Chapter X

Dinner was finished at the Brierly camp when a telephone message from the Higginbotham camp requested Professor Brierly to come down there that evening, if it was convenient. McCall and, as an afterthought, Hale, were included in the invitation.

After their arrival Justice Higginbotham began without preamble:

"What conclusions have you reached with reference to these murders, Professor?"

Professor Brierly looked at his questioner curiously. He looked about at the other men. The strain was increasingly telling on them. Old men, all of them, the difference that the last three days had made in their appearance was startling. A furtive, harrowing fear was apparent in most of their countenances.

Professor Brierly answered gently:

"I do not believe I have reached any general conclusion, Judge. The facts, as I found them, that may be helpful to the police I have given the police. Understand, please, I am not a policeman nor a detective. I am a simple scientist and it is as problems in science that I approach these subjects."

"Perhaps I have not made myself clear, Professor. We, or rather most of us, are in a very unhappy state of mind. Thus, what might three days ago have been a very simple thing, takes on for all of us perhaps a grossly exaggerated importance. Mr. Flynn there," glancing toward one of the men who was looking with dull unseeing eyes at the table, "has an important errand at his home. His home is in Pleasantville, N.Y. That is not far from New York City. We are really perplexed as to whether we ought to let him go." Justice Higginbotham nervously clenched his fist until the knuckles showed white.

"This is ghastly, Professor. Let me put it bluntly. Here we are, eleven old comrades, and we are--shall I say it--suspicious of one another. There, you have it, but it is the simple truth. Perhaps all of us do not share this unworthy feeling." He smiled grimly and continued:

"We are old men. In this state of mind, if it continues and grows as it must, unless this damnable mess is cleared up, we will all die shortly without the aid of murder."

McGuire stood up abruptly and took several paces back and forth. He growled:

"Yes, it's hellish. We don't like the idea of Flynn going off by himself and at the same time we are all afraid to stay here. That damn Tontine policy. If not for that we would not--"

His sentence was left unfinished. Several of the old heads nodded in agreement. Flynn looked up. With an air of obviously false bravado he exclaimed:

"What the hell is there to be afraid of? And suppose I do follow the others? I told you when I came three days ago that I could not spend the week. I just have to attend to this matter." He shook his head stubbornly. "If we take this attitude--we are men, aren't we. Can't we protect ourselves, now that we know definitely of the danger. Or aren't we exaggerating the danger?"

Mr. Marshall said gently.

"But it is not altogether our fear for your safety, Bill, that is in our minds. It is--let us put it frankly--"

McGuire interrupted.

"Oh, go on, say it, Hank, say it! It is fear of one another as well as fear for one another. Is that it?"

Marshall nodded. Jimmy tingled at this scene. There was an electric tension that might result in--almost anything. McGuire continued:

"Stay here, Flynn, stay here until this thing is cleaned up."

Flynn got out of his seat. He picked up a light top coat and hat that had been on the arm of his chair.

"Well, I've got to go and that's that. You all know I've got to go. If you're afraid of me, send a guard along. If you're afraid for me, the same guard can do your business."

Justice Higginbotham turned to McCall.

"Mr. McCall, see to it that Flynn is guarded from the moment he steps foot in New York. We will see to it that he has adequate protection until he reaches New York." His eyes swept the rest of the group. "Is that satisfactory?"

There was a general nod of assent. Justice Higginbotham continued:

"For God's sake, let us not be children or old women. We have all faced death before, we have faced other and worse things. We should get some reports soon that will clear this up. In a day, at the most in two days, we will know definitely if Amos Brown, the only remaining member of '14', is still alive."

Bruce Thomas spoke up:

"Facing death from a musket with your comrades about you is comparatively easy, Isaac. But this damnable thing--"

"Forget it. Let us confront it. We--"

The ringing of the telephone interrupted him; Jimmy saw the majority of the old men wince as at a blow. He had a vivid recollection of the hourly ringing of the telephone on the fatal morning of July fourth, it seemed so long ago, and the deadly messages the telephone brought.

The grizzled negro came to the door.

"Lentone police calling, Jedge."

There was an unwonted gleam of excitement in the eyes of the venerable jurist as he returned to the waiting men.

"Lentone police say they have the man who murdered Miller. They want you to come down there, Professor. A man by the name of Grasher--"

"Brasher," corrected Jimmy.

"Yes, Brasher, he was on the wire. He seemed quite elated and he wants you to come right down there, Professor."

William Flynn who was about to go when the telephone bell rang, paused when he heard the news. He shrugged his shoulders. Jimmy who had been watching him saw the look of furtive defiance and bravado lift from him. He said:

"That doesn't make any difference in my plans. I'll have to go anyway. I'd like to wait and see this out. I feel better just the same though, if they've got the killer."

McCall addressed him: "Come down to the Lentone police station with us, Mr. Flynn. We'll arrange for protection for you."

