"I'm not sure. There's any number of sea sleds on this lake just like it. That's not the important thing though. I should have taken the glasses along. When my gas gave out I could have had a good look at their motor. There may be a lot of boats like that but not many motors that can develop that speed. It will be a simple thing to attach that motor to another boat."
He went on with grim irony: "That's simple enough. If we had ten thousand men we could comb the thirty-odd miles of lake and examine every motor on it, thus narrowing the search down to motors capable of a speed—why are they watching, why—"
"Yes," went on McCall, "why this, and why do they want Professor Brierly to go back to New York? Why in the name of common sense New York? Is it—is it—" his features lit up. "Is it because someone is interested in seeing that Professor Brierly does not interfere in the affairs of Camp Higginbotham in the next few days?"
There was no answer. Professor Brierly's bushy eyebrows were bristling. He was staring at the faces of the group unseeingly.
Jimmy burst out:
"This is more than a mere kidnapping. With the eyes of two countries focused on this section the kidnapping can be predicated on one of two hypotheses. The kidnappers are crazy or they want Professor Brierly in New York. Mac's guess seems a good one. They want Professor Brierly away from here; that's a cinch. They—"
"Jimmy," interrupted Matthews, "are you influenced in what you say by your hope that Professor Brierly will help solve the riddle of the Tontine groups and help your story?"
He obviously was still in the grim mood that was so apparent on his return from the futile chase. Jimmy did not answer the charge. He was looking at Matthews gravely. Jack reddened under the stare.
"I'm sorry, Jim. That was rotten! But thinking of Tommy—" Jimmy nodded:
"All right, old man, forget it, you didn't say anything. But I am wondering about this request to go to New York. I can't help thinking there is something in this request that doesn't appear on the face of it." He turned to Professor Brierly: "What are you going to do, sir?" Professor Brierly looked mutely at Norah. She shook her head helplessly.
For the next twenty-four hours the group suffered that, which is hardest to bear under the circumstances, inactivity. Twenty-four hours after the receipt of the second note there came a third, on the familiar cheap notepaper. This time it was postmarked Lentone, Vermont. It read:
"Professor Brierly was told to go to New York. We will not stand any fooling. Enclosed is a sample of what we will do. If he does not start at once more will follow."
This time the note was addressed to Norah. Wrapped securely there was a small object in the strong envelope. Professor Brierly took the small object from her hand. It was a human tooth, a tooth with dried blood on it. It had the ragged roots characteristic of a baby tooth, when it comes out.
At this moment McCall stepped into the room. Norah turned to him impulsively and told him of the letter and the accompanying tooth.
"How horrible!" exclaimed McCall. "Professor, we must—"
"Yes, pretty bad," commented Professor Brierly, "something must be done, quickly. But, there is, as our friend Hale would say, something wrong with this picture. This tooth did not come from Thomas's mouth. It—"
"Not from Tommy's mouth?" repeated Norah.
"No, Mrs. Van Orden, you may be certain of that. The roots of a child's teeth undergo a certain amount of disintegration before it is ready to give place to the permanent teeth. We will not go into the mechanical and biological reasons for this destruction; it is not important. While this is a deciduous tooth, I mean a baby tooth, it is not Thomas's tooth. How old is Thomas, Mrs. Van Orden?"
"He was just four and half years old yesterday."
Professor Brierly nodded his snow white head.
"Exactly, I thought so. No baby's tooth at that age shows the amount of disintegration that this tooth shows. Depend on it Mrs. Van Orden, this tooth comes from the mouth of a child of not less than nine years of age."
The group was staring in wide-eyed astonishment. Norah asked tremulously.
"You are certain of what you say, Professor, that this is not
Tommy's tooth."
"Depend on it, sis," interrupted Matthews. "Professor Brierly could not be mistaken in a thing like that. What I want to know is why—why this?"
There was an air of relief in the old scientist's demeanor. He still looked grim but he had the appearance of a man who has had a load lifted from him.
"I believe I know why. At any rate this solves one thing for us. My advice is that we notify the police of the kidnapping. I do not think we can gain anything now by keeping quiet. I am also reasonably convinced that no harm can come to Thomas unless something unforeseen happens.
"Furthermore, it is safe to say that in a short time we will solve the murders of the Tontine group. You were right, Mr. McCall and you Hale. This kidnapping is intimately bound up with those murders. I am beginning to see light. Let us notify the police," he concluded decisively.
Chapter XVII
Stark fear stalked the camp of Justice Isaac Higginbotham. By the time Professor Brierly had returned from his momentous trip to New York this fear was naked, unashamed. The men now made no attempt to dissemble.
All these men had fought; they had faced death in various forms. They could each be counted on to act like soldiers in the face of ordinary danger. It was the fear of the unknown; the dread that at any moment of the day or night they might become the victims of a deadly attack from an unknown and unexpected source that was visibly having its effect on these octogenarians.
It finally took form in a strange manner. As if by unanimous consent, they each avoided being left alone with one of their comrades. They would gather at meals or on the porch or in the large living-room, but they avoided being left in pairs.
