“There won’t be any one else on the case, either. Read that stuff about the motive. Look at what Zull found out about Clink — a small-time racketeer, working on his own — all that sort of stuff.”
“Guess you’re right, Bob,” admitted Briggs. “I guess it’s just as well Clink did fall down the stairs and break his neck.
“You’ve got to hand it to Shargin, too. He and those gorillas of his sneaked the body out of here in first-class style.
“Loaded old Clink full of lead out in the junk yard. There’s been other gang killings there before. This was a soft one with a guy already dead.”
BOB did not reply. He was opening the newspaper. He stopped at a page near the back and pointed out an item to Briggs. It stated that Miss Betty Mandell, well-known society girl, had left for a trip to Florida and the West Indies.
“Well-known,” laughed Bob. “She’s got about four friends in New York. Her uncle threw a big coming-out party for her a few years ago and she’s good for the society page any day, on account of family history.
“But she never got around much. Told me so herself. That paragraph takes care of her for the next six weeks. We’ll be through by then!”
Briggs nodded. He reached over to the desk and picked up a sheet of paper upon which he had written a telephone number. Bob looked at it.
“Westcott!” he exclaimed. “When did he get back?”
“To-day.”