Dinner was finished at the Brierly camp when a telephone message
from the Higginbotham camp requested Professor Brierly to come
down there that evening, if it was convenient. McCall and, as an
afterthought, Hale, were included in the invitation.
After their arrival Justice Higginbotham began without preamble:
"What conclusions have you reached with reference to these
murders, Professor?"
Professor Brierly looked at his questioner curiously. He looked
about at the other men. The strain was increasingly telling on
them. Old men, all of them, the difference that the last three
days had made in their appearance was startling. A furtive,
harrowing fear was apparent in most of their countenances.
Professor Brierly answered gently:
"I do not believe I have reached any general conclusion, Judge.
The facts, as I found them, that may be helpful to the police I
have given the police. Understand, please, I am not a policeman
nor a detective. I am a simple scientist and it is as problems in
science that I approach these subjects."
"Perhaps I have not made myself clear, Professor. We, or rather
most of us, are in a very unhappy state of mind. Thus, what might
three days ago have been a very simple thing, takes on for all of
us perhaps a grossly exaggerated importance. Mr. Flynn there,"
glancing toward one of the men who was looking with dull unseeing
eyes at the table, "has an important errand at his home. His home
is in Pleasantville, N.Y. That is not far from New York City. We
are really perplexed as to whether we ought to let him go."
Justice Higginbotham nervously clenched his fist until the
knuckles showed white.
"This is ghastly, Professor. Let me put it bluntly. Here we are,
eleven old comrades, and we are--shall I say it--suspicious of one
another. There, you have it, but it is the simple truth. Perhaps
all of us do not share this unworthy feeling." He smiled grimly
and continued:
"We are old men. In this state of mind, if it continues and grows
as it must, unless this damnable mess is cleared up, we will all
die shortly without the aid of murder."
McGuire stood up abruptly and took several paces back and forth.
He growled:
"Yes, it's hellish. We don't like the idea of Flynn going off by
himself and at the same time we are all afraid to stay here. That
damn Tontine policy. If not for that we would not--"
His sentence was left unfinished. Several of the old heads nodded
in agreement. Flynn looked up. With an air of obviously false
bravado he exclaimed:
"What the hell is there to be afraid of? And suppose I do follow
the others? I told you when I came three days ago that I could not
spend the week. I just have to attend to this matter." He shook
his head stubbornly. "If we take this attitude--we are men, aren't
we. Can't we protect ourselves, now that we know definitely of the
danger. Or aren't we exaggerating the danger?"
Mr. Marshall said gently.
"But it is not altogether our fear for your safety, Bill, that is
in our minds. It is--let us put it frankly--"
McGuire interrupted.
"Oh, go on, say it, Hank, say it! It is fear of one another as
well as fear for one another. Is that it?"
Marshall nodded. Jimmy tingled at this scene. There was an
electric tension that might result in--almost anything. McGuire
continued:
"Stay here, Flynn, stay here until this thing is cleaned up."
Flynn got out of his seat. He picked up a light top coat and hat
that had been on the arm of his chair.
"Well, I've got to go and that's that. You all know I've got to
go. If you're afraid of me, send a guard along. If you're afraid
for me, the same guard can do your business."
Justice Higginbotham turned to McCall.
"Mr. McCall, see to it that Flynn is guarded from the moment he
steps foot in New York. We will see to it that he has adequate
protection until he reaches New York." His eyes swept the rest of
the group. "Is that satisfactory?"
There was a general nod of assent. Justice Higginbotham continued:
"For God's sake, let us not be children or old women. We have all
faced death before, we have faced other and worse things. We
should get some reports soon that will clear this up. In a day, at
the most in two days, we will know definitely if Amos Brown, the
only remaining member of '14', is still alive."
