True Detective Mysteries, September 1930

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SFPTEMBLR Detective Mysteries Black Hand Exposed — At Last, I Know Who Killed DesmondTaylor By LI EUT. ED. C. KING

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True Detective Mysteries 1 DON'T/ You'll make him the laughing stock of the place'' but when he started to play the piano VyHAT a glorious night! VV Henri's quaint restaurant — with its intimate European atmosphere — was crowded with joyful parties. Tonight, John Brent was giving a party for eight in honor of Helen Thompson's engage- ment. Dick Peters had recommended Henri's as a splendid place to dine and dance. And Dick was right. "What's that in your pocket, Dick? Your will?" asked John. "No, that's just some sheet music I bought on the way over," returned Dick. "What in Heaven's name are you doing with sheet music? Going to use it as wallpaper?" exclaimed John. "Why, I'm learning to play the piano. Didn't you know?" "Oh, boy! Listen to that! You couldn't learn to play in a thousand years." Dick looked at John with an amused smile on his face. "What would you give to hear me play?" he asked calmly. "A ten dollar bill if you'll go up there right now and play that piano. What do you say?" exclaimed John with triumph in his voice. "You're on," replied Dick, quick as a flash- "I'll take you up on that little dare. But not here— wait 'til we get home tonight." "No, sir, you'll win or lose that bet right now. Come on, fellows, let's take him right up to the piano and we'll settle it here." "Don't be foolish, boys, you'll only make us the laughing stock of the place," begged one of the girls. Heedless of Dick's pleading, they dragged him to the platform and placed him at the piano. By this time the unusual goings on had caught the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Now Dick realized that he had to go through with it. So summing up all his courage and with a sudden burst of confidence, he broke into the chorus of the latest Broadway hit. John gasped. He couldn't beli>ve his ears. Everyone at the table sat in open-mouthed amazement as Dick sat there playing one snappy number after another. It wasn't until the regular orchestra returned that they allowed Dick to rise from the piano. Amid the din of applause, he went back to the table, only to be swamped with questions. But Dick refused to tell them the secret of his new-found musical ability, in spite of all their begging. Going home that night, John, the most sur- prised member of the party, insisted stubbornly until Dick finally gave in. "Well, John, I've put one over on you. I learned to play by myself, without a teacher." "What? That's impossible! Tell me more." Dick Tells His Secret Dick then explained how he had always longed to be able to play some musical instru- ment. One day he chanced to see a U. S. School of Music advertisement offering a Free Demonstration Lesson. Skeptically he sent in the coupon. But when the Free Demonstra- tion Lesson came and he saw how easy it was, he knew that this was just what he had been looking for. Why, it was just like A-B-C. He sent for the entire course and almost before he knew it, he was playing real tunes and melo- dies. And the lessons were such fun, too. Almost like playing a game. Play Any Instrument This is typical of the success of countless thousands who have learned music this easy way. You, too, can now learn to play — right at home — in half the usual time. You can't go wrong with this simple new method which has already shown over half a million people how to play their favorite instruments by note. Forget the old-fashioned idea that you need special "talent." Just read the list of instru- ments in the panel, decide which one you want to play, and no matter which instrument you choose, it will average only a jew cents a day. Send for Free Booklet and Demonstration Lesson Our wonderful illustrated Free Book and our Free Demonstration Lesson explain all about this remarkable method. They pro%-e just how anyone can learn to play his favorite instru- ment by note — playing real tunes from the very start. It also ex- plains all about the amazing new Automatic Fmger Control. Act NOW. Clip and mail this coupon today! No obliga- tion. Instruments supplied when needed, cash or credit. U.S. School of Music, 3060 Brunswick Bldg., New York City. U. S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC, 3069 Brunswick Bldg., New York City Please send me your free book, "Music Lessons in Your Own Home," with introduction by Dr. Frank Crane, Free Demonstration Lesson and particulars of your easy payment plan. I am interested in the PICK YOUR INSTRUMENT Piano Violin Organ Clarinet Ukulele Flute Cornet Saxophone Trombone Harp Piccolo Mandolin Guitar 'Cello Hawaiian Steel Guitar Sight Singing Piano Accordion Italian and German Accordion Voice and Speech Culture Drums and Trap* Harmony and Composition Automatic Finger Control Banjo (Plectrum, 5-String or Tenor) following course: Have you above Instx?. Name Address

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True detective mysteries Vol. XIII A MACFADDEN PUBLICATION September, 1930 No. 6 CONTENTS WHY WOMEN READ DETECTIVE STORIES Carolyn Wells I KNOW WHO KILLED DESMOND TAYLOR Lieut. Ed. C. King Millions have wondered about this. Here are the true facts! BLACK HAND EXPOSED at Last! Detective Alberto Verrusio Ricci The only real expose" of Black Hand in the history of crime! HOT DIAMONDS!— The Great San Francisco Stick-Up Harvey O'Keefe An epic in sleuthing! The CRIME in ROOM 406 Fred H. Thompson "Look for a man with large hands!" said the Medical Examiner, after seeing the dead woman "TIGER GIRL!"— The Blonde Whose Gun Spat Death! Charles A. Earley Smashing story of Pennsylvania's 22-year-old "trigger woman" MY ESCAPE from the GHOST GROVE TERROR Myrtle Maddox The "Mystery Woman of Memphis" tells the nerve-thrilling story of her escape! The MURDER at the RACE TRACK O. F. Claybaugh Had this girl's murder any connection with the mysterious handling of the race horse, Helen SI STALKING IRVINGTON'S MAD POLICE KILLER P. L. Trussell Astonishing case of the man who insisted on killing every policeman he saw! The Former MRS. FRANK SILSBY'S OWN STORY As told by Herself Sensational inside facts of the underworld disclosed by the "Master Criminal's" former wife THE SMASHING OF "LITTLE EGYPT'S" GANGSTER KING Merlin Moore Taylor How they "got" Birger, the world's toughest gangster! TEST YOUR DETECTIVE ABILITY! William B. Kines NEW BOOKS and BOOK NEWS Edward Dean Sullivan Cover painted by Dalton Stevens 26 46 50 57 60 62 6 8 1 NEXT MONTH: The Truth About Rothstein! THE REAL FACTS AT LAST! Edward Dean Sullivan, nationally- known newspaper man and author — and a fearless crime investigator who is intimately acquainted with every nook and cranny of the New York and Chicago underworlds — has written the inside story of Arnold Rothstein — the keenest and most astonishing figure that the underworld has ever known. This courageous author has spared nobody! He names names and he turns the spotlight on hitherto unpublished facts about the man whose strange murder rocked the country. Mr. Sullivan's unusual book, "Rattling the Cup" — a complete expose of Chicago crime conditions — was nothing short of a sensation. And his story of Rothstein — Monarch of Easy Money — is in the same class — only more so! It's a whale of a yarn. Whatever you do, don't miss it/ The SHADOW in GREEN Clara Phillips — the most amazing murderess of the decade! You probably read front-page accounts of this infamous hammer slayer who, goaded on by jealousy, slew pretty Alberta Meadows in California back in 1922. But this magazine — as usual — is giving the inside on this notorious mystery and its subsequent sensational angles — a first-hand account containing startling reve- lations, coming direct from one of the sleuths who worked on the case. The ASTONISHING CASE of the BANK CLERK and the RUSSIAN DANCER One of America's master detectives — H. A. Crowe, manager of the criminal division of the Burns Detective Agency — has given exclusively to this magazine the facts on one of the most unusual cases on record. It's the story of Solem Westergaard, cunning young forger — and it's set amid the glittering background of New York's night life, with Irene Pashkova, ravishingly- beautiful Russian dancer, playing a strange role in the mystery. . . . The TRUTH ABOUT EVANSVILLE'S INFAM- OUS "BOHANNON CRIME" On the night of September 14th, 1928, "Bill" Bohannon, prominent attorney — and "lady killer" — of Evansville, Indiana, left home, telling his wife he was going to "the club." Instead, he went to keep a secret rendezvous with a mysterious woman. Several hours later, he was found fatally shot. . . . By whose hand? INSIDE STORY OF OHIO'S PRISON HOLOCAUST A well-known journalist — an eye-witness — paints an un- forgettable picture of the holocaust which snuffed out the lives of three hundred and twenty-two men — a breath-taking account of one of the greatest disasters of modern times — a masterpiece of human drama and emotions that's going to make you stop and think. Other sensational fact cases, taken from the official records, will include: HOW WE TRAPPED THE "JERSEY KID" and The BLONDE, the DOLL and the MISSING BABY pi BUSHED MONTHLY BY NEW METROPOLITAN FICTION. INC.. WASHINGTON AND SOUTH AVES.. 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True Detective Mysteries 3 E L E CTR I CITT Becomes Amazingly Easy When Taught Without Bcoks orLessons DAYS Why work at dull, uninteresting jobs that will never pay you more than $35, $4.0 or perhaps $50 a week? Make up your mind NOW and become a master of electricity! Train in 12 easy weeks to hold down the kind of a job that pays $60 and up a week, and which creates a constant demand for your services nearly any place in the world! No Books " No Classes Electricity, as taught in the Great Shops of Coyne, is surprisingly easy to grasp. That's because we use no books. You learn by doing actual, practical experimenting on big, electrical machinery — finest outlay in the country. You learn by doing — and you learn from the ground up. Not a CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL Experts work right along with you every step of the way. You get personal attention— you are trained not by books but on actual electrical machinery. The COYNE WAY gives you real, sound knowl- edge that fits you to do practical electrical work in all its branches. J^quj jff Ollt* NEW HOME This is our new, fireproof, modern home wherein is in- stalled thousands of dollars' worth of the newest and most modern Electrical Equipmentof all kinds. We have now the larg- est amount of floor space devoted to the exclusive teaching of prac- tical electricity in the world. Ev- ery comfort and convenience has been arranged to make you happy and contented during your training. CriVMl? ELECTRICAL SCHOOL \F JL MUd H.C.LEWIS, Pres., Est. 1899 500 S. Paulina St., Dept. 60-94 Chicago, 111. INCLUDED If You Act Now! 7VO EXPERIENCE or Advanced Education Necessary You don't need one days' previous electrical experi- ence or advanced education to master electricity the Coyne way. Some of our most successful gradu- ates never went farther than the 8th grade. R. R. FARE will be refunded upon enrollment from any point in the U. S. to Chicago. AVIATION my big new Aviation Electrical course in- cluded at do extra charge. RADIO course included ab- solutely without any extra charge. AUTO course, covering trsck and tractor electricity. SEE COUPON! 1 2 3 4 Earn While You Learn By special arrangement, our employment depart- ment helps students locate part-time work, if they want to earn while they learn. And after gradua- tion we give them the benefit of our FREE EM- PLOYMENT Service for Life. Every week we secure many positions for Coyne men. Get FREE BOOK Write today for my big book on Electricity with over 150 photographs. Learn what great opportu- nity Coyne Training opens up for you. Also get full details of my Big 3-Special Offer. No obliga- 1"™h. C. LEWIS, President | COYNE ELECTRICAL SCHOOL, Dept. 60-94 I I I I SOO S. Paulina Street, Chicago, III. Please send me your free catalog on Electricity and details of your railroad fare allowance and extra courses. No ob- ligation on my part. Name Address . City . State,

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True Detective Mysteries 5 "But I Thought That Book Was Suppressed ! " Gasped Bess! i'.How On Earth Did You Ever Get It?" IF Gloria Swanson, Gene Turmey and the Prince of Wales had suddenly walked into the room, arm in arm, it couldn't have created any more of a sensation 1 Tom sat up with a whistle of astonishment — while Bess and Jane looked as though they could hardly believe their eyes! "Decameron Tales 1" cried Bess with a gasp as she read the title. "Why, that's the book that has been tabooed so long, isn't it? Where in the world did you get it? "Let me see it," begged Tom as he laughingly tried to take the book out of my hands. "I've heard that it was so hot they had to put asbestos covers on it to keep people from getting their fingers burned!" Jane pretended to look prudish but I knew she was dying to get a peek at the book just as all the others were. Suddenly an idea struck her. "Nonsense," she said, "Helen's only fool- ing us. That couldn't be 'Decameron Tales.' She's only found a paper jacket from a real copy somewhere and put it on another book to get our curiosity aroused. I've heard of it for years — but it's practically impossible to get hold of a copy!" "That's where you're all wrong," I cried triumphantly. "This is really Decameron Tales and it isn't suppressed, although I had never been able to get it in stores. Listen to this announcement I clipped out of a magazine the other day and you'll see how I got this copy. It says: " 'Perhaps no other book has ever had a more amazing background than the Tales from the Decameron by Boc- caccio! 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True Detective Mysteries TEST YOUR DETECTIVE ABILITY! By WILLIAM B. KINES Member, Board of Examiners, Police Department, Baltimore, Md. Note: Mr. Kines, Member of the Board of Examiners, Baltimore Police Department, here presents to readers of True Detective Mysteries a hypothetical detective problem used in the official examinations. Can you solve it? We anticipate presenting one of these problems each month, and the folloiving month the official solu- tion will appear in this department. Comments ive receive from our readers, on the fart detective stories which we publish, indicate that thou- sands of persons are apparently interested in testing their own detective ability, although these same persons never expect to become detectives. Here then is a test: Solve, to the best of your ability, the detective problem presented on this page. Then, next month com- pare your solution with the official solution. You may be surprised at your ability along this line. WOMAN, known to have had quite a number of love affairs, especially with married men, is found shot to death in her apartment. The door to the apartment was partly open and no one had been seen to enter or leave the premises. There were evidences of a struggle, but nowhere in the room, with two exceptions, could be found finger-prints of anyone other than the dead woman and her maid. The victim had been seen alive three hours before a shot was fired, and it was the sound of this shot that attracted persons to her apartment who found her body. The maid had a sufficient alibi that she had not been in the apartment for six hours prior to the shooting. The clues found were as follows : A broken pair of binocular nose-glasses. (It was a well-known fact that the dead woman did not wear glasses.) On one of the lenses was a finger-print that was neither that of the dead woman nor her maid. A small sachet-bag from which emanated a peculiar Oriental odor, and on this bag were found finger-prints that tallied with that on the lens. The maid stated that her mistress had never used such a sachet powder. On a table in the room was a letter addressed to the dead woman in typewriting and the contents were in cipher. It was observed that the letter "Z" appeared in the code more frequently than any other letter, while the letters "D" and "V" ap- peared next in order of frequency and were about evenly divided in numbers. The letter "L" was out of alignment and the letter "E" had on it a distinct blur. This communication was postmarked the city in which the tragedy occurred and bore the date of the previous day. The only finger-prints on the envelope were those of the dead woman, (Continued on page 16) (See page 16 for solution to last month's problem) A

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True Detective Mysteries 7 They Told Him Salesmen Were Bom But Now He Makes WOOOaYear ...Thanks to This Little Book TT was just a little free book that made the difference between Ed Pinkham and the rest of the men in our shop. Nobody ever imagined that Ed would land even :n the $5,000-a-year class, let alone be making $10,000 before he was thirty. Ed didn't know himself, the abilities he had in him as a money-maker — he couldn't even sell the foreman the idea of recommending him for a five-dollar raise. But one day. a strange occurrence changed the whole course of his life. During his lunch hour Ed started to read a little book he had brought to work with him. "It's a book called 'The Key To Master Salesmanship.' Bill." he told me. "It's the most amazing thing I ever read. I never dreamed there was so much in salesman- ship. You ought to send for a copy yourself. Why don't you? It's free." "Huh!" said Luke Jones. "Does that book tell you how to learn to be a salesman? A fellow has to be 'born' that way to be a good salesman." Ed just smiled at that, but he said nothing. We kidded him about it, but he wouldn't tell us any more; just smiled. About four months later he left us. The foreman grinned when he heard about it. "I'll see you in a week or so, I guess, Ed. You can have your job back when you want it." he promised and Ed thanked him. But after he left Ed never came back and we won- dered what luck he was having. After that. I forgot him until last night. I was going home, when a snappy sedan drove up to the curb next to me. "Hi. Bill, going home?" said the man in the car. I looked up. and there was Ed. dressed like a million dollars, leaning over the wheel. "For Pete's sake!" I said. "What are you doing now- adays. Ed?" He smiled. "City sales manager for the Steel Castings Company," he told me. "What are you doing?" "Still at the shop," I replied. "But what I want to know is, how do you come to be sales manager for Steel Castings? They're one of the biggest firms in the business." Ed smiled again. "Remember that book on salesman- ship that Luke Jones was kidding me about one day? Well, when I finished my salesmanship course, the Association I took it from gave me a choice of twenty- one jobs through their Free Employment Department. I got a wonderful job, and I had a wonderful training, so I've had a pretty successful time of it. They made me City Sales Manager three months ago at ten thousand dollars a year." "Good night!" I said. "And Luke and I are still punching the old time clock!" Ed looked at me seriously. "See here Bill,'' he said. "Are you sport enough to risk two cents that you can do as well as I did? Then spend the two cents to write to the National Salesmen's Training Association to- night and get their free book. Then take their course. When you have your diploma, their Free Employment Department will help you get a good sales job— -every year they have calls for over 50,000 salesmen. Not only will they help you get the job but they give you an ironclad money-back guarantee that you must be satisfied with the training received — or they refund your tuition! "Bill, training is the only thing you need to make yon a wonderful salesman. That stuff that Luke Jones talks about that salesmen are born is 'he biggest bunk I ever heard. They made a salesman out of me; they can make a salesman — and a good one— out of nearly anyone who will study. Every human being is born a salesman. Thousands of the greatest possible kind of salesmen live and die without knowing their own powers. The difference that makes the so-called born salesman successful is the fact that he has learned, through experience or through training, the funda- mental selling secrets that aJways work. It's training in those secrets, which I got from the N. S. T. A„ that made a SlO.OOO-a-year success out of me. You can master them as well as I did. Send for that little book tonight, and when you've got your training come and see me." FREE— To Every Man A book — but what a book! Just seven ounces of paper and printers* ink — but it reveals facts and secrets that have led hundreds of men to success beyond their fondest expectations! See for yourself — FREE— why "The Key To Master Sales- manship" has increased the earning ca- pacities of thousands as a direct result of their reading it! You'll know then how J. H. Huppert of Michigan learned from its pages the secrets that enabled him to make $525 in one week. You can understand how it helped A. A. Fidler of Alabama to raise his pay 700%. You'll know how it made C. B. Sterling of Florida an officer and manager of his Company, raising his pay to ten times what it was. Learn for yourself the REAL TRUTH about salesmanship. 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8 True Detective Mysteries Business Opportunities Professional Services The rate for classified in TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES is S2.00 a line. Cash with order. Closing date the 1st of 2nd preceding month, viz.. May 1st for July issue. Address orders or in- quiries to Classified Manager, TRUE DETEC- TIVE MYSTERIES. 420 Lexington Avenue. New York. N. Y. Business Opportunities Inventors— Write For Our Free Guide Book, "How To Get Your Patent" and Record oi Invention Cer- tificate. Send model or sketch and description of inventions for our Free Opinion whether it comes within provisions of the Patent Office Laws. Rea- sonable Payments. RANDOLPH & CO., 302 Victor Bldg.. Washington, D. C. Agents Wanted If You Want A Wonderful Opportunity To Make $6.00 profit a day steady and get a new Ford Sedan besides, send me your name immediately. No expe- rience necessary. Particulars free, Albert Mills, 5265 Monmouth, Cincinnati, 0. AGENTS — Car Washing Now A Pleasure! Chamois, soap, spray unnecessary, GY-RO WIIIRLO BRUSH dees it all. Live agents wanted. Write for Special Offer. Gyro Brush, Dept. JC-29. Ampere, Are You Old At Forty? See Our Advertisement On page 11 of this issue. The Electro Thermal Com- pany, 4733 Morris Ave.. Steuhenville. Ohio. Big Profit Putting Our Cold Sign Letters On store windows, without experience. Samples. CON- SOLIDATED. 69-BH West Van Buren. Chicago. i Instruction Steamship Positions—Men — Women — Good Pay; Ex- perience unnecessary. List of positions free. Mr. Arculus. Mount Vernon, N. Y. Men — Women, 18 Up. Government Jobs. $105.00 — $280.00 month. Steady work. Common education usually sufficient. Valuable hook with list positions — sample coaching— FREE. Write immediately. Frank- lin Institute, Dept. M32, Rochester, N. Y. Detectives Be A Detective. Experience Unnecessary. Partic- ulars tree, George Wagner, 2190-D Broadway, N. Y. ■ jo r interestinff to- I^No'lbiKuon5- PACE. DAVIS SCHOOL OF ADVERTISING Dept. 130S 3601 Michigan Ave, Chicago, U. S. A. I.B A. DETECTIVE Make Secret Investigations Earn Big Money. Work home or travel. Fascinating work. Experience unnecessary. Particulars FREE. Write Dept. D. AMERICAN DETECTIVE SYSTEM 2190 Broadway New York Name.. Address HowTo Secure A GovernmentPosition Why worry About itrikr*. layoff*, hard time*? Get ft Government )oh! Increased ealftriea, iir work, travel, cood par. I'll help you be. tota* ft Custom House Clerk. Railway Postal Clerk, Port Office Clerk. City Mail Carrier. Sural Carrier — or c«t into any other Govern* \ : job you want, I waa a Secretary Ex- ■mint* of Civil Service Commission for * Team, Have helped thousands. Railisas ftmLd Clerk traminaiton cumin;. Now FREE 3 2- pare hook telU And how 1 can help you «et one. Send t'.ie coupon for your copy TODAY. A. ff. PATTERSON. Civil Service Expert. PATTERSON SCHOOL, 1849 Wlsner BldK., Rochester. N. V. Please send me. without obligation, your Tree book. "How to Secure a Government Position." Kama. New Books and Book News By Edward Dean Sullivan The Technique of the Mystery Story By Carolyn Wells Home Correspondence School 424 pp. $2.50 "T?OR those valiant readers who have •T taken their thrills where they've found them through countless books of adventure and mystery there will be gen- uine interest in this key to the thrilling and mystifying type of literature. Its author, Carolyn Wells, has long been a leader in the fiction field and the bulk of her hundreds of volumes and countless short stories have had to do with battles of wits between the evasive criminal and the persistent detective. Even though the skill of the author's writing takes the reader along without a thought of either writer or plot-construc- tion the fact that cannot be escaped is that these absorbing matters must be set down according to the most precise for- mula if the reader's pleasure is to be as- sured. In her book The Technique of the Mystery Story every detail of the for- mula and assorted subsidiary methods are set forth so clearly that almost an/ reader may essay a story with the knowl- edge that the road to successful narrative lies straight ahead. All enthusiasts over puzzling problems and mystery in all its forms will read this book with avid interest. Half the joy of reading mystery fiction is based upon the process of solution on the part of the reader rather than on the actual fact of solution. Miss Wells' book will double the skill of the mystery book reader in his effort to figure who is who in the particular crime under considera- tion in any tome. Long ago this reviewer heard a notably brilliant Inspector of police say when discussing a crime committed in one of the wealthiest homes of Manhattan, that the master of the home had proved es- pecially courteous and democratic, al- though possessed of a reputation for be- ing particularly austere and aloof. "It proves," said the Inspector, "some- thing that I have always known. That a good scare once in a while makes a man natural. Nothing like a fright to make a man welcome human association, with- out regard to caste." Surely it would seem that in the vast flood of mystery literature now on the American market democracy is adequately protected ! Persons whose life provides few thrills in its routine may spend evenings with books which waft them into the middle of fog-covered swamps, past sliuddery thickets, over bridges which span moan- ing silences and to the threshold of dark houses to which strange adventures have come. It's all fabulous exercise for the goosepimples, and millions of people the world over have succumbed to the lure of these vicarious adventures. The friend of a well known member of the English Parliament recently said re- garding tbe eminent statesman : "Mystery and detective stories are not merely to his taste, they are his vice. Since 1 have been in parliament I have never seen him without a mystery story in his hands, pocket or hat. He reads them in the sa- cred precinct of the House and once started on a tale of murder, robbery or sudden death, nothing can tear him from it. Not even hunger, the call of the be'.l, or the prayers of the party whip. He had to give up his country home because when he journeyed to it he would become so en- grossed in detective stories that he was invariably carried past his station." Carolyn Wells provides a complete and practical guide for detective and mystery story writers as well as an absorbing and enlightening treat for the vast group of mystery story readers. She sets forth with clarity and interest just how to ar- range, plot, invent, develop and narrate ingenious stories. HER treatise lays bare the modern fic- tional world of murder and thieving, of detectives, police and criminals, with examples in plenty of the works of many of the great mystery story writers. Many of these writers have evolved mys- tery narratives that are accepted as lit- erature, and as a matter of fact through- out this book there is a steady contention that the mystery story, as such, deserves a higher place in critical minds than it is usually given. Speaking of the value of the mystery story Brander Mathews says: "There are those who would dismiss it carelessly, as making an appeal not far removed from tbat of the riddle and the conundrum. There are those again who would liken it to the adroit trick of the clever conjurer. But inexpensive as it may seem to those of us who look to lit- erature for enlightenment, the detective tale . . . has merits of its own as dis- tinct and undeniable as those of the his- torical novel or the sea tale. It may please the young rather than the old, but the pleasure it can give is always inno- cent; and the young are always in the majority." Incidentally, in The Technique of the Mystery Story some of the outstanding works of mystery are mentioned. These books typify the results of the methods outlined in Miss Wells' perfectly accom- plished task of literary revelation.

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True Detective Mysteries 9 foster!* SICK at heart the trembling girl shuddered at the words that delivered her to this terrible fate of the East. How could she escape from this Oriental monster into whose hands she had been given — this mysterious man of mighty power whose face none had yet seen? Here is an extraordinary situation. "What was to be the fate of this beautiful girl? Who was this strange emissary whom no one really knew? To know the answer to this and the most exciting tales of Oriental adventure and mystery ever told, read on through the most thrilling, absorbing, entertaining and fascinating pages ever written. Masterpieces of Oriental Mystery 11 Superb Volumes by SAX ROHMER Written with his uncanny knowledge of TTERE you are offered no ordinary mystery stories. In these t~ 1 books the hidden secrets, mysteries and intrigues of the Orient fairly leap from the pages. Before your very eyes spreads a swiftly moving panorama that takes you breathless from the high places of society — from homes of refinement and luxury to sinister underworlds of London and the Far East — from Piccadilly and Broadway to incredible scenes behind idol temples in far off China — to the jungles of Malay, along strange paths to the very seat of Hindu sorcery. 11 Mystery Volumes Packed With Thrills! Be the first in your community to own these, the most wonderful Oriental mystery stories ever published — books that have sold by the hundred thousand at much higher prices — books you will enjoy reading over and over again. Handsomely bound in substantial cloth covers, a proud adornment for your table or shelf. These are the sort of stories that President Wilson, Roosevelt and other great men read to help them relax — to forget their bur-^ dens. To read these absorbing tales of the mysterious East is^^j to cast your worries into oblivion — to increase your efficiency, f Priced for Quick Sale f Printing these volumes by the hundred thousand when paper was cheap makes this low price possible. Only a limited number left. Don't lost a minuttl , Complete Sets Free on Approval f Dept. 91 9-30 £? PREMIUM -YOURS -J5Z*l This famous Gurkha Kukri of solid brass, 6%* long, is an exact replica of thai used by the Hindu soldiers in the World War and so graphically described by Kipling in his stirring story "The Drums of the Fore and Aft." Exquisitely wrought on both sides in an ancient symbolical design. A rare curio to nave and useful as a letter-opener, a paper-weight or a protection on occasion. A limited quantity on hand will be given without added cost as a premium for promptness — buc you must act today! You needn't send a cent, and this amazing set will go to you immediately, all charges prepaid. If it fails to delight you, re- mail the coupon the tws the insidious return hand op DR.P0 DR fV FU MANCHU MANCHU MANCHU swnowttt wixmiMU swrorwb smwsmhi Imikbhbi McKINLAY, a' stone & pr-cT MACKENZIE U4E.16tiiSt.,N.Y. Please send me on ap- proval, all charges prepaid, your special set of Master- pieces of Oriental Mystery, in 11 handsomely bound cloth vol- __r 10 days' free exam- ination I am delighted, Z will send you S 1 promptly and $2 a month FOR ONLY 7 MONTHS; when you receive my first payment you are to send me "ukri without extra cost. Other- set in 10 days at your cost me nothing. McKinlay, Stone & Mackenzie, D New York City, N. Y. OccupJtijn , Age: Over 31} Under 211. I FOR CASH DEDUCT S%tW M ■ M ■ J I I I I I I I I I I I I I I

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10 True Detective Mysteries The Smashing of "Little Egypt's" Gangster King "It never was in my heart to kill anybody. I have been made the victim of a plot and," he turned toward Art Newman, "there is a man who is not to be believed and he has done this to destroy me." Newman sneered openly and received his life sentence without betraying any feeling, as did the imperturbable Ray Hyland. Meanwhile Rado Millich, his last hope gone despite the long arm of the Mon- tenegrin government that reached across the sea in an effort to help him, paced his cell in Marion and voiced his sympathy for Birger, who had picked him up when he was freed from prison on parole, penniless and friendless, and been kind to him in re- turn for his prowess with a gun. Birger 's death on the scaffold had been set for October 15th and that of Millich for October 26th, but an appeal resulted in a stay of execution for Birger so that it was Millich who went to his death first of all. A gallows belonging to Jackson County had been borrowed by Franklin County for the expected hanging of Birger since Frank- lin County in all its history never had had a hanging. Marion County now borrowed the gallows and it was taken by truck from Benton to Marion, the trip being more in the nature of a parade, symbolical of the fact that law and order once more had come to harassed "Little Egypt." UP to his last day Millich had appeared supremely confident that he would not hang although the Supreme Court had re- fused to interfere and Governor Len Small had said he could see no reason for clemency. Millich 's attitude seemed to be that of one who knew a great secret and Sheriff Oren Coleman began to frequent the death cell, first convincing the ignorant alien that his doom was sealed and then inviting him to make a clean breast of anything he knew. The result was startling. Standing on the scaffold with the straps adjusted, Millich began to read a paper which he had brought with him from his cell. In it he accused State's Attorney Arlie O. Boswell of Marion County, who had prose- cuted him, of being an undercover member of the Birger gang! "That man, Arlie O. Boswell, framed me," Millich said, looking at the Prosecutor who stood at the foot of the gallows. "He brought witnesses to my trial who swore falsely against me. I killed Ward Jones, yes, but I did it in self-defense and Boswell knows it. "Boswell framed the killing of Lory Price and his wife. He framed to try and get Sheriff Coleman killed. He framed other killings but nobody is hanged except me, who killed Jones in self-defense." Millich began to go to pieces as he made his charges but he managed to add: "Some day you people will know I told the truth as I stood here on the brink of death." Then he sagged and Phil Hanna, farmer- hangman who had officiated at more than fifty similar scenes, quickly adjusted the black cap and the noose. Millich collapsed then and had to be pushed back on the trap before it could be released. Boswell, tight-lipped and grim, seemed somewhat disconcerted by the attack upon him but refused to discuss it. (Continued from page 66) "Nobody cares what a man like Millich says," he asserted. Somebody did care, however. Sheriff Coleman cared a great deal. He had per- mitted Millich to voice his charges from the scaffold for the express purpose of watching Boswell's reaction, for he was suspicious of his fellow official. The night before Boswell had been per- mitted, upon his request, to see Millich in the death cell. It seemed rather like rub- bing it in on the doomed man and Coleman was curious to learn the prosecutor's motive. "Rado," said Boswell, "I hear you don't like me." "I like you as much as you like me," retorted Millich. "You frame me up. You frame up the murder of Lorry Price. You tried to frame up Sheriff Coleman to get him killed." Boswell departed then without further words and Coleman began to work on Millich in earnest. Hangman Phil Hanna and a newspaper man were present. For an hour the three plied Millich with ques- tions but without much result. Then Hanna, after Millich had shaken hands and said he bore him no ill will, de- parted with the reporter. What Millich may have told the sheriff after that has re- mained Coleman's secret. What might have been regarded as a doomed man's eleventh hour attempt to cause trouble for the prosecutor who had won a death sentence for him did not seem wholly so to Coleman, for there had been other things he had seen and heard about Boswell. THERE had been, for instance, a banker of Marion who had driven past Shady Rest and had reported that he had seen Boswell there in a state of apparent intoxi- Rado Millich, Birger henchman, meet- ing his doom. A few moments before this picture was taken, Millich made a sensational statement in which he accused Arlie O. Boswell, State At- torney of Marion County, of being under cover man for the Birger tribe cation. Boswell had taken notice of that to the extent that he gave out an explanation that he had been at the Birger stronghold with the state's attorney of another county for the purpose of recovering a stolen car and had done so. There had been, too, a direct intimation that Boswell was close to Birger, made from the witness stand by Harry Thomassen when he and three others were being tried for highway robbery, the case that resulted in his being sent to Pontiac. "And what were you doing at Shady Rest?" Boswell had asked him and the young gangster had shot back: "Oh, just loafing around, drinking liquor and fooling with the girls, like you used to do." Boswell laughed it off, but Coleman re- membered it. MORE direct accusation had been made by Mrs. Art Newman when she com- mented on the fact that Boswell, making efforts to get custody of Birger and his com- panions, told a grand jury that the actual killing of the Prices had taken place in Williamson County and obtained the indict- ment of Birger, Newman, Ritter, Wooten, Simmons, Simpson, Blue and two minor gangsters for the Price murders. Mrs. Newman was asked why, in view of the fact she had called on the Prices on the very afternoon before they were "taken for a ride" and accompanied her husband to Birger's home that night, she, too, had not been indicted. The question was asked during a meeting she had with her attorney and Coleman. "That rotten egg, Boswell, hasn't got the nerve to prosecute me," she said. "I know more about him than any of you folks. Say, he was over at Birger's home the day Lorry Price and his wife were kidnapped and killed. We were all sitting around and taking things easy when Boswell spoke right out: " 'Say, Charlie, we've got to knock off that hump-backed guy,' he said to Birger, meaning Price who was so tall he was badly stoop-shouldered. " 'What's the matter with him now?' Birger asked. " 'He knows too blamed much,' Boswell replied. (Mrs. Newman explained that Price's knowledge concerned the Pocahontas bank robbery which later appeared to have been definitely traced to Birger and his men. Price had sent that information to the bank's officials and they had written Bos- well about it.) "Well, you know what happened next day? Price and his wife were taken out and bumped off. "About two weeks later we were all at Birger's when in comes Boswell about two- thirds lit up. " 'Who in hell do you want knocked off now?' Birger asked. " 'There's two of them,' Boswell said. 'It's Sheriff Coleman and that deputy of his, Brady Jenkins.' "Then they framed it up to get Cole- man out to Shady Rest with a search warrant for a stolen car and bump him off out there, but Coleman was too smart and didn't show up. Then Birger got in Dutch for the Adams killing and never got a chance (Continued on page 12)

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True Detective Mysteries 11 Triumph Over Wretched ^ Old Age? Noted Doctors and Sanitariums En- dorse This Type of Treatment for Men Past 40 When Debility — Breakdown — and Lack of Strength, etc., Are Due to Prostate Decline Do You Suffer These Distressing Symptoms After 40? Prostate Trouble— Weakness— Night Rising— Foot Pains IN men past 40 the prostate gland is often the one great factor control- ling health. Some men are 70 years of age and still full of vim and display a marked interest in life. They radiate energy. To other men past 40 or SO, old age is a constant series of nagging torments — little pains, constant aches, weakness, frequent nightly risings, broken sleep. Do you realize that these are often signs of prostate gland failure? Do you realize how much depends on keeping this vital gland active through the years that follow 40? These distress- ing symptoms, as well as much so- called bladder trouble, are not likely to improve as the months go by. Every experience indicates the ten- dency to grow worse. In a few years they may mean almost constant mis- ery. Ultimately the only recourse may be the gravest What Physicians Say of This Amazing New Hygiene A former New York physician says: "Your prostate treatment is a hundred years ahead of medicine, a thousand years ahead of the sur- geon's knife." A prominent West Virginia physician writes: "I have used this method in several cases of prostitis and prostatitis with the most pro- nounced improvement. * * * In fact I have never in forty years of experience used any- thing so grateful to a condition sucii as we have in the above class of cases." Dr. August Miller of New Jersey writes: "Where there is mental and physical exhaus- tion Thermalaid, together with an adjustment, has been 100 per cent to the patient. These cases are extremely hard to handle. 1 now find a speedy and sure method and am glad to pass the information." under an agreement that unless you feel ten years younger in seven days the treatment costs nothing. Noticeable relief often comes almost overnight. Scientists Book FREE This new Therapy is described in an outspoken book, "Why Many Men Are Old at 40." Send for this free book and learn these amazing new facts about old age. They are facts which mark a new era in the treatment of prostate trouble, and they may be of priceless value to you. There is no cost — no obligation. Simply fill out and mail the blank below. W. J. KIRK, President 4733 Morris Ave., Steubenville, Ohio and of gland surgery. New Drugless Gland Stimulation Now an American scientist has per- fected a new drugless Therapy which goes directly to the area of the prostate gland — relieves congestion — increases circulation, tones, stimulates. Tre- mendous advantages over ordinary massage with all its additional benefits. Here is the type of mechanical stimula- tion employed by most doctors, now perfected to a new level of efficiency. It is a treatment which any man can use privately in his own home — en- tirely drugless, painless, and as harm- less as washing your face. Swift Permanent Results Over 100,000 men have already used this new treatment with most remark- able results reported in many cases. So amazingly effective that it is offered If you live West of the Rockies, address The Electro Thermal Co.. 30.? Van Nuys Building, Dept. 47-K. Los Anjjeles. Calif. In Canada, address The Electro Thermal Co.. Desk 47-K. 53 Yonee St.. Toronto, Canada. W. J. KIRK. President, 4733 Morris Ave., Steubenville, Ohio. Please mail at once a FREE copy of the booklet "Why Many Men Are Old at 40." and all details about the new treatment. I am not obligated in any way . Address. City....

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12 True Detective Mysteries $1,000 IN PRIZES FOR BRILLIANT CRIME DETECTION First Prize . . . . . $500.00 Second Prize . . . $300.00 Third Prize . . . . $200.00 TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES will pay the above cash prizes for the best instances of individual detective work on criminal cases during the calendar year of 1930. It is the brilliant work of the in- dividual in which we are interested, and to individuals performing brilliant feats of criminal detection will go the prizes,, even though dozens of other detectives and police officers may have worked upon the same cases. In order that there may be a common basis of judgment, we have created an official form, a copy or copies of which will be sent free on request and which is to be filled out as indicated, by the police officers or detectives concerned or by their properly accredited representa- tives, giving the details of the cases being entered in this contest. This form con- tains all information and instructions necessary to the proper entering of all cases in the contest, and once filled in and returned to us, will require no further cor- respondence. SUBMIT AS MANY CASES AS YOU DESIRE INDIVIDUAL work upon all cases solved during the calendar year of 1930 is eligible for entry in this contest with- out regard as to whether or not the cases concerned have been published in True Detective Mysteries. A case to be solved within the meaning of this contest must have been brought to a point where the necessary indictments have been made pro- viding for its proper prosecution in the criminal courts. In order for you to enter a case it is not necessary that you personally worked upon it, but in each instance where a case is entered by a person other than the de- tective or police official who performed the feat of detection, the written consent of such detective or police official must be furnished. And it is further understood that the awards will be paid only to the individual detectives or police officials who actually performed the feats of detection entered for consideration. You are not restricted to a single case but may submit as many cases as you desire. Already this year you have per- formed or know of the performance of one or more feats of detection worthy of being entered in the contest and during the remainder of the year you may perform or learn of the performance of several others. Therefore, do not delay but enter all available cases at once. As others be- come available from time to time, enter them also. Write for your entry forms today. CONTEST RULES I. This contest deals with detective work on criminal cases only. 2. Only cases submitted upon the regular printed form which we will furnish free upon request will be considered. 3. To be eligible for consideration, feats of detection submitted for considera- tion must have been accomplished in connection with cases solved during the calendar year of 1930 regardless of the dates of the commission of the crimes. 4. A case to be solved within, the mean- ing of this contest must have been brought to a point where the necessary indictments have been made to insure its proper prosecution in the criminal courts. 5. All entries must be received at this office not later than 12 o'clock noon January 31, 1931. 6. There will be three judges in this con- test, all men of high standing in the fields of literature and criminology. Their names will be announced before the close of the contest. 7. The decision of the judges will be final, there being no appeal from their decision. 8. Following the close of the contest the winners' names will be published in the earliest possible issue of True De- tective Mysteries consistent with careful judging. 9. Any person professionally in the busi- ness of crime identification, investiga- tion or detection is eligible to win a prize or prizes in this contest. Entries may be made directly by those who individually performed the feats of detection submitted, or by their prop- erly accredited representatives. 10. Each entry will be judged entirely upon its merits as a brilliant piece of crime detection. To the detective or police officer performing the most brilliant feat of detection will be awarded the $500 first prize, to the contestant performing the second most brilliant feat of crime detection, the second prize of $300, etc. II. In case of ties each tying contestant will receive the full amount of the prize tied for. 12. All contestants must agree to' furnish upon request proper evidence of the truth of the statements made regard- ing the feats of detection entered for consideration in this contest. 13 Once an entry is submitted no further correspondence regarding it will be entered into. 14. Address all requests for contest forms, and all completed contest entries to Prize Award Editor. True Detective Mysteries, 1926 Broadway, New York, N. Y. (Continued from page 10) to finish up the Sheriff Coleman job." The search warrant episode actually had occurred. Coleman had been approached about the matter by Boswell but had smelled a rat because a friend had reported to him that two youths at Shady Rest had stopped him with drawn pistols in the belief he was Coleman and then had insisted upon a description of the sheriff, saying they didn't want to make a mistake. There was no immediate sequel to Mil- lich's accusation. From his cell in Benton Jail, Birger ex- pressed regret that the charges had been made. "Poor old Rado didn't know what he was talking about," Birger said. "He was in the penitentiary when most of the things he used to talk about happened and all he knew was what others told him. The poor fool was all wet on what he said about Arlie Boswell, but I think he believed it himself. "I'm glad he died game. I might have known he would. Anybody who could make the grade with Charlie Birger's mob would die game and tell them where to get off while they were dumping him. Millich killed one of my best friends and I was plenty sore when I heard about it but I can't hold anything against him now." About this time the Shelton brothers, serving their twenty-five-year sentences in Leavenworth Prison, won a new trial and were released. Their liberty was not long- lived, however, for they were quickly rear- rested on a charge of robbing a bank at Kincaid, Illinois, three years previously. "Just another frameup," Carl Shelton said. THE brothers went to trial the following January — and one of the principal wit- nesses against them was Art Newman, their old enemy. The glib little gunman declared that be- fore the Birger-Shelton feud began the brothers had discussed the robbery with him and invited him to take part. The gang which robbed the bank and kidnapped a teller, got $20,000 but dropped the loot during a running gun battle with residents of Kincaid, then tossed their captive out on the pavement as they fled in an automobile. One of the robbers was wounded and Newman swore that it was Earl Shelton. "I met Carl Shelton after the robbery and he told me they were lucky to be alive," Newman swore. "Carl said to me: 'That was a "hot-spot." What little jack we got we dropped and Earl got a bad wound in the leg'." Hobart Summers, another Birger gangster serving a life sentence in Chester, gave similar testimony. The evidence against the brothers was capped off, however, by the testimony of one Rieske, who swore that the brothers came to his home the day after the robbery to obtain aid for one of them who was wounded and whom he identified as Earl Shelton. Half-hearted identification was made by officials of the robbed bank and, although the Sheltons had witnesses to support their alibi that they were in St. Louis on the day of the robbery, they were found guilty and sen- tenced to one to ninety-nine years. Carl Shelton, leaving the courtroom on bond oending an appeal, staged a demon- (Continued on page 14)

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True Detective Mysteries 13 A GOVERNMENT JOB? ■MALL CLERKS RAILWAY POSTAL CLERK $1900 to $2700 A YEAR WANT THESE JOBS? RURAL CARRIERS IGRATION INSPECTOR CITY POSTAL CLERKS CITY MAIL CARRIERS INSPECTOR OF CUSTOMS STEADY POSITIONS These are steady positions. Strikes, poor business conditions, lockouts or politics will not affect them. U. S. Government employees get their pay for full twelve months every year. There is no such thing as "HARD TIMES" in the U. S. Government Service. RAILWAY POSTAL CLERKS Railway Postal Clerks get S1900 the first year, being paid on the first and fifteenth of each month. S79.16 each pay day. Their pay is quickly increased, the maximum being S2700 a year. $112.50 each pay day. They also get additional traveling expenses when away from home. PAID VACATIONS Railway Postal Clerks, like all Government employees, are given a yearly vacation of IS working days (about 18 days). On runs they usually work 3 days and have three days off duty or in the same proportion. During this off duty and vacation, their pay contin- ues just as though they were working. When they grow old, they are retired with a pension. As Railway Postal Clerks are contin- ually traveling they have an excellent chance to see the country. They are furnished with a railroad pass. / FRANKLIN CITY MAIL CARRIERS— POST OFFICE CLERKS Clerks and Carriers get $1700 the first year regularly and automatically increase $100 a year to $2100 and $2300. They also have 15 davs' vacation. City residence is unnecessary. GENERAL CLERKS-FILE CLERKS (Open to men or women IB to 50) Salary $1260 to $2100 a year. Pleasant clerical work in the government departments INSTITUTE / Dept. M-279 / Rochester, N. Y. ,/ Rush to me. entirely and offices at Washington, D. C, and at other larger cities throughout the'eountrv _,frcc. °? char«e ,W a. (u11 WHAT WILL YOU EARN 5 YEARS FROM NOW? £ c^ffc^^f^y of 32-page illustrated book Compare these conditions with your present or your prospective condition, per- ^- "Government haps changing positions frequently, kicking around from post to pillar, no ^° chance in sight for PERMANENT employment : frequently out of a position op and the year's average salary verv low. DO YOU EARN $1900 EVERY C^r-r n YEAR? HAVE YOU ANY ASSURANCE THAT A FEW YEARS ^ □ Po& office Ctek FROM NOW YOU WILL GET $2700 A YEAR, EVERY YEAR? j^n_City Mail Carrier GET FREE LIST OF POSITIONS Fill out the coupon. Tear it off and mail it today — now, at once. DO IT NOW — This investment of two cents for a postage stamp may result in you getting a U. S. Government job. and How to Get Them"; (3) A list of the U. S. Government Jobs now obtainable. $l,900-$2,700) $1,700-J2,300) $1,700-J2,100) □ Rural Mail Carrier (*2,100-$3,308) , D General Clerk— File Clerk($l,2G0-*2,5OO) / D Inspector of Customs (J2,100 up) / D Immigration Inspector . . ($2,100 up) / t Name Address Use This Coupon Before You Misliy ll— Write o, Print Plainl,

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14 True Detective Mysteries stration that later was to carry weight. On the steps of the courthouse stood Rieske, the witness who had testified for the State. "Good evening, Mr. Rieske," said Shelton. Rieske accepted the proffered hand but his face was puzzled. "I guess I've met you somewhere before," he said. "Yes," agreed Carl. "My name is Johnson." "I don't remember you but I'm glad to know you, Mr. Johnson," Rieske said. Whereupon, having plenty of witnesses, Carl Shelton took Rieske by the arm and led him to his lawyer for questioning. Rieske then confessed that he had perjured himself at the instigation of Summers and that he never had seen the Sheltons until they appeared in court. SUMMERS himself later retracted many of the principal points of his testimony and the Supreme Court of Illinois, ordering a new trial, declared that the testimony of Newman and Summers "was to be regarded as subject to grave suspicion." Charlie Birger, out of the spotlight while the Supreme Court considered his case, came back into it now with the decision of that high tribunal upholding the sentence of death. The date of execution was set for April 18th and preparations began by erecting a stockade about the rear of the Benton Jail and setting up within it the same gallows on which Rado Millich had gone to his death. Birger's attorneys were not yet done, however. Almost on the eve of the fateful day they demanded a sanity test which, under Illinois law, cannot be refused. Birger appeared in court cursing and acting irrationally but was found sane and his actions denounced as play-acting. The condemned slayer ceased pretending when he went back to his cell and issued a statement blaming his approaching dis- graceful death upon the law enforcing authorities of Williamson County "who let me run wild and even gave me their aid and support." The statement brought Boswell to see Birger. They held a whispered consultation and Boswell departed for the state capitol at Springfield to plead before the parole board for a reprieve for Birger on the grounds that he was needed as a witness at the forthcoming trials of Newman and three companions on the charge of killing Patrolman Price and his wife. Birger, Boswell said, would testify against them. Birger displayed keen interest in Bos- well's effort. "He'd better do his best for me or I'll put him down in the same kind of a hole where I am going," the slayer said. The parole board rejected Boswell's plea, however, and Birger apparently re- signed himself to the inevitable. "It looks like taps for me," he conceded. TWICE during the days preceding his execution he attempted suicide, once by swallowing poison that had been smuggled in to him and later by hanging himself to the bars of his cell with a blanket torn to strips. The poison failed because Birger swallowed too much and became so violently nauseated all the poison was ejected. The hanging attempt was discovered when he already was unconscious but he was cut down and revived. (Continued from page 12) Later Birger appeared to go stark mad and paced his cell raving incoherently and shouting curses. He became calm, however, as his last hour approached and was smiling when the death march began. He refused opiates to steady him or deaden his nerves and walked unaided and without faltering out of the jail into the stockade. His eyes darted here and there and he nodded to some of the people he knew. He even called a cheery "Hello" to one man. A mirthless smile flashed across his face as he glanced at the undertaker's basket waiting at the foot of the scaffold to receive his body. Without direction he walked steadily up the thirteen steps to the scaffold platform and took his place upon the trap, testing it with a shake of his knees and a stamp of his feet. While the deputy sheriffs went swiftly about the task of buckling about him the straps that would prevent struggling as Art Newman — Birger's chief lieuten- ant— who, to save his own neck, spilled the works on Southern Illinois' reign of terror he shot to death, he still was smiling and called out "Goodbye, kid" to someone whose eye he caught. Phil Hanna, the hangman, who had an- nounced this was to be his last execution, stepped forward with the noose held be- hind his back and Birger turned to him to clasp his outstretched hand as best could be done with his arms strapped down. Then, a moment before the black cap went over his head and Hanna adjusted the noose, Birger said: "It's a beautiful world!" The next moment Sheriff Pritchard's foot released the trap and he was dangling at the end of the rope. With the passing of "The Scourge of 'Little Egypt' " gang rule in Southern Illinois was definitely a thing of the past. Remained, however, the cleaning up of a few odds and ends. Remained, for example the calling of the Price murder charges against Art Newman, Fred Wooten, Riley Simmons and Leslie Simpson. Washington County had stepped aside to let Williamson County have the quartette on the plea of State's Attorney Boswell. Boswell, however, did not push the case to trial. His term of office was ending, his successor had been named and his reluc- tance to try the gangsters was obvious. So the case was continued until after Roy Browning became prosecutor on December 1st, 1928. Two weeks later the four faced a court at Marion on the charge of killing Mrs. Price. Leslie Simpson, brought back on a writ from Leavenworth Prison, at once pleaded guilty and threw himself upon the mercy of the court. Thereupon the other three, led by New- man, began to bargain for their lives. They promised to clear up twenty-seven murders that had occurred during the hey-day of Birger and the Sheltons and to tell the truth about innumerable other crimes. From the witness stand after changing their pleas to guilty the trio car/ied out their promise in part and Newman par- ticularly implicated officials high in William- son County as having aided and abetted and grafted off the gangsters. Arlie O. Boswell, the retired state's attorney, was the principal target of his charges. Boswell indignantly denied the charges and begged for a chance to refute them from the stand but was refused on the grounds that he was not on trial. It was an obvious gamble for life on the part of the gangsters, for Judge Dewit T. Hartwell consistently had sentenced con- fessed murderers to be hanged and he even indicated that he placed little credence in their stories since many details could not be proved owing to the death of numerous in- dividuals they mentioned. However, Judge Hartwell yielded to the plea for leniency advanced by State's At- torney Browning. HIS sentence virtually barred for all time any chance for the accused to go free again. For the murder of Mrs. Price he gave them four life sentences and on each of two charges of conspiracy to murder he gave them fifty-seven years. Moreover, the sentences were to be served separately and on each anniversary of the murder, January 17th, they were to start five days of solitary imprisonment. Under the Illinois laws each must serve a minimum of fifty-eight years before they can apply for paroles. Even yet the gates of Chester Prison were not to clang shut behind Newman perma- nently, for presently he bobbed up in Federal Court at East St. Louis to take the stand and pointedly accuse Arlie Boswell and other Williamson County officials of gang connec- tions. All had previously been indicted, largely as a result of the efforts of Sheriff Oren Coleman, with conspiracy to violate the Volstead Law. Boswell was specifically accused of an alliance with Birger under which the latter exercised a monopoly over the liquor traffic in Williamson County. Newman eagerly told the "inside story" of Boswell's gangster connections. "Why he was really the head of the mob," Newman declared. "He sold out to Birger from the day he entered office. We collected for Boswell from bootleggers in all parts of the county and he used to come out to Shady Rest and get his. We collected from $12 to $300 at a time and I myself have paid (Continued on page 16)

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True Detective Mysteries 15 MONDAY TUESDAY Tou get proof in the first 7 DAYS can be this new man By CHARLES ATLAS "The World's Most Perfectly Developed Man" I'VE helped thousands of men — young and old — underweight and overweight — weaklings and even "strong men" and other physical directors who wanted my kind of Muscle Power. Now I'll show YOU my quick, sure way to build your- self a new body and make "a new man" of yourself. It's easy my way — my secret of Dynamic-Tension does the work.' You get the PROOF in your first seven days. In one week you begin to SEE and FEEL the difference in your bodily condition and physical appearance. Spending just a few minutes a day, doing what I tell you, without tricky apparatus, starving or gorging — using only my NATURAL methods of Dynamic-Tension — you build up or tone down to reach the fighting trim that I am always in myself. And besides getting this new muscle power and the strength and energy of an "Atlas Champion," my Dynamic-Tension method digs down into your system, banishing such ailments as constipation, pimples, skin blotches and the others that do you out of the good things and good times of life. Your new health, pep and vigor show even in your eyes, your hair and the way you carry your- self. If you're timid and bashful, you lose all that— you have a new, more forceful personality — you become a NEW MAN! Gamble a 2c Stamp It's a shame if you are being held back by a below-par body — now that you can so easily and quickly make this new man of yourself. Do what my thousands of other pupils did — send for a free copy of my 48 page book, "Everlasting Health and Strength" by Charles Atlas. You'll get the stories of scores of other fellows and learn how I built myself up from a weak, no-muscle, always-tired "runt" to the power- ful, evenly balanced figure that you see in my photos and that won for me my title "The World's Most Perfectly Developed Man." Where shall I send YOUR FREE COPY? Don't put it off. Tear out my coupon, put it in an envelope and gamble a 2c stamp for the biggest prize that anyone can win — a hand- some, healthy, husky body. I'm waiting to help you. Address CHARLES ATLAS, (Dept. 149-A), 133 East 23rd St., New York City. There's a He- Man's strength and vitality in a back like this. I'll show you how to add the muscles where they're needed and what to do to increase the breadth of your shoulders. These two photos of me show that I don't go in for muscle-bound, lop-sided develop- ment— my secret of Dynamic- Tension gives even. BALANCED development, and muscles and strength where they are needed. CHARLES ATLAS, (Dept. 149-A) 133 East 23rd St., New York City I want the proof that your system of Dynamic-Tension will make a AVw Man of me — give me a healths', husky body and big muscle development. Send me your free book. Everlasting Health and Strength." Name Address -- City and State - — KPleosc print or write plainly)

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16 True Detective Mysteries that protection money over to Boswell a hundred times. "We used to transport liquor at $13 a can, of which we gave Boswell $2. He got from $2 to $3 for each case of liquor. We used stolen cars for transporting the stuff and once Boswell suggested that we leave them on the highways where he or Lory Price could find them and get the reward. Then we could steal more cars and do the same thing over." Then Newman launched into details of what he said was Boswell's criminal side. "One day at Shady Rest, just before the primary election of 1926, Birger came in and said that Oren Coleman was a candidate for sheriff and that Boswell didn't want him nominated. 'You had better go over to Herrin tomorrow and shoot hell out of things,' he said. So we went and did just that and six men were killed." Nevertheless Coleman was nominated and later elected. "When Coleman was sworn in," Newman went on, "Boswell told Birger, Connie Ritter and me that we might be able to fix things up with Coleman, so Ritter and I went and felt him out but there was nothing doing and we so reported to Boswell. He said: 'Well, then you had better lay off him for awhile and I'll see what I can do with him.' "Later, when Coleman had shown that he couldn't be fixed, Boswell said 'The best thing we can do is to get rid of him. We can't do much without his help and he (Continued from page 14) won't give that. I am pretty sure he has the lowdown on this Adams murder over at West City and he'll cause trouble yet'." So Newman said it was decided to lure Coleman into Saline County on the trail of stolen cars, kill him and let it appear the Sheltons had done it. "Coleman refused to be trapped, how- ever," Newman added. WHEN the militia, sent to Herrin during the riots, confiscated some of Birger's liquor and turned it over to Boswell, New- man said, Boswell sent it back to Birger. He also ordered the return of slot machines confiscated in places that were paying for protection, he testified. "Boswell came out to help make the ar- rests at Shady Rest," Newman continued. "He told us to sign bonds and get somebody else to sign them. I named Rado Millich as my bondsman and Boswell accepted him. I told Boswell he knew I was not guilty be- cause he had been at the roadhouse just before the shooting if not during it and he said that was so but he didn't want to ar- rest the men who ran the roadhouse because it might cause trouble." Boswell's reply was to charge that he was paying the price for trying to enforce the law in Williamson County. "The gang that couldn't get me with their guns is out to get me this way," he added. "I have been shot at six times and hit three times. My house was burned. All insurance on my life and property was cancelled and my wife and children had to take refuge with her father." Boswell and his fellow defendants were convicted. He was sentenced to two years in prison. One tiny echo of the reign of terror in Southern Illinois was heard as late as the fall of 1929 when Carl Shelton, accused in a Federal Court of driving a stolen automo- bile in violation of the Dyer Act, escaped because the jury could not agree. Other charges against the brothers, in- cluding those on which they previously were convicted but won new trials, probably never will be pressed. Prisons and the grave have claimed many of the witnesses against them and the higher courts have dis- played little acceptance of the testimony of those who still are living. Charlie Birger paid with his life and society called the score even, but in Chicago a little group of three still is paying for what he did. They are Mrs. Bernice Birger and the gangster's two children by another wife. The fight to save her husband's life left Mrs. Birger penniless. Under an as- sumed name she last was reported working in a canning factory at meager wages to sup- port herself and the children. "All I want to do is forget," the beautiful young widow of twenty said. "Still it is hard to do that. Charlie was ever good and kind to me, for all they said he was a beast and a brute. My memories are not alto- gether unpleasant. But I'd forget even that part — if I only could." Test Your Detective Ability (Continued from page 6) her maid and apparently those of a man. On the letter proper there were no finger- prints other than those of the dead woman. It was noticed that an odor, similar to that of the sachet-bag, permeated the letter and envelope. On the floor was found a .32 caliber cartridge shell that had evidently been ejected from an automatic pistol, and the autopsy showed that the woman had been killed by a .32 caliber steel- jacketed bullet. Among the dead woman's effects was a diary, several years old, indicating that at one time the victim had been a stenogra- pher and that she had corresponded in code with somone, but no clue was found as to the identity of such a person. There was a reference in the diary, how- ever, to receiving a letter in cipher, with this allusion: "As usual, scented with Sachet Nippon." There were also found several "snap- shot" photographs of the dead woman and one of herself and a man, taken evidently at some shore party. The problem is this: Who killed the woman and why? How would you trace the clues fur- nished by the nose-glasscs, sachet-bag, the various finger-prints, the diary, the "snap- shot" pictures and the cartridge shell? How would you explain the absence of finger-prints in the room, with the ex- ceptions already noted and the absence of such finger-prints on the letter? SOLUTION OF LAST MONTH'S PROBLEM THE death of the merchant grew out of the discharge of the woman stenogra- pher. The merchant had made improper overtures to her, which she had resented and this brought about her discharge and her subsequent threat against her employer. The stenographer related her experience to a male friend and the pair went to the merchant's office for an explanation or apology. In the meantime the merchant had re- ceived the letter from his wife and the latter paid her visit to the office before the arrival of the stenographer and her male companion. The torn letter in the waste-paper basket indicated that the mer- chant and his wife had quarreled and dur- ing this quarrel the merchant had torn up the letter and thrown it into the basket, the wife at the same time using her hand- kerchief to wipe away her tears. In her haste to leave the office she left the hand- kerchief on her husband's desk. Shortly afterwards the stenographer and her male companion entered the office. An apology was demanded of the merchant, which he declined to make, and a quarrel ensued. This reached such a pitch that the merchant reached for a revlover in his desk and threatened the visiting couple. The man grasped the merchant by the right wrist and almost simultaneously clutched his throat, and in this position the men struggled about the room. During this scuffle the pistol was discharged when in proximity of the merchant's head and causing the scalp wound. The enraged male companion had been assisted in the struggle by the stenographer and that ac- counted for the finger-prints of the two men and the woman on the revolver. The male companion continued to strangle the merchant, which finally brought about his death. During this struggle the wife's handkerchief was knocked to the floor, and when the merchant fell dead from strangu- lation— his bleeding head fell on the handkerchief and that accounts for the blood-stains. The indentations on the dead man's right wrist and throat were caused by the fingers of the man who choked him to death. The button found on the floor was torn from the slayer's clothing during the struggle, while the blonde hair was from the head of the stenographer which caught in the dead man's coat during the struggle. Arrest and conviction of the guilty couple could be brought about in this" man- ner: The identity of the stenographer was an established fact. The identity of her male companion could be easily ascer- tained, either from herself or friends, and if not in this manner by putting the girl through a "third degree." With these identifications established there would be no trouble matching up the finger-prints on the revolver and the hair of the stenog- rapher. Likewise, the button on the floor would be another connecting link when matched with the clothing of the slayer.

