The plane dropped down out of the sky at four o'clock Monday
morning, Eastern Standard time. Professor Brierly, as was his wont
when traveling in a conveyance that he could not drive himself,
was fast asleep. He had slept throughout the journey in spite of
the roar of the whirling blades that had swept them through the
skies.
A light touch on his arm woke him as they taxied to the end of the
field. At its further end a man was seen pottering about the small
hangar.
As the three men stepped out of the plane, two uniformed policemen
approached. One of them, after looking at the ill assorted trio,
addressed Professor Brierly.
"Herman Brierly?"
Professor Brierly looked up at the huge bulk of the man. He
nodded, staring in puzzled silence from one to the other
policeman. The spokesman for the pair said: "Will you come with
us, Mr. Brierly. We--"
Jimmy's swift, keen glance took in the two men, their uniforms,
their badges, their features, their shoes. He paid special
attention to their shoes.
He murmured softly to Matthews:
"Good hunch of yours, Jack. Get set, they're not policemen."
Matthews slid his lanky length between Professor Brierly and the
uniformed men. He interrupted their spokesman:
"What's this about, what do you want Professor Brierly for?"
The other looked at him insolently.
"I said, we want Professor Brierly, young feller."
"Yes, I heard that; I asked what you want him for."
"Well, if you want to know, he's under arrest."
"I'm still curious to know all about it," quietly said Matthews.
"What's he under arrest for?"
"Listen, young feller, we was ordered to bring him in, see? And
we're gonna bring him in. Now we don't want no trouble. If he
comes along with us quiet like--"
Matthews' body had by this time edged the tiny form of Professor
Brierly several feet away. Matthew's large form was now squarely
between that of the little scientist and the two policemen. Jack
interrupted:
"You don't want trouble, do you? Well, I do. I want trouble. I'm
just aching and pining for trouble. If you don't want trouble you
know how to avoid it. Go 'way and don't bother us--"
The other policeman was circling the pair. Jimmy interrupted at
this point. Jimmy was talking in a soft low drawl. Those who knew
Jimmy Hale knew that he was never as dangerous--to others--as when
he spoke that way.
"Officer, this can be settled easily. You've got a warrant, of
course. My friend," jerking his head toward Matthews, "is a little
hot-headed. If you just show us the warrant, there won't be any
trouble."
Another man in uniform had been approaching the group from a car
that was parked in the road near the edge of the field. As he came
nearer, he called out:
"Oh, what the hell's all this palaver about. Let's take him." He
lunged for Professor Brierly, his hand outstretched.
Matthews got into motion at the same time. The third policeman did
not quite reach Professor Brierly. A hard, bony fist struck him
about two inches above the belt buckle. He folded up, emitting a
hoarse grunt, his bulging eyes mirroring acute pain. The mate to
the first fist whipped up in a short vicious arc. The man's head
snapped backward. His knees wilted; he fell to the ground slowly
as a tree falls; he lay there quietly.
The two other policemen had moved forward. Jimmy moved toward
them. Jimmy was never quite good enough to make the varsity team
in his four years at college. But he had tried for four years and
he had always been on the squad. His coach had, what amounted to a
phobia, in the matter of blocking. Thus Jimmy, if he learned
nothing else, had learned how to block. His coach had said
repeatedly that no man can become a football player unless he
learn to block. He had blocked and tackled big, fast, bruising
varsity players for four years. And this was a time when the
flying block and the flying tackle were not barred. Jimmy had also
been taught that "clipping," blocking from the rear, was dangerous
to the blockee and was severely penalized.
Jimmy took a few mincing steps. His compact one hundred and
fifty-eight pounds left the ground and turned sideways. Jimmy's right
hip struck one of the blue coats right back of the knees at the
joints. The man uttered a howl of anguish. There was a nasty snap.
