The D.A. Breaks a Seal

2

Rex Brandon, seated at his battered desk in the Sheriff’s Office,was wrestling with some of the paper work which he found so annoying, when Selby walked in.

For several seconds the sheriff didn’t look up, but gave frowning concentration to the printed blank on the desk before him.

“Just a minute,” he said over his shoulder. “These confounded blanks. More stuff to fill in than you can shake a stick at.”

Selby smilingly watched the familiar lines of the sheriff’s face, bronzed to the color of good saddle leather, tense with annoyance as the sheriff wrestled with the red tape incident to public office.

Rex Brandon was twenty-five years older than Selby, and he had as a backlog for his official qualifications a keen knowledge of human nature and a philosophy which had all the calm dignity of the outdoors, the mountains, the stars at night — the wisdom which man acquired from observation and meditation, as distinguished from the knowledge acquired in books and colleges.

The sheriff abruptly turned in his chair, said, “What can I do for you?” and looked at the insignia on Doug’s uniform, searching for the proper military title.

“Doug!” he shouted. “What in the deuce do you mean giving an old bowlegged cowpuncher a jolt like that? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“No time,” Selby said.

The sheriff’s left hand crashed down on Selby’s shoulder with cordial impact. His right hand all but crushed Selby’s. “You’re looking fine, Doug. What’s new?”

“Nothing much,” Selby said, his eyes twinkling.

“No, I suppose not,” the sheriff observed sarcastically. “Just a few citations, and you’re probably mixed up to your eyebrows in work on some spy ring. But it’s all just a matter of routine to you! Still smoke a pipe, Doug?”

Selby laughed. “Haven’t gone in for it much since I’ve been in the service. A uniform doesn’t have pipe pockets.”

“I’ve got one of your old pipes here. Remember you used to keep one in my office, and we’d sit down and smoke out the solution to many a tough problem?”

The sheriff opened a drawer, pulled out an incrusted brier pipe.

“Got some of your favorite tobacco here, too,” the sheriff said. “Sort of keep it moistened up with a little good rum in the humidor. Let’s sit back and light up, Doug. Like old times... Gosh, I’m glad you’re here!”

Rex Brandon fished a tobacco sack and cigarette papers from his pocket, held the paper curled around his forefinger and spilled tobacco into the paper.

“How’s the new district attorney doing?” Selby asked.

The sheriff deliberated over that question for a moment, then said, “Well, in a way Carl Gifford’s doing all right, Doug.” Then he added, “He’s an opinionated cuss.”

“Influenced by the old, Sam Roper crowd?” Selby asked, referring to the district attorney whom Selby had defeated.

“Well, no. Sam Roper is sort of in the background these days. He’s just another lawyer. There’s a new political crowd coming up. You know the war brought some industries into the county and — things change around a bit. Carl Gifford is doing all right, only I think he’s getting ready to throw me to the wolves if he gets a chance between now and election time. You never feel like you’re partners with him. If there’s ever a slip-up, he’d save himself by making me the goat. It ain’t a comfortable feeling. Wish you’d get back here and take over your old office.”

Selby laughed. “Think Gifford would resign so I would be appointed?”

The sheriff was serious. “No, he wouldn’t,” he said bluntly. “He’s got the office and he’ll hang onto it.”

“That wasn’t his attitude when he was appointed following my resignation.”

“It’s his attitude now.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Not that I want the job,” Selby said, laughing. “It’s high time I got out of it and stayed out.”

“I suppose,” the sheriff conceded grudgingly, “that you’ve sacrificed enough to the government in one form or another, Doug. But — I sure miss you, Boy.”

“How’s old A.B.C. doing? Is he behaving himself?” Selby asked.

The sheriff ran his fingers through his thick matted hair. “ ‘Now then,” he said, “you’re asking real questions.”

“I saw him down at the depot.”

“Speak to him?”

“No, he didn’t see me. He was looking for some friends of his, evidently.”

Rex Brandon said, “You can’t tell about that old man, Doug. You never know just what he’s doing.”

“He’s up to something?”

The sheriff drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. “I think he’s always up to something, Doug. You were a lot more charitable with the man than I ever was.”

