The Barrel Mystery

by William J. Flynn

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  THE BARREL MYSTERY

  by

  WILLIAM J. FLYNN

  Chief of the United States Secret ServiceAuthor of "The Eagle's Eye"

  New YorkThe James A. McCann Company1919

  Copyright 1919, bythe James A. McCann CompanyAll Rights Reserved

  Printed in the U. S. A.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. THE BARREL MURDER 1

  II. WHAT WAS THE MOTIVE FOR THE MURDER? 18

  III. ORGANIZED TERRORISM 23

  IV. COUNTERFEIT BILLS APPEAR 31

  V. THE GREENHORN'S STORY 44

  VI. DON PASQUALE, BLACK-HAND SKIRMISHER 51

  VII. THE PLANT OF THE COUNTERFEITERS 65

  VIII. THE COW THAT CAUSED A DOUBLE MURDER 83

  IX. THE SOCIETY 85

  X. MEETING THE ARCH-BANDIT 88

  XI. THE BLACK-HANDER'S POLICE PROTECTION 97

  XII. A KNOCK AT THE DOOR AT 2 A. M. 110

  XIII. THE BLACK-HANDERS IN SESSION 117

  XIV. PRINTING THE BAD MONEY 130

  XV. SOME "AFTER-DINNER" CONFESSIONS 140

  XVI. EVADING THE GANG IN VAIN 148

  XVII. CAUGHT AGAIN! 157

  XVIII. PINCHING THE GREENHORN 169

  XIX. THE "BLACK-HAND" DOCTOR 172

  XX. THE "BLACK-HAND" TESTAMENT 199

  XXI. "THE VERMILION FLOWER ON THE BIG TOE" 203

  XXII. THE GENTLE ART OF WRITING "BLACK-HAND" LETTERS 206

  XXIII. FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A BADLY WRITTEN LETTER 215

  XXIV. METHODS OF BLACKMAILING 221

  XXV. TRACING A LETTER 226

  XXVI. "BLACK-HAND" PROPAGANDA 239

  XXVII. THE WATCHWORD OF THE "BLACK-HANDERS" 262

  THE BARREL MYSTERY

  CHAPTER I

  THE BARREL MURDER

  Where the East River swims around the foot of Eleventh Street is anold abandoned wooden dock that looks more like the broken skeleton ofa buried wreck than the thing it used to be. A covey of barges arehuddled against the wharf opposite, and this wharf gradually becomessolid pavement where the lumber yard begins. It fronts the street withthe most dilapidated board fence in Christendom made up of broken oddsand ends covered with a crazy patchwork of corrugated iron scrapstained and rusted by the weather. If an old-time pirate--one of thoseromantic devils with scarred and battered features and a black patchover one eye--should suddenly peer at you through one of the manycracks in the splintered stockade you could not be very surprised; infact, you would almost expect it to happen.

  Farther up is a livery stable, a mere hole in a pile of bricks, oncered now slavered over with white-wash once white. Outside is a manclipping the mane of a truck horse with its harness dragging in thefilth. On the corner is a saloon, such as you find on the East Side,shouldering against the dry dock storage for live poultry with chorusof cackling inmates. On the corner opposite is a huge, green cheese ofa building occupied by various small manufacturers. The third cornerbulges with the huge cisterns of the gas works soiled and smeared withsoot and fumes. The fourth corner has become historic. Every SecretService man in the city knows what is on the Northwest corner of EastEleventh Street and Avenue D. They know the old, battered red brickwalls that belong to the New York Mallet Works, walls that look as ifthey have been scarred by a fusillade of machine guns, walls withrusted chicken-wire netting before windows that are never cleanedexcept when the rain is drumming against them, walls that are brokenby a huge portal closed by a worm-eaten, wooden gate quite in keepingwith the whole thing. There is a ramshackle tenement next door withrooms for rent and shutters all drawn--shutters that were doubtless ashrill green once upon a time but now camouflaged by the blasts ofblistering sun and cutting rains into a crazy-quilt of strange hues,shutters maimed and broken and dangling and just hanging together. Theonly open aperture in the weird and forbidden dwelling is theentrance, breathing filth and the sour odor of poverty. Crowding closeto the tenement is an almost cavernous fodder and feed store, itsbroken, soiled windows half-hidden behind shattered boards and lathsfrom which remnants of bill-posters, stained and ragged, flutter nowand then. A heap of rubbish, garlanded with a jumble of rusty wire andbattered tin cans, adorns the broken curb. A pair of cast-off babyshoes with buttons dangling are sailing on a pool of dirty water.

