DEMON CHAUFFEUR DYNAMITED

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIV, Issue 306, 22 June 1912, Page 2 (Supplement)

DEMON CHAUFFEUR DYNAMITED

MOTORCAR BANDIT KILLED IN A PARIS GARAGE. Paris, April 28. Bonnot, the "demon chauffeur," the chief of the tragic and terrible gang of motor-bandits, which had made Parisians fear every footstep in the dark and tremble when a man unknown to .them speaks suddlenly to them by day—Bonnot. who had at lease five, and in all probability ten, murders on his conscience, is dead. His death was as- luridly dramatic as his life. He was taken from the ruins of a motor garage after a siege which, lasting seven hours, culminated in tfte building being blown up with dynamite, and dtied a few minutes afterwards. With him died an anarchist named Dubois, who had sheltered him while the whole force of the police in Paris was hunting for him after the killing of M. Jouin in the Rue de Paris. The scene of the drama, as thrilling and exciting in its incidents as the famous Sidney street siege in London, was laid at Choisy-le-Roi, a smiling little I suburb just outside Paris, which has for some years had the unenviable name of the "Red Nest," because it is the well-known haunt of anarchists and other criminals. MILLIONAIRE'S GARAGE. The garage in which Bonnot and Dubois were killed, after a set siege- in which troops, police and volunteers from the neighborhood kept up under police directions an almost continuous volleying, belongs to a millionaire. A littje cafe with closed shutters, and a grocer's shop. A little staircase runs up the outside of the house to a small balcony on the first floor, from which access can be obtained through a little door on the first-floor rooms. At the back of the garage, inside, is another staircase leading to the firstfloor rooms, and the ground floor coachhouse has one big double door opening on the Avenue de la Republique, and another door opening on a country road and field. Just before seven o'clock this morning M. Guichard, accompanied! by Inspector Augene and Inspector Arlon, rang the bell of Alfred Fromentin's villa. He found nobody there but a wqman, who told him that Fromentin had gone to Morocco, and that before he had gone , he 'had packed up his telephone and; taken it with Mm. • j FIRST SHOT. M. Guichard shut the gate of Fromentin's villa, and! walked quickly to tlie door of the garage. As he put his hand on it it opened suddenly from inside, and a man, Dubois, fired point--blank at the police. He missed all three of them. M. Guichard fired back, but as he did so two shots from the, first floor rang out, and! the two in- ] spectors, Augene and Arlon, fell wounded, j As he fell, Inspector Augene, who had' a bullet wound through the hand and j was on his feet again immediately, j shouted, "Bonnot is.up there; I'll swear 1 it! I saw him." Inspector Arlon, who] was much more seriously wounded, whis-1 pered, "The brute has got me, but don't miss him, chief. It's Bonnot right enough." It was evident that the criminals intended to offer a desperate resistance, and M. Guichard ordered a temporary retreat. Inspector Augene, who behaved like a hero, helped the chief of the Sureto to lift his comrade out of immediate danger, and within the next few minutes Inspector Arlon had been taken to the hospital, where laparotomy was performed this afternoon. Inspector Augene begged for and received permission to remain on duty.

News of the discovery of Bonnot and of the resistance he apparently was prepared to make was telephoned to the police headquarters in Paris, and M. Lepine, the Prefect of Police, promptly telephoned back, "Wait till I come before you try to enter the house. We shall blow it up with dynamite." By half-past eight a large force of police had arrived on the spot in motorcars, headed by M. Lepine, who was one of the first at the place of danger. Everybody is asking to-night why M. Lepine's death has not swelled the tragic list of police losses. He was hardly ever out of the line of fire, and he had not even a revolver on him.

