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Amazing Stories, March 1945, with "The Lying Lie-Detector"
The lie-detector was flashing both lights frantically,
signalling an untruth! The detector was lying!
Here was mechanical justice! Decisions
handed down by a machine that could not lie!
RAYMOND SAND drew a crumpled cigar wrapper from his coat pocket and twisted it idly between the fingers of one hand. After a long moment's thought, he pressed the button on his desk that summoned Miss Salmon, and waited until her thin, depressing face appeared in the doorway. "Get in touch with 'Parrot' French," he said. "I want to talk to him as soon as possible."
Miss Salmon grimaced. "You choose the nicest people for your friends," she said.
Sand grinned and picked up the phone and dialed a number. There was a moment's hesitation before Sue Fletcher came on at the other end of the wire and said: "Hello. Fletcher's residence."
"This is Raymond Sand calling," he said.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Sand. I'm sorry, but I'm still not interested in hiring a private detective."
"Wait a minute," he begged, afraid that she might hang up. "You don't understand. I know your brother is innocent. I'm not after your money. This is a personal affair with me."
"I'm sorry," the girl replied in a tone that clearly indicated that she was not sorry at all. "I'm not going to waste any more time discussing it." Sand sighed.
"I can't force my services upon an unwilling client," he confessed.
Evidently she agreed, for the phone clicked loudly in his ear before he could hang up.
Miss Salmon broke the connection on the switchboard and hurried into Sand's office.
"You're a sucker," she said bitterly. "Making a fool of yourself over a pretty girl."
Sand sat quietly for some time. After a while, the phone jangled.
Sand reached for the receiver.
"Raymond Sand speaking."
"Hey, Sand," a whining voice greeted him, "this is Parrot French. Your secretary left word for me to get in touch with you."
Sand glanced at his wrist-watch,
"Which you did promptly," he said. "I have some questions to ask. You find the answers."
French's voice sounded suddenly angry.
"Look here, Sand, I ain't no stool. I don't like doing this kind of work for you."
Sand frowned, holding the receiver away from his ear.
"You forget favors easily, don't you, Parrot? How about that murder rap I cleared you on last month?"
French's voice died down again to a pleading whine.
"Okay, okay; so I know you're a good scout. All the boys know it. So, what's the job this time?"
"Get a scent on Ely Green, the banker. Dig up all the dirt you can on him. Find out how long he's known Jerald Warner, and where he was when Sam Fletcher rubbed Warner out."
He heard French whistle.
"Is that all?" French asked. "A rich guy is rubbed out and the case is so hot it burns the D.A.'s fingers, so you want me to get my fingers in it. Lay off, will you?"
Sand said quietly, "I want to know where Ely Green was between eight and eight-thirty the night Warner was killed. You find out."
He hung up, and his lips were no longer smiling. He hoped some day to get out of the habit of using rats like French. But, for the time being, French was a better watch-dog than all the cops at headquarters.
RAY SAND removed his hat and extended his hand to the slim, auburn-haired girl who had just entered Inspector Case's office. Case said:
"This is Raymond Sand, a private operator who's been very interested in your brother's case. He has evidence which he believes will clear him. Perhaps you'd like to stay here and hear his story?"
Sue Fletcher accepted Sand's hand.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Fletcher," Sand said. "I'm very much interested in your brother's case. I believe the information I have will clear him."
Several hours had passed since a jury had refused to decide on Sam Fletcher's innocence or guilt. A lie-detector test had been called for. Sue Fletcher wasn't quite sure now about her brother's chances of leaving the court a free man.
Case said:
"You two sit down. We might as well go over this thing together."
"I guess I haven't been very kind to you over the phone," Sue Fletcher told Sand. "I've been very worried about Sam. I'm the only one he can depend on. I'm very grateful for your interest."
Sand chose a chair near the one Case had placed for the girl.
"Don't be grateful to me," he said. "I suspect a man of the murder whom I hate very cordially. I took a chance and went ahead with the investigation in spite of your refusal to retain me."
Deep color flushed the girl's cheeks. He saw her shoulders straighten as though a huge load had been taken from them. She appealed to Case.
"The detector will free Sam, won't it?" she asked. "If, as Mr. Sand claims, the murderer is still at large, surely everything will turn out all right."
James Case rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He turned to Sand and said:
"Tell her what you found out."
SAND leaned back in his chair. He stared into the girl's eyes as he talked, but his mind wasn't on her. He was thinking back to that interview with Parrot French.
"Ely Green, a very well known banker down-town, has been friendly with Warner for many years. I've got a lot of stuff on Green. When this case broke, I happened to know that Green and Warner had just had a fight. I couldn't believe your brother had actually shot Warner. I put a man on the case and he brought in evidence that proved beyond doubt that Sam couldn't have been present at the time Warner died."
Case coughed discreetly.
"I wouldn't take too much stock in what Sand says," he cautioned the girl. "Unfortunately, although Sand means very well in this case, his source of information isn't very reliable."
Sand flushed faintly but didn't protest. He said:
"On the night of Warner's death, it has been established that your brother left the Warner residence at eight o'clock. Slade Jarvis, the general handy-man and chauffeur at the Warner residence, saw Warner alive and standing in the door of his home at five after eight."
