Court Records
now extant— those from 1648 to 1673 being missing — only two
other instances of death sentence in the case of women, one in
1638 for “the vnnaturall & vuntimely death of her daughter, . . .
to bee hanged;”! and one in March, 1643-44, ** condemned to
death” for adultery. In 1691, sentence was ordered for infan-
ticide,? but was not pronounced till 1693,— in the days of the

1 Massachusetts Colony Records, i. 246.

* Whitmore’s Biographical Sketch of the Laws of the Massachusetts Colony,
lxii.

8 Records of the Court of Assistants (1673-1692), ii. 262.

* Records of the Superiour Court of Judicature, under date of 25 April, 1693.

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830 THE COLONIAL SOCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS, [JAN.

to “be hanged by the necke till you be dead”; and that against
the two negroes as appears above in the Records.

What is there to give rise to any question, or to lead to the
opinion that the woman was actually burned alive ?

A passage in the Diary of Increase Mather has been cited to
support that opinion; and, apparently, it is the only contempora-
neous reference to the case. The passage is as follows : —

[1681. September] 22. There were 3 persons executed in Boston
An Englishman for a Rape. A negro man for burning a house at
Northampton & a negro woman who burnt 2 houses at Roxbury July
12 —in one of w™ a child was burnt to death. The negro woman was
burned to death — the 1" y‘ has suffered such a death in N, E.

It occurs among the extracts from Mather’s Diary made by Dr.
Belknap a century ago, and now in the possession of the Massa-
chusetts Historical Society, and is here copied verbatim from his
manuscript. The extracts were printed in the Report of Mr.
Charles Deane on the Belknap Donation.! The original Diary is
not now to be found. In those portions of the Diary, so called,
now in the Library of the American Antiquarian Society, the only
entry for that particular date is a memorandum of what Mather
had been reading that day. The 1681 entries are the only ones
covered by the interleaved almanacs, and Dr. Belknap would seem
to have copied from some more elaborate record, selecting perhaps
such items here and there as interested him.

Cotton Mather’s Diary in the Library of the Massachusetts His-
torical Society, contains no entries between the nineteenth of Sep-
tember and the first of October of that year; and no other diaries
have been found containing any allusion to the matter.

Setting aside any legal interpretation of the sentence pro-
nounced against Maria, to be considered hereafter, is there, upon
its face, anything to indicate, necessarily or naturally, a direction
that she was to be burned at the stake while alive? The sentence
is to “be burnt,” not to “be burnt to death,’ — to be taken * to
to the place of execution & there be burnt.” Is it a forced
interpretation, that the burning was to come after the execution,
and is not this construction strengthened by the clause in Jack’s
sentence, “burnt to ashes in the fier w'® Maria negro”? Is

1 1 Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society for March, 1858,
iii, 317-320.

2S RA RI RE at


ae
1900.] THE CASE OF MARIA. ra 329

Bibi,

home accordingly I did in a little time after & when I ce: > home she
told me he was gon up to bed, then I seeing a Cumbustion or quarrill-
ing w'" the Indians before our doore I went out, then I saw the Negro
looke out at the garrett window and call out & ask what the matter
was w' the Indians, then I went In and I hard him come doune, nor
saw him come downe no more that night, and it was about eleven or
twelve a clock when we went to bed and farther sayth not.

This is the whole of the tragic story of Maria, so far as the
Court Records are concerned. A question of some interest which
has been raised is, Was she burned alive, — was the punishment
of burning alive at the stake inflicted on a negro woman in
Massachusetts in 1681 ?

The communications referred to all assume that such was the
fact, but the evidence on which their authors rely, —a reference
to the matter by Increase Mather, and another by Cotton Mather
—seems wholly inconclusive, and the inference drawn there-
from is by no means justified. Contemporary information is
meagre, if, in fact, it is not wholly wanting. The Court Record
upon the precise point is silent; but it shows the issuing of the
order for execution on the fourteenth of September, 1681: —

The Court ordered that the Secretary? Issue out his warrants to the
marshall Gennerall* for the three Condemned prisone's
execution on the next lecture day presently after the
lecture according to their Sentenc’*

(14 Sept 81)

There is no return, as is frequently found, of the carrying out
of the sentence and the precise mode of execution.

Three offenders, as appears by the record, — the two negroes
Maria and Jack, for their respective felonies, and a third, a white
man, for another crime — were tried at the same sitting of the
Court of last resort, and were executed on the same day, shortly
after the trials. The sentence pronounced against the last was

1 Suffolk Court Files, cexii. 26.559: 6.

2 Edward Rawson.

* This was John Green of Cambridge who was appointed to office 3 June,
1681 (Massachusetts Colony Records, y. 322) as successor to Edward Mitch-
elson (see ante, iii~454) whose daughter Ruth he had married. During the
Usurpation, 3 was superseded in office (1687) by Samuel Gookin, but
was re-instated 15 August, 1689, He died 3 March, 1690-91. (See Paige's
History of Cambridge, pp. 567, 568, 610.)

* Records of the Court of Assistants, ii. 139,

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Medica] Examiner Timothy Leary had finished with his pre-
liminary examination and ordered the body removed for an
autopsy at the morgue. Dr. Leary found no evidence of any
attempt to commit a sexual crithe. But he confirmed our own
impression that the murder had been committéd with extra-
ordinary ferocity. The girl’s jaw was broken and several other
bones in the face and head. It was the medical examiner’s
opinion that she had been fearfully beaten on the face and head
with some heavy, blunt instrument, in addition to being at-
tacked with knives.

The girl’s body was attired in an aprop-like dress, which
we found that she customarily wore while at work in the bake-
shop. The missing shoe, dropped several feet from the body,
confirmed the evidence of a desperate battle for life indicated
by overturned articles of merchandise near the end of the
counter. Ethel’s outdoor garments were neatly arranged in
their usual place. The fact that her pocketbook had not been
tampered with, or the cash drawer looted and left open, seemed
to dispute any theory of robbery as a motive.

io, CRERINT ERD EE KING was inclined to think that it
was a one-man crime committed by a rejected suitor, or
someone who was interested in the young and pretty girl sen-
timentally and had been actuated by jealousy or a desire for
revenge.

Toward daylight we had begun to locate persons who had
visited the bake-shop during the evening of Ethel Zucker-
man’s tragic death, and her parents were able to answer some
of our questions. Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman were positive that
she had no love affairs and no serious boy friends. They
stated that the girl was working and saving her money for the
purpose of gaining a college education, and showed little
interest in dances, theaters, and the ordinary boy-and-girl
affairs of the present younger generation. Other members of
the Zuckerman family, Clara, who was sixteen years old,
Aaron, thirteen, and Irving, eight-year-old baby of the house-
hold, recalled nothing about any attentive male acquaintance
of their elder sister’s, or anyone with whom she had quarrelled
or who had shown dislike for her.

But they remembered that she had occasionally spoken about
some young man as “Dicky” and believed that he was some-
one she had met while the Zuckermans were living in the West
End section of Boston. They said they did not know his Jast
name or his address, and that Ethel could not have been seri-
ously interested in him because when they had talked about
moving back to the West End, Ethel had objected with the
remark: “I don’t want to move there because Dicky lives
there.”

Did this mean that Ethel Zuckerman had had trouble with
the mysterious ‘‘Dicky”’ or was in fear of him? We had to find
and question him, and squads of detectives were dispatched to
comb the West End neighborhood where the Zuckerman family
formerly had resided, and to dig out every one of her girl
friends that could be located in the hope of getting some
shred of information which might prove to be of possible value.

Back in the bakery on Harrison Avenue, no time had been
Jost in interviewing the bakers at work in the basement. There
were four of them: Harry Klayman and Solomon Davis of
Roxbury, and Barnett Pomerantz and Peter Goldwarz of
Mattapan. They appeared to be honest, industrious fellows,
sincerely distressed by the calamity that had befallen the young
woman who had been their fellow employee. The four were
positive that they had seen or heard nothing at all suspicious
during the evening, and pointed out that the din of the dough-
mixing apparatus was so great that loud voices or even a vio-
lent struggle in the bakeshop could not have been heard in the
basement where they had been at work. All appeared to be
definitely eliminated from any possible suspicion by one
another’s alibis, as they agreed none had been out of sight of
the others for more than a minute or two at any time during
the evening since coming to work.

One of the four bakers furnished what might develop into an
important clue, however, when he recalled that around ten
o'clock he had to run up to the bakeshop a moment and saw
a middle-aged man at the counter talking to Miss Zuckerman.
He said he gave the man only a casual glance and his descrip-
tion was not much more than the stranger looked as if “he
might be a foreigner.”

What looked like a real break came only about three hours
after the police investigation started. At two o’clock in the
morning a young man walked into Boston City Hospital, not
very far from the murder scene, and (Continued on page 7S)

25

These leads were run down and event-
ually led to the home on Wall Street of
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Foti and their five

children. One of the latter was Dominic
Foti, twenty-two-vear-old youth, known
to some of his acquaintances as Dick
Brown, But Dominic was not there. Nor
was he found at a relative’s place of busi-
ness in the Charlestown district. His
description, slim, dark complexion, rather
good-looking, had been broadcast, so the
general public now knew that he was
wanted by the police for questioning in
connection with the Zuckerman atrocity.

That evening, while the police drag-net
was still covering the entire city and
its environs, a dapper youth walked into
Police Headquarters "accompanied by
three friends. He announced that he was
the wanted man and had come to sur-
render himself for questioning. He was
rushed to the Warren Avenue police sta-
tion. He appeared calm and quite self-
possessed. Commissioner Hultman and
his legal adviser assisted me in a search-
ing examination. In seeming frankness
and apparently more disturbed over the
tragic fate that had overtaken the girl
with whom he had. been friendly than
about his own predicament, young Foti
denied having any part in the slaving or
knowing anything about the circum-
stances attending it.

“T WOULDN'T do that to her,” he pro-

tested. “I couldn't. We had been
friendly about a year. I liked her and ad-
mired her and I think that she liked me.
Then she decided to end our friendship
because of religious differences. She was
Jewish and attended the Synagogue. I am
an Italian and go to St. Joseph’s Church.
I took it like a good sport. That was
about a month ago. I haven’t seen her
since. Yes, I sent her the Christmas
card. It was just to remind her that I
was still thinking about her.”

It was brought out that the couple
had become friendly before Miss Zuck-

erman’s graduation from high — school,
while she was working as a part-time
usher at the old Opera House in the

South End where Foti was plaving in the
orchestra. He offered an alibi for the
murder night and stuck to it during long
questioning. He said he had been at
home all the evening, playing cards with
his family until about nine-thirty, then
a favorite radio program was tuned in,
after which the entire household retired
to bed.

Five hours of questioning left him un-
shaken, collected and confident. From
time to time I had been quietly sending
out officers to check up important details
of his statement. Long after midnight I
ordered him locked up for the night, al-
though the reports coming: in from my
men did not conflict with his statements.
The statements secured from the mem-
bers of his family confirmed his claimed
alibi in every detail. However, I ex-
pected that.

Later that day, after a check-up of
the most thorough sort had been com-
pleted, we had to release the young man
from custody. He had been eliminated
from any connection whatever with the
case, and obviously could not have been
the cause of jealousy in recent weeks on
the part of anyone else. In every quarter
we investigated he had been characterized
as a clean-living, industrious youth, with
no bad habits, and very ambitious to be-
come through hard work a famous musi-
cian. He took his detention like a good
sport, saying as he departed for home:
“IT only wish I could help you all.”

Wheldon, the “stale bread man,” also

had eliminated himself with a straight-
forward story we were unable to contra-

True Detective Mysteries 79

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It pat you no more fo enjoy the ;

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the QUALITY gem


True Detective Mysteries

Truth About Massachusetts’ Zuckerman Horror

asked to have a bad fresh cut on _ his
hand dressed. Officers were watching the
hospitals, as it seemed quite likely that
the killer had been marked up and per-
haps cut in the death struggle; that his
clothing was perhaps torn and certainly
blood stained. So when the youth’s
wounded hand had been treated, he was
hustled to the South End police station
on Warren Avenue, searched and required
to give an account of himself. Fortu-
nately for him, he had a sound alibi which
withstood careful checking, and the blood-
stains he bore were well explained by his
own wound. So he was eliminated from
further suspicion in the Zuckerman mur-
der. I mention this incident merely to
illustrate the great thoroughness with
which every possibility was being covered
and probed by our department. ;

Medical Examiner Leary’s expert opin-
ion confirmed our belief that the clothing
and probably the face and hands of the
murderer would reveal telltale evidence.
He said that it was clear that Miss Zuck-
erman, although a diminutive type of
girl, shy and quiet according to friends,
family and employer, had put up a terrific
battle for her life. “It was one of the
most brutal murders I ever have been
called in on,” Dr. Leary declared. “This
little girl must have surprised her as-
sailant by her courage and strength. She
fought him tooth and nail for her lie.
The beating she suffered was terrible.”

In support of this opinion, the famous
medical expert called attention to severe
bruises and cuts on the girl’s arms and
hands, fractures of both upper and lower
jaw and of the skull, the broken nose,
teeth knocked out—injuries he stated had
been inflicted before Ethel Zuckerman
was at last thrown on her back and fin-
ished with a tremendous knife thrust
through her neck into the floor. He
thought that the cross cut on her forehead
also might have been inflicted before the
fatal stab that finished her. Besides the
extensive blood-stain on the floor where
the victim had expired, there were spat-
ters of blood here and there around the
open telephone near the rear end of the
pastry counter where the fearful battle
ended. The possible significance of this
is clear. It might mean that Ethel Zuck-
erman was struck down when she rushed
to the telephone to call for help. And
Mr. Bikofsky had told us about Ethel’s
telephoning him to pacify the irate stale-
bread customer about ten o'clock, the
very hour named by one of the bakers
as the time he had noticed a stranger in
the shop alone with the girl.

E had found four big knives in the
bakeshop, including the two I already
have mentioned, but Dr. Leary did not
think that they were heavy enough or
blunt enough to have caused the injuries
inflicted by crushing blows on the unfor-
tunate girl’s face and head. But a pains-
taking search of the premises and the,
entire neighborhood failed to produce a
suitable heavy, blunt weapon showing
traces of blood.
Another disappointment was the dis-
covery that because of atmospheric con-
ditions in the bakery at the time of the
murder, finger-prints had become blurred
bevond deciphering. No prints of any
real value could be brought out on the
wooden handles of the bread knives, on
the counters, on the cash regisfer, or any-
where in the shop that the murderer
might have touched something.
So at dawn of the morning after the
murder, and while squads of detectives

(Continued from page 25)

were striving to ferret out the much-
wanted “Dicky” and running down other
angles, I concentrated on finding the
stale-bread customer. Our records at Po-
lice-Headquarters of licensed cab drivers
—Mr. Bikofsky had said he thought this
man was a cab driver or a former cab
driver—include photographs and _finger-
prints. These records were carefully
checked and only one card was found
with a picture and description that seemed
to fit the possible suspect sought. The
taxi driver referred to was quickly located
and questioned, but he satisfied us he
knew ‘nothing about the case and _ his
alibi was air-tight.

Our efforts to contact all customers who
had. visited the bakeshop during the eve-
ning of the crime were beginning to bring
results. One of these was Miss Lillian
Robotnich, who said she had dropped in
about eight o’clock and remained a few
moments to chat with Ethel, whom she
had known for five years and regarded
as a wonderful girl. She reported that her
friend was then in her usual cheerful
frame of mind and certainly in fear of

- nothing. All she could tell about any

male acquaintances of Miss Zuckerman
was this: “Ethel had no steady boy
friend. Occasionally I saw her with a
boy, but in all the years I have known
her she never went out steadily with any-
one you could call a sweetheart.”

HE customers I particularly desired to

question were those who had _ visited
the bakery during the hour immediately
preceding the discovery of the murder by
Bessie Stern and Alec Polihronis. And
presently one turned up in the person of
George Maloof, a resident of the neigh-
borhood, who stated that he had gone to
the shop to buy cake at 9:45 p. mM. and
that he had seen there then “the man
who comes in to buy all the stale
bread.”

Maloof’s story of what he had seen or
heard about this man, cross-checked with
further information Mr. Bikofsky was
able to supply when he had recovered
somewhat from the first shock of the
tragedy in his place of business, gave us
some pretty good clues to the identity of
the “stale-bread man.” By noon of that
day I had his name and address. Accom-
panied by Inspectors William Goulston,
Benjamin Goodman and Frank Donovan,
I hurried to a house on Sherman Street,
Roxbury, to pick up John Wheldon, who
resided there with his wife and children.

Mrs. Minnie Coombs, who helped the

the detectives in identifying the per-

petrator of Boston’s most brutal
crime

SS ee

Wheldon readily admitted that he was
a regular customer at the Bikofsky bak-
ery, buying stale bread at a two-cents-a-
loaf discount for his brother’s chickens,
and that he was the man who had been
there the previous evening to make such
a purchase. But he denied knowing any-
thing more about the murder than what
he had read in the newspapers. He of-
fered no objection when I suggested that
he accompany us to the police station.
His bearing was that of a man who had
nothing to fear.

UESTIONED at the Warren Avenue

police station in the presence of Su-
perintendent King and the Police Com-
missioner then commanding the depart-
ment, Eugene C. Hultman, Wheldon
quietly accounted for himself during the
entire previous evening. He had bought
ten loaves of bread, and we found them
at the regular place he said he had left
them. Close scrutiny of his clothing re-
vealed no bloodstains, and there were no
blood-stained garments found in his home.
His face, hands and person showed none
of the telltale marks we expected to find
on the murderer. Wheldon insisted that
he had left Miss Zuckerman alive and un-
harmed in the shop when he departed
with a pleasant “goodnight,” carrying his
bundle of cut-price bread. It was decided
to detain him while officers were rushed
out in police cruisers to check up every
detail of his story.

Another tip had come to us from Max
Max, a neighbor of the Zuckermans and
a regular patron of the bakery. He said
that he had noticed a stranger loitering
outside the bakery, and placed the time
at about the same time claimed by Whel-
don that he had departed with his bread.
Max’s attention was attracted because it
seemed odd that anyone should loiter
there on such a cold and storming eve-
ning. His description was not that of
Wheldon.

In the meanwhile a peculiar thing had
intensified our interest in the unknown
“Dicky.” The morning mail had brought
to the Zuckerman home a Christmas card
addressed to Miss Ethel Zuckerman.
Penned upon the card was this message:

“Sending greetings

And wishing

too
The very best things
In the world
for you!
Dick
Merry Christmas to You.”

This card had been mailed, according
to the postmark, at one-thirty the previ-
ous afternoon, more than eight hours
before the time we believed Ethel Zuck-
erman to have been slain. We wanted
“Dick” badly; and our squads of detec-
tives, working under pressure combing
the West End and interviewing every ac-
quaintance of Miss Zuckerman they could
locate, were beginning to get results. One
young woman friend of the murdered girl
recalled that Ethel had mentioned
“Dicky” as Dick Brown and mentioned
that he played a saxophone in an or-
chestra. Another had met the youth and
believed that “Dick Brown” was only a
professional name, that his real name was
quite different and that he was of Italian
ancestry. She thought he resided some-
where in the West End and that some-
times, when demand for the orchestra
was slack, he worked at a place of busi-
ness in Charlestown owned by his rel-
atives,

TI
ually
Mr.
child
Foti
to s
Brow

Was !
ness
desc
good.
gene)
want
conn
Th
Was
its e1
Polic
three
the
rend
rush
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posse
his |r
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and
tragi
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deni
know
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te
frien
mires
Then
bees
Jewls
an It
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about
since
card,

ermal
while
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South
orche-
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questi
home
his 1
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after
to be
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shaker
time 1
out of
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orders
thoug!
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The s
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Late
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Whe
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forwar


body had been found. The bereaved mother went into a complete
collapse after one horrified glance. But her frantic outcries
told the story of her instant recognition. “It’s Ethel!” gasped
the father. “Who—who—did it? Why—why—should any-
one harm her? She was a good girl; she was kind to ,every-
one. Who did it?”’ He glared around the bakeshop in a frenzy
of grief. His tightly clenched fists raised, he gasped again:
“Who did it? Where is he?”

Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman were restrained from throwing
themselves down by the body of their murdered child, and
taken to their home to recover from the terrible shock before
being questioned.

Besides the positive identification of the victim as Ethel
Zuckerman, this interruption Jed to the prompt identification
of Bessie Stern and Alexander Polihronis as the ones who had
discovered the crime. The two young folks were quickly lo-
cated and questioned. Their stories, the substance of which I
already have related, cast little light on the mystery except to
place the time of the crime as previous to 10:50 p.m. Meanwhile,
we had men scouring the neighborhood to locate any customers
who had visited the bakery before the body was found by
Bessie and Alex.

Benjamin Bikofsky, one of the proprietors, was summoned
from his home, where he was found alseep to be ready to go to
work at four o’clock in the morning. Told what had happened,
he appeared to be greatly shocked and unable at first to fur-
nish any helpful information. He suggested that robbers might
have done it, and desired to inspect the contents of the cash
register to see if money was missing in confirmation of the
theory that hold-up men might have murdered his girl olerk.
But this could not be permitted until our police experts had
time to complete their search for finger-prints. The killer’s
prints might be found on the keys or drawer of the cash register.
Mr. Bikofsky explained that he had instructed Ethel Zucker-
man never to offer any resistance in case of a stick-up, and that
hence he could not understand why she should have been slain
for this reason if she had obeyed his definite instructions.
Furthermore, we found the girl’s pocketbook containing a
small amount in bills and change and showing no evidence of
any tampering.

Mr. Bikofsky then recalled that after he had retired that
evening, he believed the time was around ten o’clock, Ethel
Zuckerman had telephoned him that a customer who came in
regularly to buy stale bread was there and kicking because
she had no stale bread to sell him. The bakeshop man said
that he understood this customer to be a cab driver, or a former
cab driver, who was buying the stale bread at two cents a loaf
under the fresh bread price to be used for feeding chickens.

M® BIKOFSKY stated that he had left the shop early
because of the quiet business caused by the stormy eve-
ning, and that he had instructed Ethel not to telephone him
unless something really important made it necessary, as he
had to be up so early in the morning he needed all his rest.
So when she did call, he explained, he supposed that the irate
customer was making something of a scene. Mr. Bikofsky
said that he told Ethel to give the man fresh bread at the stale
bread price, and that was all he knew about it.

We were instantly eager to identify and locate this stale
bread buyer, both because he was a possible suspect and be-
cause it was necessary to interview everyone: who had been in
the place of business shortly before the crime was committed.
This was one of many angles we had to cover, and cover fast.
Newspapermen who had flocked to the scene were requested to
co-operate by publishing an appeal for all who had visited the
bakeshop that fatal evening to come forward immediately
with any information they could give.

Superintendent of Police Martin King, aroused at his home
with the news of the mysterious murder, was quickly at the
scene with Inspector Harry Pierce, veteran of the homicide
squad and a son of a former ‘Boston police superintendent.
We had noticed that the last transaction recorded on the cash
register was a ‘‘No Sale.” As soon as the finger-print men had
finished with their work, the cash register was opened and Mr.
Bikofsky permitted to make an examination of the contents.
He thought that the cash was short about $8.95, but this
could not be definitely established. Did the “No Sale”’ trans-
action last registered mean that someone had asked Ethel
Zuékerman to change a bill, and, if so, did this incident figure
in the crime? We needed a lot more information before we could
answer such questions.

The motive for the murder still remained a mystery when

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brutally ‘slain. ad
crushed-with a single blow...A long-
handled’ knife had been run through
her throat, the pbint:pinning her body
to the floor’ And on her forehéad ap-
peared a scarlet cross, obviously made
‘with the same sharp blade.

it was Bessie Stern, a 17-year-old
girl, who discovered the body. Bes-
sie entered the bakery to make a pur-
chase. - She found no-one at the coun-
ter, and she called out.. She knew
Ethel well. She called again. Silence.
Puzzled, the girl turned to leave. It
was only by a mere chance that she
noticed the foot protruding from be-
hind the counter. She’ could-not see
the face of the prostrate’ figure, but
she knew there was something radi-
cally wrong. She ran into the ‘street
and yelled for help. A youth heard
her cries, and ran over to her. “What’s
the trouble?” he asked.

“There’s a girl—in that. bakery
there,” Bessie said,- Eeene “Some-
thing's happened to her. I don’t know
exactly ...” ti
. The youth studied the zgirl’s excited
face. “Let’s see what it is,” he said.

He entered the bakery with Bessie.
— latter pointed to the ‘protruding
‘oot. :

“Maybe-she’s fainted,” the ead
fellow said. “Maybe we can help—”

As he was talking, he was peering
over the counter. He cut off his speech
abruptly, and gasped. ; »

“Don’t look!” he told Bessie, con-
siderately. “Let's get out of here.”

He led the girl out into the rainy
street, then raced to a police box and
yanked‘ the alarm. e and Bessie
waited in the rain. They didn’t want
to go back into that store. i

Within a few minutes a patrol wag-
on anda radio prowl car from: the
Warren Street station braked to a stop.
in front ofthe bakery. Two patrol-
men stepped from the radio car. The
youth ran to meet them. “There’s a
girl dead in there!”
thes bakery. “Murdered, seems like.
There’s a knife stuck in her. throat.
This young girl here was in there and
came out and told—”

The officers waited to hear. no more.
They ran intg:the bakeshop, looked
down at the prostrate girl. “Murder
is right!” one of them said. “And
what a murder! Must be a phone
here,” he said to his brother. officer.
“Call Homicide.” "

The other policeman ran over to

‘the phone, noticed that the receiver
was dangling from the hook. The
wire -was broken, too. “The girl-must
have tried to phone for help,” he said.
“Wait.a second. I’ll phone from next
door, or somewhere around here.”

He found a telephone just across the
street and put in his call. Within a
few minutes. the neighborhood was

. alive with uniformed policeman and

plain-clothes men. But there was no
trace of the murderer, and no real

clue as to his identity, so far as the :

police could :discover. He .had com-
mitted. a revolting crime’and had
ay into the vast anonymous

rf

Her, “skullhad” been <:

He pointed to.

mass of the large city of Boston. Per-

haps he was nearby, ‘hiding in some
rabbit warren of a room in this
crowded district. Perhaps he was on
his way to his home or his room in
one of the cities and towns so near
to n—a collection of towns hold-
ing well over two million population.
Anyhow, he was gone. And the Bos-
ton police had a murder mystery on
their hands—one of the most bizarre
me Sang cases in the history of the
city.

APTAIN JAMES CLAFLIN, in
charge of the Warren Avenue sta-

tion, and Lieutenant-Inspector Harry
L. Pierce, of the Homicide Detail, lost
many hours of sleep during the days
and weeks following the murder of
Ethel Zuckerman. ston, for all its
culture, for all its Watch and Ward
Society, had some tough sections, and
this South End section was one of
them.
~“We sure got a job ahead of us,”
Captain Claflin said grimly.

Homicide Expert Pierce nodded,
and compressed his lips. “Yeah—we
and every man on the force,” he
agreed. “The newspapers’ll be after
us. Maybe after'you, particularly, in
this section. But we can’t let that get
our goat. We got to keep plugging.”

The newspapers did get after them.
Preachers spoke to their congregations
of the necessity of cleaning up the
South End. And Claflin and Pierce
and every man on the Force kept plug-
ging. -
Claflin: worked his men hard. He
pressed into service every officer in his
district. The order went out: “No
more days off until this crime is
solved.” -More than 60 detectives from

the Bureau of Investigation were de-.

tailed to the case. Some of these were

,among the ace detectives of New Eng-

land, and of the entire country, for
that matter.

In a little over an hour more than
a dozen possible suspects were gath-
ered in and questioned at the Warren
Street station. Radio cars combed the
streets of the section, picking up every
suspicious person. Patrolmen made a
house-to-house canvass of the South
End, trying to locate anyone who had
seen a man enter the Harrison Avenue
bakeshop that night.

The bakers at the Harrison Street
establishment were questioned. There
were four of them. But they had been

at their work in the-basement during’

all the excitement.. They looked up
with surprise on their sweaty faces as
a detail of -patrolmen and’ detectives
marched in and told them to put on
their hats and coats and come to the
Warren Street stationhouse for ques-
tioning.

Captain Claflin and a detail of de-
tectives studied the murder scene.
Their first disappointment came when

‘they failed to find even a single finger-

print. The killer had even wiped off
the handte of the knife..
Claflin gazed down at the odd mark

‘on the forehead of the girl. ‘“That’s a
s,” he said, “I >

ed cros:

; 3

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But Ethel wasn’t
so long as it Was
landed a position
oston’s South End.
stay through until
s, but Ethel didn’t
srred them, for it
better job during

THE SHOP—
Ethel Zuckerman worked here to:get funds for her
higher education. And it was here she was slain.

mplete satisfaction
was a real favorite
me.

“You want to be
—especially those
id her. But Ethel
ened to her. She
yvork well. No one
iittle by little, the
; being put by.
scember 20th, 1933,
aued on page 68).

nd’s

It wus a kiss that he gave a
girl more than a year after he
murdered another young girl that

ce this bizarre Boston case!

MILLER F. CLARK—
Though much older than Miss Zucke
the police he had asked her to beco

beh 49


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‘wonder if it was meant to.be just that: 4

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- Probably the most trying detail of
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e sad
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Fallon had seen much of sorrow,
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sonal effects. Every. available letter “%
written to-her by a friend or admirer
had to: be read. Any one of them |
might possibly furnish a clue.

Not one of them did, though. And*
meanwhile the brutal and fanatical
murderer was probably getting far-
ther and farther away. The Boston po-
lice were up against a tough case.

ARI Medical Examiner Timothy
Leary had completed his post-
mortem on the slain girl he made the
announcement that she had died in-
stantly. “From all appearances,” he
said, “she was struck a terrific blow,
obviously with some blunt instrument.

head. If not killed instantly, and I
think she was, she was rendered un- ,
conscious by that one blow and wasn’t ~
aware of the knife thrust that severed
her jugular vein: This cut with the
knife, of course, would in itself have
caused immediate death.” ’
Meanwhile, the police continued .
their round-up of possible suspects. /
Gambling houses, speak-easies, houses . 2
were =
raided for suspects and inmates taken’ |,
to headquarters for questioning. The
Boston: cops had their “dander” up.
They worked ceaselessly, day after
day. Two weeks passed. The lice {
plugged harder than ever. An still
no result. ' : : |
eet months passed. Then, : ‘in...
April, after the winter’s snow had
melted away, a pair of boys walking
through a clump of woods. in Rayn- ;
ham, a small town about 30 miles from
Boston, found a bloodstained jacket of
the type worn by farmers in that sec~-
tion. Eventually, the jacket was turned
over to the Boston police. It was a
sensational development when inves-
tigation brought out‘the fact that the
jacket belonged to the murdered girl’s
uncle, Joseph Abrams. Abrams had
not been on the best of terms with .
Ethel’s family for years, the investiga-
tors learned. He was detained by the -
police.
Abrams was known as a man of
spotless character and orderly, habits, -
and also had an alibi which placed him’
in the home of friends in Brockton, a |
city near his home, at the time of the. 4
crime. He had worn the jacket while
killing chickens, he explained, and
naturally it had become bloodstained.
Yet this man could not be overlooked
by the police, and he was questioned
until he was almost a nervous wreck.
He had to be placed in a hospital for
treatment. After a short time, he was
released. : { :
. Asecond suspect, also aman of good
character, was Dominic Foti, a neigh- -4
bor of the slain girl. He had been a“)
rejected suitor of the slain Ethel. Foti, ~
too, was quenicoes for hours., .But he
“was finally: able to, ;

~

that he was enjo

time Ethel Zucke

was released.
Two more disa

police. They w
nowhere. Yet
along.

Three month}
there was nothin
papers about th
Zuckerman trag¢
flashed over the
York City that
year-old sadist a
confessed the b
Grace Budd, the
wich Village sch
committed back i)
sensational and
over the front p

ewspapers in th

Here was too ;
look. Might not
have been™in Bo
the Ethel Zucke:
was a possible so
cross” murder m:

Sergeant Fallo
City at once. Fo
the vile old kille:
ters. But while.
had attacked anc
York schoolgirl,
nothing to do wi
man case. He |:

‘had ever been i
* One more hope

The spirits of EF
dropped to a new

T was a year <
Ethel Zucker)
rally, on the ann
the policemen ta

WHI
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that wil

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ant to be just that:
‘ht be an addition-
<on. We'll round °
the section who is

m a religious ma- ©

it trying detail of
i to Sergeant Wil- - ”
five detectives he 1

: the slain girl. It

o break the sad | |

The parents, half-
ollapsed,-and had

much of sorrow,
by the scene, yet
to go coolly about
urdered girl’s per-
y available letter”

friend or admirer «

‘ny one of them
ish a clue.

did, though. And”
tal and fanatical
ably getting far-
iy. The Boston po-
: a tough case.

ixaminer Timothy
ape his post-
irl he made the
‘é e had died in-
appearances,” he
>k a terrific blow,
unt instrument.
t side of her.
tantly, and I
S rendered un-
1e blow and wasn’t
hrust that severed
This cut with the
yuld in itself have
leath.”
police continued .
possible suspects.
veak-easies, houses
reputation were
and inmates taken™
questioning. i
neir “dander”
pe day stan
assed. The police

n ever. An still

passed. Then, in.
winter’s snow had
r of boys walking
f woods in .
bout 30 miles fr
»dstained seeker; of
irmers in that sec-
- jacket was turned .
police. It was a
ment when inves-
tthe fact that the
he murdered girl’s
ums. Abrams had
est of terms with .
>ars, the investiga-

aa

a

o,

re

| | WHICH OF THESE
| INTERESTS Za MOST?

a

as detained by the: — |

wn as a man of
nd orderly habits, -
i which placed him ‘\
nds in Brockton, a

at the time of the 4

n the jacket while
.e explained, and
come bloodstained.
not be overlooked
ae was questioned
a nervous wreck.

a hospital for 4
t time, he was 4

2

also aman of good

inic Foti, a neigh- -\¥

|. He had been a
e slain Ethel. Foti,

for hours. .But he’ j

» prove his.story ~

wat

that he was enjoying a movie at the
time Ethel Zuckerman was killed. He
was released.

Two mére disappointments for the

police. They were getting exactly
nowhere. Yet they kept plugging
along. ‘

Three months more passed, and
there was nothing more in the news-
papers about the sensational Ethel
Zuckerman tragedy—until the news
flashed over the tetetype from New
York City that Albert H. Fish, 66-
year-old sadist and sex monster, had
confessed the brutal butchering of
Grace Budd, the 10-year-old Green-
wich ee schoolgirl. The crime,
committed back in 1928, had been most
sensational and had ‘been splashed
over the front pages. of most of the

ewspapers in the nation.

Here was too good a lead to over-
look. Might not this degenerate sadist:
have been“in Boston on the night of
the Ethel Zuckerman murder? Here
was a possible solution of the “scarlet
‘cross’ murder mystery.

Sergeant Fallon left for New York
City at once. For hours he questioned
the vile old killer in Police Headquar-
ters. But while Fish admitted that he
had attacked and butchered the New
York schoolgirl, he insisted he had
nothing to do with the Ethel Zucker-
man case. He even denied that he

“had ever been in the city of Boston.
‘One more hope of solution dashed.

The spirits of Boston police officials
dropped to a new low.

[? was a year after the night of the
Ethel Zuckerman murder. Natu-
rally, on the anniversary of the crime,
the —— talked about it among

Thempelver

pas
“They. ‘were still Search
ing for Ethel’s killer—searching fu-

ely. “If we could only get one
breakin this case!” Captain Claflin ex-
claimed in a talk with another police
official.

It came just two days later—on the
night of December 22, 1934. A rather
thickset woman entered the Warren
Avenue station, came over to the desk.
She seemed nervous. —~

“Is there anyone here that I can
talk to about the Zuckerman case?”
she asked.

Desk Clerk Joseph Harrington
looked her over calmly. A year ago,
even months ago, that question would
not have left him calm. But he and
his associates had listened during the
peat months to entirely many stories,

rom “nuts” and gossips and publicity-
seekers and amateur detectives and
others who claimed to have “some in-

side information on the Zuckerman ,

case” to be much excited. He called
the officer in charge, Lieutenant Wil-
liam Donavan.

HE woman said that her name was

Mary Tillman, that she was a wid-
ow, was 45 years old and had one
child. She ran a lod ing house on
Lovering Street, in
End, she told the lieutenant. So far,
Donavan wasn’t too excited. This was
routine stuff.

“And you believe you know some-
thing about the Zuckerman case?” the
lieutenant asked. He had asked the
same question many times before of
various persons.

Something in the woman’s emphatic
nod and the expression on her face
aroused Donavan’s interest. “I don’t

: grabbed t

oston’s South.

only believe I know something about
it,” was her reply. “I do know some-
thing about it. I Febsntutaly know who
killed Ethel Zuckerman!”

Lieutenant Donavan stared at her.
Somehow he sensed that this was the
real thing. No use querying the wom-
an on details now and then have the
woman a gg the story again. He

e phone and called the
home of Captain Claflin.

When the captain answered, Dona-
van said: “Captain, the Zuckerman
case. There’s a woman here that says
she knows the name of the killer. I
got a terrific hunch that this may be
the real McCoy, at last. I guess you
want to come right down, eh?”

Captain Claflin certainly did. With-
in a quarter of an hour he was at the
station-house. So were many other
police officials. Reporters and photog-
raphers jammed the anteroom. Police
a deck, prep Shanahan was seated at
a de prepared to take down the
woman’s story.

“The man who killed Ethel Zucker-
man,” Mrs. Tillman said, “is Frank
Clark. That is, he’s generally known
as Frank. Sometimes he calls himself
Miller Frank Clark. Probably that’s
his real name.’

Claflin. sat tensely at his desk.
“Where does this man live?” he asked.

The woman’s answer was definite,
terse. “He lives at 195 Shawmut Ave-
nue. It’s a rooming house,” she added.

“You're absolutely sure about this?”

“T’m absolutely sure.”

Somehow Captain Claflin believed
her, even before she went any further
in her statement. He despatched Ser-
geant Fallon, four plainclothesmen
and several uniformed policemen to

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sy re With vigor
© case to quiet
ys Peni, Se to quiet

an made their way

'em as the ca
ny Boss yet po ®

4ined serj
'P us,” ian: ly.

ht ”
tion that he
Ompson

milk to the d
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Night have

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at a mo-
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Law faye
° 4 :

It was in Heartbreak farm pictured
at right that John Best lived with
his employer before the murder.

“He was wanted in Maine for some
sort of a charge involving a woman. I
don’t know what it was,”

“Why didn’t you come down and tell
us this before ?”” Thompson shot at him.

“I didn’t think it was important,’’ the
farmhand answered. “And besides, I have
other theories. George was married and

.at the same time he was living with an-

other woman. She had a child about two
years ago and I don’t think her relatives
liked it too much. A couple of them said
they would get him for that some day.”

Best explained that he didn’t know

the names of the relatives and he didn’t —

want to get anybody in trouble. So the
two officers left the house and walked
casually around the grounds.

NOTHING around the farm appeared
to be out of place or any different
than it had been when Bailey was there.
Satisfied on this point, the two officers
made their way back to town.

On arriving at his office Neal was
surprised to find a woman waiting
for him. He recognized her ‘at once. It
was Mrs, Isabella Gowen. She seemed
drawn and nervous,

“I think I know something that might
interest you in the Bailey case,” she said,
rising.

Neal motioned her to an inner room

ADVENTURES

and entered behind her, shutting the door.
Once there the buxom farm woman told
the whole story of her experience of a
few nights before, of the driver and his

mysterious bundle. The district officer’s :

eyes widened as the wuman finished her
recitation,

“What time did this happen?’ Neal
asked her.

“It must-have been about 1:30,” she
stated. “The wagon came down from
the direction of Heartbreak farm, then
must have turned around and gone back
about 20 minutes later.”

District Officer Neal thanked the
woman and assured her that she had done
the right thing in telling him the
story.

Fs

Shortly after Mrs. Gowen had left the
other officers arrived with their reports.
None of the townspeople had offered
much in the way of clues. Mrs. Beed,
one of the officers reported, ‘living down
near Floating Bridge pond, had ‘heard
a horse and wagon clatter down the road,
turn around, and return from, the same
direction it had come. ee

Neal pricked up his ears: “What time.
was that?”

About 1:30, the woman thought. Well,
that substantiated the Gowen woman’s |
story. Neal was sure that if they could
solve the mystery of the midnight rider

George Bailey’s disappearance would be
capleed. But how to go about it?

[Continued on page 62] ,* . ©

, 7


E. Springle, A. M. Allen and W. F. Fleet,
the best detective brains in the depart-
ment,’ had started intensive efforts to
track down the killer.

It was, by that time, too late for No-
witzky to endeavor to trace the cap by
means of a canvass. All the principal
clothing and department stores had
closed. He had to find the killer first,
then crack him with the cap.

Sent out on various assignments the
detectives began telephoning and turn-
ing in discouraging reports. No finger-
prints ... no pertinent information con-
cerning Mrs. Cox... husband away
working on a ship... cannot be located
... only the usual Washington and Balti-
more passenger boat clearings this eve-
ning. All checked okay. No reports of
persons spotted wearing bloodstained
clothing. :

So the minutes fled by without a single
promising lead having been developed.
Then Detective O’Connor reported find-
ing a witness, Walter Belote, who lived
four doors from Mrs. Cox. Belote had
noted a man loitering in the alley, a man
of medium height, shoulders thrown well
back, wearing a dark suit with shirt open
at the collar. The man was hatless and
capless. But efforts to find this sus-
picious loiterer proved fruitless.

Then Nowitzky recalled a woman
whom he had once befriended who lived
in a house on Cove street. Her kitchen
windows:in the upper flat looked directly
down at the Cox rear yard. Nowitzky
hurried straight to the house.

There were dozens of theories and not

_a single definite lead.

The days drifted by and still there was
no sign of Bailey. The midnight rider
remained a mystery. Thompson and
Neal, together with their officers, had
interviewed practically thé entire popula-
tion of Lynn and _ the surrounding
countryside.

On October 16, Thompson was ready
to go back to Saugus. Only the per-
sistent pleading of District Officer Neal

. persuaded the chief of police to stay on.

“Something’s got to turn up pretty
soon,” Neal promised. “I feel it in my
bones.”

“From all the evidence,” Thompson
remarked, “it seems pretty clear that
Bailey just skipped out. The Maine
police were hot on his trail and so were
the relatives of the girl with whom he
was mixed up.” ‘

“What about that midnight rider?”
Neal prodded.

Thompson shrugged. “A couple of old
woien with a case of midnight jitters.”

Thompson was right. The town gos-
sipers were beginning to feel that Bailey
had finally run out as he had threatened
to do many times in the past. He ap-
parently had plenty of reason for such
an act.

But something did happen! Something
so ghastly that even the imaginations of
the most morbid people in Lynn could
not have conceived the grim horror of the
fate that had overtaken George Bailey.

At 10:30 Friday morning, Fred Tor-

62

The woman stunned Nowitzky by
vigorously nodding her head at his first
question, “Yes, I saw someone hanging
around in the alley and I knew him!” she
said quickly. ‘

“Who was it?” asked Nowitzky, his
body tense as a spring. ,

“Mind you, this man might not be the
killer of Mrs. Cox, but he certainly was
hanging around. And when I looked next
he had gone!” .

“Who was it? Who was he?” pleaded
Nowitzky. :

“Henry Palmer!” replied the woman.

Picking up Sergt. Pettis, Nowitzky
sped to Paimer’s home. A woman came

to the door, informing the detectives -

Palmer was out. Nowitzky noted an acrid,
burning odor sifting into the hallway.

“What’s that burning?” he queried.

“I just put some orange peel in the
stove,” the woman replied. “That’s what
you smell.” '

Nowitzky pushed past her and into the
kitchen. He jerked the lid off the stove.
In a second he had plucked a smoldering
shirt from the fire! It was bloodstained.

Questioned, the woman averred it was
her husband’s and that he had gotten it
bloody while killing a chicken.

Nowitzky pulled the cap from his
pocket. “Do you recognize this?”

The woman shook her head. “No, I
don't—” :

“Mama, ain't that the cap that daddy
lost except it didn't have no blood on
it?” piped up a small boy who had been
listening with wide open eyes. The

rance and James English, two close
friends, trudged along the winding dirt
road leading from Salem to Lynn. They
were on their way to work. As they
crossed Floating Bridge, Torrance gazed
over the side into the murky waters of
the pond. He shuddered.

“This place gives me. the slow creeps,”
he said to his friend.

English nodded. Suddenly Torrance

caught a glimpse of something near one

of the floats on which the bridge rested.
He stopped and leaned over the rail.
“What’s the matter?” Jim English
asked.
Torrance beckoned to him. “Look
down there.” he said. “What’s that up
against the side of the float?”

| oda tH leaned out over the side of
the bridge and followed his friend’s
gaze. “Looks like a bale of cotton or
rags or something,” he suggested. “It's
all tied up neat.”

Torrance walked back across the bridge
and climbed out over the bobbing floats.

“What are you going to do?’ Jim
called after him.

“I’m going to pull this out and see
what it is,” his friend answered.

Together the two men managed to
grasp the bundle by. the heavy cord that
bound it. In ten minutes they had it
close to shore. Torrance reached 'in his
dy and pulled out a penknife. He
egan to hack away at the loosely woven
burlap covering the bundle.

woman slapped him and shouted angrily
for him to remain silent.

At that moment Palmer walked in and
eyed the detectives coolly. “What’s all
this?” he inquired thinly.

Nowitzky dangled the cap in front of
him, Palmer denied ownership. “Then
you don’t know anything about the mur-
der of Mrs. Cox?” asked Nowitzky.

“Not a thing !” flatly declared Palmer.

“Then what's that blood on the tips of
your shoes!” shot out Nowitzky.

Palmer paled slightly. “I just killed a
chicken about an hour ago.”

“You killed an: innocent woman, Pal-
mer, and you know it! Take him to jail,
Sergeant Pettis!”

Palmer cracked wide open in the early
hours of dawn. He confessed to the
murder but denied that he had attacked
Mrs, Cox. However the teeth marks on
the slain woman’s body branded him a
jar.

Justice moved swiftly against Henry

. Palmer. Three days later he was indicted

by the grand jury. The same day he was
put on trial for his life while local officers
armed with every implement to deter
mob violence surrounded the building.

The following day Palmer listened
stoically as the jury brought in a verdict
of first degree murder. On the second
Friday in May Palmer walked his last
mile to the electric chair.

Despite the fact he has served 20 years
as a crime-smasher Nowitzky still is in
the prime of life and there is every in-

’ dication he will continue to be the killers’
scourge in Norfolk for years to come.

“This stuff is tough,” he commented.
“It’s pretty wet, too. Must have been
in the water a long time. It’s a funny
thing- we didn’t see it before.”

Noticing that his friend was having
trouble ripping the coarse burlap, English
pulled out his knife and helped. In a few
moments the men had cut an opening
in the sack. Beneath the outer layer
they found what appeared to be a striped
linen cloth,

“Looks like an old shirt,” English
laughed. “We've probably found some-
body’s old clothes.”

But when Torrance grasped the striped
fabric and pulled it tore away easily, re-
vealing a sight that left both men staring
and pale. One look at the cold, white,
clammy substance in the bundle told each
of them that they were gazing at dead
human flesh.

Frenziedly. tearing off the rest of the
covering the two made an even more
gruesome discovery. The package con-
tained a grisly torso of what had once
been a man. A gaping wound marked
the place where the head had been. The
arms were hacked off below the shoulders
and the stumps of legs, chopped by some
crude instrument, ended between the
hips and knees.

Sensing the grim meaning behind this
blob ‘of water-soaked human flesh the
two men ran madly toward Lynn where
they discovered Officer Flynn walking
his beat on the village streets. Quickly
they drew him aside and explained what
they had found. Flynn lost no time in

Sigg nae he SE

accompanying ths
ister gloom of Flo
keen eyes took in”
Observing an 1
a house not
Irish office
priated a p_
deftly to grasp
far up on the ma!
“Either of you
can be?” he aske
“JT wouldn’t b
swered, “but I tl
Bailey wearing 3
Flynn nodded.
“You boys ru
this to Neal,”
go over to the ho
When District
news he jumpe
stared at the br:
Within a few m
ordered deputies
pond for the ©
body. He hims¢
rance, English
Thompson, hurr
On their arrival,
medical examin
report for them
“This man’s
week,” he infor
- twice in the ck
.38 caliber bull
I can get a tl
ballistics exper
initely.”
Thompson g
district officer.
Neal gruntec
“Let’s get F
he can identify
Half an hot
moned by one
horrified at th:
“Tt could b
: tainly, “but I
thing.
Thompson !
Best’s eyes.
thing he migh
The’ ~~
know.
shirts |
fellows !

UST at thz
A babble
street where
athering,
everal of Ne
a collection «
the marble s!

tory.
“There’s tl
one of them «
ages were Ic
them slipped
from the wa’
As the co
bundles Nea’
close friend
One of them
was Bailey.
“Find an:
asked.
Neal eye:
what makes
“Nothing,
there might
always carr
silver one 1
one in his v
about $30 o
knew him.
told me th

oT ae

5
t

HE dismal patter of rain beat a
monotonous dirge in the early
dawn. At a small farm house near
Lynn, Mass., Mrs, Isabella Gowen tossed
fitfully in bed. All night she had slept
badly, unable to explain a strange fore-
boding which seemed to creep out of the
night and enshroud her like the dense
fog that rolled in from the nearby At-
lantic. As the faint echo of the village
clock struck one, Mrs. Gowen dozed
again. ;
Suddenly, out of the night, a rhythmic
muffled beat penetrated her subconscious
mind. Slowly it increased to a sullen

‘roar, rising in crescendo until the middle-

aged woman awoke, startled and trem-
bling. As soon as her mind cleared, she
recognized the clatter: that had awak-
ened her. It was a wagon rumbling along
the rutted country road that passed her
house. Who could be driving down the
lonely byway at this early hour of the
morning, she wondered? People seldom
used the old dirt road, weaving its sombre
length out across the New England
meadows until it was lost in thé wooded
ridge beyond Floating Bridge pond.
Floating Bridge pond, she knew, had

By DICK FREDERIC

for years been veiled in a mist of sinister
superstitions. The townsfolk of Lynn
were not prone to visiting thé murky pool
even under the comforting rays of bright
noonday sun. Its allegedly. bottomless
depth bore many grim secrets according
to the mildewed folklore of the district.
‘The clattering hoofs of the oncoming
horse beat louder and louder as they ap-
proached the curve that rounded the
Gowen farm. From the sound of the

‘rattling wagon Mrs. Gowen knew that

the driver must be goading. his horse to
a frenzied pace. Only a reckless fool
would drive over the treacherous muddy
road in such a fashion, she thought.

Sensing some ominous portent in the
midnight rider’s mad‘ dash, the farm
woman aroused her husband, tossed the
bedcovers aside, and rose. As she reached
the window the mysterious vehicle hove
into sight around the bend. By the time
her husband reached her side the flashing
hoofs and wildly swerving carriage had
sped by, swallowed in the rainy darkness
of the night. But in that instant Mrs’
Gowen had seen a sight that chilled the
blood in her veins,

As the wagon passed under an arch-

George Bailey was murdered in the barn (1) and then

carried in a wagon to Floating Bridge pond 3) by
the slayer who was heard as he raced past the
farm (2) at midnight. The killing was solved when
John C. Best, top right, told police an amazing story.

owen

ARTBREAK

FARM

- Be a

ei ee Letra ia i allie ees

5° .
oem NN MASS. mm |

/ 4

-
.


light that cast its white glaring rays over

the gateway in front of her house she had

caught a glimpse jof something protrud-
ing from under the seat of the wagon.

_There was a fleeting impression of some-
thing cold and white, something that hore
resemblance to a human leg! Although
she had strained her eyes to establish the
identity of the driver she was unable to
recognize him, A dark hat, pulled down
over his face, and the upturned collar of
his jacket thoroughly hid the man’s fea-
tures, . :

“Frank,” she gasped, clutching her
husband’s arm.

“What is it?” he asked sleepily,

“T’ve seen something . . . something
horrible! Frank, there was a dead man
in that wagon!” -

__ “Nonsense!” her husband reassured
her. “You’re imagining things. It’s late
and I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

Nevertheless, Mrs. Gowen went back
to bed more wide awake than ever. There
was something wrong about that wagon,
For half an hour she lay listening to the

dismal patter of the rain. Again she
heard the distant beat of hoofs, this time -

returning. She was about to get-up when
she felt her husband’s restraining arm on
hers. He had heard it too! If he was
satisfied that nothing was wrong she
would worry about it no longer. ©

As the first grey streaks of dawn
ushered in the morning of Tuesday, Octo-
ber 9, 1900, Mrs. Gowen awoke and went
downstairs to begin her day’s work, Her
mind was busy mulling over the strange
occurrence of the night. She spoke to
her husband about it when he came down
but he merely laughed at her fears.

As the day progressed, however, Mrs,
Gowen came to know that her strange
Premonition was justified. Rumors circu-
lated from mouth to mouth throughout
the little village that George E. Bailey, a
Prosperous’ farmer who worked the
Heartbreak farm about five miles up the
road, had disappeared, Determined to

6

make sure before telling anyone of her
experience Mrs. Gowen said nothing to
gossiping neighbors who dropped in from
time to time during the day.

By the time definite news of Bailey’s
disappearance had reached the Office of
District Officer George C. Neal of Lynn,
that official already had heard it from a
dozen sources, Quickly he rounded up
the men on his staff,

“Bailey’s in trouble again,” he told
them. “Go out and visit all the saloons
and see. if you can find him. He didn’t
come home last night.”

But the situation was more serious than
Neal had expected. One by one the men
drifted back each with negative report.
Bailey was nowhere to be found. Neal
joked about. it half-heartedly. He knew
George Bailey of old, a huge, ‘powerful
man weighing close to 200 pounds, well-
known and liked by everyone in the vil-
lage. His marital affairs were involved
and there had been’ vague rumors of
threats against him, whispered among
host of enemies,

“He'll turn up tomorrow under some
haystack or other,” one of the deputies re-
marked laughingly as he departed from
Neal’s office,

But likeable George Bailey did not

turn_up “tomorrow.” Nor did-he
turn up Thursday, By this time the dis-
trict officer was worried. Quickly he put
in a call to Charles Thompson, Chief of
Police of Saugus, a small town near
Lynn. ae

“This may sound like. nonsense,
Charlie,” he said over the *phone. “But
I’m afraid I am going to need your help
to locate a missing man. I’ve got a queer
hunch it will turn out to be more than
just a disappearance.”

Thompson laughed, but promised to
lend his assistance, He arrived in Lynn
that afternoon with several officers from
his own staff. Together, he and Neal

s r)

.

plunged into the investigation with vigor,
determined to clear up the case to quiet
the anxiety of Bailey’s friends.

Several officers were assigned to ques-
tion the villagers while the deputy and
chief of police quizzed close friends of
the missing man. They had nothing to
work with except their shrewd New
England canniness,

Neal and Thompson made their way
along the, muddy road to Heartbreak
farm operated by Bailey. On their arriyv-
al they found the door of the farmhouse
open and walked in. A rattle of pots and
pans attracted their attention to the
kitchen where they found John Best,
Bailey’s partner, busily engaged _in clean-
ing up after lunch.

“Hi!” Best greeted them as they came
in the doorway. “Find my boss yet?”

“Not yet,” Neal explained seriously.
“But perhaps you can help us.”

“Do anything I can,” Best offered. He
was a hard-working man with a pleasant
face and a likeable personality. He was
still on the sunny side of 40, but his nose
bore telltale traces which told that his
habits were pretty much along the same
lines as those of his former partner,

“When did you last see Bailey?” Neal
asked,

“About 8:30, Monday night.”

“Did he give any indication that he
might be going on a tout?” Thompson
broke in.

“No, he went to deliver milk to the
Deery’s and didn’t come back,” Best said
shaking his head.

Neal’s mouth was set in a grim line.
“Got any ideas as to what he might have
done ?”

Carelessly Best tossed a dish towel up
over a flimsy rack. “Lots of them,” he
said. “He always carried 30 or 40 dollars
in his pocket so-he could skip at a mo-
ment’s notice. The cops were after
him.” >

Neal jerked his head up, startled.
“What for?” he asked curiously.

STARTLING DETECTIVE

“ETe was wantec

sort of a charge_1n
don’t know, 1
“owWhy di : rr

is before!
- Ar alae think |
farmhand answer’
other theories. 2
at the same tim
"other womee e
ears ago an i
liked it too cooae
they would get
Best apres
the names of t :
want to get veh
two officers %¢
casually aroun!

THING :

we be out
than it had ber
Satisfied on t
made: their wa
On arriving
surprised as
for him. Fie

was Mrs. Isa
drawn and n¢
“7 think 1!
interest you !
rising.

Neal moti
ADVENTU


MES

Scuiiths Mabie an tilianiMabeaikcahadteenm ick as ema

376 101 NORTHEASTERN REPORTER (Mass.

BRALEY, J. [1] The verdict for the plain-
tiff having been ordered upon the defend-
ant’s admission that there was no question
of fact for the jury, he contends that the
evidence is insuflicient to establish any Tia-
blity for the annual assessment or dues to
recover which the action is brought. It is
settled by the decision in Boston Club vy.
Potter, 212 Mass. 23, 9S N. E. 614, that the
appointment of a receiver to wind up the
affairs of the club, and the closing of the
clubhouse, did not terminate the liability
of members for dues which accrued on De-
cember 1, 1907, and by the decision in Ro-
gers vy. Boston Club, 205 Mass. 261, 269, 91
N. FE. 321, 28 L. RR. A. (N. S.) 748, that even
if under the by-laws the dues could be paid
subsequently in quarterly installments, the
entire amount constituted a debt which the
members could be compelled to liquidate as
of that date. The evidence having shown
these essential facts the defendant is bound,
if when the dues accrued he was a member.
MeManus y. Thing, 208 Mass. 55, 60, 94 N.
1. 293; Malden & Melrose Gaslight Co. v.
Chandler, 211 Mass. 226, 227, 97 N. E. 906.

(2] The plaintiff is a corporation charter-
ed without capital under R. L. ¢. 125. Its
purpose was not commercial, but it was or-
ganized to provide certain comforts and
privileges for the benefit and enjoyment of
its members. Under section 6 of the statute
authority was given to enact by-laws which
should prescribe the manner in which, and
the officers or agents by whom, the purpos-
es of its incorporation could be effectually
accomplished. By article 4 of section 3 of
the by-laws a form for admission to mem-
bership is prescribed, with the duties of the
secretary and of the membership committee.
It is expressly provided that the applicant's
name shall be posted for at least a fortnight
before being voted upon by the executive
committee, and this requirement doubtless
was intended for the information of mem-
bers, 15 of whom could prevent an election
by sending a negative ballot to the executive
committee, which was authorized to admit
or reject the person proposed for member-
ship. The defendant's application or pro-
posal appears to have been in proper form,
but not having been posted in accordance
with the by-law he contends that his elec-
tion by the executive committee was void
and that he never became a member. If the
committee had no broader powers they could
not lawfully proceed to an election until com-
pliance with the precedent condition of post-
ing. Gray vy. Christian Society, 137 Mass.
399, 50 Am. Rep. 310; Burbank y. Boston
Police Relief Ass'n, 144 Mass. 434, 487, 11
N. E. GOL; MeCoy vy. Roman Catholic Mu-
tual Ins, Co., 152 Mass. 272, 25 N. B. 289;
Timberlake vy. Order of the Golden Cross,
208 Mass. 411, 423, 94 N. FE. 685, 56 T. h.
A. (N. 8S.) 597. But the exceptions state that
this body by another by-law, the details of

which are not stated, had been vested with
the entire government and management of
the business of the corporation, including
the election of members. It had been em-
powered to appoint a committee on member-
ship, consisting of five of its own members,
who were to investigate the character of ap-
plicants, and report their recommendations
to the full committee. The necessity or the
expediency of such a provision is not before
us. It is enough that the plaintiff did not
exceed its corporate powers. The largest
discretionary authority having been confer-
red, the executive committee could exercise
the powers of the corporation itself, and
proceed to an election even if the name of
the defendant had not been previously post-
ed. Young v. Canada, Atlantic & Plant 8,
S. Co., 211 Mass. 453, 456, 97 N. E. 1098.

