The Poison Precedent: Part One

dinner at which they'd enjoyed. Catherine now thought, maybe a little too much wine. Well, nothing to be done about it. She got out of bed and began tidying their apartment, a cozy second floor space only a block west of Central Park on New York's Upper West Side. But an

hour later, the headache had only gotten worse. Catherine was holding a moist washcloth to her head when her daughter Florence emerged from her bedroom around nine a m. Florence, seeing her mother's suffering, suggested that she take some Bromo seltzer, a popular hangover remedy. Harry had brought a bottle home only the day before. He'd received it in the mail, along with a charming silver bottle holder. Earlier that week, the package, addressed to Harry at his office at the

Knickerbocker Athletic Club had had no return address. Harry and his coworkers had assumed it was a practical joke, a gag gift reminding him not to drink too much over the holidays. Katherine and Florence teased Harry that it had come from a secret admirer, but whoever the center, Catherine was grateful to them. Now, following the instructions on the bottle, Catherine mixed a heaping teaspoonful of the powder into a

small glass of water and drank It. Tasted awful, so bitter that she couldn't finish her water, leaving a mouthful at the bottom of the glass. Awful, she said. Harry teasingly took the glass and swallowed the remnants, saying, tastes all right to me. It's supposed to be bitter. It's medicine. But this medicine wasn't just bitter. There was something wrong with it. Within minutes, Catherine was seized by a wave

of nausea. She pushed her way into the bathroom where Florence was washing up, and began vomiting profusely, groaning in agony. At first, Florence thought Catherine had just had a reaction to the foul tasting medicine, but then she saw her mother's face. It was a terrible blue color. Catherine bent over the toilet, raised her hands to her daughter, and then collapsed. Florence screamed for Harry in his bedroom. Harry himself wasn't feeling so good. He was a strong, healthy man,

but he was suddenly feeling weak and queasy. When he got to the bathroom, he found he couldn't lift Catherine, something he should have been able to easily do. With the help of their HouseGuest, Fred Hovey, Harry and Florence maneuvered Catherine onto the couch and sent for a doctor. By the time doctor Edwin Hitchcock arrived only a few minutes later, Catherine's breathing was labored, her pulse was faint, and her skin was clammy. Hitchcock administered stimulants and gave

Catherine artificial respiration. Harry Cornish's condition had worsened. Now he was throwing up in the bathroom. Florence explained to doctor Hitchcock that both Harry and her mother had taken some bromo seltzer right before falling ill. The doctor examined the bottle, then dipped a pinky finger into the powder, wiping all but a single speck off. Hitchcock placed his fingertip to his tongue and recoiled. He had tasted bitter almonds. This

was not medicine. It was cyanide. Harry Cornish, after several days of suffering, managed to pull through. Catherine Adams was not so lucky. She died shortly after doctor Hitchcock arrived. Newspapers quickly jumped on the story. An anonymous poisoner delivering death through the mail made for a good copy for the city's tabloid style yellow papers, and soon enough the story got even wilder because it turned out that Catherine Adams was not the only person to die from cyanide

disguised as medicine in eighteen ninety eight. A month earlier, a man named Henry Crossman Barnett had died after taking a dose of Cutno's improved effervescent powder, another supposed hangover Keir. Though Barnett's doctor had attributed his death to diphtheria, he'd had the powder tested just in case and found cyanide. And that wasn't the only connection between the two cases. Henry Barnett had died in his room at the Knickerbocker Athletic Club, the very club that Harry Cornish worked at.

Terror gripped New Yorkers. Was there a serial poisoner in their midst The police would soon zero in on a surprising suspect, but proving their case was easier said than done, and their investigation would lead to a series of dramatic courtroom confrontations whose outcomes still echo today. Welcome to History on Trial. I'm your host, Mira Hayward. This week New York v. Rowland Malineux, Part one. Before the Nightmare began, Edward Molineux was living the American dream. Born in England

in eighteen thirty three, Edward Kington New York. As a small child, those early years were not easy, but Edward was disciplined and determined. Soon enough, his hard work saw him rise through the ranks of both the paint manufacturing industry and the New York National Guard. His bravery and compassionate leadership during the Civil War made him a hero

and earned him the rank of general. After the war, he joined a new company, C. T. Reynolds and helped turn it into the largest paint manufacturer in the country, earning a fortune in the process. He and his beloved wife, Hattie, had three handsome, intelligent sons. From the outside, everything seemed perfect, but inside the Malnu brownstone on Fort Greene Place, something dark was festering. The trouble was Roland, the Molinu's middle son,

born in eighteen sixty six. There was nothing outwardly wrong with Roland. He was clever, well mannered, and exceptionally athletic, A national champion in amateur gymnastics. He dressed beautifully and was fastidious about his grooming. Roland was a talented chemist. He worked first for his father's company, and then was recruited away by Morris Herman and Co, another manufacturer, who made him the superintendent and chief chemist of their Newark