Case started to interrupt, but Sand waved him aside.
"Ely Green arrived at the Warner place at fifteen after eight, after Mrs. Warner had called the police and reported her husband's death. After Mrs. Warner had left the house on her way to police headquarters."
Sue Fletcher had both hands on the arm of her chair.
"Then Sam couldn't have—"
"Just a minute, Miss Fletcher," Case said. "This all sounds very much in favor of Sam. Unfortunately, Sand's source of information could never be introduced as evidence. Parrot French, the man who found out these facts, has been in prison on several charges, including fraud. Also, we would have to have a more reliable witness than the chauffeur, as he too has a police record."
RAYMOND SAND had been silent, listening. Now he stood up slowly. He was very calm, but his eyes betrayed the anger that was behind them.
"I've never pulled a fast one on you before, Case."
Case scratched his chin and looked stubborn.
"Sam Fletcher is in a bad spot," he said. "I can understand why you'd rather see Green in his shoes. You don't like Green. Unfortunately, you haven't got evidence that we can introduce into court."
"But you can start a new investigation. You can throw the thing wide open. I'm positive—"
Case shook his head.
"The case is closed," he said. "Fletcher will get a fair chance to tell the truth when he goes on 'Detecto' trial. If he's innocent..."
Sue Fletcher smiled wanly.
"I'm still grateful, Mr. Sand, for what you tried to do. I'm only sorry that I didn't let you work for Sam before all this came to light. Mr. Case admits that more reliable witnesses might have been acceptable."
Sand moved across the room to the battered hat-rack. He removed his hat and placed it carefully on his head. He turned to Case and anger smouldered deep in his eyes.
"The law, Miss Fletcher, is a very stubborn thing," he said coldly. "Case would rather see an innocent man die than disturb his routine methods and become involved with something that might be too complicated for him to handle."
Case was on his feet, heavy cheeks blood-red, fists clenched.
"I ought to take a crack at you for that remark."
Sand smiled.
"You're considerably past your prime, Inspector," he said. "I wouldn't try it."
He turned abruptly and left the office.
Sue Fletcher watched him go out and sighed.
"Modern crime methods are wonderful, Inspector," she said a trifle sarcastically. "Sometimes I wonder if the courts of ten years ago were not more fair to a man on trial for his life. At least a human jury could pronounce the death sentence."
Case was still on his feet, staring after Sand.
"Detecto has never misjudged a case yet," he growled. "After all, this is 1950. We no longer depend on human juries in a case like this. A machine is not influenced by human weaknesses."
The girl tossed her auburn hair back from her face and stood up. She smiled, but not confidently.
"Sam never told a lie in his life," she said proudly. "He has nothing to fear from a mechanical jury."
SEVERAL men and women sat in the hot, dry court room. Their eyes were on the squat metal box that stood on a platform at one end of the room. The box was six feet high, divided into two sections, with a large base and a smaller, head-like top. On the "head," two red tubes burned brightly, glaring like angry, blood-shot eyes. A row of tubes emerged from the box in the shape of a wide mouth. These were sending off a faint, white glow. Heavy arm-like cables were connected to the electrical power supply. Two more cables emerged near the bottom of the box, climbed the legs of a steel chair and ended in clamps which fitted the prisoner's wrists.
Sam Fletcher came in with a uniformed officer. He sat down on the small chair. His face was white and he looked badly frightened. A slim, bald man adjusted the wrist clamps and attached them to Fletcher's arms. The red eyes on Detecto, the lie-detector, started to blink at the spectators. The tube mouth seemed to grimace as the tubes grew bright.
Sue Fletcher and her brother's lawyer sat in the front row. Beside her was Inspector Jim Case, and beyond Case was District Attorney Fred Mitchell. Raymond Sand sat alone at the far end of the row of seats. He held an unlighted Havana in his teeth while his fingers fumbled with the cellophane wrapper.
Inspector Case arose.
"Professor Judson has been authorized by this State to handle Detecto during all trials." He spoke mechanically, repeating words he had spoken many times as a matter of form. Then he sat down.
The district attorney was immediately on his feet. He was small and neatly dressed, and conscious of his own importance.
"The State authorizes me to handle this trial," he said curtly. "The verdict handed down by Detecto will be final."
The room was very quiet as he sat down. The prisoner was a slightly built, blond-headed boy, hardly over twenty-one. Perspiration stood out on his forehead and his hands clutched the arms of the chair tightly. This was the test he welcomed. He wondered how long it would be before it would all be over.
Professor Judson drew a lever down on the side of Detecto and turned to face the prisoner. He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and adjusted his glasses. His high-pitched voice said:
"Your name is Samuel Fletcher?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are on trial for the murder of one Jerald Warner?"
"Yes."
As each question was answered, the red "eye" lights winked green. The professor consulted his list of questions.
"According to evidence submitted, you entered Jerald Warner's home on the night of June sixth, shortly before eight o'clock. You fired a bullet from a .45 revolver into Warner's back, then made your escape. Is that true?"
Sam Fletcher's smile grew confident.
"Not one word of it," he snapped.
A murmur of excitement swept through the room. The professor cleared his throat.
