The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

Chapter I

Sidney Zoom, tall, gaunt, his profile suggestive of that of a hawk, sat in the spacious cabin of his trim yacht, surrounded by a litter of newspapers. His secretary Vera Thurmond, watched him with eyes that were luminous with solicitude.

Sidney Zoom was entirely oblivious of her scrutiny. He was concentrating his attention upon the contents of the newspapers. At his feet, muzzle on paws, stretched his tawny police dog, Rip.

“The rich,” said Sidney Zoom, “get the breaks.”

His secretary made no answer to a remark which was so patently logical.

Sidney Zoom indicated a newspaper half column.

“Here,” he observed, “is the account of a man who is being tried for the murder of a county attorney. The man was a convict. He claims he reformed. He had previously been convicted by this same county attorney.

“The murdered man was found in his office, an automatic on the table in front of him with one shell discharged. The ex-convict had written a threatening note.

“The newspapers give it a scant half column now that the case has come on for trial, and most of that half column contains the list of the victim’s official activities during his lifetime. Bah!”

His secretary was frankly puzzled.

“But,” she observed, “what would you expect? It’s news from one of the outlying counties. There wasn’t any element of love or greed in the crime, no particular mystery. I read that account myself and didn’t notice anything out of place about it. The man was a criminal. The letter’s in his handwriting. It had been received by the county attorney but a few hours before his death. The ex-convict threatened to kill him to get even for his conviction.

“The case is dead open and shut. The court appointed a lawyer to defend the convict... what’s his name?... Oh, yes, I remember, Crandall. The man’s receiving a fair trial. What more could you ask?”

Sidney Zoom crumpled the paper into a ball, dashed it to the floor.

“I could ask,” he said, in a voice that was vibrant with irritation, yet deeply resonant, “that the newspaper would either offer some explanation of why a convict should write a letter to the man he intended to murder, telling him that he intended to kill him, or else that they wouldn’t print that fact at all.

“Damn it, they arouse the curiosity of any sane man, and then they go off on some fool tangent. I wouldn’t mind if this man had money; but he hasn’t. He’s a pauper. The court has appointed an attorney to defend him. That means this man gets representation in court, but there’s no one to work out the hidden facts.

“A criminal case is like an iceberg. The biggest part of it is submerged from view... Where the devil is this place? Dellboro, eh? We could take the boat up there if we had to. There’s a bay, and a river runs up to Dellboro. Probably isn’t a decent hotel in the place. They wouldn’t let dogs in...”

The young woman regarded him with eyes that twinkled.

“But why should you want to go there?”

“To find out about that damned letter,” he rasped, irritably, “and to make certain this ex-convict, Crandall, gets a fair deal.”

She spoke to him in a tone of patient reproach.

“You’ve got to get rid of this under-dog complex of yours, Mr. Zoom. You can’t use up all your nerve force running around to protect the interests of every poor man who gets entangled in the meshes of the law. I know how you feel. You like to fight. You enjoy the conflict, and you’ve got a heart that’s entirely too big. You can’t use up all your time, though...”

He was on his feet, shaking his head impatiently.

Now that he stood up, he showed as a lithe man, tall yet graceful, long of arm, leg and neck, with a strange force of dignity about the expression of his features that made him seem like some gaunt spectre of doom.

“I’m going to find out about that letter,” he said, “and I’m going to do it before Crandall gets sent to the chair... Oh, Captain, get her out in the stream. I’ll take the wheel as soon as you get her free!”

And Sidney Zoom strode from the cabin, his long legs moving like stilts, the police dog padding at his side, never letting his master out of his sight.

Vera Thurmond sighed, stooped, gathered up the papers. She knew the habits of the man for whom she worked well enough to know that he would soon be calling upon her for every scrap of newspaper material dealing with the case of the State vs. Crandall.

For Sidney Zoom, once started on a case, would no more think of quitting than would a bloodhound, started on a warm trail, think of turning back. Sidney Zoom was not a detective, nor was he interested in crime detection as such. He was a fighter. He loved to battle the raging seas on a stormy night, out beyond the heads, his graceful yacht smashing into the waters or riding the roaring crests of booming waves.

Then, when calm seas offered no conflict with the elements, Sidney Zoom would bring his craft into port, and restlessly search through the midnight streets of the city, or ponder the newspaper accounts of crime, seeking for some case where the underdog was being persecuted by reason of the fact that he was an under-dog.

When he had once sunk his teeth into such a case, he never let up.

Chapter II The Letter

Bill Dunbar, the attorney who had been appointed by the court to represent James Crandall, was plainly flattered that he had been invited to dinner aboard the yacht.

Sidney Zoom’s craft was far too beautiful and trim not to have attracted much attention among the inhabitants of Dellboro when it swung into dock at the river bank. And Bill Dunbar was far too shrewd an attorney not to recognize the advertising value of being the first citizen of the town to set foot aboard.

With a good dinner under his belt, a glass of cordial at his elbow, a lighted cigarette between his fingers, Dunbar talked calmly and frankly about the case.

“Of course,” he said, “there are some things that I can’t tell you. My professional obligations, and my duty to my client require that I use discretion. Crandall was without funds. The court appointed me to defend him. I’ll do it to the best of my ability. It’s a part of the duties of my profession.

“The facts in the main are as reported. Three years ago Frank Strome, who was then the county attorney, tried a case in which James Crandall was the defendant. The charge was forgery. Crandall claimed he was innocent, but Strome secured a conviction. Crandall was very bitter.

“A year ago Crandall was released. He dropped out of sight. Where he was and what he was doing are mysteries that the police have never been able to solve. He simply keeps his mouth shut and won’t say a word.

“On the eighteenth of April, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, Frank Strome was found dead in his private office. There were a lot of legal papers scattered over the floor, also some mail. It looked as though papers had been thrown broadcast.

“There was an automatic with one shell discharged. It lay on the desk. The door from the private office into the hallway was open. Strome always kept it locked. That showed that someone had left by that door, and, probably had entered by it.

“Carl Purcell, the present attorney for the county, was chief deputy at that time. He had been in to see his chief upon some matter of business, and found that some papers were required. He went out into the outer office and enlisted the aid of the stenographer in finding the files.

“Strome was alive at that time. He called to Purcell as the chief deputy left the inner office. The stenographer heard his voice plainly. It didn’t sound excited in the least, nor did it sound as though there was anyone else in the room, for he was referring to some very confidential papers. They related, I understand, although it’s being hushed up, to a charge that was being investigated against Sam Gilvert, a banker here.

“Anyway, the papers were gone. The deputy and the stenographer searched for them high and low. They were occupied for some half hour in the search. The papers were important. They dreaded to tell their boss about the loss.

“Finally, Purcell decided there was nothing else to do. Afterwards they wondered why Strome had been so patient. He had evidently expected the papers to be brought to him within a matter of minutes. But he sat in his office and said nothing.

