CAPTAIN JOHN YOUNG’S GRAB
The “Little Joker” won for Mark Shinburn, me, and our associates the
contents of the vault of the New Windsor Bank of Westminster, Carroll
County, Maryland, while the Ocean Bank enterprise was hatching. All
of the combinations were mastered in five nightly sittings. I had
arranged the details, such as purchasing a team for a safe “get-away,”
and mapping a route for Shinburn, who was to do the work on the vault.
While he was at it I went to Buffalo for the treasure of the St.
Catharines robbery, made ten days previously. As will be recalled,
Shinburn and I, in making our escape, left it with a friend in the
Bison City.
Mark picked the lock on the front door of the New Windsor Bank, and our
little steel invention soon told the tale of the combination numbers
of the vault and inside safes, so that the bank people one morning
discovered nearly three hundred thousand dollars gone from their funds,
which was about all they had boasted of. Considerable of the loot was
in government bonds, as good as gold almost, and better handling for us
in a sharp “get-away.” I will not occupy too much space in relating
how Shinburn, with his aids Eddie Hughes and Gus Fisher, got off
without a hitch, the only clew left of them being the team, abandoned
on the outskirts of Baltimore.
When seating themselves in the train, Shinburn placed the gripsack,
with its two hundred and eighty-one thousand dollar contents, to be
exact, in the rack above his seat and gave the valuable bag no more
attention. This carelessness came mighty near knocking the profits out
of their previous day’s work. Eddie Hughes had chosen a seat nearer the
front of the car than that occupied by Shinburn, and when the train
stopped at Gray’s Ferry, which was the changing place for Philadelphia,
he, Eddie, saw a young man pass him with a satchel that looked the
counterpart of Shinburn’s. Hastily looking round, he saw that the
satchel was missing from the rack over Shinburn’s head. Making a rush,
he caught the young man on the platform. Grasping the satchel, he
exclaimed, “What are you doing with my bag?”
The young man released his hold on the bag and with one bound landed on
the station platform and set off on a sprint that would do credit even
to Barney Wefers. Needless to say that Eddie did not run after him, nor
even yell “Stop thief!” But he did take that bag and hold it in his lap
for the rest of the trip.
Suffice it to say, that I had been back in New York about twenty-four
hours when Shinburn put in an appearance, with his satchel crammed full
of cash and securities. We kept the loot in the background for six
weeks, when we concluded it was about time to begin negotiating the
bonds. Upon making an inventory, I found we had got hold of one hundred
and sixty-five thousand dollars’ worth of first-class securities
and fifty-three thousand dollars in Union Pacific Railway bonds. In
attempting to sell the securities, something happened which I, with
regret, must relate.
Shinburn and a friend with much Wall Street business experience
undertook to make the sale. They finally struck a deal with the reputed
lobbyist, in Washington, District of Columbia, and Albany, New York,
General Francis P. Spinola. Being told squarely the character of the
securities, he insisted it was all right, as long as there was a good
“rake-off” in the deal for him. Without much delay Spinola placed the
securities in the hands of a certain broker, who was at the time a
very familiar figure in Wall Street. The general represented to him
that they were the assets of a large estate being closed up by an
administrator, and it seemed as though we were about to realize the
cash when a halt was called by the broker making a deeper inquiry as
to how the securities came into General Spinola’s possession. When no
proof of a satisfactory character was furnished, he declared the deal
off. He was one of the honest men then in Wall Street, which can boast
of none too many in these days, and couldn’t at the period of which
I write. Of course this was a set-back, but General Spinola said he
would persevere, and did, with what result we shall see. He was like
all lobbyists, who, upon realizing that there is likely to be no money
in one end of a deal, are mighty sure to jump to the other. Once let
a lobbyist get a scent of money, and his nose is to the trail, never
to be lifted. He cannot be dragged away. Realizing that suspicion had
fallen upon him, and that there was the possibility that he might be
connected with the sale of “crooked” bonds, Spinola flipflopped and
covered his tracks by giving information to Superintendent of Police
John A. Kennedy. Hurrying to Police Headquarters, he got an interview
with the superintendent.
