There are many stories surrounding the incident in which H. F. Chaffee lost $25,000 to a confidence man in a “gold brick” scheme. This version was told by his son, Eben W. Chaffee II, who at the time had dropped out of college to work as a police reporter on the St. Paul Pioneer Press.

Eben's newspaper career was interrupted in early 1911 when his father was victimized by a confidence man named C. W. Caddigan. Caddigan had appeared at the Land Company offices in Amenia, pretending to be looking for Herbert's father, E. W. Chaffee I, who of course had been dead for nearly twenty years. He explained that he was a prospector in the West, and that the elder Chaffee had "grubstaked" him and his partner with a loan, for which they were forever grateful. Now they had struck gold--a fabulously valuable mine--and would give Herbert a share in it as repayment for his father's loan.

After all this had been discussed at length, it came out that there was a problem. A sum of money was desperately needed to prevent the mine from being taken over by others. It was a very old con game, but Caddigan was an expert at making it seem plausible.

Ironically, one of the things that helped Caddigan sell the story was the elder E. W. Chaffee's kindly practice of making small loans to nearly anyone who asked. Herbert knew that it would have been entirely in character for his father to lend a hundred dollars or so to a pair of struggling prospectors, and never bother to get an IOU or scribble a line in his account books.

What Caddigan eventually said was that he needed $25,000, a sum equal to perhaps $2 million today. He needed it right away, otherwise the mine would be forever lost. And secrecy was essential, he said, because he was being followed by agents of the other parties who were trying to seize the mine. As security for the $25,000 he offered Herbert two large thick disks of what he said was gold.

The exchange of Herbert's money for Caddigan's gold disks took place in St. Paul. Herbert told Eben very little about what was going on at first, but he did send him to get the money. Eben went into a bank with Herbert's check, and came out carrying $25,000 in cash in one of his coat pockets. In the other pocket he had an automatic pistol that he had prudently brought along. He delivered the money to Herbert in a hotel room. Herbert, alone, then met with Caddigan, who came and went in great haste and secrecy to elude the mythical agents who were following him.

After Caddigan had left, Eben got his first look at the golden disks, and immediately expressed his doubts that they really were gold. Herbert asked Eben if he could test them. Eben, who had majored in chemistry, said that he could. He walked to the nearest drugstore and bought a bottle of sulfuric acid, an item which is not sold in drugstores nowadays. Real gold would have been unaffected by the acid, but when Eben poured it on the surface of the disks they began to dissolve in a green froth. "They’re brass," he said. Caddigan by this time was well on his way out of town, having left $5,000 in the hands of the St. Paul police--as Eben later learned--to ensure his safe passage.

Herbert, mortified and appalled, flew into action. He hired the Pinkerton detective agency; and, as Eben later put it, he also hired the Burns detective agency to keep an eye on the Pinkertons. The detectives located Caddigan without much trouble a few weeks later. He was in Los Angeles, where he had been arrested for extracting $12,000 from a widow in Colorado with a very similar gold-brick scam. Being then out on bail, he was duly arrested a second time for bilking Herbert, and posted bail on that charge as well.

Herbert asked Eben to go to Los Angeles to keep an eye on the police investigation and on Caddigan. Eben and Herbert had barely been on speaking terms since a dispute in 1907 (Herbert had cut off Eben’s college funds when Eben joined a fraternity), but Eben accepted with alacrity. For one thing, running down a criminal was the sort of job that filled him with enthusiasm at that time of his life. For another, Herbert knew nothing about such matters, while Eben, as a police reporter, had been in daily contact with crime and criminals for the previous two years. This meant Herbert couldn't possibly give him instructions on how to proceed.

Herbert was obsessed with giving people detailed directions on how to do their jobs. This micro-management probably gave him a sense of security. It also played a useful part in managing his sprawling business operations, in which every dollar and every bushel of wheat had to be accounted for. But it drove Eben crazy. Despite his admiration for Herbert's success, he had found it nearly impossible to work for his father in business. The Caddigan affair began a change in their relationship. If Herbert had lived longer, he and Eben probably would have completed their reconciliation, and Eben would probably have begun training as Herbert’s successor.

Arriving in Los Angeles, Eben checked into the Hotel Angelus, using the name “E. W. Carson” in case Caddigan or one of his friends was watching the hotel registers. He talked with the police, detectives and prosecutors and made inquiries into Caddigan's affairs. To his surprise, he heard that Caddigan actually owned a silver mine. He hired a local guide, a wagon, and a team of mules, and traveled into the Mojave Desert to take a look at it.

The mine did exist, he found, although the trip was grueling. The desert heat was intense. At one point Eben had to draw his pistol and shoot a rattlesnake that was frightening the mules. On the way back the guide led them toward a well that he knew of, so that they could water the mules and refill their canteens. They arrived at the well only to find a dead sheep in it, and had to struggle back to civilization without any more water. Herbert later attempted to lay legal claim to the silver mine, but was unsuccessful because Caddigan’s connection with it could not be proven.

Another surprise lay in store. A few weeks after Eben's arrival, a man's body washed ashore in Los Angeles Bay. Caddigan's wife identified it as that of her husband. He had disappeared earlier, she said, and clearly had been driven to suicide by the unjust charges brought against him. Her claim was supported by the bondsmen who had posted Caddigan's bail, since they would have to pay if he were found to have fled the city. A Los Angeles police detective disagreed. He was the Bertillon expert.

Fingerprints were not used for identification in those days. It was known, or suspected, that fingerprints were unique, but no one had come up with a good system for classifying them. The Bertillon system was a means of identifying persons through a set of body measurements, including the length of the head, length of the forearm, and eight or ten others. Given enough measurements, there was a fairly good chance that no two people would have an identical set--and these measurements could easily be filed, indexed, and compared.

The Bertillon man, after measuring the body, was emphatic. "That's not Caddigan," he said. Caddigan's wife stuck to her story. The Los Angeles police, with their suspect gone, filed the case. There was no FBI. Herbert's detectives spread reward posters throughout the West, but Caddigan--and the money--were never found.

Eben had found someone, though--the switchboard operator at the Hotel Angelus. She was Lillian (Dolly) Beesley, born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1891. Many people said she was the most beautiful girl in Los Angeles. Eben had dated scores of women, but thought Dolly was special. He showered her with attentions, even sending her a telegram from the edge of the desert to express regret that he was not with her. They eloped to San Francisco, and later had a formal wedding in Amenia in July of 1911, probably at Carrie’s request.

Submitted by John Van Schenck Chaffee, 2013