Thomas Quarre was huddled against the bed, plainly dead, with three round holes in his starched white vest—holes that were brown from the closeness of the gun that had put them there.
Across the room, Mrs. Quarre lay on her back. Her clothes had somehow settled in place around her fragile body, and death had given her once more the gentle friendly look she had worn when I first saw her. One thin hand was on her bosom, covering, I found later, the two bullet-holes that were there.
The red-haired girl Elvira was gone.
Presently Tai stirred, and, after taking another gun from his clothes, I helped him sit up. He stroked his bruised throat with one fat hand, and looked coolly around the room.
“So this is how it came out?” he said.
“Uh-huh!”
“Where’s Elvira?”
“Got away—for the time being.”
He shrugged.
“Well, you can call it a decidedly successful operation. The Quarres and Hook dead; the bonds and I in your hands.”
“Not so bad,” I admitted, “but will you do me a favor?”
“If I may.”
“Tell me what the hell this is all about!”
“All about?” he asked.