Death Points A Finger Part 5

Senator Ross subsided, uneasily.

Mr. Marshall ended the painful scene. He addressed the entire group:

"Gentlemen, we all know, of course, that the modern newspaper man is not a peeping Tom, an impertinent individual, who pries into the affairs of others. Mr. Hale honorably represents an honorable profession. I have known him personally for a number of years and I'll vouch for him. He was sent here by his city editor to cover our reunion. That he comes here at such an unfortunate time is a coincidence. We may speak to him frankly. We are perhaps exaggerating and magnifying what is at worst only a normal thing in the lives of old men. We have all lived our lives and death is--"

He paused and at several nods from members of the group he turned to Jimmy.

"You come at an unfortunate time, Mr. Hale. Fourteen men were to have gathered here for our reunion. At all our reunions all our members are either present or in some way accounted for. When, for some reason any one of us is unable to come, there is an adequate explanation." He paused, his words were now coming more slowly.

Jimmy was now acutely conscious of an air of painful expectancy.

"There are only eleven of us here this morning, Mr. Hale. Two of the eleven arrived this morning, early this morning. Until an hour ago we had not heard from the three missing men. At eight o'clock, about an hour ago, we received a telephone message to the effect that August Schurman, of New York, was found dead in his room. He committed suicide."

The pause that now ensued was painful. The scene before Jimmy was unreal. Eleven old men, not one of them less than eighty-two years of age, men who had seen, lived and suffered much, were looking at him, each in his own way showing his reaction to the scene.

Justice Higginbotham turned an apologetic, whimsical smile to Professor Brierly:

"You and I, Professor, and I am sure, the rest of us, can and do look at death calmly. I am sorry to inflict this sort of thing on you, but there are circ.u.mstances about this that make it rather painful. The fact that we have not heard from the other two men, Miller and Wrigley, takes on rather ghastly importance."

Once more there was a painful pause. Jimmy's mind was phrasing words to describe the scene. The eleven old men, waiting to hear from the other three. The dead stillness of the group, hardly breathing; the mask-like features of Lorenzo Tonti, the suffused features and protuberant eyes of Fletcher, the high cheek bones of Stanislav Vasiliewski, the somber look of former Police Commissioner McGuire, upon whose normally smiling countenance gloom sat so ill.

Jimmy's mind also found words and phrases to describe the sparkling waters of Lake Memphremagog, the wooded western sh.o.r.e in the distance. The few boats floating on the surface of the water looked unreal. The faint soft beat of a distant motor equally false. Jimmy hardly breathed; he had a vague unformed desire to hold this scene, to prolong it. There was a silence that was almost painful. Eleven men waiting, waiting for--what?

The shrill ringing of the telephone in a distant part of the house came with the effect of a sudden blow. Schooled as were most of these men to suppress their emotions, some of them started at the first burst of metallic sound. Jimmy caught the looks that some of them cast at one another. In those looks there was hesitance, and quickly suppressed fear.

A grizzled, white-headed negro came to the door. He addressed Justice Higginbotham.

"For you, suh. Lentone callin'."

As Judge Higginbotham followed the darky through the door one of the men sprang to his feet; Jimmy later identified him as Jules Goldberg, a retired clothing manufacturer. Goldberg snapped:

"What in the world are we afraid of? Are we children? We went through Antietam, Bull Run, Gettysburg. Those of us who were rebels suffered in the h.e.l.l of Douglas prison. I and other Union soldiers went through the terrible agonies of Libby Prison, where men died like rats on Bell Island. And now we act like frightened women at the sound of a telephone bell that may tell us of the death of one of our comrades. Of course we will die! We will all die; we have lived longer--"

His tirade was cut short. Judge Higginbotham was coming through the door. The speaker wheeled about to face him. Some of the others leaned forward tensely. Justice Higginbotham unconsciously came to a dramatic halt in the doorway. His features were etched into grave lines. It did not bear the kind, mild look that was its wont. He glanced over the faces of his comrades and their visitors. Jimmy was to carry this scene with him for a long time.

The man in the doorway nodded simply. He took a few steps onto the porch. He said:

"Morris Miller was found dead in his bed a short time ago. The report says suicide."

As if impelled by one muscular impulse, every man on the porch stood up, the one exception being Professor Brierly. They formed a strange group, men of all sizes, all of about the same age, all of them either bald or silvery white. One of them, Hiram Fletcher, towered above the rest, even towered above John Matthews' six feet of lanky muscular height.

