Fifty Years a Detective: 35 Real Detective Stories. Thomas Furlong
is dead. In my opinion Maxwell is the only living person who knows the facts, and, therefore, he is the only person from whom these facts can be obtained. I believe I can get those facts from him, but I want you gentlemen to understand that I am in the employ of the Missouri Pacific Railroad Company, and, of course, they are paying me for all my time, but if I were not in their employ I could not do this myself on account of my being so well known. For that reason it would be necessary for me to select a competent operative to do this work under my instructions. I shall be glad to do this, or anything else that I can do to assist you in unraveling this case, with the understanding that I am not to receive any compensation for what I may do myself, but I shall expect you gentlemen to pay the operative that I may use in this work the same amount of salary that we are paying him, and his actual expenses. As I said before, I will do all that I can, but will neither expect nor receive any remuneration for my services."
"Tom," replied Mr. Clover, "There is no fund provided by the city for the employment of outside talent for such work as this in question, but I expect to pay the expense out of my own pocket, and I shall insist on paying you for your services in connection with this matter."
I answered, "I will receive nothing for any work that I may do in the matter."
At this point in the conversation Mr. McDonald, who had been sitting quietly, listening to Mr. Clover and myself, said, "Tom, how do you expect to obtain the facts in this case? That's what I would like to know."
"Mr. McDonald," I responded, "I feel that it would be easier for me to go ahead and do this work, than it would be for me to undertake to tell you how I propose to do it."
Mr. Clover then said, "Tom, I am going to place this matter in your hands. I want you to go ahead and get this thing started as soon as possible, as the defendant's attorneys are clammoring for a speedy trial, and I do not wish to keep them waiting any longer than I can help. You do this work in your own way and I will pay the bills."
I said, "All right."
The next day I telegraphed to Philadelphia to an operative in my employ there. He was an entire stranger in St. Louis. I wired him to come at once, and not to stop at my office, but to come direct to my house on his arrival in the city, which he did.
His name was John McCulloch. He was about thirty-five years of age, about five feet, ten inches in height, and weighed about two hundred pounds. He was well built, had a sandy complexion, and was rather a good-looking fellow. He was wearing side-whiskers, or burnsides, as they were called, and a blonde mustache, and looked very much like an Englishman. He was truthful and honest, and of sober habits, but a little thick-headed, or, in other words, dull of comprehension. In instructing him it was necessary to explain each detail fully, and sometimes it would seem as if it were necessary to take a hammer and pound the instructions into his head, but when he once understood thoroughly what you wanted him to do he would carry out instructions to the letter.
Right here it might be well to take the reader into my confidence. I had decided to get my operative (McCulloch) into jail, where he could meet Maxwell, without the knowledge of the local police officers.
After explaining the nature of the case to him, I instructed him to procure the leading daily papers of St. Louis, dating back to the time of the murder, and to read every line that had been published relative to the case. This he did, and it took him about three weeks. I met him each evening during the time and rehearsed with him what I wanted him to do, from the time he was arrested, and how he should act after his arrest and incarceration.
Early in February, 1886, I succeeded in getting possession of a few blank checks from the office of D. S. H. Smith, who was local treasurer of the Missouri Pacific Railroad Company in St. Louis. Being Chief Special Agent of the road I had occasion to visit the local treasurer's office frequently, and being well known, not only to the local treasurer, but to all of his office force as well, I had no difficulty in obtaining the blank checks without the knowledge of Dr. Smith, as the local treasurer was called by most of the people who knew him, or any of his clerks.
My chief clerk was a good penman, and was familiar with the signature of Dr. D. S. H. Smith. I had him practice for some time on imitating Dr. Smith's signature, and found that he could imitate it so clearly that it would have been accepted as genuine by any bank teller. While I wanted a fairly good imitation of the signature, I did not want it to be so good that it would be received at the bank. After practicing for a time he succeeded in making a signature which I thought would answer my purpose. I had him fill out one of the blank checks for the amount of one thousand one hundred and eighty-eight dollars and ten cents. I then gave this check to McCulloch, with instructions to him to present it to the paying-teller of the Mechanics Bank, which was then on Fourth street. He was to present this check at 9:45 sharp, the following morning. I had received a check, a day or two before this, which bore the signature of Dr. Smith, and had purposely held this out, and was waiting across the street from the bank when I saw McCulloch, whom I will hereafter call Frank Dingfelter, as this was the name he assumed, and was the name to which the check had been made payable.
On entering the bank Dingfelter went to the window of the paying-teller, Mr. Warner, and presented the check. Warner examined the check very carefully, and by reason of its being for so large an amount, and Dingfelter being an entire stranger to him (I, having allowed Dingfelter time enough to have reached the paying-teller's window, entered the bank with my check in my hand), held the check that Dingfelter had presented, and when he saw me he excitedly motioned to me to come to his window. On reaching the window Warner commanded me, in an excited manner, to arrest that man, pointing to Dingfelter.
I said, "What do you want him arrested for?"
Warner, holding up the check said, "Why he has presented a large fake check bearing the name of Dr. Smith, for nearly twelve hundred dollars. Why, you know Dr. Smith's signature?"
I replied, "Yes, here is one of Dr. Smith's checks. I know this is genuine, for I saw the doctor sign it."
He compared the fake check with mine, and I said to Mr. Warner, "While I am not an expert on hand-writing, I do not believe that Dr. Smith wrote that signature."
Mr. Warner exclaimed, "I am positive he did not." Then turning to Mr. Dingfelter I asked, "Where did you get this check?"
"I got it from Dr. Smith," was his reply.
"Does Dr. Smith know you?" I asked.
In rather a gruff manner he answered, "Yes, he knows me."
"Will you go with me and see Dr. Smith?" I asked.
"Well, I do not know whether I will or not. I don't know who you are," he replied. Whereupon I laid my hand on his shoulder and said, "You will either accompany me to Dr. Smith's office, or I will send for a patrol wagon, take you to police headquarters and have you locked up."
"Are you an officer?" he asked.
To which I replied, "Yes, I am the Chief Special Agent of the Missouri Pacific Railroad Company."
"Oh, well," said he, "that is different. I will go with you and see Dr. Smith."
It was drizzling rain the morning of this occurrence, was quite chilly and the streets and sidewalks were wet and slippery and dirty, as the streets of St. Louis were not kept as clean at that time as they are now. I took the fake check and Dingfelter and myself started for Dr. Smith's office, which at that time was in the Missouri Pacific general office building on the corner of Sixth and Locust streets. We walked west on Pine from Fourth. When we reached the corner of Sixth and Pine streets I gave Dingfelter a signal, which had been pre-arranged. This signal was for him to hit me a good, stiff punch, as the fighters call it. There was a large, clumsy patrolman, wearing a raincoat, standing under an awning near the corner saloon. I was walking on the left-hand side of Dingfelter, and when I gave him the signal he cut loose with his right hand, which landed just over my right eye and a little back of it. I had instructed him to hit me hard, and if he succeeded in knocking me down and I became groggy from the blow he was to stumble and fall himself, so as to give the big, clumsy police officer time to reach us. The officer was standing about ten feet from us when Dingfelter struck me, but I knew how slow he was and