They all took solitary walks. Some of them went out on the lake. Some of them went to Lentone or elsewhere; always alone. Whether this was sheer bravado, or some strange reaction to the psychological elements involved, no observer could determine. They apparently reached an unspoken and unannounced resolution, all of them, to stay at the camp until the murders were cleared up. Some of them went about armed, although that was merely a gesture.
To the four men who had been taken into their confidence fell the task of keeping the strange unhappy group from going mad. Even this solace was denied them during the past two days. The kidnapping of the child now took, in the minds of at least two of the men, a place equal in importance to the murders of their three comrades.
Professor Brierly now spent all of his waking moments between receiving and sending telegrams at the camp of the Tontine group. The men were gathered on the porch. There was talk, jerky sentences. Only a man finely and delicately balanced and organized as was the old scientist could have resisted the pall of gloom and dread that permeated the group.
"Any news of the little boy, Professor?" asked McGuire.
"No, none. The mother is frantic, of course. I myself am not easy in mind about it. I do not believe, however, that harm is intended the boy."
"Why don't you take the police into it, Professor," asked Judge Fletcher. "It can't be worse than it is. The Canadian police are a very efficient organization, almost as efficient as fiction makes them out to be."
"I have given it to the police this morning. We have decided there is nothing to be gained by further silence. The police now have it in hand."
"You had a note asking you to go to New York and meet the kidnappers and their representatives didn't you?"
"Why didn't you go, Professor?"
The old man, who was glad of this opportunity of taking their minds off their own tragedy even for the moment, answered slowly, his keen eyes darting from one member of the group to the other.
"It seemed to Mr. McCall and Hale, Matthews agreed with this, that the communication addressed to me was designed to take me away from here. It seems very probable that the entire kidnapping plan is closely tied up with your own deplorable affair, gentlemen."
They were looking at him with concern. He went on.
"I have had some little part in exposing the role that some person, at present unknown, had in the murders of at least three of your comrades." His keen eyes shaded by their thick lashes and eyebrows were watching intently. "It may be that the man or men we are seeking intend some more mischief, right here. They may wish me out of the way.
"They sent a deciduous tooth, a baby tooth as evidence of the lengths to which they are prepared to go to enforce their demands on me. Sending that tooth was almost ludicrous in its futility. Mrs. Van Orden was distracted, of course, until I informed her that the tooth did not come out of her son's mouth.
"Why should they have selected that boy for kidnapping, if ransom was the object? Mrs. Van Orden is a poor woman. I am comparatively so. John has no money, he is just starting life. Why did they make that futile gesture with the tooth?"
Goldberg, who was sitting near the edge of the porch, said with bitter sarcasm, pointing to the overhanging rock:
"Now there is a fine chance for a man to destroy this group. If that overhanging rock came down here while we're sitting here it would wipe out the survivors of the Tontine agreement like that!" He snapped his fingers.
"There is no danger of that, Sam," reassured Justice Higginbotham. "That has been that way since I came up here; that is about thirty-five years. I and others have expressed uneasiness over the position of that rock, but there is no danger. When—er soon, I shall have it cleared away."
Vasiliewski burst out:
"Professor, we're sitting here talking of everything except that which is uppermost in our minds. We are trying to mask our feelings. You know what we are all thinking of. Is there any hope, Professor."
Professor Brierly answered slowly, gravely.
"I have reason to believe that we will solve this—problem shortly. Habits of a lifetime prevent me from being more specific. I have learned, and paid dearly for learning, that jumping at conclusions may often prove disastrous. That is why I am not given to making guesses, surmises. I wish I could say something more definite."
"My God, Professor, do you mean to say that you suspect—"
Professor Brierly shook his head regretfully and was about to speak when Vasiliewski impulsively interrupted.
"But can't you see, Professor, that this is not a cold scientific problem, that our lives are at stake. This is a human problem, Professor."
"Assuming, Mr. Vasiliewski, that I took your view of it. Persons are prone to regard me as a thinking machine. I am not. Let us assume, I say, that I took your view of it. Just see what might happen. I might accuse the wrong man. We might even convict the wrong man. The guilty man might then go on, doing incalculable evil. Guessing is dangerous and is—fallible. Scientific induction and deductions, conclusions based on irrefutable fact, fact that can be weighed and measured, is infallible."
There was real concern in his eyes as he rose to depart.
"All I can say, gentlemen, is that I shall be able to free you from the terrible thing you fear in a very short time now."
To the scores of press representatives who hounded him for a statement he resolutely turned a deaf ear. He was besieged by a constant horde of visitors. The news hunters realized that where Professor Brierly was, was the real source of news. It had been necessary to divulge the part he had taken in the three murders. He would have denied himself to callers, either personal or to those calling on the telephone, but this was now impossible. He might miss now an important communication bearing on the murders or, what for the time was to him more important, the kidnapping.
The search went on relentlessly, the police of all the near—by cities and states taking part in the search. It soon began to be felt that the kidnapping was closely tied up with the murders of the octogenarians. It was at the request of the survivors of the Tontine group that Justice Higginbotham's camp was not molested. It was readily seen that constant surveillance by the press and police would be a highly undesirable and perhaps a very dangerous thing for the ten aged survivors.
