Something clicked in my hand as it smashed into his face, and my hand went numb.
But he went down—and lay where he fell.
I jumped across his body to a door on the opposite side of the room, pulling my gun loose with my left hand.
“Dexter’s somewhere around!” I called over my shoulder to O’Gar, who with Gantvoort and Creda, was coming through the door by which I had entered. “Keep your eyes open!”
I dashed through the four other rooms of the apartment, pulling closet doors open, looking everywhere—and I found nobody.
Then I returned to where Creda Dexter was trying to revive Smith, with the assistance of O’Gar and Gantvoort.
The detective-sergeant looked over his shoulder at me.
“Who do you think this joker is?” he asked.
“My friend Mr. Smith.”
“Gantvoort says he’s Madden Dexter.”
I looked at Charles Gantvoort, who nodded his head.
“This is Madden Dexter,” he said.