Black Mask (Vol. 22, No. 2 — Mary 1939)

“It’s not that gun I want!” Hastings snapped impatiently. “I want the gun that killed Renee Townlee. Nobody has accused me, openly yet, of killing her. But there are ugly whispers. I’ll never get the nomination for governor unless I uncover the real murderer. Someone killed Renee Townlee the night I visited her. She was dickering to give me information about Lawrence Cleverly that would have enabled me to indict him. Cleverly killed her. Didn’t he?”

Paul looked up at him, annoyed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Hastings swore under his breath. He started to turn away, then swung back as if to make one more effort.

“That man, Michael Groh,” he said, “used to be Cleverly’s chauffeur, and was fired. Somehow or other he got hold of the gun with which Cleverly killed Renee Townlee. That was his story over the phone when he talked to Helen. He offered to sell it to her for five thousand dollars, but only if she came alone. As a precaution, I had one plain-clothes man posted in the block, but he woke up too late to catch you.”

Hastings pointed an accusing finger at Paul. “You were sent there either by Cleverly, or by his gangster friend, Frenchy Peck, to kill Groh and get that gun before Helen arrived.”

“I wish I could convince you,” Paul said earnestly, “that I’m not in Cleverly’s pay, or in Frenchy Peck’s pay — and that I didn’t kill Groh. Someone shot him from the back window at the very moment that I punched him in the jaw. I swear to you that I was only trying to sell them a vacuum cleaner! If you’ll let me get to the telephone, I can have someone up here to identify me.”

He saw father and daughter exchanging significant looks.

“You know, Dad,” Helen said softly, “his story is just far-fetched enough to be true. I’m half inclined to believe him.” There was the sound of the doorbell, and she stopped. They heard Fowler’s footsteps going to answer the bell, and in a moment the square-jowled detective poked his head in the room.

“It’s Murray Gisling, the shyster mouthpiece!” he announced. “He claims you have Matt Squeer here.”

District Attorney Hastings uttered an ejaculation. Helen looked at Paul, and Paul saw all the doubt coming back into her eyes.

Hastings said, “Gisling is the lawyer for all the mobs. Frenchy Peck must have sent him. That means that you are Matt Squeer!”

Fowler said from the doorway, “Lemme take his prints and check ’em.”

From behind Fowler came a suave voice. “Ah, my dear Hastings. I see that I was well informed!”

Murray Gisling gently pushed Fowler out of the way, and came into the room. He threw one quick look at Paul Tyler, and raised his eye-brows. “Just as I thought, Squeer. They’ve been giving you the works, eh? Blood all over. Tch, tch. The judge will not like that when he sees it.”

“What judge?” demanded Hastings.

Lawyer Gisling smiled thinly. He was a heavily built man, but sleekly and extravagantly outfitted. Brown spats matched his brown shirt and tie, and the brown handkerchief in the breast pocket of his snugly fitting Chesterfield. His brown-gloved right hand twirled a gold-tipped cane dexterously.

“Well?” Hastings demanded.

“What judge? Judge Connaught, my dear Hastings.” He dipped his gloved hand into his breast pocket and drew out a legal paper which he unfolded and handed to Hastings. “I was informed that you were holding Matt Squeer here, unlawfully. So I immediately proceeded to secure a writ of habeas corpus from Judge Connaught. You will notice, my dear Hastings, that the writ commands you to produce the body of the defendant, forthwith — at the Judge’s chambers.”

Hastings glanced over the document, and grunted. “You always have a blank writ ready, and just fill it in, don’t you?”

The lawyer shrugged, his black eyes inscrutable. “I am not here to defend my actions. It is you, my dear Hastings, who must now prepare a good story. In holding Squeer in this place and third-degreeing him brutally, you have violated the law. Judge Connaught will require an adequate explanation.”

“How do you know that this man is Squeer?” Helen Hastings demanded. “Are you personally acquainted with him?”

Gisling threw another quick glance at Paul Tyler. “No, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Squeer. But it will be a real pleasure to defend him. I understand that he is wanted on a number of charges.”

“Who retained you to defend him?” Hastings asked.

Murray Gisling raised his eyebrows. “That, my dear Hastings, is a professional secret. Now I must demand that you immediately bring this man before the judge.”

Hastings sighed. “All right.” He motioned to Fowler. “Get your hat and coat. Take the prisoner down town to Judge Connaught’s chambers. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

Fowler went out to get his hat and coat, and Gisling said, “I suppose you will not object to my having a few moments talk with my client in private?”

Hastings nodded. He and Helen moved over to the far side of the room, out of earshot. Murray Gisling stepped close to Paul, dropped his voice to a whisper.