"This woman found Schurman's body yesterday morning. The condition of the body showed that it had been dead nearly twenty-four hours. The condition of the stomach showed that he had not eaten for about six hours prior to death, and no eggs then. A quick search by the police placed him in a small restaurant near his apartment, about two o'clock on the morning he was found. Thus it may be assumed that the person who murdered Schurman is the person who consumed that enormous amount of food. The police say they have one additional bit of evidence they would rather not divulge."
At this point in the recital McGuire jumped up. His features were alight with a mixture of ferocity and the zeal of the hunter. He growled:
"The bird who did that left his visiting card!"
All eyes were turned in his direction.
He continued:
"Cracksmen, criminals of all kinds have their idiosyncrasies, their peculiarities. They do certain things and thus leave a broad trail for the police to follow. The police know these peculiarities, they have a record of them. Here is a bird who does an unusual thing, he eats an enormous quantity of food. He is an expert; he has probably done it before. The police are sure to get him. During my tenure of office as Police Commissioner of New York, I have seen it work out this way lots of times. They never learn, the criminals don't; they never learn."
McCall nodded. "You're right, Commissioner. Professor Brierly suggested that yesterday, when he was discussing the murder of Morris Miller. The murderer in that case left even more pronounced clues than this one you are now discussing. Professor Brierly then said that the police must surely have a record of a man who does things in such a way."
"Sure to have," responded McGuire. He arose and stretched his short huge bulk. "This is something like it. We now have something tangible, something definite. It was the damnable inaction that was beginning to get on my nerves. I'm going to use your phone, Judge."
They heard his voice rumbling at the telephone in the adjoining room. They were still conscious of his deep growling voice when Professor Brierly, Jimmy and McCall departed.
The two younger men succeeded in warding off from Professor Brierly the barrage of questions that was fired at him by the horde of men and women who still waited about, hoping for a crumb of information in addition to that which had been furnished.
When they were free of the crowd of newspaper men, Jimmy asked:
"Did the police tell you, Professor, what the additional bit of evidence was?"
"Yes, when I convinced them it was not suicide they made a more extended search of the apartment. It was then they learned that an expert cracksman had entered, that an expert had opened the safe without blowing it open or forcing it open. This cracksman, however, did things in a way that only about half a dozen men in the country do it and the police have all of them tagged.
"The additional individual evidence was entirely accidental. They found under the safe a small nail file. On its smooth portion they found a clear thumb and forefinger print. They were rather mysterious about it, so evidently they think they can lay their hands on the man who left this print. Off hand, I should say that finding the man who did it and fixing the guilt definitely should be rather easy."
He stopped, shook his head in some perplexity, and murmured:
"There is something about the whole devilish business that just won't fit, won't fit into all the known facts, won't fit into observation and experience; won't fit—" The rest was too low for Jimmy to hear.
Professor Brierly refused the offer of the pilot of the plane that was gently rocking near the wharf. Getting into McCall's boat with its owner, they got under way, followed by Jimmy Hale and his youthful pilot, Harry Stoy.
Chapter IX
As they approached the camp, Jimmy was amused to see the occupation with which Matthews was employed. He was still teaching young Thomas Van Orden how to dive. From a distance Jimmy saw with approval that Tommy had progressed rather well in the art. The youngster made a fairly creditable dive. Matthews was lifting him aboard the cruiser, when the youngster saw the approaching boat.
"Hey, Pop!" he yelled, his shrill treble ringing across the water. "Lookit me dive." He jumped, landing in a flat "belly whopper" causing a splash grossly disproportionate to his small form. Matthews, with a grin dove after him and the lesson for the time being was over. Tommy was sent into the house, where he was followed by his adoring mother.
Matthews jerked his thumb toward the porch and said to Professor
Brierly:
"You've got company, sir. He had to see you, so he's waiting. You can hear him from here."
The "him," they could hear was Detective Brasher, slumped in a deep wicker chair, head thrown back, sound asleep, his snores causing a discordant note on the peaceful scene.
At the touch of Jimmy's hand on his shoulder, he awakened. He smiled sheepishly as his eyes fell on the group standing about him and dragged himself out of his chair.
"'Scuse me, Professor; I been busy with this and ain't had much sleep. I found something that'll interest you. Mr. Matthews said you'd be along pretty soon, so I waited. Here, Professor—" He leaned over and, from behind the chair he had occupied on their arrival, he took a coiled rope. He dropped it with a soft plop at Professor Brierly's feet.
"What do you think of this, Professor?"