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Why WOMEN Read Detective Stories By Carolyn Wells NOTE: Carolyn Wells, author of more than 150 books, for the past twenty years has been well known to the American public as a writer of popular detective stories. She is actively engaged in writing, and takes a deep interest in her chosen field in which she has made such a signal success. Our readers will be interested in what she has to say as to why this class of literature has a strong appeal to women. — Ed. W" EN I was asked the question, "Why do women read detective stories?" the logical retort seemed to be, "Why not?" Then I realized that was not the answer expected of me, and I set to work to find a better one. The traditional critic of woman's uncertain, coy and hard to please volitions, would put it down to her craving for excitement, to her desire to bask in an artificial atmosphere that would be a distinct relief from the drudgery and drabness of her own daily life. This, the Nineteenth Century writers informed us, was the reason for the vogue of stories of high life, of lords and ladies, and halls of dazzling light. But present day conditions are different. Modern frankness and worldly wisdom leave little room for glamor, and relief from domestic drabness is found less vicariously than on the printed page. Nor is reading to-day a weapon for killing time. More powerful and effective weapons are at hand in the radio, the telephone or the motor car. A possible reason for woman's lately developed interest in detective stories may be discerned in her desire to emulate all masculine pursuits. She wanted to vote, wanted to cut her hair short, wanted to smoke, wanted to ride astride, wanted pajamas, and wanted the same untrammelled frank- ness of speech that man had hitherto monopolized. These things she achieved, and it may be that detective stories fell into line. For woman's interest in the matter is of comparatively recent growth. The lists of detective story fans, continually appearing in newspapers, includes Presidents, Prime Ministers, Kings, Statesmen, Scientific giants and celebrated men of all types, but never does a woman's name appear on those lists. We are not informed that Mrs. Hoover or Queen Mary eagerly buy thrillers at the station news (Continued on page 105) 19

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I KNOW DESMOND By Lieutenant ED. C. KING Special Investigator, District Attorney's Office Los Angeles, California As told to ALBERTA LIVINGSTON (Above) The vivacious and popular moving picture star, Mabel Normand, central figure in the investigation into William Desmond Tay- lor's death, shown here as she appeared in "Raggedy Rose." Miss Norrnand's untimely death some time ago left sincere sorrow in the hearts of thousands. Lieut. King says of her, "I do not hesi- tate to say that all suspicion cast upon her was unjust." (Right) Alvarado Court Apartments where Taylor was murdered (indicated by arrow), located on. South Alvarado Street, Los Angeles, overlooking picturesque West- lake Park. After his death it developed that Miss Nor- mand was the last person to see him alive, with the ex- ception of the person who murdered him from a place of concealment by shooting him in the back. Who that person was, and why "he" should want to kill him, be- came a deep and dark mystery THE "bumping off" of a famous person like William Desmond Taylor is the sort of oyster that any de- tective delights to open, so you can just bet the family jewels that I was pretty much elated when my "Chief," the late Thomas Lee Woolwine, District Attorney of Los Angeles County, called me into his private office on the morning of February 3rd, 1922, and assigned me to represent his office in the investigation of this greatest of all murder mysteries. ... And, almost from the very first hour of my investigations, I have known who committed this murder. Yet, at the ' present time, the evidence is so limited that were the guilty person to come forward and confess the murder, "he" would have to produce corroborative testimony before "his" con- fession could be accepted. "He" would be compelled to substantiate "his" confession by other credible testimony in 20 order to prove "his" guilt and secure "his" own conviction! And that includes even William F. Sands — -the one person who practically every investigator in Los Angeles believes was the slayer. With this knowledge locked in my heart for the past eight years, my position has forced me to carry on a nation-wide investigation, reaching from the Pacific to the Atlantic seaboard, from the race tracks of Agua Caliente, to frozen depths of the Alaskan goldfields, knowing full well 'that each new clue would lead me just where I expected it to lead — nowhere. TOURING these eight years the case has been revived for discussion more times than I can remember. Always there has been a repetition of old stories — a dressing up in new garb of the figures in this murder mystery.

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W W J JL Many times the murderer of Taylor has been reported discov- ered. The report has always created the great- est sensationalism. And, each time the story has proved to be pure fiction. Each time the guilty person has been some un- named ghostly personage, desig- nated by the press by blanks and as- terisks, or referred to only as "that film celebrity," or "this noted actress." At the time William Desmond Taylor met his tragic death, he resided in the ex- clusive Alvarado Court Apartments on South Alvar- ado Street, Los Angeles. rpHIS court is *■ composed of sixteen apart- ments, housed in eight two - story white stucco build- ings, overlooking beautiful West- lake Park. In 1922 the Westlake Pari district was the favorite residen- tial neighborhood for motion picture people, who have since emigrated to the Hollywood and Beverly Hills sections. In the apartment adjoining Taylor's on the west, in the same building, lived Edna Purviance, leading lady for Charlie Chaplin. Directly to the east, the buildings separated by an eight-foot parkway, lived Mr. and Mrs. Douglas McLean. Mr. Mc- Lean has long been considered one of the foremost movie comedians. William Des- 1 \ mm Here William Desmond Taylor is looking down on Mary Miles M inter in fatherly fashion. That they were close friends was known to everyone. Among the director's effects after his death were found a woman's pink silk nightgown and a lace handkerchief, both monogramed "M.M.M.," and also ardent love letters from the moving picture star, signed "Mary," were found in the toe of a riding boot in a closet in his home. In one of these letters, written in code, she states she would be willing to dam the director's socks, and another one ends, "God, I /ewe you so. / love you — / love you — / love you" — just a young girl unashamedly confessing her love, and by no means to her discredit. Miss Mutter's name was brought prominently into the murder investigation. Did she kill Desmond Taylor? Lieutenant King's story win probably convince you that she DID NOT mystery of the motion picture colony. A cultured, dignified gentleman with a charming personality and considerable magnetism, the men with whom he worked were devoted to him, and most of the women fell in love with him. He never blazoned his good deeds from the housetops, but "Bill" Taylor and his charities were household words in the mo- tion picture pro- mond Taylor was But ^tS mOSteT deteCtWC ^Februarvand, Llori* caend ^ KNOWS the IDENTITY of the SLA YER! J^KE,^ Almost everybody has a THEORY on Hollywood's infamous nine-year death riddle. 21

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22 True Detective Mysteries Mr. Eyton went directly to the upper floor, to the bed- room of Taylor, where he collected many letters and personal belongings of Taylor, among which may have been much documentary evidence in this murder mystery. Lieutenant Ziegler did not interfere with Mr. Eyton, knowing him personally and also knowing him to have been a close friend of Mr. Taylors. Eyton carried this collection of letters and other evidence away with him, and later destroyed them. ^M'HEN questioned regarding his motive, he stated that among Taylor's possessions were many love letters from married women, and that he did it merely to protect "Bill," as he-called Taylor, from becoming involved in any scandal, and not with a desire to obstruct any investigation into the matter of Mr. Taylor's death. Before Mr. Eyton lett the apartment, he returned to the body, talking to Lieutenant Ziegler, who repeated the opinion expressed by the unknown doctor. Not satisfied that death was due to natural causes, Eyton turned the body over. It was then discovered that the deceased was lying in a pool of blood. The pool had not spread to such an ex- tent that it was exposed to view as the body lay upon the floor. Lieutenant Ziegler saw at once that it was a case for the Homicide Squad, and telephoned headquarters. The Flying Squad, which at that time consisted of H. H. Cline, Ray Cato, Wiley Murphy, "Billy" Cahill, and Jesse A. Winn, responded. INVESTIGATION disclosed that Taylor had been shot in *■ the back, the bullet ranging from the right side of the spine rather low in the torso, upward through the left breast, where the bullet had lodged in the muscles near the left shoulder. (Above) Thomas Lee Wool wine, now dead; he was District Attorney at the time Desmond Taylor was murdered, and was a friend of Mary Miles Minter and her mother, Charlotte Shelby. {Right) Hollywood, California, center of the moving picture industry, looking east on Hollywood Boulevard ing, Henry Peavey, colored- valet-servant, ar- rived at Taylor's home to prepare, breakfast, as usual. He picked up the milk bottle which stood on the front doorstep, inserted the key in the lock, pushed open the door, but did not enter. Instead, he uttered a piercing shriek that aroused all the neighbors. Someone called the police and Detective Lieutenant Tom Ziegler, from Central Detective Bureau, was detailed to the scene. Lieutenant Ziegler found William Desmond Taylor lying stretched full length on the living room floor, stone dead. He was fully clothed. His head was towards the east wall, feet near the door, legs outstretched. An overturned chair lay nearby. A large crowd of people were milling in and out of the apartment and about the body, which Ziegler did not touch. He requested everyone to leave the house. A doctor, whose name was never learned but who was in the crowd when Lieutenant Ziegler arrived, made a pre- liminary examination of the body without moving it from its original position. He gave as his opinion that death was due to natural causes, possibly heart trouble. A few moments afterward, while Ziegler was awaiting the arrival of the Coroner, Mr. Charles Eyton, prominent member of the Los Angeles Athletic Club, husband of Katherine Williams, movie actress, and a close personal friend of Mr. Taylor during his lifetime, arrived upon the scene. The bullet hole in the coat did not correspond exactly with the one in the vest, which indicated that Taylor had been standing with his arms above his head when shot. The first theory advanced was that Taylor was holding his arms above his head in response to the command of the intruder to "stick 'em up!" A second theory was to the effect that he was reaching for the chair which was found overturned near the body. If reaching for the chair, it would seem that a controversy had taken place and that, in all probability, Taylor knew his attacker. But, if holding up his hands, he was more than likely taken by surprise. My. theory was, and always has been, that when Taylor returned to his apartment, after having escorted Miss Mabel Normand to her automobile, he seated himself at his desk, and his assailant, hiding in the room, stepped out and fired. Taylor died instantly, pitched forward, and in falling upset the chair. Due to the prominence of the victim, the news of the murder

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/ Know Who Killed Desmond Taylor was flashed all over the city, extras appearing ■pon the city streets in an almost unbelievably short space of time. IJOLLYWOOD, ordinarily serene, playful and carefree, was no longer calm. The atmosphere of make-believe that had always seemed to hover over that portion of Los Angeles, where lived and worked so many of those whose careers and fortunes were centered in the world of finer arts, was gone. One of its most dearly loved members had been brutally done to death — not a man with a past — -not one at whom a finger of even the remotest suspicion had ever been cast. Rather, one who represented the very highest in the many types of manhood. The coroner arrived, the body was removed, and the de- tectives, hot after a motive, began a thorough search of Taylor's living quarters. The apartment, which consisted of five rooms, was taste- fully furnished. A baby grand piano occupied one corner of the living room. The small desk stood directly in front (Right) Ed. C King, one of the smartest sleuths on the Pacific Coast, who gave this inside story to True De- tective Mys- teries. He is affectionately known in the profession as "Cannonball Eddie," because of the rapidity with which he jumps about the country on the various impor- tant cases he is constantly at work on (Left) Attractive pose, taken of Mary Miles Minter when she was at the height of her popularity. Investigators found, under the collar of the coat taken from Desmond Taylor's body after his death, three blonde hairs which were compared, by an expert, with combings taken from the dressing room of Mary Miles Minter, and pronounced to be the same. However, this could not involve her in any way in his death. Obviously the murderer's head would not be resting on Desmond Taylor's shoulder when the fatal shot was fired. "He was one of my best friends," cried Miss Minter, shortly after the tragedy. "J cannot conceive of the character of a person who would voluntarily wrong him or cause his death." of the door. There were books in profusion, mostly philo- sophical and sociological. Relics of war and much expensive bric-a-brac occupied prominent places throughout the house. Around the wall of the living room was a solid border of autographed and framed photographs. Among them was one of Mary Pickford, which bore the inscription, "To my nice director, William Desmond Taylor, the most patient man I have ever known — Mary Pickford." TN a prominent place on the piano stood a picture of another Mary. On this photograph was inscribed: "For William Desmond Taylor — artist and gentleman. Mary Miles Minter." On the desk in the living room lay an open check book, a pen nearby. In the drawer of the desk was a half-completed income tax report. In Mr. Taylor's pockets was found $78.00 cash. A two- karat diamond ring and a platinum watch were found on his person. The finding of the articles eliminated the robbery motive almost immediately. The check book and the half-completed income tax report were seized upon as important clues. The bank book showed a balance of only $6,000.00. All other assets that could be found amounted to only about $25,000.00. The income tax blank showed Taylor's income to have been in the neighborhood of $40,000.00 per year. What had he done with all his money? He lived very simply, made no important investments, yet he had drawn large checks of which there was no record. Among the

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24 True Detective Mysteries cancelled checks was found one for $2500.00 made out to cash. This amount had been withdrawn the latter part of January. The pass book showed this same amount de- posited a few hours before his death. 'T'O the minds of the detectives, this could have but one 1 explanation — blackmail. The money had been withdrawn to pay some person — a person who would not accept a check. Taylor, deciding not to be the victim of this plot, returned the money to the bank. The blackmailer called, was met with refusal and ended the argument with a bullet. But who? And why? Soon after the news spread, friends came rushing to the apartment. From all quarters they came. Mary Miles M inter rushed into the house in a tempest of hysterics. Following closely came Mabel Normand — beautiful, impul- sive, unfortunate Miss Nor- mand, who succumbed Sunday, February 23rd, 1930, to tuber- culosis in the Pottenger Sani- tarium, at Monrovia, Cali- fornia. And, almost her last words were, "I hope before I die that they find the slayer of William Desmond Taylor." MISS MINTER, at the pres- ent time, is ill in a sani- tarium near Santa Barbara, California, being treated by Doctor Sansum, a leading dietician. Miss Minter told detectives that Miss Normand and Mr. Taylor were engaged at the time of his death. Miss Normand admitted that she had called on Mr. Taylor a few hours before he was shot, denied the engagement. "There was no affair of the heart between Taylor and myself," soblied Miss Normand. "His feeling for me was that of an older man for a girl who admired him, and who was not afraid to show her admiration. "I was eager to glean a little knowl- edge from the vast storehouse which he possessed. He was a man who knew everything. Besides having the the education and instinct of an artist, he was a deep student of science and of philosophy as well." Future references to Miss Normand are made only that the reader may have full details of the story- While she became the central figure in the sensational investigations, I do not hesitate to say that all suspicion cast upon her was unjust. Miss Minter said that she had not seen Mr. Taylor for some time, nor had she been to his apartment recently. "He was one of my best friends," she cried. "His death is a great shock to me. I cannot conceive of the character of a person who would voluntarily wrong him or cause his death. There is no personal or financial sacrifice that I would not make to bring the slayer to justice." A MONG Taylor's effects were found a woman's pink silk ** nightgown and a lace handkerchief, both with the initials, "M. M. M." In the toe of a riding boot in the closet were found many letters, written in code, signed, "Mary." These letters were ardent love letters and received a great deal of publicity, but knowing the author as I afterward learned to know her, Asa Keyes, Ex-District Attorney of Los Angeles County, who betrayed his trust and is now serving a long term sentence in San Quentin Prison for bribery. Keyes was the second district attorney to at- tempt the solution of the William Des- mond Taylor murder mystery well, I wouldn't say they were so hot — just a young girl unshamedly confessing her love for the man she loved. "What shall I call you, wonderful man?" began one of these letters. "I want to go away with you — up in the hills — anywhere — just so we can be alone. "Wouldn't it be glorious to sit in a big comfy couch by a cozy warm fire with the wind whistling outside, trying to harmonize with the faint strains of music coming from the Victrola? "I would sweep and dust (they make the sweetest dust caps, you know). Oh, yes, and fix the table and help you wash the dishes, and then, in my spare time, darn your socks. 'Td go to my room and put on something scant and flowing; then I would lie on the couch and wait for you. I might fall asleep, for a fire makes me drowsy. Then I would awake and find two strong arms around me and two dear lips pressed to mine in a long, sweet kiss. . . ." Another letter, written in the same code, simply said: "/ love you — Oh, I love you so. God, I lave you so. I love you — / love you — J lave you." These letters, along with the nightgown and handkerchief, were taken to the police station and booked as evidence in the event the murderer should ever be apprehended. Early in the morning, Feb- ruary 3rd, 1922, District At- torney Woolwine called me into his private office where he handed me a letter — an anony- mous letter in a woman's handwriting, evidently written by a lady of refinement. This letter said that if Mr. Woolwine would send a detective to Mabel Normand's apartment, located at Seventh Street and Vermont Avenue, a careful search of the basement would reveal a .38 caliber pearl- handled revolver. This was the gun with which the murder had been committed. Mi TAYLOR had been murdered with a .38 caliber revolver. The bullet taken from the body indicated this very clearly. Mr. Woolwine explained to me that he wanted me to enter the investigation alone, independent of all officers of the Police Department. But this I found impossible. The officers from the Police Department had a day's start on me. My investigations led directly into theirs, so Lieutenant Jesse Winn and myself joined up as a team, and have con- tinued so throughout the entire period of the investigation. (Winn, like myself, after more than twenty years' service on the Police Department, retired therefrom and accepted a position as special investigator in the D. A.'s office.) T WENT to Miss Normand's apartment, accompanied by * Lieutenants Winn, Murphy and Cline, where we made a thorough search of the house, including the basement. From cellar to attic we went, devoting a great length of time to turning over everything where it would be possible to hide a gun. In a dresser drawer in Miss Normand's bedroom we found two .25 caliber revolvers, neither of which could have had any connection with the murder. No other gun was found. Miss Normand had been the last person to see William

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J Know Who Killed Desmond Taylor 25 Desmond Taylor alive, with the exception, of course, of the murderer. She had been with Mr. Taylor in his apartment up to a very few minutes of the time that he was murdered. Her statement, substantiated by the statement of her chauffeur, William Davis, was to the effect that she had spent the afternoon in the shopping district of Los Angeles. Around 6:00 o'clock in the evening she went to the Heilman Bank, at the cor- ner of 6th and Main Streets, where she placed some very valuable Christmas gifts in her safety deposit box. While in the bank she called up her home. In answer to her <iues- 1 page 76) (Right) This shows the striking beauty of Mabel Normand, who held a strong attraction for Wil- liam Desmond Taylor. Miss Normand was eat- ing peanuts and reading the Police Gazette when she called on Taylor a few minutes before his death — • yet that same call was to obtain from Taylor a heavy tome on German philosophy ! It is said that Taylor and Miss Normand were among the very few in Hollywood who did any heavy reading, and this mutual interest in the deeper things of life, doubtless was one source of their interest in each other. (Below) Desmond Taylor, artist, gentleman and man of the world, is seen standing by his car just before starting for his studio in Hollywood where "he was then directing an important picture. He left only about $25,000 at his death, yet his yearly income was estimated at $40,000— -considerably more of an income ten years ago than it is today. He lived very simply, made no important investments — yet he had drawn large checks of which there was no record. Where had the money gone?

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BLACK Here, published for the first time, is the low-down on the most sinister underworld organization of modern times — an infamous band of double-crossers, cheats and murderers who prey as vultures on society! All of the facts are laid bare by a master detective who knows the inside — and who has the courage to spill the works! his face, five of the slugs embedding themselves in his shoul- der, paralyzing his arm temporarily. The shot was fired at close range, with the object of blowing off the back of Ricci's head, as in this particular case the hlackhanders had planned to make the killing certain and did not fallow their usual method of stabbing with the knife. Ricci recovered under the care of a skilled surgeon, and brought the book to the offices of True Detective Mysteries in New York where he laid the whole matter before us and it was decided to translate the Code and Ritual and publish it, together with the story of how it was discovered, Mr. Ricci to do the transla- tion, he being an accomplished linguist. Thus )the story that follows here, which will continue for three months in this magazine, exposing to the public for the first time in the history of crime, the inner workings of the dreaded Camorra. Ricci does not know what fear is. While forced to keep a gun within hand's reach both day and night and knowing full well that the Camorras may succeed in "get- ling" him at any time Note: Detective Ricci, descendant of the Marquis Verrusio of Naples, attended the public schools in Italy and later the Military Academy at Modena, but family financial reverses cut short his mili- tary education and at eighteen years of age he came to the United States, where he took up detective work as a profession. This man has a somewhat unusual view of life. He has a mission , as he sees it, and that mission is to fight the Black Hand. He did good work along this line in the Italian colonies in Cattasaugus County, New York, over a period of years and is now doing the same thing in McKean County, Pa. When Ricci got hold of the "little black book" belonging to Rotunda, blackhander and murderer, at Olean, New York, a few months ago, he made history in detective work for the reason that, as far as is known, this is the first time in the history of this country that the Camorra Code and Ritual has ever fallen into the hands of the police authorities. Perhaps it was a lucky break for Ricci, but if so, it nearly cost him his life in this way: with disregard for the consequences thai might develop, to test the genuineness of the little book to his own satisfaction, he studied the Ritual, learned the secret signs and visited a known blackhander in Western Penitentiary, Pittsburgh, Pa., posing as a member of the society. The ruse worked and he gained valuable information that was being sought by the authorities in connection with McKean County hlackhanders. Through some mysterious channel, however, the Camorra discovered what he had done and a few days later he was badly wounded from behind by a shot-gun in the hands of a Camorra killer, and narrowly escaped death. The heavy charge lore away a part of the left side of 26 (Right) A 44-cali- ber Italian revolver, seized by Detective Ricci when he smashed open a trunk of John Ro- tundo, Olean, (New York) Black Hand murderer. (Above) Two masks and a death -dealing found with the volver

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EXPOSED At Last! time, which they are trying, to do, his chief worry while, he. was in New York was that he was not back in his old haunts in McKcan County, chasing blackhanders. That is what he left here to do, as soon as he could get away, and that is what he is doing as this magazine reaches the news stands, if Fate has been kind to him and allowed him to escape the death he has been marked for. — Ed. MY intention, in writing this story, is not to be- smirch or injure in any way, shape or form, the name, reputation or character of the law-abiding Italian citizen residing either in this great, vast country, or in any other part of the world. It is an established and undeniable fact that the industrious and law- abiding Italian citizen has, with his numerous exploits of material and intellectual enterprise, erected to' himself upon the field of American industry, an indestructible monu- ment of admiration and prestige — -a monu- ment of which he is justly proud, as it sym- bolizes the greatness of the Roman fulgent eagle, and of that empire once known as the cradle of the world's civilization. In contrast to the noble spirit and aspiration of the elevated Italian element, there is, unfortunately, mostly because of lack of education, a certain type of Italian who, with his foul deeds and criminal tendencies, casts a cloak of shame and dishonor upon the name of my very race — the race that has given birth to a number of the greatest and most illustrious geniuses that the world has ever known. It is with wounded feeling and spirit that I point a finger of accusation in the direction of those parasites and delin- quents whom I am striving to segregate from the rest of us, and expose to the public pillory. I am exposing this social plague of ours, a plague that, like the poison of cancer, under- mines all the honest and most praiseworthy efforts of our educated classes, for the noble purpose of warning the younger Italian-American generation of this plague and its dangerous and repulsive effects. The numerous foul deeds of brutality and the vandalism of these organized delinquents are, without doubt, to be pro- foundly regretted and censured, inasmuch as these undesir- ables— social vermin that they are — seem utterly devoid of any moral sense or of the last spark pertaining to life's principles. The criminal activities of these cowards has helped to foster and nourish a certain amount of prejudice toward our race, which to destroy or oppose will take many, many years in spite of strenuous efforts from our side to properly confront the situation. Wishing and praying that this short address to the people of my race may be looked upon in its proper light and spirit, and hoping that my story will eventually lie of some advantage to the younger genera- tion of the Italian- American, I shall un- veil the truth as my personal investiga- tions have disclosed it. BLACK HAND NEMESIS! Detective Ricci, descendant of Neapolitan nobility, who came to this country at an early age, later turning to sleuthing as a life work. Ricci, long marked for death because of his vigorous crusade against the Black Hand, is now in a more precarious position than ever, owing to his daring expose in these pages. The scar which you see on Ricci's cheek is the result of an encounter with the Black Hand. They almost got him! T N these days of incessant struggle of life's routine, among other things, practically every day we read so many differ- ent articles about the crime wave and editorials suggesting methods to short-circuit or stop its onslaught that the average American citizen has By Detective Alberto Verrusio Ricci ("Buffalo" Ritchie) come to look upon crime waves and gang vandalism as an indis- pensable item of our present time. For instance, it is many, many years ago since we first heard so 27

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28 True Detective Mysteries much about the dreadful Black Hand — Camorra and Mafia, which is an agglomeration of foreign delinquents. The nauseating report of its activities has caused an increase of race prejudice, and has cast upon the better class of the Italian element a cloak of dishonor and shame. However, although we have superficially formed an opinion of the Black Hand from its acts of brutality and terrorism, we have never really known the proper conception of it, as to who its members are, how and when it was founded, how its crimes are perpetrated and executed, and the way its ramifications spread from one continent to another with its deadly terror. No history of the modern criminal gangs of America, besides mentioning the ma- chine gun desperadoes of Chicago ; the vicious rod men of New York; the slasher and biack- jacker of the 'Frisco Barbary Coast; the knife and hatchet wielding Chinese tongs infesting this country, may be considered complete if it does not include the tragic, lurid, repulsive and in- tricate history of the Italian Black Hand, otherwise known as the Mafia and Camorra. O PEAKING from a *^ wealth of experi- ence that I gained in the investigation of this fanatical organi- zation and of my abso- lute faith in what we term the hand of Provi- dence, I will always repeat that it is the imponderable that eventually will baffle the murderer and ter- rorist in his career of vandalism. With all his cunning and crafti- ness, with all his sang Jroid and obstinacy, he can never out-guess Fate. That is unde- niably an established fact of his life routine. Everyone knows, especially policemen and detectives, that one gifted with the proper acumen for the task to fight crime, can see lots of things that are invisible to the eyes, and quite entirely possible for one to hear things that are not spoken. Before I advance further with the expose of the Black Hand organization, let me impress, and vividly, upon the minds of the readers that, in doing this, it is not with the purpose of posing as an apostle, as a reformer, or as an eman- cipator of the constituents of my nationality. Oh no, not that, but I do expose this repulsive organization solely to enlighten the people at large and solicit the cooperation of our legislators to curtail the onslaught of the foreign criminal, advocating laws adequate to confront the situation. (Above and below) The trunk and suit-cases of Rotundo, the killer, which, when opened by Detective Ricci, revealed a bottle of arsenic, a quantity of ground glass, four razors, other implements of death — and the closely-guarded Code and Ritual used by the Black Hand! I will be very explicit and impartial in my confutation, cherishing, in the meantime, a hope that my attitude and intention will be understood. Already I feel immune to any future criticism or malicious aspersions that may be cast upon me, by those to whom my vitriolic and justified epithets are purposely directed. No doubt some obdurate or prejudiced skeptic would like to know how in the world I can be so intimate with facts con- cerning the tactics and particulars of how crimes and out- rages are perpetrated by the members of the Black Hand, without my being either a constituent of the organization, or a betrayer of it. This presumption I will clarify at once. Besides knowing inti- mately the different inborn activities, tra- ditions, customs and tendencies of the peo- ple of my race, I hap- pen to have obtained, at the risk of death itself (which specter does not deter me from my pre-established mission), certain se- cret documents, liter- ature and a precious little book which I have turned over to True Detective Mysteries — a ritual of the by-laws and code of the disgusting Black Hand. This precious little book is the only copy obtainable in America and it is the original by-laws ritual to which the fanatical associ- ation of the Black Hand strictly and re- ligiously adheres in all of its ruling. Through this precious ritual I deduced the most ad- vantageous and logical theories pertaining to the foul deeds and Out- rages of the organiza- tion. In short, I know their hand — through and through. AND, to-day, thanks to God, and to an unexpected streak of good luck, I have got to the bottom and to all particulars pertain- ing to this nefarious organization called "Black Hand" by the Calabrian adheren s, "Mafia" by the Sicilians, and "Camorra" by the Neapolitan folk. Although the organization is known under these three different names, they are all one, guided and controlled by the same law, code and regulations of the original "Societa D'Humilta" (Society of Humility). It was while working as an investigator for the District Attorney of Cattasaugus County in the solution of the mur- der of James Capito, an Italian, committed in November of 1928, that in searching the belongings and trunk of one John Rotundo, a suspect, I found the little treasure. Besides the

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Black Hand Exposed at Last! 29 knife with which Capito was killed, in Rotunda's trunk I found a bottle of arsenic, one of ground glass, one of.paris- green, three hand- made masks, dif- ferent vicious weapons, a lot of criminal literature, and at last the lit- - tie ritual written in the Italian language and printed in the City of Seville, Spain. On examining it, not only surprise took hold of me, but a feeling of pride and satisfaction, in realiz- ing that after so many years of wondering and laboring of different police officers in the effort to find out what the dreaded Black Hand really is, I, and un- expectedly, had found its long-sought-for solution. To assure myself, before exposing the facts ' to the public, of the value of the little ritual that I found in John Rotunda's trunk (he is still a fugitive from American justice), I con- fided in a superior of mine a little scheme I intended to chance. My superior, County Detective Jack Allison of Smithport, Penn- sylvania, the brave, effi- cient, daring man that he is, quickly acceded to my proposition. I explained to him my intentions and the results expected from -the plans I had worked out in my mind. ncnaiiflfl (Above) An exclusive actual photo of the Code and Ritual of the Black Hand, confiscated by Ricci. The little black book, containing the by-laws of the no- torious organization of felonious brigands, had been concealed in the glove shown at the top of the page. (Right) Rotundo, the murdering Black Hand leader. This man is a fugitive from jus- tice. " Have you seen him? HHHE next day we went together to the Western Penitentiary of Pennsylvania at Pittsburgh. Arriving there, through the influence of my superior, I was permitted to interview7 two different prisoners, both sentenced for murder. Totally a stranger to them, I visited each one separately, representing myself as a Camorrist, and in good standing with the infamous organization. The first prisoner expressed thanks for my calling upon him, and confided enough secret particulars to me about the association's atrocities that eventually those secrets in my possession have helped me to disband the nefarious organization in McKean County, Pennsylvania. Not satisfied with the interview of the first prisoner, I went over to visit the other one. To him, this time, I repre- sented myself as a Picciotto (which means an understudy of a Camorrist). Again I was assured beyond any possible doubt that the little ritual found in John Rotunda's trunks, and which ritual I have translated verbatim for printing in a later issue of this magazine, is the original and only copy of the organization's by-laws that guides all these fanatics. First of all, upon general principles, let me give the readers of True Detective Mysteries a composite portrait of the Italian criminals affiliated with the repulsive association, namely, the Black Hand, as described by a Chicago Captain of Detectives. "Illiterate, cow- ardly.treachcrous, skulking, whose nature is that of a hyena, and whose courage is that of a coyote, bred in the gut- ters of Southern Europe, and spawned in the slums of Amer- ican cities, this disgusting fiend has made of this country the Mecca of his brutal and repulsive acts of vandalism. His heart is craven, and his favorite method to dispose of a rivar or of an indicated victim is to aim each shot of his pistol or stab of his stiletto always in the back of the head, neven giving to his victim quarter or chance to even see for an instant who the assassin may be. In a real man-to-maor fight, this scoundrel will not display any more courage he bravery than an undeveloped sewer rat. At present the principal occupation of the rogue is bootlegging." DKFORE prohibition he was just a cheap thug, not so dangerous, precariously living by any vice he found at hand, either from the blood money earned by prostitutes in cheap dives, or robbing drunks, peddling dope and com- mitting a number of petty thefts. The liquor racket has brought to this scoundrel affluence and the alization of his

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30 True Detective Mysteries dreams, luxury and possibility to acquire a high-priced car, considered to-day as an essential and valuable asset, a price- less weapon to better perpetrate the commission of a crime. The affluence and prosperity gained through the liquor racketing has made this gangster more confident, more successful in his career of misdeeds, nevertheless remaining at all times to the end the same low species of social vermin that he is. On top of the prohibition oprmrtnnity that the gangster has grasped with its full reward, the (•(irruption of the iM^MBBMBMMBBMBM crooked politicians and officers of the law, makes this foreign criminal have little or no fear at all of American Justice, except the fear of vengeance from an- other gangster, or a break with his own mob. The famous medieval history of the De Medicis and of the Borgia families, who lived and died by the dagger and the cup of poison, makes breath-taking literature; but a rage of disgust and contempt overcomes the average law-abiding citizen when he reads or hears of the tactics and acts of van- dalism of the 20th century criminal who gets rid of his rivals by buckwashing them even in the principal streets of our cities with automatic pistols and sawed-off shot guns. A LTHOUGH these ruffians live and die **• by the gun, they are always fanat- ically striving for a big reputation in their circles and ramifications, because, really, among themselves, they are rated mostly by the I TRE CAVA LI ERl Dl SPAGNA Origine della Societa' Umilta' (sUyltflia, Spoaria — longing for an opportunity to better their financial and social standing, but instead of thanks and gratitude for the hospitality given to them, no sooner do they get a little accustomed to our ways and liberty of actions, than they begin to spread the terror of the land they come from. Knowing the peculiar characteristics and traditional tendency of the undesirable element of my race thoroughly which is noted above all other foreign races for its stealth and cunning, I have come to the final conclusion that all the cowardly criminals emigrating from the cesspools of Southern Italy can be very well divided and distinguished into two dif- ferent classes. In the first group of these undesirable delinquents, we find the plain dope-tool, "catspaw," the greenhorn of our shores, who, implicitly trusting to the cunning and ability of the mob leaders and master mind, kills and slashes upon sole request, rejoicing at the prospect to be recognized in the circles and ramifications of the organization, as a valuable asset, worthy of promotion. This Italian emigrant, affiliated with the disgusting Black Hand, commits a crime solely to adhere strictly to the by-laws of the organization, or for fear of his own mob's enmity in case of a refusal. This newcomer to America is given to understand that the American law is merely a blind mockery that it can be deviated from its course, with the glitter of gold or with the flash of a gun. 1 Tre Cavalieri di Spaj-na altre e che appartiene a me, come Cape della tlrata. Uuardate bene che non le ve- Jrete piii," e cio' dicendo le copre col faz- -angue iparso della Societa. Cio' tacendo speed, accuracy, and frequency with which they shoot, and by the degree of as- tu ten ess and cunning with which they cover their trail and escape the clutches of the Law. However, there are many possible ways to short-circuit the ventures of these cunning for- eigners who, true to form of their characteristics , at times resort to the unexpect- ed, apparently playing into the hands of the Law when really they are throwing ofT the law from its right track, inso- much that the proper method to curtail their activities has not yet been put into effect in this country. Practically all this bloodshed was caused and is still being caused mostly by people who came to this hospitable country to escape from European poverty and duress, coming here under the pretence to be industrious, law-abiding emigrants, Orpine dellu Societa Umilta 5ravi?" E alia nsposta negativa, il Capo c "Per cosa mate?" loro diranno! "Per more per sanguc e per discacciare gl'in zoletlo di Seta roaso che rappresenta ilBfami c cosi' si fara la tirata che natural- relt dopo vinta dal camorrista in voce. i Above) Actual photographs of three pages of the Code and Ritual, the upper page being the first of the book. The entire contents of the book, which is printed in Italian, has been translated by Mr. Ricci and set down, word for word, in this smash- ing story. (Top) X's mark spots where two Black Hand murders were committed in Olean, New York, the lower mark indicating where Rotundo slaughtered his god-son, James Capito TN the second A group, we find the fiendish kil- ler and slasher who executes the perpetration of a murder or foul deed in con- sideration of a price, for money only, executing the brutal act of killing as if it were just a part of his everyday labor. This re- pulsive and dis- gusting rogue of my race is the most dangerous type with which American Jus- tice has to cope. Possessing (and most of the time affecting) an out- ward appearance of meekness and candor, this type of ruffian has in many instances been able to de- ceive the scru- tiny and investigation of the officers of the law. This hardened criminal is very difficult to catch, simply because he covers up in a measure, by being engaged in legitimate labor. He mixes his relations with the Black Hand with open and, at times, above-board activities, and U Capo di Societa' invita tutti i camorri- X taiorevole del camorrista riceve il colpo mi, ad eccexione del Contabile. di gettarse.pdiT ■ avergti succhiato il sangue dslla te- la ... tocco per vedere chideve essere l'av- versario e dopo che si sa chi e, allora tan- to il camornata che deve andare sotto lu tirata, quantoil auoavversario, si dovran- no chtamare un camorrista per uno favo- revole per as^isterli nella tirata. che comr .opr* abbiamo detto. sara diretta dal (.a po Ji Societa. Quando tutti e cinque hanno > arma- ture in mano prima di incrociarle il Capo di Societa' invita il camorrista e il sue avversario che sono uno di fronte all'latro •Ii voltarsi con la faccia indictro e di get- tarscla al tocco per vedrrechi esce per ti- rade primo il colpo, e dopo che cio'faran- no r saranno dal Contaiolocontate le dite se-r.pre con numero sparo che vanno sr ne r re a toccare ii camorrista in voce, al- lora i ta volute di ruovo con la faccia in avan.i ed incrociandc tutte e cinque le ar-.-.c r Capo di Sotieta' gli domar.deri ai due deila tirata: "Avetc avuto mat maJ- CUGre tra di voi. nemicirie o altre cose riu i- J averl" mgoiato gli legheri con un Eauoletto i' btaccio ferito. Subito dopo ai former*' Societa ed al camorrista con la tir«! • vinta si passeranno le votazloni per :e ftnalixzato camorrista regolare. Del o come si passatale votazione ne ab- h .. parlato sopra. N. — Se il camorrista finalizzato sara intertogato ae la tirata i'ha vinto al primo olra lui dovra rispendere di no, e cio' alio scopo di non dimostrare essere trop- [ j vanagtorioso, anche che erletivamente I'aveaM vinta in primo colpo. Dovra in- ece dire che essendo colpi di fortuna che ai.no e vengono, fortunalmente l'ha vin- B y secondo o terzo colpo che sia, aven- i< camorrista che va sotto la tirata tempo per tre colpi, e se per sfbrtuna in qucbto tempo non fe:ira I'avversaxio del- la tirata. questa sara' perduta tempora- neamente e non prima di ! easere di l fova. — . 39

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Black Hand Exposed at Last! 31 for this reason, he is never suspected much, until he is caught red-handed in the commission of a crime. This brute always bides his time in the execution of his foul deed, waiting, in some instances for months and months to perpetrate it. He distracts suspicion and circumvents the pursuit of the law with all kinds of studied calculation, skidding safely over the law's technicalities, having gained this knowledge through his previous experiences with American Justice. Regardless of the Johnson Bill that has restricted emigration to a considerable extent, neverthe- less, the said bill has not stopped the influx of the Italian criminals to our shores. A lot of these criminals have come into the United States by buying a pass- port and the right to impersonate the legitimate and original owner of said passport, many others coming into America as stowa- ways, and at times they enter as legitimate marine workers, purchasing the credentials of someone else that really has been an employe on a ship which has crossed the Atlantic; but the largest number are smuggled in through Canada. In fact, I know of cases where some of the criminals who have smuggled then- way into the United States, today, are in possession of naturalization papers- In other instances, I know where some of these undesirable delinquents have fought their way into the United States as fugitives from Italian justice; and in some cases where a jail sentence has been im- posed upon them in default for crimes. Primo Dovert dUmilta IS proibito «cierami ntr dciii Mazgiorc conic pure i persona di fantigiia (padre, ma- rine, ltaello.sorelU,mogtteccc. ' Pirimcnti e p oibittmroosvela- rc die si posaicde qnesto li- bretto cae s; vcrri a saprre. colui che lo ha svclato vcira' punito dal Tribunal* dUmiitaX alia pen* di esscre sballato privo di gratia e chi chicdera' grazim per lui soflnra' la stcsta pena. the organization when a meeting is to be held. The leader always sends out two of the members to personally notify the other members. These criminals prefer to live in a small city or village rather than in a large city. The reason for this preference is that in a small community they do not have to compete with as much opposition from other gang activities as they would have to confront in a large city. Their chosen ground is in the locality of coal mines and large manufacturing concerns, having in these places a much better chance to extract from fifty cents to two dollars a week from a good number of the laborers who may be employed in the mines or industrial centers. The members of the Black Hand are known to be cowards. Nevertheless, they possess a certain amount of cunning, and use suave insinuating methods of approaching peo- ple. Their system of extorting money is by an ingratiating manner — never using rough tactics for fear of risking I T:c Cavaificri "•psgna BEFORE pro- hibition, the mobs affiliated with this nefa- rious organiza- tion used to hold their meetings in the back room of some saloon, which at that time was con- sidered as as- sembly room for meetings, but since prohibition went into effect, the reunions of these repulsive delinquents are never held twice in the same place, but each meeting is held in a different locality. As long as the weather permits they hold most of their meetings in the open, somewhere in the outskirts of the city most convenient to the Black Hand members. The purpose of this moving around all the time is to divert suspicion from their activities and to forestall being caught or trapped by the officials of the law. No written notices are ever sent out to the members of sicro td tnviolabile. ch; lasciarono i no- stri vecchi antenali provenicnti dalla Spa- gua per ccrcare il centesimo. il milleaimo e per diKacciare gli infami I iMmri. I'onorealla Hxicta . ftrola d'Omena. formo qucsto corpo di Societa" A questo lulti i compagni uspondeno: "Grasie e favorc." AUora i] Ca^o di Societa rr.etlc iri hello ai Compagni tulte !c novita suc- cess; durante la aattiaaaiaa. Si farann.. etitraic in Societa. sc ci aono. cciupagni che si sono tatto teatirt, c s: diacute tutto 'io- vbe appartiene alia boctcta, e tunc fimlo, U Capo di Societa. Rvolgcndost ai c fipaeni. dice "Belli i ompaKr.i xvete altro da dire?" "Nossignore" Alia quale risposta il t apo di Societa dice: "AI no- ma della Societa'. par la d'Omena', sfor mo Societa". Tutti i compagi:. nspondor.i. "Graaie e tavore." b;«cgna notare che quando e l'ora die h. i cve nur.ire la t-ocirta'. il Camorriata di Giornata riurcra' tulte 1c armature che si i**»a»oro trovt-re addosso at camorriati. i q-iM hannc il sacro santo dovere di com egnarglielc jiei csaera conacrvati hi apposito locale. Quindi. mcrociando le ' *acc:a c formattd. 1111 ctrco!o, stand o il ■ -J.1- seanpr- dalla ;-arte dove eace il Bole, il -cmito d'tii : • ir.pagno deve toccata IS — I ):t8i"nc «iel:» fecirtit Utr.iltS quale ;u;l dell'altro compagnu. Eformando la Societa' il Camorriata di Giornata, per ri.lt are confusieni, pigltando l'ar mature :.sno mano che gli vrngono. dira': "A hi appartienequesta?" fc il le^itjfoo pro- netario ai prende la sua. Rifald- [^K *. !c mancanxe terribilt ..elle ' si puo' re:.dere colpevole un t •a. ci sta il Kiialdo. Un cumpagno in nessunissima cir.o- *:anxa, e per neesun motivo, ha il diritto 'J nasconderc quanta camorra ta. odi ap- 'opriarsi di un soro soldo. 11 tutto deve •nsegnarlo alia Societa'. I rovandoxi colpevole di rifaldo, la So- cta' lo punisce a pagare per ogni soldo 'ira, c troVandoai rrcidivo, puo' ca- levato col viocolo delle coltellate. Kome si dtvono amare i Com pa Riu 1 CaMORRISTI devono amanU tcarn- bie volme.v.e piu di frateUi. Ne ectasia -• invidia deve fra di loro esistere. U n- ; etto deve esscre portalo t-nte. — 1» - IF YOU READ THIS YOU ARE DOOMED TO DIE! The upper of these three pages of the Code and Ritual plainly states that any of the book win be the death. And that means anyone who is not a member of the (Top) The old, abandoned brick yard at Olean, near where two Black Hand perpetrated their liberty. T^HE person approached for money, who * has courage to refuse, will eventually pay dear for not having satisfied the demand with a razor slash upon his cheek ; a knife, or a bullet in the back of his head. This will be the last price demanded from him. And so it goes ad infinitum. The more intelligent constituent of the cnmin3.1 org<in~ ization special- izes with his ac- tivity upon a larger field which brings better fi- nancial returns; with less danger for his very life, or to be sent to jail. This mem- ber of the or- ganization, a lit- tle more ad- vanced in the American ways and modes of living, isengaged in smuggling in aliens, counter- feiting, or in the lottery game. At times we see some of these fellows appar- ently in legiti- mate business. This is for the purpose of dis- tracting suspi - cion from their criminal activity. m m Hand! We never really know these apparent business men for what they are until they are caught red-handed at some of their reprobate work. When the Camorrist of the Day approaches a promising recruit, he will persuade the youth by speaking to him in this manner: "Now, I realize you (Continued on page 85J

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HOT DIAMONDS!- By Detective-Sergeant Robert L. Rauer San Francisco Police Department As told to Harvey O'Keefe GEORGE OWENS, young, dapper, confident, paused on the threshold of a Kansas City jewelry firm while he cast questioning eyes up and down the street. Salesman and partner of a very famous New York jewelry house, Owens in February, 1929, was engaged in a transcontinental sales tour. Owens was habitually suspicious, habitually on guard — premonition — as it might have, perhaps, with a more psychic person. Young Owens, satisfying himself that he had not been followed to the jewelry store, that no one in sight appeared interested in his actions, stepped through the doors to display his wares for the store's buyers. But Owens' sense of security failed him that time anyway. And his blood might well have congealed had he observed the sinister light in the two pairs of calculating eyes that followed his progress into the store. Just what has happened here? The picture shows the principals in this amazing story of two clever crooks who played for four hundred thousand — and won, and lost! One of them was so crooked he could not play fair, even with his own pal, after he had made the "killing" of a life-time. Thousands crowded the Ferry Building to glimpse these notorious gangsters on their arrival in San Francisco, as shown above, from Kansas, under guaid of detectives. Left to right: Theodore J. Roche, President of the Police Commission; William J. Quinn, Chief of Police; Mike Marino; Sergeant McLoughlin; John Schopen and Detective -Sergeant Meyer for he carried several hundred thousand dollars worth of diamonds as stock to sell to the trade. (And that explains why I am not using the man's true name, for he still makes these tours, and still carries a fortune in diamonds. It would be criminal folly to reveal his identity.) Owens carried insurance on his diamonds; in case they were stolen, he would be re-imbursed for their loss. But he could not insure his own safety — except in terms of money— and if he were injured or bumped off in a mix-up with crooks, that insurance would offer poor consolation. To insure his own safety, then, he made a practice of watching for shadowers at hotels, railroad stations, and jewelry stores — in fact at every turn and stop. So his Kansas City watchfulness sprang from habit, and not from 32 John Schopen, crook and gangster, lived in Kansas City. Early the same morning that we find Owens calling on the jewelry trade, we find Schopen, driving his wife to the busi- ness section on a shopping tour. And he waited in his parked car in front of a department store while his wife attended her errands within. Mike Marino, another local gangster, passing on the opposite side of the street, saw his friend Schopen and im- mediately joined him. In short, guarded jerks, he sprang his news. He was "on the make." He had a live one in tow — a jewelry salesman. He hadn't seen the stuff but had a tip that it was worth while. He needed help. Would Schopen join him on the job?

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The Great San Francisco Stick- Up As a poisonous snake crawls upon its prey, so did these two cold- blooded crooks fasten themselves on the trail of George Owens and his precious diamonds. Like sin- ister shadows of death they followed him half way across the continent— then came the moment for their < Schopen would. He, too, could use a little cash. And genuine jewelry converts itself quickly into dollars with the help of a reliable fence. They knew such a fence. So it happened that when Owens entered the jewelry store, Marino and Schopen were not far away. A few minutes later they strolled up to the store and paused in front of a window display. Standing innocently before the window, they looked over the display into the interior of the store, as countless men and women do every day. But the eyes of these men were trained to see everything in front and around them at the |suov vtMDav or DEFt-sroat- LOBBV rBOM SUJCVALK.TD DOOR Or BUTLBIHG PROPER. spot or m STICK UP---* if fflsngy vihdov or pepl same time they pretended a normal interest in the goods before them. And there, not ten feet away, sat George Owens, display- ing packet after packet of sparkling diamonds whose genuine- ness even at that distance spoke for itself. " ," gasped Marino. "What rocks!" "Several hundred grand!" hazarded Schopen. After this introductory scene began the most carefully executed stunt of trailing ever pulled, hour by hour, day by day, from city to city. (Above) The Jewelers Building at 150 Post Street, San Fran- cisco, where the big stick-up was pulled so smoothly that a mail-man who actually saw it, did not know what was occurring. Note the mail-box in front of the entrance, and the machine parked before the mail-box, partly hiding the latter from view. It was in just such a position that the bandits parked their getaway Packard on the morning of the rtkk-uo, one robber remaining at the wheel, with the motor going. (Left) Diagram showing the layout of the entrance and lobby of the Jewelers Building where Owens was robbed in the fraction of a minute of nearly a half million dollars in diamonds — and a clean get- away made! Marino and -Schopen, crafty, experienced crooks, had absorbed certain lessons from bitter underworld experiences. One was patience, playing a waiting game; another was looking before they leaped, scheming their getaway and insuring safety before the big play. They agreed on preliminary action. They must collect information — keep their chosen victim in sight, learn his habits, his identity, his plans. Then -they could prepare to spring the trap. They trailed Owens about Kansas City that day on his rounds as salesman. From store to store, from cab to cab, 33

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34 True Detective Mysteries^ time they dogged his steps, rarely in sight, yet relent- lessly watching. Late in the day the trail led to Owens' hotef, where for the first time they 1 e ar ned his name. Assured their victim was hot checking out that night, the pair left the hotel to hatch their plot. Both Marino and Schopen were big crooks. They kept a cash re- serve for emergencies, and this was an emergency. So they dug out a roll of bills to finance a possible prolonged campaign, and packed up ready for instant departure. npHAT much was automatic. *■ The rest required head-work. It became evident that a third- man would insure greater suc- cess, a more assured success, to their play when the time came. Two men would be needed for the stick-up; that would be their part. And they would need a look-out and driver for their car for a fast getaway. Then, too, a third man was justified by the huge quantity of pros- pective loot. Considering possible ac- complices, they agreed that Jack Reynolds, of Hot Springs, Arkansas, met all requirements. But they wouldn't send him a call yet. They'd wait until they learned Owens* next hop. In the meantime, they must watch the , hotel closely, to be on hand when that hop came. They put every- thing in readiness for the hop. It came suddenly. Next morn- ing George Owens appeared at the hotel desk to check out, with a bell-hop at his side carry- ing a Gladstone bag. But Schopen and Marino were also ready. And the cab that took Owens to the station was followed by a cab bearing his shadows. Schopen managed to get be- hind Owens when the latter bought his ticket, and so learned that Denver came next. Schopen bought two tickets to Denver, then rejoined Marino quickly with the news. They imme- diately dispatched a telegram in code to Jack Reynolds, ad- vising him to meet them in Denver with all speed. (Top) Entrance to the St. Francis Hotel, one of San Francisco's most exclusive hostelries. As Owens came out the door here each morning, he was watched by sinister eyes from across the way — Schopen, the crafty crook, was the man who watched — and then he was trailed, his every movement carefully observed until the right time to strike should arrive. Schopen is shown in the upper circle, Marino in the lower. The latter tried to beat his accomplice out of eighteen large diamonds in the division of the spoils, and as it turned out it was the detectives and not Schopen who discovered this. Members of Marino's gang in Kansas City, fearing he would squeal after his capture, planned to kill him, the police were advised, but the killing never took place In Denver they continued their hour-by- hour trailing. But right at the start something slipped, and Owens momen- tarily dropped from sight. They returned to his hotel to await his arrival — they had followed him to the hotel from the train. But though Owens turned up that night, they had lost a good chance to study his movements. That same day Jack Reynolds joined them and the trio got their heads together over plans for the stick-up. But Denver was not to be the setting, for Owens checked out next day for Salt Lake City. And the same train that bore Owens on his sales tour also carried these-tfiree scheming gangsters. At Salt Lake City the luck was no better. Owens worked be- tween trains, and though the gang kept his every move cov- ered they had no time for setting the stage. And so when Owens found himself aboard train again, bound for Los Angeles, he had his three interested but unsus- pected traveling companions. the long ride the mob be- came impatient with the dearth of information they had collected. They watched with covetous eyes the Gladstone bag Owens carried, convinced, though not positive, that the diamonds were not there. But to make sure Reynolds took advantage of Owens when shaving one morn- ing to go through the bag. No diamonds there! With this confirmation they tried to close in a bit to learn Owens' plans. Reynolds, the smoothest talker and best groomed of the three, was picked to get acquainted with Owens and learn what he could. So Reynolds made it a point to sit beside his victim in the smoking car and try' to get chummy with- out arousing suspicions. Reynolds was charming. He talked of this and that. He agreed with everything young Owens said, and, in plain words, was a perfect pest. To get rid of his unwelcome companion, Owens finally loaned him a book he had brought for his own entertain ment — (Continued on page 68)

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S' OMETHING terri- ble has happened over at Hotel Hol- lis!" These were the words tha t greeted me when I reported for duty on the morning of May 31st, 1925, at Divi- sion 4 Station House on Lagrange Street. The speaker was a youth I recognized as one of the bellboys at Hotel Hollis, located nearby on Tremont Street and patronized by theatrical people. His face was ghastly, and he was trembling like a pop- lar leaf in the breeze. "What is it?" I ques- tioned. "It — it looks like mur- der!" gasped the bellboy. I called a patrolman to accompany me and took the frightened youth back to the hotel. At the en- trance we encountered the room clerk, and the manager, James Reagan. They, too, appeared white and shaken. After what I saw a few minutes later I felt a little pale myself. In my years of police work I have seen and in- THE CRIME IN many strange and horrible crimes, but the "Hotel Hollis Mystery," as this case became known in the trying days that fol- lowed, stands out in my memory as one of the most brutal and difficult of my A few quick questions, and I had learned enough to order the officer with me to hold everyone in the hotel. Then I went up to Room 406. Clustered in the hallway around the door was a group of frightened employes and guests. I stepped into the bedroom. Face-down on the bed was the body of a woman. Her arms were drawn be- hind her back and bound together with strips torn from the bed sheets. The disarranged bedding sug- gested a fearful struggle. Above her rent and dis- heveled night-dress I saw on her neck dark discolora- tions and scratches. Blood from her mouth stained the pillow, into which her face was deeply pressed. I touched the body. It was cold. I knew then she had been dead several hours. Obviously, she had been murdered. My job ROOM 406 Rear view of the Hotel Hollis, Boston, showing window of Room 406 (indicated by arrow) where Mrs. Price, wardrobe mistress of the theatrical show, "The Brown Derby," was mysteriously mur- dered on the night of May 30th, 1925 "Look for a person with extra large hands," said the Medical Examiner to the detectives By Sergeant Thomas F. Harvey Boston Police Department As told to Fred H. Thompson formerly of the Boston POST was to find the murderer, but first there were cer- tain routine things to be done. Nothing could be disturbed until the medical examiner had made his inspection. I telephoned a brief re- port to the station house and arranged for Inspector James A. Dennessy, head of the homicide squad at police headquarters, to be notified. I then telephoned the district medical ex- aminer, Doctor Timothy Leary. Other officers were hastily sent over from the station house and I placed them and ordered every- one in the hotel held. While awaiting the med- ical examiner and Inspec- tor Dennessy, who soon arrived with a police sten- ographer, I learned these facts: The dead woman was Mrs. Mae Price, wardrobe mistress of the "Brown Derby" theatrical com- pany, which had closed its run at a Boston theater the previous evening — it was now Sunday morning. She had retired to her room alone around mid-night, or shortly thereafter, plan- ning to go to New York with other members of the troupe on the noon train Sunday. When she did not respond to repeated telephone calls to her room that morning, a bellboy had been sent up to awaken her. He found the door ajar and looked in. What he saw sent him racing back to the hotel desk with the alarm, and then over to the police station to get me. r*OOL, skilful, experi- ^ enced, Doctor Leary began his expert examina- tion. His keen eyes seemed to take in everything at a glance. "She certainly put up a good fight," he told us. When he turned the body over, the face and chest showed that the woman had received a fear- ful beating. Some of the ribs were fractured. Wide bruises on the throat and the protruding tongue told that the unfortunate woman had been strangled. After a thorough exam- ination of the marks on the throat, the medical ex- aminer said: "Look for a person with extra large 35

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36 True Detective Mysteries hands." That was the first real clue we had found. Then he made what seemed to be an important discovery. Under the dead woman's well-manicured fingernails was what appeared to be bits of human skin and dried blood. Laboratory examination later confirmed this. We now believed we had two clues of the greatest im- portance. The face or hands of the murderer, probably both, would be marked by fresh scratches. And the murderer had unusually large hands. Mrs. Price's clothing, toilet articles and other belongings were placed about the room in a natural manner, evidently as she herself had left them. On the floor, near the bureau, was a small envelope, the sort used as a pay envelope, one end torn off and dropped nearby. The envelope was empty. In a box we found a similar envelope containing a five dollar bill and some change. The only signs of a struggle were confined to the bed, and we agreed that the murderer had surprised the victim while she was asleep, or there was another possibil- ity. HTHE bellboy •■•who r e - ported the crime that morning about 9:30 claimed that he had found the door of the room ajar. Was the murderer some- one Mrs. Price knew and trusted; someone that might be permitted to en- ter her room after she had re- tired for the night? Was the motive jealousy or revenge, or was it robbery? Or was there something be- hind this sordid crime we had not yet guessed? Under the bed I saw a partly smoked cigarette. This might be a clue. Had the murderer been hiding under the bed while waiting for the moment to strike? Every person in the hotel was questioned before any one was permitted to leave. Some of the guests protested against their detention, but it was necessary and we didn't intend to take a chance that the murderer might slip out of the police net we had thrown about the entire establishment. Some of the members of the "Brown Derby" company were at other hotels, and the manager of the show was registered at the Arlington Hotel. We rounded them all up. After our thorough questioning of everyone who might have any helpful information, we had found no one who admitted seeing any person enter or leave Room 406 between the time Mrs. Price retired and the discovery of the crime by the bellboy that morning. No one admitted having heard a sound of the frightful struggle we believed had oc- curred after mid-night and before 2 A. M. The medical examiner assured us that Mrs. Price died about 2 A. M. The condition of the body and the mute evidence of the bed fairly shouted the story of the desperate battle for life the unfortunate woman had made. Yet none of the guests in Interior view of Room 406, Hotel Hollis, Boston, where the murder of Mrs. Price took place. This photograph, which was used as an exhibit at the trial of the slayer, shows the indentation in the blood-stained pillow caused when 'the garroter pressed his victim's face downward in his struggle to kill her. When discovered, her hands were found drawn behind her back and tightly bound with strips torn from the disordered bedding. A partly- smoked cigarette, found under the bed, indicated the slayer had waited there for his victim. This photo was taken by the police a few minutes after Mrs. Price's body was removed. (Top) We won't mention his name here, as it will be brought out in the story who he is. Does his appearance indicate to you that he was the slayer? adjoining rooms, none of the hotel staff, had heard a sound to arouse suspicion! We found something to strengthen the robbery theory. The show manager said the torn envelope had con- tained $80, Mrs. Price's pay given her the previous evening. Members of the company said Mrs. Price was the"mother" of the show and took charge of small sums of money for the younger girls. A jewish boy in the cast had been befriended by her, I learned, and he had given her $60 to save for him. In all, it appeared, Mrs. Price had about $200 in her posses- sion. But we had found in the room only the five dollar bill and some small change! This young man who had given Mrs. Price $60 for safe-keeping aroused my particular in- terest. He felt for her the affection of a son, he insisted. I also was interested in the information that the murdered woman's husband was a stage carpenter, employed in New York City. He was Bill Price, we learned, and worked in a theater at Broadway and Ninety-first Street. This information was telephoned to the New York Police, with the request k that the hus- band be located and the news of his wife's death broken to him. We soon had word from New York that Bill Price had been working there Saturday evening until nearly mid- night. News of his wife's ter- rible death was a great shock to him, and he was coming to Bos- ton on the first train Monday morning to aid in the search for the murderer and to claim the body. I liked Bill Price on sight. He took his wife's death hard, and I felt mighty sorry for him. But I learned nothing that brought me any nearer the moment I was yearning for, the chance to slap the handcuffs on the murderer. Well, several days passed, and the police investigation seemed to be gettingnowhere. Inspectors from headquarters, plain-clothes men, an army of newspaper reporters and plenty of others were looking for clues, arid there were plenty of alleged clues turned in, but all proved worthless after a pains- taking investigation. Anonymous letters came, telling us to look up this person or that one. Several characters who hang around the South End were named to the police in this way as the wanted murderer. Not one of these possibilities was overiooked. Every lead we followed led us to the same thing — exactly nothing. One by one the inspectors were taken off the case for other jobs, but my superiors kept me plugging away. I was work- ing night and day, going over the same ground again and again, racking my brains for the solution of a crime that at the start-off had looked like an ordinary, routine case. Noth- ing seemed to break. "It's just one of those cases that can't be solved," an Inspector told me.