Slowly, wordlessly they subsided to their seats. But James McGuire, former Police Commissioner of New York, sprang to his feet. He growled:

"Goldberg is right; we are acting like children. In the name of G.o.d let us face this thing the way men ought to face it and lay dead the bugaboo, if it is a bugaboo, or face squarely the facts, if there's really something in it to fear. Let us once and for all do away with this d.a.m.nable thing. If it's a shadow let's exorcise it. If it's something else, let's find out what it is. None of us believe in ghosts. Well--"

He turned swiftly to Professor Brierly.

"Professor, it's a great break for us that you're here. Won't you help us, won't you--"

Judge Higginbotham chimed in.

"Yes, Professor, your presence here is fortunate, almost providential. You can help us. Your interest in such things and your success in the solution of many apparently insoluble affairs is known to all of us. While we are between us able to cope with most of the things that arise, you, an outsider, without having your emotions involved may see more clearly than we, aside from your undoubted talents in this direction."

"Tell him the story, Isaac, tell him the story," broke in William Flynn, who, up to this time, had not spoken. "Let us have the benefit of Professor Brierly's opinion anyway."

"I have taken the liberty," said McCall, "of indicating to Professor Brierly the history of your group. He knows at least the outlines of the story that gave birth to your organization. I've also told him about the abortive jail break and your communications from '14.'"

"Just what do you gentlemen fear?" asked Professor Brierly. "What Mr. McCall told me is after all fairly vague, certainly nothing to cause practical men to react as--as you seem to. You receive notice that one of your friends has died; he committed suicide. An hour later you receive word that another also committed suicide.

Certainly death in men of your age is not uncommon. Suicide, of late, according to the records, is also common, fairly common. You seem to fear some personal malign influence at work. The fact that up to yesterday there were fourteen out of an original two hundred and thirty-seven seems to disprove such a theory. I have not available actuarial figures, but it seems to me that fourteen out of two hundred and thirty-seven, about six per cent, is a fairly high record of longevity. Are you certain that you have not permitted yourselves to brood on this '14' until it has become an obsession?"

Senator Ross spoke up.

"Would all of us brood on this, Professor? Are we the kind of men to permit--"

"Each of you individually might not, Senator," stated Professor Brierly. "All of you together, talking of it, thinking of it, might, much more easily than each of you singly. There is a ma.s.s hysteria that is just as potent in a small group as in a large gathering." He spoke more gently. "I am sorry. This is not the question. You are all disturbed. Let us first learn if the thing that disturbs you has substance or is a mere shadow. That is the thing you all desire, is it not?"

Several nods and a murmur of a.s.sent indicated their agreement with this.

"Very well, then, about this number '14.' Is that real or is it mythical?"

Justice Higginbotham answered slowly.

"At one time, Professor, it was real enough, but," turning to Marshall, "When did we last hear of--"

Marshall answered promptly:

"We have not heard of Amos Brown--alive, since 1902."

"But," spoke up Stanislav Vasiliewski, quietly, "have we proof of his death?"

"That's it," growled McGuire, "We have not. We have not heard of him alive, nor do we know that he is dead. We know in police circles that men can disappear for a great many years. We have received those d.a.m.nable notes with the number '14.' That's no proof that he's alive, but--"

Professor Brierly, always impatient at speculation, interrupted.

"Let us start this inquiry at the nearest point. Let us begin with the known, if possible, and work forward or backward to the unknown. About which phase of this entire matter are you gentlemen princ.i.p.ally disturbed?"

The eleven old men exchanged glances. Senator Ross spoke.

"Between our reunion last year, which broke up about July tenth, until fifteen minutes ago, nine of our group died, seven of them are _said_ to have committed suicide. We have not yet heard from '14' about the two deaths of which we heard this morning, but judging from past experiences we will, sooner or later.

"Call this number '14' mythical if you will, Professor, until we have evidence to the contrary. Nevertheless, seven suicides out of such a small group is disturbing--to say the least."

"Unusual, at any rate," commented Professor Brierly. "Just what, if anything, do you suspect?"

"Well, Professor," said Justice Higginbotham, "I, for one, should like to have indubitable proof that these men really committed suicide."

Professor Brierly's deeply sunken, penetrating blue eyes swept around the circle of faces. He nodded:

"Oh, I see. That should be easily determined, certainly with respect to the last two."

"But," objected Lorenzo Tonti, leaning forward, his swarthy features etched in lines of earnest thought, "we have it on competent medical authority that these men committed suicide. What right have we to question that?"