Death Points a Finger

by Will Levinrew

  Chapter IV

  With John Fletcher, former Justice of the Supreme Court of theState of New York, at one end of a telephone, official red tapewas quickly and effectively cut. Professor Herman Brierly wasgiven the powers and privileges necessary for an independentinvestigation.

  Less than an hour after the receipt of the telegrams, ProfessorBrierly, accompanied by McCall, Matthews and Jimmy Hale, was atthe office of the medical examiner, who was charged with makingthe official report on deaths by other than natural means.

  Dr. Simpson showed the old savant marked respect. Parts of thestory had leaked out somehow and the knowledge that behindProfessor Brierly were such distinguished names had its effect,apart from the weight that the old scientist's own name carried.

  The four men were led into a small bare chamber, behind the officeof the medical examiner, where all the earthly remains of MorrisMiller lay on an enameled metal slab.

  Dr. Simpson drew aside the sheet, saying:

  "I've not yet had time to make a post mortem, Professor, but thatwill be only a formal gesture in this case. This is obviouslysuicide."

  Professor Brierly, who did not mince words when engaged in ascientific investigation, took one look at the hole in the templewith its encircling powder marks. He snapped:

  "This is obviously _not_ suicide; certainly not, if this wound wasthe cause of death, which neither you nor I at present know. Haveyou the weapon with which this was done?"

  Dr. Simpson reddened.

  "The police have that, sir."

  "And the bullet--oh, of course you have not extracted that. We willdo it together, if you please."

  Professor Brierly began taking off his coat and vest, Matthewsdoing likewise.

  Dr. Simpson said tartly:

  "Since you know so much about it without examination, and are socock sure that it isn't suicide, why bother with such trifles asthe weapon and the bullet. You might have sat down and written athesis about it without even seeing the body."

  Professor Brierly whirled on him bristling. Matthews, coat andvest in hand, slid between them. They were of equal height.Matthews looked at the other and said softly:

  "Doctor, it isn't safe or wise to talk to Professor Brierly thatway when I'm around. We don't want any trouble. You were told togive Professor Brierly the fullest opportunity and help in makingthis post mortem. We don't need your help, but it would be wisernot to interfere."

  Dr. Simpson was looking into a pair of dangerously cold blue eyes.Nothing made Matthews as angry as an affront to the man who wasmore than father to him. Dr. Simpson saw the rippling muscles, hesaw the clean cut jaw; he remembered the names of the men who werebehind this investigation. He retreated gracefully.

  "Oh, all right, but it disturbs a professional man to have hisword questioned so lightly. I have some reputation--just a minute,I'll bring the instruments."

  Jimmy asked Matthews:

  "How long will this take, Jack?"

  "Perhaps an hour, Jimmy, why do you ask?"

  "Nothing, I want to go out and use the phone. I'll be back beforeyou're through."

  For the past half hour Jimmy had been outwardly calm, but inwardlyraging with impatience. Minutes became a matter of supremeimportance now. James Hale, the newspaper man, now had a bigstory, and it was important to catch the Eagle's home edition ifpossible. This was July Fourth. On this day, while they issued apaper, they kept only a skeleton staff. With nothing big breakingthey were likely to put the home edition to bed and call it a day,leaving just a man or two in the office for emergencies, similarto the early morning dogwatch.

  He also took a malicious satisfaction in shooting something intothe office that would keep them all on the jump for the rest ofthe day and perhaps late into the night.

  Jimmy, accustomed to thinking in headlines, had been formulating ahead for the story; he was now murmuring it to himself as hehurried to a public telephone: DEATH POINTS A FINGER, DEATH POINTSA FINGER, over and over again. He saw those words, in lettersthree inches high, flaming across the top of the front page.

  When the pleasant far-away voice of the operator said: "New YorkEagle" Jimmy barked: "'Lo Ann, gimme the city desk quick, willyou."

  "Mr. Hite's wire is busy, will you wait a minute, Mr. Hale?"

  "Can't Ann. I got to catch the home, put whoever Hite's talkin' toon another wire and gimme the chief."

  Jimmy had made a request that he would have made only in direemergency; he felt he was justified. He heard a faint clicking,then came Hite's familiar growl:

  "Are you drunk, Jimmy? What the hell can be so important that youmust cut in--mebbe you think I'll stop the presses for a featurestory. I--I said I'd pay the expenses of the trip, not for useless,expensive telephone calls. You could have mailed--"

  "'Scuse me, chief. I got a wow of a story. When's the home goingto bed?"

