They, it appears, had written him that he must go at ten o’clock at night to Flatiron Park, a lonely strip of land on the outskirts of Ashtabula, and there deposit under a certain stone the package of bills. He was told what route to follow, commanded to go alone, and warned not to communicate with the police. Having left the money as commanded, Whitla was to return to the hotel and wait there for the coming of his son, who would be restored as soon as the abductors were safely in possession of the money.
So the father set out in the dark of the night, followed the route given him by the abductors, deposited the money in the park, and returned forthwith to the hotel, reaching it before eleven o’clock. Here he sat with his bodyguard, waiting for the all-desired apparition of his little son. The hours went wearily by, while the father’s nervousness mounted. Finally, at three o’clock in the morning, some local officers appeared and notified the frenzied lawyer that they had been watching the park all night, and that no one had appeared to claim the package of money.
Police interference had ruined the plan.
The local officers naturally assumed that, as the kidnappers were to call for the money in the park, they must be in Ashtabula. They accordingly set out, searched all night, invaded the houses of sleeping citizens, turned the hotels and rooming houses inside out, prowled their way through cars in the railroad yards and boats in the harbor, watched the roads leading in and out of the city, searched the street cars and generally played the devil. But all in vain. There were no suspicious strangers to be found in or about the community.
The following morning the father of the boy visited the mayor and requested that the police cease their activities. He pointed out that there were no clews of definite promise, and the peril in which the child stood ought to command official coöperation instead of dangerous interference. Whitla finally managed to convince the officers that they stood no worse chance of catching the criminals after the recovery of the boy, and the Ashtabula officers were immediately called off.
The disappointed and harried father was forced to return to Sharon in defeat and bring the disappointing news to his prostrated wife. The little steel town had got the definite impression that news of the child had been got, and preparations for the boy’s return had been made. Many citizens were up all night, ready to receive the little wanderer with rockets, bands, and jubilation. Crowds besieged the Whitla home, and policemen had to be kept on guard to turn away a stream of well-meaning friends and curious persons, who would have kept the breaking mother from such little sleep as was possible under the circumstances.
The excitement of the vicinity had by this time spread to all the country. As is always the case, arrests on suspicion were made of the most unlikely persons in the most impossible situations. Men, women, and children were stopped in the streets, dragged from their rooms, questioned, harried, taken to police stations, and even locked into jails for investigation, while the missing boy and his abductors succeeded in eluding completely the large army of pursuers now in the field.
Nothing further was heard from the kidnappers on the twenty-first, and the hearts of the bewildered parents and relatives sank with apprehension, but the morning mail of the twenty-second again contained a note which, properly interpreted, seems to indicate that the business of leaving the money in the park at Ashtabula may have been a test maneuver, to find out whether Whitla would keep the faith and act without the police. This note read:
“A mistake was made at Ashtabula Saturday night. You come to Cleveland on the Erie train leaving Youngstown at 11:10 a. m. Leave the train at Wilson Avenue. Take a car to Wilson and St. Clair. At Dunbar’s drug store you will find a letter addressed to William Williams.
“We will not write you again in this matter. If you attempt to catch us you will never see your boy again.”