J. Fletcher - The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 5, No. 1 — April 1922)

If this description of Rita’s immediate reaction is a bit incoherent, it is because her thoughts and acts were incoherent. Frenzy, exhilaration, amazement, cold dread, rage, bewilderment, all these sensations were hers. Then, collapse — Nature’s method of procuring a period of rest for an exhausted body and mind.

When she recovered, she found herself being supported by Rudie Breen.

“If you don’t mind, Chief,” Rudie was saying, “I'll stand. She can have my chair.”

No objection was raised. Rudie Breen led her to the seat he had occupied.

The man at the table turned to Rita. “This room is practically sound proof,” he said. “You may scream to your heart’s delight.” Then addressing the men, “I have called you together to consider the case of Miss Marguerite Cornell, sister of Captain James Cornell of whose — disposal — you are all acquainted. Miss Cornell is responsible for the arrest of Iglano, Geiger and Ashley; she worked in conjunction with Sergeant Nevins.”

He paused. “If — if Miss Cornell were a — man — the matter would, of course, be simple. But both because of her sex and her evident connection with the police, I have called you in conference, as I did when the fate of her brother was agreed upon. Miss Cornell must, in some manner be — removed — or eliminated as a factor in the war being waged against us by the authorities.”

The Chief paused and calmly lighted a cigar.

“A few months ago,” spoke up Wortz, “I volunteered my services as — eliminator. But, of course, if you’re against hurting a woman—”

“I am against nothing. If a majority decides in favor of — blotting her out — so be it. I insist only upon a safe method.”

Frank Yost, leader of the dips, put in a word. Yost, it must be said, had been out of town the greater part of the last six months; he was not “up” on all the incidents of Rita’s career. “Who got this girl in with—?”

“I did,” interrupted Rudie Breen.

“You’re some fathead, I’ll chirp,” said Yost.

Breen disregarded the comment. Slowly he turned his head to Rita. And looking up, she saw his eyes half-close and his lips twitch into a faint, brief smile. And after that, somehow, she was certain, absolutely certain that she had one friend in the crowd.

“The blame isn’t Rudie Breen’s,” explained the Chief. “For your benefit, Yost, and also for the girl’s — I take it she’s interested — I’ll clean up the details of her breaking in’ with us.

“A few weeks after we settled James Cornell, there was a raid on the Bird’s-Eye. Rudie Breen had struck up a chance friendship with this girl, who was in the hall and who passed under the name of Rita Daly. While the search was going on, Miss Cornell slipped into the barroom and turned off the lights that enabled Larry Harker, who was in the place with several thousand dollars worth of snow — I believe you know gentleman, where we keep it — to get away. The girl told Breen she had crossed the cops because she had a private quarrel with them.

“Well — she certainly saved us a lot of trouble that night. I became interested in her through Breen and a letter from Creighton, manipulated her into my employ as secretary — I was selling mine stock in the Trinidad Building at the time.

“Then, with Breen, she tried to steal a letter from me and blackmail me. That, gentlemen, showed her intelligence — intelligence, that is, from our point of view. Well, I had worked the mine game to the limit and wanted to disappear anyhow — so Breen and I staged a murder. He killed me when I surprised him at my safe, see? He used a ‘property knife’ — a knife whose silvered wooden blade can be pressed up into its handle which is filled with red ink. The blade thus became stained red — and so did my shirt front. After I was dead, he sent her out of the office and the next day he told her he had disposed of my body with Creighton’s help.

“That stunt served several purposes. I disappeared; I had the chance to observe Miss Cornell during a trying moment, and by bluffing her into believing she had been in on a murder, I got a grip on her. Is that clear?

“Well — I decided she had the courage, the wit and the — attractiveness to be useful to us. The Creightons took her in. Then she somehow tipped off Nevins about Geiger. We allowed her a free reign, but James at headquarters kept an eye on Nevins and ran down his history. He found that Nevins had been a friend of James Cornell and was engaged to Cornell’s sister Marguerite. We looked up Marguerite and found she was missing from her home. We got several good descriptions of her — and these descriptions tallied with the appearance of Rita Daly!

“James phoned that news to me this evening. Later, he phoned again and said that Nevins would raid Wortz at nine. I called up Wortz’s place and had them all come here and bring the girl with them. Then I sent for the rest of you. That is all, gentlemen.”

Rudie Breen cleared his throat. “Since, after all, I was the sap who nearly queered this gang by picking up the girl, why not let me square myself with the gang by relieving you gentlemen of any trouble in regard to her — blotting out?”

They considered the proposition. “If Iglano were out,” said Harker, “he could manage it neatly. But with him in J—”

The door bell rang.

They were in a room from whose windows a person at the front door could not be seen. After a moment’s silence, Bradshaw instructed the butler, “Run down, Benny, and see who it is.”

Benny went out of the room and left the door leading to the hall open. The others heard him go down the stairway. Then the house door was opened, and then closed again with a bang. There came a crash of broken glass, then two shots, then faintly, Benny’s voice, “Cops!”

Instantly everyone in the room jumped to his feet. During the commotion, Rudie Breen edged Rita toward the door, keeping himself between her and the others.

Bradshaw waved his men back and snarled, “Another squeal! Well, Miss Cornell, this is your last.” He drew his gun and leveled it.

The somewhat muffled report of an exploded cartridge followed. Bradshaw pitched forward on his face, blood pouring from a hole in his forehead.

Rudie Breen, smiling the inevitable cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, had fired from his coat pocket and he had hit his mark. And this time it was not a stage killing.

Oaths, exclamations from the others. Everyone drew, but Creighton fired first. Breen, still smiling, crumpled silently to the floor.

In the confusion, Rita had run from the room. Fleeing down the stairs, she tripped and fell, which was a fortunate accident. Creighton had followed her into the hall; his bullet sped harmlessly over her head.

The next shot was fired by Sergeant Alan Nevins, who was leading the raiders up the stairway. His bullet bored through the body of Creighton, just over the heart.

Yost and Harker put up a fight and had to be shot into submission. (Neither of them was seriously wounded.) The others, finding themselves outnumbered, surrendered.

Rita came to in the arms (naturally) of Nevins. She at once staggered to her feet, climbed unsteadily up the stairway, ran into the room and fell down beside the body of Rudie Breen.

She took his head in her lap. “Rudie! Rudie! I’m calling you!”

Rudie opened his eyes. “I–I hope I’ve squared it with you, Miss Cornell for—”

“I forgive you, boy! I wanted you to know I forgive you!”

“Thanks — that’s — nice of you — Miss Cornell.”