SUSPICION AROUSED.
In February, McAndrew found himself the victim of a panic regarding the
society. He believed that Kerrigan was only the Alpha and that Omega was
not far away, and therefore requested the detective to go with him and
help destroy every book and paper in any manner connected with
Shenandoah Division, A. O. H., otherwise the Mollie Maguires. They
quickly performed that task, and the test-paper, fabricated record of
proceedings, constitution and by-laws, treasurer’s receipts and
vouchers, with the charter and blank traveling cards, were converted
into black and harmless charcoal. The men who had so long carried the
affairs of the county with a high hand were now in a state of
demoralization. They appreciated that something dreadful lay in their
pathway. What goblin shape it might assume they could not say, and it
was the more horrible from its very indistinctness. It might be a
gallows tree. It might be a prison. It might be something more to be
feared than either, and at last take the form of a vigilance committee.
Whatever it might prove to be, they were determined to have no written
evidences of their acts confronting them. In Kerrigan’s case, the books
and papers of Tamaqua branch were at his house when the constables
searched it, but so well concealed were they that, after upsetting
almost everything, and turning all the beds and mattresses inside out,
they were still undiscovered.
The next news Shenandoah Division received was contained in a letter
from Linden, written to McKenna, giving the latter a fraternal greeting
and saying that, as he, James McKenna, was suspected, he had best make
his way to foreign parts. “I may at any moment, have a warrant placed in
my hands for your arrest,” concluded this precious epistle, “and I
really do not wish to be forced to lay hands upon you. If you have flown
and I cannot find you, as a natural consequence I will be unable to put
irons on my old chum from Buffalo!”
“I’ll not budge wan single inch, to save them all from perdition!”
exclaimed the operative, after reading the document to McAndrew and the
crowd usually congregated at Cleary’s. “I am innocent! I’ll only be
arrested, anyhow! An’ if others stand by, why shouldn’t I! Linden knows
I will remain!”
The Mollies applauded him for this exhibition of mock courage. They
would have acted in an entirely different manner had they known that it
was precisely the response he had been expected to make to the
well-concocted epistle, and that even then the proper papers were ready
for McParlan’s apprehension and confinement at Mauch Chunk.
Thomas Munley was arrested for the Sanger and Uren murder at about this
date, with McAllister, and both were taken to Pottsville, where a
hearing on an application for a writ of _habeas corpus_ was had, and
many of the members of the order were accordingly in the city. The
detective found it necessary to confine himself very closely to his
room, under medical treatment he was receiving, seldom venturing beyond
a block from the boarding-house on Norwegian Street, and was feeling
very despondent over the prospect of becoming totally blind unless there
soon came a change for the better, when he received a call from Frank
McAndrew, then a transient visitor at Pottsville in the interests of the
prisoners. After a little friendly conversation, the Shenandoah
Bodymaster invited his Secretary to walk with him to the court-house. It
would not do to deny the reasonable request, and the two emerged from
the dwelling, arm-in-arm.
McAndrew was thoughtful for a moment, then exclaimed:
“Something queer occurred on the cars as I was coming down, this
morning!”
“Phat wor that?” inquired McParlan.
“I know it’s not true, but I must tell you for the danger there is in
it! Some of the boys, Kehoe among the number, were making bets, as we
rode along, that you’d appear on the witness stand, to-day, for the
Commonwealth—in other words, that you were a secret spy, a detective!
There! It’s out! But, remember, I don’t believe a word about it!”
“Me a spy? Me a detective?” exclaimed McKenna, with a show of virtuous
indignation. “I will thank ye to name the man that dare insult me by
saying so!”
“There is no occasion for anger!”
“I think, be me sowl, there _is_ occasion for much of it! I won’t have
such a slander circulated about me! Sure, if ye are the friend ye say ye
are, you’ll out wid it and give me the man’s name!”
McAndrew hesitated a second, and then responded:
“Jack Kehoe was the person!”
“Jack Kehoe? Does he dare do that?”
