“You’ve got one more responsibility. I want you to go directly to Bill Dunbar, who’s defending Crandall, and tell him what you told me.”
The banker nodded.
“When will Purcell be arrested? I take it he’s an accomplice.”
Sidney Zoom’s tone was like the tolling of some bell.
“I’ll have to leave his arrest for the regular police.”
“And you’re leaving Frink here?”
“For the present, yes.”
“He’s confessed?”
“After a fashion. He blames the job on Purcell. He tried to put the blame on you, at first. Then he implicated Purcell as the originator of the murder plan. Let’s go to the street. I want to telephone. You want to hunt up Dunbar, and explain things to him.”
They left the room together. Only after they were in the echoing corridor, did Sidney Zoom give the command to the police dog which relieved the bound man of his guard.
Gilvert hailed a passing car, driven by a man he knew, and demanded that he be taken to the courthouse. Now that he had made a clean breast of his share of the matter, he seemed to carry his shoulders straighter, his head higher.
Sidney Zoom went to the telephone, called the office of the clerk of the court, and demanded that Bill Dunbar be called from the court immediately, upon a matter of life and death.
There was a small amount of argument, and then he heard Dunbar’s voice on the wire.
“Yes; what is it?”
Sidney Zoom spoke rapidly.
“The prosecution have never introduced a test bullet fired from the automatic found in Strome’s office, or compared it with the fatal bullet,” he said. “Perhaps the significance of that fact has never dawned upon you.”
Dunbar grunted.
“This is Mr. Zoom?” he asked.
“It is.”
“Well, Mr. Zoom, there are certain matters in that connection which I dare not talk about over the telephone. In fact, we are willing to let sleeping dogs lie. If the prosecution doesn’t introduce such evidence, we’ll make a point of it in our argument to the jury. But we certainly won’t—”
Zoom interrupted.
“Yes,” he said, “you will. You will walk into the court room with a wise smile on your face, and demand that the court appoint an expert testing agency to make such a test. At about that time Sam Gilvert, the banker, will try to talk with you.
“Listen to what he has to say, and, if possible, let Carl Purcell overhear some of the remarks. Otherwise allow Purcell to get in touch with Gilvert, which he’ll be only too anxious to do.”
The lawyer’s voice was aloof, dignified.
“I am quite capable of conducting this trial without outside interference,” he said, “and am not particularly anxious to be drawn from court upon an urgent summons merely in order to hear suggestions as to how I should try my cases.”
Sidney Zoom’s voice changed its tone or timbre not at all. He spoke with the solemn dignity of a person intoning a ritual.
“You will return to the court room and do exactly as I said,” he observed, “or you will be sorry. If you do as I have instructed, your defendant will be released before the afternoon session of court.”
The very assurance of his voice carried conviction.
“What makes you think so?” asked the lawyer, interested.
“I don’t think so. I know so,” said Sidney Zoom, and slammed the receiver back on its hook.
The yacht was ready for sea. The crew had cast off the main lines, were standing with ropes snubbed around piles, waiting for the last order.
On the deck of the trim yacht two people were locked in a close embrace. The girl’s glad eyes were still incredulous. The man, so lately the defendant in a criminal action in which he had been headed straight for the chair, was dazed with joy.
Bill Dunbar, shrewd criminal attorney, eyed Sidney Zoom with an expression of puzzled contemplation.
“You knew,” he said, “that Gilvert would tell everyone Frink had confessed and blamed Purcell. You knew Gilvert would let it be known that Frink was bound and gagged in the room from which the fatal shot had been fired.”
Sidney Zoom’s expression was inscrutable.
“One does not know the future,” he said, “one merely makes a surmise.”
The lawyer shook his head impatiently.
“Having planned so far in the future, having tipped off the police so that they came for Purcell at the exact moment when he was in that room with Frink... Well, what I’m getting at is that you must have known Purcell would kill Frink and commit suicide!”
