New York, H, 1819-1989, Undated

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CRT, Loa

24 Master

With a bewildered look the boy took the money and
placed a ten-dollar bill on the black. He lost. The stranger
stood beside him, relaxed but alert. His blue eyes became
hard points of light as he watched the feverish desperation
in the strained faces of the gamblers as the croupier in-
creased his hoard from their dwindling piles. Most of them
were sailors gambling away their hard-earned pay. His eyes
traveled to the bull-necked man who intently watched the
players from a position near the door.

Something that was almost a smile touched the corners
of the tall man’s: mouth as he sauntered up beside the
croupier. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared
across the table at the boy, who turned toward him with
an apologetic shrug as he lost the last of the money.

The expression on the tall man’s handsome face did not
change as he suddenly drew his hands from his pockets.
Each held an automatic pistol.

Shoving one into the ribs of the little croupier, he leveled
the other at the gamblers. They stared in bewildered sur-
prise. He spoke in a low, cultured voice:

“{ hope no one will get hurt. Now my lads, each of you
take back the money you've lost. This game is crooked.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw the bull-necked man
whip out a revolver. Before the latter could pull the trigger,
the tall man shifted his gun and fired. The shot shattered
the man’s right arm. His weapon clattered to the floor, and
he sank slowly to his knees, groaning. Killer “X” addressed
the thin boy: “Bring me that gun.”

The sailors had made no move; but stood motionless. A
second command from the gunman electrified them into
action. As they grabbed for the pile of silver and bills
before the croupier, the little man’s fingers twitched, but
he sat helpless. The boy brought the gun and slipped it
into the tall man’s pocket. Then with eager eyes he reached
out and took a handful of money. :

His guns still covering the men in the room, Killer “X”
began backing toward the door. The boy followed.

“Unlock the door!” he ordered the youth. Then in his
smoothly modulated voice he addressed the man on the
floor. ‘There must be a better way of making a living than
taking money from sailors who have just landed with a few
dollars after a hard voyage.‘ I should have put it through
your heart!” : ;

The eyes of the bull-necked man gleamed with pain and
rage. “Somebody stop him,” he cried.

But the men around the table merely stared as the
stranger turned and, light as a cat, ran up the stairway
into the hall. Picking up his suit-case on the way, he and
the thin boy stepped out into the fog. As they walked
along side by side, he asked casually:

“You're just in from a voyage, aren’t you?”

The youth stared at the calm figure beside
him. “That’s right,” he replied. “It was
certainly swell of you to give us back our
money. But, say, what were you doing in a
joint like that? 1 thought only us sailors’
went there. You're no sailor.”

“You're wrong there, my lad. I am a sailor.
I’ve just returned from quite a long voyage to
Central America.”

“You sure don’t talk like a sailor. Who
are you, anyway?”

The tall man put his suit-case down and
lit a cigarette. His shrewd eyes saw the hero-
worship in the younger one’s face. He puffed
for a moment in silence. Finally he said:

“Well, here’s where I leave you, but if you'd
like to meet me here tomorrow morning at
nine-thirty, you might make some money. You
look as if you had nerve.”

The thin youth spoke eagerly. “I'll be here,
all right,” he said. Then he watched his new
friend until the tall figure was lost in the foggy
darkness of a side street.

* * *

Shortly after ten o’clock the following morn-
ing the cashier of a certain Seattle bank looked
up to see a handsome young man with broad
shoulders approaching his cage. In a cultured
voice the young man asked politely:

“Could you change a ten-dollar bill for me?”

“Just hand me all the money
you have, and nobody will be
hurt,” said Killer “X” to De
Witt Peale (above), cashier of
the East Brooklyn Savings
Bank (right). Peale eyed the
burglar alarm—took a step
backward.
and the cashier crumpled to
the floor—dead!

Was Sao ce aca

Detective

While he waited for the money, he glanced about the
bank. There was only one other customer in the room at
the moment, a pretty girl who stood at one of the counters
writing a check. As the cashier began counting out the
money, he noticed the speaker’s unworldly face and dis-
tinguished appearance and vaguely wondered if he was a
young minister.

The man was Killer “X”. A thin-faced youth in rough
clothes entered.

Mouth open, the cashier suddenly stopped abruptly in
the middle of his counting. The vicious muzzle of the
revolver in the tall man’s hand was leveled at his head.
He could hardly believe that those threatening eyes behind
the gun could belong to this ecclesiastical-looking young
a Tht robber spoke in a low voice that the girl couldn't

ear:

“This is a hold-up! Keep your hands on top of the
desk. Don’t make a move or you may get hurt.” Then
he said over his shoulder to the thin boy behind him: “Go
over to the cage, Jerry, and get the money.”

The youth hesitated for the fraction of a second. His
tense face paled under his tan. Then he leaped, landed on
the cage, and dropped by the door on the other side. The
girl looked up, startled. When she saw the gun, she uttered
a wild shriek.

Still covering the cashier, Killer “X” stepped back a few
paces. In a soothing, protecting voice he said:

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

The youthful accomplice worked swiftly, scooping up
gold and currency, and stuffing it into a canvas bag. Within
two minutes he was climbing back and sprinting for the
entrance.

"THERE was a light thud; the girl’s trembling fingers
had dropped her handbag. Killer “X” began backing
win toward the door. On his way out, he stooped and
quickly picked up the girl’s bag. With a gallant gesture
he handed it to her.

“You're a charming girl,” he said softly. “I’m more
than sorry | frightened yoy.

The moment the robbers had left the building, the
cashier dashed from behind his cage and ran into the street.
“Bandits!” he shouted, and pointed to the gray roadster
which was moving rapidly away from the curb. He
strained his eyes, but the license Slate was too muddy for

him to make out the number. Bewildered pedestrians
watched the car careerf, around the first corner.

When the police arrived a few moments later, the pretty
girl still stood with her eyes glued on the bank’s entrance.

A shot rang out

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before a two-story house with darkened windows. He peered into the fog that
blotted out the buildings about him; then went up the steps and knocked sharply
on the front door.

After a short wait a key grated in the lock, and the.door opened. A muscular,
bull-necked man stood blocking the entrance. He looked dubiously at the tall
young man; then, recognizing him, stepped aside for him to enter.

The narrow hallway was dark. Setting down his suit-case, the young man
followed his guide down the stairs to the basement. Neither spoke. A sliver
of light came from under the closed door at the bottom of the stairs. The muscu-
lar man opened it.

Inside the large, low-ceilinged room a group of shabbily-dressed men leaned
tensely over a roulette wheel, their glittering eyes centered on the small ball which
the croupier sent spinning. A light suspended over the table shone on the faces of
the gamblers; the rest of the room was in semi-darkness.

Killer “X” stepped into the room. The bull-necked man locked the door and
took his place beside it. As the newcomer drifted casually over to the table, the
croupier nodded. The ball stopped on red. There was a sharp exclamation from
a thin-faced youth whose dark gleaming eyes became suddenly dully despondent.
Pushing in beside him, the newcomer whispered:

“What’s the matter? Has your stake run out?”

The youth nodded, his eyes on the croupier who was scooping in his money.
Reaching into his pocket, Killer “X” pulled out a handful of bills. The lad
stared in amazement as the man shoved the money into his hand, saying:

“Here, play this for me. Maybe your luck will change.”

aad

he was not Gordon Hamby and that his
identity would never be revealed.

I had some doubt for a long time
whether the name was his, but when the
widow of “Blind John” Condon, known
as the race track king of Chicago, rec-
ognized the name as that of a son of
her dead husband’s the matter of iden-
tity seemed settled.

Hamby denied the Brooklyn killings
but he made a proposal,

“T’ll waive extradition and go to New
York for trial provided the Washington
sentence is dropped,” he declared,

An appeal of his conviction was pend-
ing, but his proposal was ignored and he
Was extradited and taken to New York
to stand trial for his life.

Washington officials, at the instance
of the governor, attended the New York
trial ready to take him back to serve a
life term if he were acquitted of the
bank murders.

Hamby Breaks
N THE thirteenth of June, still utider
the symbol of the fateful thirteen,
Hamby was taken, manacled, into the
office of Harry E, Lewis, district at-
torney, in Brooklyn and there, feeling

that influence, apparently, he confessed’

the Brooklyn bank murders,

The numerical hint of genius was
borne out when Lewis, after the exam-
ination, declared Hamby both mentally
and physically the most agile prisoner he
had ever met,

“TI didn’t intend to shoot,” was
Hamby’s story. “But what do you think
of a man who reaches for a burglar
alarm when you point a gun at him and
tell him to hold up his hands? That’s
what Peal did.”

“TI stayed in New York two weeks
after the holdup,” he said. “My com-
panion and I separated. Then I went
west. I didn’t want to travel alone and
I knew the police were hunting a tall
man and a short man. So I persuaded
a woman to go with me. We posed as
a wealthy young couple on our honey-
moon,

“T had plenty of money, but when |
got to Minneapolis I robbed a bank
‘there, left the girl and went on to the
coast alone.

“The money is gone. I’ve been rob-
bing trains and banks for the last seven
or eight years and have taken about
$450,000, but I haven’t a cent to show
for it.”

Then when the subject of the dread
“13” was mentioned Hamby said,

“’m not superstitious, This is the
13th. I did the bank job on the 13th
and I got thirteen grand. It was my
thirteenth bank job and _ this morning
I rode in a police car numbered 13. But
I know something else about numbers
and so I’m not afraid of them.”

In his cell, Hamby read theosophy.
He told his attorney to make no defense.

“T committed: suicide the other day,”
he said, “when I made my statement to
the district attorney. There’s no need
to bother,”

He said he was in Tacoma when
Timor was captured and watched the
progress of that case.

“If he hadn’t been freed, I’d have
given myself up. I’d rather die in the
chair than serve a life sentence. That’s
why I came through with the statement.
I’m committing suicide but putting the
job up to the state.”

He expressed no sorrow over the bank
killings but did say he was sorry he had
shot Davis,

“I thought he was coming back with
a gun,” he:said, “but he wasn’t.”

When he faced Judge Fawcett in
Brooklyn Supreme Court June 26 (a
double thirteen), in 1919, he showed no
emotion until the judge characterized the
killings as “cold blooded murder.”

He asked permission to speak and
said:

“I want to say, from the standpoint
of one who particpated in the robberies,
that they all had a chance,”

Judge Fawcett colored deeply and re-
plied sharply:

“They never had a chance.”

Hamby bowed.

But when he stood in the death

chamber at Sing Sing on January 29,
1920, he turned to the warden and asked:

“May I say a word?”

“Certainly,” was the response,

Hamby smiled. “I want to thank you,
warden, for everything you have done
for me here. And I want to say that
whoever has stood in front of Jay B.
Allen’s gun has stood a chance, and a
good chance, for his life, That’s all,
warden. Go ahead, boys!”

He was sstill smiling when his face
disappeared under the execution helmet.
In 13 seconds he was dead. The clock
stood at 13 minutes after the hour,

The sinister 13 had dogged to his very:
death moments the criminal genius who
had denied his destiny under his original
name and has defied the influence of thir-
teen itself,

He was buried at 10:13 A.M. on Jan-
uary 30, 1920, in the Sing Sing burial
ground, in the thirteenth month after his
revolvers had dealt death in the Brook-
lyn bank.

Aside from the influence of the sinister
13 there is one other fascinating cir-
cumstance connected with the case.
Hamby’s name vibrates to 11. So does
Roddy’s.

The number of genius had marked the
two chief actors in the drama. And
eleven knows no rules. It was each man
for himself, a clash of intellects of equal
calibre, of influences balanced in strength
but one gone wrong, Naturally the other
won. Hamby had denied his name, the
influences of his number,

Peal and Coons, the victims in the
bank, each had the sturdy, pioneer’s num-
ber, 1. Robert Davis, the other victim
of Hamby’s gun died under the rule of
the number 7, the number of misunder-
standing and Hamby said he thought
Davis had a gun.

Peal and Coons were overcome by the
genius number 11 in spite of their own
high powered numerals, Davis didn’t
have a chance.

But back of the story stands the sin-
ister “13” and its corresponding numeral
4 which falls heir to its deadly influence.

3rd Degree in the Morgue

One shot had been fired from it, the
bullet piercing the man’s temple.

Tatham, with a gleam in his eye, made
a rapid search of the man’s pockets. In
one he found a receipt made out in the
name of August Raynor, and in another
was a bank book.

But the name on the book was not
August Raynor! It was a woman’s
name.

Tatham jumped into his car and sped
away—carrying in his pocket a startling
clue to the murder of Mrs. Philpot.

“Maybe it’s only a hunch,” he mused,
“but I feel that there’s a connection be-
tween these two tragedies. And I’m
going to find the link.” ,

[Continued from page 46]

In a day or so he learned that Raynor
was a war veteran and that he had been
acting strangely for several days before
his death. The manager of the hotel
where the man had been living was able
to supply that much information.

But Tatham’s vigil at the city morgue
went unrewarded. No one claimed the
body and it was finally ordered sent to
the Golden Gate Undertaking Com-
pany’s parlors, whose manager tele-
phoned that he had been requested by
someone to take care of the funeral,

Tatham hurried to the funeral estab-
lishment, where. he was told that an un-
identified woman was directing the
burial arrangements. On the heels of

this development came an astonishing
announcement from the ballistics de-
partment at police headquarters.

The bullets in Mrs. Philpot’s body
had come from the suicide’s gun!

“That’s great,” Captain Matheson ex-
claimed when Tatham told him, “—but
who fired the shots?”

“Well, I’m on the trail, Captain,”
Tatham answered, “it won’t be long
now,”

That night Tatham parked his ma-
chine in front of the undertaking parlors
and waited. Shortly after eight o’clock
a woman, dressed in mourning, walked
slowly into the building.

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By HARRISON MORELAND

Staff Investigator for
MASTER DETECTIVE

PART I
N a foggy night in January, a tall, distinguished-looking young
man with broad shoulders, who will be known for a time in this
chronicle as Killer “X”, entered. the railroad station in Seattle,
Washington. The crushable Borsalino hat, set at a jaunty angle,
matched the gray of his English swagger coat. He strode across
to the parcel room and handed a check to the attendant. The shabby suit-
case the latter shoved over to him contrasted oddly with his expen-
sive clothing. Picking it up he disappeared into the men’s washroom.
Twenty minutes later a train pulled in from the south, and people began
pouring into the station. It was at this moment the young man emerged.
His appearance had undergone a complete change. An old tweed cap had
replaced the Borsalino hat and he now wore the clothes of a working-man.
Mingling with the hurrying crowd he pushed his way out of the station,
carrying his suit-case. Assuming the gait of a sailor he headed for the sec-
tion of the city down by the waterfront.
When he reached a row of buildings in a dimly-lighted district he stopped

“We know that he’s one of the most
cunning bandits we've come up
against,” said a detective of the man .
of mystery, Killer “X” (above).
This phantom-like murderer har- 5
.assed the authorities with one baf-— aoe

peo

- eee ee

years—how he managed to pull off a
murder over 100 miles from the house
where, surrounded by witnesses, he
spent New Year’s Eve.

Jerry Henderson cracked a big
country boy grin. “Heck, it was ea-

sy.”
He said early in the evening he
complained of stomach pains and
went to bed. But once in the bed-
room, he crawled out a window and
drove his pick-up to Talladega.

Halfway there, he said he stopped
in Oxford, Alabama, and called his
home from a pay phone. collect to
make sure there had been no slips and
he could go through with the plan.

He continued on to Talladega and
parked his truck on a dirt road away
from the house. He then used a map
drawn by. Judy Haney to. get to the
house without being seen.

Henderson said he wore a long
winter coat underneath which he hid

his shotgun loaded with turkey shot.

“T hada hell of a time getting the
right shells,” he explained. He said
he tried several friends but all they
had was birdshot. “And birdshot isn’t
really going to kill a man,” he said.

Approaching the house, he said he
set the shotgun. near the porch and
knocked: on Haney’s. door. Haney
was already in bed and it took him
some time to answer the door.

Henderson said he argued with Ha-
ney on the front porch, then shot him
three times at close range.

“Things got a little crazy,” Hender-
son admitted. “I remember pulling the
trigger and next thing I know he is
laying there all shot up and not mov-
ing.”

He said he took Haney’s wallet and
ran back to the truck. He said he later
dumped the murder weapon in a
creek and. threw the wallet in a
dumpster but gave Judy Haney her
husband’s Social Security card as
proof that her husband was dead.

“That explains how Judy got the
Social Security Card,” Surrett said.

In May, 1988, Jerry Henderson
was tried for the murder of his broth-
er-in-law. On May 20, a jury took
only 45 minutes to find him guilty of
capital murder.

During the penalty phase, Hender-
son took the stand and told jurors that
he had been abandoned as a child by
his mother and was raised by his
grandparents.

Sobbing openly, he said when his
grandparents died, he lived with his

father for a while but later went to.

live with an aunt and uncle in Flor-
ida, who later died.

Although convicted of forgery and
breaking and entering, Henderson
said he was basically a law abiding
citizen who had never committed a
violent crime before he murdered his
brother-in-law.

“I could count on one hand the
fights I was in,” he said. “And they
were all in high school.”

He said after the murder, the guilt
of what he had done began to weigh
on him and he got to where he could
not sleep or talk to anyone about it for
fear of involving someone else. “I
couldn’t live with what I had done,”
he said. “I couldn’t talk to anyone and
thought about suicide.”

He said he actually did attempt sui-
cide and afterward began to think
about religion. He had since turned
his life over to God. “He was the only
one I had to turn to,” he said.

He described his conversation as “a
peace that’s come over me.” The de-
fense attorney asked Henderson if he
would ask the jury to spare his life.

“Only,” Henderson sobbed, “if
they find it in their heart.”

Jurors didn’t, taking only 17 min-
utes before voting that Henderson
should receive the death sentence.

Judy Haney went on trial in October.

1988, with the defendant. invoking a
battered wife’s defense. Taking the
witness stand on her own behalf, Ju-
dy Haney said that of the 17 years of
her marriage there were only two or
three years which didn’t contain
some kind of violence.

Jurors heard testimony how Jerry
Haney regularly beat and humiliated
his wife and once ripped off her
blouse and threw her and the children
out of the house in subfreezing tem-
peratures when one of the children
ripped open a bag of seed.

Prosecutors, however, pointed out
that a search of hospital county re-
cords going back 210 years showed
Judy Haney had never received treat-
ment for the alleged beatings or made
an official complaint against her hus-
band.

It was also noted that she had not
complained about being a battered
wife to anyone until after she was ar-
rested for murder.

Judy Haney was found guilty of
first-degree murder. The same jury of
six men and six women then voted
she should be put to death for the
crime.

Currently the sentences for both de-
fendants are under appeal. Until a rul-
ing has been reached, Jerry Hender-
son and Judy Haney will reside on
Death Row in the Alabama prison
system.

The Trail Of The Looting Lover

(continued from page 19)

big cities and small towns in the Unit-
ed States and Canada and abroad,. he
was never apprehended for robbery.
It was, rather, a strange personality
weakness which led to Hamby’s
downfall and early demise. Like a
gifted but spoiled child, he simply
couldn’t stand being denied anything
he wanted. On the rare occasions
when a woman turned him down, it
ate at his soul until he got even. With
men he retaliated immediately. No-
body knows exactly how many men
Hamby shot and killed, but they were
doubtless all executed for the same
reason: they did not do what Gordon
Fawcett Hamby told them to do.

If he had only learned how to curb
this intolerance, and his trigger fin-
ger, Gordon Fawcett Hamby might
well have prospered for many more
years.

Persons who knew Hamby, partic-

ularly his girl friends, often wonder-
ed why, with all that ability, he did
not take up some legitimate trade. The
question answered itself. To Gordon
Hamby taking money away from
people at the point of a gun came nat-
urally. What else was so demanding
of so many talents? What else was.so
rewarding in excitement, accom-
plishment, and money?

Though he seemed so poised, so
gentle, so composed, fires raged
within him. He had to prove himself,
over and over and over, to both men
and women.

Hamby made it look easy. One fog-
gy January night in Seattle, 1917, he
found himself running short of ready
cash; he was down to a couple of
hundred. He knew of a nice little
neighborhood bank where he could
make a. well-planned withdrawal,

(continued on next page)

an excellent executive. He

i
i i

by GEORGE LAVORATO

f there had been some na-

tional award for the out-

standing young man in
Gordon Fawcett Hamby’s
profession, he would surely
have walked off with it. He
possessed an extremely un-
usual combination of tal-
ents: he was imaginative,
yet capable of detailed plan-
ning; individually daring, yet

had the sensitive, aesthetic
face of a dedicated young
minister, but inside he was
as tough as a guerrilla lead-
er. Beautiful and talented
women came to him without
benefit of marriage; men
trusted him and risked their
necks for him. Using them
all—talent and _ determin-
ation, women and men—
Hamby, by the time he was
24, had grossed at least a
quarter of a million dollars,
tax-free, in a line of work
which is particularly de-
manding. Hamby robbed

banks.

Hamby, as a matter of fact, came
about as close as anyone to disproving
the adage that crime does not pay. Al-
though he practiced his profession in

(continued on page 43)

Women flocked to the hand-

some criminal with a tender

face, here in minister’s
garb, one of his disguises.

BEM SS SRR e
g Whether robbing banks or wooing women,

fad
bd
mg the handsome rogue was always debonair. -
a 20 long, fellows,’ he warbled on the way to ™
= the chair, ‘1 always liked trying everything bi
BS SSS eee ee ONC.’ geese eee

RCHIVES Ms ‘e > 4 Bob Davis in death. Young husband was shot |
WSR et Gal a point-blank for refusing to aidinscheme. |

ONO Ra

<n ee

The Trail Of The Looting Lover

(continued from page 43)

but he needed an assistant. He was
highly selective when it came to as-
sistants; Hamby knew full well the
importance of personnel, the right
man for the job. He preferred sailors,
for at the completion of the job they
could ship off on a long voyage.

On this foggy night in Seatle, Ham-
by began his search for talent by chan-
ging from his natty, tailor-made suit
to the clothes of a seaman. He pro-
ceeded to what seemed to be an ordi-
nary two-story house in the harbor
area, and knocked three times on the
door. A heavy-set man with a cauli-
flower ear opened it and nodded him
in. Hamby preceded the guard down
a narrow flight of stairs to the base-
ment. Under a cone of light a group of
sailors surrounded a roulette table. As
Hamby played he studied the other
players. Opposite him a thin-faced
teen-aged sailor called Jerry was los-
ing steadily. When the boy lost his
last buck and turned to go, he found
Hamby blocking his way, a sympa-
thetic smile on his face and a roll of
money in his hand.

“Here,” Hamby said gently, “play
this for me.”

If the boy had won a little, no fur-
ther action would have been _nec-
essary. But he kept losing. Hamby
sauntered back around the table,
hands in pockets. When he was di-
rectly behind the croupier both hands
came out of his pockets—and each
held a small automatic.

“Don’t anybody move,” he said
quietly. The croupier froze, but cauli-
flower ear, busy guarding, went for
his gun. Hamby’s face twitched
slightly with annoyance. Keeping his
left-hand weapon steady in the back
of the croupier, Hamby fired the auto-
matic in his right. The guard fell and
his gun clattered on the floor.

“This game is crooked,”. Hamby
announced in his low, resonant
voice. “They’ve been taking sailors’
money here too long. Jerry, reach in
this drawer and throw the money on
the table so everybody can get back
the bills he lost... Okay, now let’s
go.”

Outside, safely away from any pur-
suers, the kid bubbled over with ex-

citement. It was the greatest thing

that had ever happened to him. When
Hamby suggested that Jerry meet him

in the morning, he agreed with alacri-
ty.
And that’s how Hamby secured an
assistant he could trust. The hiring
had been a little dramatic, for Hamby
really hadn’t anticipated any shoot-
‘ing. But then, of course, he never did.
Why couldn’t people do what he told
them to do, and live? Particularly
since he had practiced long and hard,
and was an excellent shot.

Next morning the bank robbery
went off smoothly. Hamby, well
dressed and smiling, followed his
customary procedure. He _ entered
with his assistant, noted that only one
teller and a young woman were on
duty, and courteously asked the teller
to change a $50 bill. He got his usual
kick at the man’s expression when
he looked up into the muzzle of an au-
tomatic.

“You’re right,” Hamby said, easi-
ly, “this is a holdup. Take it easy and
no one will be hurt. All right, Jerry,
hop around there and see what you
can find in the safe.”

Two minutes later the two were
gone. From the time Hamby had
picked up his assistant to the time of

. the successful robbery, less than 12

hours had elasped. In that time he had
had a good night’s sleep and made
$6,000 clear. Jerry he had dismissed
with a few hundred bucks and the ur-
gent warning to ship out.

Hamby was fully as successful in
his pursuit of women as he was in
signing up new assistants, even
though his standards were much
higher for female companionship.
Girls should be beautiful, of course,
but in addition they had to be well
mannered and intelligent, and like a
touch of excitement. He had a half-
dozen or more scattered over the
country who met his specifications,
and upon whom he could call for both
recreational and vocational activity.
Each knew him under a different
name.

To Mildred Harrison, one of his fa-
vorites, he was Boyd Browning. He
first saw Mildred in Detroit, playing
a small role with a traveling stage
show. She was a sweet girl who
would not have gone out with just
any stage-door Johnny; but when
Hamby sent her flowers, then his
card, then showed up in person, well

dressed, with cultured voice and the
delicate, sensitive face of a young
minister, Mildred knew that here
was a man with whom her honor
was safe. At first they read poems to-
gether, and she was enchanted by the
soft words of love that fell from his
lips as his long delicate fingers gently
.turned the pages. Within three days
She had agreed to quit the troupe and
go to California with him. She’d be
great in motion pictures, he said. He
had to leave immediately for Winni-
peg, he told her, but she could finish
up the week in Detroit, then come to
Winnipeg and they would go west
together.

What business did he have? He
smiled gently and changed the sub-
ject. Next day he gave her the rail-
road tickets. She had a compartment
all the way through. As the train
came into Winnipeg she pressed her
nose against the glass, trying to see
him on the platform. The train came
to a stop, and long minutes went by.
Then he slipped in the door and closed
it after him. He was breathing hard,
but she didn’t notice that. What really
attracted her attention was the high
vest he had on, the kind ministers
wore. So that was his secret! Her
sweetheart was a minister. She fell
into his arms.

Minutes went by, and still the train
remained in the station. A tap came
on the door of their compartment.

“Come in,” Mildred trilled. Two
policemen looked in. They saw a
young minister and his wife sitting
together, holding hands. ;

“Sorry to bother you,” one of the
policemen said hastily, tipping his
cap, “but there’s been a bank robbery
and murder at a small town near here.
We’re checking every exit to make
sure the bandit doesn’t get away.”

“My goodness,” the young minister
said. The policemen wished them
goodnight and a nice trip, and went
off down the train. Soon it started,
and Hamby leaned back against the
cushions and sighed. He had a beauti-
ful girl, three days and three nights of
love to look forward to, and a satchel
full of money. At the end of the trip,
or shortly thereafter, the principals
split up temporarily.

As Hamby continued his unortho-
dox practice of withdrawing funds
from banks without bothering to
make deposits first, word of the cour-

teous bandit spread, particularly over

(continued on next page)

a ad

the West. The police of San Francisco
came up with the novel idea of catch-
ing him before he could strike, and
began a constant watch at railroad
Stations, hotels and rooming houses.
When Hamby, sensitive and well
mannered himself, heard of this in-
hospitable new attitude, his feelings
were hurt. He immediately deter-
mined to infuse, through personal
example, a little more friendliness in
the town.

He persuaded the girl friend who
had succeeded Mildred for the time,
a red-headed, warmhearted, former
school-teacher named Emily Spence,
to help him in his crusade. They
found the rumors of inhospitality to be
greatly exaggerated, however. Po-
lice had only smiles for such an ob-

vious pair of honeymooners as the |

handsome young man and the laugh-
ing girl who, dripping rice at every
step, boarded one of the hotel buses at
. the railroad station. They registered as
Mr. and Mrs. Howard Allen, lived at
the hotel a few days, then found a
pleasant little honeymoon cottage,
completely furnished.

They were apart only a few hours
and a day. Howard Allen, or Gordon
Hamby, if you prefer, fell into the
habit of having his lunch alone at a caf-
eteria on Kearney Street, near the of-
fices of the Railway Express Com-
pany. Before long he had become
friendly with two company employ-
ees who also lunched there regularly.
When the wife of one of them be-
came ill, Hamby pressed several large
bills into the distraught husband’s
hand.

A few days after that Emily woke
up in the morning to find a roll of bills
on the pillow next to her. Howard
Allen was gone. Later that day, far to

the south, a pretty Hollywood bit |

(continued on next page)

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the Dept. of Pi

lir and Duiz:: attempted to question Gretel
™riedlich. She answered their questions
in German, and when she tried to speak in
broken English, her teeth chattered so that
her words were unintelligible. Laura
Weitz volunteered to act as interpreter and
through her the officers got the maid’s
story.

Gretel had worked for the Heilner fam-
ily for the past four years. She had come
to this country from Germany in 1903. She
had left the Heilner house at 8 that morn-
ing and had gone to the home of relatives
in Manhattan, where detectives had picked
her up.

In Laura Weitz, the detectives found a
more understandable witness, but one with
little to tell. She had been employed for
two months as a cook by Mrs. Heilner, she
said, and although she had been told her
work was satisfactory she did not mix with
the family and knew nothing about them.
Given the day off, she had gone to the
home of her friends on Long Island, where
Coughlin’s men found her. She had no
idea who might have killed her mistress,
nor why.

Coughlin withdrew the bronze medal
from his pocket and held it up for the
three servants to see.

“Does this mean anything to you?” he
asked casually.

Gretel Friedlich showed no sign of rec-
ognition, and Joseph Hanel’s face was an
implacable mask. But the eyes of Laura
Weitz focused on the medal in a hypnotic
stare. The color drained from her sunken
cheeks as she whispered hoarsely, “That is
the Kaiser’s medal. Where did you get
ie:

“On the floor, near the body,” the cap-
tain told her. “I have a feeling it was
dropped there by the killer.”

Laura Weitz shuddered, clenched her
hands and regained control of herself. “The
world is flooded with thousands of those
medals,” she said at last. “Many of them
are here in New York City. It doesn’t
mean a thing.”

Disappointed, Coughlin returned the
medal to his pocket. He was reluctant to
withdraw the piece of enamel paper be-
cause of the possibility it bore recogniz-
able fingerprints.

He asked the usual questions. Did any
of the three servants know why Mrs. Heil-
ner might have been killed? Did she have
any enemies? Was she afraid of anybody?
Did she have any visitors? The answers
were negative.

The Fleeing Suspect

Meanwhile the detectives dispatched to
the homes on Albemarle Road had picked
up some interesting information. Several
of the Heilners’ neighbors suggested that
the fleeing man probably was Hans
Schultz, an ardent suitor of the gaunt
Laura Weitz. They couldn’t say for sure,

but they often had seen him leaving the
| Heilner house.

Coughlin had Schultz picked up im-
| mediately and found him to be a tall, thin-
| faced German, typically Prussian, although

he had neither the funds nor social stand-
ing in Germany to have attained the mili-
tary caste. Schultz insisted that he had
been at the German consul’s office in lower
Manhattan all morning and that he knew
nothing about Julia Heilner, other than
she was the mistress of Laura Weitz, whom
he occasionally took out socially.

The captain showed him the medal and
the piece of enamel paper bearing the
numbers 1-99. “I wouldn't be surprised if
this was the number of an espionage
operator, would you?” he asked.

Schultz. shrugged. “I know nothing

about either of those things,” he replied.

After a few more attempts, Coughlin
turned the suspect over to Detective Frank
Leary to guard. He called the servants
back one by one for further questioning
but they could throw no light on Hans
Schultz or his activities, other than to say
that he often came to see the cook and that
he never tried to hide the fact. that he dis-
liked Julia Heilner and her husband.

Captain Coughlin paused in order to
assemble what information he had been
able to develop. Miss Buck had seen a
man hurrying away from the house. The
medal pointed to Hans Schultz, but it also
pointed to each of the others since they
were all of German ancestry or origin. The
victim’s strongbox had been looted of her
will and deeds to property in Germany,
items of loot totally incompatible with the
theft of her jewelry.

The captain suddenly recalled a peculiar
nervous habit shown by one of the people
he had questioned in the Heilner house.
With mounting excitement he returned to
Brooklyn police headquarters. By this
time the murder of Julia Heilner had as-
sumed international proportions. When
Coughlin had handed in the Kaiser’s medal
and the paper with the mysterious number
to Police Commissioner Arthur Woods, the
latter had notified the intelligence bureau
of the United States government and Fred
J. Butler, the head of the bureau, had has-
tened to New York to confer with the
Police Commissioner.

The Crossed Palm

Coughlin faced Commissioner Woods,
Inspector Dillon and Special Agent Butler
across the commissioner's big mahogany
desk, on which lay the bronze medal and
the enamel paper with the mysterious
symbols. “These could be red herrings,”
the captain said, “planted to throw us off
the track. I say that because I observed
in the Heilner house today, a person with
the habit of crossing the palm of his hand
with his thumb.” :

Woods looked up, an understanding in
his eyes. “That sounds to me,” he said,
“like a person who has only been out of
prison for a short time. They get that
habit of bending the thumb in the palm
from gripping the bars of a cell.” ,
es you, commissioner,” Coughlin
said. “I'll follow that hunch.”

From headquarters, the captain drove to
the Lorech home where Helen Buck was
staying. There he questioned her about
the character of the voice she had heard
answer the phone that morning at the
Heilner house. The person, she said,
spoke perfect English. ;

Puzzled by this information, Coughlin
went next to the Seaman’s Institute and
talked with Frank Randow, the desk clerk.
Of Randow he asked the names of all Ger-
man sailors residing there, and permission
to search their rooms. The clerk granted
both requests willingly.

Then the captain returned to Center
Street and spent the rest of the night put-
ting in long distance calls to police depart-
ments in the Eastern states. Schultz and
Laura Weitz were detained for further
interrogation and suspects of German
origin were picked up all over the city
for questioning. .

Coughlin meanwhile entrained for Phil-
adelphia, came back the following day,
then suddenly returned to the Quaker City.
Only the captain knew the course he was
pursuing, and his superior officers had the
utmost confidence in him. When, three
days later, on April 27, he walked into In-
spector Dillon’s office at Brooklyn po-
lice headquarters, Commissioner W

and other department heads were waiting |

for him. The captain laid a watch and gold
stickpin on the desk.

“These items,” he said quietly, “weine |

stolen from the room of the victim’s

nephew, Fred Vogel, and were found in a |

Philadelphia pawnshop.”

Commissioner Woods’ face broke into a |

grin. “You have good hunches, captain.”
_ ik you,” said Coughlin. “I’ve ai-

ready ordered the suspect taken intr,

custody.”

The captain explained to the other offi- |
cers that since the habit of crossing a paim |
with his thumb had revealed a criminal |

record, he had checked other eastern po-

lice departments. From Philadelphia he |

had obtained the information that one of |

the suspects was a famous criminal only
recently released from jail.

“What name did he serve under?” in-
quired Woods.

“Frank Wattle, but he had other aliases. |

In this case he used his real name, Joseph
Hanel. He’s no more German than I am.
He’s a notorious criminal and somewhere |
must have learned to speak German. He |
could talk broken English to fool me, but |
he must have had a command of German to |
convince Julia Heilner and the other ser- |
vants.” j
|
Blames Accomplice

The officers decided that Hanel had en- |
tered the Seamen’s Institute with the |
knowledge that Mrs. Heilner was apt to:
- call there and he could qualify for the job |
she sought to fill, Through some source, |
he had known of the victim’s strongbox |
and had visions of great wealth once he |
returned to Germany. The medal and the |
paper, they concluded, were deliberate
plants to throw suspicion on Hans Schultz |
and Laura Weitz, who were completely |
innocent of any complicity. |

But it was ten months later, on February |
26, 1916, before Captain Coughlin sat fac- |
ing Joseph Hanel, the ex-convict who had |
posed as butler for the Heilner family.
Within that time he had eluded every |

‘police dragnet thrown out for him with |
incredible facility. j

The police in Baltimore finally caught up |
with | him on Washington's Birthday. He |
didn’t resist arrest and waived extradition.
Returned to New York. he was faced with |
the evidence that he had pawned the watch |
and the stickpin and admitted he had been
involved in the slaying of Julia Heilner.
But he insisted he had an accomplice who
committed the actual murder. |

He admitted that he posed as a German
sailor to gain a job in the Heilner house,
believing that there was a fortune in the
strongbox. He delayed the robbery until
he had located the box and then had se-
cured and planted the medal and the piece
of enamel paper with the mysterious num-
bers deliberately to cast suspicion on
Schultz and Laura Weitz.

Julia Heilner had surprised him and his
accomplice in the kitchen after they had
completed looting the house, he declared,
and the accomplice had disposed of her.
But this contention did not stand up in
court, and a jury found him guilty of first
degree murder. .

Early on the morning of September 1, |
1916, Joseph Hanel was led to the electric
chair in the Sing Sing death house. As
the straps were being adjusted one thumb
flicked continually across the damp, coid
palm. i

Eprror's Note: To spare possible embar-
rassment to innocent persons, the names
Gretel Friedlich, Laura Weitz and Hans
Schultz, used in this story, are fictitious.

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NOOSE FOR

CRIME DETECTIVE, January, 1952.

ULIA HEILNER'S
ing her with serva
companion so she
hours at his Manh
on fashionable A!

Brooklyn was equipped

Seligman Heilner, a
afford the expensive UP
tect her from the care
all his efforts quite suc
ing when Julia was for

The body of the atti
the kitchen floor of he
from ugly wounds in
vacantly at the ceiling.
tightly wound and kn
was partly hidden by

son, which had been t

Coolly surveying th

Detective Capt. John
record of 30 solved
earlier, Patrolmen Ja
the Parkville Station
from a woman, repo
floor at 217 Albemar
failed to give her nan
had to force the kitc

Coughlin looked u}
house, accompanied |
cal examiner. As D!
captain made a brief

“The victim hasn’!
slayer evidently spe!
the house and every

“It doesn’t look |i
“A second-story ma
like this, to waste
neck.”

“[’m not so sure
have walked into th
had finished his loc
he struck her over

Seligman Heiln

DRGL
4
Baa

ULIA HEILNER'’S husband always had babied her, surround-

ing her with servants and even providing her with a woman
A | companion so she wouldn’t be lonely while he spent long

hours at his Manhattan office. Their palatial 20-room house
on fashionable Albemarle Road in the Flatbush section of
Brooklyn was equipped with every comfort and convenience..

Seligman Heilner, a wealthy corset manufacturer, could well
afford the expensive upkeep of his blonde wife and tried to pro-
tect her from the cares and intrusions of the outer world. But
all his efforts quite. suddenly were nullified one cool April morn-
ing when Julia was found murdered.

The body of the attractive, 38-year-old matron lay sprawled on
the kitchen floor of her home. Blood matted her high-piled hair
from ugly wounds in her skull, and her lifeless blue eyes stared
vacantly at the ceiling. Around her neck two stout cords had been
tightly wound and knotted. The flimsy green negligee she wore
was partly hidden by a white tablecloth, now stained with crim-
son, which had been thrown over the corpse.

Coolly surveying the grim scene in the Flatbush kitchen stood
Detective Capt. John D. Coughlin, a husky young officer with a
record of 30 solved. murder cases behind him. Half an hour
earlier, Patrolmen James McGovern and Fred C. Blessman of
the Parkville Station had responded to .a frantic telephone call
from a woman, reporting that a body was lying on the kitchen
floor at 217 Albemarle Road. In her excitement, the caller had
failed to give her name. When the officers reached the scene, they
had to force the kitchen door to enter.

Coughlin looked up as Inspector George Dillon strode into the
house, accompanied by Dr. Frank Long, assistant Brooklyn medi-
cal examiner. As Dr. Long knelt beside the woman’s body, the
captain made a brief report to Dillon.

“The victim hasn’t been dead long,” Coughlin said, “but her

slayer evidently spent some time here. We’ve been all through:

the house and every room has been ransacked.”

“It doesn’t look like the work of a burglar,” Dillon observed.
“A second-story man works too fast, especially in a big place
like this, to waste time tying two nooses around a woman’s
neck.”

“I’m not so sure,” Coughlin countered. “Mrs. Heilner may
have walked into the kitchen and surprised the criminal after he
had finished his looting and was on his way out. In that case,
he. struck her over the head and stopped to tie the cords around

Seligman Heilner, Julia’s hushand, heard bad news.

poe

her throat so she wouldn’t be able to tell police who hit her.”
Dr. Long lent. support to the captain’s theory when he arose
from his examination and. told the officers that in his opinion, the

victim had died of a skull fracture, not strangulation. The killer

apparently had not realized that the force of his blows with a
blunt instrument had been fatal within a few moments.

“This woman hasn’t been dead for much more than an hour,”
the medical examiner went on. “And as for the skull fracture,
I must perform an autopsy before I am certain it was the cause
of death. All indications are that there was no, criminal assault.”

As Dr. Long concluded his preliminary findings, two other men
entered the murder room. They were the victim’s husband and
his nephew, Fred Vogel, who had been notified by the Parkville
Station and summoned to the scene.

Seligman Heilner, tall, slim and in his fifties, was pale and had
difficulty controlling -his emotions while he discussed with the
officers the possibility of robbery as the motive.

The nephew, young and handsome, had better control of him-
self and flatly declared that the crime could have been committed
only by a housebreaker or a robber. As a boarder in the Heilner
home, he was positive.

The ‘detectives led both men through each room of the big
house, asking the husband in particular to note and describe all
articles that were missing. Julia Heilner, her widower said, al-
ways wore two diamond earrings and two diamond rings, but the
detectives had found no jewelry on her body.

More gems were missing from her bedroom, and a small iron
strongbox there. had been completely emptied of its contents—
her will, personal papers and deeds to property in her native
Gerthany.

“A gold watch and stick-pin had been taken from the nephew’s
room, but neither Heilner nor Vogel could find anything missing
from the first floor rooms, although these had been ransacked
like the others. f

The nephew expounded.a theory for the officers. “I think I
know what happened,” he volunteered. “Aunt Julia was sleeping
while the robber went through the house and he was careful
not to awaken her when he went for the jewels in her bedroom,
even though he was tempted to take the earrings and finger rings
from her as she reclined on the bed. Something—perhaps some
sound he made—awakened her as he was preparing to leave, and
she went downstairs and surprised him in the kitchen. Then

Captain John Coughlin followed hunch, broke ease.

he had only one course—to kill her, seize her personal jewelry
and flee.”

Coughlin and Dillon studied the young man narrowly and
avoided comment on his remarks. The inspector looked up in-
stead at the crystal chandelier in the living room where they stood
and observed: “In a great house like this, naturally there would
be servants.” .

E have three,” replied Seligman Heilner. “A maid, Hilda
Friesin; a cook, Cora Unruh, and the butler, Joseph Hanel.
But my wife often gave the servants a day off, and perhaps that
is what happened today, for all three of them are not here. My
nephew and I leave the house every morning at seven and have no
idea then what plans my wife has in mind for the day.”
“I want my men to round up these servants right away,” Dillon
declared. “Where can we find them?”
The victim’s husband was not sure. Hanel might be found’ at

the Seaman’s Institute in Manhattan, he believed, because he was:

a German sailor marooned in this country on account of the war.
Cora Unruh usually went to visit friends on -Long Island, while
Hilda Friesin had a sister in Manhattan.

The inspector moved to leave the living room and the captain
followed, as Seligman Heilner abruptly asked: “Why would any-
one take my wife’s will and the deeds to property in Germany?
The missing jewelry I can under-
stand, but the thefts of these other
things puzzle me.” 4

Heilner said that his late wife ©
had inherited considerable real es- >
tate in Germany. The will itself,
he added, was-a simple document.
The bulk of the property was di- .
vided among Julia Heilner’s rela-
tives. “But I am well fixed,” the
husband said hastily, “and have no ~*~
need for that property. Besides, ;
with the war in Europe, what is it
worth now?”

Most of his wife’s relatives
lived in Germany, Heilner said,
with the exception of her nephew,
Fred Vogel. The nephew was quick
to deny that he knew anything
about the will or its provisions.

Dillon’s gray eyes were fixed
emir on those of Heilner. “Tell

* he asked quietly, “just how
satel were your wife’s Yeslings for
the Fatherland?”

The date was April 23, 1915, and
the armies of Germany and the
Allies ‘were tearing at each other on the Western Front, although
World War I had not affected the United States greatly except
for the sudden prosperity it had brought to workers in munitions
plants and others engaged in the. production of war goods. .On
this day, less than two weeks, before the U-boat sinking of the
liner Lusitania, there was little feeling for or against éither side

- jn the great conflict, and it was considered only natural that Ameri-.

cans of German origin should be loyal to the country of their

birth. co

Seligman Heilner paused before he answered the inspector’s
question. Then he said: “My Julia was an American, first and
always. Any interest she had in Germany was confined to her
desire to help German citizens marooned in this country by the
war.’

Captain Coughlin asked the husband what other | papers might
have been in the rifled strongbox, and he replied that he was cer-
tain it contained nothing but the will and. deeds and a few per-
sonal items of mere sentimental. value.

Heilner and his nephew were showing the strain of the shock
they had received, and the detectives allowed them to go so that
they could make arrangements to notify relatives and make plans
for the funeral.

Now a third witness entered the house and closed the foyer door
softly behind her. Tall, dark and attractive, she identified herself
as Miss Helen Buck, the dead woman’s companion, who also lived

in the big house on Albemarle Road. Pale, her eyes red-rimmed

from weeping, she was visibly shaken.
“This terrible thing has left me numb,” she said in a low voice.

“Julia Heilner was my best friend. I lived with her as a com-

panion, but I was closer to her than that—almost like a sister. °

Last night I went to Manhattan to stay with some friends, and
this morning I called the house to find out if Julia could meet
me for lunch. But when I called the house this morning, a man
answered.”

“Did you recognize the voice?” Dillon asked.

“No, his voice was strange to me. I asked if Mrs. Heilner was
in, and he said that she was not. When I asked where she was,
he slammed down the receiver. Then I got suspicious and rushed
over here. I found oth the front and the rear door to the kitchen
locked.. Supposing that Mrs. Heilner had gone next door to the
neighbor’s I went over-to the Franz Lorech home, where she often
visited. But they hadn’t seen-her, and Lorech, alarmed, walked
over to the kitchen window here and looked in. He saw the body

“lying on the floor and ran back to tell me. Then [I called the

police.”

She had remained at the Lorech house ever since, so upset by
the discovery that she was unable at first to return to the Heilner
‘house.

‘Helen Buck said. that she had seen one person in the vicinity
of the house when she arrived that
morning and tried the doors—a
man running down Albemarle
Road in the direction of East Third
Street. She had only glimpsed his
back and at the time wondered
why he was in such haste. She
could not be certain that he had
come from the murder scene.

x (THE fleeing man, Dillon and

Coughlin soon decided, was
their sole clue. At the inspector’s
direction, the captain sent detec-
tives flying to every home along
Albemarle Road in search of some-
one who had seen the face‘of the
suspect as he hastened down the
street.

Back in the kitchen of the Heil-
ner house, Coughlin had his finger-
print men dusting all objects, in-
cluding the cords around the vic-
tim’s neck, with French chalk in
hopes of developing the killer’s
prints. But, in 1915, fingerprint

: was a new science introduced to
this country by Inspector Joseph Faurot, and the results were far
from satisfactory. Only a few smudged prints were found, none

of them useful.
Coughlin, however, was making a meticulous search of the mur-

’ der room for other, more tangible clues. Soon he: discovered two.

One was a heavy piece of white enamel paper, about an inch
square, on which was printed the number 1-99. The other was a
bronze medal lying not far from where the body was found. The
size of a half-dollar, the medal bore the silhouette of Kaiser
Wilhelm, with the date 1914 under it and a legend above, in Ger-
man script, which read when translated: “Death and the Father-
land.”

While Coughlin was attempting to evaluate the significance of
these two clues, long after the body had been-removed to the
morgue, other detectives arrived at the house with the missing
servants.

First to be brought into the kitchen was Hilda Hoestn; the maid,
plump, rosy-cheeked and trembling from head to foot. Second was

Cora‘ Unruh, the cook, tall, gaunt and immobile. The third to be.

ushered in was Joseph Hanel, a little man with a moon-like face
and a wide forehead.

They questioned Hanel first. Although his looks and actions
seemed somehow frank and forthright, he spoke in broken English
and had difficulty in making himself understood. It took some
time to get all the details of his story, (Continued on page 48)

Our volunte
lives today .
neighborho«
ternal and s:
. by show
themselves
cancer.

In laborato
our volunte

“Thanks,” said the urbane youth,
rising. “If you should ever want to see
me, you can easily find me at the ad-
dress on my card.. Good day.”

Nearly a month passed before the
Grand Jury returned an_ indictment
accusing Carlyle W. Harris of having
murdered Helen Potts by administer-
ing morphine. Detective Phil Reilly
arrested him when he called and sur-
rendered himself.

“This is a hideous mistake,” he told
Reilly; yet he was so courteous and
uncomplaining that he won the friend-
ship of the veteran detective. At the
Tombs police court the magistrate
committed him to the Tombs, the ee!
Prison. There he was locked in a cell
in Murderers’ Row, as the norther]
tier on the ground floor was called.
Assistant District Attorney Francis L.
Wellman was detailed to prosecute him,
and his defence was undertaken by
William Travers Jerome, who had
served as an assistant district attorney,
and John A. Taylor, former Corpora-
tion Counsel of Brooklyn.

S!x months passed before the trial
was begun, before Recorder Fred-

erick Smyth, in the Court of General’

Sessions. Laborious days were spent in
selecting a jury, and the twelve men in
the box were an exceptionally intelli-
gent group, of high character. I re-
ported the trial for the New York
Herald, and for three long weeks lis-
tened to the details of the tragedy, the
conflicting opinions of the experts, the
clashes of counsel, and the wise rulings
of the Recorder. He used to tell his
friends that this was the most inter-
esting case that ever came before him.

The facts brought out were as_al-
ready related here. No one testified
that Harris had put a fatal dose of
morphine in any of the capsules, though
Hearn J. Power, the clerk who put up
the prescription, demonstrated on the
witness stand how easy it was to pull
apart the two sections of a capsule and
fill it with morphine. The jurors
handled the deadly thing and shud-
dered while Power testified that qui-
nine and morphine are white crystals
that look exactly alike.

Dr. John Rogers, assistant to Pro-
fessor Peabody at the College of
Physicians and Surgeons, testified that
twice in December before the death of
Helen Potts, and on the 7th, 8th and
9th of January, he had handed to the
students while the Professor was lec-
turing small, wide-mouth bottles of sul-
phate of morphia. These were passed
along from hand to hand, and the stu-
dents were allowed to take the poison
out and examine it.

Mr. Wellman laid stress on the fact
that Harris could have helped himself
then to all the morphine he wanted,
though no one testified that he had
done so. He also called attention to the
fact that Harris, after getting Helen’s

rescription filled in great haste, had
Fane it in his possession for twenty-
seven hours. Here were opportunity to
get morphine and opportunity to
empty an innocent capsule and fill it
with a deadly dose. Of course, there
was no direct evidence of any such acts
by Harris, and any suggestion that he

The Master Detective’

had committed murder must be by in-
ference from the circumstances.

The behavior of Harris during the
trial won him many friends among the
crowds who filled the court room day

after day. His air was that of a stu-

dent deeply interested in the phe-
homena going on around him, though
not personally concerned with the out-
come. ‘His mother sat beside him every
day, dressed in black, peering often
into the faces of the jurors, to see how
certain testimony affected them. No
One can conceive what an ordeal the
trial of her son for murder must have
been to this gentlewoman, tenderly
reared, of broad culture, herself the
author of a book of advice to mothers
on the bringing up of children and an
able speaker for the Women’s Christian
Temperance Union.

Harris did not take the witness stand
on his own behalf. His counsel declined
to give any reason for keeping him off,
but it was understood that the prosecu-
tion had discovered a great many dam-
aging facts about his career which
would have embarrassed him on cross-
examination. These facts they could
not refer to if he stayed off the stand,
but the law permits counsel on cross-
examination to go far in asking ques-
tions, under the theory of “testing the
credibility of the witness.”

Court did not sit on Saturdays, and
in order to provide a story for Sun-
day’s Herald | had a long talk with
Carlyle Harris every Saturday after-
noon. As I recall those visits I can still
see the heavy, steel-barred doors swing-
ing open to let me in, past the pathetic
crowds of visitors—mostly women—
waiting to have the keepers examine
the little bundles of clothing and deli-
cacies they had brought for their im-
prisoned sons or brothers. Then the
prison smells as I walked through the
gloomy corridor—the queer blending
of the odors of soft soap from the
floors, with the pungent ragrance of
steeping tea, and the depressing, stale
effluvia from hundreds of human be-
ings crowded within damp stone walls
with little ventilation. On the south
wall one legend hung in a frame: “In-
temperance has caused the fall of many
kings.”

ia was distressing to find a pleasant

young fellow of my own age in. such
a place and under such an accusation.
He would talk readily enough on. an
subject not forbidden by his counsel,
and on every visit he would’ reassert
his innocence.

“Now, old man,” he would say, pass-
ing his arm over my shoulders as we
walked the dismal corridors of Mur-
derers’ Row; “now, old man, you know
I never could have been guilty of such
a crime as that!”

What could I say? What could any-
body say under the circumstances?

It was interesting. to witness the easy
way in which Harris seemed to pre-
side over the court in which he’ was
being tried. He was, of course, the
center of attraction, and he knew it,
and always bore himself with fitting
gravity and dignity. Whenever his
counsel made a good point for the de-
fence, he would turn and look intently

at the jurors, as if urging them to re-
member it well. Sometimes he would
look carefully over the spectators, and
when—as he often did—he saw a
friendly face break into a smile of en-
couragement, he would smile slightly
in return. Nothing boastful in his de-
meanor; only the calm self-possession
of the man who knows he is master of
the proceedings and is grateful for
sympathy. His mother seemed, if pos-
sible, more deeply concerned than he.
She would sit for many minutes with

her arm across his shoulders, whisper- -

fig to him now and then and smiling
when Mr. Jerome scored off the prose-
cution.

There was, of course, no attempt to
deny that Harris had written the pre-
scription for his unacknowledged wife,
taken it to the druggist, and carried the
box of medicine to her next day. The
witnesses for the defence were doctors
and analytical chemists, who insisted
that it was quite impossible for an
autopsy made nearly two months after
burial to reveal the cause of death. As
for the symptoms in Helen’s fatal ill-
ness, while they resembled those of mor-
ae ager 4 they equally resem-

led those produced by ese of the
kidneys and those caused by tiny
hemorrhages in the pons varolii, a part
of the base of the brain, which could
have caused death and could not have
been detected by such an examination
as Doctors Hamilton and Smith testi-
fied they had made.

"THERE was a great deal of public
; apathy for Harris, if one might
judge by the expressions of men and
women who thronged the corridors of
the old brown stone court house, wait-
ing for hours for some lucky chance to
get into the trial room; and many
strong D errs Pate personally ac-
quainted with him—wrote letters to
the newspapers vowing he was inno-
cent. Some criticism was made of
Harris’ placid and assured behavior,
both in the court and in the Tombs.
He answered this complaint with an
apt quotation:

“He that has light within his own clear
breast

my sit in the centre and enjoy bright

ay;

But ie that hides a dark soul and foul
thoughts

Benighted walks under the midday sun:

Himself is his own dungeon.”

In summing up the case for the de-
fence Mr. Taylor pointed out that the
conduct of Carlyle Harris was consis-
tent with innocence and nothing else,
from the time he frankly signed the
prescription “T, W. H., student” up to
that very moment in court. He ex-
plained his keeping out two innocent
capsules as done in good faith, to avoid
leaving a whole grain of morphine in a
girls’ school—rather than the act of a
cunning villain plotting a stupid de-
fence. The prosecution, he said, had
not shown any reason why Harris
should desire Helen’s death, and in
view of that fact and of the contradic-
tion of the theory of her death by mor-
phine by the testimony of eminent
scientists for the defence, the jury was

July, 1

bound
doubt,
his mo
Fran
plimen
attenti
it was
turned
size, tl
and be
of the
given <
the ste
ten an
from \
Wellm:
note, g
and th
before
effectiy
forgot
he seer
who ha
mindin
the fac

HE t

anc
Mrs, P
Harris
ing secr
wished
it.” He
tunity 1
evidenc:
training
tity of
ing the
capsules
did he |.
been off
entered
reading
that rel:
of facts
evidence
Recor
that the

The Tc

July, 1933 The Master Detective 73
Mrs. Potts stock School they will train her for the — tacks will wear off. They are not nat-
tolerate it. society in which we hope to live—I ural to me. I am hardly able to ‘ex-
{ again, by expect to obtain a good position in plain them: it is as if a door opened
New York.” suddenly and | stood looking on, as
some other The mother told Carl she knew he one thing followed another in rapid
Just now | was brilliant, clever and likely to suc- succession. I feel suffocated, and the
name con- ceed, and agreed to send Helen to the — rush of blood to my head makes me
er the Nep- school he recommended. When they feel seasick. For an el or more I am eI IY
arrived at the ferry house Helen helpless, and they leave me weak and b standard brand Sapenor, OUR PRICES
's_clerk re- smiled to see her mother and her hus- miserable for days... . Hoping to hear mersteed to give full tz montha’ js callygigetion
with a copy band on such good terms. you are much better on your return, | bythe entire financial Meagureet ofan a8, Tei
of Carl and “Going over on the ferry Carl talked Temain, Your sincere friend, BALLOON Tires CORD Tires
’ said Mrs, to his wife,” the mother testified. “I Cynthia Potts.” te ae fxs, $130 108
me he had was not near them going over. I no- Harris, it will be remembered, had 38 o-a6 | sixe 2-78 0-85
te, ticed that Helen seemed very happy. the prescription for mor hine and Ze 9-80 | aaxd 2-78 Oe
-o me in such Perhaps I have never seen her look so quinine filled on January 20, the same 83 118 uty 30s Lie
ie mother, as happy as she did that day.” ay he wrote, “I will do all you ask, tis | S04 3:98 Lae
e couple had elen entered the Comstock School if no other means of satisfying yas “95 115 | gexs 3:80. 1:88
he alderman early in the winter, and went home to — scruples can be found.” But a did not 3 1-18 | AN Other Sizes
ceremony. | Ocean Grove for the holidays. Carl give the box of capsules to Helen until PK Hee $23 ce] Beaters
| agreed with did not go there. He wrote: “My dear the next day—after they had been in \ \All Tubes Guaranteed Brand New
llow up. He Helen, I would like to ask that wha! his possession for twenty-seven hours. | F 2ENS8 SEND ONLY $1.00 DEPOSIT « each, tire
thing remain as it is, and that there be ‘There was something mysterious about | 13 REN count fcr full enah ith order, Ay fire] suc?
. no engagement announced at this this: he had a prescription for himself, | KY ¥ GOODWIN TIRE & RUBBER CO. 97%"
affidavit set- time.” Mrs. Potts wrote him: “I see no written by Dr. James R. Hayden, call- Ks)" 1840S. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill.
narriage Was necessity for telling your family now ing for thirty-six capsules of oil of | Wald FREE recs igh am
t to the copy of the engagement, as your marriage is sandalwood, for which he said he could WRITTEN Sines ce
rl signed the already an assured fact. You owe your not wait. He had six of these filled, | Be a free G00" foot
papers to her. family gratitude and an expression of and called for the rest next day. But TO eee ORDER TODAY.
rial marriage it rather than disappointment and dis- he said he must have the morphine and
assured her; obedience.” Harris wrote her: “T have quinine capsules right away, and he STUDY AT HOME
down in the joyed. y letter. Now let Helen waited fifteen minutes for them to be P2060 anmualty. We euide 70a
enjoyed your letter. P : ; step by step--furnish all text ma-
iank you for remain at the Comstock School through filled, asking several times if they were terial, incladige "fourtesn volume
e any further the summer and prepare for Wellesley ready. No explanation was ever given ferred, Low gost aay, terme: Set
rushed it fur- College, and let everything remain as it of why, after getting them in such and “"Bridence"” books free, Sead for them NOW.,
‘n_ obliged to is for two years longer.” haste, he kept them for more than a LaSalle Extension University, Dept 7306-L, Chicage
West. But it's whole day before giving them to Helen. =
Tus alarmed Mrs. Potts, and she On the day after that he went to Old
found an ex- did not reply. Harris wrote her Point Comfort for his health, and re- e face; eae
She is so im- that he had learned from Helen that mained a week, Big 3ft. Telescopes.
resses pleasure his letter worried her. This brings the narrative up to|]| , i daa de ee ae
. In the Com- “T regret this, and | place myself en- January 31st, the day Helen took the inrumgntcvetal ie, Piee fering Su in:

tirely in your hands,” he declared. “I fatal capsule. Her mother came TF cde Be ratue Boxtpeld 15. (6.0.0. ie ora
will have any religious ceremony per-. that morning from Ocean Grove and Benner & Company, T-101, Trenton, N J.
formed that you wish. I have a vare met Helen and Carl at the Comstock
promised it, and I will go through with School. The three went shopping, to- Men Wanted at Once
it any time you ask—even if it should gether. “His manner was very pleas-
ake Money Calling on Stores
New

hinder my. professional advancement.” ant,” Mrs. Potts testified, “until they

“Your letter has made me very had a little argument about an um-
nervous,” Mrs. Potts wrote him. “My brella. I was with. my daughter all
husband may hear the whole story at morning. She looked very well indeed.

Bey upation. Pays big money at onoo wwith-

ey etment og nescesitien to stores. Bell
sellers. by ome t repeat business

any time from Dr. Treverton—Helen’s Her appearance and manner were very Dep. 27
lIness at Scranton has already been happy and bright all the time I was 198 digs”
commented er Pig of what a_ with her.”

hardship it will be for her to remain a Expert Criminologist
secret, tinacknowledged wife for two HELENS mother went back to the i ed MSourt Expert -
years longer—three years in all! school with her, and met her room- With crime increasing there is constant de-

j iti j mand for the expert criminologist. He suc-
“You have promised in writing to do mates and lunched with her. As mother | | tgs where ordinary detectives fail, Qualify

just_as I say. Now I ask you to go and daughter sat chatting in her room, yourself to demand big pay, Study this lucra-

sil i j tive profession in all its branches at home.
on February 8th—the first anniversary Helen.took up the little gray box from | | Fingerprints, Legal Chemistry, Microscopy,

of your marriage—to a minister of the MclIntyre’s. Something rattled in it. Photo-micrography, Hand writing, Graphology,
i i , isti ban 617 i allistics, Psychology, -stains, etc. 1
Gospel and be, married in a Christian I’ve been taking some. capsules Carl Ballistics) ey cacscege. Students given atten-
manner, and give me the certificate to brought me, said the girl, “and the tion and advice after graduation, Write today.
hold. I will choose my own time in make me. feel ill and: give me a head- international Criminologist | Schoo!
making. it public.” ache. There’s only one left now, and | L“&&** stdhindi es edietoadcnccnmndieosscodbsethadbery

In reply to this Harris wrote, on I’ve a mind to toss it out of the win-
danusty Q—the date is significant—a dow and tell Miss Day I’ve taken it— “Sure Fire” BURGLAR ALARM!
ong letter, acknowledging that he had I dislike it so.: ees ; AN
promised, and continuing: ; “Oh, no; you ought to take. it, | | cartidge Lae ee ie

“1 will do all you ask me, if no other Helen,” the mother replied. “Quinine is | | fatke” awakening entire
means of satisfying your. scruples can apt to give you a headache: it always | | of door in home, apart aan
be found.” affects your father that way. But it 1s house or outbuilding. Set

Mrs. Potts burned the letter after good-for you. ‘You take it.” In a little Mt only, Pin easily in
reading it several times; for she could while Mrs. Potts started for Ocean stalled. POLE

not bear to preserve an thing that Grove. It was the last time she saw | | img, people to exerts

threw any discredit on elen’s mar- her daughter alive. _ every, window and door
riage. And she immediately wrote to On the afternoon of the day Helen | | Alarms Sega

him at Old Point Comfort: died —Sunday, February Ist — Dr. Prieed Right—Quaranteed
“Dear Carl: Your letter just received Albert T. Weston, coroner’s physician, Guaranteod, an represented
; is an immense relief to me. Thank you met Harris at the Comstock School | | SAFEGUARD SALES CO, Senn timpigunataliationn:
mysterious for answering So soon... . with Drs. Baner and Kerr. Harris told | | pept. x’ °* "tndianapotts sen Oh Dashier's shocks. No
“1 have hopes that these nervous at- him that his preceptor had advised him ae

that he could prescribe, and that he
had ordered for her a combination of
morphine and quinine which was very
good for malaria and headache. Wes-
ton asked if he was related to the girl,
and Harris said he was merely: a friend
of the family.

That evening Harris met Mrs. Potts
at the ferry. His manner was kindness
itself.

“Carl, what is it?” asked the mother,
trembling. “Is she very ill?”

“It is the very worst,” he answered.

“Carl, is this your work?” she asked.

“My God! What do you mean?” he
cried.

“Have you repeated what you did
last summer—that operation?” she
asked. ;

“No!” he exclaimed. “As God is my
judge, there was no need of an opera-
tion. Helen died of morphine poisoning.”

“How could that be?” the mother
moaned,

“It was the druggist’s awful mis-
take,” he explained. Mrs. Potts was
glad to believe him. At least there was
no disgrace to hide.

“CARL,” she said, “there is one thing
“ we must decide before we reach
Miss Day’s: she is your wife, she has
been the mother of your child, and she
must be buried under your name.”

“No! No!” he exclaimed—‘“in fright-
ful terror,” Mrs. Potts testified—‘That
cannot be. You may ask anything of
me—I will do anything—but if my
marriage is made known now it will
destroy me. My family will never for-
give me.”

“Carl,” the mother pleaded, “she is
dead; she is out of your way and your
family’s way. How can you be so
hard?”

“1 can’t help it!” he cried. “I would
answer just the same if it was a queen’s
daughter. She cannot be buried under
my name. If you have no mercy on
me, have mercy upon Miss Day and
her school. You have ruined her school,
putting your daughter in it under false
pretences.”

“Did I do it?” the mother asked.
“Didn’t you select the school?”

“It would ruin the school now,”
Harris protested. “I told Miss Day
about our engagement, and it almost
drove her frantic. If not for my sake,
say nothing about the marriage for
Miss Day’s sake. Do not ruin her.”

Mrs. Potts promised, and remained
silent. After they had seen Helen, and
were waiting in another room for the
coroner’s physician, Carl asked, “Do
you want to have a post mortem exam-
ination made?”

“| would as soon have one made on
myself!” she cried in horror.

Dr. Weston came in, and began to
ask about Helen’s health. Harris
quickly answered, but Weston checked
him; and Mrs. Potts said that Helen
had suffered long with heart trouble.
She admitted afterward that this was
not true, but she was hoping to avoid
an inquest and the consequent pub-
licity; also she had Sromised Miss Day
to have Helen’s body out of the school
before eight o’clock next morning.

“Here is the druggist’s box,” Harris
said to Dr. Weston. “You see it is

The Master Detective

marked ‘Student’s prescription,’ so that
is all right. Here is one of the capsules.
You make take it and have it analyzed,
and you will find that the capsule is
all right.”

But the doctor was dumfounded. If
the capsule Harris offered him showed
the right proportions of quinine and
morphine as prescribed, then the drug-
gist had not made a mistake. How did
a fatal dose of morphine get in the last
capsule she took? Weston was silent
for perhaps two minutes; then turned
to the bereaved mother.

“Mrs, Potts,” he said, “I don’t be-
lieve you understand what I am telling
you—your daughter died of morphine
poisoning.”

Harris sprang to his feet as if he had
received an electric shock, Mrs. Potts
declared. But the doctor said no more,
and presently went away. He: seemed

to have accepted Mrs. Potts’ story that :

Helen had suffered long from heart
trouble, so that a slight dose of mor-
phine had proved fatal, and he per-
mitted the removal of her body to
Ocean Grove, where the funeral was
held on Wedneseday, the third day

Recorder Frederick Smyth

after her death, The authorities sus-
pected nothing wrong. On the day be-
fore Helen’s funeral her mother wrote
to Carlyle Harris’s mother:

“My dear Friend: They are taking
my darling from me tomorrow. How
can I ever give her back to the God
who gave? The way is so dark I can-
not see, but I am trying to touch the

Father’s hand. | thank you for your ‘

loving letter. I would love to have you
come to us. I could not quite know
that you would wish to do so. Carl
writes me how ill he feels, and I have
written him perhaps he had better not
come. You will know best. He was
like a son to me when the anguish of
death came upon me. | have written
arrangements to dear Mac. With love
to you all.
Cynthia Stevens Potts.”

Carlyle Harris and his brother Mc-
Cready went to the Potts home, but
some one told them the funeral was

rivate, and they went away. Mrs.
Potts heard of it, and that evening she
wrote to McCready Harris:

“My dear, dear Boy: I wished you
had asked for me. I sent out to look
for you both, and you had gone. |

know Carl must have been overcome.
They told me how ill he was looking,
and I warned him he was too ill and
weak to come. Give my dearest love
to your mother, and thank her for so
many kind words of comfort to me
when all is so dark and the future looks
so blank. You seem like a dear son to
me. God keep you so. I want to see
you. Could you not run down to see
me without mentioning it to anyone?
Please answer when. Your affectionate
friend,
Cynthia Stevens Potts.”

“There might have been no further in-
vestigation into the death of Helen if
the newspapers had not begun to make
inquiries and if her mother had not
brooded upon the behavior of Carl at
the school that fatal day—his quick,
glib explanation to Dr. Weston and th:
ready smile that went with it. She re-
sented, too, his refusal to acknowledge,
even at the last-moment, that Helen
was his wife. Dr. Fowler, who had
striven so hard to save the girl’s life,
twice wrote her of his feeling that there
was some mystery which had not yet
been explained. Slowly a great fear
began to take form in her mind, though
she struggled to argue it away. Mean-
time the newspapers were busy. They
ublished in greater detail the story of

arris’s arrest for running the Neptune
Club as a gambling house. They won-
dered about the cause of Helen’s death.

Harris did not delay to take steps to
defend himself, although no accusa-
tion had yet been made. Two days
after the funeral he called at MclIn-
tyre’s drug store, had another prescrip-
tion filled by the same clerk, and asked
him if he had read what the newspapers
said—that the girl had died of poison.
He said he had.

“You don’t believe it, do you?”
Harris asked.

“No,” said the clerk. “I believe the
girl died of heart disease.”

“So do I,” said Harris, and walked out.

On the same day Harris called at the
office of Dr. George L. Peabody, Pro-
fessor of Materia Medica and Thera-
peutics at the College of Physicians and
Surgeons. The doctor did not recognize
the elegant youth, even when he an-
nounced himself as one of his students.

i PROFESSOR,” he said, “I am ina

little difficulty, a little irregularity,
and Dr. Abbé, my preceptor in medi-
cine, has given me this letter to you. |
prescribed quinine and morphine for a
young lady in the Comstock School,
who had malaria and insomnia. The
druggist made a mistake in compound-
ing the Prarieton, and the young
lady died. I signed the prescription
‘medical student,’ and I kept out two
of the capsules because I did not think
it safe to put a whole grain of mor-
phine in a girls’ school. The capsules
will show I made no mistake. What
would on advise me to do?”

“I think you pcre very fool-
ishly,” said Dr. Peabody. “You have
no right to prescribe, and you knew it.
As for advice—I am engaged to teach
at the P. & S., not to give advice. If |
were in your place and had a lawyer,
I'd see him as soon as possible.”

July, 1

“Th:
smilin;
leave.

Mrs.
mothe
she fe
Mrs. |
dollars
knew |
his wit
she be
was in
murde
did no
an ing
begun
the e\
Potts :

“Evi
kindly
“More
me th:

“Th
of the
mothe:

“Yor
quest
“Tam
gazed
the fu
She w.

“If
she die
suspici

‘Tr \
pk
“Ho
take,”
that t
would
ments
It is
Was to
“ro

lyzed!’
it out
ton ha

weepin
Potts :
sure. f
grief, |
he rais«

“Yes

overcome.
‘as looking,
too ill and
learest love
her for so
fort to me
future looks
dear son to
vant to see
iown to see
to anyone?
affectionate

is Potts.”

) further in-
of Helen if
sun to make
er had not
- of Carl at
—his quick,
ston and th:
it. She re-
icknowledge,

that Helen
r, who had
ie girl’s life,
ig that there
had not yet
. great fear
nind, though
way. Mean-
busy. They
the story of
the Neptune

They won-
lelen’s death.
take steps to

no accusa-
. Two days
sd at MclIn-
ther prescrip-
rk, and asked
ie newspapers
ed of poison.

“, do your”
‘I believe the

id walked out.
; called at the
-eabody, Pro-
a and Thera-
*hysicians and
not recognize
when he an-
f his students.

d, “I am ina
le irregularity,
‘:ptor in medi-
‘tter to you. I
yorphine for a
stock School,
nsomnia. The
in compound-
ad the young
ie prescription
kept out two
did not think
grain of mor-
The capsules
nistake. What
do?”
bed very fool-
ly. “You have
id you knew it.
gaged to teach
ve advice. If I
had a lawyer,
ossible.”

July, 1933

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harris,
smiling and bowing as he took his
leave.

Mrs, Fanny McCready Harris, Carl's
mother, wrote to Helen’s mother that
she feared Carl was in danger, and
Mrs. Potts immediately sent her fifty
dollars to send him away. No one
knew Harris better than the mother of
his wife. Her prompt gift showed that
she believed in his innocence; for it
was impossible that she would hel the
murderer of her only daughter. Harris
did not go away. The coroner ordered
an inquest, and two days before it was
begun Harris went to Ocean Grove in
the evening, and asked to see Mrs.
Potts alone.

“Everyone has received me_ very
kindly in Asbury Park,” he told her.
“More people have shaken hands with
me than ever before.”

“That is because | have told no one
of the fear | have about you,” said the
mother.

“You will find that the coroner’s in-
quest will exonerate me,” Carl argued.
“TI am innocent.” The bereaved woman
gazed at him as if she were searching
the furthest reaches of his conscience.
She wanted to believe in him.

“If you are innocent, Carl, bow did
she die?” she asked, trying to quiet the
suspicion she could not drive away.

‘Te was the druggist’s mistake,” he
pleaded eagerly.

“How could it be the druggist’s mis-
take,” she pursued, “when you said
that the capsules on being analyzed
would prove to be all right? The state-
ments conflict.”

It is amazing to see how blind Harris
was to this obvious fact.

“1 will have those capsules ana-
lyzed!” he cried, “if I have to pay for
it out of my own pocket. Dr. Trever-
ton has prejudiced you against me.”

“No,” said Mrs. Potts. “He came
here believing you guilty of another
crime, and after I assured him that
that was not the case, he went home on
the night of the funeral without our
ever speaking of this fear that | am
feeling towatd you now.”

“Does your husband know of it?”
Harris replied.

“No; he does not know,” she replied.

Harris laid his head on his folded
arms on the table, and seemed to be
weeping. “Seemed” to be weeping, Mrs.
Potts testified later; she could not be
sure. But while his attitude was one of
grief, his keen mind was alert, and as
he raised his head he made an astound-
ing proposal : : :

‘Mrs. Potts,” he urged, “if you will
give me my affidavit about our mar-
riage, I will forgive you every word
you have said.”

“You can’t forgive me, Carl,” said
the afflicted mother. “There is no ques-
tion of forgiveness between us, because
her grave is right there: we cannot
cross it.”

“Yes: I will forgive you,” he in-
sisted; “but I must have that affidavit:
it it more valuable to me than I dare
tell you.”

“How will you get it?” Mrs. Potts
asked. “It is not here.”

Harris hurried out of the library,

meng rman a

The’ Master Detective

assed through the dining room and
fiving room and out of the house. Five
minutes later Mrs, Potts looked for the
third letter she had just received from
Dr. Fowler, which she had opened but
not read and laid on the dining room
table with other mail. It was gone.
She never found it.

Carlyle Harris made a favorable im-
ression on Coroner Schultze and his
jury. After hearing his testimony, and
that of the drug clerk and of the doc-
tors who attended Helen, they found
that she had died of morphine poison-
ing, but did not fix responsibility on
any one, Once more the incident
seemed closed. .

But somehow the story of the secret
marriage began to be whispered about,
and the New York World after a long
investigation published the particulars,
including a copy of the marriage cer-
tificate, with the false names given by
the bride and groom. Then De Lancey
Nicoll, the District Attorney. of New
York, sent for Mrs. Potts. Reluctantly
she told him the story of Carl and
Helen, from the time of their first meet-
ing until the girl’s death. The mother
showed no anger or resentment toward
Carl; rather she seemed puzzled by the
mystery of the hideous affair. Other
witnesses were examined, but no spe-
cific reason could be found for accus-
be Frain

r. Nicoll had pie body of Helen

Potts disinterred, on March 25th, and
examined by Doctor Allan McLane
Hamilton and George D. Smith and
Professor Rudolph A. Witthaus, ana-
lytical chemist. They reported that she
had died of morphine polean ing be-
yond a doubt, The condition of the or-
gans showed it; and, although mor-
phine is so volatile that it quickly dis-
appears in the tissues, Professor Witt-
haus found enough to warrant him in
saying that the girl must have taken be-
tween four and five grains. All these
findings were told to the Grand Jury,
which also examined Mrs. Potts and
other witnesses. Yet one of Mr.
Nicoll’s ablest assistants, after careful
study of the case, told him he did not
believe a crime could be proved against
anyone.

With this report fresh in his mind,
Mr. Nicoll was astonished one
morning when his attendant brought in
a card bearing this inscription: “Mr.
Carlyle W. Harris, 28 East Seventeenth
Street.” He directed that Mr. Harris
be shown in. A tall, distinguished look-
ing young gentleman came into the
District Attorney’s private office, bland
and ag

“I’ve called, Mr. Nicoll, because I
have a joke to tell you on your staff,”
said the visitor affably. “! have just
heard that your detectives have ar-
rested my brother McCready over in
New Jersey as Carlyle W. Harris. |
am Carlyle W. Harris, and if your de-
tectives are looking for me, | am at
your service.”

“Why, no; we are not looking for
ou,” replied Mr. Nicoll, almost em-
arrassed by the easy good nature of
his caller, and surprised to see how
friendly he was, “I am not looking for
you. You have been misinformed.”

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vughout the remain-
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18, Louis Nadeau
-d’s municipal court
sieur. He pleaded
ing him with “felo-
forethought making
ibaum and murder-
r ordered Nadeau
jail at Alfred, Me.,:
ind jury during the

court. .
the grand jury re-
nst Nadeau, and he
harge of murder in
ustice Granville C.
lustice Gray set the

1950.

January 23 an all
try the case and the
ite began its parade
-e Captain Edgar
lowing throughout
lanuary 26 both the

s rested their cases

ry retired at 2:40.
ours and 15 minutes
erdict of guilty.

-y was out, Nadeau
the courtroom and
nest person there.
ce him that evening
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ssion, sentence was
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> rest of his natural
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d admiration of the
rs in York County

for Death

page 39)

RACTERS

eeeewe

tion, and empty.
up. “C. W. .,
was signed. “Who's

Carlyle Harris.

a student at the
| Surgeons.’

Student, indeed.

have prescribed a:

1 nonsense letting

1en make out pre-

ened Harris rushed
; it?) Oh, my God,

n morphine poison-
ly. “And the only
ve taken are some
dl to prescribe for

arris said. He was ©

ht and handsome in
lips were full and
noment they were
“his girl is going to
Recently she’s been

bs)

suffering from headaches and I made out a

perfectly - legitimate abc ee for her,
harmless as a dose of salts. Four and a half
grains of quinine_and a sixth of a grain of
morphine to each capsule.”

Fowler agreed there was nothing in such

a dose that could cause any damage.
. “I had them made up at the pharmacy
down the street... six of them. . . and I
gave her only four. I kept a couple. myself
and here they are.” He fished two capsules
from his pocket and handed them to the doc-
tor.
you can’t hold me at ‘fault. . ..”

“Hold you at fault!” the doctor exclaimed
angrily. “I’m not holding anyone at fault,
I’m trying to save this girl’s life.” He went
back to his efforts to revive the patient.

Harris helped him. Sweating and trem-
bling, he’ did everything the doctor ordered,
interrupting his. movements every few min-
utes to beg of the doctor: “Please, sir, you
don’t think me to blame?”

But Doctor Fowler had no time to answer.
He brought in a colleague and together the
three of them worked through the night, try-
ing every antidote they could think of; but at
10 o’clock the next morning, Helen’s breath,

" fast and loud, went-out for the last time and

the 19-year-old girl was dead. }

Harris, numb and troubled, walked: out of
the building and wandered aimlessly toward
the waterfront. Mrs. George Potts would be
called; probably had been already, ‘and there
would be the ferry to meet, the explanations
to give, the endlessly long haranguing as this
strict, prim, domineeritig matron from Jerse
— from him the answer to her daughter's
death. :

Strong Willed Youth .

Harris steeled himself for the ordeal. He
was 23, a man of charm, persuasion and pur-
pose. His life had been colorful-and enviable
for a man of so few years. He had been a
book agent, an actor and, more recently, a
student in the medical college at the corner
of Fifty-ninth Street and Tenth Avenue. He
had wined, dined and courted some. of the

City’s most beautiful women, and it was his '

bold boast that none had refused him. Then,
in the summer of 1889, he met Helen
Potts...

It was at a dance in Ocean Grove, N. J.,

where he, elegant and suave, was catching the ~

eye of every girl at the dance and she was
the most sought-after belle on the floor. | It
was right that they should meet and should
fall in love, and for the span of the summer
Harris, a daily visitor at the rambling Potts’
home on the edge of the ‘lake, bragged of his
latest conquest.

That Fall when the Potts’ took an apart-
ment in New York and Harris returned to
his studies, he continued to court the pretty
Helen until Mrs. Potts interposed.

“She’s -young, Carlyle, little more than a
child, and you’re not much older. I think the
two of you should see less of each other.”

Harris was not used ito being crossed in his
wishes, Particularly by a woman; evensif
it was a tough-fibered woman who dressed in
the satin fashion of the da: , but ruled with
a hand as firm as the Czar’s.

Resentment was strong in the petulant
youth and on February 8, 1890, he called for

‘ Helen on the pretext of showing her through

the stock sexchange, and whisked her off to
City Hall where they were secretly married ;
he under the name of Charles Harris and she,
Helen Neilson.

To the girl it was the beginning of a beau-
tiful and exciting life, but to Harris it was
only the payment of.a grudge debt. ‘No one, |
not even Mrs. Potts, would tell him whom
he could see and whom he could not. *

That night-they sat: side by’ side on the
horsehair sofa in Mrs. .Potts’ home and

“Check them. if you wish, Certainly .

_ every one of them. had

, his charms,

', talked the language of love in sly glances and’

secret smiles while,

across the room, Mrs.
Potts

beamed her approval. A fine young

‘man, Carlyle Harris, and someday, when his’

"studies were finished, a suitable match for
. Helen. She was glad she had talked sense
into his stubborn head. .

But a few months later Mrs. Potts’ ap-
proval was‘shredded. Her plans for Helen
had gone skittering in three days of terrifying
illness, and Carlyle Harris, the fine young
man, suddenly loomed as a monster. :

Her awakening came in the home. of a
relative, Dr. Treverton of Scranton, Pa. who,
‘up until a few days earlier had thought him-
self fortunate to: have a young niece as lovely
and charmiig as Helen come visit him, but
who, after a fe

ful abortion attempt. He ordered an imme-
diate operation to save the girl’s life, and she
was delivered of a dead child. For several
days Helen’s life hung in’the balance and her
mother was sent for and advised of the opera-
tion and of the secret matriage.

It was a blow to her plans for her daugh-
ter, all.the more cruel because it was de-
-livered by.a man shehad trusted. ‘Bitterness
welled in the woman who, though financially

_ able to visit every corner of the globe, chose
instead to spend her life within the confines
of a small New Jersey town and to abide by
the rules laid down there. St; ict, Puritan
rulés they were, but good enough for her and
good enough for her daughter, and good
enough. for Carlyle Harris, too. And now

been flouted, and

Helen was. .close to being ‘exposed as: an

immoral ‘and shameless woman.
Meanwhile, the irresponsible Carl was in

Canandaigua, N. Y., in a hotel with another

young and beautiful girl. Cares and sickness

. and responsibility. were riot for him.

He returned to Ocean Grove the same day
that Mrs. Potts came back with her stilf-
invalid daughter, and he treated the outraged
mother with a combination of scorn and tact.

He knew. Helen’s reputation and the Potts’:

family name were too sacred’ to be exposed
to public ridicule, and he counted on this as
protection against the -womian’s wrath. .

“I want to make Helen a good husband,”
he said: “But right now our marriage must
be kept secret. It is.important to me that I
finish my studies and become established. As
soon as this: is done our marriage will be
made known.” Q

This was not enough for the New Jersey
matron. .. Marriages were not made that way
in Ocean Grove, nor would ey be made that
way any place else so long as it involved her
daughter. And Mrs. Potts had more than a
‘slight ‘suspicion that Harris might have wed
other girls the same way.

Finally,
hammering insistence of a woman immune to

world knew or ‘not, could look upon it and
know that her daughter was legally -wed.

The two of them took a.carriage to City
Hall, ‘sitting far apart, silent and scornful of
each other. . But as the carriage drew near to
the destination, Harris began to regret ‘his
action. He didn’t want Mrs. Potts to-have a
weapon she could hold over his head. ° He
preferred to have- the shackles: of marriage
comfortably loose. It. was better that. she
‘should never get: her hands on .the license.

“Helen and I were married under different |

names,” he said slyly. “There is nothing bind-
ing about such a license.” . , -
“You'll get me that license under whatever
names were used,” Mrs. Potts said firmly.
“I’ve burned it,’ he. replied. :. “You won’t
_be able to get another ‘unless I tell you what
names were used. I refuse.” as
His attitude had changed the purpose of

}

w hours .,of her_stay, discovered.
she was the victim of a crudé and“ unsuccess-*

guilt-ridden. and beaten by the !

L Harris. agreed to get a copy of |
the marriage license and give it to Mrs. |
Potts so that she, whether the rest of the |.

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the whole: trip, and instead, of going to City.

Hall: they went to the office of Harris’ at-
torney..

The lawyer was shocked at Hartis’ be-'
havior,

“Look here, Carl,” he urged. “Get a copy.

of the license for this woman. She'll keep
your secret for you and it’s little enough to
ask that she have proof of her daughter’s
matriage.”

But Harris’ mind was made up. “The
license isn’t worth a damn anyhow,” he an-
nounced. “The ceremony was performed by
a liquor-sodden bum whose. headquarters is
in a Bowery saloon.” ;

This was not true. A reputable alderman
had taken care. of the essentials and Harris
was. legally wed, but there was no way for
Mrs. Potts to prove it, although both she
and the lawyer were convinced he must
have pulled this stunt with other girls and
therefore feared exposure.

- The lawyer had dealt with stubborn offend-
ers before, though rarely one of Harris’
caliber, And though he tended to favor the
youth when the couple arrived, his allegiance
to his client soon disappeared.’ He felt sorry
for the woman who sat white-faced at the
side of his desk and begged for a favor the
young man refused to extend. :

Look Of Victory ;

Finally he prevailed upon Harris to sign
an affidavit attesting to the legality of the
marriage and the date ‘of it, February 8, 1890.
This aifidavit was given to Mrs. Potts and, as
she tucked it away in her purse, the lawyer
caught his first glimpse of why Harris feared
her and hated her and why he had gone ta
such great lengths to shame her. For there
was the slight hint,of a smile on the matron’s
face and the look of victory that comes only
to those who know they have a powerful
weapon and the strength to wield it,

Wordlessly, Mrs. Potts and Harris walked
from the lawyer’s office and took a carriage
to the ferry where they were to meet Helen,
Seated together on the leather cushions, Har-
ris tried to smother his vexation at defeat
while Mrs. Potts shrank from contact with
the man she loathed.. -

It was on that ferry ride back to Jersey
that Harris first mentioned a. plan that. had
.occurred to him before, but which, until that
day, had seemed an unnecessary precaution.

“I want Helen enrolled in’ the Comstock
School,” he announced. “There she’ll be in
the company of gentlemen's daughters and
get a proper education.” He gave.no further
explanation, and Mrs. Potts, who still did
not know to what scheming lengths her son-
in-law could go, accepted those reasons.

Helen was surprised at the idea, but she
agreed to it and’ later won her parents’ per-
mission to enroll. a

Jf she expected her indulgence to win back

‘a long neglectful husband, she was woefully
wrong.. Carlyle Harris, whose interest’ in
Helen had been on the wane for many months,
saw even less of his bride once she was in the
city, and did not even accompany her home
over the holidays.

Mrs; Potts was angered at his insensitive
treatment of her daughter and swore that
someday he should pay for it. But when she
threatened him with publicatjon of the mar-
riage. affidavit, he played his trump card.

“Helen is a pupil in one of the most ‘re-
spectable schools in New York,” he pointed
out. “If you. expose her as a secret bride of
nearly a year you'll bring scandal down on
you, Helen and the whole scliool.”

For the first time Mrs. Potts .understood

why, he had been so insistent that Helen en-
roll’ at Comstock. But it was too late to
change that now. So long as Helen was:a
student at the Comstock School Carlyle

| Harris had his certificate-of security.

But when his coolness toward Helen per-
sisted and wore the girl down to such an
extent that she complained constantly of
headaches, Mrs. Potts again took things inte
her own hands,

She-wrote Harris a letter saying that he
was to be married to Helen in a Christian
way on the anniversary of their secret mar-
riage, February 8. That the document was
to be given to her and that whether or not
she disclosed its contents would‘ depend en-
tirely upon -his actions toward Helen in the
future.

On January 20, Harris answered this de-
mand, saying that he would go through with

~ the request ‘providing no other way can be

found of satisfying your scruples.”

hat same night he saw Helen and, when
she again complained of headaches, he prom-
ised to get a prescription filled for_a mild

.telief. Later he gave this to her. Then he

lit ‘town, taking. a steamer to Old Point
Comfort for a several days’ stay. ;

She wrote him there. “I have taken one
of your pills. They do not help me, Your
remedy is worse than the disease.”

On January 31, she took the last of the
pills and was dead the next morning.

And.now Harris was on his way to. meet
the woman he knew would accuse him of the
death.. He was not wrong. Even as she
moved down the plank from ferry to land,
her face froze at sight of him, and by the
time they were within speaking distance, her
first question was: “Carlyle, are you respon-
sible for this?”

He shrugged aside“her questions. He had
done nothing. The prescription was safe
enough. Any medical man would tell her
that.

“There is just one thing, Carlyle,” she con-
tinued. “My daughter must be buried under
the Harris name.”

“No.. Oh, my: God, no,” Harris pleaded.
“She’s dead now, Mrs. Potts. Nothing can
change that. But you can ruin my whole
life. And think of the scandal it will bring
to your name ... secretly wed for over a
year and living. among innocent young

‘ girls... .

Again he had chosen the most convincing
argument; the Potts’ name and reputation..
When Mrs. Potts went to view her child for
the last time, she turned to the doctor and
said, “It was her heart. Her heart was
always bad.” -

“Do you know what you’re saying woman?”
the doctor exclaimed. “She was poisoned.

-She died of morphine poisoning. We'll per-

form an autopsy.”
Official Probe

But the Jersey matron, respected wife of a

‘prominent eqntractor, who had rarely set foot

outside the narrow confines of a narrow
town, shuddered at this. All the sordid story
of the Scranton operation would be disclosed,
That dare not happen.

“No,” she said. “There will. be no autopsy.
My daughter had a bad heart.”

And her word was accepted. Helen Potts
was buried; a single. girl, not yet 20, dead of
a heart attack.

Meanwhile, dissatisfied with the cause of
death listed for Helen Potts, authorities had
-plans afoot in New York to re-examine the

-case.. A visit was made to the pharmacist’
~ who had filled, out the prescription.

That man was Ewen McIntyre, one of the
most respected pharmacists-in the city, presi-
dent for 13 years of the College of Pharmacy.
No more cautious. man lived than Ewen
McIntyre, and it was a fast rule of his store

that no. prescription calling for morphine.

should be filled without a second man to wit-
ness the procedure as security against error.
A. second man had watched the night Harris’
prescription was filled and one-sixth grain

of morphine ha:

Moreover, th
capsules which
day of the gi

offered them a

innocence, but t

rather than exo!

that no mistak

pharmacist in t

prescription. Ea

tained one-sixth
four and a half ;
prescription had
then divid
pharmacist coul<
error.
But the docto

the story that H

was sure that at

girl took had c

morphine. Some

powder for a har
had access to mor

a medical student

getting the poten

In addition to

thorities found a

to testify that Ha:

of Helen and fre
cesses with other
enough for murc
order that the gir

Just as the doc
was found to hay
ing and on May |]
indicted for first

He was broug!

