There was finally an inquest into the death of Harry C. Barnet, after DA Asa Bird Gardiner and his assistant, Mr. Osbourne, got into action. Molineux testified, saying under oath that he had been Barnet’s dear friend right up to the end; he had only refrained from visiting his sick pal because of a natural desire to avoid the danger of catching diphtheria. Since, as he well knew, the diphtheria was loaded in a little bottle of Kutnow Powders prepared by himself, we can perhaps understand his point of view.
The lovely Blanche Cheseborough Molineux, then only twenty-three, testified that she had never had any “improper” relations with Barnet. It was then her word against that of numerous hotel clerks who swore in court — and who had no reason to lie — that she and Barnet had registered often as Mr. and Mrs. Barnet.
Blanche made a marked impression on the Coroner’s Jury, and it looked well for our fair-haired boy. And then seven handwriting experts testified that Roland Molineux and nobody else had written the name and address on the two anonymous packages — one of which led to the demise of Mr. Barnet and one to the death of Mrs. Katherine Adams. At this point in the proceedings, Colonel Gardiner took over from his assistant, Mr. Osbourne, and summed up the evidence so strongly that the jury found against Roland Molineux on “both counts.” Which may have made sense, but which was not according to law; this was supposed to have been an inquest into the death of H. C. Barnet and nothing else.
The bewildered but loyal General Molineux, a nice old gentleman for whom we can have only pity, went to vast lengths to put up bail for his son. Bail was, however, refused, and young Molineux spent that night not in the arms of his beautiful, one-eyed Blanche, but on a bare mattress in The Tombs.
Now everybody began to get into the act, as the old show-business saying goes. It was discovered by reporters and/or police detectives that there was a hallmark on the ornate silver holder which had enclosed the poisoned Bromo sent to Cornish. That hallmark was checked, and led to a wholesale jeweler in Newark, and thence to a retail jeweler in the same city — just around the corner from where Roland worked.
The body of Harry Barnet was disinterred, and found — as nearly everybody expected by that time — to be loaded with cyanide of mercury. Katherine Adams’ body was also dug up, and found riddled with the same poison. Cyanide of mercury has limited commercial uses, but it is used in the manufacture of Prussian blue, one of the paint colors prepared at the Herman factory, of which the dashing Roland was superintendent.
During this time, young Molineux languished in his jail cell — and languished well. He had his meals sent in from Delmonico’s, his bedding also sent in daily and, no doubt, his copy of the Police Gazette every Tuesday.
He gave no interviews to the press; he seems to have just smiled and waited. It would seem to have been an open-and-shut case, but when it came before the grand jury, the jurors refused to find a true bill, on the somewhat quibbling grounds that the prisoner before the bar should not have been tried for two crimes at once.
Roland Molineux was released, but DA Asa Bird Gardiner was not through with him. Nor were the gentlemen of the press; there was a front-page story in the New York Journal every day for some months, and in the other papers almost as often.
Finally, in July of 1899, another grand jury did move to indict Roland Molineux, charging him with first-degree homicide. There is one thing about “the simple way of poison” — once the facts are known, there is no chance of a plea to second-degree, or self-defense, or to anything other than the big one. To quote De Quincey: “Fie on these dealers in poison — can’t they keep to the old honest way of cutting throats?”
For murder by poison is obviously premeditated murder.
The trial of Roland B. Molineux for the (accidental) murder of Katherine B. Adams began in November, 1899, with the defendant pleading, as expected, not guilty. Recorder Goff, a famous jurist of the time, was on the bench. Assistant DA Osbourne appeared for the People; Bartow Weeks and George Gordon Battle, a pair of famous and expensive criminal attorneys, for the defense. It was to be a long-drawn-out affair, to say the least.
To quote the late Mr. Pearson again: “It would be depressing to think that American criminal justice ever appeared more futile, or more wasteful of time and money, than in the proceedings of the next three years. The State of New York spent $200,000 and General Molineux, who ruined himself financially in his son’s defense, spent much more.” I venture to say, a whole lot more.
And nobody profited except the New York newspapers, whose newsstand sales pyramided as the trial went on. Roland was composed and confident in court, with the fair Blanche Cheseborough Molineux beside him, and with his expensive attorneys. But the weight of the actual evidence was staggering. It was even proved that some pale-blue writing paper, with a crest of three silver crescents intertwined, sold only in Newark, had been seen by Mamie Melando in Molineux’s desk. On this same paper somebody had ordered by mail a bottle of Kutnow Powders in the name of Harry Cornish, with the address of one of the “convenience” mailboxes. Twelve handwriting experts swore to that, and to the fact that certain other exhibits for the People were in Molineux’s hand.
Roland never wavered. He smiled and smirked and was very confident at all times, making no answer to the increasingly pressing questions as to why he had used the names Mr. Cheseborough, and H. C. Barnet, and Harry Cornish in his activities.
The first trial dragged on for almost three months — then a record for the course. It even took twelve days to choose the jury and when the prosecution restated its case, the defense flabbergasted everybody by announcing that there would be “no further defense than that already offered by the People’s witnesses”! It would seem here that poor old General Molineux got very little from his expensive legal lights, Mr. Bartow Weeks and Mr. George Gordon Battle, in spite of the thousands he had paid them.
Weeks stood up in court and decided to attack only Cornish, suggesting that the unhappy athletic director had for some mysterious reason of his own killed his landlady, and then rigged a colossal frame-up on poor Molineux. Weeks said, “We stand here on our sworn statement” — there hadn’t been any — “that we are innocent of anything connected with these cases. The prosecution failed to prove that the defendant was the writer of the address on the wrapper that covered the bottle of poison addressed to Cornish. It has failed to demonstrate any connection between the hired boxes and the sending of the poison packages.”
Weeks wound up with a long plea to send this fine boy back to the arms of his loving wife, and to his venerable and respected father. Meanwhile, this fine boy sat by his beautiful, one-eyed wife and smiled. Things were still going his way.
Mr. Osbourne delivered the summing up for the People, pointing his thick thumb at Blanche Cheseborough Molineux and thundering, “There sits the motive!
Which was a classic non sequitur. Molineux was on trial for the murder of Mrs. Katherine Adams — an accidental murder happening during an attempt on the life of Harry Cornish, via mail. It was something with which Blanche really had nothing to do at all. The prosecutors had got the Adams murder mixed up with the Barnet murder, not just in the summation but all through the trial. They were to regret it later.
After eight hours of deliberation, the jury returned with a verdict of guilty. Roland took it rather calmly, but his father, the General, collapsed. Blanche is said to have blanched.