He had attempted to reply to the previous newspaper attack, but now
he remained silent. Bitterness had already corroded his soul. The

University faculty appealed to him to defend himself, but he
sullenly declined, even refusing to enter in defence a copy of his

paper to save himself from expulsion. He refused to resign, and
was discharged from the University faculty. It must be added that

political pressure had been put upon the University Regents and the
President.

Persecuted, maligned, and misunderstood, the forlorn and lonely man
made no attempt at retaliation. All his life he had been sinned

against, and all his life he had sinned against no one. But his
cup of bitterness was not yet full to overflowing. Having lost his

position, and being without any income, he had to find work. His
first place was at the Union Iron Works, in San Francisco, where he

proved a most able draughtsman. It was here that he obtained his
firsthand knowledge of battleships and their construction. But the

reporters discovered him and featured him in his new vocation. He
immediately resigned and found another place; but after the

reporters had driven him away from half-a-dozen positions, he
steeled himself to brazen out the newspaper persecution. This

occurred when he started his electroplating establishment - in
Oakland, on Telegraph Avenue. It was a small shop, employing three

men and two boys. Gluck himself worked long hours. Night after
night, as Policeman Carew testified on the stand, he did not leave

the shop till one and two in the morning. It was during this
period that he perfected the improved ignition device for gas-

engines, the royalties from which ultimately made him wealthy.
He started his electroplating establishment early in the spring of

1928, and it was in the same year that he formed the disastrous
love attachment for Irene Tackley. Now it is not to be imagined

that an extraordinary creature such as Emil Gluck could be any
other than an extraordinary lover. In addition to his genius, his

loneliness, and his morbidness, it must be taken into consideration
that he knew nothing about women. Whatever tides of desire flooded

his being, he was unschooled in the conventional expression of
them; while his excessive timidity was bound to make his love-

making unusual. Irene Tackley was a rather pretty young woman, but
shallow and light-headed. At the time she worked in a small candy

store across the street from Gluck's shop. He used to come in and
drink ice-cream sodas and lemon-squashes, and stare at her. It

seems the girl did not care for him, and merely played with him.
He was "queer," she said; and at another time she called him a

crank when describing how he sat at the counter and peered at her
through his spectacles, blushing and stammering when she took

notice of him, and often leaving the shop in precipitate confusion.
Gluck made her the most amazing presents - a silver tea-service, a

diamond ring, a set of furs, opera-glasses, a ponderous HISTORY OF
THE WORLD in many volumes, and a motor-cycle all silver-plated in

his own shop. Enters now the girl's lover, putting his foot down,
showing great anger, compelling her to return Gluck's strange

assortment of presents. This man, William Sherbourne, was a gross
and stolid creature, a heavy-jawed man of the working class who had

become a successful building-contractor in a small way. Gluck did
not understand. He tried to get an explanation, attempting to

speak with the girl when she went home from work in the evening.
She complained to Sherbourne, and one night he gave Gluck a

beating. It was a very severebeating, for it is on the records of
the Red Cross Emergency Hospital that Gluck was treated there that

night and was unable to leave the hospital for a week.
Still Gluck did not understand. He continued to seek an

explanation from the girl. In fear of Sherbourne, he applied to
the Chief of Police for permission to carry a revolver, which

permission was refused, the newspapers as usual playing it up
sensationally. Then came the murder of Irene Tackley, six days

before her contemplated marriage with Sherbourne. It was on a
Saturday night. She had worked late in the candy store, departing

after eleven o'clock with her week's wages in her purse. She rode
on a San Pablo Avenue surface car to Thirty-fourth Street, where

she alighted and started to walk the three blocks to her home.
That was the last seen of her alive. Next morning she was found,

strangled, in a vacant lot.
Emil Gluck was immediately arrested. Nothing that he could do

could save him. He was convicted, not merely on circumstantial
evidence, but on evidence "cooked up" by the Oakland police. There

is no discussion but that a large portion of the evidence was
manufactured. The testimony of Captain Shehan was the sheerest

perjury, it being proved long afterward that on the night in
question he had not only not been in the vicinity of the murder,

but that he had been out of the city in a resort on the San Leandro
Road. The unfortunate Gluck received life imprisonment in San

Quentin, while the newspapers and the public held that it was a
miscarriage of justice - that the death penalty should have been

visited upon him.
Gluck entered San Quentin prison on April 17, 1929. He was then

thirty-four years of age. And for three years and a half, much of
the time in solitaryconfinement, he was left to meditate upon the

injustice of man. It was during that period that his bitterness
corroded home and he became a hater of all his kind. Three other

things he did during the same period: he wrote his famous
treatise, HUMAN MORALS, his remarkable brochure, THE CRIMINAL SANE,

and he worked out his awful and monstrousscheme of revenge. It
was an episode that had occurred in his electroplating

establishment that suggested to him his uniqueweapon of revenge.
As stated in his confession, he worked every detail out

theoretically during his imprisonment, and was able, on his
release, immediately to embark on his career of vengeance.

His release was sensational. Also it was miserably and criminally
delayed by the soulless legal red tape then in vogue. On the night

of February 1, 1932, Tim Haswell, a hold-up man, was shot during an
attempted robbery by a citizen of Piedmont Heights. Tim Haswell

lingered three days, during which time he not only confessed to the
murder of Irene Tackley, but furnished conclusive proofs of the

same. Bert Danniker, a convict dying of consumption in Folsom
Prison, was implicated as accessory, and his confession followed.

It is inconceivable to us of to-day - the bungling, dilatory
processes of justice a generation ago. Emil Gluck was proved in

February to be an innocent man, yet he was not released until the
following October. For eight months, a greatly wronged man, he was

compelled to undergo his unmerited punishment. This was not
conducive to sweetness and light, and we can well imagine how he

ate his soul with bitterness during those dreary eight months.
He came back to the world in the fall of 1932, as usual a "feature"

topic in all the newspapers. The papers, instead of expressing
heartfelt regret, continued their old sensationalpersecution. One

paper did more - the SAN FRANCISCO INTELLIGENCER. John Hartwell,
its editor, elaborated an ingenious theory that got around the

confessions of the two criminals and went to show that Gluck was
responsible, after all, for the murder of Irene Tackley. Hartwell

died. And Sherbourne died too, while Policeman Phillipps was shot
in the leg and discharged from the Oakland police force.

The murder of Hartwell was long a mystery. He was alone in his
editorial office at the time. The reports of the revolver were

heard by the office boy, who rushed in to find Hartwell expiring in
his chair. What puzzled the police was the fact, not merely that

he had been shot with his own revolver, but that the revolver had
been exploded in the drawer of his desk. The bullets had torn

through the front of the drawer and entered his body. The police
scouted the theory of suicide, murder was dismissed as absurd, and

the blame was thrown upon the Eureka Smokeless Cartridge Company.
Spontaneous explosion was the police explanation, and the chemists

of the cartridge company were well bullied at the inquest. But
what the police did not know was that across the street, in the

Mercer Building, Room 633, rented by Emil Gluck, had been occupied
by Emil Gluck at the very moment Hartwell's revolver so

mysteriously exploded.
At the time, no connection was made between Hartwell's death and

the death of William Sherbourne. Sherbourne had continued to live
in the home he had built for Irene Tackley, and one morning in

January, 1933, he was found dead. Suicide was the verdict of the
coroner's inquest, for he had been shot by his own revolver. The