<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
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<div>Transcriber’s Note</div>
</div></div>
<ul class='ul_1'>
<li>Obvious spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected.
</li>
<li class='c000'>Spelling variations have been kept as in the original.
</li>
<li class='c000'>The cover has been created by the transcriber from elements in the book and
has been placed in the public domain.
</li>
</ul>
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<ANTIMG src='images/cover.jpg' alt='cover' class='ig001' /></div>
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<div class='nf-center c002'>
<div><span class='xlarge'>THE GREAT</span></div>
<div><span class='xlarge'>TAXICAB ROBBERY</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='rw' class='figcenter id002'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image004.jpg' alt='RHINELANDER WALDO, Commissioner of Police, New York City' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>RHINELANDER WALDO<br/>Commissioner of Police, New York City</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div>
<h1 class='c003'><span class='xlarge'>THE GREAT <br/> TAXICAB ROBBERY</span></h1></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div><span class='large'><i>A True Detective Story</i></span></div>
<div class='c001'>BY</div>
<div><span class='large'>JAMES H. COLLINS</span></div>
<div class='c001'>WRITTEN FROM RECORDS AND PERSONAL ACCOUNTS</div>
<div>OF THE CASE FURNISHED BY THE NEW</div>
<div>YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT</div>
</div></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c004'>
<div><span class='small'>NEW YORK</span></div>
<div>JOHN LANE COMPANY</div>
<div><span class='small'>MCMXII</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c002'>
<div><span class='small'><span class='sc'>Copyright, 1912, by</span></span></div>
<div><span class='small'>JOHN LANE COMPANY</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c002'>
<div>This book has something to say about practical</div>
<div>results of wiser police administration in New</div>
<div>York. It is respectfully dedicated to</div>
<div class='c001'><span class='large'>HON. WILLIAM J. GAYNOR</span></div>
<div class='c001'><span class='xsmall'>MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY</span></div>
<div class='c001'>the official who took the initiative in improving</div>
<div>conditions</div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
<h2 class='c005'>PREFACE</h2></div>
<p class='c006'>There are several reasons for this
little book, but the best of all is the
main reason—that it is a cracking
good story, and right out of life. The
characters will be found interesting, and
they are real people, every one of them.
The incidents are full of action and color.
The plot has mystery, surprise, interplay
of mind and motive—had a novelist invented
it, the reader might declare it
improbable. This is the kind of story
that is fundamental—the kind Mr. Chesterton
says is so necessary to plain people
that, when writers do not happen to
write it, plain people invent it for themselves
in the form of folk-lore.</p>
<p class='c007'>But apart from the story interest there
are other reasons.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>When the New York police department
had run down all the threads of
the plot, and accounted for most of the
characters by locking them up, they had
become so absorbed in the story themselves,
as a story, that they thought the
public would enjoy following it from the
inside.</p>
<p class='c007'>While the crime was being dealt with,
the police were subjected to pretty severe
criticism. They felt that the facts would
make it clear that they knew their trade
and had been working at it diligently.</p>
<p class='c007'>The story gives an insight into real
police methods. These are very different
from the methods of the fiction detective,
and also from the average citizen’s idea
of police work. They ought to be better
known. When the public understands
that there is nothing secret, tyrannical or
dangerous in good police practice, and
that our laws safeguard even the guilty
against abuses, there will be helpful public
opinion behind officers of the law, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>we shall have a higher degree of order
and security.</p>
<p class='c007'>The directing mind in this case was
that of Commissioner George Dougherty,
executive head of the detectives of
the New York Police Department. Thousands
of clean, ambitious young fellows
are constantly putting on the policeman’s
uniform all over the country, and rising
to places as detectives and officials. The
manufacturer or merchant may find himself
in the police commissioner’s chair.
Even the suburbanite, with his bundles,
may be, out at Lonesomehurst, a member
of the village council, and thus responsible
for the supervision of a police
force that, though it be only two patrolmen
and a chief, is important in its place.
So in writing the story there has been an
effort to show how a first-rate man like
Commissioner Dougherty works. His
methods are plain business methods.
Most of his life he has earned his living
following the policeman’s trade as a commercial
<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>business. What he did in a case
of this kind, and how, and why, are matters
of general interest and importance.</p>
<p class='c007'>Finally, the story throws some useful
light on criminals. It shows the cunning
of the underworld, and also its limitations.
To free the law-abiding mind of
romantic notions about the criminal, and
show him as he is, is highly important
in the prevention of crime.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>
<h2 class='c005'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2></div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='86%' />
<col width='13%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<th class='c008'></th>
<th class='c009'>FACING PAGE</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#rw'>Rhinelander Waldo</SPAN>, Commissioner of Police, New York City</td>
<td class='c010'> </td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c011'><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
<td class='c010'> </td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#gsd'>George S. Dougherty</SPAN>, Second Deputy Police Commissioner</td>
<td class='c010'>20</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#eph'>Edward P. Hughes</SPAN>, Inspector in Command of Detective Bureau, and <SPAN href='#dgr'>Dominick G. Riley</SPAN>, Lieutenant and Aide to Commissioner Dougherty</td>
<td class='c010'>40</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#gm'>Geno Montani</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#ek'>Eddie Kinsman</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#gs'>Gene Splaine</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#stl'>“Scotty the Lamb”</SPAN> and <SPAN href='#jm'>John Molloy</SPAN></td>
<td class='c010'>60</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#jp'>James Pasquale</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#bd'>Bob Delio</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#ja'>Jess Albrazzo</SPAN>, and <SPAN href='#ma'>Matteo Arbrano</SPAN></td>
<td class='c010'>80</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#scotty'>“Scotty” Receives Final Instructions</SPAN></td>
<td class='c010'>110</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'><SPAN href='#brigands'>“The Brigands” “Stick-up” the Hold-up Men for Theirs</SPAN></td>
<td class='c010'>126</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>
<h2 class='c005'>THE CAST</h2></div>
<ul class='ul_1 c004'>
<li><span class='sc'>Geno Montani</span>, a taxicab proprietor.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Wilbur Smith</span>, an elderly bank teller.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Frank Wardle</span>, a seventeen-year-old bank office boy.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Eddie Kinsman</span>, alias “Collins,” alias “Eddie the Boob,” a
hold-up man.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Billy Keller</span>, alias “Dutch,” a hold-up man.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Gene Splaine</span>, a hold-up man.
</li>
<li>“<span class='sc'>Scotty the Lamb</span>,” a thieves’ helper, or “stall.”
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Joe Philadelphia</span>, alias “The Kid,” a runner for thieves, or
“lobbygow.”
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>James Pasquale</span>, alias “Jimmy the Push,” keeper of shady
resorts known as “208” and “233.”
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Bob Deilio</span>, partner of “Jimmy the Push.”
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Jess Albrazzo</span>, a middleman, formerly keeper of the Arch Café,
pal of Montani, “Jimmy the Push” and Bob Deilio.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Matteo Arbrano</span>, <span class="spacing2">}</span>
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Pauli Gonzales</span>, <span class="spacing3">}</span> The “Three
Brigands.”
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Charles Cavagnaro</span>, <span class="spacing1">}</span>
</li>
<li>“<span class='sc'>King Dodo</span>,” a Bowery character.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Rhinelander Waldo</span>, Police Commissioner of New York.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>George S. Dougherty</span>, Second Deputy Police Commissioner,
executive head of detectives.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Inspector Edward P. Hughes</span>, in command of Detective Bureau.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Police Lieutenant Dominick G. Riley</span>, Aide of Commissioner
Dougherty’s staff.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Detective Sergt John J. O’Connell</span>, Official Stenographer.
</li>
<li><span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span><span class='sc'>The Detectives</span> on “Plants,” “Trailing,” “Surrounding,”
“Arresting,” etc.:
</li>
</ul>
<p class='c012'>John P. Barron, Edward Boyle, Frank Campbell,
James Dalton, James J. Finan, John W. Finn, Joseph A.
Daly, Daniel W. Clare, John Gaynor, Anthony Grieco,
John P. Griffith, Daniel F. Hallihan, Edward Lennon,
Henry Mugge, Richard Oliver, Gustavus J. Riley, James
F. Shevlin, Joseph Toner, George Trojan, James A.
Watson.</p>
<ul class='ul_1 c001'>
<li>“<span class='sc'>Swede Annie</span>,” Kinsman’s sweetheart.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Myrtle Horn</span>, a pal of Annie.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Rose Levy</span>, a newcomer in Thompson street, Jess Albrazzo’s
girl.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Mrs. Isabella Goodwin</span>, a police matron.
</li>
<li><span class='sc'>Mrs. Sullivan</span>, keeper of a West Side rooming house.
</li>
<li>“<span class='sc'>Josie</span>,” a lady of the Levee district, Chicago.
</li>
</ul>
<p class='c013'>Detectives, policemen, informants, witnesses, denizens of the
underworld, newspaper reporters, trainmen, ticket sellers,
etc., etc.</p>
<hr class='c014' />
<p class='c015'><span class='sc'>Place</span>—Chiefly in New York, with Scenes in Chicago,
Albany, Memphis, Boston and Montreal.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='sc'>Time</span>—February and March, 1912.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>
<h2 class='c005'><span class='xlarge'>The <br/> Great Taxicab Robbery</span></h2></div>
<div>
<h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER I <br/> <span class='small'>WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARD ABOUT THE CRIME</span></h2></div>
<p class='drop-capa_2__6 c016'>On Thursday, February 15, 1912,
the New York evening papers had
a startling news story.</p>
<p class='c007'>Between ten and eleven o’clock that
morning two messengers were sent in a
taxicab from the East River National
Bank, at Broadway and Third street,
to draw $25,000 in currency from the
Produce Exchange National Bank, at
Broadway and Beaver street, in the
downtown financial district, and bring it
uptown. This transfer of money had
been made several times a week for so
<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>long a period without danger or loss that
the messengers were unarmed. One of
them, Wilbur F. Smith, was an old man
who had been in the service of the bank
thirty-five years, and the other was a mere
boy, named Wardle, seventeen years old.
The taxicab man, an Italian named Geno
Montani, seemed almost a trusted employee,
too, for he operated two cabs
from a stand near the bank, and was frequently
called upon for such trips.</p>
<p class='c007'>While the cab was returning uptown
through Church street with the money,
five men suddenly closed in upon it. According
to the chauffeur’s story, a sixth
man forced him to slacken speed by
stumbling in front of the vehicle. Immediately
two men on each side of the
cab opened the doors. Two assailants
were boosted in and quickly beat the
messengers into insensibility, while their
two helpers ran along on the sidewalk.
The fifth man climbed onto the seat beside
the chauffeur, held a revolver to his
ribs, and ordered him to drive fast on
<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>peril of his life. This fellow seemed to
be familiar with automobiles, and
threatened the driver when he tried to
slacken speed. That is a busy part of
the city. Yet nobody on the sidewalks
seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
The cab dodged vehicles, going
at high speed for several blocks. At
Park Place and Church street, after a
trip of eleven blocks, at a busy corner,
the chauffeur was ordered to stop the
cab, and the three robbers got down,
carrying the $25,000 in a leather bag,
ran quickly to a black automobile without
a license number which was waiting
for them, and in a few moments were
gone.</p>
<p class='c007'>That was the substance of the story.</p>
<p class='c007'>Information came chiefly from the
chauffeur, because the two bank employees
had been attacked so suddenly
and viciously that they lost consciousness
in a moment. When the chauffeur
looked inside his cab after the crime, he
said, he saw them both lying senseless
<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>and bleeding. They could give no description
of the assailants. Eye-witnesses
were found who had seen men loitering
in the neighborhood where the cab was
boarded shortly before the crime, but
their descriptions were not very useful.</p>
<p class='c007'>That night the New York evening papers
published accounts of the crime under
great black headlines, and on the following
morning every news item of a
criminal nature was grouped in the same
part of the papers to prove that the city
had entered one of its sensational “waves
of crime.” And for more than a week the
public read criticism and denunciation of
the police force.</p>
<p class='c007'>It was charged that the police had
become “demoralized,” and various
changes of administrative policy introduced
into the department within the past
eight months were blindly denounced.</p>
<p class='c007'>The most important of these changes
was that devised by Mayor Gaynor.
Eight or ten years ago, every uniformed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>policeman in New York carried a club,
and often used it freely in defending
himself while making arrests. Abuses
led to the abolition of this means of defense
except for officers patrolling the
streets at night. There were still undoubted
abuses, however, and when
Mayor Gaynor came into office, bringing
well-thought-out opinions of police
administration from his experience as a
magistrate on the bench, he took a determined
stand for more humane methods
of making arrests, and strict holding
of every policeman to the letter of the
laws. Every case of clubbing was prosecuted,
the plain legal rights of citizens
or criminals upheld, and the Police Department
began teaching its men new
ways of defending themselves by skillful
holds in wrestling whereby prisoners
may be handled effectually and without
doing them harm. Sentiment against the
use of the club began to grow in the Police
Department itself, it being recognized
<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>that clubbing was an unskillful
means of defense, and that special athletic
devices were more workmanlike.</p>
<p class='c007'>Now, however, the newspapers published
every chance opinion of discharged,
retired and anonymous police
officers who objected to the new regulations.
It was alleged that criminals had
got out of bounds because policemen no
longer dared club them into good behavior,
and the editors, without paying
much attention to the many good points
of the new regulations, or trying to understand
the merits of a settled policy
applied to an organization of more than
ten thousand men, set up a cry for the
presumably “good old days” of Inspector
So-and-So and Chief This-and-That,
when every known criminal was promptly
struck over the head on sight and
thereby taught to know his place. If the
files of New York journals for those days
following the robbery are examined they
will reveal a curious exhibition of pleading
for official lawlessness and autocracy.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='gsd' class='figcenter id003'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image023.jpg' alt='GEORGE S. DOUGHERTY Second Deputy Police Commissioner' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>GEORGE S. DOUGHERTY<br/>Second Deputy Police Commissioner</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>Another point of criticism centered on
a new method adopted in the distribution
of the detective force. This comprises
more than five hundred men. For years
they were all required to report at Police
Headquarters every day, coming
from distant precincts, and had an opportunity
to see whatever professional
criminals were under arrest. Then they
went back to different precincts to work.