Professor Brierly almost pounced on the loose coils at his feet. He carefully unwound it. There was nearly a hundred yards of wash line. Tied securely to the end of this there was an equal length of twine. Tied to the end of the latter, there was a long length of fish line, at the end of which there was a fairly heavy sinker. There was no gut or hook, just the sinker.
Professor Brierly looked approvingly at the unkempt, red-eyed detective.
"Good work, Mr. Brasher! Splendid! Where did you find it?"
"I'm not as clever as you think, Professor, or I would 'a' had this yesterday. I looked around after you left Miller's Folly. I found tracks of a motorcycle on the ground a short distance away. We're pretty careful about smuggling any booze around here, you know, Professor, so I asked around, thinking maybe a trooper on our side or mebbe one of the Mounties on this side would have seen or heard a motorcycle.
"A trooper on our side of the line heard a motorcycle about two o'clock yesterday morning. I figgered that if it had bumped off Miller, I wouldn't want to be carting around with me, any longer than I had to, several hundred yards of rope and twine, like you said he had to have. Not with troopers snoopin' around and asking questions mebbe that might be hard to answer.
"I asks myself what would I do with it? I snooped around and about a quarter mile from the Folly there is a gully with weeds growin' over it so you can't see it unless you know it's there or you fall into it. The motorcycle tracks lead right up to this gully. Mebbe the bird who bumps off Miller rides into it at night. About twenty, thirty yards from the place he rides into it, I find this." He nodded toward the rope which Professor Brierly was carefully examining as he was uncoiling it.
Professor Brierly looked up, a trace of anxiety in his deep eyes.
"Was there water in the gully, Brasher?"
"A little, not to amount to anything."
The anxiety in Professor Brierly's eyes deepened. "Running water,
Brasher?"
"Oh, no, not that. Just a little water in the bottom from some rain mebbe, or, mebbe it was seepage."
Professor Brierly's features cleared. There was no hesitation in his manner. He turned briskly to Matthews.
"Did the microscope and slides come, John?" When Matthews answered in the affirmative, he continued:
"A large vessel, John, and some clear cold water."
He turned to the detective.
"Lie down on the hammock there, Brasher, while I am making some tests. I'll wake you when—"
"Do you mind, Professor, if I watch you—if I watch you make your tests?"
"Certainly not, but you will not find it very interesting."
Matthews brought out to the porch an infant's bathtub of enameled metal ware. He poured water in it from the well and asked the old man:
"Won't there be complications, Professor? This water is not distilled and—"
"You will make a microscopic examination of the water, John, and make a careful record, while I wash the rope and twine."
While Matthews went indoors to do his mentor's bidding, the old scientist uncoiled the three sections of rope, twine and fish line. He swirled first one of them violently in the clear water of the bathtub. Then, he siphoned off the water. The water was then subjected to a careful filtering process. The solids resulting from this were subjected to the microscope.
This was done in turn with each section of the coil of rope and twine that Brasher brought. Toward the end of his examination, Professor Brierly had Matthews' help. Jimmy wondered at the smoothness and celerity with which the two men worked. They must have done this many times in the past. There seemed perfect understanding. Without a word being uttered, each man's hands did their appointed task as though one brain dominated them. There was no fumbling, false motions or getting in one another's way.
Each man's movements were carefully checked. The results of the examination of each microscopic slide were carefully noted. They worked with machine-like precision. Jimmy could understand now why Matthews was rapidly attaining a reputation as a scientist second only to his beloved chief. Gone now was the habitual good humored grin with which Matthews treated most things and people. Neither man dominated; both worked as one; there was perfect coordination.
During the tests, Martha came out to call them to lunch; Professor Brierly shook his head impatiently. At the second call he snapped irascibly at the old housekeeper. Turning to the others, he said:
"Go on in and have lunch, all of you; this must be finished." His audience did not budge; their absorption in his task was matched only by his own. Martha shrugged her ample shoulders in resignation and with a snort of disgust left Professor Brierly and his adopted son to their task.
At last it was finished. Professor Brierly spoke to Brasher:
"Bits of brick and mortar on the fish line, twine and rope show that this was in all probability the means used by Miller's murderer. This is probably from the chimney. There is also some roof paint, from the edge of the roof of Miller's Folly."
He looked at the notes he and Matthews had made. He continued:
"Mr. Brasher, the rope prior to its use around the chimney of
Miller's Folly was for a considerable time at a farm or farmyard,
where you will find the following:
"A boxwood hedge, of the species B. sempervirens, the common box.
"One or more pear trees.
"You will find these shrubs," handing him a list.
