Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-11-13
but the number of tbe check .,

but the number Of the check Finally this message was sent to Buff falo:
 We find cheek on woman who says she is Edith Sessions Tuppcr, and that she has been correspondent of the Buffalo Express. She has also n pass from Panama, NJ T., to Buffalo and return by the w. N. Y. tS F. R. R. Is this the woman you want?
 Then followed an agonizing wait of 2& hours, during which Mrs. Tupper was put through another examination. Mrs. Tupper tells what followed:
 At last-nearly l o'clock-a messenger boy ran up the stairs with telegram. My heart seemed to stop beating, and through a mist I saw the room-the open door-the next room, where, with folded arms and a pitying expres- sion on his face, stood a young fair haired de- tective, the only one who had given me a kind word through all that fearful ordeal-and Re- burn bending his dark face over the yellow document.
 He wants me to hold you.r were the words heard, but I'm not going to do it. It would be as absurd to hold you as it would be to hold man. don't believe Morin ever went near the Buffalo Express office to find out who you are"
 He paused. The fair haired detectfye-C;od bless him!-sent me a kindly smile and gradu- ally the blessed truth stole upon me that I was not to be locked up in a cell. Wait moment" said Reburn suddenly. "Give me your keys"
 Once again saw my poor, simple little cot ton and muslin frocks tumbled over and the mysteries of my wardrobe laid bare. Then broke down and sobbcd aloud, but only for a moment or two, for Reburn's sharp Now, there's no use of your doing that'' quickly made me resummon all my pride. He replaced the articles in my trunk; then, taking up the telegram, read it slowly aloud. It was in sub stance follows:
 "One of our officers leaves for Toronto at II o'clock. Wilson girl has short hair or switch tied on behind. Trunk contains silk dress, lace dress, gold wR,ch, jewelry, towels, night gowns Hold this woman anyway"
 hope every free American citizen who reads this story will carefully note the malicious in- sanity of this message. Morin gave a test by which Mary Wilson could be positively identi- fed, but added, Hold this woman anyway Nomatter if she be innocent, hold her You've got her in your power. Hold her. Make her suffer all you can.
 And right here want to give Sergeant Re- burn all the justice due him. Harsh and auto cratic as he was, can never forget that he had the humanity to release me in the face of that peremptory and cruel order from Buffalo.
 Take off your hat and let me see your hair, ,'' he said.
 I obeyed. The only beauty with which na- ture has gifted me is wonderfully long and thick hair. unpinned the plaits and let them down. Even then the sergeant could not be- heve his eyes.
 That's a switch tied on, isn't itY' he asked
 Then l removed the string which confined my hair close to my head, and the two braids fell over my shoulders-indisputably my own hair and not another's. With half muttereCl exclamation of disgust, Sergeant Reburn tossed Morin's message on his desk.
 You are discharged" he said.
 Mrs. Tupper was then driven to the house of a sister-in-law, and thus she concludes her story:
 It is yet a mystery why the mere fact that Mary Wilson went from Buffalo to Toronto should have been deemed sufficient ground for Mortn to intercept a woman who chanced to pass through Buffalo en route for Toronto the day the robbery was committed. The imbe- cility of Morin's detective methods is only equaled by the brutality of his final message to Reburn.
 Such is chapter of international outrage. givo it to the American public for their con- sideration. l especially beg American men to remember that their wives, sisters or daughters may be subjected to just such fearful ordeals unless the police system of this country is radi- cally reformed. l would respectfully call my governments attention to the manner in which an American citizen may be treated in a foreign city-refused a privilege which would scarcely be denied suspected nihilist in Russia.
 And if, by giving my sad story to the reading public. can in any remote fashion shield one sensitive. refined woman from the agony, shame, suspense, indignity and torture I en- dured on that frightful night, I shall feel that have not told it in vain.
 Mrs. Tupper has written many short stories and some poetry. She has pleas ant home on the banks of the Passaic, in New Jersey, where most of her work is done. She is thoroughly domestic in her tastes, though necessarily much in pub lie places, and is the wife of Mir. Horace E. Tupper, a gentleman connected with the Erie railroad. Mrs. Tupper is young, handsome, and her big eyes are fine and expressive. Her story A Transferred Identity" is considered one of the best that has yet come from her prolific pen.