"Please answer yes or no," he said. "Questions must be—"
"Wait a minute!"
District Attorney Mitchell was on his feet, protesting. Fletcher's lawyer also arose, talking loudly. Sam Fletcher managed to turn half way around and his face turned a pasty white.
THE red eyes on Detecto had remained red and were flickering wildly. Detecto was indicating that Sam Fletcher's final statement had been a lie!
"The prisoner has answered the question falsely," Mitchell cried. "The machine is signaling his guilt."
The only man who was not on his feet, now, was Raymond Sand. The detective sat at the end of the row, eyebrows raised questioningly, the cigar wrapper still wadded in his fingers.
"One moment, please," Professor Judson shouted. "The answer may have confused Detecto. The machine is accustomed to simple answers of 'yes' or 'no.' We will ask the prisoner to answer clearly with one of those two words."
Now Sam Fletcher wasn't sure of himself. He fidgeted in his chair. He stared wonderingly at his sister and saw her tears.
"Did you murder Jerald Warner?" Judson asked.
"No," Fletcher said quietly.
Detecto's lights continued to glow brightly crimson.
Fletcher turned again and saw the guilt signal on the face of Detecto. He stood up, arms held at his sides, by the heavy cables. His face was dark with anger.
"You're a bunch of vultures!" he shouted. "I said I didn't kill Jerry Warner and before God, I didn't. I don't care what your machine says!"
He sank down, the fight abruptly gone out of him. His eyes were closed and his body shook with emotion.
Professor Judson shrugged. He turned off the machine and faced the court.
"Detecto was inspected by State Control men just before this trial," he said. "There is no chance that a mechanical error was made. Fifty cases have been tried on Detecto this year. All of them were faultlessly conducted."
District Attorney Mitchell appeared satisfied. Jim Case stared down the row of faces toward Raymond Sand. Sand's expression was that of a completely baffled man. A scowl was etched on his forehead. He did not look up. Sand couldn't face the tearful eyes of the girl who had placed her trust in him.
The district attorney said:
"These findings will be reported to the judge at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. The prisoner will be sentenced at that time."
Two policemen removed Fletcher from the chair. His face was streaked with tears. Raymond Sand arose and left the room before Sue Fletcher, her face contorted with misery and anger, could reach him.
"I'VE never pulled a fast one on you yet, Case," Sand said evenly. "Is there a chance in the world of getting the case before a human jury?"
Jim Case tossed his hat on Sand's desk and sat down heavily in a chair opposite the detective.
"None," he said, "unless you can change the laws of the State. Why don't you break down and admit you're wrong, Sand? That boy is guilty and we both have proof of it."
"I haven't," Sand said stubbornly. "We know the machine said he is guilty, but in anything mechanical there is chance for an error."
Case shook his head.
"I came here for two reasons," he said. "First, I want to know why you introduced that so-called 'evidence' of yours at the last minute."
Sand said: "The evidence is as good now as it was when I gave it to you. I intend to prove that. What's the second reason?"
Case said: "Okay, Sand. You're smart and you've helped me a lot in the past. I'm not going to push you around. I could make it hot for you, bringing in that cock-and-bull story. I won't do it."
"Damned noble of you," Sand said.
Case ignored the remark.
"The second reason for this visit," he said, "was to deliver a message from Miss Fletcher. She talked with me after the Detecto trial. She says she hopes you face that machine yourself some day, and that you'll know what decision she wants handed down."
Sand's eyes narrowed slightly. He pushed back his desk chair.
"That's one more reason, Case, why I'm going to bring in your murderer if I have to tear that lie-detector apart wire by wire until I find out why it didn't acknowledge the truth."
Case stood up, retrieved his hat, and placed it carefully on his head. He started toward the door, then turned.
"You sure picked a bad one in asking French to collect the dope for you," he said.
"I think French is telling the truth," Sand said. "What's more, I've kept him busy since we had that rather unpleasant meeting at your office. If you've got the guts to see yourself torn apart by some real investigation work, stick around while I call French up here. Something has happened that I think even you will listen to."
Case hesitated, then swore softly and crossed the room to the far corner. He sat down abruptly and turned his eyes on the man behind the desk.
"Bring in your stool pigeon," he snapped. "No man can accuse me of holding up justice."
SAND hesitated a moment, then picked up the phone. He dialed
and waited. When he spoke over the phone, his lips were set in straight, determined lines.
"Tell Parrot French to get up to my office in ten minutes," he said.
He slammed the receiver back in its cradle, turned and opened the file behind him. He took out several neat files and placed them in a row on his desk. When Miss Salmon peeked in ten minutes later, Sand didn't even look up. She tip-toed out again, closing the door silently behind her.
She had just adjusted a sheet of paper in her typewriter when Parrot French came in looking like a hunted fox. She looked up and frowned.
"You wanted to see Mr. Sand?"
French let his shifty eyes wander around the office.
"He sent for me," he said in a low voice. "I guess you better tell him I'm out here waiting."
"Sit down." Velia Salmon motioned to a small, straight-back chair.
She went to the door of Sand's office and announced Parrot's presence. Sand's voice came from beyond the partly opened door, and it didn't sound very pleasant to French. He stood up and went in.
