After breakfast, the detective accompanied the landlord to the bar and swallowed a powerful decoction of spirits, lemon, and sugar, commonly termed whisky-punch, which had the effect, in a little while, of tangling up his wits, weakening his joints, and causing his eyes to see everything in couples, even to the solitary chimney-tops of the houses in the city. At least, so it appeared. But he retained the sense of hearing sufficiently unimpaired to receive the full benefit of Marks' reflection, directed to the hangers-on of the tavern, as he quit the house, and of which the agent was the subject—to the effect that it was "a great pity he, McKenna, had no head for resisting the stupefying influences of strong drink." This forms the substance of the remark, but not exactly the language, which was very coarse, and intensified by sundry adjectives and expletives not mentioned to ears polite.
"The Saloon and Residence of James Carroll."
One of the first places honored with the detective's presence, after quitting the Columbia House, was Carroll's, where, as he had been informed by Superintendent Franklin, Yost and McCarron saw the strangers, "from the other side," suspected of having committed the murder, the morning of the sixth of that month. The saloon and residence of James Carroll—all included in one building—was on BrStreet, no great distance from the United States Hotel. After calling on Patrick Nolan, another liquor-seller with whom he was familiar, and from whom he obtained more liquor, thus adding to his appearance of drunkenness, the operative went direct to Carroll's Union 378House. Fortunately, the proprietor of the place and his wife were the only occupants of the bar-room. McKenna passed Carroll the sign for the quarter, while the proprietor stood in the doorway, and Carroll answered correctly, then warmly greeted him as a brother. The detective introduced himself:
"I am James McKenna, of Shenandoah! I think you know me by report, but not by sight! Have often heard of you, as Secretary of Tamaqua Division!"
At this juncture, Mrs. Carroll, who had been standing nigh, discreetly withdrew, and Carroll said: "Jim McKenna? 'Heard of you?' I think I have! You are right welcome here!"
"I'm jist afther having a bit of a spree, as ye'll doubtless observe wid half an eye, an ain't nigh so steady as I wor yesterday, an' don't know as much by half, but I greet ye kindly! Supposin', now, you fit yourself inter the space behint the bar an' the shelves, an' pour me out some gin? I'm particularly partial to pure Holland!"
"Of course I will," replied Carroll, and he served some liquor, taking a stiff glass himself.
"I can't stay but a little time," said McKenna, seating himself before the counter and balancing his body unsteadily, "fur I must get to Summit Hill, beyant, this afternoon, fur to see Aleck Campbell!"
"Campbell is all right!"
"Yes! Campbell is one of the thruest men in the county, an' one that I have taken a particular likin' fur!"
"You know Aleck and I are brothers-in-law?"
"Sure, an' I hed no sich idea!"
"We are! An', if you stay in the neighborhood, you must spake of me to him! It'll be a good thing for you to do!"
"I'll remember that, depend upon't!"
"I suppose you've read of the Yost matter?" said Carroll.
379"Oh, I saw somethin' of it in the papers, but hev no knowledge of the particulars! I belave, however, that the Dutch policeman desarved all he got!"
"It was a clane trick, an' well done!"
"Some of the people in town are sayin' that McCarron—isn't that his name?—did the whole thing!" suggested McKenna.
This groundless charge the detective had constructed, from whole cloth, to draw Carroll out, but the saloon keeper did not choose to say much. He responded:
"There was mighty little difference in the two—McCarron an' Yost! I think Yost was a trifle the manest, but not much!"
This was considerable for Carroll to say, before a comparative stranger, even though known as a good Mollie, but contained no information; so, after another glass of gin, which the detective dexterously threw out at the door, after having changed the glasses and drank the water placed on the counter with the liquor, McKenna took his leave, perceptibly the worse for his morning drams, and boarded the cars for Storm Hill, leaving his satchel at the Columbia House.
Arrived at his destination, the officer continued his appearance of intoxication, and, after staggering about and entering one or two saloons, rolled himself into Alex. Campbell's house, finding the proprietor at home, surrounded by several other Mollies, all of whom seemed engaged in doing nothing in particular, excepting the rapid consumption of the contents of the bottles behind the counter. The reception accorded McKenna was generous, finding that he had a few dollars to expend, and Campbell and the rest being eager to assist in that operation. When they had taken some rounds, of which the detective was compelled to imbibe fully his share, Campbell put on his coat, and signaling to McKenna, the two started for a walk. They first made a call at Pat McKenna's—whose 380relative James McKenna, the operative, had already made himself out to be—where an unusually warm greeting awaited him. All of his second cousins were happy to resume a companionship previously begun. This saloon was kept by Pat McKenna, the father of the Old Mines Bodymaster. Pat, junior, was not at home. The whole country swarmed with Mollies, and Campbell, Fisher, and Pat McKenna, junior, were the leading spirits in the division, Fisher being at that date County Delegate of Carbon County.
