Mississippi Outlaws and the Detectives

In order, therefore, to discover all the facts in the case, and to recover, if possible, the missing money and bonds, Mr. Trafton, senior, had decided to put the affair in my hands for a thorough investigation, and Mr. Opdike and Captain Dalton had called upon me for that purpose.

Having heard their statement, I asked a number of questions, which elicited the following additional information:

On returning to Chicago the second time, they had again visited Mrs. Sanford, and found that she had taken every particle of furniture out of the room where Trafton had died. At the time of their call, they saw a policeman whom she called Charlie, with whom she seemed to be very intimate. She said that Charlie was the first person to see Trafton after she found he was dead that morning, he having been sent over by the sergeant as soon as she reported the fact. This story contradicted her former statement, that she first called Mr. Pratt into the room; moreover, the sergeant of police had told them that the policeman did not go to the room at all, but merely took the number of the house and went away.

At this interview, Mrs. Sanford gave them the blank power to draw upon Mr. Trafton, senior, saying that she had found it at the foot of the bed since their former visit. She also showed them a gold coin which she said young Trafton had given her as a keepsake. Both gentlemen recognized this coin as one which Trafton prized very highly for some reason, he having refused to part with it even to his mother; it seemed hardly possible that he should have given it to a chance acquaintance like Mrs. Sanford.

During this conversation she claimed to have lent Mr. Trafton three hundred and twenty-five dollars, though she did not seem greatly disappointed when they refused to repay her that amount. Mr. Updike gave her twenty-five dollars, however, to pay for Mr. Trafton's board and lodging, and to recompense her for her trouble. The story that Trafton had borrowed money of her was absurd on its face, and she acted as if she hardly expected to be believed.

Before coming to Chicago this time, Mr. Updike had written to Mr. T. B. Vernon, of Buffalo, asking for information relative to the antecedents of this Mrs. Sanford. Mr. Vernon had replied that she had a very bad reputation in Buffalo, having been divorced from her husband for adultery, and having been arrested in March previous for being drunk and disorderly. She had a paramour at that time, named James McSandy, a police-station keeper, and it was supposed that he had gone West with her.

Another circumstance had been noticed by Captain Dalton, which led him to believe that Trafton had been murdered with his clothes on, and afterward undressed and put to bed: the sole of one of his boots was covered with whitewash, as if it had been violently pressed and scraped along a wall. Now, the room where he was found had been newly whitewashed when they arrived there, so that any marks on the wall made by him in his struggles would be wholly obliterated.

Having learned all the facts bearing upon the case known by my visitors, I informed them of my terms for conducting an investigation of this character, and sketched a hasty outline of my plan of operation. As they had already hinted their suspicions to a member of the city detective force, who was inclined to make light of them, I suggested that they inform him that they had changed their minds in the matter, having learned from the Cleveland physicians that death was surely caused by congestion of the lungs. They then took their departure, saying that they would lay my plan before Mr. Richard S. Trafton, and he would telegraph to me whether I should proceed with the operation. On Christmas day, I received a telegram from Mr. Trafton, briefly instructing me to proceed, and my plan was put in operation at once.

Before proceeding further with the history of my connection with this case, it will be necessary to remind the reader of the anomalous condition of social and business affairs in Chicago at the time of which I write; for, without any explanation, he might have difficulty in understanding many things in connection with the story.

It will be remembered that the Great Fire of Chicago occurred October 8 and 9, 1871, and this case was placed in my hands only about nine weeks afterward. At the time of Mr. Trafton's death, a pall of smoke hung over the city, and, at night, the still-smouldering heaps of coal throughout the "burned district" glowed like volcanic fissures, casting a weird fantastic light about the ruins, and illumining the clouds of smoke overhead with a ruddy glow which was visible for miles away. The streets were filled with dust and ashes, while the fumes of carbonic acid gas were sometimes almost stifling. To venture, at any time, into the waste of ruins, which stretched more than three miles in one direction, through the formerly richest portion of the city, was not a pleasant undertaking; but to make such an excursion at night was attended with more hazard than most peaceably-disposed men would care to run. There were no gaslights, no sidewalks, no street indicators; in many places, piles of stone and brick were heaped in almost impassable barricades from one side of the street to the other; all landmarks were gone, and the old resident was as liable to lose his way as the stranger.