  Desolate as the spot is it appeared even more so on the morning ofApril fourteenth, 1903, in the haze and the drizzling rain of an earlyhour. But Mrs. Frances Conners, an Irish woman, did not notice thesethings as she crossed the spot on her way to the bakeshop to get rollsfor breakfast. She was used to the place. Wrapped up in the redsweater affected by East Side women and bending her head under herumbrella, she paid no attention to the very things that would havemade a stranger pause and gaze. As she slipped across the corner,however, she noticed a barrel standing on the curb in front of themallet works. That barrel was not there the day before. It was quite abig barrel, the kind they use for shipping sugar. Her femininecuriosity was aroused and she retraced her steps. In this instancecuriosity revealed a deed that horrified the entire country,frightened the citizens of New York, and threw the Detective Bureau atPolice Headquarters into a panic. The revelation also brought home tomany people the disquieting realization that there were assassins inour midst that defied the efforts of our police to cope with them.

  An overcoat was thrown over the top of the barrel. It was fairly dampbut not quite wet, indicating that it could not have been there verylong. Mrs. Conners raised the coat. Quickly she let it drop andscreamed. There was a man's body crushed into the barrel. The body wasin a doubled-up position, both feet and one hand sticking over the rimof the barrel.

  Summoned by Mrs. Conners' screams the neighborhood was on its feet inan instant. A panicky crowd gathered on the fateful corner listeningwith gaping mouths and blanched faces to the frightened chatter of theIrish woman. Morbid curiosity prompted a few to raise the coat andtake a look. Every time this was done some of the women would screamhysterically.

  A policeman came running up. The body in the barrel was still warmwhen the officer examined it after rolling the barrel over anddragging the victim out. About the dead man's neck was wound a stripof gunny-sack. When removed it revealed more than a dozen wounds anyone of which would have resulted in death. An ambulance surgeon cameat a gallop. He declared that the man could not have been dead morethan two hours at the most.

  The corpse was taken to the Union Market Police Station. Theexamination made there led to the conclusion that the victim was a manabout the age of forty. His complexion was swarthy and his ears werepierced with rings. The clothing about the dead man's body was of goodquality, and there was nothing about the physic
al make-up to indicatethat he belonged to the laboring class. The forehead was of the high,receding type, and it was partly covered with thin, curly hair of alight-brown tinge. The moustache was turning grey. On the left cheekwere two scars an inch or more in length forming the letter "V"inverted. It was an old scar.

  A closer inspection of the body revealed that at least two weaponsmust have been used by the assassin or assassins. A narrow, two-edgedblade had evidently been used for inflicting the wound just below theleft ear. This stab was made by a powerful hand for it was at leastthree inches deep. A wound above the Adam's apple penetrated sheer tothe spinal cord, and was doubtless done by the same weapon. Numerousother and smaller wounds were of a like character. A slash extendingfrom ear to ear across the throat was probably done with a long, sharpblade.

  In searching the clothing of the dead man a little brass bound crucifixwas found. It was of foreign make with a Latin motto on the scroll workabove the figure of the Saviour, and a skull-and-cross-bones at thebase of the crucifix. This was found in a waistcoat, in which we alsolocated a silver watch-chain similar in make to those common to thepeasantry of Southern Italy. The crucifix was one that is not commonto any locality. There was an overcoat on the body, and in one of thepockets two handkerchiefs were found, one of which was small in sizeand faintly perfumed. The only identification mark on the clothing wason the shoes, which were marked "Burt & Co., opposite ProduceExchange." The shoes were worn, and there was a small patch on one ofthem. The gunny sack about the throat was marked by the blood stainsonly. Stencilled on the barrel were the initials "W & T" on the bottom;on the sides "G 233." It was a regulation sugar barrel, and the bottomwas covered with about three inches of sawdust soaked with blood. Onionpeels and some stubs of cigars of the stogie make were scattered in thesawdust, the kind of cigars that are sold in Italian stores andbar-rooms. A charred note in the handwriting of a woman was found inthe barrel. Two written lines were in part legible: "Giorne chevenite--subito l'urgenza." Translated the words might read: "Day thatyou come--suddenly the urgency."

  Every device of detection known to the New York Detective Bureau wasbrought into service. Inspector George W. McCloskey, head of thebureau in person, aided by picked men, scoured every nook and cornerof New York in an effort to learn, first of all, the identity of thevictim. The whole uniformed force was also instructed to follow anylittle lead of information which might indicate a connection with themurder. No identification, however, developed.

