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Updated: May 5, 2025
The cotton broker thought it was a good joke, and he explained the whole situation to Terabon and Carline for their entertainment. "Dalkard called in Policeman Laddam and told him to stand in front of Palura's, and tell people to watch out.
Smooth-shaven cheeks, close-cropped hair, wing-like ears, and a little round head were details of a figure that might have been heroic for his jaw was square, his nose large, and his forehead straight and broad. Everyone knew he was going out to throw the policeman, Laddam, into the street. The policeman had not hurt business a pennyworth as yet, but Palura felt the insult.
The silent throng around the walls stared at the scene from the partial shadows; no one seemed even to be breathing. Then Palura made a horrible gulping sound, and writhed as he gave up his last gasp of life. "Now then!" Laddam looked about him, and his voice was the low roar of a man at his kill. "You men pick them up, pack them outside there, and up to headquarters. March!"
His first bullet drove Palura straight up, erect; his next carried the bully back three steps; his next whirled him around in a sagging spiral, and the fourth dropped the dive keeper like a bag of loose potatoes. Laddam looked around curiously. He had never been there before. Lined up on all sides of him were the waiters, bouncers, men of prey, their faces ghastly, and three or four of them sick.
This would teach the policemen of Mendova to mind their own business! Suddenly Policeman Laddam threw his night stick backhanded at the infamous scoundrel, and Palura dodged, but not quite quickly nor quite far enough. The club whacked noisily against his right elbow and Palura uttered a cry of pain as one pistol fell to the floor.
She counted, however, without the bonds which the Mississippi River seems at times to cast around its favourites the Spirit of the river which looks after his own. She had not even seen Policeman Laddam standing at the main entrance of the notorious resort, for Daisy had taken her through another door.
Then Laddam snatched out his own automatic, a 45-calibre gun, three pounds or more in weight, and began to shoot, calmly, deliberately, and with the artistic appreciation of doing a good job thoroughly.
The cotton broker, neutral that he was, whispered as they disregarded the warnings: "Laddam cleaned up Front Street in six months; the mob has all come up here, and this is their last stand. It'll hurt business if they close this joint up, because the town'll be dead, but I wish Palura'd kind of ease down a bit. He's getting rough."
She went to the exclusive "Third," and from there emerged onto the dancing floor just as Palura ostentatiously went forth to drive Laddam away, or to kill him. Daisy checked her, for the minute or two of suspense, and then the whole scene, the tragedy, was enacted before her gaze.
Terabon's friend the cotton broker fled with the rest, Carline disappeared, but Terabon went to headquarters, writing in his pocket notebook the details of this rare and wonderful tragedy. Policeman Laddam had single-handed charged and captured the last citadel of Mendova vice, and the other policemen, when they looked at him, wore expressions of wonder and bewilderment.
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