Books: Jim Cummings
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Frank Pinkerton >> Jim Cummings
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"At last," cried Mr. Pinkerton, and he eagerly scanned the various
articles. The revolver was an ordinary, self-cocking Smith & Wesson. The
billy was the sort called "life-preservers." The Adams Express letter-
heads were covered with the names "J. B. Barrett" and "W. H. Damsel."
Mr. Pinkerton passed these to his companions.
"They are pretty fair forgeries. Hang me, if it don't look as though I
had written that name myself."
The detective, all this time, was scrutinizing each article, hoping to
find something new.
With the papers he took out a printed ballad-sheet of the kind sold on
the streets by newsboys and fakirs. Turning it over, he saw something
written on it, and looking closely, read, "----, Chestnut street,"
The handwriting was the same as the handwriting of the letter. The first
clew had been found.
CHAPTER VI.
"CHIP" BINGHAM.
George Bingham, or as he was familiarly called, "Chip" Bingham, was the
youngest operative in Mr. Pinkerton's service. His talents, in the
detective line, ranged considerably higher than did the general run of
his associates. Possessing an analytical mind, he could take the effect,
and, by logical conclusions, retrace its path to the fundamental cause,
and following this principle, he had made many valuable discoveries in
mystery-shrouded cases, and had, many times, picked the end of a clew
from a seemingly hopeless snarl, and raveled the entire mesh of
circumstantial evidence, and made from it a strong cord of substantiated
facts. Mr. Pinkerton had early recognized this talent, and having,
besides, a peculiar attachment to the handsome young fellow, he
frequently placed delicate and intricate cases into his hands, always
with good results. It was for Chip, then, he sent, when he had finished
his examination of the valuable package.
Mr. Damsel, his mind somewhat freed from the trouble and worry it had
carried since the robbery, had left Mr. Pinkerton alone and returned to
his office.
Chip, on receipt of his superior's message, immediately repaired to Room
84. His downcast countenance and disappointed air told of fruitless
endeavors to catch even the slightest real clew. He said nothing as he
entered the room, but with a gesture of hopeless failure he sank into a
chair and awaited his chief's pleasure.
"Chip, I've got a starter."
With an indulgent smile Chip nodded his head, but failed to exhibit any
extraordinary interest.
Mr. Pinkerton's eyes twinkled. He understood the situation, but time was
valuable and he could not waste any in humorous by-play. So without
further parleying he handed Chip the tell-tale letter.
The young detective, almost from the first word, put the letter down as
a practical joke, perpetrated on the newspaper, but as the missive
progressed he became interested, and when he had reached that portion
which told of the package every fiber of his detective instinct was
alive, and Mr. Pinkerton had no need of pointing to the precious parcel
as corroborative evidence that the letter was genuine.
In an instant Chip was examining the contents. Every portion of the
revolver, billy and letterheads was searched with deepest scrutiny. The
printed sheet of ballad music was picked up, the verses read and the
sheet turned.
An exclamation burst from his lips, as his eye caught the words, written
in lead pencil, "----Chestnut Street," and placing it beside the letter,
he saw it was written by the same hand. "The devil! Here is a starter!"
His face glowed with animation, his eyes had the alert look of a hound
on a hot scent, and carefully noting the number in his memorandum book,
without waiting instructions from Mr. Pinkerton, he picked up his hat
and hurriedly left the room.
Mr. Pinkerton, in full sympathy with his subordinate, lit a cigar, and
settled back for a comfortable smoke until Chip made his report.
Chip, regaining the street, engaged a hack standing near the hotel, and
stopping it a short distance from the number he wanted on Chestnut
street, walked the remaining distance to the house.
A sign "Board by the week or day," and another one, "Furnished rooms to
let," showed it to be an ordinary boarding-house. Chip had fully decided
within himself, during the ride, that the men who had left the parcel
had also left St. Louis. While it was not so much an improbability that
the men would still be in the city, it was far more probable that they
would put some distance between themselves and the scene of their
exploit. For this reason, Chip decided that a plain course would result
in no unfortunate mishap or premature flushing of the game.
Ascending the steps, he rang the bell.
The landlady of the house herself opened the door.
Before Chip could speak, she said:
"You're a detective, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Chip, somewhat surprised, and regretting immediately that he
had not made his entrance in a more detective-like manner.
"I've been expecting some of you. You want to know about those two men
that stopped with me a short time before the 'Frisco express robbery?"
