Catoctin clarion. [volume], February 06, 1913, Image 2

About Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940

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Established By VX Need. 1870.
VOLUME XLII.
FREDERICK RAILROAD
Thurniont Division
Schedule In Effect October 27. 1912.
Leave Frederick Arrive Thurmont.
5 5) a. m *>.25 a- m ‘
7 15 a. m a - m
-9 5) a , 10.0. m.
11.3) a! m. Except Sunday 12.20 p.m.
1.3* pm. Sunday Only 2.15p m.
2.00 p. m. Except Sunday 2.45 p. m.
4.15 p. m 5.05 p. m.
5.20 p. m ■•••• 10 p. m.
6.15 p. m. Except Sunday 7.05 p. m.
830 p. m. Except Sunday 9.20 p. m.
9.55 p. m. Saturday Only 10.45 p. m.
Leave Thurmont. Arrive Frederick.
600a. m. Except Sunday 650a. m.
7.30 a. £ \5 a. m.
8.20 a. 9 20 a. m ’
10 55 a. rn • • m
12.30 p m. Except Sunday 1.20 p. m.
3.05 p. m 348 p m.
5.20 p. 6.06 p. m.
6.30 p. 7.20 p. m.
710 p. m Except Sunday 8.00 p. m.
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Western Maryland R. R.
Schedule In Effect October 27, 1912
going west.
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Baltimore Thurmont Hagerstown
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17.45 “ 1110.15 “
•8 57 “ 10.41 “ 11 55 P. M.
•4.15 P.M. 616 P.M. 7.35 “
•9.00 “ 10.48 “ 11-50
going east.
Leave Leave Arrive
Hagerstown Thurmont Baltimore
•4 15 A.M. 5.20 A.M. 7.20 A.M.
•6.50 “ 8.10 “ 1020 ‘‘
112 30 P. M. 3.00 P. M.
t1.40 P. M. 2.53 “ 5.14 "
•4.05 “ 5.14 “ 701
•Daily IRemains at Thurmont tDaily
except Sunday.
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MRS. CHARLES SHIPLEY.
July 16 tf
THE OLD RELIABLE
MUTUAL INSURANCE CO.
OF FREDERICK COUNTY.
Organized 1843.
Office—46 North 3laiket Street
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The Catoctin clarion.
We
TRUTH ABOUT THE CASE
The Experiences of M. F. Goron, Ex-Chief
of the Paris Detective Police
Edited by Albert Keyzer
NUMBER NINETY-FOUR
Ji
(Copyright by J. B, Lippiueult Co.j
(Editor's Note.—l made M. Ooron’s ac
quaintance toms yeara ago. and was at
cnee struck with his extraordinary pow
ers of observation, his keen-wittedness,
ami his devouring energy In the discharge
of his difficult duties. For It must be re
membered that the Chief of the Paris De
tective Police wields enormous power and
Is allowed a certain discretion—except, of
course, when a crime has been committed
—to save Innocent persons the disgrace of
a public scandal.
A few months ago I was smoking a pipe
In his study, a room hung with trophies—
a museum of crime. I saw him take up
a thick, leather-bound volume, the pages
covered with writing, with here and there
portraits and curious-looking drawings.
“This Is my diary," he began, but sudden
ly stopped when he saw me start.
“Yes, It Is my diary,“ he repeated; “but
—what’s the trouble?"
“Your diary? And you never thought
of publishing It?"
“No,” he retorted with a smile; “the
fact Is, here arc all my Impressions, and
certain facts "
I did not even know the end of the sen
tence; I took up the book and began
reading at once; and the more I read the
more I marveled. The next morning we
commenced work, and this series is the
result.—A. K.)
BHE BELGIAN
Government had
demanded the ex
tradition of the
swindler Karstens,
and, for purposes
of identification, 1
had asked the peo
pie who had deal
ings with him to
come to my office
Among those w'ho called up in me
was Charles Vernet, a financier, and,
while I listened to the evidence he
gave In a clear, concise manner, the
conviction stole upon me that I had
met him before under different cir
cumstances. But where? —when? Al
though I have an excellent memory
for faces, his features were not fa
miliar to me; yet his general appear
ance, the way he raised his right hand
when he spoke, roused old recollec
tions.
