Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 165, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 July 1913 — Page 2

The Cases of Alice Clement

True Stories of the World? £ Greatest Woman Sleuth as Told by Herself to Courtney Riley Cooper

A Bit of Fortune Telling

4 O our right, the great, age-greened statue of George Wa shin gt o n j held itself aloof from \W-mMsi the steps °f ie TreasAyji ury Building. The star- . ing eyes were far down the street, to where marching figures in the Hvft) costumes of Colonial •*»w days were threading their way along to the music of bands. Flags were flying. The clatter of hoofs sounded in front of the Stock Exchange. Crowds were cheering. The clicking of motion picture machines came to us from the ledge nearby, as thp men of the camera put into shortlived history the sights of New York’s Fourth of July parade. Miss Clement was silent, her eyes on the columns of 'figures as they turned, gay colored, into chasm-like Wall street I could see that the sight had gripped her, just as it bad gripped me, and that she was thinking of other days, when determined little groups of men in the same sort of costume, marched up this same street to the music of fife and drum, ready to fight—and fight until the last drop of blood was gone. It was a mixture of past and present —the skyscrapers of today sheltering the replica of more than a hundred years ago. “A comparison that only New York could give,** I remarked and Miss Clement nodded her head. An hour later, as we sat on the screened veranda of the Case Boulevarde. watching the holiday life of teeming Second avenue, Miss Clement was Btill thoughtful—and still silent a great deal of the time. I became jocular and Bhe looked at me with that little smile which always foretells the coming story. “It's queer the hold that the past can get on one,” she said. “Not that I’ve been thinking anything about the days of the revolution. I didn’t live that long ago,” was added with a laugh as the waiter served the cocktails. “But I have noticed when you want to do something with a person,* you can paint the future forever without getting results. But paint the past a few times and you’re pretty sure to get what you want.

"It was about eight o’clock one night three years ago when the buzzer of my apartment In Chicago announced someone at the door. A young girl ‘who gave her name as Miss Charles, faced me a few moments later —stylishly dressed, pretty, and with every indication of a fair position in life about her. She hesitated a moment, looking around the room as if to assure herself that we were the only two there. Then she drew her chair close to me. come to you to find out if you could do some work for me. It’s ’ “*Not without the consent of the captain,’ I answered. ‘But perhaps that can be arranged. Is it anything connected with criminals?’ "The woman studied a moment ‘“That iB what I don’t know,’ she answered at last *lf I only did, I would feel better. The truth is that my mother, who Is fifty years old, is ruining our fortune. In three months she has gotten away with more than seventy thousand dollars. What has become of it I cannot say. In fact I cannot swear absolutely that she has parted with the money. All I know is that she has turned stocks into money and that she has been drawing frtfm her account at the bank steadily. I have tried to find out what she has been doing with the money, but that has been impossible. She does not live at home with my brother and myself, but has taken an apartment oh the North Side. I have gone there and tried to persuade her to allow me to live with her, but she has refused. She has also refused to come home —and there is nothing that I can do.

“'And that Is the reason I have come to you,’ the young woman continued. My brother has figured it out that my mother is insane, and that she should be taken before the probate court and adjudged so. You know what that would mean,’ was continued with a heartbroken little sigh, 1 just couldn’t stand it. I thought that maybe if I should come to you, you could find out a way to straighten this whole thing out How —I don’t know.’ “ ‘Has your mother anything to worry her?’ I asked. ‘What does your brother base his belief of insanity on?’ “'Nothing—except that she is evidently trying to spend all the money she possesses.’ I “‘On what? Have you any ldda?’ j " ’None at all.’ “ ‘How many children are there?’ “•Four; my brother and myself and two married sisters, who live in Spokane.’ “‘No black sheep in the family?’ ; “‘No.’ “‘How long has your father been dead?’ “The young woman looked at me quickly. “ ‘I can’t tell you that,’ she answered at last, with a bit of hidden pain in her voice, ‘I am not sure. We have merer been sure that no is dead—-

(Copyright, by W. G. Chapman.)

