by Don Wilcox
“That, I admit, should be one of the valuable by-products of your punishment:”
“Will it make any difference that I had applied for work?”
“You didn’t get it.”
“I tried.”
“Ha.” Molander was unimpressed.
“If the Counsellors have me shot they may bring down unforeseen troubles on their heads. Even dead men sometimes lead revolts, according to some histories.
“Now, that’s good. A tramp trying to feed history to a Counsellor. That’s your habit, my friend. Always overreaching yourself. I noticed it from the first afternoon I picked you up.” Molander gave a scornful laugh and started off. But his anxiety over what Lanky might tell was again apparent, and he turned to toss back one tempering, tantalizing remark. “I haven’t said you’ll be shot. I’m a man of power and influence. You play this thing my way.”
With that, he strode away.
Late that night, Lanky lay awake listening to echoes of midnight festivities beyond the plaza. It wasn’t easy, counting the slow quarter-hours that chimed from the tower clock, wondering and waiting for the kind of justice that was meant for tramps.
Familiar voices could be heard, now, from the prison entrance. William Lusk and his wife, and Janette—
“I know it’s against the rules.” That was Janette, arguing with the prison guards. “But I do so wish you’d let me see him.”
A glow of blue lightning reflected through the corridor, for an instant changing the pattern of moonlight that showered in from the corridor window.
A few minutes later Janette was before him, holding both his hands through the bars, tilting her pretty face up to him. Anxiety and sometimes tears were there, but smiles of courage too. There was so much to talk about. And so little time.
There were so many rumors sweeping over the plaza, so many stories filling the radiocasts and news columns.
“There’s talk of ridding the city of every jobless man,” Janette said. “They say this incident shows how the fighting and irresponsibility and lawlessness are spreading. A murder within the plaza, right on the steps of the Pink Temple. It’s unclean, they say. It’s time to rid the whole city of its dregs.”
“I’m not surprised,” Lanky smiled patiently. He held her hands tightly. “Do you still have the bracelet?”
She drew back the sleeve of her sports jacket. The sapphires splashed lively moonlight in his eyes.
“Hasn’t anything happened,” he asked, “to make you afraid to wear it?” Her anxious eyes flicked back arid forth from the gems to his steady, questioning gaze. “You asked me to wear it. I—I’ve wondered if you knew what a strange, terrible power—”
“I’m afraid I didn’t realize,” said Lanky, “just what the legend implied. The charm had been dead for years. But that was because the beauty of the sapphires hadn’t been matched—not for generations—until the bracelet was placed upon your arm.”
“You know its whole history, then?”
“If I only might live long enough to tell you. Centuries ago the Turkish dynasties rose and fell as the charm of these sapphires played upon the fortunes of rulers. There were enchantresses in those days too, I’ve been told.” His arms drew her close against the bars. “But never one like you, I’m sure.”
Her lovely face was close to his. If there was no glow of blue lightning from the sapphires, it was because he gave her no time to wish for a, kiss. He was kissing her. His arms were about her.
Then they were whispering. “If I have the power to wish,” she said, “I wish these bars would dissolve and you were free of all this trouble.”
The blue lightning glowed, then, but no bars dissolved.
“Troubles aren’t swept away that easily, dear,” he said. “There’s no easy way out for a tramp in trouble. I’ll go through with this. I’ll learn for myself the ways of justice.”
From the prison entrance the voices of William Lusk and his wife could be heard. It was time for Janette to go.
“I—I must talk with you again before the trial,” she said. “There is something you must know. There may be a way out, Lanky, for you—”
CHAPTER VII
Jittery Counsellors
Sixteen Counsellors met for five minutes on the fourth floor of the building with the big copper dome. Then met and heard the news and dissolved into committees.
The news came from the national manager. His letter informed them that he would be unable to make the visit, to their city, as planned, but that his excellent and able secretary, L. Van Voorhees would come.
The president of the Counsellors read the letter to his fellow members, assembled. Then—
“We must make preparations swiftly. A few trifling matters, such as the Pink Temple murder, have engaged us too long. We have no time to lose. There must be speeches of welcome for the national manager’s personal representative. Those of you who are acquainted with the honorable L. Van Voorhees will meet with me in the first committee room at once.”
Ten minutes later the Counsellors were called out of their committee rooms into general assembly. The president was agitated.
“Let me repeat,” he said, “that any of you having the remotest acquaintance with Van Voorhees must meet with me to make plans. We must be ready to pull the right strings. This secretary will carry his impressions straight back to the national manager. How many of you know him?”
No one spoke up.
“I repeat, who knows Van Voorhees?”
No one knew him. Molander volunteered that the man was known to be publicity-shy; that he had no reason to push himself into the public spotlight, because he served the national manager as an appointed expert.
“That’s the very reason,” said the president, “that we’ve got to make a perfect impression.”
“Then the first thing to do,” said Molander, “is to take action to drive our tramps out of town. Why don’t we hold a swift trial for the tramp that pulled the dagger murder? That will help clean our slate for the secretary’s inspection.”
