THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY--DETECTIVE COUGHLIN HIRES IT FOR A "FRIEND"--
THE TROUBLE IN THE STABLE--DINAN GOES TO SCHAACK--THE CAPTAIN'S
PECULIAR MOVEMENTS--SCANLAN IDENTIFIES THE HORSE--THE DETECTIVE AND
O'SULLIVAN ARE JAILED--THE GRAND JURY INDICTS THEM WITH WOODRUFF--FULL
ON THE TRACK OF THE CONSPIRATORS.
"Who owned the rig in which Dr. Cronin was driven to the assassin's
den?"
"Who hired the white horse and buggy--if it was hired--that Frank
Scanlan saw standing outside of the Windsor Theatre building on that
memorable May night?"
These were the questions to which the friends of the murdered physician
now directed themselves. The body had been found; the cottage in which
the crime had been committed--with all its mute but gory testimony--had
been located. But even now the wheels of the mill of justice had scarce
begun to revolve. Dr. Cronin had left his home alive; he had reached
the cottage alive. Whose rig was it that took him to it?
The question that was uppermost in the minds of thousands of people was
soon to be answered--answered, too, in a manner that furnished a still
more startling episode to the already startling tragedy. For the man
that hired the horse and vehicle that carried the Irish Nationalist to
his doom was a trusted officer in the employ of the city of Chicago; a
man who, from the day of the disappearance, had, enjoying the full
confidence of his superiors, been apparently working with might and main
to bring about a solution of the mystery. It was Daniel Coughlin,
detective.
COUGHLIN HIRES THE RIG.
Coughlin was attached to the East Chicago Avenue Police Station, which
at that time was under the direction of Captain Michael J. Schaack, who
had gained an international reputation for his brilliant work in
connection with the celebrated Anarchist cases. The station house was
located within a few doors of the southwest corner of Clark Street and
Chicago Avenue. Little more than half a block north, on the former
street, was a livery stable kept by Patrick Dinan. Naturally enough, as
a result of his close proximity to the station, Dinan knew about all the
officers and they knew him. Moreover, if any of them wanted a rig at any
time to take their family or friends for a drive, they almost invariably
went to No. 260 North Clark street to get it. So far as Dinan was
concerned, therefore, there was nothing remarkable in the fact when,
early on the morning of the day that the physician disappeared, Coughlin
called at the stable.
[Illustration: DANIEL COUGHLIN, DETECTIVE.]
"I want you to keep a rig in readiness for a friend of mine to-night,"
he said, "and I don't want you to say a word about it. When he calls for
it give it to him, and I'll be responsible for it."
"All right," was Dinan's response. "I will have one on hand." The
liveryman said afterward that he did not pay much attention to the
remark that he was to "keep still about it," from the fact that Coughlin
was often in the habit of hiring cabs and rigs to do detective work. In
fact, he did not pay any attention to it at all, as there was nothing
out of the common in his manner or conversation.
[Illustration: LIVERYMAN DINAN'S STABLE WHERE THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY
WERE HIRED.]
[Illustration: THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY.]
The detective's "friend" was on hand at the livery stable a few minutes
after seven that evening. Seen under the dim gas-light; he was a man
about thirty-five years old, of dark complexion, with a black mustache
and a four weeks' growth of beard. He was rather undersized, and weighed
in the neighborhood of 125 pounds. A small, soft felt hat, with the
front pulled down well over his eyes, covered his head, and a seedy,
faded gray or yellow overcoat was buttoned up close around him. A few
moments before, Dinan's blacksmith had ordered a high-strung bay horse
to be hitched up, and while this was being done, the two men strolled up
the street to an adjacent cigar store. While they were absent, the
stranger entered, and going to the back of the stable, told the hostler
that he had come for the rig that "Dan Coughlin had ordered for him."
