“So you’re the rat!” An interrupting voice came from the door to the next room.
Killer Durgan, eyes red with anger, puffed lips snarling, was covering Ernie with his automatic. The gangster looked at Durgan in utter bewilderment — too surprised to speak.
“Stole my moll, eh?” growled Durgan. “Bumped off Mike Wharton, before he could spill your name. I thought you were phony — the first night you came up to my place. Looking at my moll like you wanted her for yours.
“She just spilled the dope. Told me I’d find you here — the guy that she was goofy over — grabbing off another moll just because she looked like a high-class dame.
“You rat! Well, she’s in there — Madge is — waiting to hear you go out!”
“Durgan!” protested Shires. “Listen, Durgan — you don’t know—”
Before he could say another word, Killer Durgan fired. Three shots entered Ernie’s body.
Arline, startled and bewildered, had her first glimpse of sudden death when she saw the gangster crumple on the floor. Durgan stood above the body, gloating.
He had not seen the form of Cliff Marsland, lying behind the chair in the obscure corner of the room.
Ernie Shires had once framed Cliff Marsland to be killed instead of himself, as the slayer of Tim Waldron. Now, in turn, Ernie Shires had been framed by circumstance. He had died in place of the man whom Killer Durgan wanted!