This aroused Niendorf, and, looking around at all the officers present, he said:
“Gentlemen, I have been warned not to speak. I did not see the party, but some one called out my name and asked if I had been to the office yet. I answered no. The voice then said: ‘When you go there, don’t open your mouth, be motionless, and they will soon fire you out. Don’t forget.’”
“That is just what I expected,” I remarked. “Now you can do as you please—talk or not talk. That party is not a friend of yours, and he wants to see you go to jail. Officer, take him down stairs.”
“Are you not going to let me speak?” nervously inquired the prisoner.
“How long will it take you to find your speech?” exclaimed Furthmann.
“Have I got to swear to what I tell you?”
“Yes; you will have to do that whenever we send for you, and you must not leave the city without permission,” said I.
Niendorf then gave a statement of his knowledge of Anarchy. He appeared very ignorant, but, when spoken to, he showed that he was quite intelligent. He was twenty-six years of age, lived at No. 29 Croker Street, and, with fiery red hair, was a rather homely-looking man.
He was released, and after his departure the officers determined to ascertain whether it was an “Anarchist ghost” or a man in flesh and bones that had hovered about the station warning Niendorf not to squeal. A close watch was accordingly put in the cell department to fathom the mystery. About ten o’clock that night a young fellow called at the station for a night’s lodging. He was told to sit down and wait. He did so, and his wish was reported to me. Officer Loewenstein was sent back to look him over, and that officer presently returned and reported that the man did not look like a tramp. He looked more like an Israelite who had means, and the fellow was at once called into the office. There the officers unbuttoned his coat and discovered a clean young fellow, with a nice suit of clothes and a gold watch and chain.