Speaker 1: The secret Fear by Kenneth Dwayne Whipple. The night was
hot and breathless, as had been the day, and the
humid tang of the salt air smote my nostrils as
envying Martin his vacation respite from the grind of police reporting.
I turned off the broad paved thoroughfare of Washington Avenue
and started down Wharf Street, narrow and dimly lighted, toward
my lodgings beyond the bridge. As I passed the second
dirty globe street light, I halted suddenly, with a staccato
sound of hurrying footsteps in my ears. Homeward bound from
the journal office, where Martin's work had kept me until
after midnight, I had yielded to the temptation offered by
the short cut. Now, with the peculiar empathic insistence of
the footfalls behind me, I began to wonder if I
had chosen wisely. Brass buttons glinted dully under the corner arc,
reassuring me. The next instant I was roughly ordered to halt.
I recognized the hoarse panting voice of Patrolman Tom Kenton
of the fourth Precinct, whose beat, as I knew, lay
along the wharf. It's me Canton, Jack Bowers of the journal,
I said, what's doing? Canton peered at me, keenly in
the bad light, then his face relaxed. Man killed in
Kellogg's Warehouse just around the corner there, he replied, killed.
How the sergeant didn't say. I got it from him
just now when I reported somebody phoned in a minute ago.
Come along and see if you want. Saw right in
your line, and you're a good friend of the captain's.
I fell into step with him, finding some difficulty in
keeping pace. Do you know who phoned? I asked, No,
Maybe a joke, maybe a frame up, maybe anything. His
deep voice rumbled through the gloom of the dingy street,
deserted save for our hurrying figures. We crossed to the
opposite side, passing beneath the blue arc, which flamed and sputtered,
naked through the jagged gash in its dirty, frosted globe.
Just around the corner loomed the ramshackle bulk of Kellogg's Warehouse,
a four story wooden structure squatting on the river piers.
On the ground floor. The broad entrance gaped blackly at
the left of the door way, about three feet above
the street level. The end of the loading platform jutted
out of the darkness beyond the warehouse. A narrow pier
ran out toward midstream. I caught a glimpse of the
running lights of some small vessel, dimly outlined against the
gray black of the oily water. Kenton stopped at the
corner of the warehouse to draw his revolver, motioning me
to remain where I was. Stay here, he said under
his breath, I'll take a look. If it's a frame up,
there's no need to get anyone else into it. Besides,
you'd be more help here. He squared his broad shoulders
and was swallowed up by the oblong of black. It
did not require much urging to persuade me to stay outside. Timidly,
I peered through the crack in the warped boarding. The
dim ray of light which Kenton cast before him seemed
only to accentuate the obscurity. The light became stationary. I
could distinguish Kenton bending over something on the dirt floor,
not fifteen feet inside the entrance. He looked up and
spoke softly, Come ahead, mister Bowers, he said, no joke
about this. There was a grim edge to his tone.
With a shiver, I stepped through the doorway and crossed
to where he crouched above a motionless shape huddled against
the side of the long loading platform. The body was
that of a man of large stature, more than six
feet in height. As nearly as I could judge from
the cramped position in which he lay, there were no
visible marks of violence, except for afrayed linen collar pulled awry,
which dangled by a single buttonhole from the shirt about
the powerful corded neck. But as I bent closer to
look at the features, I drew back with a gasp.
The face of the dead man was distorted by an
expression of utmost horror and loathing. Around the dilated pupils
of his large, bluish gray eyes, the ghastly whites showed
in a pallid rim of fear. His irregular reddish features,
even in death, seemed fairly to writhe with terror. One long,
sinewy arm was thrown up across the lower part of
his face, as if to ward off some unseen and
terrible menace. Shuddering, I stared across the body at Kenton's
homely impassive face in Heaven's name. What happened to him?
I asked. Keaton's hands had been moving swiftly over the body.
Now he spread them apart in a little puzzled gesture.
There doesn't seem to be any wound, he said. See
if there isn't a switch around somewhere, mister Bowers, there
ought to be a way of lighting up here. I
fumbled along the wall until my fingers encountered a round
porcelain knob, A single grimy bulb pennded from the cobweb
drafter through a dim circle of gruesome yellow light upon
the floor of the warehouse. The body had laid on
its left side, facing the doorway. Canon methodically turned the
corpse upon its face, his searching fingers exploring the back
to me. At least it was a relief that the staring,
terrified eyes were hidden from view, rather than gazing fearfully
through the arch of the door into the narrow, empty
street beyond. There's something queer about this, said Kenton. No
wound at all, mister Bowers. That I can find, no blood,
not even a bruise, only this mark at the throat.