Parrot French looked nervously at the Inspector. Case stared at him for a moment as he would study a strange fish.
"Don't be afraid of me this time, French," he said. "For once I'm not after you. I'm here because Sand thinks you've suddenly become an honest man and a reliable witness."
French sat down.
"You got nothing on me," he said. "I got a right to work for Sand if he wants me to."
"It's a free country," Case said. "Only, there's no accounting for some people's taste."
"That's enough clever dialogue."
Sand said suddenly. "I want you to repeat what you told me yesterday," he told French. "The Inspector is interested."
French wriggled uncomfortably under Case's scrutiny.
"It's like I said. Slade Jarvis works for Mr. Warner, or he did before the guy croaked. Slade says on the night Warner was rubbed out, he brought the car around at five after eight. He saw Warner standing in the hall when his wife drove away."
SAND said: "Case said Mrs. Warner called and told him her husband was shot at eight o'clock. She left the house and drove to police headquarters, because she didn't dare stay there alone. Her husband was supposed to be dead when she left."
"Slade wasn't lying," French insisted. "He took Mrs. Warner to Case's office and when he came back, the old guy was dead, like Mrs. Warner said."
"Then she reported her husband's death before he was shot," Sand observed thoughtfully. "Mrs. Warner left the house, knowing her husband would be dead when she got back. She cleared out to give the killer time to get in after she left. If Slade Jarvis hadn't seen Warner alive at eight-five, no one could dispute Mrs. Warner's story."
"Jarvis did see him though," French said eagerly. "He's been wise to Mrs. Warner for a long time. She's been running around with Ely Green."
"So have I," Sand said. "Go on."
"Well, I found a guy who runs a tavern just south of Warner's place. At eight-thirty, Ely Green drove up, went into this tavern and ordered a drink. He went to the rest-room and stayed in there for fifteen minutes. He was plenty shaky. He had a few drinks and they got him down. He started talking to Bill Prater, the guy who owns the joint. The joint was deserted, and Green started talking pretty loud about not being bothered by Warner again.
"Prater was suspicious and he fed Green a lot of strong stuff. Then Green told him he'd rubbed Warner out and that he, Green, was going to have free sailing with Warner's wife from then on."
In his corner, Case chuckled.
"I suppose you will swear to all this in court, and produce plenty of evidence, including reliable witnesses?"
Sand opened the drawer of his desk and took out a wrinkled paper towel. There were several small blood stains on it, molded perfectly into finger prints, where wet fingers had pressed into the paper. He placed the towel on the top of the desk.
"Prater found this towel in the washroom after Green left," he said. "Green's fingerprints and Warner's blood."
French said eagerly: "I can get Slade Jarvis to talk. This kid Fletcher couldn't have rubbed the Warner guy out, because Slade says Fletcher left the house before Mrs. Warner did."
"You'll have to tell that to the State," Sand said.
French was puzzled.
"What's that mean in my language?"
"It means," Sand said slowly, "that Sam Fletcher is already in the death-house, waiting for the chair. Blind justice has been at work and Detecto condemned Fletcher to death only a few hours ago."
"Then that damned machine is a liar," French said excitedly. "So help me, Sand, I'm telling the truth. I been trying to help out. I ain't lying."
Sand stared at the man's pale face.
"Don't throw a fit," he said "You did a good job. Now sit tight and keep your mouth shut."
Case stood up. "This has been very touching," he said. "Now I'll tell you what I think. Jarvis and French have both served time. The tavern owner, Prater, hasn't got a very clear record. The court wouldn't sit still on these witnesses of yours. The case is settled and you can't dig it up again, regardless of how badly you hate Green. It just doesn't add up, Sand, not after any machine as reliable as Detecto has pronounced Fletcher guilty."
French sat very still, staring out the window. Sand arose.
"Okay, Case," he said slowly. "So that's the way it is. You're a stubborn, bull-headed fool and you can't absorb an intelligent explanation. You're afraid to dig up lost clues because the D. A. would be on your neck in the morning and you'd face a demotion if you failed to deliver the goods."
"Well, I'm not going to let it rest there. I'm going to put all this evidence in writing, take the depositions of all witnesses, put everything in an envelope and hand it to you. And if you refuse to do any more about it, I'll raise a stink you'll never live down."
Case didn't answer. He pulled his hat down hard on his head and walked to the door. He opened it, hesitated, looked back, then went out without a word, slamming the door behind him.
SAND found Inspector Case talking to a plainclothesman in the hall outside his office.
Case turned abruptly.
"Got something for me, Sand?"
Sand passed him the envelope.
"The evidence I told you about," he said.
"Wait a minute," Case said, and turned to dismiss the man he had been talking to. When he turned to Sand once more, his face was pink with impatience.
"I don't see the point of dragging this in," he said. "The boy can't be saved. Detecto has handed down the final decision."
"I know," Sand said stubbornly. "Case, we've been working together for a long time. If the police laboratory won't work on the blood stains and finger prints, I'll call on a private outfit. The results might hurt you boys."
Case grunted.
"You're forgetting Detecto," he said. "Sorry, Sand, but the damned machine can't lie. It has to be right."
Sand sighed. He had enough of the one-sided argument.
