Part 7 (2/2)
He got it, but not before it was fired again.
Tom looked down at the widening stain that was marring the smooth texture of the carpet and was horrified. He bent down over the frail figure, lifting the bald head in his hands.
”Mr. Wright!”
The treasurer groaned. ”Sorry,” he said. ”Instructions, Mr. Blacker ...”
”From whom? Andrusco?”
”Yes ... Your message reported from switchboard ... had orders ...”
”Is it true?” Tom said frantically. ”About Antamunda? Is the story true?”
The little man nodded. Then he lifted one hand feebly towards the desk.
”Gary,” he said. ”Tell Gary ...”
Tom looked in the direction of the gesture, and saw the back of a framed photograph.
When he turned to the treasurer again, the thin lips had stopped moving.
He lowered the body to the floor and went to the desk. The photo was that of a young man with stiff-bristled blond hair and a rugged smile.
The inscription read:
”_To Pop, with deep affection, Gary._”
Tom shook his head, wonderingly. Were these creatures so very different?
When Tom stepped out on Fifth-Madison some ten minutes later, it was just in time to watch a police vehicle draw up to the entrance of 320.
Sensing danger, he stepped into the shade of the Tuscany Bar awning, and watched the uniformed men pound their way down the marbled lobby floor towards the elevators. He thought fast, and decided that the arrival of the police was connected with the shooting in Wright's office.
The question was--who were they after?
He walked into the Tuscany, and headed for the bank of visiphone booths.
He dialed the police commissioner, but ducked out of the path of the visiphone eye.
Stinson growled at the blank screen. ”Who is it?”
”Never mind,” Tom said, m.u.f.fling his voice. ”But if you want the killers of Walt Spencer and his wife, pick up John Andrusco and a gal named Livia Cord.”
”Okay, Blacker,” Stinson thundered. ”I knew you'd be calling in.”
Tom swore, and showed himself. ”Listen, I'm telling you the truth. They told me the whole story. Then they tried to have me killed.”
”Is that so? And I suppose the a.s.sa.s.sin was a guy named Wright?”
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