between the secret service men of two nations, he came into El Paso from
the South. He bore credentials from General Herrera which it had been
possible for him to get through Madero's secret service man, Juan
Ortego. He appeared much worn and dust-covered when he began a search of
El Paso for Doctor Flores. Having found that gentleman in consultation
with a party of ranch owners at the Orndorff hotel, he presented himself
and asked for a word in private with the junta chief.
"I am from General Herrera," said Gard. "I bring to you his greetings
and these credentials which will assure you that you may treat with me
in confidence. He bids me say that he holds General Reyes in a
deferential respect which he gives to no other living Mexican. He awaits
an opportunity to cooperate with you."
This news was, to Flores, the best he had heard since he organized the
junta. He was a visionary enthusiast such as would accept such a
declaration without further confirmation. Assurances had come from many
sources of support to Reyes who, in reality, occupied an enviable
position in the hearts of the Mexican people. But Herrera, the Madero
general, who had been regarded as firmly against them! His coming over
was too good to believe. The doctor embraced the young man, according to
the Mexican custom, and kissed him first on one cheek and then on the
other.
Thus did a special agent of the United States become a member of a
Mexican revolutionary junta.
Through Gard the Department of Justice soon had all the particulars of
the Reyes revolution as far as they were known to the El Paso junta. It
knew that the aged general had been promised support from many sources,
that he had been provided with considerable sums of money, that arms
had been bought in hundred lots from dealers all along the border, that
these were being doled out to individuals who were to cross over the
border at a given time and form the nucleus of the revolution. In El
Paso some two hundred men had already been thus provided. These men were
being maintained at boarding houses about town and were being handed
regularly small sums of money. Gard met every day with the members of
the junta and talked over the details of these matters.
In the little building which had no windows and which stood back of
Doctor Flores' house, Gard also met the individuals who were the
firebrands of the revolution. "Red Shirt" Pena was always there and was
steadily engaged in smuggling ammunition across the border. The
pock-marked anarchist, Comacho, was maturing his spectacular plans.
Señorita Josefa Calderon, slim as a cactus, came now and then, with a
message from Reyes or Orozco. Often she brought large sums of money.
Gard once accompanied her to Juarez and used all his charms in an effort
to develop a love affair with her, but in vain. He afterward learned
that she was mourning a sweetheart who had died in fighting Madero and
was devoting herself to this cause in hope of revenge.
Toward the end of December the plans for the revolution grew near
maturity. General Reyes was to slip out of San Antonio and across the
Rio Grande where he was to pick up his recruits enlisted on the American
side and those on the Mexican side who had promised to join with him. At
the psychological moment Pena of the red shirt, and Comacho, the
anarchist, were to put on performances so spectacular as to attract the
attention of the world.
Comacho had his dynamiting plans well developed. Personally he intended
to place a bomb under the international bridge at El Paso. An associate
was to perform the same service with relation to the American customs
house at Nogales, and the consulate at Laredo was to be blown up.
While Comacho was performing these outrages, "Red Shirt" Pena was to be
busied in the fine art of murder. The sheriff of El Paso, Juan Ortego,
and Archie Dobbs were the men against whom the capacities of Pena as a
killer were to be directed. But failing these he was to run amuck and do
whatever damage he could. Any representative of the American army, any
Madero official, was to be regarded as a fair mark. The object was to at
least create a great sensation to advertise the new revolution, and
possibly to bring about intervention. At any rate the border should be
awakened.
With all this information in hand the United States authorities were
ready to act. They wanted, however, to time their coup in such a way as
to have the most discouraging effect possible upon the revolutionists.
With this idea in mind they postponed making arrests until the last
moment.
The revolutionists were to be taken into custody by Captain Hughes of
the Texas Rangers. There were some fifteen of the active plotters that
should be arrested and the Ranger force was the best fitted agency on
the border to cope with these. Every man was known to the Rangers and
all were being kept pretty well located.