“Who Is he?’i Inquired the next day
of the police commissary In M. Charles
Vernet’s district.
"Who is he?” repeated my friend,
with a touch of surprise In his voice.
"My dear Goron. don't you really know
Charles Vernet?"
“Well, yes, of course I understand
he Is a financier, with plenty of
money; but I know nothing about
him.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Look here, Goron, I never know
when you are making fun of anybody;
but If you put the question to me se
riously, let me tell you (hat Charles
Vernet Is not only rich, hut bears a
good reputation on the Bourse, and Is
received everywhere.”
“How long has he been In Paris?”
“About ten years. He came here
with a large fortune made at the Cape,
and has doubled It since."
"Who Is he?” I again asked myself
when 1 went to bed.
For days and daya the man’s face
seemed to follow me. I mentally pass
ed In review the various persons 1 had
mot In the course of my career, with
out being able to locate him. Yet I
felt certain I had seen him when his
name was not Charles Vernet.
I took out my Journal, looking over
the cases with which I had been con
nected since I became chief of the
detective police. And still no trace of
him.
I worked my way back to the days
when I was assistant to M. Clement,
at the Prefecture, and police commis
sary In the Pantln Quarter, until I
came upon the murder of Moulin, the
notary’s clerk, by a fellow called Si
mon. And then I paused; for It sud
denly dawned upon me that Simon
was the man I must have had In my
mind when I saw Charles Vernet.
Moulin lived In the Rue des Ab
besses, and he and Simon were
friends. One night a lodger, occupy
ing a room below Moulln’s, was awak
ened by the noise of a scuffle over
head, and, going to the rescue, met a
man hurrying past him. Moulin was
lying on his bed stabbed to the heart.
When Simon was arrested the next
day, the lodger recognized him as the
man be had seen on the stairs. Si
mon, who had already been Implicated
In several unpleasant affairs, never
admitted his guilt; and, In the ab
sence of direct proofs, the Jury brought
In a verdict by which he escaped the
guillotine, but was sentenced to twen
ty years’ penal servitude.
1 Inquired at the Prefecture, where
I learned that Simon and a man called
Aymard had planned to escape from
Cayenne. Aymard bad succeeded In
getting away, while Simon, his face
battered In and his body covered with
wounds, was found In a ditch. His
Identity had been disclosed by his
Jacket, which bore the number “94.”
The report of Straon’ti death did not
remove my doubts. But, as In the
face of the official statement I could
not well apply to the authorities for
assistance, I determined to try to
solve the problem myself.
If my theory was right—that
Charle Vernet and Simon were the
same person—lt must have been SI
mon who placed the telltale Jacket
with the number 94 on the body of
Aymard, whom, no doubt, he had mur
dered to Insure his own safety. This
trick bad been performed several
THURMONT, FREDERICK COUNTY, MD., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1913.
times and, from my recollection of Si
mon, he was not the man to shrink
from killing his companion.
I took all the papers relating to the
Simon case with me, and gathered
from them an interesting fact. While
under remand, Simon —probably to
curry favor with the authorities—had
denounced a youth named Berger, us
having been concerned In a burglary
In the Rue des Salnts-Peres, In con
nection with which three men had
been sentenced to long terms of im
prisonment. Berger was arrested, but,
as it was proved that he had thus far
borne an excellent character, and hud
been fooled by his companions, he got
off very lightly.
1 had reason to suppose that Ber
ger, knowing It was Simon who had
betrayed him, would not be sorry to
get even with his enemy, and 1 there
fore decided to have a talk with him,
without, of course, letting him know
more than was strictly noce.-sary. In
fact, 1 had to be very careful how I
went to work.
So far, everything was only suppo
sition. The official report about Si
mon's death might have been true,
and my theory about the likeness be
tween the two men—the financier and
the convict —altogether wrong. In that
case a mistake would have proved dis
astrous.
