The Argosy, August 1905 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

110 When the city rang with the story of the murder Grandy was horrified. He almost fainted when his chief gave him the assignment to interview Burke In his cell in the county jail. “My God, Leggett,” gasped the re- porter, “give it to some other man. Burke and I were chums.” ® Sq much the better. He'll talk to you,” said the editor, who would have sacrificed his own grandmother for a news item. Grandison Edwards would have gone to his own hanging more cheerfully than he visited the county jail on that occasion. He sent in his name to Burke, and it was evident that Burke forgot that his old friend was a newspaper man. It was really the first ray in the darkness—this visit of Grandy’s. The latter was the only old friend who had come to see him. Grandy felt like a thief, but he was heartily sympathetic, and came away from the jail with the idea that Burke Doelger was not guilty. “They all believe I did it,” Burke said quietly. “ That is, all but poor old dad. ‘Even the lawyers seem to go to work on that basis. Instead of looking for the real murderer, they are endeav- oring to throw all the dust- possible in the eyes of the prosecution, and base all hope of aequittal on the inability of the Siate conclusively to prove me * My God, Grandy, I don’t want to be released from a murder charge merely because they can’t actually prove me guilty. L want to be honestly cleared.” This appeal made a telling point in Edwards’ story when he handed it in to the Bugle. But the editer penciled it out. The Bugle was not running the risk of appearing to back up the Doelger Crowd, now that the régime was bound to be changed and the reformers were coming in. Secretly, however, Grandy remained impressed with the truth of Burke’s statement. He believed his old friend guiltless. But a belief based on mere sentiment would not go far in such a case. "ne THE ARGOSY. tT Grandy was not an inactive fellow; his work gave him opportunities of talking with all manner of people, and he had an open sesame to all manner of queer places. He determined to look over the scene of Canniff’s murder himself, although the Bugle’s police reporter had done that already. Unfortunately, just as he came down to the old building in which Canniff had had his office so many years, a fire brolce out in the upper hallway, and although his badge carried him past the fire lines, the department would not let him into the building until the fire was out. Canniff’s office was smoke-filled, but the fire had begun in a closet in the hall, and seemed to have no connection with the murder of the attorney, even in Grandy Edwards’ suspicious mind. He could not learn at once what had started the ‘conflagration, so he hung about the neighborhood until after the insurance people had examined the- place, and it was this hanging about that first set Grandy’s mind in the groove which later had so great a bear- ing on the murder mystery. Next to the old rookery that had come so near being destroyed by fire was a little café, patronized by the loungers of the neighborhood. It was a good place in which to pick up news, as Grandy knew of old. While he was there a lineman of the electric lighting company came in and, over his beer, began to talk with the barkeeper. Grandy sidled up and listened. You never know how much of importance may be unintentionally dropped in casual conversation. T'he lmeman had been sent over to repair the wires in the building where the fire had occurred. In the opinion of the fire marshal, the conflagration of the morning had been caused by a live wire the insulation of which had become worn. “ An’ I reckon he’s right,” said the repairer. “'There’s a mess of wires in that closet. Dve got an aiternoon’s job.” _ And while the lineman did his work in the closet he had an interested spec- tator in Grandy Edwards. ": . * s.com *