The sound came from around the corner, back at the entrance where the car had been standing.
“Come on!” ordered the driver. “Scram out of this car before — “
Fellows needed no urging. He knew instinctively that murder was under way. He leaped to the street and dashed back around the corner.
A car was pulling away from the curb. A body was lying on the sidewalk.
Fellows ran toward the fallen man. Shots hit the paving beside him. The men in the fleeing car had seen his action, and had fired as their car turned the corner.
Fellows ducked into the entrance; then, realizing that the danger had passed, he hurried toward the man who lay on the sidewalk.
“Dead!” he exclaimed, as he lifted the man’s shoulders. The form was limp and lifeless.
The head dropped back as Fellows raised the body. The light from the front of the building fell directly on the face. A gasp of horror came from the lips of the insurance broker.
The murdered man was Horace Prescott!