The Old Brewery, in the old Five Points, opposite that apology for a park nicknamed “Paradise Square,” was the scene of many bloody brawls and of more than one murder. There was also a mystery about it–a thrilling blood-curdlin’ mystery–it was thought at the time.
A few weeks after the old buildin’ had been purchased by subscription for mission purposes, it was determined to tear it down, and on Thanksgivin’ Day night it was illuminated–after a fashion–and thrown open to the public, who flocked to see the place in which they had heard so much in the police reports. Among the crowd were two men who seemed to be quite familiar with the localities of the different rooms, etc., in the buildin’, so much so as to attract the attention of the watchmen in charge of the matter.
Two or three nights after this illumination, about eleven o’clock one dark night, the watchman was awakened by a violent shakin’ of the front door of the buildin’. He cautiously opened the door and saw two men.
One of the men asked very civilly for permission to go through the Old Brewery that night, as he and his friend were strangers in the city and had heard for years of the place, and being obliged to leave New York the next mornin’, had to see it that night or never.
The watchmen naturally suggested that this was a very untimely hour, but the men pleaded so hard and said they had taken so much trouble in the matter that he finally relented and let the two men come in.
For strangers they seemed to know a good deal about the Old Brewery, and the light flashin’ on their faces, the watchman suddenly recognized in ‘em the two men he had taken notice of on Thanksgivin’ night.
Seein’ that they were recognized, the two men turned to the watchman and abandonin’ all attempt at concealment, told him they had come to get somethin’ of importance which had been secreted there, and offered to pay him if he would permit ‘em without molestation to look through the buildin’. The watchman had, however, been strictly notified not on any account to permit anyone to go through the buildin’, and as he was a faithful man and had a good thing of it, he did not propose to take any chances. So he declined. Meanwhile he noticed that while one of the two men kept talkin’ to him and tryin’ to beg or bribe him, the other man was, unobserved he thought, measurin’ a space of about twelve feet from a corner of the hall, where he made a mark with a pencil. Then he measured about the same distance further and made another mark. Then he went into the next room and measured about four feet and made a pencil mark. This circus completed, he joined his companion in his talk. Finally finding that they couldn’t influence the watchman, the two men pretended to be satisfied; said, like Toots, “it was of no consequence,” and then went away.
The watchman didn’t go to bed that night. Though faithful, he was no fool. So he set to work to solve on his own account, if he could, the meanin’ of those pencil marks. He sounded the walls at the places indicated, cut into ‘em, ripped up the floor directly under ‘em and so on, but found nothin’ but what he ought to have found there, mortar and boards. Then he took the police into his confidence and told ‘em about his mysterious visitors. The police thought that interestin’ developments might follow the workin’ up of this case and made their arrangements accordin’ly. They first did some more investigatin’ and soundin’ and tearin’ on their own hook where the man had made the pencil marks, but this comin’ to nothin’ they acted on the calculation that probably the mysterious strangers might call again to renew their attempt on the watchman and so kept a policeman ready on hand in the buildin’ to watch the men if they came.
Sure enough, the two men did call again one night, and the police tried, in hidin’, to overhear their talk with the watchman. But the keen eyes of the men detected the presence of the policeman; they said nothin’ worth hearin’, and demanded to know who this outside party was. The watchman, as agreed upon, answered by sayin’ that the policeman was a harmless half-witted crank, who had got used to loafin’ around the buildin’ and was incapable of harm. The two men pretended to believe this statement, and also pretended to be busy makin’ some new measurements. The policeman, thinkin’ he had the two men dead to rights, went over to the police office to summon assistance in case of an emergency and make a sure thing of the men’s arrest.
But the moment he disappeared the two men took to their heels and vanished, leavin’ the police and the watchman as deep in the mire and mystery as before.
The police now made up their minds that the two men would not call again, and withdrew their special man. And the very night after, about midnight, the watchman, who slept on the second story of the buildin’, was awakened by a noise on the ground floor, followed by the openin’ of a window. He peered out and saw three men carryin’ something heavy out of the window–a somethin’ heavy wrapped in a cloth.
One of the men, lookin’ up, saw the watchman peerin’ out of the window; he gave an exclamation, and then a fourth man fired a stone at the watchman, batterin’ his arm. The watchman then fired a pistol with his other hand at the assailant, missed him and yelled out “Police!”
Then the men fled, still carryin’ their heavy somethin’ with ‘em, and although the police were soon on hand, neither the men nor their heavy and mysterious burden were captured.
The police puzzled over the case, and the detectives, and the mission people, who owned the Brewery, and the watchman, and the newspapers, but nothin’ whatever ever came of all this puzzle.
All that was found out was that the walls opposite the pencil marks, directly opposite, had been opened, and that there was a hollow receptacle in that part of the wall which had been hidden by the plaster and in which this heavy somethin’, whatever it was, had been hidden and from which it had been carried away.
But no one knew what the heavy burden hidden and then taken away really was. It couldn’t have been a corpse, for the body would have been mere smolderin’ ashes by the time it was taken away, after havin’ been plastered up for months at least. If it was gold or silver in a chest it must have been immensely valuable. Above all, what became of it? Where did the four men vanish with it?
These questions bothered the police at the time as much as did the Nathan murder afterwards. It was of course a much smaller matter, but was equally mysterious.
* * * * * * * * *
Some six months after this “mystery” had been forgotten, Dick Patsey, an old thief, who used to hang around “the steerage” in the Five Points days, chanced to meet “a fly cop,” or a detective, who was well acquainted with Dick. Now “crooked people” and “cops,” when not opposed to each other in the direct way of “business,” tryin’ to escape from or catch the other, are rather friendly than otherwise, so Dick and the detective got talkin’, and in the course of conversation the detective made some allusion to the Old Brewery mystery and the fuss made over it, and wound up by wonderin’ what it was, and asked Dick if he knew anythin’ about it. At this, Dick pricked up his ears, and made the detective tell him all about the mystery, every point and incident of it, just as I have given it above.
And then dick burst into a fit of laughter. He laughed so violently that the fly cop thought that the thief had gone crazy, or got the jim-jams, or convulsions. This laughin’ made the detective mad, as for the life of him he didn’t see where the fun came in, and the madder the detective got the more Dick Patsey laughed.
Finally, tryin’ to keep a straight face and be calm, Dick explained the “mystery,” and then it was the “fly cop’s” turn to feel mean and small first, and then to join in Dick Patsey’s laughter afterwards.
For the key to the thrillin’ puzzle, the solution of the blood-curdlin’ mystery, was simply–a barrel of whiskey.
Old Brennan, the proprietor of the corner grocery and bar in the Old Brewery, to whom I have already alluded elsewhere in these reminiscences, had hidden in a sort of closet made in the wall a barrel of the very best rye for his own exclusive use–prime old rye–every drop of which was as precious as gold to the drinkin’ man. Brennan had gone off without this barrel, but Patsey had “dropped on” it, and had put up a job, with a few, a very few, of his pals (the whiskey was too precious to tell the secret of its existence to many) to get it away. Patsey and his pals had taken a good deal of trouble to get at the whiskey, had examined the buildin’, marked the place, tried to bribe the watchman with a dollar, and finally made a midnight raid on the buildin’, takin’ their chance of gettin’ shot–all on account of “a barrel of whiskey.” Finding ‘emselves hotly pursued they had quietly left the barrel standin’ in the street unsuspected, had hid in a cellar, and had gone back for the barrel the next day.
Probably many other “police mysteries” have equally significant solutions.