The manner of making these arrests was peculiar to this cowboy police of
the Southwest. The plan was that, when the time to strike should come,
operations should begin at the little building without windows where the
ringleaders of the revolutionists gathered. These should be arrested,
none being allowed to escape and give the alarm. They should all be put
into a wagon, inclosed with white canvas, such as is common in the
Southwest and which would attract no attention in passing through the
streets. This wagon, with two or three Rangers aboard and others riding
carelessly near it, should then drive about El Paso, picking up a man
here and another there until all those wanted were under the white
canvas. So was it planned that a clean sweep of the revolutionists
should be made in a manner of raid that might seem queer to those
accustomed to the methods of metropolitan police but which was intended
to accomplish its purpose.
But as far as Billy Gard was concerned, the raid came near coming too
late. The position of Gard, the American special agent, in revolution
headquarters as a Mexican conspirator, was never one of especial
security. There was the danger of his identity being found out, which
would not only spoil his case but might result in personal violence
being done him, as his associates were not men to trifle with. There was
the difficulty of getting his information to Archie Dobbs and thence to
the department at Washington without his connection being discovered.
Finally there was his part to be played in the arrests.
Eventually the time came to strike. General Reyes had disappeared from
San Antonio and was believed to be fleeing for the Mexican border. The
order was issued from Washington to intercept and arrest any of the
Reyes party that might be found at any border points. The trap was to be
sprung at El Paso.
On that morning, December 22, 1911, Billy Gard reported at the
windowless building at ten o'clock. Doctor Flores was there and was soon
joined by Comacho, the dynamiter. Presently a ranchman from Sonora was
admitted. Señorita Calderon was expected from San Antonio with
additional funds, and Pena and other moving spirits were to drop in.
"Is there any news from General Herrera?" Doctor Flores asked Gard.
That young man reported that the Herrera troops would go over to General
Reyes as soon as his forces started into the interior.
"And is señor, the dynamiter, ready to perform his service to the cause
of liberty?" asked the doctor of Comacho.
"The noise we will make will be heard from Tia Juana to Brownsville,"
responded that inflammatory and enthusiastic individual.
"Pena is now on the street ready to strike," stated the leader. "This
afternoon Reyes will cross the Rio Grande and, pish! the powder will be
ignited."
At this moment a careful knock was heard at the one entrance to the
rendezvous, and the doctor, who always sat with his back against this
door, opened it an inch. He recognized the man outside and welcomed him.
He ushered him inside and began his presentation to those already
assembled. He was a revolutionist from Los Angeles who had but just
arrived.
The entrance of the visitor would have been of no great importance to
the detective but for one fact--he was from Los Angeles. Gard had done
much work in Los Angeles and a few of the members of the revolutionary
junta there had learned his identity. The visitor was one of that few.
If Gard were recognized he would be exposed and in this desperate
company would be in a delicate position.
The light in the windowless building was very dim and the stranger had
come in from the sunlight. His eyes were not adjusted to the darkened
apartment and he therefore did not recognize the special agent when
presented to him. Appreciating the reason for this lack of recognition,
Gard made an excuse for going out and approached the door. Flores again
sat with his back against it. When the young man gave his excuse for
wanting to go the doctor waved him aside and stated that he desired that
he should hear the report of the man from Los Angeles. Gard dared insist
only to a reasonable extent. Doctor Flores would not hear of his
departure. Quietly he settled into the remotest and darkest corner.
The man from Los Angeles began to tell of the part he had played in
lighting the fuse that was about to start a revolution. His remarks were
addressed to Doctor Flores and to Comacho, the dynamiter, an associate
of his. The man in the corner was given little attention. But as the
talker's vision became adjusted to the darkened room, he turned his
glance occasionally in the direction of the special agent.
That young man sat as one hypnotized with the possibilities of the
situation. He felt very sure that, as time passed, the visitor's
eyesight would adjust itself and he would be recognized. His mind ran
ahead and saw the scene that would then be precipitated. The thrill of
it held him taut, ready for any emergency.
