Meanwhile the whole United States had been taking a keen interest in the case. Holt’s statement had reached Washington on the Associated Press wire, and was delivered to Captain Boardman of the Washington Police. Captain Boardman had been busy all morning throwing out lines on the Capitol case, and attempting to trace the author of the R. Pearce letters, which had been mailed in the city about nine o’clock of the previous evening. He read the Pearce letter over several times in search of some clue to the writer. Presently the Holt statement came in. From the two communications these sentences met the Captain’s eyes:
| Pearce | Holt |
| “We would, of course, not sell to the Germans if they could buy here, and since so far we only sold to the Allies, neither side should object if we stopped.” | “If Germany should be able to buy munitions here we would, of course, positively refuse to sell to her.” |
Captain Boardman’s next move was to wire to his chief, Major Pullman, who happened to be in New York to attend that same field day that Coy and I had missed. His message, dated 2 P. M. (while we were on the way to Glen Cove), read:
“Ascertain from F. Holt, in custody at Glen Cove, N. Y., for shooting J. P. Morgan, his whereabouts Thursday and Friday, as he may have placed the bomb in the Capitol here Friday night.”
This message, sent in care of Inspector Faurot, was relayed to us at Glen Cove by Guy Scull, deputy commissioner, but not until after the Associated Press man at the jail had had a tip telegraphed from his Washington office to ask Holt the same question. Holt denied that he had been in Washington, flatly. But McCahill knew he had been in Glen Cove Thursday, so at 5 P. M. he telegraphed Captain Boardman:
“F. Holt was in Glen Cove Thursday, July 1, P. M.”
I telephoned headquarters the numbers of the revolvers, and the neighborhood in which Holt said he had bought them. Several members of the squad started out from headquarters to identify the pawnshops, and to find out what they could of the history of three sticks of dynamite marked “Keystone National Powder Company. 60 per cent. Emporium, Pa.”
Holt had proved obstinate to all questions of the source of his supply of dynamite. The man was getting tired: he had had a hard day, had been considerably battered, had been interviewed, photographed, harried with questions, his ankles and wrists ached, his head throbbed, and his mind, which though alert and active, was none too stable, was showing signs of exhaustion. His condition suggested that he might be in a mood to supply some of the further information we needed, so I suggested that we take an automobile ride and he could show me where he had been the day before. He protested at once.
“No! My head is aching, and you want to take me on a ride and make a show of me to the morbid crowd. I will not tell you—not until later. Later perhaps, but not now!”
“All right,” I answered. “Later.”