This took too much time, it was found,
and the old-fashioned “line-up” of criminals
was chiefly a spectacle, the same offenders
dropping into the hands of the
police with more or less regularity. So
detectives were re-distributed on a plan
that attaches a proper number of plain-clothes
policemen to each precinct, according
to its needs, and in those precincts
the men live and become acquainted
with local criminals. Many of them
work in sections where they were born,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>and detectives speaking foreign languages
are assigned to foreign quarters.</p>
<p class='c007'>The newspapers charged that red-tape
had brought the Police Department to
such a low state that young detectives
had no idea what a real criminal looked
like, and urged the restoration of the old
system, with its picturesque “line-up.”</p>
<p class='c007'>In the days of Inspector Byrnes, when
practically all the banking of the city
was done around Wall Street, the police
established a “dead line” beyond which
criminals were supposed not to operate.
In its day, the “dead line” was real
enough, undoubtedly. But it was not
necessarily an ideal police measure, and
the growth of the city has long made it a
mere memory, living only in newspaper
tradition. To-day, banking extends as
far north as Central Park, and millions
upon millions of dollars are being carried
about daily by people of every sort.
Despite the fact that the last loss of
money from a New York bank through
<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>professional criminals (apart from fraud
and forgery) dated back some fifteen or
eighteen years, the newspapers seemed to
agree that life and property were no
longer safe in the city because this purely
mythical “dead line” had been disregarded
by the robbers.</p>
<p class='c007'>There was other comment of the same
character, and it had an immediate and
grievous effect.</p>
<p class='c007'>On the day after the robbery a chance
remark about a safe in an East Side bank,
coupled with the general excitement, led
to a run of its depositors, chiefly people
of foreign birth. The bank was solvent,
and the run was undoubtedly stimulated
by gossip started by criminals for their
own ends. But the frightened depositors
insisted on drawing out their money, and
exposing themselves to danger of robbery
and assault. The situation was met
by careful police co-operation.</p>
<p class='c007'>About six months before the taxicab
robbery, the New York legislature put
<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>into force a measure known as the “Sullivan
law,” providing penalties for the
carrying of pistols and concealed weapons.
This is unquestionably a wise measure
fundamentally, and one that was
badly needed for police administration
and public safety. It is perhaps open to
certain modifications, to be made as actual
conditions are encountered in practical
working of the law. Newspaper opinion
drew a connection between this law and
the “wave of crime,” and its repeal was
urged, so that every citizen might arm
himself as he pleased. Hundreds of persons
who had felt safe in going about
their business unarmed now applied for
permits to carry pistols.</p>
<p class='c007'>Fortunately, a sensation does not last
long in New York.</p>
<p class='c007'>Though the Police Department felt
this criticism keenly, and was hampered
by it, pressure began to slacken in about
a week. Other sensations came along.
There was nothing to publish about the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>taxicab case, as police information was
withheld for good official reasons. Presently
the town ventured to joke about the
case. At an elaborate public dinner one
night, among other topical effects, a
dummy taxicab suddenly scooted out before
the guests, held up a dummy police
commissioner, took his watch, and scooted
away again. The diners laughed, and
that was fairly representative of the town,
which was now ready to have its joke
about the crime, too. Had there never
been any further action by the police, the
case would have quietly dropped out of
sight. But fortunately there was police
action, and with that we shall now deal.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>
<h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER II <br/> <span class='small'>HOW THE CRIME WAS HANDLED BY THE POLICE—ON THE TRAIL</span></h2></div>
<p class='drop-capa_2__6 c016'>Now, let us follow the police story.
We will begin at the very beginning,
watch the incidents and
character unfold, and give quite a little
attention to the technical methods by
which results were arrived at. For the
story is a study in clean, straightforward
detective work, and that work ought to
be better known by the public, so that intelligent
public opinion may back up
honest police effort.</p>
<p class='c007'>The story starts with a burly, genial
man, sitting in a big office at Police
Headquarters. The office is that of the
Second Deputy Police Commissioner,
and the man is the Commissioner himself,
George S. Dougherty.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>Commissioner Dougherty dominates
the story. The taxicab robbers were
caught by his methods, plans and supervision,
backed by the splendid team work
of the men under him. His own sources
of information supplied the clues, and
his personal skill in examining criminals
brought out the confessions that saved the
city the expense of trials with all but one
offender. It is far from the writer’s wish
to indulge in hero-worship, however, so
these details will appear in their proper
place in the narrative.</p>
<p class='c007'>George Dougherty has had nearly
twenty-five years’ experience in criminal
work in New York, and over the whole
country. Until his appointment by
Mayor Gaynor in May, 1911, he was connected
with the Pinkerton organization.
Bank and financial crimes have long been
his specialty, so the taxicab case fell right
into his own province. He knows the
ways of forgers, bank sneaks, swindlers,
burglars and “yeggmen,” and is personally
<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>acquainted with most of the criminals
in those lines in and out of prison.
He has also had much to do with protecting
the crowds at races, ball games, aeronautic
meetings and other big gatherings.
As executive head of the detective bureau,
five hundred plain-clothes policemen
scattered over Greater New York cover
all crimes of a local and routine nature,
and are subject to his call when a special
case like the taxicab robbery comes up
for his personal attention.</p>
<p class='c007'>On an ordinarily quiet morning at Police
Headquarters, there will be a steady
stream of people passing into Dougherty’s
office. Several assistants guard the
doors leading from two ante-rooms, and
marshal the visitors. Now a group of detectives
enters and hears a talk on methods.
Then two detectives come in, make
a report and receive further instructions.
Then there will be an interruption, perhaps,
while an assistant soothes and sends
away a crank who occasionally turns up
<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>with a purely imaginary affair of his own,
and two more detectives pass in accompanied
by a man and a woman who look
just like the people one sees dining at a
fashionable uptown restaurant. The woman’s
furs are magnificent, and her hat
a costly Fifth avenue creation.</p>
<p class='c007'>“A couple of taxpayers?” speculates
the group of reporters, waiting outside to
get a statement about some important
case.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Two of the cleverest check swindlers
in the country,” corrects a detective, and
presently the reporters are called in, and
Dougherty recites names, dates and facts
connected with the gang to which these
prosperous “taxpayers” belong, gazing
reflectively out of the window as details
come back in memory, and chuckling
with the delighted journalists as the pithy
slang and professional names of the underworld
are jotted down on their pads.
They fire a scattering volley of questions
at him and depart, and then his secretary
<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>announces that the saloon-keeper who
knows a good deal about the Blind
Puppy Café case is outside, but refuses
to talk to the police at all.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Hullo!” is the Commissioner’s off-hand
greeting as the cautious saloon-keeper
comes in, and in two minutes the
latter is answering questions freely.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Why, say!” he exclaims, “I’ll tell <em>you</em>
anything.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Then a humble little woman in a cheap
hat and a long cloak is brought in. For
more than an hour she has been waiting
outside, with her eyes fixed patiently on
the door leading to the inner office.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Stand there,” says the Commissioner,
with gruff kindness, and he makes a formal
statement about her husband, who
has been arrested with a criminal gang,
and is pretty certain to go to prison. He
tells her what has been done in the case,
and what will follow, and the little woman
listens mutely. When he finishes,
her eyes fill with tears. But she makes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>no reply, nor any sound. The Commissioner
winks fast as he looks out of the
window again, and then says, sympathetically:</p>
<p class='c007'>“That’s the best that can be done. But
don’t you worry. Come in and see me
again. Keep in touch with me, and don’t
worry yourself. Come in and talk with
me—come in to-morrow.” And she
bravely wipes her eyes and goes out with
her trouble.</p>
<p class='c007'>The procession continues.</p>
<p class='c007'>Police captains and detectives in
squads, prisoners and witnesses in twos
and threes, newspaper men in corps and
singly, and occasionally a cautious gentleman
who wants to see the Commissioner
alone, and is anxious that nobody
say anything about this visit to Police
Headquarters—for he is an informant.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>The First Alarm</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>The taxicab robbery took place on a
quiet morning like this.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>Suddenly, around eleven o’clock on
Thursday, February 15, a brief message
comes from the second precinct, stating
that a robbery has been committed in the
financial district. A little later there is a
fuller report over police wires. The details
are few, as will be seen by the general
alarm that presently goes out over
the city:</p>
<p class='c019'><i>Police Department, City of New York</i>,</p>
<div class='c020'>February 15, 1912.</div>
<p class='c021'>To all, all Boroughs—notify the patrol
platoon immediately.</p>
<p class='c021'>Arrest for assault and robbery three men:</p>
<p class='c021'>No. 1, about 35 years, five feet eight or
nine inches in height, 160 or 170 pounds,
small stubby dark mustache, dark complexion,
medium build, dark suit and cap,
no overcoat.</p>
<p class='c021'>No. 2, about 35 years, five feet ten inches
in height, slender build, dark hair, possibly
smooth shaven, light brown suit, no overcoat,
wore a cap.</p>
<p class='c021'>No description of No. 3.</p>
<p class='c021'>Stole $25,000 in five and ten dollar bills,
contained in a brown leather telescope bag,
24 inches long, 16 inches square, from two
<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>bank messengers in a taxicab about 11 this
a. m., at Park Place and Church Street, and
escaped in a five or seven-seated black touring
car, top up. Look out for this car, bag
and occupants on streets, at ferry entrances,
bridge terminals, railroad stations. Inquire
at all garages, automobile stands, stables,
etc.</p>
<p class='c021'>If found, notify Detective Bureau.</p>
<p class='c018'>Before noon, the Commissioner has
postponed appointments, assigned routine
business, and is engaged in an investigation
that will keep him busy until
that morning, twelve days later, when the
first arrests are made, and the case is, in
police parlance, “broken.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Where do the police begin in such a
crime? What do they start with when
there is apparently so little to work upon?</p>
<p class='c007'>In spite of the wide popular interest
in police and criminal matters, the average
citizen has no very clear idea. Even
the newspaper reporter, following police
activities every day, is not well informed
in technical details. Some information
<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>is necessarily withheld from him, and he
is a busy young man, with his own technical
viewpoint, working hard to get his
own kind of information.</p>
<p class='c007'>This lack of knowledge leads to a feeling
of mystery, helplessness and terror
after a sensational crime, and to criticism
of the police. They are at work, skillfully,
honestly, diligently. But results
take time. It would do little good to
make arrests without evidence. The citizen’s
sympathies are aroused by brutal
lawlessness, and he urges that somebody
be caught and punished. If results are
not at once apparent, he jumps to the conclusion
that the police are “demoralized.”
He would be startled if he could
see how quickly and persistently the underworld
takes steps to strengthen him in
that conclusion, and use him to discredit
the police.</p>
<p class='c007'>Sixty detectives are immediately called
into the case. Five of them go down to
the scene of the robbery, with orders to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>work there until further notice. They
make a thorough search of the neighborhood,
following the route taken by Montani’s
taxicab, and questioning merchants,
newsdealers, porters, truckmen and other
persons likely to have information as eye-witnesses.
They go through the streets
that may have been taken by the escaping
robbers, and work over the whole ground.
This search through one of the busiest
sections of New York in a busy hour,
amid the excitement created by the crime,
may appear like hopeless business. But,
as will be seen presently, it yields important
results. Other detectives search garages
for the black automobile without a
license number in which the robbers are
reported to have got away. Four uniformed
policemen on beats along the
route taken by the taxicab are questioned.
Other detailed inquiries of the same nature
are started.</p>
<p class='c007'>But the most important work of the
first day centers at Police Headquarters,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>where a conference is held by Commissioner
Dougherty and his assistants, and
in the examination of Montani, the taxicab
driver.</p>
<p class='c007'>Strip all the labels off a suit of clothes
and lay it before a committee of tailors.
In a few moments certain points would
be agreed upon. It may be a new suit,
or an old one, a fine piece of tailoring,
or a cheap hand-me-down. The committee
could often identify the cheap suit
and tell the name of its manufacturer,
while with a seventy-five-dollar suit it
might be possible to determine the
maker’s name. This holds true of many
other lines of work, and it is particularly
true of criminal investigation.</p>
<p class='c007'>Who cut and made that suit of clothes?</p>
<p class='c007'>The conference sat down to determine
this, judging the robbery strictly as a
piece of workmanship. Names of known
bank criminals were brought up, one by
one, and details gone over. It soon became
clear that none of the men identified
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>with bank crime were likely to have the
brains, skill or organization to plan and
execute so complicated a robbery.</p>
<p class='c007'>The criminals had known the habits of
the bank in conveying cash uptown. They
knew the route, and were aware that the
guard was only an elderly man and a seventeen-year-old
boy, both unarmed. They
had boarded the cab at the best point, and
evidently made arrangements for stopping
it. There was team work in every
detail. It showed marked insight, for instance,
to provide additional men to boost
each assailant in at the doors. For young
Wardle, the bank employee, had made a
plucky attempt to shove his robber out
and shut the door, and might have succeeded
had there not been an outside man.
Robberies are committed under exciting
conditions. They sometimes fail because
criminals balk. That outside man was
there not only to help his “slugger” into
the cab, but to <em>force</em> him in if he shrank,
and make certain he did his work. Whoever
<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>planned such details, it was agreed
at the conference, possessed more cunning
than the ordinary bank criminal.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Montani is Examined.</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>When Montani, the taxicab driver, arrived
at Police Headquarters, he was
willing to talk, and seemed anxious to
help the police in every way. He knew
suspicion might be directed toward himself,
but did not resent that. He talked
like a man confident of the truth of his
story, and certain that he would be found
blameless.</p>
<p class='c007'>Montani is an Italian, from the northern
part of Italy, about 30 years old, five
feet six inches high, rather stout and
thick-set, with very dark complexion.
The striking feature of his countenance,
his large, intelligent brown eyes. Commissioner
Dougherty found himself
thinking of Napoleon in connection with
Montani.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>The first examination lasted all afternoon,
Montani going out to lunch with
the Commissioner. Hundreds of questions
were asked bearing on the robbery,
the appearance of the criminals, and
Montani’s past and personal affairs. The
story was gone over again and again, and
different questioners relieved each other.
