The Morning News

NOT A SWEET REVENGE.

He Wanted to Get Even With the Chief, But Not That Way.

The Bumptious Reporter Had Trumped the Burglars and They Took a Satirical Vengeance on Him—He Was Obliged to Assist in Robbing the House of the Chief of Police—One of the Burglars Was Killed and the Reporter Couldn't Obtain Credence for His Story.

From the Chicago Times.

"What! Another suburban burglary!' exclaimed the city editor as I handed in a half column "scoop" one night at midnight.

"Yes, and the police have no clew."

"How many does this make?"

"This is the seventh in three weeks, and no arrests."

"Have you given the police fits?"

"Yes. I have stated that the detectives have utterly failed to get on—the chief of police seems to be perfectly helpless—citizens talk of a vigilance committee—gang of criminals running the city, and the mayor had better bounce the police force and then step down and out himself."

"Good: The old man will back us on the editorial page, and the Star will send to New York for a couple of first-class detectives and have the honor of breaking up this gang. Keep mum, but hustle. It's our golden opportunity."

Seven residences in the eastern addition had been burglarized, one after another, and all doubtless by the same gang, and yet the detectives had utterly failed to get a lead. Jewelry, money and silverware had been taken in each case, but nothing could be traced or recovered. In two instances an intruder had been seen and his description furnished, but the police had arrested a score of "suspects" only to turn them loose again. After the first three cases I had been instructed to "turn loose" on the police, and I had followed instructions so vigorously as to endanger every official head.

After my article about the seventh burglary appeared, backed as it was by an editorial headed "Our Incompetent Police," I was virtually outlawed at headquarters. I was leaving the building after receiving a volley of abuse from the chief when a messenger boy handed me a note. This was at 8 o'clock in the evening of a September night. The note was addressed to me by name and stated that I could secure some very interesting particulars regarding the recent burglaries by calling at a certain house on Harrison avenue. That was one of the streets in the eastern addition, and all the burglaries had taken place within a radius of half a mile of the house named. I did not stop to wonder who lived there nor to ponder over the contents of the note, which was signed, "One Who Is Posted." There was a "scoop" in it and a chance to get the better of the chief again, and I called a cab and drove directly to the number given.

I found the house to be a rather ancient two-story frame situated between two brown-stone fronts. You will find the same thing on a dozen streets in New York, Boston, Philadelphia or Chicago. The property belongs to an estate or to someone who is obstinate or indifferent to the march of improvement. The door was opened by a colored woman, who seated me in a very plainly furnished parlor and then disappeared. In about five minutes she returned and asked me to walk upstairs, and on reaching the second floor she opened the door of a back room and ushered me in. There were two occupants, both men. One was lying on a bed, coat and shoes off and a fan in his hand, and the other sat reading a newspaper at a center table. There was a sort of free-and-easy look to things which struck me queerly. I had expected to meet a gentleman in his own parlor—one of the victims of the series of robberies, no doubt—while these men were a bit rough looking, and a bottle of whisky and a pack of cards were in sight on the cheap-looking table. I won't admit that I felt like withdrawing before a word had been spoken, for duty calls a reporter into queer places and experience brings indifference, but I reaffirm that I had a half-definite suspicion that things were not exactly straight.

"Ah, you are Mr. Blank of the Star!" said one at the table as he rose up and extended his hand. "Permit me to introduce myself as Mr. Green. This gentleman is my friend, Mr. Scott. Glad to see you, Mr. Blank. Take this chair. Rather warm this evening? Have a smoke or a drink?"

I took a cigar which he offered me from a box lying on the foot of the bed, and after it was well alight I referred to the note and added that I would be glad of any information they could give.

"Let's see," replied the one at the table. "There has been a series of burglaries in this suburb?"

"Yes."

"Seven in all?"

"Yes."

"And up to this time the police have failed to make an arrest?"

"Just so."

"You are the reporter who has written up each account, I believe?"

"I am."

"Y-e-s. You have criticised the failure of the police until the chief must feel sore against you?"

"I had a row with him only an hour ago."

"And the Star is going to employ detectives on its own account, I hear?"

"I believe so."

"Very enterprising sort of a paper, the Star is," he continued as he took up the last issue and glanced up and down its editorial columns. "I suppose that if you could get a lead on this whole business it would be a big thing for you, eh?"

"It certainly would, sir."

"And you'd rather like to get even with the chief of police?"

"Of course."

"Well, I promise that you shall. We'll give you a 'scoop' to-night which will paralyze your esteemed contemporary for weeks to come, eh, Tom?"

The man on the bed chuckled as if he had heard a good joke. From the instant the other began speaking I felt that I was menaced. There was a tinge of bitterness in his tones, and though he smiled occasionally his eyes had an ugly gleam. While I waited for him to go on I wondered what sort of a box I had gotten into and how I was going to get out. It was a couple of minutes before he said:

"Have another cigar and a drink and make yourself comfortable for a couple of hours."

"Excuse me, but I can't spare as much time as that. If you have any information to give I shall be very grateful to you."

"O, we've lots of information to impart. In the first place, we are the burglars who have made all the hauls. In the second place, we are going to show you how to get even with the chief. Thirdly, we never go back on our word. Hold on, my friend! Sit down again! We have the call! If you attempt anything foolish it will be bad for you!"

I had jumped up at his admission, but as he finished he displayed a revolver and had such a wicked look in his eyes that I dropped back into the chair. Both men laughed heartily, and the fact made me indignant. I was not armed, but I didn't propose to be bluffed or guyed on that account.

"Look here, my friend, what sort of a racket are you two duffers giving me?" I angrily demanded. "This isn't the time or place for any funny business. I like a joke as well as anybody, but if you've put up a job to guy me it's lasted about long enough."

