detective system it is incomprehensible how continuous "shadowing" day
after day and week after week, through thousands of miles of
journeying, can be accomplished. The matter is made none the simpler
when you know that there must be a change of "shadows" every day.
However adroit the detective, his continued presence in a locality
would soon arouse suspicion. The daily change of "shadows" is easy
when the man under watch remains in one place; for then it is only
necessary to send a new "shadow" from the central office early each
morning to replace the one who "put the man to bed" the night before.
But it is very different when the subject is constantly traveling
about on boats or railways, and perhaps sleeping in a different town
each night. Without the network of agencies, including large and small
bureaus, that the Pinkertons have gradually established all over the
United States, the "shadowing" of a man in rapid flight would be
impossible. As it is, nothing is easier. Schwartz, for instance, spent
several days in Buffalo, where his actions were reported hour by hour
until he bought his ticket for Philadelphia. As he took the train a
fresh "shadow" took it too, securing a section in the same
sleeping-car with him, and taking his meals at the same time Schwartz
took his, either in the dining-car or at stations. No sooner had the
train left the station than the Pinkerton representative in Buffalo
reported by cipher-despatch to the bureau in Philadelphia, whither
Schwartz was going. The exact form of the despatch, which well
illustrates a system in constant use in the Pinkerton bureaus, was as
follows:
"R. J. LINDEN,
"441 CHESTNUT STREET,
"PHILADELPHIA, PA.
"Anxious shoes sucker Brown marbles man other dropping eight
arrives put grand fifty marbles articles along or derby coat
ship very tan seer wearing these have and is ribbon ink dust
central Tuesday for dust to rice hat and paper vest
yellow ink get must jewelry morning depot on.
"D. ROBERTSON."
In despatches of this sort important information regarding criminals
is constantly flashing over the wires, with no danger of any "leak."
Thus, from one city to another, and through every part of the country,
any criminal may be "shadowed" to-day as Schwartz was "shadowed," one
set of detectives relieving another every twenty-four hours, and the
man's every word and action be carefully noted down and reported,
without his having the faintest suspicion that he is under
observation. The task of "shadowing" a person who is traversing city
streets is intrusted to men especially skilled in the art (for art it
is) of seeing without being seen. This is, indeed, one of the most
difficult tasks a detective is called upon to perform, and the few who
excel in it are given little else to do. Where a criminal like
Schwartz, upon whose final capture much depends, is being followed,
two, three, or even four "shadows" are employed simultaneously, one
keeping in advance, one in the rear, and two on either side. The
advantage of this is that one relieves the other by change of
position, thus lessening the chance of discovery, while, of course, it
is scarcely possible for several "shadows" to be thrown off the trail
at once. An adroit criminal might outwit one "shadow," but he could
scarcely outwit four. A "shadow," on coming into a new town with a
subject, reveals himself to the "shadow" who is to relieve him by some
prearranged signal, like a handkerchief held in the left hand.
The result of the "shadowing" in Schwartz's case was conclusive. No
sooner was the brakeman out of Chicago than he began spending money
far in excess of his income. He bought fine furniture, expensive
clothing, articles of jewelry, presents for his wife, and laid in an
elaborate supply of rifles, shot-guns, revolvers, and all sorts of
ammunition, including a quantity of cartridges. The "shadows" found
that in almost every case he paid for his purchases with fifty-or
one-hundred-dollar bills. As far as possible these bills were secured
by the detectives from the persons to whom they had been paid,
immediately after Schwartz's departure. It will be remembered that the
money taken in the robbery consisted of fifty-and one-hundred-dollar
bills.
IV
In addition to this, it was found, by the investigations of detectives
at Philadelphia, that Schwartz was the son of a wealthy retired
butcher there, a most respectable man, and that he had a wife and
child in Philadelphia, whom he had entirely deserted. This gave an
opportunity to take him into custody and still conceal from him that
he was suspected of committing a higher crime. The Philadelphia wife
and child were taken on to Chicago, and Schwartz was placed under
arrest, charged with bigamy.