Arrangements were, therefore, set up for periodic statements by a member of the group. The press of the country nevertheless felt free to make its own search and indulge in its own surmises and guesses.
One week after the first murder was announced it became apparent that they were no nearer a solution than they were at the beginning. Moral publications were beginning to clamor for results. The people of New York City were clamoring for results. Editors were profanely wiring their expensive representatives for results. The patience of the police and the reporters was wearing thin. During all this clamor the only thing that came from the camps over the Canadian border, from the hundreds of star reporters was—nothing. Even Jimmy was unmercifully berated for falling down on the job, Jimmy, who one short week before was praised to the skies for springing one of the greater newspaper stories in history.
It was apparent to those who were close to him that Professor Brierly was forging in silence a chain, link by link, that would bridge the gap between doubt and certainty. He was sending and receiving telegrams, without for one moment relaxing his vigilance of the Higginbotham camp and its ten old men. The evening of the day after the receipt of the last telegram, McCall in the hope of drawing the old man out said:
"My vacation ends next week, Professor. When I get back to New
York I may be able to speed up things in the matter of the
Schurman murder. You're staying here the rest of the summer aren't
you?" he concluded innocently.
"Yes."
"Really, Professor, I know you don't like to make guesses, but this is getting on all our nerves. How near to a solution are you?"
"If I were a lawyer or a newspaper man," the old man said tartly, "I should make a guess and arrest the murderer tomorrow. But lawyers and newspaper men use a weird type of logic. That is why lawyers and newspaper men are as often right as wrong. Legal logic, particularly, is something awful to contemplate."
"Legal logic," began McCall stiffly.
"Is precisely what I said," snapped the old man. "How can you defend the logic of a judge who hands down a decision basing it on the statement that a dining car is not a railroad car. There is also the logic of a judge who handed down a decision basing it on the hypothesis that an overcoat is real estate. That is legal logic, Mr. McCall."
He paused and leaned forward earnestly.
"Truth, Mr. McCall, sometimes hangs on a very thin thread. Snap the thread and—you have something other than truth.
"It is not a mere coincidence that Boyle was arrested, charged with the killing of Miller and 'Fingy' Smith arrested, charged with the killing of Schurman. It was a vital part of the entire devilish pattern. Miller's death was a splendid imitation of suicide. The revolver was placed in his hand before rigor mortis set in leaving his fingerprints on the weapon.
"But the powder marks spoiled the picture of suicide for me. The rest was merely a matter of routine. The same was true of the Schurman affair. It was made to look to the casual observer like suicide. If you did not accept the suicide theory, you were given an alternative theory, the mode of entrance, the big meal, the eggs, the nail file with positive fingerprints. The one thing that spoiled that was the apple. Remember the apple?
"To satisfy me the murderer would have to be identified with the apple. You see arresting 'Fingy' left the apple unaccounted for. In the Miller case the murderer would have to be identified with a rope that came from a farmyard that contained a boxwood hedge, a sorrel horse, leghorn chickens, a collie dog and some other items. He would also have to be identified with a hat factory."
"What do you mean by saying that these two men were arrested charged with those murders?"
"I mean that it was a foregone conclusion that if the suicide theory was exploded, these men would be charged with the crime?"
"A foregone conclusion in whose mind, Professor?"
"In the mind of the—murderer, Mr. McCall. You see, don't you, the thin line of demarcation that lies between truth and falsehood? When the difference between the two may mean the difference between life and death it behooves me to be extremely careful. I am not holding a brief for the defendant or the state, Mr. District Attorney, I am seeking the truth."
Chapter XVIII
Jimmy had not been sleeping well nights. On this night he dreamed that he was alone in the city room of the Eagle doing the dog watch. He was reading a history of the Civil War in which was stressed the reconstruction period with its harrowing details, a period under which serious dismemberment of the country was threatened. While he was reading this, the telegraph instrument in the telegraph room kept up its intermittent tapping.
He awoke with the tapping still in his ears, as though in continuation of his dream. He lay still thinking of the eccentricities of dreams in general when the tapping of which he had been conscious in his dreams was repeated at his window. This time it did not sound like a telegraph instrument. It seemed that a number of pebbles had struck the upper window panes, the lower being open. He distinctly heard some of the pebbles strike the floor. He lay still when he was aware of a repetition of the sound.
He got out of bed and went to the window. Standing in the graying dawn was his youthful pilot, Harry Stoy. The youth was beckoning earnestly for Jimmy to come down stairs. Slipping on some clothes and a pair of soft soled moccasins Jimmy stole out of the house being careful not to awaken any of its inmates.
Harry held his finger to his mouth as a signal for silence and led the way down to the water front. Here he whispered excitedly:
"Say, Mr. Hale, I think I know where the kid is?"
Jimmy stared at the youth who was shivering with excitement.
"You mean Tommy, Harry?"
"Yeah, Tommy. Let's row out a little bit in the boat then start it where your folks can't hear the motor. Come on, Mr. Hale. Are you game?"