  I read of the murder in the afternoon newspapers. This was on Aprilfourteenth. I recalled certain unusual activities among the band of"Black-Handers" on the night of April 12, which was about thirty-oddhours before the murder must have been committed. It came to my mindthat I had seen a face new among the members of the gang. I went tothe morgue and looked at the dead man. I identified him as thestranger who recently appeared at the haunts of the Black-Handers.(When I say Black-Handers, I mean also counterfeiters.) Two otherSecret Service men also identified him. The body was taken out of theice and measured according to the Bertillon method.

  For some time prior to the murder I had been closely in touch withMorello, with Lupo and others of their band. I had them undersurveillance for the purpose of arresting them on a charge ofcounterfeiting.

  On the night of April 12, having accumulated considerable informationconcerning this band, I personally picked up the trail and followedseveral members of the band from their counterfeiting headquarters inthe cafe at Elizabeth and Prince Streets. Just around the corner fromthis cafe was the saloon of Ignazio Lupo, another rendezvous of thegang. In the rear of Lupo's saloon Giuseppe Morello conducted anItalian restaurant.

  Trailing along, I followed several of the gang to the butcher store ofVito La Duca, at No. 16 Stanton Street, which is just east of theBowery. Among those present in the store was Morello, whom I hadarrested four months previously for counterfeiting. He was the onlyone of the gang which I had arrested who had escaped conviction. Twoothers of the men present were Antonio Geneva and Domenico Pecoraro,both of whom I knew well. And while the three whom I have alreadynamed were in animated conversation near the rear of the shop, afourth man, a face new to me, stood apart from the others near thedoor. He was the same man found less than forty hours later in thebarrel.

  While the conversation took place in the rear of the shop I saw apiece of bagging being hung up as a curtain over the glass in the doorleading from the street into the store. It was but a few minutes laterthat I saw a covered wagon driving up to the door. Two men hopped downfrom the seat and entered the shop. One of them came out again after acouple of minutes and drove away. Shortly after eight o'clock thatevening the visitors left La Duca's store. They split up into twogroups, the stranger going toward the Bowery with Morello andPecoraro.

  * * * * *

  I communicated with Inspector McCloskey, then in charge of theDetective Bureau at Police Headquarters, and told him what I have justrelated. Immediately there was a rounding up of the gang, my menpairing off with the headquarters detectives and locating eleven ofthe members of the Black-Hand Society. Here is the list of thosearrested as suspects for the murder:

  Giuseppe Morello, of No. 178 Chrystie Street.

  Ignazio Lupo, of No. 433 West Fortieth Street.

  Messina Genova, of No. 538 East Fifteenth Street.

  Vito La Duca, of No. 16 Stanton Street.

  Pietro Inzarillo, of No. 226 Elizabeth Street.

  Domenico Pecoraro, of No. 198 Chrystie Street.

  Lorenzo Lobido, of No. 308 Mott Street.

  Giuseppe Fanara, of No. 25 Rivington Street.

  Giuseppe La Lamia, of No. 47 Delancey Street.

  Nicola Testa, of No. 16 Stanton Street.

  Luciano Perrino, of No. 47 Delancey Street.

  Perrino was also known as Tomasso Petto. He was known among themembers of the Black-Hand aggregation as "Il Bove," meaning "The Ox."

  Here was certainly a murderous aggregation of the most pronouncedcriminal type. They were all of them from Sicily. Most of them werearmed with a revolver, some also had knives and even stilettos. OnMorello the police found a .45 caliber revolver. A knife was tuckedaway in the waistband of his trousers, a cork being fixed at the pointof the blade so that it would not scratch his leg. Petto, the Ox,whom Inspector McCafferty of the detective bureau, and I arrestedlater, carried his pistol in a holster and a sheath for his stiletto.Most of the suspects had permits from the New York Police Departmentto carry revolvers. It was this incident, practically, which broughton the crusade against, and the passing of the law forbidding, thecarrying of dangerous weapons.

  The prisoners were presently hurried to the Morgue, where each of themhad a look at the dead man. They were asked individually whether theyknew him. The answer was the usual one--a shrug of the shoulders andthe words "No understand," "don't know." Morello and Pecoraro wereboth asked whether they knew the dead man, but denied that they hadever seen him; this in face of my seeing the two in the company of theman now dead less than forty hours before he was murdered. The deadman still remained without a name, and without a friend or relativecoming to claim kinship.

  Information began to percolate into my office which induced me to takea trip to Sing Sing prison in an effort to bring about theidentification of the dead man. It was plain to me already then thatthe police force was failing in its efforts. I resolved to take apersonal interest in the murder and to clear it up if possible.

