CHAPTER VII.

THE CRIME CREATES AN INTERNATIONAL SENSATION--DISCOVERY OF THE LONELY COTTAGE WHERE THE IRISH NATIONALIST MET HIS DEATH--EVIDENCES OF A TERRIBLE STRUGGLE--THE TELLTALE BLOOD STAINS AND BROKEN FURNITURE--THE MYSTERIOUS TENANTS AND THEIR MOVEMENTS--THE FURNITURE BOUGHT AND CARTED TO THE ASSASSINS' DEN--WHAT MILKMAN MERTES SAW--THE PLOT AS OUTLINED BY THE SURROUNDINGS--ICEMAN O'SULLIVAN UNDER SURVEILLANCE.

The discovery of the body of the missing physician under such appalling circumstances, and with the surrounding evidences that a crime of the foulest character had been committed, created a most profound sensation, not only among all classes and nationalities in cosmopolitan Chicago, but also in Irish-American circles throughout the United States, and among the countrymen of the murdered man across the Atlantic. Telegrams and letters, breathing indignation and horror, and urging that no stone be left unturned to the end that the assassins might be run to earth and brought to justice, poured in on the dead man's friends from the four quarters of the continent, as well as from abroad. The scoffers--those who all along had scouted the theory of foul play, and had voiced the stories so artfully concocted by the plotters that the physician had left Chicago of his own free will, and with objects and motives that would, sooner or later, be revealed--were, in a figurative sense, deprived of the power of speech. In the presence of the hacked and decomposing body of the man they had maligned they had not a word to say.

THE LONELY SCENE OF THE MURDER.

Startling developments were destined from this time on to follow each other in rapid succession. Less than twenty-four hours after all that was mortal of Dr. Cronin had been taken from the Lake View man-hole, the place where his life's blood had been shed was discovered, and the officers of the law were in possession of important clues which promised to lead to the capture of the murderers.

It was a lonely place that the assassins of the Irish Nationalist had chosen to perform their bloody work.

Patrick O'Sullivan, the ice man, resided in a comfortable house on the corner of Bosworth and Roscoe Streets, in Lake View, less than two miles from the man-hole that had been converted by the murderers into a temporary tomb. Ample grounds surrounded the residence, while barns, sheds and out-houses filled up most of the ground in the rear. The corner lot back of these structures was vacant, but immediately next, facing Ashland Avenue almost in a straight line with O'Sullivan's house, and less than 150 feet away, stood a vacant cottage. It was a one-story and basement, with an unfinished attic, weather-beaten and worn. The street entrance led up a flight of wood stairs, while access to the rear could only be obtained by another flight. The cottage stood fenced in in a narrow lot, crowded into which, not fifty feet away, in the rear, was a still smaller house.

This was occupied by an aged Swedish couple, Jonas Carlson and his wife and their son John, a strapping, well-built fellow of some twenty-five years. His parents owned the property, and about their only means of livelihood was the rent derived from the larger cottage, when they were fortunate enough to secure a tenant. Good luck, however, had failed to attend them. Early in the year, the man, who, with his family, had occupied it for some time, was convicted of embezzlement and sent to the penitentiary, and his wife and children, lacking the wherewithal to pay the rent, were forced to vacate. At the best, it was not a particularly desirable locality, for, barring O'Sullivan's house, the two buildings stood alone in an area as large as a city square, while the prairie, dotted here and there with one-story cottages, stretched far away in every direction.

This was the lonely spot, and this the vacant house that the assassins chose for their den, and within these walls Dr. Cronin came to his death.

On the day following the finding of the body State's Attorney Longenecker, Captain Schuettler of the City Police, and Captain Wing of the Lake View Police, met in consultation. It was decided to send for O'Sullivan, the ice-man. While no direct suspicions were at that time entertained that he was concerned in the tragedy, there was an indefinable feeling that he knew something or other that might prove of importance in relation to the affair. O'Sullivan promptly responded to the summons. Pressed by the State's Attorney to tell them anything he might know, O'Sullivan said that he believed there had been something mysterious going on in the Carlson cottage. Two suspicious looking men, he went on to say, had appeared in the neighborhood about March and rented the place, paying a month's rent. Since that time they had occupied it very little, if at all. To the landlord they had pretended that they were going to work for him (O'Sullivan), but this was not true, for he knew nothing about them, and certainly had never hired them. The matter looked suspicious, he thought, and ought to be investigated, especially as it was possible that these were the men who had used his name to Dr. Cronin. Beyond this he knew absolutely nothing.