The city, moreover, was crowded with what is sometimes called "a floating population," a species of driftwood, or scum, gathered from every quarter of the globe; indeed, a large percentage seemed to have come straight from the infernal regions, with all the passions and habits incidental to a prolonged residence there. Hence, the labors of the police force were increased to an extent which taxed their abilities to the utmost, and made the task of protecting the respectable portion of the community about all that could be required of them; that they should be apt to suspect foul play, in a case where the coroner had no suspicions, was hardly to be expected. Besides this, there was nothing settled on any permanent foundation; business men flitted hither and thither wherever they could best obtain accommodations for the time being, and whence people came or whither they went was a matter which no one had time to inquire into, much less to investigate.

The destruction of thousands of business blocks and dwellings left the city without adequate accommodations for offices and residences, even for its own regular population; but when the rush of strangers swelled the aggregate nearly twenty per cent., there seemed hardly sleeping-rooms for them all. Dwelling-houses by thousands were converted into stores, manufactories, and offices, until fabulous prices were offered for the merest closets in the vicinity of the new temporary business centers. Every hotel was thronged from the basement to the Mansard roof, and late arrivals were oftentimes happy if they could get a straw mattress on a billiard-table, or an army cot in a hall.

I call especial attention to these things to account for certain apparent anomalies in the action of different persons connected with this tragedy. For instance: a young gentleman of Mr. Trafton's wealth and respectability would never have rented a mean little room in a petty lodging-house, if he could have found any other place equally convenient to business; the County Physician would not have taken things so much for granted, if he had not been so hard at work and so pressed for time, owing to the immense army of gratuitous patients who thronged the offices of the County Agent and the Relief and Aid Society; the police would not have been so remiss in failing to examine into the death of Mr. Trafton, if they had not had their hands full of other business to an unprecedented extent; and, lastly, when I came to work up the case, I should not have had so much difficulty in finding witnesses, if it had not been that people came and went through Chicago like the waves of the sea in mid-ocean, leaving no trace by which they could be followed or identified.

These circumstances, combined with certain facts which will appear in the course of this narrative, made the task assigned me one of unusual difficulty. Mr. Warner was intrusted with the general management of the case, though he frequently consulted me in relation to it; and, though we were continually working in the dark, we never despaired of our eventual success.

CHAPTER II

The Detectives at Work. – Mrs. Sanford Described. – Charlie, the Policeman. – Mrs. Sanford develops Interest in Government Bonds. – Chicago Relief and Aid Benefits. – Mrs. Sanford's Story of Trafton's Death. – A nice little Arrangement. – Mrs. Sanford explains to the Detective her method of "Quieting People." – Ingham "Makes a Raise." – Mrs. Sanford fears being Haunted, but is not easily Frightened.

The day after Christmas a tall, well-built man called at No. 92 Madison street, and asked for the lady of the house. Mrs. Sanford soon entered the sitting-room, and the stranger said that, having seen the sign, "Furnished Rooms to Rent," he had called to engage lodgings. He introduced himself as John Ingham, and said that he was a bookkeeper, temporarily out of employment. Mrs. Sanford received him with great cordiality, and seemed much pleased to have him as a lodger. She said that she had no suitable room just then, but that a married couple were about to leave, and then Mr. Ingham could have their room. She then showed him through the house. The two front rooms were occupied by an insurance company, and the back parlor was used as a real estate office and sleeping-room by two brothers, named Pratt. At the head of the stairs was a small bedroom, through which it was necessary to pass to obtain admission to the rear part of the house. The passageway from this bedroom to the sitting-room was made by partitioning off a small entry from the back parlor. There were four doors in this sitting-room: one opened from the entry; at the opposite side was one which opened into another entry; the third was adjoining this second door, and it opened into the large bedroom occupied by the married couple; the fourth door led into Mrs. Sanford's own room. At the end of the back entry was an unfurnished room and a kitchen. The front bedroom was occupied by two young women who worked in a bindery, and their accommodations could hardly have been very agreeable, as every one was obliged to pass through their room on the way to the other rooms in the rear.

