The Crime of the Century Part 14

At this protest the attendants again commenced to screw up the casket.

"I am John Carroll," said the stranger, with dignity. "I came here to-day with my wife from St. Catherines, Ont. I don't know Mr. Conklin or anything about him. If I wanted to insist, I could take charge of the remains and conduct the funeral myself, but all I ask is to let his sister see the body."

The committeeman relented at this, and by a gesture indicated that the attendants might open the coffin. When they had exposed the face, covered as it was by the gla.s.s, the sister stepped forward, and gazing long and intently at the features beneath, burst into a pa.s.sion of tears. Bending her gray head to the gla.s.s of the casket, she lifted her veil and pressed her lips convulsively against the gla.s.s again and again as she said: "Good-by, good-by, asth.o.r.e!" She turned away in a burst of pa.s.sionate weeping. Her husband could not control his feelings as he silently gazed at the remains of the brother they had loved, and he, too, burst into tears. Mrs. Carroll was an elder sister of the deceased, residing at St. Catherines, Ont., and neither she nor her husband had seen him for fourteen years, but her heart warmed to him as it had in childhood when they played together in the years gone by.

Between this occurrence and midnight, a period of nearly eight hours, many thousands of people were admitted to the building. Four Knights of St. Patrick, in plumed bonnets, long gloves and drawn swords, guarded the casket, one being stationed at each corner of the catafalque. The latter was imposing enough for the obsequies of a monarch. At the four corners there were standards supporting cross pieces above at a height of fifteen feet, and which, together with the supports, were draped in black over-wound with white. Above, depending horizontally from the beams of the great roof, were draped three immense flags, their centres reaching down to the roof of black below. At the head of the casket was a ma.s.sive floral cross, nearly six feet in height, and composed of marguerites, carnations, cape jasmines, roses, and lilies-of-the-valley, all in white. At the foot, upon a black-robed pedestal, stood a four-foot candelabra of bra.s.s, bearing seven lighted wax candles. Upon the top of the coffin was a large bunch of white roses attached to a pair of palms by satin ribbons, while the side and base of the bier were covered with smilax and palms overstrewn with a profusion of loose roses. To complete the effect the four corners of the catafalque were banked with pink hydrangeas, and over all looked down, from a frame of c.r.a.pe, a lifelike portrait of the murdered man. Only the casket and catafalque were to be seen, the coffin lid being closed until the formal lying in state on the following morning, but all who came were admitted, and hour after hour a steady stream of people filed before the sentries, and when, at midnight, the big doors were closed, it was estimated that fully twelve thousand people had, by their presence, by bowed heads and by tear-dimmed eyes, paid a simple token of respect to the memory of the murdered man.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CRIME CREATES AN INTERNATIONAL SENSATION--DISCOVERY OF THE LONELY COTTAGE WHERE THE IRISH NATIONALIST MET HIS DEATH--EVIDENCES OF A TERRIBLE STRUGGLE--THE TELLTALE BLOOD STAINS AND BROKEN FURNITURE--THE MYSTERIOUS TENANTS AND THEIR MOVEMENTS--THE FURNITURE BOUGHT AND CARTED TO THE a.s.sa.s.sINS' DEN--WHAT MILKMAN MERTES SAW--THE PLOT AS OUTLINED BY THE SURROUNDINGS--ICEMAN O'SULLIVAN UNDER SURVEILLANCE.

The discovery of the body of the missing physician under such appalling circ.u.mstances, and with the surrounding evidences that a crime of the foulest character had been committed, created a most profound sensation, not only among all cla.s.ses and nationalities in cosmopolitan Chicago, but also in Irish-American circles throughout the United States, and among the countrymen of the murdered man across the Atlantic. Telegrams and letters, breathing indignation and horror, and urging that no stone be left unturned to the end that the a.s.sa.s.sins might be run to earth and brought to justice, poured in on the dead man's friends from the four quarters of the continent, as well as from abroad. The scoffers--those who all along had scouted the theory of foul play, and had voiced the stories so artfully concocted by the plotters that the physician had left Chicago of his own free will, and with objects and motives that would, sooner or later, be revealed--were, in a figurative sense, deprived of the power of speech. In the presence of the hacked and decomposing body of the man they had maligned they had not a word to say.