1892, and the ma:

long to conceal

time against the .

packed courtroom

After three w:

which every face
character and co
vealed and the n
tragic romance

mother, the case \
verdict of -guilty \
sentenced to be ex:

Curiously eno;
arguments of the
Prosecutor Franci:
a suggestion from <
of that day, Willi:
of Abe Hummell,
mail and skuldug;
and one of the mo
all time.

Howe wrote th
that “in the course
to the jury, ‘Accon
this poor Poisoned
prisoner and say,
spot. You put he:
swore to love, cher
would hear throug
her remains the cry
I think Harris will

The suggestion \
er =. delivered ;
reacted as was pred

When the ase Ce
ever, Harris turned
and the two becanx
as Howe’s plea was,
held the conviction.
his ay Sore was
an envelope to Hoy

bench, hearing the
for Harris. Inside
cuff links.

“They are the las:
me,” he said. “I a:

.you to have them.”

d long after H:
Howe continued to
are my. favorite jew
memorial to the gir]
was her Certificate of

-d Helen per
an to such an
constantly of
ok things inte

aying that he
n a Christian
r secret mar-
jocument was
hether or not
\d' depend en-
Helen in the

vered this de-
through with
r way can be
es.

len and, when
‘hes, he prom-
od for a mild

ier. Then he
to Old Point
iy. E

ave taken one
Your
se.
1e last of the
orning.
3; way to meet
use him of the
Even as she
ferry to land,
n, and by the
x distance, her
re you respon-

‘ions. He had
tion was safe
vould tell her

-lyle,” she con-
> buried under

larris pleaded.

Nothing can
uin my whole
ul it will bring
ed for over a
nocent young

ost convincing
ind reputation..
w her child for
the doctor and
fer heart was

aying woman?”
was poisoned.
ig. We'll per-

rected wife of a
| rarely set foot

of a narrow
the sordid story
ild be disclosed.

be no autopsy.
{. Helen Potts
yet 20, dead of

h the cause of
authorities had
re-examine the
the pharmacist
iption.
tyre, one of the
i the city, presi-
xe of Pharmacy.
ed than Ewen
-ule of his store
for morphine
ynd man to wit-
y against error.
ne night Harris’
one-sixth grain

of morphine had gone into each capsule,

Moreover, the doctor still had the two —

capsules which Harris had given him the
day of the girl’s death. The youth had
offered them at the time as proof. of his
innocence, but they served now to implicate
rather than exonerate him. For they: proved

that no mistake had been made by. the -

pharmacist in the actual filling out of ‘the
prescription. Each of the two capsules con-
tained one-sixth of a grain of morphine and
four and a half grains of quinine. Since the
prescription had been made up in one lot
and then divided into six capsules, the
pharmacist could not possibly have been in
error. ;

But the doctor, who had_never accepted
the story that Helen Potts had a bad heart,
was suré that at least one of thé four pills. the
girl took had contained a deadly dose of
morphine. Someone had substituted a Jethal
powder for a harmless one . . . someone who
nad access to morphine. And-Carlyle Harris,
a medical student, would have had no trouble
getting the potent drug at thé school.

In addition to the doctor’s suspicions, au-
thorities found a number of witnesses willing
to testify that Harris was no longer enamored
of Helen and. frequently boasted of his suc-
cesses with other. women. Here was motive —
enough for murder-and reason enough to ‘
order that the girl’s body be disinterred.

’ Just as the doctor predicted, \Helen Potts
was found to have died of morphine poison-
ing and on May 13, 1891,’ Carlyle Harris was
indicted for first. degree murder. :

He was brought to trial on January 14,
1892, and the marriage he had struggled so
long to conceal was revealed for the first
time against the sordid backdrop of a jam-
packed courtroom. ; :

After three weeks of argument, during
which every facet of Harris’ irresponsible
character and conceited behavior was re-
vealed and the miserable facts of Helen’s
tragic romance were laid bare by her
mother, the case was given to the jury. A
verdict of guilty was returned. Harris was
sentenced to be executed on March 2, 1892,

Curiously enough, one of. the clinching -
arguments of the state was presented by
Prosecutor Francis Wellman as the result of
a suggestion from a notorious criminal lawyer.
of that day, William F. Howe, law partner
of Abe Hummell, dealer in duplicity, black-
mail and skulduggery of every dimension’,
and one of the most colorful mouthpieces of
all time. :

Howe wrote the prosecutor, suggesting
that “in the course of your speech you say
to the jury, ‘Accompany me to the grave of
this poor poisoned girl.’ Then turn to the
Prisoner’ and say, ‘You dare not go to that
spot. You put her there. She whom you
swore to love, cherish and protect, and you
would hear through the sod which covers
her remains the cry of Murderer! Murderer !’
I think Harris will flinch.” — -

The suggestion was taken up by Well-
man and delivered almost verbatim. ‘Harris
reacted as was predicted and was convicted.

When the case came up for appeal, how-
ever, Harris turned to Howe to defend him _
and the two became fast friends. Eloquent
as Howe's plea was, the Court of Appeals up-
held the conviction. But Harris’ fiking for
his new lawyer was not shaken. He handed
an envelope to Howe as they stood at the
bench, hearing the words that meant death
for Harris. Inside was a pair of diamond

cuff links.

“They are the last present Helen gave to
me,” he said. “I am- sure she would want

.you to have them.”

And long after Harris had been executed;
Howe continued to wear the links, “They
are my favorite jewels,” he said. A pitiful
memorial to the girl whose license to wed~”

"was her certificate of death. jan wera

Clues. to the Outdoors

(Continued from page 6)

are large, but extremely plentiful. Michigan,
with several fine rivers and unusual lake fish-
ing, offers. trout, bass, pike, and. some lake
trout that grow to immense size.

Wisconsin is the’ magnet that lures the
muskie enthusiasts, and these -anglers speak
in hushed tones of the South Fork of the
Flambeau, Wolf, Boulder, and Wildcat
Lakes, although these are only a few of the
many. waters that provide an abundance of
these fish. ‘Across the line in Ontario, how-'
ever, the lakes and rivers provide muskie and
pike fishing that remains unspoiled despite
the large number of anglers who throng there
each year. The reason for this is quite
simple: there are so many lakes and rivers in
this area: that over-crowding is practically
impossible. . ;

Muskie fishing has increased greatly in
popularity during the past few years,- and
after you have landed the first one the reason
for this popularity no longer is a secret.. He
is not only a big fish, but an active one, and
he puts on a surface and under-water scrap
that has worn down many a husky angler by

‘the time. the fish was ready for the gaff. They

_can be taken by casting or trolling, and by

- live bait as well as by: plugs and spoons, and
the’ angler often resorts to all three during

the-coursé of a day’s fishing. :

The novice muskie fisherman might find it
well worth the money to employ a guide for
a couple of days, until he obtains. something
of ‘an insight: into the methods and types of
water most productive. After that he can
go out on his own, ‘although most anglers
prefer to fish with a companion, especially if
the fishing is done from a boat. me

While many use a regulation baitcasting
rod and reel, and a few even use a 5-'or
6-ounce fly rod, the majority prefer a casting
rod with a 5!%4- or even 6-foot tip and an 8- to
10-inch butt. This longer butt is quite help-
ful in playing a fish, especially to the anglers
who have had little experience in handling a
fish that’ may scale from 25 to 40 pounds, and.
in rare instances as much as 60 pounds.

Moving westward, the angler who pauses
in Idaho for a day’s fishing usually.winds up
by moving no more until it is time to head
back home, for any man interested. in trout
or salman fishing will: find all he can handle
in this state. Unless he has a big. bankroll
and an urge ‘to spend it, he will avoid the |
fancy resorts; but this does not prevent him

‘from finding the best fishing. Pacific salmon,
having passed various obstructions success-
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Rivers, and some of them are big enough to
frighten the novice angler.

Washington and Oregon may prove anti-
climactic after Idaho, but -both can provide
full, exciting days for the angler.. Many
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alays fishing for the steelhead, the rainbow
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in the case of the muskie, the angler never
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The summer fishing possibilities are almost
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go the fancy way, throw a tent, an axe, some
old pots and pans and your tackle in the-
jalopy, and take off for the bright. green
pastures on the other side of the fence. You'll

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HARRIS,Carlyle, white, hanged New York (New York) 5-8-1893,

IT WAS THE MOST UNUSUAL POISON MURDER ON
RECORD BUT ITS MOTIVE WAS AGE-OLD: WOMAN

iB SEEMED INCONCEIVABLE that the sordid fact of
murder could have touched Helen Neilson Potts. Helen
had just passed her 19th birthday. She was the gentle
child of gentle parents, Mr. and Mrs. George Potts, whose
home was at Ocean Grove, New J ersey. George Potts was
a railroad construction engineer, and was away from
home much of the time. But his wife provided a full
family quota of upright living, in the traditionally pious
Ocean Grove community.

Helen had lived most of her life in Ocean Grove, but
she recently had moved to another environment. This was
the Comstock Select Boarding School for Young Ladies,
which occupied a brownstone building at 32 West 40th
Street, New York City, overlooking a site on which the
Public Library now stands. » oa

When Miss Lydia Day, the school’s headmistress, inter-
viewed Helen and her mother prior to the girl’s admit-
tance, her affirmative decision had been influenced as
much by Helen’s romantic connection as by her pristine
family background.

Helen, Miss Day was told, was engaged to be married
to Carlyle W. Harris, a young medical student at Colum-
bia’s College of Physicians and Surgeons. His grandfather
was Dr. Benjamin W. MacCready, the eminent and deeply
respected professor emeritus of medicine at Bellevue;
and his mother was known professionally as Hope Led-
yard. Miss Day, an old hand at the stories for children
which appeared in the St. Nicholas Magazine, knew well

that Hope Ledyard was the author of some of. the most’

beloved of them. Under her own name, Carlyle Harris’
mother was an implacable foe of alcohol. When she was
not writing stories, she toured the country blasting the

evils of intoxicating drink from the lecture platform.
A dutiful and devoted son, Carlyle often accompanied

_ his mother on her speaking trips, and it was while he had

been with her in Ocean Grove one summer that he and
Helen had met.

Life for Helen at the Comstock School proceeded. peace-
fully and without incident for five months. An attractive
girl, with chestnut hair, golden skin and doe-like eyes,
Helen made friends easily among her classmates, and was
liked by her three roommates, Alice Rockwell, Rachel
Cookson and Frances Carson.

On the night of Saturday, January 31st, these three
attended a concert in Carnegie Hall. Helen, who was suf-
fering the recurrence of a malarial headache, decided not
to go. Usually, Carlyle Harris called on her and sat with
her on a sofa in the parlor. On this particular Saturday
night, however, Carlyle Harris did not put in an appear-
ance. On the previous Wednesday, he had embarked on
a steamer for a four-day round trip to Old Point Comfort,
Virginia. At about 10 o’clock, Helen retired to her top-
floor bedroom. . '

Half an hour later, the Carnegie Hall party returned
to the‘school. Helen’s roommates found the gas turned

low and Helen in bed, and out of consideration for her
they spoke in whispers,. began to undress in the near:

pies In spite of this Helen raised her head: from the
pillow.

“I have been having such lovely dreams,” she said.
“Such lovely dreams about Carl. I wish they could have
gone on forever.”

The other girls laughed. One of them remarked. “So
that's the way it is to be lovesick.” (Continued on page 68)

eee

ik cs

62 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

us how many days after your second wife died you remarried
your first wife.”

Answer: “T think it was about twenty-three days.”

(He was already making a very bad impression on the jury
and on everybody in the courtroom.)

Question: “Well, if you still liked your wife the day she
died, will you tell the jury with whom you slept at a Newark
hotel that very same night >?”

(He claimed that he slept alone, but could not remember
what hotel he went to in Newark.)

Question: “Did you register under your own name?”

Answer: “T don’t know.”

Question: “Did you register at all?”

Answer: “I don’t know.”

This was a bad start indeed, for the defendant, but it was
nothing to what followed. I then took him, hour after hour,
over the statements of all the witnesses who had testified
against him. I took pains to read from the stenographer’s min-
utes as to the exact conversations he had had with each of these
witnesses. ;

At first he tried to evade these questions by declining to
answer, until he began to realize that he could decline to an-
swer no question that I put to him except upon the ground
that the answer, if he gave it, would tend to incriminate him.
So he resorted to the one answer “No,” to every question pro-
pounded.

By reading from the minutes what each witness had testi-
fied as to the conversations which they had had with him, I
refreshed the minds of the jury about all the important evi-
dence that we had offered some weeks before, which had been
more or less forgotten because of the prolonged intricate medi-
cal and chemical testimony which had intervened. Presently,

5 Aree ot

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 63

Buchanan’s constant and repeated denials began to have a very
marked effect. For instance:

Question: “When the witness Macomber told you that you
were more scared than hurt, and that if your wife had died
of any morphine that you had given her, the pupils of her
eyes would have been very much contracted, and they were
not, did you reply as follows (reading from the stenographer’s
minutes) : ‘Dick, I'll tell you the truth. I don’t think she died
as the doctor said. I really think she died from taking an
overdose of morphine, either on purpose or otherwise, for I
suspected her of taking morphine. On one occasion, to catch
her, I left a bottle where she could see it, and later I found
her in a deep coma, and part of the contents of the bottle
had been used.’ ?”

Question: “And then, did your friend ask you how it was
in that case, that the pupils of the eyes were not contracted,
and did you reply (again reading): ‘Well, I’ll tell you. A little
dose of belladonna obviates all that, and I think she was in
the habit of taking belladonna to keep her bowels in proper
shape, and so counteracted the effect of the morphine she was
taking.’ ?”

The witness’s invariable reply was: “I didn’t say it.”

Mr. Brook gradually woke up to the effect that this kind
of testimony was having on the jury. He rose and stoutly pro-
tested to the Judge: “I object to this method of cross-examina-
tion as entirely improper and recognized by no rules of evi-
dence. It is an attempt, indirectly, to influence the jury by a
series or injected summings up of the evidence of the prosecu-
tion’s witnesses who were inimical to the defendant.”

The stern Recorder smiled with that deadly smile which
was all his own: “Objection overruled. I see nothing im-
proper in it—no violation of any rule of evidence.”

So I continued:

64 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

Question: “Did you say to Macomber: ‘A little dose of bella-
donna obliterates all symptoms of morphine’ ?”

Answer: “T did not.”

Question: “Will it do so?”

Answer: “Not to my knowledge.”

Question: “Will morphine without belladonna contract the
pupils of the eyes?”

Answer: “I don’t know.” :

Question: “Did you say to anyone: ‘If I could only have
looked ahead and had the old woman cremated, the papers,
and the District Attorney and everybody could go to Hell.’?”

Answer: “T did not.”

The evidence had shown that Buchanan, two weeks after his
wife died, had gone to Nova Scotia. I had in my possession
a letter which he had written while there to his friend,
Macomber, and which was of a most damaging nature. At this
point of the cross-examination, I offered this letter in evidence.
Brooks strongly objected to it, and when it was admitted, he
made the inexcusable error of insisting that I read it to the
jury then and there. This letter was written less than two
weeks after his wife’s death. The language was too indecent
to print here. It was all about the pretty blondes and fine
country girls with whom he was coming in contact. I give you
one sentence: “I think it would be a shame not to do some-
thing for these sweet little creatures, but I am told I will have
to promise to marry them, and I think I'll marry as many as
I can on the European plan.”

It would be impossible to exaggerate the effect the reading
of this letter, written so soon after his wife.s death, had upon
the jury, and it set the stage for the final coup of my cross-
examination.

It had been stated by the nurse who was in attendance at

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 65

the wife’s deathbed that she had seen the husband administer
two teaspoonfuls of the medicine out of the bottle which con-
tained the prescription ordered by the attending physician.
The defendant himself had admitted to me that he gave two
teaspoonfuls, but tried to explain it by saying that it was not
a regular teaspoon, that he used a child’s spoon which held
only half the amount. He also admitted that on that occasion
his hand had trembled a little and that he had spilled some
of the contents on his wife’s cheek, thus corroborating the
nurse.

I had had the innocuous bromide prescription put up by a
chemist, and I now suggested to Buchanan that he stand up,
teaspoon in hand, while I put into it three grains of white
powdered morphine. I then made him pour from the bottle
a little of its contents on top of the white powder, which I
knew from a previous experiment would take up the mor-
phine powder as a sponge would water. My theory was that,
whereas Harris had used a capsule and filled it with morphine
to give his wife, Buchanan had substituted a spoon. He knew
that his wife, already suspicious of him, would take no medi-
cine from him unless she saw it come out of the bottle she
knew the doctor had ordered for her. As one teaspoon would
not hold enough morphine to cause her death, he had filled a
second spoon.

As he poured the doctor’s harmless medicine into the spoon,
standing only a foot or two from the foreman of the jury, his
hand trembled violently, just as the nurse had described when
she saw him give the fatal dose to his wife. I made him re-
enact, in the courtroom, the very crime he had committed at
his wife’s bedside. The impression it made on the jury can
better be imagined than described.

I sat down. Against his lawyers’ advice, the witness had
talked himself into the electric chair.

{ about the
the room at
the counters
ing out the
ice and dis-
if he was a

th in rough

abruptly in
uzzle of the
at his head.
eyes behind
king young
girl couldn’t

top of the
vurt.” Then
id him: “Go

second. His
d, landed on
+r side. The
. she uttered

{ back a few

scooping up
bag. Within
iting for the

bling fingers
-gan_ backing
stooped and
illant gesture

“l’m more

building, the
ito the street.
gray roadster
re curb. He
o muddy for
{ pedestrians
er, the pretty
nk’s entrance.

Killer

“He was a gentleman,” she kept repeating in a puzzled
tone. Then added with a sigh: “And so handsome. It’s
incredible!”

A check-up showed that $3,500 had been stolen. From
the description of the tall, gentlemanly bandit furnished
by the girl customer and the cashier, the Seattle detectives
had no difficulty recognizing the work of the mysterious
Killer “X”,

This desperado had been harassing the police authorities
of the northwestern states for months with one daring hold-
up after another. They were desperately i to solve
the riddle of the man’s identity, but so far had made no
headway. No one had any idea who he was or where he
came from. Witnesses to his crimes had been unable to
ick out his photograph from the police files, and he had
eft no finger-prints or clues to aid them in capturing him.

Now an alarm was broadci&st to all yh aig towns,
and posses of police officers dotted the highways in search
of the mysterious bandit. Others began a careful investi-
gation of underworld hide-outs throughout the city. A small
army of detectives and sheriffs was doing everything in
its power to track down the courteous hold-up man with

the gray roadster, but he once more successfully eluded

the officers.

On the third evening after the bank robbery, Operative
23 of the Burns Detective Agency sat in conference with the
San Francisco Chief of Police in the latter’s office.

“We've received information,” he said, “that Killer ‘X’
is in this city.” ,

“I doubt it,” said the Chief. ‘We've been keeping a
pretty close lookout for him. Every entrance to the city
is being watched, and every underworld hide-out in town
is under surveillance.” Ay

The Burns man was thoughtful. “I don’t believe we'll
find him in any underworld haunts,” he said slowly. “He
isn’t patterned that way. He’s no underworld criminal.
Obviously he has a cultured background. And don’t forget,
all the witnesses have said he looks like a minister. He’s
much too shrewd to mingle in an atmosphere where he’d
stand out so definitely.”

“Perhaps you're right,” agreed the police official. Then
he added: “The way he changes accomplices with each new
job he pulls ought to help us. That is if we could lay
our hands on any of the men who've aided him. But
they're as elusive as he is.” His eyes narrowed: “It’s oc-
curred to me that he may kill them when he’s through using
them.”

“That’s a possibility, all right. I agree that it’s more
than strange we haven't caught a single one.”

J + ginny, re rae
_ PLeconntsane

Detective

ensued

Albert Doody
(above) of the Brooklyn Po-
lice. Unaided he tackled the
fleeing bandit after the East
Brooklyn’ Savings Bank rob-
bery. An exciting gun battle Street. Several hotel buses were lined up out-

sox et 25

The Burns man stood up and began pacing back and
forth. “It’s like hunting for someone while blindfolded,
We have nothing to go on; not a shred of information.
We only know that he’s one of the most cunning bandits

we've come up against, and that he’s educated, and a deadly
shot.”

a E’LL give you all the support we can,” the Chief
assured the detective. ;

The Burns man leaned across the desk to ask: “Are all
hotels and rooming houses being watched?”

The Chief nodded.

“s * * *

While they talked, the object of their conversation was
standing on the front of the upper deck of a ferry boat
plying between Oakland and San Francisco. It was dark,
and as he leaned his broad shoulders against the side of the
boat he lit a cigarette. Through tired eyes he watched the
lights of the hill city twinkling faintly in the light fog
that hung over the bay.

He knew that all entrances to San Francisco were prob-
ably being covered, nevertheless he joined the hurrying peo-
ple leaving the boat with a look of unconcern. No one
stopped him as he strolled coolly through the ferry building
and stepped on to a little car at one side. He transferred
to a cable car which took him over a steep hill; then turned
down toward the bay. It was after midnight when he
reached“the end of the line and got off.

The fog-filled streets in this lonely section of the city
were deserted. As he walked toward Fisherman’s Wharf
he could see the dim lights of the little boats of the crab
fishermen moving out to sea. At last he sighted the
outline of a parked car, and quickened his pace.

He walked swiftly past it; then wheeled abruptly and
came back. Stepping up to the door he jerked it open. The
pretty girl behind the steering wheel turned bright laughing
eyes up to meet his.

“I’ve been scared to death sitting here,” she said. “You
picked a very lonely spot for me to wait alone. But now
that you're here everything's all right.”

“Yes, everything’s all right now. You're a marvelous
little person, Mildred.” The girl snuggled against him. At
last she held him away.

“We'd better move on,” she murmured.

They got into the car and he took the wheel, but he didn’t
start the engine. He sat thoughtfully staring straight
ahead for several minutes. At last he said:

“I’m dead tired. | haven't slept much for three days.
I’ve got to get some rest.”

“Well, all right, darling, let’s go to a hotel.”

“H’'mm.” He was still thoughtful. He knew
the police were probably watching the new
arrivals at all the hotels in town. Yet they
would be less conspicuous in the best hotel in
the city than in trying to go to a rooming
house at this time of night. Their smart
appearance would cause comment. He glanced
at his watch, and came to a decision.

He headed for the railroad station at Third
and Townsend. Streets Two blocks from the
station they got out and left the sedan. He
took the suit-case from the rear; then, taking
the girl’s arm, they walked toward the depot,
keeping close to the buildings. Across the
street from the station he pulled her into a
darkened doorway, explaining:

“Train isn’t due for five minutes.”

Taking a package of rice from his pocket,
he sprinkled a handful over the girl, then him-
self. She looked up, puzzled, asking:

“What on earth are you doing that for?”

“That makes us newlyweds,” he said with a
chuckle.

She laughed softly. When they heard the
train puff into the station, and’ saw people
begin to emerge from the building, he took
her arm once more and led her across the

side. He waited until the driver of one wasn't
looking, then quickly helped her in and stepped
in after her. On the (Continued on page 78)

had been keeping Tilly’s faithful wife com-
pany while the husband was on trial. The
telegram was filed at Key West, Florida,
and was innocent enough in appearance.
But just the same the girl turned the mes-
sage over to Sheriff McCorkle. It read:
“Telegraph $30 care this office. Love
to the bird. Wrote—J. H. Penfold.”
The signature was of no consequence,
for “love to the bird” was the identifying
phrase. In the Tilly home was a canary
of which the family was very proud; its
welfare was a first consideration. With
that phrase incorporated Jim Tilly knew
his wife would understand from whom the
message came. But he was afraid to wire

ride to the hotel, he held her little gloved
hand in his. The only other passenger
eyed the young couple with amusement.
As he helped them out, the bus driver
caught sight of the rice and smiled
broadly. ; f

The girl stared as Killer “X” registered
them as Mr, and Mrs. Boyd Browning of
Los Angeles. Next day they moved into
a bungalow on the outskirts of the city.
And that evening she sat on a davenport
in the tastefully furnished living-room
reading before a crackling fire which
glowed cheerfully. The man was bent over
a flat-topped desk at one side, studying a
large map. Every little while his attrac-
tive companion looked up from her book
to send him a curious, troubled look. The
laughter of the evening before had gone
out of her brown eyes.

Finally the young man pushed away the
map, picked up the evening paper and
came over by the fire. Settling himself in
a comfortable armchair, he turned to the
editorial page, then slowly worked forward
through the paper. On Page two he care-
fully read the column on Killer “X” which
stated that the police now believed they
had the mystery man cornered.

Suddenly the girl looked up from her
book and asked abruptly: “ls Boyd Brown-
ing your real name?”

The young man put down his paper and
straightened. His blue eyes hardened as
he stood up and crossed to the davenport.
He stared down at the slim, curled-up
figure. When he spoke his voice was low,
but it carried an ominous overtone.

“My dear, | thought you and I had
an understanding that you weren’t to ask
questions. When | met you in Winnipeg,
and tried to be generous with you, you
were sO appreciative that you decided to
come with me. I’ve never asked you any
questions, and | insist that you show me
the same consideration.”

The book slid out of the girl’s grasp,
and fell to the floor. The blue eyes so
near her own were like icicles. Suddenly
she jumped up, clasped her small hands
convulsively and paced up and down the
room. Her voice came tensely from her
dry throat:

“No, you've never asked me, but I’ve
told you all there is to know about me—
that | was a much-bored school teacher
who wanted some adventure in my life.
But who are you?’ Where have you come
from?” She stopped her pacing to face the
man. He stood watching her with an al-
most amused expression. “I realize you
answer the descriptions of the mysterious
Killer ‘X’,” she went on. “I know you're
avoiding the police. But I love you. Do
you hear? J love you!”

The young man's face softened, as she
continued: “And who are the men you
associate with and sometimes bring home?
You're an educated, cultured gentleman,

Master Detective

directly to his wife, so, in his extremity, he
took a chance on the girl, and lost.

Tilly was picked up as he loitered about
the telegraph office in Key West, waiting
for a paltry $30 before boarding the boat
for South America.

From all the thousands he had stolen
he did not have the few dollars necessary
to feed himself for a few days, while mak-
ng escape. ;

he former claim-agent was taken di-
rectly to Walla Walla, where he served
twelve of the fifteen years to which he
was sentenced. His wife waited for him.
She met him at the prison gates. It is
because he has since rehabilitated himself

Killer “‘X’’!

(Continued from page 25)

yet you mingle continually with sailors and
men like that. Why?”

The tall man stepped to her side, reached
out and twisted her about to face him.

“Mildred, if you don’t mind, we'll do
away with the hysterics. I’ve got some-
thing important to tell you. I’m going
away on business tomorrow. I'll be home
in a week.” He put a roll of bills into the
girl’s hand. “This ought to last until

then.”
* Ok Ok

Four days later, on February 25th, the
Flyer of the Northern Pacific came thun-
dering down the tracks near Covington,
Washington. Its headlight was a huge
yellow eye peering into the blackness
ahead. hen its engineer sighted the
water tank at one side of the tracks it
slackened speed; then its brakes grated
and it pulled to a stop. It was two o'clock
in the morning and the passengers had
long since retired for the night.

As the engineer prepared to step down
from his cab, he was astonished to see a
tall, broad-shouldered young man leap in-
to the engine, blocking his way. A short,

heavy-set man stood behind him, a scowl »

on his face. The engineer’s surprise was
even greater as he saw the snub-nosed
automatic which the tall man leveled. A
second gun was pointing at the fireman
who stood bewildered in the front of the
engineer’s cab. In a soft voice which be-
lied the ominous threat in the cold blue
eyes, the gunman ordered:

“Cut her off and take her up the tracks.
Get moving!”

The engineer had no recourse. He
nodded to the firemen who scrambled
down and uncoupled the engine. Killer “X”
motioned him back as the engine’s drivers
bape to move slowly, then he jumped
off, leaving the stocky man in charge.
“Take her aR the bend,” he shouted.

As Killer “X” sprinted for the mail car,
he saw his carefully laid plans were being
carried out. One of his gang was cover-
ing the water tank attendant and two
trainmen. Two others were placing dyna-
mite in the mail car’s locked door. As
he reached it there was a muffled explo-
sion.

The bandit leader leaped for the door,
pushed it back and leveled his automatic
at the two bewildered mail clerks. One
tried to reach for the gun in his belt, but
the soft voice of Killer “X” stopped him.

“One false move and you're dead!” he
warned, “Get your hands up! Both of
ou!

The clerks stared into the menacing face
and obeyed the command. A second ban-
dit climbed into the car. The leader is-
sued a crisp order to him:

“Take the two bags in the right-hand
corner!”

The accomplice dragged the bags swiftly

far from the scene of his crime, that his
true name is not used in this story.

No one ever discovered who “John
Stark” really was, nor exactly how much
the State lost through the activities of Jim
Tilly and “The Portland Kid,” but it was
a staggering sum.

Governor Lister was reelected; he made
a clean sweep of the men at the head of
the Industrial Insurance Commission, but
died in office in 1919.

Frank Stone, weakened by his prison
sentence, lived but a few months after his
nine months’ stretch in the penitentiary.
Governor Lister was kind to “The Kid,”
and befriended him until his death.

to the car door as an open touring car
came alongside. The steely-eyed gunman
stepped backward as his assistant threw
the mail bags into the car and leaped after
them. Reaching the opening, Killer “X”
issued a warning:

“V’ll have men on the outside here cov-
ering you. Stay where you are and keep
quiet 1f you want to live!”

Then he jumped into the automobile
below and it shot forward into the dark-
ness. He gave a low whistle and the bandit
covering the water tank attendant and
trainmen came running. He leaped, landed
on the running board, and the car sped
off up the road which ran parallel with the
tracks. —

“Straight ahead until we pick up the

other man!” ordered the bandit leader.
_ Far down the road, the engine’s head-
light glowed; became larger. It was com-
ing toward them, returning to the train.
The touring car slowed down as its head-
lights. picked up the figure of a man
standing beside the road, gesturing. As
the stocky man climbed in, Killer “X’
took the wheel.

He drove at breakneck speed over the
rough road. Behind them the distress
whistle of the train shrieked on the night
air. A fewsmiles farther on, he sent the
car southward on a branch road which
was still rougher. He did not slacken his
pace until gray streaks began to show in
the east.

Meanwhile the alarm had been sent out
that in a spectacular four-minute robbery
Killer “X* had taken over $30,000 from
the Northern Pacific Flyer. Before morn-
ing a small army of detectives and police
officials was patrolling the highways in a
far-flung search for the man of mystery.
How, the officers asked themselves, had
he known that a shipment of currency
was being sent on that particular train?

It seemed impossible that he could es-
cape his pursuers this time: nevertheless.
before the week was out he had slipped
back into San Francisco. He didn’t go
out much for the next few weeks, Then
one day he walked into a self-serving
lunch-room on Kearney Street and car.
ried his tray over to a table against the
wall where two young men sat talking.

As he sat down at their table, he said
affably: “I see you take the house spe-
cialty, too.”

They looked up, smiling. One of them
replied: “Sure. It’s the best corn-beef
hash in the world.”

“I agree with you,” said the refined-
looking stranger, and he launched into a
discussion of the various eating places in
the neighborhood. He learned that the
two men ate there every day.

During the following week the tall man
lunched with the two young men each
day. They were employees of the Rail-
way Express Company. At the end of a

wae

December, 1937

week he had become good friends with
them. One of them had a sick wife, and
the stranger, who called himself Boyd
Browning, insisted on loaning the young
express clerk money to pay her hospital
expenses. It wasn’t long after this that
he entered his bungalow on the outskirts
of the city and called the brown-haired
girl to him.

“I’m going East,” he told her, “Meet
me in Albuquerque, New Mexico, four
days from now. Go to the best hotel
and register as Mrs. Gordon Allen. Say
you're expecting your husband to join you
from the East. Wait till I get there.’

His manner was more abrupt than usual.
The girl regarded him with a strained ex-
pression. The train robbery had been
given wide publicity. She had read all
the accounts avidly, and had been deeply
worried in the interval which had elapsed.
Her boy friend had never mentioned the
robbery but once. Then he had re-
marked casually that they ought to catch
that Killer “X”. She had stared at him

Elton Wing

uncertainly. Now she came toward him,
slipped into the crook of his arm and said
softly:

“Couldn't we go all the way together,
darling? Can’t I travel with your” She
clung to him desperately. .

“Not this time, Mildred. Business, you
know.” Gently pushing her away, he
added: “Come on and help me pack. I
haven’t much time.”

Fear was in the girl’s face as she
watched him run down the steps and climb
into the Dodge roadster. She waved her
small white handkerchief weakly after
him, calling: ;

“Take care of yourself, reg

When she had closed the door, she
walked into the living-room and sank into
a chair, staring out of the window. She
sat there for a long time without moving,
her head bent slightly forward, her face
pale as death. Finally she whispered:

“T ought to leave him and go home. But
| won't. I'll follow him to the end of the
earth.”

She stood up. went into the bedroom
and began to pack.

x * *

The following night an express car of
the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Rail-
way was held up as the train to which
it was coupled left California to enter
Arizona, and the sum of $50,000 stolen.
The man of mystery had gleaned the in-
formation from his express company
friends that a large shipment of money and
negotiable bonds was being sent on that
train.

Once again the authorities had no trou-
ble in connecting Killer “X” with the
crime, and the hunt for the gentleman
bandit now became more intense. Up
to this time it had centered in the north-

Master Detective

western states, but from now on the hunt
spread to cover the entire West. Extra
guards were put on all trains; all railroad
stations and highways were covered. How-
ever, no one stopped the pretty nurse
with her injured patient who boarded the
train at Albuquerque, New Mexico, a
few days later. She was taking a patient
to New York.

The yoting man had a broken leg, held
stiffly in a plaster cast. He was wheeled
into the station by a porter, the pretty
brown-haired nurse hovering solicitously
over him.

When they were in their drawing-room
and the train began moving over the
tracks, the girl sank into the seat op-
posite Killer “X” and breathed more
easily.

“T’ve never been so frightened,” she con-
fessed.

The man’s handsome face was stern, the
eyes cold. “Keep quiet,’ he ordered her
in a low tone.

There was a knock on the door, and
the girl jumped up, her face like chalk.
The man’s right hand went into his pocket,
oat his expression didn’t change as he
said:

“Open the door.”

She did as he ordered. A relieved ex-
pression swept over her young face when
she saw the conductor standing there. She
handed him the tickets and, after a few
sympathetic remarks to the injured young
man, he left.

In Chicago the couple parted; went to
New York on separate trains. The young
man’s leg had undergone a miraculous
cure; he walked on it as well as ever. Ar-
riving in New York he donned the clothes
of a workman once more and hung about
the waterfront. He was a sailor hunting
for a job. He made the acquaintance of
another young sailor who was out of funds
and baying soparattly to get signed on a
voyage. This was a youth named Elton
Wing who was to play an important part
in the life of the man of mystery.

“T™. staying over at the Seamen’s In-
stitute,” the tall man told his new
friend. “I’ll put you'up in my room over
there, if you like.”

“That’s mighty fine of you!” exclaimed
Wing gratefully. “I didn’t know where
I’d sleep tonight.”

A week later the two men shipped to
South America. During the months that
followed the police officers of the West,
who had hunted the mysterious bandit for
so long without success, noticed a lull in
his activities. They wondered if he had
been killed, or perhaps gone to foreign
lands. They did not relax in trying to
apprehend him, but made no headway in
tracking him down. The World War was
on and they thought it possible he had
enlisted. Nothing was heard of Killer
“X” for over a year.

Then, in the winter of 1918, he suddenly
reappeared, but this time it was in a dif-
ferent part of the country. Arriving in
New York early in December he once
more ran into young Wing, just back
from his third voyage.

“I’m out of money,” confided Wing.
“Can | stay with your”

“Of course,” said his friend. “We'll go
up to the Institute.”

Next morning Wing stared at the tall
man, who bent over a large sheet of paper.
He was drawing a floor plan, which he
studied for a long time. The youth asked:

“What're you doing, anyhow?”

The other didn’t reply. Instead he
stood up. “Let’s go out,” he suggested.
He bought Wing a new suit, cap and over-
coat and gave him ten dollars. They re-
turned to their room, and the broad-
shouldered man produced a suitcase from

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under the bed. Opening it, he took out
a neat blue suit, and began changing his
clothes.

Wing stared in utter amazement as he
saw the man he had known as a sailor turn
into a well-dressed gentleman. The mys-
terious man’s usually cold blue eyes
sparkled with amusement as he watched
the boy’s puzzled expression. .

“You never did talk like a sailor,” re-
marked the youth softly. “Who are you,
anyhow? You're rich. Why do you live
at the Seamen’s Institute?”

Ignoring the questions, the man stuck
a hat on the side of his head and moved
toward the door, saying: ;

“You and | have some business to at-
tend to. Come on.”

* * *

Meanwhile the pretty, brown-haired girl
whom we shall refer to as Coco, the pet
name given her by Killer “X,” had re-
ceived word to meet her sweetheart in
New York. She was to register under a
certain name at a certain hotel and then
wait until he contacted her. She had now
been waiting for two days, and her nerves
were on edge. Each time anyone walked
along the corridor outside her room, she
held her breath expectantly.

Her eyes had lost their laughter, and
now held a worried expression. The
corners of her pretty mouth quivered ner-
vously. “Why doesn’t he come?” she whis-
pered tensely to herself. She pulled back
the lace curtain and stared down into the
street. It was a bleak day. She felt des-
perate. Had anything happened to him?

* *

7JHILE Coco waited, the mysterious

man she loved was riding across the
Manhattan Bridge toward Brooklyn, his
young friend, Wing, beside him in the
taxi. Suddenly Wing asked:

“Say, where are we going?”

The tall man didn’t answer. He casually
reached into his pocket and brought out
a gun. Wing’s eyes stared as the man
beside him asked:

“Ever shot one of these?” _ ; :

The youth moistened dry lips with his
tengue and shook his head. i

“That's just as well. Here, take this, but
don’t shoot it unless | tell you to. It’s
just part of the scenery. You and | are
going to hold up a bank.”

Wing made no move to accept the weap-
on. Instead he moved into the corner
of the seat, where he eyed the man he
knew as Brown with a dazed expression.

“Better do as | say, my lad. Otherwise
I'll have to educate you—and it won’t be
pleasant.”

The man spoke in a matter-of-fact
voice that carried authority. Wing took
the gun, and stuffed it into his pocket. He
sat silent for a time, then said nervously:

“In case it interests you, this is Friday
the thirteenth.”

The man beside him put back his head
and laughed. “That makes it perfect,”
he said, and chuckled. “This is my thir-
teenth bank robbery. What a coincidence!”

At Myrtle and Franklin Avenues, the
bandit ordered the chauffeur to stop. “Wait
for us down the block,” he told the man.
Then he led the way to the entrance of
the East Brooklyn Savings Bank. The
building stood out sharply against the
thin layer of white snow on the streets. It
was two o'clock.

Inside, the two men approached the
window of the cashier, De Witt Peale, who
was waiting on a customer. In the ad-
joining cage, his assistant, Henry Coons,
was talking amiably with a young woman
as he accepted her deposit. As the tall,
broad-shouldered stranger moved up to

Master Detective

his cage, Peale saw that he was a well-
dressed conservative-looking young man.
When he spoke his speech was that of a
gentleman.

“Can | trouble you to change this fifty-
dollar bill for me? I find myself in the
neighborhood without taxi fare.”

Peale took the money and examined it.
As he started to count out the change he
suddenly found himself staring at the bar-
rel of a revolver. Dumfounded, he raised
his eyes. The stranger’s blue eyes were
murderous as he said softly:

“Just hand me all the money you have
and nobody will be hurt.”

The cashier remained motionless, frozen
by the terrible change which had come
over the handsome young face. He saw
the second youth had whipped out a gun
and was leveling it at the next cage. Be-
hind Peale, at one side, was a burglar

ON THE AIR
AGAIN!

Tune in on

TRUE
DETECTIVE
MYSTERIES

THRILLING BROADCASTS
EVERY TUESDAY EVENING

WLW—Cincinnati, Ohio
9:30 E.$.T.—8:30 6.S.T.

alarm. If he could only reach it! He took
a step backward. . ;

Without a change of expression Killer
“X” pulled the trigger of the gun. Peale’s
body spun around, then crumpled on the
floor. He was dead, a bullet through his
bsain.

At the sound of the shot a wild scream
came from Mrs. Lynch, the woman at the
adjoining window. Backing toward her,
the bandit stood pointing his gun at the
other employees, all at or near their desks
on one side of the bank. He spoke to the
horrified woman politely.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said soothing-
ly. “This isn’t a real hold-up. We're re-
hearsing for a moving picture. That’s all.”

The people in the bank stared at him
with white, puzzled faces. He ordered his
accomplice in a low voice: “Go into the
cage and bring out the money.”

rhe boy sprinted around to the rear,
entered the cashier’s cage; his fingers
worked like lightning. Coons had started

to crawl along the floor toward the open
safe in a desperate effort to close it and
save the money it contained. The killer,
moving his gun slowly back and forth to
yi everyone covered, caught sight of

im.

Almost casually he lifted his weapon
and fired. The assistant cashier crumpled
in his tracks. No one dared to go to his
assistance as blood trickled from his body,
and made a red line to the safe. He
writhed in agony for a moment, then lay
still. Hit in a fatal spot, he had expired
quickly.

A pall of silence had settled over the
room. The young woman covered her face
with her hands; her knees shook so that
she could barely stand. The men’s faces
were contorted with fear. The tall ban-
dit’s tone was protecting as he once more
addressed Mrs. Lynch.

“Seems real, doesn’t it? But it’s all
part of the picture. There’s no cause to
be alarmed. Don't anyone move or we'll
have to retake it.”

The white-faced Wing came running
from behind the cage. The black canvas
bag he carried bulged with money. Still
keeping the people in the room covered,
Killer “X” began crossing to the safe. His
voice cut the silence:

_ “Go into the safe!” he ordered his as-
sistant. “Bring out the money!”

The youth looked as frightened as the
innocent onlookers as he gingerly stepped
around the lifeless body of the assistant
cashier. He entered the safe, scooped the
money into the black bag and came hur-
riedly out.

No one made a gesture of protest as
the two robbers backed toward the bank’s
entrance. For a few moments after they
disappeared through the doorway the bank
employees and customers remained where
they were, too stunned to move. Then
bedlam broke loose.

Outside, Detective Albert Doody of the
Brooklyn Police happened to be coming
along the street. He stared in amazement
as he saw, the two men emerge from the
bank’s entrance and run toward a Black-
and-White taxi half a block away. In a
loud voice he shouted for them to stop,
but they dashed on.

AT that moment someone came darting

out of the bank, yelling: “Hold-up!”

Jerking out his service revolver, the de-
tective leaped forward.

Wing reached the taxi first and sprang
into it. Killer “X” tossed the black bag
containing the money in after his assis-
tant. Then he jumped on the running
board. Leaning forward, he pressed his
gun to the taxi driver’s head.

“Get going!” he ordered.

Doody, only a few feet away, stopped
and took careful aim at the desperado
who was an open target as he stood on
the running board. As his trigger finger
moved, the bandit whirled. The killer’s
eyes and hand were steady as, in a flash,
he leveled his gun at the detective.

Will the detective succeed in trapping
this despicable murderer? With a gun
battle imminent, who will prove the
quicker, the bandit or the sleuth? Is an-
other to fall victim to the mysterious des-
perado’s blood-lust?

Read the second thrilling installment
of this colorful story, in which the “gentle-
man” bandit’s nefarious career continues
as he spreads terror and death. More
youthful victims become ensnared in his
sinister web. His cowardly crimes in-
crease, but still he remains one step ahead
of the police as their widespread search
goes on. Appearing in the January Mas-
TER DETECTIVE, at all news stands De-
cember 15th.

89 NE 450s; 91 NE 286 (198 NY 515)
HAMPARTJOOMIAN, Bedros, Armenian, electrocuted Sing Sing (New York) on Dec, 6, 1909.

“Yew York, July 22, 1907-Hovannes S,. Tavshanjiana, millionaire Armenian rug importer and
favored friend of the Sultan of Turkey, was shot to death by an assassin today just outside
his H&%X richly stocked shop at No. 35 Union Square, North, His murder, witnessed by hun-
dreds in the block, was the culmination of an amazing international secret society plot,

The murderer, Beros Hanparzonmian, jorneyed from Chicago especially to send 2 fatal bullets |
into Tavshanjian's back, He drew the black ball commanding him to slay the merchant at a
meeting Friday night in the Inner Circle of Armenian revolutionists, Tavshanjian had
refused to reply to written demands for money to help an attempted overthrow of the sultan,
Hence, he died, ‘thile Tavshanjian breathed his last in the arms of Miss Trixye Generg, a
pretty actress, who stopped to aid him, and who called to the crowd to catch the assassin,
Hanparzonmian threw away a hat he had been wearing and as a ritual signal that his duty was
done, put on a black skull cap, Then he shouted a defiance to the crowd which started in
pursuit and fired three shots at his closest pursuers, Richard Brown, a young clerk leading
the chase, received 2 of the bullets in his leg, This momentarily halted the chase after _
Hanparzonmian, But after another spring to the subway entrance at 18th St. and lth Ave,.,
he was caught. A detective passing by chance and a trolley conductor felled him, He was
rushed to the new 'tenderloin' police station tough the mob was aroused to lynching temper,
and later make a complete confession, His statement literally astounded those who heard

ite In it theprisoner declared - and it was afterwardsproved = that Tavshanjian had been
warned by them at least three tims within a year, 'Give of your wealth or die.’ ‘hen he
did not respond to this threat a revolutionist was sent all the way from Chicago to Con-
stantinople to kill a friend of Tavshanjian's as an object lesson. ‘'As was this man's fate,
so will be yours,' theplotters then wrote, When therug merchant still refused to contribute
to the secret society, theprisoner asserted, it was determined he should die not only for
his own actions, but as a further warning to other rich Armenian-Americans, An equally
sensational incident of the confession was an intimation that the prisoner knows the man
guilty of murdering Father Kaspar, the Armenian priest found dead in a trunk a few weeks
ago. His victim, Tavshanjian, gave the police a lot of valuable information at the time

of the murder, The prisonerknew thjs, he admitted, and his revolutionary society knew it
too, But he maintained a sullen silence when asked if that fact had anything to dowith
today's killing, The police will 'sweat' him until he admits this, if it is the case.

There is a good chance of Father Kaspar's murder being avenged at laste Incidentally, the
Constantinople authorities will now learn why Tavshanjian's rich friend was killed in the
Turkish capital, His name was Apigigian Ouinjin. His slayer, an Armenian, named Vartanian,
was caught and sentenced to be beheaded. But the motive of the crime was never learned in
Constantinople, Hovannes Tavshanjian was the wealthiest Armenian in the city, and perhaps
in imerica, He represented the sultan of Turkey, in the Chicago World's Fair, and has been
decorated by the Sultan's order, A beautiful wife and two young children survive him, They
are at his summer home in Delbach, N. J. ‘4he extent of Tavshanjian's finances may be
reckoned from the fact that he recently paid $750,000 incash for theEuclid building, 5th
Avenue and 56th Ste, as an investment. He was worth at least $3,000,000, it is said.
Relatives and business associates of the murdered rug dealer admit that he had several
warnings of his impending fate unless he would send $200,000 to the secret society, whose
avowed object is the freedom of Armenia from Turkish rule, ‘he police investigation thus
far reveals the existence in the U. S. of a hitherto unheralded society of anarchists, ri-
valing the nihilists of Russia or the Mafia of Italy. The headquarters of the society are
in Chicago, and from time to time an emissary of the society is sent out from Chiago with
orders to kill. One such assassin from the Chicago headquarters is now under arrest in
Constantinopke for murder, one is now under arrest here for the murder of Tavshanjian, and
the two men suspected of murdering FatherKaspar were from Chicago and appeared to have about
the same friBnds as Hanparzonmian ihe New York prisoner. Now that the police have obtained
definite informtion regarding this dread society it is the opinion of the authorities that
other murders will be quickly traced to the agency, and a determined effort will be made |
to capture the leaders," TENNESSEAN, Nashville, Tem., 7-23-1907 (8=1.)

Zen. 4t-t. 2 ats, Whi, be EZ F7F 2

HAMILTON, James, white, hanged Albany, NY, Nov. 6, 18 18

Sentence of death was execu-|

ted upon James Hamilton, the mur-
derer of the diamented Maj. Brrn-
BALL, at Albany, on the 7th inst.
From 10 to 12,000 persons witness- |
edtheceremony. He appeared-re-
niened to his fate,acknowledged his!
fuut with much contrition, and died,
with firmness.

= eae

t
MISSOURI GAZETTE & PUBLIC ADVERTISER
St. Louis, MO, 1/1/1819 (4:1)

Memo: 113 NE 1063
HANEL, Joseph, white, 36, electrocuted Sing Sing (Kings) on September lst, 1916.

"New York, Febe 23. = Four fingerprints on the beer bottle with which Mrs, Julia
Heilner was murdered in her home in Brooklyn in April, 1915, were declared by the
police today to complete the chain of evidence implicating Joseph F, Hanel, the
woman's butler, Hanel, who was arrested in Baltimore yesterday, was expected to
be brought back to New York today as police headquarters here was informed he
would not fight extradition. The fingerprints on the beer bottle were compared
today with those taken from Hanel by the Baltimore police, according to the
police experts, tally exactly. Detectives who have been on the case declare they
place no value in Hanel s confession that he robbed Mrs, Heilner, but that a
'pal' committed the murder, Investigation of this story has convigted them the
'pal' never existed." JOURNAL, Pensacola, Florida, February 2h, 1916 (1:5.)

3.5
ae

I gseab SERS ee *Fa8 “8 eke

ECE —— TT Te Te TI ITT TT NI ALE TIED ENT INET

Murder In The Madhouse

(continued from page 49)

leaving the house caused them to re-
member him.

It didn’t take detectives long to
pick up Neuman and he seemed to fit
in very closely with the Kaiser medal
found on the floor of the kitchen. He
was a tall, thin-faced German, typical
of the military caste, although he had
neither the funds nor the social stand-
ing in Germany to have attained such
an honor. He spoke English well, in a
clipped and brusque manner, and he
stood stiffly at attention when he
talked.

Captain Coughlin said: “For God’s
sake, sit down. You look like a ram-
rod.”

Neuman relaxed a little, not
much, sat down, his shoulders
thrown back and his head up in the
air. He was blond, with blue eyes
that shifted continually.

“Now,” Captain Coughlin contin-
ued, “let’s have the answers to a
few questions. Were you at this
house this morning?”

“I was at the German consul’s this
morning.”

“You are a German citizen?”

“T have that great honor.”

“When did you come to this coun-
try?”

“Unfortunately, sir, a month before
the great war began. I have been iso-
lated here while the German armies
are achieving their victory of destiny.
They will win; they must win.”

“Sure, sure,” Captain Coughlin
countered, “but suppose we forget
about the great armies and their desti-
nies. At the present we are faced
with a much smaller and more insig-
nificant matter but one of consider-
able importance to me and to you.
Who killed Julia Heinler?”

Neuman’s face tightened and he
said nothing.

“You often visited here,” Coughlin
added. “You are a friend of Mrs. Cora
Unruh.”

“Mrs. Unruh,” Neuman snapped
back, “is a good German. Mrs. Heinl-
er was not.”

“Well, let’s hear more about Mrs.
Heinler.”

“She was German, but she refused
to cooperate.”

“Keep on talking,” Captain Cough-
lin said. “We're getting somewhere
now.”

“A true German is always a Ger-
man.” Neuman’s voice was_high-
pitched. “Mrs. Heinler was born in
Germany but she wasn’t a true Ger-
man.” :

“How did she refuse to cooper-
ate?”

“She was a sentimental woman.
She wanted to help marooned sailors,
but she had no interest in the brave
soldiers dying for the Fatherland. She
would give no money and she
wouldn’t help.”

’ “Just how could a housewife like
Mrs. Heinler help the German ar-
mies?”

- Neuman started to answer, caught
himself, and sat scowling at Cough-
lin.

“That,” he said,
can’t discuss.”

Captain Coughlin reached in his
pocket and pulled out the bronze med-
al.

“Let’s talk about this medal then,”
he said. “Did you ever own one like
this?”

“The Kaiser’s medal,” Neuman
exclaimed. “I was honored by re-
ceiving one.”

“Did this one belong to you?”

Neuman got cautious and didn’t an-
swer. ;

The Captain then pulled out the
piece of white paper, with the num-
bers “1-99” on it. The paper had been
examined for fingerprints. None
were found on it, which indicated
that whoever handled it had nee
wiped all prints away.

“And this?” the Captain ques-
tioned.

“What is it?” Neuman asked cas-
ually.

“You tell me,” Captain Coughlin
said. “I’m not much on this espionage
business, but I wouldn’t be surprised
if this was an operator’s number,
would. you?”

Neuman answered
know nothing about it.”

Captain Coughlin slipped the paper
back into his vest pocket.

“Now,” Captain Coughlin said,
“let’s hear more about Julia Heinler’s
failure to cooperate with the gallant
German armies.”

Adolph Neuman didn’t care to go
into the subject. In fact, he suddenly
showed a deep aversion to discussing

“is something I

coldly: “I

anything. After a while Captain
Coughlin gave up the attempt and
Neuman was turned over to Detective
Frank Leary for safekeeping.

Cora Unruh, whom Captain
Coughlin called back for further ques-
tioning, didn’t prove any less averse
to answering his questions. Neither
Hilda Friesin nor Joseph Hanel could
throw much light on the actions of
Adolph Neuman, other than to say
that he often came to the home to see
the cook and that he never tried to
hide his dislike for Julia Heinler.

At this time Captain Coughlin took
time out to assemble’ what information
he had been able to learn. Facts and
suspects had descended on him
with such rapidity that he had some
difficulty forming a clear picture.
Two salient facts about the murder
stood out more boldly than the others.
If Julia Heinler had told the. servants
to leave because she was going to be
gone for the day, why did she return
to the house? Or even more impor-
tant, did she ever leave the home? De-
tectives had checked on this angle and
had found nobody who had seen Julia
Heinler that morning, which was un-
usual because she was always Visit-
ing the neighbors.

The murder had been conimtitted
between two and three hours. after
the servants left. The fact that the
kitchen door was locked, as well as
the front door, couldn’t be taken as
proof that she hadn’t walked in on her
killer as this person was making a
getaway. The killer probably would
have taken that precaution.

Was this the man Miss Buck saw
hurrying away from the house? There
wasn’t a chance to get anything like
an answer to this question because
nobody but Miss Buck recalled seeing

- him. The medal pointed to Adolph

Neuman, but to Captain Coughlin it
also pointed to others. Who were the
strangers that visited Julia Heinler and
why was she so jittery that morning,

_as Joseph Hanel had described? The

piece of paper was a queer clue, ca-
pable of being interpreted several
ways, i!

But the most mystifying element of
the case to Captain Coughlin was the
looting of the strong box. It didn’t
seem probable that there was any ‘po-
litical significance i in the deeds to the
property in Germany or in the dead
woman’s will. Yet the killer had tak-
en all the contents of the strong box.

(continued on page 53)
51

—- VY < Oo YY

Murder In The Madhouse

(continued from page 51)

Apparently this had not completely
satisfied this person as the other
rooms had been searched. The taking
of the jewelry didn’t seem to be
compatible with the theft of a wom-
an’s will and deeds to property in
Germany.

The strong box narrowed the sus-
pects down to the persons who knew
about the strong box. Captain Cough-
lin had a feeling that those contents
were the important part of the rob-
bery. The jewelry was secondary.
There was the husband and the neph-
ew. They would have known about
the papers better than anybody else. It

was doubtful if either Hanel or Hilda .

Friesin had any knowledge about
them. Cora Unruh was the type who
would know many things. The same
could be said of Adolph Neuman.

Captain Coughlin fumbled the
medal when he thought about Adolph
Neuman. He had owned such.a medal
and it had been found near the body of
Julia Heinler. And the piece of paper?
This could be connected with the
medal.

And yet...

In the back of Captain Coughlin’s
head was the fact of a person he
couldn’t dismiss completely from his
mind. Not only the picture of that face
but certain nervous habits, which
were familiar to Captain Coughlin.

He was thinking about these habits
when he reported to the Brooklyn Po-
lice Headquarters. By this time, the
murder of Julia Heinler had assumed
proportions that threatened an interna-
tional complication. The mysterious
piece of paper and the medal had been
reported to Police Commissioner Ar-
thor Woods and he had hurried to the
Brooklyn Headquarters. The intelli-
gence bureau of the United States
Government had been notified and |
Fred J. Butler, the head of the bureau, |
was with the Police Commissioner.

Captain Coughlin laid the medal
and the paper on the desk with the
comment: “These can be a beautiful
red herring for us.”

Commissioner Woods said: “I
don’t understand.”

Captain Coughlin smiled. “Com-
missioner, did you ever see a person
who had the nervous habit of crossing
the palm of a hand with the thumb?”

“Sure, I’ve seen that and so have

SRI TT EE TT TT TTT TN

you,” the Commissioner answered.
“Well, I saw it out there in the

‘Heinler home,” Captain Coughlin re-

plied. “I know the whole thing
sounds crazy and doesn’t make sense.
The hunch I have is absurd, but if you
let me follow it I think it may get us
somewhere.”

Commissioner Woods was a capa-
ble and brilliant police commissioner
and he agreed to let Captain Coughlin
follow that hunch. And it might be
added that the Commissioner didn’t
have many misgivings in doing this.

When Captain Coughlin left Head-
quarters he drove to the Lorach home
where Miss Helen Buck was staying. _

“Miss Buck,” Captain Coughlin
said, “I want to ask you a question—
rather, clarify one I did ask you. De-
scribe the voice you heard over the
telephone when you called the Heinl-
er home this morning.”

“It was a rather peculiar voice,”
Miss Buck answered. “I have the
feeling now that whoever was talk-
ing was trying to mask his real voi-
2."

“You are sure it was a man?” Cap-
tain Coughlin interrupted.

“Yes, I believe it was. I don’t
know whether it would be possible
for a woman to mask a voice like
that. I would say that it sounded like
a man’s voice.”

“Did this person speak good Eng-
lish?”

“Perfect.”

“One more question.. Who were
these strange visitors Julia Heinler
had?”

“It’s hard to answer that because I
didn’t know she had many visitors.”

“Did anybody at the house?”

“Cora Unruh had plenty and they
all seemed to be Germans.” :

When Captain Coughlin left the
Lorach home, he went to the Sea-
man’s Institute, where most of the
German sailors marooned in New
York lived. He talked to Frank Ran-
dow, the clerk. The Captain made
two requests of the clerk. One was
the name of all the German sailors
registered at the Institute. The second
was to be given permission to search
their rooms.

Randow granted both requests
willingly. Then Captain Coughlin
asked: “Do you know a German by

the name of Adolph. Neuman? I be-
lieve he comes around here to talk to
the Germans?”

“The name is familiar,” Randow
replied, “but there are so many Ger-
mans around here that I get mixed
up.” .
Captain Coughlin returned to head-
quarters at Centre Street after his visit
to the Institute. He spent the remain-
der of the day and most of the night at
Centre Street, putting in long distance
calls to police departments in the
East.

While he was doing this, the inves-
tigation into the death of Julia Heinler
had reached wide proportions. Neu-
man and Cora Unruh were held, and
as the hours passed Germans were
picked up in all parts of New York
City.

Other possibilities of the case were
not overlooked by the Commissio-
ner.The lawyer who drew up the
will was questioned. Relatives were
checked in all parts of the country,
Seligman Heinler was asked to assist,
and the nephew, Fred Vogel, proved
valuable help in locating the benefi-
ciaries of Julia Heinler’s estate.

Captain Coughlin took no part, nor
any interest, in this part of the investi-
gation. The following day he got on a
train and went to Philadelphia. He re-
turned to New York City late. that
evening, and an hour later he re-
turned. Detectives in New York, as

well as Philadelphia, were visiting.

pawnshops looking for the missing
jewelry. -

Three days later, on the morning of
April 27th, Captain Coughlin walked
into Inspector Dillon’s office at the
Brooklyn Police Headquarters. Police
Commissioner Woods and all the top
flight inspectors to the Police Depart-
ment were there. All were tired, dis-
couraged, and ready to admit that
there was little hope that the case
would ever be solved.

So Captain Coughlin was a wel-

come sight to the Police Commission-
er. The Captain reached in his pocket,
pulled out a watch and a gold stick-
pin and tossed them on the desk. . -

“Those,” ,he\,,said,’ “were. taken. .

fromthe room” of Fred” Vogel “and
were found in a pawnshop in Phila-
delphia.”
Commissioner Woods picked them
up, smiled for the first time in several
days.
“Your hunches,” he ‘said to Captain

(continued on next page)
53

sense

_ “Why - would anybody

Murder In The Madhouse

(continued from Page 47)

the living room, Seligman’ asked:
take my
wife’s will, and the deeds to the
property in Germany? I can under-
stand the missing jewelry, but these
other things are something else.”

“Your wife had property in Ger-
many?” Captain Coughlin questioned.

“Considerable. Her grandfather
died two years ago, leaving her the
Fuerst Hotel in Bad Eams and a great
deal of land in that part of Germany.”

“You knew the contents of the
will?” ,

“It was a simple will,” the hus-
band explained. “The bulk of the
property in Germany was divided
among relatives. You see, I am well
fixed myself and have no need for
that property. Besides, what is it
worth now, with the war in Euro-
pe?”

“Did your wife have many rela-
tives?”

“They were mostly in Germany,
except Fred here, her nephew.”

The nephew said: “I knew nothing
whatsoever about the will.”

“What other papers would your
wife have had in her strong box?”
Captain Coughlin asked the husband.
“Your wife is German. Just how
strong are her sympathies for the Fa-
therland?” . :

In 1915 the armies of Germany and
the Allies were facing each other on
the Western Front, but in that year the
war hadn’t touched us greatly, ex-
cept to give us a taste of what war
prosperity might be like. There was
little feeling for or against either side
and it was only considered natural
that Americans of German descent
would be loyal to their mother coun-
try.

Seligman Heinler answered: “Julia
was an American, first and always.
Any interest she had in Germany was
detached and was confined to help
German citizen’s marooned in this
country by the war.”

Captain Coughlin accepted that ex-
planation. He asked about any other pa-
pers being in the strong box. The hus-

was positive there was noth-
ing besides the will and deeds and a

~ few personal letters of no value other

than family sentiment.
Captain Coughlin let the husband
and the nephew go as both began to

show the strain of the shock they had
received and arrangements had to be
made to notify relatives and plan for
the funeral.

Miss Helen Buck, the tall attractive

companion of the murdered woman, -

was next brought into the living
room. She, too, was pale and her
eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

“I feel numb all over,” she said.
“Julia Heinler was the best friend in
the world. You see, I lived here with
her. I suppose you could call me a
companion to her. But I was looking
for a job and Julia Suggested I get one
as a governess as I ama college grad-
uate. It was her idea that I put a-clas-
sified advertisement in the Times,
which I did yesterday. Last night I
went to Manhattan to stay with some
friends, and this morning, wondering
if I got any answers, I called the hou-
se.”

Captain Coughlin interrupted her to
ask if Mrs. Heinler had said anything
about the servants being gone for the
day.

“I believe she did Say something
about that,” Miss Buck answered.
“You see there wasn’t really much
need for the servants when only Mrs.
Heiner and I were here. But this
morning when I called the house, a
man answered the phone.”

“Did you recognize his voice?”

Miss Buck shook her head. “No, he
was a stranger. I asked if Mrs. Heinl-
er was in and he said no. I asked
where she was. He hung up. Well,
that got me suspicious and I came
right over here. The front door and the
kitchen door were locked. Thinking
Mrs. Heinler might be at the neigh-
bor’s, I went over to the Franz Lo-
rach home were she often visits.
They hadn’t seen her and Franz went
to the window of the kitchen and
saw the body there. I called the po-
lice.” ;

“You didn’t see anybody around
the house when you tried the doors?”
Captain Coughlin Suggested. “The
man was here when you called and it
didn’t take you long to get over here.”

“Yes, I did see somebody. He was
hurrying down Albemarle Road, in
the direction of East Third Street. |
only saw his back and at the time I
wondered why he was almost run-
ning. Of course, it isn’t certain that he

came from this house. But somehow,
at the time, I had the feeling that he
did.”

This man became. the most important
clue to Captain Coughlin. Detectives
were sent to the different homes
along Albemarle Road to see if any-
body could be found who saw the
man hurrying away from the house.

Doctor Frank Long, Medical Ex-
aminer, arrived, made his preliminary
examination of the body and report-
ed that Julia Heinler couldn’t have
been dead much more than an hour
before Miss Buck called the police.
The doctor couldn’t be Positive as to
the exact cause of death, It was his
opinion that Julia Heinler had died
from the fractures of the skull and not
from strangulation. This, he added,
would have to be determined when
he performed the autopsy. His preli
minary examination showed that no
criminal attack had been made on her.

Captain Coughlin got this report in
the kitchen while the attendants were
removing the body. In 1915 the New
York Police Department had fin-
gerprint experts, but its**now famous
criminal laboratory wasn’t in exist-
ence and each detective had to be
something of his own_ technician
when on a case.

The fingerprint men entered the
kitchen. There weren’t many things
they could pick up that might have the
prints of the killer on them, except
the cords around Julia Heinler’s neck,
and these didn’t offer any great possi-
bilities for prints.

When they had finished dusting the
woodwork and going through the
routine of taking prints, Captain
Coughlin started to examine the floor
himself. He had learned a number of
things a technician does on a case,
from his close study of criminology.
He could bring footprints out with a
white powder and perform several
other elementary feats.

But the kitchen floor had been
walked over by so many people that
picking out any one set of footprints
was out of the question and he didn’t
bother with this. He confined his
search wholly to discovering if the
killer had been obliging enough to
leave any clues. The Captain soon
found that this elusive person had left
two. One was a piece of heavy white
enamel paper, about an inch Square,
and on it was printed the number
“199.”

(continued on next page)

|
|
|
|
|

And near this, not far from where
the body had lain, was a bronze med-
al, the size of a half dollar. The pic-
ture of the Kaiser was on it, the date
1914 under the picture, and the legend
at the top, printed in German, read

when translated: ‘Death and the father-

land.”

Captain Coughlin was trying to
figure out the meaning of these two
clues when detectives arrived with
the servants. Hilda Friesin, the maid,
was first. She was plump as a barrel,
rosy-cheeked, German as sauerkraut
and dumplings. She was scared and
her fat body was trembling. A mo-

ment later other detectives brought °

Cora Unruh, the cook, into the kitch-
en. She was tall, bony and on the
gaunt side. She wasn’t scared and she
wasn’t nervous. She seemed uncon-
cerned with everything that went on.

Joseph Hanel, the butler, came
next. He was tall, with a moon face
and a forehead too wide for the face.
Yet there was something frank and
forthright in his looks and actions. His
English was broken and he had diffi-
culty expressing himself.

He was questioned first. It took
Captain Coughlin some time to get all
details of his story, but when they
were finally assembled, they
amounted to the fact that he had been
a steward on the Vaterland, later to
be known as the Leviathan, which
had been caught in New York Harbor
at the outbreak of the war and all the
crew dumped into New York City to
survive the best they could.

Hanel had managed to get jobs here |

and there, without any regularity. He
lived at the Seaman’s Church Institute
at 25 South Street. A month before,
Mrs. Heinler had called the Institite
asking for any German sailor who
had been unable to get steady work.
Hanel answered her request, got the
job as a butler.

He explained that Mrs. Heinler
had told the sevants that since Miss
Buck wouldn’t be home, and she
planned to go out herself, they might
as well have a day off. He went to
Manhattan, tried to look up some of
his German friends, and then went
back to the Institute where the detec-
tives found him.

Hilda Friesin proved even a tough-
er problem for Captain Coughlin to
question than Hanel. She answered
all questions first in German, and then
when she tried to speak in broken En-
glish her teeth chattered so she

couldn’t get the words out. Cora Un-
ruh, still very cool and collected, of-
fered to act as interpreter, which
Coughlin in desperation had to ac-
cept. :

The story Hilda Friesin told wasn’t
very enlightening. She had worked
for the Heinler family for four years
and had come to this country from
Germany in 1905. She had left the
Heinler house at eight that morning
and had gone to visit relatives in
Manhattan and was there when the
detective called.

Cora Unruh proved a more satisfac-
tory witness as far as her ability to

speak English was concerned, but

there wasn’t much she could tell. She
was very positive about this.

“I was employed by Mrs. Heinler
two months ago as a cook,” she said.
“I did my work satisfactorily. I didn’t
mix with the family and I know
nothing about them.I was given today
off and I went to the home of some
friends in Long Island where your
men found me. I don’t know who
killed Mrs. Heinler. I have nothing
more to say.”

And she was stubborn on this last
point. Captain Coughlin tried to ques-
tion her further, got no answers, and
finally gave up, knowing that he was
facing a person who knew just how
much she had to tell a police officer
and no more.

He took the medal he had found on
the kitchen floor from his pocket. On
a rough surface of such a medal, fin-
gerprints are never registered clearly
enough to be of any value. So Captain
Coughlin didn’t hesitate to handle the
medal. He held it between his fore-
finger and thumb for the three ser-
vants to see.

“Two of you have only recently
come from Germany,” he pro-
nounced. “Does this medal mean any-
thing to you?”

‘No expression of recognition
came to the chubby face of Hilda Frie-
sin. Hanel apparently recognized it,
but it didn’t seem to interest him
greatly.

It had a different effect on Cora
Unruh. Her eyes were glued on it in a
hypnotic stare. All color left her gaunt
and bony face. Her lips moved slow-
ly without any sound coming from
them at first.

Then in a hoarse whisper: “The
Kaiser’s medal. Where did you get
that?”

“On the floor, near where the body

of Julia Heinler lay,” Captain Cough-
lin answered. “I have a feeling that
the killer dropped it there.”

A shudder passed over the body of
Cora Unruh, and then by a supreme
effort she got control of herself.

“There are thousands of those med-
als in the world.” Her voice was.
low. “It doesn’t mean a thing. There
are many of them here in New York
City.”

Captain Coughlin slipped the: med-
al in his pocket. He didn’t take the pa- ,
per out, because there was a good
chance there were prints on it and he
didn’t, want to spoil them.

“Do any of you three know why

Mrs. Heinler was killed?” he asked.
Hanel and Hilda shook their heads.

Cora Unruh’s head didn’t move. __,

“Is there any information you can_
give that might help?” the Captain:

continued. “Was Mrs. Heinler afraid
of anybody? Did she have any visi-
tors?”

Hilda started to say something, but
a look from Cora silenced her. The
look didn’t have any effect on Hanel.

In broken English he told Captain
Coughlin that Julia Heinler had had
many visitors, strange visitors, and
she had appeared frightened that
morning when she told the servants
they could leave.

“Why was she frightened?” Cap-,
tain Coughlin shot athim. —.

He shrugged, looked at Cora Unruh

_and said nothing.

Since questioning Cora Unruh was

‘like talking to a telephone post, Cap- |

tain Coughlin let the three servants go
to their quarters while he toyed with

the German medal. and. wondered.

why Cora Unruh had looked so
frightened when she saw the medal.

The key to this puzzle wasn’t long
in coming, and while it didn’t fully
explain the cook’s peculiar actions,
it was sufficient for Captain Coughlin
to get a fairly good idea what was be-
hind it all.

The detectives sent out on Albe-
marle Road to find any residents who
might have seen the man_ hurrying
away from the Heinler home. found
several neighbors who had the sug-
gestion that in all probability this man
was Adoph Neuman, an ardent suitor

of Cora Unruh. None of these resi- ’

dents recalled seeing him that day,

and so couldn’t say that he was the

man hurrying away from the house,
but the fact he had been seen so often

(continued on page 51)
49

_ oT
MMO Se

A grim smile slipped over Nicoll’s
features. “Mrs. Potts was clever
enough to outwit Harris there. She
demanded the marriage license—and
obtained it from him. It is now in
her possession!”

Reilly grinned. “So it looks like

that tale he told the cousin up in~

Scranton about his marriage was
right. I wonder how many other of
his yarns were?” ;

“Enough of them, I’m sure, to hang
him,” breathed Nicoll soberly.

When the conference was over Dis-
trict Attorney Delancey Nicoll or-
dered a warrant for the arrest of
Carlyle Harris. It was March 31,
1891, just two months to the day after
the dashing young medical student
had been ushered into the parlor of
the fashionable boarding school to
make the fateful Saturday afternoon
call on Helen Potts.

Officers serving the warrant found
Harris neither at his home at 388 De-
graw Street in Brooklyn, nor at the
College of Physicians and Surgeons.
At the school they were informed
that he had not been attending classes.

“Skipped, that’s what,” muttered
Reilly. “We oughta pinched him a
long time ago.”

Newshounds had now discovered
that Harris was wanted for murder,
and it was not long before the sensa-
tional news was blazoned all over
New York. Shortly after, an anony-
mous telephone call to police head-
quarters informed the authorities that
a man answering Harris’ description
was known to be loitering in the-
vicinity of 170 Broadway.

Plainclothesmen closed in on the
address immediately. It proved to be
a confectionery and poolroom. A
handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed
chap was lounging at a table. His
clothes and manner marked him:’as
superior to the other young men whine.
filled the place. ae

Reilly approached him. “What’s
your name?” he asked quietly, show-
ing his shield. :

Suspect Surrenders

The young man gave him an in-
solent stare. “That’s for me to know
and you to find out,” he answered
impudently.

“You can tell that to the judge,”
said Reilly, hoisting the young man
to his feet by a firm grip on his coat
collar.

Protesting violently and threatening
the officers with dire consequences, |
the young man was dragged away to
police headquarters.

Still he would not give his name.
At last he was arraigned before a
district judge and commanded under
threat of punishment for contempt of
court to reveal his identity. Reluc-
tantly he told his name. It was Rob-
ert M. Harris, brother of the wanted
man, ;

Detectives grew tense with appre-
hension when the man they had
picked up on suspicion proved not
to be their murder suspect. Had the
wily Carlyle slipped through ‘their

fingers to disappear permanently?
No amount of coercion sufficed to in-
duce Robert Harris to give any in-
formation concerning his brother’s
whereabouts. He was held by police
for withholding information.

Not long after.the announcement
of this latest development, a debonair

oung gentleman with a smirking,
Sophisticated smile on his handsome
features walked into police head-
quarters and demanded the release of
his brother. “I’m Carlyle Harris,” he
announced dramatically. “Whatever
‘you want to know you may ask my
attorney, Charles E. Davison.”

The district attorney realized at
once that it would be hopeless to ex-
pect a confession from the suspect.
Apparently the young man was going
to fall back on the fact that it would
be difficult for the state to produce
anything but circumstantial evidence
to convict him.

But Delancey Nicoll was not to be
bluffed by any outward show of
bravado on the part of the young
medico. He was convinced of his
guilt and was prepared to prove it,
no matter how stiff a battle was put
up in his behalf. | Accordingly Harris
was arraigned before Judge Fitzger-
ald and held on the murder charge.
This deposited him in the Tombs,
where he awaited trial.

Realizing that'a stiff defense was
his only hope of escaping punishment,
Harris engaged the best legal aid to
be had, the famous William Travers
Jerome, later district attorney, and
John A. Taylor, in addition to Davi-
son.

By one legal means and another the
trial was postponed until a whole
year passed since Harris had made
his last. call at the ing school.
On January 15, 1892, when the ele-
gantly attired young medical student
entered the courtroom between his
lawyers, a flutter of tense interest
swept over the packed room. Public
interest, fanned by lurid newspaper
accounts of the Harris case, was at
fever pitch once more. ;

Could this obviously cultured, bril-
liant young man, about to graduate
from medical college, really be guilty
of such a heinous crime? If so, had
the state enough evidence to convict
him? Or was it merely family jeal-
ousy or an excess of youthful exu-
berance which had made a murder
case of a mere accident? Breathless,
the crowded courtrpom awaited the
answers.

One after the other Nicoll put on
the stand the men who had proven
without doubt that Helen Potts was
the victim of morphine poisoning.
Doctors, the coroner, chemists and
expert toxicologists testified for the
state. Each in his’ turn was chal-
lenged by the defense, and compelled
to give lengthy, technical testimony
which could benefit neither the jury
nor the accused, Testimony and evi-
dence on the trial grew to such pon-
derous proportions. that it held for
many years the all-time wordage
record for murder trials, . :

Verdict Reached

‘Despite the technical evidence, Har-
ris’ canny attorneys based their case
on the fact that the prescription which
had been filled at the drugstore with
meticulous care was harmless and
therefore could not have been the

-Means of Helen Potts’ death. Fur-

thermore they challenged proof that
Harris had substituted a death-deal-
ing pill for the two he had admittedly
removed from the prescription: before
delivering it to. his secret bride.

‘Where, then, was the missing pill?

The trial raged back and forth over
that one issue.

‘During the entire battle which was
fought over his handsome dark: head,
Harris remained amazingly unruffled.
In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the
attention and publicity he was re-
ceiving, confident that he could not
lose. He smiled contemptuously at
the witnesses who gave testimony to
prove that his opinion of women was
far below the ethical standards of the
day. Instead, he should have noticed
the effect such testimony was having
on the stern-faced jury. Moral codes
of the ’90s were rigid and inflexible.
Respect for womanhood was the bul-
wark of society. Those guilty of
moral turpitude were deemed capable
of any crime.

On February 2, 1892, a year and a
day after Helen Potts had succumbed
to morphine poisoning, the Harris
trial was brought to a conclusion.

The jury filed out. Tension in the
courtroom mounted momentarily. But
there was not long to wait. After a
recess of but one hour and 20 minutes
the murder panel filed back into the
jury box. An awesome silence fol-
lowed as the foreman rose to his feet
to answer the fatal question from the
judge. The verdict was “Guilty as
charged.”

A stunned silence followed, the
whole court waiting for the words
which would bring the mercy clause.
But the foreman had nothing to add.
Carlyle Harris was convicted by the
jury’s verdict of murder in the first
degree. ;

Only recently a new device for the
execution of murderers had been put
into legal: use in the state of New
York. The electric chair! It seemed
to command an even greater respect
than the familiar hangman’s noose.
Women fainted and men blanched as
the judge sentenced the handsome
young prisoner before the bar to die
in the electric chair on February 9
at Sing Sing. Harris himself grew
a shade whiter but only for a mo-
ment. He was still convinced that
death would not touch him. He
walked from the courtroom chatting
animatedly with his lawyers. :

Then began the legal legerdemain
of appeals by which Harris and his
defense hoped to evade the jury’s de-
cision,

Months dragged by until an entire
year had been consumed in the at-
tempt to free-Harris from the death
penalty. But the state of New York
could not be convinced of his inno-

ALL- FACT DETECTIVE

cerice. Neit!
mercy.

On I
still sel
taining 1112
smile of co:
led from his
house. His
fearless anc
who had c
A black pe
moments lat
Sing, a signe
Harris had
to society.

Eprror’s
embarrassm
the names
and Cheste?
are not true

““Co

(Coni

tipped you
know wha
around wit
thief like y
“They ha
related. “W
thief, and t
innocent ar
a good rez
that night.
“They he
-and it last
with the re
walki- ~ -~-
“she |
‘Dc
when he h
went after
Guire?”
‘Eddie t
wagged hi
seen her s
“And n

guarded, why. did the suspect retain
one? Ah! So he could support his
alibi of their harmlessness by analysis
when the inevitable investigation of
Helen Potts’ death was made! Gen-
tlemen, we are dealing with a clever
and heartless schemer. Our problem
is to outwit him. Do you, think we
can?” ;

The detectives swore to do so.

Reilly and his men had Nicoll’s per-
mission to carry the investigation out-
side of Manhattan if necessary.

“Let’s go down to Asbury Park and
begin this thing where it started—in
the Potts home town,” Reilly sug-.
gested. .

“You mean question the family?”
one of the men asked.

“That won’t be necessary. Evident-
ly Mrs. Potts gave Nicoll all the in-
formation he wanted. I just want to
find out where Harris began to tie into
this picture.”

By subtle investigation Reilly was
able to contact friends of the young
couple in Asbury Park and Ocean
Grove, twin resorts on the Jersey
coast. The Potts home was a lovely
villa on the shore of Wesley Lake
between the two towns.

Family Objections

One of Helen’s young friends, Letty
Harding, a former high school class-
mate, was greatly upset about the
tragedy. “I can’t believe that Helen
would commit suicide. Why, she had
everything to live for—she was pretty,
and talented and she was so desper-
ately in love with Carlyle. They were
to have been married as soon as they
fmished school in June,” Letty said.

“How many of her friends down
here knew this?” Reilly asked.

Letty looked embarrassed. “Oh, not
many. Just her closest friends. | It
was quite a secret...” .

“That’s queer. Why. should it be?”
the detective pressed. “Did the par-
ents of either object to the marriage?”

The girl looked as though she pre-
ferred not to answer but the detective
was waiting. “Well, I don’t think
either of the families were too enthu-
siastic. There seemed to be some
feeling behind the scene. I never did
know what the objection was,” Letty
fumbled.

The schoolgirl’s reluctant answer
had given Reilly an idea: He felt that

behind it lay the real motive for the

sudden demise of Helen Potts.

“Was Helen a sickly sort of girl?
Was she in the habit of dosing herself
with drugs?” Reilly asked charily.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Letty said.
“That is, not until last summer. She
had a spell of something and went
up to her. uncle, Dr. Tracy, in Scran-
_ ton, to be treated. She never did say
what was wrong. She told me she
had terrible pains. She looked pretty
pale when she came back, but she
picked up quickly and then went
away to school.”

Reilly decided at that moment to
look into the Scranton angle of the
case, but before he left the shore
resorts he wanted to find out much
more about Carlyle Harris.

By careful inquiry the Manhattan
detectives were assured that the
young medical student was a charm-
ing young gentleman of unusual tal-
ent. Strangely. enough, it was not
among Helen Potts’ young friends that
he was best known but among a cer-
tain sporting element of the resort.

, In fact, it was rumored that Harris

*had joined several other young men
in forming what was known as.the
Neptune Club, which had become a
popular night spot for the young
bloods the. previous summer in As-
bury Park. The club had closed quite
suddenly for some mysterious reason.

The New York sleuths felt that at
last they had put their teeth into a
tangible clue. In the ’90s night spots
had an element of ill repute. The
dance hall, the tavern and cabaret
had not earned public esteem as
places of entertainment in those days.
What was even more peculiar about
this Neptune Club was the fact that
a young medical student should be
one of its sponsors. Why?

Reilly learned from local author-
ities that every business place cater-
ing to the entertainment of shore visi-
tors must be licensed and recorded in
Freehold, N. J., the county seat. Ac-
cordingly the New York sleuths made
a hurried journey up to the office of
the clerk of Monmouth County and
asked to see the registration record
of the Neptune Club. _

The clerk quickly accommodated
the metropolitan detectives. “Here it
is,” he said, pointing to the entry,
dated June 26, 1890, when the organ-
ization known as the Neptune Club
had: been incorporated. The listed
purpose was “for social, intellectual
and. recreative purposes” and “for
members only.” The corporation
consisted of three men—Frank W.
Prescott, Edward P. Saylor, and
Carlyle Harris. The latter was listed
as secretary and treasurer.

Neptune Club Shut Up

“Whew! .That’s more: than I ex-
pected to find,” breathed Reilly. “So
Harris went in, for tavern-keeping,
eh? Funny job for a medical stu-
dent. Say, when did this club be-
come defunct and why?”

The clerk shrugged. “Lots of clubs
break up at the end of the season.
All I know is that according to the
records the Neptune Club didn’t
apply for a renewal of license. I did
hear, though,” he said confidentially,
“that the place got a pretty shady
reputation. I think the law got after

it.
“We can check: that easily enough,”
said the sergeant. “If. anybody

closed it, it was the Asbury Park >

police. Thanks for your trouble.”
At Asbury Park police headquar-
ters the New York sleuths were in-
formed that the Neptune Club had
been closed on the complaint of the
shore residents. In order to collect
evidence ‘against the place without
arousing the suspicions of the opera-
tors, the local: police had employed
two New York plainclothesmen to in-
‘vestigate. The detectives had ob-

- lady-killer.

tained evidence that liquor was being

. sold illegally and gambling was being

indulged in.

Reilly and his men were speechless
with surprise. “What did you do
about it?” the sergeant asked the As-
bury Park police chief.

“Raided the place, of course, and
seized the gambling devices, cleaned
out the upper rooms and arrested the
operators. The October grand jury
indicted them on counts of sale of
liquor without a license, and gam-
bling.”

Reilly whistled. Then he looked
puzzled. “Funny. Nobody I’ve
talked to in Asbury Park séems to
know anything about Harris’ connec-
tion with the raid,” he mused.

A strange gleam appeared in the
police chief’s eye. “Well, it’s a pe-
culiar thing, all right, and something
I never did understand. Harris was
the secretary and treasurer of the
raided club, yet when the subpoenas
were served his name wasn’t on one.”

“There were three _ subpoenas,
though?” queried Reilly.
The chief nodded. “The third had

the name of Charles W. Harkness on
it and the same was on the bond.
Figure it out for yourself.” :
“Sure,” said Reilly. ‘Harris just
gave a wrong name to cover himself.”
The chief shrugged. “It wasn’t in
my jurisdiction after the raid had
been pulled and the place closed.”
“Newspapers around ~here never

mentioned Carlyle Harris, then?”
said Reilly. -
The chief shook his head. ‘Nope,

Harris’ amateur standing as a gentle-
man was in no way besmirched in

-Ocean Grove and Asbury Park be-

cause his name was registered up in
Freehold as secretaty and treasurer
of the Neptune Club. Who knows?
Maybe he sold out his interest before
the place was pinched?”

The mystery of the operators of the
Neptune Club was not Reilly’s prob-
lem. It merely added a peculiar
touch to the picture which was be-
ginning to take shape in his mind of
the young medical student who
lingered over the hands of the ladies
at the Comstock Select: Boarding
School. - His next move was to skip
up ‘to Scranton to see what else he
might add to the background of young
Carlyle Harris.

The Potts family was well known
in Scranton, ranking high among the
socialites, as did their relatives, Dr.
Tracy and young Chester Olney. The
latter, a law student at the University
of Michigan, was a cousin of Helen
Potts and had also paid a visit to Dr.
Tracy, their uncle, the previous sum-
mer. He told the New York sleuths
some significant facts about his

-cousin’s visit to Scranton.

Reilly’s eyes narrowed as he queried
young Olney. “You met Carlyle Har-
ris, then?”

“Oh, yes. He came up to see Helen
once last summer. I didn’t take to
the chap myself. He was quite a
Terrible braggart, and
didn’t mind telling you how popular

he was with the women. In fact, he’d ©

- “ALL-FACT DETECTIVE

button-hole you
to tell you how
on the strin
was lying.
he’d even n
“You mean |
in amazement.
Olney laughe
his story. He
had once gott
home by sendi
which was su}
tation from a
visit. That wa
a lot of yarns :
Reilly was b!
smoke rings in
hotel where
cousin sat talki
rings his trigg«
ing some rapic
His mind w
was not at all
he was hearing
fiction. Somel
had too much i
cated out of
indicated most
man’s love of
obviously wha'
trist would ha.
If that type
caught in a
threatens to re’
able light, mi
violence to
Had Harris, w
being exposed
raid, become
serious miscor
tempting to co
in any way re:
young man’s }
torted opinion
Feeling that
a key toa
poisoning,
York to re,_-
The district
not been idl:
men had. bee:
afield. He ha
the results of
of the poison
pected, the re
dolph Witt of
of Medicine, \
to assist the «

Helen Potts <
of morphine,
opium.
Another de
out of ‘Nicoll’
College of Pl
where Harris
of his school
James Kram
quently dined
Harris was ad
he exhibited a
in poisons, cl:
siblé to comn
without detec
As in every
‘der case, pu

running
individuals,
themselves fi
approached :

JULY, 1943

was being
was being

speechless
d you do
od the As-

yurse, and
1s, cleaned
‘rested the
‘rand jury
of sale of
and gam-

he looked

osody I’ve
seems to
is’ connec-

sed.

ced in the
it’s a pe-

subpoenas
’t on one.”
subpoenas,

>» third had
arkness on
Bin bond.
4--~is just
mself.”
isn’t in
- raid had
closed.”
iere never
‘is, then?”

ad, “Nope,
is a gentle-
mirched in
' Park be-
‘ered up in
1 treasurer
ho knows?
srest before

ators of the
illy’s prob-
a peculiar
th was be-
ais mind of
ident who
f the ladies
: Boarding
was to skip
hat else he
ad of young

well known
among the
latives, Dr.
Olney. The
» University
n of Helen
visit to Dr.
2vious sum-
‘ork sleuths
about his

n.
s he queried
Sarlyle Har-

xe Helen
take to
vas Quite a
‘aggart, and
1ow popular
In fact, he’d

CT DETECTIVE

tg >

button-hole you any hour of the day
to tell you how many women he had
on the string. Personally, I think he
was lying. For instance, he told me
he’d even married two girls.”

“You mean bigamy?” asked Reilly
in amazement.

Olney laughed harshly. “That was
his story. He even told me that he
had once gotten a girl out of “her
home by sending her mother a note
which was sup to be an invi-
tation from a friend for a weekend
visit, That was Harris’ idea of fun—
a lot of yarns about his lady-killing.”

Reilly was blowing a rapid series of
smoke rings in the lobby of the small
hotel where he and Helen Potts’
cousin sat talking. Behind the smoke
rings his trigger-quick mind was do-
ing some rapid calculating.

His mind was still open, but he
was not at all certain that the tales
he was hearing about Harris were all
fiction. Somehow, the several stories
had too much in common to be fabri-
cated out of thin air. What they
indicated most of all was the young
man’s love of himself. Harris was
obviously what a latter-day psychia-
trist would have called an egomaniac.

If that type of person is at last

caught in a_ circumstance which -

threatens to reveal him in an unfavor-
able light, might he not resort to
violence to circumvent exposure?
Had Harris, who had barely escaped
being exposed in the Neptune Club
raid, become involved in any other
serious misconduct which he was at-
tempting to conceal? Did Helen Potts
in any way represent an object in the
young man’s path which, in his dis-
torted opinion, had to be removed?

Feeling that at last he had found
a key ‘to a motive for the schoolgirl’s
poisoning, Reilly returned to New
York to report to Nicoll.

The district attorney himself had
not been idle while the homicide
men had_ been ‘tracking down clues
afield. He had ordered and obtained
the results of an autopsy on the body
of the poison victim. As he had ex-
pected, the report of Professor Ru-
dolph Witt of the Columbia College
of Medicine, who had been called in
to assist the coroner in the autopsy,
verified the diagnoses of Dr. Fowler
and his colleagues. The body of

Helen Potts showed a, lethal dosage .

of morphine, a refined derivative of
opium.

Another detail of sleuths working
out of ‘Nicoll’s office had visited the
College of Physicians and Surgeons
where Harris was a student. Two
of his schoolmates, John Cockran and
James Kram, with whom he fre-
quently dined, told the detectives that
Harris was addicted to bragging. Too,
he exhibited an almost morbid interest
in poisons, claiming that it was pos-
siblé to commit murder by: narcotics
without detection.

As in every highly publicized mur-

-der case, public feeling had been

running high and newspapers and
individuals had been expressing
themselves freely. One of the latter

approached Delancey Nicoll in his

JULY, 1943

office and proffered some information.

“T don’t know if this will do you
any good in your investigation or not,”
he told the D.A., “but I’d just like
to tell you what kind of fellow that
Carlyle Harris is.” The informant,
a salesman, gave his name as John
F. Latham and he told a most amazing

tale.

Salesman's Story -—

He said that he and his wife had
been living ‘at the Webster House, a
small hotel at Canandaigua,: a: north-.
ern New York: resort, the previous
September. A young lady, who called

‘herself Queenie Drew, arrived ac-

companied by a young man who gave
his name as C. W. Graham. .

- “] didn’t like the young man from
the very first, though,” said the sales-
man. “He was handsome and well
mannered, but he was a blowhard,
especially where women were con-
cerned.” y

Mrs. Latham and Queenie Drew,
however, became friendly, the sales-
man said, and one night when his
wife was ill she sent him to Miss
Drew’s room, asking her to come to
her aid. Latham said that. when
he called at Queenie Drew’s room to
deliver his wife’s message he was sur-
prised to find Graham also occupying
the room. The next day he ap-
proached the young man and told him
if he didn’t leave the hotel immedi-
ately he’d notify the Webster House
proprietor.

Graham agreed to leave, but before
his departure Mrs. Latham chanced
to hear a conversation between him
and Queenie Drew. Graham said,
“You'd better marry the old gent with
plenty of money.” The girl chided
him and asked what he’d do if she
did. He answered, “We can get rid
of him—give him a pill.”

