“That’s the sort of stuff the public like to read about when they sit down to their toast and coffee in the morning. It makes ’em feel the cops are on the job. And that’s the sort of stuff that puts us in solid with the chief. He likes to feel that we’re getting the confidence of the public. You know this thing of public confidence is a pretty big factor with us.
“Now that crooks are getting organized, it’s a pretty vital thing to have the public feeling the police are a part of their side of the game. Now that we’ve got such a split in sentiment over prohibition, there’s a tendency on the part of lots of people to sneer at the police.”
Zoom nodded his sympathy.
“I know, Sergeant. I know how you feel. And I know something of your skill with six shooters. I’ve heard of your wonderful target scores. Well, I’m wishing you luck with these guns. I have a hunch they’ll see use before long.”
Sergeant Staples grinned.
“Think so? Well, I bet the babies can sure talk!”
Vera Thurmond’s face was drained of color. She watched Sidney Zoom with eager, apprehensive eyes. Full well she knew the significance of that glitter that was in his eyes, that slight expansion of the aquiline nostrils, that tightening of the comers of the mouth.
“Please,” she said to him, “won’t you remember...”
And she said no more.
There was the crack of a revolver, sounding very close, the smashing impact of a bullet against the deck of the yacht. A man screamed a curse. There sounded the patter of running feet, then a fusillade of shots.
The police dog was on his feet, hairs along his back bristling, eyes gleaming. Sidney Zoom gained the door in three swift strides. Sergeant Staples was at his heels.
They raced down the corridor, up the companionway to the deck.
The darkness of the wharf loomed like a vast mass of ink against the sky. There were boxes and barrels, odds and ends of piled timbers. The deck of the yacht was also dark save where the after companionway opening caught the rays of light that streamed down from a drop light.
A man lay on the deck of the yacht, hardly twenty feet from that opening. He was gasping. Red stains streaked the white deck of the yacht. One leg was doubled under him. His white face was twitching, but he was holding a revolver, shooting slowly, regularly. Three shots he fired, and then the hammer clicked.
And the darkness of the wharf was spurting little tongues of flame.
Bullets flicked down upon the deck. Long furrows appeared in the white wood as by magic. The body of the stricken man twitched under the impact of a bullet, straightened, gave a convulsive quiver. Two furrows appeared in the deck within inches of his body, then another bullet thudded into the inert flesh.
Sergeant Staples fired one of the new guns.
A man leapt up from behind a pile of timber, screamed, flung himself half around and pitched forward. The flickering tongues of flame from the wharf were directed toward the two men who had debouched from the forward companionway. Bullets hummed and sang.
Sidney Zoom, his face showing a keen zest for conflict, looking like the face of some savage eagle as it is about to swoop, shot twice from the hip.
Sergeant Staples fired once more.
The police dog gained the landing float in a single long leap, tore through the night, his paws beating a tattoo upon the heavy timbers of the wharf.
A man yelled and jumped up. A tawny figure was springing through the air. The man swung his gun.
He was dead before he fired, dead before even the dog’s fangs sank in his throat. Staples had fired one of his deadly accurate shots, and the bullet, hitting its mark with that terrific smashing impact which is the distinguishing mark of the new weapon and ammunition, hurled the man as though he had been blasted by some unseen thunderbolt.
Sidney Zoom, grinning with savage joy, was running after the dog. Sergeant Staples, feet flat on the boards to give him a steady support, lips compressed in a thin line, twinkling eyes gleaming in cold calculation, studied the black outlines of the wharf.
Suddenly there was a hissing noise, a blinding glare of light.
A switch on the yacht had been turned, and searchlights rigged on the masts, directed toward the wharf, turned the night into day.
A man screamed, jumped to his feet, fired almost point blank at Zoom. Zoom returned the fire. The man crumpled as though a pile driver had smashed him in the stomach.
“They’re running, Sergeant!” yelled Zoom.
Sergeant Staples nodded grimly.
Tongues of fire were still flickering toward him from the far corner of the wharf. He ran for cover. A bullet ticked his shoulder, striking with enough impact to falter him in his stride.
“Get him, Rip!” yelled Zoom.
The dog charged. The gangster, realizing the import of that charge, jumped to his feet to fire, and was blasted back by two bullets which thudded into his body with simultaneous impact.
A car exhaust roared. Then a siren sounded. Police whistles were blowing.
The wharf was now silent.
The roar of the fleeing car mingled with the wail of a siren. There sounded the spiteful clatter of a machine gun. Then a battery of sawed-off shotguns belched forth noise. The sound of tires screaming in a death skid on pavement was swallowed in a terrific crash, then silence.
Zoom and Sergeant Staples ran the length of the wharf. A red spotlight flooded them.
“It’s Sergeant Staples,” roared that individual. “Don’t let them get away. They’ve done murder.”
The voice of an excited officer sounded from the darkness back of the red light.
“They’re not gettin’ away, Sergeant. Sol Asher and Bill the Biff were in that car. There was one other one. We don’t know him. They ain’t gettin’ away.”
Sidney Zoom sighed and holstered his weapons.
“Come, Rip,” he called.
Two hours later, Sidney Zoom sat in the hospital beside Sergeant Staples. The sergeant was grinning, smoking a cigar. The room was temporarily cleared of reporters, but the haze of flashlight smoke still clung to the ceiling.
Sergeant Staples gazed at Zoom.
“Well,” he said, “it was a great fight. I always figured that if I got in a fight with gangsters I could shoot as well as I do on the targets. I’ve always held that thought in mind, it’s subconscious. I’ve trained myself to think it every time I pull down on a target in the police revolver range.”
Zoom nodded.
“You sure cleaned up on ’em tonight, Sergeant. The gang was the toughest bunch of birds that’s ever been rounded up. Sol Asher confessed the whole business. They pulled a couple of frying jobs before this one. Those that aren’t killed will be meat for the chair.
“And it cleans up that Harmiston job.”
Sergeant Staples let his smile fade. A pucker appeared between his eyebrows.
“What gets me, Zoom, is how this chap happened to be on your boat.”
Zoom grinned, a frank and open grin.
“I went into the store to get a pendant for my secretary,” he said. “I wanted her to see it. This man came out to bring the pendant, also one other. They were found in his pocket, you’ll remember.
“I paid a deposit of two hundred dollars on the pendant. Fortunately, I have the receipt, which fully accounts for his presence on the yacht. You see, he had a drink or two, and became a little befuddled. He was sleeping it off in the adjoining cabin. I guess he woke up, heard some of your conversation when I gave you the guns, and realized you were an officer.