though we are reasonably satisfied. My father went on an exploring expedition into South America fifteen years ago, after a series of quarrels with my mother. Relations had not been good for some time. He never came back. Whether he died there or whether he has merely remained affray, I do not know.’ “I listened to that explanation intensely. And with the explanation, there came a clue. The young woman as she talked, ’waved her gloves nervously. They bore to my mind familiar memories that I should recognize. My brain struggled with memory a long time. Then suddenly the flash came, and I smiled as I looked at Miss’Charles, and asked: “ ‘How long have you been carrying yptar mother’s gloves?’ • "There was a little start of surprise at the question. The young woman held up the gloves and her eyes grew wide. - "‘Why—so I am!’ she exclaimed. ‘How did you know that?’ A nervous little laugh followed ' the question. ‘Have you ever seen my mother—how did you know I was carrying her gloves?’ “ ‘We’ll let that remain my little secret for the present,’ I answered. ‘Now, we’ll revert to the original question of how long have you been carrying them?’ *‘ ‘Only since last night I went to her flat to see if I couldn’t persuade her to come homeland I guess as I left, I must have taken up her gloves, by mistake.’ ___ __ “Then I became serious. ‘Miss Charles,’ I said. ‘You probably will not hear from me for three or four days. In the meantime I wish that you would go back to your mother’s flat and make just one more attempt to stay there —only for the few days—so that we may keep her from getting rid of any more of that money until the time comes when I can stop it forever. I have to take a little out of town trip.’

“With that I dismissed her and began to make the plans Which would result in the saving of a fortune. And late that night I was still at my library table, figuring out means of finding the person whom I sought. One thing I knew would be fruitless, the attempt to shadow Mrs. Charles and learn with whom she associated. If the person whom I believed to be the one who was getting the money had anything to do with her actions, then certainly efforts at shadowing would be beyond the question. He would arrange for that. I consulted my case book and found the name I wanted, recorded there five years before. Then, late as it was, I stepped to the telephone and put in a long distance call for the warden of the / state penitentiary at Joliet. “ “When did Alem Haji get released?’ I asked when the connection was made and I had explained my personality. There was a wait of a few minutes whjle the warden looked up the records. “‘You mean the Indian fakir?’ be asked at last. “ ‘Yes. Sent up by me in the Clark street raids five years ago.’ “ ‘The same one,’ said the warden. ‘He’s been out about six months. We gave him transportation to St Louis for his earned time in the penitentiary.’ “However, I had a different belief about things as I hung up the telephone. The memory of those gloves was what had made me come to the decision and the next day a squad of. detectives, obtained by me from headquarters was searching every available part of Chicago’s underworld. That night Alem Haji, dealer in the occult, was resting as comfortably as possible in a steel room in the Harrison street jail, while his house girl remained in the matron’s room. His place of business still was open, however, with another man in Haji’s place—a detective who possessed the art of makeup and the brains to play a bard game.

“And it was a hard game that was before him. What clients Haji had we did not know, nor what they came for. . Questioning had proved fruitless; the man only stared at us with his beady, snapping, black eyes and smiled grimly at the cross-fire of interrogation which was shot at him. Nor coqld anything more be gained from the girl. We were playing a game in the dark —but we had laid our trap to save more than one victim and we were going to ‘use our resources.’ ” Miss Clement ceased a moment and smilingly raised a hand. "Did you ever try to read fortunes, distribute love potions, give seances and play magic when you didn’t know a thing about the people you were dealing with ?” she asked. “No," I answered. “Why?" “Simply because that was the game we had to play. Alem Haji’s place was one of Indian magic. Everywhere about us was equipment, pots, funny little blow pipes, queer smelling perfumes, jars of colored liquids, dummies, velvet curtains and idols. To us. It was all a puzzle; we knew nothing more than that here was a collection of junk which must be worked and worked correctly to allay suspi-

cion until the proper time came.* We had no information on which to worik —there was only one thing which kept me at the job, my intuitive knowledge that I was working on the right track and that sooner or later the person I desired would show up. But In the meantime the detective and myself must find the key to this collection of material. We must know what to use for various persons and we must know the prices that were paid. Hour after hour we spent that night, searching everywhere, looking even under the carpets for what we knew must be somewhere about the place. Alem Haji did not keep all his information in his head, we felt sure of that He did not depend on his memory for the earning of his money and we knew that sooner or later we would find his ‘book of symptoms.’ And sure enough, about daybreak, my detective came forth from a closet, bearing with him a small, closely written notebook. Anxiously we turned the pages. There we saw names, addresses, prices—in fact, a complete history of every client who followed the occult teachings of Alem Haji, the mystic. There were those who sought love and who paid for their love potions at prices worth while. There were others who sought power—and paid for it. There were still others who attempted to penetrate the veil which separates this world fi*om the next, and under this heading we found the name of Mrs. Charles.