Twelve years had elapsed since the
(rial of Simon, and It was possible
that Berger had disappeared. For
tunately 1 had a clue. Berger at the
time of his arrest, was courting a
woman who kept a tobacco-shop In the
Latin Quarter, the widow of a man
called Samson, for which reason the
students hud christened her “Delilah.”
When 1 called at the little shop in
the Rue Salnt-Andre-des-Arts, I found
It had changed hands, and in the place
of the buxom Madame Delilah was a
thin, good-natured looking little wom
an, fond of gossip. 1 bought some cig
arettes, and she was soon giving mu
the biography of every member of her
family. Then I deflected our ta'k to
Madame Delilah, whereupon the lady
tobacconist looked severe.
“Did you know that person?" she
asked.
“No, no,” I hurriedly replied, “I have
only seen her once or twice, when she
was engaged to a man—a man —I
can’t remember his name.”
The lady-tobacconist continued to
look severe and, with scorn In her
voice, remarked:
“Engaged, engaged—who do you
think would have engaged himself to
Delilah?"
"I fancy I heard she was going to
marry somebody called Burger or
Berger."
"Berger, you mean. That Jailbird?"
"Tes. What has become of him?"
“When he was discharged from
prison he took up photography, and
migrated to Belleville; but that's sev
eral years ago.”
In Belleville, the populous quarter,
there are several establishments
where the Paris workmen celebrate
their weddings, and, according to cus
tom, have themselves photographed
on the Important day. The restaurant
of the Saint-Fargeau, at the top
of the steep Rue de Belleville, Is the
most famous place for this kind of en
tertainments. and I decided to go
there first. When I reached the es
tablishment, at two In the afternoon,
several wedding-parties had taken pos
slon of the garden, and a pho
tographer was busy with his appa
ratus, while his assistant arranged the
groups.
"What is the name of the artist?”
I Inquired of the proprietor.
“Masson,” he replied.
At that moment the assistant
passed us to fetch a chair from the
house. I stopped him, and asked
whether he knew a photographer
named Berger.
He eyed me curiously.
“My name la Berger.”
I had reason to congratulate myself
on my luck. And, looking at the man,
I detected a likeness to his portrait
I had seen at the Prefecture.
I waited till the rush of work was
over, and then beckoned to him.
When I told him who I was, he frown
ed.
“M. Goron,” he exclaimed, “1 hoped
this horrible affair was forgotten. I
am earning my living honestly. Why
am I again to be troubled?"
“You have nothing to fear, my
good fellow. Your affair, as you call
It, is dead and burled. All I ask you
Is to call on me. to-morrow morning at
half-past ten. I have a question to
put to you.”
"All right, sir,” he sighed.
On my return to the office I sent
a note to Charles Vernet, with the re
quest to come to me the next morning
at eleven, as I wanted some more In
formation from him regarding the Bel
gian swindler.
At half-past ten, punctually, Berger
was announced.
“Berger,” I began, “you need not
look so miserable. I give you my
word nobody will hurt you.”
He smiled faintly.
“I want you to go into the adjoin
ing room and wait for me.”
A few minutes past eleven Vernet
was Introduced. I apologized for trou
bling him again, and banded him a
A Family Newspaper—lndependent in Politics—Devoted to Literature. Local and General News.
ner, In the way he holds himself, re
minds me of him. Who is he?”
“That Is none of your business.
Now, go home and think no more
about it. I will give you an introduc
tion to on© of my friends who can
put a lot of work In your way."
Berger’s face brightened.
“Thank you, M. Goron; you don't
know the struggle I am having.”
“You will get on better now. Here
Is my card, And —not a word about
this interview.”
Berger had strengthened my sus
picions, and the moment had arrived
for the decisive trial. 1 had a difficult
part to play, but I felt equal to It.
Charles Vernet entertained frequent
ly in hls tastefully furnished apart
ment In the Rue de la Falsanderie. He
also went much Into society, and was
a constant guest, at the house of Mad
ame S , the well-known sculptor,
at whose receptions tho elite of the
artistic and literary world congre
gated.