Mr. Pinkerton went to the jail at once, and, wishing to keep
Schwartz's confidence as far as possible, assured him that this arrest
was not his work at all, but that of detectives Smith and Murray, who
were, as Schwartz knew, working in the interests of the railroad
people and of the Chicago "Daily News." Mr. Pinkerton told Schwartz
that he still believed, as he had done all along, that Watt was the
guilty man, and promised to do whatever he could to befriend Schwartz.
The latter did not appear to be very much alarmed, and said that a
Philadelphia lawyer was coming on to defend him. The lawyer did come a
few days later, when a bond for two thousand dollars was furnished for
Schwartz's reappearance, and he was set at liberty. Matters had gone
so far, however, that it was not considered safe to leave Schwartz out
of jail, and he was immediately rearrested on the charge of murder.
Whether because of long preparation for this ordeal or because he was
a man of strong character, Schwartz received this blow without the
slightest show of emotion, and went back into the jail as coolly as he
had come out. He merely requested that he might have an interview with
his wife as soon as possible.
Mr. Pinkerton had evidence enough against Schwartz to furnish a strong
presumption of guilt; but it was all circumstantial, and, besides, it
did not involve Newton Watt, whose complicity was more than suspected.
From the first Mr. Pinkerton had been carefully conciliatory of the
later Mrs. Schwartz. At just the right moment, and by adroit
management, he got her under his direction, and by taking a train with
her to Morris, and then on the next morning taking another train back
to Chicago, he succeeded in preventing her from getting the advice of
her husband's lawyer, who was meantime making the same double journey
on pursuing trains with the design of cautioning her against speaking
to Mr. Pinkerton. She had come to regard Mr. Pinkerton more as a
protector than as an enemy, and he, during the hours they were
together, used every device to draw from her some damaging admission.
He told her that the evidence against her husband, although serious in
its character, was not, in his opinion, sufficient to establish his
guilt. He told her of the bills found in Schwartz's possession, of the
torn piece of the draft taken from the valise, of the marks on his
hands and the lies he had told. All this, he said, proved that
Schwartz had some connection with the robbery, but not that he had
committed the murder, or done more than assist Watt, whom Mr.
Pinkerton professed to regard as the chief criminal. The only hope of
saving her husband now, he impressed upon her, was for her to make a
plain statement of the truth, and trust that he would use this in her
husband's interest.
After listening to all that he said, and trying in many ways to evade
the main question, Mrs. Schwartz at last admitted to Mr. Pinkerton
that her husband had found a package containing five thousand dollars
of the stolen money under one of the seats on conductor Danforth's
train, on the night of his return to Chicago. He had kept this money
and used it for his own purposes, but had been guilty of no other
offense in the matter. Mrs. Schwartz stuck resolutely to this
statement, and would admit nothing further.
Believing that he had drawn from her as much as he could, Mr.
Pinkerton now accompanied Mrs. Schwartz to the jail, where she was to
see her husband. The first words she said, on entering the room where
he was, were: "Harry, I have told Mr. Pinkerton the whole truth. I
thought that was the best way, for he is your friend. I told him
about your finding the five thousand dollars under the seat of the
car, and that that was all you had to do with the business."
For the first time Schwartz's emotions nearly betrayed him. However,
he braced himself, and only admitted in a general way that there was
some truth in what his wife had said. He refused positively to go into
details, seemed very nervous, and almost immediately asked to be left
alone with his wife. Mr. Pinkerton had been expecting this, and was
prepared for it. He realized the shock that would be caused in
Schwartz's mind by his wife's unexpected confession, and counted on
this to lead to further admissions. It was, therefore, of the highest
importance that credible witnesses should overhear all that transpired
in the interview between Schwartz and his wife. With this end in view,
the room where the interview was to take place had been arranged so
that a number of witnesses could see and hear without their presence
being suspected; and the sheriff of the county, a leading merchant,
and a leading banker of the town, were waiting there in readiness.
As soon as the door had closed and the husband and wife were left
alone, Schwartz exclaimed:
"You fool, you have put a rope around Watt's and my neck!"
"Why, Harry, I had to tell him something, he knew so much. You can
trust him."
"You ought to know better than to trust anybody."
The man walked back and forth, a prey to the most violent emotions,
his wife trying vainly to quiet him. At each affectionate touch he
would brush her off roughly, with a curse, and go on pacing back and
forth fiercely. Suddenly he burst out:
"What did you do with that coat--the one you cut the mask out of?"
