M@he “Flying Dutchman’

By A. J. McKELVIE

“Ghost” Burglar Eludes Police Ruses—Adventure-Loving Youths Enlist in B.C.

Police—"Rookie Cops” Secretly Assigned to Case—Matched Against One of

Worst of Bad Men of the Old West—Fatal Battle in Dark—Killer Proved to Be
Dreaded “Flying Dutchman,” Last of the Cassidy Gang of Wyoming.

DARKNESS EERILY shrouded the little
coal-shipping town of Union Bay, Vancou-
ver Island, on the night of March 4th, 1913.

It was shortly before midnight and a
southeast wind moaned in from the Gulf of
Georgia and made the darkness more sombre
and ominous.

The only bright spot in the town was the
saloon, where a score of miners and dock
employees sipped their beer and toddy and
seemed loth to leave the snug shelter of the
place.

“Time to close, gentlemen,” announced
the bartender, herding his reluctant patrons
to the doorway, and bade them “goodnight.”

The men shivered as they strode out into
the dark of the night.

“Swell night for a murder,” announced
one with a shudder as he pulled his coat
collar about his ears.

“Sure is,’ agreed a companion, bending
his head to the wind.

Little did the two men realize that they
were speaking prophetically and at that mo-
ment Death was arranging the stage for a
tragedy that would bring one man to de-
struction by a lethal bullet and one to his
end on the gallows.

“Wonder if the ghost prowler will work
tonight,” said the first man, striding along
the dark road beside his friend.

A grunt was the only reply.

The man who voiced the inquiry was not
alone in his wondering. Several hundred
men and women of the town had spoken the
same words to each other or themselves as
they prepared to retire and gain the rest that
they needed to prepare themselves for the
morrow’s toil.

Another who asked himself the same ques-
tion was “Big Mac,” officially known as
Provincial Constable J. McKenzie, as he
patrolled in the darkness, keeping a watch-
ful eye on stores and dwellings.

“Big Mac” was a good policeman and had
proved his bravery time and again when,
unarmed, he had quelled incipient riots and
drunken brawls among the miners, dock-
workers and sailors, but the “ghost prowler”

had him baffled.

Tue GHOST AT WORK

For weeks now the elusive prowler had
entered stores and dwellings, seemingly at
will, selected his loot and departed without
being seen by a single human being. What
he did with his plunder was another ques-

SUMMER EDITION

tion. None of it appeared in the usual chan-
nel chosen by thieves for disposal of stolen
goods.

If McKenzie was watching a store at one
end of the small town, the prowler would
select one at the other extremity. Appar-
ently he knew the officer and watched his
movements. No matter what ruse the police-
man tried he was always outwitted.

McKenzie knew every man, woman and
child in Union Bay and the surrounding
towns and settlements and he had eliminated

Gordon Ross, detective, Vancouver Police

Department, one of the three principals in

the tragedy of the store that became a

shambles. He wrote ‘‘finis’” to the carcer

of the ‘Flying Dutchman” and becume the
hero of a police epic.

them all from possible connection with the
robberies.

The thing was uncanny. How could a
human prowler gain entry to place after
place without being seen by someone and
then leave no clue whatever as to his iden-
tity?

McKenzie was discouraged but he had a
streak of Scottish stubborness, as his name
indicated, and he continued to maintain his
night guard over stores that he thought might
be entered. If the prowler was human he
would capture him, he swore. It was bad
enough to be outwitted,. but now citizens,
becoming somewhat hysterical, were begin-
ning to criticize him. Surely a policeman’s

lot was not a happy one, thought the
harassed officer as he prepared for another
lonely vigil on this night of ill omen.

While the events which worried McKen-
zie were happening, two “rookie cops” were
undergoing training under the tutorship of
Provincial Chief Constable David Stephen-
son at Nanaimo.

These young officers were Constable
Harry Westaway, an adventure-seeking lad
from Eastern Canada, and Constable Gor-
don Ross, who, when but a lad, had enlisted
in his native Scotland for service with Lord
Lovat’s Scouts in the South African War
and had later migrated to Canada. Meeting
by chance, the young men found much to
admire in the other and after becoming
“pals” they had enlisted in the police in
search of further adventure.

McKenzie was not the only police officer
worried by the success of the “ghost
prowler.” Chief Stephenson was a born
policeman and had served his apprenticeship
with the Metropolitan Police of London,
England, in spite of the fact that he was
born in the United States of British parents.
Failure to capture the burglar was a reflec-
tion on the Provincial Police, of which he
was so proud.

Stephenson knew McKenzie for an efh-
cient and conscientious officer and he did not
blame him for the failure to make an arrest.

“Rookies” on Duty

“New methods must be tried,” the Chief
muttered as he scanned McKenzie’s latest
report on the prowler’s activities.

“Send those new men, Westaway and
Ross, to me,” he said to a subordinate a few
days after perusing the report.

Two minutes after the order had been
issued the two “rookies” were standing be-
fore his desk.

“I am going to assign you men to special
duty,” the Chief announced.

“You may have heard of the looting of
stores and dwellings at Union Bay. It has
to be stopped and I am going to give you lads
a chance to do the stopping—that is if you
are big enough to do it.

“Whoever is responsible for these rob-
beries seems to keep a careful watch on the
officer there and breaks into one place while
another is being guarded.

“T am casting no reflection on McKenzie.
He is a splendid man, but I think it wise to
send men who are not known in Union Bay

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