Nicoll, anxious to get to the point
of the story, interrupted the infor-
mant. “Interesting to be sure, Lath-
am, but what has all this to do with
our case?” he asked impatiently.

“I was just coming to that,” Latham
said. “You/see, Graham was a ficti-
tious name. After he left, he kept
sending money to Queenie Drew in
letters which were filled with the most
ardent phrases. She showed them to
my wife. Then in, one he planned
to meet Queenie Drew in New York at
the Eighteenth Street station of the
Third Avenue ‘L.’ Shortly after, she
left the Webster House.”

“Yes?” queried the D.A. shortly, his
pencil tapping the desk.

“The papers printed a picture of
Graham recently. The name under it
was Carlyle Harris.” xf

“You're sure?” Nicoll asked.

Both my wife and I recognized it
instantly.” .

“That was in September, you say?”
The D.A. made a note of the date
when the informant verified it with a
nod. “We may éall on you and your
wife later,” he told the salesman. -

When Latham had left, Nicoll
opened a dossier .which was. daily
growing fatter. From it he extracted

- ‘ .

‘the letter which had started the in-
vestigation. Then he called in the
detectives for a conference.

“{ think you men have supplied
substantiating evidence and witnesses
sufficient for a murder charge,” he
informed. them.

Detective Sergeant Reilly and his
men looked at the district attorney
in some surprise. Each felt that he.

_ had failed to turn up any conclusive

clue or piece of evidence which would
incriminate a murderer:of Helen Potts.

Nicoll went on. “You see, I did not
fully acquaint you with the evidence
already in my possession. It was not
sufficient to trap a criminal and I
didn’t want it to prejudice your in-
vestigations. You went out with open
minds. Here are the facts as told
to me by Mrs. Potts on her first visit.

Couple Were Married

“Carlyle Harris had secretly mar-
ried her daughter long before she
entered the Comstock School!”

The sleuths stared at Nicoll.

“Harris had duped Mrs. Potts by
sending her a note purportedly from
a friend inviting Helen to spend a
weekend with her. Taken in by the
note, Mrs. Potts allowed Helen to go.
Then she discovered the ruse and con-
fronted Harris with it.

“He admitted then that he had mar-
ried Helen, but begged that the mar-
riage be kept secret until he had
finished school, since his family would
disown him should they discover it.
Mrs. Potts agreed to it against her
better judgment, but when she
learned that her daughter was to be-
come a mother she demanded that
Harris announce the marriage im-
mediately.

“Harris, however, begged again for
a delay, claiming that ‘everything was
going to be all right.’ Helen became
violently ill and when she reached
her uncle in Scranton for treatment
it was discovered that she had been
the victim of an illegal operation.

“Mrs. Potts was beside herself with
apprehension over the fate of her
daughter, who could not be persuaded
to give up the unworthy young man.
Consequently Mrs. Potts hit upon the
idea of putting Helen in the fashion-
able girls’. boarding school in New
York, where she would be permitted
to see Harris only under the strict
chaperonage of Mrs. Day.

“Though he continued to visit Helen
at the school, it became obvious to
the young bride and her family that

“his ardor had cooled, and that he had
no intention of acknowledging his
bride even when he had finished
medical school. Apparently Carlyle
Harris’ love of conquest was, even at
his age, too deeply entrenched to per-

_mit him a single fidelity.”

* Nicoll waved the letter in his hand.
“This is another plea from Harris
asking Mrs. Potts to postpone ‘just a
little longer’ the announcement of
what he termed his ‘engagement’.”

“Do you suppose you can trust this
young Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when
he says he actually married the girl?”
Reilly asked.

vidence, Har-
2d their case
ription which
‘ugstore with
armless and
ve been the
death. Fur-
d proof that
death-deal-
id admittedly
iption: before
‘ecret bride.
nissing pill?
d forth over

e which was
e dark: head,
sly unruffled.
enjoying the
he was re-
1e could not
aptuously at
testimony to
women was
dards of the
have noticed

was having
Moral codes
id inflexible.
| was the bul-
| e guilty of
| med capable

ar and a
zcumbed
Harris
mezusion.
nsion in the
mtarily. But
ut. After a
1 20 minutes
ack into the
silence fol-
| e to his feet
on from the
“Guilty as

llowed, the
the words
ercy clause.
aing to add.
cted by the
in the first

vice for the
ad been put
ite of New
It seemed
ater respect
ian’s noose.
blanched as
- handsome
: bar to die
February 9
mself grew
for a mo-
vinced that
| him. He
m chatting
rs. :
egerdemain
ris and his
2 jury’s de-

il an entire

in the at-
» death
vw York
3; inno-

T DETECTIVE

4
q
:
,
4
‘

cerice, Neither was it inclined toward
mercy.

On May 8 in 1893, a young man,
still self-possessed and stoutly main-
taining his innocence, still with a
smile of contempt on his face, was
led from his cell in Sing Sing’s death
house. His last speech was incredibly
fearless and contemptuous of those
who had condemned him to death.
A black pennant was hoisted a few
moments later on the flagstaff of Sing
Sing, a signal to the world that Carlyle
Harris had paid with his life his debt
to society.

Eprror’s Nore: To spare possible
embarrassment to innocent persons,
the names Letty Harding, Dr. Tracy
and Chester Olney, used in this story,
are not true but fictitious.

| am the
“<Cowhoy Slayer’

(Continued from page 17)

tipped you to his cache, wanted to
know what she meant by running
around with a dirty, low-down cow-
thief like you, and soon. -

“They had it hot and heavy,” Eddie
related. “With McGuire calling you a
thief, and the redhead saying you was
innocent and that you must have had
a good reason for leaving the show
that night.

“They had one hell-of an argument
-and it lasted all that night. It ended
with the redhead quitting her job and’
walking out on him. Yep,” said Eddie,

“she sure stuck up for you!”

“Do you happen to know,” I asked,
when he had finished, “where Yvette
went after she walked out on Mc-
Guire?”

Eddie took a swig of beer and
wagged his head. “Nope. Nobody’s
seen her since.”

“And nobody ever will,” I said.
Then I told him the truth about the
robbery.

Eddie listened, frog-eyed. “And you
mean she was the one that planned
the job and got all of McGuire’s
dough?”

fe t’s right, Eddie. She played me
for a prize sucker, and I fell for it

Eddie downed the rest of his beer
at a gulp. “Well, it just goes to show,”
he said, “you never can trust a
woman.”

I agreed with him, and I made up
fy mind then and there that I’d never
trust another female as long as I lived.

For that matter, I didn’t trust many
men. My life with the carney grifters
had hardened me, made me suspicious
of almost everybody.

° Also it had made me believe that
‘only a chump does honest work for a

li . he really smart guy, I be-

lieved; lived by his wits.

That was the way I had lived, and
that was the-way I meant to keep on
living. I hadn’t done a day’s honest

work since joining the carnival early

-in lower California, chiefly in -and

* was a green kid, unused to the ways

in 1939.

It was now the end of 1940 and
I was on my own, a lone wolf. For
the next couple of years I roamed
about the Western states, from New
Mexico to Washington, making money
any way I could—except by work,

Once I wandered as far: east as.
Denver, but most of the time I spent

around Lis Angeles, for here I found
the biggest crop of suckers and the
easiest to pluck.

Just a Greenhorn

I didn’t try any more crooked dice
tricks. That experience with the wharf
rats in Portland had taught me a bitter
lesson. As for crooked gambling with -
cards, that calls for at least one part-
ner, and I didn’t want any. My dis-
illusionment with Yvette, the one per-
son I had trusted above all others,
had made me distrustful of everybody.

I always affected a cowboy costume,
two-gallon hat and all, and anybody
who saw me would mistake me for a
young cowhand who had just ridden
a pony into town or tumbled off a
load of alfalfa. Everybody thought I

of a city—which was exactly what I
wanted them to think. ;

I rolled drunks, picked pockets (the
carney men had made me skilled in
this), prowled stores, and stole travel-
ing bags from motorists who picked
me up on the highways, supposing me
to be a harmless young hitch-hiker.

It was all easy picking; the softest
way in the world to make a living,
I thought. But early in 1943 things got
tough. I had been in Los Angeles
since September 14, and I hadn’t been
able to make a good touch.

I drifted out to Hollywood, thinking
maybe I could find a sucker I could
make for a fat roll. I found none. My
gaudy cowboy costume and childlike
stare didn’t get a tumble from any--
body. My bag of tricks meant nothing
fn that town!

I didn’t even see a movie star. Most
of them, I discovered, didn’t live in
Hollywood, but in Bel-Air, Beverly
Hills, or the San Fernando Valley,
and some of the biggest studios were
in Burbank. Disgusted, I wandered

away.

About 1 o’clock Monday afternoon,
February 1, 1943, I was trudging along
Foothill Boulevard, about 12 miles
west of Pomona, kicking up the dust
with my cowhide boots and keeping
an eye peeled for a likely victim.

Pretty soon I saw one. He was driv-
ing an expensive car and he was alone
—just what I wanted. I stood at the
‘roadside, facing him, and jerked my
thumb in the direction he was héaded.

He slowed down and came to a stop.
“Hop in, cowboy.” He pushed the
right-hand door open. Nes

1 slid into the front.seat beside him.
He was a well-dressed young man,
not more than 26, with a pleasant
smile and a cleancut face, and he
looked as if he might have a fat bank-
roll—that much I saw at once. Then I

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alerted to the tragedy. Police of sur-
rounding communities were thrown into
the search for Fallone. Volunteers were
called in and a posse was formed.

It was a part of this posse that
crowded up the steps of the Fallone
home in Ford City and forced Johnny
into his final flight. He set out for
Baker Hollow, which runs along Crook-
ed Creek.

There, an all-night manhunt went
jon.

Creeping through the darkness, mem-
bers of the pursuing posse sought the
fugitive.

More than 30 men were in the search-
ing group that finally surrounded Fal-
lone.

In a final burst of gunfire, Fallone
wounded Policeman Gus Zanos of near-
by Apollo, a volunteer posseman and
the fifth person to fall before the teen-
ager’s shots. Zanos, with a wound above
his left eye, also was hospitalized.

It was about noon on the day follow-
ing Fallone’s reign of terror that Zanos
was shot. The rest of the posse, not
able immediately to find the foxhole
in which Fallone had hidden himself,
called for more help.

Finally, the small army of volunteers
waded into the swamp around Crooked
Creek. Crumpled behind a stump, half-
covered with snow that had begun to
fall, they found Fallone. He had been
critically wounded in the head.

Johnny, was taken to Kitanning Hos-
pital, where his girl friend, Gladys
Smail, and Policeman Zanos were also
under treatment.

His other three victims, J. Warren
Smail; his wife, Irene, and Warren’s
brother, William, had died and were

awaiting funeral arrangements in the
morgue.

It was his three dead victims—not
those he merely had wounded—that
John Fallone, 17, was to follow.

Johnny died Thursday night in the
hospital, after a long siege in which he
was barely conscious and completely
unable to answer any questions about
his murder spree.

The posse that found and brought in
Fallone was led by State Police Cor-
poral Metro Poloskey who, later, said
they tracked the youth down by his
footprints in the fresh-fallen snow along
Baker Hollow, on the banks of Crook-
ed Creek.

Fallone’s first desperate shots at his
pursuers began about 11:15 a.m., said
Poloskey, just a few minutes before
Zanos was wounded.

Naturally, the triple murder will be
a topic of talk among residents of that
west Pennsylvania region for years—
a crash of violence in a section that
usually leads a peaceful course, brim-
full of good will toward men.

Old timers, perhaps, will think of
another tragedy, about 30 miles from

there, when they think ot the part that
Crooked Creek and its waters played
in the pitiable tragedy.

It was in that same Pennsylvania
area, the graybeards will recall, that the
Conemaugh River got loose on May
31, 1889—and caused the tremendous
Johnstown Flood, the deluge that took
a dreadful total of 2,200 lives.

That was 2,197 more lives than John
Fallone took, they may say.

But Johnny was only 17. And the
Conemaugh River had been running
through western Pennsylvania for cen-
turies. THE END

HER EYES ARE
HAUNTING ME!

(continued from page 25)

“I had them made at MclIntyre’s
Drug Store at 902 Sixth Avenue,”
Harris said. 2

“Get right down there. then,” Fow-
ler ordered. “And find out if McIntyre

-Made any mistake in filling the pre-

scription.”

Harris left in a hurry. He returned
in an hour — pale, shaken, and very
much down in the mouth. “There's
been no mistake,” he said. “McIntyre
filled the prescription himself.”

Dr. Fowler mumbled something
about the increased seriousness of
Helen’s condition. Despite all that the
tense doctors could do, Helen fell
asleep again. After three hours of un-
shakable sleep, Helen died without
saying another word.

Carlyle Harris nearly fainted as
Helen’s frail heart finally stopped
beating. “God,” he groaned, “this
won't get me in trouble, will it, Doc-
tor Fowler?”

The school physician turned his
back to the young aristocrat. “I hard-
ly think so,” he said.“ But the Coroner
might think differently.”

The Coroner’s physicians performed
their autopsy that night. They re-
ported that Helen Potts had died of
influenza complicated by a weak
heart. Wearily, Dr. Weston of the
Coroner’s office filled in a permit to
bury the body on February Ist, and
the girl’s parents in New Jersey were

‘notified of their daughter’s death.
* * *

UT Helen Potts’ body was scarcely

a week in its grave before disturb-

ing rumors started to float in ugly
patterns over New York.

One of the girls at the school re-

membered a secret she had shared

with Helen Potts for nearly a year.

And now this secret started to circu-
late through many quarters, It was
perhaps the reason Carlyle Harris had
been so jittery at Helen’s death bed.
It was common knowledge in the
school that Helen Potts and Carlyle
Harris had been secretly married.
Alderman William P. Rinkhoff had
performed the marriage at City Hall,
where bride and groom had given
their names as Helen Nielsen and
Charles Harris.
' Among the many New Yorkers who
Jearned about this marriage in the
weeks following Helen’s death was
District, Attorney -DeLancey Nicoll.

He learned about it from Mrs. George’
Potts, the dead girl’s mother.

Mrs. Potts, a resident of Asbury

Park, New Jersey, had suffered in si- .

lence for nearly a full year, During
the previous summer, her brother, Dr.
C. W. Treverton, of Scranton, Penn-
sylvania, had been visited by Helen
and Carlyle at his home in the coal
country. They told him about their
secret marriage.

' Treverton told all this to Mrs. Potts.
She confronted the young aristocrat
with the knowledge at once. She also
demanded that he and Helen go
through a public religious marriage
ceremony under their correct names.

Carlyle Harris had ‘had a ready
answer to this demand. “My grand-
father will cut me off without a penny
if he finds out I married without his
consent,” he said.

But after Mrs. Potts pressed him, |

he set a deadline, and promised to
keep it. “On the first anniversary of
our secret marriage,” he was quoted
by Mrs. Potts as promising, “I will go
through a ceremony under my right

name. For by then I will have won ©

over my grandfather.”
* * sd

HE first anniversary of the mar-

riage fell on February 8th. On
February Ist, Helen Potts Harris
breathed her last in the presence of
her husband, the school doctor, and a
weeping group of classmates.

On January 20th, Mrs. Potts had
written to Carlyle Harris in sheer
desperation after months of pleading,
tearful argument. “You must go on
the 8th of February, the anniversary
of your. secret marriage,” she wrote,
“before a minister of the gospel and
there have a Christian marriage per-
formed—no other course but this will
any longer be satisfactory to me or
keep me quiet.”

As the District Attorney listened to
Mrs. Potts’ story, he began to build
up a picture of a possible case. “Did
he answer you?” he asked. |

Mrs. Potts produced a letter from
Harris. In it he declared that he would

go through a public marriage cere> ——

st hadnt aie EO 8

“3
ie

Geta

dea em Sf

Pliddid Ulli ddd 1Ctatsuisd WEEE see ee
“And mind you,” he pointed out, “Harris
was consorting with this woman, in a hotel
in upstate New York, at the very time he
was married to your daughter. I feel, Mrs.
Potts, that there are things you know that
you will want to tell us. In justice to your
>: daughter, I think you can do no less.”

WV ataa

Thite-faced and terribly shaken by

™ at she had heard, Mrs. Potts declared, “J
have been dreadfully deceived, and I will
be frank with you. After I learned of the
marriage, I came back here and got in
touch with him. He gave me his reasons
for not wishing to make the marriage
public right away—about his grandfather
cutting him off—and asked for my patience.
I agreed to let things continue as they
were for a while. But I assure you I did
so reluctantly. Well, the weeks and months
passed, but Carlyle continued to put me
off. Furthermore, I had kept this thing
from my husband, and I felt I had no right
to do so much longer unless Carlyle ac-
cepted Helen as his wife before our
friends.”

On January 6th, Mrs. Potts continued,
her patience having been exhausted, she
wrote Harris a virtual ultimatum, a copy
of which she had retained. Her letter read,
in part: “You must go on the 8th of Feb-
ruary, the anniversary of your secret mar-
riage, before a minister of the Gospel, and
there have a Christian ceremony per-
formed. No other course will longer be
satisfactory to me, or keep me quiet.”

Harris replied immediately, grudgingly
agreed that: “If no other way can be
found to satisfy your scruples, I will com-
ply with your demand.”

In this context, of course, Helen’s death,
on February 1st—a week prior to the an-
ticipated public ceremony—was fortuitous
for Harris, and damningly suspicious.

Concerning her attitude toward an

topsy following her daughter’s death,

6. Potts turned to the conversation she

M4 had with Harris when she came to

New York the day Helen died. “He met

me at the train,” she explained, “and I

could see he was in an agitated condition.

He said the druggist had probably made

an error in filling the prescription, and that

there would undoubtedly be strong senti-
ment for an autopsy. He warned me that
if I permitted it, there would be a terrible
scandal in all the papers. He said that
everybody would know, from the autopsy
report, that Helen had had an abortion.

Of course, I was horrified at the idea, and

I particularly wondered how I could ex-

plain all this to my husband. And so I

made up the story I told Coroner Schultze

about Helen’s heart trouble.”

The rest of what Mrs. Potts had to say
concerned the curiously incomplete in-
scription on Helen’s grave. “I begged
Carlyle,” she said, “to finally acknowledge

_ my dead child as his wife. But even this
., he refused me. So I had her gravestone
marked merely ‘Helen.’ Some day, I hoped,
Carlyle would want to add the name
‘Harris. ”

When Byrnes and McCafferty returned
to New York, they were met with a piece
of information which, they felt, was
clinching in respect to a well-founded ac-
cusation of murder against Carlyle Harris.
On January 8th—the day following Harris’
receipt of Mrs. Potts’ ultimatum—the med-
ical student had attended a lecture in
pharmacology at Columbia. The subject of
the lecture had been the nature and effect

£ morphine. The professor, in order to

ge ure that the future doctors he addressed

Mould recognize the drug, had _ passed
copious quantities of it to the class for
their inspection. The college authorities

admitted that no inventory of the drug had
been made, and it would have been en-
tirely possible for Harris to have stolen a

00 GPEVUbwintewy wees te we
ELATED

WANT AROMA WITH A LIFT”
MAN, HERES HOW

AND IT PACKS SO NEAT
IT RATES A BOW af

roy
IT SMOKES SWEET
N Amp LF

Ns oe AS e
he ars

fy yoy
(T'S THE PIPE-BLEND CHAMP
YOU MUST ALLOW

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IT CANT BITE!

SIR WALTER RALEIGHS BLEND OF CHOICE
KENTUCKY BURLEYS IS EXTRA-AGED TO
GUARD AGAINST TONGUE BITE. AND SIR
WALTER RALEIGH NEVER LEAVES A SOGGY
HEEL IN YOUR PIPE. STAYS LIT TO
THE LAST PUFF.

Sane

considerable and lethal quantity of it.

It was not difficult for Byrnes to add up
the score. In the first place, there were
three possible reasons why Harris would
want Helen out of the way. First, public
knowledge of his marriage might flush out
one or more of his previous secret wives,
any one of whom might put the finger on
him as a bigamist. Second, as a known
married man, he would find his romantic
capers severely restricted. Lastly, it might
well be true that he would suffer family
displeasure and loss of financial support
if it were known he had married while
still in college and without his grand-
father’s approval.

But Mrs. Potts had forced his hand and,
Byrnes believed, Harris had decided on
the extreme course to circumvent his
dilemma. Having determined to rid him-
self of Helen, he stole the morphine during
the Columbia lecture. He wrote a pre-
scription, had it filled, and thereby got
possession of six harmless capsules. He re-
moved the contents of one of these, filled
it with a deadly dose of morphine, then
gave it, with three harmless ones, to Helen.
He retained two of the originals. If the
nature of his prescription were challenged,
he could offer them for analysis as repre-
sentative of the lot.

After giving Helen the capsules with in-
structions to take one every night, Harris
probably had decided it would be wise for
him to be out of town when she swallowed
the deadly one. Hence, his steamship trip
to Old Point Comfort, Virginia. However,
the law of probability was not in his favor,
and Helen did not select the poisonous
capsule until the last, after he was home.

Byrnes turned over his evidence to As-
sistant District Attorney Wellman. Now,
with Mrs. Potts’ consent, Wellman arranged
for the exhumation of Helen’s body, and

its return to New York for toxicological
analysis of vital organs. The man invited
to perform the necessary work was the
eminent pathologist, Dr. Allan McLane
Hamilton.

Dr. Hamilton reported that Helen’s
corpse yielded enough morphine to have
killed six men. Within an hour of the
receipt of the report, Inspector Byrnes
personally placed Harris under arrest.

His trial, in February of the next year,
pitted two legal giants of the day against
each other. The State of New York was
represented by Wellman, while Harris was
defended by William Travers Jerome, who
later, as New York’s district attorney,
compiled one of the more enviable records
in that office. The defense pinned its hope
on the proposition that Helen had died
naturally, and that Harris was so much in
love with her that to suggest he had killed
her was absurd. Wellman, however, had no
difficulty in convincing a jury of the in-
vincible logic of his case, and they brought
in a verdict of guilty.

The presiding judge, Recorder Frederick
Smyth, sentenced Harris to die. Fifteen
months later, the sentence was carried out
in Sing Sing’s electric chair.

Throughout these fifteen months, Carlyle
Harris’ mother left off her juvenile writing
and temperance lectures to devote herself
to her son’s cause. From street-corner
platform and in the newspaper, she at-
tacked what she described as a miscarriage
of justice. To the last she gave evidence of
her belief. After she had claimed her son’s
body, she provided an ironic counterpart to
another mother’s action on the death of a
beloved child.

Mrs. Harris had an inscribed plate put
on her son’s casket. It read: “Carlyle W.
Harris. Murdered, May 8, 1893. Aged 23
years, 7 months, 15 days.” THE END

HARRIS, Cep white
“Sa CRIME

electrocuted Sing Sing on 5-8-1893,

YEAR BOOK
CRIME CLASSIC

“by H. B. SHERIDAN
tect, PRSO :

TRUE MYSTERY DETECTIVE, September, 1969.

O her fellow students at Miss
Day’s exclusive girls’ school in
New York, there had always
been something mysterious and
exciting about beautiful, soft-spoken,
nineteen-year-old Helen Potts. Helen
made frequent: trips, the girls knew,
with young, handsome Carlyle Harris.
They never lasted more than a week,
but they were trips the girls spoke
about in whispers all year long.
Young Harris was a scion of one of
the most aristocratic families in New
York. Only twenty-two, a recent grad-
uate of the College of Physicians and
Surgeons at Columbia University,
Harris had been going with Helen
Potts for over a year. He had looks,
money, and brains—and because of
his qualities as a “catch,” he made
Helen the envy of all the other girls

at the school.

Whenever Helen suffered from
headaches or other minor ailments,
Carlyle himself would prescribe the
proper pills and remedies. His
cures always worked efficiently and
well. Therefore, when the bleak winds
of a New York January brought Hel-
en down with a severe case of grippe,
Carlyle had a druggist make up six
capsules for Helen. He kept two of
these capsules for himself and gave

his sweetheart the remaining four.

“Take one every night,” he ordered,
“and stay in bed.”

The first two capsules did not seem
to help Helen much. Some of Helen’s
classmates watched her take the third
capsule on the third evening of her
siege of illness. Then they went toa
show,

When they returned, Helen ap-
peared to be fast asleep. But to
Frances Carson, one of the students,
there seemed to be something unusual
about this sleep. She tried to wake
the ailing beauty only to discover that
the girl was semi-conscious, Frantic-
ally, Frances did all she could to
awaken her friend.

- After many anxious minutes, Hel-
en’s eyes opened heavily. She scarcely
seemed to be breathing. “Oh Frances,
dear,” she murmured, her voice
sounding weak and far away. “Carl
...” And then she sank into a heavy
stupor again,

This time Frances worked still
harder to wake her up. Rubbing her
arms, slapping her face, she pleaded
with Helen to wake up. Her efforts
again succeeded, if only partially.

“MY CRIME WAS PERFECT!
MASTERFUL! NO ONE WOULD
HAVE KNOWN — EXCEPT FOR
HER WILD, HAUNTING EYES —
THEY TOLD THEM — HER EYES TOLD
THEM! THEY HAUNTED ME
TO MY GRAVE!”

Helen Potts operied her eyes again, but her voice
was weaker. She rambled incoherently about ‘hav-
ing had such a wonderful dream about Carlyle
Harris. “But watch over me,” she pleaded. “If I
fall asleep again, I think I shall die.” |

While one of the girls ran for the school physi-
cian, Dr, E. N. Fowler, Frances Carson kept rub-
bing Helen’s hands to keep her awake. Helen
complained that she could hardly see or feel her
friend.

“Carl!” Helen cried, feebly. “Where are you,
Carl?”

Frances began to sob. “Where is Dr. Fowler?”
she cried.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” "Helen pleaded. “I'll
die if you do.” And then she started to call for
Carlyle Harris again.

As soon as Dr. Fowler arrived, he looked at the
ailing girl’s eyes. They told him all he needed to
know. The pupils of both eyes had contracted to
pin points — a definite sign of morphine poisoning.
Near her bed he found the box containing the
remaining capsules Carlyle Harris had brought
Helen.

“Send for Carlyle Harris at once,’ ’ he ordered.

* * *
HEN Harris reached the sick room, Dr, Fow-
ler confronted him with the remaining cap-
sule. “What did you prescribe?” he demanded.

The young medical graduate paled. “Why, I pre-
scribed a standard remedy,” he said. “Five grains
of quinine and a sixth of a grain of morphine in
each capsule.”

Dr. Fowler swore softly under his breath. To
the naked eye there is no difference between qui-
nine and morphine powder. “Who made these up?”
he demanded.

(continued on page 52)

To get what he wanted
he tried words,
whiskey—even, as

a last resort, marriage!

si bape Baetge cis

Se geqe cartier iadke d= dr

HELEN POTTS was the daugh-
ter of a noted Ocean Grove
family, at a time when just to
live in Ocean Grove was to
proclaim your spotless repu-
tation to the whole world.

(Continued on page 28)

mony “... . if no other way can be
found of satisfying your scruples.”
Nicoll looked at the date of the
letter—and started! It had been writ-
ten on the same day that Harris had
ordered the capsules from the drug-
gist.
“Harris told me that Helen’s death

“was caused by a terrible mistake the

pharmacist had made in making the
capsules,” Mrs, Potts wept.

* + *

TT District Attorney thanked Mrs.
Potts for the information. As soon
as she was gone, he assigned two
crack detectives, Phineas Hay and
Matthew Summers, to check up on
Carlyle Harris.

“Gentlemen,” he told them, “the
Coroner found that Helen Potts died
of influenza. For some reason, Carlyle
Harris wanted the girl’s mother to
believe that she died because of some
druggist’s mistake. Find out what the
reason was and we'll have the key te
this case—if it is a case.”

Hay and Summers were years
ahead of their times as detectives.
Pioneers in the science of criminal
psychology, they were both able to
see clues in mundane facts that nine
out of ten crack detectives would
pass over as meaningless. The Dis-
trict Attorney relied on their judg-
ment implicitly, and they were de-
termined not to let him down in
this instance.

It was easy to jump to conclusions
in the case. But a mistake would
have ended the careers of every offi-
cial involved. The Harris family was
not without influence in the politi-
cal life of New York.

Patiently, working with methodi-
cal care, Hay and Summers dug into
the loose ends of the case. They were
up against a whole series of blank
walls, each one thicker than the
next.
Hay set out to find, first, whether
Harris had purchased any morphine
shortly before the capsules were
made up. For, after seeing Dr. Fow-
ler, he made careful note of the fact
that the girl’s eyes were the eyes of
a person suffering from morphine
poisoning when Dr. Fowler reached
the death bed.

For nearly a month Hay tried to
find out if Harris had purchased any
morphine. He could find not a shred
of evidence to this effect—although
in the laboratory of the medical
school and even in the cabinets of
his grandfather, Dr. Benjamin Mc-
Cready, with whom he lived, Carlyle
Harris could have found plenty of
morphine.

* * *
UMMERS was running up against
a set of leads equally as baffling.
His difficulty, like Hay’s, was that
while he was convinced that Harris
was a scoundrel it was still not
enough reason to prove that he was

a murderer.

The first break in the case, oddly
enough, was one that most other de-
tectives would have passed by. Sum-
mers learned that Harris, immedi-
ately after giving his wife the cap-
sules, had gone to Old Point Com-
fort for a few days rest in the coun-
try. He also learned that, immedi-
ately after Helen had died, Carlyle
Harris had visited a doctor he knew
quite well.

It was Harris’ conversation with
this doctor that made Hay and Sum-
mers sit up and take notice. “I only
gave Helen four capsules out of the
six I had made up,” Harris had said.
“The two I kept out will show that
they are perfectly harmless. No jury
can convict me with the two cap-
sules in my possession. They can be
oo and proved to be harm-
ess.”’

At this point, Summers talked it
over with Hay. “Here’s our break,”
he said. “Harris was too anxious to
prove his innocence.”

“I think you’re right,” Hay said.
“It looks as if our young aristocrat
friend were trying to prepare an
alibi well in advance of a crime.”

The detectives reported their find-
ings to Nicoll. “We can’t jump to
conclusions,” the District Attorney
said. “Let’s analyze thase capsules
first.”

Harris willingly surrendered the
two remaining capsules to Nicoll.
Like the one remaining capsule in
his late wife’s box, they proved to
have been compounded of five
grains of quinine and a sixth of a
grain of morphine.

Nicoll sent for Harris when the
report was ready. “I guess you’re
right,” he told the young widower.
“These capsules are all perfectly
harmless.”

A great smile of relief settled over
Carlyle Harris’s face. “Of course
they are,” he said.

“Just one more question,” Nicoll
said casually. “Why did you refuse
Helen’s mother permission to bury
your wife under her married name?”

The smile left Harris’s face even
more suddenly than it had appear-
ed. He turned all colors and then,
choking, he muttered some _ hot,
angry words about his inheritance.

“That will be all,” Nicoll said, his
face never changing its expression.
“I was merely curious.”

But the second after Harris left
the District Attorney’s office, Nicoll
sent for his secretary. “Prepare the
necessary papers for me to sign,”’ he
ordered. “We’re exhuming the body
of Helen Potts Harris without fur-
ther delay.”

Hay and Summers, who were
present, exchanged smiles. They
knew that Nicoll was now sure
enough of his ground to take a
chance—the sort of a chance that

could solve the unanswered ques-
tions of the case.

The body was disinterred on

‘him exhaustively. For nearly a full

‘to pin-point size.

March 25th. Nicoll had the famous ~
Dr. Witthaus examine it very care- —
fully. His report. was flat and un- ~
equivocal—that the stomach reveal-
ed no quinine but very definite
traces of morphine.

For. a few hours, Nicoll thought
that the case was all over but for
the formalities. Then, while he pre-
pared to draw up the indictment
charging Harris with the murder by
poisoning of his secret wife, he
learned that the Harris family had
engaged William Travers Jerome to
defend young Carlyle of the im-—
pending charges. .

This was indeed a black moment
in the District Attorney’s office. For,
as he well knew, indicting a mur-
derer was not enough to protect
other possible victims earmarked for
destruction. It was the conviction
which spared society the anguish of
having a poisoner at large. And get-
ting a conviction against as great a
trial lawyer as Jerome was no easy
task. “
Nicoll finally countered by hiring
Francis L. Wellman, one of the
shrewdest lawyers in the city, to
conduct the prosecution’s case. Well-
man was brought up to date on what ~
had gone on before. He made many _
notes on the evidence at hand, and
then he made his first recommenda-
tion. “Delay the indictment,” he |
said. “Delay it until we can do a
more thorough job of preparation.
This is one case that can be won by
preparation alone.” :

Not until May 13th was the in- —
dictment drawn up—but by that time
Wellman was ready for anything.

* # +

SS Aes me iy SP eS

HE events which followed show-

ed that none of Wellman’s ex-
haustive preparations had been in
vain. 8

As the trial opened, the prosecu- ~
tion was prepared to charge that,
after receiving the six capsules from
the druggist, Harris had emptied
one of the four capsules he gave
Helen, filled it with morphine, and
then gave it to Helen with three
harmless: ones.

The defense countered by charg-
ing that the body had been interred:
too long for any traces of morphine
to have remained in the body after
embalming.

When Dr. Witthaus took the stand
Jerome started to cross-examine

° esis us WR

day he had Witthaus describe in de-
tail the symptoms of morphine poi-
soning. He kept citing case after
case. Each case he had Witthaus
admit, was marked by one symptom
—each victim, upon examination,
had the pupils of his eyes contracted

“Both eyes?” Jerome asked about ~
each case. as
“Both eyes.” Bs
“You never heard of a case where
the pupil of only one eye was di- ~
lated?” Jerome asked., Ss

“That, sir, would be impossible,”
Witthaus retorted.

“Good,” Jerome grunted. It was

evident that Witthaus had walked

into a neat trap. A trap Jerome was
now evidently prepared to spring.

“Your Honor,” Jerome said to the
judge, “I would now like to call as
defense witness the eminent Pro-
fessor Doctor of Philadelphia, an
expert toxicologist.” :

A gasp went up all over the court.
This was the moment that Jerome
had been waiting for. In the whole
court room, there were only three
calm men—Wellman, Hay and Sum-
mers.

Their calm puzzled Jerome. But
he turned to Professor Doctor with
casual assurance. Before he asked
the eminent Philadelphia toxicolo-
gist his first question, Jerome smiled
slightly at Witthaus and Wellman.
It was a meaningful smile of tri-
umph.

Jerome went to work like a mas-
ter. “Professor,” he asked, “in cases
of morphine poisoning, do the pupils
of both eyes always contract to pin-.
point size?”

In a clear voice, the Professor an-
swered, “NO.”

Shooting a quick glance at the

prosecution table, Jerome then
started to ply Professor Doctor with
questions about the symptoms of
morphine poisoning. Soon all the
questions narrowed down to the de-
tails of a case familiar to the Pro-.
fessor where, in the case of a man
who died of morphine poisoning, the
pupil of only one eye had contracted.

When the point had been com-
pletely established, William Travers
Jerome turned to the prosecution
table. “Your witness,” he said, con-
fidently.

the expert answered.

“You spoke to the doctors in-
volved in the case?” Wellman asked.

The eminent toxicologist tugged
at his white goatee. “No sir,” he
said, “I did not.”

“You therefore, I assume, learned
about the case mainly through the
newspapers?” Wellmann was keep-
ing his eyes fixed on the professor’s
beard.

“You are making a correct as-
sumption,” Professor Doctor an-
swered.

Francis Wellman glanced at the
defense table and then turned bac)
to the Philadelphia specialist agai
“Do you remember the name of th
victim?” he asked.

“No. I regret that I do not,” th
professor answered.

Wellman smiled at the jury. “I
I told you the name,” he said
“would it refresh your memory? I
might not have been a commor
name.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,’
the doctor said.

Wellman took out a handkerchiet
and mopped his brow, walking
away from the stand as he did so.
He started to walk over to his table,
changed his mind, and_ turned
around to face the witness again.

From the middle of the courtroom
Wellman, his eyes holding the wit-
ness’s eyes in an even siare, asked.
“Was the name of the victim Per-
cival Keats Longfellow Smith?”

Wellman was standing in front ot
the witness stand a second before
the elderly Philadelphian shook his
head and said, ‘Why yes, that’s the
name.”

“And this was not a case that you

had personally investigated, profes-

, sor?” Wellman asked again.

Unless the Professor’s testimony ©

could be shaken—and this seemed
impossible — Witthaus, the chief
prosecution medical expert, stood
discredited in the eyes of the jury.
And it was the jury which was go-
ing to hand down the verdict.
* * &
ELLMAN rose slowly from his
chair and confronted Professor
Doctor. He glanced, calmly, at Hay
and Summers. They smiled back at
him. Now they understood clearly
why Wellman had insisted on de-
laying the indictment.

“Professor,” Wellman began, “in
this case where the victim of mor-
phine poisoning had the pupil of
only one eye affected—was the man
in question a patient of yours?”

“No,” the expert answered. “He
was not.”

“Was this case ever described in
any medical journal?” Wellman
asked.

“Not to the best of my knowl-
edge,” the professor answered.

And did you know in what city
the patient died?” the prosecution
ace asked. :

“That was in Washington, D. C.,”

“No, sir, it was not,” the expert
answered:

Wellman looked around the court.
He looked at Jerome, at the jury, at
the judge, and then back at the wit-
ness. “Perhaps,” he said coldly, “it
might interest you to know that I
had investigated the case of Perci-
val Keats Longfellow Smith per-
sonally. You were completely cor-
rect. In this case of morphine poi-
soning, only one of the victim’s eyes
had a contracted pupil. Only one.”
Wellman paused. It was a long,
agonizing, heart-wrenching pause.

When he spoke again, his eyes
were on the jury. “The pupil of
Smith’s left eye was contracted to
the size of a pin-point when he was
poisoned,” Wellman declared. “The
pupil of his right eye was un-
changed, which was quite normal,
gentlemen. Mr. Smith’s right eye
was a glass eye, gentlemen!”

Jerome leaped to his feet. He
asked for an adjournment, demand-
ed an opportunity to investigate.

* * *

ELLMAN casually walked back
to his table and put his papers
in order. Carlyle Harris’ last chance

on breathlessly. “I had a funny feeling —

—~and what a golden chance it faq
been—to escape the clutches of im.
mutable justice had collapsed,
shrewdness of a great lawyer
guaranteed that the work of
great detectives would not have
been accomplished in vain. ee
Atter many legal skirmishes, the
death penalty demanded and won
by Francis L. Wellman was fin
paid by Carlyle Harris in the elec-
tric chair at Sing Sing. Harris fin
went to the chair on May 8, 1893-
protesting his innocence to the last

Th ae pete eae
aie § ah
rary» <4 :

(continued from page 10) 4

(a0 ae
While Captain Burke was still sur-
veying the scene, Coroner Don Wikoff s
arrived. Waiting for the latter to com-
plete his preliminary examination,
Burke moved into the kitchen. where
the neighbor from next door, Mrs.

‘Foote, who had discovered the body,

was waiting nervously.
Captain Burke asked, “How did you

_happen to find the body?” ei

It took time for her to overcome he
nervous shock sufficiently to tell the
story. She had been out in her back-
yard, she told Burke, emptying a trash
basket into the incinerator, when she
saw a strange man hurrying from the
rear of the Clark house. “Something

about him seemed suspicious,” she went €

something might be wrong. So I came
over and called through the screen door ~
to Janet. I knew she was home because :
I'd heard her call good-bye to her dad- —
dy when he went off to work a little
while before. ae

“She didn’t answer, though, and
when I tried the screen door it was .
open. That really worried me, for Janet __
always keeps it hooked from the inside. ~
So I went in to see if anything wes
wrong and found her like she is now.

In answers to further questions, she
gave a sketchy description of the
stranger. He had been tall, bareheaded,
wearing a light shirt and dark trousers.

Before Captain Burke could ask
more, he was summoned back into the
front room where Goroner Wikoff had ;
completed his on-the-spot examination.
“The work of a maniac!” he snapped. |

Ham

fi
ipa
9 ee

to Burke. “The girl would have died of
strangulation if the killer had waited _
a minute or two, but apparently he W3$
fiendishly impatient. He stabbed her 4 ae
least thirty or forty times with some —
thin, sharp weapon.” ee
“Anything else?” Captain Burk sf
asked. eet

H
if
‘a
|
a)
a
‘(hi
'

time.

(Continued from Page 26)

T WAS ONE Sunday the delicately-nurtured maidens

who made up the carefully chosen student body of

the Comstock Select Boarding School for Young Ladies, at

32 West Fortieth Street, New York, were likely never to
forget.

For on that Sabbath morn, one of the school’s most
circumspect and sanctimonious pupils was to die — in such
a manner and under such circumstances as to bring on a
scandal that was to shake the sedate school to the very
bottom of its thoroughly conservative foundations.

A good many private lives were to be pitilessly exposed
to the revealing spotlight of publicity before the affair fin-
ally died down, and a half-dozen previously spotless repu-
tations were to be ruined for all time.

_ The dead girl was one Helen Potts, a demure and attrac-
tive young lady of some nineteen summers who had enroll-
ed in the school the previous Fall. She had an impeccable
family background — a necessary requisite for acceptance at
the school. Her home was in Ocean Grove, New Jersey,
adjoining Asbury Park, and in those days, as now, Ocean
Grove was a citadel of all the virtues. Rigidly and legally so,
in fact for, according to its charter, Ocean Grove was

- founded to “provide a resort for religious worship, rest and
‘recreation, free from all forms of questionable amuse-

ment.”

A girl raised in Ocean Grove was certain to be raised
properly, with no worldly influence to taint her normally
innocent maidenhood.

As if that were not recommendation enough, Helen Potts
was also engaged, and the man of her choice enjoyed an
equally irreproachable reputation for moral uprightness. He
was Carlyle Harris, in his third year of medicine at Colum-
bia’s College of Physicians and Surgeons. He too came from
an excellent family. His grandfather, Dr. Benjamin W.
McCready, was Professor Emeritus of Medicine at Bellevue.
His mother, Frances McCready Harris, was doubly famous
in her own right. Under the name of Hope Ledyard she
wrote thoroughly moralistic children’s stories for the popu-
lar and highly respected children’s magazine, St. Nicholas.
In addition, when not busy turning out these stories, she
occupied herself on the lecture platform, haranguing cap-
tive audiences on the evils of liquor. :

Obviously, Carlyle Harris was a more than suitable fiance
for Helen. Miss Martha Lewis, headmistress of the Com-
stock Select Boarding School, had no hesitancy in allowing
the young man to call on Helen at appropriate times, with
such visits, of course, properly chaperoned in the school
parlor in the accepted manner of the day. -

Thus Harris was naturally present on the night of Janu-
ary 21st, when the school held its annual mid-year recep-
tion. It was, naturally, a highly decorous affair. Helen and
Carlyle were seen to spend most of their time together, as
was only natural under the circumstances, and it was also
observed that they made no effort to slip off into dark
corners.

Both were, obviously, too proper for such daring design.

It was at this affair that Helen again complained of the
headaches that had been nagging at her on and off for some

That served as a reminder to Carlyle. “I brought you
something for them,” he told her, taking a small pillbox
from his pocket. “If you take\one each night before going
to bed I’m sure they’Il help you.”

Helen thanked him prettily.

It was that same evening that Carlyle informed her he
was leaving the following day for a week’s vacation at Old

Point Comfort, in Virginia. He promised to get in touch
with her immediately on his return.

But the next time he saw Helen was only a bare half-hour
before her death. And by then she could recugnize no one.

The fatal sickness that carried Helen Potts off became

evident late on Saturday night, January 31st, just ten days
after the big mid-year school dance. A number of pupils at
the school, among them Helen’s three roommates, had’ been
escorted to a concert that evening. But Helen, despite her
‘fondness for music, had decided at the last moment not to
go. It was one of her headaches, she explained, and she
spent the early part of the evening sitting with the head-
mistress in the school parlor, engaged in exchanging moral
platitudes.

Promptly at ten o’clock she excused herself and went to
bed.

It was an hour later when the three girls with whom she
shared her room — Thelma Boyd, Marjorie Rice, and Eliza-
beth Webb — returned from the concert.

Helen, who was half-asleep, awoke and listened to their
twittering remarks for a moment, then said’ suddenly, “I
feel so funny - as though my arms and legs were going
dead.”

She continued to complain, even after the girls had by
turns massaged her. She asked plaintively, “See if there’s
another pill in the box Carlyle gave me.”

But there wasn’t. The box, on a table by the bedside, was
empty.

A moment later she lost consciousness.

The headmistress, Miss Martha Lewis, was summoned,
and she in turn sent at once for the school physician, Dr.
Edward Fowler, who lived only three doors away. The lat-
ter brought along his assistant, a Dr. Baner.

By this time Helen Potts was in a deep coma. Her skin
had turned faintly bluish, and her breathing was barely de-
tectable. It was clear that, whatever was wrong with her,
she was sinking fast.

Throughout the remainder of the night, until the pale
hours of dawn, the two doctors fought with every means at
their disposal ‘to bring the, girl around. But they finally

' admitted that they were at a loss as to. what was actually

wrong.

“Do you suppose it was anything in the pills she has been
taking?” Miss Lewis asked tremulously, indicating the
empty pillbox on the bedside table.

Dr. Fowler picked up the box and examined it: It carried
the label of a Sixth Avenue druggist, and bore the inscrip-
tion: “C.W.W., Student — One Before Retiring.”

“There’s no telling from this,” Dr. Fowler said doubt
fully. “Do you know where she got them?” ‘

Miss Lewis did. And she also knew young Carlyle Harris’

_ address. The young man.was sent for, and within less than
an hour he was at his unconscious fiancee’s bedside.

As was to be expected, Harris was deeply shocked and
distrubed and it was several minutes before he could bring
his grief under control. Then he seemed to realize for the
first time that Dr. Fowler was questioning him about the
pills.

“Why, they were very common,” he said at last. “Just
four grains of quinine mixed with one-sixth of a grain of
morphine. I had a half-dozen made up but gave Helen only
four of them. I was afraid if I gave her the full half-dozen
she might take too many at one time - although even so,
they’re harmless enough.”

“How'd you happen to be able to write out a prescrip-

tion, inasmuch as you’re not a (Continued Page 50)

(Continued from Page 28)
doctor?” Fowler wanted to know.
Harris had a ready answer. “We
medical students do it all -the time
when it’s only a matter of getting
some simple remedy.”
“What happened to the other two
pills?”
“I have them at home.”

Dr. Fowler frowned. To his pedan--

tic and correct mind it was all slightly
irregular. Matters certainly weren't
handled that way in his medical school
days!

Just a few minutes before eleven on
that Sabbath morning, Helen Potts
died, without having regained con-

sciousness. And the cause of her death _
was a complete mystery, at least so far

as Dr. Fowler and Dr. Baner were
concerned it was.

In consequence, Dr. Fowler felt it _

was his duty to inform the coroner,
who at the time was Dr. Louis
Schultze. But with New York City
politics what they then were, and the
coroner’s job a political appointment,
it was not surprising that Dr. Schultze
did not appear on the scene until early

. the next. evening, some twelve hours
later. : ;

By then the dead girl’s mother,
notified in Ocean Grove of the
tragedy, had arrived at the school and

_ was being consoled by her no longer
Prospective son-in-law, Carlyle Harris.

Dr. Fowler made his report to the
coroner without beating about the
bush. “s
“ET don't rightly know why she
died.” he admitted. “It could have
been from an overdose of morphine.
Or it could have been from natural
causes. Personally, | would suggest an
autopsy.”

It was a suggestion that was bound
to be received in horror. In those days
such disrespectful treatment of a
corpse was viewed as verging practical-
ly on the sacrilegious.

Mrs. Potts immediately burst into
tears. “I could never allow that to be
done to poor Helen,” she sobbed.
“Her heart had troubled her for-years
and I was told that this could happen
at any time. Let the dear girl rest in
peace.”

Dr. Schultze squirmed uncomfort-

ably and turned his attention to
Carlyle Harris. ;
. “About those pills, now,” he said.
“According to Dr. Fowler, you still
have two of them. Can you give them
to me?”

Carlyle Harris could and did.

(Continued on page 52)

the much me

LADY KII

Above suspicion, he was trapped by an ur

RS. J. P. WATSON of Los

Angeles leaned across the

small desk in a private in-

vestigator’s office. “I don’t

‘know for sure,” she said, “but I just

have a feeling that my husband is

a bigamist. I really think he has qn-
other wife somewhere else.”

“Well, Mrs. Watson,” the detec-
tive replied, “there doesn’t seem to
be very much that I can do. You

' have no evidence that your hus-
band committed bigamy, but Ill
look into the matter.”

And the detective did just that.
First, he checked on Mr. Watson
and in se doing, he discovered a
suitcase containing a number of
marriage licenses, wedding rings,
and a large batch of Liberty Bonds.

His find forced him to the con-
clusion that the matter was one for
the district attorney’s office.

The prosecutor examined the cu-
rious evidence. Actually, there was

_ nothing concrete on which to prefer
charges. After all, the man was en-
titled to hold personal property.
However, on a hunch, the district
attorney called for Watson’s arrest.

Brought to the district attorney’s
office, Watson denied emphatically
that he was a bigamist. In addition,
the police had been unable to trace
the jewelry or to prove that he
came by it illegitimately. “What
about these Liberty Bonds?” the
prosecutor questioned. “Did you
buy them, too?”

“I did,” Watson told him. “I
bought them in a bank in San Di-
ego, California. And you can check
on it if you wish.”

“That is just what I’m going to
do,” the district attorney replied.
Then he called in two officers and
ordered them to take Watson to the
bank and investigate his story.

It was whi
to San Diego
cide. The twc
his continuo
him and four
bleeding to d
his throat. wit

Taking this
of guilt, the ty
a hospital ai
alone. Howev
the bank, the
every respect
had given.

Naturally
surprised, bu
was even gri
return trip, V
stating that h
make.

In his conf:
description of
tal series oi
trated by a.
had deliberate
men and hac
three bigamot

“Something
‘Do it,’ and wi
‘Well, it’s a
would .tell me
thing possibly
me I was rigt
ungovernable

Watson’s te
instances, the
‘as a secret-se
to cover his a
he would be
another prosp
through a m
ment. Then, h
fortunate vict
possession of
murder her.

Thus, throu
career of one
lous killers w

- (Continued from Page 50)

So Dr. Schultze, ever one to avoid
needless trouble, took the easiest way
out. He had the pills analyzed by Dr.

Rudolph Witthaus, the city toxicolo-

gist. They were found to contain.
exactly what Harris had claimed they ©
contained - six grains of quinine and —

one-sixth of a grain of morphine.

That was the way the prescription,
obtained from the Sixth Avenue drug-
gist, also read.

As a result, some two days later, Dr.
Schultze signed the papers allowing
Helen Pott’s body to be transported
out of the state.

The death was put down to natura
causes. ,

On Wednesday, February 4th, Helen
Potts was fittingly interred following
funeral services in Ocean Grove.

There occurred, however, two odd
events that caused much whispered
comment at the services. For one, the
grief-stricken -Carlyle Harris was
noticeably absent from the lugubrious
ceremonies.

And secondly, the gravestone read
simply, “Helen — Died February 1,
1891. Aged 19 years, 8 months, 27
days.”

Why just “Helen,” some folks

wondered?

Why no last name?

Prominent among the many people
asking that question was the editor of
the New York World, a daily news-
paper. always on the lookout for a
good story. -

It didn’t take long for alert report-
ers to dig up Dr. Fowler’s original di-
agnosis that the girl might have died
from an overdose of morphine. That,
plus. the even more curious fact that
the coroner had been advised of the
diagnosis but had ordered no autopsy,
Suggested a really good story to the
newspaperman. |

It was a clear example of official
— laxity, thundered the World editorial-
ly, going on to ask how long the long
suffering voters would put up with
such sloppy handling of debatable
matters. oe ;

It was the kind of story the World
liked to keep hammering at, and in
due time its relentless belaboring of
‘the issue was to bring undreamed of
results.

The first thing that occurred was
the arrival of an anonymous tip, sug-
gesting it might be worthwhile to
check through the marriage license re-
cords in City Hall for the preceding
February.

That was quickly and easily done,
and revealed the surprising informa-
tion that on February 8, 1890, one

Helen Neilson and Charles Harris had

been united in matrimony by Alder-
man W.P. Rinckhoff. The names
weren't exactly right, but they were
close enough for the newspaper to
detect the duplicity. Neilson was
Helen’s mother’s maiden name.

Furthermore, Alderman Rinckhoff,
sought out by reporters, readily identi-
fied pictures of Helen and Carlyle as
the couple he had united in marriage.

This information was promptly
handed over by the World to District
Attorney DeLancy Nicoll and Assis-
tant District Attorney Francis Well-
man.

The latter was officially put in
charge of the case, and one of his first
acts was to call in Inspector Thomas
Byrnes, chief of New York detectives,

to aid in digging up further facts, if

any.

Byrnes, in turn, assigned Detective
Sergeant James McCafferty to the job.

McCafferty at once made the jour-
ney down to Ocean Grove, working
out of adjoining Asbury Park. And it
was in Asbury Park, as a matter of
fact, that he uncovered the next lead
in the case. ‘

The Asbury Park police, it develop-
ed, had a sizable file on one Charles W.
Harkness, and Harkness, it would
seem, bore a remarkable resemblance
to Carlyle Harris. It was soon evident
that the two men were one and the
same.

According to the Asbury Park
police files, Harkness was éven then

out on bail, awaiting trial on a charge
of running a gambling room under the
name of the Neptune Club, in partner-
ship with one William F. Smith.

In short order, McCafferty came to
the conclusion that Carlyle Harris had
been leading a double life, to say the
very least. | :

That opinion strengthened as the
New York Detective, as tactfully as
possible, went about trying to investi-
gate the secret marriage. Only one per-
son in Ocean Grove admitted knowing
anything about it, and that was young
Ann Barry, a close friend of the dead
girl.

“Helen told me once that she and
Carlyle were married,” she told Mc-
Cafferty. “But' she swore me to
secrecy.”

From the same source, McCafferty
learned that Helen had spent the sum-
mer with an uncle, Dr. Charles Trever-

ton, in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Prior
to that visit, she had been complaining
of illness.
So McCafferty’s next journey was
to Scranton. Dr. Treverton was re-
luctant to talk until McCafferty told

him there was now a strong suspicion
that his niece’s death had not been
from natural causes, as had first been
indicated.

Even then the doctor deliberated
carefully before he was persuaded to
tell his own story. Helen had been in a
bad physical state when she had come >
to him the summer before. At once
she had confided that she was in
trouble. She admitted that she and
Carlyle Harris were secretely married,
and then disclosed that just two days
before she left for Scranton, Harris
had performed an abortion on her - an
aboration which he had bungled badly.
In consequence, Dr. Trevertion had
taken his niece under his own care. At
the same time he had sent for Mrs.
Potts and had made Helen confess to
her mother all that had happened.

Mrs. Potts was understandably upset
and distraught. Her first move, after
recovering from the shock, was to send
for Carlyle and endeavor to have him
do the “right” thing - in this case, to
make the news of the marriage public.

But Carlyle stubbornly refused. He
pointed out that he was in go financial
position to maintain a domestic house-
hold, that he had his medical studies
to’finish and that, if his family knew
he was married, he might well lose his
allowance.

Then his whole future would. be
ruined.

(Continued on page 54):

CARLYLE HARRIS (New York)

“eooea twenty-three-year-old New York medical student named
Carlyle Harrise On Febe 1, 1891, he had murdered Helen Potts, a
nineteen-year-old schoolgirl, to whom he was secretly marriedece
@eee

"Harris, the grandson of Benjamin McCready, a respected New
York professor of medicine, was a young intellectual with a hankerir
for sexual adventures, He had found that he could have Helen Potts,
who had grown up in a strict middle-class family in Ocean Grove, onl
by marrying her. He kept the marriage secret because he was afraid
of his grandfather's angere When Helen Potts's mother realized what
was afoot, she demanded that Harris make a public announcement of hi
marriage. As Mother-in-law became more and more insistent, Harris
decided to get rid of his young wife, whose charms he had by then
sufficiently enjoyede It proved very convenience for him that Helen
suffered from insomnias Although he was still only a student, he
weote out a prescription for six capsules, each containing 4 1/6
grains of quinine and 1/6 grain of morphinee This was a standard
prescription, in those lax days, and the firm of McIntyre & Sons on
Sixth Avenue filled the prescriptione

"On Jane 20 Harris gave four of the six capsules to his wife, w
was living at the Comstock School fo@ Young Ladies in New York, with
instructions to take a single capsule before going to bede He kept
two of the capsules back, ostensibly in order not to place too much
medicine in Helen's hands. At 10:30 peme on the night of Jane 31
Helen awoke and complained of feeling dazed and heavy in her limbse
An hour later she lost consciousness» The school physician, Eo. Pe
Fowler, who arrived about midnight, observed to his consternation
that the pupils of Helen's eyes were narrowed to no bigger than a
pinhead, That was, by then, a well-known sign of morphine poisoning,
All attempts to keep Helen alive with atropine and caffeine failed.
At eleven o'clock in the morning on Febe 1, she died.

"Coroner Louis Schultze had examined the bodye The course of
the illness and the contraction of the pupils so plainly indicated
morphine poisoning that Schultze could scarcely hade overlooked it.
But he knew nothing about the background of the case, and in those
days coroners, district attorneys, and judges were inclined to spare
the public purse the expense of chemical analyses and jury trials,
The result was that Schultze recommendéd no further investigations |!
was not altogether to blame for this decison, for Helen's mother
concealed the relationship between Helen and Harris and asserted that
her daughter had suffered from heart disease from childhoode Only
later was this statement exposed as a lie intended to make it seem
that Helen had died a natural deathe The coroner, for his part,
accepted the lie, for he was glad to avoid having a case on his hands
He declared that the death had been caused by an unfortunate accident
Either the pharmacist had made a mistake in preparing the capsules, &
that the dose of morphine had been too large, or Helen had disobeyed
Harris' orders and taken more than one capsule, If so, Schultze corm
cluded, her heart had not been able to sustain the double dose of
morphinee Helen Pott's mortal remains were buried on Febe 7,» 1891.

"Two months later, however - Mn May 21 = Ike White (a reporter)
served up a sensational story to the readers of the New York Worlds
He had looked into the background of the affair, had forced Helen 8

mother to admit her false statement, and had unveiled Harris! love
life. The expose forced District Attorney Delancy Nicoll and DES oa.

2 I eence pepe Lie

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But he made a counter-suggestion.
Why not send Helen to a good finish-
ing school —-the Comstock School, for
example — and thus occupy the time
until he, himself, would be graduated
from medical college. In addition to
everything else, it would help prepare
Helen for her future role as his wife.

Reluctantly, and seeing nothing bet-
ter to do at the moment, Mrs. Potts
had agreed.

Before he left Scranton, McCafferty
garnered additional bits of informa-
tion, moStly from young Charles
Oliver, a cousin of Helen’s who lived
with his uncle, Dr. Treverton. Accord-
ing to Charlie Oliver, Carlyle had often
boasted to him about his prowess with
the ladies, detailing to him various and
sundry methods he had found useful

in making them acquiescent and -

properly amorous.

“If words won’t do it, then whisky
will,” Carlyle had claimed. “And if
neither works, you can always marry
them to get what you want.”

Well, Carlyle had certainly married
Helen - although it now began to ap-
pear as if he had gotten just a bit more
than he’s wanted.

Meantime, back in New York, col-
leagues of McCafferty’s had come up
with other, equally revealing infor-
mation. By all accounts - and there
were many - Carlyle Harris was some-
thing special in the way of a ladies’
man. He had had half a dozen affairs,
and it was strongly suspected that
there had been several secret marriages
as well, besides Helen’s, under differ-
ent names and in different states.

Even while he was married, albeit
secretly, to Helen he had been carrying
on a scorching romance with a young
actress named Taffy Evans, and it was
learned that he had registered with her
as man and wife at various resort
hotels in the area.

In one way and another, Carlyle
Harris was fast developing into an
arch-scoundrel, far removed from the
sanctimonious atmosphere of Ocean
Grove and the impeccable tradition of
his family.

McCafferty now decided it was time
to interview the dead girl’s mother and
discover what pertinent information, if
any, she had been holding back.

There was that business of her
having objected so vehemently to an
autopsy, for example, and her further
insistence that Helen had been suffer-
ing for years from a heart disease. Yet
Dr. Treverton, the girl’s uncle, had
been equally insistent that Helen’s
heart had never once given her even a

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moment’s trouble.

“One way or another, the case is
going to be reopened, Mrs. Potts,”
McCafferty said. “It would be better
all around for you to tell everything
you know now.”

Weeping bitterly, Mrs. Potts finally
agreed. The story she eventually told
corresponded in most particulars to
the facts that McCafferty had already
painstakingly gathered. :

But there was one additional bit of
information she offered that McCaffer-
ty pounced on avidly — Mrs. Potts’
feared that her husband, who had been

‘long absent on an engineering job in

the West, would learn the truth and
publicly denounce Harris.

That was one thing she had wanted
to avoid — a scandal.

In consequence, in mid-January she
had written Carlyle Harris an ultima-
tum to the effect that on February
8th, the first anniversary of the secret
marriage, he should again marry Helen,
but this time openly and before a pro-
per minister.

Otherwise she would go to his
people with the whole story.

That had been her final notice —
but she had never had to carry out her
threat. For, one whole week before

the deadline, Helen was dead. And it
had been Carlyle who had warned her
not to allow an autopsy in the event it
should be suggested. It would only
serve to reveal, he warned her, that
Helen had undergone an abortion
within the past year.

“I wanted him at least to give my
little girl in death the name he refused
her in life,” Mrs. Potts went on in a
broken voice. “That’s why I had only
her first name carved on the tomb-
stone. But even that much he refused
to do.”

The next move was the exhumation
of Helen Potts Harris’ body. Dr. Allan
McLane Hamilton performed a
thorough autopsy, and came up with
the startling findings that the remains
contained enough morphine to kill a
dozen persons.

The conclusion was obvious. Harris
had’ obtained the harmless quinine-
morphine pills for one sole purpose —
to provied a future alibi of innocence
in case it should ever be needed.

That was the contention of Assis-
tant District Attorney Francis Well-
man, following the indictment of
Carlyle Harris for first degree murder.

Harris, whose mother still had faith .

- in his innocence,- was defended by

William Travers Jerome, who claimed
that the case against his client was
purely circumstantial.

The jury, however, thought differ-
ently and brought in a verdict of
guilty.

On May 8th, 1893, Carlyle Harris,
the young man who knew too much
about women and had had his way just
once too often, was electrocuted at
Sing.Sing prison.

His heartbroken mother claimed his
body, and she, too, like Helen's
mother earlier, saw to it that an un-
usual inscription was placed on his
tombstone.

It read:

Carlyle Harris
Murdered May 8, 1893
Aged 23 years, 7 months, 15 days

Even in death the secret spouses
continued at odds - carrying their bit-
ter fued to the grave itself... and
who knows? - perhaps even beyond.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The names
Martha Lewis, Thelma Boyd, Marjorie
Rice, Elizabeth Webb, Ann Barry and
Taffy Evans are all ficticious, in order
to prevent embarrassment to those
persons innocently involved in the
Helen Potts case.

[Hescis |

(HARRIS, Carlyle = Continued)

deputy, Francis Le Wellman, to order exhumation of the body and req
the only prominent toxicologist in New York in 1891, Dr. liudolph wit
haus, to perform a toxicological analysise Witthaus found morphine
in all the organs turned over to him, Thereupon Harris was arrestec
and charged with having murdered his young wife by filling the cap-
sules which he had given her as sedatives with a fatal quantity of
morphine, which was easily available to him as a medical studente

"Harris had gone to some trouble to have the capSules issued by
the pharmacy in order to have that voucher of their innonent composi
tione He then filled one capsule with the fatal quantity of poison
and gave it to his wife along with three harmless capSuleS,eMMXK «her
ever Helen Potts took the fatal capsule, the remaining capsules woul
prove to be harbless if they weee ever examined. But if it should
happen that Helen took the poisoned capsule last, then the two cap-
Sules Harris had retained as a precaution, and only two readily hand
over to the District Attomey, would serve as token of his innocent
intention. On Jane 4, 1892, Harris! trail began before Judve Smyth,
and £s after long and wearisome arguments it ended ina death senter

MeoceseeeoWilliam Travers Jerome, Harris8 thirty-three-year-old
lawyer, had at one time studied chemistry at Amherst College. He
bad gone to great lengths to prove that Helen Potts need not have
died of morphine poinoningse Jerome had marshaled a number of famous
physicians from New York and Philadelphia in order to prove the thes
that ting changes in the pons could result in contraction of the pup
such as Dr, Fowler had observed in Helen Potts, This argument, how-
ever, although it had made some impact on the jurymen, could not out
weigh the testimony that morphine had been found in the dead girl's
OrganSe

",eceeceeeHarris! lawyer, Jerome, had done all in his power to
shake Witthaus' testimonye He had gone into the matter of cadaveric
alkaloids and had lectured the jury on the tremendous variety of
poisons and the traps which awaited the unwary toxicologist. But
witthaus had been brilliantly prepared to dispel all doubts, He had
applied every single known test for morphine, and to make the matter
even more certain had also made physiological tests on frogas Of tte
cadaveric alkaloids 80 far discovered, none had responded to more
than three or four of the well-known morphine testse Witthaus had
placed his major emphasis on the Pellagri test, declaring that it
was the surest means of distinguishing between genuine morphine and
thos deceptive alkaloids produced by decaying cadavers. [In the end,
Jerome had to beat a retreat.

"“eeveceeeAfter the Harris trial, it had been bruited about New
York that Harris had been found guilty largely because, on the advice
of his alwyers, he had not appeared in the witness stand as a witness
in his own cause, thus making it seem that he was afraid of Submittir
to cross-examination By the prosecutionececse"

THE CENTURY OF THE DETCETIVE BY Jurgen Thorward, translated from the
German by Richard and Clara “instone Harcourt, Urace & World, Ince;
New Yorke Ne Ye Copyright 1964 by Dromersche Verlagsanstalt As Ze

CARLYLE HARRIS (Mew York City)

"Mre & Mrs» Harris, a strange, secretive couple, were also
neighbors of ours, They had a son, Carlyle, who was handsome
and reckless and had once suffered a broken arm in a fight with
my eldest brother. Mr. Harris wore bloomers, and rode a bxcycle,
which no other woman in Brooklyn dared doe Of course, she didn't
ride it on aus block - we kids would have stoned her — but . used
to see her pushing her heavy 'safety' off to less circumspect parts
of town and, later, back home againe No woman on our block would
speak to her,

Meceeeeetn a few days we began to hear older boys ask this
riddle in stores and. on street corners: ‘When they burn Carlyle
Harris, where will they send his ashes?' The answerg which baffled
me was 'To hell in potse'vecceoelt seems that, like his mother, Car
lyle Harris was a sort of pioncer} he was one of the first persons
electrocuted in this state. He had murdered his bride. Her name

was Helen Potts."

"A Brooklyn Childhood" by Joseph Mulvaney. Copyright 1943, The
F, R. Publishing Corporation. Originally published in the New

Yorkere

(iter i Be

LUCK AND OPPORI UNITY: Recollections by Francis L, Wellman,

Carlyle HARRIS, executed at Sine Sing on May 8, 1893 31):7,

Robert W, BUCHANAN, executed at Sing Sing on July 1, 1895 51-65,

LiGk
Ab) OPPORTUNIS Y

Recollections
by

ine FRANCIS L. WELLMAN
| OF THE NEW YORK BAR

Author of

““THE ART OF CROSS-EXAMINATION, “DAY IN COURT
and “GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY

FRANCIS L. WELLMAN

NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1938

Sa Pas ET ee TS ee seg Ee = a —_—
™ RAI AEE he ee PEE NM eee ee aaa wh SS ale i et aes Se ee

Chapter Six

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE

I THE spring of 1891 there occurred one of the most dis-
tressing criminal tragedies that ever aroused the sympathy
of the people of New York, or indeed, of the entire country.
It cost the lives of two young people, ruined two prominent
families, and quickly brought one of the fashionable schools
for young girls to a dismal end.
_ The “New York Herald” was the first newspaper to make
public the sudden death from morphine of a young student
at Miss Comstock’s boarding school for girls on West goth
Street in this City. The attending physician had reported the
death as having been caused by an overdose of morphine. No
medicine of any kind was found in the bedroom except an
empty box with the inscription, “C.W.H.—One before retir-
ing.” The press immediately got busy trying to trace the
identity of C.W.H. and eventually located Carlyle W. Harris,
who at the time was a student at a New York medical school.
Of course, Harris was known at the school, but the press was
not told everything in those days.

Upon seeing his name in the public print in connection with
this sudden death, Harris made the initial error of walking
into the District Attorney’s office, stating that he had noticed
his name was being connected with a case where he had
prescribed for a student at Miss Comstock’s school, and that he
desired to leave his home address with Mr. Nicoll, then Dis-
trict Attorney. He added that if at any time he could be of

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 31

assistance in unraveling the matter, he would be glad to be
called upon.

The case had been in the District Attorney’s office for several
weeks without any progress having been made, and the police
were not particularly interested. Harris had been to see the
mother of the girl and had made the same proposition to her
that he later made to Mr. Nicoll and she had replied, “There
is a grave between us and you are responsible for that grave.
Neither of us shall ever cross it. Other people may not know
and suspect you as I do. I will not injure you. At one time
you suggested ‘cutting all and going west.’ I tell you as your
friend, now is the time for you to do it. I will even pay your
expenses, but we can never speak together again.”

Probably it was this very unusual visit to the District Attor-
ney’s office that was more responsible than anything else for
the sudden determination to re-open the matter and make a
thorough investigation of all the circumstances connected with
what turned out to be one of the most sensational, pathetic and
tragic trials that had ever occurred in our criminal courts. It
aroused profound and widespread interest throughout the city.
Indeed it would have been hard to find a man or woman at
the time who was not more or less familiar with some of the
details, or who had not formed some opinion or impression as
to the guilt or innocence of the defendant.

Recorder Frederick Smyth, who presided at the trial, has

~ always said that it was the most interesting case he had ever

known in the courts where he had sat as judge for nearly a
quarter of a century. It had been thirty-two years since anyone
had been prosecuted in a homicide case involving the use of
any kind of poison.

Carlyle W. Harris had had a somewhat varied career. At
the time of his trial he was in his twenty-third year. At one.

34 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

marriage to Helen. He told her that he would not have
acknowledged the marriage if he could help it, but that
Helen insisted upon somebody’s knowing.

That very afternoon, after Miss Schofield had been told
of their marriage, Carlyle and Helen took a walk and were
gone until late in the evening. When she came back, she
looked pale and sick and went immediately to her room and
to bed. It later transpired that on that evening Harris had
attempted to perform a criminal operation on his wife. It
was evident that having been persuaded to submit to this
operation, the young girl had insisted that somebody should
know that they were really married, in case she should die
from the effects. They had likewise arranged that Helen
should go and visit her uncle during the following week.
This uncle was a physician, Dr. Treverton; and it was evi-
dently their intention that the child, if born, should be born
at the uncle’s residence.

As soon as Helen arrived at her uncle’s, he noticed that she
was not well. She was pale and listless and one morning she
was nauseated at the breakfast table. His suspicions aroused,
he sent for Harris to come immediately to Scranton. The
doctor told him he had learned from his niece that Harris
was the author of her trouble, and that he had attempted to
perform an abortion. Harris admitted it, but he added, “She
says we are married? Well, it’s all very well for her to say so,
but between us, as man to man, there is no marriage. I am
married to somebody else secretly, but she is so fond of me
that when I get through my studies and she gets out of this
trouble all right, I think some day I will marry her.”

She gave birth to a premature, still-born child of about four
months. Her mother was immediately sent for and then for
the first time she discovered the secret marriage.

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 35

It may be interesting at this juncture to pause for a moment
and see what has become of Carlyle Harris, while his secret
wife is convalescing from her serious illness at Scranton.
He is not at Ocean Grove. Can that be he at Canandaigua at
the Webster Hotel? Surely not. That is Carl Graham. Carl
Graham, according to the register; but Carlyle W. Harris
according to the mail claimed by him. Who is that young
lady with him? She is very young, very beautiful. They are
together all day, all evening. Plainly, they are lovers. Are
they married? And who is she? They had arrived together.
She is to visit some friends, a Mr. and Mrs. Latham, respectable
people who considered her a respectable girl. Harris appears
with her saying that they met by chance on the train and

that he has concluded to stop over for a day or two. The

Lathams’ suspicions are aroused by the intimacy between
these two. They watch them, and entering the lady’s room
late one night, they find Harris there with her and request
both to leave at once.

Next day, Harris is at Ocean Grove, writing to Mrs. Potts
after she has learned of the secret marriage. He tells her of
his penitence, how much he loves her daughter. True, he
married her secretly but he will be a good husband and will
the mother not forgive him? He will win her respect!

Helen soon returns from Scranton, her health entirely recov-
ered. Her mother was naturally anxious about the marriage,
which she had kept from her husband because she could not
bear to tell him under the circumstances. She journeyed to
New York to persuade Harris to let her hold the marriage
certificate for her daughter’s protection, only to be told that
he had burned it. She remonstrated with him for burning the
certificate, saying, “This is not as it should be. This is not a
sacred marriage,” whereupon Harris leaned back in his chair,

All rights reserved — no part of the book
may be reproduced in any form without
permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief
passages in connection with a review written
for inclusion in magazine or newspaper.

Set upand printed. Published September, 1938.

First PRINTING

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY J. J. LITTLE & IVES COMPANY, NEW YORK

UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA
SCHIOOL OF LAW

To E. W.

Rtv yoimss

(NEV EIN SEI

O ral { A VW

- wih Kec a ee et — ee ee — _ ed — _—
s

32 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

time he had been a book agent, but in the summer on 1889
he had just finished the first year of a medical course at the
College of Physicians and Surgeons in this City. During that
summer he was living with his mother and brother at Ocean
Grove. On the occasion of a dance at a local hotel Harris was
introduced by a mutual friend to Miss Helen Potts, then in
her eighteenth year and a great favorite in Ocean Grove. She
was young, pretty, intelligent, talented.

Eighteen months after this introduction she suddenly died
at the Comstock School, and it was her death which was the
subject of the trial I am describing. Meanwhile, the acquaint-
ance begun at Ocean Grove had rapidly developed into friend-
ship, into intimacies, a secret marriage, an attempted abortion
and premature childbirth; and had ended in her sudden
death by poison.

It was a natural thing that these young people should be-
come friends. Members of the Potts family were already ac-
quainted with some of the relatives of Mr. Harris. His mother
was then lecturing on Temperance at Ocean Grove and the
Potts family and their friends were attending these lectures.
_ The Harris boys, Carlyle and his brother McCready, were
invited to visit them at their home on the lake. All the young
people congregated there. All through this summer Carlyle
and Helen saw more or less of one another at excursions on
the lake and in the different pleasures of a seaside resort.

In the fall the Potts family moved to an apartment in New
York City and Harris returned to his studies at the medical
school. The Potts family knew few people in New York, and
it was a genuine pleasure to them when Harris called fre-
quently. He was liked by the family and interested their
daughter. As time went on and his attentions became more
marked, Mrs. Potts told him she did not think he ought to
come so often; she disliked to speak to him on the subject,

ancient aia tae ci

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 33

but her daughter was very young and he was also, and she
thought something might grow out of the friendship that
would be a disadvantage to both of them at their ages. The
mother testified at the trial that Harris looked at her in such
a frank, open, innocent way and assured her so candidly
that nothing could be further from his thoughts, that she was
ashamed of having spoken of it and thereafter allowed him
to visit her daughter as much as he pleased. Some months
later, however, in January, the. subject was again broached
and this time there was talk of an engagement. He was
again cautioned that while he was welcome as a friend, he
must dismiss any such idea. ee
The very next morning Carlyle called and asked permission
to take Helen downtown to visit the Stock Exchange. They
went instead, to the City Hall and were secretly married by an

alderman under false names.

It was only six weeks after this occurrence that Mrs. Potts
noticed that Harris was less constant in his visits and less
attentive. It was quite different with the daughter, however.
She appeared more interested than ever in her freind, and Mrs.
Potts resented that her daughter was hurt by his conduct.
She decided to return to Ocean Grove. Shortly thereafter,
Carlyle followed them. He called on Helen, but the change
in his manner became still more marked. He would make en-
gagements with her and break them, and this seemed to cause
her great pain and embarrassment and gradually the mother
wished to break off the acquaintance altogether. She invited
a friend of her daughter’s to visit them, so that the couple
would not be alone so much. This was in the latter part of
May, 1890. At this time nobody knew of the secret marriage.
As soon as the friend, Miss Schofield, arrived, Helen insisted
upon her being told. Harris took Miss Schofield for a walk
on the beach and then it was that he first told anyone of his

: from a@ jerge bor sent
OF mpathiger.

HAMBY, Gordon FawceLt, white, 27, elec. NY (Kings Co.) 1-29-1920.

GORDON HAMBY
PAYS PENALTY
IN THE HAIR

Youthful Murderer le Electro.
cuted at Ossinsing for Killing
Bank Offcers.

Oh Oe OE oe Siete,

(By Universal Service.)
Oueinime, N. 2 . Sm, 2B a} Jere
don Favweett Hamby wan gro.
Bounced gead at ALIS efeleek to
mig ht, ehertty after he had euter~

The youthful murderer {

; peid th
penalty with his life for killing vee
officers of the East Hrookiyn Say-
ings peak on December 13, 1918 when

* and anothe
hank other man rodbed the
Taimby awaiting death ton} h °
peered entirely cheerful, bracking as
rcesional joke with a guard with.
the death watch and nih Ung with |
evident satisfaction upon bos bon

im by some

ose

If Hamby displayeg an err
signs of nérvousnses it wis in binok.
fog cigar after cigar from a box
went him today, But that may hare
been merely the Satiefying of hie
craving for tobacco, whith for a
time. Was denied him bacause he re.
sused to sign his own name for Fragen -
ey On depoalt which Would have en-
abled him to bu Cigarettes,

The ‘wondemned 5
his hour drew close Ware that some-
aoe Might have prevatled upon Coy.
Hmith ta perder @ atay of ex@cution or
to commute the death fentence to |
life imprisonment. When he learned |

ens

3
&
Tf
x
=
a
Me
2
—
fo
a
a
‘”

“I'm sorry your tinie te #0 close,”
commiserated one ‘of Hamby's death
hottse companions today, to which
Hamby repited With @-ehriug of thy
shoulders, “We've ai! Rot to go rome
time old pal and it roight as we}l
be haw for me!
caweee ay bn atk chat with the

ned. youth, yard ‘
aahed: ¥ t en Lawes

"What do Jou want for suppert”

“How about some inheter eaiady
was the awift reply. Aren't | you |
afraid of ihdtgewtlon™ aadtd Warden |
Lawes Hamby ikughed. “Indigearion |
were bother me much now he said.”
- 9. bis. Sy LAR. OY BR me eA. fe oe!
eon

emned man's wishes respecting |
his ast day's meats usually are. And.
PgR RRS ope — aa Tae ET ase ie i eimiaiarmatal

“Te geenis auch mockery ter the |
life Y havé been leading t6 go 10)
inmy death with @ prieat or minister:
by my side i don't want to appeer |
unmsateful but please let me walk |
gione.”’ ’

Agked by Father Cashin if he had |
ANY Wessage to young men. Hamby |
congidered a moment, then replied:

“fT don't wish to appear in the igh:
of & mearaliat but you can tell them
for ma naver to start doing wrong.
“nee you get. started tn crime you
ean never ator” '

Hamby spent:.eome time today
writing letters, threa of which hea
entrusted to Warden. Lawes, “eracting
a promise that he would’ mat) them
and maintain secrecy regarding the
inames of tha addreseas Ona of the
jlettera was said to have Bean writ-
ten to & woman.

Hamby's crime wae one of the
wioat apectacular that eyer occurre’
In Naw York. With a campenton who
hes nevar bean apprehended and
whose identity Hamby eteadfastiy ra<
fused to Atvulee he entered the Eaar
'¥Yeranklvn Bevinern bank the aftar-
noen of December 1%, $818, shot the
naviog teller, Dewitt C. Peale, wrab-
hed o¢ctirrency amoutting to about.

$i3 800 and “«tarted for the door.

Henry WW. Coons, asslatant treaaurer,
‘niureped them an& Hambw whet him
(| aaown. She rvrobbera teaped {nin a
“walting taxi and aped off. Pursued |

hy a detective they leaned fromm thetr
cpreeping text end noured a volley |
Vad phote af tha affirer, wounding |
him and compelling temporary —_—,
danrment of tha pureul,

“Tomé s= nye? ic
Fhe sory fee
Paes

-@ (7°

decipher its cryptic meaning or just why Waite gave it to me. It was a quotation from
Stevenson: 'Calling us with warning faces, eager to labor, eager to be happye' I was con-
vinced that he was insane = not legally, perhaps, but medically, After his electrocution I
found that he had thickening of thetissues of the brain, This may have accounted for his
strange and atrocious conduct,'! rds :
; ROLAND B, MOLINEAUX (Not electrocutkd)
"Dr. Squire again tapped the reservior of his mind and brought forth memories of the famous
Roland B, Molineaux casee Molineaux was accused of the mrder of a Mrs, Adams in New York
City, Dec. 28, 1898. He ‘was arrested a year later and’after spending four years in the cells
of Sing Sing, was acquitted in seven minutes after a new trial in 1902, It cost the State
of New York more than $200,000 to prosecute this famous case. ‘Here was a case of the use
of criminal machinery to bring to trial an innocent man who was done an irreparable wrong, '!
Dr. Squire commented, discussing the case,' Poor Molineaux died in an insane asylum in
1917, and I am convinced his mental breakdown was due to his four years in the death cells,
an innocent man momentarily awaiting death in the electric chair. He had an unusually strong
mind 9r he would have. broken long before he did.' Mrs, Adams, who ran a boarding house, took
a dose of what she supposed was a headache powder for a severe headache, The powders were
in a silver-capped bottle which had been sent by some unknown person to Harry S, Cornish, a
lodger in her. home, Cornish handed her to bottle, and in a half hour she was dead, irs,
4dams was without. any known enemies and theré seemed to bé no motive for her mrder Moli-
neaux was later accused of having sent the bottle to Cornish. 'I was always convinéed of
the innocence of Molineaux,' said Dr. Souire. 'He was a man of unsual mental attainments
and he was most popular with every one at Sing Sing, I never once heard him complain about
the food, and this in itself was out of the ordinary, for many condemned prisoners had
this fancied grievance. He was uniformly polite to the keeper, was never bitter about life
or his wretched fate, I never BUKKEX once found him idke during my many visits to his cell,
ie read between 2,000 and 3,000 books during the time he was in the condemned cells, and he
always perused the Bible, During one of my visits he made theobservation: 'A man in a death
cell at Sing Sing has one constant companion, His thoughts are with him always.’ When Moli-
neaux wasn't reading good books he was writing short stories and tracts, After his release,
he suffered a nervous. breakdown due to years in the condemned cells,‘ Ironica ly enough, it
came just as he was on the threshold of success, He was a dramatist and had wrktten a play
called 'The Man Inside, ' the fruit of his own bitter experience, It was accpted and was
about to be produced in a New York playhouse when he started to complain about feeling:
queer, Hebecame moody and silent, a totally different person than usual,: Then came the
breakdown, and in 1917 he died in an insane asylum, at the age of 5h, a grievously ——
man, who had suffered mental tortures beyond all imagination,
: GORDON FAUCET HAMBY —~
"Gordon Faucet Hamby, the bank murderer, was, according to Dr. Squire, 'the most intersting
criminal from a psychological viewpoint' that he has ever encountered, ‘Hamby was also known
as G, B. Allen, He robbed an East Brooklyn bank of $13,000 and shot and killed two employees
of the bank in 1918. He had accomplices and he made a gétaway. ‘Later he met and fell in
love with a girl and $raveled around the continet with him, During his rovings he landed
at Seattle, met a man named John P, Davis there arid went to live in his home in Tacoma.
'These two men became good friends; but one night in a heated argument over Bolshevism,
Hamby shot and killed his pal,* explained Dr, ‘Souire, ‘Immediately he gave himself up,
confessed his Brookly crimes and said he wanted to die as soon as possibles Confirming
the old saying that 'there is honor even among thieves,' Hamby was of thee opinion that his
conduct was so unethical that he didnot deserveto live,' 'Ikilled my pal, and he was un-
armed,' bemoaned Hamby. 'I didn't even give hima chance. And I've always done that before
shooting a man, I've always given him the opportunity to defend himself,' ‘Hamby was
really a remarkablecriminal, Hewas a psychopath. His neyve was never affected, no matter
what the crisis, He had many unusual qualities, He was a great reader and liked Dickens
and Sir, Walter Scott, and had a taste for the finest literature. Books on psychology were
favorites of his, too, Not long before he was put to death he summoned me to his cell and
said: 'I dom t want to appear in the role of a moralist, butI have a message for youth, I
wish you would tell young boys not to start a career of crime becauseonce they start, it is
almost impossible to stop. op goodness sake, smile, doc, I have been seeing so many
~ gloomy faces: around here today that it would do me good if you, at least, looked happy,'
Since he waspopular with prison attendants, the keeper had been looking downcast too, And
the barber had not i a’
padour,' afifer he vienna ue Mare Gane soph? out teuk BA pared pie eee tPevalect ede: He
asked to wear a light shirt to the chair, This was contrary to theusual custom of garbing
condemned men in somber attiré for their journey down thelast road,'

HOW THEY FACE DEATH IN THE ELECTREC CHAIR (Memoirs of Dr, A. O Squire, chief physician at
Sing Sing Prison - Continued,

SQUIRE'S BPPOSITION TO CAPITA, PUNISHMENT AND WHY
"Dr, Souire is opposed to capital punishment because of the horror that lies in the possible
execution of an innocent man and his belief that fear of execution does not deter men from
committing crimes, since all those he has met have preférred death to a lifetime in prison,
Discussing the subject, Dr. Squire said: 'There have been a great many methods devised to
inflict the death penalty in years past. Most of the earlier forms are characterized by
extreme cruelty, by a desire for vengeance and to inflict pain upon the condemned and instil
terror into the minds of the witnesses. Byt in comparing electrocution with hanging as a
means of inflicting the death penalty, I believe that electrocution is more humane and cer-
tain and less painful and certainly less horrifying to the witnesses and thow who are
officially engaged in the execution, Nevertheless, 1 would not advise anyone who absolutel
did not have to witness an execution in the line of duty to do so. It leaves a horrible,
dark and ineradicable picture upon the mind, I had two nervous breakdowns as a result of
witnessing 138 electorcutions and performing that many autopsies, After the seond one I
knew I would have to give up my work as chief phggician at Sing Sing. Sleeplessness afflict
mee I would lie in bed at night and before me, like a cinemanscreen, would flash pa&ctures
of that stream of men going to untimely deaths, It was unbearable for me to witness the
sudden transistion from life to death, one minute to see a man healthy and alive, not many
minutes kter to see him rigid in death, and then be obliged to do the autopsy, It was par-
ticularly hard for me who, in my line of duty, had come to know the men and even their
families during the time they were in the condemned cell,'" (Copyright by PUBLIC LEDGER)
NEW ORLEANS TIMES-PICAYUNE, Marféh 22, 1931, Magazine secition, page 5

who,

Sketeh af Timenty.
(Ry the Arweociated Pres 4

™ Ouaaining WN. ¥.. Jan. $9 --Goarden

"bee

Paweortt Mamby, ihe handit we he fee

Ga. expintedr
rhautr wae arvertedd on Tm

Inet June under the mame ef ray
H Alien afters willing a meén chore
in a reavetver fight, He Waa cater

tdentified as one nt tha ten
an Ttecarsher Yt, PSR, held wt

the Fast Frocktivyn Mavinga hank,
and after with Wid twa oof ie sm ploy ez,

pacapeds in an automobile with FLL:

‘si
males tired ty New York and t? oi atal
for this crime Hamby stood favealed
as a pel{-confargsed participant

rohbery of thirteen Kanke und ta

: traten and many Kivinge, He attend. |
tly refused to telt anything about his
-farmtis, He said he preferred te bes

rowhbers |

it, the H

hig erhrtieg tr the Aaxath ‘
| f \
vis Ay’ wet . 4

a eenige eee or eenreee meen. 20 Supe 3 ane

known a® “Alian’ and that he wee.
horn In 3282 in Alberta, Canada Ha’

nh nat rae fer five yeara. He said
<. wae a cojl¢ge graduata and bad
apectalized Sn naychology.

i> After Hamby'a conviction bere, hie
‘ attorney, againet the prigonera
| wien es. appesied its chase, Ha ob-
tafned the appointment of 2 commie
: wtom te determine the bandit’s sanity
but the Higher eourt affirmed the
verafet ana ha Was alan found to be
normal” via gfrealy adinitted lle
‘erimes and said he was wanted in

Asclared hia parenta were dead an3
that ke had twa bhreth@re whom Oe:

Sea neem

sate 0 nfl ts ESRD Ws chth a cailidea eiliecdig’ Meltke Campaemines sabi
BG i ote eee —e

‘There jan't anything I want that I
haven't got here.
Judes Fawcett of Brooklyn. who

wentenced Hamtty, said he was the:

“woret” criminal of 6.900 who had

;eome hefora him in his entire CAPHeE
fen thé bench Hamby’s “philosophy of

lie” wee embdBodted in tha folowing
atafemeant he made fsust gic being |
sentenced to die:

“St fa nothing for me "te die he. |
“Ruse Fam coming bark. Tt may take |

& fow yeare or it may “take aeveral
thousand yeara, of OUTING, but time
deas not count, Being brought Into
thie world te like belng placed tn 1
clase of amal! chitdren. owith nsacn
irying to compete with the other.
Some of ue Ara auccesaf ut and some

ore mae Xa for mys i ya
ROE ‘ ¥: qi? ¥ ni ;

‘flunked.’ 2! a : sh at
a. Seale oy

| eS BE AdOE-

LBy the dApaoniatad. PP EMBBP ns -
Wieinlar oo Jan. 28 --«tordon |
pry, TAP POP Derek pres:

‘Ber and train haar Whoss erim
‘ reeard reached

| Brookiyn Sank employes. .. Deceam.

i
I.

her Ft, wae electrocuted In, Sing
Mi: ne prison tonight.

Hatnty maintained to the ‘Yast: the
ron cofmpeosgure which marked hig de-
meanor from the hour of hile arrest
in Traooma, Wash, iast June. Ile rae
fused the offer of the Protestant and
Roman Catheiic chaplains-to aeeom>
pany film tothe chair and watked
to hia death unaided and with a firm
aten. After he had seated himself hea
turned to Warten Lawes and asked
permiasion fo imake & slatement IA a
clear vales whith betrayed woe tha
slightest symptom oF Sreptiion, ..ne
Said: .
“l want to say that’ anyone: who
had the misfortune, for Indeed {t was
A minfortune to come in fPdivt ‘of Jay’
BRB. Ajlen‘s gun, had a chancé and a

60d | chance, That's all tie ahead
O98

Reem the time of his trinl] Hamby |
had Insleted that his tight 3 NaMe was
, day B, Abten,

(By the Asnoclated Proas )
Ossining, N. ¥., Jan. 29.---Hamiby ,
‘spent his 4 day jn the death house
writing. Isttera in hia galt “reading
bewepanery : aid talkin with the
Sulia.. board, Ha expreased ralief whan
earned that an eleventh hour ef-
toes to! get Gov. mith to give him a
reprieva had fulled.
When aaked what hie wanted for
supper Hamby. order®d lobater ‘salad,
of which he ate heartrly. He then

Megees ge ome oe

procesded to anjoy soma of the cigars’

and candy which Als companions tn
the dsath house had furnished him.

Father William FE. Cashin. tha. Ro-
man Cathotie- chapliats, apent an R
hour with the eondemned man thir
afternoon who did not actualy re
fase spiritual conk*lation buat re-
aueated the prieat and Rev, Dr. A, N.
Peterson, the Protestant chaptain,
not tO aecompany him in his walk
to Live hair

When asked by Father Cashin ff
ie bad apy meseage for the youth
of the eoantrs, biarmby maid. “yy dont.
wtab fo WE pear in the ghe of & H
‘oraiiet bit yOu, can tal ‘them tee |
we ever dee wYard § POEL WT Oa ere a;
ee got wiarléd inocrine you can |

reYVer Stop” . . 4

fone) » 8. va “4 a pas, ’ .
BRT Oy TCR TH eae ria a ait di 5% o

it’s kind of funny you giving me all these
silver dollars, when so many were stolen
in the bank robbery yesterday? I’ve been
changing them as fast as you've given
them to me. [| don’t want to be caught
with one.”

The tall man regarded him with an
amused smile. “You're a bright boy,” he
said. ‘“What’s your name?”

“Maloney, sir.”

“All right, Maloney. Want to earn
some real money?”

“Sure.” ?

“Then dig up someone who will rent
himself and his car out for a little while
tomorrow. Then come back here tonight.”

