"Got one of 'em," he announced triumphantly. "Now—the other guy. Where's Carey?" he demanded.
"Dead," said Vandervent crisply.
Spofford's mouth opened. He dropped into a chair, loosing his grasp on Garland.
"Beat me to it!" he said bitterly. "Had him dead to rights—came up here all alone." He looked up surlily. "Listen here, Mr. Vandervent; I ran this case down all by myself. You're here, and I suppose you'll grab all the glory; but I wanta tell you that I'm entitled to my share." His gaze was truculent now.
"You may have it," said Vandervent quietly.
"Eh? I don't get you," said Spofford. "Where's the string tied to it?"
"Perhaps not any—perhaps just one," was Vandervent's reply.
"Huh!" Spofford grunted noncommittally. "Where is Carey?"
Vandervent pointed out the window.
"Sent for the coroner?" demanded the plain-clothesman.