Sunday, the next day, gave Jimmy a chance to rest. He supplied
himself with as many papers as he could get in Lentone and began
reading what others had to say about the most sensational murder
case in a decade. From the first moment when Professor Brierly had
pronounced the Miller death a murder the affair had assumed
national importance.
Following the clues supplied by the members of the Tontine group a
number of the papers and the important press services had followed
the dim traces of one Amos Brown, the last surviving member of the
batch of prisoners who had been numbered '14' in Libby Prison far
back in 1864.
One of the papers told in vivid detail of the disbanding of the
army of the North by President Johnson on assuming office after
Lincoln's assassination. This told of the day when two hundred
thousand in weather worn uniforms, with tattered flags and
polished guns trudged in review before the President.
It pictured several members of the Tontine group, youngsters of
seventeen or eighteen, forming part of the audience that saw this
army go by. It depicted a few of the Union members of the Tontine
group in that marching horde. The story told in vivid detail of
the attempts of the Confederate veterans to go back home to the
quiet and industrious productive life which now that peace was at
hand, they yearned most for.
The papers gave a brief history of each member of the dwindling
Tontine group. They showed how the two hundred and thirty-seven
adversaries in the war had lived in amity and peace during the
span of years in the true spirit of comradeship.
The papers spoke of the enormous size of the fund, which in the
sixty-five years had, because of compound interest, grown with
geometric leaps. One of the special writers had elicited from Mr.
Marshall, former Ambassador to Great Britain, the information that
for nearly a decade the surviving members had reached a compromise
by which each survivor was to get annually an amount sufficient
for a livelihood. This amount was not divulged. This reporter did
learn, however, that this was done at the suggestion of one of the
wealthiest members of the group. Jimmy suspected that this member
was August Schurman.
It was explained that the purpose of this was to save from actual
want those members who were not as fortunate financially as their
comrades. This method of dividing a small part of the fund,
without impairing seriously the capital amount, would preserve the
self-respect of the poorer members.
One of the papers dug up an interesting story about Stanislav
Vasiliewski, who was a Confederate soldier and had a brother in
the Union army. Stanislav's brother had been captured and held in
Jackson, Mississippi, where a rickety old enclosed bridge, the
ruins of which had been left standing above the water, was used as
a prison. The prisoners were kept in this structure for one month
in the coldest season of the year without beds or bedding. At this
prison there was no fire or lights. Almost every day two or three
were carried out dead; some of them frequently lay at the entrance
to the bridge unburied four or five days.
Stanislav found his brother a prisoner in this place. It appeared
certain to him that his brother would not survive the terrible
conditions more than a few days longer. He thereupon changed
uniforms with his brother and forced the latter to leave the
prison, himself remaining with the probability of facing a firing
squad.
This paper mentioned Colonel Thomas C. Fletcher, of Blair's
Brigade, commander of the Missouri Wide Awake Zouaves, being
wounded and captured by the Confederates and with twenty other
men, privates and officers, being put into this prison.
Reporters, special writers, novelists spread themselves in this
Sunday edition. They extracted from the situation all the thrill,
glamour and romance they could. And permeating it all was the
terrible threat of death that hung over the heads of the Tontine
group; the mysterious "14," who for all these years had followed
the group relentlessly with his terrible reminders.
And, strange to say, with the major newspapers and police of two
countries making an exhaustive search, there was not one tangible
clue leading to the murderer or murderers. The newspapers talked
of "clues." The police of many communities talked of "clues." They
issued statements to the effect that shortly there would be new
developments. Jimmy, the veteran newspaperman, took this all for
exactly what it was worth. He knew that most of it or all of it
was "dope." The reporters had run out of facts and were having
recourse to vague speculations. Strange too, Jimmy wondered that
in a story so replete with color and glamour, that this should be
the situation.
The story was less than three days old; that is a long time
counted in editions. Many editions had gone to press. City, state
and Federal police were actively on the job. And now, when Jimmy
was reading the Sunday papers, nearly sixty hours had elapsed
since the news of the first death had come to Justice Higginbotham's
camp and the police had not a single shred of evidence linking the
murders to any one.
Professor Brierly's name did not have a prominent part in any of
the stories he had read. Jimmy knew why. Professor Brierly was
averse to being quoted unless he had something definite to say. He
never gave an opinion unless it was an opinion based on fact that
one could "go to court with."
The first flaming headlines had featured Professor Brierly
necessarily, since it was he who had pointed out the fact that two
of the deaths were murders.
* * * * *
Jimmy, late that Sunday afternoon, went once more to the camp of
Justice Higginbotham. The large, comfortable cottage, with its
graceful furniture, its books, its meager, comfortable furnishings,
was a house of death, dread and horror. Its inhabitants were afraid of
one another. The opening of a door, any untoward noise, the ringing
of the telephone, caused most of them to jump and look about
apprehensively. In sheer bravado, they, one at a time, went out of the
house either to walk about the rough ground, or to go to Lentone.
