Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

Defenders of the Law by Mansfield Scott

This story began in Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction for August 27

An occultist prophesied his death at the wheel, so he defied it everywhere else: at each turn he flirted with the grim specter.

Chapter XLIII The Man in the Gray Coat

The buzzer on Steele’s desk sounded twice. He took up the telephone.

“Steele speaking.”

A quiet, deep voice answered. “This is District Attorney O’Neil.”

“Oh, yes! Good afternoon, Mr. O’Neil.”

“A matter has come to my attention which I think may interest you. A man identified as Charles F. Drohan, a well-known bootlegger and gangster, died at the City Hospital this morning from hydrophobia, caused by having had his hand bitten by a dog. He made a number of statements which were taken down and sent to my office. In these statements are unmistakable references to the death of Stone.”

“Indeed?” said the head of the agency, with quick interest.

“The man also mentioned your name, Mr. Steele; and, although much of this is incoherent and is evidently in reference to some money he had upon his person, it occurs to me that it might mean more to you than it does to me. I am sending a copy over to you.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. O’Neil.”

“Drohan evidently believed that he was talking to some one whose name was Artie,” the public prosecutor added. “You don’t know of any gangster whose first name is Arthur who was in the cabaret on the night of the crime?”

“Artie—” Steele repeated thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I do.”

“Well, I’ll send the paper over. If anything does occur to you, I’d like to hear from you, as I am very anxious to throw some light on that crime.”

The private investigator thanked him.

In the morning the statements arrived at the office of the agency. Steele examined them in his inner room for more than an hour, and also read the short newspaper account of how Drohan had been found stricken. At eleven o’clock he went out and drove in his gray roadster to station ten, where he learned that Officer Barnes would be on duty on his regular route during the first half of the night.

Returning to his office after luncheon, Steele called the State’s prosecutor.

“Steele, of the National Detective Agency,” he told the secretary.

“Yes, Mr. Steele?” the district attorney answered presently.

“Mr. O’Neil, I have examined Drohan’s statements very carefully. I am not sure how much help they will provide in the Stone case, but there are certain references which should be kept from reaching any of the other gangsters. I—” He hesitated. “What do you think the chances are of keeping the contents of the paper from reaching them?”

“What do you mean?” asked O’Neil, slightly puzzled.

“Well, it is of the utmost importance that the Castle gangsters be kept from learning what Drohan said. In fact, it may possibly be a life or death matter, involving a man who has obtained evidence against them. Do you think it likely that any one at the hospital has talked?”

“As to that, I can’t say, Mr. Steele. I suppose Drohan’s family or friends have taken the body, and they may have asked some questions. I’ll send my officer right over there this afternoon, to caution the physicians and nurses that they shouldn’t say anything about the statements.”

This, the investigator felt, was none too reassuring, but it seemed the best that could be done. His manner was grave as he hung up the receiver.

Important matters were awaiting his attention. One was directly connected with the Harrison case. He touched a button and summoned Thompson to the room.

“I want you and Brown to go to court at once about that Edwards warrant. Call at police headquarters first, and ask for Special Officer Bennett.”

“We... we didn’t get any more evidence, sir—” the operative ventured.

“No, I understand that. Present what you have.”

The two young detectives went immediately to headquarters, where they found Bennett, the leader of the raiding squad, and explained that Steele desired to have a warrant sworn out for the arrest of a man on a liquor complaint. As liquor prosecutions were part of Bennett’s duty, he consented to go to court with them and to take charge of the warrant.

Judge Epstein was sitting when the operatives gave their testimony. Edwards, named in the document as “John Doe,” had been keeping and selling liquor in one of the best residential districts, and Steele’s concern had been engaged by several citizens to prosecute him. But the magistrate refused to grant the warrant, stating that there was not sufficient evidence.

“I told the boss we didn’t have enough!” Thompson fumed, as they left the courthouse.

He turned to Bennett. “We’ll have to see what Mr. Steele wants us to do—”

“All right,” the raiding officer agreed. “Tell him I’m ready whenever he is.”