“I heard him whispering it to several. But, to the credit of the men of
the division, I must say they’ll not entertain the suspicion, which has
risen in some way since the arrest of Munley and the squealing of Jimmy
Kerrigan!”
“Will ye go wid me, an’ see Kehoe? I’ll knock those words down his
throat, or he shall tell me where he got ’em, or take them back!”
After consenting, the two men visited Danny Hughes’ place—which at the
time was a sort of headquarters for the crew, since Dormer had sold out
the Sheridan House and adopted the peaceful calling of a pedler of wares
and vegetables, in a wagon, over the hilly country—but Kehoe was not
there.
“An’ hev ye heard the nonsensical charge they’re circulatin’ about me?”
asked McKenna of the tavern-keeper.
“Yes! and I must confess that it staggered me! I am far from belavin’
anything of the sort! Kehoe didn’t come down here himself, but sent Mrs.
Kehoe to me, wid a message, like. She came into me saloon, she did, an’
wanted me, for Jack’s sake, to say to every wan interested, to beware of
you, Jim McKenna, fur you wor a detective! At laste, that such wor the
report; an’ that Jack had recaved it from responsible persons! That’s
all I know of the matter! Tho’ Jack Kehoe was to take his oath on the
holy cross, I’d tell him he lied! I’m not such a fool as to be scared at
a shadow!”
“Thanks for your confidence in me,” answered the agent, pleased that
Hughes, who was an honest, free-spoken man, should refuse to credit the
statement of even King Kehoe. “I’ll see this man, soon, an’ he’ll have
to tell me who’s the father of this lie, or I’ll surely make somebody
suffer!”
“I would, if I were in your place,” said Hughes. “No person should
slander me in that way an’ live!”
The case before court resulted in the holding of Munley for trial. This
created more indignation, and the murderers began to look about them and
inquire if this was the State of Pennsylvania that they were in, or some
territory where Mollies were unknown? With their surprise was mingled
inveterate hate for those who were supposed to be following them for the
purpose of their capture and punishment.
The time had now come, with McKenna, which he had so long dreaded.
Suspicion, which he knew, from experience with many others, had
generally proven fatal, was at last directed upon him. There was nothing
for him to do but brazenly face the accusation down. He believed that
not a living person knew anything of the actual facts. People might
think him a detective, but he had the utmost confidence that they would
be unable to bring an item of proof to support their belief. Nobody
excepting Mr. Gowen, Mr. Linden, Mr. Franklin, Mr. Bangs, and myself had
knowledge that he was James McParlan, the detective. He was confident no
other man could learn anything of his business. Bishop Wood, of
Philadelphia, was aware of the circumstance that an operative was in the
coal region, as before explained, but he had no definite idea of the
individual. Even had he been cognizant of his personality he still would
have preserved the secret intact. “Then,” the detective argued, “it must
be merely a chance suspicion, which Jack Kehoe has himself originated,
or some other highly imaginative person may have given to him.” Come
what would, he resolved to go at once to Shenandoah, thence to
Girardville, and openly denounce the tale as a falsehood of the deepest
dye. Kehoe kept out of the way while he was in Pottsville and the agent
could not see him. In the evening of the same day, still accompanied by
McAndrew, the agent took cars for Shenandoah. After sleeping there, he
went alone to Girardville and marched direct to the house of the County
Delegate.
“What is this I hear you are afther sayin’ agin me?” inquired the
visitor, facing Kehoe, who was in his own bar waiting upon customers
when he entered, but the strangers having gone, the two men being quite
alone at the time. “Tell me what you have been spreadin’ over the
country about me!”
“I have told that you are not what you seem, but a detective; an’ I
heard it some time ago!” Then Kehoe laughed a cynical laugh, and added:
“But I don’t believe a word of the yarn!”
He was evidently ill at ease and wanted to conciliate the heated
individual before him, whose flushed face and uneasy movements indicated
more than a usual degree of excitement, and he had no desire that the
interview should end in a personal disturbance.
“I want to know, Misther Kehoe, who is goin’ to prove this assertion!
