NEITHER of the Sicilians had looked behind when they had hastened to the alley. Hence they did not see the man who stepped into view from behind a telegraph pole. This was none other than Monk Thurman.
He had observed the actions of Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak, and had been waiting to see what happened. He had also recognized the Sicilians. He had expected some one to flee from the apartment after the shooting.
Monk entered the apartment house immediately. He walked calmly upstairs, and entered his apartment. He discovered the bodies of Larrigan’s men. He made some slight changes in their positions, then paced up and down the lighted apartment for a few minutes.
He heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He opened the door, and was met by two policemen. Each officer held a revolver.
“What’s been going on here?” demanded one of the officers.
He stopped suddenly as he saw the body of Hymie Schultz.
“Did you kill this man?” he questioned.
“If I did,” replied Thurman quietly, “it was in self-defense, officer.”
He was standing with his hands slightly raised. The second policeman gripped him by the arm. The gangster made no effort to escape.
“My name is Monk Thurman,” he said quietly. “I come from New York. This man is a gunman who tried to kill me. You see what happened to him. Look down the hallway to the kitchen, and you will see what happened to his helper.”