Jimmy grinned and tingled. His first thought was that he ought to call Jack; he decided against it. There was the danger of awakening Professor Brierly and Norah. He did not want to arouse any false hopes, the kid might be mistaken. He also did not want to lose face in the eyes of this youngster. The question of whether he was game decided him. He stole back into the house where he took from the drawer of the living-room table a loaded revolver; he decided against a shotgun or rifle.
When they got out far enough to start the motor without fear of waking up those in the house, Harry spoke. He was panting with excitement.
"This place we're goin' to Mr. Hale is about five miles up the lake, and about two miles in on the other side. There's a sort of farm up there. A guy by the name of Brown lives up there alone. He's got a small airplane there too.
"He's a nice sort of guy but he's funny, kind of, like a man who has a secret, if you know what I mean. When I heard Mr. Matthews tell what a fast motor the man had who got away from him, I kinda thought it might be this Brown, 'cause he's got a fast motor, one of the fastest on the lake.
"So I been watchin', Mr. Hale. When I seen him up in the plane, I went over there. He's got a collie dog, but no dog ever bites me, Mr. Hale, they all make friends with me and I like 'em too. I went up there late this evenin' meanin' last night, when you told me you wouldn't need me any more.
"The plane was gone and the collie was in the yard. But I made friends with the dog. The house was locked up. I clumb up the porch and there in an upstairs room I seen Tommy asleep. I was gonna take him and bring him home, but just then I heard the plane, or I thought I did.
"I hid in the woods and it wasn't the plane at all, I was mistaken. Gee, just think of it, Mr. Hale, I coulda got the kid all by myself, then I thought I better come for you. Mebbe while I was takin' the kid, this Brown might come and what could I do alone. And the kid might be hurt, see?"
A lump rose in Jimmy's throat. He was rather unnerved from the recent ordeal. He noticed that Harry did not once mention the possible danger to himself. The phrase rang in his mind: "And the kid might be hurt, see?"
Harry ran the small boat into a tiny cove where it might be hidden, both from the water and from the shore. For several hundred feet from the shore there was a clear, well-defined path running nearly straight westward through the woods.
After a short distance Harry swung off from this path; then he took several turns. He seemed to know the way. At the end of a half hour's walk, Jimmy judged they had gone about two miles. Harry put his hand on Hale's arm as a signal for caution.
Ahead of Jimmy lay a large, well-tilled and well-cared for farm. There was the loud, ringing, penetrating bark of a collie, then all was silence. Harry uttered an exclamation of disappointment. He pointed and Jimmy understood. About two hundred yards away at one end of a large level field a small plane was plainly visible in its hangar. Brown, the owner of the farm, was evidently home.
Jimmy debated swiftly and fiercely with himself on his course of action. Tommy was there; a false step and Tommy might be hurt. He might even be killed. No consideration of personal safety would have prevented Jimmy from taking immediate action. But—looming large in his mind—was a picture of the little boy and his grieving mother on the other side of the lake.
To Harry's vast disappointment, his hero, James Hale, the star reporter, turned and retraced his steps, Harry perforce following him. Harry had looked up at his hero doubtfully. He had been certain in his mind that they would return home triumphant, bearing the kidnapped boy. Gee, he could have done it himself, almost. But his hero turned tail. Feet of clay! Harry did not know the phrase, but all his thoughts expressed it very well.
The trip back was made in silence. The sun, a red, brilliant ball of fire was in their eyes as they retraced their steps through the woods. Still in silence, Harry started the boat, and pushed to its capacity of speed, the fast sea sled made short work of the five miles separating them from their camp.
Here Jimmy found that there was no need for silence. All the household was awake. Indeed, Norah, in her anxiety had not slept at all, and she said that she had heard Jimmy leave with the boy.
Matthews was restlessly pacing the short stretch of beach when the boat tied up to the wharf. Norah and Professor Brierly joined Matthews as Jimmy and Harry Stoy got out of their boat.
Harry burst out:
"Gee, Mr. Matthews, we found Tommy. We would have brought him home but Mr. Hale thought—he thought we'd better come back for help."
Three wide-eyed persons, each reflecting his emotions in his own way stared at the youth; from the youth to Jimmy. Jimmy with tight lips, explained.
"Oh, Jack, Jack, Professor," panted Norah. "Let us go, let us—" Jack did not hear. He was racing toward the shack. He returned ready for the trip, a rifle in his hand.
Professor Brierly suggested:
"The mounted police—"
"No!" Matthews shook his head emphatically. "We won't need the mounted police or any help. There's only one man."
"I shall go with you," announced Professor Brierly.
"No, Professor. We must make speed. We'll take both sea sleds, but then there's a long tramp."
"But you do not understand, John. This man's name is Brown. It is
Amos Brown, the man we are looking for. I traced him up to Canada.
It was only a question of a day or two before I should have found
him. I must be there, John."
"Please, Professor, don't insist. This job is not for you. Tell us what to do and Jimmy and I can do what needs be done. The first thing is to get Tommy, then there will be time—"
"But there may not be time, John. Men's lives may depend on—oh, well have it your way. Hale, if you and John are insistent on acting like impulsive fools and not taking along qualified officers, see to it that you get whatever papers you can at this man's house. And for God's sake, boys, be careful. This is a dangerous man. He will be on his own ground."