“Some way, that day, my detective, garbed in the robes of Alem Haji, and myself, dressed in the costume of an Indian woman.,whose sole duty was to answer the bell and to roll her eyes and speak a jabbering, gibberish tongue, managed to work with those who came for their seances. And. we gave those Beances, we delivered the love potions, and we threw in. free of charge things of which Alem Haji had never dreamed. If ever there was a day of real mystic free-for-all tomfoolery, it was that one. More than once that day I gritted my teeth to keep from laughing. More than once that laughter would be choked back by a queer look in the face of the client—as fear would enter our hearts that it was suspected that something was wrong, that the real Alem Haji was not before them in the dimmed, darkened room, after all. We were playing a dangerous game, we knew that. We felt that even though we had arrested Alem Haji, that we had sufficient evidence to send him over the road again for being a fakir and a thieving fortune teller, that we had not yet saved the woman we had started out to save. Did you ever knew that such a person will trust the man who is robbing her implicitly, no matter what happens? We knew that if we proclaimed to the world that Alem Haji had been arrested and that he was charged with stealing money, there would not be one of the victims who would come forward to testify against him. More than that, there would be those who would look upon him as a martyr and who would even furnish money to aid him make his fight for freedom. And most important of these was Mrs. Charles. We must wait for her. We must play the game to the best of our ability and bide our time until the opportunity came to set her so hard against Alem Haji that she would be willing to do anything, now that her eyes were opened. A week passed. Still we floundered on, giving palm readings, gazing into the crystal globe and doing anything which the key book designated as being neoessary for those who came to be duped. We gave advice on business matters —attempting to make it such advice that it would do no harm. We gave advice in love matters. We handed out tablets and potions to make men and women happy and handsome, knowing that they were nothing but colored water or bread pills. And all the time we hoped for that moment when Mrs. Charles would come. We were also getting anxious for another reason. In that week or more of work we collected money, of course. The job of keeping books on it, so that it might be returned when the case was over, had fallen to me, and it was making me stay up late nights.

“Then came the test. The telephone rang one night, late. I had been working over my books, attempting to straighten out the list of persons who had paid in money during the day and to whom it must be returned. I looked at the clock, it stood exactly at midnight A voice which seemed to have a familiar ring to it came over the phone. " ‘Alem Haji, please,* It said? I roused the detective. He answered tho telephone and I saw that the face was wrinkled as he said ‘All right’ and bung up the receiver. ‘“What is it?’ I asked. "‘A woman,’ he answered, *who merely said "I am ready." Do you suppose—?’ “‘I am sure of it* I answered. T recognized her voice as being similar to that of her daughter’s. We must get things in readiness.’ "Long had we studied that little book of instructions. We knew every line by heart. Hastily we went to the seance rooms, arranged the statues of Buddha, fixed the lights, the phosphorescent figures, the heavy robes and curtains and then went downstairs and sat down to wait "Nothing happened for about twenty minutes —and then there came a sound which caused us both to start from our chairs. It was a knocking on the floor from beneath, three heavy taps, each with a space of time between, then five short, staccato ones. We stared at each other. Then my defective, with a lunge, pulled the rug from the floor and threw it into one corner. A trap door lay before us. I hurried to the seance room, to arrange the powders and illuminations that would

GAZING INTO THE CRYSTAL GLOBE, GIVING PALM READINGS, AND DOING EVERYTHING THE KEY BOOK DESIGNATED.

end the spending of the Charles fortune. As I worked in the darkness, shielded by heavy curtains, I heard the voices of the woman and of the supposed Alem Haji. “ ‘I have brought you twice as much money tonight,’ the woman was saying. ‘ T want to see him longer. I want to talk to him about that thing ,you have kept me from asking him about—what became of him. I want you to let him come near me and let me hold him in my arms. Won’t you do that?’ The woman’s voice was piteous. ‘Wou’t you let me?’ “‘Spirits are vague,’ was the guttural answer of the pseudo Haji. ‘Spirits are vague.’ “ ‘But you have promised—oh, so many times. The spirits of life which you said would bring him to me in my dreams have not done it. Once I saw him—then he flitted away. You let me talk to him and ask 'him if he loves me. Why can’t you let me ask him what I want to know—about that other woman?’ Haji’s- voice seemed queer. It was choking. “ "Tonight,’ came his reply at last, ‘you can see him and talk to him and hold him in your arms. The spirits will it.’