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The Crime in Room 406 37 I spent a lot of time around the hotel, talking with the guests who were still there an<d with the employes, searching, searching for the lead I kept telling myself must be some- where if I could only find it. Some of the folks who were there the night Mrs. Price was murdered might be — well, surprised, to put it mildly, if they knew what a lot of miscel- laneous information I casually picked up about them in the course of my intensive inquiry. f"YN Tuesday, June 2nd, I recall, I heard that a theatrical man occupying Room 606 with his wife gave a birth- day party after the performance on the evening of May 30th, and was making merry with his friends at the very time that Mrs. Price was fighting for her life in the correspond- ing room, just two floors below. I found out who attended this birthday party and interviewed everyone of them, on the off chance that something was seen or heard by some- body that would give me a clue. The man who gave the party told me about an odd thing that happened that night, but which apparently had no connection with the murder. He said that when he ushered his friends into his room after the theater, he left his door key on the corridor side of the lock. When the party broke up and he and his wife were preparing for bed, he couldn't find the key and decided it must have fallen out, and that someone had picked it up and turned it in at the hotel desk. So the door was s the inside bolt. Sunday morning he told the about it, but the key had not been turned in and he was fur- gjfH nished with a duplicate. y^-j Miss Mae Jensen, a* vaude- ville actress who had a room on the top floor, was the only per- ; .™ son I found who remembered 4 seeing anyone acting in what Mt B might he a suspicious manner J jg; »ll in the hotel the night of the murder. She told me that around mid-night she was mi I mWL the way to a friend's room to " Wm %3L borrow a razor, and was ac- 1JU -'■^Sm costed in the corridor by a large, rough-looking man. Miss Jen- sen said she supposed it was a would-be masher, but some- thing about the man's manner so frightened her that she dodged back into her room and locked the door. Mrs. Price's room was down on the fourth floor, so Miss Jensen's adven- ture looked like a rather remote possibility as a clue. CATURDAY afternoon, June ^ 6th, I decided to try some- thing new. I believed I had exhausted every possibility in the hotel" and among the guests and employes, and the crime was still unsolved. Room 406 and everything in it had been thor- oughly examined for finger- prints without producing any- thing of value. I considered the possibility that one of the questionable characters frequent- ing the district might be able to give me a good tip. It was a thousand to one shot, but the case had been getting more discouraging every day and I was ready to try anything, [f the motive for the crime was robbery, the murderer had made away with around $200. I wondered if I could find some tough egg around the district who had become suddenly affluent. Near the hotel I saw a young fellow I knew. He was a bum actor who associated with underworld characters of the cheaper sort. "I want to see you," I told him. "Meet me on Dillaway Street in ten minutes. Be sure to be there." I rather doubted the possibility of his showing up, but I knew it would be useless to try to get anything out of him there in the main street, where his questionable friends would see him talking to a police detective. So I acted as if I were merely passing the time of day with him and kept my voice too low to be overheard by any bystander. TN ten minutes I walked through Dillaway Street, a quiet, * side street, and found the young fellow in a doorway, waiting, where he was screened from observation. "I've always been on the level with you," I opened up. "Give me the office. Who bumped off that woman in Hotel Hollis?" "Look for that big gorilla that was hanging around the hotel last week," he blurted out, after hesitating a moment. "Who is he?" I asked the fellow. "Where does he hang out?" "Don't know anything about him." "How do you know this gorilla did it." "I don't. You wanted the office and I thought of this big gorilla, so I just told you about him." I saw the young fellow was getting nervous and try ing to edge away. I guessed he was afraid someone would see him talking with me, and he didn't want the gang to think he was a "stool." "Who've you seen this big gorilla talking with?" I per- sisted. "Come on, you must have seen him speak to some- body? Who?" "Well," the fellow told me, "I remember one night last LUICU Willi oom clerk Important government witnesses at the trial of Mrs. Price's slayer, caught by the news photog- rapher just after leaving the Suffolk County Courthouse. Left to right they are: Mrs. Mary Hughes; Mrs. Helen Sheehan, (daughter of Mrs. Hughes); Miss Mae Jensen, and Miss Josephine Jamison. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Sheehan were members of the Brown Derby company. Miss Jensen, a vaudeville actress (second from right) played an important part in bringing the slayer to justice. She saw him in the Hotel Hollis on the night of the murder, and later identified him

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38 True Detective Mysteries week I saw him stop to speak to a man I know. It was in front of the hotel. Benny Perretti was the man he spoke to. Benny was doing a turn at the theater here until Thursday, and now he is playing down in Newport, Rhode Island, and commuting back and forth to Boston." This tip looked pretty slim, but I was desperate and I couldn't afford to pass anything up. So I went to work to locate Benny Perretti. I learned he was staying at the New Tremont House and usually got in around mid-night. But before he left for Newport, I heard, he might be found sitting around Boston Common. I failed to find him around town, so I went to the New Tremont House to wait for him. He came in late with his partner. I wanted a chance to talk with him alone, so I arranged for him to meet me at the police station on Lagrange Street at 7:15 the following morning. The rest of the night I spent hunting around to find out something more about the man described to me as a "big gorilla." Benny Perretti met me at the station house on time. In answer to my questions he finally told me he knew the man I meant. He said the fellow tried to borrow some money from him sometime during the evening of Memorial Day. "I was with some fellows in front of Hotel Hollis," he told me. "I don't know the man's name. I only know him by sight." * HERE did you meet him first?" I persisted, "How did you get acquainted with him?" "It was once when I was put- ting on a show for the prisoners at the Federal Penitentiary in Leavenworth," Benny Perretti told me. "They called him 'The Wop' out there.". Tii« didn't sound just right, so I went after Benny pretty hard, and he finally told me he was a prisoner himself when he. met this big gorilla he called "The Wop." The story I finally got was this: Benny and his stage part- ner were young fellows just getting started at the time they got into trouble. A trunk was delivered by the express company to their room by mistake, but they didn't say anything and when the mis- take was discovered they were arrested and prosecuted in the United States Court because the trunk came from an- other state and so it was an interstate affair. The two boys had no money for a lawyer, and were so frightened and in- experienced they pleaded guilty, thinking they would get out j I (Above) Sergeant Thomas F. Harvey of the Boston Police Department, who gave the story to this magaxine. Ser- geant Harvey's work on the case was highly com- mendable. (Left) Police Inspector Joseph E. Rollins of Boston, finger- print expert, who was brought in on the case. (Bottom) Coleman Morrison, now a detective at- tached to the Lagrange Street police station, Bos- ton, who won ad- vancement through his excellent work in the * 'Hotel Hollis Mystery" of it. However they were both given terms at Leavenworth. Benny Perretti said the man he knew only as "The Wop" was in Leavenworth, and was such a bad actor he was kept locked up most of the time. Benny told me that one time "The Wop" escaped from Leavenworth by crawling through a sewer pipe, and was caught and brought back in a few days. He said he hadn't seen or heard anything of him until a week before, when the ex -convict accosted him and asked for money. Superintendent of Police Michael Crowley rushed a special delivery letter to Leavenworth for a picture and all available information about the prisoner who had escaped through a sewer pipe at the time Benny told me the incident occurred. The answer came June 14th. In the meantime, I had, been hustling on the investigation as hard as ever, but didn't turn up any other lead. nPHE letter from Leavenworth said the man known as * "The Wop" had served a long sentence for robbery under the name of Frank Corey. I took the Leavenworth picture to the Rogues* Gallery at police headquarters and picked out half a dozen more pictures that were as similar as possible. This bunch of pictures I showed to Miss Jensen. I spread them out on the table and asked her if any of them was a picture of the man who accosted her the night Mrs. Price was murdered and frightened her so badly she ran into her room and locked the door.

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The Crime in Room 406 39 "That's the man. I'm sure of it," the pretty vaudeville actress told me. She was pointing to the picture of Frank Corey from Leavenworth. Benny Perretti had left Boston in the meantime to play an engagement in New York. I took the pictures to New York and showed them to Benny. He picked out the same picture Miss Jensen had. "That's The Wop,' " Benny told me. T HADN'T a thing to connect this federal ex-convict with * the murder. I was just playing a hunch. I hadn't any idea where he lived or what had become of him, either. Superintendent Crowley was backing me to the limit and he expected me to make good. He sent another rush mes-' sag* to Leavenworth and asked for the names of anyone Frank Corey had written to while serving his sentence. We knew that such records are carefully kept at modern prisons. We were given three names and addresses, in Yonkers, New York, in New York City and in Worcester, Massachusetts. I went to Yonkers first- — and found the person "The Wop" had written to from Leavenworth was dead. Then I looked and my hurt back was throbbing, but I forgot my discomfort a few minutes later when I bumped into a woman who said she recognized the picture of Corey as a man who had been living next door with a Polish blonde. The woman said the couple were there several years before and that they had "cleaned out" the landlady and escaped with the loot. The way I got the story it appeared the Polish blonde wasjthe woman Corey wrote to frpm Leavenworth and he had joined her in New York after he was released. \A7ELL, the breaks were still against me, for the house next door had just been razed ! I located the realtors and got the name of the trustee in a bank who had handled the sale for the landlady. I saw him and learned the landlady had just died. This looked like the end of the trail in New York. I couldn't find anything more there, and so I came back to Boston on June 21st, and went to the station house to write my reports, feeling pretty discouraged. The Superintendent had a talk with me. I told him there was still one more possibility — the address in Worcester. He told me to keep at it; he thought my hunch looked good. So I went to Worcester the next, morning and called at the Worcester Police Head- quarters to tell my story and get a detec- tive to go with me. The address I had was "Corey, 934 Grafton Street." On the way out there we met a motorcycle officer who told us the family at this address was named Krecorian and used the American name Corey. I showed him the Leavenworth picture and he said: "Sure, I know that fellow. That's Frank Corey. I was talking with him this morning. There's sewage drain- ing into the road from the Corey place and I told them it must be fixed." (Above) Looking from the main stairway on the fourth floor of the Hotel Hollis, down the hallway toward the elevator. The door to Room 406 where Mrs. Price was killed, is indicated by the arrow on the right Sergeant Harvey believes the murderer stole a key from Room 606 on the top floor, hid on the turn in the stairway indicated by arrow on the left, until he saw a chance to slip down and gain admittance to Mrs. Price's room, where he concealed himself under the bed and waited until she had come in and retired for the night. (Right) Doctor Timothy Leary, Boston medical examiner. Doctor Leary, who made the examination in the Price case, is recognized as a leader of outstanding ability in his profession up the New York City address. It was on West Forty- Second Street and I found it was a maternity hospital. No one in this institution knew anything about the man I was hunting for. I got a New York police detective to help me, and we started checking the number Leavenworth officials had given on every street on the West Side from Thirty- Second to Fifty-Second. We hunted up the letter carriers,, too, but nobody had ever heard about any Frank Corey or the person whose name had been supplied by Leavenworth as that of someone the convict had written to in New York. Then we tried the East Side as a last resort. It was mighty hot and muggy in New York that week. I was nearly worn out by the long grind and lack of sleep. The detective with me finally quit to get some rest. I decided to try one more street and then knock off for a little while myself. A kid was eating a banana in a doorway. I started in there and slipped on the banana skin, fell and nearly broke my back. This was on East Forty-Second Street. I was sweltering nTHIS gave us an idea. We arranged ■*■ for the detective to take me into the house as an inspector from the Health Department, so I could talk with Frank Corey and get him down to Worcester Police Station for ques- tioning without arousing his sus- picion. There was a crippled girl in the house who said her brother Frank Corey had gone in town and would soon return on the trolley car. While the detective with me was talking about the sewage complaint, I saw a picture on a table of the same man I knew to be Frank Corey, ex-convict from Leavenworth. I slipped it into my pocket without anyone noticing, and then we left the house. It was arranged for the motorcycle officer to go up the road to wait for the trolley, and see if Frank Corey was on it. I hid in the woods where I could watch without being seen, and the Worcester detective went to telephone. If Frank Corey was the man who killed Mrs. Price, I knew he would be on his guard and I didn't want him to slip away from us. Presently the motorcycle officer {Continued on page 103)

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u T I The Blonde Whose SAW PAL SLAIN! Private Ernest Moore, of the Pennsylvania State Highway Patrol, who was questioning, autoists with Corporal Brady Paul when the latter was shot down without warning or mercy by Irene Schroeder. The time: December 27th, 1929. The place: On a highway between Butler and New Castle, Pennsylvania. Moore gave a first-hand account of the atrocity at the trials of Irene and her paramour — Glenn Dague — who ac- companied the tiger girl at the time of the slaying. (Below) Part of the crowd that surged around the court-house at New Castle in a vain attempt to gain admittance to the gun- toting blonde's murder trial IT was shortly before noon on Friday, December 27th. 1929, The manager and clerks of the Kroger Grocery Store at Rutler, Pennsylvania, stood behind the counter, wholly unprepared for the terrific events that were to follow. Customers passed in and out in a more or less extended stream. Most were housewives buying food to supply the family larders over the coming week-end and the approaching New Year's Day celebration. Presently a high-powered automobile drew up to the curb. Three persons — one woman and two men — got out of the machine while the driver left the motor purring as if prepared for a quick getaway before he left the seat. The trio came into the store. Expecting that they intended making a purchase the man- ager prepared to wait on them. Before he knew what it was all about a curt command of "stick 'em up" fell on his ears. The woman, a vivacious and attractive blonde, appeared to be in charge. "Slip us the dough and make it snappy or we'll drill you," she ordered gruffly, meanwhile leveling a vicious looking revolver at those behind the counter. Customers and clerks were ordered to be quiet under the threat of death. "Come on baby," the woman shouted, directing her com- mand to the manager, "let's have that cash and make it quick!" While her two companions, both well-dressed and good looking, stood guard over the cowed occupants of the place, the blonde rifled the cash register. Less than five minutes later the bandits whose exploit in robbing a small town chain store was to furnish one of the greatest woman and man hunts in Pennsylvania's criminal history, and even in the annals of latter-day crime, had escaped to the open road. DY a recent act of the Pennsylvania legislature an ap- propriation had been made to establish a police telegraph typewriter system in ninety-five cities and towns throughout the state, to send crime news to various police bureaus. Only a few days previous Governor John S. Fisher, Major Lynn 4(1

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I Gun Spat Death! By Charles A. Earley of the PITTSBURGH SUN-TELEGRAPH Adams, head of the state constabulary, and other prominent officials had inaugurated the system with a congatulatory message. An opportunity had not yet presented itself for an efficient tryout. Western Pennsylvania headquarters of the system was located in the Allegheny County Detective Bureau in Pittsburgh, under the direction of Chief George Murren, a real man hunter. Less than five minutes after the trio had stuck up the Butler store telephone contact with the detective bureau had been made. "Hello," the desk sergeant said, as he took down the receiver and got his scratch pad and pencil ready. "That you, Sergeant?" the voice at the other end of the wire queried. "Yes!" "Three stick-up artists just held up the Kroger Grocery Store at Butler and are headed for the New Castle Road. Watch out for them and notify all jjolice in the district to be on the lookout." "0. K.," said the sergeant, and he immediately flashed the news over the printer system. The following description was broadcast: Woman, blonde, aged about 22, weight 140 pounds. Two men, aged about 30 and 26. All traveling in high-powered car. Stuck up grocery in Butler at 11:45 A. AT. Young child reported riding in car. Ninety-five police bureaus in Pennsylvania received the message at the same moment. DKFORE going any further let the reader keep in mind that this child, reported seen with the bandits, was destined to be the greatest single factor in solving the events that were to follow. As soon as the report was received by the State Police Bureaus at Greensburg and Butler, as well as at the state highway patrol sub-stations at and near New Castle, prompt action was taken to effect the auto bandits' apprehension. Two highway patrolmen, Corporal Brady Paul, with one of the best records for bravery in the service, and Private Ernest Moore, were detailed to a point midway between Butler and New Castle to stop all cars. The officers had been on the highway only a short time when a sedan came up the road at a terrific speed. The officers blocked the thoroughfare with their car. The speed- ing machine halted. Both officers walked towards it. As Corporal Paul approached he saw a woman and thought that a mistake had been made. His logic was wrong. Acting on his intuition, Paul advanced to the driver's side and Private Moore followed. The driver was asked for his license, and he refused to produce it. Both officers saw the woman and child sitting in the back seat. Paul started towards the rear. The driver got out. Evi- dently the driver had the officers covered with a gun. "Pull your gun, Moore, he's got me covered," Paul shouted "WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA?" asked Irerte Schroeder, hard-boiled murderess, when a news- paper photographer asked her to look pleasant when the above picture was taken. "How the Hell can / smile?" Was Irene thinking of the electric chair — in' which she was later doomed to die? 41

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42 T rue Detective Mysteries A Jiote writ- ten to friends by the tiger girl As soon as I got expense money, I boarded a bus and hur- ried to Hickory, near Canonsburg, Pennsylvania, where Corporal Paul's home was located, and less than two hours later, informed his family of the tragedy. The family was grief-stricken. Meanwhile other reporters and photographers had rushed to the scene of the murder by motorcycle, fast automobiles and police patrols. Again the police teletype system that had but a few minutes before announced the story of the hold-up, Hashed the tragic news across the state that Corporal Paul had been murdered in cold blood and his companion wounded. When Captain Jacob Mauk, who handled the entire in- vestigation for the Pennsylvania State Police, received first word of the slaying, he assigned every officer available to the case. He, himself, took charge. DUT to get back to the scene of the crime. Leaving their victims lying in the road, the blonde and her companions leaped back into the car and sped away. A short distance off were riding Miss Elsie Mickum and Ray C. Horton, of New Castle. The bandit car, ignoring all traffic rules, and with its occupants greatly excited and brandishing guns, pulled up ahead. The road was blocked as the driver pulled his car across sideways. The good looking blonde jumped out and ordered Horton to stop. Forced to comply, he stepped from the driver's seat. "Get out of that car and make it snappy," the blonde commanded. "Come on men, get in here. Let's beat it. They're after to his companion who was approaching. "There are our bandits," Paul shouted. The blonde began firing. Corporal Paul fell to the concrete highway, mor- tally wounded, as the woman's gun blazed smoke and spat death. Before Moore had an opportunity to grab his gun, he too was struck down. A bullet that grazed his head did the trick. 'T'HUS the nation-wide hunt for a 1 blonde "trigger woman" and her two male companions as well as a young boy, that took posses. State Police, detectives and sheriffs over 2400 miles of rough ter- ritory and dangerous mountain regions in eleven states; that furnished a score of false tips, and involved the use of aeroplanes and machine guns in the hunt, had its impetus. I was subbing that day at the North- side, Pittsburgh Police Station for Walton Woods, police reporter who was ill. My conversation with Inspector Charles Faulkner was interrupted by an announcement from the desk ser- geant that I was wanted on the phone. "That you, Earley? This is Zehner." Alex Zehner is the city editor of the Sun-Telegraph. "Crab a taxi and beat it over to the office right away," he said. "A state patrolman has been murdered and we want you to break the news to the family and get a picture." After hastily informing Inspector Faulkner what had hap- l>ened I grabbed a cab and sped hurriedly through the maze of mid-day traffic to the Sun-Telegraph office. TRAPPED t Glenn Dague (extreme left) and Irene Schroeder (eitreme right) as they appeared in Phoenix (Arizona) Jail after their capture near Laveen. The man standing next to the murderess is Sheriff C. H. Wright. The fourth of the group is J. F. Wells, picked up by the gun-girl and Dague, who were driving a stolen car. Wells was subsequently sentenced to life for his participation in the murder of a deputy sheriff us now and it's up to us to make a quick getaway," she con- tinued. Miss Mickum got out next. The blonde bundled the child inside the tonneau and got in beside him. The two men sat up front and all drove away. After he had been treated for his wounds Private Moore

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1 Tiger GirV; 43 OflGl*., BOY SCOUT IfeADt w •••• „ • M CHUM 1 Highlights in the lives of Dague and Irene. At the left they appear together — very much in love. Corporal Paul, victim of the trigger girl's fusillade, is seen in the center. Donnie, Irene's son, is shown at the right. It was a childish remark of Donnie's that put sleuths on the crimson trail of his mother and her lover. (Bottom) The Schroeder murder jury visits the crime scene. The murderess appears at the extreme left of the picture, with a guard related his startling story of the murder of Corporal Paul. "The child's presence in the automobile deceived us," he said. "We were looking for bandits and coming upon a car with an apparently innocent youngster in it threw us off guard for an instant — just an instant too long. "I glanced inside," he related from his hospkal cot in the New Castle Hospital, "and saw the child. Then I figured it was not the car for which we were looking. I started around the back to have a better look at the license plates. "W hen Corporal Paul shouted that they had the drop on him I ran to the other side. A bullet met me. I dropped, wounded, to the ground. Paul came back as the blonde covered him with her gat. He didn't have a chance to get the 'draw' on her. A shot rang out. Paul fell. The driver turned on me and as I rose with my finger pressing on the trigger to let him have it, the fellow inside fired through the rear win- dow and I fell — stunned. That's all I remember. The rest is hazy." DOUCE activity in the case was concerted with Captain Mauk, state highway patrolmen, New Castle and Alle- gheny County authorities taking part in the hunt. The first few days' search for any tangible clues proved unfruitful. Who killed Brady Paul was the question on the tip of every man's and woman's tongue throughout the western Pennsyl- vania, West Virginia and Eastern Ohio territories. The scene of the shooting was near the border line of Ohio and getaway was easy. Things drifted along for a few days. There were rumblings about the inefficiency of the police — not unusual when the public gets the idea into its head that perpetrators of a dastardly deed are not being apprehended quickly enough. Unfortunately, however, the public was not aware of the progress which the officers were making, and the police were forced to adhere to a policy, somewhat, of withholding cer- tain facts which they had learned — until they had unearthed certain clues that might identify the trio. But here's where the false tips, that the officers ran to the ground to no avail, began. They came by telephone, tele- graph and anonymous letters. The State Police barracks at Butler was flooded with them as were Pittsburgh, New Castle and Greensburg Police Bureaus. Every one was run to earth. The first was at Salem, Ohio, after police discovered that a blonde woman, her husband and child had been away from home for ten days with their whereabouts unknown. The couple, Chief of Police C. W. Thompson informed Captain Mauk, had at one time served a term in the Mansfield, Ohio, reformatory, for highway robbery. Whether this tip was false or not could not be determined at that time, but officers placed some credence to it. D Y the time examination of the abandoned car was com- *-* pleted in a New Castle garage, the officers had some semblance of a clue upon which to work. The tonneau showed nothing much during a preliminary search, but after a second look a purse containing a small photograph was found. On the back was the name of a Wheeling, West Virginia, man. A suit of child's clothes was also found on the floor. This corroborated Moore's testimony that a child had been in the car and showed that the Kroger store manager knew what he was talking about when he described the trio to the authori- ties. We shall see later what proportion of weight the cloth- ing and picture bore to the case. Also found in the car was a purchase slip with the name of a Wheeling depart- ment store printed on the front. In- quiry established that the blonde bandit purchased a red scarf in that store on Christmas Eve. The "trigger woman" was described as having worn a red scarf during the shooting and hold- up. Somewhere and somehow the cul- prits had succeeded in getting through the only loophole left in the impenetrable drag-net spread out after the dastardly deed — a seldom used highway leading off the Beaver Falls Road to Mount Jackson and the Ohio boundary. State Police working on these two tangible clues — those of the photograph and the department store slip — by New Year's Eve had established a base of operations at Wheeling and Kenwood,

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44 True Detective Mysteries (Above) Witnesses from Maricopa County, Arizona, where Dague and Irene were ap- prehended, arrive in New Castle for the trials. (Below) W. Angert, proprietor of a store in Butler, Pennsylvania, and Mrs. Angert, who identified the bandit pair as the ones who stuck up their establishment West Virginia. Private Moore, who had recovered sufficiently to take part in the hunt, was sent to Wheeling in an effort to identify any suspects that might be taken into custody. DY clever detective work done silently and without a fanfare of publicity, the officers located the child who was a passenger in the death car. He was four-year-old Donnie Schroeder, who told the po- lice "My mama shot two cops like you." If his story were true the hunt was getting somewhere. Donnie, a like- _^____^___t__ able chap, with a wealth of curly blonde locks, was a great source of information to the authorities. He had been found in Beh- wood, the of- ficials disclosed. During a snowstorm that enveloped the countryside late that night the officers made their way to a ramshackle house. They knocked. At first no one an- swered the door. Then an el- d e r 1 y man opened it. "We're Penn- sylvania State Policemen," they informed the" elderly- door opener. "What do you fellows want here?" he said, adding that, "no one's here that you want." "Well, we'll see," exclaimed one of the officers as he passed the man and went on inside. There on the floor was a four-year-old boy. He was playing with a bunch of toys. Lieutenant E. J. Henry ques- tioned him. "Are you Donnie Schroeder?" the officer asked. "Sure I am," the child replied. Then the little fellow, believing that he was making himself a big shot in the eyes of the "staties," clapped his hands together and shouted: "Ho, ho, my mama shot two cops like you!" "Your mother shot two cops like us?" Henry asked. "Where did it happen?" 'THE boy's grandfather stood lis- tenirvg as the officer started his interrogation. "Sure she shot them, and my papa got hurt too," the lad volunteered. "My mama shot one cop and Tie laid back on the road. Uncle Joe shot one in the head— he shot right through the windshield and so did my Mama." Were the officers hearing the imma- ture ravings of a tender child, ostensibly not yet reached the years of the use of reason, or were they listening to a young- ster, a prodigy, who vividly remembered the tragic events that burned themselves on his youthful memory? They couldn't figure the boy out. "Ah, you're kiddin' us," Lieutenant Henry shot back to his young informer. 'No, I'm not mister!" 'Well, if you are not, >s were shot?" mm * > what did you do after those two "Oh, we drove .1 little ways in our old car and then got a new one," the young- ster proudly re- plied. Evidently, if this were true, the car was the one taken at the point of a gun from the New Castle couple as they drove down the pike near the scene of the murder. "Did you get that car in a garage?" the Lieutenant queried again. "No — we got the car from some fellow," the lad replied vaguely and then as an apparent afterthought, "It was a swell car and I liked it. But then we did get one in a garage — after that it was — and we came down here in it. Mama left me here with grand- daddy and went away. She said she was coming back for me soon and not to cry." DAY SCHROEDER, his uncle, and Henry Crawford, his grand- father, who stood by as Donnie related his tale were taken into custody for questioning, while Donnie was also repeatedly queried. Donnie was vague about answer- ing where he had been until the time he was brought to Ben wood. Once he appeared as if he was tired of answering, so he flung a [ question of a rather surprising nature himself to the officers. "Who's a* bum?" he demanded pointedly, and he repeated it a second time around the ring of puzzled faces. "Who's a bum?" "You're a good little fellow," re- plied one of the officers, thinking to appease the little chap who had ap- parently misunderstood. "No," Donnie cried as he looked around scornfully. "The bumble bee, he's a bum." . Everybody joined in the laugh and

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"Tiger Girl" 45 Donnie once again was ready to an- swer questions. "Where did your mother tell you she was going when she left?" Donnie was asked. "Oh, she was going away." "But where — didn't she tell you where?" "Oh sure, she was going to Uncle Joe's." "But where's that?" the officer persisted. "Oh, up a dirt road," Donnie an- swered with finality. Imagine that from a four-year- old boy. One of the men immediately ran for a nearby tele- phone and called his chief. After getting a connection he "Well, we've got something to work on, Chief. We have found the kid that rode in the car and he tells a straight story. Seems to know what it's all about. What do you want us to do now?" "Bring him up to New Castle," the voice at the other end of the wire ordered. Donnie was spirited out of the state into Pennsylvania in the dead of night and driven to the Juvenile Court detention rooms at New Castle, unbeknownst to his relatives. AT last the hunt was really on. The woman was Irene Schroe- der. But who was this Irene Schroeder? What did she look like and what was her criminal history? And they learned that "Papa," mentioned by Donnie, wasn't his real "Papa" but Glenn Dague, a dapper married Wheeling automobile and in- surance salesman who had fallen in love with the "Trigger Woman" as she had been dubbed by this time by an interested press and public. "Uncle Joe," later facts disclosed, was Irene's brother. Another brother, Edward Crawford, had been shot and killed ( Top) Dague, snapped by the cameraman as he was about to enter the court room to go on trial. Here was a man who abandoned his wife and children to follow a career of crime with the swearing, hard-drinking Irene — only to wind up with a death sentence hanging over his head. (Above) The courthouse at New Castle where Irene and her lover -were tried, convicted and doomed to burn in the Colorado State Prison Riot at Denver several months before, where he was serving a fifteen- year term for rob- bery. Thus a most peculiar situation presented itself — unusual in crimi- nal annals — that of a blood brother and a lover follow- ing an Amazon on a career of crime. The suit of clothes found in the death car was fitted on Donnie. They fitted him perfectly. "Have you ever worn these be- fore, Donnie?" he was asked. "Sure — this is my old suit," he replied. ''My mother got me a new one." Somewhere a photograph of the Schroeder woman was secured and shown Donnie. "That's my mama. Oh, that's mommy," he ex- claimed gleefully. THUS was * further identi- fication cinched. While all this was going on. Corporal Paul was buried. Had he not been one of the most popular officers of the highway patrol it is doubt- ful whether such interest would have been manifested in the case. He was the friend of all. Motorists he had favored con- sidered him a true pal. His buddies would have given their lives for him, he was so popular. An outraged countryside and the Paul family assisted in the burial. While cold winter winds blew mournfully over the little rustic cemetery near Hickory a bugler blew taps. One hundred fellow officers, all in full uniform, stood at atten- tion as the man who was "too chivalrous to shoot a woman" was lowered tenderly into his final resting place. There ven- geance was sworn over all that was mortal of a man who died as he lived — brave to the core. With the thought in mind that the "Trigger Woman" might be motivated by that inherent desire of mother love to see her son once more, a heavy guard (Continued on page 106)

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(The "Mystery Woman") (Above) This photograph (it was taken within 24 hours of her harrowing experience in Ghost Grove) shows the terrific strain Mrs. Maddox was under at that time. Few women have had such an experience and lived to tell of it. (Right) Police photo of Mrs. Maddox' car, taken the day following the murder of Van Skelton, her companion on that unfortunate trip. Speaking of this, she said: "Were it to become known that I had driven a blood-stained death car from so clandestine a location as the murder scene, there would be no escape from most scandalous de- nunciation!" PICTURE in your mind a secluded spot where the low hills are picketed with gnarled and twisted old oaks, whose de- nuded branches are swayed by the lash- ing winds of mid-winter. Intersperse among these rugged sentinels of the forest an- oc- casional oddly grown sycamore, from which the hark peels away to reveal grotesque patches of marble-like whiteness that stand out in ghastly contrast to the dull colors of the surrounding landscape. Visualize the dim trails that wind at random across the sloping terrain — hidden veins of infrequent travel from the nearby highway arteries. Allow your imagination to glimpse a few scattering piles of rubbish consisting of worn-out stoves, scraps of iron, broken crocks, and the bleached bones of domestic animals dumped along the crooked bypaths. Fence this uninhabited area — which is half a mile square — with straight roads running parallel on two sides, a railroad track crossing one end diagonally, and the opposite line bordering upon an open field. Such is the foreboding appearance of Ghost Grove. It was there, on the afternoon of January 22nd, 1929, that I met the most horrifying experience of my life! Ghost Grove — formerly known as Casaretta's Woods — earned its spookish sobriquet when it became* a meeting place 46 for the white-robed members of the reorganized Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. That was some five years before t he first violent event occurred to touch with grim irony and pathetic reality the somber entitlement which now designates the lo- cation of two of the most brutal and wanton murders recorded in the recent annals of Tennessee. IT was on the night of January 6th, 1928, that a woman's * trembling voice informed the desk sergeant, by telephone, at Memphis Police Headquarters that her companion — whom she did not take time to name— .had been murdered in lonely Ghost Grove. "I left him in the car. He's dead! Send the officers— — " concluded the anonymous caller, whose agitated tone con- veyed to the startled police officer an impression of her frenzied escape from the bloody scene. The connection was broken before the officer had time to question his informer's identity.

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(Right)Viewofthe entrance to Ghost Grove, place of in- famous reputation near Mem phis where several mur- ders have been corn- mysterious circum- stances. The cross marks the spot where the body of Van Skelton was first seen by crew of a passing train after he was slain. tracks of the rail- road in the back- ground GROV RROR Here Myrtle Maddox, featured in the Press as the "Mystery Woman of Memphis/' tells the inside story exclusively for True Detective Mysteries, of her nerve-wracking experience in sinister Ghost Grove— secluded lovers' retreat. Who killed Mrs. Maddox' companion ? Who was the "black terror?" WHY WERE DETECTIVES SEEKING MRS. MADDOX? The startling information disclosed by that hysterical feminine voice that came out of the night sent the police on a hasty errand. Their destination was nearly a mile beyond the corporate limits of Memphis. But the discovery which immediately followed was so shocking as to cause the officers to lose no time in parleying the matter of County and City jurisdiction. The officers soon came upon a parked car standing on one of the deserted lanes that threads the dark woodland where the Klansmen once gathered around their burning flares. But now, where the fiery crosses had blazed a warning against possible intrusion a few years previous, there was nothing but darkness and silence to greet the mid-night invaders of that sequestered nook. Flashlights were played upon the still auto as the police- men approached it cautiously. First appearances indicated that the car had been abandoned. But as the searchers drew nearer, their lights fell upon the lifeless form of a young man— the victim of Ghost Grove's first diabolical tragedy! OUBSEQUENT investigation quickly disclosed the vic- ^ tim's identity. Papers found in the dead man's pockets bore the name and address of Sterling T. Dunn. The iden- tification was soon verified. When the body was removed to a mortuary, it was found that death had been instantaneous, the result of a single wound through the heart. The death weapon had been a .32 caliber gun. No clues which could be regarded as important were uncovered by the officers at the scene. Morning editions told all that was known of the murder. Enterprising reporters stressed the unknown woman's con- nection with the mystery. The murdered man, it was learned, had been employed as a traveling salesman, whose wife and three children were awakened before dawn to receive the tragic news and answer questions that it was hoped would shed light upon the dark circumstances surrounding the tragedy. But Mrs. Dunn was totally unable to account for the feminine voice that had been the means of leading the police to find her husband's body in the lonely Ghost Grove. "If Mr. Dunn was keeping company with other women I never suspected it," the wife told interviewers. Two principal theories were advanced from the official standpoint. First: the woman who notified the police was believed to be the slayer. In support of this theory, it was argued that the killing had been the result of an illicit love affair in which some bitter issue had arisen — a case in which the "deadly female" had resorted to the most extreme method of avenging some real or fancied wrong to herself! Second: the opinion was held that a "petting party" bandit had overtaken the couple and shot the man in an attempted hold-up. If so, however, the fact remained that the woman had managed to escape with her life and did not seem dis- posed to communicate her full knowledge of the fatal affair. And the victim's pockets had not been rifled. HpHESE were the complex questions confronting the author- * ities: If Sterling T. Dunn was murdered by a woman, who was she? Had the act been caused by a fit of jealous rage? Or had she found out that he was a married man, and shot him to death because of her betrayal?^ If a third party had com- mitted the deed, why hadn't the woman told more when she telephoned the police to advise them of the crime? In the days following the murder of Sterling T. Dunn, County and City authorities, working in close cooperation, conducted an intensive but fruitless search for a clue that would guide them to a solution of the baffling mystery. But they never found anything tangible upon which to pin their hopes for success. Interest in the case never fully subsided. But the track- less trail of the murderer grew cold, and to the public, after a few months, the exciting event became a fading memory. Occasionally, however, these memories of the recent dread- ful occurrence, which became a synonymous thought with the mention of Ghost Grove, were revived by the report of a 47

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48 True Detective Mysteries holdup — the news of each such crime adding fresh stigma to the already opaque name attached to that particular vicinity. Thus for a year the newspapers now and then found oc- casion to focus Ghost Grove in the spotlight of unfavorable publicity. Sheriff W. S. Knight ordered his deputies to keep vigilant watch over the troublesome sector, and every con- sistent effort was made to stamp out the sinister presence that seemed to lurk in the shadows cast by those grotesque trees. But despite the officers' vigilance, the nefarious deeds were not entirely suppressed. /CROWDS were attracted to the much ad- ^ vertised location. Many persons who remembered the mystery in which the Dunn murder was still shrouded were impelled by mere curiosity to visit the scene and view the surroundings that had been so vividly described in print. There is a peculiar fascination about places that receive such public notoriety — doubly so when it has earned such a singular designation as "Ghost Grovel" Being a .woman, I suppose my inclination toward being a little morbidly curious is more or less inherent. Anyway, I'll ad- mit that every time there was mention of a crime occurring in Ghost Grove, I felt the urge to view the scene of which there had been so much talk. But it was a long time be- fore my desire to see how Ghost Grove actually looked was real- ized. Now I only wish I could for- get it! My husband is a railroad trainman. His time at home is limited to two days each week. That doesn't af- ford us very much time to make whimsical excursions and go on local sight- seeing expedi- tions to out-of- the-way places. We usually pre- fer to spend his "rest days" at home with our young daughter, only once in awhile enjoying have no special entertainment for the afternoon in a city where Sunday shows are prohibited by State law. The road to the airport is the closest large thoroughfare to Ghost Grove, and on the return trip I mentioned something about wishing we could drive past the place of which there had been so much talk. \\TE inquired of a small boy whom we met and received * directions to follow a certain by-road that would take us there. I was thrilled and a little frightened in anticipation of the weird spectacle built up in my imag- ination. How little did I realize at that time the capricious turn of destiny by which the course of startling future events were to be shaped — the frightful sequel shortly to ap- pear as the indirect result of so mere a thing as my wish to gaze upon the unhallowed ground where calamity had befallen others! "Well, here we are;" my husband ejacu- lated, stopping the car by the roadside. "I'm not sure that this is the place you've been wanting to see, but it looks a whole lot like the mys- tery scene of a story book." "Yes, Jethro, I'm almost cer- tain this is Ghost Grove," I re- plied, suppress- ing a sudden tin- gling of appre- hension that seemed to creep over me for no good reason at all as I looked out across the barren stretch of deserted wood- land. "Want to get out and walk around a bit?" Mr. Maddox in- vited, stepping from under the wheel. "Been a long time since we've taken a stroll through the woods, eh, hon?" I Here the camera has caught the eery atmosphere of Ghost Grove. Cross in the foreground marks the spot where Sterling T. Dunn's automobile was parked on the night of January 6th, 1928, when the first chapter in Ghost Grove's unholy history was written in human blood a drive beyond the city's border, or attending a downtown show. It was on Sunday — the twentieth of January, 1929, a year and fourteen days following the first Ghost Grove atrocity — that my husband and I happened to be driving out toward the new Municipal Airport, a favorite mecca for people who REMEM- BER picking up my vanity case and a few little trinkets that were loose in my lap and rolling them up in my handker- chief before we started walking down one of the beaten paths through the woods. But my thoughts for the moment were not occupied with attention to the lip-stick, powder-puff, and other commonplace womanly accessories. Instead, the imaginative appeal of that somber environment entranced my mind to the realms of fancy. But now, in the light of such bizarre circumstances that were undeniably contingent upon a

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My Escape from the Ghost Grove Terror 49 Warn mere trifle of carelessness, it seems odd that I should have allowed a brief period of absentmindedness to dispossess me of something which I dearly treasured — the silver vanity case that was my Christmas present from Jethro, less than a month ago. A modern author is credited with saying. "There's an ancient truth; namely, that the lives and destinies of men, the course of empires, may lie swayed, molded, or abruptly terminated by such a trivial event as the turn of a card!" I fully concur with that writer's opinion, for it was only the minor incident of a lost vanity case that became the medium of my most perilous fate. And it was the same article, the intrinsic value of which was mostly sentimental, that was destined to prove an innocent lure — like the bait attached to the trigger of a deadfall — of violent death ! T\TE were back in our modest home at 1229 South Orleans * Street before I discovered my loss. My first impulse was to tell Jethro that I had lost my vanity case on the trip. But I knew that he would not have time to go back to Ghost Grove to look for it then, as the hour was at hand when he would have to leave on his regular two-day trip to Bruceton. Although I have long been accustomed to these periods of necessary ab- sence of my hus- band, I have never been able to master the melancholy feel- ing that comes over me as the time approaches for his departure. I always think of the hazardous work in which he is engaged, and secretly pray for his safe re- turn. And I stu- diously avoid sending him away with un- necessary worry, such as would have resulted from the knowledge that I thought could be kept for his return. There was only one thing to do. I. concluded to wait and take the chance of someone else finding the precious trinket until Jethro should return for his "lay-over-day" at home. I resolved to bear my distress alone until Tuesday, the day when Mr. Maddox should be back. But Tuesday brought a telegram informing me that he would not be home until Thursday! A call to Murray, Kentucky, had sent my hus- band away in the opposite direction, at the last moment. The anxiety I had suffered for two days over losing my prized keepsake became unbearable at the thought of further postponement. I felt that I could- no longer rest without at least making an effort to find it. But I lacked the courage to venture out in Ghost Grove alone! We had only resided in Memphis a short time, and our acquaintance was extremely limited. In my dilemma, I tried to think of someone upon whom I could call to accompany me on a search of the desolate place where I hoped my vanity case might yet be found. But I could think of no 6ne among our few personal acquaintances heie upon whom I would feel free to call for assistance in a matter which, to others, would ap- pear so trivial. The chance for recovery would be doubly minimized- by awaiting Jethro's delayed return! I gave up the idea and dressed to go downtown for a matinee performance at Loew's State. When I backed our car onto the street and started for town that fateful afternoon, I was, all unknowingly, begin- ning a journey that was to take me through the most soul-torturing ordeal ever endured by a helpless woman! Could I only have known in that calm moment what a ghastly experience lay just ahead, my course would have been so different. There would now lie no smirch upon my name — nobody would have ever called me the "Mystery Woman" in the last of Ghost Grove's fatal episodes — and' one more grave would have been robbed of its untimely oc- cupant. On my way to town, at the intersection of Latham and McLemore Streets, I was suddenly hailed by a familiar voice. I pulled over to the curb and halted. "Going to town, Mrs. Maddox?" a man's voice politely asked. TT was Mr. Van Skelton, one of the few men in the vicinity of my new home with whom I was well acquainted. I had known Mr. Van Skelton long before we moved to Memphis. He had been waiting for a street car, he later explained, after leaving the Fire Station on McLemore Avenue, to which he was assigned as a City Fireman. "I was going down-town," I said, "but there is somewhere else I'd like to go first—if I wasn't afraid to go alone," was my frank explanation. This insinuation may have been indiscreet, though guile- less; at least it is (Right) Jethro W. Maddox, who set an ex- ample in un- shaken faith, and devotion that few at- tain. He never wavered dur- ing the crucial ordeal, and was the first to de- clare his full belief in his wife's strange story that was later to be ac- cepted by the police as a true explana- tion of Van Skelton's mys- terious murder the plain truth of a platonic cir- cumstance that I am not ashamed to admit. My sole object in this narrative is to render an un- embellished ac- count of my con- nection with one of the greatest scandal -pro- king tragedies ever to occur in this section of the country. (Continued on page 97) (Top) The Mad- dox' home at 1229 South Orleans Street, Memphis (under arrow) which became a haven of refuge to the woman who fled from the ghastly terror of Ghost Grove

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The MURDER at the Perpetrated amid a seething holiday crowd, here was a murder done with such satanic cunning that the coroner's jury returned a verdict of accident or suicide! Is it any wonder, then, that detectives were utterly bewildered when they suddenly realized that pretty Emma Larkin's life had been snuffed out by a master of crime? ENGINEER A. N. WALTERS of Gales- burg, Illinois, his hand resting lightly upon the throttle of the westbound Chi- cago, Burlington and Quincy local freight, l>ent forward on the grimy seatbox and peered far ahead along the endless ribbon of steel racing underneath the rocking locomotive. Far up near the south track, just a few feet from the rails, appeared a huddled object, prone upon the jagged roadbed. Gaudy bits of color held for an instant the distant inspection by the engineer and his hand reached upward and groped for the whistle cord. A series of sharp, warning shrieks cut the air and aroused Harry E. Johnson of Galesburg, the fireman, from his reverie in the none too comfortable seat on the opposite side of the cab. Following the gauntleted finger of the pointing engineer, the eyes of Johnson too fell upon the object and both watched closely as the freight train, its speed slackened, slid past. On the ground was the body of a woman. With instructions to the fireman to report the matter to the station agent at Biggsville, Illinois, the engineer pulled back the throttle a few notches and continued westward with the light tonnage, not coming to a stop. The afternoon of September 14th, 1916, was waning and Walters expected to reach the terminal by evening if the press of pick-up business along the line at way stations did not prohibit. A. L. Thompson, telegraph operator at Biggsville, heard the report concerning the location of the lxxly, tapped off By 0. F. Claybaugh an "S.O.S." to the train dis- patcher on the arrival and departure of the local, and boarded a gasoline speeder to chug away and inspect the discovery to his own satisfaction. What Thompson found, a few miles east of his station, was the fully clothed body of a pretty young woman, apparently about twenty-five years old. Her dark brown hair, cut very short and disheaveled, was matted with clots of blood and her glassy brown eyes stared sightlessly heavenward, warn- ing the station agent that he was standing in the presence of death. After a brief examination Thompson set about the task of learning all that he could about the manner in which the woman had met her death. HpHE station agent, acquainted with the numerous questions * that would be asked, busied himself with learning all that he could through close observation, that he might well be able to relate an intelligent description to a coroner's jury. Tall weeds, forming a border along the right-of-way, were not disturbed at the point where the body was located and nothing could be found to indicate that the woman had been rolled or dragged along the pebbles strewn on the sun-baked roadbed. The head, pointing toward the East, was resting upon a few brown leaves and a tiny patch of dry grass. These details were carefully noticed by the agent before he returned to Biggsville and made out a report for division headquarters. Doctor W. D. Henderson of Biggsville was notified and to Arrow indicates the exact spot alongside of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy railroad tracks, near Biggsville, Illinois, where the engineer of a freight discovered the body of pretty Emma Larkin, twenty-five years of age 50

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RACE TRACK The Mercer County Fair Grounds, Aledo, Illinois, where Emma Larkin was last seen alive. At a track was yelling itself hoarse. Miss Larkin vanished as completely as if she had been whisked off to was in the Fair Grounds! Where? when the crowd at the Yet. she with the permission of the coroner of Henderson County the l>ody was removed on the railroad speeder to the mortuary operated by C. A. Fafan in the village of Biggsville. The death of the woman had occurred several hours before her body was found, according to a report prepared for the coroner by Doctor Henderson after an examination. George Brewer of Biggsville, learning with the remainder of the citizens about the tragedy, became a bit more curious than his friends and ventured out to the location to examine the ground. His diligent search was rewarded by the finding of a parasol in a cluster of high weeds near the place where the body was noticed by the train crew, and from the dry bed of a small stream running parallel to the tracks he recovered a hat and coat, presumably belonging to the woman. Meanwhile, Doctor Henderson, in an examination of the body for evidence of bruises and other marks to indicate in what way death was caused, found the woman's worn purse, resting lightly upon her breast inside a torn waist of bright hue. Within the purse were found the addresses of three women and a railroad ticket from Moline, Illinois, to Westfield, Iowa. One of the slips of paper bore the name, Mrs. J. M. Bearse, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Y/I RS. BEARSE, notified of the incident and alarmed over * the absence of her daughter-in-law, Emma Larkin, whom she had not seen for more than two weeks, hurried to Biggsville by train and immediately identified the body as that of the wife of her son. Mrs. A. C. Eckert of Minneapolis, a sister of Emma I ..irk in. also made an identification and a coroner's jury was called to conduct an inquest. The testimony of the train crew, operator and others was obtained with the result that a verdict was returned, finding that Emma Larkin had come to her death by falling or leaping from a moving train. Her skull had been crushed and one leg was fractured, physicians testified. With the death thus disposed of in official records as an accident or suicide, opinion favoring the former theory, preparations were started for burial and the incident passed from public attention. CHERIFF C. C. LUTRELL of Mercer County, Illinois, a ~ section near the village of Biggsville, had followed de- velopments in the finding of the body with more than casual interest, however, and "he was not satisfied entirely with the theory of suicide or accidental death. The officer examined the records of the coroner's inquest and the testimony of witnesses. Sheriff Lutrell was puzzled more than anything else by the fact that the coat and hat believed to have been the property of the woman, as well as her parasol, were found at different points near the body. A woman contemplating suicide, he reasoned, would not be likely to toss an umbrella from a train before she leaped. Most certainly the parasol would be near the body if death was accidental. Likewise, he figured, a person would have no reason for discarding hat and coat prior to an act of suicide, especially by tossing it down a steep embankment into the bed of a creek. Too, a mere leap from a train would not result in death unless the wheels passed over the body. This woman, Sheriff Lutrell believed, had been pushed or thrown from the train. Tf Emma Larkin had met her death from injuries sustained when she was pushed or thrown, it was the opinion of the Sheriff that a deeper investigation should be made and the responsibility fixed. Railroad officials about this time concluded it wise to conduct an investigation in their own behalf and eliminate possibility of a damage suit for accidental death should it develop that relatives of the dead woman had no basis for 51

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52 True Detective Mysteries such action. A complete investigation was started. S|>ecial Agent Charles Brocf of Burlington, Iowa, was assigned to the case and Henderson County officers made it known that they suspected the death of Emma Larkin contained something akin to mystery. Just how much of a mystery this was they were soon to learn. Working on the case from all angles, the three investigating agencies lwgan where all such probes usually start — with the life of the woman. Emma Larkin, it was learned from relatives, led a rather her body, cold in death, was found along the right-of-way of the Chicago. Burlington and Quincy railroad? These were the two principal problems confronting officers as they dug deeper and deeper into the past of the woman. Consistency was rewarded when the investigators learned that Emma Larkin had confided in a woman, her former employer, that she was leaving the West Liberty fair in company with a man. The name of her male companion had not been divulged but the woman had mentioned during the conversation that they were "going on a trip by horse and buggy." This gave officers some additional worries, for the task of finding the unknown man was equally as great as that of learning more of Emma Larkin and her associates — and lierhaps equally as important. Automobiles in 1916 had not entirely replaced the less speedy horse and buggy and vehicles of various makes and styles were common along rural highways of that day. Such was the element of mystery, however, that the coroner's jury was recalled and the rather indefinite verdict was altered to one claiming that Emma Larkin had been murdered. Thus the invest - ■HHMMHBHMHSMMMHHK igation assumed more official angle and public interest became aroused. (Right) The C. B. 8b Q. railroad station at Aledo where the slayer, while waiting for a train on the morning after the murder, calmly sat on a trunk which contained the body of his victim! (Above and bottom) Two views of the desolate where the corpse was found mysterious life. She had become the wife of Thomas Larkin several years past but the paths of the two had separated and her whereabouts had not always l>een a matter of knowl- edge to her friends and kin. The mother-in-law communicated the information to authorities that Emma Larkin was addicted to the use of narcotics and said that she had once entered the Illinois State Hospital at Watertown for treatment to overcome the drug habit. /"CHECKING this information closely, authorities uncovered V the fact that the woman, almost five weeks prior to her death, had been an inmate of the institution for a short time. According to Doctor Wilma H. Jacobs, physician at the Watertown Hospital, Emma Larkin used as high as thirty- five grains of drugs each day. Records of the hospital showed that the mysterious woman had entered the in- stitution under the assumed name of Arleen Arden. Doctor Leslie Sherrick of Monmouth, Illinois, and Doctor C. E. Kaufman of Henderson County prepared the stomach and first six vertebrae of the spine for examination and sent the vital organs to Doctor Ralph W. Wenster of Chicago. The presence of wounds was found but the only substance in the stomach was a portion of embalming fluid used when the body was prepared for burial by the Biggsville undertaker. Thus the possibility of poison was eliminated. Tireless questioning brought out the information that Emma I^arkin had l>een seen a week previous to her death at a county fair in West Liberty, Iowa. After that time all .trace of the woman had been lost. Where did Emma J^irkin go from West Liberty, Iowa? What transpired from the time she was last seen, walking cheerfully among country fair patrons, chatting with ac- quaintances and mingling with countless strangers, until T'HiE move was fortunate. * at least for the officers, as it prompted Mrs. Mary Porter, keeper of a hotel at Kcithsburg, Illinois, to give out the information that the description of the slain woman tallied somewhat with that of a young woman who had stayed at her little hostelry on the night of September nth with a man. They had registered as man and wife. A photograph of the dead woman made this identification positive and officers were then armed with information that assured them that they were on a warm trail. Sheriff Lutrell took renewed interest in the murder probe at this point as Keithsburg is located within the Iwundaries of .Mercer County, near the southern division line, and the possibility that the slaying, if such it had been, occurred in a territory under his jurisdiction was not remote. The trail narrowed when a farmer residing south of the railway station of Apree reported that a man and woman, similar in description io the couple spending the night at the Keithsburg Hotel, had been noticed on the morning of September 12th, driving along a dusty country road in the direction of Aledo, the county seat, where a rural fair was in progress. The woman was wearing a hat exactly like the one recovered from the bed of a creek along the railroad tracks and she was doubtless Emma Larkin. By process of elimination officers guessed that they were slightly nearer the solution of the queer case. If Kmma

