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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Pinkerton National Detective Agency: True Crime Stories & P.I. Cases," Allan Pinkerton presents a compelling tapestry of criminal investigations and the art of detection during the tumultuous years of the 19th century. The book is characterized by its vivid prose and thorough documentation, merging narrative storytelling with factual accounts that illuminate the gritty reality of crime and justice. Pinkerton's firsthand experiences as the founder of one of America's first private detective agencies provide a unique lens through which readers can explore notorious cases, unsolved mysteries, and the methods employed by investigators in an era defined by social upheaval and lawlessness. Allan Pinkerton, born in Scotland, immigrated to the United States in the 1840s, where he worked as a cooper before forming his detective agency in 1850. His endeavors were greatly influenced by personal convictions about crime prevention and civil liberties. Pinkerton's career not only shaped modern private investigation but also intertwined with significant historical events, such as the Civil War, where his agency was employed for espionage and security services. His remarkable legacy as a pioneer in criminal justice adds depth to the narratives within this book. I highly recommend "Pinkerton National Detective Agency: True Crime Stories & P.I. Cases" to anyone intrigued by true crime and the evolution of detective work. Pinkerton's authentic voice and the dramatic recounting of real cases not only captivate the reader but also offer invaluable insights into the historical context of American law enforcement. This book is a must-read for enthusiasts of crime history and detective fiction alike. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - An Author Biography reveals milestones in the author's life, illuminating the personal insights behind the text. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Pinkerton National Detective Agency: True Crime Stories & P.I. Cases
Table of Contents
Introduction
Lantern light glints upon a traveling badge as a nation learns to read crime through the eyes of those who pursue it.
Pinkerton National Detective Agency: True Crime Stories & P.I. Cases gathers the case narratives associated with Allan Pinkerton, the Scottish-born founder of America’s most famous private detective firm. Written in the late nineteenth century, these accounts chart the rise of modern investigative practice across a rapidly industrializing United States. Pinkerton, who established his agency in Chicago in 1850, shaped public understanding of private detection through stories that blend documentary detail with narrative drive. Without disclosing outcomes, this collection presents the initial puzzles, the fieldwork, and the disciplined patience that defined the agency’s approach to thieves, swindlers, and fugitives.
The book is considered a classic because it helped naturalize the figure of the professional detective in American letters, moving the genre from parlors and puzzles to rail depots, telegraph offices, and bustling city streets. Its influence extends across true crime, reportage, and the procedural mode that later came to dominate detective fiction. These pages show how observation, record-keeping, and networks of informants could be marshaled as narrative engines. The result is a durable template: a clear, methodical account of inquiry that balances suspense with the routine labor of following leads—work that continues to shape how readers imagine the practice of detection.
In literary history, Pinkerton’s casebooks stand at a crossroads between sensation literature and documentary journalism. They demystified technique without abandoning drama, and their emphasis on method anticipated the later rise of investigative nonfiction and the private-eye archetype in pulps and popular novels. Subsequent storytellers drew on the image of the hired investigator who maps a disorderly nation through travel, disguise, and patience. While other pioneers experimented with cerebral deduction, Pinkerton popularized fieldwork: the stakeout, the decoy, the undercover approach, and the collaborative dossier—elements that became staples for generations of writers exploring crime, secrecy, and social order.
Key facts ground the collection’s authority. Allan Pinkerton (1819–1884) immigrated from Scotland, became a lawman in Illinois, and founded the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, which provided security for railroads and businesses. During the American Civil War, he organized intelligence-gathering for the Union, experiences that informed his later writings. The stories here, drawn from volumes first issued in the 1870s and 1880s, are written with the immediacy of eyewitness testimony. They sketch the logistical realities of the period—stagecoaches giving way to rail lines, the expanding telegraph, and a patchwork of jurisdictions—while presenting the agency’s ethos of persistence, organization, and coordinated pursuit.
As literature, these narratives are notable for their plainspoken clarity and their carefully paced revelation of facts. Pinkerton pairs a moral frame with close observation: a ledger of aliases, habits, and routes; a sense that character is legible in small routines; and a constant return to evidence over conjecture. Readers encounter a mosaic of American spaces—depots, boarding houses, waterfronts, and frontier towns—rendered as points on a grid of movement and surveillance. While the tone can be instructive, it is seldom dry; the prose favors incident and texture, inviting readers to witness how patient labor and disciplined teamwork generate breakthroughs.
The cases span an array of crimes and contexts typical of the era: railroad thefts, confidence games, bank robberies, and long-distance chases threaded through the growing national network. Without naming outcomes, the book sets each pursuit at its origin—an unexplained loss, a vanished suspect, a rumor traveling faster than the culprit—and then follows the methodical build of inquiry. Undercover agents adopt aliases, cultivate contacts, and shepherd information across counties and states. The cumulative portrait is of a system that turned mobility to its advantage, using timetables, correspondence, and coordinated fieldwork to make a vast country legible.
Part of the book’s enduring fascination lies in how it documents a new profession defining itself. Private detectives operate beside, and sometimes ahead of, public authorities, navigating legal boundaries while building institutional memory. The stories present forms of evidence that would later become common—photographic likenesses, descriptive circulars, and indexed notes—here deployed in embryonic fashion. Readers observe the shift from solitary heroics to organized practice, where team coordination, reporting, and specialization matter as much as personal daring. In doing so, the collection captures a transitional moment when information began to outpace distance, and persistence proved as potent as force.
The volume also prompts necessary reflection. Written in the nineteenth century for a broad audience, the narratives carry the assumptions and blind spots of their time, including attitudes toward class, ethnicity, gender, and labor. Some episodes intersect with industrial tensions, reminding readers that the history of private security is entwined with debates over authority and rights. Approaching the book critically allows us to recognize both its craft and its context: it is a primary source for how Americans came to think about crime, order, and corporate power. That dual status—as artful storytelling and cultural document—helps explain its lasting interest.
Allan Pinkerton’s purpose was multifold: to record notable cases, to teach the public how disciplined inquiry works, and to bolster confidence in the agency’s methods. The stories stage the practical virtues he championed—discretion, patience, and collaboration—while emphasizing the ethical stakes of professional conduct. They also celebrate persistence over bravado, making the detective’s daily work legible to readers who might otherwise know it only through rumor. Without telegraphing resolutions, the introductions to each case clarify the investigative challenge and the rationale for the chosen tactics, reinforcing a vision of detection as systematic, accountable, and grounded in verifiable facts.