paint factory. Roland was dedicated to his work, literally living at his job. Herman and Co. Gave him an apartment on the second floor of the factory, which Roland filled with luxurious furnishings and stocked with dry paints and chemicals so he could continue working after hours. Okay, so Roland was athletic, clever, and industrious. These are all good things. What's less appealing is constantly talking about how athletic, clever

and industrious you are, which seemed to be Roland's favorite activity. Plus, Roland was a snob. He had a way of tilting his head back and literally looking down his nose at people, a chilly, superior way of speaking. He liked to be the smartest person in the room, the strongest, the most powerful. He didn't like people who got more attention than him, So in a way, it's not surprising that Roland didn't

like Harry Cornish. The two men first met in early eighteen ninety six, when Harry became athletic director of the Knickerbocker Athletic Club. The newly opened Knickerbocker was a gym and social club where New York's elite could play squash and smoke cigars. To help boost the club's reputation, its owner, Jay Herbert Ballentine, had recruited some of the city's best athletes, including his friend Roland Molineu. Roland liked the club so much that he'd taken an apartment on its second floor

and joined several of its management committees. Vallentine also recruited a top notch staff, hiring Harry Cornish to be athletic director in eighteen ninety six. Harry Cornish was one of the most famous sportsman in America. He'd been the athletic director of the Boston and Chicago Athletic Clubs, written a book on physical training for Spalding, and organized the athletic games at the eighteen ninety three Chicago World's Fair. His

appearance fit his reputation. At thirty two, Harry looked like an ideal Victorian athlete, muscular and hyper masculine, with a luxuriant handlebar mustache. His arrival at Knickerbocker made the news, with The New York Times writing quote, as a mentor and promoter of athletics, mister Cornish is without a peer. Soon enough, people started calling the Knickerbockers athletes Cornish's men. That rubbed Roland Molineux the wrong way. In his mind,

he should have been the star of the Knickerbocker. After all, he was a national champion. Harry Cornish was just an employee. Roland didn't like Harry on a personal level either. He thought Harry was vulgar and coarse, and alleged that he neglected the club's facilities. Throughout eighteen ninety six and eighteen ninety seven, hostilities between the two men escalated. Roland got some of Harry's powers removed. Harry spread rumors that Roland

owned a brothel. Tensions finally reached a crescendo in December eighteen ninety seven, when a squabble between Roland and Harry got escalated to the club's board. Roland issued the board an ultimatum fire Harry Cornish or he would resign from the club. Alas Roland had overestimated his own importance. Sure, Harry was just an employee, but Roland was just a member. There were plenty of rich, young athletes to take his place.

The board told Roland they were keeping Harry. Roland immediately resigned his membership and moved out of his apartment, and Harry Cornish, delighted, taunted Roland, saying, you son of a bitch. You thought you'd get me out and I got you out instead. Roland simply smiled at Harry, waved his hand and said you win. But inside he was seething and wrote letters to friends detailing all of Harry's flaws. Roland's departure from the Knickerbocker wasn't the only blow he faced

in late eighteen ninety seven. He had also been bested in love. That August, on a yacht in Rhode Island, Roland had met a twenty three year old aspiring singer named Blanche Cheesebrow. Blanche was a newcomer to Roland's elite set. She'd had an unstable childhood, dragged around the country by her father, a dreamer with an insatiable appetite for get rich quick schemes. Blanche's siblings had all settled down. Two of her sisters had married wealthy men, which is how

Blanche ended up on the yacht that summer. Her sisters wanted her to meet a successful man too, but Blanche had different dreams. A gifted singer, she wanted to pursue a career on the stage. She'd had some success already, performing at Carnegie Hall and working as a featured soloist in a prestigious Brooklyn Church choir, but she wanted more.

She wanted to see the world have adventures. When she met the thirty one year old Roland that summer, she found he shared the same passion for music and traveling. Roland immediately besotted with the charismatics. Stylish Blanche fed her fantasies, describing trips they could take to see the symphony in Paris or the opera in Milan. That autumn, Blanche and Roland saw each other regularly in New York. Roland showered Blanche with gifts and experiences, shows on Broadway, jewelry, from

Tiffany's dinner at Delmonico's. He was devoted, but Blanche was uneasy. She enjoyed Roland's company, but something was missing. I wanted passion and love in my life, she would write years later, I wanted my existence to be fervid and glowing. With Roland, that passion was lacking, especially physically. In early November eighteen ninety seven, Blanche and Roland were at the Metropolitan Opera when they ran into a friend of Roland's, Henry Crossman.

Barnett Barney, as he was known, also lived at the Knickerbocker. He and Roland had bonded over their mutual dislike of Harry Cornish, although Barney, who was not an athlete, was more annoyed by Harry's lackluster supervision of the janitorial staff, than he was by the man's athletic prowess. Thirty one years old, Barney joviality. He had a round face, a plump build, and twinkling blue eyes. He was a social butterfly with a charming, confident attitude that won over men

and women alike. Blanche was instantly taken by him, writing later quote, I sensed a hidden strength and a brute force in him, and it was as natural as breathing

that I should capitulate to that. Her fascination with Barney was so strong that when Roland got down on one knee that Thanksgiving, Blanche said no. She told Roland that she might change her mind in the future, but that hardly softened the blow, especially once rumors spread that she had been seen unchaperoned in Barney's apartment at the Knickerbocker. Roland was distraught, but again he maintained his outward composure.

