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Due to the nature of this episode, listener discretion is advised. This episode features discussions of racism, sexual assault, and murder. Consider this when deciding how and when you'll listen.
You've probably heard of bloodletting, an old-fashioned medical procedure that feels straight out of a vampire story. In modern times, it's mostly fallen out of use. But at the turn of the 20th century, it was a common treatment for heart failure and strokes. Creating an incision on the body, doctors drained blood to reduce inflammation, lower blood pressure, and prevent excessive bleeding later on.
But there were many dangers. Bloodletting could cause cardiac arrest or lead to a deadly infection. But Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde didn't seem to fear this as he sliced into his in-law's arm. Brought to the family sick room to save the man's life, he appeared determined, slowly draining blood from the arteries. He emptied cup after cup after cup
Hyde didn't seem like he was going to stop. In fact, he was about to give bleeding someone dry a whole new meaning. I'm Vanessa Richardson, and this is Serial Killers, a Spotify podcast. You can find us here every Monday. Be sure to check us out on Instagram at Serial Killers Podcast, and we'd love to hear from you. So if you're listening on the Spotify app, swipe up and give us your thoughts.
Today, we're covering Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde, a Missouri physician and con man. He was charged with murdering three of his in-laws in 1909 and poisoning even more, all in a sneaky bid at their million-dollar inheritance. Hey, y'all. Marci Martin here with a little Tampax story. One time, I went on vacation in the Bahamas with some friends, and of course, I got my period.
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Long before Bennett Clark Hyde was plotting against his in-laws, he was a good old Southern boy, raised with prejudice and privilege. Born in 1872, he grew up in a tight-knit Missouri community that had just lived through the Civil War. Hyde's father had served as a Confederate Army chaplain, and though he fought for the losing side, he was still well-respected locally.
And while the war might have ended, the racism hadn't. So it's easy to imagine Bennett Clark Hyde growing up with a sense of entitlement and bigotry. Perhaps this inspired Hyde to go into the medical field for the sense of importance it gave him. After all, holding someone's life in your hands is no small responsibility. And Hyde was apparently undaunted.
While Hyde could have attended any of the several universities where his father served as a trustee, he instead enrolled in Missouri's University Medical College. He graduated in the spring of 1895. By that May, Hyde was appointed as the Kansas City police surgeon. He'd treat anyone who'd been brought into the station after a street fight or other violence. It was no small job, especially for a man right out of school.
Perhaps in some respects, Hyde's fast professional ascent was a testament to his charm and intelligence. His Baptist background had equipped him to cite the Bible at any given moment, and delivering Shakespeare quotes off the cuff was his specialty.
But more likely, Hyde got the job due to sharing values with the old police force, the people who stood for the way things were. Whether he publicly vocalized his prejudice is unclear, but it wouldn't be long before Hyde's actions showed his leanings.
Around 1897, a Black woman named Annie Clements was brought to a Kansas City police station after allegedly taking morphine to treat her depression. Dr. Hyde was tasked with her care.
Though what he did next could hardly be called care. As author Giles Fowler describes in his book, Deaths on Pleasant Street, while a warden held Annie down, Hyde poured oil of mustard into her vagina, shouting profanities at her. Now, mustard seeds do have a history of medical uses. They are anti-inflammatory,
pouring acidic oil in such a sensitive area would have caused extreme pain. This wasn't medical care. This was cruelty. It got worse with Hyde's next order. Get up and out of here and don't come back no more. She crawled for over a block before she found an officer to help her. Today, the violence Annie endured could be considered a hate crime, but Dr. Hyde didn't seem to think he'd done anything wrong.
Luckily, word of the assault quickly spread across the precinct and ultimately sparked a hearing before the Board of Police Commissioners. There, Hyde attempted to downplay what he'd done, claiming he'd only tried to wake the patient out of her morphine-induced stupor. In his mind, the officers were targeting him for political reasons that had nothing to do with his attack on Annie.
