Mrs. Sherlock Holmes

by Brad Ricca

  Judge Ordway ruled that Universal Animated Weekly was not entitled to the protection afforded a newspaper, which could use any outdoor photo without permission. Instead, the court ruled that the exhibition of moving pictures was a business, pure and simple, originated and conducted for profit. The judge ordered the newsreel pulled pending the trial of the action, in which Grace asked for $100,000 in damages for the unauthorized use of her picture.

  Ordway concluded that Grace had the right to object to the unauthorized use of her picture because she was not “the commander of an army, a visiting Ambassador, or even a public official, but a private citizen entitled to be protected in her right of privacy.” Grace appreciated the irony. Grace could sue because she was a private citizen, although her newfound celebrity was pushing those limits. Her image and name were now in the paper almost every day. A wire story noted that “the newspapers are full of her: lawyers, philanthropists and policemen are making reputations out of her.” Grace was eventually awarded $2,500 in damages.

  Just as Grace’s star was rising, so too was the name of her right-hand man. Frederic J. Haskin, a reporter who wrote a syndicated information column, asked Kron—“the one man who has probably put more time and thought on the missing girl problem than any other person”—for an exclusive. According to Haskin, Kron had been “barely mentioned” in the accounts of the case, even though his “originality of method and variety of adventures make him a fair candidate for Sunday newspaper publicity.” Kron defied easy categorization: he wasn’t an Arbuckle or even a Watson. He was more than just a sidekick.

  The story that ran on Kron had none of the lavish illustration that Grace’s did, but its portrayal of the detective as a “five feet four, Hungarian, and modest” man who led an “intensely practical life” helped fill in the missing pieces of the mysterious investigator. “When Mr. Kron sets out to solve a crime,” the story said, “he not only goes back to the very beginning of the incident but to the very birth of the criminal.” He traced Ruth Cruger’s history from the day she was born. Mr. Kron wasted no time on theories concerning a false sweetheart. He knew that he “was on the track of a criminal mind of the worst order.”

  Kron said that the case began to crack for him when he found two men who told him that on two successive midnights in February they had seen Cocchi lope out of his cellar, his clothes black with dirt. Kron knew right then where he had to look. He had seen this type of monster before. A few years ago, the chief of police in Budapest called Kron back home to help solve a horrific murder. Kron sailed over the Atlantic to a small kitchen of a farmhouse, where a woman had been found with her throat slashed. Her thirteen-year-old daughter was missing. By the time Kron arrived, the girl’s father had gone mad. Kron’s search of the house revealed something shiny lodged in the crevice of the stoop of the door. It was a single American dime. Kron also found a handkerchief in the kitchen stove. It was covered with blood. The make of the bandana was American.

  Kron found an American working as a barkeeper in a village not thirty miles away. When Kron stepped into the bar that night and saw the man, nervous and looking over his shoulder, he knew instantly that he would have his confession. Gaining his confidence, Kron heard the American confess that he had been a former employee on the farm and had been infatuated with the daughter. He had known her since she was a baby.

  When the American tried to carry the girl away, the mother screamed. So he killed her. When the girl resisted, he killed the girl. The American buried her small body in the big Hungarian woods. Kron stepped away and phoned his friend, the chief. Together, they excavated the girl’s body that night. Kron didn’t tell the reporter what happened—or what they did—to the American.

  When Kron returned home from Budapest, he was contacted to help with a similar case in New Jersey. The police had captured a German American, whom they believed murdered a little girl in a lonely stretch of trees, but, try as they might, they could not construct a strong case. Kron assumed the personality of a man of the underworld who was very rich but something of a fool. Kron befriended the suspect and began throwing his money around. They lived, ate, and dined in the same places. Kron soon knew the whole life of this man, all except the murder, which he scrupulously avoided as a topic of conversation. Kron had a longer game in mind. He hired an Italian to stand by a certain tree in the stretch of woods where the girl’s body had been found. Kron told the German that the Italian man had been saying things about him. The German seemed nervous, so Kron offered to take care of it for him. They crept up on the Italian. Kron took out his revolver and shot the Italian dead. They fled the woods.