Madame S , n charming hostess,
and one of the most fascinating of
women, had often Invited me to these
gatherings, but I never found the time
to attend them. Now, however, I
made up my mind to go to the soiree
she was giving at tho end of the
month, and I called on my friend, Ca
mille L , who, I knew, helped her
with them.
“Camille,” I said, "I want you to ask
ms to luncheon with Madam© 8 ,
and also to secure me an Invitation to
her reception on the 28th."
few documents relative to the Kur
stens affair. While he was reading
them I went to Berger.
The small room where I had left
him, and to which nobody had access,
opened Into my office. In the door
was a little hole.
“You see that hole?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Put your eye to It, and look care
fully at the gentleman Inside. When
he Is gone I shall call you.”
My conversation with Charles Ver
net did not last many minutes; and
the moment he had left 1 went to Ber
ger.
He stared at mo like one In a dream.
“Well, Berger?”
He remained silent for a while, and
then shook his head.
"Who is he?” he said at last.
"That is the very question I wanted
to put to you."~
He sat, deep in thought, one hand
playing with his hat, turning it me
chanically around.
“Who Is he, and why did you show
him to me?” he asked again.
I remained silent.
"M. Goron,” ho cried excitedly, “you
have awakened In me a feeling I had
managed to smother. You know my
history. You know how I was drag
ged into the affair, and you know the
name of the villain who brought the
trouble on my head. When I was dis
charged from Gaillon I had but one
Idea —to he avenged on Simon. And
when 1 heard his body had been found
In Cayenne, I thought he still might
have escaped—he is so artful. Then
I looked at every man In the streets,
and I fancied 1 saw Simon. At last It
became such an obsession that I felt
I was growing mad under the strain,
and I fought hard against It, until Si
mon’s face ceased to haunt me. And,
now, to-day. this feeling has returned
In all its Intensity. Why?"
“Yes —why?”
“It Is the sight of the man that did
It. He Is not Simon. He looks quite
different. Yet, something in hls man
ij|| i
"Nothing easier," said Camille.
Two days later I received an Invi
tation to lunch with him and Madame
S , at Durand’s. When coffee was
served, Camille turned the conversa<-
tlon to the soiree.
"I suppose,” he said, “you will, as
usual, have an ‘All Paris’ assembly, In
cluding the financial swells?”
“Oh, the financial swells,” laughed
Madame S , "ar© always eager to
meet celebrities.”
And she mentioned the names of
her guests. Charles Vernet was
among them.
“Why don’t you Invite our friend
here?” asked Camille.
“What is the good?” pouted the
lady. "He never comes."
“Try him again.”
“Very well. M. Goron, will you give
me the pleasure of your company?”
"It will be an honor to me, mad
anie.”
Madam© S clapped her hands
with joy.
“I am much obliged to you, M.
Goron. And I want you to contribute
your share to the night’s entertain
ment. Cannot you tell us something
in Lereslliig?”
“A lecture?”
"Why not? That would he splen
did."
"I doubt whether It would amuse
your guests: but possibly 1 may find
something else to suit their jaded pal
ates. And. if It is not indiscreet on
my part, will you allow mo to bring
my young nephew? 11© Is here on a
visit.”
"By all means; I shall be delight
ed.”
The eventful evening arrived, and I
drove up to Madame S 's with a
parcel carefully wrapped in brown
paper, which I left down-stairs In
charge of one of the servants. As to
my nephew, nobody would have
guessed that the good-looking, well
dressed young man, with the gardenia
in Lis buttonhole, was a smart do
tectlve In whom 1 placed absolute re
liance.
When I entered the salons the
guests had nearly all arrived. 1 recog
nized Ballleron, Luclen March of the
Illustration, Alphonse Daudet. Mels
sonnler, Puvis de Chavannes, La
mourcaux, Francisque Sarcey, Benja
min Constant, Sardou, actors and
actresses from the leading theaters,
famous scientists —a brilliant crowd.
There was som© excellent music,
and then a longhaired gentleman un
folded the mysteries of the cinemato
graph—at that time quite a novelty.
A professor from the Sorbonne show
ed us a new electrometer; and a So
cletalre from tho Coraedie-Francals©
gave some recitations.
