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Updated: May 16, 2025
Not the slightest trace of him could be found, nor could "Lil" be discovered with any degree of certainty. But one morning the public was fed to an increase of appetite by an article that appeared in a Chicago newspaper. "Kittymunks came to Chicago about five months ago," said the writer, "and for a time went under the name of John Pruett.
In the afternoon of the day that followed the publication of the confession Flummers minced his way into the Press Club. He wore a suit of new clothes, and although the weather was warm, he carried a silk-faced overcoat. Before any one took notice of him he put his coat and hat on the piano, and then, with a gesture, he exclaimed: "Wow!" "Why, here's Kittymunks! Helloa, Kit!" one man shouted.
I sawed the iron bars at the window and placed the black coat, with the Kittymunks letter in the pocket, as if the sash had failed and caught it.
"No, Mr. Flummers, you don't owe me anything." "But I borrowed two dollars from you, John, when I started The Bankers' Review." "No man can borrow money from me, Mr. Flummers. If he gets money from me, it's his and not mine. We all love you, Mr. Flummers, and your Kittymunks escapade, so thoroughly in keeping with our estimate of you, has added strength to our affection.
I used to work for the Pinkertons, and I know all those guys, and there's not one of the whole gang that gives a snap for charity. There's a mystery about it somewhere." "Probably you can throw some light on it as you did on the Kittymunks affair," Whittlesy suggested. Flummers gave him a scallop. "Papa still holds you in the hollow of his hand. Here you are; see?"
I didn't take any money. "'But why didn't you take the money while the old man was away? Then you would have run no risk of killing him or of being killed." "'I could easily have done this, but he was so shrewd. I wanted him to believe that he had almost caught the robber. "'Then there is no such man as Dave Kittymunks, said the reporter. "'No, Brooks answered.
If you want it, my son, I will get it for you." "Not to-night, mother." "I didn't mean to-night. Ellen, what are you giggling at?" "Why, mother, he would rather smoke that old black pipe than to read any book that was ever printed." "When I saw the pipe that had robbed Kittymunks of his coat," said Henry, "I thought of my pipe tied with a ribbon."
In Kansas City was arrested a suspicious-looking man, who, upon being taken to jail, confessed that his name was Dare Kittymunks and owned that he had killed old man Colton. Thus was ended the search for the murderer, the newspapers said, and the vigilance of the Kansas City police was praised.
It was known that old Colton's extreme conservatism had been regarded as an obstruction, and that while they might not actually have figured in the murder, yet they were known to be pleased at the result, that the large reward was all a "bluff," and that it was to their interest to aid the escape of Kittymunks. Before breakfast the next morning Brooks was at Witherspoon's house.
"Yes," Witherspoon answered, "and we ought to have them hanged, but we might as well set out to look for Kittymunks. Ten chances to one they are not here at all; the thing might have been printed in a town three hundred miles from here." "Yes, that's so," Brooks admitted; and addressing Henry, who stood at a window, gazing out, he added: "What do you think about it?"
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