Maloney returned to the killer’s room
an hour later with the news that a man
named Maxwell would be willing to meet
Mr. Allen in the morning and talk terms.
The other men had already left. Allen
was alone. Now he fixed cold eyes on the
bell-hop, and said: : :

“You're staying right here in this room
with me tonight.”

ALONEY looked startled, but ac-

quiesced. The following morning he
accompanied his new. friend to the spot
where Maxwell was waiting for them.
After a short conference, they entered the
car and drove to the neighboring city of
St. Paul. Here they picked up two other
young men whom the tall man called
Lore and Low. As they went through the
streets, Killer “X” saw that the three
youths were frightened, and ordered Max-
well to take them ‘to a place where they
could get drinks.

After some time spent in a speakeasy,
they climbed back in the car and sped
through the city to a church near Dale
and University Avenues. Maxwell re-
mained behind the wheel of his car; the
others got out and walked to the West-
ern State Bank a block away. It was one
o'clock.

Leaving Maloney to stand guard out-
side, Killer “X” entered the bank with
Lore and Low at his heels. Lore stayed
near the door. The killer advanced smil-
ingly to the bank manager and mentioned
something about making a deposit. As
the manager stood up, the stranger’s genial
expression underwent a sudden change;
the smile died, the eyes hardened. With
a lightning-swift gesture he pulled out
two guns, and shoved them into the man-
agers chest. His voice was like the
crack of a whip.

“Walk backward into that alcove be-
hind you!” ;

The man, obeyed. The bandit then
raised his voice. “Come from behind your
cages, and join this man here in the al-
cove. Don’t try anything. If anyone
touches the alarm I’ll have to hurt him.”

When he had rounded the employees
and customers together, he gave terse or-
ders to Low, who quickly ran into the
cages and began stuffing the gold and cur-
rency into his pockets. ;

“It isn’t your money, after all,” Killer
“X” said to the frightened employees.
“And it’s insured.” He called across the
room to Low, “Where’s the canvas bag?”

“Forgot it,’ replied the youth without
stopping his work. :

“Get into the vault and clean it out,”
Killer “X” ordered.

Like an automaton, Low hurried to the
vault. As he darted into it, he acci-
dentally touched a button and the day
gate swung shut after him. With a fear-
crazed face the youth wheeled to stare
out through the steel bars. ,

Killer “X” took one look at him, then
began to laugh. He ordered the manager
to unlock the gate and let Low out, when
the youth had taken the money from the
safe. Then he issued a command to the

Master Detective

employees:

“All of you back into the vault!”

Hesitantly, they obeyed him. He closed
the day gate, and they were prisoners.

“Keep quiet,” he admonished them, “un-
til we're out of sight.” ;

Low was running for the entrance when
Killer “X” shouted for him to halt. “You
and Lore wait for mé!” he called.

When he reached the door he said stern-
ly, “Walk, don’t run. The minute you
start to hurry, the traffic cop down on
the corner will notice us. If we walk
at an ordinary pacé, no one will pay any
attention.”

Outside, Maloney joined them and they
went toward the car where Maxwell “sat
waiting. As they climbed in, they saw
a_ policeman running toward the bank
with a crowd following him. They drove
off, the killer. explaining:

“We've got five minutes. It will take
that time for the cop to get the story
of the hold-up.” They sped over the
highway to Minneapolis. Here he paid
Maxwell $500, and sent Maloney back to
the hotel with another five hundred. As
he gave Lore and Low their share he ad-
vised them to hunt up a rooming house
and take a room for the night. He told
them to meet him in a speakeasy at ten
that evening. Then he left them and
hailed a taxi.

Driving to his hotel he checked out.
He waited until late that night before
going to a smaller hotel. It was after mid-
night when he registered, still using the
name of Jay B. Allen.

At about that same time, the St. Paul
chief of police was receiving a telephone
call from the Minneapolis police which
sent him speeding to that city. When he
arrived at Headquarters he learned that
two men by the name of Lore and Low
had been taken into custody. A _ large
sum of gold and currency, apparently part
of the bank loot, had been discovered
hidden in their room.

“They deny all knowledge of the hold-
up,” said the Minneapolis chief, “but
they can’t give any good reason for having
a couple of thousand dollars hidden in
their room. They took the room this
afternoon and stayed in it till around ten
o’clock. When they'd gone out the land-
lady went in to turn down the bed.
When she shook the pillows a lot of
money dropped out. She got suspicious
and called us up.

“WE went there and searched the room.
There was money hidden all over it
—under the mattress, beneath the carpet,
in the pillow cases. We-waited and after
awhile the two fellows came home and
we arrested them.”

The youthful accomplices were brought
in, very much frightened. It did not take
long to break them and et the story of
the robbery. They gave Maloney’s name,
but insisted they had no idea who the
leader was or where he could be located.

Maloney was arrested and added his
confession to that of the other two.
Finally he broke down and told that a
man named Jay Allen, stopping at the
hotel where he worked, was the leader.
Within a few minutes detectives were on
their way to the hotel, but they were too
late. Allen had checked out. Spreading
out, the officers began combing the entire
city for the bandit.

And while they strained every nerve to
capture him, Killer “X” was sleeping in
his hotel room. He awoke at eight o'clock
the following morning and rang for a
newspaper and coffee. When he opened
the paper he stared dumfounded at the
headlines—

JAY B. ALLEN ROBS BANK
He ran his eyes down the story, then

began hastily pulling on his clothes. The

olice, he thought, must have discovered
ours ago that he was registered at this
hotel as Jay B. Allen. hy had they
made no attempt to capture him? Had
they hit on some plan he couldn’t figure
out!

He didn’t bother to pack up his things,
but slipping a gun up each sleeve of
his overcoat, he stepped from his room
and walked swiftly to the elevator. When
it came up, empty, he got in. It didn’t
stop on the way down. As the elevator
came to a halt on the main floor, he got
ready to use his guns. But the lobby
contained only two men. Glancing at the
clerk behind the desk, he saw the man’s
head was turned. He walked through the
revolving door to the street. Outside he
climbed into a waiting cab and drove off.

* * *

H¢4tF an hour later the authorities dis-

covered their quarry had spent the
night at the small hotel, and the reason
for their not finding it out sooner was
made plain. Killer “X” had registered on
the last line of the page, and the sleepy
night clerk had turned the page without
noticing the name. Other guests had come
in later and placed their names on the new
page. No one had turned back to read
the old page until the police requested
them to do so. Then the day clerk found
the name Jay B. Allen in the book.

By the time he had notified the police
and they had reached the hotel, Killer
“X” was headed for the far West.

The pursuit now became hot. Neigh-
boring towns and cities were notified and
descriptions of the tall bandit leader were
sent throughout the district. Dozens of
detectives searched the twin cities, trying
to locate him. But once again their ef-
forts proved fruitless. Ten days later the
man of mystery was still at large. His
young accomplices were convicted, with
the exception of Maxwell, who was never
apprehended.

hile this man-hunt was going on in
the Middle West, and Detectives Dowd
and Roddy were working back in’ the
East trymg to track him down, the man
they, sought was living with friends on
the ,outskirts of Tacoma, Washington,
awaiting Coco’s arrival from Canada.
Robert Davis and his wife knew their
boarder as Boyd Allen, neither had any
inkling that he was the Killer “X” so
much wanted by the police throughout
the country. Davis was out of work at
the time and Allen paid well for his board
and room.

As the days wore on, however, Mrs.
Davis became uneasy. She saw that the
newcomer had an almost hypnotic influ-
ence over her young husband. The two
were often closeted together, and once
when she came upon them suddenly bend-
ing over a drawing they were making,
they ordered her from the room. Bob
had always been gentle with her; this
sudden change in him, together with the
air of mystery that hung over the house,
both puzzled and frightened her.

One evening when they had retired to
their room, she sat on the edge of the
‘bed gazing at him fearfully. He had
been unusually nervous all evening, smok-
ing one cigarette after another and glower-
ing at her if she spoke. She gripped the
bedclothes now as she whispered softly:

“Please come here, Bob. I have some-
thing important to say to you.”

Her young husband glanced across the
room, saw there were tears in her eyes
and came reluctantly to her. Sitting
down beside her he stared moodily at the
floor and inquired:

“Well, what is it?”

“I want you to ask Boyd Allen to leave,”

—

January, 1!

she said.
I'll go to »
go on livin
There w:
got to go ¢
out now.”
“Why no
to have ov
Suddenly
wife’s smal
earnestly:
“T’ve bee
We're in

tense.
Suddenly
story came
“We're g
Olympia,”
fore and sa
the ropes.
we need the

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going
You're goin
that you ca:
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and your :
never be a!
get away
won't. You
like this; ti

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my word t

“That's .
vehemently

Davis w:
around hin
pleading wii
thing. Fina

“In my h
tell him so:
you say an\
you.”

“T won't
she added,
man?”

Her hush:

The next
sent his w:
When they

“Come or
better prac:
just what t

Davis cle:
Facing the

“I’m not 4

Killer “NX
moved. but:
not?”

“My wife

The corr
straightened
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face. He
modulated \

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serve to liv:
and fired it
finished the

With an ;
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Stuffing h
pocket, the
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inquiry as s!}
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Killer “X’
sedan. whic}

—-

TRUE POLICE CASES,

The inside story of how

deducfion and persistence helped New York police

trap a master criminal

CASE OF

Courteous Ww

The powerful: lights have glared
hard at criminals for more than fifty
years at Manhattan Police Headquar-
ters. For forty-two years as a member
of the New York City Police Depart-
ment, I have watched that parade
across the wooden platform in the
morning lineup—a procession by the
multiplied thousands from the chief
petty crook to the homicidal maniac.

Some were sullen. But the majority
cringed under the sharp interrogation.
Perspiration ran freely, not from the
heat of the lights, but from fear. They
knew that they had reached the end of
the line. All that remained was the
formality of a trial—then prison and,
for many, the electric chair.

But there was one, as memory keeps
me company, who was the nearest to
what is popularly referred to as the
“master cximinal.” This was 28 years
ago. It might have been yesterday. He
is that vivid in my mind.

He did not cringe or wilt. He stared
at the lights and did not blink once. I
saw those eyes. They were icy-blue,
cynical and hard. They betrayed little
emotion. They hurled defiance at
several hundred detectives who had
jammed the line-up room.

Six husky policemen, guns drawn,
flanked him as he was led to the po-
lice wagon. He was on his way to court

He a

BY LEWIS J. VALENTINE

Former Police Commissioner of New York City

for arraignment on murder and rob-
bery. It was a hot June morning in
1919. The pavement buckled under
the heat wave. Collars and uniforms
wilted. But this killer stood unruffled.
He was a study in sartorial splendor
—blue suit, blue tie, trousers pressed.

A small army of photographers shot
away. With the faintest trace of a
smile, he turned to the nearest police-
man:

“I don’t think these handcuffs are
necessary. They make a bad impres-
sion in‘a picture. Of course, a chap
hasn’t got a chance with all this ar-
tillery pointing at him.”

He was a man you couldn’t forget
easily. His shoulders were broad but
not thick. He was built on quick-ac-
tion lines, rangy and _ lithesome,
stretching five feet eleven inches, a

-bad man ‘in any argument.

For seven months we of the New
York Police. Department had under-
gone a nerve-wracking, feverish twen-
ty-four-hour duty in an effort to track

‘him down. Millions of New Yorkers

had screamed (no louder than we) for

his arrest for the wanton killings’ of

two bank employes and the serious

shooting of a detective during the
Re Noy

The Courteous Killer—he wanted “big
money no matter how I get it.”

robbery of $13,000 from the East
Brooklyn Savings Bank.

The Courteous Killer had plied his
trade freely—in hamlet, town and city
through the land. He had robbed
abroad. When he tired of this country,
he shipped out as a seaman, stayed
away for a long stretch—and then
returned. We asked him how he man-
aged to spend his money. He an-

‘swered:

“I didn’t think it quite logical after
robbing to spend money here. I did
that abroad. I came back with hauls
from abroad, which I spent here.” In
his eight years of criminal activities
and killings, he had out-scored more
than a dozen motion-picture villains
combined.

He invaded our town Dec. 13,
1918, a day I will long remember, a
day few veteran detectives will ever
forget.

He had planned his New York
debut with his customary ingenious
skill. Behind him, we learned later,
were twelve bank robberies totaling
some $400,000.. His first step was the
selection of an accomplice. He had an
almost sixth sense in being able to
choose the right foil. His thirteenth
assistant, the only unlucky one, was a
17-year-old seaman.

The Courteous Killer had lodged in

December, 1946

“Ti

a i ts

January, 1938

Tyler and hold him for them. :

“He’s already arrested,” Hogland said,
as he hung up.

A crafty glint came into the accused
man’s eyes. “When was this hold-up I’m
supposed to have committed?” he asked.

“On December 13th.”

“Well, on that day | happened to be
in Needles, California, which I can prove
by any number of people. I’ve never been
in Brooklyn in my life.”

In spite of his earlier denials, however,
when his finger-prints had been taken_he
was forced to admit that he was Roy
Tyler. He still insisted that he hadn't
robbed the New York bank. Dowd and
Assistant District Attorney Conway sped
to St. Louis as did Sharpe and Roddy.
After carefully questioning him and study-
ing his appearance, both Dowd and Con-
way were convinced he wasn’t their man.
In general appearance he might answer the
description, but his voice was different
and he did not have the look of a minis-
ter about him. They telephoned their
doubts to New York, but the Grand
Jury indicted Tyler for the crime.

When the officers reached New York
with their prisoner, and the bank em-
ployees and customers were brought to
look at him, they failed to identify Tyler
as the bandit leader. “He’s older and
doesn’t talk like him,” they said. So
Tyler was turned over to the Cleveland
authorities. He was convicted of the
bank robbery in that city and sentenced
to twenty years.

ND now the New York police were

back where they had started. Dowd
and Roddy, who had put in so many hours
of fruitless hard work on the case, looked
blankly at each other. They hadn't a
single clue to start on. The following day
found them once more beginning the task
of tracking down the mysterious Killer

During the time they had been striving
to capture Roy Tyler, Killer “X” and
Coco had slipped out of New York. Once
more they had disguised themselves as
newlyweds, and reached the Middle West
without being detected. Here the girl sep-
arated from him temporarily to go back
to Canada for a visit, and he headed into
Minnesota where he indulged in several
small-town hold-ups. He was now living
in one of Minneapolis’ leading hotels,
where he had registered as Jay B. Allen.

A few days after his arrival, he in-
vited several men to his room for a game
of poker. As the evening wore on he
rang often for the bell-boy to bring more
ice and serve drinks. Each time he gave
the boy a bright silver dollar. It was
after midnight when he handed him the
sixth one, and the bell-hop pulled at his
sleeve, whispering:

_ “May | speak to you for a moment,
sir?

“Certainly, what’s on your mind?” in-
quired Killer “X,” stepping into the hall.

“Well,” said the youth, “don’t you think

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tm mw

wd
the
nan
on
ton,
ida.
ner
any

ye)
oUt
< at
yard

Mrs
the
nflu-
two
once
end-
king,
Bob
this
the
use,

‘d to
the
had
mok-
ywer-

d the

ys
ome-

s the
eyes
itting

it the

save,”

January, 1938

she said. “He’s spoiling our relationship.
I'll go to work, do anything, but he can't
go on living with us.”

There was fear in Davis’ voice. “He’s
got to go on living here. I can’t put him
out now.”

“Why not? What is this hold he seems
to have over you?”

Suddenly Davis reached out, took his
wife’s small hands in his, and whispered
earnestly:

“I’ve been out of work a long time.
We're in a bad way for money. He’s
going to let me make some.”

“How?” The young wife's tone was
tense.

Suddenly Davis began to talk, and the
story came tumbling from his dry lips.

“We're going to rob the bank over at
Olympia,” he said. “Boyd’s done it be-
fore and says it’s simple when you know
the ropes. I wouldn't do it, darling, but
we need the money.”

“DPOB DAVIS,” said the girl, “you’re not
going to do anything of the sort.
You're going to tell Boyd Allen tomorrow
that you can’t go through with it and he'll
have to find another place to live. What’s
a little money compared to our happiness
and your peace of mind? Why you'd
never be able. to sleep again in case you
get away with it, which you probably
won't. You're not the sort to do things
like this; they’d catch you in no time.”

“| can’t back out now; I’ve given him
my word to go through with it.” “,

“That’s utter nonsense,” said his wife
vehemently. “I'll tell him if you don’t.’s

Davis was silent. She put her arms
around him, all the while begging and
pleading with him not to do this terrible
thing. Finally he said:

“In my heart I know you're right. I'll
tell him sometime tomorrow. But don’t
you say anything to let on I’ve spoken to
you.

“| won't,” promised the girl. Then
she added, “Bob, are you afraid of that
man?”

Her husband didn’t reply.

The next evening after dinner Davis
sent his wife out for some ice cream.
When they were alone, Killer “X” said:

“Come on, Bob, while she’s gone we'd
better practise a little, so you'll know
just what to do tomorrow.”

Davis cleared his throat; then stood up.
Facing the other man he said haltingly:

“I’m not going through with it.”

Killer “X” arose. His mouth scarcely
moved, but the words came audibly. “Why
notr

“My wife doesn’t like the idea.”

The corners of the killer’s mouth
straightened into a hard line; his eyes
became steely blue points in his lean
face. He spoke without emotion in a
modulated voice:

“A man who would so lower himself
as to tell a woman his plans doesn’t de-
serve to live.” He whipped out a gun,
and fired it pointblank at Davis as he
finished the sentence.

With an agonized groan Davis pitched
forward on his face and lay motionless
at the brutal killer’s feet, a bullet through
his heart.

Stuffing his smceking gun into his hip
pocket, the murderer strode from the
room and out of the house. Outside he
met Mrs. Davis returning with the ice
cream. She gazed at him in frightened
inquiry as she saw his harsh expression.
As he passed her, he said:

“Your husband’s hurt.”

With a startled cry, the girl dropped
the package she was carrying and ran up
the steps into the house.

Killer ““X” opened the door of his gray
sedan, which stood at the curb, and

Master Detective

climbed under the wheel. He drove the
car out into the country. He avoided the
towns, and once during the night ex-
changed his machine for one he found
arked in front of a small road-house.
oward morning he abandoned this car
for another. hen dawn came, he saw
he had taken the wrong road, and that he
was lost. He knew. the Tacoma police
couldn’t be far behind. Davis’ wife would
give a good description of him and the
number of his gray sedan.

It was six pate when he spied a small
inn at the base of Mount Rainier. He
was worn out and hungry, and the gaso-
line was almost gone. He decided to
take a chance and stop for breakfast.
Driving up before the door, he climbed
wearily out and walked into the inn. The
keeper greeted him affably.

“You look tired,” he said.

“Yes, and hungry,” agreed the stranger.
“Vd like breakfast.”

When he had taken the order to his
wife in the kitchen the innkeeper returned
and sat down at the table, saying:

“Mind if I eat breakfast with you?
Haven’t had many customers to talk to
lately.”

“Glad to have you,” said the killer,
lighting a cigarette.

“What part of the country are you
from?”

Killer “X” let the match in his hand

burn to the end before he_ replied,
“Tacoma. Where’s the breakfast?”
*“T'll go out and hurry it up.” The inn-
keeper went into the kitchen; bent close
to his wife who was cooking ham and
eggs on the stove. In a tense voice he
whispered:

“Telephone for the sheriff. Tell him |
think the fellow’s here he told me to be
on the lookout for, who killed Davis last
night in Tacoma. I'll stall him till he gets
here, but tell him to hurry.”

HEN he took the breakfast to his

guest, and once more sat down with
him. In a few moments his wife appeared
with coffee. As she set it down, she sent
her husband a meaning look, then de-
parted.

Killer “X” stared moodily at his plate
when he had finished. The jovial inn-
keeper kept up a lively conversation in
which his guest took small part. From
time to time he felt the gun in his right-
hand pocket. Suddenly the innkeeper said:

“What’s eating you, partner?”

In a quiet, matter-of-fact voice the
stranger replied:

“T just killed a friend.”

At that moment the door flew open.
Killer “X” leaned forward as the figure
of a large man in a sombrero took shape
in the entrance. As the newcomer came
striding toward them, the innkeeper
called:

“Hello, Sheriff.”

With one swift movement the bandit
pushed back his chair and sprang to his
feet. As the sheriff reached the table,
Killer “X” whipped out his gun.

Will the sheriff prove sufficiently quick
on the draw to outwit the elusive’ mur-
derer? Or will he be added to the grow-
ing list of the crafty killer’s victims?

Read the smashing wind-up of this
thrilling story, in which the nefarious ca-
reer of Killer “X” is brought to a dra-
matic end; and in which, after many excit-
ing developments, the mysterious mur-
derer receives his just deserts. Appearing
in the February issue of MASTER DETEC-
TIVE, on sale at all news stands January
14th.

(An actual name has been withheld in
the foregoing story, and a fictitious one
substituted, namely: Maxwell—Ed.)

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lest police
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nained there
ear the scene
1g organized!
to ride into

ended with
e caught up
irder, a man
the circulars
Street, the
t he had left
nown of the

ning and by
looded head-
trap Hanel.
suspect who
husband of
ught he was
e wrong man
to talk, but
1d our search

hought for a
-ward on the
eton, bearing

Hanel. was

The Murderer from the Mission 27

At right is Joseph Hanel, who led detectives an exciting
chase, the author of this story even joining Barnum and
Bailey’s Circus. At the left is Detective Barney Dowd

arrested in Hoboken. This steward had offered a dia-
mond ring to’ a steward on the Scandinavian-American
liner, Oscar IJ, to smuggle him aboard the ship before
it sailed on Tuesday. But that clue, too, was dissipated.
We had the wrong man again.

The same day, while we were questioning the steward,

we received word from Hagerstown, Maryland, a town

where Hanel once had worked, that the fugitive had
been seen there on the previous Saturday, the day follow-
ing the murder of Mrs. Heilner! But before we could
tush a detective to Hagerstown to pick up the trail, we
learned that Hanel—if it was Hanel—had boarded a Nor-
folk & Western Railroad train at Hagerstown, and the
trail was lost again. .
T HEN—four days after the murder—on Tuesday, April
27th, we received a belated report from Philadelphia
that Hanel had been in the Quaker City on Friday, the
same day that Mrs. Heilner had been beaten to death
in her home. And this time the clue was authentic, for
it revealed that earrings answering the description of
those torn from the ears of the murdered woman had been
pawned there.

Helen Buck and I boarded a train for Philadelphia,
and when we arrived the police sent us to the pawnshop
of the New York Loan Company, at !37 South Ninth
Street. Miss Buck readily identified the earrings as

those worn by her friend, Mrs. Heilner. Abra-
ham Linse, the clerk who had made the loan,
told me of the transaction.

“The man who pawned the earrings,” Linse
said, “was about thirty-five years old, weighed
probably one hundred thirty-five pounds and
was about five feet, three inches tall. He had
brown eyes—peculiar looking eyes—and a thin
face. He wore a dark, soft telescope hat and
a dark suit and a high collar.”

“Is that the man?” | asked, showing him a
picture of Hanel—the man with the eyes of a
wolf. «

“Yes, that’s the man,” replied Linse.

We had definitely. placed Hanel in Philadel-
phia only a few hours after the murder and |
notified the New York headquarters. Detec-
tives Maher and Snowden were sent to join
me by Inspector Faurot and, after a conference,
they moved on to Baltimore. We felt sure
that Baltimore was a focal point in the search.
for Hanel had worked there and was familiar
with the city’s. haunts.

The Philadelphia Detective Headquarters was
working with us, and Snowden and Maher were
receiving the co-operation of Chief of Detec-
tives Joseph McGovern in Baltimore; but the
next clue came not from the detectives them-
selves but from an artist employed on a Phil-
adelphia newspaper. Clive Weed, a cartoon-
ist, who lived at Fox Chase, a Philadelphia
suburb, reported that on Wednesday, April
28th, only a few hours (Continued on page 60)

26 The

the valuable lands there owned by Mrs. Heilner.

One group of detectives went to the Sea-
men’s Church Institute, where they interviewed
Frank Randow, the clerk, who remembered the
incident of Hanel’s employment by the Heil-
ners. Hanel, Randow told the detectives, had
come to the institute seeking work. He gave
the name “Joseph Hemer” and said he had
worked as a steward on the Vaterland, but
could show no discharge papers.

“HE said he had no money and no clothing
other than what he wore,” Randow said.
“He told me he was an Austrian.”

Then, as an afterthought, Randow added:

“But he did have some clothing—and he left
it here!”

The clothes were produced, and in the pocket
of a coat was the thing the detectives wanted.
It was a picture of Hanel himself, a picture
identified not only by Randow, but later by
Miss Buck and Mr. Heilner. We now had a
photograph ‘of the man. we sought for the
brutal murder of his benefactress. But that
was not all. Before nightfall we had a response
from Philadelphia to the alarm which had been
broadcast. A Joseph Hanel, answering the
description we had telegraphed to neighboring
cities, was an ex-convict who had been arrested
in Philadelphia in April, 1913, and had served
a term of nearly two years for carrying con-
cealed weapons. He had been at liberty only
a few weeks. The man we sought was a jail-
bird, not a suffering German. victim of the
Great War!

With the picture found in Hanel’s clothes and
the Bertillon measurements received from
Philadelphia, we had something tangible on
which: to base our search. Morris Eckler,
finger-print expert in Brooklyn Police Head-
quarters, looked over the measurements and
the photograph.

“That man,” Eckler exclaimed, “has the eyes
of a wolf!”

Thus started a search which was to lead us
through months of baffling trials and disap-
pointments. The entire New York Police
Department, from Commissioner Arthur Woods down to
the newest rookie policeman, was engaged in the hunt for
“the man with the eyes of a wolf”.

Inspector Faurot, acting under instructions of Commis-.

sioner Woods, put into operation for the first time a
new system for crime detection. One detective from
every detective branch, one patrolman from every’ pre-
cinct, and one detective from every special squad in
Greater New York was ordered to report to headquarters
early in the night. By the time the summoned men had
arrived at headquarters, twenty-five thousand circulars,
showing the picture, Bertillon” measurements and a descrip-
tion of Hanel, were printed and in police hands. A bundle
of the circulars was given to each man called to head-
quarters, with orders that they be distributed in ferry
houses, pawnshops, railroad terminals, boarding-houses and

other places where the fugitive might be seen. Additional.

bundles were sent to the different precinct police stations
and thousands of them were. mailed throughout the
country. f

The first trace of Hanel’s movements after the murder

came from Captain John Coughlin of Brooklyn Detective
Headquarters. Captain Coughlin’s men learned that early
on the day of the murder Hanel had been in a saloon,
known as the Imperator Café, at Church Street and Coney
Island Avenue. Ordinarily a beer drinker, Hanel had
been drinking whisky that morning. He had reappeared

Master Detective

“I joined up with the circus and followed one of the oddest police
hunts in which I was ever engaged. I mingled with the circus family
. . - and always with my eyes focused for one man”

at the saloon shortly after noon and had remained there
for some time. He had been in the saloon near the scene
of his crime while the search for him was being organized!
Then he had boarded a Smith Street car to ride into
Manhattan.

The trail from the scene of the murder ended with

Hanel’s boarding the trolley car, later to be caught up .

again in the Bronx. The‘night after the murder, a2 man
closely resembling the photograph of Hanel on the circulars
registered at the Bijou Hotel, at 1018 Fox Street, the
Bronx, under the name, “Emil Zimmer.” ‘But he had left
the hotel before the hotel proprietor had known of the
manhunt, and the trail was lost again.

Mrs. Heilner was murdered on Friday morning and by
Sunday, April 25th, hundreds of tips had flooded head-
quarters as a result of the circular plan to trap Hanel.
Policeman Haglett in Brooklyn picked up a suspect who
so closely resembled the picture that Heilner, husband of
the slain woman, viewed the man and thought he was
Hanel. Vogel, the nephew, was just as sure the wrong man
had been taken. The suspect at first refused to talk, but
eventually proved that he was not Hanel, and our search
continued. P

On the following day, Monday, we again thought for a
time that we “had caught our fugitive. A steward on. the
North German Lloyd liner, George Washington, bearing
a striking resemblance to photographs of Hanel, was

}

when the life of Louise Owen Beattie
was taken away with the single report
of a shotgun, stared hard at the young
husband, ready to claim its victim by
electrocution. But the prisoner re-
turned the gaze, unswerving and una-
fraid. He consoled his broken-down
father, white-haired now and wrinkled,
weeping audibly at his side, and com-
forted him as he whispered, “I haven't
lost yet, father.”

His usual nonchalance gave way to a
determined, tiger-like crouch over the
prisoner’s bench as he strained forward
to catch every syllable uttered by
Judge Watson: “I must sentence you to
be transferred to the State Peniten-
tiary on Friday, November 24th, and
then and there, between the hours of
sunrise and sunset, your life shall be
extinguished, and may God have mercy
on your soul.”

But Henry Clay Beattie, Jr., bad
lost. On November 13th, the Supreme
Court of Appeals refused to grant a

The

before, he had seen in Fox Chase a
man whose description tallied exactly
with that of Hanel. The man wore a
dark suit and hat, Weed reported, and
speaking with a decided German ac-
cent had asked Weed how he could get
to Trenton, New Jersey. Weed was
positive that the man he had seen was
Hanel, and the same day we discovered,
with the aid of Philadelphia detec-
tives, that Hanel, or someone answer-
ing his description, had pawned: in
Philadelphia pawnshops other jewels
taken from the body of Mrs. Heilner
and her home.

Captain of Detectives Cameron of
the Philadelphia Detective Bureau
ordered his entire force to comb the
city for the fugitive. We felt that the
trail was hot, but two days of strenuous
work brought no further trace of the
little man.

Two days later, however, on Friday,
I got a break which I thought was
going to end the hunt. I received,a
tip from a friend that indicated I had
missed Hanel by only twenty-four
hours. It also gave me a hint of his
plans and I felt sure that | would have
the fugitive before long. The Barnum
& Bailey Circus was in Philadelphia,
and George Black, Chief of the circus
staff of detectives, was a friend of mine.
He knew I was in Philadelphia on the
Hanel case and called me at Philadel-
phia Detective Headquarters.

“Bill,” Black: said on the telephone,
‘jump down to the circus grounds in
a hurry. I have something important
to tell you. And bring a photograph
with you.”

I knew what photograph he meant
and I did not lose much time getting
to the circus grounds. I went through
the big throng seeing the wonders of
circusland and met Black at a place he
had ae eo

“Billy,” Black said, after we had
shaken hands, “I think your man Hanel

The Master Detective

writ of error. Two days later Gover-
nor Mann of Virginia declined to grant
a stay of execution, although the pres-
i brought upon him had been ter-
rific.

On November 24th, the Common-
wealth of Virginia took the life of
young Beattie, in payment for the life
of Louise Owen Beattie, taken four
months before.. And the Common-
wealth made no mistake. The boy Him-
self—the boy who tossed aside a’ fu-
ture of riches, the love of a bride, the
guardianship of an infant son, vie
infatuation—made that plain before he
went to the electric chair in the early
darkness of that dreary, rainy Novem-
ber morning.

His entrance to the death chamber
was as dramatic as anything he had
done since first he commanded the pub-
lic eye. He halted for a brief moment
on the threshold, looked at the chair
with. an inscrutable smile that had
in it the hint of a sneer, and then

(Continued from page 27)

wants to join the circus. A man of his
description applied at the cook tent
this morning, saying that he was a
cook and asked to be put to work—
said he wanted a traveling job. He
said he. couldn’t join the circus today,
but would join it on our next stop,
Trenton. Let’s see his picture.”

‘[ showed him the photograph and we
went back to the cook tent. There in
the midst of the preparation of dinner
for hundreds of circus employees, we
showed the picture to the cook. He
and several of his assistants identified
Hanel’s picture as that of the man who
wanted a traveling job.

I immediately wired Commissioner
Woods what I had learned and em-
barked on a new experience. [| was
sure | was on the right track for the
clue. fitted in exactly with the theory on
which I had been working. I felt cer-
tain that Hanel had only a few dollars,
for immediately upon his arrival in
Philadelphia he had pawned the gems
taken from the Heilner home. His
wages while working for the Heilners
had been small, which made me reason-
ably sure that he had saved little or
nothing.

All that he had received from the
pawnbrokers' was twenty dollars, and
I believed that this money would be
gone in about five days. My theory
was that with his money gone Hanel
would attempt to ship out of port or
else seek a job as a traveling cook—

work with which he was familiar—for

that would offer his only means of
escape. The word from George Black,
therefore, and the subsequent identifi-
cation of Hanel’s picture, fitted-in ex-
actly with my theory. anaes

With the permission of his command-
ing officers, Detective William Roddy
became a circus roustabout.

I joined up with the circus, and fol-
lowed one of the oddest police hunts in
which I ever engaged. I mingled with
the circus family and became one of

without further hesitation walked
briskly forward.

On the day after Governor Mann had
refused to interfere with Virginia jus-
tice, the slayer verbally confessed to
his guilt to his spiritual advisors. Later
he reduced his confession to writing.
His last wish was that his confession
not be made public until after he was
gone; he wanted his aged father to be-
lieve in him until the last. Reverend
Benjamin Dennis made public the
slayer’s ante-mortem statement:

“I Henry Clay Beattie, Jr., desirous
of standing right before God and man,
do on this twenty-third day of No-
vember, 1911, confess my guilt of the
crime charged against me. Much that
was published concerning the details
was not true, but the awful fact, with-
out the harrowing circumstances, re-
mains. For this action | am truly
sorry, and believing that | am at peace
with God and am soon to pass into His
presence, this statement is made.”

Murderer from the Mission

them. I often helped with the heavy
work of erecting and pulling down the
big canvas tents. | ate with the circus
followers and slept in their quarters.
I toured parts of Pennsylvania, Mary-
land and Delaware—and always with
my eyes focused for one man, the man
with the eyes of a wolf.

BUT Hanel, despite the promise of

a‘job which had been made to him,
did not join the circus at Trenton. |
1 pcipse the commissary department
all through the time the circus played
Trenton, but the expected assistant
failed to appear. From Trenton the
circus moved on to Atlantic City, ar-
riving at the playground of America in
the dead of night. The big tent and
the smaller ones surrounding it rose
through the light of early day in Inlet
Park. The cages were put in position,
and in the babel caused by the shouts
of the roustabouts and the roars of
the animals, | walked ceaselessly
through the throngs, searching for
Hanel.

That night, Saturday, May 2nd,
1915, there was a performance at the
circus not on the program—a perform-
ance which the pleasure seekers of At-
lantic City knew nothing about. | still
was an employee, clad in rough gar-
ments and mingling with the boys who
called “Hey, rube,” as their battle-cry.

But as the evening performance: was
ended there moved into the circus
grounds a little army of men—men
whom | was careful not to recognize.
They were New York and Philadelphia
detectives, sent to the resort city to
comb Barnum & Bailey’s Circus as it
never had been combed before.

The combing was accomplished with
a thoroughness that ‘was remarkable.
Every performer and employee of the
circus was lined up by the detectives.
Every tent and wagon was entered and
searched for Hanel. The circus grounds
were circled by Atlantic City police-

June, 1932

men while

night’s wo:

fugitive.

York detec’

while | wer
circus folk
night stanc
Barnum &
the lions a
and clowns
in which °
hiding.
While t!
widespreac
tain points
for Hanel
and it wa
might seel:
to another
delphia a
knew pos
with that
important
in Wester
had made
Jand met:
After r
the dete
Snowden
Brooklyn
and _ late:
On Sund:
from Ne
suspect t!
up in W
tion. H
Hanel hz
rest by .
first Stre
sey. De
him to |
that hac
in May
pictures
feel tha
But the
was nol
wolf.

Mo’

to
search
up a tr
occasior
seen in
Baltim«
when e:
ourselv:
the sla’
Dete
much 1
the B
circula:
of Det
more ¢
at our
Carter
Depar’
ested
whette
Hanel’
Monut
order]:
in We
Willhia
ploye
ing or
eyes \
the e
police
ably °

June, 1932

men while the search was on; but the
night’s work failed to turn up the
fugitive. The Philadelphia and New.
York detectives retired from the scene,
while I went on, barnstorming with the
circus folks. 1 played many a one-
night stand before | resigned from the
Barnum & Bailey employ. I left when
the lions and tigers and trapeze artists
and clowns moved out of the territory
in which we were certain Hanel was
hiding.

While the search for this man was
widespread, it was concentrated on cer-
tain points. Ports were watched closely,
for Hanel had been a seafaring man
and it was natural to suppose that he
might seek refuge on_some ship sailing
to another country. The vigil in Phila-
delphia also was maintained, for we
knew positively that he was familiar
with that city. Baltimore was another
important point, for Hanel had worked
in Western Maryland at one time and
had made frequent trips into the Mary-
land metropolis.

After my circus experience I] joined
the detectives in Baltimore. Louis
Snowden and Barney Dowd of the
Brooklyn detective force were there
and later Joseph Kiernan joined us.
On Sunday, June 6th, we received word
from New York City of the arrest of a
suspect there. A pedler had been locked
up in West Forty-seventh Street Sta-
tion. His resemblance to pictures of :
Hanel had caused the order for his ar-
rest by Julius De Caesare, of Twenty-
first Street, West New York, New Jer-
sey. De Caesare said the man asked
him to buy a pawn ticket for a watch
that had ees pledged in a pawnshop
in May, and _ his resemblance to the
pictures of Hanel made ‘De Caesare
feel that he had spotted the fugitive.
But the man proved his identity; he
was not the man with the eyes of a
wolf.

MONTHS passed and all our efforts
to trap Hanel seemed futile. Our
search of the ports had failed to turn
up a trace of the fugitive. We would
occasionally get a tip that he had been
seen in New York, in Philadelphia, in
Baltimore or in some smaller city, but
when each tip was run down we found
ourselves still far from the capture of
the slayer of Mrs. Heilner.

Detective Barney Dowd and | spent
much time in Baltimore. We plastered
the Baltimore waterfront with the
circulars describing Hanel and Captain
of Detectives McGovern of the Balti-
more department put all his facilities
at our disposal. Marshal Robert D.
Carter, head of the Baltimore Police
Department, .also was greatly inter-
ested in the case. His interest was
whetted by the fact that a man of
Hanel’s description was wanted in the
Monumental City for a robbery. An
orderly in Franklin Square Hospital,
in West Baltimore, in 1912, had robbed
William D. Weaver, a hospital em-
ploye of $104 and escaped. The miss-
ing orderly had suspicious-looking eyes,
eyes which might well be described as
the eyes of a wolf; so the Baltimore
police believed that the fugitive prob-
ably was the same man we sought for

The Master Detective

the brutal Brooklyn slaying. Therefore,
our search in Baltimore never relaxed.
Methodically, Dowd and | and some-
times other New York detectives fre-
quented the waterfront resorts around
Baltimore, showing the picture of
Hanel, in the belief that eventually we
would find some one who had seen him.

But it was a disheartening search.
More months passed, with Hanel still
at liberty. Over and over again Dowd
and | combed Baltimore, feeling sure
that Hanel would drift back to that
city; for during his employment in
Western Maryland the city had ap-
peared as a feces to him, one which
he visited on every opportunity.

On February Ist, 1916, nearly ten
months after Mrs. Heilner had been
beaten to death, Dowd sauntered
through one of the waterfront districts
in Baltimore. He did not look like a
New York detective, but resembled a
waterfront character. He was making
a casual call on a friend, a friend who
had appeared mysteriously in Balti-
more, out of work, a short time before.

This friend. of Dowd was Fritz
Schmidt, a New Yorker of German
origin, who had worked at the Seamen’s
Church Institute and had had oppor-

Hanel waived extradition and was
taken back to Brooklyn. His shifty
eyes gave an inkling of his thoughts.
He is shown handcuffed to Detective
Barney Dowd. Captain Coughlin

is standing to one side, watching him

tunity to look Hanel over thoroughly
while Hanel was looking for work—
which had turned up in the Brooklyn
home of the Heilners. Although there
were many more jobs open in New
York than in Baltimore, Schmidt had
drifted to Baltimore.

He was*looking for work in Balti-
more—especially in sailors’ boarding-
houses—because we wanted him there,
ready to spot the man with the eyes of
a wolf should he appear.

On this February Ist, when Dowd
visited his friend, Schmidt was happy
in a new job. He was working as a
sort of clerk in the Seamen’s Lodging-
House, a gathering place for sailors on
the East Baltimore waterfront, in
section characterized as “The Hook
Schmidt was mingling freely with the

”

sailors who swarmed the neighborhood,
but he gave Dowd to understand that
Hanel had not been seen there. Dowd
chatted awhile with Schmidt, exchanged
a few words with sailors in the house
and went on his way. The trap was
set; but the fugitive was showing the
craftiness that his eyes reflected and
the game of waiting went on.

E felt that we had Schmidt planted

in the right spot to trap our quarry
eventually, but the days went on with
no tangible results. chmidt i ad
to us secretly at regular intervals.

That «was still the situation on_Feb-
ruary 22nd, 1916, Washington’s Birth-
day, when Baltimore, like other cities
of the country, was celebrating the
natal day of the Father of His Country.
Baltimore was a hustling city; ship-
yards and ammunition factories were
working night and day; but it paused
to mark the holiday. The streets were
thronged, the city decorated with flags,
for Maryland is one of the Thirteen
Original States and takes the cele-
bration of national holidays seriously.

Now, Fritz Schmidt was not an
American-born, but he knew _ his
American holidays and he loved to
mingle with the throngs on Baltimore’s
streets, to step into the saloons and
rathskellers and talk over the news of
the world and the War with the per-
sons he met there. It was Washington’s
Birthday, and Fritz was determined to
enjoy it. Of course, in the back of his
mind was the oft-repeated instructions
we had given him—he was always to
look for the man with the eyes of a
wolf.

Schmidt, early in the afternoon;
walked from the Seamen’s home to
East Baltimore Street and then turned
west, looking into store windows and
gradually making his way to that sec-
tion of the street marked by burlesque
theaters, movie houses and other places
of entertainment. Just as patrons
were passing into the Gayety Theater,
at Baltimore and Holliday Streets, for
the matinee performance, Fritz stood
at the corner and scanned the passing
throng. As his eyes roamed over the
moving crowd something arrested his
attention. Deep in the crowd was a
figure for which he had been looking!
Fritz rubbed his eyes to be sure he
was seeing aright, then he moved for-
ward and looked intently again.

There before him stood the man
with the eyes of a wolf!

Fritz Schmidt faced the situation
which had brought him to Baltimore.
It appeared that the hunt of a year had
ended. Fritz had located our quarry.
But what was he to do? We had in-
structed him that should he sight Hanel
when we were not near he was to call a
pag and order Hanel’s arrest.

he faithful Fritz remembered, and
looked around for a policeman.

His eye found a man in blue, with
brass buttons—shiny buttons, at least
—on his coat. Surging toward the blue-
coated figure, but still keeping his eyes
on his quarry, Fritz cried, motioning
to the bluecoat:

“Arrest that man!”

The man in blue looked at Fritz in

examined the gory pulp that had
been Mrs. Heilner’s skull. The face
had been battered repeatedly with
some heavy implement, and around
the white throat a thin rope, about
the diameter of a lead pencil, had
been’ knotted tightly. Nearby lay
an empty beer bottle.

As Patrolman Blessman turned
to telephone detectives, he met Pa-
trolman John J. McGovern, whom
the Parkville Station had sent to
follow up Miss Buck’s call.

“It’s murder,” Blessman said
quickly. “You’d better stay here
with this young woman while I
call the Homicide Squad.” ~ -

Fifteen minutes later, an early
Dodge squad car roared up in front
of the house, carrying Detective
Captain John D. Coughlin and his
ace investigator, Detective Bernard
(Barney) Dowd. Both officers were
husky six-footers; Coughlin wore’
a heavy black mustache, while
Dowd, a younger man, was clean-
shaven. '

Hurrying into the house, they
were met by Patrolmen Blessman
and McGovern, who reported what
had been discovered up to that
point. Meanwhile, the. homicide
alarm had gone to New York Po-
lice. Headquarters in Manhattan,
and Inspector Joseph Faurot, fa-
mous sleuth, had dispatched two
fingerprint experts and an official
photographer to the scene.

While Captain Coughlin and De-
tective Dowd bent over the body
of Mrs. Heilner, an ambulance from
Kings County Hospital, siren howl-
ing, rolled up outside and Dr. Peter
Meuse hurried into the house, fol-
lowed by two attendants bearing
a stretcher.

Dr. Meuse stopped to eaxamine
the body, and shortly declared:
“This woman has been dead for
about two hours. Pending an au-
topsy, I’d say she died instantly
from heavy blows on the skull,
fracturing it and causing hem-
morhage of the brain. The cord
around. the neck has not been
drawn tightly enough to cause
strangulation.”

“What about the weapon?” ask-
ed Captain Coughlin. “Could it
have been that beer bottle fying
there?” .

“Very likely,” said the surgeon.
“But it will require an autopsy
to make certain. The curvature of
the bottle, if it was used, will ap-
pear in the -skull fractures.”

As the attendants removed the
body to the ambulance, waiting to:
take it to the Kings County Morgue
for the autopsy, Captain Coughlin
dismissed the patrolmen and with
Detective Dowd, took over the in-
vestigation. The fingerprint experts
had arrived and were going over
the woodwork and all other objects
for prints, while the photographer
had recorded the position of the
body and the scene of the crime.

“Are there prints on the beer
bottle?” asked Coughlin of the fin-
gerprint men.

“Yes,” replied one, carefully
sprinkling powder on the bottle,
which he held with rubber gloves.
“But we'll have to take this back
to headquarters before we can tell
if the prints are of any value.”

“Are they a man’s or a wom-
an’s?” -asked Coughlin, looking
sharply aside at Miss Buck, who
stood nearby, head bowed and a
handkerchief to her eyes.

“I can’t tell that either,” re-

/
ent,

plied the expert, “without blowing |

them up at headquarters.” j
“Let me know as soon as you
learn something definite,” said the
Captain.
While the fingerprint men de-

parted with the photographer,

Coughlin turned to Dowd. .

“Detective,” he ordered, “you go
over the house and see what you
can dig up. Meanwhile, I’m going
to do some questioning.” ‘

Dowd went upstairs to search
the upper floors, and Coughlin led
Miss Buck into the living room.

“Has the victim’s husband been
notified?” asked the Captain, as
he -seated himself beside the girl
on a sofa.

“Yes,” she replied. “One: of the
neighbors called his office and he
is coming at once.”

- “What time did he leave the
house this morning?” .

“About eight-thirty.”

“That left you alone in the house
with Mrs. Heilner?” ‘

“Oh, no!” Miss Buck hastened
to assure him. “There was Joe, the
handyman.” *

“Where is he now?” asked Cap-.
tain Coughlin.

“I don’t really know. I met him
going down the street. when I re-
turned from shopping. He didn’t
say where he was bound.”

“Miss Buck,” requested the Cap-
tain. “Tell me exactly what you
did between the time Mr. Heilner
left the house: this morning and
the time Mrs. Heilner’s -body was
found.”

The pretty young woman, whose
tears now were dry, took a deep
sigh and began her story.

“After Mr. Heilner left,” she said,
“I was in the kitchen, finishing
my breakfast when Joe—Joseph
Hanel is his name—came up from
the basement and asked if I was
going out to shop.

“I thought it was funny for him

- to ask that; he wasn’t usually so

curious. Then again, when I was
going out, about nine o'clock, he
asked me if I was going to be back
for lunch and said he was Sorry
I was going. I thought: he was
joking, and I laughed at him. Then
I went upstairs and checked my
list of things to buy with Mrs.
Heilner. She was in bed. I came
downstairs and went out.” .

“That means this fellow Hanel
was alone in the house with Mrs.
Heilner,” observed Captain Cough-
lin, narrowing his eyes.

. “Yes, it does,” agreed Miss Buck.
“Then about noon, I was on my
way back when I stopped in a cafe
on Newkirk Avenue and telephoned
the house. Joe answered and I ask-
ed him to see if Mrs. Heilner want-
ed me to bring anything else. Joe
said she had gone next door.”

“But wasn’t Mrs. Heilner {ll?”

“She had been, but she was go-
ing to get up today. I asked Joe
to go out and get her. In less than
a minute—not long enough for him
to go out of the house—he came
back and said I should give him
the message. I thought it was
strange, because I hadn’t heard his
footsteps on the stairs, which are
not carpeted. The telephone is up
there on the second floor, and when
anybody goes downstairs, it can be -
heard plainly over the wire.”

“Go on,” urged Coughlin.

Joseph Hanel (left), handy man in the Heilner home,

ech a

z
>.

ay 3 yee Ben

€

Sata :

is shown

with. Detective Barney Dowd—the sleuth who solved the case.

started walking up toward the-

house. I met Joe Hanel coming
down the street. I asked him where
he was going. He didn’t answer at
first. He just walked past me with
the big box he was carrying.
“Then he stopped, lifted one foot,
lighted a match on the sole of his
shoe and lit a cigarette. Then he
waved his hand in the direction
of the trolley line and said one
word: ‘Home.’ I couldn’t under-
stand it.” ;
“What did you do then?”

. “I hurried up to the house and -

_ found all the doors locked. I began
to get really worried. A little boy
was passing, and I called him over
to help me, because the windows
on the first floor are too high for
me to peek in. I boosted: him up
to the kitchen window and he told

“Well,” continued Miss Buck, “I ,,me he saw a’ woman’s body lying

took an elevated train and 2 trol- on the floor. Then EF went next .

ley car to Albemarle Road and

‘door and called police.”

A® MISS BUCK concluded her
story, Detective .Dowd came
downstairs to report to Coughlin
on his search of the upper rooms.
“Everything’s topsy-turvey up
there, Captain,” said Dowd. “The
bureau and chiffonier drawers have
been pulled out: and their contents

‘scattered all over the floor. It’s

such a mess, in fact, that I.can’t
believe even a robber would have
made it. Looks almost deliberate.”

“Hm-mm,” mused _ Coughlin.
“Well we'll have to wait until Mr.
Heilner gets here to find if any-
thing’s missing. I presume he’s the
only one who’d know about person-
al valuables.” <i

“Oh—I know,” interrupted Miss
Buck, and then bit her lip as if
she thought better of it,

“Yes?” asked the Captain sus-
piciously. “What do you know about
valuables belonging to the Heil-
hers?”

25 Sie aa A 21

rook-
been
is the
| con-
¢ job
t was
e my
xe the
‘yr we

| led to
is was
ut the
down-
ement
{1 met
ld me
rs and
killed
1. He
e mur-
in the
York,
uladel-
ed the
red the

Hanel
finger-
d been
Jeilner.
Brook-
1. His
of his
eat the
before
Funs-
freely.
\y after
still de-

Hanel
rints on
me and
‘es of a
stioned
aw the
ghtened
Cough-

Attor-

Kings
‘eady to
ken be-
ney and
s. drew
etective

to con-

hind his
‘ves and

I] just
lead and
s asked.

“She
ouse.”

June, 1932

“Tell us the truth,” insisted War-
basse.
“I intended to rob the house,” Hanel

continued, “but she surprised me.

grabbed the. bottle and struck her in
the head. She fell and I tied a rope
around her throat. She struggled and
1 choked her with a towel.”

“Was anyone with you?” the officer
queried. ;

“No, no one,” responded Hanel.
“After the murder I went upstairs and
packed the jewelry and | left the house
in about a half hour. On my way
from the house | saw Miss Buck go
up the front steps.”

Justice had been delayed long in
the hunt for Joseph Hanel, but it
began to move swiftly now. Immedi-
ately after the confession Hanel was
taken before a magistrate and pleaded

The Master Detective

not guilty to murder in the first de-

gree. Then he was sent to Raymond
Street Me held without bail. . A few
hours later he was arraigned in the
Flatbush court and was held on a short
affidavit. Heilner, the widower, and
Vogel, nephew of the murdered Mrs.
Heilner, went before the grand jury
and an immediate indictment was
found against the prisoner.

Hanel no longer was the man with
the eyes of a wolf. Fear swept his
soul and that. fear was reflected in
his countenance. Justice was movin
swiftly, and on March 6th, 1916, Manel
went on trial before Justice Crane and
a jury in Brooklyn Supreme Court.
Assistant District Attorney Warbasse
introduced the confession Hanel had
made in Baltimore over protests of At-
torneys Edmund J. Driggs and James

Startling Revelations of a Scotland

The water was ice cold—to try to
swim for another quarter of an hour,
with that paralyzing numbness increas-
ing, meant certain death. He was
swimming, only half-conscious, when,
he became aware of what he thought-
was a sailing boat about three hundred
yards away. It would be a Turkish
vessel . . . this was the end.

Suddenly through the pallor of an
Eastern dawn came a heartening shout:

“Hullo there!”

It was the E-11, still keeping vigil
for her missing officer, and gallant
Lieutenant D'Oyley-Hughes, enemy
agent against the Turks, was saved.

"Another daring feat successfully un-
dertaken by a British spy was sailing
a small sloop, disguised as_a Turkish
merchant boat, along the Dardanelles
into the Sea of Marmora. The sp
succeeded in blowing up the Haida
Pasha Asmerab, together with six
months’ stock of ammunition intended

- for the Turco-German Field Force.

THE importance of “Enemy Intelli-
gence” in warfare is illustrated by
the tragic fate of the British subma-
rine E-20. By some misfortune of war
the French submarine Turquoise, which
had been working in co-operation with
the British, was captured by the Turks
with her commander and entire. crew.
Her papers were handed to the German
Secret Service who gained much valu-
able information from them, including
the fact that the Turquoise had a ren-
dezvous in two days’ time with the
British submarine E-20, commanded
by Lieutenant Commander Warren,
near Rodoste.

Quick to seize their opportunity, the
German Secret Service wirelessed to
UB-15, one of their submarines lying
in the Black Sea. Just after dawn on
the morning of the rendezvous, the
FE-20 rose to the surface near Rodoste.
One slithering rush and a crash—and
a torpedo from_the waiting UB-15
sent the luckless E-20 to the bottom.

“Enemy Intelligence” in warfare is
so vital that it 1s impossible to lay
sufficient emphasis on the subject.

(Continued from page 48)

Nearly all the famous leaders in the
Great War have passed on. French,
Haig, Smith-Dorrien, Foch, _ Joffre,
Fisher, Tirpitz and von Kluck—men
whose names were household words—
one after another they have gone.

There is one man, however, the men-
tion of whose name still arouses a
storm of controversy; who, by virtue
of his greatness and the tragedy at-
tending the last days of his life, prips
the imagination even_ after this lapse
of time. I refer to Earl Kitchener of
Khartum, who was Field Marshal of
the British Army.

In spite of all that has been written
on the subject, rumors in regard to the
manner in which he met his death still
persist. Let me tell the authentic
story.

On June 5th, 1916—four days after
the battle of Jutland—the armored
cruiser Hampshire, with Lord Kitch-
ener on board, left Scapa for Russia.
Just off the Orkney Islands she struck
a mine and sank.

This mine was part of a minefield
laid by the German submarine J-75 in
charge of Lieutenant Commander Bert-
zen, under orders issued by Admiral
Scheer before the battle of Jutland.
The minefield lay to the west of the
Orkneys. The German Secret Service
knew that the British Fleet generally
used a route east of the Orkneys, and
the minefield was laid in readiness in
case our Fleet should suspect the pres-
ence of mines on the usual route and
take the western way.

Unfortunately, this is what the
Hampshire did—and for a reason which
no spy could have anticipated, namely,
that a great storm blew up from the
East! Members of Kitchener’s staff
did everything in their power to per-
suade the Earl to delay his journey
until the storm was over, but he was
adamant and would not hear of delay.

The Hampshire sank slowly. But
for the terrific seas it would have been
possible to rescue Lord Kitchener and
the greater part of the crew, instead
of the mere handful of men—twelve in
all—who survived the wreck.

ARAN ON TET a eaemmmeang

M. Faweett, representing the accused.
Two days later the jury brought in
a verdict of guilty of murder in the
first degree, and as the verdict was ren-
dered the savagery went out of the
eyes of Joseph Hanel and he fell to the
floor in’a faint. The sentence of death
was pronounced on March 13th, and the
week of April 24th—just a year and a
day after the murder of Mrs. Heilner
—was set for the supreme penalty.
But the usual appeal was taken and
the trial was reviewed by the Court of
Appeals. So it was not until September
Ist, 1916, that Hanel—now with eyes
that showed only despair—walked at
the side of Father Cashin, the Sing
Sing chaplain, into the death-chamber.
The once wolf-like eyes disappeared
under the grim cap and within a few
minutes they had closed forever.

Yard Detective

Immediately the news was known to
the public, rumors as to the manner of
his death, and even legends of his sur-
vival, became rife. Impetus was given
to these stories by the fact that al-
though the news was known in Berlin
at 10 o'clock in the morning, it was
not published in England until 1.30
p.M. Actually this was due to a mis-
take on the part of the Prime Minister,
the Press Bureau and the Admiralty,
but it was the basis of many of the
extraordinary rumors which circulated
for years after Kitchener's death.

I. was in 1921 that a film called
“How Kitchener Was Betrayed” was
shown to a distinguished audience—in-
cluding members of the British Parlia-
ment, peers, representatives of the War
Office and Admiralty, and Earl Kitche-
ner’s two sisters.

A good deal of publicity attended
the launching of the film, which was
said to deal with the alleged betrayal
of Kitchener by a woman and to de-
clare that Germany knew, through the
sinister influence of Rasputin, that
Kitchener intended sailing on the
Hampshire.

The film aroused widespread criti-
cism. There was, of course, those
who professed to believe its truth, but
one of the sisters of Kitchener declared
it an insult to the name of her brother.

‘The film was banned—and the public
was spared the ordeal of witnessing a
slander against a great and honorable
man who had been their idol.

In 1926, another dastardly attempt
was made to hoax the public; a story
appeared in a well-known Sunday
Weekly that the body of Kitchener had
been discovered on the coast of Nor-
way. A coffin was brought to Eng-
land from Norway. which was declared
by the sponsor of the story to contain
the body of Kitchener.

Once more controversy raged, and
eventually there appeared the follow-
ing lines in the Daily Sketch written by
a well-known journalist:

“I invented the whole story of the

—

amazement; then he looked at the man
whom he had been ordered to arrest.

“Get a policeman,” said the man in
blue, caustically. “I’m a fireman!”

As Schmidt stood in amazement, the
man with the eyes of a.wolf turned to
the fireman and said affably:

“Don’t pay any attention to him,
mister. He’s crazy. I have known him
for years—knew him in New York.
He’s always trying to have somebody
arrested.”

Then, before the puzzled Schmidt
could collect himself, his quarry moved
back into the crowd and the fireman
smiled his amusement. But Fritz re-
membered obstinately that he had a
duty to perform. He ‘burst into the
crowd and caught sight of Hanel dis-
appearing through the door of the
Gayety Theater, where a burlesque
company was singing the opening
chorus. Schmidt bought a ticket, too.
The holiday crowd filled the theater to
overflowing, but he got standing room,
entered the darkened theater, and for-
got all about the show in his eagerness
to spot his man. Schmidt couldn’t lo-
cate Hanel, but he would not leave the
theater even long enough to telephone
for help for fear he might escape. So
he stayed on through the performance.
moving to a corner where he could
watch two exits when the boisterous
crowd left.

FRUZS perseverance was rewarded.
It was late in the afternoon when
the show was over and darkness was
coming on. But Schmidt saw the form
of the man he wanted leave the main
door of the theater, cross Baltimore
Street and walk to the corner of Lex-
ington and Holliday Streets, obliquely
across the street from the Baltimore
City Hall. This time Fritz kept in the
background until he was sure two blue
coats near him covered policemen, not
firemen. Slipping to the side of Patrol-
men Bavis and Garner, Schmidt pointed
to the moving Hanel, and said:

“That man is wanted in New York
for murder and robbery. Grab him!”

With Schmidt at their side, the two
policemen swept forward through the
crowd and laid their hands on Hanel’s
arms. Joseph Hanel was in the hands
of the law—and Fritz Schmidt wiped
the perspiration from his brow, despite
the chill of a February evening.

The protesting Hanel was hurried to
the Baltimore Police Headquarters,
where he was questioned first by Mar-
shal Carter. Soon Dowd and I reached
headquarters. Hanel sat on a chair. in
the detective division with his accusers
before him. During the examination
I was extremely eager to learn how he
had evaded us for so long. At first
Hanel denied knowledge of the Heilner
tragedy but continued questioning
brought from him a confession that he
was guilty of the robbery of the Heil-
ner home, but a stout denial that he
had any part in the killing of Mrs.
Heilner. Bo ok

Hanel said he had an accomplice in
the robbery and the accomplice was
guilty of the savage attack on the
philanthropic woman. More of that
later. I wanted the story of Hanel’s

The Master Detective

flight, and got it after continuous ques-
tioning.

Immediately after the robbery,
Hanel recalled, he had seen Miss
Buck approaching the Heilner home
just as he left it. Then he went to the
saloon on Coney Island Avenue, stay-
ing there for some time, just as had
been learned by Captain Coughlin and
his men. Boarding the Smith Street
car, as we had learned, Hanel went to
Manhattan and got on a train for
Philadelphia. Immediately after reach-
ing the Quaker City he had gone to the
pawnshop on South Ninth Street, where
we later recovered the gems, and
pawned the earrings he had taken from
Mrs. Heilner.

At this point another link was sup-
plied in the chain we had woven in the
long hunt for Hanel. While in Phila-
delphia he had applied for the job of
cook with the Barnum & Bailey Circus.
He had expected to join the circus in
Trenton, just as the circus folk had told
me, but for some undetermined reason
he had changed his mind and had gone
to Hancock, in Western Maryland.
And while he was in Western Mary-
land, in Hancock and Cumberland, |
was traveling around the country as a
circus employee!

Late in the summer of 1915, Hanel
had gone to Martinsburg, West Vir-
ginia. He had been using the names
“Joseph Warwick,” “Joseph B. Pettus”
and, at times, “John Kessler”. In
Martinsburg, he said rather proudly, he
had taken rooms in a house only two
blocks from the jail and had known the
sheriff, jailer and a large number of
Martinsburg policemen.

“I joined the Berkeley Club there,”
Hanel said smiling, “and went to ban-
quets where | met many prominent per-
sons. I had a great time at a banquet;
there on Thanksgiving Day. ,

“For a time I returned to Balti-
more,” he continued, “and lived at one
hundred and ten West Mulberry Street.
In Baltimore I used the names’ Joseph
Warwick and Joseph B. Pettus.”

Hanel said he was working for a
large fruit-grower near Hagerstown,
Maryland, at the time of his capture.
He had been staying out of Baltimore
for fear he might be recognized there,
but when Washington’s Birthday came
he decided to make the trip to cele-
brate the holiday—and then Fritz
Schmidt entered the scene.

“THINK of it,’ said Hanel. “I

wouldn’t have been caught if
Schmidt hadn’t come to Baltimore
looking for work!”

The man with the eyes of a wolf did
not know the inside story of Schmidt's
Baltimore pilgrimage.

But it: was not only-the story-of his
flight that came from Hanel. Realiz-
ing that he would have to go back to
New York for trial, he came through
with his confession of the robbery in an
attempt to shield himself from the mur-
der charge. His confession in Balti-
more was as follows:

“My name is Joseph E. Hanel, and
I am known as Joseph Warwick and
Joseph B. Pettus. Until April 23rd,
1915, I was employed as a butler in the

home of Mrs. Julia Heilner in Brook-
lyn. Before I got that job I had been
living at a lodging-house, known as the
Seamen’s Mission. There | met ——
(He gave the name of his alleged con-
federate) who said he had got the job
as butler in the Heilner home but was
not going to take it. ‘Here are my
clothes,’ he said to me. ‘You take the
job. I took the job and later we
planned the robbery.

“We met several times and finally
decided that the next day on which the
maid (meaning Miss Buck) was off |
was to call him and he was to come and
see me, and we were to do the robbery.
On April 23rd, 1915, the maid took a
day off. I phoned to my pal and he
hurried-to the Heilner home. I let him
in the house and told him to hide in
the pantry. I went upstairs as though
to make the beds.

“WHILE I was upstairs he called to

me, ‘Joe, it’s all right,’ This was
a signal that all was O. K. I put the
jewelry in a paper box and went down-
stairs. We separated on the pavement
outside the Heilner house and met
again in a saloon. My pal told me
Mrs. Heilner had come downstairs and
surprised him and that he had killed
her. We decided to leave town. He
did not tell me the details of the mur-
der. I read it all the next day in the
papers. I went first to West New York,
New Jersey, and then on to Philadel-
phia the same day. [| pawned the
jewelry in Philadelphia. I planned the
robbery, but I did not kill.”

But, in making this confession, Hanel
did’ not know that we had his finger-
prints on the bottle which had been
used in the murder of Mrs. Heilner.
Dowd and I took Hanel back to Brook-
lyn after he waived extradition. His
shifty eyes gave an inkling of his
thoughts—he thought he could beat the
emurder charge. He was taken before
Inspector Gray and Lieutenant Funs-
ton and, apparently, talked freely.
That was on Wednesday, the day after
his capture in Baltimore. He still de-
nied any part in the murder.

But on the following day Hanel
learned of the tell tale finger-prints on
the beer bottle in the Heilner home and
he became the man with the eyes of a
hunted wolf. He had been questioned
by Captain Coughlin, who saw the
shifting eyes of the now frightened
Hanel show signs of weakening. Cough-
lin informed Assistant District Attor-
ney Herbert N. Warbasse of Kings
County that Hanel was about ready to
break and the prisoner was taken be-
fore the Assistant District Attorney and
detectives. As the detectives drew
around him, Hanel turned to Detective
Barney Dowd and said:

“T can’t sleep. I’m ready to con-
fess.”

Then the fugitive buried behind his
cupped palms those wolf-like eyes and
said softly:

“T didn’t mean to kill her. I just
meant to knock her out.”

“So you struck Mrs. Heilner dead and
then robbed her?” Hanel was asked.

“No! No!” Hanel screamed. “She
was not dead when | left the house.”

June, 1

“Tell
basse.
“Tan
contint
grabbe
the he
around
] chok
“Wa
querie
“No

ately
taken

—

_ L. Heilner, grief stricken, hurries ‘to his home

green-budded trees along
fashionable. Albemarle Road
in'the Flatbush section of Brook-
lyn. A balmy Spring breeze was
blowing in from New York Harbor -
and the day had dawned bright
and clear. In the big, three-story
brown frame house at Number 217,
Seligman L. Heilner, tall,{ bemus-
tached president of the Princess
Corset Company, went upstairs to
bid his wife, Julia, goodbye before
leaving for his office in downtown
Manhattan. :
Mrs. Heilner, a petita, dark-hair-
ed matron in her early forties, was
sitting up in bed,.an expensive neg-

RR “ereen-vacer singing in the

ter notification that his

’

wife had been murdered.

“Yes, darling,”: replied Heilner,

‘bending to brush her cheek with

ligee about her shoulders, reading

the morning newspaper. She smiled .
sweetly as her husband: entered
the room.

“Did you have a “ good’ breakfast,
dear?” she inquired.

oe compete tine ina

a kiss. “How are you feeling this

morning?” ;

’“Much better, My cold’s almost

completely gone. I think I'll get
lp today.”

Better take it easy. If-you over-
do, you’re liable to have a relapse,”
cautioned Heilner.

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Heilner re-.
assured him. “Helen won’t let me.
- She’s been so. good about taking
over everything. I want to keep her
permanently.”

“Good idea,” agreed her husband.
“T'll speak to Helen about.it on
the way out. Good-bye, dear.”

Downstairs, Heilner walked back .

to the kitchen where pretty, 19-
year-old Helen Buck, whom he had
hired: recently as a companion for
eae was’ finishing her break-
‘as

HE WAS A

JUDAS WHO ACCEPTED

THE KINDNESS OF A FRIENDLY
HOME ONLY TO REPAY HIS DEBT
WITH COLD-BLOODED MURDER

By DAVID ROBINSON GEORGE
Special Investigator For

SENSATIONAL DETECTIVE

“Miss Buck,” he, said, “my. wife
likes you so much’ that she wants
you to stay on here indefinitely.
Would you like to?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the chest-
nut-haired girl, rising. “I love to
work for Mrs. Heilner.”

“Fine. That means I can devote
amyself to the business without wor-
rying about Julia.’ With this war
over in Europe, orders are pouring
in. People are making more money,
and they’re buying more. I hope
this country doesn’t get into the
scrap, though.”

“Yes, Mr. Heilner.”

“We're German, you know,” con-
fided Heilner. “If America enters

' the war, my business is liable to.
suffer. Well—you take good care
of Mrs. Heimer, now. I won’t be

home until late this evening.” -
And with this, Heilner left the
house for his office. The date was
April 23rd, 1915.
Four’ hours later, at 12:30 PM,

a yellow light flashed on the tele- :
’ phone switchboard at the Park-

ville Police Station and the officer
on duty connected the call to the
desk sergeant’s phone.

“Police station?” inquired a wom-
an’s anguished voice over the wire.
“This is Miss Helen Buck. I work
for Mrs. Julia Heilner at 217 Albe-

“marle Road. I’m calling from the

house next door. Something ter-
rible has happened to my mistress.
You must come at once!”

Ten minutes later, Mounted Pa-
trolman Gustave Blessman gallop-
ed up the street on his prancing

roan, scanning the house numbers

along Albemarle Road. At 217, he
quickly dismounted. From the side
of the house,
meet him. Following -her was a
small, frightened boy.

“Oh, dear; oh, dear!” she cried,

near hysteria. “If only I had taken-

my key, I could get i I hope it
isn’t too late!”

“Calm down, now, Miss,” soothed
the officer, placing his hands on
the young woman’s_ shoulders.
“What’s this all about?”

“In there,” she gasped. “A wom-
an—lying on the kitchen floor, It
must be Mrs. Heilner. We must get

.to her at once!”

Hurrying to the kitchen door, Pa-
trolman Blessman forced it with
a single push of his shoulder, and
entered with Miss Buck. Walking
through the kitchen, they stopped
short at the entrance to the pantry
as a gruesome sight confronted
them. Miss Buck clapped one hand
to her mouth to stifle a scream,

There on the floor lay the body
of Mrs. Helilner, still clad in negli-
gee, her slippered feet pointing to~
ward the doorway and a white
table cloth, through which blood
was seeping, wrapped around her
head. Bending over the body, the

‘officer removed the cloth, revealing

that the woman had been the vic-
tim of a murderous assault.

“She’s dead!” murmured Bless-_

man, and Miss Buck began to sob
bitterly. ;
The young woman averted her

eyes in horror as the patrolman . :

Miss Buck ran to ~

y y YS son ‘to Philly s Ht once and canvass the
s wnshops there. Since H has-
POSTAL. PRINTING PRESS 9h eecaeearee eek Hid of the jewels
fee th with: cross beame, | AS: = 8 here, 4 it's possible he has done so

there.”

‘Dowd took the next train for the
\| Pennsylvania city, and meanwhile,
|] the-copy of Hanel’s prints arrived

t.:*headquarters.- As Captain
Coughlin and other police officials
waited expectantly, fingerprint ex-
perts: compared the prints with
those taken from the bottle which

A¥5 i

k plate simplifies. make-ready. © 5 fri LES
Step-by-step instructions, ~ % sf gt

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By notion had. been used to kill Mrs. Heil-
. Tags, ores ner. They matched perfectly! There
“and shop was’.no question now of Hanel’s

fousbs9Ug pOU0pzON at
Supinp panujzuoosyp 9Q OL

guilt, ‘nor, of the strength of the
jj case against him. But he still was
at large.

; pawnshop to pawnshop in_ the

the missing Heilner jewels, but at
each, the proprietor shook his head
negatively. Then, shortly before 11
o'clock, he met success. f

Loan Company at Fifth and Vine
Streets, Dowd showed the list of
gems and the wanted circular to
Abraham A. Lindsay and William
L. Leahy, the proprietors...

“Why, yes, I think we can help
|| you,” said Lindsay, walking over
to the vault, In a few moments,

$ CARDS... MOVIE TITLES. .
{TING DEALERS’ NAMES...
1 Lodge tickets, meeting notices,
nee programs, slips, price lists
special labels, blotters line cuta,
1oleum ‘blocks, coarse screen half- ©
le color work,

NEY unless you wish. MaN onler
A prices perenes. MONEY BACK

counter with ‘a set of earrings—
in a plain setting and with a pearl
center surrounded by chip dia-

peng she Rl ee eet Ere oes imation tnd denarigtion
a n* ose e
) THIS AD and MAIL TODAY oe se oo te = pattactiy*: ‘ake, Dawe: enemies
Special press
“ ” i
BROTHERS _ 2932 Whitney Ave., Mt. Carmel, Conn. | “Tiodpey trokta ct the ticket.

“George Harley,” he said and Dowd’s
face fell,

“But,” broke in Leahy, the other
proprietor, “the man who pawned
these was the man whose picture

or Unused Stamps

Py , manted “at Peed fece value

to 19, face value

on 200 to 5c. Renal ‘ge nantities 85%

bt STAMPS REGISTERED. MONEY
URN MAIL.

BARGAINS!!
Used Home-Study dy Courses
Bought - Sold - Rented -

ARBER SERVICE... 72-PAGE = Write today for big FREE fi is on the circular!”
e., Dept. 2704, New York city ILLUSTRATED a cotaten explaining tile a “Fine,” exclaimed Dowd. “What's

CATALOG courses and educational the address?”
pater sub; 100% satisfacti
FREE = yan re angeitvable be bea ae “He gave it as. No. 212 South
We See 38.9 ri ma at once! 3 No 276," Snicaed Tenth Street,” replied Lindsay.
- mag | “I'll go there at once,” said Dowd.
READ TR U- LIFE __ i “Meanwhile, please hold these ear-

5 OF FUN win...

" PHONOGRAPH rhea to

"into your mixed ae parties
PHONGGHATH iuscitt ‘They

ith sinzling, side-spli Co
“and ‘whecratie, Write for Fisittt

sand wh tS

ke your f 5
ee roo he il. D ET E CT 1 Vv E | rings until I get in touch with local
erman St., Dept. 18, Chicago, tit.

'| officers, We'll have to impound
them.”

“I'm glad we're insured against
loss,” exclaimed Lindsay. .

yi Became |
a Hotel |
Hostess

*Y Tete Gliey

‘How I Ste pped_
wens BIG-PAY™ am
Hotel Job Baz
1 | Bon oe Beet! :

rooming house, Dowd learned from
the landlady that a man of Hanel’s
description, giving the name Har-
ley, had taken a room there Friday
night, paying for one day. He had

Boal ‘Operator, Without i wi Hoot Eoper | planation.
: perience, Became . thout Experience, :
isokeoper of Beautiful Hotel B Pp Hotel Mase ger | Questioning the landlady further,

however, Dowd learned that “Har-
ley” had asked her if she knew
.where he could get a job as a

auty operator, barely earning “Immediately afteb receiving my. Lewis
ep going. The luckiest thing diploma | gave up my job as accountant
ve hy beg sth prime e i Roary . position obtained for me
low | have laced wis Placement Service at one of Barn

ational Placement Bureau as | the East's most famous resort hotels. At agg aed one y Povo
akeeper of this Pennsylvania | the end, of the | was i as, Silex) playing across tne ‘7
respected, ‘secure, well-paid— | manager of a hotdl in Pennsylvania. Later | #ware River at Trenton.

at this is one business where | | came to this hotel. Each change meant Dowd, now exhausted, put up at
opped because you're over 40. | an increase in salary. All credit to Lewis a Philadelphia hotel for the night.
g did it all." Training." He called Captain Coughlin be-

P INTO'A.WELL-PAID'HOTEL POSITION... _|orery' af the suoics earrings

covery of the stolen earrings.
men and women everywhere winning success in hotel, club, restaurant and “Fine!” came Coughlin’s voice
field—as, tay vag

over the wire. “That’s the clue
1 55 other types of well-psid positions. ‘New the Goverament’s “victory” food, | that'll burn Hanel.”
recreation_program_means greater opportunities than ever before, Previovs- ~Then. the-Captain -proceeded to

unnecessary in this business where you're not-dropped because you are | tell Dowd about Hanel’s_ prints
d grade school education, plus Lewis Training qualifies you at home in leisure checking with those on the bottle
today for FREE book which tells how to qua lify for a well-paid position; and Dowd went to bed with the
you are: registered, FREE of. extra cost, in’ Lewis. National Placement Service,

LEWIS HOTEL TRAINI is grim conviction that Hanel’s days
NG SCHOOLS. were measured.
eae GUNES \ 2... Washington, D.C. inion 0, LOT |

For three hours Saturday night,
Detective Dowd wearily went from

Quaker city, showing the list of |

In the offices of the New York

he emerged and returned to the

At the Tenth Street address, a _

left that afternoon, without ex-

steward or a cook, She had direct- .

_Early Sunday, Dowd took the

train to Trenton, only to find that
the circus had pulled up stakes
during the night.and was on the

way to Baltimore...

Hopping a train for the Mary-
land city, Dowd.arrived there just
as the circus was unloading to. open ;
on the following day. Going to the Ss
commissary department, he asked
the manager if either a Joseph
Hanel or a George Harley was
working there.

“Harley?” repeated the manager.
“Yeah, I hired a Harley yesterday
in Trenton as.a cook. I advanced
him something on his week’s pay ,
because he said he was broke. But “ -
soon as we got here today, he beat
it—and with two days’ wages!”

“Is this the man?” asked Dowd,
showing him the circular.

“Yeah!” gasped the manager, eyes
popping. “A murderer; eh? We'll,

Tl be horn-swoggled!”

Detective Dowd next went to "4
Baltimore ‘Police. Headquarters,
where he.told officers of trailing
Hanel to their city. He turned over
another 500 circulars to them, and ¥
these promptly were distributed to
all precincts there.

But midnight Sunday came and
passed, and Hanel still was at large.
Detective Dowd took a room at a

Police Commissioner
Leon G. Godley. ome

ad that

stakes

on the

Mary-
2re just
to.open
; to the
2 asked
Joseph
ey was
ianager.

osterday
dvanced

ok’s pay .

ke. But
he beat
iges!”

4d Dowd,

ger, eyes
? We'll,

vent to
quarters,
trailing
aed over
em, and
buted to

ume and

at large.
om ata

s anne and Foreign orders $1.25 in advance.

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ets ‘ADDRESS TODAY. he
PAUL CASE Dept. 466 Brockton, Mass.

“He’s a slippery customer,” Dowd
observed, “but I'll keep ‘plugging.”

Or MONDAY . morning, - while

streets of Baltimore, a man an-
swering the description of Hanel
was taken into custody at Ninth
Avenue and Nineteenth Street,
South Brooklyn, by Patrolman
John Muller. He gave his name as

an iron worker. At the address he
gave, .the landlady said he had
been there a week. The resem~
blance to Hanel’s photograph was
startling, and Captain Coughlin
eagerly had him fingerprinted. But
the. prints of his fingers did not
match those of Hanel, and Hans
Mueller was released. —

A week passed, without further
trace or reports of Hanel, and Dowd
reluctantly. returned from Balti-
more, leaving local officers on the
alert for the hunted man.
Dowd returned to the murder
scene, again canvassed the neigh-
porhood for witnesses that might
have been ‘overlooked and once
more followed Hanel’s trail from
Brooklyn to Philadelphia, from
Philadelphia to Baltimore. But
again, the trail ended in the Mary-
land city. Temporarily balked, but
undaunted, he went back to Brook-

April became May, and May pass-"
ed into June. Then, on June 21st,
a sensational story broke in the
newspapers. . ,

A magazine editor told reporters
and police’ of being accosted by
a beggar in the Ridgewood section
of Brooklyn, only a few miles from
the Heilner house, who bore a
striking resemblance to the picture
of Hanel. The man was hollow-
eyed and gaunt, and his physical
dimensions were those of the fugi-
tive, the editor declared. Captain
Coughlin went to see the editor
at once, and thought there might

dered five of his men, including
Detective Dowd, to scour the vi-
cinity in which the beggar had
been seen, but after twenty-four
hours, the search was abandoned.

June became July, and July went
into August, and Hanel still eluded

+ eapture. But Detective Dowd con-

tinued to make regular trips each

worked with local officers in comb-
ing the city, block by block. .
Summer passed into Fall, and
Fall became Winter. The newspa-
pers forgot the sensational Julia
Heilner murder case, but never,
for a:‘moment, did Captain Cough-

as hopelessly unsolvable. .
The year 1915 became 1916, and
then,.one gray day in February,
with a heavy snowfall—unusual in
Baltimore—blanketing the streets,
Barney Dowd was rewarded for his
vigilance. Soy Rte ay enon ;
He had returned to Baltimore on
one of his regular visits, which he
now made monthly. Canvassing &

1 | neighborhood in suburban Balti-

more which -he had not -covered
before, Dowd casually exhibited a

well-worn . circular to a bartender

Dowd still was tramping the \ elock, which pointed to four-thir-

Hans Mueller and said he was.

in?” 4
“The barkeep looked up at the

, Just about this. time,” said

of the shipyards.” — } :
No sooner had Schmidt spoken,
then the swinging doors parted,
.and in strode the real-life counter-
‘part of the picture on the circular
_ Dowd held in his. hands—Joseph

as if burned. « - . :
“Joseph Hanel,” said Dowd quiet-
ly. “You're under arrest for. the
-murder of Mrs. Julia Heilner. Bet-
ter take it easy, I’ve got you cov-

6 THINGS T
DID FOR THIS

HIS

” se ee ee Idity
Hanel blanched § and @ wild look|| savtrcice instar: | 2>s0x%
of terror glistened' in his eyes. the ni it th
Err ite he babbled, lips|| Bet egret gex | ates
quivering, “but so help me God, I {Desens (Iilustrated) pa
didn’s Kill ee." sien Meng St
0 did?” woe ‘
sd pal.” | se Oe Bex, Stimulation 5
“That's what they all say, Han- reaucter ol Hoter facts
_ el,” said Dowd bitterly. “Come dn of Sex Sen- baie
along now. I’m taking you back ane? voce 6. mane
to Brooklyn—unless you want to|) “utilise. | ie"
fight extradition.” ot Bex Disappointments
tert ao” sald Hanel willing-|| satiny” | BOGS

ly. “I can explain everything. I’m

not afraid.”

On the following

‘morning, Feb-

be something to the story. He or-.

week-end to Baltimore, where he.

lin or Detective Dowd consider it -

ruary 23rd, Dowd took Hanel into
Central Police Court at Baltimore
before Magistrate Suplee and there,
the prisoner formally waived his
rights and agreed to return al-
though Dowd lacked either a war-
rant or extradition papers. .
Late that day, back in Brooklyn,
Captain Coughlin. and Detective
Dowd took to headquarters, where
he was formally booked on a homi-
cide charge. Then they took him
-to the office of District. Attorney
_ James C. Cropsey for further ques-
tioning. For three hours, he with-
«stood the combined barrage of
barbed queries fired at him by
Cropsey and Inspector Faurot, who
had. joined the grilling. Finally,
sweating under pressure of the or-
deal, he broke down. oS
“{ killed Mrs. -Heilner,” he con-
fessed in. a shaking votce, “but I
didn’t mean to do it. I was drunk.”
“Tell us just what happened,”
gaid the District Attorney, nodding
_to a stenographer: who sat nearby,
notebook in hand. ~ ..
“On the morning of April 23rd,
I had been drinking heavy,”: con-.
tinued Hanel. “To be honest, I was
full. I met Mrs. Heilner in the
kitchen, where I’d been taking the
beer. out of the icebox without her
knowing it. She was very mad at
me. She picked up an.empty bot-
tle and said: ‘What do you mean
‘py drinking like this?? Then she

‘tried to lock ber up‘ in the pantry.
She screamed, and I grabbed the
bottle she was holding and hit her
-with it. But she only screamed
more, so I hit her again and again.
She fell to the floor, still scream-

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Heilner’s body, I noticed her wed+
ding ring was missing. She always
wore 1627) 3:

“You're pretty sharp,” observed .

|.| Coughlin, “Did you notice a ae :

else missing?” .
“I couldn't say,” replied “Miss

| Buck, “unless you check her jewel —

box. She usually wore earrings, but .
of course, she didn’t have. them
on while she was in bed.” :

At this point, Mr, Heilner burst

+into. the room, breathless from run-

ning. He was ghastly white. rs
“What’s happened,to Julia?” he
exclaimed in a) voice’ thick with

} emotion, “What's happened, Hel- .

en?”
Miss Buck blushed at Heilner’s

| mention of her first name and.Cap-.

tain Coughlin caught the reaction.
“Your wife,” said the Captain
as gently as possible, “is dead. She

‘has been murdered.”

Heilner sank into a chair and
covered his face with his hands.
After a few moments-of inward
struggle with his emotions, he look-
ed-up and asked tonelessly:
‘“Who did it?” os":

“That's what we'd like to know,”
Said Coughlin. “Mrs, Heilner was
beaten to death—we think with a
beer bottle—some ‘time between
your departure this morning and
Miss Buck’s return from a shop-
ping trip at 12:30.” :

Heilner looked bewildered, “Poor
Julia!” he murmured in pain.
“I-am sorry,” continued Captain
Coughlin, “but we must proceed
with the. questioning. Mr. Heilner, .
‘how. long have’ you known this
young woman?”

Miss Buck blushed scarlet and
the color returned to Heilner’s pale
cheeks, | f

“About three saosin said Heil-
ner,: “I hired her as a companion
for my wife, because I have been
required to spend long hours at
the office and Mrs. Heilner hadn't
been well. Miss Buck’s work has
‘been very satisfactory, and we had

_ intended ‘keeping her permanent-

“You'll pardon. the Anference,”
said Captain’ Coughlin, who was
habitually polite, “but we must not
overlook any possibility that some-
one in this household wanted to
get Mrs. Heilner out of. the way.”

“Oh, I hope you don’t think that
Mr. Heilner—that I——” stammer-
ed Miss Buck. .

. “An investigator,” Captain
Coughlin . replied, “must .always
keep an open. mind.”

The questioning was interrupted

3 here by the ringing of the tele-

phone, and Detective Dowd went
to answer it. He returned a few
moments later and reported to the
Captain:

“That was the fingerprint bureau
at headquarters. ‘They've establish-
ed that. the prints on the bottle
are. unquestionably those. of a
man.”

“Good,” said Coughlin, shooting i.

a@ quick look at Miss Buck. “ That
narrows our Aeld of suspects to
men.” * : i
“Captain,” wiipbebed Dowd,
“shall we have Mr. Heilner check
over the property upstairg , to see
if anything is missing?” ’: ;
“Right. That’s the next. move.”.
Half an hour later, Heilner had.

‘|completed checking ‘the contents
of the drawers and had given Cap-

‘Julia Heilner was murdered in this house.
on Albemarle Road, Brooklyn,. New York.

tain. Coughlin a list of valuables
which apparently had been stolen.
The missing articles included
four rings, a silver-plated toilet
set, a pair of silver-plated military
brushes, a sterling silver hand mir-
ror and most valuable of all—a pair
of screw earrings with a .plain
setting, and a pearl center, sur-
rounded by chip diamonds.

“It looks as though the motive .

was, robbery, all right,” said Cap-
tain Coughlin. “And all these valu-
. ables, especially the earrings, ought
. to be traceable if the criminal at-
‘tempts to pawn them.”

The ringing of the phone inter-
rupted Coughlin again and he
answered it himself; The caller was
Dr. Meuse, who just had completed
the autopsy. ,

“The shape of the indentations
in the skull match the curvature

of the beer bottle,” said the sur- °

geon’s voice over the wire. “And
the cause of death, as I ‘surmised,
was the skull fracture. The at-
tempt at strangulation apparently
was an after thought.”

“What about criminal assault?”
asked the Captain. “The victim’s
.clothes were in disarray, and we
thought there was some likelihood.”

“I can’t say definitely,” replied
_the doctor, “but there seems to
have been such an attempt.” -

Captain Coughlin hung up the
receiver and turned to Dowd.
“We're making progress,” he said.
“It was the beer bottle that killed

Mrs, -Heilner, the slayer was a.

man, ‘and the motive probably was
robbery. The only persons in the

' house with Mrs. Heilner this morn-

ing, so far as we know, were Miss
Buck and Joseph Hanel, the handy
man: Mr. Heilner, tell us about
this fellow Hanel. What ‘do you

; enw: about ossig li

“We took this man in a month
ago out of the goodness of our
hearts,” began Heilner. “He was
a@ countryman of ours, born in
Vienna, and he had been working
on the Vaterland as a steward un-
til the war broke out. He had been
staying at the Seamen’s Mission
in Manhattan, and when we ad-
vertised for.a handyman, the mis-
sion people sent him to us with ~
a@ recommendation. We had some
better applicants in mind, but we

felt sorry for this_man because

he ,.was down and out and one of °
our kind, :

“After he had been with us for a
few days, I gave him a cigar and
asked him how he liked his position
and he said: ‘It is like being in
heaven.’ I gave him an occasional
cigar because I thought it would
make him more appreciative. My
wife even got beer in the house
for him, to keep him out of the

. Saloons. We make him wear a white

coat, and he is,a man of all work
and butler for us.”

“Did your wife ever drink beer?”
asked Captain Coughlin,

“No, never,” replied Heilner. “She
bought this beer only to keep this
Hanel away from the bars. She
didn’t object to his drinking—he
is a German—Germans drink ‘beer,
you know—but she didn’t want him
to take too much. We never have,
heard of him being drunk. We pay
him $15 a month and his main-
tenance.”

“It is now almost four o'clock, ”
said Captain Coughlin, looking at

_ hig watch. “Have you any idea

where Hanel is?”
“I don’t,” said Hellner, ‘and Miss
Buck also shook her head. ~
“Detective Dowd,” said ; ne Cap-

tain. “Everything .seems” Point
. © Hanel as the man we want.”

because
ad one of ©

us for a
igar and
3 position
being in
ecasional
it would
itive. My
he house
it of the
ra white
all work

ak beer?”

ner. “She
keep this
oars, She
aking—-he
rink "beer,
want him

ever have, -

x, We pay
ais main-

“Right,” agreed Dowd. “His stall-
/ Ing on the phone when Miss Buck
‘called, his hurried departure with

the box, which probably contained
his loot and his evasion of her
question about his destination all
look bad for him.” “ 2
“Mr. Heilner,” requested Cough-

“jin; “describe this man for us.

We're going to send out circulars
for him.” ae.

LESS than two hours later, press-
es in the Police Department’s
printing bureau were busil:

_ ing off the 25,000 circulars ordered

sent out for the apprehension of
Hanel. . ‘

Reproducing & picture from the
passport Hanel had left behind in
his room, the circular carried the
following text:

WANTED FOR MURDER
Joseph Hanel. Age 35 years;
height, 5 feet, 3 inches; weight,

Detective Captain
John D. Coughlin.

. ployed on ships as & steward.»

‘at the corner of Church and Coney

rhe
x

130 pounds; dark hair, brown eyes, ;YOUR HOSPITAL
thin face; wore dark soft telescope | | ra
hat, dark suit, white shirt, high
collar, size 15. .This man was em-

ote i]
Sept hah 5

Meanwhile, Detective Dowd was
hard at work following Hanel’s
trail from the time he last was
seen by Miss Buck. ‘Ata saloon

Island’ Avenues, several blocks from
the Heilner house, Dowd learned
from a bartender that a man an-
swering ‘Hanel’s ‘ description had
_ been: there between 12:30 and 1
had drunk two
straight whiskies, - the. bartender:
said, carried on & casual conversa-
ry -German accent

thrown around the city. With In-
spector. Faurot and Deputy Police
Commissioner Leon Godley at New
York Headquarters, Coughlin com-| §
pleted the details of the plan ‘to

capture Hanel. sre
~ " Bvery pawnshop in the city was

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agency in the city was given one
of the circulars, which also- were
- dispatched by special delivery to
police departments in eight ad-
jacent states. The system, radically |:
new in 1915, was the forerunner
of. the present-day “eight-state
alarm” sent out by teletype and
radio. So the murder of Julia
Heilner was the first case in which
the circular system had been used
on such a speedy and intensive
scale.

Patrolmen on tour were told to
guard. the ferries.and all railroad
stations and bridges leading out of
the city. But despite all this un-
heard-of publicity, hour after hour
slipped by and- Joseph Hanel re-
mained at large. ;

On the following day, early in
the morning of~ Saturday, April
24th, police at Poughkeepsie, New
“York, sixty miles up the Hudson
River, telephoned to New York City
Headquarters that they had arrest-
ed a man there answering Hanel’s
description. Detective Dowd left at
once by train; but by the time he
reached Poughkeepsie, the prisoner
had satisfactorily identified him-
self as another man. —

Later that day, the Philadelphia-
Police Department called the New
York Department by long distance
telephone with the information,
that ~Hanel had served a prison
term there~for burglary. Further, |
said the Philadelphia officers, they

» were sending a copy of Hanel’s fin-
gerprints to New York ‘by: special
delivery! ;

“Captain Coughlin immediately
conferred’ with Detective Dowd on
this new development. -

“Hanel apparently has: spent
some time in Philadelphia,” said
Coughlin, “and it seems likely that
if he left New York, he might re-

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cat ah a ili Aa edtigs a

metas I tied the cord around her
neck. Then: she stopped.” >
What about the jewelry?”