The three were on their way. As the two sea sleds put off sputtering to a crescendo roar as they made a wide curving wake on the still water, McCall disturbed by the noise came to the door.
After they beached their boats in the tiny cove, Jimmy and Matthews, following Harry, alternately running and jogging, hurried along the dim trail. When Jimmy judged they had covered three-quarters of the distance they heard a ringing bark followed by a faint crack of a firearm. This was shortly followed by another. The three stood stock still for a moment and then put on an additional burst of speed. Before they came into the clearing of the farm, they heard the sound of a motor car, fading into the distance.
As the three panting figures came into the clearing they saw the tawny figure of a collie racing frantically back and forth about a dark mass lying near the house. The collie was whimpering and whining. The collie looked at the three approaching figures expectantly; it stopped its whining, leading the way directly to the thing lying near the rear door of the small farm house.
A tall figure lay there with its sightless eyes staring into the sun. A dark, red stain was widening on its shirt front.
At this moment a shrill treble yell was heard from the house.
Matthews raced through the open door and bounded up the steps.
Finding the door locked, from behind which the crying was coming,
he stepped back. He called out:
"Stand away from the door Tommy, Uncle Jack's going to break it open."
The door flew open under the impetus of a large foot planted near the lock. A small figure rushed into his arms hugging him tightly.
"Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack! Where's Mummie? Where's Pop?"
Matthews held the small figure off and looked at him anxiously. Except that his clothes were in a state that would have sent his finicky mother frantic, the youngster did not seem the worse for wear.
"Did the man hurt you, Tommy?"
"Oh, no, Uncle Jack. He is a good man, nice man. He gimme candy, he gimme pie." The voice went prattling on as Jack carried him downstairs.
Harry Stoy with youthful enthusiasm and the morbidity often observed in the young wanted to examine the thing that lay on the ground. Jimmy, with full knowledge of police regulations and requirements, objected. He went into the house and made a careful search, taking such papers as he thought might be of use to Professor Brierly, the scientist, and to Jimmy, the newspaper man.
When Jack came with the boy, Jimmy called the telephone operator and after identifying himself he told her where he was and asked that the nearest police authorities be notified. Then the group started back for the lake.
Professor Brierly and Norah were pacing the lake front in an agony of impatience, each for a different reason. Norah ran into the shallow water several steps, the sooner to have the child in her hungry arms. Professor Brierly's eyes were burning as he waved a telegram.
As the happy group stepped ashore, Professor Brierly said:
"It was Amos Brown, of course. This wire tells me. I should have known but perhaps this is best. Tell me, was there a boxwood hedge, a collie, running water, a sorrel horse, a pear tree?"
Jimmy and Matthews looked at one another sheepishly. They had been too much absorbed in their errand to see. They both wrinkled their brows in an effort to visualize the farmyard where that thing lay, when Professor Brierly exploded into wrath.
"Oh, you futile, inane, incompetent creatures. You, John, with all your scientific training. I cannot expect anything else from Hale. A newspaper man lives on emotional sensations. They form his stock in trade, but you—" Harry Stoy interrupted:
"Professor, if you're askin' about Mr. Brown's farm all them things you mentioned are there and there's some leghorn chickens and some—"
Professor Brierly's eyes glowed approvingly. "Good boy, Harry, you not only have eyes, but you can see." He looked down and a smile broke over his tired features. Tommy had been tugging his coat demanding attention. Professor Brierly took the child in his arms and hugged him tight.
After the excitement was over he bent eagerly over the papers that Jimmy brought from Brown's farm. He was thus engaged and the others were making a fuss over Tommy when the telephone bell rang.
"For you, Professor," called Martha.
The voice that came to Professor Brierly over the wire had a break in it. In the voice it was difficult to recognize the finely modulated diction of Justice Isaac Higginbotham.
"For God's sake, Professor, come at once. Two of us were killed.
Come—" The voice ended in a croak and there was no more.
When it became apparent that the other had dropped his receiver, Professor Brierly turned the crank until he got the attention of the operator. It took a long time to be connected with the nearest police officer.
Professor Brierly identified himself and said:
"Two men were killed in Justice Higginbotham's camp. You know where that is?"
"Yes, sir."
"How soon can you have a man or two down there?"
"Hold the wire a moment, sir. I'll tell you." After a brief interval the voice asked: "Are you there, sir?"
"Yes."
"We can have one man, perhaps two there in half an hour, sir."
"Very well. I was going down there. Will your man stop here for me on the way down?"
"Yes, sir. This is at Mr. McCall's camp, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Good-by."
Professor Brierly now called up the Higginbotham camp for additional details. The overhanging rock had fallen, carrying with it the porch. The house was not much damaged. Professor Brierly surmised that the one thing that saved the house was the weakness with which the porch had been attached to the main building.