"BLOOD, BLOOD, EVERYWHERE!"

To the ordinary listener O'Sullivan's story would have seemed of little or no importance. Not so, however, with Schuettler and Wing. These experienced officials, who knew of old that important results often follow in the wake of the most unpromising trail, saw in it a possible clue. Together they drove with all haste to the Carlson cottage. It was broad daylight, and even before they had alighted from their buggy, they saw enough to convince them that they were on the right track at last. There were big blood stains on the boards, that crossed the ditch in front of the gate. There were larger ones on the sidewalk in front of the house; and they led, in two dark-red parallel streams right up the wooden steps to the front door. It was the work of a couple of seconds to force the lock. The usually cool, imperturbable officials were too excited to go after keys, while, moreover, it was desirable that what was to be done should be done quietly. The lock gave way to the pressure with a crash, and the two men entered. Spots of blood again confronted them on the floor of the hall. An attempt had been made to cover some of them up with a coat of yellow paint. The individual who performed this task had divested himself of his boots and hose, for the print of a naked foot stood out clear and distinct in a splotch of the red paint.

A couple of steps and the captains were in the parlor, and then for the first time they realized the full and terrible import of their discovery. There were abundant evidences that a frightful struggle for life had taken place within the four walls, and that it was here that the unfortunate physician had met his doom. It was a small room, only 16 by 20 feet, with three windows, two facing west on Ashland Avenue and a third looking out south on a vacant lot. Near the southwest corner was a bloody stain nearly a foot in diameter and about four feet away from the wall. Almost in the center of the room was another blood-stain almost as large. It looked as though a body had been rolled from one place to the other, the changes of position leaving a small pool wherever the head had rested. Over these stains the same reddish brown paint that appeared in the hallway had been applied, but in such a bungling way as to leave no doubt that it had been done with great haste. The stains of blood were not heavy, and it was apparent that the life-fluid had soaked through a carpet before reaching the wood. In the northeast corner was a bedstead, in the northwest a dressing-case, in the southeast a wash-stand with a pitcher and bowl. In the center of the room was a rocking-chair. The right arm was broken off and lay on the floor, and the officials came quickly to the conclusion that the physician was sitting in this chair when he was first attacked.

On the floor in other parts of the room were a lamp and the oil can from which it had been filled. But these articles attracted little attention for the moment. The attention of the officials was riveted on the blood stains that met their eyes in whatever direction they looked. As Captain Wing remarked later in the day, it was "blood, blood, everywhere." The center of the floor was dotted with drops about the size of a pea. There were half a dozen stains on the front of the dressing case, and some of it had congealed thickly on the brass facing of the lock. This Captain Wing plied off, in order that an analysis might be made. There were more spots on the key plate of the washstand, and this also was forced off. On the south wall was a score or more of stains, large and small, to several of which long black hairs were adhering, just as if the blood that spurted out when the head was struck with some blunt instrument had carried the hair with it. The wall was white, and the mute evidences of the awful crime stood out with terrible distinctness. On the bedstead was a mattress and a pair of uncovered pillows, but this part of the room had escaped the struggles of the victim to save his life. The painter had left his mark on the inside blind or shutter of the window looking out on the vacant lot, for eleven finger prints were plainly visible. Apparently the blind had been closed in a hurry while the paint was still wet.

Passing through the communicating door into the dining-room, another spot of blood appeared in the middle of the floor. Strange to say, no effort had been made to cover this over. There was nothing else about the room to attract attention. The basement was next visited. Here the pot of red paint and the paint brush had been thrown down under the stairs. A broom with a broken handle stood against the wall, and a hurried inspection showed that it also was stained with blood and particles of wool. This had evidently been used to sweep the carpets while yet wet with gore. The paint pot bore the name of a well-known Chicago firm. Returning up stairs, the officials commenced a more minute inspection. On the floor beside the bed they found a key, which was subsequently tried in the lock of the bloody trunk found on the previous day, and proved to be the one wanted. A bill for curtains was also brought to light. The dressing case and wash stand were turned around, and the officials were considerably elated at finding them branded with the letters "A. H. R. & Co.," the trade mark of Alexander H. Revell & Co., an extensive local furniture house of national reputation. This of itself was a valuable--and as it subsequently turned out--a vital clue. The kerosene lamp was found to be almost full. If it was filled the night of the murder, it did not burn more than an hour. There were, however, no signs of a single article of the murdered man's clothing, of the implements in the surgeon's case that he had taken with him, or of the cotton batting. It was surmised that the murderers might have buried their tell-tale evidences of their bloody work in the cellar, and later in the day a half-dozen detectives from the Chicago Avenue station dug the place over to a depth of several feet. Nothing, however, was brought to light.

