away!
Through the racket of the street, he heard the gun rasp on metal, and knew that it had struck the grating accurately. It was a sound that would go unnoticed in the general clamor.
"Play it up," he whispered to Kirkpatrick. "If the killer thinks he got me, he'll stop shooting!"
Kirkpatrick swore and ripped to his feet. "Faking!" The commissioner glared down at Wentworth irresolutely through a long moment, then turned to peer up toward the roof from which the shot had come. Wentworth seized that opportunity to glance toward the sewer opening, and an oath sprung to his lips. The gun had struck the grating all right. But it still hung there, balanced on the edge of the grating, and to Wentworth it seemed that all light in the street concentrated on the exposed butt!
He sprang to his feet, and Kirkpatrick whipped toward him. His call brought O'Holian back to his side. "Once before, Dick," he said quietly, "you escaped my custody during gunplay. I am making no accusation—"
"I should be thankful, I suppose!" Wentworth mocked.
"—but my ultimatum holds good!" Kirkpatrick pressed on. "Submit to search, or you go to jail!"
Wentworth met Kirkpatrick's frosty glare through a long moment, then slowly he lifted his hands. "Very well," he said grimly, "but I think you'll regret this, Kirkpatrick!"
Kirkpatrick's face was rigid as frozen earth. There was both determination and a wincing dread in his expression. "It is possible," he said heavily. "O'Holian, get on with the search!"
While the policeman made his rapidly thorough search, Wentworth allowed his eyes to stray covertly toward the sewer opening. A uniformed man was sauntering that way. If he should catch sight of that gun-butt . . . Wentworth shifted impatiently.
"It might help O'Holian, Kirk," he said shortly, "if you would tell him what he's looking for."
"A thirty-eight calibre automatic," Kirkpatrick said grimly. "A colt, with a test barrel."
"It ain't on him, sir," O'Holian reported steadily. "His gun is a forty-five, and he's got a license for it here."
Kirkpatrick's whole body seemed to relax, though his voice remained toneless. "Very well, O'Holian," he said. "That will do."
* * *
Wentworth saw that the policeman had reached the sewer. He was kicking the metal grating absently with his toe. How could he help seeing that gun butt?
"If you're through with your insults," he said stiffly. "I'm going home." His mind was very active.
Kirkpatrick nodded gravely. His frosty blue eyes were puzzled, but there was suffering in their depths. Actually, he detested these moments when he had to accuse his friend. Things would be a little smoother, now, with the searching over and done—if only . . . Wentworth turned aside and glanced once more toward the policeman. He was standing on the grating now, staring up at the front of the Smedley house. His toes were almost touching the dangling gun!
A grim smile touched Wentworth's lips. It was a time for hair-line measures! He turned excitedly toward Kirkpatrick, pointed toward the policeman.
"What is that man's name?" he demanded.
Kirkpatrick frowned. "Patrolman Kelly," he growled, "but what—"
" Kelly! " Wentworth called sharply. "Here at once!"
As he had calculated, the man started at the sudden summons. He executed a neat about face . . . and his toe brushed the gun, sent it spinning down into the sewer! Wentworth blew out a relieved sigh, but masked it. He peered hard into the face of the policeman. He shook his head, puzzled.
"I could have sworn, from the set of this man's shoulders," he said slowly, "that he was the driver of that coupe that got away from me tonight, but I got a glimpse of the man's face, and it wasn't Kelly. I'm sorry."
Kirkpatrick said sharply, "Do you think the police harbor assassins?"
Wentworth looked him directly in the eye. "It is peculiar," he said slowly, "that both times I've been fired on tonight, it has been after police brought me out into the
Through the racket of the street, he heard the gun rasp on metal, and knew that it had struck the grating accurately. It was a sound that would go unnoticed in the general clamor.
"Play it up," he whispered to Kirkpatrick. "If the killer thinks he got me, he'll stop shooting!"
Kirkpatrick swore and ripped to his feet. "Faking!" The commissioner glared down at Wentworth irresolutely through a long moment, then turned to peer up toward the roof from which the shot had come. Wentworth seized that opportunity to glance toward the sewer opening, and an oath sprung to his lips. The gun had struck the grating all right. But it still hung there, balanced on the edge of the grating, and to Wentworth it seemed that all light in the street concentrated on the exposed butt!
He sprang to his feet, and Kirkpatrick whipped toward him. His call brought O'Holian back to his side. "Once before, Dick," he said quietly, "you escaped my custody during gunplay. I am making no accusation—"
"I should be thankful, I suppose!" Wentworth mocked.
"—but my ultimatum holds good!" Kirkpatrick pressed on. "Submit to search, or you go to jail!"
Wentworth met Kirkpatrick's frosty glare through a long moment, then slowly he lifted his hands. "Very well," he said grimly, "but I think you'll regret this, Kirkpatrick!"
Kirkpatrick's face was rigid as frozen earth. There was both determination and a wincing dread in his expression. "It is possible," he said heavily. "O'Holian, get on with the search!"
While the policeman made his rapidly thorough search, Wentworth allowed his eyes to stray covertly toward the sewer opening. A uniformed man was sauntering that way. If he should catch sight of that gun-butt . . . Wentworth shifted impatiently.
"It might help O'Holian, Kirk," he said shortly, "if you would tell him what he's looking for."
"A thirty-eight calibre automatic," Kirkpatrick said grimly. "A colt, with a test barrel."
"It ain't on him, sir," O'Holian reported steadily. "His gun is a forty-five, and he's got a license for it here."
Kirkpatrick's whole body seemed to relax, though his voice remained toneless. "Very well, O'Holian," he said. "That will do."
* * *
Wentworth saw that the policeman had reached the sewer. He was kicking the metal grating absently with his toe. How could he help seeing that gun butt?
"If you're through with your insults," he said stiffly. "I'm going home." His mind was very active.
Kirkpatrick nodded gravely. His frosty blue eyes were puzzled, but there was suffering in their depths. Actually, he detested these moments when he had to accuse his friend. Things would be a little smoother, now, with the searching over and done—if only . . . Wentworth turned aside and glanced once more toward the policeman. He was standing on the grating now, staring up at the front of the Smedley house. His toes were almost touching the dangling gun!
A grim smile touched Wentworth's lips. It was a time for hair-line measures! He turned excitedly toward Kirkpatrick, pointed toward the policeman.
"What is that man's name?" he demanded.
Kirkpatrick frowned. "Patrolman Kelly," he growled, "but what—"
" Kelly! " Wentworth called sharply. "Here at once!"
As he had calculated, the man started at the sudden summons. He executed a neat about face . . . and his toe brushed the gun, sent it spinning down into the sewer! Wentworth blew out a relieved sigh, but masked it. He peered hard into the face of the policeman. He shook his head, puzzled.
"I could have sworn, from the set of this man's shoulders," he said slowly, "that he was the driver of that coupe that got away from me tonight, but I got a glimpse of the man's face, and it wasn't Kelly. I'm sorry."
Kirkpatrick said sharply, "Do you think the police harbor assassins?"
Wentworth looked him directly in the eye. "It is peculiar," he said slowly, "that both times I've been fired on tonight, it has been after police brought me out into the
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