"_How?_"
"The same way my men come back to camp and it's a natural way that's
rarely stopped."
"Clarens had no military experience!" Scott said.
"No, but he's read a lot--that came out at the trial--and he's under
pressure, so he'll remember what he read," Bennington said.
"Tell me this way you can walk invisible across a lighted bridge," and
Scott was still unconvinced.
"You don't walk over, you ride over," Mosby said. "I would work it
this way.
"I would stop in a bar and buy a drink that made me smell five feet
away. I would order and get rid of a couple more of them, very
quickly, then I would tip the bartender to call me a cab.
"And by the way, of course I wouldn't be drinking any after the first
one.
"But when the cabbie came, I'd offer him a drink, wave a big bill or
two that meant a good tip, and give him a good address--for instance,
the hotel that takes up the biggest space in the yellow pages of the
telephone book.
"I would get into the back seat of the cab still holding on to the
biggest bill or two out of those we took from the cleaning truck and I
would pretend to fall asleep.
"With that cab driver convinced that he's hauling a drunk just aching
to give away a big tip--and any normal human being perfectly sure that
a wanted killer would never walk into a bar, get loaded and order a
cab to take him to the biggest hotel in town--what are my chances,
Chief Scott?"
* * * * *
The chief did not answer directly. Instead, "And I'll bet he wins that
appeal he's got going, too."
"What did you say, Chief Scott?" Bennington asked.
"We got the word a while ago from Delaware by teletype. Clarens has
three good lawyers fighting an appeal from the conviction on every
grounds you can think of, including that the confession was beaten out
of him.
"That's why I hope he wants to fight when I catch up with him, and
that's what Delaware hopes, too.
"But here comes Dr. Thornberry, General Mosby. Let's ask him why
Clarens hides so well when he says he wants to be caught."
Thornberry pursed his lips so tightly that his face became a skull's
head, then he answered.
"In some areas of human behavior...." he began.
"Dalton," Bennington interrupted, "does he make a game out of getting
away when he's caught?"
Thornberry's face became almost human with a big smile. "Oh, yes,
obviously."
"Could that energy he puts into escaping be channeled, led,
educated--in some way--to constructive thinking? Put it this way:
could Dalton be led to thinking about making a jail escape-proof?"
"A most excellent therapy," and Thornberry was actually beaming.
"General Bennington, I am beginning to have great hopes for our work
together as we start to see more and more eye to eye."
"Let's go back to Clarens," Bennington said. "Son of wealthy parents,
a good education, the only child in a family who seemed to have
everything, including parents who loved both each other and the
child--why does he kill, ask to be caught, and then hide so well?
"What therapy does your science have for him, Dr. Thornberry?"
Thornberry's lip-pursing again made his face a skeleton's.
"There are areas of human behavior--"
* * * * *
Bennington observed that Scott and Mosby had turned away from the
conversation to the immediacies of patrol distribution. Scott was
being eloquent on how lighting cut down crime and Mosby was analyzing
the idea in terms of house-to-house combat at night under
slow-dropping flares.
For further insurance of privacy, Bennington pulled Thornberry into
the corner of the room most removed from the others.
"Doctor, let's forget about Clarens for a moment. I want to talk about
Judkins."
"Yes, general."
"How did you hypnotize him? And don't hand me any of that stuff about
him being sensitive because of his job."
Thornberry smiled. "You've seen too many conditioned men, and in a way
I'm surprised that I got past Chief Scott with my ... General Mosby
should have been more alert, too.
"You're right, it was his skin, not his job."
"I'm still puzzled."
"I won't go into the physical structure of the man, his character as
revealed by his choice of profession, and so on. Briefly, he is
hyper-sensitive to the thought of physical pain, that's all. So I gave
him a simple choice. Talk to us in such a way that what he said could
never be used against him, or go for a ride with you, Chief Scott, and
General Mosby.
"This is very odd, a fact I must further check into, that your name
frightened him most."
"_You_ threatened someone with violence!"
Thornberry sniffed. "It was no threat. I knew the man and simply
appealed to him in the proper way. Then with the spray of cannabis
indica that I carry, I speeded his willingness--"
"Marihuana!"
"Please don't be so shocked!" and Thornberry was horrified that
Bennington should be shocked. "The prescription I use is a carefully
compounded medical dosage specifically prepared to promote
suggestibility...."
"Doctor, I am not in the least suggesting that you would use any
method or drug not thoroughly commended by your profession.
"In addition, I am delighted beyond expression that you found some way
to learn what we needed from Judkins.
"But, just as I was surprised that your profession did find a use for
a drug previously condemned, I now want to be surprised in another
way:
"_What can you do for someone like Clarens?_"
Thornberry's lips came together and his cheeks began to pull in.
Bennington resigned himself to hearing again the phrase, "There are
some areas of human behavior--"
* * * * *
"_Car 17, at M dash 9, Code Two Zero, times two. Standing by for
instructions._"
Bennington turned to watch Chief Scott's big fore-fingers travel a
line from the side and a line from the top that brought them together
on the big map. "Signs of breaking and entering, down on Hickory,
where it's all big warehouses."