“Purcell went in — and came running out. He yelled that Strome was dead. Subsequent events showed that he’d been dead for some fifteen or twenty minutes. In fact, there’s one way the exact time the shot was fired can be told...”

Sidney Zoom interrupted.

“You mean to tell me that the shot wasn’t heard?”

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

“One of the peculiar facts of the case,” he said. “Yet it’s one of those things about which there can be no doubt. The shot was fired from that private office, and yet no one heard it. That leads up to what I was going to tell you about the time of the murder. There was only one moment when that shot could have been fired, yet not heard.

“That was when a machine was going past, setting off heavy bombs. It was a part of the drive that was being waged to find employment for some of the needy workers in the city. The car had a lot of publicity stuff pasted on the sides, and was setting off bombs at regular intervals.

“The sound of those bombs would have drowned the noise of the gun. The man must have managed to get Strome to let him into his private office, through the hall door, then shot him when the machine went past.”

The lawyer sipped his cordial, stretched out his legs, puffed at his cigarette.

“That, of course, is a telling point in the case against us. It shows premeditation. Otherwise I’d try to claim that there was an argument, that the murder must have been committed in the heat of the argument...”

Sidney Zoom’s voice was impatient.

“The letter?” he said.

The attorney shrugged his shoulders.

“After all, that’s a matter for the handwriting experts and for the jury. It was received through the mail. There can be no doubt about its receipt. The stenographer remembers when it came in, remembers when Strome opened it and took out the letter. He showed it to her. He remarked at the time that it was the second threat he’d received from the same party.”

Sidney Zoom was scowling.

“And Crandall signed that letter?”

The lawyer was cautious.

“It purports to bear his signature,” he said, “and handwriting experts employed by the state are prepared to swear that it’s Crandall’s handwriting.”

“The gun?” asked Sidney Zoom.

“Same story,” said the attorney. “The police claim they can show where the defendant purchased this gun, claim they can show his handwriting on the register that the retailer kept. He purchased it in another state several years ago.”

“Any chance this evidence is faked?”

“That’s something for the jury to decide. Personally, I wouldn’t trust George Frink any farther than I could throw the courthouse by the cornerstone.”

“Frink? Who’s he?”

“He’s the head of the county attorney’s secret staff. He has all the drag around here, acts like a tin god.”

“Anything else you know about the case?” Zoom inquired.

“Plenty,” agreed the lawyer, “but I can’t tell it.”

“And no one knows where the defendant’s been since he left the big house?”

“No. That’s one thing he won’t tell, even to me.”

“If he doesn’t tell on the witness stand he’ll go to the chair,” Zoom remarked.

The lawyer sighed.

“That’s what I’ve told him. He says that he’ll go to the chair, if that’s the case. He won’t open up about where he’s been.”

Sidney Zoom dropped one of his long arms. His strong, tapering fingers massaged the dog’s ears as the animal sprawled at the side of his chair.

“Do you know,” he remarked casually, “I’m glad I came down here, after all?”

“Why?” interrogated the attorney.

“Because,” said Sidney Zoom, “that crime never happened the way you and the county attorney seem to think it happened — never in God’s world.”

The lawyer sipped his cordial, and said: “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I wish you could inspire me with some of your confidence.”

“When will the case go to the jury?” snapped Zoom.

“The latter part of the week, maybe sooner.”

“Could you get a continuance if we uncovered something interesting?”

“Not a chance. I’ve tried twice for a continuance.”

Sidney Zoom’s lips clamped in a thin line.

“If the defendant had been wealthy, could you have secured a continuance?”

“Why ask?”

“Nothing. Do have some more cordial, and we’ll quit talking shop and let you get a little relaxation.”

Chapter III The Girl in the Park

The city of Dellboro quieted down early at night. After the second picture show there were a few stragglers who debouched upon the streets. But they dissolved almost at once. Cars roared into motion, pulling away from the curb, running with purposeful speed toward the residential section.

Sidney Zoom patrolled the sidewalks. The police dog padded along at his side. Zoom was thinking. And, as some people find it necessary to pace the floor when they are wrestling with some mental problem, so did Zoom find it conducive to clarity of thought to stalk through the night streets of a city, his heels pounding the pavements of the deserted sidewalks.

Sidney Zoom had found his adventures in various places and in various ways. But always he had specialized in ferreting out human misery. And the police dog had been with Zoom for years, long enough to know his system.

Which was why the dog gave a low throaty growl, turned his muzzle toward dark shadows of the little park which showed as a black blotch in the middle of the city. Here were little benches, miniature fountains, dark hedges and patches of grass, cool and green in the daytime, but showing dark and forbidding at night.

Sidney Zoom knew that the dog’s keen ears had detected some sound which was inaudible to his own ears. He paused in his pacing, said softly to the dog:

“All right. Go find.”

The dog at once took the lead. His noiseless feet padded toward the dark shadows. And then, when some few yards had been traversed, Sidney Zoom could hear those sounds which had caught the attention of the dog.

Somewhere within a patch of shadow, back of a hedge, a woman was sobbing. They were those dry sobs which indicate utter despair.

Sidney Zoom frowned.

He had been turning over in his mind the problem of the murder. It had happened in a manner that was impossible. Yet he knew that he could not convince anyone of its impossibility unless he secured more information.

Now he was confronted with a bit of human misery which could not be overlooked. Sidney Zoom would never rest until he had solved the mystery of those sobs. Fighter that he was, he chose to exert his fighting qualities in the helping of the weak and oppressed. And, in the course of years, he had come to know the sound of female sobs. There were the rapid sobs of heartache, sobs which came from emotion, and which no man could help. Then there were those dry, slow-paced, deadly sobs which told not of taut nerves seeking the relief of a good cry, but of the black hopelessness of utter despair. These sobs were like that.

Sidney Zoom moved forward, and, as he did so, the woman got to her feet. Zoom could see the top of her head and her shoulders as she stood up. The rest of her was concealed by the line of the ornamental hedge.

Zoom hesitated, then followed as the woman began to walk.

She was young, he saw, as the hurrying figure crossed a patch of light near a fountain, and she was going some place in a hurry. Nor was she sobbing any longer. Her shoulders were set with a grim purpose.

She left the park behind, turned to the left at the first corner, pounded the pavement with her determined little feet, heedless of the man and the dog who trailed along behind her.

Sidney Zoom kept his distance. There was no chance of losing the trail, not with the keen nose of the dog to help him. Once let that police dog get the idea that they were trailing some human, and he would thread the way through a labyrinth of streets if necessary.

It was when she came to the entrance to an office building that the girl paused. Sidney Zoom ducked into the shadows of a dark store entrance.

The young woman looked up and down the sidewalk. Then she vanished.

Cautiously, Sidney Zoom followed down the sidewalk, and came to the place where she had ascended a flight of stairs leading to a one-story office building.

Sidney Zoom’s eyebrows raised a trifle.

