hall, who named the figure of $42
monthly as the rent of the flat. Simonds made no quibble about the
price, signed the lease to April 30th, and paid the first month's rent.
Nothing more was thought of the matter until March 20th, when Collector
Herman Goldman went to the flat to obtain the next month's rent. Nobody
responded to his knocking, but on peeping through a hole in the front
door he saw the furniture and carpet within. When he went back
twenty-four hours later every vestige of the furniture had been removed
and not a trace of the mysterious J. B. Simonds was to be found.

[Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S MAIN OFFICE IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE
BUILDING.]

[Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S RECEPTION ROOM IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE
BUILDING.]

MILKMAN MERTES' STORY.

While these facts were being brought to light in one direction,
information of the greatest value had been secured in another, and which
confirmed, almost beyond question, the general belief that Dr. Cronin
had been murdered in the Carlson cottage. It came from William Mertes, a
milk dealer of reputation and good standing in the community, and who
lived on Woodside avenue in Lake View. On the night of May 4th,
somewhere between 8:30 and 9 o'clock, Mertes left his house to visit the
grocery at the corner of Ashland avenue and Otto street, which was only
a short block south of the cottage. He walked east on Addison avenue to
Ashland, and then turned south on the east sidewalk. As he neared the
Carlson cottage at Roscoe street a buggy containing two men rolled up to
the edge of the ditch. One of the men, whom Mertes described as a tall
and apparently athletic man, sprang from the buggy and ran up the front
stairs of the cottage, the door of which was thrown open before he even
knocked for admission. Scarcely had the door closed again when the sound
of loud and angry voices within the cottage startled the milk dealer.
He looked searchingly at the man in the buggy, wondering what had
brought him to that lonely neighborhood at such an hour of the night,
but the stranger's face was shrouded by the brim of a soft hat, and
Mertes was unable to tell whether he was stout or slender, or fair or
dark. The fellow whipped his horse into a gallop, drove to Addison
avenue and then turned in the direction of the lake.

Mertes thought at the time that a fight was in progress, but as he heard
only words he paid but little attention.

[Illustration: MILKMAN MERTES.]

"Were th