“Kennedy,” said he, “I’m on the track of securities and bonds stolen
from the New Windsor Bank in Maryland.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated the superintendent, and he called in his chief of
detectives, John Young.
“General Spinola has something to say to you, captain,” said Kennedy,
“and there must be a quick action in the case!”
“Very well, sir,” Captain Young answered, and at once entered into a
long conference with Spinola, who told him all he had gained from
us in confidence. The result was the baiting of a trap to catch the
Maryland looters. They at once opened a fake brokerage office at 71
Broadway, and Spinola made sure that this information reached us in
furtherance of their purpose. It proved to be alluring enough, for one
day Shinburn and our sales agent walked into the office like flies into
a spider’s web. I well recall the day. It was eleven o’clock in the
morning, and spot cash had been promised. General Spinola was there and
greeted Shinburn warmly, not forgetting to keep a greedy eye on the
money bag the latter carried.
“Ah, you have them--the securities?” he questioned, with a laugh. Mark
slowly removed his hat and placed it on the counter, but drew the
satchel quickly from the reach of Spinola’s eager grasp.
“One moment, general! Not quite yet! You’ll pardon me, but how are we
to know you have the money to satisfy us?”
“As though a living man or the spirits of the dead could doubt me!”
exclaimed Spinola, drawing his stature up to its height and throwing
his chest out and his head back, in emphasis of his “square” dealing.
“You’ll pardon me, my dear general,” spoke Shinburn, in a voice that
would be envied by a parson; “but here are the securities, and I’ll
feel obliged if you’ll do me the honor,” and he laid the package of
securities on the counter, but not an inch away from his fingers.
“There’s no question as to my part of the deal being fulfilled,” said
Spinola, as he threw open the door of a safe and disclosed to view what
he said was a million dollars in bills.
“Good,” declared Shinburn; “the sooner we close up the sale, the
better!”
“And that’s what I think, too,” cried Spinola, as he hurled the door
shut with a bang loud enough to be heard in the hallway. And it was
heard, for in the main door appeared Detective James Irving. Shinburn
gave one glance at Spinola, who stood motionless, and then crammed
the securities in the satchel. He knew that a trap had been set;
the question was--how to get out of it. He would care for himself
and the sales agent must do likewise. Darting toward a window that
opened into the hall, he threw up the sash. Another man appeared in
the window--Detective George Edsel. He was trapped to a certainty,
and, knowing it, surrendered, as the sales agent had already done.
The detectives closed in on him, the securities were taken, and in a
moment the prisoners were handcuffed and face to face with Chief Young.
The latter had come in from the hallway after the arrests were made.
With one hundred sixty-five thousand dollars’ worth of securities thus
captured, Captain Young drove his prisoners to Police Headquarters,
smuggled them in by the basement door on the Mott Street side, and
gave strict orders that no information was to be given the reporters.
The New York Detective Bureau at that time was under the command of a
captain whose power was as great as his conscience would permit him to
use it, in any direction. He was to all intents and purposes a power
within himself, and seldom received orders from his superiors; unless
it were in exceptional cases, where politics played an important part.
In that event everything had to bow to the inevitable.