Nobody can prove it, fur it is a downright lie! You may appoint a trial
fur me before the society! I’ll be there, an’ let me stand forninst the
thafe of the worruld who dare report me as an informer! Let the order
judge me! An’ if I find who is lyin’ about me, it’ll go hard wid him!
I’ll shoot the scoundrel, if I hang fur it!”
And McKenna made considerable bluster, thumped the counter with the
butts of two revolvers, which he held in his hands and almost convinced
Kehoe himself that he was not acting a part in his denials of the grave
charge. At last the County Delegate informed McKenna that a conductor on
the Reading Railroad, while he was riding from Ashland, at least when
between Ashland and Girardville, had asked him, Kehoe, into the baggage
car and inquired if he had seen McKenna lately, and added that he, the
conductor, had heard that he was a detective. The reply that Kehoe made
was not given.
“We’ll have some proof of this!” exclaimed the agent, having become more
cool as the circumstance was detailed.
Subsequently Kehoe, who acted as though he discredited the rumor, agreed
to give McKenna a hearing before a convention of Bodymasters, and,
saying that, as he was himself rather nervous, the detective should make
the necessary notices, signing the County Delegate’s name to them. To
this McKenna agreed, and, obtaining stamped envelopes and stationery,
went upstairs to the family apartment, where he found Mrs. Kehoe with
her children, and, sitting at the table between the two front windows,
he commenced writing. But he found his own fingers not in the exact
plight to do duty in producing readable penmanship. Persevering,
however, he managed to get ready a few of the needed letters. Mrs. Kehoe
received him pleasantly, as she always had. In a little while Kehoe,
himself, left the bar and visited the sitting-room. He did not remain
many minutes, but returned to his business below. Presently the
detective heard his footsteps again ascending the staircase. When Kehoe
entered the apartment the second time his face was of a more sickly
color than usual and his hand trembled perceptibly as he passed a glass
of liquor to the operative.
“This will steady your nerves,” said Kehoe.
The tumbler and contents were accepted by McKenna. Saying he would taste
of it soon, he thanked the agitated saloon-keeper and resumed work on
his stack of letters. Mrs. Kehoe looked up inquiringly, as she continued
her sewing, and the little girl, who had been playing with a ball and
her pet kitten, gazed wonderingly upon Kehoe as he turned on his heel
and journeyed down stairs again. McKenna did not particularly like the
expression of Jack Kehoe’s naturally smiling countenance. He pondered
the circumstance for a moment and then, saying that the fumes of liquor,
under certain conditions, made him ill, shoved the goblet from him with
a preoccupied air and went on with his writing. He was in such haste to
complete his work and place the letters, all enveloped, sealed, and
directed in Kehoe’s hands, that he quite forgot to imbibe the spirits,
something Mrs. Kehoe had never observed in him before. He touched not a
single drop to his lips.
It struck the mind of the operative, while he wrote, that Kehoe really
believed in his guilt and had determined to silently and quietly put him
out of the way with poison, hence he had decided to forego the potion so
kindly brought to him. He might have been over-fearful of treachery, at
that time, and without just cause, but quickly following events
convinced him that he was not, and never could be, too cautious while
dealing with Jack Kehoe. Had Mrs. Kehoe given him the beverage with her
own hand, he would have swallowed it without a suspicion, as he knew
that she was with him in not crediting what they said to his
disparagement, and her true womanly nature would not permit her to
connive at his murder, even had he been her worst enemy.
The date mentioned for the proposed convention was about the first or
second of March, the place, Ferguson’s Hall, in Shenandoah.
When the work of getting ready the notices was properly finished, the
result was shown to Kehoe. He approved and sealed the envelopes. They
were given into his charge for deposit in the mail, and he went out,
ostensibly to drop them in the box at the post-office.
McKenna remained at the Emerald House all night, sleeping with his
revolver close by his side in the bed, fixed for use, and, not having
been disturbed, early the ensuing morning took car and returned to
Pottsville.