"Oh, that's all right; it's in the woodshed, under the whole
woodpile."
They continued to talk for over an hour, referring to the murder and
robbery repeatedly, and furnishing evidence enough to establish beyond
any question the guilt of both Schwartz and Watt.
Meantime Watt had been arrested in Chicago, also charged with murder,
and in several examinations had shown signs of breaking down and
confessing, but in each instance had recovered himself and said
nothing. The evidence of Schwartz himself, however, in the interview
at the jail, taken with the mass of other evidence that had
accumulated, was sufficient to secure the conviction of both men, who
were condemned at the trial to life-imprisonment in the Joliet
penitentiary. They would undoubtedly have been hanged but for the
conscientious scruples of one juryman, who did not believe in capital
punishment. Watt has since died, but Schwartz, at last accounts, was
still in prison.
About a year after the trial Schwartz's Chicago wife died of
consumption. On her death-bed she made a full confession. She said
that her husband's mind had been inflamed by the constant reading of
sensational literature of the dime-novel order; and that under this
evil influence he had planned the robbery, believing that it would be
easy to intimidate a weak little man like Nichols, and escape with the
money without harming him. Nichols, however, had fought like a tiger
up and down the car, and had finally forced them to kill him. In the
fight he had torn off the mask that Mrs. Schwartz had made out of one
of her husband's old coats. It was Watt who fired the pistol, while
Schwartz used the poker. Schwartz had given Watt five thousand dollars
of the stolen money, and had kept the rest himself. He had carried the
money away in an old satchel bought for the purpose. A most unusual
place of concealment had been chosen, and one where the money had
escaped discovery, although on several occasions, in searching the
house, the detectives had literally held it in their hands. Schwartz
had taken a quantity of the cartridges he bought for his shot-gun, and
emptying them, had put in each shell one of the fifty- or
one-hundred-dollar bills, upon which he had then loaded in the powder
and the shot in the usual way, so that the shells presented the
ordinary appearance as they lay in the drawer. The detectives had even
picked out some of the shot and powder in two or three of the shells;
but, finding them so like other cartridges, had never thought of
probing clear to the bottom of the shell for a crumpled-up bill.
Thus about thirteen thousand dollars lay for weeks in these
ordinary-looking cartridges, and were finally removed in the following
way: While Schwartz was in jail, a well-known lawyer of Philadelphia
came to Mrs. Schwartz, one day, with an order from her husband to
deliver the money over to him. She understood this was to defray the
expenses of the trial and to pay the other lawyers. Superintendent
Robertson remembers well the dying woman's emotion as she made this
solemn declaration, one calculated to compromise seriously a man of
some standing and belonging to an honored profession. Her body was
wasted with disease, and she knew that her end was near. There was a
flush on her face, and her eyes were bright with hatred as she
declared that not one dollar of that money was ever returned to her,
or ever used in paying the costs of her husband's trial. Nor was one
dollar of it ever returned to the railroad company, or to the bank
officials, who were the real owners.
The Destruction of the Renos
The first, and probably the most daring, band of train robbers that
ever operated in the United States was the notorious Reno gang, an
association of desperate outlaws who, in the years immediately
following the war, committed crimes without number in Missouri and
Indiana, and for some years terrorized several counties in the region
about Seymour in the last-named State. The leaders of this band were
four brothers, John Reno, Frank Reno, "Sim" Reno, and William Reno,
who rivaled one another in a spirit of lawlessness that must have
been born in their blood through the union of a hardy Swiss emigrant
with a woman sprung from the Pennsylvania Dutch. Of the six children
from this marriage only one escaped the restless, law-despising taint
that made the others desperate characters, this single white sheep
being "Clint" Reno, familiarly known as "Honest" Reno, and much
despised by the rest of the family for his peaceful ways. Even Laura
Reno, the one daughter, famed throughout the West for her beauty,
loved danger and adventure, was an expert horsewoman, an unerring
shot, and as quick with her gun as any man. Laura fairly worshiped her
desperado brothers, whom she aided in more than one of their criminal
undertakings, shielding them from justice when hard pressed, and
swearing to avenge them when retribution overtook them after their day
of triumph.