Yet the taxicab man never lost his temper
or patience, and did not contradict himself
in any important particular.</p>
<p class='c007'>Montani had been in this country since
the age of twelve, it appeared, had a wife
and two children, and was the owner of
two taxicabs operated from a stand at a
hotel near the bank, whose money he regularly
carried. He had owned three
cabs, but lost one through business reverses.
In fact, he had passed through
money troubles, and his story excited sympathy.
Starting originally as a truckman
for a salvage company, his ambition and
intelligence had won him such confidence
that this company lent him money to set
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>up trucking for himself. Still more ambitious,
he had become a taxicab proprietor.
Through the trickery of an ill-chosen
partner, however, he has lost some
of his savings. He seemed a little bitter
about this, and it was a circumstance not
likely to escape an expert police examiner,
for the loss of money through fraud,
coupled with temptation, is often the
starting point in crime. The Italian’s
former employers spoke highly of his
character when questioned by detectives.
He gave the names of chauffeurs who had
worked for him lately, and of business
people who knew him, and careful investigation
failed to disclose any suspicious
circumstances. Montani quite won the
newspaper men—so much so that, when
he was discharged in court a few days
later for apparent lack of evidence, the
newspapers criticised the police for having
held him at all.</p>
<p class='c007'>And yet, before that first night, Montani
himself, largely through simple answers
to questions, had become so involved
that there was ground for holding
him under arrest.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='eph' class='figcenter id004'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image045a.jpg' alt='EDWARD P. HUGHES Inspector in Command of Detective Bureau' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>EDWARD P. HUGHES<br/>Inspector in Command of Detective Bureau</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='dgr' class='figcenter id004'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image045b.jpg' alt='DOMINICK G. RILEY Lieutenant and Aide to Commissioner Dougherty' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>DOMINICK G. RILEY<br/>Lieutenant and Aide to Commissioner Dougherty</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>In the questions and cross-questions,
the checks and counter-checks of a skillful
examiner, there are possibilities little
suspected by those not familiar with that
kind of work.</p>
<p class='c007'>Montani had slowed down his cab at
the point where the robbers boarded it.
He said that an old man had suddenly
got in front, and he had slackened speed
to avoid running over him. But detectives
along the route found eye-witnesses
who had seen the robbers board the cab,
and who could testify that there had been
nobody in front of the vehicle.</p>
<p class='c007'>Both of his cabs had stood in line near
the bank that morning, the one driven by
himself being second, and the other, in
charge of an employee, was first. When
the call came from the bank, Montani
answered it himself out of his turn, sending
the other cab uptown, as he explained,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>to have some tires vulcanized. But it was
not a good explanation.</p>
<p class='c007'>He said that as soon as the robbers left
his cab he had raised a cry for help. But
eye-witnesses were found who denied this.</p>
<p class='c007'>Instead of running north after the robbers’
automobile when he had taken a policeman
aboard his cab, he ran south,
away from it. This action, he maintained,
was taken under orders from the
policeman. But the latter denied that.</p>
<p class='c007'>He was not able to explain how the
robbers had known where to post their
automobile so it would be waiting at the
spot where they finished their work.</p>
<p class='c007'>Interest centered in this mysterious
black automobile without a license number.
For, though Montani was an experienced
chauffeur, and his replies to other
questions showed that he had seen both
the rear and the side of that car, he was
unable to tell its make.</p>
<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, it was learned that three
men had hurriedly boarded an elevated
<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>train near the scene of the robbery shortly
after, not waiting for change from a quarter.
The ticket-seller was unable to describe
them, but connected them with the
robbery when he heard about it.</p>
<p class='c007'>Montani was held in the custody of the
Commissioner that night, to be put
through further examination in the morning.
But long before morning the police
were working on an entirely new development.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>The First Direct Clue</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>The law-abiding citizen goes around
New York with little knowledge of the
crowding underworld all about him. It
is perhaps just as well that he knows
nothing of the lives and morals of hundreds
of people who elbow him on the
streets, sit beside him in the cars, and
scrutinize him with a strictly professional
eye in many places.</p>
<p class='c007'>Nor has he any clear conception of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>relations that a good police officer maintains
with members of this underworld.
It is a world just as complete as that of
business or society, however, and much of
the time of a detective or police official is
spent keeping track of people in it, forming
acquaintances and connections in various
ways, and establishing the organization
of informants that will help in the
detection and prevention of crime. A
good detective is like a good salesman—he
keeps track of his “trade.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Shortly after midnight of the first day,
Commissioner Dougherty received a message
over the telephone that sent him uptown
to meet an informant. At two
o’clock in the morning of Friday, February
16, he and this person had a talk at a
fashionable uptown hotel. Indeed, most
of the meetings with informants during
this case were held at two well-known hotels,
perhaps the last places in the city
that anybody would connect with such
conferences.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>Informants are not always right, nor
always possessed of useful information.
But this one had the first real clue.</p>
<p class='c007'>On the afternoon of the robbery, it was
learned, a fellow known as “Eddie Collins”
had come to his rooming house, on
the lower West Side, told a woman with
whom he lived, known as “Swede Annie,”
to pack up and be ready to leave the
city in a hurry, and presently disappeared
with her. He was also reported to have
a large roll of money. With a rough estimate
of the size of this roll, given by
the informant, and a dummy roll of
“stage money” made up for the purpose,
the police were able to judge that Collins
must have had between $3,000 and $5,000.
That would have been his probable share
in a division of the stolen currency among
five men.</p>
<p class='c007'>The house where Collins had lived was
kept by a Mrs. Sullivan. Steps were at
once taken to “surround” this woman, as
the operation is known technically. For
<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>before a possible source of information
like Mrs. Sullivan is followed up, it is
necessary to know something about it.
The person in question may be criminal,
or in league with the underworld. On
the other hand, he or she may be quite
innocent, and willing to aid the police.
The “surround” is an interesting operation.
It is often made without the knowledge
of the person investigated. In many
cases it takes time.</p>
<p class='c007'>Mrs. Sullivan came through the ordeal
handsomely.</p>
<p class='c007'>She proved to be a wholesome, hard-working
landlady, keeping a house that
sheltered occasional suspicious characters,
but entirely honest herself. She was not
only able to furnish information about
her late lodgers, but willing.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Sure, it’s a good deal I know about
that Collins, as he calls himself,” she said,
“and mighty little that’s good.”</p>
<p class='c007'>It seems that about two weeks previously
Collins had offered to pay the landlady
<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>if she would appear in a Brooklyn
court and testify to the good character of
a criminal named Molloy, who was being
held for trial on a charge of robbery.</p>
<p class='c007'>“They’re paying fifteen to twenty dollars
for ‘character’ witnesses,” said her
lodger.</p>
<p class='c007'>“And do you think I’d take the stand
and perjure myself swearing for a man
I never heard of?” asked the indignant
landlady.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Oh, that’s nothing to some of the
things we do,” was the reply.</p>
<p class='c007'>Several days later, while she was putting
some laundry into Collins’ bureau
drawer the landlady caught sight of two
new blackjacks. She asked Collins what
he was doing with such weapons.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Aw, we use them in our business,” he
said. Then, with the confidence often
bred in criminals by success, he told her
he knew a gang that was planning to rob
a taxicab that carried money uptown to
a bank every week. Mrs. Sullivan questioned
<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>him as to details, and he assured
her it would be an easy job.</p>
<p class='c007'>“For we’ve got it all fixed with the
chauffeur,” he said.</p>
<p class='c007'>At that point, however, like many an
honest person who might aid the police
with information, Mrs. Sullivan let the
matter drop out of her mind. It is a
simple thing to mail a letter or telephone
to Police Headquarters, giving such information,
and the experience of the Detective
Bureau is such that the information
can be investigated without involving
innocent persons. But perhaps Mrs.
Sullivan concluded that, in a big city like
New York, it is well for people to keep
their mouths shut. Or maybe she decided
that Collins was merely boasting.</p>
<p class='c007'>On Friday, less than twenty-four hours
after the robbery, a “network investigation”
was begun.</p>
<p class='c007'>Sixty detectives searched that part of
the city where Collins and Annie had
lived, seeking further information. Photograph
<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>galleries and other places were
investigated on the chance of finding pictures.
Denizens of the underworld were
talked with casually. Professional criminals,
prostitutes, dive-keepers, receivers
of stolen goods and other shady characters
were brought before Commissioner
Dougherty in couples and half-dozens for
quick cross-examination. By Saturday
evening the police had some highly important
information.</p>
<p class='c007'>It was learned that Annie had been seen
going away on the afternoon of the robbery
in a taxicab, accompanied by two
men, one of whom was Collins, and the
other unknown. Good descriptions were
secured of Annie and her sweetheart, especially
of her hat, which was a cheap
affair, but conspicuous by reason of a row
of little red roses. It was also discovered
that Collins had been a boxer, that he
hailed from Boston, and that his real
name was Eddie Kinsman. Finally, the
police secured two photographs, one an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>indifferent picture of Kinsman, and the
other an excellent portrait of Annie.
These were quickly put through the department’s
photograph gallery, where
there are facilities for making duplicates
in a hurry, and more than a hundred
copies were soon ready for work
which will be described in its proper
place.</p>
<p class='c007'>The trail now seemed to lead to Boston.
At all events, further information
was to be secured there. And here came
in a little refinement imparted by Commissioner
Dougherty’s experience with
the Pinkerton forces. For where this private
detective organization works unhampered
over the whole country, the official
police forces in most cities confine their
searches to their own territory. When it
is believed that criminals have left town,
as in this case, a general description is
telegraphed to other cities. Dougherty’s
method, however, is always to send a man
from his own staff, with detailed instructions.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>There are no local boundaries for
him.</p>
<p class='c007'>Late on Saturday night Inspector
Hughes, of the Detective Bureau, slipped
out of headquarters with Detective
O’Connell, and took a train for Boston.
Their departure was kept strictly secret.
They bid good night to associates, saying
that they expected to be up and at work
again early next morning, and until their
return on Monday everybody who asked
for the Inspector was told that “he is
usually around the building somewhere.”</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Montani Points Out “King Dodo”</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>All through Friday and Saturday,
while the network investigation was going
on, Commissioner Dougherty continued
his examination of Montani.</p>
<p class='c007'>Some important information against
him now came from outside.</p>
<p class='c007'>It developed that Montani had been
involved several months before in an insurance
<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>case, claiming indemnity for a
burned automobile under a policy. He
had presented, as part of its value, a bill
for repairs amounting to $1,348. The insurance
company, however, had found
that this bill was fraudulent, that the repairs
had never been made, and had obtained
a statement to that effect from the
Italian chauffeur. Out of pity for his
wife and two children the case was not
pressed against him. Now that he was
involved in another crime, however, the
insurance people came forward and laid
the facts before the police.</p>
<p class='c007'>Of course, Montani knew nothing
about this new development.</p>
<p class='c007'>For two days the chauffeur was questioned
at intervals, and the inquiry centered
chiefly on the knotty points in his
story of the crime. He was particularly
pressed for better explanations of the
slackening of his cab when the robbers
boarded it, but stuck to his original statement
about a man getting in front of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>vehicle. He described this person as an
old man, and said he must have been in
league with the criminals. As the police
had good evidence that there had been
nobody in front of the taxicab, however,
this point was returned to again and
again, and toward night on Saturday,
February 17, the little chauffeur began
to feel the strain.</p>
<p class='c007'>On his way to supper that evening with
men from the Detective Bureau, Montani
was taken through the Bowery. Suddenly
he stopped, dramatically, and exclaimed:</p>
<p class='c007'>“There! That is the old man who got
in front of my cab!”</p>
<p class='c007'>His finger indicated a Bowery character
as typical as anything ever seen in
melodrama—a ragged little old figure
with an amazing set of whiskers, engaged
in picking up cigar butts along the gutters.
He was immediately taken to headquarters.</p>
<p class='c007'>No detail of his work interests Commissioner
<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>Dougherty more keenly than
his study of the many picturesque characters
who turn up as an important case
unfolds. He has a ready appreciation of
everybody who appears, from the society
lady who lost her jewels to the typical
Bowery loafer. He is as ready to look
at facts from a criminal’s point of view as
that of an honest man. He has often gone
half across the country to get acquainted
with a good burglar, and in this warm
human interest lies the basis of his skill
as an examiner of suspects. These details
are set down, not in glorification of
Dougherty, but for the guidance of every
police officer interested in his methods.</p>
<p class='c007'>The moment Dougherty laid eyes on
this new character, with his magnificent
whiskers, he gave him a nickname.</p>
<p class='c007'>“King Dodo!” said the Commissioner,
and that by that name he was known in so
far as he figured in the case at all. “King
Dodo” proved to be entirely innocent,
and nothing more than the victim of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>a chance move of Montani’s, who evidently
thought that he ought to produce
something tangible to back up his assertion
that the cab had been intercepted by
an old man. “King Dodo” established a
perfect alibi, proving that he had been
elsewhere at the time of the robbery, and
after being questioned and the truth of his
story established, he was released, there
being no reason for holding him.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I feel safe,” said the Commissioner
solemnly, “in paroling you on your
own responsibility, to appear again if
wanted.”</p>
<p class='c007'>That may have been a heavier responsibility
than had been put on his shoulders
in years. But he rose to it. Two
days later a decently dressed, clean
shaven, elderly gentleman came in and
asked for the Commissioner. He was “all
dolled up,” in police parlance, and looked
like a retired small shopkeeper. The
staff did not recognize him for a moment.
But it was “King Dodo,” doing his best
<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>to fill the part of a minor figure in the
great taxicab mystery. There being nothing
for him to do, he dropped back into
private life.</p>
<p class='c007'>On his Sunday visit to Boston Inspector
Hughes talked with Chief Inspector
Watts of that city, learned where Kinsman
lived, and that his family was a respectable
one; found a bright patrolman
named Dorsey who knew Kinsman, and
gave more information about his personal
appearance, habits and career as a
boxer, desertion from the Navy, and so
forth, and made arrangements to have
the Kinsman home watched so that news
of his return would be secured immediately.
