“Fine, big, strapping fellow,” he went on after a while. “Six feet two, black hair and bushy eyebrows, like Alice, you know.
“Women used to try to flirt with him. Stop their car, they would,—rich women in big cars, diamonds on their fingers. New-rich, young, fool women. No good—you know the kind? Well, maybe not. You will though. May God hasten the time when that sort get back to the dirty gutter where they belong!
“But Jack—” The Captain laughed scornfully. “No danger! Jack sent them along fast enough. Jack had eyes for one and only one—his Marie.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “He lived for her, Jack did, and for Alice and the boys—fine boys, Gluck and Lucian—” His voice trailed off.
“But what—what happened to Jack?”
Not seeming to hear, the Captain went on: “Straightest cop I ever knew—too straight you might say. When you walk a beat you look after things—naturally, that’s part of your job. You try store doors to see if they’re locked, watch for prowlers, all that. And if some good citizen drinks a bit too much and the night air gets the best of him, you escort him safely home—part of your job.
“Grateful people, will hand a cop a dollar now and then. Why not? But do you think Jack would take it? Never a cent. No end polite the way he thanked them, but he took no money but what came to him on pay day. That was Jack. Said he was afraid it would lead him to accept ‘dirty money’—you know, hush money—from real wrongdoers. And, man! How Jack hated dirty money!
“Polite, honest to a fault, kind, always looking out after the unfortunate—and brave, absolutely fearless!—‘Mountie’ blood in his veins, way back. That was Jack.” Again his voice trailed away.
From the kitchen came the faintest snatch of some French song. The delicious aroma of coffee was added to that of meat, pie and sauce. From somewhere in the back came the scuffle and scrape of boyish feet.
“All this was Jack’s,” the Captain rumbled, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the whole world. “And then—” from his pocket he drew a narrow packet. This he unfolded, then spread it down the length of his knee. It was the photographs of public enemies.
“These five—” his eyes shone with deep, abiding hate. “These five had been out riding in a costly car they had borrowed without leave. They had just kidnapped a banker and compelled him to open a safe. I told you that before. They’d got a lot of money and bonds. They were speeding west and tried to pass a stop-light. They skidded into another car. No real damage done. But that was Jack’s corner. He wanted to know—his business to know—why they’d crashed the light.