  The next day, Kron showed the German copies of the newspaper that said an Italian had been murdered in the woods. The German, moved by Kron’s help, finally confessed to the murder of the girl. He didn’t know that there was a Dictaphone in the next room. When the police stepped in, the German realized his betrayal.

  Kron had used blank cartridges, a dummy newspaper, and patience to send this killer to the New Jersey electric chair.

  “There are born criminals and those who are made so,” Kron told the reporter. “The born criminal is the man who carefully plans his crime; the made criminal is one who commits it in a moment of passion.” Kron never had sympathy for the former, but he could sometimes feel it for the latter.

  After the Cruger case was solved, Donnelly made Kron manager of the detective agency. He was proud of his man, but he also recognized an opportunity when he saw it. Their ads in the New York City directory were updated to reflect the change:

  DETECTIVES solved Ruth Cruger mystery; reasonable rates. J.J. KRON, Manager, Donnelly’s Detective Agency, 111 Broadway, Phone 7476-Rector.

  Across town, Grace was also contemplating a change. After the publicity that followed the Cruger case, police and city officials were tripping over themselves trying to hire her. District Attorney Swann offered Grace a full-time job as an investigator of white slavery. Grace had made Swann look like a fool, but he recognized her new political power. Observers wondered if he wanted her closer to draw on her skill, to save face, or to keep an eye on her.

  In addition to receiving job offers, Grace had people wanting to work for her. One day, a very tall, very pale woman with short hair appeared on Grace’s doorstep. She was dressed in full khaki uniform with a thin belt and a flat helmet. She introduced herself as Miss Christie Harrington and straightaway volunteered her services as Grace’s personal bodyguard. She was part of an initiative started by Commissioner Woods called the New York Women’s Home Defense League, a group of civilians whose job it was to patrol the parks and guard the children against white slavery perils. She wore high leather boots.

  Around the same time, Grace officially announced that she was giving up her law practice. She was going to devote herself, full-time, to stamping out white slavery and ending the missing-girl problem once and for all. Society women of influence and wealth lined to back her, including Mrs. Felix Adler, who had suggested she look into the Ruth Cruger case in the first place.

  “I have seen so much and hope to be able to accomplish so much on behalf of girls who are constantly meeting the same risk that cost Ruth Cruger her life,” Grace said. “So I shall give up my law practice and devote every energy I possess to this fight against white-slavers.”

  * * *

  “I know of other victims,” remarked Grace, “and I only wish I could afford a house in the country where I could protect them. If some wealthy person would only pay the rent I would do the rest.… I know of twenty-two cellars where young girls have been brought by men and made their victims.… I would like to get hold of the Police Department list of girls who have disappeared. Ninety per cent of them, I feel certain, are under the control of men.”

  And thus the Grace Humiston League, whose goal was to raise one million dollars in order to endow a national organization for the protection of womanhood, was conceived. One of New York’s best citizens, who remained anonymous, said he would personally
contribute fifty thousand dollars. Grace said she looked forward to serving under a board of trustees to grow an enterprise that would eventually spread to every major city in the United States. Grace applied as an incorporator for the Morality League of America, along with Cathy de Nemethy, Izola Forrester, Helen de Nemethy, and Hannah E. Frank.

  In late July, Grace finally accepted an offer of employment from Woods to be a police special investigator. She was even allowed to carry a gun. But she didn’t care about any of those things; she wanted something far more formidable. She wanted subpoena power. Per U.S. Code, section 2321, Grace wanted the ability to require witnesses to appear in court and produce evidence under threat of prosecution. She needed this authority because, she said, “with seven hundred cases under investigation, the time expended in such efforts is a handicapping factor.” She asked Governor Whitman for this power in person. On July 21, he declined. She felt as if he would always decline her. When people asked her why she picked the cop job over Swann’s, Grace swore that it was not political. “I assure every one that politics has no more to do with my actions than it has with the tides,” she said. Her position with the police came with great fanfare in the press. It also came without salary.