It was clear that Kinsman had
not returned to Boston.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Discovery of Kinsman’s Trail</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>As soon as Inspector Hughes returned
from Boston, on Monday morning, the
Commissioner took steps to question the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>crews of every train that had left New
York since one p. m. on the day of the
robbery.</p>
<p class='c007'>Just the other afternoon the writer sat
with a squad of young detectives at Police
Headquarters and heard a talk on
methods given by Dougherty, and one
point clearly brought out was the usefulness
to the thief-catcher of routine information.</p>
<p class='c007'>He began by relating an amusing incident.
Some days before a detective had
turned up at headquarters for instruction,
and naïvely asked the Commissioner to
lend him a pencil and a slip of paper, so
he could make some notes. Another detective
was found who had only a hazy
idea of the location of New York’s telephone
exchanges. Taking these as his
text, the Commissioner explained the
value to every police officer of what might
be called “time-table” information—knowing
the depots and ferries, what
roads run out of them, the cities reached,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>the number and character of trains, the
general methods of dispatching trains,
and so forth. The Commissioner himself
is as well informed on such matters as
any railroad man, and thoroughly familiar
with routine methods in many
other lines of work and business. How
such knowledge can be employed was
shown by the next move in the taxicab
case.</p>
<p class='c007'>Detectives were sent to every railroad
terminal to secure lists of trains, learn the
names of the crews, and make out schedules
of the time when each crew would
be back in the city. Then each man was
found and carefully questioned. His
memory could be helped by pictures of
Kinsman and Annie, and by intimate details
of personal appearance and manner.</p>
<p class='c007'>The search bore fruit, though it took
time.</p>
<p class='c007'>On Wednesday Detective Watson, who
was a railroad engineer before he joined
the police, found that Train No. 13 on
<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>the New York Central had taken on three
passengers answering the descriptions on
the afternoon of the robbery. They had
boarded the train at Peekskill, the town
to which, as it was subsequently learned,
they had ridden in a taxicab. The conductor’s
attention had been drawn to Annie
by her smoking a cigarette on the sly
in the toilet of the day coach. He remembered
her high cheek bones, and the
black velvet hat with its little roses, and
the athletic build of her men companions,
who both appeared to be boxers. It was
also established that the trio had gone to
Albany, for one of the trainmen distinctly
remembered helping Annie down at that
station.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>“Plant 21” Is Established</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>Monday, February 19, was an important
day in more ways than one.</p>
<p class='c007'>While the train investigation was going
on, it was learned that a woman
known as “Myrtle Horn,” an intimate of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>Annie’s, had moved to a lower West Side
rooming house, taking Annie’s trunk with
her, as though Annie expected to return
to the city. After a preliminary survey,
this house was visited by Commissioner
Dougherty in person. He explained that
he was a contractor, about to build a section
of the new subway, and that he was
looking for a quiet room at a reasonable
price where he might have some of the
comforts of home. After a little talk with
the landlady it became clear that she was
honest and trustworthy, with no information
of the new lodger who had taken her
front room in the basement. Arrangements
were quickly made to put this
house, inside and outside, under constant
surveillance.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='gs' class='figleft id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image067a.jpg' alt='GENE SPLAINE' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>GENE SPLAINE</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='ek' class='figright id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image067b.jpg' alt='EDDIE KINSMAN' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>EDDIE KINSMAN</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='gm' class='figcenter id006'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image067c.jpg' alt='GENO MONTANI' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>GENO MONTANI</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='stl' class='figleft id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image067d.jpg' alt='SCOTTY THE LAMB' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“SCOTTY THE LAMB”</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='jm' class='figright id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image067e.jpg' alt='JOHN MOLLOY' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>JOHN MOLLOY</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>Along in the evening Mrs. Isabella
Goodwin, a police matron, was installed
there. The Commissioner brought her,
and carried her bundle. The landlady
and the matron had never seen each other
in their lives, but kissed ostentatiously,
and made considerable fuss on the chance
of being overheard. Mrs. Goodwin was
“planted” as the landlady’s “sister,” who
had come from Montreal to live with her
and help in the housework until she could
find a position in New York. The Commissioner
grumbled a little about her
stinginess in refusing to pay an expressman
to bring her bundle, and then took
his departure, explaining that the train
had been late, and the baby was not well,
and his wife, Aggie, would be worried
about him, and so forth. Mrs. Goodwin
established herself in a room at the rear
of the basement, handy to that occupied
by Myrtle Horn, and kept her eyes and
ears open as she went about the housework,
slipping out to report when she had
any information, and receiving instructions.</p>
<p class='c007'>Outside surveillance on this house was
conducted from an empty store across the
street. Arrangements for the use of such
property are usually made by the police
<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>without difficulty, though occasionally a
close-fisted owner expects rent. Blinds
were put up over the windows, peep-holes
made, and a few hammers provided,
with some nails and boards. Then six of
the best “shadow men” in the Detective
Bureau were stationed there. They made
a little noise occasionally, in “getting the
store ready for a big firm moving up from
downtown,” and watched the house day
and night. Whenever Myrtle went out
she was followed. If she had visitors,
they were investigated. This store was
known by the code term of “Plant 21,”
so that reports could be sent without disclosing
police information.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Montani Goes Free</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>On Monday, too, Montani was arraigned
in court, and discharged for what
appeared to be lack of any evidence
against him.</p>
<p class='c007'>At this point the Commissioner took
<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>the liberty of fooling the newspaper men
for the good of his case.</p>
<p class='c007'>Newspaper criticism for three days
had been particularly severe. Editors
made many charges, and were fertile in
suggestions as what ought to be done to
reorganize the presumably “demoralized”
police department. The present
writer feels confident, however, that a
careful search of the files for those days
will disclose hardly any suggestions likely
to be at all helpful to public servants in
the discharge of duty. Many questions
with no real bearing on the case had been
brought up by the journalists, and the
Commissioner, who was patient in answering
the newspaper men, began to be
a little tired.</p>
<p class='c007'>On Sunday night his big office was
filled with reporters. They sat about
everywhere. He had admitted them because
he wanted them to see that he was
working. From time to time they quizzed
him in this fashion:</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>“Is it true that you and Commissioner
Waldo have quarrelled?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Is Waldo going to resign?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Do you favor the Sullivan law against
pistols?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Will the ‘dead line’ be maintained
now?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Hadn’t the daily ‘line up’ of criminals
ought to be restored so that detectives will
know crooks when they see them?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Hasn’t Mayor Gaynor tied the hands
of the police?”</p>
<p class='c007'>And so forth, and so forth, and so forth.</p>
<p class='c007'>Suddenly, on Sunday night, Dougherty
turned and read the newspaper men a
lecture. He said that he wanted them to
understand that he was no spring chicken
at his business, that he was working eighteen
hours a day, and that he knew he
would show results if the people would
only be patient, and give him time. His
only recommendation in the way of new
laws or reforms was for a statute that
would enable the police to put known
<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>criminals, without occupation or visible
means of support, at work mending roads.
He outlined a plan which, rather strangely,
did not get any attention in the newspapers
at all. His idea of dealing with
idle criminals, he said, was to have a
cart, with commissary and sleeping quarters
for twelve men. As soon as twelve
idle criminals with records had been sentenced,
they would pull this cart out of
town themselves, under guard, and go to
work repairing roads. If that plan were
adopted, New York would not only be as
free from criminals as the District of Columbia,
where a similar measure is enforced,
but the roads all around the city
would be so well cared for that they could
be used as roller-skating rinks.</p>
<p class='c007'>The newspapers next morning were
quite certain that Commissioners Waldo
and Dougherty had quarrelled, and when
the journalists went down to report Montani’s
examination in court they were decidedly
partial to the taxicab man.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>Dougherty had told the newspaper men
beforehand that he had evidence enough
to have Montani held for trial. He had
made very positive statements about this.
Montani would be arraigned, he predicted,
and if discharged on one count, would
be immediately arrested on something
else. If he was discharged on that, he
would still be arraigned on further
charges.</p>
<p class='c007'>It needs no very brilliant imagination,
therefore, to picture the effect upon the
newspapers when Montani, after being
arraigned on the doubtful points in his
own account of the crime, and those not
too vigorously pressed, was discharged,
with comment by the court upon the flimsiness
of the police case. There was one
striking discrepancy in the evidence presented
at that examination which, if
pressed, should have resulted in the holding
of Montani for trial. He still insisted
that he had stopped his cab because
an old man had got in front of it, but this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>was denied by a witness. That point was
permitted to pass by Lieutenant Riley,
who appeared for the police. Montani
could have been re-arrested on charges
based upon his attempt to defraud the insurance
company. But he was permitted
to go free. That course had been decided
on at Police Headquarters after some difference
of opinion.</p>
<p class='c007'>The newspapers were now more pessimistic
than ever in their comment. They
contrasted this outcome with Dougherty’s
promises that the chauffeur would be re-arrested.
It was taken as a confession of
police incompetency and bewilderment—which,
as will be seen in its proper
place, was very useful in its way. Montani
went free, and was jubilant, calling
on the Commissioner next morning to
thank him. But from the moment he left
court until he was arrested again the
Italian chauffeur never got out of sight
of the Police Department.</p>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>
<h3 class='c017'><i>What Developed on a Busy Tuesday</i></h3></div>
<p class='c018'>It was on the day after Montani’s release
that Commissioner Dougherty began
to uncover more interesting characters
in the taxicab drama.</p>
<p class='c007'>Bit by bit, through points supplied by
informants and persons who had come in
contact with him in various ways, a very
good working knowledge of the fugitive
Kinsman was pieced together. It appeared
that he had come to New York
the previous summer, from Boston, and
after a brief career as a boxer, had gone
to work in a Sixth avenue resort known
as the “Nutshell Café,” where he was a
waiter. Among his associates there had
been two characters who invited further
inquiry.</p>
<p class='c007'>The first of these was a fellow called
“Gene,” described as having a “parrot
nose,” and a criminal record. He had
been a close pal of Kinsman, and had
also introduced another intimate, a wily
<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>little Italian called “Jess,” who had formerly
owned a thieves’ resort which he
called the “Arch Café.” A good description
of Jess was secured.</p>
<p class='c007'>There was some delay while the Commissioner
“surrounded” this last-mentioned
resort to find out if it was a place
where any information might be obtained
openly. The question was decided in the
negative. So a plain-clothes man was
quietly “planted” there to pick up information.</p>
<p class='c007'>When a criminal is arrested (or
“falls”) it is customary in the underworld
to raise a fund for his defense. The Arch
Café was a center for the deposit of such
“fall money.” It was learned that a hundred
dollars had been raised for the defense
of a man named Clarke, alias “Molloy,”
under arrest in Brooklyn for robbery.
This was the same Molloy to
whose fine character Kinsman had asked
his landlady to swear in court. The
Italian named Jess had taken charge of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>Molloy’s defense fund, but squandered it
in a spree. Later, making it good, he had
sent it over to Molloy’s relief by Kinsman’s
pal, “Dutch,” and an Italian known
as “Matteo.”</p>
<p class='c007'>District inspectors of police were then
called upon to find a detective who knew
Jess, and an Italian plain-clothes man,
Antony Grieco, who had grown up in
that part of New York where Jess had
kept a café, and who knew the latter well,
was detailed with another detective to
look him up and keep him under surveillance.
They found that Jess, whose last
name was Albrazzo, had headquarters in
a tough resort in Thompson street, kept
by an Italian named James Pasqualle,
better known as “Jimmie the Push.”
From that time Jess was kept “on tap,” to
await further developments.</p>
<p class='c007'>Then the Commissioner undertook to
find out more about the character called
“Gene.” Working in New York, as
waiters and bartenders, were many members
<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>of a criminal band known as the
“Forty Thieves of Boston.” The Commissioner
called in all of them that he
could find, and sounded each for information
about this “Gene.” After the time
of day had been passed, the talk would
turn on members of the band and criminals
in general, and after curiosity had
been excited, “Gene” would be referred
to casually. If the party interviewed said
he knew “Gene,” the Commissioner
would probably be sceptical, ask his last
name, press for details of appearance and
habits, and then pass to some other
subject.</p>
<p class='c007'>It was found that “Gene’s” last name
was Splaine, that he had served a term
in prison in Boston as a boy, and that,
by his general description, he must
be the third fugitive accompanying Kinsman
and Annie. When Detective Watson
got better descriptions of the third
man at Albany, and comparisons were
made with sources of information in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>New York, it became practically certain
that Gene Splaine was with Kinsman.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Annie Shows at “Plant 21”</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>It was on this day, too (Tuesday, February
20), that “Swede Annie” suddenly
stepped into police view, <em>wearing a new
hat</em>. She turned up quietly at the house
where Myrtle Horn had moved with her
trunk, and began living in the front basement
room. Matron Goodwin and “Plant
21” immediately reported her presence,
and from that time the shadow men across
the street had something to do besides
driving nails. For whenever Annie or
Myrtle went out of the house they were
followed.</p>
<p class='c007'>Shadowing is a highly interesting kind
of police work, at which some men have
exceptional ability.</p>
<p class='c007'>The general conception is that of a detective
following closely behind the suspected
person, with his eyes glued to him,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>and cautiously crouching behind lamp-posts
and trees when the victim turns suddenly.
But that is far from the real
thing. The work is done in ways altogether
different. Shadow men operate in
pairs, as a rule, and keep track of their
party from vantage points not likely to
be suspected. They dress according to
the character of the case, always in quiet
clothes, changed daily, and with absolutely
no colors that will attract attention
or lead to recognition through the memory.
They know how to follow when the
person under surveillance rides in cabs,
cars or trains, to cover the different exits
from a building into which he or she may
have gone, and to loiter several hours
around a given neighborhood, if need be,
without attracting the attention of honest
citizens.</p>
<p class='c007'>This work is done by shifts. The operators
relieve each other almost as regularly
as office employees, no matter how
far the trail may have taken them. They
<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>are in constant touch with headquarters
for the purpose of making reports and
receiving instructions.</p>
<p class='c007'>In this branch of detective work, as in
many others, the chief requisite is resourcefulness.
The detective of fact wears
little disguise apart from clothes that fit
the surroundings he moves in. But he has
an instant knack at accounting for himself
as a normal character who has happened
quite naturally into the scene. Ready
wits do the trick—not false whiskers.
