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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Mammoth Detective, January 1943,
with "O'Sheen Is Best Man"
IT was very quiet on Mangrove Street. Officer Paddy O'Sheen just wandered along, trying the doors as he went. He paused in happy contemplation before the rain-streaked glass that was Smith's "we rent everything" shop. The formally-attired dummies stood like a wax museum group behind the wet pane.
Marta's wedding dress was missing for the second night in a row. It made him a bit uneasy, the gown missing so long from the naked, jointed dummy. At ten bucks a day, this wasn't regular. Someone must be having a two-day celebration this time.
Smiling reminiscently, he wondered how many couples had been married, and how many brides had worn the dress since his and Marta's wedding day.
The trees were rustling their branches softly overhead as he turned up High Street. Swinging his night-stick a little more jauntily than usual, he couldn't help thinking of Marta. One month to go and she was carrying the little one happy as a lark. Pride made him feel good all over.
Buds stood out on the branches above him, black and swelling in the cool spring air. He opened the raincoat and let the wind hit his throat. The wet pavement sent back pleasant clicks as his heels came down on it.
The hall-light in the big house was still burning. The glow had cut through French doors for hours, and glancing at his watch under the corner lamp, he noticed it was already three in the morning. The same small coupé was parked at the curb.
He tried to remember the name of the new owners of the High Street mansion. Marta had said something about a couple who spent their winters in Florida.... He gave up; no matter—
Opposite the car he chanced a side glance at the lone occupant. A girl, anxious eyes fixed on O'Sheen, brought him to a halt. Turning, he walked to the side of the coupe and leaned on the door.
"Now, now," he said as the girl shrank back. "I'll not be hurting anyone this night."
Then the smile on his kindly face grew broader. She was clothed in a dark velvet coat, and just visible at the knees, he noticed the soft whiteness of a wedding gown. Paddy was witnessing an elopement, and he liked it.
"I wasn't afraid," she smiled, and he liked the long lashes as they fluttered against her brown eyes. "You startled me for an instant."
She settled back comfortably and O'Sheen saw that decked
fairy dust in her eyes that belongs only to the very young
and very much in love.
"You've been sitting here for quite some time," he said, swinging the night-stick gently against his knee. "Is he keepin' you waiting?
They looked up at the gloomy three stories of the old house. He fancied her eyes were concerned, almost anxious.
"He'll be here soon," she answered. "I'm—I'm all right alone."
O'Sheen backed away, that look of awe still in his admiring eyes.
"Good luck to you, youngster," he mumbled. "And don't worry about the grown folk. Paddy O'Sheen hasn't seen hide nor hair of you this night."
"That's sweet of you," she rewarded him with a big smile. "I'll remember the policeman who was so very kind to me on my wedding night."
O'Sheen was still standing there, ill at ease, when the door swung open. A young man bounded down the steps with two bags. He was very tall and straight in evening dress.
"It's all right now, darling," he said, slipping behind the wheel. He kissed her lips, and then saw O'Sheen.
"Why—why, hello," he recognized the uniform. "Oh! Hello, officer. Taking care of my bride-to-be.?"
"She's that sweet," O'Sheen admitted. "I didn't mind the job one bit."
He was rewarded again with another sweep of those long lashes.
"He's been very kind, George," she said. "Can't we drop him off somewhere?"
George had started the motor, letting it purr softly.
"Yes, how about it, man? About time you called the station?"
O'Sheen looked again at the watch. The rain still pattered down his chilling back. He crawled into the warmth of the coupé when the girl moved over to give him room. The car rolled slowly toward the corner.
"Getting married in town?" he asked.
"No," George answered. "We're headed for Detroit. Nothing but the big city for us, huh, Nora?"
He slowed down in the shadows at the corner. The locked phone box was hidden in the shadows under the trees.
"We thought it would be more fun just running away," Nora explained. "We don't want the whole town to know what we're doing.
"Shouldn't think you would," O'Sheen's voice had hardened suddenly. He lifted his carefully padded body a little and slipped the service pistol to a ready position. "But you're not going to Detroit, not this night."
The car hesitated, and then rolled on again toward the police station. Nora's face had lost its illusive, childlike expression and was tough and determined under the bridal veil. Any thoughts of escape were discouraged by the big gun balanced carefully on O'Sheen's knee.
The desk sergeant glared balefully at O'Sheen as the
officer and his prisoners entered his warm domain.
"First you don't call from High Street," he muttered, "And now here comes the likes of ye acting guide to a wedding party."
O'Sheen wasn't in a celebrative mood.
"Lock up this pair," he said. "You'll find a couple bags of silver and the like outside in the coupe. They just made away with everything but the fire-place up at the mansion on High Street."
"You're a wonderful lad, Paddy," Marta was saying.
O'Sheen groaned happily from beside the kitchen stove as
his shoes dropped off. The heat felt good on his tired
legs.
"How in the world of living did you know?" Marta went on. "I'd'a let those scamps slip clean through my fingers, I would."
O'Sheen glowed in righteous pride.
"At first I was that fooled I wanted to kiss the bride," he admitted. He dodged a good-natured blow from his spouse, his face growing concerned.
"When I stopped at Smith's place tonight, I was wondering about that dress of yours. Something kept telling me, 'what manner of folk are these who are so poor they rent a dress, yet so rich they can pay ten dollars a day to keep it overtime?' When I was talking with that youngster, that something kept right after me. 'Paddy, boy,' it said, 'this is a mighty pretty girl, and a rich-looking house for our rented dress.' Well, things kept telling me this and that, 'til I didn't know where to turn."
Marta sighed.
"Sure, and it's a Sherlock himself that I married." She chucked him under the chin.
"Well," O'Sheen went on, "there ain't an honest man in town that knows when or where I call the station. Here was this George offering me a lift, and takin' me straight to the lock-box on the corner. Right then I figured the rest of the story easy enough. The girl was just there in case I got curious. If Paddy O'Sheen got to asking questions, he'd be taken care of."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.