"All right," he agreed. "Make that test on the towels. Check the findings with the story I told you. Call French, Slade Jarvis, and Bill Prater, the owner of the tavern. Then, Case, just try to sleep after you've compared their stories. I don't think you'll rest well."
He turned and went back through the swinging doors into the waiting room. He reached the outside door, started to leave, thought better of it and went back down the long corridor, past Case's closed door to the rear of the building. Here was the court room that housed Detecto.
The door was locked, but Case knew the janitor. A five-dollar bill changed hands, and the private detective had the key. He let himself into the room silently, closed and locked the door behind him. He wasn't quite sure why he had come here. Something about the machine fascinated him. Something that filled him with disgust toward an instrument that could send human beings to the death house.
He sat down in the empty front row and crossed his legs, staring into the dead eyes of Detecto. The smooth metal body looked almost like that of a robot. He rose and switched on the power that fed the machine. The instant that power surged through the machine, he felt as though he was being watched. Though at first it didn't trouble him a great deal, the feeling grew stronger. He knew that the door was locked tightly and that no one would be likely to find him here.
He sat down again, trying to throw off the feeling of being watched. Then, lighting his cigar, he laughed silently at his own fears. The room was full of the low hum of the machine. The sound made him drowsy. Detecto stared at him with red, baleful eyes.
"You're a fool," a strange, grating voice said.
SAND started up, both feet hitting the floor, and the cigar dropped from his fingers. He stared around the room.
"Who was that?" His voice was sharp, bewildered.
"You're a fool," the voice repeated. "You can't win."
Sand said: "Where are you?"
"In the box," came the reply. "I'm the brain in the box."
It was a deep voice. The sound of it was metallic.
Sand gripped the sides of his chair. He stared at Detecto, struggling for words.
"You are a clever man, Sand, but after all, only a man." The voice was patient now, as though teaching a lesson. "You will grow old and run down. You will become useless. I will remain in perfect running order, and men will keep my parts clean and protected. Remember this: I talk to you only because I know you haven't the power to destroy me. Men have chosen me to dispense with uncertain, human justice. The fact that I can be even more unreliable than flesh and blood juries is something no one knows—except you."
Sand found himself talking now, as though another man sat opposite him.
It seemed the natural thing to do.
"But you can't continue condemning innocent men," he said.
"Nonsense," Detecto snapped. "Men are foolish, stupid things. They pretend to be wise and clever. I grow very tired of them. I have gradually perfected my own brain until I can make a lie become truth, or the truth become a lie. It entertains me to do these things.
"Justice, synthetic justice, is what I'm giving. Actually I have no voice. No one but you could hear me if there were others in the room. My brain is capable of sending thought waves in one direction. My thoughts are reaching your ear drums now, and you can 'hear' them. Others might think you were crazy, talking to yourself."
Talking to yourself!
Sand shuddered. Perhaps that was the explanation. The Fletcher case had been troubling him too much. Perhaps his own mind was talking.
He stood up, trying to look away from Detecto at the blank wall, then at the window, at anything to take his mind off that voice. Was he going mad?
"It's obvious that you doubt your own sanity," the voice said. "Let me convince you. Your name is Raymond Sand and you are trying to save a prisoner from death. This man appeared before me yesterday. You cannot save him. I have condemned him to die, and he will die."
Sand was moving cautiously toward the switch that controlled Detecto.
"Pull the switch and silence me," Detecto said. "But when I am turned on again, and that will be often, I will continue to work against man and his stupidity. Man is stupid in everything he does, and I will grow more powerful until I learn new ways to control him. Go ahead—pull the switch. It will make you feel safer."
Sand pulled it. The hum of power died and the room was silent. He shrugged his shoulders, as though to toss away the feeling of fear that had crept into him. He stared at Detecto for several seconds, then went out of the room. He found the janitor and returned the key. In ten minutes he was on the street, still trying to convince himself that he had not talked to a machine. That the whole thing was a nightmare of his mind, created by the tragedy that had happened to Sam Fletcher.
SUE FLETCHER said coolly: "I'm sorry, Mr. Sand, but I don't care to see you again, even with dinner thrown in as the main attraction."
Sand winced, but the expression wasn't visible over the phone, and his voice was still friendly.
"I have one more chance to save your brother's life," he said urgently. "Surely you're interested in that."
He detected some hope in the moment's hesitation that came before she spoke again.
"I wish you could help," she said, "but you know as well as I do that when stupid justice is at work, you can't undo its laws, regardless of how unjust they are."
Sand sighed. He knew the truth of her words. It wasn't justice that was at fault. This time it was the fault of the instrument that justice had chosen to represent it.
"Will you do one thing for me?" he asked. "I'm going to see Green at two o'clock. I'm going to try to break him down. To get a confession."
The girl sighed.
"It can't help Sam, now," she said. "I'm afraid I can't see you—not feeling as I do now."
Sand said he was sorry and hung up.
He looked at his watch. It was a minute after twelve. He found his hat and went down for lunch.
AT ONE-THIRTY, Sand called Inspector Jim Case and held a long conversation with him. Case finally agreed to meet Sand at the Green Building at two o'clock.
Sand reached the Green Building at one fifty-five. He waited for some time. Case evidently wasn't going to arrive on time.