Thus it came about that whenever Annie
and Myrtle were hungry, and sat down
in a restaurant, what they said was noted
by a couple of fellows at another table,
who quickly made a party of the chance
patrons they found there, discussing
wages or the suffragettes. Or if Annie
used the telephone in a drug store, a polite
young man turning over the directory
said to her, “Go ahead, lady—I’m
in no hurry,” and listened.</p>
<p class='c007'>At the same time, Matron Goodwin
<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>was reporting conversation from inside
the house. It appeared that Kinsman had
sent Annie back to the city after buying
her a new hat and giving her $125. He
promised to write soon, but did not tell
her where he was going. Toward the
end of the week, as no letter arrived, Annie
began worrying, and was talkative.
She feared that Eddie no longer loved
her. She reproached herself for letting
him go without taking her along, and
spoke of setting out to find him.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>The Trail Is Taken Up</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>It was now Wednesday, February 21,
and all the careful detail work began to
come together.</p>
<p class='c007'>It was this day that Detective Watson
found the crew of Train No. 13, on the
New York Central, which had taken
Kinsman, Annie and Splaine aboard at
Peekskill the afternoon of the robbery
after they had ridden out of New York
<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>in a taxicab to avoid possible police surveillance
at the railroad stations. Commissioner
Dougherty dispatched Watson
to Peekskill and Albany with thorough
instructions. His motto in working out
a case is, “Supervision is half the battle.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“When you get to Albany,” he said, “go
to that big hat store on Broadway near
the station. I’ll bet that’s where Annie’s
new hat was bought—they sell the best
millinery in the country outside of New
York.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Nothing important was learned at
Peekskill, but at Albany, sure enough,
Detective Watson found the saleswoman
right in “that big hat store” who had sold
the new hat, and secured Annie’s discarded
headgear. The new hat had cost
twenty-five dollars. The old one looked
as though it might have cost ninety-five
cents—a “Division Street Special.” Its
black velvet was of the cheapest grade,
the famous little red roses proved to be,
on close inspection, nothing more than
<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>little loops of pink cotton cloth, and the
general state of the hat indicated that it
was about time Annie had a new one.
This interesting “bonnet,” however,
seemed just then more handsome than any
costly article of millinery ever smuggled
over from Paris. It was immediately sent
to New York by express, with a copy of
the sales slip covering the purchase. The
saleswoman was able to add one or two
details of description, and remembered
how, after the woman had selected a hat,
the two men had joked about who was to
pay for it.</p>
<p class='c007'>“She’s your girl,” said Splaine, and so
Kinsman had paid the bill with five five-dollar
bills.</p>
<p class='c007'>Nothing could be learned as to the direction
in which the two men meant to
travel. Detective Watson now began a
search among train crews running out of
Albany, and Commissioner Dougherty, in
New York, got the Albany ticket-sellers
by long-distance telephone. His knowledge
<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>of how railroad tickets are sold, accounted
for, taken up, cancelled and
checked by the auditing department made
it possible to sift matters down to the
strongest kind of probability. After considerable
telephoning, aided by Detective
Watson on the spot, it was determined
that Kinsman and Splaine had been the
purchasers of two consecutively numbered
tickets for Chicago sold together on
Friday morning, twenty-four hours after
the robbery, and that they had gone west
on Train No. 3, leaving Albany at 12:10
p. m. Their tickets were available for
that train, and the conclusion was
strengthened by calculating Annie’s
movements. For it was found that she
had come back to New York the same
day, between four and five in the afternoon.
She had kept out of sight until she
appeared at Myrtle Horn’s lodging and
was reported by Matron Goodwin and
“Plant 21” on Tuesday. But she must
have taken a train from Albany about the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>time that the men were starting for Chicago,
reaching New York at 3:45 p. m.</p>
<p class='c007'>Commissioner Dougherty felt that the
chances of finding his men in Chicago
were so good that, without wasting time
in an investigation of the crew of Train
No. 3, he put Detectives Daly and Clare
aboard a Chicago train that same night.
Kinsman and Splaine would both find
congenial company among the pugilists
in Chicago.</p>
<p class='c007'>These detectives were given names to
conceal their identity, and ordered to report
under the code term of “Orange
Growers” to eliminate all flavor of police
business. They received detailed instructions
about where to go and what to do.
Again the Commissioner covered the
trail when it led out of New York by
sending capable assistants, instead of
merely wiring the police in other cities.
Before the “Orange Growers” departed,
the “boss” gave them a little talk about
expenses.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>The detective attached to a municipal
police force is very often hampered by
fear of making unusual expenditures. Accounting
routine is strict. Telegrams are
often limited to the minimum of ten
words where a hundred are needed to
send a working description or report. The
long-distance telephone is used as a luxury,
and in many instances where the
plain-clothes man can get valuable information
through an informant he pays the
shot out of his own pocket because there
is no other way of paying it, and trusts
to the chance that this private investment
out of his salary will help him “break” a
knotty case.</p>
<p class='c007'>Commissioner Dougherty told the
“Orange Growers” that they would be
kept on this trail if it led all around the
world. They must not consider expenditure
when there was vital information to
put on the wire. He expected them to
turn to the long-distance telephone whenever
they needed new instructions in a
hurry. Briefly, he took the blinders and
shackles off them, and sent them out to
do good work, and the outcome justified
this far-sightedness.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='ja' class='figleft id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image089a.jpg' alt='JESS ALBRAZZO' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>JESS ALBRAZZO</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='ma' class='figright id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image089b.jpg' alt='MATTEO ARBRANO' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>MATTEO ARBRANO</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='jp' class='figleft id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image089c.jpg' alt='JAMES PASQUALE' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>JAMES PASQUALE</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id='bd' class='figright id005'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image089d.jpg' alt='BOB DELIO' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>BOB DELIO</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>At that period of the winter trains were
delayed everywhere by storms, so the
“Orange Growers” had opportunities to
make inquiries at stations and railroad
restaurants all along the line to Buffalo.
They were in search of their “brother,”
who was described in terms of Kinsman’s
personal appearance, and was supposed
to be on his way somewhere with another
man. At Syracuse an observant waitress
remembered their “brother” distinctly,
having served both the men when their
train stopped for supper. Finally, the
two “Orange Growers” got snowed up in
Michigan for a time, and there we will
leave them for the present.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Montani Quizzed Once More</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>By Thursday many loose ends of the
case were being brought together so effectually
<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>that the outlook seemed exceedingly
bright.</p>
<p class='c007'>But only to the executive circle in
Dougherty’s office.</p>
<p class='c007'>Outside, all was dark. Newspaper
criticism had become more caustic than
ever, and the public, after the ingrained
habit of New York, was turning its attention
to fresher news sensations.</p>
<p class='c007'>At a big annual dinner of police officials
held that evening, February 22, the
atmosphere of gloom resting upon the department
was most tangible. The fourteen
hundred guests, who were chiefly police
inspectors, captains and lieutenants,
felt that a stigma lay upon the service
with which they were identified. They
had no means of knowing, of course, that
one week from that night the gloom
would have lifted, criticism be turned to
praise, and that policemen generally
would be, as a witty lieutenant put it,
“back to our official standing again—which
never was so very high.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>Montani had called at Police Headquarters
repeatedly, accompanied by his
unseen shadowers. He professed to be
anxious to furnish further information,
if it lay in his power, and the Commissioner
chatted with him cordially, leading
him to believe that he no longer
rested under the slightest suspicion.</p>
<p class='c007'>On Friday Dougherty made an interesting
effort to “break” Montani.</p>
<p class='c007'>He now had a minute physical description
of Kinsman, as well as two photographs
of him. The chauffeur was asked
to describe once more the man who had
sat upon the cab seat with him. The questions
went over details from head to foot,
and were prompted by details of Kinsman’s
real appearance.</p>
<p class='c007'>Montani said the man had large brown
eyes, which was true.</p>
<p class='c007'>He remembered that he had talked
with a good American accent, and used
words not common to the criminal, which
was also more or less true.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>He suddenly recalled a gold-filled
tooth in the robber’s upper right-hand
jaw, a point already furnished by informants.</p>
<p class='c007'>In fact, as this new examination went
on, it became clear to the Commissioner
that Montani was actually describing
Kinsman, changing only one detail. He
said that the robber had had a dark mustache,
while it was certain that Kinsman
had been smooth-shaven.</p>
<p class='c007'>Suddenly the Commissioner tried what
is known as a “shot.”</p>
<p class='c007'>The examiner in such an inquiry is
often in possession of incriminating evidence.
Instead of producing it bluntly as
evidence, however, he will perhaps let it
slip out bit by bit, as though by awkwardness,
meanwhile maintaining an appearance
of absolute confidence in the suspect’s
integrity. A classic example of this
device is found in the Russian writer Dostoieffsky’s
“Crime and Punishment.” The
skillful “shot” is usually far more disconcerting
<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>than evidence produced openly to
overwhelm. For the suspect assumes that
the examiner really knows nothing, and
has merely blundered. So he is on his
guard outwardly. But he also worries inwardly,
and this trying conflict between
inner doubt and the need for keeping up
outer calm will often break him down
completely.</p>
<p class='c007'>Dougherty’s “shot” was a photograph
of Kinsman.</p>
<p class='c007'>By pre-arrangement an assistant came
into the office and began turning over
some papers on the Commissioner’s desk.
The photo of Kinsman popped out where
Montani could see it plainly, and then
was hurriedly put out of sight again. The
Commissioner scolded his assistant, and
the latter stood shamefaced and silent.</p>
<p class='c007'>But in this instance the device failed.</p>
<p class='c007'>Montani not only betrayed no interest
in Kinsman’s picture, but took the awkward
assistant’s part, and asked the Commissioner
not to scold him.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>Montani had planned his crime, fitted
the plan with men, laid out every detail
in his mind, and arranged his story beforehand.
He expected to be arrested,
and said so. He admitted that there were
inconsistencies in his story, but hoped to
clear them up. He had discussed the
crime with Jess and Dutch, and had not
been seen in the company of the other
criminals. So, having settled on his story,
Montani stuck to it without variation under
every form of pressure. Others forgot
what they had arranged as their defense,
or departed from it, or broke down
and confessed. But not Montani. He
alone went to trial, and stuck to his story
until the end.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>The “Orange Growers” in Chicago</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>When Daly and Clare, the two New
York detectives working as the “Orange
Growers,” arrived in Chicago, they went
to Police Headquarters in that city, made
<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>inquiries about Kinsman and Splaine, and
secured the aid of Chicago detectives.
Then they put up at a hotel where, by
arrangements with the house detective,
they occupied a room on the second floor
handy to a little-used stairway leading to
a side street, which would make it easy
to slip in and out without going through
the lobby. On the trip from New York
both of them had neglected shaving, and
Daly was an especially tough-looking
citizen, for his beard grows out stiff and
bristly, with black and red intermixed,
and a little green to help the general effect.
With suits of old clothes and
sweaters they were so little like their official
selves that for several days, though
they went rather freely around resorts
frequented by crooks who knew them in
New York, they were not recognized.</p>
<p class='c007'>The “Orange Growers” now became a
pair of hardened “yeggmen,” or bank robbers,
and for three days were busy visiting
thieves’ haunts all over the city, from the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>Levee district to the Stockyards. It was
found that Kinsman and Splaine had put
up at a high-class boarding house in a
fashionable residence section. Kinsman
seemed to be doubtful about the impression
Splaine might make there, though in
the opinion of the police Splaine was by
far the more intelligent of the pair. So
he took the landlady aside and asked her,
privately, if she had objections to a prize-fighter
in her house. The landlady replied,
“Why, no! if he is a gentleman—many
prize-fighters are just like other
people!” Thereupon, Kinsman undertook
that Splaine should behave himself.
He also wanted to know if valuables were
safe there, and the astonished landlady
assured him that her house was like a
home, that the guests were like one big
family and seldom locked their doors, and
that Mr. Smith, well known as an officer
in one of the leading banks, had lived
there for years.</p>
<p class='c007'>The pair had spent considerable time
<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>in criminal haunts, but had now disappeared.
Kinsman, as it was learned later,
had returned to New York. Splaine was
apparently in Chicago still, spending his
money, but the two “Orange Growers”
seemed never to catch up with him. Their
man had always gone around the corner
within the past hour.</p>
<p class='c007'>Finally they planned a ruse with the
aid of two Chicago detectives. Splaine
had been intimate with a certain woman
of the underworld, known as “Josie.”
Clare went to her, represented himself as
a “stick-up man,” said he and his partner
were after that guy with all the money
and diamonds, meaning Splaine, and
that they meant to rob him. If Josie
worked with them, like a good girl,
she would come in for her third of the
plunder.</p>
<p class='c007'>Josie professed ignorance. She was
sure, so help her Mike, cross her heart,
that she knew nothing about no gent with
any money or diamonds—no such a party
<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>had been near the house in months, worse
luck. Clare argued awhile with no results,
and then said he would come back
a little later and bring his pal. Then Daly
was introduced to Josie as the extremely
undesirable citizen who would do the
strong-arm work. But Josie still insisted
that she had no idea what they were talking
about.</p>
<p class='c007'>They went out, and within a few minutes
the two Chicago detectives, Dempsey
and McFarland, known by Josie as
officers, came in, described the disguised
Clare and Daly as two of the most desperate
“yeggmen” in the country, said
that they had warrants for them, and
asked if they had been seen. Josie
crossed her heart again, and said that
there had been nobody around there all
evening—believe her, it was like living
the simple life, and if things kept on
bein’ so quiet she’d blow the town and go
back to Keokuk.</p>
<p class='c007'>Then, enter the two “Orange Growers”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>once more, to be warned by the fair
Josie.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Say, the bulls are after you boys, an’
you better pull your freight, ‘cause if you
stay around here they’re goin’ to <em>get</em> you.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Aw, hell!” was the reply, “We’d just
as lieve kill a cop or anybody else. We
stick in this house till you tell us where
we can reach that guy with the money and
the diamonds—understand?”</p>
<p class='c007'>Then Josie broke down, and told them
Splaine had been there early in the evening,
but had gone away to take a train out
of town. She did not know the railroad,
and urged them to leave. This was
evidently the truth, so they hurried to Police
Headquarters, telegraphed descriptions
to other cities with a request that arriving
trains be watched, and went to bed
to get a little sleep, so that they could be
at work early the next morning.</p>
<p class='c007'>But in the morning word came from
the Memphis Police that Splaine had
been arrested there on alighting from a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>train, and they thereupon notified New
York, went to Memphis, secured Splaine
on extradition papers, and brought him
back to the metropolis.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>The Traps Are Sprung</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>On Saturday afternoon, February 24,
while most of the energy of the Detective
Bureau was centered on the taxicab
case, a brutal murder was committed in
Brooklyn.</p>
<p class='c007'>Word came that a Flatbush merchant
had been found dead in his store, shot by
unknown criminals whose motive was
robbery. They had taken his watch and
five safety razors.</p>
<p class='c007'>Inspector Hughes was sent to the scene
of the crime, and Commissioner Dougherty
quickly followed. The murder occurred
about one p. m. By six o’clock
the same day the number of the watch
had been learned through a canvass of
jewelers in the neighborhood, it being on
<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>record by one of them who had repaired
it, and the watch and two of the safety
razors had been found in pawnshops. Descriptions
of the murderers were obtained,
and by three o’clock Sunday, the
following day, their identity had been established.