When Blanche again rejected him in January eighteen ninety eight, he repeated the same phrase he had used with Harry Cornish the month before, saying, quote, tell Barnett the coast is clear. He wins and for a while the coast did seem clear. Blanche and Barney kept seeing each other. Roland drowned his sorrows in the seedy bars of Lower Manhattan. He spent time in Europe. He grew a handlebar mustache and then shaved it off, typical breakup activities. Then, in September,

Blanche had a sudden change of heart. She ended her relationship with Barney and told Roland she would marry him. What motivated this reversal is unknown, but Roland was thrilled. Unfortunately, Barney proved a hard habit to quit. Soon after she agreed to marry Roland, Blanche started reaching out to Barney again. He put her off, but eventually agreed to see her in late September. The meeting didn't go as Blanche had hoped.

Barney told her that they were finished. Any hope of even a friendship between them had disappeared when she'd agreed to marry Roland a month later. On October twenty eighth, eighteen ninety eight, Barney summoned the Knickerbocker's night watchman, Joseph Moore, and asked him to get a doctor. Barney told Moore that he'd woken up with a hangover and taken a dose from a sample tin of cutnose improved efferbescent powder that he'd received a few months earlier, But the medicine

wasn't sitting well. He was throwing up and had diarrhea. Doctor Wendell Phillips, a fellow club member, came to check on Barney. After procuring him medicines to calm his stomach, Phillips told Barney to get some rest. By the next day, Barney's gastro intestinal symptoms had subsided, but his mouth and throat were extremely sore. Another doctor, Henry Douglas, examined him and diagnosed him with a mild case of diphtheria. Douglas, hearing about Barney's fears that his cut nose powder had

been poisoned, sent the powder in for testing. The medicine tested positive for cyanide, but that actually didn't concern Douglas, at least not then. Cyanide was at this time a common ingredient in medicine, albeit in small doses. Douglas was sure that Barney's symptoms were just caused by diphtheria. Barney took the dip furia medicine Douglas prescribed, but a week later he was still feeling terrible. He was so weak

that he required round the clock supervision from nurses. Early on the morning of November tenth, one of the nurses called doctor Douglas. Barney was getting worse. Douglas arrived and knew at once that Barney's heart was failing. This could happen with diphtheria. Later that afternoon, Barney died, aged thirty two. His funeral was held on Saturday, November twelve. Blanche attended.

One week later, Blanche and Roland got married. One month after that, Harry Cornish received a bottle of Bromo seltzer in the mail. Newspapers started covering Catherine Adams's death the

very day she died. It took only another twenty four hours for reporters at Joseph Pulitzer's paper, The New York World to draw a connection between Adams's death and Barnett's newspapers, like the World and William Randolphurst's New York Journal, thrived off publishing sensational crime stories, and the poisoning case was

especially appealing. In historian Harold Scheckter's book on the Malinu case titled The Devil's Gentlemen, Scheckter writes of the public's fascination with certain crimes often mirrors their larger societal concerns.

At a time when people could never be certain of what they were putting into their Checkter says, when medicines were made of strychnine and arsenic, bakers preserved their dough with sulfur of copper, babies consumed swill milk from cows fed on distillery waste, and soldiers received rations of embalmed beef. The poisoner haunted the imagination of the American public. Reporters did more than just cover the Great Poison Mystery. As the case came to be known, they also investigated it.

Journalists ran parallel investigations with the police, racing to break the case before the authorities did. On December twenty ninth, the day after Catherine Adams died, Hearst's Evening Journal's front page featured a blown up copy of the handwritten label from the package Harry Cornish had received, with the headline who knows this writing it was fortunate that this label

had even survived. When Harry received the package he'd thrown the wrap in the trash, but his assistant, Patrick Finneran had told him to keep the paper Harry might be able to identify the anonymous sender through the handwriting. At this point, they had all thought the package was a practical joke. No one had realized how high the stakes

of this identification would turn out to be. A day after the Journal published the label, John Adams, another Knickerbocker employee with no relation to Catherine Adams, recognized the handwriting as the Knickerbocker's secretary. Adams conducted the club's correspondence and was thus familiar with many of the member's handwriting. To confirm his suspicion, he pulled a number of letters from the club's files. When he was certain that the handwriting matched,

Adams went to Harry Cornish's office. The handwriting on the label, Adams showed Harry looked just like the handwriting in a resignation letter written on December twentieth, eighteen ninety seven, a letter written by Roland Molineux. Harry Cornish shared Adams's findings with Captain George McCluskey, chief of the New York Police Department's Detectives Bureau. In a long conversation on December thirty first, the men discussed Harry's fraught history with Roland, as well

as Roland's relationships with Barney and Blanche. This would not be the last time that McCluskey heard Roland Molineu's name. Though the police denied that they were pursuing Roland after papers published his name in January. In truth, more and more clues were pointing his way. Addie Bates, one of the nurses who had cared for Barney during his final days, told police about a peculiar gift her patient had received.

