Eric Russell: Three to Conquer

He had been the same in this respect since he’d worn rompers. Perceptive mind resented dictatorship by nonperceptive mind. To do exactly as he was told smacked of the sighted being led around by the blind.

Occasionally, he chided himself for his mutinous tendencies. Mental isolation, the lack of intimate contact with a mind similar to his own, could lead to feelings of superiority. Harper had no desire to be humble, but he had less inclination to be sat upon. He was a seeker of the middle way.

Tramping unwillingly into Ledsom’s office, he thumped himself into a seat that creaked, stared belligerently across the desk and read the other’s viewpoint as easily as an ordinary person reads a book.

“Well, here I am.”

Ledsom said pointedly, “We’re having a tape-recording this time.” Leaning sidewise, he switched on the apparatus. “Where were you the night before last?”

“At a hotel.”

“Which one?”

Harper told him.

“What time did you leave there?” Ledsom inquired.

“At nine-thirty.”

“Where did you spend the morning?”

“At the Pest Control Station.”

“Until when?”

“Close on one o’clock. I then had dinner.”

“Where?”

“At the Cathay, a Chinese restaurant.”

“With whom?”

“Nobody; I was by myself. Say, what’s behind all this?” The question was pure concealment; he could watch Ledsom’s brains fizzing.

“Never mind, Mr. Harper, just answer the questions. You have nothing to fear, have you?”

“Who hasn’t? Any minute Gabriel may blow his horn.”

“You know what I mean.” Ledsom eyed him, without the friendliness of yesterday. “At what time did you leave the Cathay?”

“About two o’clock, give or take five minutes.”

“And after that?”

“I headed for Hainesboro. I had business to do there today at the Schultz-Masters place.”

“You came this way?”

“Of course; it’s on the direct route.”

“You were passing the loop-road about when?”

“Four o’clock.”

“Now tell me exactly what happened from that point onward.”

“Oh, Lord! I gave you the whole story yesterday. You’ve got it in writing.”

“I know. And now we want it again.” Ledsom’s mind added, “A liar needs a good memory. This is where we find contradictions in his stories, if any.”

Harper went grimly through the account for the second time while the tape-recorder purred on. It was the same in all details.

“About that trick gun you’ve got,” said Ledsom. “You wouldn’t be in the habit of carrying a second one, such as a .32, would you?”

“No I wouldn’t.”

“There’s a large, deep pond in the woods about fifty yards from where Alderson was killed. Did you notice it?”

“I didn’t enter the woods.”

“Did you know of the pond’s existence?”

“No.”

“You told us you went up that road for a certain purpose. Presumably you were balked by what you discovered. Did you achieve that purpose?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“After I’d called Forst on the radio.”

“You found Alderson, called the police and then went into the woods?”

“It wasn’t necessary to go into the woods, there being no ladies present.”

Ignoring that point, Ledsom went on, “At what time did you leave your hotel yesterday morning?”

“You’ve asked that one before. Nine-thirty.”

“And you were all morning where?”

“At the Pest Control Station. If you’re trying to catch me in a contradiction, you’re wasting time and breath. We can go on this way for a week.”

“All right,” said Ledsom, changing tactics. “If you had a deal in prospect with Schultz-Masters why didn’t you go there until today?”

Harper gave a resigned sigh and said, “First, because my appointment was for today, not for yesterday. Secondly, I reached Hainesboro too late for any business calls—in fact, it was already too late when I left here.”

“That’s what interests us,” informed Ledsom, gazing at him steadily. “You’d been badly delayed by the time we finished with you. All the same, you took time off to hunt up four people in a Thunderbug. Why did you do that?”

“Alderson died in my arms; I didn’t like it.”

Ledsom winced. “Is that your only reason?”

“It’s the major one.”

“What’s the minor one?”

“My day was messed up. A couple of hours one way or the other couldn’t make any difference.”

“No other motives whatsoever?”

“One,” admitted Harper.

“Name it.”

“I got some personal satisfaction out of finding a trace on the killers myself.”

“If they were the killers,” commented Ledsom. He switched off the recorder, meditated a minute, and continued, “Up to a couple of hours ago I didn’t doubt it; now I’m not so sure.” He kept his full attention on his listener, watching for reactions. “We’re pumping out that pond. Maybe we’ll find the gun and learn who used it.”

“Meaning me?”

“I haven’t said so.”

“You’re hinting at it with every muscle in your face.” Harper made a gesture of disparagement. “I can’t blame you in the least for suspecting anyone and everyone. I could have killed Alderson; the time, the place and the opportunity all fit in. The only things lacking are the gun and the motive. You’re going to have a hell of a time tying a motive onto me. I had never seen Alderson in my life until that moment.”

“We had a senseless killing near here four years ago,” answered Ledsom. “Two brothers fell out over an incredibly trivial matter. Finally the hotter-tempered of the two killed the other, and made a very clever try at concealing his guilt by distracting attention elsewhere. He almost succeeded.”

“So I followed Alderson into a lane, stopped behind him, swapped backchat. One word led to another. Being cracked, I shot him twice, threw the gun into a pond and called you to come take a look.” Harper pulled a wry face. “Time I had my head examined.”

“I can’t afford to overlook any possibilities,” Ledsom gave back. “I’ve just asked you a lot of questions. Are you willing to take them again with a lie-detector?”

“Positively not!”

Ledsom breathed deeply and said, “You realize that we must attach a certain significance to your refusal?”

“You can tie a couple of tin cans onto it for all I care. The polygraph is an outrageous piece of pseudo-scientific bunkum and its needle-wagglings aren’t admissible as legal evidence.”

“It has helped extract a few confessions.”

“Yes, from the babes and sucklings. I am a maker of top-grade scientific instruments myself. You drag a polygraph into court and I’ll tear it to pieces for all time.”

That worried Ledsom. His thoughts revealed that he believed Harper perfectly capable of it.

“How about scopolamine?” suggested Harper, for good measure. “I’ll talk that right out of usage if you’ll give me half a chance.” He leaned forward, knowing that their respective positions were reversed, even if but momentarily. “From the criminal viewpoint, what have I got that those punks in the Thunderbug haven’t got? Do you regard them as figments of my imagination and think I’ve bribed witnesses to support my story?”

“They were real enough. We have proof of that.”

“Well, then?”

“Two hours ago we picked up the girl. Her story doesn’t jibe with yours; somebody’s a liar.”

Leaning back in his seat, Harper eyed him meditatively. “So you’ve got the girl. Is her version a trade secret?”

Ledsom thought it over and decided that there was nothing to lose. “She missed her bus, thumbed a lift. Three fellows picked her up in that green Thunderbug. They were in a humorous mood, took her a long, roundabout way and kidded her she was being kidnaped. At the filling station she really was scared; but after a bit more fooling around, they dumped her where she wanted to go. It was all a rib.”