THE LONELY SCENE OF THE MURDER.

Startling developments were destined from this time on to follow each other in rapid succession. Less than twenty-four hours after all that was mortal of Dr. Cronin had been taken from the Lake View man-hole, the place where his life's blood had been shed was discovered, and the officers of the law were in possession of important clues which promised to lead to the capture of the murderers.

It was a lonely place that the a.s.sa.s.sins of the Irish Nationalist had chosen to perform their b.l.o.o.d.y work.

Patrick O'Sullivan, the ice man, resided in a comfortable house on the corner of Bosworth and Roscoe Streets, in Lake View, less than two miles from the man-hole that had been converted by the murderers into a temporary tomb. Ample grounds surrounded the residence, while barns, sheds and out-houses filled up most of the ground in the rear. The corner lot back of these structures was vacant, but immediately next, facing Ashland Avenue almost in a straight line with O'Sullivan's house, and less than 150 feet away, stood a vacant cottage. It was a one-story and bas.e.m.e.nt, with an unfinished attic, weather-beaten and worn. The street entrance led up a flight of wood stairs, while access to the rear could only be obtained by another flight. The cottage stood fenced in in a narrow lot, crowded into which, not fifty feet away, in the rear, was a still smaller house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY.]

This was occupied by an aged Swedish couple, Jonas Carlson and his wife and their son John, a strapping, well-built fellow of some twenty-five years. His parents owned the property, and about their only means of livelihood was the rent derived from the larger cottage, when they were fortunate enough to secure a tenant. Good luck, however, had failed to attend them. Early in the year, the man, who, with his family, had occupied it for some time, was convicted of embezzlement and sent to the penitentiary, and his wife and children, lacking the wherewithal to pay the rent, were forced to vacate. At the best, it was not a particularly desirable locality, for, barring O'Sullivan's house, the two buildings stood alone in an area as large as a city square, while the prairie, dotted here and there with one-story cottages, stretched far away in every direction.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE a.s.sa.s.sIN'S DEN, WITH THE CARLSON COTTAGE IN THE REAR.]

This was the lonely spot, and this the vacant house that the a.s.sa.s.sins chose for their den, and within these walls Dr. Cronin came to his death.

On the day following the finding of the body State's Attorney Longenecker, Captain Schuettler of the City Police, and Captain Wing of the Lake View Police, met in consultation. It was decided to send for O'Sullivan, the ice-man. While no direct suspicions were at that time entertained that he was concerned in the tragedy, there was an indefinable feeling that he knew something or other that might prove of importance in relation to the affair. O'Sullivan promptly responded to the summons. Pressed by the State's Attorney to tell them anything he might know, O'Sullivan said that he believed there had been something mysterious going on in the Carlson cottage. Two suspicious looking men, he went on to say, had appeared in the neighborhood about March and rented the place, paying a month's rent. Since that time they had occupied it very little, if at all. To the landlord they had pretended that they were going to work for him (O'Sullivan), but this was not true, for he knew nothing about them, and certainly had never hired them. The matter looked suspicious, he thought, and ought to be investigated, especially as it was possible that these were the men who had used his name to Dr. Cronin. Beyond this he knew absolutely nothing.

"BLOOD, BLOOD, EVERYWHERE!"

To the ordinary listener O'Sullivan's story would have seemed of little or no importance. Not so, however, with Schuettler and Wing. These experienced officials, who knew of old that important results often follow in the wake of the most unpromising trail, saw in it a possible clue. Together they drove with all haste to the Carlson cottage. It was broad daylight, and even before they had alighted from their buggy, they saw enough to convince them that they were on the right track at last.

