An incident occurred, however, which changed the whole course of events. On my way home to supper that evening, about six o’clock—May 6—I met a man near my house. He acted as though greatly frightened, but he had some information he wished to impart to me. He was afraid to speak, as he said it was life or death to him.
“If I speak,” he said, “and these people [the Anarchists] find it out, they will kill me sure. On the other hand, when I think of how many were killed, it drives me nearly crazy. I can probably help to bring the murderers to justice, and I cannot forgive myself unless I try to assist.”
I told the man that as a good citizen it was his duty to tell everything he knew about the affair, and that I should consider everything he said strictly confidential. My personal pledge being given to him that I would not get him into trouble by exposing him to the reds, he began his statement. The man did not tell very much, but after I had gathered together all the little threads carefully, the whole proved of considerable service. After supper I went to a great many places and remained out till four o’clock the next morning. The following day I instructed some of my people how to get information respecting the throwing of the Haymarket bomb, and I told them where they might leave their information if they obtained any. I got back to the station at 9 A.M., and found in my closed letter-box a slip of paper containing about five lines of important news. I scanned the paper closely, and those who stood around told me afterwards that they noticed that my face brightened up considerably.
I knew then that I had a very light starter in the case, but a good one. I could readily see also that everything had to be handled with the greatest care, and by preserving the utmost confidence with the informers. I knew, too, that nothing must be told even in the Chief’s office or in the detective department.
I had previously discovered that there was not a man among the three heads of the Central that knew how to listen to information, how to put questions or remember conversation, or, in fact, to have anything in shape, or to keep secrets, and I therefore decided to keep my own counsel.
On the morning of the 7th of May, at nine o’clock, I arrived at the Chief’s office and asked him if he had any good news. He replied that it was hard to get at the bottom of the affair. I then asked him if he would give me the privilege of working up the case. He looked at me a moment and then said, “Yes.”
“Yes, Captain,” he added, after a brief pause, “I will—sure. If you can do anything, do it. I hope you will do it. I shall be pleased if you can only do it.”
I then said: “With your permission I will work this case and all there is in the case. You will hear from me soon, but if you should not hear from me in three months, do not ask for me. I am going to work night and day until this case is cleared up. Good day.”
