Judgment Day
Slowly the Scar’s powerful hand tightened around de Gaul’s scrawny gun-wrist. He could feel the muscles tense convulsively.
“It won’t do any good to pull the trigger,” the Scar said placidly. “Your gun’s empty. Another little detail we attended to.”
De Gaul drew back in horror. The Scar quickly slapped the gun from the man’s hand, sent it spinning across the floor. He grabbed the missioner by the throat.
“Now start talking!”
“But the medallion!” de Gaul choked out, twisting and squirming frantically to look at the clock. Never for an instant did he pause in his mad search through his clothing for that loaded medallion. His eyes were wild with terror. “Where is it? Where is it?”
“You can’t do this,” Griffin shouted harshly.
“Stay out of it, Cap!” Tommy Pedlar warned.
He had retrieved the gun which the Scar batted out of de Gaul’s hand. He trained it on the detective-captain.
“That thing’s not loaded,” Griffin snorted, advancing.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Cap,” Tommy said.
“We didn’t even know he had a revolver,” the Scar added. “Now be nice, Captain, and stand back.”
“But that medallion!” Griffin cried. “It’ll go off. I can’t let you kill him, even if he is a murderer.”
“That little matter is up to de Gaul!” the Scar shot back.
The missioner was tearing at his garments, trying to get them off his shivering body while his eyes were riveted on the clock. Only two minutes left! He fell to his knees, pleading, sobbing, still clawing.
“Where is it?” he panted. “Where is it?”
The Scar reached down, yanked the whimpering man to his feet and pinioned his hands at his sides so he could no longer tear at his clothes.
“Start talking!”
“All right, all right — I’ll talk!” de Gaul blurted out. “I did kill them. Josef Small and his wife bought those deeds from a couple of swindlers when they first came from Italy. They paid every penny they had in the world for the property — over three thousand dollars. Then they learned it was nothing but marshlands, in some places six feet underwater. It broke the old man’s heart, but he refused to give up the deeds.
“No one else knew he had them. I was the only one he ever told. He and his wife trusted me. When he was dying, he called for me. He gave me these deeds to hold for his wife. In his delirium he believed they’d some day turn into something worthwhile.”
De Gaul glanced frantically at the clock, struggling to get his hands free to search again for that deadly coin. Only a minute and a half to go!
He doubled the speed of his words. “Neither Small nor his wife could read or write, so they didn’t have any way of knowing about the beach project, that the city was trying to locate the deeds, or what they were worth. Soon as I saw them, I realized it was the chance I’ve waited for all my life — a chance to get out of these slums and be rich! I offered to buy the deeds from Mrs. Small.
“She wouldn’t sell. She said she didn’t want to go against her husband’s dying wish. Well, I–I gave her one of the loaded medallions. I told her to wear it close to her heart and no harm could come to her. The last time I saw her alive, she had tucked the medallion inside her blouse and was going home.”
“What about John Murdock?”
De Gaul’s face was so wet with perspiration, it looked as if someone had thrown a glass of water at him.
One more minute!
In shaken tones he explained that he had hired Farrar to kill John Murdock. Farrar had split the fee with Punchy Gus Martin. The rest of the story followed as the Scar had figured it.
De Gaul had grown frightened when he learned the ring had been pawned. He went to Condor. He had done favors for the gang leader in the past. The mission cellar made an excellent spot to hide out fugitive members of the mob. He offered Condor a percentage of the deeds in return for help.
Farrar was sent to Red Point to be out of the way until things blew over, but he was getting restless and starting to ask too many questions.
“Farrar already had one of my medals, but it wasn’t hard to convince him to take another,” de Gaul rattled off as the minutes on the big clock ticked away his life. “His pockets were always filled with horseshoes and rabbits’ feet and all kinds of good luck charms. I told him he needed protection in such a desolate spot and that two medallions would keep him twice as safe, especially if he wore them next to his heart.”
“But if it takes only twenty minutes for a medallion to go off,” Griffin cut in, “how could de Gaul possibly get it to Red Point? It takes at least half an hour to get there from here.”
“He carried it in dry ice,” the Scar said. “I found the stuff melting under the window of the shack, but I didn’t understand its significance till later.”
“The medallion — the medallion — where is it?” de Gaul blubbered. “Only half a minute left!”
“Just one thing I don’t clearly understand,” said the Scar calmly. “How did you get the gang to Wisply’s so quickly?”
“Lieutenant Riordon didn’t hold Condor. Condor argued his way out and came in right after you left here. He found me in the closet. I told him he could get you at Wisply’s. He sent his boys. He had come to settle with me for killing Farrar in his shack, but he was more concerned with establishing an alibi in case you got away, so he went back to the club.
“It wasn’t until things started to pop again, after you went to Korpuli’s and grabbed Sleepy Harry, that he came back here. He claimed I tried to frame him, that the whole business was causing him too much trouble. He said he was going to take the deeds and keep everything for himself. I wasn’t giving them up. While he was hitting me, I slipped a loaded medallion into his pocket. The minute he left, I went to the station house.”
The wall clock showed there were only ten seconds remaining. De Gaul was on the verge of fainting. His face was as immobile as any dead man’s and his words scarcely distinguishable as he gasped out:
“Where’s the medallion?”
The Purple Scar looked down at him with contempt.
“I’m only sorry I can’t tell you there really is a medallion in your clothes.”
De Gaul froze with a new kind of terror.
“You mean—”
“I mean I drowned the lot of them in a pail of water in the cellar and you just wrote your own death warrant!”
With one quick shove, he sent de Gaul reeling backward into Griffin’s grasp. The captain quickly summoned his men from outside and turned de Gaul over to them.
“You can take Korpuli with you,” Griffin told his charges. “Accessory after the fact. And let’s see you worm yourself out of this one, Mister Korpuli!”
“Unfortunately your insurance policy racket is just within the law, Wisply, and there isn’t a lot we can do about it right now,” said the Scar. “But for once in your life you can serve humanity by appearing as State’s witness against these two rats.”
Wisply sniffed curtly as he went out, but there wasn’t any doubt in anyone’s mind that he’d be there at the trial.
After the hall was clear and Griffin, Tommy Pedlar and the Scar were alone, Miles Murdock peeled off the scarred mask.
“How the devil did you know it was de Gaul?” Griffin asked.
Doc smiled. “First there was the episode I spoke about at Wisply’s. With the possible exception of Wisply, no other person except de Gaul knew I was there. Second, the alibi that de Gaul thought was airtight — being at Headquarters when Condor was killed — boomeranged. If he had really wanted to report the Scar’s visit, he wouldn’t have waited several hours.