[3] The defendant’s election having been
valid, and his acceptance amply shown by
the payment of dues, and the enjoyment aft-
er his election and until the club was closed,
of the accommodations of the clubhouse, and
of all the privileges appurtenant to mein-
bership, it is immaterial that he never com-
plied with article 5 by the payment of an
entrance fee, which is declared to be equiv-
alent to signing the constitution and by-laws.
United Hebrew Ass'n y. Benshivmol, 10
Mass. 325, 328; Detroit Driving Club v.
Fitzgerald, 109 Mich. 670, 67 N. W. 899. The
defendant haying been a member when the
annual assessment fell due, the action can
be maintained, and the verdict for the plain-
tiff was rightly ordered.

Exceptions overruled.

;———

AMERICAN STEAM GAUGE & VALVE
MIG. CO. v. MECHANICS’ IRON
FOUNDRY CoO.

(Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts.
Suffolk. April 1, 1913.)

Sates (§ 445*)—Province or Jury—‘‘REA-
SONABLE 'TIME.”’ :

The term “reasonable time,” as used in
the rule requiring the return of defective goods
by the buyer within a reasonable time, is not
an inflexible term, but usually depends upon
the particular circumstances; and when the
facts thereon are undisputed it is a question
of Jaw, but is a jury question where they de-
pend partly upon inferences.

{id. Note.—Vor other cases, see Sales, Cent.
Dig. §§ 1303-1808; Dec. Dig. § 445.*

Yor other definitions, see Words and Phras-
es, vol. 7, pp. 5977-5983; vol. 8, p. 7780.]

Exceptions from Superior Court, Suffolk
County; J. Fox, Judge.

Action by the American Steam Gauge &
Valve Manufacturing Company against the
Mechanics’ Tron Foundry Company. Verdict
for plaintiff, and defendant excepts. Fxcep-
tions overruled.

Aaron J. Lyman, of Boston, for plaintiff.

Willard N. Poland, of Boston, for defendant.

Po om tana

ak BO et Se HN

Mass.) COMMONWEALTH v. BORASKY 377

RNUGG, C.J. This is an action of contract
by which the plaintiff secks to recover the
jice paid to the defendant for defective
eastings. There was evidence tending to
show that the defendant for a consider-
able time had made castings for the plaintiff,
which it was necessary to “machine” in or-
der to determine whether they contained de-
fects, and that, as the demand for the goods
in which the plaintiff used these castings was
fluctuating, they were not tested until needed
fn the process of manufacture, and when a
lond of imperfect ones had accumulated, the
defendant removed them and their price was
charged back by the plaintiff to the defend-
ant In accounting. The last of the castings
alleged to be faulty in this case were deliv-
ered to the plaintiff in August, 1907, and no-
thee of defect was given in December, 1907,
and in June and October, 1908. The defense,
so far as it now presents any question of
law, is that these notices and offers to return
were not made within a reasonable time.

Reasonable time is not an inflexible term.
It depends commonly upon the circumstances
of cach ease. When the facts are undisputed
it fs a question of law. But when the salient
facts are in controversy and depend in part
upon inferences to be drawn by sound judg-
ment, then it is a fact to be determined by
the practical sense of a jury. Williams v.
Fowell, 101 Mass. 467, 3 Am. Rep. 396.

There was a wide diversity in the testl-
mony and contentions presented at the trial.
The course of dealing between the parties
{n the case at bar, the nature of the goods
told, the character of the defects and method
of discovery were such as to render it im-
proper to rule as matter of law whether the
ofer to return was made within a reason-
able time. A delay of over a year after the
receipt of goods ordinarily would be pro-
hounced unreasonable. But it may have been
found to have been the understanding that
no inspection for the discovery of flaws
ehould be undertaken until the time came in
the usual conduct of the plaintiff’s business
for incorporating the castings into other
mechanisms and that notice was given to the
defendant as soon as the defects were re-
vealed in this way. If this was so, the plain-
'!ff may have been found to have acted rea-
fonably,

Exceptions overruled.

=

14 Mass. 313)
COMMONWEALTH v. BORASKY,

(Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts.
Hampden. April 1, 1913.)

1. Crintnar Law (§ 622*)—SrraRraTE TRIAL
OF CODEKENDANTS—DISCRETION.

_ even in a murder ease, though it be
aimed that there will probably be introduced
® confession, by one of the defendants, joint-
'r indicted, implicating both, the other is not
rotitled as of right to 2 separate trial; but the

in the sound judicial discretion of the trial
court.

[Ed. Note.—For other cases, see Criminal
Law, Cent. Dig. §§ 1380-1388, 1385, 1386,
1888-1390; Dec. Dig. § 622.*]

2. CRIMINAL LAw (§ 622*)—SEPARATE TRIAL
OF CODEFENDANTS — PROCEEDINGS ON Mo-
TION, ;

Relative to the motion by one of two de-
fendants, jointly indicted, for a separate trial,
on the ground that there will probably be in-
troduced a confession by the other, implicating
both, the court is not required, though request-
ed iby the moving defendant so to do, to ex-
amine in the presence of the district attorney,
and in the absence of defendant and his coun-
sel, the alleged confession, though such defend-
ant has been unable to get a copy thereof,

[Ed. Note.—For other cases, see Criminal

Law, Cent. Dig. §§ 1380-1383, 1385, 1386, 1388s—-

1390; Dee. Dig. § 622.*]

3. Jury (§ 108*)—QUALIFICATION OF JURORS—
BELIEF IN CAPITAL PUNISUMENT.
; That one is a firm believer in capital pun-
ishment in cases in which it is provided by
law does not disqualify him as a juror.
[Ed. Note.—For other cases, see Jury, Cent.
Dig. §§ 489-491, 496; Dee. Dig. § 108.*]

4. CRIMINAL LAw (§ 400*)—BeEsr anp SeEc-
ONDARY EVIDENCE.

Notwithstanding compliance with Rev.
Laws, c. 24, § 9, and section 10, as amended by
St. 1909, c. 278, § 1, requiring the medical ex-
aminer to make an autopsy, and to make and
file a record thereof, testimony of the physi-
cian who performed the autopsy as to his ob-
servations of the condition revealed by the au-
topsy is not incompetent, on the ground of the
record being the best evidence.

[Ed. Note.——For other cases, see Criminal
Law, Cent. Dig. §§ 879-886, 1208-1210; Dec.
Dig. § 400.*)

5. CRIMINAL Law (§ 452*) — CompETENCY —
ILLITERACY.

Illiteracy of witness does not make incom-
petent her testimony as to the identity of a
written instrument.

[Ed. Note.—lI’or other cases, see Criminal
463°3] Cent. Dig. §§ 1053-1055; Dee. Dig. §
52.

G6. CrimInaL Law (§ 464*)—Evipence—Fa-
MILIARITY OF ILLITERATE WITNESS WITH
DOCUMENTS.

As the value of the testimony of an illiter-
ate, as to the identity of a written instrument,
may depend on the degree of her familiarity
with like instruments, testimony tending to
show such familiarity is of probative force.

[Ed. Note.—For other cases, see Criminal

Law, Cent. Dig. § 1056; Dec. Dig. § 464.*]

7. CRIMINAL Law (§ 673*) — RECEPTION OF

EV1IDENCE—LAIMITING EFFECT.

The rights of defendant B. were protected
by the court where, whenever admitting evi-
dence competent only against defendant K., it
cautioned the jury not to consider it in any way
against B.

{[Id. Note.—For other cases, see Criminal
Law, Cent. Dig. §§ 1597, 1872-1876; Dee. Dig.
§ 673.*]

8. HomrcriprE (§ 169*) — EvipENcE — Conpuct

Berore CRIME.

The conduct, actions, and bearing of the
defendants, within two days before, and at or
near the place of, the commission of the homi-
ee with which they were charged, was admis-
sible.

franting »fus j j i
‘ing or refusal of his motion therefor is

{Isd. Note—For other cases, see Homicile,
Cent. Dig. §§ 341-350; Dee. Dig. § 169.*]

“Por other cases see same topic and section NUMBER in Dec. Dig. & Am. Dig. Key-No. Series & Rep’r Indexes

i
i
}
;


SEA ie cca fevers a oo

380 101 NORTHEASTERN REPORTER (Mass,

Amansky house on that day and night, and
it is diflicult to see how in any event he could
have been injured by the testimony. But it
was distinctly limited in its effect by the
ruling of the judge that it was not evidence
against him. The same admonition by the
judge was given respecting testimony of
Godel Amansky to the effect that the defend-
ant Kolek had told him two days before the
murder that the defendant Borasky was in
the field. The jury was cautioned, whenever
occasion arose, not to consider in any way
against Borasky evidence, competent against
Kolek alone. This protected the rights of
the present defendant. Com. vy. Rogers, 181
Mass. 184, 193, 63 N. HW. 421; Com, v. Bishop,
165 Mass. 148, 151, 42 N. 1. 560,

[8] 6. The testimony of Godel Amansky
was competent, that both defendants, after
having been in his house and having seen
the woman who was subsequently murdered,
attracted his attention by the way in which
they looked at him, and that Inter they
langhed at him as he was working in his
barn. The conduct, actions and bearing of
the defendants, within two days before and
at or near the place of the commission of the
crime, with which they were charged, was
admissible. It was, at least, within the dis-
erection of the trial judge. There were cir-
cumstances about the presence of both de-
fendants at the Almansky plice which might
have been found to indicate some design.

[9] 7. A witness, who was a clerk in a
liquor store, was permitted, against the ex-
ception of the defendant Borasky, to testify
that on the evening of the day when Rose
Amansky met her death both defendants
came into the store and “appeared to be ex-
cited.” The conduet and appearance of the
defendants, after the crime had been eom-
mitted, was competent as bearing upon their
guilt. Com. v. Piper, 120 Mass. 185, 189;
Com. vy. Trefethen, 157 Mass. 180, 198, .3:
N. 18. 961, 24 1. R.A. 235,

[10] & A cheek payable to the order of G.
Umansky was on the person of the murder-
ed woman, There was testimony that the
two defendants on the evening of the day
the crime was committed went together to 2
liquor store and Borasky told) Kolek that
the clerk spoke the Polish language, and the
former then went out on the sidewalk whiie
the latter indorsed this check and got it
eashed, and Borasky returned to the store
and told his companion to hurry up, and
they departed together. This testimony was
competent. There was a considerable body
of evidence to show a common design in
their association of that day and the few
days previous. Com. y. Smith, 151 Mass.
491, 495, 24 N. KE. 677; Com. vy. Kelly, 186
Mass. 4083, 71 N. FE. S807.

[11] 9% The ruling of the court that there
was suflicient evidence for the jury to eon-
sider whether the cashing of the check was
with the knowledge and approval of Borasky

was proper. Com, y. Rogers, 181 Mass. 184,
193, 638 N. E. 421,

[12,13] 10. The testimony of the witness
Dickinson that coming suddenly upon Boruas-
ky, while counting money a day or two aft-
er the day of the murder, he acted “kind of
sneaky about it,” was also competent. It
was responsive to the question. It was not
the statement of an inference or ecouclusion,
but rather a description of conduct. Gor-
ham y. Moor, 197 Mass. 522, 84 N. B. 436.
As such it had probative force.

[14] 11. A witness testified to a narration
made by Kolek at the time of his arrest of
his connection with the killing which was
in the nature of an admission or confession,
Ilis statement was in effect that whatever
part he took was under the compulsion of
the defendant Borasky. Treating the de-
fendant'’s exception to the admission of this
evidence as seasonably taken, it must be
overruled. The judge carefully cautioned
and instructed the jury that it was to be
considered against Kolek alone, and not in
the slightest degree against Borasky. This
protected his rights. The reasons have been
discussed fully under the first part of this
judgment.

{15-17] 12. A court record showing the
conviction of one Michael Croski was intro-
duced in evidence without objection. The
defendant Borasky, who testified in his own
behalf, was asked by counsel for Kolek if
he was “the Michael Croski who was con-
victed for assault with a dangerous weapon
on October 12, 1908, and committed to York
Street to the House of Correction.” The rec-
ord showed the conviction and a fine of
$30 and commitment to the Ilouse of Corree-
tion. The question was objected to on the
ground that it did not embrace the words
stated in the complaint and sentence. ‘This
was not an attempt to prove conviction with-
out the record, but merely identification of
the witness with the one named in the ree-
ord already in evidence. Exact precision
was not required in such a question. It
was enough if the description fairly called
the attention of the witness to the record.
Plainly it did. Com. y. Sullivan, 150 Mass.
315, 23°. N. . 47. The record was admis:
sible in evidence as affecting the credibility
of Borasky as a witness.

[18] 13. The defendant's prayer for Iin-
structions was refused rightly... There was
tunple evidence (whieh it is not necessary to
narrate) of deliberately premeditated malice
aforethought on the part of the defendant
Borasky apart from the testimony of ‘Tar-

‘Tf the jury should find that the only evidence
of premeditated malice aforethought by the said
Stefan Borasky against said Rose Amansky is the
evidence of Peter Tarvinsky, who said he had had
trouble with the said Stefan Borasky and tried to
have a warrant issued for his arrest, then the jury
have a right to find that the said Peter Tarvinsky
was biased and prejudiced against the said Stefaa
Borasky and that premeditated malice aforethought

and for the joint benetit of both defendants

is not sufficiently proved and shown.”

patty ses TR Rnb

Mass.) WILSON v J G.& B.S. FERG USON Co, 381

vinsky. The defendant could not single out | e&
one piece of evidence bearing upon the sub-
ject, and as matter of right ask an instrue-
tion on it. Com. y, Adams, 186 Mass, 101,
71 N. E. 78 The judge gave full and accu-
rate instructions as to the bias of the wit-
Ness and the effect it might have upon his
testimony if found to exist. The rights of
the defendant Borasky were protected fully
in this regard.

{19, 20] 14. The defendant Borasky filed a
motion for a new trial directly after the re-
turn of the verdict. One ground related to
nn Incident which occurred when the jury
had returned to the courtroom after the

ised, and had been for many years, and
at the end there was a fatal disintegration
of brain substance, and concluded in these
Words: “Evidence of the final organie pro-
cess which terminated life made itself clear-
ly manifest on the day that the jury re-
turned its verdict. Whether the process de-
veloped acutely or had been coming on for
some time we are unable to say. Such a
brain disease means a modified mentality.
Statements made by the said Kolek might
be reliable or unreliable.” The granting of
a new trial on the sround of newly discover.
. grr rests on sound judicial discre-
ion, both riminal ¢ ‘ivil cas
charge for the purpose of having portions | v. Green, 17 Mew hae a ions sie
of evidence read to them. At the conclusion | seau, 140 Mags. 363 5 NOE 108s Pes ae
of this reading one juror said: “I would Bergman, 210 Mass '346, 96 N E eu. Pn .
lke to ask you a question.” To this the | is nothing to show that such dis reti rc
court replied: “You had better communi- | not exercised wisely in the. aren ae
cate through the foreman in writing, and if} The aflidavit of the physician ; cooaa me
you sees you need it send it down and I/ther than to show that facts pi or
uta iN come = again, * * #*/ the post mortem examination of Kolek ad
loner a. oo el mean, gen- or might not have affected his testimony.
ioe , ts i. kK y r questions, not a par- There is nothing in the record to indicate
os wea (na request or Suggestion the experience of the affiants in that braneh
hii aa ic ae touching this at the of medicine, nor how far they were capable
He ; re 1e time for making objec- | of determining the mental condition of the
» And no right of the defendant was in- | deceased at the time he gave his testi y
— if he failed to act then. Com. vy. Mor- | Attaching full weient to the Scecarling 41
ee a so 180; Loveland y. Rand, 200 fidavit it cannot be said to throw eee
ecard 2, 5 No E, \ But treating the probability on one side than on the other.
Son on its merits, it was not ground | 'The Judge who passed upon the motion saw

for a new trial, and the cond j i full
, al, uct of the judge | the witness y oon the s f
is not open to criticism. It was correct re eect mn

a . opportunity to observe Whether he s ‘i
Ts: aa * ?

. i foe nee is the mouthpiece any Symptoms of unreliability in pre netitas
or . a . louse, 211 Mass, 156, testimony. Tis manner and appearance to-
aan . ©. 92 . he orderly conduct of sether with what he said and all the other
equires that questions commonly be | Circumstances were for the consideration of

cach se nto the foreman, and not by the judge in reaching a conclusion,
ree : cording to his own inelina- Exceptions overruled,

x Y much must be left to the disere-
tion of the presiding judge. As was said by
Chet Justice Shaw, in Kellogg y, French
15 Gray, 354, 357: “The Situation is a deli.
cate one. The jurors are presumed to have
discussed the ease and to have formed or
te on the point of forming opinions, Any
further discussion, either of the evidence or
ef the law, in the presence of the jury
Might be eminently prejudicial.” =
‘tes 15. The defendant Borasky filed a

nd motion for a new trial based upon
ad discovered evidence. The substance
enfin ee was that Kolek, the other
Sites : a died since the trial and an
: Pleas med on his body showed such
a wie of his brain as render-
- pa siti Siven at the trial unworthy
that the Sao was a further allegation
daihciees ping he tapes witnesses was not
This motion WAR supporter ce ett na
sheen ate ‘ — xe YY an affidavit
they” tig : ne Physicians, to the effect that
ed . _ta nee part in an autopsy on the

* of Kolek, and that his brain was dis-

WILSON y, J. G.& B.S, FERGUSON CO.
(Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts.
Suffolk, April 1, 1913.)

1. Foon (§ 25*)—Lraniniry FOR INJURIES
: A manufacturer of Pies was bound in their
preparation, to take every reasonable’ precau-
tion to supply an article which would hot be
deleterious to the consumer's health apart
from any expectation of pecuniary ain’ ;
prehension of loss. ° 9 a, <P
IEd. Note.—For other case Z
Dig ¢ is hee Dig | 2 rs S, see Food, Cent,

2. Foop ( 25*)—Lianiniry FOR INJURIES

nan action for injuries from toxie or
ptomaine poisoning, caused hy eating a blue-
berry pie made by defendant and purehased
from a. retail dealer, where there was evidence
that the pie was unwholesome and that the
dealer was free from blame, that at the end
of the Season during which there was ;
for such pies defendant Stored its supply of
blueberries jn whisky barrels, where they’ fer-
mented, so as to cause the heads of the barrels
to burst, that different toxins and poisons dez
veloped, and that they were d with fresh
berries, and used in making Dies, defend
negligene as proper]

ame topic and section NUMBER in Dec, Dig. & Am. Dig. Ke

or
For othor cases see s

Y-No. Series & Rep'r Indexes


Tee pense ea Sat ss eage aE R er rae

378 101 NORTIEASTERN REPORTER (Mass.

9, TloMIcIDE (§ 174*) _ Tevipencr — Conduct
Arne conduct ane iter Mer iageetnies
mati rot the. aad, is competent as bearing 17. WITNESSES (8 359%) —IMPRACHMENT—REC-
oe Fe other cases, sce Homicide, On OF preeting the credibility of defendant 5
Cent. Dig. §§ 859-3715 Dee. Dig. § 174."] a witness, the record of his conviction for

{ ith a deadly weapon though under an-
10. CrrinaL LAW (§ 42.4*)—EVIDENCE—CON- sanlt with a deach) ’

other name, 18 admissible.
SPIRATORS. :
Kividenee that, on the evening after the

Y or et Witnesses
id, Note.—l*or other cases, sce WILNCE ,
c went t Fr Dig. §§ 1161, 1162; Dee. Dig. § 359.*]
murder, defendants B. and K, together went to a1) — INSTRUCTIONS
n store, and 1. told K. that the clerk spake i. 18. CRIMINAL Lam Gs °
2 ue » side- 1 > , > |.vIDENCE.
rE BB. then went out on the side ON PART OF SV : om
langue ok. indorsed and got cashed 2 check, There being other ample evidence hearins
which had been on the person of deceased, that | on the subject, “defendant could pot ningle. -
LB returned and told K, to hurry, and that they | one piece of evidence bearing ther ag
le rted together ig competent; there being | matter of right ask an instruction on it. oe
evidence of a common design it their associi- lisd. Note.—For other cases, see fishes
tion of that day and the few days previous. Law, Cent. Dig. §§ 1787, 1969-1972; Vee. ig.
{id. Note.—For other eases, see Criminal § 811.*]
Taw, Cent. Dig. §$ 4002-1010; Dee. Dig. 19, CriMINAT, LAW (§ S68") — STATEMENT or
424.") Court 10 J UROR—LTIME yee Ons acrie®. ei
7 ‘ fendi » yieht to complaim De-
, t . ¢(g 497*) — HVIDENCE — Had defendant any right to con
~~ petal LAW tee Any [EVIDENCE — enuse, after the jury had returned pan
CONBPIRATONS — lance and had part of the evidence read, the Rig
Det EKMIN ATION. he court to rule that | told a juror, who stated he wanted to oS —
4 feet aa va for the jury to con- | % question, to communicate tT ne
pre 18.9 lnk © aah , > ti > vo as el.
Mer ber the cashing of a cheek by one | man, the time to ° se ; V cies “ce Criminal
of the defendants was with the knowleley and ee Netti ¢ ee tte. oe € 968."1
approval of the other and for their joint bene- | Law, nt. Dig. § = : oe be ;
fit. ad 90, CriminaL Law (8 S64*)—1 RIAL —QUES”
[Ka, Note.—Tor other cases, see Criminal | TIONS FROM Jury TO CourtT—UNCTIONS
Cent, Di : 9-1017: Dee. Dig. §] Foreman. . .
ots ile ed gs 101° 108 ° The foreman is the mouthpiece of the jury,
< and orderly eonduct of trials commonly Te
12. Creminat, DAW (§ 448*)—Fvipence—DE- quires questions to the court from the jury to
 ECRIPTION OF CONDUCT. . be presented through him; so that a juror,
Testimony that defendant, when witness | stating a desire to ask the court a question,
eame suddenly on him while counting money, | after evidence has been read to the Jury =
acted “kind of sneaky about it,” is not a state- | their return into court therefor, 18 proper y
ment of an inference or conclusion, but a de-| told to communicate through the foreman. ;
seription of conduct. 5 cafe [Ha Note-—For other cases, see Crimina
[id, Note.—For other cases, o04 Criminal | Law, Cent. Dig. § 2008; Dec. Dig. § S64.
[id Note §§ 1035-1039, 1041-1018, 104%, o45*) —New 'TRIAL—
aw, Cent. Dig. S$

L F 3 91. CRIMINAL LAW I
1048-1051; Dee. Vig. § 448.") Newsy DiscovERED vi pENCE—DISCRETION.
8, HomicipE ($ 174*) — EVIDENCE or CON-

Refusal of motion for new trial on the
puct or ACCUSED ground of newly discovered evidence, being &
Deseription of defendant’s conduet, that he

matter in the sound judicial diseretion of oat
j ‘ . i +6} » < ° 7 10
acted “kind of sneaky about it.’ when witness, trial court, eannot be said to be improper,

a day or two after the murder, came suddenly

aflidavits of physicians in support — —
H . . : a ‘ a diseases con:
i shi : i vy. has probative | no further than to show that :
Pee him while counting money, has pl ‘tion of his brain, revealed by the post mor
oree. Po

[Ied. Note.—Tor other cases, see Homicide,
Cent. Dig. $§ 859 871; Dee, Dig. § 174.*]

14. Crimin an LAW (§ 783%) — RecevrioNn or
PEViIpENCE—LAMITING vRECT. | .

By the judge earefully cautioning and in-
structing the jury that the statement of de-
fendant IX., on being arrested, that whatever
part he had in the killing was under com
pulsion of defendant B., was to be considered
against Ix. alone, and not in the slightest
against B., the rights of 13. were aber ;

sd. Note.—l*or other eases, see _Crimina
tie eet Dig. §§ 1734, 1735, ISTZ-18716; Dee.
Dig. § 785.*]
15. WITNESSES (§ B50*) — IMPEACHMENT —
Recorpd oF CONVICTION. .

Merely identifying witness with one named
in a record of conviction in evidence is not an
attempt to prove conviction without the record,

[Ied. Note.—For other cases, see Witnesses,
Cent. Dig. $8 1161, 1162; Dee. Dig. § 599.*]

vieted; but_ it js enough that the description
fairly calls his attention to the record.

|. Note.—lor other cases, see Witnesses,
Gent. Dig. §§ 1140-1149; Dee. Dig. § 350. i)

timony.

epepene

8 O45."]

County; Henry A. King, Judge.

Carmody, of Springfield, for defendant.

Rose Amansky. Soth were convicted,

1G. WITNESSES (§ 850+) —IMPEACHMENT—REC-
orp oF CONVICTION. ;
exact description of the record of conyic-
tion in evidence is not necessary ma question
to witness as to whether he was the one con-

man was murdered.

—_——
*}or other cases Se

tem examination of the one tried with defend-
ant, might or might not have alfected his tes

| Mid. Note.—lor other cases, see Criminal
Law, Cent. Dis. $§ QSLE-2ILT, A905 Dee, Dik

Exceptions from Superior Court, Ilampden

Stefan Borasky was convicted of murder,
and brings exceptions. exceptions overruled.
Christopher TI. Callahan, Dist. Attys of
ILolyoke, for the Commonwealth. Jos. F:

RUGG, CG. J. The indictment charged the
defendant and one Antone Kolek with hav
ing committed the crime of murder by er

‘
Kolek has deceased. It does not appear to
have been disputed at the trial that the wo

{i, 2] 1. Borasky seasonably filed a motlen
that he should have a separate trial on the

re and antl NU eR is & Cf ss 2g om” dexe
e same topic and section NUMBER in Dec. Dig. & Am. Dig. Key-No. Series & Rept ln

ee eas

Mass.) COMMONWEALTH v. BORASKY 379

grounds that there would probably be in-
troduced in evidence a written confession
made by Kolek, which implicated both de-
fendants, and that, as he had been unable
to obtain a copy, the court should order the
commonwealth to furnish a copy, in order
that it might be annexed to his motion. At
the argument in support of the motion the
judge was requested to examine the confes-
sion in the presence of the district attorney,
and in the absence of the defendant Borasky
or his counsel. There was no error in the
denial of the motion. Whether two defend-
ants indicted jointly shall be tried together
ig discretionary with the trial court. This
has been decided many times respecting the
trinl of crimes involving a punishment less
than eapital, Com. v. Robinson, 1 Gray,
nao, 560; Com. v. Thompson, 108 Mass. 461;
Com. y. Miller, 150 Mass. 69, 22 N. E. 434;
Com. v. Bingham, 158 Mass. 169, 83 N. E.
211; Com. v. Bishop, 165 Mass. 148, 42 N. E.
noo: Com. v. Seeley, 167 Mass. 163, 45 N.
EK. 91. In Com. v. James, 99 Mass. 438, it
was stated, in the course of a trial for mur-
der heard by the full court sitting in banc
for the trial of two defendants jointly in-
dicted for murder, that “the general rule
fs that persons jointly indicted should be
tried together.” The confession was there
recarded as presenting “an exceptional case”
and it was intimated that a separate trial
would be granted if the commonwealth in-
tended to offer the confession. It was not
offered and was withdrawn by the common-
wealth, and a joint trial was had. It does
not appear that the intimation there was
thrown out in any other way than as the
exercise of discretion. That such a motion
fx not to be granted as of right but rests
tn the sound judicial discretion of the trial
court, even in capital cases, is the rule in
the federal courts. United States v. Mar-
chant, 12 Wheat. 480, 6 L. B4.: 700;:-U. 8.
y. Ball, 163 U. S. 662, 672, 16 Sup. Ct. 1192,
41 I. Ed. 300. here is nothing in the case
at bar to indicate any abuse of discretion.
Mainly, the court was not required to ex-
amine the alleged confession in the presence
of the district attorney and in the absence
ef counsel for the defendant. During the
trial the court was scrupulous to advise the
jury, whenever any statements made by
Kolek in the absence of Borasky implicating
the latter were offered in evidence, that they
were not to be considered against Borasky.
{3] 2. William E. Stibbs, called as a juror,
ttated in reply to one of the usual questions
put by the court that he was prejudiced in
favor of eapital punishment. Further ques-
tions by the court developed that the juror
wonld favor conviction only if guilt was
established on the evidence beyond a reason-
alle doubt. At the conclusion of the ex-
amination the court said: “I don’t see as
Your prejudice amounts to anything.” This
fairly summarizes the result of the answers
ef the juror, He was then sworn, After the

panel was completed and all the jurors
sworn, counsel for the defendants asked that
the juror Stibbs be challenged for cause, for
the reason that they had not understood his
answer that he was in favor of capital pun-
ishment. The ancient and common statement
in court touching the right of challenge is
that it must be exercised before the juror
is sworn. See Com. v. White, 208 Mass. 202,
208, 94 N. BE. 301. But without placing the
decision on that ground, it is plain that the
juror was indifferent in law, that he had no
knowledge from any source as to the case,
and that his answer only meant a firm be-
lief in capital punishment in cases in which
it is provided by law. This is far from dis-
qualification in a juror. Com. vy. Abbott, 13
Mete. 120.

[4] 8. An autopsy was performed by the
medical examiner of which a record was
made. R. L. c. 24, § 9, and section 10 as
amended by St. 1909, ¢. 2173, § 1.*-“Fhe defend-
ant, Borasky, objected to the testimony of
the physician, who performed the autopsy,
as to his observations, on the ground that the
record was the best evidence. This objection
was overruled properly. The testimony of
the witness who was present and observed

the condition revealed by the autopsy was ad-
missible. Com. v. Dunan, 128 Mass. 422.
[5,6] 4. There was testimony tending to
show that a check taken from the body of the
murdered woman was procured to be cashed
by one of the defendants. Her daughter-in-
law, Minnie Amansky, who could neither read
nor write, testified that she recognized a
check shown her as the one in question from
the picture of vegetables on it. Against the
objection and exception of the defendant
Borasky, she was permitted to testify that
she had seen other checks from time to time
like the one she had identified on the witness
stand. This was not error. The testimony
of an illiterate person as to the identity of
a written instrument is not incompetent.
Com. v. Meserve, 154 Mass. 64, 27 N. E. 997.
tts value may depend upon the degree of
familiarity of the witness with instruments
like in kind and evidence tending to show
such familiarity has probative force.
[7] 5. The defendant Kolek, on cross-eX-
amination of Minnie Amansky, asked if in
the police court, referring to a day or two
before the murder, in reply to the question,
“you found Stefan sleeping in the lot?” she
did not testify, “Yes, my mother-in-law says
to me, ‘You know Stefan has come.’” The
witness answered in the affirmative. He
then asked her, apparently in an effort to
show some statement eontrary to her earlier
testimony, whether her mother-in-law did say
two days before her death, “Do you know
that Stefan bas come?” The judge admitted
the question, so far as it related to Kolek,
but directed the jury to disregard it utterly,
so far as Borasky was concerned. This was
not error. There appears to have been no

controversy that Borasky was a guest at the


BOIES, John, hanged at Dedham, Massachusetts, on July 7, 1829,

"BOSTON, JULY 8, = EXECUTION. = Yesterday at Dedham, the awful sentence of the law was
executed on John Boies, for the murder of his wife, Jane Boles, at Milton, in February
last, with circumstances of great brutality. The wretched culprit was swung off about

9 A, M. and met his fate with fortitude, - He was tried and convicted before the

Supreme Judicial Court at Dedham in June laste Having had occasion to go to Dedham,
yesterday, on business, te had an opportunity of witnessing the scene of profligacy

and intemperance, which public executions are too apt to pradttte, There was a great

~ collection of people at Dedham, and it would'probably have been much larger, had it not
been for the judicious arrangements of the sheriff by which the convict met his death at
an early hour, But in thos assembled, thére was no appearance of that solem feeling
which the public dismission of a fellow being to his long and last account ought to
produce. - All seemed devoted to dissipation, amusement and drinking, and the village
of Dedham, and the public houses on the road, would have led one ignorant of the true cause
of the 'gathering together,' to the belief that it was produced by some holiday festi-
val, It confirmed us in the opinion we have for some time formed, against public
executions. They do no goods = but on the other hand, we believe they are productive

of much evils Each execution adds one day to the number, already too great, of those
spent in riot, idleness and drinking." RHGISTER, Raleigh, NC., July 23, 1829 (3:2&3.)


KILLED BY FIEND

The mother of eighteen-year-old

Ethel Zuckerman cries out in an-

guish as the body of her pretty

daughter (above) is lowered into
its grave, at the cemetery.

NG |BOSTON’S
VAS | WEEK MYSTERY

iteen, pretty clerk i the investigators, and which kept sixty-two ace
n, Massachusetts, sleuths working night and day.
Her skull had But, let us start from the beginning:
ow. A long-han-
‘nder white throat, FF" montus before, Ethel Zuckerman, a happy,
care-free girl, one of three children in the impov-

t cross, slit with a erished family of Mr. and Mrs. Louis Zuckerman, of

Roxbury, a Boston suburb, was graduated from Boston

lid, rain-drenched
ling on the fringe

It turned out to
er recorded on the
cratic Cabots and

il atrocity? What
elled this innocent
hen cruelly pinned
r, with one vicious
breadknife, found

for one year and
ives and homicide
vartment; a crime
unt in the history
00 suspects before

Girls High School.

Her father, doing odd chores, had scrimped and
saved. Her brother and sister had gone without pen-
nies for their daily bits of candy at #fe corner store;
had gone even without milk upon occasion, so that
Ethel could have her carfare. Mama Zuckerman had
been more conservative than was her custom in pur-
chasing household necessities, so that her eldest daugh-
ter, in her moment of triumph, graduating as an honor
student from high school,
could have the graduation KNIFE AS CLUE
dress she had selected. : Officer examines the knife

That night in the high — the murderer plunged into
school auditorium, Ethel, her the girl's throat, compar-
cheeks flushed, eyes dancing, ing it with other knives
sat clutching the diploma and found: he. bakerys

where Ethel was em-
honor scroll she had worked ployed as a clerk.


-

a |

CLARK, Mi F 3
LARK, Miller F., wh, elec. MA® (Suffolk) January 14, 1936
2 i

> Ga a dea ae

CHRISTMAS | W

LONDE ETHEL ZUCKERMAN, eighteen, pretty clerk th
in a Harrison Avenue, Boston, Massachusetts, she
bake-shop, was brutally slain. Her skull had

been crushed with a single terrific blow. A long-han-
dled knife had stabbed through her slender white throat,
impaling her to the floor. f
On her forehead appeared a scarlet cross, slit with a er
sharp instrument. R
The murder took place in the squalid, rain-drenched (
slums of Boston’s South End, sprawling on the fringe
of Chinatown, on December 20, 1933. It turned out to «
be one of the most puzzling crimes ever recorded on the "
ledgers of the habitat of the aristocratic Cabots and |
Lodges. 4 }
by Who could have committed this foul atrocity? What I
. monster, in a fit of raging passion, felled this innocent ;
y rm girl with a single lethal stroke, and then cruelly pinned t
iH A iy RY Ly A HR i EK N her struggling, thin body, to the floor, with one vicious :
razor-edged breadknife, found ‘

thrust of a slithery,

SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR FOR lying nearby?
These were the questions which, for one year and
REAL DETECT VE two. days, stumped the crack detectives and homicide
officials of an harassed police department; a crime
which launched the greatest man-hunt in the history
of that city, bringing more than 300 suspects before


—

SS
2
Seema:

Re

GAVE CLUE so hard to win.
Mrs. Molly Fuller (above imind was not on the
with daughter) startled : :
police by walking into the glowing | phrases of
station and announcing the principal who
she knew the killer of the warned the graduating

Zuckerman girl. class of the adversi-
ties they must face in life, urging them to be
good citizens. No, Ethel was dreaming, dream-
ing of the future. She pictured herself a secre-
tary some day—secretary to some millionaire who
would dictate letters to her in a large shiny office.
She dreamed of all the wonderful things she could do
for her family with the money she would earn as a
secretary. That was Ethel’s ambition. She MUST earn
money to finance her education at some business college. She
vowed she’d graduate with honors there, too!

First though, she must seek employment. She simply
had to get a job. So with graduation over, Ethel went about
the arduous task of seeking work in a city where the relief
rolls, like every other great American city, had swelled to
overflowing.

Daily, from early morning until night, she trudged the
streets of Boston, only to return home as dark fell, footsore
and sick at heart. Everywhere she sought work, she was met
with the same reply : “Sorry but we’re laying people off.”

Then, one day, through an acquaintance, she heard of the

Her

56

job in the bakery on Harrison Ave-
nue where, two months later, she
was brutally murdered.

Without wasting a precious mo-
ment, Ethel went to the store and
applied for the position. The
owner, recognizing in her an intel-
ligent girl with a quick smile and
cheery disposition, hired her.

Ethel was to report at 5:30 P. M.,
and stay through until closing at 11
p.M. This delighted her. It would
give her time to seek better em-
ployment during the day and help
her mother with the housework.
She accepted and started work at
once.

Weeks passed. Business in the
bakery picked up. The owner was
more than satisfied with his new
clerk. Money owed by the poor in
the neighborhood seemed easier to
collect now that Ethel handled the
diplomatic end.

And Ethel was looking happily
forward to Christmas—the first
time in her harassed young life
when she would have money of her
own to buy presents for her parents
and the little sister and brother she
adored.

Then, five
days be-
£ ose

QUESTIONED
Police picked up Miller

Christmas, Ethel kissed her mother
and skipped blithely down the steps
of her Roxbury home, laughing at
the warning of her mother to “be
careful in that awful South End.”

Frank Clark, who ad-
mitted he knew the
dead girl and had

asked her to marry him.

Her mother said that

every night when she left. It seemed so silly. Even though
the South End was the slums and there were mysterious

and shady-looking characters on every street corner, Ethel

had never be
streets and
way.
Bending
from the s}
from the st
her and im:
into the ras
A baker
bakers who
was counti!
That bake

murderer, t

N 10:3
Street

turnover.
stopped to
waiting a
Bessie calle
called out,
leave. As
behind the
further, sh
“Murder
Alexand:
through th:
He ran int

INTERIOF
Ethel Zucker
work in the
(below). It
she met her


Harrison Ave-
uths later, she
ed. '
. precious mo-
the store and
position. The
n her an intel-
uick smile and
ired her.
‘tat 5:30 Pp. M.,
il closing at 11
| her. It would
eek better em-
» day and help
he housework.
tarted work at

susiness in the
[he owner was
with his new
by the poor in
semed easier to
hel handled the

looking happily
mas — the first
sed young life
ve money of her
for her parents
and brother she
lored.

Then, five
days be-
fore

QUESTIONED
slice picked up Miller
ank Clark, who ad-
itted he knew the
ead girl and had
sked her to marry him.

mother said that
lly. Even though
were mysterious
reet corner, Ethel

had never been accosted. She just walked hurriedly along the
streets and paid no attention to anyone. That was the best
way.

Bending her body against the driving rain that poured
from the skies like great sheets of mercury, Ethel trotted
from the street car stop to the bakery. The owner greeted
her and immediately donned his hat and coat and went out
into the raging storm.

A baker coming on for the night shift—there were four
bakers who worked in the basement—greeted Ethel. She
was counting the money in the old-fashioned till.

That baker was the last person, with the exception of the
murderer, to see the unfortunate girl alive.

rt 10:30 p. M., Bessie Stern, seventeen, of Oswego

Street, nearby, came into the store to buy an apple
turnover. She knew Ethel well. Often she came by and
stopped to chat with the pleasant, round-faced clerk. After
waiting a few minutes in the deathlike quiet of the bakery,
Bessie called out to Ethel. There was no reply. Again she
called out, and still no reply. Puzzled, the girl turned to
leave. As she did so, she noticed a foot protruding from
behind the counter at an opening. Without looking any
further, she ran into the street, screaming:

“Murder! Murder! Help! Help!”

Alexander Polihurnis, sixteen, of Genesse Street, hurrying
through the pelting rain to his home, heard the girl’s cries.
He ran into the bakery with her.

Horrified, Bessie pointed to
the limp, ominous foot. The
youth peered over the counter,
paled, and reeled from the store.
Recovering himself, he raced

INTERIOR OF SHOP
Ethel Zuckerman loved her
work in the little bakery
(below). It was here that
she met her brutal death.

MA er bea ate SU ep REAL tear TRB a ABT ae 1a ORT aa Caan St
S Seats Sear Soe: Deh die eee et SRE Pet
3 Bk «is io) aye he |

to a police patrol box and yanked the citizen’s alarm.

Outside the store in the driving rain, Alexander and Bessie
waited. Curious passersby, who overheard the girl’s screams
and wild sobbing, stopped to ask what was the trouble.
Within a few minutes a patrol wagon and a radio patrol
from the Warren Avenue police station, skidded to a stop
in front of the bakeshop.

Two uniformed patrolmen stepped from the radio car.

“Who pulled the alarm?” one queried gruffly of the little
knot of rain-soaked people.

The Polihurnis boy spoke up:

“There’s a girl in there—dead! A knife’s stuck in her
throat!” ,

The officer whistled through his teeth and bounded up
the stairs into the bakery. One look at the distorted features
of the victim sufficed.

“This is a case for the homicide bureau,” he said to a
brother officer, who stood aghast at the bloody spectacle.

The policeman reached for the telephone and noticed that
the receiver dangled from the holder, mute testimony that
the victim had attempted to summon aid during her death
struggle. The line was down, torn from the wall.

The officer raced across the street and called police head-
quarters. Within ten minutes the neighborhood was swarm-
ing with bluecoats and detectives.

Captain James Claflin, in charge of the Warren Avenue
station, and Lieutenant-Inspector Harry L. Pierce, homicide
expert, arrived from their homes within half an hour. This
was a case for every available man! Not because Ethel
Zuckerman was a person of importance, but because for the
past eight months, social agencies, the clergy and the news-
papers, had ridiculed Captain Claflin and his vice-ridden,
South End command. (Continued on page 83)

mn rec see

When she returned to her seat
me among the other students on the
oi auditorium platform, those seated
a near her saw tears glistening in her
a dark eyes.

a Were those tears of joy?
Only Ethel knew that those tears
ne were for her mother and father,
“g Mr. and Mrs. Louis Zuckerman, of
“a Roxbury, Massachusetts, who had
4 scrimped, and saved, and cut finan-
a cial corners, and deprived them-
a selves, and her young brother and
. sister of life’s necessities, so that
Bie Ethel could graduate ‘in this beau-
eat, white organdie dress...

Be “Now the prindgal i the ‘achool
‘was addressing. the graduating
class, warning them of ‘the adversi-

ties they must face in their lives,

"Ethel sat: there ‘not. bearing.
She ‘was .

: ~ show. her mother: ines father, and
“the gifts she ‘could buy her sister

furniture.

Once her family ‘was. “happy. ta

this new found world, ‘Ethel would .
then save enough money ‘to finance _
her way through some. business ‘col-
lege, for that was “her. ambition.

urging them to be good. citizens, but

_and brother. -She would save every.
penny and soon they could move to.
a better home with nice,: “new shiny —

as she lay at night thinking: won-

dering what would become of her,”

of her family, too.

Then one day early in November,
a friend of her father’s told them
about a job for a smart young girl
in a bakery shop on Harrison Ave-
nue, in Boston’s South End.

Ethel was delighted. Her mother,
however, didn’t share her en-
thusiasm.

“I don’t like you ‘working in a
neighborhood like that,’’ she

warned.

“Mrs, Zuckerman had good reason
for her fears. Boston’s South End,

- sprawling on the fringe of China- —
‘once the habitat of the...
“socially elite, had decayed into row.

3¢4

street after street, of

town, .

after row,
ramshackle slum dwellings. In its

confines lived the most’ depraved

characters in the city’s. slums, |

True, some of the residents perk”

honest,
by circumstance to.

of society, but, too, there were shady
_ characters, - “painted ladies of the
evening, men with sharp, furtive
eyes whose manner of living was

God-fear Lg “people, forced

“of interest to hen ace and social

authorities. Ses

Desperate’ at her Rother s fears,
_ Ethel | pleaded, explained that jobs
“were scarce, that it: ‘a girl minded
“her- business,

‘Zuckerman was;

to seek this level

10: ‘harm would*
“come to’ her,’ and. fel Mama

botheréd. her. ’ Eve
South..End was the slums, and

lighted: Ethel, as it left her the

‘entire day to seek better employ-

ment, even to attend school in the

, “future, and she’d be able to help her
‘mother with the housework, too.

Weeks passed. Ethel was happier
than she’d been since that night in
the auditorium of Boston Girl’s
High. The bakery owner was more

than satisfied with his new clerk. -

Money owed by the poor seemed
easier to collect now that Ethel
handled the diplomatic end. —
Ethel was looking forward eagerly
to Christmas—the first in her eight-
een years that she would be able to

buy presents for her family with ~

her own money.

‘Each night as she tripped down
the. stairs from her home, her
mother would warn:

“Be careful, Ethel.
tention to anyone.”

‘Ethel would. laugh. No one had
Even though the

Pay no at-

shady-looking- characters lurked in
doorways and on street corners,
she had never been accosted. She

just walked hurriedly along the

streets (Continued on page 51 )

an ETHEL ZUCKERMAN: Dis-
Wel SS gewery of her alain and mu-
- tilated body started Boston’s
“greatest manhunt in ‘years.


>

ing house at.. .’

“Wait a minute!” Donovan inter-
rupted, convinced of the woman’s sin-
cerity now. He picked up a telephone
and called Captain Claflin.

In twenty minutes the Warren Ave-
nue station was jam-packed with gold
braided police officials, newspaper
reporters, cameramen, and a hundred
detectives and patrolmen.

In the captain’s office, Captain
Claflin took up the job of question-
ing. Sergeant Fallon, his face drawn,
stood to one side studying Mrs. Fuller
intently.. William Shanahan, police
stenographer, sat next to Claflin,
pencil poised over his notebook.

The captain, pale, his voice almost
trembling with emotion, raised his
hand for silence. Then he said:

“Mrs. Fuller, if you know the man
who killed Ethel Zuckerman; if you
can in any way help us solve this ter-
rible crime...”

“I haven’t any doubts about it,”
Mrs. Fuller cut in. “I know Frank
Clarke killed her!”

“How do you know this?” Claflin
persisted. “Where does he live?”

“At 195 Shawmut, Avenue, in a
rooming house,” Mrs. Fuller replied
quickly.

Claflin looked up at Sergeant Fallon.
“Take a half-dozen men with you,
sergeant, and be careful.”

When Fallon and his detail had
slammed out of the station, Claflin
nodded for Mrs. Fuller to tell her
story.

“Well,” she began in a low voice,
“this Frank Clarke and I were sort
of...” she coughed .. . “lovers, I
guess you'd call it. I run a rooming
house, and have an eight-year-old
daughter. Of late he’s acted a little
queer. Once when I cleaned up his
room I found a scrap of paper with
a cross drawn on it and it looked like
it had been drawn with red ink or
blood and .. .”

Captain Claflin’s eyes darted around
the room at the other officers, who, too,

AMAZING DETECTIVE CASES

Then when I was cutting some ham
for lunch with my breadknife I said
to him, ‘This is just like the knife
that was stuck in that poor Zucker-
man girl’s throat, isn’t it?’ and he got
very pale, and made some excuses
about having to hurry downtown.

“T was sure then that he had done
it, but I played a waiting game. Every
time there was anything in the papers
about the murder I’d talk about it,
and he’d get mad, and evade me and
change the subject. I didn’t know
what to do until this afternoon I saw
him again going into the house of this
woman friend... .” Mrs. Fuller drew
a small handkerchief from her bag
and cried into it... .

ERGEANT FALLON and his de-
tail arrived at the lodging house.
A roly-poly landlady admitted them,
protestingly. She: directed them to
Clarke’s room on an upper floor. Fal-

’

| ETWELS SHOE SEEN
/N CORNER LEO
70 OISCOVERY

Claflin added, “You killed Ethel Zuck-

erman!”

Clarke grinned again. “Who told
you that crazy story?”

“Mrs. Molly Fuller,” Claflin an-

swered. “You know her, don’t you?”

Clarke paled, wrung the soiled cap
he held in his gnarled hands, and
flicked his tongue along dry lips.
“Yeah, I know her,” he agreed. ‘So
she told you this story, eh?”

Captain Claflin nodded slowly. Even
the most optimistic officer in that
room hardly expected the next de-
velopment.

Clarke shifted in his chair, studied
the face of each officer carefully with
his little blue eyes, a half smile twist-
ing his sensuous lips. He leaned to-
ward Captain Claflin, and almost
whispered:

“Well, I’ll tell you. I murdered her
all right.”

Sergeant Fallon was on his feet star-

~~

Fee eek

BODY WAS FOUND
ON FLOOR /N REAR *~ :
| OF LARGE CAKE CASE | |

were incredulous.

“Did you keep those crosses?” he
asked anxiously.

Mrs. Fuller shook her head nega-
tively. “I didn’t think anything of
it, until it suddenly dawned on me that
Frank had me sew a button on his

Photo and diagram shown here illustrate where body of Ethel Zuckerman was found brutally
murdered and marked

coat shortly after the murder and I
noticed bloodstains on it.

“I asked him about them and he
said he’d been in a fight. I know he
used to be a professional boxer and
he gets into trouble a lot driving a
truck now and then.

“I remember that he acted scared
stiff the night the newsboys were
shouting the news of that poor girl’s
murder and I decided to try and find
out just what he had to do with it.

“Then he made me real mad.” Mrs.
Fuller smiled sheepishly. “One night
I happened to be passing the home of
a friend and silhouetted behind a
drawn curtain I saw Frank and this
woman friend of mine. They were
kissing. I got real mad about that
and decided to make certain of my
suspicions that Frank had killed that
Zuckerman girl.”

“How did you do that?” Captain
Claflin urged.

“Well, I had him up to my house
for lunch one day and then I told
him there wasn’t any bread and would
he go over to the bakery where she
had worked and get some. He took
the money and went out, but he came
back with store bread, telling me the
bakery was closed. I knew it wasn’t.

ie hammered on the door with his
st.

“Who’s there?” a voice croaked.

“The police,’ Fallon answered.
“Open this door!”

The door swung open to reveal a
grizzled man of middle age, his face
seamed with lines of dissipation, his
grey hair unkempt, and huge bat ears
that protruded from the side of his
head.

“What’s the matter?” he asked,
blinking his small blue eyes.

“Get your clothes on,” Fallon or-
dered. “We want to talk to you at
the station.”

Frank Clarke dressed, while Fallon
and the detectives went over his room
carefully, bundled all his personal
effects into a pillowcase, and then they
hustled him back to the station.

Mrs. Fuller was removed to an up-
stairs room to wait while Clarke,
grinning, enjoying the flicker of flash-
light bulbs, the confusion created by
his entrance into the station, was led
into Captain Claflin’s office.

“Sit down!” Captain Claflin barked,
irked at Clarke’s grinning = coun-
tenance. When Clarke, the grin gone
from his face, sat facing the officers,

ing hard at Clarke. Captain Claflin
sank back in his swivel chair and
breathed a deep sigh of relief. The
police stenographer was summoned
again. ,

“All right, Clarke,” Captain Claflin
said finally, “let’s hear your story.”

The wildest passages ever penned
by a psychopathic writer could hardly
compare with the rambling, distorted,
sometimes incoherent words in
Clarke’s amazing confession. The
words seemed to tumble over his
flaccid lips in a never ending torrent
of release. His weird confession, ver-
batim is:

“T went in there to purchase some
cat pies. I love cat pies I do, I do.
That’s how I first met her, I did. I
got five cat pies, I did, and when she
walked down to the end of the counter,
naturally she went to the cash regis-
ter and put that money in, she did,
and she walks around and when she
did I naturally followed her, I did,
and when I followed her I naturally
hit her, I did.

“She hollered. See? and started to
go to a telephone and naturally I got
kinda scared and ran out.

“So I went to Mott Street (China- i

pints nr

and paid no attention to anyone. That
was the best way.

VV HILE Sergeant Fallon sat there
listening and sympathizing with
the bereaved parents, raiding squads,
armed with sledge-hammers and axes
cracked down on house after house
in the South End in their search for
the _ slayer. Speakeasies, . bawdy
houses, gambling rooms, were turned
upside down, wrecked and their in-
habitants questioned until they were
limp and hoarse voicing denials.

Hobo jungles were attacked with
Startling suddenness all over the city,
and the “bums” gathered around
their steaming pots of “mulligan”
hauled off to headquarters for ques-
tioning.

,Ethel Zuckerman’s murder un-
leashed a torrent of accusation on the
heads of police officials. The South
End must be cleaned up. Vice, cor-
ruption, disease, were rampant.

Ethel Zuckerman’s murderer must
be caught!

i it wasn’t to be as easy as all

The hours ticked into days, the days
stretched into weeks, and the weeks
into months, and all efforts of police
to ensnare the murderer in the great
dragnet about Boston failed disheart-
eningly.

Even the newspaper editorials, and
the words of priests and preachers,
and incensed social workers, had
quieted when the April suns thawed
the snows of winter.

The beast who had killed Ethel
Zuckerman still walked the streets of
Boston.

In the latter part of April two small
boys went walking in the woods in
Raynham, a small town some thirty

-miles from Boston. They happened

across a blood-stained denim jumper.

Because of the front page publicity

given Ethel Zuckerman’s murder they

carried the jumper back to their

homes, and their families notified Bos-

pa police headquarters of their grisly
nd.

Sergeant Joseph Fallon, now the
spearhead of the murder probe, wan,
determined, almost obsessed with the
hunt for the girl’s slayer, hastened to
Raynham.

Step by step he followed the history
of that blue denim jacket stained with
blood. Three weeks of avid investi-
gation led him to the home of one
Joseph Glaub, a Raynham truck
farmer.

Glaub readily admitted ownership
of the jumper.

“I wore it killing some chickens,”’
he explained to Sergeant Fallon, “then
I threw it away.”

“You haven’t been on friendly
terms with the Zuckermans, have
you?” Sergeant Fallon said, taking a
shot in the dark.

“I'm Mrs. Zuckerman’s
cousin,” Glaub_ replied,
haven’t spoken for years.”

“Where were you on the night of
the murder?”

“In Brockton at the home of
friends,” Glaub replied.

second
“and we

fore the rays of the sun.

FROM AUTHENTIC POLICE RECORDS

MARK OF THE BEAST

(Continued from page 21)

Sergeant Fallon took Glaub to Bos-
ton and ordered him held as a sus-
picious person until he checked his
alibi. Unfortunately for Glaub, the
family he had visited on that fateful
night weren’t sure Glaub had been
with them, and the truck farmer, who
admitted an animosity for the Zuck-
ermans, was subjected to a four-day
grilling that shattered his nerves. He
finally collapsed and was sent to a
hospital.

Another lead dissolved like fog be-
Another
month of sleepless nights, and hours

These knives were used by the killer not only
to slay his victim, but to mar her beauty.

of endless work to no avail. Still
Sergeant Fallon and a score of detec-
tives continued their hunt unabated.

It seemed improbable that a mur-
derer could so completely vanish from
the scene of his crime without leaving
some clew, without arousing the sus-
Picions of some person.

Ethel Zuckerman had been a fine
girl. She had no men friends. She
spent all her leisure hours in the pur-
suit of better employment and in her
home assisting her mother.

Word was flashed from New York
in March that one Brent Dorio, 36, of
Astoria, Long Island, had been ar-
rested by police for bootlegging, and
in his pocket was found a package of
newspaper clippings concerning the
murder of Ethel.

Sergeant Fallon hurried to New
York and subjected Dorio to a lengthy
grilling. Dorio admitted having been
in Boston at the time of the crime,
but denied knowing the girl, and was
able to place himself in that city on
the night of the murder. He had kept
the clippings, he said, because he was
an amateur sleuth at heart, and want-
ed to keep a record of the case for

future reference.

Dejected, worn-out, Sergeant Fallon
returned to Boston to take up his
hunt anew. Three more months
passed. Again word flashed from New
York that the most hideous monster in
modern criminal annals had been ap-
prehended for the brutal sex slaying
of ten-year-old Grace Budd, a Green-
wich Village schoolgirl in 1928.

Sixty-six-year-old Albert Fish,
branded the “Ogre of Wisteria House,”
had in his mumbled, rambling confes-
sion to the Budd girl’s slaying made
mention of the Zuckerman girl’s death.

Out of the slime, and sadistic butch-
ery of this decrepit brute would the
answer to Ethel Zuckerman’s murder
be realized?

Sergeant Fallon again hastened to
New York to question this greatest
of human monsters. Four times, two
hours at a time, Fallon questioned
the slobbering sexagenarian. Again
hopes of the solution he sought van-
ished in thin air.

December 20, 1934—the anniversary
of Ethel Zuckerman’s brutal slaying—
found police still vigilant, but with
little hope. The newspapers took this
occasion to acidly attack the futility
of the police search for the slayer.
Sergeant Fallon refused to admit de-
feat, but deep down inside he felt it
was a losing battle.

Two nights later, Patrolman Joseph
Harrington, on duty at the booking
desk at the Warren Avenue station,
looked up into the dark eyes of a
buxom, florid-faced woman. She was
 gaaed upset, and chewed her lower
1p

you?” Harrington asked.

“I want to talk to somebody about
the Zuckerman murder,” the woman
announced.

For more than a year now Harring-
ton and other officers had been pes-
tered by scores of persons who
“wanted to talk to somebody about
the Zuckerman murder.”

Harrington looked at the woman
quizzically. ‘What can you tell us
a it?” he asked, a smile on his
ips.

“I know who murdered her!”

Harrington started from his seat.
“What?” he almost shouted. He
pressed the buzzer on his desk.

Lieutenant William Donovan
stepped out of his office and looked at
Harrington inquiringly.

“This woman says she knows who
murdered Ethel Zuckerman,” the desk
clerk said, jerking his head toward
the woman.

Lieutenant Donovan couldn’t sup-
press a smile. “Is that so?” he asked.
“Step this way, please,” he said to
the lady, stepping aside so she could
enter his office.

When the plump dark-haired wom-
an had taken a seat, Lieutenant Don-
ovan asked:

“Who killed Ethel Zuckerman?”

“A man who calls himself Miller
Frank Clarke,” the woman replied in
even tones.

“Who are you?” Donovan asked, his

interest aroused.
“Are AMTallx, Wiillar

De ee we ee lt

“Ts there anything I can do for.


town) down through Boston Common,
then I came back and went home.
Then I came out again, I did, I did.
Then I went back over the Common.
©“- when I went to the Common it
Ss raining at that time and I kept
Iking around over in_ Scollay
Square and it was kind of wet, so
I went to work in the morning.
“So I asked her to marry me and
when she said ‘no’ naturally I hit
her, and naturally when I hit her
she went down, she did, she did. So
I went home and got one knife and
that knife kind of bent when I hit
her so I got the other and stuck her
here. (Clarke pointed to his throat.)
“There was some blood on my coat
and I didn’t notice it, I didn’t. So I
had the intention of going to a tailor
but it was too late so I didn’t bother,
I didn’t. I didn’t bother much about
it and I threw the coat away, I did.
“I wanted the lady (Mrs. Fuller) to
sew some buttons on the coat and
she asked where I got the blood so
naturally I told her
that was what it was.
“I killed her because she didn’t want
to marry me and I didn’t want her to
marry anyone else, I didn’t. I wanted
her to go to the movies with me and
she wouldn’t. I liked her. Every time
I asked her to marry me, I did, I did.
“That night I went there to get cat
pies and ask her to marry me, I did.
She was alone when I asked her to
marry me. She said, ‘I can’t just now.
I’m young and I want time to think
it over well.’ I told her, ‘I'll have you,
or no one else will,’ and we started
an argument. Then I suddenly got
~-4d, I did, and I hit her with my
; and naturally she fell down.
I grabbed a knife and stabbed at

have committed the crime somewhere
along the route. The first part of this
could be ruled out because the
Bullocks said that Stone’s visit was
an unexpected one; that he had made
up his mind at the last minute and
had come over without calling. Also,
what guarantee would the killer have
that Stone would answer his ring?”

“What are you driving at?” Detec-
tive McGarrity asked.

“Simply this, our whole investiga-
tion shows that no one had any reason
for killing Stone.”

“But he’s dead,” one of the detec-
tives grunted.

“That’s just it,” Carter said gently.
“Maybe he was killed by mistake.”

Without a word being spoken the
three detectives leaped to their feet,
grabbed their hats and hurried to the
ie a The same thought was in all
minds,

hey jumped into a squad car, raced
ard the Bullock home on Parkway
Drive.

It was Bullock himself, a well-to-do
wholesale grocer, although only in his
early thirties, who admitted the
officers.

