Chapter VI: Preface (6)

As a matter of course, after these people had been arrested and had had various hearings in the courts of Los Angeles while they were fighting extradition to Arizona, the officers of this country, as well as of Mexico, had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with their faces and their methods, and, therefore, before they were extradited from Los Angeles, many of the police officers and others in that city and all along the Mexican border would tell people all about Magon and his followers, and have been known to say that they knew all about them and their methods; that their capture had been a very easy proposition, and that had I not succeeded in capturing them just when I did that they were about to have made the capture themselves, when as a matter of fact these officers did not have the slightest idea as to the whereabouts of this party, nor were any of these people known to any of the officers on either side of the line, nor their methods, until after the capture and the subsequent development in the courts.

A DALLAS MURDER AVENGED.

PROMPT ARREST AND CONVICTION OF THE MURDERER AND SUICIDE OF THE INSTIGATOR OF THE CRIME WHILE AWAITING TRIAL.

Early in the '90s, I received a telegram from James Arnold, Chief of Police of Dallas, Texas, and Ben Cabel, County Sheriff of Dallas, requesting me to come to Dallas immediately for consultation in a murder case. Knowing both gentlemen well, having done business with them before, I answered that I would start for Dallas the following day, which I did.

I arrived in Dallas late on Wednesday evening. I found Chief Arnold and Sheriff Cabel waiting for me at the depot. We went to my hotel immediately where we could have a quiet conference. For obvious reasons I will not give the true names of the principals connected with this dastardly crime, but will state the actual facts which led to the arrest and conviction of the murderer, and to the suicide of the real principal.

The Chief and Sheriff told me the nature of the case for which I had been summoned. They said that on Sunday night, preceding, a prominent citizen of Dallas (whom I will call Temple) had boarded a heavily loaded electric car, downtown, in front of one of the principal churches, for his home. The car had at least forty or fifty passengers, most of whom were returning home from the evening services, which Temple had attended. Temple lived on the outer edge of the city in the better residence portion. When the car reached his home he got off and started towards his front gate. There were a number of shade trees in front of his home; the street at this point was well lighted by arc lights, one of which was suspended above the point where he had left the car. As he stepped from the street to the edge of the side-walk, a colored man, who had been concealed behind a shade tree, sprang out and was seen by a number of passengers who were on the rear end of the car to strike Temple a powerful blow on the head with something like a baseball bat. After striking the blow, the negro dropped his weapon and his hat, and fled into an alley, disappearing in the darkness. The people who had witnessed the assault, hastened to Temple, who lay unconscious on the sidewalk, picked him up and carried him into his house. Doctors were summoned, and found that Temple's head had been split from the crown to the level of the eyes. He was still breathing, but only lived a few moments, never regaining consciousness. The Chief and Sheriff were sent for and found that the weapon was a piece of 11/2-inch gas pipe, near four feet long. The blow was so powerful that it bent the pipe, midway, to almost an L-shape. They also found the hat, which the murderer dropped, to be a new, cheap, broad-brimmed, black hat and was of unusually large size. It was too large for any ordinary sized head and indicated to me that it was probably too large for the man who had worn it, and for that reason had fallen off with the first violent move the wearer had made. The witnesses to the crime had all had a plain view of the slayer, and described him as a young negro, very black, about five feet eight inches tall, well built, and apparently well dressed. They all agreed that he had the features of a white man, thin lips, straight nose and regular features. In fact, a number believed him to be a white man who had blackened his face.

During our conference I learned that Temple had a brother, who was a prominent physician, and who lived in Springfield, Illinois. He had been sent for by his sister-in-law, arriving in Dallas on Tuesday. The doctor was anxious to have his brother's assassin brought to justice, if possible, and had asked them to recommend a detective to him for that purpose, so they had wired me to come on to Dallas. It was midnight by this time, and I was tired. After making an appointment with Sheriff Cabel to accompany him to the scene of the murder the next morning, I retired.

Next morning Chief Arnold, Sheriff Cabel and I went over the ground. I examined the hat and the piece of pipe, which the murderer had used, and I noticed that this pipe was new and had been cut from the end of a long joint. It was evident to me that it had been cut to the proper length so that he (the assassin) could conceal it in carrying it to the place of the murder. I then began my investigations.

There was a large colony of negroes in Dallas, as in other Texas towns, but no one seemed to know a colored man who had a white man's features. All the witnesses agreed that they had never seen any one who looked like the murderer before. It was, of course, necessary for me to discover the motive for the murder, since in all crimes of this character there is a motive.