The stairway led to the offices of the county attorney. Under the regulations in effect in that county, the county attorney was permitted to engage in civil practice, and to keep offices in the business district, rather than in the court-house.

Sidney Zoom spoke to the dog, quieting him. Then he walked up the stairs. The dog padded at his side.

Sidney Zoom paused at the head of the stairs.

He could hear keys rattling against the metal face of a lock a few doors down the corridor. The building was one which was typical of small towns. There were stores on the street level, a wide flight of stairs, a long corridor, and offices on the single upper story. In this building, the offices of the county attorney occupied the entire upper floor.

The girl had some trouble with the lock of the door. Finally, however, Zoom’s keen ears heard the dick of the bolt, and then the creak of a door on hinges.

Sidney Zoom whispered a command to the crouching dog. Together, they moved into the dark hallway, stepped cautiously toward the row of office doors which fronted on the corridor.

The girl had not switched on the lights. But she was using an electric flashlight with great caution, keeping the beam from striking against the windows. Zoom could see the intermittent flashes of the light on the frosted glass of the oblong panels in the corridor doors.

He frowned, moved closer, and listened.

The girl was opening filing cases. Zoom’s ears could hear the sounds made by the steel drawers as they slid out on their well oiled rollers, could hear the noises made by the questing fingers as they riffled the pasteboard guides.

Then Sidney Zoom became aware of another sound.

Cautious feet were ascending the stairs leading from the street.

Rip, the police dog, growled, swung about, crouched, bracing himself for a rush, should his master order it. The feet on the stairs were coming up rapidly, with assurance, yet with an attempt at stealth.

Sidney Zoom placed a hand on the dog’s collar, flattened himself against the lower part of one of the dark doors and crouched, holding the dog.

Chapter IV A Fight in the Dark

There was enough light coming up from the street to enable Sidney Zoom to see the black hulk of the figure as it reached the top of the stairway. It did not hesitate. The shoes squeaked slightly as the big man, broad of shoulder, heavy of neck, tiptoed toward the door through which the girl had vanished.

For a second, during which the muscles of the police dog were as taut wires under the restraining fingers of Zoom’s hand, the man paused, listening to the sounds of surreptitious activity from the inner office.

Then the man’s shoulders lurched forward. He flung open the door. A flashlight was in his hand. The beam stabbed through the half darkness.

“Stick’m up!” he growled.

The little scene was enacted not six feet away from the place where Zoom crouched with the dog. Zoom could see the silhouette of the big figure, hulking against the light reflected from the beam of the hand torch. He could hear the scream which the girl gave, and then could catch the note of gloating in the man’s voice.

“Well, if we needed anything to strap Crandall to the chair we’ve got it now. Come out, you little—”

She hesitated.

Sidney Zoom pressed the police dog firmly to the floor. He gave one last final push between the blades of the shoulders where the muscles bunched into hard knots. That pressure had a definite significance. It meant that the dog would remain there, no matter what happened, until he was ordered by Sidney Zoom to leave that position.

Then Zoom made two long, cautious steps, moving with the lithe grace of a stalking panther, and making no more noise.

He found himself in a position from which he could peer over the broad shoulder of the man who blocked the doorway. He could see down the beam of the flashlight, could detect the expression of stark terror on the face of the girl.

She was masked, her forehead covered by a cloth.

The wide, terror-stricken eyes showed through the holes in that doth mask. The mouth sagged open. The lips were white with terror. She was standing before an open filing case. The flashing beam of pitiless light had speared her in the very act of searching the files. She held one marked “State vs. Crandall.”

“Come here, you little—, and let me rip that mask off,” growled the man in the doorway. “I’ve had an idea all along there was a broad in that Crandall case.”

She moved toward him, slowly, as one in a trance. She tried twice to speak, the white lips moving in a futile effort. The fear-constricted throat muscles could not function.

She was within three feet of the man.

“Take off the mask,” he said.

She halted, motionless.

“Take off the mask!”

She still remained motionless.

The big arm of the man flashed out in a sweeping swing. The hand did not rip at the cloth, but swung, instead, in a swishing blow. It caught the young woman squarely on the side of the jaw. She was swept to one side, stumbled over a chair, fell. The beam of the flashlight pinned her in its glare.

“Take off that mask!” bellowed the man.

The girl’s hands went to her face, not removing the mask, but in a gesture of instinctive terror, holding the cloth to her face.

The man moved forward.

“If you want to get beat up,” he said, “I’m the guy that’ll do it!”

As he spoke, he drew back his foot, preparatory to making a vicious kick.

It was at that instant that the long arm of Sidney Zoom flashed out in the darkness. The talon-like fingers, as rigid as though they had been fashioned from steel, clutched the cloth of the man’s coat collar. The arm jerked.

The big man had been poised on one foot, swinging the other in a kick. The swift pull at his collar jerked him off balance. The twisting motion of the snapping arm sent him into a spin. Sidney Zoom’s other hand swooped down, struck the thick wrist of the hand that held the flashlight. The flashlight was snapped from the man’s grasp, thudded to the floor. All was darkness.

“Never,” said Sidney Zoom, “strike a woman.”

The man gave one inarticulate bellow of rage and rushed.

Even in the darkness, he showed an uncanny judgment of spacing, of timing, and of distance. His blows had all of the swift speed, all of the vicious follow-through which characterizes the performance of a professional fighter.

Sidney Zoom gave ground before that charging rush, before that avalanche of human weight But he gave ground in a scientific manner, his left foot always advanced, his right foot tapping out the retreat, his left shoulder hunched forward, protecting his chin and the side of his face. His left hand was held in readiness, his right flung in such a position as to protect the solar plexus, leaving a protruding elbow as a menace to the flying fists of his assailant.

On the floor, the police dog whined his anxiety, chattered his teeth in an ecstasy of desire to tear this man limb from limb. Yet the iron discipline under which he had been schooled held him crouched to the floor, the saliva dripping from his quivering jaws.

As the men cleared the doorway, the girl, jumping forward, ran for the stairs. The big man was heedless of her escape. But Sidney Zoom, his ears waiting for those very sounds of flight, knew the girl had eluded her captor.

He suddenly ceased to be on the defensive.

The big man, irritated that his flailing blows should find no vital mark, his right hand tender from having flung into that protruding elbow upon two occasions, set himself for a crashing rush.

The left arm of Sidney Zoom suddenly ceased to be merely a wall of defense. It flicked out in swiftly stabbing blows, as smoothly and as rapidly as the tongue of a snake flickers in and out.

One, two, three blows found their mark upon the face of the big man, every blow having the effect of throwing him off balance, keeping him from getting set for his rushing offensive.

Then the fourth blow measured the distance, told Sidney Zoom exactly where the right should cross over. The right flashed in a swift hook, thudded to the jaw with a jar of impact that lifted the big man from his feet, sent him hurling back into the dark room where he had trapped the girl.

Sidney Zoom flung the door of that office shut. There was a skeleton key in the mortise lock. He twisted it, locking the door.

