"Yes, sir." It came out a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried
again. "Yes, sir."
"You don't have to be frightened, Judy," said the man. "You aren't
going to be accused of anything. My name is Marshall, Stephen Marshall.
This gentleman on my right is Stewart Lang. We're with the FBI. That
gentleman there is Mr. Stevenson, and he's a detective from Brooklyn.
And that there is Mr. Roberts, and he's a reporter. And we all simply
want to ask you one or two questions. All right?"
The man was obviously trying to calm her down, make her relax. And he
succeeded to some extent. Judy said, "Yes, sir," in a small voice and
nodded, no longer quite so frightened.
None of the four men were particularly frightening in appearance. The
two FBI men were long and lean, with bleak bony faces like cowboys. The
detective was a short worried-looking man with a paunch and thinning
black hair. And the reporter was a cheerful round-faced man in a loud
sport coat and a bow tie.
"Now," said Marshall, "you were present at the time of the gang fight
on Hallowe'en, is that right?"
"Yes, sir. Well, no, sir. Not exactly. I was down at the corner."
Mister Marshall smiled briefly. "On lookout?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"I see. And do you remember seeing anyone present at all aside from the
boys in the two gangs and the police?"
* * * * *
"No, sir. That is, not except a bunch of little kids. They came along
just before the co--the police."
"A bunch of little kids?"
The detective named Stevenson said urgently, "Did you recognize any of
them?"
"No, sir. They weren't from around the neighborhood."