of the car and joined me.
He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.
"Looks like someone's been going over the joint," he said, producing his little ivory comb. He combed his hair thoughtfully. "That's good liquor of Tim's," he went on. "I think I'll have another shot. My nerves are kind of unsteady."
I tapped, broke a small section of glass near the window catch, opened the window.
"Hey," Davis said, his eyes round. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going in there to take a look," I said.
"I'll stick around and toot on the horn if any buttons show," Davis said, moving towards the car.
"And leave that bottle alone," I said.
I had a look round the room. Someone had gone over it carefully. There wasn't anything in one piece. Even the stuffing in the chairs and settee had been hauled out and sifted through.
I went over the house. Each room had been treated in the same way.
Upstairs in the front bedroom I came upon a man in white pyjamas. He was lying half across the bed, the back of his head had been smashed in. I touched his hand. He was still warm; but he was dead. It looked as if the killer had surprised him in bed, and had bust him before he could raise the alarm.
I went down the stairs, opened the front door, called Davis.
"Come upstairs," I said.
We went up. Davis looked at the man.
"That's Giles," he said, making a little grimace. "Hell! We'd better get out of here."
"He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes," I said, staring down at the dead man. "Think that Plymouth's anything to do with this?"
"I wouldn't know," Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. "All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we're dead pigeons."
"I guess you're right at that."
We went down the stairs and out of the house.
The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.
We got in the car.
"You're passing up a good story," I said, looking at Davis with a grin.
"I'll wait until they find him," he said, starting the engine. "I'm not sticking my glass chin out by telling them he's there. They might tie me to it."
He let in the clutch and we shot away from the kerb.
4
"Is this where Brodey hangs out?" I asked, as Davis stopped the car in front of a big house on
Macklin Avenue.
"Across the way," Davis said, pointing. "I'm not parking before any more death houses. Jeese! That was a dumb trick. If a copper had seen us come out—–"
"Forget it," I said, getting out of the car. "Show me the place, and don't get so excited."
"Excited? For crying out loud! I don't like running into corpses that haven't been turned up by the cops. It's too dangerous."
We crossed the road. Somewhere out of sight a car engine roared.
Davis paused in mid-stride.
"Hear that?" he said, clutching my arm.
"Come on," I said, and started forward.
Brodey's house was big, and it stood back from the street. . The garden was full of palms and tropical shrubs. It was difficult to see much of the house from where we were.
As we approached the front gates, which stood open, we heard the car coming down the drive. We ducked back into the shadows. The brown Plymouth sedan shot into the street, belted away. It was out of sight before we got over our surprise.
I had caught a glimpse of a man who was driving, but I couldn't see much of him. The car was fitted with curtains which happened to billow out as the car passed me. That was how I saw the man; Davis didn't see him at all.
"Looks bad for Brodey," I said, and began to run up the drive.
Davis panted along behind me. "Think he's been knocked off ?" he groaned.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" I said. "Same car. Same hurry to get away. They're after something pretty important."
A turn in the drive brought us to a big Spanish house that was in darkness.
"If
He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.
"Looks like someone's been going over the joint," he said, producing his little ivory comb. He combed his hair thoughtfully. "That's good liquor of Tim's," he went on. "I think I'll have another shot. My nerves are kind of unsteady."
I tapped, broke a small section of glass near the window catch, opened the window.
"Hey," Davis said, his eyes round. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going in there to take a look," I said.
"I'll stick around and toot on the horn if any buttons show," Davis said, moving towards the car.
"And leave that bottle alone," I said.
I had a look round the room. Someone had gone over it carefully. There wasn't anything in one piece. Even the stuffing in the chairs and settee had been hauled out and sifted through.
I went over the house. Each room had been treated in the same way.
Upstairs in the front bedroom I came upon a man in white pyjamas. He was lying half across the bed, the back of his head had been smashed in. I touched his hand. He was still warm; but he was dead. It looked as if the killer had surprised him in bed, and had bust him before he could raise the alarm.
I went down the stairs, opened the front door, called Davis.
"Come upstairs," I said.
We went up. Davis looked at the man.
"That's Giles," he said, making a little grimace. "Hell! We'd better get out of here."
"He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes," I said, staring down at the dead man. "Think that Plymouth's anything to do with this?"
"I wouldn't know," Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. "All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we're dead pigeons."
"I guess you're right at that."
We went down the stairs and out of the house.
The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.
We got in the car.
"You're passing up a good story," I said, looking at Davis with a grin.
"I'll wait until they find him," he said, starting the engine. "I'm not sticking my glass chin out by telling them he's there. They might tie me to it."
He let in the clutch and we shot away from the kerb.
4
"Is this where Brodey hangs out?" I asked, as Davis stopped the car in front of a big house on
Macklin Avenue.
"Across the way," Davis said, pointing. "I'm not parking before any more death houses. Jeese! That was a dumb trick. If a copper had seen us come out—–"
"Forget it," I said, getting out of the car. "Show me the place, and don't get so excited."
"Excited? For crying out loud! I don't like running into corpses that haven't been turned up by the cops. It's too dangerous."
We crossed the road. Somewhere out of sight a car engine roared.
Davis paused in mid-stride.
"Hear that?" he said, clutching my arm.
"Come on," I said, and started forward.
Brodey's house was big, and it stood back from the street. . The garden was full of palms and tropical shrubs. It was difficult to see much of the house from where we were.
As we approached the front gates, which stood open, we heard the car coming down the drive. We ducked back into the shadows. The brown Plymouth sedan shot into the street, belted away. It was out of sight before we got over our surprise.
I had caught a glimpse of a man who was driving, but I couldn't see much of him. The car was fitted with curtains which happened to billow out as the car passed me. That was how I saw the man; Davis didn't see him at all.
"Looks bad for Brodey," I said, and began to run up the drive.
Davis panted along behind me. "Think he's been knocked off ?" he groaned.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" I said. "Same car. Same hurry to get away. They're after something pretty important."
A turn in the drive brought us to a big Spanish house that was in darkness.
"If
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