“Come, Rip,” he whispered, and ran lightly to the stairs which went to the street.

He looked up and down the sidewalk.

There was no sign of human life. The girl had vanished utterly and completely.

Sidney Zoom had no means of knowing who she was. Nor could he tell the identity of the man with whom he had fought. Nor, truth to tell, did he greatly care. Sidney Zoom was a born fighter. He longed for conflict, mental and physical. This man had been taking advantage of a woman. Sidney Zoom asked for no other cause to make war.

Man-made laws of property rights meant but little to this man who would have been a pirate leader in another age. Zoom recognized certain basic principles of right and wrong, and no other. He longed for conflict, and asked not too many questions concerning the technical laws governing the merits of such conflict. All that he required was to find the weak being oppressed by the strong. Then he hurled himself into the fight with a whole-hearted ferocity which swept all opposition before it.

He had not the slightest doubt that the man he had locked in the office on that upper floor represented the law enforcement agencies of the city of Dellboro. And he did not care a hoot. Sidney Zoom’s concern had to do entirely with the identity of the young woman who had been sobbing her heart away on a park bench under the quiet stars of a midnight sky. He wanted to find her, to relieve her sufferings, if that were possible.

He turned to the dog.

“Find,” he said.

Chapter V Della Rangar

The dog, glad of an opportunity for action, placed his muzzle to the cold cement, sniffed, ran a few steps toward the west, then turned to the east, ran, sniffed, wagged his tail, started following the scent, his tail wagging vehemently.

Sidney Zoom’s long legs moved in great strides.

The dog led the way to the mouth of an alley, up that alley, to the back entrance of a rooming house, up a flight of stairs, through a back door, along a corridor, paused before a dark door, and looked up at his master.

Sidney Zoom knocked on the door.

There was no sound from the room.

Sidney Zoom knocked again, tried the knob.

“Open up,” he said, “and do it quickly.”

There came the sound of bed springs creaking, a sleepy voice asked: “Who’s there?”

“A friend,” said Sidney Zoom.

“I’m in bed — asleep. Go away.”

Sidney Zoom was impatient with such prevarication in the face of the infallible identification which the dog had given.

“I will give you ten seconds,” he said, “to open the door.”

There came the sound of bare feet thudding to the floor. Garments rustled. The feet came toward the door, a lock clicked, and Sidney Zoom stared into the eyes of a young woman who looked very much as though she had been asleep for some hours, save for one thing. That one thing was the red, swollen spot on the side of her face where the fist had crashed home.

“This,” she said, “is an outrage.”

Zoom moved into the room, locked the door behind him.

“Now the first question,” he said, “is whether or not you left anything behind in that office by which you could be identified? A purse, perhaps? Perhaps a compact?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with dignity.

She wrapped a kimono about her, first taking care to let it flap open for a sufficient length along the front to show Sidney Zoom that she was, indeed in night attire. There were feminine garments piled on the chair. Sidney Zoom walked to them, thrust his hand down among the filmy silks. They were still warm with the heat from the body of the young woman.

She stared at him.

Sidney Zoom regarded the red welt on the side of her face.

“Look at yourself in the mirror,” he ordered.

The girl moved to the mirror. Her eyes fastened upon that tell-tale mark, and her lips clamped into a thin line.

“Who... who... who are you?” she stammered, her voice issuing from a mouth that was dry with terror.

Sidney Zoom grinned at her.

“I,” he said, “am the man who slammed the big boob who struck you, after you’d had a chance to make good your escape. I knocked him off his pins and locked him in the office. Here’s the skeleton key you left in the lock. Now tell me your story, and tell me whether there’s anything you left behind that would bring the officers to this place.”

She stared at him.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“I am the man who heard you sobbing in the park. I followed you to the office of the county attorney. Then when the big hulk came in and started to bully you, I gave you a break. Now answer my questions.”

Her hand, unconsciously seeking the contact of companionship, had descended to the head of the crouching dog. The animal had first stiffened, then his ears had relaxed. The tip of his tail waved gently. In that manner he communicated to his master that the touch of this young woman spoke of sincerity and of honesty. Sidney Zoom needed no further endorsement. An intelligent animal can tell more from the touch of a human’s fingertips than most men can tell from a week of constant association.

The dog’s head turned. His tongue shot out, gently caressing the girl’s hand, and that sign of sympathy broke through the wall of suspicion and reserve, and words poured from her lips.

“I’m Della Rangar,” she said. “No one knows me here, and no one knows I’m here. I recognized the picture of James Crandall which was published in the papers when his trial started. He... he’s my sweatheart. I knew him under another name, in another city.

“He’s been living there, and going straight. We were to be married. He won’t tell where he was, or what he was doing because he knows that will mix me into the mess. He hoped I’d never hear of this. I thought — thought that he’d just run away and left me. You see, I haven’t always been so straight myself. I’ve had my experiences with the seamy side of life, and I’ve even done time.

“Crandall knew that. And he knew that if the police found out about me they’d drag me in as an accomplice. He was going to take the rap, go to the chair in silence, just to protect me. When I saw his picture, I came on here. I thought I could break into the office of the county attorney and steal the file in the Crandall case. I’ve known of such things being done.”

She paused, staring defiantly at Sidney Zoom, as though expecting to hear his denunciation.

Sidney Zoom, however, merely nodded his head approvingly.

“Good girl,” he said. “Did you find anything?”

“No evidence. The file of the case was there. The letter wasn’t in the file. It’s that letter that will send Jim to the chair.”

Sidney Zoom pursed his lips.

“You haven’t answered one other question. Did you leave anything behind by which you can be identified?”

She shook her head. Then her head suddenly became motionless. The cheek blanched again.

“I made notations,” she said, “on a sheet of paper that I took from this rooming house. It had the address on it. The files were indexed, you know, and I first looked up the index numbers, and then wrote the numbers...”

Zoom interrupted.

“You left that paper behind?”

“I’m afraid I must have. I had it in my hand when... when he struck me.”

Sidney Zoom strode toward the door.

“Get your things together,” he said. “I’ll watch the corridor. Make it snappy. Get ’em on quickly.”

He jerked the door open, strode into the corridor, stood rigidly alert, the dog at his side. From the interior of the room came sounds of swift motion. Almost within a matter of seconds the door opened again and the girl, garbed for the street, stood at his side.

“Ready,” she said.

There was in her tone the implicit confidence of one who trusts. It was an emotion which Sidney Zoom inspired, particularly in the helpless, as well as in dogs, horses and children.

Zoom led the way.

They left by the front door, walked across to the other side of the street.

And, as they rounded the comer, the night silence was disrupted by the noise of a speeding motor. A light car, filled with men, came swiftly down the street, skidded to a stop before the entrance to the rooming house. The men jumped from the car, ran across the strip of sidewalk, and vanished within the dark doorway.

Sidney Zoom turned to the girl at his side and smiled.