Thornberry leaped to the chief's side. "Lonely at this time of night?
Dark? Not too many people?"
"Right on every count," Scott said. "Only a few night watchmen."
"This should be carefully checked," and Thornberry started for the
door.
Scott turned to the dispatcher. "Tell them just to keep the place
under observation until I get there."
There was an odd eagerness about the chief, odd until Bennington
remembered Scott's grim analysis of Clarens' behavior, the chief's
hope that Clarens would resist arrest.
_And why do I now recall that time in Burma when I followed the
wounded tiger into the cave?_
_What was I thinking of at the time?_
Thornberry had disappeared into the corridor, but for once even the
prospect of immediate action was not enough to get the impetuous Mosby
out the door ahead of Scott.
_Was I thinking of mercy, that I could not let a wounded beast which
could not destroy itself live with continual pain? Thornberry would
never agree, but Clarens is certainly both wounded and incapable of
self-destruction._
Thornberry was already seated in the back of the car. Mosby was ready
to seat himself in the front, Scott was opening the door to slide in
behind the driver's wheel, but Bennington did not change his steady
pace.
_Retribution and punishment, because the tiger had killed human
beings? No, no and never no, for these are worthless without
understanding by the person upon whom they are visited. A baby
understands not the reason why, but only the whack across its buttocks
when its fingers or its life are in danger, and that action is thence
forward "reject"; but Clarens is not a baby and a baby is not a tiger,
with all three having only this in common, that 'don't do this' is a
mystery...._
Bennington seated himself beside Thornberry in the rear of Scott's
sedan, more aware of his thoughts than his movements.
For a moment the whine of the turbine was high, the gleam of the
headlights low, then they were on their way.
* * * * *
Hickory Street was a fast three-minute run from the police station.
"Nothing but warehouses," Scott said. "We're a big trans-shipment
center."
The narrow, one-way streets and the broad-shouldered bulk of the big
buildings emphasized what the chief had said. The railroads and the
rivers were still the most economical way to ship the space-taking
stuff, coal, steel, grain. Harrisburg was a crossroads where the
east-west and north-south main lines met, with a natural growth of the
long warehouses at the intersection.
Scott spun the driver's wheel to the left and cut the car lights.
"Hickory Street."
It is a lonely place at night, Bennington decided.
Thornberry leaned forward from the back seat of the car, leaned
forward so far between Scott and Mosby that his thin nose almost
touched the front window.
"Ideal, ideal, just the way Clarens would be thinking."
"Thank God we found Judkins," Mosby said, "but say, that reminds me.
Why didn't he take the first plane or train out of town? He had plenty
of time before we knew we wanted him."
Thornberry pulled himself back, re-condensed his lean frame in the
left corner of the back seat. "He was waiting for Senator Giles to pay
him off and tell him where to hide out."
Chief Scott idled his car to a halt beside another dark-blue sedan
almost invisible in the shadowed street.
A figure loomed large in the shadows, came forward and identified
itself.
"Patrolman Whelton, sir, and Sergeant Kerr is in the back."
Somehow Scott managed to return the salute while at the same time
disentangling himself from his seat-belt and from behind the driver's
wheel.
"What did you spot?"
"According to orders, we were riding the alleys and we saw that the
window had been broken since our last inspection."
They were in a tight group around the young patrolman because Whelton
had spoken in a soft, church-going whisper. Now Mosby walked away from
the group, thoughtfully fingering the ivory-handled butts of his
revolvers, but returning to the group when Scott began speaking.
"Thanks, General Mosby. They couldn't have checked the alleys as often
as they did without your men helping out on the streets. This way, we
caught it fast."
[Illustration]
"Sir, we can't find the watchman for this area," and Patrolman Whelton
was very worried.
"Watchman?" Mosby asked.
"Fire-warden would be more accurate," Scott said. "He isn't here to
prevent theft. The stuff in these buildings is too big to steal
without a convoy of trucks that would awaken the whole town. But he
does have a definite route, with fixed posts where he clocks in."
Two more cars drifted to a halt, disgorged men armed with shotguns and
submachine guns.
Scott rubbed his chin thoughtfully, gave his orders carefully,
obviously aware that he had two renowned tacticians with him.
His car and one of the newly-arrived ones were to remain in front of
the warehouse. The other patrol car would pull around the block and
join Sergeant Kerr in the alley. At Scott's signal, they would flood
the building with light.
And not until much later did Bennington remember to laugh at the way
they had all followed the elephantine Whelton's example and gone on
tiptoe down the walk between the two concrete-walled warehouses, into
the alley behind.
* * * * *
The broken window was in a small door, part of the large door which
let trucks in and out.
"Nice eye," Scott said to Whelton.
Bennington agreed.
The break in the window was just big enough to allow a hand through
the door, a small hand through the pane to the lock on the inside of
the door.
Scott stretched out his arm to try to slide his big, freckled hand
through the break in the window, but abruptly Thornberry stepped
forward, catching the chief's hand in mid-gesture.
"One moment, Chief Scott!"