Bruce Thomas spoke up:
"Facing death from a musket with your comrades about you is
comparatively easy, Isaac. But this damnable thing--"
"Forget it. Let us confront it. We--"
The ringing of the telephone interrupted him; Jimmy saw the
majority of the old men wince as at a blow. He had a vivid
recollection of the hourly ringing of the telephone on the fatal
morning of July fourth, it seemed so long ago, and the deadly
messages the telephone brought.
The grizzled negro came to the door.
"Lentone police calling, Jedge."
There was an unwonted gleam of excitement in the eyes of the
venerable jurist as he returned to the waiting men.
"Lentone police say they have the man who murdered Miller. They
want you to come down there, Professor. A man by the name of
Grasher--"
"Brasher," corrected Jimmy.
"Yes, Brasher, he was on the wire. He seemed quite elated and he
wants you to come right down there, Professor."
William Flynn who was about to go when the telephone bell rang,
paused when he heard the news. He shrugged his shoulders. Jimmy
who had been watching him saw the look of furtive defiance and
bravado lift from him. He said:
"That doesn't make any difference in my plans. I'll have to go
anyway. I'd like to wait and see this out. I feel better just the
same though, if they've got the killer."
McCall addressed him: "Come down to the Lentone police station
with us, Mr. Flynn. We'll arrange for protection for you."
Chief of Police Cassidy, of the Lentone Police, consented readily
to the request made by McCall. Then the three men were led into
the chief's office. Brasher explained briefly:
"Professor, this bird we got has as many aliases as I got hairs in
my head and he's got a criminal record as long as my arm. He's
known to the police from here to the Mississippi. The last job he
did was in New York, up above Yonkers, where he got into a house
like he got into Miller's Folly, chimney, rope, climbing irons and
everything. He beat the rap on a technical kink.
"About three hours ago, he was caught over near the New Hampshire
line driving a stolen car. We got his record all right. We was
waitin' till you came. Want to ask him some questions?"
"No, but I should like to be here when you examine him, if you
don't mind?"
Chicago Boyle' alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias to many names to
mention, was brought in. Boyle was a well dressed man in the
middle thirties. He was strongly and compactly built. He
scrutinized carefully each of the men who faced him. He jauntily
asked for a cigarette, which Brasher supplied him. He did not take
his eyes from Professor Brierly while he was lighting the white
tube.
After blowing a series of small smoke rings, he asked:
"You're Professor Brierly, aren't you?" His voice was soft and
quietly modulated. His diction was that of a fairly well educated
man.
Professor Brierly nodded curtly. Brasher pointed to a chair and
said:
"To save time, Boyle, I suppose you'll admit that you're 'Chicago'
Boyle, alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias--"
Boyle nodded indifferently.
"Oh, yes, I'm Boyle all right, what of it? I was going about my
business, when a hick cop picked me up because he thought my car
was stolen. Then I'm transported half way across the state and
brought here. What's it all about?"
"We want to ask you some questions, Boyle."
"You can ask as many damn questions as you please. I won't answer
'em. I know my rights. I asked to see a lawyer and you've kept me--"
"Oh, you'll get your lawyer, all right but first--"
"No, first I'll see my lawyer."
Brasher stepped to the doorway and beckoned. A middle-aged man,
with blond hair and gimlet like black eyes stepped in. He nodded
curtly to the others and said to Boyle:
"What is it?"
"I'm kept here without the shadow of a legal excuse. I don't know
what I was arrested for. I've seen no warrant. I haven't been
charged."
Counselor-at-law Forman whirled on the chief of police.
"Is this true?" Without waiting for an answer he said heatedly:
"I demand to know what he's charged with. I demand that he be
brought before a judge and admitted to bail. I'll have a _habeus
corpus_--"
Brasher said softly.
"It's true we didn't charge him. We want to ask him some
questions. If he insists on his rights, we'll charge him all right
but if we do there won't be no bail. There's no bail for what
we're gonna charge him with."
Boyle and Forman stared at the speaker. The lawyer finally asked:
"What are you talking about, no bail. Only in murder cases can a
prisoner be denied bail."