I found that Mr. Temple had been superintendent of a Sunday School. He was also in the wholesale lumber business, and was associated with two parties in the business. One of them I will call Smith and the other Perry. When the partnership had been formed they agreed to take out a ten thousand dollar life insurance policy on each other's life, and to carry these policies on the company funds. I learned that Temple had incurred the enmity of a number of citizens; among them was a brother-in-law, who at one time had been heard to threaten his life. Temple had had some litigation with a saw-mill proprietor who lived in east Texas. This litigation involved about fifty thousand dollars, and had been in court for several years. Finally a decision had been rendered in favor of Temple, a short time prior to his murder. The saw-mill proprietor of east Texas had the reputation of being a good citizen, honorable and reliable in business, but had killed two or more people, for which he had been exonerated by the courts. From the above the reader can understand that I had already discovered what might prove to be several "motives" for the crime.

At noon on the second day after my arrival at Dallas, I had eaten my dinner and walked out of the Grand Windsor Hotel, where I was stopping, to the corner in front of the hotel, where I stopped for a moment, as I was undecided whether to go up or down the street first, there being people in both directions whom I wished to see. It was raining. There was a fine-looking young woman coming across the street towards me. As she approached I noticed that she was a colored girl, but about as white as myself. Her hair was kinky and of a deep reddish color. Her eyes were large and blue. She was tall, well dressed, but had large brown freckles about the size of a little finger nail. Her carriage was graceful, and were it not for the freckles and kinky hair she would have been called a beauty. Her graceful movements attracted my attention, and as I looked at her a hand was laid on my shoulder. On looking around I beheld Doctor Temple. He said in an undertone, "What do you think of her?"

I said, "She is a freak of nature."

He answered, "Yes, she is a freak of nature. I noticed her yesterday in that building where my brother had his office. She appeared to be having an earnest conversation with the janitor." After a few other remarks the doctor left me and I concluded to go and see a party that I thought could give me some information. I could not get that colored girl out of my mind, and before I had gone a block I decided that I would go and find out who she was, and what her business was with the janitor of the building where the lumberman had had his office. I knew that Sheriff Cabel would know who this girl was, as he knew every one in Dallas. I turned around and went back to the court house, where I found the sheriff and said, "Sheriff, I saw a colored girl near the hotel a short time ago (here I described her) and I would like to know who she is and something about her."

The sheriff said, "That girl is known as Liza Johnson. You know Emma Johnson. She's the daughter of an old colored woman who lived for many years with Emma Johnson. Her mother died when she was a child and Emma raised her like her own daughter. She's a good girl and Emma thinks a great deal of her; Emma can tell you all about her, and I will take you over to Emma's if you want me to." This he did.

We called on Miss Johnson, and the sheriff introduced me, and told her I was a friend of his, asking her to treat me accordingly, to which she assented.

I said, "I want to know something about your maid, Liza. I understand that she has been seen in an office building over on Commerce St. and I am anxious to learn what business took her to that building."

She replied, "Why, I don't really know, but I reckon I can find out. About a month ago the negroes here in Dallas had a picnic and Liza went to that picnic. She met a young negro there and he brought her home. I saw him, and he was good looking, well dressed, and appeared to be fairly well educated. He was black as ink though, but had good features, like those of a white man. He had thin lips, small mouth and a straight nose. If he had been a white man he'd have been good looking." This was an exact description of the slayer of Mr. Temple. Continuing, she said, "He came here from some place down in the state. He is a stranger here and don't mix with the other colored people. He's acting as a sort of body-servant to his master, who has an office in that building on Commerce St."

I then asked, "What is his name?"

She replied, "His first name is John, and his last name is the same as his master's. I can't recall it."

"Was his master's name Perry?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered, "That's it, John Perry. But John is not in town now. He left town last Monday. He came over and saw Liza, and told her he was going to San Antonio to attend the races there this week. He writes her every day, though, and she got a letter from him this morning."

I asked her if she could let me see the letter without Liza's knowledge. She said, "Oh, yes, I'll send Liza over to the drug store on an errand and I can get it then before she returns."

She sent Liza to the drug store, and got the letter and gave it to me. It was in the envelope and had been mailed the day before at San An--the balance of the word not appearing, because the mailing stamp had not touched the paper. I believe it to be San Antonio, since he was supposed to be there.

Upon receiving this information I asked Miss Johnson to treat my visit in confidence, which she promised to do. I then located a plumbing shop where I found the proprietor and his brother, about eighteen years of age, who at once recognized the piece of pipe, which he said he had cut from a large joint for a negro the Friday before the murder. He described the negro fully as Miss Johnson and others had done, and said he could identify him any place on sight. I immediately arranged with the elder plumber for his brother to accompany me to San Antonio at my expense, with the understanding that I was to pay him for his time. The boy put on his best clothes and we left Dallas that night for San Antonio, arriving there next morning. We went to the Menger Hotel, and while at breakfast the hotel clerk brought me a telegram from Sheriff Cabel, of Dallas, reading as follows:

"Go to San Angelo, Texas, at once."