Now, I do not hesitate in saying that Chief of Detectives John Young
was as “crooked as a ram’s horn,” which fact was well known, in and out
of the department. He took his “rake-off” greedily, from pickpocket
mobs and other small-fry thieves, with the same assurance that an
honest man receives his wages from an honest employer. Though this was
common information among his official associates, many of whom were
as firmly established in the saddle for graft as he, John Young was
not of the sort they would trust. He was quite likely to fail them in
an important settlement. So far as the profession was concerned, we
had retained some of the headquarters associates of Chief Young, in
our effort to obtain something for nothing, and when he couldn’t be
trusted, they told us it was because he had not been “seen.” That the
word “seen” may not be misunderstood, I will explain that crooks had
to divide with him. However, Johnny had two confidants in Detectives
Irving and Edsel, both of whom trusted him, as much as any man dared
to, and stood by him pretty well, though the former had more than
once rebelled. Another official with whom he associated to a certain
degree was Colonel Hiram C. Whiteley, the powerful head of the United
States Secret Service. When Young needed bogus money to stuff Spinola’s
safe in the blind brokerage office, he went to Whiteley, who supplied
counterfeit money. It was a pile of this kind of bills that Shinburn
was shown by Spinola and which lured the victim, blindly, into the
trap. As I think of John Young now, it is with a feeling of wonderment
that he would have soiled his hands with spurious money, so eager was
he to get his clutches on the real kind. No doubt he withstood the
ordeal in the belief that it would lead to the bona-fide currency of
Uncle Sam. I recall that Johnny’s eyes ever had a covetous glint in
them when there was a “rake-off” in sight. Another streak in the color
of John Young was his anxiety to keep out of harm’s way. When the trap
was laid to catch Mark and our sales agent, he was mighty careful not
to make a mark of himself, but sent his men in the brokerage office to
face any danger there might be, and waited on the outside, behind the
door, until he was sure it was safe to enter. I have ever held this act
against him. I cannot say that either Irving or Edsel was possessed of
a yellow streak.
Locked in a cell in the basement of headquarters, the prisoners felt
somewhat disconsolate--not over the fact that they would find a cell up
the Hudson River at Sing Sing, for that was not probable. Cash would
be forthcoming, from me or some one else, and their freedom would be
bought, they felt assured. It was the fact that the bonds were in the
hands of Young that worried them. That was tantamount to our never
seeing them again. Mark knew also that he would be secreted from his
friends, as long as Young could do it, pending negotiations with the
New Windsor Bank officials. If Young could make a deal with them, Mark
knew that all other considerations would be side-tracked. The promises
to the profession and friendships for his associates would count as
nothing, weighed against Johnny’s desire to line his pocket with gold.
Mark could only hope that some of our friends would hear of his arrest
and take the word to me.
In the meantime Chief Young had again cautioned his confidants as to
maintaining great secrecy, assuring them that he had a plan maturing
which would fetch them in a few dollars.
“No one is to see the prisoners,” he commanded; “and, understand, I
mean their counsel shall not get to them.”
Now, had Chief Young been actuated by an earnest desire to do honest
work for the people, or assist the bank officials, instead of fishing
for gold to fill his pocket and that of General Spinola, he would have
notified, as the next move in the case, the Westminster police of the
arrests and of the fact that a large part of the stolen property had
been recovered. I say that would have been the natural course for an
honest official to pursue, but did he do that? Not John Young--he
couldn’t see his duty in that light. Instead, he suddenly disappeared
from headquarters. No one seemed to know where he had gone. In Mulberry
Street it was guessed he’d hurried to the state capitol at Albany, to
obtain extradition papers. This, however, was a mere conjecture. Two
days later the mystery was cleared to a certain extent. Honest people
were astonished, but those on the inside thought it quite the usual
thing in John Young.
Upon leaving Police Headquarters, Young had travelled by the fastest
trains to Maryland, and at the earliest moment was in Westminster,
advising the New Windsor Bank officials that he’d captured, by his
prowess, two of their bank’s looters, recovered a large part of the
securities, and would soon have the railroad bonds. Naturally the
bank officials were much relieved at the news; in fact were thrown
into an ecstatic state, some of these directors, in their exuberance,
being almost on the point of weeping out their tense feelings on the
broad breast of the honest John Young. And their joy was not relegated
to gloom when he assured them that he would have recovered the cash
had not the robbers spent it. The bank, he said, must stand up nobly
under this loss, and could afford to under the circumstances. They
were fortunate, indeed, that the burglars selected New York City for a
refuge, and that the astute chief of detectives was there to exercise
his ingenuity. The bank officials wrung his hands and patted him on the
shoulders. Such an officer of the law had never been known; his reward
should be commensurate with the service he had rendered. They looked
upon him as a veritable prophet, even their Moses, come to lead them,
providentially, out of a vast wilderness of banking troubles; which in
other words meant that they had been saved from going down deep into
their personal pockets to reimburse their customers and stockholders.