I had not seen the mark before, and even now
I had to look closely to find it. It was
scarcely more than a discoloration of the skin in a
broad band beneath the chin, But there was no abrasion,
much less a wound sufficient to cause the death of
a powerful man like the one who lay before us.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Canton rolled the body
back to its original position. At once, the ghastly eyes
renewed their unwinking stare at the empty street. A sound
from the doorway caused us both to turn. Only Kenton
himself can say what his imagination pictured there, As for
my part, I owned a feeling of distinct relief at
the sight of nothing more startling than a pair of
ragged looking men peering in at the open door. As
we looked, a third derelict of the wharves joined them,
pressing inquisitively forward toward the body on the floor. Was
the trouble here, asked one curiously. Somebody croak a gui, yes,
said Kenton, tersely know him, any of you. His companion,
who had been staring at the body, suddenly spoke in
a startled tone, by gorry, that's Terence mc fadden. I'd
never have known the boy with that look on his
face except for the scar over his right eye. Look,
Jim sure, and he looks as if the devil were
after him. A confirmatory mutter came from the others. The
grind of a street car's wheels on the curve of
Washington Avenue cut clearly across the low lapping of the
waves against the rotting piles outside the warehouse. The humid air,
impregnated with the foul odors of the water front, was stifling.
The three men huddled closer, with fearful glances over their shoulders,
as if striving to glimpse that which the eyes of
the dead man watched. Canton, alone, seemed unaffected by the tension.
No where he lives over on twenty fourth Street, volunteered
the third man, but he'd been on the Tiger yonder
this evening. I saw him go aboard. Why not call
Captain Dolan him? And Terry was pals. What's his name, Dolan?
Captain Ira Dolan, go and get him, ordered Kenton, removing
his cap and mopping his forehead. The man not unwillingly
passed out of the circle of light. We heard his
footsteps on the planking of the pier and his hail
to the ship anchored there. Kenton turned to me a
worried look on his face. Would you mind going down
to Patten's place on the corner and phoning in mister Bowers,
he asked. I wouldn't ask it, but the Captain knows
you well. Tell him I'm staying with the body, and
ask him to have doctor Potts come if he's there.
I'd like to get to the bottom of this. I
was only too glad to get out of the warehouse,
for the eerie atmosphere was beginning to get on my
nerve When I returned. Two of the sombulent loafers from
Patten's greasy lunch room, roused by my telephone message to
Captain Waters of the fourth Precinct, followed in my wake,
muttering and rubbing their bleary eyes. Less than ten minutes
had passed since we had found the dead men in
Kellogg's old warehouse. Yet now a dozen frowsy wharf rats
fringed the doorway, brought thither by some mysterious telepathic message
borne on the murky night air. Be here in ten minutes,
I said, nodding to Kenton. Suddenly a man made his
way through the crowd and hastened toward us. His rugged,
weather beaten face took deeper lines from the light overhead,
its high lights gleaming in the ghastly radiance like pieces
of yellowed parchment. Yet there was power in the piercing
blue eyes, and strength in every line of the tall,
gaunt figure now stooping suddenly over the body of the
dead man, Terence. He cried, his voice harsh with grief.
Rance lad Kenton bent over and touched him on the shoulder.
Are you, Captain Dolan, he asked. The old man looked up,
one hand still resting upon the motionless body beside which
he knelt. I am, he said, simply. I understand this
man Terence mac fadden, his name is Captain Dolan nodded.