During the war the Renos had become notorious as bounty-jumpers; and
at its close, with a fine scorn for the ways of commonplace industry,
these fierce-hearted, dashing young fellows, all well-built, handsome
boys, cast about for further means of excitement and opportunities to
make an easy living. Beginning their operations in a small way with
house-breaking and store robberies, they soon proved themselves so
reckless in their daring, so fertile in expedients, so successful in
their coups, that they quickly extended their field until, in the
early part of 1866, they had placed a wide region under contribution,
setting all forms of law at defiance.
John Reno and Frank Reno, the elder brothers, were at this time the
dominating spirits of the band, and they soon associated with them
several of the most skilful and notorious counterfeiters and
safe-burglars in the country, among these being Peter McCartney, James
and Robert Rittenhouse, George McKay, John Dean, _alias_ "California
Nelse," and William Hopkins. The band soon came to be named with the
greatest dread and awe, good citizens fearing to speak a word of
censure, lest swift punishment be visited upon them. The Reno
influence made itself felt even in local politics, corrupt officials
being elected at the instigation of the outlaws, so that their
conviction became practically impossible.
The Renos, toward the end of 1866, began a series of train robberies
which were carried out with such perfection of organization, such
amazing coolness, and such uniform success as to attract national
attention. The first of these robberies took place on the Ohio and
Mississippi Railroad, being accomplished by only four men, Frank and
John Reno, assisted by William Sparks and Charles Gerroll. Other train
robberies followed in quick succession, the same methods being used in
each, with the same immunity from capture, so that people in this
region would say to one another, quite as a matter of course, "The
Reno boys got away with another train yesterday."
But while indulging in its own acts of outlawry, the Reno band
strenuously objected to any rivalry or competition on the part of
other highwaymen. A train robbery was perpetrated on the
Jeffersonville Railroad early in 1867. The Renos had no connection
with this robbery. It was accomplished by two young men named Michael
Collins and Walker Hammond, the two men escaping with six thousand
dollars, taken from a messenger of the Adams Express Company. But
their horses had carried them only a short distance from the looted
train when they found themselves surrounded by the formidable Renos,
who had quietly watched the robbery from a place of concealment, and
now unceremoniously relieved the robbers of their plunder. Not content
with this, and as if to intimidate others from like trespasses on
their preserves, the Renos used their influence to have their rivals
arrested for the crime by which they had profited so little; and both
were subsequently tried, convicted, and sentenced to long terms in the
Indiana penitentiary. The Renos, meantime, although they were known to
have secured and kept the six thousand dollars, were allowed to go
unmolested, and continued their depredations.
Up to this time the Reno gang had confined their operations, for the
most part, to Indiana; but now they began to make themselves felt in
Missouri, where a number of daring crimes were committed, notably the
robbing of the county treasurer's safe at Gallatin, in Daviess County.
In this last act John Reno was known to have been personally
concerned. The case was placed in the hands of Allan Pinkerton.
Taking up the investigation with his accustomed energy, Mr. Pinkerton
traced John Reno back to Seymour, Indiana, where the gang was so
strongly intrenched in the midst of corrupt officials and an
intimidated populace that any plan of open arrest was out of the
question. Recognizing this, Allan Pinkerton had recourse to the
cunning of his craft. He began by stationing in Seymour a trustworthy
assistant, who was instructed, on a given day and at a given hour, to
decoy John Reno to the railroad-station on any pretense that might
suggest itself. Then he arranged to have half a dozen Missourians, the
biggest and most powerful fellows he could find, led by the sheriff of
Daviess County, board an express-train on the Ohio and Mississippi
Railroad at Cincinnati, and ride through to Seymour, arriving there at
the time agreed upon with his assistant. Along with them was to be a
constable bearing all the papers necessary to execute a requisition.
When the train reached Seymour there was the usual crowd lounging
about the station, and in it were John Reno and Mr. Pinkerton's
lieutenant, who had entirely succeeded in his task. While Reno was
staring at the passengers as they left the train, he was suddenly
surrounded and seized by a dozen strong arms; and before his friends
could rally to his aid, or realize what was happening, he was clapped
in irons, carried aboard the train, and soon was rolling away to
Missouri, under arrest.