Not many hours after Chief John’s advent in the New Windsor Bank, the
halo began to fade from him. He looked a trifle less like the Moses
he had appeared to be, the change being the result of Johnny’s broad
hint at what he termed a “requisite reward” for his services. The
bankers saw that he was no “cheap John” Young, and that his idea of a
recompense was vastly in excess of what they had in mind to pay their
deliverer from the wilderness of lost securities, railroad bonds, and
ready cash. However unexpected this was to the honest Marylanders,
it would not have caused any rustling among the consciences of his
confidants at home. They knew John’s game, for some of them had
hopelessly been in it. The board of directors, still regarding him as
worthy of a good reward, and buoyed up by his atmospheric promises that
he would recover the Union Pacific bonds beyond doubt, voted him twenty
thousand dollars. Thus the object of Young’s visit to Westminster
having been accomplished, he made more glowing promises to serve the
Marylanders, hoped that the reward would be forthcoming soon, and
hastened back to New York.
“Fetch the prisoners to my office,” was his instant command upon
arriving at the Mulberry Street office, and forthwith Mark Shinburn and
our sales agent were brought upstairs by Irving and Edsel.
There was in vogue in those days what was styled the “third degree,”
but it didn’t mean more than a threat to really enforce the law.
Subsequently, I am credibly informed, confessions were obtained from
prisoners by the application of physical torture. When that system
prevailed at 300 Mulberry Street the police were not so linked by
crooked dealing with the criminal classes, therefore it is not my
intention to discuss these immaterial things. What Captain Young wanted
was the information Shinburn could give him of the Union Pacific bonds,
and he was bound to obtain it if bulldozing would accomplish his
end. However, he went about it in a cunning manner, and when Shinburn
and his companion were arraigned, the atmosphere of the detective
office seemed to be pregnant with peace and harmony. In his softest
tones, Young intimated to Mark that it would best serve all concerned
if the bonds were quietly turned over to him; that self-preservation
was the vital fact to be first considered by all men; that it would
be much better for Mark if he produced the bonds, even though it
involved faithlessness to a confederate. To all this and more Shinburn
maintained a calm demeanor.
“You’ll have to see my counsel, captain,” was his reply, pleasantly
but firmly said. Finding his suave manner had no effect, Young shifted
his attack, and became what he could be in an emergency,--a miserable
oppressor of those under his power.
“Shinburn,” he said coldly, “you owe ten years to the state of New
Hampshire for that Walpole Bank robbery, and I can send you there at
the tap of this bell,” and he placed one of his forefingers on the
silver button. Mark smiled at what was no news to him, though he felt
anything but happy under the circumstances.
“Quite true, captain, but what are you going to do about it?” he asked.
“I could better tell if I knew where the Union Pacific bonds were,”
Young answered. He was stern and insinuating at the same time.
Shinburn hesitated a moment before proceeding, not because he didn’t
know what he would eventually say and do, but liberty was a sweet
thing, after all, and Young had hinted at releasing him if the bonds
were forthcoming.
“See our counsel, cap,” he said. It irritated Young greatly.
“Produce the bonds, Shinburn,” said Young, in a low, angry tone he
tried hard to command, “and I’ll let you men leave here to go where you
will. I think you know that stranger things than this have happened.”
“Have a talk with our counsel,” was Shinburn’s stereotyped reply, and,
repeated, it seemed to fire the captain to a pitch of rashness.
“I tell you,” he cried, “if you’ll put that fifty-three thousand dollar
batch of Union Pacifics in my hands before the Maryland police reach
here, I promise you and your whole gang freedom.” Young waited for
Shinburn’s answer. If his proposition was declined, the captain saw his
twenty thousand dollar reward dwindling.
“No use talking about it,” said Shinburn; “you’ll have to see our
attorneys.”
Captain Johnny was white with anger and disappointment. He roared out
an order that the prisoners be taken down to their cells, and they
were, and none too gently.