Before leaving Dallas I had arranged with the sheriff and Miss Johnson to examine all letters received by Liza. On the morning of my arrival at San Antonio Liza received a letter from the San Angelo postoffice with the postmark plainly stamped upon it. I took the first train for San Angelo, which left that evening. We arrived at San Angelo next morning, Sunday.

San Angelo was, at the time, a small cattle shipping town, and within an hour after our arrival I learned that the negro, John Perry, had left San Angelo on Saturday evening, with a ticket to Lampasas, Texas. I also learned that I could not leave for Lampasas until Sunday evening, as there was only one daily train each day. Sunday evening we left for Lampasas, where we arrived about 8:00 a. m. Monday morning. Lampasas was the county seat and it was court week. The town was filled to overflowing by reason of the court. The depot was about one-half mile from the postoffice in the center of the city. Getting off the train the boy and myself walked over to the hotel, and as we neared the postoffice we noticed a large crowd around it evidently waiting for mail. The boy from Dallas called my attention to a colored man, who was wearing a light Fedora hat, with a blue serge suit, and was well dressed. He stood away from the crowd near the postoffice, evidently waiting for mail. The boy pointed to him and said, "That's the nigger that I sold that piece of pipe to."

We were in front of the store when he recognized John Perry, whom it proved to be. I told the boy to stay right there until I had captured the negro. He could then quietly follow us to the jail unobserved. I went over near the place where the negro stood and concluded that I would wait until he had received mail, which he was evidently expecting. In a few moments the negroes formed a line to the window where they received their mail. In a short time John reached the window and received a letter. He left the line and walked around the corner of the building, opened the letter and took from it a couple of bank notes, hastily placed them in his vest pocket and proceeded to read the letter, which was written in lead pencil. Meanwhile, I had gotten within reach of him without being noticed by him or any one else, when I suddenly threw a 41-calibre Colt revolver into his face, commanding him to throw up his hands. To my surprise he suddenly plunged his hand inside the waist of his trousers and attempted to draw a nine-inch barrel, 45-calibre Colts, concealed under his vest. Before he could draw it I seized his hand and his revolver and commanded him in forcible tone to desist. The moment I leveled my revolver on him the crowd's attention was attracted. One of them, who was standing very close, was about six feet tall, and really the thinnest looking individual I had ever seen. He wore a hat with a very wide brim, making him look much thinner. He promptly threw a 45 Colt on both of us, and with a voice as shrill as a wild goose, yelled, "Heah, heah, I am the sheriff of this county and I command peace."

To which I replied, "Mr. Sheriff, take hold of this negro. I'm an officer from Dallas and have arrested him for murdering a white man there."

The sheriff grabbed one side and I the other, and we started for the jail, nearby. The crowd hearing that I had arrested him for the murder of a white man, talked of lynching, but the sheriff, whom they knew and respected, told them that the prisoner should be dealt with by law, and that he intended to protect him. We took him to jail, where I searched him. I took from him the letter which he had just received, and which he tried to tear in pieces. I also took the two bank notes which he had received in the letter. They proved to be two treasury notes. I placed the fragments of the letter together, which had been mailed from Dallas and which read about as follows:

"I enclose you one hundred dollars, on receipt of which you must go quietly and at once to the City of Mexico. I will join you there. Detectives are on to us, and you must not let them catch you. It would be fatal." (Signed) John Perry.

I took everything of a metallic nature from him, and had the sheriff lock him up in a cell, as I knew he would be compelled to remain in Lampasas for twenty-four hours, until we could get a train for Dallas.

By the time he was searched and locked up it was nearly the dinner hour, and I instructed the sheriff to feed the prisoner, but not to allow him a knife or any article with which he could do himself bodily harm. I explained to him that it was very important that I get the prisoner back to Dallas safely, as we wanted to get a statement from him as to why he had killed Temple.

I had just gone into the dining room to get something to eat, when a deputy sheriff rushed into the room and called my name, to which I answered. He said excitedly, "Come to the jail at once. That nigger of yours has cut his damned head nearly off."

The hotel was just opposite the jail and it took only a short time to get there. I found the jailor, on discovering what the prisoner had done, had pulled him out of the cell into the corridor, where he was lying on the iron floor, with his throat cut almost from ear to ear. In the cutting he had not severed the jugular vein, but had cut the wind pipe. It was a tremendous gash. He could breathe fairly well, and could speak, but with difficulty.

Meanwhile the sheriff had summoned an old doctor, who arrived at the jail shortly. He looked at the prisoner and said, "Why, that nigger will die. I can't do a thing for him," and he positively refused to do anything. I pleaded with him to sew up the wound and save the life, as it was of great importance to the people of Dallas. It was all in vain. We finally succeeded in getting a young doctor of the town, who came and tenderly dressed the wound, and stated that with proper care the negro would live. I assisted the doctor all that I could, and stayed there with him from that time until we left Lampasas the next morning. I had my meals brought to the jail to me.