Mrs. Sanford was a good-looking woman, about thirty-two years old. Her features were quite pretty, and her expression was pleasing. She was very plump, and her skin was smooth and soft. She had brown hair, a nose slightly retroussé, and a pleasant smile. Her eyes, however, were a bluish gray, cold and watchful as those of a hawk. She might have been called handsome but for the effects of dissipation, which were plainly visible in her face. She had a pleasant voice, and she was naturally easy in her manners. If she was in a good humor, she could be quite fascinating; and almost any stranger, after talking with her for a few minutes, would feel satisfied that she had once occupied a social station far above that in which she was now placed. She had a good education, and very frequently she would give evidences of having had a wide range of really good reading. At times, her recitations and declamations, wholly from memory, were exceptionally fine, and, but for her two ruling passions, she might have been an actress of a high rank.

She had two controlling vices, one natural, the other acquired: her greed for money was inborn, and it seemed to absorb at times every other faculty; while the habit of using morphine had become so fastened upon her, that she could not shake it off. She was a most contradictory medley of compounds, however, and while her thirst for money seemed to overpower all other considerations with her as a general rule, on some occasions she would be as wasteful and careless of expense as the most prodigal woman in the world. But when she had set her mind on the acquisition of any particular money or piece of personal property, there was no length to which she would not go to attain her object. The mere sight of money seemed to act upon her with an effect almost of insanity, and she would then have no regard for consequences until after she had secured the coveted prize.

It will be readily understood, of course, that Mr. John Ingham, usually known as Jack, was one of my detectives, sent to obtain lodging with Mrs. Sanford, to win her confidence and learn all that he could.

Ingham agreed to take the large room in the rear, but he wanted to come immediately. Mrs. Sanford agreed, therefore, to make up a bed for him on the sofa in the sitting-room until the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Graves, who were then occupying the back room. Having agreed upon the terms, Ingham went away, promising to return that night. Accordingly, he came in again about nine o'clock in the evening, and found that Mrs. Sanford was entertaining a policeman. He was a rather good-looking fellow, and was in full uniform, except his star. He remained until nearly twelve o'clock, and when he went out, Mrs. Sanford followed him to the door, with many affectionate caresses and tender remarks. After he had gone, she began to converse very confidentially with Ingham, telling him that she was engaged to be married to Charlie, the policeman.

"Don't you think a policeman is good enough to marry?" she asked.

"Oh, yes!" replied Ingham, "and your Charlie seems to be a fine fellow."

"Well, he is awfully fond of me," she continued, "and he spends all his time off duty with me; but I don't know whether I care to marry him. What do you think about it, Mr. Ingham?"

"You ought not to be in any hurry about it," he replied, "for you might see some one whom you would like better."

"Oh! I have had a number of offers lately," she said, laughing. "I have had to work hard for a living, and have saved up quite a good sum; and, besides that, my father sent me two thousand dollars a short time ago, so that I have a snug little fortune. But Charlie doesn't know anything about it, and I shan't tell him until after we are married."

After some further conversation, she said that she was hungry, and wished she had someone to go to the nearest restaurant with. Ingham volunteered to act as her escort, and they went out together. While eating supper, she suddenly asked whether government bonds were good property to invest in. Ingham replied that they were very good indeed, since the interest was payable in gold, and there were no taxes to pay upon them.

"Well, suppose you should lose them," she queried; "could any one who found them make use of them without being discovered?"

"Yes, I think so," said Ingham. "There is no means of learning how they came into the bearer's possession."

"Did you ever own any?" she inquired.