Whether or not politics played a role in the decision, the Board of Police Commissioners effectively fired Dr. Hyde. But being that this was 1897, Dr. Hyde easily moved on to a new role, instructor of anatomy at his alma mater, University Medical College.
Anyone else in his position might have been on their best behavior, eager to win approval and make up for past indiscretions. But not Dr. Hyde. The following year, two men were caught robbing graves and arrested. According to their story, the bodies were meant to be delivered to Dr. Hyde. They'd been selling him corpses. ♪
Since cadavers were useful for teaching anatomy, and often in short supply, Dr. Hyde's motive was clear: Police arrested him, but he was never tried, and the case was dropped in March 1899. Nevertheless, it seems the doctor thought it best to pivot once again. Using loans from friends, he established a private practice.
Around this time, his criminal motives seemed to solidify. He wanted cash, loads of it, and that private practice? Not nearly lucrative enough. So he began running cons on his own patients.
It started with seduction. Simple for him. As a bachelor in his mid-20s, Dr. Hyde's southern sensibilities and manly build made him popular among his female patients. One said that his voice was so enticing, he, quote, "...made me feel I was doing him a favor when he asked me to let him give me the chloroform."
For his first mark, Dr. Hyde set his sights on a divorcee named Sarah Frank. He promised marriage, then borrowed $2,200 from her, cash that he had no intention of returning.
He left Sarah high and dry and moved on to his next target, the former Mrs. Mike Heim. She received $4,000 in alimony from her ex-husband, which the good doctor asked to borrow from her, and she obliged. Perhaps she figured she'd be married to Hyde soon enough and they'd share the funds.
But Hyde had no intention of getting hitched. Once again, he bailed on his romantic promises and moved right along to a new mark. And in 1903, he hit the jackpot.
23-year-old Frances Swope was on the lookout for a suitor, someone she could build a life with, someone trustworthy, someone who had their own success and wouldn't try to leech off her inheritance, which was lavish. See, Frances Swope was an heir to the Swope estate, the vast fortune of one of Kansas City's most charitable benefactors, 76-year-old Colonel Thomas Swope.
Early on in life, Colonel Swope came into his own modest inheritance and invested it in Kansas City when it was a little more than farmland. As industrialization hit the town, Swope got rich selling and renting properties that would be turned into skyscrapers and urban landmarks. His wealth essentially made itself, but Swope was also quite good at maintaining it.
Though he'd regularly donated to charities and public works groups over the years, he still had about $3.6 million, and that's in 1903 money, almost $155 million today. And the estate wouldn't be going to a spouse or children when he died. Swope didn't have them. Instead, it'd be split among his nieces and nephews, including 23-year-old Francis. ♪
Dollar signs in his eyes, Dr. Hyde didn't waste his time. He pursued Frances as soon as they met. Two years later, in 1905, Hyde proposed. But Frances' mother, Maggie, had concerns. She'd heard rumors about the two poor women Hyde had swindled. She saw the doctor as a fortune-seeking, dishonorable man who had no business being with her daughter.
Eager to persuade, Hyde brought in a lawyer to reframe his past. Apparently, the attorney convinced Maggie that though Hyde had walked out on the ladies, he'd never cheated them out of their money. So Maggie agreed to let the engagement proceed for a time.
Shortly after she'd given her reluctant blessing, Hyde's victims came forward, threatening lawsuits. The matters were settled out of court, but not before Maggie confronted two difficult truths. First, Dr. Hyde had, in fact, swindled his past partners. Second, he'd lied to her face about it.
Disturbed, Maggie Swope pulled out all the stops to convince her daughter she was making a mistake. She asked family members to talk some sense into Frances. When that didn't work, she offered her daughter shiny opportunities. Some accounts say she almost sent Frances to an all-female college. Others suggest a trip to Europe was on the table. However, Frances turned up her nose, determined to marry the man she loved.
