Elihu Willsson’s house was lighted from top to bottom. The secretary opened the front door before I could get my finger on the button. His thin body was shivering in pale blue pajamas and dark blue bathrobe. His thin face was full of excitement.

“Hurry!” he said. “ Mr. Willsson is waiting. And, please, will you try to persuade him to let us have the body removed?”

I promised and followed him up to the old man’s bedroom.

Old Elihu was in bed as before, but now a black automatic pistol lay on the covers close to one of his pink hands.

As soon as I appeared he took his head off the pillows, sat upright and barked at me:

“Have you got as much guts as you’ve got gall?”