“But he failed again, father. The murder got the notoriety, but the man who planned it got — nothing. His name wasn’t mentioned in the headlines, nobody, as far as he knew, sought him. He made efforts to attract attention, and these were ignored, as far as he knew. What would you advise for a case like that, father?”
The priest looked at the companion he had brought with him, then at Captain Brady, then at Sergeant Riordan.
“You mean, my son,” he said, at length, “that the man who murdered Willard Staples did it for notoriety?”
Riordan nodded his head.
“He is insane,” said the priest. “There is nothing that can be done for him, save to lock him up for his own protection”
Riordan smiled grimly.
“I see your viewpoint, lather,” he declared, “but I don’t think you see mine. I was speaking about the man who planned the murder of Willard P. Staples—”
“He was insane, my son.”
“Possibly, father, in a way. But he didn’t carry out the plan; at least he didn’t commit the murder.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Staples isn’t dead at all. He’s sitting in that chair there beside you. He faked the whole thing, to get notoriety first, and then flattery when he returned. First he juiced his face to look like a Spaniard, then he shaved to look like somebody else.”
“You’re wrong officer,” spoke up the fourth man in the room. “You’re partly wrong, at least. You are partly right; I did crave attention, flattery, as you call it. But I didn’t simulate murder to get notoriety; I did it as a test, to see how much my fellow citizens really thought of me.”
“You found out, didn’t you?”
“As you say, officer, the apparent crime rather drew more attention than the victim.”
“I’ll say it did. And you’ll find out how much more when you come alive again. You’ll get neither flattery nor notoriety — people will laugh you out of the city.”
Staples laughed silently. “I think not, officer. You see, there is something besides myself to be considered. There is the police department. If I just ‘come alive’ again, as you say, the people will laugh at you. But if you assist me in ‘coming alive,’ we will both escape laughter. I had thought that all out.”
“Yeah? Like you thought out the meat ax you threw in the river and the old coat cut with shears, and not chopped up? Like the one footprint you hammered into the tin? Like the blood stains you made, by flicking your finger after you’d cut it? Flicked your finger, and the little drops of blood all flew out in a straight line, just like spatters from the end of a pen when a schoolboy flicks it. Thought your comeback out like that, did you?”
Mr. Staples’s demeanor was less confident.
“I had thought,” he said, “that you could announce you had discovered I wasn’t dead, but that I was held for ransom; that I’d promised the men who were going to kill me a ransom. That advertisement, you know, would look — would make that seem plausible. The advertisement didn’t say ‘dead body,’ it just said ‘body.’ You could announce you had discovered the gang’s hiding place, and had rescued me. That would stop the laughter”
“Would it? How’d we explain that we didn’t capture your abductors? Admit we let ’em get away, that we were so dumb we couldn’t get them after we got you? You got great ideas.”
Staples smiled dryly.
“Well, officer, if you don’t like that plan, I’ll just ‘come alive’ without any assistance. I guess I can stand the laughter as well as you can — probably better.”
Captain Brady leaned forward, frowning.
“Boy,” he said, “I guess he’s got us on the hook. You’ve done some fine work, boy; but I guess we got to be the goats. Staples, you’d better get out of here before I lose my self-control and beat you up for the ten days’ work you’ve given my men. I got a mind to take one good swing at you, anyway, just for luck.”
Staples, smiling satirically, rose from his chair. “You’d hardly dare hit me before witnesses,” he said.
“Sit down,” roared Riordan. “I told you you were sick in the head. I’m not half through with you yet. Maybe you’ll wish you were dead before you get out of the mess you’ve got yourself into.”
Staples, his face blanching, dropped back into his chair, and cast an appealing look at Father Callaghan.
“You’re a prisoner,” said Riordan. “Now, try and get this through your head, so you can tell your attorneys — if they care to handle your case.
“You’re under arrest first, for malicious mischief, in that you deliberately pried loose and threw into the river one window and window frame of a loft in Pier B, Ocean Terminal.
“Charge number two is violating the State law that prohibits the dumping of refuse into navigable streams, in that you dumped a lot of tin, nails, one meat ax and one old coat into the basin at the terminal. Those are both misdemeanors, and we’ll lock you up on them and book you on ’em for to-night.
“To-morrow we’ll start on you right. We’ll take your case before the district attorney and have him ask the grand jury to indict you and your man Mallory for a felony, to wit, conspiracy to defeat justice and conspiracy to manufacture false evidence.
“You told Mallory to leave that notation about ‘Pier B. Ocean Terminal’ on that sheet of Saturday the fifth undisturbed on your desk calendar until the police arrived and noted it.
“Furthermore I’m inclined to believe, and I think I can prove it when I have to, that you told Mallory you were going to try this gardener business out at the bishop’s place, and that in case of emergency you could be reached there, or at least that you could be communicated with through the bishop’s gardener.
“I’m satisfied Mallory was in on this with you, and when I get through I’m pretty sure I can prove it. How I’m going to do that isn’t for you to hear, however; I’ll tell the district attorney and the grand jury that. So that will take care of you being indicted for a felony.
“Furthermore, you have assumed another identity, and you have given the impression that you were murdered, and maybe the insurance people will find that interesting enough to take a crack at you on the grounds of attempting to deceive and collect insurance wrongfully.
“If they don’t want to do that. I’ll bet anyway they’ll cancel all your policies. That’s all I think of just now, but maybe after I see the district attorney, he’ll be able to think up some more — they say he’s a good lawyer. Now how do you like coming back to life? It’s a little different from what you figured, isn’t it?”
Staples looked down at the floor. Captain Brady walked over to the door, unlatched it, and stuck his head out, beckoning to Halloran, who was in the outer office. The big detective lurched into the room, and Brady indicated Staples with his thumb.
“You take that fellow upstairs, and lock him up,” he said. “Take him up the back way, through the drill hall. Never mind booking him just yet; I’ll attend to that later. And in about half an hour you slip down to the pressroom and tip them reporters off that Riordan has a story for ’em.”
The prisoner gone, in charge of Halloran, Father Callaghan rose and held out his hand to Sergeant Riordan.
“My son, I wish to thank you for taking a great load off my mind.”
“That’s all right, father. The best way I could see to do it was to have you bring the man in yourself, and listen to us. When you go home, tell the taxi driver that his trip is to be charged to the department. We are very much obliged to you, father, both the captain and I.”
“Boy,” said Captain Brady, after the priest had departed, “I want—”