“We weren’t any too soon,” he said.

There was no longer any fear in her voice.

“Somehow, I don’t feel afraid any more,” she said. “I have a feeling that justice is going to be done — real justice.”

Sidney Zoom took her elbow, assisted her down from the curb to the street, piloted her to the place where the shadows were the deepest. Keeping to those clinging shadows, he guided her to his yacht, slipped her aboard.

Vera Thurmond, the secretary, regarded the girl with eyes that were warm with sympathy. There was, in the secretary, a maternal affection for those strange outcasts of the night whom Sidney Zoom picked up from time to time and brought to safe sanctuary aboard the yacht.

“Keep her safe, and keep her out of sight,” said Sidney Zoom.

Vera Thurmond flung a protecting arm around the waist of Della Rangar.

“Come, my poor dear, you need sleep,” she said.

Taut nerves relaxed. The girl smiled.

“I’m commencing to believe that God’s in his heaven after all,” she said.

For Sidney Zoom’s character was such that no one could come in contact with him without feeling the strange influence of the man. He influenced the lives of those about him as a lodestone influences the needle of a magnet. The weak and the helpless found in him a haven of refuge, a gigantic wall of strength. The oppressor found in him a grim enemy, tireless, uncompromising, letting no man-made law stand between him and his prey.

Chapter VI Rip Smells a Banker

The morning sun streamed through the long, narrow windows, reflected from the polished surface of the walnut desk, and made little splotches of uneven illumination upon the tinted wall.

Sam Gilvert sat in the swivel chair, a filing drawer of a card indexing system in front of him. Several of those cards represented past due obligations owing to the bank. These had red tabs on their margins. The tabs were a bright red, and the gnarled fingers of the banker went from red tab to red tab, pulling out the cards.

At his side, a secretary held an open notebook with a poised pencil. Occasionally the banker snapped an order and the secretary made a series of swift pothooks. Upon each such occasion the secretary would mutter a mechanical, “Yes, sir.”

Sam Gilvert chuckled.

“Not entirely an unpleasant task, Miller.”

“Yes, sir,” said the secretary, mechanically.

“Three years ago,” said the banker, “every one of these men used to look down on me. They were rich, gloatingly rich. Now we’re closing them out... Card number four thirty-five; Harrison, secured note for five hundred. Close out the security. Have our attorney get judgment for the deficiency. Attach his car.”

“Yes, sir,” said the secretary.

“Card number four fifty-three; secured note for fifteen hundred...”

There was a knock at the door.

The banker frowned.

“Open it, Miller. I left orders I wasn’t to be disturbed. See what...”

The secretary opened the door.

The tall form of Sidney Zoom stood in the doorway. Behind him an apologetic clerk was endeavoring to explain.

“I’m busy,” rasped the banker. “I left orders...”

Sidney Zoom made a surreptitious motion with his wrist.

The police dog, keen eyes seeing that motion, trained as he was to take orders from his master by a mere flip of the fingers or a slight movement of the hand, walked deliberately into that room and sniffed at the banker, then sniffed at the secretary.

Sidney Zoom smiled sardonically.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he said. “The dog is engaged in certain police work. I wanted him to get your odors. That is all. Come, Rip.”

The dog trotted to him. Sidney Zoom turned away. The banker jumped to his feet instantly, his face flushed.

“Here, what’s the meaning of this unwarranted intrusion? You can’t get away with that. I shall call the police. You walked in back of the counters of this bank without permission. You...”

The banker broke off, sputtering in rage.

“Exactly,” said Sidney Zoom, pausing mid-stride to look back at the banker. “I assure you, Mr. Culvert, that had the information not been most vital, I would not have resorted to this means to get it.”

His voice was formal, well modulated, yet it had something in it akin to the tolling of a bell.

“I am investigating,” he went on, “the murder of Frank Strome. You are probably aware that, coincident with that death, certain papers disappeared. You may or may not be aware of the contents of that file. Thank you for having given the dog the information.”

And Sidney Zoom resumed his progress toward the street.

But, over his shoulder, he could see the banker. That individual was reaching for the telephone. And the color of his face was whiter by several shades than when he had been showing his rage at an unwarranted interruption.

Sidney Zoom strolled down the main street of Dellboro. He was conscious of eyes that turned to him in swift curiosity, of whispered comments that were made as he passed. News travels fast in a country community and word had passed about as to the identity of the owner of the strange craft that had slipped so quietly to a mooring.

Sidney Zoom walked directly to the stairway which led to the offices of the county attorney. Those offices had been taken over by Carl Purcell when he had succeeded to the office upon the death of his superior. They were the same offices into which Sidney Zoom had entered during the dark hours of the early morning, following the trail of the mysterious young woman.

Now Sidney Zoom surveyed those offices, looked about the street at the various store buildings, craned his neck upward at the cloudless blue of the sky.

Then he slowly walked out into the middle of the street, paused, stared about him.

A motorist paused to hurl some sarcastic comment. Another driver applied the brakes with sufficient force to skid the tires. But Sidney Zoom seemed entirely oblivious of them. He was engaged in looking up and down the street, carefully scanning the buildings upon either side.

At length he crossed to the opposite side, walked down the sidewalk for some fifty yards, and turned into an entranceway which led to a flight of stairs, stairs which were musty and dark with the grime of years. They showed no sign of paint or care. Cobwebs were in the comers. They led up to a dark and gloomy hallway.

Sidney Zoom, the police dog at his side, ascended those stairs with an unhurried gait. His entrance to the building was not unnoticed.

The building had once contained offices of the cheaper sort. Some of the doors still bore signs which indicated the occupations of the previous tenants. One and all they were the sort of occupations which required plenty of space at a very low rental.

The offices were now vacant. Some of the doors stood open, disclosing rooms which were littered with refuse. Some of the doors were closed. One was locked.

Sidney Zoom gave some attention to that locked door. He produced a skeleton key from his pocket and opened the door. He went into the room.

The litter in this room was not as bad as the litter in the other rooms. There was even a chair in the room. It was rather a run-down chair, to be sure, but a chair, nevertheless, and it was faced in such a position that a person sitting in it would be facing the window of the room on an angle.

The window of that room was grimy with dust, dirt and cobwebs. The sash had once been varnished, but the varnish had deteriorated into dirty lumps which showed only a faint trace of gloss. Dust had settled upon sash and sill.

Sidney Zoom left the door open behind him. He deposited himself in the rickety chair, took a cigarette from a pocket case, lit it, sat smoking, apparently without a single thing to do other than to enter the deserted offices of vacant buildings and while away the morning hours.

The police dog, sniffing around him at the litter of the room, regarded his master with curious, attentive eyes, then flung himself upon the bare floor, and settled his head upon his paws.

For several minutes they remained in this position, the man on the chair, smoking, the dog on the floor sleeping.

Then the keen ears of the dog caught some sound. He raised his head and cocked his ears. He glanced at his master with yellow eyes that were suddenly hard and alert. Then he gave a low growl.