“I like him,” Selby admitted. “I suppose he’s unscrupulous, but he’s an artist. He’s at the top of his profession.”

“Such as it is,” the sheriff remarked.

Selby laughed. “He’s a criminal lawyer, Rex. He doesn’t defend people who are innocent. He defends people who are charged with crime.”

“And he consistently gets them off.”

“But, Rex, can’t you see that A. B. Carr is simply a necessary by-product of a system of justice which tries to be fair?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Suppose a lawyer wouldn’t represent a person whom he thought guilty?”

“The ethical lawyers won’t do it.”

“All right,” Selby said, “then you don’t have a trial by jury, you have a trial by lawyer. In other words, a man finds himself involved in a case where the circumstantial evidence is black against him. He goes to lawyer after lawyer, and because they think the man is guilty they won’t even consent to give him a defense. The law says a man is entitled to a trial by jury, not a trial by the lawyers whom he consults.”

“I s’pose so,” the sheriff conceded. “He’s mixed up in a civil suit now — some sort of a will contest. Inez Stapleton, the girl who studied law so you’d have to notice her, is on the other side.”

Selby’s voice showed interest. “Who’s representing the contestant. Rex?”

“Inez is. She thinks she stands a chance on undue influence.”

Selby shook his head. “Next to impossible to really prove...”

The telephone rang.

Sheriff Brandon scooped up the receiver, said, “Sheriff’s Office. Brandon speaking... Hello, Sylvia. Seen Doug? Oh, you have... Yes, he’s here... Okay, I’ll put him on.”

The sheriff grinned at Selby, held his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone and said, “Sounds like somebody else is glad to see you back. Sylvia wants to talk with you.”

Selby took the telephone, heard Sylvia’s voice edged with excitement. “Doug! We’re shifting our lunch date. And can you make it right away?”

“Why... I guess so, yes. I’m just talking with Rex and...”

“Listen, Doug. I’m on the track of something. I’m at the Palm Cafe, and you know what’s happened?”

“What?”

“A gorgeous blonde, with Hollywood stamped all over her, came in on the ten forty-five stage. At least she told the waiter she did. She’s over there at the Palm Cafe ordering lunch.”

“Just what,” Selby asked, “does the gorgeous blonde have to do with our luncheon date?”

“Doug, she’s wearing a corsage of white gardenias. And it may be just a hunch, but... Gosh, Doug. I don’t want to let her out of my sight, and I don’t want to miss my lunch date with you, and couldn’t you come down here right now and have lunch and we could keep an eye on her?”

Selby laughed. “Still as enthusiastic as ever, Sylvia, and still making mysteries out of people.”

“Too much imagination no doubt. I know when I was a little girl and used to play pirate cave, I got really frightened because I always just knew there were pirates in the cave. Doug, bring Rex Brandon along, and we’ll have an old time reunion.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Selby said.

“But you’ll come down here right away?”

“Okay.”

Selby hung up and said, “Sylvia Martin’s on the trail of a story, having to do with the most recent activities of A.B.C.”

“What’s Carr doing now?”

“Apparently holding a convention of some sort. He doesn’t know the people and they don’t know him. So they identify themselves with white gardenias.”

Brandon said. “It’s probably something connected with his city office and doesn’t have anything to do with us. I think a lot of the spectacular stunts he pulls in the big city are really worked out and engineered to the finest detail here.”

“Well, Sylvia wants us to come along and have lunch down at the Palm Cafe where we can see the latest addition to Carr’s convention, a beautiful blonde — the striking Hollywood type.”

“Wants us both to join her at lunch?”

“That’s right.”

Brandon laughed and said, “She wants you, Doug. But I’ll drive you down.”

“Oh, come on and have lunch with us, Rex.”

The sheriff hesitated. “I’ll feel like a fifth wheel on a wagon — and the wife will certainly snort when I tell her I horned in on a lunch date with you and Sylvia.”

“Come on, Rex. It’ll be like old times.”

Sheriff Brandon dropped his cigarette stub into an ash tray, pushed back the creaky swivel chair. “I’m so darned glad to see you, I’m going to do just that,” he announced.