Manning Strikes the Trail--An Accommodating Tailor--Temporary
Disappointment and final Success--The Detective reaches Minneapolis.
August, with its hot, sweltering days, when the very skies seemed to be
a canopy of lurid, quivering heat; and when every breeze seemed
freighted with a depressing warmth that almost rendered labor
impossible, had passed away, and we were now in the enjoyment of the
clear, cool days of September. The skies were bluer, the air was purer,
and the beautiful, golden autumn was welcomed with a grateful sense of
pleasure and relief. Nearly a month had now elapsed since the robbery of
the Geneva Bank, and, although we had accomplished much, our work was
not yet completed. Thomas Duncan was still at liberty, and our task was
yet unfinished. I have already, as briefly as I could, related the
various events which had transpired since the robbery, and detailed the
efforts which we had thus far made toward accomplishing the capture of
the perpetrators of this crime. Of Thomas Duncan, however, I had learned
comparatively little, and of his movements still less; and yet, at
times, I found myself indulging in feelings of sympathy for the young
man, who had so recklessly and inconsiderately thrown away the best
chances of his life. Of a careless disposition and inclined to folly, I
was convinced that until this time he had never stooped to commit a
crime. This was his first flagrant violation of the law, and when I
thought of him a hunted fugitive, seeking to hide himself from the
vigilant eyes of the officers of the law, and of the quiet, peaceful and
happy home of his parents, I could not repress a feeling of regret and
sorrow for the wayward youth in this, the hour of his humiliation and
trial. Far different from Eugene Pearson, who had no cares and no
temptations to commit crimes, and who had practiced a scheme of vile
deception and ingratitude for years, Thomas Duncan had been found in a
moment of weakness and desperation, and under the influence of wily
tempters, had yielded himself up to their blandishments, and had done
that which had made him a felon. As to Eugene Pearson, the trusted,
honored and respected official of the bank, who had deliberately planned
and assisted in this robbery of his best friends, I had no words of
palliation for his offenses; but for "Tod" Duncan, the weak and tempted
victim of designing men and adverse circumstances, I experienced a sense
of sympathy which I could not easily shake off.
Where was he now? Perhaps hiding in the forests of the far west, amid
the barbaric scenes of savage life; perhaps giving himself up to a
reckless life of dissipation, seeking in the delirium of intoxication a
forgetfulness of the deed he had committed, and of the consequences
which must befall him. How many long, weary nights since he fled from
Geneva, with his ill-gotten booty, had he, even in the midst of a
bacchanalian revel, started suddenly, as if in fear of the officer he so
much dreaded, and then with a boastful laugh drank deeper to drown the
agonies that oppressed him? Perhaps, on the other hand, the first step
taken, the rest had come easy and without effort, and he had already
become hardened and reckless. Whatever might be the case, we were as yet
uninformed, and operative John Manning arrived in Sioux City with no
definite clew to the missing man.
Seeking, as before, the assistance of the police authorities, Manning
proposed to make a tour of the so-called houses of pleasure, which
infest all cities, deeming it most likely that he would obtain some
traces of Duncan by that means. This proved successful in a comparative
degree, for in one of these places Manning found a gay young cyprian,
who recognized Duncan's picture immediately. A bottle of very inferior
wine at an exorbitant price was ordered, and under its influence the
girl informed the detective that Duncan had come there alone one
evening about two weeks prior to this time, and that she had accompanied
him upon a drive. They had become quite familiar during their short
acquaintance, and Duncan drank a great deal. On the following morning he
had left the house, and stated that he was going to leave the city that
day. Further than this, the girl could not say, and Manning must needs
be content with even that trifling amount of encouragement for the
present.
Manning had also been provided with a facsimile of Duncan's handwriting
and signature, and he carefully examined the registers of the several
hotels, in order to discover whether he had stopped at any of them under
his own or any fictitious name which resembled in any manner the one he
bore, but without any success whatever.
On returning to the hotel, he occupied himself debating as to the best
movement to make next. He was surprised on arriving there to find a
telegram from Capt. Wallace awaiting him. On removing the inclosure he
found a message informing him that Duncan had an acquaintance in Sioux
City whose name was Griswold, and who was engaged in the tailoring
business at that place.
