The Last Express by Baynard Kendrick

Author:Baynard Kendrick
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2020-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen: SPLIT SECONDS—OF LIGHT

Duncan Maclain had an abnormal capacity for forfeiting sleep without appearing dullish on the following day. Doggedly determined not to miss a crumb of firsthand information, the inspector herded a line of frightened, irate guests through the office until the first gray of dawn. The procession left Maclain cool and physically unaffected. Spud’s collar had melted down and merged with his tie, and Dearborn was nodding drowsily when the inspector finally said incisively,

“That’s the last of them.”

Schnucke slept peacefully most of the night, but Dreist stirred restlessly at Spud’s feet and watched the arrival and departure of each witness with unwavering eyes.

The rain had stopped when they left the club. They woke Cappo, who was fast asleep in Maclain’s car, to drive them home. At the sight of Sheridan Square, blank, damp, gray, its stillness broken only by a moving truck, Spud’s naturally buoyant spirits fell sharply. Stickily uncomfortable, he huddled in a corner of the car, too tired to push the warm body of Dreist off his feet.

“Go straight up Eighth Avenue,” Maclain ordered Cappo as they started. “There’s no traffic at this time of the morning.”

He leaned back his head, and Spud thought he was asleep until he said softly,

“What a break!”

“It couldn’t be worse, could it?” Spud was dripping gloom.

“Worse ?” Maclain sat up straight, then said quickly, “I was thinking what a break it was for a murderer—to have Chick come and deliberately stick his hand in the jam pot.”

“It looks pretty hopeless, Dunc.” Spud was silent for the space of a block. “Separately, you tripped every witness you talked to—but no matter how clever an attorney Chick gets, I’m afraid a jury won’t see it that way.”

Maclain reached out and patted Spud on the arm. “It’s the lowest hour of the morning, Spud, or you wouldn’t feel that way. We’re up against a delightful example of mass suggestion. It’s a powerful thing. Without it, there wouldn’t be any professional magicians. Fortunately, its strength disintegrates when we break it down into its component parts!”

“I understand that all right, Dunc. It’s Chick’s attitude that worries me. Does he think he’s shooting tiddledywinks? The last time he was questioned he admitted he deposited $130,000 in Paul Zarinka’s account shortly after nine yesterday morning. You heard him yourself! A man’s got to come clean in a jam like he’s in, Dunc. A mere story that he borrowed that from Paul won’t wash! What’s the matter with him?”

“More psychology,” Maclain said wearily. “He’s undergoing the great experience—he’s in love.”

“You mean to say—,” Spud began disgustedly.

“Don’t ever underrate it, Spud, just because your own veins are filled with tomato soup!” Maclain laughed softly. “I’ve seen you do some foolish things over Rena, at that. Before you jump off the deep end, take a look at Charles Hartshorn’s background. Things which may look quixotic and foolish to you are the essence of decency to him.”

“Don’t mind my feelings,” Spud protested in an injured tone. “Go right ahead and

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