Another in our series of new transcriptions of contemporary articles on the Leo Frank case.
Atlanta Georgian
August 1st, 1913
There are enough “hists,” “aha’s” and those other exclamations that mark a true detective besides the badge on his left suspender to fill a whole volume of Gaborieau thrillers at the Frank trial.
A stranger whirled from the Terminal Station to Judge Roan’s courtroom would be convinced before he had been in that temple of justice five minutes that all Atlanta earns its living following clews, and that if Sherlock Holmes was made a material being he could beat Jim Woodward for Mayor by 8,000 votes.
Ever since the body of Mary Phagan was found, practically every man of voting age and a lot of those who just think they are, have evolved a theory as to the crime they regard as incontrovertible as two plus two makes four, and have a system of ratiocination (beg pardon, Mr. Poe), that either proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that Leo M. Frank is guilty, or that he is innocent, or that Jim Conley did it, or he didn’t, or that somebody did, but they’ll be hanged if they know who.
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