He grabbed my arm. “Newell? Did you say Newell?”
“Sure, boss, he was driving that car! I... I was so excited I didn’t think to tell you before.”
“Newell,” the boss muttered like he had found a present of some kind, “Newell was driving the car, eh?”
Then he said, “Well, come along, Willie. We’ll still seek our treasure.”
“For pity’s sake, boss, what kind of treasure?”
“I told you I don’t know. Now shut up.” He played the light around the room.
“Well, can’t you just sort of give me an idea?”
“We’re hunting whatever Jackie, the Great Dane dog, found here. Remember, Willie? The dog came here and barked. Then he vanished. If we find his corpse, or the thing he was after, we have found our treasure.”
I thought of Bedrock Hannrihan hunting all over town. “I hope we find it.”
We didn’t find nothing downstairs but a lot of junk. We went upstairs. There were only three rooms here. The first was empty except for dust all over the floor. We walked to the door of the second room.
The boss threw his light into the room. This room held plenty — too much. I took one look and got sick.
He was in the middle of the floor, what was left of him, lying on his back. His feet and body looked okay. But his whole head was gone. I shut my eyes.
When I opened them again, I was sort of sagging against the door, like a fighter hangs onto the ropes. Percival Smith was looking over the headless gent like he might look over a dozen roses.
I got my stomach well swallowed and took a look myself. He had been a big man. His clothes were dusty and wrinkled. There was no blood around on the floor.
Smith said, “Know him?”
“Maybe — if I could see his face.”
The boss laughed. I tried a grin.
“This lovely specimen, Willie,” Percival Smith said, “is our old friend — Mark Droyster!”
That knocked the sickness out of me. “Droy — you’re telling me that’s Mark Droyster? It couldn’t be! Droyster was buried yesterday!”
“Not actually.” The boss held out his hand, shined the light on it. On his palm was a ring and a small blue book. “Droyster’s ring, Willie. I just took it off the corpse.”
“And the book?”
“A bank book. It was on the floor, under the small of his back. I got it while you were taking a count. It’s a very interesting book.”
I said, “Uh huh?”
“It shows a withdrawal of fifty-seven thousand dollars made three days ago by Droyster.”
I whistled. “This sure gums up things, boss. Anybody most would kill for that much money.”
“Yes, it is a complication. Unknown to the world, Droyster possessed a fortune three days ago.”
“But why is his corpse here, boss?”
“You can play Sherlock on that if you want to, Willie.”
I said, “Uh huh.” I pointed at the corpse. “And that’s why the dog came here.”
“That’s right. He came and barked. The murderer, for his own purposes, had taken Droyster’s corpse from the casket. The casket, due to the condition of the body, was never opened. The dog came here, found Droyster, and the murderer did something to the dog to silence him. Mrs. Droyster came and looked, but not very well. However, she did scare the killer off. He’ll have to return and dispose of this body.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t understand every bit of your lingo. And I’m in one fine muddle. But if the killer has to come back, why can’t we lay for him here?”
“In the first place he might fool us and not return. And in the second, we’ve got to find the murderer before Hannrihan finds us.”
Even the mention of it made my mouth get dry. “Let’s not talk about Hannrihan, boss.”
We started back down the stairs. The boss turned off his light.
I whispered, “Where do we go from here?”
“Where would you like to go? Take your pick. You have Alicia Droyster, Doctor Lawrence Jordan, an absent bookie named Pete Lorentz, and our friend, Al Newell, to choose from.”
“Let’s see the sawbones!”
“Later. First we’ll see Newell.” He started to open the front door. “And, Willie, you can begin to earn your pay. I’m whistling for you now. We might have to beat the truth from Newell.”
“Lead me to it!”
He pulled the front door open.
I said, “I’ll wring Newell’s neck, boss. I’ll break him in two. I’ll...”
“Do nothing of the kind!” a voice said. Somebody else had a pencil flash. They threw it on us, standing so the light couldn’t be seen from the big house.
Percival Smith said, “Hello, Newell.”
“Hello, Smith, I’ve got a gun. So be careful. Now get back inside. I don’t want snoopers from the house.”
Newell moved from the yard to the porch. I could see his face above the flash.
Just like he was asking Newell in for a drink, Smith opened the door with his passkey.
“Go on in,” Newell said. He took a step toward us.
There wasn’t nothing to do but backpedal. Newell herded us to a back room. He didn’t get close to us. He wasn’t taking chances.
“Smith,” he said, “I had a devil of a time trailing you down here. In fact, I’ve been having a devil of a time all night — and just because of you.”
“That,” Percival Smith said, “is mutual. That was a very smart trick, Newell, putting the remains of Joe Dance in my office and calling the bulls.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Smith? You’re nuts!”
“Am I? Joe Dance worked for you. He was about to tell me a few things about Droyster’s death. You inherited a very rich dog track from Droyster and you were afraid Dance would spoil it by talking.”
Newell brought his gun up a little. I wished I could get some moisture in my mouth. Newell said, “So you know about the track?”
“Of course, what do you think I do with my time, knit? How much does the track payoff, Newell? Ten grand a month? Enough to commit murder for?”
“All right,” Newell said in a sort of ice-like voice, “I’ll show you my hand — since I’ve got the gun. The track does payoff plenty. Mark Droyster never knew, because I kept the books and he was tied up in a dozen other different places. But I didn’t kill him or Joe Dance.”
“And you trailed us all the way down here to tell me that?” Smith said.
Newell laughed. “Don’t be funny. I came here to do what I tried to do earlier tonight.”
The boss just said, “Yes?” but my knees were banging together. I looked at Newell’s gun. It must be awful lonesome, I thought, with six feet of dirt over your face. But I couldn’t get close to Newell, not close enough to do nothing.
The boss said, “Earlier tonight you tried to kill us, Newell. Now you say you are going to finish it. Yet you claim you are a very innocent boy. I think you are a very funny boy. You tried to make me and the police think you were drunk this afternoon, when Dance’s corpse was planted in my office. You—”
“I was drunk, if you must know. I was in jail until just a few minutes before I found you and Gargantua in the alley.” He leveled the gun at Smith’s head. “I think you know too much, Smith. Maybe I should knock you off.”
“You tried hard enough once already,” I said.
Newell laughed. “Tried? There in the alley? That’s a joke. If I’d tried, you wouldn’t be kicking now.” He threw the light toward the boss. “No, Smith, I don’t want to kill you. In the alley tonight I merely tried to wing you, lay you up for a few days with a bullet in the leg. Or maybe scare you off the Droyster case. But I didn’t really expect that. You’re too dumb to keep your nose clean.”
Smith said, “Perhaps you need another drink, Newell — to sober you up. What are you driving at, anyway?”