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course when a man wanted for at tempt to murder shows himself to the police whose duty it is to capture him. Instead of being arrested Annen berg was conducted, like an honored guest, to Police Captain James O'Ddnnell Storen's office, in which he and Beck were closeted for half an hour. Beck, the managing editor, and Annenberg, the slugger, came out of the police captain's office smiling. Evidently their little chat had been very satisfactory to them. They went home for the night Meantime Belford had been car ried to the corner drug store. He believed himself fatally wounded. In a choking voice he gave the address of his parents in Cleveland, and asked that his body be shipped to them, with the message that he had done nothing to deserve the shooting. "He shot an innocent man," he cried brokenly. "Tell my peo ple that; tell everybody that." The most desperate efforts were made by the Maxwell street police to suppress the story of" the shooting. In all fairness it should be record ed that so far as can be made out, these efforts were made at the di rect command of -Captain James O'Donnell Storen; commanding offi cer of the station, and therefore those under Storen can in no way be held responsible. Storen himself chose to disappear immediately after his interview with Beck and Annenberg which was so satisfactory to Beck and Annenberg. Where he went into hiding no one seems to know; his family denied knowledge of his whereabouts, say ing he was working, and he certainly was not working at the police sta tion. Apparently Storen also ordered Lieut. Michael Clohesy, the officer on watch at Maxwell street when the shooting occurred, to disappear also, since that gentleman also dropped most miraculously out of sight. . Even last night the attempt to sup press the news of the shooting was in vigorous progress. A Day Book reporter went to Max well street station about 8:30 o'clock. He found Lieut. Larkin, the desk sergeant and the operator discussing something portentious in hushed tones. They quit talking when the reporter inquired for the captain. "He's not in," said the desk sergeant, "and we don't know where he is. We don't know when he'll be back either." "Thanks," said the reporter, "I'm from The Day Book. Have there been any arrests in connection with the Belford shooting?" The desk sergeant seemed to be annoyed. Lieut. Larkin straightened up. The operator bent forward to hear. "Don't know anything about it," the. sergeant-growled. "Who is the lieutenant on duty?" asked the reporter. " The desk sergeant looked helpless ly at Larkin. Larkin colored. "You're lookin' at him," he said. "About the Belford shooting?" , asked the reporter. "I don't know anything about it;" said Larkin. "It didn't happen on my watch. I don't know a thing about it. Perhaps the captain could have told you about it. You just missed the, captain hy about two minutes." The reporter called up Lieut. Michael Clohesy's home. A feminine voice said that Lieut. Clohesy had "gone for the night." It did not say where the lieutenant had "gone." A dozen calls at Captain Storen's home were without avail. The cap tain was not home yet; the captain was "working out north"; the captain was anywhere and everywhere but where he could be found. This policy of suppression of the news was kept up until 11:30 o'clock today when it became plain to the police that they would have to act whether the Tribune liked it or not. Belford was only 23 years old. He