Dinan returned at this juncture, and in reply to a question, ordered his
employe to hitch up the white horse. When the stranger saw the color of
the animal, he objected violently. He did not want it, and expressed a
preference for a carriage horse that stood in its stall. He was told
that if the animal were put in single harness it would kill him. Next he
wanted the horse that was being put into harness for the blacksmith. The
latter was willing enough, in his good nature, to give way, but Dinan
was stubborn. He knew, he said, how much the black horse had done that
day, but he did not know how much was before the white one after it had
gone out. Failing to get the white horse the man proceeded to find fault
with the buggy. He wanted a better one, but was told that he would have
to take it or nothing. At this he scowled. Then he wanted to know why
the side-curtains had not been attached. By this time Dinan, who was in
an independent mood, not attaching much importance to the fellow or
caring for his trade, was on his mettle, and in a pointed manner he
replied that he could not give any curtains, that he did not know where
they were, and that it would take too long to look for them. It was dark
anyway, he added, and nobody could see him, but if he wished to shield
himself from view he could put up the top. Growling something that could
not be understood, the stranger adopted the suggestion, and, getting
into the vehicle, drove out into the street. He turned north on Clark
Street, heading direct for the Windsor Theatre building. It was then
about 8:15. The horse had not been out before that day, and as Dinan was
anxious to see how it would act he went out into the street, two of his
employes going with him. They watched it until it had crossed Chestnut
Street, about a block and a half distant, when it was lost in the
darkness. The horse, however, seemed to behave admirably. Dinan was
absent when the same man brought back the rig between 9:15 and 9:30 the
same evening. Napier Moreland, the hostler, was in the rear barn at the
time, and the man, driving in the rig to the carriage-walk, hurried out
of the door without stopping to find any one to care for it. Moreland
barely caught sight of him as he turned the corner of the door. The
horse was found to be extremely warm, as if it had been driven fast and
a good distance. Its description at the time, as it will live in the
history of the case, was as follows:
"A white horse, standing about fifteen and a half hands high, rather
long limbed, long body, little, slim and long, rangy neck. Not a mark
by which he could be identified. Clean as a whistle, neither
spavin-boned nor collar-boned nor ring-boned. Buggy three quarter-seat,
Columbus, Ohio, manufacture; side bar rather low, not much higher than
some phaetons; old, trimmed with blue cloth, and provided with a cotton
whip."
DINAN GOES TO SCHAACK.
The livery-man thought nothing further of the circumstance until early
the following Monday morning, when the excitement over the disappearance
of the physician had commenced to manifest itself. The description of
the white horse and buggy which Frank Scanlan--and, as it subsequently
proved, Mrs. Conklin--had seen driven up, and which carried the doctor
away, arrested his attention, and recalling the event of Saturday night,
he determined to go to Captain Schaack and acquaint him with the facts.
At the same time he had little idea that it was his own white horse that
had been mixed up in the affair. Only a coincidence, he reasoned,
especially in view of to the fact that it was Detective Coughlin that
had hired it; while yet at the same time, it might prove be the best
policy to tell what he knew. In the meantime, several police officers in
uniform had called at the stable to learn if a white horse had been
hired on the Saturday night, and the hostler, acting under instructions
that they were never to tell who took out horses ordered by the Captain
or his detectives, answered each inquiry in the negative. It was between
nine and ten o'clock when Dinan went up to the station to see Captain
Schaack. On the steps he met Coughlin.
"Hello!" said the detective. "Who are you looking for?"
"Captain Schaack," replied the liveryman.
"What for?" demanded Coughlin. "What are you so excited about?"
"Well," was the reply, "there have been so many inquiries made about the
white horse that was out on Saturday night--the one that I let your
friend have--that I want to tell him all about it."
Coughlin's face paled perceptibly. The muscles twitched, and he
nervously chewed his mustache. For a few moments he stood deep in
thought, and then, turning to Dinan, he said:
"Look here, there is no use making a fuss about this thing. You keep
quiet about it. Me and Cronin have not been good friends, and it might
get me into difficulty or trouble. Everybody knows he and I were
enemies."