A popular man, Barney had been sent dozens of well wishes and presents from friends, but only one had seemed to really affect him. Bates remembered a bouquet of chrysanthemums, accompanied by a note of what Bates called quote an affectionate nature. The note had been signed Yours Blanche. It wasn't hard for detectives to draw a line between this note and Blanche Molineux. But this note didn't prove anything. It just gave the police a hint at Roland's potential motive.

They'd have to find something more concrete. Using the remnants of a partially removed price tag on the silver bottleholder that had been sent to Harry Cornish, detectives tracked the item first to its manufacturer and then to a retail jewelry shop called Hartigan and Co. In Newark. Hartigan's was very close to the paint factory where Roland lived and worked. On the day Hartigan sold the bottle holder, December twenty first, Newark police detective Joseph Ferrell, who knew Roland well, had

seen Roland walking near the Hartigan store. Roland told Farrell he had just been dining with his boss, Morris Herman, but Hermann denied this to police. However, the clerk who made the sale at Hartigan's, Emma Miller, could not identify the buyer and claimed that he had a red beard, which Roland did not. This pattern of tracing a lead almost back to Roland, but failing to conclusively tie it to the man continuously frustrated at the detectives. It happened

again with the Bromo Seltzer bottle. The police had arranged for doctor Rudolph Whitehouse, a prominent toxicologist and forensic medicine expert to examine the bottle. Though the dark blue glass bottle looked like an authentic Emerson's Bromo Seltzer bottle, Whithouse discovered it was a forgery. The bottle didn't have the company's name embossed on it and was slightly smaller than the real thing. Whithouse discovered a manufacturer's mark on the bottle.

The detectives traced to a chemical firm called Powers and Weightmen in Newark. Powers and Weightmen had sold ten bottles containing cyanide of mercury, the poison that Whitthouse identified in the bottle, to another Newark business, the pharmaceutical supplier Ceebee Sme and Co. In July eighteen ninety eight. After a laborious search through thousands of their sales slips, detectives found that two of those bottles had ended up at Ballboch and Co. A metal smelting company based only two blocks

away from the Herman and Co. Paint factory. But again detectives couldn't link these bottles to Roland Molineux. The chemist at Ballbach claimed that he had used up all the cyanide in experiments. The next swing and a Miss came from trying to trace the poison. Henry Barnett had taken the tin which Barney had received in the fall of eighteen ninety eight, purported to be a sample of Cutnose

improved efferveescent powder. The tin turned out to be legitimate, though the contents had likely been tampered with, so the police turned to Cutnose to try to identify sample recipients. The company sent samples to customers who wrote in requests. Owner Gustav Cutno explained these request letters were saved for future mo marketing. Cutno continued and detectives were welcome to look through them. Fortunately, Cutnoe could narrow down the window. The tin had been sent in to a six month

period thanks to a specific sticker. Unfortunately, during these six months alone, the company had received more than one hundred thousand letters people have always loved free samples. Three detectives, with the assistance of Cutnoe's bookkeeper, Elsie Gray, began the tedious,

laborious search. Seven days later, Elsie Gray struck gold. She found a letter one written on Robin's Egg blue stationery emblazoned with interlocking silver crescents, with handwriting that looked much like the handwriting on the poison package addressed to Harry Cornish. There were just two problems. First, the letter had come in on December twenty third, six weeks after Barney had died.

And secondly, the signature at the bottom of the letter read not R. Molineux or even H. Barnett, but confusingly H Cornish. What could this mean? Following their return address on the letter, detectives found a private letterbox company owned by a man named Joseph Koch. Coke told detectives he'd rented box number ten to a man named Harry Cornish in early December, but when detectives brought Harry Cornish to Koch's offices, Coke didn't think this was the man who'd

rented the letterbox. Captain McCleskey wasn't surprised. He would later say that the use of Harry Cornish's name only further convinced him of Roland Molineu's guilt. In McCluskey's words, quote, the next best thing to killing an enemy is to have him accused of murder. The post office box gave detectives another lead to go on by following up on a package that arrived at the box shortly after they

discovered it. Police found that the box owners had using the same Robin's Egg blue stationery as in the cutnos letter written to multiple medical companies to request samples of their cures for mail impotence. One of these companies found a letter whose handwriting and stationary matched, but had a different return address and purported this time to come from an H. Barnett. Detectives followed this information to another private letter box. Maybe this time they could find a real

connection to Molineux. Examining the mail in the second mailbox, the police found correspondence with Marston's Remedy Company. When they contacted Marston's, the owner handed them a diagnosis form that a customer had filled out using the name Barnett. But the descriptions in the diagnosis form the patient's age, height, measurements,

and medical history didn't match Henry Barnett. They matched Roland Molineux. Unfortunately, this lead to fizzled when the box's owner, Nicholas Heckman, said he wanted payment to make an idea of the box's renter and refused to cooperate with police. Joseph Coch, owner of the other private box also stopped cooperating, saying he was too frightened to get involved. The police were

getting frustrated, and they weren't the only ones. Throughout January, the newspaper's coverage of the investigation had become more and more critical. In an editorial in early February, William Randolph Hurst claimed that the Malnu family's wealth was protecting Roland. A little rich coming from the guy who inspired Citizen Kane.

