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 The Split Guinea Feather police at Los Angeles to the effect that the man wanted for the murder they were investigating, in applying for a position as nurse, in that city, gave his name as T. Dillon, his age as thirtyeight, his height as five feet eight inches, and his weight as 185 pounds. He told the man who took his application that he was from Chicago, and had been employed as interne at St. Francis Hospital; he gave as reference, Dr. G. D. Brumbach, 1819 Masonic Temple, whose card he displayed. The Chicago detectives were asked to locate this man, and if possible tend a picture of him. What happened in Los Angeles to furnish the police with the man's name and description was this: They had been following every clue without re sults, and it was beginning to look as if the mystery of the bungalow murder would remain unsolved. On May 16, a week after the body was found, a woman walked into police headquarters. "The papers printed a picture of the hat belonging to that woman who was murdered," she began. The captain of detectives nodded his head. "I trimmed that hat," she continued. "I am at the head of the millinery de partment in one of the stores here." "But this hat was trimmed in Chica go," explained the captain. "It has the trade-mark of a Chicago store on it. Perhaps you trimmed one like it," he suggested. "No; you are mistaken," she in sisted, "I trimmed that hat. I would know the split guinea feather on it, anywhere. The woman brought the frame to me and I trimmed it, using that guinea feather; she had brought the hat from Chicago, untrimmed." "What more do you know?" de manded the detective, now thoroughly interested.

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"I know that her name was Katherine Dillon, and I know where she lived," the milliner replied. "Where? Can you take me there?" cried the detective, by this time fully convinced that here was something likely to produce results. The milliner led him to a roominghouse at 940 Hope street. There they found that C. Dillon had roomed in the house a month earlier with a woman supposed to be his wife; that they had come from Chicago, and that they had disappeared a day or so before the body of the murdered woman had been found. Having learned so much about the murder, it was not difficult to learn the rest of the matter given in the tele gram to the Chicago police. Observe how the split guinea feather, overlooked and ignored as a trivial de tail of no importance, furnished a com plete solution of this carefully contrived murder. As soon as this telegram reached Chicago, detectives at once took up the new trail, with the certain knowl edge that at some recent time, at some point in that city, those two had moved about among people who knew them. Once on their track the remainder would be merely a question of intelli gent perseverance. But it was soon dis covered that no St. Francis Hospital existed in Chicago, and Dr. Brumbach had never heard of T. Dillon. Nor was the name known in any of the hospitals of the city; neither was any one found who could identify the murdered woman. But fate was not idle; in her own inscrutable way she was consummating her purpose, as the sequel will show. Late in the evening of May 16, the day before the Los Angeles telegram containing a description of Dillon and the murdered woman was received by the Chicago police, enough of the story