“Come upstairs,” I said.
We went up. Davis looked at the man.
“That’s Giles,” he said, making a little grimace. “Hell! We’d better get out of here.”
“He hasn’t been dead more than a few minutes,” I said, staring down at the dead man. “Think that Plymouth’s anything to do with this?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. “All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we’re dead pigeons.”
“I guess you’re right at that.”
We went down the stairs and out of the house.
The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.
We got in the car.
“You’re passing up a good story,” I said, looking at Davis with a grin.