Although the livery-man appeared to acquiesce in the detective's
suggestion, and went away for the time being, he was more than ever
determined in his mind to see the captain. He did not propose to "keep
quiet about it." Accordingly, an hour later he went again to the
station. He was told that the official was home at dinner, and he made a
bee-line for the house. Schaack was there, and into his attentive ear
Dinan poured his tale of the white horse, the buggy and the peculiar
customer.
SCHAACK'S PECULIAR MOVEMENTS.
What possessed the doughty "burgomaster" (as Capt. Schaack was
familiarly called by the residents of the North Division) to follow the
course that he did at this juncture, passes all comprehension. On the
witness-stand before the coroner's jury, some days later, he could only
justify himself by the lame statement that, at the time, he did not
believe that Cronin had been killed. He might also have admitted, and
with truth, that he had placed absolute and implicit confidence in his
subordinates, only--as had been the fate of many as good a man before
him--to be deceived and betrayed. At any rate his treatment of the
information, placed at his disposal by Dinan, was of such a character as
to demonstrate so great a neglect of duty, both toward the chief of
police and his subordinates and the public, that, when its full extent
became known, he was, notwithstanding his previous record, first
suspended from duty and subsequently dismissed from the force.
What Capt. Schaack should have done--what any other official of his own,
or subordinate rank in the city would have done--was to have gone
without unnecessary delay to the chief of police and acquainted him with
the disclosures that the liveryman had made. Instead of this, however,
upon returning to the station, he sent for Coughlin himself, the last
man of all men, who should have been informed of what had transpired.
When the detective responded, he was asked if Dinan's story was true,
and replied that it was. Pressed for further particulars, he said that
he had hired the rig for a man named Thomas Smith. Of this individual he
knew very little, except that he had come to the station and introduced
himself as a friend of Coughlin's brother, who lived in Hancock,
Michigan. He had met this man Smith several times; and on the Saturday
morning the visitor had asked him to procure him a horse and buggy for
that evening, as he (Smith), not being known to the livery-men
thereabouts, might experience some difficulty in securing one. This the
detective protested, was the entire extent of his connection with the
affair. He did not know what use the man had made of the rig, where he
had gone, or what time he returned. In fact he had not set eyes on him
since the day in question. Extraordinary as it may seem, Capt. Schaack
accepted this story without question, and contented himself with
ordering the detective to go out and find the man, and bring him in for
examination. Coughlin promised to do so. Two days went by, and he failed
to report. Schaack then sent for him again, and asked him if he had
found his friend. Coughlin answered in the negative, and said that he
did not know where to lay his hands on him, unless he happened to run
across him in a saloon. This was not satisfactory.
[Illustration: DETECTIVE MICHAEL WHALEN.]
"You go and find that man," said Schaack, "or it may be bad for you."
Detective Michael Whalen was also assigned to assist his brother officer
in the search, and day after day, they tramped the streets in sunshine
and rain; and scoured the saloons for the mythical "Smith."
While this hunt was going on, Capt. Schaack had gone one evening to the
livery stable, procured the white horse and buggy, and, having driven to
the residence of the Conklins, asked the lady of the house whether she
identified the animal and vehicle as the same that had taken the
physician away. Later on there was a wide difference in the reports of
this proceeding. The captain insisted that Mrs. Conklin declared that
she utterly failed to recognize the rig, and that she said positively
that it was not the same horse, as the one driven by the mysterious
stranger--was better looking, and a faster traveler. On the other hand
Mrs. Conklin was empathic in the declaration that she had said nothing
of the kind, but had told the official that there was a close
resemblance between the two rigs. Schaack also went to Dinan and
obtained a description of the supposed Smith, and again this
description, as taken from Schaack's notes, was as different from what
the livery-man had told everybody else as light is from darkness, and
tallied in no particular with that narrated by Mrs. Conklin and Frank
Scanlan. That night, when Coughlin and Whalen presented themselves with
the usual report that Smith had not been found, the captain acquainted
them with the result of his enquiries, expressed himself as satisfied
that there was no connection between the two rigs, and ordered them to
drop the Cronin case and report for general duty.