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The Murder at the Race Track 53 I^arkin was alive and in good health on the morning of September 12th and dead on the afternoon of September 14th, the answer to the riddle seemed to center around the locality of Aledo. Emma Larkin was approaching the City of Aledo on Monday morning, the opening day of the Mercer County Fair. The story of her death would be found tucked away amid the bosom of three eventful days — Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. She had left the hustle and bustle of the fair grounds at West Liberty, Iowa, and it was only reasonable to suppose that she was bound for the fair grounds in Aledo. It was on the fair grounds that Sheriff Lutrell and his deputies centered their attention. Six thousand people passed through the fair ground gates at Aledo on Monday. Fifteen thousand paid admissions were registered on Tuesday and an even larger number milled about the grounds on Wednesday. From which particular person in the multitude would be gleaned the nex't clue? Was Emma Larkin one of the thousands who had ixuired through the gates of the agricultural exposition — and when did she leave? The case at this stage had assumed such public importance, largely because of its deep mystery and promise of sensational elements, that State's Attorney John Wilson of Mercer County became active in the investigation. With him was associated Attorney James A. Allen, present prosecutor of the county, who was of major importance in the probe. the officers traced the winding trail of the young woman from novelty stands to refreshment counters, from fortune telling booths to swine pavilions, from cheap burlesque shows to horticultural exhibits, from sheep barns to horse stables, just as she had wandered aimlessly about strange grounds, flotsam upon a human sea. Here had she paused to sip a glass of pink lemonade and munch a meager meal; here had she chatted with a dowdy of her own kind and inclinations; there she stopped to admire an exceptional specimen of horse flesh; there had she crowded to the rail and watched the breath-taking finish of the 2:25 trot as the horses sped along, the hard, baked bits of clay flying from their pattering hoofs. C'MMA LARKIN had elbowed her way through the cheer- ing throng at the track's rim, brushed past a hurrying man, and halted for a moment at the edge of the white amphitheater while hundreds of people overhead shouted themselves into hoarseness while horse, sulky and driver flashed down the home stretch of the finish race. Then Emma Larkin had disappeared. From the man whose arm she had brushed came the last word of the aimless path followed by the young woman upon the fair grounds Monday afternoon. He had turned, saw her standing as if in momentary quandary as to where next to guide her tired feet, and then a group of carefree spectators passed and his view was lost. When next his eyes strayed to the same place the _ woman was missing. The trail has stopped. Seemingly the earth had opened into a yawning void and com- pletely swallowed up the woman whose body was found two days later on a stretch of the Burlington rail- road tracks near Biggs- ville. The search, so it seemed to officers, was to be in vain. The cloak of mystery shrouding the hours' Hunting for the prover- bial needle in a haystack was a task less difficult than picking up the trail of a lone woman through a countless throng of fair goers but the officers ac- complished just this. Arrow points to Stall Twenty of the stables at the Aledo track. Two men who occupied Stall Nineteen (seen to f he left) reported that they had heard weird groans in Stall Twenty, beginning on the afternoon that Emma Larkin disappeared and continuing until after midnight. They added that all during this time the doors of Stall Twenty had been securely barred. (Right) Sheriff C. C. Lutrell, of Mercer County, who spiked the theory of accidental death p*MMA LARKIN had been seen strolling about the fair grounds on Monday afternoon. A race horse owner identified a photograph of the woman as the person with whom he had conversed for an instant on that day— and from him was obtained the inside story of the character of the slain woman and details of the life she did not reveal to her relatives. Emma Larkin, so the authorities learned, was an associate of turf followers. She was familiar to many race horse swipes, trainers and owners by appearance only and had gained an existence lor a time by trading in her favors among the circle of more or less unscrupulous individuals who haunted the barns and stables. Following relentlessly the only hope of solving the mystery, elapsing from late Mon- day afternoon until late Wednesday afternoon was heavy and defied for the time all efforts to penetrate. Among hundreds, even thousands, the woman had vanished and the most diligent questioning brought nothing but failure to repay the investigators. Then, suddenly as the trail had ended, a frayed thread was picked up and followed into a maze of conflicting direc- tions, leading the bewildered officers into what seemed to be a hopeless entanglement. Gossip usually attends the commission of a strange crime and this particular case was not an exception. Out of the countless, far-fetched tales that had been brought to the

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54 True Detective Mysteries A general view of the rear of the Aledo amphitheater. The open upper door is that of Stall Twenty authorities came one that offered some promise and was selected for a thorough investigation. Emma L.irkin, according to the information, had been seen talking to the owner of a strirlg of race horses at the amphi- theater near the spot where she vanished. The informant, who was not quite certain of the identity of the woman, but who was so positive in details that the story seemed to hold water, asserted that the young woman had entered into an earnest conversation with the horseman for about five minutes. Then the man had turned and walked away, entering one of the long rows of horse stalls at the rear of the amphitheater, returning shortly in company of another man. The two men and the woman had carried on a conversation in low voices and then the three walked away together, according to the informant. A check on the story with one of the gate tenders brought out the fact that an automobile, driven by a man alone in the front seat and occupied in the rear by a man and woman, all answering descriptions of the trio, had passed through the fair-ground entrance on the afternoon in question. Did Emma Larkin drive away with two strange men to keep a rendezvous with death? Once more officers held hopes that the curtain would fall back and reveal the true story of this queer drama of life and death. Having successfully traced the movements of the young woman from the fair grounds at West Liberty, Iowa, to Keithsburg, Illinois, from there to Aledo and thence to the exit from the Mercer County fairgrounds by auto- mobile, the investigators pinned their hopes on trailing the automobile believed to have carried Emma I.arkin and her slayers. 'T'HEN the question — if Emma Larkm had ridden away with her slayers in an automobile, how was her body placed upon the railroad property in daylight and where were the marks to indicate how it had reached that point? Summarizing the clues, the officers found that they had these points upon which to unravel the tangled mass of mystery. The body had not been carried to the railroad but had been thrown or pushed from a moving train; the woman believed to be Emma Larkin was last seen leaving the Aledo fair-grounds in an automobile; the absence of automobile tire tracks in the territory immediately sur- rounding the railroad showed that she had not been dragged there from the machine; the identities of the persons accompanying her in the car could not be learned; the name of the man who had brpught her to Aledo from Iowa was unknown. This left the detectives only one course of reasoning — that the woman had been killed by her mysterious com- panions of the automobile ride and her body placed aboard a Chicago, Burlington and Quincy train, then heaved overside on the roadbed near Higgsville. The theory, however, was without logic, for to board a moving train with a lifeless burden such as the body of a woman and then hurl the body off by day would be to create a situation extremely likely to result in detection. A SIDE from the belief that the woman in the automobile was Emma Larkin, the investigators were without defi- nite information. The more consideration given to the theory that she had been murdered by the men in the car led to the conviction that a blind trail was l)eing followed Failure to locate any person who had seen the men and woman after the automobile had been driven from the gate of the fair grounds led officers at last to abandon this clue and turn again to the exposition grounds proper, where it seemed would be found the secret of her death. A check of train schedules and reports revealed that the . body of Emma Larkin had probably been tossed from a west- bound freight train which had passed over the division about two hours ahead of the pick-up local. The train crew on the westlwund had noticed no signs of a body along the tracks.

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The Murder at the Race Track 55 (Above) Rodeo Day at the Mercer County Fair. It was in such a crowd that Emma Larkin vanished. view of the Fair Grounds (Bottom) Another The engineer of the local, following behind, was the first to see the object. Working on the theory that the body had l)een placed on the train at Aledo or a point nearby, the officers traced back over the line, questioning and prying with the aid of the railway conqjany's special agent. Naturally, no person could l>c found who had seen a body loaded upon the freight train. HTHE freight train had made numerous stops between Aledo and Biggsville, picking up way cars, setting out transfer shipments and taking on water. At one point several cars from the points west of Burlington, Iowa, had been set into the train but' this confusing fact was discarded in view of the belief that the body had been placed upon the train near Aledo. Working back to Aledo without any apparent headway, the investigators checked the movements of the train at that point. A discovery of importance was made. A special freight car had been ordered coupled onto the train at Aledo. The billing indicated that the car was con- signed to Monmouth, Illinois, and carried one race horse and equipment, Iwing shipped to Arthur Pogue of Media, Illinois, the owner. Investigation revealed that Mr. Pogue was a reputable- stable owner and was prominent on the racing circuits of Western Illinois and Eastern Iowa. He had entered the Aledo races with Helen S, a fleet-footed mare, and in all of his connections with the turf he had never been known to l>e involved in shady transactions. A fixed race was some- thing upon which he. frowned and his reputation for clean sportsmanship was without a blemish. Mr. Pogue had not made his appearance at the race track but had shipped his steed in charge of Bert Sapp of Mon- mouth, a trainer of long experience. Helen S, accompanied by the trainer, had arrived in Aledo on Sunday preceding the opening of the county fair and had l>ecn quartered in the stalls along the base of the amphi- theater. The fact that the special car had been chartered by Pogue to ship the horse to Monmouth might have called for little attention had not the question arisen as to why the animal should have been withdrawn on Wednesday without en- tering a single race during the fair. Attractive purses were on the card for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. The horse had arrived Sunday and had not gone to the post Monday and Tuesday. Why had the animal been shipped back to its stables without an attempt to carry away a portion of the prize money? Records of the agricultural society indicated that Sapp had rented Stalls Number Twenty and Twenty-one for the duration of the fair. Helen S had been quartered in Stall Twenty-one and Number Twenty had been used as a bunk stall and storage place for sulky and harness. APP, it was learned, had not entered Helen S on the card because the animal was not in condition. He had re- mained in the stall with the horse most of the time since he had arrived at the grounds, attempting to condition the mare in the hope that she would go to the post with the other entries in Tuesday's races. Helen S had showed no signs of condition Monday, it was learned from followers of the sport, and Sapp had her on the tracks in the morning and late afternoon, at- tempting to work a stiffness from her joints. The horse clocked on one trial much too slow to venture starting and Sapp had talked freely about his misfortune at lunch stands and in the stables. The animal was useless in the Tuesday afternoon races because a downpour of rain in the morning prevented a workout and the cramped stall prohibited exercise suf- ficient to remedy the stiff joints. Mike Ferguson of Monmouth, known as a "swipe," had been employed by Sapp to help in . conditioning Helen S and together

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56 True Detective Mysteries they worked but their best efforts were all in vain. Sapp communicated the adverse news to the owner at Media who telegraphed back instructions to return the horse and attempt to shape her in the Pogue stables preparatory to the following week. Sapp was acting under orders from the owner when he chartered the freight car and shipped Helen S from Aledo, the investigators learned. The procedure was not unusual and bore little promise of a suspicious atmosphere. Divided between the clue of the freight car and the auto- mobile, authorities faced a profound riddle. Convinced, however, that the body came from the freight train, they con- tinued an investigation of Sapp and his movements. Although a woman believed to have been Emma Larkin was reported leaving the fair grounds in an automobile with two unidentified men, the last positive location of Emma Larkin was without doubt fixed at that brief moment when she had stood in perplexity at the end of the amphitheater. Lj^MMA LARKIN was standing about twenty-five feet from the stall occupied by Bert Sapp when she disap- peared. Did that fact have any significance? She was also standing within a few feet of several dozen additional stalls. If the informant responsible for the story that she had walked away with two strangers had been in error regarding the identity of the woman, her disappearance amid the throng of fair spectators bordered upon the aspect of the supernatural. At this point in the puzzle it was learned that Miss Mary Slater of Rock Island, Illinois, a friend of Emma Larkin, had last been in com- pany with the woman at Muscatine, Iowa, and had made an appointment to meet her at the Aledo fair on Tuesday, the day of her disap- pearance. Miss Slater had reached Aledo but searched in vain for the woman. Then she had returned to Iowa. Miss Slater could shed -no light on the strange disappearance of the Larkin woman, other than to say that she had been "playing" the fairs throughout Iowa, working in several shows of ill repute and otherwise collect- ing coins through a laxity of morals. Not only was Emma Larkin ad- dicted to the use of drugs, the investi- gators learned but she had other bad habits. While the in- vestigation was swinging thus be- tween two points and the riddle of the automobile ride still claiming attention, the of- ficers learned that Sapp had spent all of Tuesday in Stall Twenty with the swinging doors closed. Due to the heavy rain of the morning and the prying eyes of the spectators in the afternoon, the closed door might* have been ex- plained to the (Above) At the time of the murder, the rear grounds of the amphitheater were 'used for the display of prize livestock, and hundreds of persons were gathered here the day Emma Larkin was slam — within a few feet of the crowd/ Arrow points to Stall Twenty. (Top) J. M. Wilson, former State's Attorney of Mercer County, who took an active part in the investigation of Miss Larkin's mysterious death satisfaction of Sheriff Lutrell and his deputies, had they not also learned that a horse blanket had been placed over a hole in a portion of the lower door, shutting out entirely the view from the outside and no doubt making the interior ex- tremely uncomfortable in the scorching September tempera- ture. Assured that they were closing in upon the slayer or at least had uncovered a clue of utmost importance to the solution of the mystery, the sheriff and assistants of the state's attorney renewed their efforts. Fred Ridell of Aledo, operator of a small transfer business, gave a description of the articles brought to the Aledo fair grounds by Sapp. In addition to the horse, racing bike and harness, the equipment included a trunk. Mr. Ridel! estimated the entire weight of the outfit, exclusive of the horse, at between seventy-five and one hundred pounds. William Whiteside, a teamster who hauled the equipment from the stalls to the Burlington railway depot in Aledo on Wednesday morning, said the equipment was the same as that described by Ridell except that it included a broken trunk tray and weighed about one hundred seventy-five pounds. When Sapp took his racing paraphernalia away from the fair grounds it weighed at least seventy-five pounds more than the day it was deposited there. The body of Emma Larkin weighed far more than seventy-five pounds, yet the guesses of an individual as to weight are not always very accurate. THHE fact remained that Bert Sapp carried * away something heavier from the Aledo fair grounds than he possessed when he ar- rived. That something was doubtless carried in the trunk and was of such bulk that the trunk tray could not be replaced, as it was on the day the racing equipment was unloaded at the Aledo depot. Investigators reasoned that if they could learn what the trunk contained they would have the key to the lock of mys- tery. Accordingly an officer was sent to Media and the racing equipment was examined. Blood-stains were found in the trunk. Mr. Pogue said that the trunk had been received by him from Sapp and that it had contained nothing but harness. He had not noticed the blood-stains and could not ac- count for their presence. Special Agent Broef of the Burlington rail- road and Patrol- man William Meier of Mon- mouth located Sapp in Mon- mouth and placed him under arrest, charging him with (Continued on page 83)

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The machine of W. R. Spratt, New York banker, which was appropriated and later abandoned by the killer in his frenzied flight to escape justice. At the extreme left is District Attorney Frank H. Coyne, of Westchester County, New York, who, with an assistant, is seen examining the sweater and cap left in the car by the murderer. These two garments were valuable clues in tracing the slayer Stalking Irvington's Mad Police Killer A motorcycle patrolman, wantonly murdered in broad daylight — in plain view of horror stricken citizens! The motive: '1 hate cops — I'm a tough guy and I'm going to bump off every one I see!" By BERNARD MCCALL Chief of Police, Irvington-on-Hudson, New York As told to P. L. TRUSSELL DARTING through the heavy traffic at Main Street and Broadway, in Irvington-on-Hudson, West- chester County, New York, late in the afternoon of Sunday, March 3rd, 1929, a strange motorist drew up at the traffic booth and called to me: "Chief, one of your men has been shot." That was the message which started me on one of the strangest hunts in my police experience. Only fifteen minutes earlier I had relieved Traffic Police- man Peter Gorley at the intersection to allow him time for his supper. I was alone there in the midst of two streams of traffic, heaviest of the day at that point on a bright spring Sunday afternoon when everything appeared so peaceful. The agitated motorist was almost incoherent in his excite- ment—all he could tell me was that as he had passed up the Albany Post Road on the outskirts of Irvington someone had called to him from the roadside: "Rush down to police headquarters at 98 Main Street and notify the police that a policeman has just been shot at South Broadway and Hammond Road." I immediately turned off the traffic light and ran to my automobile which was parked alongside the road nearby. It took me only a few minutes to drive to South Broadway and Hammond Road and to hurry through the crowd which 57

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58 True Detective Mysteries had gathered there around the still figure in uniform which lay beside the road. It was directly in front of the entrance to the Gordon L. Harris property and not far from the estate of Finley J. Shepard. A glance revealed to me that the victim was Motorcycle Policeman George Dugan of the Irvington Police Department and I saw at once that he was dead. His body lay almost directly beside his motorcycle, which was held upright on its stand. Blood which had flowed from his left eye showed where a bullet had entered his head, piercing the brain. As I saw Dugan's body lying there beside his motorcycle I recalled the conversation we had had when I sent him out on patrol duty that day. Dugan had been on night duty for several months and Patrolman Francis Murphy had been on the day motorcycle patrol of the Albany Post Road. Hut Murphy was to be married and I had ordered him back on street duty that very day, switching Dugan to the motorcycle where he had previously l>een on duty. It was at three o'clock that after- noon that I had talked last with Patrolman Dugan. As I started him out on his new shift we had talked for a few minutes on South B roadway. It may have been that I had a premonition of disas- ter, for I recalled that, just before George had mounted his motor- cycle, I had said: "George, be care- ful to-day. Take it easy and don't be too reckless in chasing speeders. Remember that you have been off a motorcycle for sev- eral months, so do not take any chances. Keep your head until you have again become accustomed to riding." George had laughed at my misgivings as "he swung his leg over the cycle and "kicked" the engine starter and started off. "O. K., Chief," he said, laughing as he moved away, and he turned and waved back to me as he swept off to his patrol. That was the last time I saw him alive, shot to death — a death that came warning. The story of George Dugan's murder was a dramatic one as it was told to me by Frederick Shriber when I reached the death scene. After leaving me at 3 o'clock Officer Dugan had ridden up and down the Albany Post Road in Irvington, watching for speeders and other law breakers in the heavy traffic that afternoon It was a busy day for the police, for the clear bracing air of early March had attracted a heavy throng of motorists to the beauties of Westchester County, and there were several traffic snarls at intersections. Dugan had ignored my warning to "be careful" and had swung in and out of the traffic, intent only upon keeping the motor- ists moving and in accordance with regulations. Apparently his return to motorcycle riding had tired him, for at four o'clock he had driven his cycle to the side of the road at South Broadway and Hammond Road which, as I have explained, is near the entrance to- the Gordon L. Harris property. George had just parked his motorcycle on its stand when Fred Shriber, driving a truck on which were his two brothers, Charles Shriber and Walter Shriber, approached the scene, having driven out from Irvington. Dugan was walking slowly near his motorcycle and stretching his arms when the Shribers' truck neared him. Fred Shriber had noticed the approach of a peculiar-looking man from the opposite direc- tion, for the fellow slouched in his walk, shuf- fling along, with his gaze to the ground. Shriber descril)ed him as being of thin build, rather below medium size and dressed in shabby garments, wearing a dark grey suit, with a dark sweater over the coat, and a dark cap. But as the man ap- proached the police- man the shuffle in his gait disappeared as if by magic. He straight- ened up, his eyes glar- ing strangely, his pace quickened almost to a run, and as the Shriber brothers looked on helplessly he pulled a large revolver from his right hip pocket and fired point blank at Policeman Dugan from a distance of less than ten feet. The policeman, shot through the eye — the bullet piercing his brain — twirled around and fell without a cry almost beside his parked motorcycle. QUR Vy not Policemen point out to the "D. A." the spot where the killer (/riser) plugged Motorcycle Patrolman George Dugan as the latter was An hour later he was without a moment's truck was more than twenty feet away when the policeman fell," Fred Shriber said to me. "Horrified, I jammed on the brake and brought the truck to a stop, watching almost fascinated as the killer stood over the policeman's body, the weapon in his hand still smoking. "As the killer's eyes lifted to me I jumped from the truck, darting alongside the body and heading back toward Irving- ton, intent upon spreading the alarm. Hardly had I gotten away from the side of the truck when I heard a report and felt the whistle of a bullet which sped past my head. My brothers yelled, 'Look out. Fred.' As they spoke the bandit turned his revolver on the truck, where my brothers had sought refuge in the body, back of the driver's seat, and three bullets crashed into the vehicle. "Fearing a further fusillade, Charlie and Walter then jumped from the rear of the trjck and dashed down the road toward Irvington behind me. The last sight we had of the murderer was when he vaulted the fence surrounding

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Stalking Irvington1 s Mad Police Killer 59 the Harris property and made off through the field toward the Paul Randall and Ralph Mathiessen estates. I hurried back to the place where Patrolman Dugan lay and called to a passing motorist to rush to the I rvington Police Head- quarters and notify the authorities of the murder." IDEALIZING that speed was essential to apprehend the " murderer, I left the scene of the crime and dashed back to the Irvington Police Headquarters, where I ordered the fire siren sounded. This called out all members of the Police Department who were off duty and the fifty-two members of the Fire Department. And it did more than that, for almost in incredible time the entire village had learned of the murder and Police Headquarters was besieged by irate citizens, demanding arms that they might aid in the man-hunt. Organizing searching parties to cover the different roads leading out of Irvington and giving orders for spreading the alarm by telephone and telegraph, I joined "Danny" Dwyer, a friend of mine and Secret Service operative who was in Irvington, and Judge John Larkin of Newburgh. We took my automobile, a Chevrolet coupe, and headed for West Sunnyside Lane as being the most likely spot to pick As Larkin, Dwyer and I dashed out East Sunnyside Lane the little girl called from the sidewalk to me. "I saw him, Ben." she called excitedly. "I'm sure it was the man you are hunting. I saw him run and hide behind some bushes near the aqueduct, not far from the old Hopkins place." That was the first intimation we had of the direction of the fugitive's flight after his crossing of the estates bordering the Harris property. We headed for the Hopkins property and as we approached the gate we pulled to the side of the road to allow the passage of a handsome Packard closed car, the property of W. R. Spratt, a banker of 1158 Fifth Avenue. New York City, who recently had bought a half of the old Hopkins estate. As the big car swept past from my vantage point on the running board of my Chevrolet, I could see that Arthur Williams, Mr. Spratt's chauffeur, was driving. It swerved away from us as we passed, and I could not distinguish the occupant or occupants of the tonneau, for the window shades had been drawn partly down. As we passed on into the old Hopkins estate I looked back and saw the big Spratt car gather speed as it swept into East Sunnyside Lane. I had no inkling at that time how close I was to death. wmmm street in Irvington-on- Hudson, a few hours after the murder— when the man-hunt was going full blast up the trail of the slayer, who, according to the Shribers had fled in that direction after the shooting. Dwyer drove the car and Judge Larkin was on the seat with him. I stood on the running board, with drawn revolver. Despite the fact that in his early flight the assassin had gone through the main section of Irvington, virtually no one had taken notice of his passage. It developed that after crossing the Harris property, the killer had run over the railroad viaduct near that property, crossed another tract known as the "Home Place" and continued to South F. Street in Irvington. He had gone north to Main Street, the principal business street in Irvington, down Main Street to North E. Street and then out to, the Mathiessen estate, leaving the Mathiessen property to continue out Sunnyside Lane. Hut, despite his dash through the busiest part of the village, his progress had gone unnoticed, except for the keen ob- servation of a little girl, Ethel Scott, twelve years old, who alone of all who had seen him had marked his flight. Later I learned that only by a miracle had I escaped an assassin's bullet. We had driven hardly a hundred yards inside the Hopkins property when we came upon an excited group, Mr. Spratt and Mrs. Spratt, Patrick Kelly, caretaker of the estate, and little Constance Marie Spratt, eleven years old, the banker's daughter. AS they rushed toward us I asked: ** "Have you seen a suspicious looking man?" "Have I seen him!" yelled Mr. Spratt, interrupting me, "He just held us up and stole my car and chauffeur!" We didn't wait to hear all the details at that time, for we turned our car about and resumed the chase, but this is what had occurred on the Spratt property: Mr. and Mrs. Spratt and their daughter, Constance Marie, had motored out to the property which Mr. Spratt had bought recently, to consult Kelly {Continued on page 90)

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The Former MRS. FRANK The man she loved — chained by the wrists to a wall in the Minnesota State Penitentiary, on a diet of bread and water . . . Ostracized by family and friends — her children snatched from her — because she had unwittingly married a notorious criminal. ... Such was the situation confronting Mrs. Sibby when she suddenly hit upon a desperate scheme to deliver her husband from prison ! THE story so far: Even as a little girl the former Mrs, Frank Silsby wanted to "go places, ring door- bells, and see people," and as she gretv older her "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" personality gradually look possession of her mind and actions. Curious about love and marriage, she became the wife of a minister's son and gave birth to two children whom she loved devotedly. Then she heard strange' voices calling, beckoning her to run away and see life. She took her babies and departed for New York where she first tried theatrical work, then for a time was an artist's model in Greenwich Village, New York's Bohemia. But these experiences did not satisfy her'innate curiosity and soon she was the friend of famous underworld characters — her home the meeting place of gangsters — her interests their interests. She met Frank Silsby in a Greenwich Village cafe and they were married soon after. She thought her husband was a lawyer and he would make frequent trips out of town and return with large packages of money. Then one day he did not return — instead came a letter telling her that Frank was in Stillwater Prison , .charged with robbery and sentenced to serve forty-five years. She was surprised and heart-broken but she immediately packed and started for Minnesota determined to give her all in an attempt to free Frank Silsby. She continues her story: Part Two THE information brought to me by a stranger, that my husband, Frank Silsby, who had dropped from sight while presumably on a business trip in the West, had begun serving a sentence of forty-five years at hard labor in the Minnesota State Prison at Stillwater for robbery, was the greatest tragedy in my life up to that time. There were to be other tragedies, but this blow had left me- prostrated. I worshiped my husband, for he was everything a woman could ask in the way of a devoted compan- ion and wonderful father to the two "There isn't a prison to which at least one man on the out- side doesn't carry a key that will un- lock a door for some fellow on the inside." Upon receipt of this startling informa- tion, Mrs. Silsby (shown at right and on opposite page) immediately began laying plans to ensnare "the man with the key." 60 Ac TaIH llV HPfC.P If children of my former marriage. Despite r\a ujiu uy 1 i^iacii the fact that he wag a banditi who eyen on the day of his marriage, as I later learned, was planning a big crime; despite the fact, too, that I married him without knowledge of his criminal activity, I loved him. Some will say that I was foolish to plan on aiding him, that I should have let well enough alone. But every woman who has loved a man who got in trouble will know what was in my heart, and will understand. Frank was in trouble and noth- ing else mattered. I packed a suitcase, kissed my babies good-bye, gave them into the care of a maid who served us and started the long journey to the Stillwater Penitentiary. My heart was heavy and my eyes filled with tears as the lights of upper New York grew dim. Rain, cold as the fear within my heart, steadily pelted the windows as I rolled and tossed in my berth through- out the night. My arrival in Stillwater was also under a cold, gray sky and fear of something, I knew not what, gnawed at my heart as I stepped from the train. Hangers-on about the station eyed me curiously ; they quickly detect persons who come to visit those in prison. That I was a prison visitor became evident when I stepped into an ancient taxicab that conveyed me to the doors of the high-walled penitentiary. Guards with their rifles were in the prison watch-towers. I imagined that I could hear something like a great, agonizing sigh rise from within those walls behind which was the man I loved. I felt faint, but steeled myself for the ordeal as I explained to an outpost guard the purpose of my visit. I was di- rected to a second sentry and after another explana- tion, a great gate clanged behind me. What had Frank thought about as that same gate closed behind him for forty-five years of his life? I was directed to the warden's office, and as I waited outside I ' (Continued on page 113)

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Silsby's Own Story

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The calm and collected Charlie Birger — killer extraordinary — is here seen as he appeared during his dramatic trial for the murder of Mayor Joe Adams of West City, Illinois. The scourge of Little Egypt is flanked by his two daughters, while his pretty young wife is seen at the left. (Bottom) Birger, with four guards, on his way to the court -room The Smashing of EGYPT'S" spiIE story so far: Strike-breakers who settled in Williamson County after adjust- ing disputes in the mines of Herrin, Illinois, have turned the county into a literal "crime-center." The Birger and Shelton factions, once partners in rum-running., have fallen into bitter disputes and are now deadly enemies. Birger set up a stronghold called Shady Rest, which the Sheltons proceeded to bomb from the air. In their desperate struggle for power they have earned the name of "Bloody Williamson" for their section. Mayor Joe Adams, a friend of the Sheltons, has been called to his own front door and shot down. On January 17th, 1929, Highway Pair olmanPrice and his wife disappear. Soon afterward the Shel- ton brothers are charged with a bank robbery and Birger is star witness against them. Inside tips lead officers to question Harry Thomassen, who breaks down and confesses the murder of Mayor Adams. He implicates Birger and Newman, Birger's chief aide. Newman promises to talk if he is assured a life penalty. He tells the inside story of the Price disappearance. The story continues: 62 Part Three — Conclusion *T was raining hard and driving was difficult," continued Newman. "Birger would sit in silence for a long time, then demand of Price to know why he had been taking ice cream to Harry Thomassen in the Marion Jail and trying to find out who killed Mayor Adams", or he would bawl Price out for being around the cabin the night it was dyna- mited. "At other times he would call on Price to tell who dyna- mited the cabin, and then he would accuse Price of telling Sheriff Oren Coleman of the gang's activities m Williamson County. "I paid little atten- tion to this talk be- cause that was Birger's way. He loved to bully and curse a man and to see a man take it. As usual, Birger had his machine gun across his lap, with his finger

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A woman, foully murdered, her body thrown down a mine shaft . . . Her husband a machine gun target — be- cause he knew too much . . . A crooked District Attorney in league with gangdom Such were the shocking conditions that marked the closing days of Southern Illinois' seething maelstrom of terror— an unholy carni- val of death without counter- part in all the annals of crime! By Merlin Moore Taylor "IT'S A BEAUTIFUL WORLD!" Those were the last words of Birger (shown smiling on the gallows) uttered a few mo- ments before he plunged to eternity GANGSTER KING on the trigger. Finally Birger ordered me to turn around and drive back to the ruins of the old cabin in Williamson. "At the cabin Birger took Price by the arm and led him into the deserted barbecue stand which had not been destroyed when the cabin was dynamited. "Price walked in and sat on a table, his back to the front door and facing Birger. He was not alarmed. Birger was in a rage, probably because he couldn't scare Price. "With an oath, he accused Price of tipping off someone to burn the cabin. Price held up his right hand and said: 'I swear, Charlie, I am innocent.' "Birger again cursed and fired three shots. The bullets passed through Price and whizzed through the front win- dows so close to Wooten and me that we jumped. Price pitched forward off the table, falling on his face and turning over. "At that moment, the other car with Simmons and three others came up. They jumped out and someone exclaimed to Birger: 'You've played hell now. Here's the car with that "Wooten said, 'You wouldn't have got us out here if we had known you were going to kill that man. Now we are in a bad spot because his wife knows he is with us.' "Connie Ritter said, 'Don't worry about the woman. We killed her and threw her in an old mine.' " 'All right,' said Birger, 'we'll put him with her.' " 'You can't.' said Ritter, 'we piled in a lot of timbers on top of her.' " 'Well, I know an old mine near Duquoin,' said Birger. Throw this man in Newman's car.' " 'I'll be damned if you do,' I said. 'Put him in that other car.' " 'Let's beat it." said Wooten to me. 'This is awful.' "This threw Birger into another rage and he raised his machine gun and shouted: 'Everybody will go through this with me, or I'll wipe you all out.' "HPWO of the others had machine guns and they put them down and helped Birger wrap Price in a piece of canvas they found in the barbecue stand. They put Price in the back seat of my car. Birger got in and sat on him, machine gun across his knees, and ordered me to drive through Car- bondale, then north. The other car followed with the others in it. "While we were driving along Price began to talk. 'Oh, Charlie, I'm an innocent man. Why have you done this to me?' " 'Shut up, or I'll turn this machine gun loose on you,' Birger said and Price was silent. "After a bit Birger told me to stop the car and he got out. " 'Every damn time I kill a man I get sick at my stomach,' he said. 'It ain't nerves; it's my stomach.' "He then said to Connie Ritter: 'You sit on him awhile.' Ritter protested. 'Aw, Charlie,' he said. 'You sit on your own dead men.' " 'Sit on him!' said Birger and he swung the machine gun on Ritter. 'Sit on him or ' He didn't have to finish because Connie did as he was told and sat down on Price. 6.?

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64 True Detective Mysteries " 'I can kill a man but damned if I like to ride with him,' said Birger and got into his own car. "After we had gone a few miles Price, who had been breathing heavily, said: 'Oh, Connie Rittcr, I am an innocent man.' " 'Shut up, I didn't do this!' Ritter said. "Just before reaching the town of Dubois, Birger ordered a stop. He went to look at the mine but found a watchman there, so he said we would go on to a field near there and when we got there, he told the men in the car with him to take Price out in the field. "As they hauled Price out of the car I was at the wheel and he threw his hand on my right shoulder. ** 'Art,' he moaned, 'I thought you were my friend.' " 'By God, I am sorry, but I can't help this,' I said, and when they carried him into the field I said to Wooten, 'I'll kill Birger for this.' Wooten replied, Til be with you. But we had better keep quiet.' "Ritter, Blue, Simpson and Simmons took Price out into the field and Birger followed with his machine gun. Pretty soon Wooten and I heard some shots and then they all came back. One of them told me afterwards that when they laid Price down Birger told them to stand back and opened up with the machine gun. "Ritter rode back with me. He said that as soon as we left with Price they took his wife and drove out to the mine and shot her. He said she didn't say one word during the ride or ask where they were going. When they got to the mine and she was told to get out, one of the men — Ritter wouldn't say who — shot her twice in the back and she screamed and fell on her face in the road. Then she was shot twice more as she lay on the ground. "Then all of them picked up her body and took her to the mine shaft and tossed hex in. Ritter said she fell quite a ways before she struck water. Then they all piled timbers and pieces of corrugated iron down on top of her." From his cell Birger issued a flat dental of the whole story. "Newman for some reason is trying to destroy me and he is willing to do this even if he destroys himself at the same time," Birger said. Feeling against Birger and his aides was running so high when Newman was returned to Illinois that Birger was spirited away from the Benton Jail and taken to that at Springfield, the state capital. Newman himself was taken under heavy guard to Nashville, the county seat of Washington County in which the actual killing of the Prices occurred. After he had testified before the grand jury he was taken away to another county for safe-keeping. Meanwhile, the body of Mrs. Price was recovered from the mine. The grand jury promptly indicted Birger, Simmons, Simp- son, Ritter and Blue. Newman was not indicted. Neither was Wooten, who then was serving a sentence for counter- feiting in the Federal Prison at Atlanta. Simpson, convicted of mail robbery, was then in Leavenworth but arrange- ments were made to return him whenever the trial should begin. With the arrest of Simmons but two of those accused were left at large — Ritter and Blue. It may be mentioned here that Blue never has been captured. Ritter was seized in New Orleans in November, 1929, but so many other charges were to be called ahead of the Price murders that it was regarded' as doubtful if he ever would be tried for them. f\F all the Birgerites in jail, Rado Millich and Eural Gowan ^ were the first to face the bar of justice. Their trial for the Rilling of Ward Jones at the Shady Rest cabin was called in July, 1927, at Marion. Arlie Boswell, the former Klan leader, who had been elected state's attorney, prosecuted the case. His star witness, of course, was young Harry Thomassen who had been brought back from his cell in Menard Prison to testify. Millich did not deny that he had killed Jones. Millich said that Jones had enticed him to Shady Rest by telephoning that he was wanted there. As he was leaving (Above) Art Newman (hat in lap) — chief lieutenant of the Birger gang — who, after a bitter break with Birger, spilled the works and sent Little Egypt's gangster king to the gallows. Mrs. Newman is seated next to her husband. The scene: Birgei's murder trial. (Below) Left to right — Mrs. Joe Adams, wife of the murdered mayor; Arian Adams, her daughter; Gus Adams, brother of the mayor, and Mrs. Netherton, mother of Mrs. Adams, as they appeared at the Birger trial

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The Smashing of "Little Egypt's" Gangster King 65 (Above) Guarding the jail at Benton, Illinois, when the citizenry threatened to storm it, take Birger by force and kill him. (Below) In the foreground at the right is S. Glenn Young, Klan leader — and walking arsenal — who was bumped off in a battle with Deputy Sheriff Ora Thomas. Standing be- hind Young is Arlie O. Boswell, former State's Attorney of Williamson County, Illinois, who was sent to the pen for being in cahoots with the in- f amous Birger tribe the cabin, Millich snid, he heard Jones calling him and turned to find Jones menacing him with a machine gun. Thereupon, said Millich, he killed Jones with his pistol. He absolved young Gowan of any participation in the killing but said that Gowan helped him carry the body into the woods immediatelv afterwards and that night helped him dispose of it in a creek. The jury sentenced Millich to hang and gave Gowan twenty-five years in Chester Prison. The trial of Birger, Newman and Ray Hyland for the murder of Mayor Joe Adams, of West City, already had swung into action at Benton. Appearance of the trio in the same courtroom provided a unique scene. Within and without the Franklin County Courthouse were armed guards by the dozen, precautions against not only a mob or a rescue attempt, but to prevent the defendants from attacking each other. Within the rail that separated the court and participants in the trial from mere spectators, Birger sat on one side of the room with his wife and his two children by a previous mar- riage, Minnie, nine, and Charlene, five. "The Scourge of Little Egypt" presented a picture of an indulgent, good-natured and proud father as the two young- sters clambered about his lap and hugged or kissed him. At his side his pretty nineteen-year-old wife, Bernice, less than half his age, leaned against his shoulder in an attitude of wifely devotion. Nearby Ray "Izzy the Jew" Hyland, thick-lipped and in- clined to stoutness, smiled and seemed unconcerned as his eyes traveled around the courtroom. Across the room at another table sat Art Newman — little, dark, square-faced: dapper, as usual, in a neat blue suit. Between Newman and Birger, when they chose to look at each other, darted glances of hatred and suspicion, emotions that during the course of the trial, were to bring accusations each of the other and at one stage of the selection of jury was to lead to a venomous exchange in the courtroom itself. "Woman murdererl" Birger hissed at Newman as the in- former passed him. "You're a liar1" retorted Newman as he whirled to face his one-time friend and chief. The next moment his guards had forced him to pass on, but at the noon recess Newman called newspaper reporters and charged two more murders to Birger. One was the killing in person of "Shag" Worsham, the Birgerite who was slain for being too loquacious. The other was the shooting in the back of one Jimmie Stone, who had ventured to pay attentions to a woman with whom Birger was friendly but who he later turned over to his henchman, Connie Rittcr. DIRGER, aided by one Orb Treadway, later slain, took Stone out in a car, Newman charged, and Birger shot him to death, then took the body to a lonely road, propped it upright with a cigar between the teeth and left it there. "And tell that dirty rat that if that doesn't shut him up I'll come out with some more," Newman snarled. Birger denied both charges when they were reported to him but immediately his attorneys redoubled their efforts to get him and Hyland a separate trial from Newman on the grounds that the latter had made statements that were calculated to seriously damage them in the trial. The attempt failed and presently all three faced the jury together. The evidence presented against the trio, of course, cen- tered about the testimony of young Harry Thomassen, who, having been instrumental in convicting Rado Millich for the Ward killing in Williamson County, now had been brought into Franklin County to take the stand against Birger, New- man and Hyland. He repeated the confession he had made to State's At- torney Martin and Sheriff Pritchard when they visited him in Pontiac Reformatory. He spared neither Birger, Ritter, Newman, Hyland, nor himself, yet when on cross-examina- tion by Attorney Karch he was asked for the names of men who had been in a robbery with him, men who were not known to have been in that robberv and who had not been

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66 True Detective Mysteries arrested, he appealed to the court to absolve him from an- swering. Kaleidoscopic pictures of the gang life and the bitter, bloody gang warfare between the She! tons and Birger and his followers Hashed through Thomassen's testimony. There was, for instance, an incident of Birger coming after Harry and Elmo, his brother who was supposed to have been burned to death in the fire that destroyed Shady Rest, and H viand. Charlie came into the room at a place in Dowell where they were hiding after they had killed Adams. Charlie said, "Well, boys, that was mighty neat work you boys did. There's one big we won't have to worry about any more." Then after they had received $50 each for the killing, Birger added: "But come on. There's another one we've got to get to- night," and Charlie drove his car with Harry and Elmo, H viand and Clarence Rone and Harvey Dungee towards Marion to kill Carl Shelton, who was coming in on the bus. "Charlie had a machine gun; the rest of us all had rifles." Thomassen said, adding that they got to Marion too late for the bus. GLOWLY but surely, with other witnesses, the State began closing its net about the three de- fendants. Birger began to manifest con- cern and more and more often his killer's blue eyes turned across the room to rest upon the sardonically smiling face of Art Newman. Only H viand seemed utterly indifferent and he spoke in joking asides be- hind his fat hand to the newspaper men near him. Eventually it was reported with a semblance of authority that Newman had bar- gained with the State to take the stand and admit that Thomassen's story was true in all its details if no demand were made for his life. Birger heard the rumor and, dur- ing a court recess, he stepped in front of Newman and his blue eyes bored into the informer's brown ones. "I've been hear- ing things about what you were go- ing to do," Birger said grimly. "Now I want to know about it." Newman squirmed uneasily. "Well, I've made a state- ment; told some things, and" — his shoulders squared and his hatred for Birger flamed into his face — "I'm going to stand by them." He turned on his heel and Birger rushed to tell his lawyer what Newman had definitely determined to tell the court. Whereupon the attorney informed the court that Newman had threatened to take the stand against his co-defendants and demanded that the jury be discharged and a continu- ance granted. In the usual course this would have meant a new and separate trial for Birger. Judge Charles H. Miller refused, whereupon it was an- nounced that Birger would not offer any defense but re- served the right to put in rebuttal testimony. It was plain that Birger did not intend to go on the stand ahead of Newman but was trying to force Newman, if he was going to testify for the State, to tell his story first and thus permit Birger to follow him up and attempt to refute whatever charges Newman might make. AH eves turned now to Newman, who Ice hurriedly to his attorney. The latter addressed the court: "There will be no testi- mony on the part of the defendant Newman." Whereupon Hviand's attorney rose and said that Hyland would offer no defense either. Thus unexpectedly came to its climax a case wherein bitter hatred between Birger and Newman was expected to tear the lid off their former joint activities. Ite*>. Instead, that hatred had led each of them to cast his life into the balance by refusing to take the stand and in the end to offer no defense at all. Under the circumstances the jury had but one course — to find all three guilty. This it did on the first ballot, but when it came to meting out punishment there was divergence of opinion. In the end Birger was sentenced to death and the other two to life imprison- ment. gIRGER, de- uie< trial, face Miller new cally d ge r his (Top) Harry Thomassen, Birger gangster — and one of the actual slayers of Mayor Adams — who fell into the toils of the Law because he gave his sweetheart the air. (Above) The Franklin County Jail, where Birger reached the end of a misspent life doom pronounced. It came on the heels of a scath- ing denunciation of him as a man who had grown intoxicated upon the belief that he was superior to the law and a plea that, since the law had over- taken him, he make amends for his crimes by helping to clear up others that still were unsolved. "Do this for the sake of your children, do it be- cause you realize the law is supreme and that, in either this case or some other, the end for you will be on the gallows," Judge Miller urged. He paused but Birger made no sound and the expression on his face did not change. Judge Miller then sentenced him to be hanged. Birger gasped and spoke quickly: {.Continued on page 10)

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68 True Detective Mysteries Hot Diamonds! — The Great San Francisco Stick-Up The President's daughter, by Ann Britten — and got up and left. Arrived in Los Angeles, Owens took a cab from the station, and as it pulled out be looked back through the rear window,' his habitual move to find out wbethcr be was being followed. But his gang of trailers didn't know bis habit, and when they noted his backward scrutiny they became alarmed. "I think that guy is wise," Sohopen ad- vised his companions. "We'd better lay off him in L. A." "We'll lay low, but not offt" suggested Reynolds. And that was their cue. In another cab, they followed Owens to his hotel, the Biltmore. Here, after a short consulta- tion, it was decided that Reynolds should also register at the Biltmore, while Marino and Scbopen took up residence nearby. Finally, they arranged to take turns trailing Owens on his rounds of Los An- geles, one man to do the trailing while the other two made arrangements for a get- away in case they found their opportunity for sticking him up safely. A few days in Los Angeles convinced the gangsters that they had all the infor- mation on Owens necessary for their coup. And as they reached this decision they learned that their quarry was hopping to San Francisco. Acting on this news, Rey- nolds was dispatched immediately to San Francisco to make preliminary arrange- ments. JACK REYNOLDS, arrived in San Francisco, started negotiations for a high-powered car, looked over the city for a temporary biding place or refuge to which to flee right after their hold-up, and studied the best way of escape to Kansas City. His first active move was to register at the St. Francis Hotel, which was an un- fortunate choice. For San Francisco de- tectives guard their hotels closely. Lieutenant Frank McConuel and Detec- tive Sergeant Gallivan, strolling through the lobby of the St. Francis, were attracted by some element of familiarity in Rey- nolds' face. They had never seen him be- fore that as far as they could remember. Rut there was something familiar about bis face nevertheless. They then applied their customary test : Is be a man whom we used to know and have almost forgot- ten? Or is his one of the pictures we have studied in the Bureau of Identification? They concluded they had never seen Reynolds before, and therefore he must come under the Bureau of Identification heading. So they acted. Quietly engaging Reynolds in conversa- tion, he far from lulled the detective's sus- picions ; so they called a patrol wagon and took him to Headquarters for identification as a suspected pick-pocket. Reynolds was identified as a known pick-pocket, but when he came up before the police court judge nothing incriminat- ing could be brought out against him and his case was dismissed, with instructions for Jack to get out and stay out of San Francisco. On Wednesday, March 20th, 1929, (Continued jrom page 34) Ccorge Owens and his two trailers ar- rived in San Francisco. Owens, little sus- pecting that be had been followed half way across the continent, had no premonition of danger. Though he bad been watched almost constantly for two weeks, his shadows had been so crafty, so skilful, so careful, that he suspected nothing. Owens registered at the St. Francis Hotel, room 724; and Marino got a room on the floor above. Scbopen registered at the Sir Francis Drake, a block away. And here again we have evidence of the caliber of these crooks. They could fi- nance a protracted and expensive hunt of this nature. They traveled first-class : they rode in taxi-cabs ; they stayed at the best hotels (the most expensive) in each city; and they never seemed pressed for money. Most significant of all, perhaps, they could afford to await their time and opportunity. IN San Francisco the mob went rapidly ahead with final plans. Scbopen each morning sat on a bench in Union Square, directly opposite the front entrance to the St. Francis Hotel. There he picked up Owens when Owens started on his morn- ing's calls on the San Francisco diamond trade. And he dogged him step by step, hour by hour, for five full days. Schopen's shadowing was fruitful. When Owens left the St. Francis each morning, bis hands were empty. Invari- ably, one of his first moves was to visit the Jewelers Building, at 150 Post Street. And when he came out of this building- he carried a briefcase in his hand — the very briefcase which the crooks had seen him place bis diamonds in when he was in the Kansas City jewelry store. Owens carried this briefcase around with him all day. And just before he qui: work in the evening he again visited the Jewelers Building — and came away with- out his briefcase. In the meantime Marino had connected with Reynolds, and the pair had been busy on their end of the job. Their plans were made, all precautions taken. The scene was set and the great day that would end their suspense and enrich their purses was dawning ! NOW, if you will, forget that you know anything of this bandit mob. Marino, Scbopen, and Reynolds. Let me take you to the lobby of the Jewelers Building in San Francisco at 9:15 on the morning of March 26th, 1929, the sixth day since Owens' arrival in San Francisco. The lobby of this building is really in two parts, the lobby proper, which gives access to the elevators, and the hall which connects the lobby with the entrance on Post Street. At 9:15 on March 26th, as George Owens stepped from the elevator into the lobby of the building with bis briefcase in band, there were five or six people in the lobby and scores continuously passing the entrance on the outside. In the outer lohby by the door, two sturdily-built, middle- aged men inconspicuously watched the elevator. From the elevator Owens walked un- concernedly toward the door to' the street. As he approached the door, the two wait- ing men stepped out to meet him. The first was a dark-complexioned, somewhat shab- bily dressed individual who had bis right hand in his coat pocket, clutching some ob- ject whose outline loomed ominously like a revolver to Owens, as the man rasped out : "Listen, George ! Come with us and zvc zvon't hurt you," at the same time giving 1 Kvens a shove toward the door. Two or three people in the lobby were attracted by this demonstration, but so cleverly was it worked, so quietly execut- ed, that not one suspected a crime was be- ing committed. The petrified jewelry salesman, Owens, lost his balance at this unexpected move and sprawled on the ground, dropping his briefcase. The second, about the same build as the first, but lighter in coloring and a shade more grim and menacing, snatched the briefcase and the two crooks hurried out. OWENS scrambled to his feet, ran back into the building and up the stairs (apparently with the idea of phoning the police), changed his mind, rushed down again, and out into the street. Seeing his assailants vanishing in an automobile, he shouted to the world at large: "I've been robbed ! They've got my goods!" Up to this moment the crowds passing the building, and the people in the lobby, were unaware that San Francisco's biggest robbery had just been pulled. A mail-car- rier who witnessed the whole business, said that when he saw Owens fall he thought a couple of salesmen were having a little run-in. * After shouting his alarm on the street, Owens rushed up to his client's room, where each night he left his diamond sam- ples locked in the safe. Here he 'phoned the police information of the hold-up. When the call came to the Detective Bureau, we were all upstairs at the morn- ing "show-up." Lieutenant Winters, in charge of the desk, sent word to Sergeant McLoughlin, head of the Robbery Detail. "There's just been a stick-up in the doorway at 150 Post Street. Assign some- one to cover it right away," — with no in- timation of its magnitude. McLOUGHLIN called Detective Ser- geant Otto Meyer and myself aside and gave us the case, telling us to get up there as fast as we could. We rushed out in a police car, thinking it some ordinary stick-up with ten or fif- teen dollars taken, and only a meager de- scription of some bum to aid us in the in- vestigation. By the time we reached 150 Post Street the doorway of the Jewelers Building was jammed with a curious crowd. We pushed our way through and were told : "He's in room 600." In room 600 we found George Owens engaged in a long distance telephone con- versation with his firm in New York, re- porting his loss and requesting the firm there to notify his wife that he had not (Continued on page 70) "

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True Detective Mysteries 69 Follow this Man! Secret Service Operator 38 Is on the Job Follow him through all the excitement of his chase of the counterfeit gang. See how a crafty operator works. Telltale finger prints on the lamp stand in the murdered girl's room! The detective's cigarette case is handled by the unsuspecting gangster, and a great mystery is solved. Better than fiction. It's true, every word of it No obligation. Just send the coupon. FREE The Confidential Reports No. 38 Made to His Chief And the best part of it all is this. It may open your eyes to the great future for YOU as a highly paid Finger Print Expert. More men are needed right now. This school has taken men just like you and trained them for high official positions. This is the kind of work you would like. Days full of excitement. Big salaries. Rewards. Earn s3000 a Year and Up! You Study at Home in Spare Time No advanced education is needed. Any man who can read and write, and think ca» make good. A wonderful book tells all about what others have done. Shows pic- tures of real crimes and the men who solved them. We'll send you a FREE copy of the report Secret Service Oper- ator No. 38 made to his chief. Get all the facts about our wonderful Finger Print Course. Mail the coupon now. Institute of Applied Science 1920 Sunny side Ave., Dept. 14-36 Chicago, 111. INSTITUTE OF APPLIED SCIENCE, 1920 Sunny side Ave., Dept. 14-33 Chicago, III. Gentlemen:— Without any obligation whatever, send me free copy of Operator No. 38's confidential report, also your new, fully illus- trated Free book on Finger Prints. Tell me all about your low prices and Easy Terms. Literature will NOT be sent to boys under 17 years of age. A ddrr.st I I I Name I I I ■ I I City I I J .... State .Aft..