  "Just gone; didn't I tell you--"

  Jimmy found an effective way of stopping this flow of talk. He cutin, saying:

  "_One, perhaps three of this Tontine group have been murderedduring the past twenty-four hours_."

  "What!"

  The growl that came over the wire was a scream. Jimmy jerked theinstrument away from his ear.

  The explosion kept ringing in his ear painfully. Hale repeatedslowly:

  "One, perhaps three of the Tontine group were murdered during thepast twenty-four hours."

  The growl that now answered him was Hite's normal voice, with thetense undertone it held when he had a big story. Jimmy heardHite's voice faintly; the city editor was giving orders to thepressroom that would stop the presses. For the next fifteenminutes there would be feverish but orderly activity.

  "All right, Jimmy, just gimme the flash so I'll have enough for ahead; the copy desk's all gone. Then I'll put you on Roy's wireand you can give him the story."

  Jimmy, with the capacity of the trained newspaper man to tell abig story in a few words, told Hite enough in four sentences tofurnish material for a headline. Then, with malicious satisfaction,he said:

  "There's a New York end on this, chief."

  This he knew would have the effect of keeping in the officeeverybody who had not yet gone home and might even cause ascurrying about that would call in others, thus spoiling whateverplans they had made for the rest of the day. Newspaper men have nounion hours. He added as an afterthought: "I got a swell head forthis, chief. DEATH POINTS A FINGER."

  The answer to this was a grunt. There was a click and Roy Heath'ssoft southern drawl came floating over the miles of wire. Therewas a stream of invective. Jimmy's past, present and future weredepicted in pointed billingsgate, all done in good English. Royhad planned a pleasant afternoon and evening with a lady who hadjust finished a triumphant musical comedy engagement. And now--Jimmywickedly cut in on this by saying:

  "This is a swell obit, Roy." There is nothing the newspaper manhates to do as much as an obituary. The cub's early training isobtained on the obituary column. Roy took a fresh start, but hewas cut short, evidently by Hite, whose desk was near the rewriteman's.

  "All right, shoot if you got anything to say."

  Jimmy, for the next thirty minutes, sketched the vivid story, sofresh in his mind over the miles of wires between them,interrupted from time to time by the growing excited ejaculationsfrom Roy Heath, as he sensed the "scoop" qualities of the story.He ended:

  "Tontine is spelt--"

  "I know how to spell it and I know what it is. I got someeducation. I ain't a damn ignorant Yankee."

  "One of the members of this group is Lorenzo Tonti, a directDescendant of the man who devised this insurance. The fund nowamounts to about several million dollars. During all this time,whenever there was an accident, injury or death to a member ofthis group, each of the survivors received in an envelope a sheetof paper with the number '14' on it.

  "This bunch had an annual reunion on the Fourth of July, a gestureto show the real patriotism of Southerners--"

  "What do you mean 'gesture'? They are the only real patriots
inthe country."

  "Fourteen survivors were to have met at the camp of IsaacHigginbotham, former justice of the United States Supreme Court.Eleven came. At eight o'clock this morning a telephone messagecame telling of the suicide of one of them, August Schurman,retired art dealer, of New York. At nine o'clock there came atelephone message telling of the suicide of another, MorrisMiller, of Lentone, Vermont. At ten o'clock there came a messagetelling of the drowning of Herbert Wrigley, retired manufacturer,at Bradley Beach, New Jersey.

  "Just as they received word of the third death there came a batchof telegrams, one for each of the eleven survivors, with the word'fourteen' on each telegram, just that, nothing else, just'fourteen.'

  "We just saw the body of Morris Miller. The medical examinerpronounced it suicide. Professor Brierly, after looking at thebullet wound in the temple, says, that if that wound caused death,it is not suicide. And you betcher life what Professor Brierlysays is so. Me and the Prof are now gonna make an exhaustiveinvestigation and give you our findings. Got it all?"

  The monosyllabic grunt coming over the wire showed Jimmy that RoyHeath had taken it all. Jimmy knew that there would now come fromHeath's clicking typewriter keys an amplified and elaborated storythat would take the breath of all who read it. Shortly the haltedpresses would resume their roar and pour out an edition that wouldstartle the country.

  Soon other papers would take up the burden. This was a story ofmajor importance. There was thrill, glamour, romance, drama,everything that goes to make the big newspaper event. And it was.