For contemporary audiences, the book remains engaging because it offers both suspense and origin stories: the roots of techniques that continue to define investigations, from undercover operations to coordinated data-sharing. It speaks to modern concerns about surveillance, privacy, and the role of private entities in public safety, yet does so through vivid scenes and clear prose. Historians value it for its firsthand view of a national infrastructure in formation; genre readers prize its craft and momentum. In classrooms and armchairs alike, it opens a window onto the moment when information networks began to bind a sprawling country together.
Ultimately, Pinkerton National Detective Agency: True Crime Stories & P.I. Cases endures for its union of narrative energy and procedural intelligence. Themes of vigilance, mobility, deception, and accountability thread through the collection, while the settings evoke a restless America on the move. The qualities that define it—clarity, method, and a respect for evidence—have never lost their appeal. By tracing the path from mystery to method without forfeiting human texture, the book invites readers to consider how stories can shape institutions, and how institutions, in turn, shape stories. Its relevance persists because the questions it raises still matter.
Synopsis (Selection)
This volume presents a curated set of Allan Pinkerton’s case narratives, depicting how the Pinkerton National Detective Agency investigated robberies, fraud schemes, murders, and organized criminal activity. Drawing on reports, affidavits, and field notes, the book combines incident summaries with step-by-step accounts of detection. The narrative emphasizes the agency’s practical methods, disciplined record-keeping, and coordination with public authorities. Cases unfold with attention to timelines, evidence, and the sequencing of inquiries, giving readers a clear view of how lines of proof were established. The result is a structured overview of nineteenth-century private investigation in action, centered on procedure rather than sensational detail.
The opening chapters outline the agency’s origins and operating principles. Pinkerton describes the need for trustworthy operatives, rigorous supervision, and standardized reporting. He presents surveillance, undercover infiltration, and informant cultivation as complementary tools, supported by discreet communication and secure document handling. Ethical boundaries—refusal to entrap, insistence on corroboration, and deference to lawful authority—are stated as constraints on investigative tactics. The framework establishes how assignments begin: intake from clients, a preliminary assessment of loss or threat, and the creation of a plan that breaks complex problems into manageable leads. This foundation sets the tone for the subsequent case histories and their methodical progression.
Early case studies focus on property crimes and confidence schemes, where careful observation reveals patterns that suspects work to conceal. Investigators track small clues—altered handwriting, reused packaging, pawn slips, and irregular shipments—and then test hypotheses with controlled surveillance. Express company thefts and counterfeit currency cases show how agents develop sources inside and around suspect networks, gradually mapping participants and roles. The narratives stress patience: shadowing routines for days, comparing statements, and staging decoys to provoke mistakes. Each resolution demonstrates how incremental facts, verified and assembled, yield sufficient grounds for arrest and successful prosecution without relying on dramatic confessions.
As the book proceeds, the focus extends to violent crimes. Homicide inquiries are framed by motive, opportunity, and movement, with agents reconstructing sequences through witness interviews, transport records, and material traces. Pinkerton highlights comparative analysis—matching footprints, tool marks, and purchase histories—while keeping conjecture subordinate to confirmable evidence. The narrative shows how teams coordinate stakeouts, synchronize reports, and adapt when a lead collapses. Even in these higher-stakes investigations, the same principles apply: isolate contradictions, test alibis, and secure documentary support before a decisive arrest. The result is a procedural model where method, rather than impulse, guides each step.
Undercover operations occupy a prominent place in the middle sections. Agents assume identities, enter criminal circles, and collect proof by witnessing preparations and exchanges. The text details the discipline required to maintain cover stories, communicate securely, and avoid compromising ongoing surveillance. Decoy shipments, controlled meetings, and staged negotiations are used to corroborate intelligence without prematurely exposing the operation. To manage risk, case managers compartmentalize knowledge, assign backup teams, and coordinate with local authorities to ensure lawful intervention. Emphasis is placed on documentation—coded notes, corroborating observations, and contemporaneous records—to translate covert findings into admissible evidence.
The narrative then turns to railroad and industrial protection, areas central to the agency’s work with commercial clients. Chapters describe thefts from depots, planned train robberies, and schemes aimed at payrolls and freight. Pinkerton outlines preventive measures—route intelligence, employee vetting, and discreet escorts—alongside reactive pursuits when crimes occur. Cross-jurisdictional cooperation appears frequently, with agents liaising with sheriffs, marshals, and company officials to track suspects across counties and states. These episodes underscore the logistical complexities of mobile offenders and the value of rapid communication networks. Each case illustrates how prevention, deterrence, and disciplined pursuit form an integrated security strategy.
A recurring theme is specialization within the investigator corps. The book highlights assignments matched to skills: languages, handwriting analysis, social observation, and financial auditing. Accounts of female operatives show how access and perception can shift outcomes in domestic and social settings where male agents would attract notice. The operational detail remains consistent—surveillance logs, chain-of-custody practices, and careful timing of arrests. Legal procedure figures prominently, with attention to warrants, extradition, and the need to present clear, cumulative evidence. The cases demonstrate that successful outcomes depend on coordinated roles and a uniform standard of proof across varied environments.
Later chapters broaden the geographic scope, following suspects who flee through multiple jurisdictions and across national borders. The agency’s strategy relies on standardized reports, telegraphic updates, and liaison with counterpart offices to maintain continuity. Pursuits are described step by step, from initial identification to final apprehension, with emphasis on preserving evidence integrity when custody shifts. Pinkerton notes the importance of tempering urgency with verification, ensuring each action rests on documented grounds. When conclusions are reached, they result from converging lines of evidence rather than a single revelation, reinforcing the book’s consistent method-first approach.
The concluding sections distill the agency’s core message: detection is an organized craft grounded in documentation, corroboration, and disciplined teamwork. The book presents private investigation as a professional service that complements public law enforcement, aiming to prevent crime, recover property, and secure sustainable convictions. Across varied cases, the narrative maintains a neutral focus on process and results, not dramatization. Pinkerton closes by linking technique to trust—arguing that reliable methods, clear records, and lawful conduct are essential to client confidence and judicial acceptance. As a whole, the volume functions as both historical record and procedural guide to nineteenth-century detective work.