“A cry came from the woman. She hurried into the seance room and seated herself. I could hear her hard breathing. I could almost see her eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Then began the seance. Strange lights played for a moment as I pulled the switches to the accompaniment of the chanting voice of the detective Haji. Then all was darkness. At last a voice broke upon the stillness. “ ‘I have come to you, Esther. What fs it? What is it?’ “The woman half sobbed. “ ‘Henry, where are you?’ 1 “‘I am dose to you. Close to you—' "A vague figure floated through the air, near to the waiting woman, then disappeared in darkness. Again it came forth, and this time, it carried with it an uncanny glow, showing the dead face of a man, his bloodless lips, his staring eyes. The woman reeled in her chair and thrust forth her armß. The figure vanished behind the curtains again. “Once more the voice sounded. The strange lights played again and again. The woman was becoming hysterical. She was screaming to Haji, begging that he allow the spirit to come to her, to be held in her arms. There was no answering voice, for Haji, the supposed, was stretched forth upon the divan, his whole body hidden except his arms and head. His eyes were closed. He was in a trance. “Music began to play. For the last time the figure came forth, drifted into the air and then settled itself into the woman’s arms. She sobbed aloud. She buried her head against that of the man she held. “‘Henry!’ she cried. *Henry—Henry—’ ‘‘There came a scream. A white light flared through the room. I ran forth from behind the curtain, crying for’Haji. “Tm on fire!’ I cried. *Haji—help me—help me—’ “A curse came from the couch as the detective jumped up. ‘“You little fool!’ he cried. " 3 *G«t back there, you’re not on fire. Oet back there—get back there!’ ‘“Ill not,’ I answered. Tm not going to do your work for you any more. You frighten me! You make me do things that scare me! I don’t like it’ ‘‘With that, I reached to the switch on the wall and threw on the lights. Mrs. Charles stood before us open mouthed, staring from the wooden dummy in her arms, on me and then the detective she believed to be Haji, at the strings in his bands, which showed how he had manipulated the working of the dummy Bhe believed to have been the spirit of her husband. I had left the curtains open. The paraphernalia of the seanoe room was laid out before her. She gasped once or twice, her eyes opened wide and then she allowed the dummy with tta

waxen, staring countenance, to sink from her. arms. “ ‘Trickery 1’ she said, ‘all this is trickery! You’ve robbed me! You’ve stolen everything from me making me believe—!’ "She rushed from the room and out of the house. We let her go. Then we hurried Into the clothes of civilization we had not worn for more than a week. '“The plan worked well, didn’t it?’ the detective aßked as we met downstairs and prepared to go to the home of Mrs. Charles to announce to her that we had arrested the man who had tricked her. "‘That depends,’ I said, ‘on future developments. You know we can’t prove in court that Haji was a fake. The evidence to show that he was a fake was concocted after he had gone. There’s only one thing to do.’ '“And that Is —?’ the detective asked. "He got his answer an hour later, when Mrs. Charles went with us to the police station and faced the man who had been imprisoned there many days. But she did not know it. Shp believed he had just been taken there and the storm of her wrath descended. She Bcreamed at him. She attempted to grasp him with her clawing hands. Hysterically she raved at him and he watched 'her smilingly. “‘ls this fool woman going to act like this in court?’ he asked me in purest English. “‘Certainly,’ I answered. *“ 'Then I think I’ll plead guilty and

