Nace went over and stared. Then shoved the girl away, saying, “Quit looking at it, dammit!”
The body of Tom Tammany had been under the carpet. The man’s eyes and tongue protruded. All over, he was swollen and purple.
Nace ran for the cellar stairs, gritting, “This thing is getting damn bad!”
He gained the hallway, veered into the sitting-room, and got one of the Winchesters. Ordinarily, he did not use a firearm. But this was going to be an exception.
The red-head came up from the cellar, choking, “While you were out, I thought I would search the house for Zeke—”
Replying nothing, Nace began a careful scouting, first from one window, then another. The girl got the other Winchester and also began peering from windows.
Five minutes later, the girl cried from the front door, “Look who’s coming!”
Detective Sergeant Gooch came stamping from the direction of the road. He held a blue service revolver in each hand. Before him, he herded Jeck and Zeke.
Coming near, Sergeant Gooch stepped to one side, so that he could cover Nace and the girl, as well as Jeck and Zeke.
“Drop that artillery!” he snapped.
“Be yourself!” Nace growled. “You’re out of your bailiwick!”
Gooch cocked both his revolvers. “Bailiwick, hell! Something’s happened to Honest John, and I ain’t fooling! Drop ’em!”
Nace told the girl, “This crazy cop has shot more people than he’s got fingers and toes! We’d better do as he says!”
“Where’s Honest John?” Gooch demanded savagely. “He left me to go on a lone-handed scout, and he ain’t come back!”
“How should I know?” Nace asked. “I didn’t even know you two were in this neck of the woods!”
“Somebody reported your car at the New York airport,” Gooch explained grudgingly. “We learned you and the rest of the gang had chartered planes for Lake City. So we followed. Officially, we’re investigating the murder of that taxi driver. We beat you here. Our police plane was fast!”
Nace gestured at Jeck and Zeke. “Where did you tie into these two?”
Gooch glared at Jeck. “I caught this monkey running down the road with a rifle. A minute later, the other guy came out of the brush of his own accord.”
Big Zeke wrinkled his purple nose and spoke up in a harsh rumble. “I was followin’ Jeck. I been followin’ him for the last hour!”
Nace snapped at Jeck, “So it was you who shot at me!”
“No, it wasn’t!” Jeck disclaimed.
“That’s right! It wasn’t him! I been watchin’ him!” Zeke made the statement vehemently.
The girl roved bewildered eyes. “Then who was it?”
Nace scowled blackly at Sergeant Gooch. “It strikes me as damn funny — you two guys showing up here. Are you sure you’re not doing anything but upholding the law?”
Blood sheeted under Gooch’s blue beard stubble. “For a little bit, I’d knock you into the middle of next week!”
“Any time you feel lucky, old son!” Nace leered. “Was it a man or a woman who telephoned you that wild story about a body being in my office?”
“Man.”
“Okay.” Nace took out his pipe and yellow silk pouch. He dunked the pipe in the pouch, making the act a small gesture at Jeck. “I don’t suppose you know anything about who killed that filling station attendant, shot at me in that New York alley, or murdered the taxi driver?”
Except for the black gloves, Jeck still wore his crowlike garments. “Listen, wise guy, all I did was grab that hearse because I thought Caroni’s treasure was in it. There wasn’t nothing in it, not even a body—”
“He’s a liar!” Zeke yelled.
“There wasn’t nothin’ in the hearse!” Jeck repeated sullenly. “I went to get you, Nace. I thought you might know where the swag was, and I could make you cough up! After you put me and Tammany to sleep and damned if I know yet how you done it — we woke up on stretchers. We was scared, and got right out of town. We didn’t shoot nobody.”
Nace ran plumes of smoke from his nostrils. “Why were you prowling around out here?”
“I was lookin’ for Tammany. We separated just after we got to Lake City. Tammany disappeared.”
Sergeant Gooch waved his guns as if they were pennants, and shouted, “Pipe down! Pipe down! We can go into this later! What we’re gonna do now is find Honest John!”
Nace, raising his voice angrily, shouted, “Let’s find out where we’re going first! Somebody around here has got his hands on that Caroni treasure! He knows he’s got to keep it secret, because Caroni’s gangsters would take it away from him. So he’s been killing everybody who finds out he has it. I think I know how he’s been pulling the murders so as to leave his victims looking like they were about to explode, but I’ve got to get some proof.”
Sergeant Gooch roared, “If you know anything about them killings, you’ve got to tell me—”
“In a horse’s neck!” Nace told him. “Let’s go hunt Honest John!”
They trooped out of the house.
“I think Honest John went toward the warehouse and wharf!” offered Sergeant Gooch.
As they made for the warehouse, Nace observed each of the others in turn. They were all glancing about nervously as if expecting more shots.
The red-headed girl came close to Nace, shivering, “Do you suppose the person behind this is someone we haven’t even seen?”
“I’m not going to risk a laugh by saying what I think!” Nace told her.
The warehouse was big, heavily timbered. It extended out over the water. The wharf itself was only a continuation of the warehouse floor.
The massive door was unlocked. Nace shoved it in. There was a passage the length of the structure, with stall-like storerooms on each side.
Just inside the door, they found Honest John’s hat, shoes, trousers and coat. The latter two garments were almost as large as small tents.
Nace scrutinized one of the stalls. It held parts of marine engines. He tried the next storeroom. It held great piles of well-greased chain hawsers. This was all equipment for salvaging operations.
In the third cubicle were stored coils of one-, two- and three-inch manilla rope. Some of the coils were new, still in burlap coverings.
Honest John MacGill sat on one of the rope coils, clad only in his underwear. He was dead and swollen and his eyes and tongue almost hung out of his head.
“Stick right here, every one of you!” Sergeant Gooch rapped. “Nace — you watch ’em!”
He ran down the passage, popping his head into stalls, searching.
Black clad Jeck spun, tried to pull a gun from a shoulder holster. Nace took four quick jumps and swung a bony mallet of a fist. Jeck folded down and flopped end over end, like a crow shot on the wing.
He squirmed, dazed, but not unconscious. “I ain’t had nothin’ to do with this!” he whimpered.
Nace kicked the gun into a corner, blew on his fist. The adder on his forehead was a pale salmon. “You picked a swell way to show it!”
Sergeant Gooch came back. His face was like dough, stuck full of short blue pins. He was almost crying with baffled rage.
“There ain’t nobody else here,” he said thickly.
Nace turned on the red-headed girl. “Were your brother and Jud Ogel in their underwear when you found them dead?”
“Yes, they were!” she replied, then turned swiftly and walked out.
“Hey, you! Come back here!” Gooch ripped.
Nace gave the police officer a scathing eye. “I hope you don’t expect her to stay here and look at that body!” He followed the girl outdoors.