by Jerry eBooks
We had reached the little shed now and I climbed into the car, always waiting for a chance to use my gun, but he watched me like a hawk. Then he laughed—a queer, weird laugh which had the ring of death in it.
I drove as he said and we turned from the hotel and out onto the moors—that long stretch of desolate road that leads across the Island. And then he made me stop the car and stand up.
“I’ll take your gun,” he said and he lifted it from my hip. “We won’t need more than one gun between us tonight. For if it comes to shooting I’ll take care of that end of it.”
He threw the gun into the back of the car where I heard it strike the cushion of the rear seat and bounce to the floor.
We drove on in silence. He never said a word but I felt as clearly as if he had told me so that he was driving me to my death. The gun, he had let me carry until we were safe away. Perhaps he had thought that without it I might have cried out in the hotel but this I shall never know. That he knew all along I had it I have no doubt.
More than once I was on the edge of telling him that I was not the man he thought I was, for it looked as though the game was up. But he would not have believed me and besides my little agreement with Combs was back in my hotel room.
Not a soul did we pass as we sped over the deserted road. No light but the dulled rays of the moon broke the darkness all around us. Half hour or more and then suddenly I see a car in the road as the moon pops out from behind the clouds.
Then Farrow spoke and there was the snarl of an animal in his voice.
“Here’s where you stop,” he growled, “and here’s where you get yours. They’ll find you out here in the morning and they can think what they want; we’ll be gone. And the killing of a rat like you is the only business I’ve got on the moors this night.”
I had pulled up short in the center of the road now for a big touring car which I recognized as Farrow’s was stretched across our path blocking the passage. In it I clearly saw his two friends.
It was death now sure but I made up my mind to go out as gracefully as possible and when he ordered me to open the door I leaned over and placed my hand upon the seat. And it fell on the cool muzzle of a revolver. Yes, my fingers closed over a gun and I knew that that gun was mine.
Thrills in life—yes—there are many but I guess that that moment was my biggest. I didn’t stop to think how that gun got there. I didn’t care. I just tightened on it and felt the blood of life pass quickly through my body—if you know what I mean.
I couldn’t turn and shoot him for he had his pistol pressed close against my side. What he feared I don’t know but I guess he was just one of these overcareful fellows who didn’t take any chances.
“Open that door and get out,” he ordered again as he gave me a dig in the ribs.
I leaned over again and placed my hand upon the handle of the door and then I got a happy thought.
“I can’t open it,” I said and I let my voice tremble and my hand shake. But in my left hand I now held my gun and thanked my lucky stars that I was lefthanded, for I knew if I got the one chance that I hoped for it would have to be a perfect shot.
“White livered after all,” he muttered and he stooped over and placed his left hand upon the handle of the door.
His right hand still held the gun close to my side and his eyes were watching my every movement. I never seen a man so careful before. I couldn’t pull the gun up and shoot for he would get me at the very first movement—and although I was tempted I waited. The other two sat in the car ahead and were smoking and laughing. Of course I knew that if I once stepped out in the moonlight with the gun in my hand that it was all up but I waited and then—
The door really stuck a bit, for the nights are mighty damp on that island and it was that dampness which saved my life. For just the fraction of a second he took his eyes off me—just a glance down at the door with a curse on his lips.
And with that curse on his lips he died.
For as he turned the handle I give it to him right through the heart. I don’t miss at that range—no—not me. The door flew open and he tumbled out on the road—dead.
I don’t offer no apologies, for it was his life or mine and—as I said—he tumbled out on the road—dead.
Another fellow writing might say that things weren’t clear after that. But they were clear enough to me because I never lose my head. That’s why I have lived to be thirty and expect to die in bed. Yes, things are always clear when clearness means a little matter of life or death.
Those other chaps were so surprised at the turn things had taken that I had jumped to the road and winged one of them before they knew what had happened. But the other fellow was quick and had started shooting and I felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder. But one shot was all that he fired and then I had him—one good shot was all I needed and—he went out. I don’t go for to miss.
I didn’t take the time to examine them to see if they were dead. I’m not an undertaker and it wasn’t my business. I guessed they were but if they wasn’t I didn’t intend to finish the job. I’m not a murderer, either. Then there were a couple of houses not so far off and I could see lights—lights that weren’t there before—in both of them. Even on a quiet island like that you can’t start a gun party without disturbing some of the people.
I just turned my car around and started back to the hotel. Twenty minutes later I had parked it in the shed and gone to my room. As far as I knew no one could know what had taken place on the lonely moor that night. I played doctor to my shoulder. It wasn’t so very bad, either, though it pained a lot, but the bullet had gone through the flesh and passed out. I guess a little home treatment was as good as any doctor could do.
Then the morning came and my arm was not so good but I dressed and went down to breakfast and saw the manager and he told me that the widow had gone on the early boat. I don’t think that she was a real widow but that she was the wife of one of those chaps. Farrow, I guess. But that didn’t bother me none. She was a widow now all right.