I was sitting In a quiet corner,
watching Charles Vernet deep In con
versation with three or four Stock Ex
change men, when Madame came to
ward me, both hands extended.
“Dear M. Goron,” she cried, "It Is
now your turn.”
And, taking my arm, she led me to
the center of the room. My friend
Camill© asked for sllenc© for the
hostess, who said:
“M. Goron, whom we are all glad to
welcome here, has promised to give us
some of hls experiences. It Is a sur
prise I kept In store for you.”
Loud applause followed. A small
table with the traditional glass of wa
ter was brought for me; the ladles sat
In a semicircle, the gentlemen formed
the background.
"Ladles and gentlemen," I began,
when silence was restored, “our charm-
ing hostess has told you I would re
late sum© of my experiences. I have
no such Intention, for the simple rea
son that you all know more about
them than I do myself. Newspaper
reporting has become one of the fine
arts, and no sooner Is a crime com
mitted than the papers bring the full
est details. Nay, the up-to-date Jour
nalist seems even to have the gift of
prophecy; for many a time I read of
burglaries and attempted murders
that have not yet occurred. I there
fore, thought that instead of giving
you narratives offering but little In
terest, I would draw your attention to
the curious evolution which the de
tective’s profession, like everything
nowadays, has undergone.
"Years ago, the man whose duty It
Is to fight the enemies of society had
hls own powers to rely upon. Be
tween him and the criminal It was
skill against skill, art against art.
Then came the modern Inventions —
railways, steamers, the telegraph, the
telephone—and matters grew worse
for the detective. Alas! It was the
murderers, the forgers, who had the
advantage, inasmuch ns they could
steal a long march upon Nemesis, and
get their accomplices to use the tele
graph and the telephone for their
benefit.
"The question, therefore, was to dis
cover a system by which society, and
not its foes, would reap the advantage.
Ladles and gentlemen, this system has
been found, and the man to whom we
owe It, and whose name will go down
to posterity, Is M. Bertlllon.”
I undid the parcel which my "nep
hew,” at my request, had brought up
stairs.
"This box,” I continued, “contains
the Instruments used In the anthro-
IKimetrical department for the Identi
fication of those who, having previ
ously fallen Into the bands of the po
lice, expect to escape detection by
changing their names, or altering, as
they think, their appearance.”
Having explained to the company
the practical working of the system,
ami how the little Instruments are ap
plied to the bead and fingers, I said:
"With your kind permission, I will
now conclude with a practical demon
stration, which will leave to som© of
you a little souvenir of my lecture. As
1 had already the honor to explain,
the measurements of the Incriminated
person ar© put down on a card, to
which hls photograph Is affixed, and
thus we possess the infallible means
of dicovering, at a moment's notice,
the Identity of the person arrested. It
is a net through whose meshes noth
ing can slip. I have brought some
of these cards with me, and shall be
happy to take the measurement of any
lady or gentlemen, and present them
with the card.”
I never saw such excitement.
Dozens of charming women made a
rush for me, and sweet voices cried,
“Measure'me, please, M. Goron.”
“One moment, ladles,” I called out,
"tho mistress of the house first.”
Madame S came promptly for
ward, and, after I had attended to her
and a number of ladles, my “nephew”
filling up the cards, I raised my hand.
“And now’ the gentlemen!”
Sarcey was the first to present him
self. Then came Daudet, and other
distinguished personages.
AH along I had kept my eye on
Charles Vernet*who had remained In
the background, and now slowly
moved toward the door.
“M. Vernet,” I srid, “don’t go away.
Have your measurements taken."
Terms SI.OO in Advance.
NO. 47.
He hesitated a moment, and then
said, with what appeared to me a
forced smile:
‘‘No, thank you, I have seen the
thing done before.”
‘‘Well, I have set my mind upon
measuring you. Ladles," I cried, to a
couple of American girls, who had
been among the first to be operated
upon, "please take him into custody
and bring him to me,”
Amid shouts of laughter they seized
him and pulled him toward the table.
This time he scowled.
"Is this meant for a Joke?” he re
marked.
"Of course. It is part of the fun."
