Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

1

June 3rd, 11.45 p.m.

“TAKE ME OUT for a little drive, Gerry darling,” Mrs. Poison said as the music stopped.

Hamsley looked at the big bulk of wrinkled flesh and was appalled.

“It’s such a very, very hot night, isn’t it?” she went on, walking across the ballroom floor. “It’ll be nice out in the car”she gave his arm a little pat“with you.”

Hamsley wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Yes, Mrs. Poison,” he said.

He knew what was coming. He’d seen it coming for the last week. He had a sick feeling inside him as he followed her steady march across the floor. He could see people looking at him and smiling to each other.

As he went past the band the conductor said something he didn’t hear. He knew what it was, and it made him sicker than ever. At the door he tried to persuade her to stay. It was like pushing the sea back with his hands.

It was dark outside, cool after the heat of the ballroom. They stood on the top step, trying to pierce the darkness.

Mrs. Poison put her hand on his arm. He could feel her trembling. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she said. “My, my, it makes me feel young again.”

Automatically he said, “Don’t talk such nonsense. You’re a young woman.” She and the other old women paid him to say things like that.

“You mustn’t tell untruths. I’m not young, Gerry, but I’m not old. I’m in the best years of my life.”

Hamsley shuddered.

Out of the darkness a two−seater slid up to them. The young mechanic got out quickly and stood holding open the door. Hamsley felt completely trapped. She’d arranged everything.

The mechanic winked at him and made a sign with his hand. Hamsley climbed in beside Mrs. Poison, ignoring him. He could have wept with shame.

He said desperately, “It’s cold out here. You sure you won’t catch cold? Maybe we ought to get back.”

“Oh no!” She gave a giggling little laugh. “It’s cold now. But we’ll be warm soon.”

There, she had said it. He knew beyond any doubt now. His hand shook as he engaged the gears and let the clutch in with a jerk. “Where shall we go?” he said, driving the car slowly into the road.

“Go straight. I’ll tell you.” She leant against him. He could feel her soft hot body pressing into his shoulder.

He drove down the road for a couple of miles, then she told him to turn off to the left. He could hear the tyres bite into the dirt road, and the trees overhead blotted out the sky.

She said suddenly in a hoarse voice, “Stop.”

He pretended not to hear. His foot pressed down on the accelerator.

She said in his ear, “Gerry darling, I said stop. I want to talk to you.” At the same time she reached forward and turned the ignition key. The car slid to a standstill.

Hamsley stared into the night, holding the wheel tightly in his hands.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“Gerry darling, you’re a lovely looking boy,” Mrs. Poison said. Her hand touched his.

Hamsley moved away from her. “I’m glad you think so, Mrs. Poison,” he said. “I guess it’s pretty kind of you to think that.”

He could feel her quick breath on his face. “Yes, Gerry, you’re the handsomest boy I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what Mr. Poison would say, but I could be very kind to you.”

Hamsley shuddered again. “Why, Mrs. Poison, I guess you’re always giving me things. I guess you couldn’t do any more.”

“There’s one thing I haven’t given you, Gerry.” Out of the darkness her voice sounded horribly harsh.

“Gerry, I’m crazy about you. I’m mad about you.”

She put out her hands and caught his head, pulling him towards her. She began to kiss him furiously. Her wet mouth made him want to retch. He suddenly pushed her away, his hands loathing the feel of her breasts.

He said, “No. I’m taking you back. I’mI’m not going to break up your home.”

She came at him again. “Don’t be a fool!” she said harshly. “Come heredon’t talk!”

He pushed her back more violently so that she thudded against the side of the car. He could see her staring eyes in the dashlight. She sat there heaving and panting, looking as if she could kill him. Then her mouth opened and a thin, reedy scream came out of the slack cavity that went through his head like red−hot wires.

He fumbled with the door−handle, pushed the door open, and got out of the car. He didn’t say anything. He just wanted to get away from her. So he ran into the darkness, leaving her still screaming.

2

June 4th, 5.10 p.m.