CHOSE HIS WIFE BLINDLY

Daring Bcot Remembered Girls' Facet but Not Names, and Tbok a Chance With Happy Result. I saw him staring disconsolately into the window of a qigar store, broad-shouldered, red-faced and sandyhaired, and instinctively I recognized a brother Scot Some whim Impelled me to speak to him. At first, I am i sure, he Imagined I was one of the many city sharks he had read of, but a few sentences put him at his ease. He was dilEdent at first, and it was only after Borne coaxing that I extracted the simple Btory of his life before and after he had come to America. Ten years ago he had left his native village in Ayrshire to go to Canada, and he had prospered to such-an extent that he bethought himself of a wife. His fancy turned to the old country and he determined to ask a girl to come out to the new land and share his lonely farmhouse. When he came, however, to making his choice, he was in a quandary. He had left home shortly after his school days, and the memory of his childish playmates was somewhat faded and dim. He could plainly see two girls; one strong armed, red haired and rosy cheeked, fit mate for a farmer; the other slim, dark and showing promise of early delicacy. One' was Mary Johnston, the other Christina Davldßon, but he was doubtful in his mind as to which was which. At school he had never called them by any other name than their nicknames of Roosty-pow and Toosdy-heid, from the red hair of the one, and the tangled curls of the other. Finally he arrived at a conclusion and wrote home to Mary Johnston offering her the shelter of his strong arms and inclosing a substantial draft for her expenses. The boat was to cotne in next morning, Sunday, and be left me early, bidding me good night, with a sly but slnoere clasp of his great, hard hand. On Sunday, drawn by some idle curiosity, I wandered down to the dock. What would be the greeting of this Scot —schooled to conceal emotion? He was the first person I saw there and he met me with an anxious, silent smile. The boat was moored and Its sides were lined with faces full

&ve her her money back. She gets fin my nerves.’ ' “And,” added Miss Clement, "he did. Besides that, there were many thousands of dollars that went to other dupes, while Haji went to his old home in Joliet And—” “Pardon me,” I interrupted, "but would you mind telling me one thing?” "What?” Miss Clement smiled in anticipation of the question. “What on earth that pair of gloves bad to do with things?” The smile turned to a laugh.' - -‘T knew you would fisk that” she said. "The truth of the matter is that the gloves had nothing to do with it, except in a roundabout way. When I was talking to Miss Charles I noticed a peculiar odor permeating the room. I had only noticed that odor onoe before in my life—and that was the time when I had raided Alem Haji’s place five years before and learned that it was a concoction of his known as the Spirits of Life, with which he was supposed to bring back persons from the other world, that the one who sought them might see them in their dreams. I saw right away that the odor came from the gloves, because I had not noticed it so strongly until Miss Charles began to wave them. Then, as soon as I found out they were her mother's gloves I was sure of iny ground. All that was needed then was the working out of things. Simple, wasn't it?” "Exceedingly so," I answered. “What’ll you have to start out the meal on, cold consomme or—" “Exactly,” answered Miss' Clements.

of hope and wistful wonder. He scanned them all one by one, and bit his lip nervously. Slowly, and then fast, the passengers began to disembark. The young farmer’s face was flushed and he swayed from one foot to the other. Suddenly I heard him give a low groan of anguish, and, clutching my arm in a grasp the pressure of which he did not realize, he whispered in a tone I never want to hear again: “It waa the lther one I was thinking o’.” Then he walked to the gangway, where a slim, delicate girl with & frightened face was stepping off, bent over her, kissed her and took her slender suit case from her hand. They passed me, her face aglo\# with joy; his the battleground of a great struggle, but one on which the aftercalm of peace had descended.— Robert W. Sneddon, in the Bellman.

Very Dry.

'The occupants of a Pullman sleeper were diligently trying to get some rest, but could not. There was a very thirsty woman in one of the berths who kept the whole car awake by her perpetual song of, “Oh, I am so dry. I am so dry. My, but I am awfully dry. Dear mq, what shall I do? I am bo dry.” W "Hello, porter l” at last sang out a 1 man across the way. "por goodness sake give that womanftsome ice water and plenty of it. I want to get some sleep." The porter brought a glass of water. He brought a second glass. She drank them both—and took up her song afresh—“My, but I was dry. I was so awfully dry. I never was so dry In all my life. Dear me, but I was dry.” “Oh, Great Scott, woman," sang out the man across the way, "dry up and let me sleep!"

First Brides to Cross the Rockies.

Marcus Whitman, M. D., who saved Oregon to the United States, was born September 2, 1802, at Rushville, N. Y. He married Miss Narclsaa Prentis, of Angelica, N. Y., in February, 1236, and their wedding trip was to cross the continent that year In company with Rev. H. H. Spaulding and his young wife. The brides were the first women to cross the Rockj * mountains. They made the journey of 2,500 miles In seven mnwth«