Sidney Zoom shrugged his shoulders.
“I anticipated that Purcell, like all his stamp, would try to cheat the chair. And I realized that he would be bitter against Frink. But it is no concern of mine if these sort of men eliminate themselves without expense to the state. In the meantime, you are detaining me. I want to get out to the open sea. Della Rangar and James Crandall are going with me. We are waiting only to get clear.
“I became interested in this case when I realized that it was impossible for the murder to have been committed in the way they claimed. I freed an innocent man. That the guilty ones had the chance to cheat the chair is incidental. I wish you good-by.”
The lawyer shook the proffered hand.
“I guess there are some things I’ll never know,” he said. “But I’ll say this much for you, you sure cracked the case — wide open.”
Then as he gazed into the saturnine features of the gaunt man, he added: “And whether you’re angel or devil is more than I know!”
For the first time during the interview, Sidney Zoom’s face softened into a half smile.
“You might catalogue me as a little of both,” he observed, “and, if you have to have me card-indexed, make a mental note that I believe in fighting the devil with fire.”
And he waved his hand, signal for the men to let go of the lines, jump aboard.
The propellers of the yacht churned the water into a yeasty foam, and the trim craft moved away from the dock.
Bill Dunbar stared at the lines of the graceful craft, mirrored in the placid waters of the river. Then he looked at the two figures who were clasped together on the deck. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked away.
The boat curled a hissing wave under her bow as she set her course for the open sea. Sidney Zoom stood near the bow, like some huge, gaunt figurehead, arms folded, eyes staring straight ahead, out toward the vast tumbled mass of untamed water.
It was a face that was utterly devoid of softness or mercy. The lawyer looked back, saw it, and shuddered. But the two figures on the after deck, smiling into each other’s eyes, shuddered only when they saw the buildings of Dellboro slipping astern — the huge white pile of the courthouse dominating the other buildings.
The sun gleamed from that structure of justice, and made it snow white, yet, withal cold and hostile, formal and distant. That same sun, touching the stern, sad face of Sidney Zoom, seemed to soften it and to make it more human.
Inside Job
Sidney Zoom piloted his powerful roadster over the wide stretch of boulevard, along which the night stream of after-theatre traffic was flowing.
Through a loud speaker, concealed under the dash of the car, came the steady sequence of police reports broadcast from headquarters.
These reports were preceded by a blast on a siren whistle which commanded attention. Some were for specified cars, some were general broadcasts.
Sidney Zoom passed a slow moving car in which a young man and a girl were huddled closely over the steering wheel. As he swung back to the right, there sounded the noise of the siren whistle.
“Car eighty-two attention! Attention eighty-two!”
There followed a short pause, then a voice that was mechanical as though reading from a typewritten report.
“Car eighty-two will go to the corner of Third and McAlpin for an investigation. There has been a report that a man is loit
ering about who is carrying a gun.
“A passing pedestrian witnessed the gun when a gust of wind blew the man’s coat to one side.
“Car eighty-two, go to Third and McAlpin Streets for an investigation and report.”
There was an interval of silence. Sidney Zoom knew that he was on the beat of car eighty-two. He was within a few blocks of Third and McAlpin, and he spun the wheel, turned down a side street that would give him a clear run to McAlpin.
Not that Sidney Zoom was a part of the police force. Far from it. Independently wealthy, owner of a palatial private yacht upon which he spent most of his time, he was tired of the ways of civilization. He demanded conflict, this gaunt, grim fighter. He had found that conflict in patrolling the midnight streets of the great city, listening to the reports which came over the short length radio from police headquarters, selecting such cases as sounded interesting, and speeding to them, gave him relief.
His activities were never quite illegal. That is, their illegality could never be proven. But those activities were very effective at times. There were occasions when he protected the weak, occasions when he fought the strong, and always, of late, he was in conflict with the police.