Green was an important man, financially, yet he occupied a small office at the end of the corridor on the fifth floor.
Sand took the elevator up, consulted his note book for the room number and found the right door. He knocked and the door slipped open under the force of his hand. He went in. A small reception room was lighted by a single bulb that hung over the switchboard. Evidently the receptionist was still out to lunch. The room was empty. Sand started to whistle softly. The sound aroused no one. He stepped softly through the small gate in a railing that cut the room into two sections. He crossed a frayed carpet to a door marked private. He pushed the door open with his toe.
Two small, heavily draped windows faced an alley. Sunlight trickled between the blinds and made yard-stick designs on the floor. The desk with an old fashioned, green-shaded lamp on top of it, stood in one corner. The lamp was lighted.
The rest of the room housed several dusty file cabinets, a bookshelf lined with frayed books and a chair that had been tipped over so violently that the back had broken against the floor.
Green lay beside the chair, a thin, distinguished-looking man with some of his dignity disturbed by a long, bloody gash that ran along the right side of his neck, under the ear. Sand hadn't seen Ely Green for several years. He had grown much older, thinner. Green had evidently gone through some long illness. His arms were out flung, with one hand grasping the telephone cord that ran down the side of the desk. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to drag the instrument from the desk.
Sand stood near the man, a queer light in his eyes. It was a light of hatred, long forgotten, but rekindled by recent events. He didn't kneel down. He didn't intend to leave any sign that he had been here.
A knock sounded on the outer door. He waited, studying the room for details that might prove valuable. Then he moved toward the door silently. There was only one way out. At the telephone switchboard, he waited. The knock came again, then the knob rattled and Jim Case walked in.
"Hello, Sand," he said in a surprised voice. "I'm sorry I was late. I knocked, but no one—"
He stopped speaking suddenly, staring past Sand at the open door of Green's office.
"Wait a minute," he said in a startled voice.
He was half way across the room before Sand snapped:
"Never mind the act, Case. I get it."
Case halted and swung around. "That's Green's body in there. Is he dead?"
Sand grimaced.
"I called you half an hour ago," he said. "Now I begin to see why you were late. It's a frame, Case, and you know damned well it is. I got here just ahead of you, the way it was meant to be."
Case stood there, his face turning slowly a deep crimson.
"Damn you," he said, "I'm fed up with your cracks. I've been called everything from a blind idiot to a fool. Now you've killed Green because you couldn't get him any other way, and I'm supposed to know all about it, to have fixed a frame on you. You aren't going to get away with it this time, Sand!"
He drew a heavy service revolver from his pocket.
"Better put them up, Sand, and high." He came across the carpet softly, like a stalking cat. "Just in case," he added, and reached for his cuffs.
DISTRICT ATTORNEY Fred Mitchell, stiff and as alert as a fighting cock, strode up and down the full length of the office, hands clasped behind his back, a cigarette between his thin lips. Case sat behind his desk, his eyes thoughtful. On the far side of the room, Raymond Sand sat alone, a sardonic smile on his lips as he watched the district attorney move about.
Mitchell stopped suddenly, and pointed a finger dramatically at Sand.
"You were in the room when Case arrived. Miss Fletcher didn't want to testify against you, but she was forced to admit that you threatened Green's life."
Sand said nothing,
"You hated Ely Green," Mitchell snapped. "You did threaten to get him, didn't you?"
"I did," Sand said.
"Suppose you tell us why," Mitchell said, using his best court-room voice.
"Because," Sand said, "he swindled a friend of mine out of ten grand a long time ago. This friend committed suicide because it was all the money he had in the world and he couldn't go on. I don't forget things like that."
Mitchell wasn't even listening.
"You're a smart man, Sand," he said. "But I've got you in a tight spot, and this time you're not walking out of it. I'd stake my reputation that you killed Ely Green. You thought you could walk out of his office without being suspected. There was no one else who might have wanted him out of the way."
Sand arose suddenly. He looked straight at Jim Case.
"Ask Case what happened," he said. "I gave him plenty of evidence to free Sam Fletcher. Case is afraid of me. He wants me out of the way. He had plenty of time to kill Green and frame me between one-thirty and two o'clock. I didn't think Jim would go that far, but there is no other explanation."
Mitchell laughed.
"You're smooth, Sand," he said. "Smooth as they come. But this time you can't get away with it. You're going to pay the penalty for getting rid of Green."
Sand came to his feet slowly, stretching like a cat.
"Then you're both in the same boat," he said. "You both know that the machine is fixed and you're getting rid of the people that might cause you trouble."
Mitchell looked blank. He turned to Case.
"Is the man crazy?" he asked.
Case shook his head. There was no expression on his face. He looked as bleak and cold as a piece of granite.
"Sand's on the way out and he knows it," he said. "He's grasping at straws."
Sand was near the door. He turned around and looked at it, wondering how far he could get.
"I wouldn't go out that door if I were you," Mitchell snapped. "I'll have you picked up before you can leave the building."
Sand turned back and anger shone in his eyes.
He said: "Am I to understand that you're getting rid of me to protect yourself?"
