Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 189, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 August 1915 — The Strange Adventures of Christopher Poe [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Strange Adventures of Christopher Poe

Stories of Strange Cases Solved in Secret by a Banker-Detective

By ROBERT CARLTON BROWN

(Copyright, IMS, by W. G. Chapman.)

POPPY SEED

Christopher Poe was determined, after many abortive attempts, to take a long needed vacation. But instead of going by train, as he had intended, he took a boat to New Orleans in order to get all the benefit possible out of his holiday. The moment he stepped on board he threw off all thought of business, and mingled with the passengers under the name of Hardy, enjoying the trip to the dregs. In the smoking-saloon he made friends with several men, among them a very congenial spirit named Farley, who always seemed Interested whenever any banking subject was mentioned. On the last night before reaching. New Orleans Farley and Poe made two of a group of half a dozen, sitting around a table in the smoking-room, talking idly, almost gossiping, as men do aboard steamers. The conversation was abruptly cut short, as a man on deck looked in and announced a passing boat. Everybody went out at once to see the ship, for events are few on shipboard; and when Poe returned to the smokingroom, he found only Farley. “Well, Mr. Hardy,” greeted Farley. “Sit down and tell me some more about bank burglars. You seem to be the only one of us that’s really on the inside. Not a professional bankbreaker yourself?” “Oh, no; I’ve only got it out of books so far. I’m not letter-perfect yet,” answered Poe, concealing a yawn. “I dare say all the theories are quite wrong." “I don’t believe you got a bit of it out of books," answered Farley quizzically. “Tell me, now, how do you know so much about bank sneaks, for instance?'!. “Well, if you want the truth, I’m a banker, and we’ve suffered some at the hands of sneaks; that’s what first interested me in their methods." “Good! I thought as much. Shake hands on it. I'm a banker too.” Farley extended his hand eagerly, and Poe clasped it listlessly. “What bank?” asked Poe. “The Traders’ National, New Orleans,” answered Farley. "Oh, yes, I believe you’re our correspondents down here. I’ve got a letter of credit to your bank, in fact,” said Poe, feeling in his pocket, and bringing out a credit letter from his own bank in New York. "Well, that looks all right,” smiled Farley. “I thought from the first you were a banker. I hope you’ll be in some time tomorrow to see us. We don’t have to worry about losing money down here, except on cotton loans. The Traders’ National is as impenetrable as Gibraltar; we’ve ■ever been threatened with a break, and never suffered any loss of actual cash.”

"Then that's just the time to look out.” remarked Poe. "The worst storms come after a calm, you know.” Next morning the boat arrived in New Orleans, and Poe left without seeinghis friend Farley again. He sent his luggage to an obscure room-ing-house on Bourbon street, and walked for some distance along the dock-board. It was noon before he reached the rooming-house, a strange, roaming Spanish building, opposite the Old Absinthe house. Putting his luggage in order, Poe changed to a lighter suit, and started for the Traders’ National bank to get funds on his letter of credit. As he entered the bank, a pervading air of excitement attracted his attention. He was about to ask for Mr. Farley, when the door of the president’s office opened, and he recognized his - steamer • companion. "Oh, Mr. Hardy!” exclaimed Farley. "Come in here a moment. It’s something on the line we spoke of last night.” Poe entered the president’s office, and Farley, his face anxious, leaned toward him, exclaiming: “Well, it has just happened. A bank sneak got away with twenty thousand dollars not fifteen minutes ago. The bank was jammed with customers, cashing checks for weekly pay-rolls, transacting the usual week-end business. Somebody got away with twenty thousand-dollar bills, shot at our paying-teller, Jackson, and slipped through the crowd unnoticed-” “Give me the details,” said Poe with interest. "Jackson’s desk was piled with money; in the lot was a thin package of thousand-dollar bills which had been taken from the safe this morning for convenience of a Spanish shipowner, Gonzales, who wanted gold certificates of large denomination with which to transact , a foreign deal,” explained Farley. "Jackson, in arranging his money this morning, had put the bundle of big bills at the extreme left of his desk, and during the busy morning hours it bad gradually been pushed close up against the narrow, strong, steel grating, surrounding his cage, and protecting him perfectly from any of the usual attempts of sneakthieves. As Jackson had picked up the bunch several times, mistaking it for ,a package of hundred-dollar bills, he finally clapped the gold certifi-