In the rumble seat of the roadster, crouched his companion of the night prowls, a tawny police dog, trained in the work of the police, trained, also, to obey the commands of Sidney Zoom. Master and dog worked together with unerring efficiency.
Sidney Zoom knew that car eighty-two had beat him to the call as he swung his roadster into McAlpin. He could see the red tail light, just above which was a any pinprick of blue light, signal of the police car. It was ahead of him and speeding along the boulevard.
Sidney Zoom did not care to tangle with the police unless he derived some pleasure or benefit from the contact. The mere routine of a casual investigation was not a sufficiently alluring bait. He swung his car to the right on Fourth Street and let the police car go on to the comer of Third.
Zoom drove in close to the curb and slowed down. He was listening for another call that would prove of interest. The siren whistle commanded attention while the mechanical voice of the police announcer reported a man chasing a woman, armed with a big knife. The chase was in a far corner of the city, however, and Zoom knew that car thirteen would be on the ground.
Another call reported a burglary on the beat of car twenty-nine. Then there was a period of silence, and Zoom saw the man who was walking rapidly and purposefully along the curb, his face turned back, as though looking for a cruising cab.
It was a section of the city where cabs rarely cruised, at that hour of the night. The business district was near, and this place was given over to wholesale offices, little retail stores that could not afford high rentals. Pedestrians were far from plentiful.
The lights of Zoom’s car fell full upon the white, strained face of the man at the curb. He was dressed in a brown sack suit, wore a black felt hat, had on a red necktie and brown shoes. He was, perhaps, forty-three or four and was stocky in build.
Sidney Zoom’s hawk-like eyes fastened upon the face of the waiting man, and something of tension in the strained, drawn expression of the mouth and eyes caused this connoisseur of adventure, to brake his car to an abrupt stop.
“Perhaps I can give you a lift,” he said. “There won’t be a cab along here for half an hour, perhaps.”
He saw the instant relief which flooded the face of the pedestrian.
“Thanks,” said the man and moved forward.
Sidney Zoom kicked a switch which shut off the radio from operation. The man climbed into the car and sat down.
“Nice dog you have there,” he said.
“Yes,” answered Sidney Zoom, shortly.
The police dog leaned forward, smelling of the newcomer, his paws placed upon the folded top of the roadster. He gave a deep sniff, then braced himself and growled throatily.
The man moved hastily.
“Won’t bite, will he?” he asked.
“No,” said Zoom. “That’s all, Rip. Get back and lie down.”
The dog stepped back to the cushion of the rumble seat, dropped down; but he gave another of those low, rumbling growls.
Sidney Zoom understood that growl as plainly as though the dog had spoken to him in words, and said: “I can smell a gun in this man’s pocket. It’s been shot somewhere recently. There’s the odor of powder, burnt powder.”
But Sidney Zoom gave no sign that he had learned that the man he had picked up on the dark side street was carrying a concealed weapon. His manner remained courteous, but aloof.
“I’m driving uptown,” he said.
“I wonder if you’re going past the Raleigh Arms Hotel on Madison Street,” said his guest.
“I can,” said Zoom, and spun the wheel.
The man he had picked up stared at him in surreptitious appraisal. Zoom kept his unwinking eyes on the road. He seemed to have no curiosity, no desire for social conversation. The car came to Madison Street. Zoom drove to the hotel, slowed the car.
“Thanks,” said his passenger.
“Don’t mention it,” said Zoom.
He speeded the car away from the curb, turned to the right at the comer, turned to the right again at the next comer and swung once more into Madison Street when he came to the intersection. He parked the car, ordered the dog to crouch down behind the lines of the car body so that he would be invisible to passers-by. Then Zoom walked to the other side of the street, stood in a position where he could watch the hotel lobby, both the front and side exits.
He waited five minutes. The man he had carried in his car came out of the side door, Looked about him, held up his hand for a cab. Zoom walked swiftly back, along the curb, climbed into his roadster and started the motor. By the time the cab had swung into the main street Zoom was on its tail.