FORMING A THEORY.

In the light of the surroundings a theory of the circumstances under which the crime was committed was easily formed. Than the place itself a better one for such a purpose could not have been found. The street was absolutely dark after midnight, and even during the early evening the only outside light was that given by two kerosene lamps, one at each of the street intersections. Hence it was in comparative darkness all the evening. The house, moreover, was so near that of Sullivan's that it was probably an easy matter to decoy Dr. Cronin to it without arousing his suspicions. He had been struck the moment he entered the parlor, and fell in the corner of the room where the largest of the blood-stains appeared. The blow, however, had not deprived him of consciousness, and, gaining his feet he had engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with his assailants. This was apparent from the manner in which the blood was spattered over the articles of furniture that were several feet distant from each other. It had evidently been in this struggle that the arm of the rocking-chair was broken. Another terrific blow had been dealt his head while he retreated backward, as was evidenced by the hair and blood upon the wall. The last foul blow having been struck, the unfortunate man, perhaps still breathing, was stripped naked and the body packed into the trunk, which was already in the house. Having thus disposed of the corpse the trunk was borne out of the building to the wagon, which stood on the roadside. As it was being carried down the steps the blood that gathered at one end seeped through the corners and left the two gory trails on the boards of the sidewalk and the plank crossing the ditch. Then there was the hurried drive to the catch-basin, the dumping of the body, still warm, into its recesses, and the disposal of the trunk. The murder having thus been accomplished and the body disposed of, the conspirators, with strange assurance of their safety, had returned to the cottage and endeavored to efface the evidence of their crime by taking up the carpet and then plastering the blood-stains with the paint--a mixture of yellow and brown ochre. Either they were in a hurry or there had been some interruption, for the job was not half done and the murderers, leaving behind all the evidences of their atrocious deed, vacated the cottage for good and all.

THE BLOOD EXAMINED BY EXPERTS.

One of the first things to be determined was whether the blood on the floor of the cottage and that found in the trunk was identical. Dr. Brandt and Dr. Hectone were sent for, and for the balance of the day they were busily engaged in making examinations and microscopic comparisons. By night they were in a position to declare that two things had been definitely established. First, that the blood found in the Carlson cottage was that of a human being, and second, that, so far as an expert examination by the most approved methods had gone, it went to prove that the blood taken from the trunk and that taken from the house came from one and the same body. This feature of the tragedy created the greatest interest in medical circles, from the fact that it was the first case on record in which such a comparison had been attempted.

"I examined the blood found in the trunk," said Dr. Brandt on the evening of the day in question, "soon after it was found and determined that it was human. The first thing to do was to determine whether the spots in the house were also human blood."

"How can you tell whether certain blood is that of a human being, or of some animal?" he was asked.

"Only by the size of the corpuscles. They are large and compressed on either side. It can be done only by means of a powerful microscope, and even with this aid none but an expert can tell. By submitting the blood to this test it was found to be human blood. This settled, the next thing of importance was to find out if the two specimens of blood bore any resemblance."

"Can you tell to a certainty whether two drops of blood come from the same body?"

"You cannot; but if they bear certain marks of resemblance the inference is pretty strong. You must bear in mind that the blood in both cases was taken from wood. That found in the trunk was diluted with water. After diluting the blood taken from the floor of the house sufficiently to make it of the same consistency, or as near as may be, with that from the trunk, we submitted them both to the microscopic test----"

"And found?"

"That the points of resemblance were marked. The pigment crystals were exactly alike."

"From which you inferred----"

"That the blood found in the trunk and that taken from the floor of the house came from the same person."

"Do you think, Doctor, that it is the blood of Dr. Cronin?"

"There is not the least doubt of it in my mind. It is almost certain that the doctor's body was in that trunk. If this is so, there can be little doubt that he met his death in the house on Ashland avenue."

THE CARLSONS TELL THEIR STORY.