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70 True Detective Mysteries been hurt — he knew that press associations would soon be broadcasting the story of the hold-up all over the country. For, as he told us: "I've been robbed of four hundred thou- sand dollars in diamonds." We interrupted his conversation to get what details and descriptions he could give. At the same time we were getting a line through to the Detective Bureau to be ready to 'phone in every scrap of infor- mation the instant we got it, for trans- mittal by teletype and telephone to all dis- trict stations and neighboring departments. We knew at once we had a sensational case and that speed was our best weapon. "How many men were on the job?" 1 asked Owens. "Two." "Give me the description of the first." "He was about thirty-six years old, five feet seven or eight inches tall, one hundred and sixty pounds, stocky build, very round face, shabby dark clothes, light cap, mu- latto type — dark enough to be a Negro, hard-boiled, of criminal type. This man had his hand in his pocket as though with a gun." "How about the second?" "He was about thirty-eight years old, five feet eight inches tall, one hundred sixty pounds, good-looking, pleasant type, sallow complexion, gray suit and light slouch hat." "Did the men have a car?" "Yes. I saw them head for a large, dirty sedan in front of the building. An old Packard. I think." (Continued from page 68) EACH bit of information was conveyed immediately to Detective Headquarters and as soon as the major facts were in, the man-hunt was on. By this time Room 600 of the Jewelers Building had become crowded with police officers, newspapermen and people from adjoining offices. In order to get the de- tails of what Owens could tell us straight, and get away from the confusion, we de- cided to go to the roof of the building where we could be alone. Once there. I suggested to Otto Meyer, my detective partner, that he go down and round up and interview the witnesses while I got Owens' story. Meyer agreed and left. The loss from the hold-up as reported by- Owens consisted of a black leather brief- case containing four black leather wal- lets, four inches wide by twelve inches long. They contained unset, cut, and pol- ished diamonds ranging in size from one one-hundredth carat to four carats. The exact number of stones involved he didn't know; but he placed the value roughly at ?400.000, as the insurance for the stones carried by his insurance company amounted to that figure. Two one-hundred dollar bills and two fifty dollar bills were in the flap of one wallet. OWENS told me that he had left the St. Francis Hotel at eight that morn- ing and walked down to Third and Market Streets to make a call. Then he had walked to ISO Post Street to secure his diamond samples before making his morning visits. He suspected no one and had noticed The bandits and their guards on the way back from Topeka, Kansas: Standing, {left to right): Detective Sergeant Robert L. Rauer: Sergeant George McLoughlin: De- tective Sergeant Otto Meyer, and Sheriff Wayne Horning. Seated, (left to right): "Black Mike" Marino and John Schopen nothing suspicious in the past few days — though he said he was a very suspicious man and was continuously on the alert. He made a practice of looking for trailers whenever he went out of a building — wherever he was. In the meantime Meyer had been busy downstairs. From James Keogh, of 28S4 Pine Street, an employee of the Jewelers Building, he learned that when Keogh en- tered the building at eight o'clock that morning there was a Packard touring car with a "California top" parked in front of 150 Post Street. There were two male occupants whom he was unable to de- scribe. He had never seen the auto parked there before. From the elevator man Meyer I learned that a parcel delivery boy had been in the lobby about the time of the hold-up. By this time I had joined Meyer and we got the name of the company and traced the boy to the Richmond district through his list of deliveries. WE finally located him at a restaurant at Sixth Avenue and Clement Street, and learned that he was John Dineen, of 3416 Twenty-sixth Street. He had seen a Packard coach of an old model at the curb and he saw two men run from the lobby, jump into the machine, and drive away at a high rate of speed. Dineen said a mail- man had been in the lobby at the time. We immediately phoned this informa- tion to the Bureau, and started out to lo- cate that mailman. We went first to the Post Office Build- ing. There we learned the name and route of the carrier who was in the Jewelers Building that morning. We started out on his route and eventually caught up with him. He told us that he had pulled up in a mail truck just back of the Packard at the curb at 150 Post Street, waiting a place in line. Since the Packard's engine was running and a man was at the wheel he thought it would soon move on. And it did. He had seen two men rush out of the building and hop into the Packard, whereupon they were whirled away with great speed. From Maurice Brun. 150 Sutter Street, we learned that a 1926 Packard Sedan, painted black (bleached gray by the sun) had made a turn against the traffic signal at Post and Grant Avenue, almost knock- ing him down. The car turned north along Grant to Sutter, and west at Sutter to Stockton Street. He stated that the car was traveling very fast. He caught a glimpse of the li- cense plate, a California license, but the letter "J" was all he could get. Three men were in the car, two in the rear and a driver in front. AT Police Headquarters, Chief of Police William J. Quinn and Captain of De- tectives Duncan Matheson were actively directing the chase. Every available detective and scores of uniformed men were put on the case. A net-work was spread around the city, with orders going out over the teletype instruct- ing each Company Commander as to his duty in closing highways, covering ferry boats, and watching outgoing trains. (Continued on page 72)

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72 True Detective Mysteries Neighboring cities were notified by tele- phone and given all descriptions and de- tails at hand. Detectives were put on every train leav- ing San Francisco with instructions to stay on the train until convinced the robbers were not there. Other detectives were dispatched to various larger cities in the state to cooperate with local police de- partments in their search for these men. All train crews on all trains leaving San Francisco were interviewed and given descriptions of the wanted men. The major part of the work-up of these detectives consisted in creating interest in the case through personal interviews with individuals who came in contact with the public. IN the course of the next forty-eight hours, due largely to the newspapers playing up the case, hundreds of tips and phone calls came in. Each had to be in- vestigated. Any one might lead to the bandit gang. All this work, combined with our rou- tine procedure, and with trying to dig out clues of our own, kept us on edge and al- most sleepless during this period. Chief Quinn and Captain Matheson were in their office or out actively working from early morning till mid-night or later ; scores of detectives and uniformed men, on details connected with the case, passed similar strained days and nights. But to go back. We took George Owens to the Detective Bureau where we showed him our entire photo gallery of local yeggs and recent discharges from San Quentin and Folsom, the two California peniten- tiaries. He also looked over our collection of mugs from other galleries in cities all over the country. Owens spent an entire day, from early until late at night, going over these photo- graphs one by one, hoping to recognize one of the pair he had seen so closely. But he couldn't find one that looked possible. He certainly tried hard and deserves commen- dation for the way he cooperated in this and future possible leads. FINALLY we took Owens to the State Bureau (California State Bureau of Criminal Identification and Investigation) at the State Capitol, Sacramento. Here with the continuous and intelligent assis- tance of Mr. Clarence S. Morrill, Superin- tendent of the Bureau, we went over the entire gallery of pictures of crooks gath- ered from every community in the state and every state in the nation. Morrill showed us through thousands of pictures, containing the mugs of every known jewelry thief. W'e arrived early in the morning and left late at night — with- out having made an identification. But it was no fault of Morrill's, who stayed with us to the end. A C. Harding, Special Agent for the Western Pacific, got on train Number 22 at Elko, Nevada. He was on an investi- gation of his own and his presence on this train was purely incidental. Larry Reece, a youthful "news-butcher" who sold papers, magazines, soft drinks, and the like, knew Harding by sight, and when he saw him on the train sat down beside him with a whispered question : "Have you a description of those hold- (Conlinued from page 70) up men who robbed those diamonds in San Francisco"'" "I don't know. Why?" was Harding's conservative response. "Well." answered young Recce, "there's two men got on at Colfax (California) and I'm suspicious of them." "Howe's that?" "Oh, just the way they acted. They got on late at night and wanted a drawing- room. First thing they asked me for a San Francisco paper for March 26th. " 'I want to see if they caught those two diamond men," one of the pair told me. "I had to go dig one out. When I brought it one guy gave me fifty cents and told me to keep the change. That made me curious and I kinda watched them. They turned right to the story of the Sergeant George McLoughlin, head ot the San Francisco Robbery Detail, who worked on the case and went to Topeka, Kansas, to help return the bandits diamond stick-up and began readin' like fury." "Anything more?" prompted Harding. "Both men got off at Reno and bought two tickets through to Kansas City. But they missed the train and the next time I saw- them they were getting on the train at Sparks. Thev must have taken a taxi." "Why Sparks?" "I suppose because it's a division point and the train stops there twenty minutes." "This may mean nothing, and then again it may mean a lot," urged the Special Agent. "Have you any more dope on these men?" The "news-butcher" scratched his head. "Yes, I remember some more that struck me. Both men paid their fare to Reno with script out of a brand new script book. Then I talked with the conductor and he told me that when they got on at Sparks they bought a drawing-room off him, as far as Kansas City, instead of buying it at Reno." "What did the conductor think about it?" "Oh, he thought they were probably card sharks." "Well, mum's the word, old boy. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you'd put us on the trail of a dangerous gang." SPECIAL AGENT HARDING lost no time in giving his information to the Chief Special Agent of the Southern Pa- cific, who was returning to San Francisco. As soon as the latter hit town he imme- diately got in touch with Chief of Police Quinn, who in turn called in Lieutenant Powell, acting head of the Detective Bu- reau during the absence in Sacramento of Captain of Detectives Matheson. The Chief and Powell saw great possi- bilities in the story and immediately wired chiefs of police from Reno to Kansas City to have Train Twenty-two covered, and the suspects checked. They were instructed not to interview the men or give the game away, but to get accurate descriptions of them and wire or telephone same, with any further suspicious actions to San Fran- cisco, at San Francisco's expense. The immediate result of these wires was an answer describing one suspect as "re- sembling an Hawaiian"; and the message further stated that both men acted in a suspicious manner, one going. into the diner for his meals while the other had a tray brought to the drawing-room. And at each station the light-complexioned one got off and looked around as though taking observations, while the other stayed in his room. Chief Quinn and Captain Matheson .(who had returned on receipt of information about the suspects) kept the telegraph wires hot. After a consultation they telegraphed the Chief of Police at Topeka, Kansas, giving descriptions of the men, that they were traveling on the St. Louis Express, No. 22, car Lydick, S. 35, the drawing- room number, the number and value of the diamonds taken, and that a liberal reward was offered for the capture of the thieves ; they were wanted in our city for the rob- bery of the diamonds. IN Topeka, Kansas, the Chief of Police, on receipt of the telegram, turned it over to the sheriff's office, and Sheriff Wayne Horning took charge— at 3:30 in the morning. Sheriff Horning had been in bed only half an hour (having just come off a case) hut he hopped out, dressed, got two police detectives, had them sworn in as deputy sheriffs, and drove madly forty miles west to Wamego in order to intercept the train there so that he could get on and make his plans before the train drew up at To- peka. It was a tough ride of forty miles in about forty minutes over some bad roads, but Horning made it just as the train chugged into the station. One detective was then delegated to drive the machine back while the other accompanied Horning on the train. Horning immediately sought out the Pullman porter, got him aside, and showed his badge. "Are those two fellows suspected of that San Francisco diamond job still on the train?" he asked. "Sure thing." the porter 1 replied. {Continued on page 74)

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True Detective Mysteries 73 I'll Pay You a Cash Penalty IE You Prove Me Wrong Just Say 20 Magic Words To 10 Ladies, Follow My Instructions and if You Don't make $15 The Very First Day I'll Pay You a Cash Penalty THIS is without question the strangest, boldest offer we ever heard of — and also the easiest way we know of for honest men and women to make big money at once. Just say 20 magic words to 10 ladies and if you don't make $15 the first day this million dollar manufacturing com- pany will actually pay you cash for your time. You don't need to sell a single thing to get this cash. I say that with these 20 magic words you can make SI 5 the very first day you use them — and if you prove me wrong 1 will actually pay you a cash penalty. This is the sensational new plan of the famous business genius — Curtis W. Van DeMark — the wizard whose generosity and daring plans have already helped over 30.000 men and women toward ending their money troub- les. Now, again, Van is proving his fearless- ness. Again he has come to the front for the working people. "Conservative" business leaders called Van "crazy" for making this radical cash payment agreement — this bold penalty offer. They said it would ruin "con- servative" traditions — upset "sane" business principles. But cooler heads called it a master stroke that wouid prove a tremendous boon to prosperity. For Van makes you his local profit-sharing "pardner." No Need To Sell Anything To Get This Cash Penalty Now Van himself reveals the sensational reason for this daring, generous cash penalty offer. "Tremendous increase in the use of our prod- ucts is the reason" — says Van. Countless housewives learned that they can make big savings on household Dills througH our amazing bargain offers. So in almost no time the sale of our product has expanded almost to the "bursting" point. Now we must hurry and employ 1100 more local men and women to take care of customers in each town. Time must not be wasted! Order must be filled quick! . Customers must not be kept waiting! Big money for our representatives means noth- ing to us from now on. So I have smashed the 6o-called "conservative" business traditions. I now offer every honest man and woman steady work by which they can make good money for just a few hours of their spare time. You don't need sales experience. What I want is sincere men and women who will be as honest with me as I will be with them. Just say my 20 magic words to 10 ladies — 20 secret words that have proven almost magical money- getters — an amazing yet simple 20 word sen- Howard L. Adams Thanking "Van" for the Extra Gift of a Chrysler Car tence that took me 35 years to discover. Make one simple demonstration. 1 will pay you an actual cash penalty if your first 10 calls do not give you a good profit. I allow you to make a big profit on every order my customers give you. You get a big part of every dollar we take in. So what is to stop you from making £s high as $35.00 in a day like some of my other partners? I don't let you risk one penny. I take all the chances. I Send You $18 Worth of Goods (At Retail) To Start You To show you that I handle big things in a big way, I will immediately send you S1S.0O worth of my products (retail value) right out of stock to start you. Don't send a cent for this daring offer — just rush coupon. Maybe you think this is just ordinary work. But don't be mistaken. If you treat me fairly I'll set you up in a business of your own. I'll tell you a priceless secret that will get others to make money for you. Right now 1 promise to help you toward ending money worries forever and I am known to 30.000 partners as the man who always keeps his promises. If up to SI 5 a day will end your money worries, then mail the application below. Start in spare time if you wish and I'll still pay you your cash penalty if you don't make $3 in one hour. If you are a married woman. you can surely devote a few spare hours a day. My plan is a funny one. Some of my women "pardners" have actually made more than their husbands in a few hours of this pleasant, dignified work. Rush This Application It's too bad that space here is not large enough to explain all my other daring money-making offers. I would also like lo tell you what Howard L. Adams wrote about the ne%v car I gave him. and about Rev.McMurphy 's letter which said ,1 en- abled hm to pay the mortgage on his home. I will even show you letters from grateful widows who are now able to sup- port their families. I need 1100 more "pardners" quick to start on my daring new Cash Pay Plan. This announcement will probably "up- set" the nations. Untold thousands will apply for these openings. If you delay, it may be too late. The time to act is — NOW. Tear out the Application below and mail it quick for this daring Cash Pay Plan, offer of $18.00 worth of my goods 'retail value) and the 20 secret words and other instructions that may mean a "fortune" to you. Send no money. This application is not an order. You do not pay anything for this offer Nothing will be sent CCD. Curtis W. Van De Mark, President, THE HEALTH-0 QUALITY PRODUCTS COMPANY, Dept. 2004-J.J., Health-O Bldg., Cincinnati. Ohio. CURTIS W. VAN DE MARK, President The Health-0 Quality Products Co. Dept. 2004-J.J., Health-0 Bldg., Cincinnati, 0. Dear Van: I hereby apply for opening as "pardner" in my town to start on your new cash penalty plan. Send your sensa- tional offer of $18.00 worth (retail value) of products to start me and written guar- antee. Also tell me how I can get cash penalty introducing you to 10 ladies and using the 20 magic words and other in- structions that make fortunes. (This is not an order — send nothing C.O.D. I risk nothing.) I want to make $ per hour. = Name Address . City .State

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74 True Detective Mysteries "They've booked through to Kansas City, but they left a call for Topeka." "Fine !" exclamed Horning. "That's sure a good break for me." THE porter then conducted Horning and his companion to the car in which the suspects were riding and pointed out the compartment they occupied. The officers kept out of sight until the train started slowing down for Topeka, then they timed themselves to arrive at the door just as the two suspects came out. And Sheriff Horning had the pleasure, un- doubtedly with an inward smile, of opening the door for the unsuspecting crooks ! Detective Sergeant Otto Meyer. With Detective Rauer he worked almost con- tinuously during the first five days after the robbery, running down leads, warning train officials, and trying to head off the bandits The shadows at last were being shad- owed— a novel experience, perhaps, yet a just one. When the thieves got off the train they separated as though strangers ; one, the lighter one, with a suitcase, turned to the right, followed by Horning ; while the other, going to the left, was followed by the detective. And in the foreground, as they started this manoeuver, were four police detectives in plain clothes, detailed to aid Sheriff Horning. The two suspects then started towards a waiting machine, by the side of which two well-dressed women were waiting ; the officers began to close in. The suspects were greeted by kisses and happy words from these women and started to climb in the car. At this point Horning closed in, his partner closed in, and the four detectives covered the party from ten feet :.way. Horning shoved a gun into the ribs of his man, his partner covered the other, and Horning called out : "Don't move. You're under arrest !" Both men stood rigid a moment, looked the officers over, glanced around and saw menacing figures in the foreground, and submitted to the handcuffs. (Continued from page 72) The prisoners were searched on the spot. A .38 caliber, latest model, blue, short- barrel steel Colt's Detective Special re- volver was extracted from a coat pocket of one, while a .45 caliber revolver was taken from the rear pocket of the other. Both guns were fully loaded. The sight of the firearms relieved Hom- ing's mind considerably. For up to that time the men were being arrested purely as suspects on the California job; now they could be held for carrying concealed weapons until their connection with the diamond robbery was cleared up, without danger of legal complications. The men at first denied knowing these women, and protested great innocence. But Horning was no sucker. He bundled them into the car and accompanied by police detectives in another car rushed off to the County Jail and the sheriff's office. Here the men admitted their identity, one as Mike Marino, the other as John Schopen — our old Kansas City friends ! The women claimed to be their wives, and said they had driven sixty-eight miles from Kansas City to meet them at Topeka — but they couldn't explain any satisfactory reason why they did. It pointed to some- thing more than wifely affection — and it helped incriminate the suspects. The car was searched and from it was Detective Sergeant Robert L. Rauer, who tells the story. Rauer, with his partner, Detective Meyer, had charge of this famous case from a few moments after the diamonds were stolen until the crime was marked "closed." His was the responsibility of carrying back and safe-guarding the $400,000 in diamonds after the recovery taken an opium smoking outfit with a small quantity of opium. Marino immediately claimed it as the property of his wife and himself. But Horning did not choose to believe this, for opium offered sufficient and welcome grounds on which to hold both women — violation of the state narcotic act. The Gladstone bag carried by the first man (Schopen) from the train was next examined. From it Sheriff Horning ex- tracted four black leather wallets, and from the wallets a stream of sparkling diamonds — some $400,000 in Hot Diamonds! Discovery of the diamonds made both Marino and Schopen coherent and talkative. Both were surprised (doubtless shocked) to find that they had carried all those dia- monds from San Francisco. The wallets had been given them by a friend to bring back. They didn't know what they con- tained. They didn't even know about the big diamond hold-up in San Francisco — even after reading about it. WITH recovery of the diamonds, the prisoners were searched as part of the routine. Schopen came first. That search offers a significant commentary on the old maxim of "Honor among thieves." In Schopen's vest pocket, at the bottom of a comb case, wrapped in cotton, the officers found eight diamonds, loose, large, stones, obviously pilfered from the wal- lets. With this discovery, the search became intensified. Every shred of clothing of both men was fingered and examined. And from the lining of Marino's trousers, just above the belt, officers discovered another diamond cache — with twenty-seven large stones ! When Schopen saw the number of Mari- no's diamonds, the story was out. They had agreed to take eight large diamonds each, to pay attorneys' fees in case they got caught. Schopen took his eight all right, but Marino took twenty-seven ! Honor among thieves? Well, maybe. Sheriff Horning immediately wired San Francisco of the recovery of the diamonds. Chief Quinn wired back asking if they had examined the flaps of the wallets, as two $100 and two $50 bills were there con- cealed. These would clinch the identifica- tion. Horning found them, and the name and firm name of the victim. When Horning laid his cards on the table, the suspects finally admitted the dia- mond stick-up, but prepared to fight extra- dition to California. Horning then wired Chief of Police Quinn that the thieves were under arrest, prepared to fight extradition, and asked for instructions. Chief Quinn, consulting with Matheson, wired back instructing him to hold the bandits and diamonds, advising him that warrants had been sworn out for both men, and officers were leaving immediately to bring them back. Two warrants were sworn out by Judge Joseph M. Golden, a police court judge, and with these in his pocket Sergeant George McLoughlin, head of the Robbery Detail, left San Francisco for Topeka. IN order to cinch the matter the San Francisco Grand Jury, who were anxious to help, heard the testimony of Owens and myself immediately and very quickly returned a grand jury indictment charging the men with robbery. Detective Sergeant Otto Meyer, and I, in company with George Owens as complain- ing witness, rushed these papers to Sacra- mento, and secured extradition papers which were promptly and gladly signed by His Excellency, Governor C. C. Young, of California. Then we entrained for Topeka. We arrived in Topeka Friday morning at six o'clock, where we were met at the train by Topeka authorities and taken to the Jay Hawk Hotel to register. Here we (Continued on page 76)

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76 True Detective Mysteries discussed the case with Sergeant McLough- lin, Sheriff Horning, and a representative of the insurance company, and formed our strategic plans. For strategy seemed necessary. About the first thing we learned wras that threats had been reported from the underworld that Marino would never leave town alive. It appeared that Kansas City gangsters, I suppose members of Marino's gang, feared he would "squawk." This story in itself seemed a bit fantastic, but it had corrobora- tion. A milk truck driver from Kansas City had reported seeing two big sedans paired on the highway with rough-looking men engaged in taking off license plates — and a machine gun was plainly visible in one car. Double guards had been put on the county jail and the sheriff's office, the office closed, and no visitors were per- mitted in the jail. And that night, the night of our arrival, we heard that two machines with machine guns circled the jail twice, and then drove off before a posse could be formed. In order to insure against a rescue, or a killing, we kept our plans secret — which were to charter an airplane and fly back. But let's get back to the story in its proper order. After our conference in the hotel I went over to the bank in which the diamonds had been deposited to check on I Know tion as to whether or not anyone had called her, the maid replied : "Mr. Taylor has been trying to get you all afternoon. He left word that he has a good book for you ; wants you to stop for it this evening." Miss Normand returned to her limousine, parked at the curb, and said, "Well, Wil- liam, we will stop by Mr. Taylor's on the way home." At Seventh and Broadway Miss Nor- mand purchased some peanuts and a num- ber of magazines, including a Police Gazette. She munched peanuts and read this Gazette on the way out, strewing the shells on the floor of the car. Some time between six and seven o'clock they reached the Alvarado Street address. Miss Normand stepped from the ma- chine. As she started toward the house, Davis asked, "Shall I go get my dinner?" To this Miss Normand replied, "No — I am tired and have an early call to the studio. I will be right out." When Miss Normand entered the apart- ment. Mr. Taylor was in a closet tele- phoning to Antonio Moreno, a close per- sonal friend of his, and a well known movie actor. Henry Peavey, colored valet, was preparing the evening meal. MISS NORMAND, waiting for Mr. Taylor to finish his conversation with Mr. Moreno, paced up and down the living room, and as Henry Peavey afterward related to us, was continually eating pea- nuts and throwing the shells on the floor, much to Peavey's disgust, as it was his job to keep the apartment clean. Her attention seemed focused upon two photographs on the piano — one of Mary Miles Minter and one of herself. (Continued from page 74) the recovery. With the help of Owens I went over the collection, stone by stone. At first there seemed a shortage of $10,000 worth, so Owens telegraphed his sales tags and an inventory of the recov- ered diamonds to his home office for cor- roboration. And they wired back that only one stone was missing — and that valued at less than $500. The diamonds were then sealed in a package, signed for by myself, and from then on were at all times either in my care or in my actual possession. And in many respects these diamonds were more of a care and responsibility than the prisoners ! We had to abandon our plans to fly home because no plane could be secured in time — we wanted to get away at once. We com- promised and after negotiations with the Santa Fe, secured a private car to convey our party back — at no extra cost to the State. We gave out word that we were leaving within a week, and made plans to leave early the following morning. In the morning, just a few minutes be- fore our train left, we rushed from the jail to the station, preceded and followed by a large well-armed police escort with machine guns and sawed-off shotguns. On our return trip over the Santa Fe cur car was placed between the baggage car and the diner, so that no one would have occasion to walk through. The prisoners were handcuffed all the time and had on heavy Oregon Boots. And a ma- chine gun was part of our defensive armor, taken along by Sheriff Horning. WE arranged to guard the prisoners in shifts, so that for twenty-four hours of every day at least two officers would be on the job. At every station one officer took his post at the door to prevent anyone making a move to get in our car. And in this secure fashion we safely ar- rived with our valuable prisoners in San Francisco, to be met at the station by Theodore J. Roche, President of the Police Commission, Chief Quinn, Captain Mathe- son, and many detectives and uniformed officers. When Marino and Schopen appeared in court they pleaded "not guilty" to the rob- bery charge — they were charged with first- degree robbery. And our position was a tough one, for there was no proof that the men had used guns in the hold-up. The victim, George Owens, had seen no gun in their possession, all he could testify was that he saw an object protruding from the overcoat pocket of one of the bandits that resembled a gun. But two days later the men pleaded guilty to second degree robbery, and were accordingly sentenced to one to twenty years in San Quentin, under section 664 of the State Penal Code. Who Killed Desmond (Continued from page 25) When Mr. Taylor had finished his con- versation, he came out of the alcove, greet- ed her cordially, and gave her the book he had mentioned. This book proved to be a heavy tome on German philosophy. Taylor and Miss Normand were among the very few in Hollywood who did any heavy reading. While these two sat on the davenport in the living room and discussed this book, Davis, the chauffeur, swept the pea- nut shells from the car, then picked up the Police Gazette which Miss Normand had left lying on the seat. Henry Peavey came out on his way home, kidded Davis about the magazine and the peanut shells, then went on down the street towards Sixth and Alvarado. Miss Normand remained in the house about thirty-five minutes in all, then came out, accompanied by Mr. Taylor. The chauffeur and the director exchanged friendly greetings. A general conversa- tion ensued, Taylor chiding Miss Normand good-naturedly about the Police Gazette. It was quite dark. Miss Normand noticed a light burning in the apartment of Edna Purviance, and knowing that Miss Purviance had been ill for several days, suggested to Mr. Taylor that they go up and see her. Mr. Taylor insisted that she go home, as she was extremely nervous, and they could call upon Miss Purviance some other time. Miss Normand stepped into her limou- sine, and as it rolled away from the curb, she blew a kiss to Taylor. It was an eternal farewell. Mr. Taylor entered the apartment through the door which he had left open. It is presumed that he sat down at his desk to work — the murderer, hiding Taylor in the room, stepped out and fired. Taylor died instantly, and in falling pitched for- ward, overturning his chair. The mur- derer then hurried from the house and disappeared through the alley. Mrs. Douglas McLean, in the adjoining apartment, heard the shot. The McLeans were at their evening meal. Mr. McLean had just finished eating and had gone up- stairs for a cribbage board. Miss Jewell, servant girl, had been serving dinner. At about the time Mr. McLean reached the bedroom upstairs, and while Mrs. McLean was still seated at the table, the shot was fired. Mrs. McLean spoke to Miss Jewell, ask- ing if that noise had not sounded like a shot nearby. She rose from the table and walked to her living room door. The figure of what appeared to be a man had just emerged from Mr. Taylor's door. The person was not hurrying out but was coming out backwards. The thought suggested itself to Mrs. McLean that he was talking to Mr. Taylor, who was possibly seated at his desk direct- ly in front of the door. The figure turned, closed the door, faced Mrs. McLean as it came down the steps, and made a turn eastward, then to the north, passing be- tween the Taylor Apartment and the garage, going towards Fourth Street, where it disappeared in the dark. This person did not hurry at any time, but walked very leisurely and looked full at Mrs. McLean standing in her doorway. Her suspicions were not aroused, and she attributed the report she had heard to the backfire of a passing automobile rather than a shot from a gun. (Continued on page 78)

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Acting through the blood, HALL'S reaches the inflamed parts wherever located, carries away the poisons, restores to health. Start this proved 2-method treatment todayl HALL'S CATARRH MEDICI A' E Successful for Over SO Yean Get the combined treatment at your drussisfs. If he hasn't it. send 85c to F. j. Cheney & Co., D Toledo. O. Send lor "Thins.! You Should Later, in describing this person in the office of Mr. Woolwine, she stated that the figure had worn a heavy coat of the mackinaw type, a cap, and a muffler about the neck. SHE further stated that this person ap- peared to be a man, but if it was a man, it was a "funny looking" man. When pressed as to just what she meant by "funny looking," she explained that she had been on the movie lot a great many times with her husband during the filming of pictures and had seen many actors and actresses *in make-up, and they were "funny looking." The person emerging from Mr. Taylor's apartment had this same appearance. Arthur Hoyt, a motion picture actor, close personal friend of the deceased direc- tor, was living at the time of Taylor's death, at the Los Angeles Athletic Club, Seventh and Olive Streets. On account of his close friendship with Mr. Taylor, Lieutenant Winn and myself felt that he undoubtedly would be able to give us valuable information concerning the habits and past life of the director. We visited Mr. Hoyt in his room on several occasions, and one night, possibly a week and a half after the murder, De- tectives Cato, Cahill, Winn and myself, decided to question him more closely than we had on previous occasions. After about two hours' grilling Hoyt broke down and wept. He told us that it was not his desire to break confidence with his dead pal and friend, but that he believed he would have to do so if it would help to unravel the mystery sur- rounding the murder. He then told us that on the evening of the last day of January — the evening be- fore the murder — he had arrived at his apartment at the Athletic Club, and had partaken of several drinks, after which he started out, as was his custom, to visit his friend, William Desmond Taylor. When he arrived at Taylor's residence, somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 :00 o'clock, he found Mr. Taylor seated at his desk, nervously running his fingers through his hair, preoccupied and worried. Feeling in the mood for another drink, Hoyt went straight past Taylor, and on into the closet where the telephone was located, and where he knew Taylor kept his liquor supply. Hoyt took from the closet two bottles, one containing whiskey and the other seltzer, and started mixing a couple of cocktails. "Don't mix me any," said Taylor. "I do not care for it." NOTING his depression, Hoyt went over to him and questioned him as to why he was worried. Taylor swore Hoyt to secrecy, saying that if he would promise not to breathe it to a living soul, he would tell him something that was causing him a great deal of worry. Mr. Taylor then told Mr. Hoyt that the dearest, sweetest little girl in the world was in love with him, and that he was old enough to be her father. This little girl was madly in love with him — had been to his apartment the night before, coming at nearly 3 :00 o'clock in the morning. She bad insisted on remaining. He had in- sisted on her going home, whereupon this little girl had cried and threatened that if (Continued from page 76) he tried to put her out, she would scream and cause a scene. This, of course, Mr. Taylor wanted to avoid, as he had many friends in the neigh- borhood. He finally persuaded her to leave, driving her to her home. Mr. Taylor stated to his friend Hoyt that this little girl had become so in- fatuated with him that it was really be- coming serious. He was worried— didn't know what to do about it. Mr. Hoyt then said, "Bill, I know who you mean. It is " And Taylor admitted that it was. The beautiful young girl named by Hoyt was interviewed by Winn and' myself at her home. She stated that she had not seen Mr. Taylor for a long time, the last time being on the streets of Los Angeles. Mr. Taylor was in his own car and she in hers. They merely waved to each other. This statement was not true. We were able to prove that she had been in his apartment many times, and had actually been there the night of the murder. We had never been satisfied that the person seen by Mrs. McLean, emerging from the Taylor residence, was not a woman in disguise as a man, inasmuch as Mrs. McLean had stated that it was a "funny looking" man. Winn and myself thought out a plan whereby we might learn something definite regarding this matter. We went to the office of Nick Harris, private detective, and explained to him what we had in mind, knowing that he carried a standing with the daily press which would enable him to get almost any story run. We explained to Mr. Harris that we wanted him to call the editor of a daily paper and tell him that a funny thing had "just occurred; that Winn and myself had just called at his office and that while we were seated there in conversation with him, the telephone bell rang, and a woman was on the other end of the wire, who stated she was a spiritualist. This woman stated that the night before she had had a vision in which the mur- derer of William Desmond Taylor ap- peared ; that the murderer was a woman with a very beautiful daughter; that Taylor had been too familiar with the daughter ; that the mother in desperation had shot and killed Taylor, and that, in her estimation, the mother was justified. The spiritualist continued that she thought it was the mother's duty to come out and tell the truth — tell the authorities that she had committed the murder and why she did it ; that she was going to give the mother two weeks' time in which to explain to the public that she was the murderer of Taylor, and why she had com- mitted the murder. That, at the end of that time, if the mother hadn't come for- ward and told the truth, she, the spirit- ualist, intended to make it public. HE concocted this story merely for the purpose of seeing what the result might be. The evening paper ate it up and ran almost a column story about it. The following morning an attorney visited the District Attorney's office with the clipping from the newspaper. He wanted to know the name of the spiritual- ist, where she was located, if she had men-

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True Detective Mysteries 79 tioned in her conversation the name of the woman with the beautiful daughter, and many similar questions. I explained to him that all I knew about it was merely what had happened while we were in Mr. Harris' office. This attorney returned on the second day and made further inquiry. There was no one else who ever made inquiry about this news item. Secret investigation revealed this man to be the personal attorney for the mother of the beautiful girl whom Taylor had told Mr. Hoyt was madly in love with him. Lieutenant Winn and myself next went to the property room at police headquar- ters and endeavored to secure the clothing worn by Mr. Taylor at the time of his death. We found that this wearing ap- parel was still at the undertakers. When we arrived at the Ivy Oberholzer mor- tuary, we were just in time. They were about to burn the clothing, as it was cov- ered with blood, and they considered it of no value. Under the collar of the coat and ex- tending possibly from one-half to one inch, were three long, blond hairs. These were compared by an expert with combings taken from the dressing room of Mary Miles Minter, and pronounced to be the same. At this period women were wear- ing long hair, it being before the days of the bob. These hairs were placed in an envelope and left with the property clerk at Cen- tral Police Station for safe keeping. After finding these hairs, Miss Minter was called into the D. A.'s office and re- questioned. She could add nothing to her previous statements. After questioning Miss Minter, we went to the home of her mother, Mrs. Char- lotte Shelby, to question her regarding any knowledge she might have of the mystery. Mrs. Shelby was preparing to leave for New York on the 6 :00 o'clock train. When I requested an interview, she came to the door, fastening her dress. She in- formed me coldly that her attorneys, Mr. Mott and Mr. Cassill, were in the house for the purpose of answering questions, and tliat she was in too much of a hurry- to reach New York to devote any time to an investigation about which she knew nothing. We next questioned Mary Miles, mother of Mrs. Shelby, and grandmother of Mary Miles Minter. Mrs. Miles stated to us that Mrs. Shelby was out on the evening of the murder until about 9 :00 o'clock ; that she had been shopping during the day and visiting friends early in the evening. About this time District Attorney Wool- wine ordered all the evidence in the case transferred from the Police Station to his office, where it was placed in a cabinet. All this evidence later disap- peared, and in a conversation with Robert Herron, of this office, I learned that he was ordered by Woolwine to take the articles, except the coat and vest, to Wool- wine's home. Possibly the letters, the hairs, the handkerchief and the nightgown were turned over to Miss Minter, Wool- wine being a close personal friend of both Miss Minter and her mother, Mrs. Shelby. WHILE we had been working on the case from the love, revenge and jealousy motive, other detectives, working on the blackmail theory, had dug deep into Taylor's past life. Born in 1877, in Ireland, Malloss, Coun- ty Cork, he was the son of a British Colonel and an Irish gentlewoman. His upbringing was one of every advantage, with special attention paid to his education along military lines. His father desired him to follow in his footsteps in the British army, and with this purpose in view of becoming an engi- neer in the King's army, he studied in a number of European colleges and uni- versities. Because of poor eyesight, however, he was a failure in the army, and at the age of eighteen he made his first contact with the stage, becoming secretary to the fa- mous Charles Hawtrey Company. This was not satisfactory to his father, the stern British Colonel, who objected to everything connected with the stage, so he purchased for his son a ranch in. Harper, Kansas. Taylor spent two years on this ranch, but the stage had gotten into his blood. Fanny Davenport came along, invited him to play juvenile parts in her company, and, armed with a three-year contract, Taylor left the ranch in Kansas. On the stage he met with varying suc- cesses. When the famous Klondike gold strike occurred, the spirit of adventure in his Irish veins evidently, for the moment, crushed out the stage from his desires, and he joined other daring souls in Alaskan lore. The year 1914 found him in Hollywood. Like scores of his former friends, actors and actresses, he left the stage for the silent drama — the footlights for the Kleigs. After making several pictures for Vita- graph, Kay-Bee, and other companies, these pictures including "Captain Al- varez" and "The Iconoclast," he turned from his place in front of the camera to To Newspapermen; Police Officials and Detectives If you have in mind any fact case, with actual photo- graphs, deemed suitable for publication in this magazine, please address the Editor, TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES, 1926 Broadway, New York City, and ask for our "Letter of Suggestions," covering full information relative to writing the accounts of fact crime cases for this Moments that Matter: . . . when you raise your arms to pin back a stray lock — and your dress is sleeveless . . . When the tiny lamp on a "table for two" shines full on your bare fore-arm . . . when you cross your knees and realize suddenly that your sheer hose are so transparent . . . You can meet such moments with non- chalance if your skin shows no trace of ugly superfluous hair. The most pleasant modern way to keep your under-arms, fore-arms and legs free of fuzzy growth is to use DELATONE The White Cream Hair-remover* Easy to use as cold cream, Del-a-tone actually re- moves hair safely in three minutes or less. This snowy white, faintly fragrant cream ha ir-remover, leaves your skin satiny smooth . . . alluringly soft. Use Del-a-tonefordainti- Removal of an- a er-arm oatr ness — itwillenableyoutomeet iesseas perspi- the public gaze with poise. Send coupon below for generous trial tube. •Perfected through our exclusive formula. Del-a-tone Cream or Powder— at drug and department stores. Or sent prepaid In U.S. In plain wrapper, $1 . M oney back f f desired. Address Miss Mildred II ad ley. The Delatone Co. (Established 1908). De- partment 49. 233 E. Ontario Street. Chicago. 19t9 satin of Del-a-tone Cream reached a record volume— four times greater than any pre- vious year. Superi- ority—that's why. Trial Offer. a»- j

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Also illustrates PEDI- FORME shoes for men, women and children for every purpose. Ask for Book T. the more important one behind, took tip directing, and in 1922, he was looked upon as one of the greatest directors who ever shouted, "Camera." At the outbreak of the World War Taylor enlisted as a private in the Cana- dian Army. He was one of the first 100,000 to sail overseas from Quebec. He soon rose from private to the rank of Cap- tain, commanding a truck train running from Dunkirk to the British front. This much of Taylor's life was known to his friends of the motion picture world. Unfeigned astonishment was felt by all when we dug still deeper and found that he had actually lived a dual existence. IN 1901 he had married one Ethel May 1 Harrison, a member of the original Floradora Company. They had one child, Ethel Daisy, who was found in an ex- clusive girls' school at Mamaroneck, Long Island. Prior to 1908 he was known in New York as William Cunningham Deane-Tan- ner, a cultured art connoisseur. He had one brother, Dennis Gage Deane-Tanner. One day in 1908 friends and business asso- ciates were startled by his sudden and mysterious disappearance. His wife could give no clue to his whereabouts and could ascribe no reason for his action. An examination of his books showed everything in perfect shape. After an ex- tensive search, the family and friends set it down as an unsolved mystery. His wife divorced him and later re-married. Further investigation disclosed that four years after Taylor disappeared from his home in New York, his brother, Dennis Gage Deane-Tanner, disappeared from his home in New York under similar circum- stances. He, too, had married and was head of a family. That any domestic diffi- culties were responsible for his disappear- ance was denied by his wife. Mrs. Ada Deane-Tanner had suffered a nervous breakdown and went into the Adirondacks to recuperate. When she re- turned with her two small daughters, her husband was missing. The books of the firm by whom he had been employed disclosed the fact that he was in no way involved in financial diffi- culties. Detectives scoured the world for a trace of this missing brother, but from the day he disappeared no trace of him was ever found. SIX years before the death of William Desmond Taylor, Mrs. Ada Deane- Tanner had recognized a picture of him, and appealed to him for aid. He, at first, denied his identity, but later sent her an allowance of $50.00 per month, which had continued during the entire six years. Mrs. Tanner could give us little information regarding Taylor, as she had seen him but once. Inquiry in New York showed that Tay- lor's wife had learned his identity when she and her daughter, Ethel Daisy Tan- ner, attended a picture show. Taylor's image was flashed upon the screen. "That's your father!" exclaimed the mother. The daughter sought his address and wrote to him. Afterward letters were fre- quently exchanged. When Taylor returned from a trip to Europe, he revealed him- self to her, and stated that he would make J her his heir. About this time we received a letter from a man in Denver, Colorado, who claimed that he had known the Tanner brothers intimately. This letter stated that one Edward F. Sands, former secretary to Taylor, was none other than the missing Dennis Gage Deane-Tanner; that at one time William, the older boy, had won the love of his brother's fiancee, and for many years the younger brother had hunted the older, swearing vengeance. The finger of suspicion had been pointed at Sands early in our investigations. He had first become involved in the meshes of the law after Taylor had returned from a trip to England about a year before. Taylor reported to the police that Sands had robbed him of money, jewels, clothing and a costly car. He claimed that there were many discrepancies in his accounts upon his return. Before going he had signed a great many checks to be used for current expenses. These checks had been used by Sands for other purposes, and Taylor's name forged to many others. Twice Taylor's home had been burglar- ized. In the first burglary the place had been thoroughly ransacked, clothing and much valuable jewelry taken. The expen- sive automobile also disappeared at this time, but was later found in a badly damaged condition. Then came a second burglary about two weeks before the murder. At this time the rear door was smashed in, the place ransacked, but nothing except jewels and a stock of distinctive cigarettes was taken. A week after this burglary Henry Peavey, colored servant, found a gold- tipped cigarette of this distinctive brand on the front doorstep. He took this to Mr. Taylor and asked him if he had pur- chased more of them. Taylor replied that he had not. The cigarette was undoubtedly some of the stolen stock. Shortly thereafter Taylor received a mysterious letter signed, "Alias Jimmy Valentine." Enclosed in this letter were two pawntickets for two suits, silver plate, jewels and household goods. The letter read : "Sorry to inconvenience you, even, temporarily. Also observe the lesson of the forced sale of assets. A Merry Xmas and Happy New Year. Alias Jimmy Valentine." The stolen articles had been pawned un- der the name of William Deane-Tanner, showing that the one who had pawned them was familiar with Taylor's true his- tory. The penmanship was compared with the handwriting of Sands and declared by experts to be the same. Taylor then swore to a warrant for Sands' arrest, charging him with two counts of Grand Larceny. Could this warrant be construed as a possible motive for the murder? Was the story of the two brothers true? Surely Sands must have had some hold upon Taylor. Why the insolent assurance in pawning Taylor's stolen things in the name of Deane-Tanner, and sending the pawn- tickets with the "alias Jimmy Valentine" letter? Was there a skeleton in the family closet? Some dark and secret feud in the family that could account for the fatal shot? The interval elapsing since Taylor's dis- appearance in 1908 and his appearance in Hollywood in 1914 had been made the subject of exhaustive inquiry, but had re-

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True Detective Mysteries 81 mained veiled in a cloak of secrecy. What about those hidden years in Alaska and elsewhere? Had the long arm of the past reached forth and stricken him down? A hot search was then started for Sands. Every police officer and law enforcing agent in the United States was furnished with a description and a picture and told to arrest him on sight. Records disclosed that Sands had enlisted twice in the United States Navy, once un- der the name of Edward F. Sands and again under the name of Edward F. Strath- more, deserting both times. This was es- tablished by fingerprints on record in the Navy Department, Washington, D. C. ABOUT this time "dope" was injected into our investigations. Taylor, him- self, was not an addict, but it was ru- mored that he had attended several "hop" parties to get atmosphere and local color for his pictures. A number of his friends, however, including several women, were known drug addicts. Taylor was reported as having fought the narcotic ring for some time, but there was no tangible evidence to connect him in any way until Tom Green, Assistant United States Attorney, in charge of drug prosecutions, made a statement to the ef- fect that Taylor had appealed to him for help to effect the eradication of the "dope ring" which was supplying narcotics to a certain actress. At that time, according to Taylor, this actress was paying in the neighborhood of $2,000.00 a week for narcotics. From Chicago came a report that a Chinese dope peddler had murdered Tay- lor. Investigation of this report was soon ended when the Chinaman, Harry Young, alias Harry Lee, was located in Folsom Prison. One John Narizara was arrested in Toledo, Ohio, and while in jail stated that he knew who killed Taylor ; that it was one Jack Kramer, a Los Angeles dope peddler. Kramer had confessed the mur- der to him and when Narizara had said he was going to tell the police, Kramer and another peddler had threatened to frame evidence against him as being the slayer. Narizara was examined by the Lunacy Commission and sent to the Psvchopathic Ward. One "Red" Kirby was arrested by police officers in a rooming house on West Wash- ington Street, in Los Angeles, he being a "hophead," and having made certain re- marks, overheard by tenants of the house, these remarks being in regard to the mur- der of Taylor, and that Taylor "got what was coming to him." Kirby was released when the officers were satisfied that he could not possibly have had any connection with the murder. We delved deep into this phase of the matter, thinking the whole scheme of the crime might be laid in a setting in which the sale of drugs was the mainspring. EARLY one morning Captain David Adams, of Central Police Station, re- ceived a telephone call from the editor of a newspaper in the City of Santa Ana, advis- ing him that if he would send some of his men to Santa Ana, and to his office, he would give them some information that appeared to be extremely valuable in con- nection with the murder of Mr. Taylor. Captain Adams called Lieutenant Winn and myself and gave us this information. Winn was detained in the city on another portion of the investigation, so Captain Adams and I proceeded to Santa Ana, and to the office of the editor, who told us the following story : On the day prior to our visit, one Andrew Cock, a rancher living near Santa Ana, came to the newspaper office and reported that on the clay before Taylor was murdered, he. Cock, was going through the town of Tustin, adjoining Santa Ana, late in the evening. It was raining. Two roughly dressed men stepped out into the road directly in front of his car, and demanded a ride. Mr. Cock permitted these two men to get into the front seat of the machine with him, as he was driving a Dodge touring and the rain was beating into the rear seat of the car. On the way from Tustin to Santa Ana these men inquired regarding stages run- ning between Los Angeles and the Mex- ican border, especially those leaving Los Angeles. One of the men, who referred to the other one as "Shorty," began a con- versation concerning a Canadian captain in the World War. He did not mention any names but stated that this captain had been extremely severe in discipline, and that they were members of a company in the regiment commanded by this captain. He stated that they were going to Los Angeles to kill this captain, whereupon "Shorty" told the other man to keep his mouth shut. Mr. Cock had been afraid of these men and not wishing to carry them any farther than he had to, stopped in the main street of Santa Ana and told them he was not going any farther. AS the two men left the automobile, "Shorts" dropped a pocket gun which Mr. Cock described as a short .38 caliber revolver. Mr. Cock started to drive away. Shorty said, "Wait a minute." He then stopped and picked up the gun which had fallen into the muddy street, took a red bandana handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the gun off by the light on the cowl board of the machine. It was then that Mr. Cock had an opportunity to see the gun and determine the caliber. Mr. Cock was called to the newspaper office by the editor and again related the story to us in detail. We made arrange- ments for him to accompany us to the border — to Tia Juana and Mexicali — and it possible, to point out the men, if they still remained in either of the border towns. Mr. Cock explained that he had delayed reporting this matter for the reason that his wife was afraid of what might happen. But, after reading the story of the murder and that Mr. Taylor had been a Captain in the Canadian Army during the World War, he felt sure it was Taylor to whom the men had referred. The following day Lieutenant Winn, Cock and myself went to Mexico in search of these two men. We went to the Chief of Police of Mexicali, who, after hearing our story, detailed Detective Mendoza, of the Mexicali Police Force, to accompany us on a round of the saloons, dance halls and other resorts. The Chief informed Mendoza that if Mr. Cock succeeded in locating these men, or either one of them, he, Mendoza, was to escort us to the border and put them Hasn't your daughter a right to be told Th< easy way is to give her this booklet You can't keep your daughter ignorant of physical facts. She feels the need to know. Surely she deserves to be told the real truth rather than be forced to seek any kind of infor- mation that friends of her own age can give. 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Into one saloon and out, into the dance halls and into gambling houses — into all sorts of resorts— we went. At last, about 1 1 :00 o'clock, in a saloon near the famous Owl Resort, Mr. Cock pointed out a young man standing at the bar with several men and women who were drink- ing. He stated that it was his belief that this young man was one of the men that was in the automobile with him, and who had discussed the killing of the Canadian captain. This man proved to be none other than "Red" Kirby, who had formerly been ar- rested by police officers and released. Detective Mendoza brought Kirby to the street from the bar room, where Winn and I started following them towards the line fence between Calexico and Mexicali. Mendoza finally stopped Kirby and in- formed him that he was on Mexican soil ; that he did not have to go over the line if he did not wish to go; that we were detectives from Los Angeles: and that if he went over the line we would undoubt- edly arrest him and take him to Los An- geles. Mendoza then proceeded to ask Kirby if he wished an attorney to repre- sent him, stating that if so he would pro- cure one. WINN and I then talked for what seemed to be hours with Kirby, try- ing to induce him to cross the line to his room in a rooming house in Calexico, not referring to the Taylor murder, but lead- ing hirn to believe that we desired to search his effects in his room, thinking him to have been connected with spme of the numerous burglaries that had been com- mitted in Los Angeles. After a great length of time we finally persuaded him to cross the line. "Come on, you guys V he exclaimed, ex- asperated. "You've got nothing on me. I'll take you to my room and show you what I got!"' He then took us to a rooming house where we went through the suitcase which we found in a closet, and found only a very few articles of wearing apparel — soiled shirts, ties, a shaving outfit, and other articles of this nature. No pictures or letters were found. We then told Kirby what we really wanted, and turning to Mr. Cock we asked him if he were positive in his identifica- tion of Kirby as being one of the two men he had picked up in Tustin and carried to Santa Ana. Cock looked Kirby over carefully and stated that since he had had an oppor- tunity to see Kirby under a good light and to hear his voice, he was convinced that Kirby was not one of the men we were looking for. We returned to Los Angeles. Kirby remained in Mexicali where he continued ■using "dope"— being a "hop" addict. Some time later his body was found in what is known as Mexicali wash, back of the town of Mexicali. An autopsy showed that he had died from an overdose of the nar- cotic he had been using. When we arrived in Los Angeles we found a letter awaiting us from the Warden at Folsom Prison, concerning two convicts confined there, who, in the opinion of the Warden, had committed the murder of Taylor. The Warden had intercepted notes written by these convicts to each other. I was rushed to Folsom Prison. Now, at last, would we find out the truth? Was this the "break" that would lead us to the real murderer? Is it pos- sible that the guilty ones were already in jail at Folsom Prison? Detective King concludes his sensational inside story of the great movie colony murder mystery in the October True Detective Mys- teries on all news stands September 15th. Don't miss it! Three Young Brides With New Ideas They were just married, they didn't have much money and they wanted to have Charming and beautiful homes. How they set about making their own home dreams come true is told in "How Three Brides Furnished Their Homes," an article featured in the September issue of YOUR HOME Magazine. 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True Detective Mysteries 83 The Murder at the Race Track {Continued from page 56) the murder of the beautiful Emma Larkin. Sapp disclaimed any knowledge of the killing, asserting that he did not know the woman and had never seen her to his knowledge. I le talked freely about the case, claiming that he had read many of the de- tails in the newspapers, and displayed a deep and unexplained interest in the matter. All night long he was subjected to a third- degree as officers attempted to coax and drag a confession from his lips but his ex- planation of the days he spent at the Mercer County fair grounds was flawless and offered no evidence that he was guilty of the charge pending against him. The arrest of Sapp refreshed the memory of June Bond and Guy Hayes who lived near Joy, Illinois, and they added some important evidence to forge another link in the chain of circumstances pointing to Sapp as the slayer. On Tuesday afternoon, while they oc- cupied Stall Number Nineteen with a race horse, they had heard a series of groans coming from the rear of Stall Twenty. A faint sound had first issued from Stall Twenty during the early afternoon of Tuesday, they said, and this continued into the evening. When they retired shortly before mid-night they could still hear the choking, gasping noise from the adjoining stall and were unable to sleep for a time because of the mournful sound. Moans, as if issuing from the lips of one exper- iencing deep agony, came at intervals of every few seconds but shortly after mid- night the hideous sounds ceased. A move- ment was heard for a brief time and then all grew quiet. The fair-grounds were deserted at this hour, save for the men remaining with their animals in the stables and the concession holders over in the midway, sleeping within tents. After the sounds in Stall Twenty had stopped, the stillness was broken only by the stamping of restless horses down the row of stalls and the two men soon drifted into slumber and dismissed the incident from mind. Bond and Hayes found Sapp the follow- ing morning, busily engaged in bundling his equipment together. In answer to their questions he said that he was shipping Helen S back to her owner because she was not in condition to race. The incident of the low moans of the night came to mind again and the fellow trainers asked Sapp concerning the matter. He explained with the remark that a friend had come to the stall Tuesday afternoon, intoxicated, and that he had permitted him to sleep off the drunken stupor at the rear of the stall. SAPP reiterated this explanation of the wails after he was arrested and said that his stall was closed during all of Tues- day to protect the man from prying eyes. If Sapp was to be convicted, it would be on purely circumstantial evidence, State's Attorney Wilson reasoned. To ask a jury to send a man to prison or the gallows merely because he possessed a trunk with blood-stains, had kept the door of his horse stall closed, had departed from the fair-grounds with an unconditioned horse and had occupied a compartment from which low moans had issued, would be stretching a point of the imagination, yet authorities were certain that Sapp was the guilty man. Sapp might have walked into the court room to face a weak prosecution had not he made the mistake of demanding to com- municate with a friend. After talking ceaselessly about the murder but craftily evading any admission of guilt, he insisted that he be allowed to talk with Mike Fer- guson, the "swipe" employed to care for Helen S. So insistent was Sapp in his request to be allowed to talk to Ferguson that officers located the latter and placed him under arrest after he had been traced to Galesburg. Ferguson was taken to the jail at Monmouth and placed in jail but he was not allowed to communicate with Sapp. Ferguson, after hours of questioning, unveiled the mystery and told a story upon which the prosecution prepared to try Sapp for the murder of Emma Larkin. Ferguson named Sapp as the slayer. Shuddering in horror, Ferguson related the part he had played in the crime. Fer- guson had arrived at the fair grounds with Sapp and prepared to rent stalls for Helen S and their equipment. They were as- signed to Numbers Twenty and Twenty- one and unpacked the harness and other articles, bedding the horse in Twenty-one and preparing bunks for themselves in Twenty. FERGUSON arose early Tuesday morn- ing and attended the horse. After feeding the animal and abandoning a work- , out in the rain, he ventured outside and walked around the grounds. After break- fast he returned to Stall Twenty and found it locked, with a heavy blanket placed over a hole in the lower door. Ferguson knocked and Sapp failed to respond. Ferguson knocked a second time and Sapp told him to leave and return later. Ferguson obeyed, he told officers, and came back to the stall before noon. The door was still closed and the blanket was still in place over the hole. Ferguson called through the door to Sapp, he said, and the latter responded by asking "Who is there?" Sapp replied and the door was opened cautiously. Sapp allowed Ferguson to enter and informed him that "I have a girl back there who pulled a faint." Ferguson stepped to the back of the stall and saw a still form upon the ground, covered with a sheet. When Sapp said that she was unconscious, Ferguson in- sisted that a doctor be called. Sapp refused, saying that she was "not that bad off" and Ferguson went back to his work in stall Twenty-one. Curious, Ferguson again glanced into the rear of Stall Twenty and saw the motion- less form under the white sheet. Within a few minutes the woman started to groan and continued this through the night, Ferguson said. Later Sapp told Ferguson that the woman had died and insisted that he help him pack the body in a trunk. Officers heard from Ferguson the story of how the men crammed the body into the small trunk, caused it to be taken to the depot and placed in a chartered freight car. Then Ferguson described the un- IT KEEPS EYES CLEAR There's no excuse for dull, bloodshot eyes when a few drops of Murine each day will keep them clear and bright. It dissolves the dust-laden film of mucus that makes eyes look dull, and speedily ends any bloodshot condition re- sulting from late hours, over- use, crying or prolonged expo- sure to the elements. 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"The woman's body was covered with a cooling blanket. When daylight came Sapp cleaned out a trunk. I took hold under the arms, with her head toward me, and we carried her to the trunk and then I ran out of the stall. I took just one look — that was enough. "I walked around the fair-grounds awhile and then I went back to the barn. Sapp had the trunk and the rest of the outfit packed. He hurried down town to order a freight car and hire a dray. The dray came right back and he loaded the trunk and racing bike and rode on top of the trunk on the dray. I led the mare. "I didn't stay around the railroad station much, but kept away with the mare. Sapp sat on the trunk at the freight house. "We got to the freight house about eight o'clock Wednesday morning and loaded awhile before noon. When the car was on the main line train out of Biggs- ville about five o'clock in the afternoon I helped get the woman out of the trunk and I helped throw the body out of the car. "I didn't look. Just glanced at it going and turned away. Sapp took the hat and umbrella out and tossed them off and packed the harness and blankets in the trunk. When we got to Monmouth he told me to take the mare to a barn. I am forty- three years old, unmarried. St. Louis is my home, but I have been around Gales- burg a year or more. I began racing at Garrison, Illinois, September 6th and then came to Aledo." THESE were the exact words of Ferguson as he gave officers an account of the murder. Even in the face of the confession by Ferguson that he had helped load the woman's body in a trunk and throw it from a train, to make it appear as though she had been killed accidentally, Sapp main- tained his profession of innocence. Ferguson was unable to furnish authorities with a motive for the slaying and Sapp would not fill this gap in the mystery. The two men were taken to the Mercer County Jail at Aledo by Sheriff Lutrell and deputies and held for the grand jury with- out bond. An indictment was voted against Sapp. Sapp went on trial a few months later, defended by three prominent attorneys and prepared to contest the murder charge. The Prosecution met with considerable difficulty in introducing certain salient facts and the Defense caused a stubborn legal fight by refusing to admit that the body of the woman was that of Emma Larkin. To establish to the satisfaction of the jury that the body found near Biggsville, and presumably slain by Sapp, was that of Emma Larkin was a difficult task for the Prosecution. Relatives testified to this effect but the Defense cleverly worked in the question of weight. Emma Larkin, when her body was found, weighed several pounds less than when she was last seen by relatives. Likewise the matter of identifi- cation was disputed because she had used an alias in the Watertown Hospital. At last, through hypodermic needle marks on her arms and hips as a means of identification, the trial was allowed to progress. The matter of the mysterious automobile and the two strangers, a puzzle previouslv offering investigators many restless hours, was injected into the trial and aired to the momentary bewilderment of the court and jury. An affidavit was presented, signed by a man whose identity is withheld here for the reason that it is not material to the story and would reflect at this late date upon his character in his community, and this claimed that the murder of Emma Larkin did not take place in Stall Twenty as the State charged but that the crime was committed in a deep ravine at the edge of the Burlington Railroad near Biggsville. This affidavit turned the picture back to the day Emma Larkin was believed to have left the exposition grounds with the two strangers. The man signing the document drove the automobile, it was set forth, and he piloted the stranger and woman in the rear seat to a point near Biggsville. When near the place where the body was found, the affidavit read, the driver glanced around and saw the man and woman struggling. Later the driver was in- structed to stop the car and assist in dragging the limp woman from the seat. The man then disappeared over the rim of a ravine with the body. He returned within a few minutes without the body, resumed his seat in the car and was driven to Monmouth. There the men separated. The fact that the man accused of slaying the woman in this document was not named led the court to become skeptical. The Defense argued that if granted a brief delay in the proceedings the author of the af- fidavit could be located and placed upon the witness stand to tell this story of how the woman of the mysterious automobile ride met her death. Arguments arose again as to whether the woman in the automobile was Emma Larkin and while the legal questions were involved the State conducted a quiet and speedy investiga- tion, learning that such an affidavit had been made but that it was without foundation and was false. No attempt was made to arrest any persons connected with the document or bring charges of perjury. Mike Ferguson was the star witness for the prosecution and he went upon the stand to recite again the story of how he had helped Sapp place the body of the woman in the trunk and carry her away. Sapp, he testified, was extremely nervous when the trunk reached the depot in Aledo and he spent most of the morning seated upon the lid of the trunk, as if fearful that it would be opened and the contents examined. After thus remaining on guard over the body of his victim, Sapp engineered the plot to throw the body upon the right-of- way of the railroad and make the death appear as accidental, according to Fer- guson's statements. Conclusive evidence that Sapp mur- dered Emma Larkin by striking her re- peatedly over the head with a beer bottle during a quarrel in Stall Twenty on Tuesday morning and then allowed her to lay un- conscious, life ebbing from her body, without the aid of a physician, for several hours, was introduced before the trial reached a sensational climax and Sapp was convicted by the jury. Where Emma Larkin went when she