There were big blood stains on the boards, that crossed the ditch in front of the gate. There were larger ones on the sidewalk in front of the house; and they led, in two dark-red parallel streams right up the wooden steps to the front door. It was the work of a couple of seconds to force the lock. The usually cool, imperturbable officials were too excited to go after keys, while, moreover, it was desirable that what was to be done should be done quietly. The lock gave way to the pressure with a crash, and the two men entered. Spots of blood again confronted them on the floor of the hall. An attempt had been made to cover some of them up with a coat of yellow paint. The individual who performed this task had divested himself of his boots and hose, for the print of a naked foot stood out clear and distinct in a splotch of the red paint.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A FOOTPRINT IN THE HALL.]

A couple of steps and the captains were in the parlor, and then for the first time they realized the full and terrible import of their discovery. There were abundant evidences that a frightful struggle for life had taken place within the four walls, and that it was here that the unfortunate physician had met his doom. It was a small room, only 16 by 20 feet, with three windows, two facing west on Ashland Avenue and a third looking out south on a vacant lot. Near the southwest corner was a b.l.o.o.d.y stain nearly a foot in diameter and about four feet away from the wall. Almost in the center of the room was another blood-stain almost as large. It looked as though a body had been rolled from one place to the other, the changes of position leaving a small pool wherever the head had rested. Over these stains the same reddish brown paint that appeared in the hallway had been applied, but in such a bungling way as to leave no doubt that it had been done with great haste. The stains of blood were not heavy, and it was apparent that the life-fluid had soaked through a carpet before reaching the wood. In the northeast corner was a bedstead, in the northwest a dressing-case, in the southeast a wash-stand with a pitcher and bowl. In the center of the room was a rocking-chair. The right arm was broken off and lay on the floor, and the officials came quickly to the conclusion that the physician was sitting in this chair when he was first attacked.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

On the floor in other parts of the room were a lamp and the oil can from which it had been filled. But these articles attracted little attention for the moment. The attention of the officials was riveted on the blood stains that met their eyes in whatever direction they looked. As Captain Wing remarked later in the day, it was "blood, blood, everywhere." The center of the floor was dotted with drops about the size of a pea. There were half a dozen stains on the front of the dressing case, and some of it had congealed thickly on the bra.s.s facing of the lock. This Captain Wing plied off, in order that an a.n.a.lysis might be made. There were more spots on the key plate of the washstand, and this also was forced off.

On the south wall was a score or more of stains, large and small, to several of which long black hairs were adhering, just as if the blood that spurted out when the head was struck with some blunt instrument had carried the hair with it. The wall was white, and the mute evidences of the awful crime stood out with terrible distinctness. On the bedstead was a mattress and a pair of uncovered pillows, but this part of the room had escaped the struggles of the victim to save his life. The painter had left his mark on the inside blind or shutter of the window looking out on the vacant lot, for eleven finger prints were plainly visible. Apparently the blind had been closed in a hurry while the paint was still wet.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Pa.s.sing through the communicating door into the dining-room, another spot of blood appeared in the middle of the floor. Strange to say, no effort had been made to cover this over. There was nothing else about the room to attract attention. The bas.e.m.e.nt was next visited. Here the pot of red paint and the paint brush had been thrown down under the stairs. A broom with a broken handle stood against the wall, and a hurried inspection showed that it also was stained with blood and particles of wool. This had evidently been used to sweep the carpets while yet wet with gore. The paint pot bore the name of a well-known Chicago firm. Returning up stairs, the officials commenced a more minute inspection. On the floor beside the bed they found a key, which was subsequently tried in the lock of the b.l.o.o.d.y trunk found on the previous day, and proved to be the one wanted. A bill for curtains was also brought to light. The dressing case and wash stand were turned around, and the officials were considerably elated at finding them branded with the letters "A. H. R. & Co.," the trade mark of Alexander H. Revell & Co., an extensive local furniture house of national reputation. This of itself was a valuable--and as it subsequently turned out--a vital clue.

The kerosene lamp was found to be almost full. If it was filled the night of the murder, it did not burn more than an hour. There were, however, no signs of a single article of the murdered man's clothing, of the implements in the surgeon's case that he had taken with him, or of the cotton batting. It was surmised that the murderers might have buried their tell-tale evidences of their b.l.o.o.d.y work in the cellar, and later in the day a half-dozen detectives from the Chicago Avenue station dug the place over to a depth of several feet. Nothing, however, was brought to light.