The man had a bad fracture that would keep him limping for the
rest of his life. In falling, the man's hands flailed wildly. One
of these hands struck Jimmy squarely in the eye. Jimmy got up
quickly, his normally mild brown eyes blazing. He was just in time
to see the finish.
The third man had reached for a gun. A long iron arm reached out,
a large hand seized the hand with the weapon. Two men nearly of
equal height stood facing another. The eyes of one reflected
surprise, anger and disappointment. The eyes of the other were now
the color of cloudy ice. They were blazing with cold ferocity. The
one thing needed to drive Matthews into a murderous rage had
happened: an assault on Professor Brierly. In addition to the vast
respect and veneration Matthews had for the old man he had a
tenderness for him such as a man has for his mother. His
scientific associates would have had difficulty recognizing the
budding young scientist who showed so much promise under Professor
Brierly's tutelage. The pressure of the fingers increased. The
fingers of the blue coated individual opened and the weapon
dropped.
Matthews made a sudden movement. He released one hand but held on
to the other. He was now behind the blue coated back. He had the
other's arm bent across the back; he was pushing it up. He had the
dangerous hammer-lock, a hold barred in amateur wrestling.
The other panted chokingly:
"Let go, damn you!"
There was no answer. The pressure increased. There was a sudden
tightening of the already taxed muscles. There was a dull snap;
the blue coated figure fell writhing to the ground.
The pilot, amazed at what was going on before him, had left the
plane. He stood wide-eyed and white-faced at what he saw. Matthews
stood there panting. A thin grin, the ghost of his usual grin
wrinkled his taut features.
"Don't worry," he said, "they're not policemen."
Professor Brierly had stood by, hands clenched, eyes flashing.
They had started toward the hangar from which a man was running
toward them, Matthews said, banteringly:
"What do you think of the relative value of physical as against
mental culture now, Professor. Know what these birds were after,
don't you?"
Professor Brierly said resolutely:
"I have not changed my mind at all. I might have discussed it with
them. I might have--"
"Yeah," broke in Jimmy inelegantly. "As I once heard Jack say to
you, you might have slugged 'em with your culture and logic."
The old scientist glared. He burst out: "You are both--"
"Yes, Professor," interrupted Matthews, "Jimmy certainly is, all
that and then some. And Professor, did you have a good look at
Jimmy's left eye. Me, oh my, what a mouse. WHAT a shiner." The
three fell silent. Matthew's hand fell on Jimmy's shoulder as they
approached the hangar.
"I knew you were a good little man, Jimmy; I always said so. Your
coach would have been proud of you if he could have seen it. You
earned your letter, Jimmy." The hand increased its pressure on the
shoulder, dropped, and there was no further allusion to the
episode.
Jimmy went into the hangar and put in two quick telephone calls,
one to his office, where the dog watch was on duty, and one to
Police Headquarters in New York City. To each he told the episode
of the pseudo policemen. New York police headquarters promised
that they would get in touch immediately with the State police and
with the Pleasantville police. His office also promised immediate
action. He learned later that when the police arrived there was no
sign of their assailants. But other and more pressing matters
engaged the attention of Professor Brierly and the reporter;
matters that drove the fight out of their minds.
A short drive took them to what had once been the home of William
Flynn. They were at once admitted inside the police lines. McCall,
from Canada, and Hite, from New York, had paved the way for them.
The explosion had not been as severe as Jimmy had been led to
believe. Two of the lower rooms remained nearly intact and some
portions of the foundation. State, county and city police were
there, in uniform and in plain clothes. Even at this hour a huge
crowd had gathered. Newspaper representatives from all the New
York papers from nearby towns and from news-gathering bureaus,
were there.
Two state troopers and one member of the Pleasantville police
force had been on guard outside the house when the explosion
occurred. The house was at the end of a quiet residential street.
Beyond the house there was a patch of wooded ground which cut off
the view from a state road running to Tarrytown, about a hundred
yards deep. The house nearest to the one that had been wrecked by
the explosion was two hundred yards distant.
