Lourens Signourette and his wife lived near Foster’s Bar, a remote camp in the Yubas Foot Hills in California. Lourens had been ailing for quite a while, and on December 1, 1891, he decided to end his life by taking strychnine. The poison did not have the immediate effect that he wanted, so he asked his wife to get his shotgun and shoot him.

She honored his request but had trouble getting the gun to work. When she finally fired, the shot did not kill her husband. He then told her to pile brush over him and set it on fire to burn him to death. This she refused to do. Instead, she walked some distance to a cabin occupied by a man named George and asked him to help burn her husband. George also refused, and he notified a constable about the situation. When they all returned to the Signourettes’ cabin, they found Lourens dead.

The constable arrested Mrs. Signourette. She told the police about Lourens taking strychnine and his request to be shot. She justified her action by saying that she promised to obey him when they were married. The County Coroner announced that he and a physician would travel to Foster’s Bar, where the body of Lourens Signourette would be exhumed and autopsied. If the facts were not as Mrs. Signourette related, she would be charged with murder.

While this story was published in newspapers across the country, the details, even in California papers, were very sparse. None of the stories included Mrs. Signourette’s first name, George’s last name, or the results of the autopsy (and the picture is not accurate). It is probably safe to assume that the coroner was satisfied with the outcome and dropped the matter.

As the man reached the doorstep, she turned and said to him, “For God’s sake, James, don’t strike me!”

He plunged the weapon into her breast. She fell to her knees, then tried to rise but fell backwards onto the sidewalk. The man quickly ran up to Spring Street and disappeared. A second man started running toward the Bowery and was intercepted by a policeman who took him into custody and held him as a witness. Two more policemen carried the woman in a stretcher to the Mulberry Street station, where she died.

Tinsmith's Reamer

From officers’ reports and eyewitness accounts, the police were able to identify the killer as James Flood, a tinsmith.  They reconstructed the sequence of events leading to the murder. Around midnight, the night before the murder, Officer Corry saw Flood standing in front of a grocery shop on Crosby Street owned by a German man named William Alfka. Flood said his wife, Mary, was in the shop, “criminally intimate” with Alfka, and he wanted Corry to bring her out. Corry told him there was nothing he could do, so Flood left.

Flood went to the Bowery and met up with Joseph Morrison, the witness who would be arrested at the scene of the murder. They went on a spree, going from saloon to saloon, drinking all night. Early in the morning, they were back in the alley behind Alfka’s store, though Morrison didn’t know why. Flood went into a hall outside Alfka’s bedroom in the rear of the shop and tried to break into the locked bedroom door.  When Mary heard him, she hastily put on her skirt and ran, barefoot, out the other door, through the front of the shop, into the street. Alfka hid the rest of her clothing under his mattress.

Flood went back outside and chased Mary across the street. She ran to the door of 52 Crosby, where she and Flood had previously lived together. The door was locked, and no one came to open it. Flood caught her on the front steps and killed her, then fled.

The police took Alfka into custody to guarantee he would appear at the coroner’s inquest. James Flood had gone to Brooklyn and remained at large until Tuesday night. He didn’t realize he had killed Mary until he read it in the newspaper. When he learned that the police were looking for him, he turned himself in at the Fourth Precinct Station in Brooklyn.

The inquest was held on Friday, February 9. A coroner’s jury heard the testimony and charged James Flood with first-degree murder. Joseph Morrison was charged as an accomplice. Both were held without bail, awaiting the Grand Jury.

While the suspects were in custody, the police learned more about James and Mary Flood. His real name was James McFarland. He changed it to Flood, his mother’s maiden name, when he fled a murder charge in Toledo, Ohio. He met and fell in love with Mary Beach in Toledo. Both were in their twenties and born in Ireland. But he was not the only man in love with Mary, and James stabbed and killed his rival in a street fight. 

James changed his name and fled with Mary to New York City, where they rented a room at 52 Crosby Street. But things did not go well; his work took him out of town for months at a time, leaving Mary with no income. When he was home, James would drink excessively and ill-treat Mary. During his absences, Mary became intimate with William Alfka, the grocer across the street. Finally, James and Mary separated, and each found different lodgings off Crosby Street. Wracked with jealousy, James kept watch on Mary’s activities.

