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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38466-h.zip b/38466-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa4ba64 --- /dev/null +++ b/38466-h.zip diff --git a/38466-h/38466-h.htm b/38466-h/38466-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e62588d --- /dev/null +++ b/38466-h/38466-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7494 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hooded Detective, VOL. III, No. 2, by Various. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hooded Detective, Volume III No. 2, +January, 1942, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hooded Detective, Volume III No. 2, January, 1942 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 2, 2012 [EBook #38466] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOODED DETECTIVE, VOLUME III *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, John Betancourt, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2>FEATURING THE BLACK HOOD!!!</h2> + +<h3><i>MAN OF MYSTERY!!</i></h3> + +<h1>HOODED DETECTIVE</h1> + + +<h3><i>VOL. III, No. 2</i></h3> + +<h3><i>JANUARY, 1942</i></h3> + + + +<h3>A SMASHING BLACK HOOD NOVEL</h3> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_WHISPERING_EYE">THE WHISPERING EYE</a></td><td align="right">By G. T. Fleming-Roberts</td><td align="right"> 8</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>Hunted by the police ... framed for robbery and murder by the Eye, +master fiend and vicious ruler of the underworld ... loathed by +Barbara Sutton the girl who loves him ... the BLACK HOOD had to +face the blazing purgatory of this murder master's guns to win back +Barbara's love and clear himself of the framed charges</p></blockquote> + + +<h3>SIX ACTION PACKED SHORT STORIES</h3> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#CANDIDATE_FOR_A_COFFIN">CANDIDATE FOR A COFFIN</a></td><td align="right">By T. W. Ford</td><td align="right">42</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>Wilson Lamb cuddled his automatic to play "Mr. Death" and fingered +little Louis Engel for coffin cargo. But when he pulled the +trigger, Whisper the gun-cobra from Chi spilled out of Doom's +deck....</p></blockquote> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#ONE_HUNDRED_BUCKS_PER_STIFF">ONE HUNDRED BUCKS PER STIFF</a></td><td align="right">By J. Lloyd Conrich </td><td align="right">52</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>Mr. Peck was dead ... the papers said so. Yet Mr. Peck performed +his own autopsy and saved eight men from death.</p></blockquote> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#DEATH_IS_DEAF">DEATH IS DEAF</a></td><td align="right">By Cliff Campbell</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>Big Sid couldn't understand it, and he was a smart monkey. He had +cased this job himself, personal. Had cooked up the scheme for +pulling it off and had spent a good two weeks laying the +groundwork. Yet here he was locked up in the county jail with the +hot squat waiting to claim him....</p></blockquote> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#THREE_GUESSES">THREE GUESSES</a></td><td align="right">By David Goodis</td><td align="right">65</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>Detective Frey came in and saw Duggin lying dead, and he figured +he'd go out and do big things. He went out and threw his weight +around. Doing big things? You figure that one out.</p></blockquote> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_COP_WAS_A_COWARD">THE COP WAS A COWARD</a></td><td align="right">By Wilbur S. Peacock</td><td align="right">73</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>Johnny Burke had the making of a fine cop in him ... but there was +something strange about Johnny Burke—something mighty strange.</p></blockquote> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#A_DINNER_DATE_WITH_MURDER">A DINNER DATE WITH MURDER</a></td><td align="right">By Harry Stein</td><td align="right">86</td></tr> +</table> + +<blockquote><p>They had expected spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner, but were +served instead, hot lead, with a little bit of blood on the +side....</p></blockquote> + + +<h3>TWO TRUE FACT DETECTIVE SHORTS</h3> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents"> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_STRANGE_CASE_OF_WILLIAM_LONG">THE STRANGE CASE OF WILLIAM LONG</a></td><td align="right">By Roy Giles</td><td align="right">81</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ARTISTIC_MURDERS_MISFIRE">ARTISTIC MURDERS MISFIRE</a></td><td align="right">By Mat Rand</td><td align="right">90</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="sidenote">HOODED DETECTIVE, published every other month by COLUMBIA +PUBLICATIONS, INC. 1 Applelon Street, Holyoke, Mass. Editorial and +executive offices 60 Hudson Street, New York, N. Y. Application for +entry as second class matter pending at the Post Office at Holyoke, +Mass. Yearly subscription 60c, single copy 10c. Printed in the U.S.A.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WHISPERING_EYE" id="THE_WHISPERING_EYE"></a>THE WHISPERING EYE</h2> + +<h3>A BRAND NEW BLACK HOOD NOVEL</h3> + +<h3>by G. T. FLEMING-ROBERTS</h3> + +<p class="sidenote">Hunted by the police ... framed for robbery and murder by the EYE, +master fiend and vicious ruler of the underworld ... loathed by +Barbara Sutton, the girl who loves him ... The BLACK HOOD had to +face the blazing purgatory of this murder master's guns to win back +Barbara's love and clear himself of the framed charges.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h4><i>Gray jets of live steam erupted from pipes around the +edge of the room which threatened to boil BLACK HOOD alive.</i></h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3><i>Rob And Kill</i></h3> + + +<p>That night, the sounds that came from the metal stamping plant of +Weedham Industries, Incorporated, might have been prophetic of the +immediate and ugly future, for they were like the rattle of machine +guns. But Joseph, keeper of the south gate, was blissfully ignorant of a +Thompson gun and its deadly chatter, so that he drew no such comparison. +His only worry at the time lay in the dark sky above and the blue-white +stabs of lightning that promised an electrical storm.</p> + +<p>He hated storms. Probably he hated the idea of being murdered, or would +have if it ever occurred to him. But then he didn't know that he was +going to be murdered, and he did know it was going to storm. The thunder +was the tocsin of the storm, but those who came to rob and kill moved +unheralded in swift silence.</p> + +<p>The night shift had clocked in over an hour ago, and there should be no +passing through the gate for at least six hours. Joseph tilted his chair +back against the steel fence and kindled his cob pipe. The air was hot +and still so that blobs of pipe smoke clung like earth-bound ghosts +about him. In spite of the impending storm, Joseph was happy. In his +mind was a kindly thought for William "Old Bill" Weedham, principal +owner of Weedham Industries. That was because of the bonus Joseph was +anticipating.</p> + +<p>Within the next twenty-four hours, Joseph knew, seventy-five thousand +dollars would be distributed in cash bonuses to the employees of the +metal stamping division. Joseph had mentally spent his tiny fraction of +the money a dozen times or more. He did a lot of dreaming, Joseph did. +But about pleasant things. He had never dreamed of those who rob and +kill.</p> + +<p>A low slung maroon roadster came down the street and nosed into the +mouth of the tarvia drive at Joseph's gate. Joseph eased his chair +forward, stood up, approached the car, his faded eyes squinted against +the glare of the floodlights mounted on top of the high fence. The car +looked like the one young Jeff Weedham drove. Jeff Weedham was "Old +Bill" Weedham's son. He took no interest in his father's business or in +anything else unless it was that newspaper business which the elder +Weedham had purchased for him.</p> + +<p>Yes, that was Jeff Weedham at the wheel, and beside him were two other +young people—a girl and a redheaded man. Joseph took off his cap and a +grin cracked his weathered face.</p> + +<p>"Hi," Jeff Weedham said. He was a narrow-headed man with frail-looking +sloped shoulders and a thin triangle of face. He had an engaging, +careless grin, and light brown eyes that laughed. He had a marked +tendency to stutter.</p> + +<p>"Well," Joseph said, highly pleased, "if it ain't Mr. Jeff Weedham!"</p> + +<p>Joseph sent a shy glance toward the other occupants of the car. The girl +instantly reminded him of honey and violets. Hers was one of those +clear, golden complexions, and there was a certain unspoiled sweetness +about her mouth. It must have been her eyes that recalled violets.</p> + +<p>The man on the girl's right seemed to overlap her possessively which +could have been accounted for by the width of his shoulders. His red +hair bristled in defiance to any comb. His nose looked as though it had +been hit a few times in its owner's lifetime. The greenish suit he wore +was filled to capacity with overly developed muscles. A leather cased +camera was suspended from his bull neck by means of a strap. He had a +flashlight gun in his right hand, and a photographer's tripod was +propped upright between his knees.</p> + +<p>"D-d-do you think you could let us in?" Jeff Weedham asked of Joseph. +"<i>The D-Daily Opinion</i> is going to give D-d-dad a plug."</p> + +<p><i>The Daily Opinion</i> was the newspaper which Bill Weedham had bought for +his son, Joseph recalled.</p> + +<p>"Why, I guess so," Joseph replied. "But your friends here will have to +sign the register book."</p> + +<p>The big redhead had some difficulty getting into the pocket of his suit +coat from which he extracted a card. He swelled importantly as he handed +it across to the gate keeper. The card read, "<i>The Daily Opinion.</i> Joe +Strong, News Photographer."</p> + +<p>He said, "I guess this will fix everything, huh Jeff?"</p> + +<p>"This is Miss Barbara Sutton," Jeff said, indicating the girl beside +him. "I've hired her as a reporter, and Joe Strong is her cameraman. I +just came along to see that they get inside. They're d-d-doing an +article on the various manufacturing plants around New York."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Joseph bowed to Barbara Sutton. "You folks can go right in, just as soon +as you sign the book." He went back to his post and returned with a +ledger. He turned pages with a moistened thumb, took a pencil out of his +pocket, passed both to the passengers of the roadster. Barbara Sutton +and Joe Strong signed.</p> + +<p>"Looks like it's kicking up a storm," Joseph said.</p> + +<p>The thunder rolled ominous reply to his remark. Then Joseph went to the +gate, opened it, and the roadster rolled up the drive toward the +stamping mill.</p> + +<p>Joseph went back to his chair and rekindled his pipe. He smiled at the +memory of Barbara Sutton. He didn't know when he had seen a prettier +girl. There must be an awful lot of young fellows who thought the same +thing.</p> + +<p>"And if I was twenty years younger I guess I'd try to give them a lot +of competition!" he said aloud and chuckled.</p> + +<p>His chuckle stopped as lightning flare threw the shadow of a man across +the ground at Joseph's feet. He looked up, startled. The man faced +Joseph silently. He was slight, wore a workman's overall suit, and he +had a lunch box under his arm. His face, what could be seen of it +beneath the low drawn hat, was one of starved cheeks, lipless mouth, +pinched nose, and a chin that seemed to dangle.</p> + +<p>Joseph at first thought the man was one of the mill hands who had +arrived late for work.</p> + +<p>"You don't care what time you show up," Joseph grumped. "You know you're +over an hour late?"</p> + +<p>The slight man laughed unpleasantly.</p> + +<p>"I ain't late," he said. "I guess I'm just about in time."</p> + +<p>Something with the glint of bright steel flashed from the lunch box +under the man's arm. Instantly Joseph's mind connected this with the +seventy-five thousand dollars in small bills that was to come in on the +bank express truck in a few minutes.</p> + +<p><i>Stick-up!</i> Joseph's brain shrieked the alarm. He tried to get out of +his chair, but a knife blade that was like a sliver of light was driven +into Joseph's throat, sliding through flesh and muscle, torturing every +pain nerve in his body, driving relentlessly until the point of it +wedged into the wood back of the gate keeper's chair.</p> + +<p>The chair creaked and groaned beneath Josephs' writhings. But the knife +and the thin, dirty fingers of the killer did not permit his body to +alter its position. And then the pain nerves died. Joseph's brain +emptied, fortunately; a man would not want to know that he was tacked to +a chair, bleeding to death.</p> + +<p>The killer released Joseph. A little of the spurting blood had got on +his dirty fingers, and he wiped his hands on the seat of his trousers. +Then he removed the keys from the gate keeper's pocket. He went to the +gate, unlocked it, and opened it wide.</p> + +<p>There were great overgrown shrubs on either side of the gate just +outside the factory grounds. The killer walked to the bushes at the west +side of the gate, parted the branches with his dirty fingers.</p> + +<p>"Delancy," his voice croaked.</p> + +<p>The shrubbery shook. The thick torso of a man who squatted like a toad +could be seen partly emerging from the shrubs.</p> + +<p>"Okay, Shiv?"</p> + +<p>"Okay, Delancy," the killer chuckled. "His own mudder would t'ink he was +asleep in the chair. Don't death make a guy look natural, huh?"</p> + +<p>"You get back to the car," the man in the bushes said. "Be ready to pick +us up as soon as we crack the money truck. If you get nervous, think of +the dough. Seventy-five grand!"</p> + +<p>"I ain't noivous!" the killer said. "T'ink I never croaked a guy before. +It's a pipe. Dis whole job is a pipe, wit' us havin' a Monitor gun to +open dat armored truck. I'm almost ashamed to be associated wit' such a +pipe of a job."</p> + +<p>"Sure it's a pipe," Delancy agreed from amid the bushes. "Only don't get +too cocky on account of there's one guy who could mess things up for us +if he ever hits our trail."</p> + +<p>Shiv laughed. "You're worrying about the Black Hood, huh?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not worrying," Delancy said crossly. "I'm just being cautious. Each +job we do for the boss gets a little bigger. One of these times we'll +run into Mr. Black Hood."</p> + +<p>"And when we do—" the killer drew a line across his throat with his +forefinger. Then he turned and walked away from the bushes.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Delancy's moon face disappeared in the foliage. Only his hard little +eyes glittered in the shadows. Beside him, patiently silent, was Squid +Murphy. Murphy was motionless except for his twitching left eyelid. +Murphy was manning the Colt Monitor rifle, the kind of gun the G-men +used to death-drill the armor plate cars the mobsters sometimes used. +Tonight the weapon was in other hands.</p> + +<p>Delancy watched the lean figure of the knifeman ambling leisurely up the +road toward where the get-away car was parked, lights out. Shiv wasn't +nervous. Neither was Murphy, in spite of his twitching eyelid. There was +nothing to be nervous about since they had hooked up with this new +boss—this guy Delancy had never seen; this guy who knew all the +answers. No, there was nothing to worry about as long as that relentless +hunter of criminals known as the Black Hood kept off their tail.</p> + +<p>Delancy wasn't nervous even when the blunt gray snout of the bank +express truck turned into the mouth of the drive and slowed up before +the open gate. He just took a firmer grip on his automatic and waited.</p> + +<p>The driver of the bank truck yelled at the motionless figure of Joseph. +And when Joseph didn't answer, the driver nudged the guard who rode +beside him.</p> + +<p>"What the hell's wrong with their watchman?"</p> + +<p>Delancy heard that. His little eyes saw the guard get out of the cab. He +saw that the back door of the armored truck was opening and another +guard was getting out. Delancy thought, <i>What a break this is!</i> And then +he shot the driver in the back.</p> + +<p>The guard who had ridden up in front snatched at his shoulder holster as +he turned in the direction of Delancy's fire. On the other side of the +drive, two more of Delancy's boys opened up with automatics, so that by +the time the guard had decided he was facing death, death spoke from +behind him. Two slugs ripped into him. His own gun jumped twice, the +first shot coming dangerously close to Delancy's head, while the second +was an unaimed thing caused by the convulsive jerk of the guard's +trigger finger as he spilled forward on his face.</p> + +<p>The man who had got out of the rear of the truck saw a glimpse of the +hell that had spouted from the shrubbery and tried to duck for cover +behind the truck. And beside Delancy, the Monitor gun came to life. It +talked fast in a language that was all its own. It got the retreating +guard twice, the heavy, bone-shattering slugs knocking the man first one +way and then another as he fell crazily to the ground.</p> + +<p>There were two guards inside the truck. Their guns roared from the ports +in the armored walls. But the Monitor rifle was a can opener. Crouching +beside Squid Murphy, Delancy felt the heat of its barrel and saw the +black periods that were bullet holes speckling the gray steel sides of +the truck. Now only one of the gun ports in the truck was active.</p> + +<p>The barrel of the Monitor swung and the hot steel barrel burned +Delancy's arm. He said, "Hell!" hoarsely and jumped out of the bushes, +automatic in hand. Delancy dropped flat and heard the sound of a bullet +whining by. And then the Monitor's deafening hammer sounded again, and +after that, silence.</p> + +<p>Delancy picked himself up, ran, his thick, toadlike body silhouetted by +the truck lights. Gun smoke lay in placidly moving layers of gray before +the light beams. Delancy ducked through the open door of the truck. One +of his own men was already inside, and he tossed a money bag to Delancy. +Delancy caught it with one arm and a belly and passed it back through +the door to Squid Murphy who was standing just outside.</p> + +<p>Delancy said, "Cut it, Murphy!" Because Squid Murphy was giggling. +Murphy was kill-crazy, and tonight the Monitor rifle in his hands had +made him feel like a god. His giggling rasped on Delancy's nerves.</p> + +<p>Delancy picked up another money bag, and then told his boys they'd have +to get going. He didn't know why he felt as though they ought to get +away in a hurry. Surely no one inside the Weedham plant could have heard +the gun fire above the racket the machines were making. Also, the +neighborhood about the factory was thinly populated.</p> + +<p>But something he couldn't put his finger on was spurring Delancy to get +clear of the scene of the crime as soon as possible. Maybe it was the +lightning that flashed with ever increasing frequency. Or maybe it was +the ghastly tableau the body of Joseph, the watchman, made, sitting in +that chair, pinned there like a butterfly by Shiv's knife.</p> + +<p>A big gray sedan stood in the middle of the road, the motor idling. Shiv +the knifeman slouched indolently behind the wheel. Murphy and the other +two gunmen were already getting into the rear seat, and Delancy went +cold with the sudden fear that his pals might run out on him. As fast as +his short bowed legs would carry him, he ran to the car and piled in +beside Shiv. The knifeman looked at Delancy and snickered.</p> + +<p>"What's the rush, Delancy? You think Black Hood is on your tail?"</p> + +<p>Delancy snarled, "Hell, no! But let's get going, huh?"</p> + +<p>Now that Shiv had mentioned it, Delancy recognized the fear that plagued +him. It was fear of the Black Hood. The Black Hood wasn't like the cops +at all. He didn't trail a man with screaming sirens and blasting +whistles. He hunted like a panther in the night, alone and silent. And +you never knew just when the shadow of this master manhunter was to +fall across your path.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3><i>Secret Traffic</i></h3> + + +<p>If Delancy had stayed a little longer at the scene of his crime, he +would have learned that his premonition was founded in truth. The Black +Hood <i>was</i> hard on Delancy's heels that night. Advance notice of the +stick-up at the Weedham plant had sifted up through the underworld +grapevine to come eventually to Black Hood's ears. It had been very +scanty information and late in its arrival—too late to enable the +master manhunter to block the plan. All that Black Hood had learned was +that robbery of the Weedham factory had been planned, which wasn't +anything very definite considering that the Weedham Industries occupied +over fifty acres of ground.</p> + +<p>When all hell broke loose at the south gate of the factory, Black Hood +was actually at the north-west corner of the grounds. A cat could +scarcely have seen him, lurking in the shadows, his tall figure shrouded +in a black silk cape, his head and face hidden by his famous hood. But +his position did give him one advantage over those actually at work in +the factory buildings—he could distinguish the rattle of gun fire from +the racket made by the stamping mill.</p> + +<p>At the sound of the first shot, Black Hood had climbed to the top of the +high wire fence to leap into the factory grounds. Lightning had seen him +streaking through the open areas between buildings—a weird figure in +yellow tights, night-black shorts and hooded mask, his cape whipping out +from his broad shoulders. He might have been mistaken for a man from +Mars or a devil out of Hell, yet beneath the grotesque garb beat a heart +that was warm and human.</p> + +<p>Black Hood knew what it was to be a policeman with hands bound by red +tape or political intrigue. He knew what it was to be a criminal, to be +hunted as Delancy was hunted. Once he had been a young cop, determined +to work his way up in the police force. One of the most diabolical +fiends of the underworld had framed this cop for a crime. The frame had +stuck. In his efforts to clear himself, the young cop had taken half a +dozen lead slugs from underworld guns into his body. He had been left +on a lonely mountain road, apparently dead, later to be found by that +wise, gray-whiskered man known as the Hermit.</p> + +<p>It was the Hermit's vast store of scientific knowledge that brought the +half-dead cop back to health. It was the Hermit who gave the ex-cop a +body with the strength of steel and a mind that was a veritable +encyclopedia of scientific knowledge. It was the Hermit who had sent the +ex-cop back into the world to live a useful life, to strike back at the +denizens of the underworld who had harmed him.</p> + +<p>So the Black Hood was born to live in two identities. By day he was a +pleasant, mild-mannered young man known as Kip Burland to Barbara +Sutton, Joe Strong, and others of their set. But at night Kip Burland +became the Black Hood, man of mystery, hunter of killers. Police who did +not understand the unorthodox methods of the Black Hood suspected him of +numerous crimes. The underworld that feared him wanted him dead. He was +the hunter hunted.</p> + +<p>Once the secret of his dual identity became known, he knew that he faced +either death from the hands of criminals or prison from the hands of +police. Barbara Sutton, who merely tolerated Kip Burland, was deeply in +love with the Black Hood, yet even Barbara did not know that Kip and the +Black Hood were one and the same person.</p> + +<p>Black Hood was not the only person at the Weedham plant who had heard +the gun fire at the south gate. Joe Strong, newly appointed cameraman on +Jeff Weedham's newspaper, had been standing at one of the doors of the +stamping mill, smoking a cigarette when the hold-up had taken place. +However, it required a few seconds for his dull brain to comprehend just +what was taking place and from what direction the shots had come.</p> + +<p>Joe Strong had been trying to develop a nose for news. When he finally +realized what was going on at the south gate, he decided that here was a +chance for some swell pictures that would prove to Jeff Weedham and +Barbara Sutton that he was a natural born news hound. He ran from the +stamping mill, his camera bobbing from the strap around his neck and his +tripod dragging behind him. He had heard that a crack news photographer +could adjust a camera on the run and he figured that he could do that +and also mount the camera on the tripod at the same time.</p> + +<p>It was a very good idea except that like most of the ideas that sprouted +slowly from Joe's brain, it didn't work. He was within fifteen yards of +the scene of the crime when he tripped over one leg of his tripod and +fell flat on his face.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When he picked himself up, he saw something that knocked all ideas of +picture taking out of his thick skull. A brilliant blaze of lightning +showed him the unmistakable figure of the Black Hood bending over the +body of Joseph, the watchman. He saw Black Hood's gauntlet gloved hand +closed on the handle of the knife that was thrust into Joseph's neck.</p> + +<p>Joe Strong had met Black Hood many times before, and, like the police, +Joe was convinced that Black Hood was a clever criminal. It occurred to +Joe in the darkness that followed the lightning flash, that it was Black +Hood who had stuck up the bank truck, slaughtered the guards, and was +just now in the act of finishing off Joseph, the only remaining witness +to his crime.</p> + +<p>So natural was the position of old Joseph in his chair that Black Hood, +too, had made the mistake of thinking that the watchman was alive. He +had approached Joseph with the idea of learning something about the +escaping criminals. He turned, now, from the murdered gate keeper to see +Joe Strong bearing down upon him, fists balled, square teeth showing, +his wide, coarse-featured face a mask of determination. He knew that Joe +Strong, in spite of his clumsiness, could be a nasty opponent in a +scrap.</p> + +<p>Joe closed in fast, led with his left fist in a blow that began way down +and ended exactly nowhere—nowhere, because Black Hood side-stepped both +the haymaker and Joe Strong.</p> + +<p>"Gangway, muscle man!" Black Hood's voice rang out, and then like a slim +arrow unleashed from a taut drawn bow Black Hood sped up the tarvia +drive toward where the low slung roadster that belonged to Jeff Weedham +was parked.</p> + +<p>Black Hood vaulted into the roadster without bothering to open the door. +Jeff Weedham had left the key in the ignition lock. The black gauntlet +covered fingers of the master manhunter gave the key a twist and at the +same time he plugged in the starter button. The motor responded +instantly. Black Hood brought the car around in a wide sweeping turn to +head back toward the gate, had to swerve to avoid hitting Joe Strong.</p> + +<p>There were some of the admirable qualities of the bull dog about Joe +Strong. Once his one-track mind got to functioning on a certain +objective it seldom digressed. And at the present moment his was +determined to stop Black Hood. As the roadster passed, straightening out +of its loop turn, Joe leaped to the running board, seized the wheel in +one hand and tried to get Black Hood by the throat with the other. The +car left the drive as Joe yanked at the wheel. It bounded toward a round +bed of evergreens that beautified the factory grounds. Black Hood +released the wheel, stood up on the pedals, and at the same time slammed +Joe across the face with the back of his gauntlet covered left hand. The +blow, the sudden stopping of the car, combined effectively to give Joe +the shake. He went backwards, sailing through the air, to land in the +evergreen bed.</p> + +<p>Black Hood let the clutch slap in and the roadster bounded back onto the +tarvia drive. Perhaps none but the steel-nerved Black Hood would have +tried to get through that factory gate, partially blocked as it was by +the crippled bank truck. But the master manhunter could have driven a +gas truck through Hell's own fire. Instead of slowing the car to squeeze +through the narrow opening, he tramped on the gas pedal and set his +teeth for the shock he knew was coming. Because he knew that the space +between truck and gate post was too narrow to allow the roadster to pass +unscarred.</p> + +<p>The right front fender hit the brick of the gate post. There was a +scream of tortured metal as the fender was sheared from the body. The +impact dragged down on the speed of the roadster so that the rear right +fender was only crumpled by the brick work. But momentum was sufficient +to carry Jeff Weedham's roadster out onto the road.</p> + +<p>Black Hood knew that the criminals had taken the road toward town. As +soon as he had reached the south gate he had ascertained this by a +glance at the gravel shoulder of the road. Whoever had been driving the +get-away car had started in a hurry so that one rear wheel threw gravel +in the opposite direction of travel. Just how much of a lead the rob and +kill men had on him, Black Hood did not know. But he did know that Jeff +Weedham's car was a gallant piece of machinery, capable of tremendous +speed and so nicely balanced that it could cling to sharp curves.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Actually, only a few seconds had elapsed between the time when Delancy +and his killers had hit the road and the time when Black Hood had +arrived at the south gate. The man called Shiv was driving Delancy's +get-away car at a conservative pace so as not to excite suspicion. In +this Shiv showed more wisdom than did Delancy.</p> + +<p>"You think you're going to a funeral?" Delancy demanded when his +patience could endure the pace no longer.</p> + +<p>Shiv said, "But you'll be goin' to one if I open dis crate up. You want +speed cops on your tail, Delancy?"</p> + +<p>"To hell with the cops," Delancy snarled. "Step it up a little."</p> + +<p>Shiv speeded up to forty miles an hour as he rolled to the top of a +little hill. A mile or so distant the lights of one of New York's +suburbs twinkled in the darkness.</p> + +<p>"We got lots of time," Shiv said. "You're noivous, Delancy. You got +ants. Up here at this next town we slide into a filling station and get +us a new paint job and new plates, all in the space of ten minutes. Like +I said before, dis job is a pipe."</p> + +<p>Delancy didn't hear Shiv. He was twisted around in the front seat, +looking over the heads of Squid Murphy and the two other gunsels in the +back seat. Through the rear window, Delancy saw twin swords of light +from the lamps of another car not so far behind them.</p> + +<p>"We're tailed now," he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Aw nuts!" Murphy said from the back seat. "We ought to make you get out +and walk. Every time you see a car behind you, you get the ants."</p> + +<p>Delancy drew his tongue over dry lips. He said, "Take a look for +yourself, Murphy. That guy behind is burning asphalt off the road."</p> + +<p>Murphy and the other hoods looked backwards. The car behind was a +roadster, they could see in a sudden splash of lightning. And it was +traveling like the wind.</p> + +<p>Delancy opened the glove compartment in the instrument board and took +out a pair of field glasses. He got to his knees on the front seat, +turned around so that he could sight out the back window. He tried to +hold the speeding roadster in the range of the glasses, and when the +lightning came again he thought he could make out the figure of the +driver at the wheel. He thought that he saw a sleek rounded head closely +covered by a black silk hood. He was almost certain that he saw a black +silk cape whipping out from the shoulders of the lone man in the car.</p> + +<p>Delancy got cold all over. He gripped Shiv's shoulder convulsively, +nearly sending his own car into the ditch by so doing.</p> + +<p>"Step on it, Shiv," he said hoarsely. "I don't like the looks of that +guy in the car behind us."</p> + +<p>"So you don't like the guy's hair-do!" Shiv sneered. "And I should kick +the bottom out of dis crate just because you don't like the looks of +somebody behind us!"</p> + +<p>Delancy passed the glasses back to Squid Murphy.</p> + +<p>"See what you see, Murphy," he said quietly. Then he turned around, +hauled out his gun, and shoved it into Shiv's ribs. "When I said step on +it, I wasn't fooling."</p> + +<p>"Gees!" Murphy said. "That guy back there's got a hell of a thing on his +head. Looks like a hood."</p> + +<p>"A black hood," Delancy said. "And I don't think I want to have anything +to do with that guy, do you, Shiv?"</p> + +<p>Shiv came down on the gas pedal and the car picked up speed. He said, +"All right, all right! I'm steppin' on it, ain't I?"</p> + +<p>If Delancy's car hadn't speeded up, Black Hood in the car behind might +not have taken particular notice of it. But that sudden spurt of speed +on the part of the gray sedan was a dead give-away. Black Hood knew that +he was hot on the trail.</p> + +<p>The big gray sedan carrying Delancy and his pals, hit the suburban town +at a scant seventy miles an hour. It ran by three red lights without +shaking the roadster piloted by Black Hood. The streets were slippery +with rain that was sheeting out of the black sky, and when Shiv tried to +negotiate the next corner, the big sedan turned completely around.</p> + +<p>Delancy thought then that the chase was over, but Shiv had a trick or +two up his sleeve. He spurted, took the car half way down the block, +heading in the very direction from which Black Hood was coming. Then +Shiv whipped his wheel around for a short turn into the mouth of an +alley.</p> + +<p>Delancy breathed again. He could see where everything was going to be +all right now. The gray sedan bounced over the rough alley pavement, cut +across the street at the next block, and rolled onto the concrete area +in front of a large gas service station. The overhead doors beneath a +sign which advertised car washing by steam ran up on their track as the +gray sedan came into sight. Shiv steered into the wash room, and the +doors dropped back into place.</p> + +<p>Delancy got out, his body bathed in a cold sweat. The proprietor of this +gas station was in the employ of Delancy's boss who had planned every +step of the stick-up at the Weedham plant and the subsequent get-away. +Delancy had supreme faith in his boss. For the first time since he had +sighted that strange figure in the roadster that had followed them, he +began to feel a little bit secure.</p> + +<p>Delancy entered the filling station office, followed by his mob. The +proprietor, a huge bear of a man in brown coveralls, scowled at Delancy. +He said:</p> + +<p>"The way you came in here, it's a wonder you didn't bring a whole squad +of cops with you. What's the matter, anyway?"</p> + +<p>Delancy didn't answer just then. The proprietor of the station wasn't +alone in his office. There was a dame. She was a tall, well-dressed +woman with wax-pale skin and black hair that was parted in the middle +and slicked back to a soft knot. She had peculiarly cold green eyes that +were tilted at the outer extremities. Her lips were full, soft and +brilliantly rouged.</p> + +<p>Delancy jerked his head at the woman and asked of the proprietor: "Who's +that, Burkey?"</p> + +<p>Burkey shrugged big shoulders. "She's from the boss. She's got a message +for you."</p> + +<p>The woman was beautiful. But there was something about the chilly +expression in her eyes that made Delancy feel decidedly uncomfortable. +She did not smile as she opened a black purse and produced an envelope +which she handed to Delancy.</p> + +<p>While Burkey was opening the steam valves that would spray hot vapor on +the car in the wash room, Delancy tore open the letter which the woman +had handed him. Inside was a slip of paper on which had been typed the +following:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"The bearer will ride with you into Manhattan."</p></blockquote> + +<p>There was no signature, but in its stead was the crude drawing of an +eye, formed by two bowed lines that represented lids and two circles, +one within the other, representing iris and pupil. Delancy knew that the +message was from that man he had never seen—the big boss, the man who +knew all the answers.</p> + +<p>Delancy touched a match to the message. He looked at the woman with the +cold green eyes.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," she said in a quiet voice, "that it will look less +suspicious if you are seen driving a car with a woman beside you. Your +men are to get into the baggage trunk at the rear or else crouch down on +the floor of the rear compartment."</p> + +<p>Delancy snorted. "That's nuts. There ain't any sense to this. It was a +clean job. We didn't mix with any coppers."</p> + +<p>"No?" she said, elevating her eyebrows. "Nevertheless, you will carry +out the orders. The Eye knows what he's doing."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3><i>Haven Of The Hunted</i></h3> + + +<p>Ten minutes later, Delancy drove the get-away car out of the service +station. It was a gray sedan no longer. It was a brilliant blue job with +red wheels, and it carried a Texas license. Delancy was at the wheel and +the woman with the cold green eyes rode beside him. Two of Delancy's +gunmen crouched out of sight on the floor of the rear compartment while +two more had been crowded into the luggage compartment at the rear.</p> + +<p>As the car rolled on toward Manhattan's northern boundary, the woman +with the green eyes switched on the radio on the dash. All of the cars +used on stick-up jobs were furnished with receivers capable of picking +up police calls, and out of the corner of his eye, Delancy saw that the +woman was twisting the dial down to the police band.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea?" Delancy asked. He wasn't particularly pleasant to +this woman who rode with him, largely because she treated him like the +dirt under her feet.</p> + +<p>"I simply want to check up," she said coldly. "I want to know just how +clean that job was."</p> + +<p>"Clean?" Delancy fumed. "Listen, lady, we knocked off every damned guy +who could have told anything about us. And there wasn't a copper in +sight. Why, I haven't seen a bull in so long I'd have to look twice to +recognize one."</p> + +<p>"That may be," she admitted, "but I want to make sure."</p> + +<p>"Listen," Delancy said, now thoroughly angry, "how do you get that way? +Who the hell are you, checking up on me? You the Eye's moll?"</p> + +<p>"Moll?" questioned the woman. "I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand!" Delancy scoffed. "Listen, babe, don't get +high-hat with me or I'll slap you down."</p> + +<p>"You would not be so foolish," she said scornfully. "The Eye would tear +you into small pieces. He would—"</p> + +<p>The flat voice of a police announcer came from the radio speaker and +interrupted the threat:</p> + +<p>"Warning to all cars. Be on the lookout for blue Buick sedan, nineteen +thirty-nine model, red wheels, being driven by Raymond Delancy. Delancy +is wanted for hold-up and murder. Wanted for hold-up and murder, Ray +Delancy, height five feet eight inches, weighing one hundred eighty +pounds—"</p> + +<p>Delancy's hand shot out to the radio switch, cutting off the voice of +the announcer. It was impossible! There had been no police at the +Weedham plant. No cops had tailed them. No cops had seen that the gray +sedan which had driven into Burkey's filling station had come out a blue +sedan.</p> + +<p>"A clean job, you said?" the woman with the green eyes mocked.</p> + +<p>One of the gunmen who crouched on the floor of the rear compartment +cursed quietly and without interruption for nearly a minute. Delancy +tramped nervously on the gas pedal.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry, anybody," he said. "The heat's on, and I don't know how +the hell the cops got that way, but it ain't the first time I've given +them the shake. We'll go to Jack Carlson's garage. He'll get us out of +this. It'll cost something, but hell, we've got lots of dough."</p> + +<p>Delancy drove as though he was rolling on thin ice. The sight of a +traffic cop made him dodge around a corner that threw him off his +course. He came close to having convulsions when a squad car passed on +the next street west, its siren wailing. He told the boys in the back +seat to get their guns out, just in case they had to shoot it out. But +somehow all of his anxiety was wasted, and he at last sighted a neon +sign which read:</p> + +<p class="center">"ATLAS AUTO LIVERY"<br /></p> + + +<p>Delancy turned the sedan through the door of the big garage, rolled +across the wide parking floor to the cement ramp at the rear. He got +into second gear and zoomed up the ramp to the second floor. Then he got +out of the car, walked to the office which was partitioned off from the +rest of the floor by means of frosted glass. The door of the office +carried the words, "Jack Carlson, President."</p> + +<p>Carlson had started out as the operator of a wildcat bus company. In +this business he had learned so many ways to circumvent the law that he +had decided to put that knowledge to more lucrative uses. Under the +cover of a legitimate auto livery and trucking business, he had built a +vast transportation system which was employed by any criminal who was +wanted by the police and could afford to pay Carlson's fee. When the +town got too hot for a killer or stick-up artist, Jack Carlson had many +tricks up his sleeve which would enable the wanted man to move to a +cooler spot.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Delancy entered Carlson's reception room which was never closed. At the +invitation of the blonde stenographer at the desk, he squatted on a +chair and lighted a cigarette. Jack Carlson entered the room a moment +later, walking with the energetic bounce of a busy man.</p> + +<p>Carlson was a little above medium height, dark complexioned, his brow a +washboard of horizontal wrinkles. He had a waxed mustache which he was +in the habit of twisting whenever in deep thought.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, well," he said cheerfully as he shook hands with Delancy. +"Some little trouble bothering you tonight, Ray?"</p> + +<p>Delancy scowled. He couldn't see that there was anything to be cheerful +about.</p> + +<p>"The boys and I pulled a little job," he said. "It didn't amount to a +whole lot, but I think there's a leak somewhere in our organization. +The cops got the heat on us, and we'd like a hand out of town for a few +days."</p> + +<p>Carlson went to his desk, sat down, stuck a slim cigar in his well +formed lips.</p> + +<p>"How much was your job?" he asked quietly as he struck a match.</p> + +<p>"Not much," Delancy said. "Maybe ten grand at the outside." He purposely +lied about the take because Carlson usually charged on the percentage +basis. Another thing which was inclined to influence Carlson's price was +that little business of murder. If you killed on a job Carlson +considered the danger greater and pushed up his fee accordingly.</p> + +<p>"Anybody knocked off, Ray?" Jack Carlson asked.</p> + +<p>Delancy squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "One of the boys had to +shoot a guard in the leg. Nothing messy, though."</p> + +<p>Carlson inhaled deeply. A faint smile came to his lips. He removed his +cigar and waved it at Delancy.</p> + +<p>"So you got only ten grand, Ray? And nobody knocked off?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I said," Delancy crabbed.</p> + +<p>Carlson chuckled. "I happen to know that a number of men were killed, +that you're wanted for murder, and that your total take was about +seventy-five thousand dollars. And it'll cost you just thirty-two +thousand five hundred dollars of that money to get you out of the jam."</p> + +<p>"Thirty-two thousand—" Delancy gasped.</p> + +<p>Carlson waved his cigar. "But for that price I'll see that you and all +your boys get a nice cool spot to hideout in, somewhere a long way from +New York."</p> + +<p>Delancy stood up. "Why you damned greaseball, you! I'd see you in hell +first. Pay fifty per cent of my take to you and the usual ten per cent +to the Eye for his part of the job! Hell, that leaves me a lousy forty +per cent without counting the split to the boys."</p> + +<p>"Take it or leave it," Carlson shrugged.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave it!" Delancy rapped. "Why, damn you, that's robbery!"</p> + +<p>"And your crime was murder," Carlson said. He twisted his mustache +thoughtfully. "I think you'll take my offer, Delancy, because there just +isn't any other out for you."</p> + +<p>Delancy's scowl deepened. His eyes narrowed. An idea was beginning to +roll around inside his head. He didn't know exactly what he ought to do +with it, but it was an idea, anyway.</p> + +<p>He said, "You think there's no other out for me, huh? Well, I'll make an +out before I'll pay any such figure to you. And listen, fellah, if I +thought—" He stopped a moment, dropped his cigarette onto the carpet +and heeled it out. "Well anyway, Carlson, I'm going to have a little +talk with the Eye. And that little talk is going to be about you and the +rotten deal you tried to hand me."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead and talk," Carlson said. "And when the cops start closing in +on you and your mob, let me know. I'll get you out of the jam for the +same figure."</p> + +<p>Carlson got up, walked around his desk to where Delancy stood in front +of the door. He stuck out his hand.</p> + +<p>"No hard feelings, Ray?"</p> + +<p>Delancy looked down at the hand and sneered.</p> + +<p>"No hard feelings, chiseler, but I sure would like to put a couple of +slugs in your belly!" And Delancy swaggered out of the office. He +guessed he'd told that chiseler where he got off.</p> + +<p>As soon as the door had closed, Jack Carlson bounded back to his desk, +touched a button on an inter-office communications box. Somebody on the +lower floor of the garage answered.</p> + +<p>Carlson said, "Ray Delancy is just leaving. I want him tailed."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3><i>Live Steam</i></h3> + + +<p>The Black Hood had reached a dead-end in the trail which had led him +from the Weedham Industries plant. The gray sedan in which the fleeing +criminals were riding had vanished, apparently into thin air. Black Hood +had spent thirty minutes of search at break-neck speed in an attempt to +pick up the trail of the gray sedan again. He had driven the roadster +which belonged to Jeff Weedham in and out of alleys in a trial and error +effort to sight the killers' car, but all without success.</p> + +<p>It occurred to him then that it was entirely possible that the rob and +kill boys had not left the suburban town at all. Perhaps this was their +hideout. With that in mind, he parked Jeff Weedham's car and stepped out +into the rain, his black cape wrapped around him. He felt that he could +walk the streets in comparative safety in spite of his costume, for it +would have required close inspection under direct light to distinguish +the garb he wore from the standard poncho and rain-hood worn by the +traffic police in bad weather.</p> + +<p>After an hour or more of leg work that yielded him no information so far +as a possible hideout for the criminals was concerned, Black Hood came +across the drunk. The drunk was in a dismal alley, leaning up against +the wall of a tavern which he had evidently just left. He was a young +man, and he wore some sort of a uniform—that of a chauffeur, taxi +driver, or something of the sort. When Black Hood put in his appearance, +the young man started to move along up the alley, staggering as he +walked.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," Black Hood called.</p> + +<p>"'S all right, officer," the drunk said, mistaking Black Hood for a cop. +"I'm on my way. I'm goin' home."</p> + +<p>"You think you'll get there, weaving around that way?" Black Hood asked, +catching up with the man. "If you don't fall asleep under the wheels of +a truck you'll be mighty lucky."</p> + +<p>"Only live a block from here," the drunk explained. "I'll make it. I +gotta skin full, all right. Never been drunk before, so help me, +officer. But Burkey fired me because he said I was drunk when I wasn't. +A man's gotta live up to his reputation, don't he?"</p> + +<p>"Who's Burkey?" Black Hood asked. He was determined to see that the +young drunk got safely home.</p> + +<p>"Runs the Super-Charged Gasoline Station two blocks south of here. He +said he wouldn't have a drunk working for him, but I was cold sober when +it happened."</p> + +<p>"When what happened?" Black Hood linked his arm with that of the young +man.</p> + +<p>"I was out at the gas pumps when a gray sedan barreled into the station +and in onto the wash rack," the young man explained. "Burkey brought the +doors down in the wash room and turned on the steam. About ten minutes +later, the gray sedan drove out the other side of the wash room, and it +wasn't gray any more. It was blue—blue with red wheels."</p> + +<p>At the mention of a gray sedan traveling fast, Black Hood's interest +increased.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," he suggested, "there were two cars in the wash room."</p> + +<p>"Can't be," the young man said. "There's only room for one at a time. I +went to Burkey and asked him how it happened that a car would change +color like that. He said it hadn't changed color and if I thought it had +I must be drunk. So he fired me. But I was cold sober, I tell you. And +I'd like to know what I'm going to do and what my widowed mother is +going to do with me out of a job."</p> + +<p>Black Hood reached inside his cape. The broad black belt which he wore +contained many secret pockets, and from one of these he extracted a +ten-dollar bill. He pressed the money into the young man's hand.</p> + +<p>"That'll tide you over until you can find a job," he said. "Think you +can get across the street all right?"</p> + +<p>They had reached the end of the alley by this time, and the young drunk +had said that his home was just on the other side of the street. The +drunk stared at the crumpled bill in his hand. Then he raised his eyes +to Black Hood's face. In the glow from a nearby street lamp he could +clearly see the black mask that covered the upper part of Black Hood's +face to the tip of his nose. The drunk was startled.</p> + +<p>"Who—who are you?" he stammered.</p> + +<p>Black Hood laughed. "Never mind, son. Just forget you ever saw me." Then +he turned and ran back along the alley to walk quickly in the direction +of the gas station where the drunk had worked, two blocks to the south.</p> + +<p>The overhead door of the car washing room was open, and as Black Hood +entered it he glanced through the glass pane of the door connecting this +portion of the service station with the office. A big, shaggy-haired man +in brown overalls had just picked up the telephone from his battered, +grease-stained desk. This man would be Burkey, the owner of the station.</p> + +<p>Black Hood's keen eyes flicked around the room in which he now stood. At +the back, near a stand that racked a number of grease guns, he saw a +second telephone fixed to the wall. An extension of the one in the +office, he wondered?</p> + +<p>He crossed to the wall phone and gently removed the receiver from its +hook and held it to his ear. He heard a gruff voice which might well +have been that of the man Burkey, say: "Is this the Eye?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Black Hood's eyes narrowed. The voice that came back over the wire was a +toneless whisper.</p> + +<p>"This is the Eye speaking."</p> + +<p>Burkey said, "Delancy came through here about a couple of hours ago."</p> + +<p>"Delancy?" the Eye said. "Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"I changed paint jobs for him according to instructions," Burkey +explained. "But what I called you about, I got a young fellow working +here, grinding gas. He saw the gray sedan roll in here and he saw that +it was blue when it went out. He came to me to ask how come."</p> + +<p>"What did you do?" the Eye whispered.</p> + +<p>"Told him he was drunk and fired him," Burkey replied.</p> + +<p>"That was careless of you," the voice whispered after the pause of a +moment. "Very careless. You should have silenced this man at once."</p> + +<p>Burkey said, "How the hell could I do that?"</p> + +<p>"That is your problem," the whisperer said. "But you must dispose of him +immediately, do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Is that an order?"</p> + +<p>"That is an order," the Eye whispered grimly, and broke the connection.</p> + +<p>Black Hood hung up quietly. Then crouching low, he crossed the room to +where the strainer top of the sewer drain was placed in the concrete +floor. It was in this room that Delancy's get-away car had changed paint +jobs, and in about ten minutes. How was such a thing possible?</p> + +<p>He dropped to his knees, nerves tense as he lifted the strainer plate. +Dove gray particles clung to the sewer opening beneath—particles of +some sort of paint that was soluble in water or perhaps live steam. A +glint of understanding came into his eyes. Delancy had driven the +get-away car into this room. The car actually was not a gray car at all. +It was a blue car, the paint covered with this gray, steam soluble +substance. All that was necessary to convert the car which Black Hood +had been following into a blue car which he certainly would have missed +was a good bath of steam. It wouldn't have required more than ten +minutes at the outside.</p> + +<p>A rumbling sound that did not originate in the thunder caps above jerked +Black Hood's attention from the drain. His glance darted toward the +overhead doors which were dropping swiftly into place. His eyes turned +toward the door leading into the service station office. Burkey, the +proprietor, was standing at the door, watching Black Hood through the +glass. There was a diabolical grin on the face of the station owner.</p> + +<p>Black Hood straightened as the overhead doors fell into place and +locked. He took two long, springy strides toward the door. But he never +quite reached that door. With an explosive hiss, gray jets of live steam +erupted from pipes around the edge of the room. Scalding steam that +could burn and blister and boil human flesh.</p> + +<p>Black Hood fell back from the door, staggered by his first contact with +that hissing gray hell. He threw back his head, looked above at steam +pipes that criss-crossed overhead. And then Burkey manipulated the valve +that controled the overhead pipes, and the steam poured down upon Black +Hood from above.</p> + +<p>He couldn't see now, because of the steam. He dared not open his eyes +lest the heat blind him permanently. But in that brief glimpse upward, +Black Hood had marked the location of one of the steam pipes. He +crouched, nerves and muscles tense, controled in spite of the torturous +cloud of scalding vapor that pressed close to him. Suddenly, he +unleashed all the pent-up power of flexed legs, leaped into the air, one +gauntlet protected hand out-thrust for the pipe which he knew was there +even if he could not see it. Fingers grasped, held like steel hooks. He +drew himself up with one powerful arm until his other hand could join +its mate.</p> + +<p>The intense heat penetrated the leather palms of his black gauntlets. +Still he hung on, drawing himself upward to hook a leg over the very +pipe that threatened to boil him alive. He understood now why the +Hermit, that wise old man who had nursed him from the very jaws of +death, had been so insistent upon regular muscular exercise. The power +to save himself was there in the muscles of back, legs and arms. It was +there, waiting for just such moments of danger as these.</p> + +<p>Gradually, he hauled himself to the pipe above, got his feet onto the +pipe and stood erect, his hands reaching up to the rafters to maintain +his balance. And there he waited in that hot gray cloud that pressed to +the roof where it condensed and fell like warm rain. His body was safe +from direct contact with the blistering jets of steam.</p> + +<p>At last the steam was shut off, the gray clouds dissipated. Cautiously, +Burkey unlocked the door which connected the car washing room with his +office. He stepped out, doubtless expecting to find Black Hood curled up +on the floor, all consciousness driven from him by the pain of countless +steam burns. The Black Hood, watching from the pipes above, showed white +teeth in a wide grin.</p> + +<p>"Look up, Burkey!" he sang out.</p> + +<p>And as the big service station proprietor raised startled eyes, the +Black Hood let go of the rafters, took a dive from the pipe straight at +the man below. He caught Burkey at the throat and shoulders with his +hands. The driving weight of him crushed the big man to the floor, +knocked the breath out of him. And for a moment Black Hood just sat +there on top of Burkey, holding him in his powerful grasp.</p> + +<p>"How does it feel to be utterly helpless, Burkey?" he said quietly. "You +see what I can do with you? I can choke the life out of you this way." +The fingers of his right hand constricted on Burkey's throat until the +man's eyes crawled a little way out of their sockets. Then he eased his +grip a little.</p> + +<p>"Or I could dash your brains out against the floor like this."</p> + +<p>And Black Hood seized Burkey's shaggy hair and bounced the filling +station operator's head against the floor a couple of times.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Burkey said nothing. Black Hood slapped him hard across the side of the +face with his gauntlet covered hand. Burkey winced, squirmed a little. +Then realizing that he was completely at the Black Hood's mercy, he lay +still.</p> + +<p>"Talk!" Black Hood said. "Who is the Eye?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Burkey croaked. "I've never seen him. I don't know who +he is. You could kill me maybe, but you couldn't make me talk."</p> + +<p>"What was that telephone number you just called?" Black Hood persisted.</p> + +<p>Burkey's eyes rolled. "I can't tell you. The Eye would kill me if I +told."</p> + +<p>Black Hood laughed harshly. "And what do you think I'm going to do if +you <i>don't</i> talk?"</p> + +<p>Burkey said nothing.</p> + +<p>Black Hood got off the man, stood up. He told Burkey to get to his feet.</p> + +<p>"And you'd better get your fists up, Burkey, because if you don't I'm +liable to knock your head off."</p> + +<p>Possibly Burkey knew something about boxing. Possibly he had gone a +round or two with some second rate slugger some time in his life. But +certainly he had never fought with anybody who could equal the Black +Hood in speed and fire power. Black Hood's fists were everywhere at +once. His long arms were like rapiers, striking through Burkey's guard +to land time after time in the big man's face.</p> + +<p>Finally, Burkey crumpled against the wall, one eye closed, the other +looking sleepy. Blood was dripping from nose and mouth.</p> + +<p>"Talk!" Black Hood demanded, one closed fist raised like a hammer above +the man's head.</p> + +<p>Burkey simply shook his head feebly and collapsed, unconscious.</p> + +<p>Black Hood made a swift but careful search of the filling station office +without revealing anything in the way of incriminating evidence. If +Burkey knew the Eye's telephone number he apparently kept it in his +head.</p> + +<p>Black Hood found a short length of chain and a padlock which was used to +keep anyone from tampering with one of the oil pumps that topped a steel +drum. He returned to the car washing room, scooped the keys out of the +unconscious Burkey's pockets. Then he chained and locked the filling +station man to the steel cross member of the wash rack. Then he went +into the office, telephoned police headquarters. When the desk sergeant +had answered, he said:</p> + +<p>"If you will send men to the Super-Charged Gas station here in your +city, you will find the proprietor, a man named Burkey. I suggest that +he be questioned in conjunction with the activities of the criminal +organizer known as the Eye, and especially in his connection with the +killing and robbery at the Weedham Industries plant tonight."</p> + +<p>"Who is this?" the desk sergeant demanded.</p> + +<p>Black Hood chuckled. "You'll never find out!" And then he hung up, left +the station to vanish into the murk of the rain swept night.</p> + +<p>It must have been at about this time that Joe Strong, that demon +photographer on the staff of Jeff Weedham's paper, <i>The Daily Opinion</i>, +made a startling discovery. He was in the dark room at the newspaper +office with Barbara Sutton, developing films which he had exposed at the +Weedham factory that night.</p> + +<p>He turned from his developing traps to face Barbara. The broad grin on +his coarse features was illuminated by the ruby light hanging above +their heads.</p> + +<p>"Honey," Joe said, "I got something that's going to set little old New +York right back on its heels. I've got positive proof that will identify +the dirty bum who's behind this crime wave. Positive evidence that will +point to the killer of that watchman at the Weedham plant tonight."</p> + +<p>There was a skeptical gleam in Barbara's beautiful eyes. Since she had +been working on the newspaper with Joe Strong assigned as her pix man, +she had heard just such claims from Joe before. He was always turning up +a picture that was to be the scoop of the week and which usually +developed into a fogged film of no use to anybody.</p> + +<p>She said, "Well, if you have you'd better turn it over to the editor +before you bungle the developing some way. Jeff Weedham is going to have +to pull something pretty soon to pick up circulation. He's got to prove +to his father that he can run this business. If he fails at this job as +he has at every other, I understand Mr. Weedham is going to cut Jeff off +from the Weedham fortune."</p> + +<p>Joe stuck his thumbs in the arm holes of his vest.</p> + +<p>"Jeff's worries are over, permanently. This is the scoop of the week. We +got the guy red handed. Take a look, beautiful."</p> + +<p>Joe held up the negative strip which he had just developed. He pointed a +thick forefinger at the exposure near the end of the strip. Joe didn't +quite understand how he had got the picture unless that flare of +lightning had acted as a flashlight bulb and the lens of his camera had +been open at the time. But no matter how he had obtained it, there was +the picture.</p> + +<p>It showed the unmistakable figure of Black Hood standing over Joseph, +the Weedham gate keeper. It showed more than that. It showed Black +Hood's gauntlet covered right hand grasping the knife that was plunged +into Joseph's throat.</p> + +<p>Barbara raised her hand to her mouth to check a startled cry. She stared +at the negative and repeatedly shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," she whispered. "He wouldn't do such a thing. It's +a trick, Joe. You're trying to trick me."</p> + +<p>"Not me," Joe said. "Just because you're in love with Black Hood you're +trying to kid yourself. I always said that guy was a crook. And now +there's proof. He's the Eye. He's the brains behind all this robbery and +murder that resulted in looted banks and jewelry stores. The camera +don't lie, Babs. And this little picture catches Mr. Hood with the goods +on him."</p> + +<p>Barbara's indrawn breath sounded like a sob. She turned quickly and ran +from the dark room. Was it true? Could it possibly be true? Black Hood +had always told her that he was an outlaw, and she had loved him in +spite of that because of the many good and brave things he had done to +defend people against the criminals of the underworld.</p> + +<p>But if Black Hood <i>was</i> guiltless—this had never occurred to Barbara +before—if he was actually guiltless, why had he never let her see his +face?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3><i>The Brand Of Light</i></h3> + + +<p>But Barbara Sutton <i>had</i> seen the face of the Black Hood. She saw it on +the following night when a group of wealthy and influential citizens met +at Gracelawn, the West End Avenue estate of William Weedham. Barbara saw +Black Hood's face without knowing it, for in the identity of Kip Burland +he had been with her all evening.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant face, sun-bronzed and well-formed, with waving brown +hair and eyes that could be gentle and compassionate. Kip Burland had +taken Barbara to dinner, much to the annoyance of Joe Strong, and later +in the evening they had picked up Joe and driven in Barbara's car to the +Weedham home.</p> + +<p>Barbara was obviously deeply concerned over the evidence which Joe +Strong had accidently turned up. The picture of Black Hood in the +apparent act of thrusting a knife into the throat of the Weedham +Industries watchman, had been plastered all over the front page of Jeff +Weedham's <i>Daily Opinion</i>. Other newspapers had taken up the cry, +demanding that the Black Hood be taken dead or alive.</p> + +<p>When Barbara mentioned this news story to Kip Burland, Kip scarcely knew +what was the wisest course to pursue. If he defended the Black Hood he +ran the risk of exciting suspicion. The secret that Kip Burland and the +Black Hood were one and the same persons was more precious than ever, +now that Black Hood was wanted for murder.</p> + +<p>"There's just one thing, Babs," he told the girl as they drove to the +Weedham home, "nobody can tell me that Black Hood and this criminal +genius known as the Eye are the same. I can't believe it."</p> + +<p>"Listen, Burland," Joe Strong put in angrily, "you're not sitting there +and calling me a liar, either. All these stick-up jobs recently have +been planned by the Eye. You'll agree to that, no doubt. That one last +night at the Weedham works was the same sort of a thing—every possible +witness murdered. And I not only saw the Black Hood with my own eyes, +but I took a picture of him. And then he and I had a little scrap."</p> + +<p>"How does it happen the Black Hood isn't right down in Tombs prison +now?" Kip Burland asked mildly.</p> + +<p>"Well, er," Joe stammered, "some of his men pitched in on me from +behind. There must have been three of them, anyway."</p> + +<p>Burland could scarcely repress a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Only three? Why, you're slipping, aren't you, Joe?"</p> + +<p>The bickering might have gone on the rest of the evening except that +Barbara Sutton told them they were both being very foolish. If Kip +didn't stop his arguing, she wouldn't vouch for him at this meeting +tonight at the Weedham home. She and Joe were to cover the meeting for +<i>The Daily Opinion</i>, but she had simply brought Kip along as a friend, +trusting that that would be enough to get him in.</p> + +<p>Barbara Sutton's name was a prominent one in social circles as was that +of Joe Strong, so that there was no difficulty gaining admittance into +the Weedham home for Kip Burland. In the magnificent reception hall, Kip +was introduced to Jeff Weedham. The lanky heir to the Weedham wealth was +cordial.</p> + +<p>"D-d-don't see why you want to sit in on a stuffy meeting like this +just for pleasure," Jeff Weedham said, smiling, "but I can assure you +that any friend of Barbara's is a friend of mine."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The tall oak door of the library was opened by William Weedham +himself—a plump, white-haired man with black, overhanging eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Son," he said to Jeff, "we're all ready to begin. As the owner of a +newspaper which is instrumental in molding public opinion, you ought to +welcome this opportunity to serve your community."</p> + +<p>Jeff Weedham laughed. "Since the Eye or the Black Hood, whatever his +name is, swiped my roadster, d-d-don't you think I'm not interested in +laying him by the heels, D-d-dad."</p> + +<p>William Weedham brought scowling eyes to focus upon Kip Burland.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I know this young man," he said.</p> + +<p>Jeff said, "This is Kip Burland, a friend of mine, D-d-dad. He wants a +try-out as a reporter. And I thought I'd let him help cover this +business together with Joe and Barbara."</p> + +<p>And that fixed it up. With a whispered warning to Kip to try and look +like a would-be reporter, Jeff Weedham led Burland into the library. The +elder Weedham took his place at the head of a long refectory table about +which were seated six men. Some of those included in the committee which +had been formed to take protective measures against the master criminal +known as the Eye, were familiar to Kip Burland. There was short, beefy +Sergeant McGinty, a representative from the police who was to serve as +coordinator. McGinty, Kip Burland knew well enough, was the most ardent +enemy of the Black Hood on the police force.</p> + +<p>Then there was a cocky little man with sandy hair and one glass eye. He +was Major Paxton, a retired army man and brother-in-law of William +Weedham. Paxton made his home at the Weedham estate and quite naturally +had been included in the group.</p> + +<p>The tall, grim man with the long side whiskers was Harold Adler, an +executive of the Bankers Express service. Certainly he had a grievance +against the Eye after that attack on his guards and armored truck at the +Weedham plant on the night before.</p> + +<p>Kip Burland also recognized the handsome, energetic man with the sleek +black hair and small, waxed mustache. This was Jack Carlson who operated +the Atlas Auto Livery and some sort of a trucking concern. Just exactly +why Carlson should have been called into this group, Kip did not know. +He knew something of Carlson's past, perhaps more than even Sergeant +McGinty did, and there were some blotches of shadow on Mr. Carlson's +life story.</p> + +<p>William Weedham rapped the meeting to order, remarked briefly that they +had come here tonight to see if some definite plan could not be formed +to cope with the ever rising danger of a major crime wave, planned and +directed by this man who called himself the Eye.</p> + +<p>"We are fortunate," the elder Weedham said, "in having Mr. Carlson with +us tonight. It has been frequently said by the police that if taxi +companies and other common carriers would cooperate with the law more +closely, there would be much less chance for the criminal to escape. Mr. +Carlson has a message for us which I hope will be representative of all +members of all taxi and transport systems."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," Major Paxton put in, his small body swelling with +importance, "that the crux of the whole matter lies in the fact that +these criminals, who are operating under the direction of the Eye, have +discovered some fool proof means of escaping from the scene of their +crime. Is that correct, Sergeant McGinty?"</p> + +<p>McGinty's face reddened. "I don't know whether you'd call it the crux or +not, Major, but in any crime if a criminal has some fool proof means of +escape, as you put it, there isn't a whole lot the police can do about +it."</p> + +<p>Somebody snickered. It was obvious that Major Paxton's remark hadn't +been a particularly bright one.</p> + +<p>"But I'll say this," the sergeant went on, "this fellow the Eye, and I +prefer to call him the Black Hood, has developed a means of moving +criminals beyond our reach to a hell of a high point." The sergeant +coughed and apologized for his bit of profanity. "I mean, he's got a +hole in the police dragnet big enough so you could drive a whole +mechanized division of the army through it. If Jack Carlson can throw +any light on the matter, I'd like to hear him do it."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Jack Carlson stood up, smiled smoothly, and bobbed his head to Sergeant +McGinty.</p> + +<p>"I think, gentlemen," he began, "that you will find few taxi operators +in the city of New York who would not gladly assist in halting an +escaping criminal if they were given the opportunity. And the same goes +for any other common carrier—the railroads, bus service, and airlines. +At the same time, common carriers are obliged by law not to discriminate +against a prospective passenger just because he may look suspicious: +That is, if I am driving a cab and a man rushes out of a bank with what +I may interpret as a look of guilt upon his face, I cannot refuse to +take him as a fare. Nor can I very well ask for his finger prints and +check up to see if he has a criminal record before taking him to his +destination."</p> + +<p>"We know all that, Carlson," Harold Adler said. "Suppose you tell these +men what you told me before the meeting."</p> + +<p>Carlson frowned, remained dramatically silent for a moment while he +twisted his mustache. Kip Burland watched the man closely. If this was +acting, Carlson was a remarkable actor. Somehow, he could not trust the +man nor the words that came from his mouth.</p> + +<p>Carlson said, "The Eye has not only organized the various mobs of gunmen +in this city, but he has accomplished something else. He has established +a perfect underground railway for transporting these criminals from one +place to another in secret. I know, because the Eye personally asked me +to handle that part of his business for him."</p> + +<p>There was another dramatic pause. Then Sergeant McGinty sprang to his +feet.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Carlson, if the Eye approached you personally let's have it +right now. Is the Eye this same guy known as the Black Hood?"</p> + +<p>Carlson smiled. "It would seem so from the picture which appeared this +morning in the Daily Opinion."</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Joe Strong put in. "That's the picture I took."</p> + +<p>No one was paying any attention to Joe. All eyes were focused upon Jack +Carlson.</p> + +<p>"Understand," Carlson continued, "I did not meet the Eye face to face. +He called me on the telephone, spoke to me in a whispering voice. He +asked me if I would be interested in a money-making proposition. I +played him along, tried to draw him out. He wanted me to employ cars and +trucks for the secret transportation of criminals and in exchange I was +to get a cut of the money which would be looted by his criminals."</p> + +<p>"And," Weedham said, "you believe that some transportation company in +this city is actually assisting the Eye in this business?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly," Carlson said. "I, of course, rejected his offer. I was +attempting to figure out a plan by which I might trace this call to the +Eye's hideout, but that's quite difficult with these dial phones, you +know.</p> + +<p>"But that is how the Eye is working his get-aways. He probably has +carefully placed stations all over the city where criminals who are +fleeing from some crime can get a fast car, or hide in some unsuspicious +looking truck to be transported beyond the reach of the law. It would +appear to me—"</p> + +<p>Every light in the big room suddenly went out. Smothering blackness +dropped like a shroud over those at the refectory table and upon Barbara +Sutton, Joe Strong, Kip Burland, and Jeff Weedham who were seated along +one wall.</p> + +<p>"D-d-damn!" Jeff Weedham stuttered. "What's this—the well known +blackout?"</p> + +<p>A white beam of light stabbed through the French windows at the end of +the room, spotted the wall directly above Jack Carson's sleek head. In +the center of the spot was a crude sign, projected in black lines upon +the wall. It was like a child's drawing of a human eye, round, staring, +and at the same time infinitely menacing.</p> + +<p>Kip Burland was on his feet while the others remained spellbound by the +brand of light. Watching the projected sign of the eye upon the wall, he +nevertheless moved swiftly and silently toward the French windows.</p> + +<p>The sign of the Eye flicked out, and in its place was a message in black +letters:</p> + +<p class="center">CARLSON HAS DEFIED ME.<br /> +HE WILL DIE.</p> + +<p>Burland waited for no more, but slipped through the French windows and +onto the terrace. The white beam of light rayed out from a thick grove +of shrubs and small trees on the other side of the big yard. Kip Burland +raced across the lawn toward the source of the light.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3><i>The Lady In White</i></h3> + + +<p>Half way toward the thicket, Kip Burland saw that the light had gone +out. But he had marked the spot from which it had originated, and in +another moment he had broken through the tangled branches of the shrubs +to the place from which the light ray had come. He saw no one. He +stopped, listening. On his left he heard the crackling of twigs. He +moved quickly in that direction, saw now a wraithlike figure in white.</p> + +<p>"Hello there."</p> + +<p>It was the soft voice of a woman who called. Kip Burland took a few more +cautious steps in the direction of the figure in white. Now that his +eyes were more used to the gloom, he could see that the woman was not +alone. There was a man standing beside her.</p> + +<p>"Hello," Kip responded calmly. He took a box of matches from his pocket, +struck one, and held it high. The woman wore a white evening gown. Her +beautifully molded face was nearly as white as her dress. Her hair was +black as India ink, drawn back from her rounded forehead to knot softly +at the back of her head. Her eyes were cool green with an exotic lift at +the outer extremities of the lids.</p> + +<p>The man beside her was evidently her chauffeur, judging from his +uniform. He was a dark, somber looking man with a particularly ugly scar +on his chin.</p> + +<p>The woman smiled—a smile that did not quite reach her green eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are you the man with the flashlight who was out here a moment ago?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>Kip's eyes narrowed. He wondered if the woman was beating him to the +draw. He might have asked her, and with better reason, if it was she who +had turned that beam of light on the Weedham house.</p> + +<p>The match burned out in Kip's fingers. He tossed the stub of it aside.</p> + +<p>"Obviously I'm not the man with the flashlight," he said evenly, "or I +would not have had to light a match just now."</p> + +<p>"How silly of me," the woman with the green eyes laughed. "Of course you +are not. But I am so anxious to find my little locket. I am Vida +Gervais, and I live just over the wall in the next house. I think I lost +my little locket while walking here this afternoon. I hoped that you +were the man with the flashlight and could help me find it."</p> + +<p>"Don't you find that gown something of a liability hunting in this +jungle?" Kip asked. Her explanation was entirely too glib to suit him.</p> + +<p>But before she could form an answer, the whip-crack of a shot rang out +from the direction of the Weedham house. The woman who had introduced +herself as Vida Gervais uttered a short, sharp cry. Then she and her +chauffeur turned and fled.</p> + +<p>Kip Burland thrashed his way through the bushes to the border of the +thicket. In the dim night glow, he saw a man running toward the house +and a second figure that lay huddled on the lawn in front of the terrace +steps. Burland could not be absolutely certain, but he thought that the +running man was Jack Carlson. There were hoarse shouts from the +immediate vicinity of the house, and Kip recognized the bellow of Joe +Strong and the harsh rasping voice of Sergeant McGinty.</p> + +<p>Kip broke away from the shrubbery and ran across the open lawn toward +that point where the man lay on the ground. The second figure, which he +thought was Jack Carlson, was now kneeling beside the fallen man.</p> + +<p>In another moment, Kip saw that his first impression had been correct. +The second man was Carlson. He looked up at Kip, his face chalk white in +the uncertain light.</p> + +<p>"He's dead," Carlson said. "He's been shot."</p> + +<p>Burland dropped beside Jack Carlson, brought out his matches, struck +one. The man on the ground was wearing an ordinary business suit. He was +entirely bald, with a large, shapeless nose and chubby cheeks. He was +lying on one side, his left arm extended. Clutched in the dead fingers +of his left hand was a yellow slip of paper. It looked like bank check +paper to Burland.</p> + +<p>Others were coming from around the side of the house—Jeff Weedham and +Barbara Sutton. Behind them came Major Paxton and two other members of +the committee.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Kip Burland shot a glance at Jack Carlson, saw that the latter was +looking in the direction of the newcomers. Kip thrust out a hand toward +the piece of yellow paper in the fingers of the corpse. It was so rapid +a movement that even if Carlson had been watching him it is doubtful if +the auto livery operator could have caught it. Kip jerked the piece of +paper from the hand of the dead man, and stood up.</p> + +<p>By the time Barbara and Jeff Weedham had joined them, Burland had rolled +the slip of yellow paper into a cylinder and placed it inside the cap of +his fountain pen.</p> + +<p>"Kip!" Barbara gasped. "What's happened?"</p> + +<p>"Someone seems to have been shot," he replied mildly. "I don't know just +who."