"Don't lose your temper," replied the man on the bed. "We are not guying. We are the burglars, just as Jim said. We are going to make our last haul to-night and then skip. You are going along with us!"

"What! Commit a burglary with you?"

"Exactly. We are going to clean out the chief of police. It will help you to even up things with him and give you a big 'scoop' besides."

I sprang up and was menaced with the revolver. I threatened and was ridiculed. I defied them, and the man at the table fastened his serpent eyes on mine and said:

"You'll either go with us or we'll leave you a corpse here when we go out!"

BURGLAR BY CIRCUMSTANCE.

After a little reflection I saw that my policy was to appear to submit. They had admitted that they were the burglars. It was a strange admission, and yet I did not doubt it. In my articles on the burglaries I had advised citizens to shoot the fellows on sight and hinted about ropes and lamp posts in case of capture. In one place I had spoken of the burglars as cowards. On top of this the Star was to employ outside detectives to hunt them down. The men did not say they wanted revenge on me, but I made up my mind they were actuated by no other motive. After a brief council with myself I also concluded that the two men and the colored woman were the sole occupants of the house. She acted as housekeeper and probably knew all about them. Nothing was said by any of us for ten minutes after the man had given me the alternative above recorded. Then the same one quietly observed:

"I suppose you play euchre?"

"Yes."

"All right. Let's have a game to kill time."

I drew up to the table, and we began playing. There was no question of his skill as a burglar, but he had no luck with cards. He became disgusted at the end of half an hour and threw down the cards and began asking questions about newspaper work, while the one on the bed indulged in a nap. I explained to him how the staff of a newspaper was made up, the work required of the various individuals, the process of stereotyping, how the proof sheets were corrected and the forms made up, and he listened with much interest. When midnight came we were still talking, and he interrupted me to arouse his companion and say:

"We will now be going. We are going from here directly to the house of the chief of police in Oxford street. If you think to give us the slip en route let me tell you that it will result in your getting hurt. Conduct yourself in a sensible manner and you'll come out of this all right."

I had two plans. One was to make a dash for it on the street, the other to call upon the first policeman we encountered. When we reached the street I was placed between the two, and I realized that I should have no show to make a bolt. The streets were as quiet as a graveyard, and in the walk of nine blocks we did not even meet a dog. The house of the chief was a detached 3-story brick, with an alley in the rear of it. The burglars must have "piped it off" beforehand, for they seemed to know just what to do. We went down the alley to a gate, passed that into the back yard, and advanced almost to the kitchen door before we halted. As we stopped I saw that the kitchen window to the left of the door was raised and had a fly screen in it. It had been a rainy afternoon, and I had on rubbers, and both men were similarly provided for.

"Now, then," whispered the one who had been called Jim, "you and I are going into the house through that window, and Tom is to remain on the lookout. We wouldn't have carried this thing along this far if we hadn't intended to see it through to the end."

If I stubbornly refused, what course would they take? You will say that you would have run the chances. You may argue that you would have uttered a sudden shout for help and that they would have fled. I believe that had I refused to move or called for help I should have been done for. I had had plenty of time to size the men up and I was satisfied that they were a couple of nervy, desperate fellows. There was an old chair under the window. Jim stood on this and cut out the wire screen and entered the opening, while Tom urged me to follow. As I landed in the kitchen Jim whispered:

A TICKLISH POSITION.

"Do you feel this revolver? I don't propose to shoot any of the family unless I'm cornered, but if you try to play dirt on me I'll let you have it off-hand! You are to follow me."

We passed into the dining room without the aid of a light, but once in there the burglar produced a dark lantern, which I had not caught sight of before, and flashed the light about. There was a fine display of silverware on the sideboard, but after picking up a sugar bowl and hefting it he shook his head and replaced it. He led the way into the front hall and upstairs, and I followed him. As we turned at the top we were before the open door of a bedroom, which was dimly lighted by a low gas jet.

I made out two forms on the bed, and the heavy and regular breathing proved that both were asleep. There was a chair close to the door, and the burglar handed me the dark lantern and motioned me to the seat. He then advanced to the bed and took the chief's watch from under his pillow. The next move was to inspect the clothing hanging on a chair. He got a wallet, and he brought watch and wallet to me to take care of. He then glided over to the dresser, and I caught the flash of a diamond earring as he lifted it up. Was I frightened? Yes, so much so that I was choked for breath. The very silence of the house was enough to have rattled me. Chills ran up and down my spine, and I had to make a determined effort to prevent my teeth clinking together.

The burglar evidently thought the drawers of the dresser contained valuables, for he knelt down to investigate them. This dresser stood about six feet from the bed and on the side occupied by the chief. I was shaking and gasping and the burglar was inspecting the second drawer when there was a sudden flash and the report of a revolver. The chief had been awakened and his pistol, overlooked by the burglar, was where he could reach it without any movement to betray himself. At the sound of the discharge I rose up, flung everything down, and rushed for the stairs. I presume I rolled from top to bottom. I don't remember passing through the dining room or crossing the kitchen. As I dropped from the window Tom was running away and some one at a window above was shouting for the police. I dashed for the gate and out of the alley and ran a mile without stopping. After getting my breath and doing a little figuring I returned to the house. The police were taking a dead man away—a burglar who had been shot through the head and instantly killed. There were two of them, the chief said, but the other had escaped. "Our esteemed contemporary" didn't happen around and I got a "scoop." Furthermore, I wrote it up in a way to please the chief, and we bridged the chasm.

Did I ever tell how that burglary had come about? I started to on one occasion, but before I had told him a tenth part of the story he laughingly interrupted me with:

"O, come off! Of all the newspaper liars on the face of the earth you take the cake!"