  A few days later, Inspector Faurot announced to the newspapers that they had finally found the cellar that Consuelo La Rue had been imprisoned in. Faurot came out to talk to reporters. They all held their breath for more news of the white slave ring that had encircled their city. Faurot marched to the front and held up a small black book. The newspapermen stood on their tiptoes. There had long been rumors that members of the Black Hand carried a manual called The Code and Ritual that contained all the secret rites and names of their order. These small books were supposedly housed in special, dummied-up gauntlets along with small bottles of arsenic and ground glass. The Black Hand was so difficult to stop because there was seemingly no unified rhyme or reason to the secret organization. Having one of these books would be an incredible victory for law enforcement.

  Faurot raised the book even higher. He had a smile on his face. Maybe the case had been broken after all. Faurot explained that his investigators, who had been working to substantiate La Rue’s claims, had found this black volume in her possession. They felt it solved the mystery once and for all.

  Except it wasn’t a secret handbook of crime. Faurot was holding up a novel. Consuelo La Rue’s story of being kidnapped by white slavers had been stolen from a book.

  The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu, by Sax Rohmer, was published in 1913 and was the first in a series of thrilling novels about the villainous Fu Manchu, aka the Yellow Peril from the East. Tales of murder, white slavery, and remarkable escapes from death were the hallmark of Rohmer, and this volume was no exception. In the book, Karamaneh, the heroine, is a girl of great beauty whose description corresponds strikingly with that of La Rue. The young woman is taken captive and held in a luxurious apartment, where she is threatened by seeing the grave of another victim. The villain, the mysterious Chinese criminal lord, has the power of life and death over his captive women. Ads for the book in the papers claimed that “these are no ordinary detective stories.” Faurot said that La Rue had given the book to friends, recommending it highly. The book was eventually mailed to a friend in Havana but returned to New York as undeliverable, which is how Faurot found it. In the book, several people are made to commit suicide by jumping out of windows. There are blindfolds, veiled cellars, and men who hold the complete will of their charges in their hands. Faurot noted at least twenty other passages that coincided with exact specifics in La Rue’s story. The briefing was ended with Faurot noting that La Rue’s real name was Mrs. H. T. Clary and that she had family in California, including an eleven-year-old son named Harry. When the Sun reported the end of this strange story, they said “And so it goes. Copies of ‘The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu’ and of THE SUN for the last days of June may still be had while they last.”

  At the time, one of the most popular films was Poor Little Rich Girl, starring America’s sweetheart, Mary Pickford. In the film, the maid gives Mary an extra dose of sleeping medicine so that she can go out. Mary experiences a surreal, imaginary world inspired by her real-life friends. The world includes places such as the Tell-Tale Forest and the Garden of Lonely Children. People wondered whether La Rue’s story happened the same way, like a kind of self-hypnosis. Where did this story come from? Was it drugs, delusion, or just a wild, public lie? Two shadowy men would later be indicted for blackmail in the La Rue case, but for the most part New York readers felt as if they were coming out of a haze.

  Reporters tried to reach Grace for comment, but she was out of the city. She was in Annapolis.

  On another big case.

  17

  The Marked Neck

  The first thing that Grace noticed about the house in front of her was that it had only recently been painted white. The color was still bright and thick on the wooden planks. Someone had been paid to do it too, from the looks of it, which also told her something about the husband. He was too busy to do it himself, possibly, or just didn’t go in for that type of thing. That, or his line of work didn’t lend itself to physical labor. Grace already knew that she was right on that guess. The husband was in naval intelligence.

  The house stood almost perpendicular to the sidewalk, separated only by a narrow front porch. As Grace walked through the front door, she found herself in a small, square room with a couch, a library table, and a Graphophone. There was a chimney and mantel lined against the other wall. Looking straight ahead, Grace saw an open door. When she passed through its frame, she gasped to find herself in the bedroom. The room was a mess. There was a white dresser with its drawers open. Clothes were scattered on a dark rug that was decorated with golden, interlocking shapes. The brass bed in the middle of the room was bowed and looked to have a feather mattress. In the corner, Grace saw a wooly toy lamb placed near a book about babies. The mattress on the bed was soaked in blood.

