“Expensive lingerie,” said Sam West. “Looks as though she was dressing to go out for a party. She had a heavy date of some kind and was going to put on her best clothes.”
“Here’s the wound,” Brokay said in a low voice. “It’s a stabbing wound just over the heart.”
Sam West turned a practical eye upon the discoloration which blemished the smooth white flesh. “That’s where it came out,” he said. “It must have gone in the other side.”
“You mean from the back?” asked Brokay.
“Uh-huh,” said Same West.
Brokay hesitated for a moment then, placing his hand tenderly back of the girl’s shoulder, turned the body. As he did so, he stiffened with horror as he saw the red pool which had gathered beneath the left shoulder.
“Told you so,” said Sam West.
“Good heavens!” said Brokay.
“Satisfied now?” the burglar inquired.
“Certainly not,” Brokay said. “We’ve got to do something about this. We’ve got to find out who she is. We’ve got to notify the police.”
“Got to what!” exclaimed the burglar.
“Got to notify the police.”
“And just who are you going to say is calling?” asked Sam West.
“We can explain,” Brokay said.
Sam West’s laugh was scornful. “Explain nothing,” he said. “You’re simply flirting with the electric chair.”
“But I can give them credentials,” said Brokay. “I can explain to them that—”
“You might have an hour ago,” Sam West said, “but you’re a burglar now; don’t forget that. You can’t explain to them what you were doing in this house. You can’t explain how you crawled in through a window that had been jimmied. You can talk until you’re black in the face, but you can’t make anyone listen to you or believe you.”
Brokay was silent as a full realization of his predicament crashed home upon him.
“What’s more,” said Sam West, “we’ve got to get out of here. We don’t know what’s happened. We don’t know the motive for the murder. All we know is that the girl has been murdered, and that if anyone catches us here, we’re going to have the murder pinned on us, just as sure as—” He broke off.
Clear and distinct through the night air, sounding from some distance down the road, came the low, throbbing wail of a siren.
Brokay stiffened, stared at Sam West, with a sudden realization of his predicament.
The furry tail of the monkey tightened around his neck, and once more, the little animal began to shiver and emit low, chattering sounds of terror.
“Switch out that light,” said Sam West. “Someone’s heard all that commotion we’ve been raising. Get started.”
Brokay hesitated. The gun jabbed into the small of his back. “I’m running things now,” said the burglar. “Get that light off, or the cops will find two stiffs here instead of one.”
Brokay switched off the light.
“Walk ahead of me,” said Sam West, “and make it snappy. Make for that window we came out of. I’ll give you the light.”
He snapped on the flashlight, showing the carpeted floor. The gun jabbed into Brokay’s back. Brokay walked rapidly across the corridor.
“Faster,” said Sam West, and jabbed with the gun.
Brokay went down the stairs at a fast run, turned down the corridor.
“First door to the left, and step on it,” Sam West said. “We’ve got to hurry!”
Brokay pushed his way through the door. The window was still open, as they had left it.
“You first,” the burglar said, “and there’ll be no more flashlight.”
He clicked out the flashlight, and Brokay jumped out into the darkness, lighting with a thud on the ground. The siren wailed again, this time measurably nearer, and Brokay could hear the sound of a rapidly racing motor.
The burglar thudded to the ground directly behind Brokay, kept the gun pushing into his ribs. “Run for it!” he said. “Never mind being seen, run for it!”
Brokay started sprinting across the lawn, not bothering to hug the shadows, but taking the most direct route toward the place where they had left their automobile. As he ran, the monkey chattered and thrust its tiny paws up under the brim of Brokay’s hat, holding on to Brokay’s hair, chattering its shrill sound of terror.
Brokay’s hat, thus dislodged, fell back across his shoulders and hit the ground. He slowed and swerved, but Sam West jabbed him with the gun.
“I’ll shoot,” he said. “I mean it. Keep going.”
Brokay speeded up once more.
Headlights from the police machine swept across the grounds. The red glow of a spotlight, with crimson glass in it, shed ruddy rays over the lawn. The car slid in close to the curb and stopped.
“Step on it!” yelled West.
Brokay gave one final spurt, jumped into the light roadster which the burglar had been driving. A split second later Sam West leaped to the running board. The burglar’s leap pulled down the springs of the automobile, causing the car to creak and sway. Then Sam West slid into the seat and pressed his foot on the starter.
The blood-red shaft of light from the police car caught them squarely, held them for a moment. Then there was the sound of a hail and once more the sound of the siren, this time a piercing scream.
The motor roared into life. Sam West snapped the light car into gear, and the wheels churned for a moment as they bit into the road. Then the car lurched forward.
There was the sound of a shot, the sharp ping of a bullet as it struck the body of the car. Then the light roadster leaped forward into a tree-lined roadway, where trees and shrubbery prevented the police spotlight from holding them in its brilliance.
“This is a driveway that comes into the garage,” Sam West said. “They’ll have to go around the block to get to it. It gives us that much head start. Hang on.”
The car skidded along the gravel as the burglar whipped it into a turn, then straightened and roared along the pavement. West fought the wheel around. The tires screamed into the turn as the machine skidded, straightened, then skidded once more, straightened into speed on the straightaway. The night behind them echoed with the shrill, menacing scream of the siren.
Sam West pushed the throttle down to the floorboards. The needle of the speedometer climbed steadily upward. Street intersections flashed past. The sound of the siren grew indistinct in the distance.
“I believe we’ve made it,” West said, and slowed the car slightly and swung wide. “Watch out,” he said, “we’re taking another turn.”
He swung the car to the left, ran four blocks and swung to the right again, then to the left. He slowed. There was no sound of the siren.
Sam West heaved a sigh. He reached forward and turned a key in a radio, which illuminated a dial. “We’ll tune in on the police broadcast,” he said.
He slowed the car, and, after a moment, a mechanical voice said: “Calling all cars... calling all cars... calling all cars. Car Thirty-two answered a telephone call to the residence of John C. Ordway. As the police car approached the residence, two men were seen to run across the lawn and jump into a light roadster. When police hailed them, they refused to stop. A shot was fired which apparently hit the roadster. Both men are young, probably under thirty. They are of medium height, and run as though they had received athletic training at some time in their lives. One of the men wore a gray business suit, and the other wore a tuxedo. The taller of the two men, who is approximately five feet ten and one-half inches high, weight about one hundred and eighty pounds, had a monkey which was swinging to his neck as he ran.
“It is not yet known whether these men were burglars or were merely prowling about the house when they were disturbed, but they evidently are avoiding the police, and should be picked up for questioning at all costs. Car Thirty-two is continuing to search the neighborhood in which the roadster was lost. Car Sixty-four will swing in toward Thirty-fourth and Central. Car Eighty-two will run down Central until it comes to Thirty-fourth. Car Seventy-six will run down Forty-fifth to Grand Avenue, turn on Grand Avenue until it comes to Thirty-fourth and then meet the other cars. All other cars will keep a watch for a light roadster. Car Ninety-one will divert from its beat, to go to the residence of John C. Ordway, at Five-seven-nine Riverview, and make a report on what is found, after a complete investigation. That is all.”