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disappeared from the corner of the am- phitheater at the Aledo fair grounds will never be known. She probably crept under the huge grandstand and walked down through the row of foul-smelling stalls. Somewhere among bales of straw and hay she had elected to find a place of rest. There she was found early Tuesday morning by Sapp and enticed into the narrow confines of Stall Twenty. Sapp had been sociable. Beer was produced. Latches clicked and the light of day was True Detective Mysteries cut off with a soiled woolen blanket. A quarrel followed — anger arose — down came the arm of Sapp as he struck— a dull thud as a beer bottle, drained of its fluid, de- scended upon Emma Larkin's skull — a groan — silence. Sapp was sentenced to serve twenty-two years in the Illinois Penitentiary at Jolict. Ferguson was never tried in consideration of his testimony in behalf of the prosecution and for the reason that he played no part in the murder aside from helping to dispose of the body. 85 Black Hand Exposed at Last! {Continued from page 31) have a lot of grit and courage ; that you are smart and cunning ; but if you ever get caught in one of your jobs, who will secure a lawyer and bond for you? "You see, when you are with us in our Circle, in case you get arrested, we will help you and get you out of the scrape. "Now, if you are compelled to leave the city and go to another, you will not be a stranger wherever you may go because in our organization a branch can be found in any part of the world. All you have to do is to find the lookout man and he will see that you are taken care of just as if you were in your own home town." The new recruit falls for the Camorrist's line of talk, never once realizing that when he has joined the organization his chances are very small of ever getting out of it. THE person joining the Black Hand organization has five different degrees in his climb from the bottom of the ladder to the top, namely : ( 1 ) Youth of Honor (New Recruit) ; (2) Picciotto (Ruffian) ; (3) Camorrist (Master) ; (4) Busar (Contaiolo) ; (5) Leader (Copo). It is extremely difficult to obtain proper evidence to convict a leader of a branch of the Black Hand organization, due to the fact that these individuals never per- sonally take a chance of settling a score or attempting to get money by extortion. All these transactions are always nego- tiated through his trusted satellites. IN all my career as criminal investigator, the most eventful day for me was July 4th, 1928, and during the narrative of this story, the reader will surmise why such a day has been my luckiest one. Being in touch constantly, in one way or another, with all these Black-handers that infest Cattaraugus County, I have acquired the knowlcdga to know the peculiar charac- teristics, tendencies and habits of each one of these illiterate fanatics ; nevertheless the goal of all my efforts : to disband the gang of hoodlums or to get a conviction against some of them, was not reached until the summer of 1928. We might say it was a coincidence, streak of good luck or what we term the imponderable ; that brought me to the very bottom of this delinquent association. On the night of July 3rd, 1928, a little after nine-thirty o'clock, an officer of the law who was working with me, who is a real, honest servant of the public, got in touch with me and told me that an Italian had been shot near the Olean Brick Yard ; a spot about a mile distant from the city limits. I asked him, where the wounded man was taken, and he told me that they were bringing him over to the Higgins Hos- pital, which happens to be the finest and best equipped hospital in the City of Olean, New York. It was only a year before this tragedy, on the 16th of October, 1927, that the body of Vinccnzo Capito, another Italian, was found in this same locality with his throat slashed from ear to ear. Examination of the mutilated body disclosed that the vic- tim's throat had been slashed four times with a sharp carving knife and his wind- pipe severed, leaving his head hanging to his shoulder by a narrow ribbon of skin and flesh on the back of his head. In ad- dition, three knife stabs were inflicted on his heart, and his left shoulder, too. WHEN I received word that the wounded man had been taken to the Higgins Hospital, I went right over to see him. The attendants at first refused me admission into the hospital but when I had identified myself as an investigator then I was practically given carte blanche. I arrived just in time, as the wounded man was lying on a stretcher ready to be taken into the operating room. I ap- proached him, and the first question I asked was if he knew me. He said, "Yes, I know you, Mr. Ricci." His face, drained of any natural color, was rather too pale, showing at once his serious condition and the pains he was go- ing through. His eyes were a little glassy and his lips livid and dry. He looked at me in a pitiful manner. I asked him for his name and he said, "James Caputo." I said to him, "Look here, Jimmy, you better tell me the truth ; for you are in a very bad condition. Now, tell me who shot you." To this he answered, "John Rotundo." "How many times did he shoot you?" "Four times." Realizing that the wounded man was in a very dangerous condition and in order to comply with the technicalities of the law, pertaining to the declaration of a dy- ing man, I thought it best to have wit- nesses to hear the statement of the wounded victim. I summoned Doctor Ross Allen ; Doctor J. Smith and an orderly named C. Weaver around Caputo and I requested them to kindly pay particular attention to what the man had to say because they were The Love of a clear, smooth, NEW SKIN Now You Can Have It Yourself At Home Often UGLY BLEMISHES GONE! New Discovery Peels Them Off. Harmless, Easy, Amazing! READ FREE OFFER! Wonderful discovery now making thou- sands jump with joy enables any person, old or young, to banish blemishes almost as if by magic! So, now quit worrying and spending money on treatments that fail to succeed. 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86 True Detective Mysteries likely to be called by the District Attor- ney's office to substantiate my report. To my request the gentlemen readily con- sented. I ASKED Caputo to relate in his own words, "How he happened to be shot and hurt in such a way." This is what he told us at that time. "It was about six o'clock this evening, when John Rotundo, my godfather, came to my house and told me that he wanted me to meet him about eight o'clock on Front Avenue, near the railroad culvert. He had a bundle all wrapped up, which he left in my charge; saying it contained a bottle of Italian olive oil and he in- structed me to bring the bundle along at the place we were to meet. I ate my sup- per and stayed around the house awhile. About a quarter to eight, I took the bundle with the bottle of Italian olive oil that Rotundo had left in my care and walked over to Front Street and Railroad Ave- nue to meet him. "When I arrived there, John Rotundo was waiting. I asked him where we were going and he told me we were going to see a farmer friend of his to whom he had promised a bottle of good Italian olive oil. He said he wanted to get me ac- quainted with this farmer who was a par- ticular friend of his. We started walking along Railroad Avenue toward King Street from there and when we got to the city limits, Rotundo cut through Cherry Street in the direction of the brick yard. While we were walking, I noticed that every time a car or someone would pass us, Rotundo told me to stay in back and not to be seen with him. I inquired what was the idea that we should not walk or be seen together. Rotundo said, 'You are too young yet, my boy. There are many things you don't know and you have to learn. The least you let people see of your business, the better off you will be.' "I did as John said and I walked on one side of the street and he walked on the other side until we were on the outskirts of the city. Then he called me and we walked abreast, and while walking abreast we talked of many different things. When we got near the brick yards, a doubt en- tered my mind and I was very suspicious of John Rotundo of what he had said about not letting anyone seeing the two of us together. So I asked him: 'How far have we to go yet?' He said, 'Oh! Just down this little hill and then there is a lane. My friend lives only a few feet from there.' "We walked about a hundred feet down the hill and then all of a sudden I felt the barrel of a pistol being pressed close to my side. I quickly surmised that I was in grave danger. Nevertheless, to stall for time and with the hope that someone would be coming in our direction or someone would see us, I asked Rotundo, 'What is wrong, godfather? What does this mean?' John said, 'You are going to die and right here, to-night.' Saying this he fired the first shot I felt the bullet tear into my side. "AS I had no weapon* and I realized I was at his mercy, I dropped the bun- dle that contained the bottle of olive oil and started to run away from him but he kept on firing. I felt two more shots hit me, one in my arm, the other one in my back in the lumbar region. I still ran, but as part of my body seemed to be paralyzed, I couldn't go fast. As I ran, I looked back at John but in doing so I stumbled and fell to the ground. "When John saw me turn around, he must have thought that I was going to re- act or do something of the kind because he, too, quickly jumped to one side as if he was trying to get out of my direction and I saw him drop to the ground. "When I saw him in that position, al- though I was wounded, I gathered all my strength and as if it was a dying effort, I got to my feet again and staggered to the foot of the hill, where I saw two or three camping tents and automobiles. I made a dash for the nearest one and to the questions of the people who saw me so covered with blood and acting so strangely, I answered that I had been shot. The campers asked my name, and the name of the person who had shot me. "Fearing that I might soon be uncon- scious, I asked them for a paper and pencil. Upon the paper I signed my name and John Rotundo's name, as the man who had shot me. The campers 'phoned to the police and called for an ambulance to come after me." HERE I interrupted the wounded man and asked him if he was telling the truth. To this he said, "Yes, it is." I asked him, "Have you had a quarrel with Rotundo or did John Rotundo have any reason to try to kill you?" He answered, "No, I don'l know of any reason for which John should do any such thing." Then he said, "Please, Mr. Ricci, go to my house at four hundred North Seventh Street and tell my wife of my condition. Have her come here at once. Do this for me." I noticed that the wounded man was very apprehensive of his condition and that he was in fear of the approach of death. Before I went after Mrs. Caputo to notify her of her husband's condition, I went first over to John Rotundo's resi- dence on North Fourth Street. I knocked at the door and quickly stepped back from it, realizing that if John Rotundo was in the house and he got the drop on me, I would get the same as James Caputo got a few hours before. The lady of the house answered the door and I said, "Is John Rotundo home?" She said, "I don't know. I saw him go out about eight o'clock and I don't know if he has come home yet or not." I walked into the house and noticed that everything seemed in perfect order. I went into the next room which seemed to be a kitchen and dining room combined. By mere force of habit, I looked at the table, stove and at a stack of dirty dishes standing by the sink. I purposely took my time to look around in order that I might study the facial ex- pressions and the nervous actions of the lady of the rooming house so that I would know best how to interview her in regard to John Rotundo. I realized from her ap- pearance that she feared Rotundo. In this room I noticed a door that led to the back yard and when I saw that the lock had been placed in a position so as to keep the door open, I rather roughly asked the lady, "Did you say you didn't see John Rotundo after he went out?" She said, "No, I couldn't tell if he has come back or not. I got to take care of the children and my husband so we don't stay up very late at night." I then asked, "How many keys has John Rotundo for this house and which doors do they open?" She said, "Only one key, and it is for the front door." "Are you sure he doesn't have a key for any other door?" To this she said, "No." "What time did you go to bed this eve- ning?" I asked. "About nine o'clock," she said. "Do you lock all the doors when you go to bed?" She replied, "Yes." "Well, how does it happen then that you have this back door open?" "Oh!" she said, "I didn't know that the back door was unlocked." "Yes," I said, "you know it is open. You let John go through that door." "Oh ! Mr. Ricci, maybe he did come in through the front door and go out that way but I didn't see him." I TOLD her she had better come clean and tell the truth if she didn't want to get herself in trouble. "What has happened?" she said. "A few minutes ago a policeman, Mr. Finger, was here and he asked for John, too." "Why didn't you tell me that before?" I asked. "You know well enough what has happened." With this last remark I took leave of her and went to the home of James Ca- puto, to get his wife and take her to the hospital to see her husband. When I reached Caputo's house it was all dark. I knocked hard at the door to make sure I would be heard, if anyone was home. In a short time I noticed a light turned on and a lady came to the door. Before she opened the door, she pulled the curtains aside to see who was knocking. Without giving her a chance to ask questions I said, "Mrs. Caputo, I have to talk to you about an important matter." She seemed surprised at my late call and being a woman of high strung charac- ter, she shivered and with a quavering voice said, "Oh ! Mr. Ricci, what has hap- pened? Is anything wrong with Jimmy?" "Don't get too excited," I tried to calm her. "I am sorry to say that your Jimmy is in a very bad condition." TEARS began rolling profusely down her face and with a trembling voice, she asked, "Where is Jimmy? What has hap- pened to him?" "Well, I must tell you the truth. He is seriously injured with four bullets in his body—" Before I could go any farther, in the paroxysm of her grief she started to pull her hair and walk up and down the little room wailing, "Oh ! Jimmy, why did you want to mix up with these people? Why did you go out to-night? You know I didn't want you to go outdoors after dark. Oh ! My God," she said, and fell in a faint upon the sofa. I got a glass of water, made her drink some of it and bathed her face. In a few minutes she was quite herself and I tried to cheer and comfort her a little. From what I had heard her say, I sur- mised that Mrs. Caputo knew all about

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True Detective Mysteries 87 44 GET ON „ A^? DAYDAI I the background which had caused the at- tempt at murder of her husband and that now was my best opportunity to delve deep into the matter. Centering her mind on the condition of her husband, she begged me to take her to him at once. She said, "I must see him and talk with him. It is my place beside him." It took me ten minutes to convince her that it was impossible for her to see her husband for an hour or two. I knew this to be the truth for as I left the hospital they were just beginning to operate on Caputo to probe for the bullets fired into his body. I knew that the doctor would not allow anyone to see him until he was out of the anesthetic. I asked Mrs. Caputo, "Why don't you want James to go out after dark?" Slowly and mechanically, as if she were in a dream, she related this information. "Before I married Jimmy, he had been the paramour of an Italian woman that loved him deeply. She left her husband to go away with Jimmy. They lived to- gether a couple of years as man and wife in Buffalo and other cities. It was only about six months ago that in some way Jimmy broke away from her and during these six months since we have been mar- ried, she has tried in every possible way to take Jimmy from me. He has made her understand fully that there is no hope for a reconciliation and that he was married and settled down. This woman threatened him and said she would make him pay dearly for having cast her aside since she had left her husband to hold Jimmy's love. My husband paid no attention to any of her threats. He believed them to be only an outburst of a disillusioned mind and of a grieved heart, believing that eventually she would go back to her husband and bury the past. At the time Jimmy eloped with this woman John Rotundo was con- sidered to be one of her most ardent ad- mirers. He lavished upon her expensive gifts and many other proofs of great ad- miration. No question, as it has been whispered among the Italian folks of Olcan, there was some kind of affair be- tween this woman, whom my husband has lived with, and John Rotundo. "Since I married Jimmy, John Rotundo has played the part of a good godfather and friend to my husband. Neverthe- less, by his actions, ways or what you may call a woman's intuition, I felt at times a strange suspicion come into my mind whenever Rotundo came to the house to visit Jimmy. In fact, I warned Jimmy of these feelings concerning Rotundo, but Jimmy could never see anything wrong with him." THEN all of a sudden, as if she was coming out of the trance she said, "Please, now take me over to Jimmy. I can't wait any longer. I beg of you, don't keep me here. Take me to htm." I realized that I had obtained the mo- tive behind this attempted murder and that I could get any other information out of Mrs. Caputo at any time I chose, so I didn't press her any further that night. I told her to get ready and I drove her to the hospital to see her husband. While she was dressing, in an uncon- cerned way I looked over the arrangement of Caputo's home. Everything was spot- less, clean and tidy, although the furniture $1260 to $3400 A YEAR 20,000 Government Jobs Will Be Filled This Year RAILWAY POSTAL CLERKS Many Other U. S. Government Jobs Open to Men and Women 18 Up POST OFFICE CLERKS RURAL CARRIERS INSPECTORS OF CUSTOMS CITY MAIL CARRIERS GENERAL OFFICE CLERKS IMMIGRATION INSPECTORS These are steady positions. Strikes, poor business conditions, lockouts or politics will not affect them. U. S. Government employees get their pay for full twelve months every year. There is no such thing as "HARD TIMES' in the U. S. Government Service. RAILWAY POSTAL CLERKS Railway Postal Clerks now get $1900 the first year regular, being paid on the first and fifteenth of each month. $79.16 each pay day. 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88 True Detective Mysteries and furnishings were not of an expensive quality; they were placed in such an order that reflected the well-taken care of ; it expressing the very feeling and sentiment of the person who had arranged them so. It was really a love nest. In the front room were two large pho- tos. One was of James Caputo and the other of his wife, both taken recently. In fact it seemed the pictures did not do justice to either as for their features and appearance. I found James Caputo to be about twenty-five years old ; five feet eight ; weighing close to one hundred fifty pounds. He was an unusually well-dressed chap and a barber by trade. It seems to me that he could easily impersonate the re- nowned figure of the Italian character in the opera "The Barber of Seville." He had flashing, white, well-shaped teeth, large black eyes covered by long dark lashes, his forehead was clear and intelligent and he had an abundant head of hair which was -naturally lustrous. In fact, James was the real type of man that any woman would desire and adore. MRS. CAPUTO, a beautiful woman of twenty-eight years was five feet eight and weighed about one hundred and forty pounds. She was a vivacious brunette with snapping black eyes that seemed to pierce through a person, when she looked at them. Her hair was wavy and dark, and she arranged it in a characteristic Sicilian coiffure. She could practically imperson- ate the typical beauty of the Southern Italians. Although she was a widow when James Caputo married her, they seemed a perfectly matched couple. After Mrs. Caputo had arranged her- self in a most presentable condition, I drove her to the Higgins Hospital. Arriv- ing there, once again her nerves seemed to get the best of her and I had all I could do to restrain her from forcing her way to the room where her husband was lying. I half carried her to the waiting-room and advised her to keep quiet and wait there for me while I went to find out from the doctor if she could see her hus- band. I found one of the operating doctors, Doctor Smith, and from him I got the information that Caputo was in a very, very dangerous condition and that nothing but a miracle could save his life. The doctor told me that they had taken three bullets out of his body but there remained still one in his stomach. Although they had probed insistently, they could not lo- cate this other bullet. He also told me that if they had continued trying to find the bullet in James' stomach, their man would die on the operating table. AFTER this interview with the doctor, I called the District Attorney, Mr. Edward Kreiger at his home and informed him of all the particulars pertaining to Ca- puto's mishap. The District Attorney asked me if I had obtained a dying declara- tion from the wounded man and if I had taken care of things properly. I assured him that I had a declaration from James Caputo, and I had as witnesses Chief of Police Jack Dempsey, Doctor Ross Al- len, Doctor J. Smith, and an orderly by the name of C. Weaver. The District Attorney inquired if I had the reason or motive for this attempt of murder; I informed him that I had ob- tained a few reasons but I needed other facts to substantiate the motive. We ar- ranged to meet in the morning at the Hos- pital at ten o'clock. It was about 1 A. M. on July 4th when I called the District At- torney on the phone. After my telephone conversation with him, I went to the wait- ing room to get Mrs. Caputo. I helped her up the stairs to the ward where her husband was lying in bed. In fact, as soon as we reached the bed- room and she saw James with the pallor of death upon his face, she made a dash for him but I refrained her from doing so. Once again, I calmed her down and made her understand that it would only endanger her husband's condition all the more, if she moved around him or made any unnecessary noise. James Caputo was just coming out from under the ether and Doctor Smith advised us not to disturb him. Mrs. Caputo real- ized her husband's condition and forced herself to hold back a hundred different feelings that were tormenting her, and in obedience to the doctor's orders ; she re- strained herself. She was a very pitiful sight with tears rolling copiously down her cheeks and her body shaking with sobbing tremors ; in fact, she touched the hearts of all the people present around her hus- band's bedside. I knew that while she was in such a state of mind, it would be my best time to interview her, so, coaxing her out of the bedroom, I took her again to the visi- tors' waiting room. THERE I began to grill her in regard to her husband's past, asking her, "Mrs. Caputo, how did you know that the woman with whom Jimmy formerly lived wanted him to come back to her again? And when James refused to return to her, she threatened him?" "Why," Mrs. Caputo said, "Jimmy him- self confessed everything to me, for the reason to prevent others telling me and Jimmy didn't want to cause any argument or heartaches in our home." I asked her, "Do you know this woman? Have you ever seen her or spoken to her ?" "Yes," she said, "I know who the woman is. She was pointed out to me, but I never have spoken to her. I don't care to have anything to do with her. She is the cause of Jimmy's being shot." "Well, what about John Rotundo? Did he ever have any arguments with James? Did you ever hear anything that would arouse your suspicion, as you have already told me?" "No, there was never a harsh word, never any hint that would make Jimmy aware of him," she said. "Why, only last Sunday John had dinner with us. He knew Jimmy was out of work and loaned him twenty dollars. He acted so kind and nice, but this was only to throw dust in my eyes and to gain the trust of my hus- band. When he was here Sunday, he took Jimmy outside in the backyard and I suppose they didn't want me to know what they were talking about. But through the kitchen window I saw them hiding a pack- age. After Rotundo left our home I asked Jimmy, what was the idea of hiding that package and what was in it? "Jimmy said, 'It is just a bottle of olive oil that John doesn't want to take to his rooming house because the landlady might find it and use the oil up. John wants me to keep it here a few days because he is going to make a present of it to one of his friends.' " Right here I noticed a discrepancy in her own and her husband's story because James had told me that John had given him the bottle of olive oil on the same night he was shot. I thought to myself : If it was really oil in that package, why should they hide it? Even if the bottle should get broken or in case some one might take it, more oil could be bought in any Italian grocery store. Furthermore, Italian olive oil does not come in bottles, but it is put up in different sized tin con- tainers. I realized that the bottle of oil was a very important item for me to get hold of. WITH this intuition I left the hospital, after I was assured by the nurse that James was out of the ether. From there I went to Police Headquar- ters and got in touch with Chief Dempsey. I asked him, "What happened to the bun- dle Caputo had when he was shot." He said, "Why, Officer Finger was up there and I understand that he opened the package and found a piece of burlap bag and a bottle of automobile oil." I asked where the bottle was, and the Chief said, "Officer Finger gave it to one of the campers to use the oil in his car." "Will you please come with me?" I asked the Chief. "I want to search a couple of places I think Rotundo is in hiding." The Chief readily agreed and he, along with Officer Switzer and myself, went to a house nearby where a Mrs. James Ca- pito lived. Her husband was the man found killed at the brick yard in the month of October in 1927, the same spot where Rotundo had tried to kill James Caputo. The reader must know that James Ca- puto and James Capito are two different persons, although their names are almost the same. It was about S A. M. on July 4th when we reached the home of the lady that I suspected to be hiding Rotundo. The Chief explained the situation to her and she read- ily consented for us to search her home, which we did. Each of us searching a different part of the house, but to no avail. John Rotundo was not there nor had she seen him recently. From there we went to a house on West Water Street where John had previously boarded and in the same way we went through inquiring from the members of the families in there if anybody knew any- thing about John Rotundo; but, as be- fore, no one had seen him for some time. At last we went to his step-brother's home on Vine Street. Before we reached this house I got my automatic ready as I felt that it was a question of who got the first drop on the other one, and if Ro- tundo was at this place we knew that it was dangerous ground, because the vicious- ness and cunning of this criminal was well known to us. Cautiously we approached the house, measuring our every step — not knowing at what moment we would come face to face with this desperate black-hander. We searched every niche and corner, from the cellar to the garret, but still there was no sign of John Rotundo in any place. His step-brother acted surprised, although

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True Detective Mysteries I knew he was feigning. He asked me : •What is this all about? What does it mean?" I remarked, "You know very well ; I don't need to tell you anything. You know where John is." He continued to protest that he did not know anything of his step-brother. "Why, we are in no cordial relations now and I haven't seen John: for a few months." I didn't say any more to the step- brother but I told the Chief I thought it would be a very good idea to go back to John Rotundo's room and search it. In this way I figured we might be able to get some clue as to John's whereabouts or where he had so hastily gone to. The Chief approved of my suggestion and we went to John's room. Knocking at the door, Mrs. Donte Atelcno, the lady of the house, opened it for us. We told her we wanted to look in John's room ; she gave us permission and said she didn't want any trouble; we could do just as we pleased. We went upstairs to Rotundo's room. It was a small, stuffy, badly kept place for one to sleep in. On the walls were several pictures of saints, and in severe contrast with these there were some las- civious magazine pictures of ladies. In the farther corner of the room, at the foot of the bed, was an old-fashioned trunk. On the top of the trunk lay two cheap suit cases. (See photos showing both trunk and suitcase on page 46.) I asked the landlady if these were John's things and she quickly informed me that everything in that room belonged to Ro- tundo. I tried to open the trunk but upon finding it locked, I asked if she had the keys to it. She told me she didn't have any keys for any of John's things. An old raincoat — a couple of pairs of overalls and an old suit were hanging on different hooks behind the door. I had seen Rotundo dressed up on more than one oc- casion, at times wearing a blue serge suit and at others with a brown, checkered one, a soft brown felt hat and in other in- stances with a Panama straw hat. I asked Mrs. Ateleno where his new clothes were kept. She claimed to know nothing of their whereabouts. I then asked her to let me look into her bedroom, to which request she willingly acceded. I searched every niche and corner of the room, even under the mattresses, but there was not a single clue or sign of Rotundo's good clothes. I realized that in this instance Mrs. Ateleno had told me the truth. Returning to Rotundo's room I began to search. I opened the two suitcases that were unlocked, and in them found a lot of worthless paraphernalia, that would not be of any use to us — although we found a number of mechanic's tools with the Penn- sylvania Railroad stamp on them. These tools Rotundo had stolen from the Penn- sylvania shop where he happened to be working at this time. Chief of Police Dempsey said to mc that he would take care of the stolen tools, and that he would notify the proper authorities of the Pennsylvania Railroad about Rotundo's theft. After having looked through the suitcases, I tried to open Rotundo's trunk with some of my keys, but none would fit, for the trunk was an old-fashioned one, the kind used mostly by emigrants, constructed with tin and wood and of very cheap workmanship. After Mrs. Ateleno had told me that she had no keys to open it, I decided to FREE BOOR New Styles - New Colors Now only ON ANY RANGE OR HEATER moo ' m jQ DOWJ SAVE */3 to i/x at Factory Prices New, Free . . . Kalamazoo's 30th Anni- versary Sale Book. Sparkling with color —alive with NEW features! 200 styles and sizes of Quality Stoves, Ranges, and Fur- naces— bigger values than ever — Factory Sale Prices that save you % to Vi» And a brand NEW Credit Policy — NOW ONLY $5 DOWN on any Stove or Furnace re- gardless of price or size. Write for this wonderful NEW FREE Book Now! New Cabinet Heaters A wide variety of Cabinet Heaters— the NEW- EST styles, in Black and in rich, Walnut Por- celain Enamel finishes. Hold fire overnight. 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90 True Detective Mysteries break the lock on it with a hammer. In the top of it I found a bottle of arsenic, one of ground glass, two hand-made masks, a sharp long dagger, an Italian revolver, caliber .44 — four razors, one of which the Made was gauged out even, in a shape of a saw, a bunch of letters written in Italian, a package of Saints' pictures, and some unimportant objects. Lookng in the bottom part of the trunk, I found a few sets of clean underwear, and a few pairs of work- ing gloves. In one of the gloves I found Rotundo's photo and a small book with covers of black linen cloth. In a mechan- ical sort of way I gazed upon it, and urged by some strange sense of feeling, I opened it to see what it was. Surprised and stunned alike, I began to read a paragraph of it, and I could hardly control my great satisfaction, realizing the intrinsic value of this little book. Tickled pink I put it into the inside pocket of my coat, for fear I would misplace or lose it. I was as happy as I had ever been in all of my life, for I realized that I had in my possession a book of great value. The little treasure, after scrutinizing it through and through, has turned out to be the original Ritual and by-laws of the dreaded Black Hand organization, the code of which Ritual is the cardinal sub- ject, to properly form branches and rami- fications of the criminal organization. I felt that although Rotundo had escaped my clutches, I had in my possession, some- thing worth a lot more than the escaped murderer's very life. And this Ritual which has since been translated by me and will be published in this magazine next month, I am sure will be of great aid to the police department of the entire United States of America, and will be a demoral- izing, crushing blow to the adherents of the fanatical association from which they will hardly recuperate. What has Fate in store for this fearless detective? Will the clues he has uncov- ered lead him to the rendezvous of the notorious black hand killer, Rotundo? Detective Ricci is as courageous in his revelations of the innermost workings of this infamous organization as he was in the investigations themselves. In the October true Detective Mysteries he continues his sensational expose and presents the translation of the "little black book", THE ACTUAL CODE AND RITUAL OF THE DREADED BLACK HAND— never before revealed to the public. Don't miss this sensational feature in True Detective Mysteries, on all news stands September 15th. about contemplated improvements. The Spratt car, driven by Arthur Williams, had been parked along the main roadway lead- ing to the big house on the estate. Williams sat on the driver's seat, which was separated from the rear of the car by a heavy glass partition. Mrs. Spratt, who had been ill, remained in the rear of the automobile. Mr. Spratt and Kelly, during the conversa- tion, had stood nearby, while Constance Marie, who had discovered a small bank of snow alongside the road, was making snow- balls. The conversation of Mr. Spratt and Kelly was interrupted by the appearance of a wild-eyed man who, panting, ran up the driveway, having entered the ground by the main gateway. Stumbling toward the men beside the automobile, the intruder waved a revolver at them and shouted: "Get over there by that automobile. I'm going to talk to you and I'm going to use that car." Kelly, not realizing that he was dealing with a madman, protested. "I'll walk nowhere," he said angrily. "It's not my car and I'm staying right where I am!" "You'll do what I tell you. I mean busi- ness!" the intruder said, and he placed the revolver against Kelly's ribs. BY this time Kelly and Mr. Spratt realized the danger that lurked in the eyes of the intruder. Obeying the man's orders, they moved to the side of the auto- mobile, while Mrs. Spratt and Williams looked on, wondering what had occurred. As they reached the side of the car, the intruder close beside them with his re- volver still pressing at Kelly's side, Mr. Spratt attempted to reason with him. "Don't make a move, or I'll kill you!" said the man savagely. "Don't think I won't. I've just killed a couple of cops and I'll kill you in a minute." "But, please do not disturb my wife," protested Mr. Spratt. "She is ill. ' If it is money you are after take this " And Mr. Spratt took a wallet from his pocket and handed it to the man with the pistol. Without looking at its contents, the bandit thrust the wallet into his pocket and moved to the side of the automobile. "Get out of that car." he snapped at Mrs. Irvington's Mad Polic {Continued from page 59) Spratt. He jerked open the door of the tonneau and waved his pistol at her, and she stumbled out. "No, you don't," he said as the chauffeur, Williams, attempted to leave the car by the front door. "Stay where you are. You know the roads around here and I don't. I want you to drive me to Boston — and you're going to drive me to Boston." Leaping through the open door of the tonneau and slipping far back on the seat, the bandit yelled to Williams: "Now, step on it — and be damned quick about it." Williams stepped on the throttle and the big eight-cylinder Packard swept down the driveway, meeting our little Chevrolet, with me on the running board, soon after it cleared the gates of the estate. As our cars drew together, the slayer leaned forward toward Williams and said: "There's another copper on the running board. I've a mind to give it to him, too." "Don't, for God's sake," cried Williams, slowing down the car in the belief that he might give me some warning. "No, you don't," warned the bandit, pointing his revolver at the chauffeur, and then, before the driver could summon courage to disobey him, he fired two shots at the heavy glass between him and Wil- liams. The non-breakable glass shattered at the impact of the bullets, and Williams, intimidated by the crazed man, stepped on the gas and the big car rolled past us as we entered the grounds. That's how close to death I was at that time. None of us in my car heard the reports of the bandit's revolver, which were muffled in the interior of the closed car. No sooner had we learned of the flight of the fugitive in the Spratt car than we turned in our tracks and started in pursuit. But the bandit had a high-powered car, and we followed in my Chevrolet. He had at least five minutes' start and the advantage of an experienced driver who knew his car and the roads in the vicinity. We knew that Williams would be compelled to aid in the escape despite his wishes, for we realized that we were after a desperate man who would stop at nothing. We traced the big gray Packard over East Sunnyside Road to the Sawmill River Road. Killer It was hard to follow, for there were many automobiles on the road, but we learned that it had gone north on Sawmill River Road at break-neck speed, doing the seven miles to Briarcliff in an amazingly short period of time. AT Briarcliff we lost absolutely all trace *» of the car — but we did find the chauffeur Williams, shaken after his frenzied ride, and forced out of the car back of Briarcliff as the slayer speeded away to freedom. Williams told us in detail of his wild ride. In substance, this is what happened after the big car passed through the gates of the Spratt property. Frightened as the bandit's bullets shat- tered the glass close to his head, Williams turned the car into East Sunnyside Lane and the big machine leaped ahead. "Keep off the main roads," the slayer yelled savagely, as he kept his revolver pointed at the frightened chauffeur. As they approached the Sawmill River Road, the slayer, who had looked behind con- tinually to see if they were being pursued, yelled to the chauffeur: "Stop here a minute. I'm going to get in front with you." Williams pulled the car to the side of the road, while the armed passenger stepped from the tonneau to the running board and then through the front door of the car, seating himself beside the driver. "Get going again," the slayer said. "But, wait. Have you got a cigarette?" "I haven't got a cigarette," Williams re- plied. "But I have a cigar. Want that?" The bandit took the cigar, lay the re- volver on the seat beside him and lighted the smoke. Then, settling himself comfort- ably on the seat, he said: "Now, step on it again. Let's get away from here." As the big car sped north the killer be- came confidential to his driver. "My name is Joseph Gardiner," he said, puffing at the cigar YVilliams had given him. "I've got a grudge against all cops. They have made a lot of trouble for me and I'm going to bump off every one I get a chance to. I'm tough and I've been in every penitentiary in the country. I don't care {Continued on page 92)

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True Detective Mysteries 91 Beautiful Wanda Stopa The ambitious offspring of Chi- cago's Little Poland whose study of modern philosophy failed to teach her how to settle the tumult in her woman's heart. The Killer from Greenwich Village The Sensational Story of Beautiful, Auburn Wanda Stopa — Brilliant Lawyer, Assistant District Attorney, Author, Member of the Greenwich Village Intellec- tuals— Who Found Emotions Were Stronger Than Reasoned Logic. The party in Wanda Stopa's Village apartment had been in progress for hours. It was to be her farewell, she said, the last of the parties for which she had footed the bills while they had discussed life, sex and philosophy in the smoke-blued atmosphere. Suddenly her own voice, hitherto quiet, penetrated over the chatter. It demanded attention. "I have an announcement to make," they heard her say. "Are you listening?" Wanda went on. "Well, take note then. I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow, and when I arrive I'm going to kill a woman — and maybe a man . . . But, anyhow, a woman. I'm going to kill her, do you hear? Shoot her because she refused to give up the man I love. You make me tired with your synthetic notions and words. God, you're naive! You think you're sophisticated, but you're just shallow children." Swiftly but softly she stripped her body of its jewels, tearing them off one by one. To the starved looking girl in green she threw a brace- let. The girl in red caught another as it fell clinking to the floor. Finally her rings flew one into one lap another into another. A man whose tie had become loosened, lunged grotesquely toward the girl where she stood like a figure wrapped in flame. "Atta girl," he chuckled, "thasa way to talk. But shoot straight 'cause dead ones don't talk." That broke the tension. The party went on again and no one paid Wanda's threat a second thought. But— Forty-eight hours later, in Chicago, the papers flamed with one of the weirdest murder stories recorded in the annals of Chicago crime — a spectacular shooting in which an obscure gardener was a hero-victim — a shooting that affected even the hardened authorities — a crime that started a woman hunt that had an even stranger ending than beginning. It is recalled in every vivid detail in THE MASTER DETECTIVE, September issue. Partial Contents September Issue The Clue of the Torn Phone Book The Greenwich Village Killer The Laugh that Trapped Three Yeggs London's Famous Sack Mystery The Real Truth About Al Capone Wisconsin's Strangest Crime The Thanksgiving Horror In Boot- leggers' Canyon My Career as a Girl Spy in the Great War How I Caught Baltimore's Master Forger Who Murdered Beautiful Claire Gaudet? The Riddle of the Broken Crib Long Island's Notorious Sashweight Murder Real Solutions of Real Crimes THE MASTER DETECTIVE publishes complete inside stories of actual crime solution. Many of them come to you direct from the official records. They are reported by the detectives themselves or by newspaper men who are closely in touch with every twist and turn of the cases. For that reason MASTER DETECTIVE stories are outstanding in detective literature. Time and again they prove that truth is indeed stranger than fic- tion as they disclose the amazing vagaries of the human mind as crooks try cunningly to hide their tracks. They prove that in actual fact the so-called "perfect crime" does not exist. You will be spellbound at the skill and tenacity with which police detectives and private operatives get their man no matter how well covered are the clues, no matter how devious the trail. Add THE MASTER DETECTIVE to your list of reading today! PmACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS. Inc.. "I 1926 Broadway. New York. Dept. T.D.M.-M I I Gentlemen: I I I am enclosing $1.00 for which please enter | I my name to receive The Master Detective | I Magazine for the next five months banning | with the current issue. I tCTlVf SEPTEMBER ISSUE ON SALE AUGUST 23RD - | Name . . | Address. ! I City. State .

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92 True Detective Mysteries what happens to me. My wife is dead and I might as well be. "I'm going to kill every cop I see," he said savagely and his eyes gleamed with vindictiveness. By this time the roaring car was ap- proaching Briarcliff. It had simply eaten up the miles from Irvington. At some points, Williams said, they had reached a speed of eighty miles an hour. "We're close to Briarcliff, now," Wil- liams said to the bandit. "Why not stop here?" "Not on your life," replied his passenger quickly. "Speed it up." "But, it's foolish to try to drive to Bos- ton," Williams persisted. "If you've killed a policeman the alarm has been spread and every copper along the route will be looking for us. They had a description of this car and they'll kill us both." They were near the outskirts of Briar- cliff. The bandit smoked thoughtfully be- fore he answered. "Maybe you're right," he said finally, "I don't care about myself, but maybe you're right. I'll let you out here. Bull over to some quiet spot and give me your coat and cap." WILLIAMS' wild ride came to an end at that point. He piloted the mud- spattered car to the side of a road, near a filling station, and still in the front seat of the car — he stripped off the coat and cap of his chauffeur's uniform and gave them to his unwanted companion. The bandit removed his sweater and checkered cap and threw them into the tonneau, donning the coat and cap he had taken from Williams. The chauffeur no- ticed during the exchange of clothing that the fugitive's shoes were out at the toes. At this time a motorcycle policeman rode past and the bandit saw him. "I'll shoot him, too, if he stops," he snarled to Williams, grabbing the revolver from the seat. But the policeman passed on without noticing the pair and Williams stepped from the automobile. The slayer slid across the seat to a position behind the driver's wheel and turned to the chauffeur. "Remember," he said, tapping the barrel of the revolver with a finger. "Don't you give the alarm. If you do, I'll come back and get you." Then, as Williams stood beside the road, the bandit stepped on the gas and the big Packard sprang away on the next leg of its flight. After we lost the trail at Briarcliff, Dwyer, Larkin and I talked with the Irvington Police Headquarters by telephone and learned that other searching parties had given negative reports, so we drove back to Irvington. Upon our arrival there we met District Attorney Frank H. Coyne of Westchester County, who had hurried to Irvington from his home in Yonkers im- mediately upon receiving word of the murder. Mr. Coyne took charge and did wonderful work in organizing the search for the murderer. He and I spent the night and early hours of the following morning at the telephones, spreading the alarm and giving descriptions of the automobile and bandit to police in New York, New Jersey, Con- necticut and Massachusetts. By three o'clock in the morning we had pretty well {Continued from page 90) covered the neighboring states with infor- mation which we hoped would lead to a capture. "This case is going to take some hard work, Chief," Mr. Coyne said to me, and my reply was: "I'm willing to work until we get him." At five minutes to four o'clock Monday morning — that was March 4th — Mr. Coyne returned to his home in Yonkers and I went home to get a brief sleep. I had slept about an hour when my telephone rang and a clerk at Irvington Police Headquarters A close-up of the machine in which the killer (inset) fled told me that a car, believed to be Mr. Spratt's Packard, had been found aban- doned in Kordham, not far from Woodlawn Cemetery. Damaged slightly, and covered with mud, the car had been discovered by Patrolman Joseph Cleary of Fordham. I immediately called District Attorney Coyne at his home in Yonkers and told him of the find. At his instructions, I drove at once to Yonkers and picked Mr. Coyne up there. We drove to Fordham and were directed to the place where Patrolman Cleary stood guard over the car. ONE fender of the big car was damaged, as though the driver had struck an- other car a glancing blow, and it was plentifully spattered with mud. The glass partition between the driver's seat and the tonneau was splintered in two places where the bandit's bullets had struck when he forced Chauffeur Williams to speed past our car at the Spratt estate gate. In the tonneau we found the evidence we sought. In abandoning the car the slayer had left on the floor the sweater and cap he had discarded when he donned part of Williams' uniform. Also on the floor of the car was a handkerchief in which was tied twenty-two cartridges for a .38 caliber revolver. This was at five o'clock in the morning of Monday, March 4th, only thirteen hours after Policeman Dugan had fallen before the fire of the crazed police-killer. We had not yet been able to establish the identity of the murderer and we had lost his hot trail at Briarcliff, but we now had in our hands clothing which we hoped would be of incalculable aid in the hunt and the description of the killer was' in the hands of police in all nearby states. The best description we had obtained from Williams, the Shribers and the Spratts was that the fugitive was about five feet, seven inches tall, and weighed about one hundred and forty pounds, thin features, sandy moustache, gray suit, checkered cap, dark sweater over his coat. The Boston police notified us that they could trace no one named Gardiner by our description, and negative reports had come from other cities where the police were cooperating in the chase. Irvington was aroused as never before. The indignation of the citizens had brought quick action on the part of the authorities. Mayor Matthew J. Murtha instructed us to leave no stone unturned in the hunt for Policeman Dugan 's slayer and the city offi- cially offered a reward of $2,000 for the killer's capture. Only a little more than four hours after District Attorney Coyne and I had in- spected the recovered escape car we hurried into New York City — Mr. Coyne, the Shriber brothers, William and Patrick Kelly, the caretaker of the Spratt property, and I — and made a hurried inspection of Rogues' Gallery pictures. None of those who had seen the killer could find his photograph there. It was on our return to Irvington at 9:30 o'clock that morning that we received a clue which was to result in a tightening of the net around the fugitive. We received a telephone call from Captain Harold King, Chief of the Nassau County Detec- tive Department, with headquarters at Mineola, Long Island. He asked Mr. Coyne and myself to come to Mineola and we drove over there that afternoon. Charles "Red" Gumoski, confessed hold- up man, was in the toils. He had given himself up to a New York policeman Sunday night when, in the throes of illness and the knowledge that a recent hold-up in Mineola probably would result in his capture, he had lost his nerve. Captain King, Mr. Coyne and I put Gumoski through an examination. He admitted freely that he and a pal, "Patsy" Carroll, on the previous Saturday night, March 2nd, had held up and robbed John Wilson, eighteen years old, of Elmont, New York. GUMOSKI said they had secured a few- dollars from Wilson, had forced him from his automobile and attempted to escape in the car. In their haste, however, they had run the sedan into the corner of a stable and a front tire blew out. The pair took to their heels and made their way to Queens, Long Island, where they hailed another motorist, George Fry, sixty-five years old. At their signal Fry had stopped and they asked him to give them a lift. The aged man told them to get into the car and they climbed into the tonneau. riding only a hundred yards before "Patsy" pressed a revolver to the ribs of the startled motorist and ordered him to drive them to Jamaica, a terminal of the New York City elevated line. Gumoski said the two boarded an ele-

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True Detective Mysteries 93 vated train for New York and that they talked of their predicament as they sped toward the city. Gumoski was positive that Wilson had had such a good look at them that they would be apprehended and told Patsy that he was determined to sur- render, adv ising Patsy to do likewise. Carroll, Gumoski added, refused in- dignantly, and said: "I hate all policemen. I'm going to make a break for it." Before they parted in New York, Gumoski told us, Carroll had insisted upon their exchanging some of their clothes, believing that such a change might aid in their escape. Gumoski assented, and Carroll took the cap and sweater that Red had been wearing and donned them before the train reached Xew York City. Gumoski's nerve left him when he parted from Patsy in Xew York. Without the moral support of Carroll he felt that his escape was impossible, so he walked up to a policeman, declared he was wanted at Mineola and within a few hours was in the jail at Mineola. The fact that Dugan's killer had left in the abandoned escape car the sweater and cap which Gumoski now identified as gar- ments he had given to Carroll, led us to question Red closely about his companion. He told us that Carroll was widely known around the race tracks of the country, having been engaged as a rubber of horses at stables at Belmont Park. Off and on for six years he had worked at Belmont during the race meetings there, sometimes being affluent when he had "hit a winner," and other times sleeping in stables when luck had been against him. Patsy always boasted of what he had "put over" on the police, Gumoski de- clared, and took pride in the fact that they never had been able to "get anything" on him. He had often told companions that in 1925 he had been arrested on a charge of burglary in Xew York City and had been acquitted at his trial. And he told of an- other occasion, in Xew Orleans, during the winter horse racing season, when he and another man had been arrested on a hold-up charge. The other man had been convicted, Patsy had said, but Patsy was acquitted. Returning to Belmont Park from Xew Orleans, Red said, Patsy had been arrested in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but had not been detained for long, for he soon turned up at the Xew York race course. Every- body around the race tracks knew Carroll as "Pat," Gumoski told us, but he believed Pat also used other names. WITH the information secured through the examination of Gumoski we felt that we had something tangible with which to pursue the search for Dugan's slayer. We had established through Red that Patsy Carroll had a bitter hatred of all policemen; that he did not hesitate to use a gun; that he was an habitual criminal and that he had worn the sweater and cap which we had found in the car abandoned by the killer. But other suspects were not being over- looked. 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DANCEOGRAPH DANCE ART, Inc. 4th Floor, 555 Sutter St., SAN FRANCISCO Pavesi of Brooklyn; Eddie Larman, twenty- seven years old, a life termer convicted of murder; and Harry Sullivan, who had been serving twenty years for robbery. Another for whom the search went on relentlessly was John Gardner, sought for the hold-up of a truck load of silk valued at $65,000 which had been perpe- trated in New York in October, 1928. The name "Gardiner," used by Dugan's slayer in his conversations with Williams during the automobile dash from the murder scene, caused us to believe that it was possible that the silk robber and the policeman's slayer were the same man. But the evidence in the Dugan killing pointed most strongly to Patsy Carroll and we concentrated on that angle of the search. Mr. Coyne and I returned to the New York Police Bureau of Identification with Williams, the chauffeur for the Spratts, the Shriber brothers and Kelly. The New York Department did wonderful work in tracing the identity of our suspect. It wasn't many hours before the men in the identification bureau turned up the finger- prints and Rogues' Gallery picture of Carroll — a picture supplied by the Police Department of New Orleans, Louisiana — ■ which showed that Carroll also was known as Pat McDonald and James Hogan. The information in the hands of the police indi- cated that Carroll, under the name of Hogan, had been tried and acquitted of a hold-up charge in New Orleans on December 14th, 1928, and also had been acquitted of a robbery charge in General Sessions Court in New York before Judge Collins on February 16th, 1925. This information tallied with Patsy's boasts around the race-tracks, which we had heard from the lips of Gumoski. Police Commissioner Grover A. Whalen of New York City, who had just returned from a vacation in Palm Beach, Florida, jumped into the search with great energy. In the belief that Carroll might have sought refuge in the metropolis, Commissioner Whalen ordered a police dragnet of the underworld and Chinatown. All through the night the New York police combed the haunts of gangsters and on Tuesday morning 136 suspects, or suspicious persons, faced the police line-up at the New York Police Headquarters. But the New York round-up was futile, for none of the 136 who had been taken in the police drive answered the description of Carroll. BUT, Williams, the Spratt chauffeur, now had definitely identified the Rogues' Gallery picture of Carroll as the man who had forced him to drive him to Briarcliff and had admitted to him that he had killed two policemen. The Shribers also aided in the identification, although they were not so sure, because their view of the killer had been so brief in the few hectic moments at the scene of the tragedy. The additional information we had re- ceived through the New York City police was broadcast in the wake of our first alarm and the entire East was concentrating on the capture of Carroll. On the following morning — -Wednesday, March 6th — I received a telephone call from the Englewood Hospital, in Engle- wood, New Jersey. The hospital authori- ties told me that they had treated a casual patient who had appeared at the hospital dispensary and whose description fitted, in some degree, at least, that of Patsy Carroll. District Attorney Coyne and I hurried to Englewood, where we learned that the mysterious patient had left the hospital. Questioning of the nurses and physicians, however, revealed that the patient was not Carroll. WE returned to Westchester County and on the next day — Thursday, March 7th — I received a telephone message from another hospital, this time in Ossin- ing, New York. My investigation there showed that I was on another false clue, but while I was in die Ossining Hospital I was called to the telephone. "This is District Attorney Coyne, Chief," the voice said, "I've just had a call from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, where a bandit who tried to hold up a hotel clerk had been shot. From what they tell me, I believe the wounded bandit is our man." "I'll hurry right back to Irvington, Mr. Coyne," I replied, "And we'll go to Harris- burg to-night." Armed with the finger prints of Carroll and the picture which had been identified as that of the slayer by Williams and the Shribers, Mr. Coyne and I left New York City for Harrisburg that Thursday night (Left to right) Chief of Police Bernard E. McCall, of Irvington-on-Hudson; Officer Anthony Maffucci, who took part in the man-hunt, and Officer George Dugan, who was slain at 10:30 o'clock. We arrived at the Penn- sylvania capital at 2:30 o'clock the next morning, Friday, March 8th, and after a few hours' rest went to the Police Head- quarters. Harrisburg was in the throes of excite- ment over what had happened there. A bandit had attempted to rob the night clerk of the Dauphin Hotel, had been shot fatally in a battle with policemen who had gone to the rescue and the city seethed with comment on the boldness of the bandit's attempt. This is the story we gathered from the Harrisburg officials: Early in the morning of Tuesday, March 5th, a travel-worn stranger entered the lobby of the Dauphin Hotel, at 309 Market Street, Harrisburg, asked to be shown a one dollar room and registered as "James Thompson, Lancaster, Pennsylvania." The clerk at the desk was William A. Riddle, of 1317 James Street, Harrisburg, the night clerk. Riddle told the guest that he had no rooms for a dollar, but of- fered him one at a dollar and a half and the stranger said he would take it, paying the money in advance in small change, after searching through several pockets to get the required amount. Then the guest went to his room. Riddle still was on duty at 9:30 o'clock the same morning when the same guest

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True Detective Mysteries 95 descended the stairs and entered the lobby, walking directly to the desk. "Good morning, Mr. Thompson," Riddle said, as the other reached the desk. Instead of replying, the guest pulled a large re- volver from his pocket, pointed it at the clerk and said: "Come across. I'm desperate. I want money and I mean business," and he pointed to the cash register. "Open it up. I missed a bank holdup in Lancaster yester- day and need money now." Riddle thought he could stall off the bandit until someone entered the lobby. He insisted that he did not have the keys to the cash register; that they were in possession of the day clerk, but the robber retorted: "Give me the money you have; I need money now and I'm going to get it if I have to kill you. Don't try to stall me off, for if any policeman comes in the door I'll shoot him, too." When Riddle threw some small change from his pocket on the desk, he inadver- tently threw the bunch of hotel keys with them, and the bandit was quick to ask about them. Riddle expostulated that they were his personal keys, insisting that the day clerk had the keys to the hotel rooms and cash register. - - "Then, we'll find the other clerk," the hold-up man said, shoving the muzzle of his revolver against Riddle's back. "Where is he?" BEFORE they left the desk the robber de- cided to change his clothes. He reached to a clothes rack in the hotel office and took an overcoat hanging there. Then he reached for a hat. "Now, we'll find that other clerk," he announced, pushing Riddle ahead of him. The two — bandit and prisoner — made a round of the second floor rooms, knocking on doors in search of the missing day clerk until the marauder became suspicious and ordered Riddle back to the office on the first floor, always keeping him covered with the pistol which was carried in the right hand outside pocket of the borrowed over- coat. Back at the desk, the bandit, nervous and growing more insistent, turned on the hapless hotel clerk and said: "I've got to have money and if you don't get it at once, I'm going to shoot this place up." "The only way I can get money," the clerk implored, "is to wake up Mr. Eck- inger — Jacob Eckinger, the hotel pro- prietor. He's asleep in his room. Let me go to him, wake him up and get ten or twenty dollars for you. Then, you can take the money and make a getaway." Finally, after Riddle had sworn he would not betray "Thompson," and the bandit had sworn he would kill the clerk if he gave the alarm, the intruder consented to Riddle's going to the second floor again to arouse Eckinger. The clerk walked the stairs to the second floor, knocked on the door of a room which he knew was not occupied so the waiting bandit could hear it, and then on tiptoes hurried to a window which led to the roof of an adjacent building, which also ad- joined the U-Drive-It Garage at Third and Blackberry Streets. Slipping from the garage roof, the fright- ened clerk called police headquarters, crying: and You Can Earn $30 to 50 in a Week Yes, three beautiful dresses for only $5.50. 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They boarded a Police Depart- ment car, and with siren screeching, speeded through the traffic of busy Market Street to the front door of the hotel. As the policemen reached the hotel front, the bandit, who had been keeping his eyes on the stairs and the elevator entrance for Riddle's return, was in conversation with George Monroe, a veteran traveling man who, after calling on a Harrisburg customer had just returned to the hotel. The travel- ing man had been pressing the elevator bell, complaining of the service, and "Thompson" stood beside him, his body partly shielded by the protruding corner of the elevator wall. MONROE had made a remark about the weather when he was thrown almost from his feet as the other bumped into him in an effort to get his body back of the eleva- tor well. "There come the damned cops" the bandit cried savagely, and as Monroe stood in bewilderment, "Thompson" drew his revolver and fired past Monroe's shoulder at the front door of the hotel as Detectives Hylan and Blough and Policemen Winn and Burganstock entered with drawn guns. The aged salesman fled from the line of fire as bullets spat from the pistols of the four officers and the bandit. Hylan, bent low, so as to offer little target to the en- raged gunman, kept firing at the corner of the elevator shaft, while Winn and Burgan- stock raced half-way up a winding stair and commenced firing at the bandit through the meshes of the elevator shaft. Winn's pistol barked four times and Burganstock's three times — and Hylan, from his vantage point, saw the bandit crumple and fall. None knew whose shot had been effective, for Blough also had fired four times. The policemen, still with drawn \yeapons, moved together toward the form slumped beside the elevator shaft. They saw that a bullet had pierced the head of the gunman. He was unconscious, but not dead. He was sent to Harrisburg Hospital where, despite the bullet wound through his head, he lived many hours. His identity, at that time, was a mystery. Twenty-four hours after the killing of the bandit the suspicion grew that the gun- man might be the fugitive for whom we had been searching. Ross H. Swope, of 4016 Jonestown Road, Harrisburg, had seen in a New York newspaper a picture of the Pat McDonald sought in the Dugan killing and believed that that picture resembled one of the body at the Harrisburg Hospital and printed in a Harrisburg newspaper. He told his suspicions to the police, who already were working on the same clue. So, while District Attorney Coyne and I were speeding from New York to Harris- burg, a novel telephone conversation was going on. Captain H. M. Spence of the Harrisburg Detective Department was on one end of the telephone connection. At the other end — in New York Police Head- quarters— was Detective William Haley, of the Identification Bureau. Before Captain Spence were the fingerprints taken from the dead hands of the Harrisburg hotel bandit. Before Detective Haley in New York were the fingerprints of Patsy Carroll, alias Pat McDonald, alias James Hogan. For two hours the police officers talked over the wire, comparing whorls and loops, checking finger by finger the two sets of fingerprints. At the end of the two hours the identification virtually had been made. All that was needed was our appearance with the Rogues' Gallery picture to brand Patsy Carroll as the murderer of Motor- cycle Policeman George Dugan. A policeman's bullet — an avenging bullet — had blasted out the life of the man who "hated all policemen." Our positive identification of the Harris- burg bandit as Dugan 's slayer came at virtually the hour when all of Irvington- on-Hudson had turned out in solemn mourning to pay the last tribute to a brave policeman. As we sat in Harrisburg Police Headquarters, closing the last links in the chain of identification, the body of George Dugan was being lowered into the ground in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery after services in the Church of the Immaculate Concep- tion at Irvington. At the side of the grave stood his weeping widow and two-year-old daughter, Claire. Surrounding the open grave were his fellow members of the Irvington force, and stretching far back from the grave to the edge of the cemetery, stood the respectful citizens of Irvington and nearby towns, bare-headed in reverence. There is little more to tell of the story. But there is one question I often ask myself. It is: "Just who was this crazed, hate- embittered, police-killer?" As I was sitting in the Harrisbuig Police Headquarters after our identification of the bandit, a call came from the undertak- ing rooms of Richard J. Reese, at 908 North Second Street, Harrisburg, where the gunman's body lay. THERE'S a woman here," said the undertaker, "who wants to look at the hold-up man's body. Shall I let her see it?" "Tell him Yes,' " I said to the policeman at the telephone, "but have him hold her there until I arrive." I sped out to the undertaker's rooms and removed my uniform coat and cap before entering the room where the body lay. The woman, not very young, accompanied by a small girl, was gazing on the face of the dead bandit. "Did you know him, ma'am," I asked her gently. "I knew him," she responded slowly. "Poor Willie. That's poor Willie— Willie Horn. He never worked. He never would work. I knew him from boyhood. He was a ward of his uncle, who was my landlord, in New York City. Try as he could, his uncle could make nothing of the boy. The uncle was a contractor who worked on large buildings there. He tried to compel Willie to work there, too. But, it wasn't any use. The boy once told a workman, 'If my uncle tries to keep me working on these buildings I'll push him from a scaffold some day.' " The woman turned away, and as she walked slowly to the door, she repeated, "Poor Willie!" That's why I have catalogued away back in my brain — George Dugan slain by a maniac — by Willie Horn, a distorted soul who hated his policemen with a hate that could be extinguished only as it had been quenched, by the bullet from a policeman's gun.

