The John Elgin Murder Case

The time comes to Broadway when the April day summons its warmth, its winds, its plume sprays of sunlight, departs the avenue littered with its promises, and the defeated and the unfulfilled swarm back into the subway entrances and wait on the stifling platforms in the dim, shallow light reflected from warm water.

and the defeated and the unfulfilled swarm back into the subway entrances and wait on the stifling platforms in the dims-salo light reflected from walls of stained tile. Wait for the going home, wait for the death of a day to happen in some other place, the hall bedroom, the front stoop.

Some other place where shock will be gentler. And suddenly through the steel corridor a hot dry wind races in the depth of earth and on at the fury of hurtling steel, and they surge forward to meet it.

Soon they will be home. And in your office at headquarters, the April Twilight drifts in. Somehow it's touch-startles the man you've been talking to. It's evening, it's evening already. What do you know? How long have I been spilling my heart out to you, Mr. Colvin?

An hour, maybe more. A crunch line. A guy tries to clean up his conscience. He's the soul and it takes longer than he thinks. I ain't keeping you from anything, Mr. Colvin. No. You've got all the time you need, Mr. Greenhouse.

Go on. Not much more to tell, except what I told. I see it might have take place. I report it. The common decency, I figure. What you call a murder took place over a week ago.

How come it took you so long to give in to the call of decency? You've got a point there, Mr. Colton. Tell me. I see if I can explain it to you. Try hard. What on my mind?