“So what?”
“When the appeal is dismissed, he loses his opportunity to have the Supreme Court review his case.”
“Courts and lawyers!” Hendrum exclaimed in a deep, rumbling voice that indicated gathering anger. “They make me damn sick!”
“It happens that that’s the way our lives are regulated,” Clane said. “It’s the procedure by which we administer justice.”
“When you say ‘justice’,” Hendrum told him bitterly, “put it in quotes.”
“All right, I’ll put it in quotes, but It’s still our way of getting justice.”
“It’s not the only way.”
“It’s the only effective way.”
“It wasn’t very effective so far as Ed Harold was concerned.”
“He doesn’t know,” Clane said. “He didn’t try it. He quit when he was halfway through. So far, he has only the verdict of a jury.”
“And a sentence of death,” Hendrum mumbled. “Don’t forget that.”
“Have you,” Clane asked abruptly, “seen the newspaper?”
“What are you trying to do, trap me?” Hendrum asked and motioned as he spoke, almost contemptuously, toward the newspaper lying on the floor.
“George Gloster was murdered last night.”
“So I notice.”
“And when the police took fingerprints of the room in which the murder was committed, they found so many of Edward Harold’s fingerprints that the only logical conclusion is Harold has used that room as a hideout.”
“I read all that.”
“Naturally, the police are pinning this other murder on Harold.”
“Sure,” Hendrum said. “Pick on a guy when he’s down. They’ll use him for a scapegoat now. Pin every murder in the city on him. Damn it, I hope he stands up on his two feet and shoots it out with them. And I’d just as soon be...”
“Yes?” Clane asked as he ceased speaking abruptly.
“Nothing,” Hendrum said.
Clane said, “The Supreme Court Justices are not supposed to be influenced by what they read in the newspapers, but just the same, any person who is human can’t... well, he can’t refrain from being human. I think it would be an excellent thing if the newspapers within the next day or two could contain some evidence which would at least throw doubt on the police theory.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“I do. I also think it would be a good thing if Edward Harold surrendered into police custody before his appeal gets dismissed.”
“So that’s it.” Hendrum said. “That’s what you’ve been getting at. That’s the real reason for your visit here.”
“That,” Clane told him, meeting his eyes, “is the real reason for my visit here.”
“Make it rather nice for you, wouldn’t it?” Hendrum said, his eyes suddenly angry. “You come back from China all nice and smug. Your neck isn’t at stake. You aren’t on the dodge. You can take Cynthia out to dinner and the show and all that sort of stuff while Ed Harold is slinking around through the alleys. The best he can expect is an opportunity to shoot it out with the police in some dark deserted lot somewhere. Pretty soft for you.”
Clane said, “I’m trying to help your friend.”
“That’s what you say.”
Clane went on patiently, “What the newspaper doesn’t say is that there’s another clue they discovered. When they searched the place, they found a woman’s purse. And in that purse was Cynthia Renton’s driving license, cards, address book, lipstick, compact, and about twenty-five hundred dollars in currency.”
Hendrum’s eyes narrowed. “Where did they find that?”
“On a packing case in the warehouse.”
“Well,” Hendrum said, “you should know. You were there.”
“And Cynthia was there,” Clane said.
Hendrum thought that over.
“I’d like to find something that would help Harold,” Clane went on. “I think there is something in the evidence that might help him.”
“What, for instance?”
Clane said, “There’s a diagram of the room where the body was found, in the newspaper.”
“All right. So what?”
“There was an open window on the south. Police found footprints under that window where someone had apparently jumped out. Then that person ran across some moist ground and left the footprints which the police lost on pavement about fifty or sixty feet on beyond. The footprints all went directly away from the building.”
“All right.”
“On the other hand,” Clane said, “when I went to the place, the building was all dark.”
“Yeah, when you went to it,” Hendrum said. “Funny that you happened to be there at just that time.”
“I had an appointment with Gloster.”
“I understand that’s your story.”
Clane said, “Cynthia Renton was with me. I couldn’t very well account for her presence, so I just didn’t tell the officers about her being there. Now they’ve found her purse and that complicates the situation.”
“You mean Cynthia was with you all the time?”
“Yes.”
“That gives you an alibi, doesn’t it?”
“If I wanted to use it.”
“Well, why don’t you?”
“Because I didn’t tell the officers about her being along. I neglected to mention it. If I should change my story at this date, it would make things a little difficult.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
“For Cynthia?”
“Probably not. She’s in as deep as she can get right now.”
“I see,” Hendrum said with heavy sarcasm. “You want me, as a friend of Ed’s, to get him to surrender to the police so it will put you off the spot.”
“Don’t be silly. Whether he surrenders will have nothing to do with what I tell the police. The point I’m getting at is that the place was dark when I arrived. The footprints out of the open window were probably Edward Harold’s. The only light switch in the place is at the north end of the room. Gloster was shot with a very well-placed bullet. Obviously, the person who shot that bullet had to see what he was shooting at. There is every evidence that the bullet was fired from the north side of the room.
“The person who turned out the lights had to be standing at the north side of the room. Therefore, if Ed Harold killed Gloster while standing at the north side of the room when the bullet was fired, he had to turn out the lights, then go across the room in the dark, jump out of the open window and run away. That’s hardly the natural or logical thing for him to have done.”
“Don’t talk to me about Ed Harold’s killing him. He didn’t.”
“I’m simply reconstructing what happened and showing you how the police theory simply can’t hold together.”
“Don’t you suppose the police have sense enough to know that?”
“Yes.”
“What’s their idea in advancing such a theory, then?”
“It might be bait for a trap.”
“To trap whom?”
“The murderer.”
“You?” Hendrum asked.
“The police probably aren’t worrying about who walks into their trap. They’re busy baiting it.”
Hendrum was interested now. “Go ahead. Let’s hear the rest of it.”
“Of course,” Clane said, “Ed Harold could have shot Gloster from the north side of the room. Then he ran down to the south side, jumped out of the open window, and made his escape. If it had happened that way, it would have been because there was someone outside whom he didn’t want to meet, someone who was on the north side of the building.”
“Then how did the lights get turned off?”