Sidney Zoom heard that warning signal. He got to his feet.

“Steady, Rip,” he said. “Don’t move. Keep quiet. It’s all right.”

Sidney Zoom went to the dust-covered sash of the window. He took his fingers and pressed them into the dust of the sash, put the tips down on the sill. The fingers left very plain prints in the dust. He pressed a finger against the glass of the window. Then he took a small box from his pocket, opened the lid, and disclosed a yellow powder, a chrome which is particularly efficacious in bringing out the distinguishing marks of latent finger-prints.

The police dog growled once more, ominously.

Steps sounded in the outer corridor of the vacant office building. The steps were audible, yet cautious, the sort of steps a man would make who was of heavy build, yet was trying to walk cautiously.

Sidney Zoom quieted the dog once more, ordered him to stay where he was, no matter what happened. Then he turned his attention to the finger-print on the window. He opened a little book, and started sketching.

A figure bulked in the doorway.

A booming voice suddenly cut the silence.

“If that dog attacks me I’ll shoot him!”

Chapter VII The Vanishing Shell

Sidney Zoom gave a convulsive start, the start of a man who is absorbed in work and fancies that he is alone, yet who is suddenly surprised by the sound of a human voice.

He turned and stared at the big man in the doorway.

The man had a gun in his right hand, a wide-brimmed black hat on his head, a gold shield on his vest, and a left eye which was almost closed, and which had turned a very deep shade of black. The gun he held was a heavy automatic.

“The dog,” said Sidney Zoom, “will not bother you unless you bother him. And may I ask what you’re doing here with a drawn gun?”

The man held Zoom with his eyes, the one steady, granite hard and baleful, the other bloodshot, rimmed by flesh of greenish black.

“I’m here,” growled the man, “to find out what the devil you’re doing here. This building has been condemned. You’ve no business here. What’s more, this door was locked. You’ve evidently picked that lock. That’s breaking and entering, and that’s a penal offense.”

Sidney Zoom raised his eyebrows.

“But there was nothing in here, and I haven’t any felonious intent.”

The heavy-set man rumbled his answer.

“That’s got nothing to do with it. Technically, you’re guilty. You broke and entered.”

Zoom pursed his lips, thinking over the man’s words.

“You’re an officer?” he asked.

“Yes. Frink, head of the county attorney’s investigation squad. Now you tell me what you’re doing here.”

Sidney Zoom spoke rapidly.

“I was figuring on renting an office here.”

“What’s your business?”

“I haven’t any. But I was contemplating opening up an office as a private investigator.”

Frink scowled, moved purposefully forward.

“All right. Now we’ll get down to brass tacks. You ain’t going to open up any office here. You ain’t going to do any private investigating here. You ain’t even going to stay here. You’re going right back to that nice little boat of yours and cast off the mooring lines and get out of here and stay out of here.”

Sidney Zoom stared about him in a bewildered manner.

“Why... why, I never was talked to like that in my life. Why can’t I stay here?” The head of the investigators was now sure of his ground. He moved forward in a bullying manner.

“Because you’re a confounded nuisance. That’s why. You busted in on Sam Gilvert an hour or so ago and insulted him by having your dog go over and smell him. You were prowling around the streets last night... and somebody broke into the county attorney’s office and tried to steal some papers. It was a woman. I cornered her, and somebody smashed me with a club and knocked me out. I don’t know who it was.”

Sidney Zoom raised his eyebrows.

“But what’s that got to do with me? Why should I leave town? You don’t suspect that I hit you with a club, do you?”

The eye of George Frink which was not discolored hardened into an icy stare.

“If I did think that you did it,” he growled, “I’d...”

He didn’t finish his threat.

His eyes slithered away from Sidney Zoom’s, came to rest on the finger-print, colored with the yellow stain.

“What you doing here?” he asked.

“Just looking out of the window,” said Sidney Zoom.

And, as though to give some atmosphere of truth to his statement, he turned, and peered through the dusty, cobwebby glass of the window.

The main street showed below him, across the street, some forty yards up, were the entrances to the county attorney’s office, the windows of the room in which Strome had been killed.

As Sidney Zoom watched, a compact group of men, carrying brief cases, emerged from the entrance to the office building. Carl Purcell, the new county attorney, and his assistants were about to go to the courthouse to carry on the trial of James Crandall, charged with the crime of murder in the first degree.

Frink’s voice was sneering.

“Yeah, you was lookin’ out of the window all right! And I suppose you smeared that yellow chrome over that finger-print to help you see out! What’s a finger-print on a window down in this building got to do with the murder of Frank Strome?”

Sidney Zoom suddenly became confidential.

“If I should tell you, would you keep it a secret? And if it sounds plausible, could I continue to remain here and carry on my investigations?”

Frink poised the gun in his hand, stole a glance at the police dog.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll listen to anything you’ve got to say, but I won’t make any promises.”

Sidney Zoom spoke rapidly, and in a low tone.

“Very well. The account of the shooting, as we have it, is impossible. No one heard the sound of the fatal shot. That’s out of the question. The theory of the prosecution is that the noise made by the exploding bomb of the publicity car on the unemployment drive drowned out the noise of the shot.

“That’s foolish. People who were in the next office would have heard that shot as being distinct from the explosion of the bomb. Moreover, there wasn’t any exploded shell found in the office of the murdered man. Now the gun that was found in there was an automatic. The automatic mechanism would have ejected the empty shell as soon as the weapon was fired. Yet that shell wasn’t found. Of course, the murderer might have crawled around on the floor, picking up the empty shell, but there was no reason for him to do so.

“On the other hand, had that murderer been intent upon removing evidence, he would have undoubtedly taken the automatic from the room with him. If Crandall killed that man, it would have been utterly incredible that he would have gone to the bother of taking the shell from the room, yet leaving the weapon which Could have been traced to him.”

Sidney Zoom regarded the investigator questioningly.

“What’s your theory?” asked Frink.

Zoom lowered his tone, as though giving a sacred confidence.

“That the murderer didn’t kill Strome in his office at all. That the murderer came down here, opened this window and waited. That the stage was set in Strome’s office. That the publicity car came by here, setting off bombs. That the murderer rested an automatic on the sill of the window, and fired through the open window of Strome’s office, killing Strome.”

Frink scowled meditatively.

“Why this office?”

“Because the door was locked. The murderer had to lie in wait with a drawn gun. Naturally, he wouldn’t want to be observed by some person who might chance to come up in the building. So he took pains to see that the door behind him was closed and locked. Then it would have been only natural for him to have locked the door behind him when he left.”

Frink walked to the window, stared.

“Then this would be the finger-print of the murderer?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think the window in Strome’s office was open?”

“Because the papers were scattered all over the floor. It has been the theory of the prosecution that the murderer, making a hasty search for some paper, threw the papers on the desk all over the floor. More natural, the window had been left open, a sudden wind blew the papers over the floor, and the window was subsequently closed before the arrival of the police.”

