“Ah,” said Gregory quietly. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Is it now?” said Karl, getting up very slowly. “I’m glad of that, because you aren’t going to get a chance to know very much more, Doc. We’re going visiting. The girl’s in the room through that door. Go on in. I want you to carry her. That’ll just keep your hands busy.”
Gregory stood up. The movement redoubled the throbbing ache in his head, but his eyes were steady and cool and watchful.
“Take it easy,” said Karl. “Easy and slow, Doc. You won’t catch me like you did those other guys.”
He followed Gregory step by step with the cocked revolver level in his hand. Gregory walked to the door he had pointed out, opened it.
It was a dim, dark cubby-hole of a room, and Anne Bentley was lying in a crumpled heap under the boarded-up window. She was conscious. Gregory caught the shadowed movement of her head, turning toward them, heard the bubbling moan of her breath from under the gag that cut across her face whitely.
Gregory knelt down beside her. “This gag,” he said. “It’s too tight. It’s choking her.”
“Never mind that,” Karl said thinly. “She won’t feel it for very long. Pick her up.”
Gregory raised the girl’s slim body in his arms, stood up.
“Back through this way,” Karl ordered, stepping aside and gesturing with the revolver. “Out that door.”
Gregory carried Anne Bentley across the office. He fumbled clumsily for the knob on the door, opened it, went down a long, dim hall. A stairway made a dark well ahead of him.
“Down,” said Karl.
He had a flashlight, and its beam made a moving pool in the darkness, showed the worn steps leading down steeply. There was another door at the bottom. Gregory pushed it open, and wet fog billowed into the hall bringing the salt smell of the bay in along with it.
“Outside,” Karl said.
Loose boards clumped, moving a little under Gregory’s feet. This was the bay side of the club building, built up on pilings above the flat, slick swell of the water.
“Straight ahead,” Karl said. “There’s a pier.”
Gregory walked slowly into the smoky dimness. The boards of the little pier were wet and slippery under his feet, and he could feel the structure sway a little with their combined weight. The fog pressed in softly close around them.
“It’s about time,” said a voice ahead of them. “You think I wanta wait here all night?”
The slim, graceful lines of a speed boat took shape ahead of them, rising and falling a little with the movement of the water. Gregory recognized it as the same boat that had carried him out to the Van Tellen estate earlier. And Floyd, the boatman, was standing up in it now, holding it against the end of the dock. He was wearing a slicker with the collar strapped tight around his neck.
“I didn’t know you were here already,” Karl said.
“Why didn’t you look?” Floyd demanded. “This is a hell of a place to leave a guy sittin’ all night.”
“Shut up,” Karl said flatly. “I haven’t got time to argue with you. Did you bring old Van Tellen?”
“Sure. Right here.” Floyd moved his foot casually and touched a limp, bedraggled bundle that rolled loosely on the bottom of the boat.
“Carry him inside,” Karl ordered.
“The hell with that,” said Floyd. “I’m sick of carryin’ the old coot around. Don’t make any difference, anyway. He’s out cold. He drank enough to sink a battleship today, and I tapped him on the head before I brought him along. Leave him in here. He ain’t gonna bother anybody.”
“All right,” Karl agreed. “Get down in the boat, Doc. We’re all goin’ for a little ride. Take it easy.”
Climbing stiffly down into the boat, Gregory held Anne Bentley close against him. He sat down on one of the seats, still holding her. His hands were freed now of the weight of carrying her, and instantly he began to work at the knots in the thin cord that bound her wrists. His hands were concealed under her body. He could feel the muscles in her arms strain as she tried to help him.
Karl jumped down into the boat. “All right, Floyd. You start up. Take it slow. I don’t want anybody getting curious.”
“Hell,” Floyd said, “they couldn’t see nothin’ in this fog if they was.”
The stubby revolver glistened in Karl’s hand. “I said take it slow.”
“All right,” Floyd said sullenly. He bent over the engine. It coughed once, then again, and began to purr softly. The boat rocked a little, began to move away from the dock.
Gregory’s strong fingers loosened the last knot in the thin cord. Then, under cover of the darkness and working with one long-fingered hand, he loosened the too-tight gag. He heard Anne Bentley give a long sigh of relief.
The pier disappeared behind them, and then there was nothing but the soft whiteness of the fog all around them. The only sound was the swish of the prow cutting through the water, the muffled mutter of the engine. Anne Bentley twisted slightly in Gregory’s lap. He knew she was reaching for the cord that bound her ankles, and he touched her shoulder approvingly.
“This is your last ride, Doc,” said Karl. “Enjoy it.”
“I am,” said Gregory evenly. “I’m enjoying it very much. This is just about the place you dropped the dog overboard, isn’t it, Floyd?”
Floyd was a dark, thick figure sitting at the stem of the boat. The oilskin coat rustled softly as he moved a little, turning to look toward Gregory. He didn’t say anything.
“Dog?” said Karl blankly. “What dog?”
“Mrs. Van Tellen’s dog,” Gregory said. “He killed it before he killed Mrs. Van Tellen.”
There was a long silence with the thump of the boat’s motor sounding faint and far away.
“Killed Mrs. Van Tellen!” Karl repeated. “Are you nuts, Doc?”
Floyd’s voice was thick and slow. “Sure. He’s screwy. I told you he was.”
“That babe you’re holdin’ killed Mrs. Van Tellen,” Karl said. “Everybody knows that. I heard it over the news broadcast this afternoon. They found her fingerprints on the knife that was stuck in the old lady.”
“The knife was put in the wound after Mrs. Van Tellen was dead,” Gregory said. His voice was gentle and low, indifferent. “Floyd was saving it for that. You thought he was working for you all the time, didn’t you, Karl? He wasn’t. You were working for him.”
“What—” said Karl. “What the hell, here?”
Floyd sat in the stern, unmoving. His face was a dark, smeared blur under the brim of his cap. He didn’t speak.
“Floyd killed the dog,” said Gregory. “He hated Mrs. Van Tellen. He wanted to do anything that would hurt her. She suspected him for some reason. He knew it. He couldn’t waste any more time, then. He killed her. And he killed Danborn. And one other.”
Karl’s voice was faint with shock. “One other?”
“Mr. Van Tellen,” said Gregory. “He’s not drunk or unconscious. He’s dead. If you don’t believe it, touch him.”
Automatically Karl leaned over the limp, soggy bundle on the bottom of the boat. He touched the glistening paleness that was its face. His breath rattled in his throat.
“Floyd!” he snarled. “Damn you! He’s cold! He’s dead! You—” He swung half around.
Anne Bentley slid off Gregory’s lap, and Gregory leaned over her and reached under the next seat, groping for the object that glinted metallically there. His fingers closed over the smooth wet handle of a short wrench.
“That’s all,” said Floyd. “That’s about all. Drop the gun, Karl, and you let that wrench stay where it is, Doc.” He had picked up a shotgun from under his seat, and the short sawed-off barrels glinted coldly. “It’s loaded with buckshot — both barrels. Ever see what a shotgun would do at this range? It would tear all three of you up like shredded wheat.”