The body was that of a man in the twenties, a well-built man in a dark plaid suit. A woolen cap had fallen from his head. His right arm was extended, the hand still holding with rigid death grip a loaded revolver.
He had been shot through the heart.
Both detectives immediately recognized this man, and Chick said quickly:
“By Jove, it’s Batty Lang, Nick, the gangster. He finally has got what was coming to him.”
Nick bowed without speaking, with his gaze still fixed intently upon the man on the floor. He was noting his position, the direction in which he had fallen, the weapon in his extended hand, and the outlook through the open back door.
Doctor Boyden broke the brief silence.
“You appear to know this man, also, Mr. Carter,” he said gravely.
“Yes, I know him,” Nick now replied. “His name is Bartholomew Lang. He is an East Side product, and at times has been identified with the notorious Ben Badger gang. He is more commonly called Batty Lang.”
“Good heavens!” Doctor Boyden exclaimed. “It appears, then, that the house was filled with crooks and desperadoes last evening.”
“And all here to nail that Mexican, Mr. Carter, if your theory as to his nationality is correct,” added Kennedy. “He must have put up an awful fight, if he got the best of them single-handed.”