“We need to know that secretary in advance,” the president repeated, ignoring Molander’s suggestion. And he forthwith adjourned the meeting and ordered every Counsellor to dig into the files and find out what they could about the publicity-shy Mr. Van Voorhees.
Two hours later, as they gathered around the official table on the porch of the Pink Temple, they called for William Lusk. Someone had found, in a printed biography of Van Voorhees, that the famous chef had once been employed by the Van Voorhees family. “Tell us what to expect, Lusk.”
“I advise you,” said Lusk, swelling with aristocratic importance, “that you should have everything in the best of order. As a boy he was very systematic and thorough. He used to clean the house for his parents. Very thorough.”
The Counsellors groaned. This remark sounded ominous. He might come here to clean house.
But William Lusk admitted that he hadn’t known young Van Voorhees since he was a boy; in fact, wouldn’t expect to be remembered by him. “I distinctly remember that he was fond of ice cream cones and taffy candy—especially by my recipes.”
The Counsellors saw no help here. They returned to the earlier suggestion of Molander that a quick settlement of the overhanging murder case might be an effective stroke. It was Milton Molander’s hour to be popular, and he felt called on to make a speech.
“Back of this drive for swift justice to a tramp murderer,” he said, “is my drive to sweep the whole caboodle of tramps out of the city. No mercy for any of them. . .”
He kept his eyes on Janette all the time he talked, and he was still talking when the police investigators barged in.
It was pandemonium for the rest of that day. The police investigators had hundreds of questions for everyone, and they found the Counsellors in a mood to give generously. They had to recheck on all the questions they’d asked immediately after the murder. They also had to know what there was to all of these rumors running rife over the city.
&nb
sp; Was it true that that group of guards charged the palace a few nights before on account of some spell of enchantment cast by Janette? Was it true that several of the Counsellors were in love with her? That some had proposed to her? That other intended to?
News cameramen followed in to get the full benefit of Counsellors acknowledging their love for the beautiful girl, or reciting proposals, or having heart palpitations. The newspapers and newsreels would have juicy filler for days to come. The fact was that the air was now filled with a dull blue light that had come so gradually as to be unnoticed.
Arid all the while Janette was chiding herself. It was pure mischief on her part, wishing to know how many of these Romeo Counsellors had fallen for her. Strange to say, those who hadn’t were almost apologetic before the police and the reporters.
“And now let’s have a look at the bracelet,” said one of the investigators.
Janette didn’t see what happened now.
This wasn’t the first time they had asked about the bracelet. Early in their investigation they had regarded it carefully—even measured it and laid out the pattern of its stones on paper.
Now they again asked her to remove it for a moment’s examination. She complied.
She didn’t see Molander nodding to them, giving them the cue. She didn’t see the bracelet exchanged for a duplicate, constructed on the identical pattern.
“Here you are, Miss Janette.” One of the investigators handed her what she took to be her bracelet. Molanders’ cleverness had scored. She never suspected.
CHAPTER VIII
Trigger Justice
A sound truck swung around the park advertising the need for a few unskilled workers, but none of the park bums heard or paid any attention, they had too many pressing matters to talk over. Slowly they had awakened to the fact that what became of Lanky Louis might have some effect on them.
“He was a good fellow,” said the Old Man with the white whiskers. “I wish there was something we could do’.”
“He was too ambitious,” said a black-whiskered pessimist. “I saw he didn’t have the makings of a good park bum when he walked off and tried to get a job.”
“His real trouble was, he went off his nut about that enchantress,” someone else volunteered.
“No chance for him now,” said the Old Man. “If you’re wealthy and have friends in the government, there’s always a chance of pulling out of trouble. People like that can afford to take a few risks. But not down-and-outers like us. If we make a bad gamble the law is right there to sock us.”
Radio newscasts carried the story that the trial had been held and that Lanky Louis had been found guilty. (This news grapevined around the park within a few minutes after it was broadcasted.) He would be executed by bullet.
“There you are,” said the Old Man. “They’ll have him shot before that big party of national government people get here. That way they can point to and say, ‘We’re cleaning them up’.”
Execution or no execution, the. reception for the national secretary and twenty high-ranking officers and guards must be ready when they arrived. William Lusk, was beside himself with importance, checking the details.
A telephone call announced that the national party was about to reach the city, and would proceed directly to the government building, arriving only a few minutes late.
The Counsellors had Lanky Louis brought into the first committee room, just off the hall from the gayly decorated reception room.
While Lanky stood waiting, his hands bound, the Counsellors drew lots to see which of them would do the deed.
One by one the Counsellors opened the slips of paper. Janette came in just in time to see the last few slips drawn from the hat.
“I’ve asked some of my friends to come up for a moment,” she said to the president of the Counsellors, “to witness—”
“All right, all right. But don’t bother us.”
Molander spoke up. “Here it is—the fatal slip. The shooting falls to me.”