After sending for Dr. Brandt and his colleague, the two police captains lost no time in putting the Carlsons on the rack. It was evident from the start that the family had known all about the condition of the interior of the cottage for days, if not weeks. They had hesitated about notifying the police, however, for fear that difficulty would be experienced in renting the cottage if the facts became known; while, at the same time, they were afraid to destroy and efface the evidences of the crime that they realized had been committed. Mrs. Carlson did not need any pressing to tell what she knew. From her story it was developed that on March 20th a tall, slender, pale-faced young man called at her house to learn the rent of the cottage. He was told he could have it for $12 monthly. The amount suited him, and he paid a month's rent in advance, without being requested to do so, and received the key. He went on to say that his name was Frank Williams, that he had two brothers and a sister, who would live with him, and that the sister would keep house. They were coming from Baltimore, and would join him in a day or two. He took the keys and went away, but the sister never came.

For a month there were no outward signs that the mysterious Frank Williams intended to occupy the building he had rented. Mrs. Carlson became very uneasy.

Nearly seven weeks prior to the disappearance of the physician, or to be precise, on Wednesday, March 20th, just about the noon hour, a man of medium size, with dark hair and eyes, a full mustache, a derby hat, pulled well down over his forehead, and a heavy overcoat buttoned up around him, had knocked at the door of the little cottage occupied by the Carlsons. Mrs. Carlson herself was absent at the time, but her husband, Jonas, Charles, their son, and the latter's wife, Annie, were at home at the time. The latter was a domestic servant in the employ of a prominent family on Michigan avenue; but--by another peculiar coincidence--this happened to be her "day off," the first she had taken for several weeks. Jonas Carlson answered the door, and the stranger inquired if he (Carlson) was the owner of the cottage on the front lot. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he expressed a desire to rent it. Carlson secured the keys, and the two men went down to the cottage, entering by the rear door. The would-be tenant gave a cursory glance over the interior, and, remarking that there were six rooms, just the number that he required, asked what the rent would be. Carlson named the sum of twelve dollars monthly, to be paid in advance, but the stranger demurred and expressed the opinion that eleven dollars was quite enough. Finding, however, that Carlson was unwilling to lower his figure a single dime, the man at last remarked: "All right, I'll take it and give you the money now." The landlord and his new tenant then returned to the former's cottage, when the latter paid over the first month's rent. Charles Carlson wrote the receipt, and while this was being done the man remarked that he worked in the city, that he was one of three brothers, that his sister was coming from Baltimore to keep house for them, and that it might be several days and perhaps a week before they could move in. He also added that he had ordered some furniture, and that it would arrive in a few days. When asked his name he replied "Frank Williams," and the receipt was made out accordingly. Meanwhile, the three Carlsons had ample opportunity to "size up" the individual who was soon to be their neighbor, and his features were impressed on their memories. Annie Carlson and her husband especially noticed a peculiar way he had of glancing around, as well as a kind of sinister expression of his mouth. Having secured the receipt and the keys the man went away. On the third day following, about seven o'clock in the evening, a few articles of furniture were delivered at the cottage. Young Carlson strolled over to the place, and saw "Frank Williams," assisted by a man he described as dark, short and slender, together with the expressman, carrying in the goods. He passed the time of day with the expressman and found that the latter was a Swede. Weeks passed without any sign of activity on the part of the new tenant and nothing was seen of him until April 20, when he again called upon the Carlson's to pay the second month's rent. At this time young Carlson remembered that there was a trunk and a lounge in the cottage belonging to a former occupant, and "Williams" consented to help him move the articles out. While doing this an opportunity was afforded him of looking around the house, and he was particularly struck with the meagre character of the furniture. There was nothing on the bedstead but a spring mattress and comforter, the carpet was cheap and the chairs, washstand and other articles were of the most common kind. The elder Mrs. Carlson received the rent this time, and with a woman's natural inquisitiveness, she asked the man what was the matter that his people did not move in. He replied that his sister had been taken "awfully sick," and was in the Sister's Hospital. Mrs. Carlson replied that she liked to see people move in when the house was rented, as it did not look well to have it rented. To this "Williams" responded that it might be a week and perhaps a little more before his people were finally settled. Before leaving the three had a pitcher of beer together. After this the Carlsons were on the _qui vive_ for their new neighbors, but the week passed, and two more, and still the cottage was unoccupied. On Monday, May 13--Dr. Cronin had then been missing for eleven days--the Carlsons had another visitor. He was a short stout man, full chested, with light hair and complexion. To Mrs. Carlson he said that Frank Williams had sent him to pay the rent, that his sister was still so sick that they could not take possession. But by this time the old lady had made up her mind that if the people couldn't begin housekeeping she couldn't take the rent, and she said so. The visitor tried to argue her out of her determination, but in vain. She knew that the little frame building was eyed with suspicion by the keen-witted Germans that lived in the neighborhood, and that it had become current gossip that there were queer tenants in the apparently vacant house. The few pieces of furniture was all that any one had seen carried into the place, and yet it was, to all appearances, the home of somebody. No woman had been seen around, although once in a while a light could be seen burning at night through the closed blinds, and a piece of bed quilt had been stretched over one of the street windows. All these things had tended to make Mrs. Carlson suspicious, and although she said nothing about them, she gave her visitor to understand that she did not propose to have the place apparently unoccupied any longer, and that moreover she wanted to put it in the market. Upon this the man suggested that she could do this and still let them have the use of the rooms; but Mrs. Carlson could not be shaken from her position, because, as she sagely remarked, people who thought of buying it would want to get into it to see what it was like. Moreover, she added it would be another week before the rent was due. The man admitted this but said that "Frank Williams wanted to be sure of the place as he did not want to lose it." All his arguments, however, were of no avail, the old lady would not take the money under the circumstances, and the man departed.