</p> + +<p>Jeff Weedham had a flashlight. He turned the beam on the face of the +dead man.</p> + +<p>"D-d-damn!" he stammered. "It's Biggert. Poor old Biggert. Why, he's +D-d-dad's private secretary. Attended to everything for D-d-dad."</p> + +<p>William Weedham, Adler, and the rest of the committee men hurried from +the corner of the house.</p> + +<p>"Biggert, did you say?" William Weedham gasped. "Good lord! Where's that +Sergeant McGinty?" And then Weedham dropped beside the dead man, looked +long and searchingly into the immobile face.</p> + +<p>Sergeant McGinty put in his appearance a moment later and with him was +Joe Strong. He was holding onto Joe by the ear.</p> + +<p>"Try your football tackles on me, will you!" McGinty was growling, while +Joe was trying to break away without losing an ear.</p> + +<p>"Aw, Sergeant, how did I know it was you prowling around in all that +dark?" Joe complained.</p> + +<p>It was evident that Joe had made another of his unfortunate mistakes. +But McGinty forgot and forgave when he saw the body of Biggert lying +there on the lawn. The sergeant bent his thick knees, took Jeff +Weedham's flashlight, turned it on the corpse.</p> + +<p>"It was obviously a mistake," Jack Carlson was explaining smoothly. "The +killer had no designs on Biggert, certainly."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" McGinty looked up, his red face contorted by a puzzled frown. +"What do you mean, it was a mistake?"</p> + +<p>"This is obviously the Eye's work," Carlson explained. "I was standing +just about in this spot when this man Biggert came running around the +house and directly in front of me. That was when the shot was fired. The +bullet was intended for me. You would expect as much after the Eye's +warning."</p> + +<p>McGinty nodded his head. "Could be. And believe me, Mr. Carlson, you'd +better put yourself under police protection."</p> + +<p>"I can take care of myself, thanks," Carlson insisted. As he turned away +from McGinty and the body, his eyes met those of Kip Burland. And then +Carlson stepped quickly to the outer rim of the circle around the body.</p> + +<p>Kip Burland knew that Carlson was lying. Carlson hadn't been near +Biggert at the time of the shooting. It was Carlson whom Burland had +seen running toward the body.</p> + +<p>"D-d-dad," Jeff Weedham stammered, "where was Biggert when we were in +the library?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how should I know!" The elder Weedham ran his fingers through his +gray hair. "I don't know where he was. In his room, I suppose, going +over my personal accounts."</p> + +<p>"Possibly," Major Paxton put in, "he was disturbed when the lights went +out in the house and came down to investigate. He probably heard the +rest of us outside the house, searching for that prowler who turned the +light through the library window."</p> + +<p>"And possibly," McGinty said, "Biggert had discovered something pretty +important, too! There's a little scrap of yellow paper in his +fingers—just a corner, as though somebody snatched a note or something +from his hand."</p> + +<p>"Just a corner, you say, Sergeant?" Jack Carlson asked. "When he fell in +front of me, I noticed that there was quite a sizable slip of paper in +his hand."</p> + +<p>"There was, huh?" McGinty's eyes rested accusingly upon each face in the +circle about the body. "All right. Now just tell me who first joined you +and the murdered man, Mr. Carlson."</p> + +<p>Carlson looked at Kip Burland. "It was that young man," he said.</p> + +<p>"Burland, huh?" McGinty said. "I guess I'll have to search your pockets, +Burland, if you've no objection."</p> + +<p>Kip smiled. "None whatever, Sergeant."</p> + +<p>McGinty went through Kip's pockets. He ignored the fountain pen which +was clipped in plain sight. He stood back, shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I guess you're clean, Burland," he admitted, and then turned to the +others. "But I'm finding whatever was in Biggert's hand, understand? +Mr. Weedham, you'll go call headquarters and tell them I want the +Homicide Detail out here."</p> + +<p>"You mean me, d-d-don't you?" Jeff Weedham asked.</p> + +<p>McGinty shook his head. "I mean your father. You and the rest stay here. +I'll have a little more searching to do. And a lot more questions to +ask."</p> + +<p>Though McGinty fulfilled his promise in so far as the questions and the +searching were concerned, he didn't turn up the piece of paper he was +looking for. Neither did he find the weapon or the murderer.</p> + +<p>It was about eleven o'clock when Jack Carlson asked permission to leave. +He had some urgent business to attend to, he explained to the sergeant. +McGinty had no grounds for holding Carlson, told him to go ahead.</p> + +<p>But Carlson did not leave alone. Kip Burland, without asking permission +from anybody or even saying good-night to Barbara, slipped quietly from +the house. He was particularly interested in the urgent business which +was pressing Mr. Jack Carlson.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3><i>The Trail Of The Beam</i></h3> + + +<p>If Jack Carlson was as innocent as he pretended to be, it was curious +that he should stop just outside the gate of the Weedham home, reach +into a bed of dwarf evergreens from which he took a long copper cylinder +which closely resembled a flashlight.</p> + +<p>From his hiding place in the shadows, Kip Burland saw this move on the +part of Carlson. He then saw Carlson get into his car and drive away. +Burland hailed a passing cab, ordered the driver to keep Carlson's car +in sight.</p> + +<p>Carlson drove down into the lower east side of town, parked his car in a +narrow street, and got out. Kip ordered his cab to pass Carlson's car. +Looking back through the rear window, he saw Carlson turn up a narrow +walk between two tenement buildings.</p> + +<p>"Stop here," Kip ordered the cab driver. And as the taxi braked, he got +out, threw a bill to the driver, and ran up the street toward the place +where Carlson had disappeared.</p> + +<p>In the dusky shadows between the two tenements, Burland watched Carlson +put something into a wooden milk box attached just outside what was +apparently someone's kitchen door. Then Kip had to duck back into a +darkened doorway as Carlson retraced his steps, and got back into his +car.</p> + +<p>Kip had to make a choice quickly. Either he continued to follow Carlson +or he investigated the milk box which Carlson had mysteriously visited. +In as much as there was no taxi in sight, Kip decided on the latter +course. As soon as Carlson was out of sight, he left the doorway, went +up the walk between the two buildings, opened the milk box.</p> + +<p>Inside the box he found the copper cylinder which he had seen Carlson +take from its hiding place outside the Weedham home. The thing resembled +a flashlight more closely than ever on close inspection. It was a little +longer than the usual three cell case, and there was a finely ground +lens at the end.</p> + +<p>Around the outside of the case was a piece of paper, held in place by a +rubber band. Kip removed the rubber band, unrolled the paper, studied it +in match light. On the paper was penciled the name "Delancy" followed by +the words, "Second floor rear at end of fire escape, sixty-eight A +Seventh Avenue." At the bottom of the paper was that crude drawing, the +sign of the Eye.</p> + +<p>Kip's pulse quickened. Could it be that Carlson was the Eye? Certain +here was a message which Carlson had delivered and which carried the +Eye's signature. And the flashlight device—Kip understood its +construction and purpose immediately. Inside the case was some sort of a +trigger mechanism operated by a button on the outside. The trigger +operated a narrow strip of film, perhaps eight millimeter film, on which +were photographed the messages which the Eye intended to send. This film +would be placed between the light globe and the lens, so that the +photographed message could be projected on any wall from a long +distance.</p> + +<p>This was the device which had been used tonight at the Weedham home. +Someone on the outside, probably the lady with the green eyes, Vida +Gervais, had employed the light beam projected message. That warning +which seemed to have been intended for Carlson was probably no warning +at all. Perhaps the police had been keeping rather a sharp eye on +Carlson, and Carlson had decided to put himself in the clear by faking +that little scene at the Weedham's and pretending that the Eye intended +to kill Carlson.</p> + +<p>"And that would be suicide, I'd be willing to bet my last dollar!" Kip +muttered grimly.</p> + +<p>He replaced the light signal device in the milk box together with the +note which was attached to the copper case. He would await further +developments. Carlson was the Eye, he was certain. It was now the job of +the Black Hood to catch Carlson red-handed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He left the narrow corridor between buildings to take up a post on the +other side of the street. He did not have to wait very long until a man +in the garb of a telegraph messenger came up the street. The messenger +looked both ways and finally turned up that sidewalk between the two +tenements. Even from where he stood, Kip Burland could hear the rattle +of the milk box top. A moment later, the messenger appeared. He was +carrying that self-same copper cased flashlight device.</p> + +<p>It was a tangled trail that Kip Burland followed that night, shadowing +that man who wore a telegraph messenger's costume. From half a block +behind the man, Kip watched the messenger walk along side of the bleak +walls of Tombs prison. He saw the narrow ray of that signal beam reach +out and up to one of the narrow, barred windows. The Eye was signaling +to someone who was even now in the hands of the police!</p> + +<p>The further he delved into the mystery of the whispering criminal known +as the Eye, the more intriguing it became. Who but a perverted genius +could have planned so completely, so thoroughly that not even prison +walls offered any sort of a barrier?</p> + +<p>It was when the messenger crossed over to Seventh Avenue that Kip +Burland decided that this time he would be on the receiving end of that +message that traveled the light beam. He knew where the messenger was +heading. That paper banded to the flashlight device had carried a +Seventh Avenue address. Someone else was to receive one of the Eye's +little missives. A man by the name of Delancy, judging from the writing +on the note paper.</p> + +<p>The name struck a responsive cord in Kip Burland's memory. It recalled +Ray Delancy, one of the most dangerous rob and kill men in the +business. Delancy would be the sort of a person valuable to the Eye.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In a murky alley off Seventh Avenue, Kip Burland paused for a few +precious moments. Quickly, he shed his outer garments, revealing beneath +the yellow silk tights, the wide belt, and the black athletic shorts +that identified the Black Hood. From the inter-lining in the back of his +suit coat, he took a flat folded package composed of his gauntlet +gloves, his black silk cape, and that combination mask and hood that +completed the costume. Shortly, Kip Burland had vanished, completely +over-shadowed by his famous alias—the Black Hood.</p> + +<p>The Eye's messenger had been moving at a leisurely pace. In spite of the +delay his costume change had necessitated, Black Hood easily outstripped +the messenger, reached the Seventh Avenue address which had been noted +on that slip of paper attached to the signal device. This proved to be +an ancient red brick lodging house which would have made an excellent +hideout for a criminal.</p> + +<p>There was a fire escape on the side of the building. Black Hood raised +his eyes to the second story, marked the window which was nearest the +fire escape at this point. This was the window mentioned in the Eye's +instructions. Just across the alley from this point, Black Hood spied a +wood telephone pole. He grinned. Nothing could be sweeter! He crossed to +the pole, leaped for the lowest climbing spike, driven into the wood +about eight feet from the ground, and drew himself upwards. At the +second climbing spike, he stopped. From this position he would be able +to see the upper part of the wall of the second floor room of the +building across the alley, and also the ceiling. He pulled his black +cape around him and waited.</p> + +<p>It wasn't long before he heard the footsteps of the messenger crunching +along the alley. The man came to a stop within a few feet of the very +post to which Black Hood was clinging. He pointed the copper cased +flashlight device upward toward the dark window which Black Hood was +watching. The white ray stabbed out through the darkness, and Black Hood +could clearly see the brand of the Eye, projected on the ceiling of the +room across the alley.</p> + +<p>The light beam lingered for a moment, then went out. The shadowy figure +of a man appeared at the window. A cigarette glowed in his lips. A +signal, Black Hood wondered? And then the figure in the window withdrew +and the light beam again shot up from below. This time the words of the +Eye's message were clearly projected onto the ceiling of the crimester's +hideout. Black Hood read:</p> + +<p>"Delancy, come to headquarters at once."</p> + +<p>And then the beam of light went out.</p> + +<p>Black Hood altered his position slightly so that he clung to the pole +with one hand, his body poised for a leap. The faint rustle of the Black +Hood's cape caused the messenger on the ground to look up.</p> + +<p>Black Hood knew that he had to act fast. That signaling device which the +messenger carried was an important piece of evidence. Jack Carlson's +finger prints would be on the case. That, together with the photo film +which carried the Eye's message and was enclosed in the trigger +mechanism of the novel projector, constituted evidence that would prove +that Jack Carlson was the Eye.</p> + +<p>Black Hood sprang out from the pole, swooped down upon the messenger +like a huge black bat. The man turned to flee too late. Black Hood +caught him by the coat tails, dragged him back. The messenger turned, +grappled with Black Hood. Then followed one of those grim, silent +struggles, too deadly serious for oaths and threats. Rat this pawn of +the Eye may have been, but even a cornered rat will fight with the +courage of a lion.</p> + +<p>Time after time the man tried to bash Black Hood's skull with the copper +cased signal device—tried once too often; for Black Hood's gauntlet +covered fingers closed like steel hooks upon the device. A twist, a +sudden jerk, and it was Black Hood who had the signal device now.</p> + +<p>The copper cylinder gone, the messenger's courage seemed to have gone +with it. He turned, fled like a frightened rabbit up the alley and into +the avenue.</p> + +<p>Again Black Hood was faced with one of two choices. He might follow the +messenger, might catch him, turn him over to the cops. But in all +probability, the messenger knew less about the identity of the Eye than +Black Hood knew. He was merely a tool in the hands of a master criminal. +And Black Hood was after that master criminal.</p> + +<p>The second choice, and the one which he decided to take, was to follow +Delancy who had been given orders from the Eye to appear at the +headquarters of the mob immediately. And in as much as Black Hood had +not the slightest idea where the Eye had his headquarters, this was the +wisest course to pursue.</p> + +<p>His heart beat high with hope as he waited in the alley for Delancy to +make his appearance. He felt that he was nearing the end of the case, +approaching the time when the Eye, that menace to the peace and safety +of all New York, could be placed behind prison bars. And when he had +proved that Jack Carlson was the Eye, Black Hood would clear himself of +the charge of murder!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3><i>The Forces Of Evil</i></h3> + + +<p>The Eye had chosen his headquarters well. It was in the basement room of +what had once been a Greenwich Village speakeasy. There he had brought +together all of the important rival mobs of the city—forces of evil +which might otherwise have been at each other's throats. The Eye had +brought unity to the underworld. He had taught them that there was +nothing to be gained by warring among themselves; and there were +millions to be gained by united action.</p> + +<p>Delancy was there, his toadlike form crouching on the edge of his chair +placed next to that of Ron "The Bug" Brayton, formerly Delancy's rival +in the rob and kill profession. All of Delancy's star gunsels were +there—Squid Murphy, Shiv and the rest.</p> + +<p>The Eye was there, standing on a rough wood platform at one end of the +room. His coat was off so that anyone present might plainly see the twin +gun harness he wore and the black butts of two heavy automatics. His +face and head was covered with a full mask of thin white rubber, pierced +by two slots for eyeholes. He wore a black slouch hat.</p> + +<p>Black Hood was there, but nobody knew about that except the guard at the +top of the basement stairway. The guard knew, but bound and gagged he +was in no position to say anything about it. Black Hood stood in that +shadowy stairway and was himself like one of the shadows—watching, +listening, waiting for his time.</p> + +<p>Ray Delancy shuffled to his feet as the meeting began.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Eye," Delancy said, "I got a complaint to make, that is if you +don't mind. Like to get it off my chest before we go into anything in +the way of new business."</p> + +<p>The Eye inclined his head. "Make your complaint, Mister—" He coughed. +"Well, go ahead."</p> + +<p>"It's about this man Carlson who works for you," Delancy said. "When I +pulled that job at the Weedham plant for you, I was hot on the get-away. +I thought I was hot, anyway. We switched paint jobs at Burkey's station, +see, and rolling into town that dame you sent to ride with us switched +on the radio. A police call came through. The coppers were looking for +us. I didn't figure how come until a good bit later."</p> + +<p>"Go on," the Eye said.</p> + +<p>Delancy shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.</p> + +<p>"I don't like to make trouble, see, but that was a put-up job."</p> + +<p>"You mean what?" the Eye questioned.</p> + +<p>"I mean that wasn't no police call. There was some sort of a phonograph +device under the cowl of that get-away car, and this was hooked up to +the radio switch. That police call was a phoney. We wasn't hot. That was +just rigged up to send us to Jack Carlson to ask that he get us out of +town in a hurry.</p> + +<p>"I went to Carlson. I told him we was hot, because at the time I figured +we was. He wanted fifty per cent of our total take to move us out of +town. Fifty per cent, and with the ten that we are supposed to pay you, +that don't leave a guy much profit. I told Carlson I'd rot in jail +first. And all the time, I ain't hot at all, because the bulls haven't +turned the heat on me. It was a phoney, see, just to get me to spend a +lot of dough on a get-away."</p> + +<p>The Eye nodded. "There have been some other complaints about Carlson. I +will see that he is eliminated. Someone else will take over the position +which he has filled."</p> + +<p>In the shadows of the stairway, Black Hood laughed soundlessly. That was +a hot one, that was! Here was Carlson, playing both ends against the +middle, getting his cut as the Eye and getting a second and large +helping out of his crooked transport business. And now the Eye was +talking about eliminating Carlson to appease Ray Delancy!</p> + +<p>"To get back to the business at hand," the Eye said, "our next job is a +small matter of one hundred thousand in unset jewels. And by a hundred +thousand, I am not referring to the current market price. We can realize +that amount from a fence. It sounds good, eh?"</p> + +<p>Some of the mobsters cursed appreciatively.</p> + +<p>"There is," the Eye continued, "an obscure little jewelry shop known as +Tauber's which has received such a shipment of gems."</p> + +<p>"Diamonds or other stuff?" Ron "The Bugs" Brayton asked.</p> + +<p>The Eye coughed. "The former," he said. "Tomorrow night I will require +the services of a select number of you. I'll want Murphy, and—" he +nodded at Delancy—"you. You, too, Brayton, and a number of your best +men. We will also need a good safe expert."</p> + +<p>One of the crooks held up his hand. "That's me."</p> + +<p>"Agreed, then," the Eye said. "If there is nothing else to attend to, we +may as well adjourn."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>As some of the crooks started toward the foot of the steps leading up +from the basement room, it appeared as though there was quite a bit more +to attend to. This was the moment for which Black Hood had been waiting. +Standing near the top of the stairs, he reached out and hauled the bound +and helpless guard down to his level. As the first of the hoods showed +his face at the foot of the stairs, Black Hood gave the guard a shove +that sent the man flopping down the stairs to bowl over two of the +foremost members of the mob.</p> + +<p>The Black Hood took a couple of strides and then leaped from halfway +down the steps. He cleared the roped guard and the two fallen hoods, +landed lightly on the balls of his feet within a yard of Squid Murphy.</p> + +<p>And then, before anyone in the room could quite understand what this was +all about, the Black Hood unleashed a furious one-man attack on the +startled crimesters. His two long arms reached out. His gloved fingers +closed on Squid Murphy and the killer called Shiv simultaneously. He +brought the two together, all but jerked them from their feet, to crack +Murphy's head against that of Shiv. Murphy and Shiv went limp, and as +they fell, Black Hood snatched a half-drawn automatic from the shoulder +holster of gunman Murphy. He stepped clear of the two men, faced the +others, a mocking smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"I am seldom required to carry a gun, since one of my opponents nearly +always gives me his," he said quietly. "It will take just one smart move +from any one among you to find out whether or not the Black Hood can +shoot."</p> + +<p>Ten of the most dangerous criminals in the city plus that master-mind, +the Eye, stood there in awed silence, watching that tall figure in +yellow tights and black silk hood.</p> + +<p>"I want the Eye," Black Hood said. "If you will surrender him to me, I +will give the rest of you a break—a break of five minutes in which to +take your chances with the law."</p> + +<p>Black Hood knew that the criminals would make no such bargain. He was +talking to stall for time. He knew that sooner or later, either he or +the criminals would have to make a move. What that move would be, he had +no idea. But he was ready for anything.</p> + +<p>It was Delancy who made the first move. He had the idea that he could +draw and shoot before Black Hood could discover from just what +particular point of the room the danger threatened. And it was Delancy's +fatal mistake. Before he had his gun out of his shoulder holster, Black +Hood had fired. He had fired, remembering that cold-blooded slaughter at +the Weedham Industries plant. A third black and hollow eye appeared +suddenly in Delancy's forehead. The legs of the gunman bowed beneath the +weight of his toadlike body. There was a dull, bewildered expression on +Delancy's face as he hit the floor.</p> + +<p>But that first shot was the spark that touched off the powder barrel. +Two more followed—one that tugged at the Black Hood's cape, a second +that shot out the light in the room. Black Hood backed toward the bottom +of the stair. He'd plant himself there in that narrow exit, and if the +crimesters thought there was an avenue of escape, let them try. The +automatic in his hand bucked and barked. His only target was the flame +from the snouts of the gangster guns, but agonized cries told him that +at least a portion of his slugs had found their mark.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he saw at the rear of the room, a narrow shaft of gray light. +Somebody had opened a door. For just a moment, he saw the white face of +the Eye, his rubber mask glowing like the surface of a moon. Black Hood +shot twice, pulled the trigger a third time only to hear the hammer +click on an empty chamber.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the Eye heard that click and understood its meaning, for it was +then that he made his dash through the rear door. Black Hood knew that +retreat was now his only course. He was without weapons in a battle of +screaming lead. He turned, stumbled over a fallen form, caught his +balance, and then took the stairway in long strides. A cop, attracted by +the shooting, appeared at the top of the steps, but he was only a +momentary barrier to the Black Hood—a very hard man to stop once he got +under way. His fist lashed out, caught the copper on the chin. The man +probably never knew exactly when the floor came up to slap the back of +his lap.</p> + +<p>Black Hood was clear of the building now, his legs working like tireless +pistons. He heard the shrill scream of police sirens, and in the +basement of the building the roar of gun fire still sounded. Perhaps the +criminals did not know that their opponent had left. One thing was +certain: Black Hood had dealt the forces of evil a hard blow that night, +and he had showed the Eye that the Black Hood was hard on his trail.</p> + +<p>Rounding a corner, Black Hood sighted a taxi cab cruising along. He +dashed into the street, waving his arm. The cab stopped, the driver +goggling at the strange figure that had hailed him.</p> + +<p>"I'm in a big hurry to get to a masquerade," Black Hood said as he +opened the door of the taxi.</p> + +<p>"So that's what it is," the driver said, apparently satisfied.</p> + +<p>As Black Hood got into the cab, he gave the address of Jack Carlson's +auto livery. So the Eye thought he had escaped, did he? Black Hood +chuckled. Well, he'd planned a little surprise for Jack Carlson, alias, +the Eye!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3><i>Alias, The Corpse</i></h3> + + +<p>It was after two o'clock in the morning when Black Hood alighted from +the cab near the location of Jack Carlson's auto livery garage. There +was not a sign of light in the garage building, and the big doors were +closed and locked. Black Hood went to the side entrance. This also was +locked. Reaching into one of the secret pockets of his wide black belt +he removed a curiously shaped tool of finest tempered steel. He had met +few locks in his adventures which this tool could not open. A deft +thrust, a twist of the wrist, and the door was no longer a barrier to +him.</p> + +<p>He returned the tool to its pocket and pulled out a tiny flashlight. The +ray of light seemed swallowed by the gloom of the vast, lonely room that +lay before him. Here and there were parked cars, oil drums, huge vans. +Black Hood wondered how many of these vehicles had been used by the +members of the Eye's criminal pack.</p> + +<p>He crossed the room to the concrete ramp that twisted up to the second +story. His footsteps whispered on the ramp. On the second floor there +was neither light nor sound—not so much as the squeak of a rat. His +flashlight pointed out the office, partitioned off from the rest of the +big room. He crossed quickly, pushed open the office door, spotted the +light switch. He turned the light switch to the on position, but no +illumination came from either the central fixtures nor the lamps on the +desk. A queer set-up, this.</p> + +<p>He went into Jack Carlsons private office, tried the switch in there, +still without results. He pointed his flashlight beam around until it +fell on the huge iron safe in the corner. The safe door was standing +wide open, the interior cleanly empty. Queerer and queerer.</p> + +<p>He paused in the center of the room, his nostrils dilated. There was a +faint, pleasant odor lingering in the room—a vaguely familiar odor.</p> + +<p>Black Hood crossed to the door of a coat closet, jerked it open. A body +fell stiffly into the room, struck the carpet with a dull, jarring +sound. Black Hood sprang back, turned his light down at the corpse. He +dropped to his knees beside the dead man, grasped the shoulder of the +coat of the corpse, turned the man over on his back. And as he saw that +gray deathmask of a face, Black Hood knew that all his carefully worked +out solution had tumbled like a house of cards. The corpse on the floor +was that of Jack Carlson, and he had been dead for hours.</p> + +<p>Carlson could not have been the Eye, for less than an hour ago, Black +Hood had seen and fought with the Eye!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Bullets had pierced the chest of Carlson in three places. High on the +left lapel of his dark suit coat was a white smudge made by some sort of +powder. Black Hood stepped to Carlson's desk, picked up an envelope and +a letter opener, and returned to the body. With great care, he scraped +some of the white powder from the coat lapel into the envelope. Then he +moistened the flap and sealed it.</p> + +<p>Turning the flashlight away from the body, he suddenly noticed something +else. That white smudge on Carlson's coat glowed in the darkness.</p> + +<p>The Black Hood's keen eyes narrowed on that patch of pale light. Then, +as though seized by a sudden inspiration, he sprang to Carlson's desk +and tipped up the desk lamp. He reached in under the shade and laid his +bare hand on the lamp bulb. The glass of that bulb was warm. Then he +crossed to the door, flipped the light switch to the off position, and +looked back in the direction of the corpse.</p> + +<p>The pale glow of light which came from that powder smudge on Carlson's +lapel was no longer visible!</p> + +<p>An understanding gleam came into Black Hood's eyes. At least he +understood how Jack Carlson had died, even if the mystery of the +identity of the Eye had deepened. He withdrew quietly from the room and +left the garage.</p> + +<p>At the fringe of dawn the next morning, Black Hood was high in the +Catskills, in the mountain fastness of that whiskered old man who had +been his teacher—that man known simply as the Hermit. There in the +Hermit's laboratory, Black Hood and the old man made a careful analysis +of that scanty sample of powder which Black Hood had scraped from the +coat of the murdered Jack Carlson.</p> + +<p>Finally, the old man straightened from the microscope over which he had +been bending.</p> + +<p>"My son," he asked of the Black Hood, "what are your findings?"</p> + +<p>"The stuff is face powder," Black Hood said. "But it's something else, +too. Mixed in with the face powder is another substance."</p> + +<p>"Naphthionate of sodium," the Hermit said.</p> + +<p>"That's what I thought," Black Hood nodded. "It's one of those +substances which becomes phosphorescent in ultra-violet light. And those +light bulbs in Jack Carlson's garage were ultra-violet bulbs. The light +from them is invisible to us poor mortals. You see what that means, +Hermit?"</p> + +<p>"Not entirely," the Hermit said.</p> + +<p>"It means that Jack Carlson was marked for murder. That face powder came +from the cheek of a woman—some woman who pressed her cheek against +Carlson's lapel. And a pretty gesture of affection it was, too. It made +Carlson so easy to kill!</p> + +<p>"You see, the naphthionate of sodium in that powder sticks to just about +anything. Even if Carlson had brushed the face powder off, the +naphthionate would still have been there. When Carlson entered the +garage, he turned on the light switch. No visible light came from those +bulbs—only "black light" as it is called. And the killer was waiting. +In the black light, the killer could not be seen, but Carlson was +perfectly targeted by that smudge of naphthionate which glowed on his +lapel.</p> + +<p>"It was all planned in advance—the lady's part to smear the powder on +Carlsons' lapel, a sort of Judas kiss. And then there was the killer's +part—to replace the ordinary bulbs with the ultra-violet type, and to +wait with drawn gun to shoot Carlson."</p> + +<p>"Who, then, is the Eye?" the Hermit asked.</p> + +<p>"I'll stick to my original idea," Black Hood said after a moment's +thought. "I still think that Jack Carlson is—was—the Eye. That alibi +he arranged for himself at Weedham's home, that warning from the Eye +which stated that Carlson was to die, his efforts to make Biggert's +death look as though the killer had been shooting at Carlson instead of +at Biggert—that all points to Carlson as the Eye. He was trying to make +himself appear the fair-haired boy in front of Sergeant McGinty.</p> + +<p>"Further, and I think conclusive proof, is that signal device which was +used to 'warn' Carlson. That was—Carlson's own device. It was Vida +Gervais, I believe, who turned the signal light through the French +windows at the Weedham house. And then later, in a previously appointed +spot, she left the signal light for Carlson to pick up as he left the +house.</p> + +<p>"Carlson changed the film in that light, putting in one which would +deliver two more of the Eye's messages—one of which went to Delancy, +telling him to come to a meeting tonight."</p> + +<p>Black Hood propped one foot on a laboratory stool, rested an elbow on +his knee. His eyes were bright, his face animated.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see that up to that point, Carlson was the Eye. But shortly +after he had planted the signal device for his messenger to pick up, +Carlson was murdered. The man who directed the criminal meeting later on +wasn't Carlson, because Carlson was dead. It means that somebody took +over where Carlson left off. It means that somebody muscled in on +Carlson's little racket, killed Carlson, began playing the part of the +Eye."</p> + +<p>"Which means," the Hermit said, "that you're not at the end of your task +yet."</p> + +<p>"Not by a long shot," Black Hood replied. "And I'm wondering about this +Vida Gervais. Is she the woman whose face powder was smeared on Jack +Carlson's lapel? I thought the odor of the powder was familiar. And +here's another thing I didn't mention."</p> + +<p>Black Hood searched the pockets of his wide belt, brought out his +fountain pen.</p> + +<p>"Here's a little item which I snitched from the hand of the murdered +Biggert, who was William Weedham's personal secretary. It's a check, and +I've scarcely had time to look at it myself."</p> + +<p>He unscrewed the cap of the fountain pen and removed the piece of rolled +up yellow paper which he had taken from the dead Biggert's hand. He +flattened out the slip of paper and placed it on the table in front of +the Hermit.</p> + +<p>It was a check in the sum of forty thousand dollars, made out to the +order of Major Paxton and signed by William Weedham, the major's +brother-in-law. The check had been endorsed and paid through a New York +bank.</p> + +<p>"I think this is the reason that Biggert was killed," Black Hood said. +"Weedham said that Biggert was going over his personal bank account, and +it's entirely possible that Biggert discovered there was something queer +about that check."</p> + +<p>"A forgery, perhaps," the Hermit suggested.</p> + +<p>"That was my idea," Black Hood agreed. "Anyway, that gives us a couple +of leads—Vida Gervais and Major Paxton. And if both of them are knocked +off before I can get the truth out of them—" Black Hood laughed without +mirth.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3><i>"Stop, Murderer!"</i></h3> + + +<p>The following morning, Kip Burland read the early edition of Jeff +Weedham's paper, <i>The Daily Opinion</i>, with his breakfast coffee. The +latest story concerning the criminal exploits of the Eye was headlined:</p> + +<p class="center">"EYE IS BLACK HOOD"—BURKEY</p> + +<p>The following story told how A. J. Burkey, filling station operator from +a northern suburb, had been held in Tombs prison for questioning in +conjunction with the murder and robbery at the Weedham plant. The night +before, Burkey had confessed that his boss, the criminal known as the +Eye, was actually the Black Hood.</p> + +<p>The part of the story that put a dull ache in Kip Burland's heart was +the fact that it was by-lined by Barbara Sutton, <i>The Daily Opinion</i> +police reporter—and more particularly the woman whom Kip Burland loved.</p> + +<p>There was another "Eye" story, stating that the body of Jack Carlson had +been found. This murder, too, was attributed to the Eye. And once again +it was pointed out that the Eye and the Black Hood were one and the +same.</p> + +<p>As night fell upon the city, Kip Burland once more vanished behind the +identity of the Black Hood, not without full realization that he was +taking his life into his hands. Again he visited the Weedham estate on +West End Avenue, this time determined to have a talk with Major Paxton.</p> + +<p>Prowling around the house in search for a suitable entrance, Black Hood +discovered that he could not have come at a worse time. William Weedham +was host to Sergeant McGinty and his cops as well as a number of +reporters, including Barbara Sutton and her clumsy cameraman, Joe +Strong. Evidently the police expected to gain further information about +the crimes of the Eye.</p> + +<p>Black Hood took to a stout iron trellis, climbed quickly to the second +story where he found a bedroom window open. He slipped into the empty +bedroom and from there went into the hall. Tiptoeing down the hall, he +came to a small upstairs living room in which a light burned. There, +studying a European war map was Major Paxton.</p> + +<p>Black Hood entered silently and closed the door behind him. As the +major looked up, Black Hood stepped quickly forward so that his tall +figure over-shadowed that of the peppery little major.</p> + +<p>"What—what—who—" Paxton sputtered. "Why, look here, you can't come in +here like this!"</p> + +<p>"But I am in," Black Hood said quietly. "And you won't utter a sound, or +you'll force me to live up to my unjustly earned reputation as a +murderer."</p> + +<p>"But it's illegal! It—it's damnable!"</p> + +<p>"Now sit down and cool off, Major," Black Hood said patiently. "You can +blow off steam after I've left."</p> + +<p>"Left, huh? You'll get out of here over my dead body!"</p> + +<p>Black Hood nodded. "If necessary, even that. But first we're going to +have a quiet little chat, you and I. A little talk about a check in the +amount of forty thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>"I'll not pay you one cent!" Paxton exploded. "Why, do you think you can +frighten me into—"</p> + +<p>"I have frightened you, Major," Black Hood said, smiling. "And it won't +cost you a cent, either. All I want you to do is take a look at this +check."</p> + +<p>Black Hood drew the check, which he had taken from the dead fingers of +the murdered Biggert, from a pocket in his belt. He held it so that +Paxton could look at it. Paxton stared, and then suddenly looked at the +Black Hood's eyes revealed in the slots of his black mask.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's made out to me!"</p> + +<p>"Remarkable, isn't it?" Black Hood said. "It was found in the fingers of +the murdered Biggert." He turned the check over to show the endorsement. +"Is that your signature?"</p> + +<p>"It most certainly is! But, great heavens, I didn't receive any money +from William Weedham. I'll have you know that I am a man of independent +means. He's never given me a penny. Why, what does this mean?"</p> + +<p>Black Hood studied the little man closely. He had seen liars before, and +it seemed to him that if Paxton was lying he was doing a remarkable job +of it.</p> + +<p>"That's your signature, though," he persisted.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I didn't sign it." The major pressed a hand to his forehead. +"Wait. I've an idea. A mere ghost of an idea!" He reached into his +pocket and pulled out a cigarette lighter. "My signature is engraved on +this lighter," he explained. "Anyone could have borrowed my lighter and +traced that endorsement. Let me see the check a moment."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Black Hood shook his head. "And have you destroy it?" he said with a +smile. "Rather, let me see the lighter."</p> + +<p>The major handed over the cigarette lighter. Holding it beneath the +check, Black Hood could see that the signature of Paxton on the back of +the check followed in every detail the engraved signature on the +lighter. He handed the lighter back.</p> + +<p>"And the signature of William Weedham," he said. "Take a look at that?"</p> + +<p>Major Paxton scowled. He shook his head doubtfully. "It could be +genuine. And then again, it could be a forgery. It seems to me—"</p> + +<p>The door behind Black Hood opened. The master manhunter wheeled, saw the +lank figure of Jeff Weedham standing in the door. Jeff Weedham opened +his mouth, shouted at the top of his voice.</p> + +<p>"D-d-dad! Help! The Black Hood!" And then young Weedham tried a necktie +tackle that was supposed to flatten Black Hood to the floor.</p> + +<p>Black Hood bent double to duck that high tackle. The result was that +Jeff Weedham landed squarely across Black Hood's broad back. The +manhunter straightened, threw Jeff to the floor, darted from the room +and out into the hall.</p> + +<p>The stairway was within three long strides of him. Black Hood slid half +way down the broad stair railing before he saw William Weedham and +Sergeant McGinty at the foot of the steps waiting for him. McGinty had +his gun out. Black Hood kicked his legs over the rail, reversing his +position, gave himself a shove with his hands. He dropped over the +railing, landed on his feet in the hall below. He turned, dashed through +a door that stood open beneath the stairs. This brought him into a huge +dining room.</p> + +<p>But he wasn't there long enough to tell about it. He went through a +swinging door into a butler's pantry, then into a kitchen. There was a +cop at the back door, waiting for him. He pivoted in his tracks, doubled +back into the dining room, went through another door that brought him to +the living room. No way out there. And then he remembered that William +Weedham's library was between living room and hall. The French windows +of the library might be the one avenue of escape which McGinty's thinly +spread men were not guarding.</p> + +<p>He reached the library, ran to the French windows. They were locked, but +the key was in place. He was about to unlock the windows when he heard +the door off the hall open and close.</p> + +<p>"Stop, murderer!"</p> + +<p>Black Hood turned, just a little slowly this time, because he had +recognized that voice—a voice that haunted his dreams as did the face +of the lovely girl who owned it. Barbara Sutton stood in the doorway, a +small but businesslike revolver in her hand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3><i>The Frame Complete</i></h3> + + +<p>"Barbara," Black Hood said quietly, "you're joking!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. Her lower lip trembled.</p> + +<p>Black Hood took two steps toward her and saw her gun wrist stiffen.</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said grimly, "I could take that penny pea shooter away from +you in a second. I want you to know that I'm staying here in this room +when every second of delay may spell my death. I'm staying here because +if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to convince you that I'm not a +killer. And I'm not the Eye."</p> + +<p>"That picture Joe took," she said. "And that confession of the man in +Tombs. And you've told me time and time again that you're an outlaw."</p> + +<p>He nodded. "If my real identity were known, the police could take me on +the charge of robbery. But that charge would be a frame, just as this +one is. I can never clear myself of the robbery charge. But I can and +<i>will</i> clear the Black Hood of the charge of murder. Joe must have got +that picture by accident. I was simply bending over that watchman at the +Weedham plant gate to see if there was any chance that he was alive and +had witnessed the crime. When I saw the knife, I planned to withdraw it +from the watchman's throat, to use it as possible evidence.</p> + +<p>"You've got to believe me, Barbara. I'm fighting this creature who calls +himself the Eye just as you are and just as the police are. You and I +have been through a lot of adventures together. Ask yourself if I have +ever done a single thing which would indicate that I would stoop to the +slaughter of the innocent. Ask yourself that, Barbara."</p> + +<p>He took another step toward her. Her violet eyes glistened with tears.</p> + +<p>"Joe Strong has tried to poison your mind against me," he said. "I can't +blame him for that, since all's fair in love and war. But you've got to +believe me, Barbara. You've got to believe me because—because I love +you. I've always loved you from the first day I set eyes on you. And—"</p> + +<p>The gun spilled from Barbara's limp fingers, and suddenly she was in his +arms. He held her fiercely, tenderly for a long moment, kissed her warm +lips. And then there were sounds of footsteps in the hall. He heard Jeff +Weedham say:</p> + +<p>"D-d-did anybody look in the library?"</p> + +<p>Black Hood released Barbara, turned, dashed back to the French windows. +He looked back before he plunged out into the darkness, and his teeth +gleamed in a smile. Barbara was smiling, too—smiling and crying at the +same time.</p> + +<p>There was a police guard at the gate of the Weedham estate, but then +Black Hood had never cared a whole lot about using gates anyway. He +raced across the lawn, vaulted over the wall which separated the Weedham +property from the place belonging to the green-eyed Vida Gervais next +door.</p> + +<p>To all appearances, the green-eyed lady was not at home—not unless +those catlike eyes of hers were capable of seeing in the dark. Black +Hood found his way into the house through a window. Inside, the house +was as silent as it was dark.</p> + +<p>Eventually, he found his way to Vida Gervais' boudoir and there poked +and sniffed among the boxes and jars of cosmetics on her dressing table. +A box of face powder attracted his particular attention, and when he +looked into the adjoining bathroom he discovered a suitable means of +testing the powder to make sure that it was the same which he had +scraped from the coat lapel of the dead Jack Carlson. Evidently, the +lady was somewhat concerned about her pale complexion, for there was a +sun lamp in the bathroom. Beneath its ultra-violet rays Black Hood +discovered that the face powder took on a phosphorescent glow, proving +that sodium naphthionate had been added to it. He took the powder with +him when he left the house a few minutes later dressed in a spare +uniform of Vida Gervais' chauffeur.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was an hour later that Black Hood came to an obscure little jewelry +shop known simply as "Tauber's." It was here that the Eye's crimesters +were supposed to pull their next job, according to the plans which had +been set forth at the meeting on the night before. Whether or not Black +Hood's unexpected appearance at that meeting had put a crimp in those +plans, he did not know. But there was no way of learning except by trial +and error. Except for a night light which glinted through the show +window, the place was dark.</p> + +<p>Black Hood reflected that had he any desire to live up to his false +reputation as a criminal, he could have done very nicely for himself. It +required just twenty minutes of work for him to open the window at the +back of the shop—steel grill work, burglar alarm, lock and all. It was +rather a tight squeeze for his broad shoulders, getting through the +opening, but he managed it. No sooner had his feet hit the floor, +however, than he felt the cold, stern prod of the barrel of an +automatic.</p> + +<p>"All right, Mr. Hood, put up your hands!"</p> + +<p>Black Hood jerked a glance over his right shoulder to behold the +unlovely visage of Mr. Ron "The Bugs" Brayton.</p> + +<p>"Hi there, Bugs," he said lightly, raising his hands to the level of his +shoulders. "Fancy meeting you here."</p> + +<p>Brayton laughed. "If you'da knocked at the front door, we'd have let you +in, Mr. Hood. It's pretty early, for a heist, ain't it? But we figured +the early bird would get the diamonds. And then you was wised up to this +job, wasn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I did hear it mentioned at the lodge meeting last night," Black +Hood said. He laughed. "Isn't that Squid Murphy over there in the +corner, trying to disguise himself as a corner of that safe?"</p> + +<p>Murphy stepped out of the shadows. He had a gun in his fist. A third +hood put in his appearance from the front of the store and a fourth came +out of Tauber's private office.</p> + +<p>"You're just a little bit too late, Mr. Hood," Bugs Brayton said. "That +is, too late to get your hands on these beauties."</p> + +<p>Brayton extended his right arm in front of him. He was holding a small +leather satchel, the mouth of the bag wide open. What light there was in +the place scintillated on a layer of unset diamonds in the bottom of the +bag. It was then that Black Hood got one of those sudden inspirations +which had made him the underworld's most capable adversary. His right +hand dropped with incredible swiftness to his wide black belt, snatched +something from a concealed pocket there. That same hand shot out toward +the bag of diamonds, lingered over its open mouth a moment before it +clenched into a fist and hammered to the point of Squid Murphy's jaw.</p> + +<p>Murphy went back very fast and didn't stop until he had rammed into the +Tauber safe. But the three other hoods closed in upon Black Hood. Bugs +Brayton's big automatic rose and fell like an ax. The barrel of it +caught Black Hood on the temple with stunning force. Black Hood fell to +the floor and an unidentified but effective shoe toe caught the side of +his head with a powerful kick. Blazing blobs of light exploded within +his brain, and then the total blackness of unconsciousness funneled down +upon his brain.</p> + +<p>Bugs Brayton stood over the fallen manhunter. He weighed his automatic +thoughtfully in his hand. He looked at Squid Murphy and the others.</p> + +<p>"Well, boys," he said, "I guess it's up to me to finish off Mr. Hood. +And I can't say that I got any regrets about him dying so young." He +laughed, stooped over Black Hood, pressed the muzzle of his gun to the +manhunter's forehead.</p> + +<p>"Stop, Bugs!" came a whispered command from the front of the store.</p> + +<p>Brayton straightened. Coming toward the group of crimesters around the +unconscious Black Hood, was the man they knew as the Eye, his white +rubber mask resembling a death's head in the half light.</p> + +<p>"It would be a grave mistake to kill Black Hood, Brayton," the Eye said. +"Once he is dead, the police will turn their attention to +others—perhaps to any one of us. You understand?"</p> + +<p>"But the guy's dangerous," Squid Murphy protested. "I'll take my chances +with the bulls any day, rather than with Black Hood."</p> + +<p>"He won't be dangerous to us in prison," the criminal chief argued. +"Hand me the gems, Brayton."</p> + +<p>Brayton obeyed. He watched the Eye's slim white fingers reach down into +the layer of diamonds, watched them sift the glittering gems. Then he +took a dozen or so of the stones from the bag, transferred them to a +pocket in Black Hood's belt.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "the frame is complete. I will take care of the gems and +as soon as I have sold them, I will split with you. Let's get out of +here."</p> + +<p>So great was their fear of their leader that the crimesters obeyed +without protest. Just outside the rear door of the jewelry shop, the +criminal chief stopped, raised a whistle to his lips, and blew a +skirling blast.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea?" Brayton demanded, startled.</p> + +<p>"To bring the police for the Black Hood, you fool!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3><i>Black Light</i></h3> + + +<p>Black Hood staggered to his feet, his brain still whirling from that +blow to his head. He lurched toward the front door of the shop, stopped +half way there, clung to a counter for support. Somebody was pounding on +the front door. A hoarse voice was calling on him to open in the name of +the law.</p> + +<p>Black Hood turned, spurred the muscles of his legs to carry on. The +brilliant light of a policeman's torch sliced through the semi-darkness +and spotted him. He kept going. Glass in the front door shattered +beneath a blow from the butt of the copper's revolver. Black Hood ran on +leaden feet into the rear of the shop. The back door stood invitingly +open. He stepped over the sill, all but fell into the arms of a second +cop. He struck just one wild haymaker of a blow that cleared the head of +the cop by nearly a foot. And then suddenly there were two cops—one on +either side of him.</p> + +<p>"It's Black Hood!" one of the coppers shouted triumphantly. "We've got +him. We've got the Eye. Wait till Sergeant McGinty hears about this!"</p> + +<p>Cold steel jaws of handcuffs closed on Black Hood's right wrist. A +second cop frisked him quickly, emptying the pockets of his belt.</p> + +<p>"Look at the sparklers, will you!" the policeman gasped.</p> + +<p>And Black Hood, his mind still in a daze, stared down at the gems in +the copper's hand. No use telling them it was a frame. That was the +standard alibi of every crook who ever found his way into police courts. +They had him cold, and in his present condition he was utterly unable to +fight back.</p> + +<p>As long as he lived he was never to forget that ride down to police +headquarters. Nor could he ever forget standing there in Sergeant +McGinty's office while the sergeant did a bit of triumphant gloating.</p> + +<p>"As sure as my name's McGinty, I knew there'd come a day like this, Mr. +Black Hood, alias the Eye. I've got you, and I've got you where I want +you. You'll burn in the chair, Mr. Hood."</p> + +<p>Black Hood stood erect, still handcuffed to the cop who had captured +him. He could think a little bit more clearly now and the muscles of his +powerful body were much more inclined to obey the dictates of his taut +nerves. He looked at the top of the sergeant's desk. There the entire +contents of his belt pockets had been spread out—the dozen diamonds +which had been used to frame him; that crumpled check which he had taken +from the dead fingers of Biggert; the powder box from Vida Gervais' +boudoir, most of its contents now gone; all his little tools and weapons +which he had found valuable in his valiant fight against crime.</p> + +<p>"You know what I've done, Mr. Hood?" McGinty asked. "I've telephoned the +members of the citizens' committee who got together to tell the police +what to do to catch the Eye. I've asked them and their friends to come +down here to headquarters for the unveiling of Black Hood, alias the +Eye. When they get here, I'm going to jerk off that mask of yours and +we'll all have a little surprise party."</p> + +<p>"You might spare me that 'alias, the Eye' business," Black Hood said, +some of his old-time banter returning. "The Eye died when Jack Carlson +died, and I can prove that. Since Carlson was murdered, another has +taken his place. The man who killed Biggert and also killed Jack +Carlson, now wears the white rubber mask that identifies the Eye, goes +around whispering orders to professional rob and kill men. He's robbed +Carlson's safe and robbed Carlson of his life and even robbed Carlson of +his identity as the Eye. And given half a chance, I'll prove that to +you, McGinty."</p> + +<p>McGinty frowned. He could not deny that many times before Black Hood +had beaten him to the solution of crimes, much to his embarrassment. +And in each case, McGinty had received full credit for the solving of +these crimes.</p> + +<p>"When the time comes, Mr. Hood," McGinty said, "you'll have your chance +to speak your little piece. I wouldn't deny that to any man."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you'll unlock these handcuffs," Black Hood suggested. +"You've robbed my bag of all its tricks and I'm relatively harmless at +the present time. Besides," he added, glancing at the cop to whom he was +linked, "this man here becomes something of a liability after this +length of time."</p> + +<p>"Unlock the cuffs, Bricker," McGinty ordered the cop. "Black Hood can't +get out of here, and that's a sure thing."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The cuff removed from his right wrist, Black Hood went to a chair beside +the desk and calmly sat down.</p> + +<p>"I want to appeal to your reason a moment, Sergeant, before this +committee arrives for the 'unveiling' as you call it. First of all, is +it reasonable to suppose that I would crack open a jewelry store just to +get those few diamonds there on the desk? And having broken into the +store with intent to rob, as you seem to think, would I be silly enough +to fall on my head and knock myself out?"</p> + +<p>"Could be those were the only diamonds you found in the store."</p> + +<p>"There were one hundred thousand dollars worth of unset diamonds in that +store tonight," Black Hood said. "And that's what this man who is posing +as the Eye went after and got. The past record shows that none of these +crimes have been what you could call petty."</p> + +<p>"A fact," McGinty said, "which doesn't prove you haven't hid the +diamonds somewhere."</p> + +<p>"But kept a few of them on my person just to get myself in jail, huh?" +Black Hood laughed. "Listen, McGinty, why do you suppose Biggert, +Weedham's secretary, was killed?"</p> + +<p>"The shot that killed Biggert was intended for Jack Carlson," McGinty +said. "So it was an accident that Biggert was shot."</p> + +<p>Black Hood shook his head, "Jack Carlson was nowhere near Biggert when +the latter fell. That was no mistake. Biggert was killed because he was +about to expose somebody who had forged that check which is lying on +your desk. That check is the piece of paper that was in Biggert's hand +when he died."</p> + +<p>McGinty's eyes narrowed. "How did you get hold of that, Mr. Hood?"</p> + +<p>Black Hood saw that he would have to lie in order to protect his +prototype, Kip Burland.</p> + +<p>"I reached the body of Biggert before Carlson or anyone else did. That's +how I know Carlson wasn't near the man when the shot was fired."</p> + +<p>McGinty thought that over a moment.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead, Mr. Hood. I'm not convinced, but every man has a right to +free speech."</p> + +<p>"Did the police notice the smudge of white powder on the lapel of +Carlson's coat when they found his body? Did they notice that the +regular light bulbs in his garage had been replaced with ultra-violet +bulbs?"</p> + +<p>McGinty nodded. "Our lab men don't miss much. That smudge of powder +contained some chemical that glows in black light. I figured it spotted +Carlson for the killer, made a target out of him in the dark."</p> + +<p>"Right, McGinty. But do you know that Carlson was betrayed by a woman +named Vida Gervais? She lives in the house next to the Weedham place. +That powder box which you took from my pocket and which is now on your +desk, is a sample of her face powder, treated with naphthionate of +sodium. You can prove that yourself. And if you'll question the lady +thoroughly, you'll be able to get at the truth. She'll know that Carlson +was the Eye. And she may even admit that she threw Carlson over and +helped somebody else dispose of Carlson and step into the lucrative +position which Carlson occupied as the Eye."</p> + +<p>McGinty looked up at one of his men. "Send out for that Gervais dame." +When the man had left the room, he turned to Black Hood. "You haven't +cleared yourself yet. You claim Carlson was the Eye. That's the world's +oldest alibi—putting the blame on a dead man."</p> + +<p>"I can prove Carlson was the Eye," Black Hood persisted. "In the morning +I will send you that signal device which the Eye used. It carries +Carlson's fingerprints."</p> + +<p>"You'll send it from jail, then," McGinty said.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Black Hood shook his head. "I wonder if you'd send to the police lab for +an ultra-violet lamp? I think I can conduct an experiment which will +prove my points."</p> + +<p>McGinty considered this a moment, and finally sent out for an +ultra-violet lamp. It was not long after that before the members of the +citizens committee began to arrive. The two Weedhams, father and son, +were ushered into the room, followed by Major Paxton, Harold Adler, and +the rest of the committee. Jeff Weedham's newspaper was represented by +Barbara Sutton and her ace cameraman, Joe Strong. And finally the police +brought in a coldly furious Vida Gervais.</p> + +<p>Black Hood carefully avoided meeting Barbara Sutton's eyes. He knew that +her emotions must be strained to the breaking point, and even a glance +from him might have caused her to betray herself.</p> + +<p>"D-d-don't tell me you've finally caught Black Hood, Sergeant!" Jeff +Weedham gasped.</p> + +<p>The sergeant smiled. "Sooner or later, McGinty gets 'em all."</p> + +<p>McGinty waited until all present were seated. Then he stood up alongside +of Black Hood.</p> + +<p>"Now, folks," he said, "as you can see, I've got Black Hood just where I +want him. And I've wanted him quite a while. I promised you that I'd +show you his face, and that's just what I'm going to do."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Harold Adler uttered a hoarse cry of warning that came just a bit too +late. With one of those lightning-like movements of his, Black Hood had +pulled the revolver out of McGinty's holster, turned it on the sergeant. +A copper near the door started to intervene, but Black Hood stopped him +with a narrow-eyed glance that held all the threat of a thunderbolt.</p> + +<p>"Make a move toward me, and I put a bullet into McGinty's back," he +said. "No one will ever see the face of Black Hood and live to talk +about it. I've just given McGinty the entire solution to this mystery. +I've told him that Jack Carlson was the Eye. I've explained how Jack +Carlson was murdered and his powerful position in the underworld was +usurped by another man who now poses as the Eye. If there is any doubt +in his mind, I am about to dispel it."</p> + +<p>Black Hood picked up the ultra-violet lamp with his left hand while his +right kept the gun on McGinty. He said, "Mr. Adler, will you kindly +turn out the lights."</p> + +<p>Adler hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Do as you're told," Black Hood insisted, "if you don't want to witness +murder. And I want to warn everyone in this room, that when the lights +go out if anyone makes any move toward me, McGinty will die. Even if I +were to be shot, the reflex action of my fingers would pull the trigger +of this revolver and McGinty will die. I am no murderer, but if you +interfere with me in this business, you'll make a murderer of me."</p> + +<p>Adler switched out the lights. The darkness lay like a smothering +blanket upon them all. The air itself had a certain electrical tenseness +about it, like the silence before a storm.</p> + +<p>"I am now going to switch on the ultra-violet light. If the filter is +perfect, you will not be able to see the light, because ultra-violet +rays, when unadulterated by other rays, cannot be seen by the human eye. +There. The light is on.</p> + +<p>"I have offered evidence to Sergeant McGinty in which I intended to +prove that Biggert, William Weedham's secretary, was killed because he +was about to show to William Weedham a check to which William Weedham's +signature had been forged. Not only that, but the forger, in cashing the +check, also forged the endorsement of Major Paxton, to whom the check +was made out.</p> + +<p>"I have further pointed out to McGinty, that this same killer disposed +of Jack Carlson, after Carlson had been betrayed by a woman. This woman +must have been Carlson's friend. She must have known all his secrets, +including the fact that Carlson was the Eye. She gave all this +information to another man—the same man who forged the check which I +mentioned before. Then she assisted this killer to shoot Carlson. This +woman's face powder was treated with naphthionate of sodium. A little of +this powder rubbed from her cheek to Carlson's lapel made Carlson a +perfect target in pitch darkness, provided that darkness was penetrated +by rays of invisible ultra-violet or black light. I have a sample of +that woman's face powder here on McGinty's desk."</p> + +<p>Black Hood turned the ultra-violet lamp on the desk. The box of powder +there became phosphorescent.</p> + +<p>"When I was framed for the Tauber jewel robbery tonight, I seized the +opportunity to toss some of this face powder onto the jewels in the +robbers' bag," Black Hood continued. "The face powder is that of Vida +Gervais. Watch, please."</p> + +<p>Black Hood turned the ultra-violet lamp out toward his audience. Vida +Gervais' frightened face glowed in the black light. Startled gasps could +be heard from the others in the room as they stared at that ghostly +face.</p> + +<p>"Vida Gervais," Black Hood continued, "knew a good thing when she saw +it. To eventually better her social and financial position, she was +willing to sell out Carlson, alias the Eye, to another man who, if he +could accumulate, through fair means or foul, quite a tidy sum of money +now would get his hands on a great deal more money in the future.</p> + +<p>"So Vida Gervais betrayed Carlson, alias the Eye, into the hands of the +man who had killed Biggert. The forty thousand dollars which this man +had got from the forged check was a small part of the money he needed. +But if he could step into the Eye's shoes for a little while, he could +rapidly accumulate the rest.</p> + +<p>"I mentioned a moment ago that I had tossed some of Vida Gervais' +unusual face powder onto the diamonds stolen from Tauber's shop. The +naphthionate in that powder would cling to the diamonds and subsequently +cling to the hands of the criminal who eventually got hold of them. +Watch now for the glowing hands of the killer—the man who has been +impersonating the Eye ever since Carlson was killed. But one funny thing +about that impersonation which I did not realize until tonight. The +impersonator, this man who killed Biggert and Carlson, was most careful +to avoid any word or name beginning with the letter 'D.' He would not, +for instance, say the name 'Delancy,' nor would he speak the word +'diamonds.' Why? Because every time he says a word or name beginning +with that letter, he stutters. He might disguise his voice by +whispering, but he could not control this stutter, which would have been +a dead give-away."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In the black light, luminous fingers suddenly showed themselves. There +was a piercing scream. Men surged forward to close in and blot out the +glow from the killer's fingers.</p> + +<p>"Watch out!" Black Hood's warning voice rang out. "He is probably +armed!"</p> + +<p>Men bumped into each other. There was the repeated thud of blows. There +were cries, grunts, stammered oaths. And when finally somebody turned on +the lights, Jeff Weedham was on the floor, two cops astride him. He had +a gun in his hand, but his hand was pinned to the floor.</p> + +<p>Sergeant McGinty looked over his shoulder at the Black Hood—or rather +looked where he thought the Black Hood would be. McGinty's jaw sagged. +He looked down at his own gun which was poking him in the ribs. His +revolver had been wedged into the baby-gate extension arm of his own +desk telephone. And Black Hood was gone.</p> + +<p>It was an hour later that McGinty and his men, by playing Vida Gervais +and Jeff Weedham, one against the other, got a full confession which +corresponded very closely to Black Hood's reconstruction of the crimes. +Jeff Weedham had been placed in rather a desperate position by his +father, Jeff explained. William Weedham had bought Jeff the newspaper, +insisting that he make a financial success of it and thus prove his +worth. If he failed in this as he had in everything else, William +Weedham was determined that none of the Weedham fortune should fall into +Jeff's hands.</p> + +<p>Jeff had run his newspaper into the red. As the time came closer in +which William Weedham was to examine the newspaper's ledger, Jeff +Weedham tried desperately to make up the lost money, first by forgery, +and then by stepping into Carlson's shoes as the Eye.</p> + +<p>Ballistics tests proved that it was Jeff's gun which had killed both +Biggert and Carlson.</p> + +<p>Just as McGinty was about to leave his office for the night, his phone +rang. Almost before he picked the instrument up, he knew who his caller +was.</p> + +<p>"I say, McGinty," the voice of the Black Hood came from the receiver, "I +really intended to apologize for making a fool of you there in your +office, sticking you up with a gun attached to that telephone arm. But +then, as I thought the matter over, it occurred to me that I really +wasn't to blame for making a fool of you. You've really got a bone to +pick with dear old Mother Nature on that score!"</p> + +<p>"Say, will you kindly go to Hell!" McGinty exploded. And as he hung up, +a chuckle broke from his thick lips. "What that guy don't know is that +I'm beginning to get a kick out of tangling with him!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CANDIDATE_FOR_A_COFFIN" id="CANDIDATE_FOR_A_COFFIN"></a>CANDIDATE FOR A COFFIN</h2> + +<h3>By T. W. FORD</h3> + +<p class="sidenote">Wilson Lamb cuddled his automatic to play "Mr. Death" and fingered +little Louis Engel for coffin cargo. But when he pulled the +trigger, Whisper, the gun-cobra from Chi, spilled out of Doom's +deck....</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>Death stood on the Times Square subway platform, uptown side, waiting +for a subject. Death looked at himself in the gum machine mirror, then +down at his watch. It was exactly 4:12 P. M., Wednesday, December 10th. +When the second hand hit the "30" mark, he would turn around and the +person nearest would be It. Death wore a blue pin-stripe suit, well +fitting but slightly unpressed. Death's name was Wilson Lamb.</p> + +<p>The second hand wiped over the "20" of the smaller dial, jittered on +toward the half-minute spot. Inexorable and meaningless. Just as what +Wilson Lamb planned. He said "Now" with a little sucking in of breath +and a thin anticipant smile and spun on his heel. He was a slim +saturnine-faced man with cigaret-ash stain on a coat lapel. +Undistinguished from any typical strap-hanger except perhaps by the +light-hued eyes. His shoes needed a shine. He lifted the pale eyes from +them and looked for the corpse to be. To the left. To the right. Then he +came as near recoiling from the thing as he ever would.</p> + +<p>It looked as if it might be a woman. Somehow he had always thought of +killing a man. Something that could strike back. Not that he would get +the chance. It was just the idea of the thing. But she, the woman, was +descending the stairs that led up to the shuttle, bearing down toward +him, less than twenty feet away. Big and billowy and red-faced, waddling +along like a sow. To face a jury, charged with doing away with a hunk of +human beef like that and—</p> + +<p>He flashed a glance to the left again. Nobody near. It was a fluke of +circumstance a score of people weren't buzzing all about him. He whipped +his eyes back toward the woman as a local thundered in. And Luck took a +hand. A stocky man dodged around from behind the woman and came rapidly +down the platform, neat, crisp, briefcase under his arm.</p> + +<p>Wilson Lamb's pale eyes flickered with amusement. He said softly, "Tag, +you're it, John W. Goon." This was his corpse to be. Mr. Death had made +his pick-up.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ex</i>-cuse me." An express rolled in and cutting over for it, the stocky +man brushed Lamb. His voice was mild, colorless. He wore a gray +snap-brim hat; it was set squarely on his head, precisely level. Lamb +had seen hats worn like that by show-window clothing dummies. The man +entered the third car, middle door. Wilson Lamb boarded it on his heels.</p> + +<p>His victim almost got a seat. A pimply-faced office boy elbowed him out +of it and the man turned away meekly. He hooked himself onto a strap, +hitched the briefcase up under his free arm, and concentrated on a +segment of his folded-open newspaper. It was one of the conservative +sheets, comic-less, reactionary Republican to the core. Wilson eased +down the aisle, casually pushing a woman out of his way, and glanced +over his victim's shoulder. The goon was studying an advertisement for a +nine-piece living room suite, overstuffed, at "special reduction this +week only." It was at one of the better department stores.</p> + +<p>Amusement flickered in Wilson Lamb's pale eyes. He got the picture. A +typical George Babbitt in the flesh. To the core.</p> + +<p>At Seventy-second Street, the stocky man got a seat. When he faced the +light, Lamb saw that he was turning slightly gray over the ears. He had +a roundish face, a little fleshy under the chin, a soft-lipped mouth +that from habit he held slightly pursed, muddy eyes. He was inclined to +plumpness. Somebody had scuffed his right shoe in getting out and now he +pulled up the pant leg of his dark grey suit to study it ruefully.</p> + +<p>"Typical taxpayer," Lamb said to himself, savoring it. "Always makes his +insurance payments on time.... Probably has weak arches.... Is going to +buy the Five Foot book-shelf, always next week, and read it.... Would +like to get up nerve enough to take that blonde steno at the office out +to luncheon...." Wilson Lamb wanted to laugh out loud; it was as good as +having a duck flutter down smack in front of your blind.</p> + +<p>Past 86th, the Express roared. Lamb's victim had turned his paper, +halved back the last page. Automatic pencil poised, he was scanning the +crossword puzzle intently. As they lolled through 91st, he bared his +teeth in a satisfied smile and rapidly filled in four vertical blanks, +then filled out the lower right-hand corner. Lamb saw that his four +upper front teeth were a neatly fitted denture. He wondered how they'd +look after a bullet had gone through them.</p> + +<p>The victim got off at 96th, carefully straightening his muffler inside +his black overcoat. He went downstairs, crossed beneath the local +platform to the west side, mounted to street level. He had a cigaret in +his mouth but waited until he was outside the subway entrance before he +put a match to it. Lamb lit one too. He picked up an evening paper from +the newsstand—it might come in handy if he got to close quarters with +the dope and wanted to mask his face. The newsdealer was looking the +other way as he made change so Lamb plucked back his nickel.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The victim started to cross 96th Street, heading north. A traffic +officer's whistle shrilled. Broadway was spattered with the ruby red of +traffic lights. Vehicles moved crosstown. Dutifully Lamb's goon turned +and retraced his steps to the curb, holding his four-square hat +carefully. A little trick with skimpy skirts whipped about plump calves +crossed on over. Watching her, Lamb's victim shook his head.</p> + +<p>Lamb could hear him saying: "Tsk! Tsk! Foolish to take chances like +that." Imagine him saying it, anyway.</p> + +<p>Lamb kept at a cautious distance as they moved several blocks up +Broadway. Walking briskly, the victim turned into a side street. There +was something smug about the way he picked up his heels, swung his +briefcase.</p> + +<p>"Little man who has had a busy day with a job well done," Lamb +paraphrased it sarcastically. He pushed his battered felt hat further +back on his head in a gesture of disgust. His cheap unbuttoned +raglan-style coat fluttered in the wind off the Hudson. Abruptly, the +man ahead halted, wheeled.</p> + +<p>Lamb calmly turned and opened the rear door of a parked sedan whose +driver was at the wheel. Put a foot in. Down the block, his victim +headed into a distinctly second-rate apartment hotel. Lamb said to the +sedan driver, "I thought this was a hearse" and went down the block.</p> + +<p>His victim was getting his mail at the desk when Lamb entered the shabby +lobby. Lamb got on the elevator after him. The victim said "nine," +immersed in his paper again, studying that living room suite. He had his +key ready in his hand, terra cotta-hued tab swinging loose. "914" was +lettered on it in black.</p> + +<p>"Ten, Bud," Lamb told the operator.</p> + +<p>On the tenth floor, he moved quickly down the frayed carpet of a +corridor and found the service stairs. Back on the ninth, even when he +was yards from the door of 914, he caught the odor of cooking. Rich and +greasy. He got his ear against the door.</p> + +<p>"Spare-ribs and sauerkraut, huh, Ede?" the victim was calling out +inside. Lamb could visualize him putting his coat on a hanger, carefully +folding a scarf over it.</p> + +<p>From the rear of the apartment came Ede's voice, reedy and with a bit of +a whine. Lamb could visualize her too, a dyed blonde who devoured film +fan magazines and thought the girdle was the world's greatest invention. +"Uh-huh. How'd things go downtown today, Lou?"</p> + +<p>Through the thin door, Lamb heard him clear his throat, mutter, "Oh, +so-so."</p> + +<p>But Ede wasn't to be put off. "Lou, did you tell the boss you had to +have a raise, that the job is worth more?"</p> + +<p>Lou started to mumble something. Ede's voice, penetrating the door +easily, rose to a querulous pitch. "Lou, you're too easygoing! You ain't +got the sense to stand up for your rights. You're an expert in your line +and you know it. There's never any kick-back or complaint on a job you +do."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know, Ede but—" Wilson Lamb's victim got in.</p> + +<p>"You're entitled to more money, Lou! You've never bungled a job yet. I +need a new coat. And you said you wanted to put the kid in a private +school after the first of the year. How're we gonna do it if you +don't—"</p> + +<p>Lou said, "Look, Ede! Something came up today and the boss had to leave +in a hurry—right in the middle of a conference. I just had time to grab +my briefcase myself. Let's get to work on those spare-ribs."</p> + +<p>They moved toward the rear of the apartment and Lamb out in the hall +could hear no more. He was chuckling as he walked away, loose mouth +curled in a sneer. Back on the tenth floor, he boarded the elevator +again. Again it was empty except for the operator, a tow-headed kid with +a Racing Form tucked in a side pocket.</p> + +<p>"Funny thing," Lamb mentioned casually, "I could've sworn I knew that +man who rode up with me. Stocky chap. Got off at the ninth. But I can't +seem to recall his name."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Engel, yuh mean?"</p> + +<p>"Engel ... Engel ... Lou Engel? Is he an accountant?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah, Louis Engel's the name. But he ain't no accountant. Comes from +Chicago. I heard him tell the manager he was an efficiency expert."</p> + +<p>Lamb stopped rattling the coins in his pocket suggestively, kept them +there, and strolled toward the main entrance. Behind him, a lobby +lounger moved over to the elevator boy, jerking his chin in Wilson +Lamb's direction as he asked a question.</p> + +<p>At the corner, Lamb stopped in and bought a drink. Thin face creased in +a smile of self-satisfaction, he glanced at the paper he had bought. +Below the latest war communiques was a small column-head about a +threatened gang war in the numbers racket. "Police Raid Joe 'The +Flasher' Abadirro's Headquarters," it said. Lamb's eyes picked up +flashes of it. "... when plainclothes squad walked into luxurious +apartment ... mid-town West Side hotel ... several henchmen taken into +custody on technical charges ... Abadirro reported out of town ... +police acting on tip killers imported from Chicago ... showdown +anticipated on who will boss numbers racket in metropolitan area...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Lamb turned the paper over and winked at himself in the concave mirror +of the semi-circle of bar. That was unimportant claptrap to somebody +like him. That kind of tripe was for the little Joe Dopes who got their +thrills vicariously. There was going to be nothing vicarious about what +he was going to do. He was going to rub out Louis Engel. Blast him. +Louis the Goon, as he had already christened him in his mind. He had put +the finger on him.</p> + +<p>"Louis the Goon is going to die," Wilson Lamb said softly. He liked the +sound of it.</p> + +<p>He wasn't crazy. Long ago he had assured himself of that. It was just +that his mind operated on a different, a higher, plane than the norm. He +was not one of the little pieces of protoplasm running along with the +herd. He was above them. Looking down on them. Studying them. His +perspective ranged somewhat further than the end of his nose, the latest +double-feature at the neighborhood movie house, and spare-ribs.</p> + +<p>That last made him laugh out loud. He picked up his change and headed +back for the subway and his two-room apartment in the Village. His gun, +a .45 automatic, was there. He would be needing it soon. Louis the Goon +practically demanded, invited, the use of a .45 automatic on him.