Gorilla Dave spoke up quickly. "This fellow did it. With a chair. I seen him."
There was a moment before Lindsay answered quietly. "He shot twice.
The gun must be lying under him where he fell."
Already men had crowded forward to the scene of the tragedy, moved by the morbid curiosity a crowd has in such sights. Two policemen pushed them back and turned the still body over. No revolver was to be seen.
"Anybody know who this is?" one of the officers asked.
"Collins—'Slim' Jim," answered big Dave.
"Well, he's got his this time," the policeman said. "Skull smashed."
Clay's heart sank. In that noise of struggling men and crashing furniture very likely the sound of the shots had been muffled. The revolver gone, false testimony against him, proof that he had threatened Collins available, Clay knew that he was in desperate straits.
"There was another guy here with him in them glad rags," volunteered one of the gamblers captured in the raid.
"Who was he?" asked the plain-clothes man of his prisoner.
Clay was silent. He was thinking rapidly. His enemies had him trapped at last with the help of circumstance, Why bring Bromfield into it? It would mean trouble and worry for Beatrice.