He did not like his apartments—singular to relate. There was no fire escape, the linen on the bed was not changed every day, and the noise of his neighbors kept him awake of nights. He had struck the wrong hotel, but his apartments had been engaged for him and paid for by the taxpayers, and he could not gracefully withdraw.
Hageman first got tired, then angry, and finally desperate. He realized that he was in trouble and made up his mind to take me into his confidence. He reached this conclusion on the afternoon of May 27, and sent the janitor to the office with a message that he desired to see me. He was informed in return that he could not see me unless he meant to talk business. Hageman responded that he was ready to talk on any subject upon which he might be questioned, and he was accordingly brought into the office, into the presence of Mr. Furthmann, myself and the detectives.
“Well,” said I, “I understand that you want to see me.”
“Yes, I do,” was the response, “but not in the presence of all these fellows.”
“Why not?”
“Because my business is with you alone.”
“Well, you see, William, I am only one, and as what you tell here, which must be the truth, will have to be given by you in the Criminal Court, and as I may probably get killed before that time, there would be no one to testify to your statement if given to me alone.”
“Oh, that is the way you want to catch me!”
“There is no catch about it. If you don’t want to make a statement in the presence of all these men, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“Will you answer me one question?” asked Hageman, getting a little apprehensive that he might lose his only chance. “It is, has any one out of the many people locked up here squealed?”