Seeing at once that he was conversing with a more than ordinary shrewd
individual, Chip replied, "That's just what I'm here for. But why do you
ask that question?"
"Well, I suspicioned something was wrong with them two men. They came
here on the fifteenth of October, and paid me a week's board in advance.
They kept their room almost all the time, and when I went in to clean
it, I saw a lot of railroad time-tables and maps scattered around. One
of them was always in the room. It was never left alone. A week before
the robbery, the smaller man left, he said for Kansas City, and the
larger man told me if a letter came to the house, directed to Williams,
that is for him. Well, on the Friday before the robbery, such a letter
did come, and the big man, after reading it, said he had to go to Kansas
City at once, but he didn't leave the house until Monday, and the next
day the robbery occurred."
"Can you give me a description of the men?"
The landlady thereupon gave a full description of the larger man, which
Chip carefully inserted in his note book, and recognized as the same
given by Fotheringham of his assailant on that memorable night. But her
description of the smaller of the two was somewhat vague, as she said he
was only in the house a short time, and she saw very little of him.
"May I go up to the room?"
"Yes; come this way."
Entering the room, the first thing which met the detective's eye was a
bottle containing some sort of liniment, having on it a label of a
neighboring druggist, In a closet a pair of drawers were found, and with
the dark brown stain below the knee was almost identical to that which
Chip had found on the railroad track, and which the robber had thrown
from the express car. Not satisfied with this, Chip ripped up the
carpet, and as a reward for his labor found an express tag, or rather a
portion of one, for the tag was torn in two pieces. On the tag Chip read
the portion of an address, "----ority," and below, "----worth, Kansas."
Further questioning of the garrulous landlady gained a description of
the valise which the larger man carried away with him. It tallied with
the description given by Fotheringham of the valise into which Jim
Cummings had put the stolen money.
Gathering his trophies together, Chip bid his talkative lady friend
good-day, and immediately bent his steps toward the drug store, from
which had come the bottle of liniment.
No, the druggist could not recollect what particular person had bought
that bottle, but if the young man would call on Doctor B----, he could
probably ascertain the fact from him, as the liniment was put up from
the Doctor's prescription. Chip, in a short time, was ushered into the
Doctor's presence.
Yes, the Doctor not only recollected the man, but gave a very close
description of him. The man had come to him, suffering from a bad bruise
or cut on the leg below the knee. Nothing serious, but so painful that
it caused him to limp. He had made out the prescription of the unguent
which the bottle had contained, and the man had paid for it. But he gave
no name, nor in what manner he had received the injury.
Chip, satisfied with his work, left the physician, and whistling for his
jehu, drove back to the hotel.
That the large man who had boarded with the landlady at ---- Chestnut
street, and had bought and used the ointment, was identical with Jim
Cummings, the express robber, Chip had not the shadow of a doubt. The
smaller man was, of course, his accomplice. He had seen where the men
had secreted themselves a week before the robbery, he vas even pretty
certain of their movements during that time, but the question was where
had they gone AFTER the deed was committed. Who and where was the
accomplice? What other men had aided and abetted them in the scheme?
With his mind full of these perplexing queries, he sought Mr.
Pinkerton's room, and laid before him the result of his search.
Mr. Pinkerton listened attentively and picking up the torn express tag,
examined it carefully.
It was a portion of an ordinary tag, such as is used by the Adams
Express Company.
It had been torn about the middle. The strings were still on it. From
its appearance it had been addressed, and the person, not satisfied with
his work, had torn it in two and thrown it on the floor, from which it
had probably been swept in a corner, and eventually got under the edge
of the carpet, where Chip had found it. It read.
ority
worth Kansas
[Illustration: a drawing of a torn ticket.]
On the reverse side in faint penciled characters were the words: "it to
Cook," From the blurred appearance of the words it was evident that a
rubber had been used to erase them. These words had escaped Chip's
notice, but as soon as Mr. Pinkerton saw them, he said:
"I see it all, Chip. I see it all. A message was written on the tag,
probably giving some instructions, such as 'Send it to Cook,' or 'Give
it to Cook,' and the person sending it changing his mind about writing
his instructions so openly tried to erase the words with a rubber, but
failing to do it tore the tag up and addressed another one.
"The package to which this was to have been tied was sent to some man
whose name ends in 'ority and who was in Leavenworth, Kansas. We can
find that out to-morrow, Chip, so turn in and get some sleep."