A visit to the police station there bore no fruit. Brasher was
red-eyed, haggard and in a vicious humor. Boyle had closed up
after his first talk with Brasher and he now refused to add
anything to what he had already told him, or to retreat an inch
from his position.
With Brasher's permission, Jimmy tried to interview him. Boyle was
not now the suave, smooth, modern type crook. He had had ample
time to realize fully the dangerous position he was in. He knew
that this was not a case of an ordinary murder, or of the murder
of one gangster by another. He knew that the nation was aroused
over these murders, and that he would stand very little chance
before a jury unless he could build up a stronger defense than he
possessed, or find a more plausible alibi.
Boyle swore at Jimmy with an understandable wrath. He poured out
his hopelessness and rage in obscenities that made even the
hardened newspaper man wince. He cursed Jimmy, the police,
Professor Brierly, McCall, everything and everybody to which he
could lay tongue. Jimmy looked at him pityingly, understandingly,
and left him, raging and cursing.
Jimmy decided to go home and bask in the camp's domestic quiet.
Tommy Van Orden, under his mother's adoring eyes, was trying, in
imitation of his big Uncle Jack, to teach the puppy to wipe its
paws.
The three men were on the porch. Professor Brierly, in an
expansive mood, was enlarging on one of his favorite conversational
topics.
"Education! Education has become a mere form. There was a time in
this country, even in this country, when a boy or girl went to an
institution of higher learning for only one reason: to get an
education. And now! Stadia and bowls instead of laboratories and
classrooms. Physical perfection has become a fetish and that is
being highly commercialized.
"When Einstein delivers an important pronouncement, an
announcement that is of universal importance, the papers
facetiously give it a few paragraphs. But when a center receives
the football and runs several hundred yards with it, the papers
get hysterical--"
"A center, Professor? Several hundred yards?" murmured Matthews.
Professor Brierly glared at him. Matthews gently corrected him:
"A center wouldn't be permitted to receive a pass, or run several
hundred yards or--"
"Well, the tacklers, then, or the guardsmen."
"Nor the tackles or guards, Professor," murmured Matthews.
"Keep quiet!" snapped Professor Brierly. "What difference does it
make. The point I am making is that the mass is taught to pay too
much attention to perfectly inconsequential things while they
ignore or overlook the things of sound worth.
"You can get, at most, only a handful of persons to listen to a
sound informative lecture, whereas seventy thousand persons will
sit in a freezing rain to watch Cagle, of Southern California, or
Grange, of Yale--"
Matthews again interrupted:
"Better not make it public, Professor, that Cagle played on the
Trojans team, or Grange for old Eli. If it became known--"
"You are the saddest commentary of the truth of what I am saying,"
snarled the old scientist. "How can a person know the worthwhile
things when he stores his mind with such trivial--you know far too
much of such things, young man."
Martha came to the door and told Jimmy that he was wanted on the
telephone. She also emphatically gave it as her opinion that a man
who spoke as did the caller on the telephone was no gentleman.
With the utterance of his "Hello," Hite's growl came over the
wire.
"The way you act anyone would think that you were on a vacation.
Where the hell were you? I've been trying to get you in all the
places you should be if you're on the job. I was at the club and
just got a flash that something big broke, something in connection
with the Tontine group. I've been trying to get you. Where the
hell were you?"
"Just came from the police station a few minutes ago, chief. What
is it?"
"How the hell do I know what it is? Who's on the story, you or I?
I called up the police, every department, from the cops up. I
can't get a word out of 'em. I know something big broke the way
they act. They've had orders to shut down tight; that's why I
can't get a word. There isn't a man in the office beside myself.
There's somebody down in the business office who's taking care of
the switchboard. I can't go out because I may miss a call.
"Step on it! Scurry around and see what it is. And keep in touch.
Call up every few minutes."
Jimmy hung up the receiver and stood at the instrument in thought,
holding the receiver in its hook as though he would get
inspiration from the lifeless instrument. He had learned to have a
profound respect for Hite's tips. Hunch or flash, whatever it was,
it was undoubtedly something. He started swiftly for the hotel in
Lentone, where many of the newspaper representatives congregated.
If anyone among them knew of something to justify Hite's
excitement, he would show it in some way. There would be a
tension, a restlessness that would give the secret away.
The first look at the large group of men and women lolling on the
wide verandah of the hotel convinced Jimmy that none of these knew
of anything big breaking. News sleuths, do not act the way these
did with something big. They are up and moving.
He went back to the police station. There was nothing new there.
He called up Justice Higginbotham's camp and spoke to McGuire.
There was nothing there. He called up Professor Brierly.
Jack, who answered the phone, assured him that everything was
peaceful there also.