One of the state troopers who had been on guard outside the house
was present when the three men arrived. His testimony was brief.
They had come to the house about seven-thirty, daylight saving
time, the night before. There were in the party seven persons, the
chauffeur of the car that had taken them from the station, William
Flynn, three state troopers, one Federal secret service man and a
policeman from Pleasantville, who had taken the place of the New
York policeman when their train arrived at the local station. The
car they had taken was not a taxi, but a large public limousine,
such as are used in many small towns. It held the entire party.
Mr. Flynn, a state trooper and the Federal man went into the
house; the others stayed outside. About three minutes after the
three men had entered the house the explosion occurred.
Professor Brierly asked the trooper:
"Where was the driver of the taxi, when this happened?"
"He was right here with us, sir. He stayed a while, talking about
the murders of Mr. Flynn's friends. He seemed to know all about
it."
"You say it was about three minutes after they went into the
house?"
"It could not have been more than five minutes at most."
"Did you notice anybody on this street when you came, or before
the explosion?"
"No, sir. We made a search afterward. You see the next five houses
are closed for the summer. That means that the nearest house where
there was anybody at the time is not less than three hundred yards
away. There wasn't a soul on this street. After the explosion, of
course, there was a mob. You'd wonder where all the people came
from in such a small town Sunday evening."
"And the three men in the house were killed outright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you look in the patch of woods over there?"
"No, sir. I didn't see the need for it and I was too busy keeping
the people a safe distance away. Fortunately there was no fire."
Professor Brierly went into what was left of the house. He
carefully picked his way through the broken furniture, the
crumbling brick and mortar, twisted metal. Frank Hall, from the
Bureau of Combustibles, was there. He was acquainted with
Professor Brierly and he greeted the old scientist cordially,
saying:
"There is some evidence, Professor, of a simple bomb filled with
black powder. I cannot find the firing device, whatever it was. I
cannot find any timing device either."
"A timing device, Mr. Hall? Suppose the explosion had occurred ten
minutes earlier. It happened, if I am correctly informed, only
three minutes after he came home."
"That's all right, Professor. I thought of that, but he was
expected much sooner, hours sooner."
Professor Brierly nodded absently. "I see," he murmured. He was
looking about him intently. Suddenly he stooped and peered at a
black mark along a strip of moulding that had fallen from some
part of the wrecked structure. He picked it up and examined it
carefully. He showed it to Mr. Hall.
"Did you see this, Mr. Hall? Looks like a burn that might have
been made by a fuse, does it not?"
"Yes, Professor, it does, but one of the peculiarities about this
kind of thing is that it destroys its own evidence pretty much. If
we don't know where the lighted fuse originated and where it led,
it doesn't do us much good, does it?"
"That's right, but this obviously comes from an upper room,
doesn't it?"
"Yes, I believe it does. But the upper rooms are gone, you see."
"And you really think, do you Mr. Hall, that there was a timing
device? It seems plausible to you that men who are engaged in such
desperate business would leave such a thing to the mere chance of
finding their victim home at the time their device was set to go
off?"
"Well, perhaps not, Professor, but what else is there?"
"Nothing, yet, Mr. Hall, but let us look about."
Professor Brierly, with Jimmy and Matthews close at his heels,
went picking his way through the wreckage. He stepped outside and
looked carefully among the debris. The force of the explosion
seemed to have propelled a major portion of the wreckage in the
direction of the backyard. It was here that Professor Brierly
found a section of a papered wall with a telephone bell-box
attached.
He looked long and earnestly at a spot of the paper near what had
been the bottom of the box. With Matthews' help, he forced open
the enameled lid, exposing the wires, binding posts, terminals and
bell. From among the wires he carefully picked out a frayed piece
of gray thread. He once more peered intently into the box and at
the papered area of wall to which it was attached.
"John," he said, holding the thread up for the young man's
inspection. "Does this properly belong to a telephone box of this
type?"