So Maggie banished her daughter to Virginia. But Frances had her mind made up. She switched routes and made her way to Arkansas instead. There in June 1905, Frances Swope and Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde tied the knot. Frances's mother wasn't there to see it. And when news got back to her, Maggie was hardly pleased. For the next 14 months, she and her daughter didn't speak.
Eventually, however, Dr. Hyde suffered from an inflamed iris, and Maggie Swope visited to wish him well. But she likely had other motivations for the trip. Soon after she arrived at her married daughter's home, Maggie had a heart-to-heart with Francis. By the end, they let bygones be bygones.
As for Hyde, he was eager to get into the family's good graces. When one of Francis' brothers had his arm amputated after a mining incident, Hyde joined Maggie Swope to pay him a visit.
We don't know exactly what Hyde did to help. It's possible he bandaged the remaining part of the limb with a tourniquet or compression bandage. But whatever he did or said that day, it had the intended result. Hyde was officially accepted by the Swope family. Francis Swope's millionaire uncle, Colonel Swope, even bought the couple a $10,000 house.
But Hyde quickly learned that the family's approval didn't grant him easy access to the rest of the fortune.
First, he had to wait for the colonel to pass away. Upon his death, the portions designated to each of his nieces and nephews would be given in the form of high-rent real estate properties. But Frances Hyde's property was valued the lowest. According to writer Giles Fowler, this meant she'd make at least $100,000 less than her siblings'.
There were rumors as to why Swope might have shorted her. Some thought he'd made this decision when she'd married Hyde against her mother's will, as a punishment. But it was also possible the property had simply lost value since Swope originally assigned it to Frances.
Luckily for Frances, there was the residuary estate too, the portion of Swope's money left over after the land had been divvied up. That amounted to roughly $1.4 million, slotting each heir to the fortune with a $140,000 lump sum. Even if she inherited the least of the Swope children, Frances was set for a pretty payout.
Of course, this was all theoretical. After the Hyde's 1905 marriage, Colonel Swope was still very much alive. And while he might have spent nearly every day of his life nursing a generous glass of whiskey, the Colonel seemed too stubborn to die anytime soon. But in 1908, the 80-year-old millionaire began voicing complaints about his digestion.
A physician determined that the root cause of the issue was piles or hemorrhoids, which can make bowel movements excruciating. Swope underwent surgery, but the procedure came with other challenges. His immune system weakened. Swope suffered low energy and caught a cold, and over the next year, his overall well-being showed little improvement.
At this time, Dr. Hyde regularly visited Colonel Swope in the upstairs room of 406 South Pleasant Street, where much of the Swope family lived. Swope took a liking to Dr. Hyde, even using his robust network to help the doctor secure a position at the prestigious City Hospital. But as much as Hyde might have gotten into Swope's good graces, he couldn't stop what happened next.
In September 1909, Swope revealed that he no longer wanted his residuary estate to go to his nieces and nephews. They'd get their share of his wealth through real estate. Those who really deserved the other half of his money were the poor working people of Kansas City, ordinary folk who Swope truly respected.
That meant Hyde would make even less from his marriage to Frances Swope. Of course, saying that would do nothing but reveal his ugly intentions. If Hyde wanted to stop the old man from changing his will, he'd need to be sneaky.
On September 13th, 1909, Dr. Hyde placed a call to Hugo Brecklein's drugstore. It was his go-to pharmacy as a doctor, but on this particular day, he placed an order that starkly contrasted his usual ones. He asked for, quote, four five-grain capsules of cyanide of potassium. Though the cashier might have thought it strange, he completed the request.
The next day, Hyde put in another order, this time for two dozen capsules of a popular digestive compound known as Fairchild's Holodin. It was little more than a digestive aid, perfectly harmless. The order was promptly filled, and Hyde was now in possession of two types of capsules. One contained a digestive supplement, the other a lethal poison.