Chief of Police Cassidy, of the Lentone Police, consented readily to the request made by McCall. Then the three men were led into the chief's office. Brasher explained briefly:

"Professor, this bird we got has as many aliases as I got hairs in my head and he's got a criminal record as long as my arm. He's known to the police from here to the Mississippi. The last job he did was in New York, up above Yonkers, where he got into a house like he got into Miller's Folly, chimney, rope, climbing irons and everything. He beat the rap on a technical kink.

"About three hours ago, he was caught over near the New Hampshire line driving a stolen car. We got his record all right. We was waitin' till you came. Want to ask him some questions?"

"No, but I should like to be here when you examine him, if you don't mind?"

Chicago Boyle' alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias to many names to mention, was brought in. Boyle was a well dressed man in the middle thirties. He was strongly and compactly built. He scrutinized carefully each of the men who faced him. He jauntily asked for a cigarette, which Brasher supplied him. He did not take his eyes from Professor Brierly while he was lighting the white tube.

After blowing a series of small smoke rings, he asked:

"You're Professor Brierly, aren't you?" His voice was soft and quietly modulated. His diction was that of a fairly well educated man.

Professor Brierly nodded curtly. Brasher pointed to a chair and said:

"To save time, Boyle, I suppose you'll admit that you're 'Chicago' Boyle, alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias--"

Boyle nodded indifferently.

"Oh, yes, I'm Boyle all right, what of it? I was going about my business, when a hick cop picked me up because he thought my car was stolen. Then I'm transported half way across the state and brought here. What's it all about?"

"We want to ask you some questions, Boyle."

"You can ask as many damn questions as you please. I won't answer 'em. I know my rights. I asked to see a lawyer and you've kept me--"

"Oh, you'll get your lawyer, all right but first--"

"No, first I'll see my lawyer."

Brasher stepped to the doorway and beckoned. A middle-aged man, with blond hair and gimlet like black eyes stepped in. He nodded curtly to the others and said to Boyle:

"What is it?"

"I'm kept here without the shadow of a legal excuse. I don't know what I was arrested for. I've seen no warrant. I haven't been charged."

Counselor-at-law Forman whirled on the chief of police.

"Is this true?" Without waiting for an answer he said heatedly:

"I demand to know what he's charged with. I demand that he be brought before a judge and admitted to bail. I'll have a _habeus corpus_--"

Brasher said softly.

"It's true we didn't charge him. We want to ask him some questions. If he insists on his rights, we'll charge him all right but if we do there won't be no bail. There's no bail for what we're gonna charge him with."

Boyle and Forman stared at the speaker. The lawyer finally asked:

"What are you talking about, no bail. Only in murder cases can a prisoner be denied bail."

"That's what I'm talkin' about, Mr. Forman. You're a smart lawyer all right. Murder is what we're gonna charge him with if he and you insist."

Jimmy had been watching Boyle. After the first momentary surprise, a gleam of sardonic amusement appeared in his eyes. He seemed not at all concerned with the gravity of the charge. But this lasted only a short time. He turned grave, but Jimmy was quite certain he was not frightened. He said:

"Wait a minute, Mr. Forman. This flatfoot hasn't got a thing on me. It may be better to answer questions and--"

"No!" burst out Forman. "Don't answer any questions. They'll--"

Of the two the prisoner seemed far the cooler. He shook his head gently.

"Naw, they won't do a thing; they haven't got anything to do it with. Let 'em ask."

The lawyer glared at him. He spat out:

"Better get another lawyer, since you know so much." He turned abruptly and walked out.

Boyle turned a smiling face to the other men in the room.

"These mouthpieces have their little ways, haven't they? One would think HE was being accused of murder. Go on and ask what you like. I'll answer your questions because I haven't got anything to hide."

"That's swell," said Brasher with thinly disguised sarcasm. "'Member the job of yours near Yonkers, where you got in with a rope hooked around a chimney and climbin' irons. 'Member that, Boyle?"

"Sure, I remember it. But that was a frame up. The police had to have a goat and I was it. But they didn't get away with it. Some judges are honest and this one didn't let them frame me."

"Yeah, that's right. Well, Boyle, mebbe you heard about this Morris Miller who was murdered right outside of town here early in the morning of July 4th. Heard of that did you?"

There was a tightening of the prisoner's jaw muscles. His brows were drawn together. His hand holding the cigarette stopped midway. He was looking fixedly at the detective. He nodded.

"Yes, I heard of it. What of it?"

"Well, the bird who bumped off this Miller got in by using a rope hooked around a chimney like you did--excuse me--like they alleged you did in Yonkers. He used climbing irons too. You used to be a lineman didn't you, Boyle?"

Brasher stopped, waiting for the effect of this on the prisoner. He continued:

"Now all you got to do, Boyle, is to convince us that you weren't there when Mr. Miller was killed and we'll let you go. See."

Boyle's eyes blinked. His ruddy complexion turned several shades lighter. He blinked again. He wet his lips. He made a visible effort to appear calm. He sneered:

"Just like a dumb cop. Asking me to prove that I didn't do it. You ought to know by this time that it's up to you to prove that I did it, that I was where you say I was."

