“Take that away!” he gasped. “Let me say what you want, and for mercy’s sake get me a doctor! My arm is killing me. The lists, complete to date, with names of the inner circles, and the addresses of the men who were to handle and distribute the bombs, are on a typewritten memorandum under the marble top of the stand in my room.”
The detective turned. “Go up and see if he is telling the truth, Bill,” he ordered.
Keeping as far away from the dead man on the floor as he could, Bill left the room and hurried up the stairs. There was only one room with a marble top table and, lifting the slab, Bill found several typewritten sheets fastened together. These he carried to the detective, who glanced at them, placed them carefully in his pocket and asked, “Is there a telephone here in the house?”
“No,” said Zip.
“You know the people next door,” said the detective, smiling meaningly at Bill. “Perhaps the young lady will allow you to call up the police station. Tell them S. S. Detective Harris wants a patrol and six officers sent here. And the ambulance. Say there is a dead man here.”
Elizabeth still sat on the porch rocking. She rose when Bill came leaping up the steps.
“What is going on, Bill?” she demanded. “I heard a pistol. What has happened?”
“Lots of things!” said Bill, tantalizingly. And then he added hastily, if importantly, “Tell you all about it soon as I can! A Government affair we are mixed up in. Let me use your telephone, will you?”
While he was getting central, Elizabeth murmured, “Government affair indeed! Well, I reckon you will tell all about it, Bill Wolfe!”
The ambulance arrived first, and the dead man, decently covered and laid on a stretcher, was carried through the crowd that had assembled about the door and hurried away.