113 lines
5.3 KiB
Plaintext
113 lines
5.3 KiB
Plaintext
"Details"
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Must I go into details?
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Damn fools, the Police. They make me sick. To think that we place the
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responsibility of solving crimes into their hands! They obviously are
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quite incompetant. Can't they see the truth? Can't they see that the
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human mind is so deranged--so insanely deranged--that it KILLS FOR A
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LIVING?
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They are, as I say, incompetant, because they could not solve dear
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Eleanor's murder. I told her not to get mixed up in the incident she
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had seen in New York that evening. She had witnessed, you know, a mur-
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der....not a pretty sight. We were not, me and her, very well off, and
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despite my profuse persuasions she had to turn to blackmailing the mob
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itself. Not a good idea. She was to go to San Francisco one weekend and
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collect the next payment. There, she was murdered. They had, of course,
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hired a hitman to see to it that she died. She was in the habit of tak-
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ing sleeping pills, and the hitman placed an overdose of the drug in
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one of the pills. She died quite peacefully in her sleep. And the Po-
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lice, damn fools, bought the story. Accidental overdose of medication.
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But, you see, I knew the truth. It was time that I brought Eleanor's
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murder to justice.
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I was on a business trip to Chicago in March when I encountered
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Metziger. I was in an elevator with him in a business building, and he
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got out on the same floor as I did. After my meeting I walked past the
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door of the room he had gone into. Words floated to me.
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"....well, Metziger, these are the photographs...."
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"....in Tudor Sutton?...."
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"....yes, meet him in the Public Baths building...."
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"....which method to use...."
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"....make sure you carry a silencer...."
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"....guns are most dangerous, Firth...."
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"....come on, Metziger. There are no points for style, only to get
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the job done...."
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"....remember the Gulvner case...."
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I had to get away from the door. I looked a little conspicuous standing
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there eavesdropping. I moved out of earshot.
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But I knew then, you see. "Remember the Gulvner case...." Now, at
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last, the murdwer of Eleanor Gulvner would be brought to justice as I
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had planned. And so came about my nocturnal visit to Metziger's home.
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He answered the door, and fortunately did not recognize me from
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the elevator.
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"Can I help you, Mr., uhh...."
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"Doesn't matter what my name is," I replied tersely. "It is neces-
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sary that you let me in."
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"But, sir...."
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"Let me in."
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"This is a private home."
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"And this is a private matter."
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"Perhaps you should explain," he said coarsely.
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"We've adjusted our needs for the job."
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"What job?"
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I lowered my voice. "One of your jobs, Metziger. We've had a little
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change in plans."
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Then he abruptly admitted me.
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"Oh, of course, naturally. Although I do wish you wouldn't come cal-
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ling so late."
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"It is quite urgent, I assure you. And phones are too dangerous."
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I demanded a glass of sherry and went into his living-room, relaxing on
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a comfortable divan, which was probably bought with the money he got
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from killing Eleanor, and sipped at the sherry. He sat down with a mar-
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tini.
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"So, which group do you represent? I don't believe I know you."
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"I was sent....as an anonymous message-bringer. There is a problem
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with the murder of....well, perhaps we shouldn't discuss it just yet."
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"No?"
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"I am under....a certain amount of stress. I would be perhaps better
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if we did something to release the tension. A game of chess, perhaps."
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"Chess?"
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I pointed to the board on the coffeee-table. "Yes, Metziger. Set it up,
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will you?"
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"Oh," he hesitated. "Alright." He began putting tokens in their pro-
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per places.
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"I'll play black," I mentioned.
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We played close on an hour, I believe.
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We pushed our pawns.
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We maneuvered our knights.
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We throttled our rooks.
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Suddenly he bolted a bishop, and took a pawn, placing me in check.
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I reacted casually by moving my king OUT of check.
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I was thinking, not of the game, but of him.
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(Ask him now, ask him now)
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He slid a queen out of firing range of one of my bishops.
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(He killed Eleanor, he killed her)
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Push a pawn.
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(Ask him now if he did it)
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Thrust a rook.
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(Remember the Gulvner case)
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Slide a bishop.
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(He deserves to die)
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He took a pawn.
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(Do you take for a living? Ask him now)
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Revolve my knight back.
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(Now....do you kill for a living)
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Pawn....no, rook.
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(Now kill for a living now?)
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I put him in check.
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Aha! CheckMATE! (Ask For a living now?) I was on my feet in an instant
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and produced a revolver from my pocket.
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"Now!" I screamed. "Checkmate! You will take no more lives."
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With that I pulled the trigger. A reverberating shot echoed through the
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house. Metziger, shot square in between the eyes, collapsed onto the
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board, and a rook rolled forlornly off the edge of the table. I left
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the revolver and empty glass on the bar, and went out to the car, slip-
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ping away into the night.
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And the Police, damn fools, found me out. And you wanted details!
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Hope you wrote them down, because I won't be repeating them until the
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trial.
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Have the worst lawyer, by the way.
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(Ask now Do I kill?)
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The Martyr
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