Chapter XIX
The swift boat bearing two police officers picked up Professor Brierly and Matthews. McCall and Jimmy left immediately. The avid horde of newspaper men had swooped down on the Higginbotham camp. Only the fact that they had two red-coated men in the boat enabled the old scientist and his assistant to get near the house. A path was cleared and the four men went into the living-room where the eight survivors, Jimmy Hale, McCall and as many newspaper men and women as could find standing room were crowded.
The two officers with the help of two others who had arrived cleared the room after considerable difficulty. The porch had been shorn off the building as though it were done with tools. The huge rock was nestling at the edge of the water.
Jimmy was surprised at the demeanor of the eight survivors. The reaction had set in. Now that the worst had come, come right before their eyes they took it with a sang-froid that was surprising under the circumstances. Pride of race, the knowledge that a great many persons had their eyes upon them, the knowledge that the entire world had their eyes on them through their representatives of the press had its influence.
Samuel Goldberg and Lorenzo Tonti, the man who had influenced the framing of the Tontine insurance agreement, were killed outright by the falling of the rock. Two of the others suffered minor injuries. While they were calm the eight survivors were grim. They looked toward Professor Brierly.
"How did it happen?" he asked quietly.
Mr. Marshall answered.
"Six or seven of us were on the porch, the rest of us were inside, finishing breakfast. McGuire was just coming up from the lake, he had been out. The rock, without any warning, came down. Poor Sam. He always sat where he could see the rock. It had a fascination for him. He always alluded to the possibility of its coming down."
Charles Rochambeau leaned forward in his chair tensely.
"Well, Professor, you could not save us from this could you?" He sprang up and threw his hands up with true Gallic violence. "My God, when will this end?"
There was pain, grief in the deep-set eyes that looked at the excitable old man. Professor Brierly said slowly:
"It will end right now, Mr. Rochambeau. It has ended." He turned to the two officers who had come with him, saying:
"A man by the name of Amos Brown, who lives about six miles up the lake was shot to death this morning."
Bruce Thomas started forward, crying hoarsely:
"No, no. Amos Brown died thirty years ago."
Professor Brierly, ignoring the interruption, pointed at former Police Commissioner McGuire. "This man, officer, probably is armed. You will find that the bullet that killed Amos Brown came from his weapon."
One of the officers took a step toward the ruddy octogenarian. Jimmy stared, startled. Something was coming off that he did not understand. Three of the men sprang to their feet glaring at the principal actors to this strange scene. McGuire stood up, the blood gradually draining from his face. One of the police officers asked quietly, holding out his hand:
"Are you armed, sir?" As McGuire's hand slowly went toward his side pocket, the officer said:
"Give me the weapon, please."
McGuire stared a long time at Professor Brierly, at his comrades, at the officers. He said:
"Yes, I killed Brown. I killed him in self-defense." He drew out the weapon, slowly.
Professor Brierly's voice, in the strained silence that had fallen on the group, sounded like a death knell.
"You did not kill Goldberg and Tonti in self-defense. You did not engineer the killing of Schurman, Miller and Flynn in self-defense. You—John!" Professor Brierly's voice suddenly rose to a hoarse shout. The weapon in the hand of the stout, erect, pale man was slowly turning. Matthews sprang forward, but the officer reached McGuire first. There was a brief struggle for the weapon. Two officers led the man away.
There was pain in Professor Brierly's eyes, and not the exhilaration to be found at the successful conclusion of an experiment in science; or the completed solution of a crime. He sat down and appeared reluctant to furnish the explanation that was expected of him. Suddenly Justice Higginbotham burst out:
"But this is unthinkable, Professor. He was a comrade of ours. He was here with us all the time. He—you must be mistaken." He stopped and then continued more slowly, gravely:
"Professor Brierly, you will have to give a very good reason for your astounding charge. You will have to remove every reasonable doubt. I am not talking in the legal sense now. This man was our comrade. I should as soon believe that I did this impossible, this terrible thing myself."
A swift glance about the circle of faces showed Jimmy that they were all of the same mind. Professor Brierly said:
"I understand. That is why I was reluctant to make the charge sooner, when we discussed it the other day. Some of you urged me, remember, to make a guess, which I could have done then. This terrible thing that happened this morning is something I could hardly foresee." He paused and went on.
"Your number '14' Amos Brown died twenty-eight years ago, being survived by a son and grandson. The son died a short time later. Amos Brown the third, had no kin. But he was a self-sufficient youngster who managed pretty well. He entered the flying service in the World War and returned a bitter, disillusioned man.
"He became a hatter and worked in Danbury, Connecticut, for a time, in a department called the 'pouncing' department. In such a department, they shave off the rough fur of felt hats after they have been dyed. In a 'pouncing' room, although there are blowers to take up the fine fur, there is nevertheless a good deal of it flying about in the air. I am thus dwelling on this seemingly trivial point because it formed an important clue in my investigation.
"Several years ago, young Amos Brown was approached by a man who was alleged to have been a comrade of his grandfather in the Civil War. Amos Brown was persuaded that your Tontine group had treated his grandfather very badly. He was shown that by working with this old veteran he could not only revenge his grandfather's wrongs, but also obtain a false justice for himself.