Matters went on in this way until May 18th, when a letter, addressed in a scrawling hand, and bearing the postmark of Hammond, Indiana, was delivered at the Carlson cottage. Its contents, written on a half sheet of note paper, were as follows:

_Mr. Carlson_--DEAR SIR: My sister is low at present and my business calls me out of town. If you will please put the furniture in your cellar for a few days I will pay you for your trouble. I am sorry that I lost the key to the cottage door, but I will pay you for all trouble. My sister told me to paint the floor for her so that it would not be so hard to keep clean. I am now sorry I gave the front room one coat. F. W.

That afternoon, Charles Carlson went over to the cottage for the purpose of disposing of the furniture as requested in the letter. The front window next to the cellar was found to be open, and through this he secured an entrance. One glance at the inside filled him with alarm, and he went back to the house after his father and mother. The condition in which they found the place has already been described in the earlier portion of this chapter. Their first impulse was to notify the police, but after talking over the matter, they decided to allow the cottage to remain as it was, moving neither stick nor stone until "Williams" came for his furniture or an opportunity was afforded for renting the cottage to another tenant. This determination was adhered to until the finding of Dr. Cronin's body.

O'SULLIVAN AND "FRANK WILLIAMS."

This was the story as told by Mrs. Carlson and supplemented by her husband, son and daughter-in-law. When, however, their memories were refreshed by the numerous questions which were propounded by the officers, and which served to bring back scenes and incidents that they had almost forgotten, many facts of essential importance were added to the initial narrative. Old man Carlson remembered that after the man had rented the cottage and received the keys, he walked across the prairie toward O'Sullivan's house. The iceman was standing near his buggy, and Carlson plainly heard "Williams" remark: "Well, the cottage is rented." Just before the second month's rent was due Carlson had gone to O'Sullivan and asked him if he knew the man.

"Yes," the iceman had responded, "I know one of the men. He is all right."

Again, upon receipt of the letter from Hammond, Carlson had taken it to O'Sullivan and asked him what he thought about it. His reply was that the cottage seemed to be an unlucky one, and that it would have to be rented again. O'Sullivan had also intimated that he would be responsible for a month's rent if "Williams" failed to appear; thus holding out an inducement to the Carlsons not to disturb the place for the time being. The old man also remembered that on the night of May 4th he saw Williams standing on the front steps of the house for several minutes, after which he went indoors. This was about five o'clock. Two hours or so later he heard two men talking loudly in the front room of the cottage. He could not distinguish what was said, and the blinds were drawn so closely that nothing could be seen. He gave the matter no thought, and at eight o'clock--about the time that the physician must have reached the scene--himself and his family were abed. On the following morning, while prowling about his lot, he saw strange stains on the front door steps, which he thought were made by the breaking of a jar of preserves. In the soft mud in the sidewalk fronting the house were the footprints of men who had worn heavy shoes, and near the curb were fresh wagon tracks that seemed to lead to the southward. Charles Carlson also remembered that a few nights after May 4th he had noticed a man skulking about the cottage. It was extremely dark, but he could see that he was light-complexioned and wore a black slouch hat and an overcoat. Carlson asked him what he wanted, and he replied that he was out of work and wanted to find the nearest police station. The information was given him and he went away. Young Carlson also said that about the first of May he noticed that one of the slats of the front blinds had been cut out, so that any one approaching the house could be seen from the front room--the one in which the death-struggle had taken place.

THE FURNITURE TRACED.

