"I am disposed to think," was the ready response of the Court "from what I know of the matter, that the request is a reasonable one. The court stands adjourned until one o'clock to-morrow afternoon."
A buzz of surprise went through the crowded room. Longenecker hurried away, while counsel for the defense looked at each other with surprise. The prisoners excitedly asked each other and the spectators: "What's in the wind? What does this mean." No one could answer.
For the next twelve hours there were scenes about the Criminal Court building which for mystery and suppressed excitement had never before been approached in the criminal history of Chicago.
A JURY-BRIBING PLOT.
Hardly had the Court adjourned when the State's Attorney commenced the investigation which, as he had declared a few moments before, demanded his presence. The outer door of his office was locked from the inside, while a stalwart officer stood on guard. In a room across the hall a half dozen officers were stationed to prevent the approach of strangers. Assembled in the office were Judge Longenecker, Luther Laflin Mills, Messrs. Hynes, Ingham and Kickham Scanlan, Assistant State's Attorneys Neeley, Elliott, Baker and Glennon, Chief of Police Hubbard and Captain Schuettler. At one time and another a score of detectives hurried from one room to another, receiving instructions, going away in pairs and returning with some man or another who would disappear behind the doors to emerge no more. It was four o'clock in the morning before the investigation was suspended. Three hours later it was resumed. At ten o'clock a special grand jury was called by Judge Horton. It assembled at twelve. Ex-Mayor John A. Roche was appointed chairman. The body retired to its room and for nearly twelve hours was engaged in an inquiry on the star-chamber order. More than a score of witnesses were examined, and, just as the clocks of the city were chiming the hour of midnight, the members of the Grand Jury entered the Court and returned indictments against six individuals for conspiring to thwart the ends of justice by endeavoring to bribe jurors in the Cronin case. These individuals were Thomas Kavanaugh, steam-fitter; Alexander L. Hanks, court bailiff; Mark L. Soloman, court bailiff; Fred W. Smith, hardware agent; Jeremiah O'Donnell, gauger; Joseph Konen, fruit dealer.
The mystery that enveloped the proceedings of the previous day was now dispelled. The tentacles of the devil fish had reached into the court of justice. The desperation of the mysterious power behind the five men who were on trial for their lives for the murder of the Irish physician had reached a climax. From the moment that the prisoners had first faced Judge McConnell, their attorneys had waged a stubborn and a bitter war against the veniremen passed by the State. Eight jurors had, however, been selected. The peremptory challenges of O'Sullivan, Burke, Coughlin and Kunze had been exhausted, and Beggs alone of all the prisoners possessed the right of exercising the power of peremptory dismissal. All this time the mighty and unseen power behind the prisoners and behind the lawyers was hard at work. It had never been still from the time that the doom of the physician had been sealed. Its machinery had ground him to death and been then torn down, built up again, and set in motion to conceal the gory corpse. The shafting encircled the entire boundary within which a juror could be drawn, and the leviathan proportions of the murderous machine could not be measured until a cog had dropped out here and there and been carried to the office of the State's Attorney. The machine had assisted in the escape of Cooney. It had tried its best to get Martin Burke far beyond the reach of the clutches of the law. It had inspired the police officers of the State to ignore their duty. It was probably, at that very time, instructing possible witnesses in the art of perjury. It had gone farther and had actually attempted to suborn by bribes the men who had been summoned as jurors in the trial in progress.
The facts, as narrated first to the State's Attorney and later to the Grand Jury, admitted of no controversy. George Tschappatt, a German, who for ten years had been employed as foreman of an extensive lard manufactory, had been one of the veniremen approached. His wife was a friend of Mark L. Soloman, a bailiff of the Criminal Court. He was summoned as a venireman on Monday, and was present at the court room Tuesday, but was not examined. On Wednesday morning Soloman encountered him in the ante-room awaiting his turn to be called. Approaching him with extended hand, he said:
"Hello, Tschappatt, what are you doing here?" And then slapping him on the shoulder continued: "Have you been summoned as a venireman?"
Mr. Tschappatt replied that he had, and was anxious to be excused, as he could not spare the time to sit on the case.
"Come outside and have a drink," resumed Soloman. Taking Tschappatt by the arm they adjourned to a neighboring saloon. While they stood at the bar sipping a glass of beer, Soloman said: