“I just mentioned it,” Hendrum said, puffing on his pipe.
“In order to accomplish what I have in mind, it becomes necessary for me to get in touch with Edward Harold.”
“The police feel the same way.”
“This morning,” Clane said, “the Attorney General is moving the Supreme Court to dismiss the appeal of Edward Harold on the ground that the man is a fugitive from justice.”
“So what?”
“When the appeal is dismissed, he loses his opportunity to have the Supreme Court review his case.”
“Courts and lawyers!” Hendrum exclaimed in a deep, rumbling voice that indicated gathering anger. “They make me damn sick!”
“It happens that That’s the way our lives are regulated,” Clane said. “It’s the procedure by which we administer justice.”
“When you say “justice”,” Hendrum told him bitterly, “put it in quotes.”
“All right, I’ll put it in quotes, but It’s still our way of getting justice.”
“It’s not the only way.”
“It’s the only effective way.”
“It wasn’t very effective so far as Ed Harold was concerned.”
“He doesn’t know,” Clane said. “He didn’t try it. He quit when he was half-way through. So far, he has only the verdict of a jury.”
“And a sentence of death,” Hendrum mumbled. “Don’t forget that.”
“Have you,” Clane asked abruptly, “seen the newspaper?”
“What are you trying to do, trap me?” Hendrum asked, and motioned as he spoke, almost contemptuously, towards the news-paper lying on the floor.
“George Gloster was murdered last night.”
“So I notice.”
“And when the police took fingerprints of the room in which the murder was committed, they found so many of Edward Harold’s fingerprints that the only logical conclusion is Harold has used that room as a hide-out.”
“I read all that.”
“Naturally, the police are pinning this other murder on Harold.”
“Sure,” Hendrum said. “Pick on a guy when he’s down. They’ll use him for a scapegoat now. Pin every murder in the city on him. Damn it, I hope he stands up on his two feet and shoots it out with them. And I’d just as soon be …”
“Yes?” Clane asked as he ceased speaking abruptly.
“Nothing,” Hendrum said.
Clane said “The Supreme Court Justices are not supposed to be influenced by what they read in the newspapers, but, just the same, any person who is human can’t … well, he can’t refrain from being human. I think it would be an excellent thing if the newspapers within the next day or two could contain some evidence which would at least throw doubt on the police theory.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“I do. I also think it would be a good thing if Edward Harold surrendered into police custody before his appeal gets dismissed.”
“So that’s it,” Hendrum said. “That’s what you’ve been getting at. That’s the reason for your visit here.”
“That,” Clane told him, meeting his eyes, “is the real reason for my visit here.”
“Make it rather nice for you, wouldn’t it?” Hendrum said, his eyes suddenly angry. “You come back from China all nice and smug. Your neck isn’t at stake. You aren’t on the dodge. You can take Cynthia out to dinner and the show and all that sort of stuff while Ed Harold is slinking around through the alleys. The best he can expect is an opportunity to shoot it out with the police in some dark deserted lot somewhere. Pretty soft for you.”
Clane said “I’m trying to help your friend.”
“That’s what you say.”
Clane went on patiently “What the newspaper doesn’t say is that There’s another clue they discovered. When they searched the place, they found a woman”s purse. And in that purse was Cynthia Renton’s driving licence, cards, address-book, lipstick, compact and about twenty-five hundred dollars in currency.”
Hendrum”s eyes narrowed. “Where did they find that?”
“On a packing-case in the warehouse.”
“Well,” Hendrum said, “you should know. You were there.”
“And Cynthia was there,” Clane said.
Hendrum thought that over.
“I’d like to find something that would help Harold,” Clane went on. “I think there is something in the evidence that might help him.”
“What, for instance?”
Clane said “There’s a diagram of the room where the body was found, in the newspaper.”
“All right. So what?”
“There was an open window on the south. Police found footprints under that window where someone had apparently jumped out. Then that person ran across some moist ground and left the footprints which the police lost on pavement about fifty or sixty feet on beyond. The footprints all went directly away from the building.”
“All right.”
“On the other hand,” Clane said, “when I went to the place, the building was all dark.”
“Yeah, when you went to it,” Hendrum said, “Funny that you happened to be there at just that time.”
“I had an appointment with Gloster.”
“I understand that’s your story.”
Clane said “Cynthia Renton was with me. I couldn’t very well account for her presence, so I just didn’t tell the officers about her being there. Now they’ve found her purse and that complicates the situation.”
“You mean Cynthia was with you all the time?”
“Yes.”
“That gives you an alibi, doesn’t it?”
“If I wanted to use it.”
“Well, why don’t you?”
“Because I didn’t tell the officers about her being along. I neglected to mention it. If I should change my story at this date, it would make things a little difficult.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
“For Cynthia?”
“Probably not. She’s in as deep as she can get right now.”
“I see,” Hendrum said with heavy sarcasm. “You want me, as a friend of Ed’s, to get him to surrender to the police so it will put you off the spot.”
“Don’t be silly. Whether he surrenders will have nothing to do with what I tell the police. The point I’m getting at is that the place was dark when I arrived. The footprints out of the open window were probably Edward Harold’s. The only light-switch in the place is at the north end of the room. Gloster was shot with a very well-placed bullet. Obviously, the person who shot that bullet had to see what he was shooting at. There is every evidence that the bullet was fired from the north side of the room.
“The person who turned out the lights had to be standing at the north side of the room. Therefore, if Ed Harold killed Gloster while standing at the north side of the room when the bullet was fired, he had to turn out the lights, then go across the room in the dark, jump out of the open window and run away. That’s hardly the natural or the logical thing for him to have done.”
“Don’t talk to me about Ed Harold’s killing him. He didn’t.”
“I’m simply reconstructing what happened and showing you how the police theory simply can’t hold together.”
“Don’t you suppose the police have sense enough to know that?”
“Yes.”
“What’s their idea in advancing such a theory, then?”
“It might be bait for a trap.”
“To trap whom?”
“The murderer.”
“You?” Hendrum asked.
“The police probably aren’t worrying about who walks into their trap. They’re busy baiting it.”
Hendrum was interested now. “Go ahead. Let’s hear the rest of it.”
“Of course,” Clane said, “Ed Harold could have shot Gloster from the north side of the room. Then he ran down to the south side, jumped out of the open window and made his escape. If it had happened that way, it would have been because there was
someone outside whom he didn’t want to meet, someone who was on the north side of the building.”
“Then how did the lights get turned off?”
“Someone must have entered the building, seen what had happened, turned out the lights and driven away.”
“You?”
“Don’t be silly. I stayed there after I found the body and called the police. There was nothing to prevent my walking away.”
“Unless the police knew of your appointment.”
“They didn’t.”
Hendrum was watching Clane intently, his big bushy eyebrows drawn together. “Keep talking.”
“Edward Harold,” Clane said, “was hiding in that warehouse. He wrote a postcard to Cynthia Renton, letting her know where he was so that she could get in touch with him. It occurs to me that he might have written you a similar message.”
“Oh, it does, does it?”
“It does.”
“And so what?”
“And so perhaps you went down to see Edward Harold and see if you could do something for him.”
“Nice theory,” Hendrum said. “Try and make it stick. I suppose you’d like to drag me into it as the murderer.”
“Take that diagram and, in connection with the position of the body, figure it out any way you want to,” Clane said. “The most logical solution is that none of the partners had been down to that warehouse for some little time, and Edward Harold had reason to believe they weren’t going to be coming down there. He established a hide-out there in the warehouse. Then Gloster, in making an appointment with me and trying to get some place that would be relatively isolated, selected the warehouse. When he unlocked the front door and switched on the lights, Harold knew he was trapped. He sprinted across the room and jumped out of the window. Gloster ran over to the telephone to notify the police. Perhaps he’d recognized Harold. Perhaps he thought merely some burglar was in the place. While he was rushing to the telephone, someone who had entered the room with him stood at the door and shot him in the back, then deliberately turned out the lights and drove away.”
“Why do you say it was someone who had entered the room with him?” Hendrum asked.
“The evidence indicates it.”
“What evidence?”
“Gloster was evidently shot as he was moving over towards the telephone. He was shot by someone who was standing near the door on the north side. If my theory is correct, Gloster must have gone to the telephone just as soon as he entered the room, switched on the lights, and saw Edward Harold just going through the window. That would mean that the person who shot him had entered the room at about the same time Gloster did.
“At exactly the same time?”
“Perhaps just a step or two behind him.”
“You mean, men, this person must have driven down there with Gloster?”
“Or he might have been someone whom Gloster was to meet there, some third party who was to furnish some information which Gloster wanted me to have. Or perhaps confront me with something which Gloster wanted to have me confronted with. He might have arrived there a few minutes before Gloster and then waited.”
“Well?” Hendrum asked.
“And,” Clane said, “if Edward Harold had sent you a post-card, letting you know where he was, and you had gone down to see him, there is a chance you might have noticed something which would be of some help.”
Hendrum stretched his feet out in front of him, pushed his hands down deep into his trouser pockets.
“So you see,” Clane said, “that I …”
“Shut up!” Hendrum said. “Let me think a minute.”
For some seconds the men sat there. Hendrum, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, its curved stem letting it rest on his coat lapel, puffed nervously, emitting little intermittent wisps of curled smoke. His feet were out in front of him and his eyes were looking at the toes of his shoes his hands were thrust deep in his pockets.
Clane sat silent, doing nothing to distract the other’s attention.
At length Hendrum spoke with the care of one who is examining and testing each word before he puts it into circulation. “I can tell you one thing, and only one thing, which may help. Ricardo Taonon was driving his motor-car in the vicinity of that warehouse about thirty minutes before the time the police think the murder was committed.”
“How do you know?” Clane asked as the other ceased speaking.
Hendrum shook his head.
“Could I say that you saw him?” Clane asked.
“You could not.”
Abruptly Hendrum took the pipe from his mouth, placed it on the pipe-rack and got to his feet. “I’ve said all I care to say.”
He walked over to the door, held it open. “I’m sorry, Clane, I’ve gone farther than I intended to. I thought you were something of a heel. I guess you’re all right. But I still wish you’d stayed in China. Good-bye.”
Clane took the man’s hand. “Good-bye,” he said.
The door of the apartment banged shut.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TERRY CLANE, EMERGING FROM THE APARTMENT HOUSE where he had been in conference with Bill Hendrum, noticed a police car turn the corner and park.
Moving instinctively, Clane walked rapidly down the steep pavement and entered the first open door he found, that of a small neighbourhood grocery store of the type so frequent in San Francisco.
Walking directly back to the shelves in the rear, Clane looked over the merchandise as though trying to find some particular brand he wanted.
The door pushed open and Clane saw outlined against the outer daylight the familiar figure of Inspector Malloy.
Malloy stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders hulking over the counter, his eyes surveying the interior of the store. Resignedly Clane moved forward, but somewhat to his surprise saw Inspector Malloy turn to the proprietor and beckon him over to the counter.
Clane, thinking this was perhaps a trap, moved up to the fruit-juice section and selected two cans of pineapple juice.
Inspector Malloy had pushed a typewritten list across the counter towards the proprietor.
“Within the last few days have you sold that list of groceries or a substantial part of it to some one person?” he asked.
Clane veered off, but it was too late. Inspector Malloy cocked an eyebrow, then suddenly snapped to surprised attention. “Well, well, well,” he boomed. “If it isn’t Mr Clane. And what are you doing here, Mr Clane?”
“Oh, just picking up a couple of cans of fruit juice,” Clane said.
“Well, well, well. Now isn’t that interesting? Quite a way from your own flat, aren’t you?”
Oh, not too far. Within walking distance.”
“And you do your shopping here, Mr Clane?”
Clane said “Oh, no, I…”
“You mean did we sell this entire order to one person?” the proprietor demanded.
“Never mind that now,” Malloy said and, facing Clane, said “Go right on, Mr Clane, don’t let us interrupt you. You were mentioning something about buying some fruit juice here. May I ask why you didn’t select a nearer store?.”
“Oh, I was just taking a walk and happened to remember I wanted some fruit juice.”
“Rather heavy,” Inspector Malloy said.
“Oh, I can carry them all right,” Clane said smiling.
“I didn’t mean that, I meant that It’s rather unusual for a man to carry canned fruit juices some eight or ten blocks. There are stores right in your block, aren’t there?”
“I suppose so. Yes. But I happened to think of it now as I was passing.”
Malloy whirled to the proprietor. “Take a good look at this man,” he invited. “Did you ever see him before?”
The proprietor shook his head.
“No, I haven’t seen him before,” the proprietor said. “And I didn’t sell anyone an order like this within the last two or three days.” And he indicated the typewritten list Malloy had pushed over the counter.
Mall
oy’s face showed he was disappointed. “All right,” he said, “if you’re sure. Say nothing about my having been here. Don’t mention it to any of your customers. Understand? Any of them.”
“Okay. I guess I can keep my lip buttoned up.”
“That’s fine.”
Malloy turned to Clane. “Now isn’t it remarkable, he said, “that you should happen to be in this neighbourhood doing your shopping?”
“I told you, I just happened to drop in.”
“Yes, I understand that. But what caused you to happen to drop in?”
“I wanted some fruit juice.”
Malloy sighed. “Well, I was just making a routine investigation. I drought I’d run up and have a little talk with you some time this morning. Since you’re here, we may just as well take a few minutes to chat. Tell you what I’ll do. Get in my car and I’ll deliver you and your fruit juice right to your own flat.”
“I’d prefer to walk,” Clane said. “I like the feeling of having dry land instead of the deck of a ship under me. I want to prowl around, looking in store windows where mere is actually some merchandise and …”
“Yes, yes, I know. But you may just as well get in the car with me and we can kill two birds with one stone. Perhaps I’ll drive you away from the neighbourhood and then, after I’ve talked with you, you can go and take a walk somewhere else.”
“What’s the matter with the neighbourhood?” Clane asked. “Is mere smallpox in it?”
“Well, now that’s an idea,” Inspector Malloy said. “There may be. I’m intending to quarantine it.”
“To quarantine the whole neighbourhood?”
Inspector Malloy’s deep chuckle showed he was enjoying the situation. He said “That’s right, Clane. Sort of a quarantine. It’s unhealthful.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Well now, That’s one of the things we can’t always explain. But if you’ll just get in this car. Here, let me take the package. Two cans of pineapple juice, eh? Now isn’t that interesting? Right in the car here, if you will, Mr Clane. Now don’t hesitate. I could make it formal and official, you know.”
Clane accompanied Inspector Malloy to the police motor-car, climbed in beside the Inspector.
The Case of the Backward Mule Page 13