About the middle of the afternoon, after the wound was dressed, Perry began to feel better, and I presume, by reason of my kind treatment of him he told me that his young master, John Perry, had induced him to come to Dallas for the purpose of killing his partner, Mr. Temple; that he (his master) had paid his expenses and had been liberal in furnishing him with spending money, also that he was to give him five hundred dollars after he had killed Temple. He said he did not want to do it, and tried to get out of it after he had reached Dallas, but his master threatened to kill him unless he did so. He said he killed Temple because he feared his master would kill him. He said that on the Sunday night previous to the murder he was about to pounce upon another man of Temple's congregation. This man resembled Temple so much that he was about to kill him for Temple, and would have done so but for the fact that his master was in hiding across the street and rushed out and prevented his making a mistake. He also confessed that he had received a telegram on the day that he had left San Angelo, telling him to go to Lampasas and call at the post-office for a letter, which was the letter mentioned above.

Whereupon, I wrote a telegram to Sheriff Cabel, which read as follows: "Negro has cut his throat and is dying. Give this message to the newspapers and have them get out an extra at once, without fail. Will wire you explanation two hours later."

I sent this message to the telegraph office by the plumber boy.

After I had decided to leave Dallas to arrest Perry, I wired a code message to one of my operatives, D. F. Harbaugh, to come to Dallas on the first train and call for a letter of instructions that I left for him at my hotel. This letter was to the effect that he should carefully shadow the white man, John Perry, as soon as he arrived at Dallas, and keep him under continuous surveillance until further orders.

Harbaugh arrived at Dallas on Saturday and began shadowing Perry according to instructions. As soon as Cabel received my first message he called up the newspapers and they got out an extra at once. The white John Perry got one of the first extras. He read the account of the colored man having killed himself, and at once left his office and started for his lodgings, about a mile away. On his way he stopped at every saloon en route (they numbered thirteen in all) and took a large drink at each place. By the time he reached home he had taken at least thirteen drinks.

Two hours after sending the first message, I sent Sheriff Cabel a second one, which read as follows:

"Negro doing well; will recover. Leave here on morning train for Dallas. Treat this confidentially and meet me at Temple tomorrow morning. Arrest John Perry on charge of complicity in Temple murder. Have full confession of negro which justifies this action."

Sheriff Cabel did as directed, and met me at Temple the following morning, where we had to change cars for Dallas. We arrived in Dallas about 8:00 P. M. Tuesday, and during the long journey from Lampasas to Dallas the jolting of the cars, etc., caused the negro's wound to become inflamed, and he was suffering greatly when we reached Dallas. The sheriff had telegraphed ahead for a physician to await us at the jail. The negro was placed on a cot in the corridor where the doctor could redress his wound. While the doctor was so engaged the master, John Perry, who was a prisoner in one of the cells on the upper floor of the jail, could plainly see all that was going on below. He recognized the negro and immediately attempted to kill himself by butting his head against the steel bars of his cell. The sheriff and his assistants and myself were attracted by the actions of the white man, and at once rushed to the cell. Here we found that the white prisoner had almost beaten out his brains against the bars of his cell. Medical aid was called and a guard placed inside the cell with him to prevent any further personal violence.

The following day the papers were full of what had occurred, and owing to the high standing of Perry, the jail was flooded with sympathizers, among whom were many leading citizens. Telegrams from all parts of the state, from influential people, poured in, tendering the prisoner all sorts of aid, financially and otherwise. An able counsel volunteered to defend him, and society ladies began to send him luncheons and delicacies of all kinds.

The prisoner had offered as an excuse for trying to commit suicide that he felt so humiliated by being charged with murdering his partner. He declared that he was innocent and that he would be exonerated in court; which I have no doubt he would, as the main proof against him was the testimony of a negro, which does not usually go very far in court in the south when it cannot be strongly corroborated.

The colored prisoner continued to improve, and the white man seemed to get along nicely for about five days, when a young society woman sent him a luncheon, in which was a cut glass plate containing delicacies. While he was eating this lunch, and the guard was at the far end of the cell Perry suddenly struck the plate on the steel floor of the cell, breaking it into pieces. He picked up a large, triangular-shaped piece of glass, with edges as sharp as a razor, and plunged it into his throat, at the same time giving the piece of glass a twist, which severed the jugular vein, causing his death in a few minutes. Thus ended the existence of the white John Perry.

The colored man pleaded guilty at his trial, and was sentenced to the state prison for life, where, I presume, he is at the present time.