And then about nine o’clock news of the three dead men being found away off on the road came in. And I know I got all three of them.
There was a lot of talk and newspaper men from the city came over and detectives and one thing and another. The morning papers of the following day had it all in and wild guesses as to how it happened. The three were recognized by the police as notorious characters and then it got about that a rum runner had been seen off the east shore that very morning. The general opinion seemed to be that there had been a fight among the pirates and that these three men got theirs—which suited me to a T.
I would-a beat it only that would have looked mighty queer and honestly I didn’t see where they had a thing on me. I thought the best thing to do was to sit tight and for nearly a week I sat.
And then the unexpected—unexpected by me at least—happened.
The widow sent a telegram to the Boston police and they came down and nailed me. You see the writing on the wall? Keep clear of the women.
A dick from Boston dropped in one morning and I knew him the minute he stepped foot in the hotel. And I also knew that he was after me though at the time I didn’t wise up as to how he was on. But he wasn’t sure of himself and he had the manager introduce him to me. Then he talked about everything but the killing and of course he was the only one at the hotel that left that topic out of his conversation. And that was his idea of hiding his identity!
But he was sharp enough at that and hadn’t gone about the Island more than a couple of days, before he stuck this and that together and had enough on me to make the charge. But he was a decent sort of chap and came up to my room late at night with the manager and put the whole thing straight up to me and told me about the widow’s telegram and that I was under arrest and that I had better get a hold of the best lawyer that money could buy for I was in for a tough time.
He was right and I knew that I was in a mighty bad hole. But I also knew that there would be plenty of mon
ey behind me when the whole thing came out and money is a mighty good thing to get out of a hole with.
So I played the game and never let on that I wasn’t the real Burton Combs. They locked me up and notified my adopted father and the next morning the news was shouted all over the world, for John B. Combs cut a big figure and his son’s arrest made some music.
And then the Combs lawyer, Harvey Benton, came up to see me and the minute he set eyes on me the cat was out of the bag and I up and tells him the whole story though I didn’t give him the reason for Combs being frightened but just said that he was threatened by these three rum-runners. I felt that my playing the game fair would give me a better standing with the Combses and help loosen up the old purse strings.
Young Combs wasn’t such a bad fellow either, for the next day he was down to see me and ready to tell the whole story and stand up for me.
Then we moved over to the mainland and I couldn’t get out on bail and the prosecuting attorney started to have my record looked up and I can tell you that after that things didn’t look so rosy. It all goes to prove that a clean sheet helps a man though mine wasn’t nothing to be ashamed of. But I will admit that it looked pretty sick on the front pages of the newspapers.
Then John B. Combs himself arrives and comes up to see me. He listens to my story at first with a hard, cold face but when I come to the part where I have to shoot quick or die his eyes kind of fill and I see he’s thinking of his son and the chances he would of had in the same place—and how if I hadn’t got them they would a got Burton.
Then he stretches forth his hand and grasps mine and I see it would have been better if Burton had taken his father into his confidence in the first place.
Yes, the old boy was a good scout and he told me that he loved his son and that I had saved his son’s life and he didn’t care what my past had been. And he would see me through this thing that his son had gotten me into if it cost a fortune.
It was a funny thing all around. Here was me, the sufferer, comforting the old boy and telling him that it was nothing. Just like the chair looking me in the face was an everyday affair. But I didn’t much like the idea of his being so sad, for it gives me the impression that my chances are not so good and that I am going to pay the price for his son. Which ain’t nothing to sing about. But it was my word against the word of the gang, and they being dead wouldn’t have much to say.
Yes, I was indicted all right and held for the grand jury—first degree murder was the charge. Then come a wait with my lawyers trying to get a hold of some farmer who might of seen something of the shooting and would corroborate my story. Then comes the trial and you woulda thought that the District Attorney had a personal grudge against me all his life and that all the politicians and one-horse newspapers were after his job. He paints up those three crooks like they were innocent young country girls that had been trapped by a couple of designing men. And he tells how Burton Combs done them in a shady deal and when he feared they was going to tell the authorities he up and hires a professional murderer to kill them.
I tell you it made a mighty good story and he told it well. One could almost see those three cherubs going forth in child-like innocence to be slaughtered by the butcher—which is me.
And he punched holes in my story. Especially that part about how I put down my hand and found the gun on the seat. And he said that I took them out on some pretense and shot them down in cold blood—quick shooting being my business and shady deals my living.
When he got through with my story it was as full of holes as a sieve and I had a funny feeling around the chest because I thought anyone could see what a rotten gang this was and what a clean-living young fellow I was. For my lawyer painted me up as a young gentleman what went around the world trying to help others.
Just when I think that things are all up and the jury are eyeing me with hard, stern faces comes the surprise. You see, I had never told a soul about Marion being in the car with me when that gang first started the gun play out on the ‘Sconset road. You see, I didn’t see the need of it and—and—well, somehow I just couldn’t drag her into it. Weakness, I’ll admit, for a fellow facing death should fight with every weapon he can grab. And there’s that thing about women cropping up again.
