The Last Trumpet

by Todd Downing

  “Matt Bettis claimed that he didn’t know how Radisson could have found out the blackmailer was left-handed.”

  “I think my guess about the wrist-watch with the luminous dial was correct. It was a dark night and when Charles Bettis stood at Radisson’s window he doubtless took care to disguise his face and voice. But when Radisson handed him the money he must have noticed that the other took it with his left hand and that on the right wrist he wore a wrist-watch. Hence he was left-handed. Radisson must have spent a miserable night, knowing that his secret was the property of someone else and facing the prospect of repeated extortions. The next morning he must have looked over the group, trying in vain to pick out the man he had talked to the night before. There wasn’t much opportunity, because most of them went riding. He thought then of the switch, the Pullman, the two-thirteen train. About twelve he saw the porter come to the house. Which meant that in all likelihood no one would be near the tracks. The south-hound train had passed, so he broke open the switch and changed it. Did you see the impossibility in his alibi for noon?”

  “I can’t see it, Hugh. You told me that he couldn’t sit in the shade of a wall at noon on June twentieth. Why not?”

  “That hacienda was near the Tropic of Cancer, remember. That date only missed the summer solstice by twenty-four hours. So at noon the sun would be directly overhead and a wall would cast no shadow. The shadowless hour, the Mexicans call it.”

  “Head of the class, Hugh. But why make up that story about listening to a record? Why didn’t he just say he was in his room alone?”

  “Because Dr. Torday and Darwin Wyllys were there. They doubtless knew that he had gone outdoors. He may have gone to some pains to give himself an excuse to be away from the house. I thought at the time that he was very prompt with that alibi. After that talk with Rolf I was convinced of Radisson’s guilt. Every Christmas his blackmailer called on him for money. Every Christmas he tried to avoid payment by killing his persecutor. He got the right one the first time, but Matt Bettis carried on. The only other left-handed man among the visitors was Torday. So he centred his attention on Torday the next year. Sooner or later it was sure to occur to him that Carlos Campos might have been the one to whom he gave the money the first time. Carlos might be going secretly to Brownsville in order to collect the blackmail. So Radisson got a seat in the sun at the bullfight and dispatched Carlos. I thought it odd that he attended the fight, since even from the box I could see that he disliked what took place. Whether or not he was the first one to throw away his mirror, we’ll never know. My guess is that he was.”

  Rennert tossed the end of his cigar into the night.

  “This noon, when Torday died, I was bothered. I was satisfied that Radisson had murdered the others, but there was a possibility that another person had done away with Torday. Therefore my insistence on a search of those present. I visualized Torday’s actions just before he expired. He took a few draws upon the cigarette. He cleared his throat and wrinkled the skin about his mouth. Then he drank. So the cigarette or the holder might have contained the poison. But the cigarette came from a box which was customarily passed to guests. So I decided on the holder. You told me only that the chemist found potassium ferrocyanide inside. Did he have anything more to say?”

  Bounty’s cigar had gone out, but he was still fondling it between his lips. “I was afraid you were going to ask me that. He had a lot more to say, but I didn’t understand it all. It seems the heat decomposed the potassium ferrocyanide with which the inside of the holder had been coated and liberated hydrocyanic acid. A very small quantity would produce almost instantaneous death. And the eggnog which Torday swallowed immediately would disguise the taste. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know how Radisson got hold of the stuff.”

  “In Mexico, doubtless. He poisoned one of the holders that Angerman was making, knowing that sooner or later it would do its work. It wasn’t until this noon that Torday selected the deadly one.”

  “But, Hugh, wouldn’t Radisson know that this would throw suspicion on Angerman and Mrs. Torday? You told me he claimed to be Angerman’s friend.”

  “I think his knowledge that he had implicated an innocent man accounted in large part for his warm defense of Angerman. His conscience must have been troubling him. He probably reasoned that it would be difficult to prove that Angerman himself had inserted the poison in the holder, that a clever lawyer could argue there were plenty of opportunities after the holders reached Torday. On the other hand, Radisson had gone so far that the life of one more person would probably make little difference to him.”

  Rennert was silent for a moment, thinking that Bounty had something to say. Whatever it was that was bothering the sheriff, he didn’t see fit to put it into words yet.

  “I’m glad,” Rennert went on, “that things turned out as they did. In the first place, we had after all very little valid evidence against Radisson. The paint on the bandage which he was wearing on Saturday night matched that on the seat of the trousers which you had on at the same time. You could swear that yours came from the bridge. Therefore, Radisson had been on the bridge and got off before the gates were closed. By the way, I’m satisfied that he shot Wyllys in mistake for Torday. We could prove that his left thumb made the mark on the Simon Secondyne photograph. We could have made Matt Bettis admit to the blackmailing, thus proving that Radisson had a motive for all these murders. We could prove that he had the opportunity, that’s about all. We would have had to restrict ourselves to what took place in the United States. There’s poetic justice, too, in the fact that Radisson died by his own hand, as it were. Blood-poisoning from the wound which he had inflicted on himself after receiving another call from Bettis and learning that his murder of Campos had been in vain.”

  “You think the hospital at Tonatiuh wasn’t at fault? That story about him dying under the ether sounded rather glib to me.”

  “We’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. But when I have an operation it won’t be down at Tonatiuh.”

  “What was your real purpose in dashing down there last night?”

  “I wasn’t quite sure about Lincoln. And I wanted to get that left thumb of Radisson’s after it was amputated. He might claim that any finger-prints we put forward in evidence were made by someone else. We couldn’t have proved conclusively that any single article in his house had been used by him alone. I wasn’t sure what sort of an impression could begot from that bandage.”

