Fifty Years a Detective: 35 Real Detective Stories

by Thomas Furlong

Diagonally across the shop and to the left was a door opening into the rear room, which was used as a living room. When I peered into the front room or gun shop there was no one in the room, but the door leading into the rear room was open and I rapped on the shop door. My knock was answered by a man, who came from the rear room and had a broom in his hand. He was clad in blue overalls, a knit undershirt and wore a pair of rubbers, but no socks. I saw at a glance that it was Wess Watts, himself. I had a very good description of him and had seen his brother, sister and mother, and he resembled them very strongly. I noticed that he had nothing in the shape of arms on him except the broom. I decided then and there to arrest him. When he came from the rear room I saluted him, saying, "Good-morning," and he replied in the same way. I then said, "Are you the gunsmith?" He said he was. I said, "I have a job for you. I have an old gun here, but I don't know whether you can do anything with it or not."

In this connection I wish to state that before I left my perch on the boxes across the street, I placed my revolver, which was a 41-Colts, short barrel, double action, in my right-hand coat pocket. I also had a pair of automatic hand-cuffs, which I placed in my left-hand pocket. I was wearing a sack coat, and when Watts replied that he was the gunsmith, I took the revolver out of my right-hand pocket in an awkward manner, holding it about in the middle. He turned around, in a leisurely manner, and set the broom in the corner near the door, and while he was doing this, I placed my gun in working position, and as he turned extending his hand, evidently for the purpose of taking and examining my pistol, I leveled it at his head and told him to "throw up his hands." He hesitated for an instant, but I commanded him a second time, telling him to throw them up at once, or I would blow his head off. He threw up his hands, and, just at the time I commanded him the second time to throw up his hands, a man with a bushy head of red hair peered through the door leading into the rear room, but when he saw what was going on, he ducked back his head, as he was in direct range with my gun. I then commanded Watts to about face, and step forward to the door, which he did, keeping his hands up. I was right behind him with my gun at the back of his head, and told him to step down and out of the door. He obeyed. I then took my hand-cuffs out of my left-hand coat pocket, and snapped them on his wrists, while his hands were still above his head. I then told him he could drop his hands, and marched him up the street to the hotel, which was but a few hundred feet from the shop. In the meantime Watts did not utter a word, but merely complied with my commands. On our arrival at the hotel I found the night clerk or porter in charge, but asleep in a chair in the office, and as we marched in he awoke and appeared to be frightened at our intrusion. I told him that I was an officer and that Watts was my prisoner. I told him we were hungry and asked him how soon we could get something to eat. He awakened the help and in about half an hour breakfast was announced.

All this time Watts and I were sitting in the office gazing at each other, not a word having been spoken by either, and when we went into the dining room and sat down to the table, Watts looked at me and then at the hand-cuffs as much as to say, "Aren't you going to remove these hand-cuffs?" He did not speak, however. I shook my head, looked at the table and food and then at Watts, as much as to say, "There it is, you can eat it or leave it alone." I sat opposite him at the table and he helped himself to some ham and managed to eat a pretty good breakfast with the hand-cuffs on.

On arising from the table it occurred to me for the first time that my prisoner was not very well dressed to make a long journey. I espied a large-sized, old-fashioned linen duster, and a big-brimmed straw hat hanging on the wall of the hotel sitting room. After some dickering with the porter I purchased them for 75c and put them on my prisoner. The addition of these garments made Watts look more like the leader of a rube band, than the bold, bad man that he really was.

At that time there was a branch of the Wabash Railroad running into Shawneetown, and I had ascertained there was a train leaving there shortly for McLeansboro and East St. Louis. We boarded the train at 6:00 a. m. and started for East St. Louis. After we had been on the train for half an hour or more, Watts, who was sitting in the seat with me, and to the left, next to the window, turned around facing me and said, "Who are you, and where are you taking me, and what have you arrested me for?"

I replied that I was a deputy sheriff from Vermillion and that I had arrested him on suspicion of committing a burglary there a week before.

He said, "Why, I was never in Vermillion in my life. You have made a big mistake."

"I guess I am not very much mistaken," I replied, "some of our citizens saw the burglars when they left the bank, and have described you accurately. Of course, if they fail to identify you on your arrival at Vermillion, I will apologize to you, and then be obliged to pay your expenses back to Shawneetown."

He then said, "You say you are a deputy sheriff? Well, don't deputy sheriffs have to give bond for the careful performance of their duties?" I replied, "Yes, they have to give bond."