The Crime of the Century; Or, The Assassination of Dr. Patrick Henry Cronin

by Henry M. Hunt

THREE OF THE CARLSON FAMILY.

After sending for Dr. Brandt and his colleague, the two police captains lost no time in putting the Carlsons on the rack. It was evident from the start that the family had known all about the condition of the interior of the cottage for days, if not weeks. They had hesitated about notifying the police, however, for fear that difficulty would be experienced in renting the cottage if the facts became known; while, at the same time, they were afraid to destroy and efface the evidences of the crime that they realized had been committed. Mrs. Carlson did not need any pressing to tell what she knew. From her story it was developed that on March 20th a tall, slender, pale-faced young man called at her house to learn the rent of the cottage. He was told he could have it for $12 monthly. The amount suited him, and he paid a month's rent in advance, without being requested to do so, and received the key. He went on to say that his name was Frank Williams, that he had two brothers and a sister, who would live with him, and that the sister would keep house. They were coming from Baltimore, and would join him in a day or two. He took the keys and went away, but the sister never came.

For a month there were no outward signs that the mysterious Frank Williams intended to occupy the building he had rented. Mrs. Carlson became very uneasy.

Nearly seven weeks prior to the disappearance of the physician, or to be precise, on Wednesday, March 20th, just about the noon hour, a man of medium size, with dark hair and eyes, a full mustache, a derby hat, pulled well down over his forehead, and a heavy overcoat buttoned up around him, had knocked at the door of the little cottage occupied by the Carlsons. Mrs. Carlson herself was absent at the time, but her husband, Jonas, Charles, their son, and the latter's wife, Annie, were at home at the time. The latter was a domestic servant in the employ of a prominent family on Michigan avenue; but—by another peculiar coincidence—this happened to be her "day off," the first she had taken for several weeks. Jonas Carlson answered the door, and the stranger inquired if he (Carlson) was the owner of the cottage on the front lot. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he expressed a desire to rent it. Carlson secured the keys, and the two men went down to the cottage, entering by the rear door. The would-be tenant gave a cursory glance over the interior, and, remarking that there were six rooms, just the number that he required, asked what the rent would be. Carlson named the sum of twelve dollars monthly, to be paid in advance, but the stranger demurred and expressed the opinion that eleven dollars was quite enough. Finding, however, that Carlson was unwilling to lower his figure a single dime, the man at last remarked: "All right, I'll take it and give you the money now." The landlord and his new tenant then returned to the former's cottage, when the latter paid over the first month's rent. Charles Carlson wrote the receipt, and while this was being done the man remarked that he worked in the city, that he was one of three brothers, that his sister was coming from Baltimore to keep house for them, and that it might be several days and perhaps a week before they could move in. He also added that he had ordered some furniture, and that it would arrive in a few days. When asked his name he replied "Frank Williams," and the receipt was made out accordingly. Meanwhile, the three Carlsons had ample opportunity to "size up" the individual who was soon to be their neighbor, and his features were impressed on their memories. Annie Carlson and her husband especially noticed a peculiar way he had of glancing around, as well as a kind of sinister expression of his mouth. Having secured the receipt and the keys the man went away. On the third day following, about seven o'clock in the evening, a few articles of furniture were delivered at the cottage. Young Carlson strolled over to the place, and saw "Frank Williams," assisted by a man he described as dark, short and slender, together with the expressman, carrying in the goods. He passed the time of day with the expressman and found that the latter was a Swede. Weeks passed without any sign of activity on the part of the new tenant and nothing was seen of him until April 20, when he again called upon the Carlson's to pay the second month's rent. At this time young Carlson remembered that there was a trunk and a lounge in the cottage belonging to a former occupant, and "Williams" consented to help him move the articles out. While doing this an opportunity was afforded him of looking around the house, and he was particularly struck with the meagre character of the furniture. There was nothing on the bedstead but a spring mattress and comforter, the carpet was cheap and the chairs, washstand and other articles were of the most common kind. The elder Mrs. Carlson received the rent this time, and with a woman's natural inquisitiveness, she asked the man what was the matter that his people did not move in. He replied that his sister had been taken "awfully sick," and was in the Sister's Hospital. Mrs. Carlson replied that she liked to see people move in when the house was rented, as it did not look well to have it rented. To this "Williams" responded that it might be a week and perhaps a little more before his people were finally settled. Before leaving the three had a pitcher of beer together. After this the Carlsons were on the qui vive for their new neighbors, but the week passed, and two more, and still the cottage was unoccupied. On Monday, May 13—Dr. Cronin had then been missing for eleven days—the Carlsons had another visitor. He was a short stout man, full chested, with light hair and complexion. To Mrs. Carlson he said that Frank Williams had sent him to pay the rent, that his sister was still so sick that they could not take possession. But by this time the old lady had made up her mind that if the people couldn't begin housekeeping she couldn't take the rent, and she said so. The visitor tried to argue her out of her determination, but in vain. She knew that the little frame building was eyed with suspicion by the keen-witted Germans that lived in the neighborhood, and that it had become current gossip that there were queer tenants in the apparently vacant house. The few pieces of furniture was all that any one had seen carried into the place, and yet it was, to all appearances, the home of somebody. No woman had been seen around, although once in a while a light could be seen burning at night through the closed blinds, and a piece of bed quilt had been stretched over one of the street windows. All these things had tended to make Mrs. Carlson suspicious, and although she said nothing about them, she gave her visitor to understand that she did not propose to have the place apparently unoccupied any longer, and that moreover she wanted to put it in the market. Upon this the man suggested that she could do this and still let them have the use of the rooms; but Mrs. Carlson could not be shaken from her position, because, as she sagely remarked, people who thought of buying it would want to get into it to see what it was like. Moreover, she added it would be another week before the rent was due. The man admitted this but said that "Frank Williams wanted to be sure of the place as he did not want to lose it." All his arguments, however, were of no avail, the old lady would not take the money under the circumstances, and the man departed.