JAY ELLINGER sat behind his battered desk and scribbled on his blotter. His hat rested on the back of his head and a cigarette dangled from his lips. His completed copy lay in a wire basket by his hand, and he was through for the day. He had nothing further to do, but he made no effort to leave the office. He just sat there scribbling and smoking.

The house phone buzzed and he looked at it without interest. “You’re lucky, laddybuck,” he said, reaching out. “Two minutes, and you’d’ve missed me.” He scooped the receiver to his ear. A girl said, “Mr. Henry wants to see you.” Jay made a face. “Tell him I’ve gone home,” he said hastily.

“Mr. Henry said if you’d gone home I was to ring you.

“What’s the trouble? Is there a big fire or somethin’?”

“You’d better come. Mr. Henry sounds awful mad.” She hung up.

Jay pushed his chair back and got up. Henry was the editor of the St. Louis Banner. He was a good guy to work for and he didn’t often get mad.

As he walked upstairs to Henry’s office Jay searched his mind to find any reason why he might be called on the mat, but he couldn’t think of a thing. There was that little business about the extra expenses last week, but surely Henry wasn’t going to crib about that. Maybe he was getting sore about the way Jay belted Mendetta in the Rayson trial, but then he’d passed the copy himself.

He shook his head. “Well, well, let’s see what’s bitin’ the old guy.”

He pushed open the frosted−panel door and walked in. Henry, a big fat man in his shirt−sleeves, was pacing up and down his small office. His cigar hung in tatters from his teeth. He looked up and glared at Jay.

“Shut the door!” he barked. “You’ve been a long time coming.”

Jay lounged over to an arm−chair and sat down. He hung his legs over one of the arms and shut his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Chief,” he said; “I came as fast as I could.”

Henry continued to pace up and down, ferociously chewing his tattered cigar. “What do you know about Gerry Hamsley?” he barked suddenly.

Jay shrugged. “Oh, he’s a nice kid. He dances at Grantham’s joint. Gigolobut a better type of the usual breed.”

“Yeah?” Henry planted himself in front of Jay. “A better type, hey? Well, let me tell you that guy has started somethin’ that will mean my job and yours as well.”

Jay opened his eyes. “You don’t say,” he said. “What’s it all about?”

“The little swine tried to rape Poison’s wife last night.”

“What?” Jay sat up, his face startled, then he remembered Mrs. Poison and suddenly began to laugh. He lay limply in his chair and howled with laughter. Henry stood over him, his face black with fury.

“Shut up, you coarse−minded Mick!” he yelled. “There’s nothing to laugh about. Do you hear me? Shut up!”

Jay mopped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Chief, but damn it, you ain’t swallowin’ a yam like that? Gee! Is it likely?

She’s old enough to be his mother, an’ she’s as fat an’ as ugly as an elephant.”

Henry snarled, “Want me to phone Poison and tell him that? He’s been on to me. My God! You ought to have heard him. He’s in a terrible way.”

“Well, what’s behind it? You know as well as I, all that’s bull. What’s he want you to do?”

Henry struck the air with his clenched fists. “He wants Hamsley on a plate. He wants Grantham’s joint closed down. He’s yelling murder, an’ he’s got blood in his eye.”

Just then the phone rang. Henry looked at it doubtfully. “That’s him again, I bet,” he said, lifting the receiver off gingerly.

From where Jay sat he could hear a sudden bellow come over the line. Henry winced and nodded to Jay.

“Yes, Mr. Poison. Sure, Mr. Poison. I quite understand, Mr. Poison.”

Jay grinned. It did him good to see his chief sweat. “Why, yes, Mr. Poison. He’s here now. I’ll tell him to come to the phone.” Henry looked at Jay with a grim little smile.

Jay waved his hands frantically, but Henry handed him the phone. “Mr. Poison wants you,” he said, and stood, mopping his face.

This was the first time that Jay had ever spoken to the proprietor of the St. Louis Banner. “Ellinger here,” he said.