</p> + +<p>"Efficiency engineer," Lamb said to himself once.</p> + +<p>The guy was the perfect subject. Ripe for murder. The more Lamb thought +of it, the more he was convinced he couldn't have dreamed up a better +stooge. Engel was a model—for homicide. He himself might die for it.</p> + +<p>But that was unimportant. The killing of Louis the Goon was the only +thing that counted. The results, materially speaking, meant nothing. +This slaying was to be an exposition of the ego. Without other cause. +Emotionless. With no hope of gain, financial or otherwise. No female +involved. Nothing. Just a killing, a plain open and shut case of +homicide for no earthly reason imaginable to the police. It would be +amusing to watch those flatfoots sitting around trying to sift a motive +out of the thing. Baby, they'd sweat their so-and-so's off trying to +cook up a reason for this one.</p> + +<p>It was so simple to Lamb himself. Inevitable. A logical step in a +sequence. The final step, perhaps. Louis the Goon Engel was a mere +walk-on in the piece, a spear-carrier doomed to death. Little better +than a papier mache dummy set up to be a target for the custard pie. +Only, in this case, the custard pie was to be a cupro steel-nosed +bullet.</p> + +<p>To Lamb, it boiled down to an ultimate expression of the psyche. The +final test of one's ability to project the personal ego over all else in +the material world. Because the ego was the alpha and omega of all +living the moment one got above the level of animal existence, the mere +feeding of the face and satisfaction of the other instinctive physical +hungers. As Braunitsch had put it so succinctly, "Even the lowest worm +can procreate itself—unfortunately."</p> + +<p>Then, of course, there was Nietsche and his superman. And some of Freud. +And that treatise of Van de Water, the Belgian, on the sublimation of +the sub-conscious by the negation of the self-censor. And the papers of +Braulinski of the old University of Warsaw on the fear trauma which he +termed a birthmark of civilization. Lamb had gone into them all, deeply. +All of them dealing with the ego. The ego and its development and +complete consummation. And the killing of Louis the Goon Engel was going +to be the consummation of Wilson Lamb's experiments in the total +exemplification of that ego.</p> + +<p>It was no brash idea, no hare-brained impulse concocted in one's cups, +perhaps. Analytically, objectively, he had thought out the whole thing. +The axis of life was the psyche. Its two poles were birth and death. +And, as Braunitsch had stated, the former was a function, often +accidental, of which the lowest animal order was capable. A mono-cell, +the amoeba, was able to reproduce itself by the simple stratagem of +sub-division. But death—when it became a deliberate action, +administered without emotion or hope of material gain—was one step +removed from the godhead. Perhaps less than one step. But the step that +would raise one above all the little fumbling, blind-spawning, life +hugging bipeds who infested the scene.</p> + +<p>In short, birth was fortuitous, a product of circumstance plus +proximity, its get a biological accident. But death—the taking of +life—was a selective process, intentionally executed, the result a +foreseen conclusion. In so doing, the taking of life, you broke the +greatest law of humanity and so became above it. You unfettered the ego +with a single ineradicable stroke. In taking a life, one tasted the +essence of living. He tried to remember who had said that. De Maupassant +had put it better but Lamb could not quite recall the quotation....</p> + +<p>He was still trying to remember it as he lounged down the block from +Engel's apartment hotel at 8:10 the next morning. There was a +bone-chilling breeze off the Drive that made Lamb belt his coat tighter +about him. When, at 9:35, Louis the Goon Engel had not made an +appearance, Lamb went down to the corner drugstore and had a cup of +coffee. He could not see the entrance of the hotel through the window. +But he commanded a clear view of the street and anybody coming up it +toward the subway. And if he ever saw one, his corpse-to-be was a +methodical little piece of humanity. He would come and go to the subway +by the same route.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Wilson Lamb was correct as he had never doubted. But it was 11:07 by his +wrist watch before Engel emerged. The gray hat just as squarely set on +his head as before, without a glance around, Engel came out of the hotel +and turned his steps dutifully in the direction of the subway. Lamb was +strolling on the other side of the street at the moment. On sight of +him, he turned up the front stairs of a brownstone. But a few seconds +later, his long legs were carrying him rapidly toward Broadway. By +hustling, he got to the other side of it, entered the subway on the +uptown side, crossed underneath and was waiting in the by-pass when +Engel came along. Engel trotted up to the downtown express platform. +When the next train pulled out, Lamb was in the vestibule, half a +car-length away from him.</p> + +<p>Taking the trouble to keep at a distance, to make himself inconspicuous, +seemed almost wasted effort. Louis the Goon went along, looking neither +to right nor left, docilely intent on minding his own business.</p> + +<p>"Efficiency expert," Lamb said to himself. "Bet he's a cracker-jack at +cutting down on the overhead."</p> + +<p>It was like playing a game of cat-and-mouse with him, Wilson Lamb, the +cat. Only in this instance, the mouse seemed as good as blind.</p> + +<p>Lamb could have given it to him any time, a slug in the back that would +terminate his little life the way you would step on a cockroach. On +second thought, he would not give it to him in the back. It would be the +front so he could see the stricken stupid look of surprise. He'd +probably try to get his foolish little briefcase in front of him like a +shield. Lamb could just see it. Hear his squeal of futile protest, too.</p> + +<p>Yes, he could give it to him whenever he chose. Just walk up to him and +squeeze the trigger and savor omnipotence for a moment. Very simple. At +his leisure. But Wilson Lamb wasn't going to do it that way. That would +have been like a blind stab, in the dark, meaningless, impersonal. Like +taking a hack at a piece of meat. Or tossing a bomb into a crowd. +Instead, he wanted to know something about his specimen before he +exterminated him. Understand his background. Get a fair picture of the +little sphere of the life from which he was all unknowingly about to +depart.</p> + +<p>Lamb didn't figure it to take long in the case of Louis the Goon. What +Engel was was pretty patent. A typical little taxpayer, careful to keep +his nose clean, asking only to be permitted to tread his narrow path +unmolested. Undoubtedly the type who got sick to his stomach at the +sight of blood even though it might be no more than a nose-bleed.</p> + +<p>At 42nd Street, Louis the Goon got off and trundled over to the shuttle. +He passed through the Grand Central Station, stopping off to buy a +package of Camels en route. The cigar store had a counter display of a +bargain buy of razor blades combined with some unknown brand of shaving +cream. Engel hovered over it like a bargain-hunting housewife. The clerk +put on his spiel. Engel bought, got stuck for a bottle of after-shave +lotion too.</p> + +<p>Lamb saw it all from over by the counter of the baggage-checking room. +"'A penny saved is a penny earned,'" he paraphrased for him.</p> + +<p>They cut through the Graybar Building to come out on Lexington. Engel +proceeded north a few blocks, turned into one of the commercial hotels +noted for its name band. Halfway across the lobby, a tall swarthy man +with one of those deadpan faces rose to greet him. They shook hands.</p> + +<p>"You're right on the dot," the tall man said.</p> + +<p>Engel's pursed mouth lengthened in a flattered smile. "I always make it +a point to be punctual," Lamb dawdling in the background, overheard him +say.</p> + +<p>Then they headed for the elevator bank. The tall one shot two glances +backward as they did so Lamb couldn't make it too obvious. When he +rounded the corner of the ell where the elevators were, they were gone. +Lamb went back into the main lobby and ensconced himself behind a +morning paper. Midway down the page was more about the threatened strife +in the numbers racket. It didn't interest Lamb in the slightest.</p> + +<p>Engel probably had gone upstairs to try and peddle one of his efficiency +schemes to some big shot. The guy he'd met in the lobby was a +go-between, doubtlessly. Lamb wondered whether Louis the Goon would get +up the nerve to hit his boss for that raise today, as Ede had demanded.</p> + +<p>Lamb almost lost him. Half an hour later. Louis the Goon came down and +scooted out the side entrance in a hurry. When Lamb got out there, his +man was already in a cab, shooting away. There was something wrong about +the conservative, penny-saving Engel taking a taxi. Wilson Lamb did not +realize it at the time.</p> + +<p>They went westward across town. Over near Sixth, Lamb's driver lost the +other cab. Lamb was cursing when he spotted Engel on the sidewalk, +coming back across town. That was strange because he could have sworn +Engel's cab had not stopped. Must have gotten it mixed up with another. +Out, he threaded his way recklessly through a welter of vehicles and +picked up the tail as his man entered an office building.</p> + +<p>It was fairly crowded in that foyer and it was simple to step onto the +elevator right at Louis the Goon Engel's back, then wheel behind him out +of sight as he turned. Engel called "Fourteen" and got out there, +briefcase tightly clutched up under his arm, its flap unbuckled.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Going in to high-pressure somebody on a sale," Lamb figured.</p> + +<p>Another passenger had called fifteenth, the next floor. Lamb got out +there, found the built-in fire escape, and got down to fourteen. This +was a little foolish, he realized. There was no way of finding what +office Louis the Goon had visited. Still, he might see him when he came +out. Maybe he had gone to see the boss about that raise Ede was +demanding. Maybe he'd come out bouncing on his tail-feathers. It was fun +following and watching Louis the Goon. Like watching an ant on a +sidewalk flagstone puttering about its puny business, knowing you were +going to stamp out its life when it so pleased you.</p> + +<p>Lamb was just lighting a cigaret, gazing down the hallway of the +fourteenth floor, when the muffled report came up the staircase. It +didn't seem possible, a gun seemed so out of place in such +surroundings.... Then there were two more shots, a scream intermixed. +The shattering of plate glass. Lamb was down the stairs and pulling open +the firedoor onto the floor below. Immediately he sniffed the acrid +fumes of gunpowder.</p> + +<p>He was looking out onto an ell of that floor. Onto a tableau of +violence. There was just a single office suite on that ell, directly +opposite him. On one of its double doors was lettered "Continental +Exhibition Corp." The frosted glass of the other door was almost +completely broken out, leaving a jagged-fringed aperture through which +to view the scene within.</p> + +<p>Wilson Lamb flattered himself on being pretty cool headed under all +circumstances. But he blinked three times rapidly now. Inside the +Continental Exhibition Corporation one man was slumped over a desk, an +automatic half-gripped in his inert hand. He was very dead. Half his +head was shot off. Another man was sprawled on the gray broadloom of the +reception room, a brownish puddle beneath his side. He wasn't going to +be going any place in a hurry, either.</p> + +<p>Even as Lamb stared at the carnage, a third figure appeared, wobbling +drunkenly from an inner office. He came stooped over, holding his side. +Crimson-speckled froth at his lips. He got to the shattered glass panel +and moved the lips at Wilson Lamb.</p> + +<p>"Tell 'em—the police—it was—was Whisper Ross from—from Chi—" He +coughed twice on the "Chicago," then caved in on himself and went flat +in the hallway.</p> + +<p>Lamb saw an ashen-face bespectacled man peering around the corner of an +ell. From further back, through an open doorway, a girl's voice was +shrieking for the police over the phone. Lamb remembered the fact that +he had a gun on his person. It might be extremely embarrassing if the +police picked him up for questioning. Ducking back through the firedoor, +he ran quickly up to the sixteenth floor, up past the fifteenth. Nothing +had been heard up there yet. He caught a down car and got out just as +the first prowl car came sirening its way into the side street curb.</p> + +<p>Afterward, outside the police cordon thrown around the building, +somebody jostled against him, peered under his hat brim. Later, Lamb +recalled the bluish scar crescent on his left cheek.</p> + +<p>"Hey, aren't you Reynolds of the Dispatch, pal?"</p> + +<p>"Nope," Lamb said.</p> + +<p>"You're a reporter with one of the local sheets, aren't you?" the other +persisted. "I know I've seen you around before."</p> + +<p>"You must have been wearing your other glasses, Bud," Lamb said and +turned away.</p> + +<p>Maybe it was the effect of seeing the handiwork of that other unknown +killer. For the police had nabbed nobody yet in that mid-town mid-day +shooting. Anyway, Lamb had the itch to strike. It was like a thirst +building in a guy. You've seen somebody else dip into a tall cool one +and after a while you feel like you got to have one yourself. Those +three dead men on the thirteenth floor of that office building had acted +like an aphrodisiac on Wilson Lamb. He wanted to get him his corpse. But +soon.</p> + +<p>He knew it when he picked up his victim again. It was almost 4 P.M., +shreds of snow drifting down through New York's early darkness. He was +hanging around by the cab stand above 96th on the west side of Broadway, +waiting hopefully. He had got so that he felt a little lonely when he +didn't have Louis the Goon right handy. He felt on familiar terms with +the guy. Of course, Louis the Goon didn't know him. And when he +introduced himself, Louis was going to get one hell of a big surprise. +Like a kick in the teeth only a lot more permanent.</p> + +<p>One of the hackies turned up his radio. A news commentator was on. He +came to the topic of the mid-town shooting. Three dead, gunned in the +office of the Continental Exhibition Corporation. Lamb edged over +nearer. The Continental outfit, the announcer said, was the business +front of one Big John Girra, well known local racketeer. Girra was a +powerful figure in the metropolitan pin-ball game syndicate and had a +piece of the number policy racket too.</p> + +<p>"Police, promising an arrest within twenty-four hours, claim the triple +killing a step in the fight for control of the numbers game business in +this city. They are still seeking the missing Joe The Flasher Abadirro, +also reputed to have boasted he would take over the numbers game. Two of +the slain men have been identified as close associates of Big John +Girra. A building employee stated earlier today that Girra left the +premises less than five minutes before the killing. A prominent police +official who refused to be quoted asserted the killer was a Chicago +torpedo imported for the job, a killer who would not be recognized by +members of the New York mobs. 'We are closing in on him at this very +instant,' the official concluded."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The news broadcaster went on to another item of the day's reports. Lamb +turned around. And there was Louis the Goon Engel, not four feet away. +En route home from the subway, he had paused to listen to the report +too. He stood now with a calculating look, almost as if he were checking +the verity of the report. Lamb wanted to laugh in his face.</p> + +<p>"If you'd seen those three carcasses leaking blood all over the place, +you'd probably have swooned in your britches, my little dope," Lamb +addressed him mentally. And the funny part was that the little dope had +been so close to it. Just a floor away, in fact.</p> + +<p>As he followed him on uptown, down his side-street, Lamb had a curious +sense of elation. He was in on the ground-floor of Death, Inc. Even +before voting at a stock-holders' meeting himself. For he knew who had +triggered those three today, who the Chi torpedo the cops wanted was. +One Whisper Ross. Of course, he might have tipped off the police say, by +a phone call. But he wasn't going to.</p> + +<p>"We killers must stick together." The thought tickled his sense of +humor.</p> + +<p>They were almost at Louis the Goon's roost when Lamb saw how he was +going to do it. A boy with a carton of groceries almost ran down Louis, +then ducked down into the delivery entrance of the apartment-hotel. And +Wilson Lamb had his cue.</p> + +<p>Some ten minutes later, after due investigation, he knew how he was +going to put Louis the Goon on the spot. And how he was going to get +away with it, get clear afterward. The taking of life was the important +thing, the major premise. Whether he was caught or not had never seemed +important before. But after reviewing the handiwork of Whisper Ross—who +had ambled off unimpeded—Lamb saw no reason why he should not do the +same. It would be the nth degree in the epitomization of the ego to kill +and get away with it.</p> + +<p>The building's delivery entrance was a perfect avenue of escape. +Actually it did not enter the hotel at first. Down a few steps and then +it ran rearward between the side of the building and the retaining wall +next door, an open-topped alleyway. The delivery doorway was in the +rear. A few feet further on was the backyard laid out in a garden with a +waterless age-browned concrete fountain in the center. A low concrete +wall separated it from the property that backed onto it. And there was +the payoff.</p> + +<p>Ambling casually through in the darkness, Lamb had discovered that the +property in the rear, facing on the next street downtown, was several +feet lower. It would be simple to drop over the wall to its paved +courtyard. And from that ran a concrete passage beside the apartment +house out to the street one block below.</p> + +<p>Emerging on it, Lamb lit a cigaret and went back around the block to +Engel's place. He appraised it like a surveyor. First off, it was one of +those second-rate places that boasted no doorman. Across the street were +those brownstones for a nice dim background. The nearest street lamp was +down about ten feet from the entrance of Engel's place. Engel would come +walking along primly, right into its light. A man crossing the street +from the brownstones, a little behind Engel, calling out, "Hey, Mr. +Engel," and—</p> + +<p>It was a very nice set-up. The property line of the building where Engel +lived was set back several feet further than that of the old-fashioned +private homes between it and Broadway. They would serve as a screen for +his movements from one direction when he hit into that delivery alleyway +after fixing Louis the Goon's wagon once and for all, Lamb realized. It +was almost ridiculously simple.</p> + +<p>Why he could almost have chalked an "X" right there and then on the +sidewalk where little Louis would lie down and forget it all. Wilson +Lamb hummed as he headed up toward Broadway and decided to have dinner. +He had a swell appetite. He was humming snatches from something. Minor +key, descending scale. It went "Come to Papa, come to Papa, come to +Papa." He didn't know whether it was from a song or a crap game. Anyway, +the dice were sure loaded against a certain party he knew.</p> + +<p>Down the block, a taxi that had been parked with meter ticking across +from Engel's apartment-hotel drew away slowly.</p> + +<p>He went to the movies with Louis the Goon that evening. Louis didn't +know anything about it and Lamb bought his own ticket. That too had been +extremely simple. After dinner, he had phoned Engel. When Louis himself +answered, Lamb had asked for Toots. Louis said they had no Toots there +and Lamb said he was very sorry, that he must have got the wrong number. +And Louis said that was all right, no harm done. And Lamb said he was +sorry he had disturbed him and Louis said to think nothing of it, no +trouble at all. And Lamb said a four-letter word after he had hung up +and laughed out loud in the phone booth.</p> + +<p>Then he hung around and saw Louis come out after dinner. Ede was with +him this time. Ede was the type after which some department store +advertising-department diplomat had coined the term "stylish stout." Ede +toddled and she was pretty hefty. If there was a family argument, Lamb +would have laid two to one she would have come home in front by a t.k.o. +before the fifth round.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They went into the movies on the north-west corner of 96th. The closest +Lamb could get was some three rows back. He was disappointed because he +could not watch Engel's face. It was a double feature. <i>Pampas Nights</i> +was one of those alleged South American musicals whipped up by a couple +of submorons with the intent purpose of sabotaging the Good Neighbor +policy. The other picture was some ghoulish thing about a mad surgeon, +described in the script as an "ego-maniac," who had a pleasant pastime +of revivifying electrocuted felons. That one gave Lamb a pain in the +pants too. He had really made a study of ego-maniacs.</p> + +<p>He got out in the foyer right behind the Engels. He heard Ede say she +thought the one about that "nutty doc" was so thrilling. Louis the Goon +did not agree. He liked those musicals.</p> + +<p>"They take my mind off business," he said.</p> + +<p>Lamb left them and went in and had a drink. He had two drinks. Now that +everything was settled, he felt no impatience. It was all lined up right +down to the final curtain. Louis' final curtain. Lamb had already +decided he would give it to him as he came plodding his smug little way +home some evening. Any evening. Maybe tomorrow evening. Now that the +details were ironed out, it was fun to leave the closing date open. He +could play the fly-on-the-wall in Louis the Goon's life as long as he +wanted. And when he got bored with Louis's act—bop! he would deliver +his compact little package to Louis....</p> + +<p>He started to get bored fast the next day. He rode downtown with Louis +and they went over to that same East side hotel and Louis went upstairs. +He was gone a long time. Lamb said to himself, "That dope goes around in +a rut and I'll get in one too just following him and then I will get +sore." Eventually Louis the Goon came back down into the lobby. The +tall, swarthy man he had met there the day before was with him.</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess there'll be nothing doing today," Louis the Goon said.</p> + +<p>"Nope, nothing," the other said.</p> + +<p>They parted. Louis went down to the telephones, used one after +consulting a little black book. When he came out, he bought a white +carnation for his button-hole in the florist shop, then treated himself +to three twenty-five-center Perfectos.</p> + +<p>"Something builds," Lamb told himself. Outside, when Louis the Goon got +a taxi, there was something positively cocky about him. Lamb was humming +his "Come to Papa" again as he took another and trailed him eastward +this time. Louis got out at a Third Avenue bar and grill and went in. +Lamb gave him five minutes and strayed in himself. There was no Louis. +Not at first, anyway. Lamb could feel his pulse beat faster.</p> + +<p>Then he spotted the dim backroom with the booths. And he went through it +to the Men's Room. And there was Louis the Goon—his little clay +pigeon—in one of the booths with a doll. She was red-haired by courtesy +of the local beauty parlor, cuddling up in a flashy little leopard fur +number. She looked like a dance-hall hostess from one of those joints +where everything goes so long as you keep time to the music.</p> + +<p>As Lamb passed, she was saying, "Now, Daddy—" That almost unbuttoned +Lamb. Daddy! On his way back, he noticed there were two others in the +backroom, a couple of men gnawing on pretzels over beers.</p> + +<p>He stepped back into the bar just in time. Three men had entered. They +headed straight for the rear. One of them shouldered Wilson Lamb from +his path as if he did not see him. The second one pulled out a cannon +and poked it at the bartender and told him to keep his britches on. Then +the other two were in the rear and letting go with their cannon.</p> + +<p>Slammed over against the bar, Lamb had a split-second glimpse of it. For +a moment, it almost seemed as if the damn fools were out after Engel. +One shot smashed the table lamp in the booth where he sat. Then the two +beer drinkers back in there were around and swapping it out with cannon +of their own with the newcomers.</p> + +<p>Lamb got out of there fast. He got across the street. He saw two men +dash out of a side entrance and into a dark sedan that roared away. He +did not see Louis the Goon get out. Then the howling prowl cars +converged on the scene. And there was an ambulance. It took one guy +away. Another guy, it didn't. Lamb worked his way up into the throng and +got a glimpse of the other guy getting stiff on the backroom floor. +Everybody else was lined up in the bar for questioning. Engel was not +among them. So Lamb knew he must have gotten away all right.</p> + +<p>"This is some more of that numbers racket war," a gray-haired sergeant +said. And then Lamb began to taste something like panic even as the +first neon signs began to smear the wintry shadows. He got afraid he +might lose his little clay pigeon. Louis the Goon seemed to have a +blind genius for getting on the scene when some blood-letting was due. +He felt a certain possessiveness toward Louis. Louis belonged to him. +And he wasn't going to have him chopped down by any piece of stray lead. +Lamb had a bullet ear-marked for Louis.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He said, "I've been wasting time." He got on the shuttle and over to the +West side and up to 96th and across the street from where Louis lived. +Well, where Louis used to live, anyway. He was there just twenty +minutes—it was 4:43 by his wristwatch—when Louis the Goon came down +from the corner. He couldn't make out his face at first but he knew him +by that square-set hat. Lamb eased away from the stairs of the +brownstone, humming "Come to Papa, come to Papa, come to Papa...." This +was it.</p> + +<p>The ultimate in the demonstration or the ego.... He told himself that as +he moved over the scabrous snow of the street.... The zenith in the +projection of the psyche.... Louis the Goon had his briefcase clutched +up under one arm instead of swinging.... The final triumph over the fear +trauma.... Louis was abreast of him, then passing by. Wilson Lamb +brought the automatic out from under his coat. He called, "Mr. Engel—" +And Louis the Goon turned and Lamb held it, wanting him to get a good +look at the heater, wanting to get a good look at him as he saw it.</p> + +<p>Engel had the briefcase open, unbuckled. He was bringing something out +of it swiftly, jerkily. It was a heater too. That wasn't in the script. +Louis the Goon was stepping out of role. But Lamb knew he had him anyway +and started to squeeze. He would squeeze three times on that trigger +and—</p> + +<p>Somebody else squeezed first. It was the man running from that parked +car down the street. Lamb got it in the side and then a red-hot finger +was probing down into his guts. A man stepped from the vestibule of one +of those brownstones and he squeezed and Wilson Lamb couldn't feel the +side of his head any more. Knew he would never feel it again. He was +down on one hand and one knee and his gun was gone. Some place in the +black haze seething around him. Like a hurt animal, half crawling, +knowing only the base instinct of self preservation, he tried for that +delivery alleyway.</p> + +<p>Somebody else had figured that was a good spot too. It was the man with +the bluish cheek scar who had accosted him after the triple-killing in +that office building. He squeezed. And Lamb took that one square on the +chest. In a vague way, as the sidewalk slid up at him, he was aware of +that car back-firing away like hell.</p> + +<p>The man with the blue scar was standing over him, throwing words to +Louis the Goon in a quick, harsh whisper. "This is the one, Whisper. He +come in here with you Wednesday. He was on the spot when you give it to +them boys in Girra's office, yesterday. Today, he was in that bar when +they tried to get you. The Flasher said to stick close to you—an' him."</p> + +<p>"Girra's finger man, eh?" called back Engel softly.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, Whisper." The blue-scarred man ran. In a moment, a car roared off +down the block toward West End Avenue.</p> + +<p>Lying there on the sidewalk, blasted for keeps, his wagon fixed, Wilson +Lamb tried to put it together. Things moved very slowly for him. +Whisper. Whisper Ross, Chi torpedo. Then he had it. Whisper Ross was +Louis the Goon Engel. Hired killer of Joe The Flasher Abadirro. The guy +he, Wilson Lamb, had fingered for an exposition of his ego.</p> + +<p>Down the sidewalk, little Mr. Louis Engel, alias Whisper Ross, stood +looking at the body and going "Tsk! Tsk!" through pursed lips. Wilson +Lamb's ego died a horrible death seventeen seconds before he did.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ONE_HUNDRED_BUCKS_PER_STIFF" id="ONE_HUNDRED_BUCKS_PER_STIFF"></a>ONE HUNDRED BUCKS PER STIFF</h2> + +<h3>by J. LLOYD CONRICH</h3> + +<p class="sidenote">Mr. Peck was dead ... the papers said so. Yet Mr. Peck performed +his own autopsy and saved eight men from death!]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>"There's a guy outside wants to see you, Chief," Charlie Ward's assistant +announced through the door.</p> + +<p>"What's he want, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Says his business is confidential and urgent. Wouldn't +say what. Looks harmless though, in spite of he drove up in a Rolls +Royce with a chauffeur."</p> + +<p>"Well, send him in."</p> + +<p>Ward busied himself with a sheaf of morning mail and miscellaneous +police circulars. Presently a small, immaculate looking individual with +an apologetic, breathless air entered the room and approached the desk +timidly. Silently, without even so much as a nod, he laid a newspaper +clipping before the Chief of Police. Adjusting his glasses, Ward reached +for the item and glanced through it hastily:</p> + +<blockquote><p class="center">MAN KILLED AT EL GATOS GRADE CROSSING</p> + +<p>El Gatos, November 1. The decapitated body of a man tentatively +identified as J. Peter Peck, address unknown, was discovered by a +company track walker early this morning on the South West Pacific +grade crossing half a mile south of the town of El Gatos. Local +police believe that the man was killed some time after midnight, +possibly by the San Francisco milk train. Identification was +established by a wallet containing papers of the deceased.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Ward laid the clipping on his desk, rolled a bulbous wad of chewing +tobacco into one cheek and expelled it into a spitoon some ten feet away +with a resounding plunk. Wiping his chin inexpertly with the back of a +grizzled hand, he looked up and eyed his visitor interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"I clipped it from last night's <i>San Francisco Bulletin</i>," the latter +explained quietly. "I drove practically all night so as to be here this +morning."</p> + +<p>"You're a relative?"</p> + +<p>The stranger smiled weakly and placed a pair of painfully thin hands on +the desk as though to steady himself.</p> + +<p>"Well, no, not exactly; that is, somewhat," he answered obscurely.</p> + +<p>Charlie Ward eyed the little man curiously. "Come again, please?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's this way," slipping nervously to the very edge of a +convenient chair. "There appears to have been a slight error made. The +clipping is somewhat inaccurate."</p> + +<p>"Sure. Half the stuff you see in the papers these days is cockeyed. Them +guys never get anything straight. I always tell my wife you gotta +believe only ten per cent of what you read and doubt that."</p> + +<p>The stranger smiled thinly. "Precisely. Now the real truth of the matter +in this particular case is that <i>I</i> happen to be J. Peter Peck and, to +the best of my knowledge, I'm not dead. In fact I'd take issue with +anyone who questioned the fact. I therefore feel that the report has +been exaggerated; just a tiny bit, at least." He paused for breath. "I +thought you'd like to know."</p> + +<p>Ward arched his brows and smiled calmly. As a veteran police officer, he +was used to surprises. "Well, now that's one for the book, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Rather."</p> + +<p>"So, if you're the guy that's supposed to be downstairs on ice," Ward +supplemented, fumbling in a drawer of his desk, "how come we find this +here wallet with your name all over the papers inside on him?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck glanced at the wallet.</p> + +<p>"Very easily explained," he answered. "I was held up last Monday evening +in San Francisco. The wallet and the papers it contains were among the +things taken from me. Incidentally, there were several thousands of +dollars in the wallet when I last saw it."</p> + +<p>Ward whistled softly. "How much?"</p> + +<p>"About twenty-four hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>"That's a lot of dollars."</p> + +<p>"It would keep a man in cigars for a day or two."</p> + +<p>"And this guy, after he stuck you up," Ward reasoned, "left Frisco and +come North where he had the bad luck to meet with an accident."</p> + +<p>"Precisely."</p> + +<p>"What'd he look like?"</p> + +<p>"There were two of them. One had red hair and his left ear was missing. +The other was short; about my size, I would say; rather thin, with a +small, black, straggly mustache and swarthy skin. I should judge he were +either an Italian or possibly a Spaniard."</p> + +<p>"The second one fits the guy on ice. Want to take a squint at him?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck jumped to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I'd be delighted," he said with what sounded to Charlie Ward like +unwarranted glee.</p> + +<p>Ward picked up a flask of corn whiskey and slipped it into his hip +pocket.</p> + +<p>"I warn you," he cautioned as he rose, "this guy's pretty much worked +over in spots. A train went through him you know. Some people get goose +pimples looking at them kind of things."</p> + +<p>"I'll risk it."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The pair left the office and descended a flight of steps. At the end of +a dark corridor, Ward led the way into a basement room. Upon one of two +marble slabs in the center of the room, lay a sheeted corpse. Ward +pulled the shroud back, revealing a horribly mangled body. Mr. Peck +leaned over the corpse, revealing none of the repulsion that Ward was +sure he would exhibit.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's unquestionably one of the men who held me up," the little +man said quietly. "I'd know that face anywhere, what there is left of +it. Er—seems to be quite dead, doesn't he?" he added wryly.</p> + +<p>"Quite," Ward mimicked, wondering at the same time what strange complex +could cause a man of Mr. Peck's evident refinement and good breeding to +jest under such circumstances.</p> + +<p>The little man leaned over the corpse again.</p> + +<p>"Odd marks on his face, aren't they?" he observed.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Ward seemed startled.</p> + +<p>"I said those were odd marks on his face," Mr. Peck repeated.</p> + +<p>Ward's face clouded and he stepped closer to Mr. Peck.</p> + +<p>"It's funny you should notice them red blotches, Mr. Peck," he said. "I +been kind of wondering about them myself."</p> + +<p>The two men eyed one another for a moment of tense silence, and marked +suspicion.</p> + +<p>"Why?" Mr. Peck asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>Ward scanned the little man's face with an air of uncertainty.</p> + +<p>"Er—do them marks mean anything to you?" he finally asked, his voice +tinged with caution.</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck made no immediate answer, but turned and leaned closer to the +corpse, examining the faint red blotches on the cheeks with more care +than he had at first taken.</p> + +<p>"To the casual observer, that is, to the layman," he said, removing his +glasses and facing Ward, "it might appear that the deceased was +suffering from a mild case of measles"—he paused, glanced at the corpse +again, then turned once more to Ward—"but to the trained eye, I would +say that this man has received a shot of xetholine caniopus into his +system."</p> + +<p>"A shot of what?"</p> + +<p>"The name means little. Xetholine caniopus is a drug; not rare, not +common, but violently poisonous. Contact, even to the lips or to a +flesh abrasion will bring about practically instantaneous paralysis of +the cardia." The little man blinked. "Er—the heart, I refer to. +Xetholine invariably leaves its mark, as you perceive, in the form of +faint red blotches on the cheeks." He thumbed in the direction of the +corpse. "Putting the diagnosis into simpler words, this man has been +poisoned. He died from the effects of the poison as is indicated by the +slight carmine tinge to the blood. The effect of this poison on the +blood stream is similar to that caused by asphyxiation by coal gas or a +similar substance, only not quite so brilliantly red. If this man had +died as a direct result of injuries received by the train passing over +his body, the blood would be darker, almost purple. Offhand, I would say +that the train passed over his body some several hours after his death. +Depending upon the determination as to whether the poison was self +administered or otherwise, will settle the question as to whether you +have a suicide or a murder case on your hands."</p> + +<p>Ward stared into the little man's eyes in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Say," he interrupted, "who are you, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck smiled benevolently.</p> + +<p>"My name," he explained, "you already know. I happen to be deeply +interested in criminology. It's been an avocation of mine for many +years. My specialty is toxicology. I...."</p> + +<p>"Tox—tox...?"</p> + +<p>"Toxicology; the study of poisons. The circumstances of this particular +case are unusually close to home and I feel a personal interest." He +paused and peered into Ward's face hesitantly and then added in a voice +that half pleaded and half apologized—"I—could I—would you allow me +to—er—work with you in this matter, Mr. Ward? I'd expect no pay, of +course," he hastened to add, "and I can assure you that my efforts will +be sincere and my intentions entirely honorable. My only interest is in +clearing up the matter, or at least attempting to do so, for +the—well—the fun of doing it."</p> + +<p>"Some fun, all right," Ward observed wryly. "But, at that price, the +County can't lose much. You're hired."</p> + +<p>"That's fine," Mr. Peck enthused, his eyes shining brilliantly. He +rubbed his palms together briskly. "I can't tell you how deeply grateful +I really am."</p> + +<p>"Okay, Mr. Peck," with a shade of doubt. "It's your funeral. The paper +says so."</p> + +<p>"Now first, I must make a test to satisfy myself that xetholine caniopus +was the actual cause of death. There are a few things I'll need; a +glass, an ordinary water glass will do, a small quantity of commercial +alcohol and a bit of lime water. My chauffeur will get the latter two, +if you'll supply the glass. Please notify him."</p> + +<p>Ward hesitated, as though doubtful about leaving this unusual person +alone in the morgue, but finally assented.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later he reappeared with the glass, followed almost +directly by the chauffeur with the alcohol and lime water.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Christian," Mr. Peck said in the chauffeur's direction. "You +may wait in the car."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ward's eyes followed the chauffeur as he left the room.</p> + +<p>"He's a big guy all right," he observed, thumbing toward the vanishing +driver. "Sure must have et his mush every morning when he was a little +boy. Looks like he's about six foot six."</p> + +<p>"Six, six and one-eighth in his stocking feet, to be exact," Mr. Peck +corrected. "Before meals he weighs two eighty-eight; after meals two +ninety-eight."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't want to run into him on a dark night."</p> + +<p>"Hardly," Mr. Peck agreed. "When he first came to me, he applied for the +position which he now holds under the name of Mike Dennis and explained +that he generally answered to the intimate and thoroughly quaint +cognomen of 'Butch.' But I changed that to Christian. Of course 'Butch' +is more in keeping, but I do believe that Christian adds to his dignity +in spite of his ears. Don't you think so?" Ward grunted vaguely. "I have +it on good authority that he put Mr. Dempsey to sleep one evening about +fifteen years ago in an amateur boxing meet." Mr. Peck's eyes sparkled +as he glanced up from his work for a moment. "Unfortunately, I happen to +be worth several million dollars. There have been two attempts to abduct +me. Christian makes an excellent body guard as well as chauffeur. Not +much intellect, but most conscientious and as faithful as an old watch +dog. I've had him with me twenty-two months now and to date he's uttered +not more than twenty-two words; except, of course, when I speak with +him. A handy person to have about; most handy."</p> + +<p>By now Mr. Peck had sterilized the glass with the alcohol and was +prepared to make his test.</p> + +<p>"In the glass," he explained, holding the object toward the light, "I +have poured some lime water. By blowing one's breath into the liquid, +through a common cigarette holder, the lime water becomes a milky white; +thusly," and he suited the action to the word. "The balance of the test +is quite simple. Several drops of the deceased's coagulated blood are +now added to the water. As you see, there is no change. In a moment, I +will add a little alcohol. If the lime water clears and becomes +colorless again, and shows indication of a volatile oil on the surface, +you may rest assured that xetholine caniopus exists in the blood stream. +Although the test is simple, the chemical reaction is rather involved, +being a combination and then a dissemination of structural heraetixae +and third power phincus. I shall not, therefore, bother you with its +details. Suffice to say, the test is infallible and conclusive."</p> + +<p>Ward scratched his head in hopeless perplexity and stared in mild +anticipation mingled with a great deal of skepticism as Mr. Peck poured +a small quantity of alcohol into the glass. Immediately, the liquid +became pure and colorless and the surface indicated a distinctly oily +film.</p> + +<p>"All of which bears me out," Mr. Peck said quietly, placing the glass on +the table. "This man has been poisoned. Our next step is to determine +whether the poison was self administered or otherwise. We...."</p> + +<p>"Just a minute, Mr. Peck," Ward interrupted, raising his hand. "There's +a couple of things here I ought to explain." Ward floundered for a +moment of hesitancy. "You see, it's this way. For about twenty years, +now, about twelve people a year have died in this here town; one a +month; that's the average."</p> + +<p>"Yes; yes?" Mr. Peck interjected interestedly.</p> + +<p>"But in the last month, eleven people have turned in their rain checks. +This guy's the twelfth."</p> + +<p>"Which more or less upsets the law of averages."</p> + +<p>"That's just what I'm getting at. But what's worse, is that ten out of +these twelve met with deaths from accidents of one kind or another."</p> + +<p>"Just how do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well, this guy, for instance," motioning toward the slab, "was bumped +by a train. The rest met with other accidents ranging all the way from +hit and run, down the line to falling off hay lofts and being kicked in +the head by a mule. Nobody seen any of the accidents, but the evidence +was such that you couldn't help see what happened. For instance, the guy +that was kicked by a mule, he had a hoof mark on his head and his mule +had a bloody hoof. The hit-run guy, we found in the middle of the high +way."</p> + +<p>"Coincidence. Accidents almost invariably occur in threes or fours."</p> + +<p>"Sure; threes and fours, but not tens and twelves. But there's something +else."</p> + +<p>"... yes?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Charlie Ward moved a little closer and glanced behind him as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Of the ten who met with accidents," he said, "nine had these red marks +on their cheeks."</p> + +<p>"Excellent! Gorgeous!" Mr. Peck enthused through grinning lips. "A +multiple murder! Nothing could be clearer or more fortunate!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you may be tickled, Mr. Peck, but I ain't. Several of the victims +were close friends of mine."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck's attitude changed at once.</p> + +<p>"I'm deeply sorry, Mr. Ward," he apologized. "My enthusiasm carried me +away for the moment. Please proceed."</p> + +<p>Ward nodded and went on. "At first I didn't think very much about these +blotches, but when this guy was brought in this morning, I began to get +kind of nervous. As a matter of fact, I was just going to phone Frisco +for help when you come in."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck nodded and smacked his lips thoughtfully. He removed his +glasses and wiped them slowly and carefully, polishing each lens with +meticulous care.</p> + +<p>"You of course have a coroner or medical examiner of some kind," he +finally said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure. Old Doc Kraus handles the cases for the whole county when +they come up. There ain't enough to keep him on full time, but we send +for him whenever we need him. He makes the examination and runs the +inquest."</p> + +<p>"What did he think about the red blotches on the faces of the nine +corpses?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. To tell you the truth I never thought enough about them to +bring it up.</p> + +<p>"And he's never mentioned it to you."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I can't possibly conceive of anyone missing them."</p> + +<p>"The Doc's getting pretty old," Ward explained. "He don't see so good. +We been trying to get a younger saw-bones for a long time, but nobody +had the guts to tell him he was fired, I guess. He was born here; lived +here for seventy-two years. He's a nice enough old guy. Matter of fact, +everybody sort of looks up to him as the town granddad. He's a kindly +old duffer; always doing things for folks and going out of his way to +help a neighbor and things like that. I'll send for him and ask him if +he noticed the marks and what he thinks about them."</p> + +<p>"No, I'd prefer it if you didn't. For the present, let's work quietly. +As far as I'm concerned, everybody's under suspicion and any word +getting out that we're working on the case might spoil things."</p> + +<p>"Old Doc Kraus under suspicion!" Ward scoffed with a loud guffaw. "Say, +that's rich. Why, I'd trust him ahead of my own Dad and that's saying a +lot. Why he brought me into this world forty-two years ago. Used to +spank me when I was a kid and needed one. Why...."</p> + +<p>"I did not say I suspected Doctor Kraus," Mr. Peck interrupted. "I +merely inferred that everybody was under suspicion until we begin to +find something definite to go on. The reasons, I believe, are obvious."</p> + +<p>"I get you Mr. Peck."</p> + +<p>"Now then, the inquest has been performed in this last case?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; early this morning; just before you got here. They handed down a +verdict of accidental death."</p> + +<p>"Have you made any attempts to identity the corpse?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. We figured it was you on account of the papers. We been +trying to trace you through the Frisco police. So far no information has +come in."</p> + +<p>"That's quite possible. I lead a very quiet life; live at a bachelor +club and am not listed either in the phone book or the City Directory."</p> + +<p>"I sent finger prints to the Frisco Police. If this guy's got a record, +we'll know who he is pretty quick."</p> + +<p>"That's fine."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck stood for a moment with a thoughtful finger to his lips.</p> + +<p>"I think we'll visit the spot where the body was discovered," he decided +abruptly. "We can go in my car."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ten minutes later, J. Peter Peck, accompanied by Charlie Ward and +followed by Christian, stepped from the machine at a point opposite the +spot where the body had been found.</p> + +<p>"A machine has stopped here at the side of the road quite recently," Mr. +Peck offered, pointing to the tire marks in the dust. "The occupant, as +is indicated by those very clear foot prints, stepped from the car, +crossed the ditch and walked to the railroad tracks. He was a heavy man, +at that, or at least he has big feet. And they turn out more than the +feet of the average person."</p> + +<p>Charlie Ward nodded agreement.</p> + +<p>"Now if you'll look closely," Mr. Peck went on, "you will observe that +there are two sets of foot prints; one coming and one going. The return +prints, significantly, are not as clear as those that go to the tracks, +indicating that he was carrying a load to the tracks, but did not return +with it." He glanced at Ward for a moment, then added, "It is pretty +obvious what that load was. All of which gives us practically undeniable +proof that a murder was committed. The deceased died of poison. We have +definitely established that point. And his body was placed upon the +tracks to conceal the fact; or to attempt to do so. If the deceased had +walked to the tracks himself, which of course he didn't because these +are not his foot prints, there obviously would be no return prints. Dead +men, especially decapitated dead men, seldom, if ever, retrace their +steps." He paused for a moment of conjecture. "We'll take plaster casts +of the foot prints as well as the tire marks. Will you attend to that +Christian? I believe you'll find sufficient plaster of Paris in the tool +compartment."</p> + +<p>Christian set to work and Mr. Peck and Ward retreated to the machine. +When Christian had completed his work, the trio returned to +headquarters, Mr. Peck leaving again to "do a little thinking."</p> + +<p>Two hours later, Mr. Peck entered Charlie Ward's office again and eased +himself into a chair.</p> + +<p>"I have an idea," he informed Ward, "that the apprehension of the +murderer is but a matter of moments. As a matter of fact, I can put my +finger on him in ten minutes should I care to."</p> + +<p>"You can put your finger on him right this minute if you want to," Ward +supplemented, taking his feet off the desk and flipping a cigarette butt +through the window.</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>Ward unlocked a drawer in his desk and drew out a tin box from which he +produced a thickly padded envelope.</p> + +<p>"I been doing a little scientific snooping myself," he announced with a +proud ear to ear grin.</p> + +<p>"That's extremely gratifying."</p> + +<p>Ward thumbed toward a cigar butt in an ash tray.</p> + +<p>"That," he said, "is what's left of a cigar you give me this morning. It +gives off a pretty thick aroma."</p> + +<p>"It ought to. They cost me a dollar each."</p> + +<p>"Just take a whiff of this," Ward said, handing the envelope to Mr. +Peck.</p> + +<p>The latter smelled cautiously. "Why, it smells like my cigars."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. Now take a squint in the envelope."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck opened the envelope and extracted a sheaf of currency.</p> + +<p>"There's about twenty-four grand there," Ward offered.</p> + +<p>"All of which is mine. It's the money that was taken from me when I was +held up. I had the wallet and several of the cigars in the same pocket. +The currency evidently became impregnated with the odor of the cigars. +Where did you get it?"</p> + +<p>Ward shuffled leisurely through some papers, finally producing a +telegram.</p> + +<p>"This wire," he said, flourishing the message with an extravagant +gesture, "come in from the Frisco police while you were out. It says the +guy downstairs on ice is Dominic Diaz. He was a guest at San Quentin up +to four days ago where he was serving ten to fifty years for some +mistakes he made when he was younger." Mr. Peck nodded interestedly. "It +also says that when he so rudely walked off the premises without +stopping to say goodbye, he was with a red headed monkey, minus one ear, +that answers to the name of Mike McSweeney."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>"Mr. McSweeney had the bad taste to try to stick up our local drug +emporium about half an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"And he is now incarcerated in your bastille."</p> + +<p>"Right. And he had your dough on him."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ward sat back in his swivel chair, hooked his thumbs into the arm holes +of his vest and beamed. "Well, I guess that makes it pretty clear. Eh, +Mr. Peck? Diaz, the dead pigeon, and this guy McSweeney take it on the +lam from the big house. They sticks you up, then blow North and land +here. They're going to split, but McSweeney's a pig. He wants the works. +So what does he do? He croaks his pal." Ward cocked his head and +extended his hands, palms outward. "Okay?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck scratched his chin thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Well, fairly so," he answered without enthusiasm. "But before I say +<i>how</i> clear, I'd like to see this McSweeney person."</p> + +<p>A moment later a very sullen and defiant Mike McSweeney was ushered into +the room.</p> + +<p>"Turn around slowly," Mr. Peck ordered.</p> + +<p>The man sulked, but with a little persuasion, he finally did as he was +told.</p> + +<p>"Now take your shoes off."</p> + +<p>"Say, what is this, a racket?" the prisoner snarled.</p> + +<p>"That will be all," Mr. Peck murmured after a hasty inspection of +McSweeney's feet. "You may return him to his cell. And unless you care +to have him prosecuted for his attempted robbery of the drug store, you +may just as well notify the Warden at San Quentin to come up and get +him. His list of crimes, I am sorry to say, Ward, does not include the +murder of Dominic Diaz."</p> + +<p>"Why—why it's as plain as the nose on your face," Ward spluttered as +McSweeney was led from the room. "The cigar smelling currency...."</p> + +<p>"You've tried hard," Mr. Peck interrupted, "very hard, in fact. Your +efforts are indeed commendable and I do say that your deductions are +plausible, but the fact remains that McSweeney is not the man we are +looking for."</p> + +<p>"Well, couldn't have McSweeney poisoned him and then thrown his body on +the tracks?"</p> + +<p>"He could have," Mr. Peck conceded, "but there would be no object in +attempting to conceal his method of killing his confederate. Besides he +is not mentally equipped to think of such things. Offhand, I'd say that +his I. Q. is that of an eight year old boy. Remember also, that we are +looking for a man—or possibly a woman—who has killed <i>several</i> persons +within the past thirty days, using the same method; that of the +injection of xetholine caniopus. McSweeney couldn't have killed any of +the others, for the very simple reason that he has been behind bars up +to four days ago."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck raised his hand to silence Ward. "In addition, Mr. Ward, please +remember that I have a motor car full of foot print casts. Even in his +bare feet, which you saw with your own eyes, he'd overlap those prints a +half inch all around. That's why I had his shoes removed. Also, you +recall that the man who carried Diaz's body to the railroad tracks +possessed feet that pointed outward. McSweeney is decidedly pigeon +toed." Mr. Peck raised <i>his</i> hands, palms upward, and then dropped them +to his chubby knees with a sharp slap. "Now how clear does your case +appear?"</p> + +<p>Ward grunted and stared out of the window.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand, Mr. Ward, as I before stated and now repeat, I can +put my finger on the murderer within ten minutes, should I care to."</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you later. There are one or two points I must clear up before +I order the arrest. I'd like to drop in and have a talk with Doctor +Kraus first. I believe he can furnish what little information I +require."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"This is Mr. Peck, Doctor Kraus," Ward said as the pair entered the +doctor's study ten minutes later.</p> + +<p>"It's a pleasure," Mr. Peck conceded coolly. He drew a newspaper +clipping from his pocket and handed it to Doctor Kraus. "To settle an +argument, would you read this and give me your opinion?"</p> + +<p>The doctor read the clipping through hastily.</p> + +<p>"Why trepanning is nothing new," he scoffed. "The ancient Egyptians +practiced it successfully five thousand years ago. They...."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," Mr. Peck interrupted sharply. "I don't care a rap if the +practice is new or old." He glanced sharply at Ward, who stood gaping in +astonishment, then back at the doctor. "The point is, Doctor Kraus, how +does it happen that you are able to read fine news print and yet, while +performing autopsies on nine different corpses, you missed the fact that +each of those persons had died from a shot of xetholine caniopus as was +clearly indicated by the red blotches on the face of each individual +victim?"</p> + +<p>Doctor Kraus stiffened and stared at his inquisitor with cold precision.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't quite follow you, Mr. Peck," he said smoothly.</p> + +<p>"That likewise makes little difference. I also note that your toes point +out considerably more than the toes of the average person."</p> + +<p>"Your remark, Mr. Peck, is not alone vague, but makes no sense; at least +not to me."</p> + +<p>Ward intervened with a snort.</p> + +<p>"You're crazy, Peck," he asserted heatedly. "I tell you I've known +Doctor Kraus all my life. I'll vouch for him. I...."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peck silenced Ward with an impatient gesture. Then turning again to +Doctor Kraus, he said slowly and clearly, enunciating each word with +care and precision. "There has been a murder committed, Doctor Kraus. As +a matter of fact, there have been several murders, but I refer to one in +particular; that of one Dominic Diaz, an escaped convict. Diaz died from +xetholine caniopus poisoning. Later, his body was placed on the railroad +tracks to make it appear that he had been killed by a train and to +conceal the fact that he had been poisoned."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am aware of the incident," Doctor Kraus answered evenly. "I +performed the autopsy. But...."</p> + +<p>"And you also murdered this man, Doctor Kraus!" Mr. Peck glared into the +doctor's eyes as he shot the accusation.</p> + +<p>The old man sucked in a great breath and fell back a step and Ward saw, +to his deep consternation, that the kindly light that had shown in +Doctor Kraus's eyes for many a year, was no longer there.</p> + +<p>"The tire marks that we found on the road near the scene of the train +accident, Doctor Kraus," Mr. Peck continued, "were made by your car. In +addition, Doctor Kraus, the poison was administered most carefully and +professionally with a hypodermic needle. Only a physician, or one +skilled in the use of such an instrument could so inject a poison as +delicate and as deadly as xetholine caniopus. Obviously, because of the +fact that you yourself were the autopsy surgeon, and because no other +person in the County is familiar with such matters, you estimated your +chances of detection as being extremely small. But...." Mr. Peck +hesitated for a split fraction of a second. "Drop that!" he shouted, +pouncing upon the aged physician and slapping a small glass vial from +his hand.</p> + +<p>But his action was just an instant too late, for the next moment, the +old man slumped to the floor. Through eyes already dimmed by the instant +action of the deadly poison, he peered up at Ward.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm sorry, Charlie," he breathed softly as Ward dropped to his side. +"After all these years, I—I've brought disgrace to—to our midst."</p> + +<p>Ward, panic stricken and terrified, looked up at Mr. Peck, who stood +frowning down at the pair.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing we can do, Ward," he said quietly. "Look closely. The +red blotches are already forming on his cheeks. Just hold him another +ten seconds."</p> + +<p>Presently Ward settled the body of the old man back to the floor. Then +he rose and faced Mr. Peck.</p> + +<p>"I can't believe it," he murmured, looking away. "I just can't believe +it. I can't see why he should have done it. There wasn't any reason for +it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but there was a reason for it," Mr. Peck asserted confidently. +"Through various channels, I discovered this morning that Doctor Kraus +was deeply involved financially. His circumstances were desperate. It +was vitally important that he raise two thousand dollars at once."</p> + +<p>"But I can't see how his killing anybody could have brought him any +money. He...."</p> + +<p>"You forget, Mr. Ward," Mr. Peck elucidated with a wry smile, "that +Doctor Kraus was not a permanent employee of the County. He was +retained, as needed, to perform an autopsy and preside at the inquest. +For these services, he was paid at the rate of one hundred dollars a +case. Twelve inquests at one hundred each, comes to twelve hundred +dollars; or at least it did when I studied mathematics as a small boy. +Now, Mr. Ward, is the motive clear?"</p> + +<p>Ward nodded.</p> + +<p>"The doctor needed eight hundred dollars more," Mr. Peck concluded. "But +for a strange set of circumstances which brought me here, you, Mr. Ward, +might have been his next victim."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DEATH_IS_DEAF" id="DEATH_IS_DEAF"></a>DEATH IS DEAF</h2> + +<h3>by CLIFF CAMPBELL</h3> + +<p class="sidenote">Big Sid couldn't understand it, and he was a smart monkey. He had +cased this job himself, personal. Had cooked up the scheme for +pulling it off and spent a good two weeks laying the groundwork. +Yet, here he was locked up in the county jail with the hot squat +waiting to claim him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus5.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>Big Sid couldn't understand it. And he was a smart monkey. He had cased +this job himself personal. Had cooked up the scheme for pulling it off. +Had spent a good two weeks laying the groundwork. Nobody yet had ever +called Big Sid Cloras a dummy either. Yet here he was locked up in their +tin-can of a jail, as good as a dead duck. He couldn't understand it.</p> + +<p>It couldn't be. Not for him, Big Sid. Yet the bars of that cell door +were chrome steel, not papier mache. And those birds chatting down the +hall were local coppers with a couple of men from the County Homicide +Squad. And an escort of State Troopers were en route to take him over to +the real clink at the county seat. It couldn't happen to him, Big Sid. +But it had. And it was going to be for murder, maybe.</p> + +<p>"Sid ... Sid," said Johnny the Itch almost reverently. He always +addressed Big Sid that way. He said, "Sid, I think maybe I got something +figured. But—but how did it happen, Sid?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, shut up," said Big Sid with a disgusted glance over his thick +shoulder. He didn't bother really looking at him. Nobody much ever had +bothered looking at Johnny the Itch. He was one of those little +insignificant hangdog things with vacant eyes. Round-shouldered. The +kind they turn off the assembly line to hold up the fronts of pool +parlors. He had that twitching muscle in his right cheek. It made the +skin jerk and pull as if he were trying to get rid of an itch without +using his hand. He could do one thing. He could tool a heap like a +maniacal genius born with a steering wheel in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Shut up," Big Sid grunted his way again and walked past the bowl in the +corner of the cell. He was trying to figure this out. He stood there +winding the tail of his necktie around a big finger.</p> + +<p>Johnny the Itch pulled nervously at the wide-brimmed fedora jerked down +on his bony skull. "But, Sid, I think I got a way to—"</p> + +<p>Big Sid turned around, spat out his cigaret, heeled it into the +concrete. He didn't take his eyes off Johnny the Itch for a long moment. +They were big muddy eyes, protruding. When Big Sid looked at you that +way, a guy felt he was being measured for a casket. Big Sid could haul +off and belt your teeth down your throat with those tremendous arms of +his. And those eyes would never change.</p> + +<p>He really wasn't a tall or unusually large man, Big Sid. But he was +solid beef. That big belly that filled out a double-breasted drum-tight. +The massive shoulders that started minus courtesy of neck from right +beneath his double chin. The big, wide-nostrilled nose that gave him a +certain kind of heavy dignity. He exuded bigness.</p> + +<p>Johnny the Itch fingered away sweat that rolled down from under his +fedora and nodded obediently. He felt of the fedora gingerly as Big Sid +turned away. Big Sid was thinking and had to be let alone. When Big Sid +thought, it was real important. Later, he'd tell him.</p> + +<p>Big Sid sweated and listened to the buzz of voices from down the +corridor and tried not to believe he might have signed his own death +warrant. He put his hands on his broad hips, ignoring the bandaged wrist +where that copper's bullet had got him. He went back to the beginning.</p> + +<p>It had been such a sweet set-up. This dinky little whistle-stop of a +town. Duffyville. Over near the southwestern border of the state. With +its single bank, the Duffyville National. And that motor parts plant on +the outskirts with its heavy back-log of defense orders that had +compelled a doubling of its help. A consequent raise in its payroll, +too. And that payroll moved through the bank, naturally. Just a little +matter of something over $21,000 each week.</p> + +<p>"It's a shame to take it," he, Big Sid, had said in the beginning. Then +he had cased it thoroughly. And he had moved into town, openly and +aboveboard. Registered at the little hotel as one "Samuel Norris." Big +front with plenty of credentials and a neat black mustache which could +be shaved off easily enough later. Then he had walked right into that +bank and identified himself. Even opened up a small checking account. +"Just for ready cash, of course."</p> + +<p>That was the way he did things. Cool and nervy. Always thinking, +thinking ahead. He was a smart guy. Sure maybe you could grab that dough +by blasting your way with the heaters plenty. But that kind of stuff +only made you hot as hell, afterward. You had to keep lamming and maybe +you never got a chance to enjoy it. Big Sid wasn't dumb like that.</p> + +<p>His way, it had been a cinch to get the whole layout. How the payroll +cash was brought from up the line in an armored car to the bank before +opening time in the morning. And the company guards came down and picked +it up immediately after lunch for their auditing department. After +lunch!</p> + +<p>He had put his finger on that weak spot almost from the start. The quiet +lunch-hour in a sleepy little town. When two of the tellers and the bank +officers went home to eat the way they did in those hick burgs. That was +the time for the snatch.</p> + +<p>And even that was not to be done crudely. Not Big Sid's way. He was +pretty well known in the Duffyville National by then. Been dropping in +to confer with the vice-president about the local real estate situation. +It was so simple. A few hints dropped about the possible establishment +of a new branch plant ... of course, a man wasn't always free to mention +in advance whom he represented. And they'd have to get definite word +about the extension of a railroad siding for the lading purposes, too.</p> + +<p>Oh, it went over big. He knew how they did things in that bank. And he +made them feel they knew him. Which was very important. Especially that +teller down at the end window, Eckland. The one who stayed when the +others went out to eat at the noon hour. Eckland was sort of good +looking in a weak blond way. He studied accounting at night. "Samuel +Norris" said he might know of an opening for a bright young fellow +there. When he came up to the city, they'd have to get together. Least +he could do would be to show him around the hot spots some night. That +always made Eckland flush some; you could see he was the type who +dreamed of himself as a glamor boy, a killer-diller with the dames.</p> + +<p>And there was that fallen-arched Paddy who was the guard. Nice and +simple. An occasional cigar, a friendly slap on the back, did for him.</p> + +<p>So there she was. Perfect. The clincher was to get away without firing a +shot. Before there was a warning. No shooting and they would be miles +away before they stopped rubbing their eyes in that one water-tank burg. +Probably wouldn't have figured out exactly what had happened until some +time Saturday. The payroll came in on Friday.</p> + +<p>They scoured every main artery and side road and cart track for miles in +every direction, he and Johnny the Itch. They figured on cutoffs in case +of a chase and how they could double in their tracks. And the pass over +the mountain ridge that would take them across the state line. And about +forty miles down the line, on that abandoned farm, they located the old +barn where they would switch cars. They would hide the second heap in +the barn. Williams would take care of that. He was the trigger man. +Sonny Williams, cool as ice behind the business end of a Tommy gun.</p> + +<p>Now, Sonny Williams was—</p> + +<p>"Sid," Johnny the Itch said, watching the cell door nervously. He +couldn't keep the whimper out of his voice now. "Sid, time's getting +short. I—I think I got a way, a chance for us anyways. I got +something—" His whisper cracked and he made a faint gesture toward his +fedora as if he feared the walls had eyes as well as ears.</p> + +<p>He was scared as hell. It made Big Sid sick. The little rat didn't have +anything to be scared about. Not like he did. He glared at him. "I'm +thinking," he warned heavily.</p> + +<p>Johnny the Itch nodded so his under jaw jiggled. When a phone jangled +down the corridor, his eyes bugged right at the door. Then he couldn't +stand it any longer. "Look, Sid, how did it happen? You're smart. You +figured it all out and—" He half choked and had to dredge his voice up +out of his throat again. He took his hat carefully by both hands. "Look, +Sid, I got—"</p> + +<p>Big Sid took him by a bony shoulder and threw him. Back over the lower +bunk of the cell. Johnny's head bounced off the wall. One of the town +flatfoots came down and stared in, chewing gum methodically. He gave +barely a glance to Johnny the Itch. The latter crouched there, frozen, +hanging onto his hat as if it were a hunk of dynamite.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Lighting a fresh cigaret, Big Sid paid no attention to the copper. He +was thinking what to do. He pulled at a vest button and picked up the +thread again. She had been all set. He had given the office to Sonny +Williams. Williams had planted the second heap at the old barn and they +had picked him up and rolled into Duffyville. Right on the nose. At +12.08 according to his wrist watch. Dropped off Williams on that +residential street around the corner from the bank.</p> + +<p>Swung around the block. The timing was perfection. He, Big Sid, went up +the bank steps as Williams came along less than ten yards away. Williams +with that long bundle under his arm that looked like a florist's box. +The sub-machine gun was in that box.</p> + +<p>A local tradesman was just leaving the bank, nodded to "Mr. Norris." +Then he, Big Sid, was over dropping his left hand on that guard's arm, +asking affably for the vice-president. He had left for lunch, of course. +And Sid slid the automatic from his side pocket and tucked it in the +guard's side.</p> + +<p>"This is a stick-up, stupid.... Keep your pants on an' don't try to be a +hero. Now, pass me through!"</p> + +<p>The guard's lips fell loosely away from his plates. He twisted his eyes +over toward Williams. Williams was at a desk, the florist box lying in +front of him, scribbling on a deposit slip. But Williams knew what was +going on. The guard nodded his head on the fear-stiffened hinge of his +neck and looked down at Eckland in the far cage, the only teller on now. +The guard pointed toward the electrically controled door in the teller +cage partition that cut off the offices and vault from the customers' +side.</p> + +<p>Eckland was looking down, smiling at "Mr. Norris." Eckland nodded. He +pressed a button in his cage. The door down the line clicked. And he, +Big Sid, was through, inside. It went smooth as grease.</p> + +<p>Williams was over, the Tommy gun out. Had herded the guard into a corner +where he was hidden from the teller as well as any passersby. Behind the +partition, he, Big Sid, wasted only a single glance at the open vault. +That would have been the stupid move. He was too smart for that. He +moved swiftly down behind the empty cages toward Eckland's, walking on +his toes. His left foot hit a discarded paper bill binder and it +crackled and he pulled away from it so he struck one of those adding +machines on a portable carriage. It jolted and rattled loudly. But +Eckland did not look around.</p> + +<p>Then he was right behind him. Had the automatic snout poking through the +steel grille of the rear of the cage. Square at Eckland's back. Smack at +the belt of his pinchback coat. "This is a stick-up, Eckland," he said +quietly. "Don't try to be a hero—or I'll blow you outa your shoes!"</p> + +<p>There was no sign from Eckland. He stood motionless, writing hand poised +over a voucher.</p> + +<p>"Now you're showing sense," he congratulated Eckland. "Now back up easy +and unhook this—"</p> + +<p>There was a low whistle. That would be Williams. It meant a depositor +had come in. Williams had moved around to cover him with the Tommy gun. +And that meant Eckland could see him and the gun now. Eckland's jaw +unhinged and the pencil slid from his limp hand and fell to the floor. +He peered forward, making gagging sounds.</p> + +<p>"I told you this was a stick-up," he, Big Sid, told him, speaking louder +now. "I got a gun on your back! Make a move for that alarm and I'll give +it to you! I'm not fooling, Eckland!"</p> + +<p>There was a long second ticking off into eternity. That Eckland almost +acted as if he didn't hear. His head never even started to twitch toward +the rear. One of his hands clawed at the counter in front of him. Then +he was moving. His right leg. Shakily but purposefully. Toward that +pedal that sounded the hold-up alarm, flashing it right to local police +headquarters.</p> + +<p>"Eckland, I'll kill—" But Eckland's foot never halted. And he, Big +Sid, let him have it in the back. Twice point-blank.</p> + +<p>But even as he tumbled, buckling forward in the middle, twisting with +agony, Eckland's foot found the pedal, punched it. The damage was done. +The bank resounded with the strident clamor of the gong. And Big Sid +knew its twin was galvanizing them down at police headquarters.</p> + +<p>He ran for it. Was moving even before the teller's slumping body hit the +floor. Got through the partition door; he had even thought to block the +snap-lock with a paper wad. Williams was out, going down the steps. The +Tommy began to chatter. Then it was clattering down on the sidewalk, +Williams crumpling over it with two slugs in his body. That cop coming +out of the hardware store down the block happened to be a crack shot.</p> + +<p>He, Big Sid, had sent him scurrying back with one well-aimed slug +though. Then headed for the car parked down beyond the "No Parking" zone +directly in front of the bank. He always believed in keeping the law +when nothing was to be gained in breaking it. He was smart that way.</p> + +<p>It was the cop running from across the street who got him in the wrist +and made him lose the automatic. A lucky shot. Still, he might have made +it. He got the car between them. He was almost at it, lunging for that +open front door on the curb side. Johnny the Itch was quaking in there +behind the wheel, hands up at his ears, yapping, "Cripes, I give up—I +give up!"</p> + +<p>Big Sid had always known how yellow Johnny was. That didn't bother him. +He could take care of him when he got inside, got to that stubby .38 he +had slipped into the glove compartment just in case. But he never got to +it. That police car, roaring up from behind, siren a-scream, smashed +into the tail end of their job. Jolted it ahead savagely. And with one +foot on the running board, he was slammed to the ground hard, rolling +his head against a tree. Then they had him. Him and Johnny the Itch. +Only Johnny didn't count.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Big Sid shook his head. He still couldn't figure how it had happened. It +was crazy, that guy, Eckland, committing suicide like that. Something +had gone wrong but—</p> + +<p>Johnny the Itch crept closer across the cell to Big Sid, shooting +nervous glances toward the door. He admired Big Sid tremendously. Big +Sid was so plenty smart, not a dumb cluck like him. He didn't blame Big +Sid for what had happened. It <i>couldn't</i> be his fault; Big Sid never +made a mistake. He could think.</p> + +<p>Maybe he had figured out what had gone wrong by now. He would ask him, +then tell him what he had. It was dangerous to interrupt him when he was +thinking. But time was growing short. And then when he knew, Big Sid +would figure out a way to use it. Johnny put a hand to his jammed-down +hat and spoke.</p> + +<p>"Sid, you got it figured how we was double-crossed maybe? What slipped? +I know <i>you</i> figured it right." His voice squeaked out of his throat. +"But—Sid, I got something you can figure on now, maybe. I got—"</p> + +<p>Big Sid whirled on him, one of his heavy hands sweeping. He batted +Johnny the Itch's fedora onto the side of his head. Johnny clutched at +it as if it might be a life preserver. He started: "Sid, I got a—"</p> + +<p>One of the County Homicide men came to the cell door. He plucked the +cold cigar from his mouth and nodded at Big Sid. "You're lucky, pal. The +hospital says Eckland the teller will pull through. If he hadn't, it +would have been first degree and the hot squat for you."</p> + +<p>Big Sid sneered. "Ah-h, that dumbhead, Eckland! He wanted to be a hero. +He was asking for it!" He spat disgustedly onto the floor. "If he'd had +any sense, he wouldn't have gone for the alarm. I told him I had a gun +in his back!"</p> + +<p>The Homicide man shook his head. "He never heard you."</p> + +<p>"But I was only two feet away! I told him twice an'—"</p> + +<p>"Eckland was stone deaf, chum," the Homicide man said.</p> + +<p>Big Sid's lips curled. As if somebody had tried to tell him a fairy +story. "Why, I talked to that chump many a time! I—"</p> + +<p>The Homicide man agreed on that one. "Yeah, facing him. So he could look +at you—and your lips. Eckland was a lip-reader. And—he was stone deaf, +Cloras."</p> + +<p>Big Sid swayed. He might have pulled it off if that guy hadn't been +deaf. Could have. He swore, raking his hair savagely. "I never figured +on that! I never figured—"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i>—you never figured that?" Johnny the Itch was on his feet when he +screamed. His splinter of jaw jerked out fiercely. "You—Big Sid—the +smart guy! You never figured—you—you was dumb?"</p> + +<p>But he couldn't seem to believe it. Then—he did.</p> + +<p>He jerked off his fedora, grabbing inside it. He came out with the +stubby .38 from the glove compartment. He had been able to slip it out +in the excitement after the capture. Nobody ever paid much attention to +Johnny the Itch. Any more than they had thought to look under his hat +when they searched him.</p> + +<p>He said it again to Big Sid. "You was dumb." Then he just kept +triggering until the gun was emptied and he had put five slugs fatally +into Big Sid's carcass.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THREE_GUESSES" id="THREE_GUESSES"></a>THREE GUESSES</h2> + +<h3>by DAVID GOODIS</h3> + +<p class="sidenote">Detective Frey came in and saw Duggin lying dead, and he figured +he'd go out and do big things. He went out and threw his weight +around. Doing big things? You figure that one out!