But somehow there in that stuffy courtroom her innocent face and those soft, child-like eyes come up before me and I see she might of helped me a lot with the simple truth about the bullet that crossed her cheek. And while I was thinking about Marion and telling myself that my goose was cooked comes that big surprise.
My lawyer calls a witness, and it’s Marion St. James. Gad! my heart just stops beating for the moment.
She was very quiet and very calm but her voice was low and the jury had to lean forward to catch what she said. She told about the ride that night and how the bullet broke the windshield and scratched her cheek.
And then came the shock. I was just dreaming there and thinking of the trouble I had caused her when I heard what she was saying and I woke up—quick.
“—after I left Mr. Combs—I called him Burton,” and she pointed down at me. “I went upstairs but I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about what had happened out on the moor that night. Of course, I didn’t believe what Burton had told me—about the hares. And then I remembered the look on his face as he bathed off my cheek—and it was terrible to see and—”
Then she paused a moment and wiped her eyes and went on.
“After a bit I looked out the window and I could see the little shed, where Burt kept his car, and I just caught the glimpse of a man going into it. I thought it was Burt and that he was going to drive out on the moor and—Oh, I didn’t know what I thought, but I was frightened and didn’t want him to go and I just rushed out of my room and down the back stairs and out toward the shed.
“I was just in time to see a big touring car pull out and two men were in it. And then I waited a minute and went and looked into the shed and Burt’s car was still there. I don’t know why but I was frightened and I climbed into the little touring car and sat down in the back and kind of rested.
“Then I heard someone coming and I hid down in the back of the car and pulled some rugs up over me and waited.”
“And why did you wait?” my lawyer asked her kindly.
“I just thought that I would be able to help Mr.—Burt—and I wanted to help him.”
“Was there any other reason?”
“Yes—I thought that he was going into trouble for me and—and—” she paused a moment.
“Yes,” the lawyer encouraged.
“And I wanted to help him.”
She said the words so low that you could hardly catch them. But the lawyer didn’t ask her to repeat them. I guess he thought it went over better that way and it sure did—at least with me. For I knew what she meant.
Then she went on.
“Pretty soon Mr. Combs came along” (for she kept calling me Burton Combs) “and that big man was with him. The one they called Mr. Farrow. I looked carefully up over the door, for it was very dark where I was, and I saw that Mr. Farrow had a gun in his hand and that he held it close up against Mr. Combs’s back. And he talked rough but too low to understand and then they both climbed into the front of the machine. I did not know just what I could do, but I thought—oh—I don’t know what I thought, but I did so want to help him and I was just too scared to cry out.
“And then they started off and after they were a little way out in the country Mr. Farrow made Burton stop the car and stand up while he searched him. And he found his revolver and took it from him and threw it into the back of the car. It landed on the seat and bounced off and I stretched out my hand and took hold of it and held it there under the rugs. I didn’t know what to do with it at first for I had never fired a gun.
“Then I heard Mr. Farrow say that he was going to kill Mr. Combs and I was terribly frightened but I leaned up and stretched my hand over the seat and tried to give the pistol to Mr. Combs. But Mr. Farrow turned sudde
nly and I became frightened and dropped the pistol. Then I dropped back in the car again but I was half out of the covers and afraid to pull them over me for the car had stopped again and I had a feeling that someone was looking down at me. Then I heard them moving in the front of the car and I looked up and I saw that Mr. Farrow had his gun pressed close against Mr. Combs’s side and that Mr. Combs was trying to open the door.
“Then came the sudden report and I think that I cried out, for I thought that Burt was shot. Then came several more shots, one right after another, and I looked out and saw Mr. Combs standing in the moonlight and a man beside another big car firing at him—and then the man fell and—”
She broke off suddenly and started to cry.
“And after that?” my lawyer smiled at her.
“I climbed back under the robes and Mr. Combs drove me back to the hotel—but he never knew I was there.”
Well, that just about settled it, I guess. The room was in more or less of an uproar. And you ought to have heard my lawyer! Now I know why good lawyers get so much money. He started in and he sure did paint that gang up mighty black, and now I was the innocent boy led into danger by these hardened criminals. And he showed how the gun was held close to my side when I fired.
“And if that isn’t self-defense and good American pluck I’d like to ask you what in heaven’s name is?”
And that’s the whole show. One hour later I was a free man. Everybody was shaking hands with me, and from a desperate criminal I had suddenly become a hero. And I guess that Marion had done it.
Then Old Combs came up to me and shook me by the hand and told me how glad he was that I was free and what a plucky little thing Marion was, and how I owed my life twice over to her.
Then he offered me a job. Imagine! Another job for the Combs family. But this was different.
“There is too much good in you to lead the life you have been leading. You may think that it is all right, but there will be others that won’t. I can offer you something that will be mighty good.”