"On that farm there are two horses, a bay and sorrel.
"There is a black and white cow.
"There are some leghorn chickens.
"There is a collie dog."
McCall, Jimmy and Brasher were startled. They stared at the old man in disbelief. McCall said:
"Oh, I say, Professor, see here—" He stopped. He saw Matthews grin and wink at Jimmy. Professor Brierly was oblivious to the interruption. He continued:
"The fish line contains all the characteristics of the rope, but was not at that place for so long a time." He looked once more at his slip of paper.
"I forgot to mention that a stream of water runs through or adjacent to the place where these ropes were kept."
He looked once more at his notes and shook his head.
"The twine," he said slowly, "was also at that place for a considerable length of time. In addition, it appears to have been for some time in a hat factory, where felt hats are made; in a part of a hat factory where a good deal of the fur from the felt hats is in constant motion. I am not familiar with hat factories, but it must be in a branch of the factory, where the hat is worked after it has been dyed."
He caught the detective's look of astonishment.
"Really, Mr. Brasher, there is nothing remarkable about this. Your feat of finding the rope was far more meritorious, both the reasoning and the actual finding of the rope. What John and I did just now was absurdly simple.
"All you need do now, Mr. Brasher, is find a man, probably a left-handed man, who lives on a place such as I described, who owns a motorcycle who cannot account for the time in which we know Mr. Miller was killed; who either worked in or had access to a hat factory; a man who has a pair of climbing irons and you have the murderer."
"Oh, yeah, is that all?"
Professor Brierly bristled.
"What is there difficult about that? That should be simple. Surely there are not a great many farms or farmyards that comply with all the conditions I enumerated. Surely that should be merely detail, just the work the police ought to be able to do. Ex-Police Commissioner McGuire thinks that too."
He waved his hands with a gesture of finality and Brasher knew that he was dismissed. With a look of awe and reverence he departed, shaking his head wonderingly.
Professor Brierly was also shaking his head. There was a puzzled frown on his fine features. He said:
"I shall have to recast my opinion about the man or men who are responsible for these two murders. I said he or they are clever but not subtle. I was wrong, there is a subtlety about it, a devilish ingenuity about it." He shook his head once more, the puzzled frown becoming deeper. "There are things about these two murders that do not fit and it seems hard to make them fit. I wonder—" He shook his head violently as if to clear it of an unpleasant or hazy thought.
Hale began, slowly, not knowing how to broach the subject:
"Was there something, Professor, that you were holding back in Justice Higginbotham's camp, something you knew, that you did not care to tell."
Professor Brierly looked at him quizzically.
"You are an acute young man, Hale—or, was I so obvious?"
He sat for a long time thoughtfully tearing to bits the small sheets on which he had made his notes of the examination of the ropes and twine. He continued slowly:
"What the microscope showed me this morning increased my doubts about the matter. The trail left by the murderer in Miller's Folly seemed clear enough. Finding the rope, however, instead of clarifying the case makes it more puzzling. What we found on the rope and twine does not at all accord with the rope itself and its implication.
"I find an analogous situation in New York. Everything seemed clear enough. Someone entered Schurman's apartment. That person was either rather skilled in human anatomy or he was told how to hit Schurman. The victim was struck in such a way that it could easily have been mistaken for simple asphyxia or the kind of asphyxia that you would find in a body that has been hung by the neck. Everything seemed simple enough until I found the apple."
"The apple?" queried McCall.
"Yes, the apple of which the murderer almost took a bite. It was a green apple. The murderer was about to take a bite, but he changed his mind. It was too hard, or too bitter, or too sour." He changed the subject abruptly. "And what will the District Attorney of New York County do about August Schurman's murder? That, at least, is in your jurisdiction, Mr. McCall."
"Yes, that is in my jurisdiction. I have wired orders and my office is doing all it can right now to cooperate with the police. We should hear something shortly."
Professor Brierly turned to the reporter.
"Obviously, Mr. Hale, the ends of justice will not be well served if you should publish in your paper what we discovered today by means of the microscope. The police may be seriously hampered in its work if too much or any publicity is given this matter."
"But Professor—"
The old man snapped at him. "But nothing. If you were not here you would know nothing about it. Certainly, if the police discovered what I discovered they would be very careful to withhold it from reporters. Surely you have enough in this story to satisfy even your insatiable appetite for news."
Jimmy gulped. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Here he had a juicy bit of news that would delight Hite and he could not publish it. What a swell new lead for the story. Acting contrary to the old man's wishes in the matter was, of course, out of the question.