He called up the office again. This time he was connected directly
with the city room. When he identified himself his eardrums were
almost shattered by the howl that came over the wire:
"Flynn was murdered an hour ago!" Hite yelled.
Jimmy's body stiffened as if a live galvanic battery had been
applied to it. Flynn, murdered? With guards near by, men who had
been warned and ordered--Jimmy, trained as he was to disaster and
tragedy in all its forms, somehow could not accept this. He said
inanely:
"Flynn, murdered? Did you say Flynn, chief? Why he--"
"What the hell is the matter with you, are you drunk? Yes," the
word came in a hiss. "I said Flynn, William Flynn, the member of
your Tontine group we were warned to guard."
"But wasn't he guarded?"
"Yes, he was guarded. Two of his guards were in his house with
him. Three were outside." Jimmy had been leaning weakly against
the instrument as if for support. Now he came out of it. He was
the alert newspaper man.
"How about the guards, chief? How did it happen?"
"The guards were blown to hell with him. He was picked up in each
state as soon, as he crossed the border. The Federal man was with
him all the time. He had to transact some important business with
a nephew in Orange, New Jersey. He went there first, under guard.
Then he went home, to Pleasantville. There was no one there; the
house had been closed up. About three or four minutes after he got
there there was an explosion that blew the entire dwelling to
kindling wood. The two guards, one of them a state trooper, and
one of them a Federal man, were killed with him. There wasn't
enough left of him or them to put in a bushel basket.
"The police have a drag net out. All the roads, all the railroads,
all the airports are guarded. The river and the water front, every
wharf in New York and New Jersey is taken care of. You would think
a flea couldn't get through. They've picked up hundreds of men."
"What do you want me to do, Chief?"
"I don't know, but _get around_, see the members of the Tontine
group. Persuade Professor Brierly to come down here if he can; the
plane is still up there and is at his disposal. And by the way,
Jimmy, if he consents to come, unless there is something up there
that needs your personal attention, come with him. You seem to be
the only person who can get along with him or get anything out of
him. Step on it. I'll stay here until I hear from you, at any
rate."
Professor Brierly listened carefully to Jimmy's swift explosive
sentences in which he transmitted the high lights of the tragedy
four hundred miles away. As he had done on a former occasion,
Professor Brierly acceded at once to the request that he go down
by plane to view the scene of the explosion.
While Jimmy made the telephone call for the plane, the Professor
was getting himself in readiness for the flight. He looked up in
surprise as he saw Matthews also in the act of preparing for a
journey.
"Where are _you_ going, John?"
"Going with you, Professor. Jimmy tells me it's a cabin plane that
will accommodate six or seven passengers."
Professor Brierly looked at him suspiciously. Matthews' features
were etched in grave lines. The big, blond young giant looked
rather grim. Jimmy looked on in surprise at this scene, which he
could not understand. Professor Brierly dissented impatiently.
"Nonsense, John. What need is there for you to go?"
Matthews answered quietly: "Sorry to disagree with you, Professor,
but I'm going along."
Professor Brierly, after glaring speechlessly at his adopted son,
shrugged his shoulders and continued getting himself in readiness.
Jimmy followed Matthews out to the porch. He asked quietly:
"What is this, Jack? I don't get it at all."
Matthews looked at him without trying to conceal his contempt.
"A hell of a bright newspaper man you are! It was Professor
Brierly who pointed to the fact that Miller's and Schurman's
deaths were murders. If not for that, Flynn's death might have
been put down to some accident.
"I wouldn't feel at all comfortable having the old gentleman go
down there alone. It's true he'll have you there, Jimmy. You're a
good little man and you've got plenty of guts, but I'll feel
better, lots better, if I am with him personally."
"Well, what was he sore about?"
"He's sore because he knows why I'm going and he hates to be taken
care of. We had some words about his going day before yesterday.
He's a cocky old guy, as you know, isn't afraid of any single
thing on earth and it galls him to have me go along to play
nursemaid. Well, he can just be sore. I'm not going to leave his
side." He paused and then said slowly:
"Jimmy, I don't like this. I don't like it a damn bit. Birds who
will play this kind of a game, with several million dollars at
stake, who will plan murders like these, won't stop at anything.
And there's no question about it that the Professor has interfered
with their plans somewhat. I repeat, Jimmy, I don't like it a damn
bit. In all those things you got him into I never had quite the
same feeling I have now. I'm really afraid for him.
"Well, I'm going to be with him and I'm likely to take drastic
action first and talk afterward if someone makes a suspicious
move."
Jimmy soberly nodded. His absorption in the story had made him
overlook this ramification of it. He could see that it was highly
probable that Professor Brierly might be in as great danger as was
any member of the Tontine group.
The pilot of the amphibian, when he taxied up to the wharf, told
Jimmy that arrangements had been made that he land the plane on a
field belonging to John Mallory, amateur sportsman and airman,
whose estate was close to the home of William Flynn, at
Pleasantville.