cates down on top of his tin safe box out of the way and immediately forgot them until ten minutes of one, when his trained eye was suddenly attracted to the top of that box by a quick movement, but the bills were then there, all right ’Jackson heard a low whisper which sounded like the word ‘General,’ *und was about to reach for the bills, to put them in a safer place,-when a shot blazed out, not two feet in front of him, a bullet nipped his hand, and he drew it back sharply with a twinge of pain, leaped off his stool, and scanned the surprised, frightened faces of the customers outside the bars. The line had been broken up by the effect of the shot, and it was impossible to tell which of four or five men might have pulled the trigger. “Jackson’s eyes returned mechanically to the bunch of bills for which he had reached. They were gone! Twenty thousand-dollar bills stolen while the paying teller’s eyes were off his money for one confused instant! “The two bank detectives and the doorman had drawn their revolvers at the sound of the shot, and rushed to protect the doors, but before they could reach them several alarmed customers had dashed into the street, and probably the bank sneak was among them. “I rushed out of my room, pushed through the panicky crowd, told the detectives to lock the doors, and stopped in front of the chief teller’s window. “ ‘What was it, Jackson?’ I asked. “ ‘Twenty thousand,* ‘.he said. 'I didn’t see it, but it must have been a sneak. The shot confused me; when I looked up, I couldn’t make out who did it.’ That’s all, Mr. Hardy." “There’s a crowd out there yet,” said Poe quickly. “Ask them what they saw.” Mr. Farley stepped to the door, and called out to the roomful, “Did you see anything of this, any of you?” A wiry little southern gentleman, a well-known cotton merchant, stepped up, tugged at his drooping mustache, and remarked: “I was standing, sir, next in line beside the teller’s window, and the bullet must have come as close to me as the one that grazed my elbow at Pickett’s charge; but it’s my opinion, sir, though there was a powerful explosion, that the shot was fired from the street or the door, by Gad, sir!” “Couldn’t have been!” cut in a ponderous, low-browed foreigner, who proved to be the very Spanish merchant for whom Jackson had provided the bills. “I was standing right behind this man, and the gun went off right behind me. The shot sounded, Boom! right in my ear." .•» “That’s strange,” answered Farley, glancing at the Spaniard’s broad hand, his check for the twenty thousand dollars trembling slightly between a thick thumb and forefinger. “Looks as though the powder singed you. What’s that on your hand, Gonzales?”

The merchant glanced at a big black splotch on the back of his hand. “That’s —that’s—well, maybe the powder did burn me. Didn’t I tell you it was close?” "And who stood behind you in the line, Mr. Gonzales?” came the quick question. The merchant dropped his eyes, confused. "I don’t know. It looked like Mr. Reilly’s clerk there,” he stammered. The young man in question, who had come to cash a check for his employer’s pay-roll, flushed, and said he guessed he was behind Gonzales, though he couldn’t remember, he hadn’t noticed, everything had happened so quickly. As a necessary precaution every man in the bank submitted to a search before the big outside doors were unlocked, and even then Farley asked Jackson, Gonzales, and Mr. Reilly’s clerk to confer with him In Ms office. The conference developed nothing of importance, but it gave time for the two bank detectives to station themselves outside at a suggestion from Poe, and when Gonzales and the clerk left the building their trails were diligently taken up by the softfooted pair lying in wait. President Farley had no sooner dismissed them than Poe rose, passed his smooth, firm hand through his upstanding touzle of brown hair in a movement habitual with him, and said: “Really, I can’t recall anything in my experience to fit the case. It is evident the usual bank sneak’s method has not been used. We must look for what the detectives call a due.” "There’s nothing to go by but the bullet-hole in the ceiling; it seems that the bullet went almost straight up after it nipped Jackson’s hand.” “That rather conflicts with the statement of the depositor nearest the window who thought the bullet was fired from the front door,” observed Poe.. ~ “How?” Poe smiled, as he stepped into the