James Flood was indicted for first-degree murder, and Joseph Morrison was released. At his trial in June 1877, Flood was represented by William Howe of Howe and Hummel, the city’s most successful criminal attorneys. Howe did not win an acquittal but managed to save Flood’s life. The jury found him guilty of second-degree murder. During the sentencing, Judge Sutherland expressed his disapproval with the verdict, saying:

Flood, you ought to be full of gratitude to the jury. You have had a lucky escape. Had not the jury the right to determine from the evidence in the case, from your prowling around that grocery store and telling the policeman that you thought your wife was in there with Alfka, that you formed a premeditated design to kill.  I repeat, you ought to be thankful to the jury for treating you so mercifully, and no man ever had a fairer trial. The sentence of the Court is that you be confined in State Prison for the term of your natural life. 

Dr. Thomas Neill Cream, “The Lambeth Poisoner” and possible Jack the Ripper suspect, was hanged at Newgate Prison in London on November 15, 1892. Dr. Cream had already been convicted of murder by strychnine in the United States. In fact, if he had not been released early from Chicago’s Joliet Prison, four young London women would have been spared excruciating death. 

On the afternoon of November 27, 1874, Aaron P Barnes went, with his business assistant, John W. Ganie, to a lodging house Barnes owned on Gouch Street in Boston. One of the lodgers had left, and they wanted to ensure the room was ready for the next tenant. They went upstairs and found three young ruffians, somewhat intoxicated, lounging in the furnished but otherwise vacated room.

The men, Richard Nealon, James McCall, and George Watson (alias Jeremiah Cummings), appeared ready for a permanent stay. Barnes told them to leave, and they refused. An argument ensued.

McCall stepped up and said, “Shut your mouth; I’ll shoot you.”

This fired Ganie’s wrath, and he proposed to his boss that they “go for them.” Instead, Barnes told him to go and fetch a police officer. Gaine went to the 3rd Police Stationhouse. The officer in charge heard his story but decided that, as the men had performed no act of actual violence, he had no jurisdiction in the matter. 

While Ganie was gone, Nealon and McCall left the building. They saw Ganie returning on the other side of the street, so they crossed over. Nealon confronted Ganie and struck a heavy blow to his face. A fierce struggle ensued, and Ganie drew a large sheath knife and plunged it into Nealon’s chest. He dropped the weapon and fled into the house.

Officer Thomas Lynch, who was in the vicinity, not in uniform, witnessed the fight instigated by Nealon, but did not see the stabbing. He ran to the scene to arrest Nealon but was surprised when Nealon said, “I am stabbed.” When Lynch saw the blood flowing from the wound, he assisted Nealon to a nearby doorway. McCall went for a doctor.

When Dr. Crilly arrived and saw the severity of the wound, he commandeered a passing wagon, loaded Nealon into the wagon, and told the driver to rush to Massachusetts General Hospital. As they rode, the doctor reached into the wound and grasped the severed artery with his fingers to stop the bleeding. However, at the hospital, they discovered that the damage was even worse than it appeared, and Nealon died within five minutes of arriving. 

A group of police officers searched for Ganie on Gouch Street. They found the weapon. It was a large knife, six to eight inches long with a broad, keen blade, “being altogether an ugly-looking affair.” They found Ganie in a dark room in a different building on Gouch Street. He offered no resistance and was soon behind bars in the Third Stationhouse.

Richard Nealon, the victim, was 22 years old. He was the least intoxicated of the three, but was known to have a wild disposition. At the time of the murder, Boston detectives had a warrant for his arrest for some earlier crime.

John W. Ganie, the murderer, was 26 years old, born in Canada, dark-complexioned, and had Indian blood. He was an eccentric individual, and some who knew him doubted his sanity. He was considered more intelligent than average, but investigated spiritualism, “and many other of the ‘isms’ of the day.” He would sometimes go an entire day without food while poring over some book. He had roomed with Aaron Barnes for upwards of ten years and was employed by Barnes as an assistant in his business.