Matters went on in this way until May 18th, when a letter, addressed in a scrawling hand, and bearing the postmark of Hammond, Indiana, was delivered at the Carlson cottage. Its contents, written on a half sheet of note paper, were as follows:

Mr. Carlson—Dear Sir: My sister is low at present and my business calls me out of town. If you will please put the furniture in your cellar for a few days I will pay you for your trouble. I am sorry that I lost the key to the cottage door, but I will pay you for all trouble. My sister told me to paint the floor for her so that it would not be so hard to keep clean. I am now sorry I gave the front room one coat. F. W.

That afternoon, Charles Carlson went over to the cottage for the purpose of disposing of the furniture as requested in the letter. The front window next to the cellar was found to be open, and through this he secured an entrance. One glance at the inside filled him with alarm, and he went back to the house after his father and mother. The condition in which they found the place has already been described in the earlier portion of this chapter. Their first impulse was to notify the police, but after talking over the matter, they decided to allow the cottage to remain as it was, moving neither stick nor stone until "Williams" came for his furniture or an opportunity was afforded for renting the cottage to another tenant. This determination was adhered to until the finding of Dr. Cronin's body.

O'SULLIVAN AND "FRANK WILLIAMS."

This was the story as told by Mrs. Carlson and supplemented by her husband, son and daughter-in-law. When, however, their memories were refreshed by the numerous questions which were propounded by the officers, and which served to bring back scenes and incidents that they had almost forgotten, many facts of essential importance were added to the initial narrative. Old man Carlson remembered that after the man had rented the cottage and received the keys, he walked across the prairie toward O'Sullivan's house. The iceman was standing near his buggy, and Carlson plainly heard "Williams" remark: "Well, the cottage is rented." Just before the second month's rent was due Carlson had gone to O'Sullivan and asked him if he knew the man.