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True Detective Mysteries 97 My Escape from the Ghost Grove Terror {Continued from page 49) Therefore, in order that those who read this may fully understand the awful situation, in which I became entangled, I deem it necessary to disclose the fore- going particulars in the way of prelude to the grim finale. TWO sharp blasts of a locomotive whistle echoed amid the hills and hollows of Ghost Grove. It was a few minutes after one o'clock in the afternoon. Except for the rumbling approach of the switch-engine and the clamor that followed its passage, all was quiet and still just at that instant down in the woods where the train crew could obtain a sweeping view from the elevated tracks of the railway. Possibly the whistle was blown in obedience to an established rule, as a warn- ing, on account of the grade crossing a short distance ahead. Or, perhaps, the engineer pulled his whistle on this particu- lar occasion to see what effect it would have upon the prone figure of a man whose recumbent form was lying on the cold, bare ground plainly visible some two hundred yards distant through the open cab window of the speeding locomotive. Veterans of the crew, whose daily trips past this spot of transient habitation were often repeated in the course of their work between Nonconnah and the Yale yards, were accustomed to watch for the sur- reptitious revelries that were occasionally bared to an inquisitive eye. One of the trainmen — "just for fun" — it has since been learned, would sometimes note the license numbers of automobiles parked in sight of the railroad line ; later, ascertaining the owner's identity through the records and if the party was listed in the telephone directory, a way wo.uld be found to have some fun at the expense of that embarrassed individual ! The original scheme of this practical joker was by no means sinister. But there was to come a time when the frivolous practice would serve in a serious cause. AS the clamorous noise of the switch engine faded away in the distance, an inanimate figure on the ground remained as motionless as it had been when the arousing shriek of the whistle failed to dis- turb its deep repose. But the train had scarcely passed from view when a Stude- baker touring car, its lone occupant shield- ed from view of the passing trainmen by the rear curtain, suddenly sprang from its forlorn position and zigzagged rapidly toward the open lane. Thirty yards away, the frenzied driver halted briefly before turning onto the public road and cast a swift, apprehensive glance back toward the man who had been left lying on the ground. The mere glimpse at that prostrate object was enough to actuate the solitary specta- tor with all the driving force of intensified horror. There was no one in sight as the big touring car rounded the first sharp curve when it reached the corner of the woods where the road leading northward inter- sected the east and west thoroughfare. The car took a sharp right turn, then, with its speed accelerated to a dangerously fran- tic degree, it swept past the outlying terri- tory and headed straight for the city. Be- hind that roaring motor sat a demure little woman, in her early thirties, with the color drained from her rougeless cheeks. That woman was I ! How I ever managed to retain sufficient composure to avoid complete hysteria on my frenzied flight from Ghost Grove is something I can't explain. I know that my senses were numb with fright, and every atom of my self-control was con- centrated upon the single idea of reaching home before the inevitable collapse of tensed nerves should occur. 1 DARED not lift my eyes from the road ahead in the course of that breathless flight that followed my escape from the black terror of Ghost Grove. Only once, so far, had I permitted my eyes to travel fleetingly over the blood-soaked interior of the car. And the constantly recurring thought of that crimson splotch on the vacant seat beside me caused intermittent rigors of horror to assail my distraught mind. In some way, I thought, I must marshal the courage to hold myself together just long enough to eradicate the tell-tale stain of blood. So far as I was then aware, that gruesome evidence was all that reminded me, in the eyes of the world, with the soul- torturing catastrophe that could not be mended by exposing myself to the scorn of a merciless public. Instinctively, I realized the awful sig- nificance of my terrible plight. No matter what truthful story I might tell, people would never believe me the innocent victim of such an incongruous circumstance. Were it to become known that I had driven a blood-stained death-car from so clandes- tine a location as the murder scene there would be no escape from most scandalous denunciation, the poisonous tentacles of which would even attach themselves to the spotless reputation of my devoted husband and our reproachless young daughter. SO suddenly had I been caught in the web of inexorable fate; I had no time in which to fully consider the importance of my moral obligation to society. But I recollect having had a vaguely conscious intention of first establishing a safe forti- fication for my loved ones by sheltering my own reputation from shame and dis- grace. That done, I meant to communicate by some secret method whatever informa- tion I possessed to aid the authorities whom I could not afford to face — in reaching a solution to the mystery with which they would shortly be confronted, and for the moment, confounded by my self-imposed silence. Such was my tentative plan — and how quickly was it to be dynamited ! Almost simultaneous with the thoughts that I have just recorded, and at the ap- proximate time when I was busily and des- perately engaged in removing the dreadful traces of tragedy from the car that had borne me safely from the revolting scene, the telephone rang in the Sheriff's office. "This is C. C. McCaskill," a voice in- formed the office deputy. "I'm an engineer for the Illinois Central, and I called to tell you that there's a dead man lying on the NOW Amazingly Easy To get i nto A. 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From only a "wall flower" a few short weeks before, she became the center of attraction. A new and interesting book "Fascinating Womanhood" was responsi- ble for her newly found happiness. "Fascinat- ing Womanhood" is an amazing book that tells you how and why men fall in love. Write your name and address on margin and mail to us with 10c and a 23-page booklet telling you all about it will be mailed postpaid. THE PSYCHOLOGY PRESS 4865 Easton Ave. St. Louis, Mo. Dept. 25- J ground just a little ways from where our line passes through Ghost Grove. Looks like murder !" "Are you sure the man's dead?" the deputy inquired. "Positive. I noticed the body of a man lying beside an automobile in the woods as we passed about 1:15 o'clock. I thought the man was drunk and sleeping off the effects of liquor. Passing there a few minutes later, I saw the man still lying there but the automobile was gone. I then went back and stopped my engine to in- vestigate, and we found that the 'drunk' was a murdered man I" Telling the engineer to wait on the scene, the Sheriff's office was instantly thrown into action. pvEPUTY SHERIFFS M. W. PAL- *J MER and R. L. Surrency, veterans of many important murder investigations and the nemesis of numerous wary killers, were immediately dispatched to Ghost Grove. They were met at the outskirts of the woods by the waiting train crew and piloted down into the hollow where the body lay in a small clearing that was fringed on two sides by dense clumps of bamboo thicket. Preliminary examination of the body, which was that of a man in his early forties, tall and well built, weighing about 180 pounds, neatly dressed in a dark-blue suit, with a soft hat shielding the upper portion of the face — like the touch of a Samaritan's hand where life had already fled — revealed Memphis Fire Department badge number 140 pinned almost above the heart, on the victim's vest. A bullet had pierced the blood-stained vest, barely miss- ing the glistening shield. "This looks like a cold-blooded murder !'* Deputy Surrency 's voice broke the awed silence. "Shot through the heart, wasn't he?" one of the trainmen shakingly asked. Each man present was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to deign a reply. ONE of the officers stooped down and withdrew a sheaf of paper that pro- truded from a pocket of the dead man's coat. It was found to contain an insurance certificate and receipts made out to Clar- ence P. Cox, driver for Engine No. 14, of the Memphis Fire Department. That dis- covery, along with the fireman's badge, led to the early conclusion that Cox was the ill-fated man. In the course of rapid future developments, however, it was learned that Mr. Cox was still very much alive ! "This is no ordinary murder." Deputy Palmer stated, after completing his method- ical survey of the surroundings, carefully studying the fresh footprints of clearly distinguishable auto tracks in the soft earth, which ended almost at the feet of the corpse. "Looks like a car was backed up here, judging by the tracks, and the body dumped out. And somebody took time to put that poor fellow's hat over his face before they left him. . . ." Because the victim was obviously a city employe — although Ghost Grove was not within the corporate limits — it seemed en- tirely probable that the actual murder might have occurred inside the city, and the deputies, for this reason, promptly notified the Memphis Police Department so that they might lose no time in making a united effort in this difficult task. Detective Captain W. F. Glisson, in com- mand of the Homicide Bureau, Memphis Police Department, and Detective Sergeant \\ illiam Lemmer responded to the call. Their first move was to ascertain to whom the Fire Department badge reported by Palmer and Surrency had been issued. RECORDS showed that badge No. 140 belonged to Van Skelton, of Engine Company No. 14. That was the station where Clarence P. Cox, whose insurance papers were in the murdered man's pocket, worked. Both Skelton and Cox were then off duty, but the confusion as to the vic- tim's identity was soon solved when a com- rade of the slain man appeared and viewed the body. He instantly recognized the de- ceased as being Van Skelton, and explained how Cox's insurance papers had been given Mr. Skelton for the purpose of adjusting the premium. Leaving Captain Glisson and Sergeant Lemmer to interrogate possible witnesses and conduct further search for clues in the vicinity where the body was found, Deputies Palmer and Surrency proceeded to 1394 Taylor Street, where it became their pain- ful duty to break the shocking news of her husband's tragic death to Mrs. Van Skel- ton. A pathetic addition to the deputies' difficult job of bearing the sad tidings of so sudden a bereavement was the fact that Mrs. Skelton was the mother of the slain man's five children whose ages were all below seven years, and the arrival of a sixth was expected ! WITH commendable fortitude, Mrs. Skelton withstood the shock and an- swered the officers' gentle questions. "Van left home early this afternoon." she said. "He has been on the night shift at the fire station and said he wanted to see a show before he went to work." "Did your husband drink to excess, and were there any enemies who might have wished to do him harm?" Deputy Sur- rency inquired, "No," was the reply to both questions. "But he sometimes played cards at a gamb- ling place on the Pigeon Roost Road," Mrs. Skelton informed the deputies. Mrs. Skelton did not know the exact location of the alleged gambling place, but from the information she possessed the questionable resort was thought to have been less than a mile from the spot where the body of her husband had been found. That gave rise to the theory that the kill- ing might have occurred at a card game, and seemed to support Deputy Palmer's first deduction as to the body having been hauled to Ghost Grove and dumped out of a car. The wife of the murdered man could supply the deputies with no other possible lead. CAPTAIN GLISSON and Sergeant Lemmer were more fortunate in ob- taining tangible clues right in the begin- ning. The railroad man who had been making a practice of jotting down the li- cense numbers of automobiles seen in Ghost Grove gave Captain Glisson the first hot tip. The man had made a note of the big touring car's number as it stood be- side the bamboo thicket where the sup- posedly "drunk" man was lying 1 Sergeant Lemmer, who had been scout- ing the surrounding territory and ques- tioning the residents along the various roads

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True Detective Mysteries 99 nearby, found a man who volunteered something else of great interest : "I saw a Ford car drive out of the woods about 2 :4S o'clock," J. S. Owen, a Frisco railway switchman told the de- tective. "The driver of the car stopped a short distance from the woods, got out of his machine and washed his hands in rain- water which had collected in a ditch. The man looked to be about twenty-five years old. He was dressed in a black suit, and wore a black felt hat. He got back in the car after washing his hands and drove hur- riedly away," the informant said. Who was the neatly dressed stranger whom Mr. Owen described? What had been the manner in which his hands be- came soiled to necessitate him washing them in a roadside puddle? This inform- ant could not supply the means to iden- tify that unknown motorist. OWEN also told of seeing two women in another automobile, a red car, drive from the clump of woods. "The red car whirled out of Ghost Grove and came meeting me, less than five min- utes after the man driving the Ford had disappeared," the switchman explained. "Of course, at that time, I knew nothing of the murder and didn't pay much attention to the incident — never thought to get their license number — but now, I wonder what those two ladies could have been doing out there alone!" That led the detectives to wonder, too ! "Upon meeting me, the red car halted just long enough for one of the women to inquire for the nearest telephone. I di- rected them to South Parkway," Owen stated. Thus was added another perplexing phase to the mystery. No more than two hours had elapsed since the murdered man —now identified as Van Skelton— had been discovered in the woods. But the officers found themselves confronted with the problem of accounting for no less than three separate automobile parties appar- ently sheltering in the shadowy timber- cove at the approximate time when the train crew first had seen the dead man. Or, did all three of those cars belong to one grim procession? FIRST— and most important— the detec- tives considered the potentialities of the big touring car, curtains partly drawn, which Engineer McCaskill had told of see- ing—standing close to the feet of the man lying out on the ground — the one car of the mysterious trio that could — and pres- ently would— be traced through its license number. Then, there was the unidentified Ford- driven away by the darkly attired stran- ger, who had paused only long enough to wash his hands by the roadside — as seen by J. S. Owen. Third — and of equal significance — came the riddle of the red roadster! Had the two female occupants of that conspicuous- ly colored machine been parties to the weird rendezvous with violent death? Would two women, unless they had some sinister or urgent object to accomplish, go into a place already noted as a danger- ground, without the protection of an es- cort? Why had they been so anxious to reach the nearest telephone? These puz- zling questions left the detectives a wide field for conjecture. Checking further before attempting to piece together the many obtuse angles al- ready exposed, the detectives interviewed a colored woman named Maudie Mitchell, who lived in a little two-room cottage — the nearest house to Ghost Grove. The house stood upon a hill overlooking the north side of the woods, nearly half-a-mile distant. But they found that Maudie was gifted with keen eye-sight and accurate perception, as witness the following: "I saw a couple pass by my house, in a big car," she told the officers, "and the white lady was driving. They didn't look like no young lovers — more settl'd-like peo- ple. I noticed, though, that when they got to the woods, their car turned in. D'rectly I heard a gun shoot — boom ! 'Twasn't long, then, befo' that same white lady com'd tearing back past here by herself, looking powerful skeered!" THE colored woman's contribution was not enough to greatly clarify the many obscure points in the minds of the investi- gators. But it gave fresh impetus to their suspicions that were being rapidly formu- lated along one particular line. If it had been Van Skelton who Maudie Mitchell had seen pass her house with the woman who had shortly returned alone, the detectives reasoned, and the inform- ant had heard the report of a gun dur- ing the interim, there was little room to doubt that the killing had occurred in Ghost Grove, and not elsewhere. Also, to the detectives, it was now quite obvious that the victim's fair companion had cither committed the murder or at least witnessed the foul deed. But before setting out to find the woman driver of the big touring car, one of the detectives turned again to Maudie Mitchell. "Did you see anything else that may have had some bearing upon the crime?" he asked, by the way of after-thought, prob- ably thinking Maudie's first glib recital had exhausted all the worthwhile facts in her possession. "Well," the woman resumed, "while I was standing on my front porch, right af- ter that couple went by in the big touring car, I saw a man drive up to the edge of the grove and get out of his car " "What kind of a car was that man driving, and what did he look like?" the detectives interrupted. THE woman could not tell him. She had only observed that the man, after walking a few steps from the car and peering through the trees, had climbed back into the auto and driven a short dis- tance into the grove. She had seen no more. But that last bit of information gave the detectives a knew knot to untie — one thread to the mystery that is still tangled. To my retrospective mind, as I write this account, there comes a visionary illus- tration of what is known to have trans- pired on the day that was the most darkly momentous of my life. In this fanciful illusion — which shall be my only deviation from the grim actu- alities— I can visualize a scene shrouded in darkness. The scene is large enough to cover the principal area of a good sized city, and at one point extending slightly beyond. A curtain of mystery has been dropped, completely banishing the light. It is not a normal condition; something has gone wrong! FREE You get these Genuine High Quality, Im- ported Drawing Instru- ments, ih other Tools and a Drafting Table — all included in my Home Training Course. Just tend the Coupon Belowl Jobs for Draftsmen -Asia- la Great Industries -Learn at Automobiles— Electricity— Motor Bum tion— Building Construction. 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They grasp it in their hands, de- flecting the penetrating rays for their fu- ture guidance. The aperture is widened. The shaft, they find, can be focused in many directions. But the dark curtain cannot be torn completely away. The beam, wielded by expert hands, flashes hither and yon in its revealing way. Fin- ally, it is transformed into electricity ; it causes a telephone bell to ring. ... I an- swer, and the illusion fades into reality ! "Who's speaking, please?" "Mrs. Maddox, at three-two-eight-one- five-J," I replied intuitively, sensing trouble at the sound of a man's unfamiliar voice over the wire. "May I speak to Mr. Maddox?" "He isn't at home. Will you leave your mini i" "No, thank you, I'll call later," came the curt reply, and with a metallic click the connection was severed. WITH my mind a jumble of half- formed forebodings, I turned wearily back to the couch from which I had arisen when the telephone rang. Gwendolyn, my child, was spending the evening with an- other little girl with whom she was going to the neighborhood picture show. All alone, I could hardly endure the oppres- sive stillness, and yet, I was glad that there was no one to observe my agitated condition. The crescendo of my appre- hensiveness was reached a few minutes later when heavy footsteps sounded upon the porch to my home. Only those who have stood in awe of an expected call from the police, blindly clinging to an empty hope that the call would never come, can appreciate the trepidation I felt during the seeming interminable period of wait- ing for the approaching visitors to signal their arrival. It was only an instant, however, until there came a knocking at the door. I tried to steel my nerve to meet the crisis. Upon opening the door, I switched on the porch- light and, contrary to the mental bugaboo I had built up, found two men of gentle- manly appearance who very pleasantly in- troduced themselves as Captain Glisson and Sergeant Lcmmer. I was glad they were not in uniform. "We would like to talk to you a few minutes, Mrs. Maddox," Captain Glisson requested. I ushered them into the living room. When the detectives were seated, each looked at the other, as much as to say : "This is a delicate subject we've got to broach !" There was a brief interval of awkward silence. Then Captain Glisson took the in- itiative. "Mrs. Maddox," the Captain addressed me firmly, "I want you to tell us all that you know about the murder of Van Skel- ton." "Was it you who 'phoned a little while ago and asked for my husband?" I coun- tered, not knowing at that time how the detectives had picked up my trail, and trying to collect my wits before making any damaging admissions. "It is best to be frank, Mrs. Maddox — I called for your husband as a pretext, to learn who was here, and I'm glad we found you alone — so please begin by describing what occurred in Ghost Grove this after- noon." The detective spoke with disarm- ing assurance, leaving no room to doubt that he had good reason to expect an ac- counting from me. "I hardly know how to begin telling you the things you want to know," I faltered, realizing the futility of further delay. "Suppose you start by naming the person who shot Van Skelton to death," Sergeant Lemmer suggested. THAT was something I could not do. But I told them how I had met Mr. Skelton on the way to town, detailed the route we had traveled together, and ex- plained the impassive relationship that had existed between me and the unfortunate man. I could see by their expression that the detectives were skeptical in accepting my story. "There was a Negro man walking along the road," I told the detectives, "and we passed him only about a hundred yards be- fore we reached Ghost Grove. There was an evil expression on his face, I noticed, as he stepped to one side of the road when we drove by. All the Negro did, then, was to give us a leering glance that would have given me a creepy feeling if I had been alone. 'Did you see how that Negro looked at us?' I asked Mr. Skelton. 'Guess he didn't like to be crowded off this narrow road,' was the answer." "That Negro was going toward Ghost Grove, was he?" Sergeant Lemmer inter- posed. "Yes," I continued, "and I saw him again almost the instant our car stopped in the woods. He must have ran after us. While we had driven around to the trail leading Cash for Opinions \XTHEN you have read this issue of True Detective Mysteries Magazine, let us know what you think of the stories it contains. Which story is best? Which do you like the least? Why? Have you any helpful suggestions in mind? Ten dollars will be paid to the person whose letter, in the opinion of judges in charge of these awards, offers the most intelligent, constructive criticism; $5 to the letter considered second best; $3 to the third. In addition, $1 will be paid to the writer of each letter we publish. Address your opinions to the Judges of Award, c !o True Detective Mysteries. 1926 Broadway, New York. N. Y. This contest closes September 30th, 1930. The three awards will be made promptly. No letters will be returned. Prizes for Opinions on the June True Detective Mysteries l awarded as follows: First Prize $10 Frederic Ives Hall 1811 Pocahontas St.. Dallas, Texas Second Prize $5 O. B. Boggs 112 Belrosa Terrace. Fairfield. Ala. Third Prize $3 304 E. x, S. C.

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True Detective Mysteries 101 through the grove, he had cut across the corner in time to overtake us. Xot twenty feet away, a black pistol in his hand, he came dashing up to the side of the car where Mr. Skelton sat. And the black hand that held that gun — I shall never for- get it ! The hand zvas deformed. "The hideous, leering face came closer. I screamed. Mr. Skelton started, as if about to spring from the car. The stalk- ing fiend halted a step or two short of the car and leveled his menacing weapon at the man beside me. We instinctively lifted our hands, not waiting to be told that it was a hold-up. 'I wants yo' money — pitch it to me !' the footpad commanded.' " THE detectives were watching my face intently, dubiously, I thought, without otherwise evincing more than casual inter- est in my story. "Mr. Skelton, upon being told to pitch the highwayman his money, reached for his pocket. Just as his hand came out with the bill fold, a spurt of flame leaped from the muzzle of the pistol ! The pocket-book fell from his fingers. I was horrified, too frightened to move or speak. Then " "Did the Negro get the bill fold?" Cap- tain Glisson interrupted. "I don't know. But he pointed the gun at me and said: 'I'll kill you, too, if you holler again,' and then he turned, as if something had suddenly alarmed him, and ran off through the woods. I believe the murder would have been averted if the Negro hadn't caught a glimpse of the fire- man's badge, probably mistaking it for that of a policeman." "Maybe so," Sergeant Lemmer conceded. "Rut who helped you remove the body from the car?" "It seems to me," Captain Glisson re- marked, "that considerable strength would have been required to lift the lifeless body of a man weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, if, as the wound indicated, he died instantly." T F I had been a robust, strong appearing * woman — which I am not — the detec- tives might have thought my story more reasonable. "For several minutes after the shot was fired and the murderer had fled," I ex- plained, "I felt too dazed to even think clearly. Somehow, I clung to the feeble hope that Mr. Skelton had not been fa- tally injured. His body had slumped down to the other side of the car. Blood began to ooze from his mouth! That awful sight shattered my hope that he had merely fainted from a flesh wound. It was all like a frightful nightmare, in which I visioned the consequence of having my name linked with such a tragedy in that outlandish place. I became possessed of a strange desperation " Then I told the detectives how I, un- aided by anyone, had tugged at the grue- some, heavy burden until at last the body lay outstretched, face up, on the ground. I had, in that rash moment, worked frantically, fearful of the treacherous killer's return, but not leaving until cer- tain that nothing more could be done for the man whose life had been sacrificed in attempting to render me a friendly ser- vice. 1 tried to make them understand that my course had not been so callous and heartless as it might appear to one who had never been ensnared in such a cruel predicament such as I had been in. Glisson and Lemmer exchanged signifi- cant glances when I had finished telling them my story. Apparently, they were not convinced that all I had told them was true. "We will have to ask you to accompany us to Headquarters," Captain Glisson said. I WAS placed in custody of the police matron. My husband's movements were traced, and he was conclusively elim- inated when it was definitely established that he was two hundred miles away when the murder occurred. But glaring head- lines in the newspapers informed the world that the wife of a railroad man had ad- mitted being the companion of the slain city fireman. Public speculation and scan- dal became rife. Until my husband was apprised of the sensational event in which I was involved and hastily' returned to the city, everyone seemed to doubt my innocence. The public was almost unanimous in the suspicion that I was a murderess. But Jethro's loy- alty created a more favorable impression for me with the officials. So sincere was his acceptance of my version, that the police were inclined to give more credence to my testimony. After I had been held in custody for more than twenty-four hours, during which time the detectives had repeatedly questioned me ; going over the entire route traveled on the fatal trip ; rehearsing every detail of the murder and all that tran- spired prior to the crime, I was released. But the stigma I had so vainly endeavored to avoid was not erased from my name. In the eyes of the law, at least, I had won a respite. But before the world my case was still pending — harsh judgment being con- stantly dispensed — while my defense was being conducted in silence. WITH the passage of time the public wondered what, if anything, the po- lice were doing to apprehend the bloody marauder whose hand had twice wrought death in Ghost Grove. The Dunn and Skelton murders were so similar that opin- ion was united on the point that both crimes were of the same origin. Though the police were saying little through the press, they were still plugging hard at the riddle. But many people believed the offi- cers had been duped in their acceptance of my version. I was called the "mystery woman" in the Ghost Grove murders! Shunning notoriety as much as possible, I secretly resolved to work in close co- operation with the authorities until our mutual aim could be achieved. If the das- tardly assassin could only be brought to justice, the odious talk would be abated. That incentive led me on many excur- sions to Beale Street, Orange Mound, "The Klondyke," and other local habitats where the Memphis colored population congre- gate to themselves. I centered my search around a tall, brown, clean-shaven Negro, whose right hand was mutilated by a sur- gical operation — the one unforgetable clue that was photographically seared upon my memory. THE snarling, wolf-like features of the black desperado — probably distorted when I saw him in the commission of his frightful crime — could be expected to un- dergo a deceptive transformation if viewed — how I jumped from*35to*looaweek in less than a year. I was beginning to think that $35 a week was my limit. I had tried many so-called "opportunities." They all offered a chance — but a slim one. Usually it was a case of sticking around, ten, fifteen or twenty years with an outside chance of making $3,000 to $4,000 a year by the time I reached the age of 50. No fellow with push and ambition wants to wait that long. I had just about given up hope of finding the right proposition. One day I opened a magazine and saw an ad which told of the opportunities in Radio — how Radio's amaz- ing growth was opening hundreds of $50, $60, $75 and $100 a week jobs every year. My hopes and ambitions had been blasted so many times that it sounded too good to be true. But I said: "I am not getting anywhere here — it only costs two cents to find out if that's true — I'll send the coupon. " In a few days I received "Rich Rewards in Radio." That book opened my eyes. For the first time I realized that if a man want* to make good money and doesn't want to wait a lifetime to start doing it, he has to get into a fast growing field — because it's rapid growth that makes a lot of good jobs. Within a month after I started training for the Radio field I was making extra money on the side fixing my neighbors' and friends' sets. I made S400 in the first six months. In less than a year I was pulling down $75 to $100 a week regularly in a Radio store. And I was doing work that was fun. Some weeks I ran my earnings up to as high as $120. The outfit that gave me my training certainly are square shooters. They just can't do enough for you. Mr. Smith, the President, and his large staff, never let down for a minute. Although I went to work for a Radio store and am now in business for myself, they would have done just as much for me if I had wanted to be an Operator in a Broadcasting Station, Commercial Land Station. Operator on Board Ship, or if I had wanted to enter any of the many other opportunities in the Radio in- dustry. Take my tip. Find out what Radio offers and what N. R. I. offers. They will j deal with you the same as they did with f me — send their book and then let -^-Jv^ you decide one way or another. ^Sy- This coupon started me on my quick rise to bic pay. better mail it. see what mr. smith can do for you . J. E. SMITH, President, National Radio Institute, Dept. OKU Washington, D. C. Dear Mr. Smith: Send me "Rich Rewards in Radio " I want proof of what Radio offers and that your training is raising men's pay. 1 understand this request docs not oblicate me in the least and that no agent will call. Name. Addres City State

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Chance a 1 -ai thins to G FUEE OF CHARGE our complete s.liinK outfit Mli^i mnnunl and rvwythiiiK you n.-i^i to it.p rieht out nnd take order* for our Guarantee SHOES tor the entire tamity;— and Hosiery, Leather Goods. Raincoats o:.d Men's Fur- I ishinss. Our line is complete. B. our Representative. Give this Bis Trv. It costs you Nothing;. You have every. Gain. Write us Now! NORTHERN STATES SHOE MFG., CO. L.ndeke Bldg. Dept. S-49S St Paul, Minn. in tranquil pose. I might not be able to pick the face from a great number of his race. Rut the stubby-looking hand upon which my eyes had been riveted when the deadly automatic was being gripped in its wicked clutch was something that I could surely recognize anywhere. It was a gro- tesque, ham-like paw, from which two fin- gers were missing ! But this amateur de- tective effort was destined to meet with failure. The wide search for the Ghost Grove murder-fiend remained uneventful until August 7th, 1929 — six and one half months after the crime was committed. On that date the first arrest of a likely suspect was announced. It came as a surprise develop- ment in the ageing mystery. The arrest was based upon information disclosed in an anonymous letter addressed to Detective Captain Glisson. The un- signed letter named Sam Jones, a young Negro, living in the vicinity where the two unsolved murders — the murders of Sterling T. Dunn and Van Skelton — occurred. The letter, apparently written by some prejudiced member of the colored race, gave an accurate description of the ac- cused and set forth a startling array of alleged evidence against the suspect. None of this, however, were the detectives then in position to confirm. With Sam Jones in custody, I was called from Hickman, Kentucky, where I hap- pened to be visiting at the time. UPON my arrival at Memphis Police Headquarters, I was requested to identify the suspect from among several other Negroes in the police line-up. Scan- ning the renegade group of prisoners from the bull-pen, I readily pointed out the one whose name I later learned was Sam Jones. "The Negro who murdered Van Skelton had no mustache and this man has," I told detectives who were silently standing by, "but I believe he is the same man." Then I looked at his hand and saw the living counterpart of that hideous picture so indelibly stamped in my mind! At last, it appeared that the long sought terrorist was about to be enmeshed in the toils of the law. But the web of evidence — which aside from my identification of the suspect was constructed principally of flimsy circumstantial material — gave way. The prisoner was released a few days later . . . "for the lack of sufficiently posi- tive proof against him," it was publicly ex- plained. But, thenceforth, Sam Jones was kept under the strictest secret surveillance by detectives of the Memphis Bureau. EXACTLY fifteen days following my disappointment at the collapse of the case against Sam Jones, I was requested to accompany two detectives to the morgue where the body of a Negro bandit was be- ing held for identification. The Negro, an alleged "petting-party" bandit had been killed near the scene of the Dunn and Skel- ton murders the previous night in a gun battle with Detective Sergeants Billings and Oliver, the Negro having sprung a trap — baited by a colored couple who vol- untarily enacted the role of decoys for the detectives' game. The dead bandit was thought to answer, in a general way, the description given by me of the Ghost Grove terrorist. But the hope that retribution had finally overtaken the long sought quarry was quickly dispelled when I looked at the hands that were stiff in death. Although the slain gunman had two missing digits, the hand from which his fingers had been amputated looked nothing like the horrible two-fingered claw of the Ghost Grove as- sassin. "This is not the Negro who killed Van Skelton," I told the officers. They accepted my decision with a shrug, and the tireless man-hunt — another bright hope gone glimmering — was re- sumed with the same quiet determination that had marked its course over a period of seven wearisome months. SIX weeks more of patient, unproductive plodding awaited the detectives. Then On October 9th, Detective Sergeants D. L. Jamison and John Long, veteran sleuths of the Pawnshop Squad, unearthed a wrist watch which they identified as part of the loot obtained by two Negro high- waymen in a roadside hold-up, March 10th, 1928, in which George McGonagill, 1969 Oliver Avenue, had been the loser. Pawn- shop records revealed that the time-piece had been pawned by Edward Bishop Jones, a Negro. Probationary Detectives A. O. Clark and W. T. Pilkington were assigned to fol- low up the lead developed by Jamison and Long. Taking up the trail of the man who had pawned the stolen watch, they soon arrested Edward Bishop Jones. He proved to be none other than "Sam" Jones, recent- ly discharged suspect in the Van Skelton murder case ! His alias, the officers learned, was "Stub." Immediately following the arrest, Clark and Pilkington recovered a pistol from a relative of "Stub" Jones of the caliber used in the killing of Dunn and Skelton. The rifle marks, as promptly determined by ballistic experts, tallied with those of the fatal bullets which linked the murders of the salesman and fireman. And the detec- tives found two sinister notches filed in the handle of Stub Jones' thirty-two automatic! Were these notches the nefarious emblems to mutely attest that weapon's unholy ser- vice in the hands of its captured owner ? UNDER the adroit interrogation of De- tective Inspector William T. Griffin, who assumed personal charge of the in- vestigation at this stage, Edward Bishop Jones, alias "Stub," spasmodically clinched and unclinched the disfigured member from which his unique appellation had been de- rived, and he was made to realize the fu- tility of denying the damning evidence against him. He broke ! Inspector Griffin, Captain Glisson, Sergeant Lemmer and Detectives Clark and Pilkington were given a detailed account — a confession in which the twenty-four year old Negro ad- mitted his guilt of the wanton murder of Van Skelton. "You wants the truth," he said at length, "now wait a minute so I don't get tangled up on them. Do you mean the first one or the second one?" Invariably, thereafter, it became his cus- tom to refer to the murders as the "first one" and the "second one." "We want the truth about both of those murders," the prisoner was told. "John Duckett Smith killed that first man," (meaning Dunn) Stub Jones de-

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True Detective Mysteries 103 dared. "I was with him. We only had one gun between us, and John was carry- ing it that night." ACTING upon the information supplied . by Jones, the detectives captured John Duckett Smith, a twenty-two year old ne- gro, and brought him face to face with his squealing pal a few hours later. Then, there followed a verbal clash between the suspects that would have been amusing in a less serious situation. Both admitted their nefarious association in a long series of crimes, but each tried to saddle the ac- tual murders upon the other's shoulders. The name of a third accomplice crept into the plot. Coahoma Reed, alias "Peanuts," was re- vealed as the third and minor partner in the band of black malefactors. That young negro soon found himself in the grip of two stern-visaged detectives. Peanuts was whisked to Headquarters and confronted by .his erstwhile friends. Then, the tangled skein of mystery began to quickly un- ravel, the dangling threads being skilfully caught up and woven into an unbreakable rope of evidence by the nimble-witted de- tectives. While the trio were being questioned, Jones and Smith called Detectives Pil- kington and Clark aside in the office of the Homicide Bureau. "Get us a big sack of 'sugar-cakes' and we'll tell a straight story," they childishly agreed. The officers generously obliged. A FEW minutes later, while contentedly munching the cookies, John Duckett Smith calmly related the details of how he had crept upon Sterling T. Dunn, in Ghost Grove, on the night of January 6th, 1928, lost his nerve in the attempted hold-up and climaxed the adventure with murder. Stub and Peanuts had no hand in the mur- der, though both were accessories to the deed. Stub Jones, when it came his time to talk, confessed to murdering Van Skelton in the manner already described in this narrative. In the perpetration of that hein- ous act, Stub admitted that he had played a lone hand. "The man turned and I saw a star under his coat, and I thought he had a gun. I shot once and then I broke and ran through the woods to my home." These were the final words in which the Jones negro finished his signed confession to the detectives, detailing the manner in which he killed Van Skelton. Indictments charging murder in the first degree were duly returned against John Duckett Smith and Edward Bishop Jones, the former indictment being for the mur- der of Sterling T. Dunn, the latter for the killing of Van Skelton. Coahoma (Pea- nuts) Reed was only charged with high- way robbery in two indictments. The three defendants were brought to trial on November 20th, 1929, before Judge Tom W. Harsh, in the Second Division of Shelby County Criminal Court. Defense attorneys sprung a surprise in the packed court room by announcing that each of the three defendants wished to plead guilty to their respective indictments. IN one of the briefest double murder trials in the annals of legal procedure — the total elapsed time being only six min- utes— the two confessed murderers were each doomed to life imprisonment in the Tennessee State Penitentiary. Watching the fiendish pair as they were being led from the court room to begin the endless task of expiating their bloody crimes, I could not help feeling a little se- cret gratitude toward the one who had per- mitted me to escape unscathed on that aw- ful occasion when his evil hands had held my fate. But most of all, I was thankful that the Law's heavy toll had at last been exacted from the guilty culprits, and glad that the wagging tongues and glaring headlines could no longer accuse me of harboring any dark secrets about my connection with the last fatal episode to occur in Ghost Grove. Coahoma Reed was given a sentence of ten years in the penitentiary on each of the two indictments charging him with high- way robbery. Peanuts grinningly accepted his punishment, probably feeling that he was receiving "bargain rates" for the prompt settlement of his debt to Society. The Crime in Room 406 (Contin ued front page 39) came back and said the man we were af- ter was on the trolley and would soon be home. We started walking along the road and just as we got to the Corey house a big gorilla-like man turned into the yard. It was Frank Corey, the man I had been hunting for more than two weeks. We used the Health Department gag and it worked. Frank Corey agreed to ride clown to Worcester Headquarters and get the sewage complaint fixed up. On the way he said: "Gee, you fellows hound a guy." When he was safely in the police sta- tion, I asked him : "When were you in Boston last?" "I was never in Boston in my life," an- swered Corey. (A photograph of Corey appears on page 34.) "Do you know the Hotel Hollis ?" I asked him then. "Never heard of it," Corey declared. "I was never in Boston in my life." "You know the ropes," I told him, "you don't have to talk if you don't want to. Do you know Benny Perrctti ?" "Over in Leavenworth Penitentiary," said Corey. I showed him his police picture and asked him: "Is this your picture?" "That's not my picture," the man de- nied. I told him he was under arrest charged with the murder of Mrs. Mae Price. Everything he had said and our questions had been written down and I asked him to sign the statements he had made. Corey told me : "I'll talk but I won't sign anything." He was locked in a cell and I telephoned a report to Boston police headquarters. 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True Detective Mysteries 105 Why Women Read Detective Stories {Continued from page 19) stands or order them from the booksellers by half dozens. Yet recent statistics com- piled by the editor of this magazine, tend to show that the interest in detective fiction is about equally divided be- tween the sexes. This is not hard to believe when one remembers how many of our best American writers of detective stories are women. From the pioneer, Anna Katharine Green, on down to the most popular authors of to-day, there are more well- known feminine names than masculine. That is, in America. In Eng- land, the reverse is true, and there are many more cele- brated masculine pens over there writing detective fiction than feminine. As to why women read these stories of crime and detection, various elements must enter into consideration. Doubtless the aftermath of war is to a certain extent re- sponsible. Four years of read- ing thrilling news of blood- shed, heroism and horrors made ordinary stories seem humdrum and brought about a flood of books that were full of excite- ment. When the better class of writers took up these subjects and combined the horrors of murder with an intellectual interest of problem solving, the keen logical instinct usually present, even if partially dor- mant in the feminine mind, awoke, and women began to see that detective stories had a lure of their own, as compelling as crossword puzzles or village gossip. The feminine mind is often quicker and more direct than a man's mind. A woman will "cut 'cross lots" and reach instantly a conclusion that it takes a man an appreciable time to arrive at. Too, she has, nine times out of ten, a lively curiosity that holds her interest in an ab- sorbing story, just to see "how it will turn out." She loves suspense, and, as a rule, she wants to see virtue rewarded and vice punished. Her loves and hates are strong, her sympathies are staunch and loyal, and as detective stories usually turn out the way she wants them to, she is sure of a "happy ending." So, women are coming to realize more and more that detective stories appeal to the feminine mind that is willing to exercise its own peculiar gifts of logic and deduction. Though this is seldom an acquired taste. If a woman really dislikes detective stories, in their es- sence, she will always dislike them. Not often can she be brought to change her mind. Another reason for feminine interest is the scope for the working of their emotions. A woman may read a dozen new novels without much catch- ing of her breath or tightening of her heartstrings. But in a well-written de- tective story she finds some- one to pity, someone to hate, someone to become enraged at, someone to love, and all with startling and inescapable reasons. She tingles with fear, she sighs with relief, she re- vels in the dangers and dilem- mas, and her quick wits try to outrun the detective in his deductions and often do. She is up against a new phase of life and it intrigues her. As for the old love stories, she knew all seven of their plots and they held no surprises for her experienced interest. But detective stories proved a new field, and women have fallen for it. As proof of this, note the in- troduction of the mystery story into the women's magazines. Scarcely a number but has a Did You Ever Take an INTERNAL Bath? By M. PHILIP STEPHENSON THIS may seem a strange question. But if you want to magnify your energy — sharpen your brain to razor edge — put a glorious sparkle in your eye — pull yourself up to a health level where you can laugh at disease and glory in vitality — you're going to read this message to the last line. I speak from experience. It was a message just such as this that dynamited me out of the slough of dullness and wretched health into the sunlit atmosphere of happiness, vitality and vigor. To me, and no doubt to you, an Internal Bath was something that had never come within my sphere of knowledge. So I tore off a coupon similar to the one shown below. I wanted to find out what it was all about. And back came a booklet. This booklet was named "Why We Should Bathe Internally." It was just choked with common sense and facts. What Is an Internal Bath? This was my first shock. Vaguely I had an idea that an internal bath was an enema. Or, by a stretch of the imagination, a new-fangled laxative. In both cases I was wrong. A real, genuine, true internal bath is no more like an enema than a kite is like an airplane. The only similarity is the em- ployment of water in each case. And so far as laxatives are concerned, I learned one thing — to abstain from them completely. A bona fide internal bath is the administration into the intestinal tract of pure, warm water, Tyrrellized by a marvelous cleansing tonic. The ap- pliance that holds the liquid and injects it is the J. B. L. Cascade, the invention of that eminent physician. Dr. Charles A. Tyrrell, who perfected it to save his own life.j Now here's where the genuine internal bath differs radically from the 'enema. The lower intestine, called by the great Pro- fessor Foges, of Vienna, "the most prolific source of disease," is five feet long and shaped like an inverted U — thus ft. The enema cleanses but a third of this "horseshoe" — or to the first bend. The J. B. L. Cascade treatment cleanses it the entire length — and is the only appliance that does. You have only to read that booklet, "Why We Should Bathe Internally," to fully understand how the Cascade alone can do this. There is absolutely no pain or discomfort. Why Take an Internal Bath? Here is why. The intestinal tract is the waste canal of the body. Due to our soft foods, lack of vigorous exercise and highly artificial civilization, nine out of ten persons suffer from intestinal stasis (delay). The passage of waste is entirely too slow. Result: Germs and poisons breed in this waste and enter the blood through the blood vessels in the intestinal walls. These poisons are extremely insidiojs. The head- aches you get — the skin blemishes — the fatigue — the mental sluggishness — the susceptibility to colds — and countless other ills are directly due to the presence of these poisons in your system. They are the generic causes of premature old age, rheuma- tism, high blood pressure and many serious maladies. Thus it is imperative that your system be free of these poisons. And the only sure and effective means is internal bathing. In fifteen minutes it flushes the intestinal tract of all impurities. And each treatment strengthens the intestinal muscles so the passage of waste is hastened. i""»»»se 01 Immediate Benefits Taken just before retiring, you will sleep like a child. You will rise with a vigor that is bubbling over. Youi whole attitude toward Ufe will be changed. All clouds will be laden with silver. You will feel rejuvenated— That is not my experience alone, but that of 900.000 men and women who faithfully practice this wonderful inner cleanliness. Just one internal bath a week to regain and hold glorious, vibrant hcalthl To toss off the mantle of old age — nervousness— and dull caret To fortify you against epidemic, colds, etc la that fifteen minutes worth while? Send for This Booklet It Is entirely FREE. And I am absolutely convinced that you will agree you never used a two-cent stamp to better advantage. There are letters from many who achieved results that seem miraculous. 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If your arms and legs are thin and flabby. | your abdomen is too Urjrc, if your chest is unde constipation — you will say the Spinal Extrciter ; its cost. SENT ON TRIAL V,". used by noted physical tntt instructors :ind physieians. Send the coupon and we will send the St Eztrci'fT by return mail. Then try it for 5 days. If not satisfm-t return it and get your money bark. You risk nut dine. The trial L - our risk. Yon need not pav until the end of the trial if you will send i bank or er.-dit reference. Mail — rn shoulders stoup, eloped, if you suff.-r trot is worth a hundred tinn ! n^sS!*!"!^ st. ch | Nam* | Addreas ASHFUL "Shame on you I Are you ntrrout, — ib*rra*ted in company of the other Mi? Stop being *hy of strangers. Con- quer the terrible fear of your superiors. Be cheerful and confident of your future! Your faulta easily overcome M you can enjoy life to the full eat. Send 25c lor my amazing book. Learn about method to overcome Baab- 1URC|CHARD BLACKSTONE B-59 Flat iron Bldg. 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Clerk ) File Clerk ) General Clerk ) Matron ) Steno-Typist ) Immigrant Inspector ) Seamstress I Auditor > Watchman > -Skilled Laborer } Postmaster > Typist 15, St. LouU. M«. Qualify lor position! opportunities, eto. short story or a serial instal- ment of a murder tale. Run over the magazines in your doctor's or dentist's office. The detective story pages will be worn to tatters when the informative articles still show bright, clean pages. So far, we have considered only detective fiction. But in fact-stories, or in current news items the prin- ciple is the same. I have heard men and women discuss celebrated murder trials as they were taking place, and always, for logical reasoning and clear understanding, the feminine mentality was abreast of the man's mind. Intellect is impartially dis- tributed between the -sexes, and if in all ages man has achieved more lasting fame, raised to himself more en- during monuments, it is not be- cause of a superior brain, but because of a multitude of other reasons and causes which may not be here enumerated, how- ever. Similarly, though women may have insight, even intuition, they are not so well fitted as men are to be detectives, which calling demands far more than mental powers. However, she has a right to read detective stories, a fran- chise she is exercising more and more freely every day. There is every reason why she should read them and no reason why she should not. "Tiger Girl!"— The Blonde Whose Gun Spat Death {Continued from page 45) ^NA was placed around the hotel where the de- tention room was located. While Bonnie slept contentedly one night, utterly obliv- ious of the important part he was playing and was to play in the case — his newly ac- quired toy dog and rabbit resting beneath his pillow — a suspicious stranger registered. During the still hours of the night. He changed rooms three times in succession. No woman was with him. Once during the night, police said, they detected the man prowling in a corridor near the sleeping child's room, but he re- turned to his quarters after discovering the presence of the guard. Was this man Glenn Dague, the lover, or Tom Crawford, the wayward brother? He was arrested, but police refused to divulge his name when they were assured he had meant no harm. He had merely been dis- satisfied with his room and had it changed. BEFORE this near-sensation died down another report came from a garage attendant at the rear of the hotel. He re- ported that at three o'clock in the morning a man and a woman made an attempt to enter the back door of the hotel. When he called to them, he said, they leaped into a waiting automobile and fled. Then the search shifted to Pittsburgh after reports had reached Inspector Faulk- ner and county detectives that two men and a woman resembling the wanted trio were in a rooming house at 4520 Forbes Street. They had applied there for rooms, the man and woman giving their names to the proprietor as Mr. and Mrs. King. Early next morning both left without explanation of their sudden departure. Police believed they were on the right trail this time and that soon the pair would be apprehended. That they were wrong will be seen very soon. Telephones rang almost continuously in police bureaus at Pittsburgh. Each call bore some new tip on where the blonde and her companions might be found. Each was run down to the ground. The telephone on the sergeant's desk rang again. "The 'trigger woman' is in a rooming house on Boyle Street, Northside," was the tip given him. The caller described himself as a taxi- cab driver. "Don't take no for an answer," he ad- vised the officer. FOUR State Policemen went to the sta- tion at once and asked Faulkner for aid. Riot guns were dusted off. Eight policemen and the four officers surrounded the house, ready for action. Two of them walked in. All took extreme precaution in their actions. They talked with the land- lady and all the roomers. None of them resembled the "trigger woman." When the search was about over a viva- cious blonde walked into the room. Here was their quarry. Fearing that she was the woman wanted, they took no chances. But the girl explained she was a mani- curist and knew nothing whatsoever about the case. "Now you guys get out and get out quick," the landlady ordered as she showed the police the door. False tips continued to fly fast and furi- ous. The searchers were told anonymously that the trio was in hiding at a Coltart Avenue rooming house. This too, was er- ronious. An automobile bearing a set of Ohio li- cense plates had been abandoned in Ven- ture Street. Phillip Becker, of 7558 Susquehanna

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True Detective Mysteries 107 ■ Street, told police that a blonde woman, answering Mrs. Schroeder's description, had applied unsuccessfully for a room at his house but had left before he had an opportunity to call police. W. Wedgemore, of 1423 Westfield, said that in downtown Fifth Avenue, he saw a couple answering the description of the pair, speeding by in an automobile. That the bandit-murderers had made themselves scarce in Pittsburgh and vi- cinity was a fact that the officers now ad- mitted. "They've got us baffled," Captain Mauk said. Then Sheriff Ford Moore and his depu- ties, operating in Belmont County, Ohio, raided the Kildow farmhouse, following a tip that a woman resembling the "trigger woman" had been seen there in company with a man on the night of January 3rd. The house was found untenanted. SUSPECTS were taken into custody at Erie, Pennsylvania; Tiffin, Ohio; Cum- berland, Maryland; Harrisburg, Pennsyl- vania and other points. All were released after investigation proved their innocence. Captain Mauk and his associates were willing to tender doubts that Irene had eluded them. Only revenge sworn over the body of their dead buddy and the unwrit- ten law that the State Police always gets its prisoner — with but few exceptions kept them on what appeared to be a fruitless hunt. Later the "statics" didn't get their man because some other officials did. Nearly a week had elapsed since Cor- poral Paul had been slain in cold blood. The trail was picked up in Wheeling. A dress worn by the "trigger woman" was found in a room in the Waldorf Hotel, occupied by a former woman chum of hers. The room, when searched, was in hope- less disarray. But it was shown clearly that the "trigger woman" had recently oc- cupied it. It was also discovered that Daguc had sent money to his wife, a Viola, West Vir- ginia, school teacher, a few days after Christmas. Undoubtedly the funds came from the proceeds of the grocery store stick-up. A photograph of Dague was found in his wife's home and shown to Donnie. "That's papa," Donnie exclaimed. Horton and Miss Mickum, whose ma- chine was stolen in the getaway, also saw the photo and identified its likeness as that of one of the men who stuck them up. NEXT the officers, acting on another anonymous tip, went to a private garage in Wheeling's residential section. This tip, for a change, did not prove false. When they broke open the door lock — a startling sight met their eyes. Here, standing idle and covered with dust, was the Chrysler in which the trio escaped over the Butler Road and down through southwestern Pennsylvania into West Virginia. The owner of the garage related that a woman, answering the de- scription of the blonde, came to her, stored the car, and paid rent for a month. "I am going away on a trip," the blonde told her. "Keep the car until I get back." "The blonde appeared ill at ease when she talked to me," the woman said, "and got away as soon as possible." A Pontiac sedan was stolen in Wheeling. Deducing that this was the one taken by the trio, every effort was lent to find it. Next day a Parkersburg, West Virginia, cop discovered it abandoned in an alley there. It was believed to have been left in that spot at least two days. The bandits were headed westward — only a few jumps ahead of their pursuers. Any- how they had the jump on the police. WITHOUT preamble Donnie's grand- father threw a bombshell into the investigation. "The State Police antagonized Donnie and forced him to say incriminating things against his own mother. All were un- truths and if the officers would only act like gentlemen for once in their lives they would admit that fact," he alleged. "By threats and promises the troopers took advantage of the innocence of a small child and forced him to implicate his par- ents. She is innocent of any wrong-doing. I know she wouldn't pull anything like that." Donnie's enthusiasm over the attention shown him and his statements made in the presence of reporters and other parties showed that no great effort had been made to have him talk. Further dampening the case of the troop- ers, the elder Crawford at once charged them with kidnapping his grandson from West Virginia without the formality of securing extradition papers. No doubt the troopers were guilty but it was a case of the camel trying to get through the needle's eye. They had Donnie and intended keep- ing him— at least 'til the case got some- where or flopped. The grandfather hired a lawyer and de- manded that Donnie be returned home. This attempt was frustrated by arraigning the four-year-old boy before a New Castle alderman and having him held in $15,000 bail as a material witness to the murder of Corporal Paul. It was the first time such a procedure had ever taken place in Pennsylvania. No one furnished the ex- cessive bail and Donnie remained in the custody of the police. By this time much had been gleaned of Irene's early life. At the time of Paul's slaying she was but twenty-one years of age. So her parent said. IRENE had always been known in her home town as a vibrant, vivacious type : strong-willed and not easily dominated. Yes, she was married. Psychologists would class her in the category of a very hard-to-understand group. The commonplace things of life proved boresome. What Irene wanted more than anything else was excitement. Still in her "teens" she married a Wheel- ing boy, whom she had known since they were kids together. But hubby was not "fast enough." He couldn't satisfy that lure for adventure that so imbued her being. Married life was nothing to brag about. Continual quarrels about petty mat- ters and his inability to show her "a good time" made existence for both barely tolerable. Previously in school Irene showed no aptitude for discipline. She was highly individualized : sort of a "tiger girl." She and her husband, who is a minfc factor in her brief but bizarre career, rented a small apartment. He worked diligently and faith- "My Jim- He's going to make good!" "JrxtsTY's not making much money — yet I guess if he hadn't met me he never would have cared whether he got ahead or not. But now . . . "You see, Jim works in an electric plant. Gets $20 a week. But he's going to be a foreman at twice that pay — and we're going to be married and live in a bungalow with roses and a little kitchen garden. Jim's going to make good — for me. "How do I know? I know they need trained men at the plant. I cut an International Correspondence Schools coupon out of a magazine, and last night Jim enrolled for the course in Electrical Engineering. He's going to study every night. And if he doesn't get' ahead fast at the works it won't be my fault." Wtiat about your "Jimmy" f Is he making the progress you know he has it In him to make? With your encour- agement he ran get the special training he needs in an hour a day of his spare time. Thousands of men and women yearly secure better job* and higher pay through I. ('. S. study. Talk it over with Aim Mnight — and send the coupon! Find out about the courses that interest him. ^INTErIm^ONAL- CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS "The Universal University" Box 2295. Scranton, Penna. Without cost or obligation, please send me a copy of your booklet. "Wm> Wins and Why," and full particulars about the subject before which I have marked X: TECHNICAL AND INDUSTRIAL COURSES 1 Architect □ Architectural Draftsman 3 Building Estimating Wood Mlllworklng Concrete Builder Contractor and Itullder Structural Draftsman Structural Engineer Electrical Engineer Electric Wiring Electric Lighting Welding. 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108 True Detective Mysteries BE A DETECTIVE j Earn Big Money Experience unnecessary. Write, I GEORGE D. WAGNER I 2190 Broadway New York I I Mail FREE Detective Particulars to t I I | Name | j Address J L>ATENTS"J Time counts in applying for patents. Don't risk delay in protecting your ideas. Send sketch or model for instructions or write for FREE book. "How to Obtain a Patent" and "Record of Invention" form. No charge for in- formation on how to proceed. Communica- tions strictly confidential. Prompt, careful, efficient service. Clarence A. O'Brien. Regis- Mi- i 1 Iig Income Easy take orders for Pants — Breeches — Coveralls 15 to 20 orders in a noon hour is easy at all fac- lories, garages and con- struction jobs. No season or style changes. Long wear salesmen make money all year "round. Write for self-sellingfreeoutntNOW. Dept. T-9 LONGWEAR TROUSERS, 489 Broome St.. N.Y. Leant to Dance This New Easy Way Yoa mn learn alt tbe modern dances— Charleston, Black Bottom. Valencia. Can- ter, trench Ten*o, St. Louis Hop. Latest Waltzes. Fox Trots, etc. , at home easily and quickly. New chart method makes dancing as simple aa A-B-C. No music or Send No Money FRANKLIN PUB. C0.800 N.CIarkSt. Dept. C-520 Chic-o Earn Cash Incomes <y$bthis Easy, Pleasani Wan 1 W And now this same opportunity is \» V* open to you! Without experience. World's Star will help you make big money sell- ins World's Star quality hosiery, | underwear and lingerie at amaz- f ing low prices. You earn from ™ the start Ask for full particu- . lars. Start on YOUR road to | independence — NOW! World's Star Knitting Co. 349 LakeSt.BayCity.Mich. fully to provide a home for the woman he adortd. Then Donnie was born. It was thought by both that that little bundle of pink, laughing flesh would bring them closer to- gether. For two years life went on. Don- nie was no longer a babe in arms. Irene began to brood over her mediocre exis- tence. She began to step out. Whenever she had an opportunity she sneaked off to matinees and tea dances. There she made the acquaintance of sev- eral young men. One was Glenn Dague. It was a case of love at first sight. DONNIE was left with his grandfather while clandestine meetings with Dague became more frequent. The husband, as most husbands are in matters of this kind, was unaware of Irene's infidelity. A flam- ing infatuation between Dague and Irene blossomed into an intense love. But it wasn't the right kind. Irene began drinking her whiskey straight and smoked her cigarets by the score. The outcome of it all was that Dague deserted his wife and two adoring children and became the love slave of the girlish woman who shortly was to start a brief but tragic career of crime. Irene secured a divorce. She went to work in a second class dump restaurant or hash-house. There, tales of easy ways of making a living — outside the pale of the law of course, fell on her all too willing ears while dishing them off the arm. Irene got an idea. She craved excitement. Here was the way to get it. She and her lover would tour the country and live a life of love. Funds for their travels would be forthcoming by stick-ups. Why there wasn't much of a chance for being caught. At first Dague was cold to the proposal but under the caresses of his sweetheart, gave in. Brother Tom was taken in as a third party; a sort of buffer against the really tough breaks in the game. Donnie went with the trio. The Butler stick-up was their first job. What appeared to be a lark turned into dismal tragedy. Of course Glenn Dague was the "fall guy." Until a little more than two years ago he had lived a life of wholesome respect- ability. Never had he used liquor. He swore seldom and smoked not at all. More ironic in his career was that at one time he served as a Sunday School superinten- dent, was an officer in the Epworth League and was active in Boy Scout work. As a worker in a hardware store and with an automobile and insurance firm, his record was spotless. Then the first blem- ish marked his record. He had to have money to entertain Irene. Underhanded tactics got it. His own and his wife's families made good the peculation. More errors followed. Glenn was discharged. As the seemingly fruitless search for the trio that was eluding a nation went on, city editors dished out the facts to a public eager to gobble up every minute detail. Each new development was the signal for a make-over on regular news editions if the tip was "hot" enough. All of a sudden interest dropped like a plummet. Lack of developments and the inability to find a single trace of either Irene, Glenn or Tom, was heart-breaking to editors and many literally tore their hair. The case seemed to be headed for the little black book of unsolved crimes that rests on dusty shelves of the police bureaus. 'THEN hell broke loose. A Deputy Sheriff Joseph Chapman, of Pike County, Arizona, 2400 miles from New Castle, was standing on a prominent street-corner in Florence, Arizona, on Monday afternoon, January 13th. It was pretty hot there and Chapman was trying to find a shady nook to cool himself. Somewhere he had read of Irene's ex- ploits, never thinking or dreaming that he'd see anyone who resembled her. Across the dusty street was a parked car. In it was a blonde woman and two men. "Let me see your driver's license," Chapman asked the woman, who was driving. "The hell you say," she answered. Before Chapman had an opportunity to protect himself three guns were thrust into his back and he was ordered to get into the car. Then the quartet, which now included Chapman as an unwilling member, sped through the town into Chandler, in Maricopa County. Word of the kidnapping was telegraphed ahead by witnesses who saw the affair. Deputies Lee Wright, Shirley Butterfield and Joseph Smith were waiting outside Chandler for the arrival of the machine. Their hands were on their hips, ready for the quick draw in true Wild West fashion. As the deputies stood across the road in near-phalanx formation the car came speeding by — wavering crazily and careen- ing down the stretch. THEN the scene of December 27th on the road outside Butler was reenacted. Amid a hail of lead bullets the blonde and her two companions threw Chapman out of the car and shot him as he fell. His arm was shattered. The deputies had been too slow on the draw. Their quarry had escaped. As the rain of lead continued from the speed- ing car Butterfield and Wright fell to the road wounded. Wright was similar to Corporal Paul in one respect — in that he couldn't make up his mind whether or not to shoot it out with a woman. After the gun battle, the trio, frantic with the thoughts of having committed a second crime and not knowing whether or not their victims were dead or dying, sped away to the black wastes of the Arizona desert. As the car fought the ever present sands, that retarded speed, the sun beat down mercilessly. Their every move was set back by the thought that Western law— that grim and un- quenchable force that brought back memo- ries of "Billy the Kid," "Wild Bill" Hickock and others— was hot on their trail. But the Trigger Woman was not to be denied her ever present iron nerve. It was her steadying force. On and on into the desert they sped. After forty miles of furious driving the car broke down on the torrid sands of the almost impenetrable desert near Laveen, just south of Phoenix. Finding an Indian reservation nearby, three horses were obtained on a rental fee from Lone Sun Dust, who operated a business of this kind. The woman and her companions promised to return the steeds that night and left a deposit with the Indian. All forded the Gila River by swimming the