“Well, I knew I had to get out.

*“Did you attempt a criminal as-
sault on Mrs. Heilner?”
-“No!”. Hanel shouted, and. then
buried his face in his hands.

‘Two days later, Hanel was in-
dicted for first degree murder by
the Kings County Grand Jury. He
pleaded not guilty, and was held
without. bail.for trial. .

On: March 6th, Hanel went on
‘trial,-and his attorneys, Edmund
J., Driggs and James M. Fawcett

,| 2ereed with Assistant District At-

torney Herbert N. Warbasse that
the defendant had killed Mrs. Heil-

| ner. They argued, however, that it

was during a drunken argument
and without premeditation.

So I decided to take what I could”
.} along with me.” .

But the jury refused to believe
the defense contention, and
days later; feturned a verdict o!
guilty as charged. On March 13th,

“Hanel was led before Supreme — :

Court Justice Frederick G. Crane,

who had conducted the trial, and

sentenced to die in the electric
chair the week of April 24th.

A series of appeals by Hanel’s at-
torneys won him a reprieve until
the following Fall, when Governor
Whitman refused a final plea for
commutation of the sentence to life
imprisonment,

Early in the morning of Septem-
ber Ist, 1916, Hanel was led to the
Sing Sing electric chair and strap-
ped in, murmuring a prayer and

clutching a crucifix. At 5:22 A. M..

he was dead. The erstwhile handy-
_man had paid the full penalty for
‘the brutal murder of a defenseless
woman.

YOU CAN'T GET AWAY WITH

THE SAME CRIME TWICE
(Continued from page 9)

I thought I_heard a noise in the
house but we looked around and
there wasn’t anything. But this
morning, when I went to my linen
closet—well, you ought to see.”

I. wanted to! see and she led us
to the bathroom and opened the
linen closet door. At first blush it
was apparent that someone had
spent considerable time in that
closet—doubled up on the bottom
shelf. The sheets and towels were
wrinkled and there was mud on
them. There was also blood—and
one sheet had been torn to shreds,
part of it undoubtedly used as a
bandage.

“So Schmueker hit him,” I said

jand I thought it: was no wonder

he had disappeared. It was no won-
der he had escaped our net. He had
been right with us all the time—
just a few yards away. But I gave
him credit. He’d been quick think-
ing and cool about it.

“Of course you haven’t any idea
when ‘he: left here?” I said to
Mrs. Herdin. :

“Lord, no,” she said. “If I had...”

“You didn’t hear anything during
the night?”

“No; we sleep upstairs, you see.”

“Was the back door unlocked or
any of the windows open when you
and your son went to the front
porch during that excitement last
night?”

“That’s the strangest part of it,”
she said. “It’s too cold for windows
to be open and the door was pos-
itively locked. When I- thought I
heard that noise my son and I came
inside and looked around. We
checked the back door then.”

“I see,” I said. And I did see. I
saw we were dealing with a high-
ly skilled thief—one who carried
tools for every emergency. Un-
questionably he was shrewd. He'd
proven that by the manner in
which he’d got away from the
crowd and the officers at the scene
of the crime. He was a cold, quick

g.and dangerous man—a
dope fiend and almost without any
doubt" an ex-convict. Amateurs in
crime don’t- come that skillfully
cool. ‘ ‘

Cecil Grooms and I dusted that
bathroom and linen closet for fin-
gerprints. We found lots of them
but when developed they either
had been made by Mrs. Herdin and

her son or they were no good.

WE FOUND blood in the yard anda
on the back porch of the Her-
din home. Not much, but some.
This and the evidence in the closet
caused me to go back to the jail
and make my sixteen recent pris-
oners strip. None of them bore a
wound so I released the fourteen
we had. arrested in the general
round-up. I held the two boys I’d
arrested in Caraway .because I
wanted to know more about them,
though I of course knew they’d had
nothing to do with the Haley case.
“And now,” I said to Cecil
Grooms. “We start all over.” “But
it seems to me with a little more
to work on,” he encouraged.

“That’s right,” I said. “The man

we want is a known thief, a man
with a record. Aside from that he
is wounded—I hope. badly enough
to need*the services of a doctor.
In that lies our one best chance
of nabbing him.”

To be assured of full coverage,
I not only called all nearby doctors
but I notified the Arkansas State
Medical Association of this develop-
ment. I felt quite sure, with one
of their-own members near death
from a cowardly bullet, all of them
would co-operate with me. I also
again called the Arkansas State
Police and told Superintendent
Gray Albright what I had.

Albright listened attentively.
Finally he said, “I’m going to send
one of my men up to see you—
Trooper Bert Frazier. I think you
two ought-to get together on this.”

Though we had relieved them,
we hadn’t as yet taken the guards
off the roads and from the im-
mediate neighborhood of the shoot-
ing. Cecil Grooms and I now visit-
ed all Of these, asking if any of
them had seen a man with a limp.
None had. They’d let a lot of people
pass, of course; but only people
they knew or people with a mighty
good story.

“So he either got through or he’s
still hiding inside that ring,” I
opined. . .

“Likely he got through,” Grooms
said. “It’s almost impossible for a
guard to keep a man on foot from
passing -through some hole—and
the man we're’ looking for is pretty
resourceful, don’t forget.” ‘

There was no way I could forget
that—and I had something else

4
a

A PREMONITION OF DIRE DISASTER
PERMEATED THE ATMOSPHERE, AND ©
THE SHADOW OF DEATH HUNG Low
OVER THE OLD MANSION. THEN, IT
HAPPENED! WHO WAS THE FIEND
WHO TURNED A GHASTLY NIGHT-

MARE INTO A SHOCKING REALITY?

T nine o’clock in the morning, George Drake stopped his delivery H
wagon outside the palatial home of Mr. and Mrs. Seligman Heilner, ~~

at Albemarle Road, Brooklyn. New York, and rang the bell. There
was no immediate answer, and Drake, in a hurry as usual, reached
out to give the doorbell another push. He checked himself suddenly.
Angry voices, a man’s and a woman’s, came from the open kitchen
window.

Drake shrugged. This was none of his business. He rang the bell
again. This time the familiar face of Joe Hanel, the butler, appeared
at the door. hy

“Good morning, Joe,” greeted Drake.

“Morning!” snapped the butler as he snatched the basket of groceries
and slammed the door. It was Joe Hanel’s voice, arguing heatedly, that
Drake had heard a moment ago.

Less than an hour later, Hilda Johnson, the Heilners’ pretty, 22-year-
old maid, left her employers’ house and softly closed the door behind
her. She walked to the corner and boarded a street car. After a short

ride, she got off and paid a visit at the house of her girl friend. It was

Hilda’s day off. -

st
BS
ey = =

at, bid
a taxi.

out of
» house.
ey, she
ind she
banged
rindow.
ier key,
lock. It
or heel
cilner’s
i John
ith her.
2d open
inside
dupa
Oo was

quietly,
‘ident.”’
‘an was
or help.
nger to
oor.
{eilner.
at -""as
id
he

» head-

The murdered woman's jewelry, stolen by the slayer, was cleverly dupll-
cated and played a major role in smashing this baffling mystery,

The murderer, in a frenzy of rage, wielded a beer bottle with
stunning force, Time and again he pummeled and slashed his
helpless victim with the jagged-edged bottle until she dropped.

quarters and-in a few minutes, the
swank mansion, located in the heart
of one of Brooklyn’s most exclusive
residential districts, was swarming
with police activity. Doctors pro-
nounced Mrs. Heilner “Dead on Ar-
rival.” There was no question but
that she had been beaten to death.
The probable weapon, a smashed
beer bottle that was caked with
blood that. was not yet fully dried,
lay on the kitchen floor.

Impressed by the fact that all the
doors and windows had been tightly
locked when the body was discov-
ered, the police made a thorough
search of the premises, hoping that
the killer had not yet had a chance
to flee the scene. But they were
disappointed. ;

Detective Inspector Joseph Faurot
took immediate charge of the case.
His chief aides were Detectives Ber-
nard Dowd and William Roddy.

Joe Hanel arrived just as the
police were lifting the body of Mrs.
Heilner on a stretcher. He stepped

awkwardly into the room, conscious
of the intense scrutiny by the in-
vestigators, and shuffled over to the
corpse. He peered for a moment at
the mashed features and shook his
head.

“So it finally happened,” he said
softly.

Pressed for an explanation of his
cryptic remark by the police officers,
the burly, powerfully-muséled but-
ler said, “For weeks now, poor Mrs.
Heilner has been living in dread of
something like this. She often told
us that she wasn’t long for this
world. Death, she told us—violent,
horrible death—was on its way for
her.”

“Did she give any reason for her
fears?” he was pressed.

“Dreams,” answered Hanel
promptly. “She had nightmare
dreams in which Death, clad in a
woman’s white and flowing robes,
came to her and beckoned Mrs.
Heilner to follow. The ghost-
woman’s hands were always

Detective Inspector Joseph Faurot was
stymied by the puzzling case until he
worked out an elaborate trap which the
killer went for -hook, line, and sinker.

smeared with fresh, dripping blood.”

As he listened to the astounding
story, Inspector Faurot made a men-
tal note of the seriousness of the
butler’s tone. Even on that realistic,
wind-swept April morning, it was
impossible to listen to Hanel’s story
without feeling something of the
fear that underlay it. Perhaps it was
the man’s eyes. They were hypnotic,
small and beady; strange eyes that
stared with pin-point focus as
though intent on seeing things be-
yond the pale of reality.

Faurot (Continued on page 38)

market and entered the house by the
front door. I laid down the basket
and started to take my coat off before
going into the kitchen. The _tele-
phone rang, and I answered it down-
stairs. It was Miss Johnson inquir-
ing about the mistress. I asked her
to hold on while I went upstairs to
check. Mrs. Heilner was not in her
room, and I took it for granted she
had gone out for a walk. She often
does before lunch. Besides, I called
out for Mrs. Heilner, and she didn’t
answer.” ;

“Didn’t you go into the kitchen
then?”

“No, sir. I still had an errand at
the tailor’s. .I planned to put away
the groceries on my return. When I
got back, the house was full of po-
lice.”

The sharp memory of Inspector
Faurot added a touch of credence to
the butler’s statement. When Hanel
had re-entered the house, he was
carrying his master’s blue serge suit
on his arm. A huge basket of gro-
ceries was on the living room table.

After a half hour of further ques-
tioning, the interview was terminated.
Nothing definite had been learned by
the police. The details of Hanel’s
story would be checked fully.

N the next several hours, Faurot

and his fast-moving staff examined
the dozens of reports on various
phases of the case that were begin-
ning to pourin. No .
fingerprints had

clerks were able to corroborate his
statement as to the time of his arrival
and departure. He had appeared a
trifle more grim and unsmiling than
usual but this could easily be attrib-
uted to his mood of resentment to-
ward Hilda Johnson.

George Drake, the delivery man,
came forward and volunteered _in-
formation about the argument he had
overheard in the Heilner kitchen. The
man’s voice, he was certain, was Joe
Hanel’s. The woman’s might have
been Hilda Johnson’s, but he wasn’t
positive. Since he had not been close
enough to hear the exact words spoken
by the pair, his information was of
only slight value.

In the fear-ridden eyes of pretty
Hilda Johnson at least a segment of
the answer to the riddle of Mrs. Selig-
man Heilner’s murder lay hidden, In-
spector Faurot felt. But before he was
ready to search further into that phase
of the investigation, he first delved
deeply into the meager facts of her
private life. He and his aides learned
that Miss Johnson had led a com-
pletely uneventful and serene life up
to the moment Fate had tossed her
headlong into this spectacular mur-
der mystery.

She was a high school graduate and
had lived with her parents until she
accepted employment at Mrs. Heil-
ner’s. She was single, of ‘excellent
character, and had never even re-
motely been within the shadow of a

been, found on the
beer bottle. The

bottle itself was
definitely estab-
lished as the mur-

der weapon. Lab-
oratory tests of the
broken bottle
showed that the
killer had savagel
continued to neenek
the defenseless
woman with the
jagged pieces of
glass after the bot-
tle had been
smashed. The au-
topsy report added
little that was not
already known
about. the actual
cause of death. The
time of the fatal as-
sault was estab-
lished as being be-
tween the hours of
nine o’clock and
noon that Tuesday
morning, April 23.
Following through
all possibilities, the
opinion of the au-
topsy surgeon indi-
cated the murder-
ous attack could
have been com-
mitted by a woman
of average strength.
A careful house-
to-house inquiry
among neighbors
of the slain woman
failed to produce a
worthwhile lead. A
check was made at
the market where
Joe Hanel said he
had gone to transact
the week-end shop-
ping for his em-
ployers. Several

|
et

police investigation before this time.

Friends who were questioned about
her declared without hesitation that
she was truthful, honest, loyal, and
completely devoted to Mrs. Heilner.
She was practical, realistic, hardly
viven to fanciful thoughts.

Yet it was these precise qualities in
Miss Johnson that most perturbed the
shrewd Faurot. He remembered the
fearful overtones in her voice when
he had questioned her first. He re-
called the astonishing reason she had
given for suddenly leaving her friend’s
house and rushing back to the Heil-
ner mansion. She had been seized
with what almost amounted to a
psychic “disclosure.”

Extraordinary indeed for a practical,
realistic, down-to-earth young
woman! :

Feeling that perhaps the key to
Miss Johnson’s remarkable _ turn-
about in behavior was caused by the
atmosphere of the Heilner mansion
itself, Faurot directed his two aides,
Detectives Dowd and Roddy, to con-
duct an intensive search into the af-
fairs at the murder mansion before
Mrs. Heilner’s death. Mrs. Heilner’s
strange, fatalistic belief in her own
violent death needed some explain-

ing, too.
Expertly, the two sleuths ,delved
into the curious’ problem. They

learned that Mr. and Mrs. Seligman
Heilner were kindly folk whose
humble beginnings were not forgot-
ten despite their
¥ great wealth.

Charitable and al-

A ways anxious to
4{ help others, they

ame’ =6pr made their home a
focal point for the
neighborhood needy
and distressed. To
the kitchen door
came a weekly pa-
rade of men and
women who needed
help. No one was
turned yey Food,
money, clothes
were distributed
often by Mrs. : Heil-
ner herself.

Then suddenly, a
few ‘weeks before
her death, things
changed the house
of charity. Mrs.
Heilner somewhat
invalided, was de-
nied full enjoyment
of her daily walks.
She was confined
to her room for long
hours of daylight.
The once cheerful
house that was a
showplace in the
neighborhood _ be-
gan to lose its hap-
py atmosphere. The
shades were drawn
in quietude.

What had caused
the drastic change
in the house and its
occupants?

Faurot was cer-
tain that whatever
the answer was, it
lay in the realm of
cold, hard. fact and
not in fantasy and
dreams.

But Hilda John-
son had no reason
to doubt that her

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mistress feared impending tragedy,
nor that they had come from her
nightmarish dreams of terror. In an
interview at downtown police head-
quarters that lasted several hours, the
paid companion of the murdered
woman. calmly gave her statement.
She could advance-no theory what-
ever for the fatal attack upon Mrs.
Heilner.

“What about Joe Hanel?” Faurot
asked her flatly. ‘Did he ‘have any
reason for killing your employer?”

“No one had a reason for killing
her. She was the kindest person in
the world.” .

“Yet she was struck down In cold
blood.”

Miss Johnson spread her palms in
an attitude which indicated her total
— of comprehension of the wicked

eed.

Faurot hitched forward in his worn
leather chair, his lips tightly set. He
said, ‘“You mean to tell us, Miss John-
son, that sitting in your friend’s house,
out of a clear sky, you got a ‘feeling’
that your employer was in mortal
danger, and that’s why you had to
rush to her aid?”

“Hardly out of a clear sky,” she re-
minded him firmly.

“You mean the dreams Hanel told
you about were preying on your
mind?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

No amount of questioning could
shake Miss Johnson loose from her
strange story. Did she know more
than she was telling? Was the reason
for her silence the same nameless fear
that had kept Mrs. Heilner’s lips tight
closed and had caused her to hide be-
hind a fabricated story of nightmare-
dreams? Was the girl afraid that any
statement she might make would
bring upon her the same fate that had
overtaken her mistress?

From the beginning, Detectives
Roddy and Dowd felt that the killer’s
identity might be revealed in a run-
down of the dozens of persons seeking
charity from the kindly Mrs. Heilner.
Had one of the supplicants, fancying
himself snubbed or insulted, sought
his revenge in brutal murder?

It was a tempting theory. Perhaps
Mrs. Heilner had convinced her-
self that one of the seekers after her
help was shamming, and_ she had
deliberately avoided him. Or perhaps
hunger and poverty, gnawing at some
unfortunate wretch, had filled him
with a hatred of the wealthy, and he

had blindly struck at Mrs. Heilner
in retaliation. .
Dramatically, a quick lead was

“turned up by the two sleuths when
they questioned a gardener-caretaker
on the next block. He recalled that,
on several occasions in the week prior
to the murder, he had observed a tall,
thin stranger loitering in the vicinity
of the Heilner house. On one occa-
sion, he had rung the doorbell. But
he had gone without waiting.

He had been standing within the
shadow of a giant oak tree that flanked
the east walk of the mansion on the
morning of the murder!

Hilda Johnson and Joe Hanel were
eagerly questioned about the tall man
who had stalked the murder mansion.
Neither could give any clue as to his
identity. According to the gardener,
the man was fairly decently dressed.
He was smooth shaven and in his mid-

dle thirties.

Neighbors were requestioned, but

only one recalled having seen the
stranger. The neighbor, a matronly
woman who lived across the street,
told Detective Roddy she had seen
him only once—on_ the morning of
the murder, about half-past nine.

“J didn’t get a good look at him,”
the woman explained, “and the only
reason I noticed him at all was that he
seemed in no hurry to move on. He
just stood there, near the tree, .as
though he were waiting for somebody
to come out of the Heilner house.”
Unfortunately, after several minutes,
the neighbor lost interest and walked
away from her vantage point near the
cao It was the last she saw of

im.

A DESCRIPTION of the stranger
was distributed to police officers
everywhere in the vicinity. _News-
papers took up the search. Friends
and relatives of the murdered woman
were carefully interrogated. But
several days passed without a lead.
But the police were not destined to
remain long in the dark about the tall
man of mystery. On Thursday morn-
ing, April 25, a man
into the office of Inspector Faurot and
calmly announced he was the person
the entire police force of New York
City was seeking.

“T read in the newspapers that the
police were anxious to talk to me so
here I am,” he announced.

He gave his name as George Roller,
a steam fitter. He was, he explained,
a member of an organization whose
duty it was to distribute religious
pamphlets throughout the city. Tues-
day was his day off, and his efforts
had taken him to the Albermarle
section in Brooklyn.

“You went from house to house?”
Faurot asked sharply, remembering
that only one of the Heilner neigh-
bors had seen him.

The steam fitter flushed. “No, sir,”
he admitted. ‘Frankly, I sometimes
have trouble getting past the servants
in the more exclusive homes.”

Faurot said quietly, “As I under-
stand, you loitered around the house
for nearly a half-hour. Then, after
the servants left, you tried to get in-
side?”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t see Mrs. Heilner?”

_ “No, sir. I rang the bell several
times. I got tired of waiting and went
away?”

“You saw no one, spoke to no one?”

The man hesitated a fraction of a
second. “That’s not exactly correct,”
he admitted. “I happened to glance at
one of the windows upstairs, IT saw
a man’s face peering at me and then
it disappeared.”

Eager questioning revealed that the
window was in Mrs. Heilner'’s room!
Roller had gotten only a momentary
glimpse of the man’s face. He could
not describe the man’s features in any
detail. But he was certain that the
man had worn a high, white, starched
collar. He was bare headed.

Who was the man whose face Roller
had seen in the murdered woman’s
room at a time when she was sup-
posed to be alone in the house? If
Roller was telling the truth, he had
probably glimpsed the face of the
killer himself.

Roller’s statement was checked in
every minute detail. It was quickly
established that he was telling the
truth. He was taken to the rogues’
gallery and asked to examine hun-

(Continued on page 46)

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While she and her friend were sipping
tea, Hilda, without a word of warning,
turned white as chalk, stared wildly
about her, and then sank back against
her seat on the sofa and began to moan.

Amazed at Hilda’s extraordinary con-
duct, her friend demanded to know what
was wrong.

“It?s poor Mrs. Heilner,” moaned
Hilda. “Something terrible has hap-
pened to her.”

“Was she ill when you left?”

Hilda shook her head.

_ “Then wh... .” her astonished friend:

began.

“She’s in' danger, awful danger,” she
sobbed. Despite every effort to comfort
her, the young servant continued to
voice her fears.

Sensibly, Hilda’s friend prevailed
upon her to call the Heilner residence,
and assure herself, by telephorie at least,
that everything was all right. Hilda
agreed. She talked with the butler and
learned that her mistress had gone out
for a walk a little while ago.

“She will be back in half an hour,”
Joe Hanel told her.

Hilda hung up. Far from being reas-
sured by the telephone call, she became
more agitated. “I have to leave right

away,” she decided suddenly. “I’m going , oh tudy ‘6# the st is "tits
back to the house.” planned and. executed, his story cleverly ¢
te wierts only won. him a trip oO. ah

paid aged y-atrGck Mis. Seligman Wellner: mistrhaé
ori ‘elegant home, located in the heart of the old,
“*@Xetusive residential. section ‘of. Brooklyn,” New. York. °
, a ; / nee ao

y pas.
bolt

Hurriedly, Hilda got into her coat, bid
her friend goodbye, and hailed a taxi.
She told the driver to go fast.

As soon as she arrived, she got out of
the cab and ran up the steps of the house.
Too agitated to search for her key, she

-rang the bell. No answer came, and she

hurried to the kitchen door and banged
on it. Then she tried the kitchen window.
When it resisted, she fumbled for her key,
found it, and tried to open the lock. It
didn’t budge. Hilda turned on her heel
and ran across the street to the Heilner’s
nearest neighbor. She persuaded John
Fetik, their butler, to come back with her.

Fetik, a big, strapping man, forced open
the kitchen door. He took a step inside
the room, then stopped and held up a
restraining hand to Hilda who was
crowding on his heels.

“Get the police,” he told her quictly,
“there’s been an accident, a bad accident.”

Mounted Officer Gustave Blessman was
the first to hear Hilda’s screams for help.
He didn’t need Fetik’s shaking finger to
point out the body lying on the floor.

It was indeed Mrs. Seligman Heilner.
She was covered with a sheet that was
drenched with blood. Her face, neck, and
shoulders were savagely battered. She
was still alive, but unconscious.

Blessman put through a call to head-

quarters ar
swank man
of one of B
residential
with police
nounced Mi:
rival.’”’ The
that she ha
The _ probal
beer bottle
blood that. -
lay on the |
Impressex
doors and w
locked whe
ered, the |
search of tl
the killer hi:
to flee the
disappointec
Detective
took immed
His chief aic
nard Dowd
Joe Han
police were
Heilner on

turned to Hilda, hoping that from the
slim, attractive maid, he could learn
something more tangible than a tale of
dreams and ghost-women. But Hilda
was equally mystic. In a voice that
seemed almost detached from her
body, the young woman related how
she had visited her friend. Then she
described the vivid mood of fear for
her mistress’s safety that had seized
her. “It was like somebody had sud-
denly opened the window and a dank,
sour smell, unlike anything I had
ever known before, floated in. It was
as if a —a wind had brushed against a
corpse and reached me. I immediately
remembered my poor Mrs. Heilner.
This is it, I told myself, this is the
moment of death.”

Dabbing at her eyes, she looked
away from the detective as though
her recital was over, but Faurot
quickly brought her back to the busi-
ness at hand.

“Is that why you came back to the
house?” he asked her. “I under-
stand it was your day off.”

“I had to come back,” she sobbed.
She related how her phone call to the
Heilner mansion had failed to reas-
sure her.

“You are sure it was Hanel, the
butler, you spoke to?” Faurot ques-
tioned her.

A queer gaze came into her eyes
momentarily. “It was a man’s voice,”
she said uncertainly. “I—I guess I
just took it for granted it was Joe’s.”

“He told you Mrs. Heilner was out
for a walk?”

“Yes. But Mrs. Heilner
leaves the house before noon.”

“And you came back about twenty
minutes later?”

“That’s right.”

“Every window and door in the
house was locked?”

“Tightly. I had to go for help to a
neighbor. One of their servants
broke open the door.”

“What time did you leave the house

never

. this morning?”

“At ten o'clock.”

“You saw Mrs. Heilner before you
left?”

“{ did,” said the maid promptly.
“She was upstairs in her room.”

“Who else was home with her?”

“Joe was just on his way out. There
was no one else.”

“Joe Hancel left the house before
you did?”

“He did.”

“Then you were the last person
known to have seen her alive?”

“J_-guess so.” :

“And one of the first to see her ly-
ing on the floor in the kitchen, beaten
nearly to death?”

An offended tone crept into the
pretty young woman’s manner as she
perceived the intent of the detective’s
questions. ‘

“It just happened that way,” she
whispered.

Faurot nodded to some fingerprint
men who were examining an ash
tray near where the young woman
sat. Then he turned again to her.
“The police,” he told. her gravely,
“would appreciate any help at all you

RIDDLE OF THE ENCHANTED MISTRESS

(Continued from page 31)

can give, Miss Johnson. As a per-
sonal. servant to Mrs. Heilner you
knew her habits intimately. Joe
Hanel told us your mistress was ex-
pecting death—violent death. Can
you tell us why?”

“Of course,” said Hilda Johnson
promptly. “He said it was the dreams
she was having. They warned her.”

The famous detective was patient.
“Maybe she had those dreams be-
cause she was troubled and uneasy,”
he suggested. “Something was mak-
ing her afraid. She feared harm
from some source close to her. She
was conscious of it all the time, and
she even dreamed of it at night. Of
whom would Mrs. Heilner be afraid,
Miss Johnson?” .

2 phen’ the comely young woman
shook her head. But the experi-
enced Faurot detected an undercur-
rent of concealment in her mute reply.
Unquestionably, Hilda Johnson was
holding something back. Was it fear
that was sealing her lips? Faurot did
not press the point right now. There
would be time enough to wrest the
truth from the paid companion-
maid of the murdered woman when
the police learned more about the de-
tails of the crime itself. Experts
working in that direction, promised
autopsy, fingerprint, laboratory re-
ports as quickly as possible.

The husband of the victim was told
the dread news of his wife’s death.
He could shed no light whatever on
the murder. He had left the house a
little before cight o’clock that morn-
ing, had driven to his office down-
town, and had been there until the
moment he was contacted by the in-
vestigators.

A search through the house revealed
that about seventy dollars in cash and
a few articles of inexpensive jerry,
were missing. On_ the surface, it
appeared that Mrs. Heilner had been
the victim of a thief who, surprised
in the act of robbing the swank man-
sion, had seized the nearest weapon at
hand, an empty beer bottle and had
battered Mrs. Heilner with it. Then
he fled.

This explaination of the slaying was
pat but not too convincing. It did not
explain the queer psychic warnings
of death attributed to the murdered
woman for weeks prior to her death;
it did not explain the cryptic remark
by Joe Hanel, “So it finally happe::ed.”

And if all the windows and doors
in the Heilner home were tightly
locked when the body was discovered,
how had the killer escaped? Surely
no casual burglar would have fore-
sight enough to arm_himself with a
key to the place and then carefully
lock the doors and windows behind
him. Also, Faurot could not erase
from his mind that look of shock and
amazement he had seen in the eyes
of Hilda Johnson.

Detectives Dowd and Roddy, work-
ing closely with Inspector Faurot,
took over the leg-work of the in-
vestigation. John Fetik, the neigh-

bors’ butler who had first seen Mrs. ©

Heilner sprawled near death on the

floor, was questioned. He supported
Hilda Johnson’s statement about the
actual discovery of the beaten woman.

Joe Hanel was brought to Inspector
Faurot’s office for questioning. After
only a few minutes with the husky,
square-jawed butler, it was obvious
to Faurot, Dowd, and Roddy that the
man had something on his mind. It
was likewise obvious that he would
have to be urged to impart the in-
formation he was trying half-hearted-
ly to conceal.

Faurot played along. First, he
questioned the butler about his activ-
ities on the morning of the murder.
Hanel stated that he had gone about
his routine duties until nine o’clock.
Then he prepared to leave the house
to complete the week-end shopping as
was his custom. Mrs. Heilner was up-

* stairs in her room reading. Mr. Heil-

ner had left the house an hour, ago:
Hilda Johnson was in her room down-
stairs, and her door was closed.

“It was her day off,” Hanel began’

a trifle reluctantly, “but she seemed
in no hurry to leave.”

“Was this unusual?” Faurot asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Hanel eagerly, his
reluctance to talk about the subject
slipping quickly away.

The inspector measured Hanel with
his eyes. “Why do you suppose Miss
Johnson wanted to remain?” he
asked.

A gleam of anger flashed in_ the
butler’s eyes. “Miss Johnson didn’t
like me,” he said frankly. “She
wanted to be in the house after |
left so that she could complain to the
mistress about me. Behind my back.”

“What about?”

“Miss Johnson accused me of cheat-
ing on the daily accounts.”’

The time now was ripe for drawing
out Hanel fully. “What do you think
happened at the house after you left
to go shopping?” the sleuth pressed.

“Miss Johnson lost no time going °

upstairs to see the mistress. She tried
to poison her mind against me. Mrs.
Heilner wouldn’t listen. Miss John-
son grew furious. They came down-
stairs into the kitchen and argucd
some more. And then... .” Hanel
stopped with an eloquent gesture of
spreading his hands palms upwards.

“Pretty weak,” Dowd declared
flatly.

“Weak or strong, that’s what I be-
lieve happened,” the butler said
firmly.

Roddy asked an unexpected ques-
tion. “In what room is the telephone
in the Heilner house?” he asked.

“Upstairs, in the master bedroom,”
Hanel replied. ;

“Is there an extension downstairs?”

“There is.”

Roddy thought a moment. Then he
said sharply, “If your theory of the
murder is correct, how does it hap-
pen that after Miss Johnson left the
house, she called back from her
friend’s apartment, talked to you,
and you assured her that Mrs. Heilner
had gone out for a walk. Her body
would be lying on the kitchen floor.”

“I can explain that,” said Hanel
promptly. “I-came back from the

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HARRIS, Carlyley ne YN), Ne Ye May 8, 189

So ~ & \ 3-H Youc Taco

whee
what! 40:1 wweat)” re
Fil be hanged if E knew,” repiiod Commis.
ae Sanaioonaned
r
‘ tremp stored. 04. the

Commissioner and
to serateh his head. Suddenly ther
‘look: of re is e7e, he

Pas “ rs : Fad
Di ‘OF PEOPLE etobe TO THE
pENTRAL PARE Lakes. |:

of skating hseé ell the fen. they:

fer yeeterday on: the: upper. and

wee lakes. in: Central: Park: Tne Hariem
. was alse « ‘with’ people, but those
® wanted have’ ample room. to cut the
wing?’ andifgure, Pirares soughs the.

‘ lakes, =-
the timathe akbting. began at10 A. M.
Mh it: emtedat:10 Fe M, the lakes: were well

ire

; gay o
condition, Aare ae the
2 ond. ot ried oe lake, where it had

a badly outupe skate. pibnared te have.

ry] ¥e
WT hie lis

.50* the 6)

‘skin Shoe?

-sole French calf-.
At’ $7.50 ;, or our won-

. | derfal, $5 patent-leather: Shoe.

_ Every one is good enough for
an essay by itself, but not a. whit
better than’ our clothing.

: There's not a douds of it; we self boys’ shocs—the
good surts at lower prices than any one else,
° 1. |

| ROGERS, PEET & CO.

peee€ (Prince,
| sncabwar{ vw
STORES, 32450"

AGAINST CAPITAL “PUNISHMENT.

IMPRISONED FOR LIFE!

‘Tn the Jersey City Tabernacle last night the/
paster, the. Rev: John L. Scudder, preached on
the subject of * The Savagery of Capital Puon-—
ishment; or, Thoughts Buggested by the Harris
Trial”;

Mr. Bendder. said in part: “The system of
-oapital punishment. dates. back as far as the
Bible times, when the o)d Jewish law of an eye
for an eyé ant. a tooth form tooth prevailed.
According to our’ present system, if A knocks
out B’s eye; it is lawful for B to dostroy A’s

_| sight If C: breaks. D’s' tooth, D can have bis

choice of any one of C’s teeth. Whem e. man
commits a morder the. community as/m whole

_follews his example by patting. him to death.

One breaks the comm ment, * Thopt shalt not
kill,” just. as muoh as the other.

* Our savage ancestors: have léft us several
legacies.’ One of them is the love of show and
gaudy dress; and another is legal marder. In
many countries this system has been abolished.

‘lL This ie so in many of these United States, and

in time capital - punishment” will, be; umknown.:
Tm many an instances. m gailty? of ;murder:.
has beer allowed to escape: ase some of the.
men Sven om: the jury were. enlightened avd.

in. capital:
< ent’ for: Nutter ob

1 {mprlocetmant fore withont hope: of pardon
would stop ten times: as masy murders as

$ syetem does. :
On Brae exgontion sae

Carlyle: Harris. I de not

Sieesvocs sabuesetiens any elroumstances.

Yer the young man himself I have: the utmost

I think he shoala epend the rest a
in entire isolation and s

ete es 8.

agets:| |: Sa i Res URE aR

| ASBURY. Parny Me J... Feb. 5.— George. Potts;

| tether of Holew Potts Hartis, is: working hard

te prevent Cariyis. Ww. Harris frem ouentning s.

| new trial:
pe bat: "Last week representative. of: Distriet attors:
5 ‘ney Nicoll spent. several: days in Asbury’ Park:

i affidavits: front inti-
Siemens pe aaa
‘that Mise Potts: was- addicted te the caer palnel ‘
habit: nee thee om a Hicoll’s. repeccenta’s
tive and: a to eeeure the: afidavits,.
whieh wili ten to-morro

RL ieepensree Bowe: &- “Hammers. offee int
here erg im the interest of H Harria.::

| +, Mabbedy Perhaps Fatally, .

2
“men Owomaerotn vec i 2, Fem 5.—Wilitem

ola, r
of145 Beoréem av-

MR; SCUDDER SAYS HARRIS SHOULD BE |)

reneral.priseipie that'I do. not |}.

wteh.o. stad.

Tahal blues: and ack

11. 98, 15.7 78) and: 29p0.

"Medium weight $-Gape J: ackets
in Kerseys, silk’ faced, pearl but-
ai new. backs, |

(12.98

Regular Price. 17.98

nope mB

H. O'NEILL & co..,||
6th. Ay., 20th i 21st St. 4

«ae +

PELIED WITH SWEET MISSILES.

—_o—
BROKEN: “canpr’ SHOWERED UPON A
NEWLY- WEDDED PAIR.

“ar. E. Pilalas, s. gentienian who comes. from
Greece, and Miss Catherine Elesteropoulo, who,
though she wears the golden grasshopper.in her

hair in token of her pure Athenian descent, was }j.. make

born in sight of the Golden Horn, were married |,

yesterday afternoon by the Rev. Father Feren-
dinoa The Greek colony of this city, whioh
numbers some 800 souls, turned out to witness
the ceremony. and. filled the little building of
the Greek Orthodox Churoh of the Holy Trinity,
im West Fifty-third Street:

ue The marriage rites: of the Greek Charen are
‘unique im many respects.,. Rganding by a emall

table placed in front of the sanctuary rails, bawh

head, awaited - tbe be couple.
te. the . fog? Dd;
Povor
General. After two chants: by:
the: oh ather Ferendinose led tbe couple:
ot times round tha tabla This was to signi
vg {fy were. aud on the voy
gether: an with the sanotion
of ‘the. Them came. prayers’ and
ohante, all in® Greek, of- the - time of
Bt: Thomes Chrysestom.. In signifiession of the
fact that henceforth they: were share each
other’s joys and sorrows, the bride. and groom
drank: .three: times:from tho «same winecup,:
while; with tapers lighted in their: hands, and
standing on’ the: benches, the spectators dis-
foussed: the: appearance gf the handsome groom
ané the pale-faced, darf-eyed bride.

That part of the ceremony whieh finally mate
the two man and wife was the placing on thotr
heads of wreaths of white hyacinths, symbeliz-
ing that a: happy: marriage is. the: crown of a
vane pees

lle: the’ benediction was being: given,’ a
aaeuuene what the Italians term. ** confetti, "
and what wae really broken candy. came from

all parts of the church and descended upon the

eeuple: like. storm of ‘small
nee y shower pattered upon the bare head of
the groom with such vicor as to make him look
anything but comfortable.

bblies.. The

X. Batrazal. — eh Soon Leaenaete

aetentes

Sarapled sent froe |

ee,

£ Heavy. Iee

“The fee in the bay
nenaase The cakes, wh
the North and Eaat BR)
on Saturday, became
night in the Narrows
the bay.’

The pilot boat. Eagar
by.= big floe while.

THE NE
TIME

1ineteen, who
: influence of
ed El Benado
hold-up

king back East.
it no late trace

1 ugly one. Joe
vugglers and had
leading north
mall village
cting north-

cs. Most of this
e a small metal
which we place
our car off the
: headlights will
e sign. In addi-
f us stands by
nting an electric
it while the
es an_ electric
signaling ap-
ars to halt. We
orm so that no
vuuld mistake us
» men. On this
‘mber 4, a cold
ain was falling
vas little traffic.
ve had been on
shortly after
it was now 9
had found noth-
cars which we
‘d. At times the
ore heavily and
g motorists had
in seeing our
sign until they
t on us. When
ee us, they ap-
brakes so sud-
several of the
wied almost into
e had to move
avoid being
ter one of these
sgested to
ve out of
etting dan-

do you get that
on page 58)

HARRIS, Carlyle

The Dark Mystery

of the

HIDDEN CAPSULE

HREE happy young women

entered a room on the sec-

ond floor of the Comstock

School for Girls in the tall

old brownstone house at 32
West 40th Street, New York. It
was the last night in January. The
room was large, and contained a
comfortable bed for each girl, be-
sides a fourth bed near the door in
which a beautiful girl lay asleep,
the dark brown hair that framed her
regular features flowing down over
the white counterpane in silken pro-
fusion. The three new arrivals
talked in enthusiastic whispers about
the delights of the symphony con-
cert they had just attended with one
of their teachers; but presently the
whispers were broken by a giggle
as one of them remembered some-
thing funny. The sleeper awoke
and sat up, smiling.

“Oh, girls,” she cried, “I have just
had the loveliest dreams! All about
Carl. I wish they could go on for-
ever!”

This was the opening scene in one
of the most distressing criminal
tragedies that ever aroused the sym-
pathy of the people of New York
and of the entire country. It cost
the lives of two young people,
ruined two prominent families, and
quickly brought the Comstock
School to a dismal end. But at the
moment no one guessed that death
hovered in that big, cheerful bed-
room, and the four girls chatted
blithely as only schoolmates could.

“Go to sleep, Helen,” said the
eldest of the four, “and you’ll dream
again.” a

“T'll get sleep enough,” she re-
plied. “What time is it? Half past
ten! Then I’ve been asleep half an
hour. Miss Day and I have been
reading Doctor John Brown’s stories
about his dogs. Do you know, we
cried a little over one—it was so
beautiful. Tell me, what was the
best number at the concert?”

The three went on with their
preparations for bed, recalling their
enjoyment of the music and answer-
ing Helen’s questions. She drowsed

MASTER DETBCTIVE, July, 1933

By W. O. INGLIS

Carlyle W. Harris, the secret husband
of the beautiful victim, whose strange
part in this mystery remains one of
the greatest enigmas of modern times

Miss Helen Potts, the victim of this

remarkable case. She was clan-

destinely married to Carlyle Harris
at the time of the tragedy

a few moments, then awoke with a
shudder of alarm.

“My arms are numb!” she ex-
claimed. “I can hardly move them;
and my head feels so chilled. Why,
I cannot feel anything when I touch
my forehead.”

“Just one of your headaches,”
Frances Carson suggested.

“No,” said Helen. “I never had
such a strange sensation in my head.
Oh what can it be? | am sinking;
I feel as if | were falling through
space; falling far, and so lost and
helpless!”

“Go to sleep, dear, and you'll feel
better,” Frances advised; so the girl
lay silent, her eyes half closed, as
she watched the movements of her
chums. Soon she slept again. One
by one the others went to their
beds; the last one turned off the
lights. As the girls composed them-
selves to rest, they were alarmed by
a moan from Helen. Miss Carson
arose, turned on the light, and went
to her.

“What is it, Helen?” she asked
anxiously,

“[’m so sorry to disturb you,” the
girl answered; “but I can hardly
draw my breath, and that awful
numbness is worse. | can’t raise my
arms.”

Miss Carson rubbed her forehead
and chafed her temples.

“What can it be?” asked Helen.
“T cannot feel anything, although |
know your hands are on my head.
And | have the strangest sensation
of choking; each breath seems to
suffocate me. I can’t swallow. And
every moment | sink lower and
lower. Oh, I’m going to die!”

“Don’t say that, Helen,” cried the
other girls, gathering around her
bed; for they were all alarmed now.
“You're all right; we'll take care of
you. Go to sleep now, and you'll
be all right in the morning.”

“No!” cried the girl. “No, no;
I’m afraid! If I go to sleep, it will
be the sleep of death. Don’t leave
me!”

“We are right here with you,”
they all reassured her. “You'll be

Murder In The Madhouse

(continued from page 53)

Coughlin, “proved hot.”

“Hot enough,” the Captain replied,
“to spot the killer. I have already sent
the order out to pick this person up.”

Captain Coughlin sat down. He
looked almost as tired as the Commis-
sioner and the Inspectors. “It was a
cleverly planned murder,” he ex-
plained. “So neatly done that I don’t
think we would ever have gotten
within a mile of the solution if I
hadn’t noticed that one person in that
house had the habit of bending the
thumb to the palm, a nervous gesture
that you always see in a person who
has served time behind bars and is on-
ly out of prison for a short time. They
get this habit from gripping the bars of
a cell.

“It didn’t make sense when I saw
it, but there were other things about
that person that showed he was a
crook. Other little nervous habits. As
I have always said, I can smell a
criminal a mile away. I was stabbing

in the dark when I followed that
hunch. It didn’t fit into any other part
of the picture. I checked at other po-
lice departments. I sent a picture and
from Philadelphia I got the informa-
tion that this person was a famous
criminal who had just gotten out of
prison down there.” ;
Commissioner Woods asked: What
name did he serve under?”
* “Frank Wattle, but he had other
aliases. And the strange thing about it
all is that he used his real name at the
Heinler home.”

“And that name?” the Commission-
er questioned.

“Joseph Hanel, the butler.”

“He isn’t German at all.”

“No more than I am,” Captain
Coughlin replied. “He has served time
in several states. He is a famous crim-
inal, but somewhere he must have
learned German. He could talk in bro-
ken English to fool me, but he had to
know German to fool Julia Heinler

and the German help.”

“He must have known the Heinler
family and the jewelry Mrs. Heinler
wore,” the Commissioner suggested.

“We won’t know the full story of
his plan until we question him,” Cap-
tain Coughlin said. “But we can as-
sume that he knew that he was doing
and that Mrs. Heinler might call the
Institute for a German sailor. There is
no other way to explain his presence
at the Institute, parading under the
‘disguise of a German sailor. When he
got into the Heinler home, he delayed
his plan until he could learn what
was in that strong box. He probably
had visions of great wealth as the
Heinlers are wealthy.”

“And the medal and the paper,” the
Commissioner suggested. "Those
were planted by Hanel to throw sus-
picion on Neuman and Cora Unruh.”

“It was obvious that the medal and
the paper had been planted,” Captain
Coughlin replied. “I have seen too
many cases not to spot planted clues. |
never took Neuman seriously as the
killer. Cora Unruh was puzzling, and

(continued on next page)

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§ | ADDRESS. APT. #.
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SR OE A ET OS UR EE ES SE ET SD SE SR Oe EE UE Ta RE me! ERS
4 & A Subsidiary of Nati 1 Edi ion Corpo

he Heinler
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iggested.

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was doing
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2¢ Schools.

there were other suspects, but the
minute I looked at Hanel, I knew I
was looking at a crook who had
served time. Of course, this was puz-
zling because I really thought he was
a German sailor. I followed the
hunch that he had served time in this
country. I got his picture from old
clothes he left at the Seaman’s Insti-
tute and the rest has already been ex-
plained.”

It wasn’t until ten months later, on
February 26, 1916, that Captain
Coughlin sat facing Joseph Hanel, the
ex-con who had posed as the butler
for the Heinler family. In those ten
months he had eluded every police
dragnet thrown out for him with an
ease that caused him to be dubbed
“The Phantom Killer.”

On Washington’s Birthday the po-
lice finally caught up with him in
Baltimore. He didn’t resist arrest and
waived extradition and was_ re-
turned to New York. Faced with the
evidence that he had pawned the
watch and the stick-pin he didn’t de-
ny stealing them but stubbornly clung
to the story that he had an accomplice
who had done the killing. Hanel ad-
mitted that he posed as a German sail-
or to get into the Heinler house. He
had believed that there was a fortune
in that strong box. He delayed his
robbery until he had located the strong
box and had secured a Kaiser’s med-
al to plant as a clue pointing to Neu-
man or German espionage. He wrote
the numbers on the paper found near

_ the medal.

He couldn’t explain why Mrs.
Heinler returned to the house. She
caught him red-handed with the loot
and he had to kill her. Miss Buck had

‘called when he was there and he had

been able to mask his voice because
she had never heard him speak En-

glish. He delayed almost too long af-

ter that conversation because he was
hurrying away from the house, when
she walked up to the front door.

His contention‘ that an accomplice
was with him and had killed Mrs.
Heinler didn’t stand up in court. The
jury found him guilty of murder in the
first degree.

On September I, 1916, a wavering

and screaming killer, he walked
through that green door that leads to
the death house.

Three minutes later he was pro-

. nounced dead. *

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- The Thrill Killers Stalked At Midnight

(continued from page 9)

charged with possession of marijuana.
A week earlier he had been arrested
in Calumet City for battery. On Sep-
tember 14th Hlinko and two teenaged
companions were charged with pos-
session of a controlled substance. And
two days before that he was arrested
for aggravated assault, unlawful use
of a weapon and having no registra-
tion for the gun.

Calumet City authorities concen-
trated on the two suspects, but de-
spite a tedious investigation could not

get close to them. Chief Rhoads ad- -

vised caution, pointing out, “Without

proof we can’t make an arrest that -

might risk losing key evidence and
jeopardize the entire case.”

The chief then turned to Illinois:

State Police for assistance. In ex-
plaining the case to State Police Cap-
tain Daniel McDevitt, Chief Rhoads
said, “We are short of manpower.
We don’t have. enough to do a Be
longed investigation:” =. ©

McDevitt, an officer of the state
police Division of Criminal Investiga-
tion (DCI) assigned. a team of under-
cover investigators to infiltrate -Hlin-
ko’s and Ilich’s circle of friends and
acquaintances in Calumet. City and
nearby Hammond, Indiana. :

As the investigation ' proceeded,
state police arrested Hlinko on March
2nd on two counts of delivery of a
controlled substance and one count of

(continued on page 57)
55

a errr ree terme RENE TT

HEN Harris reached the sick
room, Dr. Fowler confronted h'm

‘with the remaining capsule. “what tor Fowler?! | ~ ;
did you prescribe?” he demanded. The school’s physician turned his
. The young medical graduate paled. back to the young aristocrat. “I hard-

“Why, I prescribed a standard rem- ly think so,” he said. “But the Coroner

might think differently.”
The Coroner’s physicians performed
their autopsy that night. They re-
ported that Helen Potts had died of
influenza complicated by a weak heart.
-Wearily, Dr, Weston of the Coroner’s
office filled in a permit to bury. the
body on February ist,,, and the girl’s
_parents in New ‘Jersey were notified

of their daughter’s death.

edy,” he said. “Five grains of quinine .
and a sixth of a grain of morphine in
each capsule.” “oe es
Dr. Fowler swore softly under his
breath. To the naked eye there is no
difference between quinine and mor-
phine powder. “Who made these up Te.
Be aie he demanded.
; es “J had them made at McIntyre’s
AS - Drug Store at 902 Sixth Avenue,”
pe: -.. Harris said.
“Get right down there then,” Fow-
i ee ler ordered. “And find out if McIntyre
--. made any mistake in filling the pre- —
scription.” ae "

B: Helen Potts’ body was scarcely
“a week in its grave before disturb-
ing rumors started to float in ugly
New York.

ze ‘Harris left in a hurry. He returned patterns over
S , ' in an hour — pale, ‘shaken, and very One of the girls at the school re-
- . ‘much down in the mouth. “There’s membered a secret she had shared
with Helen Potts for nearly a year.

been no mistake,” he said. “McIntyre
> - filled the prescription himself.”

Se Dr. Fowler mumbled something
about the’ increased seriousness of
. Helen’s condition. Despite all that the

three doctors could ‘do, Helen fell
asleep again. After three hours of un- .
shakable sleep, Helen died . without
saying another word.
Carlyle Harris nearly fainted as
Helen’s frail heart finally stopped

And now this secret started to circu-
late through many quarters. It was
perhaps the reason Carlyle Harris had
peen 80,jittery at Helen’s death bed.
It was: common
school that Helen Potts and Carlyle
Harris had been secretly married.

Alderman: William P. Rinkhoff had

where

Carlyle asked 4a
druggist to make up
some capsules for
Helen.

iSpecially Posed)

FF te mama

knowledge in the.

performed the marriage at City Hall, -
pride’ and groom had given

their names’ as

Among the many

New Yorkers who

learned about this marriage in the

weeks following
District Attorney

Helen’s death was
DeLancey Nicoll.

He learned about it from Mrs. George

Potts, the dead

Mrs. Potts, a resident
Park, New Jersey, had
silence for nearly a full year.
the previous summer, her brother, Dr. -
C. W. Treverton, of 2

girl’s mother.

of Asbury |
suffered in
During

Scranton, Penn-

sylvania, had been visited by Helen

and Carlyle at his home

in the coal”

Helen Nielsen and
Charles Harris. ~

_ country. They told him about their
secret marriage. ~- - * a4
Treverton told all this to Mrs. Potts.

"She confronted the
with the knowledge at

once. She also

young aristocrat |

demanded that ‘he and Helen go.

through a public religious marriage .

ceremony under their correct names.

~ Carlyle Harris had had a ready
answer to this demand.

“My grand-

father will cut me off without a penny

if he finds out I married without his. -... =>
consent,” he said. *
But after Mrs.
‘he. set a deadline, and promised to
first anniversary of -
he was quoted -..+..+
ising, “Iwillgo°
through a ceremony under my right
(Continued on Page 68) a

keep it. “On the
‘our secret marriage,
Potts as prom

by Mrs.

Potts pressed him,

Da aatet ida er

anisactnee

Cin

—

Oe PQ RT

ory

ee ok Ge eg ea

ss, —_——

O her fellow students at Miss

i Day’s exclusive girls’ school in
New York, there had always

been something mysterious and
exciting about beautiful, soft-spoken,
19-year-old Helen Potts. Helen made
frequent_trips, the girls knew, with
young, handsome Carlyle Harris. They
never lasted more than a week, but
they were trips the girls spoke about
in whispers all year long. aes ame

-* $PECIAL-FEATURE DETECTIVE CASES

oa eg

‘York. Only 22, a recent. graduate of

terete

SEEN

Young Harris was a scion of one of.
the most aristocatic families in New

the College of Physicians and Sur-
geons at Golumbia University, Harris
had been going with Helen Potts for
over a year. He had looks, money, and
brains—and because of his qualities
as a*“‘catch,” he made Helen the envy
of all the other girls at the school,

‘Whenever Helen suffered from
headaches or other minor ailments,
Carlyle himself. would prescribe the
proper pills and remedies. His cures
always: worked efficiently and well.
Therefore, when the bleak winds of a
New York January brought Helen’
down with a severe case of grippe, .
Carlyle had a druggist make up six
capsules for Helen. He kept two of
these capsules for himself and gave.

~ his sweetheart the remaining four. --

» “Take one every night,” he ordered,
“and stay in bed.” eeears ee
_ The first two capsules did not seem
to help Helen much. Some of Helen’s —

PY ape

sae:

P SEPT we adreneindi Ratatat:

pT Nig Me nc oats, Sea tatha aa Tas!

‘ 2 be 5 as
capsule on the third evening of:her .
‘siege of illness. They they went to a:

show. tok Saat
When they returned, Helen ap-
peared to be fast asleep. But‘to

Frances Carson, one of the students,

there seemed to be something unusual

abut this sleep. She tried to wake the
ailing beauty only to discovér that the
girl was semi-conscious.. Frantically,
Frances did all she could to awaken
her friend. age 2
After many anxious minutes, Hel-
en’s eyes opened heavily. She scarcely.
seemed to be breathing. “Oh Frances,
dear,” she murmured, her voice sound-
ing ‘weak and far away. “Carl...”
And then she sank into a heavy stu-

_ por again.

“This time Frances worked. still
harder to wake her up. Rubbing her
arms, slapping her face, she pleaded.
with Helen to wake up.’ Her. efforts

again succeeded, if only partially.
“Helen Potts opened her eyes again,

but her voice was weaker..She ram-
bled incoherently about having. had
such a wonderful drea arlyle

ai cE 3

= SC ot TR gtr

Harris. “But watch over me,” she

* pleaded. “If I fall asleep again, I think
- I shall die.” p

. While one of the girls ran for the
school physician, Dr. E. N. Fowler,
Frances Carson kept rubbing Helen’s
hands to keep her awake. Helen com-
plained that she could hardly see or
feel her friend. ©

“Carl!” Helen cried, feebly. “Where
are you, Carl?” . ,

Frances began to sob. “Where is
Dr. Fowler?” she cried.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Helen
pleaded. “I'll die if.you do.” And then
she started to call for Carlyle Harris
again. ya s

“Ag soon as Dr. Fowler arrived, he
looked’ at the ailing girl’s eyes. They
told him all he needed to know. The
pupils of both eyes had contracted to
pin points — a definite sign of mor-
phine poisoning. Near her bed he

found the box containing the remain- _
ing capsules Carlyle Harris had -

brought Helen. - m?

“Send for Carlyle Harris at once,”

he ordered. P

dak

MORPHINE
EYES

(Continued from Page 13)

name. For py then I will have won
over my grandfather.” ‘4

* e % :

HE first anniversary of the mar-

riage fell on February 8th. On
February 1st, Helen Potts Harris
breathed her last in the presence of
her husband, three doctors, and a
weeping group of classmates.

On January. 20th, Mrs. Potts had
written to Carlyle Harris in sheer
desperation after months of pleading,
tearful argument. “You must go on
the 8th of February, the anniversary
of your secret marriage,” she wrote,
“before'a minister of the gospel and
there have a Christian marriage per-
formed—no other course but this will
any longer be satisfactory to me or.
keep me quiet.”

As the District Attorney listened to
Mrs. Potts’ story, he began to build up
a picture of a possible case. “Did he
answer you?” he asked. :

Mrs. Potts produced a letter from
Harris. In it he declared that he would
go through a public marriage cere-
mony “. .. if no other way can be
found of satisfying your scruples.”

Nicoll looked at the date of the
letter—and started! It had been writ-
ten on the same day that Harris had
ordered the capsules from the drug-
gist. = oy \

-“That’s not all,” Mrs. Potts sobbed.
While Helen lay on her death bed,

crack detectives would pass over as’

meaningless. The District Attorney,

' relied. om their judgment implicity,

and they were determined not to let

~ him ‘down in this instance.

It was easy to jump to conclusions
in the casey But a mistake would have
ended the careers of every official in-

- volved.-The Harris family was not

without influence in the political life
of New York.

Patiently, working with the method-
ical care of men removing a live bomb
from a London crater after a Nazi
raid, Hay and Summers dug into the
loose endg of the case. They were up
against a whole series of blank walls,
each one thicker than the next.

\ Hay set out to find, first, whether
Harris had purchased any morphine
shortly before the capsules were made
up. For, after seeing Dr. Fowler, he,
made careful note of the fact that the
girl’s eyes were the eyes of a person
suffering from morphine poisoning~
when Dr, Fowler reached the death
bed. 9.) : aa
‘For nearly a month Hay tried to
find out if Harris had purchased any.
“morphine, He could find not a shred -

’ of evidence to this effect—although in’
‘. the laboratory of the medical school ©

and even in the cabinets of his grand-
father, Dr. Benjamin McCready, with

- whom he lived, Carlyle Harris could

have found plenty of morphine.

* %*& *

UMMERS was running up againsta
-set of leads equally as baffling. His
difficulty, like Hay’s, was that while
he was convinced that Harris was a
scoundrel it was still not enough rear

Mrs. Potts had confronted Harris and>~ gon to prove that he was a murderer.

accused him of causing his wife’s

death by an illegal operation.

“What did he say to that?” Nicoll
asked.

“Harris told me that Helen’s death
was caused by a terrible mistake the
pharmacist had made in making the:
capsules,” Mrs. Potts wept. ‘

* * &

HE District Attorney thanked Mrs,

Potts for the information. As soon
as she was gone, he assigned two
crack detectives, Phineas Hay and
Matthew Summers, to check up on
Carlyle Harris.

“Gentlemen,” he told them, “the
Coroner found that Helen Potts died
of influenza. For some-reason, Carlyle-
Harris wanted the girl’s mother to
believe that she died because of some
druggist’s mistake. Find out what the
reason was and we'll have the key to
this case—if it isa case.” :

Hay and Summers were years ahead
of their times as detectives. Pioneers
in the science of criminal psychology,
they were both able to see clues in
mundane facts that nine out of ten

68 sf

- py & os, Sac a

The first. break in the case, oddly
enough, was one that most other de-
tectives would have passed by. Sum-
mers learned that Harris, immediately
after giving his wife the capsules, had
gone to Old Point Comfort for a few
days: rest in the country. He also
learned that, immediately after Helen -

had died, Carlyle Harris had visited a.

doctor he knew quite well.

It was Harris’ conversation with
this doctor that made Hay and Sum-
mers sit up and take notice. “I only
gave Helen four capsules out of the
six I had made up,” Harris had said.
“The two I kept out wilt show that
they are perfectly harmless. No jury
can convict me with the two capsules
in my. possession. They can be ana-—-
lyzed and proved to be harmless.” .

At this point, Summers talked it
over with Hay. “‘Here’s our break,” he
said. “Harris was too anxious to prove
his innocence.”

““T think you’re right,” Hay said. “It

. looks as if our young aristocratic

» friend were trying to prepare an alibi -

well in advance of a crime.” :
“If it was a crime,” Summers said,
3

at aa

‘cautiously: “There’s only one way we

can find out, The body must be. ex- S;

humed.”:. pay:
The detectives reported their-find-

ings to Nicoll. “We can’t jump to con- _
clusions,” the District Attorney said, ~

“Let’s analyze those capsules first.” -
Harris willingly surrendered ‘the

two remaining capsules to Nicoll. Like -

- the one remaining capsule in his late °
wife’s box, they proved to have been
compounded of five grains of quinine’
-and a sixth of-a grain of morphine.
Nicoll sent for Harris when the re-_
port was ready. “I guess you’re right,”
he told the young widower. “These
capsules are all perfectly harmless.”
A great smile of relief settled over
Carlyle Harris’s face. “Of course they
are,” he said. My
“Just one more question,” Nicoll

said casually. “Why did you refuse -

Helen’s mother permission to bury
your wife under her married name?”

The smile left Harris’s face even
more suddenly than it had appeared.

He turned all colors and then, chok- |

ing, he muttered some hot, angry
words about his inheritance. :
“That will be all,” Nicoll said, his

face never changing its expression. “I -

was merely curious.”

But the second after Harris left the
District Attorney’s office, Nicoll sent
for his secretary. “Prepare the neces-
sary papers for me to sign,” he or-
dered. “We’re exhuming the body of

* Helen Potts Harris without further

delay.” : i

Hay and Summers, who were pres-
ent, exhanged smiles, They knew that
Nicoll was now sure enough ‘of his
ground to take a chance — the sort
of a chance that could solve the un-
answered questions of the case.’

The body was disinterred on March
25th. Nicoll had the famous Dr. Witt-_
haus examine it very carefully. His
report was flat and unequivocal—that
the stomach revealed no quinine but
very definite traces of morphine.

For a few hours, Nicoll thought that -

the case was all over but for the for-
malities. Then, while he prepared to
draw up the indictment charging -
Harris with the murder by. poisoning
of his secret wife, he learned that the

Harris family had engaged William .

Travers Jerome to defend young
Carlyle of the impending charges.

This was indeed a black moment in
the District Attorney’s office. For, as
he well knew, indicting. a murderer.
was not enough to protect other pos-
sible victims earmarked for destruc-
tion. It was the ‘conviction which’
spared society the anguish of having a
poisoner at large. And getting a con-
viction against as great a trial lawyer
_as Jerome was no easy task. ©

Francis L. Wellman, one of -the

shrewdest lawyers in the city, to con-—

. SPECIAL-FEATURE DETECTIVE CASES

Nicoll finally countered by hiring -

roon
—wW.
Th
.turne
ual <
emin:
first ‘
at W
mean
Jer
Signe:
minds
real e

SPECIAL

52 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

I examined one hundred and fifty jurors before obtaining
twelve men who had seen little of the newspaper reports of
the crime, who had no prejudice against capital punishment,
and who, notwithstanding these two facts, still had sufficient
intelligence to comprehend the scientific medical testimony
which they were going to listen to for so many weeks.

The issue of the trial finally simmered down to the question
whether or not the science of chemistry could determine the
identity of poisons like morphine and atropine, which the
experts claimed were found in a body that had been buried
for many weeks, with sufficient certainty to meet the require-
ments of the doctrine of reasonable doubt.

The defense contended, through the testimony of chemists
of the highest reputation, that ptomaines would always be
found in the process of putrefaction in a dead body, which
when subjected to the ordinary chemical tests could not be
distinguished from the chemical reactions of morphine, and
that therefore, any statement that traces of morphine had been
found in a disinterred body any appreciable time after death,
could not be relied upon.

The medical part of the defense was conducted by Dr.
William O’Sullivan, who was also a lawyer, this being his
first appearance in a murder trial. Dr. O'Sullivan had gradu-
ated from a medical institution in Scotland, where he had
received a gold medal because of his proficiency in chemistry.
His cross-examination of the People’s principal expert, Dr.
Withaus, lasted more than three days, and brought O'Sullivan
into public notice to such an extent that, in one edition of the
New York World, an almost life-size picture of himself occu-
pied an entire page.

I draw particular attention to this fact as further confirma-
tion of what I have maintained throughout, that success as a

te mL nO eR Un RMR Ma

danas aha eat a epmanwnnesbinnren®

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 53

trial lawyer in any community grows out of, if it does not
indeed depend upon, one outstanding demonstration of pro-
fessional ability in the conduct of a trial in the Criminal
Courts sufficiently important to arouse wide public attention.

Either from design, or lack of experience he adopted a
novel method in his cross-examination of expert witnesses.
Usually lawyers for the defense attack the experts’ conclusions
or expressed opinions. O’Sullivan, on the other hand, when
starting to question a witness who had perhaps testified for
hours about all the different experiments he had made before
forming an opinion, started right off by asking the witness
what was the very first thing he had done. It was like asking
a centipede which foot he had first put forward. The witness,
trying to be accurate, would falter and hesitate before answer-
ing and began by making a distinctly unfavorable impression
on the jury.

Buchanan was convicted, sentenced and executed, but the
hitherto unknown Dr. O’Sullivan had recognized his oppor-
tunity, grasped it, and put himself on the map.

Buchanan, born in Nova Scotia, had come to New York
in 1886 with his wife and young daughter to practice the pro-
fession of medicine. Four years later he obtained a divorce
from his wife. And that same year he became acquainted with
a woman in Newark, named Ann Sutherland, whom he
treated professionally. She was then about twenty years his
senior and had become moderately rich as the owner of a
house of questionable reputation. Buchanan claimed that this
woman had become infatuated with him a few months after
meeting him and had made a will in his favor, leaving all
her real estate to her husband, if she had any at the time of
her death, and the balance of her estate to her physician, the

50 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

only the day before. In his closing speech to the jury, referring
to their exhumation, Carson said, “We have wakened these
poor women from their long sleep to give necessary evidence
against the prisoner, but I am sure that if they could have
spoken they would not have asked you to avenge them, but
simply to do justice.”

So sure was Chapman that the real cause of the death of
his wives could not be ascertained, that he had the courage
to call in the same doctor to attend both women during their
illness. In the case of the third wife, he even summoned four
different doctors to attend her and they all differed in their
diagnoses of the cause of the illness, as he knew they would.

Evidently his motive in destroying these women was not
gain but lust. He married a succession of young girls, quickly
tiring of each, and then seeking a new victim. Some strange
fascination seemed to enable him not only to gain but main-
tain the affection of all the women he murdered.

Chapter Esgnt

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE

vEN before the general public had ceased gossiping about
E the trial of Carlyle Harris and airing their personal con-
victions regarding his guilt or innocence, a man by the name
of Dr. Robert W. Buchanan, who apparently had followed

the Harris trial closely, conceived the idea that here was a

chance for him not only to rid himself of an undesirable wife
but to come into possession of her not inconsiderable property.

In an unguarded moment he had boasted to a friend that
had Harris known more about the effect of poison he might
never have been convicted. Harris should have realized, he
said, that death from morphine poisoning was distinguishable
from death by any other known natural cause by reason of the
symmetrical contraction of the pupils of the eyes to a pin-
point. Buchanan claimed, therefore, that had Harris mixed
with his morphine a small dose of atropine, “belladonna,” it
would have had the effect of enlarging at least one pupil
and would have baffled any physician who attempted to testify
under oath that the cause of death was morphine. Apparently,
he could not resist the temptation to make practical use of
this theory, which resulted in the sudden death of his wife
and, a little later, his trial for murder.

This case occupied the time of the court for five weeks,
and some idea of the task of condensing the voluminous testi-
mony into the space of these few printed pages can best be
realized when I state that the case on appeal is contained in
two enormous printed volumes of twenty-nine hundred pages.

7 fe “ j 7.3
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44 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

This testimony was obviously of vital importance to Jerome’s
contention that the symmetrical contraction of the pupils was
not an indisputable symptom of morphine poisoning. It might
well have raised a reasonable doubt as to the cause of death.

During my preparation for the trial I had had the records
of about 6,000 cases of morphine poisoning carefully examined,
with a very useful result, as will presently appear. When this
learned authority made the statement that I have just referred
to, I asked him if it was one of his own cases and he said,
“No.” I asked him if it had always previously been his opinion
that in death from morphine the pupils of the eyes were in-
variably symmetrically contracted to a pinpoint, to which he
replied, “Yes.” Pushing the inquiry further, I asked. “Then
this particular case is the only one you ever heard of which led
you to change your opinion?” And he replied that it was.

Question: “Is it possible, doctor, that you are referring to the
death in Washington on such and such a date of a man by
such and such a name?”

He hesitated a moment and said, “Why yes, that’s the case
and I recall now that’s the name.” |

Question: “Did you have any personal knowledge of that
case yourself except what you read?”

He said, “No.”

Question (In the most emphatic manner I could muster):
“It so happens that I have. That man you speak of had one
glass eye.”

No cold type can possibly reproduce the scene in court.
Jerome was so much affected by it that he could hardly stand
without supporting himself against the back of a chair. It
was only three o’clock in the afternoon, but he pleaded with
the court for an early adjournment that he might study this
new turn the case had taken. The adjournment was granted,

POET See

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 45

but Harris after that never had a chance. The glass eye, which
could not be refuted, convicted him.

The jury were out only about an hour and a half, and when
they returned with their verdict at midnight and pronounced
Harris guilty of murder in the first degree, his mother who
had sat by him during all these trying weeks, uttered a pierc-
ing cry and dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

Notwithstanding Harris’s conviction, the opinion of the
public was about evenly divided on the question of guilt or
innocence—probably because it was difficult to realize that a
young man of his breeding and ancestry could be capable of
such a foul murder. The case became the topic of conversation
and dispute at many a social gathering in all walks of life.
Harris’s persistence in proclaiming his innocence right up to
the moment of his execution only added to the discussion.

But there was not the slightest doubt of his guilt. Two
years intervened between his trial and execution. While the
case was on appeal to the highest court, Howe and Hummel,
whom I have mentioned, were retained to get in their dirty
work in a long-drawn-out hearing on a motion for a new trial
on the ground of newly discovered evidence. Out of their
perjury cesspool they produced a number of young ladies who

falsely claimed they had known Helen Potts, had seen her take

morphine and had heard her admit being an addict, the
inference from this being that she had died from an overdose
self-administered. Even Howe with all his ingenuity could
not get away with that. It was a’dastardly act on Harris’s part
to permit it.

The Court of Appeals, after a most careful study of the
whose case, in a unanimous decision with an exhaustive and
noteworthy opinion written by Judge Gray, sustained the

46 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

jury’s verdict and stated specifically that it was impossible
for them to have come to any other conclusion.

In that connection it is a pleasure for me to record that,
only a few moments after the jury had rendered their verdict
of guilty, they all crowded around me to tell me that it was
my fairness to the prisoner throughout the long trial that made
it possible for them to agree upon their verdict in such a
short time.

There was one piece of evidence that was known only to
myself, but I made no attempt to use it, for although it was
the dying declaration of the girl herself, it did not measure
up to the technical requirements for admission as evidence.
Nevertheless, it was convincing. Before Miss Potts relapsed
into the final coma from which she never awakened, she told
her roommates she had taken some medicine that Harris had
given her and asked them if they thought it possible that he
would give her anything that would kill her.

Of course, Harris continued his plea of innocence while
so many lawyers were trying to set aside his conviction. An
application was even made to the Governor to commute his
sentence and at Harris’s request the time of the execution was
postponed ten minutes to give him one more chance to hear
from the Capitol. |

He kept his nerve to the last, however, and while seated
in the electric chair he still asserted his innocence in a dramatic
speech to the little group of reporters.

Not only is it not unusual for a man convicted of murder
to maintain his innocence, but it is seldom that any prisoner
does otherwise. The only exception to this rule that ever
came to my notice was in a famous English poisoning case
where William Palmer, also a physician, had poisoned his
companion by the use of strychnine. This also was a case where

tartare es

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 47

the prisoner had been stoutly proclaiming his innocence, and
where opinion in London was also equally divided on the
point.

When Palmer was led to the gallows, however, it was
demanded of him in the name of God, as was the custom
in England in those days, if he was innocent or guilty. He
made no reply. Again the question was put to him. “William
Palmer, in the name of almighty God are you innocent or
guilty?” Just as the white cap descended over his face he
murmured in a low breath “Guilty,” and the bolts were drawn
with a crash.

HAMBY, Gordon, white, elec NY@ (Kings), January 29, 1920

‘

:
‘
¢
3

lhe Crimson Trail

By
P. L. TRUSSELL

He flouted the numbers of fate

and caught himself in the net of

death. Robbing and killing, he

fled across the continent in the

few short years that the aveng-
ing Fates allowed him.

The pleasant-spoken, well-dressed man who

thrust a ten dollar bill through the cashier’s
wicket was very tall and blond with slightly stooping
shoulders.

He yawned as the teller counted money onto the desk
before him, thrust his long arms high above his head and
stretched prodigiously.

“Guess I didn’t get enough sleep.” He smiled apolo-
getically, gathered up the bills shoved toward him and
walked quietly out of the bank.

Outside he fell in beside a much shorter man.

“Could you see them?” he asked.

“Not even your fingertips.”

“Then I guess it’s O. K.,” the tall man said and they
disappeared in the crowd.

The next day was December 13, 1918.

The same teller looked out of the little wicket in the
East Brooklyn Savings Bank in Brooklyn, N. Y.

DeWitt C. Peal, faithful employee of the bank, did not
know of the sinister trail of the fatal number “13” that
was to lead to that window. He didn’t know that he had
only a few moments more of life.

Half a dozen customers stood before the window.
Mrs. Pearl Sterling, second in line, turned as she heard
the heavy front door open. She looked into the frank,
friendly eyes of a very tall, blond young man. She saw
beside him a shorter man who carried a black bag.

DeWitt Peal might have recognized that tall young man
and wondered if he had had enough sleep today. He was
not to live long enough to say.

The tall young man halted by the door while the other
came forward quickly across the bank lobby toward the
tellers’ windows.

Suddenly two guns leaped into the strong white hands
at the end of the long arms. One swept menacingly toward
the cages farther from the door. The other trained on
Peal.

“Throw up your hands,” came the sharp command.

Mrs. Sterling screamed. The short man ran toward
the rear cages. The tall youth stepped to the side of the
frightened woman.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said quietly. “We're merely
rehearsing a scene for the movies.”

Peal’s hands went high but not higher than the tall
young man’s had gone the day before. They could not
be seen from the doorway—not even the fingertips.

Peal watched the short ,man scurry toward the cages
that held thousands of dollars. Then his eyes flashed back
to the tall man. He was well back, still covering all the

‘6 CO te this for me, will you, please ?”

NS SETI RIT . Sons

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cages with the menacing sweep of his guns. Peal must
have estimated his chances. Back of him a little way was
a burglar alarm button. He might be able to reach it.

He dodged quickly toward it. A revolver roared.
Smoke curled from one of the tall man’s guns. Peal
pitched forward dead, shot through the head.

Henry Coons, assistant cashier, had seen Peal fall but
the man with the black bag was bearing down on him.
He would be at the money drawers in another moment.
Coons lunged toward him—and died with a bullet through
his heart.

It was unbelievable shooting. Two men dead in a
breath and only two curls of smoke from the guns of the
tall bandit.

The short man swept piles of bills into his bag. Then
the two backed from the bank, rushed to a taxicab. fled.

The burglar alarm flashed at a Brooklyn police station.

It was Saturday, December 13, 1918. Thirteen persons
were in the bank. Thirteen thousand dollars had been
taken.

I was among the thousands shocked by the brutal kill-
ings. I was particularly impressed by the fact that the
crime had been committed on the thirteenth of the month.

Here was a new sort of bandit, for every criminal ]
had ever heard of clung to the superstitions of such days
as Fridays and the thirteenth. I wondered.

At the time I had been studying numerology which was
then only beginning to be recognized in America. I began

STARTLING DETECTIVE

testers

en re ee

i ii RRO er

“Canadian Club whisky,” McCullough said.

“That clinches it,” declared Roddy. “Timor has said
he never drinks anything else.”

But I wasn't so sure. I had been checking the name
of Robert Timor. Unless he had a less favorable alias,
the man could hardly have been influenced by a finer name
from the standpoint of numerology.

The vowels of the name Robert vibrated to eleven and
its Consonants to twenty-two, indicating the highest aus-
pices both in his inner capabilities and the outward in-
fluences upon it. Timor vibrated to six both in vowels
and consonants, indicating the finest influences both in-
wardly and outwardly, and it still vibrated to the same
number when given its final total.

Here were two splendid names. My book said those
vibrating to six were the salt of the earth, the backbone
of the community. Adding to this the influence of the
name, Robert, which also totaled a vibration of six, the
combination seemed unbeatable.

The whole name totaled a nine which is one of the out-
standing success numbers. Its field is art, however, and
this raised the only doubt in my mind. Could murder and
bank robbery be harmonized with the greater arts?

I was convinced that no man by the name of Robert
Timor would ever be convicted of this brutal crime.

The only thing that could account for the discrepancy
between the character of the man’s name and the character
of the crime of which he was suspected was the name of
the whisky he drank.

Canadian Club vibrated to the fatal thirteen. Its four
was unpropitious. It could kill off genius. It could ruin
the powerful influence of the outstanding nine.

The day following the taxi man’s revelations, the detec-
tives struck conflicting clues. Two men, answering the
descriptions of the tall and short bandits had spent the
night in a small hotel in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, but had
left the hotel Sunday, December 14, and had disappeared.

Roddy was concentrating on roadhouses outside of New
York City and his “tall and short man who drank Ca-
nadian Club” were reported in one of them. They had
spoken of going to Montreal.

Within half an hour, detectives were on the trail again.
Men answering the descriptions had bought tickets for
Chicago. The train would pass through Rochester, N. Y.,
and Rochester was Timor’s home.

Smash Into Flat

| 8 dabootel ‘boarded the train for Rochester, enlisted
police aid there and watched Timor’s house.. A wire
from the train on which the two suspects were riding
showed they had gone together as far as Rochester, then
the tall man had left the train.

More and more certain they were on the trail of the
right man and that he was fleeing from the crime, Roddy
and the police rushed Timor’s flat.

They smashed the door and searched the place but
Timor and his wife had fled only a few hours before.

Roddy was surer than ever now. He followed the pair
to Cleveland, thence through Ohio, Illinois, Indiana and
south to Tennessee and Louisiana. At New Orleans
Timor had just vanished. Here the trail was lost but re-
ports soon came that the man was in Denver, Colo.

Soon it was found again in San Francisco. :

Before Roddy reached California his quarry had fled to
Fort Worth, Texas. The trail led through the oil fields
there, disappeared and bobbed up in St. Louis.

There, as last, nearly five months after the crime, Detec-
tive Roddy faced Robert Timor.

In the meantime, I had checked the numbers that in-

The Evil InHuence of ‘'13”’

Add the digits and study the two names given to the
brutal slayer in the East Brooklyn Savings Bank holdup.
Here is the name he abandoned and denied to the end:

Vowels 6 6 i 1 =19=10=1

Gordon Fawcett Hamby =2
Conso-7 945 6 53 22 8 427=64=10=1
nants

From the vowels revealing the inner influences and
from the consonants revealing force of circumstances,
this name vibrates to the number 1, the number of cour-
age, power, thinking, and independent living, the number
of him who walks alone, but their total is 2, the gentle,
friendly, peace-loving number of tact, kindness and con-
ventionality, .

All this he abandoned for this alias which was to in-
fluence his later life:

Vowels 1 15=7
Jay B. Allen =10=1
Consonants 17 2 335=21=3

Seven from the vowels and three from the consonants,
the inner nature symbolized by the number of loneliness
and misunderstanding, the outer influences those of the
many-sided, easily influenced three. The total 1, this
time the number of courage and power for a final signal
but made up of dangerous ingredients, the number of
him who walks alone with no restraints upon him.

Add the influence of the fatal thirteen so frequently
recurrent and that of the date of the crime—12-13-1918,
totaling 26 which equals 8, the success number with its
tendency to walk roughshod over less powerful charac-
ters,

What could be more significant than the fate of this
man who abandoned the name of peace for that of the
lone wolf and then dared the curse of thirteen?

The charted influence of the fatal “13” on
Hamby’s career.

fluenced William Roddy. When I found that its vowels
gave a five and its consonants a six, I felt that Roddy was
doomed to failure in his task, for five is the rolling stone
of numbers, the mark of great ability without great per-
sistence. Six, however, is one of the most stalwart and
dependable of them all. The combination had possibilities.

And then I suddenly realized that Roddy’s full name
totaled eleven, the number of genius. For the first time
I began to be sure that Roddy would get his man and to
wonder if he had not done so in the roundup of *Timor
at St. Louis.

But Timor faced the Brooklyn detective without alarm.

“Hello, Timor,’”’” Roddy greeted him. “Are you read\
to go back to Brooklyn to answer that murder charge?”

Here was the perfect answer to the description given b\
witnesses of the crime. A young man, tall, blonde and
with slightly stooped shoulders.

“Murder charge?” Timor questioned in astonishment.

“Bank robbery and murder,” Roddy told him.

“Bank robbery, yes,” responded Timor. “I’ve robbed
banks, but I’ve never killed a man.”’

“That East Brooklyn Savings Bank job—those kill-
ings,” Roddy went on. “That robbery and shooting on
December 13 last year?”

“T wasn’t in Brooklyn then,” responded Timor posi-
tively. “I was on my way to New York. I didn’t reach
there till the fifteenth. on a Monday.”

Roddy Taughed incredulously.

“You can check it up.’’ Timor said. “I left Needles,
California, on December 10, three days before the robbery
you're talking about.”

“Then why have you been leading me such a chase?”

[Continued on page 77]

STARTLING DETECTIVE

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The Crimson Trail of the Fatal “13?

[Continued from page 62] :

“Oh, I knew you were on my trail,
or that somebody was, But I thought
it was for the Cleveland bank robbery.”

Roddy swore avidly.

There was nothing to do but to ask
that Timor be held while his alibi was
checked.

And it did. It was proved definitely
that Timor had not left Needles’ till
three days before the Brooklyn crime.
Roddy had to be satisfied with Timor’s
conviction of the Cleveland robbery.
The trail of the real robber was now
months cold. He saw failure staring
him in the face.

But I knew.a thrill of triumph, Numer-
ology had predicted the outcome. A
man named Robert Timor could not be
the brutal killer of the Brooklyn bank
robber. Even the malign influence - of
Canadian Club with its fateful 13 could
not make a murder vibration out of the
successful nine that belonged to this
man,

It might account for his conviction
on bank robbery charges, for nine’s suc-
cess is always more or legs accidental
and here the accident had not hap-
pened.

Perhaps the nine had even protected
him from paying the death penalty for
a crime he did not commit,

But William Roddy’s eleven of genius
would not be denied. I felt sure of that.

A New Lead

I WAS late in April, 1919, when
Roddy had completed Timor’s story
and knew his quest had been futile,

He was sitting in the lobby of a San
Francisco hotel when he was approached
by a deputy sheriff of Tacoma, Wash-
ington.

They exchanged experiences and
Roddy listened to the story of a murder
in Tacoma.

Robert Davis, a shipyard worker, and
his wife lived in a small home in Tacoma,
paying for it from his wages, when they
were approached by another shipyard
man, Jay B. Allen, who asked that they
rent a room to him, He made a good
impression with his tall, spare figure and
yellow hair. His manner was ingratiat-
ing and they accepted him as a roomer.
Allen and Davis became pals.

One day Allen proposed that Davis
join him in a venture that promised “big
money” as he said,

Davis laughed at the veiled suggestion
in Allen’s words.

On the morning of March 7, 1919, he
had ceased to laugh.

“T talked to my wife, Jay,” he said.
“She tells me to. stick to my work.
We're getting along all right.”

Allen lost his temper. They quarreled.
Davis left the room.

When he returned, Allen stood before
him with drawn pistol. What movement
Davis made will never be known, but
Allen fired and Davis fell, mortally
wounded.

Mrs. Davis ran screaming into the

room to find Allen standing over the
body of his fallen friend,

“Just what does he look like?” Roddy
asked and the other described the man
minutely,

“Sounds like a man I’ve been hunt-
ing,” Roddy said and told of the Brook-
lyn bank job and the chase that had
ended in a fiasco,

“Might be,” his companion remarked.
“This Allen used to talk in a kind of
bored way about holdups he had been
in.”

Roddy checked the description by wire.
They tallied. Within ten days he was in
Tacoma with the taxicab driver, Albert
Freeman, a clerk in the East Brooklyn
bank, a representative of the district at-
torney’s office and his fellow detectives,
Eason and Dowd.

Allen was brought from a cell in
Washington State Penitentiary where he
was serving a life sentence for the Davis
murder, He stood in prison garb before
the New York men-in the warden’s
office.

“That’s the man,” Albert Freeman
cried. “That’s the tall man that did
the shooting.”

“Yes, that’s the man I drove that day,”
declared the taxicab driver.

I went over the numbers again when
I heard of this development. What would
the name Jay B. Allen reveal?

And there was another name to trace
down for Allen was also called Gordon
Fawcett Hamby, Very carefully I
checked the symbols for the names.

Jay B. Allen revealed a seven for in-
ternal influence, the seven of loneliness
and misunderstanding. On the external
side it proved to be a three, character-
ized as a many-sided nature with ability
to live either in complete independence
of public opinion or to swing with the
crowd.

Surely nothing could be more reveal-
ing as the influences that might make
a criminal, The seven and three pro-
duced a one, the vibration of great cour-
age, of dominating power, the number
of the pioneer, the inventor, indicating
that, if the man were a criminal, he
would be outstanding.

Strangely, however, there was a con-
flict between the two names. He denied
again and again that his name was Gor-
don Fawcett Hamby and yet the authori-
ties asserted this was his true name.

The vowels in this name revealing the
internal influence showed a double thir-
teen with a final numeral of eight. They
indicated that the capabilities of the man
who bore it were those of the con-
queror, destined for material success.
The outer influences were indicated by
the consonant three which bespoke a
many-sided nature, easily swayed to go
with the crowd or to forge along alone.

The eight and three gave eleven, the
number: of genius. Gordon Fawcett
Hamby might have been a very great
character had the owner of the name not

denied jt, declaring again and again that °

See ee eee

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Of the Fatal “13”

The East Brooklyn Savings Bank,
scene of the daring robbery and brutal
murder of December 13, 1918, in which
thirteen persons were present, and $13,000

was the amount of loot taken.

in an idle moment checking down
the significance of the date and
wondered what could be back of it.

By the superstitions of the ages
and by all the laws of criminal
conduct, it seemed to me the date
was impossible for the commission
of a major crime. I wondered at
the audacity of the tall man in
carrying out the act on such a day.
He -had flown in the face of all
tradition in doing so. I took
pencil and paper and wrote down the date in numerical
form—1918—12—13—then totaled the digits. Once more
I was astounded for the digits, totaled in the numerological
fashion, summed up to twenty-six—a double thirteen.
But twenty-six totals to eight and eight is potent with
the vibrations of material success, the symbol of wealth.

For the first time, in my study of. the events, I think,
it occurred to me that this criminal might be a student
of numerology. Certainly some powerful influence must
have caused him to flout the superstitions and traditions
of the ages to commit such a crime on the thirteenth of

ADVENTURES

Gordon Fawcett Hamby
took a name that sent him
into the world to prey
upon his fellow men.

the month. When I found that he had made preparations
for it by visiting the bank on a Friday, I was even more
sure of the fact and then, when I learned that the date
vibrated to the number eight, I was almost certain.

“Those who vibrate to eight,’ my book said, “are the
conquerors of the world. Military, business, political or
social careers prosper under this dominating influence.
It is a fine, forthright and brilliant number. The chief
drawback to it is the tendency it imparts to walk rough-
shod over less powerful characters.”

Here indeed was an event that supported the science I
had been studying. Murder had been used to overcome
the less powerful characters.

Crime Stirs City

Ait New York was stirred by the brutal crime. De-
scriptioris of the bandits flashed over the country.
Detectives William Roddy, Bernard Dowd and Charles
Eason of the Brooklyn department were specially detailed
to the case and one of the most baffling manhunts in his-
tory was on.

Mrs. Sterling furnished the best descriptions of the
men. Escorted to the Rogue’s Gallery
at headquarters by Detective Roddy,
she was shown the pictures of profes-
sional bank robbers.

“There’s the man!” she cried sud-
denly. “There’s the murderer.” She
pointed to one of the “mugs” on the
panel before her.

Roddy turned the picture over.

“Robert Timor, of Rochester, N. Y.,
bank robber,” he read.

Roddy could not doubt the positive
identification.

“You say he was polite, courteous?”
he asked the woman.

“Oh, yes. He was very polite when
he told me they were taking a
picture.”

Roddy smiled. Timor must
be the man. In a previous rob-
bery he had shown courtesy to
a woman victim, had returned a
trinket when the woman begged
for it.

Wires sang with the name of
the man wanted. Robert Timor,
bank robber. Wanted for mur-
der and bank job in Brooklyn.

The search was on.

Three days later, a taxicab driver was questioned. In-
nocent even’of the knowledge that he had driven bandits,
he told of being hired to take two men to the bank and
wait there. He had driven them afterward to a point in
downtown Brooklyn without knowing they were fleeing.
He described the men.

“Timor,” Roddy cried. “His description to a T.”

“They stopped at two saloons on the way there,” the
driver said. “They had a couple of drinks.”

“What did they drink?” Roddy asked. He knew much
of Timor.

oe we OM

reached Minneapolis. alone—and_pro-
ceeded to’hold up a bank in that city,
with a local assistant.

“When I left Brooklyn, I had $12,000.
When I reached Tacoma, I had $17,000.”

But the fact remained that he didn’t
have a penny when we arrived back in
New York. “You know,” he chuckled, “I
have been somewhat of a spendthrift and

what I did not get rid of the lawyers in °

Washington, got.”

He made no pretense about the wanton
killings of the fink employes. ‘‘What do
you think of men who reach for burglar
alarms when you politely tell them to
throw their hands up. They wouldn’t
obey orders; they were impractical men.”

I remember vividly the date, June 23,
1919, when Gordon Hamby went on trial
for his life. He wanted to plead guilty
but the law does not allow that plea. He
offered no defense. It took the jury ex-
actly forty-seven minutes to convict him
of first-degree murder. District Attorney
Lewis said to the jury, pointing a finger
at Hamby: .

“Remember him as the master ban-
dit who did not hesitate to take human
life.”

Flanked by a half-dozen policemen, he
was taken to Sing Sing and became Con-
vict 70292. Disdainfully, he shrugged
when he was informed that -Governor
Smith had refused him a reprieve.

On the evening of January 29, 1920,

Convict 70292 was handed a black shirt.
Still the debonair gentleman, he re-

uested: “Isn’t it possible to have a white
shirt, this black one is a little on the
gloomy side.” He was given a' white shirt.
He ate his last meal—steak, potatoes, ice-
cream—heartily.

He looked at’ the gloomy face of the
guard outside his cell. Hamby remarked
to Warden Lewis E. Lawes:

“For God's sake, Major, take this man
away; he hasn’t got a smile in him.” A
more cheerful guard took up the position.
Convict 70292—Gordon Hamby—turned
to Warden Lawes: |

“I don’t wish to appear in the light of
a moralist, but you can tell the young
fellows for me, Warden, not to ever start
doing wrong, for once you start, you can
never stop a career of crime. I came East
to go West (World War I expression
meaning death). If I hadn’t determined
upon this course, some other tall man
would now be where I am and this despite
the fact that there were several witnesses
who did not fail to identify everyone who
was suspected of this crime.” .

We on the police force awaited the
hour of 11 p. m. At that time they pa-
raded Hamby down the long corridor to
the little: green door. Hushed whispers
echoed down the long corridor.

“Good-bye, fellows,” Hamby called. “I
always like to try everything once.”

At 11:13 p. m. Hamby tried the electric
chair. He was pronounced dead a few
minutes later.

In the early morning hours while the
prisoners slumbered, the guards removed
the charred body of what was once Gor-
don Hamby. Justice had exacted a debt
to society.

But if the electric chair ended the

career of Gordon Hamby, the Courteous » tions, Wing denied that he ever had been -
Killer, there was still the, mystery of his

accomplice. From Hamby, we. had
learned only one significant fact—the man
had checked a bag at the Seaman’s Insti-

. tute before committing the bank robbery.

That bag was still there. And alongsi e

it was a duffel bag, still unclaimed, be-

longing to one Elton R. Wing, vi
For thirteen’ years thereafter the case

_ of the accomplice remained active on our

files. He was a seaman. That was all we

knew about him, nothing more. But we.

were certain.that he had been Hamby’s
accomplice. We contacted every shipping
company. His name was posted through-
out the land. ae nts
Thirteen. years’after the execution of
Hamby, one night in San Francisco, Elton

Wing miade the fatal error. He engaged .

in a brawl with another seaman. They
slugged it out and. were’ arrested. The
heat of the battle was still'strong on Wing
when they brought him before: the au-

‘thorities.

In all those years he had’ posed’ as
Edward Palmer. The authorities asked
for his name, Impulsively, he said “Elton
Wing.” The alert police remembered that
name. They were sharper in their’ ques-

in New Yotk: Question followed ques-
tion. He wilted and finally confessed.
~ ‘He had met Hamby in New York. He
was 17 years ofd at the time. “My money
lasted only about four months after the
robbery,” he recalled. “If I had remained
Edward Palmer all the way through, I
would still be free. The bank hold-up was
the only job I ever did. I spent most of
my time at sea. When I was 13 I left my
home in Oxford, Maine, and went to sea,
and have been doing that’ever since,” he
sadly related. ;
_. Wing was the only assistant.of Hamby
ever to be calight. He went on trial, was
convicted, and given a long prison sen-
\ tence. “The saddest mistake I ever made
in my life was to hook up with that
smooth-talking Hamby. He promised all
kinds of money, he kept telling me of the
pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
- Well, there is only one thing I’d like to

say.'I know it’s been said a million times .

before, but there is no such thing as easy
money.” The case of Gordon Hamby, and
the folder of Elton R. Wing, now rest
deep in the musty archives at Manhattan
Police Headquarters. :

The body of an’ Indian potentate’s
brother, stabbed in the back and stripped
of fabulous jewels, was found in the pal-
ace garden. “ral be ENC ie

Several suspects were arrested. Their

lesser valuables were uncovered’ in one

he knew nothing of their possession;
either he would not or. could not explain
their presence. When questioned’ in: re-
gard to how he had disposed of the other
jewels and to his whereabouts at the
time of the murder,’ the man merely
shook his head. 4 ; A

Along with the other suspects, the man
was ordered to chew a mouthful of rice.
Then the suspects were made to spit out
the rice. After an examination of the
rice, all the suspects were released.

