He stood there, a bit to the side of the desk, his knees shaking and, while his brain was active, he was so terror stricken that he could not open his mouth to warn Big Joe of his impending fate. He closed his eyes and said a little prayer as he heard the door creak a bit on its hinges. Why hadn’t he left the door open when he came into Skinner’s cabin, why....
A few tense seconds that seemed as so many hours to Skippy and then he heard the voice of Inspector Jones: “Now that’s hardly the nice way to welcome a police officer, Mr. Skinner. I like your extended hand but not with a gun in it.”
Skippy looked up to see Inspector Jones advancing into the room and this time a policeman’s uniform was a most welcome sight to him. He breathed thanks that the visitor was not Big Joe.
“I’ll just tuck the hardware away, Inspector, and give you the hand.” Skinner smiled and did so. “I thought you were Big Joe Tully coming in to get me. The boy here warned me Joe was on the warpath so I was all set to welcome him and beat him to the draw.”
“So I could see,” the Inspector commented. “Heard about the burning of the barges in the Basin and what happened to poor Beasell?”
“This boy told me there was an explosion and that some one slugged Beasell. Tell me is he—is he—dead?” The question sounded to Skippy as if Skinner was hoping the answer would be yes.
Inspector Jones looked sharply at Skinner. “Yes. He is,” he answered simply and again looked up sharply as Skinner sighed as if in relief.
“Beasell was in my confidence. He knew my business and I trusted him,” Skinner spoke as if to himself.
“Sure, I know you did,” the Inspector agreed and there was that in his words which made Skippy feel as if there was something behind them.
“And how did you know that, may I ask, Inspector?” Skinner seemed a bit ill at ease.