“Since you ask for it,” said Denvers, “I’ll give it to you! You’ve been working hand in glove for years with that man.” He pointed to Gates. “I would guess that after Judge Farrell was elected he told you where to get off at, that he’d have no trafficking with the power interests, and you got after him in order to protect your old-time graft. Thane here, is your man. If he was acting governor, you’d have things your own way!”
Without waiting for a reply, the major turned then on Fleer, so suddenly that the little gunman backed away from him. “You!” he thundered. “What were you doing here?”
“Me? Why — why — me an’ my pal, there, we was lookin’ fer a job, see—”
Betty smiled. Even Hanscom and Thane had to smile at the ridiculous-sounding, stammered excuse. But Denvers did not smile. He thrust out an accusing finger at Fleer. “I’ll tell you what you were doing here! You brought Killer Kyle up here in that hearse that’s in the garage! You took him out of the city, and brought him up here!”
Fleer exclaimed, “Who, me? What hearse? I ain’t seen no hearse!”
Denvers advanced on him ominously. “Oh, no? You didn’t see any hearse at all, eh? Never even touched the hearse, eh?”
“No, sir!” Fleer assured him. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do wit’ no hearse!”
“That’s funny. Damn funny. Because in that case I can’t understand how your fingerprints, and those of your pal, Jurgen, came to be plastered all over the damn thing — inside, outside, on the wheel, and on the coffin!”
Thane suddenly said, “Of course they brought him up. They must have brought the princess up, too. Rice must have been in league with them, probably used them in some plot of his — perhaps they killed Michael Crome. Then he wouldn’t pay them, so they killed him — these two, and the princess!”
While Thane spoke. Denvers had looked away from Fleer. All eyes including those of the troopers or guard at the door, were on Thane.
Now, Betty Dale uttered a gasp or amazement. For Fleer had produced a gun from his shoulder holster, and swung it around in a vicious arc, covering the major, and the others in the room. “You ain’t gonna make me the goat!” he snarled. “Hold everything. The first guy that makes a move, I’ll give it to him right in the guts!”
He edged away from the major, toward the window. He was snarling, and the knuckle of his index finger was white where it pressed against the trigger.
Suddenly he turned and sprang through the open French window, and disappeared in the darkness.
MAJOR DENVERS’ hand flashed to his holster, and came out with a heavy thirty-eight. He darted across the room to the window.
“Wait! Wait!” The words came high and shrill from Gates, who was pale and trembling, at the end of his endurance. They stopped Denvers short in midstride. He turned and looked quizzically at the utilities man.
Gates said, “I can’t stand this fighting and killing and shooting any longer! My head! How it hurts!” He waved a hand wildly, spoke to the major. “Send all these people out. Send them all away, and I’ll tell you what you want to know! Tell you everything! God help me, I never thought it would go this far!”
Denvers shrugged. He said to one of the troopers, “Go out, tell Sergeant Plimpton that there’s another man loose on the grounds.” He turned back to Gates. “I guess this is more important than catching Fleer. He can’t get away, and they’ll run him down with Kyle.”
Gates had buried his head in his hands. “Send them away, quick!” He looked at the spot on the rug where Rice had lain, and shuddered. “God! It’s better to go to jail, than to die like that — all swollen up — strangled to death by your own flesh!”
Hansccm stepped up to Gates, gripped his shoulder. “You fool! What’s this going to gain you? You’ll ruin everything!”
Denvers said, “Will you please go outside?”
Hanscom faced him. “For the last time, major, will you call off this investigation? I assure you that it will serve no purpose. Even with what Gates can tell you—”
“I said,” Denvers interrupted evenly, “will you leave the room? I hope you won’t compel me to have the trooper put you out?”
Hanscom shrugged, looked at Thane. Thane nodded. They went to the door. Hanscom went out first. Thane paused, said, “Gates, you’ll regret this. It won’t prevent — what you’re afraid of.”
Gates seemed not to have heard him. Thane turned and followed Hanscom out, thin-lipped.
Denvers turned to Jurgen, who had been trying to efface himself on the couch. The major said to the remaining trooper, “Help this man out of the room. Watch him. You might search him, too. I don’t know why Fleer wasn’t searched for weapons.”
The trooper helped Jurgen to get up, and took him out.
Betty Dale got up, approached Denvers. “Couldn’t I stay, major? I’d like to get the story.”
The major was about to refuse, when Gates, with his head still in his hands, said, “Let the newspaper girl stay, I want this to get full publicity. I’m through with it all. I want to make a clean breast!”
“All right,” said Denvers. “You can take down the statement.”
Betty sat down, produced a notebook and pencil from her handbag, and waited.
The major came and stood before Gates. “Well, Mr. Gates,” he urged, “let’s hear what you have to say. Do you know who killed Rice? Do you know who kidnaped Judge Farrell? Are they holding the judge for ransom?”
Gates shook his head. “It’s bigger than that. Not such a common thing as ransom. I first want to tell you about how it came about that Michael Crome was killed.” He got up, strode around the room. “God! It’s so horrible, I don’t know where to start! You see, Crome was tortured because Hanscom—”
He stopped, and uttered a frightful shriek, staggered, and blood spurted from his shoulder.
From outside the window had come the soft plop of a silenced gun.
BETTY sat motionless, pencil poised, frozen at the sight of Gates writhing on the floor.
Denvers bent to him, spoke over his shoulder to Betty, “Call out to the troopers. Get some one in here!”
Betty rushed to the door, flung it open. She quickly told a trooper in the hall that Gates had been shot from the window. The trooper hurried to the front, drawing his gun, and dashed around the house.
Betty turned back into the room, and stifled a scream at what she saw. Gates’s wound should not have been fatal in itself, being through the fleshy part of the shoulder.
Denvers had ripped his coat off, opened his shirt and exposed the wound.
All around the wound, the flesh was swelling!
Gates writhed in agony, saliva drooled from his lips. He tried to talk, but only a hoarse croaking issued from his throat.
Denvers looked up from where he knelt beside the dying man, said to Betty, “Better go out, Miss Dale. This is no sight for you!”
But Betty rushed over, knelt beside them. “Isn’t there something we can do for him?”
Even as she spoke, the swelling spread. The body of Gates seemed to bloat all around the wound. It spread quickly, and his throat began to swell.
Denvers said, “A bullet could never do that, alone. It must have been coated with the same stuff that was given to Rice. The medical examiner found a puncture in Rice’s neck — made by a sharp instrument — probably a hypodermic.”
There was a gasp from Gates. His face grew purple, as the rapidly spreading swelling choked off the air supply through his throat. Gates’s eyes began to pop, the breath came thinly from between his laboring lips, and under their very eyes, while they were powerless to help him, he gasped his last, clawing at his throat as if to tear an opening there through which he could breathe.