Matthews looked curiously at the bit of frayed thread. He shook
his head. "I can't understand what it's doing there, Professor."
"And yet, John, this bit of thread had a very definite function, a
very definite and murderous function, indeed. I think I am
beginning to understand. Now let us go look for a timing device."
"But you said there wasn't any timing device, Professor,"
protested Jimmy. "At any rate," answering the old man's glare,
"that it appeared illogical that a timing device was employed."
"Nevertheless, Mr. Hale, there was a timing device, not the kind
Mr. Hall had in mind, perhaps, but some timing device. The
explosion you will admit was timed very accurately indeed."
He walked outside, followed by his two companions. He walked
briskly toward the patch of woods. Here he entered a faint path
that was evidently used by those who came to this street from the
state road. He walked carefully along the edge of the woods
skirting the road on which was the wrecked house. A few yards from
the path he came to a cleared patch.
He stopped and looked about him. He pointed to the ground. He
said:
"Trailing is one of the accomplishments that was unfortunately
left out of my education. But does a man have to be an Indian to
read this correctly?" He was pointing at the ground. The small
cleared space was littered with cigarette butts, rolled in brown
paper and what had once been a popular brand of tobacco. There
were also a number of burned matches. From this patch, screened by
some undergrowth, there was a clear unobstructed sight of the late
William Flynn's home.
Professor Brierly continued:
"Here is your timing device, Mr. Hale. This person, presumably one
person, showing commendable patience, as evidenced by the number
of cigarettes, waited here. A human timing device, but a very
accurate one is proved."
"But, Professor," protested Jimmy, "that would entail wires,
buried wires, perhaps. Such wires would not be readily destroyed.
Such--"
"Tut, Mr. Hale. You forget that it takes only a fraction of a
second for an electric impulse to encircle the earth. We live in
modern times. What need for clumsy wires. And yet in a sense you
are right. There were buried wires.
"John," turning abruptly to his young assistant, "that path leads
to a state road. See what is at the end of that road, will you.
See if there is any shop or place where there is a public
telephone."
John Matthews had started along the path when he turned abruptly
and came back.
"Professor, I'd rather Jimmy went. We'll wait here for him." John
looked grim as he said this. He looked meaningly at Jimmy.
Professor Brierly laid his tiny hand on the big shoulder, in his
eyes an unwonted brightness. The Nordic is not a demonstrative
creature, particularly the male creature.
"You foolish boy, come on, we'll all go."
A garish filling station was diagonally opposite the path. The
familiar sign of the bell indicated that a telephone was to be had
inside. But the place was still closed. Professor Brierly jotted
down the name on the sign. The three men returned to the wrecked
house. After a perfunctory look about the scene, Professor Brierly
indicated that he was ready to go. On their way to the station he
asked Jimmy if he would take him up to see his city editor, Hite.
Jimmy, carefully restraining a grin, gravely consented.
The man who had driven them from the hangar hearing them discuss
their trip to New York, told Professor Brierly that the car, as
well as the plane, was at his disposal. They therefore, drove to
the city.
A quick breakfast at an all night lunch counter, a shave and
massage and the old man, apparently as fresh as though he had
spent the night in bed, was ready to resume his task.
On the short ride to the newspaper office, Professor Brierly's
eyes fell on one of Matthews' big hands. It was an angry red and
was swollen. There was instant contrition and solicitude. The old
man touched the hand gently:
"What happened, John?"
"Say, Professor, look at Jimmy's eye. Ain't it a peach?"
"John, I asked you, what is the matter with your hand?"
"My hand, Professor, which--" Professor Brierly's ire was rising.
"John--"
"Oh, you mean my hand, Professor. I guess I broke a metacarpal
bone. That bird had a hard jaw. Too bad I didn't use my foot," he
said, regretfully.
"You're a savage young man," blared the old man. "Such instincts
are--"
"Shall we say--er--primitive," suggested Jimmy.