Within the Law: From the Play of Bayard Veiller

by Marvin Dana and Bayard Veiller

  CHAPTER XX. WHO SHOT GRIGGS?

  In his office next morning, Inspector Burke was fuming over the failureof his conspiracy. He had hoped through this plot to vindicate hisauthority, so sadly flaunted by Garson and Mary Turner. Instead ofthis much-to-be-desired result from his scheming, the outcome had beennothing less than disastrous. The one certain fact was that his mostvaluable ally in his warfare against the criminals of the city had beendone to death. Some one had murdered Griggs, the stool-pigeon. WhereBurke had meant to serve a man of high influence, Edward Gilder, byrailroading the bride of the magnate's son to prison, he had succeededonly in making the trouble of that merchant prince vastly worse inthe ending of the affair by arresting the son for the capital crime ofmurder. The situation was, in very truth, intolerable. More than ever,Burke grew hot with intent to overcome the woman who had so persistentlyoutraged his authority by her ingenious devices against the law. Anyhow,the murder of Griggs could not go unpunished. The slayer's identitymust be determined, and thereafter the due penalty of the law inflicted,whoever the guilty person might prove to be. To the discovery of thisidentity, the Inspector was at the present moment devoting himself byadroit questioning of Dacey and Chicago Red, who had been arrested inone of their accustomed haunts by his men a short time before.

  The policeman on duty at the door was the only other person in the room,and in consequence Burke permitted himself, quite unashamed, to employthose methods of persuasion which have risen to a high degree ofadmiration in police circles.

  "Come across now!" he admonished. His voice rolled forth like that of abull of Bashan. He was on his feet, facing the two thieves. His head wasthrust forward menacingly, and his eyes were savage. The two men shrankbefore him--both in natural fear, and, too, in a furtive policy of theirown. This was no occasion for them to assert a personal pride againstthe man who had them in his toils.

  "I don't know nothin'!" Chicago Red's voice was between a snarl and awhine. "Ain't I been telling you that for over an hour?"

  Burke vouchsafed no answer in speech, but with a nimbleness surprisingin one of his bulk, gave Dacey, who chanced to be the nearer of the two,a shove that sent the fellow staggering half-way across the room underits impetus.

  With this by way of appreciable introduction to his seriousness ofpurpose, Burke put a question:

  "Dacey, how long have you been out?"

  The answer came in a sibilant whisper of dread.

  "A week."

  Burke pushed the implication brutally.

  "Want to go back for another stretch?" The Inspector's voice wasfreighted with suggestions of disasters to come, which were wellunderstood by the cringing wretch before him.

  The thief shuddered, and his face, already pallid from the prison lackof sunlight like some noxious growth of a cellar, became livid. Hiswords came in a muffled moan of fear.

  "God, no!"

  Burke left a little interval of silence then in which the thievesmight tremble over the prospect suggested by his words, but always hemaintained his steady, relentless glare on the cowed creatures. It wasa familiar warfare with him. Yet, in this instance, he was destinedto failure, for the men were of a type different from that of EnglishEddie, who was lying dead as the meet reward for treachery to hisfellows.... When, at last, his question issued from the close-shut lips,it came like the crack of a gun.

  "Who shot Griggs?"

  The reply was a chorus from the two:

  "I don't know--honest, I don't!"

  In his eagerness, Chicago Red moved toward his questioner--unwisely.

  "Honest to Gawd, I don't know nothin' about it!"

  The Inspector's fist shot out toward Chicago Red's jaw. The impact wasenough. The thief went to his knees under the blow.

  "Now, get up--and talk!" Burke's voice came with unrepentant noisinessagainst the stricken man.

  Cringingly, Chicago Red, who so gloried in his strength, yet was nowaltogether humble in this precarious case, obeyed as far as the gettingto his feet was concerned.... It never occurred to him even that heshould carry his obedience to the point of "squealing on a pal!" Hadthe circumstances been different, he might have refused to accept theInspector's blow with such meekness, since above all things he loveda bit of bodily strife with some one near his own strength, and theInspector was of a sort to offer him a battle worth while.

  So, now, while he got slowly to his feet, he took care to keep at arespectful distance from the official, though his big hands fairly achedto double into fists for blows with this man who had so maltreated him.

  His own self-respect, of its peculiar sort, was saved by theinterference of Cassidy, who entered the Inspector's office to announcethe arrival of the District Attorney.

  "Send 'im in," Burke directed at once. He made a gesture toward thedoorman, and added: "Take 'em back!"

  A grin of evil humor writhed the lips of the police official, and headded to the attentive doorman a word of direction that might well beinterpreted by the malevolent expression on his face.

