As Professor Brierly, followed by the two younger men stepped
into the busy city room, Hite held up a sheaf of telegrams that
had come for the old scientist during his short absence. Professor
Brierly took them as Hite said, "When you get through with these,
Professor, I'll give you a message, a verbal message that I've got
for you."
Professor Brierly quickly ran through the messages. He looked up:
"You know, I instituted inquiry for one Amos Brown, who is thought
by some members of the Tontine group to have been the only
surviving member of the group known as '14'. Several of the men
told me they had reason to believe that it was he who used to send
the blank sheets of paper with the number '14' on it. But inquiry
showed that they had really no proof of his being alive after
1902. Subsequent to that they only got those messages to remind
them of his existence.
"These telegrams inform me that Amos Brown died in 1902 on the
outskirts of South Bend, Ind. But he was survived by a son and a
grandson. The son, according to my informants, died about three
years later. The grandson, who was also named Amos Brown, was last
heard of somewhere in the New England States.
"My informants tell me that the grandson is now about thirty-five
years old, if he is alive.
"So you see, there is an Amos Brown who might have inherited along
with his grandfather's other possessions, his vendetta, his
lifelong hatred for our Tontine group. But I am expecting more
detailed information that may place this grandson definitely. Now
what is the message you had for me, Mr. Hite?"
"Our man who covers headquarters, Professor, saw 'Fingy' Smith a
few minutes after he was booked and charged. 'Fingy' insists on
seeing you, personally."
Professor Brierly made a grimace of distaste.
"I do not like it. I do not like the atmosphere of a prison. I
suppose I ought to go. If the poor man is innocent he needs help
badly. He is caught in a net of circumstantial evidence that may
send him to the electric chair. If I were certain he is innocent,
I should not hesitate."
He bent his head in thought. After a long pause he looked up, his
eyes troubled.
"I shall go, Mr. Hite. Can it be arranged?"
"Sure it can. After what McCall said, they'll not raise any
obstacles to anything you want to do. I'll have Hale go along with
you."
"Have you heard from your reporters about the telephone call, Mr.
Hite?"
Hite's eyes gleamed. "Yep. I heard from 'em. You sure got a bull's
eye then, Professor. The records show that someone called Flynn's
home just about when the explosion occurred. The man in the
filling station remembers that a guy called about that time. He
can't give a very good description. There was no car, Professor.
The man at the service station says he saw the man go into the
patch of woods. He thought at the time that was because he wanted
to get to the scene of the explosion. For that matter everybody in
the road was trying to get there. A few minutes afterward, the man
at the filling station says he saw a man wheel a motorcycle out of
the woods and ride past. He kinda thought it was the same man,
though he didn't take particular notice. They were all excited
about the explosion. That means that the man probably had his
motorcycle parked in the woods, while he was waiting for Flynn to
come home.
"Does that help you, Professor?"
"No, except that it corroborates a theory I had about the matter.
It merely fits in with the rest of the devilish pattern."
No difficulty was encountered when the three men came to the
Tombs. Sergeant Conners was there ahead of them. He was not going
to permit the prisoner to work a sympathetic gag on the old
scientist. Conners realized that Brierly had considerable
influence. If 'Fingy' could induce the old man to use his
influence in his behalf, it would not be so easy to convict him.
'Fingy' was not pleased at the presence of the police officer. He
made the best of it however. He realized that he was not in a
position where he could dictate terms.
"Professor," he began, "I don't know about this taking an
impression of my mouth and the other new fangled scientific bunk.
But I know about you. I hear you're a straight shooter and I want
to spill the whole thing to you."
He gulped painfully and after a glance at the police officer he
went on:
"All the police is after is a record, see? And even the D.A.'s
office is the same. When the D.A. gets you before the jury he'll
do what he can to send you to the hot seat.
"Well I'm gonna give you the straight of this, Professor. Like I
said, I was giving a party to some friends of mine that night.
Early in the evening I get into a studd game on Second Avenue and
go broke, see? Cleaned, Professor. And here's this party comin'
off with some good guys and nice gals comin'.
"All I had in the apartment was about a quart and a half of gin
and a little rye. Not a thing to eat, not even a slice of bread or
a drop of ginger ale.
"So what do I do? I breaks into a delicatessen store and gets a
load of stuff. That was just about ten o'clock, the time the
papers say old man Schurman is croaked."
Sergeant Conners, who had listened with a sneer now emitted a loud
snort. The prisoner cast in his direction a fleeting look of
defiance. His eyes returned to Professor Brierly who had been
staring at him intently, while his tale unfolded. He continued:
"I know this sounds fishy, and what I'm gonna say now sounds even
more so, mebbe, but if you'll just listen to me, sir, I'll prove
what I say.
