Eric Russell: Three to Conquer

“And what about Alderson?”

“She saw nothing of him, knows nothing about him.”

“But he chased that car.”

“I know. The girl says the blond fellow drove like a maniac, for no reason other than the hell of it, so maybe Alderson never caught up with them.”

“You believe that yarn?”

“I don’t believe any story without satisfactory evidence in support. But hers casts grave doubt upon yours.”

“All right. I know you’re going to check on mine. Check on hers, too, and see if it stands up.”

“We’ve already made a partial check on both of you, and we’re going to finish the job as soon as possible. The girl doesn’t know the names of the three fellows or anything else about them that we hadn’t already found out. She didn’t notice the number of the car. Having suffered nothing, she had no reason to grab the number.”

“That’s a big help.”

“But the rest looks convincing,” said Ledsom. “She is a girl of excellent reputation, coming from a highly respected family. She left home when she says she did, missed the bus she says she missed and was seen by two witnesses being offered a lift. She arrived at her destination at the time she states, and can prove it.”

“Those fellows took her a long way round?”

“Yes. They were feeling their oats.”

“Nice way of accounting for lost time, such as that involved in stopping, shooting, starting and getting away.”

“Look, Mr. Harper, it’s almost twenty-four hours since Alderson was shot down. All we’ve got are you and this girl; all I know is that somebody used a gun and somebody’s telling lies.”

“If that girl is telling the truth, which I beg leave to doubt,” ventured Harper, “there’s only one solution. A third party is wandering loose, untraced, unsuspected and laughing up his sleeve.”

“There’s not the slightest evidence of it.” Ledsom hesitated, then went on, “I wouldn’ dream of chewing the fat with you in this manner if it wasn’t that your home town law gave you a very big hand. That sort of thing counts with me.”

“I suppose so.”

’Therefore, I’ll tell you something more. The three fellows don’t tally with any trio released or escaped from prison this year.”

“How about the military prisons? That old bird at the filling station thought they might be wearing altered uniforms.”

“There is no military, naval or airforce uniform corresponding with that description.”

“Not in this country. Maybe they were foreigners.”

“The girl says not. They spoke the language as only we can speak it and knew the country like the backs of their hands.”

“Have you asked the authorities whether they know of any uniform that does correspond?”

“No. The girl agrees that their clothes had a sort of official look, and thinks they were wearing army disposal stuff dyed green. If so, we’ve poor chance of tracing it. Ex-army jackets have been thrown on the market by the thousands.”

“How about their car? You thought it might be stolen.”

“To date, we’ve pulled in reports of ten missing in various parts of the country. Four of them are green. We have urgent calls out for those four numbers; no luck so far.” He gazed morbidly through an adjacent window. “Anyway, they may have resprayed it and changed the tags. Or it may be legitimately owned. Or it may be a rented car. The Thunderbug is a popular make; it would take months to check all sales and rentals from coast to coast.”

Harper thought it over and said, “Well, you’ll know it if ever you lay hands on it. You have a tire-cast, and that’s something.”

“Doesn’t follow it’s one of theirs. Anybody could have gone up that lane anytime the same day. All we’ve discovered is that it doesn’t belong to any logging vehicle. Neither do those three fellows answer the descriptions of any logging company’s employees, past or present.”

“No matter what that girl says, I still think they’re the boys you want.”

“The girl was an unwilling witness in that event. She wasn’t a guilty party, so why should she cover up for a bunch of strangers?”

“Maybe they weren’t strangers,” Harper offered.

“What d’you mean?”

“It doesn’t follow that because they gave her a lift they must have been unknown to her.”

“She swears she didn’t know them from Adam.”

“You could bet on her saying that—if one of them happened to be a crazy boy friend, or a shiftless relative.”

“H’m!” Ledsom viewed this as remotely possible, but rather unlikely.

“If she’s telling lies about a murder, she must have a very strong reason. Perhaps she’s been intimidated.”

“Wrong guess,” snapped Ledsom, positively. “I’ve been in this game a long time and I can tell when a suspect is secretly afraid.”

“I’m a suspect, too—a bigger and better one, to judge by what’s happening right now. Think I’m scared?”

“No,” admitted Ledsom.

“I ought to be-if I did it. But I didn’t.”

“Somebody did. We know that much.” Ledsom studied him levelly. “I can hold you for twenty-four hours, and I’d do it if I had a fair chance of pinning something on you by then. But it’s going to take that long to empty the pond, so you can go. God help you if we salvage a gun traceable to you.”

Harper departed, feeling distinctly surly, and made the long drive home in ruminating silence.

He had a small plant, employing six myopic but deft-fingered men. There was an office barely large enough to hold his desk and that of a secretary cum stenographer cum telephone operator. This person, Moira, was three inches taller than himself and about half the width. Cupid couldn’t lug a ladder into the room and that fact suited Harper.

Seated at his desk, he was examining a set of miniscule glass forceps under a powerful magnifier when Riley opened the door and took the two steps necessary to reach the middle. His plainclothes effectively advertised him as a cop in disguise.

“’Morning, Lieutenant,” greeted Harper, glancing up momentarily before returning attention to the task in hand.

“’Morning, Neanderthal.” There being no extra chair, or space for one, Riley hooked a thick leg over a desk comer and rested himself as best he could. He bent forward to stare through the magnifier. “Beats me how paws so thick and hairy can fiddle with stuff that size.”

“Why not? You pick your teeth, don’t you?”

“Leave my personal habits out of this.” Riley’s eyes became accusing. “Let’s discuss some of yours.”

Harper sighed, fitted the forceps into a velvet-lined case and placed it in a drawer. He shoved the magnifier to one side, looked up.

“Such as what?”

“Being around when things happen.”

“Can I help it?”

“I don’t know; sometimes I wonder. It’s mighty queer the way you latch onto this and that.”

“Be specific,” Harper invited.

“We’ve had a call. Fellow wants to know if you’re still around. And if not, why not.”

“All right, I’m still around. Go tell him.”

“I wanted to know why he wanted to know,” said Riley, pointedly.

“And he told you; he said it isn’t in the mud.”

“Mud? What mud?”

“At the bottom of the pond.” Harper grinned up fit him. “He also asked whether I’m known to own a .32.”

“You’re right; it was Captain Ledsom. He gave me the details from first to last.”

“Whereupon you solved the whole case for him,” suggested Harper. “Two minds being better than one.”

“ You are going to solve it,” said Riley.

“Am I?” Harper rubbed a chin (and produced gasping noises. “Moira, throw this bum out.”