Carter wasted no time on prelimi-
naries. His voice was flinty. “Mr.
Bullock, do you know why anyone
would want to kill you?”

was in a fight,

FROM AUTHENTIC POLICE RECORDS

her throat but it missed and hit her
on the forehead and the blade broke,
it did. Then I grabbed another knife
and stuck her. She must have been
dead all right by then. I left the
bakery and walked around in the
rain all night, I did, and it was wet,
and I went home to bed.”

That was that. What the Boston
detectives had been unable to unravel
in one year and two days of intensive
investigation the ire of a woman
scorned had cleared up in less than
an hour.

Clarke repeated his confession
again, scrawled his name to it, and
the very text of the confession, its
garbled, disjointedness, led many to
believe the man was insane.

Alienists examined Clarke. They
found him to be sound mentally but
doctors found him suffering from a
dread disease, that they concurred,
would have driven him insane. be-
fore many more years.

During the six weeks he was in-
carcerated in jail prior to his trial
on a charge of first degree murder,
Clarke feigned insanity, became an
unruly, surly prisoner, and was kept
confined in a cell even to having his
meals served him there.

Finally he went on trial before
Judge John M. Gibbs, in Suffolk Su-
perior Court. George A. Douglas, able
Boston criminal attorney, who defend-
ed pretty blue-eyed Norma Millen,
wife of the notorious machine-gunning
Murton Millen, of the Millen-Faber
gang, was Clarke’s defense counsel.

Douglas’ defense was based on a
plea of temporary insanity on the part
of his client.

There were few highlights to the
three-day trial. Clarke alternately
grinning, and winking at spectators

and courtroom guards, tried to carry

out the part of a deranged man.

Taking the stand in his own defense,
Clarke repeated his story to a baffled
jury. Assistant District Attorney
Daniel J. Gillen cross-examined for
the state.

Trapped in a network of his own
lies, unable to answer the questions
put to him, Clarke slumped forward
in his seat, closed his eyes, and fell
from the chair.

“That,” the state prosecutor shout-
ed above the tumult, “is the fanciest
dry dive I’ve ever seen!”

The jury was out ten minutes. The
verdict: Guilty of murder in the first
degree.

In answer to Judge Gibbs’ question
as to whether he had anything to say,
Clarke merely stated:

“TI didn’t do it, I didn’t, see.”

In the deathhouse, the day before
he was scheduled to die, Clarke made
one last request; that prison authori-
ties get him the last chapter of Mutiny
on the Bounty, then running serially
in the Saturday Evening Post. This
was done.

“I couldn’t go away, I couldn't,”
Clarke grinned, “without knowing
how these poor suckers made out.”

On the night of January 13, 1936,
a little more than two years after
he had so hideously murdered inno-
cent Ethel Zuckerman, Clarke died in
the electric chair at Charlestown state
prison.

Massachusetts’ most heinous mon-
ster of a generation had gone to his
eternal resting place.

*The names Joseph Glaub and
Brent Dorio as used in this story are
fictitious to save innocent persons
from embarrassment.

Case of the Passionate Love-Chiseler

(Continued from page 27)

The wholesale grocer’s head snapped
back in surprise. The blood drained
from his ruddy cheeks. “Kill me?”
he stammered incredulously.

“Yes, you—” the detective snapped.

Before he could reply there was the
sound of a horrified gasp and heads
turned suddenly toward the living
room door which connected with the
hall. Frances Bullock stood framed
in the entrance, a trembling hand over
her mouth.

Carter levelled his next question at
her. “Mrs. Bullock,” he prodded,
“who’d want to kill your husband?”

“Nobody, I tell you!” Robert Bullock
countered hotly.

The detective turned on the visibly
shaken man. “An innocent man has
been murdered,” he said coldly. “That
killer did not come for Stone. I think
you are withholding information on
this case. To save us both some trouble
let me tell you that I’ll get it from you
even if I have to jail you as a material
witness.”

Bullock mopped his perspiring brow.
“The reason I haven’t said anything
was that I didn’t want to incriminate
any innocent person,” he began hesi-
tantly, wetting his parched lips with
his tongue, “but I guess if anyone
thought he had reason to want to kill
me it would be—Brock, Clem Brock!”

McGarrity and Cates moved closer

to the speaker. -

Bullock removed his shell-rimmed
glasses which had become fogged with
sweat. “Mind you, if he did try to kill
me, it was only because of stupid
gossip regarding his wife and me,
gossip, I might add, which was com-
pletely without foundation.”

“Get to the point.”

Bullock cleared his throat. “Brock
just got back from the chain-gang; he
did a short term—I don’t know what
for.” He ran his finger between his
collar and his neck. “I was friendly
with Mrs. Brock during the time her
husband was away. But it was nothing
more than friendship,” he reiterated.
He explained that he had met the
comely woman through business asso-
ciates. “About a week ago Mrs. Brock
phoned me and said that her husband
had learned about me and was threat-
ening to kill us both.”

Here indeed was a motive for mur-
der—the age-old story of the outraged
husband. Now they were getting
somewhere.

“Do you know’ Brock?”
asked.

“No, sir, and I don’t think he ever
saw me in his life.”

This rounded out Carter’s theory
of mistaken identity. There was now
little doubt but that Stone had been
shot down because the killer, in a

Carter

Lat bee a


248 Saints and Strangers

Separatists from coming to Plymouth. That was false. They
welcomed any honest men who were willing to “carry them-
selves peacably and seek ye commone good, or at least doe
them no hurte.” Strangers were not denied the consolations of
religion; they were “free” to attend the Pilgrim church as
often as they wished. Oldham had pretended that the Pilgrim
leaders were trying to ruin those who had come “on their per-
ticuler.” That was not so; the Council had merely stopped
their traffic in “stolne goods.” They claimed to have noted
“exseeding great waste of tools & vesseles.”” The most they
could have seen was an ‘‘old hogshed or two fallen to peeces,
and a broken hoe or two left carlesly in ye feilds by some.”
Nor was it true that there had been unjust distribution of sup-
plies so that some men received sixteen pounds of meal a week
while others received only four, leading Lyford to the sarcasm,
“it seems some men’s mouths and bellies are very little &
slender over others.” There had been some inequality in al-
lowances as a result of the bargain struck with those who came
on the Anne, Bradford explained, but that was only tempo-
rary. Besides, who was Lyford to complain? Had not he and
his family always had the highest allowance?

Neither of the accused seemed to take the proceedings very
seriously. Both were “‘stiffe & stood resolutly upon ye deneyall
of most things, and required proofe.” With his fine sense of
dramatic situation, Bradford must have rather enjoyed the
scene as he produced the copies of the letters he had made on
the Charity and began to read them aloud. The dominant
clique at Plymouth, so Lyford informed his friends among
the adventurers, carried everything with a high hand and
‘matched the Jesuits for policie.” There was only one way to
break their hold on the colony—overwhelm them by sheer
numbers. As many non-Separatists as possible should be sent
over with the clear understanding that they were to have
‘‘voyces in all courts & elections, and be free to bear any of-
fice.” Quite as important, ‘‘ye Leyden company (Mr. Robin-
son & ye rest) must be kepte back, or els all will be spoyled.”
And the hair on at least one head must have stood straight up
when Bradford came to this passage:

“If that Capten you spoake of should come hither as a

Unsavorie Salte 249

generall, I am persuaded he would be chosen Capten, for this
Captaine Standish looks like a silly boy, and is in utter con-
tempte.”

Lyford was struck dumb by this undeniable evidence of his
perfidy, but not Oldham. “A mad Jack in his mood,” as even
friends admitted, he stormed at Bradford and his assistants
for daring to intercept and open his letters, “threatening them
in very high language,” trying in the boldest manner to raise
as town against them, finally raising the standard of open re-
volt.

‘My masters,” he cried, turning to the assembly, ‘‘where is
your harts? Now show your courage. You have oft complained
to me of this and that. Now is the time if you will do anything |
I will stand by you.”

Not a man moved, not a voice was raised in the tense hushed
room until Lyford, suddenly bursting into tears, began to wail
that John Billington and others had deceived him with their
constant complaints. He now saw that everything he had writ-
ten was ‘‘false and nought, both for matter & manner.” He
had traduced and vilified men who had treated him with every
kindness, and he feared that he could never make amends for
the wrongs he had done them, moaning that he was a “‘repro-
bate, . . . unsavorie salte, &c.”

The Council agreed and ordered both men to leave Ply-
mouth, a drastic punishment on the wild frontier. Still scornful
and defiant, Oldham was commanded to get out immediately
though his wife and children, if they wished, might stay un-
til he could “remove them comfortably.” Going north some
thirty miles, Oldham established a settlement at Nantasket,
now the town of Hull, on the lower shore of Boston Bay. With
him went a number of the discontented, including several per-
sons of note. One was Roger Conant, salter of London, who
had arrived about a year before, perhaps coming with Weston
on his unwelcome visit. Now in his early thirties and by
all accounts a “pious, sober, and prudent gentleman,” Conant
later founded Salem and subsequently made a name for himself
in the Massachusetts colony. The William Hiltons journeyed
even farther north, joining David ‘Thompson, a Scottish
trader, who had established himself at the mouth of the Pisca-


258 ‘ Saints and Strangers

formed Cushman. ‘‘Nay, we will rather ruine that which is
done than that they should possess it.” In the same letter
Bradford thanked Cushman for the spices he had sent and
warned him to be on the lookout for Oldham, reported to have
sailed for England. ‘Beware of him, for he is very malicious,
and much threatens you. ... Billington still rails against you,
and threatens to arrest you, I know not wherefore; he is a
knave, and so will live and die... . Your son and all of us are
in good health (blessed be God). He received the things you
sent him. I hope God will make him a good man.” He did, for
young Thomas Cushman eventually succeeded Brewster as rul-
ing elder.

In London, where he remained several months, Standish
accomplished very little. Plague was raging in the city, all with
means had fled into the country, and it was practically im-
possible to transact any business. But ‘‘with much adoe” he
managed to borrow £150—at fifty per cent!—and “‘spent a
good deal of it in expences,” said Bradford, who was inclined
to be critical of the Captain’s judgment in business affairs, re-
marking that in such matters he had the “least skill.”

Standish returned, by way of Maine, brimming with news.
And all of it was bad. Sherley and his partners were on the
edge of bankruptcy from the loss of the Little James and other
reverses. James I was dead, and nothing could be expected
from Prince Charles whose policy in church and state would
undoubtedly be based upon even higher doctrine than his fa-
ther’s. Of more immediate and grievous concern, the Pilgrims
had lost “their right hand with their freinds ye adventurers,”
good Deacon Cushman, “‘ye stay & life of ye whole bussines,”
struck down by the plague. This was a heavy blow, but Stand-
ish had worse to report:

John Robinson was dead!

In all the troubled career of the Saints nothing ever quite so
stunned them. Their darkest hours had been lighted by the
hope that their beloved pastor would soon join them and they
might again sit at his feet and be comforted as they had been
with such content at Leyden. His eloquent letters with their
serene faith, their clear-eyed grasp of fundamentals, their
warm quick sympathy and understanding, had given them

The Undertakers 259

heart to go on when they were on the brink of despair, when
all things seemed to be united in a conspiracy to overwhelm
them. Now he was gone when not yet fifty, when at the very
height of his powers, carried off by a “continuall inwarde
ague.” Taken sick on a Saturday, he had insisted upon preach-
ing twice the next day, reluctant to disappoint his brethren.
“The physick he tooke wrought kindly in man’s judgmente, but
he grew weaker every day,” dying a week later, “feeling litle
or no paine and sensible to ye very last,” departing “this vaell
of tears” on March 1, 1625. Four days later the greatest of
the Saints, one of the great men of the age, was buried with
simple ceremony under the pavement in the main aisle of the
Pieterskerk, the immense stone cathedral that loomed so high
above the Green Gate, quite overshadowing the humble meet-
ing house just across Bell Alley where an always “loving &
faithfull” pastor had lived and laboured for so long.

“And if either prayers, tears, or means would have saved
his life,” came the anguished cry from Leyden, “he had not
gone hence.” The grief of the Saints at Plymouth was as great.

“Though they had esteemed him highly whilst he lived & la-

‘boured amongst them, yet more after his death when they

came to feele ye wante of his help, and saw (by woefull ex-
perience) what a treasure they had lost to ye greefe of their
harts and wounding of their sowls,” wrote Bradford in a moy-
ing tribute. “Yea, such was ye mutuall love & reciprocall re-
specte that this worthy man had to his flocke, and his flocke to
him, that it might be said of them, as it once was of that
famous Emperour Marcus Aurelious and ye people of Rome,
that it was hard to judge wheather he delighted more in have-
ing such a people, or they in haveing such a pastor.”’

It was a marvel, said the Pilgrims, that all their woes and
troubles did not entirely “‘sinck them.” But they gathered up
their spirits and were so helped by the Lord, “whose worke
they had in hand, as now when they were at their lowest, they
begane to rise againe.” As corn was the staple of their diet
and the common medium of exchange, they diligently culti-
vated their fields and in off seasons extended their operations
in the fur trade, pushing ever farther afield, usually by sea.
The ship’s carpenter sent with Lyford had completed two

284 Saints and Strangers

ground, confiscated his goods, and ‘admonished them to looke
there should be better walking,” changing the name of the
place to Mount Dagon, carrying out the Pilgrims’ threat to
make it a “woefull mount.” #

Taken to Naumkeag, Morton was tried on a charge of
harming the Indians and alienating their friendship, whereas
the plain truth was that he got along with them only too well.
First sentenced to the bilboes, he was again shipped back to
England, ‘‘where he lay a good while in Exeter Gaole, for
besids his miscarriage here, he was vemently suspected of ye
murder of a man that had adventured moneys with him when
he came first into New England,” said Bradford in another of
his libels.

Morton, on the contrary, went to work for Sir Ferdinando
Gorges, with the specific assignment of voiding the Plymouth
and Bay patents. And what a joy that must have been for
“mine Host of Ma-re Mount”—almost as satisfying as that
he found in pillorying the Saints in New England Canaan,
one of the liveliest, wittiest, and most informative books of
the day. Though it is not to be taken too literally, for it is
obviously a satire, most solemn historians are simply stupid
in dismissing the book as worthless.

Morton’s portrait of the Saints contains as much truth—
and as little—as theirs of him. Both are caricatures. Between
them there is nothing to choose—except, perhaps, that his is
etched with a more practised hand and an even sharper tool
than Bradford’s.

XX

Into ye Briers

And thus they were kept hoodwinckte,... and no better than bought
and sold, as it would seeme

—WILLIAM BRADFORD

F THE first fruit of Pilgrim-Puritan collaboration was
the purge of “‘joylity,” the second was a hanging—and
of a Pilgrim Father at that. John Billington was in trou-
ble again. He had unquestionably been one of those

mixed up in the mutiny on the Mayflower. In 1621, as revealed
in one of the first entries in the Old Colony records, he had
been foolish enough to show his contempt for Captain Stand-
ish, assaulting him “with opprobrious speeches,” for which he
was sentenced ‘‘to have his neck and heels tied together.” By
humbling himself and offering an apology, he managed to beg
off. Three years later he had joined the Lyford-Oldham fac-
tion. In calling upon the colonists to revolt, Oldham had ap-
pealed to him by name. Now, in 1630, Billington was at the
end of his rope. After a bitter quarrel about some trifle, he
had waylaid one John Newcomen, a recent arrival, and blown
him to pieces with his blunderbuss.

The authorities did not know quite what to do in the case.
By the first law recorded in the Pilgrim statute bock, passed
late in 1623, it had been decreed “by the Court then held that
all criminall facts, and also all matters of trespasses, and debts
betweene man and man, should be tried by the verdict of
twelve honest men to be empanelled by authority in forme of a
jurie upon their oath.” Billington was accordingly tried ‘‘both
by grand & petie jurie” and found guilty of “willfull murder by
plaine & notorious evidence.” But there was some question in
the Pilgrims’ minds about their authority to carry out the

285

262 Saints and Strangers

counsel finally prevailed. As all had borne the hardships and
toil of building Plymouth, all should share equally in the di-
vision—at least all ‘‘of abillity, and free, and able to governe
themselvs with meete descretion.”” Indentured servants were
to receive nothing but what their masters were disposed to give
them or what ‘‘their deservings should obtaine from ye com-
pany afterwards.”

Trade and commerce, as formerly, were to be conducted for
the joint account to help pay the debts. All else was to be di-
vided. Each family was to receive as many shares as it had
members, including men, women, children, and servants. Each
man retained the house and garden allotted to him along the
street, but those who obtained the better houses were to com-
pensate those who fell heir to the worse. An exception was
made for Governor Bradford and four or five “‘spetiall” men
—Brewster, Standish, Winslow, and Allerton, it would seem
—who were presented with their houses and gardens in recog-
nition of the many services they had performed without salary.
The livestock was rounded up, appraised ‘‘for age & goodnes,”
divided into equal units, and assigned by lot. A unit consisted
of several swine, a cow, and two goats for every thirteen per-
sons. Next, the clearings on both sides of Town Brook were
divided into farms or “great lots” of twenty acres each, and
these were assigned by lot. As some lay relatively far from
town, those with farms close by agreed to allow others to share
their fields for four years. Considerable farm land was re-
served to provide for future settlers. No meadows were as-
signed at this time, for Plymouth had few good pastures and
hay fields.

Shares carried obligations as well as rights. Assessments
could be levied against them to help pay the mortgage and
other debts. But all of the shareholders—or ‘‘purchasers”—

were well pleased with the exception of Bradford, Allerton,
and the others who had signed the mortgage and were respon-
sible both collectively and individually for its payment. Under
the circumstances it seemed only fair to them that they be
granted exclusive direction and control of the money-raising
enterprises of the colony. Besides, they hoped thus to secure
means to bring over the rest of the congregation at Leyden.

The Undertakers 263

But this, like so much else at Plymouth, was kept secret, for
Bradford and his colleagues well knew that most of the Pur-
chasers did not care a straw whether any more of the Saints
came or not, and they feared that the shareholders might vio-
lently object to laying out money for such a purpose.

To accomplish these ends, a scheme was soon born, prob-
ably Allerton’s brain child, and “after some agitation of the
thing” it was adopted in 1627. A monopoly in the colony’s
trade was granted to Bradford, Allerton, and Standish, who
were given the right to choose whomsoever they wished to
become partners—or “undertakers”—with them. The Under-
takers were empowered to do what they liked with all the furs,
corn, beads, hatchets, knives, and other “trucking stuffe” in the
common store. They alone were to use the colony’s trading
posts and boats. Every year each Purchaser was to pay them
three bushels of corn or six pounds of tobacco, whichever was
stipulated. In return for such sweeping privileges, the Under-
takers were to pay all of the colony’s debts, both the money
owed the adventurers and other scattered debts, amounting to
£600. In addition, they agreed to supply Plymouth each year
with £50 worth of shoes and hose, to be traded for corn at six
shillings a bushel. The arrangement was to continue for six
years, at which time all rights and privileges were to revert to
the Purchasers, twenty-seven of whom signed the contract.
Among the signers were such “old standards” as Stephen Hop-
kins, Edward Dotey (now a freeman), Deacon Samuel Fuller,

. Peter Browne, Francis Cooke, Francis Eaton, Cuthbert Cuth-

bertson, William Bassett, and John Billington.

As partners the three Undertakers chose William Brewster,
Edward Winslow, John Alden, John Howland, and Thomas
Prence. All went energetically to work in an effort to promote
trade in every possible way. From the fact that the contract
ran only for six years, which meant that they hoped to pay the
nine instalments on the mortgage within that time, it is evident
that the Undertakers were in an optimistic mood. Pushing far
to the north, they established a trading post along the Ken-
nebec, on the present site of Augusta, Maine. With John |
Howland in charge, a brisk trade for beaver, otter, and other
furs was carried on here with the Abnaki Indians in exchange


®
knocked
in.”
rly fur-

Sat ata
ldon was

> side of
eld. "Td

you,” he

n on his

e picked
see you

ie asked,
Sommis-
juperin-

awaited
lin took

ht?” he

he
", 1 was
’ he re-

during

en a

“Sure,” was the reply, “J had a call

. that took me there.”

,

Zuckerman?’

“Did you meet any young girl there
and have a fight with her?”

Weldon shook his head. “No,” he re-
plied. “Positively not.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you did
not enter that bakeshop on Harrison
Avenue and have a fight with Ethel.

“Oh, that,” he said in a relieved tone.
‘ey don’t know who the girl was and we
didn’t have a fight. 1 just had an argu-
ment with her over the price of some
stale bread.”

~ For over three hours Claflin hammered

question after question at the taxi driver.
After each answer 4 slip-of paper was
passed out to 4 detective for a quick
check. It wasn’t long before the results|
poured in.

‘TELDON had a perfect alibi. It
would have been a physical impos-
sibility for him to have committed the
murder. He left no doubt in the minds of

-his listeners. He was absolved from all

some killing had failed!

blame and released from custody.

The most promising lead’in the grue-
~ Once more the police were forced to
rely on routine detective work. Patrol-

men on every beat were warned to be on.-

a lookout for any blunt instrument that
might ‘have been used by the killer to
bash the skull of his pretty victim.

It was late in the afternoon, when Cap-
tain Claflin, digging through the reports
of his officers once more, received a phone
call from Louis Zuckerman, the victim’s
father.

A post card had just been received in
the afternoon’s mail addressed to Ethel.
It was a simple and inexpensive Christ-
mas card bearing the. slogan “Merry
Christmas”. It was signed simply,
“Dick”. There was no return address on
it. -

On his way to the Zuckerman home,
Claflin pondered over its significance.
Could this be a ghastly bit of humor on
the part of the killer? Or was it just one
of those grim jokes fate often plays on its
victims? se

At the Zuckerman home he inspected
the card. It gave no indication as to who.
the sender might have been. _ ;

He turned’ to Mrs. Zuckerman, “Did

_you know any young man of Ethel’s’ac-

quaintance named Dick?” he asked.

“] never heard her mention that name
before,” she replied.

When Claflin left, he studied the post
mark on the card carefully. It had been
mailed from a box in front of the Bur-
roughs Newsboy Foundation within an
hour after the murder had been com-
mitted!

Although the fact that it had been °

mailed from in front of the newsboy
home was not definite proof that the.
writer was necessarily a newsboy, it

tion of the killing.

American Detective

seemed as though this was to be the last

bit of definite information that the po- | _

lice would have to work on in their solu-

Claflin discussed this angle of the case
with me.and we agreed that it was the
only line of investigation open. :

Accordingly, a squad of detectives was
dispatched to the Burroughs Founda-
tion with instructions to find a “Dick”
who was acquainted with Ethel Zucker- |
man. At best, the clue we had to work on -
was flimsy.

OR hours we hunted through the reg-
ister of names. Every time a Dick or
a Richard was found he was subjected to
a vigorous ‘questioning. But. each time
the newsboy who answered to that name
proved conclusively that he not only had
never known the victim, but was far
from the South End at the time of the
killing:
It was a tiresome and thankless task.
As night approached the list of “Dicks”
dwindled and ‘we were about to throw up

this line of investigation ‘when one of

those unpredictable breaks that so ‘often
help the police, occurred.

A newsboy, questioned by Claflin as
to whether he knew any boys by the
name of Dick who hung around had
answered no. Claflin was about to leave
to go on to another newsboy, when the
lad said suddenly, “I know a fellow that
hangs around here that calls» himself
Dick. But that isn’t his name He calls
himself Dick Brown.” .

Claflin clutched at this slim clue. “Do
you know his real name?” he asked
eagerly.

“Sure,” the lad responded. “It’s Domi-
nic Fioti. He’s a West Side Italian fellow
who lives over at 42 Wall Street.” .

Again a police crew was assembled.
Fioti was picked up at his home and
brought to the South End station for
questioning. .

He readily admitted his identity and
stated that he had mailed the letter. »

“How did you come to meet the girl?” ©
Claflin asked. ye PEM ee

Fioti, a dark, slick-haired youth of
twenty-two, replied, “She was an usher-
ette at the Grand Opera House last year
and I was introduced. to her at the the-
atre.” Wee. or.
“Did you have any dates with her?”

“Sure. We had a couple. We went toa
few shows.” : a

“And what did you do after that?”

“Nothing in’ particular. Maybe we'd
sit around and talk about my music. You
see, I’m studying to be a musician.”

“Didn’t the talk ever veer around to
marriage?”

“No sir,” Fioti replied. “Never.”

“You never had any quarrels sabout
your difference in religion?”

“We never had any quarrels about
that,” he answered. “Although I guess

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his lips. “Sure,” he mumbled thickly.
“But that doesn’t mean that I killed her.”
Inexorably Claflin continued. “You
were the last person to see her alive!”
“Sure, sure,” Clark’s eyes rolled wildly.
“But my God, Chief; I wouldn’t kill her.
Why I loved... .” He gave a sudden gasp

of astonishment. The last word had °

slipped out unconsciously. He buried his

head in his hands and began to sob loudly.

LAFLIN sent for a stenographer. He

placed his hand on Clark’s back. “I

think you’d feel better if you got the
whole:thing off your chest,” he said. ~
’ Clark nodded. dumbly. Ramblingly,
he told how he had loved her from a dis-

_tance. On every occasion he would come -
' in and buy cat-pies. He lad asked her to ~
marry him but she had just laughed at

him, as though it were a huge joke.

“I killed her because I loved her,’”.
he said. “I intended to marry her, but |

she kept saying, ‘Later on. Later on.’
The night I killed her I went to the bake-
shop. I was tired of being put off. I made
up my mind that she would have to
marry me. I made up my mind that if I
wasn’t going to have her, nobody else
was.

“She was alone in the place when I got —

there. I talked with her for awhile. I

said, ‘Come on, stop your fooling. When

are we going to get married?’ She sort of

to give me time to think it over. Besides

I am only a young girl. Do you think I

am old enough to get married yet?’
“I-got mad. I couldn’t stand it any

‘

SEG AOE ARERR: ag. Sh, RE a SR i RB woe meee ath

American Detective

longer, She was walking away. I spun

‘her around and crashed my fist in her

face. I guess it knocked a few teeth out.
She hollered and ran for the phone. I hit
her again and she fell on the floor. There
were two knives on the counter.

“I grabbed the nearest one. I stabbed

her in the bosom. But the knife bent. I
grabbed the other one and swung as hard
as I could. It went through her throat. It
was stuck there, I couldn’t get it out

-again.

“I went to the cash register. I pushed
the no sale button and took the mongy.
It was about $8.75. Then I walked out
of the place and got an orange box.

*Cause I was supposed to run this errand

for Mrs. Jacobson.”
When he had finished, he was led,
weeping, to his cell. RC

(A HOUGH the newspapers seized
on this as the solution of the crime,
_ [realized that the case was not over. For
the only evidence on which Clark was

indicted for first degree murder, was his
own confession! He’ could picture a
clever defense attorney twisting Mrs,

‘Fuller’s, testimony.

And the confession could easily be de-

_ nied in court. Although his signature re-

posed beneath it, Clark could claim that
the police had beaten it out of him with

- third degree methods.
laughed. ‘Not right away. You'll have ‘

Miller Frank Clark went on trial for

his life on March 18, 1935, From. the.
“very beginning he regarded the -entire

affair lightly. He spent the evenings in

his cell playing the “Prisoner Song” on

his harmonica. A halt had to be called

on the selection of jurymen because «

Clark had lost his eye glasses.

“How do I know who will get on the
jury,” he wailed. “I want to see the men
who will pass on my life.”

An optician was hastily summoned
and the next day he arrived in court

wearing the new glasses. But this time.

he studiously ignored the jurymen!

S was expected, on the witness stand
in his own defense, Clark calmly
recanted his former confession. In re-
sponse to the questioning of chief de-
fense attorney. George. A. Douglas he
gave a touching picture of his own in-

" nocence,

Assistant District Attorney Daniel. J.

~ Gillen, in charge of the,prosecution took
up the cross-examination.-For an hour he _
‘hurled question after question at the
grey-haired defendant. Clark parried

them all lightly. ee,
Suddenly Gillen shot a telling ques-

-tion at Clark.-“Did you kill Ethel Zack-

erman?” he shouted.

And to the amazement of every spec-
tator Clark seemed to wilt in his chair,
Weakly, he replied, “I did!”

_ And step by step he detailed to the
judge and jury the way he had commit-
ted the murder. ‘

The jury was‘out only sixteen minutes

before they reached a verdict. It was
guilty of murder in the first . degree.
Clark was sentenced to be electrocuted.

At present his case is up’ gn appeal be-.

fore the’ Massachusetts Court of Appeals.

-

Crime Doesn’t Pay’

: we
- ‘ \
4 Bs

Ko LEWIS likes to keep his pants on
and he doesn’t care who knows it. He is the
manager of the United Valet Service Shop, just
around the corner from President Roosevelt's home
in New York City. Just at closing time recently a
gunman entered the shop, and whipping out his
weapon, ordered Kenneth to keep his hands high,
while he rifled the cash register. Lewis obeyed. When
the job was finished the crook turned round.
“Now take off your pants,” he ordered. That made
’ Lewis mad. He bent down, but charged at the crook
and butted him in the stomach so suddenly the man
had no time to use his gun. The crook went down

yy

and the two rolled on the floor, striking at each other,

then as Lewis turned, out to be-the better puncher,
the man got up to run. aie eae :

Pants, or no pants Lewis chased him into the street, :

shouting. A passing taxi-driver tripped the thug, and
Lewis still mad, leaped through the air to land on
his middle with both feet. When a policeman atrived
the enraged manager of the valet shop was banging
the would-be robber’ s head against the curbstone.
“Take me anywhere,” be begged, “so long as you
get me away from him.” He proved to have two
broken ribs and a fractured jaw, which should bea

-lesson to anyone who tries to get Kenneth's pants :

in the future,


bs

ac ate ay
PES

Be Ameri rican De ective vs. 8

bee 3" a ae ee mS ie ee Bee a iipriat
~ Murder on Impulse . FOR THE BEST
BOR ONS NRRL RRR ES oe an ae "| CURRENT FACT.
| wanted 3 i : (Continued from page 40) ay “DETECTIVE CASES
ire Oe Fish ta natattlect over dasttne Ae chon thar thefabebos ewan ioc SREAD C2) >.
1 carefully ‘By Placing a. handkerchief over the same .- It was then that the ba eshop owner | || - ‘ as Sa fk
ore are sti key, Claflin pressed his finger. The cash < dropped a bombshell. 2%“) i bey ia a | AMERICAN DETECTIVE
y who will » |. draw flew. open. All compartments were ’ °-“T think I know why Ethel was killed!”. |
ace on ine ' vacant. He opened the small’box onthe “he said. Sei ee rae ‘On Sale
side of the register that listed the — Every eye in the store wason him. | . _ Wherever Magazines
amounts placed into the drawers. There. .““Go ahead, go ahead,” Claflin said im- _ Are Sold
ly seeking i es es Se ocean, ‘patiently. , fbr Lie a a = — ——————
<now who ‘the end of the list. One of them. aflin ©. “At ten minutes after ten o'clock t is” ,
| chamber: ~ had made. The third'figure from the end evening Ethel called me on the phone | MEN WANTED
cret com: of the list was for ten cents. ae ‘and ‘told me that she had a fight ‘with a-| suttering trom Prostate Gland, Rheumatism, Kidney and
ig truck It appeared now as though the killer man ‘in the store!” 2s Baad Pinoae’ eacdereed iy decters. will ver en wom mexeetsiee

ae : Sy] obligation, . : f
hase ah - oe eae ie TO, i) “The effect was a revelation.”” ©. D.,
HIS was the last time she had been: “Wonderful reoulls.” dt. Be Colo’ “Doing the ‘work
seen alive by anyoné. Checking with)"

had made a ten cent purchase, slain the .
~ girl, and then rung up the “No sale” key -
. to rob the register.

:
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Claflin ran his fingers through~ his —

the Medical Examiner’s report it jibed,ex-

PROSTEX COMPANY, Dept. 32, Miami, Oklahoma

“ close-clipped, iron-grey hair. A miulti- actly with the time’ she had been killed! i ais
now who tude of motives raced through his mind. “What else did’she say?”>, > : Become: A Detactiv p
_ She was a victim in a gang feud, the mo- ‘

vhat hap- >

tive was robbery, the motive was a jeal-
ous suitor, always a possibility when the

“This man came in and wanted to buy
_a few loaves of bread. Stale bread. Only
he didn’t want to pay the regular. price

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tered the store to make a legitimate pur-

of all of 318 “fight but: she wouldn’t give in. In the
1e syndy oe | chase when a desire to kill overpowered , end he went away without (es ee
: he obt Spe ~ him. ow % 5 “Didn’t she say who he was, what he > AVIATOR
an Talal Claflin retraced his steps to the body. ‘ looked like, or whether she knew: him?” GOGGLES
be a 8 x ~The knife still protruded’ grotesquely © Claflin asked. eS EET] <I vation soralen cebber
tw ere et ‘from Oe throat. Fingerprint men .. Bikofsky shook his head in the nega- ventilated, IG Um
i “were sifting powder on-every conceiv-  ~ tive. “But why should she call me if she.| ff able lenses, speslal ad. OS !
pride: ze; “able spot the killer might have laid his wasn’t afraid?” he asked shrewdly. igs ae regi: ele! res eianlh 3 ee
le Sam Ba “4 hand. he “oe Claflin A haere hs Fen ee SATISFACTION. GUARANTEED
: : ee | » other detectives to him and said, “Scour [| 9°" 4 yy
en ae BOUT ten feet from Ethel Zucker- the immediate vicinity. 1 want you to AVIATION PRODUCTS

Ws de ghee ras oi, 4
ae hc «tt a. fuga en
* eh, q Patt s Nottie Oe BR a

L man’s body lay a bent breadknife. pick up anybody’ who heard the argu-

“The blade was stained with blood.

Leary said: “That's the knife that was

used to stab the girl in the breast. It bent

when it struck her breast bone.”

I pointed to four men standing at the ~

He should be here in a few minutes.”

A few minutes later the partially bald

and portly owner of the store. entered,
escorted by a policeman. His face showed

~ ment and bring him directly to the War-. |.

ren Street station.” BaUe
We filed out quietly. Claflin issued or-

- ders for the removal of the body... =" + .

_. An hour later at the South End j lice

brutality, residents were doubly anxious
to help the police solve it.

men were seen lurking on this and that

the excitement he labored under. He. corner had to be checked faithfully on

seemed anxious to speak.

But Captain Claflin gripped him firm.
ly by the elbow and led him to where the
girl’s body lay. ¢

“Do you recognize those knives?” he
asked.

“Sure I do,” the owner replied. “That
big one we use to cut pies. And that one,”

To Captain Claflin this was a vital bit
of information. It meant that the killer
had not.entered the store with any inten-
tion of murdering Ethel Zuckerman!

the odd chance that’ it was actually the
killer. ; “

Throughout the night Claflin toiled, |

getting no nearer to a solution of the

murder than he was when he first viewed |

the body. In the morning he swallowed a
hasty cup of coffee, jumped into’a police

prostrate with grief. As quietly as he
could, Claflin set about questioning them
about the girl’s habits.

“No, no,” the mother sobbed. “Ethel

Thus hundréds of reports that strange :

n
suffering from

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TEETH! TRY

npeeeties ee
a os

Ste

. 0 L 3
back end of the store. “They. were work- station the fingerprint experts reported . ERS oid last ar alone, Mall $1.00 teday fer cal! a ie
ing in the basement, mixing bread when that the killer had not left a single print!. | } Sty rer Beate MINNESOTA, er a3

. the murder occurred.” i 4 air: the remainder of (ny night while Ket
““Did’ they hear anything?” Claflin. we sloshed through: the rain going Had
asked? - + through every house in the. neighbor- Heals Pyorrhea ap
I shook my head. ‘The bread mixing hood, Captain Claflin dug into the .re-" Trench Mouth esd
machine made too much noise.” ‘ports that kept pouring into the precinct. v YB
“Who owns this store?” ‘> News of the murder had passed’ through- For Thousands! i :
“Benjamin Bikofsky. I sent for him. out the South End, and, because of its ls

Bon <n

okies
we

aeons

q car and was driven to the Zuckerman | Your Dany P.M ILA. & painless
he pointed to the bent knife, “is the one - home. é eg ag Sy atrench uth, sore, ten #
we use to cut bread.” . The parents of the slain girl were Gens becting Sa ee thousands sationaily. effective for


eerie

90

was a good girl. If she was going out with
any man last night she would have told
me. When she was leaving for work last
night she said to me, ‘Good night, I'll
see you later, dear.’ I answered, ‘Good-
night’. That was the last time I ever
heard her voice.”

When Claflin asked her if she was hav-
ing any affair with a young man, she was
emphatic in her denial. ‘Never, never,”
she repeated. “She would have told me
about it. She always confided in me.”

While the questioning was going on,
word reached Captain Claflin that detec-
tives had located a woman who had been
in the store at the time the pretty victim
was having a quarrel with a man.

Hastily excusing himself, Claflin
rushed out of the house, piled into his
police car, and sped down to the Warren
Street station.

HE first question he shot at the
startled woman was, “Do you know
who that man was?”

She shook her head in the negative.

“What did he look like?”

“Well, he- was an ordinary looking
man, sort of old. He didn’t look very
prosperous.”

This vague description did not bother
Claflin. “Would you know him if you
saw him again?”

She nodded her head.

“Good,” he said with satisfaction.

American Detective '

“Now tell me what he did—did he strike
her?”

“No, he didn’t exactly do that. He
kept threatening her and shaking his fin-
ger under her nose. But he didn’t hit her.”

“Then what?”

“Well, when he got talked out, he
went out of the door got into a taxi, and
drove away.”

LAFLIN’S eyes lit with excitement.
“What kind of a cab was itt.
“I don’t know exactly,” she feplied.
“But it had yellow stripes.”

That was enough information for the’

police official. This was a cab belonging
to one of the large firms in the city. He
ushered the witnesses into the police car
and they were rapidly driven to the office
of the taxi firm.

An official in the company brought
out the files containing the pictures of
all their drivers. After a half-hour search,
the woman pointed her finger resolutely
at one of the pictures.

“I am positive that he is the man,” she
said,

It was the picture of John Weldon. He
was fifty years old, married and the
father of six children.

Fifteen minutes later the police car
pulled up in front of 26 Sherman Ave-
nue, Roxbury. Four officers hastened up
the steps. While three of them yanked
out their revolvers and flattened them-

| 4S BIKOr

err 3

mrt at te A

FSKY'S BAKERY ti

othe

selves against the wall, Claflin knocked
boldly upon the door.

A feminine voice said, ‘‘Come in.”

Claflin entered. It was a poorly fur-
nished room. An elderly lady sat at a
table knitting industriously. Weldon was
staring out of the window.

In a stride Claflin was at the side of
the taxi driver. He flashed his shield. “Td
like to have a few words with you,” he
said.

Weldon had a blank expression on his
face,

“At headquarters, please.”

TS driver looked dazed. He picked
his hat off the dresser. “I'll see you

.later, dear,” he said to the lady.

On the way down the steps, he asked,
“What is this all about?”

Claflin did not answer.

At the Warren Street station Commis-
sioner Eugene C. Hultman and Superin-
tendent of Police Martin King awaited
his arrival,

Placed in the squad room, Claflin took
charge of the questioning.

“What did you do last night?” he
asked.

Weldon appeared mystified by the
trend of the questioning. “Why, -I was
driving my cab, like I always do,” he re-
plied.

“Were you in the South End during
the night?”

a ase

P " The Bikofsky bakery shop, scene of the brutal slaying of Ethel Zuckerman.


fatal mistake.
ked over the
1 room regu-
ses with the
mathematical
which some-

ds .of Kitty,
bbins showed
hem too little
figures could
ent too much.
; unusual, be-
iuld cause the
akes one way
| this fact to
» immediately
bills.
00,” went to
other, marked
up to $756,
d $1,010 in a
Mrs. Dobbins
e label said

quartette of
office of Mr,
fronted with
immediately

bills from
tocking tops.
vferred with
Morgenthau,
lenly seemed

lly cold and
that it was
1earts. The
iss the four
sed to make
1 them over

ars to
h they
will amount

rs at most.
‘m home to
in disgrace
eve, is pun-

zh the rob-
few weeks
uready has
in anything
y to escape
neighbors,
have been
t last tear-
the White

Ives for lifer

© & Pie) |

Clue of the
Crimson Cross

(Continued from page 33)

would have married her. I am the last
person in the world to wish her harm.”

The officials believed him.

“What's the next step?” reporters asked
Captain Claflin.

.Claflin replied, “We're right back where
we started.”

And we were. After forty-eight hours
of the most intensiye investigation, the
police lacked even a crumb of information
6n which to press forward.

Deputy Superintendent Livingston now
decided to take the case directly to the
people in the South End. On the silver
screens of the neighborhood film theaters,
Livingston flashed an appeal for informa-
tion in the Zuckerman murder. Promises
of reward and protection were made. N ight
after night this appeal was repeated, but
—not one person came forward with in-
formation of value.

Strange as it seems, Ethel Zuckerman’s

death nevertheless had a beneficial effect
on the South End. Determined to rid the
district of its vice dens, flying police
squadrons under Captain Claflin cracked
down on houses of prostitution and gam-
bling, on bootleggers and speakeasies, on
dope peddlers and slot machines.
_ Hundreds of shady citizens were caught
in the police net, and scores of these were
questioned about the bakery clerk’s death.
But Ethel Zuckerman was destined to go
to her grave unavenged. .

The body of the young girl had lain in
Southern Mortuary for two days before
it was returned to her home for services
and interment. Her parents wished to
give her an Orthodox Jewish burial be-
fore sundown of December 21, but Medical

Examiner Leary would not give up the

body until he had completed his autopsy.
This examination was to reveal two im-
portant facts.

Ethel Zuckerman, Dr. Leary found, had
not been criminally assaulted, as first be-
lieved.

Secondly, the crimson cross slashed in
her forehead, it was determined, was
simply an accidental freak.

The first bread knife, plunged into her
head, had struck a frontal bone and turned.
This deflection had caused the cross mark,
the medical examiner said.

Thusy another theory in the Zuckerman
case was rudely consigned to limbo, and
investigators were more baffled than ever.
The clue of the crimson cross was a dis-
appointing will-o-the-wisp !

ON THE third day following Ethel’s

murder, police resorted to an old ruse.
In an attempt to ferret out the slayer, they
used the funeral cortege as bait. Testing
the familiar axiom that a killer invariably
returns to the scene of his crime, Captain
Claflin arranged the funeral route with
this in mind.

‘After rites in Anshi Poland synagogue
on Oswego Street, the hearse bearing
Ethel Zuckerman’s body swung into Har-
rison Avenue on its way to Beth Israel
Cemetery, Everett. Before the Bikofsky
bakery, at No. 317, the motor coach sud-
denly halted.

In this dramatic setting, sixty-two de-
tectives, collectively familiar with each of
the twenty-seven languages spoken in the
South End ghetto, moved about in the
huge throng. Alert to every suspicious
move, intent for an untoward word, they
watched and listened for Ethel Zuckerman’s
slayer to betray himself,

INSIDE DETECTIVE

_ They waited in vain. If the mad killer
of the eighteen-year-old high school gradu-
ate was in the crowd that day, he gave
police no sign. ,The funeral procession
moved on, and we had run into another
blank wall.

Goaded to extreme measures by this
tantalizing enigma, Captain Stephen J.
Flaherty, head of the Bureau of gr a
Investigation, assembled his detectives.
In an unprecederited “fight talk,” he
warned all plainclothes men that failure to.
find a clue to Ethel Zuckerman’s killer
within the next forty-eight hours would
mean cancellation of Christmas leaves.

“Unless we find this killer there’ll be no
Christmas with the family,” Flaherty said.
“You'll have time enough to eat your
dinner, but no more.”

Stung by this verbal lash, the sixty-two
detectives, led by Captain Claflin, went
over every clue that had been found in the
hunt and turned over every source of new
clues. Yet Christmas came and went, and
i killer of Ethel Zuckerman was still at
arge. y

New Year's passed and 1934 was well
into its second month before the Ethel
Zuckerman investigation, now dormant in
the press, flared forth again on the front
pages.

Frank Playstead, thirty, of Chelsea
Street, Everett, who had not previously
figured in our investigation, walked into
Boston police headquarters on February
17 and said he knew “something about the
Zuckerman case.”

Instantly investigators were spurred to
renewed activity. They rushed to head-
quarters and began examination of Play-
stead.

Quickly they learned that the man was
a former lunchroom employe and as such
had delivered bread for the Harrison
Avenue bakery. He even admitted having
quarreled with Ethel Zuckerman five days
before her brutal death.

In his room, detectives found an order
for ten loaves of bread written’on a blank
of a South End lunchroom. This blank
should have been left at the Bikofsky
bakery, a fact which investigators regard-
ed as important. Then Playstead began
to talk. One of the first things he said
was, “I’m wanted in the Lindbergh case,
too.”

It was apparent that the man was men-
tally ill, A doctor reported he was suf-
fering from a nervous condition. Play-
stead was freed of suspicion in the Zucker-
man crime. :

A PRIL'S SUN had melted the winter’s
snows and the ground was bare and
soggy at Raynham, a small town about
thirty miles from Boston.

Among the things the sun’s warm rays
uncovered was a_ brown-stained blue
jumper such as those worn by farmers
everywhere. Two boys who had read
about the Zuckerman case, discovered it in
the woods and took it to local policé.

The brown stains were found to be
blood!

After three weeks of investigation,
Boston detectives traced ownership of the
bloody, discarded garment to Joseph
Abrams, a chicken farmer, of Raynham.

He was an uncle of Ethel Zuckerman!
Furthermore, he had not been on friendly
terms with the girl or her family for a
number of years!

Abrams was immediately arrested and
locked up in a cell at the Warren Avenue
station.

The blood on the jumper, he contended,
was that of chickens he had killed. On
the night of December 20, when Ethel
Zuckerman died, he said he was visiting
friends in Brockton, Massachusetts. y

Held four days while his story was being
investigated, Abrams was a virtual nervous

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INSIDE DETECTIVE

wreck when finally released, and he needed
hospital treatment, although — police did
everything possible to assuage his fears.

A few days later Sergeant Fallon was
rushed to New York on a report that a
small-time bootlegger, under arrest in the
West Forty-seventh , Street station, was
found to have clippings of the Zuckerman
case in his pocket.

Fallon found that the man’s connection
with the case. was purely morbid. Police
records showed that he was not in Boston
at the time of the crime, and Fallon re-
turned home from the first of several wild
goose chases.

Three months passed, and the Zucker-
man case was at a standstill. Then, one
day ~in late summer, the police teletype
flashed the news of Albert H. Fish’s ar-
rest in New York. Hanke

Fish, a sixty-five-year-old carpenter, had
confessed the brutal slaying of Grace Budd
in 1928. Fallon rushed to New York again,
but neither he nor Manhattan detectives
was able to make Fish admit he had ever
been in Boston or vicinity.

So autumn passed and winter came
around again. The Ethel Zuckerman
case marked time. The manhunt had re-
laxed. Sergeant Fallon was still engaged
in running down clues and Captain Claflin
was still at his elbow, lending support to
every forlorn hope. But the mystery
seemed fated to remain unsolved.

Then, a few days before the anniversary
of the crime, Captain Claflin was elevated
to rank of deputy ‘superintendent in the
police department and moved to_head-
quarters. I was transferred from Station
No. 2, at Milk Street, to Station No, 4,
on Warren Avenue, Captain Claflin’s old
command.

Along with this post I received, as
my heritage, the Ethel Zuckerman murder
case!

From a remote concern in this baffling

very center of it. From one who had
watched the efforts of others to run the
girl’s slayer to earth, I had suddenly be-
come director of those efforts. It had
become my duty to find the killer of the
young bakery clerk.

Almost. before I had become settled in
my new post, December 20, 1934, rolled
around. One year before, the fiendish
killing in the Harrison Street bakery had

“Who shall I say is calling, sir?”

crime, I found myself plunged into the ~

taken place. The slayer was still abroad.

On this anniversary, the newspapers took
occasion to rehash the case, devoting
columns to the story of the crime, to the
investigation, and to statistics which showed
that more than 200 suspects had been
taken into custody and more than -100,000
persons questioned in a futile effort to
bag the killer.

Two days later there was brought to
my attention what appeared to be another
crank story in the Zuckerman case.

Patrolman Ralph N. Eaton, patrolling
his beat in the South End, was approached
by a middle-aged woman, who was
dragging a nine-year-old child by the
hand.

“I want to talk to someone about the
Zuckerman case,” she told Eaton, “Who
shall I see?”

Eaton walked alongside the woman,
asking questions,

“What do you want to tell about the
case?” queried the officer.

“I think I know who did it!” she re
plied.

Eaton stopped at the corner box, rang
Station Four, and was connected with me.

“I’ve got a woman here, Captain,” he
said, “who thinks she knows the Zucker-
man killer. What’ll I do?”

There had been literally scores of these
persons with stories to tell. I felt, how-
ever, we could not afford to overlook any
possibility.

“Hold her there, Eaton,” I told the
officer. “I'll send a patrol car for you.”

HE WOMAN—Mrs. Molly S. Fuller,

forty-five, a widow of 19 Lovering Street,
South End—told a story that caused me
to reach quickly for the telephone. With-
in a few minutes I was on my way to
headquarters with her.

“Madam,” Claflin addressed the woman,
“if you can help us in any way to solve
this crime—” .

“I can—I know I can!” Mrs. Fuller in-
terrupted suddenly. “The killer of_ that
girl is a man whose name is Miller Frank
Clark. I’m sure he did it!”

The deputy looked puzzled. “Why are
you here now, telling us this, after a year
has passed?”

The woman looked wildly about. “I’m
afraid of him. He has threatened to kill
me too.”

The deputy superintendent hastened to

calm her fears.

“Tell us,’ he said, “why you suspect
this man.”

Reassured, Mrs. Fuller began to tell
her story for the police records. Stopping
frequently to dab her eyes with a tear-
moistened -handkerchief, she said:

“I run a lodging house. I’ve known
Clark for years. We were lovers, I guess
you'd call it. But over a_ year ago I
found he was paying attention to Ethel
Zuckerman; in fact, I broke with him over
this girl.

“The first suspicion I had that Clark was
comnected with her murder was ‘not until
five months later, when he asked me to
sew a button on his overcoat and I noticed
large bloodstains. He told me he had
been in a fight.

“I recalled then. that on the night of
the murder, while newsboys were scream-
ing the headlines, he seemed very. nervous.
Later I found out that he had told his
landlady, Mrs. Sadie Jacobson, to say he
wasn’t home if police came around looking
for him. He stayed in bed two days at
that time, claiming he was ill.” ;

The lodging house keeper broke into a
fit of sobbing, and had difficulty in con-
tinuing :

“Every time I brought up the subject
of Ethel Zuckerman’s murder, Clark would
keep saying, ‘why do you keep talking

about that?’ |
to pet pales eee

“Once
rooms fo
Bikofsky
time I bite in!
almost taste tl
to his feet, sh«
girl, will you?’

“Another tin
the case, he ¢
me, ‘You don't
your throat, do

Mrs. Fuller
anything to ¢
Only a few «i.
him making Ik

“That settlec
“T hashed the tt
I decided to t:

A woman sc
betraying her
much of her st
uty Claflin dec
Clark brought
questioning.

I dispatched
man’s room a
wasn’t there.
office of a tr
ployed the ma
that afternoon
his ‘knock on (

“Who's there

“Open the cd
the police!”

Slowly a key
peered out. Fa
Standing in hi
wilderedly at t
man slightly pa
seamed his fa:
grotesquely fron

“Get your ¢
“We want to
station.”

Meekly Milk
Fallon noticed
man with massi
that Clark hod:

Quietly
tion Four
between
police headquart
We chose this
tentatious entrar
him to Claflin
among three in
suddenly to los«
arrogance he ha
over.

Faced by men
act during the p
on the Zuckerm:
antagonism. He
staring eyes. I
like a blanket
spectacled, toot
seemed ready to

UT HE was:

ing routine ¢
ing warily and !
permost in our
fully, and = sudd:
bolt.

“Clark,” he s1
tion that you m
The suspect
hendingly, then
“Who told

asked slowly.
Claflin pause
Then he barked
The effect on
tried to speak, s'
with a soiled he
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” Clafii
might as well }
oughly convinced

ivid-
iver
her
was
not

the
ortly
ption

cap.
men,
y, an
hard,

; the
r the
fore!
ore,”

ikery
es of
itside
rime.
tman,
eldon
inally
iently
on all

ire to
» case
ection
ed by

rman,
r her

s and
world

christ-
10 Was

2rman’s parents.
weetheart. Were
defend someone ?
to name a young
>: company some
Zuckerman and
which the girl’s
ause of this ob-
tentative engage-

vas a jilted lover,

vas Dick Brown,
she was an usher

‘e he played the

little about their
of the pair told
and theaters and
gether.

WH,

IAD NO

Leo Schwartz, a noted Boston attorney, at that time counsel
for Commissioner Hultman, had established headquarters at
Station Four. There, as the commissioner’s representative, he
began grilling Dick Brown.

Moe NIGHT the questioning went on, All night young
Brown kept insisting that at ten o'clock the previous
evening, when the Zuckerman girl met horrible death, he was
playing cards at the home of his parents. Kallas, he said
would corroborate his alibi, as would his parents and three
sisters,

Heated and tense became the examination. Brown was in-
terrogated by Schwartz, by Commissioner Hultman himself
and by twelve detectives working in relays.

When this proved unavailing, the youth was taken to the
Harrison Avenue bakery. There he was required to put on
a light topcoat which he owned, and to step out of the store
for the benefit of the three witnesses who saw the mystery
man leave the shop. All of these witnesses said Dick Brown,
who was short and slight, was not the man they saw then.

One of them was young Maloof. “I never saw him before
in my life,” he said.

This “show-up” of Dick Brown at the Bikofsky bakery was
held on the morning of December 22. Unfortunately, an over-.
zealous newspaper, printing what was purported to be an
interview, had quoted a high police official the night before
as saying regarding. Dick Brown:

“Undoubtedly we have the right man.”

When police were satisfied the young musician had had
- nothing to do with Ethel Zuckerman’s murder, Captain Claflin
said to the press: |

“There were certain discrepancies in Dick Brown’s story,
but we checked them and they straightened themselves out
without explanation from him. He was questioned for seven-
teen hours. Personally, I believe he feels as bad over the
girl’s death as her own father and mother.”

Brown, during the long questioning, repeated again and
again: “I loved Ethel Zuckerman and (Continued on page 61)

Dick Brown, sleuths quickly learned, was really Dominic
Foti, twenty-two, of 64 Wall Street, West End. Fellow
musicians had given him his: alias because of a Brown Uni-
versity pennant emblazoned on his saxophone. He was known
generally as Brown.

Detectives rushed to his home—and found that Dick Brown
was missing ! ;

At the house they found Dick’s parents, Mr. and Mrs.
Joseph Foti, and his three sisters. A squad of police searched
Dick Brown’s room and brought to the Warren Avenue sta-
tion much of the youth’s clothing and a sheet from his bed.
The fruit truck of the father, who was a peddler, was also
brought in from a North End garage.

But Dick Brown, or Foti, could not be found. Immediately
an alarm for the youth was broadcast to all precincts in Greater
Boston. :

Hundreds of police vainly scoured the city for the musician.
Then, shortly after six P.M. on December 21, when search for

the young saxophone player was about to extend beyond the iat . ys
state borders, Dick Brown walked into headquarters with his A h joy! ee HE’ an yor 9 ME!

aor : nself | He had fter she had aired her suspicions of her former lover,
brother-in-law, James Kallas, and gave himse up? Mrs. Molly Fuller feared for her life, but the police
just heard, he said, that he was wanted for questioning. took quick steps to protect her.

SWEETHEART, HAD RECENTLY JILTED A LOVER!”


’

he

the

the

ang
me.
he
ker-

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ow-
any

the

reet,
{| me
Vith-

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man,
solve

ine
that
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year

“Vm
o kill

ied to
uspect

co tell
opping
« tear-

known
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ago

» Ethel
im over

ark was
ot until
me to
noticed
he had

light of
scream-
nervous.
told his
» say he
| looking
Aave at

rd»a
one

» subject
rk would
» talking

about that?’ I noticed each time he seemed
to get pale and nervous.

“Once IL arranged a luncheon in my
rooms for him. I had rolls from the
Bikofsky bakery. I said to him, ‘Every
time I bite into one of these rolls 1 can
almost taste that girl’s blood.’ He leaped
to his feet, shouting, ‘Shut up about that
girl, will you?’

“Another time when I was talking about
the case, he grew So mad he yelled at
me, ‘You don’t want me to stick a knife in
your throat, do you?’ ”

Mrs. Fuller said she refused to have
anything to do with Clark after that.
Only a few days before she had caught
him making love, to another woman.

“That settled him for me,” she declared.
“L hashed the thing over in my mind.. Then
I decided to tell the police.”

A) woman scorned! A jealous woman
betraying her two-timing man! How
much of her story could we believe? Dep-
uty Claflin decided to have Miller’ Frank
Clark brought quietly to headquarters for
questioning.

I dispatched Sergeant Fallon to the
man’s room at Chandler Street. Clark
wasn’t there. Between the room and the
office of a trucking concern which em-
ployed the man, Fallon shifted most of
that afternoon. Then, towards six o'clock,
his knock on Clark’s door was rewarded.

“Who's there?” a man called out.

“Open the door,” Fallon replied. “It’s
the police!”

Slowly a key turned. Two beady eyes
peered out. Fallon pushed his way in..
Standing in his underwear, blinking be-
wilderedly at the officer, was a grizzled
man slightly past middle age. Long lines
seamed his face, huge ears stood out
grotesquely from his head. .

“Get your clothes on,” Fallon said.
“We want to talk to you over at the

Meekly Miller Frank Clark obeyed.
Fallon noticed he was a powerfully-built

police headquarters, @ few blocks away.
We chose this method to avoid an 0S-
tentatious entrance. Quietly, too, we took
him to Claflin’s office. There, settled
among. three interrogators, Clark seemed
suddenly to lose some of the swaggering
arrogance he had displayed on our wal
over.

Faced by men whose every thought and
act during the past year had been focussed
on the Zuckerman murder, he sensed cold
antagonism. He grew fidgety under those
staring eyes. His bravado fell from him
like a_ blanket. Clark, an aging, be-
spectacled, toothless man of fifty-four,
seemed ready to talk.

UT HE wasn't. We began by shoot-
ing routine questions at him, approach-
ing warily and by degrees the. subject up-
permost in our minds. He answered care-
fully, and suddenly Claflin shot his first

It.

“Clark,” he snapped, “we have informa-
tion that you murdered Ethel Zuckerman !”

The suspect looked around uncompre-
hendingly, then shook his head.

“Who told you that crazy story?” he
asked slowly.

Claflin paused a moment for effect.
Then he barked: “Molly Fuller!”

The effect on Clark was withering. He
tried to speak, stammered, wiped his brow
with a soiled handkerchief and mumbled :

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Claflin continued, “and you
might as well know we are pretty thor-
oughly convinced you did it. We've work

INSIDE DETECTIVE

a year on this case, and as far as I can
see, you're the solution.”

Clark abruptly began to cry. Two large
tears coursed down his cheeks, but he re-
mained silent.

“You know you killed this girl,” Claflin
prompted. “Why don’t you tell the truth?”

The man hung his head. Emotionally,
he went all to pieces. His moistened lips

' parted, and he seemed about to speak. We

sensed that the crucial moment. in the
Ethel Zuckerman investigation had ar-
rived! ; .

Claflin and Fallon leaned close, eager
to hear a word that would reward a year
of untiring toil!

Slowly Clark spoke. Stifling a sob, he
uttered a few weakened, choking words.

“All right—I hit her r

He said this over and over, then sud-
dently burst into a fit of uncontrollable
weeping.

Claflin leaned back in his chair like a
man who has shed a weighty burden.
Sergeant Fallon mopped his brow.

The pencil of Police Stenographer Wil-
liam J. Shanahan catching every last
syllable of a long-waited confession,
scratched a welcome accompaniment to
the rambling, illiterate, statement into
which Clark suddenly plunged.

_ Tt was a sordid, callous story from the
lips of a fiendish killer, and we hung on
every utterance, interrupting only occasion-
ally to clarify some point.

