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Evelyn Ramadka, composed as she has been since confronted with the jewels stolen from the home of Charles Beck,

lapsed into hysterics in the office of Captain Pedy O'Brien,

to whom she told her full story, throwing herself upon the mercy of her captors in the world.

She said she had begun her thefts in Milwaukee last May. Under cover of her husband's

sterling social station there, she had committed her first misstep, the theft of a sealskin sack.

Then her longing for Chicago grew strong, and she came here five weeks ago.

Albert Jones taught her the arts of his craft, burglary.

He gave her skeleton keys.

She made her way into the homes of the wealthy by a ruse,

which her own wealth suggested, and when this failed her, she took the lock pick into her own hands and became a burglar. She stole about $5,000 worth of gems and other valuables in a brief period.

The proceeds in the main went to

satisfy the cupidity of Jones. What she retained, she spent in lavish living. Her story was the

narrative of a woman who had enjoyed everything that should contribute to the making of happiness.

Nothing that a husband's love or

unlimited resources could procure had been denied her, but her heart called for life. It was the

notion of life that she had conceived four years ago in her childhood days at Oshkosh, before she even

dreamed of being mistress of one of the finest homes in her state.

It entails champagne and fast horses and automobiles,

and the cast of her drama of dreams were men of affairs and women of wit and stately beauty.

Her husband made her the wife of a millionaire, but his tastes were simple.

Hers were not. And it was this longing that drove her to forsake her husband, their home,

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