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.
Chapter XI
Jimmy stayed in Lentone while Professor Brierly went on to his own camp. Jimmy called up his office where he knew that a dog watch would be kept all night.
The sleepy voice that identified itself as Duke Wellington became crisp when Jimmy gave his name. The entire office was now a throb and expectant of news from the Canadian border.
"Just a flash, Duke. I'll file a story in time for the first edition tomorrow morning. They picked up 'Chicago' Boyle here near the New Hampshire border; Boyle was in a job in Yonkers some time ago where he got into a house the same way the killer got into Miller's Folly; chimney, rope and climbing irons. Boyle's alibi is fishy, Duke, awfully weak.
"A member of this Tontine group, William Flynn, who lives in Pleasantville decided he had to go home. There was quite a scene about it in Judge Higginbotham's camp. This thing is getting on the nerves of most of them. They're all up in the air. They weren't going to let him go. Finally they compromised by letting him go under escort, get me. A policeman from Lentone and a trooper are going to escort him to the Massachusetts line, where someone else will take it up.
"McCall, the D.A., arranged with the police authorities to watch him while he's in New York, to see that nothing happens. Better cover that, Duke, have a man pick him up with escort when he gets off the train. Any news at the New York end?"
"Naw, police handing out a lotta applesauce about soon having the bird who bumped off Schurman. I think they picked up about thirty-five assorted crooks on this Schurman killing. I'll say this for 'em, I never saw 'em so busy since that bird bumped off a couple cops and a kid. That all, Jim?"
"Yep. Think I'll go up to Professor Brierly's camp and if he hasn't got anything to say, I'll hit the hay. Tell Hite, if he calls, that I'll file a full story, will you?"
Jimmy's eyes glinted with amusement when he came to the wharf of McCall's camp. It was still daylight and he had no difficulty recognizing some of the high lights in his profession on the porch and on the wharf. A number of them had simultaneously arrived at the conclusion that they would fare better perhaps camping on Professor Brierly's trail than they would in following the Higginbotham group and the meager information that the police were willing to divulge.
They surged about him when he stepped off the boat. He soon convinced them he would share with them every bit of news he got from Brierly, the police, or the Tontine group as it was now called. All of them now had the story of Boyle's arrest.
Jimmy listened with a grin as they told him of their experience when they tried to pump Professor Brierly. One of them sported a black eye. He had used language that Matthews did not like and the blonde young giant had punched him in the eye and threatened to clean out the entire group if they didn't let the Professor alone. Jimmy assured them earnestly that Matthews meant what he said. After convincing themselves that they could get no more news at this source the crowd melted and the camp was left to the peace of a Canadian summer night.
Professor Brierly was fingering Boyle's watch with a perplexed frown on his fine features as Jimmy stepped into the living-room. The old man looked up as the reporter entered the large room with its soft lights.
"What about the watch, Professor? Can you tell as much about it as you can about the rope and twine?"
Professor Brierly snapped at him:
"Are you trying to be funny, young man? Are you trying to convey the impression, are you implying that you do not believe what the microscope showed me when—"
"Pardon me, Professor. I worded my question wrong. No, remarkable as it sounds, I believe every word you say, of course. But—"
"There is nothing specially remarkable about it, Mr. Hale. The true value of the microscope in scientific criminal investigation is just now beginning to be appreciated. The watch, now—" Once more the puzzled frown that had appeared several times creased his brows. He continued slowly:
"There is nothing in the watch that places it in or near the farm or farmyard from which the heavy rope, the twine and the fish line seem to have come. There is certainly nothing that places it in a department of a hat factory where dyed particles of felt hats may be found in great profusion."
"You mean, Professor," broke in McCall, "that a microscopic examination of the watch didn't show those characteristics?"
"Yes."
"Provided, Professor, Boyle is telling the truth about when his watch was cleaned. If the watch were thoroughly cleaned it would obscure—"
"Boyle told the truth, or the approximate truth about the time his watch was cleaned last. The watch shows evidence of that."
"What do you say about, Boyle, Professor?" pursued Jimmy.
"There is not a single shred of evidence against him. As I have heard you say, Mr. Hale, I would not convict a yellow dog on such evidence."
"Did you hear his alibi, Professor? It's certainly a flimsy excuse, if I ever heard one."
"True, it is flimsy. But I am half inclined to believe it because it is so flimsy. I watched him very carefully, as you no doubt did. I was impressed with the belief that the charge of murder surprised him. And it did not appear the surprise of a murderer who thought he had his trail well hidden.