A few days later the principal suspect
was found dead near his home, stabbed
in the back like the prince. An investi-
gation revealed bloodstains leading to a

INDIA’S LIE DETECTOR

homes were searched and.a few of the:

man’s’ habitation. The man insisted that _

_ other man punished for his own crime; he

palace gardener’s home. In custody, the
gardener admitted that he had killed the
man ‘because he often had visited the
gardener’s wife when the gardener was
at work.

The gardener, then questioned about
the prince’s mutder, denied any knowl-
edge of the crime. He was commanded
to chew a mouthful of rice. When he
spit out the rice it was practically as dry
as before he masticated it. Confronted
with the evidence of his dry mouth, the
gardener broke down and confessed also
to the prince’s murder. He admitted that
he had “planted” the jewels in his rival’s
home in a clever attempt to have the

then. told where he had buried the re-
mainder of the valuables.

While the types of lie detectors used in
this country are considered modern in-
ventions, India has used the rice test for
hundreds, -and possibly thousands, of
years.—Mack Brandewiede

Ses, oii all

10 reach the
le had failed
ce for Coons.
:d again, and
aother bullet
eller’s head.
lead men ly-
mm.

» face of the
y, had not

Jarmed,” he
a rehearsal
' Four other
with their
ve, and star-

foil backed
$13,000 haul,
7 walked up.
‘rs, robbers!”
his gun into

e shouted.

the kind of
vith a warn-
red, and De-
the sidewalk,

bandits had
xi and were

ARD DOWD
liam Roddy
e case. The
r were vague,
All were em-
liteness and
1 summed it
always said

please.” The others all agreed.
The police officers began the long,
hard check. Weeks passed and noth-
ing came to light.

Finally, a hope came to the hori-
zon when, after days of going
through pictures and descriptions,
the files showed that there was one
bandit—name unknown—who was
wanted by more than a dozen states
for bank roberies. The hauls were
usually in the five figure bracket,
and the significant thing about the
robberies was that in each case
there was a suave bandit involved,
always courteous, who always had
said please.

Each robbery, it was found, was
committed with a different accom-
plice, but the brain apparently was
always the same man.

Because of Hamby’s conceit, one
of his aliases—the name, Jay Allen
—was learned. It seemed that Ham-
by could not help but notify local
newspapers after pulling @ job.
Wherever he had committed a crime,
he had written to a newspaper say-
ing he had done the job. The notes
were all signed with the name Jay
Allen.

The case began cracking in Ta-
eoma, Washington, where Hamby,
or Allen, had rented a room with a
Robert Davis, a shipyard worker.

One evening Hamby and Davis
got into an argument. The killer’s
trigger temper hit his trigger finger,
and Davis fell to the floor, dead.

Local police worked swiftly, how-
ever, and descriptions of the killer
were circulated. Little did they know
that the man they were seeking was
also guilty of two other cold-blood-
ed murders.

An inn keeper at Mt. Ranier
recognized the killer from a broad-
cast description and notified police.
The authorities closed in quickly
and Hamby surrendered without a
struggle.

He readily admitted. the murder
of Davis and gave his real name,
Gordon Hamby, and his age, 26.

Police brought him to Tacoma,
still not knowing that they had in
custody the master bandit. Under
the name of Hamby, he was con-
victed of murder.

But Hamby wasn’t worried. He
knew that the State of Washington
had abolished capital punishment.
He knew, too, that if the New York
police were searching for him, it
was under the name of Jay Allen.

ONTHS passed and the search

for Jay Allen continued in New
York while Hamby was behind bars
three thousand miles away. Then,
the coincidence occurred and an
alert police HMeutenant broke the
case.

His name was Lieutenant Fay and
he was sitting in a train with a
prisoner. Across the aisle from him
sat a sheriff, handcuffed to another
prisoner.

The two police officers took to
chatting and the sheriff mentioned
that he had taken a part in the
capture of a killer near Tacoma
named Gordon Hamby. The name
meant nothing to Lieutenant Fay.
But as the sheriff talked on of Ham-
by, Fay leaned forward. The sheriff
remarked how strangely courteous
the killer had been.

“Funny,” said the sheriff, “when-
ever he wanted something, he al-
ways said please.”

That was it!

Lieutenant Fay notified Dowd and

‘Roddy and they traveled to Tacoma.

After questioning, and watching the
evidence close in on him, Hamby
admitted his connection with the
New York crimes. Extradition was
arranged.

Questioned as to his accomplices,
Hamby’s reply was typically ego-
tistical: “Please, gentlemen, you
have me, the brains, They were sec-
ond-rate. Why bother with them?”

On June 23, 1919, Gordon Hamby
went to trial, The jury was out only
forty-seven minutes before convict-
ing him of first degree murder. At
11:00 p.m., of January 29, 1920, Ham-
by began the slow walk to the elec-
tric chair. An officer took his arm.

“Please,” said Hamby. “If you
don’t mind, I can walk it myself.”
His expression didn’t change, but
the fear was in his eyes. At 11:13
Hamby sat on the chair. Several
moments later, physicians pro-
nounced him dead.

SS ——————

VICE!

Just How
CORRUPT

HOLLYWOOD?

The real inside story of the
fleshpots of the movie capital.
For the first time, a national
magazine has the courage to
tell its readers the grim, fan-
tastic story behind a city’s
grisly history of crooked pol-
itics, bribed police and dens
of iniquity
in the

February issue
of
DETECTIVE

WORLD

(now on your newsstand)

; HE “polite killer’ was one of
{ T tre nicknames given to him by
j New York Police. To many, in-
cluding the late former Police Com-
missioner Lewis J. Valentine, he
came closest to what has been term-
ed the “mobster criminal.”

His eyes were icy-blue, cynical,
cold, and hard. He was tight-lipped
and cruel. He was a murderer, but
through it all, he retained one un-
usual quality—a calm courtesy. A
courtesy and politeness even as he
was pulling the trigger of a snub-
nosed automatic that would blank
out the life of his victim.

The polite killer made his New
York debut of crime and murder
on the afternoon of December 13,
1918—a day that will long be re-
membered by veteran detectives.

With an accomplice, the killer
Stepped into a taxicab at Thirty-
seventh Street and Seventh Avenue.
The wind swirled through the cold
streets. Ice and snaw blanketed the
sidewalks. Slowly the cab made jts
way across the Manhattan Bridge.

The killer turned to’ his youthful
aide-in-crime. “This is my thirteenth
bank,” he said casually. “I’ve al-
ready hauled off about $400,000, I'd
like to get over this thirteenth job.”

He smiled as he noted the hands
of his companion begin to tremble.
“For God’s sake, stop shaking! Take
it easy! This is a comparatively easy
job, kid.”

One block from the East Brook-
lyn Savings Bank, the cabbie halted
the car. The killer walked with a
dashing air into the bank, his ac-
complice close behind. He was dress-

ed nattily in a pin stripe suit. The
air of refinement and culture hover-
ed ahout him.

Bank teller DeWitt Peale looked
up into the false smiling blue eyes
that faced him before his cage. In
the adjacent cage, another teller,
Henry Coons, was talking to a de-
positor, Mrs. Frank Murphy. Sev-
eral employes stood behind the par-
tition.

The killer handed Peale a fifty-
dollar bill, His voice was soft and
modulated, “I hope you don’t mind.
I’m short of small change. Would
you please be kind enough to break
this for me?”

Peale looked down and counted
out the smaller bills he was to re-
turn in change. As he started to
push the money through, he found
himself face to face with a gun.

The killer’s voice was still soft
and civil. “Be a good fellow, please,
and hand me all the money you
have and nobody will be hurt.”

Peale couldn’t move. He just stood
staring, his eyes fixed on the ban-
dit’s trigger finger. The killer spoke
again: “Quickly now, please.”

At the same time, the accomplice
shoved a gun in the face of Henry
Coons,

Peale seemed suddenly to come
to life. He moved for the burglar
alarm. He never’ made it.

As his foot moved backward, the
killer’s gun barked, and Peale fell
to the floor dead, a bullet through
his brain.

Quickly, in clipped tones, the kill-
er ordered his accomplice to scoop
up the money, As he did so, Coons.

+ eget?

By Jack Roth

made a heroic move to reach the
burglar alarm that Peale had failed
to hit. It was a mistake for Coons.

The killer’s gun barked again, and
his deadly aim sent another bullet
crashing into the teller’s hegd.
There were now two dead men ly-
ing behind the partition.

Through all this, the face of the
killer, Gordon Hamby, had not
changed. Politely he turned to Mys.
Murphy, who stood to the side, her
mouth open in fright.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” he
whispered, “it’s merely a rehearsal
for a motion picture.” Four other
bank employes stood with their
hands up, afraid to move, and star-
ing at the dead men.

As Hamby and his foil backed
from the bank with a $13,000 haul,
Detective Albert Doody walked up.
The shouts of “Robbers, robbers!”
from the bank brought his gun into
his hand.

“Stop, or I'll fire,” he shouted.

But Hamby wasn’t the kind of
man you could trust with a warn-
ing. He wheeled and fired, and De-
tective Doody fell to the sidewalk,
seriously wounded.

In an instant, the bandits had
disappeared into a taxi and were
speeding away.

IEUTENANT BERNARD DO

and Detective William Roddy
were assigned to the. case. The
descriptions of the killer were vague,
except on one point. All were em-
phatic about his politeness and
courtesy. One of them summed jt
up this way: “He always said

please.” The

The police off
hard check. We:
ing came to lig

Finally, a ho
zon when, af
through pictur
the files showec
bandit—name
wanted by mor:
for bank robe:
usually in the
and the signifi:
robberies was
there was a Sl
always courteo
said please.

Each robber)
committed wit)
plice, but the
always the sar

Because of ]
of his aliases—
—was learned.
by could not
newspapers a
Wherever he hi:
he had written
ing he had do:
were all signe
Allen.

The case be
eoma, Washin
or Allen, had
Robert Davis,

One evenins
got into an a
trigger temper
and Davis fell

Local police
ever, and desc
were circulatec
that the man
also guilty of
ed murders.

An inn ke
recognized the
cast descriptio
The authoriti
and Hamby s
struggle.

He readily
of Davis and
Gordon Hamb:

Police brou;
still not know
custody the !
the name of
victed of mur

AAO aR eK

—_—

white, elece Sing Sing (Kings Coe) 1/29/1920
(DETECTIVE CASES Magazine, June, 19896

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(Continued from page 42)
dreds of photographs there in the hope
that he might recognize the face he
had seen for a flecting moment. But
the attempt was unsuccessful. J

The wary police did not overlook
the fact that Joe Hanel himself wore
high starched collars. From the very
first, the hawk-eyed butler had been
a possible suspect in the baffling case.
But no single trace of guilt had thus
far been uncovered. Despite Hilda
Johnson’s belief that Hanel had
cheated in his accounts, the police
had found no indication that this was
so. Indeed, his accounts were in ex-
cellent order. ae

Still, he could not be ruled out as a
A careful minute-
by-minute breakdown of Hanel’s
movements on the fatal morning of
the tragedy, showed several small
gaps of time. He could have made a
false start to the market, .doubled
back, sneaked into the house through
the cellar door without being ob-
served, murdered Mrs. Heilner, and
then calmly continued his trip to the
market.

But probability is not evidence.
Also, there was the stumbling block
of motive. Seventy dollars in cash
and a few inexpensive items of jew-
elry had been stolen. That Hanel
would jeapordize his life for that
small amount seemed ridiculous. It
was established that he had a sizable
amount of savings in a local bank.

Despite tireless work on the part of
the police, the investigation dragged
fruitlessly along for several weeks.
A dozen suspects were picked up and
questioned and then released. The
handful of available clues had been
found to be valueless.’ The murder of
kindly Mrs. Seligman Heilner seemed
to be at a stalemate.

But Inspector Faurot and his hard-
pressed aides were far from finished.
They were relentless in their deter-
mination to track down the killer. But
they needed a break, a chink in the
solid brick wall of mystery that faced
them.

A brilliant stroke of police work
now provided them with one. Faurot
obtained a close working description
of the jewelry that had been stolen.
Careful replicas of the pieces were
made up. The stage was now set for
the second act. Detectives paid a visit
to the modest apartment where Hilda

| Johnson now lived, ostensibly to

check on one or two minor details
that had come up. As they left they
managed to hide one of the pieces
of substituted jewelry behind a pil-
low on the sofa.

The same act was repeated later
that day in Joe Hanel’s furnished
room.

At nine o'clock the following morn-
ing, an excited telephone call came
from Hilda Johnson. She followed up
her call with a visit to Faurot’s office
an hour later. Eyes fairly popping
with suppressed eagerness, the comely
young woman showed Faurot the
piece of jewelry she had ‘found in her
apartment. Insisting that it was from
the collection of: her murdered mis-
tress, she was emphatic in her belief
that somehow kindly Mrs. Heilner,
although dead, had sent the bit of
jewelry to her as a symbol, a token
from another world to remind Miss
Johnson that the killer of her mistress
must be captured and punished.

There was no mistaking the blaz-
ing sincerity of her words. Even
the cynical, case-hardened Faurot,

Dowd, and Roddy were impressed
with her honesty. Blindly and with-
out question, Miss Johnson was ac-
cepting the “symbol.” If there was a
last, lingering doubt in Faurot’s mind
as to the truth of Miss Johnson’s story
of the murder and the weird, mystic
atmosphere that had pervaded the
murder mansion while Mrs. Heilner
still lived, it was now completely
gone.

Sympathetically as he could, Faurot
soothed the young woman and as-
sured her of the continued vigilance
of the police in the case. She left,
tearful, but she was much calmer
than when she had arrived.

FEW minutes before midnight,

another frantic phone call came
from Miss Johnson. Genuinely star-
tled this time, Faurot himself hur-
ried to the young woman’s apartment.
He learned that Joe Hanel had been
there only an hour ago.

“He was crazy angry,” Miss John-
son said, white-faced. “He said I had
been to the police and informed on
him, and that they had worked a trick
to frighten him into a confession. Oh,
what does it mean?”

Faurot ignored her question. “Did
he discuss the murder with you at
all?” he asked eagerly.

“Oh, no. He just seemed to take it
for granted that I knew all along that
he had killed poor Mrs. Heilner. But
I didn’t. I hadn’t any idea at all, or I
Pg have come straight to the po-
ice.

“Where is Hanel now?” Faurot
demanded.

The young woman shook her head.
“IT don’t know. But he had been
drinking. You should have seen his
eyes, sir. They were like an insane
person’s.”

A hurried call to headquarters re-
sulted in a guard being placed over
Miss Johnson to protect her from a
possible return of the self-confessed
murderer. Faurot picked up Detec-
tives Dowd and Roddy and _ hurried
to the butler’s room. It was in a state
of wild havoc. Drawers were yanked
out, clothes strewn over the floor,
several empty beer bottles were on
ri table. Joe Hancl had obviously
fled.

Bus stations and railroad depots
were blocked off quickly as possible,
but it was a big task and the flecing
killer had had at least an hour’s head
start. Every frantic effort to pick him
up before he could flee the city or lose
himself in its sprawling vastness
failed. Joe Hanel had made good his
escape.

Faurot’s brilliant plan to smoke oui
the killer had worked only too well.
But at least the identity of the mur-
derer had been revealed. What re-
mained now was a dogged manhunt.

Joe Hanel proved himself wily and
resourceful. Many leads poured in
to headquarters on the wanted man,
but they fizzled quickly. A call from
the Philadelphia police notified Faurot
that Hanel had been seen in that city.
But he had disappeared.

Commissioner Arthur Woods issued
a special edict charging every police-
man on the force, from the top to the
lowest rookie, to hunt down Hanel.
Thousands of posters with a descrip-
tion of the wanted man were broad-
cast throughout the country. A
round-up of Philadelphia criminals
failed to snare the killer. Obviously,
he was a.lone wolf who mingled with
no one else.

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The Kaiser's medal found beside
Julia Heilner’s body was plant-
ed especially to fool ‘the cops.

His quick eye and good memory
helped Inspector John Coughlin to
spot the Brooklyn woman's killer.

Posing as a stranded German in
New York this man (right) got
into a home he planned to rob.

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

UTLER'S HAND

wows h

BY BARTON BLACK

An old habit picked
up in jail cells

revealed a suspect’s
past to a sharp-eyed

police inspector

lay sprawled on the kitchen floor of
her luxurious 20-room house on

Albermarle Road in the Flatbush sec-
tion of Brooklyn. Blood from ugly head
wounds matted her high-piled hair.
Around her neck two stout cords had
been twisted and tied. A bloodstained
white tablecloth had been thrown over
the corpse of the 30-year-cld matron
and she still lay as she had fallen when
struck down by her attacker.

Detective Captain John D. Coughlin
a brilliant young officer with a record
of 30 solved murder cases behind him,
rose from an examination of the bodv.
Half an hour earlier Patrolmen James
McGovern and F. C. Blessman of the
Parkville station had responded to a
message from an unknown woman that
a body was lying on the kitchen floor at
the Albermarle Road address. The two
officers had to force the kitchen door to
enter. ‘ :

Coughlin looked up as Inspector
George Dillon strode into the room, ac-
companied by Dr. Frank Long, assistant
Brooklyn medical examiner. As Dr.
Long knelt beside the’ woman's body,
i captain made a brief report to Dil-
on.

“She was all alone in the house.” he
concluded, “and her slayer evidently
spent considerable time here. Every
room has been thoroughly ransacked.”

“It doesn’t look like the work of a
burglar,” Dillon pointed out. “I doubt
if he’d waste time tying two nooses
around her neck.”

. “I’m not so sure,” Coughlin countered.

Mrs. Heilner may have walked: into
the kitchen and surprised him. He
struck her over the head and tied the
cords around her throat to make certain
she wouldn’t revive and identify him.”

Dr. Long’s examination supported the
captain's theory. He told the officers
that in his opinion the victim had died
of a skull fracture. not strangulation.
The assailant apparently had not real-
ized that his blows with a blunt instru-
ment had been immediately fatal.

“She hasn't been dead much more
than an hour,” the medical examiner
said. As he concluded his preliminary
findings, two other men entered the
room. They were the victim’s husband.
Seligman L. Heilner. a wealthy Man-
hattan corset manufacturer, and

Te: BODY OF blonde Julia Heilner

his nephew, Fred Vogel, who had been
notified by the police and summoned to the
scene.

The husband, tall, slim and in his 50s,
was pale and had difficulty controlling his
emotions when he discussed the possibil-
ity of robbery as the motive. The nephew,
who boarded with the Heilners, had better
control of himself and flatly declared that
the crime could have been committed only
by a housebreaker.

The detectives led both.men through
each room of the big house while they
noted and described all articles that were
missing: Julia Heilner, her widower said,
always wore two diamond earrings and
two diamond rings, but the detectives had

“and the detectives allowed them to leave.

ibly shaken, her eyes red-rimmed from
weeping. 3

“It’s a terrible thing,” she said in a low
voice. “Julia Heilner was my best friend.
_I lived with her as a companion, but we
were more like sisters. I was looking for
another job, and Julia suggested I try for
one as a governess. I put an ad in the
New York Times yesterday and last night
I went to Manhattan to stay with friends.
This morning I was curious to know if I
got any answers, so I called the house. A
man answered the phone.”

“Did you recognize the voice?” Dillon
demanded. :

“No,” Miss Buck replied. “His voice was

(Continued on page 55)

ways. Any interest she had in Germany
was confined to her desire to help German
citizens marooned in this country by the
war.”

Heilner and his nephew were showing
the strain of the shock they had received,

Voice On The Phone

Now a third witness entered ‘ne house
and closed the foyer door softly behind her.
Tall, dark and attractive, sne identified
herself as Miss Helen Buck, the dead
woman’s companion in the big house on
Albermarle Road, and the person who had
phoned the police. She was pale and vis-

found no jewelry on her body. More ,
jewelry was missing from_her bedroom, |
and a small iron strongbox had been com-
pletely emptied of its contents. It had
contained her will, personal papers and
deeds to property in her native Germany. |

A gold watch and stickpin had been :
taken from the nephew’s room, but neither |

Heilner nor Vogel could find anything |
missing from the first floor rooms, although
these had been ransacked like the others.
“Who else lives here?” Coughlin asked.

“We have three servants,” replied Selig-
man Heilner. “A maid, Gretel Friedlich; a
cook, Laura Weitz, and the butler, Joseph
Hanel. My wife often gave them a day off,
and perhaps that is what happened today.
My nephew and I leave the house every
morning at 7.

“I want to see these servants right away,”
Dillon declared. “Where can we find
them?” °

Hanel might be found at the Seaman’s
Institute in Manhattan, Heilner believed,
because he was a German sailor marooned
in the country on account of the war.
Laura Weitz usually went to visit friends
on Long Island, while Gretel Friedlich had
a sister in Manhattan.

The inspector started to leave the living
room and the captain followed when Selig-
man Heilner asked, “Why would anyone
take my wife’s will and the deeds to prop-
erty in Germany? The missing jewelry I
can understand, but the theft of these other
things puzzles me.”

Questioned by Coughlin, Heilner said
that his late wife had considerable property
in Germany. Her grandfather had died two
years earlier leaving her the Fuerst Hotel
in Bad Eams and a great deal of land in
the Western Reich.

The will itself, he continued, was a
simple document. The bulk of the property
was divided among Julia Heilner's rela-
tives.

“But I am well fixed,” the husband has-
tened to add, “and have no need for that
property. Besides, with the war in Europe,
what is it worth now?”

Most of his wife’s relatives lived in Ger-
many, he said, with the exception of his
nephew, Fred Vogel. The nephew was
quick to deny that he knew anything
about the will or its provisions.

Dillon’s gray eyes were fixed squarely
on Heilner’s. “Tell me,” he asked quietly,
“just how strong were your wife's sym-
pathies for the Fatherland?”

It was the morning of April 23, 1915, and
the armies of Germany and the Allies were
tearing at each other on.the Western Front.
In less than two weeks a U-boat was to
sink the liner Lusitania, but at present
there was little feeling for or against either
side in the great conflict, and that Ameri-
cans of German origin would be loyal to
their mother country was considered
natural.

Seligman Heilner paused before he an-
Swered the inspector's question. Then he

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looks like. It’s poss‘ole tnat ie Pontiac
police will be accuainted with just such
a character.” -

One hour later the three detectives were
ushered into the office of the chief of
police of Pontiac, Mich, a city 25 miles
north of Detroit.

Lieutenant Barton outlined the details
of the Michalowski murder, the myste-
rious workings of the Telephone Burglar
and the possible tie-in with the youth
who carried the lucky red nickels.

“Of course I’ve read all about this in-
vestigation,” the chief said: “I've stud-
ied the descriptions you men broadcast
throughout the state and I’ve had a few
ideas of my own about it. I even thought
of calling Detroit. The reason I didn’t
was that you men seem to think this fu-
gitive is either a teen-ager or at most in
his early 20s. The man I had in mind is
well over 30.”

“We can be wrong,” Detective Cooper
stated. “After all, we're going on a de-
scription furnished by a woman who saw
him in the darkness. Besides that-she was
in a near-hysterical state. Some men of
30 look 20 and vice versa. If you know
of any person who comes within a mile
of this description, let’s have it.”

The Pontiac chief called in an officer,
spoke a few terse words and then turned
back to the Detroit detectives.

“We've got a fellow here in Pontiac

who’s caused us trouble ever since he was -

17,” the chief said. “He’s served time for
robbery on at least three occasions. But
his hair is light brown and he’s at least
32 years old.” “s

Payoff In Nickels -

“Let’s take a look at him,” Barton ‘said
soberly.

When the officer returned with an iden-
tification card the chief handed it over to
the lieutenant.

“Ross M. Fargey,” Barton read. “Height
six feet, weight 170. Age 32. Hair, light
brown.”

Morin and Cooper studied the picture
closely. “Could be,” they agreed.

“Sent to Boys’ Vocational School in
Lansing for burglary when 17,” the lieu-
tenant continued. “Freed r serving
seven months. Promptly rearrested for
stealing an automobile in Grand Rapids.
He got two years’ probation. Within a
year he was sent to Jackson prison to
serve a minimum of seven and a half
years for burglary. Paroled in 1939, he,
was back within two months for another
burglary. In 1941 he was released to join
the Army. He served throughout the
war.

“Another reason I didn’t call you was
the fact that you found fingerprints at the
scene of the crime and after checking
came to the conclusion that the man you
wanted had no record,” the chief said.

“That's true,” Detective Morin replied.
“But remember it was the newspapers
that broadcast the no record angle. We

it was possible the- prints we found

there had no tie-in with the case. All-

we were sure of was the fact that they
weren’t Michalowski’s.”

“Have you any idea where this man
Fargey is now?” Barton asked.

The chief said that he was supposed to
be operating a small garage right there
in Pontiac. “His parents live on a little
farm near Howell, about 35 miles west of
here.”

“We'll take this picture along,” Barton
said, “and show it to Mrs. Michalowski
and the Jefferson Avenue bartender. If
they identify him as our man we'll start
a search for Fargey.”

Back in Detroit, the widowed woman

studied the likeness carefully. “That looks
like him,” she said finally. “I can’t be
sure, but I think that’s the man who killed
Anthony.”

After warning Mrs. Michalowski to say
nothing about this phase of the investi-
gation, the detectives went to the East
Jefferson bar.

“Sure,” the proprietor said. “Looks
exactly like the fellow who always carries
the red nickels.”

Lieutenant Barton reported to Commis-

~ sioner Toy, then he returned to Pontiac

with Morin and Cooper. They went di-
nectly to the garage owned by the suspect.
Everything was locked up tight.

“Looks like a front to me,” Cooper
stated. “There hasn't been any work done
in this place for days.”

“Maybe Fargey has been tipped off and
taken it on the lam,” Morin added. “We
better get out to the farm in Howell.”

An elderly man was just coming out of |

the barn carrying two milk pails as the
investigators drove into the farmyard.

He said he was Ross’ father, but he
hadn’t seen his son in some time.

Asked if they could search Ross’ room,
the -elder Fargey readily agreed. “He
hasn’t been there much during the past
year,” he said.

But when the ives had finished
they had in tow five loaded pistols, seven
cameras, a radio, a pair of binoculars, a
hunting knife—and a handful of nickels,
painted red.

“I thought Ross was working as a me-

ic in a garage in Pontiac,” the father
told police. “That’s what he told us. But
apparently he went wrong again.”

The detectives knew that they had to

_work fast if they were to apprehend Ross

Fargey be‘ore he got wise. Barton phoned
Detroit headquarters and asked that a
statewide troadcast be made instructing
local and state officers to be on the look-
out for the man. Officers were assigned
to cover the Fargey garage and farm.
Police throughout the state of Michigan
listened to the. full description of Ross
Fargey and went to work. State troopers
working out of Gaylord in the northern
part of the southern peninsula showed
special’ interest. They had been trailing

a burglary suspect for several days now.

And Ross Fargey’s description bore a
striking resemblance to this man. Until
now they had nothing definite to pin on
this stranger, but after listening to the
broadcast they‘had plenty.

The arrest was made in a diner just out-
side — And the suspect was with
a girl.

Pinned To Killing

The state troopers were surprised when
the man readily admitted that his name
was Ross M. Fargey! They were doubly
surprised when he freely confessed—al-
most to the point of boasting—that he had
broken into 40 homes in Detroit and 75
in Pontiac in the last six months. .

“What's the use denying it,” he said.
“You know my record. You found guns
in my car.” :

While the troopers notified Detroit of
their arrest, they were careful not to talk
too much about the Michalowski eomnden.

“I always made it a point to operate ©
the west side of Detroit,” the confessed
burglar stated. “I'd select a darkened
house, ring the bell and, if nobody an-
swered, I'd break a side or front window
to gain entrance. I could frisk a house in
ten minutes. I never was destructive
either. On my best night I broke into 12
houses in Detroit.”

- It was not until Detectives Barton,
Morin and Cooper had returned the crim-

dabeamibices.

inal to the motor city that the Michalowski
case was brought up.

“Don’t try to pin that one on me,” Far-
gey laughed. “I told you I operated on
the west side only. I wasn’t even in De-
troit on December 4th. I was up in Gay-
lérd picking up $5,000 easy money.”

m studied the suspect coldly.
“You'll have to do better than that,” he
said. “You thought you would get away
with this clean. You must have disposed
of the gun that killed Michalowski be-
cause none of the weapons we found fired
the a shots. But you left a trail a mile
wide.”

An attendant stepped into the office
carrying several objects in his arms.

“First,” the detective lieutenant began,
“Mrs. Michalowski gave us a full descrip-
tion. You'll be placed in the lineup in
the morning. If she identifies you, that’s
number one. Second, she described a

- coat you wore when you fled the scene.

We found one like it in your room. Third,
you stole a $59 gold certificate from the
victim’s home. We found such a certifi-
cate in your car. Fourth, the ground was
soft around the Whitehill house and the
killer left a footprint from which we got
a cast. It’s size 11. You wear an 11 shoe.
Fifth, if you're still interested, you dropped
several nickels painted red from your
pocket when you pulled your gun in the
alley. We found others in your room at
Howell. A bartender told us you called
these coins your ‘lucky redheads.’ But
your luck’s run out.”

The once-boastful burglar sat in silence
as the lieutenant finished. He refused to
talk until the next morning when Mrs.
Michalowski and the bartender both
picked him out of the lineup.

Then, under the bright lights of an in-
terviewing room at police headquarters he
looked from Prosecutor James N. McNally
to Lieutenant Barton. “All right,” he said.
“TIL tell you everything. I enter only
one-story homes of the type owned by
working people. I’m not the Telephone
Burglar, if there is such a person. I pick
homes that are dark in the evening and
enter by breaking the glass in the front
door. This is a cinch. It’s not like trying
to prowl a wealthy home where servants
may be sleeping.

“IT went to the Michalowskis’ that Satur-
day night, broke the glass in the front
door, then unlocked a side door, so I
could get out in a hurry. I was in the
bedroom with the light turned on and the
shades down when this man and his wife
came home.

“The lady grabbed me. I shook her off
and kept running, but this man kept gain-
ing on me. I turned and shot two or
three times. I meant to scare him. I
didn’t mean to kill him. I’m sorry and
I wish I could do something for that lady.”

Fargey finished by saying that he had
parked his car two blocks away. Later
he drove to Pontiac where he met one of
his girl friends. They drove to Gaylord
and spent the weekend. “I’ve got four
fiancees,” he ended boastfully.

On December 22 Ross Morton Fargey
Slouched into Judge O. Z. Ide’s court where
he was arraigned for murder in the first
degree. He stood silent as a plea of in-
nocent was entered for him.

As this is written the suspect, who
thought a pocketful of nickels would in-
sure him against arrest, has not yet come
‘e ag for the murder of Anthony Micha-
owski.

Eprror’s Note: To spare possible em-
barrassment to an innocent nerson, the
name Robert Green, used in this story, is

Clue of the
Butler’s Hand

(Continued from page 13)

strange to me. I asked if Mrs. Heilner was
in, and he said that she was not. When I
asked where sue was, he hung up. I got
suspicious ar.d rushed over here. I found

i
|
|

both the front door and the rear door to |

the kitchen locked. I went next door to the

Franz Lorech home, where she often visits. |

But they hadn’t seen her, and Franz, |
alarmed, walked over to the kitchen win- |

dow of the Heilner house and looked in.
He saw the body inside on the floor and
ran back to tell me. Then I called police.”

Helen Buck said that when she arrived
she had seen a man hurrying down Albe-
marle Road in the direction of East Third
Street. She had. glimpsed only his back
and at the time wondered why he was in
such haste. She could not be certain that
he had come from the murder scene.

The fleeing man, Dillon and Coughlin
decided, was their sole clue. At the in-
spector’s direction, the captain sent detec-
tives to every home along Albemarle Road

in search of someone who had seen the face |
of the suspect as he hastened down the

street.

Back in the kitchen of the Heilner house,-

Coughlin had his fingerprint men dust all
objects, including the cords around the
victim’s neck, with French chalk in hopes
of developing the killer’s prints. But in
1915, fingerprinting was a new science and
the results were meager.
smudged prints were found, none of them
of value.

Captain Coughlin continued his meticu-
lous search of the kitchen. He discovered
two strange clues, a heavy piece of white
enamel paper, about one inch square, on
which was printed the number 1-99, and a
bronze medal the size of a half-dollar. The
medal bore the silhouette of the Kaiser,
with the date 1914 under it and the legend,
— in German, “Death and the Father-
and.

While Coughlin was attempting to eval-
uate the significance of these two clues,
other detectives arrived at the house with
the three missing servants. First was
Gretel Friedlich, the maid, plump, rosy-
cheeked and trembling from head to foot.
Second to be ushered in was Laura Weitz,
the cook, tall, gaunt and expressionless. The

Only a few |

| zestful Pri:

third was Joseph Hanel, the butler, tall, ;

with a moon-like face and wide forehead. |
They questioned Hanel first. His looks —

and actions seemed frank ‘and forthright
and he spoke in broken English.

but they learned that he had been a
steward on the Vaterland. later to be
known as the Leviathan, which had been
caught in New York Harbor at the out-
break of the war and the crew discharged
into New York City to make the best of it.

Hanel had managed to get occasional
jobs, but without any regularity. He lived
at the Seaman’s Church Institute, 25 South
Street, Manhattan. A month before Mrs.
Heilner had telephoned there to ask for
any German sailor who had been unable
to get a job. Hanel had been hired as her
butler.

On the day of the murder, he explained,
Mrs. Heilner had told the servants that
they could take the day off. He had gone

It took |
some time to get all the details of his story, |

}

to Manhattan to look up some of his Ger- |

man frends, and then returned to the In-
stitute, where the detectives found him.
It was even more difficult when Cough-

}

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‘
oe eT 11)
LU tena A oe ae

The trail led south. Faurot learned
that on Thanksgiving Day, Hanel had
had the audacity to drop in on a local
county sheriff in Virginia, and he had
toasted the holiday and the good,
health of the sheriff with a drink.
After he left, the sheriff noticed a
picture of Hanel posted on the bul-
letin board!

Not until February 22, 1916, Wash-
ington’s’ Birthday, eleven months
after Mrs. Heilner’s murder, was
Hanel caught. He was picked up in
a Baltimore, Maryland, rooming
house. The clerk was impressed by
Hanel’s extraordinary eyes. He
searched his memory, recalled that he

had seen a poster on the wanted man, -

and telephoned the local police. The
killer surrendered without a struggle.

He was quickly returned to New
York City. A superior smirk on his
lean, sharp-featured face, he readily
confessed to the murder of Mrs.
Heilner.

“She had been hounding me for
over a month because she said I
drank too much,” he revealed to In-
spector Faurot. “But she was afraid to
fire me. I saw to that all right. And

I warned her about talking to, the
others about me.”

Mary Lou or her brother there. She
said they must have gone to Dyers-
burg.”

Yarbro pounced on this. “Said they
must have gone, eh? Then she didn’t
know for sure! Those men seen at
the farm could have been hiding in the
house when Ruby Mae got there. The
girl didn’t see her grandmother or

' brother around and figured they had

gone to Dyersburg. After that—”

“What do you think happened to
Mary Lou and the boy, then?”

Yarbro shook his head. “I don’t
know for sure. It’s possible those
men could have taken an attractive
girl like Ruby Mae along with them.
That’s about the only thing that adds
up in this affair.”

ECONDS later, the police cruiser
was again racing toward the Sor-
rell farm. As it reached the yard,
Yarbro bounded out quickly. “We’re
going to search this place again—only
this time from top to bottom,” he said.
Two hours later, the officers were
still combing the farm. As night be-
gan falling, the search through some
of the smaller buildings was hamp-
ered by darkness.

Yarbro stood in the middle of the
barnyard deep in thought. “Sure
thought we’d find something around
here,” he told Turner. “I guess the
thing to do is to get an alarm out and
bring some men and equipment up
here for more searching.”

His calls to Dyersburg set the State
Highway Patrol system in motion and
brought to the farm District Attorney
John M. Drane, Deputy Sheriff “Red”
Roberts, and Patrolman Leland Baker.
The deputy and the patrolman carried
portable hghts.

The prosecutor’s face was serious as

The man’s deep-set hypnotic eyes
actually glowed as he spoke. It was
not difficult to see how they had in-
spired terror in the hearts of those
he attempted to dominate.

Hanel had = waited outside until
Miss Johnson left the house on her
day off. Then he had doubled back
through the cellar door. He had pro-
ceeded immediately to Mrs. Heilner’s
room, argued with her, dragged her
downstairs, and beaten her to death.
Then he had gone back upstairs and
stolen the money and jewelry to set
up a false motive for the murder.

It was while he had been still rum-
maging around in Mrs. Heilner’s room
that the innocent steamfitter had
rung the bell.

After a brief trial, Joe Hanel was
found guilty of murder in the first
degree. He was electrocuted on Sep-
tember 1, 1916.

His last words as he sat in the chair
of death was, “Hurry up, let’s get this
over with!”

Note: The names George Drake,
Hilda Johnson, John Fetik, and
George Roller are fictitious in order
to protect the identity of innocent
persons.

FUN-LOVING BLONDE

(Continued from page 11)

he greeted Yarbro and Turner. “The
Highway Patrol’s got 90 men out
looking for those people,” he told the
sheriff. “Find any evidence of what
took place?”

Yarbro shook his head. “If anything
happened to those folks,” he said,
“there’s nothing around here we've
been able to find so far to prove it.”

Drane nodded. ‘What do you figure
on doing now?”

“Start these men on a hunt,” the
sheriff said, “then get back to Dyers-
burg myself and keep a check on any
reports that might come in.”

“Tll go with you,” the prosecutor
said.

By eight o’clock, a number of Mary
Lou Sorrell’s neighbors had arrived
and the authorities now had a twenty-
man posse organized. Under Yarbro’s
direction, Roberts and Baker began
stringing out the lights, and they
hoped to pry into every nook and
areony of the out-buildings.

With matters that far advanced,
Yarbro and Drane took their leave.
“Let me know the minute you find
anything,” the sheriff told Turner,
who remained in charge.

Back in his office in the county seat,
with Drane seated across his desk,
Yarbro beganchecking Highway Pa-
trol stations up and down Route 51
from Dyersburg. Not a single trace
of the missing woman, girl, and boy
had yet been reported by the squads
of uniformed officers.

“Beats me,” the the prosecutor said,
“why there were no witnesses to what
happened down there at Halls. If
there were five people in that car, the
blood shows at least one of them was
hurt. How did they manage to get
away without being seen?”

Yarbro shrugged. “That’s the hard-

est thing to 1
thing,” he sa
checked around
find a soul wh:

He had bare]:
the telephone
speaker said, *
Hall, down at
working with t
that case up yo.
run into a hot

Yarbro came
you got?” he a:

“We found a
to Sorrell,” the
young girl sold
hour ago‘to a yc
around a gas s
showing it aro
marshall, A. C.

The sheriff w
description of t}

“Sure,” Hall
doubtedly Mary
daughter. Light-
ing, and she sr
lisp.”

Yarbro was ft
did this mean?
Ruby Mae run
been. She who v
so, where were
brother? Was
rifle an answer

“Do you have
Mae went?” the

“Sure,” said
was last seen tr:
phis in a car wi

“What?” the
rowing suspic

orrell’s grand
flamed. Here, Y
substantiation o
learned at the S.
_ That there we
in the case now
fied. Was Ruby
Had they forced
for them so they
sonally in the tr
traveling with tl

“Send Drew uy
he told Hall. “I’]
identify it. If ye
else be sure to |

Hanging up,
what had happen
Heigl gg police,”
be able to head
which the pair m
Mae may still be
lows.” .

“What about
queried.

_. “Nothing yet,”
jiggling the phon
they weren't alo:
sold the gun in }

Yarbro spoke p:
Detectives M. A.
and told him abc
_ “Yes,” replied E
ting the teletyp:
Highway Patrol.

checking. Any r
Yarbro repeat:
statements. “Tho

ditch the car an
Ruby Mae,” he sa
hop a train or bus
Ing your men mi;
they disappear.
“We'll do everyt
promised.
_Around midnig}
rived in Dyersbi
Yarbro took him
where the weapo:
Newton Sorrell.
Yarbro returned

“1 will tell you later,” the visitor
replied. Harris smiled.

“Mae,” he said, “will urge you to
tell your mother. But remember your
romise. We can’t have the marriage
nown now, can we, Helen?” The poor
girl could not find a word to answer.

That afternoon Harris took Helen for
a walk, from which she came back pale
and exhausted.. They were gone so
long that Mrs. Potts remarked about
it when they returned. Helen went ‘to
her room and stayed there the rest of
the day. A few days later she went to
visit her uncle, Dr. Charles W. Trever-
ton, at Scranton, Pennsylvania. She
was pale, listless, could hardly eat.
When the doctor discovered her con-
dition, in July, she admitted that Carl
had attempted to perform an opera-
tion upon her, but became frightened
and abandoned the attempt. Dr. Tre-
verton, with the aid of Dr. David B.
Hand, tried to restore her health, but
without avail, and her child was pre-
maturely born—dead.

R. TREVERTON later declared

that he sent for Harris, who
promptly came to Scranton, said he was
very sorry, and offered to help take care
of the patient. He remarked that he had
been in this kind of trouble before and
had always come out of it all right. Dr.
eo would not let him touch the

irl,

When Helen was well on the way to
recovery, Dr. Treverton telegraphed
for her mother, and when she arrived
the girl, resting her hands on a Bible,
told her the secret of her marriage and
its consequences. Harris meantime had

The Master Detective

returned to New York, In September,
a week before the opening of term in
the medical college, j met Helen and
her mother in a New York department
store, and they went to lunch together.
He explained to them that his arrest a
few weeks before for running the Nep-
tune Club at Asbury Park as a gam-
bling house was the result of a con-
spiracy; that he did not know gam-
bling was going on until a man com-
plained of his losses, and then he gave
the man eight dollars out of his own
pocket.

AFTER luncheon, Helen went to the
ferry and waited while Carl and her
mother called at 170 Broadway, where
Harris’s lawyer, Mr. Davison, ex-
egg that the trouble at ‘Asbury
ark was due to the infraction of a
mere borough law. Harris was angry
and excited, for he feared the arrest
might hurt his standing at the College
of Physicians and Surgeons. When
Davison left the room, Harris asked
Mrs. Potts:

“Does your husband know of our
marriage?”

“No,” she replied. “This is no time
to tell him of the marriage. Have you
told your mother?”

“No,” said Harris. “I would not
have the family know it for half a
million dollars,”

“It would have been well if you had
thought of that sooner,” said Mrs.
Potts.

“If you feel so unhappy about it,”
he replied, “it can be very easily brok-
en. We can have it broken any time
if it grows to be a bore—”

“That would be wicked!” Mrs, Potts
interrupted. “I would not tolerate it.
You two should be married again, by
a minister.”

“I'm perfectly willing—at some other
time,” Harris declared. “Just now I
should not like to see her name con-
nected with my troubles over the Nep-
tune Club.”

Meantime Mr. Davison’s clerk re-
turned from the City Hall with a copy
of the marriage certificate of Carl and
Helen. “I was astonished,” said Mrs.
Potts, “when Carl told me he had
bare the original certificate.”

“There is nothing sacred to me in such
a marriage as this,’ said the mother, as
she read the false names the couple had
given and the name of the alderman
who had performed the ceremony.

“| should say not!” Carl agreed with
her. “I looked the old fellow up. He
keeps a lager beer saloon.”

THE lawyer drew up an affidavit set-

ting forth that the marriage was
binding in law, attached it to the copy
of the certificate, and Carl signed the
affidavit and handed both papers to her.

“1 will have a ministerial marriage
any time you say,” he assured her;
and, as they were going down in the
elevator, he added: “Thank you for
not pushing the marriage any further
just now. If you had pushed it fur-
ther, I would have been obliged to
leave everything and go West. But it’s
all right now.

“By the way, I have found an ex-
cellent school for Helen. She is so im-
pulsive now that she expresses pleasure
or displeasure too readily. In the Com-

The old College of Physicians and Surgeons in New York City where, the State contended, the mysterious
poison was obtained

July, 1933

stock School th
society in whi
expect to obt:
New York.”
The mother
was brilliant, «
ceed, and agre
school he rec
arrived at tl
smiled to see |
band on such ¢
“Going over
to his wife,” 1
was not near
ticed that Hel
Perhaps | hav
happy as she c
Helen entere
early in the wi
Ocean Grove
did not go the:
Helen, I would
thing remain a:
no engagemen
time.” Mrs. Po
necessity for t
of the engagem
already an assu
family gratituc
it rather than |
obedience.” Hz
enjoyed. your
remain at the (
the summer an
College, and let
is for two year

THis alarme
did not rej
that he had le
his letter worri
“T regret this
tirely in your
will have any
formed that y«
romised it, an
it any time yor
hinder my pro
“Your. letter
nervous,” Mrs.
husband may |
any time from
illness at Scra
commented up
hardship it will
secret, unackn
years longer—t
“You have p!
just as I say.
on February 8t
of your marria
Gospel and be
manner, and gi
hold. I will c
making. it publ:
In reply to
panuary 0—th
ong letter, ack
promised, and .
“T will do all
means of satis!
be found.”
Mrs. Potts |
reading it seve!
not bear to |
threw any dis
riage. And she
him at Old Poi
“Dear Carl: °
is an immense 1
for answering s
“I have hope

feeling all right in the morning.”

She did not answer;: for she had
fallen asleep again. The girls turned
off the lights once more, and went back
to their beds. They had fallen into an
uneasy sleep when they were awakened
by a strange sound, a smothered cry
from the direction of Helen’s bed. She
seemed to be choking, she drew her
breath with such difficulty. They
turned on the lights and hurried to her
side. A frightful, bluish paleness had
spread over her face; the veins on her
damp forehead stood out in thick blue
atterns; her hands were quite blue.

he girls chafed her temples and
rubbed her hands, but she lay inert,
sunk into unconsciousness from which
no effort of theirs could rouse her.

Miss Carson threw on a_ bathrobe
and hurried next door to the room of
Miss Day, principal of the school. Miss
my dressed quickly and joined the
girls, who were trying to revive their
friend, but she was in a profound
coma; nothing could arouse her. Miss
Day took Helen in her arms, raised her
and tried to set her on her feet; but
girl fell limp and collapsed on the
bed.

Miss Day called her man servant,
and sent him flying for Dr. Edward
P. Fowler, who lived three doors to
the west, and while the four frightened
women huddled together, waiting for
the doctor and listening to the slow
and labored breathing of the girl, they
wondered what Coulee have so affected
her, she who that day had been the
picture of health and happiness. It
could not be pneumonia; for she had
not the least trace of a cold.

“There is a medicine box on_ her
stand,” said Miss Rockwell. “Could
the druggist have made a mistake?”

“It must have been a mistake, an
awful mistake!” they all agreed, and
one of them picked up the box. It
was empty; a little gray cardboard
box, with a label of Ewen McIntyre
& Son’s drug store on it, bearing a
prescription number. Directions, “Take
one on retiring;” and in the place
where the doctor’s signature ought
to be was written, “C. W. H,,
student.”

It was midnight when Dr. Fowler
came in. He found the girl insensible,
the blue pallor of her countenance
more pronounced than before; with
labored, choking breathing, the res-
pirations diminished to two per min-
ute, the pupils of her eyes so contracted
that ged were no bigger than pin
points, almost invisible,

“Has she ever complained of kidney
trouble?” he asked.

“No; she is one of the strongest girls
in our school,” Miss Day answered.
“Never had any illness but a little
headache.”

“It looks like morphine poisoning,”
said the doctor. “Will you please have
some coffee made, very strong, and
send it here.”

While waiting for the coffee, Dr.
Fowler sent the man for Dr. William

Baner, two blocks away, with a
note asking him to bring atropine,
caffeine, digitalis, whisky and a tank
of oxygen—whatever was needed to

The Master Detective

counteract severe morphine poisoning.
Meanwhile he began to raise the girl’s
arms above her head, so as to fill the
lungs with air, then press them down
close to the body, to expel the air—
the regular system of artificial respira-
tion. When his colleague arrived, Dr,
Fowler injected atropine, digitalis and
caffeine to defeat the effects of the
morphine, besides the infusion of
coffee.

Nothing could arouse the sleeper.
With the help of digitalis her heart
grew a little stronger, and at three
o'clock in the morning the respiration
increased to nine or ten breaths a
minute, but there was no sign of re-
turning consciousness. They sent for
Dr. George W. Kerr, for the constant
labor at artificial respiration had tired
them both; but the gurgling breaths
grew slower and farther apart until
they sank to one in two minutes. There
was a noticeable pause between the
short intake of the breath and the long,
slow breathing out—a marked charac-
teristic of morphine poisoning.

When Dr. Fowler asked Miss Day
if she had any idea of who “C. W. H,,
student” might be, she told him the
initials corresponded with those of
Carlyle W. Harris, a student at the
College of Physicians and Surgeons,
who lived a few blocks away with his
grandfather, the celebrated Dr, Benja-
min W. McCready. He was a friend of
the sick girl, and had called on her
several times at the school. At six
o'clock in the morning Dr. Fowler sent
for Mr. Harris, and in half an hour he
was in the sick room, calm and un-
ruffled. The actions and conversations
that followed and are repeated in these
pages are from the official record of
the case. .

It would have been hard at that mo-
ment to find in the city of New York
a finer looking young man than Mr.
Harris. Tall, elegantly proportioned
and well poised, his blue-gray eyes that
met yours in a frank gaze, his read
smile and his delightful manner, made
friends for him everywhere. He was
twenty-two years old. His fair brown
hair was smoothly parted; his straight,
regular features, his broad, high fore-
head and long, oval face, adorned with
a small mustache, all contributed to
the charm he exerted. His clothes
looked as if they had just left the
valet’s pressing table. is voice was
melodious and well modulated; his
manner ingratiating. If any fault ap-
peared in him, it was that air of being
Just a little too plausible, too well bal-
anced. Though the messenger had told
him that the doctor had sent for him
because Miss Helen Neilson Potts was
deathly sick, he greeted Dr. Fowler at
the bedside with a pleasant smile and
a ready clasp of the hand. But the
doctor showed deep concern.

“We have a frightful case here!” he
exclaimed. “There must have been
some very great mistake. Did you
write this prescription?” The doctor
handed him the empty box.

_ “Why, yes; that was m rescrip-
tion,” Harris instantly re lied, begin-
ning to look orried: “She showed
symptoms of malaria, with. -headache

and insomnia; so I ordered twenty-five
grains of quinine and one grain of
morphine to be thoroughly mixed and
divided equally in six capsules; one to
be taken at night.”

“That would be one-sixth of a grain
of morphine in each capsule,” said the
doctor. “One-sixth of a grain, or even
one whole grain of morphine, could not
have produced such an awful condi-
tion as this. The druggist must have
reversed the formula ann put four and
a half grains of morphine and one-
sixth of a grain of quinine in each cap-
sule. Go over to the druggist, and
find out what he has done.”

After a glance at the unconscious

irl, young Mr. Harris left the room.
Fle returned after half an hour and said
to Dr, Fowler: “The medicine was pre-
pared exactly as | prescribed it.”

“Are you a doctor?” the physician
asked.

“No, but I am a medical student,”
Harris declared. “I am in my third
year at the College of Physicians and
Surgeons. I was careful to sign it

‘medical student’; so I'll be all right,

won't [P”

Dr. Fowler turned to the dying girl,
and relieved Dr. Kerr from the labor
of moving her arms in artificial res-

iration.’ Young Harris slowly moved
hase and there about the room,: often
regarding Helen with a look of deep
anxiety, sometimes pausing at the win-
dow to see the early daylight stealing
across Bryant Park. For a time the
girl’s breathing improved, and he
seemed relieved. Yet the conscious-
ness that he had written the prescrip-
tion for her, although he was not yet a
physician, was alarming. What would
the faculty of the medical college say?
He approached the bedside.

“Now, Doctor,” he asked, “you don’t
really think they can hold me respon-
sible for this, do you?”

“I don’t know who is responsible,”
Dr. Fowler replied. “I’m not thinking
of who is responsible: I’m trying to
save this girl’s life!”

“T will help all I can,” said Harris
eagerly. His quick mind apprehended
that the girl's peril might be ascribed
to his prescribing for her; so he made
a great effort to be calm. He knew
how often circumstances conspired to
point against the innocent when life
was in danger. On the other hand, he
knew from his studies that Helen’s

resent symptoms might well have
ou caused by some hidden organic
breakdown—uraemia, for example,
which caused coma and death. Or the
headaches from which she had often
suffered of late might indicate some
obscure lesion of the brain, which had
now stricken her down. He must try
to think clearly and calmly, to forget
the anxiety of the man and use all his
training as a physician.

All three doctors were impressed by
his self-control. Helen was really his
wife—as will be shown a little later—
for they had been secretly married;
and it is likely that in order to keep
that marriage concealed he now ex-
erted all his force of mind to suppress
any appearance of emotion. The doc-
tors at first had the idea that he and

(Continued on page 70)

July, 193.

=
PY) «4

ANAT Y

there she would forward some to Prov-
enzano who would join her, Together
they would go to California and get
married. He would write the story
of their affair for some motion picture
company, and on the proceeds they
would live happily ever after. He had
already written a first draft of the play.
The children, she planned, “to lock up
or give to her father.”

He admitted that the story he had
told us regarding the note was pure
fabrication. He had scribbled it on the
back of an envelope to get this mes-
sage to her, when the Fab gi of the
husband deterred him from speaking.

At the conclusion of this testimony
we were all dumfounded for a moment.
It seemed almost impossible to believe
that the mind of a twenty-two-year-old
youth could conceive such a plot.

I FINALLY broke the silence with,

“You consider yourself a pretty good
motion picture writer?”

“Yes, sir.” Provenzano was not bash-
ful.

ve sent some scenarios away?”

“oe es.”

“This plot, the killing of Margaret’s
husband, you planned that out as a
motion picture in your mind?”

“T did. I didnt have the idea all
set. Mrs. Lemardi was going to get
rid of him. She told me, ‘I am so crazy,’
I don’t see what I see in you, the only
way I can have you; I am going to
get rid of him.”

That night we booked Joseph Prov-
enzano on a charge of murder. We had
the trio; Provenzano and Mrs, Lem-
ardi, the arch conspirators, and Friia,

The Master Detective

Lieutenant-detective Anthony An-
drews who made the arrests

the dupe lured into an entangling web
of crime. While we had been question-
ing Provenzano that afternoon, Lieu-
tenant Andrews, Detectives Lambiase
and O’Hara, and a stenographer, con-
ducted Friia over the course he had
taken on Saturday night, verifying
the story he had told us.

Later two men were discovered, who
had been sitting in a car a block or so
from the Lemardi home on the night
of the murder, and who had seen a
man running from the vicinity. In
front of them the man had been forced

to pass directly under a street light,
and they obtained a good look at his
face. Brought into headquarters they
identified Provenzano as the man, prov-
ing that at the time of the murder he
had been lurking in the vicinity of the
Lemardi home, to make sure that there
was no slip in his carefully laid plans.
With the clearing up of a few minor
details the case was ready for the dis-
trict attorney.

On July tenth, 1926, Provenzano, the
last of the trio to be tried, stood before
the judge. Margaret Lemardi had
already been sentenced to twenty

ears in State’s Prison; Friia had

een condemned to die in the electric
chair.

The judge looked down on Proven-
zano as he spoke:

“Provenzano, the sentence of the
court is, that the Sheriff of Monroe
County deliver you to the agent and
warden of the State’s Prison at Ossin-
ing New York, commonly known as
Sing Sing, to be there by him safely
kept until the week beginning August
twenty-ninth, 1926; that during such
week at some time to be chosen by the
warden in his discretion, you shall be
there put to death in the manner pre-
scribed by law.”

Thus Friia, the puppet, and Proven-
zano, the “master mind,” of the
tragedy, paid with their lives for the
parts they played in this strange hu-
man drama; and all that is left to
Margaret Lemardi, as she paces rest-
lessly to and fro in her cell in State’s
Prison, are memories of what might
have been.

The Dark Mystery of the Hidden Capsule

Helen were engaged; but he told them
that if she recovered they might be-
come engaged after he had finished his
studies,

We cannot forget that Harris. was
staying at his grandfather’s house,
living on his bounty, and being edu-
cited at his expense. Dr. McCready
had a rich and fashionable practice in
New York, and doubtless had his own
ideas of a suitable match for this hand-
some and attractive youth, who stood
at the head of his class and seemed
sure to make a brilliant success. Who
can tell what struggles young Harris
went through between his love for the
dying girl and his duty to the hand
that fed and educated him?

When the doctors began: to apply
electricity to the patient, Harris held
one of the poles, and when they were
administering oxygen to aid her breath-
ing, he held the tank. But with three
doctors at work, there was little else
he could do. Once he volunteered a
suggestion, after watching with deep
anxiety her difficult breathing.

“My preceptor, Dr. Abbé, recently
had a case like this,’ he said to Dr.
Fowler, “and treated it successfully by
tracheotomy—opened the throat and
inserted a silver tube, so as to supply
air to the lungs. What do you think?”

(Continued from page 50)

“Tracheotomy would be too danger-
out with her breathing as slow as it is
now,” the Doctor answered.

“They will not hold me responsible:
they cannot hold me responsible!” the
young student exclaimed as he paced
the long room and eagerly watched the
efforts to resuscitate poor Helen.

At a little before eleven o'clock in
the morning, thirteen hours after she
had taken the capsule her lover had
prescribed for her, the girl’s heart
ceased to beat; but the doctors still
kept up the artificial respiration. After
five minutes more of this, the stetho-
scope revealing not the slightest mo-
tion of the heart, Dr. Fowler arose
and exclaimed: “It’s no use. She is
gone!”

“Is she dead, Doctor?” Harris asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Fowler replied.

“Oh, my God!” Harris exclaimed.
“What will become of me?” Then,
seeing Miss Day coming into the room,
he turned to her and said: “Oh, Miss
a I am so sorry for you!”

tr. Fowler closed Helen’s eyes and
arranged her hair; then he and _ his
colleagues left the house together,
Harris with them. He seemed crushed
by the tragedy as he walked down the
street.

It was by the remotest chance that

the porporing of the girl became known.
If she had gone to the symphony con-
cert with the others, so that all would
have gone to bed at the same time, the
pve ilities are that they would have
nown nothing about her last illness.
But Helen was a little tired after a full
day, had enjoyed a long call from her
mother, and had visited Carlyle Harris’
mother with him, over in Brooklyn;
so that she declined to go to the con-
cert. Thus it chanced that she had
already slept for half an hour when
the other girls came in, and the follow-
ing half hour they spent in getting
ready for bed afforded a full hour for
the poison to show itself in her. But
for this, it is doubtful whether any of
the sleepers would have heard her diffi-
cult breathing, which soon yielded to
unconsciousness; and when she was
found dead in the morning the supposi-
tion would have been that she died
from natural causes. But fate decreed
otherwise. After long search, the au-
thorities learned the facts.

Miss Day telegraphed to Helen’s
mother, at Ocean Grove, New Jersey,
that the girl was very ill, and received
the reply that Mrs. Potts would arrive
in New York at six o'clock that eve-
ning (February |), for it was Sunday,
and trains were few. Mr. Harris vol-

July, 1933

unteered to
and when
thought it |
but let him
had more |
fore train
went direct
and saw Cl]
“T had ;
and quinin
20th,” he s
the content
“Here it ;
the paper
book. “\W
pounded P”
“No,” sai
off to me.”
While Tu
items in a
put it in hi
courteously
not seem ai

BEFORE
tragedy
to the begin
the leading
a wealthy r
ing with hi
New Jersey.
when Carly
duced to 1
dance in th
Park. Hele
was much
young fello:
and paid h
mother, to
handsome
courtesy an
Fanny McC
ant neighbo
Hope Ledya
department
acaet an on
ringing up
Dr. McCrea
famous.
Carlyle H
Cready calle
on Ocean Gr
people playe
and boated «
escorted He
Young Peop!
Though litt]
experienced
girl was fas
That wint
an apartmen
New York,
studies at th:
asked Mrs, |
objection to
daughter. S$
young to th
Helen was n
he should nc
until after he
doctor. She
not approve
Carlyle polit
the fond mo
tinued calling
McCready
arranged to
her the Stoc]
came to the
find she had
saying he we
brother; but

, onniceapeiaaaihiitraaa m , -

der a street light,
i good look at his
headquarters they
) as the man, prov-
- of the murder he
the vicinity of the
ake sure that there
arefully laid plans.
p of a few minor
ready for the dis-

26, Provenzano, the
tried, stood before
ret Lemardi had
enced to twenty
-rison; Friia had
die in the electric

down on Proven-

sentence of the
Sheriff of Monroe
to the agent and
’s Prison at Ossin-
mmonly known as
iere by him safely
. beginning August

that during such
‘o be chosen by the
etion, you shall be
in the manner pre-

uppet, and Proven-
r mind,” of the
their lives for the
in this strange hu-
all that is left to
as she paces rest-
her cell in State’s
ies of what might

girl became known.
the symphony con-
i, so that all would
the same time, the
at they would have
ut her last illness.
tle tired after a full
long call from her
ited Carlyle Harris’
over in Brooklyn;
| to go to the con-
nced that she had
ialf an hour when
- in, and the follow-
y spent in gettin
ded a full hour pe
itself in her. But
‘ful whether any of
iave heard her diffi-
ch soon yielded to
nd when she was
1orning the supposi-
yeen that she died
But fate decreed
~ search, the au-
e facts.
raphed to Helen’s
Grove, New Jersey,
ory ill, and received
Potts would arrive
ix o'clock that eve-
for it was Sunday,
v. Mr. Harris vol-

July, 1933

unteered to meet the bereaved mother;
and when the girl died Miss Da

thought it best to send no further word,
but let him break the news to her. He
had more than six hours to spend be-
fore train time. From the school he
went direct to McIntyre’s drug store,
and saw Charles W. Tuerke, a clerk.

“Il had a prescription of morphine
and quinine put up here on January
20th,” he said, “and I’d like to know
the contents, from your record.”

“Here it is,” said Tuerke, as he found
the paper pasted in the prescription
book. “Would you like it com-
pounded P”

“No,” said the visitor. “Just read it
off to me.” .

While Tuerke read, Harris wrote the
items in a small memorandum book,
put it in his pocket, then thanked him
courteously and walked out. He did
not seem at all excited.

BEFORE continuing the story of the

tragedy it is necessary to go back
to the beginning of the acquaintance of
the leading characters. George Potts,
a wealthy railroad contractor, was liv-
ing with his family at Ocean Grove,
New Jersey, in May, two years earlier,
when Carlyle W. Harris was intro-
duced to their daughter Helen at a
dance in the Coleman House, Asbury
Park. Helen, only seventeen years old,
was much impressed by the dashing
young fellow, who danced beautifully
and paid her devoted attention. Her
mother, too, was attracted by the
handsome young medical student’s
courtesy and charm. His mother, Mrs.
Fanny McCready Harris, was a pleas-
ant neighbor. Under the pen name of
Hope Ledyard she conducted an advice
department in a magazine, and she had
lectured on health to mothers in the
bringing up of children. Her father,
Dr. McCready, as has been said, was
famous,

Carlyle Harris and his brother Mc-
Cready called often at the Potts home
on Ocean Grove Terrace, and the youn
people played tennis, swam in the surf,
and boated on the lake. Carlyle often
escorted Helen to meetings at the
Young People’s Temple, where she sang.
Though little past twenty, he was an
experienced man of the world, and the
girl was fascinated by his wooing.

That winter the Potts family took
an apartment at 116 West 63rd Street,
New York, and Helen continued her
studies at the College of Music. Harris
asked Mrs. Potts whether she had any
objection to his “tig Bae to her
daughter. She told him he was po

oung to think of marriage—besides
Helen was not yet eighteen—and that
he should not think of an engagement
until after he had been graduated as a
doctor. She felt sure his mother would
not approve of an engagement now.
Carlyle politely agreed with her, and
the fond mother consented to his con-
tinued calling on her daughter.

McCready Harris a few weeks later
arranged to take Helen down to show
her the Stock Exchange, and when he
came to the house was surprised to
find she had gone. Carlyle had called,
saying he would take her to meet his
brother; but instead of going. to the

The Master Detective

Stock Exchange he took her to the
City Hall, where they were married by
Alderman W. P. Rinckhoff. The bride-
groom signed the register as Charles
Harris, which was almost his name; the
bride as Helen Neilson, which was two-
thirds of hers. Neither one told a soul
of their romance, and both’ went’ on
with their studies. This was in Feb-
ruary, and in May the family. returned
to Ocean Grove. . There “Mrs. ‘ Potts
noticed that sometimes Carl broke his
engagements with Helen, who seemed
more anxious than ever that he ‘should
come to see her. Her mother’s account
of this period is taken from the record:

“When there were musicales or con-
certs or anything of the kind, Carl did
not care.to. go,” Mrs, Potts declared;
“and if she asked him he did. not go
with her. Twice he made appoint-
ments to take her to church, but did
not keep the appointments, and it
seemed to worry her greatly; she
dreaded to have me. notice it. She
seemed very anxious to be friends with
him, and would do everything to keep
their relations friendly.’

There were grave reasons why Carl
shquld be distracted and the girl wife
should be eager for his presence. She
faced the prospect of becoming a
mother, and she and her husband were
desperately intent upon concealing this
from his family and hers. The method
they adopted was such that the recol-
lection of it would inevitably cast sus-
picion upon him after her mysterious
death. It seemed as if circumstances
had popaptes to blacken the good
name of the unfortunate young student,
when he chose the only path he could
see out of their difficulty. Helen knew
the risk she ran, and insisted that Car-
lyle must tell one friend of hers that
she was his wife.

Mae Scholefield, a near friend, came
on from Michigan late in June. She
and Helen were starting for a walk
when Harris appeared, and Helen said
she would stay home and write some
letters. She whispered something to
Carl; seemed very eager. Then she
went in the house, and on the way to
the beach Harris asked, “Can you oe
a secret?”

“QpH.” Mae laughed, “I can see you
two are engaged.”

“Helen and I were married in Feb-
ruary,” he said; “but it must be kept
secret.”

“I shall beg Helen to tell her
mother,” said the girl.

“You will do no such thing!” Harris
exclaimed, his face reddening and his
voice rising. “You must not tell. [|
put you on your honor not to tell. M
prospects will be utterly ruined if this
marriage is known. I would rather kill
her and kill myself than have the mar-
riage public. I wish she were dead
and I were out of it!”

“Carl Harris!” cried Miss Schole-
field; “even in your anger you shall not
Say such things to me. I am going
back to Helen.”

Soon they returned to the house,
where Helen was waiting on the porch,
pihnoe watching their faces as they
approached. “What do you think of
it, Mae?” she asked.

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SUR ODOM 5 ad dpercda case cecumens

tion,” Professor Doctor answered,

Francis Wellman glanced at the de-
gone on before. He made many notes | had spent forty fense table and then turned back to
i hand, and then he years observing the. effects -of all the Philadelphia Specialist again. “Do
; made his first recommendation. “De- Poisons on the human bodyize 3 you remember the name of the vic- ai
aid. F lay the indictment,”-he said. “Delay it AS soon as this was ‘established, tim?” he asked, “ i
, until we can do a more thorough job Jerome went to work like a master. “No. I regret that I do not,” the
the of preparation, This is one case that “Professor,” he asked, }“in cases of professor answered.
ike ‘ can be won by preparation alone.” .. . Morphine poisoning, do the pupils of Wellman smiled at the jury. “If |
ate es Not until May 13th was the indict- hoth eyes always contract to Pin-point told you the name,” he said, “would it
een ’ ment drawn up — but by that time Size?” Gereeec5s 2 refresh your memory? It might not °:
ine ; Wellman was ready for anything, : In a clear voice, the Professor an- have been a common name.”
, i : es. “+ swered, “NO.” Sa “I’m inclined to agree with you,” a
re- i HE events which followed showed Shooting a quick glance at the pros- the doctor said, is
at,”? ‘ g ipsa none of Wellmanh’s exhaustive ecution table, Jerome then started to ellman took out a handkerchief
ese a Preparations had been in vain, ply Professor Doctor with questions and mopped his brow, walking away F
3.” ; As the trial opened, the prosecution about the symptoms of morphine pois- from the Stand as he did so He started 4
ver was prepared to charge that, after re- oning. Soon all the questions narrowed to walk over to his table changed his
1ey ee ceiving the six capsules from the down to the details of a case familiar mind, and turned around to face the
Me ie 4 druggist, Harris had eniptied one of tothe Professor where, in the case of witness again. From the middle of the
coll “ the four capsules he gave Helen, filled a man who died of morphine poison- courtroom, Wellman, his eyes holding
ase “a it with morphine, and then gave itto ing, the pupil of only one eye had the witness’s eyes in an even Stare,
ry < Helen with three harmless ones, “> contracted, i EMR Lay. Za asked, “Was the name of the victim
EW exe The defense countered by charging _ When the point had been completely. Percival Keats Longfellow Smith?”
ven or that the body-had been interred too established, William Travers Jerome Wellman was standing in front of
ed. A ‘long for any traces. of morphine to- turned to the Prosecution table. “Your the witness stand & second before the
ok- . have remained in the body after em- witness,” he said, confidently, .... = elderly Philadelphian Shook his head ‘
r a “balmingy: OR) RS Unless the Professor's testimony and said, “Why yes, that’s the name.”
a * For days, while *g milling mob coyld be shaken—and this Seemed im- ‘“‘And this was not a case that you
his . Surged outside of the court building, Fon me Witthaus, the chief prosecu-, had personally Anvestigated, profes- ‘
“Ty Jerome Savagely attacked the medical ' tion medical expert, stood discredited sor?” Wellman asked again, .. ia
_ testimony introduced by Wellman, in the eyes of the jury. And it was the’ “No, sir, it was not,” the expert "Re
the Rae When Dr. Witthaus took the stand, jury which was going to-hand down answered, es. +s ; i
nk ‘ Jerome started to cross-examine him the verdict, art + ' Wellman looked around the court. Kis
t exhaustively. For nearly a full day, * 8 8 Up oe He looked at Jerome, at the jury, at by
> he had Witthaus describe in detail] the . Pee. is) the judge, and then back at the wit- y bi
= ‘ symptoms of morphine Poisoning. He ELLMAN rose slowly from his ness. “Perhaps,” he said, coldly, “jt Fe
her - kept citing case after case. Each case, chair and confronted ‘Professor might interest you to know that I had ih
" - he had Witthaus admit, was marked | Doctor. He glanced, calmly, at Hay Investigated the case of Percival Keats = i
rege by one symptom—each victim, upon’ and Summers, They smiled back at ongfellow Smith Personally. You Th
hat». - ot examination, had the pupils of his him. Now they understood: clearly Were completely correct, In this case [|
his ‘ “eyes contracted to Pin-point size, _ Why Wellman had insisted on delay- of morphine poisoning, only one of i
sort. i “Both eyes?” Jerome asked about ing the indictment. Between. March the victim’s eyes ‘had a contracted [
une »[ * each case. EP yaa 25th and May 18th, 1891,°-Wellman | pupil. Only one,” Wellman paused. It j
: “Both eyes,” isc iether had studied the details of over five was a long;-agonizing, héart-wrench-
rch ; “You never heard of a case where _thousand cases of morphine poison- ing pause, .__ ee
itt- the pupil of only one eye was di- Ing. And now this painstaking prepa- » When he spoke again, his eyes were 2,
His : - lated?” Jerome.asked. . ve ration was about to pay off, 3... son the jury. “The pupil of Smith’s left f
hat ¥ “That, sir, would be impossible,” “Professor,” Wellman _began, “in eye was contracted to the size of a |
but e Witthaus retorted. + this case’ where the victim “of mor- pin-point when he was poisoned,”
~ “Good,” Jerome grunted. It was evi- Phine poisoning had the pupil of only Wellman declared. “The pupil of his
hat dent that Witthaus had walked into a one eye affected — was the man*in right eye was unchanged which was
‘on i neat trap, A trap Jerome was now — question a patient of yours ?”. quite normal, gentlemen Mr. Smith’s
| to ; evidently prepared to spring. * “No,” the expert answered.) ‘He right eye was a glass eye, gentlemen!”
ing “Your Honor,” Jerome said to the was not.” peers” Jerome leaped to his feet He asked i
ing _ judge, “I would now like to call as ~, “Was this case ever described in any for an adjournment, demanded an op-
the defense witness the eminent Professor medical journal?” Wellman asked. portunity to investigate
am ei Doctor of -Philadelphia,” ' “Not to the best of my knowledge,” —/ WMS a eit 4
ing E A gasp went up all over the court. the professor answered, ar ne ELLMAN casually walked back Han |
This was the moment that Jerome had “And did you know in what city the We his table and put his papers in fi 4
| - in 4 been waiting for. In the whole court patient died?” the Prosecution ace - order, Carlyle Harris’s last chance— {
| as » room, there wére only three calm men asked. eee fa and what a golden chance it had been °
rer: . —-Wellman, Hay and Summers; “That was in Washington D.C,” —to escape the clutches of immutable os a
+ ses z Their calm puzzled Jerome. But.he the expert answered, | eevee justiée had collapsed, The shrewdness ‘ad
16 _ turned to, Professor Doctor with cas- “You spoke to the doctors involved of a great lawyer had guaranteed that H
ich =. ual assurance. Before he asked the in the case?” Wellman asked. » thework of two great detectives would Be |
. ga > eminent Philadelphia toxologist his The eminent toxicologist tugged at not have been accomplished in vain.
~ on first question, Jerome smiled slightly his white goatee. “No sir,” he said “Iv After many legal skirmishes, the
yer ». at Witthaus and Wellman. It was a did not.” “foe. death Penalty demanded and won by :
* meaningful smile of triumph. “You therefore, | assume, learned Francis L. Wellman wag finally paid Catia 1
ing - ¥ Jerome’s ‘first questions were de- about the case mainly through | the by Carlyle-Harris in the electric chair
the : signed to* establish Doctor in. the newspapers?” Wellman was keeping at Sing Sing. Harris finally went to
a = Minds of the judge and the jury asa_ his eyes fixed on the professor’s beard. the chair on May:8, 1893—protesting
‘— real expert, They accomplished their “You are making a correct assump-__ his innocence to’ the last. \
> — SPECIAL-FEATURE DETECTIVE CASES

69 A;

(New York)

‘
94. Neseee
“? S99 29206. bvbed spreene
> Oem wee wrencns tons oe shee

In his work
“4 Surgeons, yo

SN et atlanta ataty sch’ tenn:

. oe - - :
J i a fg Pe”:
Te te € AML OEL Tims,

oe me a

OSS TF.

Mrs. George
she died of

Actor, book ‘agent and medical student, professorial look- | Cartoon of Howe and: Hummell, mouthpieces extraordinary.
Portly William F. Howe failed to save Harris from hangman.

ing Carlyle Harris almost covered up his wife's murder.

“THE POISON DEATH IN THE FASHIONABLE
~ GIRLS" SCHOOL SHOCKED PRIM NEW YORK
OF THE '90s, OFFICIALS ARRESTED A MEDI-
CAL STUDENT WHOSE TRIAL BECAME A

3 LANDMARK IN AMERICAN COURT ANNALS

+
.

By Cee Mitchell

: A STIFF WIND swirled up the avenue and whipped

ny fc foe eee ves i the dicers from the heads of the dandies on

thenme. eo pe tiee age e ee Twenty-third Street. A block away, the soot-black-

a oh sone ened stone of Madison Square Garden shone dully

PEs be one Sti ee Se in the lights that flecked its front, while inside the

d old College of Physicians and smoke-filled arena,~sportsters and touts watched in

Surgeons, young Harris had rea y access to lethal drugs. Silent wonder. as Mile-a-Minute Murphy, king of the

: pit sAscea Ber cpm 2 bike riders, streaked around the tilted boards.

Ten blocks south on F ourteenth Street, Great’

"White Way of the 1890’s, New York’s theaters

. turned loose their audiences and dimmed the mar-
quees for the night,

Only homeless bums, ladies’ of the night and
moneyed hell-raisers would prowl the city’s streets
~-in_the few hours left before dawn. And the three

. young women who got- into the carriage that drew
up before the concert hall could not be counted
‘among any of these. They were daughters of prom-
-inent families, students in Miss Day’s correct and
fashionable Comstock School in the respectable West
- Nineties, oe
_. Safely returned to the school, they tiptoed- into the
‘room they shared with Helen Potts. Helen hadn’t

joined them that evening and she might -be sleeping.

- But Helen, although she was in bed, wasn’t sleep-
ing. She sat bolt upright as they entered and her
eyes were bright as tinsel. “Oh,” she said, “I’ve just
had the most wonderful dreams. All about. Carl
'... 80 vivid and so beautiful.”

“Silly girl,” one of them said. But she threw her
arms around: Helen and drew her close. Helen’s ro-
‘mance with Carlyle Harris was common knowledge
to the girls in-Comstock and there were few among
‘them who did not envy Miss Potts her handsome .
escort. Sea

Quickly they went about their preparations for the
night, but even as they undressed Helen went lax,
then stiff and-finally a frightening blue. Horrified,
her roommates watched the transformation, then ran
for Miss Day. . : :

The headmistress called Doctor Edward P. Fowler
and minutes Jater the medical man was trying to
coax life back into the stiff body on the bed. “My
-.God, what has she taken?” he bellowed, forgetting

the presence of the girls that stood beside him. “She’s
dying from morphine poisoning.”

“Only those headache pills,” one of them replied.
“Harmless little powders that didn’t even do her’
much good. There’s the box over there.” She pointed
to a cardboard container, (Continued on page 58)

ces extraordinary. 4m Mrs. George Potts knew her daughter was murdered, but insisted -
ris from hangman. - @ she died of a heart attack. The good Potts name was at stake,

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Me., on August 11 to serve a 60-day stint
for drunkenness and was released from the
jail on October 6. It was at this point that a

check of his past record was made, disclosing -

sentences served for non-support, larceny and
drunkenness. -

Sheriff Knight, Deputy Sheriff Edward
Cosgrove and the Biddeford police officers
took turns questioning Nadeau. As soon as
he made any sort of a positive statement an
immediate check’ was made as to its truth.
The officers conferred at various intervals
during the day and decided to try to catch
Nadeau off guard. They switched their
questions to the Portland affair. This he
readily admitted, even adding details that
were unknown to the Biddeford police.

He told-how he and his companions had
purchased an automobile for $250 by present-
ing a check for $350, which he ‘signed as
Reverend Louis Nadeau, and also how he
had left the others to return to Biddeford.

The Confession

Questioning continued throughout the day,
and as evening came the press received word
that the police were close to a. confession,
although we knew nothing of the man or

what his name was until later details were |

given.

At 9 o’clock on the evening of October -17
Nadeau said he was hungry and that if he
received food he would tell the police the
whole story.

You can imagine that it was a jubilant
police chief who came down the stairs with
his captain and told us that it wouldn’t be
long now. In fact they went out to bring the
sandwiches themselves.

While the, chief and ee went out to
the restaurant to get food, Nadeau began
telling his story of the murder of Ida Rosen-
baum to Deputy Sheriff Edward Cosgrove.
News ‘spread rapidly and the small police
station was filling with police reporters. The
man on the desk was busier than a one-armed
paperhanger answering phone calls from all
over New England.

About 15 minutes later Chief Pare and

Captain Sevigny. returned with a bag of |

sandwiches and hot coffee and took them up
te-the chief’s office. “Then began another long
wait, while they, were filled in on the details
by Cosgrove.,

At 10:30 the chief came downstairs again
and told us that. we could go up to see the
county attorney. He would give us. the
details of the case. After the mad rush up

the narrow stairs into the waiting room out- -

side the chief’s office, Charlie Smith: made his
appearance and informed us officially that the
case was ‘all but closed. He told us that
Louis Nadeau had confessed to the crime and
stated so in writing. In his confession,
Nadeau said that he had gone to the Rosen-

baum home for wallpaper at 11 o’clock in the .

morning and noticed’ that there was money
onthe table. He further stated that he re-
turned at 2 P.M. and hit Miss Rosenbaum
twice, causing her to stumble against the door
leading from the kitchen tothe living room.

Then he Struck her again and fled with -

between $45 and $50. In his confession
Nadeau claimed that he struck Miss Rosen-.
baum with his fist. And that’s all there was
to it, plain, simple, and over fast after the
breaks started to come. Exactly one week
and one hour had elapsed, since the time that
the Biddeford police were notified of the
slaying of Ida Rosenbautn until they had a
signed confession by the murderer.

. After the county attorney made his. state-.

ment we were allowed to see the prisoner,
so that the boys with the cameras, could get
their pictures. Nadeauwas a_ surprisingly
mild looking individual, of ¢omparatively

slight build. But when asked. to pose for the .

photographers: he managed an air. of _arro-.

gance, which he held throughout the remain-
der of the proceedings against him.

The next day, October 18, Louis Nadeau
was arraigned in Biddeford’s ‘municipal court

‘before Judge Arthur Lesieur. He pleaded

guilty to a warrant charging him with “felo-
niously and with malice aforethought making
an. assault upon Ida Rosenbaum and murder-
ing her.” Judge Lesieur ordered Nadeau
held in the York county jail at Alfred, Me.,
to await action of the grand jury during the
January ternr of supertor court.

On January 12, 1950, the grand jury re-
turned an indictment against Nadeau, and he
pleaded innocent to the charge of murder in
his arraignment before Justice Granville C.
Gray in superior court. Justice Gray set the
trial date for January 23, 1950

During the morning of January 23 an all

emaleé jury was selected to try the case and the

trial was started. The state began its parade
of witnesses with Police Captain Edgar
Sevigny, the others following throughout

. January 24 and 25. On January 26 both the

state and ,defense attorneys rested their cases
after their summations.

That afternoon the jury retired at 2:40.
They stayed out for two hours and 15 minutes
before returning with a verdict of guilty.

During the time the jury was out, Nadeau
was forced to remain in the courtroom and
appeared to be the calmest person there.
Judge Gray did not sentence him that evening
because of the lateness of the hour.

However, the next morning after the
court was declared in session, sentence was
pronounced on Louis Nadeau. Since Maine
does not recognize capital punishment, he
was sentenced to serve the rest of his natural
life in the state prison, thus ending one of
the most heinous crimes ever perpetrated in
the community of Biddeford, Me. It ended,
too, a patient piece of police work by Chief
Albert Pare and Captain Edgar Sevigny that
earned them the praise and admiration of the
residents and police officers in York County
and the State of Maine. .

Prescription for Death

(Continued from page 39)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Helen Potts...............+.0.... victim
Mrs. George Potts........... her mother
Carlyle Harris........... medical student
Dr. Edward P. Fowler.......... physician
Francis Wellman:.............
William F. Howe. teeeteeeeeee ss lawyer

labeled with the prescription, and empty.

The doctor picked it up. “C. W.
student,” the prescription was signed. “Who's
that?” he asked.

“Why Carl, -of coursé. Carlyle Harris.
He’s Helen’s fiance and a student at the
College of Physicians and Surgeons.”

“Get him here at once. Student, indeed.
For all I know he may have prescribed a’
lethal dose. Damn fool nonsense letting
these young untrained men make out pre-
scriptions.”

An hour later, a frightened Harris rushed

‘into the room. “What is it? Oh, my God,

what is it?”
“This girl is dying from morphine poison-
ing,” the doctor said curtly. “And the only

thing she’s known to have taken are some

onere you had the gall to prescribe for
er, r
“Just a minute, sir,” Harris said. He was
a tall man, ramrod straight and handsome in
a professorial way. His lips were full and
sensuous, but at. that moment they were
drawn tight and thin. “This girl is going to
be my, wife. I love her. Recently she’s been

suffering fro
perfectly le;
harmless as 2
grains of qui
morphine to
Fowler ag:
a dose that cx
. “IT had the
down the str:
gave her only
and here they
from his pock
tor. “Check
you can’t hold
“Hold you ;
angrily. “I’n
I'm trying to
back to his eff
Harris help
bling, he’ did
interrupting h
utes to beg of
don’t think me
But Doctor
He brought i:
three of them
ing every antic
10 o'clock the
fast and loud,
the 19- -year-ol
arris, num
the building a
the waterfront.
called; probab!
would be the f
to give, the en
strict, prim, do
sought from hi:
death.

Stro

Harris steele
was 23, a man
pose. His life |
for a man of s
book agent, an
student in the
of Fifty- ninth
had wined, din
city’s most bea
bold boast that
in the summe
Potts.)

It was at a d
where he, elegar
eye of every gi)
‘the most sought
was right that +
fall in love, and
Harris, a daily
home on the ede
latest conquest.

That Fall whe
ment in New Y
his studies, he c.

elen until Mrs

“She’s -young,
child, and you’re
two of you shoul

Harris was not
wishes, particula
it was a tough-fit
the satin fashion
a hand as firm a:

Resentment w:
youth and on Fet

’ Helen on the pret

the stock ,exchan;
City Hall’ where |
he under the nanx
Helen Neilson.
To the girl it
tiful and exciting
only the payment
not even Mrs. P<
he could see and y
That night they
horsehair sofa ip

56 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

married his first wife and returned with her to New York.
Meanwhile his wife’s suspicious death had been taken up by
the New York World, and upon his return from Nova Scotia,
the defendant, alarmed by the newspaper charges, consulted
two or three of his friends about going away “until the thing
blows over.”

He manifested the utmost concern about the proposed
exhumation of the body and made preparations to leave the
City. When his friends tried to reassure him that he had noth-
ing to fear from an investigation, he said that his wife was a
morphine eater, and that morphine would be sure to be found
in her body, and coming so soon after the Harris case, he
feared he would be put on trial for his life.

He then spread the report that he was sure his wife had
died from an overdose of morphine self-administered, and that
if her body were disinterred, it would also be likely to show
belladonna, as she was in the habit of taking that drug for her
digestion. He consulted lawyers about extradition laws, and to
some friends expressed the wish that he had cremated his wife’s
body. Indeed, a great array of witnesses were called to testify
to the defendant’s acts and declarations at various times and
his apprehensive condition of mind and dread of investigation.

The defendant had plenty of his wife’s money and used
it to good advantage by engaging the services of Charles
Brooks, the leader of the criminal bar at that time, and Dr.
O’Sullivan to handle the involved medical part of the case.

The trial lasted five weeks. It was too much of an under-
taking for any one lawyer to handle alone, so Mr. Nicoll
associated himself with me in the trial. Unfortunately, he was
attacked by a serious bronchial affection which kept him in
bed for the greater part of the trial, and the whole thing in-
evitably fell on my shoulders.

wo on

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 57

Forty-three days after the death the body was disinterred
and all vital organs were subjected to the most rigid examina-
tion, patheological and chemical. The result of these examina-
tions excluded all natural causes of death, but the chemical
analysis disclosed the presence of enough morphine to justify
the conclusion that she must have taken from three to four
grains, quite enough to account for the symptoms that had
been discovered by the physician who had attended her during
her short illness, but the presence of atropine, which was also
discovered, would have altered the symptoms of death from
morphine as to justify the attending physician in certifying
apoplexy as the cause of death.

The defendant’s lawyers had designed their entire defense to
break down these alleged findings of morphine and atropine
in the body of the deceased, fortified by the attending physi-
cian’s own diagnosis. They felt that if by their expert witnesses
they could succeed in discrediting the methods used by our
chemists for the discovery of morphine and atropine in a dead
body, they could throw enough doubt into the case to assure an
acquittal.

We had engaged the services of Dr. Withaus, the leading
chemist in this city at the time, a very profound student, and
it was Dr. O’Sullivan’s three-day cross-examination of this
witness that proved the sagacity of the defendant in choosing
him as one of his defenders. To bolster their line of defense,
O’Sullivan was able to summon from Ann Arbor, Michigan,
Dr. Victor Clarence Vaughn, who was a professor of physio- -
logical chemistry at the University of Michigan, who had
studied under the great Dr. Koch in Berlin, was a member
of the German Chemical Society, the Society of Hygienics,
and many other societies all over the world, and had made the
study of poisons one of his specialties.

This witness testified for days in justification of his positive

54 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

defendant. Three days later they were married and shortly
after that she deeded her New York house to him.

He attempted to keep his marriage to her secret, and for a
long time denied it to friends and companions, stating that his
wife was only his housekeeper but was importuning him to
marry her, which he refused to do because it would ruin him
to marry a woman of her reputation. Dissensions arose be-
tween them, they became dissatisfied and tired of one another’s
company. She resented his neglect and dissipated conduct, and
in less than a year demanded her property back and threatened
to return to Newark and resume her former occupation.

Several friends and acquaintances appeared as witnesses at
the trial and testified to conversations with the defendant to
the effect that he could not endure his wife; she was un-
bearable; she was hounding him to marry her or deed the
property back to her; he would “dump the old woman” or
“the old hag”; he had made up his mind to get rid of her no
matter at what cost, even if he had to leave the country.

It was at this time that, in the presence of several witnesses,
he commented upon the conviction of Carlyle Harris to the
effect that if he had known his business he need not have
left any traces of the poison used. He also began to tell his
friends that his own wife had kidney trouble and would not
live long; that she had threatened to poison herself and he
had told her to help herself, since she knew where he kept
the poisons. | :

On the Thursday before her death, Buchanan told one of
his friends that his wife was sick; that he thought Bright’s
disease was developing and he feared she would not get over
the attack. As a matter of fact, the wife was perfectly well on
that day and it was only on the following morning that she
was taken ill, being suddenly seized with severe pains imme-
diately after breakfast. A physician whom her husband called

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 55

in to treat her diagnosed her case as merely one of hysteria.
Nevertheless, that very afternoon the defendant told his friend
that his wife was worse and would not live twenty-four hours.

Saturday morning he told this same friend, “the old lady”
would not live the day out and in the afternoon, after she had
died, he took a walk with his friend and remarked that it
looked as though Providence were smiling upon him; that she
was going to step out quietly and he would avoid all trouble.

Returning to the scene of the sickroom the previous day,
the attending physician, finding later in the day that the symp-
toms were worse, changed his prescription to contain a more
powerful sedative and ordered that the patient be given one
teaspoonful every two hours. He also brought a nurse who,
upon first entering the sickroom, saw the defendant in the act
of giving his wife two teaspoonfuls from a bottle apparently
containing the liquid the attending physician had ordered.
Immediately after taking the medicine, the deceased was seen
to make a wry face and to reach for an orange which she bit
into and sucked. This was an important circumstance because
the medicine prescribed by the doctor had a sweet taste, but
would naturally have become bitter by the addition of mor-
phine. While he was administering the second teaspoonful of
this medicine, the nurse noticed that the defendant’s hand
trembled so that some of its contents was spilled on his wife’s
neck.

Later in the evening the attending physician, on this third
visit, found his patient in a state of profound coma and next
day she died. Hearing from the defendant that his wife’s
father had died of apoplexy, the physician was induced to
make out a death certificate of cerebral hemorrhage.

-A few days after the funeral the defendant went to Nova
Scotia, where within three weeks of his wife’s death he re-

58 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

statement that during putrefaction of a body that had been
buried forty days, there would exist ptomaines which under
chemical observation would produce results which could not
be distinguished from morphine, and that therefore it was
impossible for a jury or for any chemist to assume that mor-
phine had been found in the deceased’s body. There was no
denying the impression that this witness made upon the
crowded courtroom, although probably the jury were more
or less incapable of appreciating the details and the exhibition
of scientific knowledge and chemical tests which Dr. Vaughn
gave for their benefit and instruction.

The witness gave exhaustive explanations of leucomains,
septicaemia toxics, the coma of cerosis, putrefaction changes,
vegetable alcoloids, the use of molybolic acid, and such ab-
struse subjects as Froeder’s Reagent, the Pallagri test, aquata-
fina (a poison used by Lucretia Borgia), the Atto method, the
Stars method, the Dragendorf method, and then the witness
was turned over to me to cross-examine!

I suppose I was never so frightened in court before or since
in my entire life. I felt I had to cross-examine; otherwise
everything that the witness had said would be sure to be con-
sidered by the jury as incontrovertibly true. I had spent many
hours with Dr. Withaus trying to absorb enough knowledge
of chemistry so as not to make a complete fizzle of my ex-
amination. I got through it somehow, but I was not proud of
it. It would have taken a doctor like O’Sullivan to match
wits with a witness of the learning of Dr. Vaughn.

With their next witness, however, I concluded to try a wholly
different method, the moment I saw his unusual appearance
and manner on the witness stand. His name was Dr. Walter
Theodore Scheele, and the proud, pompous way in which he
announced his name when he sat down in the witness chair,

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 59

his general air of superiority, his monocle and waxed mous-
taches, gave him the overbearing attitude of a man who was
about to tell the courtroom what it was all about.