As the agent considered the dangerous company he was in, and the extra-hazardous duty he was performing, at the very stronghold of the party that he was almost convinced had assassinated the Tamaqua policeman—although he had not gained any positive proof of their guilt—his mind was so unduly excited, brain so highly stimulated and alert that he might make no false step, speak no suspicious word, the liquor he swallowed produced no more effect upon his organism than so much water. Under similar circumstances a man will drink, from hour to hour, all day, and never be really intoxicated until the mental strain may be removed by the taking away of the cause of danger, when sleep, or stupor, will promptly supervene. Thus the detective joined with Campbell, the McKennas, and others, and was not too far gone to swallow several drams, after the walk in Campbell's company to the Summit. There Tom Fisher resided. He was also a tavern-keeper.
As McParlan—I shall call him by his true surname, while describing his associations with the Carbon County McKennas, to avoid confusion of titles in the reader's memory—and Alex. Campbell were tramping over the hills to Summit, the agent, during a pause in the conversation, inquired if news of the Bill Thomas affair had reached Storm Hill.
"Indade an' it has!" returned Campbell; "an' I hear it wur your men that did it!"
381"I guess ye have it purty straight, then," said McParlan, not caring to spoil a story which was working tangibly in his interest, and which would draw his companion on to say more. "But ye must not let it out on me! I caution ye, there's many inquiries goin' on as to who performed that job!"
"All right!" responded Campbell. "Although the thing ended in failure, it was well meant, and you were not to blame!"
"There's lashins of betther men for such a thing than one can get in Shenandoah!"
"I belave ye! Your fellows couldn't do so clane a job as that down in Tamaqua!"
Here was very delicate ground. The tracer must say exactly the right thing, if he desired to learn more. He was very drunk, as Campbell truly believed, yet managed to reply:
"Be the great piper! but that wor a trick to be proud of! Indade, the best thing of the kind I ever heard about!"
The tavern-keeper looked proudly but searchingly at McParlan for a second, seemed satisfied that he was trustworthy, and exclaimed:
"Well, it do gain our lads credit! I wouldn't have bothered my head about it, only it was on a trade, you know!"
As a natural consequence of the direction of his professional duty, McParlan ardently desired to learn who was to be killed in exchange for the shooting of Yost, and the names of the men Campbell was just confessing he had sent to Tamaqua, but he knew his business too well—inebriated as he appeared to be—to put a leading inquiry in that direction. Campbell then closed his mouth, possibly thinking he was already more communicative than would be pronounced exactly prudent, even with a man and a brother Mollie who confessed to having secured and furnished the parties for the shooting of Wm. M. Thomas, and said no more on the subject.
382They found Fisher very much intoxicated and unwilling to do anything but drink.
By this time it was night, and, although considerably "under the influence," Campbell left the detective at Fisher's and went out to attend the meeting of a building association, of which he was a member.
McParlan was forced by the proprietor of the place to remain with Fisher that night. He would listen to none of his alleged reasons for returning to Campbell's. It was late when the operative retired, and in a few moments sleep and weariness overpowered him.
Friday morning, after breakfast and a parting glass with County Delegate Fisher, who urged him soon to come there again—certainly before leaving the vicinity—the officer returned to Storm Hill and went directly to the saloon of the elder McKenna, where he encountered Pat McKenna, the Bodymaster, who introduced the visitor to his wife, with whom he had not long before been united. There were a number of Mollies about the place, and they experienced little trouble in inducing McParlan to give them some songs and dances. Among the former, "Pat Dolan," printed in an early chapter of this work, was a great favorite and several times encored. At the second singing every man in the bar-room joined in the chorus:
"Wid my riggadum-du—an' to h—l wid the crew
Wouldn't help to free our nation;
When I look back, I count 'em slack,
Wouldn't join our combination."
In the jigs and reels there were some who took part, and all beat time to the dancer's heel-and-toe refrain. Both performances gave great satisfaction, and at once seated McParlan firmly in the good graces of all the Irish people of Storm Hill.