Both the exact same size, shape, and color. But the Colonel wasn't the only person standing between Hyde and the Swope fortune. The Colonel's cousin, 63-year-old James Moss Hunton, who went by Moss, was the estate's primary executor. He also lived at the house on Pleasant Street.
Around 5.30 p.m. on October 1st, 1909, Moss made his way to the kitchen and sat down to supper. A Santa Claus type, Moss was beloved for his cheery warmth. So when he saw his nurse, Nurse Keller, in the house, he called her to sit with him. And he was delighted when his cousin, Maggie Swope, and one of her daughters entered the dining room, home from a women's gathering. During the meal, Moss admitted to no one in particular...
Things look so queer. I feel so dizzy.
At first, no one gave it much credence. He was 63. Petty ails would strike him from time to time. But things escalated when the man lifted his glass of water and it shook violently in his hands. Something wasn't right. Nurse Keller thought he needed a rest and advised he lie down in the library. When Moss stood, he collapsed back into his chair. His right leg had seized up. He was unable to move.
Concerned, one of the Swope daughters called Frances, asking her to come quick with her husband, Dr. Hyde. In the meantime, the nurse enlisted a servant to help carry Moss to the library. Together, they stretched him across the couch, where he seized, vomited, and went unconscious.
When Dr. Hyde arrived, he immediately suggested Moss had suffered apoplexy, or a stroke. No one questioned Hyde's fast diagnosis. It was what Hyde did next that raised suspicion. To alleviate pressure in the arteries, Hyde cut an incision in the old man's arm. He watched intently as the blood spurted from Moss' right arm into a bucket.
Now, this wasn't as shocking to them as it is to us. Bloodletting had long been a first response option in treating a hemorrhage or stroke because it was thought to lower blood pressure, and losing a few ounces of blood wouldn't kill Moss as long as Hyde stopped fairly quickly. But as the bucket grew fuller, Hyde showed no signs of bandaging the incision.
The family grew concerned. Several people insisted enough blood had been taken. Moss' heart rate had clearly slowed. But Dr. Hyde didn't seem to think so. Minutes passed and grim worry crossed the family's faces. Finally, Frances spoke up saying, "You have bled him enough and I would quit." Dr. Hyde obliged her and wrapped up the wound.
Minutes later, Moss seized once more, gasped for air, and died. The blood loss was all anyone could think of. When asked how much blood he'd taken, Hyde calmly said he'd drained four pints, or nearly 40% of the blood in Moss Hunton's body.
What Dr. Hyde did next was even more suspicious. Shortly before midnight, Dr. Hyde whisked Nurse Keller into the sitting room and asked her to recommend him as the next executor of Colonel Swope's estate. With Moss gone, the position was wide open. Stunned, Nurse Keller reminded Hyde that it wasn't her job to take stances on such matters. They left the conversation at that.
But the motive was clear. It appeared that Hyde might have bled one man to death, but he had plans to bleed the whole family dry, one mark at a time.
As tragedy struck the Swope family, Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde played the role of supportive son-in-law. But in truth, he was the source of the tragedy. A man with two faces, both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Dr. Hyde continued to play both parts, and it's possible his wife was in on it.
The next day, Francis Hyde placed an order for not one casket, but two. A strange move since only one person had passed. That same day, Hyde invited himself into Swope's room and discovered that Swope had other plans for his will.
His trusted colleague, a man by the name of Sylvester Spangler, would be helping the Colonel make the final adjustments in the coming days. Apparently, Cousin Moss' death had inspired Swope to act quickly. Dr. Hyde wasn't going to have that. $140,000 was on the line, enough to buy a mansion like the one the Swope family lived in.
And it could buy 30 more. He had to strike before the will was changed. So on October 3rd, 1909, not yet 36 hours since Cousin Moss's body had gone cold, Dr. Hyde pulled out some pills. One bottle contained capsules of Fairchild's Holodin, a popular digestive aid. The other? Cyanide.