A set siege of the motor garage was begun. If you will substitute a Paris suburb on the countryside for Sidney' street, you will get a very clear idea of the scene. You must, of course, let your imagination replace the crowd, of Whitechapel with a comparatively welldressed crowd of poor Parisians in their Sunday clothes. For the British blueuniformed police substitute the semimilitary uniform of the policemen whom every visitor to Paris knows, picked out with big men in the red and' blue uniform of the Municipal Guard. Helping the police, firing at that fatal window whenever shots seemed opportune, were detectives in plain clothes and members of the public in their hundreds. SHARPSHOOTING. Every man in the neighborhood, every man who could get there, was taking cover where he could in the streets, behind trees, behind! self-constructed barricades, behind the window Shutters of the houses near, and was firing at that firstfloor window with any weapon that he had to fire, and trying to buy, Irying to beg, or trying to borrow ammunition when his own gave out. As the morning grew older the crowd, kept in check by a strong police cordon, was increased by large numbers of men and l women in motor cars on their way for a day's outing, who had found an unexpected sensation. Several women were seen to fire rifles from motor cars. One of them splintered the woodwork of the window, from which an arm with an automatic revolver had been stretched a few seconds before. All this time, with the regularity of a fortress under siege, shots rang out from the first-floor window of the garage. The two men insidle that room seemed! to be shooting in time. One two, three, four, and up to ten, and a revolver barked again. So it went on. One woman broke the line of soldiers and police which kept the crowd back, and rushed up to M. Lepine. "Get out of danger," she yelled at the little white-haired police prefect. "You can shout ord'ers further back. If you don't I shall stand in front of you, and be killed before you are." M. Lepine kissed the woman's hand, and said, "Excuse me, madame, but I really know my business." DYNAMITE. At half-past ten or thereabouts policemen and some 400 soldiers pushed the crowd! further back, and the police chiefs and the authorities conferred together behind a wall. For nearly twenty minutes now there had been hardly any shots from the first floor of the garage. Lieutenant Fontan, who has only been a lieutenant in the Republican Guard since Thursday—he was in the gendarmerie before—pushed his way to MM. Lepine and Guichard, and! saluted. "We have some dynamite," he said, "and dynamite is what we want. Let me have a handcart and I'll put the mattresses on it for cover and I'll blow the

M. Guichard looked like one of those who fought during the Commune in the i streets of Paris. His usually neat | clothes were torn, and grey with dust, | the official sasli round his waist which marks him for a magistrate looked like the relic of a dirty petticoat. His face was smeared with dirt and perspiration. He carried a carbine, and little of his hat except the rim was left. He had no voice in which to accept Lieutenant Fontan's offer. "Yes; and) we will come, too," he whispered. They got a handcart with mattresses. There was no room in it—it was wheeled upside down—for more than one man. The idea had been Lieutenant Fontan's. He was allowed the post of danger. As this brave snail which was to try to rid society of Eonnot, the "demon chauffeur, crawled forward under the cart to place his bomb, M. Lepine ordtered a volley from the Republican Guards. It it just possible that one or more of these bullets found a billet in Bonnot. There was a high wind blowing, and Fontan could not get the fuse alight. His position was too cramped and the cart did- not cover the bomb close enough to the ground. So he had to return. Then a market gardener named Puche offered) his horse and cart, and said that he would guide it backwards close to the garage. The cart was heaped with as much hay as it could carry, and ramparts of mattresses were fixed behind it. I Then it was-slowly backed towards the bandits' fortress. Wher the cart had reached the building, Lieutenant j Fontan, creeping on his hand's and knees, 1 placed the bomb against the wall, and, springing back, gave the order to retire. The horse galloped away amid a roar of cheering from the immense crowd behind the police cordon, But the bomb was ineffective. There was a little puff of smoke, a dead silence, and an explosion. A bit of the wall came down, but the charge was too weak. THE FINAL BOMB. It was just on midday. The cart crept back to the garage again, and this time the bomb Lieutenant Fontan had with him contained over four pounds of dynamite, enough to blow up sixty tons of rock. Lieutenant Fontan crept under the shelter of the cart, like a boy going to play a trick on a comrade. He turned round as he started andi laughed.. The crowd, who could not see him quite distinctly, were too moved and excited < to cheer. Again the cart reached the building, and the bomb was placed. The cart.j direw away, and had hardly reached I safety when there was a great splash of red light and a roar. A cloud of j dust hit the garage, and the wall was , seen to crumble away. A yell of savage . triumph from the crowd almost drowned the sound of the explosion, and as the - dust settled the crowd could! see a motorcar in flames over a ditch of flaming petrol in the garage. All idea of prudence disappeared. Men, < women—some even say children-r-broke through the guard of police who forgot to restrain them, and rushed for the garage. But a line of soldiers stopped the rush, and made a living wall between the J shed and the foolhardy crowd. ' No soldiers could stop MM. Guichard and Lepine and Lieutenant Fontan. They ran into the garage, and a second! afterwards a man who had followed shouted, "One of them—Dubois—is dead!" A loud yell rose from the crowd outside, which became cheers as MM. Guichard and Lepine ran up the little staircase and smashed! the door open. What happen- j ed then may be told in the words of M. Guichard.

"Bonnot was crouching like a beast going to spring just inside the door," he said. "One foot was pressed against an iron leg of the bed. The mattrees was piled half across his body. His mouth was twisted in a grin. His eyes were white. The color of the man was livid. "He shot straight at me—shot his last shot, missing Lieutenant Fontan by a hair's-breadlth. The lieutenant and I fired together. "Bonnot fell on the bed. As he fell he shouted a foul word. That was the end of Bonnot, for, though he lived a little longer, he never spoke again. He had one bullet in his head, another through his heart. There are twelve bullet wounds, but ten of them are slight ones on the body." '