Aided by this important piece of intelligence, the detective was not
long in finding the establishment presided over by Mr. Griswold. That
gentleman was located in the business section of the city, and his
neatly arranged store was well stocked with goods of excellent quality
and apparently of recent style. On entering the shop, Mr. Griswold was
found perched on a table in the rear, his legs crossed, and with nimble
fingers was engaged in the manufacture of some of the articles of his
trade. He was a small, sharp-featured man, about forty, with a shrewd
though not unpleasant face, and as he came briskly forward to greet a
prospective customer, his countenance was wreathed in a smile that was
almost irresistible.
"Can I do anything for you this morning?" was the polite salutation of
the little tailor.
"Yes," replied the detective. "I want to look at some goods that will
make a good suit of clothes."
"Certainly," replied the knight of the shears. "I have some excellent
styles here, and I am sure I can give you your full satisfaction."
"I have no doubt of that," said Manning pleasantly. "I have been
recommended here by my friend Tod Duncan, and he speaks very highly of
you."
The face of the little tailor was again wreathed in smiles, as he
delightedly inquired:
"Do you mean Duncan, the traveling man from Des Moines?"
"Yes," replied Manning, "that's the man; I am a traveling man myself,
but in a different line, and I expected to meet him in this city, but I
was disappointed. I guess he must have got ahead of me."
"Let me see," said Mr. Griswold, with his needle-pricked finger pressed
against his nose. "He was here about two weeks ago, I guess."
"Do you know which way he was going?"
"I think he said he was going to St. Paul. I made a suit of clothes for
him in a great hurry, as he was very anxious to get away."
"What kind of a suit did he get?" asked Manning, now anxious to learn
the clothing of the man, in order that he might the more accurately
describe him.
"It was from this piece," said Mr. Griswold, throwing on the table a
roll of dark green cassimere. "That is one of the latest importations,
and as fine a piece of goods as I have in the house."
"I like that myself," said the detective. "Would you object to giving me
a small piece of it as a sample? I want to show it to a friend of mine
at the hotel, who has pretty good taste in such matters."
"Of course not," replied Mr. Griswold, as he clipped off a piece of the
cloth, little dreaming of the use to which the detective would put it.
Declining to make a selection until he had sought the advice of an
imaginary friend, and stating that he would probably call again in the
evening, Manning took his leave of the little tailor. The detective then
repaired to the railroad ticket office, where he had a friend of long
standing, from whom he hoped to derive some material information.
At the railroad station he found his friend on duty, and after the usual
friendly salutations, he requested a few moments' private conversation.
Being admitted to an inner office, Manning at once displayed the
photograph of Duncan, and asked:
"Harry, have you seen that face about here, say within about two weeks?"
Taking the picture, and regarding it intently for a moment, he said:
"Why, yes--that's Duncan from Des Moines. I know him very well. He has
been here often."
"Well, has he been here within two weeks?"
"Yes, he was here about two weeks ago on a spree, and he bought a ticket
for St. Paul."
"Are you quite sure about that?"
"Perfectly sure," answered the ticket agent. "I remember it distinctly,
and what impressed it the more forcibly upon my mind is the fact that he
wanted to know if I could give him a ticket on the Northern Pacific road
from here, and I told him he would have to go to St. Paul for that."
"Did he mention any particular point on the railroad that he wanted a
ticket for?" asked Manning.
"No, I think not. He simply said he was making for Dakota."
Ascertaining that a train would leave for St. Paul in an hour, the
detective purchased a ticket for that city, and thanking the agent for
his information, he returned to the hotel to make arrangements for
continuing his journey. Before leaving, however, he telegraphed me his
destination, and what he had been able to learn.
From this information it was evident that Duncan was endeavoring to
reach the far west, and there seek a refuge among some of the numerous
mining camps which abound in that section of the country, hoping by that
means to successfully elude pursuit, should any be made for him. It was
plainly evident to me that he was entirely unaware of being followed,
and, in fact, of anything that had taken place since the robbery, and
that he was simply following his own blind inclinations to hide himself
as effectually as he could.
The first task performed by Manning after reaching St. Paul, was to
examine all the hotel registers, in the hope of discovering some traces
of an entry resembling the peculiar handwriting of Duncan. He also took
the precaution to quietly display the photograph of the young man to all
the clerks of the various hostelries, trusting that some one would
recognize him as one who had been their guest on some previous occasion.