A half dozen Counsellors lined up on either side. The rest stood back of Molander. He drew his gun and advanced slowly to the center of the room, where Lanky Louis stood, eyeing him defiantly.
Slow, creaky footsteps came from the back stairs at the end of the corridor and approached the committee room. Molander paused, his gun hand at his hip. Other footsteps were following.
“What is this?” said Molander. He was like a temperamental golf artist, awaiting complete quiet before taking a stroke.
Into the committee room came the ragged, white-bearded Old Man. Other tramps filed in back of him. More of them until there were all of two hundred thronged at the doorways.
“Before you shoot him,” said the Old Man, “we figured you’d like to know something.”
“It’s out of order,” said Molander. But the president said, “Let’s see what they want.”
“We’ve got a proposition,” said the Old Man. “We figure you’re about to execute him because you hate all of us. If you’ll change your mind, we’ll go to work.”
“Idle promises,” said Molander. “You’ll stand where you are and be witnesses to this execution. I am now ready—”
“You mill miss,” Janette said in a voice full of tears and righteous rage. “I wish you to miss. I wish your hand to go paralyzed if you try to pull that trigger.”
“Ha,” Molander said coldly without looking at her. He steadied the gun. But she suddenly cried out with such a fury of words that he and everyone else turned to listen.
“I’m the guilty one, believe me. It was this strange power of mine. I wished the guard on the steps to be removed—and the sapphires of my bracelet did it. They commanded my wish to be fulfilled.”
Lanky Louis shook his head. “She didn’t do it.”
“I’m guilty, I tell you,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to wish him dead. I only wished him removed—but it was this power—”
Molander demanded silence. “The court has pronounced sentence on this tramp. If your wishes have any power, go ahead. Make me miss this shot.”
“I can do it. You’ll see.”
His lips curled scornfully. “Very well, show me.”
He held the gun within three feet of Lanky’s head. He pulled the trigger. There was no electric blue in the air—just the flash of red gunfire.
The Old Man was right beside him as it happened. And for all his years of age and flowing white whiskers and limp old arms, the Old Man was as quick as a cat. He flung an arm upward just as the pistol cracked.
The shot went up. It crashed through a chandelier and struck the ceiling. A little shower of glass and a flake of plaster fell to the floor.
“Guards! Guards!” the president of the Counsellors shouted. He thought there was going to be an open fight—that two hundred tramps were only waiting the Old Man’s gesture.
But the tramps stood silent and sullen, and the Counsellors and guards who had suddenly drawn their guns in self defense looked a little foolish.
Just then the roll of drums and blare of trumpets sounded from somewhere down the palace hallways. The party of Secretary Van Voorhees had arrived.
CHAPTER IX
The Reception
The entrance of the party from the national government would long be remembered. It would be remembered by the party itself, every officer, guard, drummer and trumpeter. And by sixteen Counsellors, caught inexplicably in the company of two hundred ragged down-and-outers—caught in the middle of an execution that hadn’t quite come off.
Newshawks and cameramen poked their heads in at the side doors to catch. every detail of this meeting between city and nation. One of the newsmen jotted the opening lines of his account; three others read it over his shoulder:
“The national manager’s party arrived, in full dress and marched to their own swanky fanfare into the sanctum of the Counsellors which resembled a shambles. Probably no reception in history requiring so much preparation and money ever„ bore so little resemblance to a receptio
n. Two hundred tramps had drifted in from somewhere. By way of greeting to the starchy national party they stood awkwardly in open-mouthed wonderment. The national manager stayed at home and we don’t blame him. From this angle it looks as if his secretary, the honorable Van Voorhees, is also missing”
Janette brushed aside several Counsellors who had chosen this confused moment to ask her company at the reception banquet. She made the president of the Counsellors listen to her.
“Tell me, which one of you is Van Voorhees? I’m going to appeal this case to him. Can’t he stop this execution, if I tell him I’m the guilty one?”
The president of the Counsellors-may have heard her, but he was trying to wave everyone to silence and at the same time order the tramps back into another room and confer with William Lusk about changing the time of the dinner.
Then getting himself under control, the president of the Counsellors stepped forward from the confused circle, and asked which of the party was the honorable Van Voorhees.
The spokesman stepped out from the ranks of the national party, and his eyes passed slowly over the circle of guards, tramps, chefs, and Counsellors.
“The honorable Van Voorhees preceded us. He is already here among you, incognito. May I have the honor to present the national secretary, Louis Van Voorhees.”
The spokesman pointed to Lanky Louis.
Lanky’s hands were still tied behind him. Yet he managed to bow graciously. Janette’s heart was fluttering, her mind whirling, her ears hearing words she, could hardly believe.
“I am your humble servant, Louis Van Voorhees. I have been among you for several days, observing how you live and work together. How you, the Counsellors, govern your citizens. How I you, the idle men of the parks, respond to the tolerant treatment that is-given you. It has been revealing, to say the least.”
The frozen silence that had caught the whole group from his first words was now broken only by the slightest hums of discomfort from men who felt the weight of these words.