The coroner’s jury concluded that Richard F. Nealon died as a result of a stab in the left breast inflicted by a knife in the hands of John W. Ganie. Although it was not stated in the verdict, the jury were of the opinion that Ganie acted in self-defense. When the case went to trial the following February, the trial jury agreed with the coroner’s jury and found Ganie not guilty.

After Lizzie gave birth to a son, she started drinking heavily. Her temper became worse, and the couple frequently quarreled. In 1897, they realized they could no longer agree and decided to separate.  Henry took the boy and moved to Rochester, New Hampshire, and Lizzie stayed in Somersworth.

In Rochester, Henry hired 18-year-old Annie Cox as his housekeeper, and their relationship blossomed into romance.  Lizzie’s mother, Sadie Fuse, also lived in Rochester, and she could see Annie Cox as she came and went from Henry’s house. She relayed this news to Lizzie, who became consumed with jealousy.

Lizzie would go to Rochester and spy on Henry and Annie, peeking through windows, hiding in the woodshed, and trying to break in. She would visit Henry alone and try to reconcile. Allegedly, they still occasionally slept together. But the last time she went to his house, Lizzie asked him to kiss her, and he refused. He did not wish to have anything more to do with her. She angrily responded that she would make it hot for him.

On January 31, 1899, Lizzie, along with Henry’s sister, Agnes Provenchia, visited Lizzie’s mother. They had been drinking the night before and were still intoxicated. Sadie Fuse described the visit:

My daughter, Lizzie Provencher, came up from Somersworth on the 11:27 train this morning. She came to my house bringing with her Henry Provencher's sister. Her first words were, 'You are mad with me.'

My reply was, 'Lizzie, you know that I don't welcome anyone who comes to my house intoxicated as you are.' 'Perhaps you would not be so mad if you knew what I have come for,' said Lizzie.

Then she went on to say, ' I have come to kill that woman who is living with my husband and I am going to do it. I have a man locked in my room in Somersworth. I have got his watch and his revolver, and he can't get out of that room until I get back.'

She then asked for some machine oil, and taking a revolver from her stocking, sat down and deliberately oiled and cleaned the weapon. After spending some time in the house, during which she and her companion went down cellar to drink, she went out. This was early in the afternoon.

Either way, Lizzie was not satisfied.  When she drew the pistol from her stocking, Agnes fled from the house. Lizzie fired at Annie, hitting her in the arm. She fired three more shots, and Annie fell to the floor, dead.

As Lizzie returned to her mother's house, she met Joseph Hunneman, an acquaintance, on the street. She could not contain herself and had to tell him what she had done.

“Do I look like a woman who has killed another?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“I have,” she replied, “I fired three bullets into Annie Cox. I am going to kill my husband.”

He tried to persuade her not to do so, but she said, “Yes, I have thought it over for six months, and I am going to kill my husband.”

Lizzie was laughing when she returned to her mother’s house. She said she had killed Annie Cox because if she couldn’t have Henry, no other should. She removed all but one bullet from the revolver.

“That one I will reserve for myself,” she said, “If the officers get too close, they will never take me alive.”

The man Lizzie claimed she had locked in her room in Somersworth was Assistant Marshal Paquette. Agnes had invited him up to the apartment the night before. The three of them drank a considerable amount of liquor, and Paquette stayed the night. Sometime during the night, Lizzie took possession of his revolver, the gun she would use to commit the murder. Paquette easily escaped from the locked room the next day, but when he learned what had happened, he knew he was in trouble.  He quickly left town and sent a telegram to his boss from Haverhill, Massachusetts, to say he would not be reporting for duty.

Lizzie and Agnes went to the train depot but found that they had missed their train. They separated then. Agnes stayed in Rochester, where she was arrested as a witness. Lizzie hopped a freight train, riding in a car carrying horses. She got off in Dover, New Hampshire, and was seen boarding a train for Portland, Maine. The police were waiting for her in Portland, and after obtaining extradition papers, they took her back to Rochester.

Lizzie Provenchia was indicted for first-degree murder. She said she would plead not guilty and claim self-defense, saying Annie Cox attacked her first. But when the case went to court in Dover that September, she retracted her plea of not guilty and pleaded guilty to murder in the second degree. The court accepted her plea and sentenced her to twenty-five years in prison.