“1 |dlled her because she didn’t want to
marry me and I didn’t want her to marry
anybody else,” Clark said slowly.

“I took her to the movies two or three
times and I liked her, and every time we
went I asked her to marry me. On that
night in December I went to the bakery,
and she was alone there, and I asked her to
marry me.

“She said, ‘I can’t just now, I’m young
and I want time to think it ‘over.’ I told
her, ‘I’ll have you or no one else will,’ and
we started an argument. Then suddenly
I got mad and hit her with my fist and
she fell to the floor. I grabbed a bread
knife from the counter and stabbed at ‘her
throat, but I missed. I grabbet another
knife and stuck it through her throat. She
must have been dead then, all right.
was pretty mad. I then left the bakery
and walked around the streets in the rain,
then I went home to bed.

“There was some blood on my coat and
I didn’t notice it. I had the intention of
going to the tailor shop, but it was too
late, so I didn’t bother. I threw the coat
away. I wanted the lady (Mrs. Fuller) to
sew some buttons on the coat, and she
asked me where I got the blood, so nat-
urally I told her I was in an argument.”

Clark’s statement that he had taken the
girl to the movies was something the police
found hard. to believe, for we thought we
had accounted for every minute of Ethel
Zuckerman’s time in the few months pre-
ceding her death. Questioned about the
mark on his victim’s head, the prisoner
admitted he had stabbed the girl in the
forehead, bending the knife.

“T guess - that’s where she got those
marks I read about in the papers,” Clark
said, adding that he had thrown the knife

away.
“Where did you leave the second knife?”
Deputy Claflin asked.

“Why, I left, that sticking out of her
throat!” the prisoner answered calmly.

Then, with Sergeant Fallon stretched
out on the floor to act the victim, Clark re-
staged for us the killing of Ethel Zucker-
man. He was given a paper knife for a
weapon,

“Now, come around in front of the ser-
geant and show us just how you phinged
the knife. into the girl,” instructed Claflin.

Clark protested. “That’s all wrong,” he

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with a razor and nearly hada fit. He
seemed very nervous and bound it up
quickly, When I asked him why he made
such a fuss about it he said, ‘If the police
come up here and find any blood around
the house they might think I killed
Bailey.’”

Neal whistled softly.

The boy cleared his throat and con-
tinued. “That isn’t the strangest thing.
When he went to bed he pulled out a
silver watch and laid it on the bureau.
I knew it was George Bailey’s watch
because I had seen it before and I knew
Bailey never let it out of his sight. That's
why it seemed funny to me that John
should have it.”

Neal jumped up from his chair. He had
heard enough. ; .

“Do you remember the fence post you
shot at?” Thompson asked.

The lad nodded.

Without another word the three started
for Heartbreak Farm. On their arrival
Rowe showed Thompson the fence post.
The wily chief of police noticed that
several lead slugs were still imbedded in
the soft wood. He sawed off a portion
of the splintered rail and carried it with
him, In. the meantime, Neal scouted
around the house and found the rifle.
Thanking the Rowe boy the two officers
started back for town. On the way they
passed an old man whom they recognized
as a neighbor of Heartbreak Farm. Al-
though they tried to pass him the old
fellow insisted on oasinins about Bailey's
disappearance and death. Neal tried to
shake him but it was no use.

“Funny thing,” the old codger mut-
tered, “when I got up early Tuesday
morning I seen a fire out by Bailey’s
barn.”

Neal nodded but he was not listening.

“Seemed funny to me,” the old man
continued  heoeggennppe “IT thought them
horse blankets was pretty nice ones to
be burning up for rubbish.”

Neal looked up suddenly. “What horse °

blankets?”
_ “Somebody had lit a fire and was burn-
ing up horse blankets,” the man repeated.
“When I took a look at the fire they were
nearly all burned except a couple of
corners,”

“Where was this fire?” Chief of Police
‘Thompson asked.

“OVER yonder by the barn,” the man
explained, pointing. “There’s noth-
ing left of the blankets now because I
kicked them back in the fire so they would
burn. Funny thing, that.”

Neal cree Investigating the spot, .

he and Thompson found that even the
ashes had been beaten down by the rain.
Pocketing a handful of them the two
men wandered back to Lynn.

“There’s a chance,” Neal suggested,
“that those blankets were used to wrap
the body in when it was carried down
to the pond. That’s why there wasn’t
any blood: around. I’m going to have
these ashes analyzed and see if we can
find traces of blood.”

“Then you think Best did it?” the
chief of police asked.

“Couldn’t have been anybody else.”

“I still think it was the relatives of
that girl,” Thompson mused. “I’ve dis-
covered that some of them live in town.”

On arrival in Lynn, however, Neal im-
mediately issued a warrant for Best’s
arrest on suspicion. He knew that the
only evidence they had was purely cir-
cumstantial but if they could scrape up
more, obtain a damaging report from a

64

ballistics expert in Bosten and find blood
in the ashes of the blankets, it should be
enough to obtain a conviction. The mid-
night driver, heard and seen by Mrs.
Gowen, could very easily have been Best
coming down from eartbreak Farm
and returning.: Bailey’s watch which
still was in Best’s possession would be
hard for him to explain. Rowe’s testi-
mony about Best’s fear of blood would
not stand in his favor. If only the lab-
oratory reports came through as the of-
ficers hoped the case would be clinched.

But Thom son still was on the trail
of Bailey’s other enemies. What, he con-
tended; could Best’s motive be? Surely
he had nothing to gain and everything to
lose by murdering the partner without
whom he could pever manage Heart-
break farm.

Neal, sure of himself, dispatched sev-
eral officers to Heartbreak Farm to find
Best.and bring him in. They were gone
for several hours and finally returned
with their intoxicated prisoner. One of
the men told a strange story of the
arrest.

Best, he explained, had asked permis-
sion to deliver some milk before going
to the jail. Seeing nothing wrong in
this the officers allowed him to do so.

The farmhand went into the barn pre-
sumably to hitch up the horse. When
he returned, however, instead of the
horse, he emerged with a bottle the con-
tents of which he proceeded to down in
a series of gulps. The officers tried to
stop him but it was no use. It was only
a short while before the large quantity
of liquor which he had consumed in such
a few moments began to take effect. By
the time they reached town Best was in
no condition to be questioned. He could
not talk coherently, much less think.

Neal, however, discovered Bailey's
watch in the farmhand’s pocket. Asking
him how he came by it, Best merely
mumbled something to the effect that
he had found it on Bailey’s bureau the

day following his disappearance. Neal
had him placed in a cell until the effects
of the liquor had worn off.

In the meantime; William H. Stiles,
Best’s brother-in-law, heard of his arrest.
He rushed into Neal’s office, furious. -

“You've got no right to hold this man!”
he exploded. “I’ve just interviewed my
attorney and we're going to make trouble
for you unless you let him out at once.”

Neal’s face was a stony mask. “Go
ahead and get your attorney,” he said
icily. “We'll have enough on Best in the
next 24 hours to send him to the chair.”

But in the next 24 hours the investiga-
tion took a serious setback. The ballistics
report was uncertain. The bullets from
the rifle were of the same caliber as those
found in the body but aside from that
there could be no positive statement.
Unfortunately, in 1900, ballistics had not
been developed to a degree as accurate
as it is today. The ashes studied in the
laboratory were too weathered to pro-
duce any results. Neal was crestfallen.

visit to the owners from whom
Bailey had leased Heartbreak Farm,
however, bolstered his faith in the case.
They informed him that Best hated
Bailey. The farmhand often visited them
to find out how much money Bailey was
paying for the farm.

e always was suspicious, the men
said, and swore that George Bailey was
a rat and was cheating him out of his
share of the proceeds.

“He told me one day,” one of the
roprietors said, “that it wouldn’t be
ong before Bailey would leave the farm
and then he could have it for himself.
Many times he stated emphatically that
he hated his partner.” -

Here, then, was a motive.

Chief of Police Thompson, meanwhile,
had disposed of all other suspects.
Bailey’s life, he discovered, was involved
in a tangled mess of women. More than
one person had been glad to see him out
of the way but none, not even the relatives

“Yeah! We caught him robbing a cigar store!”

of his women
picious. le
that his t
accusatio!
incriminating ¢
lining up a scc
cided to go ah
strength of th:
they had.
Best's broth
prominent law
‘they were read
pa

Bringing Be:
grilling Office
worked over h

“Where ‘ did
Bailey's?” Nez

“I told you
the next mor
coldly.

“You know
sight!” Neal

“He was m
on Monday a
the prisoner :
why the chai

“Why were
up near your

Put don’t k

blankets,” Be:
His cold im
It°was merely
against anoth:
was building
was nothing t
with the trial
jail forever.
The trial v
after months
conclusive ev
there were sc
ready to take
As the tr
offered a cle
trying to pro
as he pleade:

persistence t

dence was fi

looked
sudden

.

ILLIA
months
brother-in-la
stand and sh
room with h:
out warning
the aid of t
“My_brot
thing I thi
about,” he e
this trial bes
cell. He m
and slipped
‘These are
he whisper¢
so that the
show direct
where you'l
you to take
at low_tide
can. Do it
should find
A murmt
the crowd:
rapped his
continued.
“T didn’t
thing shady
. I burned tk
Startled
revelation |
their servic
the ceiling.
Officers
in a buggy :

pis’

7


4K .
1
%-
t
ny Le
i

al of his women friends, presented a sus-
s picious. lead. Thompson was convince

that his brother officer was right in his ir
s. accusation of Best. Rounding up all the :
t. incriminating evidence they could and i

lining up a score of witnesses Neal de-
ed cided to go ahead with the trial on the

Ly strengt
le oy had.
est’s brother-in-law had secured a sts
i0 prominent lawyer for the defense an f 1
id ‘they were ready to fight the case to the i Fh '
1e end. : ’ ay /
, Bringing Best into his office for a final wi.
a- grilling Officers Neal and Thompson A | *
cs worked over him for nearly an hour. a. Ue
m “Where did you get that watch of eee
se Bailey's?” Neal shot at him.
at “I told you I found it on his bureau
it. the next morning,” the man answered
ot coldly.
te “You know he never let it out of his
he sight!” Neal shouted.
o- “, “He was moving a hogshead of swill
1. on Monday and it broke off the chain,”
om the prisoner answered cannily. “That's
m, , ‘why the chain was broken.”
se. “Why were you burning horse blankets
ed up near your barn on Tuesday?”
2m “J don’t know anything about the
‘as blankets,” Best hissed.
His cold imperturbability was baffling.
en It was merely a case of one man’s word
vas against another’s. Neal knew the defense
his was building up 4 strong case. There
was nothing to do, however, but go ahead ;
° with the trial. He could not hold Best in age a
jail forever.
The trial was set for March 18, 1901, | inl X aine on
cat. after months of trying to dig up more . ,
hat conclusive evidence with no success. But ]

there were scores of witnesses who were : .
; ready to take the stand against Bailey. a a
ile, . As the. trial proceeded the defense :
cts. offered a clever resistance. Instead of ; :
ved trying :

ian as he pleaded, they worked with a wily
out persistence to show that the state’s evi- }
ves dence was flimsy and unsubstantial. It

like Best would go free. But ep a es 0

looked
suddenly a bombshell burst!

we STILES, who for six
months had gallantly upheld his
: prother-in-law’s innocence, took the
rs ° stand and shocked everyone in the court-
. room with his startling testimony. With-
out warning he had suddenly shifted to

the aid of the prosecution
“My brother-in-law has done some-
thing I. think this court should ‘know
about,” he explained. “The Sunday after
~s this trial began I went to visit him in his
/ cell, He motioned me close to the bars
=\° and slipped two papers into my hand.
‘These are maps of Heartbreak Farm,’
he whispered in a low voice, obviously
so that the guard would not hear. ‘They
show directions to a spot in the barn

at low tide and heave it as far as you m O&
can. Do it right away. If the me
should find that package, I am lost!” \ 8."
a mmUrmGe of pean? 3 through rer ey Filmed ith the covoperation gect But
the crowded courthouse e judge ‘
rapped his gavel for order, and Stiles 4, \ od famous MEGE AD | ; ' weath®
continued. 7 8. Mazesine .

“T didn’t, want to be a partner to atly- : . ;
thing shady. So as soon as I got outside Send this convenient coupon today to: Vitaphone Shorts, 321 W. 44 St., N.Y. C.
I retiecs Bare swaps. mt i

tartled an urious. at this amazing : ; ‘ ;

revelation from a man who had hired i Fyn a te Lowey the page Name ssisssvserssscnsneereenennnneny
their services the defense attorneys hit 1 of the loce rig ell woop ys the gdidrestisnesssesssssnensongeeransenonns
the ceiling. They called a recess. — Mechaaih tw prone . orts, Ci

Scene. They cle Son cinbed | | LSS ee cen CO eee

Priease’ MENTION. November STARTLING Detective ApventuREs


break Farm, They had been over every
inch of the premises before, they thought.
Determined to find the mysterious pack-
age, they borrowed a lantern from the
new ‘tenants of the farm and made their
way to the barn. They combed every
inch of the place from top to bottom,
behind rafters; in the hay loft, through
the stables. There was not a spot they
had missed,

“Tt must be here,” Thompson said
wearily, mopping the perspiration from
his brow. “There must be some place
we haven’t looked.”

As the two men stomped up the dingy
staircase to the hay loft again, Neal

paused. He noticed a little recess in the
wall covered with cobwebs. Brushing
them aside carelessly he felt in the dark-
ness with his hand. Suddenly he let out
an exclamation of surprise. .

“Here it is!” he cried. In a moment
the officers were feverishly untying the
string that bound a small roll of bills. As

they unfolded them a glittering object .

was revealed to their startled gaze. It
was Bailey’s gold watch! Without an-
other word the officers drove back to the
trial in Salem with their prize.

This damning evidence, along with the
testimony of about 40 townsfolk of Lynn,
was enough to clinch, the case for the

state. Best denied his guilt to the last
but now everyone was sure that here
before them sat the mysterious rider who
had awakened Mrs. Gowen in the dead
of night. The purpose of that ride was
to dispose of the remains of his bloody
deed. This was a bestial killer!

Best was pronounced guilty by the jury.

The defense was not content. Twice
they sent the case to the supreme court
but each time the verdict was upheld and
on September 9, 1902, John C. Best
walked the length of a grim corridor to
the electric chair. The wheels of justice
had brought another vicious enemy of
society to his doom.

shake of my head. “He was a good, hard+
working man who thought only of busi-
ness.” ;

She looked at me. Her little black
eyes twinkled shrewdly. “You think so?”
She paused, then added wigs “Maybe

that’s why he was killed. aybe he
thought too much about business!”

I glanced at her. What did she mean
by her cryptic words? Her face, as well
as her eyes, were bright with meaning.
But before I could question her further,
other customers entered the shop.

Still puzzled, I made my way to the
Home Bakery, a few blocks distant. Mrs.

Karas was in the doorway, preparing to |

lock up for the night. A tall Greek stood
beside her: As I paused, her white teeth
flashed in a smile. It was evident that
time had already erased the grief from
her features.

I. nodded towards the well-stocked
counter and shelves. “You're not leaving
for Greece after all?”

Her face clouded. She shook her head.
“No, I couldn’t go now. It wouldn’t be
the same without, Peter.” She paused,
glanced at the tall man standing beside
her. “Besides, Gust here—Peter’s brother
—is helping me with the shop.”

Something in her tone, in the way she
looked at the man, bothered me. On
leaving, I crossed the street and looked
back. Mrs. Karas had just drawn the
shades and as I saw her silhouette turn
and start away, a larger one stepped up
behind her. The next instant she was
swept into his arms!

For an instant I stared at the sight,
startled. Then the old woman’s words
flashed into my mind. Was that what

she meant when she said Karas had
“thought too much about business?”
While he slaved away at his work, had
his brother been stealing his wife? If so,
it might prove the motive we had been
seeking.

The next morning I communicated my
suspicions to Sheriff McCulloch. He
agreed the new motive would bear look-
ing into and we decided to probe it at
once. But before we could act, fate took
a hand. We were called out of town on
another crime and when we got back, the
Karas case had entered its grim second
chapter—infinitely more horrible than the
first—to the accompaniment of the red
glare of flames at night and the shrieking
wail of police sirens.

Nick Wilson, night foreman of the
Healy garage, was working on a stalled
car at Riverside about 2:30 one morning
when he saw flames suddenly shoot up
into the sky. Hurrying to the spot, he
saw that the small frame house at the
rear of the Home Bakery was on fire.
He quickly turned in an alarm.

The fire apparatus responded at once.
But quick as had been their arrival, the
place was already seething with flames.
While some of the men fought desperately
to get the fire under control, others
pounded on the bakery doors to arouse
the family believed sleeping within.

Lieut. Blunt of Engine company
number one made a desperate attempt
to force his way in. Reaching the south
end, a solid wave of ‘flame met him and
drove him back. Working around to the
north, he succeeded in smashing a win-
dow. Then he let himself into the
blackened, smoke-ridden room.

ENRICHES THE FLAVOR _..

OF ANY TOBACCO

HONEY IN &
THE BOWL

66 Accept No Sussritutes!

Yetto-Bote hasrealhoney |
in the bowl. The honey seeps
into the briar wood as you
smoke, and keeps on blending
its flavor with the pipe. Result:
Yello-Bole starts sweet, stays
sweet. You spend $20 or more
a year for tobacco, and $1

1
NEXT PIPE fot cen nee emjoyanle:

”*1 YELLO-BOLE

REG. U.S. PAT. OFF.

For a moment he could see nothing.
Then through the fumes his blurred,
smarting eyes caught sight of two tiny
white forms, huddled under the bed.
Staggering forward he picked up the
Karas children, Polly, 4 and Alexander,
2, and stumbled out in the air. Firemen,
together with doctors hastily summoned,
worked feverishly with pulmotors for
more than an hour, trying to bring life
back to the two little Todles. But their
efforts were in vain. Polly and Alexander
were dead, suffocated by the dense clouds
of smoke that had filled their rooms.

-Meanwhile, realizing that others were
trapped in the blazing south end of the
house, Lieut. Blount and Chief Taro
sought desperately to make their way in.
Twice they got as far as the threshold
only to be hurled back by the flames.
The third time they succeeded. Stum-
bling into the room, fresh horror awaited
their gaze.

Stretched on the bed were two bodies.
One was that of a man, clad only in his
undershirt. The other was that of a
young woman, nude except for a filmy
nightgown of silk. But they hadn’t died
in the fire. Their heads had been crushed
in by terrific blows from some blunt in-
strument. They had been brutally, cold-
bloodedly murdered! ‘

Once more death had struck in the
Karas family and now the total was five.

FICREY RIG out, Chief Taro immedi-
ately notified authorities of his grisly
discovery. The call reached our office
just a few minutes after we returned from
our trip and we started at once for the
scene. On the way we discussed the new
and ghastly development. The circum-
stances under which the bodies were
found seemed to bear out our suspicions
regarding the pair. But if they had plotted
the death of Pete Karas, who had killed
them?

But we had no time to speculate
further. On our arrival, Chief Taro drew
us aside. His face and manner were grim.

“T’ve just made another discovery,” he
said to us quietly. “This fire was no
accident, as we had supposed. It was
what we call a ‘flash fire,’ set with oil in
a deliberate attempt to conceal the
crime!”

This fitted in with our own suspicions.
Leaving Chief Taro, we made our way
into the fire-blackened ruins. Going first
to the south room where the bodies of

Atwavs Insist on THE ApvertiseD Brann!

8

Mrs. Karas and Gu
the bed, we exam
was stained ar
were turning é
pieces of firey
floor. Stooping, |
The side and one ¢
blood! .
Evidently this >
by the killer to ©
victims. We con
other possible ch
flame-gutted inte
further and we §
room of the house
and Polly had met
Clothes scatter
this room had b
Karas and the chi
borne out by the
we noted that on
the tots were fo
And neither bed
This removed
Karas had not b
dragged to Gust
murdered where

Our inspectio
called on the ne
someone might |
or leave. No o1

“women, neighbo:
heard a series 0
One of the wo
about it.

“They were sc
out of my slee]
to the window.
anything but the
from the baker}

Our investigi
We decided tc
Chakos for ass!

“This fellow
he come to liv
McCullough a
when Peter wa

“No. He ca
Pete was kille:
“And ;
house?”
The y:
v0 “Didnt ae
strange?”
“No,” he sa

I? He was Pe

PPARENT
his siste)
Karas. There
add to his gr
picions. We
The two ¢
suce. Was 1
had still anot!
wanted her |
killed Karas
tered the pict
serk and mur
possible theo

We made
colony.

On arrivin:
was in a fer
the fact that
tongue, we '
nish reserve
Finally, how
source from
Karas, we &
garding his

As a girl, |
as her nam
acknowledg«
sieged by n
had fallen

epa’


-

. al aa

angrily

lin and
iat’s all

tront of
“Then
ae mur-
tky.
Palmer.
tips of

killed a

in, Pal-
to jail,

le early
to the
ttacked
arks on
him a

istened
verdict
second
lis last

) years
ll is in
ery in-

e

having
inglish
va few
pening

layer
striped

‘nglish
some-

striped
ly, re-
staring
white,
d each
t dead

of the
more
e con-
1 once
iarked
. The
vulders
* some
n the

id this
sh the
where
alking
uickly

eat

©:

accompanying the men back to the sin-
ister gloom of Floating Bridge pond. His
keen eyes took in the situation at a glance.

Observing an ice wagon parked before
a house not far from the road the sturdy
Irish officer ran over to it and appro-
priated a pair of ice tongs. Using them
deftly to grasp the torso he tugged it
far up on the marshy shore of the pond.

“Either of you got any idea who this
can be?” he asked.

“Tt wouldn’t be sure,” Torrance an-
swered, “but I think I have seen George
Bailey wearing a shirt like that.”

Flynn nodded. He thought so too.

“You boys run into town and report
this to Neal,” he ordered crisply. “I'll

go over to the house and call the coroner.”

When District Officer Neal heard the
news he jumped from his chair. He
stared at the breathless men in unbelief.
Within a few minutes, however, .he had
ordered deputies to drag Floating Bridge
pond for the rest of the dismembered
body. He himself, accompanied by Tor-
rance, English and Chief of Police
Thompson, hurried to the coroner’s office.
On their arrival, Dr. Pinkham, the county
medical examiner, already had a partial
report for them. —

“This man’s been dead for at least a
week,” he informed Neal. “He was shot
twice in the chest by what looks like a
38 caliber bullet. I’ll have to wait until
I can get a thorough report from the
ballistics expert before I can say def-
initely.”

Thompson glanced significantly at the
district officer.

Neal grunted.

“Let’s get Best down here and see if
he can identify the body.”

Half an hour later, John Best, sum-
moned by one of Neal’s deputies, gazed
horrified at the gruesome remains.

“It could be Bailey,” he said uncer-
tainly, “but I can’t tell from .this—this
thing.”

Thompson flashed the shirt in front of
Best’s eyes. “Does this look like any-
thing he might have worn?” ;

The farmer scratched his head. “Don’t
know. Might be. I’ve seen him wear
shirts like that but I’ve seen lots of other
fellows wearing them, too.”

BD iy ah’ at that moment the door opened.
A babblé of sound issyed from the
street where the crowds already were

athering, goaded by morbid curiosity.
Severs! of Neal’s officers entered, tossing
a collection of water-soaked bundles on
the marble slabs in the coroner’s labora-'
tory.
“There's the rest of your dead man,”
one of them announced. “All these pack-
ages were loaded with rocks. Some of
them slipped out when we dragged these
from the water.”

As the coroner opened the gruesome
bundles Neal called in several of Bailey’s
close friends from the crowd outside.
One of them was sure that the dead man
was Bailey.

“Find anything in his pockets?” he
asked.

Neal eyed him suspiciously. “Why,
what makes you ask?”

“Nothing,” the man answered, “except
there might be a motive for you. George
always carried two watches with him, a
silver one in his vest pocket and a gold
one in his watch pocket. He also carried
about $30 or $40 with him all the time I
knew him. As a matter of fact he once
told me that he kept this stuff in his

WHEN ANSWERING ADVERTISEMENTS, Prease Mention NoveMBER

KNOW THE AMAZING TRUTH
pockets even when he was asleep. He
never even took his clothes off for fear ABOUT SEX AND LOVE!
he would lose them. . . click ar elas yates . ‘

Neal mused thoughtfully. Here at last i (i eaaatata NMH|, viih

was something with which to start. If

they could locate those watches they’d

have their man. | ‘a
One of the parcels contained the head A 1 tL Sea

of the brutally murdered man. Several ae “

people identified it as that of George Sa or os

Bailey. Satisfied now that he had learned i:

all he could from the body Neal turned ; ,

to the clothes. A thorough search re- 5 .

vealed no sign of watch or money. But ‘q

on the belt of the trousers Neal found per BR

something that elicited a sharp cry of \ 3

satisfaction from him. Thompson hurried aa

over to his side. There, dangling from i¥

the belt on the trousers, was part of a a

watch chain. The last link had snapped as { 3 ‘oe

though the rest had been torn away with Q. ie 7B. 3

a vicious jerk. Pocketing the meager clue ae Z :

Neal walked back to Lynn with Thomp-

son. As they hurried along the rutted he

road the two officers considered the pos- ¢g

sible leads they might follow. . 7

“The murderer,” Thompson stated, |
“must have known this area pretty well. AON avi e
He re have anew net oe pes
pond was supposed to be ottomless. y j .
Otherwise he would have taken the body last a famous AWAY vith fle modeny ee 7
further out in the woods and buried it. frank, daring lan . No prudish beating about
All of those packages were weighted - bush, no veiled hints, but TRUTH, blazing
down but unfortunately for him the gases sue cee Soe i re tery ler dhe Seed
generated in the torso brought it to the . « » know how to hold your loved one... don’t
surface. If you ask me I think our killer «| less half-truths from unreliable sources. Met
ig right in this town. That midnight | feu'foeed aoe So any pens: 08
ri i

_ fider mutt have Deen ee eee | ee ee ee

“I wish we could find out the names orn 16 ae foam Dare od mt va same
of those relatives of the girl Bailey was ing . . - know what to do on your Gedding aight to
mixed up with,” Neal remarked, “She avoid the torturing result of ignoran
lived in Lynn for some time.” Everything pertaining to sex is discussed in frank

—— h d. “Th hovititer language. All the things you have wanted to know

pson shrugged. That shouldn't about your sex life, information about which other
be by se We'll go back and see what boghe only cape rs ty ae potas a
est knows.

Arriving at Neal’s office the two men cs feoer a paty ty sarge Yt la en :
went over their plans. Suddenly some- PARTIAL TABLE OF CONTENTS . '
one ery furiously: at i yet ar The Marital Embrace Intimate Feminine
ritated at the interruption Neal shoute ecrets of the Honeymoon ygiene
a gruff “come in.” The door opened to Mistaken oiApout Abuse. How fo attract and Hold
aT a eg foe: ret 16 me ‘ The ape of Vener- P aeee ss ow

just ear a out ai ey eing ea jseases OxUua ave o omen
found,” the young man said excitedly. pone ype ng poy Pans
He was evidently a farmhand for he was Joys of Perfect Mating What to Allow a Lover
dressed in overalls and his lean face was The Sex Organs ae ated eats aici
tanned from exposure. about sex, Sex is no longer a sin... ® mystery... rd

“What about it?” Neal growled. le Your Stestent power fet SDP Nee, ee the catalan ot

“Well, I think I know something that perth ple ie rae hog
you should be told,” the boy said nerv- prtovionen 8 Bo bent nd danate wosest Money
ously. back if you are not. completely satiated! Sc

Thompson, who was eyeing him care- £78 Baring Paves”
tally, Es that his hands trembled re Rc ag

“Oo. K., shoot it,” Neal barked, annoyed. 1478 SIxTiNAye.

“My name is Winfield Rowe,” the boy :
said. “I was quite friendly with John
Best. Last Wednesday John asked me to
come over to the farm and spend the
night. He said he was scared to stay
alone in the big farmhouse. I thought
there was something funny about it at
the ne yecmee 3 ve ae seen him
scared about anything. But I went over
anyway. During the afternoon John got FREE3 aaron goenng~ peas or

a He had oe wees ey 4270 Sixth Ave., New York, N.Y.
eavily ever since George disappeared. ye

Late in the afternoon he went in the Nowe mae plain wrapper, t wil pay. the

house and got a rifle that had belonged conto portman $2.08 plus age) sted, Tock

to George. He suggested that we go out return the book and the entire purchase

and take some potshots at a fence post. = Brice will be reise AROE, your 4

I noticed that even though he was drunk lane Buty Comet ew Birth Control “Facts.”

he ome . darned weed seehy Reg a vie ith engty Names. sesevsssesessesees ARO.sc0e

acciden nearly shot hims n ;

foot: s wet sarod and male coe kind Rete Vie eae ebigeec inert DA! ;

of remark about getting blood around. of Rhyenmis. City and Btate....,.s.ssssrssssreres

Later on, up in his room, he cut himself Snr method. ot ot etn te Marea

Srartiinc Detective ADVENTURES 63.

(

nee

ae


<n ell airy mat a

re a

— ~_ - = ke eT “ ‘
ae ea a PO ET OE OE

i. © A ee aS

a” 22 eee we
ees

336 THE COLONIAL SOCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS. [JAN.

or so. I apprehend that these last have been merely the lawless
acts of mobs. In the Colonial period, on the contrary, in every
instance, the negro was burned after due trial and in accordance
with judicial decision. In the account of the South Carolina case,

_ in 1769, which I ran across in a Boston newspaper, it was declared

that a negro man and a negro woman “were burnt alive, on
Work-House Green [Charleston], having been tried some short
time before, agreeable to the Negro-Act, and convicted of adminis-
tering poison.”! My curiosity being aroused, I searched the laws
of South Carolina, but was unable to find any which specified that
this particular punishment should be inflicted. There was, how-
ever, an act passed in 1751 declaring that all negroes administering
poison, procuring poison, or privy “to the administering of any
poison,” were felons and should “suffer death, in such manner as
the persons appointed and empowered by the Act for the better
ordering and governing negroes and other slaves in this Province,
for the trial of slaves, shall adjudge and determine.” ? Thus the
mode of punishment was left to the discretion of two justices of
the peace and three freeholders. But were these Colonial cases
genuine instances of burning alive? I think the almost universal
opinion is that they were; and herein lies the importance of
Mr. Noble’s suggestion. Mr. Noble seems to have shown that
there is doubt in the case of Maria, and that perhaps she was first
strangled and then burned. If this point is well taken, and if the
same reasoning applies in the other instances, we shall perhaps
be able to relieve our ancestors of the stigma of having imposed
the sentence of burning alive as a judicial punishment.

The Rev. Enpwarp Henry Haut of Brookline and Mr.
Joun GoruHAM PALFREY of Belmont were elected Resident
Members.

1 Boston News-Letter, No. 3440, 7 September, 1769, p. 2/2. The passage
was sent to Mr. P. A. Bruce, by whom it was printed in the Virginia Magazine
of History and Biography for January, 1897, iv. 341.

2 South Carolina Statutes at Large, 1840, vii. 422.


id

de

the steaming windows they could see the curious
citizens braving the bitter weather to watch the
police go about their grisly task.

“Do you know who the girl is?” he asked.

Again she nodded her head..‘‘Her name is
Ethel Zuckerman. She works here. She lives at
18 Rochester Street.”

““How did you find her?”

“I came to buy some bread but when I got in
there was nobody around. I didn’t mind waiting
because the weather outside was so miser-
able. But then I wondered where Ethel
was. She always serves me when I come
in. A few minutes later-I walked
around the place a bit and when
I came to the end of the counter,
I saw her body.” She broke into
violent trembling as she recalled
the incident. . é

Claflin spoke soothingly.
“Did you try to revive her
when you saw her lying
there?”

She shook her head. “When I
saw the knife sticking out of
her throat, I knew she was
dead. I just screamed. I didn’t
go near her.”

“What time did you come
in?” é

“It was ten-forty-five.”

Inexplicably she began
jabbing her finger violent-
ly toward the crowd gath-
ered outside. “There—_
look, that fellow standing
in front!” she cried excited-
ly. “He came in just when
I found the body!”

Claflin was through the door
in a flash. He grasped the young
man and had him in the store.
The latter admitted having’ come
into the store to buy some cake at
that time. The only reason he ran,
he said, was that the scream of
Bessie Stern had frightened him.
He gave his name‘as Alexander
Polhironus.

He was placed with the other witnesses at the far
end of the bakery. "

Claflin returned to the body of Ethel Zuckerman.
He dispatched an officer to notify the parents of the
tragedy and to delve into the life of the girl. He was
to secure the names and addresses of all young men
with whom she had been familiar within the past two
years.

On the floor Medical Examiner Leary had spread a
towel and had placed the two hands of the victim upon
it. Carefully he took her fingers in his hands and with

«

Miller Frank Clark, -54-
year-old trucker’s help-
er, who was questioned
at length by detectives
in the Zuckerman case.

a penknife, scraped under the red-lacquered fingernails.

Slowly a mass of fiye, dull-grey balls were formed on
the towel. Leary examined them under a magnifying
glass and nodded his head with satisfaction.

“What did you find, Doc?” Claflin asked.

Leary got slowly to his feet. “I found that the girl
put up a short struggle for her life. Just before he
knocked her unconscious, she scratched his face.’’ He
pointed to. the small masses on the towel. “That is the
skin of the killer.”

I asked, ““What killed her?”

39

a a


CLARK, Miller F., wh, elec. MA (Suffolk) January 14, 1936

!
a
ale F
Bly ]
¢ Blt
asa no t
Ae . :
a a
Ae ;
Blt ; ,
i P e P a
, By Detective Sergeant Joseph B. Fallon |
of the Boston, Mass., Police Department i J
V
; As told to Ernest Martin t
i ‘
j The strange story of a mysterious figure lurking in
the shadows of a Boston bakeshop—Suddenly gather-
* * e ; ° a9
ing courage—Entering and purchasing ten “cat-pies ae
—And climaxing his weird actions wi th murder! ;
DRIVING sleet and rainstorm pelted Boston’s Claflin, at the head of a detachment of detectives, in-
South End district on December 20, 1933. The cluding myself, arrived on the scene.
streets seemed like coursing rivers in the terrific Claflin eased his six-foot frame behind the counter
downpour. Only an occasional pedestrian, head- down and stared down at the body. It was stretched full length
against the raging storm, could be seen on the streets. on the floor. The white, uniform dress worn by the
Seventeen-year-old Bessie Stern, running an errand victim was splattered with Blood. A red-stained slit over ;
for her mother, pushed open the door of the bakeshop _ the girl’s bosom showed where a knife had been plunged }
at 317 Harrison Avenue. The rain swirled in. With into her breast. On her forehead a cross had been_cut
difficulty she slammed the door shut. with such viciousness that the marks penetrated deep
She shook the rain off her hat and looked about the into the girl’s skull. i
place. It was deserted. With a pout of annoyance she There was little blood surrounding this wound. Her
walked to the bread counter and leaned against it with auburn hair was plastered to her skull with blood. The
her elbows. Her eyes roamed along the opposite side of rest of the body seemed composed and little disturbed. d
the counter. The killer had evidently concentrated on his victim’s .
Suddenly her body stiffened. Her eyes stared fixedly pretty face, : ;
at the body of a beautiful girl lying behind thecounter! ‘Captain Claflin leaned over the body of the girl. :
A heavy knife, stabbed viciously through the throat, Carefully he wrapped a handkerchief around the long }
held the young girl pinned to the wooden floor! — handle of the knife that protruded from the girl’s throat. }
The front door of the bakeshop clanged open, and’ He gripped it firmly and tugged. }
swiftly shut again. The knife failed to budge. Afraid that. he might |
Bessie wheeled about in terror, smudge any possible fingerprints if he pulled harder,
A young man had his back planted firmly against he released his grip. The knife handle jiggered back and er
the door. “Whew, what rotten weather!” he remarked. forth.
Bessie remained speechless. The youth’ glanced up. “Doctor Leary!” he called to the Medical Examiner. H
Bessie Stern’s face was deathly pale. “Ya sick?” he Dr. Timothy Leary knelt beside the body and began tr
asked. his examination. -
It was then that she gained control of her voice. Three Claflin pushed through the assembled officers and -
| times she screamed the single word, “Murder!” . Witnesses and approached Bessie Stern. ;
| The young man flung open the door and fled into the “You found the body, didn’t you?” he asked. ,
i rain. She nodded her head vigorously. Her eyes were wide
‘ | It was ten-fifty P. M—five minutes after the first and terror-stricken.
| Piercing scream had sounded—that Captain James R. Claflin led her to the front of the store. Through
| P " 8
| 38 ;
q i as re bape r ; i PRS: oe m. ibis od
Lin % ° as or,
| 9 e } A bs 4
| a CELA 0_9 a yy C_- ‘ YU “>
0) ) ) Cz Lf
te


American Lielectiy,

he held in his hand. ‘‘Her yaw was broken and from the
parallel stripes running down the side of her face, |
would say that a fist did it. There is a stab wound jn
her left breast which didn't penetrate deeply enough
to cause death. Her skull has been completely
smashed with a dull instrument. A stab
wound in the throat which caused
death and a cross cut on her forehead
after death.”
I gazed down at the wound. “Is there
anything familiar about it?” he asked
Claflin.
But Claflin did not have to reply. He was
thoroughly familiar with the sign. Just as
the Italian Mafia used the slit tongue, and
as the New York racketeer placed a penny
in the hand of his victim, so did the Boston
underworld distinguish its killings with a cross
on the forehead.
And the fact that it had been carved there after
death pointed more surely to the fact that it
was not accidental,
But this seemed inconsistent with her
present surroundings. She was poor, but
had been well-educated. This Job was to
enable her to earn enough money to
start a college course in the Fall. To
further blasc this theory came the re-
port from Dr. Leary that the girl
was a Virgin.
Claflin walked along the
aisle behind the counter to
the cash register. It was
closed. The last sign rung
up, stated simply, “No
Sale,”

(Continued on Page &9)

Ethel Zuckerman, pretty Bostonian, victim of nd i
the man who murdered on impulse. B)

Leary scratched his head. “That would be 7

dithcult to say oft-hand, but I think that an
autopsy will show that she died from that
stab wound in her throat.”

“And how long has she been dead?”
| asked.

“Cat pies” — the
murderer of
Ethel Zuckerman
bought ten of
these in the bak.
ery where she
worked before
ending her life,

warm and she hasn’t lost
more than a single degree
from her normal tem-
perature,

“Did you make a
detailed list of the
wounds?” Claflin
asked.

Leary read from a
little black notebook


80

dict, and was released. Both Wheldon and
Foti were innocent of any connection
with the crime.

Our list of suspects was now exhausted
and we had no new candidates to add to
it. All our promising clues had been
washed up. That bleak Friday morning,
with Christmas just around the corner, I
realized that I was very weary and some-
what disheartened. I knew what. bitter
sorrow and grief were weighing heavily
upon the parents, brothers and sister of
Ethel Zuckerman, in their modest home
on Rochester Street. Later that day
many eyes were wet as simple, touching
funeral services were held and the pit-
ifully broken body of the. eighteen-year-
old honor graduate of Girls’ High School
was taken away for burial.

S I flogged my mind to discover some

lead we might have overlooked, some
course of action that might produce the
solution of the enigma, my _ thoughts
were drawing a sinister parallel between
the brutal slaying of Ethel Zuckerman
and the equally cold-blooded murder of
eighteen-year-old May Belle Matheson
ten years before in West Roxbury. No
one had ever been brought to justice for
that fearful crime in a fog-shrouded West
Roxbury field. Was this latest atrocity,
too, to remain unsolved and unpunished?
I resolved that it should not, that I never
would abate my efforts to bring the mur-
derer of Miss Zuckerman to his deserved
doom.

Deputy Superintendent William Liv-
ingston had broadeast an appeal to the
public through the newspapers and on
screens of motion picture theaters to give
assistance by supplying any information,
no matter how trivial it might seem, as
the public’s own protection demanded
that such a frightful crime must not re-
main unpunished. All cleaners and laun-
dries were requested to report imme-
diately all blood-stained garments that
might be sent to them. Tailors and dye-
ing houses also were covered.

Scores of officers were searching the en-
tire district for blocks around the Zuck-
erman home and the Bikofsky bakery,
questioning everyone encountered about
anything seen or heard that might be
helpful to us in solving the case, seeking

the “heavy, blunt instrument” specified

True Detective Mysteries

“Frenchy,” whose love affairs finally
entangled him

by the medical examiner. The net result
was the finding of an iron bolt eight
inches long and an inch thick in the rear
of a house not far from the bakery. But
this possible weapon showed no stains
of blood and cast no light on the mystery.

Anonymous telephone messages were
coming to us, as often happens after a
major crime, and the gist of most of
them was. “the girl’s sweetheart knows
about the murder.” One of these anony-
mous messages named Edward Gricco, a
youth of eighteen years living near the
bakery, as having been “friendly with
Miss Zuckerman.” He was quickly lo-
cated and brought in for investigation.
Wild rumors at once were sweeping
around the district and a crowd gathered
outside the station. Some were demand-
ing to be told “the name of the youth.”
But investigation quickly eliminated the
youth. He had merely been a bakeshop
customer and someone had occasionally
seen him chatting with the girl while
making a purchase.

A lead that looked promising was
flashed to me from Dorchester, where a
man’s overcoat, blood-stained, had been
received by a cleaner from a North End
address the morning after Miss Zucker-
man was murdered. I rushed out four
detectives to seize the coat and trace its
ownership. They were back within an

The Zuckerman Jury at the scene of the crime

hour, bringing the owner in custody. He
was a North End youth who explained
that he had been in a fight the might of
the crime, got his right ear slashed and it
bled on his coat. We found that he had
reported the affair at the time and that
his story was true. So he was released
and his coat returned to the cleaner.

All our hard work seemed to be getting
us no further except to erase likely pos-
sibilities. Hundreds of men and women
residents of the district, children, too, had
been questioned to no apparent avail.
Every alley, garbage can, refuse con-
tainer, every nook and corner throughout
the area had been searched without re-
vealing the supposed weapon, A man
who had fallen down, breaking his glasses
and cutting his face, persons who had
been in automobile accidents or suffered
other casualties resulting in bloodied
clothing going to the cleaners, were
startled by the abrupt appearance of de-
termined detectives who were satisfied
with nothing less than absolute proof of
just how the blood-stains got there.

It was Saturday, three days after Miss
Zuckerman was done to death, that word
came to me of the finding in the woods
of Raynham, a small town some thirty
miles distant from Boston, of a man’s
white shirt and knotted necktie, both
blood-stained, rolled into a bundle and
evidently thrown away for the purpose of
concealment. This information dove-
tailed with another fact I already knew
and suggested a grim possibility.

In our efforts to get the truth we had
spared nothing and nobody, questing even
among the members and _ relatives. of
the Zuckerman family itself. One of
these was an uncle of the dead girl by
marriage, a carpenter who had come from
Palestine and was in his early thirties. We
were informed that he had long been a
frequent and welcome visitor at the
Zuckerman home, and made no_ secret
of his fondness for his pretty young niece.
For a time he had made his home with
the Zuckerman family. And he was now
living in Raynham with his wife on a
chicken farm he had acquired there.

Officers were hustled out to get this
Raynham man and bring him in secretly,
together with the bloody shirt and neck-
tie found there. Other skilful detectives
were ordered to recheck his recent past as
with a microscope, with particular atten-
tion to the murder night.

E was slipped quietly into the War-

ren Avenue police station that Satur-
day night. Pressed with pertinent ques-
tions about the crime, he protested
vehemently and with much emotion that
he knew nothing about it; that he had
been at home with his wife the night of
the murder. During the hours of question-
ing that followed he made no slightest ad-
mission that involved him in any way. He
denied any possible motive, insisting that
his affection for Ethel Zuckerman was no
more than that of an uncle by marriage
for his wife’s niece, just as he was fond of
the entire family and they were fond of
him. He also denied ownership of the
bloody shirt and necktie, or knowing any-
thing about them.

But at this time our intensive combing
of the entire South End district had pro-
duced two different witnesses who had
seen a stranger about to enter the bake-
shop just before the time that the mur-
der must have been committed. This was
after the departure of the “stale bread
man.” The two independent descriptions
checked well together, and seemed to be
similar to the descriptions of the man
we were detaining. So we had to con-
tinue our pressure over the next day,

which was Sunday, and over the follow-


HORROR'S WAKE
A knot of newspapermen
gathered quickly at the
door of the Bikofeky bakery
after Ethel Zuckerman’s
body was found, her jaw
shattered, her forehead
marked with a_ strange
symbol,

CLUE OF THE.

CRIMSON CROSS.

+

By CAPTAIN JOSEPH McKINNON

Boston, Massachusetts, Police
AS TOLD TO JOHN S. THORP

LANTING rain, lashed by a driving off-coast gale,
pelted Boston’s South End. Swaying street lights
flickered eerily in mirroring asphalt. An otcasional car

sloshed and slithered tire deep in the water.

. Here and there, across steaming walks, went shadowy
‘forms, bent against the storm. Crunch of sodden shoes, swish
of rubber coats, the shrill shriek of locking brake—some of the
district’s dwellers were still about in all this fury. .

Shops, once glowing oases, were closing one by one.
Blackness and the stillness of approaching midnight were
settling over this polyglot area of the great metropolis, a
sprawling, overcrowded city within a city, spawning its motley
denizens to the very fringe of Chinatown.

Behind a warm bakeshop counter at 317 Harrison Avenue,
in the heart of these slums, an eighteen-year-old girl looked
through misted windows at the downpour. It had been a quiet
evening for the young clerk; she could count the customers
on the fingers of one hand.

It was December 20, 1933. With Christmas but a few days
away, the dough-mixing machine in the basément, where four
bakers were busy on Yuletide orders, droned monotonously
and lulled the girl into a state of pleasant contemplation.

A recent graduate of Boston Girls High School, Ethel.

Zuckerman had taken this job to help her family. In the dim
light of the bakery’s yellowed chandelier, she was dreamy-

28

eyed as she waited for customers who never were to
come,

Small, dark, of retiring nature, with an ingratiating smile
and flashing white teeth, Ethel thought of the holidays, of
friends who were so dear to her at this time of year—
particularly of plans that had to be carried out within a day
or so, The bakery job—five-thirty to eleven o’clock at night—
had given her time during the day to find more suitable work.
This work she had been promised.

It was now a few minutes after ten o’clock. In another
hour she would close for the night. The girl thought of this,
too, as she looked hopefully. for signs of a slackening in the
storm. .

A scraping foot on the stone steps broke her reverie. A
customer, no doubt. She rose and went to the counter as the
front door opened, the bell tinkled and a dripping figure
came in.

Ethel Zuckerman called a cheery hello, but the visitor was
in no mood for amenities. Swishing water from a soaking
hat, he came close to the counter and hissed a few quick
words.

Taken aback, the girl broke into a friendly smile. replying
with a meaningless banality intended to appease her visitor’s
wrath, Instead, it had an opposite effect.

Wildly infuriated, the man leaped forward, swinging a
smashing blow at the girl’s face. She fell heavily, her jaw
shattered. The intruder then seized a long bread knife and
lunged at his prostrate victim. The blade struck, bent, and the
attacker hurled it wrathfully away.

Another, longer knife lay alongside the cash register.
Grasping this avidly, the man leaped to a new assault, flailing

FIEN
Detect
Joseph ;
knives «
slayer
victim.

pinned ;

NO
Dark-ha
erman
no stea
police |
had jilt.
long be

Tr.


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es-
ted
iat
vad
of
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day,
llow-

True Detective Mysteries

81

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2
8
z

ing day, which was Christmas, hoping for
a verified confession. which would solve
the crime, und on into Tuesday. The
Raynham man consented to being photo-
graphed and finger-printed. And always
he stuck to his story that he knew noth-
ing about the murder and knew nothing
that might help us to avenge his niece’s
death. His clothing showed no blood-
stains; there were no suspicious marks on
his face or hands, and a thorough search
of his place in Raynham produced noth-
ing.

EPORTERS finally discovered that he

was being detained for questioning
and investigation on suspicion, and the
news was published on Christmas morning.
The Zuckerman family rushed to his sup-
port, insisting on his innocence and clam-
oring for his release. His wife supported
his claimed alibi. And then Brockton
friends—residing near the town of Rayn-
ham, came forward with positive assertions
that they had seen him there at the very
hour of the crime in Boston. So on the
third day we released him and exonerated
him, and the Zuckermans took him to
their home as an honored guest. This man
was wholly innocent of any connection
whatsoever with the crime and we were
deeply sorry that circumstances had un-
justly singled him out.

By: this time a quite definite picture
was forming in my mind. Robbery seemed
to be definitely out as a motive, and so
were jealousy and revenge. I believed
now that it had been a crime of passion
by a degenerate type of killer, the sort
who would kill for the mere Just of mur-
der. I was becoming more and more con-
vineed that the murderer would be found
in the near vicinity of the Zuckerman
home and the bakery, because he must
have observed his victim, known her hab-
its, and when he could surprise her alone

in the bakery without much danger of in-
terruption. I concentrated my men on an
intensive surveillance of the district and
all its residents. I had a hunch that some
day, somchow, we would collar the killer
right there.

The days slipped into weeks and weeks
into months, and the brutal murder of
poor little Ethel Zuckerman remained un-
solved. I refused to give up hope and
we did not relax our vigilance. There
were plenty of false clues, phony tips,
anonymous messages. Some seemed to
look promising; others were obviously
worthless. Again and again some suspect
was rounded up and then had to be re-
leased. Several persons remained under
definite suspicion and were closely
watched without their knowledge day and
night. There were fake confessions, too,
one by a girl who disappeared from home
after penning a “eonfession” note. Once
I had to dash over to New York to check
up on a man who had been arrested in a
slot machine raid and was found to have
newspaper clippings about the Zuckerman
murder in his possession. IT found that
he could not have been in Boston at the
time of ‘the crime. Albert H. Fish, who
admitted killing little Grace Budd in New
York, was another whom we had to check
up, because of the similarity in the child’s
slaying to the murder of Miss Zuckerman.
But we found that he had not been in
Boston at the critical time.

MONG the several suspicious persons

we were watching in the South End
was an unpleasant sort of ne’er-do-well
known in his neighborhood as “Frenchy.”
A big, strong, ungainly fellow in his early
forties; a life of dissipation had made him
look to be nearer sixty. He was the loud-
mouthed, boaster type, always shabby
and unkempt in appearance, but given to
bragging about his feminine conquests

and how women quarrelled for his fav-
ors. At the time of the murder of Miss
Zuckerman he had_been lodging for sev-
eral months at 9 Florence Street in the
home of a Mrs. Sadie Jacobson, three
blocks from the Bikofsky bakery. A few
weeks later he moved his few belongings
to the home of a Mrs. Molly Federal on
Lovering Street.

HAT first attracted our attention to
“Frenchy” was partly his general ap-
pearance and worthless reputation, and
partly statements that Mrs. Jacobson made
about him. Some time after the murder
she spoke to a police officer about the
man who had been her lodger. She said
she had been _ having trouble with
“Frenchy,” that he had threatened her,
and that she was suspicious he must know
something about the Zuckerman murder.
At that time many such statements
about as many different men were being
given to police daily, some directly, oth-
ers anonymously by telephone or letter.
Some were obviously inspired by spite
or came from cranks. But all these leads
were carefully investigated, And so was
this one. No evidence was found to place
“Frenchy” in the near vicinity of the
bakery on the evening of the murder.
But it was found out that he and Mrs.
Jacobson had been friendly for several
months, and then recently there had been
differences. He was now paying atten-
tion to a woman on Lovering Street and
removing to her home. He was kept un-
der surveillance and further facts were
learned about him. He used the niume
of Miller Frank Clark, was supposed to
have relatives in comfortable circum-
stances in the northern suburbs and
gometimes worked as a truck man. Officer
Herbert A. Swett brought in some inter-
esting details about him.
I had been promoted to Police Head-


82

quarters as Deputy Superintendent in
command of the Bureau of Criminal In-
vestigation while we were still hard at
work on the murder mystery. My re-
sponsibilities now extended’ throughout
the entire city and there were other mur-
ders to solve. But my interest in the
Zuckerman case and “determination to
“break” it were only intensified. Sooner
or later, I was confident, our patient
plugging would be rewarded; someone
would divulge the information we needed;
if the killer were among the group we
were secretly watching in the South End,
he would eventually make a slip that
would betray him.

It was almost a year to a day since
the death of Miss Zuckerman and Christ-
mas was near again when the case sud-
denly leaped once more into glaring
newspaper headlines. On December 22nd,
1934, Mrs. Molly Federal eame to us with
a startling story. She had once assured
my investigators that “Frenchy” was all
right; she was engaged to marry him,
and a “certain person” was actuated by
jealousy.

OW she declared that he had admitted

to her his guilt of the murder of Ethel
Zuckerman. He was philandering, they
had many bitter quarrels, the engagement
was off, and she was free to talk. She
told of finding blood-stains on his coat
while repairing it, and of the man’s ag-
itation when she called attention to her
discovery. She placed him at the mur-
der scene and told of seeing him near
the door of the bakery, watching and
waiting, about ten o’clock on that. fatal
night.

This was what I had been looking for.
We already had dug out another witness,
Mrs. Minnie Coombs of the South End,
who had seen Miller Frank Clark, alias
“Frenchy,” near the bakery about. that
time. Soon we located another witness
—Victoria Haddad, a young miss who
told us she had seen Clark enter the
bakery on several occasions. I ordered
him brought in.

The self-proclaimed lady-killer was a
sorry and seedy figure when he appeared.
He was wearing sad-looking shoes, a
ragged overcoat with a soiled blue shirt
unbuttoned at the throat, and a tattered
cap was clapped on unshorn gray hair
above his deeply lined face.

At first he denied everything. It was
paint his ex-fiancée saw on his coat;
not blood. He didn’t know anything
about the murder, never saw Miss Zuck-
erman, and was never in the Bikofsky
bakeshop. But before long he had

True Detective Mysteries

The suspect being questioned by

Commissioner Hultman, command-

ing the Police Department at the time
of the crime

tangled himself in contradictions.

“You know you killed this girl,” I
pressed him. “Why don’t you tell the
truth?”

Clark hung his head. His hands were
twitching and twisting. Two big tears
came down his cheeks. He mumbled, “All
right. I hit her.”

The Ethel Zuckerman murder was
“broken” at last. The killer was crouched
before me. In answer to further ques-
tions and in the presence of a stenog-
rapher, he made this appalling  state-
ment:

“I went in there to buy some cat pies,
and I got five cat pies, I did, and when
she walked down the end of the coun-
ter, of course, naturally she went to the
cash register and put the money in and
rung it up, and as she did she walks
around the other way, and when she did
I followed her and, naturally, when I
followed her I hit her.

“So when I hit her she hollered, see,
and she started to go to the telephone
and, naturally, I got kind of scared and
I ran out. So I went up Mott Street,
then through Washington Street, Oak,
over through Boston Common, and then
I came back again. I went home and
then I came out again, and I went back
over to the Common again. It was rain-
ing, too, at that time, and I kept walking
around through Scollay Square and I
kept walking and walking, and it was
kind of wet, and I was wringing wet. So
I went to work in the morning again.

“So I asked her, I said, ‘Will you marry
me?’ so she said, ‘Later on. I hit her
and, naturally, when I hit her she fell
down. So I went and got a knife, and
that knife bent, and I hit her, and I got
another knife and I struck her right here

(pointing to his throat) with the other
knife.

“There was some blood on my coat and
I didn’t notice it at all. So I had the
intention of going to the tailor shop but
it was too late, so I didn’t. bother much
with it, and I threw the coat away, about
six months later, I threw the coat away,
I did. I wanted the lady to sew some
buttons on the coat and she did. She
asked me where I got the blood, so natu-
rally, I told her I was in an argument. So
that was the end of that.

“That woman was Mrs. Fuller (also
known as Molly Federal), and I think
that she lives at 10 Lovering Street,
nineteen or twenty. I can’t remember the
date, but I know it was a stormy night
that night and I couldn’t tell you the
month,

“It was about a year ago this month,
I think it was before Christmas if I ain’t
mistaken. The girl’s name was Ethel
Zuckerman.”

There was a lot more, gruesome de-
tails I need not repeat. The self-confessed
murderer re-enacted the crime, showing
where and how he used the knives, how
he beat her with his big, tough fists so
hard that he injured his hands and caused
terrible injuries to the girl’s face and head
thought to have been inflicted with some
heavy, blunt instrument.

The following March he had been in-
dicted for murder in the first degree and
was placed on trial for his life in the
Suffolk Superior Court, before Judge
George M. Gibbs and a jurv. His ex-
fiancée testified against him as a govern-
ment witness. Among other convincing
evidence, we established that Clark had
frequently visited the bakery up to the
day of the murder but hadn't gone there
since.

SSTIFYING in his own defense, the
defendant's statements were so contra-
dictory and incredible that the jury took
the record-breaking time of only ten min-
utes to return a verdict of guilty of first
degree murder, which means a mandatory
death sentence in Massachusetts. Defense
counsel began a desperate fight to save
him. Among other things it was claimed
that Clark’s testimony indicated he
would say “yes” to almost anything, and
that the jury’s quick verdict proved lack
of consideration of the case. The full
bench of the Supreme Court finally de-
nied him a new trial on the 13th of last
November. Five days later Judge Gibbs
sentenced him to die in the electric chair
during the week of January 12th, 1936.
Clark was executed January l4th, 1936.

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phone. It was the old story of a woman
scorned .. .

Brought to headquarters, Miller Clark
denied knowing anything about the
murder. other than what he had read

,in the newspapers. He was swagger-
ing and nonchalant, but when faced
with his landlady’s accusation he wilted.

Under intensive questioning, he finally
broke down and began to cry. “All
right,” he admitted.. “I—I hit her.”

McKinnon beckoned a_ stenographer
and Miller Frank Clark told the sordid
story that started on the wintry night
of Décember 20, 1933, with the death
of an innocent girl.

“J Killed her because she wouldn't
marry me and I didn’t want her to marry
anybody else,” he said. “We used to
go out together and I asked her to
be my wife but she wanted time to think
it over.

“The night I went to the bakery I
asked her again but she wouldn’t
promise. We started to argue and I
hit her with my fist. I guess I lost my
head then. Then I grabbed the
knives .. .” .

Officers listened in silent amazement
as the killer continued his coldblooded
recital. After killing Ethel he left the
shop and walked through the rain for
some time before going home to bed.
There was blood on his coat but, for-
tunately for him, he refrained from
sending it to a cleaner until all such
establishments had been checked.

Six weeks later he repudiated his
confession and pleaded not guilty. A
jury, however, found him guilty of
first degree murder after only ten min-
utes of deliberation and Clark was sen-
tenced to die in the electric chair.

In prison he read incessantly. As the
date for his execution neared, Clark
was in the midst of a continued novel.
At the doomed -man’s request, editors
of the publication forwarded proofs, of
-the concluding chapters so that he might
finish the story.

Early in January, 1936, he walked
from his cell to the electric chair. He
coughed slightly as attendants fitted the
black hood over his head and secured
his arms and legs with straps. There
was no other sound save the hum of
the dynamo as the current was turned
ON as :

Eprror’s Nore: To spare possible em-
Sbarrassment to innocent persons, the
names Guiseppe Fanio (Dan Black) and
John Aronson, ‘used in this story, are
not real but fictitious.

nana te
ea
i

hate 1G

haba net inom hele:

aNUARE, 1943

FRESH FISH!

(Continued from page 19)

Gets "Dime and Pin"

His Honor, of course, took the jailer’s
word and assessed no fine. When the
bum’s ten days for vagrancy were up,
the jailer duly turned over to the beak
a pin and a ten-cent piece—in other
words, “dime and pin.” Sadly, His Honor
realized that things are not always what
they sound. :

The first two- or three-dollar fine,
however, does not necessarily end a pris-
oner’s adventures with the court. If a
fish has money and is really fresh—not
a jail-wise “blowed-in-the-glass _ stiff”
—he may be charged with all sorts of
largely imaginary offenses, such as spit-
ting on the floor, failing to make his bed,
or being too polite to the screw. Of
course, he is always found guilty, so
that he can be mulcted of the where-
withal to purchase the little luxuries
prisoners crave.
© Sometimes he may refuse to pay. In
such emergencies, His Honor is not above
laying aside his dignity, stepping down
from the bench, and smacking the de-
fendant on the jaw. Thus is the course
of justice accelerated.