Something exploded in his ear and he hurriedly removed the receiver. Holding it almost at arm’s length, he could plainly hear Poison’s roar. “Ellinger? You the guy I pay each week to be my crime reporter?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Say sir when you speak to me, you young cub!” Poison bawled.

Jay grinned at Henry. He pursed his mouth and made silent rude signs. “Yes, Mr. Poison,” he said.

“Get after Grantham, do you hear? I want everything you can find about him. Get after that swine Hamsley. I’m going to close down the 22nd Club and I’m going to break Hamsley. I want action. Get out now and do something. Now give me Henry.”

Jay handed the phone back to Henry and sat back fanning himself with his hat.

Henry listened for a few moments with an agonized look on his face, and then the line went dead. He hung up gently. “The guy’s crazy,” he said miserably. “He’s been on to the D.A.’s office. He’s been on to the police.

They can’t do anything. Grantham’s in the clear. His joint’s respectable.”

Jay scratched his head. “Why doesn’t he give Hamsley in charge?”

Henry came round the desk and pounded the top of Jay’s chair. “For the love of God, don’t say a word about Mrs. Poison. No one’s to know about that. Poison only told me because I flatly refused to touch Hamsley. I’m not supposed to have told you.”

Jay grinned uneasily. “Sure, if that yarn got around, Poison would be laughed out of town. Surely, he doesn’t believe it?”

Henry shrugged. “Of course he doesn’t. It’s the old cow that’s causin’ the trouble. Poison’s scared to death of her. She’s after Hamsley’s bloodand you’d better find out why.”

“Listen,” Jay pleaded. “I’m a crime reporter. What you want is a nice private dick, not me. Let’s get Pinkerton on the job. He’ll turn up the dirt quick, an’ we’ll all be happy.”

Henry scowled at him. “You heard Poison. Go out an’ get busy. Don’t come back until you’ve got something.”

Jay got to his feet. “For cryin’ out loud,” he said. “If this doesn’t beat anything that’s ever come my way.

What chance have I got to hang anythin’ on Hamsley? Besides, he ain’t such a bad guy.”

Henry sat down behind his desk. “I’m warning you,” he said seriously, “you’ve got to find something. If we don’t give the old man what he wants, we’ll be out. I know him when he gets like that.”

Jay stood by the door. “But what?” he said. “What am I likely to find? Grantham’s all right, ain’t he?”

“As far as I know. I hate to say it, Jay, but if you don’t find something, we’ll have to frame those two guys.

I’m getting too old to look for anything else.”

Jay shook his head. “Not on your life,” he said. “I ain’t framing anyone because Poison’s wife thinks she’s young again. I’ll sniff around. If nothin’ shows up I’m resigning. But I ain’t framin’ anyone.”

Henry sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Anyway, for God’s sake dig hard.”

“I’ll dig all right,” Jay returned, and went out, shutting the door behind him.

3

June 4th, midnight.

THERE WAS a cop at the street corner, standing watching the traffic, swinging his night−stick aimlessly.

Raven saw him as he came out of the alley, and he stepped back hurriedly into the shadows. Obscenities crowded through his brain, and his thin wolfish face twisted with frustrated rage.

The cop wandered to the edge of the kerb, hesitated, then began to pace down the street.

Raven edged further down the alley, further into the sheltering darkness. He’d let the cop go past. Across the road he could see the large block of apartments with their hundreds of brightly lit windows. On the sixth floor, Tootsie Mendetta had a six−room suite. From where he stood Raven could see Mendetta’s windows.

He stood against the wall, his head thrust forward and his square shoulders hunched. He looked what he was, a bitter, screwed−up thing of destruction.

The cop wandered to the mouth of the alley. Raven could see him looking carelessly into the darkness. The cop took off his cap and blotted his face with a large white handkerchief. It was a hot night. Standing there, his mind dwelling on a long, cold drink, he was completely unaware that Raven waited so patiently for him to go away. He put his cap on again and moved on past the alley, on towards the bright lights, towards the cafe where he could bum a drink on the quiet.