I omitted to state that after I had searched the colored John Perry at Lampasas, and had instructed the sheriff and jailor not to allow him to have a knife or anything of the kind with his meal, Perry had called the jailor and told him that he had gotten a sliver in his finger, and asked the jailor to lend him his knife to remove the sliver. The old jailor, having evidently forgotten my instructions, gave the prisoner his pocket knife, through the bars. As he stepped back from the bars Perry opened the knife and cut his throat before the jailor could get into the cell to prevent it. The skin on that darky's neck was as thick as ordinary sole leather and very tough. I held him while the doctor sewed up the wound, which was a hard job, but performed very nicely.

I arrived in Dallas on Wednesday night, made the foregoing investigation, located and arrested Perry, caused the arrest of the white John Perry, left Dallas and returned to St. Louis, arriving there on Friday evening of the following week, after having traveled nearly four thousand miles, which I believe to be the quickest time ever made in working up a case and capturing the guilty parties in a crime of this magnitude.

I can say that I have never doubted but that it was a case of remorse that caused the white John Perry to commit suicide, and not humiliation.

THE TOUGHEST OF TOUGH TOWNS.

EAST ST. LOUIS IN THE EARLY EIGHTY'S--HOW I HELPED TO REFORM THE MUNICIPALITY--A SPECTACULAR RAID ON "SURE THING" GAMES AND "BIG MITT" JOINTS.

Dodge City, Kansas, and Corinne, Utah, have places in history for being tough towns in their infancy, but take it from me, Mr. Reader, that neither of these much-advertised burgs, in their palmiest days, were "in the running" for toughness with East St. Louis during the early '80s. The average St. Louisan, in those days, was entirely different in his make-up from the denizens of the cities further west, especially if he was in politics, his nature being more bloodthirsty than the bandit, or tough cowboy or buffalo skinner, who made the first named towns famous. It was a different sort of crookedness in East St. Louis. The little municipality was in the hands of crooks of the lowest degree. There was no crime to which they would not resort to gain a point of advantage over a rival. In other words, any crime was regarded as conventional, just so the man who committed it got the "mazuma." The principal city offices were held by gamblers and "sure-thing" men. The city councilmen were nearly all saloon or dive keepers, while the police department was recognized as the grandest collection of thugs, crooks and "strong-armers" that had ever been assembled together within the borders of one town. The fact that these alleged minions of the law were recognized as suspicious characters by the officers of other cities, and were shadowed whenever found out of their own bailiwick seemed to be regarded as a good point in their favor by those responsible for their being--the mayor and Board of Aldermen. Any crook, big or little, if he had the price for protection, could ply his chosen profession on the main streets of the town without molestation on the part of those sworn to enforce the law. A "peterman" (safe blower) was held in higher esteem over there in those days than a priest, a "porch-climber" regarded as an artist, and the monte and confidence men placed in the same class as are college professors and clergymen in other cities, while the men who received the bribes were all looked upon as good fellows and smart, wide-awake business men.

Neither were the merchants and tradesmen all straight in those days. It has been said of some of them that they would refuse to take money in exchange for their wares when there was any suspicion in their minds that the money had been earned honestly. Crooks of all classes congregated there, because they knew they were safe from arrest. If they were broke on their arrival, after being chased out of another town, they knew there would be no trouble in getting some dive-keeper or proprietor of a fence to "go to the front" for them at police headquarters and square things so they could "go to work." It was everyday talk that aldermen had "big mitt" men and "strong-armers" out working on percentage.

Cartoon published in a St. Louis newspaper at the time of the East St. Louis gambling raid.]

As in all such places, gambling flourished--that is, gambling of the crooked kind. The whirr of the roulette ball and the rattle of the dice in the "bird cage" could be heard on the street, when not drowned out by the voices of the cappers for "the old army game" (chuck-a-luck) or the paddle wheels or sweat board. Nobody had a chance to win, however, except the operators of the games, as they were all crooked.

Many of the merchants openly displayed in their shop windows the tools and devices used by the various "professions." The bully could buy brass knucks with which to knock the block off of his adversary; the hold-up man a sand bag to stun his victim, while he helped himself to his valuables; the card sharper could buy his "strippers" "bug" or "harness," while the safe blower could find any sort of "jimmy" or any quantity of "soup" he desired, or had the money to pay for. Then there were "fences" where a thief might dispose of anything of value he might "find" on his excursions to the neighboring towns, which were not infrequent. The return of one of these marauding parties from a tour was always followed by an orgy, at which wine flowed freely, and the ill-gotten money tossed about with a lavish hand.

East St. Louis was then a wide-open town, with the accent on the words "wide" and "open."

