NOVEL MAN HUNT

Greymouth Evening Star, 2 March 1931, Page 9

NOVEL MAN HUNT

CHASING KIDNAPPERS. A police plane bounced into the air from the North Beach airport, New York, early one morning recently. It sped over the spires and turrets of Queens, over the railroad tracks and the gas tanks. It circled slowly above Forty-third Street and Laurel Hill Boulevard, and as it drifted a helmeted observer waved a hand, as if he were directing artillery fire. Far beneath men sprang into action, tiny figures scurrying through the street and taking orders from a deputy inspector. Carefully they brought forth an old cardboard shoebox and untied the string that bound it. Then one of them, with hands more gentle than the others, lifted from its darkened nest a pigeon. The bird shook itself, glanced at the detective holding it and was gone toward the sky.

Thus started Queen’s epic man hunt, a search for the kidnappers of Michael Cushing. More romantic, far, had been the events leading to these mysterious manoeuvres. First there was the telephone call to the Cushing home at 42-17, Fifty-third Street, Laurel Hill, telling about two pigeons and the £lOO which should be attached to the leg of each. Police headquarters heard •of it, and soon the telegraph commanded North Beach to stand by and told Deputy Inspector John J. Gallagher and his men to visit the Beauman candy and cigar store at 40-45, Laurel Hill Boulevard, Long Island City. Sirens roared as automobiles sped westward. The cardboard box —left there earlier “by two young men” —was now in the hands of the police. Then followed, the liberation of the pigeon, the plump white clue that, it was hoped, would lead only to convictions. The bird, happy to be free of the box, practised a few trick zooms and figures, heedless that above it Pilot Patrolman Otto Kaika was throttling his engine. Then the pigeon flew in a wide circle and suddenly darted off. Patrolman Kaika straightened out. The drone of the motor echoed over the houses and sputtered high above churches and fields. Forward in the plane sat Liuetenant Charles Dorschell of the Hunters Point Station. Equipped with glasses, straining to keep his eye on the pigeon, the swiftly moving panorama offered a confusing background for the speedy bird.

Then the pigeon spoiled everything by yielding to its innate social instinct. It spied some friends, or perhaps just acquaintances, sitting on a radio antenna. It wavered for a momenj, straightened its course, and coasted down toward them. Forgotten was duty, forgotten permanently, it seemed, for a little later the whole flock flew away in quite the wrong direction.

High above them, Lieutenant Dorschell sat confronted by the spectacle of twelve white pigeons where there had been but one. He tried mental separation and telepathy, but finally had to give it up. Discouraged, he waved back to his pilot the order that returned the plane to the North Beach. It landed there at 1.40. Five minutes later, when he had made his report, he clambered back into the ship and it sped away again. For over the phone he had heard of new developments. The police were to release the second pigeon

SECOND SEARCH STARTS. Once more the observer saw the clustered figures on the ground, once more the hesitant leap of the white bird into the air. For a second time, the plane circled aimlessly, waiting for the bird to make up its mind as to local directions and wind currents. Then, again, the pigeon started off suddenly; the plane banked, swooped and was immediately in quick pursuit.

Now the Cushing home, near the point at which the birds were released, is on a slight hill which droops slowly to Calvary cemetery. After the pigeon had made its practice flights it started out in earnest; it flew parallel to the street. Just as Lieutenant Dorschell had come to the conclusion that the chase was unduly easy, the quarry arrived at the cemetery. Looking down, the police