As I rose to cross-examine him, I looked at him with a smile
and said, “Dr.—Walter—Theodore—Scheele” (emphasizing
each name just the way he had done), “would you be good
enough to tell me what your profession is?” Of course, he
had already told us what it was, but when this inquiry was
made of him a second time, as if the whole world did not
know him by reputation, he swelled up to twice his natural
size, glared at me, and almost shouted, “I am a chemist, sir.”

“T thank you,” I said. “Perhaps you would now be willing
to tell the jury where your drug store is.” I thought he would
burst, his face grew so red, his indignation so uncontrollable.
Everybody in the courtroom began to laugh out loud. It gave
me just what I had hoped for—the opportunity to sit down.
I am sure his testimony was completely wiped out in the uni-
versal merriment in which the whole jury joined. It usually
happens that way. Perhaps it was a cheap courtroom trick, but
I had exhausted the little chemical knowledge I possessed
in trying to cross-examine Dr. Vaughn, and I was not going
to enter into a second unequal contest, if I could help it.

I had forgotten all about this incident until just recently,
when I met one of the Herald reporters who had attended
the trial thirty-five years before, and who had written daily
accounts of it for his newspaper. This witness had made such
an impression upon him that it was the one incident in the
whole trial that stood out in his memory.

The defense had called many witnesses and they had a fair
chance of obtaining a disagreement, had they not made
the fatal ~ -or of allowing the defendant to take the witness
stand in his own behalf. I was told that Brook and O'Sullivan

60 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

both pleaded with their client during the hour of recess, beg-
ging him to abandon his determination to testify. His argu-
ment was that Harris had not gone on the witness stand and
had been convicted. But he was convinced that if he told his
own story, no cross-examination could upset it and that he
would go free. So persistent was he in this idea that he finally
threatened to discharge his counsel in open court and go on
with the case himself. This would not have been a bad idea,
because all the medical testimony was in and, if he had given
his testimony after his lawyers were no longer there to pro-
tect him, he might have gained the sympathy of some of the
jurors, whose minds by this time were in a pretty deep dilemma
as to whether morphine or the “ptomaines of putrefaction”
had been found in the body of the deceased. |

Brook was thoroughly incensed. He allowed his client to
take the stand perforce, but only asked him half a dozen ques-
tions, merely affording him an opportunity to deny that he
had anything to do with his wife’s death or had administered
to her any poisons or any medicine except the one that had
been prescribed by the attending physician. Then he was
handed over to me for questioning.

Buchanan was so cool and defiant that my first effort in
cross-examination, which lasted two whole days, was to put
him in such a bad light at the very start that it would be
evident to himself that he had made a mistake in testifying,
and thus throw him into confusion. I knew that his wife,
whom he had met only a few weeks before their marriage, was
a keeper of a disorderly house and I felt that if I asked him
about what led him to marry her, he would be placed in a
dilemma. Did he marry her for love or did he marry her to
get her money with the idea that he could get rid of her
later on? So I started out in this way:

DR. ROBERT W. BUCHANAN CASE 61

Question: “When you married your wife, had you fallen in
love with her?”

The witness was put off balance immediately and feebly re-
plied: “I decline to answer the question.” Then I began to
shoot straight at him.

Question: “Why?”

Answer: “Because I don’t think it’s a proper question.”

Question: “Why?”

Answer: “T decline to answer.”

Question: “Did you even like her?”

Answer: “Before marriage I liked her.”

Question: “Did you love her?”

Answer: “1 don’t know what you call love.” (He had al-
ready been married once and had a daughter by his first wife.)

Question: “By what you yourself call love, did you fall in
love with her?”

Answer: “I liked her. That’s the best way I can answer.”

Question: “Well, if you can’t answer that question, suppose
you tell us whether you knew exactly how much money she
had before you asked her to marry you?”

Answer: “Yes, 1 knew about that, but I deny marrying her
for her money. Maybe it had a little to do with it.”

Question: “You were married once before, weren’t you?”

Answer: “Yes.”

Question: “Had you been divorced?”

Answer: “I decline to answer.”

- Question: “Why? On the ground that it will degrade and
incriminate you?”

Answer: “I decline to answer.”

Question: “Why?”

Answer: “She is my wife again now.”

Question: “Your ptesent wife, you mean? Suppose you tell

"HOW THEY FACE DEATH IN THE ELECTRIC CHAIR; Reactions of Criminals during their last hours
of life related by Dr. Amos 0. ‘Squire out of his experience as Chief Consulting Physician
in Sing Sing Prison and eyewitness to 138 Executions" by Carol Bird.
: ° GORDON FAUCEIT’ HAMBY if

"Smile, doc! I'd like to see some one looking cheerful today.'! Gordon Faucet Hamby, bank
robber and murderer made this jocular comment to Dr. Amos Osbone Squire, former chief and
now consulting physician of Sing Sing on the day Hamby ‘was electrocuted, A few mintures be-
fore this same criminal had his hair cut in the peculiar fabhion which permits the snug °
fitting of the electrode to the head. Viewing the unlovely result, he smiled ruefully and
teased the prison barber: 'I thought you were going to give me a pomadour,' This is only
one of the episedes figuring in the reminiscences of Dre Squire, who during his active
connection at Sing Sing has talked with and studied more than 25,000 criminals and attended
138 executions, He has the record of being present at more electrocutions than any other
man in the United States. : ;
"Watching men die has given him the opportunity to know the innermost depths of the crimi-
nals' secret selves. AS one of the last men the conemned criminal sees before being
strapped in the electric chair, Dr. Squire hap obtained their last words and messages, the
final unburdening of their hearts, their individual philosophical musings worked out during
the weeks or months spent in the condemned cells of the death house, They have spoken to
him of their troubles, their sins, their loves, their hates, hopes and despairs. He has
attended them when ill, visited them when well, consoled them during their last hours on
earth, But apart from listening to their storeis, he has been an acute observer, He has
had a remarkable opportunity to study the psychology of the criminal, to obtain sidelights
on their odd personalities and to store’ up both sad and amusing anecdotes regarding them,
Drawing upon this rich repository of memories associated with famous criminals he:has met
and talked with, attended and walked.aith along the road to death, Dr. Souire recalled in
this interview many unusual episodes concerning such outstanding criminals as Hans Schmidt,
Charles Becker, the New York police lieutenant; Albert T, Patrick, Joseph: Cohen, John
Shillitoni, the Diamond brothers and many other interesting characters. |

‘ ARTHUR WARREN WAITE
"He spoke, for example, about 'pr,? Arthur Warren Waite, who went to his death in 1917 for
the unusually cold-blooded murders of his mother@in-Law and father-in-law. Waite, a poiso=
ner who posed as a physician, invited his mother-in-law, Mrs, John E, Peck of Grand Rapids,
Mich., to visit him and his’ wife in their New York home, The elderly woman died shortly
after her arrival, and Waite sent the body back home with a suggestion that it be cremated.
This was done, Shortly afterward, Waite invited Mr. Peck to visit him The Pecks were
wealthy, and it was his idea to eliminate them so that their money would revert to him, A
few months later the father-in-law died in the Waite home and his body was shipped home,
Soon after its arrival. the family in Grand Rapids received a mysterious telegram, It reads
‘Suspicion aroused. Demand autopsy.' The autopsy revealed arsenical :poisining, Waite was
arrested and confessed to both mrders. ‘Waite was 29-years-of-age when he came to a Sing
Sing death cell,' said Dr. Squire. ‘ 'We was an extremely intelligent man, with charming
manners and a cultured mind, He was also most prepossessing in appearance, and all these
qualities made him acceptable in society. While at Sing Sing, Waite was rather aloof and
did not associate mch with the other men, although he did play handball. He had been fond
of teenis before he was committed to prison, I found him an unusual man and eme absolutely
without emotion, He used to refer +6 his approaching death‘as a 'journey.' ‘I am going
ona journey soon,' he would say in the same manner in which a man might remark: 'I am
going to Chicago, ' I used to talketo him sometimes an hour at a time about his horrible
crimes, trying to get a normal reaétiion from him, ‘Did you feel no remorse after you had

killed your wife's parents?! I asked him, ‘Think of the manner in which you put them out
of the way} Have you no regrets now?! And this strange criminal would shrug his shoulders
and say: 'None at all. I feel no remorse’ whatevere' I asked him if he had also planned

to kill his wife and her aunt after the others were out of the way, and he- admitted that
this was in his mind, One’ day in July, during the year prior to his electrocution, he wrot
me as follows: 'I am beginning to learn howpeople consider me, I want to.ask you not toe
chat with me any more. If you, too, feel this way about me I cannot talk frankly and
honestly with you any more,' This note surprised me, since we had never had any misunder-
standing whatsoever, and I was in the°custom of visiting him regularly, A few hours befor
his death I called to say goodbye to him, He was calm, and his pulse wasnot even accelera
ted. He went to the chair in the most unconcerned way, and one of his last remarks cone

~ cerning his electrocution wast 'It this all there is to it?' Shortly before being ,gtmanped
in the chair he handed me a sealed envelope, addressed to mygelf with the reques tha

be read after bls death, It ‘contained one writtéen sentence, and L have never been able to

ee eee

AFFIRMED: KEXX 126 NE 918,
HAMBY, Gordon Fawcett, white, electrocuted Sing Sing (Kings) on January 29, 1920.

"Ossining, Ne Ye, January 30, 1920. = (Leased Wire.) = Definat and smoking a cigarette,
Gordon Faucett Hamby, the nerviest prisoner Sing Sing prison has ever known, was electrocu-
ted for murder last night and as his corpse lay upon the marble slab in the prison morgue
today, the lipes were still parted in the cynical smile which he wore as he was strapped |
in the chair of death, One woman witnessed the execution. She was Miss Nellie Bly, a well
known New York newspaper writer, It tas the first time in more than 20 years that a woman
had been allowed to witness an execution in Sing Sing. Hamby spurned spiritual consola-
tion. He said he thought it would be out of place for any man who had led such a desperate
career as his to 'seek aid from Heaven at the laste! He also objected to wearing a black
shirt and when he was led to the electric chair shortly after eleven o'clock by Warden
Lewis Lawes and three assistants, he was attired in a striped black and white shirt.
'Goodebye, fellows, I always try anything once,' he called cheer ily to his fellows in the
death house, To the very last Hamby refused to reveal his real name or tell anything of
his youth, although he confessed that he had robbed 13 banks, held up two trains and pare
ticipated in three murders," STAR, Meridian, Mississippi, January 30, 1920 (5/%he)

" i N. ye, dane 29. = (Leased Wire.) - Although Gordon Faucett Hamby, iron-nerved
hire 4 Me SO and Ja moet of myster, walked in the very shadow of death todays he
was cheerful and gave no signs of breaking down, Unless a last minute reprieve orate sabes
Governor Smith, Hamby will be electrocuted in Sing Sing prison shortly after ll o re fe)
night for the murder of two bank clerks in Brooklyn in 1918, Watchers in the ane ne
prison death house said that Hamby had slept most amazingly well for a man who is ee ane
his last night on earth. He is the most remarkable prisoner that Sing Sing a na °
He insists that Hamby is not his right name, but declared that he would go to ms ort on
‘time! without revealing the secret of his life, He is only 26 years olde fan y oe rd
HBXAXKKA told the prison officials that he had planned to kill himself, but ha ae e nt
to 'commit legal suicide instead.' Hamby was arrested in Tacoma fashington, an bee

¥4 to Brooklyn in June, 1919. He made a confession to the Kings county distric’ et —
saying he had committed robberies in every country of consequence on the — ° e cial
globe, but had never taken a job unless there were five XX#H% figures in | ° : ° a pes
on trial in Brooklyn on June 22, waived all defense and was convicted 3 days iater. 9

Meridian, Mississippi, January 29, 1920 (1:3.

From article titled: "Executioner Executes" concerning the suicide of
John W, Hulbert, the man who executed Hamby: "One condemned man BK 'paid!
Hulburt for his work. Gordon Hamby was convicted of killing a man in
Brooklyn and sentenced to the electric chair. #e sent the executioner

a check for $150 which was made out on 'The BRK Bank of H ' i
ce ok ees 5 ank of Hell' and signed

ARIZONA REPUBLIC, Phoenix, Arizona, February 23, 1929.

“Case of the
Courteous Killer

[Continued from page 27]

“Get into the cage and bring out the
money. There’s a black leather bag on
the floor; stuff the money into it.”

Anxiety and nervousness had gripped
the accomplice. He merely had to walk
around the partition to get to the cage.
Instead he squeezed his way through

Peale’s open cage window. “You fool,” |

cried the Killer, “it was much easier by
walking around the partition.” The as-

,Sistant began scooping the money into

the bag.

Meanwhile, Coons, now unguarded, -

slid stealthily to the floor and began
crawling toward the burglar alarm. The
Killer, Coons must have reasoned, could
not spot him; the nervous assistant was
too busily engaged gathering in the
money.

But Coons had not reasoned well. The
Killer’s gun barked again. Coons quiv-
ered and then lay still, dead ‘from a bullet
in his head. Still the gentleman of refine-
ment, the bandit turned to the hysterical
Mrs. Murphy:

“Don’t be alarmed, it’s merely a re-
hearsal for a motion picture.”

’ Four employes in the bank, Albert G.
Freeman, Alexander Vitere, Genevieve
Brady and David Moorehouse, stood
pinned to their positions, hands raised
high. They were helpless to do anything.

None moved as the two bandits backed
out of the door, guns stil] drawn. Once
outside, the assistant sprinted for the
waiting taxicab. But the Courteous Killer
moved slowly, backwards, hugging the
sides of buildings that afforded cover. '

He had back-stepped about fifty feet
when Detective Albert Doody came walk-
ing up to the bank entrance. From the
interior of the bank came the cries:
“Holdup! Holdup! Robbers! Robbers!”

The detective saw the peoge|
Killer. He whipped out his gun an
ordered: “Stop, or I'll fire.” The Killer
wasted no time. He fired first. Detective
Doody fell, seriously wounded. The Killer
leaped on the running board of the cab.

“Move fast, driver,” he ordered.

The haul was about $13,000. Ambu-
lances roared to the bank. But the police-
man on the beat already had recorded
“D.O.A.”"—dead on arrival. The entire
squad of detectives from the nearby pre-
cinct invaded the bank. Sirens screeched,
bringing additional reinforcements from
outlying police stations. Brooklyn’s
homicide squad arrived. '

To Lt. Bernard Dowd and Detective
William Roddy went the assignment of
handling the case. Inside the bank, con-
fusion was the keynote. Descriptions of
the deadly bank robber and his assistant
varied. “One was tall, the other short,”
went the descriptions. The tall one, one

witness vaguely remembered, had a rain- .

coat. But every witness had one distinct
impression: the tall one was polite, almost
overbearingly courteous.

No matter how vague these descrip-
tions, the alarm went out to every police
station in New, York. I remember these
descriptions—nothing much to go by—
which were posted. Every nook and
underworld haunt were combed.

‘One witness had the foresight to jot
down the license number of the escaping
taxicab. Detectives Dowd , and Roddy
quickly suceeded in taking the cabbie into
custody, He was George McCullough. His
had been an'innocent and unintentional
TOE, eh ON :

Trembling, white of face, McCullough

first handed: over a ‘roll of $174 he had
found in the back of his cab for services
rendered. The Courteous Killer was not
one to overlook an obligation. McCul-
lough told his story:
' “Fle came here with a short guy and
told me to drive over Manhattan Bridge.
I could hear the two of them talking in
back of the cab, but couldn’t hear what
they said, It was cold and I had to keep
the glass partition closed. When we got
to Brooklyn he told me to drive to Myrtle
and Franklin Avenues which I did. The
tall fellow told me he had to cash a check
at the bank and for me to wait. They both
got out and walked back to the bank. I
waited. I had no idea they intended to
rob the bank, era

“When I’d been waiting for about five .

minutes I suddenly saw them come’ run-
ning out of the bank. When I saw their
guns I didn’t know what to do. Before I
could make up my mind, the short one
reached the taxi and jumped inside.
Then someone yelled ‘robbers.’ The tall
\ one sprang on the running board. I heard
firing and:people on the street yelling, I
didn’t dare look around.” -

The Killer, concluded McCullough,
had pointed his gun at his head and com-
manded; “Move fast.” :

That was McCullough’s story plus the
Permian’ disclosure from the cabbie that

e had driven the pair near Manhattan
Bridge on the Brooklyn side where they
both got out. That neighborhood was
combed day and night in an effort to un-
earth some trace. of the pair, But the in-
tensive search disclosed nothing. They
had vanished, « ..

Newspapers screamed about the dia-

bolical killer. Our detectives and police
worked through the early morning hours
on the case. Detectives Dowd and Roddy,
deeply skilled in the art of crime de-
tection; didn’t overlook the smallest
item. , }

Suddenly, the detectives saw the first
glimmer of light. Police files revealed the
significant fact that a suave handit—name
unknown—was wanted by more than a
dozen states for bank robberies. This un-
known bandit operated in the north and

. Southwest sections of the country. His

bank robberies were at infrequent inter-
vals but the hauls usually in five figures.

Detectives Dowd and Roddy communi-
cated with the law. authorities by long-
distance telephone and by wire. From
each police head or sheriff always came
the reply of a bandit who was tall, well-
groomed, the perfect gentleman from all
outward appearances, Each bank robbery

‘ was committed with a different assistant.
The descriptions of the’ assistants always

varied sharply.. But that of the head
bandit remained the same.

The modus operandi was the same.
Those bank robberies in other parts of
the country had closely followed the pat-
tern in the East Brooklyn Savings Bank
robbery and killings. The master gentle-
man bandit always made the polite in-
quiry if the teller could change a large
bill. The teller invariably obliged only to
find himself confronted by a gun with
the request: “Please hand over the money.
If you make one-moyve, I'll be compelled

“to shoot.”

The Courteous Killer now had eluded
the authorities for the thirteenth time.
But it was in New York that he had killed
for the first time.

No ruse had been too daring for him
in making his escape.

From the out-of-town law guardians we
learned of his appalling conceit. After
practically each bank robbery the master
crook took careful pains to inform the
local newspaper that he had executed the
job. On one occasion, the police had
credited a bank robbery to another crook.
The Courteous Killer penned an indig-
nant note of protest to the newspaper.

It was from this vainglory that’ we

’ learned of his alias, not his real name. He

signed these notes “Jay Allen.” Hand-
writing experts unanimously agreed that
the various notes and postal cards were
written by the same man.

Though these things now were known
the Courteous Killer was still at large. In
New York we could find no description in
our files to fit that supplied by the west-
ern police. Witness after witness spent
long hours at the Rogues’ Gallery at
policé headquarters. Thousands of pic-
tures were hauled out. One morning,
three weeks after the killings, Mrs. Mur-
phy looked at a picture and remarked:

“This, I think, is the man.”

The picture was that of Roy Tyler, a
Western bank bandit, long inactive but
wanted for a bank holdup in Cleveland.
Detectives Dowd and Roddy were not
overlooking_the smallest opportunity.

Tihey left for Rochester, N. Y., the
native town of Tyler, and posed as labor-
ers. Day and night they shadowed the
homes of acquaintances of Tyler. They
learned that Tyler was in the west.
They communicated with the police of
every known town and hamlet. Unfortu-
nately Tyler could not be nabbed despite
the intensive searches conducted by the
authorities,

The New York detectives, accompanied
by a Rochester detective, drove to Okla-

homa, then to Kansas, contacting the —

pues and sheriffs all along the line. In
ansas, they learned that Tyler was in
St. Louis. The detectives quickly com-
municated with St: Louis. The police in
that city were alerted.

One evening in August the St. Louis
police caught up with Tyler. He quickly

_identified himself as he sat in his auto-

\ney

mobile with a girl. But he vehemently
denied any participation in the New York
killings. He established that he had been
in Needles, California, on December 13.
We checked that. He was correct.

Tyler was surrendered to Cleveland

and coi
that city
But the
at large.
of the «
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The St
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Tacoma.
Months
cumstanc¢

Killer his just deserts struck. For Gordon
Hamby, as Emerson so keenly phrased it. .
the earth was made of glass, :An alert
police officer saw all the way through the
breadth of a continent to bring a merci-

less killer to Sing ee.

Lt. Fay of ' our i i
prisoner handcuffed to his wrists, was re-
turning to New York on an east-bound
train. Across the aisle from him sat a pair
of merr, one handcuffed to the other. Both
officers sat next to the aisles. It was na-
tural that they should talk. They talked
about various ope The conversation
turned, ultimately, to criminals. The
sheriff mentioned that he had assisted in
the capture of a killer in his native town

s electric chair.

of Tacoma. The man’s name, said the .

sheriff, was Gordon Hamby. »

It was a name that meant nothing to
the New York officer but as the sheriff
continued to talk of Hamby—of the kill-
er’s. soft tones, his courtesy—Lt. Fa
leaned forward. He weighed every word,
asked questions. The sleuth’s mind’ in-
stinctively had moved into high gear and
now, as is characteristic of all good ‘police:
officers, it was probing. Details slipped
into place, became a definite pattern as
the sheriff supplied a description—tall,
well-dressed, 53 Fay knew’ that this
Hamby could.very well be the much-
sought Courteous Killer, Back in New
York, the lieutenant immediately in-
formed Detectives Dowd and Roddy. The
detectives took the taxicab driver into
custody. The trio journeyed to Tacoma.
McCullough confronted Hamby. The
Killer merely stared. |

“That's the man,” the cabbie said.

Extradition was arranged in record
time.

Nothing pleased Hamby more than
the feeling 'of grandeur and mystery.,
Once on the train to. New York this vanity

- bloomed. He would only say that his

name was Hamby. He also gave the name
of Boyd Browning. But he began to talk,
freely, of his crimes. Almost impersonally,
the confessed to the thirteen nk rob-
beries, and the killings. in Brous|yn,

Let me give you an idea how vain-
glorious he was. ' He waved his manacled
hands at the detectives, saying:

“I never felt the clutch of handcuffs. -

A great many people will recognize my
picture and it is a matter of pride that I
shall not be represented as handcuffed.
As for the rest, I suppose that I shall be
hotographed considerably, before. my
ate is decided in your community.” ,

As he talked it seemed that he was not
addressing merely three persons but a
packed theater: house. He was ruthless
and cold in his delineation. He, Allen-
Browning-Hamby pointed out that. he
needed no liquor for his killings. .

“I have done some pretty strong pieces
of work without the influence of stimu-

lants of any kind—gone into them cold’

sober. But it was often necessary for me
to brace up people working with me,
especially amateurs. I had an amateur on
this Brooklyn job-and he was pretty well
liquored up when we went into the bank.
Professionals—I mean _ profg¢ssional’ bur-

ce department, a —

Our policemen used every known trick

of persuasion and psychological ingenuity
to get him to‘reveal his accomplices, par-
ticularly his assistant on the Brooklyn.
job. But he had a warped code of under-
world ethics; It was a code that could not
be broken. di
\ “They were, gentlemen, second-rate;
what does it matter, you have me, the
brains, 22 Woo sve ety
But he ‘talked of his assistants. “The

received'their fees and were dismissed.
Who knows, gentlemen, they may. be

rotting behind bars somewhere?” Always /

he had purpose when he selected his
‘accomplices, '

é ’
“I seldom had the same man on two

jobs. I never repeated with an amateur—

that I: mean’a man’ picked up for
his knowledge of local conditions. Some-
times'I did two or three consecutive jobs

‘ with a professional. I always parted with -

them. I preferred to move alone. This
country is big, you know, and he who
moves alone moves fast.”

He rhapsodized about his criminal acts

as the’ train rumbled eastward. We .

checked and rechecked later everyone. of
his pernicious deeds, and each recital was
fantastically accurate to the smallest de-
tail. Let me tell you of this man’s darin
and his elusive powers. He often utilize
women as accomplices to serve his pur-
pose in evading’ the law,

With his keen regard for detail, he _

studied. the layéut of a bank in Los
Angeles. Then he struck, with a local as-
sistant. True to his vanity, he dispatched
a card tothe newspapers informing the
editors of his’ deed. The net spread
quickly over Los Angeles. But he got
away, seh ta big ;

It was quite a) i Together with his
newly-found lady: friend, they posed as a
honeymoon'couple, He didn't overlook’a
bet. Rice stayed glued: to their clothes.
They boarded the train, While vigilant
eyes. scanried everyone, the couple was
making their way to San Francisco. The
girl had seryed her purpose. “3

I still:marvel at his cunning, He laid
low in San Francisco,.and then robbed
again. The San Francisco police immedi-

ately, knew that. the elusive robber was -

in,their midst, Out went the dragnet. Up
and down ‘the San Francisco railroad ter-
+ minal: plainclothesmen waited long and
patiently, oo,
- ‘They’paid no attention, however, to a
man bent low, Ieaning on his cane. His
head was ‘swathed |in bandages. as he
boarded.an eastbound train, helped by a
“nurse.” Shé received a substantial fee
for her sérvices.. - | ..
Those’ cold eyes of his warmed with
malicious delight as he spoke of his ex-
_ ploits.: He, was. no. paranoiac, always
aware of the dastardly nature and quality
of )his, acts), He came back to San Fran-
cisco after a long sea voyage, Gambling
joints: flourished, on the waterfront. He
knew eyery one of them, one place in
particular ..where,:heavy money ‘was
wagered.) iv 2 oa hy ‘ ‘
It was a dingy, squalid, two-story build-
ing., Through ;a peephole the manager
observed a ‘carelessly dressed seaman and

glars and holdup men. generally—start. reasoned: “Easy picking.” t

out with their heads Clear, hcst-tiresieeieagpriens

pay ssh? « “aid

low over a crooked roulette wheel. Money
was knee-deep on the table. The wheel
spun. One young sailor had tossed away

- his last dollar. Hamby made a generous

pret He handed the young man a fist-
ul of bills. The sailor played again, and

- lost.

Only the whirr of the wheel could be

‘heard in the deep silence. Abruptly

Hamby spoke: “Stand still, men, don't
move.” He had:a gun in each hand. No
longer was he a sailor, but a vicious killer.
‘He turned to the impecunious sailor.
“Quick, grab the money.” The young
seaman, astonished, obeyed. The croupier
made an unhappy move. He fell with a
bullet wound in his arm. The haul was
$15,000. The young assistant, picked on
the spot, received his fee and was dis-
missed.

, Hamby moved from hamlet to ham-
let, town to town, city to city. When
funds were low he picked a bank. He
ay a out as a seaman. He returned
and robbed again.

It was an eerie recital. He didn’t blink
an eye as he-told us that “I generally hit
what I shoot at.” The detectives wanted
‘to know where he had learned his marks-
manship. ‘As a boy in Winnipeg,” he

' said.

That was an answer we wanted. We
learned of his boyhood in Winnipeg (not
fro: aah He had spent long hours firing
at difficult targets. We learned that he
had been raised by relatives in that City.
He had the benefit of a high school educa-

tion and two years of college.

At the age of 18 he matter-of-factly
informed his employer that he was going
“to pull off a big bank robbery.” He was
going to get big money, even if he had

to murder to pay a went on to Chi
cago'to join his/father but didn’t stay \

long in the Windy City. The year was
1916 when he began his exploits on the
coast. His name was Gordon Hamby, not
Jay Allen or Boyd Browning.

Of his killings and robbery of the
Brooklyn bank, he said: “It was quite
simple even though I had an amateur as
an assistant. Imagine, I ordered him to
simply walk around the partition to get
the money but the fool dived through the
window. You see, gentlemen, he was not
used to a five-figure job. He was only a
petty larceny crook. I have never been
oe up in anything but five-figure
jobs.”

But it was his escape that gripped our
imagination. Immediately after dismiss-
ing the cab driver—he paid his assistant
a fee of $1,000—Hamby leisurely walked

. away, the bank money in his pockets. He

engaged a room for two nights at a hotel
in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. He walked
freely on the streets, a well-dressed, polite

. fellow. Then he decided to head west,

but not alone. He traveled with a young
woman.

“She became somewhat frightened
when she saw a gun protruding from my
pocket. I decided it was time to pay her
off. There is nothing so dangerous as a

“hysterical woman.” Hamby, it might be

noted, was a shrewd. psychologist. . ,
- While the bank robbery occupied the

minds of millions of New Yorkers, Hamby

East

‘d his
d city
bbed
intrv,
staved
then

man-

an-

after
I did
hauls
e.’ In
ivities
more
llains

13,
ber, a
1 ever

York
nious
later,
taling
s the
idan

. . 6
| eenth
|

Was a

ved in

ae re

“There is no den in the wide world: to hide a rogue. Commit a

crime and the earth is made of

glass. Commit a crime and it

seems as if a coat of snow fell on the ground such as reveals in
the woods the track of every partridge, the fox, and squirrel.”

Brooklyn before. More.than once he
chad covetously eyed the East Brooklyn
Savings Bank. On several occasions he
had changed a large bill ‘into bills of:
smaller denomination. He studied the
interior arrangements of the bank
until he knew them well. One item
of keen advantage stood out: all the
employes were behind the partition
on the same side.

On the noon of Dec. 13, (I remember
that I was on desk duty at the time),
accompanied by his ‘assistant, the tall.
man made his way to a taxicab stand
at Thirty-seventh Street and Seventh
Avenue where he hired a cab and
driver for the day.

Wintry blasts rocked metropolitan
windows. Ice and snow blanketed the
streets. A lone taxicab moved’ over
Manhattan Bridge. In the rear’of that
cab were the Courteous Killer and his
youthful assistant. Casually the well-
groomed man turned to his nervous
assistant:

“This is my thirteenth bank job, I’d
like to get over this mark. For heaven’s

Coa
Qe
ss teen
=

\ _. =Emerson

sake, stop trembling, it’s a compara-
tively easy job.” So aaa

One block from the bank, the cabbie
was ordered to stop his automobile
and wait. The debonair gentleman
had not overlooked the smallest de-
tail. He had studied the layout df the
streets. He knew the best cover’ that
could*be afforded to’ him if he had to
run. Parking the automobile in front
of the bank, naturally enough, would
have aroused quick suspicions.

The bank building stood out in
hold -relief against a thin layer of
white snow on the streets. He led the
way into the: bank, followed by his
assistant. The young accomplice, tense

and edgy, took up a position at a.

counter, idly. fingering deposit slips.
He scrawled aimlessly with a pen.
There was nothing about the
Killer's appearance to evoke any sus-
picion. He had the simplicity of the
naturally well-bred., He was suave and
with an exterior of refinement that
could fool the most discerning. He
walked up to the window of DeWitt

Peale. The bank employe looked up.
The stranger resembled a diligent
student.

In the adjoining cage Peale’s as-
sistant, Henry Coons, was amiably
talking to a patron, Mrs. Frank Mur-
phy, about a deposit. Several employes
were behind the partition.

In a soft, well-modulated tone the
groomed gentleman, after passing a
fifty-dollar note through the window,
said to Peale:

“J hope you don’t mind? I am short
of small change.”

Peale counted the money, passed
the smaller bills through his window.
A gun was pointed directly at him.
Still speaking softly, the bank robber
said:

“Be a good fellow, hand me all the
money you have and nobody will be
hurt.”

He waved his left arm. Quickly the
assistant stepped up to the window of
the other bank teller, Henry Coons.
He thrust his gun through,’ The trans-

_ fixed Peale just stared at the gun. The

Killer spoke again:
“Quickly now, please.”
Peale took a step backward. His

“foot ‘reached for the burglar alarm.

The Killer’s gun spoke once. Peale
dropped to the floor, dead from a bul-
let in his brain. His gun still pointed,
he turned his head slightly toward his
accomplice: « [Continued on page 96]

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: The Brooklyn bank robbery, during which two tellers were killed and a detective

wounded, made New York police determined to get the soft-spoken murderer.

anied
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juickly
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veland

and confessed to the bank robbery in
that city. He received a lomg-prison term.
But the vicious Courteous Killer was still
at large. We'were back to the beginning
of the crime:

While we were sweating and ponder--
ing over the whereabouts-of the mysteri- .
ous bandit, out in Tacoma, Washington,
he had rented:a room at the home of
Robert Davis, a shipyard worker. The
bandit obtained a job in the shipyard.
He made fast friends with Davis. .Banks
were his all-motivating obsession. He eyed
the local one. It seemed an easy job. He
talked long ahd earnestly. with Davis on
the subject of easy money, but Davis
kept demurring. ‘

One evening they quarreled, not over
the proposed holdup. but, ironically
enough, over in ternational politics.
Davis, in a rage, left the room, only. to
return. The overwhelming conceit of the
bank robber could brook no interference
with any argument he laid down. With-
out warning, he whipped out his gun and
fired once. Davis was dead. That was his
third killing—and as it was to prove, a
decisive one for the Courteous Killer.

The suave murderer drove his car into
the country, and spotted. a small inn at~
the base of Mt. Rainier. It seemed the
ideal abode for a hideaway, until escane

was advisable. But the local police had ,

moved fast. They had supplied descrip-
tions of the killer to one and all in the
immediate vicinity. Ironiéally, they didn’t
know that the man who'd killed his friend
was the notorious bank robber and mur-
derer. :

The inn keeper was one of those who
received a telephoned description. When
the suave bandit requested a room for the
night the innkeeper obliged, and then
called the police. Just as the murderer of
Davis was about to climb into bed—his
gun ready at the table—the police, their
guns in hand, broke into the room. The
undressed man had no chance.

But the Courteous Killer was razor-
sharp in his perceptions. He calmly ad-
mitted to the Davis killirf§ avowing that .
he shot in self-defense. The authorities
took him back to Tacoma. Still they had
no idea that this was the master bandit,
the robber of thirteen banks, the vicious
killer we sought. He was booked. He gave
his name as Gordon Hamby. He listed his
age.as 26.

The State of Washington ordered an
early trial. Under the name of Hamby he
was convicted of murder in March, 1919.
The state had done away with capital
punishment. Hamby was aware of that
fact. He had reasoned well too in giving
the name of Gordon Hamby, his real
name.

Three thousand miles away in New
York we were still feverishly immersed in
the case of the Courteous: Killer—un-’
aware that Gordon Hamby was behind
bars for life. And by one of those amazing
quirks, neither were the sheriffs and other
police heads throughout the nation aware
of the fact that Gordon Hamby had been
caught for a shooting over politics in
Tacoma. ee

Months passed—then the fortuitous cir-
cumstance that was to give the Courteous

Arrested while coritentedly puffing’ on
a cigaret in a closed candy shop, Steve:
Lazic, 28, Brooklyn, told police: “I: woke
up and didn’t have a smoke in the house.
1 knew there was some here, so ,I.came
down.” ayer ; Mies by,
Baltimore : police matked. “finis” to

(a Huet ears

their long hunt for the city’s “phantom -

burglar,” responsible for /48 | burglaries
involving $27,658, with the arrest of Paul
H.' Haenhoudt, a Baltimore ‘cop.

The Crime Prevention Bureau of Salt
Lake City reported that its toy pistol
collection for the amusement of lost. chil-
dren had disappeared.: \

Pueblo, Colo., police spotted a stolen
car and found that two small boys were
the driver. One was at the wheel, while
the other was squatting on ‘the floor
operating the clutch and accelerator.

At Providence, R. 1.,.a bandit pulléd
a gun on William Card and searched
him. When he found that Card had only
$4, he gave him back $2, saying: “We'll
go fifty-fifty on this deal.”

' Jack Regan, a Chicago embalmer, is
charged by police with removing $10,000
worth of whiskey from the saloon of the

‘aman he had ‘buried and using part of it

in throwing a three-day party.

A pair of bandits: pulled, guns‘on John
Cavallari, Brooklyn bartender; and took
from him $200 aid an overcoat.’ When

Cavallari asked for the medicine in his .

overcoat pocket, one of the bandits
handed it over. :

Jack Allen and David Duval, in at-
tempting to escape from Salt Lake City
prison, threw a switch to cut off the elec-
tric power. Instead, it sounded the gen-
eral alarm and trapped them. /

John Bribbon, - Portland, Ore., re
ported to police that a burglar ‘had
entered his home and taken five theater
tickets and two bananas.

A;thief broke the ‘window of a Syra-
cuse, N. Y., liquor store, stole one bottle—
the next night he smashed the new plate
glass.and put the empty bottle back.

Peter Pasteck was arrested by police
who said that-he had hidden in a Phila-
delphia department store for four days
and’ systematically looted it~he slept in
the store’s furnitute départment beds at
night. ‘

Bored, Andrew Traczynski, Detroit
. fireman, turned in 12 false alarms in one
night, he.admitted to police.

A Detroit policeman, Kenneth Cam-
yeron, admitted driving a stolen car for
three years, explaining that when he had
first recaptured. the stolen car he had
meant to turn it into the station but
that it ran so smoothly he just kept on
driving it.

A diabetic was arrested by Boston
police for stealing seven bags of sugar.

Mrs. Julia Abaron reported to Niagara
Falls police that she had been beaten by
a stranger. She was returning from
church services when she was stopped by

a stranger who started to slap and kick
her. Abruptly he stopped, apologized and
offered her five dollars not to report the
incident to the police. Asked why he
apologized; Mrs. Abaron said: “He said
he mistook me for his wife.”

teete

«
may

ntly. Miss
ve minutes,

annot come

river in the

1. She was
r advertise-
{rs. Heilner
o Brooklyn.
narle Road
of the Heil-
ise. As she
| the street
an, walking
| Street, in
block away,
ed in news-

2n Buck re-
ad told her
{rs. Lorach,
the Lorach

The Murderer from the Mission 25

home, was met at the door by Mrs. Lorach and asked to
see Mrs. Heilner. ee ae

“Why,” responded Mrs. Lorach, in surprise, “Mrs.
Heilner isn’t here.” ih

“When did she leave?” asked Miss Buck.

“She hasn’t been here today, at all,” Mrs. Lorach replied.

“Well, she isn’t home,” said Miss Buck, “and I was told
she was over here. Don’t you think we had better. send
someone over there to see what is the matter?”

Mrs. Lorach called Franz Bierbauer, her gardener.

“Franz,” said Mrs. Lorach, “go over to Mrs. Heilner’s
house and see if anybody is home.”

FRANZ obediently walked to the Heilner kitchen .door
and knocked. He got no response. The two Siberian
wolf-hounds were on the porch and Franz played with
them while he waited. The dogs, pets of Mr. Heilner,
knew Franz and he did not fear them. But he turned
from the dogs and knocked at the kitchen door again. Then,
after another wait without result, his curiosity became
aroused. Spying the small window above his head, Franz
reached up to the sill and pulled himself up until his eyes
could sweep the room. He saw nothing at first; then his
gaze swept to the floor. He uttered an exclamation of

horror. A body fay there, covered with a stained.table-cloth!

-Bierbauer dropped back to the floor of the- porch, ran
to the Lorach home and told of his horrible discovery.
Helen Buck rushed to the phone and called the Parkville
Police Station. It was her voice which had given the
alarm and sent Patrolmen McGovern and Blessman running
to the Heilner home. |

By the time we had heard Miss Buck's story, Seligman

Heilner had been called from his place of business in New
York City, and Paul Vogel, the nephew, had, reached the
house. The grief-stricken husband quickly told us what

was missing from the home: from Mrs. Heilner’s body had

been taken the earrings, two diamond rings and a diamond
breastpin; from Vogel’s room a gold stickpin, a gold medal
and other jewelry had been stolen; from the strong box
in Mrs. Heilner’s bedroom important papers were missing
—including Mrs. Heilner’s will and deeds to praqperty in
Germany, left to Mrs. Heilner by her grandfather who
had died two years before, together with a deed to the

‘Fuerst Hotel, in Bad Ems, and much land in that section of

Germany!

Gone from the house was Joseph Hanel, the houseman,
who had been seen hurrying away from the scene as Miss
Buck rang the door-bell. The evidence, of course, pointed
to Hanel as the slayer and we immediately sought knowledge
of tis antecedents. Mr. Heiiner gave us the details of the
employment of the missing houseman.

Mrs. Heilner, he said, had been keenly
distressed by the predicament of many
German sailors who had been interned in
this country because of the War between
Germany and ‘thé Allies. She had heard
that many of ‘them were suffering and had
determined to help some of her country-
men. Early in April she had telephoned
to the Seamen’s Church Institute, at 25
South Street, informing officials that she
was willing to give employment to a
worthy, needy German, and asked that one
be sent'to her home. Hanel, Heilner de-
clared, had dppeared at the Heilner home
on April 10th, saying he had been a stew-
ard on the liner Vaterland and was badly
in need of work.

MBS. HEILNER, struck with pity for

the unfortunate man, had hired him
‘immediately and Hanel had begun his
duties. He was a model servant, seemed
to know what was expected of him, and
had been generally satisfactory.

As we learned the story of Hanel’s em-
ployment, Coroner’s Physician Long ar-
rived and examined the body of Mrs. Heil-
ner. His examination disclosed that she
had been beaten to death—that death was
due to a fracture of the frontal bone of the
skull. A search of the kitchen brought
forth the weapon.

Mrs. Heilner had been beaten to death
with an empty beer. bottle. And on
the bottle were the finger-prints of the
slayer!

In the meantime a general alarm had
been sent out for Hanel. A plan for the
‘search was made quickly and our eyes
turned naturally to the haunts of seafaring
men, for we had reason to believe that the
fugitive would seek refuge among his kind.
And one feature made us look to the water-
front significantly: The fugitive had taken
from the strong-box deeds to property in
Germany. There was the possibility that
he intended to make his way through the
war-lines into Germany and lay claim to

OT ROR ec) IRE eR : "PARRA Te Sem

HANEL eanh. whit nT : ‘
HANEL, Joseph, white, elec. NY (NY) September 1, 1916.

athe NIURDERER

By WILLIAM D. RODDY

URRY! Oh, | please
hurry!”

It was the voice
of a woman, a ter-
fied woman, speak-

ing over the telephone to the
Parkville Police Station in
Brooklyn, New York, shortly
after noon on April 23rd,
1915

“What's the trouble?” asked
the policeman who answered
the telephone

“1? don’t know! But hurry!”
responded the voice. “It’s at
two hundred and_ seventeen
Albemarle Road, Flatbush.
It’s murder, | think! Please
hurry!”

The Parkville Police Station
went into action. Patrolmen
McGovern and Blessman_ re-
ceived quick orders and ran out.
The telephone clerk rang fran-
tically the call-boxes on posts
near the Albemarle Road ad-
dress. Another call went to
the Parkville detective division.
Within two minutes policemen
and detectives were speeding to
that fashionable section of Flat-
bush from which had come the
call for help.

Patrolman Blessman and Mc-
Govern reached the scene first,
to be met on the street by two
hysterical women, Miss Helen
Buck and Mrs. Frieda Lorach,
and a handful of excited men
who were clustered around Mrs.
Lorach’s gardener, Franz Bier-
bauer, listening to his almost
incoherent recital of what he
had seen behind the locked

doors of a mansion in the back-

ground

“IN there,” cried Miss Buck

to the panting policemen,
pointing to the imposing dwell-
ing at 217 Albemarle Road.
“It's Mrs. Heilner. She’s hurt
—or she has been killed!”

“It’s in the kitchen—on the
floor,” interrupted Bierbauer.
“On, the floor with a_ table-
cloth over it. And _ there's
blood on the table-cloth!”

McGovern and Blessman ran
up the steps to the front door
of the house, only to find the
door and windows accessible to
the porch locked. They hurried
to the rear of the house, the
crying women and curious men
following them. Reaching the
steps to the back porch the

Former Detective

New York Police Department

As told to P. L. TRUSSELL

Miss Helen Buck, whose visit to the home of her friend, Mrs. Julia Heilner,
led to the discovery of the awful tragedy at 217 Albemarle Road, Brooklyn,
New York

IDY

ent

from th

The man, peeking
through the window, saw
nothing at first. Sud-
denly his eyes became
fascinated. On the floor
lay a body covered with
a crimson-spotted table-

cloth. Could it mean...
MURDER?

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ISSION

policemen started to ascend but halted wher.
they heard menacing growls, which came from
the shadows of the porch." They moved for-
ward slowly, and as their eyes became ac-
customed to the darkness of the porch they
saw two large Siberian wolf-hounds standing
guard .at the rear door.

It was only with the aid of Miss Buck that
the policemen pacified the animals, for the
dogs knew her and retreated at her command.
The door to the kitchen was locked and the
only window which gave a view of the in-

terior was a small one above
their heads. Blessman gave
McGovern a lift and McGov-
ern peered through the small
window into the kitchen.

Stretched out on the floor
was a form, covered with a .
white table-cloth stained crim-
son in many places.

Blessman and McGovern
threw themselves against the
door, but it resisted their
efforts. Wasting no more
time on the stout oak barrier,
they ran to a side‘ window,
went up a ladder and broke
the glass. Crawling through
the narrow opening, they
rushed through the rooms to
the kitchen. Approaching the
form on the floor the police-
men removed the table-cloth,
revealing the body of a
_middle-aged woman, dressed

The illuminated
cross on the Sea-
men’s Mission at
25 South Street
is a familiar sight

24 The Master Detective

in expensive clothing. A glance showed that she had been
beaten to death by repeated blows on the head. But to
make death doubly sure, the murderer~had tied several
strands of a stout clothes-line tightly around the woman's
throat.

The victim was’ Mrs. Julia Heilner, mistress of the house
and wife of Seligman L. Heilner, wealthy proprietor of a
corset manufacturing company: in New York City. She
was a prominent matron of the neighborhood, philan-
thropically inclined and active in German-American
affairs.

Hardly had Miss Buck and Mrs. Lorach established
the identity of the victim when Commissioner Lord, In-
spectors Dillon and Faurot and other detectives and |
reached the scene. Our first investigation revealed that the
slayer had been ruthless. Two earrings had been torn
from. the woman’s ears; rings had been taken from her
fingers and the entire house was in disorder. Drawers
to bureaus and desks, upstairs and down, had_ been
pulled from their places, their contents rifled and scattered
over the floors. Bedrooms occupied by Mrs. Heilner and
her husband, and Paul Vogel, their nephew, had been
searched. Private papers, kept in a metal box in Mrs.
Heilner’s bedroom, were gone. In fact, the house had been
ransacked by some one who evidently knew where to find
the valuables and he had made a thorough
job of his work.

While the havoc wrought by the slayer
was being uncovered, we learned the
developments which had led to the frantic
call to the Parkville Police Station. It
was a story in which the most prominent
part was played by Helen Buck, an intel-
ligent young woman who was to be of
incalculable aid in the investigation to
follow. Miss Buck long had been a com-’
panion of Mrs. Heilner and had ‘lived in
the big house on Albemarle Road. She
had a good education and liked children,
so she determined, several weeks before the
tragedy, to obtain a position as governess.

GHE talked over her plans with Mrs.
Heilner and the older woman had said:
“Advertise for the kind of position you
desire and give this address. Have the
answers come here.” °
Miss Buck had carried out that sug-
gestion and then gone to visit friends .
in Manhattan. But she wanted to know
whether or not her advertisement had
brought results; so, on that morning, April
23rd, 1915, she had telephoned to the
home of Mrs. Heilner to learn if any
replies had been received. Her telephone
call had been answered by the houseman,
Joseph Hanel, who had been ‘employed by
Mrs. Heilner only two weeks before.
“Let me speak to Mrs. Heilner, Joseph,”
Miss Buck said.
“She is not in,” replied the voice on the
telephone. “She has “gone over to the
house of a neighbor.”
“Where is she?” persisted Miss Buck.
“It’s very important that I talk to her.”
“She has gone to
the home of Mrs. TheSeamen’sChurch
Lorach,” said the Institute of New
voice. York City, bige:
“Go and get her, bebalf of . tried ‘is
will you please, one of the prides of
Joseph?” Miss Buck New York’s mari-
persisted. Heiiner obtained ‘ther
I'll call her, ” re- houseman from here

sponded the voice, although somewhat reluctantly. Miss
Buck waited at the telephone for probably five minutes,
then she heard the voice again.

“Hello,” it said. “Mrs, Heilner says she cannot come
now.”

Then the connection was broken as the receiver in the
Heilner home was hung up.

MISS BUCK was a persistent young woman. She was
eager to know if any replies had come to her advertise-
ment’'and she also thought it strange that Mrs. Heilner
would not talk with her, so she decided to go to Brooklyn.
She started immediately and reached Albemarle Road
shortly after noon. Going up the front steps of the Heil-
ner home, she rang the bell, but got no response. As she
waited, after ringing again, she looked down the street
and saw Joseph Hanel, the Heilners’ houseman, walking
fast on Albemarle Road, toward East Third Street, in
the direction of Church Avenue. Hanel was a block away,
but she noticed that he carried a bundle wrapped in news-
paper under his arm.

After a futile ringing of the door-bell, Helen Buck re-
membered that the voice on the telephone had told her
Mrs. Heilner was visiting at the home of Mrs. Lorach,
only a hundred yards away. She walked to the Lorach

nS,

f
8

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ny.”

Ts
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investiga

Up to

RO aR ects ec pe

FALLVOOD Gy

FIENDS WHO WENT TO THE CHAIR

by GEORGE LAVORATO

ish than did Captain Coughlin, who in the year 1915

Pp addy’s historical pig had no greater claim to being Ir-

was numbered among the truly great on the Brooklyn

Police Force. Big and jovial, with the quick wit of his race as
well as the explosive temper, he had come up the hard way,
Starting as a rookie on the street at the turn of the century
when Irish fists still remained the surest way to maintain

law and order in the big city.

It didn’t take the rookie Coughlin
long to make one important discovery
about fists. They were fine when you
could see somebody to hit, but
weren’t much use when you were
looking for an, unknown murderer
and this elusive gentleman didn’t give
you a chance to smack him down. So
Coughlin came to the conclusion that
maybe Sherlock Holmes, Arsene Lu-
pin, and the other famous detectives
in fiction really had something to of-
fer.

So he took up the study of crimino-
logy and by 1915 he was a Captain
and behind him were thirty difficult
murder cases all solved and salted
away for posterity. Yet he didn’t for-
get. what he had learned as a rookie.
He liked to boast that he had seen so
many criminals that he could smell
one a mile away.

And it was this peculiar accom-
plishment that accounts today for the
fact that the murder of Julia Heinler
isn’t numbered among the famous un-
solved crimes of New York City.

There, was, of course, much more
to the case than Captain Coughlin’s
keen scent. Mystery in a medley of
shades, hate and deep passion, in-
trigue and the cold dank finger of in-
ternational espionage—all these came
marching out on the stage to cloud
and hide the real motive. In fact, so
dazzling was the array of these inimi-
table actors that it is doubtful that
even a Sherlock Holmes, with all his
cold scientific deduction, could have
solved the case for the simple reason
that he lacked one important el-
ement—Captain Coughlin’s earthy
touch in the field of crime.

On the morning of April 23, 1915,
Captain Coughlin stood in the kitchen

Julia Heinler in period police
Photo, lying in blood on the
small kitchen floor.

of Julia Heinler’s home at 217 Albe-
marle Road in Flatbush. She lay on
the floor, her lifeless body covered
with a white tablecloth stained with
blood. Her head had been bashed in
and there were two cords stretched
around her neck.

The body had been identified by

patrolmen Jim McGovern and F. C,
Blessman of the Parkville Station
House a half an hour before. A frantic
phone call from a woman to the sta-
tion house had told the police that a
body was lying on the kitchen floor
of the Heinler home. The two patrol-
men had to break the kitchen door
down to get to the body and identify
it as Julia Heinler.

Solving thirty murder cases had
given Captain Coughlin certain pro-
nounced likes and dislikes in this deli-
cate art of human destruction. His pet
hate was any individual who did
away with a defenseless woman, es-
pecially if she were a respectable and
kindly housewife. The Captain was
happily married and a good family
man himself, and perhaps when he
faced a case where a mother was
dead, it was something that could
strike in his home.

His Irish temperament gave him
various degrees of anger, but when
he really*got mad, he didn’t bellow or
flay with his fists. His face seemed to

Joseph Hanel, one of the many
odd boarders in the strange
house in Flatbush.

The gloomy house had a lot’
of strange people living within its
walls of intrigue and danger.

_ Their methods of killing each —
other were no less bizarre. .

draw a little tighter and he had the
habit of pursing his lips together until
they seemed only two thin lines.

They were that way when he
reached down and picked up the end
of the tablecloth and looked at the
face beneath it. He let the cloth drop
as abruptly as he had picked it up.

“She hasn’t been dead long,” was
his only comment.

Inspector Dillon, who had arrived
at the house ahead of Captain Cough-
lin, answered: “I don't know how
long she has been dead, but the killer
was here some time. He or she has
looted every room in the house and

" this isn’t a small place.” ‘

Which was very true. The husband
of the dead woman was Seligman. L,

(continued on page 46)

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PAGEANT
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piece of enamel paper with the mysterious
numbers deliberately to cast suspicion on
Karl Probst and Cora Unruh.

Julia Heilner had surprised him in the
kitchen after he completed looting the
house, he-said, and he had struck her with
an empty beer bottle to prevent her from
giving the alarm. When she fell to the
floor unconscious, he believed she was
dead, but tied the double noose around her
neck to make certain. Then he fled down
the street with the loot just as Helen Buck
was returning.to the house.

Hanel was swiftly indicted by the grand.

jury on a charge of first degree murder. At
his trial, which opened March 6 before
Justice Frederick G. Crane in Brooklyn
Supreme Court, he repudiated part of his
confession and again declared that the
actual murder was committed by an ac-
complice in the robbery.

But the jury refused to believe this con-

tention, and three days later returned a
verdict of guilty as charged. Hanel was
led before Justice Crane and sentenced
to die in the electric chair the week of
April 24.

His execution was delayed by a series of
appeals and reprieves until the following
Fall, when Governor Whitman refused a
final plea for commutation of the sentence
to life imprisonment.

Shortly after dawn on September 1,
1916, Joseph Hanel was led to the chair
in the Sing Sing death house and strapped
in, murmuring a prayer and clutching a
crucifix. -At 5:22 a.M. he was pronounced
dead. The clever butler had paid the full
penalty for the brutal murder of an in-
* nocent woman who had befriended him.

Epiror’s NoTeE:—The name Karl Probst
is fictitious to avoid embarrassment of an
innocent person.

MURDER ISN’T EVERYTHING

(Continued from page 29)

found upon his arrival was slightly sur-
prising even to a man who had seen as
much of. life as this saloon keeper had.

Not even he could doubt that there
was money in the offing—but there was a
definite lack where “class” was concerned.

The woman in question— a widow
named Mrs. Annie Sutherland—lived in
a big house that was furnished in such a
way as to make O’Rourke wish (he’d for-
gotten to wear his glasses. The woman
herself was nearing the three score mark,
had brilliant red hair right out of a can,
too many rings on her fingers and her
well-upholstered figure had been drenched
in perfume that smelled more of New
Jersey than of Paris.

Although the saloon keeper knew that
Buchanan was out for the woman’s money
alone he: was surprised at his choice. He
watched the doctor exhibit his most
charming manners; and then feit a little
better when the widow made a kittenish
exit and returned with her new will. And,
as Buchanan had. said,’ it left all her
worldly possessions to him.

Mrs. Sutherland. signed the document
and O’Rourke witnessed the signature.
Then the widow brought out a bottle of
rye.

“This calls for a celebration,” she
exclaimed.

If. the saloon keeper had been surprised
at the woman’s coarseness before she took
a few drinks he was in for even more
surprises later. Mrs. Sutherland took her
whiskey neat and by the time the bottle

was gone she was curling ihe boys’ hair

with “off-color jokes. Bucb-»an made a
successful attempt at enjoying the alleged
humor; but O’Rourke wasn’t up to the
act. He’d heard the men along the bar
tell some raw ones, but this dame could
have given any. one of his customers

lessons. j

WHEN the evening was over and the
two men from Manhattan were on
their. way home O’Rourke said, “She’s got
money all right, but I’m surprised at

you —a college gent — going along with
what else goes with that woman. Cer-
tainly you don’t intend to marry her!”

Dr. Buchanan put a friendly hand on
the saloon keeper’s shoulder. “Patty,” he
said, “I’ve been a poor man a long time.
I'll agree that this ‘female isn’t exactly
what a doctor would order if-he had first
choice, but she’s got a fat bank book.
That’s all I’m interested in.”

The wedding. took place two weeks
later. And, after that, came an expensive
wedding trip. When the honeymoon was
over the Buchanans took a nice apartment

_ in Greenwich Village.

Getting out nights wasn’t so easy after
that. However, the first chance Dr. Buch-
anan got he was back in Patty O’Rourke’s
saloon,

“Give me a double,” he told the pro-—

prietor.. “I’ve been through hell. Some-
times I think money isn’t everything. That
woman would drive an- ordinary man to
drink.”

“Start spending her dough,” O’Rourke
told him. “That should take your mind
off her face.” ;

Buchanan did, but soon after he had
purchased an entire new wardrobe his
wife did the same and insisted that he
take her out so she could wear the new
clothes and be seen by the best people.

Dr. Buchanan was just about ready to
admit that he’d made a bad bargain when
he read a newspaper story relating to the
trial of a young medical student named
Carlyle Harris, who was charged with
poisoning his sweetheart. This was the
big story of the day; and Dr. Buchanan’s
interest was more than routine. Carlyle
Harris was a medical student, Buchanan
was a practicing physician.

One. night when he was able to sneak
out he said to O’Rourke, “This guy Harris
was an amateur. He knew nothing about
poisons. If he had been up on his medi-
cine he could have concocted’ something
that would have done away with the girl
and left none of the usual traces. He
-wouldn’t have ever been found out then.”

O’Rourke had hear
the famous trial wt!
and when Buchanan
scientific point the |
interest was Pp
anan didn’t ¢d
talking about ‘
ish the young medic
Carlyle Harris wa
by a jury. Buchana:
said, “The man wa
have studied up on
could have produc
to convict him.”

Shortly after that

O’Rourke’s_ place
think something
house,” he told the

“And what wot
asked.

“I think that wo
me,” Buchanan an

The conversation
pleasant things. A
later Doctor Buch:
He was in much b

“} think my old
announced almost

O’Rourke asked

“It’s her stoma
trouble some nig!
she’s long for this

Several days la’
out and bought the
he could find b
needed a final res

Patty O'Rourke
New Jersey with
the things the sa!
an almost compl
the doctor’s attit!
wife.

“Annie was a
told O'Rourke.
but I really love«

The will was
Buchanan *"~"*
He still
place but
changed imau.

“Do you rea
loved that wom:
customer who h

“No, I don’t.
“There are some

Despite this
one at O’Rourk
the first time i
Buchanan was :
He developed a
mouth and his
reached for a g

Then one ni

“Patty, has ar

might have poi

The saloon
thing of the ki
hard,” he told
the money. F<

Right after
back to Nova
first wife that |
listened and de
she didn’t wan

Village becaus

there during

been. married
“Tve got to

explained, “b:,

must watch.”

i ik ky

2’s Revenge

ied from page 45)

| the
/isor
idn’t

“He
Half
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else
oth-
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each

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Dey-

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home with such persistence and force
that Deycard eventually involved
himself in contradictions concerning
his movements during the week in
question, lost his temper and finally
broke down and confessed to the
murder of his wife.

Francoise, he said, had threatened to
leave him. She had complained that
he was brutal and overbearing, pre-
cisely the same complaints made by
Gisele at the time of her divorce.

Deycard denied the accusations to
the police and whined that the real
reason that his wife had wanted to
leave him was because of his scarred
face.

“If that were true, she wouldn’t
have had to marry you in the first pla-
ce,” said the inspector imperturbably:
“Get on with it.”

Deycard got on with it. There had
been a quarrel; he said, and he had
lost him temper, hammering Fran-
coise with his fists and: knocking her
half unconscious. Afraid then that she
would report him to the police, he
had fetched a pick handle from the
woodshed and had hit her several

times over the head.

Realizing that he had made himself
guilty of murder, he decided to con-
fuse the police by concealing her

identity and by scattering clues over a’

wide area and had begun by beating
her face to an unrecognizable pulp.

Late that same night, he had loaded
the body into the car and had taken it
to the dump at Escatelens which he
had once visited as a boy.

He had then driven to La Force
which he did not know, but was
merely a place far enough away to
present the police with a puzzle and
had left the handbag.

Returning to Bordeaux, he had
spent the following day cleaning up
bloodstains and burning the pick han-
dle and Francoise’s bloody clothing.

He had no explanation at all for
why he had gone to Louannec.

The motive for the murder, if it
could be called a motive at all, had
simply been a fit of anger over Fran-
coise’s threat to divorce him.

Although there was no evidence of
premeditation, the court found Dey-
card’s act so brutal and his subsequent
efforts to conceal his crime so repre-
hensible that he was accorded no ex-
tenuating circumstances and, ‘on Feb-
ruary 10, 1989, was sentenced to life
imprisonment. *

Murder In The Madhouse

(continued from page 11)

Heinler, a wealthy corset manufac-
turer of New York City., Their home
on Albemarle Road was a large ram-
bling structure with twenty rooms
and all the earmarks of luxury.

Captain Coughlin continued to
stare at the bloodstained tablecloth
outlining the small form under it.
Then he said: “She was strangled and
a second-story man doesn’t go to all
that trouble. He works too fast, espe-
cially if he has to cover a house like
this.”

“Don’t overlook the possibility,”
Inspector Dillon suggested, “that the
place may have been cased and the
robber was leaving when Mrs. Heinl-
er walked into the kitchen and caught
him redhanded.”

Captain Coughlin shook his head.
He didn’t seem impressed with that
theory. Yet in the first phases of the
investigation he had to reluctantly ad-

mit that ie did look very much as if

something like that had happened.
The husband, who was in his fifties,
tall and slim and gray-haired, and his

nephew, Fred Vogel, young and:

handsome and nervous-looking, had
been’ notified and they arrived at the
home as Captian Coughlin and the In-
spector were discussing the possibili-
ties of robbery.

The husband was pale and had dif-
ficulty controlling his emotions. The
nephew had better control of himself
and was very positive in his statement
that only a housebreaker or robber
could have committed the murder,

The husband and nephew were
taken through the house. They were
able to list all the things missing. Julia
Heinler always .wore two diamond
earrings and two diamond rings. This
jewelry was missing from her body.
A gold watch and stick-pin had been
taken from the nephew's room, More

(continued on next page)

jewelry was missing from: -Julia
Heinler’s bedroom, and a_ strong
box, small and made of iron, which
held her will, personal: papers, and
deeds to property in Germany, had
been completely emptied: Neither the
husband nor the nephew could find
anything missing in the first floor
rooms, although these had been ran-
sacked.

The nephew said: “‘What happened
is all terribly simple. Aunt Julia
walked into the house when the killer,
was making his get-away with the
jewels and the papers. He had to kill
her and seeing the rings she wore, he
added these to his loot. Any other the-
ory is absurd.”

Captain Coughlin had been: im-'
pressed with the luxurious furnish- |
ings of the rooms. So he asked: “Sure,
‘and in a house like this there must be
servants?” |

Seligman Heinler trastoried to ex- |
plain. “We have three. Hilda Friesin
is our maid, Cora Unruh our cook,
and Joseph Hanel the butler. But my |
wife often would be gone and she |
would give the servants a day off. I)
suppose that is what happened today.”
My nephew and I leave the house ev-
ery morning at seven and we don’t.
know what plans my wife has 4
mind.”

Inspector Dillon said: “Pll get de-
tectives on the job of rounding up
these servants right away. Where can;
they be found?” j

Seligman wasn’t sure. He believed

. that Hanel might be at the Seaman’s’

Institute in Manhattan, as he was a.
German sailor marooned in this coun-|
try on account of the war. Hilda Frie-
sin had a sister in Manhattan and Cora’
Unruh went to friends on Long Is-'
land. {
When the Inspector walked out of

(continued on next page)

THE WINNERS:

Winners of Crime Contest No. 36 for i
_ correctly answering Ted Bundy are: La-
vada Cardin, Etowah, Tennessee, First 1
Prize of $150; S. Harrell, Midland Tex- |
as, Second Prize of $50; Jim Galloway, 4
Deland, Fla., and Shirley Bledsoe, Tul-
sa, Oklahoma, Runnerup Prizes of $25 '
each, Checks in those amounts and our,
congratulations have been forwarded to.
the lucky winners. More winners next,
issue! X

boarding school.

(Photo specially posed by professional models.)

Carlyle Harris admittedly gave four
headache pills to Helen Potts when
he visited her in the parlor of a

fashionable girls

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Secret Marriage
and the
Poisoned Schoolgirl

(Continued from page 23)

callers that day?” the detective asked.

“None, I° believe,” the principal
answered.

“Did she leave the school’ at any
time during the day?” the detective
pursued.

Mrs. Day consulted a record book.
“There’s no record of a leave for Helen
on that Saturday. I’m certain she
wouldn’t have left without permission.
Besides, her classmates and roommates
know that she did not leave, since
they were with her.”

Pill Was Harmless

Reilly sighed and rose. When he
had taken his leave he made a bee-
line to the office of Dr. Fowler.

After the physician had told the
brief facts as he knew them, : Reilly
asked him about the mysterious pre-
scription. “In your estimation, doctor,
was there enough morphine in those
pills to have caused death?”

“There was not in the prescription,
certainly,” Dr. Fowler said. “But I
suspected the pills and asked Harris
for the remainder. He could find but
one. I turned it over to the coroner
and he had it analyzed. It contained
only a harmless amount of the drug.”

“What do you make of that, then?”
Reilly asked bluntly. -

“I. make nothing of ‘it, sir,” Fowler
returned testily, “except that if the
prescription were filled properly it did
not contain a lethal dose of morphine.”

That. gave Reilly an idea. He imme-
diately obtained the name and address
of the pharmacy which had filled Car-
lyle Harris’ prescription.

A row.of colorful urns in the win-
dow at 992 Sixth Avenue marked the
‘apothecary of Ewen, McIntyre & Sons.
The sleuths from Nicoll’s office ap-
proached the efficient-looking young
man behind the prescription counter.
He was Hern J. Power and when the
detectives flashed glittering creden-
tials from vest fronts, the young
druggist answered their questions
eagerly.

“Sure, we filled Harris’ prescrip-
tion,” Power said.

“You’re sure it was he who brought
it in person?” Reilly insisted.

“Positive,” Power avowed.

‘Didn’t get your bottles mixed, did

you, Power? Maybe let too much

morphine slip in?” the detective sug-
gested.

Power's face flushed. “That would
be impossible, sir. Our rules require
two men to fill a prescription which
calls for narcotics or poisons. One to
compound, one to check. We keep all
dangerous drugs in a separate locked
compartment. There was no mistake,
I can assure you,” Power insisted.

“Where’s the other fellow who
helped you fill it?” Reilly asked.

JULY, 1943

“T’ll call him.” Power stepped be-
hind the partition and in a moment
was back with another young phar-
macist. “This is Charles W. Tuercke.
He and I filled Harris’ prescription,”
Power said. j

Tuercke nodded in confirmation. He
reached for the poison book, opened

it to the date in quéstion and swung

it around for Reilly’s inspection.
“Here’s the record of that prescrip-
tion,” he pointed at an entry. It con-
tained the amount of narcotic—one-
sixth grain of morphine, and the name
of the person who had made the pur-
chase. That person was Carlyle Harris.

Reilly scratched his ear. “But say—
if this Harris chap isn’t a full-fledged
doctor yet, how could he have writ-

. ten out a prescription?”

The clerk explained that easily
enough. “It was probably a formula

“Paid In Full’’

Society recently wrote “paid
in full" on the debt of a 27-year-
old prisoner who died while he
was trying to square accounts.

A posthumous pardon was
voted Arthur St. Germaine, one
of 39 convicts at the Norfolk
state prison colony in Massachu-
setts who submitted voluntarily
to secret Navy medical tests. He
had served 18 months of a five-
to seven-year term.

Petitions for pardons to 58 *
other state prisoners who sur-
vived the tests were placed be-
fore the seman district
attorney for approval. N
officials said the madical i
ments probably would lead to
the saving of thousands of lives
on the battlefields as well as at
home.

from a pharmacopeia. Harris told us

‘he got it from his preceptor at the

College of Physicians ‘and Surgeons.
That’s reliable enough. Besides, the
whole thing was as harmless as any
sedative on our shelves.”
' Reilly left the drugstore with a deep
frown wedged betweén his brows.
“Nothing wrong with the pills—yet
the girl is dead just the same,” he
mumbled to his fellow detectives.
“Here’s what it amounts to—if that
prescription was okay, and everything
seems to indicate that it was, then
Helen Potts either took something else
herself or was given a dose of poison
by someone. Those pills didn’t cause
her death! What did? And where did
she get it? Or why did she take it?”
a '*%
Autopsy Ordered if
The detectives looked blankly at
each other for answers to these posers.
Answers which would make the ver-
dict at an inquest either death by
accidental poisoning—or murder!
Reilly decided: to havea talk with

’

Coroner Schultze, who had issued a
burial permit for Helen Potts.

“Why wasn’t there an autopsy if
there was a shade of doubt as to how
the girl met her death?” the sergeant
wanted to know.

A grim smile crossed Schultze’s
face. “There was no doubt. Three
doctors diagnosed the cause of death
as toxemia by morphia. All were
present before death and had a chance
to observe the symptoms. All agreed
that Helen Potts had been poisoned
by an overdose of morphine.”

“I see your point,” agreed Reilly.
“There’s really no doubt at all that the
girl was poisoned, accidentally or
otherwise?”

“None whatever,” the coroner
agreed. “Nevertheless, I’ve just re-
ceived an order from the prosecutor’s
office for an autopsy. Evidently,
there’s going to be a prosecution for
murder,” he said significantly. “For
some reason, the results of an autopsy
always stand up better before juries
than a doctor’s diagnosis.”

“What do you think about the
chances that those pills Harris gave
the girl were strong enough to kill
her?” Reilly asked.

Schultze shook his head. “Dr.
Fowler handed me the pill Harris
gave him and I turned it over to Dr.
Gustave Pfingsten, a chemist, for
analysis. He determined the exact
amount the prescription called for.”

Reilly blew out a mouthful of cigar
smoke angrily. Here again was the
same stone wall he had been running
into headon ever since he started his
investigation of the Potts case. He
went back to the prosecutor’s office
to report. °

Nicoll listened gravely as the de-
tectives related their findings.

“Looks like we’re not going to build
up a-case on those pills, Nicoll,” Reilly
finished.

“Right. But what you haven’t de-
termined is what happened to the pills
between Ewen’s drug store and the
boarding school.”

The detectives stared at the prose-
cutor, waiting.

“There was every opportunity for
the person carrying the pills to load
one or more of them with a lethal
dose of morphine,” he went on.
“Especially a person whose normal
pursuits put him in legitimate con-
tact with drugs and technical knowl-
edge of their reactions.”

“You mean Harris?” Reilly shouted.

“IT mean any suspect,” Nicoll theo-
rized. “But, to carry the theme a little
further—Ewen’s, you say, gives every
appearance of being a reliable phar-
macy? Good! The suspect is known
to the clerks at the pharmacy? Fine!
So the suspect has the prescription
filled there where the store’s repu-
tation is sure to aid him in establish-
ing a perfect alibi—that the recorded
contents of the. pills had a harmless
amount of morphine. 3

“But, as I have pointed out, not
_evén Ewen’s reputation could prevent
the pills being tampered with on the
way to the patient. Since the pills,
patently harmless, need not have been

5s —

ti
iit.
i

A HANDSOME YOUNG NEW YORK MEDICAL STUDENT BELIEVED

Below: An artist's drawing of
‘oung Harris who enjoyed posing.
efore friends as a heartbreaker.

“Have you tried electric shock?” Baner asked. “I have
my equipment with me.”

“Use it by all means, then,” directed Fowler. “There’s
no time to lose.” :

Took Headache Pills),

The electric shock, a treatment new to physicians’ of
1891, produced an encouraging result. The girl on the
bed shuddered, her muscles twitching. Her eyes opened.

“Give her another, Baner,” Dr. Fowler said excitedly. -

Helen Potts roused slowly from the coma which simu-

lated death. Color crept back into the pretty white face

as the doctors administered stimulants. She smiled wanly
at them.

“What did you take, Miss Potts?” Dr. Fowler queried

quickly, knowing that consciousness might last only a few
moments.
“Headache pills,” the schoolgirl murmured weakly. “I
had such peculiar visions. . . .””
“Have you any more of those pills?” Fowler asked.

“No, Carl kept the rest. He said he’d give’ me more if’

I needed them,” Helen said slowly, struggling for breath.

Dr. Fowler turned to Mrs. Day. “Who is Carl?”

“I presume Miss Potts is referring to Mr. Carlyle Harris,”
the principal told the doctor. “He’s a student at the College
of Physicians and Surgeons.: It’s rumored ‘that there is an
understanding between the young couple. But, of course,
there'll be no announcement of their engagement until
both graduate in June.” : °

“How old is Miss Potts?” Dr. Fowler inquired, his keen
eyes studying the school girl’s paling cheeks. a Bs

“Nineteen, I believe,” the principal’ said. “She studies
voice and gives recitals. Perhaps she has overworked. at
her studies. She’s complained of insomnia several times’
lately.”

22 pe

Mrs. George H. Potts called upon the district attorney and de-
, manded action to avenge Helen's. death. Right: Dr. E. P. Fowler
attended the schoolgirl before she died of morphine poisoning.

Dr. Fowler queried the patient again. “How many pills
did you take in all, Miss Potts?” :

“Four. One an hour. The last before bedtime like Carl
said.” i

After four hours of hard work Dr. Fowler decided it was
safe to leave the bedside temporarily. “Watch this girl
closely,” he warned Mrs. Day. “Don’t leave her unattended
fora moment. If there is the slightest change call me
immediately.” | -

The weary physician had just reached home and was
preparing for bed when a second emergency call came
from the Comstock School.

“Hurry, doctor,” urged the excited voice of Mrs. Day.
“I’m afraid Helen is dying!”

And so it seemed. Helen Potts had slipped back into
a death-like coma. Her breathing was labored; her skin

cold and claramy, and it had the appearance of blue-tinted

ivory.

Dr. Fowler again lifted a rigid eyelid. The pupil had
contracted to an almost invisible pinpoint.

When the other two doctors arrived they administered
black coffee and injections of atropine and took turns with
the artificial respiration. -

As the hours passed and Helen Potts’ condition continued
to grow more desperate, Dr. Fowler turned to his assistant.
“See if you can locate this Carlyle Harris. Bring him here
immediately,” he said.

Just before dawn the tightly contracted pupils of the
sick girl’s eyes began to enlarge in response to the atropine.
The doctors were at first encouraged, then alarmed. The
pupils expanded until they consumed the entire iris.

A moment later Carlyle Harris was ushered into the
school dormitory. °

Dr. Fowler was amazed at the manly bearing of the -

21-year-old chap. He was the picture of sophisticated

ALL-FACT DETECTIVE

Be misread.
those ag

he
Janced at t
terrible mistal

reversed, OF
O=«&

“Ts agi
ae were in
“Six,
“She
‘rest. V
i; You

young manhood; cool, collected and in control of his emo-
tions. His curly-dark hair, blue eyes and sartorial elegance
made him a very handsome young gentleman, indeed. He
‘bowed gallantly over the hand of Mrs. Day and acknowl-
edged the presence of the three young ladies in charming
“manner.

Dr. Fowler drew the young man ‘aside. “Miss Potts is
' dying of toxemia produced by morphia,” he informed Har-

ris bluntly. “What did you prescribe for her?”

Poison Proves Fatal +

The young medical student’s eyes widened.~ “Only a
harmless sedative containing a small amount of morphine,”
. Harris said in surprise.

~ * “You filled the prescription yourself, then?”

- “No, indeed!” Harris denied quickly. “I took it myself
© to Ewen, McIntyre and Sons. Aren’t they reliable
pharmacists?”

“Excellent reputation, yes,” Fowler agreed. “Still—” he
_ glanced at the figure on the bed—“perhaps there was some
terrible mistake. The proportions of drugs may have been

|. reversed, or the amount of morphine might have been .

. misread. Go ask the prescription clerk just what he put in
those pills you gave Miss Potts.”

When the medical student returned to the school he
informed the physician that the drug clerks maintained
that they had compounded the prescription with greatest
- exactitude, and that it did contain but one-sixth grain of
morphine.

Dr. Fowler’s eyebrows knitted. “Strange—that amount
of morphine could harm no one,” the puzzled doctor
commented. P

Meanwhile every effort known to medical science of the
era was being exerted to save Helen Potts. The day wore
on and finally at 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, February
1, a violent tremor passed through the young girl’s fragile
frame and she expired without ever regaining conscious-

ler decided it ine ness. : P
atch this o; s Carlyle Harris drew Dr. Fowler aside. “Good heavens,
7e her unatte A q this is awful,” he said, his composure ruffled for the first
ange call. _ _ time since the physician had met him. “What will happen
ia ;

to me for prescribing before I’ve received my diploma?”

Dr. Fowler looked at the young man coldly. Was it
possible that the reputed fiancé of a lovely young lady
could be thinking only of himself at such a moment? “I

€ of Mrs D y can’t tell you that, young man,” the doctor replied testily.
° “It’s against the law, as you well know. How many pills
Ped back int. were in the prescription you gave Miss Potts?”
ored; her shin “Six,” Harris said.
of blue-tint ed “She said she had taken four and that you kept the
rest. Where are they?” Dr. Fowler demanded.
‘he pupil Young Harris fumbled in his waistcoat pocket. “Humm—
ad I put them in here so Helen wouldn’t possibly take an
administ, overdose. Here’s one.” He handed it to Dr. Fowler. “I
‘k turns eile must have lost the other. It’s gone.” f

Dr. Fowler took the pill and carefully deposited it in
an envelope. —
On the diagnoses of Drs. Fowler, Baner and Kerr that

US assistant :

»%€ him here Helen Potts had died of toxemia by morphia, Louis W.
Schultze, the investigating coroner, issued a burial permit

Pils of the for the boarding school student without autopsy.

\e atropine But on February 9, 1891, a smartly gowned woman, heav-

‘med. The ily swathed in crepe-bordered black veils, swept into the

; iris offices of District Attorney Delancey Nicoll, famed New
York prosecutor of the ’90s. Her bearing was that of a

| into :
the woman of wealth and breeding, though obviously: she was
1’ of th laboring under a burden of grief and sorrow.
tisittead ; After announcing her identity and the object of her visit,
the lady handed Nicoll a letter. “Read that,” she said
STECTIVE

JULY, 1943

bitterly, “and see if you think I haven’t good cause to ask

-you to prosecute.”

The district attorney scanned the letter. His features
became a mask of gravity before he had finished reading
the missive. He sat plunged deep in thought for a moment
after he had finished the note. “Incriminating, yes. But
it gives us not a single bit of evidence to prove murder,
Mrs. Potts,” the D.A. said quietly.

“Then you mean to let a murderer go free for lack of

evidence?” the lady gasped.

A Ticklish Case

“Not at all,” the prosecutor assured Helen Potts’ mother.
“I am merely preparing you for the possible eventuality.
We shall investigate thoroughly. If we can gather enough
conclusive evidence we shall prosecute to the full extent
of the law.”

After Mrs. George H. Potts, who had given her address
as Wesley Lake Drive, Ocean Grove, N. J., had left the
office, the prosecutor summoned the most expert sleuths
on the New York:City homicide squad. Chief among them
was the celebrated Detective Sergeant Philip Reilly.

“This is going to be a ticklish case,” the D.A. warned
after giving the detectives a brief outline of the principals
involved. “Both families concerned are socially prominent
and influential. The case will be highly publicized, and
there is little doubt that feeling will run high as soon as
there is the least hint of an investigation of Helen Potts’
death. But don’t let that stop you—investigate every detail
surrounding the poisoning of the girl no matter whom it
may involve.” ve

Detective Reilly’s first call was made at the Comstock
School where he asked for Mrs. Day. The good woman was
apparently overstrained and greatly perturbed by the
shocking experience to which she had been recently sub-
jected. Her face paled when Reilly announced his mission
—a police investigation of Helen Potts’ death.

“Oh, but don’t you think it was all a terrible accident,
Helen’s taking an overdose of a sedative?” Mrs. Day asked.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Reilly assured her.
“With your cooperation I want to question every girl in
the school who was with Helen Potts on the last Saturday
of her life. I want to'check her every move that day.”

Mrs. Day nodded primly. Then she rang for an assistant
and requested a number of girls to be brought from their

classes to the parlor to talk with Reilly.

THAT MURDER BY NARCOTICS COULD NOT BE TRACED TO

From ‘the young ladies, who were obviously upset and
excited by the visit of an officer of the law, the detective
sergeant was able to piece their scattered stories together.

Saturdays at the school were always half-holidays and
the students were allowed to entertain callers in the parlor
or, properly chaperoned, were allowed special late leaves
to attend social functions.

On the Saturday in question Helen Potts had spent the
morning in her classes as usual. During the afternoon she
had received a visitor in the parlor—Carlyle Harris. It was
rumored that he was Helen’s fiancé and he was a frequent
visitor at the school. °

On this day Helen complained of a headache. Harris did
not prolong his visit and after he left, Miss Potts said she
was going to her room to take some pills and lie down.
That evening some of her roommates coaxed her to join
them at a concert but Helen still complained of the head-
ache, and said she was going directly to bed, which
she did. ’

“Caryle Harfis did visit Helen Potts that day, then?”
Reilly asked, jotting the answer in his notebook.

“Yes, but that was his custom,” Mrs. Day said.

“Did Miss Potts have any other (Continued on page 59)

38 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

feel numb all over. I feel so queer. I wish you would come
and see what’s the matter with me.”

The girls became frightened and aroused the teacher, who
immediately sent for Dr. Fowler, an eminent physician who
practiced nearby. When he arrived she had completely lost all
control of her muscles. The pupils of her eyes were contracted
symmetrically, so much that you could hardly see the pupils.
The face pale and blue, the entire body bathed in cold per-
spiration, breathing but twice a minute—all the marked symp-
toms of poison by morphine. Upon finding the box marked
“C.W.H., medical student,” Harris was sent for and asked
what he had given the girl. He told them, “One-sixth of a
grain of morphine.” Dr. Fowler said, “There has been some
terrible mistake here. The druggist must have reversed the
measurements. She has taken at least four and one-half grains
of morphine. Go at once to the druggist and inquire what he’s
done, for the girl is dying of morphine poisoning.” Harris
went out, but not to the druggist. Returning, he reported that
the prescription was made up just as he had previously said.

The next morning Helen was dead, and Harris exclaimed,
“Great God! What will become of me?” He then told the
doctors, “Perhaps you don’t know, but yesterday I was out
with this young lady and asked her if she would not be
my wife some day.” A telegram was sent to her mother that
her daughter was ill. Harris met her at the ferry and told her,
“It’s the very worst. She is gone,” whereupon the mother said,
“Is this your work, Carl?” and he said, “Mother, mother,
how can you say such a thing? She died of morphine poison-
ing. It was the druggist’s awful mistake.”

Later that day her mother said, “Carl, she is dead. She must
be buried under your name.” Thereupon, Harris went into a
frenzy and said, “Under my name? Never. You don’t know
what you’re asking. It would ruin me if it were known I was

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 39

married to her. It isn’t because it’s you. If it was Queen Vic-
toria’s daughter, it would be just the same.” Then the mother
said to him, “We must never speak to each other again.”

At the trial I claimed that the motive was plain. The
prisoner, having become tired of his wife and knowing that
within eight days he would have to declare her as his lawful
wife and submit to a church marriage under his real name,
prepared the medicine for her as a remedy for sick headaches,
saved two of the capsules in order to protect himself if any
suspicion should attach to him afterwards, and gave the re-
maining four capsules to her after he had unloaded one’ of
them and had substituted four grains of morphine in place
of the quinine it had contained. Not knowing on which night
she would take the lethal dose, he absented himself from the
City.

In the case of death by willful poisoning we expect to find
a defendant who is cunning, shrewd, clever, calculating. One
who weighs circumstances and prepares for them; disdains
to use a knife or weapon of any kind; does not strike in
passion or in public. He lays his plans carefully and discounts
in advance possible failures in his calculations. Such a man was
Carlyle Harris. He was a medical student, equipped to admin-
ister the morphine in a manner calculated to free him from
suspicion. Moreover, he would know that morphine is so
quickly absorbed into the system it frequently happens that
even though a large dose has been taken, only traces can be
found in the stomach after death. Hence, having prescribed
one-sixth of a grain, who could prove that he had given her
more than that amount?

Had these room-mates of hers not gone to the concert that
night, had they not come in late and awakened her, the first
sleep produced by the drug would have been the sleep of

40 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

death. Had his plan succeeded, there would have been no
talk about the druggist, no investigation into the matter to
prove the druggist had properly compounded the prescription.
It would have been assumed that she died from natural causes.
No symptoms could have been testified to, and Harris could
have gone to his wife’s funeral an object of sympathy. But the
most carefully laid plains have a way of failing when they
have murder as their object.

When he admitted to Miss Schofield that he and Helen were
married secretly, Miss Schofield asked, “Doesn’t her mother
know?” and Harris replied, “No, nobody knows it but your-
self.” So Miss Schofield said, “Well, she ought to know it
and I'll tell or Pll make her tell her mother.” Harris became
angry and said, “You shall not tell her mother. Nobody knows
this and I put you on your honor not to tell. Before I would
have anybody know it I would kill her and kill myself. I wish
she were dead now and I well out of all this.” Those were the
exact words that Miss Schofield testified to at the trial.

It was not until some days after the tragedy that Harris
walked calmly into the drugstore and said, “I had some cap-
sules put up here ten days ago. Won’t you kindly look in the
book and tell me what was in the prescription?” That was
all, even though he had been told at once by the doctor that
she had taken an overdose of morphine, and that he should
investigate.

It should be. remembered that he had previously told the
mother that it was “the druggist’s awful mistake” and that
Helen had died of morphine poisoning. Nobody could have
proved that it was not the druggist’s mistake had not Harris
himself kept out two capsules and insisted upon their being
analyzed to show that there was but one-sixth of a grain of
morphine in each. It was this strange twist of his mind, this

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 4I

peculiar idea that he was protecting himself, which was one
of the strongest pieces of evidence against him.

There was still another piece of evidence which made a
great impression at the trial. When Harris went to Scranton
during his wife’s illness, he met a man by the name of Oliver
who was about his own age. He was shown about Scranton
by Oliver on several occasions, and in walking back to the
hotel one evening, when Harris had been drinking a little,
enough at least, to make him somewhat talkative, he told
Oliver that he could overcome any woman’s scruples and
explained the advantages which a young doctor had with
women. He knew how to mix something for them that would
lessen their resistance, and so on. He added, however, that
twice in his experience his usual methods had failed. When
asked what he did in those cases, he replied, “On those two
occasions I married the girl, but married her under assumed
names.” When Oliver asked him if he did not expect to get
into trouble some day that way, he said, “Oh, no, I think not.
I guess I could get myself out of it.”

It was also testified that he was overheard talking to his
Canandaigua companion about marriage. He told her that he
personally had no money and that the best thing for her to
do would be to marry some rich old man. She asked, “How
will that help you if I get married?” and he replied, “Oh, that
will be all right. I can easily fix that. I can mix him a pill
and get him out of the way at short notice.”

The case had been turned over to me for investigation after
it had been reported as impossible of solution by one of my
associates and was about to be pigeon-holed. My first step was
to have the corpse disinterred and subjected to examination
and chemical analysis. Every organ was found in perfect

health.

36 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

laughing as he said, “Sacred,—well, I should think not. The
old man who married us is a liquor saloon-keeper. I have
looked him up since the marriage.” Harris added, “I thought
we might get tired of one another and if we were married
under false names we could some day drop the matter. It’s
just as well for one as for the other. We could try it and if it
didn’t work, it would be easy to drop it.”

The mother, thoroughly alarmed, then said, “My brother-
in-law told me that you said to him you had been married
before, and also you told him you had often been in such
trouble—that you had performed five such operations. I want
to know what you mean by this.” Harris insisted that it was
not true. “I lied to Dr. Traverton. There wasn’t a word of
truth in it. If you press this matter any further, I shall have
to cut everything and go west.”

Harris returned to Ocean Grove with her, and when she
saw the great love of the man in Helen’s eyes as she met
them, she could not make up her mind to separate them, and
so decided not to tell her husband. So a weak woman, weak
at least where her daughter’s happiness was concerned, allowed
the matter to pass.

On this occasion Harris insisted that Helen should be allowed
to go as a student to the Comstock school, where he knew a
teacher and could easily get her admitted as a boarder. After
joining the school, she seldom saw Harris. He had one excuse
or another for not seeing her. He was sick or he was busy.
When the Potts family went for Christmas to Ocean Grove,
he wrote that he was sorry that he could not come down and
added “I have decided that nothing shall be said about this
engagement.”

Mrs. Potts replied, “You are quite right—nothing shall be
said about this engagement, for you are married to my

A iar omar nine

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 37

daughter. The eighth of February will be the anniversary of
your secret marriage. I set that day as the one on which you
will be married in a Christian way. You are to take your wife
and be married before a minister. You are to take a certificate
under your right names and send it to me and I will hold it,
and whether I make it known or not depends upon circum-
stances and upon your actions.” On the twentieth day of Janu-
ary, and the date becomes important, Harris wrote, “All your
wishes shall be complied with provided no other way can be
found of satisfying your scruples.”

That very day he walked into the drug store of Ewen
McIntyre and asked to have a prescription made up, which
he took out of his pocket. It was to contain twenty-seven grains
of quinine and one grain of morphine to be made into six
capsules, one-sixth of a grain of morphine and four and one-
half grains of quinine in each capsule. Two days later he gave
four of these to Helen for headaches, of which she had com-
plained. He told her to take one each night, and this direction
was written on the box. The very next day he took the
steamer for Old Point Comfort.

He received a letter from her, “I have taken one of your
pills—they don’t help me.” He replied, “Try another.” She
took a second and a third and then stopped. He immediately
returned from Old Point Comfort and persuaded her to try
another. It was Saturday, the thirty-first of January, that the
fourth and last pill in the box was taken.

She spent that evening with Miss Day, her teacher. They
had read aloud during the evening. A little after ten o’clock,
she went to her room, which she shared with three other girls
who had gone to a symphony concert. The girls returned and
were talking together when Helen awoke and said, “Girls, I
have had such beautiful dreams. I could dream on forever.
I have been dreaming of Carl.” Presently she complained, “I

42 LUCK AND OPPORTUNITY

Dr. Hamilton said the body was perfectly preserved. It
was a pathetic sight. She was dressed all in white and looked
like a young bride who had just fallen asleep.

Professor Withaus, however, after many weeks of study,
reported to me that while he had found no quinine at all, there
was sufficient morphine, even though a small quantity, to
justify a reasonably certain opinion that before death at least
three to five grains had been taken. The chemical examinations
of Dr. Withaus were vigorously disputed at the trial by
William Travers Jerome, who was defending Harris and who
had devoted nearly six months to the study of this branch of
the case.

A phase of the case that troubled me for a long time was
how Harris had possessed himself of the morphine, since no
pharmacist could sell it without a doctor’s prescription. By
diligent inquiry, I finally discovered that a few days before he
had had this prescription made up, he had attended a lecture
given by Professor Peabody on the significant subject “Mor-
phine—Its Uses as a Medicine and Its Poisonous Effects in
Large Quantities.” At this lecture a large open vial of morphine
had been handed around and each student had been allowed
to take samples of it. Here, then, was the answer to the mystery.

The trial lasted three weeks and at the close the questions
for the jury to decide were, first; Did Helen Potts commit
suicide? She was well, she was in love with the prisoner. Her
mother had testified that she was very happy the day she died
and she had been with her all day long. Her room-mates had
testified that she was both happy and contented. Her teacher,
Miss Day, who spent the last evening with her, had testified
that she was both well and happy and in a peaceful frame of
mind when she bade her goodnight. Had she any cause to
commit suicide? Had she any means of committing suicide?

Sn Boer

CARLYLE HARRIS CASE 43

Was there any drug found in her bedroom but this one box
marked “C.W.H.”? Was it the “druggist’s awful mistake”?
The analysis of the two capsules which Harris had mistakenly
kept out for his own protection provided the best possible evi-
dence that the druggist had made no mistake. What did Helen
die of? Natural causes, or disease, or poison? The autopsy
showed a perfectly healthy body. All the prosecution’s doctors
agreed that morphine caused the death and that at least three
grains had been taken. Who administered the poison? Who
had a motive to do it? Who said “I would kill her before the
marriage should be made public”? Was the marriage about to
be consummated by a church marriage? Was Harris tired of
his secret wife? Was he faithful to her, or did he want to get
rid of her? Had he said to Miss Schofield, “I wish she were
dead and that I were well out of it”? Or had he written to
Helen’s mother that he would agree to the religious marriage
unless he found “some other means of satisfying your scruples,”

Throughout the trial it had been the effort of Mr. Jerome
to show that the same symptoms that had been described by
the doctors would be found in any patient who died from
kidney disease or uremic poisoning. But he met one stumbling
block. It will be remembered that Helen’s eyes were sym-
metrically contracted to a pinpoint, and all the doctors on both
sides had to admit that this symptom distinguished death by
morphine poisoning from any other known cause of death.
Finally, at the very close of the evidence, Jerome produced a
witness from Philadelphia, a noted authority on toxicology and
poisons of all kinds, who had written books on the subject.
This doctor testified that he knew of a case where death was
caused by morphine but where the pupils of the eyes were
not symmetrically contracted to a pinpoint. One pupil was so
contracted, but not the other.