It was the third time that the eye of the visitor passed him that it
lingered a moment questioningly, and passed on. He looked at the
dynamiter during a long explanation of some detail of bomb making before
his glance again returned to Gard. By this time his eyesight had become
entirely readjusted.
He started forward, mouth agape. He sprang to his feet. He pointed an
accusing finger at the special agent and fairly screamed: "By the Holy
Virgin, a spy, a traitor! He is an agent of the perfidious United
States. He is a detective, an informer. I knew him in Los Angeles. He
peeped into our windows and stole our papers. He has already betrayed
you and the cause."
A vile oath was ripped from the throat of the pock-marked dynamiter.
The Mexican ranchman stood agape. The nervous little doctor sprang to
his feet and started as if to spring at the throat of the special agent.
But as he advanced he found himself looking into the muzzle of a big
American pistol. He recoiled.
"Don't make a great mistake," said Gard. "What this man says may be true
and it may not. Granting that it is true I am then in the best position
right now I could hope to be in. If one of you advances a step toward me
I will fire. None of you dare fire upon me, as the shots that would
follow would expose you. Now sit tight and talk business. What do you
propose to do about it?"
[Illustration: "'IF ONE OF YOU ADVANCES A STEP TOWARD ME I WILL
FIRE'"--_Page 188_]
"Gringo pig of a spy, you shall die and be fed to the buzzards!" hissed
the dynamiter.
"Mother of Mary, we have been betrayed!" almost sobbed the little
doctor.
"It may not be as bad as it seems," argued Gard, talking against time.
"The four of you should be able to get me if you insist on shooting it
out. I will get one or two of you, however, and the police will get the
rest. I would suggest that it would be wiser for you to let me back
slowly out of that door and that you all beat it for Mexico."
The little doctor stiffened stubbornly against the one exit, but before
his proposition could be seriously considered there came a loud rapping
at the door. The noise of it sounded as though it were made with the
butt of a revolver. The Mexicans present stood transfixed with fear. The
knocking was repeated with greater vigor. Then a drawling Texas voice
sang out:
"Oh, you greasers, lift the latch. This ain't no way to treat visitors."
"Break it in, Captain," called out Gard, who recognized the voice of the
Ranger chief. "This bunch is half captured already."
Then came the creaking of door hinges as though a great weight was being
thrown against them and, finally, a mighty crash. As the door came in
nothing could be seen but the blank side of a thick cotton mattress. Few
other things will stop bullets like a cotton mattress and it is
therefore an excellent breastwork in an attack which is likely to be met
by bullets fired through a door. This was not the first time such an
object had been used in Ranger strategy.
Presently the head of a Ranger peered cautiously around the mattress
and a request for a parley was made. The Mexicans decided upon
discretion and surrendered without a fight. Gard was thus relieved of a
very delicate situation.
The four prisoners from the windowless house were loaded into the
white-topped wagon. It moved on unostentatiously to other parts of the
city and around it the Ranger dragnet tightened. "Red Shirt" Pena was
found in the act of boarding a street car to cross the bridge into
Juarez. He made fight but a Ranger floored him with a blow from a big
forty-five six-shooter. In two hours fifteen of the ringleaders of the
El Paso revolutionists were behind prison bars and any expedition that
might have been launched in this vicinity was leaderless.
At Brownsville a similar dragnet had operated at about the same time.
General Reyes himself succeeded in getting across into Mexico. But the
leaders from the American side had been discouraged and failed to follow
him even where they were not under arrest. The Mexicans did not rally to
the aged general's cause after he entered his native land, as had been
expected. Discouraged and heartbroken he surrendered to the Madero
authorities a few days later at the little town of Linares, and his
revolution was at an end.
X
THE ELUSIVE FUGITIVE
When one individual in a great world goes forth secretively to hide
himself and a second man starts forth to find him, it would appear that
all the advantage was with the fugitive. Particularly would this seem to
be the case when the man in flight is of a high degree of intelligence
and is thoroughly informed as to the methods that will be employed in
the pursuit.
