Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 August 1907 — The Chief’s Ruse [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Chief’s Ruse

By HOWARD FIELDING.

WHEN I was chief of police of the city of Bradbury I had a somewhat remarkable case that began with a very pecnliar incident. A lawyer named Eugene Pollard called me up by telephone •t headquarters about 11 o'clock one evening and told me rather excitedly that be bad just been in communication with Frederic Clinton and that In the midst of the conversation he had beard a sound as of a blow and another as of a heavy fall. Failing to get further speech with Mr. Clinton, be bad appealed to “central," who had tried In vain to help him and had said that the receiver of Mr. Clinton’s telephone must be oft the book so that the bell would not ring. I told Mr. Pollard that I would meet him In five minutes at the Clinton residence. My light wagon was at the door of the station bouse, and I immediately jumped aboard, accompanied by a special,officer named Devlin. As we came alongside the Clinton house, which is on the corner of our best residence street and Is surrounded by lawns and gardens which take up the full depth of the block, I thought I saw a moving figure amid the shrubbery. I sent Devlin to investigate. I was about to ring the bell when the front door was suddenly but softly opened and Robert Clinton, nephew of Frederic, emerged in haste, mingled with caution. He was greatly startled at the sight of me, but my explanation was Interrupted by the appearance of Pollard, who came panting up the walk. Robert, however, had made out that I thought something was wrong with his uncle, and he turned and ran Into the house. We followed to the only lighted room that I had observed In any part of the structure. There was a roll top desk open, with an end against the farther wali. Close against the front of the desk stood a chair, behind which lay the body of Frederic Clinton, face downward. There was a dreadful wound on the back of the head, but the man’s soul still lingered, and when I turned him over and looked into his face there was a gleam of intelligence in bis eyes. “Robert!" he uttered in a tone of much affection, and the next instant he was gone. During this scene I had been considerably Impressed by the bearing of Robert Clinton, I can hardly say why. “You and I must begin to look into this affair,” said I. “Of course the method of the crime is clear enough. That golf club is the weapon, and I suppose there is no doubt that the murderer stepped out from behind that curtain across the doorway into the passage. Where does that passage lead?”

Instead of answering my question Clinton pressed bis band to bis foretiead and exhaled a shuddering groau. “I could have prevented this,” he ■aid. “What do you mean?" I demanded. “I saw somebody there,” he answered. “I came home a few minutes before 11. Just as I was at the gate I

■aw the lights turned up in this room, but the curtains were drawn. I came ■lowly up the walk and paused on the veranda, debating whether I should g< In and speak to my uncle. Finally I decided to do so. I knocked at hie, door. After a very brief Interval he Mid, ‘Come In.* I entered, and the draft caused that curtain to swing into the passage there at the back of the room. I thought Imw It press against the figure of some one standing behind it” “And you didn't tell your uncle?” “No; I thought he knew. Practically the same thing had happened before. I’ll tell you all about it I thought it was Mr. Pollard behind the curtain. My uncle had some dealings with him and didn’t wish me to know, so one evening when Pollard was here and I knocked my uncle asked him to step into the passage.” "How did you find out about ItT’ “I asked Pollard, and he told me.” “Did he tell you what bls business ■was with your uncle?*’ “No, but I found out”

“What was it?" “I can’t tell you." “Do you realize,’ said I, “that your evidence is not very nlpe for Mr. Pollard?" "But—but Pollard wasn’t here!" he gasped. "We know where he was.” “We know where ho says he was.” “But surely the girl—ceptral—will remember what happened.” “Perhaps she will, and yet”— I was interrupted by thesudden entrance of the officer whom I bad sent to search the grounds. A small corner of my mind had been wondering for some time what had become of my man, but I had not dreamed that he would appear with a prisoner, far less that that prisoner would be a woman. ’ “Robert!” she cried. “How dreadful!” He put his arm around her. “Where did you get her?” I asked Devlin In a guarded tone. “She was outside there. I chased her clear to Willow street. Pretty near home she was when I caught her." “You know who she is, then?” “Sure. She’s Celia Burton, the girl that’s made the trouble between Bob Clinton and his uncle.” I asked him what Miss Burton had said in explanation of her presence, and Devlin answered that she told him that she had come to see Clinton. “He was to have met her this evening, an’ he didn’t,” said Devlin, “ah’ along about 11 o’clock she got to wonderin’ why, so she come over an’ whistled under his window, an’ he looked out an’ said he’d be with her in a minute."

This extremely unconventional behavior was quite characteristic of Miss Burton. She was a clerk in a candy store and had been “written up" In the local papers as the prettiest girl in town. Such fame as that must necessarily have prejudiced her in the eyes of a rigid aristocrat like Frederic Clinton. Indeed, it was for a love affair with a girl of very similar antecedents and condition that Clinton had disinherited and banished bls only son. Miss Burton repeated to me the story she had told Devlin, and she made no excuses. “I wanted to see him,” she said, as if that were quite sufficient. On his part, Robert said that he had spent the evening in Greensford, about twenty miles from Bradbury, and had returned by the last train, but he refused to tell me what errand had called him there. Pollard would not disclose the nature of his business with Mr. Clinton, pleading professional privilege. On the morrow, however, there came a startling revelation, The cashier of the First National bank told me that Pollard had obtained during the last few days over SBO,OOO in cash from Mr. Clinton’s account and had also visited the safe deposit vaults with Mr. Clinton, presumably to get securities.

