FREE ONE MINUTE MYSTERY BY CLARENCE BUDINGTON KELLAND

“TALK FAST, MISTER!”

By CLARENCE BUDINGTON KELLAND

WALKING on the lawn to make no noise, the man hurried toward the bungalow. Keeping close to the wall, he tried to look through the living room window. Cautiously he set down his package and raised himself for a better view.

"Don't move . . . and keep your hands up," said an icy voice from the shadows. The man swung round, his face a pale mask in the dusk. Slowly his hands rose above his head.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" asked the policeman, stepping into the light from the window. Something metallic shone in his hand.

"I just wanted," said the man, his voice shaking slightly, "to see some one in the house."

"Then why didn't you go up to the door and ring the bell?"

"That's a long story, I'm afraid."

"Talk fast, mister," said the officer.

"It goes back about a year," the man said. "I was driving through here on my way to Chicago. It was raining and getting dark. I was tired. I never saw the little girl crossing the street — until after I'd hit her."

He paused, thinking of sonic way of expressing his thoughts. "Imagine how I felt, knowing it was my fault. Of course, I did everything I could, but that wasn't much. I'd have gone crazy if it hadn't been for one thing. I knew the kid's hospital and doctor bills would be paid. I knew she'd get the best of care. And the insurance company had promised to keep me informed of her progress. Yesterday, thank God, they called up to tell me that she had com­pletely recovered at last."

The man's face was full of eagerness now. He was completely absorbed in his story. "I didn't have to do a thing. It had all been so easy for me. But I felt I had tosce her for myself, to see her well and happy. So here I am. She lives in this house. I brought her a little present."

"I still don't see," said the officer, "why you didn't ring the bell and ask to see the little girl."

"I didn't ring the bell because I didn't want to meet her father." He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. "You see, he made a point of never meeting me. He said that if he ever did, he couldn't trust himself. He said — well he might kill me."

"I see, I see," said the officer thoughtfully.

Suddenly the front door opened and a little girl came running out. "Is that you, daddy?', she cried.

"Of course it is, darling," said the policeman, "and look, I've brought home one of our best friends. He'll be staying for dinner."

(The above appeared in an obscure magazine in the 1940s that ran super short mystery stories from time to time which purportedly took only that long to read. Reprinted by permission the Kelland Estate.)  

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