John Baer - The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 5, No. 5 — August 1922)

He dodged into the shadow and turned into the alley. Behind him he could hear the policeman hammering on the office door with his night stick. From two blocks down street came the sound of another whistle. In the distance a third shrilled, proving that reinforcements were on the way.

Mrs. Duncan was sleeping soundly when he arrived home after a round-about trip through alleys and side streets. Letting himself into the house with his pass key, he hastily sought the security of his own room.

So far as he knew no one had seen him either going to the factory nor leaving it. But, God! What a fizzle he had made of the affair. And there was blood on his hands — the blood of poor old Judkins. What had he gained? Nothing — absolutely nothing.

He paced the floor, every nerve tingling. He wondered... Poor old Judkins... And he had a crippled wife, too... With Judkins gone she would have to go to the poorhouse... It was something that he had not foreseen.

He was still pacing the floor when the sun came up in the east. In the other room he heard Mrs. Duncan getting up. In less than two hours he would have to go to the office. Of course no one would suspect him, but—

He could hear Mrs. Duncan rattling the pots and pans in the kitchen when the door bell rang. He opened the bedroom door a crack and peeped through as she answered the summons. A gruff voice was asking for him. He heard her admit the visitors — there seemed to be two of them — then she called shrilly up the stairway for him.

He knew that they were detectives from their heavy tread. They were after him for killing Judkins. His brain was in a whirl. Yet he wondered how it happened that they associated him with the crime. He had been so careful, too. Probably he had dropped something in his mad rush to the outer door.

He could never face the music... And Mrs. Duncan! What would she say? He couldn’t tell her that he had gone to the office to rob the vault for her sake and had made a failure... The gun lay in the bureau drawer where he had tossed it. He picked it up and broke it open. The chambers were all empty. He had used every cartridge in killing poor old Judkins...

From downstairs came a buzz of conversation. Mrs. Duncan shrieked... He heard his own name mentioned... God! They had told her what he had done!... He must move rapidly.

His glance fell upon a bottle of carbolic acid... Mrs. Duncan was at the bottom of the stairway now, shrieking his name... He placed the bottle to his mouth and emptied it at a gulp!... With the fiery liquid eating into his vitals — his throat afire — he reeled across the room and tumbled in a heap upon the bed...

Outside, Mrs. Duncan was pounding at his door.

“Amos! Wake up!” she was shouting between sobs — for Mrs. Duncan was a hysterical woman — “an awful thing’s happened. There are two detectives here. Old man Judkins went home sick from the factory last night and while he was gone somebody broke into the office! The robbers had a fight ’cause one of them was found dead when the police broke in after hearing the shots!

“Enright, the cashier, is out of town and they want you to come down and open the vault and see if anything is gone. Oh, isn’t it awful?

“Amos, why don’t you answer?”

The steak was ordered well done and the waiter served it rare. This incident gave the initial impetus to a most terrible catastrophe. That so small a matter could lead to such appalling results was due entirely to the character and temperament of Ralph Kremp.

That young man was of the hyperneurotic, tempestuous type. That is, he was easily excitable and given to acting on impulse rather than on reason. Little provocation was needed to drive him into a rage. His temper once aroused, soon got beyond his control and frequently led him into deeds of passion and even violence. His anger at times was sustained through protracted periods, a feature which sometimes induced those with whom he came in contact on such occasions to doubt his sanity.

The affair in the restaurant was characteristic. Kremp made a caustic remark concerning the waiter’s attentiveness. The waiter who was an extra, and indifferent to the prospect of losing his job, commented slurringly on the fastidiousness of diners who “couldn’t tell a sirloin steak from an oyster fry anyway.”

A less combative person would probably have reported the waiter to the management. Ralph Kremp began a spirited denunciation and in his excitement he rose from his chair. The waiter a bit frightened, put out a hand as in a calming gesture. His movement was a trifle too hurried and forceful. He had the ill-fortune to touch Kremp on the chest while he was slightly off balance. The light push was sufficient to upset Kremp altogether and to topple him back into his chair. It was a ludicrous fall and caused several Other diners to laugh.

That was the spark which ignited the consuming flame of Kremp’s fury. He seized a heavy water tumbler and hurled it at the waiter. The aim was a trifle high. The glass tore a piece from the waiter’s scalp. A few women screamed, several men jumped up and other waiters came running from different directions.

Kremp threw himself in a low tackle at the object of his wrath. They hit the floor together and rolled around. Fists, elbows, knees and feet were used as weapons. A table was overturned. The struggle continued beneath the debris.

The waiter eventually fought himself free. He staggered to his feet and retreated. Kremp attempted to renew the assault but was set upon by several diners and restaurant employees. With a madman’s strength he tried to fight them off. Before he was finally subdued, two waiters and three diners bore unmistakable marks of severe maltreatment. In the confusion someone had telephoned to the police. Kremp and the waiter were placed under arrest.

At the police station Kremp affected great indignation and was insulting in his manner and language to the lieutenant. He claimed to be connected with one of the best families in the city. He demanded the privilege of calling up Mr. Walter Boyer on the phone. Walter Boyer, he bragged, was his cousin and he had pull enough to break any man on the force. None of the officers appeared to worry any over the threat of being broken. Nevertheless the mention of Boyer’s name did create something of a stir. The Boyers were shipbuilders, multi-millionaires and for several generations prominent in the social and political life of the city.

Owing to Kremp’s extreme nervousness and agitation, he could not control his voice. He was finally compelled to request the lieutenant to speak for him.

The lieutenant spoke for some five minutes and then listened for some twenty seconds. Then turning to Kremp, he said:

“Mr. Boyer asked me to tell you that he thinks you are a lunatic and that he has tired of helping you out of your foolish scrapes.”

Kremp was found guilty of disorderly conduct and sentenced to six months. Thus his exaggerated ego was humiliated beyond forgetting or forgiving. He suffered all the persecutory delusions of a madman. He imagined the Boyer family to be the central moving figure in the conspiracy against him. Every day he hated the Boyers more till at length he could think of nothing but revenge.

And in his anger and hate he accomplished that which in his saner moments had been beyond him. His entire character seemed to change. Formerly irritable and irascible, he now became patient and forbearing. This change was his first step in his yet indefinite plan for vengeance.

Kremp’s mother had been the sister of the older Boyer. After she died Boyer’s sons and Kremp were the only blood relatives.

Old Mr. Boyer accepted Kremp’s postures of repentance as being sincere. After Kremp had behaved himself for three months after his release, Boyer offered him a clerical position. When Kremp made good at the work, the old gentleman again invited his nephew to his home. It was then that Kremp’s criminal plans began to assume a definite outline.