Within thirty hours after the
crime these men had been arrested, positively
identified as the pawners of the
stolen articles, and completely tied up in
their own statements.</p>
<p class='c007'>At half-past nine Sunday night, while
the Commissioner, Inspector Hughes and
Captain Coughlin, in charge of Brooklyn
detectives, and Lieutenant Riley were
winding up their work on this murder
case, word suddenly came over the telephone
to Commissioner Dougherty from
an informant that Eddie Kinsman had
been seen in New York with “Swede Annie,”
and that he was accompanied by
an unknown man, wearing a red necktie,
supposed to be Gene Splaine. At the
same time Matron Goodwin, stationed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>inside Annie’s lodgings, telephoned
that she had information indicating
that Kinsman had returned to the
city.</p>
<p class='c007'>When the Commissioner motored over
to New York, he found his men covering
a hotel on Third avenue, not far from
42d street. Kinsman and Annie were inside.</p>
<p class='c007'>The Commissioner hurried to the 18th
precinct police station and sent out a call
for twenty-five detectives. Team work
on the case had developed to such a degree
by this time that, though the men
came from many stations, they were all
on hand in record time, a matter of
twenty or thirty minutes. Then a squad
of these plain-clothes men was sent to
watch every railroad station and ferry
house, each accompanied by one of the
men from “Plant 21,” familiar with Annie
from having followed her movements
for a week. Surveillance on the hotel was
strengthened, and steps taken to ascertain
<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>whether the unknown man in the red tie
was really Splaine.</p>
<p class='c007'>While making these arrangements, a
curious incident occurred, showing how
small is New York, after all, with its five
million people. As Dougherty sat in the
18th precinct station, Detective Rein
brought in a prisoner arrested for shooting
a citizen. He was drunk and extremely
disagreeable, and gave his name
as “Steigel,” living at 98 Third avenue.
Something in this address echoed to something
in Dougherty’s memory—a keen
one for names, dates, addresses and facts
generally. He investigated further, and
found that this prisoner was no other than
the criminal Molloy, whose urgent need
of “character witnesses” had played so
important a part in furnishing the first
information in the taxicab case.</p>
<p class='c007'>By some mischance, these operations
came to the ears of the newspaper men.
Word went about, beginning in Brooklyn,
that important arrests were to be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>made. The reporters followed the Commissioner
in a crowd when he refused to
make a statement. They not only hampered
the work, but greatly endangered
the outcome. On the following day, Monday,
the papers published information
about the police activities of the night before.
The hazard here may be appreciated
when the reader is told that Kinsman
had been a persistent reader of newspapers
from the day of the robbery, and
that it was largely the pessimistic newspaper
comment upon Montani’s release
in court that led him to return to New
York. Deceived by the newspaper chorus
of “police demoralization,” and the
easy way in which Montani had got free,
he concluded that the taxicab investigation
had been given up as hopeless.</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman was arrested in the Grand
Central Station at half-past eleven Monday
morning, with Swede Annie and the
unknown in the red tie. They were about
to set out for Boston.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>There were some amusing circumstances
in the arrest.</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman’s immunity over night, and
police precaution in deferring the arrest
until the last moment, on the chance that
other persons would join the party, gave
him a false confidence. He afterward admitted
that ideas of a “pinch” at that time
were far from his mind.</p>
<p class='c007'>When a criminal thought to be dangerous
is to be arrested in a crowded place
like the Grand Central Station, police
officers operate by methods that prevent
a struggle. As two detectives closed in
on the party, Kinsman watched one of
them out of the corner of his eye. While
a waiter at the “Nutshell Café” he had
often thrown objectionable guests out onto
the sidewalk. He now fancied that one
of the detectives resembled a man he had
once “bounced,” and was ready to fight if
attacked.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I was just folding it up,” he said, referring
to his fist, “and getting ready to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>land on him when one had me from behind
and the other in front. Then I knew
they were cops.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Annie was gorgeously dressed in a new
blue suit and fine fur coat, bought out of
the taxicab money. The unknown man
proved to be Kinsman’s brother, who had
come down from Boston with him. Kinsman
had visited his native city before returning
to New York, but had escaped
the police net there by stopping at a hotel
and sending for his brother. He sent a
grip home by this brother, and it was afterward
found to contain three packages
of bills of $250 each in the original wrappers
of the bank.</p>
<p class='c007'>As soon as word of these arrests was
telephoned to Police Headquarters, the
other traps were sprung. Detectives
brought in Montani, Jess Albrazzo and
Myrtle Horn, the latter, with Annie, being
held as witnesses.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>
<h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER III <br/> <span class='small'>HOW THE CRIME WAS HANDLED BY THE POLICE—THE CONFESSIONS</span></h2></div>
<p class='drop-capa_2__6 c016'>Now begins some of the most interesting
work connected with the
taxicab case—the examination of
the first prisoners, which led to confessions,
the implication of other guilty persons
not yet under arrest, and the voluntary
pleas of guilty in court which saved
costly trials in all but Montani’s case.</p>
<p class='c007'>This sort of work is familiar under the
term of “third degree.” It is popularly
supposed to be accompanied by force and
sometimes brutality—and in wrong hands
often is. Commissioner Dougherty’s experience
with a commercial detective
agency, however, has led him to develop
intelligent methods. The commercial detective
<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>organization has none of the
authority of an official police force, and
at the same time, through its national operations
and the general character of its
work, deals chiefly with the most accomplished
criminals. Therefore, tact and legal
subtilty are depended upon in examining
suspects, and the Commissioner
long ago learned to get his results mainly
by straight question and answer. He puts
his own wits against those of the suspect,
backed by experience in many other cases.
He has a practical grasp of criminal psychology,
as well as many ingenious ways
of using evidence to the best purpose,
overwhelming the suspect, and breaking
down stolidity and deception. Dougherty
is not only opposed to force in the “third
degree,” but knows that it is of absolutely
no use.</p>
<p class='c007'>The first prisoner examined was Eddie
Kinsman.</p>
<p class='c007'>When he was brought to Police Headquarters
Kinsman appeared to be thoroughly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>satisfied with himself, and confident
that no policeman would get anything
out of <em>him</em>. He proved to be a
good-looking young fellow, of athletic
build, and by no means a fool.</p>
<p class='c007'>Methods of examination are never
twice alike, for they depend upon the case
and the suspect. As a rule, however, when
the criminal first sits down to answer
Commissioner Dougherty he is astonished
by that gentleman’s apparent lack of
guile, and ignorance of worldly knowledge.
When Dougherty composes himself
for an inquiry, he is rather a heavy-looking
citizen, not unlike a country magistrate,
and his first questions, put for the
purpose of determining the suspect’s
character and previous surroundings, usually
relate to bald routine matters, such
as name, age, residence, education, family,
and so on.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Gee!” thinks the suspect, “This guy
is the biggest lobster I ever got up
against! I wonder how he ever got to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>be a police commissioner. He must have
a strong political pull.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman was ushered into a large,
quiet office, where this bureaucratic official
began by asking his name, birthplace
and other details.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Will you kindly stand up a minute
while I get your height?” asked the questioner,
and Kinsman did so in a patronizing
way. Then the dull-looking gentleman
turned back Kinsman’s coat and
looked at the little label sewed in the inside
pocket.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I see that you have been in Chicago
recently,” he observed. “This suit was
made by a tailor there. You ordered it
February 17th, two days after the robbery.”</p>
<p class='c007'>He looked into Kinsman’s hat.</p>
<p class='c007'>“That was bought in Chicago, too.”</p>
<p class='c007'>He examined the label on Kinsman’s
tie.</p>
<p class='c007'>“This was also bought in Chicago.”</p>
<p class='c007'>He turned up the label at the back of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>the neck of the new silk underclothes
worn by the prisoner.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Those were bought in State street,
Chicago, and from a very good store, too—I
know it well.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman now began to be pugnacious
and defiant.</p>
<p class='c007'>“See here!” he said, “You must take
me for a boob.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Yes, I think you are a boob,” replied
the Commissioner. “You might as well
have made your getaway with a brass
band as to take Swede Annie with you to
Albany, attracting attention all the way,
and then send her back to New York with
a hundred dollars to tell the police where
you had gone.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Suddenly Lieutenant Riley, personal
aide, walked into the Commissioner’s office
carrying a cheap article of millinery—a
shabby black velvet hat with a row
of little red roses across the front. Commissioner
Dougherty apparently grew
very angry.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>“What do you mean by bringing that
thing in here now?” he exclaimed. “I
am not ready for that—take it away.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This “shot” had been previously arranged,
of course, but Riley pretended
to be injured when called by his superior.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Cripes!” exclaimed Kinsman. “Annie’s
old hat. How did you get that so
quick?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Oh, that is only one thing we’ve got
on you,” replied the Commissioner. “We
know that you went to Peekskill in a taxicab
with Annie and Splaine on the afternoon
of the robbery. We know that you
took Train 13 to Albany, and where you
stopped that night, and where you bought
Annie’s new hat, and how much you paid
for it, and what train you took to Chicago
Friday noon. Suppose you tell me something
more about your movements?”</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman became scornful.</p>
<p class='c007'>“If you know all that,” he said, “maybe
you know more about where I went and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>what I did than I do myself. So what
would be the use of me telling <em>you</em> anything?”</p>
<p class='c007'>While certain people were being found
outside, the Commissioner worked upon
the prisoner along another line. Enough
of Kinsman’s personality was now disclosed
to show that he was vain and egotistical.
This side of his nature was therefore
fed with flattery. He was assured
that the taxicab robbery had been a wonderful
“stick-up.” Everybody in New
York had been astonished. The whole
country was talking about it, and about
him. He must be an awfully bright, cunning
fellow to have planned and carried
out such a piece of crime.</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman warmed up genially under
this admiration, and seemed to be more
confident than ever that so shrewd a
young man as himself would have little
difficulty in fooling the police.</p>
<p class='c007'>But presently self-satisfaction was subjected
to shock after shock.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>Detectives were bringing in Montani,
Myrtle Hoyt, Rose Levy, Mrs. Sullivan,
the landlady with whom Kinsman had
lived, and her housekeeper. Jess Albrazzo
was under arrest. Kinsman’s
brother was there for examination, and
Inspector Hughes and Lieutenant Riley
were bringing in startling intelligence
every few minutes.</p>
<p class='c007'>The housekeeper was ushered in, and
told how Kinsman had given her five dollars
from a huge roll of bills before leaving
for Peekskill.</p>
<p class='c007'>Commissioner Waldo came in and sat
while Mrs. Sullivan told what she knew
about her late lodger.</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman’s brother gave information
about the former’s movements from the
time he had arrived in Boston until he
brought him to New York to have a good
time, and Kinsman knew that at the home
of his parents in Boston the police would
surely find money in the original wrappers
of the bank.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>The prisoner was put under pressure
to explain how a man like himself, known
to be working as a waiter in a cheap resort,
could suddenly have come into possession
of such sums. Statements from
the women in the case had been secured,
and were produced, and finally Kinsman
was brought to detailed admissions, one
by one. He agreed that it was true he
had gone to Peekskill in a taxicab with
Annie and Splaine, that he had gone to
Albany, had bought Annie a hat there,
had gone to Chicago, and so forth. Opportunities
were given him to see Montani
and Jess, under arrest. Nothing but
the truth was told him, yet by degrees he
was led to see himself surrounded on all
sides by evidence and confessing accomplices.
At last he broke down completely,
his vain self-confidence destroyed, and
made a detailed confession.</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman’s story brought up fresh circumstances
and new actors in the taxicab
case.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>He told how he had come to New York
nine months before, to have a good time
and make money, and how, after going
penniless and hungry, and getting a few
dollars for taking part in a boxing match,
he had become a waiter at the “Nutshell
Café.” There he soon made the acquaintance
of criminals, meeting Gene Splaine,
“Dutch” Keller, “Joe the Kid,” “Scotty
the Lamb” and other characters who were
afterward to assist in the taxi robbery.
There he also met “Swede Annie” and
became her sweetheart, and finally, Jess
Albrazzo, a dark little Italian who
seemed to exert marked influence over
all the others. It was from Jess that
Kinsman first heard about the plan to rob
a taxicab carrying money to a bank. This
“swell job” was discussed, and Jess told
him he had a friend named Montani who
carried the bank’s cash, and would cooperate
in stealing it. The job would be
easy, because Montani would run the cab
through a side street, and the only guard
<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>was an old man and a boy, neither of
them armed.</p>
<p class='c007'>One Sunday night, two weeks before
the crime, Jess took Kinsman and other
accomplices over the route, after all had
drunk themselves into optimistic mood,
and pointed out the bank from which the
money was drawn, the streets through
which Montani would run, the place
where the gang could board the cab, and
the point at which they could leave it and
escape uptown. Details were discussed.
