Detectives Detected

First there was an oil lease. Then there was suspicion. Investigations followed suspicion. Suits, civil and criminal, followed investigation. Out of the civil suits came proven illegalities and the U. S. got back its "Teapot Dome" oil reserve in Natrona

County, Wyo., Out of the criminal suit in the District of Columbia Supreme Court, to see if Albert Bacon Fall, onetime (1921-23) Cabinet man, and Oilman Harry Ford Sinclair, were criminals or not, came more suspicion, much confusion, a mistrial.

The Principals. Albert Bacon Fall, his lungs congested, despaired greatly and wished that his criminal trial might begin afresh. But it could not begin afresh until January. Wrapped in a blue velvet bathrobe, Mr. Fall gathered strength to go home to New Mexico for Christmas. He reiterated his protests of innocence and said: "Unless doctors forbid me to return to Washington in January, I will come. But I must consider my family and, although I am old, perhaps I can remain with them a little longer before going across the Great Divide."

Harry Ford Sinclair, although younger, stronger, bolder and far richer than Mr. Fall, had an even less pleasant time ahead. For it was upon him and his friends that the fresh suspicion had fastened--suspicion of attempted jury-tampering, the last resort of wealthy felons.

But, just as the disrepute of Oilman Sinclair and friends momentarily overshadowed that of Mr. Fall, so, last week, did the disrepute of yet other "villains" in the story overshadow "the villainy" of Oilman Sinclair and friends.

The "villainy" of Oilman Sinclair's friends was hiring detectives to shadow the jury that was trying him, the new "villains" were these same detectives and notably their chiefs--Detective William John Burns, his son Sherman Burns and their "chief shad-ower," one Charles G. Ruddy. Not only in the "villainy" of these three but in their collective stupidity was the public invited by the press to take special satisfaction as details were brought to light.

The Friends. Oilman Sinclair's friends and vice presidents--Henry Mason Day and Sheldon Clark--were "villains" from the start last week. They refused to tell the grand jury anything about the hiring of the Burns detectives. They said they were afraid of incriminating themselves. They were arrested, released on bail.*Their hearings were put off until after Thanksgiving Day, while the government ran out other aspects of the case. "Hero" Burns. Detective William John Burns began last week in a heroic capacity. As soon as he heard that his 16 agents in Washington had been caught sleuthing the Fall-Sin clair jury, he announced that they had broken no law, "approached" no juror. He hurried down to Washington from Manhattan with a lot of papers, his face boiled red with righteous indignation.

He told newsgatherers that he was going to talk "long and loud" and started to do so. He willingly went before the grand jury. He told a hideous tale.

"Hero" Burns' Tale. There had indeed been jury-tampering, said "Hero" Burns, But not by Burns men!

There had been jury-tampering by an agent-of the U. S. Government!

"Hero" Burns produced two affidavits by his "Operator L-36." This affiant, one William V. Long, swore that he had seen assistant Attorney Harris L. Lamb of the U. S. Department of Justice, follow Juror Norman L. Glasscock out of Washington to Potomac Flying Field and there converse with him for many minutes.

Juror Glasscock expressed great surprise. He had never been to the Potomac Flying Field, he said.

Assistant Attorney Lamb expressed surprise. He had never before heard of Juror Glasscock, he said.

Nevertheless, "Hero" Burns' tale loomed large, until three things happened. First, it was noticed that "Hero" Burns had not filed his tale with Justice Frederick Lincoln Siddons, the Fall-Sinclair trial judge, until three days after Justice Siddons had declared a mistrial at the request of the prosecution. "Hero" Burns' tale, dating back 11 days before the trial was ended, would, if true, have been ample ground for the defense to claim a mistrial, with the honors on their side.

The second thing that happened to "Hero" Burns' tale was that "Operator L-36" failed to identify Assistant Attorney Lamb in court. Mr. Lamb's appearance in no way tallied with the jury-tamperer desired in the Burnsian affidavits.

"Villain" Burns. The emergency of "villain" from "Hero" Burns was dramatic. The third thing that happened to this tale was when it was turned inside out by "Operator L-36," alias "William V. Long," whose real name is William J. McMullin.

"Hero" McMullin's Story. William J. McMullin, onetime U. S. Marine sergeant, was a Philadelphia insurance man until a few days before the Fall-Sinclair jury was sworn in, when he joined the Burns detective forces. For a sleuth's reasons, he called himself William V. Long, with the permission of a Philadelphia friend by that name who had been in the New Jersey State Police. He was ordered to Washington and set to trailing Juror Glasscock.

It did not take him long to suspect the reasons of his employers, and his employers' employers, for shadowing Fall-Sinclair jurors. These disgusted him.

He knew that Gifford Pinchot, onetime (1923-27) governor of his native Pennsylvania, was living in Washington, so he called on Mr. Pinchot, told him his suspicions, asked what to do. Mr. Pinchot sent him to Lawyer Owen Josephus Roberts, U. S. Prosecutor. Mr. McMullin asked Lawyer Roberts what to do.

Lawyer Roberts told Mr. McMullin to continue being a Burns operator and report his employers' doings to him and to Assistant U. S. District Attorney Neil Burkinshaw. Mr. McMullin did so, with some difficulty. He made reports to Attorney Burkinshaw, for example, when the latter's office was full of other Burns operators who supposed he was being quizzed like themselves. He detected detectives and reported on reports day and night.

Came the mistrial. Came Wm. J. Burns to Washington. Mr. Burns took a fancy to "Operator L-36" (Mr. McMullin). The latter had a motor in which Mr. Burns enjoyed driving about Washington. "Chief Shadower" Ruddy saw a lot of "Operator L-36," too. One day, after the mistrial had been declared, "Chief Shadower" Ruddy gave "Operator L-36" some bogus reports to sign. One of these reports contained the story about Juror Glasscock being "tampered" at Potomac Flying Field. "Operator L-36" learned that this report had been fabricated at the Burns agency in Manhattan. This and three other reports were the basis of the bogus affidavits which, after conferring with the Government, Mr. McMullin swore to as "Operator L-36" and which Mr. Burns filed with Justice Siddons.

Mr. McMullin told how Mr. Burns had assured him he would be "taken care of," had urged him not to weaken on the false affidavits before the grand jury. "Don't let that little runt bully you," said Mr. Burns, re-fering to Mr. McMullins' small but shrewd young friend, Assistant District Attorney Burkinshaw. Mr. McMullin did not weaken. He reaffirmed the false affidavits and when he came out, Mr. Burns patted him on the back. "Attaboy! Attaboy!" whispered Mr. Burns.

Further Developments Pended. District Attorney Peyton Gordon took command of the investigation, but did not usurp credit for the work done by Assistant District Attorney Burkinshaw and his colleague, Assistant District Attorney Walter M. Shea. Mr. McMullin predicted details "twice as sensational as those which you have read."

Comment. What would happen to William J. Burns and his son and aides as a result of the McMullin story depended less on any rebuttal they might offer, than on the ultimate authority discovered behind their bogus affidavits and on the grand jury's decision as to the gravity of the offense. Mr. McMullin said: "If that bunch had gotten away with the thing they had planned they should have been stood up in front of a firing squad."

The New York Times, with unwonted editorial emphasis in its news columns, gave its definition of the offense as: ". . . efforts of private detectives to 'frame' the United States of America."

*Sheldon Clark was released for $10,000. For Henry Mason Day, $25,000 had been demanded. Mr. Clark, prominent in Chicago, protested: "You make me look like a piker. It was explained to him that Mr. Day was $15,000 dearer to the U. S. because Mr. Day's oil activities often kept him out of the U. S.