"This kind benefactor, as an evidence of goodwill, bought Amos Brown a farm in Canada; he bought him a plane. He then convinced him that by helping kill off the Tontine group the two of them would share their huge fund.
"Preparations were carefully made. Amos Brown was a strong, active man. The veteran had access to files where the peculiarities of a great many criminals, in and out of prison, were carefully recorded. It was recorded for example that one man had the habit of getting into places by using climbing irons. Another had a different method but he had a weakness for large quantities of food when he committed a robbery, his special weakness being for eggs. It was comparatively easy for a former police commissioner to get all this information you see, a police commissioner who kept in touch with his old department.
"But first of all the murders had to be so committed that they would look like suicide. The former man hunter knew enough to make them look like suicides to the casual examiner. But suppose a careful examination were made of a particular death, and it was discovered to be murder. Then what?
"Then you see, the peculiarities of a certain criminal would appear so prominently that the police would pick this man up and pin the crime on him. But suppose again this innocent criminal happened to have an unshakable alibi? That could be arranged for too. The alibi could be made to look 'fishy', as my friend Hale would put it.
"Former Police Commissioner McGuire knew that 'Chicago' Boyle, alias 'Lefty' Harris was in this neighborhood. 'Lefty' had been convicted of entering a house with rope, climbing irons, and so forth. So first of all, Miller was killed in a manner that would look to the casual examiner like suicide. When I pointed out that it was not suicide and further pointed out how the murderer entered, it was a foregone conclusion that Boyle would be picked up.
"Boyle had a story, but what policeman or jury would believe it? The stranger who met him in a speakeasy and drugged his drink took good care that he would not have a convincing one to tell.
"The one flaw in the reckoning of the murderer was that the rope, with which entry was made, was found. It showed me as definitely as though I had seen it, the farmyard where Amos Brown lived. The twine also showed me that it had been in a 'pouncing' room in a hat factory for a long time.
"Boyle's watch which had not been cleaned for a long time and which we placed was in his possession about three years ago did not show that it had ever been in a 'pouncing' room. And you can depend on it, that one could not keep a watch for a single day in such a room without the fur getting inside the case, to say nothing of keeping it there for months or years.
"In the Schurman case, in New York, there was the fortuitous incident of the apple. Amos Brown was not a trained criminal, you see. He did not think, when he bit into the apple that he was leaving what the police call a 'calling card'. It will be found on investigation that Amos Brown's teeth fit into the 'moulage' of the apple.
"In addition to that, unfortunately for the murderer, 'Fingy' had a splendid alibi, an alibi that the killer could not foresee."
"The Flynn murder was easy. The man who made the telephone call need not have known what he was doing. But it is safe to say that it was Brown. Mr. McGuire would trust as few persons as possible in this. The call that killed Flynn might just as well have been made from Canada."
"But, Professor, you accused him of murdering Goldberg and Tonti," protested Judge Fletcher.
"Yes. Justice Higginbotham was going to make a spectacle of his mastery of a hobby. He had everything arranged. He was going to—"
"I had the wires disconnected, Professor, interrupted Judge
Higginbotham."
"Connecting the wires would be just about a minute's work."
"But McGuire was down near the water. How could he throw a beam of light at that tube in the daylight."
"That's right, Judge. McGuire was facing the east. The sun was just right to reflect a powerful beam of sunlight into the door to the photo-electric cell with a piece of mirror. If you will look, Judge, you will find that door open.
"The act before that was the kidnapping of Matthews' nephew. Brown, inherently a decent chap, balked at that but he was too involved by then. When they could not make me go to New York, Brown was told to send us a tooth as evidence of what they were prepared to do to the little boy. Brown balked at that too. He obtained some older boy's tooth, probably from a dentist."
He was now speaking more slowly.
"Obviously an octogenarian could not commit these murders himself, but being a former police commissioner, he could easily hire someone to do it for him; he knew the ropes. He could not trust the ordinary killer; he would have placed himself in such a man's power.
"What better instrument than Amos Brown? Amos Brown could be made to believe that he was performing an act of justice by killing the men who had mistreated his grandfather. Such a man is much more dangerous than the professional killer. He was a flyer and a good one. He had a powerful, fast plane, small enough not to attract too much attention. He could kill Schurman in the evening and Miller, four hundred miles away early the following morning.
"Without Brown's knowledge 'Fingy' was watched. If he had not found it necessary to rob the delicatessen store, he might have met a stranger, as did Boyle, who would provide him with an alibi that no one would believe. The work of providing a bad alibi might have been done and probably was done by a person who knew nothing and had no interest in the members of the Tontine group. Such a man as McGuire could easily have arranged that.
"A police commissioner who was wiped out in the stock market crash; a man who was accustomed to the good things in life in a material sense. A man' who was forced to consort with criminals professionally. He was cleaned out in the crash, and never recovered.
"There is a record of a case similar to that of the Miller case. Schurman was killed in the way that Emmeline Reynolds was killed in 1898. In her case a bludgeon was used. In Schurman's case Brown probably used his fist. The similarity in particular originality displayed, the details were masterpieces of subtlety.