"Boyle is rather above the average criminal. The murderer as we have seen, is a man of considerable resource. If caught, he is certain to have a better alibi than Boyle had, a more plausible alibi. Does Boyle strike you like the kind of man who, if he murdered a man, would not have a more plausible story? No, I tell you, its very lack of plausibility almost convinces me of its truth.
"Boyle is in a desperate situation and he knows it. He showed it by readily admitting that he was engaged in the illicit traffic of liquor, when apparently, the police were not at all concerned with this phase of his activities.
"But aside from all this, there is the watch; the watch is very important. It may be negative, it is true, but it is nevertheless very convincing. The rope and the twine and the fish line were positive evidence. Not evidence that the murderer owned the farm or farmyard perhaps, but evidence that the articles in question were at that farmyard a considerable time; evidence that the twine was in a hat factory.
"Place the rope, twine and fish line in Boyle's possession; place
Boyle in a hat factory and you may convince me of his guilt of
Miller's murder. Not otherwise."
He snapped shut the watch case, with an emphatic click. His brow cleared.
"Negative evidence is often very important, is it not? It helps clear one's mind. I think I am beginning to see. What a gorgeous plan it was. Did I say that I took back what I said about the man, responsible for these deaths not being subtle? I did? Well he is subtle, dangerously so."
"Do you mean, Professor," Jimmy leaned forward eagerly, "that you know the man who—"
"Not so fast young man. I do not know who it is, but I am beginning to think I know who it might be; who it can be. Is that dubious?" His eyes were now gleaming. The three men watching him knew the signs. His small shapely hand was pounding the arm of his chair softly. He became suddenly grave. He spoke to McCall:
"Did we hear Flynn say that he told his comrades when he came here that he would have to leave on an important errand today?"
McCall and Jimmy nodded. Professor Brierly's gravity became more profound. He sprang to his feet. He said emphatically:
"Call New York at once, Mr. McCall. Do not waste a minute. Tell them to take extreme precautions in watching Flynn. I believe Flynn is in the greatest danger. Oh, fool that I am! Why did I not think of it? At once, Mr. McCall, at once." He pounded the table impatiently. As McCall was turning the small crank to ring the operator, Professor Brierly added:
"After you've done that, McCall, see if you can get in touch with the train that Flynn took. Warn his guards."
When McCall came back to the table looking inquiringly toward the white-headed old scientist, the latter smiled slowly. "Thinking that I am getting into my dotage, young man? Flynn is in deadly danger. I will feel at ease about him only when he gets back here safely. His greatest danger is when he arrives in New York. He is probably safe on board the train but I do not know, I am afraid for him."
Jimmy went outside to see to the comfort of his youthful pilot. Harry Stoy had made his bed on the ground near the wharf. He said he liked to sleep outdoors under the sky. When he returned Jimmy took his portable typewriter to his room where he wrote far into the night.
The entire household was wrapped in slumber when the telephone bell awoke them with its insistent buzz. McCall, cursing the impulse that had made him install a telephone in this out of the way camp, arose sleepily and took down the receiver.
The growling voice at the other end of the wire identified itself as that of Hite, of the New York Eagle. McCall profanely told the voice that he would get Jimmy, when Hite stopped him.
"Never mind Jimmy, you'll do. I was at a night club when I got word that you sent out word to guard Flynn. Is that right?"
"Yes. Is that what you woke me up for. Can't a newspaper respect another man's—"
"Aw, boloney, save that for the jury. I called you up to tell you that I did something for you. A souse got in a fight with Flynn on the train. The cop and the trooper staved off trouble. I got in touch with someone up there and now there's two secret service men on the train with him. They got on the train at Brattleboro. Tell your friends and tell Jimmy. Good night."
When McCall turned away from the telephone, Jimmy was standing there watching him. When he heard what the District Attorney, with considerable heat, had to say, Jimmy grinned.
"Save it, Mac, save it. You ought to thank the old grouch for calling you up. He put two secret service men on the train with Flynn? Just like Hite. You'll have to admit that it takes a newspaper man to do things."
McCall glared at him. Jimmy returned the glare with his most impudent grin, and they returned to their beds.
Chapter XII
Sunday, the next day, gave Jimmy a chance to rest. He supplied himself with as many papers as he could get in Lentone and began reading what others had to say about the most sensational murder case in a decade. From the first moment when Professor Brierly had pronounced the Miller death a murder the affair had assumed national importance.
Following the clues supplied by the members of the Tontine group a number of the papers and the important press services had followed the dim traces of one Amos Brown, the last surviving member of the batch of prisoners who had been numbered '14' in Libby Prison far back in 1864.