The next morning the books of the company were overhauled, and after a
long, patient and careful search it was found that on October 23d, two
days before the robbery, a valise had been expressed to a Daniel
Moriarity, Leavenworth, Kansas, charges prepaid, by a man named John
Williams.
That evening Chip left St, Louis for Leavenworth and Mr. Pinkerton
returned to Chicago.
CHAPTER VII.
THE TRAMP.
About the middle of November, after the now famous express robbery had
taken place, a man, roughly dressed in a coarse suit of blue, wearing a
woolen shirt open at the neck, and, knotted around his throat, a gaudy
silk handkerchief, was strolling leisurely along the east bottoms near
Kansas City. His face was tanned by exposure to the sun, and his shoes
had the flattened and battered condition which is the natural
consequence of a long and weary tramp. He walked as if he had no
particular objective point, and looked like one of those peripatetic
gentry who toil not neither do they spin, the genus "tramp." He
complacently puffed a short clay nose-warmer, with his hands in his
pockets, and taking first one side and then the other of the road, as
his fancy dictated, found himself near the old distillery at the
outskirts of the city.
A saloon near at hand, with its front door invitingly open, attracted
his attention, and the cheering sounds of a violin, scraping out some
popular air, gave a further impetus to inclination, and the tramp turned
to the open door and entered. Seated on an empty barrel, his foot
executing vigorous time to his own music, sat the magician of the horse-
hair bow.
Leaning against the bar, or seated at the small tables scattered around,
the tramp saw a goodly number of the disciples of Bacchus, while from an
inner room the clicking of ivory chips and half suppressed expressions
of "I'll see you an' go you tenner better." "A full house pat, what 'er
ye got," designated the altar at which the worshipers of "draw poker"
were offering sacrifices.
The saloon consisted of one long, low room, on one side of which was
located the conventional bar, with its background of glittering
decanters and dazzling glasses and its "choice assortment of liquors"--
to quote the sign which called attention to these necessary luxuries.
A large stove stood in the center of the room, and a number of small
tables were placed around promiscuously, The bar-tender, a smooth-faced,
beetle-browed rascal, was engaged in shaking dice for the drinks with a
customer, and, to the music of the violin, a light-footed Irishman was
executing his national jig, to the great delight and no small
edification of his enthusiastic audience.
The wide sombreroes, perched back on the head, pointed out the cowboys
who were making up for the lonesome days and nights on the plains.
It was a motley crowd, a fair specimen of the heterogeneous mass of
humanity which floats hither and there all over our western States, and
contained some villainous-looking fellows.
As the tramp entered, the interest in the jig was developing into
enthusiasm. Hands were clapped, and fingers snapped to the time of the
nimble heels and toes of the jaunty Corkonian. The violinist was
settling down to vigorous work, and Pat, having the incentive of
anticipated free drinks as a reward for his efforts, was executing the
most intricate of steps.
The tramp lounged to the bar, followed by the suspicious glance of the
bar-keeper, who assumed a more respectful demeanor as the object of his
suspicions threw down a silver quarter and named his drink. It was
quickly furnished, and as quickly disposed of. The dancer had finished
his jig and accepted with alacrity the proffered offers to wet his
whistle. As he stepped to the bar his glance fell upon the tramp.
"Are ye drinkin' this aivenin'?"
"I am that," responded the tramp,
"Faith, an' its not at yer own expinse, then," with a glance at the
ragged clothing and "hard-up" appearance of the wanderer.
"An' a divil sight less at yours," retorted the tramp. "But by the same
token, we both get our rosy by manes of our heels."
"Shure fir ye, lad. Its hard up I've been myself before the now, but its
a cold day when Barney O'Hara will let a bog-trotter go dry--name your
poison."
"Its the rale ould stuff I'll be a takin' straight," and the tramp
spread his elbows on the counter and soon demonstrated his ability to
gulp down the fiery fluid without any such effeminate trimmings as water
in it. After the first glass had been emptied the tramp said:
"I've had a bit of luck to-day; what's your medicine?"
"The same," responded Barney.
The liquor was poured into the glasses, and the tramp, diving deep in
his pockets, drew out some small silver currency, and, with a movement
expressive of untold wealth, threw it on the counter.
As he did so, the bar-keeper uttered an oath of astonishment, several of
the roysterers sprang forward, and Barney, with an exclamation of
amazement, put his hand on a Pinkerton detective star, with its terrible
eye in the center, which had fallen on the counter with the nickles and
dimes the tramp had thrown down.
