“But who is he?” I demanded at last, “and how on earth did he get in here?”
“As to who he is,” Moore smiled, a little grimly, “you’ll find out all about that to-morrow—if he was alone. Otherwise you probably won’t live that long. As to how he got in: like a fool I misunderstood your man and followed him a little way toward the roof when he first started after you. He had left the door of the apartment open and this poor devil must have slipped in then. Your man turned back and showed me in here, but I suppose he must have hidden behind the curtain at once. The time was so short that I never thought to suspect anything or look for eavesdroppers, until I saw the curtain bulge a little in a way no summer breeze would move it. You saw the rest, and I’ll say it was a damned close thing at that, that he didn’t get the two of us. But come on, let’s get him out of this.”
Together we carried the man to a chair and sat him up in it. I put my ear to his chest, but the burnt hole in his coat and in the shirt beneath, through which bright red blood was still slowly oozing, was directly over the heart. The man was stone dead.
Moore stood looking down at him a moment. “Poor devil,” he said. “He was only a tool, but, none the less, I think he was here to finish my little business, and yours too, probably, after what I had told you.” He hesitated. “What’s more,” he went on, “it’s probably a good job for both of us that he’s dead. The only good Indian is a dead Indian, and this fellow is one of that breed.”
At this moment the bell rang and I went to the door. Coming just after the recent scene I had witnessed, the burly police captain who stood there gave me a twinge of uneasiness on Moore’s account, for I had taken a strong liking to my unconventional and quick-witted visitor. But the captain only nodded and passed in front of me through the hall, as I stood back, entering the room where Moore still hung over his victim, as though to wring the last bit of information out of him.
Moore nodded and spoke at once. “Captain Peters, I’m sorry to say I’ve killed this man. I caught him behind that curtain, and it was a close thing at that, as you can see by that picture over there and by this gentleman’s head.”
The police captain whistled and, striding over to the body, stared down at it for a moment. Then he turned back to Moore. “I don’t know him, do you?” he asked.
“No,” the other answered, “I don’t. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him before. But I want you to get a taxi and get him out of here at once, if you will. You can find him somewhere else; anywhere, you know. But keep the thing entirely out of the papers if you can, in any case. That’s important, as you can guess. Above all, captain, don’t let it get about that he had anything to do with me or with this gentleman or that he was killed in this building. If you do, my life will be a poor risk for any insurance company, though I guess it’s that already. You know enough about this business to know that! Will you fix it for me?”
“I’ll fix it,” the captain answered, laconically. He turned in my direction, “Who’s this?” he asked curiously.
“Meet Mr. Clayton, Captain Peters,” Moore answered, with a shadow of a wink at me for the style of introduction. “He’s not with us yet, but I believe he will be before long,” he added.