corridor in front of the chief payingteller’s cage, located the bullet-mark in the ceiling, pointed to it, and asked; “How could a bullet shot from the door strike the teller’s hand and then go straight np and lodge In the ceiling almost over his head?” » “It couldn’t Of course It couldn’t,” answered the banker promptly. “We have at least established the fact that the revolver was discharged from a point close to the grating—” "And purposely pointed upward, I should say,” put in Poe, as Jackson came forward with a flattened mass of lead in his hand. Christopher Poe merely glanced at the bit of lead, nodded his head curtly, and asked a porter to pull aside one of the big window-blinds, which had been drawn down after the robbery. The path of light that entered made bright the teller’s window and the floor all about it. Poe carefully pulled up his immaculate trousers, knelt on the marble floor, and examined the eracks where the stones joined. * Finding nothing, he continued his search in the crevice where a marble ledge joined the three-foot wall enclosing the teller's cage. Taking a quill tooth-pick from his pocket, he ran it along the crack. “What on earth are you looking for?” asked the president, interested. “Anything," answered Poe promptly, glancing up. 'Tve heard that most detectives look everywhere for that elusive clue which makes it all come out right in the end. It doesn’t seem to be a half-bad idea either. Look! Here’s something.” His quill had dislodged two small shiny objects, perfectly round. He carefully pushed them onto his palm, held them close to his eyes, and studied them for half a minute. "What are they?” asked the bank president. “Seeds,” answered Poe. “Seeds. That’s a funny place for them. The porter does his work

well. They couldn’t have been there long.” “Not over half an hour,” replied Poe confidently. “Can you make out what kind of seeds they are?” “Yes —they’re from a variety of poppy, the blue maw poppy seed, I should say,” he answered, brushing them off his palm, and dusting his hands together. “But why don’t you save them?" cried the bank officer. Poe did not hear; he had turned quickly to Jackson, and asked in a low voice so that the curious clerks all about the room, trying to look unconcerned, could not hear: "What was the word you thought you heard whispered an instant before the shot blazed out?” "It was just a murmur, I don’t know how I happened to catch it, but I’m pretty sure somebody called. ’General!’ in a very low tone.” Poe turned to President Farley: “Guess that’s all there is to see,” he said lightly. “I’m much obliged to you for asking me to help, I’m glad you thought I’d be Interested. I’ll ring you up if I stumble on anything of importance.” Christopher Poe whisked out of the office, stepped deliberately on the toe of a police detective trying to conceal himself in a corner between two buildings, said, “Oh, pardon me,” and hurried on, the clumsy sleuth , staring after him belligerently, inclined to follow Poe as a sure suspect. Poe went straight down Canal to Bourbon street, and there turned in to the office of a criminal lawyer who occupied the whole floor above a rambling old antique shop. "Gerry," he said, when he was admitted to the lawyer’s private room, “you come nearer to being a professional day and night prowler than anybody else I know in this town. I wonder if you couldn’t give me a few addresser of your disreputable friends down around Ursulines street, say; or a traveling gypsy or two that may have worked their way ip Mm 9 freight-boat or other" W