The report detailing these circumstances was of the utmost interest to
me. I considered well the position in which the young man was placed,
and consented, for his own sake, as well as for the good of the Company
and the general public, that he should be arrested and thrown into
prison. But, before the order could be carried out, the necessity giving
rise to it had passed away.
Beside Kehoe, a number of other members of the organization informed
McKenna that they had heard he was a detective, Pat Butler, of Loss
Creek, saying some of his men were early let into the secret and were
very earnest in making a demand to have the matter promptly and properly
considered.
“I hev the decided advantage of them in that,” returned the operative,
“fur haven’t I already demanded and secured the calling of a county
convention, to take action on me case? I have took early action on the
matter by meself! Sure, an’ if there’s such a thing as justice in the
State, I’ll hev the matin’ an’ a fair trial on them villainous charges!”
Butler hoped he might come through all right, but was free to say things
appeared very stormy, kindly advising the Shenandoah Mollie to keep an
eye out for those who would seek to end the trouble easily by killing
the one suspected, thus saving the formality of an investigation. Butler
showed that he knew the Mollies thoroughly.
Saturday, the 26th of February, Kehoe made his appearance in Pottsville,
in company with his brother-in-law, Manus O’Donnell, and the detective
met the County Delegate again at Danny Hughes’ house. Jack was full of
business, having visited the city, as he said, to retain John W. Ryon,
Esq., for the defense of McAllister, held with Munley for the murder of
Sanger. There was not much transpired in the way of conversation between
the King of the Mollies and the suspected man, Kehoe evidently being
indignant with his former favorite that he had given him further trouble
and work by refusing his recent sweet drop of poteen at Girardville.
In the afternoon the two came together once more.
“What is the news, now?” asked McKenna.
“The gettin’ of a lawyer for McAllister is goin’ to cost me two hundred
dollars, sure,” was the reply, “an’ there is worse news nor that! I
learn there are twenty-five hundred men banded together in this country
for the purpose of prosecuting the Ancient Order, an’ there is positive
proof that we have detectives in our midst. These detectives even gets
money to go aroun’ an’ spend among us, an’ find out all our secrets, an’
will soon turn around an’ send us, some of us, to the penitentiary or
hang us up by the neck! That’s news, isn’t it?”
“True to ye, that is, an’ bad news—sorry news enough! There has been
somethin’ of the same sort in me own mind for these many wakes.
Somethin’ crooked is surely goin’ on, in wan place or another, an’
that’s the raison I’m doubly cautious where I goes; or what I says! But
who tells ye these onpleasant things the day?”
“I got them from John W. Ryon, this time,” answered the County Delegate.
“That’s the very man! He’s jist afther tellin’ me at his own private
office!”
There was no call for the denial of this. It did not apply directly to
himself, and McKenna was content with the remark that it was possible
Ryon told the truth. He knew, at all events, something was wrong in the
coal region, or there could not be so many arrests. Whence came the
difficulty it was not his province to explain. One thing he might do,
and he did it, which was to again deny any claim to the despicable title
of informer. Kehoe left the saloon in a few minutes, venturing nothing
in answer to the last words uttered by his late associate, but with a
sneer of disbelief on his face, as though to say he was convinced of the
fact that there was a screw loose in the Mollie machinery, somewhere,
and he entertained the belief that, if McKenna did not know where it
was, nobody in the country could.
Time rolled around and the day preceding the one on which Kehoe had
promised the convention to try McKenna arrived. During the forenoon the
County Delegate once more appeared in Pottsville, and the accuser and
accused again met in Danny Hughes’ saloon, seemingly on fair terms with
each other, exchanging civilities in a rather distant but not unfriendly
manner, and enjoying a cigar in company.
“Are ye goin’ up to Shenandoah this evenin’?” inquired Kehoe,
carelessly.
“Yes! I’m almost ready now,” answered McKenna, “an’ I don’t intind
missing me appearance at the convention for me trial, to-morrow!”
“That’s right!”
Kehoe, after this, said he would see McKenna later in the day and they
could take the train together. It was his hour for an interview with
Ryon. He mentioned, incidentally, that his wife was in the city, seeing
some friends.
