Sherry’s baggage remained uncalled for in the Los Angeles passenger station all day Saturday. Late that afternoon the sheriff made public the news that Sherry and the black were wanted for murder, and that night the sheriff and I took a train south.
Sunday morning, with a couple of men from the Los Angeles police department, we opened the baggage. We didn’t find anything except legitimate clothing and personal belongings that told us nothing.
That trip paid no dividends.
I returned to San Francisco and had bales of circulars printed and distributed.
Two weeks went by, two weeks in which the circulars brought us nothing but the usual lot of false alarms.
Then the Spokane police picked up Sherry and Marcus in a Stevens Street rooming house.
Some unknown person had phoned the police that one Fred Williams living there had a mysterious black visitor nearly every day, and that their actions were very suspicious. The Spokane police had copies of our circular. They hardly needed the H. S. monograms on Fred Williams’ cuff links and handkerchiefs to assure them that he was our man.
After a couple of hours of being grilled, Sherry admitted his identity, but denied having murdered Kavalov.
Two of the sheriff’s men went north and brought the prisoners down to the county seat.