"That's what I'm talkin' about, Mr. Forman. You're a smart lawyer
all right. Murder is what we're gonna charge him with if he and
you insist."
Jimmy had been watching Boyle. After the first momentary surprise,
a gleam of sardonic amusement appeared in his eyes. He seemed not
at all concerned with the gravity of the charge. But this lasted
only a short time. He turned grave, but Jimmy was quite certain he
was not frightened. He said:
"Wait a minute, Mr. Forman. This flatfoot hasn't got a thing on
me. It may be better to answer questions and--"
"No!" burst out Forman. "Don't answer any questions. They'll--"
Of the two the prisoner seemed far the cooler. He shook his head
gently.
"Naw, they won't do a thing; they haven't got anything to do it
with. Let 'em ask."
The lawyer glared at him. He spat out:
"Better get another lawyer, since you know so much." He turned
abruptly and walked out.
Boyle turned a smiling face to the other men in the room.
"These mouthpieces have their little ways, haven't they? One would
think HE was being accused of murder. Go on and ask what you like.
I'll answer your questions because I haven't got anything to
hide."
"That's swell," said Brasher with thinly disguised sarcasm.
"'Member the job of yours near Yonkers, where you got in with a
rope hooked around a chimney and climbin' irons. 'Member that,
Boyle?"
"Sure, I remember it. But that was a frame up. The police had to
have a goat and I was it. But they didn't get away with it. Some
judges are honest and this one didn't let them frame me."
"Yeah, that's right. Well, Boyle, mebbe you heard about this
Morris Miller who was murdered right outside of town here early in
the morning of July 4th. Heard of that did you?"
There was a tightening of the prisoner's jaw muscles. His brows
were drawn together. His hand holding the cigarette stopped
midway. He was looking fixedly at the detective. He nodded.
"Yes, I heard of it. What of it?"
"Well, the bird who bumped off this Miller got in by using a rope
hooked around a chimney like you did--excuse me--like they alleged
you did in Yonkers. He used climbing irons too. You used to be a
lineman didn't you, Boyle?"
Brasher stopped, waiting for the effect of this on the prisoner.
He continued:
"Now all you got to do, Boyle, is to convince us that you weren't
there when Mr. Miller was killed and we'll let you go. See."
Boyle's eyes blinked. His ruddy complexion turned several shades
lighter. He blinked again. He wet his lips. He made a visible
effort to appear calm. He sneered:
"Just like a dumb cop. Asking me to prove that I didn't do it. You
ought to know by this time that it's up to you to prove that I did
it, that I was where you say I was."
"I'm not saying anything--yet, Boyle. I'm not saying you was there,
but--" he stood up and was standing over the prisoner his face
thrust forward, his eyes glinting threateningly, "Boyle, you got a
record as long as a pedigreed dog. You've been mugged and finger
printed all over this country. You done a bit in Joliet for
getting into a house the same way as you got in in Yonkers and as
you got in--Miller's Folly. All you got to do, Boyle, is prove--sure
you're right about the law, Boyle, about us having to prove it,
you're right about that.
"But just picture the jury, Boyle. The jury don't know as much law
as you do. We'll give the jury your record, see? We'll tell 'em--we'll
tell 'em plenty. Where was you that night Boyle?"
Boyle wet his lips.
"I was in a 'speak' that night. About eight o'clock I got talking
with a man, a stranger, a man I don't know. We had a couple of
drinks. He had a business proposition to make and he wanted me to
take a drive with him. I went. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a
ditch about four miles from here. It was morning. I guess my drink
was drugged. The man, whoever he was, took everything I had on me
except my watch. He didn't get it because it was in the little fob
pocket of my trousers. I had a vest on."
"Where was this 'speak,' Boyle?"
"It was Corbett's," said Boyle after a momentary hesitation.
"Did anybody in Corbett's know this bird, Boyle?"
"I don't know; he was a stranger to me."