To say that the authorities and the friends of the murdered man were elated by these developments is to put it mildly. It was next in order to ascertain where the furniture had been purchased, and by whom. The first question was practically answered by the trade-mark of A. H. Revell & Co. on the back of the dressing-case and wash-stand. The second seemed a more difficult one, as the firm in question sold tens of thousands of such articles of furniture every few months. Here, again, good fortune favored the investigation. It happened that in the establishment in question a careful and systematic record of all sales was kept, comprising a description of the goods sold, their price, the name and address of the purchaser, together with any attendant circumstances that might serve to make the record the more complete. On an examination of this record the fact was elicited that the furniture of the description found in the Carlson cottage had been purchased at the store on February 17th. The salesman was W. T. Hatfield, an old employe of the firm, and the purchaser a man who gave his name as J. B. Simonds. This individual Mr. Hatfield described as about twenty-five years of age, one hundred and fifty pounds in weight, complexion a cross between dark and fair, a rather heavy, reddish-brown moustache, high forehead, and thin drab hair. He wore a dark cut-away-coat, dark trousers, a brown, heavy over-coat, and a derby hat. Upon entering the store he said that he wanted to fix up a room or two very cheaply, with goods as cheap as they had in the house, as they were only for temporary use. He was taken up-stairs, and, after selecting what he wanted, asked to be shown a large trunk. This necessitated a trip down-stairs, and, after looking at several sizes, he chose one known to the trade as a "Becker 40 No. 2." When all his purchases had been completed the bill footed up in this order:

32 yards of ingrain carpet at 35 cents $12.80 1 trunk 3.50 1 outdoor mat 1.00 1 small hand sachel 1.00 1 chamber suit 14.50 1 "solid comfort" spring 1.50 1 mattress, excelsior top 2.75 1 pair of pillows 2.00 1 bowl, pitcher, etc 1.35 1 lamp 50 1 comforter 1.00 1 cane chair 65 1 cane rocker 1.95 1 trunk strap 1.00 ------ Total $45.50

It was noticed as curious by Mr. Hatfield that the man could not tell how large his room was, but guessed that thirty-two yards would be plenty.

"Where shall I have the goods delivered?" asked the salesman when the bill had been made out.

"I don't know," replied Simonds. "You keep them here and I'll take a memorandum of them." This he did. "I will come back," he went on, "to-morrow or next day, and give you my address."

True to his word, the man put in an appearance at ten o'clock the following morning, greeting Salesman Hatfield with the remark: "Well, I will take those goods." The bill was presented, and Simonds, stepping to the cashier's desk, pulled out a big roll of bills of large denominations, tens and twenties predominating.

"Now I will give you the address," he added, as he pocketed the change. "You can send those things to J. B. Simonds, 117 South Clark street, rooms 12 and 15, and send a man to put the carpet down."

IN THE CLARK STREET FLAT.

About noon of the same day the carpet-layer accompanied the furniture to the address that had been given. This building was directly opposite the ten-story Chicago Opera-House structure, in which the offices of both Dr. Cronin and Alexander Sullivan were located. There were two rooms bearing 12 as their number in the building. One room, the door of which was covered with Turkish characters, was on the second floor. This was not the room occupied by Simonds, and another flight of stairs brought the furniture men to a sort of lodging-house arrangement of rooms. No. 12 was a front room, and 15 adjoined it in the back. In the front room the carpet-layer found a short, rather stout man of dark complexion, and wearing a closely cropped black moustache, who told him to go ahead with his work. He had no noticeable accent in his speech, and seemed to be an American. He superintended the laying of the carpet, and talked a good deal in a friendly way. The carpet proved to be too long by several yards for the room, and the carpet man wanted to cut it off.

"Oh, no," the other protested as he handed the workman a cigar. "Turn it under. I'd much rather have it that way. You see, this is only temporary anyway. I may move at any time."

The man did as requested, and the packing trunk and a portion of the furniture was taken into the room. The remainder was unloaded into No. 15. Simonds, had called at the furniture house on the following day and exchanged the trunk-strap for a larger one.

After making this statement Hatfield accompanied the officers to the Carlson cottage. Here, as had been expected, he immediately declared that the furniture and carpets were _fac similes_ of the articles he had sold to Simonds. The bloody trunk that had been found on the Lake View prairie corresponded also in every detail with the one that figured in his bill of goods.

WHEN THE FLAT WAS RENTED.