I understand he was on board your ship tonight, Yes,
said Captain Dolan, raising to his feet. What time did
he leave? Twas not more than half an hour ago, Officer,
shortly after midnight. I would say he was just aboard
for a little farewell banquet, you understand, just a friendly visit,
eating and drinking in the light before I leave at
daybreak for another trip. I'm going down the coast. Canon
shook his head. Never mind that. Have you any idea
how he met his death? Had he any enemies that
you know? Captain Dolan ran his bony fingers through his
grizzled locks, his eyes still on the body of his
friend enemies. He had a plenty officer like any two
fisted men with the disposition of Terence McFadden. Twas only
last week he cleaned up two of Jerry Kramer's gang
that tried to hold him up with a pistol down
on this very street. But his worry tonight had nothing
to do with them. A man like Terence could take
care of himself against any man. Truth to tell, he
was his own worst enemy. Kenton broke in sharply, what's
that he was worried tonight? You say? There seemed to
be a trace of evasion in Captain Dolan's manner. It
was a piece he read in the paper. It fair
spoilt his supper for him. What was it about? It
was an item from the zoo, replied Captain Dolan, canon
fingered a button, puzzled, casting a mystified glance at me.
It was evident that his inquiries were not getting him anywhere.
Before he could question Captain Dolan further the group about
the doorway behind us was thrust roughly aside, and Troman
corkran the new officer from the adjacent Bete shouldered his
way in. His right hand was twisted in the lapels
of a short, squat foreigner with a swarthy face half
hidden by a coarse, reddish brown beard. The neck of
his sweat soaked undershirt was open and his sleeves were
rolled above harry muscular forearms. Corcoran stared at the group
about the lifeless body of Terence mc fedden. So it's true,
is it? He curiously asked. I thought Big Jim here
was trying to give me a wrong steer. Who said,
Kenton Dobrowski or some such name. Big Jim they call him.
He's one of the Cramer gang. They say, where'd you
get him? Caught him coming out of the basement over
on Efton Street. He took one look at me and
ran like hell. So I rounded him up and asked
him what was the big idea of running? He just
looked dumb, and I knew he'd been up to something,
so I frisked him and found these. He pulled a
watch and a purse from the side pocket of his coat.
Captain Dolan leaned forward eagerly. Terence's he cried, see if
his initials are not in the back. He fairly snatched
the watch from Corcoran's hand. The younger patrolman turned to Kenton,
who's the old bird anyway? He asked in an undertone.
Kenton established the captain's connection with the affair in a
few words. In the meantime, the old man had pried
open the gold case with his heavy thumbnail and was
squinting inside. See he affirmed, pointing to the initials T
J M engraved there. Corkoran nodded carelessly. Big Jim, all right,
he said, decisively. He's the man that killed mc fadden here.
Big Jim started at his captor, chewing vigorously. No kill,
he exclaimed, No kill. Kenton had been frowning perplexedly. Now
he turned to Corcoran, Say Bill, he demanded, how did
you get over here anyhow? Who told you there'd been
a man killed? To our amazement, Corkoran jerked his thumb
toward Big Jim. He did, he said, he did, repeated
Kenton incredulously. Then you were the one that phoned into
the sergeant Corkoran nodded, taking a tighter grip on the
captive's lapels. I was going to call the wagon and
go straight in with Big Jim here. Then he told
me such a funny story that I thought maybe he
was trying to string me, so I marched him over
here to make sure. Kenton shook his head. That was
no way to go, he muttered under his breath. Well,
no matter what does he say, he says he took
this stuff away from mc fadden but didn't kill him,
sneered Corcoran. Doesn't know who killed him, but he didn't fishy. Well,
I'll tell the world. Captain Dolan again bent over the
body of Terence mc fadden. Then he looked up at
Big Jim. Tell us what happened, he commended. Words popped
turbulently from Big Jim. Either he was actually telling the
truth or he had committed his story to heart. No kill,
he vociperated, gesticulating, no kill, take watch, but no kill.
Hide from man, pull him in fight, no dead, take money,
run hide. Fear shone in his shifty eyes and on
his swarthy, perspiring face as he glanced nervously about the building.
The fantastic idea occurred to me that his fear was
less of the police than some unseen, intangible force beyond
his comprehension. I caught myself looking apprehensively over my own shoulder.
Corkran spat on the floor disgustedly. Part of that yarn's
all right, he said, that part about his stealing the watch,
and all, I mean, the rest is all bull How
would he get the stuff off a big guy like
that without broking him? How did you kill him? Anyway?
Captain Dolan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. Yes, officer, he repeated,
how did he kill him? Tell us that if you can.
Corkoran thrust his captive toward Kenton and knelt beside the body.
