Granquist walked unsteadily to a chair, sat down and stared vacantly at Beery bending over the body. She said in a hollow, monotonous voice: “He was like that when I came in. I stopped downstairs and then I came up in the elevator and he was like that when I came in — just a minute ago.”
Kells didn’t look at her. He took out a handkerchief and picked up the automatic and held it to his nose. He held it carefully by the handkerchief and snapped the magazine out of the grip, said: “Two.”
Beery stood up.
Kells laughed suddenly. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. He sat down and put the automatic on the table, wiped his eyes with the handkerchief.
“It’s beautiful!” he said brokenly.
Granquist stared at Kells and then she leaned back in the chair and her eyes were very frightened. She said: “I didn’t do it,” over and over again.
Kells’ laughter finally wore itself out. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchief and then he looked up at Beery. “Well,” he said, “why the hell don’t you get on the phone? You’ve got the scoop of the season.”
He leaned back and smiled at the ceiling, improvised headlines: “Boss Bellmann Bumped Off By Beauty. Pillar of Church Meets Maker. Politician — let’s see — Politician Plugged as Prowler by Light Lady.” He stood up and crossed quickly to Beery, emphasized his words with a long white finger against Beery’s chest. “Here’s a pip! Reformer Foiled in Rape. Killer says: ‘I shot to save my honor, the priceless inheritance of American womanhood.’”
Beery went to the telephone. He said: “We’ve been a Bellmann paper — I’ll have to talk to the Old Man.”
“You god-damned idiot! No paper can afford to soft-pedal a thing like this. Can’t you see that without an editorial OK?”