There was a difference of opinion as to
methods, and the plotters parted that
night with the understanding that each
would submit his own ideas of how the
robbery could be most effectively and
safely carried out. Eventually there was
a definite agreement as to boarding the
cab, preventing an outcry, making the
getaway and splitting up the money.</p>
<p class='c007'>According to Montani’s information,
the bank messengers usually carried between
$75,000 and $100,000. When the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>day for the robbery had been set, word
suddenly came that there would not be so
large a sum. This was disappointing, but
the gang decided to put their project
through, nevertheless. Kinsman was busy
at the café, where he worked until four
o’clock on the morning of February 15,
and “Dutch” called for him several
times, asking if he was going to “lay down
on the job.” Finally Kinsman got away,
went to a room in a lodging house taken
by “Dutch,” and found the gang all there
smoking and drinking. At five o’clock
they all went to sleep. At eight everybody
was awakened. “Dutch” and Splaine took
blackjacks, and offered Kinsman a revolver,
which he refused, saying he could
take care of himself with his hands, being
a boxer. There were six in the party—Kinsman,
“Dutch,” Splaine, “Joe the
Kid,” Jess and “Scotty the Lamb,” whose
part was to stumble in front of Montani’s
cab at the place selected for the boarding,
and thus give the chauffeur a colorable
reason for slackening speed if eye-witnesses
afterward called his honesty into
question. The gang had breakfast in a
cheap restaurant, stopped for a drink at
the saloon of “Jimmie the Push” in
Thompson street, where the booty was to
be divided, and proceeded downtown, after
parting with Jess. The latter was the
organizer, and took no part in the robbery;
as he explained, he was known as
a friend of Montani’s, and wanted to arrange
so that he could prove an alibi if
suspected, proving that he had not been
near the scene of the crime when it was
committed.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='scotty' class='figcenter id002'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image121.jpg' alt='“Scotty” Receives Final Instructions' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“Scotty” Receives Final Instructions</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>At that saloon they had met a trio of
Italian criminals known as the “Three
Brigands,” who said they were not to take
part in the robbery, but would be on hand
to see that it was vigorously put through.</p>
<p class='c007'>Arrived upon the ground, at Church
street and Trinity Place, Splaine and
Kinsman waited on the west side of the
thoroughfare, while “Dutch” and “Joe
<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>the Kid” stood on the opposite side.
“Scotty the Lamb” posted himself fifty
feet off.</p>
<p class='c007'>As Montani’s cab came speeding along,
“Dutch” raised his hat as a signal. “Scotty
the Lamb” did not have time to step in
front of the vehicle before it slackened,
and the robbers were aboard. “Dutch”
opened one door and struck the old bank
teller, Wilbur Smith, and “Joe the Kid”
boosted Splaine in on the other side,
where he assaulted young Wardle. Kinsman
mounted the seat beside Montani,
and the latter put on full speed, telling
Kinsman to point his finger at his side as
though he had a revolver. The cab
slipped past trucks and dodged pedestrians.
Kinsman said he seemed to see
policemen everywhere, and was dazed
when the vehicle stopped at Park Place
and Church street. All the criminals got
off there, “Dutch” lugging the brown bag
containing the money. Splaine and
“Dutch” were both covered with the bank
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>guards’ blood. Taking Kinsman, they
jumped aboard a street car. It was
crowded. Several passengers noticed the
bloody men, but were told that there had
been a fight, and the occurrence was not
reported to the police. After riding two
or three blocks they got off, boarded an
elevated train, rode to Bleeker street, and
went to a back room in “Jimmie the
Push’s” saloon, where the money was to
be divided. Here they found Jess and
the “Three Brigands,” and the latter now
set up a claim for a share in the booty.
Matteo, leader of the trio, pulled out a
revolver, and there was a discussion.
Finally the bag was opened, and found to
contain $25,000. There were three packages
of $5,000 each and one of $10,000.
Matteo grabbed the latter package, saying
that his gang was to get $3,000 apiece,
and that the odd $1,000 would go for
“fall money” to get Molloy out of jail in
Brooklyn. The robbers then divided the
remainder, Jess taking $3,000 for himself
<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>and another $3,000 for Montani, Splaine
getting $3,000, Kinsman $2,750, “Joe the
Kid” $250 and “Scotty the Lamb” nothing.
Kinsman then told how he had
called for Swede Annie, and left town
in a taxicab, going as far as Peekskill, to
avoid the police at the Grand Central
Station.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>Jess Confesses and Assists</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>The next prisoner examined was Jess
Albrazzo, a dark little Italian, who appeared
to be somewhat ignorant.</p>
<p class='c007'>In this examination the Commissioner
had ample outside proof, and he also employed
what he calls his “psychological
study.” Years ago, in dealing with negro
suspects in Southern crime, Dougherty
devised a little instrument which he
dubbed his “lie watch.” This was a dial
with a needle, hung round the suspect’s
neck. If the latter told the truth, the
needle presumably pointed to “Truth,”
and if he didn’t, it pointed to “Lie.” Being
<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>out of the suspect’s sight, it had a
strong effect.</p>
<p class='c007'>From that, Dougherty went into studies
of the mental states of suspects under
examination, and found rough physiological
indications which he uses as a guide
to the integrity of the suspect. Investigations
of European criminal experts like
Professor Hans Gross amply demonstrate
that there is a real scientific basis for such
methods.</p>
<p class='c007'>Dougherty took it a little easier with
Jess. They sat down, and the Commissioner
went over the Italian’s movements
for the past few months, showing him
how thoroughly he was implicated. Jess
had worked for Montani, and been intimate
with the rest of the taxicab “mob.”
He and Montani were confronted with
each other, and points brought out in
Kinsman’s confession were skillfully used.</p>
<p class='c007'>At one point in this examination the
Commissioner rose from his desk, took
the lobe of Jess’s ear between his thumb
<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>and finger, pinched it slightly, looked at
the ear closely, and then walked out of
the room.</p>
<p class='c007'>Jess was all on edge with curiosity.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Why did he pinch my ear?” he asked
of Lieutenant Riley.</p>
<p class='c007'>“To see if you are telling the truth,”
was the answer, and in a moment the
Commissioner came back and examined
that ear again.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Yes, he’s lying,” he declared. “Look
at his ear—can’t you see it yourself?”
Others were invited to look at Jess’s ear,
and the little Italian became so curious
that he actually tried to look around the
side of his skull and see his own ear!</p>
<p class='c007'>This psychological study was backed
up with abundant proof that Jess had not
told the whole truth. Presently he weakened
and confessed. He told how he had
handed $2,000 in a collar box to “Jimmie
the Push” on the day of the robbery,
which was to be taken to a Bowery bank
and put in a safe-deposit vault for Montani.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>He agreed to accompany the police
to Jimmie’s place in Thompson street, and
late that evening a party made up
of Commissioner Dougherty, Inspector
Hughes and Lieutenant Riley went there,
taking Jess along.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Jimmie the Push’s” place is one of the
most picturesque thieves’ resorts in lower
New York.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Typical of the old village,” as Dougherty
puts it. “In fact, this whole case has
a strong flavor of the little old village of
New York.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Jimmie was out when they got there,
but this saloon was in charge of the biggest,
swarthiest Italian bartender in town,
a tough Hercules weighing somewhere
around three hundred pounds. The room
was crowded with motley characters,
drinking beverages known to the neighborhood
as “shocks” and “high hats.” For
their edification, a tramp magician was
taking coins out of his ears, his nose and
the air.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>Jess was not known to be under arrest,
and immediately sent a boy called
“Reddy” to fetch the proprietor, who had
known the three police officers for years.
Presently Reddy came back and said that
Jimmie would come in about half an
hour, as he was playing cards and had a
fine hand.</p>
<p class='c007'>Reddy was sent back to impress upon
Jimmie that Jess wanted to see him
right away—it was very important. In
about two minutes, just as the Commissioner
had bought a “high hat”
for everybody in his party, Jimmie appeared.
He was told that Jess had got
into trouble in connection with the taxicab
robbery, and asked about the money
in the safe deposit vault. “Jimmie the
Push,” with his partner, Bob Deilio, had
by this time been implicated themselves,
for it was clear that the money had been
divided in their resort, and that probably
they had taken part in the planning, and
the decidedly one-sided division of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>spoils. Jimmie was led to believe that he
did not rest under suspicion, however,
and that he was only asked to aid the police.
He said Jess had handed him a collar
box on the day of the robbery, asking
him to put it in a vault in his own name,
but that he had had no idea what the box
contained, and had left it lying behind
the bar for a couple of days before he got
a chance to go to the bank with it. He
readily promised to appear at Police
Headquarters the following morning,
bring the key to the safe deposit box, and
help recover the money. Thereupon the
police officials bade him good night and
went away. But no chances were taken
on “Jimmie the Push.” From that moment
he was shadowed.</p>
<p class='c007'>That Monday was a busy day in many
other ways.</p>
<p class='c007'>Developments came thick and fast.</p>
<p class='c007'>Kinsman’s home in Boston was visited,
and $750 of the bank money recovered in
the original wrappers. It had laid in his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>grip, unknown to the honest Kinsman
family.</p>
<p class='c007'>Swede Annie, Myrtle Horn and a
girl named Rose Levy were examined,
quickly broke down, and made tearful
statements to be used in evidence. These
women were held only as witnesses, and
as the case cleared up after a few days’
detention, were released.</p>
<p class='c007'>The girl, Rose Levy, greatly attracted
the Commissioner. She was only nineteen
years old, a mild-mannered little Jewess
with jet black hair and very remarkable
eyes. The Commissioner went into details
of her personal story. It seems that
she had left her home in Brooklyn two
months before, after a quarrel with her
mother, and had come to New York looking
for a position. But she quickly fell
into the lower world, became known
as Jess’s girl, and was ambitious to be
“one of the gang.” After a fatherly talk
she was persuaded to return to her home
and live a decent life. But within a week
<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>she was back in New York again, in her
old haunts, trying to raise money to help
Jess, for whom, she told the Commissioner,
she would willingly work for the
rest of her days.</p>
<p class='c007'>Before visiting Jimmie’s saloon the
Commissioner called up the “Orange
Growers” in Chicago, had a long talk
with them, told what progress was being
made, and put new life into them.</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>More Money Recovered</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>True to his word, “Jimmie the Push”
walked into Police Headquarters at nine
o’clock Tuesday morning, February 27,
closely followed by his unseen shadowers.
He produced the key of the safe-deposit
vault, and went with officers to see the
money recovered. There was $2,000, as
Jess had stated, still in the wrappers of
the bank. Jimmie was still permitted to
go free, under the impression that he had
come through the ordeal “clean,” while
<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>fresh evidence was being obtained against
him.</p>
<p class='c007'>That morning the Commissioner also
took Kinsman down over the route of the
robbery, to have him explain it in his own
way. This was done to strengthen the
case against Montani, and upset his story
in court.</p>
<p class='c007'>Then “Scotty the Lamb” was located,
arrested, brought to headquarters and led
to confess. “Scotty the Lamb” was in
some respects a pathetic figure in the case,
and also a humorous one. He had been
in charge of the lunch kitchen at the Arch
Café when Jess owned it, and later
worked as a dishwasher in a Washington
Square hotel. A Scotch youth, from Glasgow,
he had been in this country about
four years, and while no criminal record
appeared against him, he was plainly in
the company of thieves most of the time.
According to his statement, he had been
promised $25 for doing some work for
Jess, and without inquiring into the nature
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>of it at all, had shown up with the
gang and gone along to do his minor part
of a “stall,” stumbling in front of the
cab. But before he could get out into the
street, the cab had been boarded. So poor
“Scotty the Lamb,” without a nickel for
carfare, plodded all the way uptown
again to the saloon where the money was
to be divided, and got nothing whatever.
He was a cheerful soul, however, and the
life of the party when the gang was
locked up, cracking jokes, and taking the
view that, as sentences ought to be proportioned
to the amount of money each
member of the gang had got in the division,
and he had got nothing, he might
be let off with six months’ imprisonment.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Scotty, haven’t you got any overcoat?”
asked Inspector Hughes, sympathetically,
as they were going to court one brisk
morning. “Did you <em>ever</em> have an overcoat,
Scotty?”</p>
<p class='c007'>“No, sir, I never had an overcoat,” replied
Scotty, and then as he thought of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>his prospects for going to prison, added
drolly, “And now I don’t expect, sir, that
I ever will!”</p>
<h3 class='c017'><i>The Fine Italian Hand</i></h3>
<p class='c018'>The next step in the case was that of
arresting “Jimmie the Push” and his partner,
Bob Deilio.</p>
<p class='c007'>Another phase of the robbery now began
to come out plainly.</p>
<p class='c007'>Up to the present time the main burden
of proof pointed to the four “hold-up”
men of American birth as the chief actors
in the crime. Montani and Jess, the two
Italians, appeared to be accessories.</p>
<p class='c007'>But as the tangled threads were unravelled,
one by one, it was found that
the Italians involved outnumbered the
American thugs, and that furthermore
they had outwitted them.</p>
<p class='c007'>When Bob Deilio was arrested he drew
$215 in five-dollar bills out of his pocket
and handed it to the police, admitting
that it was part of $5,500 of the stolen
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>money. The rest, he asserted, had just
been paid for rent of the two resorts operated
by “Jimmie the Push” and himself.</p>
<p class='c007'>Jimmie and Bob were taken to Police
Headquarters and examined, with Jess
present. Commissioner Dougherty played
one against the other so skillfully, with
cross-questions and counter pressure, that
in a little while each was excitedly telling
tales on his two companions with the
desperate hope of clearing himself, and
denunciations flew back and forth among
the trio as evidence came out that was
likely to send them all to prison. Their
confessions were obtained, and used in a
new effort to break down Montani. But
this was without results. The little Italian
chauffeur still stuck doggedly to his original
story.</p>
<p class='c007'>From these new confessions it appeared
that the Italians had planned the
crime, enlisted the American hold-up
men to carry out the dirty work, and laid
a counter-plot for holding them up in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>turn when the money was divided. The
“Three Brigands” were ostensibly offered
a chance to take part in the actual
robbery, but refused on the plea that it
would be too risky, and that they did not
believe Montani could carry it out successfully.
On the morning of the crime
they walked north over the route. When
they met the taxicab coming south, with
a policeman on the seat beside Montani
and two unconscious bank messengers inside,
they knew that the project had succeeded.