"I'm not saying anything--yet, Boyle. I'm not saying you was there, but--" he stood up and was standing over the prisoner his face thrust forward, his eyes glinting threateningly, "Boyle, you got a record as long as a pedigreed dog. You've been mugged and finger printed all over this country. You done a bit in Joliet for getting into a house the same way as you got in in Yonkers and as you got in--Miller's Folly. All you got to do, Boyle, is prove--sure you're right about the law, Boyle, about us having to prove it, you're right about that.

"But just picture the jury, Boyle. The jury don't know as much law as you do. We'll give the jury your record, see? We'll tell 'em--we'll tell 'em plenty. Where was you that night Boyle?"

Boyle wet his lips.

"I was in a 'speak' that night. About eight o'clock I got talking with a man, a stranger, a man I don't know. We had a couple of drinks. He had a business proposition to make and he wanted me to take a drive with him. I went. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a ditch about four miles from here. It was morning. I guess my drink was drugged. The man, whoever he was, took everything I had on me except my watch. He didn't get it because it was in the little fob pocket of my trousers. I had a vest on."

"Where was this 'speak,' Boyle?"

"It was Corbett's," said Boyle after a momentary hesitation.

"Did anybody in Corbett's know this bird, Boyle?"

"I don't know; he was a stranger to me."

Brasher lifted the receiver from the hook. After an interval the connection was made. Boyle watched him anxiously while he was asking the unseen person at the other end of the wire some questions. Brasher hung up the receiver. He turned to Boyle:

"Yeah, they say you was there and left with a stranger about eight o'clock that night. They never saw this bird before. What business was you talkin' to him about, Boyle?"

"Oh, just some private business."

"Oh, private business, huh. You walk away with--by the way, Boyle, what business are you in now?"

There was a long pause. Then Boyle answered in a low voice, all his jauntiness and assurance gone.

"I do a little bootlegging."

"Willing to admit it now, huh. Bootlegging is easier than murder ain't it, Boyle? And where was you goin' when you was picked up?"

"I was leaving the state. What the hell could I do. This bird cleaned me out. I had my roll on me when I was with him."

"Yeah. You, Boyle, an old-timer, falls in with a stranger in a speakeasy and goes with him at night in his car to listen to a business proposition. And the next thing you know it's mornin' an' you're sleepin' in a ditch. Well, Boyle, we'll make it all legal now. I charge you with murderin' Morris Miller on the night of July 3rd. I warn you now that everythin' you say may be used against you."

As he was about to be led out of the room, Professor Brierly asked a question.

"Mr. Boyle, the watch you spoke of. What kind of watch is it, a wrist watch or a pocket watch?"

The prisoner looked at him a long time, then he burst out.

"What the hell is this? What's the watch got to do with--"

"Do you care to answer the question, Mr. Boyle?" asked the old scientist.

There was something in Professor Brierly's demeanor that made the prisoner change his mind and his manner. He answered politely:

"A pocket watch, sir."

"How long have you had the watch?"

The prisoner reflected the surprise of the other men but answered promptly: "I've had it about eighteen years."

"Thank you Mr. Boyle. May I see the watch please--oh, I beg your pardon. I forgot."

When the prisoner was led out, Professor Brierly asked Brasher to show him the watch. When it was brought, a thin, gold, open face watch, Professor Brierly asked:

"How can we determine if he is telling the truth about the length of time he had the watch?"

McCall asked Brasher:

"How long ago was this Yonkers job, Brasher?"

"'Bout three years ago."

McCall turned to the Professor.

"They may have a record in the police station, where he was booked on that Yonkers affair of the stuff he had with him. If they have a record and description of this watch we will know that he has had it this length of time anyway. Will that help, Professor?"

"Why, yes. That may be very helpful."

The New York District Attorney made the call. When his connection with the proper source of information was finally complete he held out his hand mutely for the watch. He described it in detail including a monogram on the case. When he hung up the receiver he nodded.

"Yes, this watch was among the effects found on his person when he was arrested. A careful record was kept of it because at the time it was suspected that the watch had been stolen."

Brasher had impatiently waited for this, to him unimportant and irrelevant matter to be disposed of. Now he burst out.

"Well, Professor, we got him didn't we. That sure was a swell tip of yours."

Professor Brierly did not appear to be listening. When Brasher repeated the question he shook his head absently.

"What? Oh, yes, yes. If you mean that we have the murderer of Mr. Miller, Mr. Brasher, I am not at all certain that you are right. Would you mind asking this Boyle when he had this watch cleaned last?"

Brasher looked at him in undisguised surprise. Professor Brierly was oblivious to this. He was peering intently at the watch. Brasher stepped out and in a short time he returned saying gruffly:

"He says it hasn't been cleaned for about four or five years." Then he changed his tone and asked with a faint imitation of his former enthusiasm:

"But we got him, Professor, we got him. Gee what a swell break for us that you was there." He added generously. "I'm sure I couldn't 'a' seen what you seen, Professor."

Professor Brierly was still in an absent minded mood. He was looking at the watch. Suddenly he said:

"Mr. Brasher, may I have this watch for a few hours. I will return it."

Brasher looked at the chief of police who nodded.