“I — told — all—”
These were the words that came in slow gasps from the dying man’s lips.
Fredericks gripped the other man’s throat. Dying or not, he was enraged at the man who had double-crossed him.
Weston and Wilhelm thought the physician had gone mad. Cardona, alone, understood.
He seized Fredericks by the shoulders and jerked him from his helpless victim.
Cardona’s lunge flung Fredericks half across the room. The stout man staggered and fell against the wall. He seemed too helpless to return the attack. But in that, Cardona was mistaken.
Rising slowly, Fredericks suddenly jerked his hand upward. A stub-nosed revolver shone in his hands. He covered Joe Cardona. Weston and Wilhelm were also in line as targets.
“Got me, eh?” questioned Fredericks. “Think you’ve got me?”
He glowered as he sidled toward the door. His quick recovery had caught Cardona weaponless. The detective’s gun was in his pocket; he could not obtain it now.
Fredericks was at the door that led to the hallway. He opened it slightly, with his left hand, which was bent behind his back.