Dark looks and murderous eyes were turned on the tramp, and more than
one hand was placed on a revolver, The bar-keeper with an ugly look, and
bullying swagger, stepped from behind the bar and advanced on the tramp,
his face distorted with rage, and his fists doubled in a most aggressive
manner.
The tramp, without moving, and apparently ignorant of the sensation he
had created, raised his glass to his lips, and with a hearty "Here's to
ye, lads," tossed off the whisky.
As he replaced his glass, he became aware that he was the center of
attention, and facing the bar-keeper, said:
"What's the row with ye? I paid fer the drinks,"
"What are you doin' with a detective's star?" said the bar-keeper,
"Haven't I a right to one; I dunno--finders keepers, losers weepers--I
picked the bit of brass up on the road not over an hour ago,"
The bar-keeper was not to be pacified by such a story, and in a
threatening voice, he asked:
"Are you a man-hunter or not?"
The tramp threw a pitying glance of scorn at the pugilistic whisky-
seller, as he replied:
"Be gorra, ye damned fool, do you think that I'd be after givin' myself
away like this if I WAS one?"
"In course ye wouldn't," broke in Barney. "Don't be a fool, Jerry, this
man is no detective," and Barney fastened the star to the vest which
encircled the portly form of the bar-keeper.
"Now ye're one yerself, an' will be after runnin' us all in fer not
detectin' enough of the elegant liquor ye handle."
To this the man could make no reply, save a deep, hoarse laugh, and
resuming his professional position, was shortly engaged in alleviating
the thirst of his patrons.
This little episode had just occurred, when the door of the inner room
was thrown violently open and a man, his coat off, rushed up to the bar.
"Here, Jerry, break this fifty for me," at the same time throwing down a
fifty-dollar bill, crisp and fresh.
"Your playin' in bad luck to-day, Cook?"
"Yes, damn it," said Cook. "Give me a drink for good luck."
As the bar-keeper uttered the name of Cook a quick, but hardly
perceptible glance of intelligence passed between Barney and the tramp.
Cook hastily swallowed his whisky, rushed back to the poker table with a
handful of five dollar bills, and quiet reigned over the place. The bar-
keeper, who spied a possible good customer in the tramp, had entered
into a little conversation at the end of the counter, on which the tramp
leaned, the embodiment of solid comfort, puffing his cigar vigorously,
or allowing it to burn itself out in little rings of smoke.
"You're a stranger to these parts?"
With an expressive wink, the tramp replied:
"Not so much as ye think, I've spint many a noight around here."
"Night hawk, eh? an' I took you for a man-trailer."
"I've had the spalpeens after myself afore now," spoke the tramp, in a
low, confidential whisper.
"You keep yourself devilish low, then, for I know all the lads, and it's
the first time I've clapped these two eyes on you."
"Do ye think I mane to let the fly cops put their darbies on me, that I
should be nosin' around in the broad day?"
"You're too fly for them, I see," said the bar-keeper, with a sagacious
shake of his head. "You an' Barney are a pair."
"Barney? Ye mane the Irish lad that was just here a bit ago?"
"The same. He's square. He's one of you."
The tramp leaned forward, his eyes fastened on the bloodshot eyes of the
drink-compounder, and in an earnest tone, asked:
"Is he a bye that could crack a plant with the loikes o' me?"
Impressed with the tone and manner of the tramp, the bar-keeper gazed
quickly around the room, and in a still lower tone, replied:
"He's on a lay himself. Would you like to go his pal?" The tramp slowly
nodded his head, and after receiving the whispered invitation to come
around later, strolled out of the saloon; and so on up the road.
Turning a corner he nearly ran against Barney himself, who was sitting
on a horse-block, enjoying a pipe and the sun.
Not a soul was in sight. Satisfying himself of that fact, Barney gazed
at the tramp and said:
"By Jove, Chip, I thought you were a goner when that confounded star
fell out."
Chip gave a deep sigh of relief, and taking off his hat, pointed to the
perspiration which moistened the band:
"Don't that look as though I thought so, too, Sam?"
"How in the name of all that's lovely, did you happen to be so
careless?"
"That's what it was, sheer carelessness. I suffered, though, for it. It
would have been all up with me if the gang had not been so deucedly
stupid. That Jerry is a villain, and no mistake. I told him that I was a
profesh, and he told me that you were another, and had a plan to do some
fine work without asking permission of the owners. So I am to meet him
again to-night, and see if you will not take me as your pal. You have
your cue, and will know how to act."