Historical Context
Allan Pinkerton’s true-crime narratives are rooted in the United States’ rapid transformation between the 1850s and early 1880s, centered initially on Chicago and radiating along the nation’s new rail corridors. The period saw the convergence of mass immigration, urban growth, and industrial capitalism with rudimentary public policing and courts still adapting to new social realities. Pinkerton’s cases traverse the Midwest, Mid-Atlantic, and Appalachian coal fields, and reach into border-state cities like Baltimore and wartime capitals. The chronology sweeps from the antebellum decade through the Civil War and Reconstruction, when private security firms often filled gaps in state capacity, defining the milieu in which the detective agency gained prominence.
Chicago’s meteoric rise as a transport and commercial hub created a stage for theft, counterfeiting, and labor conflict, problems magnified by the explosive growth of the railroad network and express companies. In 1850, the nation had roughly 9,000 miles of track; by 1870, it exceeded 50,000, with freight, payrolls, and mail moving at unprecedented volumes. Courts differed widely by state, and federal policing was minimal. Into this environment stepped Pinkerton, a Scottish immigrant-turned-detective whose firm learned to operate across jurisdictions. The settings of the book’s episodes—depots, express cars, coal towns, and wartime headquarters—mirror the geography of American modernization and its frictions.
The Pinkerton National Detective Agency originated in Chicago in 1850 (as the North-Western Police Agency), reflecting commercial demands for private investigation and security. The firm’s open-eye logo and motto, “We Never Sleep,” signaled continuous surveillance in an era of porous borders and inconsistent local law enforcement. Pinkerton hired the pioneering female detective Kate Warne in 1856, expanding operational craft. Early cases featured undercover work against thieves, fences, and counterfeiters who exploited the expanding market economy. The book’s case repertory draws heavily on these formative Chicago and Midwestern investigations, illustrating how private detectives innovated techniques—decoy operations, surveillance networks, and interline cooperation with railroads and express companies.
Railroad and express security shaped both the agency’s growth and the crimes it pursued. Companies such as Adams Express and American Express faced robberies of safes in baggage and mail cars, payroll thefts, and sabotage. The sheer increase in moving valuables produced new criminal opportunities along routes from the Ohio Valley to the Atlantic seaboard. By the 1860s, Pinkerton operatives rode trains, audited depot staff, and traced stolen currency through banking channels. Many episodes in Pinkerton’s narratives—robbed safes, intercepted plots, and tracked accomplices—reflect this transportation revolution, situating detective work within timetables, junctions, and transfer points that structured criminal flight and pursuit across state lines.
The 1861 Baltimore Plot is a pivotal historical episode threaded through Pinkerton’s accounts. As President-elect Abraham Lincoln traveled from Springfield to Washington for his inauguration, secessionist hostility centered on Baltimore, a border-state city prone to unrest. Samuel M. Felton, president of the Philadelphia, Wilmington & Baltimore Railroad, hired Allan Pinkerton to investigate sabotage threats to bridges and tracks. Pinkerton’s operatives, including Kate Warne, infiltrated secessionist circles and taverns, monitoring rumors of an ambush during Lincoln’s transfer between stations. The book recasts this intelligence work as a real-time assessment of urban conspiracy, probing how transportation hubs became flashpoints in the Union’s precarious prewar transition.
Lincoln’s clandestine nocturnal passage through Baltimore on February 22–23, 1861, became both political drama and security operation. Pinkerton altered the schedule, obtained a sleeping car, and guided Lincoln—disguised and shielded—through the city before hostile crowds gathered. Though the maneuver provoked critics who decried secrecy and alleged exaggeration, subsequent riots in Baltimore weeks later underscored the risks. Pinkerton’s retelling positions the episode as a case study in preventive policing: risk estimation, deception, and rapid re-routing. In the book’s frame, it exemplifies the detective’s role in national politics just as the Union government struggled to maintain order amid secession and divided local authorities.
During the war’s first years, Pinkerton led intelligence operations for General George B. McClellan, working under the alias “E. J. Allen” with the Army of the Potomac. His operatives interviewed refugees and deserters, mapped fortifications, and ran couriers behind lines. Notably, agent Timothy Webster penetrated Richmond’s networks, only to be captured and executed on April 29, 1862. Critics later faulted Pinkerton’s troop-strength estimates as inflated, but his narratives highlight the embryonic state of military intelligence. The book’s wartime chapters, later consolidated in The Spy of the Rebellion (1883), yoke detective craft to national strategy, charting both the promise and limits of clandestine information in civil conflict.
The postwar years mixed economic volatility, demobilization, and expanding frontiers, conditions that fostered robbery, fraud, and labor militancy. Rail corridors became corridors of crime as well as commerce, while mining regions saw pitched struggles over wages, safety, and control. With federal law enforcement minimal and local authorities uneven, corporations increasingly retained private operatives for protection and investigations. Pinkerton’s narratives mirror this shift: express-car thefts, payroll holdups, and undercover assignments in industrial communities. The book uses these cases to illustrate the privatization of order—how detectives operated as a quasi-police force in spaces where state capacity lagged, and how that role drew them into social and political conflict.
The Molly Maguires affair in Pennsylvania’s anthracite coal region (primarily Schuylkill and Carbon Counties) stands among the most consequential events shaping Pinkerton’s work. Beginning in 1873, agent James McParland infiltrated local lodges of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, believed by mine owners to cloak a violent faction called the Molly Maguires. The coal fields’ context was stark: hazardous work, company towns, wage disputes, and ethnic tensions among Irish immigrants and Anglo-American managers. Murders of foremen and superintendents in the early 1870s intensified calls for action. McParland’s covert status, assumed name, and reports formed the evidentiary backbone for subsequent prosecutions.
Trials from 1876 to 1878—prosecuted notably by Reading Railroad president Franklin B. Gowen—relied heavily on McParland’s testimony. On June 21, 1877, known as “Black Thursday,” ten men were hanged in Pottsville and Mauch Chunk (now Jim Thorpe), with additional executions following in 1878–1879. Supporters argued the cases broke organized intimidation and murder; critics contended the trials were tainted by private detectives’ influence, biased juries, and a corporate prosecutor. Pinkerton’s 1877 volume The Molly Maguires and the Detectives dramatized the infiltration, presenting clandestine labor conspiracy as a public menace. The book’s treatment framed private intelligence as indispensable where local governance was compromised.