This disclosure seemed to Justify me in questioning Pollard more sharply. To my surprise, he threw qside his reticence “My business with Mr. Clinton,” he said, “has related to a settlement with his son.” “I thought he was dead,” said I. “He is not dead,” replied the lawyer. “His father has seen him several times of late. Mr. Clinton desired to keep this matter from the knowledge of the nephew, Robert, and therefore the son, Edward Clinton, has been living in Greensford.” “Greensford?” said I. "Did Robert go to see him last evening?” “He did. They were together up to the time that Robert took the last train home.” “Then/Edward, the son, has an alibi in Robert’s testimony.” "He has,” replied the lawyer. “I have talked with Robert today about it.” “Did Robert fear that the son would be restored to favor and he himself cast adrift?” “I think so.” “I have always understood that Mr. Clinton had made Robert his sole heir by will.” “That was true, but it is not true now,” answered Pollard. “There is no will. Mr. Clinton destroyed it three days ago, intending to draw another. The son is the natural heir. Robert gets nothing, but,” he added significantly, “Robert does not yet know of this. Neither does Celia Burton.” "Do you mean to Intimate that one of them killed him?” “Who else could It have been?” said he. “Who had a motive?” “But Edward’s safety depends on Robert’s evidence”— “Which I have Induced him to put in the form of an affidavit,” said the lawyer grimly. “You don’t believe that Robert killed him,” said I, “yet this is not a woman's crime.” , “It is not an ordinary woman’s crime,” he rejoined. When I left Pollard the case looked extremely bad from the point of view of a chief of police, for there seemed to be no chance of convicting anybody, I went over to Greensford and looked up Edward Clinton’s alibi. Even without the evidence of his cousin Robert it was Ironclad. This man could have no fear of being accused of this murder, and, assured of this, I summoned him to Bradbury, and he came. We had a conversation in my private room, and the reader must understand that everything I said to that man was a He. “Mr. Clinton,” I said, “I have just sent some of my men to arrest the murderer of your father. He will be here soon, and I shall question him. In order that I may be prepared to do w I want to talk with you first. Do you know anything about Miss Celia Burton, your cousin’s sweetheart r "Yes,” said be. "I guess she’s a pretty bad egg.”

“Miss Burton,” I resumed, “wag a special providence in tbif case. Without her I don’t know what we should have done. You see, the point is right here: Your father undoubtedly called up Lawyer Pollard by telephone. The girl In the. central office settles that, and she says that she rang Pollard’s telephone fully five minutes, If not ten, before she got any answer. Now, your father’s telephone was beside his desk, so that he could use it sitting down, but he was standing—bending over—when be was struck. The position of the chair, pushed well under the desk, and the nature of the wound show these things. Do you think a man of his age would have stood In that position five or ten minutes with a chair right handy? Do you think the murderer would have waited so long?” "Well—but—l don’t quite see”— “I tell you, sir, your father waM struck down as soon as he called Pol-

lard's number. The girl in the central office did not hear his voiee again. She heard only Pollard’s. Very well. Pollard lives in a lodging house. The lodger in the room over him was awake at 11 o'clock that night and did not hear Pollard’s telephone bell. ' Why not? That lodger often had heard it, but not that night, though the house w r as still. Why not? I ask you again. Because the bell was muffled. Pqllard muffled it before he went to your father’s house that night. He knew that Mr. Clinton was going to call him up. It had been arranged that he should do so. But Pollard went over there first, before Mr. Clinton got home. He got in by a back window and secreted himself in

that curtained passage, holding one of your cousin Robert’s golf clubs in his hand. Your father entered and turned up the lights and went straight to the telephone. Pollard crept out of the passage, crouching behind the desk. He waited till the number had been called, and then he struck and struck again. A moment later he had fled through that passage and out of the house and through the garden and so home. The muffled bell was ringing. He answered the call. A beautiful alibi established, and, to make It neater, he called me up and told his excellent story of overhearing the tragedy in your father’s home.” “But this is conjecture,” said Clinton. “You can’t know”— “That’s where my pretty little special providence comes in,” said 1. “The fair lady of our story was in your father’s garden, and she saw the red handed murderer flee through the shadows.

“And now,” I continued, “I’ve had Pollard from the first, through the motive was a little obscure. You must furnish that. How much money has Pollard paid you on your father’s order?” He named the sum, and it was right, so far as I knew, but I couldn’t afford to say so. - “Just about half,” said I. “He’s stuck you SIOO,OOO. I know that, but I can’t prove it, your father being dead. However, Pollard will undoubtedly confess.” And at this I touched an electric button and one of my men entered. “Beg pardon, sir,” said he. “We’ve got him, and he’s all broken down. He’ll tell you everything he knows.” “Walt for me here,” said I and left the room. EAward Clinton waited about half a minute, and then he climbed out of a window that I had left conspicuously open. This, of course, was good proof that my theory was right. We let him get away a mile or more and then brought him back. I had him put into the worst cell we’ve got, and I read to him through the bars a bogus confession of Pollard’s wherein it was related that the plot to kill Frederic Clinton had been devised by his son, who had promised to share the fortune which he would inherit with Pollard as payment for the murder and the destruction of the will. Edward’s nerves couldn’t stand that. He confessed that he had agreed to share the fortune with Pollard, but he declared that from first to last every step of the plot had been devised by the lawyer, In whose hands he had been as so much putty. Having secured a signed statement from Edward Clinton, I arrested Pollard on the strength of it, and, though he made a hard fight, I secured his conviction. Edward Clinton, as an acoompllce, lost his inheritance, and the fortune passed to Robert as the next lof kin He married Celia, and at last | accounts they were very happy.

BEHIND THE CHAIR LAY THE BODY OF FREDERIC CLINTON

I READ HIM THROUGH THE BARS A BOGUS CONFESSION.