FORMING A THEORY.

In the light of the surroundings a theory of the circ.u.mstances under which the crime was committed was easily formed. Than the place itself a better one for such a purpose could not have been found. The street was absolutely dark after midnight, and even during the early evening the only outside light was that given by two kerosene lamps, one at each of the street intersections. Hence it was in comparative darkness all the evening. The house, moreover, was so near that of Sullivan's that it was probably an easy matter to decoy Dr. Cronin to it without arousing his suspicions. He had been struck the moment he entered the parlor, and fell in the corner of the room where the largest of the blood-stains appeared. The blow, however, had not deprived him of consciousness, and, gaining his feet he had engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with his a.s.sailants. This was apparent from the manner in which the blood was spattered over the articles of furniture that were several feet distant from each other. It had evidently been in this struggle that the arm of the rocking-chair was broken. Another terrific blow had been dealt his head while he retreated backward, as was evidenced by the hair and blood upon the wall. The last foul blow having been struck, the unfortunate man, perhaps still breathing, was stripped naked and the body packed into the trunk, which was already in the house. Having thus disposed of the corpse the trunk was borne out of the building to the wagon, which stood on the roadside. As it was being carried down the steps the blood that gathered at one end seeped through the corners and left the two gory trails on the boards of the sidewalk and the plank crossing the ditch. Then there was the hurried drive to the catch-basin, the dumping of the body, still warm, into its recesses, and the disposal of the trunk. The murder having thus been accomplished and the body disposed of, the conspirators, with strange a.s.surance of their safety, had returned to the cottage and endeavored to efface the evidence of their crime by taking up the carpet and then plastering the blood-stains with the paint--a mixture of yellow and brown ochre. Either they were in a hurry or there had been some interruption, for the job was not half done and the murderers, leaving behind all the evidences of their atrocious deed, vacated the cottage for good and all.

THE BLOOD EXAMINED BY EXPERTS.

One of the first things to be determined was whether the blood on the floor of the cottage and that found in the trunk was identical. Dr.

Brandt and Dr. Hectone were sent for, and for the balance of the day they were busily engaged in making examinations and microscopic comparisons. By night they were in a position to declare that two things had been definitely established. First, that the blood found in the Carlson cottage was that of a human being, and second, that, so far as an expert examination by the most approved methods had gone, it went to prove that the blood taken from the trunk and that taken from the house came from one and the same body. This feature of the tragedy created the greatest interest in medical circles, from the fact that it was the first case on record in which such a comparison had been attempted.

"I examined the blood found in the trunk," said Dr. Brandt on the evening of the day in question, "soon after it was found and determined that it was human. The first thing to do was to determine whether the spots in the house were also human blood."

"How can you tell whether certain blood is that of a human being, or of some animal?" he was asked.

"Only by the size of the corpuscles. They are large and compressed on either side. It can be done only by means of a powerful microscope, and even with this aid none but an expert can tell. By submitting the blood to this test it was found to be human blood.

This settled, the next thing of importance was to find out if the two specimens of blood bore any resemblance."

"Can you tell to a certainty whether two drops of blood come from the same body?"

"You cannot; but if they bear certain marks of resemblance the inference is pretty strong. You must bear in mind that the blood in both cases was taken from wood. That found in the trunk was diluted with water. After diluting the blood taken from the floor of the house sufficiently to make it of the same consistency, or as near as may be, with that from the trunk, we submitted them both to the microscopic test----"

"And found?"

"That the points of resemblance were marked. The pigment crystals were exactly alike."

"From which you inferred----"

"That the blood found in the trunk and that taken from the floor of the house came from the same person."

"Do you think, Doctor, that it is the blood of Dr. Cronin?"

"There is not the least doubt of it in my mind. It is almost certain that the doctor's body was in that trunk. If this is so, there can be little doubt that he met his death in the house on Ashland avenue."