The Death Instinct

It took five.

'There,' she said, turning the terrier loose. 'All done.'

In mid-afternoon, Littlemore sat at a long table erected in the middle of the plaza, the air still thick with dust and smoke, taking statements from eyewitnesses. Two of his uniformed officers — Stankiewicz and Roederheusen — interrupted him. 'Hey, Cap,' said the former, 'they won't let us into the Treasury.'

Littlemore had instructed his men to inspect the surrounding buildings for people too injured or too dead to get out. 'Who won't?' asked Littlemore.

'Army, sir,' answered Roederheusen, pointing to the Treasury Building, on the steps of which some two hundred armed United States infantrymen had taken up positions. Another company was advancing from the south with fixed bayonets, boots trooping rhythmically on the pavement of Wall Street.

The detective whistled. 'Where'd they come from?'

'Can they order us around, Cap?' asked Stankiewicz, demonstrating a grievance by tipping back the shiny visor of his cap and sticking his chin out.

'Stanky got in a fight, sir,' said Roederheusen.

'It wasn't my fault,' protested Stankiewicz. 'I told the colonel we had to inspect the buildings, and he says, "Step back, civilian," so I says, "Who you calling civilian — I'm NYPD," and he says, "I said step back, civilian, or I'll make you step back," and then this soldier pokes his bayonet right in my chest, so I go for my gun-'

'You did not,' said Littlemore. 'Tell me you didn't draw on a colonel in the United States army.'

'I didn't draw, Cap. I just kinda showed 'em the heater — pulled back my jacket, like you taught us to. Next thing I know, a half-dozen of them are all around me with their bayonets.'

'What happened?' asked Littlemore.

'They made Stanky get on his knees and put his hands behind his head, sir,' said Roederheusen. 'They took his gun.'

'For Pete's sake, Stanky,' said Littlemore. 'How about you, Lederhosen? They take your gun too?'

'It's Roederheusen, sir,' said Roederheusen.

'They took his too,' said Stankiewicz.

'And I didn't even do anything,' said Roederheusen.

Littlemore shook his head. He handed them a stack of blank index cards. 'I'll get your guns back later. Meantime here's what you do. We need a casualty list. I want a separate card for every person. Get names, ages, occupations, addresses, whatever you-'

'Littlemore?' shouted a man's authoritative voice from across the street. 'Come over here, Captain. I need to speak with you.'

The voice belonged to Richard Enright, Commissioner of the New York Police Department. Littlemore trotted across the street, joining a group of four older gentlemen on the sidewalk.

'Captain Littlemore, you know the Mayor, of course,' said Commissioner Enright, introducing Littlemore to John F. Hylan, Mayor of New York City. Hylan's straggly, oily hair was parted in the middle; his small eyes bespoke considerable distress but no great intellectual ability. The Commissioner presented Littlemore to the other two men as welclass="underline" 'This is Mr McAdoo, who will be reporting to President Wilson in Washington, and this is Mr Lamont, of J. P. Morgan and Company. Are you sure you're all right, Lamont?'

'The window shattered right in front of us,' answered that gentleman, a diminutive well-dressed man with a nasty cut on one arm and a staggered, uncomprehending expression on his otherwise bland face. 'We might have been killed. How could this happen?'

'What did happen?' Mayor Hylan asked Littlemore.

'Don't know yet, sir,' said Littlemore. 'Working on it.'

'What are we going to do about Constitution Day?' whispered the Mayor anxiously.

'Tomorrow is September seventeenth, Littlemore — Constitution Day,' said Commissioner Enright. The Commissioner was a man of imposing and appealing girth, with abundant waves of gray hair and unexpectedly sensitive eyes. 'The celebrations were to take place right here tomorrow morning, in front of the Exchange. Mayor Hylan wants to know if the plaza will be ready by then.'

'She'll be clear by eight this evening,' said Littlemore.

'There you are, Hylan,' replied Enright. 'I told you Littlemore would get the job done. You can hold the celebration or not, just as you wish.'

'Will it be safe — safe for a large gathering?' asked the Mayor.

'I can't guarantee that, sir,' said Littlemore. 'You can never guarantee safety with a big crowd.'

'I just don't know,' replied Mayor Hylan, wringing his hands. 'Will we look foolish if we cancel? Or more foolish if we proceed?'

McAdoo answered: 'I haven't reached the President yet, but I've spoken at length with Attorney General Palmer, and he urges you to carry on. Speeches should be given, citizens should assemble — the larger the assembly, the better. Palmer says we must show no fear.'

'Fear?' asked Hylan fearfully. 'Of what?'

'Anarchists, obviously,' said McAdoo. 'But which anarchists? That's the question.'

'Let's not jump to conclusions,' said Enright.

'Palmer will give a speech himself,' said McAdoo, a handsome, slender, tight-lipped man with a fine strong nose and hair still black despite his age, 'if he arrives in time.'

'General Palmer's coming to New York?' asked Littlemore.

'I expect he'll want to head the investigation,' said McAdoo.

'Not my investigation,' said Commissioner Enright.

'There can be only one investigation,' said McAdoo.

'If we're having a big event here tomorrow morning, Mr Enright,' said Littlemore, 'we'll need extra men on the street. Three or four hundred.'

'Why — is there going to be another explosion?' exclaimed the alarmed Mayor.

'Calm down, Hylan,' said Enright. 'Someone will hear you.'

'Just a precaution, Mr Mayor,' said Littlemore. 'We don't want a riot.'

'Four hundred extra men?' said Mayor Hylan incredulously. 'At time and a half for overtime? Where's the money going to come from?'

'Don't worry about the money,' said Lamont, pulling himself to his full diminutive height. 'The J. P. Morgan Company will pay for it. We must all go about our business. We can't have the world thinking Wall Street isn't safe. It would be a disaster.'

'What do you call this?' asked Hylan, gesturing around them.

'How are your people, Lamont?' said Enright. 'How many did you lose?'

'I don't know yet,' said Lamont grimly. 'Junius — J.P. Jr's son — was right in the way of it.'

'He wasn't killed, was he?' asked Enright.

'No, but his face was a bleeding mess. There's only one thing I know for certain: the Morgan Bank will open for business as usual tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp.'

Commissioner Enright nodded. 'There we are then,' he said. 'Business is usual. That will be all, Captain Littlemore.'

When Littlemore returned to the table where his men were interviewing witnesses, Stankiewicz was waiting for him with a businessman who was sweating profusely. 'Hey, Cap,' said Stankiewicz, 'you better talk to this guy. He says he has evidence.'

'I swear to you I didn't know,' said the businessman anxiously. 'I thought it was a joke.'

'What's he talking about, Stanky?' Littlemore asked.

'This, sir,' said Stankiewicz, handing Littlemore a postcard bearing a Toronto postmark, dated September 11,1920, and addressed to George

F. Ketledge at 2 Broadway, New York, New York. The postcard bore a short message:

Greetings:

Get out of Wall Street as soon as the gong strikes at 3 o'clock Wednesday, the fifteenth. Good luck,

Ed

'You're Ketledge?' Littlemore asked the businessman. 'That's right.'

'When'd you get this?' asked Littlemore.

'Yesterday morning, the fifteenth. I never imagined it was serious.' 'Who's Ed?'