“I did.”
I pointed at Cara Kenbrook. “Ever see her before?”
His gray eyes studied her carefully.
“Not that I remember,” he answered.
“Did she come up the street while you were looking at Gilmore, and go into the house he was lying in front of?”
“She did not.”
I took out the empty shell O’Gar had got for me, and chucked it down on the desk in front of the patrolman.
“Kelly,” I asked, “ why did you kill Gilmore ?”
Kelly’s right hand went under his coattail at his hip.
I jumped for him.
Somebody grabbed me by the neck. Somebody else piled on my back. McTighe aimed a big fist at my face, but it missed. My legs had been suddenly kicked from under me, and I went down hard with men all over me.
When I was yanked to my feet again, big Kelly stood straight up by the desk, weighing his service revolver in his hand. His clear eyes met mine, and he laid the weapon on the desk. Then he unfastened his shield and put it with the gun.
“It was an accident,” he said simply.
By this time the birds who had been manhandling me woke up to the fact that maybe they were missing part of the play—that maybe I wasn’t