An autopsy on a traffic victim!

Yet we learn from Chief Dyer himself that he has weakly acceded to this ridiculous demand and that an autopsy has been ordered.

We await the result of this farcical proceeding with indignation and with interest, and we warn our readers to accept with a grain of salt any medical testimony which attempts to shift the blame for the death of Private James Brown from the shoulders of Candidate Towne where it belongs.

The boxed editorial was signed by Neil Cochrane.

Shayne drank his cup of coffee and ate his scrambled eggs. He got a second cup of coffee and leisurely smoked a cigarette while he drank it. It was 9:30 when he left the hotel and strolled down the street to police headquarters.

Chief Dyer looked up from his desk with a tired smile when a sergeant ushered Shayne into his private office. He shoved aside some papers and leaned forward to shake Shayne’s hand heartily, saying, “You didn’t waste any time getting here.”

“I flew in.” Shayne pulled up a chair and sat down.

Chief Dyer was bald, and a complete absence of eyebrows gave his face a naked look. He had a sharp nose with vertical creases on each side leading down to the corners of his mouth. His chin was pointed and jutted forward aggressively. He smoked cigarettes in a long holder, and had a way of never looking at a man when he talked to him. “I don’t get this,” he complained. “When you telephoned yesterday I assumed you were acting for Towne, but after the Free Press appeared last night Towne came storming in and swore he hadn’t retained you.”

Shayne said, “I just finished reading the Free Press.”