Raven gave him a few seconds, and then he walked to the mouth of the alley and glanced up and down the street. He saw nothing there to alarm him, and squaring his shoulders he stepped into the light of the street lamps.

In his apartment Mendetta amused himself with a pack of cards. He held a cigar between his thick lips and a glass of whisky−and−soda stood at his elbow. He played patience.

The apartment was silent except for the faint shuffling of cards as Mendetta altered their position. He liked patience, and he played with tense concentration. He heard Jean, in the bathroom, drawing off water, and he glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after twelve.

The phone suddenly jangled. He half shifted his bulk, his brows coming to a heavy frown, and stared at the phone.

Jean called from the bathroom, “Shall I answer it?”

He got up and walked with heavy steps across the room. “No, no. It’ll be for me,” he said, raising his voice so that she could hear. He picked up the receiver. “Who is it?”

“That you, Tootsie? This is Grantham.”

Mendetta frowned. “What’s the trouble?” he said sharply. “This is a hell of a time to ring me.”

“Yeah, but this is a hell of a spot we’re in.” Grantham had a cold, clipped voice. “Listen, Tootsie, that little punk Hamsley’s dropped us right in it.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Mendetta sat on the edge of the small table, which rocked under his weight.

“Dropped us where?”

“Hamsley’s been digging Poison’s wife. He’s been playin’ her for a sucker for weeks. She’s spent a heap of jack on him.”

“That’s what he’s at the Club for, ain’t it?” Mendetta demanded impatiently. “Ain’t he givin’ you a cut?”

Grantham laughed bitterly. “It’s not that. The old siren fell for him, and he couldn’t take it. She took him out last night and tried to rape him. He ran away, the yellow punk.”

Mendetta’s fat face relaxed a little. “Well, what of it? You can’t hold the boy up for that. Hell! I’ve seen that dame. She’d turn anyone’s stomach.”

“That so? Well, know what she’s done? She’s squawked to Poison. Said Hamsley’s tried to rape her. How do you like that?”

“She’s crazy. Poison ain’t goin’ to believe a yarn like that.”

“No? Well, let me tell you he’s hoppin’ mad right at this moment. Maybe he doesn’t believe it, but she’s got herself in such a state, she does. That’s enough for Poison. She’s makin’ him get mad. Listen, Tootsie, this is serious. Poison’s goin’ to try an’ close us up.”

Mendetta sneered. “Let him,” he said. “What the hell do we care? They’ve got nothin’ on us. He can’t close us up.”

Grantham cleared his throat. “You don’t know Poison as well as I do. He’ll attack us in that rag of his. He might turn somethin’ up.”

Mendetta considered this. “Not as long as I’m alive,” he said at last. “I’ll go round an’ see that guy. We’ll give him Hamsley, but he’s got to lay off us.”

“Will you do that?” Grantham sounded relieved. “Get round tomorrow early, Tootsie. This ain’t the time to he down on it.”

Mendetta stood up. “Leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll fix him,” and he hung up.

Jean came out of the bathroom. She looked strikingly beautiful in her silk wrap. Perhaps her mouth was too large, but it gave her a generous look that was not in her nature. She was tall, with square shoulders, a narrow waist and thick hips.

“Who was it?” she said.

Mendetta went over to the table and gathered up the cards. He didn’t feel like patience any more.

“Grantham,” he returned, putting the cards carefully in their container. He was a very tidy man. He took two little sips from the whisky.

She looked over at the clock. “What did he want? It’s late.”

Mendetta nodded his big head. “I know,” he said. “Go to bed. I’ll come in a little while.”

She turned her head so that he couldn’t see the sudden vicious look that came into her eyes. “Don’t be so secretive,” she said lightly. “Is he in trouble?”

He stubbed out his cigar. “He’s always in trouble. That’s why I’m hereto pull him out.” He plodded over to her. His big heavy hand rested on her hip. “Go to bed. I shan’t be long.”

“Tootsie, I must know,” she said. “Has something happened at the Club?”