Historically, disputes persist about the degree to which the Molly Maguires constituted a coherent secret society versus fragmented criminal acts amid labor conflict. Yet the affair’s legacy is clear: it established the capacity and controversy of private undercover work in industrial America. Pinkerton’s narrative codified methods—long-term infiltration, coded correspondence, and corroboration of threats—that recur in later chapters of the book. Simultaneously, it exposed the fracture lines of the Gilded Age: corporate power, immigrant marginalization, and contested justice. For readers, these chapters offer an unusually detailed window into ethnic community politics, mine-operator strategy, and the judiciary’s entanglement with privately gathered intelligence.
The Reno Gang’s train robberies in Indiana during 1866–1868 marked the dawn of the classic American train holdup. Operating along the Ohio & Mississippi and Jeffersonville lines, the Renos executed the first robbery of a moving train in U.S. history near Seymour on October 6, 1866. Adams Express and railroad officials engaged Pinkerton operatives to track suspects across state lines. Arrests in 1868 were followed by vigilante seizures from jail and lynchings in New Albany in December 1868. In Pinkerton’s case literature, the Renos exemplify how mobile crime exploited rail networks and how private detection intersected with extra-legal frontier justice.
The James-Younger Gang leveraged regional loyalties and postwar resentment to rob banks and trains across Missouri and neighboring states in the 1870s. After railroad and express companies retained private detectives, a Pinkerton-led raid on the James family farm near Kearney, Missouri, in January 1875 ended disastrously: a thrown device killed Jesse’s young half-brother, Archie Samuel, and maimed their mother, Zerelda, igniting public backlash. Though Allan Pinkerton disputed direct responsibility, the episode haunted the agency’s reputation. The book’s frontier-crime accounts explore such pursuits and their perils, registering both the determination to halt notorious outlaws and the hazards of militarized private action in rural communities.
The Great Railroad Strike of 1877 erupted after wage cuts by the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad in July, spreading from Martinsburg, West Virginia, to Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Chicago, and St. Louis. Railroad yards burned, freight halted, and militia skirmished with crowds; federal troops deployed on President Rutherford B. Hayes’s orders. Dozens died nationwide, with severe property losses in Pittsburgh. As corporations sought guards and investigators, the Pinkerton agency observed and occasionally supported protective measures around depots and yards. Pinkerton’s 1878 book Strikers, Communists, Tramps, and Detectives interpreted the upheaval through a lens of radical agitation, viewing nascent socialist and anarchist networks as catalysts for disorder.
Historically, the strike reflected a long depression after the Panic of 1873, reduced wages, and unsafe conditions, amplified by new political organizing, including Workingmen’s parties. Pinkerton’s text captured elite anxiety about the Paris Commune’s shadow and the international circulation of socialist ideas. While often unsympathetic to strikers’ grievances, the book chronicled tactics—mass pickets, rail stoppages, and clashes with militia—that transformed labor protest into a national political event. It also documented the countermeasures: special police, private guards, and military intervention. The narrative thus mirrors the period’s defining conflict over the right to organize, the limits of assembly, and corporate control of infrastructure.
Taken together, the book functions as a social and political critique by dramatizing the insufficiency of mid-century public institutions to secure property, persons, and critical infrastructure. It highlights how corporations, railroads, and express firms outsourced policing to private hands, effectively creating a parallel system of investigation responsive to capital. The narratives expose ethnic stigmatization, especially of Irish workers in the anthracite fields, and the pressures that drove communities to extra-legal remedies, from lynching to vigilantism. They simultaneously reveal anxieties among elites about radicalism and the perceived threat of mass politics, illuminating power imbalances embedded in Gilded Age modernization.
The book also interrogates the ethics of clandestine methods—deception, infiltration, and surveillance—when employed outside formal public accountability. By detailing the Baltimore Plot, wartime espionage, and labor prosecutions, it depicts a state reliant on ad hoc partnerships with private detectives to bridge gaps in intelligence and enforcement. This arrangement invited conflicts of interest and blurred legal boundaries. Pinkerton’s narratives implicitly question class stratification: the vulnerabilities of miners, immigrants, and industrial laborers are ever-present, even as the text defends order. Thus, the cases both endorse a stabilizing project and expose structural inequities that produced crime, protest, and repression in the period it chronicles.
Author Biography
Allan Pinkerton (1819–1884) was a Scottish-born American detective, entrepreneur, and author whose name became synonymous with private policing in the United States. As founder of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, he professionalized investigative work for railroads, banks, and industry during a period of rapid expansion and social unrest. He also played a conspicuous role in the political crises of the mid-19th century, including the protection of President-elect Abraham Lincoln and intelligence gathering during the Civil War. Pinkerton’s published case narratives helped shape popular understandings of detection, blending reportage and moral suasion. His legacy remains influential, if contested, in law enforcement practices and American popular culture.
Raised in Glasgow and apprenticed as a cooper, Pinkerton drew early influences from the Chartist movement and its democratic ideals. Largely self-educated, he emigrated to the United States in the early 1840s and settled in the Chicago region, where he continued his trade. Encounters with criminal activity in the Illinois backcountry led him to assist local authorities, revealing a practical aptitude for surveillance and informant handling. He moved gradually from craft work to full-time investigations, cooperating with public officials and commercial clients. His antislavery convictions, noted by contemporaries, informed both his civic outlook and some early efforts to aid freedom seekers, aligning his work with reformist currents of the era.
In 1850 Pinkerton founded a private agency in Chicago that soon operated across state lines, taking on railroad security, express shipments, and major theft cases. The firm emphasized secrecy, discipline, and documentation, popularizing the "We Never Sleep" motto and the all-seeing eye emblem. Pinkerton instituted standardized case files and a photographic "rogues’ gallery," while refining undercover methods that relied on patient observation and coded communications. The agency’s reach grew with the railroad network, and it became a trusted contractor for corporations seeking protection in the absence of robust national policing. These practices, though sometimes controversial, foreshadowed modern investigative protocols in both public and private spheres.