When he looked up, his face was blank. Rising. He
turned savagely on Big Jim. Come now, he ordered, roughly,
shaking the foreigner by the shoulder. How did you kill him?
Speak up? No kill, repeated Big Jim, stubbornly. No kill.
Corcoran raised his club menacingly. Whether he would have struck
Big Jim or merely wished to intimidate him, I did
not know. He had not been long on the force,
and he felt his authority keenly, but Captain Dolan stepped forward,
holding out an imperative hand. One moment, Officer, he said sternly.
For a breathless instant, the tableau held. Then Corkoran, closing
his amazed mouth, thrust his flushed face close to Captain
Dolan's What business have you got butting in on this anyway?
He shouted? Who told you to give orders? You seem
to have been a friend of this fellow's by what
Tom here says. But how do we know you didn't
have a grudge against him and dope him tonight aboard
your boat? How do we know you didn't give him wood, alcohol,
or something to drink that put him down and out.
You'd better just keep quiet and stick around here until
the doc takes a look at him. Captain Dolan's wrinkled,
parchment like face turned angry red, and his bony hands clenched.
Then suddenly he relaxed, uttering a short, mirthless laugh. In
remaining here as you request, he replied, tis my idea
to see justice done. Little love has Terence had for
Jimmy Kramer and his gang. He would have wished fair
play even for Big Jim there, and for that reason
I'll be answering your kind indulgence while I tell you
a little of Terence McFadden. Corkoran glared at the old man.
Kenton shrugged his shoulders. Go ahead, he said, We've got
to wait for the car. Captain Dolan stood erect beneath
the grimy electric bulb, which cast a brassy gleam upon
his grizzled blocks. At his left stood Corkoran, scowling, one
hand gripping his subdued prisoner. Beyond him, Kenton leaned against
the loading platform. I watched them from the shadows. Every
man of us has his secret fear, began Captain Dolan abruptly,
and a trifle oratorically. With one it's the open sea.
With another, it's the horror of great heights. But we
all have it. As for Terrence McFadden, it took no
more than a little long tailed hand organ monkey to
set him a shivering, and they seemed to know it too,
the grinning devils. No sooner would he pass a dago
organ grinder on the corner than the little red capped
ape would let out a chatter and make a rush
for Terrence, and would you believe me. The man would
actually turn pale. Come away, Ira, he'd say, clutching at me,
Come away, Ira, sure, and he'd be looking for a
bite from the leg of ye. I mind me of
the day when we went to the zoo Terrence, and
I 'tis understood, said said he, when we reached the gates,
that we make no visit to the monkey house. But
I gave him the laugh with hints about his courage.
Do you mind till at last he sets his teeth
determined like no man shall say Terrence McFadden is a coward,
says he let us go. In the minute we entered
the room, the place was in an uproar. The little
yellow haired monkeys were hanging by their tails and chattering,
and even the big apes down in the corner were
roaring like devils. Let loose. Tis no use for me
to point out to Terrence that the hour of feeding
is at hand. He will have none of it. The
beast knows me, he mutters, between chattering teeth, tis my
blood they would be having? For why would they be
having your blood? I asked, I know not the why
of it, he says, shaking in every limb. But TI
so rubbish, says I, for I wish to rid him
of this foolish fear of his Walk with me to
this cage and look the big chap in the eye.
There's no harm he can be doing to you. And
him safe behind the bars. Terrence was fair sweating with fear,
but he grits his teeth and arm in arm. We
walk over to the cage. The big tawny fellow, the
ugly faced one by the fire door, sits there humped
up in his corner, glowering at us with eyes like coals. Look, man,
says I, and give over your foolishness. Why even in
the open, ye'd be a match for him. No sooner
are the words out of my mouth than the beast
makes one jump from his corner and lands halfway up
the bars at the front of the cage with a
roar that would blast the very soul of ye. I own.
I was startled little, as I fear monkeys in their likes.
But poor Terence gives a sort of gasp and leans
against me, actually paralyzed with fear. His eyes are set
in a glassy stare like a dead man's. And I
swear to you that after I got him outside. It
was half an hour before the color came back to
his cheeks, and his knees gave over their quivering. Did
you see the horrible face of him? He gasps, and
the long arms reach it for me throat, and then
he'd fall to trembling again. Captain Dolan paused, as abruptly
as he had begun, so vividly had he told the
story that he had been for the moment, transported bodily
to the monkey house at the zoo. Now, in the
sudden silence, we moved uneasily, glancing at one another. Corcoran
scratched his head in a puzzled What's all this got
to do with finding the murderer? He burst out. Captain
Dolan shook his head. There is no murderer, he said.