Pat McKenna, during the day, made a statement to the 383detective sustaining what Campbell had previously said, and more might have been gathered from the same source had not the place been so crowded with patrons. The Bodymaster was a little more cautious than Campbell had been, and the officer did not press him, however badly he wanted to have the names of the men who had been sent to put Yost out of the way. That night McParlan, alias McKenna, remained at the house of his quasi and convenient cousin, Pat McKenna, and enjoyed a good night's sleep, which, considering his arduous labors and long-continued excitement of mind, he greatly needed.
Saturday, the seventeenth of July, was a sunny and rather sultry summer's day. In the forenoon, McParlan entered the bar of McKenna, senior, and was there joined by Mike McKenna, a younger son of the tavern-keeper, and brother of Pat, the Bodymaster. When all had taken some drinks together, McParlan found a seat in the shade, not far away, saying he felt very sick, after such a prolonged debauch, and young Mike followed. Protected by the spreading branches of a tree, the pretended cousin indulged his propensity for romancing—in true interest of the public—to its full extent, rehearsing with additions and embellishments, the absorbing particulars of the many "clane jobs" in which he had participated—all purely figments of the brain from commencement to end, but given in such minuteness of detail, and appearance of candor and frankness, that the interested hearer took them in without doubt or distrust of their truthfulness. Mike believed implicitly in Jim McKenna.
When the searcher after knowledge had exhausted his store of material and talked himself hoarse, Mike thought it his turn to say something, and while he had little to urge for himself, sung pans to the prowess of his elder brother, Pat McKenna, the Bodymaster. He spun many fine tales of no particular value to his single auditor, but to all of which the operative affected to give earnest and undivided attention. 384In a little while, without in the least appearing to do so, McParlan brought the young fellow around to the main question, and he plainly stated that the men who had killed Yost were Hugh McGehan and James Boyle, both then living at Summit Hill.
"Ye see, sir, it wor a bargain wid the boys around Tamaqua, by Campbell, who jist wants some of them, wan of these fine days, to do for Jones, who is a sort of Sub-Superintendent at Old Mines. He is Charlie Parrish's tool, an' but fur this fellow Jones we'd have been at work long ago! Hugh McGehan is the best man at a clane job in all the county, an' it's a pity fur him to have to lave now, after lyin' idle so long!"
"I was sure in my own mind, before, who had done the trick! But, be jabers, it wor a well-laid plan, an' mighty nice wor it carried out! I suppose Jones will be taken off directly the excitement of the last affair blows over!"
McParlan was trying to learn facts by appearing to have them partly in possession.
"I thought ye knew somethin' of the matther," continued Mike, "but don't ye brathe divil a word to Pat, me big brother, that I hev been chatterin' here wid ye, fur he'd be worse nor a mad dog over it! I don't know when Jones is to be shot—an' possibly the thing has been given over—but when Aleck Campbell makes up his mind to a thing it generally has to be done sooner or later, so I rather opine that it will come off yet!"
"I suppose it was Boyle who fired the shot that brought Yost down?"
"You're wrong there, then, for it wor McGehan's pistol what performed the thing nately! But there's brother Pat, an' I must be goin'! Don't you say anythin'!"
"Depend upon me!" said McParlan.
They entered the bar-room, the operative hoping he might meet Boyle, described to him as a low-sized, stoutish man, 385with dark hair and mustache. But Boyle was not among the new visitors. McParlan treated to the best, paid his reckoning, and, with Mike, went to Campbell's, where the afternoon was spent at cards. The games ended when Pat McKenna came in, just from his work at the mine. This person was a fine physical type of a man, six feet four inches in height, well built and proportioned, of fair complexion, and apparently twenty-five years of age. He was glad to see McParlan again and accompanied him to his father's house, and they had drinks at Pat's own expense, who then proceeded home to change his clothing. Mike, meanwhile, took occasion once more to caution the operative against saying anything about their talk of the forenoon. He was reassured when McParlan suggested that he was no cruddy idiot, and reiterated his promise to observe great care over his lips. "Trust me to know better than to blather over what is tould me in confidence!" were his concluding words.
Subsequently, Pat McKenna, when given the opportunity, confirmed his brother's revelations, confessing that men from his division had shot Yost, but he would go no further. The names he kept to himself. The detective slept, that night, at the residence of young Pat McKenna, retiring at the early hour of three A.M.