"No, but I used to cash the coupons for my employer in Louisville, and I know a good deal about them."

"What business were you in there?" she asked, with a considerable show of interest.

"I was bookkeeper for a wholesale liquor firm, and the senior partner used to put all his money into government bonds."

"Why did you leave Louisville?" she continued, seemingly desirous of learning as much as possible of his history.

"Oh! well, I got hard up," he replied, evasively, "and there was some mistake in my accounts which I couldn't explain satisfactorily, so I thought best to go out of town for awhile. You know we are all liable to mistakes when we are hard up."

"Yes, indeed, I understand," she replied, in a satisfied tone of voice. "What are you going to do here?"

"Well, I can't tell yet. I have a small job of closing up a set of books for the year, and when that is done I shall look around for something else. I'm not particular what I do, if it pays well."

"Perhaps you could get employment from the Relief and Aid Society," she said, "and then you could get lots of nice things for me. This man, Graves, whose room you are to have, is employed there, and he steals enough to keep the woman who is with him in good style."

"Why, aren't they married?" asked Ingham.

"No, I don't believe they are married," she replied, "and I've given them notice to leave. Mr. Graves gets hardly any pay, but he brings her all kinds of presents, and she sells them to the pawnbrokers."

On their return to the house, Mrs. Sanford made up a bed on the sofa for Ingham, and then went to her room.

The day following, Ingham went down to his work on the South Side, and did not return until eight o'clock in the evening. He said that he knew of a chance to buy a cigar stand in one of the leading hotels, and that he would like to do it if he could raise the money. Mrs. Sanford seemed to have taken a great fancy to her new lodger, for she told him that she would assist him, if it did not cost too much.

"By the way, I was sorry you were not here this afternoon," she said. "There was a very pretty young lady friend of mine here, and I would like to have you meet her."

"What was her name?"

"Ida Musgrove."

"Have you known her long?"

"Oh! no, I have only lived in Chicago a few months. I used to live in Cleveland before I separated from my husband, and we had a fine stone-front house there."

"How did you happen to leave your husband?" asked Ingham.

"Well, he began running after other women, and, though I forgave him several times, when he brought his mistress to live in the same house with me, I left him."

"He must have been a very hard case to do such a thing as that," said Ingham, sympathizingly.

"Yes; and then he sold the house, promising to give me half if I would sign the deed; but he never gave me a cent, so that I have had to work hard to support myself and my little girl, who is boarding at Riverside. However, I am all right now, for my father sent me three thousand dollars the other day, and I shall have plenty of money hereafter."

"Hadn't you any friends here who would have helped you?" asked Ingham.

"No, I hardly knew any one; but I met an old friend from Cleveland about a month ago, and he died here in my house. Haven't I told you about that?"

"No, indeed; how was it?"

"Well, you see, this Mr. Trafton was a former lover of mine in Cleveland, and he was very rich and handsome. He came here last month and took the back room in my house. He was very kind to me, and wanted to marry me; but he drank hard for a week and began to show the effects of his dissipation. Finally, he came home one evening quite drunk, and he complained of feeling sick. I boiled a chicken for him, but he could not eat it, and he went to bed. Next morning he did not call me as usual, and I went to his door and knocked; there was no answer, and so I pushed open his door. He was lying in bed with froth about his mouth and a ghastly look on his face which frightened me terribly. Then I called in Mr. Pratt, who roomed in the back parlor, and he said that Mr. Trafton was dead. When the coroner came, we found twenty-five thousand dollars in Mr. Trafton's pockets, besides his diamond studs and other property. Oh! it was a dreadful thing for me to think that such a handsome fellow as my Stanley should die in my house."

"What was the matter with him?" asked Ingham.

"The coroner held an inquest, and a post-mortem examination showed that he died of congestion of the lungs."

"Did you know that he had all that money with him?" asked Ingham, significantly lowering his voice.

"No, I did not know it until afterward," she replied; "why do you ask?"

"Oh! for no special reason; but," he added, in a determined way, "you might have helped yourself to some of that money and no one would have been the wiser. I tell you, I wouldn't have let such a chance as that slip."

"Well, I know I might have taken some of it," she answered, thoughtfully, "but I couldn't steal from him. Oh! I have mighty good credit among people here now, for every one knows about that money, and that I could have taken it all if I had wished. A reporter came here, and afterward stated in the paper that there was only a small amount, about fifteen hundred dollars, found; but I had it corrected."

She prattled on for some time about her intimacy with Mr. Trafton, until she was interrupted by a noise in the hall bedroom. On going to see what was the matter, she found the two bindery girls in great excitement, as they had been awakened by a strange man in their room. Ingham also went to the door, when Mrs. Sanford told him to get his revolver, as she wanted to shoot any man who should try to break into her rooms. No one was found, but the lower hall door was open, and Ingham went down to lock it. On his return, Mrs. Sanford said that she had a revolver, and that she knew how to use it too. It was about midnight before they retired, but Mrs. Sanford seemed to consider it quite an early hour.

The next day Ingham was again absent until evening, and Mrs. Sanford scolded him a little for not staying more time with her. He replied that he had been out looking for a chance to make a raise.

"What kind of a raise?" she asked.

"Oh! any kind," he replied; "I'm not particular, provided I can get enough to pay for the trouble. If I knew of any good hiding place, I could get a lot of valuable goods some night without much work, and with no danger."

"You can bring them here, and I will hide them so that they will never be found," she replied, in a whisper.

"That will be a pretty hard thing to do, for these policemen and detectives can find almost anything if they want to. I shouldn't like to bring any plunder here and then have it found in your house, for you would then be punished for receiving stolen goods.

"Never you fear about me; I know some sharp tricks if I am a woman. I can hide anything you bring, and if they get after you, I can hide you too."

Ingham then told her about various criminal devices for obtaining money, which he had practiced in New York several years before, and called her attention to the ease with which they might rob strangers by the "panel" game. She was very much interested, and said that she could easily get hold of some fellow with plenty of money, make him drunk, and then rob him.

"How I wish you had been here when Mr. Trafton died, for you could have got away with ten or fifteen thousand dollars without any difficulty whatever."

"Yes, it would have been a good chance," he replied; "but I guess we can do nearly as well, if you will be true to me and help me."

"You can depend upon me for anything," she answered, with great determination, but adding suddenly, in a cautious tone, "that is, anything except murder, you know. I shouldn't like to do that. But I would protect you even if you should kill a man – not willfully – not willfully, you understand; but if you should be obliged to do it to save yourself, I should not blame you very much."

"I am determined to 'make a raise,' soon," said Ingham; "but I don't know whether I can trust you."

"How so?" she asked, as if greatly surprised.

"I am afraid you will 'give me away' to that policeman whom you think so much of."

"You need not fear anything of the kind," she said, leaning forward, and speaking slowly and emphatically. "I can help you a great deal, and I would never betray you to any one. I don't think so much of Charlie as I pretend to."

Soon afterward she had to go into the unfurnished room to get something, and she asked Ingham to hold the light for her.

"Why can't you hold it yourself?" he asked.

"Well, to tell the truth, I don't like to go into that room alone," she replied, trying to laugh in an unconcerned way.

"Why not? You aren't afraid of anything, are you?"

"No, not afraid; but I have never felt like going in there since Mr. Trafton died there. I cannot help recollecting the way he looked when I first saw him hanging over the bedside, with the froth on his lips. I took out all the furniture on that account, but I am going to furnish it again next week, as I can get a good rent for it."

Ingham went with her as she requested, and he noticed that all the time she was in the room overhauling a trunk containing the things she wanted, she was very restless and nervous. Several times when she heard a sudden noise she would start and turn pale, as if much frightened.

Presently the two girls occupying the front room came in and said that they should leave next day, as they were afraid of a man coming into their room as one had done the night before. Mrs. Sanford was evidently not sorry to have them go, and they soon went to bed.