Mysteries of the missing

by Edward H. Smith

Just what happened at this interesting moment is not easy to say. The witnesses do not agree. Apparently, however, the little boy, momentarily released by his captor, ran away. The three hunters thereupon made a rush for him and there was an exchange of shots in the darkness. One of the officers pounced upon the boy and dragged him to the road, closely followed by the reporter and the other officer, leaving Blake, the masked man, and whatever other kidnappers there might be to flee or pursue. The boy was quickly tossed into the wagon, the reporter and officers sprang in after him, and the horses were lashed into a gallop. Apparently, the midnight adventure had been a little trying on the nerves of the party.

After the rescuers had driven a mile or two at furious speed, it became apparent that there was no pursuit on part of the kidnappers and the drive was slowed to a more comfortable pace while the reporters questioned the child.

Johnny Conway recited in a childish prattle that he had been playing in the street before his father’s house when a dray wagon came by. He had run and caught on to the rear of this for a ride down the block. As he dropped off the wagon, he had been met by a stranger who smiled, patted his head and offered to buy him candy. The child was readily beguiled and taken to the light wagon in which he was driven several miles into the country. Here he was concealed for a time in a vacant cabin. The next night he and his captors spent in a church until they moved out into the woods and began to camp. At this spot the rescuers had found him.

According to the child, the kidnappers had not been cruel or threatening. They had provided plenty of food. They had even played games with the little boy and tried to keep him amused. The only complaint Johnny Conway had to make was against the mosquitoes, which had cruelly bitten him and tortured him incessantly for the two nights and one day he and his captors spent in the woods.

Very early on the morning of August 19th, just three days after the kidnapping, a dusty two-seated wagon turned into Colonia Street and proceeded slowly up that quiet thoroughfare toward the Conway house. In spite of the unseasonable hour there was a crowd in the street, some of whose members had been on watch all night. Albany had been seized with terror and morbid curiosity. The Conway house was never without a few straggling watchers, eager for the first news or crumbs of gossip. Reporters from the New York newspapers were on the scene, and special officers from the great city were on their way. Everything was being prepared for another breathless, nation-wide sensation. The two-seated wagon spoiled it all in the gray light of that early morning.

As the vehicle came close to the Conway house, and some of the stragglers ran out toward it, possibly sensing something unusual, one of the reporters rose in the rear and lifted a small and sleepy boy in his arms.

“Is it him? Is it the bhoy?” an Irish neighbor called anxiously.

“It’s Johnny Conway!” called the triumphant newspaper sleuth.

There was a cheer and then another. Sleeping neighbors came running from their houses in night garb. The Conways came forth from a sleepless vigil and caught the child in their arms. So the mystery of the boy’s fate came to an abrupt end, but another and more lasting enigma immediately succeeded.

Hardy, the boy’s conspiring relative, was immediately seized at his home and dragged to the nearest station house. The rumor of his connection with the kidnapping got abroad within a few hours, and the police building was immediately besieged by a crowd which demanded to see the prisoner. The police drove the crowd off, but it returned after an hour, much augmented in numbers and provided with a rope for a lynching. After several exciting hours, the mob was finally cowed and driven away by the mayor of Albany and a platoon of police with drawn revolvers.