Dan and the Death-Cell Bluff

Following a deathly silence, an excited hum rose over the audience. Judge Anderson rapped for order.

John Farraday, who had quietly stepped to one side while the judge was asking questions, interposed himself again.

“Mr. Fact, will you describe the exact procedure you and the defendant took in your investigation of the Robinson trial?”

“Sure,” the little man said agreeably. “We reasoned that in a local setup tight enough to run a frame like the one worked on the Robinson kid, we wouldn’t have the chance of a snowball — we wouldn’t have much chance to uncover evidence that it had been a frame. At the same time, there was a good chance the same crowd that framed Robinson would work a similar frame on us if we stepped on their toes.

“Then Fancy got the idea of coming down here and deliberately throwing his weight around until the local crowd got tired of him and framed him. He figured if he could publicly expose this bunch in the middle of a frame, it would force an impartial reinvestigation of the Robinson case. He had me tail him and keep track of every move he made.” He added modestly, “I’m pretty good at tailing people, because hardly anybody notices me.

“I planted a mike in Dan’s room and recorded every conversation that took place there. I’d be glad to play these off for Your Honor. Particularly the one where a local man known as Big Jim Calhoun bragged about the way he controlled this town, and what would happen to Dan Fancy if he didn’t drop his investigation of the Saunders murder. I also took a lot of pictures with a chest camera, which I would like Your Honor to examine.”

He paused to separate his shirt front slightly and expose the lens of a flat camera strapped to his chest.

Judge Anderson said, “You have made some amazing statements, Mr. Fact. But so far I detect no proof that the defendant was framed for the murder of Sergeant Bull.”

“I’m coming to it,” the little man assured him. “On the evening of the fourteenth, Dan Fancy visited Larry Bull about eight o’clock, just as various witnesses testified. I know, because I followed him. Or rather I followed the taxi which followed Dan’s, for he was tailed there and back by Detective Gyp Fleming, one of the officers who later arrested him.

“But from that point on, all the witnesses’ testimony departs from the facts. No shot sounded inside the house. I happened to be watching through the window the whole time Dan Fancy and Larry Bull talked, and Bull was still alive when he left. When Fancy came out, he was walking, not running as that taxi driver said.

“When Dan got back to his room at the Lakeview, he phoned our client long-distance and told him one of the arresting officers in the Saunders murder was willing to talk for five thousand bucks. I knew Fancy’s phone was tapped by the local mob, because I had it tapped too, and I could always hear a second click after Fancy hung up. I figured Fancy’s conversation with our client meant a death sentence for Larry Bull, because the local mob would figure Bull was selling out. I also figured Fancy would be framed for the kilting. So I dropped Dan fast and scooted back to Larry Bull’s house to keep an eye on him.”

Adrian Fact paused for breath. “This is where the proof comes in that every witness in this trial is a perjurer. Bull was supposed to have been killed around eight P.M. on the fourteenth. But at nine P.M. that evening he left his house with Lieutenant Morgan Hart, who took him to the Downtown Athletic Club, the headquarters of Big Jim Calhoun. Bull was inside with Hart not more than ten minutes, then came out alone and returned home. At midnight he was sitting in his front room watching television when Morgan Hart came back and shot him with a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver. I’ve got a picture of the shooting.”

Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom. The crowd shouted, news cameras flashed, and the district attorney began objecting at the top of his voice. Judge Anderson pounded until there was a momentary hush.

Taking advantage of the silent interval, the little man finished calmly, “That makes a liar of everybody, including the medical examiner who said Bull had been dead since eight P.M. and the ballistic expert who said he was killed by Dan Fancy’s forty-five.”

Disorder broke out again, and this time the judge’s gavel could not quench it. A half dozen news men broke for the door, but slid to a halt in unison when Lieutenant Morgan Hart suddenly barred the way with a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver.

“The first person who makes a move,” he said distinctly over the sudden hush, “gets a soft-nosed bullet right in the gizzard!”

Stepping to the lieutenant’s side, Detective Gyp Fleming emphasized the threat with his own gun. Simultaneously other gunmen rose from the crowd and covered the spectators with guns.