So the “Three Brigands” hurried
uptown to “Jimmie the Push’s” saloon.
They got there so quickly that they
were ahead of the robbers. Jess made a
rehearsed protest when they insisted in
sharing in the plunder, but the “Three
Brigands” drew revolvers, threatened to
make a disturbance that would bring in
the police, and finally helped themselves
to $10,000. When the thugs who had done
the actual work left the saloon, they had
only $8,000 all told. The Italians, who
had “played safe” at every point, had
$17,000.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div id='brigands' class='figcenter id002'>
<ANTIMG src='images/image139.jpg' alt='“The Brigands” “Stick-up” the Hold-up Men for Theirs' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p>“The Brigands” “Stick-up” the Hold-up Men for Theirs</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>
<h3 class='c017'><i>One of the Brigands Comes In</i></h3></div>
<p class='c018'>The actual whereabouts of the “Three
Brigands” was not known to the police
then. But there were certain channels
through which news might reach at least
one of them. Word was sent through
those channels, therefore, that it might
be best for them to appear and give an
account of themselves, and on Friday,
March 1, just at the time Splaine had
been brought back from Memphis, the
little leader of the brigands, Matteo Arbrano,
an undersized Italian wearing
spectacles, who had carried out the job
of robbing the hold-up men, surrendered
himself to the District Attorney.</p>
<p class='c007'>Arbrano said that he had divided his
$10,000 with his two companions, Gonzales
and Cavaquero, and immediately
left New York, taking a steamer for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>Mexico by way of Havana. At the latter
city he stopped over night, met a woman
and accompanied her to a resort, was
drugged and robbed of $2,700, and woke
on the Prado with only $100 left, a single
bill that had been concealed in his shoe.
With that he returned to New York. The
story is regarded by the police as more
picturesque than convincing. It is probable
that Matteo’s share of the plunder,
with that of other Italians involved, has
been carefully “planted.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Pauli Gonzales, another of the brigands,
was traced to Vera Cruz, Mexico.
In the present state of that country, however,
it was found impossible to arrest
and extradite him upon the evidence at
hand.</p>
<p class='c007'>Three other persons concerned in the
robbery are still at large at this writing—“Dutch”
Keller, “Joe the Kid,” and
an “unknown” whose identity is concealed
for police reasons.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>Montani pleaded “Not guilty,” and
stood trial. After two days, exactly a
month and a day subsequent to the robbery,
he was convicted by a jury, and sentenced
to not less than ten years and not
more than eighteen years and two months
in prison, with hard labor.</p>
<p class='c007'>A word must be said about the prompt
action of the District Attorney’s office in
the taxicab case. Where crime has had
such publicity there is an opportunity to
make a demonstration of great value by
pressing the prosecutions. It was not
lost. Under Assistant Charles C. Nott,
Jr., evidence was succinctly laid before
judges and juries, the trials finished in
a matter of hours, and convictions and
sentences secured within six weeks after
the robbery. Furthermore, the various
sentences were just, being carefully
graded according to the part played by
each offender, his character and previous
record, and his individual effort
in facilitating justice.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<table class='table1' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='23%' />
<col width='17%' />
<col width='17%' />
<col width='17%' />
<col width='22%' />
</colgroup>
<tr><td class='c022' colspan='5'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<th class='c023'><i>Name</i></th>
<th class='c023'><i>Arrested</i></th>
<th class='c023'><i>Pleaded</i></th>
<th class='c023'><i>Sentenced</i></th>
<th class='c009'><i>Sentence</i></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Montani, Geno</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Feb. 26,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Feb. 29,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 16,’12</td>
<td class='c025'>Not less than 10 yrs. nor more than 18 yrs. 2 mos. Judge Seabury.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Kinsman, Edw.</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Feb. 26,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 1,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>April 9,’12</td>
<td class='c025'>Not less than 3 yrs. nor more than 6 yrs. Judge Crain.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Splaine, Eugene</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 2,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 4,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 25,’12</td>
<td class='c025'>Not less than 7 yrs. 6 mos. nor more than 14 yrs. 6 mos. Judge Seabury.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Delio, Robert</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Feb. 28,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 4,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 29,’12</td>
<td class='c025'>Not less than 2 yrs. 6 mos. nor more than 4 yrs. 2 mos. Judge Seabury.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Pasquale, James</span><br/><span class='small'>(“Jimmie the Push”)</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Feb. 28,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 4,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>April 8,’12</td>
<td class='c025'>6 mos. Penitent’ry. Judge Davis.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Lamb, Joseph</span><br/><span class='small'>(“Scotty the Lamb”)</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Feb. 27,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 18,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 29,’12</td>
<td class='c025'>Indeterminate sentence, Elmira. Judge Seabury.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Arbrano, Matteo</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 2,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>April 3,’12</td>
<td class='c026'></td>
<td class='c025'>2 to 4 years. Judge Davis.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c024'><span class='sc'>Albrazzo, Jess</span></td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 26,’12</td>
<td class='c024'>Mch. 18,’12</td>
<td class='c026'></td>
<td class='c025'>3 to 6 years. Judge Davis.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>
<h2 class='c005'>FINAL <br/> <span class='small'>A WORD ABOUT THE NEW YORK POLICE</span></h2></div>
<p class='drop-capa_2__6 c016'>It has been the writer’s good fortune
to look into the work of both the London
and the New York policemen
recently, within the same year.</p>
<p class='c007'>A somewhat embarrassing point arose.</p>
<p class='c007'>In London, the “bobby” was anxious to
know which police force the writer considered
best. The “bobby” gets his ideas
of the New York “cop” from such accounts
as filter through the cable dispatches
from our newspapers. He hears
chiefly the worst, and pictures the “cop”
as a lawless individual, wielding pistol
and club indiscriminately, with whom it
is not safe to pass a civil word. So, when
he puts his little question about the respective
merits of the two organizations,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>he reserves the right to keep his opinion
that the London force is best anyway.</p>
<p class='c007'>In New York, it is much the same. The
“cop” has heard just enough about the
“bobby” to regard him with mild tolerance.
He pictures him as a policeman
servile to the last degree, thankfully accepting
sixpenny tips from pedestrians,
and occupied chiefly with unarmed
thieves and harmless political offenders.</p>
<p class='c007'>When one has good friends in both
forces, the question “Which do you think
best?” is to be met with tactful evasions.
And the more one thinks it over, the more
it becomes clear that there is really little
difference at bottom. Both police organizations
are made up of good men, following
the same trade along the same
lines, and dealing with about the same
general conditions.</p>
<p class='c007'>The London “bobby,” however, enjoys
excellent leadership, is governed by a
definite administrative policy, has the
backing of the courts, and therefore
<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>comes in for a general public good will
which is exceedingly useful to him in the
performance of duty.</p>
<p class='c007'>The New York “cop” rather lacks public
good will. Administrative policy has
not been well defined in the past. The
courts do not always accept his evidence,
much less back him up, and he has been
made the scapegoat for various shortcomings
in leadership.</p>
<p class='c007'>But to-day the New York policeman
is working on an entirely new basis. Before
long his public is certain to understand
and like him as thoroughly as London
does its “bobby.”</p>
<p class='c007'>The change began with Mayor Gaynor,
who insisted that both policeman and
citizen have plain legal rights—until the
citizen has committed a crime the policeman
may not arrest him. The policeman
has plain rights—the law empowers him
to use all necessary force in making arrests
in grave cases. But force must not
be used for minor offenses. Confusion
<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>existed on these points to such a degree
that when the Mayor began insisting
upon them, many people thought he was
putting into effect some of his personal
whims. But they are all in the statute
books, and many of them were there before
the Mayor was born, because they
are constitutional.</p>
<p class='c007'>The present Police Commissioner,
Rhinelander Waldo, is not only administering
the department along the strict legal
line pointed out by the Mayor, but
is effecting improvements of organization
and method that must favorably alter the
whole future of the service.</p>
<p class='c007'>Commissioner Waldo is a soldier, with
a record of service in the United States
Army, and the Army’s fine standards to
guide him.</p>
<p class='c007'>In some ways the administration of the
New York Police Department is a soldier’s
job. If the ten thousand members
were mobilized, they would make quite
an impressive little standing army, with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>eight or ten full regiments of patrolmen,
a brigade of cavalry, a small transport
corps, a little navy, and so forth. As in
an army, too, the men are enlisted, and
may only be discharged for serious offenses.
It is a force scattered over three
hundred square miles of territory. The
leader must be skillful in laying down
regulations, and handling men in the mass
rather than by personal contact. He must
define duty plainly, hold everybody to
it, eliminate departmental politics and
abuses. Every man, wherever he is stationed,
must feel that the general knows
his business, that he lays down regulations
for good reasons, and that day by day he
is taking the organization somewhere.</p>
<p class='c007'>For years, every Police Commissioner
has asked for more men to keep pace with
the growing city. When Waldo took
charge he asked, too. While he was waiting,
however, he overhauled the organization
and got one thousand additional
patrolmen by cutting off men detailed for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>clerical and other special duty. Every
large working force tends to create superfluous
routine work. The useless routine
was eliminated by better accounting methods,
and the men sent back to do the street
duty for which they originally enlisted.</p>
<p class='c007'>Then Waldo’s system of “fixed posts”
was introduced. Complaints that policemen
were hard to find at night had become
common. So the platoon on duty
from 11 p. m. to 7 a. m. was distributed
by a plan under which the men work in
pairs, one patrolling a given beat and the
other standing on a street intersection.
Each hour they change places, or oftener
in severe weather. The fixed posts are
about a thousand feet apart all over Manhattan
and parts of Brooklyn. The system
has been indiscriminately criticised,
but produces its results. Fire losses were
cut down the first six months, night crime
has decreased, and many notable arrests
are due to the fact that policemen stand
all over town like checkers through the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>night. The exposure is no greater than
that endured by traffic men. The men
have better opportunities to advance
themselves by making meritorious arrests,
and the Commissioner knows that, as citizens
see the police on duty, night after
night, and crime decreases, there will be
a growing good will for the department.</p>
<p class='c007'>The Detective Bureau has not only
been reorganized so that plain-clothes
men are distributed over the whole city,
but a new spirit has been introduced. Formerly,
when the patrolman rose to detective
rank, he felt that he had “arrived.”
No longer wearing the uniform or keeping
scheduled hours, he was in danger of
going to sleep. To-day, however, the detective
has, not a job, but an opportunity.
He must maintain his rank by results, or
be reduced. To help him do this, he is
taught methods in the school for detectives.
But he knows that hundreds of
ambitious men in brass buttons are working
to attain that rank.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>In an organization of ten thousand
men, it would be strange if there were not
some intriguing and politics. New York
policemen are exceptionally shrewd, and
occasionally they will try to “put one
over” on the Commissioner, going around
his authority. But Commissioner Waldo
has proved singularly resourceful. He
meets such an emergency with the quickness,
certainty and impartiality of a natural
force like gravity, and the department
has found it out.</p>
<p class='c007'>He has laid out a clear path for advancement
all through the department.
The newest uniformed patrolman understands
that, for meritorious work, he will
have a chance of promotion. If he makes
a commendable arrest, he is sent to the
Detective Bureau, given instruction, and
tried at detective work. If he makes
good, he stays. If unfitted for plain-clothes
duty, he has still had his chance.
What is just as important, the Detective
Bureau has had a chance to see him.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>Under Commissioner Waldo and Deputy
Commissioner Dougherty, the so-called
“Black Hand” crimes among
Italians have been checked, and will be
stopped. Many of these cases were traced
to sensational reporting of ordinary quarrels
and assaults, and others to business
rivalries. In the serious cases, arrests
have been made and convictions secured.</p>
<p class='c007'>Another well-known form of law-breaking
in New York is gambling. This
is particularly difficult to check because
of ingenuity in concealing evidence, developed
by long experience on the part
of the law-breakers, and also the strong
political alliances of gambling-house
keepers. But after several experiments in
dealing with it, the Commissioner now
feels confident that he has a method
which will result in the suppression of
gambling, and that, as he says, “When
you put a crimp into things of that sort
they don’t generally come back.”</p>
<p class='c007'>In other directions red tape has been
<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>abolished and economies brought about;
the way has been opened for individual
merit in all ranks; steps have been taken
to develop and teach better methods; the
work of the department has been brought
closer to the public. There is a new spirit
in the New York Police Department to-day—a
spirit certain to develop the
public good will and appreciation that is
so necessary to the best order of public
service.</p>
<hr class='c014' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c027'>
<div>SOME INTERESTING FACTS ABOUT THE POLICE</div>
<div>DEPARTMENT OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c028'>The Police Department of the City of New York is made
up as follows:</p>
<dl class='dl_1'>
<br/>
<br/>Commissioner and four Deputy Commissioners
<br/>19
<br/>Inspectors
<br/>25
<br/>Surgeons
<br/>95
<br/>Captains
<br/>624
<br/>Lieutenants
<br/>586
<br/>Sergeants
<br/>8,585
<br/>Patrolmen
<br/>191
<br/>Doormen
<br/>69
<br/>Matrons
<br/>1
<br/>Superintendent of Telegraph
<br/>2
<br/>Assistant Superintendents of Telegraph
<br/>1
<br/>Chief Lineman
<br/>5
<br/>Linemen
<br/>2
<br/>Boiler Inspectors
<br/>------
<br/>
<br/>10,207
<br/>Total uniform force
<p class='c028'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>Of this number, 500 are detectives in civilian dress.</p>
<p class='c028'>In addition, there are over 247 civilians employed in clerical
capacity.</p>
<p class='c028'>There are 6 automobiles and 161 other vehicles, including
patrol wagons, used by the Department. Also 679 horses for
mounted patrolmen.</p>
<p class='c028'>The Harbor Squad numbers: 1 Captain, 7 Lieutenants, 9
Sergeants, 36 Patrolmen, 2 Doormen, besides civilians employed
as engineers, firemen, oilers, deck-hands, etc.</p>
<p class='c028'>It is provided with one vessel of 235 tons, five launches,
two dories, and six boats.</p>
<p class='c028'>These boats patrol about 340 miles of water front.</p>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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