The rooms that had been occupied by Simonds and his confederates looked almost direct into the offices of Alexander Sullivan across the street. Those of Dr. Cronin's, being in the rear of the opposite building, were not within sight, although the goings and comings of the physician on the street could be seen from the window of No. 12. Salesman Hatfield's disclosures had forged another link in the chain, and the authorities turned their attention to the renting of the rooms. The agents of the building were Knight & Marshall, a leading real estate firm and of which Edward C. Throckmorton was cashier and renting agent. It was found that Simonds had called at 117 Clark street on February 19th, the same day that the furniture was picked out, and inquired what rooms could be had. The janitor showed him all the rooms on the upper floor. He asked several questions and then went over to the office of the agents. Here he first saw Throckmorton, to whom he expressed a wish to lease the flat he had looked at. He gave no references, but said that he was a stranger in the city and wanted the place for a brother who was coming from the East for treatment for his eyes. The cashier suggested that he take two rooms on the lower floor, but Simonds was not willing. The upper floor was preferable, he said, because it had no other tenants. Throckmorton turned the matter over to Mr. Marshall, who named the figure of $42 monthly as the rent of the flat. Simonds made no quibble about the price, signed the lease to April 30th, and paid the first month's rent. Nothing more was thought of the matter until March 20th, when Collector Herman Goldman went to the flat to obtain the next month's rent. Nobody responded to his knocking, but on peeping through a hole in the front door he saw the furniture and carpet within. When he went back twenty-four hours later every vestige of the furniture had been removed and not a trace of the mysterious J. B. Simonds was to be found.

MILKMAN MERTES' STORY.

While these facts were being brought to light in one direction, information of the greatest value had been secured in another, and which confirmed, almost beyond question, the general belief that Dr. Cronin had been murdered in the Carlson cottage. It came from William Mertes, a milk dealer of reputation and good standing in the community, and who lived on Woodside avenue in Lake View. On the night of May 4th, somewhere between 8:30 and 9 o'clock, Mertes left his house to visit the grocery at the corner of Ashland avenue and Otto street, which was only a short block south of the cottage. He walked east on Addison avenue to Ashland, and then turned south on the east sidewalk. As he neared the Carlson cottage at Roscoe street a buggy containing two men rolled up to the edge of the ditch. One of the men, whom Mertes described as a tall and apparently athletic man, sprang from the buggy and ran up the front stairs of the cottage, the door of which was thrown open before he even knocked for admission. Scarcely had the door closed again when the sound of loud and angry voices within the cottage startled the milk dealer. He looked searchingly at the man in the buggy, wondering what had brought him to that lonely neighborhood at such an hour of the night, but the stranger's face was shrouded by the brim of a soft hat, and Mertes was unable to tell whether he was stout or slender, or fair or dark. The fellow whipped his horse into a gallop, drove to Addison avenue and then turned in the direction of the lake.

Mertes thought at the time that a fight was in progress, but as he heard only words he paid but little attention.

"Were there any lights in the house?" he was asked.

"Yes, there was a light, a small one, in the front room of the first floor. I could see it through the blinds."

"Could you distinguish the loud words you heard?"

"No, I could not. I tried to, but as they were spoken in the house they did not reach me."

"Did you hear any sounds that would indicate that a scuffle was in progress?"

"No; I listened for them because I thought there was a fight."

"Did you hear any loud words before the man from the buggy entered?"

"No, I didn't; but I was a long way from the house then."

"Did you see the man's face?"

"He ran up the stairs in too much of a hurry for me to get a glimpse of him. He appeared to be in a terrible hurry."

"Did he speak to the man in the buggy before the latter drove away?"

"I think not."

"Do you remember whether he knocked for admission?"

"I don't believe he did. He had scarcely reached the landing when I heard the bolt of the door fly back and then it opened, and he went in."

"And you heard the loud words directly afterward?"

"Yes; just as soon as the door closed."

"How was the man dressed?"

"My impression is that he had on a long overcoat, which was of a brown color, but I wouldn't be sure of it."

"Did he have a box or parcel in his hand?"

"I am not sure. He went up-stairs so fast that I couldn't see much of him."

"Was he tall?"

"Yes; and I think quite straight and well built."

"What sort of a horse was attached to the buggy?"

"I think it was a light sorrel with a white face. I am sure about the white face."

"Was it a top buggy?"

"Yes."

"Did you notice the man in it?"

"Not very much, because he went away so fast."

"Did you see how he was dressed?"

"I could only see that he had on a slouch hat. I thought it was a little funny that they should be going up to the front door, because I had always noticed that the people who lived around there went in the back way."

