Dan and the Death-Cell Bluff

Dan awakened with his head in a lap and with soft arms around his neck. He looked up blearily at Adele Hudson’s face just as a drop of warm salt water landed on his nose.

“What are you crying about?” he asked thickly. “I’m the one who got belted.”

Her arms tightened convulsively. “Oh, Dan! I thought you were dead.”

The big man disengaged her arms and rose to his feet. She too rose from her seated position on the floor.

“You’re a nice kid, Adele,” he said gently.

Her face flaming, she turned abruptly and walked to the window.

Gingerly he fingered the lump behind his ear, then prodded one finger along the base of his jaw. “What happened to my guest?”

With her back still to him, she said, “Big Jim? He and that lieutenant he owns left right after they knocked you out. Big Jim had a paper in his hand and seemed pleased about something.”

Quickly Dan’s hand darted to his inside coat pocket and came out empty. “Now he knows what a liar I am,” he said ruefully. “That paper was signed by the governor, but all it said was that I was authorized to reinvestigate the circumstances of George Saunders’ death, and requested the local police to cooperate.”

The girl turned to face him. “What are you going to do now?”

The big man ignored her question. He was thoughtfully regarding the baseboard near his bed, against which he had apparently fallen when slugged by Big Jim, for the bed was pushed to one side. Dropping to his hands and knees, he studied the small microphone curiously. Then, placing his lips close to it, he suddenly emitted an ear-splitting shriek.

Through the wall to the room next door, they could distinctly hear a startled curse.

Grinning, Dan moved the bed back in place while the girl regarded him open-mouthed. “Just mark it up that I’m crazy,” he said. “Got a car?”

She shook her head.

“Then we’ll rent one. It’s twenty miles to the state prison, and I want to visit Gene Robinson.”

Crossing to the phone, he called the state capitol and arranged for permission to visit the prisoner in death row. The assistant state’s attorney said he would phone the warden immediately, so that Dan and Adele would be expected when they arrived.

The red tape disposed of, they walked three blocks to the nearest car rental, where Dan managed to obtain a 1948 Buick that seemed to be in excellent condition.

As they pulled away from the garage, Dan said casually, “Don’t look around, but we’re being followed.”

Adele caught her breath. In spite of the warning, she half turned, but settled front again when the big man frowned at her.

“Big Jim?” she asked.

“Not personally. Probably a stooge. A short, heavy-set man in a plaid suit. Bald-headed. Looks like a salesman. I thought I noticed him watching us when we crossed the hotel lobby. He rented a Lincoln and pulled out right behind us.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Dan said. “Let him follow.”

During the twenty mile trip to the state prison, Dan made no attempt to shake the Lincoln, but kept his car at an even fifty-five most of the way, and dropping to forty over the short stretch of mountain road marking the halfway point. In the rearview mirror he could see the other car maintained an even hundred yard interval. But when they stopped before the prison gates, the Lincoln rolled on past without slackening speed. Seconds later a battered sedan driven by a little man in a worn seersucker suit flashed by in the wake of the Lincoln.

As the assistant state’s attorney had promised, the warden was expecting them. Greeting them courteously, he turned them over to the assistant warden, who in turn left them with the chief guard in that section of the prison containing the death house. Here Dan was relieved of his gun before he and Adele were led hack to the somber death row.

The long corridor leading to the execution chamber contained four cells, but only one was occupied. Gene Robinson lay on a hunk reading the Saturday Review of Literature, while immediately outside his cell a yawning suicide guard sat on a straight-backed chair trying to keep awake.

Robinson was a slim, graceful man with even, almost pretty features and a pencilline mustache. He had the longest eyelashes Dan Fancy had ever seen on a man.

When he saw Adele, he smiled a dazzling white smile, rose from his bunk and said, “Hello, dear. It was good of you to come.”

Like welcoming her to a tea, Fancy thought. He waited while Adele offered a dutiful kiss through the bars, and frowned slightly when the condemned man accepted the offer with a reserved reluctance indicating he considered it not quite in good taste to demonstrate affection in front of strangers.

Gene Robinson was a curious man. He seemed not in the slightest degree worried, and his manners were impeccably correct.

“My name is Dan Fancy,” the big man rumbled. “I’m a private investigator, and I’ve been engaged to get you out of this spot.”

Robinson raised one eyebrow. “By whom, please?”

“Your father.”