… Where the devil is this place? Dellboro, eh? We could take the boat up there if we had to. There’s a bay, and a river runs up to Dellboro. Probably isn’t a decent hotel in the place. They wouldn’t let dogs in …”

  The young woman regarded him with eyes that twinkled. “But why should you want to go there?”

  “To find out about that damned letter,” he rasped, irritably, “and to make certain this ex-convict, Crandall, gets a fair deal.”

  She spoke to him in a tone of patient reproach.

  “You’ve got to get rid of this under-dog complex of yours, Mr. Zoom. You can’t use up all your nerve force running around to protect the interests of every poor man who gets entangled in the meshes of the law. I know how you feel. You like to fight. You enjoy the conflict, and you’ve got a heart that’s entirely too big. You can’t use up all your time, though …”

  He was on his feet, shaking his head impatiently.

  Now that he stood up, he showed as a lithe man, tall yet graceful, long of arm, leg and neck, with a strange force of dignity about the expression of his features that made him seem like some gaunt spectre of doom.

  “I’m going to find out about that letter,” he said, “and I’m going to do it before Crandall gets sent to the chair … Oh, Captain, get her out in the stream. I’ll take the wheel as soon as you get her free!”

  And Sidney Zoom strode from the cabin, his long legs moving like stilts, the police dog padding at his side, never letting his master out of his sight.

  Vera Thurmond sighed, stooped, gathered up the papers. She knew the habits of the man for whom she worked well enough to know that he would soon be calling upon her for every scrap of newspaper material dealing with the case of the State vs. Crandall.

  For Sidney Zoom, once started on a case, would no more think of quitting than would a bloodhound, started on a warm trail, think of turning back. Sidney Zoom was not a detective, nor was he interested in crime detection as such. He was a fighter. He loved to battle the raging seas on a stormy night, out beyond the heads, his graceful yacht smashing into the waters or riding the roaring crests of booming waves.

  Then, when calm seas offered no conflict with the elements, Sidney Zoom would bring his craft into port, and restlessly search through the midnight streets of the city, or ponder the newspaper accounts of crime, seeking for some case where the underdog was being persecuted by reason of the fact that he was an under-dog.

  When he had once sunk his teeth into such a case, he never let up.

  CHAPTER II

  The Letter

  BILL DUNBAR, the attorney who had been appointed by the court to represent James Crandall, was plainly flattered that he had been invited to dinner aboard the yacht.

  Sidney Zoom’s craft was far too beautiful and trim not to have attracted much attention among the inhabitants of Dellboro when it swung into dock at the river bank. And Bill Dunbar was far too shrewd an attorney not to recognize the advertising value of being the first citizen of the town to set foot aboard.

  With a good dinner under his belt, a glass of cordial at his elbow, a lighted cigarette between his fingers, Dunbar talked calmly and frankly about the case.

  “Of course,” he said, “there are some things that I can’t tell you. My professional obligations, and my duty to my client require that I use discretion. Crandall was without funds. The court appointed me to defend him. I’ll do it to the best of my ability. It’s a part of the duties of my profession.

  “The facts in the main are as reported. Three years ago Frank Strome, who was then the county attorney, tried a case in which James Crandall was the defendant. The charge was forgery. Crandall claimed he was innocent, but Strome secured a conviction. Crandall was very bitter.

  “A year ago Crandall was released. He dropped out of sight. Where he was and what he was doing are mysteries that the police have never been able to solve. He simply keeps his mouth shut and won’t say a word.

  “On the eighteenth of April, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, Frank Strome was found dead in his private office. There were a lot of legal papers scattered over the floor, also some mail. It looked as though papers had been thrown broadcast.

  “There was an automatic with one shell discharged. It lay on the desk. The door from the private office into the hallway was open. Strome always kept it locked. That showed that someone had left by that door, and, probably had entered by it.