“Then the window would have been closed... Good Heavens, man! Do you know what your charges imply? They mean that Carl Purcell must have been an accessory!”

Chapter VIII The Finger-print on the Window

Sidney Zoom nodded, casually.

“Of course. That’s self-evident, even if we can’t prove who it was that did the actual killing. You’ll remember that Strome mentioned the threatening letter he had received was the second threat he had received from Crandall. Yet, when they came to search for the first threat, it couldn’t be found. What undoubtedly happened was that Purcell, seeing the original threat wasn’t dated, simply took it from the files, put it in an envelope, and remailed it to the county attorney.

“The same thing’s true of the gun. It was purchased before Crandall was sent to prison. He’d hardly have had that gun with him all the time he was in prison. It’s natural to suppose, therefore, that the gun had been taken from him by the authorities at the time of his first arrest. Since his crime wasn’t one of violence, the gun naturally wasn’t introduced in evidence. The authorities probably even forgot that they had such a gun. But Purcell could have taken it, secreted it, and planted it for evidence.

“Purcell isn’t a gunman. Therefore, he forgot that he should have planted an empty shell to make the murder appear convincing.”

Frink whistled.

“Man alive, but you go after big game when you start. What possible motive would Purcell have had to kill Strome?”

Sidney Zoom smiled.

“The motive of greed and of gain. Charges were about to be placed against Sam Gilvert, the banker. The file in that case disappeared. Purcell was a deputy. Now he is the county attorney. He inherited the office, so to speak.”

Frink shook his head.

“No. Your motive isn’t strong enough to get you anywhere. You insinuate that Gilvert paid Purcell to sneak the papers out of the file, that Purcell got that money, and that he was afraid of discovery, so he wanted to cover up that theft. Then you insinuate that he wanted to get the job of his superior officer, and so he murdered him. That’s far-fetched. It isn’t a strong enough motive.”

“There’s logic in that,” Zoom said. “Yet we know that the crime couldn’t have been committed the way Purcell claims. We know that, if it wasn’t committed in that manner, then Purcell must be trying to conceal the manner in which it actually was committed.

“But we can let Purcell go for the minute. We’re on the trail of the real killer down here. I think this fingerprint will give us sufficient evidence. Somewhere around here, in the litter of rubbish around the room, may be the empty shell from the gun that really killed Strome.

“That must have been an automatic of the same calibre as the one in the office, the one that was found there. The distance isn’t over thirty yards or so in a direct line. A good shot could have hit a mark the size of a man’s body at that distance. In fact, he could have even picked the exact spot on the body that he intended to hit.”

The chief investigator for the county attorney’s office put the automatic he held back in its shoulder holster.

“Guy,” he said, “you win. We’ll find out more as we go along, but you sure have got the case doped out so it sounds reasonable to me. I’m going to cooperate with you and give you all the assistance I can.

“But this is a small county. We’re messing around with some pretty big men when we start after Purcell and Sam Gilvert. We’ve got to be absolutely certain that we’re going to make a case before we even breathe a word about it.”

“Naturally,” Zoom observed, “we will not go running into court and shooting off our faces. We’ll collect the evidence. In time, if we can, to save Crandall from conviction, we’ll announce that evidence. If we haven’t built up a case, we’ll let him be convicted, and then get a pardon from the governor.”

Frink drummed upon the back of the chair with the fingers of his right hand. His eyes narrowed to slits.

“Listen,” he said, “we’ve got to get those finger-prints photographed. That’s the first thing. Then we’ll have to pull the whole window out and take it down to the vault where we can keep it for the jury to look at.”

Sidney Zoom nodded.

“You got a camera?” asked Frink, “one that’ll take finger-prints?”

Zoom shook his head ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I certainly should have had one, but I was careless and neglected to include it with my filings when I came down here.”

“Okay,” said Frink, “it doesn’t make any difference. You go and get mine. I’ll stay here and watch the prints so I can testify afterwards that nothing happened to ’em, see? My office is on the lower floor of the courthouse. You’ll find a blond kid at the desk. She’ll give you the camera. Tell her that I sent you, and that I said to keep quiet about it afterwards. I don’t want a whole lot of talk around town about this thing before we crack it.”

Zoom allowed himself to be dominated by the positive personality of the other. “Come, Rip,” he said to the dog, and left the room.

But he did not descend the stairs. Instead, he waited in the corridor, motioning the dog to silence. For a good ten seconds he stood so, and then he returned to the door, gently turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

Frink was standing by the window, his face grave with concern. His right hand was extended. He was staring at the whorls of the fingertips with a magnifying glass. Then, from time to time, he would check these with the finger-print on the glass.

Sidney Zoom betrayed his presence by a low laugh. It was a mirthless laugh of hollow mockery, and there was challenge in it.

Frink whirled.

It took him one swift instant to take in the situation. Then his hand flicked to the holster where he kept his weapon.

Sidney Zoom spoke casually.

“Take him, Rip.”

The dog had waited patiently for that moment. Twice when he would have defended his master against this man, he had been restrained by a command. Now the dog went across the room, belly to the floor, like a tawny streak. And then he was in the air.

Frink fired, once, and he might as well have taken a snapshot at a streak of lightning. The dog’s teeth closed on the wrist of the gun arm. The dog’s weight hurled itself in that peculiar twisting motion which is taught to police dogs, as a part of their training, on the continent. Frink screamed with pain. The gun thudded to the floor.

Sidney Zoom rushed in and grabbed the left arm.

“All right, Rip,” he said.

The dog dropped to the floor. Sidney Zoom’s right hand snatched the handcuffs from the investigator’s hip pocket. With a swift dexterity, he flipped the handcuff over the left wrist.

“The other hand,” he rasped.

The investigator flung his weight against Sidney Zoom in a lunging attack, halted as a deep-throated, ominous growl came from the dog on the floor.

“You can either give me that wrist, or the dog will get it for me,” said Sidney Zoom.

The investigator’s face was sallow. Perspiration beaded his forehead. He extended his wrist, with the prints of the dog’s fangs still imbedded in the skin, through which red drops welled slowly.

Sidney Zoom clicked the handcuff.

“Of course,” he said, “you were too shrewd in such matters to leave finger-prints. But I thought I could raise a sufficient doubt in your own mind to get you to betray yourself.”

The handcuffed man muttered an exclamation.

“Slick, eh? All right, try and convict me. Try and get the evidence that’ll show that I did anything. You can’t prove a damned thing. A jury will acquit me within ten seconds of the time the case is put up to them.”

Sidney Zoom’s tone was ominous.

“Man-made law,” he said, “is a thing of makeshifts, of injustices, of technicalities that make a mockery of justice. But there is a higher court. Laugh if you wish, but the time will come when you will realize that the way of the oppressor is hard. You have sought to blame murder upon the innocent. And I tell you that there is a price you will have to pay — a frightful price.”