Finally the good people of the town awoke to their responsibilities, as they always do in cases of this kind. Headed by an ex-mayor, John B. Bowman, editor of a newspaper, a fight was begun on the crooked officials. And it was a fight, a bitter one. A number of aldermen who had been under suspicion of being partially responsible for the bad state of affairs, were beaten for re-election, and an attempt was made to get possession of the city funds in the city treasury, which was in the hands of Thos. J. Canty, gang city clerk, who had usurped the office of treasurer. After much delay, he having resorted to the courts to prevent his being ousted, he was finally ordered to turn over the funds to the treasurer on the morning of May 21, 1884. The night before the date set for the transfer, the vault in the City Hall, in which Canty claimed to have kept the funds, was robbed, an entrance having been effected by digging a hole through the brick wall which enclosed the safe.

A few months before the robbery, Mike Coleman, alias Charlie Clark, a noted "peterman" of that city, had come down to St. Louis from Jefferson City, where he had been doing time for a safe-blowing job in Monroe County, Missouri. I had known Coleman for years and had been instrumental in "settling" him on more than one occasion. He called upon me at my office, which, at that time, was in the Allen Building, Broadway and Market Streets. "I am through with crime, Mr. Furlong," he said, "and I have secured a good job with the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company as a cutter, at a salary which will permit me to take care of my wife and child, and I want to know if you will allow me to live in St. Louis--that is, not tip me off to the St. Louis police, none of whom know me."

I told him I was truly glad to hear of his reformation, and that I would not tell any one of his presence here as long as he continued to work and behave himself. He seemed pleased to hear this, and told me he would not only live straight in the future, but would "put me next" to any one he knew to be crooked should they attempt to do any work in St. Louis. He further voluntarily promised that he would report to me at my office every Saturday afternoon. I then introduced him to my chief clerk, Edward Dawson, and told him to report to Mr. Dawson in case I did not happen to be in the office when he called.

We shook hands and he took his departure. He reported to the office every Saturday promptly for about three months, at which time I was called south on a train robbery case, and was absent from St. Louis for several weeks. During my absence an epidemic of safe robberies occurred in St. Louis. As many as three "boxes" were opened in a single night. One night the "petermen" would operate in north or south St. Louis, the next night they would be down in the business district, or out in the west end. The work of the gang caused a panic at police headquarters. Chief Harrigan had his men working night and day, and the detective force was augmented by patrolmen in plain clothes, but still the bursting of "boxes" continued nightly. During my absence from the city I was enabled to get the St. Louis papers once in a while. These papers were full of the accounts of the robberies. From the description in the papers of the way the work had been done, I was satisfied that Coleman was either doing the work or directing it. Nearly all of the places robbed had been entered from above. I knew this skylight stunt was one of Coleman's specialties. He never broke a door or forced a window to get to a box. His method was to reach a fire escape and make his way to the roof of a building. He would then descend to the floor on which the safe was located, and after detecting and fixing a side or back door, through which the "get-away" was to be made in case of an interruption on the part of a watchman or officer on the beat, would go to work.

I returned to St. Louis one night, and in discussing the robberies with Mr. Dawson, I learned that Coleman had not reported at the office during my absence. The next morning I called on the foreman of the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company, by whom Coleman had been employed, and who was the only man in St. Louis besides Dawson and myself who knew the ex-convict's record. The foreman told me that Mike had left his position about a month before, without making any explanation. He had simply drawn his week's wages and had failed to show up again. On learning these facts, I was more than ever convinced that Coleman had gone wrong again. I was very busy in my office that day looking after matters that had accumulated during my absence, and did not leave for home until after 5:30 P. M. On my way to the car I passed a doorway, in which was standing a man whom I recognized as Pat Lawler, the best detective on the city force, and with whom I was on very friendly terms. On approaching Lawler I found him to be asleep. After I had awakened him he told me he and his partner and several other men in the department had been on continuous duty for over 36 hours, trying to get a "line" on the men who were "blowing up the town" as he expressed it. He then told me that the men in the department were still at sea, having no clue as to who was doing the work. "I am going to bed and get some rest, at any rate," said Lawler, "and I do not care what 'the big finger' (Chief of Police) says about it."

I then told Lawler I believed I knew who was doing the work, or at least directing it, and told him that if he and his partner would meet me at Twelfth and Olive Streets at 5:30 the next morning I would help them find the man I suspected. After telling me that he and his partner would be at the rendezvous at the appointed time, Lawler and I parted company.

Coleman, under the alias of Charlie Clark, was living at that time on the second floor of a house fronting on Biddle Street, between Ninth and Tenth Streets. The entrance to this flat was made from the alley in the rear. I knew Coleman's wife, or the woman he claimed to be his wife. She had formerly been the wife of Tom Gosling, a noted crook, who was at that time in the Missouri penitentiary, doing a ten year stretch. Her first name was Annie, and she had a son about 6 or 7 years of age.

Daring burglar and "peterman" employed to blow the City Hall vault, East St. Louis.]