Occasionally, but not often, the beak
will catch a tartar. I once saw one of
these pugnacious fish swing a vicious
right to His Honor’s jaw. He attempted
to swing back feebly, but was so dazed
that he didn’t know which of three or
four fish to hit. When he came to he
retired to his “chambers.” While ponder-
ing decisions and precedents: he rubbed
his hand reflectively over his jaw. Be-
cause of the resulting pain he decided
to dismiss the case. s

Usually when His Honor finds himself
in such a predicament, the other court
attaches come to his rescue. It is indeed
rare for a fresh fish to be able to lick
them all. But I have known this to hap-
pen.. In one jail Isawa wide chalk mark
drawn across the floor at one end of the
bullpen.

When I.inquired about it, I was told
that a surveyor, a huge.man who had got
into trouble cashing a rubber check, had
arrived about two weeks before. He had
given the honorable court and all its
attaches a terrible shellacking and an-
nounced that the part of the bullpen be-

_ hind the line-was his exclusively and

that any trespasser would suffer the
same fate as the court. Needless to say,
his desire for privacy was respected.

A Vicious Hot Foot

But there is sometimes a more terrible
side to the picture when prisoners resist
the edict of the kangaroo. I have known
such courageous men to be terribly
beaten, injured for life, and even killed.

Many times I have seen prisoners with.| $on’¥uning Ps

‘puffed and swollen faces which, I was
sure, had resulted from their resistance.
Invariably they said they had bumped
into a door, fallen out of bed, or some-
thing equally ridiculous, not daring to
tell the real truth for fear of further
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65


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‘pLINE DETECTIVE 4. |

with Police Commissioner Eugene Hult-
man and Captain Claflin.

The bewildered parents were ques-
tioned by an interpreter in their na-
tive Yiddish. Officers learned that the
youth’s name was Dan Black and that
he played a saxophone in an orchestra.
Ethel, they said, met him while she was
an usher at the Grand Opera House
where Black played an engagement.

-Friends of the dead girl readily ad-
mitted that the couple had been fond
of each other and attended numerous
dances and theaters together. Black
had been greatly upset when the girl
refused to see him’ any more.

A quick checkup of the orchestra
showed that the saxophone player’s real
name was Guiseppe Fanio. He was 22.

A police squad was dispatched to the
Fanio residence in West End. The
“youth’s parents and three sisters were
at home, but Dan Black had disappeared.
Disappointed officers gathered up most
of his clothing for laboratory analysis
and an immediate alarm was broadcast
to all precincts in Greater Boston.

Hundreds of police joined in the city-
wide search, despite the insistence of
the boy’s parents that their son was

-innocent and would give himself up as
soon as he knew he was wanted. Cap-
tain Claflin, however, wasn’t passing up
any bets. And when the manhunt failed
to turn up even one tangible lead to the
youth’s whereabouts, preparations were
made to broaden the investigation be-
yond the borders of the state.

But before the extended search could
get underway Dan Black, in company
with his brother-in-law, walked into
headquarters at 6 o’clock in the eve-
ning and gave himself up. He declared
he had learned only a few minutes
earlier that he was wanted for ques-
tioning.

For several hours the youth was sub-
jected to intensive interrogation, but
denied all knowledge of the crime.

“I was at home,” he declared stead-
fastly, when questioned as to his where-
abouts at the time of the murder. “My
parents and sisters will vouch for me.
We were playing cards all evening.”

His parents substantiated his alibi but
the officers -were not satisfied. “Slip
into this topcoat,” Captain Claflin or-
dered. .

Black stared at the garment. “This—
this is mine,” he stammered.

Victim Is Buried

Claflin nodded. “We got it at your
house. It was checked for bloodstains.”

The youth flushed slightly but offered
no objection. The captain, Superin-
tendent King and Commissioner Hult-
man took him to the Bikofsky bakery.
There the witnesses who had seen the
killer leave the establishment agreed
that Dan Black was not the man.

Returned to headquarters, the youth
was questioned throughout the night
by 12 detectives working in relays. He
repeated his story a dozen times and
each version of his activities was checked
for discrepancies, but none‘ were found.
Persistently he protested his love for
the girl and his desire to marry her.
“I was the last person to wish her harm,”
he declared.

_ ‘JANUARY, 1943

‘An experienced officer, he was wonder-

Morning newspapers picked up the
story and one periodical even went so
far as to quote a responsible official as
‘saying, “Undoubtedly we have the right
man.”

This was both unfortunate and prema-
ture. Convinced at last that the sus-
pect was innocent, Captain Claflin made
a statement to the press.

“There were certain discrepancies in
Dan Black’s story,” he explained, “but we
checked them and they straightened
themselves out without explanation from
him. He was questioned for 17 hours.
Personally I believe he feels as bad
over the girl’s death as her own father
and mother.”

On the third day following her death
Ethel Zuckerman was laid to rest. Until
the funeral the body had been held by
Medical Examiner Leary pending a com-
plete autopsy. His final report to police
was that the weird cross slashed in the
forehead of the victim held no special
significance. Two knives had been used
in the assault, he explained. The first,
driven into her head, had struck a
frontal bone and turned. This deflec-
tion had caused the cross mark.

The funeral was crowded, and in the
throng, mingling inconspicuously with
grieving friends and relatives, were 62
detectives. This step was a last resort
as well as a concession to the adage
that a murderer returns to his crime.
But if the slayer of Ethel Zuckerman
was in the crowd that lined the streets
when the cortege passed the Bikofsky
bakery, he gave no sign of his presence.

The murder of the 18-year-old girl,
in addition to being the most brutal
ever encountered by the officers, proved
one of the most baffling as well. Christ-
mas passed, with all leaves canceled by
the commissioner in order that his men
might devote their full time to the case.
But no new leads were uncovered and,
by the middle of February newspapers
had all but dropped the strange slay-':
ing. A picture of the lovely victim,
flashed on the screens of Boston theaters
along with a plea to audiences for any
information which might lead to her
murderer, brought no results and po-
lice could do little more than mark
time. ;

Thirty-year-old Frank Playstead, of
Chelsea Street in Everett, however, re-
turned the mystery to the headlines
again when he walked into Boston po-
lice headquarters with the brief state-
ment that he “knew something about
the Zuckerman case.”

"| Think You're a Fake!"

Captain Claflin noted the man’s ad-
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in search of clues. Other officers mean-
while began questioning the man.

“I used to work in a lunchroom,”
Playstead related coolly, “and we often
bought bread at the Bikofsky bakery.
I knew Ethel well—as a matter of fact,
I quarreled with her only five days
before she was killed.”

Claflin studied the man _ carefully.
ing why, after eluding police for several
months, this man should practically.
accuse himself of the crime. What was

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“Just what are you trying to tell me?”
he asked. “That you committed this
murder?”

Playstead grinned easily. “Well...
abruptly he changed the subject. “You'll
find I’m wanted in the Lindbergh kid-
naping,” he asserted.

“I think you’re a publicity hound,” the
captain told him. “In other words, a
fake!”

Detectives searching his room, how-
ever, found an order for ten loaves of
bread among other papers on Playstead’s
dresser. It had been placed with the
Bikofsky bakery and was regarded as
important because it was the carbon
sheet usually retained by the store.
But continued questioning of the sus-
pect revealed that he was a mental case,
and he was placed under a physician’s
care.

After this brief flareup of interest
the Zuckerman case submerged into the
limbo of unsolved crimes. The first heat
of interest had long since died down, but
Claflin and his men remained alert for
a new break in the mysterious slaying.
But none came until the soft breezes of
spring melted the snow and uncovered
a brown-stained blue jumper commonly
worn by farmers.

Two boys discovered the garment near
Raynham, a small town about 30 miles
from Boston. The youths knew of the
unsolved murder and the brown stains
on the jumper aroused their suspicions.
They took it to local police. Following
routine, the article was submitted to a
laboratory. test and the stains were
found to be from human blood.

Three weeks of intensive investigation
were required before the jacket was
traced to its owner, John Aronson, who
operated a small chicken farm near
Raynham.

The farmer readily admitted owner-
ship of the garment but claimed he had
discarded it months before. He was
unable to account for the bloodstains
on. it.

In view of the laboratory report that
the stains were from human_ blood,
Claflin felt justified in holding Aronson
as a possible suspect. And the captain
was even more interested when, on
questioning the man about the murder,
he learned that the farmer was an
uncle of the dead girl.’ And Aronson had
not been on good terms with the Zuck-
erman family for a number of years.

“There’s plenty of motive there,” Su-
perintendent King agreed when Claflin
advised him of the result of his inves-
tigation. “What we must find out now
is whether or not he had an opportunity
to commit the murder.”

Woman Tells Story

Aronson contended that he had not.
On the night of the crime, he declared,
he visited friends in Brockton, Mass.

He was held four days in jail while
his alibi was checked. At the end of

that time he was released with apologies,

but so greatly had his incarceration
preyed on his mind that the farmer
needed hospital care, although he was
completely exonerated of all blame for
the crime.

With Aronson’s release the case was
considered all but dead. Months later,

Captain Claflin was promoted to deputy
superintendent and Captain Joseph
McKinnon took over the Warren Avenue
district.

The Zuckerman case was nearly a
year old, but the new officer instituted a
vigorous investigation in an effort to
crack it. Newspapers rehashed the
story on the anniversary of the murder’
and, as though precipitated by this re-’
current publicity, what looked like an-
other crank lead popped up. .

This time it was a woman, leading a
9-year-old child by the hand, who ap-
proached Patrolman Ralph N. Eaton
while the officer patroled his beat in
the South End.

With no preliminary explanation she
stated abruptly that she knew who had
committed the Zuckerman murder and
asked to be taken to the detective in
charge of the case.

Brought to the station in a patrol car,
she gave her name. as Mrs. Molly S.
Fuller, a 45-year-old widow who re-
sided at 19 Lovering Street.

Captain McKinnon _ regarded bey
calmly. Although only recently placed
in charge of the investigation, he had
previously listened to many people who ,
“thought they knew something.” But
this time it was different. - '

“The person who killed that girl is a
man named Miller Frank Clark,” the
woman stated positively. ;

McKinnon studied her features. Mrs.
Fuller might be wrong in her identifica-
tion, he decided, but she was undoubt-’
edly sincere. '

“If you are so sure,” he asked, “why
wait a year to tell us?”

The woman looked at him pleadingly.
“I was afraid of him . ... afraid he
would kill me!”

;‘Has he threatened you?”

Mrs. Fuller nodded. “I run a room-
ing house,” she explained, “and Clark
has been boarding there for years. About
12 months ago I learned he was paying
attention to the Zuckerman girl. I
noticed it particularly at the time be-
cause of the difference in their ages.
Clark is middle-aged.” j

The captain listened thoughtfully.
He remembered the three witnesses who
had seen a middle-aged man leave the
bakeshop j

“He asked me to sew a button on
his coat one evening,” Mrs. Fuller con-
tinued. “I noticed several large blood-
stains on it. I had heard about the
murder, but he told me he had been in
a fight. I believed: his story until I
learned he told one of the other board-
ers to say he wasn’t at home if the
police came looking for him.”

Slayer Breaks Down

“That still doesn’t make him a mur-
derer,” McKinnon said sharply. “May-
be he wanted to avoid trouble over
the fight.” —

“He’s the man you want,” Mrs. Fuller
insisted. “Every time I mentioned the
Zuckerman case he tried to get me ‘to
shut up. I did—for a time. You -see,
we expected to get married some time,
but just.a few days ago he told me he
didn’t want to go through with the
ceremony.”

The captain nodded and picked up his

HEADLINE DETECTIVE


ee

sete

tc

CLARK, Miller F., wh, elec. Mass (Suffelk) 1/14/1936

KNIFE CLUE—
A Boston police officer is shown esiiialicta blade
which a man used to kill and mutilate his victim.

being graduated from Boston Girls High School that
sunny June day. Eighteen-year-old Ethel Zucker-
man was one of them. A few of them might have
been more glamorous than Ethel. But not one of them
was neater than she was. And surely not one of them
could have been more sincere or more ambitious.
Ethel’s family lived in a ‘modest home in Roxbury,
a Boston suburb. Her parents had worked hard to send
her through high school. But their sacrifice had been
worth while when they saw Ethel, her expressive eyes
glowing, clutching the diploma and the honor scroll she
had worked so hard to win.
Ethel did not intend to complete her schooling with

business college of good standing. Her family had
helped her; soon, she thought, it would be her. turn to
help them. But before she could attend business college

So the day after her graduation she started to look
for a job.

48

CRIME DETECTIVE MAGAZINE,
February, 1947

ETHEL ZUCKERMAN—
The murder of this clean-minded and ambitious.) |
girl — criminologists all. over the Jand. ~~

HERE were some pretty girls in the class that was..-

just a high school diploma. She planned to attend some .

she had to earn some money to finance her course there. .

It wasn’t easy to get a job in 1933. But Ethel wasn’t
choosy about the type of work, just so long as it was
respectable, and by perseverance she landed a position
in a bakery on Harrison Avenue, in Boston’s South End.
She had to report at 5:30 p.m: and stay through until
the store’ closed. ‘They were odd hours, but Ethel didn’t

‘mind them;:in fact, she really preferred them, for it

would give her the time to seek a better job during
the day.

Weeks passed. Ethel was giving complete satisfaction
in her new job. Months passed. Ethel was a real favorite
with the store’s customers by this time.

Her mother worried about her. “You want to be
careful in that neighborhood, Ethel—especially those
bad hours,” Mrs: Zuckerman warned her. But Ethel
kept on the job, and nothing happened to her. She
minded her own business, did her work well. No one
even accosted her on the streets. Little by little, the
money for her higher education was being put by.

And then, on the stormy night of December 20th, 1933,
Ethel Zuckerman was found (Continued on page 68).

olving New England’s

“SCARLETICR

MILLER F. CL!

Though much
the police he


ye } } ‘+ . + | F . —— 1. on Q Q
BRISk, samuel F,, hanged Plymouth, Mass., March 10, 1887

aNd Cluseu aus Raew sey eee _ t
MURDERER. BESSE HANGED. t -Sammel'F. Pease was born: in Wareham, Janu.
mares Strictly Private-The Priz. | 2 10, 1854. Ile was separated wheu very young.
ee ion pate, ey rach a“ his \ from his mother, hig‘father nidrrythg again,
% ene ees “un tt and his stepinat ive proving tar-from etd tot
_Prxuovrn, March -10.=This | morning | ¢ him. Ie grew upin. an ed pone of pro-
/ Samuel Besse of Wareham suffered the ex- | ¢ fanity and intemperance, an was eiper aly er:
tremo’ penalty of the law for ‘the murder of | ! | couraged in the ways.of vice and crime. His J
POMS pores. . bee i] father took little ar nd pains to have him fur
Richard M. Lawtow at Westport. in December, ; dnighed withs.an. .education.-, Besse, however,
1885, expiating “his crime on the gallows at | ] during the yeats of hia youth and” manhvod, +
the county juil. ‘The. execution was strictly | ! ‘Jearned.: to: become an easy andro
; inld’ dwéhana seiieigadas chr roe da ereadét.~ ‘The-RoysFrank B. Sleeper,-pastor of.
private, only twelve.witisasses réquired'by law, | ; the First Baptist Cliuroh, who.was assigned as
the prisoner's counsel, his spiritual advisor and | “big spiritual:advisar; found “Keassein~ his. cell:
‘the jail physician, besides the bkeriff and his quiet, pleasant and very gonttemantyrtistte
assistants, being present. Since “his sentence “meanor,.and tothe officers of the prison he-has
; none but Besse's counsel, tho Hon. Hosea A. | not. appeared sullen, “morose, indifferent or
; Kingman, and his spiritual advivtr. the’ Rev. | hardened, —as—thras—been—reported,— Besse
FB. Sleeper, pastor of the Baptist Chureh, seemed anxious for good ‘books ty read, gnd_
and the officers having:‘him’ in charge have. ‘| hig spiritual adviser sought to supply him liber-
seen him, with ond exception—his father, who Tally. -Sinda.Oct. 10 Besse has read his. Bible,
visited: him severg] weeks-ago:. He was almost. | Farrar’s ‘‘Life of Christ,’? Goike’s. “Life. of.
| friendless. Deputy Sheriff Spring of Hing- | Christ,” Guizot's “History of France,’ Duu--
liam has sent him dJicacies a number of times, TT higie's History of the Keformation;} Macan-+
and. probably was the nearest to him of any of z y's *‘History of Bneland,” and. some: deyo- |
the ofticers.: Besse. made* lrim -n present ‘of’ } tional books. ‘His books seemed his. greatest
three volumes of Dickens's works and a dic- treasures. Concorning his -religious ‘btate,.
tionary which he has had with him’ in his cell ‘Bosse seemed sincerely penitent for the sins he
since his, confinement. ,Besse, has given but. had eonmitted, and professed faith’in -Christ.y
| little trouble tothe ‘officers. He has talked. He said: ‘Ewo years ngo Il hated the -Bible, |.
bat little and spent most of his time in. read- band would ‘not have read it five minutes, My
} ing, his choice being mostly of the better class early training and subsequent life have been
of novels and scientific works. Ste such that I have gever bee “in a church’ ger
The prisoner’s last night on carth was.passed ‘| vice outside of a prison. . But now I find the
| mostly in sleep. Tis spiritual adviser spent ‘|, Bible a precious book and take. gréot-Gelight
the evening until TO o'clock in fhe cell, then in‘reading it.” After going through’ Geike’s
‘left-him for the night, “Besse retired, and gt | ‘Life, of Christ’? he said: ‘I nevor dreamed, |.
ones -fell’ asleep, sleeping quietly until’ -2 | theré was such a charming and glorious philoso-.
o'cteck, when he awoke and got up, walking: phy-connected. with the Christ.” Besse has
the tloor- for awhile, then -went to his bunk | ‘shown.a quick brain, an appreciative mind and |
‘and slept till the turnkey. aroused:the prison-. ‘| retentive ‘memory, He said: ‘The books
ers. Soon after, tho Rev: Mr. Sleeper visited |- that 1 have been reading have léd me out into
himn and found him much-refreshed, . He ate a + ® new- world that [had no conception. of .
hearty breakfast; and had a talk with. Mr. | “Before ; boda.
| peerer, petey mich the warrant was a to t. WaReHAm, March [0.-— Deputy” Sheriff
im in his céll, an us arms’were pinioned: by’ T James W. Hustoys i in Charge of ths” He
sheriffWheelor, Lis ‘final - ; |Besse; arrived in Wareham from Plymuoth
‘shortly befgra 1: o'clock this afternoon. ‘A |.
| crowd had gathered in the rain at the reeme- |-
tty. ‘The :coftin. was taken: from the under |.
taker’s wagon, in which it had been brought:
from the scaffold, and; without unscrewing the
lid, it was? hurriedly consigned to the news
made grave in a remote corner of the large .
town cemetery, without sérvice or any inter-
‘yuption:-” Charles Besse, the murderer's father,
was. among the' on-lookers, and was the only
mourner, He waa much «ivected,’. -
ca aah ;
and the coftin-and couténts were taken to
, Wareliam, to hia: fathor, who.dlaimed his re- 4
MAINS, Os ee EL, Sip ee Ey


BEST, John C., white, elec. MA&?

ney

4}
it
{

me

(Essex) September 9, 1902.

“Floating Bridge”
spanned a pond on the
main highway between
Lynn and Salem. It
floated on top the wa-
ter, the ends resting on
the banks of the pond.
The folk of the country-
side believed the pond
had no bottom. No
bridge supports could be
built there, they said.
Hence the bridge was al-
lowed to float on the
surface. This is a rare
photograph of the curi-
ous structure, which
plays a conspicuous part
in the dark drama de-
scribed in this story.

The RED HORROR of
Floating Bridge

Dark Passion and Mysterious Murder in Pastoral New England

" OOD morning, Mrs. Dwyer. I
& called to see if George was here,
or if you had seen anything of

him.”

“You mean George Bailey?”

“Yes. He drove away with the milk about eight
o’clock last night and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Well, he isn’t here and I haven’t seen him.”

“Seems mighty funny. He knew there was no grain
for the cattle. I can’t think where he’s gone, but I’ll
have to hunt around till I find him. Guess I’ll go up to
Win Rowe’s.”

The foregoing conversation was the first intimation
to neighbors in the little farming
community of Saugus, Massachusetts,
that George E. Bailey was missing.

The woman of whom the inquiry
was made was Mrs. Annie E. Dwyer,
housekeeper for Henry Mitchell, and
the inquirer was John C. Best, a
farm-hand employed by the missing
man. It was about nine o’clock on a
crisp October morning and the wheels
of the old Democrat wagon creaked
in the frosty air as Best turned the
aged bay horse around and drove off
to continue his search.

From the Mitchell farm he pro-
ceeded to the home of Leonard B.
Rowe.

“Win home, Mrs. Rowe?” he
asked abruptly of the kindly-
faced matron who answered his
imperative knock at a side door.

“Why, no. He ain't. He’s
gone to Peabody.” Then, notic-
ing the downcast look on the

32

By HERBERT
HALL TAYLOR

man’s face, she added, “You look wor-
ried, Mr. Best. Anything the matter?”

The farm-hand removed his cap and
scratched his head. ‘‘Why, to tell you
the truth, Mrs. Rowe, I am worried. Mr. Bailey has
disappeared without saying nothing and there’s a lot of
work to be done and grain to be got. I thought I’d see
if I could get Win to. come over and help me.”

Mrs. Rowe grew thoughtful. ‘Well, Win won’t be
here till about four o’clock. I'll tell him when he comes.
I guess he’ll be over.”

Best thanked her and departed. His next call was
at the home of Simon J. McKenna.

“Johnnie Mitchell boards here, don’t he?”

“Yes, but he ain’t to home; he’s gone to
Reading after some cows.”

“Well, I’m Mr. Bailey’s man, Mr. Mc-
Kenna,” said Best. “When Johnnie comes
home, tell him to come over to Bailey’s, will
you? I want to see him.”

“Sure I’ll tell him. Just as soon as he gets
back.”

Best hesitated. “You see, Bailey has gone
away and left me with no word and I don’t
know just what to do.”

“Why, that’s queer. Where do you reckon
he’s gone to?”

“Well, I dunno’s I ought
to say so; but I’m afraid he’s
-skipped out.”

“Why, how you talk!
What’s he skipped out for?”

“I guess he heard the offi-
cers were after him. I cal-
culate he’s gone down East—
to Maine.”

McKenna stared. “What

REAL DETECTIVE, February, 1932.

Great

in the
for?”’
Be;
feet i
emba1
ous.
eV
tell m
“T’m
shell.’
“W
been
farm
folks |
been r
wife ;:
and h
girl, $
they g
skippe
“Sh
“don’t
fine ga
and sli
But Sa
back t:
the off
Best
ing.
farm ;
Wiscas
going.
sheepis
“c "Ce
hat fr
the ne\

‘ON

Sat

the gos
Virtt
pan an
mired |
lenient.
“She
Arou
mation
Geor
years |
introdu
sort of

SOLER AAPM os

Senge

BRAND 40

field, on Tuesday, April 14, 1857. By William Cothren.... Hartford, printed
by Case, Tiffany & Co., 1857. CtY-L, DLC, MH-L, NHi, NNB.

196 p. 22.3 cm. some sewn, othggg in print. wraps. index: p. 193-96.

Foot was found beaten to death with a hammer in a horse stall of Litchfield
Church, rented by Bradley. Probably because of rigor mortis, the doctor found
that “the body was so stiff, one could end it up like a post.” A crude test for
blood stains was made by a local chemist. Bradley was acquitted.

130 ~—s Brand, Samuel

A melancholy narrative of the late unhappy Samuel Brand, who
was executed at Lancaster, in the Province of Pennsylvania, on the r8th
day of December, 1773. For the barbarous and inhuman murder of his
only brother . . . translated from the German. Lancaster, ,Pa.j, printed

by Francis Bailey, (1774). MWA.
IS p. 19.5 cm. title vignette. There is a German ed. of 1774.

In the words of the pamphlet, “. . . he went home in the evening and set fire
to the barn, and then to the dwelling house, where his aged parents lay in
bed .... He took his gun .. . and presented it cocked at his brother, who sat
at the table, and said, ‘I’ll shoot thee,’ and the unhappy brother reply’d, ‘Shoot
if thou wilt’—This simple and inconsiderate answer did but the more provoke
his fury, so that he fired off, and the poor victim fell dead on the spot.”

131 Bristol

The blood of Abel, and the blood of Jesus considered and improved,
in a sermon delivered at Taunton, December the first, 1763. Upon the day
of the execution of Bristol, a negro boy of about sixteen years old, for the
murder of Miss Elizabeth McKinstry. By Sylvanus Conant... . Boston,

printed and sold by Edes and Gill on Queen Street, M,DCC,LXIV (1764).
MWA.

36 p. 21cm. appendix: p. 32-36, gives facts of the case.

He killed her with an axe for no apparent cause.

132 Brown, George

Confession, of George Brown, alias W. T. (*), late mate of

schooner Retrieve, who was executed this day, on board said vessel, in
the East River, opposite Brooklyn Heights, for mutiny and the murder of
Capt. John Lewis, while on a voyage from Cadiz to Vera Cruz, with a

Ca

White ona
Vriel bef:
| a7) Seple,
conduct 9
(+) Brown

flings of ar

he tite,

plane


im. + :
‘lL. ‘ a le | a eta be
The Annals | of Murder

A BIBLIOGRAPHY = | ~— OF BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS ON
AMERICAN MURDERS FROM | COLONIAL TIMES TO 1900

Compiled by Thomas M. McDade

NORMAN UNIVERSITY OF OKLAHOMA PRESS

(4@/

Nene ee . ciaauaialidel


ait that the nation. blesse

une portion of. liberty, nauas; ju pro>

Mato its nombers, be host powerful aa~

i ure 6 power.

py msi; is, in the moral purposes of his Creator,

pan’ condition ‘that ‘it shall be exercised to } secon,

dg ‘of beneficence

f himschf aot hi ns

eae w ne
Yr fol. up our

of the

: Obed have been.

e where the
apace of:

oe he ‘Representative.
Luthority of! the whole Una ian, fall behind ov
po low tervant a:

resources of any. )
teeo Rt

fyrk

| men’ prosper your €xértions fo secure
4 ings OF pe y

parte a Sap

th ce ie of}

he ee ot. the” trust |

7 | undistarh dW ha ‘wndersio

toftners, hare ee over his. mind or
n Fapidly effated by the |

{since aes citizens ‘OF a have been cal-
7 Jed to witn :

42

nee vasscd

afy: .
by Christian hope and aesinatg

Yet: ‘this man, ing on the wel verge of}
eternity; while. the, things ¢
is tiew, seemed nnmoved ond

AEN,

nsjent p riods ‘of
: aly a3

‘Acenlury has| passed;

AF Se

; Igdaminious death. “The

will, “we sincerely trast, ‘ayer! the necessity
+ for a ‘renewal of” ite 1 sevete inflictioné: ‘Within

thé past year, the records of our Judicial: Pro
Tceedings haya, been Hisgracea by four serctay

trials for. Assaults of th ost Seeraraicd, chars

t cr, such or challenge, when con Fayed of any :

; Common wealthy daring twen ¥ years after ys

; : ee)
admonition ot the certainty of punishment fol on constable 33 the oh among Bae totais
it | owas’ on the’ ‘Yiglation: of the laws. Of society,

; a person
Cin. any ty mee with. intent to 7 fo

zy

tae persor awful

The p a ‘teen 7 Pe

ee ben ne rosea ene
im ducls with 1 any. anise hous” weapoiiy $
hall ensue: ‘ ise ins any.
Ket ac Henge ;
fough Belns a ‘Second, + ‘ae eit

3,
ae “dig alified FS Lontine: any
oF place of’ howor,” ‘profit’ or trust, i ie thris
conviction in the Supreme Judiciat Court.<

de ation ;

bettor in ‘such: ‘eéceptante, on con: |
ES ies shall be sites by i ime

Selene sh i804, Chap. 1 123,02

“ Rior-—When twelve: ‘or mote persons. at
ed with: clubs. or other ‘wed pons, oF thirty

more Prisons, are untawiuily; Hotously, or ta- ¥

raultyously ‘assembled, any Justice “of the

Peace, Sheriff, or aepoly sheriff, of the SGamntyeie i
as hear ashe can ‘pfcly come, shall make |;
proclamation for. their dicpersion if the rio iteps
donot disperse within onc hour alterthe proc= [J
lamation. or: ‘attempt: fo make. proclamation, &
the office) may command aid @nd scize the dist

orderly f Persons: ihe officer fs empowered tof §
farmed mcn if any, of the pers

‘appear atmed, and if they bess

Se, a th f


Slave Bristol, hanged Taunton, MA, December 1, 1763

ey,

FIRE SRA MII ae #
BRISTOL : a [Be 4 MG:

lis aha sa, a Ries boy ‘known only as Bristol, who

se cata the inaiax Miss Wiese McKi. etsy. tox no
\ een Treason, The minister oe ee at the

titled THE BLOOD OF “ABEL AND THE BLOOD OF JRSUS XHRIEY
CONSIDERED AND IMPROVED How much of the awful words

~—~and-thoughts- ‘associated with-this-death sermon ang
prehended by 2g conjoctirest ne SUA Beate
tere sting conjecture,"

Be. BY THE SUL. Fo Teeters & & Hedblom _
Packs. F page 18

Wie ae ex)

Check further in Annals of Murder by Mead oe ;


ee i eT Te sail, thie s Beis

|
|

and the space of existence measured with certainty. Yet the man standing

alee] at the foot of the hill crosse& by the deep cutting of the Worcester
a)

manner indicated a strange indifference to his fate. Of all the siguations
'of peril, none more severly try the fortitude, even when sustained by Chris-

"of all the persons present, the criminal himself was, apparently, least
affected. His bearing in his last.hours.was bold and fearless, and his

tian hope and resignation, than those where the sands of time are counted

on the very verge of eternity, while the things of earth were fast passing
from his view, seemed unmoved and undisturbed, We have understood that dur-
ing his long confinement, transient periods of softness have passed over his
mind.only as shadows and have been rapidly effaced by the next impression.
"The place of the melancholy exhibition was in the valley eastward from the

turnpike and on its Northern side. A. deep and solemn feeling pervaded the
assembled multitude, gathered by thousands on the sloping ground of the
eminence commanding a perfect view of the scene, or collected around the
scaffold. ‘bere was no single violation of order in all the crowd throng-
ing the streets of our village and going on in continued stream to the spot.
"ore than a quarter of a century has passed, since the citizens of our. coun-
ty have been called to witness the deplorable spectacle of human suffering

by an ignominious death. The admonition of the certainty of punishment
following on the violation of the laws of society will, we sincerely trust,
avert the necessity for a renewal of its severe infliction, WXX* Within

the past year, the records of our judicial proceedings have.been disgraced

by four trials for assaults of the most aggravated character. The example

so recently witnessed can scarcely fail to secure the domestic peace of the
community and protect the homes of our citizens from the outrages of brutal
violence. It is the precept of Holy Writ, that it is better the offending
member be cut off, thah that the whole body perish. The principle of human
justice founded on the command from on High, requiring that the criminal,
even in the flower of kis youth, should be deprived of ife, in its applica-
tion to society, is merciful. there is a class even in the most moral
community, without the restraint of virtuous education on their licentous
passions, who,can be deterred from crime only by the terrors of the law.
However much all must deplore the sufferings of the individual, yet, it is

a reflection in some measure alleviating the painful emotions awakened by
sympathy, that the finfliction of punishment in one instance, diminishes the
amount of misery, by preventing the BRS&E perpetration of crimes to make new
victims to lawless violence and other offenders for the chastisement of jus-
tice, : :

"An account of the life of Carter, taken from his own lips, has been published
and exhibits a deplorable record of depravity. His own belief is stated that
the trial was fair, and he agrees to the correctness of the evidence offered,
except in one single and trifling particular. The career of vice KK he has
followed until his existence has been terminated by the highest punishment

of the.laws, is attributable to the mglect of early instruction in morality
and virtue. The consequences.of indulgence, in the gratification of unholy
passions until the heart is wholly hardened, may be read in the history of
that single evening, when the fatal crime was perpetrated exhibiting a re-
markable congregation of offences, commencing with profanity, and ending pa
with theft, burglary, and rape.

"WWe have no fear that this statement, long as it is,,will be conddered i
tedious. Where the life of a fellow being is concerned, every member of

the community must feel a deep interest, and we have been constrained by a

painful sense of duty to present a full narrative of the melancholy trans-

action, with a view to hold up.the example to those who were not spectators

of the exhibition." THE NATIONAL AEGIS, Worcester, Massachusetts,

12-14-1825.


(7
CARTER, Horace, hanged at Worcester, Mass., December, 1825.

"On Wednesday last the solemn sentence of the law was executed upon Horace
Carter, convicted before the Supreme Judicial Court of this Commonwealth, at
their autumnad session within and for the County of Worcester of the crime
of rape. The offence for which the late prisoner has suffered the penalty
of death, was committed on the.person of an aged female, an inamte of the
poor house in the town of Brookfield, almost bowed down to the grave with
the infirmities of many years. From the evidence produced on the tial, it
appeared that Carter returned to his native town of Starbridge in the month

of February last after being liberated from the House of Corrections in thas”

place, where he had suffered imprisonment upon conviction of an assault on
a civil officer in the discharge of his duty. On the 23rd of that month he
visited Brookfield and spent the evening with some of his former associates
and with his creditors in negotiation for the settlement of some demands. h
long dispute ensued, and on its termination, he set out on his return to his
homes having stopped a short time at the house of Mr. Hodges, he proceeded,
taking without permission, a horse to convey him on his way. His own decla-
ration is, that it was his intention to borrow and not steal the animal.
Finding him dull and slow and being cold and wet, he rode only about a gile
and a half, and turned the beast into a yard by fhe road side, Near the
hour of midnight, Carter approached the dwelling house where the crime was
perpetrated, Carter was attracted by the light of a fire blazing on the
window and approached, without knowing what females were whe occupants, and
as it appeared on the trial an entire stranger to the unfortunate woman who
became the subject of the crime. Requesting admissionand being denied, he
forcibly broke down the door and entered; a separate and distinct offence
punishable by death, and for which some unfortunate men have formerly
suffered on the gallows in this county. The assault upon the victim, an
object of pity rather than of brutal violence, was then committed under cir-
cumstances well known to the public. After a full and patient trial, not-
withstanding the able efforts of ingenious and learned counsel, the. jury re-
turned a.verdict of guilty, and the Court pronounced dgentence of death.

In pursuance of that sentence, on the forenoon of the seventh instant, a few
minutes past eleven o'clock, Carter fas brought from the County Gaol and con-

ducted by the civil officers to the place where the apparatus of death had
been previously erected, attended by a clergyman selected by himself to per-
form the last religious exercises, and guardéd and escorted by the Worcester
Light Infantry, under the command of Capt. Ward. The procession was arran-
ged in the following order: (1) A file fo soldiers from the LightXK Infantry

with fixed bayonets. (2) Messrs. Rand and Goodrich, deputies under Calvin

Willard, Esq., High Sheriff of the County of Worcester, on horseback. (3)
The Sheriff, attended by Doctors Green and Heywood, surgeons, on horsebacke
(4) An open wagon, containing the Criminal, attended by the Clergyman, the
Rev, Jonathan Going, and a Deputy Sheriff, Mr. Upham. (5) Anbther wagon
with a plain black coffin, (6) Messrs. Valentine and Lathe, Deputy
Sheriffs, on horseback. (7) A file of soldiers with fixed bayonets. Files
of soldiers marched on either flank of the.procession, forming a hollow
Square, and the whole moved to the slow and mournful notes of martial music.
"Coming from the Prison,.the Convict sprang lightly into the carriage provi-
ded for his conveyance, with real or affected unconcern,. On arriving at the
fatal spot, he ascended the teps to the scaffold with a firm step. The
Sheriff then read the warrant, issued by the Governor and Cojneil, authori-
zing and requiring the execution, An earnest, impressive and appropriate

prayer, was offered up by.the Rev. Mr. Going. Carter, after walking backward

and forward on the platform for a few seconds, and shaking hands with those
about him, threw off his cloak and signified his readiness. The dast prepa-

ations were made and a handkerchief placed in his hand which he ghrew down

as a Signal. The platform fell at 11:45 and he passed into eternity without
a struggle. Exactly at 12, the body was placed in the coffin, the officers
of justice left the spot, and the spectators dispersed.


shexiff, orother officer, i forfeit ana pay. at
saa not Jets than forty shillings not: heart

: cof isidhigh Carter approached
welllog hoes here.th

ae of enlipng :
786, Ose 3B.

attrib t" on
4 fine ot tess than ~ies sings no Mio

ee eae Merchants rt
je han. The res


CASSELS, John ap white, electrofuted Mass. (Hampden) on May 6, 1902.

es OC le Vi PRS, hs Go. (yA

Sccuratian : oe <a
We oT ae Vai howe le. 2, CZ y Ce ere Psst.

Acog RD

dg ach OTHER Your & Cea hae /Z (handy), Ahir weed 7 Row Fla Sac

Twelve f-R SIC) pacvced i fathers Hales Ohi j bese cele fauetsch fice $Y ES

AGE RACE

bk per 3 rine, fhrelrer—

VICTIM

Sh. Tiarg Kone _

MOTIVE

Lhe acucgel Jl elope,

awe Blls oi 693, brite dirk in bee thi Lstead farfhanilipe
SL Goal along tee eertel ($09 rhin dhe Liout te C2gLa ad fu tea? Madey
Ch bon tte nesvrd Lute & LA arclag he. (Beg an/ abhi Leth Dtea-
Maz Ais tide, Sal? te, 7, Aeetd Pubes Cau ~ firciss Othe isnt fea ch fo
eed. Wns. as ane Srna Jy. os o Asabandyy a tain turd, Y faccesibg fad
thoes Lis Daz. ell, , Lisp. pee A Begonse dan! pth Cp KALE
2 pitied tog mel . a A. Them tretlz zo eg rea ¥A Les Facing ficld au
"oe mead  bpada bm typ ET baclasess TRESS ee f&wie ov
ok Et LE xo Be S Leia LORE Coe Om CLA HOM 15 Loang
pleken he Saeted th dove, Li ficwokasid hevehir t Lhe thle by Car -
bls. aetd aus Z Me ogacadery, Lhe AY bibiniidG FO: a Kelbcd_

fox Ps fw he SEY 2 tg Z (4g La She tedi Ze. oe tea st he Pay Lh A, AL)
Aunt 229 2Ce i Mead ade ‘A ra oe ‘Aether ch YZ - TP Laelia a teas

bl abeg. Pottel hove lee 1 tferce f Seva sa (Putten g pic eads i
th el heed Ff [Trpeokl hee Aig Lelie lit UE Ang ttn —
ee Lito? bee & ee Jute hlicDe- if atid Whead He Portrhe Fes
hte bb HOGA AGI : ce cette lhe kee head on TESA gol

TRIAL LEAK 024 Ceara F GALES fof Ki Me RATT ACG CLAY TAF Lor FS Z PRiaAaaeI He TAUAT ATP

df tia Lex GH 2B, EP LTT EN AIRS Mh hed Cte tde Li20 [naa Lh
Miata aae oe oe ays a Whe CLA the’: 4 aftr Cricr aA or si Any Co At VLva# Arr. “lich luc~

Ab

LAST WORDS

vA aa rey 4 Ds at @ 2A, LV haves SL AL ged g fox fed ngs bt piled i “det Lb x WK est Lope
Lae Poe pee wv of Yara poe thblocan!

EXECUTION

SOURCE

Apscaadiudel Stone le [4D


As

ie

RED,
rainst the
ant

wha r

dvunteces,
chool.

ne vecenyy

FANS, TY y=
PROT Y) HOt
stimaonials ts
from may -

meyy mers)
Wspeper rem
form urine
The pris

@ experien e]
Pieri vy. Tte-

Could Gaxity
ed from the
"heme OL

iwofessur. ine
duet to eet
Biigidet ap:
Of the 16.
obtarmed he
jroo?,

Mtseg. ef
ars old, died
“Clgekh, 1 ye.
Tufterut 7%

Police

ne

b Phase May

et

onthe police Conmisasion ordinance
from ¢ofanitttee in’ tft
Alderman ‘Hawkins offered

be

Doc} ALDERMEN

Put Away After Many At-

tempts to Amend,

——4— —

“FAIL TO. AGREE

Annual. Taxation. Order Calls for

Raising of $990,000—

fy Take

trie wae
was presented tdhihe alder-

a reBécted
rd
am hedment a, ause plactng the
instead of
vent Of the beardvof alderbien,
that appointees. be residents
‘ st¥nding. ard
actively ‘eegiged” im
He contended that,

pit business.

; Alder
f resets

object

would

enbugh

pobties

denn HB

ments
fennett would: covept AW amendment
which weuld stitke out al) that might

Br ¢

were aout to

re

t

warrussihg (o feature Mayors who
ee_appolp iments,

polltics,

have

“$14.40 Tax Rate}

See!

pass unamended,

tad,

the commission,

v of five
tt time

years

owas held responsible by the
important
‘and that the “Mayor ahould
He considered vu re-
nt of five years’ residence Yec-
> and the liquor clause, as he pro-#
not too harsh, but sufficient? to

~ the -tity’s most

e In dt,

desired end.
man Bernett

“nt for a commission of three } water aguin possessed him. a ‘or &
the Mayor a member ex- iong period “he, satled the Nort) Bea,
ta vote... He added. the : and

regecives sothat
poftted more than twe
4erms. that they

t.ity af feast two years, 2D
that thne “‘acthyvely engaged

Hyer business,*
Aiderman Clapp
net the two amendments.
that the object of the commils-
as 40 take the police depargment
that Alderman
j Hawkins amendmént would defeat this
The other amendment.he p>;
posed on the ground that“the commis-
sion wwobld be tag sinali and. that no
repregentative s of the
sh epportunity to’ assist
in direstion of the financés of the de-

perument
Alderman

and

ehty

Hennett

would support the, antendmen

Aftera recess Alderman
moved \adt ainendment to
Hennett's Fmendment, embodying the
idedg he expressed... He
sede his mnotion,
moved thatthe whele.
phd the motion wae t
ot dierent. ;

eompiitd thay

om

city propélty reiomilt
UG

vin baherle ta 8

introduced

no’ member be
consecutive
be residents of the
not in
the

' esa on’
at the sageertion Gf Alderman
app. was the course of the so-
mmission ordinance Mn the
much lust evening. / Ht is the in:
it up Jater) probably at
Le yg but it f< evident that

niments, one to amend-
Lind de bare, Ww a hia

‘y for the €ity” hall qd4t-
ani-the annpal
which meate @ tax-rate

a
in

spoke “at’. Jength
He con-

courtcll

advocated ‘his
amendment 6n the ground that 6 com-
mission of three. sndinbers wa
- and that proper ronne:
tween the counch) ind the commission
would Le accomplished py his proposal.
LHe esserted that:making the. president
of the boord oteeliérmen an active
hember would keep. the department In.

om orth exploined Dis po-
at length, saying be did not degree
1 the great, numberof restrictions
peeld be Maced: open appoint-

He eon Mtuded that if Aldermhn

t .
woewor
Atderm

had’ hardly
when Alderman Clapp
matter be tabled,
ben cared with

tomd

tux-

an.) two months ‘before the longing forthe

ap.

large
jon be-

he

ee ate?
vert $500

¢

ba tennis aed from

* ah .

Mer years. ’- - gar >. week s

Tt--was tn the little Datab borough
of Hamfiton in Lenoxgsbtire,’ Scotland,’
that Cassels was born. dene 16. 1868,-
His father, Tb Brown 18; and:
his mother, Margaret Donaldson, traced
their. descent through ‘a ‘long ot
Scotch ancestors. John was the first
child and ag there were six sisters and
two brothers he. helped in ‘the .sup-—
pert of ‘the family, ‘working for his,
father, who was a talior and. clothier
by. trade. Early jin life hia desire t
travel asserted jiself.. He had.
the great world outside his little

has gone to sea" 40 ois ; j ty

Caseels shipped yas a satlor orf +the
fuil-rigged brig, Perthshire; but his
first voynges did not take him fat from
home. The vessel plied back and ‘forth
across the English channel “touching
at Boulogne, Cadiz, Bilboa .and other
places ou the Continent taking tn car-
goes of ore., After an’ absence of 18
months the wanderer returned and for
alittle while was) content to labor in
his father’s shop. But with the first |
opportunity ‘that presented jtaelf ” he
was, away Again. In 1883 his travels
brought him to Sunderland and he as-

isted in the Worle of carrying out the
“podies of the children who were suf<
focated in the horrible disaster tn (Vic-
torin “halle -; -

Deciding at last ‘that it was.time that
be took up some tegular occupation,
Cassely went to Neweastle-on-Tyne’
and at the axé of 21 -started in Dusi-
ness for himself as-a clethier. it waa
here that he married Margaret MeFar-
Apne, the daughter of a picture denler..

n the years in- which they were there
three boys were born to them, and thelr
home was a happy -one.: The: family’
moved later. to Hull,’ Yorkshire, Eng--
jand;. where’ Cassels opened ‘a’ store,
but hardly liad- he been” ine business

alba Rotterdam, (A)
otker Dutch cities, Aft
worked fora year as
gowr Scotland,
It would not
Mmarkaéble that }
position should fiaye wished to come to
America, ‘the land of gold and honey,”
ag he waa acchstom to think of st.
A Sister had glready crosyed the ocean
and. found \g@ -hotec In the new land, |
and the stéxics of its wealth and:the
opportunitica\it offered were so olluring
that it was At last agreed that; the
hual-anrt and father pass over into thir.
Canaan of which he. Nad heard, “and:
send for. the. .wife ‘Rod Little ones #0
zoon-as he should find the means to
support’ them, 8). se 4 be ae
» On- the firat Say tir once,
1993,” Cus#els landed New. York. He
game directly to Springfield, where his
sitter. Hved, and at once, found” ems,
ployment in the ‘bicyele department of
Forbes & Wallace’s stores’ He sent for
his family ‘six weeks laters” and=their
first home. in Springfield, was, in the
TAncol& house “tn State street. ,Cap-
sela worked ‘steadily,in the store f
three years Hix Scotch parents” had,
tanght him thrift, and every peany that”
was pot spent on necessities Waa Care~
tully savad.-Another chlid was \ born
fo the couple after thelr ertival
‘Aterigne, $8 5) REL ye gO eS
But Cassels longed o> see, souiethiug |
of the land of his adoption; add -as nies
wife's healthz had Degurs to show Aigns
Of breaking Gown 1t wae decided yeas:
ne rh gy to Cailfornia, and th) iver,
family ptarted: In. ‘we Fal of 18 -
“phety time wha spent principally
Pasadena, ‘Oaklands, fan . Jose, t
Anueles obd Bantlagd: Cassels tepard~
ed the trip ad & haday, and ashis wifes
health hegau’ fe tmpreve theta wae
nothing to da make Logte ke ergo od

f

he would relate, were his in’those ear-. “ee

specific dnd agreeable rem
for weakness, “paleneSs,- nery
vousness -and ~ exhaustion,
whether’ due . to *. too... many:
cares,; too. many* duties, too
(much ‘work, too mich study,

») Peptiron
an ato

Hood's Sarsaparilia, Lowell; Mass., U.S.A. 0
Seliing. Agents: .E. F_ Coonatgy ae
72 Maiggagd.279 No.-Main’ Street,
C. P. Thompson & Co., cor. Main
and State Streets," Springfleld, and.
Smith Drug Co.,. 250 Exchangeand
6 Center Streets, Chicopee: gigi ata

meadow, He arrived at the Bliss house
& ‘little; before 630.o’clock and asked
for Mary. Bose ats aatiey NG ie
He had some conversation with Mra, ¢
Blise, and finallgesMrs, Lane entered the: :
room. .iie meee her why she ha@ not™)*) ¢
kept her ise and then reproached eh
her bitterly for her failure to appear. | y-
Mrs. Blise had stepped inte the front cogs:
room by this time and Cassels wos the ~
only..one who could tell of what trans-
pired In the next few ‘minutes, Ac-
cording to his story he pulled the acid ©
from «his \ pocket and told. Mra. ‘Lane
at she stf? had his love, but that

*

before “replied. that’ sha.”
fad given Yt" to her h SA
She said furthermore that she had been. < :
fooling him all: along, and bade him
leave the house at conce. It was. then.»
that, maddened by his rage and hates. ~)
he drew his reyolver and fired.»
‘Tie first. shot -xigoced
‘Lane’s forehead, The second &
skull; and. €ntered the mim! o
third lodged'in the abd . The sec- | >
ond shot in the opinion. of the phys. *)
i gieluns Gaused death. % Sa Bm
- @oasela left the housé. but appeared. /
‘at the Window a moment later afd 9 > 9
faked Mrs. Bliss ‘that he be mamitted —-
“eg. finish the Job.”.> HO was found. 5
Jater In ‘the evéning oa & snowbank ~)h)"y*~
‘peside the road, wnconecioud from the
affect of the acid which he had taken (ooo y

1%

He revived under treatment and plead. 4 >!
ed gulity, In police court the next
morning’ Mra. Lane lingered. unfit oy
Murch 3, speaking only onve or twice.

pay se May sitting of the sand it
ted &

eon,
wi

4 those peett or Bate to wh


fthe ‘ground tort

be

be rere

members os

wet bee

t} Hrs

ni
s ¢ <t horns {a Springfeld. was in the

phi

? who
totrnenis, he
t Aa
Boeworth
Alderman
embetginw the
bardiy

metion-be t
yn “irtied witih+

* Re ® ‘
yrsuana tte fea 20
& to epend #00
wi eddiiton to thes
jermyn
i order: for $100 to
po lavatery m the

ing on th® petition
for Geubie tracks
vee Continued for
aa?’ tax-raising ot-
» the Gpper, board,
r under the rules...
ng, by taxatryn,
xpensés: $56,609 far
indebtedness, and
fund, aheut $994,-,

ened wor one weeks
HE LIMIT.

re
Set “Date. for
o Yield.

with "noe
oy Bide, the

iful supply of
tegular and partly
Autming that they

T wager,

y 4odefiniteix, while
ten t6 sell mitk in
“i price unless Un-
ted.
is passed yesterday
ing of the Produce
vis hotel, at which
two-thirds of the
ty. the cits:

tter May $, 1902, if }-

kK pre not conceded
a Whole, all union
awn and offered to
ipringfield and the
atveduced prices.
committee be ap-
resolution into ef-

re appointed as the
tat thig regolution;
st Longmeadow, A.
rnraeter of. Somers;

Felts
ands. H Wether-

6. president of the
& last evening that

id cortainiy be car-.j>
he set, he

ay; Talt Bros also

from North xan,
ers. including Supt,
erative assoriation,-

ig

America

Hawkins!

t Ciskoq ie Earnie yew. YORK. CI
| tage ahreetly (oe nieid. where his
atvte* Heed and nat once’ found” em-
hv sent-in the bicycle @bartment of
bribes & Wallace's store. He sent fore
family six weeks: Tater, and thett
coin cdionse in State

atrect,” Caa-

) sels worked) steadily in’ the store for

theee years “His Scotch parénts had
iaaght nim thrift. and every peony that
Wis net spent on necessities was) cace-.
fully #@ved. Anather child was, born”
to the couffte after their cartival,tn

ut Cassels Jonged to see something
of the jand of his adoption, and as his
wife's health had begin to-show ie
that

} of-brenking.dewn, it was decided

she should go to California, RAG thither
the famfly started in the Fall of 1896. |

Their time wag ‘spent ‘principally: in
Pasadena, Oakjands, -San). Jose,, ‘Low
Angeles gnd Santiago. Cageels pegatd-_

| ed the trip as @ ‘holiday, and ag his wife's

hexith hegan to. improyé there” was
nothing to do ‘save to take excursions
to those sections of-the State to which
they... were attractet. “Fight months
were spent tm this way. but théy, were
glad to come pack to: Sprivighield, “the
sweetest, cleanest, -ttle city in
world” as Cassels characterized It. \ >
In the Summer, preceding the elecs
tion of 1996 Caswels had been one of the :
thousands to shake bands with Wiliam
Jennings Bryan, the ‘atic candi-
date. forPresident
hix visit to this’
silver. man himself,

t tapion of;

Cassely Was a
nd had formed &
orator, so that ‘on /nis return ‘trip he
stopped of in Linepin a
Bryan.in “his “home Fret yoke
}. The family moved to Benton avenue
Gf thelr. return to’ Speiynerd, “Cassels
continuing da the’ bicyele business: “Hr
the employ of SB. Call, and the War-)
wick company. It: 1900 Drs. Cassels re=
turned“to Bagland, taking ber cblidren
with, her® ang, her husbandeawent to
roomyn the Reboot for Christian Work-
ers in’ Winchester park. moving-a@ tittle
later “the Mouse of Sdward: Lane.
| And it
there begut those relations with Mary
Lane that resulted \p all the aticceeding
misery and. sorrows Mrs, Castels re-

b¥: another Woman, and in: a .f
months she agen returned to her Eng-
ish home, leay § NCE
had loved to the woman Yor whom be
eh. a mad infatuation.’

ter.
band,

ras heré and at thie Unw that ¢

turned In Catober to\find her:place In}.
therntfections of her. husband Taeurped “no

tuan she once: |.

‘ast | 7%

sked X that he

“to finish the job.” "

Jater dn the evening on a (spowbank
beside the road, unconseioqus tepgatie
affect of the acld which he had: taken
He revived-under treatment’ an
ed guilty (In ° police court the ~ next
morning.” Mra, Lane Mageréd untit
Mureh 2,. speaking only. once. or, twict.

In the May sitting of the @rand
he was indkt, ry a

as
three days Caseele
2, tact

nd visited “Mrz” ‘cowl

nd pleads».

Se
Cypbasterer,
eee ca enee ie ie

Pits street court.

‘Ja bento four zantew, rack
Woinedid stock’ of ociting a diferent wid
FOR GARDEN TOOLS ©

PE

a .
thee or +s <n x F i
PUR PALE yes NRE! Ne MATES OR

x

ens Collars . ‘

Bd ©

qs cenete at Lert Place’
a & LS HEWES & co ~
Sie anne

11 Harrison” Ave.

ei ee er
et eo eee eee ee


We've. “vooght
rice,
rice”

Kchool a ibrarieg. snaght
thie chapee. :

, in Aindew cay.
price, Yead tickets, ope
4

attd morte. Jodo-Oxygen. tn Ca-
arts ard Broncbia} Treul aa.

red. 1D: nae measures
h ‘rhose guilty ¢
rever, were incidants of eve:

id be. nted

by ike ilpin
rious. guetters:
chad t


cal

=>

A at

fi

J” ~

£

Oger: t aut unit!

‘e became still
loek, he avies
ae wee then
of the: treat-
ph yeicinns, fo
lant@sts It was,
tien wan falt-
eo hin, wna the 1
z Pag: t ’

NDMENT
1 WOMEN

nof Colored
the Fed-

May, t--Aftcr
the Question of
omen into the
C- anti-colored
sp¥ention vated
ccpt ~what. ts
ise Amendment
"3 béveral weeks

at the cohyen-
& spirit of ao}-
morning there
ent during the
‘tery which came
A. ©. Granger,
f fedération,
bnd Sof Article
amendment, be
vusines?, €y ery-
6 On

and interroga-

chair tempora-
son to ‘preside,
fine hy adpoted,

mY
club is a mem-

vented abeo-

dfger

“JOHN De

{Penna
EAE i been fo trees

AlopAd “tocd@eath, by Aw Aven ant enti | Who Paid wie Hig Lite the Pena
dsen, tend butied allio” Others” had bb. é ond: L

been ehot and pole treach trously
while swowortng the Avoknded.

In the fate of thege horrible “Atroet-
ter, seonre of the America troops had
en pullty 6f adminiswering the “wa-
ter cure,” bat the iostadces of thie kind
ore inolated andmho pa wy the gen-
eral polted cine the Pr 8

Fie waruvy aagennaer

tha free Tor

#fairs an the

Isl. fide x tt ne ber a be me 4. sribute! te
its As be can-

applause trom

cin @ brief reply, Mr. fr:
o md Bhat tier eh
on madé wer not a2)
fee-or the American ai

he t.
PUL against
aie ts (Mr,

wash Gi«
lipphre_ policy.
unpropriation
rehascof the i

Dudgej Atul others ah

for the, presente fi.
the sundry. cis|t
id the Bill foreth
ud ine Lptioh red
z * di saat
Tart; Glare’
ef aye mo bv t
bids hid made great s4arriliees to xo fo
the Thillppinas “He Wal labareq phere
diainter tatedly “and, a@rAyugh tn brpatr-
ed health, propesed qo go baeh-to the
teiands.. He palf.a/iich tMahte aise
th Acting Gov, Like Wright,.anl de
cleared Chat Tf he wink diov Taft were
not_tj-be trQsted no Amcrcan Was to
Be trusted. \aobu, ys ;

The attaclgga, the miyorlty: however,
bad gel been copped to the Phitip-
pine commission, mcr atic eng LOM
had made.an attack on the American

army becatise tiyuwek ch cruelties
had been committed, on Filtpinos. The
army having beet! vi tortious Inthe
Phuinpines it “now \ meets the "same
abuse the Uniowr ny met after Ap-
pomaitox, Chaffee, Lye Grant, ia call-
eda, butcher. "The eantry had’ been
told that the alle brrbarities in ‘the’
Philippines ‘were Mie most. horritie In
history, He deciared ue this terri-
ble Imputationowas: wit justice and
without foundation. ‘The Seater trom
Utah has grogsly. @xazerrated ‘the..stt=
vation In the -Phittprines, 10. waa ®.
source of hitter regret to him Lodge),
tha Loin ofticer ory enlisted
man shou tortured aby FRipires
or that any oraae had been jasned’ rink
on tts;face seemed revolting.

But,” said het there rust be he

bt

avaiion were”

othe testimony
at-he was one
ainded of men,

reason for theae milegrd crueities.””
then toldof the thrfe American poly 7
diera who were eaptyred by the FYli-)

pinos, They were: Lay Al nakel and

told that tf they waitd cry “Long live,
the Fiitping’ republic’ they run
avday into the Dish as taey were. One
of the men’ stook, there naked within

the midst of that hoetite band and cried, Ju.
nd fast, aden es live America,”

The Fillpinos tied him to a tree and
the women yee papiten rtoned a to

ft ts wonder

dit me. into,

f¢ tengeance, ~

¢ bad been charged

atiaen, Chaffee ed
"in savagery” 18

CASSELS.
Ity for sang
ane.’

Made Affecting beaver ‘and Met
it, -Fearlessly.