Kept in capsules of the exact size, shape, and color, the drugs were completely interchangeable, except that their effects were the difference between a bowel movement and, well, death. However, since they looked the same, Hyde wouldn't have to explain when he gave one to Swope, a man who'd been suffering several intestinal issues. Of course he'd take Fairchild's Halidin for his weak stomach.
According to Nurse Keller, when Hyde handed over the pill, the old man accepted it without question. So, Nurse Keller was perplexed by what came next. Around 8:50 a.m., Colonel Swope started making a strange blowing sound. The nurse examined his face, which held a peculiar expression. Colonel Swope's eyes were directed out the window, completely still.
Then Colonel Swope began shaking violently, throwing his head back like a vision out of a horror film. His eyes shot wide open while his teeth clenched. He continued making guttural noises and a white substance oozed from his mouth. Panicked, Nurse Keller cried out for Dr. Hyde.
At the same time, Frances Hyde entered the room and found her uncle's right arm and leg violently jerking. He'd lost control of his body. The cyanide was taking effect. When Hyde arrived on the scene a few minutes later, he'd made a quick diagnosis. A stroke, probably caused by the stress of Cousin Moss's death.
Nurse Keller didn't believe him, but now wasn't the time to argue. They waited out the convulsions, which lasted for eight to ten minutes, then watched as Swope softened, suddenly caught in a fit of retching. His body was likely trying to rid itself of the poison.
When Swope had finally settled, Nurse Keller and Dr. Hyde took his pulse. In one moment, it was weak, but the next, it rose up to a speedy 140 beats per minute. According to Nurse Keller, he said, Oh my God, I wish I were dead. I wish I had not taken that medicine. Dr. Hyde ordered Nurse Keller to dose Swope with strychnine.
It was a strange order. The drug was typically used as a stimulant, and a big enough dose can be lethal. But the nurse did as she was told, and Hyde left the room. Once alone with Swope, however, Nurse Keller did some detective work. Swope insisted that the medicine he'd taken earlier had caused his sorry state. If she could find the pillbox, she'd be able to confirm how much he'd taken, and what.
She checked the top of Swope's dresser, the mantle, the bedside table, and the closet. But a search of the room soon revealed that the little medicine container and the pills inside it had disappeared. And while Colonel Swope might have offered up an important clue, he was now caught on a knife's edge between life and death.
As the afternoon continued, the Colonel showed little improvement. Following a strychnine injection, his pulse remained rapid. Still, his nephew-in-law administered at least two more doses of strychnine. Shortly after, Swope fell into a coma. His toes began to turn a dark purple, as though they were losing oxygen. Soon, his breathing weakened.
At 7:15, it completely stopped. 81-year-old Colonel Thomas Swope, Kansas City's beloved benefactor, was gone.
Drama swirled around his will. Since Cousin Moss's death just days earlier, no new executor had been named. But Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde still felt he could take the man's place, and he seemingly shared those sentiments with his wife. On Monday, October 11th, shortly after Colonel Swope's funeral, Frances asked her mother Maggie if her husband could be the executor.
Maggie outright rejected it. If it was up to her, Hyde wouldn't get a cent of her family's fortune. And it was laughable that Francis thought he'd make an appropriate executor with his history of swindling women. So Hyde seemingly turned to other pursuits.
At dinner on November 1st, 1909, Dr. Hyde met with a fellow member of the Jackson County Medical Society, bacteriologist Dr. Edward Stewart. Hyde shared that he'd like to set up a bacteria lab. Dr. Stewart encouraged him. He himself was fascinated with disease transmission and inoculation. He even offered Hyde some germ species to get him started.
There were six different kinds. One was harmless, two were a species known as pus germs, and the last three were more dangerous varieties: Bacillus anthracis, Corinna bacterium diphtheriae, and Salmonella typhi, commonly known to cause the deadly infection of anthrax, diphtheria, and typhoid.