He followed the cab to the Yeardly Apartments, an unpretentious building sandwiched between two of the outlying business streets, saw his man pay off the cab and go up a flight of stairs.
Zoom switched on the radio and started cruising again. He filed the appearance of the man and the place where he had discharged the cab in a hodge-podge of miscellaneous information which Zoom kept under his hat, and which concerned various and sundry of the night activities of the city.
He had gone a matter of some eight or nine blocks when the sound of the radio, calling car eighty-two again claimed his attention.
“An unconscious man is reported as being in an alley opening off of Fourth Street near McAlpin. Car eighty-two, investigate and report.”
Sidney Zoom pushed the throttle of his roadster well down and speeded toward the place described in the radio alarm. There was no stopping for arterial stops, no pausing for speed limits. The roadster rushed through the dark streets, Zoom’s gaunt hands gripping the steering wheel.
Once more he found that car eighty-two was ahead of him, but Zoom managed to catch up within the last two hundred feet. The cars swung to the curb together.
There was the form of a man, huddled in the shadows at the mouth of the alley, lying limp and inert. As the officers bent over him, the sound of the clanging gong of an ambulance came to their ears.
Sidney Zoom pushed his way forward.
One of the officers frowned, grunted: “Look who’s here!”
The other officer straightened, said: “Hello, Zoom.”
The greetings were not particularly cordial, nor were they entirely unfriendly. Lonely men who patrol the night streets, in more or less constant danger, welcome company, even though they do not always agree with the methods used by that company. On two occasions Zoom had been of considerable assistance to the patrol cars. On one evening he had saved the life of an officer who was trapped between the fire of two desperate bandits.
“Dead?” asked Zoom.
“Don’t think so. Got a sock on the head. Turn him over, Frank, and let’s see if there’s any blood.”
The men tugged at the inert body.
One of the officers str
aightened with a whistle, a low note of whistling surprise. His flashlight, illuminating a circle of white brilliance in the darkness of the alley, disclosed something that sent the beam glittering back in scintillating reflections of cold fire.
The second officer lunged toward it, clamped his hands on it.
“Diamond bracelet,” he said.
“Genuine?”
“Looks like it.”
The ambulance clanged its way to the curb, turned, backed into position.
“Better take a look and see if we can find any more. That looks funny.”
They pawed through the man’s pockets.
“Here’s another one. Guess that’s set in platinum, eh, Bill?”
“Looks like it. Take a look through this wallet and see if there’s any cards.”
The stretcher bearers from the ambulance came up, set down the stretcher. A young man bent over the prostrate form.
“Dead, Doc?”
“Nope. Case of concussion. Think he’s coming around. Find out what hit him?”
“Think it was a sock on the bean. Looks as though he’d been robbed, or had been doing some robbery. Here’s his wallet, stripped of dough. There’s a card, automobile driver’s license. Name’s Harry Dupree, 1641 Dinsmore Drive. Here’s a letter. It’s old. Telephone numbers scribbled on the back of the envelope. A bunch of keys. Here, this card mentions that he’s a jewelry salesman for Huntley & Cobb. Bet he had some samples and got stuck up.”
The ambulance man said:
“Well, he’s coming around. He can tell us for himself what happened.”
One of the officers said: “You better telephone in a report, Frank. I’ll stick around and listen to the radio and see if anything breaks.”
The inert figure shivered, stretched, turned and was gripped with nausea. “Okay,” said the ambulance man, “let him alone for a minute. Okay. Now give him this. Here, brother, swallow. No, no, swallow!”
The man gulped, retched, sat up, supported by the stretcher men. He stared about him with wide, bloodshot eyes and groaned. “We’re officers,” said the man from the radio patrol car. “Tell us what happened.”
The Casebook of Sidney Zoom Page 26