But anyways, if this had happened among people without influence, every person suspected of knowing anything about it would have been locked up before morning, Hurst wrote, But when two deliberate, premeditated murders have been committed by persons with financial and political poll the whole machinery of justice has been paralyzed. Was there any way to set this machinery back in motion? On February ninth, eighteen ninety nine, a coroner's inquest into

Catherine Adams's death began. Coroner's inquests are rare these days, but at the time they were called when sudden deaths occurred in order to determine if the death was natural or not. Coroners and their juries did not typically investigate crimes, but they did have the power to subpoena witnesses. In the Adams case, the press reported the District Attorney's office had gotten fed up with the police's failures and decided to use the coroner's inquest to conduct their own investigation.

Some people were skeptical of the process's efficacy, especially since the District Attorney, Asa Bird Gardiner, happened to be an old friend of General Edward ma These suspicions were quickly confirmed by the conduct of eighty A James Osborne. Osborne had a reputation as a bulldog in the courtroom, and he quickly dug his teeth into the inquest's first witness, not Roland Molineu, but Harry Cornish. In a ferocious examination,

Osborne all but accused Harry of being the poisoner. Osborne brought up Harry's playboy reputation and his arguments with Henry Barnett and Roland Molineux. Cornish Da Gardner reminded the press was the one who had actually given Catherine Adams the poison. In contrast, when Roland Molineux appeared on the stand, Osborne treated him with gentle politeness, often apologizing for the uncomfortable questions.

Duty just required him to ask. Roland, Unlike Harry, who had been angry and flustered in court, was cool, calm and collected. The press took Osborne's approach as proof of the justice system's favoritism. A cartoon in the Evening Journal depicted Osborne strangling Harry Cornish in one panel and cuddling a child's size Roland Molineu in the other. But as Osborne continued to tear Harry apart on the stand and brought more witnesses into cast suspicion, even the skeptical press

began to question Harry. Harry published a highly defensive public statement hilariously titled quote Cornish says, some things look bad, but he can explain. Perhaps people thought they had been too quick to jump on Roland Molineu as a suspect, and thinking on it wasn't Harry Cornish the first one to point the police at Roland. Had it all been a frame? The Molinews were delighted by this turn of events. The past two months had been a nightmare for the

respectability obsessed In general. He had ordered the whole family, including Blanche, to retreat into the Fort Green Brownstone, where the curtains were always kept drawn to keep the press from looking in. The lawyers he hired had vigorously protected Roland, refusing any requests from the police, such as submitting a handwriting sample. But with the focus turning away from Roland and on to Harry, Roland's lawyers thought it might be

best to change tactics and begin cooperating. On February fourteenth, Roland produced a handwriting sample under observation in ady A Osborne's office. The inquest ran for nearly two more weeks, with evidence against Harry mounting and Roland's delight growing. Even the testimony of Nicholas Heckman, the letter box owner, couldn't shake Roland's assurance. On Monday, February twenty seventh, the inquest's final day, Heckman appeared and claimed that Roland had rented

a letter box from him. Roland called Heckman a liar, but seemed to laugh the whole thing off. But then something happened that shook Roland deeply. When his lawyer, Bartow Weeks objected to Heckman's further testimony, Dia Gardiner turned on Weeks and harshly told him to sit down. Up until this point, Gardiner had been unfailingly polite, even deferential to Roland's lawyers. In that instant, Roland Malaneu heard the trap

spring shut. From being the shielded, protected, coddled, and stroked friend of the prosecuting officer, reporter Charles Michaelson wrote, Molineux suddenly found himself exposed to the full broadside of that officer's artillery. The manhunters came from behind their cover of soft words and apologies and attacked their quarry. Lulled into a false sense of safety, Roland had lowered his defense is a fatal mistake of overconfidence. The next witness, William Kinsley,

showed him just how badly he had aired. Kinsley was a nationally recognized handwriting expert, and he testified that the handwriting in the sample Roland had provided the ADA matched the handwriting on the poison package sent to Harry Cornish, as well as the letters sent to the various medical companies from the two private letter boxes. Then, to drive the point home, Ada Osborne introduced a further six handwriting experts,

all of whom agreed with Kinsley's conclusions. The final blow was delivered by District Attorney Gardner himself, who presented a closing summation unusual for a coroner's inquest, Gardner revealed that the entire inquest had been a carefully plotted trap on which the DA's Office and the police had collaborated. It had been Captain McCluskey's idea, Gardener explained, to use an inquest to get Roland, the only suspect who had refused