One of the papers told in vivid detail of the disbanding of the army of the North by President Johnson on assuming office after Lincoln's assassination. This told of the day when two hundred thousand in weather worn uniforms, with tattered flags and polished guns trudged in review before the President.
It pictured several members of the Tontine group, youngsters of seventeen or eighteen, forming part of the audience that saw this army go by. It depicted a few of the Union members of the Tontine group in that marching horde. The story told in vivid detail of the attempts of the Confederate veterans to go back home to the quiet and industrious productive life which now that peace was at hand, they yearned most for.
The papers gave a brief history of each member of the dwindling Tontine group. They showed how the two hundred and thirty-seven adversaries in the war had lived in amity and peace during the span of years in the true spirit of comradeship.
The papers spoke of the enormous size of the fund, which in the sixty-five years had, because of compound interest, grown with geometric leaps. One of the special writers had elicited from Mr. Marshall, former Ambassador to Great Britain, the information that for nearly a decade the surviving members had reached a compromise by which each survivor was to get annually an amount sufficient for a livelihood. This amount was not divulged. This reporter did learn, however, that this was done at the suggestion of one of the wealthiest members of the group. Jimmy suspected that this member was August Schurman.
It was explained that the purpose of this was to save from actual want those members who were not as fortunate financially as their comrades. This method of dividing a small part of the fund, without impairing seriously the capital amount, would preserve the self-respect of the poorer members.
One of the papers dug up an interesting story about Stanislav Vasiliewski, who was a Confederate soldier and had a brother in the Union army. Stanislav's brother had been captured and held in Jackson, Mississippi, where a rickety old enclosed bridge, the ruins of which had been left standing above the water, was used as a prison. The prisoners were kept in this structure for one month in the coldest season of the year without beds or bedding. At this prison there was no fire or lights. Almost every day two or three were carried out dead; some of them frequently lay at the entrance to the bridge unburied four or five days.
Stanislav found his brother a prisoner in this place. It appeared certain to him that his brother would not survive the terrible conditions more than a few days longer. He thereupon changed uniforms with his brother and forced the latter to leave the prison, himself remaining with the probability of facing a firing squad.
This paper mentioned Colonel Thomas C. Fletcher, of Blair's Brigade, commander of the Missouri Wide Awake Zouaves, being wounded and captured by the Confederates and with twenty other men, privates and officers, being put into this prison.
Reporters, special writers, novelists spread themselves in this Sunday edition. They extracted from the situation all the thrill, glamour and romance they could. And permeating it all was the terrible threat of death that hung over the heads of the Tontine group; the mysterious "14," who for all these years had followed the group relentlessly with his terrible reminders.
And, strange to say, with the major newspapers and police of two countries making an exhaustive search, there was not one tangible clue leading to the murderer or murderers. The newspapers talked of "clues." The police of many communities talked of "clues." They issued statements to the effect that shortly there would be new developments. Jimmy, the veteran newspaperman, took this all for exactly what it was worth. He knew that most of it or all of it was "dope." The reporters had run out of facts and were having recourse to vague speculations. Strange too, Jimmy wondered that in a story so replete with color and glamour, that this should be the situation.
The story was less than three days old; that is a long time counted in editions. Many editions had gone to press. City, state and Federal police were actively on the job. And now, when Jimmy was reading the Sunday papers, nearly sixty hours had elapsed since the news of the first death had come to Justice Higginbotham's camp and the police had not a single shred of evidence linking the murders to any one.
Professor Brierly's name did not have a prominent part in any of the stories he had read. Jimmy knew why. Professor Brierly was averse to being quoted unless he had something definite to say. He never gave an opinion unless it was an opinion based on fact that one could "go to court with."
The first flaming headlines had featured Professor Brierly necessarily, since it was he who had pointed out the fact that two of the deaths were murders.
* * * * *
Jimmy, late that Sunday afternoon, went once more to the camp of Justice Higginbotham. The large, comfortable cottage, with its graceful furniture, its books, its meager, comfortable furnishings, was a house of death, dread and horror. Its inhabitants were afraid of one another. The opening of a door, any untoward noise, the ringing of the telephone, caused most of them to jump and look about apprehensively. In sheer bravado, they, one at a time, went out of the house either to walk about the rough ground, or to go to Lentone.
A visit to the police station there bore no fruit. Brasher was red-eyed, haggard and in a vicious humor. Boyle had closed up after his first talk with Brasher and he now refused to add anything to what he had already told him, or to retreat an inch from his position.