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus6.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>It was one of those white stone places up in the east seventies. Plenty +of class, Frey thought as he walked up the steps. He turned and looked +at the guy waiting in the car. He shrugged, and the guy shrugged back.</p> + +<p>Frey was in his early thirties. He was five eight and he weighed 170 and +it was packed in like steel. He was a private dick and he was reckless. +It showed in his grey eyes and the glint in his carelessly combed light +brown hair and the set of his jawline. It showed in the thin grin of his +lips.</p> + +<p>His lips grinned like that as the door opened. A servant, a Jap.</p> + +<p>"Yes, please?"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to see Miss Rillette."</p> + +<p>"She busy."</p> + +<p>"Not too busy to see me," Frey said. "I'm coming in."</p> + +<p>Japs are either very tough or they are very timid, and the servant was +of the latter stamp. He stepped aside and Frey walked through a pale +orange room, then through a burnt orange room and then into another pale +orange room.</p> + +<p>"Nice place you've got here, Miss Rillette," Frey said.</p> + +<p>She was small and slim and even in the frock of a sculptress she looked +delicate and graceful. In one hand she held a chisel. In the other she +held a mallet. She was working on a chunk of marble and she had the +forehead and general scalp contours almost completed.</p> + +<p>When she turned around she showed a good looking set of features. She +had dark brown hair coming in bangs to the eyebrows, and her eyes were +gold-hazel. Her mouth was a little too wide, but still she was a good +looking girl. She was in her late twenties.</p> + +<p>"Just who are you and what is the meaning of this?" she said.</p> + +<p>"My name is Frey, and I'm a friend of Harry Duggin."</p> + +<p>"Is that so?" she said. "How is Harry?"</p> + +<p>"He's dead."</p> + +<p>She blinked a few times and then she said, "What happened—and when?"</p> + +<p>Frey said, "He was murdered—this morning. Knifed."</p> + +<p>She blinked a few more times and then she looked at the floor for a few +seconds. Frey was watching her and then he was glancing sideways to a +little jade box that held cigarettes. He took one up, eased a stray +safety match from his vest pocket, flicked it with his fingernail, and +lit up.</p> + +<p>He took a few deep drags and said, "I got an idea that you know +something, Miss Rillette."</p> + +<p>Her face showed no emotion as she said, "I thought you said you were a +friend of Harry's. You sound more like a detective."</p> + +<p>"That's right. Harry was a good friend of mine. We went to law school +together. He became a successful corporation lawyer and I starved for a +while and then I became a private detective. I lost touch with Harry for +a year or so and then last week he called me up and asked me to do a +favor for him. He asked me to follow you."</p> + +<p>She said, "Indeed?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. He must have been looking around for a private dick and +then he found out that I was in business and he asked me to follow you. +He said that in return for the favor he would give me one hundred and +fifty bucks. So you see, Miss Rillette, I have nothing against you +personally. I just have to make a living, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Why did he want you to follow me?"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to ask me that, Miss Rillette. You know the answer. In +fact, you know all the answers. I found that out through seven days of +following you."</p> + +<p>She blinked some more and then she reached out to the little jade box +and took a cigarette. Frey flicked one of his safety matches with his +fingernail and gave her a light.</p> + +<p>"What am I supposed to say?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>He knew he was going to have trouble with this girl.</p> + +<p>"You don't have to say anything. I'll write out a confession outline and +you sign it. If you want to, you can fill all the gaps. But what I want +most is a signed confession—"</p> + +<p>"What did you say you were?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"A private detective."</p> + +<p>"Beginner, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>That made him sort of sore. But he swallowed it and said, "Maybe, but +I'm not an amateur. I make a living out of this."</p> + +<p>She blinked and dragged half-heartedly at the cigarette and then she +turned and looked at the marble she was doing. She looked back at Frey +and her eyes were tired as she said, "How close did you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"Here's what you did," Frey said. "On Sunday you attended an exhibition +at the Wheye Galleries, up on 57th Street. From there you went to +Larry's, in the Village, where you had a dinner engagement with a man +named Lasseroe. From there this guy took you to a party at the +Vanderbilt. He went home alone. You stayed at the Vanderbilt. You stayed +there for five days, with your very good friend, Daisy Hennifer, the +jewelry designer. You had a few luncheon and dinner engagements with +Lasseroe. You went to a few shops with Daisy. Then early last night you +left the Vanderbilt and I lost you in Fifth Avenue traffic. I went back +to tell Harry about it and to get your home address, because in all the +days I'd been following you—well, you didn't once touch home. When I +got to Harry's apartment, his valet informed me that Harry was out for +the evening."</p> + +<p>"That's as far as you got?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly. I went to Harry's apartment again this morning. The valet came +to the door and told me that Mr. Duggin was sleeping. I explained that +it was certainly most important and I went in. But I couldn't wake +Harry up, because he was dead. I don't know why I'm telling you all +this. You know it already."</p> + +<p>"How did you get my home address?" She was still blinking a lot, but she +wasn't excited.</p> + +<p>"The valet gave it to me."</p> + +<p>"You told him—?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't tell him anything. I came out of the bedroom and told him that +Mr. Duggin was still sleeping. Then I asked him for your address. Maybe +he still thinks that Harry is asleep. Or maybe he's found out already +and the police are in on the case."</p> + +<p>She looked at the ceiling and then she looked at the floor and then she +looked at Frey and said, "Now let me understand this. You say that I +murdered Harry. You want me to sign a confession."</p> + +<p>"That's all there is to it," he said.</p> + +<p>"You're going to place yourself in a lot of difficulty, Mr. Frey," she +murmured. "I advise that you give this matter a little more thought +before you accuse anyone else—"</p> + +<p>"I'm not accusing anyone else," Frey said. "What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>She blinked and then she looked at her wrist watch and then she looked +at the marble. "I have a lot of work to finish before three thirty this +afternoon," she said. "Please go now."</p> + +<p>She turned, took up her mallet and chisel, and started to work on the +marble. She acted as if Frey had already walked out of the pale orange +room.</p> + +<p>He shrugged and walked out.</p> + +<p>The Jap servant followed him to the door. He said to the Jap, "Tell Miss +Rillette that I'll be back—after three thirty."</p> + +<p>He walked down the steps and stepped into the parked coupe.</p> + +<p>He turned the key in the ignition lock and said, "No go."</p> + +<p>"What happened?" this other guy said. This other guy was Mogin. He was +about as tall as Frey and he weighed a little over 200 pounds. He had +close-cropped blond hair and pretty blue eyes and he was a very tough +boy.</p> + +<p>"She don't know from nothing," Frey said. He took the car around the +corner and stepped on the gas.</p> + +<p>"What do we do now?" Mogin said.</p> + +<p>"Well, we could go to a double feature and kill the afternoon that way. +Or we could go up and visit this Lasseroe."</p> + +<p>Mogin shrugged.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was a new apartment house near Morningside Heights. It was elegant +and smooth and important.</p> + +<p>"Do I wait?" Mogin said.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you better come in with me."</p> + +<p>They went in and rang Lasseroe's number and he must have been expecting +somebody because he buzzed an answer right away and the door opened. +When Frey and Mogin stepped out of the elevator, Lasseroe was standing +at the door of his apartment and when he saw them he expected them to +walk right by. But they came up to him.</p> + +<p>He was a man of medium height and he had a good build for a man of +forty-five. He had a square, rigid-boned face, and deep-set dark grey +eyes, and a good head of black hair threaded with silver. He was wearing +a long collared silk shirt and an expensive cravat and an expensive silk +lounging robe.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Lasseroe," Frey said.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon—"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to beg anybody's pardon," Frey said. "All you have to do +is answer a few questions. If you don't mind we won't waste time out +here in the hall. We'll go into your room and talk."</p> + +<p>"I presume you are thieves?" Lasseroe said. He wasn't excited.</p> + +<p>"No, we ain't thieves and we don't like funny boys," Mogin said.</p> + +<p>Lasseroe walked into the apartment and Frey and Mogin followed.</p> + +<p>"Now, gentlemen?"</p> + +<p>"My name is Frey. This is my assistant, Mr. Mogin."</p> + +<p>Lasseroe ignored Mogin. He said, "What do you want with me?"</p> + +<p>Frey began to talk. He didn't look at Lasseroe. He looked out the window +and talked slowly, taking his time. He said, "You got a nice business, +Mr. Lasseroe. You are an expert appraiser of art, and you take good fees +from various dealers. Sometimes you hit healthy money. You check up on a +Rembrandt and you give your okay to a buyer and the dealer gives you a +sweet kick-back. It is all very legitimate and lucrative—"</p> + +<p>"What are you, a census taker?" Lasseroe said.</p> + +<p>"Quiet," Mogin toned.</p> + +<p>"A short time ago you figured out a few new angles," Frey said. "You +weren't doing so good on the old stuff and you reasoned that you might +be able to make up for the deficiency by a few transactions with the +modern boys and girls."</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by—"</p> + +<p>"Quiet," Mogin toned.</p> + +<p>"So here's what you did," Frey said. "You rounded up several of the more +snooty painters and sculptors—the artistic boys and girls who have a +lot of dough because their parents or some uncle or somebody had a lot +of dough. You told the suckers that you'd boost their work in return for +tribute. Then you went to the dealers and told them that you had several +sensational new artists whose work would bring high prices. You'd give +that work a big build-up in return for the kick-backs. It worked."</p> + +<p>"Now just a moment—"</p> + +<p>"Quiet," Mogin toned.</p> + +<p>"Everybody was happy," Frey said, "because nobody really lost out. The +artists made dough and the dealers made dough and the customers thought +they were getting high class stuff. One of these customers was Harry +Duggin, the successful corporation lawyer."</p> + +<p>Lasseroe opened his mouth to say something. Then he closed it and looked +at Frey and looked at Mogin and looked at Frey again.</p> + +<p>"You sold Duggin a few pieces of sculpture done by a girl named Tess +Rillette," Frey said. "Duggin liked the sculpture and he wanted to meet +the girl. You introduced him to Tess and he went crazy. He worshipped +her. He asked her to marry him. She thought it was funny and she told +you about it. You didn't think it was funny. You saw a new dodge—"</p> + +<p>"Now damn you—"</p> + +<p>"Quiet," Mogin toned.</p> + +<p>"Duggin was out of his head because of Tess Rillette. And of course he +bought up every piece of sculpture that Tess turned out. This sort of +thing went on for more than a year, and Harry didn't know that sculpture +takes a long time and a high-class artist can turn out so many pieces +and no more in a certain period. In other words, Harry didn't stop to +figure that you were selling him stuff that Tess Rillette had nothing to +do with. That is—he didn't stop to figure about it until he found out +that Tess had fallen for you."</p> + +<p>"Now you look here—"</p> + +<p>"Quiet," Mogin toned.</p> + +<p>"Harry could be clever when he wanted to be, and he was always clever +when he was good and burned up. He checked up on that stuff you sold +him, found out that it was phoney. He got in touch with you, told you +that you were slated for jail—but that you could snake your way out of +it—by giving up those happy little plans for yourself and Tess +Rillette. By that time, you were serious about Tess and you wouldn't +give her up for anything. So you went and murdered Harry Duggin."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I said—you murdered Harry Duggin."</p> + +<p>Lasseroe stared at the lavender rug. He raised his eyes and said, "Is +Harry—dead?"</p> + +<p>Frey reached in his pocket and pulled out a safety match and flicked it +with his fingernail. Then he remembered he had no cigarette in his mouth +and he reached out and Mogin took out a pack and gave him one. He lit +the cigarette and he said, "I'm a detective, Lasseroe. I'd like you to +tell me how you did it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't do it."</p> + +<p>"No?" Frey looked at Mogin. Mogin shrugged.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't do it," Lasseroe said. "Let me see your badge."</p> + +<p>"I don't have a badge. I'm a private detective."</p> + +<p>Lasseroe said, "I've a good mind to call the police."</p> + +<p>"You don't have to call them," Fry said. "They'll be here soon anyway." +He walked to the door. Mogin followed.</p> + +<p>Lasseroe stood there in the center of the lavender rug. He said, "You +gentlemen have wasted your time."</p> + +<p>"Quiet," Mogin toned.</p> + +<p>In the elevator Frey said, "Maybe we can still make that double +feature."</p> + +<p>"I'm getting hungry," Mogin said. "How about some lunch?"</p> + +<p>Frey parted his lips and the cigarette fell from his mouth. He stepped +on the stub and said, "We'll have lunch and then we'll visit another +party."</p> + +<p>"No double feature?" Mogin said.</p> + +<p>"No double feature. We'll visit this third party and if we strike out +we'd better leave town for a few days to avoid a lot of aggravation. See +what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean," Mogin said. "Who do we see now?"</p> + +<p>"We see Daisy Hennifer, the jewelry designer," Frey said. "We go to the +Vanderbilt Hotel."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They faked a story that they were representatives of a big Manhattan +lapidary. That got them up to Daisy Hennifer's suite. It was topaz +yellow, ceiling, walls, rugs and furniture—all topaz yellow. Daisy had +on a topaz yellow gown and she had topaz yellow hair.</p> + +<p>"You won't be able to stay long, gentlemen," she said. "I've a cocktail +engagement at hof post threh—"</p> + +<p>"What's that again?" Mogin said.</p> + +<p>"Skip it," Frey said.</p> + +<p>Daisy was frowning.</p> + +<p>"What did you do last night, Miss Hennifer?" Frey said.</p> + +<p>Her topaz eyes started to glow and she said, "Just what do you mean by +coming up here and—"</p> + +<p>"Don't get excited, Miss Hennifer. We're just doing our job, that's +all."</p> + +<p>"But you said you were—"</p> + +<p>"No, we don't represent a lapidary. We're just up here to ask you a few +questions, that's all."</p> + +<p>"You're not police—" She was wearing four rings and she was twisting +them about her fingers. They were all big yellow topaz stones.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly—" Frey said.</p> + +<p>"Well then—"</p> + +<p>"Do you know Harry Duggin?" Frey said.</p> + +<p>"Why—yes. In fact, I was to see him this afternoon—"</p> + +<p>"You won't see him, Miss Hennifer," Frey said. "He was murdered this +morning."</p> + +<p>"Oh—"</p> + +<p>"He was a fine sort, Miss Hennifer. You shouldn't have done it."</p> + +<p>"Done what?"</p> + +<p>"Killed him."</p> + +<p>She was twisting the topaz rings. They circled fast about her long +fingers, the nails of which held topaz yellow polish.</p> + +<p>"You've been friends with Harry for a long time, Miss Hennifer," Frey +said. "As far as you were concerned, it was more than friendship. You +went for Harry. But he wasn't serious. And he finally gave you up +altogether because he was getting big ideas concerning Tess Rillette. +You hated Tess. You had known her for some time and you had paid no +particular attention to her, except to laugh behind her back. You looked +upon her as a girl with a lot of money and no brains and no real ability +as a sculptress. When you saw her at teas and parties you just saw her, +that was all. But when Harry fell for her, you had to pay attention, and +you hated her. You—"</p> + +<p>"How do you know this? Who are you? What—?"</p> + +<p>"Please be quiet and listen," Mogin droned.</p> + +<p>"It was sort of natural that you should begin to cultivate this Tess +Rillette's friendship. You wanted to talk to her about Harry. You wanted +to find out just how much she cared for the guy. And then you found out +that she didn't go for him at all. She adored another man. That made you +hate Harry. But at the same time you still weren't giving up hope. You +went to Harry, told him that Tess Rillette was after another man. You +begged him to marry you. But instead of helping the situation, your +visit made things worse. Harry began to look into the matter. He found +out about Tess and this man Lasseroe. He wanted to make doubly sure. He +was worried about a lot of things. He had a private investigator follow +Tess around during this past week."</p> + +<p>Mogin threw a cigarette. Frey caught it and flicked a safety match with +his fingernail.</p> + +<p>Daisy Hennifer was saying, "All this—it's—I don't know what to think. +I don't know what to say."</p> + +<p>"You don't have to say anything," Frey said. "Just write me a confession +note, that's all. Just write out the confession and sign it and you +won't have to say anything."</p> + +<p>"But—but—"</p> + +<p>"It was convenient for you, Miss Hennifer. Lasseroe had a good motive +for killing Duggin. So did Tess Rillette. At first she was indifferent +to Harry. And after he threatened to have Lasseroe jailed, she hated +him. But your feelings were even stronger. It was your kind of hate that +turned to murder."</p> + +<p>"You're wrong," she said. She was excited. "I didn't do it."</p> + +<p>"A confession will get you off easy."</p> + +<p>"I'm not signing any confession," she said. "I didn't do it. I had +nothing to do with it. I adored Harry. I—"</p> + +<p>"You'll save yourself a lot of misery—"</p> + +<p>She started to sob. "I didn't do it. I—"</p> + +<p>Frey looked at Mogin. The short, heavy guy shrugged.</p> + +<p>"Is that all, Miss Hennifer?" Frey asked.</p> + +<p>"That's all I've got to say." She stopped sobbing. Her topaz eyes were +dull now. "Are you going to take me away?"</p> + +<p>Frey shook his head. "We can't take you away. We're not cops."</p> + +<p>She stared. "Then—what are you?"</p> + +<p>Frey shrugged. "Maybe we're just a couple of damn fools."</p> + +<p>He nodded to Mogin. They went out of Daisy Hennifer's suite.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They were walking toward the coupe. Mogin was saying, "It's almost +three."</p> + +<p>"We'll have something to eat and we'll go back and sit in the coupe and +wait a while," Frey said. He put his hand in his change pocket and took +out two half dollars, three quarters, six dimes, four nickels. "We'll +eat a classy lunch on this," he said. "Then we'll wait around for a +little while and we'll see where Daisy Hennifer goes."</p> + +<p>"It's all right with me," Mogin said: "Anything's all right with me—as +long as we eat."</p> + +<p>They lunched at the hotel and then they walked out to the lobby and sat +down and smoked. At twenty past three, Daisy Hennifer walked through the +lobby and Frey and Mogin took their time and followed her.</p> + +<p>A cab was waiting at the curb and Daisy got in.</p> + +<p>The coupe followed.</p> + +<p>Up Fourth avenue and two turns to blade through heavy uptown traffic and +then down the street where Tess Rillette lived. The cab stopped outside +the white stone house and Daisy got out.</p> + +<p>The coupe went once around the block and then Frey parked it at the +corner.</p> + +<p>"This looks good," he said.</p> + +<p>Mogin nodded.</p> + +<p>Frey said, "Maybe you better wait here. If I'm not out in thirty minutes +maybe you better come in and see what's happened to me."</p> + +<p>Mogin said, "Maybe you better take this." He reached in his coat pocket +and pulled out a little pistol. Frey looked at it and made a face.</p> + +<p>"I hate to use those things."</p> + +<p>He took the pistol and put it in his pocket and walked up the white +stone steps. The Jap came to the door and Frey said, "Well—it's past +three thirty. Miss Rillette is expecting me, isn't she—?"</p> + +<p>The Jap shook his head. "Miss Rillette is busy. You must call later."</p> + +<p>"Tell Miss Rillette that I—" He braked his tongue and said, "No—don't +tell Miss Rillette anything. In fact—maybe you better take a walk +around the block."</p> + +<p>The Jap started to get excited. He said, "You were not among those +invited—"</p> + +<p>"Take a walk around the block," Frey said. "Look, I'll help you down the +steps—" He grabbed hold of the Jap and hustled him down the steps. +Mogin saw the deal and opened the door of the coupe. Frey pushed the Jap +inside.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" Mogin said.</p> + +<p>"A glimpse of the Far East," Frey murmured. "Take him to a show. Take +him to a dance. I don't care what you do with him, only keep him away +from the house for a while. He'll get in my way otherwise."</p> + +<p>The Jap started to yell.</p> + +<p>"Tag him," Frey said. He looked up and down the street and he saw that +it was all right. Then he heard a click and he saw Mogin's fist bouncing +away from the Jap's chin. The Jap went to sleep.</p> + +<p>"I'll drive around the block a few times," Mogin said.</p> + +<p>Frey went up the steps again and took his time going through the pale +orange room, the burnt orange room. Then he was moving slowly and very +quietly as he heard voices coming from the other pale orange room. The +orange door was closed but Frey managed to get in a look through the +side windows of the studio. The windows were slits of glass running from +the floor to the ceiling, and through them Frey saw Tess Rillette and +Lasseroe and Daisy Hennifer.</p> + +<p>They were all talking at once and at first their voices were low but +then they started to argue and Frey got in on it.</p> + +<p>"Clever, weren't you, Daisy?" Tess Rillette was saying. "You asked me to +be your guest at the hotel, and I thought it was hospitality. But what +you really wanted was to keep me away from here. You didn't want Harry +to get in touch with me."</p> + +<p>"That's a lie," Daisy said. "I asked you to stay at the hotel purely for +business reasons. I wanted you to work on those inlaid ivories—"</p> + +<p>"That's what I thought—at first," Tess Rillette said. "But I know the +truth now. You wanted to keep me away from Harry. You thought maybe you +had one last chance of winning him back. And when you found out it was +futile—you killed him!"</p> + +<p>"She's right, Daisy," Lasseroe said. "You killed Harry Duggin. You +worshipped him—and hated him!"</p> + +<p>He got out of the chair and pointed at her, and a few glasses on a +cocktail tray tipped over.</p> + +<p>Daisy was shouting, "You're both lying! You're trying to place the blame +on me and switch things around so that I'll be put out of the way. +You're trying to commit—double murder!"</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by that?" Lasseroe said.</p> + +<p>Daisy's voice was lowered as she stared at the art appraiser and said, +"You killed him. You had every reason to kill him, and you did it. And +now you're trying to get me out of the way. I know the truth about you, +Lasseroe. I know how you've been swindling art patrons, charging them +exorbitant prices for cheap junk such as Tess puts out—"</p> + +<p>Tess Rillette wasn't taking this sitting down. She started to call Daisy +a lot of nasty names. It was all very unpleasant.</p> + +<p>And then Lasseroe said, "You've got a lot of influence around this town, +haven't you, Daisy?"</p> + +<p>She liked that. She nodded. And there was a mean smile on her lips. +Lasseroe was moving slowly toward her, and his face was pale. There was +a light in the man's eyes that told Frey a lot of things. Frey reached +into his coat pocket and touched the revolver to make sure that it was +still there.</p> + +<p>"You've got a lot of mouth, too," Lasseroe was saying.</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by that?" Daisy looked at him straight.</p> + +<p>"You may turn out to be quite an annoyance," Lasseroe said. He kept +moving toward her.</p> + +<p>Tess Rillette was grabbing Lasseroe's arm, saying, "Please—enough has +already happened—"</p> + +<p>But Lasseroe was excited and he was pushing Tess Rillette away and then +he was making a grab for Daisy. She fell backward and he went over with +her and he got his fingers around her throat. She managed to scream once +and then she started to gurgle. Frey opened the door and took out his +revolver and pointed it at Lasseroe's spine.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, "Let's stop playing."</p> + +<p>But Lasseroe was out of control now and he was choking the life out of +Daisy Hennifer. He didn't seem to hear Frey, and he increased the +pressure of his fingers around Daisy's windpipe. Tess Rillette was +screaming and putting herself between Frey and Lasseroe, in an +ungraceful try at the old martyr act.</p> + +<p>Frey knew that he couldn't stand on ceremony. He had to break it up and +break it up fast. He pushed Tess Rillette and she didn't like being +pushed. She was screaming now, and she threw fingernails at his face. He +let her have a slow right to the jaw and it sent her across the room, +spinning.</p> + +<p>Then he had a try at Lasseroe.</p> + +<p>He tried to pull Lasseroe away from Daisy Hennifer, who by now was in a +very bad way. But Lasseroe was a maniac now and he wanted to take the +life away from the jewelry designer. Frey knew that he would have to use +the revolver. He lifted it and then allowed the butt to come down and +make contact with Lasseroe's skull.</p> + +<p>Lasseroe went to sleep.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"We'll take them all down to Harry's apartment," Frey said. "If the cops +aren't there already, it'll be a good idea to finish the case right on +the spot where it started."</p> + +<p>"That's a very good idea," Mogin said. "I have a hunch that this will +put us on the map."</p> + +<p>Frey nodded. He prodded Lasseroe with the revolver and said, "You and +Miss Rillette will sit in the opera seats with me. Miss Hennifer will +ride in front." He touched the shivering Jap on the elbow and said, "The +studio is in quite a bad state. Better go in there and rearrange things. +If you have any questions to ask Miss Rillette, maybe you better call +the police station. That'll be her temporary address before she goes +away on a long trip."</p> + +<p>He stepped into the coupe and closed the door. Lasseroe was manacled to +him and Miss Rillette was manacled to Lasseroe. Daisy was still groaning +as Mogin put the car in first and sent it whizzing down the street.</p> + +<p>"You're making a big mistake," Lasseroe said.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't talk about making mistakes if I were you," Frey said +lightly. He felt very good. All a private investigator needed was one +good break like this, and he was made. The cases would come in thick and +fast, and so would the dough. Frey smiled.</p> + +<p>Tess Rillette was saying, "I told you, Mr. Frey—you were letting +yourself in for a lot of difficulty, and—"</p> + +<p>"Do I turn here?" Mogin was saying.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There were a few police cars in front of the high-class apartment where +Harry Duggin had lived, and where he had died. The coupe parked across +the street and Frey saw the crowd and the reporters. He said, "All +right—here we go."</p> + +<p>Everyone was looking and murmuring as the five of them went into the +apartment house. A cop walked over and said, "What's this?"</p> + +<p>"It's the Harry Duggin case," Frey said.</p> + +<p>They stepped into the elevator and went up seven floors to the +apartment. There were a lot of cops up there, a lot of plain clothes men +and lads from the homicide bureau. Reporters and photographers and a +doctor.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" a plain clothes man said.</p> + +<p>"It's the Harry Duggin case," Frey said.</p> + +<p>The mob crowded around. This little deal was taking place in the living +room of the apartment. The dick was saying, "Carven is in the bedroom. +He's talking to Duggin's valet." He frowned at Frey and said, "What have +you got?"</p> + +<p>"Enough," Frey said. He pointed to Lasseroe. "Here's your baby. I'm +going in and talk to Carven."</p> + +<p>As he started for the bedroom door he heard Lasseroe saying, "You're +making a big mistake—"</p> + +<p>Frey smiled.</p> + +<p>He went into the bedroom and he saw Carven, the big shot detective. He +saw the two cops in there and he saw the valet, and then the corpse of +Harry Duggin. Carven had the valet by the back of the neck. Carven was a +big man and he was forcing the valet to look down at Harry Duggin's dead +face.</p> + +<p>Carven was saying, "Look at him. He's dead. Do you get that? He's dead. +You called us in here and you figured that would automatically put you +out of the picture. And you told us that a guy by the name of Frey came +in here this morning and killed him. But Frey's an old pal of mine. +Frey's a private dick—a lousy one, reckless and careless, but still +he's a dick and your story didn't go. You killed Duggin—why—why—?"</p> + +<p>Not only was Carven big, he was plenty tough. He gave the valet a short +left and a mean right to the ribs. The valet broke.</p> + +<p>"I—I killed him," he said, and it turned into a sob. "I—I wanted +something that he owned—"</p> + +<p>"What was it?" Carven said. He raised his head, clipped to one of the +cops, "Take this down."</p> + +<p>The valet was sobbing, saying, "He had a fortune in little marble +statues. He was always talking about those marble statues, telling me +how priceless they were. He—kept talking about those statues all the +time, telling me that the greatest sculptress in the world made +them—and that money couldn't buy them. That's all he talked about—the +statues made by Tess Rillette. He—drove it into me—made me crazy with +the desire to own them. I—I—put a knife into him—"</p> + +<p>Carven grinned. He looked at the cops and said, "Pretty fast, wasn't it? +We came in on this case exactly two and a half hours ago. I can well +imagine what happened to that wise guy Frey. He came in here this +morning and he saw Duggin lying dead in bed and he figured he'd go out +with his stooge Mogin and do big things. I'd like to see his face when +he finds out—"</p> + +<p>Then he turned and saw Frey's face.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mogin was talking loud and fast. He was saying, "What're you crying the +blues about? It was just a bad break, that's all. And at least we pinned +something on somebody. We got that smart bird Lasseroe locked up for +fake art manipulations, and—"</p> + +<p>They were walking toward the coupe. Frey was shaking his head and his +head was hanging low. He said, "Can we make a late double feature?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," Mogin said. He put his heavy hand on Frey's shoulder and said, +"It's a good idea. We'll go to the movies and get it off our minds. +Don't worry, pal. Better days are coming. Hey—where you goin'?"</p> + +<p>Frey was walking away from the coupe, toward a corner drug store. "I'll +be right back," he said. "I just want to go in here and take an aspirin. +It'll help me wait for the better days."</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_COP_WAS_A_COWARD" id="THE_COP_WAS_A_COWARD"></a>THE COP WAS A COWARD</h2> + +<h3>by WILBUR S. PEACOCK</h3> + +<p class="sidenote">Johnny Burke had the making of a fine cop in him ... but there was +something mighty strange about Johnny Burke—something mighty +strange!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus7.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>I liked the looks of Johnny Burke the first time I saw him. He was one +of the cadets who had been signed on less than six months before. He was +still on the probation lists, but I could see that he had the making of +a fine cop in him.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant Southern?" he asked, when he found me in the garage, where I +was wiring in a new radio, "My name's Johnny Burke, and I've been +detailed to work with you in 27."</p> + +<p>"Glad to know you, Burke," I said, coming out from underneath the +dashboard of the cruiser.</p> + +<p>We shook hands, after I had wiped some of the oil from mine, and I +winced a bit from the pressure of his fingers. I got my first good look +at him then, and I felt my first bit of confidence since Riley, my old +partner, had been detailed to the north end of the district.</p> + +<p>He was big, and I mean big. Six feet four, he must have been, and must +have weighed close to two and a quarter. Wide shoulders tapered into a +narrow waist, his blond head sat squarely on his shoulders, and he +carried himself with a panther-like grace. He appeared to be a swell +partner to hold down the other half of cruiser 27.</p> + +<p>I said as much, and he flushed at the compliment, which was another +thing that took my liking. Too many of the cadet cops think they're big +shots and are inclined to belittle the men who had been cops before they +were out of three-cornered pants.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," he said, "for I want to be a cop more than anything else in +the world."</p> + +<p>I grinned from my scant six feet. "Okay, let's see how we'll work in +double harness. Shed that coat, and give me a hand with this set."</p> + +<p>"Right," he said, and the two of us went to work.</p> + +<p>That was our first meeting, and the one in which I judged him for the +first time. I liked the kid and I let him know it, tried to put him wise +to some of the things I've learned in ten years on the force. He +listened to everything I said, tried to fit it in with the theories the +police school had pumped into his brain. Some of it, I knew, he +discarded because it didn't sound logical, but other parts seemed to +make an impression on him.</p> + +<p>He rode the other half of the seat with me for the next week, learning +the neighborhood that was our patrol, memorizing names and locations and +addresses as I gave them out. He learned fast, and I knew I had drawn a +honey of a partner.</p> + +<p>Still, there was something strange about him that I couldn't quite +analyze. When we were alone, or when we were with the other men at one +of the stations, he was big and quiet, seeming to know that he was not +out of place. But when we made periodic inspections of boarding houses +and the like, he was an entirely different person. He walked stiffly, +his arms braced a bit at his sides. His face became a trifle white and +his lips thinned, making him seem somebody suddenly alien to the kid I +had for a partner. I didn't understand it, and in a way it shook my +confidence in him, which, of course, meant that ours was not the +instinctive partnership it should have been.</p> + +<p>That sounds rather silly when I tell it, but there is nothing childish +or amusing in its practical application. Cop teams should be as closely +in accord as Tom and Jerry, or sorghum and flapjacks. The average person +thinks that the mere routine of following orders takes care of the +partnership angle, but that isn't the fact. Teams have to know exactly +how much confidence each can place in the other, and each must know the +capabilities of the other, or the two men don't make a good team.</p> + +<p>And here was this new cadet partner of mine acting strangely as the +devil any time the mere routine of covering the district became broken. +I didn't like it, but I kept my mouth shut, waiting to see something +definite that would prove something one way or the other.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Then one day, down in the station gymnasium where daily calisthenics +must be taken, I got my first inkling of the mental twist that was in +Burke's brain.</p> + +<p>There were half a dozen of us in the place; some of the men boxing the +bags, some on the bars, and Burke and I on the wrestling mats. He and I +had been practicing jiu jitsu for ten minutes, and both of us were +working up a good perspiration. Neither of us had the advantage for the +moment, so I went in for a quick wristlock and spin.</p> + +<p>Burke straightened as I came forward, squatted and drove forward with +catlike speed. Before I knew what was happening, he had caught me with a +knee catch and a hip flip, and I was skidding across the rough canvas on +my face. I was growling to myself for being caught with an elementary +trick, and came whipping back with my hands outspread in catch-all +style.</p> + +<p>There was blood on my face, although I didn't know it, and since I'm +none too soft looking at best, I must have appeared to be rather in a +mad rage at being thrown by a man of less skill than I.</p> + +<p>I was half-crouched and gathering myself for a quick burst of energy. I +noticed Burke's hands coming into position for sudden defense, and for a +moment the mere fact that they were in position meant quite a bit to +me. For there is no such thing as placing hands in defensive position in +Jiu Jitsu; the entire science of this particular wrestling lies in +keeping your hands out of the reach of your opponent.</p> + +<p>I stopped momentarily, sudden wonder filling my mind. Burke's hands +seemed to be warding off some unknown danger that was threatening, and I +caught the flicker of some emotion in his grey eyes. I straightened out +of my crouch, forced myself not to reveal what I had just seen.</p> + +<p>Burke backed off a step, and slowly some of the tightness went out of +his face and arms. He breathed deeply, and the sound was strangely like +a gasp of relief.</p> + +<p>"Whew!" he said relievedly, "I thought for a moment we were going to +have a real fight."</p> + +<p>I grinned, watching every play of emotion on his face, and carefully +weighing every nuance in his tone of voice. And as suddenly as though +somebody had told me, I knew he had a strip of yellow squarely up his +back.</p> + +<p>"That shouldn't worry you," I countered, "You could tie me into knots."</p> + +<p>"Yeah?" he said skeptically, "And while I was tying you in knots, what +would you be doing?"</p> + +<p>I grinned, but I felt suddenly sick inside. Somehow, in the past week, I +had come to think a lot of the kid. And now, despite his strength and +brains and college degree, I knew that our days as partners in 27 were +numbered.</p> + +<p>I stretched, headed toward the showers, not answering his question.</p> + +<p>"Come on," I said, "We've got just enough time for a cup of coffee +before our shift."</p> + +<p>I watched him that night and for the next three days. Now that I was +particularly noticing him, I could see that my analysis was right. He +was like any other cop I had ever known while in comparative safety, but +when out of the usual routine and into some beer dive or fairly tough +hangout, he was yellow clear to his heart.</p> + +<p>He proved that one night when we picked up a quartet of drunks at a dive +on the south end of our district. We went there on radioed orders, the +complaint being phoned into headquarters by some old maid whose sleep +was disturbed.</p> + +<p>I shoved through the door of the dive, Burke following close behind. The +report had been right, for we could hear the quartet murdering 'Sweet +Adeline' in the back room. We went down the narrow passage and over to +the drunks' table.</p> + +<p>"Come on, fellows," I said, "we're going for a little ride."</p> + +<p>Burke stood at my side, not saying anything, carrying himself with that +same strained look that I had noticed the first few days we were +together. The drunks joked with me at first, insisting that Burke and I +have a drink or two with them. I wheedled with them for a while, not +wanting to get tough.</p> + +<p>And then the entire situation changed. The drunks got ugly, wanted to +fight. I obliged them, taking the two on my side of the table, leaving +the other two for Burke. I crossed a short right, then lifted a left, +and turned to see how my partner was doing.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>One of his own men was down, a bloody welt along the side of his head, +and the other was cowering drunkenly from the heavy gun in Burke's fist. +I knocked the gun up just as his finger pulled the trigger. I caught the +gun from his hand, looked at his face in amazement.</p> + +<p>"What the hell do you think you're doing, Burke," I yelled, "These men +aren't criminals; they're just drunk!"</p> + +<p>"He was going to hit me with a beer bottle."</p> + +<p>"So what!" I was shaking with the nearness with which tragedy had almost +struck. "Hell, you don't shoot a man because of that!"</p> + +<p>"But that's what that gun's for. I'm supposed—"</p> + +<p>I looked at the drunks, who were rapidly sobering. "Get out of here and +go home," I said, then turned to Burke, "Come on, let's get out of +here."</p> + +<p>I reported over the two-way radio that a gun had been fired +accidentally, in case somebody phoned in about it, also explained that +the drunks had disappeared when we got to the scene of the complaint. +Then I turned back to Burke who was huddled in white-faced silence in +the side of the seat.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Johnny," I said slowly, "Just because you're a cop and +wear a badge doesn't give you the license to shoot that gun any time you +get a notion."</p> + +<p>"I know," he said miserably, "I know."</p> + +<p>And that was all that was said that night. Burke was uncommunicative and +sullen the rest of the shift, seeming to realize now just what a boner +he had pulled. As for me, I still shook with horror when I remembered +how close he had come to putting a slug through the drunk. I didn't say +any more, even tried to apologize for his action in my mind.</p> + +<p>1 tried to cover up for him by saying that he was just a rookie and +untrained. Too, I remembered how frightened I was the first time I had +any trouble. I walked into a gang fight and waded into the leader of one +gang. I had my man down, and was bouncing his head on the sidewalk, when +other cops pulled me off. I was so scared that I didn't even know he had +been unconscious for seconds. Luckily, I hadn't killed him in my +unreasoning excitement.</p> + +<p>So I covered for my new partner, and acted as though he had made but a +natural mistake.</p> + +<p>But I was only kidding myself, for two nights later, he let me down +again.</p> + +<p>It was about eleven at night, and the streets were slowly clearing of +traffic, when we rode right into the center of a bank job. I was at the +wheel, thinking what a swell life my girl and I were going to have when +I got promoted to a detective's job. I pulled around the corner onto +Harper street, and into the path of a tommy gun's fire.</p> + +<p>We went over the curb, the tires shot to ribbons, before I had time to +take a deep breath. I went sideways out of the door, grabbing my gun as +I rolled on the pavement. I came up shooting at the two men who were in +the touring. I heard Burke yell something from the other side of the +cruiser.</p> + +<p>And then a couple of slugs spun me like a top, and I hit the ground, +having only a hazy memory of seeing Tony Flasco dodging out of the +bank's door with another guy. I passed out cold, the drum of the +touring's motor sounding in my ears.</p> + +<p>I woke up once, when Burke came around the car to see how badly I was +hit. I went back into blackness remembering that the flap to his belt +gun was still fastened. The yellow rat hadn't even pulled his gun!</p> + +<p>The next thing I remember was asking for a slug of whiskey and not +getting it. After that, I slowly came back to earth. I hadn't been hit +so badly; just bullet shock and a nicked shoulder to keep me in bed for +a couple of days. Within forty eight hours, I was sitting up, and a +week later I was aching to get back into harness again. True, I was +still a bit muscle tender, but I figured a thing like that shouldn't be +considered when a killer like Tony Flasco is running around loose.</p> + +<p>I wouldn't see Johnny Burke in the hospital; I wanted nothing to do with +him again. So, each time he tried to visit me, I had the nurse tell him +I was asleep. Finally, he must have taken the hint, for he didn't come +around any more.</p> + +<p>I felt pretty badly about the kid, but I felt worse when Riley, my old +partner, visited me. He came through the door of the hospital room, that +map of Ireland he uses for a face ruffled up in a wide grin.</p> + +<p>"I warned you, Southern," he said, "but you would play with the big +boys. Now, look at you—your pants are ripped."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up and sit down," I snapped from the wheelchair, trying not to +grin, "Who the hell do you think you are—Dorothy Dix! Cripes, you've +got enough slugs in you to make you rattle like a dice box!"</p> + +<p>"My, what a nasty temper. Tch, tch, tch!"</p> + +<p>"Okay, okay, go ahead and gloat. But first, let's hear the latest from +headquarters."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And then his face wasn't grinning, instead it grew hard like granite. He +told me the details that the chief hadn't let me know, for fear that I +would get worried. Suddenly, I lost all desire to joke, too.</p> + +<p>Tony Flasco, his lieutenant Vance, another killer named Keeper, and an +unidentified man were in the mob that shot me down. They had forced the +bank's cashier to open the bank for them at night, had murdered the +watchman and then left the cashier for dead. He had rallied enough to +identify two of the men from pictures. Burke's and my stories had fitted +in the other pieces.</p> + +<p>Tony and his mob had got away with over fifty thousand in cash and an +unnameable sum in bonds. They had disappeared into thin air, were +evidently holing up somewhere until the heat died down. Teletype and +radio had the country blanketed, but with as much money as they had they +would be able to buy their way out of the country.</p> + +<p>"So that's that," I said, "not one blasted thing to go on."</p> + +<p>"We haven't got a thing," Riley admitted, "but the chief thinks they're +holed up somewhere in town. The identification was too fast to let them +get far."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," I said, "and maybe not."</p> + +<p>Riley hitched his chair closer, and his face wrinkled up a bit in a +smile. "There's that possibility that the chief might be right, anyway +Johnny thinks so."</p> + +<p>I felt blood pressure rising in me for the first time since my +transfusion. I started to tell Riley just what I thought of a cop who +wouldn't even draw his gun to save his own life. And then Riley pulled +the thing that gave me my second shock within a week, and somehow it +hurt me more than the slugs did.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, Johnny," he said, "he thinks the chief may be right. He's a +bright kid, too, smart as they come. He should be, he's my nephew and I +put him through college."</p> + +<p>"He's—he's your nephew?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Sure, and a swell lad; he'll go high on the force. And Southern, you'll +die laughing at this—he thinks you're about the bravest cop and finest +man he ever met."</p> + +<p>Well, that clinched it; I couldn't say a thing about the kid. I knew it +wasn't the right thing to do; I should have reported him the moment I +got out of the hospital, but the memory of Riley's pride stopped me +before I could speak. Instead, I laughed and joked with the cops at the +station, and tried not to be alone with Burke. I knew that I might tell +him exactly what I was thinking if he rubbed me the wrong way.</p> + +<p>And then on the tenth day after the shooting, Tony and his mob still in +hiding, I went back into 27 with Johnny Burke. To all outward +appearances we must have appeared to be the same old team, but there was +a difference.</p> + +<p>I was still taped, and the bandages irritated me every time I moved. But +there was an irritation in Johnny that shifting a bandage couldn't help.</p> + +<p>He tried to make conversation, but I wasn't in the least pleasant. After +a bit, he shut up and remained hunched over the wheel, his face as white +and stiff as though chiselled from marble. I felt sorry for him then, +but I felt a dull hatred, too. He had almost cost me my life, and might +do it again if something broke.</p> + +<p>I made a mental resolution to apply for a transfer the moment we got +back to the station.</p> + +<p>About three in the morning, there was a furtive whistle from the mouth +of an alley near where we had parked for a moment. Burke grunted +something, then climbed from the car. I went, too, just out of general +principles.</p> + +<p>I knew the whistler the moment I saw him. His name was Lefty +something-or-other, and he was about the sneakiest stool the department +had. Burke seemed to know him, for he started talking the second we were +out of sight of the street.</p> + +<p>"You found it?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Sure, it's down the street about six blocks. They're holed up in the +old warehouse." Lefty's tone was a thin, scared whisper.</p> + +<p>Burke pulled a packet of bills from his pocket, slipped them to Lefty's +skinny hand. Then the stool was gone down the darkness of the alley, and +Burke was turning to me.</p> + +<p>"One hundred bucks," he said, "but it's worth it."</p> + +<p>"What's worth it?" I asked, but I had a hunch about what was coming.</p> + +<p>"The information. I've had Lefty working for me for ten days. He's +spotted Flasco and his men in the empty warehouse down the street."</p> + +<p>"Well, what are we waiting for?" I snapped, "let's take them!"</p> + +<p>I had forgotten for the moment that the cop was a coward; but Burke +didn't waste a bit of time in bringing back my memory.</p> + +<p>"Maybe we'd better call headquarters?" he said slowly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I caught at Burke's arm with a grip so tight it hurt my fingers.</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you something, Burke," I said, "Lefty is too ratty to +trust. Before a squad could get here, he'll tip Tony Flasco off about +cops coming. That's his way; he collects both ways." I let go his arm. +"We'll call headquarters, sure, but meanwhile we'll see what we can do +to stop those punks from leaving."</p> + +<p>Burke's face was whiter than any man's I've ever seen. A muscle twitched +in his cheek, and his hands lifted a bit.</p> + +<p>"Look, Southern," he said, "you don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Don't understand!" I was so filled with rage I could barely talk. "I +understand only too well. You dirty yellow rat, you're a disgrace to the +uniform you wear. You're afraid, afraid to meet another man on equal +footing. You were afraid of me in the gym; you were afraid of the drunk +in the beer joint; you were afraid of Tony's guns—and now you're afraid +to try to mop up a mob that's murdered two men in cold blood." I went +toward the street. "Well, by the Gods, I'm afraid too. I'm just as +scared as you of getting my belly full of hot lead. But this is my job, +and I intend to do it."</p> + +<p>"Look, Southern—" He caught at my sleeve.</p> + +<p>I shook myself free. "Look, hell! You've got a gun; why don't you use it +now the way you'd have used it on a defenseless drunk!"</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm trying—"</p> + +<p>I swung, lifted an uppercut from my knees. Johnny Burke went down, +crumpling slackly to the cement.</p> + +<p>"That's just in case I don't come back," I snarled, "I owe you that."</p> + +<p>And then I was running down the street.</p> + +<p>I ducked around the first corner, ran half a block, then slipped down +the alley. I was over my rage almost as soon as I was out of sight of +the cruiser, and suddenly sorry for what I had done.</p> + +<p>I knew that he would be coming to in a minute or so, and would call +headquarters and report. Meanwhile, it was my job to try and hold Flasco +and his mob until help arrived. I laughed suddenly without mirth; I knew +that one man didn't have a Chinaman's chance of holding four men in that +warehouse.</p> + +<p>I slowed down in the fourth block, realizing how weak my trip to the +hospital had made me. My head was swimming a bit, and there was a throb +of pain from my side where a slug had gouged a path.</p> + +<p>I darted down the alley, keeping under cover, watching other shadows to +see if there was a lookout posted. Finally, I came to the rear of the +vacant warehouse, satisfied that I had arrived unseen.</p> + +<p>I took a look around, trying to find a sliver of light that would reveal +the part of the building in which the men were hiding. Empty windows +leered back at me, scabby paint seemed to rustle in the light breeze, +but I couldn't find the slightest signs of life.</p> + +<p>I leaned weakly against the wall for a moment, wondering if the tip had +been on the square, knowing instinctively that it had. I leaped and +caught the bottom rung of a fire escape, pulled myself up until I could +get a foothold.</p> + +<p>Then I went upward as quietly as I could. I found an unlocked window on +the third floor, slipped silently through. I held my breath for a +moment, wondering if I had been heard. Then, my gun in my hand, I +sneaked through the darkness.</p> + +<p>I covered the entire floor, shaking a bit in nervousness as a rat +scuttled to safety. For seconds, I wondered if I might not be smarter by +waiting for reinforcements.</p> + +<p>And then my mind was made up for me.</p> + +<p>On the floor above there was the sudden sound of voices. I went toward +the stairs, climbed them slowly. My mouth was dry, and I could feel cold +sweat trickling down my spine.</p> + +<p>"Come on, come on," That was Tony's voice. "This place'll be hotter than +hell in another five minutes."</p> + +<p>I edged further up the steps, crouched with my head just below the +landing. I heard steps coming my way and saw the flicker of a light. +Then I stood up, lifted my gun.</p> + +<p>"Hold it," I said, "It's the law."</p> + +<p>There were the sounds of startled gasps behind the flashlight, then a +gun barked defiantly. I crouched a bit, blasted lead at shadowy figures. +I heard someone scream in agony, then a giant hand lifted me and sent me +rolling down the steps.</p> + +<p>"Got him!" That was Tony again.</p> + +<p>I tried to move, knew that another minute and I'd never be able to move +again. I stumbled to my feet, went back to the stairs. Above, I could +hear the mutter of scared voices. I knew why they didn't come down; they +were afraid I was playing possum.</p> + +<p>I collapsed on the second step, was suddenly sick because of the pain in +my chest. And then, the steps vibrated from a heavy weight.</p> + +<p>I lifted my head, wanting to see what was coming. For a moment, I +couldn't figure it out. Then I screamed out a warning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But Johnny Burke went on up. One moment he was limned in the glow of the +flashlight, then gunfire made a blasting hell of that fourth floor. I +saw Johnny Burke's body jerk a bit under the impact of the slugs, but he +was too big to be stopped by them.</p> + +<p>I got to the top of the steps, not knowing how I got there, but in time +to see the finish.</p> + +<p>One man was down, probably sent there by my bullets, and another was +just crumpling from a smashed skull from a savage blow of Johnny Burke's +gun. A third man turned and tried to run, but Johnny's hands reached out +and hurled him against a wall. He was spreadeagled there for a moment, +then slumped sideways.</p> + +<p>And then Johnny closed with Flasco.</p> + +<p>He went back two steps as Tony pulled the trigger of the gun, then shook +his head and started forward again. He caught Tony, and they fought +silently for a second. Tony was big, but Johnny was bigger. But Johnny +was carrying enough lead to kill the average man.</p> + +<p>Tony knew that and fought with the viciousness of a cornered rat. But he +was no match for the devil that was Johnny then. Johnny caught him in +arms like heavy lengths of hawser, and the back of his coat split from +the sudden surge of strength that went through them.</p> + +<p>Tony Flasco screamed then, screamed like a woman in deadly agony and +fear. He pounded at Johnny Burke's face with bloody hands. Then there +was the sound of a heavy stick breaking, and Tony went utterly limp.</p> + +<p>Johnny loosened his grip, stood swaying for a moment. He was laughing, +laughing with a madness that chilled my heart. He turned, tottered +toward me, fell, then dragged himself along with his hands. He laughed +when he saw my face in the flashlight's glow, but there was no mirth in +the sounds.</p> + +<p>"I'm yellow," he said, "yellow as hell! I've been afraid all of my life. +Funny isn't it?" He choked a bit. "Then laugh, damn it, why don't you? +I'm big, and big guys aren't supposed to know what fear is. So I become +a cop, and for a while I think I'm learning bravery."</p> + +<p>"Easy, Johnny, easy," I said, seeing the trickle of crimson on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Easy, hell!" Johnny's hands clutched my shoulder. "Yeah, I was afraid +of you; you were the first man who ever stood up to me. I was afraid of +the drunk, too, and in my fear I almost murdered him. I knew then that +I could never carry a gun until I learned what bravery was."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Johnny, shut up!" I yelled, "You'll talk yourself into +a hemorrhage."</p> + +<p>"You'll listen to me and like it."</p> + +<p>I nodded, felt a sabre of pain in my chest where Tony's slug had blasted +into me. I tried to move, couldn't, his hand was too solid on my +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"So I couldn't get by without a gun," Johnny Burke's voice was growing +weaker. "So guess what I did—I took the bullets out. Yeah, I carried an +empty gun, afraid that if it were loaded I'd butcher somebody. You +thought I ran out on you the night of the hold-up, but I didn't. I tried +to tell you my gun was empty, but things happened too fast. And then +tonight, after Lefty gave us this hideout location, I didn't have time +to explain again. I had forgotten to bring shells for my gun, and wanted +to get some before we raided this warehouse. But you slugged me and came +yourself. I came to and followed you. Yeah, laugh that off, I followed +you in here with a gun I could use only for a club. Sure I'm yellow, I'm +yellow as hell, but I'm not such a rat I'd let you walk to certain death +without lifting a hand. And don't tell me I was brave; I was still as +yellow as I ever was. But I didn't have any choice. Hell, Southern, +don't you think I'd like to be brave like—"</p> + +<p>He crumpled inertly, his hand slipping from my shoulder. I don't +remember much about what happened after that, but it couldn't have been +much more than a minute before the cops broke in.</p> + +<p>We've got beds in the same room, Johnny and I. He'll be here quite a bit +longer than I will, but I figured maybe we'd better stick together while +we're in here. After all, if you're figuring on being partners for a +long time to come, there's no time like the present to make a few plans +for the future.</p> + +<p>I just caught a glimpse of his back through the silly gown he's wearing. +Even partly covered by the bandages, I like it. Somehow, it still is +pretty solid—too, I'm beginning to appreciate its whiteness.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_STRANGE_CASE_OF_WILLIAM_LONG" id="THE_STRANGE_CASE_OF_WILLIAM_LONG"></a>THE STRANGE CASE OF WILLIAM LONG</h2> + +<h3>by ROY GILES</h3> + +<h3>A TRUE FACT DETECTIVE SHORT</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus8.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>Among the many unsolved mysteries in American crime annals the strange +disappearance case of millionaire William Long, of Denver and Chicago, +stands out as unusually weird. The case is doubly interesting in that it +is marked by an almost exact parallel in the disappearance of +millionaire William Sweet of Montreal. In each case a million dollars in +cash disappeared with the victim.</p> + +<p>So far as is known the two cases are in no way connected. It is barely +possible that the same combination of kidnappers and murderers +perpetrated both crimes—if they were crimes. It is not altogether +impossible that both men disappeared of their own volition, although +such deductions might seem highly improbable. The William Long case is +the most interesting so it will be held for more detailed treatment +while a brief review is given of the William Sweet case which is the +more recent of the two.</p> + +<p>William Sweet dropped from visible earthly existence in a Montreal +office building a few minutes after he had been paid $1,000,000 in cash +for his holdings in a Canadian theater chain. He had insisted the deal +be for cash and the amount paid to him in his offices. The +purchasers—according to perfectly reliable witnesses—brought the money +to William Sweet's offices where they found him alone in an inner room. +They paid over the money, were handed the documents of conveyance in +return, and left the place. That was some twenty years ago and from that +moment to now no one has ever seen or heard of William Sweet or the +million dollars in cash.</p> + +<p>His attorneys, nor anyone connected with him closely, could account for +his strange actions prior to his disappearance. He was estranged from +his wife. She and others were questioned long and arduously by police +without result. His friends were the most mystified of all.</p> + +<p>A few years previously William Long, one of the oddest characters ever +to have existed outside the pages of fiction, dropped from sight on the +street in the Loop district in Chicago in mid-afternoon. He was carrying +a suitcase containing $1,000,000 in cash which he had just withdrawn +from a Chicago bank. He was on his way to pay the money to the heads of +a syndicate in control of Chicago's gambling concession. The money was +to purchase for him a controling interest in an illegal concession and +one that would not have been regarded as tangible, probably, by any man +in the world except a Western gambler.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, in order to get the million dollars with which to purchase +control of Chicago's gambling institutions Long had sacrificed a +perfectly legitimate and highly prosperous produce commission business. +Always a gambler, Long had tumbled into the legitimate million-dollar +business accidentally. He had entered into it against his better or +personal judgment and had no liking for it whatever. It interfered with +Long's gambling career, a situation which—to a man of Long's type—was +altogether intolerable.</p> + +<p>Western gamblers are legion—a reckless, money-plunging, romantic and +venturesome yet an admittedly square-shooting clan. Long was typical of +this crowd. He was a swagger dresser and more marked than many because +he was strikingly handsome. Even better looking was Long's red-haired +wife. They were an unusually devoted pair according to all reports.</p> + +<p>Long was born in Chicago and even as a young man he managed to climb +high in the gambling circles of that city. He was a high-ranking officer +in the fabulous gambling empire of John Worth, reputed to have been the +wealthiest gambler of all time with the possible exceptions of Edward +Chase and Vasil Chuckovich. Chase and Chuck, as they were known, +controled all gambling from Chicago west to the coast for thirty years +and amassed more than $20,000,000 apiece. Canfield, in all his glory, +nor any other Eastern gambler, not even the present wealthy, staid, and +conservative Col. Bradley, king of the modern gambling world, ever +approached the enormous fortunes of Worth, or Chase or Chuck.</p> + +<p>Chase was originally a Saratoga, N. Y., hotel clerk and his partner +Chuck was an Austrian emigrant, kitchen worker. Both were bitten by the +gambling bug in Saratoga and went West, not to grow up with, but to +fairly conquer the country. They ran a dime apiece up into +multi-millions without batting their eye-lashes. It was under the +direction of this highly spectacular pair that William Long, a gambling +genius in his own right, was destined to work in Denver.</p> + +<p>Long left Chicago for Denver during one of those periodical municipal +reform upheavals that sent his boss, John Worth, under cover for a +spell. Long arrived in Denver with his beautiful wife and a $10,000 bank +roll one bright spring day at the opening of the Overland Park racing +season. The Colorado resort fairly dripped with wealthy tourists and +members of the sporting fraternity from everywhere. He qualified with +Boss Ed Chase and was assigned territory. He opened up a rather modest +gambling hall near Seventeenth and Curtis streets. This was within a +stone's throw of Chase and Chuck's famous Cottage Club and it was +understood that Long was to take care of the overflow from the Cottage +resort.</p> + +<p>Just to bow to a time-honored custom, the room of Long's place fronting +on the street was fitted up as a fruit stand—a stall, of course, for +the spacious gambling hall in the back. This was more a condescension to +the church element than through any fear of the law.</p> + +<p>Long had been in operation only a few weeks when the altogether weird +began entering into his affairs. The Rocky Ford garden district in +Colorado began growing small melons. Some of them found their way to +Long's stall. A youth tended the stall and nobody connected with the +whole establishment ever cared whether the fruit stall ever profited a +dime or not. The youth knew his salary was coming from the games in back +but it was customary to treat any possible stray customer for fruit +quite seriously and attentively.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Long sent the youth on an errand and took charge of the +stall while the boy was gone. This was simply because all Long's dealers +were doing a Monte Carlo business in back and he was the only one +footloose. A man approached the stall and picked up one of the tiny +cantaloupes from Rocky Ford. He cut into it with a pocket-knife and +tasted the meat. Then the customer's eye-lids went up in the air. Long +observed him and, as he explained later, was becoming just a little +bored. Then the customer spoke, gravely, seriously:</p> + +<p>"This," he said, "is the most perfect and the most deliciously flavored +melon of its kind in all the world."</p> + +<p>"If that's true," said Long, "nobody seems to care. I can get them at a +dime apiece, wholesale. I'll sell you all you can carry at fifteen cents +each."</p> + +<p>"Where do you get them?" asked the customer.</p> + +<p>"They're grown down in Rocky Ford," said Long.</p> + +<p>"These melons are worth $1.50 each and I can get that for them. I'll +take a train-load, laid down in Chicago, green, at fifteen cents each. I +am Mr. Blank of Blank & Blank. We supply a wealthy trade, the most +excellent hotels and the royal families of Europe. Wire me the market +daily on these melons in season."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That was the beginning of the Rocky Ford cantaloupe fame. Prices soared +to seventy-five cents, wholesale, within a week. Long went into the +melon business with Senator Swink, of the Rocky Ford district. They +bought up the entire crop and cleaned up a million dollars profit each +within a few years.</p> + +<p>Then Long became restive. The gambling germs in his blood were rampant. +He sold out to Senator Swink and others and moved on to Chicago, his +early stamping ground.</p> + +<p>Worth, kingpin of the Chicago gambling fraternity, had grown old and +what is known as the "concession" had fallen into other hands. Long +found that, so far as the Chicago gambling situation was concerned, he +was an outsider looking in. He and his wife knew that even their old +friends could do nothing to change this situation.</p> + +<p>But our hero was nothing if not a determined person. Both he and his +beautiful red-haired wife liked Chicago and Long could not live without +gambling, so he was put to figuring out some way to make it possible for +him to fly his flags in the Loop or some other first-class commercial +district.</p> + +<p>Finally he decided that if he could gain a foothold no other way, no one +would try to prevent his buying his way in. So he made his famous offer +of $1,000,000 cash for a controling interest in one approved district. +What happened after that might never be thoroughly understood. A little +light is thrown on the shadow by some known facts regarding Chicago +gamblers and their wars.</p> + +<p>Like Long, himself, all Chicago gamblers are determined persons. The +famous killing of Jake Lingel and other interesting little events only +go to show just how determined Chicago gamblers are at times. It is +possible that there was an element in Chicago that did not exactly +approve of Long's activities. It is possible that they objected to his +entrance into the lists at any price.</p> + +<p>What can happen under such conditions is shown by a page from the record +which reveals that, some years back, one gambling contingent was in and +another contingent was out. The outs were warring with the ins. During +this one war 49 bombs were tossed and planted and 49 gambling +establishments were blasted, uprooted and blown into the air.</p> + +<p>There is no doubt that Long was aware of conditions. Whatever it was +that happened to him he certainly must have walked into it with his eyes +wide open.</p> + +<p>His deal to pay $1,000,000 cash for a gambling concession progressed to +a point where Long withdrew the money from a bank. He took it to his +hotel room where he waited with his wife for a telephone call. The money +was in a suitcase. The phone rang and according to the wife Long +answered it. It was a little after one o'clock in the afternoon—broad +daylight, of course.</p> + +<p>Long turned from the phone to his wife.</p> + +<p>"I am going over now, and meet the boys," he said. "I have only got to +go about two blocks and as soon as I sign up I will be right back."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake be careful," cautioned the wife.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly," laughed Long. "It is broad daylight. I am only going a +couple of blocks along the busiest street in the world. This suitcase +will attract no more attention than any other suitcase." Long kissed his +wife and left. He was confident and cheerful. But he did not come back.</p> + +<p>The beautiful wife waited and waited. She phoned all their friends and +all the hospitals.</p> + +<p>Gamblers' wives are never in a hurry to phone the police but finally, +after many hours of waiting and weeping, Mrs. Long did just that. It +availed her nothing. To use a hackneyed figure, it was as though the +earth had opened and swallowed her husband.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_DINNER_DATE_WITH_MURDER" id="A_DINNER_DATE_WITH_MURDER"></a>A DINNER DATE WITH MURDER</h2> + +<h3>by HARRY STEIN</h3> + + +<p>It was long past the dinner hour and too early for the after theatre +crowd. The two men at the table near the door were the only patrons in +Luigi's restaurant. They had eaten and were sitting there drinking wine. +They drank very slowly and it was plain that they were waiting for +somebody because they weren't talking much and had the half bored, half +impatient look of people who have nothing to do but wait. At a table +near the back of the room the waiter, who seemed to be the only one on +duty, sat smoking a black twisted cigar and reading a newspaper.</p> + +<p>One of the men put his wine glass down and lit a cigarette. Even sitting +down he was noticeably shorter than his companion but he was powerfully +built. He had a deep olive complexion and eyes that were black and +sparkling.</p> + +<p>"It looks like your man isn't coming, Dan," he said.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about that, Gatti," Dan said. "He'll turn up. He knows the +trail's hot and he'd rather be a live rat than a dead kidnapper."</p> + +<p>Gatti shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said vaguely. "You say +you'll know if it's the same one that phoned. How can you be sure?"</p> + +<p>"The accent. It's unmistakable. A deep voice and an accent like a +vaudeville dialectician's."</p> + +<p>Gatti refilled their glasses from the green bottle on the table. Then +they were silent.</p> + +<p>The front door opened and two men entered. One was fat with a complexion +the color of old weather beaten brick and eyes that were watery and +cold. He wore a high crowned, pearl grey fedora, set squarely on his +head and his fleecy coat had heavily padded shoulders. The other man was +slight and sallow. His coat was too tight across his back and he walked +with a defiant swagger. They hung their hats and coats on the rack and +sat down two tables away from the one at which Dan and Gatti were +sitting. The waiter put down his cigar and came to their table, bowing +slightly.</p> + +<p>"Spaghetti wid' a meat sauce," the stout man ordered loudly, "an' a +bottle a' Chianti."</p> + +<p>"Same," the small man said laconically.</p> + +<p>The waiter went off without a word. The two men lit cigarettes. Dan and +Gatti watched them with open curiosity, waiting for some sign but they +smoked in silence, never looking in the direction of the other table.</p> + +<p>"It's the organ grinder accent all right," Gatti said in a barely +audible voice. "But where's the high sign?"</p> + +<p>"Give him a chance," Dan mumbled. "He has to be plenty careful, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>The waiter came in with a wicker wrapped bottle which he set on the +table before the newcomers. Then he went back to the kitchen and when he +returned he brought two heaping plates of spaghetti, dripping reddish +brown sauce and giving off a fragrant steam.</p> + +<p>"The idea is to talk on a full stomach, I suppose," Gatti whispered. "Or +isn't he the guy? I thought your man was coming alone."</p> + +<p>"He didn't say," Dan said.</p> + +<p>Gatti watched the fat, red faced man wielding fork and knife, eating the +spaghetti with great relish.</p> + +<p>"Dat's a pretty good a' spaghetti, eh Joe?" the fat man said loudly.</p> + +<p>"Right," Joe replied briefly.</p> + +<p>Dan looked toward the back of the room where the waiter was again +occupied with his cigar and paper. Maybe they're waiting for the waiter +to clear out first, he was thinking. He sipped at his wine, waiting.... +Then he looked up again. The stout man had almost finished what was on +his plate and was taking a long drink from his wine glass. He put the +glass down and sat back in his chair. He turned his watery eyes on Dan +and nodded his head slowly up and down ... up and down. Dan glanced +quickly at Gatti who had his elbow on the table and seemed to be +sleepily leaning far over to one side of his chair. Then he nodded his +head at the stout man just as the latter had done.</p> + +<p>The next instant he was on the floor and somewhere over his head, +repeated claps of thunder were bursting as if they would never cease and +from the other table he heard a choked scream. His ears hurt in the +silence that followed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When he rose from the floor Gatti, gun in hand, was already standing at +the side of the two men who a little while before had been enjoying +their spaghetti and were now dead. The waiter had disappeared. Dan took +a revolver from the lifeless hand of the small, sallow faced man. He +looked at the chambers. All the cartridges were neatly in place.</p> + +<p>"He never had a chance to use it," Gatti explained.</p> + +<p>The door opened again. A man with his hat drawn down low over his eyes, +stood in the doorway and looked wildly about at the dead men and at Dan +and Gatti. Then he turned around frantically.</p> + +<p>"Our man," Gatti cried.</p> + +<p>He leaped forward, grabbed the fleeing man by the elbow and jerked him +violently into the room.</p> + +<p>"You wanted to see us," Gatti said. "You phoned the lieutenant, didn't +you?"</p> + +<p>Every feature of the man's face was distorted with terror. Gatti shook +him.</p> + +<p>"This is the lieutenant," he said pointing to Dan. "What were you going +to tell him?"</p> + +<p>The man was looking at the corpses with a slow, steady gaze. His face +was more composed now.</p> + +<p>"Sure," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "Dey a' deada now, yes? I no +hava ta be afraid, yes?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, they're dead," Dan said. "Where have they been keeping +the kid?"</p> + +<p>The man drew a piece of paper from his pocket. Dan read the address on +it and put it in his own pocket.</p> + +<p>"Who are they?" he asked pointing to the bodies.</p> + +<p>The man was calm now.</p> + +<p>"Dat's a' Rocky Callahan," he said, "an'a da leetle wan he's a Joe +Baker. I was a' gon' ta tell you. I was a' gon' ta—how you say—walk +out on a' dem."</p> + +<p>"Rocky Callahan from Detroit!" Dan said in surprise. "You mean the fat +feller."</p> + +<p>"Dat's a'right."</p> + +<p>"Sucker," Gatti chuckled.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Dan said wryly. "But what started the target practice?"</p> + +<p>"He pulled a rod on us," Gatti said.</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Joe Baker, the little guy."</p> + +<p>"I didn't see it."</p> + +<p>"Sure, because you weren't looking for it."</p> + +<p>"I was looking at them."</p> + +<p>"Baker had it under the table in the hand he wasn't eating with. You +couldn't notice unless you bent down to look under the flap of their +tablecloth. They must have found out their pal here was going to sing +and figured he probably told us too much already. They counted on +getting him later."</p> + +<p>Dan nodded reflectively. "But what I want to know," he said, "is how you +happened to be looking under their table."</p> + +<p>Gatti chuckled some more.</p> + +<p>"I was just making sure," he said. "Guys named Callahan shouldn't try to +eat spaghetti. He might have palmed off the accent but nobody with a +real accent like that would cut up his spaghetti with a knife and pick +up tiny pieces on his fork."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with that?" Dan wanted to know.</p> + +<p>Gatti gave him a look of contempt. "You eat spaghetti with a fork and a +tablespoon to help you wind it around the fork and you eat it full +length or it isn't worth eating."</p> + +<p>"You dam' right," Gatti's prisoner put in belligerently. His fear and +humility were completely gone now. "Dat's a' da only way ta eata him."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ARTISTIC_MURDERS_MISFIRE" id="ARTISTIC_MURDERS_MISFIRE"></a>ARTISTIC MURDERS MISFIRE</h2> + +<h3><i>A TRUE FACT CRIME SHORT</i></h3> + +<h3>by MAT RAND</h3> + + +<p>A scientific detective, identified with national and international law +enforcement agencies, is authority for the statement that there are at +least eighteen methods of murder that practically defy detection. Yet +the record shows that there are very few murders committed in any one of +the eighteen ways that go unpunished. In other words the old adage, +"Murder Will Out," is true according to the record in about ninety +percent of all felonious killings.</p> + +<p>To commit a murder in any one of the mentioned eighteen ways it would be +necessary for the murderer to be a reasonably advanced scientist. Few +possess the technical knowledge necessary to destroy their fellow beings +by these methods. Nevertheless, all eighteen of the methods mentioned +have been tried from time to time with varying success in escaping +conviction.</p> + +<p>It would appear that persons of scientific attainment could be counted +upon not to attempt murder. This is not true. Education is not a +one-hundred percent deterrent to crime. Educated persons have only a +slightly less average as potential murderers than the illiterate. Not +even motives differ except in cases of murder for robbery. Considering +robbery as greed this difference is removed. Jealousy figures as a +motive in a large number of murders and among the educated murderers it +is paramount.</p> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/illus9.