In this, too, he was disappointed. Among the many to whom he displayed
Duncan's picture, not one of them had any recollection of such an
individual.
Feeling somewhat disheartened at this non-success, Manning next sought
the chief of police, and enlisted his services in our behalf. That
evening, in company with an officer, he made a tour among the houses of
ill repute, and here, too, disappointment awaited him. Not one among the
number whom he approached had any knowledge of the man, and therefore
could give him no information.
Tired and puzzled and vexed, he at length was compelled to return to the
hotel, and seek his much-needed repose.
His experience in St. Paul had thus far been far from satisfactory, and
yet the thought of abandoning his investigations in that city never
occurred to him. He had too frequently been compelled to battle with
unpromising circumstances in the past, to allow a temporary discomfiture
to dishearten him now. He felt that he was upon the right track, that
Duncan had certainly come from Sioux City to St. Paul, but whether he
had remained here any length of time, or had pushed on without
stopping, was the question that bothered him immensely. Resolving,
therefore, to renew his efforts in the morning, he soon fell asleep.
On the morrow, when he descended to the office of the hotel, preparatory
to partaking of his morning repast, he noticed with some little surprise
that a new face was behind the counter.
Surmising that this might be the night clerk, yet unrelieved from his
duties, and that Duncan might have arrived during the time he
officiated, Manning approached him, and propounded the usual question.
When he brought forth the photograph, to his intense delight, the clerk
recognized it at once. Turning to the register and hastily running over
the leaves, he pointed to a name inscribed thereon.
"That's the man," said he confidently.
Manning looked at the name indicated, and found scrawled in a very
uncertain hand:
"_John Tracy, Denver, Col._"
"He came in on a night train," continued the clerk. "He only remained to
breakfast and went away shortly afterward."
"Have you any idea which way he went?" inquired Manning.
"No, I cannot tell you that. He left the hotel shortly after breakfast
in a hack. He did not return after that, but sent the hackman here to
pay his bill and to obtain his valise. He acted very strange while he
was here, and I felt somewhat suspicious of him."
"Can you tell me the name of this hackman?" now asked Manning.
"I think his name is Davids," answered the clerk, "but I will ask the
baggage-man about him; he can, no doubt, tell me who he is."
The baggage-man was summoned and he distinctly remembered the
occurrence, and that the driver's name was Billy Davids, who was
well-known throughout the city, particularly among the sporting
fraternity.
Thanking both of these men for the information which they had given him,
the detective, forgetting all about his breakfast, hastened to the
office of the chief of police, and acquainting him with what he had
heard, expressed his desire to see this hackman at once.
The chief, who knew the man, at once volunteered to accompany him, and
they left the office together in search of the important cab-driver. It
being yet quite early in the morning, they went directly to the stable,
and here they found Billy Davids in the act of harnessing his horses and
preparing for his day's work.
"Good morning, Billy," said the chief, good-naturedly. "You are making
an early start, I see; are you busy?"
"No, sir," answered Mr. Davids; "I can take you gentlemen wherever you
want to go."
"Not to-day, Billy; but I have a friend here who wants to talk to you,
and you may find it to your interest to tell him what he wishes to
know."
Manning stepped forward and stated, in as few words as possible, what he
desired, and at length displayed the inevitable photograph.
Davids recognized it at once, as a "party" who had engaged him to take
himself and a woman from the hotel, to a resort some distance from the
city, known as the "Half-way House." He performed this duty, and later
in the day, after waiting several hours, the man had given him ten
dollars and sent him back to the hotel to pay his bill and to obtain his
valise. After performing this service, he returned to the Half-way
House, and waited there until dark, when Duncan came out alone, and was
driven to the Northern Pacific depot. Arriving here, he paid the hackman
quite liberally and dismissed him, saying that he was going to leave
town on the next train westward.
"Have you any idea where he was going?" asked Manning.
"I think he went to Minneapolis, for he asked me if that road would take
him there, and I saw him get aboard the train for that city;" answered
the driver.
This was all that Davids could tell; and after remunerating him for his
trouble, Manning left him to finish his preparations for the day.
Here was the very information he wanted, and he had struck the trail
again. Anxious to pursue his journey, Manning invited the chief to
breakfast with him; after which, finding he could leave in a very short
time, he bade the courteous and valuable officer good-by, and was soon
on his way to Minneapolis, there to commence again the trail of the
fleeing burglar.