  Grace walked through the dining room and saw the mahogany sideboard, then the bathroom, filled with the usual appointments of a young couple. As she was about to leave, Grace stepped out onto the rear porch and looked out the back. Past the tall weeds at the far end of the short yard, she could see shapes moving through the five-foot-tall plank wooden fence. She had been told there was a Negro community there, just on the other side.

  A day earlier, Grace had been in New York, when a call came in from the Washington Times. Grace assumed it was for yet another quote about Ruth, but it was not. The editor told Grace that there had been a murder in the naval city of Annapolis. They wanted to hire her to solve it. As trial preparations were beginning in Italy for Cocchi, Grace was staying out of it. She had already called for Cocchi’s extradition, but there was really nothing more she could do for poor Ruth Cruger. So she agreed to listen.

  The facts of this new case were both sad and mysterious. The Brandons were a young, newly married couple living in an Annapolis row house. On August 8, 1917, Val, the husband, came home from work to find his wife, Lottie May, murdered in their bed. There was barely any physical evidence, and everyone had an alibi, including her husband, who worked for the navy. Grace took a moment to think on the phone, negotiated some, and then got on a train to Washington.

  When Grace arrived, the first thing she did was to interview Valentine Brandon, the young husband. He was a stenographer with the navy, in the Experimental Division. When they met and clasped hands, the thin man stood tall with his head angled downward. He told Grace that he had married Lottie May a year ago. She had come from a family of nine. He told her of their home life. Val was clearly heartbroken.

  “After I bury my wife in Washington, I shall return to Annapolis,” he told Grace. “I will sell my household effects and leave here for all time.”

  Grace then took a machine to Annapolis and the Brandon home. Grace entered the house without speaking and walked through its rooms in silence. When Grace got back to Washington, she passed t
he Capitol and remembered her time in those halls, walking across that flat marble, arguing about immigration. She kept going. In front of the iron fence of the White House were a line of gray ladies in tight black boots. They wore sashes and had flags colored purple, white, and gold. They held large signs that read “Mr. President What Will You Do for Woman Suffrage?” and “Mr. President, You Say Liberty Is the Fundamental Demand of the Human Spirit.” Some of the other signs referred to President Wilson as “Kaiser Wilson.” Grace saw them and thought of Inez. “Just a year ago they were married,” reported Alissa Franc, of the Washington Times, “and in a few weeks a tiny stranger should have entered their doors.” At the time of her death, Lottie May Brandon was seven months pregnant.

  On August 11, three days after the crime, Grace had her first exclusive column on the front page of the Washington Times: “Lottie Brandon’s murderer was undoubtedly someone Lottie Brandon had known,” Grace wrote. She also didn’t believe that the murderer was from the nearby Negro community, as the police were hinting at in the papers. Lottie’s diamond engagement ring had remained on her thin finger. “A Negro would almost certainly have committed a theft while in the house,” Grace said, matter-of-factly. She also believed that the horrible act was premeditated. “Very few crimes start all in a moment,” wrote Grace. “The genesis and ramifications of this tragedy may date back several years.” Grace called out in print for evidence and leads, promising that “this murder mystery is going to be solved.”

  Grace had also interviewed the Brandons’ neighbor, Mrs. King, who was certain that there had been another man in Lottie’s life. Mrs. King told Grace that Lottie had confided in her about a man she had been engaged to for three years before she met Val. The man was tall and dark, but Lottie would never say his name. Not out loud. “That other fellow thought a lot of her,” Mrs. King whispered. Lottie, according to Mrs. King, had to break it off because of her parents’ objections to his religion. Lottie kept a photograph of him somewhere in the house, Mrs. King said. She also told Grace that Val was always jealous of his wife. He would not let her dance “because he could not bear to see another man’s arm around her waist.”