  “Carl Purcell, the present attorney for the county, was chief deputy at that time. He had been in to see his chief upon some matter of business, and found that some papers were required. He went out into the outer office and enlisted the aid of the stenographer in finding the files.

  “Strome was alive at that time. He called to Purcell as the chief deputy left the inner office. The stenographer heard his voice plainly. It didn’t sound excited in the least, nor did it sound as though there was anyone else in the room, for he was referring to some very confidential papers. They related, I understand, although it’s being hushed up, to a charge that was being investigated against Sam Gilvert, a banker here.

  “Anyway, the papers were gone. The deputy and the stenographer searched for them high and low. They were occupied for some half hour in the search. The papers were important. They dreaded to tell their boss about the loss.

  “Finally, Purcell decided there was nothing else to do. Afterwards they wondered why Strome had been so patient. He had evidently expected the papers to be brought to him within a matter of minutes. But he sat in his office and said nothing.

  “Purcell went in—and came running out. He yelled that Strome was dead. Subsequent events showed that he’d been dead for some fifteen or twenty minutes. In fact, there’s one way the exact time the shot was fired can be told …”

  Sidney Zoom interrupted.

  “You mean to tell me that the shot wasn’t heard?” The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

  “One of the peculiar facts of the case,” he said. “Yet it’s one of those things about which there can be no doubt. The shot was fired from that private office, and yet no one heard it. That leads up to what I was going to tell you about the time of the murder. There was only one moment when that shot could have been fired, yet not heard.

  “That was when a machine was going past, setting off heavy bombs. It was a part of the drive that was being waged to find employment for some of the needy workers in the city. The car had a lot of publicity stuff pasted on the sides, and was setting off bombs at regular intervals.

  “The sound of those bombs would have drowned the noise of the gun. The man must have managed to get Strome to let him into his private office, through the hall door, then shot him when the machine went past.”

  The lawyer sipped his cordial, stretched out his legs, puffed at his cigarette. “That, of course, is a telling point in the case against us. It shows premeditation.

  Otherwise I’d try to claim that there was an argument, that the murder must have been committed in the heat of the argument …”

  Sidney Zoom’s voice was impatient. “The letter?” he said.

  The attorney shrugged his shoulders.

  “After all, that’s a matter for the handwriting experts and for the jury. It was received through the mail. There can be no doubt about its receipt. The stenographer remembers when it came in, remembers when Strome opened it and took out the letter. He showed it to her. He remarked at the time that it was the second threat he’d received from the same party.”

  Sidney Zoom was scowling.

  “And Crandall signed that letter?” The lawyer was cautious.

  “It purports to bear his signature,” he said, “and handwriting experts employed by the state are prepared to swear that it’s Crandall’s handwriting.”

  “The gun?” asked Sidney Zoom.

  “Same story,” said the attorney. “The police claim they can show where the defendant purchased this gun, claim they can show his handwriting on the register that the retailer kept. He purchased it in another state several years ago.”

  “Any chance this evidence is faked?”

  “That’s something for the jury to decide. Personally, I wouldn’t trust George Frink any farther than I could throw the courthouse by the cornerstone.”

  “Frink? Who’s he?”

  “He’s the head of the county attorney’s secret staff. He has all the drag around here, acts like a tin god.”

  “Anything else you know about the case?” Zoom inquired. “Plenty,” agreed the lawyer, “but I can’t tell it.”

  “And no one knows where the defendant’s been since he left the big house?”

  “No. That’s one thing he won’t tell, even to me.”

  “If he doesn’t tell on the witness stand he’ll go to the chair,” Zoom remarked. The lawyer sighed.

  “That’s what I’ve told him. He says that he’ll go to the chair, if that’s the case. He won’t open up about where he’s been.”

  Sidney Zoom dropped one of his long arms. His strong, tapering fingers massaged the dog’s ears as the animal sprawled at the side of his chair.

  “Do you know,” he remarked casually, “I’m glad I came down here, after all?”