The following Sunday, McParlan, accompanied by Pat McKenna, the Bodymaster, went to Coaldale, the residence of James Roarty, at the head of the division there, ostensibly to see what Jack Donahue had done about the Major business. A man named McNellis went with them. The weather being very warm, all were glad when they came to a shady spot. Roarty was easily found and took them to the house of another Mollie, called Bonner, where they enjoyed refreshments. When questioned, Roarty said he did not know what Chris Donnelly, of Mt. Laffee, and Yellow Jack Donahue, of Tuscarora, were doing on or about the 386fifth, as he, Roarty, and Kerrigan and two others—names not given—were in Tamaqua, on their way to Big Vein, when Carroll gave them a letter, telling the three to wait for further orders. The meeting took place, he heard, and Chris Donnelly and his armed men were on the ground, but Donahue would not permit them to act, as he was fearful, from the fact that the Majors had quit working at their usual place; they might be in receipt of notification of foul play awaiting them. "They will get a pill yet," exclaimed Roarty, "as Bully Bill did! By the way, you acted your part well in that same, but the rest made asses of themselves by not stoppin' to see their man's toes turned up, before leavin' the stable!"
Roarty also alluded to the Tamaqua "clane job," but disclosed nothing more of consequence. That he had personally been interested in the Yost murder, at its inception, whether he actually assisted in the killing or not, the detective was fully sensible before the end of Mike McKenna's recital. They returned to Pat McKenna's house in season for dinner, finding the rooms swarming with Mollies. McParlan counted over thirty active members about the place, all indulging in a boisterous bacchanal. During the afternoon he was introduced as "Jim McKenna, Secretary of Shenandoah Division," by Alex. Campbell and Pat McKenna, Jr., to Hugh McGehan. He shook the blood-stained murderer's hand without flinching, and immediately invited all hands to present themselves at the bar at his cost. McGehan I have partly described in giving the dying declaration of Yost. It may be added that he was of rather light complexion, had dark eyes, face clean-shaven—at this time—short, or pug nose, was five feet nine inches in stature, straight and well built, weighing from one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and apparently a smart, well-spoken fellow. He dressed, when out of his shifting clothes, in very good taste. But McGehan 387did not remain long in the company saying he "had other fish to fry."
Monday, without seeing Boyle, as he knew he was working in the shaft, and not likely to leave very soon, McParlan boarded the train for Tamaqua, having nearly recovered from what he was pleased to denominate the "bad effects of the poteen he had taken the week before." Arriving at Tamaqua, he entered Carroll's saloon, with the interior of which he was by that time quite intimate, and there found Roarty. The people of the house were glad to see him once more, and Roarty, hearing that McKenna—the detective may once more be called by his assumed name—was about to start for Shenandoah, had come to Carroll's to take leave of him. Roarty was working a night shift near that place. The operative employed every known means, without asking the question direct, to make Roarty say who had done the Yost murder, and which men were to act for the Tamaqua Division in repaying the job; but the miner either did not know, or would not venture to say.
The same night McKenna once more appeared on his old stamping ground, at Shenandoah, but took care not to be seen by any excepting McAndrew and Cooney. McAndrew informed him quietly, that Linden had been there to warn the Secretary, as two strange men were not long before inquiring for him at Pottsville. The Mollies had determined, if they visited Shenandoah—having no doubt but they were the Buffalo detectives—to give them a good beating and the advice to go elsewhere as quickly as possible. Thus far the Buffalo officers had not shown themselves in the place. Remaining in Shenandoah, perdu, for a few days, recovering strength, and writing on his reports, which had been unavoidably neglected, McKenna once more bid his friends farewell and returned to Tamaqua, saying he had business in Luzerne County with an old acquaintance. The last-mentioned hint was taken as foreshadowing a trip to meet some counterfeiters 388and replenish his purse with uncurrent funds. McAndrew pressed his hand warmly, saying he hoped he'd "kape out of harm's way!"
"I'll do that, if I can, jist depend upon it!" responded the detective. "If the men I have described to ye come here, look out for 'em, will ye?"
"They'll be attended to!" was the promise of McAndrew.
Had any unhappy stranger filling this description: "Tall, long-nosed, bald-headed, squint-eyed, knock-kneed, pigeon-toed, hump-backed, and cracked-voiced," appeared about this date, in Shenandoah, he certainly would have needed protection. As few persons on earth have the misfortune to possess all these unfortunate characteristics, it is presumable that no one was injured. In truth, McAndrew wrote a letter to the detective, when he found out where he was, saying, among other things, that the "Buffalo detectives had not yet arrived, though Capt. Linden reported having seen men looking like them in Ashland."
