Radio mirror (May-Oct 1935)

you like it? Great, wasn't it?" Riley allowed that it was. "Listen," Flash said excitedly, "how'd you like to be on my program tonight?" "Naw, dya mean it?" Riley was incredulous. "Sure, I mean it. Grab your hat." "Well," the driver hesitated, then blurted out, "anything in it for me?" Flash drew a bill from his pocket. "This enough?" he said. Overcome, Riley made no further objections and led the way to the cab. "What's this all about?" he asked after they were on their way. "You'll find out at the studio." "Say," Riley chattered on, "I was just reading about them police wringing a confession out of — what's his name — Bobby Sharpe." Flash laughed. "That was no confession. He just didn't get any witnesses to prove his story.* And that's why I'm all set for another big scoop. I'll teach that Thomas ape not to get tough with me!" ^SIDNEY had kept her promise. She •^ was waiting, music in hand, with Lee. Flash ran into the studio dragging Riley, waved to Sidney and Lee, walked directly to the table in the middle of the room on which his microphone rested. "All you have to do," he told Riley, "is answer my questions. Nobody's going to complain. There's no need to worry." Sidney joined them while Lee stepped into the control room. "All set?" Flash asked. She nodded. "Okay, honey," he said, "you sing as soon as I'm through with this mug." "You have a visitor, upstairs in the lounge," she told him. "Thomas is here to see that you don't pull any more wool over his eyes." "That's a laugh!" Flash replied. The engineer in the control room directly in back of Flash waved his hand behind the heavy glass plate which separated the controls from the studio. The conversing had to be done in a sign language only radio performers understand. The engineer brought his fingers down. Flash was on the air. "I told you last night about the second murder in the Gail Richard case and that Bobby Sharpe had been arrested. Perhaps you've already read tonight that Bobby Sharpe is now being held for the murder of Gail and her husband, Professor Halsey. "Then," he went on, "I have real news for you. Here in the studio with me is the cab driver who drove the Professor from the Beckwith Theater the night of the murder. As another news scoop, 1 am going to interview him on the air." Until now the engineer in the control room had not known what Flash was planning to do. He waved wildly at the reporter, but Flash did not look at him. Should he cut off this interview? Perhaps if he had been less interested in the murder, he might have. But, he let Flash continue. "Riley," Flash said into the microphone, "your cab was parked right next to the stage-door alley in front of the. theater, wasn't it?" "Yes." "Now stop and think a moment. While you were sitting there, waiting for a customer, didn't you see some one come out of the alley?" "Ya mean the Professor?" "No, before that. Before the broadcast began." Riley hesitated, his face screwed up in thought. "Why, yeah, you're right," he said, startled at his own recollection. "A little short fellow with a moustache came out and stood in front of the theater. I remember he was smoking a cigarette." "That's right," Flash said, pounding the table for emphasis. "A little short fellow with a moustache. Now, are you sure you haven't seen that man since?" "Why — uh — " Riley tried to remember. "Why, yeah, I seen him since. Sure, he was at the district attorney's office. Yeah, that was him !" "What — was — his — name?" "Why, it was — Sharpe. Bobby Sharpe." "Why didn't you tell anyone about this?" "Because nobody asked me." Red with exertion and pride, Flash continued into the microphone: "Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard this man say that Bobby Sharpe was in front of the theater at the time of the murder. If the police are listening, I hope they realize that as far as the shooting of Gail Richard is concerned, they are holding an innocent man!" He paused. His face had become a pasty white. His breath came in whistles. He turned towards Sidney with an effort and signaled. The orchestra began to play and Sidney took her position to sing. ''■''HE music and Sidney's clear, fresh •* voice floated into Pete's bar and grill. It was a shabby bar near Third Avenue, in the shadow of the "L." Tony was grateful for its dim lights and raw whiskey. He had been here since his visit to the Tombs and his talk with Bobby. He had listened drunkenly