"This delicatessen store is a little place on Grove Street near
Eighth Avenue. Now you can think that I hears about this
delicatessen store being broke in and I tells you about it because
the real thief ain't comin' to the front to say he done it. You
can think I can't prove it; you can think this ain't much of a
alibi. But just listen, Professor. Look at this!"
He sprang from his chair and tore off his coat and vest. Conners
had also sprung to his feet, but subsided when he saw that the
prisoner did not contemplate violence. The prisoner in his haste
to unbutton his outer shirt, ripped the buttons. He exposed his
arm high up near the shoulder. He showed a ragged scar several
days old.
'Fingy' continued:
"See this, Professor? When I was takin' some things from the
shelves in the delicatessen store, I rips my coat and get this
scratch on a nail stickin' out from the shelf. The nail is three
shelves up from the floor near the last showcase on the right as
you go in."
Smith stopped. He was panting as though he had been running. Sweat
was streaming from his brow. He crumpled the shirt and wiped his
face with it. He began slowly putting on his shirt.
Professor Brierly was not looking at the prisoner. He was looking
at the police officer. In the latter's features incredulity was
struggling with something else for expression. Professor Brierly
snapped his fingers.
"Hale, this must be verified! John, go with him; take the nail.
Wait! Get an instrument and draw a drop of blood from Smith here.
Compare it with the blood you find on the nail, if you find any.
And--" He whirled on the prisoner.
"Where is the coat and shirt that were torn on the nail?"
"Still up in my apartment, I guess."
"Go on, John. Get the nail and the clothes; go on to our house,
make the necessary tests as soon as you can."
At Jimmy's request, before he departed on his errand to the
delicatessen store, Professor Brierly was escorted to the office
of the Eagle by two plainclothes men who were ordered to shoot,
and shoot to kill, at the slightest suspicious movement against
the old scientist.
Hite went into blazing activity when Professor Brierly recounted
the result of his errand to the Tombs. Men, women and boys were
sent scurrying to various sections of the city. The city editor
barked an order into a telephone in response to which the tremor
of the presses which shook the building, ceased.
A rewrite man tactfully got from Professor Brierly the salient
features of the newest angle to the story.
Matthews was nodding his head emphatically as he came into the
city room and his glance met that of his mentor.
"It fits, Professor," he was saying. "The delicatessen store was
robbed about the time Smith said it was; the nail was there, the
head covered with blood. There was a tear in his coat and shirt.
There was some blood on the garments. The blood on the nail and
the clothes are of the same type as that of Smith. It might be all
Smith's."
Jimmy went to the telephone and called up a high police official,
a very much harassed official, one whose peace had been very much
disturbed by the activities of the remarkable old gentleman. The
papers, his superiors, the D.A.'s office had been riding him
unmercifully. Now, when they had a crook whom the crime fitted so
well, this crazy old scientist had to come along and spoil it all
with his queer doings.
Jimmy, in short crisp sentences told this individual of the latest
developments of the Tontine murders. He concluded by asking:
"What are you going to do about this, Mr. Englehardt, and what are
you going to do with 'Fingy' Smith?"
Mr. Englehardt completely lost his temper, which a public official
should never do with a newspaper man. In a hoarse voice that was
almost a scream he yelled:
"You go to hell!"
The receiver was crashed down on the hook. Jimmy heard the click.
He smiled, then his eyes took on a cold dancing light as he sat
down at his typewriter. The light in his eyes boded ill for Mr.
Englehardt.
Hite asked Professor Brierly:
"And what now, Professor. Where do we go from here?"
"I go from here to the camp on Lake Memphremagog, Mr. Hite." The
game will be played out there. I am getting some more information
about young Amos Brown, grandson of the ill-famed number '14'. The
latest information brings him uncomfortably close to the
Higginbotham camp.
"The pattern is beginning to take shape, Mr. Hite. The pieces are
beginning to fall into place. I believe that the next act in this
tragedy will take place at or hear Justice Higginbotham's camp. If
there is nothing further to keep me here, I should like to go
back. Is Mr. Hale going to continue his vacation with me, Mr.
Hite?"
There was a humorous smile in the fine deep-set eyes. The skin on
the city editor's gaunt features wrinkled. He yelled:
"Hey Jimmy!" As Jimmy left his typewriter he said to the old man:
"I see Jimmy is in the throes of a literary composition. He seems
all het up. But he can probably go with you right away. The plane
is still at your disposal."
When Hale explained what he was writing, Hite's eyes glinted.
"Too bad, Jim, I hate to deprive you of the pleasure of writing
it, but the Professor wants to go. Give it to Roy, Jim. He can
raise as many blisters on the hide of a politician as you can."