“This guy was lying flat, and the gun in the car was shooting over him, but it gave the ones in front a chance to ice him.”

Grave Digger nodded. “This guy knew his business, but he was outgunned.”

“Over here!” Lieutenant Anderson called.

He and a white precinct detective named Haggerty and two prowl-car cops were standing about an unconscious colored man stretched out on the sidewalk.

Grave Digger and Coffin Ed glanced briefly at the second stiff as they ambled past.

“Know him?” Grave Digger asked.

“One of the girl-boys,” Coffin Ed said.

Detective Haggerty skinned back his teeth when they approached. “Every time I see you big fellows I think of two hog farmers lost in the city,” he greeted.

Grave Digger flipped him a look. “The office wit.”

Coffin Ed ignored him.

Both of them stared down at the unconscious figure. He had been turned over onto his back, and his bowler placed beneath his head for a pillow. His hands were folded across his chest, and his eyes were closed. But for the labored breathing, he might have been dead.

He was wearing a navy-blue cashmere coat with hand-stitched lapels and patch pockets. His shirt was hidden by a black silk scarf looped at the throat. The trousers were of a dark-blue flannel with a soft chalk stripe. Black calfskin shoes, practically new, finished the ensemble.

He had a broad, smooth-shaven face with a square, aggressive-looking chin. The black skin had a creamy, massaged look, and the short, carefully clipped kinky hair was snow-white. His appearance was impressive.

“Casper looks natural,” Coffin Ed said with a straight face.

“He was sapped behind the left ear,” Lieutenant Anderson stated.

“How do you figure it?” Grave Digger asked.

“It seems as though Holmes was robbed, but the rest doesn’t figure,” Anderson confessed.