Reno's friends stoutly contested the case in the Missouri courts,
arguing that the prisoner had been kidnapped and that the law had
therefore been violated by his captors. The courts decided against
them on this point, however; and John Reno, with several less
important members of the gang, was tried and convicted. He was
sentenced to twenty-five years of hard labor in the Missouri
penitentiary.
This was the first break in the ranks of the band, the first instance
in which they had suffered for their crimes. But the bold spirit of
the organization was still unbroken. Three brothers still remained to
replace the one who was gone; and so far from learning caution, the
band launched forthwith into still more daring and frequent offenses.
Trains were "held up" right and left; robberies were committed; and
early in 1868 the gang made a famous raid across the country through
Indiana and Illinois, robbing safes in county treasurers' offices in a
number of places. In several instances some of the members were
arrested; but they always managed to have the prosecution quashed, or
in some way to escape conviction. In the spring of 1868 their
operations became so outrageous, and the situation so serious, that
Allan Pinkerton was again called upon to do something in the cause of
public safety.
In March of this year the safe of the county treasurer at Magnolia,
Harrison County, Iowa, was robbed of about fourteen thousand dollars;
and Allan Pinkerton detailed his son, William A. Pinkerton, and two
assistants, to run down the burglars. Arrived at the scene of the
robbery, the detectives found that the thieves had made their escape
on a hand-car and had gone in the direction of Council Bluffs. At this
time in Council Bluffs there was a low saloon, kept by a man who had
formerly lived in Seymour and who was known as a bad character. It was
decided to keep a sharp watch on this resort, Mr. Pinkerton reasoning
that since Seymour was the friendly refuge of the Renos, it was
altogether likely that the outlaws would have a friend, and perhaps an
abettor, in the saloon-keeper who had once lived there. After two
days' watching, the detectives observed a large man of dark complexion
enter the saloon and engage in close conversation with the proprietor,
having with him, evidently, some mysterious business.
Investigation disclosed this man to be Michael Rogers, a prominent
and wealthy citizen of Council Bluffs, and the owner of an extensive
property in the adjoining counties. Puzzled, but still persuaded that
he had found a clue, Mr. Pinkerton put a "shadow" on Rogers, and
hurried back to Magnolia, where he learned that on the day preceding
the robbery Rogers had been seen in Magnolia, where he had paid his
taxes, and in doing so had loitered for some time in the treasurer's
office. This also looked suspicious. But, on the other hand, search as
he might, the detective could find nothing against Rogers's character,
every one testifying to his entire respectability.
Still unconvinced, Mr. Pinkerton returned to Council Bluffs, where he
was informed by the man who had been "shadowing" Rogers that several
strange men had been seen to enter Rogers's house and had not been
seen to come out again. The watch was continued more closely than
ever, and after four days of patient waiting, Rogers, accompanied by
three strangers, was seen to leave the house cautiously and take a
west-bound train on the Pacific Railroad. One of these men, a brawny,
athletic fellow nearly six feet tall, and about twenty-eight years of
age, Mr. Pinkerton shrewdly suspected was Frank Reno, although he
could not be certain, never having seen Frank Reno. Feeling sure that
if his suspicions were correct the men would ultimately return to
Rogers's house, Mr. Pinkerton did not follow them on the train, but
contented himself with keeping the strictest watch for their return.
The very next morning the same four men were discovered coming back to
the house from the direction of the railroad. But at that hour no
train was due, which was a little curious; and another curious point
was that they were all covered with mud and bore marks of having been
engaged in some severe, rough labor. The hour was early; the dwellers
in Council Bluffs were not yet astir. A little later the city was
thrown into a fever of excitement by the news that the safe of the
county treasurer at Glenwood, in Mills County, about thirty miles
distant, had been robbed the previous night. No trace had yet been got
of the thieves, but everything indicated that they were the same men
who had robbed the safe at Magnolia. One remarkable point of
similarity in the two cases was the means employed by the robbers in
escaping, a hand-car having been used also by the Glenwood thieves;
and they, too, were believed to have fled in the direction of Council
Bluffs. Investigation soon made this absolutely certain, for the
missing hand-car was found lying beside the railroad, a short distance
from the Council Bluffs station.