With Brasher's permission, Jimmy tried to interview him. Boyle was not now the suave, smooth, modern type crook. He had had ample time to realize fully the dangerous position he was in. He knew that this was not a case of an ordinary murder, or of the murder of one gangster by another. He knew that the nation was aroused over these murders, and that he would stand very little chance before a jury unless he could build up a stronger defense than he possessed, or find a more plausible alibi.
Boyle swore at Jimmy with an understandable wrath. He poured out his hopelessness and rage in obscenities that made even the hardened newspaper man wince. He cursed Jimmy, the police, Professor Brierly, McCall, everything and everybody to which he could lay tongue. Jimmy looked at him pityingly, understandingly, and left him, raging and cursing.
Jimmy decided to go home and bask in the camp's domestic quiet. Tommy Van Orden, under his mother's adoring eyes, was trying, in imitation of his big Uncle Jack, to teach the puppy to wipe its paws.
The three men were on the porch. Professor Brierly, in an expansive mood, was enlarging on one of his favorite conversational topics.
"Education! Education has become a mere form. There was a time in this country, even in this country, when a boy or girl went to an institution of higher learning for only one reason: to get an education. And now! Stadia and bowls instead of laboratories and classrooms. Physical perfection has become a fetish and that is being highly commercialized.
"When Einstein delivers an important pronouncement, an announcement that is of universal importance, the papers facetiously give it a few paragraphs. But when a center receives the football and runs several hundred yards with it, the papers get hysterical—"
"A center, Professor? Several hundred yards?" murmured Matthews.
Professor Brierly glared at him. Matthews gently corrected him:
"A center wouldn't be permitted to receive a pass, or run several hundred yards or—"
"Well, the tacklers, then, or the guardsmen."
"Nor the tackles or guards, Professor," murmured Matthews.
"Keep quiet!" snapped Professor Brierly. "What difference does it make. The point I am making is that the mass is taught to pay too much attention to perfectly inconsequential things while they ignore or overlook the things of sound worth.
"You can get, at most, only a handful of persons to listen to a sound informative lecture, whereas seventy thousand persons will sit in a freezing rain to watch Cagle, of Southern California, or Grange, of Yale—"
Matthews again interrupted:
"Better not make it public, Professor, that Cagle played on the
Trojans team, or Grange for old Eli. If it became known—"
"You are the saddest commentary of the truth of what I am saying," snarled the old scientist. "How can a person know the worthwhile things when he stores his mind with such trivial—you know far too much of such things, young man."
Martha came to the door and told Jimmy that he was wanted on the telephone. She also emphatically gave it as her opinion that a man who spoke as did the caller on the telephone was no gentleman.
With the utterance of his "Hello," Hite's growl came over the wire.
"The way you act anyone would think that you were on a vacation. Where the hell were you? I've been trying to get you in all the places you should be if you're on the job. I was at the club and just got a flash that something big broke, something in connection with the Tontine group. I've been trying to get you. Where the hell were you?"
"Just came from the police station a few minutes ago, chief. What is it?"
"How the hell do I know what it is? Who's on the story, you or I? I called up the police, every department, from the cops up. I can't get a word out of 'em. I know something big broke the way they act. They've had orders to shut down tight; that's why I can't get a word. There isn't a man in the office beside myself. There's somebody down in the business office who's taking care of the switchboard. I can't go out because I may miss a call.
"Step on it! Scurry around and see what it is. And keep in touch.
Call up every few minutes."
Jimmy hung up the receiver and stood at the instrument in thought, holding the receiver in its hook as though he would get inspiration from the lifeless instrument. He had learned to have a profound respect for Hite's tips. Hunch or flash, whatever it was, it was undoubtedly something. He started swiftly for the hotel in Lentone, where many of the newspaper representatives congregated. If anyone among them knew of something to justify Hite's excitement, he would show it in some way. There would be a tension, a restlessness that would give the secret away.
The first look at the large group of men and women lolling on the wide verandah of the hotel convinced Jimmy that none of these knew of anything big breaking. News sleuths, do not act the way these did with something big. They are up and moving.
He went back to the police station. There was nothing new there.
He called up Justice Higginbotham's camp and spoke to McGuire.
There was nothing there. He called up Professor Brierly.
Jack, who answered the phone, assured him that everything was peaceful there also.
He called up the office again. This time he was connected directly with the city room. When he identified himself his eardrums were almost shattered by the howl that came over the wire:
"Flynn was murdered an hour ago!" Hite yelled.
