“No,” Otis King drawled; “but I rather fancy he expected us. Did you know he was writing a book? It was to be one of those brutally frank things—fire the gun and let the shots hit whom they may. Anthony dropped each of us a letter. We were to be in the book. So, knowing Anthony, we all raced for the Grand Central and met on the same train.”
“And killed him,” Dr. Stone said.
“Some one did,” King admitted blandly. “And I’m not denying that any of the four of us had reason to do the job.”
Fred Waring spoke bitterly. “You always did talk too much, Otis.” He lapsed into silence, and presently spoke to the doctor. “If you knew Anthony Fitch—”
“Perhaps I do,” the doctor said mildly. “For several years he was mixed up in shady transactions, but managed to stay just inside the law. Slippery, and clever, and unscrupulous.”
“That was Anthony on the outside,” Waring said passionately. “Inside he was vindictive, and cold, and merciless. Those claw-like hands of his were the talons of a hawk. He took a pleasure in refined torture. Years ago we were all tied up with him, and—”
“You don’t have to go into that,” Ted Lawton cried warningly.
“I’m not going to. Anyway, we broke away, and one of his schemes failed. He told us then that some day he’d pay the score. Lately he set out to write a book. It was to be called ‘Confessions of a Rascal.’”
“I see.” The doctor’s face was expressionless. “Naturally, you gentlemen objected to being included in the book.”
Waring ripped out an oath. “He had gone back fifteen years to rake open old sores. God, man, do you know what that meant? We thought we had lived down those old mistakes. We had established ourselves. I am cashier at a manufacturing plant. King is manager of a branch brokerage house. Lawton is in business for himself. Ran Freeman is engaged to marry Lilly Panner——”