Jake looked at his watch. It had been exactly forty-seven minutes since the murder of Ex-Senator Peveley. At the rate things were going, it would probably be forty-seven years before Sheriff Kling found out who murdered him.
The great door at the west end of the corridor banged open, banged shut again, and a young man pushed his way into the center of the group around Sheriff Kling with the approximate speed and fury of a lightning bolt. He was a short, slight young man with sandy blond hair and a pale face that was liberally sprinkled with light-brown freckles. At the moment he appeared to be trying to strike Sheriff Kling dead with the glance he shot from behind rimless glasses.
“What’s the idea? I don’t suppose it would occur to you to call me.”
The sheriff glared right back at him, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. “I’ve had enough on my mind without bothering about you.”
The young man drew a quick breath. “How long ago did it happen? What have you done? Why—” his eyes fell on Jake and Helene. “Who are you?”
“The city slicker,” Jake said irritably, “and who are you?”
“Tom Burrows, of the Jackson County Enterprise. Who—”
“Now look here, Tom,” Sheriff Kling began.
The young man turned back to him. “When was he murdered? How did it happen? What have you done with the body? Who killed him?”
“All in good time,” the sheriff said.
Tom Burrows muttered something profane, pushed his way into the county clerk’s office, and picked up the telephone. “Get me the United Press in Madison and reverse the charges. Tom Burrows calling.”
“Now wait a minute,” Sheriff Kling said.
“And have every other correspondent in the county beat me to it? Nuts! This is space rates!”
The sheriff turned to the people still standing irresolutely by the door. “Damn it, I thought I told all you to come in here.”
“Don’t go exceeding your authority, Marv, or you’ll get into trouble,” Tom Burrows said casually.
“You go to bell,” Sheriff Kling roared. He mopped his brow again. “Now, all of you who don’t belong in the courthouse, tell me what you were doing here.”
Ed Skindingsrude spoke up. “You know what I was doing here, Marv. It’s county board meeting. I stayed behind to have a word with Phil Smith.”
“What about?”
“About the abominable slot-machine situation in the county, due to the laxity of the sheriff’s office.”
Sheriff Kling purpled. He swallowed a few words before he turned to the tall, tailored, gray-haired woman.
“How about you, Miss McGowan?”
“I was here to see Mr. Smith, on some bank business. It had to do with the school bonds, but I don’t think you need to have all the details.” She spoke crisply and very coldly.
There were only three people in the group being questioned, besides Jake and Helene. The third was a pretty, blonde woman with a carelessly made-up face. Sheriff Kling turned to her.
“What were you doing here, Cora Belle?”
“I was waiting to see Jerry Luckstone,” she said sullenly.
“What about?”
“None of your business. Ask him, if you have to.”
“I will,” the sheriff said grimly.
Tom Burrows had been talking into the telephone, fìnished with, ‘That’s all now. I’ll call in later,” and hung up.
“Now,” the sheriff said, turning his glare on Jake, “what were you doing here?”
“I was getting fishing licenses for my wife and myself,” Jake said. He spoke slowly and clearly, as though to someone unfamiliar with the language. “It looked as though it was going to storm, and we decided to wait in the courthouse until it blew over. The janitor very kindly offered to show us around while we were waiting.”
“By the way,” Tom Burrows said, “while you’re finding out what everybody was doing in the courthouse, what was Senator Peveley doing here? Has anyone tried to find that out yet?”
“I can’t exactly ask him,” Sheriff Kling said snappishly.
“No,” the young man agreed, “but someone else might know. And incidentally, where’s the gun?”
The sheriff stared at him for a moment, then bellowed at the top of his voice, “Joe! Has anybody left the courthouse?”
“Nobody but Charlie Hausen and his assistants, and the body.”
“Then don’t let nobody leave without you search ’em first,” Sheriff Kling ordered. “And Joe, you and Harry, you search this courthouse from top to bottom. Take Button-holes with you.”
It was a good sixty seconds before the deputy called back, “What’dya want us to look for, Marv?”
“The gun, you damn fools,” Sheriff Kling roared.
Jake sighed. If they were going to have to wait until the finding of the gun that had killed Senator Peveley, it looked like a long stay in the Jackson County Courthouse. Suddenly a new idea appeared to strike the harassed sheriff, who bolted out of the room. Jake shook his head wearily and lit a cigarette.
He realized that the storm outside was over and that the clouds had disappeared as quickly as they had come. Shafts of sunlight were beginning to stream down through the great green trees and penetrate the rain-washed windows of the Jackson County Courthouse.
“Lovely day for driving,” he said wistfully.
“No satisfying you, is there?” Helene said “And after all the trouble I took to arrange this for you.”
Tom Burrows grinned. “Pardon me for making a nuisance of myself,” he said, “but just who are you?”
Jake grinned back. “I’m Jake Justus, and this is my wife.”
“Well I’m damned!” said Tom Burrows suprisingly.
Jake raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to make an issue of it?”
“Jake Justus of the Examiner?” the young man asked. As Jake nodded, he bounded across the room to shake hands. “I guess you wouldn’t remember me. I worked for the City News Bureau for a few months.”