Either my suspicions were unfound
ed, or the man had mavelous self-pos
sion. He never moved a muscle while
being measured.
Others were now pressing forward,
but, on the pretext that I had no more
cards, I withdrew to the smoking
room, whither Vernet had gone, fol
lowed by my detective. The latter
had given Vernet a prepared card,
and had quickly slipped into my hand
the one he had just filled up; where
upon I went into a corner to compare
it with the official document relative
to Simon, which I had borrowed from
M. Bertillon’s office.
A glance was sufficient. The fig
ures were identical. It was not Ver
net, but Simon, the escaped convict,
the murder, who stood there, lighting
his cigar, making an appointment
with a friend to meet him the next
day. The next day! And in five min
utes the thunderbolt would have fall
en on his head.
I went up to him.
“Have you said good night to the
lady of the house?” I asked.
He turned sharply around.
‘‘Monsieur Goron —’’ he began.
“Hush! Don’t make a scene. Say
good-by to the hostess, and tell her
you will have to leave Paris to-mor
row on a long Journey. You will be
telling the truth. Go.”
He did not move.
“For the second and last time,” I
whispered, “I advise you not to make
a scene. It Is not to Charles Vernet
1 am speaking, it is to Simon, the as
sassin of Aymard. My ‘nephew’ over
yonder is a detective, and I have
three more ‘nephews’ down-stairs la
case of emergency.”
He thougnt a moment. And then —
“1 will go with you; but you are
making a mistake you will regret.”
It was the never-varying reply of
the criminal at bay. Yet I could not
help admiring the man’s nerve. He
shook hands with Madame S and
a few more people in a seemingly un
concerned manner, and walked down
stairs.
In the hall, where a servant hand
ed him his overcoat, my attendant, at
a signal from me, cleverly searched
Veruet’s pockets, and withdrew some
thing which he handed me. It was a
small revolver.
“You were right, sir,” he said; "I
should not'have thought of that.”
At the Prefecture they were as
tounded. My prisoner made a plucky
stand, and fought desperately against
the overwhelming odds; but, finally,
like all the other criminals I have
seen, he broke down before the piti
less Dertillon system.
Yes, ho was Simon; but as, accord
ing to law, he had to be tried in
Cayenne for having escaped, and on
suspicion of having murdered Ay
rnard, he was at once conveyed to the
He de Re to be sent out to the penal
settlement.
But, despite my warning, the offi
cials at the He de Re prison did not
keep a careful watch on Simon, for
the day before he was to have been
put on board the steamer, he managed
to strangle himself.
Caught at Last.
To bring about the victory of good
over evil has been assumed to be the
especial aim of saints and sages; but
savages, it seems, may sometimes be
militant in the same cause. In his re
cent book, “The White Waterfall,” Mr.
James Francis Dwyer relates the story
of a missionary who preached to a
tribe of blacks in northern Queens
land, and told them in simple language
of Adam and Eve and their expulsion
from the Garden of Eden.
The episode of the serpent much ex
cited the converts, and when the mis
sionary arrived at the blacks’ camp
on the following day, the natives had
collected half a hundred or more
snakes, which they brought out for the
good man’s inspection.
“But why do you want me to exam
ine them?” asked the parson, puzzled.
The chief of the tribe winked know
ingly.
“You tell 'em if old snake here that
mak ’em plenty trouble, Mr. Adam,” he
said, grinning. “We think ’em you
find dat old feller with this lot.”—*
Youth’s Companion.
Woman on the Firing Line.
In one of the recent encounters
around Homs, says a Tripoli dispatch,
the Italian troops captured In the
Turkish lines a European woman who
was standing by her wounded horse.
She was armed with a rifle and
about one hundred cartridges, and
when captured refused to give any
particulars as to her identity. The
woman is being kept a prisoner of
war.
Mahogany aa Fuel.
Rosegood and mahogany are so
plentiful in Mexico that some of the
copper mines there are timbered with
rosewood, while mahogany is used as
fuel for the engines.
Can You Guess?
Mrs. Bacon —Did they have any
long speeches at the meeting?
Mr. Bacon —Well, two ladies spoke.