The gloom of the courthouse made the slight figure of the little man almost indistinguishable as he sneaked down the shadows of the corridor. Occasionally he would come into the light of a window and he would duck quickly out of sight. The door of the record room creaked open, and he slid inside.
Minutes later there was a muffled blast, and out of the smoke came the little man, running softly toward an open window with a rope trailing over the edge. He climbed through and down the rope to the alley below where a car motor roared into life.
Hal Williams was jerked out of the barber chair by the tearing smash of an auto ripping itself apart against the “L” pillar. He dashed out the door and had his camera unlimbered before he hit the street. By the sound of the smash, he thought, it ought to make a first page shot.
The car wheels were still spinning when he got there. The body and chassis were wrapped around the steel support, while the roadway around was strewn with broken glass. What was left of the occupant made Hal turn away sick. Before the police came, Williams finished the roll and tucked his camera away.
The prowl car stopped beside the mess and Sergeant McCabe greeted Hal, then gave the smoking remains a once-over. “Some mess!” he grunted, “See it happen?”
“Nope, was in the barber’s.”
The other cop had been poking around inside with his nightstick and came up with a wallet. It probably was the only thing of value left.
“His name was Jerry Baliff. Lived at the Headley Hotel.”
Hal’s mind started to click when he heard the name, but for the life of him he couldn’t place it. He was bothered by its vague familiarity all the way to the “Daily Globe” building, but there he dismissed it from his mind.
The office was in an uproar when he arrived. The editor threw his pictures to one side. “Can’t use ’em today, Hal. We got big news! Someone blew open the court safe last night and got away with the written evidence that was going to send ‘Killer’ Burnett to the chair. Without that evidence the prosecution won’t have a leg to stand on!”
Burnett, the foulest of public enemies! He had killed and robbed ruthlessly, but somehow he had always escaped the law. Then one day a stool-pigeon brought in a document that sealed the killer’s fate. And now, the day before the trial, that evidence was gone!
HAL grimaced at the thought of the murderous face of the criminal. He would be smiling now at the prospect of his freedom.
A copy boy ran in and threw a sheaf of papers on the city editor’s desk. “Here’s the dope on the court house job, Chief. No clues except a piece of Headley Hotel stationary that the ‘Nitro’ was probably wrapped in.”
Hal jumped at that. Immediately the name of the driver of the wrecked car popped into his head. Why, Jerry Baliff used to be contact man for Burnett! That was it! His mind was racing. If Baliff did the job, then he either dumped the papers or had them with him when he cracked up. Quickly he typed a report, then dashed out of the office. There was no time to lose!
Hailing a cab, he rushed to the morgue. Fortunately, no one had claimed the clothes. He went over what was left of them, but to no avail.
As he finished McCabe came in. “You have the same idea, eh Hal?”
“Looks that way. It’s no use, though, Baliff hasn’t a thing on him. Did you go through the car?”
“From top to bottom, but no dice.”
“Maybe he dumped it beforehand,” Hal suggested.
McCabe looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. The safe was opened at 11:35, and Baliff cracked up at 11:50, which means that in the distance he traveled he didn’t stop any place. The whole thing is beyond me.”
The men walked outside and parted.
Again something was playing in Hal’s mind, and again he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was certain that Baliff had possession of the document when he crashed, but what became of it?
Back in the office he picked up the proofs of the shots he had taken at the wreck, and shuffled through them slowly. There was the car, inside and out. Glass was shattered and strewn about the interior. Even the dashboard was ripped off. That much the police had been over, and when McCabe started searching, it was doubtful whether there would be enough of the car left for him to look over! Hal picked up the phone and found where the wreck had been junked, and turned to leave, but the city editor almost bowled him over!
“Hal! Those pictures you took last night, that guy was one of the Burnett’s old mob! McCabe says—”
“Nerts! I coulda’ told you that, but you were too busy!” Hal snorted disdainfully.
“Well, follow it up, guy, we have an edition to put out.” He realized he’d been wrong.
An edition plus a trial, Hal thought. Here it was 3 A.M. In exactly seven hours the trial would begin, and with no evidence against the killer, it would be over a half-hour later.
The junkyard on the outskirts of town was wrapped in darkness. The faint light from the moon illuminated nothing, but instead cast an eerie glow around derelict autos. Hal was three blocks away from it when a black sedan shot by. He watched it pull up alongside the yard, when he changed his plans and stopped in a side street. So, he was not alone this night!
The police would have come in with sirens screaming, so it wasn’t them, and no one else was interested outside of himself, except, perhaps … ?
Hal snapped his fingers. That was it! Burnett’s mob knew the stuff had not been found and figured out the plan the way he did. It was a pack of desperate crooks in that car ahead, come to find and destroy that evidence. Well, not if he could help it!
Hal climbed over the rotten picket fence, and all but broke his neck on an old fender. He heard the sound of whispering voices nearby. The crooks must be having trouble find the car. Hal slipped from one wreck to another, and gave a violent start when he heard someone cough only a few yards away!
A sleazy voice came out of the night. “Let’s look over dis way.”
They were coming toward him! Hal was startled. On sudden thought, he squeezed into the crumpled wreckage that had once been a car, and behind which he was hiding. And not too soon, for the shadowy figures of two men passed, then stopped only an arm’s length away! Hal crouched down further, and his hand touched a detached instrument board. He held it up to the faint glow of the moon through the rear window. Immediately he recognized his hiding place. He was in Bailiff’s car!
The voices outside droned on. “We’ll never find it tonight. Let’s get the boys and go back.”
One whistled softly, and a moment later the group assembled behind the wrecked car. If anyone happened to glance in that broken rear window, Hal was sure to be discovered, because even in the dark, his white shirt collar would be visible at such a short distance.
Taking a desperate chance, he reached up to the small window shade and pulled it down slowly. After a moment, the voices went away, and he heard a car start.
Hal relaxed with a sigh. He waited a brief while, then stepped out, and as he did so, a white envelope fluttered to the ground — the stolen evidence!
That was it. He knew what bothered him when he looked over the pictures of the wreck. It had been hidden in the only place that wasn’t pulverized by the “L” pillar! Wasting no time, he dashed to his jalopy and to the office to bang out a story. The city editor, looking over his shoulder, gave a low whistle.
“So that was where he put it! Very clever!”
Hal finished his copy, then drove like fury to headquarters. McCabe was there, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Hal walked in grinning, and handed him the precious document. When McCabe saw it he gave a yelp of astonishment. Reporters and police gathered around, gaping bug-eyed, the scribes scribbling on their pads.
“Where in tarnation did you find it, Hal?” McCabe said breathlessly.
“In the one place you overlooked.” He laughed. “It was rolled up inside the rear window shade!”
***