"Its lucky for you," he said to Coughlin, "that it wasn't the same rig
that your friend took out that carried off the doctor. It might have
been a serious affair."
Coughlin smiled grimly, but said nothing. A couple of nights later,
while the detective and Whalen were walking down Clark street, Coughlin
met a man who appeared to know him. He did not offer to introduce him to
his fellow officer, and the latter strolled on, while the two men
engaged in conversation. When Coughlin rejoined Whalen he said that the
man he had talked with was the mysterious "Smith," and that he was on
the point of leaving for New Mexico. Whalen turned round to look at him,
but he had disappeared. That night Coughlin told the same story to Capt.
Schaack, and the latter dismissed the matter, with the remark, "all
right," never even so much as thinking to ask his subordinate whether he
had asked the man where he went with the rig that night, or why he had
not brought him to the station. To Dinan the detective repeated the
same story, mentioning Prescott as the point in New Mexico to which the
man was going. He also said that he had collected three dollars from him
to pay for the use of the rig, but that he had spent it, and would
settle on the first of the month.
COUGHLIN UNDER ARREST.
But, although he held his peace until Coughlin had left, the livery-man
was anything but satisfied in his own mind, and the more he thought of
it the stronger he was convinced that the matter had not been properly
investigated. Finally he went to Horace Elliott, chief of detectives,
with his story. Elliott took him to Chief of Police Hubbard. The head of
the force listened attentively, and shrewd and experienced as he was,
recognized the importance of the disclosure. Dinan's description of
Coughlin's friend was compared with that of the supposed messenger from
O'Sullivan's ice house, and found to correspond in almost every
particular. With the chief to think was to act. Instructions were sent
to the Chicago avenue station that Coughlin was to remain indoors, and
all that day he was so closely watched that if he had attempted to
escape he could not have left the station without being placed under
arrest. In the afternoon there was a conference at police headquarters,
in which Mayor Cregier, Chief Hubbard, Corporation Council Hutchinson,
Lawyer W. J. Hynes, Col. W. P. Rend, and others interested in the
prosecution participated. Coughlin was sent for, and for two hours he
was subjected to a rigid and merciless examination. His replies were
evasive and unsatisfactory. Several times when hard pressed he refused
to answer at all, and he frequently contradicted himself and became so
confused that it was evident that he was endeavouring to conceal the
truth. When he left the room the conference was resumed, and a general
opinion was expressed that the detective had a guilty knowledge of the
murderous plot by which Dr. Cronin had lost his life, and that he
should be treated as an ordinary criminal. He was taken from the place
in the same patrol wagon that had carried so many of his own prisoners,
and that night he slept in "Criminals Row" of the armory station. Before
the conference had ended, orders were also issued suspending Detective
Michael Whalen, who was a first cousin to iceman O'Sullivan, for neglect
of duty.
[Illustration: CHIEF OF POLICE HUBBARD.]
THE SMITH STORY DISPROVED.
Coughlin's friend, Smith, put in an appearance at police headquarters of
his own volition, the following day, only, however, to give a flat
refutation of the story told by the detective. "Willard F." instead of
"Thomas" Smith was his name. He had come to Chicago from Michigan four
years before; had traveled thence pretty well all over the west and
south, and eventually had returned to the city. When a boy in Houghton,
half a mile from Hancock, he had lived next door to Coughlin, and after
coming to Chicago the second time, he had called upon him at the
station. On the last occasion he had said something about having been in
New Mexico. He volunteered the statement that he was the man that
Coughlin had met on Clark street when the latter was in company with
Whalen, but strongly denied that he had ever asked his friend to hire a
rig; that he had never used one in Chicago, or that he was identified in
any way with Irish secret societies. In fact, although born in Michigan,
his parents were native born Germans.
THE CASE AGAINST O'SULLIVAN.
No doubt could any longer exist but that the suspicions that had been
entertained that Detective Coughlin was, to a greater or lesser degree,
connected with the crime, was well founded. It was equally certain that,
by the same process of reasoning, O'Sullivan was largely in the toils.