"Chip, did you notice that man Cook?"
"You mean, did I notice the fifty-dollar bill he threw down?"
"Well, both."
"Seems to me he didn't look like a man that ought to be carrying fifty-
dollar bills around so recklessly."
"He's a cooper, runs that little shop over there, and hasn't done a
stroke of work for a month."
The cooper-shop pointed out by Sam was a small frame building, having
the sign, "Oscar Cook--Barrels and Kegs," painted over the door. It was
a tumbled-down, rickety affair, evidently having seen its best days.
Chip surveyed it intently, then turned to Sam, inquired:
"That express tag had on it something about a man named Cook, didn't
it?"
"Yes, the words, 'it to Cook.'"
"Supposing that Dan Moriarity, whom we now know had some connection with
the robbery, had taken the valise, which was sent from St. Louis to
Leavenworth, had obeyed the order, for it was evidently an order which
was written on the tag, and given 'it to Cook,' it would be fair to
infer that the Cook mentioned had some hand in the pudding, too, and
ought to be pretty flush about this time."
"You mean--"
"No, I don't mean that the Cook over in the saloon playing poker and the
Cook mentioned on the tag are the same person, but we found no Dan
Moriarity or Cook in Leavenworth but what was above suspicion, and I
think that the men who were smart enough to plan and carry out a robbery
such as this was would be shrewd enough to take every possible
precaution against discovery. I mean that neither Moriarity or Cook are
Leavenworth people, and for all we know to the contrary, may live here
in Kansas City."
As Chip finished speaking, a man appeared in front of the cooper shop,
and unlocking the door, entered.
"There is Cook, now," said Sam, making a movement as if to rise.
With a motion of the hand Chip cautioned him to remain where he was, and
with lazy steps, lounged toward the shop.
CHAPTER VIII.
CAPTURE AND RESCUE.
The White Elephant was a large gambling hall in Kansas City, situated on
one of the principal thoroughfares. It was centrally located, and night
after night the brilliant lights and crowded tables bore witness to its
rushing business.
On this evening the tiger was out with all its claws. Rouge et noir,
roulette, faro, keno, and stud-poker were going in full blast. The
proprietor, his elegant diamonds flashing in the light, was seated on a
raised platform from whence he could survey the entire company--his
face, impassive as marble and unreadable as the sphinx, was turned
toward the faro lay-out, which this evening appeared to be the center of
attraction.
Among the players sat one whose tall form and athletic frame would have
been noticeable under any circumstances, but was now more so, as it
towered above his fellow-gamesters who crowded around the table.
Before him lay a high pile of chips. He played with the nonchalant air
of one who was there merely to pass away a vacant hour, but his stakes
were high and he played every shot. His calm, impassioned countenance
bore the unmistakable stamp of the professional gambler, and, serene as
a quiet mill-pond, he bore his losses or pocketed his winnings with the
enviable sang froid which results from a long and intimate acquaintance
with the green-baized table.
Every night for a week had this man occupied the same seat, and with
careless imperturbability had mulcted the bank of several thousands.
Rieley, the proprietor, himself one of the coolest dare-devil gamblers
in the West, had recognized a kindred spirit, but to all advances and
efforts to make his acquaintance the stranger had turned a cool
shoulder, and his identity was still a matter of conjecture.
Rieley was watching him closely this evening, so intently, indeed, that
the stranger, with a look of annoyance, swept the chips into his hat and
stepping up to the banker cashed them in and walked out of the room. As
he emerged from the door he came in violent contact with a man just
entering.
"I beg your pardon."
"Not at--by Jove! Moriarity, you here too?"
"Blest if it isn't Jim!"
"Hush! you fool, speak lower."
"Been up bucking the tiger?"
"I've been making a damned fool of myself. Rieley watched me too close
for comfort, and I am going to vamoose."
"When?"
"None of your business. I want you to come with me to-night. I must see
Cook."
"Don't do it, Jim. Pinkerton's men are as thick as blackberries. You
will run into one of them if you don't lay low.
"No danger for me. One of them has a room next to mine at the hotel, and
I played billiards with him this afternoon."
"You're a cool one, Jim. Too cool. It will get you into trouble yet."
"Damn your croaking, man. Do you show the white feather now?"
"Not I. I only warned you."
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