Dan and the Death-Cell Bluff

The young man’s teeth continued to glitter, but the welcome was gone from his smile. “I don’t accept help from my father, Mr. Fancy. I’m afraid I can’t use you.”

Dan moved one big hand impatiently. “Your old man told me all about that. He doesn’t expect any thanks.”

“Then he didn’t tell you enough. I’m sorry you’ve been troubled, Mr. Fancy, but you’re wasting your time.”

Turning his attention back to Adele, Robinson ignored the big man. For a moment Dan watched him broodingly.

“Your old man told me enough,” he said finally. “You’ve been a poet by profession, and before that you were an artist, and before that a musical composer. Only you never made a dime at any of those professions, so you took up hairdressing as a sort of substitute art. You like to associate with people who work with their minds.

“You never had any respect for your old man because the money he educated you in Europe on was made in the disgusting business of manufacturing steel. You never let him forget he started out as a day laborer. He was a peasant and you were an aristocrat. Finally when your snobbery got too far under his skin, he kicked you out. When he got over his mad, he asked you back again, with you writing the ticket. But aristocrats don’t accept largess from peasants.”

The big man paused, then went on huskily, “You’re living in a dream world, kid. Aristocrats are mortal, just like people. In seventeen days they’ll strap you in the electric chair. You’ve got your old man crazy enough now with your martyr act. Come awake and start cooperating. I want some questions answered.”

“I’m afraid I don’t like you, Mr. Fancy,” Robinson said frigidly. “Please inform my father I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Sure you are. Want to bet when they strap you in the chair, you won’t break wide open and start screaming for your father? But then it’ll be too late.”

“Guard!” the condemned man said crisply. “Please take Mr. Fancy away. I don’t wish to talk to him.”

Without waiting for the guard’s reaction, Dan turned and strode toward the barred and locked door of the cell block. As he walked away, he heard Adele say, “Please, Gene. Don’t make things so difficult. All that Mr. Fancy is trying to do is help.”

During the first mile of the ride back the girl was so quiet, Dan realized she was making an effort not to cry.

Finally he said irritably, “The guy is a psycho, you know.”

Startled, she glanced sidewise at him.

“Delusions of grandeur,” Dan said. “Nothing can touch him. A miracle will happen to get him out of his jam at the last minute, and then he won’t owe his dad a thing.” He glowered at the road ahead. “He doesn’t know it, but the miracle is that his old man even bothered to try to help him. I’d let him fry.”

“Don’t say that!” Adele said passionately. “Gene is a fine man. He’s just too proud and stubborn for his own good.”

Dan glanced at her curiously. “How’d he happen to condescend to become engaged to you? You read all the correct books?”

A slow blush diffused her face. “I thought you were so particular about taking advantage of a man in death row.”

“Sorry,” he said tersely, and lapsed into silence.

A mile farther on he remarked, “Our shadow is with us again.”

The girl tensed, but did not look around. “The same man?”

Dan nodded. “Don’t worry about it. Apparently all he wants is to see where we go.”

But when they reached the short stretch of mountain road Dan began to wonder if the Lincoln was solely interested in tailing them, for in the rear-view mirror he could see the gap between the two cars was slowly being closed. When it had decreased from a hundred yards to a hundred feet, he glanced reflectively at the guard rails flashing by at their right, thin wooden rails which in places edged a sheer hundred foot drop.

The next curve, Dan remembered, formed a narrow horseshoe and the bank fell away nearly vertically over a deep chasm. His lips thinned as the Lincoln edged nearer and suddenly started to pass just short of the curve.

Aside from his tightened mouth the big man gave no indication that he even noticed the other car until it came fully abreast. Then suddenly he slammed on the brakes.

The Lincoln cut in viciously at the same moment, nearly touching the rail a mere car length ahead of the point where the Buick slid to a screeching halt. Careening around the curve, it disappeared in a burst of power.

“He tried to kill us!” Adele gasped, pushing herself back in her seat.

“He would have,” Dan said grimly, “if I hadn’t braked a split second ahead of his swing.”

Shifting into low, he lifted the speed to forty again, but made no attempt to catch the Lincoln.