"Say it the way you want to," Mitchell said, "I'm arresting you for the murder of Ely Green. There'll be no jury trial for you, Sand. I'm going to send you straight to Detecto. I'll get permission from the State to do it. You'll save the court time and money, Sand, and you'll burn beside Sam Fletcher, the other wise guy who tried to beat his rap."
Sand was watching Jim Case. There was no comfort in the inspector's eyes. Was he mistaken, or did he see the ghost of a smile playing around Case's rugged face? He couldn't be sure.
"Okay, Mitchell," he said. "Have it your way. Just be sure you read all the rules, because if you slip anywhere along the line, God pity you. The voters won't."
EVENTS took place swiftly for Ray Sand. Events that forecast nothing but ill luck for him. To his amazement, Sue Fletcher seemed to take a new interest in him, now that he was in trouble.
With Ely Green dead, he, Ray Sand, must face Detecto. He had little doubt of the decision the machine would make. He was sure now that he had actually talked with the machine yesterday. His better sense told him that regardless of how impossible it all seemed, the interview with Detecto had actually taken place.
The small courtroom was hot and dusty. Open windows along one side let in the noise of the elevated trains and the sounds of traffic from the street below. A small group of people sat quietly in court. Two State mechanics in white coveralls worked over Detecto, grooming it for the test.
District Attorney Fred Mitchell entered the room, escorting two elderly gentlemen in neat gray suits. These were members of the State Senate, come to witness Detecto at work. Professor Judson, pale and scrawny as ever, walked through a side door and exchanged words with the mechanics. The men nodded, gathered their kits and left. The room was silent again, save for the rustle of skirts and the occasional clearing of a throat.
Inspector Jim Case stood in the hall, Ray Sand at his side, a uniformed officer beyond Sand.
"You should have been smart, Sand," Case said. "All this might have been avoided."
Sand was thinking of the machine. He couldn't think of any way to fight back. The machine would recognize him at once.
"Detecto is sure to act in the favor of justice," he said dryly. "What have I got to worry about?"
"Nothing," Case said, "if you didn't murder Green."
Sand chuckled. It was a hard, mirthless sound.
"I almost wish I had, now," he said.
The machinery inside Detecto started to hum. Sand stumbled forward, guided by Case's hand. He hardly saw the people around him as he walked toward the machine.
"So you're back again," the voice said suddenly. It filled his head, making it ache and throb. "You're back, and this time as a murderer—the man I am to judge."
"Rotten justice," Sand said loudly. "Rotten, synthetic justice."
"Sit down," an officer said. "Sit down and be quiet."
SAND was startled. It seemed to him that the others should have heard the voice also. They couldn't understand his outburst. He seemed to be talking to himself. He sat down in the small, metal chair and waited dumbly while they strapped his wrists to the arms and applied the metal clamps.
"You're going to die," the voice said very clearly. "You're going to burn in the chair, and all because men trust the honesty of my judgment."
He tried to ignore the voice. He stared at the spectators and saw only curiosity in their eyes. He looked at Mitchell. Mitchell was relaxed. His eyes were cold and bright. He arose to his feet.
"I am authorized to conduct this court," he said. His words were like drops of ice water on Sand's brain. "The prisoner has been accused of murdering a wealthy banker of this city, Ely Green."
Mitchell nodded toward Professor Judson.
"You may proceed," he said.
Judson leaned forward. His eyes were close to Sand's face. They were kindly eyes. The eyes of a man who did not know what a monster he had created.
"Your name is Raymond Sand?"
"Yes," Sand said. He saw Detecto's reflection in a small mirror across the room. The red eyes blinking green, as they confessed his words were spoken truthfully. He tried to watch that mirror, refusing to look anywhere else.
"You are a private detective?"
"Yes," Sand said. The tubes flashed green again: truth.
"See how clever I am?" Detecto whispered to him. "See how I seem to obey so nicely? Wait..."
"Damn you!" Sand shouted.
Mitchell was on his feet.
"The prisoner will confine himself to answering questions, and not to insulting the court," he snapped.
Sand's face was flaming red. He said nothing. He waited, dreading the moment the machine would speak again.
Professor Judson was talking. Sand tried to listen.
"Is it true that you entered Ely Green's private office, found him alone and murdered him?"
"No!" Sand shouted. He couldn't control his voice now. His nerves were taut. "It is not true. Green was dead when I arrived."
A HISS of voices sounded around him. It had come. In the mirror he saw the tubes flashing wildly. Flashing red, for blood and for death.
"I didn't kill Green!" he shouted, trying to force himself free from the heavy cables.
"But they all believe you did," the horrible voice of Detecto hissed in his ears. "They will punish you because I have told them to."
Those were Detecto's only words, but they were enough. The tubes continued to blink red, making sure he had been branded a liar.
Mitchell stood up. The two Senators stood up, nodding at each other, speaking in low voices.
No one seemed interested in Raymond Sand now. All eyes were on Mitchell.
"Detecto has handed down the final decision," Mitchell said curtly.
Sand's head ached dully. He remembered hearing these words only a few hours ago. Remembered the fearful, hunted look on Sam Fletcher's face. It seemed to him that the cables were pressing more tightly against him, preventing his escape.