We all looked startled. I imagine Canon would have spoken,
but Captain Dolan motioned him to silence. Even Corkoran, for
once found himself without words. I spoke of an item
in the newspaper tonight, continued Captain Dolan, doubtless to a
scene by all of you. Did you not read that
one of the gorillas at the zoo had escaped from
its cage and was at large in the city. In
the breathless silence which ensued, I felt a peculiar thrill
of terror pass up my spine. Kenton was fingering the
holster of his revolver with nervous, clumsy motions in some
uncanny manner. The gaunt old sea captain's grim words of
doubtless import had woven about us all a web of
superstitious fear in which we vainly struggled, unable to grasp
the saving clue. Twas that item which spoiled his supper
for Terence when he read it aboard the ship tonight,
and no use I found it to reason with him.
To his mind. The grinning face of the big ape
was peeping in at every porthole. Suddenly Corcoran whirled, peering
into the blackness at the far end of the warehouse,
where something stirred softly. Canton drew his pistol. I felt
the goose flesh rising along my arms. Only the dead man, undisturbed,
stared unwinkingly in the opposite direction. The next moment, a
stray cat wandered leisurely into the circle of light and
sat herself down to wash her dusty fur blinking complacently
up at our pallid faces. I wiped the cold drops
from my forehead and breathed a deep sigh. Corkoran turned
almost pleadingly to Captain Dolan. The gorilla, he said, was
it the gorilla from the zoo that killed Terence McFadden.
Dolan shook his head. I would not say that, he answered.
I stared at the parchment like face in amazement. Like Corkoran,
I had jumped to this conclusion. Kenton drew his hand
across his forehead in perplexity. But you said there was
no murder, cried Corkoran. Was it Big Jim that killed him?
After all? I would not say that, repeated Captain Dolan.
Corkoran looked at the old man. Then he spoke very
softly and soothingly, as one might interrogate a backward child.
Then tell me, Captain Dolan, he said, how did Terence
McFadden die? He was murdered, replied Captain Dolan. Corkran stared murdered.
But you just said there was no murderer, Nor was there,
said the Captain. Corkoran dropped his hands helplessly. Kenton took
up the interrogation. Did he kill himself, he demanded, Was
it suicide? I would not say that, repeated Captain Dolan
for the third time. But Kenton was not to be
baffled with What weapon was the man killed? He asked
doggedly Captain Dolan, at the contorted face of the man
at his feet, with one of the oldest weapons in
the world, He answered, A weapon which has caused the
death of many A brave man, ay braver and more
powerful than Terence. Here the waves lapped saltily against the
rotting piles at the far end of the warehouse. In
the darkness, our rat squeaked, and the cat, interrupting its toilet,
darted out of the circle of light and vanished. In
the darkness was heard the sound of a speeding motor.
Captain Dolan raised his eyes from the corpse of his friend,
and his voice was very soft and compassionate. Did I
not say that Terence was his own worst enemy? Had
it not been for this foolish bewitchment of his He
turned and pointed suddenly towards Big Jim, standing stupidly there
in the shadows. It seemed almost that the eyes of
the dead man, following the direction of his extended arm
were staring at the beastial, repulsive features of the prisoner
with sentient terror. Look at the hairy arms of him,
he cried, Look at the long, shaggy beard when he
stood on the platform yonder by the door and crooked
his elbow upon the throat of Terence. Do you think
the poor lad knew of the pistol stuck in his back?
Or of the words of warning? Jabbered in some heathen
LINGO to the mind of Terence was nothing less than
the coming true of all his nightmares. Small wonder that
his eyes are bursting from their sockets as he lies
there with the grip of terror, stopping the valves of
his heart and curdling the very blood in his veins.
Then the name of the weapon. It's called fear, said
Captain Dolan. The throbbing motors sounded at the end of
the street. With a squeal of brakes, the police car
halted outside. Doctor Potts pushed through the crowd and bent
briefly over the body heart failure. He said, the end
of the secret Fear