Around that time, typhoid was rampant. At one point in 1909, Kansas City health officers reported 600 patients under treatment for typhoid. Dr. Hyde knew no one would bat an eye if an infection popped up in the Swope House.
On November 21st, Francis and Bennett joined the Swopes for Sunday dinner. Among the attendees were Francis' mother, Maggie, her eldest brother, Chrisman, three of her sisters, two cousins, and a so-called house girl. At some point during their visit, the cook heard Dr. Hyde pouring something in the kitchen. She presumed it was water, but she couldn't be certain.
A week later, Margaret Swope, Frances' younger sister, cancelled on shopping plans. She said aches and a fever had left her feeling drained. Similarly, the housegirl reported a terrible headache. The very next day, Chrisman Swope fell ill. It was only then that their family physician made a diagnosis. Typhoid.
Doctors knew that the average incubation period for typhoid was between about 7 and 14 days, counting back from the 29th when the symptoms first revealed themselves, that could have put the exposure date around November 21st, the very night that Dr. Hyde came for dinner.
But at this point, no one was doing any detective work. The infected trio suffered diarrhea, vomiting, rashes, dry cough and muscle soreness. And the rest of the household worked around the clock to care for them.
With all hands on deck, Hyde placed an order at his tried-and-true pharmacy. Six five-grain capsules of cyanide of potassium, just like last September. When asked why he needed more, Hyde explained he needed to get rid of some pesky dogs. Reluctantly, the pharmacist filled the order on the promise that Dr. Hyde would handle the drugs himself. Hyde assured them...
He would. By Sunday, December 5th, the Swope residence had become an infirmary with typhoid still spreading. Five nurses tended to one houseworker, a family friend, Hyde's brother-in-law, Chrisman Swope, his sister-in-law, Margaret, and their cousin. Among them, Chrisman seemed to be faring the best. That was about to change.
That afternoon, Dr. Hyde made his way to Chrisman's room. According to one of the nurses on duty, the doctor handed his brother-in-law a capsule.
Not long after, Chrisman's body tightened. His limbs shot out, his head tilted back, and his facial expression held a fixed gaze. His muscles spasmed and guttural noises came from his mouth. It was all too similar to the attack Colonel Swope had experienced on the fateful day of his death, just two months prior. And in a chilling parallel, Hyde recommended a strychnine injection.
It did little to help Chrisman's pitiful state. He continued to shake for about 20 minutes before falling unconscious. Hyde called the culprit meningitis, which he said was commonly brought on by typhoid. But when the family doctor, Dr. Twyman, arrived late that night, he was perplexed. Chrisman's skin had turned bluish. His eyes were wide open, yet strangely, his pulse was high.
Factoring this last detail in, Dr. Twyman found it strange that Hyde had prescribed strychnine injections. Nothing in the progression of Chrisman's illness would have substantiated use of a stimulant.
Hyde agreed in that moment and assured Twyman he'd switch to morphine, but this was a lie. He continued using strychnine. For the rest of the day and well into the next, Chrisman remained comatose. Then, Monday afternoon, he woke in a sudden panic, shot up from his bed and fell to the floor, burbling nonsensical words just as his uncle had.
But interestingly, Chrisman soon became coherent, even chatty, like he might even be on the road to recovery. Elated, his mother Maggie reported the news to Hyde, who was downstairs. But her joy was short-lived. That evening, Hyde allegedly told the nurse on duty to give Chrisman a capsule to be swallowed with orange juice.
About half an hour later, Chrisman began to thrash. When the nurse asked Hyde for advice, Hyde instructed, let him alone. So they left the room. For up to an hour, Hyde was alone with Chrisman Swope. We can only imagine what happened next.
In the winter of 1909, Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde was hard at work increasing his wife's inheritance by killing off his in-laws. In early December, he turned on his sick brother-in-law, Chrisman Swope, and convinced the nurses to leave them alone together. When they returned, Hyde ordered an injection of morphine and a hot water enema.