to provide a handwriting sample, to drop his guard. The DA's office had made Harry Cornish their scapegoat, but had never truly believed him guilty. It had been Roland all along. Roland who had the motive, who had the opportunity, and whose handwriting matched all of the incriminating mail. At the end of his summation, Gardner asked the coroner's jury to assign responsibility for Catherine Adams's death to Roland Molineux. The

jury did not take long to do just that. After less than two hours of deliberation, they announced that they believed Roland had sent the poison that killed Adams. Roland was quickly arrested and sent to the tombs New York's infamous jail. Four days later, a grand jury formally indicted him on a charge of first degree murder for the day death of Catherine J. Adams. General Molineux vowed to fight his son's case till the end, but would his good name and his wealth be enough to overcome the

case being built against Roland. Roland Molineu's journey to trial was long and winding. In late March eighteen ninety nine, his attorneys managed to get the first indictment against him quashed on the grounds that it had been improper for the DA's office to discuss Henry Barnett's death at the grand jury hearing. On May third, a new grand jury was convened, and this time they didn't bring an indictment. The press and the DA's office thought they knew why.

Six members of the jury, including the foreman, were members of the same veterans organization as General Edward Molineux. Down but not out. The police immediately arrested Roland on the charge of assaulting Harry Cornish. When Roland and got out on bail for that charge, the police arrested him again for Catherine Adams's murder in mid July, a third grand jury was convened. These jurors, who had no connections to the Molineus, returned an indictment after three days eighty eight.

James Osborne was so delighted that he telegraphed his wife the news writing quote the people won. Inside his jail cell, Roland Molineux seemed just as confident as Osborne. Over the past five months. He'd maintained his exercise regimen and his grooming routine, used his spending money to buy upgraded meals, and continuously projected an aura of cool certainty. He had faith in his father and in his lawyers, Bartow Weeks and George Gordon Battle, both longtime friends of the family

and skilled attorneys. When Roland's trial finally began on November fourteenth, eighteen ninety nine, Weeks and Battle were both by his side, as was his father. They weren't his only supporters. Dozens of besotted women who'd fallen in love with Roland via newspaper coverage were gathered outside the courtroom, begging the guards to let them in. The guards refused, the room was already packed. At ten thirty am, Judge John Goff called

the court to order. The fifty one year old Gough had made a name for himself rooting out corruption in the New York Police Department. As a judge, he was short tempered and action oriented, regularly cutting lawyers off to ask witnesses questions of his own. Unconcerned with appearing impartial, Gough's rulings often revealed his personal beliefs on a given case. People had predicted that this would be a long trial, but no one imagined quite how long. Jury selection alone

took more than two weeks. Both Bartow Weeks and A DA Osborne claimed they wanted quote of a high order of intelligence to be secured as jurors in this case. Their method of getting such men was to ask bafflingly phrased questions full of legalise and arcane vocabulary, such as this one posed by Osborne to a cab driver named Hugh Doherty. Quote, do you understand that in order to justify legal guilt from circumstantial evidence, the inculpatory facts must

be absolutely incompatible with the innocence of the accused? Doherty, astounded, replied, I never heard that while driving my cab. Despite multiple rapprimands from goth and ridicule in the press. The attorneys kept this up until finally, on November twenty ninth, they managed to pull a jury together. James Osborne presented the

prosecution's opening statement on Monday, December fourth. He set the stakes for the trial high, telling the jurors that the country was currently embroiled in quote a fight between society and poisoners. Then he walked the case against Roland Molineux. When he got to Roland's connection with Henry Barnett, Barto Weeks objected, saying that the Barnett case was separate. Judge Goff disagreed, ruling quote, if it is apparent that the circumstances of one crime are relevant to the other, they

are admissible. As Osborne spoke, reporters kept a close watch on Roland, milking every last drop of drama out of the story. Several papers had actually assigned their theater critics to cover the trial. One of these critics, the Harolds Clement Scott, found Roland fascinating. The man he saw, Scott wrote, quote is not Roland b. Molineux. It is a false, unnatural man Behind this actor's mask. I can see the mind of the wretched man working. He is for the moment two men, the man as he is and the

man in the mask. Throughout the trial this mask time slip. Roland would burst out in laughter at inappropriate times, or even be seen playing Tic tac toe in the middle of testimony. Roland's manner wasn't the only strange aspect of the trial. Observers were baffled by the way that the prosecution presented their case. The order in which Osborne called his witnesses, and he would call more than a hundred

of them, seemed random. Notably, Osborne wouldn't actually establish that a murder had occurred until January second, when coroner's physician Albert T. Weston testified that Catherine Adams had been poisoned with cyanide of mercury. By this point, Roland Molineu's case had become the longest most expensive murder trial in New

