The boy next door, fighting for her. Fighting for her — the way the boy next door should.
Suddenly there was a floor-shaking collapse. No more Griff, no more double arms and legs and heads in front of her, no more anything else. Two bodies threshing around on the floor.
Joan Bristol flashed past her, coming from the recesses of the room, an andiron snatched up from before the fireplace raised high above her head.
Bricky’s hands were tied; she couldn’t reach for her and grab her. But if the boy next door could launch himself against a gun with his bare hands, then she could launch herself against an andiron with no hands at all.
She slithered one leg out until it was almost calf-low to the floor, deftly spoked it between Bristol’s two scampering feet.
Joan Bristol went down face-first in a rocking-horse fall, and the andiron went looping futilely through the air, clanged against a wall somewhere.
Bricky flung herself down on her before she could get up again, knelt on her bodily with both knees at once, pinning her flat. Every time Bristol tried to squirm free and unsaddle her, she raised one knee slightly, slammed it down into her again with redoubled force.
She didn’t have time to glance at the men. An arm was swinging over there, pounding into the side of a head like a mallet. Twice, three times. Suddenly they broke into two, one of them staggered upright, one of them stayed flat. The one coming up was bringing the gun up with him.
“I’ll be right with you, Bricky,” a winded voice gasped from over there.
She looked then. Griff was face-down to the floor. He twitched a little, raised a dazed hand to the side of his head, but he stayed flat the way he was. Quinn was standing watchfully over him for a second. He was the one had the gun.
“I can’t hold her down—” she panted.
He went over to Graves’ desk, picked something up, came around in back of her, and sawed her hands apart. Both of them were still breathing too fast to be able to talk much.
He took the same bonds he had just removed from her, reknitted them, and fastened them around Joan Bristol’s hands, behind her back.
“Do that, uh, to him too,” she heaved.
“You bet.” He went into the bedroom, came out with linen stripped from Graves’ bed, ripped it and went to work.
“I saw them coming in with you, outside on the street. I was watching from one of the front windows on this floor. Something about the way you were walking between them, sort of stiff, told me they had a gun on you. I backed up into the bathroom and laid low—”
“They did it, Quinn. We got the right ones at last.”
“I know it wasn’t Holmes. Gee, I had a narrow escape, though—” He stood up, surveyed his own handiwork. “That’ll hold them for a few minutes anyway, if not for long. No need to gag them; let them attract all the attention they can. In fact, we want them to, we’ll do it for them.”
“Quinn, what good is it to us now? There they are, but what’s the difference? Look.” She pointed. “Two past six.”
“Let’s try for it anyway. Let’s go down there. If it isn’t that one, there may be another later in the day—”
“It’s no use, Quinn. We talked that over. We won’t be strong enough to take the later one. You’ll see. The city’s awake now.”
“The cops’re awake too. We
“Pick up your valise. Open the door and stand there by it. I’ll use the phone down here, it’ll only take a minute.”
He picked up the phone. “Ready?” She was standing there out in the vestibule, valise in hand, poised for instant flight. “Get on your mark, get set, here goes.”
He said into the phone: “Give me the police.” Then he said to her, “Hold that door out of the way for me.” She pushed it back with her arm and held it wide.
“Hello, is this the police? I want to report a murder. At—” He gave the house-number. “—East Seventieth Street. You’ll find Stephen Graves lying dead on the second floor of his house there. In the same room with him you’ll find the two people who did it. You’ll find them tied up and waiting for you, if you don’t take too long getting there. In the desk, also in that same room, you’ll find a special delivery letter. That’ll give you the reason. Oh, and one other thing — you’ll find the gun that they did it with, downstairs in the vestibule, under the doormat, waiting for you. Hunh? No, this isn’t a rib. I only wish it was. Me? Oh, just a — just a fellow who happened to be passing by.”
He flung the instrument down without even bothering to rehook it.
“Go!” he shouted to her, and came scurrying after her.
He dipped down for a minute, shoved the gun under the doormat, and then went floundering outside and down the stoop-steps after her.
“Their car!” she called back, pointing as she led the way. “He left his keys in it.”
