The Tragedy of Z by Ellery Queen

inner warning. It would take more than logic to convince him. There was still time.…
    â€œAnd now,” the warden was saying, as he tossed the blue card on his desk, “I’ll tell you the little story that prompted me to ask you to come here tonight.”
    â€œGood!” said Hume crisply. “That’s what we want to hear.”
    â€œPlease understand,” continued Magnus with gravity, “that my interest in Dow hasn’t stopped merely because he’s no longer a prisoner here. We often keep tabs on released cases, because many of them eventually come back—about thirty percent these days—and more and more the science of penology is getting to be preventive rather than remedial. At the same time, I can’t close my eyes to facts, and I tell you this story because it’s my duty to do so.”
    Father Muir’s face was white with agony; his knuckles on the black breviary were livid.
    â€œThree weeks ago Senator Fawcett came to me and, strangely enough, made guarded inquiries about one of our prisoners.”
    â€œHoly Mother,” groaned the priest.
    â€œThe prisoner, of course, was Aaron Dow.”
    Hume’s eyes were flashing. “Why did Fawcett come? What did he want to know about Dow?”
    Magnus sighed. “Well, the Senator asked to see Dow’s record and prison photograph. As a rule I would refuse such a request; but because Dow’s time was so nearly up, and Fawcett was after all a prominent citizen”—he made a face—“I showed him the photo and card. The photo had been taken, of course, twelve years ago on Dow’s commitment. Despite this fact the Senator seemed to recognize Dow’s face, because he gulped hard and got very nervous all at once. To cut a long story short, he made an amazing request. He wanted me to muzzle Dow a few months! ‘Muzzled’—that was his exact word. What do you think of that?”
    Hume rubbed his hands together in what seemed to me a very unpleasant manner. “Significant, Warden! Go on.”
    â€œNow, despite the crass nerve of the man in making such an impossible request,” continued Magnus, his jaw hardening, “I felt that the situation required delicate handling. It interested me. Any relationship between a prisoner and a citizen, particularly a citizen with as odoriferous a reputation as Fawcett’s, I was duty-bound to investigate. So I didn’t commit myself but led him on. Why, I asked, did he want Aaron Dow muzzled?”
    â€œDid he say why?” asked father, his brows bunching.
    â€œNot at first. He was in a sweat, shaky as a new case drunk on potato water. Then it came out—Dow, he said, was blackmailing him!”
    â€œWe know that,” muttered Hume.
    â€œI was skeptical, but didn’t show it. You say he was? Well, I didn’t see how it was possible and asked the Senator in what way Dow had been able to get in touch with him. We exercise a rather rigid censorship over all mail, you know, and contacts as well.”
    â€œSent Fawcett a letter and a sawed-off section of toy chest,” explained the district attorney, “in a carton of prison-made toys.”
    â€œSo.” Magnus pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That’s a hole we’ll have to stop up. Possible, of course, and it wouldn’t be hard—But I was very interested at the time, because the smuggling of messages in and out of prison is one of the most annoying problems we have, and for a long time now I’ve suspected a bad leak somewhere. At any rate, Fawcett refused to say how Dow’d been able to get in touch with him, and so I dropped that tack.”
    I moistened my lips; they were very dry. “Did Senator Fawcett admit that this man Dow really had something on him?”
    â€œHardly. He said Dow’s story was ridiculous, a barefaced lie—the usual denials. Naturally, I didn’t believe him; he was too upset to be