Mertes had said nothing of this experience until he fell in with a party of friends who were discussing the discovery in the cottage. Then he added the startling incident of his night trip to the corner grocers, when he was probably the only man besides the murderers who heard the physician's death struggles. The authorities arrived at the conclusion that the loud voices that had startled him were made by the murderers as they fell on their victim, and that the doctor had been attacked the instant that he entered the door, being given no chance to defend himself. Taken in connection with the blows on the body, there was good ground for the theory that he was first struck over the left eye with a billy or sand-bag, and then hacked about the head with a hatchet or ice-pick. The towel that was found about the head might have been used at the start, to stifle any out-cry, and then to strangle the victim when it became apparent that horrible butchery would have to be resorted to to complete the job as it was begun. At the same time it was acknowledged that this theory was hardly compatible with the broken furniture, the blood be-spattered walls, and the other apparent evidence in the room that the physician had made a terrible struggle for life.

THE EXPRESSMAN IS FOUND.

There now remained but a single link to establish the connection between the furniture left in the cottage and that sold by Hatfield. The expressman who hauled the goods from the Clark street flat was still to be found. But there were several hundred men in the city engaged in that line of business, and although the police and detectives worked like beavers, it looked for a while as though their labor would be thrown away. Success came at last, however, although it was nearly two week's before the much wanted man was run to earth. He proved to be a Swede named Hukon Mortensen, a simple, unsuspicious young fellow, not possessed of more than the average intelligence of men of his occupation. From him it was learned that one day in the latter part of March, while at his stand, at the corner of Chicago avenue and Market street, he was approached by a man who asked him his terms for hauling a load of furniture from 117 Clark street to the corner of Lincoln and Belmont avenues. He offered to do the job for $2, but the man was not willing to pay more than $1.50, and this he accepted. This man, whose description tallied exactly with that given by the Carlsons of "Frank Williams," was assisted by another man in carrying the furniture down-stairs. When the wagon had been loaded Mortensen was told to go out to Lincoln and Belmont avenues and wait, his customer saying that he would take a cable car. The expressman was first on the ground; but the man did not put in an appearance for over an hour, when, with a companion, he drove up in a buggy, explaining the delay by saying that the cable had broken down. After the pair had carried the furniture into the cottage, young Carlson, meanwhile looking on, they took the expressman to a tobacco store two blocks away, where, after securing change for a five dollar bill, he was paid the amount agreed upon. After this he drove back to the city. It was after eight o'clock, and consequently pitch dark when his wagon was unloaded. Three or four times during the next few days the same man passed the stand, and then he was not seen again in the neighborhood.

The plot, according to the surroundings, could now be outlined. Preparations for the "removal" of the unfortunate physician had been commenced as early as February, when the flat was hired and the furniture purchased. Apparently it was the original intention to lure him into the third story of the Clark street building, where isolated, and, as "Simonds" remarked, "with no tenants on the same floor," he could be summoned from his office on the other side of the street and speedily done to death. For some reason or other, however, possibly because a single outcry might have alarmed the people on the floor below, this idea was abandoned, and the lonely cottage was hired. For over six weeks the assassins must have plotted and planned the carrying-out of their murderous intentions. Then came the summons of the night of May 4th, the crime, the efforts to dispose of the body in the lake, its concealment in the catch-basin, the throwing away of the bloody trunk, the endeavor to efface the blood-stains in the cottage with paint, and finally the strenuous effort to continue its occupancy, in order that its condition might not be seen by other eyes. So far the authorities were satisfied with the results accomplished.

ICEMAN O'SULLIVAN SUSPECTED.

The opinion was now almost general that Iceman O'Sullivan knew more concerning the tragedy than he was willing to admit. No one was yet bold enough to accuse him of actual complicity in the crime, while at the same time it was apparent that his statements to the police, as well as to the friends of Dr. Cronin, were widely at variance with the discoveries that had been made. The peculiar nature of the contract he was said to have made with the physician, to attend any man in his employ who might meet with an accident, his denial of any acquaintance with the men who had rented the cottage, in the face of the fact that he had been seen in conversation with "Frank Williams," and had guaranteed the payment of the rent by the latter, and numerous other circumstances, some more or less trivial, were sufficient to raise the question as to whether, even had he taken no actual part in the terrible crime, he, in legal phraseology was not "possessed of a guilty knowledge." Hence it was the police decided to place the iceman under surveillance. Thereafter his house, as well as his every movement, when out of doors, was watched both night and day, and any attempt to leave the city would have resulted in his immediate arrest.