At Tamaqua, the operative whispered in the ears of his Mollie acquaintances that it seemed necessary, from certain reasons—two of the same being Buffalo detectives—that he should keep dark and well away from Shenandoah, for a short season. He was free to say he did not relish being carried back to Buffalo in irons, as he certainly would be if the officers found him. From the same cause he refused to appear very often in public, kept his room much during the day—to sleep and write, in reality—only coming out after nightfall and joining the Mollies in Carroll's or at other haunts and meeting places.
At the Columbia House, where he made his temporary home, he met a man named Miller, an old acquaintance, who told him the city had fairly swarmed with detectives, representing all parts of the country, dating from the occurrence of the Yost murder. It was thought that suspicion pointed to Kerrigan and Duffy as actors in the case. The 389operative kept his own counsel, saying he "guessed all the detectives in Pennsylvania would not be able to fix the crime upon any one in particular!"
Sunday, the twenty-sixth of July—twenty days subsequent to the murder—McKenna met Carroll in the evening, at his house, and after some drinks, the saloon-keeper took the agent aside and confided to him that, while the latter was absent at Storm Hill, detectives had been there to see him, Carroll—one claiming to be a mechanic in search of employment, and saying Gus McAffee, a Scotchman, working in a foundry, was an old friend. His name was Hendrick. Carroll laughed at the gawky acts of the pretended workman—but, as he believed, actual detective—and reported that he would appear in his, Carroll's saloon, every day, treat all hands, and never drink anything but beer, himself. The fact that he pretended to be "temperance," while he gave others strong liquor, excited the tavern-keeper's suspicions at once, and, as a natural result, Hendrick left, with the hint that his calling was known and he had been looking in the wrong place. The same word was taken to McAffee. Beside, the detective wore two or three different kinds of hats. Another followed. He made nothing out of Carroll, but was bluntly informed that he was a detective. A third fellow came and took Kerrigan to a saloon and got him very drunk, but made nothing in the way of solving the mystery.
"I can tell you," concluded Carroll, warming up and gaining confidence in McKenna, "the night the Yost job was to be done, I had loaned my pistol to a man in Tuscarora, an' the boys brought but one between them, an' I was forced to give them an old, single-barrel, breech-lng one that I had!"
"That wor not much in the way of weapons to undertake such a thing wid!" suggested McKenna.
"True for ye! But the job was done clanely, as you'll admit! By the same token, they fetched my wife on the 390stand at the coroner's inquest, an' before lavin' home she cried, an' said she had seen me turn over the pistol to some men, an' belaved I, Kerrigan, Roarty, and Duffy knew all about the affair. Fur all that, my old woman made a fust-rate witness, an' let out nothing! There wus somethin' said about a man that was aslape on my front steps, the night of the killin'. He wasn't one of 'em! That wor Jo McGehan, who lives at Coaldale, an' he was drunk as a piper, at the same time. He's a white-haired, heavy fellow, is Jo, an' a brother-in-law of big John Gallagher!"
"Isn't he, at the same time, a brother of my friend, Hugh McGehan!" inquired the detective, carelessly.
"I don't know," was the response; but Carroll immediately added: "When I saw the two policemen pass my house together—Yost and McCarron—I wanted the men not to do the job that night, but they swore they had been over before for the purpose, and they would not be balked—do it they did!"
Mrs. Carroll had sworn, before the coroner, that she knew Tom Duffy had not been one of the murderers, for he slept at her house, was not absent, and could not have gone out without her knowledge, and that she had never heard Duffy or Kerrigan use threats against Yost.
The detective had knowledge, from the bullet which was extracted from Yost's side, where it had lodged, that the shooting was done with a revolver carrying a number thirty or thirty-two cartridge. It was his duty to find that particular pistol. To aid in the search he was furnished with a new revolver, from Philadelphia, bearing a thirty-two cartridge. This he constantly carried, claiming that he had stolen it, in Tamaqua, and, on one or two special occasions, exhibiting the weapon with part of the lng abstracted, remarking that it was of little use to him, as he did not dare, from the circumstance of its illegal ownership, ask for or purchase any cartridges to fit it. How he employed the Smith and Wesson to good effect may be related hereafter.
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