LITMIR.BIZ

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the truth about your­self.”

      “What truth?”

      “Truth that you won’t want the op­position newspapers to get hold of. Will you quash the indictment?”

      “Certainly not!”

      Vestine sighed, as if with regret for Brant’s obstinacy.

      “Too bad,” said he. “You force me to disclose facts that might so easily have remained hidden. Facts that will forever destroy your peace of mind and your confidence in—well, in certain per­sons you might prefer to trust. Before I tell you, I ask again whether you will do what—”

      “Why, this is insanity! I should say not!”

      “It can all be done very quietly. ‘No bill’ is a formula covering a multitude of errors. And I am prepared to make restitution on the check forged by the young lady. Then away we go, back to Denmark, and all is merry as the tra­ditional marriage bell. What do you say, Mr. Brant?”

      “I say this interview is ended! And do you realize you’re trying to intimi­date me, to suborn justice? Do you know what the consequences of that may be to you?”

      “My dear Mr. Brant, pray listen to reason,” persisted Vestine. “I assisted you in your marital program, and brought happiness to your wife and you. Now I am asking a little recipro­cation, that’s all. In the name of your excellent wife, I beg you will allow another woman to become mine, free and clear.”

      “See here, Enemark, or whoever you are,” rapped out the district attorney, “we’re not going to discuss this any further. My wife’s name isn’t going to be dragged into any matter by a man who—”

      “Sh!” smiled the Dane imperturbably. “My good young man, I see you are one of those unfortunate beings who can’t be led, but must be driven. Well, then, on your own head be it. The fact is—”

      “I don’t want to hear your ‘facts!’ I’ve heard enough, had enough of you. I advise you to go, now, before—”

      “The fact is, Mr. Brant, in that fa­mous case of yours I was what your American slang so picturesquely calls ‘the fall guy,’ that made the corner stone of your success, I was bought and paid for in the market—bought and paid for, like a herring, by your esteemed father-in-law. And the price paid for me was just exactly—”

      VI.

      “That’s a damned lie!” cried Brant passionately, starting up.

      “The price paid for me was just ex­actly fifty thousand dollars which I at once very securely invented in Danish securities,” Vestine calmly finished. He, too, stood up. “With accrued interest, and the rates of exchange as they now are, I am comfortably well off ‘in my ain countree.’ I have exchanged a life of chance and insecurity for one of respectability and competence. I no longer need continue any activities that might bring me into conflict with the law.”

      “You—you—” choked the district attorney, but could articulate nothing.

      “I have purchased a controlling in­terest in a reform newspaper at Aarhus, Denmark,” smiled Vestine. “My wife-to-be, whom you will release, will help me do uplift work—quite like yours, that is perfectly safe and pays fine dividends, as Mr. Cozzens, the Honor­able Mr. Cozzens, well knows. As your humble servant and fall guy, I ask you the one favor in question.”

      “Fall guy, nothing! It’s a damned lie!” Brant had grown quite livid with agitation. His hands twitched.

      “Please phone the Honorable Coz­zens,” requested Vestine. “Ask him to come to this office for a few minutes. And tell him to bring Best-policy Bogan with him. Say Mr. Vestine is here, spilling immense numbers of ap­palling beans. Go on, Mr. Brant, call your father-in-law, who ‘framed’ you to success.”

      Brant gasped, paled, reached for the phone, but did not take it up. Suddenly he sat down, with an oath.

      “It’s—it’s all a—”

      “Of course,” laughed Vestine. “All a fairy story of mine. Hans Christian Andersen, my esteemed compatriot, isn’t in it with me as a raconteur, is he? By no means! For that reason I am so in­timately acquainted with the way the first clue was fed you; with all the de­tails leading up to the arrest; with a score of other factors in the case, as I’ll prove directly. For that reason I am—”

      “Hold on!” choked Brant. “What number did you say that case was?” His eyes looked hunted. “That case you—the case of that woman?”

      “My fiancée, you mean?”

      “Yes, your fiancée.”’

      “Ah, that’s better. It is No. 327, on the spring list. I see your memory needs refreshing. I can refresh it to any extent you may need. And you’ll attend to the matter at once?” Brant nodded.

      “I’ve had enough of you,” said he hoarsely. “Get out! I wish you were both in hell!”

      “On the contrary, we’re leaving it for good. Well, I’ll expect you to take action inside of twenty-four hours. That will square everything. I squared the bank, squared your highly neces­sitous legal record, squared myself with fifty thousand dollars of your esteemed father-in-law’s money—which really bought you your present success as well as my own—and squared your father-in-law.”

      Vestine smiled at Brant, who, dis­armed before him, stood there speech­less and staring.

      “Just one more thing before I go,” said the Dane. “This case represents a very pretty mathematical problem. It is known as the Theorem of Pythagoras. Mr. Cozzens and you and I form a tri­angle. Perhaps I may state it better by saying we three are the three sides of a right triangle. I insist on being the hypotenuse, or longest side. I’m the hypotenuse, because the square of the hypotenuse equals the squares of the other two sides, added. And I’m going to be squared, now. I’m going square. Hope you and the Honorable Cozzens are, too.”

      Speaking, he drew from his pocket a slip of paper, a blue check, and looked at it; and as he looked, he nodded.

      “No more prison for mine, thank you,” said he. “Under your law, a man can’t be twice put in jeopardy of his life or liberty for the same crime. Even though guilty, if he’s tried and acquitted, that lets him out. So I’m safe now. Therefore, I don’t mind telling you—”

      “What?”

      “See this check?”

      “What is it?”

      “It’s the one that Markwood Hinman cashed. The one that was taken from Henry Kitching, after he had been knocked cold in the alley.”

      “The forged check that—that disap­peared?”

      “Yes.”

      “But how did you—”

      “Listen, my dear young man,” an­swered the Dane. “What I got for being the fall guy, and agreeing to be tried by you before a fixed jury—facts that your father-in-law will verify—was a good deal more than fifty thousand dollars. I got—”

      “What else? What more?”

      “Perpetual immunity. Now you know. But you will never dare tell the world. That would ruin you. But now you understand.”

      He struck a match, lighted the check, and held it till it flared. He dropped the ashes into the wastebasket, picked up his hat and gloves, and turned toward the door.

      “Here, wait a minute!” gulped Brant “What—what’s the idea? Where did you get that check—and what do you mean by immunity, if—if you aren’t the man that—that killed—”

      “Ah, but I am, you see,” smiled Vestine impassively. “Good-by!”

THE SUPREME GETAWAY

      Originally published in People’s Magazine, October

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