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>Considering murder—for that matter all forms of crime—as an art it +would seem likely that the criminals of education or scientific +attainment would excel as master craftsmen. This isn't true either. Just +the opposite prevails. In practically all crimes attempted by scientists +they bungle their jobs completely. The record proves positively that as +criminals scientists are flunkies without a single recorded exception.</p> + +<p>Where a murder is committed by a method that destroys its own evidence +or fails to leave what might be called a "trace" or clue detectives are +hampered but not necessarily baffled. In these cases, almost without +exception, it is circumstances that bring the criminal to punishment. +While a jury might refuse to convict on circumstantial evidence a +detective is not so deterred. The scientific detective turns science +against the scientific murderer. He batters the suspect with +circumstantial evidence until in nine out of ten cases the scientific +suspect weakens and acknowledges his crime. Circumstantial evidence +backed by a confession that checks on all angles is about all any jury +needs to be convinced of guilt.</p> + +<p>When your correspondent began to dig into this subject of artistic or +scientific murder Government detectives—themselves master +scientists—made a request. They asked that we be "a little vague" in +the use of proper names and in description of the eighteen murder +methods most difficult of detection. So, we will name no chemicals or +poisons but confine ourselves to effects and processes.</p> + +<p>The commonest method is the complete destruction of the corpse—the +corpus delicti. Cremation is the usual means resorted to. The body is +burned in a furnace or on a pyre. Effort is sometimes made to make +identification impossible by burning the body or parts of it in gasoline +flames. The scientist has no edge on his uneducated fellow in this type +of murder case. He practically never is able to remain with the burning +corpse long enough to do a perfect job.</p> + +<p>In many cases complete dissolution of the corpse is attempted by +immersion in acids. There are acids that completely dissolve bone tissue +and even clothing but circumstances usually reveal these crimes. +Accessibility to such chemicals and procurement of such chemicals +usually lead to a search. The search usually leads to the finding of +bone fragments, identifiable by means of buttons, bits of jewelry, +metallic dentistry and other bits of evidence which escapes or rather +resists the acid effects.</p> + +<p>And now we get into some deep scientific water. It is actually possible +by the exact and accurate dosage of a certain poison, over a long +period, to produce death "by typhoid fever." This poison, a common and +easily available one shows up like an electric sign when not +scientifically administered. But when given in frequent and exact small +quantities it produces every symptom of typhoid. Quite often the corpse +is buried as a typhoid victim.</p> + +<p>In most of these "typhoid" cases the motive is insurance and the +murderer encouraged by success in one case attempts others. Sometimes +there are a score of victims. In practically all cases the murderer is +convicted in the long run. The circumstances that usually bring about +detection are doctors and nurses and neighbors. They will remember that +the murderer was always quite enthusiastic about insurance. A nurse will +remember that the murderer insisted on preparing the victim's food. +Sometimes a druggist will remember selling some poison to kill a dog or +as an insecticide.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There is, too, a gas that administered in exactly correct quantities +will produce "tuberculosis." This gas kills instantly unless +scientifically administered. A small quantity will cause the lungs to +"rot" gradually bringing death in from five to thirty days with all the +symptoms of rapid or "galloping" consumption. Doctors have so diagnosed +such cases but circumstances usually bring the crime to light. First +among these is that the gas is rare, ordinarily. It can be home-made but +only by a chemist with a well-grounded knowledge.</p> + +<p>It would appear that, among poisons, the most powerful would be the +hardest to detect. This because a small dose would leave less trace than +a large one. It follows only in some cases. One very powerful poison +absolutely defies detection. Another, and the most deadly poison known +to man reveals itself instantly. This second poison perfumes the corpse +and leaves it smelling with a fruity odor. Any doctor or chemist can +identify it instantly regardless of how small the dose might have been.</p> + +<p>In the event of the first named powerful poison—the one that defies +detection—there is no odor or other discernible indication of any +nature. When scientifically administered the fatal dose is less than one +billionth the weight of an ordinary human body. Thus, to trace it, the +autopsy doctors would have to find, separate or segregate a billionth +bit of the mass under observation. The body completely absorbs the fatal +chemical and so—.</p> + +<p>This poison has its uses but is rare and impossible to obtain even by +most chemists. There are few dispensing druggists who have scales +sensitive enough to weigh the dosage of the chemical. Even for doctors +to obtain it is an undertaking involving considerable red tape. But it +has been used by murderers—scientific murderers. Circumstances in these +cases have proven that the murderer possessed the drug and had a motive +to use it. Confession has followed circumstantial evidence in some cases +and in others conviction has been obtained on expert testimony backed by +positive circumstantial conditions, such as the presence of the corpse +and proof of the ante-mortem possession of the fatal drug by the +suspected murderer.</p> + +<p>A fiction story of the football grid, some years ago, involved the use +of a solution to produce a fatal gas under conditions of bodily heat +produced by violent exercise. This was authentic so far as action and +effects were concerned. In the football story the victim's sweater was +soaked in a deadly solution. Under the heat of the exercise during the +football game the victim's body generated the gas which he inhaled. The +gas stimulated his heart action to the point where a blood vessel was +ruptured causing death.</p> + +<p>The actual case from which this fiction story was borrowed involved a +man, a wife, and the wife's clandestine violinist lover. The wife +knitted the sweater for her admirer. Her husband dipped it in chemical +solution and dried it while his wife was absent. When she returned she +expressed the sweater to her admirer. He wore it under his shirt. His +body heat produced the gas which was inhaled by the violinist in +sufficient quantities to cause death.</p> + +<p>The hypodermic needle is a weapon of death which has caused autopsy +physicians trouble since its invention. Murder by the hypodermic needle, +no doubt, would escape detection often enough were it not for +circumstances. Such circumstances of death are ever in the mind of +autopsy doctors. Where evidence warrants it corpses are subjected to +microscopic and meticulous search to locate a hypodermic puncture. And +they can be located even when hidden back of an eyelid as was the case +in one instance, that of an infant. The suspected murderer, in this +case, a colored mother, died in an insane asylum.</p> + +<p>In cases such as have been described here readers might wonder why +names, dates and places are not revealed. They might ask why scientific +detectives desire the text to be vague. The reason is quite simple and +understandable once it is explained. Even where conviction is obtained +in such cases it is only after the most laborious and expensive +processes and investigations. Living relatives of the accused in each +case might be moved to bring suit on any of many grounds. This would +result in more long, laborious and expensive litigation—to the +Government, the writer, the publisher, doctors, detectives and what not?</p> + +<p>This thing has been going on for centuries. As far back as history +records mysterious poisons have been a common means of murder. There are +thousands of poisons. Some of these, products of the jungles held secret +by savage tribes, are still little known to or understood by scientists. +Poisons are given up by the earth, secreted by plants and by animals. +They are produced by combining chemicals and by chemical reactions. In +nature they are begotten by elemental distillation, by the action of the +sun's rays, by the excrement of animals including the fishes, by the +promulgation of minute organisms, and in a myriad of mysterious ways.</p> + +<p>Some of these processes are well understood and some little understood +by man. As is the case with electrical and other forms of scientific +research the field of scientific criminal detection hardly has been +scratched. Research is constant and no doubt will be perpetual. No one +knows where any sort of research will lead. Scientific detectives call +attention to this fact:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Such research is valuable not only in the matter of law +enforcement but might prove of inestimable value in other fields. +It might lead to a discovery that would end cancer or one that +would end war."</p></blockquote> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hooded Detective, Volume III No. 2, +January, 1942, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOODED DETECTIVE, VOLUME III *** + +***** This file should be named 38466-h.htm or 38466-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/4/6/38466/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, John Betancourt, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hooded Detective, Volume III No. 2, January, 1942 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 2, 2012 [EBook #38466] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOODED DETECTIVE, VOLUME III *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, John Betancourt, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + + FEATURING THE BLACK HOOD!!! + + _MAN OF MYSTERY!!_ + + HOODED DETECTIVE + + + _VOL. III, No. 2_ + + _JANUARY, 1942_ + + +A SMASHING BLACK HOOD NOVEL + + + THE WHISPERING EYE By G. T. Fleming-Roberts 8 + + Hunted by the police ... framed for robbery and murder by the Eye, + master fiend and vicious ruler of the underworld ... loathed by + Barbara Sutton the girl who loves him ... the BLACK HOOD had to + face the blazing purgatory of this murder master's guns to win back + Barbara's love and clear himself of the framed charges + + +SIX ACTION PACKED SHORT STORIES + + + CANDIDATE FOR A COFFIN By T. W. Ford 42 + + Wilson Lamb cuddled his automatic to play "Mr. Death" and fingered + little Louis Engel for coffin cargo. But when he pulled the + trigger, Whisper the gun-cobra from Chi spilled out of Doom's + deck.... + + + ONE HUNDRED BUCKS PER STIFF By J. Lloyd Conrich 52 + + Mr. Peck was dead ... the papers said so. Yet Mr. Peck performed + his own autopsy and saved eight men from death. + + + DEATH IS DEAF By Cliff Campbell 60 + + Big Sid couldn't understand it, and he was a smart monkey. He had + cased this job himself, personal. Had cooked up the scheme for + pulling it off and had spent a good two weeks laying the + groundwork. Yet here he was locked up in the county jail with the + hot squat waiting to claim him.... + + + THREE GUESSES By David Goodis 65 + + Detective Frey came in and saw Duggin lying dead, and he figured + he'd go out and do big things. He went out and threw his weight + around. Doing big things? You figure that one out. + + + THE COP WAS A COWARD By Wilbur S. Peacock 73 + + Johnny Burke had the making of a fine cop in him ... but there was + something strange about Johnny Burke--something mighty strange. + + + A DINNER DATE WITH MURDER By Harry Stein 86 + + They had expected spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner, but were + served instead, hot lead, with a little bit of blood on the + side.... + + +TWO TRUE FACT DETECTIVE SHORTS + + + THE STRANGE CASE OF WILLIAM LONG By Roy Giles 81 + + ARTISTIC MURDERS MISFIRE By Mat Rand 90 + + + HOODED DETECTIVE, published every other month by COLUMBIA + PUBLICATIONS, INC. 1 Applelon Street, Holyoke, Mass. Editorial and + executive offices 60 Hudson Street, New York, N. Y. Application for + entry as second class matter pending at the Post Office at Holyoke, + Mass. Yearly subscription 60c, single copy 10c. Printed in the U. + S. A. + + + + +THE WHISPERING EYE + +A BRAND NEW BLACK HOOD NOVEL + +by G. T. FLEMING-ROBERTS + + Hunted by the police ... framed for robbery and murder by the EYE, + master fiend and vicious ruler of the underworld ... loathed by + Barbara Sutton, the girl who loves him ... The BLACK HOOD had to + face the blazing purgatory of this murder master's guns to win back + Barbara's love and clear himself of the framed charges. + +[Illustration: _Gray jets of live steam erupted from pipes around the +edge of the room which threatened to boil BLACK HOOD alive._] + + + + +CHAPTER I + +_Rob And Kill_ + + +That night, the sounds that came from the metal stamping plant of +Weedham Industries, Incorporated, might have been prophetic of the +immediate and ugly future, for they were like the rattle of machine +guns. But Joseph, keeper of the south gate, was blissfully ignorant of a +Thompson gun and its deadly chatter, so that he drew no such comparison. +His only worry at the time lay in the dark sky above and the blue-white +stabs of lightning that promised an electrical storm. + +[Illustration] + +He hated storms. Probably he hated the idea of being murdered, or would +have if it ever occurred to him. But then he didn't know that he was +going to be murdered, and he did know it was going to storm. The thunder +was the tocsin of the storm, but those who came to rob and kill moved +unheralded in swift silence. + +The night shift had clocked in over an hour ago, and there should be no +passing through the gate for at least six hours. Joseph tilted his chair +back against the steel fence and kindled his cob pipe. The air was hot +and still so that blobs of pipe smoke clung like earth-bound ghosts +about him. In spite of the impending storm, Joseph was happy. In his +mind was a kindly thought for William "Old Bill" Weedham, principal +owner of Weedham Industries. That was because of the bonus Joseph was +anticipating. + +Within the next twenty-four hours, Joseph knew, seventy-five thousand +dollars would be distributed in cash bonuses to the employees of the +metal stamping division. Joseph had mentally spent his tiny fraction of +the money a dozen times or more. He did a lot of dreaming, Joseph did. +But about pleasant things. He had never dreamed of those who rob and +kill. + +A low slung maroon roadster came down the street and nosed into the +mouth of the tarvia drive at Joseph's gate. Joseph eased his chair +forward, stood up, approached the car, his faded eyes squinted against +the glare of the floodlights mounted on top of the high fence. The car +looked like the one young Jeff Weedham drove. Jeff Weedham was "Old +Bill" Weedham's son. He took no interest in his father's business or in +anything else unless it was that newspaper business which the elder +Weedham had purchased for him. + +Yes, that was Jeff Weedham at the wheel, and beside him were two other +young people--a girl and a redheaded man. Joseph took off his cap and a +grin cracked his weathered face. + +"Hi," Jeff Weedham said. He was a narrow-headed man with frail-looking +sloped shoulders and a thin triangle of face. He had an engaging, +careless grin, and light brown eyes that laughed. He had a marked +tendency to stutter. + +"Well," Joseph said, highly pleased, "if it ain't Mr. Jeff Weedham!" + +Joseph sent a shy glance toward the other occupants of the car. The girl +instantly reminded him of honey and violets. Hers was one of those +clear, golden complexions, and there was a certain unspoiled sweetness +about her mouth. It must have been her eyes that recalled violets. + +The man on the girl's right seemed to overlap her possessively which +could have been accounted for by the width of his shoulders. His red +hair bristled in defiance to any comb. His nose looked as though it had +been hit a few times in its owner's lifetime. The greenish suit he wore +was filled to capacity with overly developed muscles. A leather cased +camera was suspended from his bull neck by means of a strap. He had a +flashlight gun in his right hand, and a photographer's tripod was +propped upright between his knees. + +"D-d-do you think you could let us in?" Jeff Weedham asked of Joseph. +"_The D-Daily Opinion_ is going to give D-d-dad a plug." + +_The Daily Opinion_ was the newspaper which Bill Weedham had bought for +his son, Joseph recalled. + +"Why, I guess so," Joseph replied. "But your friends here will have to +sign the register book." + +The big redhead had some difficulty getting into the pocket of his suit +coat from which he extracted a card. He swelled importantly as he handed +it across to the gate keeper. The card read, "_The Daily Opinion._ Joe +Strong, News Photographer." + +He said, "I guess this will fix everything, huh Jeff?" + +"This is Miss Barbara Sutton," Jeff said, indicating the girl beside +him. "I've hired her as a reporter, and Joe Strong is her cameraman. I +just came along to see that they get inside. They're d-d-doing an +article on the various manufacturing plants around New York." + + * * * * * + +Joseph bowed to Barbara Sutton. "You folks can go right in, just as soon +as you sign the book." He went back to his post and returned with a +ledger. He turned pages with a moistened thumb, took a pencil out of his +pocket, passed both to the passengers of the roadster. Barbara Sutton +and Joe Strong signed. + +"Looks like it's kicking up a storm," Joseph said. + +The thunder rolled ominous reply to his remark. Then Joseph went to the +gate, opened it, and the roadster rolled up the drive toward the +stamping mill. + +Joseph went back to his chair and rekindled his pipe. He smiled at the +memory of Barbara Sutton. He didn't know when he had seen a prettier +girl. There must be an awful lot of young fellows who thought the same +thing. + +"And if I was twenty years younger I guess I'd try to give them a lot +of competition!" he said aloud and chuckled. + +His chuckle stopped as lightning flare threw the shadow of a man across +the ground at Joseph's feet. He looked up, startled. The man faced +Joseph silently. He was slight, wore a workman's overall suit, and he +had a lunch box under his arm. His face, what could be seen of it +beneath the low drawn hat, was one of starved cheeks, lipless mouth, +pinched nose, and a chin that seemed to dangle. + +Joseph at first thought the man was one of the mill hands who had +arrived late for work. + +"You don't care what time you show up," Joseph grumped. "You know you're +over an hour late?" + +The slight man laughed unpleasantly. + +"I ain't late," he said. "I guess I'm just about in time." + +Something with the glint of bright steel flashed from the lunch box +under the man's arm. Instantly Joseph's mind connected this with the +seventy-five thousand dollars in small bills that was to come in on the +bank express truck in a few minutes. + +_Stick-up!_ Joseph's brain shrieked the alarm. He tried to get out of +his chair, but a knife blade that was like a sliver of light was driven +into Joseph's throat, sliding through flesh and muscle, torturing every +pain nerve in his body, driving relentlessly until the point of it +wedged into the wood back of the gate keeper's chair. + +The chair creaked and groaned beneath Josephs' writhings. But the knife +and the thin, dirty fingers of the killer did not permit his body to +alter its position. And then the pain nerves died. Joseph's brain +emptied, fortunately; a man would not want to know that he was tacked to +a chair, bleeding to death. + +The killer released Joseph. A little of the spurting blood had got on +his dirty fingers, and he wiped his hands on the seat of his trousers. +Then he removed the keys from the gate keeper's pocket. He went to the +gate, unlocked it, and opened it wide. + +There were great overgrown shrubs on either side of the gate just +outside the factory grounds. The killer walked to the bushes at the west +side of the gate, parted the branches with his dirty fingers. + +"Delancy," his voice croaked. + +The shrubbery shook. The thick torso of a man who squatted like a toad +could be seen partly emerging from the shrubs. + +"Okay, Shiv?" + +"Okay, Delancy," the killer chuckled. "His own mudder would t'ink he was +asleep in the chair. Don't death make a guy look natural, huh?" + +"You get back to the car," the man in the bushes said. "Be ready to pick +us up as soon as we crack the money truck. If you get nervous, think of +the dough. Seventy-five grand!" + +"I ain't noivous!" the killer said. "T'ink I never croaked a guy before. +It's a pipe. Dis whole job is a pipe, wit' us havin' a Monitor gun to +open dat armored truck. I'm almost ashamed to be associated wit' such a +pipe of a job." + +"Sure it's a pipe," Delancy agreed from amid the bushes. "Only don't get +too cocky on account of there's one guy who could mess things up for us +if he ever hits our trail." + +Shiv laughed. "You're worrying about the Black Hood, huh?" + +"I'm not worrying," Delancy said crossly. "I'm just being cautious. Each +job we do for the boss gets a little bigger. One of these times we'll +run into Mr. Black Hood." + +"And when we do--" the killer drew a line across his throat with his +forefinger. Then he turned and walked away from the bushes. + + * * * * * + +Delancy's moon face disappeared in the foliage. Only his hard little +eyes glittered in the shadows. Beside him, patiently silent, was Squid +Murphy. Murphy was motionless except for his twitching left eyelid. +Murphy was manning the Colt Monitor rifle, the kind of gun the G-men +used to death-drill the armor plate cars the mobsters sometimes used. +Tonight the weapon was in other hands. + +Delancy watched the lean figure of the knifeman ambling leisurely up the +road toward where the get-away car was parked, lights out. Shiv wasn't +nervous. Neither was Murphy, in spite of his twitching eyelid. There was +nothing to be nervous about since they had hooked up with this new +boss--this guy Delancy had never seen; this guy who knew all the +answers. No, there was nothing to worry about as long as that relentless +hunter of criminals known as the Black Hood kept off their tail. + +Delancy wasn't nervous even when the blunt gray snout of the bank +express truck turned into the mouth of the drive and slowed up before +the open gate. He just took a firmer grip on his automatic and waited. + +The driver of the bank truck yelled at the motionless figure of Joseph. +And when Joseph didn't answer, the driver nudged the guard who rode +beside him. + +"What the hell's wrong with their watchman?" + +Delancy heard that. His little eyes saw the guard get out of the cab. He +saw that the back door of the armored truck was opening and another +guard was getting out. Delancy thought, _What a break this is!_ And then +he shot the driver in the back. + +The guard who had ridden up in front snatched at his shoulder holster as +he turned in the direction of Delancy's fire. On the other side of the +drive, two more of Delancy's boys opened up with automatics, so that by +the time the guard had decided he was facing death, death spoke from +behind him. Two slugs ripped into him. His own gun jumped twice, the +first shot coming dangerously close to Delancy's head, while the second +was an unaimed thing caused by the convulsive jerk of the guard's +trigger finger as he spilled forward on his face. + +The man who had got out of the rear of the truck saw a glimpse of the +hell that had spouted from the shrubbery and tried to duck for cover +behind the truck. And beside Delancy, the Monitor gun came to life. It +talked fast in a language that was all its own. It got the retreating +guard twice, the heavy, bone-shattering slugs knocking the man first one +way and then another as he fell crazily to the ground. + +There were two guards inside the truck. Their guns roared from the ports +in the armored walls. But the Monitor rifle was a can opener. Crouching +beside Squid Murphy, Delancy felt the heat of its barrel and saw the +black periods that were bullet holes speckling the gray steel sides of +the truck. Now only one of the gun ports in the truck was active. + +The barrel of the Monitor swung and the hot steel barrel burned +Delancy's arm. He said, "Hell!" hoarsely and jumped out of the bushes, +automatic in hand. Delancy dropped flat and heard the sound of a bullet +whining by. And then the Monitor's deafening hammer sounded again, and +after that, silence. + +Delancy picked himself up, ran, his thick, toadlike body silhouetted by +the truck lights. Gun smoke lay in placidly moving layers of gray before +the light beams. Delancy ducked through the open door of the truck. One +of his own men was already inside, and he tossed a money bag to Delancy. +Delancy caught it with one arm and a belly and passed it back through +the door to Squid Murphy who was standing just outside. + +Delancy said, "Cut it, Murphy!" Because Squid Murphy was giggling. +Murphy was kill-crazy, and tonight the Monitor rifle in his hands had +made him feel like a god. His giggling rasped on Delancy's nerves. + +Delancy picked up another money bag, and then told his boys they'd have +to get going. He didn't know why he felt as though they ought to get +away in a hurry. Surely no one inside the Weedham plant could have heard +the gun fire above the racket the machines were making. Also, the +neighborhood about the factory was thinly populated. + +But something he couldn't put his finger on was spurring Delancy to get +clear of the scene of the crime as soon as possible. Maybe it was the +lightning that flashed with ever increasing frequency. Or maybe it was +the ghastly tableau the body of Joseph, the watchman, made, sitting in +that chair, pinned there like a butterfly by Shiv's knife. + +A big gray sedan stood in the middle of the road, the motor idling. Shiv +the knifeman slouched indolently behind the wheel. Murphy and the other +two gunmen were already getting into the rear seat, and Delancy went +cold with the sudden fear that his pals might run out on him. As fast as +his short bowed legs would carry him, he ran to the car and piled in +beside Shiv. The knifeman looked at Delancy and snickered. + +"What's the rush, Delancy? You think Black Hood is on your tail?" + +Delancy snarled, "Hell, no! But let's get going, huh?" + +Now that Shiv had mentioned it, Delancy recognized the fear that plagued +him. It was fear of the Black Hood. The Black Hood wasn't like the cops +at all. He didn't trail a man with screaming sirens and blasting +whistles. He hunted like a panther in the night, alone and silent. And +you never knew just when the shadow of this master manhunter was to +fall across your path. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +_Secret Traffic_ + + +If Delancy had stayed a little longer at the scene of his crime, he +would have learned that his premonition was founded in truth. The Black +Hood _was_ hard on Delancy's heels that night. Advance notice of the +stick-up at the Weedham plant had sifted up through the underworld +grapevine to come eventually to Black Hood's ears. It had been very +scanty information and late in its arrival--too late to enable the +master manhunter to block the plan. All that Black Hood had learned was +that robbery of the Weedham factory had been planned, which wasn't +anything very definite considering that the Weedham Industries occupied +over fifty acres of ground. + +When all hell broke loose at the south gate of the factory, Black Hood +was actually at the north-west corner of the grounds. A cat could +scarcely have seen him, lurking in the shadows, his tall figure shrouded +in a black silk cape, his head and face hidden by his famous hood. But +his position did give him one advantage over those actually at work in +the factory buildings--he could distinguish the rattle of gun fire from +the racket made by the stamping mill. + +At the sound of the first shot, Black Hood had climbed to the top of the +high wire fence to leap into the factory grounds. Lightning had seen him +streaking through the open areas between buildings--a weird figure in +yellow tights, night-black shorts and hooded mask, his cape whipping out +from his broad shoulders. He might have been mistaken for a man from +Mars or a devil out of Hell, yet beneath the grotesque garb beat a heart +that was warm and human. + +Black Hood knew what it was to be a policeman with hands bound by red +tape or political intrigue. He knew what it was to be a criminal, to be +hunted as Delancy was hunted. Once he had been a young cop, determined +to work his way up in the police force. One of the most diabolical +fiends of the underworld had framed this cop for a crime. The frame had +stuck. In his efforts to clear himself, the young cop had taken half a +dozen lead slugs from underworld guns into his body. He had been left +on a lonely mountain road, apparently dead, later to be found by that +wise, gray-whiskered man known as the Hermit. + +It was the Hermit's vast store of scientific knowledge that brought the +half-dead cop back to health. It was the Hermit who gave the ex-cop a +body with the strength of steel and a mind that was a veritable +encyclopedia of scientific knowledge. It was the Hermit who had sent the +ex-cop back into the world to live a useful life, to strike back at the +denizens of the underworld who had harmed him. + +So the Black Hood was born to live in two identities. By day he was a +pleasant, mild-mannered young man known as Kip Burland to Barbara +Sutton, Joe Strong, and others of their set. But at night Kip Burland +became the Black Hood, man of mystery, hunter of killers. Police who did +not understand the unorthodox methods of the Black Hood suspected him of +numerous crimes. The underworld that feared him wanted him dead. He was +the hunter hunted. + +Once the secret of his dual identity became known, he knew that he faced +either death from the hands of criminals or prison from the hands of +police. Barbara Sutton, who merely tolerated Kip Burland, was deeply in +love with the Black Hood, yet even Barbara did not know that Kip and the +Black Hood were one and the same person. + +Black Hood was not the only person at the Weedham plant who had heard +the gun fire at the south gate. Joe Strong, newly appointed cameraman on +Jeff Weedham's newspaper, had been standing at one of the doors of the +stamping mill, smoking a cigarette when the hold-up had taken place. +However, it required a few seconds for his dull brain to comprehend just +what was taking place and from what direction the shots had come. + +Joe Strong had been trying to develop a nose for news. When he finally +realized what was going on at the south gate, he decided that here was a +chance for some swell pictures that would prove to Jeff Weedham and +Barbara Sutton that he was a natural born news hound. He ran from the +stamping mill, his camera bobbing from the strap around his neck and his +tripod dragging behind him. He had heard that a crack news photographer +could adjust a camera on the run and he figured that he could do that +and also mount the camera on the tripod at the same time. + +It was a very good idea except that like most of the ideas that sprouted +slowly from Joe's brain, it didn't work. He was within fifteen yards of +the scene of the crime when he tripped over one leg of his tripod and +fell flat on his face. + + * * * * * + +When he picked himself up, he saw something that knocked all ideas of +picture taking out of his thick skull. A brilliant blaze of lightning +showed him the unmistakable figure of the Black Hood bending over the +body of Joseph, the watchman. He saw Black Hood's gauntlet gloved hand +closed on the handle of the knife that was thrust into Joseph's neck. + +Joe Strong had met Black Hood many times before, and, like the police, +Joe was convinced that Black Hood was a clever criminal. It occurred to +Joe in the darkness that followed the lightning flash, that it was Black +Hood who had stuck up the bank truck, slaughtered the guards, and was +just now in the act of finishing off Joseph, the only remaining witness +to his crime. + +So natural was the position of old Joseph in his chair that Black Hood, +too, had made the mistake of thinking that the watchman was alive. He +had approached Joseph with the idea of learning something about the +escaping criminals. He turned, now, from the murdered gate keeper to see +Joe Strong bearing down upon him, fists balled, square teeth showing, +his wide, coarse-featured face a mask of determination. He knew that Joe +Strong, in spite of his clumsiness, could be a nasty opponent in a +scrap. + +Joe closed in fast, led with his left fist in a blow that began way down +and ended exactly nowhere--nowhere, because Black Hood side-stepped both +the haymaker and Joe Strong. + +"Gangway, muscle man!" Black Hood's voice rang out, and then like a slim +arrow unleashed from a taut drawn bow Black Hood sped up the tarvia +drive toward where the low slung roadster that belonged to Jeff Weedham +was parked. + +Black Hood vaulted into the roadster without bothering to open the door. +Jeff Weedham had left the key in the ignition lock. The black gauntlet +covered fingers of the master manhunter gave the key a twist and at the +same time he plugged in the starter button. The motor responded +instantly. Black Hood brought the car around in a wide sweeping turn to +head back toward the gate, had to swerve to avoid hitting Joe Strong. + +There were some of the admirable qualities of the bull dog about Joe +Strong. Once his one-track mind got to functioning on a certain +objective it seldom digressed. And at the present moment his was +determined to stop Black Hood. As the roadster passed, straightening out +of its loop turn, Joe leaped to the running board, seized the wheel in +one hand and tried to get Black Hood by the throat with the other. The +car left the drive as Joe yanked at the wheel. It bounded toward a round +bed of evergreens that beautified the factory grounds. Black Hood +released the wheel, stood up on the pedals, and at the same time slammed +Joe across the face with the back of his gauntlet covered left hand. The +blow, the sudden stopping of the car, combined effectively to give Joe +the shake. He went backwards, sailing through the air, to land in the +evergreen bed. + +Black Hood let the clutch slap in and the roadster bounded back onto the +tarvia drive. Perhaps none but the steel-nerved Black Hood would have +tried to get through that factory gate, partially blocked as it was by +the crippled bank truck. But the master manhunter could have driven a +gas truck through Hell's own fire. Instead of slowing the car to squeeze +through the narrow opening, he tramped on the gas pedal and set his +teeth for the shock he knew was coming. Because he knew that the space +between truck and gate post was too narrow to allow the roadster to pass +unscarred. + +The right front fender hit the brick of the gate post. There was a +scream of tortured metal as the fender was sheared from the body. The +impact dragged down on the speed of the roadster so that the rear right +fender was only crumpled by the brick work. But momentum was sufficient +to carry Jeff Weedham's roadster out onto the road. + +Black Hood knew that the criminals had taken the road toward town. As +soon as he had reached the south gate he had ascertained this by a +glance at the gravel shoulder of the road. Whoever had been driving the +get-away car had started in a hurry so that one rear wheel threw gravel +in the opposite direction of travel. Just how much of a lead the rob and +kill men had on him, Black Hood did not know. But he did know that Jeff +Weedham's car was a gallant piece of machinery, capable of tremendous +speed and so nicely balanced that it could cling to sharp curves. + + * * * * * + +Actually, only a few seconds had elapsed between the time when Delancy +and his killers had hit the road and the time when Black Hood had +arrived at the south gate. The man called Shiv was driving Delancy's +get-away car at a conservative pace so as not to excite suspicion. In +this Shiv showed more wisdom than did Delancy. + +"You think you're going to a funeral?" Delancy demanded when his +patience could endure the pace no longer. + +Shiv said, "But you'll be goin' to one if I open dis crate up. You want +speed cops on your tail, Delancy?" + +"To hell with the cops," Delancy snarled. "Step it up a little." + +Shiv speeded up to forty miles an hour as he rolled to the top of a +little hill. A mile or so distant the lights of one of New York's +suburbs twinkled in the darkness. + +"We got lots of time," Shiv said. "You're noivous, Delancy. You got +ants. Up here at this next town we slide into a filling station and get +us a new paint job and new plates, all in the space of ten minutes. Like +I said before, dis job is a pipe." + +Delancy didn't hear Shiv. He was twisted around in the front seat, +looking over the heads of Squid Murphy and the two other gunsels in the +back seat. Through the rear window, Delancy saw twin swords of light +from the lamps of another car not so far behind them. + +"We're tailed now," he said hoarsely. + +"Aw nuts!" Murphy said from the back seat. "We ought to make you get out +and walk. Every time you see a car behind you, you get the ants." + +Delancy drew his tongue over dry lips. He said, "Take a look for +yourself, Murphy. That guy behind is burning asphalt off the road." + +Murphy and the other hoods looked backwards. The car behind was a +roadster, they could see in a sudden splash of lightning. And it was +traveling like the wind. + +Delancy opened the glove compartment in the instrument board and took +out a pair of field glasses. He got to his knees on the front seat, +turned around so that he could sight out the back window. He tried to +hold the speeding roadster in the range of the glasses, and when the +lightning came again he thought he could make out the figure of the +driver at the wheel. He thought that he saw a sleek rounded head closely +covered by a black silk hood. He was almost certain that he saw a black +silk cape whipping out from the shoulders of the lone man in the car. + +Delancy got cold all over. He gripped Shiv's shoulder convulsively, +nearly sending his own car into the ditch by so doing. + +"Step on it, Shiv," he said hoarsely. "I don't like the looks of that +guy in the car behind us." + +"So you don't like the guy's hair-do!" Shiv sneered. "And I should kick +the bottom out of dis crate just because you don't like the looks of +somebody behind us!" + +Delancy passed the glasses back to Squid Murphy. + +"See what you see, Murphy," he said quietly. Then he turned around, +hauled out his gun, and shoved it into Shiv's ribs. "When I said step on +it, I wasn't fooling." + +"Gees!" Murphy said. "That guy back there's got a hell of a thing on his +head. Looks like a hood." + +"A black hood," Delancy said. "And I don't think I want to have anything +to do with that guy, do you, Shiv?" + +Shiv came down on the gas pedal and the car picked up speed. He said, +"All right, all right! I'm steppin' on it, ain't I?" + +If Delancy's car hadn't speeded up, Black Hood in the car behind might +not have taken particular notice of it. But that sudden spurt of speed +on the part of the gray sedan was a dead give-away. Black Hood knew that +he was hot on the trail. + +The big gray sedan carrying Delancy and his pals, hit the suburban town +at a scant seventy miles an hour. It ran by three red lights without +shaking the roadster piloted by Black Hood. The streets were slippery +with rain that was sheeting out of the black sky, and when Shiv tried to +negotiate the next corner, the big sedan turned completely around. + +Delancy thought then that the chase was over, but Shiv had a trick or +two up his sleeve. He spurted, took the car half way down the block, +heading in the very direction from which Black Hood was coming. Then +Shiv whipped his wheel around for a short turn into the mouth of an +alley. + +Delancy breathed again. He could see where everything was going to be +all right now. The gray sedan bounced over the rough alley pavement, cut +across the street at the next block, and rolled onto the concrete area +in front of a large gas service station. The overhead doors beneath a +sign which advertised car washing by steam ran up on their track as the +gray sedan came into sight. Shiv steered into the wash room, and the +doors dropped back into place. + +Delancy got out, his body bathed in a cold sweat. The proprietor of this +gas station was in the employ of Delancy's boss who had planned every +step of the stick-up at the Weedham plant and the subsequent get-away. +Delancy had supreme faith in his boss. For the first time since he had +sighted that strange figure in the roadster that had followed them, he +began to feel a little bit secure. + +Delancy entered the filling station office, followed by his mob. The +proprietor, a huge bear of a man in brown coveralls, scowled at Delancy. +He said: + +"The way you came in here, it's a wonder you didn't bring a whole squad +of cops with you. What's the matter, anyway?" + +Delancy didn't answer just then. The proprietor of the station wasn't +alone in his office. There was a dame. She was a tall, well-dressed +woman with wax-pale skin and black hair that was parted in the middle +and slicked back to a soft knot. She had peculiarly cold green eyes that +were tilted at the outer extremities. Her lips were full, soft and +brilliantly rouged. + +Delancy jerked his head at the woman and asked of the proprietor: "Who's +that, Burkey?" + +Burkey shrugged big shoulders. "She's from the boss. She's got a message +for you." + +The woman was beautiful. But there was something about the chilly +expression in her eyes that made Delancy feel decidedly uncomfortable. +She did not smile as she opened a black purse and produced an envelope +which she handed to Delancy. + +While Burkey was opening the steam valves that would spray hot vapor on +the car in the wash room, Delancy tore open the letter which the woman +had handed him. Inside was a slip of paper on which had been typed the +following: + + "The bearer will ride with you into Manhattan." + +There was no signature, but in its stead was the crude drawing of an +eye, formed by two bowed lines that represented lids and two circles, +one within the other, representing iris and pupil. Delancy knew that the +message was from that man he had never seen--the big boss, the man who +knew all the answers. + +Delancy touched a match to the message. He looked at the woman with the +cold green eyes. + +"What's the idea?" he asked. + +"I suppose," she said in a quiet voice, "that it will look less +suspicious if you are seen driving a car with a woman beside you. Your +men are to get into the baggage trunk at the rear or else crouch down on +the floor of the rear compartment." + +Delancy snorted. "That's nuts. There ain't any sense to this. It was a +clean job. We didn't mix with any coppers." + +"No?" she said, elevating her eyebrows. "Nevertheless, you will carry +out the orders. The Eye knows what he's doing." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +_Haven Of The Hunted_ + + +Ten minutes later, Delancy drove the get-away car out of the service +station. It was a gray sedan no longer. It was a brilliant blue job with +red wheels, and it carried a Texas license. Delancy was at the wheel and +the woman with the cold green eyes rode beside him. Two of Delancy's +gunmen crouched out of sight on the floor of the rear compartment while +two more had been crowded into the luggage compartment at the rear. + +As the car rolled on toward Manhattan's northern boundary, the woman +with the green eyes switched on the radio on the dash. All of the cars +used on stick-up jobs were furnished with receivers capable of picking +up police calls, and out of the corner of his eye, Delancy saw that the +woman was twisting the dial down to the police band. + +"What's the idea?" Delancy asked. He wasn't particularly pleasant to +this woman who rode with him, largely because she treated him like the +dirt under her feet. + +"I simply want to check up," she said coldly. "I want to know just how +clean that job was." + +"Clean?" Delancy fumed. "Listen, lady, we knocked off every damned guy +who could have told anything about us. And there wasn't a copper in +sight. Why, I haven't seen a bull in so long I'd have to look twice to +recognize one." + +"That may be," she admitted, "but I want to make sure." + +"Listen," Delancy said, now thoroughly angry, "how do you get that way? +Who the hell are you, checking up on me? You the Eye's moll?" + +"Moll?" questioned the woman. "I do not understand." + +"You don't understand!" Delancy scoffed. "Listen, babe, don't get +high-hat with me or I'll slap you down." + +"You would not be so foolish," she said scornfully. "The Eye would tear +you into small pieces. He would--" + +The flat voice of a police announcer came from the radio speaker and +interrupted the threat: + +"Warning to all cars. Be on the lookout for blue Buick sedan, nineteen +thirty-nine model, red wheels, being driven by Raymond Delancy. Delancy +is wanted for hold-up and murder. Wanted for hold-up and murder, Ray +Delancy, height five feet eight inches, weighing one hundred eighty +pounds--" + +Delancy's hand shot out to the radio switch, cutting off the voice of +the announcer. It was impossible! There had been no police at the +Weedham plant. No cops had tailed them. No cops had seen that the gray +sedan which had driven into Burkey's filling station had come out a blue +sedan. + +"A clean job, you said?" the woman with the green eyes mocked. + +One of the gunmen who crouched on the floor of the rear compartment +cursed quietly and without interruption for nearly a minute. Delancy +tramped nervously on the gas pedal. + +"Don't worry, anybody," he said. "The heat's on, and I don't know how +the hell the cops got that way, but it ain't the first time I've given +them the shake. We'll go to Jack Carlson's garage. He'll get us out of +this. It'll cost something, but hell, we've got lots of dough." + +Delancy drove as though he was rolling on thin ice. The sight of a +traffic cop made him dodge around a corner that threw him off his +course. He came close to having convulsions when a squad car passed on +the next street west, its siren wailing. He told the boys in the back +seat to get their guns out, just in case they had to shoot it out. But +somehow all of his anxiety was wasted, and he at last sighted a neon +sign which read: + + "ATLAS AUTO LIVERY" + +Delancy turned the sedan through the door of the big garage, rolled +across the wide parking floor to the cement ramp at the rear. He got +into second gear and zoomed up the ramp to the second floor. Then he got +out of the car, walked to the office which was partitioned off from the +rest of the floor by means of frosted glass. The door of the office +carried the words, "Jack Carlson, President." + +Carlson had started out as the operator of a wildcat bus company. In +this business he had learned so many ways to circumvent the law that he +had decided to put that knowledge to more lucrative uses. Under the +cover of a legitimate auto livery and trucking business, he had built a +vast transportation system which was employed by any criminal who was +wanted by the police and could afford to pay Carlson's fee. When the +town got too hot for a killer or stick-up artist, Jack Carlson had many +tricks up his sleeve which would enable the wanted man to move to a +cooler spot. + + * * * * * + +Delancy entered Carlson's reception room which was never closed. At the +invitation of the blonde stenographer at the desk, he squatted on a +chair and lighted a cigarette. Jack Carlson entered the room a moment +later, walking with the energetic bounce of a busy man. + +Carlson was a little above medium height, dark complexioned, his brow a +washboard of horizontal wrinkles. He had a waxed mustache which he was +in the habit of twisting whenever in deep thought. + +"Well, well, well," he said cheerfully as he shook hands with Delancy. +"Some little trouble bothering you tonight, Ray?" + +Delancy scowled. He couldn't see that there was anything to be cheerful +about. + +"The boys and I pulled a little job," he said. "It didn't amount to a +whole lot, but I think there's a leak somewhere in our organization. +The cops got the heat on us, and we'd like a hand out of town for a few +days." + +Carlson went to his desk, sat down, stuck a slim cigar in his well +formed lips. + +"How much was your job?" he asked quietly as he struck a match. + +"Not much," Delancy said. "Maybe ten grand at the outside." He purposely +lied about the take because Carlson usually charged on the percentage +basis. Another thing which was inclined to influence Carlson's price was +that little business of murder. If you killed on a job Carlson +considered the danger greater and pushed up his fee accordingly. + +"Anybody knocked off, Ray?" Jack Carlson asked. + +Delancy squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "One of the boys had to +shoot a guard in the leg. Nothing messy, though." + +Carlson inhaled deeply. A faint smile came to his lips. He removed his +cigar and waved it at Delancy. + +"So you got only ten grand, Ray? And nobody knocked off?" + +"That's what I said," Delancy crabbed. + +Carlson chuckled. "I happen to know that a number of men were killed, +that you're wanted for murder, and that your total take was about +seventy-five thousand dollars. And it'll cost you just thirty-two +thousand five hundred dollars of that money to get you out of the jam." + +"Thirty-two thousand--" Delancy gasped. + +Carlson waved his cigar. "But for that price I'll see that you and all +your boys get a nice cool spot to hideout in, somewhere a long way from +New York." + +Delancy stood up. "Why you damned greaseball, you! I'd see you in hell +first. Pay fifty per cent of my take to you and the usual ten per cent +to the Eye for his part of the job! Hell, that leaves me a lousy forty +per cent without counting the split to the boys." + +"Take it or leave it," Carlson shrugged. + +"I'll leave it!" Delancy rapped. "Why, damn you, that's robbery!" + +"And your crime was murder," Carlson said. He twisted his mustache +thoughtfully. "I think you'll take my offer, Delancy, because there just +isn't any other out for you." + +Delancy's scowl deepened. His eyes narrowed. An idea was beginning to +roll around inside his head. He didn't know exactly what he ought to do +with it, but it was an idea, anyway. + +He said, "You think there's no other out for me, huh? Well, I'll make an +out before I'll pay any such figure to you. And listen, fellah, if I +thought--" He stopped a moment, dropped his cigarette onto the carpet +and heeled it out. "Well anyway, Carlson, I'm going to have a little +talk with the Eye. And that little talk is going to be about you and the +rotten deal you tried to hand me." + +"Go ahead and talk," Carlson said. "And when the cops start closing in +on you and your mob, let me know. I'll get you out of the jam for the +same figure." + +Carlson got up, walked around his desk to where Delancy stood in front +of the door. He stuck out his hand. + +"No hard feelings, Ray?" + +Delancy looked down at the hand and sneered. + +"No hard feelings, chiseler, but I sure would like to put a couple of +slugs in your belly!" And Delancy swaggered out of the office. He +guessed he'd told that chiseler where he got off. + +As soon as the door had closed, Jack Carlson bounded back to his desk, +touched a button on an inter-office communications box. Somebody on the +lower floor of the garage answered. + +Carlson said, "Ray Delancy is just leaving. I want him tailed." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +_Live Steam_ + + +The Black Hood had reached a dead-end in the trail which had led him +from the Weedham Industries plant. The gray sedan in which the fleeing +criminals were riding had vanished, apparently into thin air. Black Hood +had spent thirty minutes of search at break-neck speed in an attempt to +pick up the trail of the gray sedan again. He had driven the roadster +which belonged to Jeff Weedham in and out of alleys in a trial and error +effort to sight the killers' car, but all without success. + +It occurred to him then that it was entirely possible that the rob and +kill boys had not left the suburban town at all. Perhaps this was their +hideout. With that in mind, he parked Jeff Weedham's car and stepped out +into the rain, his black cape wrapped around him. He felt that he could +walk the streets in comparative safety in spite of his costume, for it +would have required close inspection under direct light to distinguish +the garb he wore from the standard poncho and rain-hood worn by the +traffic police in bad weather. + +After an hour or more of leg work that yielded him no information so far +as a possible hideout for the criminals was concerned, Black Hood came +across the drunk. The drunk was in a dismal alley, leaning up against +the wall of a tavern which he had evidently just left. He was a young +man, and he wore some sort of a uniform--that of a chauffeur, taxi +driver, or something of the sort. When Black Hood put in his appearance, +the young man started to move along up the alley, staggering as he +walked. + +"Wait a minute," Black Hood called. + +"'S all right, officer," the drunk said, mistaking Black Hood for a cop. +"I'm on my way. I'm goin' home." + +"You think you'll get there, weaving around that way?" Black Hood asked, +catching up with the man. "If you don't fall asleep under the wheels of +a truck you'll be mighty lucky." + +"Only live a block from here," the drunk explained. "I'll make it. I +gotta skin full, all right. Never been drunk before, so help me, +officer. But Burkey fired me because he said I was drunk when I wasn't. +A man's gotta live up to his reputation, don't he?" + +"Who's Burkey?" Black Hood asked. He was determined to see that the +young drunk got safely home. + +"Runs the Super-Charged Gasoline Station two blocks south of here. He +said he wouldn't have a drunk working for him, but I was cold sober when +it happened." + +"When what happened?" Black Hood linked his arm with that of the young +man. + +"I was out at the gas pumps when a gray sedan barreled into the station +and in onto the wash rack," the young man explained. "Burkey brought the +doors down in the wash room and turned on the steam. About ten minutes +later, the gray sedan drove out the other side of the wash room, and it +wasn't gray any more. It was blue--blue with red wheels." + +At the mention of a gray sedan traveling fast, Black Hood's interest +increased. + +"Maybe," he suggested, "there were two cars in the wash room." + +"Can't be," the young man said. "There's only room for one at a time. I +went to Burkey and asked him how it happened that a car would change +color like that. He said it hadn't changed color and if I thought it had +I must be drunk. So he fired me. But I was cold sober, I tell you. And +I'd like to know what I'm going to do and what my widowed mother is +going to do with me out of a job." + +Black Hood reached inside his cape. The broad black belt which he wore +contained many secret pockets, and from one of these he extracted a +ten-dollar bill. He pressed the money into the young man's hand. + +"That'll tide you over until you can find a job," he said. "Think you +can get across the street all right?" + +They had reached the end of the alley by this time, and the young drunk +had said that his home was just on the other side of the street. The +drunk stared at the crumpled bill in his hand. Then he raised his eyes +to Black Hood's face. In the glow from a nearby street lamp he could +clearly see the black mask that covered the upper part of Black Hood's +face to the tip of his nose. The drunk was startled. + +"Who--who are you?" he stammered. + +Black Hood laughed. "Never mind, son. Just forget you ever saw me." Then +he turned and ran back along the alley to walk quickly in the direction +of the gas station where the drunk had worked, two blocks to the south. + +The overhead door of the car washing room was open, and as Black Hood +entered it he glanced through the glass pane of the door connecting this +portion of the service station with the office. A big, shaggy-haired man +in brown overalls had just picked up the telephone from his battered, +grease-stained desk. This man would be Burkey, the owner of the station. + +Black Hood's keen eyes flicked around the room in which he now stood. At +the back, near a stand that racked a number of grease guns, he saw a +second telephone fixed to the wall. An extension of the one in the +office, he wondered? + +He crossed to the wall phone and gently removed the receiver from its +hook and held it to his ear. He heard a gruff voice which might well +have been that of the man Burkey, say: "Is this the Eye?" + + * * * * * + +Black Hood's eyes narrowed. The voice that came back over the wire was a +toneless whisper. + +"This is the Eye speaking." + +Burkey said, "Delancy came through here about a couple of hours ago." + +"Delancy?" the Eye said. "Yes, I know." + +"I changed paint jobs for him according to instructions," Burkey +explained. "But what I called you about, I got a young fellow working +here, grinding gas. He saw the gray sedan roll in here and he saw that +it was blue when it went out. He came to me to ask how come." + +"What did you do?" the Eye whispered. + +"Told him he was drunk and fired him," Burkey replied. + +"That was careless of you," the voice whispered after the pause of a +moment. "Very careless. You should have silenced this man at once." + +Burkey said, "How the hell could I do that?" + +"That is your problem," the whisperer said. "But you must dispose of him +immediately, do you understand?" + +"Is that an order?" + +"That is an order," the Eye whispered grimly, and broke the connection. + +Black Hood hung up quietly. Then crouching low, he crossed the room to +where the strainer top of the sewer drain was placed in the concrete +floor. It was in this room that Delancy's get-away car had changed paint +jobs, and in about ten minutes. How was such a thing possible? + +He dropped to his knees, nerves tense as he lifted the strainer plate. +Dove gray particles clung to the sewer opening beneath--particles of +some sort of paint that was soluble in water or perhaps live steam. A +glint of understanding came into his eyes. Delancy had driven the +get-away car into this room. The car actually was not a gray car at all. +It was a blue car, the paint covered with this gray, steam soluble +substance. All that was necessary to convert the car which Black Hood +had been following into a blue car which he certainly would have missed +was a good bath of steam. It wouldn't have required more than ten +minutes at the outside. + +A rumbling sound that did not originate in the thunder caps above jerked +Black Hood's attention from the drain. His glance darted toward the +overhead doors which were dropping swiftly into place. His eyes turned +toward the door leading into the service station office. Burkey, the +proprietor, was standing at the door, watching Black Hood through the +glass. There was a diabolical grin on the face of the station owner. + +Black Hood straightened as the overhead doors fell into place and +locked. He took two long, springy strides toward the door. But he never +quite reached that door. With an explosive hiss, gray jets of live steam +erupted from pipes around the edge of the room. Scalding steam that +could burn and blister and boil human flesh. + +Black Hood fell back from the door, staggered by his first contact with +that hissing gray hell. He threw back his head, looked above at steam +pipes that criss-crossed overhead. And then Burkey manipulated the valve +that controled the overhead pipes, and the steam poured down upon Black +Hood from above. + +He couldn't see now, because of the steam. He dared not open his eyes +lest the heat blind him permanently. But in that brief glimpse upward, +Black Hood had marked the location of one of the steam pipes. He +crouched, nerves and muscles tense, controled in spite of the torturous +cloud of scalding vapor that pressed close to him. Suddenly, he +unleashed all the pent-up power of flexed legs, leaped into the air, one +gauntlet protected hand out-thrust for the pipe which he knew was there +even if he could not see it. Fingers grasped, held like steel hooks. He +drew himself up with one powerful arm until his other hand could join +its mate. + +The intense heat penetrated the leather palms of his black gauntlets. +Still he hung on, drawing himself upward to hook a leg over the very +pipe that threatened to boil him alive. He understood now why the +Hermit, that wise old man who had nursed him from the very jaws of +death, had been so insistent upon regular muscular exercise. The power +to save himself was there in the muscles of back, legs and arms. It was +there, waiting for just such moments of danger as these. + +Gradually, he hauled himself to the pipe above, got his feet onto the +pipe and stood erect, his hands reaching up to the rafters to maintain +his balance. And there he waited in that hot gray cloud that pressed to +the roof where it condensed and fell like warm rain. His body was safe +from direct contact with the blistering jets of steam. + +At last the steam was shut off, the gray clouds dissipated. Cautiously, +Burkey unlocked the door which connected the car washing room with his +office. He stepped out, doubtless expecting to find Black Hood curled up +on the floor, all consciousness driven from him by the pain of countless +steam burns. The Black Hood, watching from the pipes above, showed white +teeth in a wide grin. + +"Look up, Burkey!" he sang out. + +And as the big service station proprietor raised startled eyes, the +Black Hood let go of the rafters, took a dive from the pipe straight at +the man below. He caught Burkey at the throat and shoulders with his +hands. The driving weight of him crushed the big man to the floor, +knocked the breath out of him. And for a moment Black Hood just sat +there on top of Burkey, holding him in his powerful grasp. + +"How does it feel to be utterly helpless, Burkey?" he said quietly. "You +see what I can do with you? I can choke the life out of you this way." +The fingers of his right hand constricted on Burkey's throat until the +man's eyes crawled a little way out of their sockets. Then he eased his +grip a little. + +"Or I could dash your brains out against the floor like this." + +And Black Hood seized Burkey's shaggy hair and bounced the filling +station operator's head against the floor a couple of times. + + * * * * * + +Burkey said nothing. Black Hood slapped him hard across the side of the +face with his gauntlet covered hand. Burkey winced, squirmed a little. +Then realizing that he was completely at the Black Hood's mercy, he lay +still. + +"Talk!" Black Hood said. "Who is the Eye?" + +"I don't know," Burkey croaked. "I've never seen him. I don't know who +he is. You could kill me maybe, but you couldn't make me talk." + +"What was that telephone number you just called?" Black Hood persisted. + +Burkey's eyes rolled. "I can't tell you. The Eye would kill me if I +told." + +Black Hood laughed harshly. "And what do you think I'm going to do if +you _don't_ talk?" + +Burkey said nothing. + +Black Hood got off the man, stood up. He told Burkey to get to his feet. + +"And you'd better get your fists up, Burkey, because if you don't I'm +liable to knock your head off." + +Possibly Burkey knew something about boxing. Possibly he had gone a +round or two with some second rate slugger some time in his life. But +certainly he had never fought with anybody who could equal the Black +Hood in speed and fire power. Black Hood's fists were everywhere at +once. His long arms were like rapiers, striking through Burkey's guard +to land time after time in the big man's face. + +Finally, Burkey crumpled against the wall, one eye closed, the other +looking sleepy. Blood was dripping from nose and mouth. + +"Talk!" Black Hood demanded, one closed fist raised like a hammer above +the man's head. + +Burkey simply shook his head feebly and collapsed, unconscious. + +Black Hood made a swift but careful search of the filling station office +without revealing anything in the way of incriminating evidence. If +Burkey knew the Eye's telephone number he apparently kept it in his +head. + +Black Hood found a short length of chain and a padlock which was used to +keep anyone from tampering with one of the oil pumps that topped a steel +drum. He returned to the car washing room, scooped the keys out of the +unconscious Burkey's pockets. Then he chained and locked the filling +station man to the steel cross member of the wash rack. Then he went +into the office, telephoned police headquarters. When the desk sergeant +had answered, he said: + +"If you will send men to the Super-Charged Gas station here in your +city, you will find the proprietor, a man named Burkey. I suggest that +he be questioned in conjunction with the activities of the criminal +organizer known as the Eye, and especially in his connection with the +killing and robbery at the Weedham Industries plant tonight." + +"Who is this?" the desk sergeant demanded. + +Black Hood chuckled. "You'll never find out!" And then he hung up, left +the station to vanish into the murk of the rain swept night. + +It must have been at about this time that Joe Strong, that demon +photographer on the staff of Jeff Weedham's paper, _The Daily Opinion_, +made a startling discovery. He was in the dark room at the newspaper +office with Barbara Sutton, developing films which he had exposed at the +Weedham factory that night. + +He turned from his developing traps to face Barbara. The broad grin on +his coarse features was illuminated by the ruby light hanging above +their heads. + +"Honey," Joe said, "I got something that's going to set little old New +York right back on its heels. I've got positive proof that will identify +the dirty bum who's behind this crime wave. Positive evidence that will +point to the killer of that watchman at the Weedham plant tonight." + +There was a skeptical gleam in Barbara's beautiful eyes. Since she had +been working on the newspaper with Joe Strong assigned as her pix man, +she had heard just such claims from Joe before. He was always turning up +a picture that was to be the scoop of the week and which usually +developed into a fogged film of no use to anybody. + +She said, "Well, if you have you'd better turn it over to the editor +before you bungle the developing some way. Jeff Weedham is going to have +to pull something pretty soon to pick up circulation. He's got to prove +to his father that he can run this business. If he fails at this job as +he has at every other, I understand Mr. Weedham is going to cut Jeff off +from the Weedham fortune." + +Joe stuck his thumbs in the arm holes of his vest. + +"Jeff's worries are over, permanently. This is the scoop of the week. We +got the guy red handed. Take a look, beautiful." + +Joe held up the negative strip which he had just developed. He pointed a +thick forefinger at the exposure near the end of the strip. Joe didn't +quite understand how he had got the picture unless that flare of +lightning had acted as a flashlight bulb and the lens of his camera had +been open at the time. But no matter how he had obtained it, there was +the picture. + +It showed the unmistakable figure of Black Hood standing over Joseph, +the Weedham gate keeper. It showed more than that. It showed Black +Hood's gauntlet covered right hand grasping the knife that was plunged +into Joseph's throat. + +Barbara raised her hand to her mouth to check a startled cry. She stared +at the negative and repeatedly shook her head. + +"I don't believe it," she whispered. "He wouldn't do such a thing. It's +a trick, Joe. You're trying to trick me." + +"Not me," Joe said. "Just because you're in love with Black Hood you're +trying to kid yourself. I always said that guy was a crook. And now +there's proof. He's the Eye. He's the brains behind all this robbery and +murder that resulted in looted banks and jewelry stores. The camera +don't lie, Babs. And this little picture catches Mr. Hood with the goods +on him." + +Barbara's indrawn breath sounded like a sob. She turned quickly and ran +from the dark room. Was it true? Could it possibly be true? Black Hood +had always told her that he was an outlaw, and she had loved him in +spite of that because of the many good and brave things he had done to +defend people against the criminals of the underworld. + +But if Black Hood _was_ guiltless--this had never occurred to Barbara +before--if he was actually guiltless, why had he never let her see his +face? + + + + +CHAPTER V + +_The Brand Of Light_ + + +But Barbara Sutton _had_ seen the face of the Black Hood. She saw it on +the following night when a group of wealthy and influential citizens met +at Gracelawn, the West End Avenue estate of William Weedham. Barbara saw +Black Hood's face without knowing it, for in the identity of Kip Burland +he had been with her all evening. + +It was a pleasant face, sun-bronzed and well-formed, with waving brown +hair and eyes that could be gentle and compassionate. Kip Burland had +taken Barbara to dinner, much to the annoyance of Joe Strong, and later +in the evening they had picked up Joe and driven in Barbara's car to the +Weedham home. + +Barbara was obviously deeply concerned over the evidence which Joe +Strong had accidently turned up. The picture of Black Hood in the +apparent act of thrusting a knife into the throat of the Weedham +Industries watchman, had been plastered all over the front page of Jeff +Weedham's _Daily Opinion_. Other newspapers had taken up the cry, +demanding that the Black Hood be taken dead or alive. + +When Barbara mentioned this news story to Kip Burland, Kip scarcely knew +what was the wisest course to pursue. If he defended the Black Hood he +ran the risk of exciting suspicion. The secret that Kip Burland and the +Black Hood were one and the same persons was more precious than ever, +now that Black Hood was wanted for murder. + +"There's just one thing, Babs," he told the girl as they drove to the +Weedham home, "nobody can tell me that Black Hood and this criminal +genius known as the Eye are the same. I can't believe it." + +"Listen, Burland," Joe Strong put in angrily, "you're not sitting there +and calling me a liar, either. All these stick-up jobs recently have +been planned by the Eye. You'll agree to that, no doubt. That one last +night at the Weedham works was the same sort of a thing--every possible +witness murdered. And I not only saw the Black Hood with my own eyes, +but I took a picture of him. And then he and I had a little scrap." + +"How does it happen the Black Hood isn't right down in Tombs prison +now?" Kip Burland asked mildly. + +"Well, er," Joe stammered, "some of his men pitched in on me from +behind. There must have been three of them, anyway." + +Burland could scarcely repress a laugh. + +"Only three? Why, you're slipping, aren't you, Joe?" + +The bickering might have gone on the rest of the evening except that +Barbara Sutton told them they were both being very foolish. If Kip +didn't stop his arguing, she wouldn't vouch for him at this meeting +tonight at the Weedham home. She and Joe were to cover the meeting for +_The Daily Opinion_, but she had simply brought Kip along as a friend, +trusting that that would be enough to get him in. + +Barbara Sutton's name was a prominent one in social circles as was that +of Joe Strong, so that there was no difficulty gaining admittance into +the Weedham home for Kip Burland. In the magnificent reception hall, Kip +was introduced to Jeff Weedham. The lanky heir to the Weedham wealth was +cordial. + +"D-d-don't see why you want to sit in on a stuffy meeting like this +just for pleasure," Jeff Weedham said, smiling, "but I can assure you +that any friend of Barbara's is a friend of mine." + + * * * * * + +The tall oak door of the library was opened by William Weedham +himself--a plump, white-haired man with black, overhanging eyebrows. + +"Son," he said to Jeff, "we're all ready to begin. As the owner of a +newspaper which is instrumental in molding public opinion, you ought to +welcome this opportunity to serve your community." + +Jeff Weedham laughed. "Since the Eye or the Black Hood, whatever his +name is, swiped my roadster, d-d-don't you think I'm not interested in +laying him by the heels, D-d-dad." + +William Weedham brought scowling eyes to focus upon Kip Burland. + +"I don't believe I know this young man," he said. + +Jeff said, "This is Kip Burland, a friend of mine, D-d-dad. He wants a +try-out as a reporter. And I thought I'd let him help cover this +business together with Joe and Barbara." + +And that fixed it up. With a whispered warning to Kip to try and look +like a would-be reporter, Jeff Weedham led Burland into the library. The +elder Weedham took his place at the head of a long refectory table about +which were seated six men. Some of those included in the committee which +had been formed to take protective measures against the master criminal +known as the Eye, were familiar to Kip Burland. There was short, beefy +Sergeant McGinty, a representative from the police who was to serve as +coordinator. McGinty, Kip Burland knew well enough, was the most ardent +enemy of the Black Hood on the police force. + +Then there was a cocky little man with sandy hair and one glass eye. He +was Major Paxton, a retired army man and brother-in-law of William +Weedham. Paxton made his home at the Weedham estate and quite naturally +had been included in the group. + +The tall, grim man with the long side whiskers was Harold Adler, an +executive of the Bankers Express service. Certainly he had a grievance +against the Eye after that attack on his guards and armored truck at the +Weedham plant on the night before. + +Kip Burland also recognized the handsome, energetic man with the sleek +black hair and small, waxed mustache. This was Jack Carlson who operated +the Atlas Auto Livery and some sort of a trucking concern. Just exactly +why Carlson should have been called into this group, Kip did not know. +He knew something of Carlson's past, perhaps more than even Sergeant +McGinty did, and there were some blotches of shadow on Mr. Carlson's +life story. + +William Weedham rapped the meeting to order, remarked briefly that they +had come here tonight to see if some definite plan could not be formed +to cope with the ever rising danger of a major crime wave, planned and +directed by this man who called himself the Eye. + +"We are fortunate," the elder Weedham said, "in having Mr. Carlson with +us tonight. It has been frequently said by the police that if taxi +companies and other common carriers would cooperate with the law more +closely, there would be much less chance for the criminal to escape. Mr. +Carlson has a message for us which I hope will be representative of all +members of all taxi and transport systems." + +"It seems to me," Major Paxton put in, his small body swelling with +importance, "that the crux of the whole matter lies in the fact that +these criminals, who are operating under the direction of the Eye, have +discovered some fool proof means of escaping from the scene of their +crime. Is that correct, Sergeant McGinty?" + +McGinty's face reddened. "I don't know whether you'd call it the crux or +not, Major, but in any crime if a criminal has some fool proof means of +escape, as you put it, there isn't a whole lot the police can do about +it." + +Somebody snickered. It was obvious that Major Paxton's remark hadn't +been a particularly bright one. + +"But I'll say this," the sergeant went on, "this fellow the Eye, and I +prefer to call him the Black Hood, has developed a means of moving +criminals beyond our reach to a hell of a high point." The sergeant +coughed and apologized for his bit of profanity. "I mean, he's got a +hole in the police dragnet big enough so you could drive a whole +mechanized division of the army through it. If Jack Carlson can throw +any light on the matter, I'd like to hear him do it." + + * * * * * + +Jack Carlson stood up, smiled smoothly, and bobbed his head to Sergeant +McGinty. + +"I think, gentlemen," he began, "that you will find few taxi operators +in the city of New York who would not gladly assist in halting an +escaping criminal if they were given the opportunity. And the same goes +for any other common carrier--the railroads, bus service, and airlines. +At the same time, common carriers are obliged by law not to discriminate +against a prospective passenger just because he may look suspicious: +That is, if I am driving a cab and a man rushes out of a bank with what +I may interpret as a look of guilt upon his face, I cannot refuse to +take him as a fare. Nor can I very well ask for his finger prints and +check up to see if he has a criminal record before taking him to his +destination." + +"We know all that, Carlson," Harold Adler said. "Suppose you tell these +men what you told me before the meeting." + +Carlson frowned, remained dramatically silent for a moment while he +twisted his mustache. Kip Burland watched the man closely. If this was +acting, Carlson was a remarkable actor. Somehow, he could not trust the +man nor the words that came from his mouth. + +Carlson said, "The Eye has not only organized the various mobs of gunmen +in this city, but he has accomplished something else. He has established +a perfect underground railway for transporting these criminals from one +place to another in secret. I know, because the Eye personally asked me +to handle that part of his business for him." + +There was another dramatic pause. Then Sergeant McGinty sprang to his +feet. + +"Say, Mr. Carlson, if the Eye approached you personally let's have it +right now. Is the Eye this same guy known as the Black Hood?" + +Carlson smiled. "It would seem so from the picture which appeared this +morning in the Daily Opinion." + +"Yeah," Joe Strong put in. "That's the picture I took." + +No one was paying any attention to Joe. All eyes were focused upon Jack +Carlson. + +"Understand," Carlson continued, "I did not meet the Eye face to face. +He called me on the telephone, spoke to me in a whispering voice. He +asked me if I would be interested in a money-making proposition. I +played him along, tried to draw him out. He wanted me to employ cars and +trucks for the secret transportation of criminals and in exchange I was +to get a cut of the money which would be looted by his criminals." + +"And," Weedham said, "you believe that some transportation company in +this city is actually assisting the Eye in this business?" + +"Undoubtedly," Carlson said. "I, of course, rejected his offer. I was +attempting to figure out a plan by which I might trace this call to the +Eye's hideout, but that's quite difficult with these dial phones, you +know. + +"But that is how the Eye is working his get-aways. He probably has +carefully placed stations all over the city where criminals who are +fleeing from some crime can get a fast car, or hide in some unsuspicious +looking truck to be transported beyond the reach of the law. It would +appear to me--" + +Every light in the big room suddenly went out. Smothering blackness +dropped like a shroud over those at the refectory table and upon Barbara +Sutton, Joe Strong, Kip Burland, and Jeff Weedham who were seated along +one wall. + +"D-d-damn!" Jeff Weedham stuttered. "What's this--the well known +blackout?" + +A white beam of light stabbed through the French windows at the end of +the room, spotted the wall directly above Jack Carson's sleek head. In +the center of the spot was a crude sign, projected in black lines upon +the wall. It was like a child's drawing of a human eye, round, staring, +and at the same time infinitely menacing. + +Kip Burland was on his feet while the others remained spellbound by the +brand of light. Watching the projected sign of the eye upon the wall, he +nevertheless moved swiftly and silently toward the French windows. + +The sign of the Eye flicked out, and in its place was a message in black +letters: + + CARLSON HAS DEFIED ME. + HE WILL DIE. + +Burland waited for no more, but slipped through the French windows and +onto the terrace. The white beam of light rayed out from a thick grove +of shrubs and small trees on the other side of the big yard. Kip Burland +raced across the lawn toward the source of the light. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +_The Lady In White_ + + +Half way toward the thicket, Kip Burland saw that the light had gone +out. But he had marked the spot from which it had originated, and in +another moment he had broken through the tangled branches of the shrubs +to the place from which the light ray had come. He saw no one. He +stopped, listening. On his left he heard the crackling of twigs. He +moved quickly in that direction, saw now a wraithlike figure in white. + +"Hello there." + +It was the soft voice of a woman who called. Kip Burland took a few more +cautious steps in the direction of the figure in white. Now that his +eyes were more used to the gloom, he could see that the woman was not +alone. There was a man standing beside her. + +"Hello," Kip responded calmly. He took a box of matches from his pocket, +struck one, and held it high. The woman wore a white evening gown. Her +beautifully molded face was nearly as white as her dress. Her hair was +black as India ink, drawn back from her rounded forehead to knot softly +at the back of her head. Her eyes were cool green with an exotic lift at +the outer extremities of the lids. + +The man beside her was evidently her chauffeur, judging from his +uniform. He was a dark, somber looking man with a particularly ugly scar +on his chin. + +The woman smiled--a smile that did not quite reach her green eyes. + +"Are you the man with the flashlight who was out here a moment ago?" she +asked. + +Kip's eyes narrowed. He wondered if the woman was beating him to the +draw. He might have asked her, and with better reason, if it was she who +had turned that beam of light on the Weedham house. + +The match burned out in Kip's fingers. He tossed the stub of it aside. + +"Obviously I'm not the man with the flashlight," he said evenly, "or I +would not have had to light a match just now." + +"How silly of me," the woman with the green eyes laughed. "Of course you +are not. But I am so anxious to find my little locket. I am Vida +Gervais, and I live just over the wall in the next house. I think I lost +my little locket while walking here this afternoon. I hoped that you +were the man with the flashlight and could help me find it." + +"Don't you find that gown something of a liability hunting in this +jungle?" Kip asked. Her explanation was entirely too glib to suit him. + +But before she could form an answer, the whip-crack of a shot rang out +from the direction of the Weedham house. The woman who had introduced +herself as Vida Gervais uttered a short, sharp cry. Then she and her +chauffeur turned and fled. + +Kip Burland thrashed his way through the bushes to the border of the +thicket. In the dim night glow, he saw a man running toward the house +and a second figure that lay huddled on the lawn in front of the terrace +steps. Burland could not be absolutely certain, but he thought that the +running man was Jack Carlson. There were hoarse shouts from the +immediate vicinity of the house, and Kip recognized the bellow of Joe +Strong and the harsh rasping voice of Sergeant McGinty. + +Kip broke away from the shrubbery and ran across the open lawn toward +that point where the man lay on the ground. The second figure, which he +thought was Jack Carlson, was now kneeling beside the fallen man. + +In another moment, Kip saw that his first impression had been correct. +The second man was Carlson. He looked up at Kip, his face chalk white in +the uncertain light. + +"He's dead," Carlson said. "He's been shot." + +Burland dropped beside Jack Carlson, brought out his matches, struck +one. The man on the ground was wearing an ordinary business suit. He was +entirely bald, with a large, shapeless nose and chubby cheeks. He was +lying on one side, his left arm extended. Clutched in the dead fingers +of his left hand was a yellow slip of paper. It looked like bank check +paper to Burland. + +Others were coming from around the side of the house--Jeff Weedham and +Barbara Sutton. Behind them came Major Paxton and two other members of +the committee. + + * * * * * + +Kip Burland shot a glance at Jack Carlson, saw that the latter was +looking in the direction of the newcomers. Kip thrust out a hand toward +the piece of yellow paper in the fingers of the corpse. It was so rapid +a movement that even if Carlson had been watching him it is doubtful if +the auto livery operator could have caught it. Kip jerked the piece of +paper from the hand of the dead man, and stood up. + +By the time Barbara and Jeff Weedham had joined them, Burland had rolled +the slip of yellow paper into a cylinder and placed it inside the cap of +his fountain pen. + +"Kip!" Barbara gasped. "What's happened?" + +"Someone seems to have been shot," he replied mildly. "I don't know just +who." + +Jeff Weedham had a flashlight. He turned the beam on the face of the +dead man. + +"D-d-damn!" he stammered. "It's Biggert. Poor old Biggert. Why, he's +D-d-dad's private secretary. Attended to everything for D-d-dad." + +William Weedham, Adler, and the rest of the committee men hurried from +the corner of the house. + +"Biggert, did you say?" William Weedham gasped. "Good lord! Where's that +Sergeant McGinty?" And then Weedham dropped beside the dead man, looked +long and searchingly into the immobile face. + +Sergeant McGinty put in his appearance a moment later and with him was +Joe Strong. He was holding onto Joe by the ear. + +"Try your football tackles on me, will you!" McGinty was growling, while +Joe was trying to break away without losing an ear. + +"Aw, Sergeant, how did I know it was you prowling around in all that +dark?" Joe complained. + +It was evident that Joe had made another of his unfortunate mistakes. +But McGinty forgot and forgave when he saw the body of Biggert lying +there on the lawn. The sergeant bent his thick knees, took Jeff +Weedham's flashlight, turned it on the corpse. + +"It was obviously a mistake," Jack Carlson was explaining smoothly. "The +killer had no designs on Biggert, certainly." + +"Huh?" McGinty looked up, his red face contorted by a puzzled frown. +"What do you mean, it was a mistake?" + +"This is obviously the Eye's work," Carlson explained. "I was standing +just about in this spot when this man Biggert came running around the +house and directly in front of me. That was when the shot was fired. The +bullet was intended for me. You would expect as much after the Eye's +warning." + +McGinty nodded his head. "Could be. And believe me, Mr. Carlson, you'd +better put yourself under police protection." + +"I can take care of myself, thanks," Carlson insisted. As he turned away +from McGinty and the body, his eyes met those of Kip Burland. And then +Carlson stepped quickly to the outer rim of the circle around the body. + +Kip Burland knew that Carlson was lying. Carlson hadn't been near +Biggert at the time of the shooting. It was Carlson whom Burland had +seen running toward the body. + +"D-d-dad," Jeff Weedham stammered, "where was Biggert when we were in +the library?" + +"Oh, how should I know!" The elder Weedham ran his fingers through his +gray hair. "I don't know where he was. In his room, I suppose, going +over my personal accounts." + +"Possibly," Major Paxton put in, "he was disturbed when the lights went +out in the house and came down to investigate. He probably heard the +rest of us outside the house, searching for that prowler who turned the +light through the library window." + +"And possibly," McGinty said, "Biggert had discovered something pretty +important, too! There's a little scrap of yellow paper in his +fingers--just a corner, as though somebody snatched a note or something +from his hand." + +"Just a corner, you say, Sergeant?" Jack Carlson asked. "When he fell in +front of me, I noticed that there was quite a sizable slip of paper in +his hand." + +"There was, huh?" McGinty's eyes rested accusingly upon each face in the +circle about the body. "All right. Now just tell me who first joined you +and the murdered man, Mr. Carlson." + +Carlson looked at Kip Burland. "It was that young man," he said. + +"Burland, huh?" McGinty said. "I guess I'll have to search your pockets, +Burland, if you've no objection." + +Kip smiled. "None whatever, Sergeant." + +McGinty went through Kip's pockets. He ignored the fountain pen which +was clipped in plain sight. He stood back, shook his head. + +"I guess you're clean, Burland," he admitted, and then turned to the +others. "But I'm finding whatever was in Biggert's hand, understand? +Mr. Weedham, you'll go call headquarters and tell them I want the +Homicide Detail out here." + +"You mean me, d-d-don't you?" Jeff Weedham asked. + +McGinty shook his head. "I mean your father. You and the rest stay here. +I'll have a little more searching to do. And a lot more questions to +ask." + +Though McGinty fulfilled his promise in so far as the questions and the +searching were concerned, he didn't turn up the piece of paper he was +looking for. Neither did he find the weapon or the murderer. + +It was about eleven o'clock when Jack Carlson asked permission to leave. +He had some urgent business to attend to, he explained to the sergeant. +McGinty had no grounds for holding Carlson, told him to go ahead. + +But Carlson did not leave alone. Kip Burland, without asking permission +from anybody or even saying good-night to Barbara, slipped quietly from +the house. He was particularly interested in the urgent business which +was pressing Mr. Jack Carlson. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +_The Trail Of The Beam_ + + +If Jack Carlson was as innocent as he pretended to be, it was curious +that he should stop just outside the gate of the Weedham home, reach +into a bed of dwarf evergreens from which he took a long copper cylinder +which closely resembled a flashlight. + +From his hiding place in the shadows, Kip Burland saw this move on the +part of Carlson. He then saw Carlson get into his car and drive away. +Burland hailed a passing cab, ordered the driver to keep Carlson's car +in sight. + +Carlson drove down into the lower east side of town, parked his car in a +narrow street, and got out. Kip ordered his cab to pass Carlson's car. +Looking back through the rear window, he saw Carlson turn up a narrow +walk between two tenement buildings. + +"Stop here," Kip ordered the cab driver. And as the taxi braked, he got +out, threw a bill to the driver, and ran up the street toward the place +where Carlson had disappeared. + +In the dusky shadows between the two tenements, Burland watched Carlson +put something into a wooden milk box attached just outside what was +apparently someone's kitchen door. Then Kip had to duck back into a +darkened doorway as Carlson retraced his steps, and got back into his +car. + +Kip had to make a choice quickly. Either he continued to follow Carlson +or he investigated the milk box which Carlson had mysteriously visited. +In as much as there was no taxi in sight, Kip decided on the latter +course. As soon as Carlson was out of sight, he left the doorway, went +up the walk between the two buildings, opened the milk box. + +Inside the box he found the copper cylinder which he had seen Carlson +take from its hiding place outside the Weedham home. The thing resembled +a flashlight more closely than ever on close inspection. It was a little +longer than the usual three cell case, and there was a finely ground +lens at the end. + +Around the outside of the case was a piece of paper, held in place by a +rubber band. Kip removed the rubber band, unrolled the paper, studied it +in match light. On the paper was penciled the name "Delancy" followed by +the words, "Second floor rear at end of fire escape, sixty-eight A +Seventh Avenue." At the bottom of the paper was that crude drawing, the +sign of the Eye. + +Kip's pulse quickened. Could it be that Carlson was the Eye? Certain +here was a message which Carlson had delivered and which carried the +Eye's signature. And the flashlight device--Kip understood its +construction and purpose immediately. Inside the case was some sort of a +trigger mechanism operated by a button on the outside. The trigger +operated a narrow strip of film, perhaps eight millimeter film, on which +were photographed the messages which the Eye intended to send. This film +would be placed between the light globe and the lens, so that the +photographed message could be projected on any wall from a long +distance. + +This was the device which had been used tonight at the Weedham home. +Someone on the outside, probably the lady with the green eyes, Vida +Gervais, had employed the light beam projected message. That warning +which seemed to have been intended for Carlson was probably no warning +at all. Perhaps the police had been keeping rather a sharp eye on +Carlson, and Carlson had decided to put himself in the clear by faking +that little scene at the Weedham's and pretending that the Eye intended +to kill Carlson. + +"And that would be suicide, I'd be willing to bet my last dollar!" Kip +muttered grimly. + +He replaced the light signal device in the milk box together with the +note which was attached to the copper case. He would await further +developments. Carlson was the Eye, he was certain. It was now the job of +the Black Hood to catch Carlson red-handed. + + * * * * * + +He left the narrow corridor between buildings to take up a post on the +other side of the street. He did not have to wait very long until a man +in the garb of a telegraph messenger came up the street. The messenger +looked both ways and finally turned up that sidewalk between the two +tenements. Even from where he stood, Kip Burland could hear the rattle +of the milk box top. A moment later, the messenger appeared. He was +carrying that self-same copper cased flashlight device. + +It was a tangled trail that Kip Burland followed that night, shadowing +that man who wore a telegraph messenger's costume. From half a block +behind the man, Kip watched the messenger walk along side of the bleak +walls of Tombs prison. He saw the narrow ray of that signal beam reach +out and up to one of the narrow, barred windows. The Eye was signaling +to someone who was even now in the hands of the police! + +The further he delved into the mystery of the whispering criminal known +as the Eye, the more intriguing it became. Who but a perverted genius +could have planned so completely, so thoroughly that not even prison +walls offered any sort of a barrier? + +It was when the messenger crossed over to Seventh Avenue that Kip +Burland decided that this time he would be on the receiving end of that +message that traveled the light beam. He knew where the messenger was +heading. That paper banded to the flashlight device had carried a +Seventh Avenue address. Someone else was to receive one of the Eye's +little missives. A man by the name of Delancy, judging from the writing +on the note paper. + +The name struck a responsive cord in Kip Burland's memory. It recalled +Ray Delancy, one of the most dangerous rob and kill men in the +business. Delancy would be the sort of a person valuable to the Eye. + + * * * * * + +In a murky alley off Seventh Avenue, Kip Burland paused for a few +precious moments. Quickly, he shed his outer garments, revealing beneath +the yellow silk tights, the wide belt, and the black athletic shorts +that identified the Black Hood. From the inter-lining in the back of his +suit coat, he took a flat folded package composed of his gauntlet +gloves, his black silk cape, and that combination mask and hood that +completed the costume. Shortly, Kip Burland had vanished, completely +over-shadowed by his famous alias--the Black Hood. + +The Eye's messenger had been moving at a leisurely pace. In spite of the +delay his costume change had necessitated, Black Hood easily outstripped +the messenger, reached the Seventh Avenue address which had been noted +on that slip of paper attached to the signal device. This proved to be +an ancient red brick lodging house which would have made an excellent +hideout for a criminal. + +There was a fire escape on the side of the building. Black Hood raised +his eyes to the second story, marked the window which was nearest the +fire escape at this point. This was the window mentioned in the Eye's +instructions. Just across the alley from this point, Black Hood spied a +wood telephone pole. He grinned. Nothing could be sweeter! He crossed to +the pole, leaped for the lowest climbing spike, driven into the wood +about eight feet from the ground, and drew himself upwards. At the +second climbing spike, he stopped. From this position he would be able +to see the upper part of the wall of the second floor room of the +building across the alley, and also the ceiling. He pulled his black +cape around him and waited. + +It wasn't long before he heard the footsteps of the messenger crunching +along the alley. The man came to a stop within a few feet of the very +post to which Black Hood was clinging. He pointed the copper cased +flashlight device upward toward the dark window which Black Hood was +watching. The white ray stabbed out through the darkness, and Black Hood +could clearly see the brand of the Eye, projected on the ceiling of the +room across the alley. + +The light beam lingered for a moment, then went out. The shadowy figure +of a man appeared at the window. A cigarette glowed in his lips. A +signal, Black Hood wondered? And then the figure in the window withdrew +and the light beam again shot up from below. This time the words of the +Eye's message were clearly projected onto the ceiling of the crimester's +hideout. Black Hood read: + +"Delancy, come to headquarters at once." + +And then the beam of light went out. + +Black Hood altered his position slightly so that he clung to the pole +with one hand, his body poised for a leap. The faint rustle of the Black +Hood's cape caused the messenger on the ground to look up. + +Black Hood knew that he had to act fast. That signaling device which the +messenger carried was an important piece of evidence. Jack Carlson's +finger prints would be on the case. That, together with the photo film +which carried the Eye's message and was enclosed in the trigger +mechanism of the novel projector, constituted evidence that would prove +that Jack Carlson was the Eye. + +Black Hood sprang out from the pole, swooped down upon the messenger +like a huge black bat. The man turned to flee too late. Black Hood +caught him by the coat tails, dragged him back. The messenger turned, +grappled with Black Hood. Then followed one of those grim, silent +struggles, too deadly serious for oaths and threats. Rat this pawn of +the Eye may have been, but even a cornered rat will fight with the +courage of a lion. + +Time after time the man tried to bash Black Hood's skull with the copper +cased signal device--tried once too often; for Black Hood's gauntlet +covered fingers closed like steel hooks upon the device. A twist, a +sudden jerk, and it was Black Hood who had the signal device now. + +The copper cylinder gone, the messenger's courage seemed to have gone +with it. He turned, fled like a frightened rabbit up the alley and into +the avenue. + +Again Black Hood was faced with one of two choices. He might follow the +messenger, might catch him, turn him over to the cops. But in all +probability, the messenger knew less about the identity of the Eye than +Black Hood knew. He was merely a tool in the hands of a master criminal. +And Black Hood was after that master criminal. + +The second choice, and the one which he decided to take, was to follow +Delancy who had been given orders from the Eye to appear at the +headquarters of the mob immediately. And in as much as Black Hood had +not the slightest idea where the Eye had his headquarters, this was the +wisest course to pursue. + +His heart beat high with hope as he waited in the alley for Delancy to +make his appearance. He felt that he was nearing the end of the case, +approaching the time when the Eye, that menace to the peace and safety +of all New York, could be placed behind prison bars. And when he had +proved that Jack Carlson was the Eye, Black Hood would clear himself of +the charge of murder! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +_The Forces Of Evil_ + + +The Eye had chosen his headquarters well. It was in the basement room of +what had once been a Greenwich Village speakeasy. There he had brought +together all of the important rival mobs of the city--forces of evil +which might otherwise have been at each other's throats. The Eye had +brought unity to the underworld. He had taught them that there was +nothing to be gained by warring among themselves; and there were +millions to be gained by united action. + +Delancy was there, his toadlike form crouching on the edge of his chair +placed next to that of Ron "The Bug" Brayton, formerly Delancy's rival +in the rob and kill profession. All of Delancy's star gunsels were +there--Squid Murphy, Shiv and the rest. + +The Eye was there, standing on a rough wood platform at one end of the +room. His coat was off so that anyone present might plainly see the twin +gun harness he wore and the black butts of two heavy automatics. His +face and head was covered with a full mask of thin white rubber, pierced +by two slots for eyeholes. He wore a black slouch hat. + +Black Hood was there, but nobody knew about that except the guard at the +top of the basement stairway. The guard knew, but bound and gagged he +was in no position to say anything about it. Black Hood stood in that +shadowy stairway and was himself like one of the shadows--watching, +listening, waiting for his time. + +Ray Delancy shuffled to his feet as the meeting began. + +"Mr. Eye," Delancy said, "I got a complaint to make, that is if you +don't mind. Like to get it off my chest before we go into anything in +the way of new business." + +The Eye inclined his head. "Make your complaint, Mister--" He coughed. +"Well, go ahead." + +"It's about this man Carlson who works for you," Delancy said. "When I +pulled that job at the Weedham plant for you, I was hot on the get-away. +I thought I was hot, anyway. We switched paint jobs at Burkey's station, +see, and rolling into town that dame you sent to ride with us switched +on the radio. A police call came through. The coppers were looking for +us. I didn't figure how come until a good bit later." + +"Go on," the Eye said. + +Delancy shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. + +"I don't like to make trouble, see, but that was a put-up job." + +"You mean what?" the Eye questioned. + +"I mean that wasn't no police call. There was some sort of a phonograph +device under the cowl of that get-away car, and this was hooked up to +the radio switch. That police call was a phoney. We wasn't hot. That was +just rigged up to send us to Jack Carlson to ask that he get us out of +town in a hurry. + +"I went to Carlson. I told him we was hot, because at the time I figured +we was. He wanted fifty per cent of our total take to move us out of +town. Fifty per cent, and with the ten that we are supposed to pay you, +that don't leave a guy much profit. I told Carlson I'd rot in jail +first. And all the time, I ain't hot at all, because the bulls haven't +turned the heat on me. It was a phoney, see, just to get me to spend a +lot of dough on a get-away." + +The Eye nodded. "There have been some other complaints about Carlson. I +will see that he is eliminated. Someone else will take over the position +which he has filled." + +In the shadows of the stairway, Black Hood laughed soundlessly. That was +a hot one, that was! Here was Carlson, playing both ends against the +middle, getting his cut as the Eye and getting a second and large +helping out of his crooked transport business. And now the Eye was +talking about eliminating Carlson to appease Ray Delancy! + +"To get back to the business at hand," the Eye said, "our next job is a +small matter of one hundred thousand in unset jewels. And by a hundred +thousand, I am not referring to the current market price. We can realize +that amount from a fence. It sounds good, eh?" + +Some of the mobsters cursed appreciatively. + +"There is," the Eye continued, "an obscure little jewelry shop known as +Tauber's which has received such a shipment of gems." + +"Diamonds or other stuff?" Ron "The Bugs" Brayton asked. + +The Eye coughed. "The former," he said. "Tomorrow night I will require +the services of a select number of you. I'll want Murphy, and--" he +nodded at Delancy--"you. You, too, Brayton, and a number of your best +men. We will also need a good safe expert." + +One of the crooks held up his hand. "That's me." + +"Agreed, then," the Eye said. "If there is nothing else to attend to, we +may as well adjourn." + + * * * * * + +As some of the crooks started toward the foot of the steps leading up +from the basement room, it appeared as though there was quite a bit more +to attend to. This was the moment for which Black Hood had been waiting. +Standing near the top of the stairs, he reached out and hauled the bound +and helpless guard down to his level. As the first of the hoods showed +his face at the foot of the stairs, Black Hood gave the guard a shove +that sent the man flopping down the stairs to bowl over two of the +foremost members of the mob. + +The Black Hood took a couple of strides and then leaped from halfway +down the steps. He cleared the roped guard and the two fallen hoods, +landed lightly on the balls of his feet within a yard of Squid Murphy. + +And then, before anyone in the room could quite understand what this was +all about, the Black Hood unleashed a furious one-man attack on the +startled crimesters. His two long arms reached out. His gloved fingers +closed on Squid Murphy and the killer called Shiv simultaneously. He +brought the two together, all but jerked them from their feet, to crack +Murphy's head against that of Shiv. Murphy and Shiv went limp, and as +they fell, Black Hood snatched a half-drawn automatic from the shoulder +holster of gunman Murphy. He stepped clear of the two men, faced the +others, a mocking smile on his lips. + +"I am seldom required to carry a gun, since one of my opponents nearly +always gives me his," he said quietly. "It will take just one smart move +from any one among you to find out whether or not the Black Hood can +shoot." + +Ten of the most dangerous criminals in the city plus that master-mind, +the Eye, stood there in awed silence, watching that tall figure in +yellow tights and black silk hood. + +"I want the Eye," Black Hood said. "If you will surrender him to me, I +will give the rest of you a break--a break of five minutes in which to +take your chances with the law." + +Black Hood knew that the criminals would make no such bargain. He was +talking to stall for time. He knew that sooner or later, either he or +the criminals would have to make a move. What that move would be, he had +no idea. But he was ready for anything. + +It was Delancy who made the first move. He had the idea that he could +draw and shoot before Black Hood could discover from just what +particular point of the room the danger threatened. And it was Delancy's +fatal mistake. Before he had his gun out of his shoulder holster, Black +Hood had fired. He had fired, remembering that cold-blooded slaughter at +the Weedham Industries plant. A third black and hollow eye appeared +suddenly in Delancy's forehead. The legs of the gunman bowed beneath the +weight of his toadlike body. There was a dull, bewildered expression on +Delancy's face as he hit the floor. + +But that first shot was the spark that touched off the powder barrel. +Two more followed--one that tugged at the Black Hood's cape, a second +that shot out the light in the room. Black Hood backed toward the bottom +of the stair. He'd plant himself there in that narrow exit, and if the +crimesters thought there was an avenue of escape, let them try. The +automatic in his hand bucked and barked. His only target was the flame +from the snouts of the gangster guns, but agonized cries told him that +at least a portion of his slugs had found their mark. + +Suddenly he saw at the rear of the room, a narrow shaft of gray light. +Somebody had opened a door. For just a moment, he saw the white face of +the Eye, his rubber mask glowing like the surface of a moon. Black Hood +shot twice, pulled the trigger a third time only to hear the hammer +click on an empty chamber. + +Perhaps the Eye heard that click and understood its meaning, for it was +then that he made his dash through the rear door. Black Hood knew that +retreat was now his only course. He was without weapons in a battle of +screaming lead. He turned, stumbled over a fallen form, caught his +balance, and then took the stairway in long strides. A cop, attracted by +the shooting, appeared at the top of the steps, but he was only a +momentary barrier to the Black Hood--a very hard man to stop once he got +under way. His fist lashed out, caught the copper on the chin. The man +probably never knew exactly when the floor came up to slap the back of +his lap. + +Black Hood was clear of the building now, his legs working like tireless +pistons. He heard the shrill scream of police sirens, and in the +basement of the building the roar of gun fire still sounded. Perhaps the +criminals did not know that their opponent had left. One thing was +certain: Black Hood had dealt the forces of evil a hard blow that night, +and he had showed the Eye that the Black Hood was hard on his trail. + +Rounding a corner, Black Hood sighted a taxi cab cruising along. He +dashed into the street, waving his arm. The cab stopped, the driver +goggling at the strange figure that had hailed him. + +"I'm in a big hurry to get to a masquerade," Black Hood said as he +opened the door of the taxi. + +"So that's what it is," the driver said, apparently satisfied. + +As Black Hood got into the cab, he gave the address of Jack Carlson's +auto livery. So the Eye thought he had escaped, did he? Black Hood +chuckled. Well, he'd planned a little surprise for Jack Carlson, alias, +the Eye! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_Alias, The Corpse_ + + +It was after two o'clock in the morning when Black Hood alighted from +the cab near the location of Jack Carlson's auto livery garage. There +was not a sign of light in the garage building, and the big doors were +closed and locked. Black Hood went to the side entrance. This also was +locked. Reaching into one of the secret pockets of his wide black belt +he removed a curiously shaped tool of finest tempered steel. He had met +few locks in his adventures which this tool could not open. A deft +thrust, a twist of the wrist, and the door was no longer a barrier to +him. + +He returned the tool to its pocket and pulled out a tiny flashlight. The +ray of light seemed swallowed by the gloom of the vast, lonely room that +lay before him. Here and there were parked cars, oil drums, huge vans. +Black Hood wondered how many of these vehicles had been used by the +members of the Eye's criminal pack. + +He crossed the room to the concrete ramp that twisted up to the second +story. His footsteps whispered on the ramp. On the second floor there +was neither light nor sound--not so much as the squeak of a rat. His +flashlight pointed out the office, partitioned off from the rest of the +big room. He crossed quickly, pushed open the office door, spotted the +light switch. He turned the light switch to the on position, but no +illumination came from either the central fixtures nor the lamps on the +desk. A queer set-up, this. + +He went into Jack Carlsons private office, tried the switch in there, +still without results. He pointed his flashlight beam around until it +fell on the huge iron safe in the corner. The safe door was standing +wide open, the interior cleanly empty. Queerer and queerer. + +He paused in the center of the room, his nostrils dilated. There was a +faint, pleasant odor lingering in the room--a vaguely familiar odor. + +Black Hood crossed to the door of a coat closet, jerked it open. A body +fell stiffly into the room, struck the carpet with a dull, jarring +sound. Black Hood sprang back, turned his light down at the corpse. He +dropped to his knees beside the dead man, grasped the shoulder of the +coat of the corpse, turned the man over on his back. And as he saw that +gray deathmask of a face, Black Hood knew that all his carefully worked +out solution had tumbled like a house of cards. The corpse on the floor +was that of Jack Carlson, and he had been dead for hours. + +Carlson could not have been the Eye, for less than an hour ago, Black +Hood had seen and fought with the Eye! + + * * * * * + +Bullets had pierced the chest of Carlson in three places. High on the +left lapel of his dark suit coat was a white smudge made by some sort of +powder. Black Hood stepped to Carlson's desk, picked up an envelope and +a letter opener, and returned to the body. With great care, he scraped +some of the white powder from the coat lapel into the envelope. Then he +moistened the flap and sealed it. + +Turning the flashlight away from the body, he suddenly noticed something +else. That white smudge on Carlson's coat glowed in the darkness. + +The Black Hood's keen eyes narrowed on that patch of pale light. Then, +as though seized by a sudden inspiration, he sprang to Carlson's desk +and tipped up the desk lamp. He reached in under the shade and laid his +bare hand on the lamp bulb. The glass of that bulb was warm. Then he +crossed to the door, flipped the light switch to the off position, and +looked back in the direction of the corpse. + +The pale glow of light which came from that powder smudge on Carlson's +lapel was no longer visible! + +An understanding gleam came into Black Hood's eyes. At least he +understood how Jack Carlson had died, even if the mystery of the +identity of the Eye had deepened. He withdrew quietly from the room and +left the garage. + +At the fringe of dawn the next morning, Black Hood was high in the +Catskills, in the mountain fastness of that whiskered old man who had +been his teacher--that man known simply as the Hermit. There in the +Hermit's laboratory, Black Hood and the old man made a careful analysis +of that scanty sample of powder which Black Hood had scraped from the +coat of the murdered Jack Carlson. + +Finally, the old man straightened from the microscope over which he had +been bending. + +"My son," he asked of the Black Hood, "what are your findings?" + +"The stuff is face powder," Black Hood said. "But it's something else, +too. Mixed in with the face powder is another substance." + +"Naphthionate of sodium," the Hermit said. + +"That's what I thought," Black Hood nodded. "It's one of those +substances which becomes phosphorescent in ultra-violet light. And those +light bulbs in Jack Carlson's garage were ultra-violet bulbs. The light +from them is invisible to us poor mortals. You see what that means, +Hermit?" + +"Not entirely," the Hermit said. + +"It means that Jack Carlson was marked for murder. That face powder came +from the cheek of a woman--some woman who pressed her cheek against +Carlson's lapel. And a pretty gesture of affection it was, too. It made +Carlson so easy to kill! + +"You see, the naphthionate of sodium in that powder sticks to just about +anything. Even if Carlson had brushed the face powder off, the +naphthionate would still have been there. When Carlson entered the +garage, he turned on the light switch. No visible light came from those +bulbs--only "black light" as it is called. And the killer was waiting. +In the black light, the killer could not be seen, but Carlson was +perfectly targeted by that smudge of naphthionate which glowed on his +lapel. + +"It was all planned in advance--the lady's part to smear the powder on +Carlsons' lapel, a sort of Judas kiss. And then there was the killer's +part--to replace the ordinary bulbs with the ultra-violet type, and to +wait with drawn gun to shoot Carlson." + +"Who, then, is the Eye?" the Hermit asked. + +"I'll stick to my original idea," Black Hood said after a moment's +thought. "I still think that Jack Carlson is--was--the Eye. That alibi +he arranged for himself at Weedham's home, that warning from the Eye +which stated that Carlson was to die, his efforts to make Biggert's +death look as though the killer had been shooting at Carlson instead of +at Biggert--that all points to Carlson as the Eye. He was trying to make +himself appear the fair-haired boy in front of Sergeant McGinty. + +"Further, and I think conclusive proof, is that signal device which was +used to 'warn' Carlson. That was--Carlson's own device. It was Vida +Gervais, I believe, who turned the signal light through the French +windows at the Weedham house. And then later, in a previously appointed +spot, she left the signal light for Carlson to pick up as he left the +house. + +"Carlson changed the film in that light, putting in one which would +deliver two more of the Eye's messages--one of which went to Delancy, +telling him to come to a meeting tonight." + +Black Hood propped one foot on a laboratory stool, rested an elbow on +his knee. His eyes were bright, his face animated. + +"Don't you see that up to that point, Carlson was the Eye. But shortly +after he had planted the signal device for his messenger to pick up, +Carlson was murdered. The man who directed the criminal meeting later on +wasn't Carlson, because Carlson was dead. It means that somebody took +over where Carlson left off. It means that somebody muscled in on +Carlson's little racket, killed Carlson, began playing the part of the +Eye." + +"Which means," the Hermit said, "that you're not at the end of your task +yet." + +"Not by a long shot," Black Hood replied. "And I'm wondering about this +Vida Gervais. Is she the woman whose face powder was smeared on Jack +Carlson's lapel? I thought the odor of the powder was familiar. And +here's another thing I didn't mention." + +Black Hood searched the pockets of his wide belt, brought out his +fountain pen. + +"Here's a little item which I snitched from the hand of the murdered +Biggert, who was William Weedham's personal secretary. It's a check, and +I've scarcely had time to look at it myself." + +He unscrewed the cap of the fountain pen and removed the piece of rolled +up yellow paper which he had taken from the dead Biggert's hand. He +flattened out the slip of paper and placed it on the table in front of +the Hermit. + +It was a check in the sum of forty thousand dollars, made out to the +order of Major Paxton and signed by William Weedham, the major's +brother-in-law. The check had been endorsed and paid through a New York +bank. + +"I think this is the reason that Biggert was killed," Black Hood said. +"Weedham said that Biggert was going over his personal bank account, and +it's entirely possible that Biggert discovered there was something queer +about that check." + +"A forgery, perhaps," the Hermit suggested. + +"That was my idea," Black Hood agreed. "Anyway, that gives us a couple +of leads--Vida Gervais and Major Paxton. And if both of them are knocked +off before I can get the truth out of them--" Black Hood laughed without +mirth. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +_"Stop, Murderer!"_ + + +The following morning, Kip Burland read the early edition of Jeff +Weedham's paper, _The Daily Opinion_, with his breakfast coffee. The +latest story concerning the criminal exploits of the Eye was headlined: + + "EYE IS BLACK HOOD"--BURKEY + +The following story told how A. J. Burkey, filling station operator from +a northern suburb, had been held in Tombs prison for questioning in +conjunction with the murder and robbery at the Weedham plant. The night +before, Burkey had confessed that his boss, the criminal known as the +Eye, was actually the Black Hood. + +The part of the story that put a dull ache in Kip Burland's heart was +the fact that it was by-lined by Barbara Sutton, _The Daily Opinion_ +police reporter--and more particularly the woman whom Kip Burland loved. + +There was another "Eye" story, stating that the body of Jack Carlson had +been found. This murder, too, was attributed to the Eye. And once again +it was pointed out that the Eye and the Black Hood were one and the +same. + +As night fell upon the city, Kip Burland once more vanished behind the +identity of the Black Hood, not without full realization that he was +taking his life into his hands. Again he visited the Weedham estate on +West End Avenue, this time determined to have a talk with Major Paxton. + +Prowling around the house in search for a suitable entrance, Black Hood +discovered that he could not have come at a worse time. William Weedham +was host to Sergeant McGinty and his cops as well as a number of +reporters, including Barbara Sutton and her clumsy cameraman, Joe +Strong. Evidently the police expected to gain further information about +the crimes of the Eye. + +Black Hood took to a stout iron trellis, climbed quickly to the second +story where he found a bedroom window open. He slipped into the empty +bedroom and from there went into the hall. Tiptoeing down the hall, he +came to a small upstairs living room in which a light burned. There, +studying a European war map was Major Paxton. + +Black Hood entered silently and closed the door behind him. As the +major looked up, Black Hood stepped quickly forward so that his tall +figure over-shadowed that of the peppery little major. + +"What--what--who--" Paxton sputtered. "Why, look here, you can't come in +here like this!" + +"But I am in," Black Hood said quietly. "And you won't utter a sound, or +you'll force me to live up to my unjustly earned reputation as a +murderer." + +"But it's illegal! It--it's damnable!" + +"Now sit down and cool off, Major," Black Hood said patiently. "You can +blow off steam after I've left." + +"Left, huh? You'll get out of here over my dead body!" + +Black Hood nodded. "If necessary, even that. But first we're going to +have a quiet little chat, you and I. A little talk about a check in the +amount of forty thousand dollars." + +"I'll not pay you one cent!" Paxton exploded. "Why, do you think you can +frighten me into--" + +"I have frightened you, Major," Black Hood said, smiling. "And it won't +cost you a cent, either. All I want you to do is take a look at this +check." + +Black Hood drew the check, which he had taken from the dead fingers of +the murdered Biggert, from a pocket in his belt. He held it so that +Paxton could look at it. Paxton stared, and then suddenly looked at the +Black Hood's eyes revealed in the slots of his black mask. + +"Why, it's made out to me!" + +"Remarkable, isn't it?" Black Hood said. "It was found in the fingers of +the murdered Biggert." He turned the check over to show the endorsement. +"Is that your signature?" + +"It most certainly is! But, great heavens, I didn't receive any money +from William Weedham. I'll have you know that I am a man of independent +means. He's never given me a penny. Why, what does this mean?" + +Black Hood studied the little man closely. He had seen liars before, and +it seemed to him that if Paxton was lying he was doing a remarkable job +of it. + +"That's your signature, though," he persisted. + +"Yes, but I didn't sign it." The major pressed a hand to his forehead. +"Wait. I've an idea. A mere ghost of an idea!" He reached into his +pocket and pulled out a cigarette lighter. "My signature is engraved on +this lighter," he explained. "Anyone could have borrowed my lighter and +traced that endorsement. Let me see the check a moment." + + * * * * * + +Black Hood shook his head. "And have you destroy it?" he said with a +smile. "Rather, let me see the lighter." + +The major handed over the cigarette lighter. Holding it beneath the +check, Black Hood could see that the signature of Paxton on the back of +the check followed in every detail the engraved signature on the +lighter. He handed the lighter back. + +"And the signature of William Weedham," he said. "Take a look at that?" + +Major Paxton scowled. He shook his head doubtfully. "It could be +genuine. And then again, it could be a forgery. It seems to me--" + +The door behind Black Hood opened. The master manhunter wheeled, saw the +lank figure of Jeff Weedham standing in the door. Jeff Weedham opened +his mouth, shouted at the top of his voice. + +"D-d-dad! Help! The Black Hood!" And then young Weedham tried a necktie +tackle that was supposed to flatten Black Hood to the floor. + +Black Hood bent double to duck that high tackle. The result was that +Jeff Weedham landed squarely across Black Hood's broad back. The +manhunter straightened, threw Jeff to the floor, darted from the room +and out into the hall. + +The stairway was within three long strides of him. Black Hood slid half +way down the broad stair railing before he saw William Weedham and +Sergeant McGinty at the foot of the steps waiting for him. McGinty had +his gun out. Black Hood kicked his legs over the rail, reversing his +position, gave himself a shove with his hands. He dropped over the +railing, landed on his feet in the hall below. He turned, dashed through +a door that stood open beneath the stairs. This brought him into a huge +dining room. + +But he wasn't there long enough to tell about it. He went through a +swinging door into a butler's pantry, then into a kitchen. There was a +cop at the back door, waiting for him. He pivoted in his tracks, doubled +back into the dining room, went through another door that brought him to +the living room. No way out there. And then he remembered that William +Weedham's library was between living room and hall. The French windows +of the library might be the one avenue of escape which McGinty's thinly +spread men were not guarding. + +He reached the library, ran to the French windows. They were locked, but +the key was in place. He was about to unlock the windows when he heard +the door off the hall open and close. + +"Stop, murderer!" + +Black Hood turned, just a little slowly this time, because he had +recognized that voice--a voice that haunted his dreams as did the face +of the lovely girl who owned it. Barbara Sutton stood in the doorway, a +small but businesslike revolver in her hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +_The Frame Complete_ + + +"Barbara," Black Hood said quietly, "you're joking!" + +She shook her head. Her lower lip trembled. + +Black Hood took two steps toward her and saw her gun wrist stiffen. + +"Listen," he said grimly, "I could take that penny pea shooter away from +you in a second. I want you to know that I'm staying here in this room +when every second of delay may spell my death. I'm staying here because +if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to convince you that I'm not a +killer. And I'm not the Eye." + +"That picture Joe took," she said. "And that confession of the man in +Tombs. And you've told me time and time again that you're an outlaw." + +He nodded. "If my real identity were known, the police could take me on +the charge of robbery. But that charge would be a frame, just as this +one is. I can never clear myself of the robbery charge. But I can and +_will_ clear the Black Hood of the charge of murder. Joe must have got +that picture by accident. I was simply bending over that watchman at the +Weedham plant gate to see if there was any chance that he was alive and +had witnessed the crime. When I saw the knife, I planned to withdraw it +from the watchman's throat, to use it as possible evidence. + +"You've got to believe me, Barbara. I'm fighting this creature who calls +himself the Eye just as you are and just as the police are. You and I +have been through a lot of adventures together. Ask yourself if I have +ever done a single thing which would indicate that I would stoop to the +slaughter of the innocent. Ask yourself that, Barbara." + +He took another step toward her. Her violet eyes glistened with tears. + +"Joe Strong has tried to poison your mind against me," he said. "I can't +blame him for that, since all's fair in love and war. But you've got to +believe me, Barbara. You've got to believe me because--because I love +you. I've always loved you from the first day I set eyes on you. And--" + +The gun spilled from Barbara's limp fingers, and suddenly she was in his +arms. He held her fiercely, tenderly for a long moment, kissed her warm +lips. And then there were sounds of footsteps in the hall. He heard Jeff +Weedham say: + +"D-d-did anybody look in the library?" + +Black Hood released Barbara, turned, dashed back to the French windows. +He looked back before he plunged out into the darkness, and his teeth +gleamed in a smile. Barbara was smiling, too--smiling and crying at the +same time. + +There was a police guard at the gate of the Weedham estate, but then +Black Hood had never cared a whole lot about using gates anyway. He +raced across the lawn, vaulted over the wall which separated the Weedham +property from the place belonging to the green-eyed Vida Gervais next +door. + +To all appearances, the green-eyed lady was not at home--not unless +those catlike eyes of hers were capable of seeing in the dark. Black +Hood found his way into the house through a window. Inside, the house +was as silent as it was dark. + +Eventually, he found his way to Vida Gervais' boudoir and there poked +and sniffed among the boxes and jars of cosmetics on her dressing table. +A box of face powder attracted his particular attention, and when he +looked into the adjoining bathroom he discovered a suitable means of +testing the powder to make sure that it was the same which he had +scraped from the coat lapel of the dead Jack Carlson. Evidently, the +lady was somewhat concerned about her pale complexion, for there was a +sun lamp in the bathroom. Beneath its ultra-violet rays Black Hood +discovered that the face powder took on a phosphorescent glow, proving +that sodium naphthionate had been added to it. He took the powder with +him when he left the house a few minutes later dressed in a spare +uniform of Vida Gervais' chauffeur. + + * * * * * + +It was an hour later that Black Hood came to an obscure little jewelry +shop known simply as "Tauber's." It was here that the Eye's crimesters +were supposed to pull their next job, according to the plans which had +been set forth at the meeting on the night before. Whether or not Black +Hood's unexpected appearance at that meeting had put a crimp in those +plans, he did not know. But there was no way of learning except by trial +and error. Except for a night light which glinted through the show +window, the place was dark. + +Black Hood reflected that had he any desire to live up to his false +reputation as a criminal, he could have done very nicely for himself. It +required just twenty minutes of work for him to open the window at the +back of the shop--steel grill work, burglar alarm, lock and all. It was +rather a tight squeeze for his broad shoulders, getting through the +opening, but he managed it. No sooner had his feet hit the floor, +however, than he felt the cold, stern prod of the barrel of an +automatic. + +"All right, Mr. Hood, put up your hands!" + +Black Hood jerked a glance over his right shoulder to behold the +unlovely visage of Mr. Ron "The Bugs" Brayton. + +"Hi there, Bugs," he said lightly, raising his hands to the level of his +shoulders. "Fancy meeting you here." + +Brayton laughed. "If you'da knocked at the front door, we'd have let you +in, Mr. Hood. It's pretty early, for a heist, ain't it? But we figured +the early bird would get the diamonds. And then you was wised up to this +job, wasn't you?" + +"Oh, I did hear it mentioned at the lodge meeting last night," Black +Hood said. He laughed. "Isn't that Squid Murphy over there in the +corner, trying to disguise himself as a corner of that safe?" + +Murphy stepped out of the shadows. He had a gun in his fist. A third +hood put in his appearance from the front of the store and a fourth came +out of Tauber's private office. + +"You're just a little bit too late, Mr. Hood," Bugs Brayton said. "That +is, too late to get your hands on these beauties." + +Brayton extended his right arm in front of him. He was holding a small +leather satchel, the mouth of the bag wide open. What light there was in +the place scintillated on a layer of unset diamonds in the bottom of the +bag. It was then that Black Hood got one of those sudden inspirations +which had made him the underworld's most capable adversary. His right +hand dropped with incredible swiftness to his wide black belt, snatched +something from a concealed pocket there. That same hand shot out toward +the bag of diamonds, lingered over its open mouth a moment before it +clenched into a fist and hammered to the point of Squid Murphy's jaw. + +Murphy went back very fast and didn't stop until he had rammed into the +Tauber safe. But the three other hoods closed in upon Black Hood. Bugs +Brayton's big automatic rose and fell like an ax. The barrel of it +caught Black Hood on the temple with stunning force. Black Hood fell to +the floor and an unidentified but effective shoe toe caught the side of +his head with a powerful kick. Blazing blobs of light exploded within +his brain, and then the total blackness of unconsciousness funneled down +upon his brain. + +Bugs Brayton stood over the fallen manhunter. He weighed his automatic +thoughtfully in his hand. He looked at Squid Murphy and the others. + +"Well, boys," he said, "I guess it's up to me to finish off Mr. Hood. +And I can't say that I got any regrets about him dying so young." He +laughed, stooped over Black Hood, pressed the muzzle of his gun to the +manhunter's forehead. + +"Stop, Bugs!" came a whispered command from the front of the store. + +Brayton straightened. Coming toward the group of crimesters around the +unconscious Black Hood, was the man they knew as the Eye, his white +rubber mask resembling a death's head in the half light. + +"It would be a grave mistake to kill Black Hood, Brayton," the Eye said. +"Once he is dead, the police will turn their attention to +others--perhaps to any one of us. You understand?" + +"But the guy's dangerous," Squid Murphy protested. "I'll take my chances +with the bulls any day, rather than with Black Hood." + +"He won't be dangerous to us in prison," the criminal chief argued. +"Hand me the gems, Brayton." + +Brayton obeyed. He watched the Eye's slim white fingers reach down into +the layer of diamonds, watched them sift the glittering gems. Then he +took a dozen or so of the stones from the bag, transferred them to a +pocket in Black Hood's belt. + +"Now," he said, "the frame is complete. I will take care of the gems and +as soon as I have sold them, I will split with you. Let's get out of +here." + +So great was their fear of their leader that the crimesters obeyed +without protest. Just outside the rear door of the jewelry shop, the +criminal chief stopped, raised a whistle to his lips, and blew a +skirling blast. + +"What's the idea?" Brayton demanded, startled. + +"To bring the police for the Black Hood, you fool!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +_Black Light_ + + +Black Hood staggered to his feet, his brain still whirling from that +blow to his head. He lurched toward the front door of the shop, stopped +half way there, clung to a counter for support. Somebody was pounding on +the front door. A hoarse voice was calling on him to open in the name of +the law. + +Black Hood turned, spurred the muscles of his legs to carry on. The +brilliant light of a policeman's torch sliced through the semi-darkness +and spotted him. He kept going. Glass in the front door shattered +beneath a blow from the butt of the copper's revolver. Black Hood ran on +leaden feet into the rear of the shop. The back door stood invitingly +open. He stepped over the sill, all but fell into the arms of a second +cop. He struck just one wild haymaker of a blow that cleared the head of +the cop by nearly a foot. And then suddenly there were two cops--one on +either side of him. + +"It's Black Hood!" one of the coppers shouted triumphantly. "We've got +him. We've got the Eye. Wait till Sergeant McGinty hears about this!" + +Cold steel jaws of handcuffs closed on Black Hood's right wrist. A +second cop frisked him quickly, emptying the pockets of his belt. + +"Look at the sparklers, will you!" the policeman gasped. + +And Black Hood, his mind still in a daze, stared down at the gems in +the copper's hand. No use telling them it was a frame. That was the +standard alibi of every crook who ever found his way into police courts. +They had him cold, and in his present condition he was utterly unable to +fight back. + +As long as he lived he was never to forget that ride down to police +headquarters. Nor could he ever forget standing there in Sergeant +McGinty's office while the sergeant did a bit of triumphant gloating. + +"As sure as my name's McGinty, I knew there'd come a day like this, Mr. +Black Hood, alias the Eye. I've got you, and I've got you where I want +you. You'll burn in the chair, Mr. Hood." + +Black Hood stood erect, still handcuffed to the cop who had captured +him. He could think a little bit more clearly now and the muscles of his +powerful body were much more inclined to obey the dictates of his taut +nerves. He looked at the top of the sergeant's desk. There the entire +contents of his belt pockets had been spread out--the dozen diamonds +which had been used to frame him; that crumpled check which he had taken +from the dead fingers of Biggert; the powder box from Vida Gervais' +boudoir, most of its contents now gone; all his little tools and weapons +which he had found valuable in his valiant fight against crime. + +"You know what I've done, Mr. Hood?" McGinty asked. "I've telephoned the +members of the citizens' committee who got together to tell the police +what to do to catch the Eye. I've asked them and their friends to come +down here to headquarters for the unveiling of Black Hood, alias the +Eye. When they get here, I'm going to jerk off that mask of yours and +we'll all have a little surprise party." + +"You might spare me that 'alias, the Eye' business," Black Hood said, +some of his old-time banter returning. "The Eye died when Jack Carlson +died, and I can prove that. Since Carlson was murdered, another has +taken his place. The man who killed Biggert and also killed Jack +Carlson, now wears the white rubber mask that identifies the Eye, goes +around whispering orders to professional rob and kill men. He's robbed +Carlson's safe and robbed Carlson of his life and even robbed Carlson of +his identity as the Eye. And given half a chance, I'll prove that to +you, McGinty." + +McGinty frowned. He could not deny that many times before Black Hood +had beaten him to the solution of crimes, much to his embarrassment. +And in each case, McGinty had received full credit for the solving of +these crimes. + +"When the time comes, Mr. Hood," McGinty said, "you'll have your chance +to speak your little piece. I wouldn't deny that to any man." + +"Then perhaps you'll unlock these handcuffs," Black Hood suggested. +"You've robbed my bag of all its tricks and I'm relatively harmless at +the present time. Besides," he added, glancing at the cop to whom he was +linked, "this man here becomes something of a liability after this +length of time." + +"Unlock the cuffs, Bricker," McGinty ordered the cop. "Black Hood can't +get out of here, and that's a sure thing." + + * * * * * + +The cuff removed from his right wrist, Black Hood went to a chair beside +the desk and calmly sat down. + +"I want to appeal to your reason a moment, Sergeant, before this +committee arrives for the 'unveiling' as you call it. First of all, is +it reasonable to suppose that I would crack open a jewelry store just to +get those few diamonds there on the desk? And having broken into the +store with intent to rob, as you seem to think, would I be silly enough +to fall on my head and knock myself out?" + +"Could be those were the only diamonds you found in the store." + +"There were one hundred thousand dollars worth of unset diamonds in that +store tonight," Black Hood said. "And that's what this man who is posing +as the Eye went after and got. The past record shows that none of these +crimes have been what you could call petty." + +"A fact," McGinty said, "which doesn't prove you haven't hid the +diamonds somewhere." + +"But kept a few of them on my person just to get myself in jail, huh?" +Black Hood laughed. "Listen, McGinty, why do you suppose Biggert, +Weedham's secretary, was killed?" + +"The shot that killed Biggert was intended for Jack Carlson," McGinty +said. "So it was an accident that Biggert was shot." + +Black Hood shook his head, "Jack Carlson was nowhere near Biggert when +the latter fell. That was no mistake. Biggert was killed because he was +about to expose somebody who had forged that check which is lying on +your desk. That check is the piece of paper that was in Biggert's hand +when he died." + +McGinty's eyes narrowed. "How did you get hold of that, Mr. Hood?" + +Black Hood saw that he would have to lie in order to protect his +prototype, Kip Burland. + +"I reached the body of Biggert before Carlson or anyone else did. That's +how I know Carlson wasn't near the man when the shot was fired." + +McGinty thought that over a moment. + +"Go ahead, Mr. Hood. I'm not convinced, but every man has a right to +free speech." + +"Did the police notice the smudge of white powder on the lapel of +Carlson's coat when they found his body? Did they notice that the +regular light bulbs in his garage had been replaced with ultra-violet +bulbs?" + +McGinty nodded. "Our lab men don't miss much. That smudge of powder +contained some chemical that glows in black light. I figured it spotted +Carlson for the killer, made a target out of him in the dark." + +"Right, McGinty. But do you know that Carlson was betrayed by a woman +named Vida Gervais? She lives in the house next to the Weedham place. +That powder box which you took from my pocket and which is now on your +desk, is a sample of her face powder, treated with naphthionate of +sodium. You can prove that yourself. And if you'll question the lady +thoroughly, you'll be able to get at the truth. She'll know that Carlson +was the Eye. And she may even admit that she threw Carlson over and +helped somebody else dispose of Carlson and step into the lucrative +position which Carlson occupied as the Eye." + +McGinty looked up at one of his men. "Send out for that Gervais dame." +When the man had left the room, he turned to Black Hood. "You haven't +cleared yourself yet. You claim Carlson was the Eye. That's the world's +oldest alibi--putting the blame on a dead man." + +"I can prove Carlson was the Eye," Black Hood persisted. "In the morning +I will send you that signal device which the Eye used. It carries +Carlson's fingerprints." + +"You'll send it from jail, then," McGinty said. + + * * * * * + +Black Hood shook his head. "I wonder if you'd send to the police lab for +an ultra-violet lamp? I think I can conduct an experiment which will +prove my points." + +McGinty considered this a moment, and finally sent out for an +ultra-violet lamp. It was not long after that before the members of the +citizens committee began to arrive. The two Weedhams, father and son, +were ushered into the room, followed by Major Paxton, Harold Adler, and +the rest of the committee. Jeff Weedham's newspaper was represented by +Barbara Sutton and her ace cameraman, Joe Strong. And finally the police +brought in a coldly furious Vida Gervais. + +Black Hood carefully avoided meeting Barbara Sutton's eyes. He knew that +her emotions must be strained to the breaking point, and even a glance +from him might have caused her to betray herself. + +"D-d-don't tell me you've finally caught Black Hood, Sergeant!" Jeff +Weedham gasped. + +The sergeant smiled. "Sooner or later, McGinty gets 'em all." + +McGinty waited until all present were seated. Then he stood up alongside +of Black Hood. + +"Now, folks," he said, "as you can see, I've got Black Hood just where I +want him. And I've wanted him quite a while. I promised you that I'd +show you his face, and that's just what I'm going to do." + + * * * * * + +Harold Adler uttered a hoarse cry of warning that came just a bit too +late. With one of those lightning-like movements of his, Black Hood had +pulled the revolver out of McGinty's holster, turned it on the sergeant. +A copper near the door started to intervene, but Black Hood stopped him +with a narrow-eyed glance that held all the threat of a thunderbolt. + +"Make a move toward me, and I put a bullet into McGinty's back," he +said. "No one will ever see the face of Black Hood and live to talk +about it. I've just given McGinty the entire solution to this mystery. +I've told him that Jack Carlson was the Eye. I've explained how Jack +Carlson was murdered and his powerful position in the underworld was +usurped by another man who now poses as the Eye. If there is any doubt +in his mind, I am about to dispel it." + +Black Hood picked up the ultra-violet lamp with his left hand while his +right kept the gun on McGinty. He said, "Mr. Adler, will you kindly +turn out the lights." + +Adler hesitated. + +"Do as you're told," Black Hood insisted, "if you don't want to witness +murder. And I want to warn everyone in this room, that when the lights +go out if anyone makes any move toward me, McGinty will die. Even if I +were to be shot, the reflex action of my fingers would pull the trigger +of this revolver and McGinty will die. I am no murderer, but if you +interfere with me in this business, you'll make a murderer of me." + +Adler switched out the lights. The darkness lay like a smothering +blanket upon them all. The air itself had a certain electrical tenseness +about it, like the silence before a storm. + +"I am now going to switch on the ultra-violet light. If the filter is +perfect, you will not be able to see the light, because ultra-violet +rays, when unadulterated by other rays, cannot be seen by the human eye. +There. The light is on. + +"I have offered evidence to Sergeant McGinty in which I intended to +prove that Biggert, William Weedham's secretary, was killed because he +was about to show to William Weedham a check to which William Weedham's +signature had been forged. Not only that, but the forger, in cashing the +check, also forged the endorsement of Major Paxton, to whom the check +was made out. + +"I have further pointed out to McGinty, that this same killer disposed +of Jack Carlson, after Carlson had been betrayed by a woman. This woman +must have been Carlson's friend. She must have known all his secrets, +including the fact that Carlson was the Eye. She gave all this +information to another man--the same man who forged the check which I +mentioned before. Then she assisted this killer to shoot Carlson. This +woman's face powder was treated with naphthionate of sodium. A little of +this powder rubbed from her cheek to Carlson's lapel made Carlson a +perfect target in pitch darkness, provided that darkness was penetrated +by rays of invisible ultra-violet or black light. I have a sample of +that woman's face powder here on McGinty's desk." + +Black Hood turned the ultra-violet lamp on the desk. The box of powder +there became phosphorescent. + +"When I was framed for the Tauber jewel robbery tonight, I seized the +opportunity to toss some of this face powder onto the jewels in the +robbers' bag," Black Hood continued. "The face powder is that of Vida +Gervais. Watch, please." + +Black Hood turned the ultra-violet lamp out toward his audience. Vida +Gervais' frightened face glowed in the black light. Startled gasps could +be heard from the others in the room as they stared at that ghostly +face. + +"Vida Gervais," Black Hood continued, "knew a good thing when she saw +it. To eventually better her social and financial position, she was +willing to sell out Carlson, alias the Eye, to another man who, if he +could accumulate, through fair means or foul, quite a tidy sum of money +now would get his hands on a great deal more money in the future. + +"So Vida Gervais betrayed Carlson, alias the Eye, into the hands of the +man who had killed Biggert. The forty thousand dollars which this man +had got from the forged check was a small part of the money he needed. +But if he could step into the Eye's shoes for a little while, he could +rapidly accumulate the rest. + +"I mentioned a moment ago that I had tossed some of Vida Gervais' +unusual face powder onto the diamonds stolen from Tauber's shop. The +naphthionate in that powder would cling to the diamonds and subsequently +cling to the hands of the criminal who eventually got hold of them. +Watch now for the glowing hands of the killer--the man who has been +impersonating the Eye ever since Carlson was killed. But one funny thing +about that impersonation which I did not realize until tonight. The +impersonator, this man who killed Biggert and Carlson, was most careful +to avoid any word or name beginning with the letter 'D.' He would not, +for instance, say the name 'Delancy,' nor would he speak the word +'diamonds.' Why? Because every time he says a word or name beginning +with that letter, he stutters. He might disguise his voice by +whispering, but he could not control this stutter, which would have been +a dead give-away." + + * * * * * + +In the black light, luminous fingers suddenly showed themselves. There +was a piercing scream. Men surged forward to close in and blot out the +glow from the killer's fingers. + +"Watch out!" Black Hood's warning voice rang out. "He is probably +armed!" + +Men bumped into each other. There was the repeated thud of blows. There +were cries, grunts, stammered oaths. And when finally somebody turned on +the lights, Jeff Weedham was on the floor, two cops astride him. He had +a gun in his hand, but his hand was pinned to the floor. + +Sergeant McGinty looked over his shoulder at the Black Hood--or rather +looked where he thought the Black Hood would be. McGinty's jaw sagged. +He looked down at his own gun which was poking him in the ribs. His +revolver had been wedged into the baby-gate extension arm of his own +desk telephone. And Black Hood was gone. + +It was an hour later that McGinty and his men, by playing Vida Gervais +and Jeff Weedham, one against the other, got a full confession which +corresponded very closely to Black Hood's reconstruction of the crimes. +Jeff Weedham had been placed in rather a desperate position by his +father, Jeff explained. William Weedham had bought Jeff the newspaper, +insisting that he make a financial success of it and thus prove his +worth. If he failed in this as he had in everything else, William +Weedham was determined that none of the Weedham fortune should fall into +Jeff's hands. + +Jeff had run his newspaper into the red. As the time came closer in +which William Weedham was to examine the newspaper's ledger, Jeff +Weedham tried desperately to make up the lost money, first by forgery, +and then by stepping into Carlson's shoes as the Eye. + +Ballistics tests proved that it was Jeff's gun which had killed both +Biggert and Carlson. + +Just as McGinty was about to leave his office for the night, his phone +rang. Almost before he picked the instrument up, he knew who his caller +was. + +"I say, McGinty," the voice of the Black Hood came from the receiver, "I +really intended to apologize for making a fool of you there in your +office, sticking you up with a gun attached to that telephone arm. But +then, as I thought the matter over, it occurred to me that I really +wasn't to blame for making a fool of you. You've really got a bone to +pick with dear old Mother Nature on that score!" + +"Say, will you kindly go to Hell!" McGinty exploded. And as he hung up, +a chuckle broke from his thick lips. "What that guy don't know is that +I'm beginning to get a kick out of tangling with him!" + + + + +CANDIDATE FOR A COFFIN + +By T. W. FORD + + Wilson Lamb cuddled his automatic to play "Mr. Death" and fingered + little Louis Engel for coffin cargo. But when he pulled the + trigger, Whisper, the gun-cobra from Chi, spilled out of Doom's + deck.... + +[Illustration] + + +Death stood on the Times Square subway platform, uptown side, waiting +for a subject. Death looked at himself in the gum machine mirror, then +down at his watch. It was exactly 4:12 P. M., Wednesday, December 10th. +When the second hand hit the "30" mark, he would turn around and the +person nearest would be It. Death wore a blue pin-stripe suit, well +fitting but slightly unpressed. Death's name was Wilson Lamb. + +The second hand wiped over the "20" of the smaller dial, jittered on +toward the half-minute spot. Inexorable and meaningless. Just as what +Wilson Lamb planned. He said "Now" with a little sucking in of breath +and a thin anticipant smile and spun on his heel. He was a slim +saturnine-faced man with cigaret-ash stain on a coat lapel. +Undistinguished from any typical strap-hanger except perhaps by the +light-hued eyes. His shoes needed a shine. He lifted the pale eyes from +them and looked for the corpse to be. To the left. To the right. Then he +came as near recoiling from the thing as he ever would. + +It looked as if it might be a woman. Somehow he had always thought of +killing a man. Something that could strike back. Not that he would get +the chance. It was just the idea of the thing. But she, the woman, was +descending the stairs that led up to the shuttle, bearing down toward +him, less than twenty feet away. Big and billowy and red-faced, waddling +along like a sow. To face a jury, charged with doing away with a hunk of +human beef like that and-- + +He flashed a glance to the left again. Nobody near. It was a fluke of +circumstance a score of people weren't buzzing all about him. He whipped +his eyes back toward the woman as a local thundered in. And Luck took a +hand. A stocky man dodged around from behind the woman and came rapidly +down the platform, neat, crisp, briefcase under his arm. + +Wilson Lamb's pale eyes flickered with amusement. He said softly, "Tag, +you're it, John W. Goon." This was his corpse to be. Mr. Death had made +his pick-up. + +"_Ex_-cuse me." An express rolled in and cutting over for it, the stocky +man brushed Lamb. His voice was mild, colorless. He wore a gray +snap-brim hat; it was set squarely on his head, precisely level. Lamb +had seen hats worn like that by show-window clothing dummies. The man +entered the third car, middle door. Wilson Lamb boarded it on his heels. + +His victim almost got a seat. A pimply-faced office boy elbowed him out +of it and the man turned away meekly. He hooked himself onto a strap, +hitched the briefcase up under his free arm, and concentrated on a +segment of his folded-open newspaper. It was one of the conservative +sheets, comic-less, reactionary Republican to the core. Wilson eased +down the aisle, casually pushing a woman out of his way, and glanced +over his victim's shoulder. The goon was studying an advertisement for a +nine-piece living room suite, overstuffed, at "special reduction this +week only." It was at one of the better department stores. + +Amusement flickered in Wilson Lamb's pale eyes. He got the picture. A +typical George Babbitt in the flesh. To the core. + +At Seventy-second Street, the stocky man got a seat. When he faced the +light, Lamb saw that he was turning slightly gray over the ears. He had +a roundish face, a little fleshy under the chin, a soft-lipped mouth +that from habit he held slightly pursed, muddy eyes. He was inclined to +plumpness. Somebody had scuffed his right shoe in getting out and now he +pulled up the pant leg of his dark grey suit to study it ruefully. + +"Typical taxpayer," Lamb said to himself, savoring it. "Always makes his +insurance payments on time.... Probably has weak arches.... Is going to +buy the Five Foot book-shelf, always next week, and read it.... Would +like to get up nerve enough to take that blonde steno at the office out +to luncheon...." Wilson Lamb wanted to laugh out loud; it was as good as +having a duck flutter down smack in front of your blind. + +Past 86th, the Express roared. Lamb's victim had turned his paper, +halved back the last page. Automatic pencil poised, he was scanning the +crossword puzzle intently. As they lolled through 91st, he bared his +teeth in a satisfied smile and rapidly filled in four vertical blanks, +then filled out the lower right-hand corner. Lamb saw that his four +upper front teeth were a neatly fitted denture. He wondered how they'd +look after a bullet had gone through them. + +The victim got off at 96th, carefully straightening his muffler inside +his black overcoat. He went downstairs, crossed beneath the local +platform to the west side, mounted to street level. He had a cigaret in +his mouth but waited until he was outside the subway entrance before he +put a match to it. Lamb lit one too. He picked up an evening paper from +the newsstand--it might come in handy if he got to close quarters with +the dope and wanted to mask his face. The newsdealer was looking the +other way as he made change so Lamb plucked back his nickel. + + * * * * * + +The victim started to cross 96th Street, heading north. A traffic +officer's whistle shrilled. Broadway was spattered with the ruby red of +traffic lights. Vehicles moved crosstown. Dutifully Lamb's goon turned +and retraced his steps to the curb, holding his four-square hat +carefully. A little trick with skimpy skirts whipped about plump calves +crossed on over. Watching her, Lamb's victim shook his head. + +Lamb could hear him saying: "Tsk! Tsk! Foolish to take chances like +that." Imagine him saying it, anyway. + +Lamb kept at a cautious distance as they moved several blocks up +Broadway. Walking briskly, the victim turned into a side street. There +was something smug about the way he picked up his heels, swung his +briefcase. + +"Little man who has had a busy day with a job well done," Lamb +paraphrased it sarcastically. He pushed his battered felt hat further +back on his head in a gesture of disgust. His cheap unbuttoned +raglan-style coat fluttered in the wind off the Hudson. Abruptly, the +man ahead halted, wheeled. + +Lamb calmly turned and opened the rear door of a parked sedan whose +driver was at the wheel. Put a foot in. Down the block, his victim +headed into a distinctly second-rate apartment hotel. Lamb said to the +sedan driver, "I thought this was a hearse" and went down the block. + +His victim was getting his mail at the desk when Lamb entered the shabby +lobby. Lamb got on the elevator after him. The victim said "nine," +immersed in his paper again, studying that living room suite. He had his +key ready in his hand, terra cotta-hued tab swinging loose. "914" was +lettered on it in black. + +"Ten, Bud," Lamb told the operator. + +On the tenth floor, he moved quickly down the frayed carpet of a +corridor and found the service stairs. Back on the ninth, even when he +was yards from the door of 914, he caught the odor of cooking. Rich and +greasy. He got his ear against the door. + +"Spare-ribs and sauerkraut, huh, Ede?" the victim was calling out +inside. Lamb could visualize him putting his coat on a hanger, carefully +folding a scarf over it. + +From the rear of the apartment came Ede's voice, reedy and with a bit of +a whine. Lamb could visualize her too, a dyed blonde who devoured film +fan magazines and thought the girdle was the world's greatest invention. +"Uh-huh. How'd things go downtown today, Lou?" + +Through the thin door, Lamb heard him clear his throat, mutter, "Oh, +so-so." + +But Ede wasn't to be put off. "Lou, did you tell the boss you had to +have a raise, that the job is worth more?" + +Lou started to mumble something. Ede's voice, penetrating the door +easily, rose to a querulous pitch. "Lou, you're too easygoing! You ain't +got the sense to stand up for your rights. You're an expert in your line +and you know it. There's never any kick-back or complaint on a job you +do." + +"I know, I know, Ede but--" Wilson Lamb's victim got in. + +"You're entitled to more money, Lou! You've never bungled a job yet. I +need a new coat. And you said you wanted to put the kid in a private +school after the first of the year. How're we gonna do it if you +don't--" + +Lou said, "Look, Ede! Something came up today and the boss had to leave +in a hurry--right in the middle of a conference. I just had time to grab +my briefcase myself. Let's get to work on those spare-ribs." + +They moved toward the rear of the apartment and Lamb out in the hall +could hear no more. He was chuckling as he walked away, loose mouth +curled in a sneer. Back on the tenth floor, he boarded the elevator +again. Again it was empty except for the operator, a tow-headed kid with +a Racing Form tucked in a side pocket. + +"Funny thing," Lamb mentioned casually, "I could've sworn I knew that +man who rode up with me. Stocky chap. Got off at the ninth. But I can't +seem to recall his name." + +"Mr. Engel, yuh mean?" + +"Engel ... Engel ... Lou Engel? Is he an accountant?" + +"Yeah, Louis Engel's the name. But he ain't no accountant. Comes from +Chicago. I heard him tell the manager he was an efficiency expert." + +Lamb stopped rattling the coins in his pocket suggestively, kept them +there, and strolled toward the main entrance. Behind him, a lobby +lounger moved over to the elevator boy, jerking his chin in Wilson +Lamb's direction as he asked a question. + +At the corner, Lamb stopped in and bought a drink. Thin face creased in +a smile of self-satisfaction, he glanced at the paper he had bought. +Below the latest war communiques was a small column-head about a +threatened gang war in the numbers racket. "Police Raid Joe 'The +Flasher' Abadirro's Headquarters," it said. Lamb's eyes picked up +flashes of it. "... when plainclothes squad walked into luxurious +apartment ... mid-town West Side hotel ... several henchmen taken into +custody on technical charges ... Abadirro reported out of town ... +police acting on tip killers imported from Chicago ... showdown +anticipated on who will boss numbers racket in metropolitan area...." + + * * * * * + +Lamb turned the paper over and winked at himself in the concave mirror +of the semi-circle of bar. That was unimportant claptrap to somebody +like him. That kind of tripe was for the little Joe Dopes who got their +thrills vicariously. There was going to be nothing vicarious about what +he was going to do. He was going to rub out Louis Engel. Blast him. +Louis the Goon, as he had already christened him in his mind. He had put +the finger on him. + +"Louis the Goon is going to die," Wilson Lamb said softly. He liked the +sound of it. + +He wasn't