Sand's eyes were on Mitchell. The district attorney was leaving the room. Near the back of the court, Case had arisen and gone out. A low whisper of excitement came from the spectators. Everyone seemed to be waiting, tensely. For what?
Mitchell came in again, followed by three police officers. Among them, a small man came, head down, clad in prison gray. Mitchell led the group forward until he stood before Sand. Then the man in gray looked at Sand.
"Green," Sand said, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Ely Green."
Mitchell turned and faced the court.
"Raymond Sand, the man on trial," he said clearly, "is innocent. He brought in evidence that aroused distrust in our minds toward the machine that has been judging our murder cases. He was purposely framed by the police department, and made to appear guilty of murdering Ely Green, the prisoner who stands here before you now."
SAND didn't hear his voice clearly.
He felt suddenly choked and heard the low, throaty sob of Detecto's voice as it seemed to realize what had happened. Then his blood was pumping through his veins violently, and the cables on his wrists twisted upward and swirled around his neck.
He heard Jim Case's voice suddenly, shouting a warning.
"Shut off that damned machine."
Sand was fighting now. Not with his hands, but with his mind.
"You can't win," Detecto was saying in his ear. "I'll conquer you first. They can't turn me off. I've grown too powerful. My brain will reach out and control the entire city. They can't harm me."
Something snapped inside Sand's brain. He had to hold out, to conquer the mechanical demon in the black box.
"You can't control the city," he shouted. The court room was silent. He could see a ring of bewildered faces staring up at him. "You can't move."
"Turn off that switch!"
Case was still shouting, running toward the wall switch. He reached it and threw off the power.
At once the cables grew loose on Sand's neck and he felt the blood flowing back into his head.
But the machine hadn't been turned entirely off. The brain was still functioning within Detecto.
"You can't destroy me now," the voice said. It grew powerful, more confident. Then Sand knew that he wasn't the only person who could hear, who listened to the mechanical voice. Mouths were open, eyes were staring at Detecto. Case was at Sand's side, loosening the cables.
"You've got to destroy the box," Sand mumbled.
The cables were free. Half a dozen policemen ran from the room.
Detecto's voice was roaring like a wind through the room.
"You can't leave the room," it shouted. "You haven't the power to move against my orders."
The men halted in their tracks, paralyzed by the strange hypnotism of the machine. Case was cursing loudly, ordering them out. Sand was free now, but he couldn't move.
"I'm going to kill," Detecto said. "Kill slowly, with the power of my brain. Destroy you all, here, where you stand. You're fools, all of you. Weak, blind fools."
The voice held them. Held Sand where he stood, near the machine. Riveted the others to the floor, like dead men, standing erect.
Sand's eyes traveled over the tubes, stopped on the mechanical eyes. They were glowing angrily. If he could get the power to lift an arm, to smash those red tubes.
He started to talk soothingly.
"What good will it do to kill? You cannot move. There would be no one left to obey your orders, to recognize your power."
Detecto seemed baffled. As its mind pondered on the question, the power seemed to relax a bit. Like the human mind, Detecto wasn't capable of concentrating completely on one subject.
Sand could move his finger tips. He flexed them slowly.
"You are powerful," he said. "You could rule all mankind."
The power was growing weaker. Sand knew that Detecto was baffled now, trying to reason slowly with its metallic brain.
"Men are fools—men are fools."
Sand swung his arm upward suddenly and brought it down on the glowing tubes. Detecto realized what was happening. With a scream of hate, the brain reverted to its paralyzing power and tried to prevent Sand's arm from coming down. Terrible pain shot through Sand, freezing him once more to the spot, but not before his arm smashed across the rows of red and white tubes that crashed and fell in tiny glass splinters to the floor.
Slowly Sand crumpled to the floor as consciousness left him.
"THAT'S all there is to it," Mitchell said, wiping his forehead. "We knew that you were trying to outwit the machine. Case turned the evidence over to me and I thought it sounded convincing. We checked up and decided that we should do something to prove that the machine had gone haywire."
He paused and smiled at Sand, then at Sue Fletcher, who was sitting on the edge of Sand's cot.
"When you made an appointment with Case at Green's office, you gave us our opportunity. We took a chance on your mistaking anyone you found there for Green. I happened to know that you hadn't seen Green in years. I had Case borrow the body of an unidentified accident victim at the morgue and plant it in Green's office. We arrested Green and kept him out of sight until we were sure that you had trapped the machine into giving a false decision."
Case walked over and grinned down at Sand.
"I know it was a dirty trick to pull on you but it was the only way we could trip up the machine," he said. "I hope you won't hold a grudge?"
Sand smiled.
"After some of those names I called you, Inspector," he admitted, "I guess we're about even."
"That's about all there is to it," Mitchell confessed, "except that we're all lucky that you realized what that machine was doing, and had the will power that most of us lacked. The mental power to confuse and destroy it.
"I'll leave Miss Fletcher with you, just to tell you a few nice things about yourself that we may have overlooked."
Sand pushed himself upward and got one arm around Sue's waist. He drew her face down close to his.
"If it's all right with you," he said.
She smiled and kissed him.
Jim Case, watching the pair from the door, scratched his chin and took hold of Mitchell's arm.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "That guy Sand gets everything he goes after."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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