Many a man and woman in foreign countries had been sent to the gallows
on evidence far less circumstantial than that with which the iceman was
confronted at this stage of the case. It was beyond all question, that
about the middle of April, more than a month prior to the disappearance
of Dr. Cronin, he had asked John A. Mahoney, a Lake View Justice of the
Peace, to introduce him to the physician, giving as a reason that he
wanted to make a contract with some good surgeon to take care of the men
who were employed on his ice wagons, during the hot season. The Justice,
either not knowing or not remembering that O'Sullivan employed but three
or four men, readily consented, and the two men went to the Physician's
office in the Chicago Opera House block. Here after considerable
conversation, a contract was agreed upon, by which O'Sullivan undertook
to pay Dr. Cronin $8.00 per month, the latter agreeing to attend the
iceman's employees when injured, as well as any children that might be
hurt by his wagons. In this agreement however, there was one remarkable
and significant stipulation. It was to the effect that the Physician
should respond to any call that might be made, by any person presenting
one of O'Sullivan's cards, and, in order that there should be no mistake
on this point, the ice dealer after the interview in question handed one
of his cards to the Physician. The latter placed it in the frame of the
mirror of his private office, and there, a silent witness, yet ready to
testify in trumpet tones, it was found on the day succeeding the night
that he was decoyed to his death.
It was commented upon at the time as remarkable that Dr. Cronin should
not have made some inquiries when the matter of the contract was
broached. So far as was known by his friends no arrangement of this kind
had ever before been suggested to him in the course of his many years of
practice. At this very time, moreover, he was in constant dread, or at
least anticipation, of being murdered. Yet, although the financial
consideration mentioned was purely nominal, he went into the matter as
a speculator goes into a blind pool. Apparently it never suggested
itself to him, to inquire why O'Sullivan should desire to make such a
contract. He had no ice houses, his business consisting in retailing ice
which he purchased at wholesale rates from various shippers. He employed
but a very few men and there was no evidence that any of his wagons had
created havoc among the little ones on the North Side of the city. His
business was almost exclusively with private families who purchased
their ice in small quantities, rarely over 100 pounds at a time. His men
ran little or no risk of getting hurt, and even if they did, the iceman
would in no way have been responsible. Assuming, however, that he was
more than ordinary solicitous about his employees, and willing to assume
the responsibility for their care in sickness, why should he have
selected the Irish physician? Why should he have picked out a man whose
office was nearly six miles from his barns, when fully two score of
experienced surgeons were to be found all over the town of Lake View, to
say nothing of those who resided at short distances along the route from
the suburb to the residence of the Conklins? There were other pertinent
questions. Why did O'Sullivan need an introduction to Dr. Cronin? He had
met him before, in fact had participated in a meeting of a Camp of the
Clan-na-Gael when the physician had assisted in the initiation of
several new members. He had no favor to ask, and even offered to make
the first month's payment on the contract in advance and to always pay
in advance. Why then should he have induced Justice Mahoney to ride five
miles in order that the justice might introduce a man already known to
Dr. Cronin, who had no favor to ask and who simply desired to make a
contract decidedly unfavorable to himself?
Again, why was the use of a card necessary? Was there any danger that
outside parties would take advantage of a contract that they knew
nothing about, and have their broken limbs or internal injuries attended
to free of charge on O'Sullivan's account? What protection could a card
guarantee? Would not the word of a caller have answered just as well?
Right here additional facts were woven into the web. Two days prior to
the date on which the contract was made, O'Sullivan had called at the
office of the Lake View Record, a weekly newspaper published in the
town, and obtained some three thousand business cards which he had
ordered to be printed about the middle of April. They differed slightly
from the old card which he had used, but had the same general
appearance. The same cut of an ice wagon was in the center, printed in
red ink. The heading however, was "Sullivan Ice Company," instead of "P.
O'Sullivan & Co.," the heading of the old card. This was May 2nd. Why
did O'Sullivan need these cards. He must have had full a thousand of the
old stock on hand. What did O'Sullivan do with these cards? Who did he
give them to?