The detective made his report to the Agency, as usual, for the day,
spoke of encountering the County Delegate, and informed Mr. Franklin
that he was, at a certain hour the same evening, to start for
Shenandoah. After mailing this, he returned to Hughes’ place and
particularly inquired for Kehoe. No person remembered seeing him after
the conversation with McKenna, held some hours earlier.
Before nightfall the officer found himself in company with a man named
Mullen, residing in the vicinity of Tuscarora. He had heard the tale
concerning the detective business, and was fearful that, should there be
any truth in it—of which he could not judge—there might be danger in
having a convention at Shenandoah. For his part, he had done nothing
wrong, and was therefore not afraid, but he was lately listening to the
talk of some others, who readily concluded that McKenna merely wanted to
get the officers and Bodymasters crowded together, at Ferguson’s Hall,
in Shenandoah, when he could have the whole band arrested by the Coal
and Iron Police.
McKenna scouted the idea. All he wanted was a hearing. He did not care
where it occurred. Using his best endeavors, he tried to convince Mullen
that such a foolish scheme would be illegal, as well as impossible, even
though he had the desire to execute it, which he had not. Mullen, at
last, seemed to be convinced of the honesty of the accused Mollie’s
purpose in asking for a trial, and said he would see how many of the
officials he could cause to arrive at the same understanding.
Before starting for Shenandoah, the accused sought out and held a short
interview with Linden, telling him, for his sake, not to have one of his
policemen in Shenandoah on the morrow and to keep out of the city
himself. A contrary course, he thought, would raise suspicions that
Mullen’s friends were correct in their belief. Much against his
inclination, Linden promised compliance. He knew McKenna was running a
great risk, and it would have suited him better to be quite near, for
his protection.
“I believe I can fight them right through and make them believe that I
am no detective!” said McKenna.
“Very well! Do as you please,” returned the Captain, but I fear they
will not be convinced! If you come away with your life, you’ll do better
than I expect!”
“I am pretty well prepared against surprises,” were the last words of
McKenna, “and if they don’t overpower me, or kill me with a shot from
behind, I’ll get along all correct!”
The separation which ensued was not without feeling, as, despite his
defiant air and confident words, McParlan was not perfectly sure that he
would ever meet his partner again. That night he started for Shenandoah
on the late train, but saw nothing of the County Delegate.
McParlan was in the smoking-car, just before reaching Mahanoy City, when
Manus O’Donnell came to him with word that Mrs. Kehoe was in the ladies’
car and desired to see and speak with him. He waited until the train
stopped, then emerged from his coach and went to the rear, entering the
one the wife of Kehoe occupied. After the usual salutations he inquired
where Jack was, that he had not met him and journeyed in his company,
according to previous agreement. She believed he had gone up to
Frackville on the afternoon train, while she had been to Tamaqua to see
her mother. Returning to his own seat the young man began to deliberate.
There was certainly something suspicious in the actions of his old
associate—something he could not account for—and he made a mental
resolution to be very careful of himself. Not that he knew anything
particularly dangerous immediately threatening, but he was suspected,
and the Mollies usually put suspected persons where they could do no
harm. If they would give him a fair trial, as they were in duty bound,
he thought he would move along safely. But Kehoe’s failure to meet him
and going to another place looked to him, under the circumstances, and
in his excited mental condition, as though double dealing was going on.
It would do no harm to be circumspect, hence, when the train slackened
its speed and arrived at a certain crossing, where he had long been in
the habit of alighting, it being a shorter route to his boarding-house,
the detective kept his place, thought he saw—but was not sure of
seeing—several men standing by the track, and rode on until the
passenger depot was reached. Kehoe had told him to be sure to be up
_that night_. Was it possible some harm was then intended? Without
misadventure, he alighted, looked about the depot building, and saw no
one. He had taken pains to send up word to McAndrew and his friends that
he would be there by the evening express. For a long time, whenever he
was expected, there would be from three to half a dozen of the members
of his division ready in waiting to meet and give him welcome. On this
particular occasion not a man sent him greeting, not a friend made his
appearance at the platform. But he thought, as he walked up the street,
this might have been accidental, or his letters from Pottsville had
possibly miscarried or been delayed. It was evident he was an unexpected
or an unwelcome visitor. Which was it? Many knew he was to be up there
that night. But not a person was at hand to ask him the news or go with
him to take a drink. Something warned him all this was caused by a
change of feeling on the part of his acquaintances.