crazy. Long ago he had assured himself of that. It was just +that his mind operated on a different, a higher, plane than the norm. He +was not one of the little pieces of protoplasm running along with the +herd. He was above them. Looking down on them. Studying them. His +perspective ranged somewhat further than the end of his nose, the latest +double-feature at the neighborhood movie house, and spare-ribs. + +That last made him laugh out loud. He picked up his change and headed +back for the subway and his two-room apartment in the Village. His gun, +a .45 automatic, was there. He would be needing it soon. Louis the Goon +practically demanded, invited, the use of a .45 automatic on him. + +"Efficiency engineer," Lamb said to himself once. + +The guy was the perfect subject. Ripe for murder. The more Lamb thought +of it, the more he was convinced he couldn't have dreamed up a better +stooge. Engel was a model--for homicide. He himself might die for it. + +But that was unimportant. The killing of Louis the Goon was the only +thing that counted. The results, materially speaking, meant nothing. +This slaying was to be an exposition of the ego. Without other cause. +Emotionless. With no hope of gain, financial or otherwise. No female +involved. Nothing. Just a killing, a plain open and shut case of +homicide for no earthly reason imaginable to the police. It would be +amusing to watch those flatfoots sitting around trying to sift a motive +out of the thing. Baby, they'd sweat their so-and-so's off trying to +cook up a reason for this one. + +It was so simple to Lamb himself. Inevitable. A logical step in a +sequence. The final step, perhaps. Louis the Goon Engel was a mere +walk-on in the piece, a spear-carrier doomed to death. Little better +than a papier mache dummy set up to be a target for the custard pie. +Only, in this case, the custard pie was to be a cupro steel-nosed +bullet. + +To Lamb, it boiled down to an ultimate expression of the psyche. The +final test of one's ability to project the personal ego over all else in +the material world. Because the ego was the alpha and omega of all +living the moment one got above the level of animal existence, the mere +feeding of the face and satisfaction of the other instinctive physical +hungers. As Braunitsch had put it so succinctly, "Even the lowest worm +can procreate itself--unfortunately." + +Then, of course, there was Nietsche and his superman. And some of Freud. +And that treatise of Van de Water, the Belgian, on the sublimation of +the sub-conscious by the negation of the self-censor. And the papers of +Braulinski of the old University of Warsaw on the fear trauma which he +termed a birthmark of civilization. Lamb had gone into them all, deeply. +All of them dealing with the ego. The ego and its development and +complete consummation. And the killing of Louis the Goon Engel was going +to be the consummation of Wilson Lamb's experiments in the total +exemplification of that ego. + +It was no brash idea, no hare-brained impulse concocted in one's cups, +perhaps. Analytically, objectively, he had thought out the whole thing. +The axis of life was the psyche. Its two poles were birth and death. +And, as Braunitsch had stated, the former was a function, often +accidental, of which the lowest animal order was capable. A mono-cell, +the amoeba, was able to reproduce itself by the simple stratagem of +sub-division. But death--when it became a deliberate action, +administered without emotion or hope of material gain--was one step +removed from the godhead. Perhaps less than one step. But the step that +would raise one above all the little fumbling, blind-spawning, life +hugging bipeds who infested the scene. + +In short, birth was fortuitous, a product of circumstance plus +proximity, its get a biological accident. But death--the taking of +life--was a selective process, intentionally executed, the result a +foreseen conclusion. In so doing, the taking of life, you broke the +greatest law of humanity and so became above it. You unfettered the ego +with a single ineradicable stroke. In taking a life, one tasted the +essence of living. He tried to remember who had said that. De Maupassant +had put it better but Lamb could not quite recall the quotation.... + +He was still trying to remember it as he lounged down the block from +Engel's apartment hotel at 8:10 the next morning. There was a +bone-chilling breeze off the Drive that made Lamb belt his coat tighter +about him. When, at 9:35, Louis the Goon Engel had not made an +appearance, Lamb went down to the corner drugstore and had a cup of +coffee. He could not see the entrance of the hotel through the window. +But he commanded a clear view of the street and anybody coming up it +toward the subway. And if he ever saw one, his corpse-to-be was a +methodical little piece of humanity. He would come and go to the subway +by the same route. + + * * * * * + +Wilson Lamb was correct as he had never doubted. But it was 11:07 by his +wrist watch before Engel emerged. The gray hat just as squarely set on +his head as before, without a glance around, Engel came out of the hotel +and turned his steps dutifully in the direction of the subway. Lamb was +strolling on the other side of the street at the moment. On sight of +him, he turned up the front stairs of a brownstone. But a few seconds +later, his long legs were carrying him rapidly toward Broadway. By +hustling, he got to the other side of it, entered the subway on the +uptown side, crossed underneath and was waiting in the by-pass when +Engel came along. Engel trotted up to the downtown express platform. +When the next train pulled out, Lamb was in the vestibule, half a +car-length away from him. + +Taking the trouble to keep at a distance, to make himself inconspicuous, +seemed almost wasted effort. Louis the Goon went along, looking neither +to right nor left, docilely intent on minding his own business. + +"Efficiency expert," Lamb said to himself. "Bet he's a cracker-jack at +cutting down on the overhead." + +It was like playing a game of cat-and-mouse with him, Wilson Lamb, the +cat. Only in this instance, the mouse seemed as good as blind. + +Lamb could have given it to him any time, a slug in the back that would +terminate his little life the way you would step on a cockroach. On +second thought, he would not give it to him in the back. It would be the +front so he could see the stricken stupid look of surprise. He'd +probably try to get his foolish little briefcase in front of him like a +shield. Lamb could just see it. Hear his squeal of futile protest, too. + +Yes, he could give it to him whenever he chose. Just walk up to him and +squeeze the trigger and savor omnipotence for a moment. Very simple. At +his leisure. But Wilson Lamb wasn't going to do it that way. That would +have been like a blind stab, in the dark, meaningless, impersonal. Like +taking a hack at a piece of meat. Or tossing a bomb into a crowd. +Instead, he wanted to know something about his specimen before he +exterminated him. Understand his background. Get a fair picture of the +little sphere of the life from which he was all unknowingly about to +depart. + +Lamb didn't figure it to take long in the case of Louis the Goon. What +Engel was was pretty patent. A typical little taxpayer, careful to keep +his nose clean, asking only to be permitted to tread his narrow path +unmolested. Undoubtedly the type who got sick to his stomach at the +sight of blood even though it might be no more than a nose-bleed. + +At 42nd Street, Louis the Goon got off and trundled over to the shuttle. +He passed through the Grand Central Station, stopping off to buy a +package of Camels en route. The cigar store had a counter display of a +bargain buy of razor blades combined with some unknown brand of shaving +cream. Engel hovered over it like a bargain-hunting housewife. The clerk +put on his spiel. Engel bought, got stuck for a bottle of after-shave +lotion too. + +Lamb saw it all from over by the counter of the baggage-checking room. +"'A penny saved is a penny earned,'" he paraphrased for him. + +They cut through the Graybar Building to come out on Lexington. Engel +proceeded north a few blocks, turned into one of the commercial hotels +noted for its name band. Halfway across the lobby, a tall swarthy man +with one of those deadpan faces rose to greet him. They shook hands. + +"You're right on the dot," the tall man said. + +Engel's pursed mouth lengthened in a flattered smile. "I always make it +a point to be punctual," Lamb dawdling in the background, overheard him +say. + +Then they headed for the elevator bank. The tall one shot two glances +backward as they did so Lamb couldn't make it too obvious. When he +rounded the corner of the ell where the elevators were, they were gone. +Lamb went back into the main lobby and ensconced himself behind a +morning paper. Midway down the page was more about the threatened strife +in the numbers racket. It didn't interest Lamb in the slightest. + +Engel probably had gone upstairs to try and peddle one of his efficiency +schemes to some big shot. The guy he'd met in the lobby was a +go-between, doubtlessly. Lamb wondered whether Louis the Goon would get +up the nerve to hit his boss for that raise today, as Ede had demanded. + +Lamb almost lost him. Half an hour later. Louis the Goon came down and +scooted out the side entrance in a hurry. When Lamb got out there, his +man was already in a cab, shooting away. There was something wrong about +the conservative, penny-saving Engel taking a taxi. Wilson Lamb did not +realize it at the time. + +They went westward across town. Over near Sixth, Lamb's driver lost the +other cab. Lamb was cursing when he spotted Engel on the sidewalk, +coming back across town. That was strange because he could have sworn +Engel's cab had not stopped. Must have gotten it mixed up with another. +Out, he threaded his way recklessly through a welter of vehicles and +picked up the tail as his man entered an office building. + +It was fairly crowded in that foyer and it was simple to step onto the +elevator right at Louis the Goon Engel's back, then wheel behind him out +of sight as he turned. Engel called "Fourteen" and got out there, +briefcase tightly clutched up under his arm, its flap unbuckled. + + * * * * * + +"Going in to high-pressure somebody on a sale," Lamb figured. + +Another passenger had called fifteenth, the next floor. Lamb got out +there, found the built-in fire escape, and got down to fourteen. This +was a little foolish, he realized. There was no way of finding what +office Louis the Goon had visited. Still, he might see him when he came +out. Maybe he had gone to see the boss about that raise Ede was +demanding. Maybe he'd come out bouncing on his tail-feathers. It was fun +following and watching Louis the Goon. Like watching an ant on a +sidewalk flagstone puttering about its puny business, knowing you were +going to stamp out its life when it so pleased you. + +Lamb was just lighting a cigaret, gazing down the hallway of the +fourteenth floor, when the muffled report came up the staircase. It +didn't seem possible, a gun seemed so out of place in such +surroundings.... Then there were two more shots, a scream intermixed. +The shattering of plate glass. Lamb was down the stairs and pulling open +the firedoor onto the floor below. Immediately he sniffed the acrid +fumes of gunpowder. + +He was looking out onto an ell of that floor. Onto a tableau of +violence. There was just a single office suite on that ell, directly +opposite him. On one of its double doors was lettered "Continental +Exhibition Corp." The frosted glass of the other door was almost +completely broken out, leaving a jagged-fringed aperture through which +to view the scene within. + +Wilson Lamb flattered himself on being pretty cool headed under all +circumstances. But he blinked three times rapidly now. Inside the +Continental Exhibition Corporation one man was slumped over a desk, an +automatic half-gripped in his inert hand. He was very dead. Half his +head was shot off. Another man was sprawled on the gray broadloom of the +reception room, a brownish puddle beneath his side. He wasn't going to +be going any place in a hurry, either. + +Even as Lamb stared at the carnage, a third figure appeared, wobbling +drunkenly from an inner office. He came stooped over, holding his side. +Crimson-speckled froth at his lips. He got to the shattered glass panel +and moved the lips at Wilson Lamb. + +"Tell 'em--the police--it was--was Whisper Ross from--from Chi--" He +coughed twice on the "Chicago," then caved in on himself and went flat +in the hallway. + +Lamb saw an ashen-face bespectacled man peering around the corner of an +ell. From further back, through an open doorway, a girl's voice was +shrieking for the police over the phone. Lamb remembered the fact that +he had a gun on his person. It might be extremely embarrassing if the +police picked him up for questioning. Ducking back through the firedoor, +he ran quickly up to the sixteenth floor, up past the fifteenth. Nothing +had been heard up there yet. He caught a down car and got out just as +the first prowl car came sirening its way into the side street curb. + +Afterward, outside the police cordon thrown around the building, +somebody jostled against him, peered under his hat brim. Later, Lamb +recalled the bluish scar crescent on his left cheek. + +"Hey, aren't you Reynolds of the Dispatch, pal?" + +"Nope," Lamb said. + +"You're a reporter with one of the local sheets, aren't you?" the other +persisted. "I know I've seen you around before." + +"You must have been wearing your other glasses, Bud," Lamb said and +turned away. + +Maybe it was the effect of seeing the handiwork of that other unknown +killer. For the police had nabbed nobody yet in that mid-town mid-day +shooting. Anyway, Lamb had the itch to strike. It was like a thirst +building in a guy. You've seen somebody else dip into a tall cool one +and after a while you feel like you got to have one yourself. Those +three dead men on the thirteenth floor of that office building had acted +like an aphrodisiac on Wilson Lamb. He wanted to get him his corpse. But +soon. + +He knew it when he picked up his victim again. It was almost 4 P.M., +shreds of snow drifting down through New York's early darkness. He was +hanging around by the cab stand above 96th on the west side of Broadway, +waiting hopefully. He had got so that he felt a little lonely when he +didn't have Louis the Goon right handy. He felt on familiar terms with +the guy. Of course, Louis the Goon didn't know him. And when he +introduced himself, Louis was going to get one hell of a big surprise. +Like a kick in the teeth only a lot more permanent. + +One of the hackies turned up his radio. A news commentator was on. He +came to the topic of the mid-town shooting. Three dead, gunned in the +office of the Continental Exhibition Corporation. Lamb edged over +nearer. The Continental outfit, the announcer said, was the business +front of one Big John Girra, well known local racketeer. Girra was a +powerful figure in the metropolitan pin-ball game syndicate and had a +piece of the number policy racket too. + +"Police, promising an arrest within twenty-four hours, claim the triple +killing a step in the fight for control of the numbers game business in +this city. They are still seeking the missing Joe The Flasher Abadirro, +also reputed to have boasted he would take over the numbers game. Two of +the slain men have been identified as close associates of Big John +Girra. A building employee stated earlier today that Girra left the +premises less than five minutes before the killing. A prominent police +official who refused to be quoted asserted the killer was a Chicago +torpedo imported for the job, a killer who would not be recognized by +members of the New York mobs. 'We are closing in on him at this very +instant,' the official concluded." + + * * * * * + +The news broadcaster went on to another item of the day's reports. Lamb +turned around. And there was Louis the Goon Engel, not four feet away. +En route home from the subway, he had paused to listen to the report +too. He stood now with a calculating look, almost as if he were checking +the verity of the report. Lamb wanted to laugh in his face. + +"If you'd seen those three carcasses leaking blood all over the place, +you'd probably have swooned in your britches, my little dope," Lamb +addressed him mentally. And the funny part was that the little dope had +been so close to it. Just a floor away, in fact. + +As he followed him on uptown, down his side-street, Lamb had a curious +sense of elation. He was in on the ground-floor of Death, Inc. Even +before voting at a stock-holders' meeting himself. For he knew who had +triggered those three today, who the Chi torpedo the cops wanted was. +One Whisper Ross. Of course, he might have tipped off the police say, by +a phone call. But he wasn't going to. + +"We killers must stick together." The thought tickled his sense of +humor. + +They were almost at Louis the Goon's roost when Lamb saw how he was +going to do it. A boy with a carton of groceries almost ran down Louis, +then ducked down into the delivery entrance of the apartment-hotel. And +Wilson Lamb had his cue. + +Some ten minutes later, after due investigation, he knew how he was +going to put Louis the Goon on the spot. And how he was going to get +away with it, get clear afterward. The taking of life was the important +thing, the major premise. Whether he was caught or not had never seemed +important before. But after reviewing the handiwork of Whisper Ross--who +had ambled off unimpeded--Lamb saw no reason why he should not do the +same. It would be the nth degree in the epitomization of the ego to kill +and get away with it. + +The building's delivery entrance was a perfect avenue of escape. +Actually it did not enter the hotel at first. Down a few steps and then +it ran rearward between the side of the building and the retaining wall +next door, an open-topped alleyway. The delivery doorway was in the +rear. A few feet further on was the backyard laid out in a garden with a +waterless age-browned concrete fountain in the center. A low concrete +wall separated it from the property that backed onto it. And there was +the payoff. + +Ambling casually through in the darkness, Lamb had discovered that the +property in the rear, facing on the next street downtown, was several +feet lower. It would be simple to drop over the wall to its paved +courtyard. And from that ran a concrete passage beside the apartment +house out to the street one block below. + +Emerging on it, Lamb lit a cigaret and went back around the block to +Engel's place. He appraised it like a surveyor. First off, it was one of +those second-rate places that boasted no doorman. Across the street were +those brownstones for a nice dim background. The nearest street lamp was +down about ten feet from the entrance of Engel's place. Engel would come +walking along primly, right into its light. A man crossing the street +from the brownstones, a little behind Engel, calling out, "Hey, Mr. +Engel," and-- + +It was a very nice set-up. The property line of the building where Engel +lived was set back several feet further than that of the old-fashioned +private homes between it and Broadway. They would serve as a screen for +his movements from one direction when he hit into that delivery alleyway +after fixing Louis the Goon's wagon once and for all, Lamb realized. It +was almost ridiculously simple. + +Why he could almost have chalked an "X" right there and then on the +sidewalk where little Louis would lie down and forget it all. Wilson +Lamb hummed as he headed up toward Broadway and decided to have dinner. +He had a swell appetite. He was humming snatches from something. Minor +key, descending scale. It went "Come to Papa, come to Papa, come to +Papa." He didn't know whether it was from a song or a crap game. Anyway, +the dice were sure loaded against a certain party he knew. + +Down the block, a taxi that had been parked with meter ticking across +from Engel's apartment-hotel drew away slowly. + +He went to the movies with Louis the Goon that evening. Louis didn't +know anything about it and Lamb bought his own ticket. That too had been +extremely simple. After dinner, he had phoned Engel. When Louis himself +answered, Lamb had asked for Toots. Louis said they had no Toots there +and Lamb said he was very sorry, that he must have got the wrong number. +And Louis said that was all right, no harm done. And Lamb said he was +sorry he had disturbed him and Louis said to think nothing of it, no +trouble at all. And Lamb said a four-letter word after he had hung up +and laughed out loud in the phone booth. + +Then he hung around and saw Louis come out after dinner. Ede was with +him this time. Ede was the type after which some department store +advertising-department diplomat had coined the term "stylish stout." Ede +toddled and she was pretty hefty. If there was a family argument, Lamb +would have laid two to one she would have come home in front by a t.k.o. +before the fifth round. + + * * * * * + +They went into the movies on the north-west corner of 96th. The closest +Lamb could get was some three rows back. He was disappointed because he +could not watch Engel's face. It was a double feature. _Pampas Nights_ +was one of those alleged South American musicals whipped up by a couple +of submorons with the intent purpose of sabotaging the Good Neighbor +policy. The other picture was some ghoulish thing about a mad surgeon, +described in the script as an "ego-maniac," who had a pleasant pastime +of revivifying electrocuted felons. That one gave Lamb a pain in the +pants too. He had really made a study of ego-maniacs. + +He got out in the foyer right behind the Engels. He heard Ede say she +thought the one about that "nutty doc" was so thrilling. Louis the Goon +did not agree. He liked those musicals. + +"They take my mind off business," he said. + +Lamb left them and went in and had a drink. He had two drinks. Now that +everything was settled, he felt no impatience. It was all lined up right +down to the final curtain. Louis' final curtain. Lamb had already +decided he would give it to him as he came plodding his smug little way +home some evening. Any evening. Maybe tomorrow evening. Now that the +details were ironed out, it was fun to leave the closing date open. He +could play the fly-on-the-wall in Louis the Goon's life as long as he +wanted. And when he got bored with Louis's act--bop! he would deliver +his compact little package to Louis.... + +He started to get bored fast the next day. He rode downtown with Louis +and they went over to that same East side hotel and Louis went upstairs. +He was gone a long time. Lamb said to himself, "That dope goes around in +a rut and I'll get in one too just following him and then I will get +sore." Eventually Louis the Goon came back down into the lobby. The +tall, swarthy man he had met there the day before was with him. + +"Well, I guess there'll be nothing doing today," Louis the Goon said. + +"Nope, nothing," the other said. + +They parted. Louis went down to the telephones, used one after +consulting a little black book. When he came out, he bought a white +carnation for his button-hole in the florist shop, then treated himself +to three twenty-five-center Perfectos. + +"Something builds," Lamb told himself. Outside, when Louis the Goon got +a taxi, there was something positively cocky about him. Lamb was humming +his "Come to Papa" again as he took another and trailed him eastward +this time. Louis got out at a Third Avenue bar and grill and went in. +Lamb gave him five minutes and strayed in himself. There was no Louis. +Not at first, anyway. Lamb could feel his pulse beat faster. + +Then he spotted the dim backroom with the booths. And he went through it +to the Men's Room. And there was Louis the Goon--his little clay +pigeon--in one of the booths with a doll. She was red-haired by courtesy +of the local beauty parlor, cuddling up in a flashy little leopard fur +number. She looked like a dance-hall hostess from one of those joints +where everything goes so long as you keep time to the music. + +As Lamb passed, she was saying, "Now, Daddy--" That almost unbuttoned +Lamb. Daddy! On his way back, he noticed there were two others in the +backroom, a couple of men gnawing on pretzels over beers. + +He stepped back into the bar just in time. Three men had entered. They +headed straight for the rear. One of them shouldered Wilson Lamb from +his path as if he did not see him. The second one pulled out a cannon +and poked it at the bartender and told him to keep his britches on. Then +the other two were in the rear and letting go with their cannon. + +Slammed over against the bar, Lamb had a split-second glimpse of it. For +a moment, it almost seemed as if the damn fools were out after Engel. +One shot smashed the table lamp in the booth where he sat. Then the two +beer drinkers back in there were around and swapping it out with cannon +of their own with the newcomers. + +Lamb got out of there fast. He got across the street. He saw two men +dash out of a side entrance and into a dark sedan that roared away. He +did not see Louis the Goon get out. Then the howling prowl cars +converged on the scene. And there was an ambulance. It took one guy +away. Another guy, it didn't. Lamb worked his way up into the throng and +got a glimpse of the other guy getting stiff on the backroom floor. +Everybody else was lined up in the bar for questioning. Engel was not +among them. So Lamb knew he must have gotten away all right. + +"This is some more of that numbers racket war," a gray-haired sergeant +said. And then Lamb began to taste something like panic even as the +first neon signs began to smear the wintry shadows. He got afraid he +might lose his little clay pigeon. Louis the Goon seemed to have a +blind genius for getting on the scene when some blood-letting was due. +He felt a certain possessiveness toward Louis. Louis belonged to him. +And he wasn't going to have him chopped down by any piece of stray lead. +Lamb had a bullet ear-marked for Louis. + + * * * * * + +He said, "I've been wasting time." He got on the shuttle and over to the +West side and up to 96th and across the street from where Louis lived. +Well, where Louis used to live, anyway. He was there just twenty +minutes--it was 4:43 by his wristwatch--when Louis the Goon came down +from the corner. He couldn't make out his face at first but he knew him +by that square-set hat. Lamb eased away from the stairs of the +brownstone, humming "Come to Papa, come to Papa, come to Papa...." This +was it. + +The ultimate in the demonstration or the ego.... He told himself that as +he moved over the scabrous snow of the street.... The zenith in the +projection of the psyche.... Louis the Goon had his briefcase clutched +up under one arm instead of swinging.... The final triumph over the fear +trauma.... Louis was abreast of him, then passing by. Wilson Lamb +brought the automatic out from under his coat. He called, "Mr. Engel--" +And Louis the Goon turned and Lamb held it, wanting him to get a good +look at the heater, wanting to get a good look at him as he saw it. + +Engel had the briefcase open, unbuckled. He was bringing something out +of it swiftly, jerkily. It was a heater too. That wasn't in the script. +Louis the Goon was stepping out of role. But Lamb knew he had him anyway +and started to squeeze. He would squeeze three times on that trigger +and-- + +Somebody else squeezed first. It was the man running from that parked +car down the street. Lamb got it in the side and then a red-hot finger +was probing down into his guts. A man stepped from the vestibule of one +of those brownstones and he squeezed and Wilson Lamb couldn't feel the +side of his head any more. Knew he would never feel it again. He was +down on one hand and one knee and his gun was gone. Some place in the +black haze seething around him. Like a hurt animal, half crawling, +knowing only the base instinct of self preservation, he tried for that +delivery alleyway. + +Somebody else had figured that was a good spot too. It was the man with +the bluish cheek scar who had accosted him after the triple-killing in +that office building. He squeezed. And Lamb took that one square on the +chest. In a vague way, as the sidewalk slid up at him, he was aware of +that car back-firing away like hell. + +The man with the blue scar was standing over him, throwing words to +Louis the Goon in a quick, harsh whisper. "This is the one, Whisper. He +come in here with you Wednesday. He was on the spot when you give it to +them boys in Girra's office, yesterday. Today, he was in that bar when +they tried to get you. The Flasher said to stick close to you--an' him." + +"Girra's finger man, eh?" called back Engel softly. + +"Yeah, Whisper." The blue-scarred man ran. In a moment, a car roared off +down the block toward West End Avenue. + +Lying there on the sidewalk, blasted for keeps, his wagon fixed, Wilson +Lamb tried to put it together. Things moved very slowly for him. +Whisper. Whisper Ross, Chi torpedo. Then he had it. Whisper Ross was +Louis the Goon Engel. Hired killer of Joe The Flasher Abadirro. The guy +he, Wilson Lamb, had fingered for an exposition of his ego. + +Down the sidewalk, little Mr. Louis Engel, alias Whisper Ross, stood +looking at the body and going "Tsk! Tsk!" through pursed lips. Wilson +Lamb's ego died a horrible death seventeen seconds before he did. + + + + +ONE HUNDRED BUCKS PER STIFF + +by J. LLOYD CONRICH + + Mr. Peck was dead ... the papers said so. Yet Mr. Peck performed + his own autopsy and saved eight men from death!] + +[Illustration] + + +"There's a guy outside wants to see you, Chief," Charlie Ward's assistant +announced through the door. + +"What's he want, Joe?" + +"I don't know. Says his business is confidential and urgent. Wouldn't +say what. Looks harmless though, in spite of he drove up in a Rolls +Royce with a chauffeur." + +"Well, send him in." + +Ward busied himself with a sheaf of morning mail and miscellaneous +police circulars. Presently a small, immaculate looking individual with +an apologetic, breathless air entered the room and approached the desk +timidly. Silently, without even so much as a nod, he laid a newspaper +clipping before the Chief of Police. Adjusting his glasses, Ward reached +for the item and glanced through it hastily: + + MAN KILLED AT EL GATOS GRADE CROSSING + + El Gatos, November 1. The decapitated body of a man tentatively + identified as J. Peter Peck, address unknown, was discovered by a + company track walker early this morning on the South West Pacific + grade crossing half a mile south of the town of El Gatos. Local + police believe that the man was killed some time after midnight, + possibly by the San Francisco milk train. Identification was + established by a wallet containing papers of the deceased. + +Ward laid the clipping on his desk, rolled a bulbous wad of chewing +tobacco into one cheek and expelled it into a spitoon some ten feet away +with a resounding plunk. Wiping his chin inexpertly with the back of a +grizzled hand, he looked up and eyed his visitor interrogatively. + +"I clipped it from last night's _San Francisco Bulletin_," the latter +explained quietly. "I drove practically all night so as to be here this +morning." + +"You're a relative?" + +The stranger smiled weakly and placed a pair of painfully thin hands on +the desk as though to steady himself. + +"Well, no, not exactly; that is, somewhat," he answered obscurely. + +Charlie Ward eyed the little man curiously. "Come again, please?" + +"Well, it's this way," slipping nervously to the very edge of a +convenient chair. "There appears to have been a slight error made. The +clipping is somewhat inaccurate." + +"Sure. Half the stuff you see in the papers these days is cockeyed. Them +guys never get anything straight. I always tell my wife you gotta +believe only ten per cent of what you read and doubt that." + +The stranger smiled thinly. "Precisely. Now the real truth of the matter +in this particular case is that _I_ happen to be J. Peter Peck and, to +the best of my knowledge, I'm not dead. In fact I'd take issue with +anyone who questioned the fact. I therefore feel that the report has +been exaggerated; just a tiny bit, at least." He paused for breath. "I +thought you'd like to know." + +Ward arched his brows and smiled calmly. As a veteran police officer, he +was used to surprises. "Well, now that's one for the book, ain't it?" + +"Rather." + +"So, if you're the guy that's supposed to be downstairs on ice," Ward +supplemented, fumbling in a drawer of his desk, "how come we find this +here wallet with your name all over the papers inside on him?" + +Mr. Peck glanced at the wallet. + +"Very easily explained," he answered. "I was held up last Monday evening +in San Francisco. The wallet and the papers it contains were among the +things taken from me. Incidentally, there were several thousands of +dollars in the wallet when I last saw it." + +Ward whistled softly. "How much?" + +"About twenty-four hundred dollars." + +"That's a lot of dollars." + +"It would keep a man in cigars for a day or two." + +"And this guy, after he stuck you up," Ward reasoned, "left Frisco and +come North where he had the bad luck to meet with an accident." + +"Precisely." + +"What'd he look like?" + +"There were two of them. One had red hair and his left ear was missing. +The other was short; about my size, I would say; rather thin, with a +small, black, straggly mustache and swarthy skin. I should judge he were +either an Italian or possibly a Spaniard." + +"The second one fits the guy on ice. Want to take a squint at him?" + +Mr. Peck jumped to his feet. + +"I'd be delighted," he said with what sounded to Charlie Ward like +unwarranted glee. + +Ward picked up a flask of corn whiskey and slipped it into his hip +pocket. + +"I warn you," he cautioned as he rose, "this guy's pretty much worked +over in spots. A train went through him you know. Some people get goose +pimples looking at them kind of things." + +"I'll risk it." + + * * * * * + +The pair left the office and descended a flight of steps. At the end of +a dark corridor, Ward led the way into a basement room. Upon one of two +marble slabs in the center of the room, lay a sheeted corpse. Ward +pulled the shroud back, revealing a horribly mangled body. Mr. Peck +leaned over the corpse, revealing none of the repulsion that Ward was +sure he would exhibit. + +"Yes, that's unquestionably one of the men who held me up," the little +man said quietly. "I'd know that face anywhere, what there is left of +it. Er--seems to be quite dead, doesn't he?" he added wryly. + +"Quite," Ward mimicked, wondering at the same time what strange complex +could cause a man of Mr. Peck's evident refinement and good breeding to +jest under such circumstances. + +The little man leaned over the corpse again. + +"Odd marks on his face, aren't they?" he observed. + +"Huh?" Ward seemed startled. + +"I said those were odd marks on his face," Mr. Peck repeated. + +Ward's face clouded and he stepped closer to Mr. Peck. + +"It's funny you should notice them red blotches, Mr. Peck," he said. "I +been kind of wondering about them myself." + +The two men eyed one another for a moment of tense silence, and marked +suspicion. + +"Why?" Mr. Peck asked abruptly. + +Ward scanned the little man's face with an air of uncertainty. + +"Er--do them marks mean anything to you?" he finally asked, his voice +tinged with caution. + +Mr. Peck made no immediate answer, but turned and leaned closer to the +corpse, examining the faint red blotches on the cheeks with more care +than he had at first taken. + +"To the casual observer, that is, to the layman," he said, removing his +glasses and facing Ward, "it might appear that the deceased was +suffering from a mild case of measles"--he paused, glanced at the corpse +again, then turned once more to Ward--"but to the trained eye, I would +say that this man has received a shot of xetholine caniopus into his +system." + +"A shot of what?" + +"The name means little. Xetholine caniopus is a drug; not rare, not +common, but violently poisonous. Contact, even to the lips or to a +flesh abrasion will bring about practically instantaneous paralysis of +the cardia." The little man blinked. "Er--the heart, I refer to. +Xetholine invariably leaves its mark, as you perceive, in the form of +faint red blotches on the cheeks." He thumbed in the direction of the +corpse. "Putting the diagnosis into simpler words, this man has been +poisoned. He died from the effects of the poison as is indicated by the +slight carmine tinge to the blood. The effect of this poison on the +blood stream is similar to that caused by asphyxiation by coal gas or a +similar substance, only not quite so brilliantly red. If this man had +died as a direct result of injuries received by the train passing over +his body, the blood would be darker, almost purple. Offhand, I would say +that the train passed over his body some several hours after his death. +Depending upon the determination as to whether the poison was self +administered or otherwise, will settle the question as to whether you +have a suicide or a murder case on your hands." + +Ward stared into the little man's eyes in astonishment. + +"Say," he interrupted, "who are you, anyhow?" + +Mr. Peck smiled benevolently. + +"My name," he explained, "you already know. I happen to be deeply +interested in criminology. It's been an avocation of mine for many +years. My specialty is toxicology. I...." + +"Tox--tox...?" + +"Toxicology; the study of poisons. The circumstances of this particular +case are unusually close to home and I feel a personal interest." He +paused and peered into Ward's face hesitantly and then added in a voice +that half pleaded and half apologized--"I--could I--would you allow me +to--er--work with you in this matter, Mr. Ward? I'd expect no pay, of +course," he hastened to add, "and I can assure you that my efforts will +be sincere and my intentions entirely honorable. My only interest is in +clearing up the matter, or at least attempting to do so, for +the--well--the fun of doing it." + +"Some fun, all right," Ward observed wryly. "But, at that price, the +County can't lose much. You're hired." + +"That's fine," Mr. Peck enthused, his eyes shining brilliantly. He +rubbed his palms together briskly. "I can't tell you how deeply grateful +I really am." + +"Okay, Mr. Peck," with a shade of doubt. "It's your funeral. The paper +says so." + +"Now first, I must make a test to satisfy myself that xetholine caniopus +was the actual cause of death. There are a few things I'll need; a +glass, an ordinary water glass will do, a small quantity of commercial +alcohol and a bit of lime water. My chauffeur will get the latter two, +if you'll supply the glass. Please notify him." + +Ward hesitated, as though doubtful about leaving this unusual person +alone in the morgue, but finally assented. + +A few minutes later he reappeared with the glass, followed almost +directly by the chauffeur with the alcohol and lime water. + +"Thank you, Christian," Mr. Peck said in the chauffeur's direction. "You +may wait in the car." + + * * * * * + +Ward's eyes followed the chauffeur as he left the room. + +"He's a big guy all right," he observed, thumbing toward the vanishing +driver. "Sure must have et his mush every morning when he was a little +boy. Looks like he's about six foot six." + +"Six, six and one-eighth in his stocking feet, to be exact," Mr. Peck +corrected. "Before meals he weighs two eighty-eight; after meals two +ninety-eight." + +"Wouldn't want to run into him on a dark night." + +"Hardly," Mr. Peck agreed. "When he first came to me, he applied for the +position which he now holds under the name of Mike Dennis and explained +that he generally answered to the intimate and thoroughly quaint +cognomen of 'Butch.' But I changed that to Christian. Of course 'Butch' +is more in keeping, but I do believe that Christian adds to his dignity +in spite of his ears. Don't you think so?" Ward grunted vaguely. "I have +it on good authority that he put Mr. Dempsey to sleep one evening about +fifteen years ago in an amateur boxing meet." Mr. Peck's eyes sparkled +as he glanced up from his work for a moment. "Unfortunately, I happen to +be worth several million dollars. There have been two attempts to abduct +me. Christian makes an excellent body guard as well as chauffeur. Not +much intellect, but most conscientious and as faithful as an old watch +dog. I've had him with me twenty-two months now and to date he's uttered +not more than twenty-two words; except, of course, when I speak with +him. A handy person to have about; most handy." + +By now Mr. Peck had sterilized the glass with the alcohol and was +prepared to make his test. + +"In the glass," he explained, holding the object toward the light, "I +have poured some lime water. By blowing one's breath into the liquid, +through a common cigarette holder, the lime water becomes a milky white; +thusly," and he suited the action to the word. "The balance of the test +is quite simple. Several drops of the deceased's coagulated blood are +now added to the water. As you see, there is no change. In a moment, I +will add a little alcohol. If the lime water clears and becomes +colorless again, and shows indication of a volatile oil on the surface, +you may rest assured that xetholine caniopus exists in the blood stream. +Although the test is simple, the chemical reaction is rather involved, +being a combination and then a dissemination of structural heraetixae +and third power phincus. I shall not, therefore, bother you with its +details. Suffice to say, the test is infallible and conclusive." + +Ward scratched his head in hopeless perplexity and stared in mild +anticipation mingled with a great deal of skepticism as Mr. Peck poured +a small quantity of alcohol into the glass. Immediately, the liquid +became pure and colorless and the surface indicated a distinctly oily +film. + +"All of which bears me out," Mr. Peck said quietly, placing the glass on +the table. "This man has been poisoned. Our next step is to determine +whether the poison was self administered or otherwise. We...." + +"Just a minute, Mr. Peck," Ward interrupted, raising his hand. "There's +a couple of things here I ought to explain." Ward floundered for a +moment of hesitancy. "You see, it's this way. For about twenty years, +now, about twelve people a year have died in this here town; one a +month; that's the average." + +"Yes; yes?" Mr. Peck interjected interestedly. + +"But in the last month, eleven people have turned in their rain checks. +This guy's the twelfth." + +"Which more or less upsets the law of averages." + +"That's just what I'm getting at. But what's worse, is that ten out of +these twelve met with deaths from accidents of one kind or another." + +"Just how do you mean?" + +"Well, this guy, for instance," motioning toward the slab, "was bumped +by a train. The rest met with other accidents ranging all the way from +hit and run, down the line to falling off hay lofts and being kicked in +the head by a mule. Nobody seen any of the accidents, but the evidence +was such that you couldn't help see what happened. For instance, the guy +that was kicked by a mule, he had a hoof mark on his head and his mule +had a bloody hoof. The hit-run guy, we found in the middle of the high +way." + +"Coincidence. Accidents almost invariably occur in threes or fours." + +"Sure; threes and fours, but not tens and twelves. But there's something +else." + +"... yes?" + + * * * * * + +Charlie Ward moved a little closer and glanced behind him as he spoke. + +"Of the ten who met with accidents," he said, "nine had these red marks +on their cheeks." + +"Excellent! Gorgeous!" Mr. Peck enthused through grinning lips. "A +multiple murder! Nothing could be clearer or more fortunate!" + +"Well, you may be tickled, Mr. Peck, but I ain't. Several of the victims +were close friends of mine." + +Mr. Peck's attitude changed at once. + +"I'm deeply sorry, Mr. Ward," he apologized. "My enthusiasm carried me +away for the moment. Please proceed." + +Ward nodded and went on. "At first I didn't think very much about these +blotches, but when this guy was brought in this morning, I began to get +kind of nervous. As a matter of fact, I was just going to phone Frisco +for help when you come in." + +Mr. Peck nodded and smacked his lips thoughtfully. He removed his +glasses and wiped them slowly and carefully, polishing each lens with +meticulous care. + +"You of course have a coroner or medical examiner of some kind," he +finally said. + +"Oh, sure. Old Doc Kraus handles the cases for the whole county when +they come up. There ain't enough to keep him on full time, but we send +for him whenever we need him. He makes the examination and runs the +inquest." + +"What did he think about the red blotches on the faces of the nine +corpses?" + +"Nothing. To tell you the truth I never thought enough about them to +bring it up. + +"And he's never mentioned it to you." + +"No." + +"I can't possibly conceive of anyone missing them." + +"The Doc's getting pretty old," Ward explained. "He don't see so good. +We been trying to get a younger saw-bones for a long time, but nobody +had the guts to tell him he was fired, I guess. He was born here; lived +here for seventy-two years. He's a nice enough old guy. Matter of fact, +everybody sort of looks up to him as the town granddad. He's a kindly +old duffer; always doing things for folks and going out of his way to +help a neighbor and things like that. I'll send for him and ask him if +he noticed the marks and what he thinks about them." + +"No, I'd prefer it if you didn't. For the present, let's work quietly. +As far as I'm concerned, everybody's under suspicion and any word +getting out that we're working on the case might spoil things." + +"Old Doc Kraus under suspicion!" Ward scoffed with a loud guffaw. "Say, +that's rich. Why, I'd trust him ahead of my own Dad and that's saying a +lot. Why he brought me into this world forty-two years ago. Used to +spank me when I was a kid and needed one. Why...." + +"I did not say I suspected Doctor Kraus," Mr. Peck interrupted. "I +merely inferred that everybody was under suspicion until we begin to +find something definite to go on. The reasons, I believe, are obvious." + +"I get you Mr. Peck." + +"Now then, the inquest has been performed in this last case?" + +"Yes; early this morning; just before you got here. They handed down a +verdict of accidental death." + +"Have you made any attempts to identity the corpse?" + +"Certainly. We figured it was you on account of the papers. We been +trying to trace you through the Frisco police. So far no information has +come in." + +"That's quite possible. I lead a very quiet life; live at a bachelor +club and am not listed either in the phone book or the City Directory." + +"I sent finger prints to the Frisco Police. If this guy's got a record, +we'll know who he is pretty quick." + +"That's fine." + +Mr. Peck stood for a moment with a thoughtful finger to his lips. + +"I think we'll visit the spot where the body was discovered," he decided +abruptly. "We can go in my car." + + * * * * * + +Ten minutes later, J. Peter Peck, accompanied by Charlie Ward and +followed by Christian, stepped from the machine at a point opposite the +spot where the body had been found. + +"A machine has stopped here at the side of the road quite recently," Mr. +Peck offered, pointing to the tire marks in the dust. "The occupant, as +is indicated by those very clear foot prints, stepped from the car, +crossed the ditch and walked to the railroad tracks. He was a heavy man, +at that, or at least he has big feet. And they turn out more than the +feet of the average person." + +Charlie Ward nodded agreement. + +"Now if you'll look closely," Mr. Peck went on, "you will observe that +there are two sets of foot prints; one coming and one going. The return +prints, significantly, are not as clear as those that go to the tracks, +indicating that he was carrying a load to the tracks, but did not return +with it." He glanced at Ward for a moment, then added, "It is pretty +obvious what that load was. All of which gives us practically undeniable +proof that a murder was committed. The deceased died of poison. We have +definitely established that point. And his body was placed upon the +tracks to conceal the fact; or to attempt to do so. If the deceased had +walked to the tracks himself, which of course he didn't because these +are not his foot prints, there obviously would be no return prints. Dead +men, especially decapitated dead men, seldom, if ever, retrace their +steps." He paused for a moment of conjecture. "We'll take plaster casts +of the foot prints as well as the tire marks. Will you attend to that +Christian? I believe you'll find sufficient plaster of Paris in the tool +compartment." + +Christian set to work and Mr. Peck and Ward retreated to the machine. +When Christian had completed his work, the trio returned to +headquarters, Mr. Peck leaving again to "do a little thinking." + +Two hours later, Mr. Peck entered Charlie Ward's office again and eased +himself into a chair. + +"I have an idea," he informed Ward, "that the apprehension of the +murderer is but a matter of moments. As a matter of fact, I can put my +finger on him in ten minutes should I care to." + +"You can put your finger on him right this minute if you want to," Ward +supplemented, taking his feet off the desk and flipping a cigarette butt +through the window. + +"How so?" + +Ward unlocked a drawer in his desk and drew out a tin box from which he +produced a thickly padded envelope. + +"I been doing a little scientific snooping myself," he announced with a +proud ear to ear grin. + +"That's extremely gratifying." + +Ward thumbed toward a cigar butt in an ash tray. + +"That," he said, "is what's left of a cigar you give me this morning. It +gives off a pretty thick aroma." + +"It ought to. They cost me a dollar each." + +"Just take a whiff of this," Ward said, handing the envelope to Mr. +Peck. + +The latter smelled cautiously. "Why, it smells like my cigars." + +"Exactly. Now take a squint in the envelope." + +Mr. Peck opened the envelope and extracted a sheaf of currency. + +"There's about twenty-four grand there," Ward offered. + +"All of which is mine. It's the money that was taken from me when I was +held up. I had the wallet and several of the cigars in the same pocket. +The currency evidently became impregnated with the odor of the cigars. +Where did you get it?" + +Ward shuffled leisurely through some papers, finally producing a +telegram. + +"This wire," he said, flourishing the message with an extravagant +gesture, "come in from the Frisco police while you were out. It says the +guy downstairs on ice is Dominic Diaz. He was a guest at San Quentin up +to four days ago where he was serving ten to fifty years for some +mistakes he made when he was younger." Mr. Peck nodded interestedly. "It +also says that when he so rudely walked off the premises without +stopping to say goodbye, he was with a red headed monkey, minus one ear, +that answers to the name of Mike McSweeney." + +"I see." + +"Mr. McSweeney had the bad taste to try to stick up our local drug +emporium about half an hour ago." + +"And he is now incarcerated in your bastille." + +"Right. And he had your dough on him." + + * * * * * + +Ward sat back in his swivel chair, hooked his thumbs into the arm holes +of his vest and beamed. "Well, I guess that makes it pretty clear. Eh, +Mr. Peck? Diaz, the dead pigeon, and this guy McSweeney take it on the +lam from the big house. They sticks you up, then blow North and land +here. They're going to split, but McSweeney's a pig. He wants the works. +So what does he do? He croaks his pal." Ward cocked his head and +extended his hands, palms outward. "Okay?" + +Mr. Peck scratched his chin thoughtfully. + +"Well, fairly so," he answered without enthusiasm. "But before I say +_how_ clear, I'd like to see this McSweeney person." + +A moment later a very sullen and defiant Mike McSweeney was ushered into +the room. + +"Turn around slowly," Mr. Peck ordered. + +The man sulked, but with a little persuasion, he finally did as he was +told. + +"Now take your shoes off." + +"Say, what is this, a racket?" the prisoner snarled. + +"That will be all," Mr. Peck murmured after a hasty inspection of +McSweeney's feet. "You may return him to his cell. And unless you care +to have him prosecuted for his attempted robbery of the drug store, you +may just as well notify the Warden at San Quentin to come up and get +him. His list of crimes, I am sorry to say, Ward, does not include the +murder of Dominic Diaz." + +"Why--why it's as plain as the nose on your face," Ward spluttered as +McSweeney was led from the room. "The cigar smelling currency...." + +"You've tried hard," Mr. Peck interrupted, "very hard, in fact. Your +efforts are indeed commendable and I do say that your deductions are +plausible, but the fact remains that McSweeney is not the man we are +looking for." + +"Well, couldn't have McSweeney poisoned him and then thrown his body on +the tracks?" + +"He could have," Mr. Peck conceded, "but there would be no object in +attempting to conceal his method of killing his confederate. Besides he +is not mentally equipped to think of such things. Offhand, I'd say that +his I. Q. is that of an eight year old boy. Remember also, that we are +looking for a man--or possibly a woman--who has killed _several_ persons +within the past thirty days, using the same method; that of the +injection of xetholine caniopus. McSweeney couldn't have killed any of +the others, for the very simple reason that he has been behind bars up +to four days ago." + +Mr. Peck raised his hand to silence Ward. "In addition, Mr. Ward, please +remember that I have a motor car full of foot print casts. Even in his +bare feet, which you saw with your own eyes, he'd overlap those prints a +half inch all around. That's why I had his shoes removed. Also, you +recall that the man who carried Diaz's body to the railroad tracks +possessed feet that pointed outward. McSweeney is decidedly pigeon +toed." Mr. Peck raised _his_ hands, palms upward, and then dropped them +to his chubby knees with a sharp slap. "Now how clear does your case +appear?" + +Ward grunted and stared out of the window. + +"On the other hand, Mr. Ward, as I before stated and now repeat, I can +put my finger on the murderer within ten minutes, should I care to." + +"Who is it?" + +"I'll tell you later. There are one or two points I must clear up before +I order the arrest. I'd like to drop in and have a talk with Doctor +Kraus first. I believe he can furnish what little information I +require." + + * * * * * + +"This is Mr. Peck, Doctor Kraus," Ward said as the pair entered the +doctor's study ten minutes later. + +"It's a pleasure," Mr. Peck conceded coolly. He drew a newspaper +clipping from his pocket and handed it to Doctor Kraus. "To settle an +argument, would you read this and give me your opinion?" + +The doctor read the clipping through hastily. + +"Why trepanning is nothing new," he scoffed. "The ancient Egyptians +practiced it successfully five thousand years ago. They...." + +"Never mind," Mr. Peck interrupted sharply. "I don't care a rap if the +practice is new or old." He glanced sharply at Ward, who stood gaping in +astonishment, then back at the doctor. "The point is, Doctor Kraus, how +does it happen that you are able to read fine news print and yet, while +performing autopsies on nine different corpses, you missed the fact that +each of those persons had died from a shot of xetholine caniopus as was +clearly indicated by the red blotches on the face of each individual +victim?" + +Doctor Kraus stiffened and stared at his inquisitor with cold precision. + +"I'm afraid I don't quite follow you, Mr. Peck," he said smoothly. + +"That likewise makes little difference. I also note that your toes point +out considerably more than the toes of the average person." + +"Your remark, Mr. Peck, is not alone vague, but makes no sense; at least +not to me." + +Ward intervened with a snort. + +"You're crazy, Peck," he asserted heatedly. "I tell you I've known +Doctor Kraus all my life. I'll vouch for him. I...." + +Mr. Peck silenced Ward with an impatient gesture. Then turning again to +Doctor Kraus, he said slowly and clearly, enunciating each word with +care and precision. "There has been a murder committed, Doctor Kraus. As +a matter of fact, there have been several murders, but I refer to one in +particular; that of one Dominic Diaz, an escaped convict. Diaz died from +xetholine caniopus poisoning. Later, his body was placed on the railroad +tracks to make it appear that he had been killed by a train and to +conceal the fact that he had been poisoned." + +"Yes, I am aware of the incident," Doctor Kraus answered evenly. "I +performed the autopsy. But...." + +"And you also murdered this man, Doctor Kraus!" Mr. Peck glared into the +doctor's eyes as he shot the accusation. + +The old man sucked in a great breath and fell back a step and Ward saw, +to his deep consternation, that the kindly light that had shown in +Doctor Kraus's eyes for many a year, was no longer there. + +"The tire marks that we found on the road near the scene of the train +accident, Doctor Kraus," Mr. Peck continued, "were made by your car. In +addition, Doctor Kraus, the poison was administered most carefully and +professionally with a hypodermic needle. Only a physician, or one +skilled in the use of such an instrument could so inject a poison as +delicate and as deadly as xetholine caniopus. Obviously, because of the +fact that you yourself were the autopsy surgeon, and because no other +person in the County is familiar with such matters, you estimated your +chances of detection as being extremely small. But...." Mr. Peck +hesitated for a split fraction of a second. "Drop that!" he shouted, +pouncing upon the aged physician and slapping a small glass vial from +his hand. + +But his action was just an instant too late, for the next moment, the +old man slumped to the floor. Through eyes already dimmed by the instant +action of the deadly poison, he peered up at Ward. + +"I--I'm sorry, Charlie," he breathed softly as Ward dropped to his side. +"After all these years, I--I've brought disgrace to--to our midst." + +Ward, panic stricken and terrified, looked up at Mr. Peck, who stood +frowning down at the pair. + +"There's nothing we can do, Ward," he said quietly. "Look closely. The +red blotches are already forming on his cheeks. Just hold him another +ten seconds." + +Presently Ward settled the body of the old man back to the floor. Then +he rose and faced Mr. Peck. + +"I can't believe it," he murmured, looking away. "I just can't believe +it. I can't see why he should have done it. There wasn't any reason for +it." + +"Ah, but there was a reason for it," Mr. Peck asserted confidently. +"Through various channels, I discovered this morning that Doctor Kraus +was deeply involved financially. His circumstances were desperate. It +was vitally important that he raise two thousand dollars at once." + +"But I can't see how his killing anybody could have brought him any +money. He...." + +"You forget, Mr. Ward," Mr. Peck elucidated with a wry smile, "that +Doctor Kraus was not a permanent employee of the County. He was +retained, as needed, to perform an autopsy and preside at the inquest. +For these services, he was paid at the rate of one hundred dollars a +case. Twelve inquests at one hundred each, comes to twelve hundred +dollars; or at least it did when I studied mathematics as a small boy. +Now, Mr. Ward, is the motive clear?" + +Ward nodded. + +"The doctor needed eight hundred dollars more," Mr. Peck concluded. "But +for a strange set of circumstances which brought me here, you, Mr. Ward, +might have been his next victim." + + + + +DEATH IS DEAF + +by CLIFF CAMPBELL + + Big Sid couldn't understand it, and he was a smart monkey. He had + cased this job himself, personal. Had cooked up the scheme for + pulling it off and spent a good two weeks laying the groundwork. + Yet, here he was locked up in the county jail with the hot squat + waiting to claim him. + +[Illustration] + + +Big Sid couldn't understand it. And he was a smart monkey. He had cased +this job himself personal. Had cooked up the scheme for pulling it off. +Had spent a good two weeks laying the groundwork. Nobody yet had ever +called Big Sid Cloras a dummy either. Yet here he was locked up in their +tin-can of a jail, as good as a dead duck. He couldn't understand it. + +It couldn't be. Not for him, Big Sid. Yet the bars of that cell door +were chrome steel, not papier mache. And those birds chatting down the +hall were local coppers with a couple of men from the County Homicide +Squad. And an escort of State Troopers were en route to take him over to +the real clink at the county seat. It couldn't happen to him, Big Sid. +But it had. And it was going to be for murder, maybe. + +"Sid ... Sid," said Johnny the Itch almost reverently. He always +addressed Big Sid that way. He said, "Sid, I think maybe I got something +figured. But--but how did it happen, Sid?" + +"Aw, shut up," said Big Sid with a disgusted glance over his thick +shoulder. He didn't bother really looking at him. Nobody much ever had +bothered looking at Johnny the Itch. He was one of those little +insignificant hangdog things with vacant eyes. Round-shouldered. The +kind they turn off the assembly line to hold up the fronts of pool +parlors. He had that twitching muscle in his right cheek. It made the +skin jerk and pull as if he were trying to get rid of an itch without +using his hand. He could do one thing. He could tool a heap like a +maniacal genius born with a steering wheel in his hands. + +"Shut up," Big Sid grunted his way again and walked past the bowl in the +corner of the cell. He was trying to figure this out. He stood there +winding the tail of his necktie around a big finger. + +Johnny the Itch pulled nervously at the wide-brimmed fedora jerked down +on his bony skull. "But, Sid, I think I got a way to--" + +Big Sid turned around, spat out his cigaret, heeled it into the +concrete. He didn't take his eyes off Johnny the Itch for a long moment. +They were big muddy eyes, protruding. When Big Sid looked at you that +way, a guy felt he was being measured for a casket. Big Sid could haul +off and belt your teeth down your throat with those tremendous arms of +his. And those eyes would never change. + +He really wasn't a tall or unusually large man, Big Sid. But he was +solid beef. That big belly that filled out a double-breasted drum-tight. +The massive shoulders that started minus courtesy of neck from right +beneath his double chin. The big, wide-nostrilled nose that gave him a +certain kind of heavy dignity. He exuded bigness. + +Johnny the Itch fingered away sweat that rolled down from under his +fedora and nodded obediently. He felt of the fedora gingerly as Big Sid +turned away. Big Sid was thinking and had to be let alone. When Big Sid +thought, it was real important. Later, he'd tell him. + +Big Sid sweated and listened to the buzz of voices from down the +corridor and tried not to believe he might have signed his own death +warrant. He put his hands on his broad hips, ignoring the bandaged wrist +where that copper's bullet had got him. He went back to the beginning. + +It had been such a sweet set-up. This dinky little whistle-stop of a +town. Duffyville. Over near the southwestern border of the state. With +its single bank, the Duffyville National. And that motor parts plant on +the outskirts with its heavy back-log of defense orders that had +compelled a doubling of its help. A consequent raise in its payroll, +too. And that payroll moved through the bank, naturally. Just a little +matter of something over $21,000 each week. + +"It's a shame to take it," he, Big Sid, had said in the beginning. Then +he had cased it thoroughly. And he had moved into town, openly and +aboveboard. Registered at the little hotel as one "Samuel Norris." Big +front with plenty of credentials and a neat black mustache which could +be shaved off easily enough later. Then he had walked right into that +bank and identified himself. Even opened up a small checking account. +"Just for ready cash, of course." + +That was the way he did things. Cool and nervy. Always thinking, +thinking ahead. He was a smart guy. Sure maybe you could grab that dough +by blasting your way with the heaters plenty. But that kind of stuff +only made you hot as hell, afterward. You had to keep lamming and maybe +you never got a chance to enjoy it. Big Sid wasn't dumb like that. + +His way, it had been a cinch to get the whole layout. How the payroll +cash was brought from up the line in an armored car to the bank before +opening time in the morning. And the company guards came down and picked +it up immediately after lunch for their auditing department. After +lunch! + +He had put his finger on that weak spot almost from the start. The quiet +lunch-hour in a sleepy little town. When two of the tellers and the bank +officers went home to eat the way they did in those hick burgs. That was +the time for the snatch. + +And even that was not to be done crudely. Not Big Sid's way. He was +pretty well known in the Duffyville National by then. Been dropping in +to confer with the vice-president about the local real estate situation. +It was so simple. A few hints dropped about the possible establishment +of a new branch plant ... of course, a man wasn't always free to mention +in advance whom he represented. And they'd have to get definite word +about the extension of a railroad siding for the lading purposes, too. + +Oh, it went over big. He knew how they did things in that bank. And he +made them feel they knew him. Which was very important. Especially that +teller down at the end window, Eckland. The one who stayed when the +others went out to eat at the noon hour. Eckland was sort of good +looking in a weak blond way. He studied accounting at night. "Samuel +Norris" said he might know of an opening for a bright young fellow +there. When he came up to the city, they'd have to get together. Least +he could do would be to show him around the hot spots some night. That +always made Eckland flush some; you could see he was the type who +dreamed of himself as a glamor boy, a killer-diller with the dames. + +And there was that fallen-arched Paddy who was the guard. Nice and +simple. An occasional cigar, a friendly slap on the back, did for him. + +So there she was. Perfect. The clincher was to get away without firing a +shot. Before there was a warning. No shooting and they would be miles +away before they stopped rubbing their eyes in that one water-tank burg. +Probably wouldn't have figured out exactly what had happened until some +time Saturday. The payroll came in on Friday. + +They scoured every main artery and side road and cart track for miles in +every direction, he and Johnny the Itch. They figured on cutoffs in case +of a chase and how they could double in their tracks. And the pass over +the mountain ridge that would take them across the state line. And about +forty miles down the line, on that abandoned farm, they located the old +barn where they would switch cars. They would hide the second heap in +the barn. Williams would take care of that. He was the trigger man. +Sonny Williams, cool as ice behind the business end of a Tommy gun. + +Now, Sonny Williams was-- + +"Sid," Johnny the Itch said, watching the cell door nervously. He +couldn't keep the whimper out of his voice now. "Sid, time's getting +short. I--I think I got a way, a chance for us anyways. I got +something--" His whisper cracked and he made a faint gesture toward his +fedora as if he feared the walls had eyes as well as ears. + +He was scared as hell. It made Big Sid sick. The little rat didn't have +anything to be scared about. Not like he did. He glared at him. "I'm +thinking," he warned heavily. + +Johnny the Itch nodded so his under jaw jiggled. When a phone jangled +down the corridor, his eyes bugged right at the door. Then he couldn't +stand it any longer. "Look, Sid, how did it happen? You're smart. You +figured it all out and--" He half choked and had to dredge his voice up +out of his throat again. He took his hat carefully by both hands. "Look, +Sid, I got--" + +Big Sid took him by a bony shoulder and threw him. Back over the lower +bunk of the cell. Johnny's head bounced off the wall. One of the town +flatfoots came down and stared in, chewing gum methodically. He gave +barely a glance to Johnny the Itch. The latter crouched there, frozen, +hanging onto his hat as if it were a hunk of dynamite. + + * * * * * + +Lighting a fresh cigaret, Big Sid paid no attention to the copper. He +was thinking what to do. He pulled at a vest button and picked up the +thread again. She had been all set. He had given the office to Sonny +Williams. Williams had planted the second heap at the old barn and they +had picked him up and rolled into Duffyville. Right on the nose. At +12.08 according to his wrist watch. Dropped off Williams on that +residential street around the corner from the bank. + +Swung around the block. The timing was perfection. He, Big Sid, went up +the bank steps as Williams came along less than ten yards away. Williams +with that long bundle under his arm that looked like a florist's box. +The sub-machine gun was in that box. + +A local tradesman was just leaving the bank, nodded to "Mr. Norris." +Then he, Big Sid, was over dropping his left hand on that guard's arm, +asking affably for the vice-president. He had left for lunch, of course. +And Sid slid the automatic from his side pocket and tucked it in the +guard's side. + +"This is a stick-up, stupid.... Keep your pants on an' don't try to be a +hero. Now, pass me through!" + +The guard's lips fell loosely away from his plates. He twisted his eyes +over toward Williams. Williams was at a desk, the florist box lying in +front of him, scribbling on a deposit slip. But Williams knew what was +going on. The guard nodded his head on the fear-stiffened hinge of his +neck and looked down at Eckland in the far cage, the only teller on now. +The guard pointed toward the electrically controled door in the teller +cage partition that cut off the offices and vault from the customers' +side. + +Eckland was looking down, smiling at "Mr. Norris." Eckland nodded. He +pressed a button in his cage. The door down the line clicked. And he, +Big Sid, was through, inside. It went smooth as grease. + +Williams was over, the Tommy gun out. Had herded the guard into a corner +where he was hidden from the teller as well as any passersby. Behind the +partition, he, Big Sid, wasted only a single glance at the open vault. +That would have been the stupid move. He was too smart for that. He +moved swiftly down behind the empty cages toward Eckland's, walking on +his toes. His left foot hit a discarded paper bill binder and it +crackled and he pulled away from it so he struck one of those adding +machines on a portable carriage. It jolted and rattled loudly. But +Eckland did not look around. + +Then he was right behind him. Had the automatic snout poking through the +steel grille of the rear of the cage. Square at Eckland's back. Smack at +the belt of his pinchback coat. "This is a stick-up, Eckland," he said +quietly. "Don't try to be a hero--or I'll blow you outa your shoes!" + +There was no sign from Eckland. He stood motionless, writing hand poised +over a voucher. + +"Now you're showing sense," he congratulated Eckland. "Now back up easy +and unhook this--" + +There was a low whistle. That would be Williams. It meant a depositor +had come in. Williams had moved around to cover him with the Tommy gun. +And that meant Eckland could see him and the gun now. Eckland's jaw +unhinged and the pencil slid from his limp hand and fell to the floor. +He peered forward, making gagging sounds. + +"I told you this was a stick-up," he, Big Sid, told him, speaking louder +now. "I got a gun on your back! Make a move for that alarm and I'll give +it to you! I'm not fooling, Eckland!" + +There was a long second ticking off into eternity. That Eckland almost +acted as if he didn't hear. His head never even started to twitch toward +the rear. One of his hands clawed at the counter in front of him. Then +he was moving. His right leg. Shakily but purposefully. Toward that +pedal that sounded the hold-up alarm, flashing it right to local police +headquarters. + +"Eckland, I'll kill--" But Eckland's foot never halted. And he, Big +Sid, let him have it in the back. Twice point-blank. + +But even as he tumbled, buckling forward in the middle, twisting with +agony, Eckland's foot found the pedal, punched it. The damage was done. +The bank resounded with the strident clamor of the gong. And Big Sid +knew its twin was galvanizing them down at police headquarters. + +He ran for it. Was moving even before the teller's slumping body hit the +floor. Got through the partition door; he had even thought to block the +snap-lock with a paper wad. Williams was out, going down the steps. The +Tommy began to chatter. Then it was clattering down on the sidewalk, +Williams crumpling over it with two slugs in his body. That cop coming +out of the hardware store down the block happened to be a crack shot. + +He, Big Sid, had sent him scurrying back with one well-aimed slug +though. Then headed for the car parked down beyond the "No Parking" zone +directly in front of the bank. He always believed in keeping the law +when nothing was to be gained in breaking it. He was smart that way. + +It was the cop running from across the street who got him in the wrist +and made him lose the automatic. A lucky shot. Still, he might have made +it. He got the car between them. He was almost at it, lunging for that +open front door on the curb side. Johnny the Itch was quaking in there +behind the wheel, hands up at his ears, yapping, "Cripes, I give up--I +give up!" + +Big Sid had always known how yellow Johnny was. That didn't bother him. +He could take care of him when he got inside, got to that stubby .38 he +had slipped into the glove compartment just in case. But he never got to +it. That police car, roaring up from behind, siren a-scream, smashed +into the tail end of their job. Jolted it ahead savagely. And with one +foot on the running board, he was slammed to the ground hard, rolling +his head against a tree. Then they had him. Him and Johnny the Itch. +Only Johnny didn't count. + + * * * * * + +Big Sid shook his head. He still couldn't figure how it had happened. It +was crazy, that guy, Eckland, committing suicide like that. Something +had gone wrong but-- + +Johnny the Itch crept closer across the cell to Big Sid, shooting +nervous glances toward the door. He admired Big Sid tremendously. Big +Sid was so plenty smart, not a dumb cluck like him. He didn't blame Big +Sid for what had happened. It _couldn't_ be his fault; Big Sid never +made a mistake. He could think. + +Maybe he had figured out what had gone wrong by now. He would ask him, +then tell him what he had. It was dangerous to interrupt him when he was +thinking. But time was growing short. And then when he knew, Big Sid +would figure out a way to use it. Johnny put a hand to his jammed-down +hat and spoke. + +"Sid, you got it figured how we was double-crossed maybe? What slipped? +I know _you_ figured it right." His voice squeaked out of his throat. +"But--Sid, I got something you can figure on now, maybe. I got--" + +Big Sid whirled on him, one of his heavy hands sweeping. He batted +Johnny the Itch's fedora onto the side of his head. Johnny clutched at +it as if it might be a life preserver. He started: "Sid, I got a--" + +One of the County Homicide men came to the cell door. He plucked the +cold cigar from his mouth and nodded at Big Sid. "You're lucky, pal. The +hospital says Eckland the teller will pull through. If he hadn't, it +would have been first degree and the hot squat for you." + +Big Sid sneered. "Ah-h, that dumbhead, Eckland! He wanted to be a hero. +He was asking for it!" He spat disgustedly onto the floor. "If he'd had +any sense, he wouldn't have gone for the alarm. I told him I had a gun +in his back!" + +The Homicide man shook his head. "He never heard you." + +"But I was only two feet away! I told him twice an'--" + +"Eckland was stone deaf, chum," the Homicide man said. + +Big Sid's lips curled. As if somebody had tried to tell him a fairy +story. "Why, I talked to that chump many a time! I--" + +The Homicide man agreed on that one. "Yeah, facing him. So he could look +at you--and your lips. Eckland was a lip-reader. And--he was stone deaf, +Cloras." + +Big Sid swayed. He might have pulled it off if that guy hadn't been +deaf. Could have. He swore, raking his hair savagely. "I never figured +on that! I never figured--" + +"_You_--you never figured that?" Johnny the Itch was on his feet when he +screamed. His splinter of jaw jerked out fiercely. "You--Big Sid--the +smart guy! You never figured--you--you was dumb?" + +But he couldn't seem to believe it. Then--he did. + +He jerked off his fedora, grabbing inside it. He came out with the +stubby .38 from the glove compartment. He had been able to slip it out +in the excitement after the capture. Nobody ever paid much attention to +Johnny the Itch. Any more than they had thought to look under his hat +when they searched him. + +He said it again to Big Sid. "You was dumb." Then he just kept +triggering until the gun was emptied and he had put five slugs fatally +into Big Sid's carcass. + + + + +THREE GUESSES + +by DAVID GOODIS + + Detective Frey came in and saw Duggin lying dead, and he figured + he'd go out and do big things. He went out and threw his weight + around. Doing big things? You figure that one out! + +[Illustration] + + +It was one of those white stone places up in the east seventies. Plenty +of class, Frey thought as he walked up the steps. He turned and looked +at the guy waiting in the car. He shrugged, and the guy shrugged back. + +Frey was in his early thirties. He was five eight and he weighed 170 and +it was packed in like steel. He was a private dick and he was reckless. +It showed in his grey eyes and the glint in his carelessly combed light +brown hair and the set of his jawline. It showed in the thin grin of his +lips. + +His lips grinned like that as the door opened. A servant, a Jap. + +"Yes, please?" + +"I'd like to see Miss Rillette." + +"She busy." + +"Not too busy to see me," Frey said. "I'm coming in." + +Japs are either very tough or they are very timid, and the servant was +of the latter stamp. He stepped aside and Frey walked through a pale +orange room, then through a burnt orange room and then into another pale +orange room. + +"Nice place you've got here, Miss Rillette," Frey said. + +She was small and slim and even in the frock of a sculptress she looked +delicate and graceful. In one hand she held a chisel. In the other she +held a mallet. She was working on a chunk of marble and she had the +forehead and general scalp contours almost completed. + +When she turned around she showed a good looking set of features. She +had dark brown hair coming in bangs to the eyebrows, and her eyes were +gold-hazel. Her mouth was a little too wide, but still she was a good +looking girl. She was in her late twenties. + +"Just who are you and what is the meaning of this?" she said. + +"My name is Frey, and I'm a friend of Harry Duggin." + +"Is that so?" she said. "How is Harry?" + +"He's dead." + +She blinked a few times and then she said, "What happened--and when?" + +Frey said, "He was murdered--this morning. Knifed." + +She blinked a few more times and then she looked at the floor for a few +seconds. Frey was watching her and then he was glancing sideways to a +little jade box that held cigarettes. He took one up, eased a stray +safety match from his vest pocket, flicked it with his fingernail, and +lit up. + +He took a few deep drags and said, "I got an idea that you know +something, Miss Rillette." + +Her face showed no emotion as she said, "I thought you said you were a +friend of Harry's. You sound more like a detective." + +"That's right. Harry was a good friend of mine. We went to law school +together. He became a successful corporation lawyer and I starved for a +while and then I became a private detective. I lost touch with Harry for +a year or so and then last week he called me up and asked me to do a +favor for him. He asked me to follow you." + +She said, "Indeed?" + +"That's right. He must have been looking around for a private dick and +then he found out that I was in business and he asked me to follow you. +He said that in return for the favor he would give me one hundred and +fifty bucks. So you see, Miss Rillette, I have nothing against you +personally. I just have to make a living, that's all." + +"Why did he want you to follow me?" + +"You don't have to ask me that, Miss Rillette. You know the answer. In +fact, you know all the answers. I found that out through seven days of +following you." + +She blinked some more and then she reached out to the little jade box +and took a cigarette. Frey flicked one of his safety matches with his +fingernail and gave her a light. + +"What am I supposed to say?" she murmured. + +He knew he was going to have trouble with this girl. + +"You don't have to say anything. I'll write out a confession outline and +you sign it. If you want to, you can fill all the gaps. But what I want +most is a signed confession--" + +"What did you say you were?" she murmured. + +"A private detective." + +"Beginner, aren't you?" + +That made him sort of sore. But he swallowed it and said, "Maybe, but +I'm not an amateur. I make a living out of this." + +She