Gordon,

The late Detective Wil-
liam Roddy. of New
York City (left). He
followed a far-flung
trail in his search for
the mysterious and elu-
sive Killer “X”

The Story Thus Far:

THE suave but dastardly desperado who, because his iden-

tity was a mystery, became known as Killer “X,” had
been harassing the police of the northwestern states for
months with a series of hold-ups. With a boy he picked up
in a gambling joint he robbed a Seattle bank of 3,500. A
month later, in a spectacular four-minute hold-up, Killer
“X,” with new associates, took $30,000. from a Northern
Pacific Flyer. His next coup was the robbery of an express
car of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway. On
this occasion the loot amounted to $50,000.

Later, after hiding in San Francisco, he and his para-
mour, a girl known as “Coco,” journeyed to New York.
Nothing was heard of Killer “X” for over a year. Then,
on December 13th, 1918, he committed his thirteenth bank
robbery. His accomplice this time was an unemployed
sailor, Elton Wing. They held up the East Brooklyn Sav-
ings Bank, in Brooklyn, N. Y., and callously killed Cashier

ts. *
re ‘3 eet

:
ere

De Witt Peale and his assistant, Henry Coons.

As the two bandits were making their-get-away, they were By th
seen by Detective Albert Doody, who gave chase. Wing en- bandit
tered a taxi. Killer “X” sprang on the running board. to New
Placing his pistol to the driver's head he ordered him to East B:
“Get going.” Doody took careful aim. As his trigger rade str
finger moved, the murderer whirled—leveled his gun at the him alin
detective... . Inside

large ro

The Story Continues: bes.de t
others s

PART II which |:

In a
HE detective pulled the trigger of his revolver. At York Pi

that instant Killer “X’’ fired. His bullet tore into who wer
Doody’s right arm. The latter staggered and sank Lieutena
to his knees, his gun clattering on the pavement. These ty
The taxi with the bandit-killer on the running board for clues
darted away from the curb. Writhing in pain, the detec- The w
tive called weakly: and do.

“Somebody stop them!” points—

Then he fell, unconscious, on the sidewalk. and that

As the cab went speeding down the street, Killer “X” nineteen,
climbed inside. Spectators stood dazed as it careened finished
around the corner and disappeared. They were too frozen dered m:
with horror to act. Hence theré was no immediate pursuit. were rot
Once more the man of mystery had acted with the cold police ph
brutality which characterized him. killers w

MT mE

— ee
The PHANTOM from the WEST

* were
1g en-
yoard.
im to
rigger
it the

uy
‘eened
frozen
irsult.
> cold

By the time the police sirens sounded in the distance, the
bandit taxi was weaving its way across Manhattan Bridge
to New York. When the police cars pulled up before the
East Brooklyn Savings Bank, the officers saw their com-
rade stretched on the sidewalk. They were relieved to find
him alive. He was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.

Inside the bank everything was confusion. Across the
large room a group of frightened men and women knelt
bes.de the body of Assistant Cashier Henry: Coons, while
others stood around the lifeless figure of De Witt Peale
which lay on the floor of his cage.

In a few moments Chief Inspector Leahy..of the New
York Police arrived. He was accompanied by two men
who were to play an important part in the investigation—
Lieutenant Bernard Dowd and Detective William Roddy.
These two officers began a careful examination of the bank
for clues. They found nothing.

The witnesses gave conflicting accounts of the robbery
and double murder. However, they all agreed on two
points—that the leader had been a tall, suave young man,
and that his assistant had been a short youngster of about
nineteen, with curly brown hair. When the detectives had
finished their questioning and the bodies of the two mur-
dered men had been removed to the morgue, the witnesses
were rounded up and taken to Headquarters to study
police photos in the hope that the likenesses of the phantom
killers would be there.

eal

By HARRISON MORELAND
Staff Investigator for
MASTER DETECTIVE

Over Manhattan Bridge
(above) Killer “X” and
his youthful accomplice
traveled to and from
the East Brooklyn Sav-
ings Bank robbery.
Lieutenant Bernard
Dowd (right)

Hundreds of police officers throughout New York were
now on the lookout for the Black-and-White taxi in which
the bandits had made their get-away. All exits from
Brooklyn and Manhattan were watched; detectives stood
on guard at all railroad stations, ferries and bridges. It
seemed impossible that the robbers could escape. A
check-up showed they had stolen over $13,000.

Officers Dowd and Roddy tried to locate the driver of
the bandit car through the Black-and-White Taxi Com-
pany. As he worked, the former went over the details of
the hold-up.

“The leader is no ordinary burglar,” he said to Roddy.
“That story he told Mrs. Lynch about its being a scene
for a moving picture shows he’s shrewd and imaginative.
And from the way the robbery was pulled I believe he’s
from the West. It’s more like the way those Western
bandits work.”

“That’s right,” Roddy agreed. “And he’s certainly a
deadly shot.”

asain”

you didn’t know’ they intended robbing
the bank?” ‘

The driver was insistent on both points.
He was taken to Headquarters, where he
was given photographs to examine 1n the
hope that he would identify the brutal
killer and his companion, The following
day McCullough, the tax1 driver, was 1n-
dicted for the crime along with two un-
identified men.-

* * *

And while the police worked intently
hour after hour to solve the mysterious
desperado’s identity, Coco, the, irl who
had become enmeshed with Killer x,
awaited his appearance in the hotel. The
ringing of the telephone startled her.

She reached for the receiver, and said,
“Hello.” d

The voice of Killer “X” issued terse or-
ders. He told her to go to a certain
apartment in the city and he would join
her there next day.

* * *
WHEN Killer “X” hung ai the tele-
phone after calling the girl, he strode

from the drug store and joined Wing who
was waiting outside. They were in the
Greenpoint section of Brooklyn, dressed
as workmen. ‘

“T need a drink,” announced the killer,
and led the way to a basement speakeasy.
He ordered whisky for both of them, and
drank his straight. When they were on
the sidewalk once more, he said:

“There’s a workmen’s hotel near here.
We'll stay there for the night.”

When they reached the place, the land-
lord_asked: : F

“Going to stay with us long?” |

“Nbout a week, I think,” replied the
tall man. “We're looking for jobs over
here at the new building that’s going uP.
If we get them we'll stay longer. Were
to see the boss in the morning, I'll pay
you for a week in advance.”."" ;

The two young men retired to their
room and didn’t come down’ again that
night. ‘The following morning ..they got
up early and left the hotel. The pro-
prietor didn’t see them go. When they
were several blocks yf Killer “X
handed, Wing a roll of bills.

“Here’s your share,” he said. ‘As the
boy crammed. the money into his pocket,
he went’ on, “We're separating here, Don't
be too anxious to get out of town. They'll
get you if, you run. Stay around New
York forthe next two weeks; then try to
get on a boat, going to South America or
to some foreign country.”

Wing’s eyes blinked nervously as he
shook hands with Killer “X.” He had
hardly spoken since the crime. Now he
asked: ,

“Ts that what you're going to do?”

“Never mind what I’m going to do.
You follow. my advice and you'll come
out of this all right.”

He took the Greenpoint ferry, disem-
barked at 23rd Street, mingling with a
group of laborers carrying tin pails on
their way to work. He passed out of the
ferry building unnoticed and took the
subway uptown. It was eleven o'clock
when he drew a key from his pocket and
let himself into an apartment in the
Bronx.

The minute he opened the door, light
footsteps sounded down the dark hall-
way, and the girl he called Coco stood

before him.
ao

Down at Headquarters Mrs. Lynch, a

Master Detective

Ls 66 99
Killer “‘X’’!
(Continued from page 48)
customer in the bank at the time of the

murders, stood staring at one of the police

photographs. Dowd watched her tensely.

At last she looked up.

ee could be the tall murderer,” she
said.
Dowd and Roddy looked at each other;
their eyes lighting. It was the picture of
Roy Tyler, a well-known Western: bank
bandit. Dowd picked up the card and
read-the description. It corresponded with
those given by other witnesses.

The detectives showed Tyler's photo-
raph to McCullough, He scrutinized it
or several minutes without speaking. Fi-
nally he said:

“f’m not absolutely sure, but that could
be the tall fellow, all right.”

By this time Detective Doody was suffi-
ciently recovered from his bullet wound

Roy Tyler

to view the picture. He didn’t hesitate
a moment.

“That’s the man who shot me,” he said
definitely.

Tyler hailed originally from Rochester,
New York, so the police there were asked
to apprehend him. At the moment he
was wanted for a bank job in Cleveland,
Ohio, which had been carried out with
much the same technique as the Brook-
lyn popoery except that no one had been
killed. That night Dowd and Roddy
took the train for Rochester, where they
arrived at eight o'clock on Christmas
morning.

With the help of the local authorities,
they kept the home of Tyler's family cov-
ered day and night, hoping he would re-
turn there. But days passed with no
sign of the bandit. They hadn't an idea
where to look’ for him.

Then one. morning two workmen in
white overalls and caps presented them-
selves at the Tylers’ door. The tall one
with the blue eyes was Lieutenant Dowd.
They explained to the middle-aged wo-
man who opened the door that they were
the paper-hangers sent by the landlord
to paper one of the rooms. The woman
stood aside for them to enter and led them
to the room she had asked to have done.
The tall workman made feeble gestures
at pasting up paper on the wall nearest
the door to the hall, which he kept open.

In reality he was listening intently to
every scrap of conversation he could
hear. In the latter part of the day his
eyes eet and he suddenly knocked
off work and left. That night Detective
Roddy, in company of one of the Roch-
ester detectives, named Sharpe, set out
in a car for the West. They drove first to

Oklahoma, then up to Kansas, contact-
ing the police and sheriffs all along the
line, trying to pick up the trail of the
mysterious man they sought to capture.
_ Back in Rochester Dowd was shadow-
ing the bandit’s family, following girl
relatives to dance halls, dancing with them
in order to pump information from them
as to where in the West Tyler might be
located. But he learned nothing. He was
becoming discouraged when he received
word, through a channel_| am not at lib-
erty to disclose, that Tyler was on_ his
way East from Kansas City in a Cadillac
coupé, accompanied by a young woman.

He telephoned this news to Chief Inspec-
tor Leahy in New York and they discussed
over the long-distance wire the best
means of apprehending the much-wanted
murderer.

And while they planned his capture,
Roy Tyler, the man they had so diligently
tried for weeks to locate, was sitting be-
hind the wheel of his car, driving into St.
Louis. The girl beside him saw five mo-
torcycles suddenly appear in front of
them. Tyler slowed down and looked
into the face of the officer who came along-

side.

“Pull up to the curb, buddy,” said the
latter.

The bandit obeyed, then said to the five
motorcycle policemen who had come up,
“What does all this mean?”

“We've been told to bring you to Head-
quarters,” said one. “Come on! Let’s
get going.” :

The outlaw pair were taken before Chief
of Police Hogland.

“I’ve received word from Kansas to ar-
rest you,” said the Chief.

“On what charge?” demanded the tall
man.

“W)\ON’T pull that stuff. You know per-

fectly well,” replied the officer. “I’ve

got a request here to fine you fifty dollars.

ou had a fight with a gas station at-

tendant over in Kansas and knocked him

down, then rode off. The sheriff’s been
trying to locate you.”

Without a word the accused man took
out his wallet and handed the Chief ten
five-dollar bills. After which, he turned
on his heel, took the girl’s arm and
started out. At the door he almost col-
lided with the Bertillon expert. The latter
stared in amazement at the stranger.
Turning to Hogland, he asked:

: “here does this fellow think he’s go-
ing!

Fit’s all right,” explained the Chief.
“He's paid the fine.”

The prisoner was slipping out of the
door, but the Bertillon expert grabbed
him by the lapel of his overcoat, exclaim-

ing:

“Paid the fine! Don’t you know he’s
wanted for a bank hold-up and two mur-
ders back in New York?”

The Chief sprang out of his chair, and
came briskly around his desk. “Come
back here,” he ordered.

“You're mistaken,” said the suspect.
“I’m merely passing through your city on
my way East. | haven’t been in New
York for a good many years.”

“He’s Roy Tyler,” the Bertillon expert
insisted.

“That’s certainly news to me,” said the
man, staring from one to the other.

Suddenly the Chief turned to the girl.
“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m his wife,” she said.

At that moment the telephone rang. It
was Inspector Leahy of New York City,
asking that the St. Louis police apprehend

January, 1

Tyler and

“He's al
as he hung

A crafty

man’s eyes
supposed t
“On De

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in Needles

by any nu:

in Brookly

In spite

when his {

was forcec

Tyler. He

i robbed the
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and he dic

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When t!

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bank robb

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back
and Rodd,
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blankly a:
single clue
: found ther
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During °
to capture
Coco had
more the\
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without be
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—|
3°]
=—

48 Master

The telephone on Dowd’s desk interrupted their conversa-
tion. The Lieutenant answered it, saying, “lll be right
over.” Then he said to Roddy, “Come on. The taxi driver
has given himself up.”

The two detectives sped uptown to the East Side pre-
cinct station where Chauffeur George McCullough faced
them with frightened eyes. Dowd studied him. Obviously
the man was badly scared. He was inclined to believe
McCullough’s, story, which he had already told the pre-
cinct captain, of having been pressed into the hold-up
unexpectedly. Dowd’s first question was:

“Where did you drop the bandits?”

“They jumped out shortly after we reached this side of
the Manhattan Bridge,” said McCullough.

“That was how long ago?”

“About two hours.”

“And just where have you been in the meantime?” de-
manded Dowd.

“Riding around. 1 didn’t know what to do. They told
me if I gave the information where they’d left the cab
they’d come back and kill me. Finally | decided to give

It was unfortunate for Killer “X” that
he chose to stop at an inn at the foot
of Mount Rainier (above) for break-
fast, after he had slain the unarmed
man who had befriended him, George
McCullough (left), the taxi driver
whose cab was commandeered by the
murderer. He later gave valuable
assistance to the police

Detective

myself up, and came here.”

Before he wént on with the
questioning, Dowd tele-

honed this information to
Freadquarters. Then he turned
once more to the driver.

“And you don’t know who
the men were?”

“1 never saw them in my
life until yesterday when the
tall one came to the stand
where I work, at Thirty-
fourth Street and Seventh
Avenue, and talked to me.”

The detectives leaned
closer. “What did he say?”

“He had been there earlier
in the day, and he asked the
starter if he knew a driver
he could hire who would
hear, see and say nothing.
The starter sent for me. |
thought from the way he
talked it was something
about a woman he wished
kept quiet, and | agreed to
take him where he wanted
to go and say nothing. He
told me to be at the stand
at one-thirty today, and |
was. He came there with a
short guy and told me to
drive over the Manhattan
Bridge.”

“HE didn’t say where he
wanted to go?”

“No, just told me to drive
across the bridge and he'd
tell me where to later. |
could hear the two of them
talking in the back of the
cab, but couldn’t hear what
they said. It was cold and
*[ had to keep the glass parti-
tion closed. When we got to
Brooklyn he told me to drive
to Myrtle and Franklin,
which | did. The tall fellow
told me he had to cash a
check at the bank and for
me to wait. They both got
out and walked back the
half-block to the East Brook-
lyn Savings Bank. | sat out-
side and waited. I had no
idea they intended to rob the
bank.”

“Go on,” urged the detec-
tives,

“Well,” continued the driver, “when I’d been waiting
for about five minutes | suddenly saw them come running
out of the bank. When I saw their guns, | didn’t know
what to do. Before | could make up my mind, the short
one reached the taxi and jumped inside. Then someone
yelled, ‘Robbers!’ and as the tall one sprang on the running
board, | saw a fellow on the sidewalk aim a gun at him.

“At that moment the tall man leaned over and poked
a gun at my head and told me to get going, and | did.
As we moved off, | heard firing and people on the street
yelling. 1 didn’t dare look around. He said, ‘Go back
the way we came, over the Manhattan Bridge.’ When
we reached the Manhattan side, he told me to slow down,
which | did. Then he and the short fellow jumped out. |
glanced back and saw them walking swiftly up a side
street. A few blocks away I stopped and looked in the
back of the cab. This was on the seat.”

McCullough pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. It
was $175, which the bandits had left for his services.

“You're very certain that you never saw the two men
before,” asked Dowd, “and that (Continued on page 52)

”

Px
four miles
the illustri

About s
Charles A
Central St
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Clark s!
brakes are¢
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get someo!

“Hold ¢
nobody e|
night.”

Again 1
Tsekos, |
miles ther:
going to !

But Tse
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Clark 1

was not |

Mrs. Kath
(left circl
Natalie T
circle).
victims
Hampshir¢«
cr

The Trail Of The Looting Lover

(continued from page 47)

town, as a matter of routine. By now
they’d have been to his room and
found the bed unslept in. They’d be
waiting outside. This was the closest
yet. And it was all his fault—what a
sloppy way to rob a bank.

“Look out the door,” he told Anne.
She did. Nobody was there. He mo-
tioned to a familiar stack of bills on
the bed, kissed her, and slipped out.
Tense, gripping the gun in his pocket,
ready to turn and fire at the first cry,
he went down to the lobby and out to
the street. Nobody stopped him. That
night a grubby-looking tramp, squat-
ting by a fire in the hobo jungle west
of town, read in the late papers how
the police missed Jay B. Allen. A
Sleepy clerk had shown them the
wrong page of the hotel register.

In Seattle, with a new wardrobe,
new car, Hamby resolved never again
to be so careless in the matter of assis-
tants. A thought struck him, and he
grinned. He’d go to employment
agencies. Hanging around their vari-
ous offices, he struck up a conversa-
tion with many a job-seeker before,
at an agency in Tacoma, he found
what he was looking for. This per-
fect assistant was a_ clean-faced
young man named Bob Davis, who’d
been out of work for weeks. Davis
had a wife, a baby, a little house
with the rent overdue and a spare
room. Hamby, whose name was
now Boyd Allen, bought him lunch
and turned on the charm.

“Look,” he said, “I’m bored with
expensive hotels and restaurants. I
haven’t had a home-cooked meal in
years. Why don’t you take in a board-
er? I’ll give you $300 a month.”

A family could live mighty well on
$300 a month in Tacoma in 1919.
Bob and his pretty young wife fixed
up the spare room, and their new
boarder, arriving in a long gray car,
moved in.

Hamby got along fine with Bob,
but not with Bob’s wife. He couldn’t
understand her. She rebuffed him.
Sweet talk, expensive presents—he
tried everything.

The tension mounted. One day
smooth, slick Hamby lost his head
and tried to overpower her. She
screamed so loud the neighbors could
hear, and he turned away, frustrated
and furious. When Bob came in, she

turned on the tears. Davis finally ad-
mitted that the reason he couldn’t ask
Hamby to leave was because the two
were going to rob a bank in Olympia.

That did it. “Have you lost your
mind?” she cried. “Oh Bob, Bob,
you’ve got to get that man out of this
house tonight. If you don’t, I will.”

When Hamby came in, she left.

Davis reluctantly broke the news.
“I can’t go through with it, Boyd. I’m
sorry and all, but my wife won’t
stand for it.”

Hamby stared at him. First she
turned him down, now this.

“I told you not to tell anybody,” he
said. He took out his gun, shot Davis in
the chest, then stood back and
watched him fall. That would teach
both him and his stuck-up wife not to
fool around with Gordon Fawcett
Hamby.

Neighbors heard the shot and called
the police. Hamby barely got away.
This time he had no plan for escape
whatsoever.

Though he took back roads and
avoided capture, he didn’t cover
much distance. The morning sun
found him at a small inn near Mt.
Rainier. He was hungry, and the gas
tank registered empty. He had no
choice but to stop. The innkeeper sat
down and chatted with him while his
wife fixed ham and eggs in the
kitchen. He insisted on Hamby having
another cup of coffee, made a big pro-
duction of counting out change. By
the time Hamby realized he was be-
ing deliberately delayed, it was too
late. The innkeeper’s wife had called
the sheriff on the kitchen phone, and
there he was at the door.

Hamby pulled his gun. “I wouldn’t
shoot if I were you,” the sheriff said.
“This place is surrounded. You can’t
get away. You’ve got a better chan-
ce.”

“Talk fast,” Hamby said. :

“Up here in the northwest the laws
are pretty lenient on somebody who’s
shot a man in self-defense. Now if
you run, even if you don’t get killed,
it’ll look pretty bad. But if you give
yourself up and plead self-defense,
you might even get off scot-free.”

Hamby hesitated only a second,
then lowered his gun. The sheriff
took it and led Hamby out to the wait-
ing car. In a few hours he was turned

over to the police in Tacoma. His plea
of self-defense didn’t go over too |
well. The pretty young widow of

Bob Davis testified that her husband
had never had a gun, and friends and
neighbors backed her up. Hamby was

_convicted of murder, and sentenced to

life imprisonment.

‘As Hamby began serving his time,
police all over the country were still
looking for the person known as
Boyd Browning, Jay B. Allen, and
by other Hamby aliases. Because
Hamby had never.used his real name
on a job, the news of his imprison-
ment under that name meant nothing.
Only through the wildest coincidence
did New York police hear of him. A
detective named Fay, bringing a pris-
oner east, happened to fall into con-
versation with another detective who —
had just happened to hear some of the
details of the Davis shooting and the
subsequent arrest of Hamby. The de-
scription alone—tall, handsome, soft-
spoken, courteous—was enough to
ring a bell in Fay’s mind. In New
York he reported what he had heard
to Detectives Dowd and Roddy, still
assigned to the case, and on that tip
they took cab driver McCullough
west to look at him.

“That’s him,” said McCullough.

Word got out that the courteous
bandit had been found, and Dowd
and Roddy practically smuggled him
across the country. Other cities
wanted him, too. Once in New
York, Hamby confessed to. every-
thing. His trial for the murder of the
bank tellers was almost a farce, in
that he refused to permit his court-ap-
pointed attorney to do more than go
through the motions. He said he was
guilty, and he wanted to die and get it
over with. Although, he pointed out
calmly, it really wasn’t his fault in
the first place.

“TI told them not to move,” he said.
“If they’d only stayed still, nobody
would have gotten hurt.”

In a trial that began on a Monday
and was over on Tuesday, jury and
judge acceded him his wish. On the
evening of January 29, 1920, Gordon
Fawcett Hamby, debonair as ever,
called out: to his fellow prisoners in
death row, “So long fellows, I al-

‘ways did like to try everything once.”

He was led to the electric chair. He
stood in front of it for a moment, then
took a last drag on his cigarette,
flicked it away, and sat down,
dramatic to the last. *

HAMILTON, James, hanged at Albany, New York, on November 6, 1818,

"THE IATE MAJOR BIRDSALL - Major Birdsall was born in Dutchess County, in New York, His
grandfather was an officer in the revolutionary army, and, together with his father, is
now resident of the town of Greene, in Cehnango County, Previous to the commencement of
the late war, Major Birdsall was a resident of this county, and engaged in agricultural
pursuits on a farm in Watervliet, Shortly after the declaration of hostilities, a company
of volunteer militia was organized in the above town, & by them he was elected captain, <=
These men performed a tour of duty at Plattsburgh, and we believe at Sackett's Harbor,
where the excellent qualities of major B, soon developed themselves, and rendered him a
favorite with the army, His bravery was tested in the expedition against Little York,
being among the first that landed in company with the late col, Forsyth, He received
within a short period after this time a commission of captain in one of the United States
rifle regiments, and, in the arduous campaign which ensued, was attached to the division
of gen, Brown, Maintain that character for bzavery which he had already acquired, he

was soon called upon to test it in the bloody attack on Fort Erie, by the British

troops under general Drummond, 'Major Hindman's gallant efforts, (says gen, Gaines in
his official despatch) aided by major Trimble, having failed to drive the enemy from

the bastion, with the remaining artillerists and infantry in the fort, capt, Birdsall,

of the lth rifle regiment, with a detachment of riflemen, gallantly rushed through the
gateway to their assistance, and with some infantry charged the enemy, but was repulsed
and the captain severely wounded,' He shortly after received the brevet of major, and
on the consolidation of the army, was retained as one of the captains of the rifle regi-
ment. The wound, however, that he had received was of so dangerous a nature, as to
deprive his country of his services for a length of time, - ALB. D. ADV."

DAILY NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER, Washington, D. Cey 7-22-1818 (2-1;,)

"It now appears that the assassin who murdered the worthy Major Birdsall did not add
suicide to his crimes; but awaits the sentence of the law, EXULTING in the perpetration

of the horrible outrage which he had long meditated, as it appears, without any possible
reason, Mr, Birdsall having been feven peculiarly indulgent to him, endeavoring to con-
ciliate and soften his savage ferocity by mild persuasion and gentle reproff,' The reae
son he assigns for the murder, is, that the Major refused to discharge him oh his promise
to furngsh a substitute, Major B, has left a widow and four orphans to the care of his
country, whom he had served well," DAILY NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER, Wash, DC, 7-21-1818 (3-1,)

"Office of the ALBANY REGISTER, Sunday evening, July 12, 1818-With heartfelt and une
feigned sorrow, we announce the untimely and distressing death of the gallant Major
BENJAMIN BIRDSALL, of the U. S. Army. He was shot on parade this evening a few minutes
before eight and his immortal spirit left its tabernacle of clay in ONE HOUR AND FIFTY-
FIVE MINUTES afterwards, He was shot by a soldier by the name of HAMILTON, who had been
enlisted about three months, The murder was deliberate and the monster exults at its
perpetration - he is in prison, Major BIRDSALL was in conversation with Lieut, Scott,
in front of his markee, Hamilton presented himself before them, and said, 'Major I am
here.’ On being ordered back to the ranks, he made ready and discharged his rifle - the
ball entered on the right side, passed near the heart and lodged in the flesh near the
back bone, In defending the rights of his country, this high-minded soldier met danger
in its most terrific forms; was mutilated in the most cruel manner by having his face
literally shattered to pieces; has undergone surgical operations of the most agonizing
nature; suffered pains indescribable; his wounds but just healed; his prospect of re~
turning happiness had barely began to dawn and he has fallen the victim of unprovoked
ASSASSINATION, We understahd early on Monday morning, this wretch, Hamilton, put a per-
iod to his own existence," DAILY NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER, Wash, DC, 7-17-1818 (3-1,.)

The Trail Of The Looting Lover

(continued from page 45)

player named Mildred Harrison re-
ceived a long-distance telephone call
from the man she knew as Boyd
Browning. After scolding him for
having been away so long, and being
reassured that she was the only wom-
an in his life, she finally permitted
Hamby to give her a series of compli-
cated instructions.

Two nights later, when a Santa Fe
express train stopped for water near
the California-Arizona state line,
three men got out of a touring car
parked near the tracks and walked
swiftly toward the Railway Express
car back of the tender. One of the men
was Hamby. His friends back in San
Francisco had mentioned that a ship-
ment of currency was going to be on
the train, and Hamby was curious to
see what it looked like. The men in-
side the car seemed reluctant to open
up, but one of Hamby’s companions
just happened to haye some dynamite
along. With its persuasion the door
opened, and Hamby stepped in, gun
in hand. One of the guards was so
dazed by the explosion that he drew
his own gun instead of raising his
hands. Hamby shot him down.

The money was there, all right—
$50,000 of it. Hamby transferred it to
his car, and the three men drove off
into the night, shortly to part.

In the meantime, Mildred Harrison
had driven those 800 dry, hot miles
over 1917 roads from Los Angeles to
Albuquerque. She had made arrange-
ments with a local garage to house
the car for a month, then checked in at
a hotel as Mrs. Boyd Browning, to
await Hamby’s call. It came at day-
light, after the train hold-up.

“Hello there, darling,” Hamby said
cheerfully. “I am ready to leave.”

“T’ll be right there,” she said, and
hung up.

She drove out of town according to
her memorized instructions. After a
large sanitarium on the outskirts of the
city she took the first road to the right,
and followed it until it became a
little-used, one-lane dirt track. A
short way up that a car was pulled
over to the side, and as she neared it
the man she knew as Boyd Browning
stepped out and gave her a wave of
welcome. She opened the door and
practically fell into his arms.

“Oh, darling, darling,” she whis-

pered, on the verge of tears.

“There, there.” He held her tight
and soothed her, but only for a mo-
ment, “Come on, we’ve got work to
do.”

He drove the car into a concealing
growth of brush, then took a huge
plaster cast out of it. The cast shaped
‘his leg exactly. "Help me get into
this,” he said.

Mildred stared at it. It came up past
his knee. “But you’ll be helpless!” she
cried.

“That’s right,” he said jauntily.
“Come now, help me.”

Together they got the cast on.
Mildred drove to the garage where
she had arranged to leave the car.
From there they took a taxi to the sta-
tion. Both the garage proprietor and
the taxi driver were most solicitous
about the pretty girl and her injured
husband, whom she had just picked
up at the sanitarium outside town. At
the station the red cap and the Pull-
man porter joined Mildred in helping
him on the train and down the aisle to
a compartment. There, with a great
deal of twisting and turning, consul-
tations and instructions, and with
even the porter joining in their gig-
gles, they managed to get him through
the compartment door and into the
seat. Only then did they all realize
that they had blocked the aisle for
two deputies looking for a gang of
train robbers. The deputies were
good sports about it, though, and both
wished the young man a speedy re-
covery.

The recovery was more than
speedy; it was miraculous. Tired as
he was, it would have been impossi-
ble for Gordon Fawcett Hamby to
travel from Albuquerque to Chicago
with a good-looking girl and his leg
in a cast. But when the train pulled
into Chicago the cast was back on
again. If any Chicago policemen
were detailed to watch the incoming
trains for suspicious characters from
the West, they obviously didn’t give a
second glance to the handsome young
man with a broken leg being pushed
down the platform by a red cap as a
good-looking girl walked alongside.
Somewhere in Chicago, however,
Hamby’s leg was cured again, and
permanently. And Mildred was again
alone.

A man like Hamby is compelled by
his own ego to be the biggest or the
best, to play in the big league. To
Hamby, this was New York. His
small, successful operations in the
West brought in enough money, but
even with the train robbery, did not
satisfy ambition. He had to knock
over a New York bank. There might
be shooting; his fingers twitched at
‘the thought.

* Surely no bank robber, before or
since, has ever carried out a prelimi-
nary investigaton like the one con-
ducted by Hamby in the summer of
1918. He strolled the streets in Man-
hattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx, oc-
casionally stepping into a neighbor-
hood branch bank to change a bill. He
frequented the Seaman’s Institute,
renting a room, talking with sailors.
And he went to art galleries. At one
he saw a tall, willowy girl with long
black hair copying a Corot. Hamby
made a shy remark of admiration. She
looked at the sensitive face and long
delicate fingers of the young man and
quickly came to the 100-percent
wrong conclusion that he was a fel-
low artist, and harmless.

By the time Hamby had concluded
his first exploratory trip to New
York, he knew that he could find
male assistants at the Seaman’s Insti-
tute, he had spotted a most convenient
bank in Brooklyn, and he had Anne
Peters in Greenwich Village.

After leaving to make a small with-
drawal in the Midwest, Hamby re-
turned to New York in late Novem-
ber, 1918. He went straight to
Greenwich Village and tapped on the
door of a studio apartment. The door
opened, and a tall girl with long black
hair looked out. Hamby smiled. Anne
Peters froze in shocked surprise, as
though seeing a ghost.

“Jay Allen!” she said. “I thought
I'd never see you again.”

“I had to go away,” he explained.
“But I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I
wondered how your painting was
progressing.”

Anne looked at him for a long mo-
ment. “Come in and see,” she said.

She showed him her latest paint-
ings and water colors, as he sat smok-
ing on the divan making intelligent,
encouraging comments. He was
thinking of taking up painting serious-
ly, he said when she was through.

The first thing to do was to rent a stu- .

dio. Did she know of one?
(continued on next page)

SS we oe or Pt OA OO ">

crctoe

=e ppt

aan <s Ve

lled by

“You’re in luck,” she said.

Wing ran into the vault and came
out with a bag containing over
$13,000. The two then left the bank
and started toward the cab. A cry
came after them from the bank: Hold-
up! Holdup!”

Through sheer coincidence, at that
very moment a detective named Al-
bert Doody was walking down the
street. He heard the cry and saw
Hamby moving fast to the waiting
taxi. “Stop,” Doody shouted.

Hamby fired his third shot of the
morning. The detective fell to the
sidewalk, seriously wounded.

Hamby stepped in the cab and di-
rected the frightened driver back to
Manhattan. Hamby gave Wing a
thousand dollars and told him to ship
out. He left a hundred on the seat for
the driver and warned him to say
nothing. He walked off down the
street, whistling.

That night, with two men dead and
a detective at death’s door, police
scoured the underground hangouts.
Hamby and Anne went to the theater.
When he took her home, he went in
with her. He was through at the Sea-
man’s Institute.

As the handsome and happy young
Bohemians lived, loved and painted,
two detectives, Bernard Dowd and
William Roddy, worked long hours
trying to find the bandits. Every exit
from the city was under constant sur-
veillance. Detectives remained on du-
ty at Grand Central Station, for ex-
ample, for some time. They were on
duty when a young man and woman,
dressed in paint-stained clothes and
carrying easels, palettes, and paint
boxes, came down. the platform.
The young man was waving his
hands and raving about the simply
adorable pattern made by the tracks.
The detectives paid no more attention,
and Gordon Fawcett Hamby left
New York riding first-class with a
beautiful girl and a bag full of money.
It wasn’t long, of course, before he
left the girl,too. :

What do you do after you’ve
pitched a no-hitter? Psychiatrists say
that man is at his happiest when striv-
ing for success; after attainment,
there’s a let-down. Hamby had pulled
a successful bank robbery in the big-
gest city in the world, killed two men
and wounded a detective, and had got
away under the very noses of the
New York police. (So had Wing, al-
though he was destined to be caught
several years later and die in prison.)

Where do you go from there?

There was a subtle difference in
Gordon Fawcett Hamby’s modus op-
erandi when, after scattering some of
the East River Savings Bank’s money
around South America with Mildred
Harrison, he returned to the States in
the spring of 1919. At first he seemed
his old self, as when he checked into
a hotel in Minneapolis under the name
of Jay B. Allen, and told the clerk—
not asked, told—that a letter was
waiting for him.

It was. In it was a slip of paper
with the number 704 written in fa-
miliar hand. Hamby smiled, took a
hot bath, shaved, dressed and pro-
ceeded to Room 704. He tapped. It
opened.

“You’ve got nerve, Jay Allen,”
Anne Peters told him, eyes flashing.
“You run off and leave me in India-
napolis, I don’t hear from you for
months, then I get this telegram...”

“But I’m here now, darling,” Jay
B. Allen-Gordon Fawcett Hamby
said, closing the door behind him.
“And so are you.” a

In the next couple of days Hamby
decided on a bank, and found two
young men to help him make his
withdrawal. They were introduced
to him by a bellhop; it was the first
time Hamby took on a job with such
casually selected assistants. He
showed his doubt in a Strange way.
One morning he suddenly asked Anne
to move into a smaller residential ho-
tel that very day.

“But why, Jay? Why?” she asked.

‘ “I don’t know why,” he said, and
he probably spoke the truth, “But
please, darling, do it for me.”

Next morning, in the new hotel,
Anne couldn’t sleep. She looked for a
long moment at the handsome, sensi-
tive face on the pillow next to hers,
so innocent in sleep, then quietly
dressed and went down to the lobby
for a cup of coffee and a morning pa-
per. The name Jay B. Allen was
spread all over it. Quickly she
skimmed the story: bank robbery. Po-
lice pick up two young men spending
big money. Jay B. Allen named as
mastermind. She hurried to her lover
without one thought of calling police.

Up in the room, Hamby wasted no
time in denials. He had foolishly reg-
istered in this hotel, too, under the
name of Jay B. Allen. Police would
check the register of every hotel in

(continued on page 49)
47

or the “There’s one right next door,”
ue. To During the next few days Anne
‘. His helped him get started painting. They
in the shopped together, buying easels,
‘y, but paints, brushes.
lid not “Let’s go on a painting trip toge-
knock | ther,” he said to her one afternoon.
might | “Wouldn’t that be great?”
red at Anne said no, but she said it only
twice. They began planning the trip.
We. OF | Hamby had been devoting only his
relimi- | days to art: his nights had been spent
- con- in a far different environment, the
ner of Seaman’s Institute. There he had run
Man- across a 19-year-old seaman named
Ry QC- | Elton Wing, who was down on his
shbor- t luck in the big city, and he had fed the
ll. He | boy a meal or two and let him share
titute, his room in the Institute. The old
uilors. Hamby magic was working; he now
Mt one had two people he could trust, a love-
1 long ly, cultured girl, and an unemployed
‘amby youth. As for a bank, he had definite-
1. She ly decided on the East River Savings
| long Bank, across the river in Brooklyn—
n and although the bank didn’t know it.
ae One cold moming in December—
oer Friday the 13th of December, 1918,
luded to be exact—Hamby hired a cab by
Nea the hour and, with Wing, proceeded
find to the bank to make a withdrawal.
silk He had the driver, George McCul-
; lough, wait a few doors down the
pie street, and he and Wing went in.
_— Two tellers were on duty at adjoining
ith windows—Dewitt Peale and Henry
— Coons. Hamby went to Peale’s win-
yee dow and made his usual request for
oe change.
+ the Peale nodded, counted out the
door change carefully, and then looked up
lack into the muzzle of an automatic,
\nne “Just hand over the money and you
, as won't get hurt,” Hamby said.
But Peale seemed to be in a state of
ught shock. Almost as though hypnotized,
he stepped back toward the burglar
ned. alarm in the floor. Hamby’s nostril
nu. I twitched. Why couldn’t people do
was what he told them to do? He shot
Peale between the eyes.
ead The other employees of the bank
. looked up at the shot, but Hamby qui-
iat eted them with a wave of his gun. He
\0k- signaled Wing, and the boy darted
eat, around the partition to make the col-
bigs lection. The door to the vault was
us- open.
ee Coons, the other teller, started to-
: ward it. Almost casually Hamby
pointed the gun and pulled the trigger.
Coons crumpled and lay still.
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Circus, then playing across the Delaware
River in Trenton.

Coughlin and Dowd arrived in Trenton
on a Sunday morning only to find that the
circus had pulled up stakes during the night
and was on the way to Baltimore.

Hopping a train for the Maryland city,
the detectives arrived there just as the cir-
cus was unloading to open the following
day. From the manager of the commissary
department, they learned that a man an-
swering Hanel’s description, under the
same alias he had used in Philadelphia,
had been hired as a cook in Trenton the
previous day.

“I advanced him something on his wegk’s

pay because he said he was broke,” the.

manager declared. “But the minute we
got here today, he beat it—and with two
days’ wages.” -

Coughlin and Dowd went next to Balti-
‘more Police Headquarters and told of
trailing Hanel to that city. An immediate
alarm for his arrest was sent out to all

‘ local precincts.

But the rest of*the day and night passed
without word of the fugitive ex-butler.
The Brooklyn detectives. spent the rest of

the week in Baltimore, working ceaselessly
with local officers, but to no avail. Cough-
lin and Dowd glumly returned to New
York, where a circular for Joseph Hanel
was printed and given nationwide distri-
bution. '

Months passed, and seasons merged
while Detective Dowd made frequent trips
back to Baltimore, stopping over in Phila-
delphia, on the hunch that Hanel eventu-
ally would turn up in one of the two big
cities.

At last, on a gray February day in 1916,
Barney Dowd was rewarded for his patient
«fforts. A heavy snowfall had blanketed
the streets—unusual for Baltimore—while
Dowd was canvassing a suburban neigh-
borhood there which he had not covered
before. In a corner saloon he casually
exhibited a well-worn circular to a bar-
tender.

“Yah!” said the German barkeep. “I

know that falla. He-come in here every:

few days now.”

“What time of the day does he show
up?” Dowd asked.

The bartender looked up at the clock,
which pointed to 4:30. \It was growing

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PARIS, FRANCE—Little Denise Le Roy is shown happily alive and
re-united with her godfather after her-aunt was found murdered.
The full story of this sensational crime appears in the January
issue of Headquarters Detective titled, “The Corpse in the Wall.”

dark outside. “Just a

the swinging doors pi
the real-life counterpa
the circular—Joseph }

Dowd restrained hi
man stepped up to
placed a heavy han
shoulder. Hanel shrar

“I got you covered
quietly. “You're unde
der of Julia Heilner.
ceiling.”
_ The prisoner turne
his eyes glittering in
frisked him for wea
to quiver.

“I robbed Mrs. F
“but so help me, I dic

But Dowd was im;
now. I’m taking you
unless you're crazy ¢€
dition.”

“Oh, I'll go,” the t
ly, extending his wt
“My conscience is c’

NEW YORK
after he wa:
Bonte after |
from doctor’:

ULIA

id at last. “Many of
in New York City.
1g.”

seemed to frighten
d. “Why?”

“No reason,” she
reat respect for it.”
aptain réturned the
He was reluctant to

enamel paper be-
it bore recognizable

sual questions—did
its know why Mrs,
-n killed? Did she
was she afraid of
any Visitors? The
ve.
were being ques-
ched to the homes
1 picked up some
Several of the
‘sted that the flee-
arl Probst, an ar-
Unruh. They
°y had often
house.
Picked up and
in-faced German,
3h he had neither
‘ding in the Old
he military caste.
cen at the Ger-
»wer Manhattan
knew nothing
‘ than that she
nruh, whom he
ally,
the medal and
er bearing the
be surprised if
spionage opera-
disarmingly.
Vv nothing about
replied.
Ipts at getting
to no avail,
{ over to De-
lard while he
ns. Next the
further ques-
Friesin and
ld throw any
tivities, other
ne to see the
the fact that
her wealthy

‘used to as-
he had been
construct a
now stood.
*k had seen
The medal
ancestry or
3 strongbox
roperty
incom-
sy?
* questions,
son of ner-
2stioned in

the Heilner. house. This person was upper-
most in his thoughts when he returned to
Brooklyn Police Headquatrers,

By this time the murder of Julia Heilner
had assumed: international proportions.
For when Coughlin handed in the Kaiser’s
medal and the paper with the mysterious
number to Police Commissioner Arthur
Woods, the latter notified the Secret Ser-
vice in Washington, and Special Agent
Fred J. Butler hastened to New York to
confer with the Commissioner.

Coughlin faced Commissioner Woods,
Inspector Dillon and Special Agent Butler
across the commissioner's big mahogany
desk, on which lay the bronze medal and_
the enamel paper with the suspicious sym-
bols. :
“This spy angle can be a wonderful red
herring,” the captain said. “I have a hunch
now that both the medal and the square
of paper were planted to throw us off the
track. I say that because one of the men
questioned at the Heilner house today had
a nervous habit of bending his thumb in-
ward as he talked.” :

Woods looked up, an understanding light
in his eyes. “That sounds to me,” he said,
“like a man who has served some time
and is not long out of prison. They get that
habit of bending the thumb toward the
palm from gripping the bars of a cell,”

“Thank you, Commissioner,” Coughlin
said. “That’s what I had in mind. Now
Pll follow that hunch and bring in the
suspect.” .

The captain picked up Detective Bernard
(Barney) Dowd, his partner in many suc-
cessful investigations, and drove from
headquarters to the Lorech home, where’
Helen. Buck had been staying since the
murder. There they questioned the young
woman about the character of the voice
she had heard answer the phone that morn-
ing at the Heilner house. The man who

talked to her, she said, spoke perfect Eng- .

lish.

Puzzled by this information, Coughlin
and Dowd went next to the Seaman’s In-
stitute and talked with the desk clerk. They
asked the names of all German Sailors re-
siding there, and permission to search their
rooms The clerk granted both requests
willingly. ;

This completed, the detectives returned
to Centre Street and spent the rest of the
night putting in long distance calls to police
departments in the various Eastern States.

While the officers were thus engaged,
the murder of Julia Heilner, exploited in
the daily. newspapers;had become a sen-
sation. The espionage angle, which Com-
missioner Woods had deliberately given to
reporters, was played up for all it was
worth. The news stories related that Karl
Probst had been detained for further in-
terrogation, and suspects of German origin
were being picked up all-over the city for
questioning.

Coughlin and Dowd, still holding the
captain’s lead in strict , confidence, hopped
a train early next morning for Philadel-
phia. They returned to New York the
following day, then suddenly entrained
back to the Quaker City. Only Coughlin
and Dowd knew the course they were pur-
suing, and their superior officers had the
utmost. faith in them.

Three days later, on April 27, when the
two detectives walked into Inspector Dil-

lon’s office at Brooklyn Headquarters,
Commissioner Woods and all the other
top brass in the department were waiting
for them. The captain reached into his
pocket, took out’a gold watch and stick-
pin and tossed them on the table.

“These were stolen,” he said quietly,
“from the room of the victim’s nephew,
Fred Vogel. We found them today in a
Philadelphia pawn shop.” - ‘

Woods’ face broke into a grin. “Looks
like your hunch paid off, Coughlin.
where’s your prisoner?”

“We’ve sent out an alarm for him,” the
captain said. “But he’s been missing from
his lodgings since late on the day of the
crime. “Apparently he got a head start, and
it may be some time before we take him
into custody.”

Coughlin explained that in addition to
crossing his palm with his thumb, the sus-
pect had revealed himself by other nervous
habits of an ex-con, such as pacing back
and forth within the phantom dimensions
of a prison cell. Stabbing in the dark, the
captain had checked other police depart-
ments and from Philadelphia finally ob-
tained a line on the man they sought. He
was a notorious criminal who had ' just
gotten out of stir there.

“What name did he serve under?” de-
manded Woods. ‘

“Frank Wattle, but he had other aliases,”
Coughlin replied. “The strange thing is
that'in this case he used his real name—
Joseph Hanel. ‘He’s no more a native Ger-
man than I am. But as a notorious crimi-
nal, ‘he must have learned somewhere to
speak German. He could talk broken Eng-
lish to fool me, but he must have had a
fluent command of German to convince
Julia Heilner and the other servants,”

The officers decided that Hanel-had en-
tered the Seaman’s Institute with the knowl-
edge that Mrs. Heilner was apt to call
thete and he could qualify for the butler’s
job she sought> to fill. Through some
source, he had known of the victim’s
strongbox and its contents, and had visions
of great wealth once he arrived in Ger-
many. The medal and the paper, they
concluded, were deliberate plants to throw
suspicion on Karl, Probst and Cora Unruh,
who were completely innocent of any com-
plicity.

But where was Joseph Hanel hiding out?
The name and address under which he

' had pawned the nephew’s watch and stick-

pin in Philadelphia proved to be fictitious.
On the chance that the remainder of
lanel’s loot was also pawned in the same,
area, Coughlin and Dowd once more: re-'
turned to. the Philadelphia city.

After two days of pavement pounding,
they finally found what they sought in a
loan company office at Fifth’ and Vine
Streets. There, in a vault, they found Julia
Heilner’s diamond earrings. Again the
man who pawned them had given a phony
name, but the address was correct—a
rooming house on South Tenth Street.

At this address, the landlady was.shown
a prison photo of Joseph Hanel, which
she quickly identified as the man who had
roomed there under another name. Ha
had left two days ago, she said, after first
asking her if she knew where he could get-
a job as a steward or a cook. She had
directed him to the Barnum & Bailey

But

-Clearly revealed, husband and ae

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Pe ee

iore, working ceaselessly
but to no avail. Cough-
imly returned to New
cular for Joseph Hanel
‘IVve€n nationwide distri-

and seasons merged
wd made frequent trips
stopping over in Phila-
ch that Hanel eventu-
in one of the two big

February day in 1916,
‘warded for his patient
‘owfall had blanketed
for Baltimore—while
1g a suburban neigh-
| he had not covered
* saloon he casually
N circular to a bar-

serman barkeep. “fj
come in here every:

day does he show

ed up at the clock,
0. \Tt was gTowing

alive and
murdered.
January
he Wall.??

dark outside. “Just about this time,” he
said. “I think he works in one of the

shipyards.” ~-

No sooner had the barkeep spoken, than
the swinging doors parted and in strode
the real-life counterpart of the picture on
the circular—Joseph ‘Hanel!

Dowd restrained himself until the little
man stepped up to the- bar. Then_he
Placed a heavy hand on the fugitive’s
shoulder. Hanel shrank back as if burned.

“I got you covered, Hanel,” Dowd said
quietly. “You’re under arrest for the mur-
der of Julia Heilner. Now reach for the
ceiling.” :

The prisoner turned to face his captor, -

his eyes glittering in fright. While Dowd
frisked him for weapons, his lips began
to quiver.

“I robbed Mrs. Heilner,” he babbled,
“but so help me, I didn’t kill her!”

But Dowd was impatient. “Come along
now. I’m taking you back to Brooklyn—

unless you’re crazy enough to fight extra--

hee

dition.”

“Oh, I'll go,” the big man replied meek-
ly, extending his wrist ‘to be handcuffed.
“My conscience is clear. I’m not afraid.”

ead as 7 at see
NEW YORK CITY—A
after he was bagged by

secured and planted the medal and the

sad, sad simian is this
Patrolmen Charles
Bonte after hurried rooftop chase.

On the following morning, February 23,
Dowd took Hanel into Baltimore police
court, where the prisoner formally waived
his ‘rights and agreed to: return although
the detective lacked either a warrant or
extradition papers. 3 °

Late that day, back in Brooklyn, Cough-
lin and Dowd took Hanel to headquarters
and formally booked him on a homicide
charge. Then they led’ him to the office
of District Attorney James C. Cropsey for
further questioning.

For three hours Hanel withstood the
barrage of questions fired at-him by Crop-
sey and Inspector Dillon, who had joined
the grilling. ‘Finally, under the pressure
of the ordeal, he broke down and con-
fessed.

“I killed Mrs. Heilner,” he admitted in
a low voice, “but I didn’t mean to do it.
I lost my head.”

While a stenographer took down his
words, Hanel told how he had posed as a
German sailor to gain a job in the Heilner
household, believing there was a fortune
in the strongbox. He delayed the robbery
until he had located the box, and then had

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DOUBLE THE NOOSE FOR JULIA

(Continued from page 42)

but they added up to the fact that he had
been a steward onthe Vaterland, later to

be known as the Leviathan, which had been.

caught in New York Harbor at the out-
break of the war and the crew discharged
into New York City. to make the best of it.

Somehow Hanel had managed to get
occasional jobs, but without any regularity.
‘He lived at the Seaman’s Church Institute,
25 South Street, Manhattan, where a month
before, Mrs. Heilner had telephoned to ask
for any German sailor who had been un-
able to get a job. Answering her request,
Hanel had been hired as her butler.
. On the day of the murder, he explained,
Mrs. Heilner had told the servants that
since Miss Buck wouldn’t be at home, and
she planned eventually to go out herself,
they might as well take the. day off. He
had gone to Manhattan, he said, tried to
look up some of his German friends and
then returned to the Institute, where the
detectives found him.

An even tougher problem was posed
when Coughlin and Dillon attempted to
question Hilda Friesin. First she answered
their questions in German, and then “when
she tried to speak in broken English, her
teeth chattered so that her words were un-
intelligible. But Cora Unruh volunteered
to act as interpreter, and through her the
officers got the maid’s story.

Hilda had worked for the Heilner fam-
ily for four years after coming to this
country from Germany in 1903. She had
left the Heilner house at eight o’clock that
morning and hdd gone to the home of
relatives in Manhattan, where detectives
had picked her up. , :

In Cora Unruh, the officers feund a
more understandable witness, but one with

little to tell. She had been employed for -
two months as a cook by Mrs. Heilner, she -

said, and although she had been told her
work was satisfactory, she did not mix with
the family and knew nothing about them.
Given the day off, she had gone to the
home of her friends on Long Island, where
Coughlin’s men found her. She had no
idea who might have killed her mistress,
nor why. Cae

Coughlin sensed that this was all the in-
formation he would wring from these wit-
nesses unless he took another tack. Pick-
ing the bronze medal from his pocket, he
held it up for the three servants to see.

“Does this mean anything to you?” he
asked casually.

The chubby face of Hilda Friesin showed
no sign of recognition, and Joseph Hanel’s
face was an implacable mask. But the eyes
of Cora Unruh focused on the medal in
a hypnotic stare. The color drained from
her sunken cheeks as she whispered hoarse-
ly: “That is the Kaiser’s medal! Where
did you get it?”

“fT found it on the floor, near where Julia
Heilner’s body lay,” the captain respond-
ed. “I have a feeling it was dropped there
by the killer.”

Cora Unruh shuddered, clenched her
hands and regained. control of herself.
“The world is flooded with-thousands of

those medals,” she said at last. “Many of
them are right here in’ New York City.
It doesn’t mean a thing.”

. “But this medal seemed to frighten
you,” Coughlin pressed. “Why?”

The cook shrugged. “No reason,” she
said. “Just that I have great respect for it.”

Disappointed, the captain réturned the
medal to his pocket. He was reluctant to
withdraw the piece of enamel paper be-

vcause of the possibility it bore recognizable
fingerprints.

Now he asked the usual questions—did
any of the three servants know why Mrs.
Heilner might have been killed? Did she
have any enemies or was she afraid of
anyone? Did she have any visitors? The
answers were all negative.

While the servants were being ques-
tioned, the officers dispatched to the homes
on Albemarle Road had picked up some
interesting information. Several of the
Heilners’ neighbors suggested that the fiee-
ing man probably was Karl] Probst, an ar-
dent suitor of the gaunt Cora Unruh. They
couldn’t say for sure, but they had often
seen him leaving the Heilner house.

Coughlin had Probst picked up and
found him to be a tall, thin-faced German,
typically Prussian, although he had neither
the funds nor social standing in the Old
Country to have attained the military caste.
Probst- insisted he had been at the Ger-
man consul’s office in’ lower Manhattan
all morning and that he knew nothing
about Julia Heilner, other than that she
was the mistress of Cora Unruh, whom he
occasionally took out socially.

The captain showed him the medal and
the piece of enamel paper bearing the
numbers 1-99. .“I wouldn’t be surprised if
this was the number of an espionage opera-
tor, would you?” he asked disarmingly.

Probst shrugged. “I know nothing about
either of those things,” he replied.

After a few more attempts at getting
further information, but to no avail,
Coughlin turned the suspect over to De-
tective Frank Leary to guard while he
proceeded in other directions. Next he
called back Cora Unruh for further ques-
tioning, followed by Hilda Friesin and
Joseph Hanel, but none could throw any
- light on Karl Probst or his activities, other
than to say that he often came to see the
cook and never tried to hide the fact that

he disliked Julia Heilner and her wealthy
husband.

Al this point Coughlin paused to as-
semble what information he had been
able to develop and try to construct a
clear picture of the case as it now stood.
Who was the man Helen Buck had seen
hurrying away from the house? The medal

‘ pointed to someone of German ancestry or

origin. Why was the victim’s strongbox
robbed of her will and deeds to property
in Germany, items of loot totally incom-
patible with the theft of her jewelry?

As the captain pondered these questions,
he recalled the picture of a person of ner-
vous habits, a man he had questioned in

the Heilner house. 7
most in his thoughts,
Brooklyn Police Hee

By this time the m

had assumed inte!
For when Cou os
medal and th
number to Pp
Woods, the latter T
vice in Washingto
Fred J. Butler hast
confer with the Co

Coughlin faced
Inspector Dillon at
across the commis
desk, on which lay
the enamel paper ‘
bols.

“This spy angle
herring,” the capta!
now that both the
of paper were pla:
track. I say that
questioned at the
a nervous habit 0
ward as he talke<

Woods looked t
in his eyes. “Tha'
“ike a man wh
and is not long ov
habit of bending
palm from gripp!

“Thank you. ‘
said. “That’s wh
Yll follow that
suspect.”

The captain pi
(Barney) Dowd.
cessful investig:
headquarters to
Helen Buck ha
murder. There
woman about t
she had heard at
ing at the Heil
talked to her, S'
lish.

Puzzled by |
and Do '
stitute @ €
asked the mans
siding there, an
rooms The ¢
willingly.

This comple
to Centre Stre
night putting it
departments |

While the
the murder 0!
the daily. new
sation. The ¢
missioner Wo
reporters, wa
worth. The ©
Probst had b
terrogation, a
were being P

questioning.

Coughlin
captain’s lea

a train earls

phia. They

following 4:

back to the

and Dowd k
' suing, and t

utmost faith

Three day
two detectis

<t world,” he
1 anyone say
t it?” Again
ver the same
nging Harris’

n in a board-
quarter of a
;, and as often
{ to talk with
far apart and
rough a wire
iard to keep
the means of
mned to die.
oman went to
ith Governor
boy’s sentence
e promised to
consideration.
ied out in the

at morning a
et in the war-
2 called to the
half sick with
ers seemed no
na New York
iolent distress
Arthur Bris-

‘spaper editor,
rris had talked
or publication
toward us, we
it of his sight.
ite us with a
ind and some
llows, a lovely
This may

it is just what
lo. e was so
ting his con-
that he would
t. I picked out
friend Andrew

told him, “I'll
all on.”
o the spacious
stood near the
her end, birds
den under the
reveling in the
In the gloom
door Chaplain
‘ston stood be-
ly at 6 o'clock,
his end.
e student, ur-
al in voice and
yu could put it
. Word might
any moment—
ther would be
er | am dead!”
agonized_sus-
‘hile Harris sat
uis cot. In this
4d there was no
—minutes, per-
still the pris-
calm as a man
ypointment. At
tand the strain
y unlocked the
‘ and took the
e warden walk-
des had been
sther cells, but
jind the shades
and where he

July, 1933

was going. “Good-bye, Harris!” they
called, and “Good-bye, boys!” he
meee | answered them.

At the end of the narrow passage the
warden opened the door that led from
the gloom of the Death House into the
execution chamber, and walked in, the
other two close behind. As the full
flood of sunlight burst upon Harris, he
drew down his brows to protect his
eyes, then turned his head from side
to side while he peered in every direc-

‘tion for a sight of some familiar face.

But he could find none; so he turned
and walked, composed and erect, to the
electric chair. He relaxed into it as
casually as a man might take a chair in
a barber shop, rested his arms upon
the sides, and inclined backward so as
to bring his head under the electrode
soon to be clasped upon it. Then he
started forward, as if he had just re-
membered something.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, in his well
modulated voice. “Before I die, I have
something to say, if I have the war-
den’s permission—and [ believe |
have.” This with a wave of his right
hand in the manner of a polished after-
dinner orator. Warden Durston was so
overwhelmed by emotion that he could
net speak, and he gave his consent by
violently nodding his head.

“Now that I am about to die,” said

Harris, sitting up very straight
and looking at the spectators frankly,
eye to eye; “now that I am about to
die, and there is no longer any reason
why I should not tell the truth, I wish
to say that | die innocent of the crime
of- which I have been convicted.”

This said, he bowed slowly and
deeply to the right, to the left, and
again to the front, where warden and
chaplain stood; then settled back under
the electrode. In the twinkling of an
eye the guards strapped him fast, with
a wet sponge on his head and another
at his leg, to insure the passage of the
electric current. There was a hideous

The Master Detective

creakin as muscular contortion
strained the straps—Harris was gone
as the echoes of his last words died
away.

From her upper window of the house
on the hilltop Mrs. Fanny McCready
Harris watched the vivid colors of the
American flag as it lazily floated above
the mass of prison buildings on the soft
airs of the beautiful May morning. At
a quarter past six the flag fluttered a
moment, then began to descend in
long, halting steps toward the waiting
hands of a gray-clad convict at the
foot of the pole. It was the signal that
all was over. Mrs. Harris walked alone
down the stairs and into the parlor,
where a dozen reporters awaited her.

“THEY have killed him!” she said.

“Look at me, gentlemen. Do you
see one tear on my cheek? Do you see
in me any sign of grief? No! Because |
am sustained by the knowledge that
my dear boy, whom they have mur-
dered, is innocent!”

She took the body of her son to
Albany, where he was buried in the
Rural Cemetery, with an inscription
that he had been “murdered by the
State of New York.” She lived several
years after this, but no new facts were
discovered about the death of poor
Helen.

“Perhaps Harris never would have
been convicted,” said Mr. Wellman the
other day, “if he had kept still. But he
talked and proclaimed his innocence
so much that he drew attention to him-
self, and so started the investigation.

“Of course, his keeping out the two
innocent capsules, which he thought
would acquit him, really proved his
guilt. The fact that they contained the
amounts of each drug called for in the
prescription showed that the druggist
had made no mistake in his compound-
ing. Therefore some other hand must
have put in the fatal dose. And the
capsules were in no other hand but the
hand of Carlyle Harris.”

persons.

Plagiarism

Stories have been submitted to this magazine which are copies
that have appeared in other magazines.

Anyone submitting a plagiarized story through the mail,
and receiving and acceptirfg remuneration therefor, is guilty of
Federal offense in using the mails to defraud.

The publishers of THE MASTER DETECTIVE are eager—as
are all reputable publishers—to stamp out this form of literary
theft and piracy, and are advising all magazines, from which
such stories have been copied, of such plagiarism and are offering
to co-operate with the publishers thereof to punish the guilty

Notice is hereby given to all who submit stories that the same
must be the original work of the author.

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HARR

IS, Carlyle,

Si
SEOUL a een eT ee

LOW GASPING moan silenced the
A sleepy giggles of the three schoolgirls.
They had, only a few minutes before,
tiptoed into their four-bed dormitory after
a late Saturday evening leave, undressed
and slipped into their beds in the dark.

“Who moaned, Kate?” whispered Victoria
Smith. ;

“Not I,” Catherine Yates replied quickly.
“You, Anna?”

“No, it must have
Lewis volunteered.

Victoria bounded out of bed into the chill
January night. Her fingers fumbled for a
matchholder, struck a light and tremblingly
held it to the 8as jet. The flare of yellow
flame brought 8asps of alarm from the three
young ladies.

Helen Potts, the occupant of the fourth
bed; was a frightening sight. One of the
prettiest girls in school, the little blonde
was struggling for breath; her chest -heaved
spasmodically, and there were large circles
of blue under her closed eyes. The tight-
drawn lips in her deathly pallid face were
indigo. ‘

“Run for Mrs. Day!” Victoria exclaimed.
She seized one of Helen’s arms and began
to rub it frantically. The skin was fearfully
clammy to her touch.

Mrs. Lydia Day, principal of the fashion-
able New York finishing school, was back
in a flash with the girl who had roused her,
The least threat of danger to one of her
socially elite charges sent her into a flurry
of efficient action.

Ordering the girls to apply simple rem-
edies to Helen, Mrs. Day bustled down the

wh, elec. NY (New York) May 8, 1893

been Helen,” Anna:

_ can’t rouse her from this coma...”

two flights of stairs to the front hall where
the telephone box hung on the wall. The
Principal gave the number of Dr. Edward
P. Fowler of 38 West Fortieth Street,

A midnight call to: the Comstock Select
Boarding School at 32 West Ninetieth Street
was enough to make Dr. Fowler order his
horse and buggy immediately.

When the physician reached the third
floor dormitory room of Helen Potts, he
found the worried principal and three al-
most hysterical young roommates hovering
over the unconscious patient on the bed.
The doctor felt for the pulse in a limp wrist
and then lifted one of the closed eyelids.
He turned to Mrs. Day quickly, ;

“Only great effort can save this girl’s
life!” he said. emphatically. “Send imme-
diately for Dr. Baner, my assistant, You'd
better call Dr. Kerr of 4 West Fiftieth Street
to assist us, too.” The doctor jerked off his
jacket, rolled up his. shirt sleeves. and
started artificial respiration, ;

Dr. Fowler was still working earnestly
when the other two doctors arrived. “Here,
take over for’a moment, Baner. I’ll-mix an
emetic,” he said to his assistant.

“Have you made a diagnosis yet?” Dr.
Kerr asked as he began to flex the girl’s
limbs to restore circulation.

“Worst case of opium poisoning I’ve ever
seen,” Fowler muttered, as he attempted
to force the emetic between the girl’s
clenched teeth. ‘“Pupils contracted to pin-
points, skin clammy, respiration and heart
weak and rapid... .”.

Kerr nodded, “Morphia, all right. If we

All-Fact Detective, July, 1943

1 to re-
would
irs, and
saw a
» of en-
slightly
his de-
issession
aster of
‘ful for
if pos-
han he.
tes with
whisper- -
smiling
ie prose-

empt to
the pre-
‘ed wife,
rried the
ay. The

doctors

insisted

for an
ths after
eath. As
fatal ill-
e of mor-
y resem-
se of the
by tiny
1, a part
ich could
not have
imination
1ith testi-

of public
yne might
men and
rridors of
use, wait-
chance to
nd many
mally ac-
letters to
was inno-
made of
behavior,
1e Tombs.
t with an

own clear
ijoy bright
il and foul
idday sun:

for the de-
ut that the
was consis-
ything else,
signed the
dent” up to
rt. He ex-
vo innocent
th, to avoid
rphine in a
he act of a
stupid de-
e said, had
why Harris
ith, and in
e contradic-
ath by mor-
of eminent
he jury was

July, 1933

bound to give Harris the benefit of the
doubt, and restore him to the arms of
his mother.

Francis L. Wellman began by com-
plimenting the jurors on their zealous
attention to the evidence in the case as
it was presented before them. Then he
turned to four plump volumes, quarto
size, that lay on the counsel’s table,
and began to read from them extracts
of the testimony exactly as it was
given on the stand. The volumes were
the stenographer’s minutes, typewrit-
ten and handily bound. At each point
from which he wished to read, Mr.
Wellman had pasted on a marginal
note, giving the name of the witness
and the fact he made clear. Neither
before nor since have I heard a more
effective famnroing up of a case. You
forgot you were listening to a lawyer:
he seemed rather like a thirteenth juror
who had got into the box, and was re-
minding himself and his colleagues of
the facts in the case.

HE took up the question of motive—
and read from the testimony of
Mrs. Potts and Miss Scholefield that
Harris had eagerly insisted upon keep-
ing secret his marriage with Helen; “had
wished she were dead and he well out of
it.” He took up the question of oppor-
tunity to commit murder, and read the
evidence, as to the defendant’s medical
training, his handling a generous quan-
tity of morphine in class, and his writ-
ing the prescription and keeping the
capsules in his possession so long. Why
did he keep them? No explanation had
been offered at the trial. Similarly he
entered into each element of the case,
reading the testimony of the witnesses
that related to it; and wove the array
of facts into a cable of circumstantial
evidence of guilt.

Recorder Smyth charged the jury
that they were to render their verdict

Yc 3 oy vel a
pa Ba! ed Bat bs -

on §

The Tombs Prison in New York City,

The Master Detective

upon the facts. Before they could con-
vict the defendant they must be con-
vinced of his guilt beyond a reasonable
doubt. This he defined as, “a doubt
arising out of the evidence submitted
to the jury, and it is a doubt which an
honest, conscientious, painstaking man
may entertain after a full, fair and
impartial examination of the evidence.”

THE jury retired at half past nine in
the evening. After one hour and
twenty minutes of deliberation, they
slowly marched into the court room.
Harris, his mother and counsel scru-
tinized them eagerly. Those familiar
with trials noted that not one of the
twelve looked at the prisoner, which
was a bad sign; for when the verdict
is favorable some of the jurors are
sure to smile reassuringly at him.
These men all looked down as they
took their places in the box and re-

mained standing. Harris arose and
faced them, calm, impassive. The
silence in the crowded room was Op-
pressive. The clerk of the court asked
whether they had agreed upon a ver-

dict.

“We have,” said the gray-bearded

“

foreman, Samuel B. W. McKee. We
find Carlyle W. Harris guilty of mur-

der in the first degree.” ;
A stifled scream broke the silence.

The prisoner’s mother collapsed in her
chair. He tenderly supported her, but
not by one shade did his countenance
express any feeling except concern for
her. He turned to follow her with his
eyes while a woman friend supported
her out of the room. Then he listened
attentively to the formalities of polling
the jury, the motion to set aside the
verdict. as contrary to the evidence,
etc., never varying from his attitude of
studious concentration on the proceed-
ings, even when’ the Recorder set the
following Friday for imposing sentence. .

where the author of this story had his re:

markable interviews with the murderer of Helen Potts Harris

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On that morning the eastern side of
City Hall Park was full of men and
women eager to win their way into the
dingy court room. The corridors were
so packed that we who had admission
cards could hardly push through to the
door. As I passed I heard more than
one woman exclaim that it was a
shame such a fine young fellow should
be condemned of murder when no one
had seen him do anything wrong. That
was the feeling, too, among the people

in the court,

When the grim Recorder had as-
cended the bench, the clerk of the court
asked Harris if he had an thing to
Say why sentence of death should not
now be pronounced upon him. The
prisoner, carefully valeted as ever, pale
but otherwise composed, arose, bowed
respectfully to his judge, and for ten
minutes eloquently protested his inno-
cence,

“Is that all?” the Recorder asked at
the end;-.and, when Harris bowed, be-
gan to recount the record of the case,
the care taken in selecting the jury,
the ability of his counsel, the testi-
mony given in his favor by eight wit-
nesses—

“GEVEN witnesses, if your Honor
please!” Harris interrupted, rising
and bowing.

“Eight or seven,” said the Recorder;
“the number is immaterial—”

“I beg your Honor’s pardon,” said
the prisoner, again rising and bowing.
“I have never before been sentenced to
death, and I am not familiar with the
proceedings in such cases,”

When he had said this, he bowed, sat
down and smiled his appreciation of
the murmurs of admiration and sym-
pathy that ran through the crowd. His
air was one of schoolboyish triumph.
To some of us such flippancy lent an
added horror to the scene. Recorder
Smyth sentenced Harris. to be elec-
trocuted at Sing Sing two months later,
and his pes gave notice of appeal
to the highest court, which, of course,
would act as a stay of execution.
Harris seemed quite unconcerned.

An hour later Harris stood, hand-
cuffed to Deputy Sheriff Burke within
the steel gate of the Tombs. Deputy
Sheriff Brown stopped a Fourth Avenue
car, and the two got aboard. Harris
smiled and nodded, and I took a seat
at his side. He was as cheerful as if
he were going on a vacation trip. He
told me he was sure the Court of
Appeals would grant him a new trial,
in which his innocence would surely be
proved, and after that he chatted
pleasantly about almost anything not
connected with the case. At Twenty-
third Street the car jolted over the
tracks of the cross-town street car line.

“This reminds me of a joke on
grandfather,” he said, smiling. “Jake
Sharp, who built the Twenty-third
Street line, was a patient of grand-
father’s and felt very grateful to him.
He offered grandfather an opportunity
to buy all the stock he wanted in the
new road; but grandfather was too
wise, said New York would never grow
up as far as this, and the car line would
be a failure. He could have bought the

The. Master Detective

stock at sixty. When it was issued,
it soon rose to par, and since then has
kept going higher every year, That’s
one on grandfather, isn’t it?”
€ took a seat on the river side of
the train for Sing Sing. Perhaps he
might never travel this way again. He
said nothing about that, but as we
assed the great gray cliffs of the
alisades, and as the broad reaches of
the Tappan Zee swept into view, he sat
silent and gazed hungrily across the
waves of the Hudson. When the walls
of Sing Sing loomed ahead, Deputy
Burke pointed with his free hand and
said, “There it is, Mr. Harris.”

“Oh, I'll see it soon enough,” he re-
ne with a smile, and continued to
ook at the river.

Months passed before the appeal for
a new trial was argued, and more
months before it was decided—against
Harris. His counsel moved for a new
trial on the ground of newly discovered
evidence, but this, too, was denied.
Once more he appeared before
Recorder Smyth to be sentenced to
death. He made a longer address this
time than he did before.

“You must stand one day, Recorder
Smyth,” he said, “before the Judge,
stripped of all those honors and digni-
ties you wear today. And when He
says to you, ‘Where is Carlyle Harris?’
will you then say, ‘I believed those
false witnesses who testified against
him?’

“Let us hope, your Honor, that there
is a judge somewhere whose duty is
not always a painful one. I say I am
innocent of the crime! Will you, God’s
agent here today, take my life? May
the great God of us all guide you to
the right, and avert the pang of con-
science which you must feel if you deny
my prayer for justice!”

TO the last moment Harris never
ceased to proclaim his innocence and
never lost hope. In the dark Death
House, where men sit in cells from
which they cannot see one another and
become acquainted only by recognizing
voices, he made friends as rea ily as
he did in the Tombs. From childhood
he had worn glasses to correct near-
sightedness, but these were taken from
him for fear that he might shatter them
and open his arteries with splinters ‘of
lass, One day an interviewer asked
im what he thought of the State’s
method of inflicting the death penalty.
“What does it matter?” he asked.
“Being an innocent man, | cannot dis-
cuss the question as a murderer justly
condemned would. It is utterly imma-
terial to me whether they end my life
by hanging or by electrocution, if | am
to be put to death for a crime | never
committed. I would just as soon be
tortured as sit in the electric chair.
“Death is either ‘annihilation or eter-
nity. If it is eternity, then I shall be
glad to enter the same plea that | have
entered here—a plea not for mercy but
for justice.”
The Rev. Dr. John C. R, Weille,
rison chaplain, ‘often talked with
arris about the future state. Always
courteous and interested, the young
Student was an agnostic without com.
Promise. “No one has ever come back

to tell us about the next world,” he
maintained; “so how can anyone say
he knows anything about it?” Again
and again they went over the same
ground, but without changing Harris’
opinion,

His mother took a room in a board-
ing house on a hilltop a quarter of a
mile from the prison walls, and as often
as the law allowed called to talk with
her son, the two sitting far apart and
looking at each other through a wire
Screen—the law’s safeguard to keep
friends from smuggling the means of
Suicide to those condemned to die.
Early in May the poor woman went to
Albany and pleaded with Governor
Flower to commute her boy’s sentence
to life imprisonment, He promised to
Ay the case careful consideration.

entence was to be carried out in the
morning of May 8th, 1892.

T half past five that morning a

group of reporters met in the war-
den’s office, waiting to be called to the
execution chamber. I was half sick with
apprehension, and the others seemed no
better off. One man from a New York
Paper hurried out in violent distress
and did not come back. Arthur Bris-
bane, now a famous newspaper editor,
and I agreed that, as Harris had talked
rather freely with us for publication
and felt quite friendly toward us, we
would do well to keep out of his sight.
Otherwise he might salute us with a
friendly wave of the hand and some
such remarks as, “Ah, fellows, a lovely
day for an execution!” This may
sound extravagant, but it is just what
we felt sure he would do. He was so
intent upon demonstrating his con-
Sciousness of innocence that he would
_ at nothing to show it. I picked out
a chair beside my stout friend Andrew
Waters.

“If I faint, Andy,” I told him, “I'll
have something soft to fall on.”

As we slowly filed into the spacious
room, where two guards stood near the
death chair at the farther end, birds
were singing in the garden under the
wide open windows and reveling in the
merry sunshine of May. In the gloom
of the death house next door Chaplain
Weille and Warden Durston stood be-
fore Harris’s cell promptly at 6 o'clock,
the appointed hour for his end.

“I’m ready,” said the student, ur-
bane as ever and cheerful in voice and
manner; “but I wish you could put it
off a little while longer. Word might
come from Albany at any moment—
and think how my mother would be
broken up if it came after I am dead!”

So the two stood in agonized sus-
pense in the corridor, while Harris sat
at ease on the edge of his cot, In this
house of the living dead there was no
sound. Seconds passed—minutes, per-
haps ten minutes; and still the pris-
oner sat, motionless and calm as a man
waiting on a business appointment. At
last the Warden could stand the strain
no longer, and he slowly unlocked the
cell door. Harris arose and took the
arm of the chaplain, the warden walk-
ing ahead. Dark shades had been
drawn before all the other cells, but
the condemned men behind the shades
knew who was passing and where he

i a

July, 1933

was going
called, aj
cheerily ar
At the e
Warden op
the gloom
execution
other two
flood of su
drew dow:
eyes, then
to side wh)
‘tion for a
But he cor
and walked
electric ch:
casually as
a barber s
the sides, a
to bring hi
soon to be
Started for
membered <
“Oh!” h
modulated \
something 1
den’s_perr
have.” Thi:
hand in the
dinner oratc
overwhelme,
not speak, ;
violently no

“Now tha
Harris,
and looking
eye to eye;
die, and the
why I shoul.
to say that
of- which | }
This said
deeply to ti
again to the
chaplain stoc
the electrode
eye the guar:
a wet sponge
at his leg, to
electric curre

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(Continued from page 35)

Then the light was turned out, and the
three got into their beds. There were a
few moments of sleepy conversation, and
the room fell silent. The silence was of
brief duration, for at 11 o’clock Helen
turned fitfully beneath her covers and
called out in a weak voice.

“I feel numb. I feel as if I were chok-
ing.”

Alice Carson, the nearest to Helen, got
out of bed to see if there was something
she could do. -

“Will you rub my head, please,” Helen
asked.

Alice drew her fingers across her room-
mate’s brow; found it covered with a cold
sweat.

Helen moaned. “Why, I can’t feel your
hand, Alice. I think I am going to die.”

“You'll be all right,” Alice whispered re-
assuringly. “Try to go back to sleep.”

“If I do,” Helen replied in a fast-failing
voice, “it will be the sleep of death.”

Her head dropped back on the pillow,
she closed her eyes, and when the girls
spoke to her she did not respond. Thor-
oughly alarmed, Rachel Cookson ran for
Miss Day, while the others turned on the
light and hovered solicitously, but help-
lessly, over the unconscious Helen. Miss
Day sent a messenger to arouse Dr. Ed-
ward P. Fowler, the school physician, who
lived down the block at 38 West 40th
Street. Within ten minutes, Dr. Fowler
was at Helen’s bedside. He observed that
the pupils of her eyes were contracted,
her pulse was slow and her respiration
was at the rate of only once in 30 sec-
onds. Her flesh was clammy, cold, ex-
hibited a bluish tint.

“This girl,” the physician told Miss Day,
“has every symptom of narcotic poison-
ing—undoubtedly morphine. She’s in bad
shape. Have someone summon my assist-
ant, Dr. Baner, right away.”

Presently, Dr. Baner was with his col-
league and both engaged in a valiant,
arduous attempt to save Helen, using
every technique to rescue the girl from the
deep coma into which she had fallen.

While awaiting Helen’s reaction, Dr.
Fowler turned gravely to Miss Day and
asked, “Where could this girl have gotten
hold of morphine?”

The headmistress could only shake her
head blankly, but when the question was
put to Helen’s roommates, they suggested
a possible answer. “Just before Helen’s
fiance, Carlyle Harris, left for Virginia on
Wednesday,” one of them said, “he gave
Helen some pills and I know she’s been
taking them.”

A cursory inspection of the top drawer
of Helen’s dresser yielded a pillbox. It was
empty. Its label bore the name of a phar-
macy firm on Sixth Avenue, and beneath
this imprint, in longhand, was a date—
January 20th, 1891—and the words:
“C. W. H., Student. One before retiring.”

“If we can get hold of this young man,”
Dr. Fowler said, “I would like to have
him here immediately, to find out what’s
been going on.”

Miss Day happened to know that Carlyle
Harris lived at the home of his grand-
father, Dr. MacCready, on East 17th Street.
She sent a messenger to fetch him. An
hour later the youth entered the stricken
girl’s bedroom.

Harris was a tall, studious-looking youth
of 21, who wore a mustache, eyeglasses
and parted his hair precisely in the mid-
dle. On more conventional occasions, he
had the reputation of being witty, urbane
and charming. But now, as Dr. Fowler was
performing artificial respiration on Helen,

Harris appeared to be highly unstrung.

Without losing a stroke, Dr. Baner took
over from Fowler, and the senior phy-
sician drew Harris into a corner. “What
the devil was in those pills you gave this
girl?” he demanded.

“Nothing harmful,’’ Harris replied.
“There were six pills, each containing four
grains of quinine and one-sixth grain of
morphine. I thought they might help her
malarial headaches.”

“That would be one whole grain. of
morphine in all,” Dr. Fowler calculated.
“But even if she took the six capsules at
once, that wouldn’t be a dangerous dose.
Yet this girl is dying of morphine poison-
ing!”

“She didn’t even have a whole grain in
her possession,” Harris expostulated. “I
wanted to avoid just that, and withheld
two of the six capsules I had made up.
As a matter of fact, I think I still have
them at home.”

Dr. Fowler’s eyes swept to the figure
on the bed and then back to Harris.
“You’re a medical student, I understand,
without a license to practice. Perhaps you
will explain by what warrant you under-
took to write a prescription?”

Harris shrugged. “It’s a common practice
for medical students to prescribe simple
remedies.”

Dr. Fowler grunted, then said, “Simple
remedy? You better be in a position to
prove your pills were simple—and harm-
less.”

For two hours more, while Carlyle Har-
ris nervously loitered about the sickroom
door, Fowler and Baner continued their
efforts to save Helen’s life. In spite of their
skill and energy, the battle was too much
for them. At a few minutes past 6 a.M.,
Helen Potts died.

Later in the day, a solemn group assem-
bled in the parlor of the Comstock School.
It included Miss Day, Dr. Fowler, Carlyle
Harris, Helen’s mother—who had _ been
summoned from Ocean Grove and had
been met at the railroad station by Harris
—and Dr. Louis Schultze, the coroner of
New York County.

“Dr. Fowler tells me he will not sign
a death certificate,” the coroner told Mrs.
Potts, “unless an autopsy is performed. He
suspects morphine poisoning.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Fowler corroborated.
“When you have come to some decision,
Schultze, you can reach me at my home.
I’m dead tired and have to get some sleep.”

After Dr. Fowler had gone, the coroner
sensed the strong current of resistance
prevailing in the room.

“An autopsy would be a terrible thing!”
Miss Day exclaimed. “The newspapers!
Scandal!”

Mrs. Potts offered a more telling argu-
ment. “It’s ridiculous even to imagine that
Helen was poisoned,” she said. “I’m sure

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BD ag) apt on

Helen Potts, attending Comstock School (top) dreamed of
her lover as she awaited his return, then took poison pill

Web of evidence gathered by Inspector Thomas Byrnes (l.) and used brilliantly in court by District
Attorney Francis Wellman (r.) trapped man (center) who was careless about wives—and murder

oison-

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Helen has Nad a Weak Neat.

“That’s something I hadn’t heard until
half an hour ago,” Harris put in, “when
I met Mrs. Potts’ train.” The medical stu-
dent turned to the coroner. “Isn’t it pos-
sible, Dr. Schultze, that in conjunction
with a weak heart, even a small amount of
morphine might have acted adversely?”

“It’s possible,” the coroner acknowl-
edged.

“I beg you, Dr. Schultze,” Mrs. Potts said,
with a catch in her voice, “to do nothing
to stand in the way of Helen’s body being
taken home for a decent burial. I can’t
stand the thought of the poor child on an
autopsy table.”

Dr. Schultze said to Harris, “Young man,
there’s one element in this situation I
must be sure of—those pills. Dr. Fowler
tells me you retained two of them. I'll have
them analyzed and my decision will rest
on the outcome. You have the pills, of
course?”

Harris reached in his pocket and pro-
duced an envelope, which contained two
capsules. “Here they are, sir,” he said.
“I picked them up at home when I went
for breakfast. I’m sure you'll find they con-
tain exactly what I said—four grains of
quinine and a sixth of a grain of morphine
in each.”

Before the day was over, the capsules
had been submitted to the professional
scrutiny of Dr. Rudolph Witthaus, the city
toxicologist. Witthaus’ report to the cor-
oner confirmed Carlyle Harris’ contention:
both pills analyzed were harmless.

Dr. Schultze acted on this information
as he had indicated he would. Helen Potts’
body was released for removal to New
Jersey, for burial. On the Wednesday fol-
lowing, Helen’s funeral was held in Ocean
Grove.

There were two noteworthy deviations
in connection with Helen’s funeral. One
was the absence of Carlyle Harris. The
other was the fact that the gravestone,
ordered by Mrs. Potts and placed on
Helen’s grave, bore no last name. It read
simply: “Helen. Died February 1, 1891.
Age 19 years, 8 months, 27 days.”

And so the death of Helen Neilson Potts
began to fade into the obscurity of matters
over and done with. But not entirely so.

The untimely death of Helen Potts had
attracted some public attention, and a
feature writer on the New York World had
felt moved to review the known facts.
While no charge was made in this piece,
the writer speculated on the curious
nature of the death.

At least one person, whose name to this
day is unknown, reacted positively to the
article. This reader sent an anonymous
letter to the World, suggesting that it
might be of interest for the newspaper to
have the marriage records for 1890 checked
at the city hall. The paper, acting on the
tip, soon uncovered the intriguing in-
formation that on February 8th, 1890, a
marriage license had been issued to Helen
Neilson, of Ocean Grove, New Jersey, and
Charles Harris, of New York. The records
showed, too, that the pair had been united
in matrimony, in a city hall ceremony, by
Alderman Rinckhoff. That this was merely
a poor attempt at camouflage, on the parts
of Helen Potts and Carlyle Harris, was
made certain when the World reporter
talked with the alderman. Rinckhoff re-
called the marriage and the description he
gave of the bride and groom fitted Helen
and Carlyle precisely.

The matter of the secret and unacknowl-
edged marriage was placed before As-
sistant District Attorney Francis Wellman,
who was later to gain an international
legal reputation as the author of The Art
of Cross-Examination,

Wellman was convinced that there was
more to the death of Helen Potts than

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celebrated detectives in the entire history
of the New York Police Department: In-
spector Thomas Byrnes.

Byrnes, after reviewing Wellman’s data,
passed the case over to Detective Sergeant
James McCafferty.

McCafferty began by detailing a couple

nd habits of Carlyle Harris, in his native

@: subordinates to look into the reputation

abitat, New York City. Then the sergeant
himself decided to find out what he could
in Ocean Grove. He traveled to the Jersey
shore and checked in with the police of
Asbury Park, a town considerably larger
than Ocean Grove and adjacent to it.

He found that the Asbury Park consta-
bulary had a professional interest, not in
Helen Potts, but in her fiance—a man who
had come to their attention under the
name of Charles W. Harkness. When Mc-
Cafferty had inspected the dossier on
Harkness, he was quickly convinced of
two things: that Harkness was another of
Harris’ aliases, and that Harris was not
the model of rectitude that many people
had supposed.

During the preceding summer the As-
bury Park police had had occasion to look
into the operation of an alleged restaurant
on Cookman Avenue. It was called the
Neptune Club, and after close surveillance
the police realized the place was a blind,
doing a brisk bar business without a li-
cense and after hours. A raid yielded the
club’s two operators: William F. Smith,
custodian of a poker room, and Harkness,
in charge of the dispensing of liquor. The
two had been arrested, then released on
ae pending trial on an as yet unscheduled

ate.

In Ocean Grove itself, McCafferty moved
among people who had known Helen. He
was interested in learning if the Potts-
Harris marriage was known in the com-
munity. He found but one informant who

as aware of it. This was Miss May Sco-

Id, who had been a close friend of
Helen’s.

May Scofield told McCafferty: “One day
last June, Helen confided to me that she
and Carlyle were married. He was visiting
her at the time, and she wanted me to
urge him to tell her mother, and make a
public announcement of it. That same
afternoon I saw Carlyle, just before he
took Helen down to that Neptune Club
of his. I talked with him alone, and said
what Helen had asked me to. But he didn’t
like the idea at all. He told me: ‘My pros-
pects would be ruined if this marriage
gets out. And I would rather kill Helen
and kill myself than have it pubished.’”

“And how did Helen react when you
reported this to her?” McCafferty asked.

“I didn’t tell her—because I never saw

was very sick, and the next day she went
to visit her uncle in Scranton. He’s a
doctor—Dr. Charles Treverton. She went
from his place right to the boarding school
in New York and when I next saw her she
was in her coffin.”

To McCafferty, this sounded strange.
What illness, he wondered? Could it have
had some connection with her death sev-
eral months later? Perhaps her uncle, the
doctor, could illuminate the situation.

Two days later McCafferty was seated
in Dr. Charles Treverton’s office in Scran-
ton. The physician was at first reserved
and uncommunicative concerning Helen’s
summer visit. But his attitude changed
appreciably when the detective made it
clear that he had not come all the way
from New York without serious reason.
“The fact of the matter is, Doctor,’ he
said, “we are not satisfied that Helen’s
death does not have an element of crim-
inality. I must ask you to be frank with
me.”

“Just what do you mean?” Dr. Trever-
ton demanded. “Do you, for instance, have
any suspicions concerning Carlyle Har-
ris?”

“Precisely,” McCafferty answered.

“Well,” Treverton breathed, “I’m con-
vinced he’s a thorough rascal. This is what
happened last summer.”

His niece, he said, had come to him in
a completely distraught state. She had
cried hysterically and then told him that
she and Harris were married. Harris had
performed an abortion on her the day be-
fore she left Ocean Grove. Dr. Treverton
discovered that the abortion had been
bungled and to save the girl’s life an im-
mediate operation was performed.

“I was distressed,” Treverton continued,
“when Helen told me her mother did not
know she was married. I sent for Mrs.
Potts at once. When she arrived, Helen
confessed the whole story. But she made
Mrs. Potts promise not to tell her father.
Mrs. Potts agreed, but she said she would
see Harris and make him acknowledge
Helen publicly as his wife.”

But Dr. Treverton did not allow the
matter to rest there. He felt a moral re-
sponsibility to make absolutely certain that
the two were, in fact, married; otherwise,
he would feel it necessary to inform
Helen’s father of the sorry entanglement.
In response to the physician’s summons,
Harris came to Scranton.

“He acknowledged to me,” the doctor
related, “that Helen was his wife. But he
also said it would be ‘inexpedient’ for him
to publicly announce it then. He told me
that he feared family disapproval and that
his medical education would be jeopard-
ized if the truth were known. It appears

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he knew Harris were married. He told me
he needed a little time to prepare his
family for the news, and I accepted his
assurance that he would do the honorable
thing when conditions were more settled.”

If there were dim lines in the true de-
lineation of Carlyle Harris’ character,
these were clearly and sharply etched for
McCafferty when he returned to New York
and heard the reports of the local spade-
work his subordinates had been doing on
the young man. The medical student, it
appeared, was a stinker of singular dis-
tinction. His principal attribute, a dubious
one, seemed to be a dedicated interest in
the seduction and debauchery of young
women. He had been indiscreet enough to
boast to acquaintances concerning his ro-
mantic techniques, and these boastings
were noted with interest by the detectives.

“I can usually soften them up with
liquor,” Harris was quoted as saying. “I
put it in their ginger ale. Sometimes that
doesn’t work, and I have had to marry
them. But I always do it under different
names. I marry them, love them—and
leave them.”

There was one element of extreme in-
terest in Harris’ recent past. This was a
liaison with a young, red-headed actress
named Queenie Drew. In exploring this
aspect of Harris’ career, McCafferty’s men
had gotten wind of a trip the two had tak-
en, the previous September, to Canandai-
gua, New York, where they had stayed at
a_ hotel.

On March 9th, McCafferty was in Ca-
nandaigua. He learned that Harris and
Queenie had shared a room as “Mr. and
Mrs. Carl Graham” in the hotel there. The
pair had spent most of their time in their
room and had mingled little with the other
guests. But one of the guests, a permanent
resident named John Latham, reported a
provocative conversation he had over-
heard. Latham’s room was next to that of
the couple, and the wall between was thin.

“One night,” Latham recounted, “they
were in their room talking, and I heard
the woman say: “I'll tell you what I’ll do,
Carl. Pll marry a rich old man, and then
I’m going to wait, and when he dies you
and I will get married.’ Then Harris said
to her: ‘What do you mean “wait”? I’m
not studying medicine for nothing. When
you marry the old guy, I'll give you some
pills for him that will make you a widow
overnight.’ ”

On his return to New York, McCafferty
reviewed the whole of the case for the
benefit of Inspector Byrnes. The inspector
put his finger on a crucial point when he
remarked, “It’s clear that Harris would
have every reason in the world to welcome
Helen’s death. As his wife, she was an
encumbrance to him, and with her out of
the way, he can be the lecher he seems
to have such an aptitude for. Moreover,
his conversation with this Queenie Drew
about a pill nails him to the yardarm. But
I sure would like to know why Mrs. Potts
went out of her way to protect him. If
there had been an autopsy, the fact of
murder—if it is murder—would un-
doubtedly have been established. But she
is the one, more than anyone, who pre-
vented the autopsy taking place. I think
it’s time for us to have a talk with her.”

Byrnes and McCafferty, the next day,
traveled to Ocean Grove and found Mrs.
Potts alone in her house. Behind the
closed doors of her parlor, Byrnes bluntly
informed her of what he believed to be
the true facts surrounding her daughter’s

death.

“You may not know it, Mrs. Potts,” he
said, “but Carlyle Harris is one of the
worst men I’ve ever come across.”

He then went on to inform the dead
girl’s mother of the known history of

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Metadata

Containers:: Box 26 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 15
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Gordon Hamby executed on 1920-01-29 in New York (NY)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: July 2, 2019

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