An hour and a half later, Chrisman was pronounced dead, the third Swope to die within three months. Dr. High didn't seem to mourn much. The next day, he attended an event as president-elect of the Jackson County Medical Society. Afterwards, he took friends out for a celebratory dinner.
Hyde's behavior offended the Swopes, who buried Chrisman in Kansas City's Mount Washington Cemetery the following afternoon. Though Frances remained in love with her husband, the other Swopes were increasingly upset by his actions, and their opinions would only continue to sour.
In the days that followed, Sarah and Stella, Frances' teenage sisters, began displaying symptoms of typhoid, about seven days after accepting a "special candy" from Dr. Hyde.
It was all the more suspicious that Dr. Hyde visited his pharmacist for yet another round of cyanide pills. The very next evening, he allegedly gave Sarah's nurse a pill, urging her to administer it if the girl had trouble sleeping.
Luckily, the nurse remembered that both Chrisman and Colonel Swope had taken a very similar-looking pill hours before their deaths. So she tossed it. And she wasn't the only nurse with misgivings. On December 11th, Nurse Keller returned to the family to lend a hand. Though she'd been out on a different job, Chrisman's sudden death had shocked her.
When she asked Stella about her brother's final moments, the girl said he died in a convulsion. To Nurse Keller, that sounded a little too similar to the way Colonel Swope died. Around this time, the Swopes consulted another doctor, Dr. Frank Johnson Hall.
Dr. Hall hoped to find the source of the typhoid and eliminate it. He inspected the Swope home with no luck. According to Hall, it appeared the germs had entered and exited the Swope home with, quote, "all the precision of a scientific experiment." He also noted that he'd never seen anyone die of typhoid so early in the illness.
Meanwhile, Hyde's bacteriologist friend, Dr. Edward Stewart, was also poring over the tragedies in the Swope household. He'd given Dr. Hyde typhoid samples in November. He'd hate to think that his trusted colleague had somehow been involved in the outbreak. Though he tried to push the idea from his mind, he eventually paid a visit to the doctor's office.
Unfortunately, Hyde was away. He'd volunteered to go to New York for a few days to pick up a Swope sister returning from Europe. So Dr. Stewart moved to Plan B. He asked Hyde's secretary to let him examine Hyde's bacteria samples. It appeared the tubes were completely undisturbed, except the typhoid culture.
The entire upper half of the jelly carrier was missing. The sheer amount of germs in the absent portion would have been enough to, quote, "inoculate the whole of Kansas City." It hit Stewart like a ton of bricks. Maybe the typhoid outbreak in the Swope household wasn't a random tragedy. Maybe Dr. Hyde poisoned his in-laws.
To test his theory, Dr. Stewart planted an identical tube in Hyde's office the next day. Except this one contained a dead typhoid colony. Upon his return from New York, Dr. Hyde received what should have been good news. His sister-in-law, Margaret Swope, was recovering. The nurses seemed to feel that Hyde's absence had done her well.
Hyde paid a visit to Margaret's room and asked the attending nurse which capsules she'd been taking. He examined the box of medicine and seemingly tampered with it.
Shortly after taking her next pill, Margaret suffered a petrifying convulsion. Stiffness, wide eyes, senseless mumbling, it all echoed the attacks that Colonel Swope and Chrisman had suffered. The family needed a doctor, but Hyde had already left the house for another appointment, so they called Dr. Twyman.
He prescribed an injection of morphine and nitroglycerin to increase blood flow and maximize oxygen circulation. Meanwhile, Margaret slipped into a coma. When she came to, she vomited up a white, milky substance.
At this point, the Swope's nurses were putting the pieces together. Someone was poisoning the family. Margaret's nurse was so horrified, she quit. The others threatened to follow suit, unless Dr. Hyde was banned from the home.