Yet the detective who knows his business and who sticks to the trail
month after month nearly always turns up his man. He may do this by
following out, one after another, the probabilities in the case. There
is almost no man who will refrain from performing some one of those
everyday actions that it is but natural he should take. There is almost
no man who will flee without leaving a trail behind himself. If he is
the criminal genius who succeeds in doing all these things, there is
the element of chance that will turn up some bit of information which
will put the vigilant sleuth on his track. For there are many pulses
upon which the detective finger may rest long after the criminal gets to
feel so secure as to become careless. Particularly is this true of the
sleuths of the Federal Government, whose instructions are never to
abandon the pursuit of an escaped criminal.
There is the case of Alexander Berliner, for instance. He was a prince
of frauds, a man of exceptional ability, a cosmopolitan, one who knew
detective methods, a man with money. He had a month the start of Billy
Gard of the Federal Department of Justice. He knew that the special
agent was after him. He appreciated the danger of a long term in prison
if he were caught.
Would you think, under the circumstances, that the detective in the case
could make sufficient splash among the tides of humanity that surge
around a great world to disturb the tranquillity of Berliner? Let us see
how the case developed.
Gard had the advantage of having got "a spot" on Berliner. That is to
say, he had seen him. Berliner was a customs broker. His business was
to act as agent for American purchasers and European dealers. He knew
his Europe and he knew New York. The details of customs regulations and
duties to be paid were an open book to him. He spoke many languages and
had customers among the wealthiest people in America.
It was when a mere suspicion arose as to the fidelity with which he was
paying his duties that Billy Gard, on some pretext, went to see him. A
large, upstanding, white-haired man he was--unusually handsome and
dominant.
"May I ask," said Gard, "if you think table linens of good quality could
be procured from Ireland within six weeks? My sister is opening an
establishment at that time and is not satisfied with the offerings
here."
"Who is your sister?" asked Berliner, rather more directly than a
customer would expect to be questioned by a broker.
"Mrs. Jonathan Moulton," said the special agent glibly, giving the name
of a woman friend. "She lives in Seventy-second Street."
"Do you mind if I call her for a confirmation of your inquiry?" said
the broker, still noncommittal.
"Such a request is not usually addressed to a prospective customer,"
said Gard, appearing a bit nettled, "but I have no objection whatever."
As a matter of fact the special agent was very much disconcerted. He had
foreseen the possibility of having to use the name of some individual
who might afterward be called upon to verify the genuineness of his
interest in linens. Mrs. Moulton was a good friend who would be entirely
willing to help him in a little deception of this sort, but he had not
as yet coached her as to the part she might be called upon to play. He
had thought there would be plenty of time later if it became necessary
to identify the supposed customer. But Berliner was evidently suspicious
of bright young men who called upon him. He evidently knew that he was
under investigation. Gard's particular hope, if the broker insisted on
calling his alleged sister, was that he would find that she was not at
home.
But luck was not with him. Mrs. Moulton herself answered the telephone.
"May I ask," said the broker, "if you will give me the name of the
young man whom you have commissioned to buy linens for you?"
The manner in which the question was put, Gard realized, gave Mrs.
Moulton no intimation of the situation. He knew she was sufficiently
clever to be entirely noncommittal if the broker mentioned his name. But
Berliner was too shrewd for this.
"You have authorized no one to buy for you?" the broker was saying. "You
are not in the market for linens at all? I see. There must have been
some mistake."
Berliner turned to his caller.
"Young Mr. Detective," he said, urbanely, "your work is a bit
amateurish. May I present you with your hat? I trust there will be no
occasion for our acquaintance to develop further."
The case against Berliner did not come to a crisis immediately. It was
two months later that the customs agents reported that he was gone and
that they had evidence that he had long resorted to undervaluing the
imports of his clients. By getting an article through the customs house
at less than its value, he would defraud the Government of just the
difference between the amount paid and the amount that should have been
paid. But this money was not saved for his customer. That individual was
charged the full amount due and the broker pocketed the difference.
There was evidence that the Government had lost $100,000 through these
operations.