  "Don't be rough with 'em, Dan," he said. For once, his dominatingvoice was reduced to something approaching softness, in his sardonicappreciation of his own humor in the conception of what these two men,who had ventured to resist his importunities, might receive at the handsof his faithful satellites.... The doorman grinned appreciatively, andherded his victims from the place. And the two went shamblingly in sureknowledge of the things that were in store. Yet, without thought oftreachery. They would not "squeal"! All they would tell of the death ofEddie Griggs would be: "He got what was coming to him!"

  The Inspector dropped into his swivel chair at the desk whilst heawaited the arrival of Demarest, the District Attorney. The greetingsbetween the two were cordial when at last the public prosecutor made hisappearance.

  "I came as soon as I got your message," the District Attorney said, ashe seated himself in a chair by the desk. "And I've sent word to Mr.Gilder.... Now, then, Burke, let's have this thing quickly."

  The Inspector's explanation was concise:

  "Joe Garson, Chicago Red, and Dacey, along with Griggs, broke intoEdward Gilder's house, last night! I knew the trick was going to bepulled off, and so I planted Cassidy and a couple of other men justoutside the room where the haul was to be made. Then, I went away,and after something like half an hour I came back to make the arrestsmyself." A look of intense disgust spread itself over the Inspector'smassive face. "Well," he concluded sheepishly, "when I broke into theroom I found young Gilder along with that Turner woman he married, andthey were just talking together."

  "No trace of the others?" Demarest questioned crisply.

  At the inquiry, Burke's face crimsoned angrily, then again set in grimlines.

  "I found Griggs lying on the floor--dead!" Once again the disgust showedin his expression. "The Turner woman says young Gilder shot Griggsbecause he broke into the house. Ain't that the limit?"

  "What does the boy say?" the District Attorney demanded.

  Burke shook his head dispiritedly.

  "Nothing," he answered. "She told him not to talk, and so, of course, hewon't, he's such a fool over her."

  "And what does she say?" Demarest asked. He found himself rather amusedby the exceeding chagrin of the Inspector over this affair.

  Burke's voice grew savage as he snapped a reply.

  "Refuses to talk till she sees a lawyer." But a touch of cheerfulnessappeared in his tones as he proceeded. "We've got Chicago Red and Dacey,and we'll have Garson before the day's over. And, oh, yes, they'vepicked up a young girl at the Turner woman's place. And we've got onereal clue--for once!" The speaker's expression was suddenly triumphant.He opened a drawer of the desk, and took out Garson's pistol, to whichthe silencer was still attached.

  "You never saw a gun like that before, eh?" he exclaimed.

  Demarest admitted the fact after a curious examination.

  "I'll bet you never did!" Burke cried, with satisfaction. "That thingon the end is a Maxim silencer. There are thousands of them
in use onrifles, but they've never been able to use them on revolvers before.This is a specially made gun," he went on admiringly, as he took itback and slipped it into a pocket of his coat. "That thing is absolutelynoiseless. I've tried it. Well, you see, it'll be an easy thing--easiestthing in the world!--to trace that silencer attachment. Cassidy'sworking on that end of the thing now."

  For a few minutes longer, the two men discussed the details of thecrime, theorizing over the baffling event. Then, presently, Cassidyentered the office, and made report of his investigations concerning thepistol with the silencer attachment.

  "I got the factory at Hartford on the wire," he explained, "and theygave me Mr. Maxim himself, the inventor of the silencer. He said thiswas surely a special gun, which was made for the use of Henry Sylvester,one of the professors at Yale. He wanted it for demonstration purposes.Mr. Maxim said the things have never been put on the market, and thatthey never will be."

  "For humane reasons," Demarest commented, nodding approbation.

  "Good thing, too!" Burke conceded. "They'd make murder too devilisheasy, and it's easy enough now.... Well, Cassidy?"

  "I got hold of this man, Sylvester," Cassidy went on. "I had him on the'phone, too. He says that his house was robbed about eight weeks ago,and among other things the silencer was stolen." Cassidy paused, andchuckled drily. "He adds the startling information that the New Havenpolice have not been able to recover any of the stolen property. Themrube cops are immense!"

  Demarest smiled slyly, as the detective, at a nod from his superior,went toward the door.

  "No," he said, maliciously; "only the New York police recover stolengoods."

  "Good-night!" quoth Cassidy, turning at the door, in admission of hisdiscomfiture over the thrust, while Burke himself grinned wryly inappreciation of the gibe.

  Demarest grew grave again, as he put the question that was troubling himmost.

  "Is there any chance that young Gilder did shoot Griggs?"

  "You can search me!" the Inspector answered, disconsolately. "My menwere just outside the door of the room where Eddie Griggs was shot todeath, and none of 'em heard a sound. It's that infernal silencer thing.Of course, I know that all the gang was in the house."

  "But tell me just how you know that fact," Demarest objected verycrisply. "Did you see them go in?"