Pinkerton’s most publicized assignment came in 1861, when his agents reported a threat to the president-elect’s journey through Baltimore and arranged a covert rerouting to Washington. During the Civil War he served as an intelligence organizer for the Union, operating under the alias E. J. Allen and reporting to the Army of the Potomac. His networks produced valuable reconnaissance, yet his troop estimates were criticized as inflated, influencing assessments of Confederate strength. By the later war years his direct role diminished. He would later publish accounts that defended his conduct and highlighted espionage hazards, contributing to ongoing debates about the accuracy and impact of his wartime intelligence.
Pinkerton cultivated a parallel career as a writer, publishing case narratives that melded investigative detail with didactic storytelling. Notable titles credited to him include The Expressman and the Detective (1874), The Somnambulist and the Detective (1875), The Mollie Maguires and Detectives (1877), Strikers, Communists, Tramps and Detectives (1878), and The Spy of the Rebellion (1883). These volumes portrayed detection as rational, methodical, and morally purposeful, often presenting the agency as a bulwark against crime and perceived disorder. Popular with a broad readership, the books also drew skepticism for sensationalism and partisanship, yet they helped codify detective tropes that later authors and law enforcement manuals would recycle.
After the war, Pinkerton’s firm expanded nationally, tackling train robberies, bank thefts, and pursuits of prominent outlaws. High-profile operations generated both acclaim and criticism, especially when pursuits turned violent or controversial. As industrial conflict intensified in the late 19th century, the agency’s work for corporations in labor disputes provoked public debate about private power and the boundaries of policing. Some of the most notorious strikebreaking episodes occurred after Pinkerton’s death, yet they shaped perceptions of the brand he created. Throughout his later career he remained a visible public figure, defending his methods, lecturing on crime, and arguing for systematic record-keeping as the basis of effective detection.
Pinkerton died in the mid-1880s, closing a career that had helped set templates for private security, corporate protection, and undercover work. His agency outlived him, evolving into a multinational enterprise and leaving an imprint on identification practices, surveillance, and the coordination of multi-jurisdictional investigations. The Pinkerton name entered American idiom as shorthand for the private detective, while the company’s emblem and motto became cultural icons. His books continue to be read as artifacts of 19th-century policing and as formative texts in the detective genre. Modern assessments balance his organizational innovations with critiques of partisanship, labor conflict, and the contested reliability of some published claims.
Pinkerton National Detective Agency: True Crime Stories & P.I. Cases
The Expressman and the Detective
PREFACE.
During the greater portion of a very busy life, I have been actively engaged in the profession of a Detective, and hence have been brought in contact with many men, and have been an interested participant in many exciting occurrences.
The narration of some of the most interesting of these events, happening in connection with my professional labors, is the realization of a pleasure I have long anticipated, and is the fulfillment of promises repeatedly made to numerous friends in by gone days.
"The Expressman and the Detective,"
and the other works announced by my publishers, are all true stories, transcribed from the Records in my offices. If there be any incidental embellishment, it is so slight that the actors in these scenes from the drama of life would never themselves detect it; and if the incidents seem to the reader at all marvelous or improbable, I can but remind him, in the words of the old adage, that "Truth is stranger than fiction."
ALLAN PINKERTON.
Chicago, October, 1874.
CHAPTER I.
Montgomery, Alabama, is beautifully situated on the Alabama river, near the centre of the State. Its situation at the head of navigation, on the Alabama river, its connection by rail with important points, and the rich agricultural country with which it is surrounded, make it a great commercial centre, and the second city in the State as regards wealth and population. It is the capital, and consequently learned men and great politicians flock to it, giving it a society of the highest rank, and making it the social centre of the State.
From 1858 to 1860, the time of which I treat in the present work, the South was in a most prosperous condition. "Cotton was king," and millions of dollars were poured into the country for its purchase, and a fair share of this money found its way to Montgomery.
When the Alabama planters had gathered their crops of cotton, tobacco, rice, etc., they sent them to Montgomery to be sold, and placed the proceeds on deposit in its banks. During their busy season, while overseeing the labor of their slaves, they were almost entirely debarred from the society of any but their own families; but when the crops were gathered they went with their families to Montgomery, where they gave themselves up to enjoyment, spending their money in a most lavish manner.
There were several good hotels in the city and they were always filled to overflowing with the wealth and beauty of the South.
The Adams Express Company had a monopoly of the express business of the South, and had established its agencies at all points with which there was communication by rail, steam or stage. They handled all the money sent to the South for the purchase of produce, or remitted to the North in payment of merchandise. Moreover, as they did all the express business for the banks, besides moving an immense amount of freight, it is evident that their business was enormous.
At all points of importance, where there were diverging routes of communication, the company had established principal agencies, at which all through freight and the money pouches were delivered by the messengers. The agents at these points were selected with the greatest care, and were always considered men above reproach. Montgomery being a great centre of trade was made the western terminus of one of the express routes, Atlanta being the eastern. The messengers who had charge of the express matter between these two points were each provided with a safe and with a pouch. The latter was to contain only such packages as were to go over the whole route, consisting of money or other valuables. The messenger was not furnished with a key to the pouch, but it was handed to him locked by the agent at one end of the route to be delivered in the same condition to the agent at the other end.
The safe was intended for way packages, and of it the messenger of course had a key. The pouch was carried in the safe, each being protected by a lock of peculiar construction.
The Montgomery office in 1858, and for some years previous, had been in charge of Nathan Maroney, and he had made himself one of the most popular agents in the company's employ.
He was married, and with his wife and one daughter, had pleasant quarters at the Exchange Hotel, one of the best houses in the city. He possessed all the qualifications which make a popular man. He had a genial, hearty manner, which endeared him to the open, hospitable inhabitants of Montgomery, so that he was "hail fellow, well met," with most of its populace. He possessed great executive ability and hence managed the affairs of his office in a very satisfactory manner. The promptness with which he discharged his duties had won for him the well-merited esteem of the officers of the company, and he was in a fair way of attaining a still higher position. His greatest weakness—if it may be so called—was a love for fast horses, which often threw him into the company of betting men.
On the morning of the twenty-sixth of April, 1858, the messenger from Atlanta arrived in Montgomery, placed his safe in the office as usual, and when Maroney came in, turned over to him the through pouch.