Because Gard had seen the customs broker he was assigned to the capture
of the fugitive. He set about the task methodically.
The special agent diligently searched out every one of Berliner's
intimates. There was a wife and brother to begin with. It is the A, B, C
of fugitive catching that every man will communicate with some one of
his relatives or intimates. It is not human nature to break off every
tie. Against the possibility of this fugitive writing Gard established a
close watch over the mail of each of the fugitive's relatives and close
friends. The postman who delivered mail to each was given samples of
Berliner's handwriting, was instructed to report the arrival of any
letter that might be suspected of coming from him, to have tracings
made of its envelope, to note its postmark, before it was delivered.
But a month passed and no suspicious letter arrived.
In the meantime every possibility of getting directly on the trail was
exhausted. Even in a great city like New York it is difficult for
anybody to take a train without having fixed the attention of somebody
else. An expressman must be called to get a truck to the station. A
taxicab may be used. Servants are aware of a departure. Tickets must be
bought. Conductors on trains must take up those tickets.
It is a tedious task to interview innumerable expressmen and ask each if
he had had a summons from a certain apartment. The taxicab records of
calls are equally confusing, but each may be traced to a driver and that
individual may be questioned. Every ticket seller in a city may be seen
in a day or two, the photograph of the man wanted may be shown and a
recollection of him developed. If the fugitive is of striking
appearance, as was Berliner, the chances of his being remembered are
increased. If the trail is once crossed the going is easier.
Yet all these and many other devices failed in this case, and chance
first pointed the way. The goddess of coincidence made her appearance in
a modest motion picture theater where Gard and a friend were killing a
bit of time. Among the reels shown was one which portrayed a visit of
the President to New York. It began with the arrival at the station,
among throngs of people.
"By the Lord Harry!" suddenly exclaimed the special agent. "Would you
pipe that gray-haired gent in the foreground. I have been looking for
him for a month."
It was Berliner. He had chosen the moment when the station was most
crowded to make his getaway. Oblivious to the presence of the motion
picture operator, he had stopped for a moment to say good-by to another
man, his brother, as Gard thought. The two had spoken a few words and
parted.
"I wonder," soliloquized Gard, "what those two men said to each other."
Then he thought of Jane Gates, the Lily Maid, the deaf copyist at
headquarters, the cameo-faced girl, best loved of the special agents.
"The Lily Maid might read the lips of those unconscious motion picture
actors," he thought. "They are right out in front."
So it happened that the deaf typist got a half-holiday and she and Gard
spent it at the picture show, where her lack of the sense of hearing in
no way detracted from her enjoyment.
The scene at the station came on. Gard pointed out the two men in the
foreground, who, fortunately, were facing the machine. The deaf girl
picked their words from their lips and repeated them in the hollow tones
of those who have learned to talk without hearing.
"Send Margaret to London in three months," the customs broker was
saying. "I shall not write."
"But how shall we know of your whereabouts?" the brother asked.
"You will not know. I take no chances," was the answer.
"But where are you going?"
"First to Montreal, eventually to Europe. There I will hide and live in
peace."
This much of the talk of the brothers was definitely made out. A return
for three performances thoroughly confirmed the conversation.
"You are the best detective on the force," Gard told the deaf girl with
his lips, thereby making her very happy, for she was full of the
enthusiasm of the service.
"But more remarkable than this," he continued, watching for the flush of
pink which such sallies always drew to her cheeks, "is that the best
detective in the great city should, at the same time, be its very
prettiest girl."
The next day the special agent was on the cold trail in Montreal. The
fact that a fugitive must eat and sleep is a great help to a detective.
All the hotels in a city may be canvassed and are likely to yield
results. It was at a little family hostelry in the suburbs that a
gray-haired man of distinction had passed a week. He had been gone nine
days. Yes, he had a trunk. The porter knew that it had gone to a certain
station. The ticket agent thought he remembered selling the man whose
picture was shown him a ticket to Chicago. Dave White was the conductor
on the train to that point on the day in question and remembered the
gray-haired man.