Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

Steele, seeing a half dozen or more of the men disappear through the hole in the wall, ran to one of the back windows. He ripped off the heavy curtains and shade, raised the sash, opened the outer slide, and shouted down a warning. Taking a whistle from his pocket, he thrust out his head and blew several long blasts.

Meanwhile, detachments under McNulty, Harper and Marvin had forced entrance to the rooms on the other floors. At the top of the house, the players and attendants were so surprised that there was not the slightest attempt at escape or resistance. McNulty entered the lower rooms and the basement, placing every one under arrest, but many of the drug addicts refused to obey him and crowded out by the special exit at the rear. An aged Chinese and another man followed them, carrying boxes which held nearly all the narcotics.

But officer Harvey of division four, standing on the corner of Columbia Street as usual at eleven-fifty, heard the notes of a police whistle in the alley at the back of the house. He crossed hurriedly, and as he approached he saw three men emerge and race down the street. Turning his flash light into the alley, he discovered others running out.

Haley of headquarters and Somers were already stationed at the back, but the former had no flash light and mistook the fleeing men for Steele’s operatives. Somers grappled with one, and a fight ensued. Harvey, standing squarely at the mouth of the exit with his light, was visible to all. The gangsters halted. Two guns flashed, and the bullets zipped past the policeman’s head.

Harvey sprang instantly to a crouching position behind several ash barrels, drawing his pistol. He fired three times, the angry spurts of flame stabbing into the dark. In the alley there was a choking curse. Others emptied their weapons at Harvey, but he remained in the shelter of the barrels.

Then appeared the far-reaching results of his having gone outside of his division to investigate the whistles. Another patrolman of division four, hearing the fusillade, ran to the nearest box and sent word to his station that there was a gun battle in the vicinity of Columbia Street. The lieutenant dispatched the patrol wagon, with every man in the station, and put in a call to headquarters for the riot squad.

Special Officer Bennett seized all the money in sight in the main gaming room, then hurried upstairs, where other large amounts were taken. When this cash was counted later in the district attorney’s office, it was found to total more than one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.

The Chinese and his helper, being told by men in the alley that escape was blocked, gave up trying to dispose of the narcotics; and several thousand dollars’ worth were carried away by the police.

Eighty-one prisoners were conveyed to headquarters in wagonloads. Fifteen were charged with being present where opium smoking was in progress; forty-three with being present where gaming implements were found; and eleven with gambling. Frankie the Greek, wounded, was held on additional charges of assault and of carrying a concealed weapon; and another man, the one upset by McArthur, was held on the latter charge.

The aged Chinese was charged with selling narcotics, and with assisting at maintaining premises for their use. Muir, the man actually responsible, was not found in the house, for a reason which will appear. A man on the fourth floor was held for assisting at maintaining a gaming house; Brick Harrison for maintaining the whole establishment.

All this was directed by McNulty, who held the search warrant. Outside the house efforts to escape by the back alley had been abandoned entirely.

A few men succeeded in scaling the wall of a garage at the blind end. They crossed the roof and dropped into a neighboring yard. John Castle and Kirke were two who did this. Another was the doorkeeper from the third floor. Another was Dizzy McArthur.

The inventor had taken the “back way out” because he couldn’t wait for Steele to identify him. It was twelve o’clock, and away down on the south shore the chief’s wife needed help. Dropping lightly from the roof of the garage he found other men close at hand, and recognized them. He turned and sprinted.

“There he is! There’s the stool pigeon!” screamed Kirke.

“You damn snitch!” Castle snarled.

They leaped forward in pursuit; while a third man, after hurling something, joined them. There was a spatter of glass against the side of the house, and a tinkle of fragments. McArthur gained the street, darted to the right, put down his head, and raced away from the gangsters in great, leaping strides.

“Stool pigeon! Stool pigeon! There he goes! Croak him! Croak him!”

There were no shots, either because the men feared arrest or because their pistols were empty. He ran on across Warrington Street, toward Mountfort and Oliver. At Warrington some of the gangsters’ friends took up the chase, close behind.