Maroney unlocked the pouch and compared it with the way-bill, when he discovered a package of four thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars for a party in Montgomery which was not down on the way-bill. About a week after this occurrence, advice was received that a package containing ten thousand dollars in bills of the Planters' and Mechanics' Bank of Charleston, S. C., had been sent to Columbus, Ga., via the Adams Express, but the person to whom it was directed had not received it. Inquiries were at once instituted, when it was discovered that it had been missent, and forwarded to Atlanta, instead of Macon. At Atlanta it was recollected that this package, together with one for Montgomery, for four thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars, had been received on Sunday, the twenty-fifth of April, and had been sent on to Montgomery, whence the Columbus package could be forwarded the next day. Here all trace of the missing package was lost. Maroney stated positively that he had not received it, and the messenger was equally positive that the pouch had been delivered to Maroney in the same order in which he received it from the Atlanta agent.
The officers of the company were completely at a loss. It was discovered beyond a doubt that the package had been sent from Atlanta. The messenger who received it bore an excellent character, and the company could not believe him guilty of the theft. The lock of the pouch was examined and found in perfect order, so that it evidently had not been tampered with. The messenger was positive that he had not left the safe open when he went out of the car, and there was no sign of the lock's having been forced.
The more the case was investigated, the more directly did suspicion point to Maroney, but as his integrity had always been unquestioned, no one now was willing to admit the possibility of his guilt. However, as no decided action in the matter could be taken, it was determined to say nothing, but to have the movements of Maroney and other suspected parties closely watched.
For this purpose various detectives were employed; one a local detective of Montgomery, named McGibony; others from New Orleans, Philadelphia, Mobile, and New York. After a long investigation these parties had to give up the case as hopeless, all concluding that Maroney was an innocent man. Among the detectives, however was one from New York, Robert Boyer, by name, an old and favorite officer of Mr. Matsell when he was chief of the New York police. He had made a long and tedious examination and finding nothing definite as to what had become of the money, had turned his attention to discovering the antecedents of Maroney, but found nothing positively suspicious in his life previous to his entering the employ of the company. He discovered that Maroney was the son of a physician, and that he was born in the town of Rome, Ga.
Here I would remark that the number of titled men one meets in the South is astonishing. Every man, if he is not a doctor, a lawyer, or a clergyman, has some military title—nothing lower than captain being admissible. Of these self-imposed titles they are very jealous, and woe be to the man who neglects to address them in the proper form. Captain is the general title, and is applied indiscriminately to the captain of a steamer, or to the deck hand on his vessel.
Maroney remained in Rome until he became a young man, when he emigrated to Texas. On the breaking out of the Mexican war he joined a company of Texan Rangers, and distinguished himself in a number of battles. At the close of the war he settled in Montgomery, in the year 1851, or 1852, and was employed by Hampton & Co., owners of a line of stages, to act as their agent. On leaving this position, he was made treasurer of Johnson & May's circus, remaining with the company until it was disbanded in consequence of the pecuniary difficulties of the proprietors—caused, it was alleged, through Maroney's embezzlement of the funds, though this allegation proved false, and he remained for many years on terms of intimacy with one of the partners, a resident of Montgomery. When the company disbanded he obtained a situation as conductor on a railroad in Tennessee, and was afterwards made Assistant Superintendent, which position he resigned to take the agency of the Adams Express Company, in Montgomery. His whole life seemed spotless up to the time of the mysterious disappearance of the ten thousand dollars.
In the fall of the year, Maroney obtained leave of absence, and made a trip to the North, visiting the principal cities of the East, and also of the Northwest. He was followed on this trip, but nothing was discovered, with the single exception that his associates were not always such as were desirable in an employé, to whose keeping very heavy interests were from time to time necessarily committed. He was lost sight of at Richmond, Va., for a few days, and was supposed by the man who was following him, to have passed the time in Charleston.
The company now gave up all hope of recovering the money; but as Maroney's habits were expensive, and they had lost, somewhat, their confidence in him, they determined to remove him and place some less objectionable person in his place.
Maroney's passion for fine horses has already been alluded to. It was stated about this time that he owned several fast horses; among others, "Yankee Mary," a horse for which he was said to have paid two thousand five hundred dollars; but as he had brought seven thousand five hundred dollars with him when he entered the employ of the company, this could not be considered a suspicious circumstance.
It having been determined to remove Maroney, the Vice-President of the company wrote to the Superintendent of the Southern Division of the steps he wished taken. The Superintendent of the Southern Division visited Montgomery on the twentieth of January, 1859, but was anticipated in the matter of carrying out his instructions, by Maroney's tendering his resignation. The resignation was accepted, but the superintendent requested him to continue in charge of the office until his successor should arrive.
This he consented to do.
CHAPTER II.
Previous to Maroney's trip to the North, Mr. Boyer held a consultation with the Vice-President and General Superintendent of the company. He freely admitted his inability to fathom the mystery surrounding the loss of the money, and thought the officers of the company did Maroney a great injustice in supposing him guilty of the theft. He said he knew of only one man who could bring out the robbery, and he was living in Chicago.
Pinkerton was the name of the man he referred to. He had established an agency in Chicago, and was doing a large business. He (Boyer) had every confidence in his integrity and ability, which was more than he could say of the majority of detectives, and recommended the Vice-President to have him come down and look into the case.
This ended the case for most of the detectives. One by one they had gone away, and nothing had been developed by them. The Vice-President, still anxious to see if anything could be done, wrote a long and full statement of the robbery and sent it to me, with the request that I would give my opinion on it.
I was much surprised when I received the letter, as I had not the slightest idea who the Vice-President was, and knew very little about the Adams Express, as, at that time, they had no office in the West.
I, however, sat down and read it over very carefully, and, on finishing it, determined to make a point in the case if I possibly could. I reviewed the whole of the Vice-President's letter, debating every circumstance connected with the robbery, and finally ended my consideration of the subject with the firm conviction that the robbery had been committed either by the agent, Maroney, or by the messenger, and I was rather inclined to give the blame to Maroney.
The letter was a very long one, but one of which I have always been proud. Having formed my opinion, I wrote to the Vice-President, explained to him the ground on which I based my conclusions, and recommended that they keep Maroney in their employ, and have a strict watch maintained over his actions.
After sending my letter, I could do nothing until the Vice-President replied, which I expected he would do in a few days; but I heard nothing more of the affair for a long time, and had almost entirely forgotten it, when I received a telegraphic dispatch from him, sent from Montgomery, and worded about as follows:
"Allan Pinkerton: Can you send me a man—half horse and half alligator? I have got 'bit' once more! When can you send him?"
