The car ahead went like the wind. We lost sight of it altogether. Then as the
lights of the town showed, I saw it again.
Larkin followed it into the town and across to the opposite outskirts. The car, with
the ghastly apparition of Rocco Landi at the wheel, turned into a driveway leading to a
garage.
Joe Larkin parked at the curb, got out, and beckoned me and Grossman to accompany him.
"This," Joe whispered, "is Rocco's garage. Over there--in the tall grass--is where
they found his body. I'm glad you came with us, Grossman!"
The big detective grunted.
All three of us kept close to the wall of an adjoining building, so that its shadows
prevented us from being seen, either from the street or from the garage. We crept stealthily
along until we were close to Vetti's car.
Its headlights showed us the figure of Rocco Landi, standing tall and straight, while
Vetti cowered at his feet. The voice of Landi was speaking in a low, unearthly tone:
"Carlo Vetti, here you offered me the bookie's bribe--which I refused! Here, you heard
me say that I would deliver you to the law, and with you, the gamblers who sought to dishonor
me! Here, you drew your revolver and shot me through the heart. Here, you let me lie in the
grass until I was found. Here I swore, as I died, that I would drive the race with you
beside me, and here I swore vengeance, in life or in death, as you bent over me. Now,
write!"
As Larkin and I and Grossman watched, Vetti fumbled in his pockets and brought out a
notebook and a fountain pen, and held them, ready to write.
And then Landi dictated, in the same deep, hollow voice, while Vetti wrote:
"I, Carlo Vetti, murdered Rocco Landi when he refused a bribe of one hundred
thousand dollars offered by a group of bookmakers who wanted him to stay out of the five-
hundred-mile road race. They did not know I would kill Landi. I killed him because he
threatened to deliver me to the law. The crime was not planned, but committed on the spur
of the moment. Landi drove the car in the race. I sat beside him, compelled to do as his
will dictated. To human eyes, under the hypnotic influence of the supernatural world,
Landi seemed a living person. But the science of photography showed him as the spirit
form he was. May God have mercy on my soul!"
The voice stopped. Vetti looked up, as if waiting to hear more.
"Sign it!" Rocco Landi commanded.
Vetti wrote. Then he let pen and notebook fall to the ground. His right hand moved
jerkily to his hip pocket. For a moment, he fumbled. Then his hand came free, holding a
revolver.
