Boy's Cinema (1930-31)

Every Tuesday BOY'S CINEMA 19 A gripping story of a risky plot by a prison official to capture a callous, fearless gunman. Another true story from the notebook of William J. Burns, of the U.S. Secret Service. The 'Plane to the Rescue ! THE vvaidcn of the State prison paced up and dowa his study, a frown upon liis usually placid features. The telephone had shrilled, and the message that had reached his ears a few short moments earlier was evidently unpleasant in character. Prison executives must of necessity plumb the depths of the emotions, and VVarden Thompson was evidently to bo no exception to the rule. But here was a message of an un- usually serious nature. "Serious," in fact, would be a somewhat mild de- scription. "Alarming'' would de- scribe it with even greater accuracy, for the message hinted at a carefully laid plan to set prison discipline at iiauglit and flout the authority of the law. It was nothing less ominous than the fact, convoyed to the authorities by prudent connections in the New York underworld, that stops would most certainly ho taken to keep "Killer" O'Rourke from the electric chair! Steps would be taken ! Not might be taken ! There was the rub ! It was no m(Me idle threat—of that the warden was perfectly convinced. For the associates of the Killci were men of their word—silent, ruthless, banded unitedly against decent society. Applied ♦o the ordinary, everyday business of life, the talents of this particular gang might have assured for all of them a , comfortable position. But the excite- ment of law-breaking, the joy of "best- Ling" the authorities, far outweighed ithn attractions of legitimate occupation. The warden well know the class of I individual he had to reckon with—men I of the underworld who would stop at Inothing; men who had limitle.<9 lillogally secured resources at their cpm- Imarid; men who were able to enlist those resources in defying the law and IBghting it to the very limit. |L Killer O'Rourke had boon their p.^ight particular star "; had on- fed amazinj; immunity from arrest in a long and hectic career of crime; had hitherto slipped through the meshes of the law, simply by reason of the fact that he had borne a charmed life. But Killer had gone too far, had over-estimated his powers. Here he was, then, with a double guard outside his cell, his days do- finitely inunbered. For Killer O'Rourke had slain one of his fellows under cir- cumstances that made a pardon im- po.ssiblo. His friends had moved heaven and earth to secure a revision of the death .sentence, but without avail. ;\[ikc O'RoutTce, his daredevil brother, long a thorn in the side of the police of New York and an accomplice in ICiller's latest crime, had escaped the extreme penalty by the very breadth of a hair, and now was faced with the prospect of ending his life as an un- willing guest of the Federal Govern- ment. Mike had accepted his sentence with a resignation that certainly deceived the authorities. His behaviour whilst in prison -.vas regarded as exemplary, and already he had qualified for little concessions such as fall to the share of prisoners who bow to the inevitable and make as tittle trouble as possible. He was permitted to receive visitors at carefully regulated periods, such visitors being searched and watched and their conversation overheard. Ho was permitted also to receive a certain num- ber of letters per month, letters which referred to, or seemed to refer to, matters of a purely domestic character. Not a single word about the gang or its activities, for every line of tlioso letters was carefully scrutinised by the warden, every sheet of paper subjooted to a test to avoid any possibility of an illegal message coming through. Yes, Mike O'Rourke had bowed to the inevitable. No convict .sang more fervently in the prison choir, none .seemed so anxious as he to remain in the good books of the kindly prison warden. The warden pressed a button, and within a few seconds, as if impelled thither by some well-oiled mechanism, there came into the room a plump, clean-shaven individual bearing a closer resemblance to a commercial traveller o:i vacation, than to one of the smartest detectives in the Force. "Jlorning, chief," greeted Detective Conneil. "What can I do, sir?" "It's about Killer O'Rourke," said the wartlen. "There is, of course, no chance of anything going wrong with our plans He's going to the electric cliair. Tliat's definite !" "And no man more Justly deserved it," came the deop-toned response. "A menace to the coninumity, if ever there was one; no man ever had a more just. trial or a more honest verdict." "Quite," returned the warden. "But the point is that the time and place of O'Rourke's end will have to be kept as quiet as possible. The less publicity we get the better. So, please, keep your eye on the Press; pass them the word, and tell them that there's more in our request for as little publicity as i)os- siblo than meets the eye. I leave you to handle the Press." This witli .1 twinkle in his eye. for Conneil had graduated to the Force, from the re- portors'-room, a firjn believer in his own private axiom that the truncheon's mightier than the pen ! "Do you think," asked the warden, that ominous telephone message still at the back of his mind, "tliat we ought to keep a special watcli on his brother Alike? I've often thought, you know, that Mike was the brains of most of the enterprises that have led Killer to the chair. That, of course, is my private opinion. I do not speak officiall\-.'' "No. warden." replied the detective thoughtfully "I believe that Mike is perfectly satisfied that he's got off with a life sentence, instead of sharing the death penalty with his brother. Ho seems SLU'ly and morose at times. Still,; \ovembcr 21.st, 1931. ■1^