Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

954 ‘* He wants you to help him find out who- ever it was that killed somebody.” “Me? What can I do about it?” ‘You found the murderer of Lemuel Chase after the police had given up the hunt. You won ten thousand dollars’ re- ward with it. And you were thereby the direct cause of the reopening of Meig’s Uni- versity, when it was about to be sold under the sheriff’s attachment,”’ she reminded him, trying not to betray undue pride. He shook his head. ‘If it weren’t for your common sense and intuition and rescue at a critical mo- ment—” “Then you will help Chief Quinn?” Professor Goldie watched the little red- headed ant stop to gossip with another little red-headed ant. ‘‘ My dear,” he explained absently, “I have neither the equipment for police work nor the slightest desire to acquire it. And I haven’t any time for more police rewards, even if I could win them. With our mort- gage paid off and a balance in the bank—” “There is no reward offered in this case. It is a poor workingman who has been mur- dered, and the police haven’t the slightest idea who did it or why. You must decide if you wish to refuse to help.” Professor Goldie looked down on his im- ported ant hill swarming with its highly complex and wonderfully organized social life and felt like a child being taken away from a show. “Well,” he sighed, “since you insist on it, my dear!”’ An hour later they were in the office of Chief Quinn of the Meig’s City police. On a portable stretcher lay the limp body of a man in overalls. “Very kind of you to come, professor,” Chief Quinn said earnestly. ‘‘ And you, too, Mrs. Goldie. I wouldn’t ’a’ troubled you if it wasn’t that we’re completely up a tree in this case. This poor fellow was found in Drake’s Alley this morning, murdered. Shot from behind at a distance of about fifteen feet, near as I can guess from the bullet penetration. We don’t know who he is, so it’s hard to look for any enemy he may have had. And there’s no robbery motive, either. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. There are two dollars and forty cents in Lis pocket—and not a thing else. And the only thing we found as a clew—if it is a clew— is this—” From his desk he picked up a dried-up cigar butt, an inch long and hard bitten. ‘Not much to go on, is there?” he went on apologetically. ‘‘ Especially as we don't even know if this cigar butt was thrown away by this poor fellow or by the mur- derer.” - ‘* Indeed, it zs very little on which to base any deduction,” Professor Goldie said, half worried, half hopeful. ‘‘So little that I don’t see how I, with my lack of experience in such matters, can do anything to—” “Do you suppose you can find out if this remnant of cigar was discarded by this poor man?” his wife interrupted, challenging her husband to retreat. He looked appealing at her, begging to be allowed to go back to his red-headed myrmica rubra, But Mrs. Goldie, with that silent language long-married couples de- velop, directed his gaze to the rough gar- ment of the victim of cowardly murder. So with an inward sigh he brought his my- opic vision to bear on the chewed end of the cigar butt. Then, turning, he inserted his two fin- gers in the dead man’s mouth and with the Impassiveness Of his medical school days parted the gray lips. “Harry!” cried his “What are you doing?” “You asked me to See if this cigar rem- nant was discarded by this man,” he replied, peering close at the gaping mouth. ‘“ No, it was not.” Chief Quinn struggled with his pride. A month before, when Professor Goldie first came and offered to help find the mur- derer of Lemuel Chase, after even Chicago detectives had given up the hunt as hope- less, Chief Quinn had had a hard time hid- ing a grin at the little man’s effrontery. This time it was difficult business not to show how much he was at sea as to how the professor could have discovered what he did about the cigar. ‘‘ May I ask, professor, how you get that —that this cigar butt wasn’t this poor fel- low’s?” he finally had to ask, horrified wife. CO GIOok