Wet, bedraggled, and so tired that I could have fallen asleep standing up, I groped my way to the railroad station and curled myself up on a bench to snatch what rest I could. Just before daybreak a milk train came along. I boarded this and traveled by a roundabout route to South Windham.
MY HUSBAND IS SHOT
I reached there late in the afternoon and went straight to the postoffice. This was always the accepted rendezvous for professional criminals when no other place had been agreed upon. Detectives in every city might very profitably spend more of their time watching the postoffice, for wherever the criminal is he makes a point of calling there at least once every twenty-four hours to keep appointments with his friends or in the hope of running across some acquaintance.
Ned and George were there waiting for me, and mighty glad they were to see me, for they had heard vague rumors of a woman having been arrested on suspicion that she knew something about the Palmer robbery.
The best opportunity the sleepy little town afforded seemed to be a general store run by a man named Johnson. I dropped in there late one evening, and, on the pretext of buying a crochet hook, saw the old proprietor locking the day's receipts—quite a respectable bundle of money—in a ramshackle safe which offered about as much security as a cheese box.
We got everything in readiness to break into the store the following night. It was a foolhardy time for such a job, as there was a bright moon—but we were hungry for money, and one more good haul would supply enough to keep us in comfort until we could lay our plans for some robbery really worthy of our skill.
There was really little I could do to help the men, but I could not bear to be left behind. Just after midnight I stole out of the railroad station, where I had been waiting ostensibly for the night train to New York, and hid myself in the doorway of a livery stable, where I had a good view of the store we were going to rob.
Pretty soon I saw my two comrades come cautiously down the main street from opposite directions. They met underneath a window of the store on the side which was in the dark shadow of a tree.
The window was so high above the ground that my husband had to climb up on George Mason's shoulders to reach it. I could hear the gentle rasp of his jimmy as it worked against the fastenings.
At last he raised the sash gently and stepped into the store. Then he leaned far out across the sill and stretched his brawny arms down toward his companion.