  “Why?” interrogated the attorney.

  “Because,” said Sidney Zoom, “that crime never happened the way you and the county attorney seem to think it happened—never in God’s world.”

  The lawyer sipped his cordial, and said: “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I wish you could inspire me with some of your confidence.”

  “When will the case go to the jury?” snapped Zoom. “The latter part of the week, maybe sooner.”

  “Could you get a continuance if we uncovered something interesting?”

  “Not a chance. I’ve tried twice for a continuance.”

  Sidney Zoom’s lips clamped in a thin line.

  “If the defendant had been wealthy, could you have secured a continuance?”

  “Why ask?”

  “Nothing. Do have some more cordial, and we’ll quit talking shop and let you get a little relaxation.”

  CHAPTER III

  The Girl in the Park

  THE CITY of Dellboro quieted down early at night. After the second picture show there were a few stragglers who debouched upon the streets. But they dissolved almost at once. Cars roared into motion, pulling away from the curb, running with purposeful speed toward the residential section.

  Sidney Zoom patrolled the sidewalks. The police dog padded along at his side. Zoom was thinking. And, as some people find it necessary to pace the floor when they are wrestling with some mental problem, so did Zoom find it conducive to clarity of thought to stalk through the night streets of a city, his heels pounding the pavements of the deserted sidewalks.

  Sidney Zoom had found his adventures in various places and in various ways. But always he had specialized in ferreting out human misery. And the police dog had been with Zoom for years, long enough to know his system.

  Which was why the dog gave a low throaty growl, turned his muzzle toward dark shadows of the little park which showed as a black blotch in the middle of the city. Here were little benches, miniature fountains, dark hedges and patches of grass, cool and green in the daytime, but showing dark and forbidding at night.

  Sidney Zoom knew that the dog’s keen ears had detected some sound which was inaudible to his own ears. He paused in his pacing, said softly to the dog:

  “All right. Go find.”

  The dog at once took the lead. His noiseless feet padded toward the dark shadows. And then, when some few yards had been traversed, Sidney Zoom could hear those sounds which had caught the attention of the dog.

  Somewhere within a patch of shadow, back of a hedge, a woman was sobbing.

  They were those dry sobs which indicate utter despair.

  Sidney Zoom frowned.

  He had been turning over in his mind the problem of the murder. It had happened in a manner that was impossible. Yet he knew that he could not convince anyone of its impossibility unless he secured more information.

  Now he was confronted with a bit of human misery which could not be overlooked. Sidney Zoom would never rest until he had solved the mystery of those sobs. Fighter that he was, he chose to exert his fighting qualities in the helping of the weak and oppressed. And, in the course of years, he had come to know the sound of female sobs. There were the rapid sobs of heartache, sobs which came from emotion, and which no man could help. Then there were those dry, slow-paced, deadly sobs which told not of taut nerves seeking the relief of a good cry, but of the black hopelessness of utter despair. These sobs were like that.

  Sidney Zoom moved forward, and, as he did so, the woman got to her feet. Zoom could see the top of her head and her shoulders as she stood up. The rest of her was concealed by the line of the ornamental hedge.

  Zoom hesitated, then followed as the woman began to walk.

  She was young, he saw, as the hurrying figure crossed a patch of light near a fountain, and she was going someplace in a hurry. Nor was she sobbing any longer. Her shoulders were set with a grim purpose.

  She left the park behind, turned to the left at the first corner, pounded the pavement with her determined little feet, heedless of the man and the dog who trailed along behind her.

  Sidney Zoom kept his distance. There was no chance of losing the trail, not with the keen nose of the dog to help him. Once let that police dog get the idea that they were trailing some human, and he would thread the way through a labyrinth of streets if necessary.

  It was when she came to the entrance to an office building that the girl paused.

  Sidney Zoom ducked into the shadows of a dark store entrance.