Brasher lifted the receiver from the hook. After an interval the
connection was made. Boyle watched him anxiously while he was
asking the unseen person at the other end of the wire some
questions. Brasher hung up the receiver. He turned to Boyle:
"Yeah, they say you was there and left with a stranger about eight
o'clock that night. They never saw this bird before. What business
was you talkin' to him about, Boyle?"
"Oh, just some private business."
"Oh, private business, huh. You walk away with--by the way, Boyle,
what business are you in now?"
There was a long pause. Then Boyle answered in a low voice, all
his jauntiness and assurance gone.
"I do a little bootlegging."
"Willing to admit it now, huh. Bootlegging is easier than murder
ain't it, Boyle? And where was you goin' when you was picked up?"
"I was leaving the state. What the hell could I do. This bird
cleaned me out. I had my roll on me when I was with him."
"Yeah. You, Boyle, an old-timer, falls in with a stranger in a
speakeasy and goes with him at night in his car to listen to a
business proposition. And the next thing you know it's mornin' an'
you're sleepin' in a ditch. Well, Boyle, we'll make it all legal
now. I charge you with murderin' Morris Miller on the night of
July 3rd. I warn you now that everythin' you say may be used
against you."
As he was about to be led out of the room, Professor Brierly asked
a question.
"Mr. Boyle, the watch you spoke of. What kind of watch is it, a
wrist watch or a pocket watch?"
The prisoner looked at him a long time, then he burst out.
"What the hell is this? What's the watch got to do with--"
"Do you care to answer the question, Mr. Boyle?" asked the old
scientist.
There was something in Professor Brierly's demeanor that made the
prisoner change his mind and his manner. He answered politely:
"A pocket watch, sir."
"How long have you had the watch?"
The prisoner reflected the surprise of the other men but answered
promptly: "I've had it about eighteen years."
"Thank you Mr. Boyle. May I see the watch please--oh, I beg your
pardon. I forgot."
When the prisoner was led out, Professor Brierly asked Brasher to
show him the watch. When it was brought, a thin, gold, open face
watch, Professor Brierly asked:
"How can we determine if he is telling the truth about the length
of time he had the watch?"
McCall asked Brasher:
"How long ago was this Yonkers job, Brasher?"
"'Bout three years ago."
McCall turned to the Professor.
"They may have a record in the police station, where he was booked
on that Yonkers affair of the stuff he had with him. If they have
a record and description of this watch we will know that he has
had it this length of time anyway. Will that help, Professor?"
"Why, yes. That may be very helpful."
The New York District Attorney made the call. When his connection
with the proper source of information was finally complete he held
out his hand mutely for the watch. He described it in detail
including a monogram on the case. When he hung up the receiver he
nodded.
"Yes, this watch was among the effects found on his person when he
was arrested. A careful record was kept of it because at the time
it was suspected that the watch had been stolen."
Brasher had impatiently waited for this, to him unimportant and
irrelevant matter to be disposed of. Now he burst out.
"Well, Professor, we got him didn't we. That sure was a swell tip
of yours."
Professor Brierly did not appear to be listening. When Brasher
repeated the question he shook his head absently.
"What? Oh, yes, yes. If you mean that we have the murderer of Mr.
Miller, Mr. Brasher, I am not at all certain that you are right.
Would you mind asking this Boyle when he had this watch cleaned
last?"
Brasher looked at him in undisguised surprise. Professor Brierly
was oblivious to this. He was peering intently at the watch.
Brasher stepped out and in a short time he returned saying
gruffly:
"He says it hasn't been cleaned for about four or five years."
Then he changed his tone and asked with a faint imitation of his
former enthusiasm:
"But we got him, Professor, we got him. Gee what a swell break for
us that you was there." He added generously. "I'm sure I couldn't
'a' seen what you seen, Professor."
Professor Brierly was still in an absent minded mood. He was
looking at the watch. Suddenly he said:
"Mr. Brasher, may I have this watch for a few hours. I will return
it."
Brasher looked at the chief of police who nodded.