York history. In the first weeks of the trial, Osborne mainly focused on handwriting analysis, bringing in multiple experts to testify that Roland's writing sample matched the writing on the medicine request letters and on the poison package. This testimony had been so dry and repartitive that even Osborne had gotten sick of it, saying aloud, how long, Oh Lord,

how long. At one point there wasn't much the defense could do to undermine these witnesses, although Bartow Weekes did his best attacking the handwriting men on unrelated matters, Daniel Ames's atheism, for example, or William Kinsley's passion for raising chickens, the latter of which made the whole courtroom laugh. There were several other interesting moments interspersed throughout. The first came on Monday, December eleventh, when a young woman named Mamie

Milando took the stand. Milando was described in the press as Roland's former housekeeper, and that was true, but maybe not the full story. Roland had first met Milando in eighteen eighty seven, when she was a thirteen year old working in his father's New Jersey paint factory. When Roland moved to Hermann and Co. He took Milando with him, hiring her as a factory foreman and as housekeeper for his factory living quarters. Harold Scheckter believes that the two

may have had a sexual relationship. Milando did not want to testify. To avoid the stand, she'd refused to leave New Jersey where the New York Police could not get to her. She was only here now thanks to some highly dubious maneuvering by the NYPD, who had sent two undercover officers to take Milando and a friend of hers out on a date. After getting the two women drunk, the officers suggested a trip to Patterson, New Jersey, by train.

On the train trip, Milando fell asleep. When she awoke and disembarked the train, the lead detectives on Roland's case were there to greet her and reveal that she was actually now in New York. Milando tried to fight the detectives off, but could not. Now on the stand and looking deeply uncomfortable, Milando explained that once, while visiting Roland at his apartment at the Herman and Co. Factory, she'd

seen some paper that she liked. She'd liked it so much that she'd taken three of the sheets and three matching envelopes home with her. She was therefore intimately familiar with the stationary, a distinctive set tinted Robin's Egg blue with interlocking silver crescents at the top. This was the same stationary used to write the forged medicine requests, stationary that Roland Molineux had denied ever having seen at the inquest.

Milando's clear reluctance to testify at one point, when asked if she was still friendly with Roland, she started to sob only made her testimony more believable to onlookers. After the brief excitement of Milando's appearance, the tedious parade of handwriting experts resumed. Eventually, Osborne got around to introducing the

other circumstantial evidence that connected Roland to the crime. Doctor Roland Whitthhouse, the forensic chemist, confirmed that the powder in the Romo Seltzer bottle was cyanide of mercury, while Carl Tromer, a chemical salesman, confirmed that Roland had the raw materials to make cyanide of mercury in his lab at the paint factory. Joseph Coke and Nicholas Heckman identified Roland as the man they'd rented private letterboxes to the case's lead detectives,

explained how they'd trace the silver bottleholder to Hartigans. Newark detective Joseph Ferrell testified to having seen Roland near Hartigan's on the day the bottleholder was sold. The prosecution submitted the diagnosis form sent to Marston's remedy company, signed as Barnett, but filled out with details that matched Roland into evidence. This was all important information, but for most observers it was also boring. They had read about all of these

things in the papers months ago. By mid January, though coverage of the trial was still robust, interest in the trial was fading, but on January fifteenth, testimony from two new witnesses woke the tired public right back up. The first new witness was named Rachel Green. For several months in late eighteen ninety seven and eighteen ninety eight, Green had worked as a maid in a boarding house on the Upper West Side. While working there, Osborne asked her,

did you know the defendant? I knew mister and missus Cheeseborough. Green responded. Cheeseborough was Blanche Mollinew's maiden name. Do you see this mister Cheeseborough in the courtroom, Osborne asked. Rachel Green rose from the witness stand and pointed at Roland Molineux. That's the gentleman, she said. Roland, for the first time

in the trial, seemed angry and concerned. Green went on to explain how she believed Roland and Blanche to be married during this time because Roland regularly spent the night in Blanche's room. In truth, the couple wouldn't marry for nearly another year. This testimony was certainly scandalous, but what did it mean for Roland's guilt? The next witness, Many Betts, connected the dots. Betts was also a maid. She worked

for Alice Bellinger. Bellinger was Blanche's good friend, and Blanche had moved in with her after moving out of her boarding house. Unlike Green, many Betts had never seen Roland Molineu visit Blanche at home. She had, however, seen Henry Barnett visit regularly. Judge Goff paused Betts's testimony here to ask Osborne about the relevance. Osborne explained that he was

establishing Roland Molinew's motive for killing Henry Barnett jealousy. But the defendant is not on trial for the murder of Barnett, Gough reminded the prosecutor. No Osborne acknowledged, but I want to show that the man who hated Barnett also hated Cornish. We find letters for certain remedies in Barnett's name. We also find letters in Cornish's name. This shows the workings of the defendant's mind. Barnett died of cyanide of mercury,

just as Cornish was to have died. It's the same sort of plot and as such should be allowed in evidence. Goff mouled over this argument, then told Osborne, you may continue. So Osborne did, getting more information from many Bets about Henry Barnett's frequent visits and overnight stays. This testimony directly contradicted Blanche's testimony at the coroner's inquest. On the stand there, she had insisted that her relationship with Barnett had been

