“So that’s how it is,” he said. “I never should have got mixed up in the lousy case in the first place, but maybe I’m glad at that. This other—well, you don’t have to do it on my account, but neither do I think I should try to argue you out of using the gun if that’s what you want. You had a job to do, and you did it damn well, and now you have to figure the rest of it out yourself. Me, I’ve meddled enough. I’m washed up, finished with it, done.”
“I believe you,” Bishop said. “And thanks.”
“For what?”
“For putting it just that way.” Bishop had a crooked smile on his lips now and in his eyes there was a curious softness, a gentleness that seemed very young and did not go with his face. He watched Casey clap on his hat and said, “You understand things, Flash. You know I’ve got no regrets, that if I had to do it all over, I’d have a crack at it.”
“I guess you would,” Casey said, and went into the hall.
Bishop followed him. “What happens now doesn’t matter,” he said. “Only—either way I guess we won’t be seeing each other any more. And if you don’t mind too much, I’d like to shake hands before you go.”
Casey looked down at the hand and took it, feeling the hot, hard pressure of it. He didn’t look up again. He started to say something but his throat was tight then, so he turned quickly and went along the hall, hearing the door close softly as he started down the stairs.
The night air felt cool and fresh against his hot face and he tried to project his thoughts a million miles away. But it was no good. He knew it wouldn’t work. He wanted to go see Nancy Jamison, not to talk but just to sit awhile, for there was a desperate loneliness moving with him that he could not cast aside. But it was too late for that now, and so, because he did not want to fight the torment any more, he knew he might as well go home and get a little drunk, and go to bed, being sure to put his felt silencer in the telephone so that if a call should come about Jim Bishop he would not know of it until morning.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1941 by George Harmon Coxe
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
This edition published in 2011 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
EBOOKS BY GEORGE HARMON COXE
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
FIND OUT MORE AT WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US: @openroadmedia and Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
Videos, Archival Documents,
and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media
newsletter and get news delivered
straight to your inbox.
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
SIGN UP NOW at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
Silent Are the Dead Page 21