The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories

“Save your breath, boy, save your breath. It’s all settled long ago.”

But just then the clerk saw me and shouted out:

“John Darrow!” so loud that the judge woke up.

Well, I shouted: “Present!” sort of getting it twisted with something else I couldn’t remember, and I walked up to the witness box. Then they started asking me a lot of fool questions, such as whether I was born or not. But all the time I was answering them I was looking out of the corner of my eye at different people.

Al was sitting directly beneath me. He looked lots better than he did the day before; like a person who knows it’s all over and is going to have a good time while it lasts. And he looked at me awfully friendly, almost as if he was sorry for me. And when he smiled he just as good as said:

“Don’t you worry, Jackie boy! I’m doomed anyhow and nothing you can say will make any difference. Just go right ahead and tell the truth and we’ll be as good friends as ever!”

I wanted to shout down to him that there was still a chance for him, but I decided I wouldn’t.

And then I saw Irene, over in the mourner’s bench, or whatever you call it. She didn’t look friendly like Al. You could tell by her pretty white face that she thought I was betraying them. I couldn’t look at her squarely.

The cop gave me a shove and I turned around to bat him in the eye. But he was pointing to the district attorney, and I’d suddenly realized I’d been wondering again and forgot to answer his questions.

Old Sparton was frowning at me.

“Don’t hesitate, boy!” he was saying. “What time was it when you were walking up the Avenue?”

“One o’clock.”

“One o’clock... Two o’clock is probably nearer right... And you saw somebody running away from something?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Whose house was he running away from?”

“Old — Mr. Carr’s.”

“Mr. Carr’s house... At two o’clock in the morning.”

“One o’clock,” I interrupted him.

He glared at me. Then he said, leaning way forward:

“And who was the man who was running away from Mr. Carr’s house at two o’clock in the morning?”

I was aching and feeling sore and generally rotten. That always makes me obstinate. So I said:

“I won’t answer until you say it right!”

There was a giggle in the courtroom and the Judge pounded his gavel. Sparton frowned at me until his eyes almost touched. But he said, finally:

“Well, at one o’clock, then.”

I had to say it now. I tried to say it loud, as if it didn’t mean anything. But it was hardly more than a whisper, a whisper in the big, quiet room:

“Alfred Burnet.”

I could hear the big breath that everybody took. And I could feel Irene’s eyes without looking at them. Then Sparton asked me a few more questions, and after I’d answered them, he turned around and smiled as if it was all over. And I could see the hard guys tensioning, as if they were getting ready to run in when the jury pronounced the verdict. I could see a bit of rope dangling behind some of them.

Sparton lifted the German trench knife, sort of careless-like.

“Do you recognize this knife?” he asked, as if it didn’t much matter whether I did or not.

“Yes,” I said.

“Whose is it?”

“Alfred Burnet’s.”

He turned around and faced the jury and shrugged his shoulders.

That was enough for me. I stepped to the edge of the stand and grabbed the rail, hard.

“But Al Burnet didn’t do it, just the same!” I shouted at him.

You ought to have heard the silence in that courtroom! I could just feel everybody’s eyes coming out of their sockets. But I didn’t look. I had a hard enough job holding on.

Old Sparton swung around and looked at me. He was too surprised to be mad.

“What are you talking about, boy? Nobody asked your opinion about that!”

“No, but I’m giving it just the same!” I shouted.

With that the Judge said something and the cop started to shove me out of the box. But I ducked, and when I came up I shouted, quick:

“I’ll bet the same person killed Old Man Carr what killed Jane Brewster!”

“What?”

Judge Wharton jumped up and stared at me. All over the room there was a great commotion. Everybody looked at me as if I just dropped from Mars — except the kids at school. Gee, they were jealous! And I felt mighty cocky at having broken the news.

“What did you say?” the Judge shouted.

“Jane Brewster was murdered, sir,” I said in a quiet sort of voice. “Somebody killed her in a cabin in the woods about five miles from here. Stuffed something in her mouth and stabbed her in the heart.”

There was a gasp of horror all over the courtroom. Somebody started crying, a sort of smothered whimpering. It was little Ruthy Bingham, a girl who Jane had sort of mothered.

The Judge pulled himself together and looked very business-like, as if such things were mere trifles in a busy day.

“Officer Sullivan!” he ordered. “Find out from the witness the location of the cabin the moment he finishes testifying. The coroner and his men will go with you, examine the evidence and dispose of the body.”