Lawler and his partner were at the corner of Twelfth and Olive Streets promptly at 5:30 the next morning, according to appointment. I then told them all about Coleman, and we proceeded to the latter's flat. On reaching the head of the stairway, I knocked at the door. Mrs. Coleman, garbed only in a night robe, came to the door and opened it a few inches. I stuck my foot in the door to keep her from closing it.

"I want to see Charlie," I explained to her.

"He is not here, Mr. Furlong," she replied, after recognizing me and permitting us to enter. "I do not know where he is," she continued. She then told me that Charlie had gone to drinking and had quit his job about a week before, and she did not know where he was or what he was doing. I knew she was not telling me the truth, as Charlie had quit his job at least a month previous, and did not drink at all. In fact, he never had been known to drink to excess. While we were talking I noticed a large-sized picture of Coleman hanging on the wall. This I told the officers to take, and commanded her to dress.

"What are you going to do, Mr. Furlong?" she asked.

"I am going to take you down to police headquarters for lying to me," I replied.

Both she and her boy began to cry and make a scene, but she finally began dressing. While this was going on I heard a slight noise in the front room.

"Who is in there?" I asked, jumping to the door.

"A couple of friends of Charlie's from Hannibal," she replied.

Lawler and I entered this room and found a couple of men in bed. After placing them under arrest we recognized them as a couple of crooks, both of whom were heavily armed. Under the bed was a gunny sack, which, on investigation, we found to contain a safe-blowing outfit, including a sectional jimmy, a pair of "come-a-longs" (tool used to pull the knob or "ears" off of a safe), a new hammer and other tools. These men had evidently returned to the room late and being tired threw the sack under the bed and went to sleep.

Just as we were about to take our departure from the room with the prisoners a mail carrier arrived with a letter for Mrs. Clark. I took charge of the letter and saw it had been mailed at Springfield, Mo. I handed it to Mrs. Clark and she opened it and read its contents. The letter was from her husband, and stated he was in Springfield, and for her to answer it at once as he was only going to remain in Springfield a couple of days, and he wanted to hear from her before leaving there. We then took our prisoners, including Mrs. Clark, to the Four Courts. Some small pictures of Clark were taken from the large one we had found in his home, and Chief of Detectives Burke, armed with one of these pictures, left at once for Springfield to try and effect his capture. In this Burke was successful, as Clark appeared at the post-office to get his mail and was recognized and placed under arrest. Clark was brought back to St. Louis. He would not talk to the St. Louis officers, although the latter used every art known to them to make the prisoner "cough up." Clark told Chief of Police Harrigan he knew nothing that would do them any good, but that he had some information that was very valuable for me, and asked that I be called. At that time the relations between the chief and myself were some strained, to express it mildly, but the Chief finally sent for me. "This thief has some information for you," said Harrigan to me on my arrival at his office. "I do not believe he is much of a thief, either, as I know all the good ones," continued the chief. After shaking hands with Clark he told me the city officers could not connect him with any of the jobs pulled off here, as he had nothing to do with them, but declined to talk further in the presence of the chief, we being in the latter's office at the time. As Harrigan did not seem inclined to let me interview Clark privately I left, and returned to my office.

Later in the day Clark employed a lawyer, and sent him to me to tell me that if I would get him across the river he would tell me all about that job, meaning the looting of the City Hall vault. I referred Clark's lawyer to Prosecuting Attorney Holder of St. Clair County, Illinois, and later the latter made a demand on the St. Louis police for the possession of Clark. The St. Louis officers, thinking that they might secure at least a part of the reward which had been offered for the apprehension of the men who committed the East St. Louis crime, took Clark over the river, where he was locked up. I then called on him and he told me all about the vault robbery.

According to his story, which was later verified by his two assistants, Clark was employed to do the job by Thos. A. Canty, acting city treasurer, to hide an alleged shortage in Canty's accounts. The latter was, it was claimed $60,000 short, having lost the money at poker. The money had to be turned over the next day, and Canty could not do it, because he could not raise that amount. Clark had been introduced to Canty by Patrick Eagan, who was at that time running a saloon in East St. Louis, and was one of the city's aldermen. Eagan was regarded as a friend of crooks of the higher class, such as confidence men, safe blowers and "big mitt" men. Coleman claimed he was told by Canty that ten thousand dollars would be left on the top of the safe, which was the amount he was to receive for doing the work. Coleman was also introduced to Lieutenant Duffy, acting night chief of police of the East St. Louis department, who was to act as lookout while the work was being done. The ten thousand dollars was to be divided equally between Duffy, Eagan and Coleman. A few days before the time set for doing the job Canty became ill and was taken to Hot Springs. This did not interfere with the plans, however, D. J. Canty, according to the testimony, taking his brother's place in making the final arrangements for the entering of the vault. Coleman did the real work, assisted by Eagan, while Duffy, in full uniform, stood guard on the outside. A box, in which was supposed to be $10,000, was found on top of the safe, as had been promised by Canty. This box was taken by the three men to Duffy's home and its contents poured out on the kitchen table, but instead of $10,000 there was only $3,000. This money was divided equally among the three men, after which all went downtown again. It was then about 2:30 A. M. Duffy, not wishing to carry so much money around with him, placed his part in the safe of a saloonkeeper friend, who was also an alderman. The lieutenant in his testimony at the trial of the Cantys, two years afterwards, declared that his $1,000 decreased to $700 during the night. In other words, some one had touched the roll for $300.