"What do you want of ’em, Chris?” asked the lawyer, who, like most of the banker’s good friends, never suspected his interest in criminology went farther than a superficial study of it through books. “Oh, I’d like to get hold of a clever fortune-teller, a man preferably.** “I don’t believe there’s anybody in the business regularly. There's a little demand for them once in a while at Mardi Gras time. But there’s Mike Mayo, lives down on Ursulines; I’ll give you a card to him. Don’t know why they call him Mike, he’s a Spaniard. He comes in touch with all sorts of mountebanks, gypsies, and people working all kinds of grafts-” "Good! That’s just the fellow I want.” Fifteen minutes later Christopher Poe, having stopped at a haberdasher’s to buy and don a vest and necktie of loud pattern, pushed open the door to Mike Mayo’s office, and in a tone much louder than his usual one introduced himself, not troubling to use the card given him by the lawyer, “I’m Hardy, got a couple of shows at Coney; down here on business, heard of you, thought I’d drop in 'fore I went back an* see if you had any attraction fit to take back to help in the big noise.” “I don’t know if I have anybody to suit you,” drawled Mayo, "but I have several clever performers, who work cheap.” “No, I mean something a bit unusual. As a matter of fact, Mayo,” said Poe, producing a festive-banded cigar he had bought purposely, “I want somethin’ pretty good. Different, you know. I got a kind of an idea to fix up a fake fortune-telling stunt, sort of an innovation; you got anybody that’s darn clever with the cards?” “At present I have nothing but two sweet, pretty girls with tambourines and dances and fortune-telling with holding hands; a crazy old man with

quick-hand tricks and fortune-telling parrakeets that pick out the cards already printed; a young boy from Malaga who sees things before they come, by the stars, and plays the violin; and an old witch-woman who tells it all from the cards. The boy is clever; he plays the violin. Invents things, and tells fortunes by the stars,” Mayo said somewhat sullenly. “Oh, I might take his address along with the rest, but it ain't so much of a lay-out as I expected,” said Poe in painstaking vernacular. The Spaniard hastened to write out the addresses for him, and Poe had no sooner left the pompous little fellow's office than he shot straight for the first address printed on the card, that of the old fortune-telling faker with the sleight-of-hand tricks. It was three o’clock as Poe climbed two flights of rickety stairs leading up through a smelly courtyard behind a French restaurant on Decatur street, and knocked on the door of the room he had learned downstairs was occupied by the man he wished to see. No answer came. Poe struck a match, for the entry-way was dark, and found that the door of the room Was securely fastened by a great, heavy padlock. A slight smile flickered in his smooth face as he drew out a compact little pearl-handled pocket-knife, opened a button-hook blade, inserted it In the key-hole, turned it twice to the left with a dexterous twist, found the spring, pressed it back, sprung the lock, and entered. Inside was a nasty, damp-smelling room, with no ventilation but that which came through a broken pane in the tiny window cut into small squares by weatherbeaten strips. There was a disreputable old charcoal stove sitting in the fireplace, the dusty bricks of which weresplotched with remains of eggs, meat,, tomato paste, and fruit skins. Poe searched through the miscellaneous food supply in an old macaroni box, took a sample of the contents of a big bag in the box, examined the sample by the

scanty light seeping in through the dusty window, smiled again, dropped it into his pocket, and began a painstaking scrutiny of everything in the small room. At length he came to a pair of old Spanish boots with thin red Morocco tops. He struck a matcn, examined the floor about the shoes, and picked up a handful of leather scrapings and bits of thread. Having finished his examination, he hurried out, locked the door, went downstairs, and hunted up the proprietor of the restaurant “Was the General with the old man when he went out today?” he asked. "Yes, of course,” answered the restaurant keeper. ‘‘Know where I can find them?” The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Most anywhere.” Christopher Poe walked up Decatur street until he reached Canal, keeping a sharp lookout for the sleight-of-hand faker with his fortune-telling parrakeets. As he came to the foot of Canal street Poe observed a group about a mtn standing in front of the "Belle erf the Bends” boat-landing; he strolled over, and stood looking on idly as a bevy of giggling girls clustered about a wrinkled little old Spaniard, dressed In a greenish-black suit, tall boots with faded red Morocco tops, and an odd old felt hat. His smile was warm and sunny as he petted his long-tailed parrots, perched above a box of smudged, many-col-ored fortune-telling cards on a portable stand, and Invited the girls to step up, lay a nickel in his wrinkled hand, and have one of the pretty birds pick out an envelope for them containing a card on which they would find their fortunes printed, together with the picture of the man they would marry and the numbers they should play in lottery. As the tittle green birds hopped down at the faker’s bidding, jerked out envelopes with their sharp bills, and laid them in the purchaser’s hands, Poe became more Interested, pushed his way to the front, and paid a nickel for the service of a bird.