“That so!” Jake said cordially. “Did you know Walter Ryberg over there?”
“Know him!” Tom Burrows said, “I worked for him! I didn’t know many people at the Examiner. I did know Charley Blake at the American, and I knew John Lally at the News. I sold him a short short story once.”
Helene said, “I hate to interrupt a reunion, but oughtn’t we to be planning an exit line?” She turned to Tom Burrows. “You seem familiar with this so-called sheriff. What’s the magic word that gets us out of here?”
“I’ll tell him we want to go fishing,” Jake told her airily. He turned back to the young man. “What are you doing up here?”
Tom Burrows laughed. “You’ve heard about the newspaperman who wants to retire and run a country weekly?”
Jake nodded. “That’s every newspaperman.”
“Well, I’m the one who did. I worked for the United Press for a number of years, and then a great-aunt left me a legacy, and I bought the Enterprise.”
“Making any money?” Jake asked curiously.
“A little, but I’m making it by being a local correspondent for a Madison paper. Are you still with the Examiner?”
Jake shook his head. “I quit years ago. I was a press agent until last winter. Now I’m running a night club.” He slid his long frame onto a desk top. “I won it on a bet.”
Tom Burrows’ eyes suddenly narrowed. “Wait a minute. I read a newspaper once in a while. Weren’t you mixed up in a bunch of murders last winter?”
Sheriff Marvin Kling chose that inopportune moment to come into the office.
“What kind of murders?” he demanded.
“I was only joking, Marv,” Tom Burrows said quickly.
Sheriff Kling snorted and looked at Jake and Helene suspiciously.
“Found the gun yet?” Tom Burrows asked, before the sheriff could pursue the subject.
“We’re still looking,” the sheriff growled. “We’ll find it. We’re searching the grounds, too, in case the murderer dropped it out of a window. Right now I’m finding out exactly where everybody in the courthouse was when the Senator got shot.”
Jerry Luckstone came into the office, still pale, and visibly shaken. He nodded briefly to the young newspaperman.
“Jerry,” the sheriff said, “look over this list of who was upstairs when it happened, and see if it looks O. K. to you. You were there.” He handed the district attorney a slightly soiled sheet of paper.
“Ed Skindingsrude and Miss McGowan,” Jerry Luckstone mumbled, checking off the names as he read, “Jerry Luckstone, Phil Smith, Cora Belle Fromm, Arlene Goudge. Yes, that looks right to me. Marv, whatever could have become of that gun?”
“We’ll fìnd it,” the sheriff said loudly. He took his list. “Everybody else was downstairs and couldn’t have done the shooting except these two, and I’m damned if I know where they were at.”
Jake held his breath for ten seconds and then exploded. “You know where we were. We were down at the foot of that big staircase. This guy here—”
“Buttonholes is a liar,” the sheriff said. “And nobody asked you anything.”
The young district attorney shoved Jake aside. “Listen, Marv,” he said desperately, “come out in the hall. I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Wait a minute,” Tom Burrows said. “I’ve got to call the U.P. back. You’d better think of something for me to tell ‘em.”
Sheriff Marvin Kling scowled at him for a minute. “Tell ’em all Jackson County mourns the death of ex-Senator Peveley. Tell ’em he was a respected Citizen and—”
“Hell, they know all that,” Tom Burrows said. “You’d better say something about his murder.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Jake said coldly, “you can tell them I’ve taken my hat and gone home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” the sheriff said.
“Oh yes I am,” Jake told him. “I’m not going to let any small-town sheriff push me around any longer. I’m getting out of here.” He drew a quick breath, his bright-blue eyes narrowed. “You may be a sheriff, but I’ll tell you something. There’s such a thing as a warrant, when you want to hold anybody. And there’s such a thing as false arrest. You’d better take a correspondence-school course in the law.”
The sheriff said, “I’m the law in Jackson County.”
In spite of himself, Jake started to laugh. It was the kind of speech that brought down the house at the neighborhood movies. Then the laugh froze on his lips. The little deputy was moving slowly up to him on one side, the big, sloppily dressed deputy was closing in on the other. And Sheriff Kling, two hundred and fifty pounds of sheer brawn, was standing in the doorway, an ugly look on his face.
“Nobody knows where you were when the Senator was shot,” the sheriff said, weighing his words, “and I heard Tom here talking about you having been mixed up in a bunch of murders.” His little eyes bored into Jake’s face. “Maybe I’m a small-town sheriff, but I know how to take care of you Chicago gangsters.”
“Lay off the speechmaking,” Tom Burrows said, one hand on the phone. “What do I tell the U.P.?”
Sheriff Marvin Kling’s lips tightened. “Just say—” he paused, “Jackson County has the situation well in hand. And say I’m holding two material witnesses.”
Jake Justus’ big, rangy frame tightened for action, One flash of sunlight through the window turned his red hair into a flame. He took one step toward the sheriff.
“And I mean them,” the sheriff concluded, pointing to Jake and Helene. He wheeled to face Jake. “I know something about the law too.”
“You son of a bitch,” Jake said, in the same moment that he moved. Helene screamed.
Tom Burrows grabbed the telephone and yelled, “Get me the United Press in Madison and make it fast—”