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Updated: June 17, 2025
I heard the pattering of feet and turned to find Miss Miller behind me. "Mr. Thompson." "Yes, Miss Miller." "A few moments ago you asked me to help you discover who killed your brother-in-law. For some reason you think Mr. Zalnitch had something to do with it, and you wanted me to give you any information I could about him." "Yes," I responded.
"I know, but labor is awfully strong now, and with the unsettled social conditions in the state, a bigger man than Governor Fallon might find it expedient to let Zalnitch off." "Who is Zalnitch? Don't think I've met the gentleman," Mary said. "He's the Russian who was supposed to be the ring-leader of the gang that blew up the Yellow Funnel steamship piers in 1915," I explained.
My impatience at the delay, necessary before she could tell the story of the crime, had driven me, most foolishly, I now realized, into trying to force Zalnitch to a guilty admission of complicity.
Zalnitch has the reputation of holding life very cheaply that is, the lives of others who stand in his way. He hated my brother-in-law for that very reason. If he didn't kill him, it wasn't because he didn't want to. For proof of it, you heard what he said in there." The girl looked me over for a minute. A far-away look had come into her eyes. "Mr. Thompson, Mr.
Felderson's death must have affected you, Mr. Thompson, and I do want to help you. You say he had three enemies; then I advise you to look for the other two, for I am positive Mr. Zalnitch had nothing to do with the murder." I thanked her and went down the rickety stairs, believing somehow that she had told me the truth. But if not Zalnitch, then who?
Half the time I thought he wasn't listening, until a quick question would show his interest. Todd, on the contrary, was the picture of attention. He took notes in shorthand most of the time I was talking. When I had finished, Simpson rose and came over to me. "Let's examine this thing from the start. You have three people who had a motive for killing Felderson Zalnitch, Woods and Mrs. Felderson.
Murder by person or persons unknown? I knew the persons: Zalnitch, Metzger, Schreiber. They must have recognized the car as it came toward them and taken a shot as they went by. My thoughts were recalled from their wanderings by an unexpected sentence of the coroner's. I had been following him vaguely, but now my attention was riveted.
Because we rebel, you throw us in prison, making a mockery of your boasted liberty. So they did for a time in Russia. You call us 'cutthroats. It's a good term. I hope to God we earn that title." Finding that the talk was turning into a political harangue, I turned my back on Zalnitch and started toward the door. Schreiber followed me. "Chust one minud." There was heavy menace in his look.
The tone she used, her sweet anxiety for my safety, went to my head and I reached out to take her in my arms, but with a little protesting gesture she stopped me. "Please don't be foolish, Warren!" Then as she saw my spirits droop, she added, "Not till Helen is well." "Mr. Zalnitch is busy and can't see you."
Behind me a door opened and, as I turned, I found myself looking into the wrathful eyes of a stunted little man with an enormous head. Any one who has once seen Zalnitch can never forget him. His wizened, misshapen body is a grotesque caricature of a man's, which, surmounted by his huge head with its bushy hair, makes him look for all the world like some scientist's experiment.
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