Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 171: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Buffalo Tens IT “SO YOU won’t squeal on your pals, Mr. Rabbit?” The weazened man with shifty ’ eyes and cigarette-stained fingers straight- ened up at the question. “Vou’ll have to dig it out for yourself, Mr. Scott. I ain’t talkin’, except through a lawyer. Much obliged for your promise to get mea year less if I’m found guilty. That’s why I was willin’ to come along without papers.” “But you’d better reconsider, Rabbit. Both of your pals are in the cooler now, and they’ve both coughed up all they know about you.” Scott’s tone was serious, but the Rabbit wouldn’t have it so. He laughed bois- terously. “They both belched on me did they?” he asked with a decided stress on the word “both.” “You can tell that to the judge,” he went on. ‘‘Second and third degree work doesn’t take with me. And you’ve got to prove that that’s my suitcase. This dick—” he indicated the man from Baltimore— “comes sashayin’ through the train, pipes a suitcase that don’t belong to me, asks me for a cigarette, then for a light, and then pinches me. *I'won’t work.” “So you only had one pal on the inside?” Scott eyed the Rabbit keenly, and noted the shadow of disgust which flitted over the face of the other. But the accused stood mute. “Send for those two men, please,’’ the Secret Service man directed. Ushered in, the plate-printers looked wonderingly at their chief, his guests, and the handcuffed man now seated in a corner. Scott went straight to the point. “Men,” he began as he opened the suit- case and brought out the two plates, “here is your paraphernalia back in the Bureau again.” Handling the plates carefully by their edges, he laid them face down’on the table before “These plates were thrown from the window and landed at the feet of a con- federate waiting outside. One of the plates was inked; the other, clean and bright. But two men have handled this inked plate since it was tossed from the window—that is, handled it otherwise than by the edges. And those men are the thief who tossed it out of the opened window, and the thief who put it in the suit case. Their thumb- prints are both here. Now——”’ A snarl came from the corner, interrupt- ing the detective. But instead of looking in that direction he eyed the two plate- printers. Poor looked relieved, but Friebus was trembling and evaded the Secret Service man’s glance. “Might as well own up, Friebus,”’ Scott — suggested. “I’m not going to ask you to 169 ~~ make a thumbprint as a test unless you » insist on it.” Joe Poor pressed forward with upraised thumbs, but Friebus hung back. One regretful look at the dull black surface of the plate, and he shot a glance at his con- federate. “We lose,” he muttered significantly. — And the Rabbit nodded downcastedly. . OVER their cigars—the Director smoking, and Scott chewing his— ' the two friends sat with the table between them and discussed the case. “T think,” said Kendall, ‘‘with all due credit to you for your deductions, that there was a bit of luck with you after all.” ““How sor” “In tracing down the inside man so quickly. If the Rabbit had stood firm, and — had gone to trial without squealing, it would have been a man’s size job to run down the other. It was lucky that you had the thumb-prints to fall back on.”’ “But there were no thumb-prints.” Scott pointed to the inked plate. Bend- ing over it, Kendall saw that its inked sur- face, now dry, was smooched and rubbed from margin to margin. If there ever had been any finger or thumb-prints, contact with the snow and the lining of the suitcase had destroyed them. “Pure bluff,” grinned Scott. it works.” Kendall whistled. “But you were lucky at that,” te per- sisted. | rake all those traces in the snow. If it-——” “* “Tf it wasn’t for buts and ifs and ands,’ fe Scott quoted softly. “Especially bulls,” laughed Kendall. “Sometimes (E(0) JOO (a) (E(0) m1 cS