On Saturday, May the 4th, at 7:30 in the evening, a man had driven to
the residence of Dr. Cronin and presented one of O'Sullivan's business
cards, of the kind printed less than a week before. This man said that
one of O'Sullivan's men was dangerously hurt. The physician was hurried
out of the house, was driven rapidly north and was never again seen
alive by his friends. This was but three days after the remarkable
contract had been made, and five days after the cards left by the
stranger had been placed in O'Sullivan's hands by the bookkeeper at the
office of the Lake View newspaper. Who was this strange man? How did he
get one of O'Sullivan's new cards? How did he know of the contract? If
he had learned of it through one of the three men who were present at
the time, how did he happen to get one of the new cards? Would he not,
if he had been interested in the removal of Dr. Cronin, have hunted for
and found one of the old cards on the same day or following forenoon?
Little wonder was it that this remarkable combination of circumstances
directed suspicion against O'Sullivan, especially when it was further
remembered that he was seen in conversation with the mysterious tenants
of the Carlson cottage. Analyzed once more the case against him was
considered quite as strong, even if not stronger than that against the
detective. Accordingly it was decided to place both men under arrest.
Early on the morning of May 27th O'Sullivan was notified that his
presence was desired at the Lake View Police Station. When he responded
he found himself a prisoner. During the day an information was sworn out
by John Joseph Cronin, the brother of the physician, charging Coughlin
and O'Sullivan, together with a number of persons whose names were
unknown, with the murder of Dr. Cronin. Upon this information warrants
were issued, and shortly before midnight Coughlin was arraigned before
Justice Kersten at the Chicago Avenue Station, to the bar of which the
detective, during his four years of service, had brought many scores of
prisoners. Yet, even in this critical hour, he did not seem to feel his
position, but smiled and chatted pleasantly and in a light hearted
manner, with his former companions on the force. No evidence was
submitted, the prosecution requesting a postponement, and by agreement
the case was adjourned for a week, an application for the admittance of
Coughlin to bail being peremptorially refused. A patrol wagon conveyed
the detective to the County jail and here he was assigned to Cell 25,
in what was known as "Murderers' Row." While these proceedings were
being taken, O'Sullivan, at the Lake View Station, was being closely
interrogated by Captains Wing and Schaak, Lieutenant Schieuttler and
Squire Boldenbeck, who at that time was mayor of the little town. The
latter, who had considerable influence over the iceman, urged him to
tell all that he knew, but the prisoner was stubborn, and it was only by
dint of persistent questioning that he was led to confess that he had
known Coughlin for years, that, although he had persuaded Justice
Mahoney to introduce him to Dr. Cronin, he had met the physician before,
that he (O'Sullivan) was a member of the Clan-na-gael in good standing;
and that he had talked with the Frank Williams who had rented the
assassin's den. More than this he would not say, and, much to his own
surprise, he found himself within an hour the occupant of a cell
adjoining that of Detective Coughlin in the County Jail.
INDICTED BY THE GRAND JURY.
At this time the Grand Jury for the May term of court was in regular
session, and on the following morning--that of May 28th--the murder of
Dr. Cronin was brought to its attention. Very few witnesses were
examined, although the inquiry lasted nearly ten hours. The Carlsons
told their story, and Mertes the milkman, Justice Mahoney and several
others, added testimony which bore heavily against the imprisoned men.
Nothing was adduced against Woodruff but his own confession, which was
considered sufficient for existing purposes. The outcome of the
investigation was an indictment against O'Sullivan, Coughlin and
Woodruff, on three counts, (1st) of a conspiracy to commit murder with a
sharp instrument; (2nd) of a conspiracy to commit murder with a blunt
instrument; (3rd) of a conspiracy to commit murder with some instrument
to the jury unknown. On May 31st the three accused men were formally
arraigned before Judge Williamson, and, after being furnished with
copies of the indictments returned against them were remanded to jail to
await the outcome of the coroner's inquiry.