HOSTUN, May $—Pet the murder of

Mra, Mary, J. Lahe of .Leangrwagow,
John De Cassels went 40. thé electric
chair at the Slate: privonf Tc harles-
town ai-12.40 this morning. ©

| Re was absolutely: ftearlers th hie tast
“meine en i, and 2 his Iast words wert a

“plea” for “divine help ta those si “hie ts

family -who, ate deft >< i

Hewas Id ftom the p age cell by the
ofiicers, “necompa ited by Rew oar |

Harnes,. the prison chaplain, GAt: the
chair, he knelt: and, Falaing - his. hands,
above his head, made this prayer: 2

; ae
a eee -,

give ane who * ‘ath adout to. ‘dle
* Ares hn keep therm tro

ha ;
At the contlatton of nis, prayer Cas-
Seis Was Strapped intd the chair’ and
the jcu'rent: ape tied renee gee and

t 2% ts em
the the’ wa pam ph eds Sidbaod 23 ~S
Bode e
| The 5 witnesses to the execction

were Dr. Husker’ Derby wt Bostay, Dr,
M.A Morris, Whore fe rsep tah the s¢ dre
Ppapey eek ral; Cok Batty: Pyetlark of
‘Springfield, anérirt ote
Dr Jateph, L Melad

3h ibntyS
in, the! prisen
a. Harris, ‘the

*Gragisus God, my Father, 2 have =
S ae a le : *

_pbysician; Dr. Fre

Serta tegrsioter antes,

i ae ate

bees gk —

tie oop wire

Thee that Thod wit be wnerel- |
pes iv ee for

matical examiner, ahd an. Assoctated
Press representative. ~

~ Cassel's Adventurous Lite.
ef John DL Cassels wis a
“re Ita story fa brtetty otek,
mut replete with mapy intercet-
ie me for the man'g retiug na-

P ekaarriyy ith

P eyeruing. The

fost a eaat
and (reat compantes in th
district madé” large foans ©
day, after. mot a few of them
a mumber of loaus to hush
resources in the early ty
mirart
The falluree were directly
week's é rious Acejine tn a
industrial wrocks, Deion
Internat) sa por
was followed by the collage
of the 60-daled . Webb-MMe
ties, Two of thix group, FR
road rhe agp feast 3G
Actronda: ate he
stock exchange. "Fre
Dominion aeourities, Ha:
ows, North American
and store powet ere,
pmmnte (or, 1+s Sreeasively
the “carb.”
Wall street Degan the da

Ftc oa; Tenth

REASONABLE HOP
HILRELHINNS 8

pase SPS!
Rees Physicians Say

Msappomnt:
saved." 7;
garding the

Her Majesty's
comngerted with
mubely) from o
valecing, and. th
volved framminent, Garl
The optration neces
‘ tions was perforng® pei
aed BTthouc ee
tows, which often prise @e
supervening: Ovnseguentity
‘anxiety felt throughout th
deen replaced, to, somemter
fidence, sinom othe ) Quean
fcontinge to todfeate: that
is no Horger Imminept. 0
Tr : henine preset Que
palace, Dut {2 oeering
have temalacd gt! .
Raron” C1iterit maser
rf +k hs

x i ial LK

Migs esiys ieee
ased awd we are Qwmet!
aWaiting the ‘resaits
tights rent for the Qaret
norea gee Tor imynediate a
At’ 10 @'¢iack: toni
wae teported té yeer!
wl that hour,her condi
tically urchatiged. ib
The. Dateh = het tp >
atrangely. publish moin'ng
Queen Withelnitina’s t <
oft, tal) Beiletiny eerie f
ot +thankfitiness that, Fie
life haa been saved, :
Tt temo teiget “concts>
Operation “wihi'sh Wats pe
pignt, wale’ sost. Gabee roe
for one hour the patter
a thread, *.usitie 2
pense, Even row alti
p¥ysiciana, are &x “eexbizenly
ja Known’ that her goad
precarious amd thay everstt
upon the stremeth ot the f
Stitution;  Thiece ta cetsona
Ker recovery,

lee ho Tomer + wendy trane]
cations Ep their pathhi’s ev
be ably. he adopt mork ef
typhoth. it
2 forivns

bd. thysted
mea } then afmoet oor taint
ed fatal” Great hee are
fact thar the Dutnd Linea
por, was pot wm
tonic bt. 0

Tre Dutch pebite
ful at earning ¢

te be ‘eas,

sme masQlokve And
fete birts the balletine


CHENEY, William, hanged, Boston, Mass., 9-22-1681
Slave JACK, hanged, Boston, Masse, 9=22=1681
Slave MARJA, burned, Boston, MasSe, 9-22-1681,

PUBLICATIONS

OF

Che Colontal Society of Massachusetts

VOLUME VI.

TRANSACTIONS

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S/ 3m

\ :
198 RECORDS. OF THE COURT OF ASSISTANTS

houses in Roxbury in July last The Court on Consideration of the
Case Judged it meet to orde’ that he be kep' in prison till his master
send him out of the Country & then dischardg y* charges of Imp'ison-
ment w™ if he refuse to doe aboue one moneth the Country Tresurer is

to see it donn & when y* chardges be defrajd to returne the ouerplus to

y* s* walker.

The like Judgment & sentence was declard against
Jame* pembe'tons negro in all respects as agt cheffaleer
negro. &c :

James Pembertons
Degro sentenc

[139] | ! 1681

Marja Negro servant to Joshua Lambe of Roxbury in the County
of Suffolke in New England being presented by the Grand Jury was
Indicted by the name of marja Negro for not hauing the feare of God
before hir eyes & being Instigated by the divil at or vpon the eleventh
day of July last in the night did_wittingly willingly
i ° Te
< felloniously set on fier the dwelling house of Thomas

swann of sd Roxbury by taking a Coale from vnde' a

Marja negro
Indictment

still & carrjed it into another Roome and lajd it on,floore neere the
doore & presently went & crep' into a hole at a back doore of thy

master bambs house & set it on fier also taking a liue Coale betweene

two chips & Carried it into the chambe" by which also it was Consumed

& sentence

_ dignity the lawes of this Jurisdiction in that Case made & prouided
_, title firing of houses The prisoner at the barr pleaded & acknowl-
_ edged _hirselfe to be Guilty of y* fact. And accordingly the next day
being Again brought to the Barr had sentene of death pronounct ast
hir by the Honnd"* Gowno" y* she should Goe from the barr to the
prison whenc she Came & thence to the place of Execution & there be
burnt. — y* lord be mercifull to thy soule st y*Go®

Cheelje- || Jack || negro servant to m’ Samuel woolcot of weath-
e'sfeild thow art Indicted by the name of Jack negro for not hauing
é the feare of God before thy eyes being Instigated by the divill did at
_ or vpon the fowe'teenth day of July last 1681 wittingly & felloniously

. J .
Jack begrow Tadlet- ton by taking a brand of fier from the hearth and

swinging it vp & doune for to find victualls as by his

* Written over “bir.”

as by yo'* Confession will appeare contrary to the
peace of our Soueraigne Lord the king his Croune & —

sett on fier Leifteiint w™ Clarks house in north Hamp- /

FES) ETFS 2
Mmasathuse fs Bay, (620-1692 .

OF THE MASSACHUSETTS BAY. 199

Confession may Appeare Contrary to the peace of ou’ Soueraigne Lord
the King his Croune & dignity the lawes of God & of this J urisdiction
in that Case made & prouided title firing of houses page (52) to weh
Indictment at the barr he pleaded not Guilty & Affirmd he would be
trjed by God & the Country and after his Confessions er were read to
him & his owning thereof were Comitted to the Jury who brought him |
in Guilty and the next day had his sentence pronounct agt: him by the
Gouernor that he should goe from the barr to the place whence he
Came & there be hangd by the neck till he be dead & then taken
downe & burnt to Ashes in the fier w™ Maria negro = The Lord be
mercifull to thy soule sajd the Gouerno" =

m' Anthony stoddard Capt Thomas Bratle m' John Joyliffe Cap'
Elisha Hutchinson m' John Saffyn Capt John walley & m‘ John faire-
weather being presented as chosen by the ffreemen of
Boston to be Comissione’s for the yeare ensuing were hecsecxpoy ane -.
Approoved of by the Court & tooke their Oathes as
Comissione's for Boston in open Court

\

[1397] 1681.
w™ Cheny of Dorchester in the County of Suffolke in New England
planter thou art Indicted by the name of w™ Cheny for not hauing the
feare of God before thy eyes & being Instigated by the divill did at or
vpon the seccond day of August last 1681 ffelloniously
Cofiitt a Rape on the body of experience Holdbrooke
thy servant and had Carnall Copulation w™ hir by force against hir will
shee crying out & was heard the last time as in hir Confession and by
euidence will appeare contrary to the peace of our Soueraigne Lord the
king his Croune & dignity the lawes of God & of this Jurisdiction title
Rape page 15 = to which Indictment he pleaded not Guilty an[d]} put
himself for tryall on God & y* Country hauing oppertunity to object
agt any of y* Jury if he see cause = wch he saw no cause so to doe.
And after the Indictment & othe" euidences in the Case were read &
Comitted to the Jury the Jury brought in their virdict they found the
prisone’ at the barr Guilty: = And the nex' day had his sentence pro- .
nounct agt him by the Gove'no' That yow Goe hence to the place from
‘whence yow Came & thence to the place of execution & there be hangd
by the necke till yow be dead = ~
- 'The Court ordered that the Secretary Issue out his warrants to the

wm Cheny" sentenc

\


1900.] THE CASE OF MARIA. 323

was happy in being educated by her, from his early childhood, and the object of her
fondest affection on this side heaven.

In her last illness, before she was thought dangerous, she suddenly grew nsensible
and spoke but little ; this is the less to be regretted, since her life spoke so much.

Lydia Hancock's will, dated 30 October, 1765, contains many bequests,
among them legacies to the daughters of the Reverend Nicholas Bowes.
Owing, doubtless, to the absence in Philadelphia of her nephew, executor and
principal heir, who did not resign the Presidency of Congress till the autumn
of 1777, the will was not probated till 21 November, 1777, on his return to
Boston (Suffolk Probate Files, No. 16,409).

Mr. Nose spoke at length of the famous case of Maria,
.the negress convicted of arson in 1681, and of some other
instances of persons sentenced to death by burning, and
communicated several original papers in the case of Maria
recently found in the Suffolk Court Files. These papers
include the original Indictment, Maria’s Confession, and two
Depositions.

THE CASE OF MARIA
IN THE COURT OF ASSISTANTS IN 1681.

Several communications appeared in The Nation! not long ago
touching the execution of the negro woman, Maria, in Boston in
1681. This case was among those mentioned in a former com-
munication to this Society on the Trial and Punishment of
Crimes in the Court of Assistants, ete.,2 and is also referred to
and discussed in a paper .read before the Massachusetts Histori-
cal Society in 1883, by our associate Mr. Goodell, —The Trial
and Execution for Petit Treason of Mark and Phillis, Slaves of
Captain John Codman.? Asa number of original documents and
papers connected with the case of Maria, not known or accessible
at the latter date, have since come to light in the Suffolk Court
Files, it seems worth while to give them here, with a few further
notes on a case which has some interest in connection with Massa-
chusetts history.

1 The Nation, 7 September, 19 October, 23 and 80 November, 1899, lxix.
187, 296, 390, 409.

? Publications, iii. 61, 62.

* Reprinted from Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society for
March, 1883, xx. 122-157,

-

7 : tae aa “ me a = *
a “a... ory m oa
- ~ ao “a te :
* oe. ae , . . = —" Reggitetas a
“4 ‘

we


\
‘ ue Mh or bape. Ana vee ’ =f # ce
bh Bate nena n0 ret. FOU Thee
his note benind 1h clo, I're@®\ “Jobo ) and a good, healthy color. >>. :
hax gone {0 sea * ’ q ‘ r “ iy:
\aeele thipped sathor : Jars PS es : ‘
nr a eA BE CES cca il ghrwdyny yeas Oi arpa made
vommgrs Gil not ake him far from tonics—in the, most ‘appro ; 2 34 and bottled in Eye 82 small bat-
he vessel plied back and forth bes tet E ; * tles, Ty eS Qa ; :
othe - 5 toh ehannel, touching form and t combina fs ah a ae ree iat es 1Se
phe? doa ‘tadiz ag heat Other |" Pronounced Pept-iron. . et " : . Large Bottles .2sc. :
4 en the Continent takteg In car- : : a ex " 2%
of ore: "After an atwence of 1% peter apr cep bai por © d5eWorth'ot 1 An:
he the watiderer returned and for . : : : ae
ue white Was, eentent to laber in tn chocolate-coated pills at 0c. oF $f ooh 0. Goods, Cc ‘
ather's @hop. Hut, with the first t box. By C. 1 HOOD CO., ‘proprigtors ths’ “every! package of H. 4). Oatment
TuRhy | BA pe seriteg | iselt he | Hood's Sarsaparilia, Lowell, Mass, U5. A. %. wilhgive @ packsge of H. 0. Breakfast
Mm away meain. thi Bag 2 travels Rat . = : ae Bee De otal gfe OS. og v
, ht hire Jo Sunderta®l jand- be ae. Sclinfed gapis > E. F. weonard, 4 535, Gea ie? : : "
bin ie work ns catrying out the (72 Main and 279 No. Main Street, .i"* : Raph ’ xi Ce
sof the enildren’ who. were sof- : : p sF. ’ ; q a fae
thy } , the horrible Sisantey in View Cc. P. Thomipson & Co,, cor. Mabe * ees i ' bs 00 ry, \ . A ‘
4 i ae at last that it was time that og! Rime p Sat 6 id, and oe emRey ultwn Market. of Byringtield, <dgeieg Tepectgreen 2
(' yok utp Some réeguinr occupation, Smith Drug-Go., 250 Exchange and. ia 146, 142, Ltt Risk Se an fa Athietig Coa. -
be shite to New aktleron-Fyne 6 Center Streets, Chicopee. be va % x ts " yan Hebe: xy Fang Hey
i hee yet ft sparted, In busi - Win ge Dé 7 pages; S- B. CALI Mt *
for. hime If as a clothier.\ st was “a yee, ies = . ‘a
“ ! sat ne Hiatried Margaret \WreFar- mgniiite ters weigh ere _y 5 See ree
a the daughter of a pleture denier, | o tle ‘ore ° s Br e
ey, : aes years in which they were there for Mary. a Sates 2 ¢ intelligent T
? > boys were horn to them, and thetr | He had some conversation with : z
: : a happy one. ‘The family | Blise, and Sally Mra, Lane shtered thd ele ad nh ig
any

Ae BG CENTS. | chal Rave

ip, Hutt. Yorkstifre, Eng~ | room, He @aked ber why she had not” : risa tf
Cassels “opened a ‘store, | kept her promise and then’ reproached ae ae eo ; i mcrae gant nt
iad ne been in- business her bitterly for ber failure to + eee ryan; Ab fou will oe

Sa ae :

P = pare  g'enzee “far | yi
Where One Intoure. coon For
“ . Sirens Meat stet wy eystecs of evan
‘ femds 2 t's cbaract ‘ace 8 Hutwthe eye
-Dundred rend tris nts mak Heve year } ctips uate sitecte
_ gxcotents cleanedined nicely pryysrd ut RLOD pobaewb (os,

“appear. ©
i the jonging for the | Mrs, Bliss had stepped inte the fron
in possessed Rim, and for a | room hy this time and Cassels waa the ,
jod he sulledothe North sea, J only one who could tell of what trangs,
totlerdain, Amsterdam and 4 ptred in. the’ next few minutess.,Ac~7 7
btoh cities. “Atter hie return he [cording to his story he pulled the-scid ”

Cie Face, % t auyear as 9 hatter In Glas- | from his pocket and told. Mrs,
ter . Seothand, 73 love, . > 2
se oo won] “fot have been ‘at all...res paacape ao Parra cet Abe Bip rs : 'Broadhurst’s Dye H a Physicians’ reverence
; kabte"that a man of Cassels” dis= | dogratep. they would’ know. whom: ta: cad « REX EN AS!
ey on Abould have wished to come to} pidme. He demanded « sunt of money
iea, “the land of golé and honey.’ -¢hat he. had given her ‘a few pees BE NTLEY:

was accustomed to think of it} before © and... she” replied that , n
-ter had ulready crossed the ocean | py givens it . her:. Hhusbend. £ c ‘ a Sa ret
loa hote in the new land, | gre said furthermore that she had been ( eg ; : Nerd whether act
toriee of tis wealth anda the | fooling “him all along, and bade “hin: :
« 80 alluring } eave. the house st-once. It waa t
q that, maddened by ‘his rage and:
te drew his reyolvér and fired. —
/ The first shot x “from
Tane’s forehead. ‘The second pierced

f

To inutiorde ead rea:

St overloaded wa x

Rorder to mtiee a

es meetly ta half.

MN Kolls Fine ©
oe t+

rlunities ipofeied we
it wae at tast ager
anf and father pass over into this
an Uf which \he “had: heard, and
for the-wlfe -and little ofes #0

eee oe 4. FROQUOIS MFG. CO;
saa Beek, waar

+

\ t ‘
F as he should find the means to skull and ‘entered ‘the’ brain, -and.a y RO Fi A Sato REMINGTON, ye. et
ert them. ‘ third Jodged in the abdomen. The sec~ x. ¢ 3 > ce Sis Pr ae
the first’ Monday tn September, | ond. shot in the opinion! of the bye)! Preis is 1
Caseele landed’ in New Yerk. He} gicians caused death. © fs) > Canela ae 3 de Ic ar : er Ce
: direetly to Springfeld, where his |: Cagselg left the ponies. Ubdk 2 ‘ : ap gh POE rey - Rey

- Hived; and ‘at once ‘found’ ems | ot the, window, & ‘moment . later: nia Sige: 50

x: . rg
ment try the bicycle department of, 6. Bites “that he admitted Pi Oftice . gh SE
os & Wallace's store. He sent for ope tet ae Wan: found che ree fe aon Fae F sigs re an aad Water
caeany ae ol ee oylh eg al 5 cate mete UO Lipa on & snowpank. 5 ae acca So Ts Ti gee mste
nf? Spr e ‘ aide the road, unconscious from: the: : ‘ a id bs ; best wor! west pric Reiter get iba
che hades in. tate catreet, Cage’! ery ae “House W's War ten te ceutrai se | PAPER HA NOW
workéd -steadily In the # for , e ! ‘ B. PE BOS “twanicure, massages. Spoth Chey got ie :
D ori. : Motto r+ re

® years, His Scotew patents had he ; ‘ % De.
sht hihi thrift. and every penny that ; Sane | Nogered. 1 \ } i p) wexes Lorne removed. 30: Hatrieom ave.) Roston. :
+ spent on necessities was care~ king only -once or £ S : eg ETE CECT By RIE maa " os Ll pel. BTL4.
Sed. Another child was . born -_ "of the arand: § ; A. DHollister-& ‘ i Tei E524. seh
the, couplé after their. arrival in- 4 : “35- Pine street epart. Tel.109t-2
‘rica. ate : ‘ ae ———
it Cassel# longed to see something
he land of his adoption, and ag his ¥
“gs health had -begun-te-show signs-
wrenking down, jt was decided that
should go to California, and thither
family started, in the Falt of 1896
heir time owas spent princtpalty” {i
adena, Oaklands, San Jose, ‘Loe
eles and Santiago.- Cassels regard-
he trip as & ‘holiday, and ashis wife's
Ith began to improve there was
ning to de save to take excursions
S hose sections of the State to which | with Jud
were. attracted. Eight) ‘months }-sided at the trial. The. ,
¢ mpent tm this way. but they. were | ately after adjournment. ‘
1 to come back to Springfield, “te | the most wenaational ys Vere mt
Mest, cleanest, little city: in. the | Any Capital in the Stat
a” as Cansela characterized ft. » ; 3 Ie
i the Bummer preceding the ‘elece-4"
of 1598 Caseels had been ofte ‘of the
usands to shake hands with William,
nings Bryan, the Demécratie candi-
= for President, on the-occaston of"
visit. to this city, Cassel¢ was '®
er mat himesetf, a a pried.
mg admiration for the Nebraskan be once Sgn ‘ bs
coy Say opt se his getgers Sel y ee oy tn pian’ te : ? ; ; = : Seer
ped off jn Lincoln and yis Mr. 4 4 1 . sf, " -. baie SB». Dane a stor
an tm hie home. Ma eee J commutation of 2 \S. "Datte thie- : . : ¢ . eh manera se
he family moved to Benton avenue ’ "
their return “to Springfeld, Cassels
tiftiing Inthe bicycle: busteess tt
of & 8 Call, and the Ware
Aopen In 1900 Mrs, Cassels rem
‘ ’ England, taking ber emiidren
» her, and her husband went to
in inthe Schoo! for Christign Work-
in Winchester park, moving alittle

r “te the house of Edwprs ets : ; Foresters, Rial . Pe gle sera eons
i Was here and at thle Ume ths ; ‘Sty *PO
: - = CH POULTRY.

‘ed not guilty to:t
Sedge “Aiken: who
h

as his \counsel.>

Put ufs sd. ott an
asking bim te get. it. ¢

send us of men

- $7. 2ORN'S,
MONT
barnes

vevan those relations with Mary

etnat resulted In all the succeeding ° ye ‘ , a
fy Bnd sorrow, Mra Casseld re- I fering Phas lc pts Ht nave ° WITHOUT CRANG
stock Fe gor 2 leldifferea: widhirs Vis Wee River... Bowyont

of in Getaber to fact her place tn
nffertions of her husband mace eee ¥
another Wormsn, and Ina few] ey:

jeahee.
otha she Rain returned tg her Eng- ‘tig rare Pa a OF Alt, “eget BRE us . PACTFIG RALWA
» home, ‘leaytus.the man sb¢ 9nee ly tity “‘sgme “one AS |? a ata BLACKSTONE; =

{ lowed to-the woman for whore he howe

1 conceived: such a mad istammations | the Members, - ; Bok ARP WARE. « 2). 5202 MAIN BT,
Reigns : eg cose yt : Sa 4 SMES SCTE

1 “Story of the Crime. / _AN HONEST FRIEND. pehahs ne

tary J. lane Wad m sister ot Fre ed gp ry tap ere ree ae
WA iggers, who had married et: si8-: red Away the Family Prous ‘e
fine Shey

pf Cussela, Rdward Lane her hus- xi
jad, was employed by the Biecktron |, eS Sa
npany: The familica hed. Been- of ;

Pt ee

x


1900.] THE CASE OF MARIA,

325

oe
o<

a
.

, es of God & ** this Jurisdiction
be in that Case made & prouided title firing of houses page (52) to wch
& Indictment at the barr he pleaded not Guilty & Affirmd he would be

trjed by God & the Country and after his

Confessions &c were read to
him & his owning thereof were C

omitted to the Jury who brought him

with Jack’s case are two bills of costs and e

xpenses, which have one or two
points of interest: —

I.

Joseph Hawley’s Bill of Charge As An Evidence In the Case Referring to Jack the

Negro is as followeth:

Imp: To hire of An horse & shoeing : — 00 ~ 15 - 00

Toferridg— — W— — — 00-01-04
‘ To time; 15 days out & home — — 01 - 10-00
To horse Pasturing &c.
charge for the horse on the Journey: 00-06-00 t
02-12-04

This is Justly Due In money weh I Doubt not that yo" Hon™
At Money price:

Sept. 10 1681:

will Alow or to be payd

JoserH HawLery

Allowed E[pwarp] R[awson] S[ecrerary] in Country pay
[Endorsed]

Hauley’s Costs
— (Suffolk Court Files, xxiv. 2020: 1)

II.
A Bill of

Charges due to Medad Pumry for time and expence About Jack Negro
imp’ to make Irons to secure him at Northampton

And to conuey him to Springfield — 00-04 - 00
mx it my selfe one jorney to Springfield } 00 - 05 - 00

with Petter Henricks — — —

To ferig and horse pasture— —  9- 09- 01-00

To 15 days out And home to giue in - 01-10-00
Testimony at the Court of Assistance

To horse hire for the jorney — — 0- 0-15-00
To pasture for my horse here — — 0 —— 06 —- 00
‘ Toferrige—- — —~ W— 9 ~~ o1- 04
03:-02—4

Allowed ERS
in Country pay
[Endorsed]

Medad Pumry &
Hawley’s Costs,

— (Ibid. xxiv. Pete,

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326 THE COLONIAL SOCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS. [ JAN.
wth

;

in Guilty and the next da a *his sentence pronounct agt him by the
Gouernor that he should goe + vim the barr to the place whence he
Came & there be hangd by the neck till he be dead & then taken
downe & burnt to Ashes in the fier wt" Maria negro= ‘The Lord be
mercifull to thy soule sajd the Gouerno’ =

Among the papers in the Suffolk Court Files are the original
‘ndictment of Maria, a memorandum of her confession, implicat-
ing two other negroes, the findings of the Grand Jury of ‘*no
pills” against these, and some depositions.

The indictment is as follows : —

Wee the Grand Jury for o° Soueraigne* Lord ye king

Doe present Mariah Negro Seruant to Joshua Lamb of Roxbury in
y° County of Suffolk: in New Engld for not haueing y° fear of God
before her Eyes, & being instigated by y* deuill at or upon y° Eleuenth
of July last in y* Night, did Wittingly willingly & felloniously Set on
fire y° dwelling howse of Thomas Swann of said Roxbury by takeing 4
Coall from under a still & carried it into anothe’ room and laid it on
y’ floare near y* dore, & presently went & crept into a hole at a back
doare of her Master Lambs howse & set it on fire also takeing a liue
coall between two chipps & carried it into y° Chamb' by which also it
was fired and consumed, as by her confession will appear contrary to
y° peace of our Soueraign Lord y° king his crown, & Dignity, y°
Lawes of God & this Jurisdiction in y’ case made & prouided title
fireing howses page 92

We of the Grand Jury doe find this Bill and doe put her upon furder
triall Jonas CLARKE In the
name of the rest

13 Sept: 1681.
The prisoner at the Barr on hearing of the Indictment Read to hir

pleaded to it & Acknowledged hirself to be Guilty of ye fa({ct]
ERS

[ Endorsed]
Marja Negro Indictmt &e.?

Then comes her confession : —

Maria Joshua Lambes Negar Maide upon Confesion accused m*
Walkers Negro Man Chefelia by Name and m' pemertons Negro Man

1 Suffolk Court Files, xxiv. 2023.


1900.] THE CASE OF MARIA. Piha 327

Cofee were att Roxbury y* last Night about 10 aclocke thay came
there together and m‘' Wakers Negar sett Dockter swans house afire
and m' Pemertons Negar staide under y° fence while y* other sett the
house afire. Confessed before mee Antuony Stopparp Comiss!

eed -
ee |

poe

The action of the Grand Jury thereon is as follows : —
I.

Wee the Grand Jury for our Soueraigne the King doe present &
Indict chefelier a negroman servant to Thomas Walker of Boston in
the County of Suffolk in New England brickmaker for not hauing the
feare of God before his eyes on the 11" of July last in the night was
present w'h Marja Negro servant to Joshua Lambe of Roxbury was
privye to and Active in the firing of sajd Lambs & Swans dwelling
houses Contrary to the peace of ou’ Soueraigne Lord the King his
Croune & dignity the lawes of God & the laws of this Jurisdicon title

firing houses :

>

£%
a

a rr

we of the Grand Jury can not find this Bill
Jonas CLARK In the name of the rest

[Endorsed] —

abt Walker & Pembertons negroe ?

Il. i

Wee the Grand Jury for our Soueraigne Lord the King doe present “}

¥

: and Indict Coffee a negro man se'vant to James Pemberton of Boston ig
in the County of Suffolk in New England for not hauing the feare of ii

God before his eyes and being Instigated by the diuill on the eleventh
of July last in the night wth Maryah Negro servant to Joshua Lambe
was present w'h hir privie & Active in the Firing of the dwelling houses
of sajd Joshua Lambe and Thomas Swans of sajd Roxbury Contrary
to the peace of our Soueraigne Lord the King his Croune and dignity
the lawes of God & the lawes of this Jurisdiction, title firing houses —

oy
tient ~

we the Grand Jury can not find this Bill
JONAS CLARKE In the name of the rest

[Endorsed]
Cheffallia Negro Indicmt *

. 1 Suffolk Court Files, ecxii. 26.559: 4, not dated.
2 Jbid /cexii. 26.559: 3.
8 Tbid. ccxii. 26.559: 2.


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oa Fae iting ty A i Bh oS

324 THE COLONIAL SOCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS. [JAN.
ae,

The record sthe case of Maria, and that in the case of the
negro Jack, exe sted at the same time, are already in print,’
but as they seem necessary to a clear presentation of the case,
they are repeated here. That of Maria is as follows :—

Att A Court of Assistants held at Boston 6" September 1681

Marja Negro servant to Joshua Lambe of Roxbury in the County.
of Suffolke in New England being presented by the Grand Jury was
Indicted by the name of marja Negro for not hauing the feare of God
before hir eyes & being Instigated by the divil at or vpon the eleventh

day of July last in the night did wittingly willingly &
oe felloniously set on fier the dwelling house of Thomas

swann of sd Roxbury by taking a Coale from vnde"
a still & carrjed it into another Roome and lajd it on floore neere the
doore & presently went & crep' into a hole at a back doore of thy
master Lambs house & set it on fier also taking a liue Coale betweene
two chips & Carried it into the chambe’ by which also it was Consumed
as by yo" Confession will appeare contrary to the
peace of our Soueraigne Lord the king bis Croune &
dignity the lawes of this Jurisdiction in that Case made & prouided
title firing of houses = The prisoner at the barr pleaded & acknowl-
edged hirselfe to be Guilty of y° fact. And accordingly the nex‘ day
being Again brought to the Barr had sentenc of death pronnouct agt
hir by the Honnd" Gofino! y' she should Goe from the barr to the
prison whence she Came & thence to the place of Execution & there be
burn! =

y’ lord be mercifull to thy soule s‘ y° Goii.?

& sentence

The record in the case of Jack? runs thus: —

Cheffalija || Jack || negro servant to m* Samuel woolcot of weathe's-
feild thow art Indicted by the name of Jack negro for not hauing
the feare of God before thy eyes being Instigated by the divill did at
or ypon the fowe'teenth day of July last 1681 wittingly & felloniously

sett on fier Leifteint w™ Clarks house in north Hamp-
Jack negrom Indic ton by taking a brand of fier from the hearth aid
swinging it vp & doune for to find victualls as by nis

1 1 Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society for March, 1883, xx.
149-151.

2 Records of the Court of Assistants (1673-1692), ii. 189. The citations of
these Records which occur in this communication are from the original

manuscript.
8 Records of the Court of Assistants (1673-1692), ii. 139. In connection

a
a ae
ue


ee eee

n the

iad a
| mur-
brutal
ch the
to the
o the
e that
irough :
g near
jercing
The
e mute
gle be-
. foreed
ain

sterious
yn eross
ad. It
athenish
and oc-
e cruel
sing the
tender
he body
1 knife,
yparently
: symbol.
y drawn
i was not
nes used
brand a
1as_~=s been
that were

the explanation, it was the first
instance in my long police experi-
ence in Boston in which this sign
had been used on the body of a
girl.

The clear indications of extreme
ferocity in executing the atrocious
crime were appalling, even to
veteran officers more or less hard-
ened by years of contact with the
seamy side of life. First impres-
sions were further complicated
by the presence of the two knives.
Did this mean that there had been
at least two fiendish killers in-
yolved in the murder? And did a
plurality of killers fit in with the
suggested gangster aspect of the
crime?

But fast action to garner all
available facts should precede
theorizing, whatever first impres-
sions may be, and so the first
officers to arrive at the Bikofsky
bakery swung swiftly into the
smooth routine of an investigation,
as our Boston police are carefully
trained to do. The doors of the
bakery were guarded to exclude
unauthorized persons and preserve
for expert study every possible
clue and all latent finger-prints
which might develop into valuable
leads. Persons in the vicinity were
checked up, and the neighborhood
was combed for information.

(Above) Mrs. Molly Federal,
whose testimony helped the de-
tectives to break the strange case.
(Left) Officer Herbert A. Swett
searching the room of ‘‘Frenchy,”’
finds one of the ‘‘cat pies’” which
the suspect frequently purchased
from Miss Zuckerman

Just as the first detail of police arrived at the scene, there came
a startling interruption. A man and woman, obviously greatly
agitated, came hurrying down the avenue and started to rush
into the bakery. Their bedraggled appearance showed that the
couple had dashed out into the rain without waiting to prepare
for exposure to the stormy night. They were almost hysterical
when an officer intercepted them. ‘Where is my little girl? What
terrible thing has happened to her?” sobbed the woman.

And the man, his dripping face pallid and tense, demanded:
‘Ts it true, what that girl said?”’

- HAT what gir] said?’’ questioned the officer. ‘“Tell me
who you are.”

“That gir] who just came running into our home—Bessie Stern.
She said she saw the body all bloody on the floor. Is it true that
my little Ethel—is dead?”’

“And you are?”

“We are Ethel’s papa and mama. I am Louis Zuckerman.
This is my wife, Mrs. Zuckerman. Our little Ethel was working
here tonight. Tell us, is it true? Where isshe? Why are all you
policeman here?’’

And so it was that identification of the victim was officially
established almost immediately. Pitying and gentle. officers led
the couple who said they were Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman to that
gory shambles beyond the right-hand counter where the broken

23


| ons |

ss

TF are P= * 5
RK, Miller F white. elec MAS (Suffolk) J : -
°9 WILLUS 4 PLEC MA (OU: TOLK Januarv 14, 1936,
| °F

USTOMERS were few and far between in neighborhood
stores that blustery night of Christmas week, 1933, and
by mid-evening a number had been closed or were clos-
ing. Bikofsky’s place on Harrison Avenue, Boston,

Massachusetts, remained brightly lighted, but no belated
passer-by could have seen the tempting display of pastries in
the wide show windows or what or who was within the shop
because the plate glass was streaming with the pelting rain.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when Bessie Stern, a fifteen-
year-old gir], was sent from her home on Oswego Street to get a
loaf of bread at the near-by bakery. Hurrying through the
wild night, Bessie arrived breathless and dripping to find no
one in the bakeshop. The door swung open at her lusty push
and she burst in, expecting to be greeted with a welcoming
smile by her friend Ethe] Zuckerman, who usually attended to
the evening trade. But all Bessie saw as she glanced around
in surprise was the fragrant array of good things on the counters;
all she heard was a muffled din from the basement where the
Bikofsky bakers worked at night operating big mixing ma-
chines and preparing supplies for the next day’s business.
Surely, the young girl thought, if Ethel was not working that
evening or had been permitted to go home early, one of the
proprietors should be there. For a moment she stood there
waiting, and a strange, eerie feeling of foreboding startled her

(Left) Victoria Haddad. This attractive
young miss was an important witness and
gave the detectives great assistance in solv-
ing the mystery killing

oy 3 hee into calling out: “Ethel! Oh, Ethel!” There
\ “~ < a7 a ei was no answer. The glaring lights were shining
: ' down on the unguarded cash register, near the
door. Cold rain was pelting dismally against the
blurred windows. The bakeshop appeared ‘de-
serted, and the tempting delicacies displayed on
every side looked garish and forlorn.

Bessie was puzzled, but she shook off the pecu-
liar sensations which had made her hesitate and
walked toward the back of the shop, calling
again: ‘Ethel! Oh, Ethel!’ Then she stopped,
suddenly. Beyond the right-hand counter, near
the end of the rear show-case, she saw a shoe upon
the floor. It was a smal] shoe, a woman’s shoe,
lying bottom side up. There seemed to be some-
thing weird and horrible about that Jittle shoe
lying on the floor where it should not have been.

She shrank back and whirled around to face the
open door. She saw a familiar face, and recognized
a young friend, Alec Polihronis, a sixteen-year-old
lad living on Genesee Street. He had dropped in
to purchase some cake, he explained.

“What’s the matter, Bessie?’ he asked, noting
the girl’s expression.

“T don’t know, Alec. There’s nobody here, and
I just saw that shoe over there.” Bessie pointed
toward the back of the shop. “It looks like one
of Ethel’s.”’

They called. There was no answering voice.
They listened tensely, heard only the beating rain,
the wind, the muffled sounds from the basement

20


J’ There
vere shining
‘ry. near the
against the
ppeared ° de-
lisplayed on

off the pecu-
hesitate and
shop, calling
she stopped,
‘ounter, near
vy a shoe upon
oman’s shoe,
1 to be some-
it little shoe
have been.
nd to face the
-nd recognized
xteen-year-old
ad dropped in
d.

asked, noting

ody here, and
Bessie pointed
looks like one

swering voice.
1e beating rain,
. the basement

(Above) Interior of the
Bikofsky Bakery where the
Zuckerman tragedy occurred.
Police Superintendent Mar-

spector Harry Pierce, at ex-
treme right. (Below) Ethel
Zuckerman, tragic victim of a
fiendish slaying

where bakers were working.

They went together toward
the end of the counter, intend-
ing to look behind it. They
moved slowly, hesitantly, for
there was something menac-
ing in the unwonted and lonely
stillness within the bakeshop;
something sinister and dread-
ful that could be felt.

Another step, another, and
the two young people were
close to the rear of the right-
hand counter. Just ahead of
them was the incongruous
shoe, so strangely waiting.
And then a sudden wintry
gust shook the door, and beat
upon the windows with a
volley of cold rain and sleet.
The startled youth and girl
shrank closer together. But
Alee’s eyes in their abrupt
turning toward the alarming
sounds had seen something.
He stood in frozen immo-
bility. His lips parted to
emit a gasp. Bessie Stern,
terrified by Alec’s involuntary
stiffening, stared at him, and
then followed his fixed gaze.

tin King (center, foreground) ©
discusses the crime with. In-°

By DEPUTY
SUPERINTENDENT

JAMES R.
CLAFLIN

Chief of the Bureau of
Criminal Investigation,

Boston, Mass., Police Dept.

_ As told to FRED H. THOMPSON
Med Special Investigator for T. D. M.


Louis Zuckerman, father of the
murdered girl. He could offer no
motive or explanation for the
crime that baffled the entire Po-
lice Department of Boston

She saw at the end of the right-hand counter, until then hidden
by its height and depth from any casual glance from the open
space of the bakeshop, a human body sprawled in grotesque
posture on the floor.

For one awful instant, Bessie stood there paralyzed by horror.
That brief moment was enough to etch a dreadful picture indeli-
bly on her memory, a frightful thing to haunt one’s dreams. There
on the floor was eighteen-year-old Ethel Zuckerman, her face con-
torted into a ghastly mask of agony. Carved deep into her fore-
head was a bloody cross, and above her throat protruded the long
handle of a huge bread knife.

In one brief moment Bessie Stern saw all this, and then she was
running toward the door, Alec Polihronis with her. The bakeshop
had seemed to be a bright and cozy refuge when they came in,
and now the dark night and wintry storm driving belated folk
from the deserted streets was the haven they sought. The girl
raced into the basement to scream out her story to the bakers
working there and then she ran to the Zuckerman home. The boy
ran across the street to a store where he saw lights, and soon some-
one was telephoning for the police.

We were quickly at the scene, & detai] from the Warren Avenue
station, detectives from headquarters on Berkeley Street, and men
from the Boston homicide squad. A crowd already was collecting,
despite the stormy night, in the mysterious way that crowds
always do, on such grim occasions, appearing seemingly from no-

22

8 MMM a

where to feast avid curiosity on the
tragedy of others.

One glance told ‘that we had a
murder on our hands, a weird mur-
der and an extraordinarily brutal
one. The big knife with which the
girl’s body was transfixed to the
floor had been driven into the
throat with such great force that
it had passed entirely through
the neck, the point emerging near
the base of the brain and piercing
into the tough flooring. The
battered face and arms were mute
evidence of a fearful struggle be-
fore the girl had finally been forced
down on ber back and slain.

Most puzzling and mysterious
was the hideous crimson cross
carved on the girl’s forehead. It
seemed to hint at some heathenish
ritual, something strange and oc-
cult and dreadful. The cruel
weapon had cut deep, exposing the
frontal bone beneath the tender
flesh. And not far from the body
was another big bread knife,
_ stained with blood, apparently
used in cutting the mystic symbol.
This weird and crudely drawn
cross on the girl’s forehead was not
unlike the mark sometimes used
by the underworld to brand a
“double-crosser” who has been
“put on the spot.” But if that were |


through the slender white throat’ of the girl

before embedding itself in the floor, where it
remained upright, impaling the victim.

Superintendent of Police Martin H. King took
one look at the prone figure and signaled his
officers to hold back the throng gathered in the
wake of screaming sirens around the doorway of
the Bikofsky bakery in Boston’s South End.

Unmindful of the driving winter rain, which had
lashed the city several days, tenement dwellers of
the South Boston ghetto pressed against the police
lines peering beyond the red and green lighted
display window Christmas decorations into the
shop beyond. Excited voices clamoring in more
than a dozen tongues mingled in a babble that all
but silenced the patter of the rain.

Although the weather was unseasonable, the
streets and storefronts aglow with Yule lights and
little bells tinkling unceasingly in the hands of
dripping Santas on street corners heralded Christ-
mas only five days hence. Pacing around the bake-
shop, King paused by the window. The centerpiece
of a Christmas display there caught his eye; a
candy angel hovered over a huge, white cake and
beneath the tiny electric candles the officer read,
“Peace on earth, good will to men . . i

Kneeling beside the body of the girl, who ap-
peared to be little more than 18 years old, Medical
Examiner Timothy Leary completed his initial
examination.

“She was savagely beaten and stabbed,” he re-
ported crisply. “Her skull is fractured, both jaws
are broken and her jugular vein severed. It is the
most brutal murder I ever saw.”

Superintendent King was chary with words.
“How long ago?” he demanded.

“Less than an hour.”

Te LONG, sharp-pointed breadknife passed

“Plenty of time for the killer to make a get-
away.”

The officer’s eyes swept the room as he spoke.
The fragrant, warm interior of the little shop con-
trasted pleasantly. with the bone-chilling Decem-
ber weather outside. A few minutes earlier—just
after 10 p.m.—King, in company with Homicide
Inspector Harry Pierce and Captain James H.
Claflin, had raced over slippery streets in response
to the alarm radioed to headquarters from police
cruisers already on the scene.

The victim had battled ferociously for her life.
The dangling telephone receiver and disordered
appearance of the store told of the struggle. The
open cash register was empty. A full bottle of
milk stood on the counter, as though the girl had
been about to serve a customer when attacked.

King left the routine task of searching for finger-

‘prints and clues to his identification men and

turned his attention to Bessie Stern and Alexander
Polihronis, both 16.

“T want you to tell me everything that hap-
pened,” he urged, drawing them to one side of the
room. “Right from the beginning.”

The faces of both children were pale with fright,
their eyes red-rimmed from weeping. The girl
made an effort to choke back her sobs.

“Ethel Zuckerman, the—the . . .” she hesitated.
King waited patiently. “We've been friends for a
long time,” Bessie went on. “She tended the bak-
ery from 5:30 to 11 o’clock each night. I often
stopped in to see her but tonight it was raining.
Then mother sent me to buy an apple turnover...”

Only $8.75 Missing

“What happened?” the officer prompted gently.
“Ethel wasn’t here. The shop was empty. I didn’t
kknow where she had gone and while I was waiting

BY JONATHAN SHUPP

In his statement to police he
described the knife attack on
pretty Ethel Zuckerman while
she was alone in the bakeshop
a few days before Christmas.

Superintertaynts Qifice.
Dacambor OOM C4s

Staverent of MILER Ba CLARKe
Sleuths found four knives in 1 went in there to buy some eat pies, and I got five cat pies, I aid,
the bakery. The long blade and when she walked down the end of the counter, ef course, antuvelly she
at the right passed through went to the cash register and put that money in and rung it up, and ae she

the young victim's throat, pin-
ning her body to the floor.

ing»

naturally,

etuek her rt

the morning agains 0 abe
said, “Later on,” and naturally, when ehe gaid, “later on,* hit her zr
sites Po ay

that knife kind
ght hore (pointing te threat) with the other knifes

did she walke around the other way and when ahe did I followed her ends.
5 =e eae
naturally, when I followed ber I bit here So when I hit her she hollered,

eet

nee, and shd started to go to the telephone and, naturally, I got kind of.
oe te . ase

scared and I run outs 30 4 wont up Mott Strect, down through Vash ingten ,

street, over through the dostgn Sormon, and then I come dack agains

agains

walking around over through Scollay Square,and I kept on walking and Walke ;
and it was kind of wat and I was ringing wot. So I went to work in |

So I asked her, I said, "Will you marry met" So eho

when I hit ner she fell downs #0 I wont and got one knife and

. POY G8 abit: aa ee
of pont when I hat her, nat got the nice and £

39

fu

The grief-stricken father and mother
{let broke down at the grave. The

hristmas card they showed officers
appeared at first a promising clue.

Sixty-two detectives circulated through
the large crowd at the funeral rites
for the slain girl on the chance that
they might spot the Yuletide killer.

Alexander came in.” Bessie pointed
to the boy standing beside them. “We
looked around and found her.”

“I called the police right away,”
young Polihronis explained.

King nodded. “Give me your names
and addresses and you youngsters can
run on home.” ‘

The children gave the information
promptly and departed. The super-
intendent turned back to his men. An
ambulance clanged up outside and
stretcher-bearers removed the corpse
to the Southern Mortuary for an au-
topsy which scarcely seemed neces-
sary. That she had been the victim
of a brutal murderer was obvious to
even an inexperienced eye.

Benjamin Bikofsky, summoned from
home, arrived at his little bakery,
nervous and shaken.

“Robbers!” he yelled, his eyes light-
ing on the empty cash drawer. “They

kill Ethel and steal my money!”

“When did you last see Miss Zuck-
erman?” the police superintendent
interrupted grimly.

Nem,

40

THE LITTLE

COULD.

BAKESHOP.

ROBBERY HAVE BEEN THE SOLE
MOTIVE FOR THE KNIFE MURDER

The baker stared at him a moment.
“Not since I went home this evening,”
he explained. “But I talked to her
on the phone at 10 o'clock.”

Ten o'clock! It was barely 11 now.
Had the girl’s conversation with her
employer been interrupted by the
attacker? Did that explain that dan-
gling telephone receiver?

King’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Was she all right when you spoke
to her? Did she seem excited or
frightened?”

Bikofsky shook his head vigorously.
“She said a taxi driver came in and
wanted some stale bread for his
chickens. There wasn’t any here and
he got mad. I told her to give him
fresh bread at the same price.”

“Any idea who the cabman was?”

Bikofsky smiled sadly. “She didn’t
say. Maybe...”

“Maybe is right,” King cut him
short. “You wait over here. Tl want
to talk to you again. By the way, how
much money is missing?”

The proprietor checked the cash

register. “There was only $8.75,” he
announced. “It’s all gone.”
A paltry inducement to murder!
Four bakers were at work in the
small establishment. King questioned

them each in turn, but they could ‘

throw no light on the ghastly affair.

“The ovens are in another room,”
one explained, “and the mixers. were
going all evening. They’re shut off
now, but when they’re running you
just can’t hear anything. We were
working pretty hard, preparing for
the Christmas rush and had no occa~-
sion to come out in the salesroom.
The first we knew anything was wrong
was when the cops came.” .

No Fingerprints

The superintendent wrote down
their names ahd addresses, but he
held little hope they could help him
further. They told straight stories
and Bikofsky promptly vouched for
their integrity.

King’s only hope now seemed. to be
in possible (Continued on page 62)

HEADLINE DETECTIVE

OF THE CHARMING GIRL CLERK?

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ARTISTRY in MURDER

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62

YULETIDE

(Continued from page 40)

fingerprints left by the killer, but Cap-
tain Claflin shook his head discourag-
ingly when approached by his chief.

“We haven’t been able to find a print
anywhere,” he explained. “The job
might have been pulled by a profes-
sional who wiped everything clean be-
fore he left, but I’m inclined to think
that steam from the cellar water jackets
obliterated any marks.”

lt was apparent the brutal murder of
the dark-haired beauty would not be
casy to solve. Questioning of her grief-
stricken parents revealed that Ethel
Zuckerman had been a homeloving girl
who never had a steady beau. Recently
graduated from the Boston Girls’ High
School, she had taken the bakery job
to help her family.

Squad cars traversed the narrow, rain-
swept streets, checking on. vagrants and
loiterers in the vicinity of the bakeshop.
Within two hours police picked up 14
such persons for -questioning. Other
officers went from house to house,
checking residents and shopkeepers in
an effort to find a witness who saw the
killer enter or leave the bakery.

Detective Sergeant Joseph B. Fallon,
with the consent of the victim’s parents,
searched the little room formerly oc-
cupied by Ethel Zuckerman for some
clue that might lead them to her slayer.
He garnered a few letters and personal
mementoes, but none appeared to be
of much value. The letters were chiefly
from school friends.

In his office, Superintendent King
pondered two leads, derived chiefly from
conjecture, on which to base the in-
vestigation.

The first was a peculiar gash in the
forehead of the slain girl. It seemed
almost as though the killer deliberately
slashed her flesh in the form of a cross.

The weird marking might have been
accidentally inflicted during the scuffle;
on the other hand, King could not ig-
nore the possibility that a sadistic mon-
ster wilfully mutilated his victim.

The second lead he considered even
more probable. Ethel Zuckerman had
put up a valiant struggle for her life.
King believed her blood might have
stained the murderer’s clothing.

He ordered a dragnet thrown over the
entire area. Three persons admitted
seeing a man leave the bakery at the
approximate time of the slaying. Their
descriptions varied somewhat but all
agreed he wore a light topcoat and cap,
walked with a slight stoop as though
he were well into middle-age, and was
about five feet, seven inches tall.

Garments Impounded

This description was broadcast over
the police radio and the superintendent,
playing a hunch that the man lived in
the neighborhood and was_ probably
known to his victim, gave orders for a
thorough search of every building with-
in a quarter-mile radius of the crime
scene.

Deputy Superintendent William W.
Livingston, who knew most of the city’s
underworld characters by sight, was
placed in charge of the manhunt. Nu-
merous vagrants and loiterers were
picked up during the course of the in-
vestigation, but all had sound alibis and
were subsequently released. :

Still other officers were detailed to

check the laundry and dry cleaning

establishments, with instructions to turn
in every bloodstained or suspicious
looking garment to the Warren Avenue
station. Within 24 hours after the
murder, one room of the building was
crammed with these items.

Owners of the clothing were traced
and questioned.’ All had explanations.

When these had been investigated and _

corroborated, the suspects were re-

leased.

A search also was pressed for the cab

driver who haggled over the price of
bread for his chickens. Police kept

secret their knowledge of his presence -

in the shop at the approximate time of
the murder. King felt that if the hackie
was innocent he would surrender vol-
untarily in an effort to assist the inves-
tigation. If, however, he had perpe-
trated the heinous crime, knowledge

that the law was on his trail might’

conceivably drive him _ into ~ deeper

hiding.

But this lead, too, soon ran into a

deadend. Detectives assigned to in-
vestigate employes and former drivers
of the various cab companies were for-
tunate in locating their man almost im-

mediately. He was John Wheldon of
Roxbury. .
Unemployed at the time, Wheldon

readily admitted his presence in the
bakery, but swore that Ethel Zucker-
man was alive when he left the shop.
He had gone there, he said, with his
brother. The latter waited in-the car
while Wheldon purchased ten loaves
of bread and two pies. The story was
substantiated by the brother.

But when it seemed that every lead
had been played out the victim’s parents,
eager to see their daughter’s death
avenged, came to the superintendent’s
office with a Christmas card which had
just arrived.

Addressed to Ethel Zuckerman it was
signed simply “Dan.” Written in ink
was the greeting, “Merry Christmas : to
you.”

King turned the card over in his hand ©

and looked questioningly at the parents.
“From one of your daughter’s boy
friends?” he asked. ‘

The father nodded briefly.

“But I thought you said Ethel didn’t
keep company with anyone.”

Saxophonist Sought

“We forgot,” the mother explained
sadly. She went on to say that she and
her husband had objected to the youth
as a suitor because of a difference in
religious belief. The couple had never

_ been engaged and, to please her par-
ents, Ethel had stopped seeing him just-

three months before. :

The officer felt a tingle of excite-
ment. A jilted lover! Was this a worth-
while clue at last? ‘

King hurriedly called a conference,

HEADLINE DETECTIVE

Clat
house
The
no
tend:
man |
There
killer
that D
Retu
was «
by 12 «
repeate
each v
for di:
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“TI was
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‘JANUARY

34 REAL DETECTIVE

We are haveing some rain. How is
all the folks? Hope this will find
you and all well. Please write me
all the news and tell me how you are
getting along. I shall not write much
for I am sick and don’t
feel like it. Please write
soon. From your love-
ing friend,

“Susie L. Young,

“Wiscasset, Maine,

“Box 468.”

“Very friendly, indeed,”
commented Mr. Clough.
“Well, John, you stay here
and take care of things and
I'll see that you’re paid. I'll
get Johnnie Mitchell to get
some grain. We need a
good man here and if you
don’t drink and look after
things properly, you'll have
a good job.”

On October 15, Best re-
plied to Susie Young’s let-
ter as follows:

“Saugus, Mass.,
“October 15.
“Friend Sussie
“Yours at hand In Due
Season pleased to hear
from you. George has
gone from hear. wish if
you have seen him or have heard
from him to let me know some way.
Will say the Same as I heard from
you before or you Can Send a letter
to Saugus. Will tell you more when
[ hear from you.
“Yours truly,
“J. C. Best.”

As soon as she received this letter Susie replied:

“Wiscasset, Maine, Oct. 17.
“Mr. Best
“T got your letter today. Was please to hear from
yow, but sorry to hear George gorm. I don’t know
where he is if I did I let yow know. I wrot a letter to
him and it came back if he can’t be found I shall half
to come up pleas write as soon as yow get this.

“Susie L. Young.”

BOUT a quarter of a mile from Greatheart farm

on Forest Street was the home of Miss Hannah
Hawkes, a maiden lady, eighty-six years old, and her
niece, Miss Henrietta Hawkes, a school teacher. It had
been the home of the elderly lady for more than fifty-
three years.

Despite her advanced age, the old lady’s knitting-
needles were flying busily. “Queer about the disappear-
ance of George Bailey, isn’t it, Henrietta?” she said,
suddenly, laying aside her work. “I heard him go down
to Deery’s with the milk about eight o’clock and about
an hour later I heard him drive past on his way home.”

“Yes,” replied Henrietta, absently.

“Well,” said the old lady, smoothing her apron, “I
heard Bailey’s team again pass the house coming from
the farm some time between ten and eleven o’clock;
pretty near eleven, I guess it was.”

Henrietta nodded. “That was probably the time he
cleared out.”

Patrolman Flynn

Daniel F. Flynn, patrolman

of the Lynn Police Depart-

ment, who fished the dis-

membered body from Float-
ing Bridge Pond.

The old lady gazed at her shrewdly.
“Henrietta, some time after midnight
I heard that team being driven back to
the farm again.”

“Oh, you must be mis-
taken, Aunt Hannah.”

“Mistaken? Henrietta

Hawkes, do you think I’ve
heard that bay horse’s hoofs
and the rattle of that old
‘ramshackle Democrat wag-
on going past my door every
day for tour years and not
be able to tell when I hear
it?” She bridled with re-
sentment. ‘Mr. Best says
George Bailey wasn’t seen
by him after he left at eight
o'clock with the milk for
Deery. Well, the horse and
wagon are there. Who
brought them back? Who
drove that team past my
house about eleven o’clock
and drove it back to the
farm after midnight, and
what for?”

N the main highway
between Lynn and
Salem is a handsome struc-
ture named Buchanan
Bridge in honor of a World
War hero. It spans a pond on West-
ern Avenue in Lynn and replaces an
ancient wooden pontoon platform
known as “Floating Bridge.” The old
bridge derived its name from the fact
that it floated on top of the water, the
ends resting upon each side. The
ond, as a natural consequence, be-
came locally known as “Floating Bridge Pond.”

About eleven o’clock on the morning of October 17,
two men, a Mr. Eng-
lish and a Mr. Tor-
rance, were coming
over Floating Bridge
from Salem and
when near the Lynn
end they stopped on
the westerly side of
the bridge to smoke
and chat for a few
moments.

As they stood idly
gazing into the wa-
ter, English re-
marked casually,
“They say this pond
has no bottom ;
that’s the rea-
son the turn-
pike goes over
it on floats;
they can’t build

”

heard,” re-
sponded Tor-
rance. Then,

suddenly John C, Best

clutching
floating
Englis
rubbish,
Two «
Torranc
tracted |
of the |
closer r:
bag. Si
“T th:
“There's
Enghs
At the ¢
countere
Departm
“T did
bag,” sai
anyway,
floating »
“T ben
water.
covered
“Thro
the bag,
white fle
very sm
an ice n
the bridg
striped s
“I got
was a sh
ward. |
about ha!
had been

SQ
of
with lon;
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missing |
four mor
portions
stamped
they had
An an
taking r
that of a
water aj
length of
An aut
Pinkham
man had
which h:
One of t!
the heart
the heart
had lived
accordin,
None
body, bu’
at Great
Thomas
Saugus
to the fa
which th
him to c
Best |
Bailey,”
Severa


36 REAL DETECTIVE

W. Thomas, a man seventy-nine years old, who had gone
up to Greatheart Farm on the Tuesday morning after
Bailey’s disappearance.

“It was a rainy morning, I recollect,” the old gentle-
man told the detective. “I had heard nothing about
Bailey going away the night before and not coming back
and I supposed he was at home. I couldn’t find any-
body about, so I walked around the place a bit. In the
passageway leading to the big cellar door of the barn
there was a fire smouldering. It was pretty much burned
out, but there were some embers there and I poked the
debris with my cane so they might burn more freely.
I noticed a fragment of a horse blanket perhaps a couple
of feet long and I wondered what Bailey was burning
on a rainy morning.”

“What color was this blanket, Mr. Thomas?”

“Well, it had a reddish cast; sort of a red stripe run-
ning through it, I took it to be.”

Neal thought this over. It doesn’t take a detective to
know that the trace of blood is one of the surest proofs
rs crime and that the only thing that will destroy it is

re.

H® dropped the investigation of Win Rowe, Johnnie
Mitchell, and other possible suspects and concen-
trated on Best. The rocks with which the bags had been
weighted were turned over to Professor John H. Sears,
a noted geologist, who had made an intense study of the
country rock in the vicinity.

“TI want to know where these rocks came from,” an-
nounced the detective.

In a few days the geologist made his report. “One
of these rocks,” he said, “I. can state positively came
from the immediate vicinity of Greatheart Farm.”

In checking the history of Best, Neal ascertained the
following facts: His name was John Courtney Best and
he was born in Sackville, New Brunswick, on April 8,
1865. He was an expert rifle shot and had won several
prizes in shooting contests. This seemed significant, as
the bullets which killed Bailey entered the body so close
together as to indicate accurate marksmanship.

Estes, the Lynn grain dealer, told the detective that
Bailey was the only customer he had in the neighborhood
of Greatheart Farm and identified the bags in which the
body was found as having come from his place. Neal
again interviewed Best.

“They tell me Susie Young is a pretty good looking
girl, Best.” he began. “How old is she ”

“Oh, about twenty, I guess.”

“You're pretty good friends, aren’t you?”

..“Oh, yes; I suppose so.”

“Mr, Clough told me about a letter you received from
her, signed, ‘your loving friend.’ That indicates some-
thing more than friendship, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you can draw your own conclusion.”

“How long have you lived in Saugus?”

“In Saugus and Lynn for eight or nine years.”

“Then of course you’re well acquainted with Floating
Bridge Pond.”

“T know where it is, but I’ve never been there but twice
in my life.”

“You know that it’s reputed to have no bottom.”

“No; I don’t.”

“Oh, look here, John. Don’t you know that the fact
that Floating Bridge Pond has no bottom has been com-
mon talk in Lynn for the past twenty years?”

“No. I never heard it.”

“Then, of course, you didn’t shoot Bailey, cut up the
body on some horse blankets on the barn floor, put it
ar. bags and throw them into Floating Bridge

ond.”

Best smiled sarcastically..:“Of course not. I haven't
been in Lynn for a year.”

“You're a pretty good rifle shot, aren’t you, John?”

“T can shoot a little.”

Neal glanced about the kitchen. In a corner stood a
Winchester rifle. “Whose gun is that ?”

“Bailey’s. The ‘Associates’ gave it to him when he
came here to take charge of the place.”

Neal avalked over and picked up the rifle. “Thirty-
eight caliber, eh? Well, John, I arrest you for the mur-
der of George E. Bailey. Get on your coat and hat and
we'll be moving.”

EST was placed on trial in the Superior Court at

Salem, with Justices Sherman and Fox presiding.
He was ably defended, his senior counsel being James
H. Sisk, a present justice of the Superior Court.

‘The evidence for the Commonwealth included testi-
mony to the effect that an overcoat known to have been
worn by Bailey when he left Deery’s home on the night
of October 8, after leaving his milk, was found in his
room at the farm, indicating that he had returned there
that night.

Susie Young came from Maine to testify that an axe
owned by Bailey was missing.

Patrolman Fiynn testified that as he lifted the bag
containing the trunk of the murdered man onto the
bridge, a heavy object fell into the water. This the
government contended was the missing axe, but all ef-
forts to recover it from the ten or twelve feet of muck
and mire in the pond were futile.

Two witnesses gave the most damaging testimony.

William H. Stiles, a brother-in-law of Best, testified
that soon after his arrest, Best told him where Bailey’s
watch and $74 in cash belonging to him were secreted
and begged him to get the watch and “fling it away as
far as 1 could at low-water mark,” adding, “If that
watch is found, I’m lost.”

Detective Neal testified that he had found the watch
and money wrapped in a newspaper and hidden on a
sill in the cellar of the stable; the place indicated by
Stiles. The watch was identified as the property of
Bailey.

Dr. Pinkham testified that Bailey had been slain by a
man standing above him, and the state alleged that Best
stood on a wall at the left of the barn and shot him as
he came through the large door shown in the picture.