blinked and dragged half-heartedly at the cigarette and then she +turned and looked at the marble she was doing. She looked back at Frey +and her eyes were tired as she said, "How close did you follow me?" + +"Here's what you did," Frey said. "On Sunday you attended an exhibition +at the Wheye Galleries, up on 57th Street. From there you went to +Larry's, in the Village, where you had a dinner engagement with a man +named Lasseroe. From there this guy took you to a party at the +Vanderbilt. He went home alone. You stayed at the Vanderbilt. You stayed +there for five days, with your very good friend, Daisy Hennifer, the +jewelry designer. You had a few luncheon and dinner engagements with +Lasseroe. You went to a few shops with Daisy. Then early last night you +left the Vanderbilt and I lost you in Fifth Avenue traffic. I went back +to tell Harry about it and to get your home address, because in all the +days I'd been following you--well, you didn't once touch home. When I +got to Harry's apartment, his valet informed me that Harry was out for +the evening." + +"That's as far as you got?" + +"Hardly. I went to Harry's apartment again this morning. The valet came +to the door and told me that Mr. Duggin was sleeping. I explained that +it was certainly most important and I went in. But I couldn't wake +Harry up, because he was dead. I don't know why I'm telling you all +this. You know it already." + +"How did you get my home address?" She was still blinking a lot, but she +wasn't excited. + +"The valet gave it to me." + +"You told him--?" + +"I didn't tell him anything. I came out of the bedroom and told him that +Mr. Duggin was still sleeping. Then I asked him for your address. Maybe +he still thinks that Harry is asleep. Or maybe he's found out already +and the police are in on the case." + +She looked at the ceiling and then she looked at the floor and then she +looked at Frey and said, "Now let me understand this. You say that I +murdered Harry. You want me to sign a confession." + +"That's all there is to it," he said. + +"You're going to place yourself in a lot of difficulty, Mr. Frey," she +murmured. "I advise that you give this matter a little more thought +before you accuse anyone else--" + +"I'm not accusing anyone else," Frey said. "What are you going to do?" + +She blinked and then she looked at her wrist watch and then she looked +at the marble. "I have a lot of work to finish before three thirty this +afternoon," she said. "Please go now." + +She turned, took up her mallet and chisel, and started to work on the +marble. She acted as if Frey had already walked out of the pale orange +room. + +He shrugged and walked out. + +The Jap servant followed him to the door. He said to the Jap, "Tell Miss +Rillette that I'll be back--after three thirty." + +He walked down the steps and stepped into the parked coupe. + +He turned the key in the ignition lock and said, "No go." + +"What happened?" this other guy said. This other guy was Mogin. He was +about as tall as Frey and he weighed a little over 200 pounds. He had +close-cropped blond hair and pretty blue eyes and he was a very tough +boy. + +"She don't know from nothing," Frey said. He took the car around the +corner and stepped on the gas. + +"What do we do now?" Mogin said. + +"Well, we could go to a double feature and kill the afternoon that way. +Or we could go up and visit this Lasseroe." + +Mogin shrugged. + + * * * * * + +It was a new apartment house near Morningside Heights. It was elegant +and smooth and important. + +"Do I wait?" Mogin said. + +"Maybe you better come in with me." + +They went in and rang Lasseroe's number and he must have been expecting +somebody because he buzzed an answer right away and the door opened. +When Frey and Mogin stepped out of the elevator, Lasseroe was standing +at the door of his apartment and when he saw them he expected them to +walk right by. But they came up to him. + +He was a man of medium height and he had a good build for a man of +forty-five. He had a square, rigid-boned face, and deep-set dark grey +eyes, and a good head of black hair threaded with silver. He was wearing +a long collared silk shirt and an expensive cravat and an expensive silk +lounging robe. + +"Hello, Lasseroe," Frey said. + +"I beg your pardon--" + +"You don't have to beg anybody's pardon," Frey said. "All you have to do +is answer a few questions. If you don't mind we won't waste time out +here in the hall. We'll go into your room and talk." + +"I presume you are thieves?" Lasseroe said. He wasn't excited. + +"No, we ain't thieves and we don't like funny boys," Mogin said. + +Lasseroe walked into the apartment and Frey and Mogin followed. + +"Now, gentlemen?" + +"My name is Frey. This is my assistant, Mr. Mogin." + +Lasseroe ignored Mogin. He said, "What do you want with me?" + +Frey began to talk. He didn't look at Lasseroe. He looked out the window +and talked slowly, taking his time. He said, "You got a nice business, +Mr. Lasseroe. You are an expert appraiser of art, and you take good fees +from various dealers. Sometimes you hit healthy money. You check up on a +Rembrandt and you give your okay to a buyer and the dealer gives you a +sweet kick-back. It is all very legitimate and lucrative--" + +"What are you, a census taker?" Lasseroe said. + +"Quiet," Mogin toned. + +"A short time ago you figured out a few new angles," Frey said. "You +weren't doing so good on the old stuff and you reasoned that you might +be able to make up for the deficiency by a few transactions with the +modern boys and girls." + +"Just what do you mean by--" + +"Quiet," Mogin toned. + +"So here's what you did," Frey said. "You rounded up several of the more +snooty painters and sculptors--the artistic boys and girls who have a +lot of dough because their parents or some uncle or somebody had a lot +of dough. You told the suckers that you'd boost their work in return for +tribute. Then you went to the dealers and told them that you had several +sensational new artists whose work would bring high prices. You'd give +that work a big build-up in return for the kick-backs. It worked." + +"Now just a moment--" + +"Quiet," Mogin toned. + +"Everybody was happy," Frey said, "because nobody really lost out. The +artists made dough and the dealers made dough and the customers thought +they were getting high class stuff. One of these customers was Harry +Duggin, the successful corporation lawyer." + +Lasseroe opened his mouth to say something. Then he closed it and looked +at Frey and looked at Mogin and looked at Frey again. + +"You sold Duggin a few pieces of sculpture done by a girl named Tess +Rillette," Frey said. "Duggin liked the sculpture and he wanted to meet +the girl. You introduced him to Tess and he went crazy. He worshipped +her. He asked her to marry him. She thought it was funny and she told +you about it. You didn't think it was funny. You saw a new dodge--" + +"Now damn you--" + +"Quiet," Mogin toned. + +"Duggin was out of his head because of Tess Rillette. And of course he +bought up every piece of sculpture that Tess turned out. This sort of +thing went on for more than a year, and Harry didn't know that sculpture +takes a long time and a high-class artist can turn out so many pieces +and no more in a certain period. In other words, Harry didn't stop to +figure that you were selling him stuff that Tess Rillette had nothing to +do with. That is--he didn't stop to figure about it until he found out +that Tess had fallen for you." + +"Now you look here--" + +"Quiet," Mogin toned. + +"Harry could be clever when he wanted to be, and he was always clever +when he was good and burned up. He checked up on that stuff you sold +him, found out that it was phoney. He got in touch with you, told you +that you were slated for jail--but that you could snake your way out of +it--by giving up those happy little plans for yourself and Tess +Rillette. By that time, you were serious about Tess and you wouldn't +give her up for anything. So you went and murdered Harry Duggin." + +"What?" + +"I said--you murdered Harry Duggin." + +Lasseroe stared at the lavender rug. He raised his eyes and said, "Is +Harry--dead?" + +Frey reached in his pocket and pulled out a safety match and flicked it +with his fingernail. Then he remembered he had no cigarette in his mouth +and he reached out and Mogin took out a pack and gave him one. He lit +the cigarette and he said, "I'm a detective, Lasseroe. I'd like you to +tell me how you did it." + +"I didn't do it." + +"No?" Frey looked at Mogin. Mogin shrugged. + +"No, I didn't do it," Lasseroe said. "Let me see your badge." + +"I don't have a badge. I'm a private detective." + +Lasseroe said, "I've a good mind to call the police." + +"You don't have to call them," Fry said. "They'll be here soon anyway." +He walked to the door. Mogin followed. + +Lasseroe stood there in the center of the lavender rug. He said, "You +gentlemen have wasted your time." + +"Quiet," Mogin toned. + +In the elevator Frey said, "Maybe we can still make that double +feature." + +"I'm getting hungry," Mogin said. "How about some lunch?" + +Frey parted his lips and the cigarette fell from his mouth. He stepped +on the stub and said, "We'll have lunch and then we'll visit another +party." + +"No double feature?" Mogin said. + +"No double feature. We'll visit this third party and if we strike out +we'd better leave town for a few days to avoid a lot of aggravation. See +what I mean?" + +"I see what you mean," Mogin said. "Who do we see now?" + +"We see Daisy Hennifer, the jewelry designer," Frey said. "We go to the +Vanderbilt Hotel." + + * * * * * + +They faked a story that they were representatives of a big Manhattan +lapidary. That got them up to Daisy Hennifer's suite. It was topaz +yellow, ceiling, walls, rugs and furniture--all topaz yellow. Daisy had +on a topaz yellow gown and she had topaz yellow hair. + +"You won't be able to stay long, gentlemen," she said. "I've a cocktail +engagement at hof post threh--" + +"What's that again?" Mogin said. + +"Skip it," Frey said. + +Daisy was frowning. + +"What did you do last night, Miss Hennifer?" Frey said. + +Her topaz eyes started to glow and she said, "Just what do you mean by +coming up here and--" + +"Don't get excited, Miss Hennifer. We're just doing our job, that's +all." + +"But you said you were--" + +"No, we don't represent a lapidary. We're just up here to ask you a few +questions, that's all." + +"You're not police--" She was wearing four rings and she was twisting +them about her fingers. They were all big yellow topaz stones. + +"Not exactly--" Frey said. + +"Well then--" + +"Do you know Harry Duggin?" Frey said. + +"Why--yes. In fact, I was to see him this afternoon--" + +"You won't see him, Miss Hennifer," Frey said. "He was murdered this +morning." + +"Oh--" + +"He was a fine sort, Miss Hennifer. You shouldn't have done it." + +"Done what?" + +"Killed him." + +She was twisting the topaz rings. They circled fast about her long +fingers, the nails of which held topaz yellow polish. + +"You've been friends with Harry for a long time, Miss Hennifer," Frey +said. "As far as you were concerned, it was more than friendship. You +went for Harry. But he wasn't serious. And he finally gave you up +altogether because he was getting big ideas concerning Tess Rillette. +You hated Tess. You had known her for some time and you had paid no +particular attention to her, except to laugh behind her back. You looked +upon her as a girl with a lot of money and no brains and no real ability +as a sculptress. When you saw her at teas and parties you just saw her, +that was all. But when Harry fell for her, you had to pay attention, and +you hated her. You--" + +"How do you know this? Who are you? What--?" + +"Please be quiet and listen," Mogin droned. + +"It was sort of natural that you should begin to cultivate this Tess +Rillette's friendship. You wanted to talk to her about Harry. You wanted +to find out just how much she cared for the guy. And then you found out +that she didn't go for him at all. She adored another man. That made you +hate Harry. But at the same time you still weren't giving up hope. You +went to Harry, told him that Tess Rillette was after another man. You +begged him to marry you. But instead of helping the situation, your +visit made things worse. Harry began to look into the matter. He found +out about Tess and this man Lasseroe. He wanted to make doubly sure. He +was worried about a lot of things. He had a private investigator follow +Tess around during this past week." + +Mogin threw a cigarette. Frey caught it and flicked a safety match with +his fingernail. + +Daisy Hennifer was saying, "All this--it's--I don't know what to think. +I don't know what to say." + +"You don't have to say anything," Frey said. "Just write me a confession +note, that's all. Just write out the confession and sign it and you +won't have to say anything." + +"But--but--" + +"It was convenient for you, Miss Hennifer. Lasseroe had a good motive +for killing Duggin. So did Tess Rillette. At first she was indifferent +to Harry. And after he threatened to have Lasseroe jailed, she hated +him. But your feelings were even stronger. It was your kind of hate that +turned to murder." + +"You're wrong," she said. She was excited. "I didn't do it." + +"A confession will get you off easy." + +"I'm not signing any confession," she said. "I didn't do it. I had +nothing to do with it. I adored Harry. I--" + +"You'll save yourself a lot of misery--" + +She started to sob. "I didn't do it. I--" + +Frey looked at Mogin. The short, heavy guy shrugged. + +"Is that all, Miss Hennifer?" Frey asked. + +"That's all I've got to say." She stopped sobbing. Her topaz eyes were +dull now. "Are you going to take me away?" + +Frey shook his head. "We can't take you away. We're not cops." + +She stared. "Then--what are you?" + +Frey shrugged. "Maybe we're just a couple of damn fools." + +He nodded to Mogin. They went out of Daisy Hennifer's suite. + + * * * * * + +They were walking toward the coupe. Mogin was saying, "It's almost +three." + +"We'll have something to eat and we'll go back and sit in the coupe and +wait a while," Frey said. He put his hand in his change pocket and took +out two half dollars, three quarters, six dimes, four nickels. "We'll +eat a classy lunch on this," he said. "Then we'll wait around for a +little while and we'll see where Daisy Hennifer goes." + +"It's all right with me," Mogin said: "Anything's all right with me--as +long as we eat." + +They lunched at the hotel and then they walked out to the lobby and sat +down and smoked. At twenty past three, Daisy Hennifer walked through the +lobby and Frey and Mogin took their time and followed her. + +A cab was waiting at the curb and Daisy got in. + +The coupe followed. + +Up Fourth avenue and two turns to blade through heavy uptown traffic and +then down the street where Tess Rillette lived. The cab stopped outside +the white stone house and Daisy got out. + +The coupe went once around the block and then Frey parked it at the +corner. + +"This looks good," he said. + +Mogin nodded. + +Frey said, "Maybe you better wait here. If I'm not out in thirty minutes +maybe you better come in and see what's happened to me." + +Mogin said, "Maybe you better take this." He reached in his coat pocket +and pulled out a little pistol. Frey looked at it and made a face. + +"I hate to use those things." + +He took the pistol and put it in his pocket and walked up the white +stone steps. The Jap came to the door and Frey said, "Well--it's past +three thirty. Miss Rillette is expecting me, isn't she--?" + +The Jap shook his head. "Miss Rillette is busy. You must call later." + +"Tell Miss Rillette that I--" He braked his tongue and said, "No--don't +tell Miss Rillette anything. In fact--maybe you better take a walk +around the block." + +The Jap started to get excited. He said, "You were not among those +invited--" + +"Take a walk around the block," Frey said. "Look, I'll help you down the +steps--" He grabbed hold of the Jap and hustled him down the steps. +Mogin saw the deal and opened the door of the coupe. Frey pushed the Jap +inside. + +"What's this?" Mogin said. + +"A glimpse of the Far East," Frey murmured. "Take him to a show. Take +him to a dance. I don't care what you do with him, only keep him away +from the house for a while. He'll get in my way otherwise." + +The Jap started to yell. + +"Tag him," Frey said. He looked up and down the street and he saw that +it was all right. Then he heard a click and he saw Mogin's fist bouncing +away from the Jap's chin. The Jap went to sleep. + +"I'll drive around the block a few times," Mogin said. + +Frey went up the steps again and took his time going through the pale +orange room, the burnt orange room. Then he was moving slowly and very +quietly as he heard voices coming from the other pale orange room. The +orange door was closed but Frey managed to get in a look through the +side windows of the studio. The windows were slits of glass running from +the floor to the ceiling, and through them Frey saw Tess Rillette and +Lasseroe and Daisy Hennifer. + +They were all talking at once and at first their voices were low but +then they started to argue and Frey got in on it. + +"Clever, weren't you, Daisy?" Tess Rillette was saying. "You asked me to +be your guest at the hotel, and I thought it was hospitality. But what +you really wanted was to keep me away from here. You didn't want Harry +to get in touch with me." + +"That's a lie," Daisy said. "I asked you to stay at the hotel purely for +business reasons. I wanted you to work on those inlaid ivories--" + +"That's what I thought--at first," Tess Rillette said. "But I know the +truth now. You wanted to keep me away from Harry. You thought maybe you +had one last chance of winning him back. And when you found out it was +futile--you killed him!" + +"She's right, Daisy," Lasseroe said. "You killed Harry Duggin. You +worshipped him--and hated him!" + +He got out of the chair and pointed at her, and a few glasses on a +cocktail tray tipped over. + +Daisy was shouting, "You're both lying! You're trying to place the blame +on me and switch things around so that I'll be put out of the way. +You're trying to commit--double murder!" + +"Just what do you mean by that?" Lasseroe said. + +Daisy's voice was lowered as she stared at the art appraiser and said, +"You killed him. You had every reason to kill him, and you did it. And +now you're trying to get me out of the way. I know the truth about you, +Lasseroe. I know how you've been swindling art patrons, charging them +exorbitant prices for cheap junk such as Tess puts out--" + +Tess Rillette wasn't taking this sitting down. She started to call Daisy +a lot of nasty names. It was all very unpleasant. + +And then Lasseroe said, "You've got a lot of influence around this town, +haven't you, Daisy?" + +She liked that. She nodded. And there was a mean smile on her lips. +Lasseroe was moving slowly toward her, and his face was pale. There was +a light in the man's eyes that told Frey a lot of things. Frey reached +into his coat pocket and touched the revolver to make sure that it was +still there. + +"You've got a lot of mouth, too," Lasseroe was saying. + +"Just what do you mean by that?" Daisy looked at him straight. + +"You may turn out to be quite an annoyance," Lasseroe said. He kept +moving toward her. + +Tess Rillette was grabbing Lasseroe's arm, saying, "Please--enough has +already happened--" + +But Lasseroe was excited and he was pushing Tess Rillette away and then +he was making a grab for Daisy. She fell backward and he went over with +her and he got his fingers around her throat. She managed to scream once +and then she started to gurgle. Frey opened the door and took out his +revolver and pointed it at Lasseroe's spine. + +"All right," he said, "Let's stop playing." + +But Lasseroe was out of control now and he was choking the life out of +Daisy Hennifer. He didn't seem to hear Frey, and he increased the +pressure of his fingers around Daisy's windpipe. Tess Rillette was +screaming and putting herself between Frey and Lasseroe, in an +ungraceful try at the old martyr act. + +Frey knew that he couldn't stand on ceremony. He had to break it up and +break it up fast. He pushed Tess Rillette and she didn't like being +pushed. She was screaming now, and she threw fingernails at his face. He +let her have a slow right to the jaw and it sent her across the room, +spinning. + +Then he had a try at Lasseroe. + +He tried to pull Lasseroe away from Daisy Hennifer, who by now was in a +very bad way. But Lasseroe was a maniac now and he wanted to take the +life away from the jewelry designer. Frey knew that he would have to use +the revolver. He lifted it and then allowed the butt to come down and +make contact with Lasseroe's skull. + +Lasseroe went to sleep. + + * * * * * + +"We'll take them all down to Harry's apartment," Frey said. "If the cops +aren't there already, it'll be a good idea to finish the case right on +the spot where it started." + +"That's a very good idea," Mogin said. "I have a hunch that this will +put us on the map." + +Frey nodded. He prodded Lasseroe with the revolver and said, "You and +Miss Rillette will sit in the opera seats with me. Miss Hennifer will +ride in front." He touched the shivering Jap on the elbow and said, "The +studio is in quite a bad state. Better go in there and rearrange things. +If you have any questions to ask Miss Rillette, maybe you better call +the police station. That'll be her temporary address before she goes +away on a long trip." + +He stepped into the coupe and closed the door. Lasseroe was manacled to +him and Miss Rillette was manacled to Lasseroe. Daisy was still groaning +as Mogin put the car in first and sent it whizzing down the street. + +"You're making a big mistake," Lasseroe said. + +"I wouldn't talk about making mistakes if I were you," Frey said +lightly. He felt very good. All a private investigator needed was one +good break like this, and he was made. The cases would come in thick and +fast, and so would the dough. Frey smiled. + +Tess Rillette was saying, "I told you, Mr. Frey--you were letting +yourself in for a lot of difficulty, and--" + +"Do I turn here?" Mogin was saying. + + * * * * * + +There were a few police cars in front of the high-class apartment where +Harry Duggin had lived, and where he had died. The coupe parked across +the street and Frey saw the crowd and the reporters. He said, "All +right--here we go." + +Everyone was looking and murmuring as the five of them went into the +apartment house. A cop walked over and said, "What's this?" + +"It's the Harry Duggin case," Frey said. + +They stepped into the elevator and went up seven floors to the +apartment. There were a lot of cops up there, a lot of plain clothes men +and lads from the homicide bureau. Reporters and photographers and a +doctor. + +"What's this?" a plain clothes man said. + +"It's the Harry Duggin case," Frey said. + +The mob crowded around. This little deal was taking place in the living +room of the apartment. The dick was saying, "Carven is in the bedroom. +He's talking to Duggin's valet." He frowned at Frey and said, "What have +you got?" + +"Enough," Frey said. He pointed to Lasseroe. "Here's your baby. I'm +going in and talk to Carven." + +As he started for the bedroom door he heard Lasseroe saying, "You're +making a big mistake--" + +Frey smiled. + +He went into the bedroom and he saw Carven, the big shot detective. He +saw the two cops in there and he saw the valet, and then the corpse of +Harry Duggin. Carven had the valet by the back of the neck. Carven was a +big man and he was forcing the valet to look down at Harry Duggin's dead +face. + +Carven was saying, "Look at him. He's dead. Do you get that? He's dead. +You called us in here and you figured that would automatically put you +out of the picture. And you told us that a guy by the name of Frey came +in here this morning and killed him. But Frey's an old pal of mine. +Frey's a private dick--a lousy one, reckless and careless, but still +he's a dick and your story didn't go. You killed Duggin--why--why--?" + +Not only was Carven big, he was plenty tough. He gave the valet a short +left and a mean right to the ribs. The valet broke. + +"I--I killed him," he said, and it turned into a sob. "I--I wanted +something that he owned--" + +"What was it?" Carven said. He raised his head, clipped to one of the +cops, "Take this down." + +The valet was sobbing, saying, "He had a fortune in little marble +statues. He was always talking about those marble statues, telling me +how priceless they were. He--kept talking about those statues all the +time, telling me that the greatest sculptress in the world made +them--and that money couldn't buy them. That's all he talked about--the +statues made by Tess Rillette. He--drove it into me--made me crazy with +the desire to own them. I--I--put a knife into him--" + +Carven grinned. He looked at the cops and said, "Pretty fast, wasn't it? +We came in on this case exactly two and a half hours ago. I can well +imagine what happened to that wise guy Frey. He came in here this +morning and he saw Duggin lying dead in bed and he figured he'd go out +with his stooge Mogin and do big things. I'd like to see his face when +he finds out--" + +Then he turned and saw Frey's face. + + * * * * * + +Mogin was talking loud and fast. He was saying, "What're you crying the +blues about? It was just a bad break, that's all. And at least we pinned +something on somebody. We got that smart bird Lasseroe locked up for +fake art manipulations, and--" + +They were walking toward the coupe. Frey was shaking his head and his +head was hanging low. He said, "Can we make a late double feature?" + +"Sure," Mogin said. He put his heavy hand on Frey's shoulder and said, +"It's a good idea. We'll go to the movies and get it off our minds. +Don't worry, pal. Better days are coming. Hey--where you goin'?" + +Frey was walking away from the coupe, toward a corner drug store. "I'll +be right back," he said. "I just want to go in here and take an aspirin. +It'll help me wait for the better days." + + + + +THE COP WAS A COWARD + +by WILBUR S. PEACOCK + + Johnny Burke had the making of a fine cop in him ... but there was + something mighty strange about Johnny Burke--something mighty + strange! + +[Illustration] + + +I liked the looks of Johnny Burke the first time I saw him. He was one +of the cadets who had been signed on less than six months before. He was +still on the probation lists, but I could see that he had the making of +a fine cop in him. + +"Sergeant Southern?" he asked, when he found me in the garage, where I +was wiring in a new radio, "My name's Johnny Burke, and I've been +detailed to work with you in 27." + +"Glad to know you, Burke," I said, coming out from underneath the +dashboard of the cruiser. + +We shook hands, after I had wiped some of the oil from mine, and I +winced a bit from the pressure of his fingers. I got my first good look +at him then, and I felt my first bit of confidence since Riley, my old +partner, had been detailed to the north end of the district. + +He was big, and I mean big. Six feet four, he must have been, and must +have weighed close to two and a quarter. Wide shoulders tapered into a +narrow waist, his blond head sat squarely on his shoulders, and he +carried himself with a panther-like grace. He appeared to be a swell +partner to hold down the other half of cruiser 27. + +I said as much, and he flushed at the compliment, which was another +thing that took my liking. Too many of the cadet cops think they're big +shots and are inclined to belittle the men who had been cops before they +were out of three-cornered pants. + +"I hope so," he said, "for I want to be a cop more than anything else in +the world." + +I grinned from my scant six feet. "Okay, let's see how we'll work in +double harness. Shed that coat, and give me a hand with this set." + +"Right," he said, and the two of us went to work. + +That was our first meeting, and the one in which I judged him for the +first time. I liked the kid and I let him know it, tried to put him wise +to some of the things I've learned in ten years on the force. He +listened to everything I said, tried to fit it in with the theories the +police school had pumped into his brain. Some of it, I knew, he +discarded because it didn't sound logical, but other parts seemed to +make an impression on him. + +He rode the other half of the seat with me for the next week, learning +the neighborhood that was our patrol, memorizing names and locations and +addresses as I gave them out. He learned fast, and I knew I had drawn a +honey of a partner. + +Still, there was something strange about him that I couldn't quite +analyze. When we were alone, or when we were with the other men at one +of the stations, he was big and quiet, seeming to know that he was not +out of place. But when we made periodic inspections of boarding houses +and the like, he was an entirely different person. He walked stiffly, +his arms braced a bit at his sides. His face became a trifle white and +his lips thinned, making him seem somebody suddenly alien to the kid I +had for a partner. I didn't understand it, and in a way it shook my +confidence in him, which, of course, meant that ours was not the +instinctive partnership it should have been. + +That sounds rather silly when I tell it, but there is nothing childish +or amusing in its practical application. Cop teams should be as closely +in accord as Tom and Jerry, or sorghum and flapjacks. The average person +thinks that the mere routine of following orders takes care of the +partnership angle, but that isn't the fact. Teams have to know exactly +how much confidence each can place in the other, and each must know the +capabilities of the other, or the two men don't make a good team. + +And here was this new cadet partner of mine acting strangely as the +devil any time the mere routine of covering the district became broken. +I didn't like it, but I kept my mouth shut, waiting to see something +definite that would prove something one way or the other. + + * * * * * + +Then one day, down in the station gymnasium where daily calisthenics +must be taken, I got my first inkling of the mental twist that was in +Burke's brain. + +There were half a dozen of us in the place; some of the men boxing the +bags, some on the bars, and Burke and I on the wrestling mats. He and I +had been practicing jiu jitsu for ten minutes, and both of us were +working up a good perspiration. Neither of us had the advantage for the +moment, so I went in for a quick wristlock and spin. + +Burke straightened as I came forward, squatted and drove forward with +catlike speed. Before I knew what was happening, he had caught me with a +knee catch and a hip flip, and I was skidding across the rough canvas on +my face. I was growling to myself for being caught with an elementary +trick, and came whipping back with my hands outspread in catch-all +style. + +There was blood on my face, although I didn't know it, and since I'm +none too soft looking at best, I must have appeared to be rather in a +mad rage at being thrown by a man of less skill than I. + +I was half-crouched and gathering myself for a quick burst of energy. I +noticed Burke's hands coming into position for sudden defense, and for a +moment the mere fact that they were in position meant quite a bit to +me. For there is no such thing as placing hands in defensive position in +Jiu Jitsu; the entire science of this particular wrestling lies in +keeping your hands out of the reach of your opponent. + +I stopped momentarily, sudden wonder filling my mind. Burke's hands +seemed to be warding off some unknown danger that was threatening, and I +caught the flicker of some emotion in his grey eyes. I straightened out +of my crouch, forced myself not to reveal what I had just seen. + +Burke backed off a step, and slowly some of the tightness went out of +his face and arms. He breathed deeply, and the sound was strangely like +a gasp of relief. + +"Whew!" he said relievedly, "I thought for a moment we were going to +have a real fight." + +I grinned, watching every play of emotion on his face, and carefully +weighing every nuance in his tone of voice. And as suddenly as though +somebody had told me, I knew he had a strip of yellow squarely up his +back. + +"That shouldn't worry you," I countered, "You could tie me into knots." + +"Yeah?" he said skeptically, "And while I was tying you in knots, what +would you be doing?" + +I grinned, but I felt suddenly sick inside. Somehow, in the past week, I +had come to think a lot of the kid. And now, despite his strength and +brains and college degree, I knew that our days as partners in 27 were +numbered. + +I stretched, headed toward the showers, not answering his question. + +"Come on," I said, "We've got just enough time for a cup of coffee +before our shift." + +I watched him that night and for the next three days. Now that I was +particularly noticing him, I could see that my analysis was right. He +was like any other cop I had ever known while in comparative safety, but +when out of the usual routine and into some beer dive or fairly tough +hangout, he was yellow clear to his heart. + +He proved that one night when we picked up a quartet of drunks at a dive +on the south end of our district. We went there on radioed orders, the +complaint being phoned into headquarters by some old maid whose sleep +was disturbed. + +I shoved through the door of the dive, Burke following close behind. The +report had been right, for we could hear the quartet murdering 'Sweet +Adeline' in the back room. We went down the narrow passage and over to +the drunks' table. + +"Come on, fellows," I said, "we're going for a little ride." + +Burke stood at my side, not saying anything, carrying himself with that +same strained look that I had noticed the first few days we were +together. The drunks joked with me at first, insisting that Burke and I +have a drink or two with them. I wheedled with them for a while, not +wanting to get tough. + +And then the entire situation changed. The drunks got ugly, wanted to +fight. I obliged them, taking the two on my side of the table, leaving +the other two for Burke. I crossed a short right, then lifted a left, +and turned to see how my partner was doing. + + * * * * * + +One of his own men was down, a bloody welt along the side of his head, +and the other was cowering drunkenly from the heavy gun in Burke's fist. +I knocked the gun up just as his finger pulled the trigger. I caught the +gun from his hand, looked at his face in amazement. + +"What the hell do you think you're doing, Burke," I yelled, "These men +aren't criminals; they're just drunk!" + +"He was going to hit me with a beer bottle." + +"So what!" I was shaking with the nearness with which tragedy had almost +struck. "Hell, you don't shoot a man because of that!" + +"But that's what that gun's for. I'm supposed--" + +I looked at the drunks, who were rapidly sobering. "Get out of here and +go home," I said, then turned to Burke, "Come on, let's get out of +here." + +I reported over the two-way radio that a gun had been fired +accidentally, in case somebody phoned in about it, also explained that +the drunks had disappeared when we got to the scene of the complaint. +Then I turned back to Burke who was huddled in white-faced silence in +the side of the seat. + +"For God's sake, Johnny," I said slowly, "Just because you're a cop and +wear a badge doesn't give you the license to shoot that gun any time you +get a notion." + +"I know," he said miserably, "I know." + +And that was all that was said that night. Burke was uncommunicative and +sullen the rest of the shift, seeming to realize now just what a boner +he had pulled. As for me, I still shook with horror when I remembered +how close he had come to putting a slug through the drunk. I didn't say +any more, even tried to apologize for his action in my mind. + +1 tried to cover up for him by saying that he was just a rookie and +untrained. Too, I remembered how frightened I was the first time I had +any trouble. I walked into a gang fight and waded into the leader of one +gang. I had my man down, and was bouncing his head on the sidewalk, when +other cops pulled me off. I was so scared that I didn't even know he had +been unconscious for seconds. Luckily, I hadn't killed him in my +unreasoning excitement. + +So I covered for my new partner, and acted as though he had made but a +natural mistake. + +But I was only kidding myself, for two nights later, he let me down +again. + +It was about eleven at night, and the streets were slowly clearing of +traffic, when we rode right into the center of a bank job. I was at the +wheel, thinking what a swell life my girl and I were going to have when +I got promoted to a detective's job. I pulled around the corner onto +Harper street, and into the path of a tommy gun's fire. + +We went over the curb, the tires shot to ribbons, before I had time to +take a deep breath. I went sideways out of the door, grabbing my gun as +I rolled on the pavement. I came up shooting at the two men who were in +the touring. I heard Burke yell something from the other side of the +cruiser. + +And then a couple of slugs spun me like a top, and I hit the ground, +having only a hazy memory of seeing Tony Flasco dodging out of the +bank's door with another guy. I passed out cold, the drum of the +touring's motor sounding in my ears. + +I woke up once, when Burke came around the car to see how badly I was +hit. I went back into blackness remembering that the flap to his belt +gun was still fastened. The yellow rat hadn't even pulled his gun! + +The next thing I remember was asking for a slug of whiskey and not +getting it. After that, I slowly came back to earth. I hadn't been hit +so badly; just bullet shock and a nicked shoulder to keep me in bed for +a couple of days. Within forty eight hours, I was sitting up, and a +week later I was aching to get back into harness again. True, I was +still a bit muscle tender, but I figured a thing like that shouldn't be +considered when a killer like Tony Flasco is running around loose. + +I wouldn't see Johnny Burke in the hospital; I wanted nothing to do with +him again. So, each time he tried to visit me, I had the nurse tell him +I was asleep. Finally, he must have taken the hint, for he didn't come +around any more. + +I felt pretty badly about the kid, but I felt worse when Riley, my old +partner, visited me. He came through the door of the hospital room, that +map of Ireland he uses for a face ruffled up in a wide grin. + +"I warned you, Southern," he said, "but you would play with the big +boys. Now, look at you--your pants are ripped." + +"Oh, shut up and sit down," I snapped from the wheelchair, trying not to +grin, "Who the hell do you think you are--Dorothy Dix! Cripes, you've +got enough slugs in you to make you rattle like a dice box!" + +"My, what a nasty temper. Tch, tch, tch!" + +"Okay, okay, go ahead and gloat. But first, let's hear the latest from +headquarters." + + * * * * * + +And then his face wasn't grinning, instead it grew hard like granite. He +told me the details that the chief hadn't let me know, for fear that I +would get worried. Suddenly, I lost all desire to joke, too. + +Tony Flasco, his lieutenant Vance, another killer named Keeper, and an +unidentified man were in the mob that shot me down. They had forced the +bank's cashier to open the bank for them at night, had murdered the +watchman and then left the cashier for dead. He had rallied enough to +identify two of the men from pictures. Burke's and my stories had fitted +in the other pieces. + +Tony and his mob had got away with over fifty thousand in cash and an +unnameable sum in bonds. They had disappeared into thin air, were +evidently holing up somewhere until the heat died down. Teletype and +radio had the country blanketed, but with as much money as they had they +would be able to buy their way out of the country. + +"So that's that," I said, "not one blasted thing to go on." + +"We haven't got a thing," Riley admitted, "but the chief thinks they're +holed up somewhere in town. The identification was too fast to let them +get far." + +"Maybe," I said, "and maybe not." + +Riley hitched his chair closer, and his face wrinkled up a bit in a +smile. "There's that possibility that the chief might be right, anyway +Johnny thinks so." + +I felt blood pressure rising in me for the first time since my +transfusion. I started to tell Riley just what I thought of a cop who +wouldn't even draw his gun to save his own life. And then Riley pulled +the thing that gave me my second shock within a week, and somehow it +hurt me more than the slugs did. + +"Yeah, Johnny," he said, "he thinks the chief may be right. He's a +bright kid, too, smart as they come. He should be, he's my nephew and I +put him through college." + +"He's--he's your nephew?" I said. + +"Sure, and a swell lad; he'll go high on the force. And Southern, you'll +die laughing at this--he thinks you're about the bravest cop and finest +man he ever met." + +Well, that clinched it; I couldn't say a thing about the kid. I knew it +wasn't the right thing to do; I should have reported him the moment I +got out of the hospital, but the memory of Riley's pride stopped me +before I could speak. Instead, I laughed and joked with the cops at the +station, and tried not to be alone with Burke. I knew that I might tell +him exactly what I was thinking if he rubbed me the wrong way. + +And then on the tenth day after the shooting, Tony and his mob still in +hiding, I went back into 27 with Johnny Burke. To all outward +appearances we must have appeared to be the same old team, but there was +a difference. + +I was still taped, and the bandages irritated me every time I moved. But +there was an irritation in Johnny that shifting a bandage couldn't help. + +He tried to make conversation, but I wasn't in the least pleasant. After +a bit, he shut up and remained hunched over the wheel, his face as white +and stiff as though chiselled from marble. I felt sorry for him then, +but I felt a dull hatred, too. He had almost cost me my life, and might +do it again if something broke. + +I made a mental resolution to apply for a transfer the moment we got +back to the station. + +About three in the morning, there was a furtive whistle from the mouth +of an alley near where we had parked for a moment. Burke grunted +something, then climbed from the car. I went, too, just out of general +principles. + +I knew the whistler the moment I saw him. His name was Lefty +something-or-other, and he was about the sneakiest stool the department +had. Burke seemed to know him, for he started talking the second we were +out of sight of the street. + +"You found it?" he said. + +"Sure, it's down the street about six blocks. They're holed up in the +old warehouse." Lefty's tone was a thin, scared whisper. + +Burke pulled a packet of bills from his pocket, slipped them to Lefty's +skinny hand. Then the stool was gone down the darkness of the alley, and +Burke was turning to me. + +"One hundred bucks," he said, "but it's worth it." + +"What's worth it?" I asked, but I had a hunch about what was coming. + +"The information. I've had Lefty working for me for ten days. He's +spotted Flasco and his men in the empty warehouse down the street." + +"Well, what are we waiting for?" I snapped, "let's take them!" + +I had forgotten for the moment that the cop was a coward; but Burke +didn't waste a bit of time in bringing back my memory. + +"Maybe we'd better call headquarters?" he said slowly. + + * * * * * + +I caught at Burke's arm with a grip so tight it hurt my fingers. + +"Let me tell you something, Burke," I said, "Lefty is too ratty to +trust. Before a squad could get here, he'll tip Tony Flasco off about +cops coming. That's his way; he collects both ways." I let go his arm. +"We'll call headquarters, sure, but meanwhile we'll see what we can do +to stop those punks from leaving." + +Burke's face was whiter than any man's I've ever seen. A muscle twitched +in his cheek, and his hands lifted a bit. + +"Look, Southern," he said, "you don't understand." + +"Don't understand!" I was so filled with rage I could barely talk. "I +understand only too well. You dirty yellow rat, you're a disgrace to the +uniform you wear. You're afraid, afraid to meet another man on equal +footing. You were afraid of me in the gym; you were afraid of the drunk +in the beer joint; you were afraid of Tony's guns--and now you're afraid +to try to mop up a mob that's murdered two men in cold blood." I went +toward the street. "Well, by the Gods, I'm afraid too. I'm just as +scared as you of getting my belly full of hot lead. But this is my job, +and I intend to do it." + +"Look, Southern--" He caught at my sleeve. + +I shook myself free. "Look, hell! You've got a gun; why don't you use it +now the way you'd have used it on a defenseless drunk!" + +"That's what I'm trying--" + +I swung, lifted an uppercut from my knees. Johnny Burke went down, +crumpling slackly to the cement. + +"That's just in case I don't come back," I snarled, "I owe you that." + +And then I was running down the street. + +I ducked around the first corner, ran half a block, then slipped down +the alley. I was over my rage almost as soon as I was out of sight of +the cruiser, and suddenly sorry for what I had done. + +I knew that he would be coming to in a minute or so, and would call +headquarters and report. Meanwhile, it was my job to try and hold Flasco +and his mob until help arrived. I laughed suddenly without mirth; I knew +that one man didn't have a Chinaman's chance of holding four men in that +warehouse. + +I slowed down in the fourth block, realizing how weak my trip to the +hospital had made me. My head was swimming a bit, and there was a throb +of pain from my side where a slug had gouged a path. + +I darted down the alley, keeping under cover, watching other shadows to +see if there was a lookout posted. Finally, I came to the rear of the +vacant warehouse, satisfied that I had arrived unseen. + +I took a look around, trying to find a sliver of light that would reveal +the part of the building in which the men were hiding. Empty windows +leered back at me, scabby paint seemed to rustle in the light breeze, +but I couldn't find the slightest signs of life. + +I leaned weakly against the wall for a moment, wondering if the tip had +been on the square, knowing instinctively that it had. I leaped and +caught the bottom rung of a fire escape, pulled myself up until I could +get a foothold. + +Then I went upward as quietly as I could. I found an unlocked window on +the third floor, slipped silently through. I held my breath for a +moment, wondering if I had been heard. Then, my gun in my hand, I +sneaked through the darkness. + +I covered the entire floor, shaking a bit in nervousness as a rat +scuttled to safety. For seconds, I wondered if I might not be smarter by +waiting for reinforcements. + +And then my mind was made up for me. + +On the floor above there was the sudden sound of voices. I went toward +the stairs, climbed them slowly. My mouth was dry, and I could feel cold +sweat trickling down my spine. + +"Come on, come on," That was Tony's voice. "This place'll be hotter than +hell in another five minutes." + +I edged further up the steps, crouched with my head just below the +landing. I heard steps coming my way and saw the flicker of a light. +Then I stood up, lifted my gun. + +"Hold it," I said, "It's the law." + +There were the sounds of startled gasps behind the flashlight, then a +gun barked defiantly. I crouched a bit, blasted lead at shadowy figures. +I heard someone scream in agony, then a giant hand lifted me and sent me +rolling down the steps. + +"Got him!" That was Tony again. + +I tried to move, knew that another minute and I'd never be able to move +again. I stumbled to my feet, went back to the stairs. Above, I could +hear the mutter of scared voices. I knew why they didn't come down; they +were afraid I was playing possum. + +I collapsed on the second step, was suddenly sick because of the pain in +my chest. And then, the steps vibrated from a heavy weight. + +I lifted my head, wanting to see what was coming. For a moment, I +couldn't figure it out. Then I screamed out a warning. + + * * * * * + +But Johnny Burke went on up. One moment he was limned in the glow of the +flashlight, then gunfire made a blasting hell of that fourth floor. I +saw Johnny Burke's body jerk a bit under the impact of the slugs, but he +was too big to be stopped by them. + +I got to the top of the steps, not knowing how I got there, but in time +to see the finish. + +One man was down, probably sent there by my bullets, and another was +just crumpling from a smashed skull from a savage blow of Johnny Burke's +gun. A third man turned and tried to run, but Johnny's hands reached out +and hurled him against a wall. He was spreadeagled there for a moment, +then slumped sideways. + +And then Johnny closed with Flasco. + +He went back two steps as Tony pulled the trigger of the gun, then shook +his head and started forward again. He caught Tony, and they fought +silently for a second. Tony was big, but Johnny was bigger. But Johnny +was carrying enough lead to kill the average man. + +Tony knew that and fought with the viciousness of a cornered rat. But he +was no match for the devil that was Johnny then. Johnny caught him in +arms like heavy lengths of hawser, and the back of his coat split from +the sudden surge of strength that went through them. + +Tony Flasco screamed then, screamed like a woman in deadly agony and +fear. He pounded at Johnny Burke's face with bloody hands. Then there +was the sound of a heavy stick breaking, and Tony went utterly limp. + +Johnny loosened his grip, stood swaying for a moment. He was laughing, +laughing with a madness that chilled my heart. He turned, tottered +toward me, fell, then dragged himself along with his hands. He laughed +when he saw my face in the flashlight's glow, but there was no mirth in +the sounds. + +"I'm yellow," he said, "yellow as hell! I've been afraid all of my life. +Funny isn't it?" He choked a bit. "Then laugh, damn it, why don't you? +I'm big, and big guys aren't supposed to know what fear is. So I become +a cop, and for a while I think I'm learning bravery." + +"Easy, Johnny, easy," I said, seeing the trickle of crimson on his lips. + +"Easy, hell!" Johnny's hands clutched my shoulder. "Yeah, I was afraid +of you; you were the first man who ever stood up to me. I was afraid of +the drunk, too, and in my fear I almost murdered him. I knew then that +I could never carry a gun until I learned what bravery was." + +"For God's sake, Johnny, shut up!" I yelled, "You'll talk yourself into +a hemorrhage." + +"You'll listen to me and like it." + +I nodded, felt a sabre of pain in my chest where Tony's slug had blasted +into me. I tried to move, couldn't, his hand was too solid on my +shoulder. + +"So I couldn't get by without a gun," Johnny Burke's voice was growing +weaker. "So guess what I did--I took the bullets out. Yeah, I carried an +empty gun, afraid that if it were loaded I'd butcher somebody. You +thought I ran out on you the night of the hold-up, but I didn't. I tried +to tell you my gun was empty, but things happened too fast. And then +tonight, after Lefty gave us this hideout location, I didn't have time +to explain again. I had forgotten to bring shells for my gun, and wanted +to get some before we raided this warehouse. But you slugged me and came +yourself. I came to and followed you. Yeah, laugh that off, I followed +you in here with a gun I could use only for a club. Sure I'm yellow, I'm +yellow as hell, but I'm not such a rat I'd let you walk to certain death +without lifting a hand. And don't tell me I was brave; I was still as +yellow as I ever was. But I didn't have any choice. Hell, Southern, +don't you think I'd like to be brave like--" + +He crumpled inertly, his hand slipping from my shoulder. I don't +remember much about what happened after that, but it couldn't have been +much more than a minute before the cops broke in. + +We've got beds in the same room, Johnny and I. He'll be here quite a bit +longer than I will, but I figured maybe we'd better stick together while +we're in here. After all, if you're figuring on being partners for a +long time to come, there's no time like the present to make a few plans +for the future. + +I just caught a glimpse of his back through the silly gown he's wearing. +Even partly covered by the bandages, I like it. Somehow, it still is +pretty solid--too, I'm beginning to appreciate its whiteness. + +THE END + + + + +THE STRANGE CASE OF WILLIAM LONG + +by ROY GILES + +A TRUE FACT DETECTIVE SHORT + +[Illustration] + + +Among the many unsolved mysteries in American crime annals the strange +disappearance case of millionaire William Long, of Denver and Chicago, +stands out as unusually weird. The case is doubly interesting in that it +is marked by an almost exact parallel in the disappearance of +millionaire William Sweet of Montreal. In each case a million dollars in +cash disappeared with the victim. + +So far as is known the two cases are in no way connected. It is barely +possible that the same combination of kidnappers and murderers +perpetrated both crimes--if they were crimes. It is not altogether +impossible that both men disappeared of their own volition, although +such deductions might seem highly improbable. The William Long case is +the most interesting so it will be held for more detailed treatment +while a brief review is given of the William Sweet case which is the +more recent of the two. + +William Sweet dropped from visible earthly existence in a Montreal +office building a few minutes after he had been paid $1,000,000 in cash +for his holdings in a Canadian theater chain. He had insisted the deal +be for cash and the amount paid to him in his offices. The +purchasers--according to perfectly reliable witnesses--brought the money +to William Sweet's offices where they found him alone in an inner room. +They paid over the money, were handed the documents of conveyance in +return, and left the place. That was some twenty years ago and from that +moment to now no one has ever seen or heard of William Sweet or the +million dollars in cash. + +His attorneys, nor anyone connected with him closely, could account for +his strange actions prior to his disappearance. He was estranged from +his wife. She and others were questioned long and arduously by police +without result. His friends were the most mystified of all. + +A few years previously William Long, one of the oddest characters ever +to have existed outside the pages of fiction, dropped from sight on the +street in the Loop district in Chicago in mid-afternoon. He was carrying +a suitcase containing $1,000,000 in cash which he had just withdrawn +from a Chicago bank. He was on his way to pay the money to the heads of +a syndicate in control of Chicago's gambling concession. The money was +to purchase for him a controling interest in an illegal concession and +one that would not have been regarded as tangible, probably, by any man +in the world except a Western gambler. + +Furthermore, in order to get the million dollars with which to purchase +control of Chicago's gambling institutions Long had sacrificed a +perfectly legitimate and highly prosperous produce commission business. +Always a gambler, Long had tumbled into the legitimate million-dollar +business accidentally. He had entered into it against his better or +personal judgment and had no liking for it whatever. It interfered with +Long's gambling career, a situation which--to a man of Long's type--was +altogether intolerable. + +Western gamblers are legion--a reckless, money-plunging, romantic and +venturesome yet an admittedly square-shooting clan. Long was typical of +this crowd. He was a swagger dresser and more marked than many because +he was strikingly handsome. Even better looking was Long's red-haired +wife. They were an unusually devoted pair according to all reports. + +Long was born in Chicago and even as a young man he managed to climb +high in the gambling circles of that city. He was a high-ranking officer +in the fabulous gambling empire of John Worth, reputed to have been the +wealthiest gambler of all time with the possible exceptions of Edward +Chase and Vasil Chuckovich. Chase and Chuck, as they were known, +controled all gambling from Chicago west to the coast for thirty years +and amassed more than $20,000,000 apiece. Canfield, in all his glory, +nor any other Eastern gambler, not even the present wealthy, staid, and +conservative Col. Bradley, king of the modern gambling world, ever +approached the enormous fortunes of Worth, or Chase or Chuck. + +Chase was originally a Saratoga, N. Y., hotel clerk and his partner +Chuck was an Austrian emigrant, kitchen worker. Both were bitten by the +gambling bug in Saratoga and went West, not to grow up with, but to +fairly conquer the country. They ran a dime apiece up into +multi-millions without batting their eye-lashes. It was under the +direction of this highly spectacular pair that William Long, a gambling +genius in his own right, was destined to work in Denver. + +Long left Chicago for Denver during one of those periodical municipal +reform upheavals that sent his boss, John Worth, under cover for a +spell. Long arrived in Denver with his beautiful wife and a $10,000 bank +roll one bright spring day at the opening of the Overland Park racing +season. The Colorado resort fairly dripped with wealthy tourists and +members of the sporting fraternity from everywhere. He qualified with +Boss Ed Chase and was assigned territory. He opened up a rather modest +gambling hall near Seventeenth and Curtis streets. This was within a +stone's throw of Chase and Chuck's famous Cottage Club and it was +understood that Long was to take care of the overflow from the Cottage +resort. + +Just to bow to a time-honored custom, the room of Long's place fronting +on the street was fitted up as a fruit stand--a stall, of course, for +the spacious gambling hall in the back. This was more a condescension to +the church element than through any fear of the law. + +Long had been in operation only a few weeks when the altogether weird +began entering into his affairs. The Rocky Ford garden district in +Colorado began growing small melons. Some of them found their way to +Long's stall. A youth tended the stall and nobody connected with the +whole establishment ever cared whether the fruit stall ever profited a +dime or not. The youth knew his salary was coming from the games in back +but it was customary to treat any possible stray customer for fruit +quite seriously and attentively. + +One afternoon Long sent the youth on an errand and took charge of the +stall while the boy was gone. This was simply because all Long's dealers +were doing a Monte Carlo business in back and he was the only one +footloose. A man approached the stall and picked up one of the tiny +cantaloupes from Rocky Ford. He cut into it with a pocket-knife and +tasted the meat. Then the customer's eye-lids went up in the air. Long +observed him and, as he explained later, was becoming just a little +bored. Then the customer spoke, gravely, seriously: + +"This," he said, "is the most perfect and the most deliciously flavored +melon of its kind in all the world." + +"If that's true," said Long, "nobody seems to care. I can get them at a +dime apiece, wholesale. I'll sell you all you can carry at fifteen cents +each." + +"Where do you get them?" asked the customer. + +"They're grown down in Rocky Ford," said Long. + +"These melons are worth $1.50 each and I can get that for them. I'll +take a train-load, laid down in Chicago, green, at fifteen cents each. I +am Mr. Blank of Blank & Blank. We supply a wealthy trade, the most +excellent hotels and the royal families of Europe. Wire me the market +daily on these melons in season." + + * * * * * + +That was the beginning of the Rocky Ford cantaloupe fame. Prices soared +to seventy-five cents, wholesale, within a week. Long went into the +melon business with Senator Swink, of the Rocky Ford district. They +bought up the entire crop and cleaned up a million dollars profit each +within a few years. + +Then Long became restive. The gambling germs in his blood were rampant. +He sold out to Senator Swink and others and moved on to Chicago, his +early stamping ground. + +Worth, kingpin of the Chicago gambling fraternity, had grown old and +what is known as the "concession" had fallen into other hands. Long +found that, so far as the Chicago gambling situation was concerned, he +was an outsider looking in. He and his wife knew that even their old +friends could do nothing to change this situation. + +But our hero was nothing if not a determined person. Both he and his +beautiful red-haired wife liked Chicago and Long could not live without +gambling, so he was put to figuring out some way to make it possible for +him to fly his flags in the Loop or some other first-class commercial +district. + +Finally he decided that if he could gain a foothold no other way, no one +would try to prevent his buying his way in. So he made his famous offer +of $1,000,000 cash for a controling interest in one approved district. +What happened after that might never be thoroughly understood. A little +light is thrown on the shadow by some known facts regarding Chicago +gamblers and their wars. + +Like Long, himself, all Chicago gamblers are determined persons. The +famous killing of Jake Lingel and other interesting little events only +go to show just how determined Chicago gamblers are at times. It is +possible that there was an element in Chicago that did not exactly +approve of Long's activities. It is possible that they objected to his +entrance into the lists at any price. + +What can happen under such conditions is shown by a page from the record +which reveals that, some years back, one gambling contingent was in and +another contingent was out. The outs were warring with the ins. During +this one war 49 bombs were tossed and planted and 49 gambling +establishments were blasted, uprooted and blown into the air. + +There is no doubt that Long was aware of conditions. Whatever it was +that happened to him he certainly must have walked into it with his eyes +wide open. + +His deal to pay $1,000,000 cash for a gambling concession progressed to +a point where Long withdrew the money from a bank. He took it to his +hotel room where he waited with his wife for a telephone call. The money +was in a suitcase. The phone rang and according to the wife Long +answered it. It was a little after one o'clock in the afternoon--broad +daylight, of course. + +Long turned from the phone to his wife. + +"I am going over now, and meet the boys," he said. "I have only got to +go about two blocks and as soon as I sign up I will be right back." + +"For God's sake be careful," cautioned the wife. + +"Don't be silly," laughed Long. "It is broad daylight. I am only going a +couple of blocks along the busiest street in the world. This suitcase +will attract no more attention than any other suitcase." Long kissed his +wife and left. He was confident and cheerful. But he did not come back. + +The beautiful wife waited and waited. She phoned all their friends and +all the hospitals. + +Gamblers' wives are never in a hurry to phone the police but finally, +after many hours of waiting and weeping, Mrs. Long did just that. It +availed her nothing. To use a hackneyed figure, it was as though the +earth had opened and swallowed her husband. + + + + +A DINNER DATE WITH MURDER + +by HARRY STEIN + + +It was long past the dinner hour and too early for the after theatre +crowd. The two men at the table near the door were the only patrons in +Luigi's restaurant. They had eaten and were sitting there drinking wine. +They drank very slowly and it was plain that they were waiting for +somebody because they weren't talking much and had the half bored, half +impatient look of people who have nothing to do but wait. At a table +near the back of the room the waiter, who seemed to be the only one on +duty, sat smoking a black twisted cigar and reading a newspaper. + +One of the men put his wine glass down and lit a cigarette. Even sitting +down he was noticeably shorter than his companion but he was powerfully +built. He had a deep olive complexion and eyes that were black and +sparkling. + +"It looks like your man isn't coming, Dan," he said. + +"Don't worry about that, Gatti," Dan said. "He'll turn up. He knows the +trail's hot and he'd rather be a live rat than a dead kidnapper." + +Gatti shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said vaguely. "You say +you'll know if it's the same one that phoned. How can you be sure?" + +"The accent. It's unmistakable. A deep voice and an accent like a +vaudeville dialectician's." + +Gatti refilled their glasses from the green bottle on the table. Then +they were silent. + +The front door opened and two men entered. One was fat with a complexion +the color of old weather beaten brick and eyes that were watery and +cold. He wore a high crowned, pearl grey fedora, set squarely on his +head and his fleecy coat had heavily padded shoulders. The other man was +slight and sallow. His coat was too tight across his back and he walked +with a defiant swagger. They hung their hats and coats on the rack and +sat down two tables away from the one at which Dan and Gatti were +sitting. The waiter put down his cigar and came to their table, bowing +slightly. + +"Spaghetti wid' a meat sauce," the stout man ordered loudly, "an' a +bottle a' Chianti." + +"Same," the small man said laconically. + +The waiter went off without a word. The two men lit cigarettes. Dan and +Gatti watched them with open curiosity, waiting for some sign but they +smoked in silence, never looking in the direction of the other table. + +"It's the organ grinder accent all right," Gatti said in a barely +audible voice. "But where's the high sign?" + +"Give him a chance," Dan mumbled. "He has to be plenty careful, I +suppose." + +The waiter came in with a wicker wrapped bottle which he set on the +table before the newcomers. Then he went back to the kitchen and when he +returned he brought two heaping plates of spaghetti, dripping reddish +brown sauce and giving off a fragrant steam. + +"The idea is to talk on a full stomach, I suppose," Gatti whispered. "Or +isn't he the guy? I thought your man was coming alone." + +"He didn't say," Dan said. + +Gatti watched the fat, red faced man wielding fork and knife, eating the +spaghetti with great relish. + +"Dat's a pretty good a' spaghetti, eh Joe?" the fat man said loudly. + +"Right," Joe replied briefly. + +Dan looked toward the back of the room where the waiter was again +occupied with his cigar and paper. Maybe they're waiting for the waiter +to clear out first, he was thinking. He sipped at his wine, waiting.... +Then he looked up again. The stout man had almost finished what was on +his plate and was taking a long drink from his wine glass. He put the +glass down and sat back in his chair. He turned his watery eyes on Dan +and nodded his head slowly up and down ... up and down. Dan glanced +quickly at Gatti who had his elbow on the table and seemed to be +sleepily leaning far over to one side of his chair. Then he nodded his +head at the stout man just as the latter had done. + +The next instant he was on the floor and somewhere over his head, +repeated claps of thunder were bursting as if they would never cease and +from the other table he heard a choked scream. His ears hurt in the +silence that followed. + + * * * * * + +When he rose from the floor Gatti, gun in hand, was already standing at +the side of the two men who a little while before had been enjoying +their spaghetti and were now dead. The waiter had disappeared. Dan took +a revolver from the lifeless hand of the small, sallow faced man. He +looked at the chambers. All the cartridges were neatly in place. + +"He never had a chance to use it," Gatti explained. + +The door opened again. A man with his hat drawn down low over his eyes, +stood in the doorway and looked wildly about at the dead men and at Dan +and Gatti. Then he turned around frantically. + +"Our man," Gatti cried. + +He leaped forward, grabbed the fleeing man by the elbow and jerked him +violently into the room. + +"You wanted to see us," Gatti said. "You phoned the lieutenant, didn't +you?" + +Every feature of the man's face was distorted with terror. Gatti shook +him. + +"This is the lieutenant," he said pointing to Dan. "What were you going +to tell him?" + +The man was looking at the corpses with a slow, steady gaze. His face +was more composed now. + +"Sure," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "Dey a' deada now, yes? I no +hava ta be afraid, yes?" + +"That's right, they're dead," Dan said. "Where have they been keeping +the kid?" + +The man drew a piece of paper from his pocket. Dan read the address on +it and put it in his own pocket. + +"Who are they?" he asked pointing to the bodies. + +The man was calm now. + +"Dat's a' Rocky Callahan," he said, "an'a da leetle wan he's a Joe +Baker. I was a' gon' ta tell you. I was a' gon' ta--how you say--walk +out on a' dem." + +"Rocky Callahan from Detroit!" Dan said in surprise. "You mean the fat +feller." + +"Dat's a'right." + +"Sucker," Gatti chuckled. + +"Yeah," Dan said wryly. "But what started the target practice?" + +"He pulled a rod on us," Gatti said. + +"Who?" + +"Joe Baker, the little guy." + +"I didn't see it." + +"Sure, because you weren't looking for it." + +"I was looking at them." + +"Baker had it under the table in the hand he wasn't eating with. You +couldn't notice unless you bent down to look under the flap of their +tablecloth. They must have found out their pal here was going to sing +and figured he probably told us too much already. They counted on +getting him later." + +Dan nodded reflectively. "But what I want to know," he said, "is how you +happened to be looking under their table." + +Gatti chuckled some more. + +"I was just making sure," he said. "Guys named Callahan shouldn't try to +eat spaghetti. He might have palmed off the accent but nobody with a +real accent like that would cut up his spaghetti with a knife and pick +up tiny pieces on his fork." + +"What's wrong with that?" Dan wanted to know. + +Gatti gave him a look of contempt. "You eat spaghetti with a fork and a +tablespoon to help you wind it around the fork and you eat it full +length or it isn't worth eating." + +"You dam' right," Gatti's prisoner put in belligerently. His fear and +humility were completely gone now. "Dat's a' da only way ta eata him." + + + + +ARTISTIC MURDERS MISFIRE + +_A TRUE FACT CRIME SHORT_ + +by MAT RAND + + +A scientific detective, identified with national and international law +enforcement agencies, is authority for the statement that there are at +least eighteen methods of murder that practically defy detection. Yet +the record shows that there are very few murders committed in any one of +the eighteen ways that go unpunished. In other words the old adage, +"Murder Will Out," is true according to the record in about ninety +percent of all felonious killings. + +To commit a murder in any one of the mentioned eighteen ways it would be +necessary for the murderer to be a reasonably advanced scientist. Few +possess the technical knowledge necessary to destroy their fellow beings +by these methods. Nevertheless, all eighteen of the methods mentioned +have been tried from time to time with varying success in escaping +conviction. + +It would appear that persons of scientific attainment could be counted +upon not to attempt murder. This is not true. Education is not a +one-hundred percent deterrent to crime. Educated persons have only a +slightly less average as potential murderers than the illiterate. Not +even motives differ except in cases of murder for robbery. Considering +robbery as greed this difference is removed. Jealousy figures as a +motive in a large number of murders and among the educated murderers it +is paramount. + +[Illustration] + +Considering murder--for that matter all forms of crime--as an art it +would seem likely that the criminals of education or scientific +attainment would excel as master craftsmen. This isn't true either. Just +the opposite prevails. In practically all crimes attempted by scientists +they bungle their jobs completely. The record proves positively that as +criminals scientists are flunkies without a single recorded exception. + +Where a murder is committed by a method that destroys its own evidence +or fails to leave what might be called a "trace" or clue detectives are +hampered but not necessarily baffled. In these cases, almost without +exception, it is circumstances that bring the criminal to punishment. +While a jury might refuse to convict on circumstantial evidence a +detective is not so deterred. The scientific detective turns science +against the scientific murderer. He batters the suspect with +circumstantial evidence until in nine out of ten cases the scientific +suspect weakens and acknowledges his crime. Circumstantial evidence +backed by a confession that checks on all angles is about all any jury +needs to be convinced of guilt. + +When your correspondent began to dig into this subject of artistic or +scientific murder Government detectives--themselves master +scientists--made a request. They asked that we be "a little vague" in +the use of proper names and in description of the eighteen murder +methods most difficult of detection. So, we will name no chemicals or +poisons but confine ourselves to effects and processes. + +The commonest method is the complete destruction of the corpse--the +corpus delicti. Cremation is the usual means resorted to. The body is +burned in a furnace or on a pyre. Effort is sometimes made to make +identification impossible by burning the body or parts of it in gasoline +flames. The scientist has no edge on his uneducated fellow in this type +of murder case. He practically never is able to remain with the burning +corpse long enough to do a perfect job. + +In many cases complete dissolution of the corpse is attempted by +immersion in acids. There are acids that completely dissolve bone tissue +and even clothing but circumstances usually reveal these crimes. +Accessibility to such chemicals and procurement of such chemicals +usually lead to a search. The search usually leads to the finding of +bone fragments, identifiable by means of buttons, bits of jewelry, +metallic dentistry and other bits of evidence which escapes or rather +resists the acid effects. + +And now we get into some deep scientific water. It is actually possible +by the exact and accurate dosage of a certain poison, over a long +period, to produce death "by typhoid fever." This poison, a common and +easily available one shows up like an electric sign when not +scientifically administered. But when given in frequent and exact small +quantities it produces every symptom of typhoid. Quite often the corpse +is buried as a typhoid victim. + +In most of these "typhoid" cases the motive is insurance and the +murderer encouraged by success in one case attempts others. Sometimes +there are a score of victims. In practically all cases the murderer is +convicted in the long run. The circumstances that usually bring about +detection are doctors and nurses and neighbors. They will remember that +the murderer was always quite enthusiastic about insurance. A nurse will +remember that the murderer insisted on preparing the victim's food. +Sometimes a druggist will remember selling some poison to kill a dog or +as an insecticide. + + * * * * * + +There is, too, a gas that administered in exactly correct quantities +will produce "tuberculosis." This gas kills instantly unless +scientifically administered. A small quantity will cause the lungs to +"rot" gradually bringing death in from five to thirty days with all the +symptoms of rapid or "galloping" consumption. Doctors have so diagnosed +such cases but circumstances usually bring the crime to light. First +among these is that the gas is rare, ordinarily. It can be home-made but +only by a chemist with a well-grounded knowledge. + +It would appear that, among poisons, the most powerful would be the +hardest to detect. This because a small dose would leave less trace than +a large one. It follows only in some cases. One very powerful poison +absolutely defies detection. Another, and the most deadly poison known +to man reveals itself instantly. This second poison perfumes the corpse +and leaves it smelling with a fruity odor. Any doctor or chemist can +identify it instantly regardless of how small the dose might have been. + +In the event of the first named powerful poison--the one that defies +detection--there is no odor or other discernible indication of any +nature. When scientifically administered the fatal dose is less than one +billionth the weight of an ordinary human body. Thus, to trace it, the +autopsy doctors would have to find, separate or segregate a billionth +bit of the mass under observation. The body completely absorbs the fatal +chemical and so--. + +This poison has its uses but is rare and impossible to obtain even by +most chemists. There are few dispensing druggists who have scales +sensitive enough to weigh the dosage of the chemical. Even for doctors +to obtain it is an undertaking involving considerable red tape. But it +has been used by murderers--scientific murderers. Circumstances in these +cases have proven that the murderer possessed the drug and had a motive +to use it. Confession has followed circumstantial evidence in some cases +and in others conviction has been obtained on expert testimony backed by +positive circumstantial conditions, such as the presence of the corpse +and proof of the ante-mortem possession of the fatal drug by the +suspected murderer. + +A fiction story of the football grid, some years ago, involved the use +of a solution to produce a fatal gas under conditions of bodily heat +produced by violent exercise. This was authentic so far as action and +effects were concerned. In the football story the victim's sweater was +soaked in a deadly solution. Under the heat of the exercise during the +football game the victim's body generated the gas which he inhaled. The +gas stimulated his heart action to the point where a blood vessel was +ruptured causing death. + +The actual case from which this fiction story was borrowed involved a +man, a wife, and the wife's clandestine violinist lover. The wife +knitted the sweater for her admirer. Her husband dipped it in chemical +solution and dried it while his wife was absent. When she returned she +expressed the sweater to her admirer. He wore it under his shirt. His +body heat produced the gas which was inhaled by the violinist in +sufficient quantities to cause death. + +The hypodermic needle is a weapon of death which has caused autopsy +physicians trouble since its invention. Murder by the hypodermic needle, +no doubt, would escape detection often enough were it not for +circumstances. Such circumstances of death are ever in the mind of +autopsy doctors. Where evidence warrants it corpses are subjected to +microscopic and meticulous search to locate a hypodermic puncture. And +they can be located even when hidden back of an eyelid as was the case +in one instance, that of an infant. The suspected murderer, in this +case, a colored mother, died in an insane asylum. + +In cases such as have been described here readers might wonder why +names, dates and places are not revealed. They might ask why scientific +detectives desire the text to be vague. The reason is quite simple and +understandable once it is explained. Even where conviction is obtained +in such cases it is only after the most laborious and expensive +processes and investigations. Living relatives of the accused in each +case might be moved to bring suit on any of many grounds. This would +result in more long, laborious and expensive litigation--to the +Government, the writer, the publisher, doctors, detectives and what not? + +This thing has been going on for centuries. As far back as history +records mysterious poisons have been a common means of murder. There are +thousands of poisons. Some of these, products of the jungles held secret +by savage tribes, are still little known to or understood by scientists. +Poisons are given up by the earth, secreted by plants and by animals. +They are produced by combining chemicals and by chemical reactions. In +nature they are begotten by elemental distillation, by the action of the +sun's rays, by the excrement of animals including the fishes, by the +promulgation of minute organisms, and in a myriad of mysterious ways. + +Some of these processes are well understood and some little understood +by man. As is the case with electrical and other forms of scientific +research the field of scientific criminal detection hardly has been +scratched. Research is constant and no doubt will be perpetual. No one +knows where any sort of research will lead. Scientific detectives call +attention to this fact: + + "Such research is valuable not only in the matter of law + enforcement but might prove of inestimable value in other fields. + It might lead to a discovery that would end cancer or one that + would end war." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hooded Detective, Volume III No. 2, +January, 1942, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOODED DETECTIVE, VOLUME III *** + +***** This file should be named 38466.txt or 38466.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/4/6/38466/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, John Betancourt, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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