A large crowd gathered at the depot in Dover on October 3, 1899, to see Lizzie off to prison. Lizzie was stylishly dressed in a black satin gown. Around her neck she wore a black feather boa, and her hat was tastefully trimmed in black feathers. A wrap was carelessly thrown over her arms to conceal her manacled wrists.

Charles Arthur Preller and Hugh Mottram Brooks (Illustrated Police News, April 25 & May 2, 1885)

Charles Arthur Preller and Hugh Mottram Brooks (alias Walter Maxwell) met in Liverpool, England, in January 1885, and traveled together by steamship to Boston. During the voyage, they began an amorous relationship. When the ship landed in America, they went separate ways but agreed to meet later in St. Louis.

They booked separate rooms at the Southern Hotel in St. Louis, but it was well known by the staff that both men were sleeping in Brooks’s room. On April 6, 1885, Brooks checked out, telling the hotel that Preller was traveling on business and would return for his luggage. 

On April 30, after guests reported a foul smell, the manager found Charles Preller’s corpse decomposing inside a trunk. The manhunt that followed ended with the arrest of Hugh Brooks in Auckland, New Zealand. 

Read the full story here: The St. Louis Trunk Tragedy.

McGaghay’s mother, Rosa, and 4-year-old son, Francis Jr., also lived in the apartment. When Francis Sr. came home at 1:00 Sunday morning, he found his mother and son awake but groggy and nauseous. He comforted his son and then lay down on the bed with him. McGaghay did not wake up until 9:00 that night and found himself at a house on Monroe Street, with no idea how he had gotten there. A neighbor, Maria Congrove, had gone to the McGaghays’ apartment around 2:00 that afternoon and found Rosa and Francis Jr. dead. Francis, still alive, was taken out of the apartment.

A coroner’s jury convened on Monday and quickly uncovered the cause of the deaths. Dr. Beach, who performed the post-mortem examinations, found the lungs of both were congested and discolored. The stomachs were also congested, and the livers and kidneys were fatty. The right side of the child’s face was ecchymosed—discolored by bruising. The doctor concluded that both had died as a result of inhaling poisonous gas.

Hunter obtained a dispossess warrant but did not serve it. Instead, he told one of the residents, he intended to smoke them out. On the Thursday before the deaths, he brought a mason into the apartment on the floor above the McGaghays and had him insert a flat stone in the flue below the stove. When the mason asked why, he said it was none of his business. At the inquest, Hunter testified that he told the McGaghays not to build a fire as the chimney was stopped.  He acknowledged that he knew that the result would be; if they did not leave it would kill them.

The coroner’s jury returned the following verdict:

That the deceased came to their deaths by suffocation, by inhaling coal-gas, through the action of Edwin B. Hunter, in having a stone placed on the flue of the chimney leading from the room where the deceased resided, at No. 597 Grand Street, December 31^st, 1865.

Hunter was held on $3,000 bail while awaiting the action of the Grand Jury. His mother paid the bail. It is unclear whether the Grand Jury heard the case or indicted Edwin Hunter.

Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, June 8, 1889.

Dr. Patrick Henry Cronin was a prominent Chicago physician and a member of Clan-na-Gael, an American political organization formed to promote Irish independence from British rule.  He publicly accused the Executive Board of Clan-na-Gael of embezzling funds. On May 4, 1889, Dr. Cronin disappeared. Eighteen days later, his naked body was found wedged inside a catch basin. He had been stabbed to death with an icepick.

“Ida did this,” she told him. She said, in German, that her servant, Ida Kessel, had demanded money from her and, upon being refused, assaulted her. She swooned and said no more. Captain McGregor sent for the police, who took her to City Hospital.

The woman, 65-year-old, Margaret Schneider, had been severely hacked with twenty-two gashes to her face, throat, and hands. Her left ear was mashed, and the front of her skull was crushed. During the afternoon, she had periods of semi-consciousness but was never lucid enough to provide any more information than what she gave Captain McGregor. She died at 8:30 that evening.

Mrs. Schneider lived on Fifth Street with her daughter and grandson, both of whom had been in Philadelphia that week. Their servant, Ida Kessel, had only been with them since the previous Thursday, and they believed she had been stealing silverware.