Best took the stand to testify in his own behalf. His
story of the rubbish fire in which a horse blanket was
burned was not convincing to the jury. He said it was
built to get rid of accumulated rubbish in the dog kennel.

He told of his agreement with Bailey concerning the
sharing of profits, but claimed that he could get no
money out of him. He had taken the $74 after Bailey
disappeared and also the watch to get what was coming
to him. He had asked his brother-in-law to dispose of
the watch, for he feared he would be suspected of the
murder if it were found.

Best denied having had any serious trouble with
Bailey, or that he was in love with Susie Ycung. He
was subjected to a gruelling cross-examination by At-
torney General Hosea M. Knowlton on essential points
*n the case and his counsel couldn’t do much to help
him. Altogether he made a poor witness and an un-
favorable impression on the jury.

Captain William H. Proctor, a ballistic expert, testi-
fied that the bullets which killed Bailey were fired from
the Winchester rifle found in the kitchen of the farm
house.

The Jury convicted Best and he was electrocuted at
Charlestown state prison.

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The la
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IR of

New England

added, ‘““You look wor-
Anything the matter?”
ad removed his cap and
ead. “Why, to tell you
yrried. Mr. Bailey has
ling and there’s a lot of
> got. I thought I'd see
-r and help me.”
“Well, Win won’t be
tell him when he comes.

ted. His next call was
nna.
boards here, don’t he?”
t to home; he’s gone to
cows.”
Bailey’s man, Mr. Mc-
“When Johnnie comes
me over to Bailey’s, will
him.”
Just as soon as he gets

You see, Bailey has gone
ith no word and I don’t

r. Where do you reckon
; gone to?”

Well, I dunno’s I ought
ay so; but I’m afraid he’s
yped out.”

Why, how you talk!
at’s he skipped out for?”
‘I guess he heard the offi-
s were after him. I cal-

ate he’s gone down East—

“What

Maine.”
\IcKenna stared.

Greatheart Farmhouse. Beyond the upper window is
the sleeping room of the murderer.

in the world would the officers be after George Bailey
for?”

Best lowered his gaze to the ground and scuffed his
feet in the dirt. It was apparent that he was greatly
embarrassed, as well as nerv-

ous. The Home of Hannah Hawkes

“You needn’t be afraid to

300 acres, owned by three wealthy residents of Lynn.
“Greatheart Farm” consisted almost wholly of wood-
land, and the owners, who styled themselves “the asso-
ciates,” utilized it as a camp and hunting preserve. The
buildings consisted of the old farmhouse, a small pitched
roof cottage, and a good-sized barn. There was also a
camp—a clubhouse—in the woods.

There was some stock and poultry on the place, and
to assist him in the work of caring for it, Bailey engaged
a man named John C. Best. In a way, Best was sort
of a partner ; that is, he was to have a share in the profits
arising from the sale of the crops.

Bailey’s disappearance didn’t cause, half so much ex-
citement as did the story of his liaison with pretty Susie
Young. It was generally accepted as a fact that they
were together somewhere.

N Thursday, October 11, when Bailey had been
missing for three days, Micajah P. Clough, one of
the owners of the camp, drove out to Greatheart farm.
He found Best in the stable.
“Where is George?” inquired Mr. Clough.
“Skipped,” announced Best, laconically.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the lady living with
him was not his wife; she
was his wife’s half-sister and

tell me,” encouraged Simon.
“I’m a regular human clam
shell.”

“Well, that girl that he’s
been living with up at the
farm ain’t Mrs. Bailey, like
folks think. They ain’t ever
been married. Bailey’s got a
wife and six kids in Maine
and he left there with this
girl, Susie Young. I figure
they got trace of him and he
skipped.”

“Sho!” exploded Simon,
“don’t seem possible. Mighty
fine gal, too. Clean as a trout
and slick as a little red wagon.
But say, Bailey wouldn’t go
back to Maine, would he, if
the officers come from there lookin’ for him?”

Best stroked his mustache and appeared to be reflect-
ing. “Well, mebbe not; mebbe not, but Susie left the
farm about two weeks-ago to visit her old home in
Wiscasset—least there’s where she told me she was
going. I guess they’re together somewhere.” He grinned
sheepishly. “Anyway, don’t say I said nothin’.”

“°Course not,” Simon assured him, as he grabbed his
hat from the porch, preparatory to setting out to spread
the news. y

CONGUES were soon wagging in the little village of
Saugus, where there was little local news to enliven
the gossip.

Virtuous farmers’ wives put the erring Susie on the
pan and roasted her to a whisper, but men who had ad-
mired her finely-formed figure and pretty face were more
lenient. ;

“She’s ‘only a kid,” they said in extenuation.

Around the cider barrel, they exchanged what infor-
mation they had, which, summed up, amounted to this:

George E. Bailey had showed up in Saugus about four
years prior to his disappearance with a girl whom he
introduced as his wife. He secured employment as a
sort of a caretaker at Greatheart farm, a place of some

It was here that Miss Hannah Hawkes, an eighty-six-
year-old spinster, heard the murderer drive past with
the body of his victim.

he eloped with her and no-
body knew where he went.
There was a warrant out for
him and a reward for his ar-
rest and he got wind of it and
left. ’Tain’t likely he’ll come
back.”

He handed a crumpled let-
ter to Mr. Clough. ‘‘Here’s
a line I got from Susie.”

“Oh; so you correspond
with her, do you?”

“Well, just in a friendly
way.” ;

The letter read as follows:

“1900 Wiscasset,
“Maine, Oct. 4.

“My Dear Friend:

“John, I write you a few
lines. I got here in safe. I got a bad cold. Can just
speak out loud. I found them quite well, but all was
pleased to see me. I had a lots of company since I came.

Where the Crime Was Committed

The barn on Greatheart Farm. In the doorway of this
barn—in the midst of a peaceful countryside—a man
was foully murdered.

33


lady gazed at her shrewdly.
, some time after midnight
it team being driven back to
gain.”
“Oh, you must be mis-
taken, Aunt Hannah.”
“Mistaken? Henrietta

Hawkes, do you think I’ve ©

heard that bay horse’s hoofs
and the rattle of that old
ramshackle Democrat wag-
on going past my door every
day for four years and not
be able to tell when I hear
it?” She bridled with re-
sentment. “Mr. Best says
George Bailey wasn’t seen
by him after he left at eight
o'clock with the milk for
Deery. Well, the horse and
Wagon are there. Who
brought them back? Who
drove that team past my
house about eleven o’clock
and drove it back to the
farm after midnight, and
what for?”

N the main highway
between Lynn and
Salem is a handsome struc-
ture named Buchanan
Bridge in honor of a World
It spans a pond on West-
ue in Lynn and replaces an
vooden pontoon platform
“Floating Bridge.” The old
rived its name from the fact
ited on top of the water, the
ing upon each side. The
a natural consequence, be-
oating Bridge Pond.”
the morning of October 17,

THE RED HORROR OF FLOATING BRIDGE 35

clutching at his companion’s arm, he said, “What’s that
floating there; that bag close to the bridge? See!”

English looked at the spot indicated. “Oh, some old
rubbish, I suppose,” he replied indifferently.

Two other men, Hunt and Tapper, came along and
Torrance pointed out to them the object which had at-
tracted his attention. All four men walked to the center
of the bridge and leaned over the rail to inspect it at
closer range. Hunt stooped over and cut a slit in the
bag. Something resembling blood oozed out.

“I think we'd better call a policeman,” he said.
“There’s something mysterious here.”

English and Torrance started in search of an officer.
At the corner of Maple and Chatham Streets, they en-
countered Patrolman Daniel F. Flynn of the Lynn Police
Department,

“I didn’t attach much importance to the mysterious
bag,” said Mr. Flynn in relating the circumstance, “but
anyway, I thought ’twould do no harm to see what was
floating in the pond.

“I bent over the railing and lifted the bag out of the
water. As I did so, a lot of blood came from it and
covered the surface of the pond for a couple of feet.

“Through the slit that had been cut in the bottom of
the bag, which was apparently a meal sack, I could see
white flesh and I reached in and felt of it. It seemed
very smooth to the touch. I got a pair of tongs from
an ice man who happened along and raised the bag to.
the bridge. I could see then a part of a black and white
striped shirt and a suspender.

“IT got out my jack-knife and cut the bag open. It
was a shocking sight. I dreamed of it for weeks after-
ward. It was the body of a man with his legs cut off
about half way between the knee and the hip. The head
had been removed.”

SQUAD of police officers was soon at the scene
of the gruesome discovery. They were equipped
with long poles obtained from the Lynn Ice Company—
poles with hooks on the ends that were used for floating
ice during the cutting season—and the search for the
missing parts of the body began. During the afternoon
four more bags were recovered, each of which contained
portions of the dismembered body. The bags were
stamped “Estes,” the name of a Lynn grain dealer, and
they had been weighted with heavy rocks.
An ambulance removed the body to Haven’s under-
taking rooms in Lynn, where it was assembled. It was
that of a man of powerful physique and had been in the
water apparently for nine or ten days; just about the
length of time that George E. Bailey had been missing.
An autopsy was at once performed by Dr. Joseph P.
Pinkham, the medical examiner of the district. The
man had been killed by two rifle bullets of .38 caliber,
which had entered the chest less than an inch apart.
One of them had cut the aorta—the largest artery—from
the heart. As a result the hemorrhage had been intense,
the heart pumping the blood out quickly. The victim
had lived but five or six minutes after having been shot,
according to the medical examiner.

None of the officers had been able to identify the
body, but some one referred to the fact that Bailey up
at Greatheart Farm had disappeared. City Marshal
Thomas M. Burckes and other officers, including the
Saugus chief of police, Charles C. Thompson, drove out
to the farm and told Best that a body had been found
which they thought might possibly be Bailey and asked
him to come down and see if he could identify it.

Best looked at the body intently. “It resembles
Bailey,” he said, “but I’m not sure.”

Several other persons who knew Bailey, however, were

positive in their identifications. “That’s Bailey beyond
a doubt,” they said.

a State Detective George C. Neal was called in
and given charge of the case. Neal had a reputa-
tion of being one of the keenest investigators in the
state. He went out to have a talk with Best.

“Now, Best, let’s start at the very beginning of this
mystery. When was the last time you saw Mr. Bailey?”
asked the detective.

“When he started away from the farm about eight
o’clock with milk for Mr. Deery.”

“That was the night of October eighth ?”

“Yes. Monday night.” .

“Did you hear him come back ?”

“Well, I thought I heard him drive in, but I may have
been mistaken. It may have been one of the horses
stamping in the stable. I had gone to bed and I didn’t
get up to see.”

“But you found the horse and wagon there when you
went out to the barn the next morning?”

“Yes; the horse was still hitched to the wagon in the
middle of the barn floor.”

“Unusual for Bailey not to have cared for his horse,
wasn’t it ?”

“Ves, it was.”

“What did you do after Bailey left with the milk?”

“Well, I washed up the supper dishes; got a drink of
rum and went upstairs to my room and went to bed.”

“And the next morning?”

“The next morning I got up, went out to the barn and
did the chores. I, of course, noticed the horse and
wagon and unhitched. I supposed Bailey was in the
house getting breakfast. When I found he wasn’t there
I got my own breakfast and then turned out the cows.
Then I started out to see if I could locate Bailey.”

“And that’s all you know about the case?”

“That’s all I know.”

“Bailey have any enemies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then you know of no reason why anyone should
want to kill him.”

"EN @,”*

“Well, neither do I,” confessed the detective. “Bailey
never had any great amount of money around, did he?”

“Very little. I haven’t even been able to get what is
due me.”

“I guess that’s all, Best. I'll probably see you again
after I’ve looked the ground over a little.”

EAL proceeded to “look the ground over.” He
found two or three persons to whom Best had ex-
pressed his dissatisfaction because he “‘couldn’t get any
money out of Bailey.’’ Then there was some gossip to
the effect that Best was carrying on a little quiet flirtation
with Susie Young, unknown to Bailey. And that was all.
From Win Rowe, however, he learned of a suspicious
circumstance. It wasn’t much in itself and might be
easily explained, but it merited investigation.

“I went home with Best one night,” said Rowe, “and
looked around the barn for a couple of horse blankets
and couldn’t find them. I knew them well, for Bailey
had had them ever since he’d been there. He brought
them with him from Maine. They had a red stripe run-
ning through them.

“I asked Best where they were and he said he’d never
seen them, and he brought out an old stable blanket and
asked me if that was what I meant and I said it wasn’t.
It seems funny to me where those blankets went to.”

It seemed “funny” to Neal, also. It didnt seem
quite so strange, though, after he had talked with James


BLY} John and ROSE, Charles, whites, hanged Lenox, Mass.,
Dec, 6, i787.

_

Oo 9.19909

as

l0-22- “(787 -  behox. MA. the Supreme, Sudicias Court lotely held ot Lenox. in ad
: —— Focthe County of Berkshire, CHARLES. Rose, Potter
Bode “PLeN LeN and Jon BLY received sellin of DEATH for the crime of robbery.

ita Rose was Indicted for four and Bly for six other crimes of the Same nature. -

_ Willian ys, was mes oS ne 4ound wae trek received sentence _
of DEATH. Bhs 5A De _ CERTAINLY FRRDOWED.

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a nent ial _ Lenox. On the ioth Instant were executed af ____
ok _ Lenox in the County of Berkshire pursuant to

ie palence of the S Suprenne Judicial Court, JOHN Bry and
~ _CHaries Rose for the crime of oe a ae

a 2) AE L NS


466 Saints and Strangers

months after the Mayflower had
sailed,

For the Pilgrims to have waited to
obtain a patent from the Council
would have been fatal. Under the cir-
cumstances there would seem to have
been an understanding between Sir
Ferdinando and his partners on the
one hand, and the merchant adven-
turers and the Pilgrims on the other,
that the emigrants would settle in
New England, both sides agreeing
that legal formalities could be straight-
ened out later without difficulty, as
indeed proved to be the case. And to
avoid any embarrassing questions or
the possibility of further dangerous
delay, the Pilgrims pretended to be
bound elsewhere.

This is not to say, however, that
the change of plan was known to any
but a few of the leaders on the May-
flower. Most of the Pilgrims were
probably left completely in the dark
on this, as on so many other vital mat-
ters, so that their surprise was genu-
ine when they unexpectedly found
themselves so far from their an-
nounced destination.

The “deangérous shoulds and ror-
ing breakers” that allegedly caused
the Mayflower to turn back sound
more like a phrase coined by Brad-
ford than an objection to proceeding
advanced by Captain Jones, a hardy
and experienced old salt, who had
braved the most tempestuous waters,
having been engaged for a time in
that roughest of all seagoing enter-
prises, whaling in the Arctic off
Greenland shores,

Sir Ferdinando Gorges confessedly
had designs on New England and
spent his life trying to acquire it as
a vast feudal estate with himself as
overlord, and more than once almost
succeeded. There is reason to suspect
that he had a hand in guiding the
Pilgrims’ steps here, anxious to have
them blaze a trail that he might fol-
low to his own profit. In later years,

at all events, the Pilgrims repeatedly
found themselves entangled in the
machinations of Sir F erdinando, who
gave Plymouth several bad frights,
Still, in spite of his always devious
schemes and greedy ambitions, Gorges
deserves to be well remembered for
doing more than any other individual
to promote the early colonization of

New England,

CHAPTER x

1, English and French (Breton)
fishermen had been frequenting this
coast for years. In 1616 or 1617 a
French ship had been cast away here
in a storm, and the yellow-haired
man and the child were probably
from that vessel. There had been
other survivors, several of whom were
found among the Indians on the
mainland by Captain Thomas Der-
mer, one of Gorges’ men, while

. prowling along this coast earlier in

the year, about six months before the
Pilgrims arrived. Dermer had taken
the Frenchmen on board and carried
them to Virginia,

The Pilgrims’ wanderings about
the Cape, and their first contacts with
the Indians, appear in engrossing de-
tail in Mourt’s Relation,

CHAPTER XI

1. See any good encyclopedia—the
Brittanica, for example.

CHAPTER XII

1, James I was of the same opin-
ion. In the Great Patent granted the
Council for New England in 1620,
he noted the “wonderful plague
among the salvages,” declaring that
the “appointed time is come in which
Almighty God, in his great goodness
and bounty towards us [James] and
our people, hath thought fit and de-
termined, that these large and goodly
territories . .. shall be possessed

and enjoyed” by the English,

Notes 467

CHAPTER XIII

1, The Pilgrims made their first
acquaintance with the formidable
Nauset and neighboring tribes on the
Cape in the summer of this year when
young John Billington, a boy of six
or seven, wandered off into the woods
one day and got lost. After a week or
more of fruitless search the Pilgrims
gave him up as dead, probably a vic-
tim of wolves, when word came from
Massasoit that the boy had been found
on the Cape, more than twenty miles
to the south, and was safe among the
Indians there. The youngster had
been out in the open “some five
days, living on berries and what he
could find.” Profane they may have
been, but the Billingtons were always
resourceful, endowed with a Cockney
sharpness of wit (see the characteriza-
tion of them in the late Stephen Vin-
cent Benét’s magnificent unfinished
epic, Western Star, with its many
vivid scenes of early Plymouth and
Jamestown),

A party was sent in the shallop to
rescue the boy. The Pilgrims first put
in at Cummaquid, near the shoulder
of the Cape, and were warmly wel-
comed by Iyanough, the young and
“courteous” local sachem. The boy
was farther down the Cape, he told
them, “yet since we were there, they
desired us to come ashore and eat
with them, which, as soon as our boat
floated, we did.”

Pushing on, they came to the coun-
try of the Nauset, accompanied by
Iyanough and two of his braves, and
sent Squanto to find Aspinet, the
sachem of the tribe. “After sunset
Aspinet came with a great. train and
brought the boy with him, one bear-
ing him through the water...
There he delivered us the boy, be-
hung with beads, and made peace
with us, we bestowing a knife on him
and likewise on another that first en-
tertained the boy and brought him
thither.”

On their way home the Pilgrims
Stopped again at Cummaquid. As
fager as ever to please, Iyanough
helped his men carry water to the
boat, and “in the mean time, the
women joined hand in hand, singing
and dancing before the shallop, the
men also shewing all the kindness
they could, Iyanough himself taking
a bracelet from about his neck and
hanging it upon one of us.”

Altogether, the Pilgrims were
much impressed by the honest deal-
ing and simple friendliness of the
Cape tribes, a fact to keep in mind in
reading the Pilgrim account of sub-
sequent events,

2. A “pinese” was at once a war-
rior, a priest, and a statesman. Only
the bravest and strongest in the tribes
attained such status after long and ar-
duous training in their youth, all be-
ing “men of great courage and wis-
dome, . . . of greatest stature and
strength,” said Winslow, “and such
as will endure most hardness; and
yet are more discreete, courteous, and
humane in their carriages than any
amongst them.” They were under
the special protection of the gods and
could not be wounded in battle, the
Indians believed, “by reason whereof

"one of them will chase almost a hun-

dred men, for they account it death
for whomsoever stand in their way.”

3. In 1708 there was much lifting
of eyebrows when Hannah Sturte-
vant, granddaughter of Edward Wins-
low, was married with benefit of
clergy, the first instance of the kind
in the colony. Marriages-were not re-
corded in the church registers until
1760.

4. Deacon Cushman took his text
from I Corinthians 10. 24: “Let no
man seek his own, but every man an-
other’s wealth.” Published at London
in 1622, the sermon was addressed
“to His Loviye Friends, The Adven-
turers for ®ew-England, Together
with all well-willers and well-wishers

286 Saints and Strangers

death sentence. They sought the advice of Governor John Win-
throp and ‘“‘ye ablest gentle-men in ye Bay of ye Massachu-
setts.” Upon their concurrence that the murderer “ought to
dye and ye land be purged from blood,” Plymouth decided to
proceed and poor unhappy John Billington was duly hanged,
drawn, and quartered by his friends.

But “‘ye profanest” of the Pilgrim Fathers has a far more
impressive memorial than most of the Saints—Billington Sea,
as a small lake behind Plymouth is still known, named for its
discovery by Francis, the younger of his two sons. The older
had died of gangrene a few years before his father. Billing-
ton’s widow, Ellen, later remarried, and Francis in time raised
a numerous family, having eight children, and the family does
not appear to have become more saintly with the years, to
judge from the mention of it in the records: “June 27 [1703].
Abigail Billington (who was Churchell) was called before ye
church openly for fornication with her new husband, Francis
Billington, before her marriage to him.”

While the novice Saints on the Bay were a comfort to the
Pilgrims, they were also a problem. It was obvious from the
start that they would be serious rivals in trade. Thanks to a
storm that drove their ship into the harbor, Plymouth dis-
covered that some of them were already trespassing, carrying
on a surreptitious trade with Cape Cod. Bradford sent the ship
back to Boston with the warning that such attempts would be
resisted, “‘even to the spending of our lives.” The Pilgrims
were afraid, too, that the Puritans might encroach from the
north and even claim all of their territory. The Bay had a
proper charter, but the Pilgrims’ claim rested largely upon
priority of settlement, for their patent was vague and faulty.
Plymouth’s boundaries had never been sharply defined. Their
powers of government were derived from no higher authority
than the Mayflower Compact and might be seriously chal-
lenged at any time.

Since 1628 Allerton had been trying on his visits to London
to secure an enlarged grant along the Kennebec. He was now
instructed to enlist Sherley in an effort to obtain a royal charter
for New Plimoth. Upon his return from England in 1630,
Allerton brought back a charter made out by the Council for

ag ey titi TERR Sa St SPEARS cl RRR DS TASER AE i IID IN BIER BY IEEE SSS IREE I SIE LESS LENDER BISA REEL REE ESS EERE LE ELLER LEO ARE SARE DE BED Cy

|

Into ye Briers 287

New England to William Bradford as trustee for the colony.
Bearing the signatures of Sir Ferdinando Gorges and the Earl
of Warwick, this patent granted to Plymouth all of New Eng-
land southeast of a line running roughly from the lower shore
of Boston Bay to the head of Narragansett Bay. It also
widened the Pilgrims’ strip along the Kennebec. It was de-
signed, wrote Sherley, “to make you a corporation and so in-
able you to make & execute lawes in such large & ample
manner as ye Massachusetts plantation hath it.” Now they
“might bear such sway & government as were fitt for the ranke
& place that God hath called you unto, and stope ye moueths
of base and scurrulous fellowes that are ready to question &
threaten you in every action you doe.”

But the patent, to the dismay of the Pilgrims, was not in
proper order, for it did not bear the Great Seal. The fault
was not Allerton’s, Sherley hastened to assure them, for he
had strictly followed instruction in the matter and been “so
turrmoyled about it as, verily, I would not nor could not have
undergone it if I might have had a thousand pounds.” There
had been many riddles to solve and many locks to open ‘‘with
ye silver, nay, ye golden key.”* Yet the time and money had
been well spent, for His Majesty’s assent would surely be ob-
tained. A charter could have been obtained at this time, it
appears, if Allerton and Sherley had not stubbornly insisted
on inserting a clause exempting the colony from payment of
customs duties for a period of years, “but covetousnes never
brings ought home, as ye proverbe is, for this oppertunytie
being lost, it was never accomplished.” As a consequence, the
Old Colony lived out its brief existence without a royal charter,
ultimately a fatal weakness, and the Pilgrims were out of
pocket £500 on this business, which did nothing to improve
their tempers or their regard for the judgment of their busi-
ness agent.

This was the time Allerton chose to appear with Thomas
Morton, “that unworthy man,” as his secretary. Nor was this
his only offense. He had established the practice of bringing
back goods to sell “for his owne private benefite, which was
more than any man had yet hithertoo attempted.’ When called
on the carpet, he argued that this also benefited the commu-

a »

440 Saints and Strangers

Perhaps related to White family of
Sturton le Steeple, into which Carver
and Robinson married. '

» Mrs. Susanna (Fuller) (c.
1594-1680)—-sister of Deacon
Samuel Fuller (see above)

Married, Leyden, 1612; became 2nd

wife of Edward Winslow (see be-

low), 1621.

Resolved (c.1615-1680)

Married Judith Vassall of Scituate,
1640, and settled there, removing
to Marshfield, 1662; died at
Salem; 5 children.

Peregrine (1620-1703)

Born on Mayflower month after
arrival; 1648, married Sarah Bas-
sett (see Fortune Saints); granted
200 acres by General Court, 1665,
“in respect that he was the first of
the English that was born in these
parts”; captain of militia, 1673;
did not join church till 1698, in
78th year; died at Marshfield; 6
children,

Winslow, Master Edward (1595-
1655)—of Droitwich, Worcester-
shire; printer

Assistant printer at Choir Alley Press,

1617-19; member of parties sent out

to explore Cape Cod and environs;

married, Plymouth, 1621, to Mrs,

Susanna (Fuller) White (sce above) ;

diplomatic mission to Massasoit,

1621; author of “come-on’ litera-

ture to attract settlers; agent to Eng-

Jand, 1623; opened trade along Ken-

nebec, 1625; member of General

Court as governor or asst. governor,

1624-46; Purchaser, 1626; Under-

taker, 1627-41; jailed in London by

Archbishop Laud, 1635; removed to

Marshfield, 1637; commissioner to

ivew England Confederacy, 1643-

44; sailed for London, 1646, and

never returned; chairman of joint

English-Dutch commission to assess

damage done English ships by Dutch

in neutral Danish ports; chief of 3

commissioners appointed by Oliver

Cromwell to conquer Spanish West
Indies; died of tropical fever on flag-
ship off Jamaica, buried at sea with
salvo of cannon.

» Mrs, Elizabeth (Barker) (c.
1597-1621)—of Chester or Chat-
ham

Married, Leyden, 1618; no children,

B. sTRANGERS
(17 men, 9 women, 14 children)

Billington, John (c.1590-1630)—of

ondon
“one of ye profanest families amongst
them”
Tied up by neck and heels for curs-
ing Standish when called to perform
military duty, 1622; mixed up in
Lyford-Oldham “mutiny,” 1624;
Purchaser, 1626; hanged for mur-
der, 1630.

» Mrs. Ellen (c.1592- )
—of London

Married, Plymouth, 1638, to Greg-

ory Armstrong.

Francis (c.1612- )

Almost blew up Mayflower by
shooting off squibs near powder
kegs; discovered Billington Sea,
small lake behind Plymouth; mar-
ried, Plymouth, 1634, to Mrs.
Christian (Penn) Eaton (see Anme
Strangers) ; removed to Yarmouth

and died there; 9 children,

John (c.1614-c.1628)

Lost himself in woods and turned
up on Cape Cod, 1621, leading to
first acquaintance with Cape tribes.

Britteridge, Richard ( -1620)

Browne, Peter (c.1600-1633)—of
Great Burstead, Essex.

John Goodman’s companion on deer
and “lyon” hunt; married, Plymouth,
1623, to Mrs. Martha Ford (see For-
tune Strangers); Purchaser, 1626;
married to Mary » 1628;.°2
children by Ist marriage and 3 by
second, ;

ReneS rer HET Pi ee gy Bs Te

IL PAPO RN I REN a fre FRG ELD ae NR

The Pilgrim Company 441)

Chilton, James (c.1563-1620)—of
Canterbury, tailor
Gar) Ono

» Mrs.
1621).
Mary (c.1605-1679)
Reputedly first Pilgrim to step foot
on Plymouth Rock; married, Plym-
outh, 1624, to John Winslow
(see Fortune Strangers); removed
to Boston, 1655, and died there;
10 children.

Clarke, Richard ( -1621).
Cooper, Humility (c.1612- \—

of London
One or two small “cousins” brought
along by Edward 'Tilleys (see above) ;
“‘was sent for into England, and dyed
there.”

Eaton, Francis (c.1595-1633)—of
Bristol, carpenter and shipwright
Married, Plymouth, c.1622, to 2nd
wife, ; married Christian
Penn (see Aume Strangers), c.1626;

4 children.
» Mrs. Sarah ( ) (c.1590-
1621)—presumably of Bristol
Samuel (1620- )—arrived in
mother’s arms, “a suckling child”
Married, Plymouth, to Elizabeth
» ¢.1647; in 1661, to Martha
Billington, daughter of father’s
third wife by her second husband,
Francis Billington (see above).
Fuller, Edward ( -1621)—of
Redenhall, Norfolk
Probably Deacon Samuel Fuller’s
brother, but apparently not of the
Leyden congregation.
ee

» Mrs. Ann (
1621).
Samuel (c.1616-1683)
Removed to Barnstable, c.1640,
and married Jane Lothrop, local
pastor’s daughter; 3 or more chil-
dren.

Gardiner, Richard (c.1600-1621)—
of Harwich, Essex, John Alden’s

home town

Hopkins, Master Stephen (c.1585-
1644)—of Wotton-under-Edge,
Gloucestershire

Shipwrecked on Bermuda while on

way to Virginia and condemned to

death for leading mutiny there,

1609-10; joined to Captain Standish

for “counsel and advice on First Dis-

covery, being only one of passengers.
with any knowledge of New World;
accompanies Winslow on visit to Mas-
sasoit at Sowams, 16213; Purchaser,

1626; asst. governor, 1633-36, and

probably 1624-32; frequently in

conflict with authorities in later years.

» Mrs. Elizabeth ( )
( -c.1640)—Hopkins’ second
wife

Bore five more children at Plymouth

(Giles and Constance were Hopkins’

children by Ist wife).

Giles (c.1607-c.1690)

Married, Plymouth, 1639, to
Catharine Wheldon, and removed
to Yarmouth; died Eastham; 7
children.

Constance (c.1605-1677)
Married, Plymouth, c.1627, to
Nicholas Snow (see Ave Strang-
ers); died at Eastham.

Damaris (c.1617-c.1627)

Oceanus (1620- )
Born at sea on Mayflower, dying
before 1627.

Margeson, Edmund ( -1621)

Martin, Master Christopher (c.1575-
1621)—of Great Burstead, Essex
“he so insulteth over our poore peo-
ple, with shuch scorne & contempte,
as if they were not good enough to
wipe his shoes”
Named by merchant adventurers to
represent Strangers in purchase of
provisions for voyage, 1619-20;
treasurer of emigrant company and
“governour” of passengers on May-
flower; accounts found to be in great
disorder, the beginning of Pilgrims’
extended financial troubles.


went to the bakery and she was alone there and
I asked her to marry me, I did, I did.
She said “I can’t just now. I’m young and I

want time to think it over.” I told her “I'll
have you or no one else will,” and we started an
argument. Then auatenty I got mad and hit her
with my fist and naturally, she fell to the floor,
she did. 1 grabbed a bread knife from the coun-
ter and stabbed at her throat, but I missed and
the knife struck her forehead (the scarlet cross)
and bent.

I guess that’s where she got those marks I
read about in the papers. I grabbed another
knife and stuck it through her throat. She
must have been dead then all right. I was pretty
mad. I then left the bakery and walked around
= ai in the rain and then I went home to

ed, td.

bY 4 foie THE CRACK detectives of the Bos-
ton police department had been un-
able to untangle in a year, a woman
scorned by her lover, had accomplished in
less than an hour!

Clarke was taken to headquarters, where
he was fingerprinted and photographed.

From headquarters he was taken to the
City Prison. Then, the following morning,
he was arraigned in Suffolk Court on a
charge of first degree murder and was re-
manded to the Charles Street Jail to await
trial.

Six weeks of languishing in his cell at
the Charles Street Jail turned Clarke into
a sullen, unruly prisoner. Then he was

placed on trial in Suffolk Superior Court,
before a jury. Judge John M. Gibbs pre-
sided.

Attorney George A. Douglas, prominent
criminal attorney of Boston, who defended
pretty blue-eyed Norma Millen, wife of
machine-gunner Murton Millen, in the no-
torious Millen-Faber trial in Dedham, act-
ed as his defense counsel. He pleaded in-
sanity for his client. Assistant District
Attorney Daniel J. Gillen prosecuted the
case.

There were few highlights to the three-
day trial, in which Clarke, still grinning,
and occasionally winking at court attend-
ants, paid little attention.

When he was placed on the stand under ,-

cross-examination, Clarke, shamming in-
sanity, was branded by the prosecutor as a
“cool, crafty, cunning killer.”

Clarke slumped’ in his seat. His eyes
closed and he slipped from the witness
chair to the floor. While court attendants
raced to his side to revive him, Gillen
shouted above the tumult of the court to
the jurors:

“That gentlemen, is the most scientific
high dive I’ve ever witnessed.”

The jury was out only ten minutes.

BUSHY-HAIRED SEX FIEND SLAYER

Try as they would, detectives could not
break down his tale. And they were about
to release him for a second time, when
some of the group of homicide experts
concentrating on the case, discovered that
Hoffman, the day after the murder, had
burned the holster of a .25 calibre auto-
matic, in the cellar of his home.

The very same day, they also learned,
Hoffman had mailed the pistol itself to his
brother, Albert, who lived in the Bronx.
Satisfied then, that they were on the right
trail, they launched an intensive inquiry
into every phrase of the suspect’s life.

They found that in addition to getting
a haircut immediately after the murder,
Hoffman had changed his clothing, both as
to cut and color; that he had put away the
heavy, horn-rimmed glasses which he usu-
ally wore, and had taken to wearing a new
pair of light, gold-rimmed spectacles.

Whe THE authorities were satis-
fied that Hoffman was the guilty man.
Except to round up loose ends of the evid-
dence pointing towards him, they turned
him over to the prosecutor, without ex-
tending their search to other possible sus-
pects. Said District Attorney Albert C.
Fach at this time:

“We've got an iron-clad case. It’s cir-
cumstantial of course; but so complete, so
tight, that Hoffman cannot escape the
chair.”

But in New York State an accused man
is given every opportunity to establish his
innocence, especially in a capital case.

' Hoffman had no money, but the county as-
signed- one of its most talented lawyers,
Arthur L. V. Norton, to his defense.

The trial started on May 19th ,before

County Judge Tiernan, in St. George.

HE FIRST WITNESS was John Schaef-

fer, a clerk in a Manhattan sporting
goods store, who testified he had sold
Hoffman a holster designed for a .25 cali-
bre Colt. He said it had been mailed to
one “L. Rothman,” at the Hoffman Port
Richmond address. f

He was followed by Thomas Keightly, a
clerk in the Folsom Arms Company store,
who identified the pistol, recovered from
the defendant’s brother’s home, as one he
had sold. He could not identify Hoffman
as the purchaser, however. ‘

Little Barbara Fahs, the thirteen-year-

86

old schoolgirl, furnished the most dramatic
atmosphere of the trial. Asked whether
she could point out the man who drove the
Ford sedan into which she had seen the
murdered woman step, she half arose from
her seat.

“That’s him!” she shrilled, pointing an
accusing finger at Hoffman. ‘“He’s the
man!”

Brother against brother, became the next
order of the trial. Albert Hoffman, white-
faced brother of the accused, was the wit-
ness.

Reluctantly, he took the stand and told
of a telephone conversation he had had
with the defendant the day after the mur-
der. He swore that his brother, speaking
of mailing the pistol, had said:

“Albert, if you hear of me being in
trouble, give it to my lawyer.”

Two days later, he went on, Harry
Hoffman, nervous and excited, had again
called him and asked him, if the police ques-
tioned him, to tell them that he had mailed
the automatic a month prior to the day of
the murder. Still later, Albert Hoffman
went on, his brother had called a third
time—and this time—had directed him to
“tell the truth,” in event the detectives
interrogated him.

Rs MORE DAMAGING was the testimony
of Patrolman Matthew J. McCormick,
who had been on duty about three miles
from the scene of the murder. Officer Mc-
Cormick, in gruff but concise words, said:

“IT saw a man driving a Ford sedan,
about 4:10 o’clock that afternoon. He was
very pale and apparently laboring under
deep excitement.”

“Do you see that man in this court?”
he was asked.

“Yes,” the officer answered, standing up.
“That’s him sitting right over there.” And
he pointed accusingly at the defendant.

Mrs. George Pero, mother of the slain
woman, followed her. Tearfully, she told
of her daughter having told her about two
weeks before her death, of a man in a
Ford car, who kept following a trolley on
which she was riding; keeping abreast of
it and leering all the way from the ferry
at St. George, until the car reached the
outskirts of Port Richmond. This man’s
description answered that of Hoffman—
even to the bushy hair—the elderly woman
swore.

Except for a drawn, haggard face, the
fifty-four-year-old defendant showed no
sign of interest as Francis W. Mahoney,
foreman of the jury, intoned the fatal
words:

“Guilty of murder in the first degree.”

Each juror, at the, demand of Defense
Attorney Douglas, repeated the sentence
that doomed Clarke to death in the electric
chair.

Douglas, aghast at the celerity with
which the jurors had reached their de-
cision, objected to the verdict on the
ground that due deliberation had not been
given the evidence. His objection was over-
ruled by the court.

When asked by Judge Gibbs if he had
anything to say, Clarke shrugged his
stooped shoulders and grinned saying:

“Well, I’m not guilty of it.”

te iy THE NIGHT of January 13, 1936, a lit-
tle more than two years after he had
so hideously murdered his innocent victim,
Clarke died in the electric chair.

Save three dollars. Send $3.00 for 24
months’ subscription to Real Detective.
Bought copy by copy, 24 issues cost $6.00.
See coupon, page 95.

From page 25

Hoffman’s first wife, Mrs. Agnes Keat-
ing Hoffman, who divorced him, followed
Mrs. Pero on the witness stand. She swore
that she cast him off for extreme cruelty;
that he was sadistically-inclined and that
he often mistreated her.

And last, appeared on the stand, a some-
what older woman, never identified be-
yond the fact that her name was Mrs.
Catherine Campbell. She identified Hoff-
man as a man that had attacked her at
pistol’s point, several years before, when
she had accepted his invitation to ride in
his car.

OrFMAN HIMSELF was his principal de-

fense witness. He related a straight-
forward story of his movements—none in
the neighborhood of the Bauer murder—
on the day of the crime. But not a single
bit of corroborative evidence was adduced
to bolster up his tale.

Finally the case went to the jury after
powerful summations had been made by
both sides. And, the jury, apparently not
quite certain of Hoffman’s guilt, returned
a verdict of “guilty in the second-degree,”
instead of the first-degree murder verdict
demanded by the prosecution.

“Twenty years to life,” was the sentence
meted out to the convicted man. With
time off for good behavior, he could have
completed his sentence in about thirteen
years and eight months actual imprison-
ment.

UT HE WAS NOT satisfied with this. His
lawyer, Norton, told him that he was
fortunate, indeed, with the comparatively
light sentence, when considered in the light
of the doubly-damning evidence weighted
against him, and his own lying tactics when
first drawn into the police net.

Hoffman insisted that he was innocent;
that he was a victim of circumstances, and
that he was not the type of man to resort
to violence in the case of a woman.
Through relatives he retained Former
Judge Leonard A. Snitkin, to carry his
case to the higher courts.

And to Judge Snitkin, now deceased,
he wrote a letter which was a masterpiece
of detail, both plausible and logical, yet
so complicated it might be the plot for an
intriguing E. Phillips Oppenheim, or an

A. Conan Doyle
ing is its tenor.

The letter, ha:
friend, Judge Snit
man’s own words,
own logic:

‘De Jupce S>

you all the
advisable to exp
which considerab’
district attorney
cidentally, I migh
ishing how insig
innocent of them
distorted into ver
convincing eviden

“On Tuesday,
I took my flivve
then came home ;

“Who had sec
as I know.

““Unbelievable.

“As a matter
I nearly always \
times alone, som:
children, and I r:
dom that we did
This day I had:
ble, and didn’t pa
to the other pas
didn’t even notic:
just sat down ar
is there so unusu

“Afterward, t!
people where th:
time, and if they
that had seen
usually a surpris:

“Vet's see—w
I don’t rememh«
knew.’

“Try it yours¢
made into a ver
occurrence.

“That night I ;
dance, with a
friends of mine,
all state that I <

“Tf I had con
hours previously,
jazz would be th
else, would do.

“But no! Th:
proved how ‘cold
beat it?

“The next mor
my wife called n
the murder in th
was delivered to
out feeling any
terest. Murders
is committed peri
the lady, Mrs. Bz
although she was
mond.

‘Ov MY WAY
little candy
where they had
vending machine
quently.

“The proprietr
I knew personal]:
was greatly a:
whether I had h:
answered that I
she said, as near!

“What do y«
night six detecti.
and said to Osca
on; we want you

“Oscar knew
thought they w
laughed and _ sai
me for?”

“At that, se
him from behin
it to bits; and 1
and beat him, a


e now,” he said softly.
“What do you think,

from Tacoma,” I said
n.” '

> old lady again. I
mney said no more.
ulky form weary, was

her steadily for sev-
1 he spoke, his voice
s cruel, *

told her bluntly, “we
old your daughter for
felms. She admitted
front of your house.
use was used in the
g on the drain board
went to get a drink
at knife. We found
ress. She killed Earl
ved him!”

ird face seemed years
finished. Every drop
| from it. Her eyes
slumped forward in
nent she said nothing.
finally, “you can’t do
She didn’t kill Earl.
lid!”

ninute, and all of us

repeated, “to protect
mother would have

and then I heard

d yelling outside.
lling me, saying Earl
nd that he was going
1 downstairs, and the
|. And I yelled up to
»x, to bring down the
) the pantry and took

itgown on. All white,
y brother opened the
Earl came from be-
’ going to strike me.
the fatal thing hap-
ife up, and when he

in her recital.

the rest,” she started
* came back and we
» tell. My daughter
him. She didn’t see
e didn’t put the knife
I did! When I went
d it.”
cell. When she left,
He was smiling.
girl on purpose, you
“You knew all the

smiling. “I only sus-
is shielding the old
‘d been outside, but
mitted it when she
{ told us the whole
te left on the drain-
hoped the murderer
When I went to the
1't left the room yet.
gone! Look,” and
» evening gown and
the blood-red spot.
s. Essick didn’t know
some of the blood
nto the girl. I knew
k the woman was to
eset Welk svn 2”
lie Essick didn’t
oney’s work had
—~.1 Helms. I was
ve for the killing. I
a didn’t need to use
‘ her daughter, when

two men were standing beside her. That
didn’t hold water.

quest into the death of Earl Helms,
ad my chance to establish the other
motive. It might, I decided, be a murder
for hate—not for love!
When Mrs. Essick voluntarily took the
witness stand, I questioned her carefully.
“I will ask you,” I said cautiously, to-
ward the end of the examination, “did you,
or did you not, want Eunice to go with
Earl?”
“T had no choice in it,” she replied, just
as cautiously. “I couldn’t live her life.
It was for her to choose.”

Se THE FOLLOWING Thursday, at an in-
Thi

Q. Well, if you could have made the choice
would you have let her go with Earl? A. I say
I couldn’t live her life.

Q. Didn’t you say Earl was a beast? A.
He was.

Q. No good? A. Yes,

+ And a drunkard? A drunkard? Didn’t
you say that? A. He drank an awful lot.

- And in view of all those circumstances
you would have rather not that Eunice would go
with Earl, wouldn’t you? A. I couldn’t make
any decision, because that is a young person’s
privilege.

Q. I know that. I am not asking you that.
I say, you would rather she was going with

SIGN OF THE SCARLET CROSS

In the news and editorial columns, Cap-
tain Claflin and his staff were charged
with being hand-in-glove with racketeers
who operated every conceivable criminal
artifice in the tawdry alleys and byways
of the murky district.

From their pulpits, priests and preach-
ers urged officials to rid Boston of the
ae and vermin” infesting the South

nd.

r SPITE OF vigorous denials by both Police

Commissioner Eugene C. Hultman and
Captain Claflin, that the South End was
a scene of vice and corruption, it was an
open secret that prostitution, gambling,
dope peddling, white slavery, bootlegging,
speakeasies, and the slot machine racket
flourished within its environs.

Within two months prior to the murder
of Ethel Zuckerman, two murders had
been committed. Both remain unsolved to
this day. One gangster, John “Keano”
Keenan was shot to death after a brawl
in the Club Chalet, a speakeasy that oper-
ated openly all night, within two blocks of
police headquarters. ;

Tt took Keenan’s murder to close it.

Shortly afterwards, Harry (“K. O.”)
Elkins, former small time fighter who
acted as a “collector,” or “slugger,” for
slot machine racketeers, was dumped out
of a speeding car in the South End, his
body riddled with bullets.

Coarcan CLAFLIN PRESSED every officer
in his division that could be spared,
into service. “No more days off until this
crime is solved,” was the edict. From the
Bureau of Investigation, sixty-two hand-
picked detectives were assigned to the cAse.
The machinery of the Boston police de-
partment had begun to function.

Within two hours after the murder fif-
teen suspects had been haled into the
Warren Avenue station. While radio
patrol cars raced throughout the labyrinth
of streets in the district, picking up every
suspicious person, uniformed officers made
a house-to-house canvass of the South
End, in an effort to locate anyone who had
seen a man ehter or leave the bakery that
night.

The four bakers, busy over their ovens
in the basement, were unaware that their
clerk had been murdered, until police told
them to put on their hats and coats and

someone else in your own opinion? A. My
opinion? I would have liked to see Eunice
happy. And I thought perhaps, since he pro-
fessed to love her so much, that he would do as
she wanted him to. But—instead, HE MAR-
RIED ANOTHER WOMAN... .

HAD MY ANSWER! From the lips of the

killer, herself, had come the missing
link—the motive! It was a motive I had
attributed to Euncie Essick, and not to her
mother. But—there it was!

I probed on, however.

“Now, Mrs. Essick,” I continued, “I am
asking your opinion of Earl? What did
you think of him?”

There was no answer.

“Didn’t you have an opinion about him ?”
The woman turned her eyes upward, and
her lips became thin lines.

“T will tell my Almighty Maker what
I thought of him,” she shouted.

And with that we closed the inquest.

Me Essick, tried on second degree

murder charges three months later,
was found guilty of manslaughter. And
she is now serving twenty years in the
state penitentiary at Walla Walla for her
crime!

From page 57

accompany them to the station house.

Sergeant William Fallon, with five de-
tectives, raced to the home of the mur-
dered girl. There it was their sad duty
to break the tragic news to the parents
of the victim. Dumb with grief, the
mother and father of Ethel could do noth-
ing but rock back and forth and moan
prayers, in Yiddish.

Ethel’s personal effects were ransacked.
Letters written to her by admirers were
read by the officers, in hopes of finding
some clue therein. Every available bit of
evidence that the girl had left behind in
her little room: in Roxbury, was confis-
cated.

pcx IN THE bakeshop other detectives

with Captain Claflin, studied the mur-
der scene. There was no evidence of any
titanic struggle. Just the ghastly bread
knife sticking from the slender white
throat; the ugly scarlet cross, the blue
welt on her temple, where the skull was
fractured.

Not a fingerprint could be found.

“Might have been some religious fan-
atic,” one officer suggested, pointing to the
blood-clotted cross.

At that suggestion, an officer was dis-
patched to headquarters to secure. the
names of every man, woman or child in
the South End, known to be affected by
a religious mania. Scores were found, but
all were given a clean bill of health.

A) bai EXAMINER TIMOTHY LEary,
one of the most able medical exam-
iners in the country, completed his autopsy
on the dead girl. He announced that she
had died instantly.

“From all appearances,” the medical ex-
aminer reported, “the Zuckerman girl was
killed instantly when struck a terrific blow
on the right side of her head, evidently
with some blunt instrument. At least, she
was rendered unconscious and was not
aware of the knife thrust that severed
her jugular vein, which of course, in it-
self, would have caused immediate death.”

The scarlet cross on the victim’s fore-
head still puzzled police. So perfect was
its designation that both Medical Exam-
iner Leary and the police were positive the
girl’s assassin had deliberately carved the
insignia,

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83

Still the machinery of the law ground
on, sucking in suspects from every nook
and cranny of the rambling old city of
Boston, and spewing them to freedom after
hours of questioning.

Raiding squads, armed with sledge ham-
mers, crashed down the doors of speak-
easy after speakeasy. Gambling houses
were raided. Bawdy houses were scoured
for suspects and their inmates were
whisked off to the lockup. If action could
have solved the murder of Ethel Zucker-
man, the case would have been ancient his-
tory two weeks after the crime was com-
mitted. But still the murderer eluded the
police dragnet.

Four months slipped by. The harvest of
suspects grew slimmer and _— slimmer.
There were days when police were at a
standstill, unable to think of any new angle
or lead to follow.

i APRIL, AFTER the snows had thawed,
two boys, walking through a woods in
Raynham, a small town about thirty miles
from Boston, found a bloodstained jumper
similar to those worn by farmers in that
section. No attention would have been at-
tached to the boy’s find had it not been
for the front page publicity that had been
given the Zuckerman murder. The jumper
was turned over to Boston police.

Three weeks of avid investigation traced
the ownership of the jacket to Joseph
Abrams, of Raynham, a chicken farmer.
He was Ethel Zuckerman’s uncle and had
not been friendly with the girl’s family for
years. He was placed under arrest and
locked up in a cell in the Warren Avenue
station.

In spite of an alibi which placed him in
the home of friends in Brockton, a city
near his home and an unshakable story
that he wore the jumper while killing
chickens and had disposed of it in the
woods, he was held for four days. He was
grilled until he collapsed, a nervous wreck.
And after hospitalization, he was released.

Dominic Foti, twenty-two, a neighbor of
the slain girl, was the next to fall into the
ever-grinding mesh of the South End
police. He had been a rejected suitor of
the slain Ethel. For five hours detectives
tormented him with question after ques-
tion. But the perspiring youth stuck to the
story that he had attended the movies,
alone, on the night of the murder. He,
too, was released.

Sergeant Fallon, the spearhead of the
investigation, who had dragged more sus-
pects through the bronze doors of the
Warren Avenue station than any other
officer connected with the case, was finally
sent to New York to question Amiello
Grimaldi, thirty-six, of 329 27th Avenue,
Astoria, Lond Island, who described him-
self to police of the West Forty-Seventh
Street station as a “small time bootlegger.”
In his coat pocket, police found a news-
paper clipping of the Zuckerman case.

At first, Grimaldi admitted being in Bos-
ton on the night of the crime, but later
retracted his story and stated he “guessed”
it. was the year before. He denied knowing
the murdered girl, and Sergeant Fallon,
after satisfying himself the youth was not
connected in any way with the girl’s tragic
death returned to Boston—another lead
gone up in smoke.

@ Baking MORE months passed. It was now
July. Suspect after suspect was ques-
tioned and released. The cry of the news-
papers had softened, and other news stories
garnered the headlines that had borne the
Zuckerman name for so many long months.
The preachers and priests found other
doctrines to preach, to succeed their “clean
up the South End,” campaign.

Still Captain Claflin and his detectives

84

remained on the job, continuing their
search for the slayer of Ethel Zuckerman.

Then one day the news flashed over the
teletype from New York, that the most
hideous monster in modern criminal. an-
nals, Albert H. Fish, sixty-six-year-old
carpenter, branded the “Ogre of Old Wis-
teria House,” had confessed the brutal
slaying of the ten-year-old, Greenwich
Village schoolgirl, Grace Budd, in 1928.

Out of the slime of the sadistic butchery
of this decrepit brute, Boston police hoped
and prayed they might disinter the solu-
tion of the Zuckerman murder. Sergeant
Fallon once more went to New York,
hopes high. For hours he questioned the
slobbering sexagenarian in New . York
police headquarters.
tacking and slaughtering the Budd girl,
but steadfastly denied ever having been in
Boston, or its environs.

8 gare. 20, 1934—the anniversary of
the brutal slaying—found police still
more or less vigilant, still searching, but
fruitlessly. The newspapers took occasion
to dedicate columns of space to the girl’s
murder and to blast at the futility of the
police search. Captain Claflin’s hair had
greyed noticeably during the year. Ser-
geant Fallon admitted defeat, but kept
doggedly at his task.

On the night of December twenty-sec-
ond, one year and two days after the mur-
der, Desk Clerk Joseph Harrington, of the

HEADS and HANDS
in the
SUNKEN BOX

"HEY FELLERS—so deep!"
With this, and the accompanying
finger-waggle of disdain familiar to
males of all generations, the boy
spread out his arms, rolled over
face-forwards and dove into the
cool depths of the lake. His three
companions, not yet completely
disrobed, were stung by the taunt.
But their chagrin disappeared when
the first boy rose to the surface
spouting water like a young whale
in his excitement. "Hey fellers,"
he gasped. "There's a box down
there on the rock." ... They forced
it open. A ghastly head and two
hands were their reward... . Who
was the victim? Who was the
cruel butcher responsible for this
inhuman crime? Kentucky and In-
diana officials were puzzled for a
time, but clever sleuthing cleared
up the mystery. Be sure and read
HEAD AND HANDS in the
SUNKEN BOX, the inside fact
story of this grisly murder, in Janu-
ary REAL Detective.

Warren Avenue station, was engaged in
booking a drunk who was having great
difficulty in remembering his name.

A buxom, florid-faced woman bustled
up to the booking desk and tapped it
nervously with her pocketbook.

“Ts there someone here I can talk to
about the Zuckerman’ case?” she asked in
an agitated tone.

Harrington looked up, quizzically.

“Just another one of these nuts that’s
got an idea she knows who killed her,” he

‘thought, as he rose from his seat.

Aloud he said: “Just a moment, I’ll call
the officer in charge.” He pushed an elec-
trical call button on the edge of his desk.

Lieutenant William Donovan answered

Fish admitted at-e~the whine of the buzzer from another

room.

“This lady,” said Harrington, in mock
seriousness, “has something to tell you
about the Zuckerman case, lieutenant.”

“Oh, has she?” Lieutenant Donovan
grinned amiably. “Well, she’s in the right
spot. Just step right into this office, lady,
and we'll talk it over.”

eee AN AIR of importance, the woman
hurried through a door to the cap-
tain’s private office. She seated herself in
a chair and, twisting a small handkerchief
nervously, waited in silence.

“You say you know something about the
Zuckerman case?” the officer queried.

“Yes,” the woman replied, keeping her
eyes averted from the officer’s steady
stare. “I KNOW who killed her!”

The lieutenant bounded from his seat.

“You know the murderer?” he shouted,
in unbelievable excitement.

“Yes,” the plump mystery woman an-
swered, simply.

Lieutenant Donovan picked up the
’phone and called Captain Claflin’s home.

“Captain,” he spoke into the transmitter,
“you'd better come right down. There’s a
woman just walked into the station house
who says she positively knows the slayer
of Ethel Zuckerman.” He listened a mo-
ment, then—‘“Yes, I’ll hold her here. Okay,
I’ll call Shanahan.” (The police stenogra-
pher.)

Within twenty minutes the woman was
the center of a milling crowd of gold-
braided police officials. Newspaper report-
ers and photographers swarmed the ante-
rooms and adjoining offices. The station,
which for months had been a scene of in-
activity, suddenly became a beehive of in-
dustry. Detectives, in squad cars, roared
to the station from all over the city.

Captain Claflin, pale, his voice trembling
with emotion, raised a hand for silence.
Sergeant Fallon, who had arrived at the
station to be in on the kill of his pet
bugaboo, stared hard at the woman in-
formant. She sat biting her lower lip, eyes
fixed on the office floor.

“Madame,” Captain Claflin began, “if
you can help us in any way to solve this
crime; ...

“T can,” the woman suddenly cried, look-
ing into the tired eyes of the captain. “The
man who killed Ethel Zuckerman is Frank
Clarke. Sometimes he calls himself Miller
Frank Clarke.”

“Where does this man live?’ Claflin
asked anxiously.

“At 195 Shawmut Avenue, in a rooming
house,” she answered.

Sergeant Fallon and three detectives
started through the door on the run. Cap-
tain Claflin halted them.

“Are you sure? Yes?” He turned to the
waiting officers. “You'd better take some
patrolmen with you, and also be prepared
for any eventuality. We don’t want to lose
this guy, in case she’s right. Get the riot
and tear gas guns and put on bullet-proof
vests.”

Turning again
“Now for th
give us your s!

reasons yo!
killed the 2
Clearing
“My name is
five, a widow, «
a lodging house
End. I’ve kno:
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ers—I guess yo:
is a little crazy.

printing the pici

his own blood i

Cp Aa CLai
the killer o:
a scarlet cross
ahead,” he said.
Mrs. Fuller \
“T broke wit
the attention h
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I called his atte:
I recalled that «
while newsboys
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She brceke di
chew the end o:
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“Well,” she >
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eye on him. F:
up the subject
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brand of bread
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the chair and c
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stenographer re
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Zuckerman gir
who did it, fr
couldn’t be sur
paths crossed <
A tone of ver
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made up my m
couple of days
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Fuller, without
story. Inquirie:
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iese nuts that’s

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is seat.

noment, I’ll call

pushed an elec-

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lovan answered
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lieutenant.”

enant Donovan
he’s in the right
this office, lady,

ance, the woman

{oor to the cap-

seated herself in

all handkerchief

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rething about the
queried.
keeping her
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yoo her?

from his seat.

-er?” he shouted,

tery woman an-

picked up the
Claflin’s home.

) the transmitter,
down. There’s a
the station house
knows the slayer
fe listened a mo-
d her here. Okay,
» police stenogra-

; the woman was
crowd of gold-
Vewspaper report-
warmed the ante-
ces. The station,
een a scene of in-
> a beehive of in-
quad cars, roared
ver the city.
is voice trembling
hand for silence.
ad arrived at the
e kill of his pet
it the woman in-
her lower lip, eyes

Claflin began, “if
way to solve this

iddenly cried, look-
‘the captain. “The
uckerman is Frank
alls himself Miller

nan live?” Claflin
enue, in a rooming

| three detectives
the run. Cap-

‘e turned to the
a vetter take some
id also be prepared
e don’t want to lose
right. Get the riot
put on bullet-proof

Turning again to the woman, he said:

“Now for the police records, will you
give us your story, your name, and the
reasons you believe that this man, Clarke,
killed the Zuckerman girl.”

Clearing her throat the woman began.

“My name is Molly Fuller. I’m forty-
five, a widow, and have one child. I run
a lodging house on Lovering Street, South
End. I’ve known this man, Clarke, for
years. We were, well—well—sort of lov-
ers—I guess you'd call it. Here of late he
is a little crazy. He’s always going around
printing the picture of a cross. He draws
his own blood for use as ink.”

Beare CLAFLIN coughed. Remember,
the killer of Ethel Zuckerman had slit
a scarlet cross on her forehead. ‘Go
ahead,” he said.

Mrs. Fuller went on:

“I broke with him several times over
the attention he paid to the Zuckerman
girl. The first suspicion that I had that
he knew something about her murder, was
when he asked me to sew some buttons on
his overcoat. I noticed large bloodstains.
I called his attention to them and he paled.
I recalled that on the night of the murder,
while newsboys were screaming the head-
lines about the murder, he seemed sort of
nervous as he stood in the doorway of my
home. This was about midnight, quite
some time after the murder.”

She brcke down and began to sob and
chew the end of her handkerchief.

“Please try to control yourself, and go
on,” Captain Claflin urged.

“Well,” she resumed somewhat hysteri-
cally, “he explained the bloodstains by say-
ing he had been in a fight. But I had an
idea the story was a lie, so I just kept my
eye on him. From time to time I’d bring
up the subject of the girl’s murder again.
I noticed each time I did so, that he seemed
to get paler and more nervous. He’d seem
evasive. I tried to draw him on. I ar-
ranged a luncheon in my rooms, and in-
vited him. I made it a point to have a
brand of bread that was sold in the bakery
where that poor girl worked. I watched
him all the while... .”

Oss THE LODGING house keeper broke
into sobs. The officers patted her
shoulders comfortingly and tried to calm
her. With an effort she drew herself up in
the chair and continued:

“T watched him all the while,” the police
stenographer repeated to her and Mrs. Ful-
ler went on in a thin voice:

“He seemed to get pale.
want to change the subject.

“T was convinced that he killed the
Zuckerman girl, or at least that he knew
who did it, from the beginning. But I
couldn’t be sure. Then the other day, our
paths crossed again.”

A tone of vengeance crept into the wom-
an’s voice, as she went on:

He’d always

-
“T saw him through the window of my

home, across the alley. He had a woman
in his arms. He kissed her! That kiss
made up my mind. I hashed it over for a
couple of days and then I decided to tell
the police. That’s all I have to say.”
Sergeant Fallon, with his detail of de-
tectives and bluecoats, had raced to the
South End address given them by Mrs.
Fuller, without awaiting completion of her
story. Inquiries‘from a roly-poly landlady
revealed that Miller Frank Clarke was
asleep on the top floor of the dingy house,
unaware that his romantic escapades had
entangled him in the murder net.
Sergeant Fallon hammered on Clarke’s
door with a gun butt.
“Who's there?” Clarke asked, sleepily.
“Open up the door,” Fallon ordered.
“We're the police.”