  "No, I didn't," the Inspector admitted, tartly. "But Griggs----"

  Demarest permitted himself a sneer born of legal knowledge.

  "Griggs is dead, Burke. You're up against it. You can't prove thatGarson, or Chicago Red, or Dacey, ever entered that house."

  The Inspector scowled over this positive statement.

  "But Griggs said they were going to," he argued.

  "I know," Demarest agreed, with an exasperating air of shrewdness; "butGriggs is dead. You see, Burke, you couldn't in a trial even repeat whathe told you. It's not permissible evidence."

  "Oh, the law!" the Inspector snorted, with much choler. "Well, then," hewent on belligerently, "I'll charge young Gilder with murder, and callthe Turner woman as a witness."

  The District Attorney laughed aloud over this project.

  "You can't question her on the witness-stand," he explainedpatronizingly to the badgered police official. "The law doesn't allowyou to make a wife testify against her husband. And, what's more, youcan't arrest her, and then force her to go into the witness-stand,either. No, Burke," he concluded emphatically, "your only chance ofgetting the murderer of Griggs is by a confession."

  "Then, I'll charge them both with the murder," the Inspector growledvindictively. "And, by God, they'll both go to trial unless somebodycomes through." He brought his huge fist down on the desk with violence,and his voice was forbidding. "If it's my last act on earth," hedeclared, "I'm going to get the man who shot Eddie Griggs."

  Demarest was seriously disturbed by the situation that had developed. Hewas under great personal obligations to Edward Gilder, whose influencein fact had been the prime cause of his success in attaining to theimportant official position he now held, and he would have gone farto serve the magnate in any difficulty that might arise. He had beenperfectly willing to employ all the resources of his office to relievethe son from the entanglement with a woman of unsavory notoriety. Now,thanks to the miscarried plotting of Burke to the like end, what beforehad been merely a vicious state of affairs was become one of the utmostdreadfulness. The worst of crimes had been committed in the house ofEdward Gilder himself, and his son acknowledged himself as the murderer.The District Attorney felt a genuine sorrow in thinking of the anguishthis event must have brought on the father. He had, as well, sympathyenough for the son. His acquaintance with the young man convinced himthat the boy had not done the deed of bloody violence. In that fact wasa mingling of comfort and of anxiety. It had been better, doubtless,if indeed Dick had shot Griggs, had indicted a just penalty on ahousebreaker. But the District Attorney was not inclined to credit theconfession. Burke's account of the plot in which the stool-pigeon hadbeen the agent offered too many complications. Altogether, the aspect ofthe case served to indicate that Dick could not have been the slayer....Demarest shook his head dejectedly.

  "Burke," he said, "I want the boy to go free. I don't believe for aminute that Dick Gilder ever killed this pet stool-pigeon of yours. And,so, you must understand this: I want him to go free, of course."

  Burke frowned refusal at this suggestion. Here was a matter in which hisrights must not be invaded. He, too, would have gone far to serve a manof Edward Gilder's standing, but in this instance his professional pridewas in revolt. He had been defied, trapped, made a victim of the gangwho had killed his most valued informer.

  "The youngster'll go free when he tells what he knows," he said angrily,"and not a minute before." His expression lightened a little. "Perhapsthe old gentleman can make him talk. I can't. He's under that woman'sthumb, of course, and she's told him he mustn't say a word. So, hedon't." A grin of half-embarrassed appreciation moved the heavy jaws ashe glanced at the District Attorney. "You see," he explained, "I can'tmake him talk, but I might if circumstances were different. On accountof his being the old man's son, I'm a little cramped in my style."

  It was, in truth, one thing to browbeat and assault a convict like Daceyor Chicago Red, but quite another to employ the like violence againsta youth of Dick Gilder's position in the world. Demarest understoodperfectly, but he was inclined to be sceptical over the Inspector'stheory that Dick possessed actual cognizance as to the killing ofGriggs.

  "You think that young Gilder really knows?" he questioned, doubtfully.

  "I don't think anything--yet!" Burke retorted. "All I know is this:Eddie Griggs, the most valuable crook that ever worked for me, has beenmurdered." The official's voice was charged with threatening as he wenton. "And some one, man or woman, is going to pay for it!"

  "Woman?" Demarest repeated, in some astonishment.

  Burke's voice came merciless.

  "I mean, Mary Turner," he said slowly.

  Demarest was shocked.

  "But, Burke," he expostulated, "she's not that sort." The Inspectorsneered openly.

  "How do you know she ain't?" he demanded. "Well, anyhow, she's made amonkey out of the Police Department, and, first, last, and all the time,I'm a copper... And that reminds me," he went on with a resumption ofhis usual curt bluntness, "I want you to wait for Mr. Gilder outside,while I get busy with the girl they've brought down from Mary Turner'sflat."