Jimmy's body stiffened as if a live galvanic battery had been applied to it. Flynn, murdered? With guards near by, men who had been warned and ordered—Jimmy, trained as he was to disaster and tragedy in all its forms, somehow could not accept this. He said inanely:
"Flynn, murdered? Did you say Flynn, chief? Why he—"
"What the hell is the matter with you, are you drunk? Yes," the word came in a hiss. "I said Flynn, William Flynn, the member of your Tontine group we were warned to guard."
"But wasn't he guarded?"
"Yes, he was guarded. Two of his guards were in his house with him. Three were outside." Jimmy had been leaning weakly against the instrument as if for support. Now he came out of it. He was the alert newspaper man.
"How about the guards, chief? How did it happen?"
"The guards were blown to hell with him. He was picked up in each state as soon, as he crossed the border. The Federal man was with him all the time. He had to transact some important business with a nephew in Orange, New Jersey. He went there first, under guard. Then he went home, to Pleasantville. There was no one there; the house had been closed up. About three or four minutes after he got there there was an explosion that blew the entire dwelling to kindling wood. The two guards, one of them a state trooper, and one of them a Federal man, were killed with him. There wasn't enough left of him or them to put in a bushel basket.
"The police have a drag net out. All the roads, all the railroads, all the airports are guarded. The river and the water front, every wharf in New York and New Jersey is taken care of. You would think a flea couldn't get through. They've picked up hundreds of men."
"What do you want me to do, Chief?"
"I don't know, but get around, see the members of the Tontine group. Persuade Professor Brierly to come down here if he can; the plane is still up there and is at his disposal. And by the way, Jimmy, if he consents to come, unless there is something up there that needs your personal attention, come with him. You seem to be the only person who can get along with him or get anything out of him. Step on it. I'll stay here until I hear from you, at any rate."
Professor Brierly listened carefully to Jimmy's swift explosive sentences in which he transmitted the high lights of the tragedy four hundred miles away. As he had done on a former occasion, Professor Brierly acceded at once to the request that he go down by plane to view the scene of the explosion.
While Jimmy made the telephone call for the plane, the Professor was getting himself in readiness for the flight. He looked up in surprise as he saw Matthews also in the act of preparing for a journey.
"Where are you going, John?"
"Going with you, Professor. Jimmy tells me it's a cabin plane that will accommodate six or seven passengers."
Professor Brierly looked at him suspiciously. Matthews' features were etched in grave lines. The big, blond young giant looked rather grim. Jimmy looked on in surprise at this scene, which he could not understand. Professor Brierly dissented impatiently.
"Nonsense, John. What need is there for you to go?"
Matthews answered quietly: "Sorry to disagree with you, Professor, but I'm going along."
Professor Brierly, after glaring speechlessly at his adopted son, shrugged his shoulders and continued getting himself in readiness. Jimmy followed Matthews out to the porch. He asked quietly:
"What is this, Jack? I don't get it at all."
Matthews looked at him without trying to conceal his contempt.
"A hell of a bright newspaper man you are! It was Professor Brierly who pointed to the fact that Miller's and Schurman's deaths were murders. If not for that, Flynn's death might have been put down to some accident.
"I wouldn't feel at all comfortable having the old gentleman go down there alone. It's true he'll have you there, Jimmy. You're a good little man and you've got plenty of guts, but I'll feel better, lots better, if I am with him personally."
"Well, what was he sore about?"
"He's sore because he knows why I'm going and he hates to be taken care of. We had some words about his going day before yesterday. He's a cocky old guy, as you know, isn't afraid of any single thing on earth and it galls him to have me go along to play nursemaid. Well, he can just be sore. I'm not going to leave his side." He paused and then said slowly:
"Jimmy, I don't like this. I don't like it a damn bit. Birds who will play this kind of a game, with several million dollars at stake, who will plan murders like these, won't stop at anything. And there's no question about it that the Professor has interfered with their plans somewhat. I repeat, Jimmy, I don't like it a damn bit. In all those things you got him into I never had quite the same feeling I have now. I'm really afraid for him.
"Well, I'm going to be with him and I'm likely to take drastic action first and talk afterward if someone makes a suspicious move."
Jimmy soberly nodded. His absorption in the story had made him overlook this ramification of it. He could see that it was highly probable that Professor Brierly might be in as great danger as was any member of the Tontine group.
The pilot of the amphibian, when he taxied up to the wharf, told Jimmy that arrangements had been made that he land the plane on a field belonging to John Mallory, amateur sportsman and airman, whose estate was close to the home of William Flynn, at Pleasantville.