Annihilation — Edition Insights

if an exhausted man in mortal terror or agony drops dead in his tracks and they ship him to the morgue as an acute alcoholic it’s nothing to me!”

Dennis emptied the contents of his pipe into the tray and rose.

“Where do we start from?” he asked excitedly. “Thanks be, I’ve the next twenty-four hours off duty! Do we have a talk with his folks first or what?”

“First and last, we mind our own business this time!” McCarty waved toward the chair. “Sit down again and light up, Denny, and I’ll give you the dope on it, though there’s little enough according to Terry Keenan and Mike Taggart—”

“Terry Keenan and Mike—!” Dennis obeyed tensely. “That’ll be down in the old precinct, then, along the waterfront! Who was the guy and what was he running from when he dropped?”

McCarty gave an account of the evening’s occurrence, concisely yet omitting no significant detail. When he had finished, his visitor sat silent for a moment, turning the story over in his none too quick mind. Then he remarked:

“I don’t get it at all, Mac. A prosperous, middle-aged, respectable looking fellow by what you say, with never a scrap of paper on him to show who he was, only that bit of a metal tag! He must have been running from somebody! Did you look behind you?”

“I did not, and neither did he.” McCarty paused. “Mind you that, Denny! I didn’t say he was trying to get away from anybody. The way he was running and stopping and then reeling along once more showed that if he was not half-crazed with pain, ’twas only will power kept him going as far as he got. When Terry and I turned him over, the gray look of his face came from more than his slowing heart. It was horror that stared out of his eyes! He was conscious, too, though the end came in less than a minute, and muttering with his last breath.”

“Do you think he might have been going some place down among the wharves at that hour, and running till his heart burst to get there on time?” Dennis’ pipe had gone out in his excitement and he laid it on the tray with a tremulous hand. “Was it blackmail? Did he think whoever was waiting would kill him if he didn’t show up? Mac, what manner of man was he? Fine quality clothes and cheap shoes, elegant jewelry and a gold-filled watch that could be bought on the installment plan! The cigar case was real pigskin, you tell me, but—what kind of cigars was in it?”

“Denny, you’ve rung the bell again, even though you don’t know it!” McCarty gazed for a moment in affectionate but unflattering surprise at his old friend. “The cigars were Coronas, and there’s no better nor more costly made! For all the clothes were of grand quality, they didn’t fit him; they’d been carefully altered but they’d been made in the beginning for a taller and thinner man—and they’d had good wear. Only the cheap shoes were new, and though the links and pin were as rich-looking as any swell would sport they were fakes, even if I wouldn’t give Taggart the satisfaction of telling him so! He’d too close a shave, remember, and his hands showed no signs of hard work; don’t you make anything at all out of it?”

“He could wear the clothes, though not the shoes, of another man—smoke his cigars, copy his jewelry, keep his own hands soft—? No, there’s no sense to it, whatever!” Dennis shook his head slowly. “You’ve something up your sleeve, but what makes you figure so much on the close shave of him? Why was that number ‘four’ on the other side of the tag with his initials on the key-ring? Did you look to see if the same letters was in his hat?”

“It had dropped down into the gutter when he fell.” McCarty had refrained for the time being from mentioning his errand after the missing headgear. “Did I say that ‘N. Q. M.’ were the dead man’s initials? I fitted a made-up name to them in joke when Taggart was so sure about it, but it might be an address as well. You’ve known this town as long and as well as me, Denny; did you ever hear of the New Queen’s Mall?”