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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Now, Collins Harmon " Dundee whirled upon the two silent plainclothesmen, "I want to know what you saw in these rooms when you searched them early this evening that you don't see now. You looked into the closets and drawers, of course?" "Yes, sir," Collins answered. "And they was all empty, Dundee.
For that " and he grinned, " is where the pot is scheduled to boil over. I'd like everybody to be there by 5:15." "Where do I come in?" Captain Strawn demanded, almost jealously. "Now that you are no longer looking for a New York gunman, I suppose you have plenty of plainclothesmen at your disposal?"
They were perfectly ordinary trucks, hired in a perfectly ordinary way by the ambassador's secretary. They came trundling across the square and into the Embassy gate. The ostentatiously loafing plainclothesmen could look in and see the waiting parcels loaded on them. The first truckload was quite unsuspicious.
The guard had been withdrawn, probably to join the small army of plainclothesmen and patrolmen who had been foolishly and futilely searching for the New York gunman the keystone of Captain Strawn's exploded theory. With an oath, Dundee used his skeleton key to release the Yale lock with which the front door was equipped.
It was carried with some care, and it was marked fragile, and it was put into place and wedged fast with other parcels. The plainclothesmen looked at each other with anticipatory glee. One of them reported the last large box with almost lyric enthusiasm.
Somebody was going to distinguish himself by catching Hoddan, and undercover politics worked to decide who it should be. Even the job of guard outside the Embassy became desirable. So fresh, alert plainclothesmen arrived. They were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and they took over. Weary, hungry men yielded up their posts. They went home.
I've got Bluevale crammed with cops and plainclothesmen. That whole town is one big trap for that kid right now. And the cops will shoot! Because we don't know what that kid will make. If those kids had something that'll read your mind, made by grownups, maybe he'll make something that'll burn it out! He looks human, but he came out of space from Godknowswhere. Maybe he'll make deathrays!"
"Here's your maid, Bonnie," Captain Strawn announced lazily, as one of his plainclothesmen appeared in the arch between dining and living room, dragging by the hand a woman who was resisting strangely, her apron pressed to her face. "You are Lydia?" Dundee asked, his voice kinder than it had been for many minutes. "Oh, it's Lydia Carr, Captain Strawn? Thank you.... Don't be afraid.
But he was glad, both selfishly and unselfishly, when, half an hour later, he threw open the front door of dead Nita's house to the chief of the Homicide Squad, Carraway, the fingerprint expert, and the two plainclothesmen who had searched the top floor for the missing weapon or the murderer himself soon after the murder had been committed.
We all gathered about the show case with its glittering hoard of wealth, forming a circle at a respectful distance. Martin pointed nervously at the clock. In deep-lunged tones the clock played the chords written, I believe, by Handel. Then it began striking. As it did so, Martin involuntarily counted off the strokes, while one of the plainclothesmen waved his shotgun in unison.
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