Newsletter of the American Institute for the Encouragement of Science and Invention
New York, New York
Wednesday, August 3, 1870
THE INTEREST IN the Moody case continues. Last week, we reported that Marshall Hinckley, our esteemed colleague from Boston, had sent word regarding the escape of the “spirit photographer” from the authorities. Our readers will recall that Edward Moody has been charged with fraud and larceny—crimes befitting this swindler and enemy of science.
It appears that there is now another wrinkle in the story. Moody was believed to have been traveling to Cincinnati by rail with his negro assistant, but upon arrival of the identified train, the police seem to have apprehended the wrong pair, and by the time the error was discovered the suspects were again nowhere to be found.
The Institute will continue to monitor the case, and report back to its readers accordingly.
“THE DAMNED SCOUNDREL!” Marshall Hinckley exclaimed when Bolles delivered the news. “What kind of witchery is that man working?”
It was a fitting question to ask, as they sat beneath the portrait of Dovehouse’s ancestor. Garrett, Dovehouse, Hinckley, and Bolles had all assembled to discuss the debacle.
“Do you mean to tell me,” Dovehouse added, “that there were two sets of white men with negro companions on that train? And that the police, upon seeing one of them, just happened to chase the wrong pair?”
“I don’t know if there were two, or four, or any other number,” Bolles replied, “but Moody and Winter are not the only black and white men traveling together. The mistake, in my estimation, was an honest one.”
“Of all the nonsense,” Dovehouse said.
And it did sound like nonsense, but as Bolles recounted what had happened, one had to understand the error, too. When the train pulled into the station at Cincinnati, Bolles told them, the police had been standing by, ready to examine the disembarking passengers. Soon, an officer identified two travelers—a bearded white man with a black companion—and made to approach the suspects. The two men were snaking through the crowd with great purpose—a behavior that only increased the pursuing officer’s suspicions. When the officer increased his pace, the men hurried their steps as well, suggesting that they might have had good reason to flee.
“Confidence men,” Bolles said, “just another set of swindlers making the rounds. Selling worthless plots of land for outrageous prices, and passing off empty swamps for ‘Eden.’ The negro apparently drew in negro investors who could afford it. These men had every reason to run.”
“But were there not other officers?” Hinckley asked. “Examining the whole line of the crowd?”
“There were,” Bolles replied, “but once the main officer blew his whistle, all attention followed the con men.”
“Right out of the train station,” Hinckley concluded.
Bolles nodded.
“It wasn’t until a good hour later that the officers apprehended them, but by that time the crowd had dispersed, and the train had left the station. There was no point in resuming the search.”
“They could be anywhere now,” Hinckley said, “anywhere in the whole of Cincinnati!”
“Or Columbus or Louisville,” Dovehouse said. “Who says they even got off the train? If they were on that train, they may have decided to continue on after seeing the commotion. What is the train’s final destination?”
“St. Louis,” Bolles said.
Dovehouse sat back in his chair.
“Garrett,” he said. “Anything for them in St. Louis?”
Garrett slowly turned.
“Not to my knowledge,” he replied. “But then again what is there for them anywhere? These are men on the run. They are running from something, not to something.”
It was such an abstract observation, Dovehouse thought, and not at all like anything Garrett would normally say. But then again, Garrett had been acting so strangely since this whole Moody business had started.
“We’ll keep going,” Dovehouse said. “Keep the efforts focused in Cincinnati. Seek out his negro connections and the photography studios. Someone must know something there.”
“Very well, Mr. Dovehouse,” Bolles said, glancing at Senator Garrett.
But Garrett was not looking at the inspector, or anyone else. His eyes were—surprisingly—closed.