I told Prosecuting Attorney Holder and the Citizens' Committee about Coleman's confession, and was employed to secure corroborating evidence, which was done. Eagan and Duffy were arrested, convicted and sentenced to five years each in the penitentiary. They appealed the case, but at the next term of court withdrew their appeals, after a conference with Prosecuting Attorney Holder, and entered pleas of guilty, and received two years each. The Canty brothers were arrested, but notwithstanding the fact that Coleman, Duffy and Eagan testified for the state, and there was much corroborating evidence, the jury failed to agree, standing seven for conviction to five for acquittal. At the time it was alleged that money had been expended very freely to clear the brothers.

Coleman was not prosecuted. He left the city for the west, and the next I heard of him he was conducting a saloon on Geary Street, San Francisco. Later he and Henry Schultz, another noted peterman, formed an alliance and opened a half dozen "boxes" in the country surrounding the Golden Gate metropolis. They were finally settled for one of their jobs by Capt. Leas, of Frisco. Later Coleman was released, but was soon afterwards killed at Houston, Texas, while attempting to rob a bank. He was acting as lookout, while his pals were at work on the vault. The first explosion attracted the attention of the police, who opened fire on Coleman and his death was instantaneous; thus his long career of crime ended.

Chief of Detectives Burke, of the St. Louis Police Department, afterwards claimed the reward for capturing the vault robbers, and I believe secured a part of the money, but he was really not entitled to a cent, as he had done none of the real work on the case.

The next sensation in East St. Louis was the assassination of Ex-Mayor John B. Bowman, which occurred about 6:30 o'clock on the evening of November 20, 1885. The assassin did his work well. It can be described in a sentence--a shot was fired, and the corpse of the leader of the reformers was found lying near the gate leading to his residence, alone with the secret. I was employed by the son of the dead man to try and unravel the mystery, being given complete charge of the case. I had known Bowman for years, and was acquainted with his past life, which had been a very turbulent one. He had always been a fighter, one of the kind who never knew when they were whipped. He settled in East St. Louis in the latter part of the '60s, and acquired a large amount of property. He was one of the few men who recognized the fact that East St. Louis would later become a great industrial center. Because of his large interests he took an active part in municipal affairs, which, of course, brought him in contact with the politicians. Bowman knew all about politics, even what is called the "practical" side of the game, but he was a poor diplomat--one of the kind of men who always called a spade a spade, consequently he was often in trouble with those who opposed him or his plans. He was often deserted by men whom he had practically made politically, because of his radical views on some question at issue. This was the beginning of a bitter war on the person so offending, by Bowman. He never forgave a man who had deserted him or his cause.

On taking charge of the case the day after the diabolical crime had been committed, I was not surprised to learn that several of the dead man's enemies were busy preparing alibis. Another thing that impressed me as a little peculiar was that the police department was making no effort to find the perpetrator of the crime. After considerable hard work by both myself and my men, I succeeded in finding a couple of parties who claimed that they had seen the fatal shot fired. They were Christian A. Schmidt and William Banks. These men were returning from the country, where they had been to secure some tobacco which had been stolen from a freight car and hidden in a hay stack. As they neared the Bowman home they saw a flash from across the street, and saw Bowman fall. They recognized George W. Voice, a member of the police force, as the man who did the shooting. Later some more evidence was obtained, which, it was thought, would corroborate the statements of Schmidt and Banks. This corroborative evidence implicated another police officer named Patrick O'Neil. Voice was arrested at once and taken to Belleville and locked up. Later O'Neil called on Voice at the jail, and he, too, was placed behind the bars, he having been indicted as an accessory that day. These arrests caused a great sensation, not only in St. Clair County, but on the other side of the river as well.

At the preliminary hearing of Voice, Schmidt and Banks went on the stand and told their story in a straightforward manner, and the defendant was returned to jail without bail. The friends of the prisoners then began harrassing the state's witnesses. The cases against the men were continued from time to time until April 3, 1887, when the prosecuting attorney dismissed the charges against the accused because he could not obtain service upon the state's witnesses, they having left the county because of the threats made against them.

The outcome of the case caused great rejoicing among the crooks and plug-uglies in East St. Louis, and they began again to show their hands.