Slowly the door opened. The officers
burst into the room.

Standing there in his underwear, was a
grizzled man of middle age, his face
seamed with lines of dissipation. Huge
ears stood out from the side of his head.
With beady eyes he scrutinized the officers.

“What’s up?” he asked eventually, grin-
ning.

“Get your clothes on,” Fallon com-
manded. “We want to talk to you over at
the station.”

Silently, the ex-fighter and truck driver
crept into his clothes. Within a few min-
utes his personal effects had been gathered
up and tied in a huge bundle to be carted
off with him.

With whining sirens and shrieking police
whistles, the motorcade bearing the sus-
pect, sped back to the station house, where
Captain Claflin and the others waited.

ME: Futter had been taken to another
room and remained there under
guard. Clarke, grinning and seemingly en-
joying all the attention—flash of pho-
tographer’s bulbs and the great commo-
tion caused by his entrance—straightened
from an habitual stoop, fixed his tie, and
walked jauntily through the door into the
captain’s office.

“Sit down!” Captain Claflin ordered
sharply.

“We have testimony to the fact that YOU
murdered Ethel Zuckerman,” Claflin said
evenly, pointing his finger accusingly.

“Who told you that.crazy story?” Clarke
asked.

“Mrs. Molly Fuller,” Claflin barked.
“You know her, don’t you?”

Clarke was obviously taken aback.

“Yeah, I know her. She’s no good. I
found that out!”

“Yeah,” the captain mocked, “you might
as well know it now, that we're pretty
much convinced that you did the job. Have
you anything to say?”

Die THE MORE optimistic of the officers

were stunned when Clarke suddenly
blurted :

“Well I'll tell you—I killed her!”

Captain Claflin sank back in his swivel
chair and gasped a deep sigh of relief.
Sergeant Fallon’s face greyed, and then a
florid flush suffused his cheeks.

Gertrude Stein’s wildest passages never
compared with the sometimes incoherent
confession which tumbled from the flacid
lips of Miller Frank Clarke. His weird
confession, verbatim, reads:

I went in there to purchase some cat pies. I
love cat pies I do, I do. That’s how I first met
her, I did. I got five cat pies I did, and when
she walked down the end of the counter of
course, naturally, she went to the cash register
and put that money in and rung it up, she did,
and she walks around the other way and when
she did I followed her and, naturally, when I
followed her I hit her.

She hollered. See?—and started to go to the
telephone and, naturally, I got kind of scared
and ran out.

So I went to Mott street (Chinatown), down
throygh Boston Common, then I came back again
and went home. Then I came out again, I did,
I did. Then I went back over the Common. So
when I went to the Common, it was raining at
that time, and I kept walking around over
through Scollay square, and I kept walking and
it was kind of wet, so I went to work in the
morning again.

So I asked her to marry me, so she said no
and so naturally, when she said, ‘later on,” I
hit her, naturally, and when I hit her she went
down, she did, she did.

So I went home and got one knife and that
knife kind of bent when I hit her so I got the
other and struck her right here. (He pointed to
his throat.)

There was some blood on my coat and I
didn’t notice it, I didn’t. So I had the intention
of ei to the tailor shop, but it was too late,
so I didn’t bother; I didn’t. I didn’t bother much
about it and I threw the coat away, I did.

I wanted the lady (Mrs. Fuller) to sew some
buttons on the coat and she asked me where I
got the blood, so naturally, I told her I was in
an argument and that was what it was.

I killed her because she didn’t want to marry
me and I didn’t want her to marry anybody else.
I took her to the movies two or three times, I
did, and I liked her. And every time I asked
her to marry me. On that night in December, I

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INSIDE DETECTIVE

said, “I was behind the girl when I struck
her with the knife—this way.”

So saying, he brought down the paper

knife in a curving motion, stopping it at
a point opposite Fallon’s neck.
‘ That, of course, was what Claflin was
trying to show. The knife pinioning the
girl to the floor had entered her throat
at an angle which was not possible unless
the weapon had been brought down from
behind. Clark convinced us thoroughly
that the year-long hunt for Ethel Zucker-
man’s slayer had at last come to an end!

“What'll ‘they do to me for this?” Clark
asked: Fallon. “Do you suppose they’ll
give me the chair?”

“Keep your chin up and don’t worry,”
was Fallon’s reply.

THE MAN had not long to wait for his
answer. Just six weeks to the day fol-
lowing his confession, Miller Frank Clark
heard a jury in Suffolk Superior Court
pronounce him guilty of murder in the
first degree, after only ten minutes of de-
liberation.

Judge John M. Gibbs asked Clark if he
had anything to say.

“Well, I’m not guilty, that’s all,” the
man replied, having repudiated his con-
fession.

In Charles Street jail, Clark was an un-
ruly, surly prisoner. Upon his transfer
to the Charlestown Prison death house he
become exceptionally meek and indifferent

_ to his fate.

He read incessantly. When the highest
state court finally sealed his fate and the
execution date was set, Clark was in the
middle of a story running serially in a
national weekly magazine.

“You can’t burn me,” he argued, “until
I learn what the rest of this is all about.”

Prison officials permitted him to write to
the magazine. Its editors forwarded
proofs of the story’s concluding chapters
to the doomed man.

Early in January, 1936, Miller Frank
Clark, content, went to his doom. He
was one of the eight scheduled to face
Robert Elliott in the executioner’s eight-
day round of three states. The governor
of New Jersey, by reprieving Bruno
Richard Hauptmann, reduced the toll to
seven. eo

But no executive hand stayed the hour

of death for Ethel Zuckerman’s slayer.

Shortly beforé midnight on January 13,
Clark walked from his cell to the electric
chair, his carpet slippers flapping in the
grim silence,

Before the chair he paused momentarily,
thumbs thrust in trouser tops. Flaccid,
drooling lips seemed to part, about to say
something. Then witnesses saw the con-
demned man shrug resignedly.

A black hood was thrust over his head,
and Miller Frank Clark’s last utterance
in this world was a dry, nervous cough.
A moment later the rising drone of whirl-
ing dynamos was writing “finis” to the
baffling Ethel Zuckerman case.

The Telltale
Shoe Buckle

(Continued from page 27)

an amiable good day and departed.

I was anxious to know what it was that
the young woman had destroyed. From the
odor, the object had apparently contained
rubber. Had Winona really burned it, or
was it LeRoy?. Strange that he did not
appear in the reception room until I was
leaving. Did Mrs. Lena Green instruct her
daughter-in-law to get rid of that mysteri-
ous something when she saw me approach
the house?

I drove to the municipal building and
instructed the street department to preserve
carefully all refuse removed from the alley
behind the Green home, and. to deposit it
at a well-guarded spot on the city dump,
where I would later look at it.

But my examination of it was delayed
for several days, because I again entrained
for Pueblo. I was not satisfied with the
results of the trip from which I had re-
turned only that morning. I had found the
letter which brought me back to the Green
home, but it was the burning of that un-
identified object that sent me back, more
suspicious than ever.

Again Chief Grady and I questioned
friends and acquaintances of LeRoy Green.
It was after searching labor records of the
railroad company and finding his signature
on the work sheet for the night of the
murder, that we were satisfied with young
Green’s alibi. ,

But what about Winona? We had only
her word that she left Pueblo on August
15, together with the apartment operator’s
hazy recollection that the young woman
had gone away “about August 15.”

And then I recalled the closing line of
Mrs. Robert Green’s letter to her daughter-

_ in-law: “Wire me before you leave.”

TRAIGHTWAY I went to the offices

of the Western Union Telegraph Com-
pany, where officials searched through their
files for a record of a telegram from
Winona to her mother-in-law. But again I
met disappointment. There was no such
message. ‘

From there I proceeded to the Postal
Telegraph offices, and almost immediately
encountéred good fortune. A clerk handed
me the original of a telegram written in a
neat feminine hand. Addressed to Mrs.
Robert Green in Little Rock, it read:

‘“Leaving today Rainbow Special
Winona.”

The date was written in a bold hand
across the top of the blank, placed there
by a clerk the moment it was dispatched.

August 14!

There could be no mistake. Winona
Green had lied about the day she arrived in
Little Rock! Leaving on the Rainbow

THE MAN WHO KISSED—AND KILLED
Pretty, red-headed Frances Rempfer woke early, slipped into her best dress

and crept stealthily down the stairs.

Innocent, fifteen-year-old Frances did

not know it—but she was stealing away to her death!

Pennsylvania sleuths were faced with a bitter mystery when the crumpled
body was found, days later, in the woods nearby. How they trapped the
man who had lured her away—the “man who kissed and killed"—is told in

the November issue of INSIDE DETECTIVE.
On Sale Everywhere October Ist

Only 10¢

Special on
reached Litth
August 16—a
Green was mt
The train t!
Rock could 1
thoughts occt
anxious to s:
fronted me.
Was it po
pretty, cultur
father of her
I arrived at
learn some s
Lena Green h
I hurried «
time finding .
a note he clai
in the recepti:
a stroll the n
“We have c
six hours. Yo
It was a ~&
a husband a:
LeRoy explai
was in the ha
ture that of h

- stood. They

note was get

I put LeR«
ing, but was :
later that he
pyzzling disa;

I next drov
caretaker led
that had bee
behind the Gr:
it over the 4
moment what
burn.

Shoes! Wh:
They were b
enough to hid
woman’s. And
other, warped
was still a per
Possession !

Now to fin
and thus esta
the search th
investigation «

When I ret:
that afternoo:
had- been rece
his wife and +
story over tot

“Bureau o
wife


CLARK, Miller F

bd

By

WHY DID THIS DE-
SPOILER OF INNO-
CENCE AND BEAUTY
BRAND HIS VICTIM
WITH THE SIGN OF

~» white, elec. Mass. (Suffolk) 1-1-1936.

Eugene
Thomas

# throughout the city to pick
nd arrest every known religious

> While officers in the identification
bureau, dated their fingers through
ae ‘the “card’’systems classifying relig-
ses ‘ jous® “maniacs, perverts, and known

holdup men, police in cruising cars

acting suspiciously.

~@rove through the labyrinth of...
squalid’*streets arresting anyone ~

Within two hours sixty ‘suspects '
had been. hauled from. every quar~

reported not a print had been found
on the slithery breadknife, the tele- 4
.. phone receiver, or the girl’s per- ‘*-
\. sonal effects. ae
\ Sergeant Joseph Fallon, assigned
to the task of breaking the news of
the girl’s fiendish murder to her
parents, arrived at the house. He
hoped that there he might learn
something of the slayer’s identity. 3
Did Ethel have any sweethearts? 3
Had she argued, or jilted any of
them? Whom had she been keep-
ing /company with?
and Papa Zuckerman. could
only ‘moan that their daughter Ethel
w a good girl... She had no boy
friends. “She was. home after work
every - “night.—This | was her first
job.—-Prior to that she had attended
al =She was a £000, student.—

>»?

4.

An honor
student.
They could
still hear the
igtansoas burst of |
3 feck applause that greeted
ins Ethel Zuckerman’s ac- ’ :

ing in her!
white organdie;

grilled
until they
satisfied
po lic & pr

graduation dress, “her fdark -
_. Shining, . ber. soft’ round cheeks:
dimpled in a. smile, turned toward
3 ibe _Waterfall of » Magualise _and


on the night 6 of De emb
trotted from the street car st
owner greeted her, wrestle Ato his 0
A baker—there were four ¥ be o work
under the bakery—bade her'@¢

downstairs. ee.
At 10:30 p. m., a half-hour belets ‘closing time, Bessie

tern, 17, of Oswego Street. came into the store for the
dual purpose of talking with Ethel, and purchasing an
e turnover. Often Bessie came in to chat with the
want, round-faced clerk.
phe waited in the silence of the bakery for Ethel
@-appear from the rear of the shop. She called out
her name, and her voice echoed hollowly. Puzzled,
“and a little ‘frightened at the suffocating silence, Bessie
* turned to leave, Her eyes fell toward the floor. She
‘stifled a scream.”
A‘limp foot ‘protejided from behind the counter.
. Bessie ‘ran. screaming into the street. Alexander
_.Polihurnis, 16, of Genesee Street, who was hastening
~~ toward his home through the pelting rain ran up to her.
} Mute ‘with fear, Bessie could only gesticulate toward
Polihurnis bounded up the stairs and
d the bakery. He saw the limp foot. Leaning
: t the counter, he looked down, then reeled back as
oul igh a mighty invisible hand had struck him a blow

The youth sprinted for the nearest police alarm box

and yanked the hook down with a palsied hand. He
returned to join the whimpering Bessie outside the
shop. Other passersby, attracted by the girl’s | sobs,
stopped to inquire what the trouble was.

from it.
“What's up?” one ot the officers inquired gruffly,

The grief-stricken mother
and close relatives of Ethel
Zuckerman watch the bier
ae. containing the remains of
, the beautiful victim low-
. ar - ° J erestotetinalresting race

AMAZING DETEC OTIVE, “craig

Within a few minutes a police cruiser slithered to a.

stop in front of the shop and two patrolmen- jumped... on Py tated, “that
“Looks to me,” Inspector Pierce s “that a

= reumps maniac had something to do with this.”

1941.

“There’s a girl . . . dead .
cried. “A knife is stuck in her throat!”

The patrolmen hustled into the shop, took one look °
at the slain girl’s
the wall phone at the rear of the shop.

The receiver was dangling on the end of the wire. >
He realized that receiver might bear fingerprints,

body, and one of them hurried to © "

. . stabbed!” Polihurnis 3

wheeled, and ran out to the cruiser, where by two-way - SS

radio he reported the crime to police headquarters.

Captain James R. Claflin, in charge of the Warren © ty

Avenue police station, covering the South End; Lieu--: a

tenant Inspector Harry L. Pierce, of the Homicide
Squad, and a score of detectives were at the scene
within minutes.
Captain Claflin studied the rag-doll figure of the girl
sprawled grotesquely on the floor behind the counter.
A long-handled bread knife was stabbed through her

slender white throat, impaling her to the shop floor. _ &

On her forehead a scarlet cross had been slit.

An ugly, purplish bruise on the left side of her head : 3

showed she had been struck a terrific blow.

Who could have committed this foul atrocity? What
monster in a raging fit of passion had felled this inno-
cent girl with a single lethal blow, then pinioned her

a

struggling slimness to the shop floor with a single thrust “a

of a slithery razor-edged breadknife?

Robbery was not the motive. Fourteen dollars re-
mained intact in the till

Captain Claflin pressed every officer that could be
spared into the hunt for this girl’s slayer.

“No more days off until this murder is solved!” was
the captain’s edict.

Sixty-two handpicked detectives augmented the de-
tectives assigned to the Homicide Bureau.
..Boston’s greatest manhunt in years was on.


in

BILLINGTON, Johri, white, 40, hanved HUXRMKKEK, Masse, S,ptember 30, 1630

GEORGE F. WILLISON

SAINTS

AND

ANGERS

Being the Lives

'. P*llison

i!
LD* Brentano’s, 1931

D, Basic Books, 1935

2 Plays by Children,

ey Ka
5 i
i
Es a
%
3. %

of the Pilgrim Fathers @& Their Families,
with Their Friends & Foes; & an Account of
Their Posthumous Wanderings in Limbo,
Their Final Resurrection & Rise
to Glory, & the Strange Pil grimages
of Plymouth Rock

REYNAL & HITCHCOCK, NEW YORK


162 Saints and Strangers

problem of providing living quarters quickly, the company was
reduced to nineteen household units by asking single men and
those without their wives to join some family of their choice
for a time. The amount of land granted each household de-
pended upon its size. It was entitled to a lot for every man,
woman, and child it contained. But assignment was for present
use only and did not convey permanent title. Heads of house-
holds then drew lots to determine which site each should
occupy. There was no mad scramble here to grab the best
locations and defend them against all comers. There was none
of the greedy overreaching, the fraud and bloody violence that
everywhere marked the frontier as it moved westward. New
Plimoth was, in the beginning at least, a planned community, a
cooperative commonwealth, in which selfish personal aggran-
dizement and the pursuit of private profit played no part.

The lot at the foot of the street above the Common House
fell to one of the Strangers, Peter Browne; the next, to
William Brewster and his large household, which included
Bradford and others. Here the street was intersected by a
rough road, usually dignified as the Highway, which twisted
its way down to the brook on one side and meandered off
across the clearing on the other. Above this road, now Main
Street, were the lots of John Billington, Isaac Allerton, Fran-
cis Cooke, and Edward Winslow. These tracts on the south
side of the street ran back to the steep bank of the brook.
Below it, bordering the stream, was a rich grassy flat, and
here the Pilgrims had their first ‘‘gardens & meersteads,” soon
planting them with turnip, cabbage, parsnip, and other seeds
brought from home.

The other side of the street was left open fo> a time and
used as part of the Pilgrims’ cornfields. But it was later staked
off into lots. That at the foot of Fort Hill was given to Captain
Standish so that he might quickly get to his post in time of
danger. Just below, at the corner of the Street and the High-
way, a large tract was reserved for the Governor’s House. On
the slope from the Highway to the beach were the plots of
Stephen Hopkins, John Howland, and Deacon Samuel Fuller,
the last on the edge of a high bank overlooking Plymouth
Rock—Cole’s Hill, as it came to be called for the popular

New Plimoth Planted 163

owner of the pleasant and often boisterous tavern that long
stood there.

Now and again, while at work in the clearing, the Pilgrims
saw columns of smoke from Indian fires in the distance. But
they had not yet caught sight of an Indian, which puzzled and
rather worried them. Where were the savages? What were
they doing? Resolved to find out, Captain Standish took three
or four men and marched off to investigate, half hoping to
meet with some of them. The party stumbled upon a few
abandoned Indian huts but nothing else of interest, and re-
turned empty-handed except for an “eagle,” probably a fish
hawk, shot along the way. In their ravenous hunger for fresh
food the Pilgrims cooked and ate it, pronouncing it ‘‘excel-
lente, ... hardly to be discerned from mutton”’—which to
anyone acquainted with English mutton will seem not at all
unlikely. It was a memorable occasion the next day when a
sailor picked up on the beach a live herring, “which the Master
had to his supper.” This encouraged the Pilgrims to hope that
they would “have plenty of fishe shortly.” As yet they had
“got but one cod,” largely because these aspiring fishermen
had failed to bring along Proper gear, specifically wanting
nets and small hooks,

Work was interrupted for several days and the company
received a fright when Peter Browne and John Goodman
mysteriously disappeared one noon time while off gathering
thatch for the Common House. Governor Carver organized
a searching party and beat the woods for them til] dark. When
no trace of the missing men was found the next day, the com-.
pany mourned them as dead, “‘verilie thinking the Indeans had
surprised them,” a most disturbing thought.

But Goodman and Browne, it turned out, had merely been
off hunting deer and having marvelous adventures. Near a
pond their two dogs, a large mastiff bitch and a small spaniel,
had raised a big buck which went bounding off into the woods,
with the dogs barking after him and the men pufing along
behind hopefully clutching their sickles. Soon winded and
lost, they wandered about all afternoon in a cold drizzle that
later turned to snow. Tired and hungry, chilled to the bone,
they lay down on the frozen ground to get some sleep. Sud-


COPYRIGHT, 1945, BY GEORGE F. WILLISON

¥) All rights reserved, including
the right to reproduce this book 4
} or portions thereof in any form. :

eR 1

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

BY H. WOLFF, N. yY.


132 Saints and Strangers

cashire, about 1584. According to tradition, he was early left
an orphan and went off to the wars before he was twenty,
shipping to The Netherlands with the troops sent by Queen
Elizabeth to aid the Dutch against Spain. All English troops
were withdrawn in 1609, and Lieutenant Standish presumably
returned home with them. It is evident, however, that he had
somewhere met John Robinson, either at Amsterdam or Ley-
den, or elsewhere, and Robinson had taken his measure rather
well, as later revealed when he delivered the Plymouth breth-
ren a stinging rebuke for a bloody and dubious action. But
Standish’s life is virtually a blank page down to the day when
he and his wife Rose stepped on the Mayflower.

Many years later, in his last will and testament, Standish

asserted his claim to many large estates in Lancashire and on .

the Isle of Man, declaring himself the rightful heir of a rich
and powerful house of landed gentry, the Standishes of Stand-
ish. It was a family with a distinguished military tradition,
proud of its long line of warriors, and it is significant that the
Pilgrim captain was named Myles, from the Latin miles,
soldier. But modern scholars have quite clearly disproved
Standish’s claims to the lands that were, so he alleged, right-
fully his “by lawfull Decent but Surruptuously Detained.”
They have discovered that the Standishes of Standish owned
no properties in the parishes which the captain named, and
that he had only the remotest connection with this family.
Yet this connection, remote as it is, may explain the most
remarkable thing about the commander-in-chief of the small
but formidable Pilgrim army. Alone of the Pilgrim leaders, he
never joined the church at Plymouth. His name is conspic-
uously absent from its records and rolls. Nowhere is he listed
emong the communicants. This is all the more startling be-
cause Plymouth early adopted the theocratic principle that nor
one could be a citizen, let alone a magistrate or officer shaping
and executing policy, who was not a member of the church and
a communicant in good standing. Why this signal exception?
Can it be that the Pilgrims needed him and appreciated his
success in organizing the defense of the colony, and for that
reason were willing to overlook his religious scruples? And
what were his scruples? No one knows, but it is interesting at

A Waighty Vioage 133

least that the Standishes of Standish and all the branches of

that family had never accepted Protestantism in any form,

steadfastly adhering to their old Roman Catholic faith.
Among the “strangers” appeared others of note. There was

James Chilton, a tailor of Canterbury, with his wife and their

daughter Mary, the sprightly young miss who led the initial

landing on Plymouth beach, according to a quite unfounded
family tradition, and was the first to step foot on Plymouth

Rock. Samuel Eaton of Bristol, a ship’s carpenter, had with
him his wife Sarah and their son Samuel, ‘a sucking child.”
The largest family on board was that of Stephen Hopkins of
Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire, more recently of Lon-
don. His wife Elizabeth, his second, had the care of three
young children—Giles, Constance, and Damaris—and now at
sea was delivered of another, appropriately named Oceanus.
The “grave” Richard Warren of London, “a usefull instru-
mente,” had an even larger family but had wisely decided to
leave it at home. One of Edward Winslow’s younger brothers,
Gilbert, had joined the ship at Southampton, as had Peter
Browne, ancestor of John Brown of Osawatomie, who came
from Christopher Martin’s home village, Great Burstead,
I'ssex. Then there was John Billington of London, destined to
win distinction as the only Pilgrim Father to be hanged. With
him had come his wife Ellen and their two sons, John and
l'rancis—“one of ye profanest families amongst them,” ex-
claimed Bradford, “and I know not by what freinds shufled
into their company.”

Nor were the Saints and Strangers the only two distinct and
often antagonistic groups on board. A third consisted of the
hired men, five in all, under contract to remain in the colony
tor a year. They were not regarded as settlers or members
of the company, sharing neither the rights nor responsibilities
of the latter. In addition to Alden, the cooper, there were two
ordinary seamen and two master mariners, Thomas English,
who was to captain the long boat or shallop which the May-

bo ce a
frowver was carrying between decks, and John Allerton, appar-

ently not related to the other Allerton, having been hired to
return to Leyden and help bring over those left behind. It


1900. ] THE CASE OF MARIA. 833

Maria was not executed for petit treason or for murder, but for
a crime punishable under the Colonial laws with death.1 May it
not well be that the Court, for reasons good and sufficient in their
judgment, saw fit, however observant usually of custom and pre-
cedent, to deviate in the case of the two negroes from old pro-
cedure, and adopt English forms in the sentence and the mode of
its execution ? The crime seems to have been on the increase,
as Mather notes in his Diary, in July : —

‘Several houses in Boston and Roxbury set on fire at different times
by negroes,”

and some penalty in terrorem may have been judged expedient
or necessary. There would seem to have been no reason for
dealing more severely with Maria than with Jack. Jack’s
offence, as set forth in the Record, would seem to have been
criminal carelessness rather than premeditated crime, but local
tradition and history go to show circumstances of peculiar atrocity
and premeditated murder though frustrated in the event.

The legality of the sentence has been questioned, by a most
eminent authority,? but an argument in favor of its validity
seems certainly maintainable.

If the woman was actually burned alive, — an event startling and
unprecedented in New England history, — it seems strange and
well nigh inconceivable that Increase Mather indulged in only
that brief mention in his Diary, and did not improve the occasion
by at least a sermon, as he did in the case of Faevor and Driver
in 1674, and later of Morgan in March, 1684-86, and on another
occasion in 1698; and that Cotton Mather, who almost never
failed to chronicle, or at least to note, any startling occurrence or
“Remarkable Providence,” is wholly silent at the time. Further-
more, John Dunton, in a letter from Boston, 25 March, 1686, gives

1 And if any perfon..... fhall.. . wittingly, and willingly, and fel-
lonioufly, set on fire any Dwelling Houfe, ... . the party or parties vehemently
fufpected thereof, fhall be apprehended by Warrant from one or more of the
Magiftrates, and committed to Prifon, there to remain without Baile, till the
next Court of Affiftants, who upon legal conviction by due proof, or confeffion
of the Crime, fhall adjudge fuch perfon or perfons to be put to death,... .
[1652.] (Massachusetts Colony Laws, edition of 1672, p. 52).

* Mr. Abner C. Goodell, in 1 Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical
Society for March, 1883, xx. 149, 150.

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832 THE COLONIAL SOCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS, [JAN.

Province. In New England the execution of a capital sentence,
whether in case of man or woman, seems to have been by hanging.

In England, in the earliest times, for arson ‘the punishment
was death by burning, and we are able to vouch a case! from King
John’s day in which the punishment was inflicted, but the fully
developed common law substituted ‘the gallows for the stake.” 2
The English law, in certain cases, made a distinction between the
punishments of male‘and female offenders, and in the sentences pro-
nounced against them, A distinction also held as to claiming bene-
fit of clergy. The distinction in the mode of punishment came
out sharply in the case of high treason.* So also in petit treason.°
The existence of this distinction in the administration of the
laws in England, the reasons assigned for it, and the usual
mitigation of the apparent barbarity of the sentence in the case
of women by the practical method of its execution, are clear.

”. Gloucestershire Pleas, pl. 216.
2 Pollock and Maitland’s History of English Law, ii. 492.
8 This is very well summarized in Laws respecting Women, London, 1777: —

This benefit of clergy does not extend to women; for by an express act of parlia-
ment it is directed, that women convicted ..... ; and by a subsequent statute (3 & 4
W.& M.c. 9), a woman being convicted of an offence for which a man may have his
clergy, shall suffer the same punishment that a man shall suffer that has the benefit of
his clergy allowed; ... . but the benefit of this Statute can be pleaded only once
(4&5 W.& M.c. 24,8. 13). Such was the law until the beginning of the present
century (pp. 342, 343). Upon the whole then it appears, that women cannot claim
the benefit of their clergy, but the benefit of the statute, which is equivalent toit. Before
the passing of which law, women were entitled to no mitigation of the punishment for
felonious offences (p. 343).

4 The same authority savs : —

The judgment against a woman for high treason is not the same as against a man
traitor, . . . but she is to be drawn to the place of execution and there burnt. For the
public exhibition of their bodies, and dismembering them, in the same manner as is
practised to the men, would be a violation of that natural decency and delicacy inherent,
and at all times to be cherished in the sex. And the humanity of the English Nation
has authorized by a tacit consent, an almost general mitigation of such part of their
judgments, as savours of torture and cruelty ; a sledge or hurdle being allowed to such
traitors as are condemned to be drawn; and there being very few instances (and those
accidental and by negligence) of any person being embowelled or burnt, till previously
deprived of sensation by strangling (p. 344). .

5 Blackstone states that, “the punishment of petit treason in a man is, to be
drawn and hanged, and in a woman to be drawn and burned ’’ (Commentaries
iv. 204). And he goes on to say that “the usual punishment for all sorts of
treasons committed by those of the female sex” is death by burning. This
continued till the statute 30 George III., which changed the penalty to
hanging.


1900.] REMARKS BY MR, ALBERT MATTHEWS. $35

When he came to the Gallows, and saw Death (and a Picture of Heil
too in a Negro then burnt to Death at the Stake, for burning her
Master’s House, with some that were in it,) before his Face, never was
a Cry for Time/ Time! A World Jor alittle Time! The Inexpressible
worth of Time / utter’d with a more unutterable Anguish.

This appears to be his first mention of the executions, and that
eighteen years after the event. As evidence, its weight is some-
what affected by the interval of time, and by at least one error
in its statements. The lurid picture seems hardly to have
required a living victim for its completeness.1

There was the case of Phillis, in 1755, before referred to, and
some cases of burning in Virginia, South Carolina, and New
York are cited by Fiske?; but with these we are not concerned.

The material here presented seems to be all that is now attain-
able relating to the case of Maria, —at least, it is all that has
been found. Each reader will draw his own inferences from it,
and these inferences, very likely, may differ; but it is submitted
that the conclusion reached in this paper is not without support
both in evidence and in reasoning,

Mr, Aubert Matrnews said :—

Mr. Present, — The point raised by Mr. Noble is an interest-
ing one. The subject of the burning alive of negroes is curious,
and one in regard to which it is not easy to obtain evidence.
Several years ago I became interested in the matter and took
rather extensive notes. My recollection is that, in addition to this
case of Maria in 1681, there was also another case in Massachusetts
in 1755; that there were vases in New York in 1708, 1712, 1741,
1775; in New Jersey in 1730, 1739, 1741, 1750, 1752; in Vir-
ginia in 1746; and in South Carolina in 1769. There is one
marked distinction between these instances of burning alive dur-
ing the Colonial period and the burnings and lynchings which,
unfortunately, have been so common during the past half century

1 The passages from the two Mathers were quoted in the communications in
The Nation, —the first attributed, however, to the wrong Mather, and the
other so curiously and carelessly misquoted, as, on its very face, to fail of sus-
taining the correspondent’s contention.

? Old Virginia and her Neighbours, ii. 265 note.

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33-4 THE COLONIAL SOCIETY OF MASSACHUSETTS. [JAN.

a very elaborate account of the execution of Morgan, a few days
before, which he sends as “a Piece of News, for there has not
(it seems) been seen an Execution here this seven years. So
that some have come fifty miles to see it;”?} and a rather full
report of the “three Excellent Sermons... . preached before
him [Morgan] before his Execution,”? by the two Mathers and
Joshua Moody. From this it would seem that the execution of
1681 had not made any deep, or at least abiding, impression on
the community, or left any sharp traces in its local memory,
or had in itself any peculiarly remarkable features.
There is a passage in Cotton Mather’s Pillars of Salt which
refers to the executions of 1681: —
N Sept. 22.1681. One W. C. was Executed at Boston for a Rape
committed by him, on a Girl that liv’d with him; though he had
then a Wife with Child by him, of a Nineteenth or Twentieth Child.*

1 John Dunton’s Letters from New-England (Prince Society's Publications),

p. 118.

2 Ibid. p. 121 and note.

® Magnalia (1702), Book vi. p. 40. See also Sibley’s Harvard Graduates,
1ii. 69, 70, where may be read the full title of this discourse which was first
printed, separately, in Boston in 1699.

4 Mather’s reference is to William Cheney (see ante, iii. 62) of Dorchester.
He was son of William Cheney, the emigrant, of Roxbury and married De-
borah (born 24, baptized 30 May, 1641), daughter of Deacon John Wiswall of
Dorchester, who removed to Boston and became Ruling Elder of the First
Church. Notwithstanding his good s: cial connections, Cheney was neither
a valuable nor respected member of society, as may be seen in Tilden’s History
of Medfield, pp. 343, 344, where his seven legitimate children are enumerated
—not nineteen or twenty as Mather’s fertile brain imagines —the last of
whom, a posthumous child, lived less than three weeks (Boston Record Com-
missioners’ Reports, xxi. 16, 18, 30). The facts concerning the crime
for which Cheney was hanged are set out in the Records of the Court of
Assistants, under date of 6 September, 1681 (ii. 1892), and in Suffolk Court
Files, xxiv. 2024. Cheney’s remarkable will, made the day before his execution
and in recognized anticipation of it, contains valuable particulars, was wit-
nessed by Hudson Leverett and two others, and was proved 29 September, 1681
(Suffolk Probate Files, No. 1189). His widow married Ebenezer Williams,
Senior, of Dorchester, where she died, 26 February, 1717-18 (Boston Record
Commissioners’ Reports, xxi. 180; Suffolk Probate Files, Nos. 1617, 39505
Suffolk Deeds, xxi. 571, 572; and New England Historical and Genealogical
Register for 1851, v. 90, 468). We do not find these facts in Pope’s Cheney

Genealogy, p. 42.

ee


INSIDE DETECTIVE

Meanwhile, the police dragnet seemed to be getting results.
Three persons were found who said they saw a man leave the
bakery about the time of the murder, They agreed that this
man was about five feet, seven inches tall and was wearing
a light topcoat and cap.

Captain Claflin immediately broadcast the description.

“We must find this man,” he said. “It was a strong person
who killed the girl, and he was a perfect marksman, for his
blows never missed her.”

Two hours after discovery of the gruesome crime, in-
vestigators were puzzled by several strange things. First of
these was the scarlet cross on the victim’s forehead.

What was the significance of this fantastic brand? Had
Ethel Zuckerman been the victim of a religious zealot? Why
were her arms carefully folded across the chest, and her legs
straightened as if in sleep?

The best sleuths in the department had no answer. But
because of the strange clue of the crimson cross, the search
was pressed for a man whose brain was turned by relizion—

‘a man, too, who lived in the neighborhood and probably was

known by his victim.

Police Commissioner Eugene Hultman’s orders were curt:
“Comb the neighborhood and get that man!”

Accordingly, Superintendent King ordered bluecoats to
enter every building within a quarter-mile radius of the
Bikofsky bakery in a determined hunt for clues. Believing
that the clothing of the killer must have become bloodstained,
orders were also given to check every cleaning establishment.

Within twenty-four hours, a room at the Warren Avenue
station was piled high with stained shirts, trousers and coats.
Owners of all this apparel were traced and brought in for
questioning. But all had ready explanations, which were
investigated and corroborated.

Nor did the wide canvass of the bakery neighborhood
produce tangible results. Leading this hunt was Deputy
Superintendent William W. Livingston, enemy of Boston
gangsters, who knew most of the city’s desperate characters
by sight. Livingston’s men questioned hundreds within the
next few days, but in vain. ‘

“WHO TOLD YOU THAT?”
So said Miller Clark (above) to detectives when they
told him they had information that he was the guilty
man. He flatly denied all.

_price ‘of bread in the bakery on the night before!

SORROWFUL CEREMONY ‘

Right: The grief-stricken mother and father
of Ethel Zuckerman (at left in photo) are
seen shortly before the girl’s interment.

The police hunt then narrowed down to individ-
uals. First of these was the former taxi driver
about whom Ethel Zuckerman had telephoned her
employer not long before she was killed. Who was
this man? Why, if he was innocent, did he not
come forward and aid the investigation? .

Edward Maloof, a South End boy who saw the
man in the bakery and heard loud talk shortly
before ten o’clock, gave the detectives a description
of the suspect, who he said wore a checkered cap.
Detectives quickly investigated all former taxi men,
and soon brought in John Wheldon of Roxbury, an
unemployed taxi driver, and his brother Richard,
of Marshfield.

John Wheldon admitted calmly that he was the
man who haggled with Ethel Zuckerman over the

“That little girl was alive when I left the store,”
he insisted.

Wheldon told how he had gone to the bakery
shortly before ten o’clock, puchasing ten loaves of
bread and two pies while his brother waited outside
in the car. He denied any knowledge of the crime.

Grilled for hours by Commissioner Hultman,
Superintendent King and Captain Claflin, Wheldon
stuck to his story, and his interrogators were finally
convinced he was telling the truth. Subsequently
he and his brother were released, exonerated on all
points.

With Wheldon’s elimination and police failure to
substantiate the religious maniac theory, the case
took a sudden dramatic turn in another direction
and along the lines of suspicion first advanced by
Superintendent King.

A Christmas card, addressed to Ethel Zuckerman,
arrived at the girl’s home the morning after her
death ! «

Ironically, it read: .“Christmas greetings and
wishing, too, the very best things in the world
to you.” ‘

Written in ink were the words: “Merry Christ-
mas to you.”

It was signed “Dick,” nothing more. Who was
Dick?

Sergeant Fallon questioned Ethel Zuckerman’s parents.
They had told police the girl never had a sweetheart. Were
they concealing some secret, perhaps trying to defend someone?

The couple, in their grief, had forgotten to name a young
man with whom their daughter had kept company some
months before. Though not engaged, Ethel Zuckerman and
this youth had had an understanding to which the girl’s
parents objected on religious grounds. Because of this ob-
jection, Ethel Zuckerman had broken the tentative engage-
ment three months before!

Here was an important revelation. Here was a jilted lover,
a man with a motive! ' ;

The Zuckermans said the youth’s name was Dick Brown,
and that their daughter had met him while’ she was an usher
at the Grand Opera House, Boston, where he played the
saxophone in the orchestra. - ;

‘Although the parents professed to know little about their
daughter’s association with Brown, friends of the pair told
police Dick and Ethel had attended dances and theaters and
had been frequently seen in’ an automobile together.

- Ethel, they said, had admitted jilting Brown.

"WE FOUND THAT ETHEL, WHO SUPPOSEDLY HAD NO

we RS

Dick Brow
Foti, twenty-
musicians hac
versity penna:
generally as |

Detectives :
was missing !

At the hot
Joseph Foti,
Dick Brown’:
tion much of
The fruit trv
brought in fr

But Dick |
an alarm for t
Boston.

Hundreds «
Then, shortly
the young sa
state borders,
brother-in-lay
just heard, h.

SWEE

were to

ing smile
lidays, of .°
of year—
hin a day
at night—
ible work.

n another
ht of this,
ing in the

everie. A
iter as the
ing figure

visitor was
a soaking
few quick

e, replying
er visitor’s

swinging a
y, her jaw
| knife and
‘nt, and the

hh register.
wut, flailing

FIEND'S TOOLS
Detective Sergeant
Joseph Fallon holds the
knives with which the
slayer dispatched his
wictim. One of them
pinned her body to the
floor.

NO LOVER?
Dark-haired Ethel Zuck-
erman supposedly had
no steady suitors—yet
police found that she
had jilted a youth not
long before she was

murdered.


oficers, sent
il Examiner
*e and Cap-

an home in
The parents
t the bakery
led the hys-
ather away,
quickly and

1 was due to
broken, the
stilled in a
1 a story of

1 the veteran

counter, the

.DED—

INSIDE DETECTIVE

cash drawer of the register open, the receiver of the telephone
dangling from its cord. There was every evidence that Ethel
Zuckerman had fought bitterly for her life.

It seemed apparent that the girl was struck down as she
seized the telephone to summon help. Her maniacal killer
then stilled the screams of his victim with the first weapon
available. This was the knife that bent. After that the girl
felt nothing more.

The questioning began at once. Four awe-struck bakers
testified they heard nothing during the evening, what with
the whirring of their machines and the drone of rain. The
bakeshop proprietor, however, provided the probers with their
first lead. Summoned from his home, Benjamin Bikofsky re-
vealed he had talked to the girl over the telephone at about
ten o'clock.

A former taxicab driver, she told him, had quarreled with
her because she had no stale bread for his chickens.

“I told her to give him fresh bread at the same price,”
Bikofsky declared.

The cash register, milk bottle, knife handle were surveyed
in vain for fingerprints. Examiners first believed the killer
had cunningly wiped the weapons clean, but Captain Claflin

Without a single definite clue, Boston police swung into
action. Answering a cry from press and pulpit for a clean-up
of conditions in the South End, Captain Claflin, in. command
of Station No. 4 on Warren Avenue, pressed every available
officer into the human dragnet spread for Ethel Zuckerman’s
slayer.

Then in command of Milk Street station, I had no jurisdic-
tion in the case. Yet I hoped fervently for the quick solution
of the mystery and punishment of the killer. I did not dream
that later I was to be plunged into the heart of the in-
vestigation, and have a hand in its dramatic denoue-
ment. e

Within two hours after the murder, fourteen persons were
brought into the Warren Avenue station. Radio patrol cars,
racing through crooked streets, seized every vagrant, every
loiterer. Scores of uniformed men even went from house to
house, seeking someone who might have seen a man enter or
leave the bakery that night.

Detective Sergeant Joseph B. Fallon of the Warren Avenue
station drew the hard assignment of going to Ethel Zucker-
man’s home and searching her personal belongings for possible
leads.

END OF A YEAR'S WORK
It was a long and discouraging trail the police followed
in trying to trap Ethel Zuckerman’s killer, but at last
they got the weird confession shown above.

I went in there te tay semn ent ples, and X got five cat phen, I Gd,
and when che walked dam the oni of the counter, of couree, naturally eho
went te the cam: register and put thet money in and rung if up, and ne one
G84 she walks sreuné the other way ami when she 414 I followed her andy

natcrally, when I feliewed her I bit here Se when I hit her she hollered,
see, ani shé sterted te go to we telephone and, naturally, I get hind of
evared and. I run oxts Se I went up Mott Strect, dow through Washington
Strects ever thrown the Bestyn Sommem, and then I come Deck aga die 5

ant ane aud then T sone oot again, an I wnt baat over the Comen again
Se wien I went over the Connon it was raining too at thet time ont I Regt
walking around over through Seelley Sqare,and I hept on walking and walb-
ing, and it wen hind of wot and I was ringing wet- Se I went te werk tn
the merning againe Se I aened her, I caié, “Will you marsy wef” So che
said, “Later on,” and netwralily, when eho said, “later ony° I Me Rey andy
naturally, ween 1 hit her she fell downs Be I weet ond got ene Iméfe ené
tnat katte kind ef beat when 1 hit her, and I got the other halide ond 3
etuah her right here (peiating to threat) with the other beipe

NOT ONE FINGERPRINT...
Of the four knives found in the Bikofsky bakery, the
two in center were used by the killer. The longest one”
passed through the victim’s throat and into the floor.

expressed the opinion that, steam from the cellar had obliter- N LINE with Superintendent King’s belief that a jealous

ated these marks.

suitor alone could have had sufficient motive to perpetrate

Now permitted to examine the cash register, Bikofsky dis- the crime, Sergeant Fallon sought letters written by admirers,
covered that $8.75 was missing. Had murder been done for a diary or address book, anything that might give a lead.
this paltry sum? Superintendent King was inclined to believe While the parents of the slain girl moaned prayers in Yiddish

not. A rejected suitor, he theorized, had slain for revenge,
and had robbed the till simply as an afterthought in order to
throw suspicion on thieves.

Ethel Zuckerman’s parents, however, insisted that she never
had a steady beau. Yet it was learned that she had received a
call on the shop’s pay telephone a few minutes before she
called her employer at ten. To whom had she talked at that
time ?

as they rocked back and forth in grief, Fallon spent a harrow-
ing half hour gathering mementos and keepsakes collected by
the victim during her short life.

Virtually everything left in the girl’s room was confiscated,
but there was little which seemed of value. Ethel was strictly
a home girl, with many friends, but few suitors. None of
her letters contained anything beyond the usual adolescent
outpourings.

AND ON HER FOREHEAD WAS A CROSS-SHAPED GASH!"


first with massive fists, then with the second weapon.
This time he found a deadly mark... .

ALF AN hour later, at about 10:45, Bessie Stern, sixteen,
of 16 Oswego Street, South End, came to the bakery to
buy an apple turnover. The shop seemed deserted.
“Ethel,” she called. “Where are you?”
There was no reply.

The door blew open, the rain whirled in. Closing it again, .

Bessie tinkled the bell several times. Still Ethel didn’t re-
spond. The little bakery clerk and Bessie were friends, and
often chatted when the latter came on errands like this.

As Bessie puzzled over the clerk’s absence, the door opened
and Alexander Polihronis, sixteen, of 29 Genesee Street, came
in. Seeing Bessie alone, he asked, “Where’s Ethel ?”

“I don’t know,” Bessie replied. “There doesn’t seem to be
anyone around.”

Then the girl saw a shoe under the counter. She went over
and looked. Speechless, she motioned to the boy. He looked
too. What they saw filled them with shuddering horror !

The lifeless form of Ethel Zuckerman lay behind the coun-
ter, her legs straight in front of her, her arms folded across
her chest. A long, wooden-handled bread knife, plunged
through the throat, impaled her body to the floor. Her face
was battered, horribly mangled.

‘In the center of her forehead was a crimson gash in the
form of a cross! A trembling boy and girl rushed from the
store, screaming the news. Polihronis raced to a police box
and pulled the alarm.

FALSE LEAD?
Left: A jealous woman
named Miller Frank
Clark (seen with Com-
missioner Hultman) as
the killer. Was this but
another of the many mis-
taken clues encountered

by the police?

FUTILE RUSE

When the funeral proces-
sion (below) of Ethel
Zuckerman passed by the
bakery murder scene,
police stopped it and
searched. the throng for
suspicious characters. It
was in vain.

Report of the murder, flashed by cruiser cart officers, sent
Superintendent of Police Martin H. King, Medical Examiner
Timothy Leary, Homicide Inspector Harry Pierce and Cap-
tain James H. Claflin speeding to the scene.

Meanwhile, Bessie Stern ran to the Zuckerman home in
nearby Rochester Street and broke the news. The parents
of the slain girl ran out into the rain, arriving at the bakery
at the same time as the police. Gently, officers led the hys-
terical, sob-wracked mother and white-faced father away,
while outside a rain-drenched throng gathered quickly and
cried for vengeance in a dozen tongues.

Dr. Leary soon determined that the girl’s death was due to
severance of the jugular vein. Both jaws were broken, the
skull fractured. Eyes staring stark terror, lips stilled in a
protesting grimace, Ethel Zuckerman’s face told a story of
unspeakable horror.

“It is the most brutal murder I ever saw,” said the veteran
of a thousand medical examinations.

Investigators found a bottle of milk on the counter, the

“SHE LAY ON THE FLOOR, HER ARMS NEATLY FOLDED—

‘

RESET es

cash drawer of
dangling from
Zuckerman ha:
It seemed aj
seized the tele
then stilled th:
available. This
felt nothing n
The questio:
testified they |
the whirring «
bakeshop prop:
first lead. Sun
vealed he had
ten o'clock.
A former ta
her because sh
“I told her
Bikofsky decl:
The cash re
in vain for fi
had cunningly

It was a
in trying
they

expressed th
ated these n

Now pern
covered that
this paltry st
not. A reje:
and had rob
throw suspic

Ethel Zuc!
had a steady
call on the
called her e:
time ?

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the address ;
prepared,” were his orders. ‘This
woman’s story may be absolutely cor-
rect. Somehow I have a feeling that
it is. Don’t take any chances with
this guy.” . has ‘
“We won't!’ Fallon said «grimly.
“Let’s go, boys.” ‘
Claflin asked. the’ woman to go on
with her story. Mrs. Tillman said she
had known, the man, Miller Frank
Clark, for years: “We were—well, we
were sort of lovers,” she said. “Re-
cently he’s gone sort of crazy, if I’m
any judge of the matter. ' He’s always
going around printing the picture of
a cross.. Sometimes he'll prick his. fin-
ger and use his blood for ink.” :
“You. haven’t just heard this?

‘You've seen it?” Claflin asked the.

woman, ° :

“T’ve seen it—many times.”

“Go on, please, madam.” >

“I broke with Frank. several times
over the attentions he paid to the
Zuckerman girl. I don’t mean that she
took him seriously—I wouldn’t know
about that. I’d say that she didn’t.
eg I know that he was after her a
a ce) “ig .

“Of course, that alone doesn’t nec-
essarily make him the killer,” Claflin
told the woman.

“I know that, Captain. But I’ve got
some real reasons for thinking—for
knowing—that Frank’s the killer, The
first suspicion I had. that. he knew
something about the murder was when
he asked me to sew some buttons on
his overcoat. I noticed two-big blood-
stains: I called his attention to them.
He got awfully excited then. And I
remember that, on the night of the
murder, when the newsboys were
yelling about the murder, he was
terribly nervous.” :

“You mean you saw him that night?”

“Yes,” ue ‘i

_“Right after the murder?”
“Well, I don’t know how soon after.

4 It was about midnight.”

Up: to now Mrs. Tillman had con-
trolled herself unusually well. Now
she began to sob. Her voice was
quavery as she tried to take up the
story.again. § ~

“T know this is not an easy job,”
Claflin told her. “But it’s a mighty

important job, Mrs. Tillman, Please -

try. to control yourself. We're all with
you. Now, go ahead please; and don’t
overlook any possible detail.”

Mrs. Tillman wiped her moist eyes

‘and nodded her head... “I’ll try. I

guess J can do it all right. I just
knew those bloodstains meant some~-
thing—meant that he had committed
that murder.” ;

_ “Did this Clark have any explana-
tion for the stains?”

“Well, a sort of an explanation. Not
a very good one, I thought. He said
he had been in a fight. His story wasn’t
very be a See He was terribly jit-
tery. He 'wouldn’t have been so jit-
tery just telling me about a fight he’d
been in, I kept asking for details, and
he just didn’t want to talk about how
he got that blood on his coat.”

“Why didn’t you report the matter
then, Mrs. Tillman?”

“Well, I could have been wrong.
You ‘know how it is sometimes. You’re
almost sure of something at night, and
then in the morning you're not quite
so sure, I didn’t want to get him in
a jam just on a hazy idea. . After ‘all,

oughly right then I.believe I’d have
come here ene ‘made-the, report. . But:

T couldn't be absolutely, guré--ihen.”

given by the woman. “Be |

we'd been something to each other. If’
I could have convinced myself. thor- -

“And when were you absolutely 4

sure?” Captain Claflin asked.

‘ “Well, the other day, I saw him: |

through the window of my home. He
had his arms around a woman.
young woman. I saw him kiss her.
That kiss made up my mind for me.
I thought it over, then I made up my
mind to come here.” : |
“Everything you're. telling me—
about the bloodstains and Clark’s
nervousness on that night of the mur-
der—is absolutely true, isn’t it? You’re

not adding anything as a matter of—

well, as a matter of vengeance?”

“No, I admit I don’t feel very kindly
toward Frank now. But all I’ve told
you is absolutely.true. You'll find this
is so,-when your men bring Frank
in—if or get him.”

“They'll get him, all right?” Claflin
snapped. “Don’t worry about that.”

ee a Sergeant Fallon and
his detail had reached the ad-
dress given by Mrs. Tillman. From the
rooming-house landlady they learned
that Clark roomed on the top floor. “I
think he’s asleep,” the landlady said.

“He won't be asleep long,” Fallon
‘told her. “Come on, boys.” :

They mounted the stairs, reached
the room described to them, banged on
the door. :

A sleepy voice called out: ‘“Who’s
there?” :

“The police,” Fallon called back.
“Open up.”

-There was a grunt, a patter of feet.
Then the lock was turned from the
inside. The door swung open. The
police burst into the room. |

Clark, a gray-haired, middle-aged
man with. a dissipated face, stood there

in his underwear. He didn’t seem ex- -

cited. In fact, he grinned. “What's up?”
he asked. .

“Never mind,” Fallon clipped. “Get
dressed. We'll talk to you over at

. the station house.

Clark got dressed. The officers hus-

tled him over to the station house. >

SEATED before Captain Claflin and
the other officers, Clark grinned as
flash bulbs popped.
nervous. Jn fact, he appeared to en-
joy all the attention he was being

given. 3
“Clark,” Claflin’said, “we have tes-

 timony to the fact that you murdered

Ethel Zuckerman.” :

Clark was still grinning, but the
grin seemed more faint on his dis-
sipated face.. “Aw, that’s ridiculous,”
he said. /““Who ever told you a crazy
- story like that?”

“Mrs. Mary Tillman,” . Claflin re-

lied. . “She’s in a nearby room. You

now her, don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t ow anything good
about her,” was the retort. '

“We're ready to take your state-
ment,” Claflin.said. “You can go ahead
-and tell a cock-and-bull story, and
have it disproved, or you can tell the
truth. We're pretty much convinced
-that you did the job. We think we’ve
got the goods on you. If you did it

_we will have the goods on you, I'll tell

you that. Now, go ahead. The truth.”
Clark sat back in his chair. His
ty disappeared entirely. “Oh, I
illed her, all right!” was his bomb-
shell statement.

RANK CLARK'S detailed verbatim

ing. He .repeated phrases. over and

over... He was rambling, at times in- =
coherent. Yet the. police officers were;
d to: funda:

gonvinced “that ‘his

-*

« He didn’t seem |

statement would be difficult read- .

i

mentally true and tl
trapped ‘the *killer

man. Clar 1}
the bakery aa
make a pur ]

the purchase—som:
when Ethel went t
he followed her anc
urally, I hit her,” w
pressed it.

Ethel had tried 1
phone, and “Natur:
Clark said. This ur
the word “naturall:
or more times in h)
told the unconvinc
then left the stor
again. He said he
marry him, but it
cipher from his ran
er he had asked
marry him or whi
had asked her at s
“When I hit her, !
down,” he told the
when she wouldn
her.”

He told of usin
helpless girl. “It
I hit her and so ]
put it in her throa
blood on my coat,

‘it. It was too lat

shop and get it cl
cleaned, I mean, s
away.

“T wanted the la
tons on my overco:
where I got the b
said I’d been in a
girl because she d
me and I didn’t
anybody else. Ili
her throat with the
but I missed, and
the forehead and
guess. The knife
blade bent. I wa:
her there then a
went to bed”

There v the
story of k ty.
confident ___ _he

They took Clar
where he was off
and fingerprinted
morning he was
Court and charg
murder and wa
Charles Street
About six weeks
on trial in Suffolk
attorney, George
for his legal victo
for his client. Ass
ney Daniel J. G
case.
The jury took !
an hour to returr
“Gentlemen, h
verdict?” Judge .
Jury Foreman
replied: “We hav
in the first degre
On the night
Miller Frank Cla
chair for the cri
all Boston. Forr
ton police had
“break” in‘ this
time to come. FE

_ got it, they made

Eprror’s Nortr
told the sensation
police has bee
name in this tri
Zuckerman case
no connection 'w

\ 4, contrary, it was
-. helped the polic

CLARK, Stephen M., white, 16, hanged, Salem, Mass., on May 10, 1821.

"Clark, we learn, was but sixteen years of age when he committed the fatal crime (arson)
which he so dreadfully expiated, and at the time of his execution was three months short
of seventeen. It is generally supposed his fate is to be attributed to those abandoned
females with whom he hed associated, the Millwoods of the present day, who, after having
ensared him into the paths of vice, and instigayed him bo commit the crime, became his

accusers, and, by the imperfection of the human laws, are permitted to go unpunished."
DAILY NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER, Weshington, DC, May 22, 1821 (245.)

"WARNING TO INCENDIARIES AND TO HEEDLESS YOUTH = On Thursday last, Stpphen Merrill Clark,
a boy of 17 years of age, suffered the sentence of death at Salem, in Massachusetts, for
setting fire to a house. Befoe he was swung off, he addressed a few words to the
surrounding multitude, in which he cautioned youth against keeping bad company, of the
effect of which he himself afforded a sorrowful example." DAILY NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER,
Washington, D. Ce, 5-16-1821 (3/3.)

"May 10, 1821, Stephen M, Clark, of Newburyport, aged 17, is hung on Winter Island, The
preceding Aug. 17, he set fire to a stable in that town, in which a dwelling house was
consumed, A few days prior to his execution, he made a desperate aftempt by preparation
to blow an aperture through the (?) work of his cell, But his purpose was discovered be~
fore the drill hole, which he had made, was charged with powder, It was evident from the
appearance and trial of this youth, that his disregard for parental authority, and his
association with compan ions of iniquity had perverted his talents and led him to commit
the deed which cost him his life," ANNALS OF SALEM, by Joseph B, Felt, Vol. I, p 65.


5 /0-/8i1

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TRIAL

LAST WORDS

EXECUTION

FRANK NEWTON OFFICE SUPPLY—DOTHAN

: you absolutely
in asked, sa)

day, I saw him:

of my home. He
id a woman.

aw him kiss her. —

my mind for me.

en I made up my ™

re telling me—
ins and Clark’s
night of the mur-
je, isn’t it? You’re

as a matter of—

vengeance?”

t feel very kindly
But all I’ve told

2. You’ll find this

nen bring Frank

all right?” Claflin
orry about that.”

rgeant Fallon and

reached the ad-
Tillman. From the
ady they learned
n the top floor. “I
he landlady said.

ep long,” Fallon -

boys.
e stairs, reached
> them, banged on

“=4 out: ‘“Who’s
called back.

‘, a patter of feet.
turned from the
wung open. The
room,

red, middle-aged

d face, stood there 4
fe didn’t seem ex- -

ned. “What’s up?”

‘lon clipped. “Get
to you over at

The officers hus-
1e station house.»

iptain Claflin and
, Clark grinned as

He didn’t seem
’ appeared to en-
m he was being

id, ‘““we have tes-
iat you murdered

rinning, but the
faint on his dis-
that’s ridiculous,”
told you a crazy

ian,” Claflin re-
2arby room. You
9”

w anything good

retort.
take your state-
You can go ahead
l-bull story, and
* you can tell the
much convinced
We think we’ve
u. If you did it,
ds on you, I'll tell
iead. The truth.”
1 his chair. His
ntirely. “Oh, I
is his bomb-

detailed verbatim
be difficult read-

hrases over and §}

ling, at times in-

lice officers were-- |

tory was funda-

«

4

mentally true and that at last they had
trapped ‘the*killer of Ethel Zucker-
man. Clark said he had gone into
the bakery on that fateful night to
make a purchase. He said he paid for
the purchase—some small pies—and
when Ethel went to the cash register
he followed her and struck her. “Nat-
urally, I hit her,” was the way he ex-
pressed it.

Ethel had tried to get to the tele-
phone, and “Naturally, I got scared,”
Clark said. This unnatural killer used
the word “naturally” perhaps a dozen
or more times in his explanation. He
told the unconvincing story that he
then left the store and. came _ back
again. He said he had asked Ethel to
marry him, but it was difficult to de-
cipher from his rambling story wheth-
er he had asked her that night to
marry him or whether he meant he
had asked her at some previous time.
“When I hit her, naturally, she went
down,” he told the police. “Naturally,
biligtt she wouldn’t marry me, I hit

er.”

He told of cmt the knife on the
helpless girl. “It kind of bent when
I hit her and so I got the other and
put it in her throat. There was some
blood on my coat, but I didn’t notice

‘it. It was too late to go to a tailor

shop and get it cleaned, get the coat
cleaned, I mean, so [ threw the coat
away.

“IT wanted the lady to sew some but-
tons on my overcoat and she asked me
where I got the blood so, naturally, I
said I’d been in a fight. I killed that
girl because she didn’t want to marry
me and I didn’t want her to marry
anybody else. I liked her. I aimed at
her throat with the knife the first time,
but I missed, and the knife got her in
the forehead and made that mark, I
guess. The knife bent; that is, the
blade bent. I was pretty mad. I left
her there then and went home and
went to bed.”

There were other odd phrases in his
story of brutality. But the police felt
confident that they had the essentials.
They took Clark to headquarters,
where he was officially photographed
and fingerprinted. On the following
morning he was arraigned in Suffolk
Court and charged with first-degree
murder and was remanded to the
Charles Street jail to await trial.
About six weeks later he was placed
on trial in Suffolk Superior Court. His
attorney, George A. Douglas, famous
for his legal victories, pleaded insanity
for his client. Assistant District Attor-
ney Daniel J. Gillen prosecuted the
case.

The jury took less than a quarter of
an hour to return to the courtroom.

“Gentlemen, have you reached a
verdict?” Judge John M. Gibbs asked.

Jury Foreman Francis W. Mahoney
replied: “We have. Guilty of murdcr
in the first degree.”

On the night of January 13, 1936,
Miller Frank Clark died in the electric
chair for the crime that had shocked
all Boston. For many months the Bos-
ton police had been looking for .a
“break” in'this case. It took a long
time to come. But when they finally

_ got it, they made the most of it.

Eprror’s Note: .The woman who
told the sensational story to the Boston

police has been given a fictitious
name in this true story of the Ethel
Zuckerman case. She had absolutely

no connection with the crime; on the

+, contrary, it was her co-operation tha
helped the police break the cases."

Ms RA cons +A Wi key

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