y had not
before been made public. One of these, William Niemann, who kept a
saloon a block and a half south of the Carlson cottage, swore that on
the night of May 4th, between ten and eleven o'clock, O'Sullivan, the
iceman, with two companions, one of whom strongly resembled Coughlin and
the other Kunze, visited his place and drank several glasses of wine.
O'Sullivan paid the bill, and the three men engaged in an earnest
conversation that lasted some time, although they spoke so low that the
drift of what they were saying could not be learned by the
saloon-keeper. This evidence demolished the claim that O'Sullivan was in
bed all night on the night of the murder, and although Niemann was
rigidly cross-examined he held to his story without the slightest
variation.

HEARD HIS DEATH CRY.

But it remained for a poor washerwoman, who was searching for her
drunken husband, to furnish the final link in the chain and discover the
crowning evidence against some of the men who were on trial. She
testified on November 12th, and her story was one of the most dramatic
and sensational of the trial. Paulina Hoertel was her name, and she was
a little German woman, poorly but neatly dressed, with a thin, pinched
face, but with considerably more intelligence than is usually found
among people in her station of life. She wept bitterly at times while
telling her story. For several years, owing to the drunken habits of her
husband, her life had been full of trouble. At one time he visited a
saloon near the Carlson cottage with nearly five hundred dollars in his
pockets, fell into a drunken stupor, and remained in the place four days
and nights. When his wife, after considerable searching, finally
discovered his whereabouts, the saloon-keeper first attempted to shoot
her, and then secured her arrest on a charge of disorderly conduct.

From a long recital of her domestic misery, Mrs. Hoertel went on to
tell, how on the night of the murder she had started out to find her
husband, who, as usual, was away from home. After going some distance
her heart failed her, and she started to return. As she entered North
Ashland avenue from Cornelia street, she saw a white horse attached to a
top-buggy, coming toward her at a lively pace from the direction of the
city. There were two men in the vehicle, and the horse was brought to a
full stop immediately in front of the Carlson cottage. A tall man, with
a black satchel or box in his left hand, jumped