There was no signature. I have quoted the letter exactly, with the lapses in grammar and spelling preserved. It was written in pencil on five separate pieces of cheap note paper and in a small, but firm, masculine hand. It was read to the chief police authorities soon after its receipt. Just why they felt compelled to announce that it had come, and to invent the absurd draft they issued, remains for every man’s own intuitions. In this case, as in other abduction affairs, the police advised the father not to comply with the demand of the criminals, but to rely upon their efforts. No doubt their sense of duty to the public is as much responsible for this invariable position as any confidence in their own powers. An officer must feel, after all, that he cannot counsel bargaining with dangerous criminals, and that to pay them is only to encourage other kidnappers and further kidnappings. In spite of the menacing terms of the rather garrulous letter, which betrayed by its very length the fervor of its persuasive threats, and the darkness of its reminders, the nervousness of its composer, Mr. Cudahy was minded to listen to the advice of the officers and defy the abductors of his son. In this frame of mind he delayed action until toward the close of the afternoon, meantime sitting by the telephone and hearing reports from police headquarters and his own private officers every half hour. By four o’clock he and his attorney began to realize that there was no clew of any kind; that the whole Omaha police force and all the men his wealth had been able to supply in addition, had been able to make not even the first promising step, and that the hour for a decision that might be fatal was fast approaching. Still, he hesitated to take a step in direct violation of official policy and counsel. In this dilemma Mrs. Cudahy came forward with a demand for action to meet the immediate emergency and protect her only son. She refused to listen to talk of remoter considerations, declared that the amount of ransom was a trifle to a man of her husband’s fortune, and weepingly insisted that she would not sacrifice her boy to any mad plans of outsiders, who felt no such poignant concern as her own. Shortly before five o’clock Mr. Cudahy telephoned the First National Bank, which had, of course, closed for the day, and asked the cashier to make ready the twenty-five thousand dollars in gold. A little later the Cudahy attorney called at the bank and received the specie in five bags and in the denominations asked by the abductors. The money was taken at once to the Cudahy house and deposited inside, without the knowledge of the servants or outsiders.