He removed his hat and dropped it. Before it hit the carpet, his derringer was in his hand, an over-and-under, two-barrel, .41 caliber small handgun that packed a surprisingly heavy punch at close range.

Bell waggled the key in the door as if he was turning the lock. He pushed the door open and hesitated, staring around the foyer of the suite and the living room beyond before he entered. The smell of cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils, confirming Bell’s suspicions. He only rarely smoked a cigar and then only with brandy after a gourmet dinner. With the derringer in hand, he stepped into the suite. Death, like a third man, was waiting inside.

A man was sitting on a settee reading a newspaper. At Bell’s approach, he laid the paper aside and revealed a face as ugly as sin. The black hair was greasy and slicked flat. His face looked like it had been stomped on by a mule, and he had the body of a state fair prizewinning boar. His eyes were strangely soft and friendly, a guise that fooled many of his victims. Bell was not fooled; he could see the man had the strength to spring like a tiger.

“How did you get in?” Bell asked simply.

The stranger held up a key. “Skeleton key,” he said in a voice that came like a rock crusher. “I never leave home without one.”

“What is your name?”

“It won’t matter if you know my name. You’ll never get a chance to use it. But since you’ve asked, it’s Red Kelly.”

Bell’s photographic memory shifted into gear and the recollection of a report he’d once read came back. “Yes, the infamous Red Kelly, boxer, Barbary Coast saloonkeeper, and murderer. You fought a good battle against world champion James J. Corbett. I once studied a report on you in the event you ever wandered beyond the California border. This is a mistake on your part. You have protection from crooked politicians that keeps you from getting extradited for crimes in other states, but that won’t help you in Colorado. You’re subject to arrest here.”

“And who is going to arrest me?” said Kelly showing an expanse of gold teeth.

“You?”

Bell stood loosely, waiting, and expecting a move from Kelly. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“I know all about you, pretty boy,” said Kelly contemptuously. “You’ll bleed just like the other poor slobs I’ve put in the grave.”

“How many detectives and police?”

Kelly grinned nastily. “Three that I can remember. After a while, the numbers began to fade.”

“Your days of murder are over, Kelly,” Bell said calmly.

“That’ll be the day, pretty boy. If you think you can bully me with that popgun in your hand, you’re wasting your breath.”

“You don’t think I could kill you with it?” Bell said.

“You’d never get the chance,” Kelly retorted coldly.