Mysteries of the missing

by Edward H. Smith

In spite of the menacing terms of the rather garrulous letter, which betrayed by its very length the fervor of its persuasive threats, and the darkness of its reminders, the nervousness of its composer, Mr. Cudahy was minded to listen to the advice of the officers and defy the abductors of his son. In this frame of mind he delayed action until toward the close of the afternoon, meantime sitting by the telephone and hearing reports from police headquarters and his own private officers every half hour. By four o’clock he and his attorney began to realize that there was no clew of any kind; that the whole Omaha police force and all the men his wealth had been able to supply in addition, had been able to make not even the first promising step, and that the hour for a decision that might be fatal was fast approaching. Still, he hesitated to take a step in direct violation of official policy and counsel.

In this dilemma Mrs. Cudahy came forward with a demand for action to meet the immediate emergency and protect her only son. She refused to listen to talk of remoter considerations, declared that the amount of ransom was a trifle to a man of her husband’s fortune, and weepingly insisted that she would not sacrifice her boy to any mad plans of outsiders, who felt no such poignant concern as her own.

Shortly before five o’clock Mr. Cudahy telephoned the First National Bank, which had, of course, closed for the day, and asked the cashier to make ready the twenty-five thousand dollars in gold. A little later the Cudahy attorney called at the bank and received the specie in five bags and in the denominations asked by the abductors. The money was taken at once to the Cudahy house and deposited inside, without the knowledge of the servants or outsiders.

At half past six Mr. Cudahy ordered his driving mare hitched to the buggy in which he made the rounds of his yards and plants. At seven o’clock he slipped quietly out of his house, without letting his wife, the servants, or any one but his attorney know his errand. He carried a satchel containing the five bags of gold, which weighed more than one hundred pounds, to the stable, put the precious stuff into the bottom of his vehicle, took up the reins, and set out on his perilous and ill-boding adventure.

Mr. Cudahy had not been allowed to leave home without warnings from the police and his attorney. They had told him that he might readily expect to find himself trapped by the kidnappers, who would then hold both him and his son for still higher ransom. So he drove toward the appointed place along the dim, night-hidden roads, with more than ordinary misgiving. Once or twice, after he had proceeded six or seven miles into the blackness of the open prairie, without seeing any signs from the abductors, he came near turning back; but the danger to his son and the thought that the criminals could have no object in sending him on a fruitless expedition, held him to his course.

About ten miles out of town, still jogging anxiously along behind his horse, Mr. Cudahy saw a passenger train on one of the two transcontinental lines that converge at that point, coiling away into the infinite blackness, like some vast phosphorescent serpent. The beauty and mystery of the spectacle meant nothing to him, but it served to raise his hopes. No doubt the kidnappers would soon appear now. They had probably chosen this locality, with the swift trains running by, for their rendezvous. Once possessed of the gold, they would catch the next flyer for either coast and be gone out of the reach of local police. Perhaps they would even have the missing boy with them and surrender him as soon as they had been paid the ransom.

Thus buoyed and heartened, the father drove on. Suddenly the road entered a cleft between two abrupt hills or butts. A sense of impendency oppressed the lonely driver. He took up a revolver beside him on the seat, clutching it near him, with some protective instinct. At the same moment he turned higher the flame in his red lantern, which swung from the whip socket of his buggy, and peered out into the gulch. Everything was pit-black and grave-silent. He lay back disappointed and spoke to the horse, debating whether to turn back. Once more he decided to go on. The cleft between the two eminences grew narrower. The horse turned a swift sharp corner. Cudahy sat up with startled alertness.

There in the road before him, not ten rods away, was a smoky lantern, throwing but a pallid radiance about it in the thick darkness, but lighting a great hope in the father’s heart. He approached directly, drew up his horse a few yards away, found that the lantern, tied to a twig by the roadside, was decorated with the specified ribbons of black and white, returned to his buggy, carried the bags of gold to the lantern, put them down in the roadside, waited a few moments for any sign that might be given, turned his horse about, and started for home, driving slowly and listening intently for any sound from his expected son.

The ten miles back to Omaha were covered in this slow and tense way, with eyes and ears open, and a mind fluctuating between hope and despair. But no lost boy came out of the darkness, and Cudahy reached his house without the least further encouragement. It was then past eleven o’clock. His attorney and his wife were still in the drawing-room, sleepless, tense, and terrified. They greeted the boy’s father with swift questions and relapsed into hopelessness when he related what he had done. An hour passed, while Cudahy tried to keep up the courage of his wife by argument and reasoning. Then came one o’clock. Now half past one. Surely there was no longer any need of waiting now. Either the kidnappers had hoaxed the suffering parents, or that note had not come from kidnappers at all, but from impostors—or—something far worse. At best, nothing would be heard till morning.

“It’s no use, Mrs. Cudahy,” said the lawyer. “You’d better get what sleep you can, and——”