There was confusion early on as to the identity of the killer. The family knew her as Ida Kessel, but her real name was Kunegunde Betz. Mrs. Schneider’s daughter, Susan Leahr, gave the police a detailed description: 30 years old, five feet seven inches tall, with broad shoulders, jet black hair, high cheekbones, and dark brown, deep-set eyes. She spoke only German.

Two policemen saw her board a streetcar on January 10, and they jumped on the front platform.

The driver said, “Have you arrested yet the woman you fellows are looking for?”

“No,” said Officer Khatz, “but I will do so now.”

He walked over to the woman and politely asked her to accompany him. She refused, and when he put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped up and tried to flee. Officer Krouse grabbed her before she could escape, and they took her to the Eastern Police Station.

Kunegunde Betz, alias Ida Kessel, spoke only German and was questioned through an interpreter. She claimed that she was in the kitchen when a black man jumped over the fence and entered the house. He choked her and asked where the old woman was. She told him upstairs, and when he went to find her, Kunegunde gathered her clothes and left. When Detective Seibold asked her if the black man spoke German, she said no, but she understood what he said.

The police were aware of the house on Fifth Street even before the murder. Neighbors had been suspicious and reported that the house was quiet during the day but lit up all night, with people coming and going at all hours. When the police went inside, they found evidence of a brutal struggle, with blood on the walls and floor, and a trail of blood where the victim had been dragged. The rest of the house, however, was scrupulously clean. While the house looked plain from the outside, it was magnificently furnished within. The bedrooms looked like bridal chambers, upholstered in different colors. In a second-floor back room, the police found a complete opium layout. They also found a bundle of letters addressed to Mrs. Shneider—some making appointments or reserving rooms, others due bills for wine, etc. It was a house of ill-fame and Mrs. Schnieder was a procuress, providing women, wine, and opium for the “club men” who visited.

The police found a hatchet, which they believed to be the murder weapon. They also found a dress saturated with blood. The killer took it off and changed clothes before fleeing.

Kunegunde Betz was indicted for first-degree murder, but her trial was postponed when it was discovered that she was pregnant. She had the baby in prison and carried it in her arms when she stood trial the following December. Her attorneys argued that she could not get a fair trial in Baltimore, and were granted a change of venue to Towson, Maryland.

The prosecution presented a straightforward case of Betz assaulting and killing Margaret Schnieder when she refused to give her money. However, they could not directly connect her to the hatchet or the bloody dress.

The defense argued that Mrs. Schneider kept a house of ill-fame where any number of persons had access and could have committed the crime. The attorney also wanted to read the incriminating letters in court. The defense objected strenuously to both. The judge, after hearing from both sides and reading the letters himself, ruled that before entering testimony on the character of the house, the defense had to prove that it was customary for keepers of houses of ill-fame to allow visitors to have keys to the house. The letters, he said, offered such meager light on the subject that it was better not to read them in court.

After three days of testimony, the case was given to the jury, who found Kunegunde Betz guilty of manslaughter. She was sentenced to six years in the State Penitentiary.

Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, March 28, 1868.

At the previous night’s meeting, Sprague had acted strangely. It was not specified exactly what he did, but it caused others there to believe he was “laboring under a deranged mind.”

Sprague’s 13-year-old daughter replied to her grandmother’s question, hoping to defuse its effect on her father. It was too late. His mother’s question had triggered Sprague to spring to his feet and threaten to kill her. She ran to the door but fell as she was leaving the house. Sprague leaped on his mother and began choking her while his wife and children tried to pull him off.

When she was dead, Sprague stood up, and in a moment of clarity, he realized he was out of control. “Send for Baumer to tie me,” he said to his wife, referring to his neighbor. Then he told her to take the children and leave at once. She did as he ordered.

The police came soon after and arrested Sprague. There is no record of what happened to Robert Sprague after his arrest, a fact which artificial intelligence reluctantly confirmed (see “Why I Hate A.I.”) It was believed that Sprague suffered from insanity caused by "undue religious excitement." He was probably committed to an insane asylum without a trial.