"Do they do any other tricks?” he asked, having received a card. For answer the faker made a circle of his thumbs and forefingers, held it before one of the tiny parrots, and the bird hopped through gracefully, to the amusement of the gathering. Poe laughed, and handed the faker a quarter, at the same time raising his finger to summon a taxicab driver who had just discharged his fare at the boat-landing and was pulling up his "Vacant” flag. “Got any more tricks?" asked Poe, pointing to a little felt ’Napoleon hat surmounting a toy cannon tied to one end of the bird perch. "Don’t some of your birds do a stunt with that?" The faker fingered Poe’s quarter, and answered quickly: “I fix it for old trick; bird what do it is sick.” - A bright-faced lad at Poe’s side edged forward and explained: “He sticks that hat on the bird’s head, and puts a cap In the cannon, and tells the bird to fire the cannon.” "The deuce you say?” cried Poe. “I’d give a dollar to see that!” He produced the money flashily, acting as though he were slightly inebriated. The faker’s eyes glinted as he looked at the bill. He shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible. ... “Oh, come on; I’ll bet your bird ain’t too sick to perform for a dollar."

The faker looked at him sharply, grinned, reached into his pocket, brought out a bird somewhat larger than the other, placed it on the perch, and fitted the comical little military cap to its head. Poe signaled the taxicab driver, who had drawn up close to the Curb, to wait a moment, and grinned appreciatively as the faker stuck a toothpick under the bird’s wing for a gun and cried, “Attention!” The bird made a little frightened hop, threw back its wings, perked its head saucily, and faced the cannon. The Spaniard took a small powder cap from his pocket, inserted it in the toy'cannon, which was really a boy’s Fourth of July pistol with the handle knocked off, held up his hand, and with a jaunty little bow addressed the bird: “General Phillips!" The bird fluttered a wing in salute, and perked its head on the other side. The little Spaniard’s eyes snapped with pride. “General Phillips!" he cried. "Are you ready?" The bird faced about, reached the cannon in two hops, clutched the trigger firmly with one claw, and turned its head toward the faker. “Fire! General!” came the ringing order. The bird braced Itself and jerked back on the trigger, the hammer fell and the audience, greatly delighted with the sharp report that followed, broke into delighted chuckles as the bird hopped down, pulled out a for-tune-telling envelope, and placed it in Poe’s hand. Poe gave the promised dollar to the faker, exclaiming: "Good worfl Take long to train him? I got a friend up-town who’d be interested in that bird. Here! I’ll give you two bucks to bring General Phillips up to the house and have him perform. Come on, get in this machine.” Poe lurched a little, and tugged good-naturedly at the fellow’s arm. The Spaniard hesitated. Poe flashed a two-dollar bill before his eyes, and the old fellow succumbed, picked up his portable stand, put General Phillips back into his pocket, and got into the taxi. As they rode up the street the