to Flash's revelation. Bobby would probably be set free, he reflected in alcoholic thought. Well, what difference did that make? He shook his head. His mind wouldn't clear. Then slowly it focused on a plan. "Another rye," he called out. Tony took out a pencil and paper. Laboriously he began writing. His fingers, suddenly stiff and cold in the warmth of the booth, slipped and wouldn't hold the pencil. A waitress in a dirty apron brought him his drink. He fished for change and found a quarter and a dime. He swallowed the whiskey at a gulp. It burned his lips, but it made him feel good. And it strengthened his resolution. He finished his letter, scrawled his name at the bottom in a smear of perspiration and whiskey. His hand crept into his pocket. He drew out the shiny object — the solution of his predicament — and laid it on the table in front of him. His hands shook so hard they couldn't keep it steady. The waitress, staring at him in fascinated horror, found her voice in a shrill scream. "Damn!" Tony cursed, grabbing the stubby pistol and pressing the muzzle against his breast. With a jerk, he pulled the trigger. The explosion rose above the girl's hysterical shrieks. A wisp of smoke curled around Tony's head as it fell forward on the table. The bartender knew what to do. With scarcely a glance at Tony's inert figure, he reached behind him for the phone. Suicide was no novelty in this down-atthe-heel bar. In a moment he was talking to the Emergency Ward at the big city hospital a few blocks away. The ambulance ground to a stop at the corner. Two white-coated internes, a stretcher and blankets under their arms, rushed in. The bartender flipped a grimy thumb towards the back booth. The driver found the note Tony had left. He read it, stuck it in his pocket, and turned his attention to Tony. Carefully they lifted him onto the stretcher. The two internes trotted back out to the ambulance. The siren screamed as they drove away. Telephone wires hummed busily. Another call went through to the offices of the Homicide Squad. "Thomas ain't here. What? Thanks, I'll get in touch with him." Another call went through to the ATS studios. "Detective Thomas? Just a minute. Yes, here he is." Thomas lifted the receiver. "Oh, hello, Charlie," he said. "Tony Letour? The Emergency Hospital on Second Avenue? Okay, I'm on my way." E hung up, turned back to the lounge, and peered down through the windows at the studio in which Flash was finishing his broadcast. The detective's anger at the reporter was now topped by the news that Tony had shot himself. As he watched, Hanlon, Sidney, and Lee started to leave the studio. "You were great," Flash told Sidney. "That ought to give you a real boost." He looked at Thomas blocking the way. "Well," he said, "fancy meeting you here!" "You're the fancy one," Thomas retorted. "I thought I told you " "To keep my shirt on," Flash broke in as he shouldered the burly detective out of the way and entered the lounge. "And I didn't. So what? You hold Bobby Sharpe for the murder of Gail Richard. All right, I find him an alibi, an alibi that was right under your nose. What are you going to do about that?" "Okay," Thomas sighed. "You win this time. But you ought to be taken off the air. Broadcasting that kind of truck! I'm speaking to ATS about this!" He said, then: "Maybe you'd like to know that Tony Letour just shot himself." "Tony?" Sidney cried before Flash could answer. "Was he guilty?" "Tony Letour?" Flash explained. "I'll be damned! So he was the one!" The detective merely shrugged and smiled a little grimly. "Come on with me to the hospital. He's still alive." No one spoke again until they were rushing toward the hospital. Sidney was completely at sea. Tony's actions, Bobby's unexpected alibi, her broadcast, Flash's fight with Thomas. ' None of it made sense to her. "Then you think you know who did it?" Flash said finally. Sidney stared out at the rushing traffic. What was the use of this heart-breaking ordeal? Her body ached with her own desperate helplessness. Until the riddle was solved, what hope was there for her and Lee? Her heart stopped as she thought of his kiss — perhaps their last — then the cab jerked to a halt. Until the murderer of Gail Richard is found, Sidney and Lee cannot hope for happiness. Join them in their thrilling, exciting hunt for the guilty person in the next instalment of this great mystery story. In the October issue — out August 23. 51