"He was surely in it," they said one to another.
These rumors came to the ears of Officer Collins, and the latter lost no time in communicating with Captain Schuettler, who was actively engaged in the case. Schuettler immediately set about getting a photograph of the suspect. Diligent enquiry developed the fact that no single one was in existence.
It was learned, however, that a picture of a group of Clan-na-Gaels was to be found, and that Burke was among them. A few years before, soon after the death of Timothy Crean, a relative of Alexander Sullivan, and at one time a district member of the Clan-na-Gael, a burial lot was purchased in the Mount Olivet Catholic Cemetery, near Washington Heights.
It was intended as the "God's acre" of the Irish Nationalists. Imposing ceremonies marked its dedication, Father M. Dorney, the "stock yards priest," delivering the address upon the occasion. Subsequently a tall obelisk, with the name of Timothy Crean carved in the base with an appropriate inscription, was erected on the lot. It was on the occasion of the unveiling of this obelisk that the Nationalist group was photographed. In the back-ground of the picture, his features showing up clear and distinct among some forty people, was Martin Burke.
It was an easy matter for Collins to locate the photographer that had taken the group, and then, finding that the negative had been preserved, to procure a copy of the picture. This much accomplished, however, the next question was, could Burke be identified?
If he could not, all the rumors, and the suspicions, and the labor would go for naught.
Collins took the picture to the Carlsons.
Without acquainting them of his theories or suspicions, or indicating the object that he had in view; he asked them whether they recognized any one of the group. Charley Carlson, the son, was the first one approached. His finger went down on the face of Burke as that of the man who had rented the cottage. His father and mother put on their spectacles, looked the photograph over, and without the slightest hesitation declared—"That is the man." To make assurance doubly sure, Collins went to Hakan Martinson, the expressman. A single glance over the faces in the picture was sufficient. "That is the man" he said, indicating Burke, "that hired me to haul the furniture from that flat on South Clark Street." Further questioning led him to say that he had frequently seen Burke, about the time of the murder, in and around the saloons and the neighborhood of Chicago Avenue and Market street. This was enough for Collins. He was satisfied that he had struck the right lead. All that was necessary now was to get his hands on the man.
THE FLIGHT AND CAPTURE.
But the bird had flown. Burke's former haunts knew him no more. Collins had started out exultant in the prospect that the suspect would be behind the bars in a few hours. He went to one place after another, over Burke's old stamping ground, but everyone of whom he enquired shook their heads. He had disappeared as mysteriously as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up. The officer kept on, however, and finally learned enough to satisfy him that his man had skipped to parts unknown. His Clan-na-Gael uniform was found at the Philbin House, where he had resided, and that was all. He had been last seen in the city on the night of the day that Dr. Cronin's body had been buried. In fact he was in the crowd on the north side that viewed the funeral procession. For several days previously he had been particularly well supplied with funds. Where they came from was a mystery, although somebody knew somebody else who had been told by a third party that an individual mysteriously alluded to as "an Irish lawyer" had been seen to give him some bills from a big roll in the course of a hurried consultation.