"We can picture what happened at Brown's farm this morning. Brown refused to go any further with the plan. We have an indication of Brown's character by the fact that he refused to extract a boy's tooth. Oh, no. It is not at all inconsistent. A man like Brown might commit murder to satisfy his false sense of justice, and yet be tenderhearted enough to refuse to inflict pain on a little boy.
"But the old police commissioner had gone too far. There were words. Brown would be of no further use to him. McGuire had the small mirror in his pocket. He calculated that he would find everyone on the pond. If I did not have a complete case against him, what a perfect case the police commissioner would have had, assuming that he was caught coming from Brown's farm. He could have said that he had revenged the death of his comrades.
"He made two grave errors. The sun's rays which he used with such murderous effect were in his eyes facing the east. The porch being in semi-gloom, he thought perhaps that you were all there. His second error was in overestimating the strength with which the porch was fastened to the main building.
"The documentary proof of what I say is all there, gentlemen, every step of it. The living proof is present, to say nothing of the dead proof. Small things in themselves; powder marks; fresh putty; the absence of hat fur in a watch case; an apple which was too green, or too sour or too bitter. Small things but what an unbreakable chain."
Epilogue
The world was good to James Hale three days later. He stayed in bed until the sun was high in the sky. Nothing to do for nearly a week.
As he went to the bathroom his whistling and vocal efforts vied with the feathered songsters outside the window. As he passed through the living-room on his way to the dining room he picked up a letter addressed to him. The upper left hand corner of the letter told him that it was from the Eagle. He stuffed it carelessly into his pocket. It was probably from one or more members of the gang at the office asking him to smuggle in some Scotch when he came back. It could not be from Hite. Hite never wrote letters. He spoke to his men and women verbally, by telephone or by wire. He even did his firing that way.
He ate his breakfast alone. Matthews and Professor Brierly had gone off somewhere. Norah was in the kitchen singing. Tommy, in the costume with which he had been born, was outside fishing.
Jimmy pushed out the canoe onto the lake and sat there watching Tommy. Tommy never caught anything fishing, but that never disturbs a devotee of the Waltonian art. Tommy had his own methods for the sport. He fished without line, hook or bait. He used neither guile, nor any of the lures employed by fishermen. Tommy stood there in two feet of water staring intently at the denizens of the water darting back and forth. They could plainly be seen, the water was clear. When one of the finny tribe hesitated near the surface of the water Tommy would grab—a fist full of water.
Jimmy tried his blandishments and charm on Tommy without success.
Tommy had his own ideas about Jimmy.
Now Pop was a superior sort of person. Pop paid one the compliment of serious consideration. Also, Professor Brierly having taken a course in tricks of magic in his youth, Pop could do the most wonderful things with his hands and with things. He could and did explain everything. But Jimmy was another, but quite different friend.
Uncle Jack could also do fascinating things with his hands. Besides, Uncle Jack was quite the strongest and swiftest person in the world. Tommy like Jack, that was a little to much to expect.
Mummie had a place all her own. She was only a woman, of course, but she was the most beautiful woman in the world, one loved her a lot. She could and did make the most delicious things to eat, she tucked one in bed and other things.
Jimmy now, it was hard to classify Jimmy. In the first place he was so frivolous. He received one's most serious statements with a grin. And it was remarkable that Pop and Uncle Jack would often join Jimmy in discussing the most frivolous topics, topics that one could not understand. Maybe they were doing it to be polite. He had been told about that—about being polite and listening respectfully to strangers. Decidedly Jimmy did not make a hit with Tommy. He was tolerated, but that's all. Right now he was grinning at Tommy's serious efforts to catch fish.
Jimmy's attention wandered. This was swell. A perfect day, nothing to do for nearly a week. He would not even look at his portable during this time. His hand went to his pocket for cigarettes and encountered the letter. He lazily tore open the flap.
He sat up and glowed with pleasure. It was from the publisher of his paper. The publisher wrote of "loyalty to the newspaper ideal," "unstinting, unremitting effort." The letter spoke effusively about Jimmy's recent achievement on the murder story. The letter concluded with the statement that in view of the fact that that splendid story encroached on his vacation, his vacation would be extended with pay for one week.
Now that was something like it. That was appreciation for you. Hite would never—Martha's voice broke in on his rumination. There was a telephone call. He lazily got out of his canoe.
The first voice was Ann's, the second Hite's.
"Say, Jimmy, I got an idea. You know there's bootlegging in Canada. Fact is where sale of liquor is permitted up to certain hours, there are birds who sell it after hours and are subject to fine and imprisonment mebbe. In view of the to do about prohibition and bootlegging in this country, it would be swell to have a feature story about bootlegging in Canada. Run up to Quebec and Montreal and stop at places between and give us a story will you. That Tontine story was a nice story, Jimmy, g'by."
Hite had talked fast in jerky sentences. All Jimmy had said was, "Hello." The wire was dead. Jimmy, with a stony face got out the map of Canada. It showed him what a trip to Quebec and Montreal with stops between would involve. He mumbled: "Quebec-Montreal-stops between-feature story-extend my vacation."