Spaniard weakened; he asked to bo let down, but Poe refused to listen to his excuses. He had directed the driver to take them to Mr. Farley’s home on SL Charles avenue; and when they reached the number and the faker saw a splendid residence, he looked craftily at Poe, who was successfully posing as a gay man-about-town, and sullenly accompanied him to the door, where, Farley himself admitted them, controlling his surprise with evident effort. “Hello, Doc!" cried Poe in feigned hearty good-fellowship, giving the reserved bank president the cue to hts part, “I brought a fellow along with a funny bird; ‘General Phillips,’ ho calls him. Shoots a gun and picks up most anything with that strong beak of his." Farley played his part poorly, and the little Spaniard was warily suspicious, acting as though he had seen Farley before and was afraid of him. “Show him your trick! Have the General fire the gun!” said Poe, pushing the two-dollar bill into the faker’s hand, which closed over it like a trap. The Spaniard sullenly took General Phillips from his pocket, and repeated the gun-firing stunt "What do you think of that for a bird?” queried Poe, looking up sharply at Farley, whose gaze was fixed thoughtfully on the parrot. “I don’t just get the connection,” he said slowly. "You will in a minute.” Poe turned abruptly to the performer, who had craftily returned the bird to his pocket, and was fingering something in his belt as he clung to his little box of birds and fortune-telling cards. He edged toward the door, and Poe asked: “Senor, what do you feed your birds?" “Seeds," was the sullen reply, as the little fellow tried to open the door, which Poe had thoughtfully locked behind him. “What kind?” “Why you ask?” cried the Spaniard, facing about with a snarl. “Oh, I’m Interested In the seed, business today. Are they funny little white seeds?” “No, black.” "Like these?” asked Poe idly, exhibiting a pinch of the sample he had taken from the big bag in the macaroni box pantry in the old fellow’s room. President Farley stepped back discreetly as the little Spaniard dropped his bird box, thrust his face toward Poe’s, and, wicked little eyes snapping, demanded: “Where you get those?” “Oh, I just brought them along In case the General became hungry," said Poe languidly, dropping into hU> usual tone of speech to the great BUr " prise of the Spaniard, and to the relief of anxious, uncomprehending Mr. Farley. “Those are poppy seeds, the blue maw variety, very fine seed for small parrots, as any bird-seller around town will tell you. If h man had a thousand-dollar bill, or twenty of them, he couldn’t buy better food for parrakeets than this." President Farley started at mention of blue maw poppy seeds. The little Spaniard, cords standing out in his neck as he strained up toward Poe, hissed through clenched teeth: "What you mean, you devil?" “Nothing. Only when General Phillips hurried to obey your order of ‘Fire, General!' at the bank this noon, by pulling the trigger of the real revolver you’ve got in your left hand now, and then popping out his head amid the resulting confusion and grabbing the bunch of bills through the grating as he had been trained to do, he accidentally spilled two blue maw poppy seeds out of the little feed box you rigged up in th|t handy pocket of yours." There was a flash of fire, a loud report. President Farley reeled back against the wall, and Christopher Poe threw the little Spaniard suddenly down on his back, crying: "No harm done, Farley, yon weren’t shot; he fired the gun from his pocket, as I expected; the bullet only took a chip out of that chair. Cui that telephone cord, and we’ll tie him. down so he can’t kick while I pull off his boots." Farley helped as best he could, and Inside of two minutes they had the old faker tied up and his foreign boots removed.

Poe picked up the pen-knife with which Farley had cut the telephone wire, and handed it back to its owner,, indicating the thick sole of the Spaniard’s left boot "Suppose you rip open those hastily made stitches in the red Morocco cuff about the top of that shoe and see what you find." With trembling hands Farley did as directed, Poe placing a short-legged couch over the struggling, straining form of the Spaniard, effectively holding him down. A cry escaped Farley. He held up a quivering hand which contained * neat packet of thousand-dollar bills. Poe reached over and took the bills from the bank president’s fingers. “You found them neatly folded up and sewed in between the two thick layers of leather?” "Yes.” . "Look!” Poe pointed to a sharp dent which carried through the thin package of bills and showed in a bump and a corresponding dent on the other side “What do you gather from that?” asked Farley with a puzzled look. “General Phillips’ sharp beak left those marks when he clutched the bills firmly and dragged them through the rods as Jackson jumped back, startled by the revolver report. Dp you understand it all now?” “Ye-ea," answered Fkfley slowly, guess So." ..