Matriarch Maggie Swope agreed. Her son-in-law was no longer welcome. When Hyde returned later that day, he was promptly sent off the premises for a meeting with Dr. Twyman. Twyman informed Hyde that the nurses wanted him gone. More than that, they were convinced he'd killed both Colonel Swope and Chrisman with poison capsules and typhoid germs.
Hyde threatened to sue. Dr. Twyman threatened to take the nurse's accusations public. At this, Hyde stood up and left. Two days later, arrangements were made for the post-mortem exams of Colonel Swope and Chrisman.
There was typhoid in Christman's intestines, but not enough to kill him. Even stranger, his brain appeared completely normal, even though Dr. Hyde had pronounced his cause of death as cerebral meningitis, a brain disease. Similarly, Colonel Swope's autopsy revealed no signs of his diagnosis, apoplexy.
Though since his body had been frozen in the cemetery's holding vault longer than Chrisman's, his brain was harder to examine. This uncertainty kept coroners debating over the accuracy of the findings, which Dr. Hyde used to his benefit, taking every opportunity to clear his name. He called for Dr. Stewart, claiming he had typhoid.
But Dr. Stewart wasn't so sure. This was the same Dr. Stewart who'd found Dr. Hyde's typhoid sample severely tampered with. Still, Stewart took a sample of Hyde's blood and tested it twice. One came back negative, the other positive. Confused, Stewart ran more tests and soon reached a dark conclusion. The typhoid cultures in Dr. Hyde's blood were dead.
Hyde had injected himself with the dead bacteria that Dr. Stewart had placed in his office. Dr. Stewart brought his realization to Dr. Twyman, who was already convinced of Hyde's guilt. And so were the swopes. They took it to the authorities.
On March 5th, 1910, 38-year-old Dr. Bennett Clark Hyde was indicted on 11 crimes. First-degree murder of Colonel Thomas Swope, first-degree murder of Chrisman Swope, manslaughter of Moss Hunton, and eight counts of unlawful poisoning with typhoid.
Despite the charges, Hyde seemed in good spirits. His wife Frances still stood by his innocence and hired expensive lawyers. Their defense put up a strong fight when the trial began that April. It helped that much went wrong for the prosecution.
Dr. Twyman died suddenly of a liver problem, so he couldn't testify as a witness. Grand jury notes went missing, and the defense argued that the only death they needed to prove Hyde innocent of was Colonel Swope's. They insisted Chrisman's cause of death was typhoid fever. But even a tough defense couldn't rule out the shocking testimony from Swope relatives and horrified nurses.
Around 10:15 a.m. on Monday, May 16th, the jury came forward with a verdict: guilty of murder in the first degree. They urged life in prison. But Hyde wouldn't go down so easily. He spent years in court and in 1914 somehow succeeded in having the case dismissed, likely thanks to the ruthless attorneys funded by his wife's fortune.
Frances Swope stood by her husband for years until 1920. She divorced him almost a decade after the string of deaths, citing his cruelty and violence. By that point, they had had two children. Dr. Hyde moved to Lexington where he opened a small medical practice. He worked there until 1934 when he collapsed suddenly at a newsstand.
His cause of death was ruled as apoplexy. Ironic, since he'd once claimed his victims had suffered this exact fate. Thanks for listening to Serial Killers, a Spotify podcast. We're here with a new episode every Monday.
Be sure to check us out on Instagram at Serial Killers Podcast. And we'd love to hear from you. So if you're listening on the Spotify app, swipe up and give us your thoughts. Amongst the many sources we used, we found Giles Fowler's book, Deaths on Pleasant Street, the ghastly enigma of Colonel Swope and Dr. Hyde, extremely helpful to our research. Stay safe out there.
This episode was written by Lauren Delisle, edited by Maggie Admire, fact-checked by Bennett Logan, researched by Chelsea Wood, and sound designed by Alex Button. Our head of programming is Julian Barreau. Our head of production is Nick Johnson, and Spencer Howard is our post-production supervisor. I'm your host, Vanessa Richardson.