  “What I’m gladdest of,” Bounty laughed, “was that those pants of mine didn’t have to go into court. I’ve been thinking all afternoon of the razzing I’d have suffered. May I ask what happened at that interview with Lincoln in my office? You noticed I was careful to leave the two of you alone.”

  Rennert smiled. “I’m afraid, Peter, that all I accomplished was to inflate the old ego a little bit by leaning back in that soft chair of yours, acting dignified and making Lincoln answer my questions. He swore he had no idea Radisson was guilty. He did admit that the wound showed indications of having been made at close range. When I frowned at that, he made haste to say that if he’d been sure he would have told me. We shook hands and parted good friends, at least on the surface.”

  Bounty’s chuckle was deep. “Wearing a badge does have its advantages, doesn’t it?” He sat forward suddenly with an air of determination. “I wish I’d known this Radisson. Then the whole thing might be clearer to me. In the first place, why did he ever write that article?”

  Rennert shook his head.

  “We’ll probably never know. He may have done it merely to make some extra money. Perhaps as a sort of tour de force. My guess would be that he wrote it in the white heat of indignation after witnessing a particularly cruel spectacle somewhere in Mexico.”

  “Well, I’m going to say the same thing young Distant did back at the hotel. It doesn’t seem possible that a scholar would commit wholesale murder just to keep from being shut out of Mexico.”

  Rennert stared into the moonlight for a lon
g time before he made any reply. “Peter,” he said slowly, “it doesn’t seem possible to men like you and me. But we’re vastly different from Radisson. We’re conditioned by society. Murder to us is the worst of crimes. Murder for any motive. Radisson lived alone a great part of the time and doubtless came to think of himself almost as a law unto himself. Living in Mexico, too, makes human life seem cheaper. But those are minor considerations. Radisson had one all-absorbing interest, his work. It was his monomania. He had no personal motive at all, I’m positive. He didn’t think of this blackmailer as threatening him, but the continuation of his studies. He knew that if he didn’t complete these no one ever would. These Indian dialects are dying out rapidly; if they are ever recorded, it must be at once. So little time, he said to me once, and so much to do. His attempt to wipe out the entire group on the Pullman was doubtless the result of an impulse. Thereafter he could justify his actions by telling himself that a gambler like Bettis, a quack such as he thought Torday to be, a Mexican bullfighter were of little importance as compared to the monumental work which he would leave to civilization. If he had enough of the fanatic in him, he may have thought of them as sacrifices to the cause of knowledge. Other men have done so.”

  Rennert lighted a cigarette. It helped him talk. And he wanted to talk.

  “Peter, sometimes I envy men like Radisson, who have found a lifework that’s greater than they. Scientists in their laboratories. Writers who have tasted what Kipling called ‘that fatal facile drink.’ Crusaders even. If I knew I had to die to-night, I’m afraid my regret would boil down to the fact that I’d miss to-morrow morning’s breakfast and the smoke that follows it. Sleeping and sitting here in a comfortable chair. Books, I suppose, as an incidental.”

  Bounty was so far back in his chair that his face could scarcely be seen. “I know. I know exactly. I think I feel that envy more than you do, Hugh. Because I do more eating and sleeping than you—defiantly.”

  For a long time no word passed between them. “I think,” Rennert said, “that it was that shrimp we had for dinner.”

  “Yes,” Bounty agreed, “I’m sure it was the shrimp.”

  Rennert took the deputy sheriff’s badge from the pocket to which he had consigned it. He laid it on the arm of Bounty’s chair with the words: “I was about to forget to return that.”

  Bounty gazed at it and his voice was low and quick.

  “Keep it, Hugh. I’ll have a vacancy on the regular force the first of the year.”

  “I can’t, Peter. You know that. There’s no need to go into my reasons, is there?”

  “No,” Bounty said reluctantly as he put away the shield. “No, hell, no. I understand.”

  “I was about to forget something else. That envelope you told me to get from Torday.” Rennert held it out.

  Bounty made no motion to take it.

  “That”—he spoke with satisfaction—“is something you are going to keep. Open it and look over what’s inside.”

  Rennert tore the flap, struck a match, and ran his eyes down the sheet of paper which was within. It was a deed, duly signed and attested, whereby Paul Torday conveyed to Hugh Rennert a section of land in Cameron County. It was that section which extended between Rennert’s house and the highway.

  Rennert looked at Bounty.

  “How come, Peter?”

  “How come?” Bounty countered airily. “That’s your pay cheque. Didn’t think I’d let my men work without pay, did you?”

  “Peter,” Rennert said sternly, “Torday called you an extortionist this noon. Why?”

  Bounty lay back peacefully and closed his eyes. “Why ask so many questions, Hugh? You bother me. Torday wanted you to solve this case. I told him you were my deputy and you weren’t getting any pay. I didn’t know whether I was going to let you do it or not. Of course if someone were to pay you, give you an orange grove for example, then it would be different. I’d see that you solved it in quick order. So Torday volunteered to furnish the pay. Oh, quite readily. I was going to register that deed for you, so you wouldn’t get scrupulous and tear it up. But now that Torday’s gone and the case is solved, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t keep it, is there?”

  “Well,” Rennert folded the paper and put it carefully into his pocket, “we’ll hope Torday’s ghost isn’t out in that moonlight.”

  Originally published in 1937.

  Cover design by Amanda Shaffer

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-6158-2

  This edition published in 2020 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10038

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