The dispatch came late Saturday night, and I retired to my private office to think the matter over. The dispatch gave me no information from which I could draw any conclusions. No mention was made of how the robbery was committed, or of the amount stolen. I had not received any further information of the ten thousand dollar robbery. How had they settled that? It was hard to decide what kind of a man to send! I wanted to send the very best, and would gladly go myself, but did not know whether the robbery was important enough to demand my personal attention.
I did not know what kind of men the officers of the company were, or whether they would be willing to reward a person properly for his exertions in their behalf.
At that time I had no office in New York, and knew nothing of the ramifications of the company. Besides, I did not know how I would be received in the South. I had held my anti-slavery principles too long to give them up. They had been bred in my bones, and it was impossible to eradicate them. I was always stubborn, and in any circumstances would never abandon principles I had once adopted.
Slavery was in full blossom, and an anti-slavery man could do nothing in the South. As I had always been a man somewhat after the John Brown stamp, aiding slaves to escape, or keeping them employed, and running them into Canada when in danger, I did not think it would do for me to make a trip to Montgomery.
I did not know what steps had already been taken in the case, or whether the loss was a heavy one. From the Vice-President's saying he wanted a man "half horse, half alligator," I supposed he wanted a man who could at least affiliate readily with the inhabitants of the South.
But what class was he to mix with? Did he want a man to mix with the rough element, or to pass among gentlemen? I could select from my force any class of man he could wish. But what did he wish?
I was unaware of who had recommended me to the Vice-President, as at that time I had not been informed that my old friend Boyer had spoken so well of me. What answer should I make to the dispatch? It must be answered immediately!
These thoughts followed each other in rapid succession as I held the dispatch before me.
I finally settled on Porter as the proper man to send, and immediately telegraphed the Vice-President, informing him that Porter would start for Montgomery by the first train. I then sent for Porter and gave him what few instructions I could. I told him the little I knew of the case, and that I should have to rely greatly on his tact and discretion.
Up to that time I had never done any business for the Adams Express, and as their business was well worth having, I was determined to win.
He was to go to Montgomery and get thoroughly acquainted with the town and its surroundings; and as my suspicions had become aroused as to the integrity of the agent, Maroney, he was to form his acquaintance, and frequent the saloons and livery stables of the town, the Vice-President's letter having made me aware of Maroney's inclination for fast horses. He was to keep his own counsel, and, above all things, not let it become known that he was from the North, but to hail from Richmond, Va., thus securing for himself a good footing with the inhabitants. He was also to dress in the Southern style; to supply me with full reports describing the town and its surroundings, the manners and customs of its people, all he saw or heard about Maroney, the messengers and other employés of the company; whether Maroney was married, and, if so, any suspicious circumstances in regard to his wife as well as himself—in fact, to keep me fully informed of all that occurred. I should have to rely on his discretion until his reports were received; but then I could direct him how to act. I also instructed him to obey all orders from the Vice-President, and to be as obliging as possible.
Having given him his instructions, I started him off on the first train, giving him a letter of introduction to the Vice-President. On Porter's arriving in Montgomery he sent me particulars of the case, from which I learned that while Maroney was temporarily filling the position of agent, among other packages sent to the Montgomery office, on the twenty-seventh of January, 1859, were four containing, in the aggregate, forty thousand dollars, of which one, of two thousand five hundred dollars, was to be sent to Charleston, S. C., and the other three, of thirty thousand, five thousand, and two thousand five hundred respectively, were intended for Augusta. These were receipted for by Maroney, and placed in the vault to be sent off the next day. On the twenty-eighth the pouch was given to the messenger, Mr. Chase, and by him taken to Atlanta. When the pouch was opened, it was found that none of these packages were in it, although they were entered on the way-bill which accompanied the pouch, and were duly checked off. The poor messenger was thunder-struck, and for a time acted like an idiot, plunging his hand into the vacant pouch over and over again, and staring vacantly at the way-bill. The Assistant Superintendent of the Southern Division was in the Atlanta office when the loss was discovered, and at once telegraphed to Maroney for an explanation. Receiving no reply before the train started for Montgomery, he got aboard and went directly there. On his arrival he went to the office and saw Maroney, who said he knew nothing at all of the matter. He had delivered the packages to the messenger, had his receipt for them, and of course could not be expected to keep track of them when out of his possession.
Before Mr. Hall, the route agent, left Atlanta he had examined the pouch carefully, but could find no marks of its having been tampered with. He had immediately telegraphed to another officer of the company, who was at Augusta, and advised him of what had happened. The evening after the discovery of the loss the pouch was brought back by the messenger from Atlanta, who delivered it to Maroney.
Maroney took out the packages, compared them with the way-bill, and, finding them all right, he threw down the pouch and placed the packages in the vault.
In a few moments he came out, and going over to where Mr. Hall was standing, near where he had laid down the pouch, he picked it up and proceeded to examine it. He suddenly exclaimed, "Why, it's cut!" and handed it over to Mr. Hall. Mr. Hall, on examination, found two cuts at right angles to each other, made in the side of the pouch and under the pocket which is fastened on the outside, to contain the way-bill.
On Sunday the General Superintendent arrived in Montgomery, when a strict investigation was made, but nothing definite was discovered, and the affair seemed surrounded by an impenetrable veil of mystery. It was, however, discovered that on the day the missing packages were claimed to have been sent away, there were several rather unusual incidents in the conduct of Maroney.
After consultation with Mr. Hall and others, the General Superintendent determined that the affair should not be allowed to rest, as was the ten thousand dollar robbery, and had Maroney arrested, charged with stealing the forty thousand dollars.
The robbery of so large an amount caused great excitement in Montgomery. The legislature was in session, and the city was crowded with senators, representatives and visitors. Everywhere, on the streets, in the saloons, in private families, and at the hotels, the great robbery of the Express Company was the universal topic of conversation. Maroney had become such a favorite that nearly all the citizens sympathized with him, and in unmeasured terms censured the company for having him arrested. They claimed that it was another instance of the persecution of a poor man by a powerful corporation, to cover the carelessness of those high in authority, and thus turn the blame on some innocent person.
Maroney was taken before Justice Holtzclaw, and gave the bail which was required—forty thousand dollars—for his appearance for examination a few days later; prominent citizens of the town actually vieing with one another for an opportunity to sign his bail-bond.