  The young woman looked up and down the sidewalk. Then she vanished.

  Cautiously, Sidney Zoom followed down the sidewalk, and came to the place where she had ascended a flight of stairs leading to a one-story office building.

  Sidney Zoom’s eyebrows raised a trifle.

  The stairway led to the offices of the county attorney. Under the regulations in effect in that county, the county attorney was permitted to engage in civil practice, and to keep offices in the business district, rather than in the court-house.

  Sidney Zoom spoke to the dog, quieting him. Then he walked up the stairs. The dog padded at his side.

  Sidney Zoom paused at the head of the stairs.

  He could hear keys rattling against the metal face of a lock a few doors down the corridor. The building was one which was typical of small towns. There were stores on the street level, a wide flight of stairs, a long corridor, and offices on the single upper story. In this building, the offices of the county attorney occupied the entire upper floor.

  The girl had some trouble with the lock of the door. Finally, however, Zoom’s keen ears heard the click of the bolt, and then the creak of a door on hinges.

  Sidney Zoom whispered a command to the crouching dog. Together, they moved into the dark hallway, stepped cautiously toward the row of office doors which fronted on the corridor.

  The girl had not switched on the lights. But she was using an electric flashlight with great caution, keeping the beam from striking against the windows. Zoom could see the intermittent flashes of the light on the frosted glass of the oblong panels in the corridor doors.

  He frowned, moved closer, and listened.

  The girl was opening filing cases. Zoom’s ears could hear the sounds made by the steel drawers as they slid out on their well-oiled rollers, could hear the noises made by the questing fingers as they riffled the pasteboard guides.

  Then Sidney Zoom became aware of another sound.

  Cautious feet were ascending the stairs leading from the street.

  Rip, the police dog, growled, swung about, crouched, bracing himself for a rush, should his master order it. The feet on the stairs were coming up rapidly, with assurance, yet with an attempt at stealth.

  Sidney Zoom placed a hand on the dog’s collar, flattened himself against the lower part of one of the dark doors and crouched, holding the dog.

  CHAPTER IV

  A Fight in the Dark

  THERE WAS enough light coming up from the street to enable Sidney Zoom to see the black hulk of the figure as it reached the top of the stairway. It did not hesitate. The shoes squeaked slightly as the big man, broad of shoulder, heavy of neck, tiptoed toward the door through which the girl had vanished.

  For a second, during which the muscles of the police dog were as taut wires under the restraining fingers of Zoom’s hand, the man paused, listening to the sounds of surreptitious activity from the inner office.

  Then the man’s shoulders lurched forward. He flung open the door. A flashlight was in his hand. The beam stabbed through the half-darkness.

  “Stick ’m up!” he growled.

  The little scene was enacted not six feet away from the place where Zoom crouched with the dog. Zoom could see the silhouette of the big figure, hulking against the light reflected from the beam of the hand torch. He could hear the scream which the girl gave, and then could catch the note of gloating in the man’s voice.

  “Well, if we needed anything to strap Crandall to the chair we’ve got it now. Come out, you little—”

  She hesitated.

  Sidney Zoom pressed the police dog firmly to the floor. He gave one last final push between the blades of the shoulders where the muscles bunched into hard knots. That pressure had a definite significance. It meant that the dog would remain there, no matter what happened, until he was ordered by Sidney Zoom to leave that position.

  Then Zoom made two long, cautious steps, moving with the lithe grace of a stalking panther, and making no more noise.

  He found himself in a position from which he could peer over the broad shoulder of the man who blocked the doorway. He could see down the beam of the flashlight, could detect the expression of stark terror on the face of the girl.

  She was masked, her forehead covered by a cloth.

  The wide, terror-stricken eyes showed through the holes in that cloth mask. The mouth sagged open. The lips were white with terror. She was standing before an open filing case. The flashing beam of pitiless light had speared her in the very act of searching the files. She held one marked “State vs. Crandall.”