As he moved through the town he did not seem as secure as he would have
felt in his own room at the Agency, in Philadelphia; but he carried on
his person two loaded revolvers, his nerves were steady and his mind on
the alert for an attack. He met some citizens, but no old acquaintances
who were members of the organization.
When he reached James McHugh’s saloon, he thought, as he was a member,
he would speak with the proprietor. They had always been tolerably good
friends. McHugh was in front of his door and answered McKenna, asking
him to enter the bar-room, which he did.
“Will you have something?” said McHugh.
“I don’t mind taking a bottle of porter!” answered the agent. This was
an unexpected response, as McKenna was noted for seldom touching any of
the weaker fluids, but McHugh produced the bottle and fumbled about the
cork excitedly, his face turning as white as a sheet meanwhile.
“An’ phat is the matther wid ye, Jim McHugh?” inquired the visitor. “Hev
ye got the shakin’ ager, been sick, or wor ye drunk last night, or
what?”
“Oh, it’s only because I’m chilled through, standin’ outside!” was the
answer.
“Did ye hear what the divils hev ben tellin’ of me?”
“Yes, McKenna, I have; but, between you an’ I, there’s no truth in the
stories! I hope you’ll come out all right, an’ I’ll be around to-morrow,
to see what’s done at the convention!”
It struck the detective that McHugh had not exactly expected to meet him
in his house that night. Could it be that a plan already made for
killing him had fallen through? But banishing all such ideas he left the
saloon and kept on toward McAndrew’s house. Passing the Lehigh depot he
met another friend, Mike McDermott by name, who was also a member of his
division and with whom he had always been well disposed and rather
friendly. That night, after merely recognizing the former Secretary,
McDermott hardly spoke, and passed along very quickly.
Just across the street from him McKenna now saw Edward Sweeney, another
Mollie, with whom he had been quite intimate since his arrival in town.
“Is that you, Sweeney?” said McKenna.
“Yes! It is me!” was the answer. Sweeney was standing just near a
lamp-post, but he crossed the street and joined the agent, who inquired:
“Have you seen McAndrew the night?”
“Yes, I have seen him!”
“How long since?”
“Not above an hour!”
“Do you think he’s already gone to bed?”
“I guess not!”
Sweeney did not seem greatly inclined to talk, but continued to stop by
McKenna’s side, only once or twice dropping a step or two in the rear.
Sweeney was a bad man. He did not know fear. McKenna had once seen him
walk up to a party who was drunk and threatening to kill everybody, and
boldly take the man’s gun away from him. If a job had to be done Sweeney
was just the person who might be selected to do it.
“I say, Sweeney,” exclaimed the operative, “I’ve had so much trouble wid
me eyes, lately, that they are none of the best and I don’t see very
well! Will ye be kind enough to go on ahead and I can follow you widout
danger of runnin’ in the gutther or falling through these holes in the
pavement!”
“Certainly!” said Sweeney, and he walked before the operative, who made
sure to keep him at the front, from that time until they arrived at
McAndrew’s place. So certain was McParlan that Sweeney meant him harm
that he had fully determined, if the man turned suddenly, to shoot him
down in his tracks. But his companion did not look around. When
McAndrew’s house was reached a man named Grady was posted outside and
Doyle standing in the yard. They evidently expected him to arrive, and
having waited his coming had put a sentinel at the gate and another by
the door. Truly, this was showing him altogether too much consideration.
It made him uncomfortable. He did not like it. There was something in it
favoring the dark and mysterious.
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