At the examination the Company presented such a weak case that the bail was reduced to four thousand dollars, and Maroney was bound over in that amount to appear for trial at the next session of the circuit court, to be held in June. The evidence was such that there was little prospect of his conviction on the charge unless the company could procure additional evidence by the time the trial was to come off.
It was the desire of the company to make such inquiries, and generally pursue such a course as would demonstrate the guilt or the possible innocence of the accused. It was absolutely necessary for their own preservation to show that depredations upon them could not be committed with impunity. They offered a reward of ten thousand dollars for the recovery of the money, promptly made good the loss of the parties who had entrusted the several amounts to their charge, and looked around to select such persons to assist them as would be most likely to secure success. The amount was large enough to warrant the expenditure of a considerable sum in its recovery, and the beneficial influence following the conviction of the guilty party would be ample return for any outlay securing that object. The General Superintendent therefore telegraphed to me, as before related, requesting me to send a man to work up the case.
CHAPTER III.
Mr. Porter had a very rough journey to Montgomery, and was delayed some days on the road. It was in the depth of winter, and in the North the roads were blockaded with snow, while in the South there was constant rain. The rivers were flooded, carrying away the bridges and washing out the embankments of the railroads, very much impeding travel.
On his arrival in Montgomery he saw the General Superintendent and presented his letter. He received from him the particulars of the forty thousand dollar robbery, and immediately reported them to me.
The General Superintendent directed him to watch—"shadow" as we call it—the movements of Maroney, find out who were his companions, and what saloons he frequented.
Porter executed his duties faithfully, and reported to me that Montgomery was decidedly a fast town; that the Exchange Hotel, where Maroney boarded, was kept by Mr. Floyd, former proprietor of the Briggs House, Chicago, and, although not the leading house of the town, was very much liked, as it was well conducted.
From the meagre reports I had received I found I had to cope with no ordinary man, but one who was very popular, while I was a poor nameless individual, with a profession which most people were inclined to look down upon with contempt. I however did not flinch from the undertaking, but wrote to Porter to do all he could, and at the same time wrote to the General Superintendent, suggesting the propriety of sending another man, who should keep in the background and "spot" Maroney and his wife, or their friends, so that if any one of them should leave town he could follow him, leaving Porter in Montgomery, to keep track of the parties there.
There were, of course, a number of suspicious characters in a town of the size of Montgomery, and it was necessary to keep watch of many of them.
Maroney frequented a saloon kept by a man whom I will call Patterson. Patterson's saloon was the fashionable drinking resort of Montgomery, and was frequented by all the fast men in town. Although outwardly a very quiet, respectable place, inwardly, as Porter found, it was far from reputable. Up stairs were private rooms, in which gentlemen met to have a quiet game of poker; while down stairs could be found the greenhorn, just "roped in," and being swindled, at three card monte. There were, also, rooms where the "young bloods" of the town—as well as the old—could meet ladies of easy virtue. It was frequented by fast men from New Orleans, Mobile, and other places, who were continually arriving and departing.
I advised the General Superintendent that it would be best to have Porter get in with the "bloods" of the town, make himself acquainted with any ladies Maroney or his wife might be familiar with, and adopt generally the character of a fast man.
As soon as the General Superintendent received my letter he telegraphed to me to send the second man, and also requested me to meet him, at a certain date, in New York.
I now glanced over my force to see who was the best person to select for a "shadow". Porter had been promoted by me to be a sort of "roper".
Most people may suppose that nearly any one can perform the duties of a "shadow", and that it is the easiest thing in the world to follow up a man; but such is not the case. A "shadow" has a most difficult position to maintain. It will not do to follow a person on the opposite side of the street, or close behind him, and when he stops to speak to a friend stop also; or if a person goes into a saloon, or store, pop in after him, stand staring till he goes out, and then follow him again. Of course such a "shadow" would be detected in fifteen minutes. Such are not the actions of the real "shadow", or, at least, of the "shadow" furnished by my establishment.
I had just the man for the place, in Mr. Roch, who could follow a person for any length of time, and never be discovered.
Having settled on Roch as the proper man for the position, I summoned him to my private office. Roch was a German. He was about forty-five years old, of spare appearance and rather sallow or tanned complexion. His nose was long, thin and peaked, eyes clear but heavy looking, and hair dark. He was slightly bald, and though he stooped a little, was five feet ten inches in height. He had been in my employ for many years, and I knew him thoroughly, and could trust him.
I informed him of the duties he was to perform, and gave him minute instructions how he was to act. He was to keep out of sight as much as possible in Montgomery. Porter would manage to see him on his arrival, unknown to any one there, and would point out to him Maroney and his wife, and the messenger, Chase, who boarded at the Exchange; also Patterson, the saloon keeper, and all suspected parties. He was not to make himself known to Floyd, of the Exchange, or to McGibony, the local detective. I had also given Porter similar instructions. I suggested to him the propriety of lodging at some low boarding house where liquor was sold.
He was to keep me fully posted by letter of the movements of all suspected parties, and if any of them left town to follow them and immediately inform me by telegraph who they were and where they were going, so that I could fill his place in Montgomery.
Having given him his instructions, I selected for his disguise a German dress. This I readily procured from my extensive wardrobe, which I keep well supplied by frequent attendance at sales of old articles.
When he had rigged himself up in his long German coat, his German cap with the peak behind, and a most approved pair of emigrant boots, he presented himself to me with his long German pipe in his mouth, and I must say I was much pleased with his disguise, in which his own mother would not have recognized him. He was as fine a specimen of a Dutchman as could be found.
Having thoroughly impressed on his mind the importance of the case and my determination to win the esteem of the company by ferreting out the thief, if possible, I started him for Montgomery, where he arrived in due time.
At the date agreed upon I went to New York to meet the General Superintendent. I had never met the gentlemen of the company and I was a little puzzled how to act with them.
I met the Vice-President at the express office, in such a manner that none of the employés were the wiser as to my profession or business, and he made an appointment to meet me at the Astor House in the afternoon. At the Astor House he introduced me to the President, the General Superintendent of the company, and we immediately proceeded to business.
They gave me all the particulars of the case they could, though they were not much fuller than those I had already received from Porter's reports. They reviewed the life of Maroney, as already related, up to the time he became their agent, stating that he was married, although his marriage seemed somewhat "mixed".