Frink laughed, yet the laugh was nervous. There had been something solemnly prophetic in the voice of Sidney Zoom, a something that was as the tolling of a bell.

“Bah!” he said, “you talk like some ranting reformer...”

Sidney Zoom took handkerchiefs from the man’s pocket and thrust them into his mouth, fashioned an effective gag. He took some fine, strong cord from his own pocket, and trussed Frink’s legs. Then he motioned to the dog, and left the room, leaving behind him a man who could move neither hand nor foot, who could not even speak.

Chapter IX A Confession

He descended the stairs, went at once to a telephone, got Gilvert’s bank on the wire, and demanded that Sam Gilvert be put on the telephone. He told the clerk who answered that he was the assistant of Bill Dunbar, the lawyer who was defending James Crandall, and he told the banker the same thing, when he had that individual on the wire.

“Exactly where were you,” asked Sidney Zoom, “when Frank Strome was murdered?”

“Why... why... what... er... isn’t this a bit unusual and irregular and all of that?” asked the banker.

“Certainly,” said Sidney Zoom, “but the answer to that question is very important to you.”

“Well,” said the banker, “when I heard of the death of Frank Strome, I was standing, talking to—”

“Not where you were when you heard of his death, but where you were when he actually died, at the time of the killing,” interrupted Sidney Zoom.

“Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed the banker, “you’re asking for something entirely different now. I don’t know. I haven’t the slightest idea. I don’t even know exactly what time it was they decided that he had died.”

“Thank you,” said Sidney Zoom. “Now Mr. Frink, Mr. Purcell and myself want you to come down to the row of vacant office buildings just across the street and down a half a block from the county attorney’s office.”

“I can’t get away,” snorted the banker.

“You’ll have to get away. You wouldn’t want to be subpoenaed as a witness would you, and have to wait around in the court?”

“What would I be a witness to?”

“Something you wouldn’t want to testify to. But if you come down here right away you probably won’t have to give your testimony in public.”

The banker cleared his throat.

“I’ll come,” he said.

Sidney Zoom slipped out to the street and waited. It took the banker less than ten minutes to arrive. He looked perturbed, and his eyes darted about as though seeking out some tangible menace.

Reluctantly, he crossed the street to the stairs, and started up those stairs. Zoom emerged from his place of concealment, started up after the banker.

Gilvert had reached the upper landing when some subtle warning caused him to whirl. He saw the gaunt form of Sidney Zoom, the police dog at his side.

“You!” said the banker.

“Yes,” remarked Sidney Zoom. “I came here to protect you.”

“From what?” snarled the banker.

“From being made the goat and convicted of the murder of Frank Strome,” said Sidney Zoom, speaking casually, as though being framed for murders might have been a mere matter of everyday occurence.

The banker stared, speechless.

“If you’ll step this way,” said Sidney Zoom, “I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

He indicated the closed door, unlocked it, waved his hand in a gesture that indicated the bound, gagged body on the floor.

“George Frink,” he said, “the murderer of Frank Strome.”

The banker stared. He grasped his left hand with his right hand, twisted the fingers, then started cracking his bony knuckles. One by one, he cracked the knuckles of his right hand. His lips writhed as though he wanted to speak, but no sound emerged from the parched throat.

“You see,” said Sidney Zoom, indicating the window with its finger-print treated with chrome, the two prints on the sill, outlined in the dust, “how simple it was, Frink came down here, waited. He’s a good shot with an automatic. Purcell managed to raise Strome’s window. The publicity car of the unemployment drive started shooting its bombs. Frink watched for his chance and shot.

“It wasn’t at all necessary to wait for the explosion of a bomb. This building is deserted. A shot from here wouldn’t be heard.

“As a matter of fact, it would have been hard for a murderer to have synchronized a shot with a bomb explosion. And, in any event, he’d have had to sit with gun ready, waiting. Which shows how absurd it was to think Crandall could have committed the crime. Strome would never have sat at his desk while Crandall stood there, gun ready, waiting for the bomb explosion to cover the sound of his shot.”

The banker blinked his eyes.

“What does Frink say?” he asked.

Sidney Zoom bowed.

“That’s where you come into the picture. Frink confesses, but he blames you for being the leading spirit. Of course, Frink had to confess, what with his finger-print on the window, and the exploded shell from his automatic found here on the floor.”

Frink, bound and gagged, made little convulsive motions with his body and bound limbs. Inarticulate sounds gurgled in his throat.

“Blames me!” screamed the banker, “He blames me?”

Sidney Zoom nodded.

“He said that you suggested it to Purcell. You’d managed to steal those files, and were afraid of discovery—”

“Liar,” yelled the banker, “a black-hearted, deliberate liar. That’s what he is!”

Sidney Zoom raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed?” he muttered politely.

“Yes, damn it, indeed!” shrilled the banker. “They can’t put that over, not on me. I got that file from Purcell, all right. I knew he was worried about Strome calling him on it. It seemed there’d been two or three other files that Purcell had taken from the office, and Strome was all worked up about that. He threatened an investigation.

“So Strome threatened to make a scandal over it. He’d given Purcell notice to quit. Purcell came to me the night before the murder. He wanted the papers back. I’d destroyed them. He was all worked up and afraid that he was going to be disbarred.

“I was worried myself. Then when I heard that some ex-convict had murdered Strome, I thought it had just been a break for Purcell. I never put the two together at all.

“I knew Purcell was very much afraid. If Strome had found out the papers in my file were missing, after the bootlegging files had been missing, he’d have had Purcell arrested. I’m sorry now that I didn’t stand right up and face the music. The papers related to an irregularity. I could have squared it. Purcell sold me the file. I paid his price.”

Zoom nodded.

“And they were going to frame the murder on you,” he said.

The banker’s face was the color of putty.

“My God! Murder!”

Zoom handed him his notebook and a fountain pen.

“Write out your statement and sign it,” he said.

The banker seized the fountain pen, laid the notebook against the wall, started to write. Frink, on the floor, made significant motions, rolled his eyes, tried to attract attention.

Sidney Zoom spoke to his dog.

“Watch him, Rip. Make him stay quiet.”

The dog walked stiffly to the prostrate form, stood over him, lips curling back, teeth glistening. Frink moved his head. The dog growled, snapped toward the man’s throat. The teeth clicked as the jaws snapped together a scant half inch from the tender flesh, a canine warning which even the hardiest must have heeded.

Gilvert finished the confession, signed it with a flourish. “Now,” he said, “I feel better. That cursed thing’s been weighing on my mind for a long time.”

Chapter X Angel or Devil

Sidney Zoom pocketed the notebook with its signed statement. He indicated the bound and gagged man on the floor.

“He can’t blame you now. I’m going to get you in the clear. He’ll try to shift the entire blame to Purcell next. These rats are always looking for some one to make the goat. When they get cornered, they squeal.

“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.