  At this point, let me inform the reader that an anonymous letter wasaddressed to Lieutenant Joseph Petrosino of the Italian DetectiveSquad, then a part of the New York Police Department. This letterproved to be of value in elucidating particulars aiding us inidentifying the man found murdered in the barrel. The Lieutenantshowed this letter to me. Knowing that Petrosino was the best man inthe Police Department to handle the situation, I asked him to go toSing Sing Prison to investigate.

  Petrosino took along a photograph of the murdered man. Several of theconvicts failed to
identify the photograph, but the third manquestioned by Petrosino, Giuseppe DePriema, looked at the photographand said: "That is Maruena Benedetto, my brother-in-law. What hashappened?"

  DePriema completed the identification by corroborating the watch chainand the crucifix. He also described accurately the scar on Benedetto'sface. At first, DePriema was terror-stricken. Later on, however, hegrew angry, as only the Sicilian bent on murder can get angry. Hegave us the Buffalo address of Benedetto, and told us all about thedead man's business as a stone cutter. DePriema said that hisbrother-in-law had been out of work for some months past, that he hadleft Buffalo to associate himself with a band of counterfeiters in NewYork.

  It is my personal opinion that if the New York police had notblundered after arresting the gang named the murderer would have beenlocated in short order. The police made the mistake of locking up thegang together, so that they could speak and plan together. Each manshould have been incarcerated separately. The detectives also failedto examine all the letters and all the papers taken from the prisonerswhen searched.

  Returning to New York from Sing Sing, Petrosino came directly to me.Together we went to Police Headquarters and asked to be shown theletters and papers taken from the suspects. Among the litter I found apawn-ticket for a watch which had been pledged at a Bowery pawnshopfor one dollar on the day of the murder. The ticket was found onPetto, the Ox. It was positively identified by the wife of Benedetto,who was brought on from Buffalo. Certain markings and engravings weredescribed by Mrs. Benedetto, which could have been known only to oneclosely acquainted with the time-piece.

  With this evidence to proceed upon, Petto, the Ox, was indicted by theGrand Jury, after being held without bail on the murder charge.Meanwhile, the other suspects were turned out by Police MagistrateBarlow because there was not sufficient evidence to hold them on themurder charge. Murder in the first degree was the charge againstPetto.

  From then on evidence began to accumulate that convinced me personallyof the existence of an organized "Black-Hand" society in New YorkCity. Eminent counsel was engaged and a large fund raised by thecriminal associates of Petto, the Ox, to fight for his freedom. Duringthe time that Petto was incarcerated, information came to me that eachand every one of the gang was from the same town in Sicily; a placenamed Corleone, about twenty-seven miles from Palermo. It was inPalermo that Lieutenant Joseph Petrosino, of the New York PoliceForce, was murdered eventually while in quest of special informationfor Police Commissioner Theodore Bingham. We also ferreted out thesignificant fact that in order to gain the inner circle of the secretsociety, which was furnishing funds for the defense of Petto, theapplicant would have to be from the town of Corleone.

  When Petto had been held in the Tombs Prison for more than four monthshis attorney asked that he be released on his own recognizance, theattorney stating that there was not sufficient evidence upon which tobring the accused to trial with any fair hope of convicting him. Nosooner was Petto released than he disappeared from his accustomedhaunts with the gang in New York.

  But Petto did not escape the eye of the Secret Service. He was tracedto Pittston, Pa. Nor did Petto escape a blood relative of the murderedman. Probably I had better explain at this point that there is anunwritten law among the Italians of southern Sicily that when a memberof a family is murdered, the crime must be avenged by a blood relativeof the murdered person. If no blood relative is available, a kinsmanby marriage assumes the task.

  Petto soon became the leader of a band of black-handers who preyedupon the Italian miners in Pittston. Then one night, when the streetswere slippery with a cold, drizzling rain, there came an ominous knockat his door. Petto sensed that something was wrong. He made ready forany emergency and drew his big revolver. But the unknown visitor wasquicker than the murderer of Benedetto, and the aim was certain. Fivebullets stopped the Black-Hander forever. A dagger was sunk into theheart of Petto, the Ox, to make doubly sure that he was not playing'possum. Beside the warm body of Petto his revolver was found fullyloaded. The hand holding the revolver was partly shot away. On hisbody was discovered a little brass-bound crucifix with askull-and-cross-bones at the Saviour's feet, an exact duplicate ofthat taken from the body of the man found in the barrel. As far as thepolice records show, the avenger of Benedetto has never beenapprehended. Whether the avenger has since suffered a fate similar tohis victim I cannot at this moment say.