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True Detective Mysteries 109 horses over a shallow ford. But the law had not been idle during this time. Sheriff Charles Wright, of Maricopa County, made arrangements for a posse, which had already been formed. Ranch- men, old-time gun and trigger men "quick on the draw" — many of whom had not tasted the acrid smell of gunpowder nor the thrill of whining lead in the air for many a day — volunteered for service. Soon more than 100 men and youths, wearing sombreros and eight-gallon hats, and armed to the teeth, were speeding by horse and automobile to the desolate desert mountains where Irene and her companions had taken, refuge. It had been learned that she and Dague and the third man had barricaded them- selves in the lonely crags of the Salt River Mountains, prepared to shoot it out with whoever might attempt to force entry into their lair. Augmenting the posse was an aeroplane armed with a machine gun. As the pilot speeded the plane over the crags his gunner let go a hail of lead into the hideout, but this proved futile in dislodging those who hid there. Sheriff Wright was at the head of the posse. Inch by inch and foot by foot the men crept closer to the crags where the fugitives were hiding like rats in a trap. Wright refused to allow his posse to charge the hideout. He had lost enough men as it was. He wasn't taking any fur- ther chances. As Irene's head hovered into view for a moment, but not long enough for some- one to take a pot shot at the tousled locks, Wright exclaimed. "There they are." "Let 'em have it. All right boys, open fire!" he cried, and nearly 100 guns and revolvers shot in unison. SEVERAL men were dispatched around the pass to begin an attack from the right flank and the rear. Wright took a post as close to the crags as safety would permit. He had but a moment before seen Irene prepared as if to make a final at- tempt at a getaway, but he knew his men coming down from the rear would prevent that. The aeroplane was proving useless in the battle so it was dispatched back to the airport at Phoenix. The deputies in the rear had, by this time, been rewarded with much progress. As they came clown from on top, hand over hand, the posse in front watched their every move, fearful lest some action on their part would inform Irene or Dague that they were being stealthily crept down upon. All the time Irene and her pals were taking pot-shots at the barricaded Westerners. Irene's shrill falsetto voice could be heard above the voice of her would-be captors during the lulls in the fighting. "Shoot 'em sweetheart," she screamed to Dague. "Shoot the dirty dogs 1" "Let 'em have it! Don't let 'em take us alive." Dague was struggling with her, it ap- peared. He had hold of her rifle. "Let go. Let go my gun I Shoot and shoot to kill 'em," she kept screaming. Fi- nally Dague gave in and the battle began once more. A movement in the rear caused her to turn around. The deputies had the drop on the three. She realized the game was up. Waving a blood-stained rag Irene walked out and surrendered. Wright heaved him- self on her and deputies took charge of her companions. Irene's clothing was in tatters. Her hands were torn and bleeding from her struggle through the sage-brush and moun- tainsides, but she still shook her blonde head in defiance. Hunted over the nation with a price over her head; begging gaso- line and food, destitute and desperate at the end of what had originally seemed an easy and adventurous life, the "Trigger Wo- man" was a most pitiful sight. "Well, boy friends," she said, looking at the posse, "you want me. Well, here I am. I'm the nation's girl friend, the one they've been hunting for. And there's a thirty- four hundred dollar price on my head. You can buy me for that so here I am." During the ride back to the jail, Wright tried to get her to admit she killed Paul. She refused to answer any questions. Once in a moment of forgetfulness that she was the hard-boiled criminal. Irene touched Wright tenderly on the arm and in a pleading voice inquired about "her Donnie." "Oh sheriff, please wire home about Donnie," she sobbed. "I love him and want to know how he is. He's all I have in the world except Glenn." Wright complied with her request as soon as the party arrived at the jail. AN hour's wait in the women's cells had changed Irene's sudden tender composure. As Wright walked into her cell she stood up and faced him defiantly. Without preamble Wright started his interrogation. "Now Irene," he began, "we know you killed Brady Paul. Why did you do it?" "Damn it," she returned angrily, "I didn't kill anyone, but I would have liked to. I'd like to have bumped you off." Before she had another opportunity to make a second threat, Wright seized Irene's shoulders and shook her again and again. "Irene, come clean," he demanded. "I expect to treat you like a lady and I want you to play fair and square with me You've everything to lose and plenty to gain if you give us a little cooperation. Why don't you do it?" he pleaded. Still the Sphynx-like silence. TJIS questioning a failure, Sheriff a 1 Wright took Irene and her two pals to the Bertillon room where they were pho tographed and finger-printed. Here Irene refused to give her right name. She said she was "Mildred Winthrop." Dague and Crawford or Ackerman, as he was known by this time, both signed their names. But both refused to talk. "Why did you sign your name as 'Mil cited Winthrop' when a few mintes ago you practically admitted you were Irene Schroeder?" the officer asked his woman prisoner. But she just laughed and sneered. Shortly afterwards it developed that the third man was not Tom Crawford but was Tom "Red" Wells, alias Acker man, who had only been released from a Western prison and had joined Irene and Glenn a short time before their arrest. Crawford was not with the pair when caught in the desert. He had made good "Yes— there IS something you can do about it" "Your own brother has no more education than you, but he wouldn't stick in the factory all his life — not he! He took a course in Drafting and now he's earn- ing twice what you do — and he's bought a nice car and they don't have to worry about where the next meal is coming from — "And there's Bill Cook who used to live next door only a few years ago. But you don't see him in this neighborhood any more, do you? Oh, no — your friend Bill had gumption enough to study some- thing or other and now look at him with a fine fur coat for his wife and a home of his own and they are able to go places and enjoy life." The little woman is right. No man needs to stay in grinding, underpaid work if he doesn't choose to— for now theAmericanSchool backs its home-training courses with a pay-raising, job-finding agreement, or no cost. And thousands of men are preparing with us for advancement — in spare time. Your first $5 raise pays for the entire training in a few months. After that it's all "velvet". And better yet, you'll be on your way to a constantly increasing '.ncome. Nothing you can do will make you as much money as home-training. Why don't you look into it? ——-American School— Dept.G-662 Drexel Ave. & 58th St., Chicago, III. Without cost or obligation please tell mc how I can win a better position and increased pay in line |M|&i£2E!B£! marked X below. Also explain your guaranteed employment plan. BLDG. 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NORTH AMERICAN INSTITUTE 8601 Michigan Ave., Dept. i3»e. an unceremonious disappearance before. He was never found. "Oh, you want to know where my brother went to, eh?" Irene sneered. "Well he went on the 'lam' right after we left Wheeling so I don't know where he is." Later authorities in Texas said they learned from a good source that Craw- ford had been killed in a lone attempted bank stick-up, but the theory was never proven. The man who was shot and killed was buried without his identity becoming known. His description tallied, however, with that of Crawford. Pending arrival of the Pennsylvania officers both were booked on official kid- napping charges and held without bail. Despite the efforts of a number of so- called ambulance chaser lawyers, they were permitted no counsel. "That isn't the method of dealing with criminals out here," Sheriff Wright re- marked coolly to newspapermen as he in- terpreted the Western idea of justice. "We throw them into jail first and dis- cuss lawyers and their constitutional rights later." WHILE awaiting the arrival of Penn- sylvania officers with extradition pa- pers, the personnel of which was to con- sist of Patrolman Moore, Detective Martin Lee, of Lawrence County, Pennsylvania ; Mrs. Minnie McKibben, Lawrence County police matron, who was to care for Irene on the long trip eastward, and a bevy of newspapermen, Irene and Glenn had ample time to brood over the seriousness of their crimes. A few days after her capture Irene col- lapsed. As she lay prostrate on her prison cell cot her most emphatic cry was, "Where's my Donnie? I want my Don- nie !" It was not until both had been arraigned and held in $15,000 bond each, made ex- cessive to prevent their release, that Irene and Glenn had ample opportunity to pledge their consuming love and faith to the end. In early interviews Glenn had been bit- ter against the woman he had loved. "She caused all this trouble," he said, "and now I'm done with her." But when he caught sight of her in the Western squire's office, that tender affec- tion was reborn. Early in the afternoon of the arraign- ment a package for Irene arrived at the jail. It was a present from a Phoenix woman. In it were a blue silk dress, a neat little toque, silk stockings and lingerie. Dressed up in her new finery Irene looked happy for the first time since the posse had dragged her from behind the rocks only a short time before. "Not a bad looking kid," some bystander remarked whene Irene was brought into the office. Irene smiled prettily at the compliment and remarked "thanks." But even compliments cloyed here and when a second remark fell on her ears she scowled. "I've half a notion to charge all you saps fifty cents a look." Before Glenn was brought in, Irene sat expectant. Remember she had had no op- portunity to see him before. Irene's chains had been removed but a guard stood by prepared for immediate action should a getaway be attempted. The slow shuffle of feet and the clank- clank of chains was heard — first faintly and then with much more accentuation. Irene looked and saw a straight tall figure in shapeless blue unionalls, whose feet were manacled so that he stepped but a few inches at a time. Glenn looked right and left and then straight ahead. There was not a flicker of recognition in the unwinking, unstaring pale eyes as he looked down at the seated girl peering up at him. At first she seemed defiant. But slowly that expression began to change to one of tenderness. THEN those hard, blue eyes under the bobbed thatch of peroxided hair sof- tened and the stoic, almost immobile fea- tures broke into a happy smile. Dague's determined jaw was still set as he observed all this. "Hello, honey," she spoke softly. She stood up and put her arms around that har- assed figure. Her lips were lifted to the unshaven, unsmiling mouth. The bearded unemotional face of the man smiled too. He hugged her impulsively. "Honey, you'll always be my man, won't you?" she queried. "To the end," Dague assured her. "Stick to me," she whispered tenderly as she offered her vibrant red lips to her lover. "I love you," Glenn said. When Glenn walked into the room it ap- peared as if he wasn't glad to see Irene. By this time he had reverted to a canny denizen of the underworld. One learns fast when the teachers are screaming bullets and smoking guns and dead men lying in roadways. As he watched Irene there — well, he wasn't giving anything away. He evidently smelled a trap. Not until he knew what it was all about Plagiarism Stories have been submitted to Macfadden Publications which are copies of stories that have appeared in other magazines. Anyone submitting a plagiarized story through the mail and receiving and ac- cepting remuneration therefor, is guilty of a Federal offense in using the mails to defraud. The publishers of TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES are anxious — as are all reputable publishers — to stamp out this form of theft and piracy and are advising all magazines from which such stories have been copied of such plagiarism, and are offering to cooperate with the publishers thereof to punish the guilty persons. Notice is hereby given to all who have submitted stories that the same must be ORIGINAL and TRUE.

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True Detective Mysteries 111 was he saying anything. They might have duped Irene into such a scheme to pull a fast one. But when Irene's "hello, honey," her proffered arms and inviting lips told him, it was no trap, he unbent. Here, too, was Irene, no longer the hard- bitten, termagant gun-woman at this mo- ment. She was the human who wanted to feel the arms of her lover about her and the press of his hot, feverish kiss on her ready lips. From outward appearances she was just a little school girl. Only the hard blue eyes that seemed to take in the forms of those who were wit- nesses to her love scene, gave a hint that back somewhere in that brain lurked a deadly sense that gave impulse to a re- lentless, ready trigger finger whose toll was death. ALL during the scene flashlight guns were booming and reporters were scribbling. "What have you got those things on him for?" Irene demanded of Sheriff Wright, pointing to the leg irons. "You'd think someone was going to try and run away." Both admitted their identity but did not confess to the shooting of Corporal Paul. Acting on a sudden impulse Irene reached up and stroked the reddish, week- old beard on the face that towered above her. Then she pulled Glenn's head down to her lips again and rubbed her soft cheek against his sideburns. "Don't they ever let you shave, honey?" she asked. "No, they haven't let me yet," he assured her. Irene turned to Wright. "Why don't you let him shave? That wouldn't hurt anything," she told the offi- cer. "He'll get a chance to shave. He can shave to-day if he wants to," Irene was told. "Well, take 'em away," Wright ordered. Across Glenn's lips were streaks that looked like blood. In reality they were only unanswerable proofs to Irene's burn- ing affection — imprints of her lips done in vivid lipstick. Tenderly she reached up and wiped off his face. Then she lifted her lips to be pressed again, whispered good-bye and turned to face her captor — leaving two more streaks to replace those she had wiped away. Then they parted. GLENN shaved in an ante-room and shuffled clankingly back to his cell. While awaiting the arrival of the ex- tradition party, Mrs. Alfred Caywood, for- merly of Wheeling and Benwood, but at that time residing in Phoenix, identified Irene as the little girl, who "with pigtails down her back, used to pass her house on the way to Sunday School." "Sure, it's no one else but Irene Schroe- der — Irene Crawford she was when I knew her," said Mrs. Caywood. "Never saw her before," shouted Irene, as she faced her former towns-woman through the bars of her cell. January 24th the extradition party ar- rived in Phoenix. It was a most dramatic moment when Private Moore, his nose still bearing a patch as mute evidence of the bullet's mark that almost took his life as toll, walked up to Irene's cell. If she recognized him, she never for a moment admitted it by any trace or sign. She was old poker face herself. "Yep, that's the woman who killed Paul. There's no question about it. She tried to kill me too," Moore exclaimed. "He's a liar," Irene screamed. "I never saw him before. Take him away I" She was hysterical for two days. During this interim the Pennsylvania authorities interviewed Governor Phillips of Arizona, who signed the extradition papers that would tend to spirit Irene and Glenn back to New Castle. Wells, alias Ackerman, was to be held in Arizona to answer for his charges there. Shortly before dawn Irene and Glenn were yanked from their cells and spirited away in a high-powered automobile. Ar- rangements had been made to meet the Apache Limited for the Kast at a secluded tank stop several miles away. But no one but the officers were let in on the plans. The deception was pulled off to evade at- tempts of attorneys armed with writs of habeas corpus to prevent the departure back to the East. BUT it remained for Al Gough, S'un- Telet/raph reporter, assigned to the Ari- zona coverage of the case, to pick up the trail. Hiring an aeroplane at a nearby air- port, he cruised around the desert for hours, hunting the destination of the auto- mobile carrying the pair to the train. For miles his eyes saw only the track- less wastes of the desert with never an oasis to break the monotony of the scene. The rickety road that marked its way through the sage-brush, however, showed traces of auto tire tracks marked recently before. Gough took this in as his plane swung perilously low to the ground. As the nose of the ship faced the East he saw an abandoned cotton gin, surrounded by a clump of scrub trees and cactus plants. It stood out like a black patch on the copper- colored wastes. "Glide her down low," Gough ordered the pilot. The plane circled around the cotton gin and Gough saw Wright's car, borrowed from the officer by the Pennsylvanians. In it he saw Irene, Glenn and the extradition party. The plane swooped high into the heavens but not before Gough let the party know he knew who they were. Back to the air- port he flew. A fast automobile brought him to a nearby station where the train was to make a brief stop. He was sure that the party would have boarded the train before he arrived. He was right in this conclusion. After leaping aboard, Gough walked through the Pullmans and found Glenn and Irene already unwilling passengers. Later other newspapermen and sob-sis- ters boarded the train. THE trip across the continent was a tri- umphant one for Irene. She enjoyed every minute of it. Small towns, as well as big cities, brought out their quota of mor- bidly curious who gave the gun-woman a big hand. Stops at Kansas City, Chicago and In- dianapolis found hordes ready to catch a fleeting glimpse of the woman who did and dared. It was most fortunate for the criminals that they had such sympathetic guards. "So you want to get married, eh?" •That's finel I'm glad to hear it. But you know, Tom, just wanting to get married is not enough to justify an increase in salary. "Study your work — learn to know more about it than the other men in your department — and you won't have to come to me for an increase in salary. "Why don't you take up a home study course with the International Correspondence Schools? It's been the making of other men around here." Employers In every line of business arc begging for men who want to get ahead and are willing to prove it by training themselves to do some one thing well. One hour a day of I. C. S. study will proimre you for the position you want In the work you like best. Mail the Coupon for Free Booklet — iiJteb^tTonaTcobre8ponoence schools "The Vnieerial Untveriitv" Bex 2296, Scranton, Penna. Without cost or obligation, please send me a ropy of your booklet. "Who Wins and Why," and full particulara about the subject betore which I have marked X: TECHNICAL AND INDUSTRIAL COURSES O Architect □ Architectural Draftsman □ Building Estimating Wood Mlllworklng Concrete Builder Contractor and Builder Structural Draftsman Structural Engineer Electrical Engineer Electric Wiring Electric Lighting Welding. Electric and Gag Telegraph Engineer Telephone Work Mechanical Engineer Mechanical Draftsman Patternmaker O Machinist Reading Shop Blueprints Civil Engineer ...Highway Engineer □ Surveying and Mapping Ocas Engines OToolmaker □ Diesel Engines □ Aviation Engines Bridge Engineer ' Automobile Work Plumbing □ Steam Fitting Heating O Ventilation Sanitary Engineer Sheet Metal Worker steam Engineer Marine Engineer Uefrlgeratlon It. K. 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Both pledged their love " 'till we die." The jail cells had been prepared for their coming. Irene showed the better nerve of the two as the date of their trial —early in March — approached. She began to find solace in the Bible and the visits of clergymen. Glenn was more adamant. It will be remembered that Deputy Sher- iff Lee Wright had his arm shattered by a bullet in the gun battle. After both were safely incarcerated at New Castle, Wright died from gangrene. Arizona at once demanded the return of the prisoners but the demand was re- fused. Wells had to take the "rap" for that trick. He did. He was sentenced to hang for Wright's death. "If either of those two get off with short sentences, we'll demand they be ex- tradited to Arizona. There they'll get a taste of Western justice that ends with a hangman's noose around pliant necks," read a wire received from Phoenix. WRIGHT'S death left Irene extremely nervous. She knew they didn't fool down there. Irene remembered the fate of Mrs. Eva Dugan, the fifty-two-year-old slayer of A. J. Mathias, Tucson rancher, who was sprung through a trap in Phoenix, while Irene languished in the Lawrence County Jail. She remembered how that woman, dressed in a silk wrapper of her own mak- ing, fell through the floor of the scaffold to a darkened room below ; and how she met instantaneous death when the noose snapped her pretty head from her body. Irene shuddered. And if that didn't tend to unnerve her more, she could vision that little green door and wired oaken chair that graced the execution chamber at Rockview Peniten- tiary, where two hundred convicted mur- derers had died in the years of legalized electrocution in Pennsylvania. She could visualize a cold marble slab, the fastening on of leather straps on her soft arms and thighs ; the presence of the executioner, and that instrument of mod- ern justice — the electric chair. The case was climaxed. Irene and Glenn awaited their fate. What was in store for them appeared to be a matter of easy conjecture. AN early March morning saw the start of Irene's trial. New Castle, unaccustomed to such ado about matters, assumed a carnival aspect. Instead of considering that a woman was on trial for her life, the populace pre- pared for a free vaudeville show. They were disappointed. For three days a parade of robbery vic- tims took the witness-stand. Sheriff Wright and her other captors were there. Under prompting of Attorney Charles Margiotti, of Punsutawney, Pennsylvania, whom the Lawrence County authorities retained as special prosecution counsel, this galaxy of witnesses pointed accusing fingers at Irene. Patrolman Moore pointed her out as one of the two on the New Castle Road and l7i<? one — who fired the fatal shot. Irene, through all the grilling never flinched. "Iron Irene," they now called her. Defiant, she testified in her own defense. Her doom was sealed. March twenty-first, ironically enough the first day of spring, saw the case go to the jury. A few hours later the jury filed back. The room was crowded. "Bring in the prisoner," the Judge or- dered. Irene, a slight pallor blanching her ro- tund face, entered between two officers. She was smiling. She cast a glance at her sisters — three of them — Mrs. Ruby Schroe- der, Mrs. Mayme Baum and Mrs. Michael Muldoon. All were sitting in the front row. One, it seemed, sighed. It was a sigh of hope. THE "Trigger Woman" faced the jury. It was the tensest moment in her event- ful young life. What fate hung in the balance? If she cared, Irene didn't show it. "How say you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? Guilty or not guilty?" the clerk queried. Now Irene, if ever, needed the protec- tion of her lover's arms about her. But he was not there. Iron bars held them apart. "Guilty of murder in the first degree, with the death penalty," the foreman an- swered. Spectators gasped audibly. Their "oh's" reverberated throughout the room. Never for a moment did Irene take her eyes from those "twelve good jurors, and true" who that moment had sealed her fate. Her head was straight up, like an oak that buffeted the winds of a raging storm. She took it on the chin. "Guts"— that's what they called it where she came from. Never let 'em know it hurts. There followed a silence so still that if a pin had been dropped in the farthest corner of the chamber it could have been heard audibly. She turned to her sisters when the judge ordered her taken out. All three were sob- bing. But not Irene. "Shut up," she snarled. "I can take it." HER coat flung over her shoulders, Irene faced the East — the direction of Rock- view where that sullen instrument of death, the electric chair, awaited. Then, taking in the scene, she made a dramatic exit. The curtain had fallen on the show. At the jail, Glenn's cell was directly underneath hers. To him she turned for solace. "How are you feeling, Glenn?" she called. "I'm all right. How are you?" he re- plied. "I'm feeling fine. They can't scare me," was her answer. Then jokingly: "Come on up." "I can't!" "Well go to bed then, you loveable old devil." This repartee came just after hearing the death penalty imposed. And, inciden- tally, Irene was the first woman Pennsyl- vania ever sentenced to the electric chair. Two days later Glenn marched into that same court room, faced the same parade of accusers, the same galaxy of prosecu-

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tion talent and— the same fate. Death was the price he must pay for his part in the crime. Thus were the ends of justice accom- plished. Brady Paul's cold-blooded mur- der on that lonesome road was avenged. The Law was to take its toll. As we go to press neither Dague nor Irene have been sentenced. The convic- tion, however, calls automatically for exe- cution and although a new trial has been asked for it is doubtful whether even this will be granted. If Irene and Glenn, the quick-fingered, the dapper, could have foreseen the fu- True Detective Mysteries ture that fatal day they started out "for a good time" they would have realized that eventually they would join the ranks of those who tried crime in the Keystone State and failed : Paul Jaworski, "The Phantom of the Coal Fields;" Fragrassa and Daniele, arch blackhanders ; Miguel Elverez, the Pottsville sweetheart slayer : Mrs. Martha Grinder and Mrs. Charlotta Jones, all who expiated either in the chair or the noose, as the courts directed. Their fate sealed, Irene and Glenn found solace in the Bible. Observers wonder whether their tired eyes met up with the passage "The wages of sin is death!" 113 The Former Mrs. Frank Silsby's Own Story {Continued from page 60) saw trusties eyeing me from shoes to hat. The look in their eyes made my flesh crawl. Would my husband become as one of these during the long years of his incarceration? Would his life be- hind these walls make a beast out of what was once a man? Soon I was in the office, and a deputy was questioning me. Was I his legal wife or a friend? Where was my home? Did I come all that distance to see this man? Would I make my home in Stillwater? I was searched for weapons, and, after a long delay, escorted to an audience room where armed guards hear all and see all that transpires between convicts and outsiders. There was a long wait during which I looked through iron- barred windows upon columns of march- ing men who were on their way in close formation from workshop to dining hall, clad in shoddy gray uniforms with num- bers stenciled upon their jackets. They looked neither to left nor right, as heav- ily armed guards swung along at regular intervals beside them. WHERE, among these hundreds, was my husband? Where was he, the man for whom I would sacrifice body and soul? When would he come and what did he look like now? I, who had been anxious to study the underworld, was now among the hun- dreds who were paying the penalty of that curiosity. And yet, even in my an- guish, the voices within me continued to whisper, "Learn more, learn more." A convict in the drab habiliments of prison shuffled up to the door, cap in hand, and paused at the threshold. Merci- ful God! Was this my Frank? Was this the immaculate and spirited man whom I bad known as sweetheart and then as husband? Broken in heart and soul, with clipped hair, unshaven cheeks and sal- low complexion, was this the partner of my life's dreams? He paused with ner- vous, fumbling fingers, not knowing why he had been called to the audience cham- ber. Suddenly he saw me and there was a little cry. His whole appearance changed, and with a sob of "Freeda," he threw himself into my arms. "Frank, Frank," I sobbed, as his hot tears coursed down my cheeks. I grew stronger then and mothered this man of mine. There followed a trying fifteen minutes, minutes which only those poor souls who have gone down to hell on earth can understand. Well, Frank Silsby, bandit and criminal that he was, proved himself to have the qualities of many a better man. Quickly he became strong and forceful. The pent-up emotion to which he had given way disappeared and, holding me by the shoulders, he looked into my eyes and said : "It's a losing game, sweetheart; there's no use to fight it. I'm through. You know, I've always said, 'the moving fin- ger writes, and having writ, moves on.' Well, it has written; it's chalked me up as a flop; I've failed. I'm lost to myself, to you and the world. Listen, Freeda, you're just a kid. Get a divorce and for- get me. It'll be tough, at first, but the right man will come along " I put my hand over his mouth. "Frank, boy," I whispered, "I said 'for better or for worse.' I meant every word of that. I'll open these doors for you somehow. We'll forget the past, and be happy again together. Please, for my sake, don't give up. Be strong and pray just a little." Our time was up. Frank smiled and I smiled back at him through my tears as I walked out through the great gates. Was ever a woman so miserable? The voices whispered. "You are young. Frank is young. Look at the gray heads in the dull, drab uniforms ; look at the countless numbers in those columns of dol Jojt "»a ~"~>° TODAY for thii wonderful hirim. GUARANTEE You don't rbk a cent. Try Outfit 10 day*. Money back If you want it. Don't mi«a tin- chancel Mail coupon NOW. Michael Mcfldden, Dept. W-9 55 East 11th St.. New York. N. V. GIVEN 5W3»S[ W StrenKth If (.Va cennccfM* wit* Macfiddtn Michael McFadden, Dept. W-9, $5 East Uth St., New York, N. Y. Send mo ON TRIAL, complete 8-in-l Outfit *■ actual porta** on we* pay port ace). 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Stanley (my first husband) was in New York and called at your apart- ment to see the babies. Your maid told him of your marriage, and of your trip to Minnesota, and the purpose of it. Stan- ley communicated with me and I hurried to New York. I know all there is to know, for, as your mother, I took the lib- erty to read the letter which this man wrote you from prison. I am surprised and deeply pained. I cannot understand you. "Your marriage has brought disgrace to your family and unless you give up this man's name and become legally freed of your marriage to him, I shall forget that I ever had a daughter, and you will never see your children again. Stanley agrees with me, and unless you accede to my wishes, Stanley will go to court and take the necessary legal steps to gain the custody of the children. "We would regret very much to resort to this and will do so only in event that you force it upon us. I trust that you will see the point of view of your family, and start proceedings at once. Only a few of us know of your mistake, and nothing need be said, in the future, of your folly. We will be glad to have you home with us again, for, despite your headstrong ac- tions which have pained all of us in the past, we all love you. "I have taken the children home with me. Your Mother." My family, long dissatisfied with my actions, had now struck me a telling blow, for I could not live without my babies. For hours I sat alone in the dark- ness trying to puzzle out some small part of my big problems. Finally I wrote a long telegram to Frank, telling him of my mother's action, and asking for his advice. I also sent a telegram to the warden of the prison, asking special con- sideration for Frank in letting him reply promptly to my telegram. This request was granted and Frank sent this char- acteristic answer : DO AS YOUR FAMILY INSISTS BY ALL MEANS. IT IS FOR THE BEST. FORGET ME. YOU WILL FIND GREAT HAPPINESS AGAIN. I cried over that telegram for hours. My mind was not fully made up. I wanted my children, but I wanted Frank, too. Now that he was alone and friend- less in prison, I felt as though he, too, was one of my children. The voices with- in me whispered, "Do not give up hope , you may yet have Frank and the chil- dren." I decided to forego a final decision and wired my mother that I was return- ing home. I paid off the lease on the studio, disposed of my furnishings, and with heavy heart, started home. My arrival there was a painful expe- rience. Mother and my grandmother wept, and Stanley, the Prince Charming of my girlhood, and the father of my children, was there, too. His eyes were wet, but he was a steadying influence. He pressed my hand and whispered, "I am sorry that my failure to understand you has caused all this trouble." With the tearful greetings over, I asked for my children. My grandmother exchanged glances with my mother, who turned away. Something was wrong, that was plain, and I demanded to know the whereabouts of the children at once. Mother spoke up: "Have you made up your mind to divorce this man who is in prison?" "I have made up my mind to nothing. I want to see my children at once." "You cannot see them until we come to an agreement, Freeda, and that is final." I appealed to my grandmother, the "Nanny" of my baby days. She shook her head. With trembling lips I looked to Stanley, who, wet-eyed himself, turned away. Then my mother spoke again: "We anticipated there would be trouble with you. We decided that, regardless of your actions, the children would be protected. Your Aunt S has been here on a visit and spent some time with us. Be- cause of the circumstances of your life, she wanted the children to go home with her for a long visit, and they are on their way to her home in San Francisco with her. You know that she will give them great love and affection and care for them as though they were her own." I knew nothing of the sort ! They were my children, not my aunt's, nor my mother's. What right had anyone while I was absent from home to kidnap them and under the guise of a great benevo- lence cause me to almost lose my mind worrying over their whereabouts ? Perhaps I was a fool because of my infatuation for the husband who now was a convict and perhaps this infatua- tion was leading me to perdition, as they said, but that had no bearing on the love in my heart for my children. I made immediate preparations to go to them and within forty-eight hours was on a train cn route to San Francisco. Death and disgrace have no terror for me, for both have long been my constant companions. Time after time I have seen the icy finger of death suddenly beckon to a comrade, just as I have watched dis- grace cast its filthy mantle about the shoulders of a loved one. Often, in the past, I wondered why these twin specters haunted me day and night, but long since I have come to know them as the in- separable companions of men and women who venture into the underworld. As my train sped westward across, the continent toward San Francisco where my children had been taken by my Aunt S , I wondered what the future held for me. My heart cried out against these heavy burdens. I wondered about Frank and what had caused his imprisonment. He had merely told me: "It was a bum rap," which, in the underworld language, means that he was wrrongIy identified. I never learned

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True Detective Mysteries 115 Young Man- Here's Vour Opportunity to MAKE BIG MONEY the details, but I do know that the ghost of that crime, whatever it may have been, haunted Frank and I had a graphic illus- tration of this on an occasion when we were in Philadelphia. Frank had heard of a Hindu mystic who could actually read the mind and tell past, present and future. Just for a lark we went to see him. The mystic told Frank several com- monplace things and Frank in return told the mystic that he was a fakir. "Anyone could think up things like that," Frank said to him. "Perhaps," answered the Hindu calmly. "But suppose you concentrate your thoughts on some particular act of yours, which is known only to yourself; some- thing that lies buried in your innermost soul. Think of it, and I'll whisper to you what it is." IjRANJK said he would do as directed. *■ The mystic closed his eyes for a mo- ment and then whispered something which I could not hear, but which made Frank's expression change. His face paled and his jaws set. Muttering the single word, "Minnesota," he left the room. I paid the Hindu and followed Frank to the hotel where I found him packing our baggage. He said very little to me and we left Philadelphia within an hour and I have never returned there to this day. For days Frank was distressed and fi- nally, when I pressed him to tell me what had been said by the Hindu, he took me by the shoulders and asked me never to mention the subject again. I never did. But I have digressed. My train, rush- ing on through the Feather River Can- yon and its white-capped turbulent wa- ters, was nearing San Francisco. My heart was like a stone. Each time I thought of Frank in his felon's garb, I pictured what forty-five years' imprison- ment would mean. He would be an old, broken man, if he lived through it, and 1 an old woman. But I would wait and go on fighting for him. Even now the voices were whispering again, and the whispering was good, for the voices told me I would soon be with my babies and that I might also find some way to lib- erate Frank. I did not then dream of the depths to which it would be necessary for me to de- scend in his behalf before those great iron doors would open and set him free. THE voices comforted me and I soon found it possible to smile at the happi- ness of two young lovers across the aisle and to understand their pleasure as the train moved on to new scenic wonders. We were nearing the end of the first lap, now, as the train paused at Sacra- mento, and rushed on through the pas- toral scenes of the beautiful Sacramento Valley; now the low marshlands and the water fowl ; the Oakland Mole, a ferry boat, the skyline of San Francisco, and yes, off there in the distance as though it were a fixed symbol of my life, a prison on an island. Arriving in San Francisco, I went to the Stewart Hotel and then straight to the home of my aunt, where I found the children, both well and eager to see me. I smothered them with kisses as I drew them into my arms. Aunt S marveled at my act in coming across the continent, and, to my surprise, did not regard herself as a kid- napper, but felt she was doing a service to all of us. I asked her to forgive me for the thoughts in which I had hated her, and she cried and asked me to for- give her. After we had both wept, I had a sensation of faintness and was put to bed. Every woman likes to talk of her ail- ments and her operations, but I shall cover mine quickly. I had suffered a ner- vous collapse, and it soon began to ap- pear that I might die. Doctors said I was utterly exhausted, with no reserve strength to call on. I lay in a stupor day and night, my mental darkness shot through with strange people and expe- riences. Throughout it all my guiding voices whispered : "Live, live ; if you die, Frank will always think you de- serted him." So I lived, and when I had recovered completely, my aunt, who saw the great love I bore my children and who learned of my devotion to my husband, was out of sympathy with the action of my family toward me and regretted her part in the adventure. She begged me to live with her for a few months and I agreed. In the weeks that followed I recovered my health rapidly and while convalescing went to many places of amusement. On one of these occasions I met an English- man, whose innate curiosity about life and people was matched only by my own. He had been everywhere, it seemed. When he learned of my eagerness to know more of life, we prowled the underworld to- gether and met adventurers and adven- turesses. Then came a night of tragedy in a place it was possible to reach by boat from San Francisco. My English friend and I were seated at a table in a darkened corner of a Chinese eating place and garden. Lan- terns danced in the evening breeze and high above in the fast-moving clouds was a will-o-the-wisp moon. The English- man had been telling me of his strange adventures. A tall woman, whose face was heavily rouged and who, I now re- called, had come in the place alone short- ly after we arrived, walked slowly to- ward our table and as she neared us, opened a handbag from which she with- drew an object. My companion started to arise and speak, but a solitary shot fired from the pistol in her hand cut short whatever words were on his lips. He gripped the back of a chair as he slid to the ground and, putting a hand to his throat, again he tried to utter some word but failed. In the excitement the woman knelt down, looked into his face and screamed, "God forgive me — it isn't George 1" He died as the police arrived. I was questoned by officers who found letters and papers from Frank showing that I not only was married, but that I was the wife of an imprisoned felon. There were the usual legal complica- tions that attend such tragedies, but let it be said that the woman who did the shooting did not make a mistake in the identity of the man. In due course, I FOLEYSSAW FILER. Nothing else like it in the world. Files hand, band and circular saws automatically with such mechanical accuracy that they cut faster and stay sharp longer. Better than the most expert hand filing. 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An automatic simple little can opening machine for the home. this revolutionary invention in only a few short months has banished old can openers from over 100,000 kitch- ens. And no wond^rl Imagine an amaving, lifetime device that holds the can and out* out the top leaving oan rim -lick, smooth and rienn. Just turn a crank, that a all. Approv -.1 by Good Housekeeping lost-. Modern I'riaailU, etc. Write today lor special introductory advertising: off.ir. CENTRAL STATES MFG., CO. Dept. L-2214. 4500 Mary Ate.. St Loois. Mo. was free to go where I chose. Disgrace had cast its mantel about the home of my aunt, whose name had been dragged into the mess because of me, and she promptly washed her hands of me. I had no ties to bind me to anyone in San Francisco, so, taking my children, we started for Chicago. THE tin-pan music of a hurdy-gurdy piano into the slot of which some spendthrift had dropped a nickel ground out the strains of "The Beale Street Blues." Beer, served by the hard-boiled but white-aproned gentry, flowed freeh- and legally. "Dizzy Dan" Davis dis- continued his effort to play footic-footic with me under the table and inquired whether I would dance. I said I would, some other time, insisting that to-night I wanted to talk about some matters that were on my mind. Two weeks had elapsed since my arri- val in Chicago from San Francisco, and I was now seated in the back room of a Chicago underworld dive, trying to work out some plan whereby I could liberate my husband. I had recovered my chil- dren, and now I was determind to have my husband. I thought it would be helpful to talk to Frank once more ; so, in a few days I entrained again for Stillwater, for my second meeting there with him. Like the first one, this meeting was heart-break- ing. I could see that Frank, though read- ing books in an effort to keep his mind occupied, was in the depths of despair. I learned he had been in the "Black Hole" on a diet of bread and water, chained to the walls by his wrist, for insubordination. With this mental pic- ture of him I returned to Chicago. MY experiences and acquaintances in the underworld of New York, plus my personal appearance, gave me a quick entree into the most select circles of Chicago's crookdoom. This was in the days prior to racketeers, beer barons and machine-gunning. Dizzy Dan, suave and dapper, sensing that I had sought his company only be- cause of some plan of my own in which 1 was greatly interested, announced his willingness to listen to my story. "So you want this guy 'sprung' (freed) eh?" he said. "Well, pretty baby, it's gonna be a tough job, and maybe a hard winter for the birds that try it. Still- water's a tough can to open and the 'screws' (guards) are harder'n a police- man's heart; those guys shoot first and then talk to the corpse. How do I know? Say, I was cooped up there myself, and cooped plenty. Them walls is higher'n Lake Michigan is deep, and about the only way a guy can break into that place is in the care and custody of a nice deputy sheriff. And the only way they ever break out is in a wooden uni- form with the prison chaplain walking behind 'em. But w'hat's a pretty moll like you doing with a guy that can't keep out of the Big House? And why are you so anxious to crack that can open for him?" "I love him, Dizzy Dan," I replied. "Aw, say, there's a lotta swell guys around Chicago you could love just as easy. Now, take a look at me " "Listen, Big Boy, we're talking busi- ness," I said to him sharply. "All right," he answered good-naturedly, "I'll give it a think over." I met him again the next night and with him were Paddy and Joe and "Ner- vous Nick." We talked about how we should proceed to get Frank out. Dizzy Dan urged his cohorts to help me "fig- ger it out" only to add that there wasn't much use asking his mob to do any thinking because "these guys is got wheels, whisky and women in the slot God intended to put brains in." It's a queer world, when one pauses to think it over. I was in the criminal un- derworld by night— the companion of murderers and thieves— and I romped with my two children by day in Lincoln Park and on the beaches and mingled with decent people. DOWN in the sewer of humanity, where "lust crossed passion and desire met hate and the red line of vice cut the chaos straight," I heard the planning of all manner of crimes and saw women drag in the pitiful dollars they earned in vice and hand the money to whiskey-sodden men. I had wanted to study life in the underworld. Here it was and the picture was not a pretty one. Dizzy Dan from day to day reported progress in the plan to set Frank free, and then came bad news. Frank might be freed, but he said "the job couldn't be staged for a dime less than twenty- five grand." Frank wasn't their pal, and the boys didn't feel like taking a chance for nothing. My bank balance was not sufficient to meet the requirements. I again went to Stillwater, thinking that Frank might have a "stake" depos- ited somewhere. We sat there in the au- dience room, palms down upon a flat table and an eighteen- inch partition be- tween us, but despite the eyes and ears of two guards I managed to tell Frank what I wanted him to know. He smiled wanly and said : "Nothing doing, baby. No chances like that. Go home and for- get me." I returned to Chicago, and begged Diz- zy Dan to stage the job for me. He was frank, if nothing else. "If I spring this guy, will you be my girl?" he asked. "Yes," I answered. "You're a liar," he said. "You love that bird too much." That was the last time I saw Dizzy Dan. He may be a Chicago beer baron to-day. In the weeks that followed I called on almost every high official in Minnesota. I talked to the prosecuting officers, the judge who had sentenced Frank, and the governor of the state. In the end I suc- ceeded in having his sentence reduced from forty-five to fifteen years. If I could do that on my first effort, what might I do a second time? Isn't it tragic that woman, the divine and wonderful mother of man, must have a part in crime and a place in the underworld? And, isn't it strange that a woman, plunging into the abysmal depths can sink to a lower, darker level more quickly than a man? Every criminal and every observer of underworld activity

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True Detective Mysteries 117 knows this to be true. The worst man can never be quite as bad as a bad woman. Why? So far in this story, I have done little, if any, moralizing. I've gone along on the theory that the stories point their own moral. But I'm going to preach a bit in this chapter, by telling of the case of Mary Smith, which, obviously, is not her right name. Mary was a thrill seeker like myself, but unlike myself she was willing to use narcotics or do a little shoplifting just to experience a sensation. I saw her the first time in a cafe on the lower East Side of New York. It was soon after my return from Chicago, where my plans to have my husband, Frank Silsby, freed from Stillwater Prison by force if neces- sary, had failed to materialize. I had been successful in having his sentence reduced from forty-five to fifteen years, and had returned to New York to await developments. The dull pain which had been with me since Frank's imprisonment hurt a bit less now and my spirit called for activ- ity; there had been enough of peace and quiet. After leasing a small apartment and hiring a middle-aged woman to care for my children, Stanley and Etheline, I de- cided to have a look at my old haunt* in New York's underworld, and ascertain if any of my old acquaintances remained. I soon learned that the death rate among them had been very high, due to gang fights and electrocutions. "Hello, Bill? Where's Blackie? Dead? Who got him? What, the chair? Poor Blackie! Waiter, another drink!" Songs, and a dance or two, and then I saw Mary. SHE was beautiful, small, dainty, and vivacious — the fluffy kind of a girl whose home in a small town would be overrun with nice, clean, calf-eyed boys every Sunday afternoon and evening. I imagined her to be the type that would, on occasion, resort to baby talk all of her life, but what a surprise she gave me. I felt sure she was out of her sphere, and I was determined to point out to this wilful girl the folly in which she was engaged and which now had me in its clutch. Turning to one Bill of my acquain- tance, I asked, "Who's the pretty child with that sour-looking stool-pigeon?" "Who? The moll over there with Red? That's Mary." "Is she Red's girl?" "Not exactly," said Bill, scratching his head. "It's kind of funny ; Red says he met her on a train. She's a small town runaway seeking a big thrill. She'll sure get it if she hangs around Red." "Bring her over to our table, will you, Bill?" "Not me, Freeda; Red's wild about her and he has his 'hardware' on him." I called a waiter and told him to pre- tend that someone wanted Red on the telephone. When Red got up to answer the summons, I had a chance to talk to Mary and introduced myself. I explained that my purpose was to warn her against the crowd she was in. She eyed me coldly and said, "Once upon a time a man wrote a nice little book in which he expressed the senti- ment that 'men are sore of the rub of the harness and long to be turned to pas- ture.' Do you know of any reason why that should not apply to our sex? I'm tired of harness, and I've just begun grazing in the pasture." I retorted rather icily that another man once had written that man's first duty was to obey the law and live an or- derly life and conform himself to the political community in which he belonged by birth and nature and that this, too, could very well be applied to our sex, as well. "Good enough," said Mary, "but mor- ality exists only so far as there is a will to be moral in thought and actions and there is none of that in evidence around here. Besides, what are you do- ing here?" I couldn't answer that one, and so I returned to my table, determined to mind my own business, but something hap- pened later, some plea or threat of Red's that sent Mary hurrying over to me. "May I go home with you?" she asked, and I took her gladly. She talked until near daylight; she had finished college in a western state and was engaged to marry. A few days before the wedding her fiance's automobile was wrecked and she learned later that in it were several Model Plane Building a Stepping Stone to Greatness DID you ever stop to think of the enormous part in the progress of aviation that a model airplane plays? Did you ever build a model plane and from it learn why a plane remains in the air? If not, why not start now? MODEL AIRPLANE NEWS, the only magazine of its kind, will bring home to you in simple language all that aviation means, both as a hobby and as an industry. Perhaps you have read about the Northrop "Flying Wing"? 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I'll also send you FREE complete line Rain-Prooft Made-to- Measure Caps in latest styles at low. profit sharing prices. J. W. Taylor. I'res. TAYLOR HAT * CAP MFRS., Desk E-30. Cincinnati, Ohio young men and women. A "final fling'' he called it, but she, piqued, broke the engagement and announced she would have a "fling" herself. She left the home of the aunt who had reared her and went to New York. She met the sleek and courteous Red on the train and, seeking thrills, had gone with him to numerous underworld places. Now, almost broke, she was nearing the time when she must make a decision — wire home for money or accept Red and Red was not the marrying kind. I told Mary of my own experiences and painted her future for her. I made it appear that I was full of remorse and I told her I would buy a railroad ticket if she promised to use it to go home. She said she'd think about it, and wc re- tired. I slept soundly and when I awoke next morning, Mary was gone, but there was a note pinned to her pillow thanking me and saying she had decided not to go home. For many days I haunted the dark places, seeking iier, but it was months before I glimpsed her again. She was now Red's "girl," painted and well clad — a gunman's moll. OTHER months passed and there was a murder uptown in connection with the robbery of a jewelry store, and the po- lice arrested Red. He claimed he was not involved and maybe he wasn't, but the jury believed the evidence against him and found him guilty. I sat in the court- room the morning the verdict was read, my arm around Mary. The solemn-faced judge pronounced a sentence of death and Red kissed Mary a good-bye that really was good-bye, for he was later electrocuted. Mary passed into the hands of other men and became a pitiful wreck of a girl, crazed at times by heroin, to which she had become addicted. She was sent to a narcotic institution in due course and later, when pronounced cured, was given into my custody. I tried to persuade her to go home, but she refused and for a second time dis- appeared. Some time later her body was taken from the East River. Let young men and women who have the opportunity to do useful work and live respectably think over this true story of Mary when they feel the urge to play with the most dangerous of all dynamite — the criminal underworld. I now approach the narration of an episode in my career in which for love of my imprisoned husband whose libera- tion I sought, I became Miss Pretty Spider seeking to entangle Mr. Fly. Not even Frank Silsby knows what I am about to relate. If I approach the nar- ration of my acts in this instance with fear and misgivings, it is because of my knowledge that there will be some who will point a finger of scorn at me. I merely ask those who do so whether they ever have had the experience of try- ing to live with the constant mental pic- ture of a loved one behind prison bars? The narrative begins with the receipt of a letter from Frank, who now had been in the Minnesota State Penitentiary for nearly three years. He wrote : "Dear Girl : Do not wait any longer. Divorce and forget me. I've given up all hope. I'm here until the gates swing open for another pine coffin, I guess. The days drag slowly, each alike. My only liberty is the liberty of thought, and I've reached the point where thinking has become unbearable. I applied for a parole recently and thought that perhaps because of my good conduct in prison it might be granted. When it was de- nied I lost my head. When I regained consciousness I was in solitary confine merit in the darkness of 'The Hole,' about which I have told you. I spent twenty- one days there, chained to the wall. Hell itself could inflict no greater pun- ishment, but I am still alive. I know that unless I get out soon, which is not pos- sible, that I shall become a stir-bug, and that is why I am urging you to for- give and forget. Write and tell me that you will. I have arranged to have this letter mailed on the 'outside' as you will know when you read it. I'll always love you. Frank." rPERROR seized me as I read that part L of the letter which told of my hus- band being fearful of becoming a "stir- bug," a criminal and underworld desig- nation for the most deadly enemy of so- ciety. I had seen many of these men who had become insane in prison on the sub- ject of the injustice of their incarcera- tion and who, when released, set out to avenge themselves on society. The chief manifestation of this form of insanity is a deep hatred of all representatives of the law and "stir-bugs" kill policemen without hesitation. The voices were whispering to me that now was the time to strike for Frank's freedom; that any time in the future would be too late. I made arrangements for the care of the children and went to Chicago, where I set out to find Dizzy Dan Davis, prepared this time to do whatever he asked in return for his help in obtaining Frank's liberty. So it was that once again I plunged into the Chi- cago underworld, but I didn't find Dizzy. Instead I met "Tommie Blacklock" (for reasons which the reader will later under- stand a fictitious name is used here), a col- lege men who had gone wrong. He was reputed to have connections with a gang of counterfeiters. Tommie listened to my story and then said, "You're a sweet, lovable little chicken." I looked at him in surprise and asked, "What has that to do with the matter I've been discussing?" "Everything," he replied, with a grin. "Are you getting fresh?" "Not a bit of it, I'm just trying to wake you up." "I don't understand," I replied. "Use your wim, wigar and witality," he said mockingly. "How, and on whom?" I inquired. "As to the 'how' — be yourself. As to the 'who' — well, on some nice political grandpa who carries the keys to this place of penal penance that's got Frank cooped up inside." "There isn't a prison to which at least one man on the outside doesn't carry a key that will unlock a door for some fel- low on the inside. Aren't you ashamed of yourself for letting Frank stay up there." "I'll do anything you say," I told Tom- mie.

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True Detective Mysteries 119 "Get back on your kiddie car," he con- tinued in his breezy and slangy man- ner, "and listen while I talk. To set Frank free the first move necessary is to find the gentleman who has in his jacket those keys of which I speak. The next thing is to have you meet him." "You mean that I am to compromise him?" "Yes, and make it so bad that when he thinks he's going to get out of it by writing a fat check, you'll tell him that you don't want money, that you just want to use the key to old Stillwater for a few seconds." I asked Tommie if he would help me if I decided to undertake this risky en- terprise. "You just take orders from me and do your stuff and in a couple of months your papa will be free and have his pockets full of money with which to buy mama some nice new furs," was his re- joinder. Then he said, "I've never worked Minneapolis, which is in our favor, bu* I ought to be smart enough to find the old gent with the keys, and to get ac- quainted with him. You go to the Hotel in Minneapolis and I'll call you in time for supper day after to-morrow." Forty-eight hours later I met Tommie in Minneapolis and he handed me a nicely engraved business card which set forth that he was Mr. William W. Wil- liamson, of New York, and that he sold road machinery. "I'm in business now," he explained. "I'm selling all kinds of road machinery for dragging, grading and concreting. It's an old racket and I know it so well I can make a speech before the county court. I've got the name of the chap we must deal with and I'm going to meet him to-morrow. I'll give him a buzz about machinery and in- vite him to dinner. If he falls for my line of chatter — and he will, you can bounce into the dining room at the right moment. I'll happen to see you and, of course, you're an old friend. We were once engaged to be married. I'll intro- .1 1 _ 1. _ u you and we shall see what will n." "Okay, Tommie," I said, determined that I would do anything to liberate my husband. A day passed, then another, with no word from Tommie, but he called on the third day. "It's going to be one hundred percent, Freeda," he began. "The stage is set and I'll cat supper with this dude downstairs at seven o'clock. I've got all the dope on him. He's fat, fifty and full of fun and he likes the ladies. Doll yourself up and put in an appearance about seven-fifteen." My heart pounded, but I was fully prepared to play the desperate role as- signed to me. AS I dressed to play my part in the plan that had been evolved to set my husband free from prison, I tried to convince myself that there was justifica- tion for what I was about to do, but I failed, for my conscience, making its first call in many months, was at the door of my heart. Whatever was good in me rebelled. The knowledge that the stage- was being set for a drama which would come to a climax only after I, playing the role of the adventuress, had put a lead- ing citizen in a compromising position, caused me to become as cold as a frog. I fought with my scruples as I con- tinued dressing. What manner of man would he be? Suppose he was a splendid gentleman, could I go through with the plot? But the voices whispered, "The end justifies the means. If you can trick an immoral man who, because of his political influence can obtain a parole for your husband, isn't it worth it?" The an- swer came clearly, "Yes, yes!" Con- science had lost its brief joust. My toilet finished, I left my hotel room and entered the elevator. The glances of many men told me my appearance was a success. The dining room, and more eyes. Where were Tommie and the victim- to-be ? "Table for one, lady?" "Yes," and spotting Tommie, "in that corner, please." Tommie, seeing me, jumped to his feet. "Freeda, well, well! Where have you been all these years?" "I married, William." "And your husband?" "He died two years ago." "Are you alone to-night?" "All alone." "Then have dinner with me — have din- ner with us, I mean — here, meet my good friend, the Colonel." Will this daring adventuress succeed in her efforts to entangle the Colonel and thereby open the gates of Stillwater Prison for Frank Silsby to walk out a free man? Or will the tables be turned —and will she find herself behind prison walls? Never before has a woman exposed crooked underworld methods as the for- mer Mrs. Silsby does. Don't miss the October True Detective Mysteries on all news stands September 15th. The Real Truth About Al Capone! Here's a masterpiece of fact which, according to authorities on Chicago's under- world, is the most truthful and thorough account ever written about the Brooklyn hoodlum who, in a few short years, became the big shot of gangland. 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120 True Detective Mysteries Airft Life Wonderful! By Mason, NO HE CAN'T PLAY GOLF WITH US, HE'S RUPTURED I POOR FELLOW ) WHEN YOUR BARRED FROM AN ACTIVE LIFE BECAUSE YOU'RE STRAPPED DOWN WITH A TRUSS YOU'RE SO GROUCHY SINCE YOU'VE BE EN WEARING THAT TRUSS -\WHY DOKTT YOU TRY SOMETHIN6 THAT WILL , RELIEVE YOU? f2) r~r -AND CONSTANT DISCOMFORT SOURS YOUR DISPOSITION POOR OLD JOE IS LOSING HIS GRIP SINCE HE'S BEEN RUPTURED -AND YOUR AILMENT BE 61 MS TO AFFECT YOUR WORK AND BUSINESS SUCCESS JOE-HERES WHAT I YOU OU6HT TO GET I S*= i THEN- SOME KIND FRIEND TIF>S YOU OFF A BOUT MAGIC DOT SYSTEM OH BOY ! NO MORE OLD FASHIONED TRUSSES FOR, ME - AND YOU'RE AMAZED TOF/ND /T SUPPORTS RUPTURE WITHOUT LEATHER PADS, LEG STRAPS OR HARD, GOUGING CUSHIONS ■St IS THIS A MIRACLE? 60OD-BYE TRUSS TORTURE -AND TWO MONTHS LATER YOU FEEL TWENTY YEARS YOU N6ER — AINT LIFE WONDERFUL* Button Rupture NewestWay End Truss Torture Now or Never SCIENCE now advises discarding steel springs, barbarous leg straps and other cruel harness that press against the rupture and thus may prevent nature from healing it. A new sensible method has been perfected after experience on more than 50,000 cases called Magic Dot System — entirely different from any other way. In- stead of cruelly "pressing", Magic Dot System "buttons" rupture. Hence many report they can now exercise and work in vigor- ous occupations in comfort and security. Many, too, report that the protrusion has disappeared. FREE SAMPLE departure." Users report they have forgotten they are wearing it. But don't buy it yet. Send Coupon For Free Sample And 10-Day Trial Offer By a special arrangement you can now have the Efficiency Model sent to your home on 10- Day Trial. The coupon below will bring full details of this offer, and will also bring you a free sample of its amazing flesh-soft material. Act now for quick relief. Write your name and address on the coupon and mail it today. Rupture Help Breathes Air With this 1 /25th oz. device is a new kind of pad, air-porous and washable. It actually breathes air and does not slip off the rupture — a feature that many say is lacking in the ordinary appliance. In fact, Magic Dot System is so superior and different that it is praised by physicians as "an entirely new New Science Institute 3976 Clay St., Steubenville, Ohio New Science Institute, 3976 Cay St.. Steubenville, Ohio"" 1 I Please send me a free sample of the Airtex material that . "breathes". Also full details of your offer on the Efficiency I Model of 10-l)ays' Trial by actual wear. This request does I not obligate me in any way. | Name | Address I City State

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THIS MAN'S IDEA IS A COD' SEND TO FOLKS WHO NEED MONEY By John Edwards This is a true story. I know this man personally. I know of the folks he has helped. I know of widows with children to support who thank him for their incomes. I know of men who lost their jobs but are now making more money than ever before. 1 can tell you of men and women who live bet- ter because of the opportu- nity this man gives them to add to their incomes. Yes, I know of literally thousands of folks to whom this man's idea of doing business is a God- send. HOW MUCH DO YOU NEED? Perhaps you need money. Maybe you want a few extra dollars a week. Or maybe you want steady, year-round work. Whichever it is, I know you will be interested in the wonderful opportunity this man has to offer you. He is President of a large million-dollar manufac- turing company. He does business in every section of the country — in your very locality. He started a few years ago with an idea. It was this. He said, "I will share the profits of my business with the folks who help me." He prospered. His business became most tremendously successful. And today it is still growing. Right now he needs 300 men and women in all parts of the country. He needs someone in your section to help handle increased business. To everyone who comes witli him he guarantees a fair, square deal and an amazing op- portunity to make money in pleasant dignified work. He tells you the few things you need to do in simple, plain language. All you need to do is say you are willing to give it a trial. I'll be surprised if you don't make S25 to S35 a week for a few hours of your time either in the daytime or evenings. If you want to, you can stay on with him permanently either spare time or full time. Your earnings will be in proportion to the time you can devote. I know of other people who make anywhere from S40 to SI 00 in a week. YOUR INCOME CAN START AT ONCE I sincerely ask you to fill out and mail the coupon. You don't obligate yourself or risk anything. You will receive complete instructions by mail. You can start right away and have the money you need coming in. It will certainly pay you to give this a trial. By all means, get the details. Just put your name and address on the coupon. Mail it to- il. IV ALBERT MILLS, President, 5914 Monmouth Avenue, Cincinnati, Ohio Yes, I want to make money. Without cost or obligation, send me full details of the wonderful opportunity now open in my locality. WILL $40 A WEEK w HELP YOU? You don't have to invest any capital. He has tak- en care of that. You don't need any experience. (c) A. P. Co. (Print or Write Plainly;

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D A®WD(§[§ B Wlh®0Q tf®nnD/pfl®(Ql ft® ®\y®iP"S[fod]w[]qj® Be moderate— be moderate in all things, even in smoking. Avoid that future shadow • by avoiding over-indulgence, if you would maintain that modern, ever-youth- ful figure. "Reach for a lucky instead." Lucky Strike/ the finest Cigarette you ever smoked, made of the finest tobacco — The Cream of the Crop— "IT'S TOASTED." Lucky Strike has an extra, secret heat- ing process. Everyone knows that heat puri- fies and so 20,679 physicians say that Luckies are less irritating to your throat. ( arettes It's toasted Your Throat Protection — against irritation — against cough We do not say smoking Luckies reduces flesh. We do say when tempted to over-indulge, "Reach for a Lucky instead.'