purely platonic. The flowers she'd sent him while he was dying had been a simple gesture of friendship. She claimed, Roland and Barney had never fought over her, despite Betts's evidence to the contrary. Blanche would always publicly maintain that she and Burnett were not romantically involved. She would only admit to their sexual relationship in her private memoir written decades later. Throughout the trial, the defense lawyers made a

point of bringing Blanche in to see her husband. The apparently adoring couple would exchange emotional words and kiss and embrace for the world to see. Betts's testimony undermined this romantic image, and it bolstered James Osborne's case by establishing motive. By the time Osborne finally rested his case, observers felt the prosecutor had made a strong, circumstantial case against Roland, but he had failed to answer a critical question, why

would Roland want Henry Cornish dead. Osborne had brought in some Knickerbocker members to describe the two men's feud, but it all seemed so petty, certainly not enough reason to kill, so Osborne had injected the Barnet murder in the trial. This strategy played to the strengths and weaknesses of each case. In the Barnet case, the motive was obvious, but the evidence was weaker. Barnett's death had originally been thought to be from natural causes, so the police were a month

behind in investigating it. In the Adams case, on the other hand, the motive was murkier, but the evidence was clearer. However, Roland Malaneu hadn't been charged with Henry Barnett's murder, and some newspapers commented on this. Would this strategy come back to bite the prosecution? James Osborne would have to wait and see. On February fifth, nearly three months after the trial began, he rested the state's case. People eagerly anticipated

the presentation of the defense case. What witnesses would the defense call? Would Roland Malanu testify in his own defense? What about his glamorous wife Blanche. On February sixth, defense lawyer Bartow Weeks stood to speak. He looked strangely, uneasy, pale, and strained. He had good reason, because Bartow Weeks was about to say something shocking, something that would change the course of the trial and Roland Molineux's life. Just what

did bartow Weeks say? Well, you'll have to come back next week to find out in Part two of New York v. Roland Molineu. But before you go, stay with me after the break for a surprising connection between this trial and a famous political scandal. Although Bartow Weeks with the lead defense attorney in Roland Molinu's trial, he didn't work alone. Weeks was assisted throughout by his law partner

George Gordon. Battle. Battle, then thirty years old, was in the early years of what would become a distinguished law career. Born in North Carolina, Battle had come to New York to attend Columbia Law School. After graduating, he joined the District Attorney's office, where he worked for five years before going into private practice with Bartow Weeks. A brilliant lawyer, Battle would win a number of major cases, both civil and criminal. Battle was also known for his civic leadership.

He chaired numerous committees, including the National Committee on Prison Labor Reform and New York City's Parks and Playgrounds Association. A devout episcopal, Battle also fought for religious freedom. His work against anti Semitism was so important that the prominent Jewish newspaper, the American Hebrew, awarded him a medal for keeping the flame of religious hatred from searing American democracy.

He raised money for a variety of causes, including the Salvation Army and the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary celebration of the American Revolution. Battle's generosity extended to those around him. In nineteen seventeen or eighteen, he hired a high school student named Seymour as a law clerk. Seymour had had a difficult childhood. His hot tempered father had trouble keeping a job, particularly after he fell ill with cancer, leaving

young Seymour to support his parents and older sister. Seymour got a job loading freight for a railroad, hard dangerous work for a fifteen year old. His co workers at the loading docks, recognizing Seymour's intelligence, incur uraged him to apply for scholarships. Soon enough, Seymour won a place at a preparatory school in Newark. He kept working in the loading docks while at school, continuing the job even after he was hired as a law clerk by George Gordon Battle.

Battle was so impressed by Seymour's intellect and work ethic that he increased his pay, allowing Seymour to finally quit the railroad job. Not long after, Battle offered to pay for Seymour's college education. Seymour graduated from Fordham and then from Fordham Law. Soon enough, just like his mentor, Seymour was a prominent and successful lawyer. When Seymour's first child was born, he saw an opportunity to honor all that Battle had done for him, so he named his son,

George Gordon Battle. Battle's namesake would go by Gordon, and he would one day become more famous than his father and his namesake combined, although not necessarily for the right reasons for this little baby would grow up to be none other than g. Gordon Liddy, best known today for his role in organizing the nineteen seventy two burglary of the Democratic National Committee headquarters at the Watergate Office Building.

Thank you for listening to History on Trial. If you enjoy this episode, please consider leaving a rating or review. It can help new listeners find the show. My main sources for this episode were Harold Scheckter's book The Devil's Gentlemen, Privilege, Poison and The Trial That Ushered in the twentieth century, as well as newspaper coverage of the trial. For complete bibliography, as well as a transcript of the episode with citations, please visit our website History on Trial podcast dot com.

History on Trial is written and hosted by me Mira Hayward. The show is edited and produced by Jesse Funk, with supervising producer Trevor Young and executive producers Dana Schwartz, Alexander Williams, Matt Frederick, and Mira Hayward. Learn more about the show at History on Trial podcast dot com and follow us on Instagram at History on Trial and on Twitter at

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