He looked at her with a curious expression, half angry, half amused. He turned her towards the bedroom door. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Go to bed,” and he smacked her across her buttocks very hard.

She went away from him, her knees weak and her inside coiled into a hard ball of hatred. She went across the bedroom to the window and pulled back the curtains. Leaning against the window−frame, she looked down into the street below. She remained like that for several minutes before she regained control of herself.

If Mendetta had seen her expression as she stood by the window he would have been uneasy. As it was, his indifference to her feelings prepared the way for what eventually happened.

In the street, Raven crossed the road casually and walked towards the apartment block. When he neared the lighted entrance he stopped and knelt down to adjust his shoe−string. From under his slouch hat, he surveyed the doorway thoroughly. He was not satisfied with the empty doorway, so he crossed the street again and passed the block on the opposite side. His caution rewarded him.

A little guy, dressed in black, lounged against the wall in the shadows near the entrance. He kept so still that Raven wouldn’t have noticed him at all if he’d come straight into the blinding light of the doorway.

The little guy had his hands deep in his coat pockets, and he watched Raven pass on the other side of the street, indifferently.

Raven went on, crossed the road again and turned down a side street. He turned to his right after a few minutes’ walking and approached the rear of the apartment block. This time he kept to the shadows. He hadn’t gone far before he spotted another little guy, also dressed in black, lounging near the rear exit.

So it wasn’t going to be the easy way. He might have known it. It was a cinch that if Mendetta had guards outside the block, there would be guards inside as well.

Raven went on, his head thrust forward, the line of his jaw fixed, and his thin lips compressed. He knew Mendetta couldn’t escape from him. It was just a matter of time.

4

June 5th, 40 a.m.

JAY GOT round to the 22nd Club twenty minutes before it closed down for the night. There were a lot of people dancing and drinking, and he went immediately to the bar.

The bartender looked at him and rang a bell in Grantham’s office by pressing his toe on a button on the floor. His well−disciplined face smiled at Jay, and he asked him what he’d like. Jay ordered a beer.

Benny Perminger came up at the moment, very hot and damp, and ordered a double Scotch. He seemed delighted to see Jay.

“What a stranger,” he said; “and drinkin’ beer too! Don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to drink beer in a joint like this?”

Jay shook hands with him. “I don’t have to worry about such things,” he said seriously. “No one expects a newspaper man to behave like a human being. How’s the motor trade?”

Benny shook his head. “Lousy,” he said. “There’s too much competition. Seriously, Jay, I’m havin’ a bad time just gettin’ along.”

Jay pursed his lips. There were always guys who had a bad time getting along, but they went to places like the 22nd Club and spent as much in a night as he earned in a week. Benny was one of these.

“I saw your chief. Poison, the other night. My God! Have you seen his car? It’s just a ruin on four wheels.

It’s time he had a new one.”

Jay shrugged. “Poison’s old−fashioned. He likes that car. Maybe he’s got sentimental memories.”

“I don’t believe it; he’s just mean. Listen, Jay, could you put in a word for me? If I could get that old buzzard to take a trial run I’d hook him, but I can’t get near him.”

Jay promised to do what he could.

“There’s another guy who I want to get in with. That’s Mendetta. He could use a flock of my cars. I do trucks now, you know. Beggars can’t be choosers. I guess that guy could use a lot of trucks. I’ve been trying to persuade Grantham to get me an introduction, but he doesn’t seem keen. I suppose I’ll have to offer him a split in my commission.”

“Does Grantham know Mendetta?” Jay asked, suddenly interested.

“Know him? Why, of course he knows him. I thought everyone knew that. Mendetta put up the dough for this Club. He’s got his finger in every pie.”

Jay drank some beer. “Aaah,” he said, putting the glass down, “Mendetta’s a bad guy. I’d forget about him.”

Benny shrugged. “What the hell. His dough’s good, ain’t it?” he said. “I don’t care who buys my cars as long as he pays.”

Jay finished his beer. “Maybe you’re right,” he said.

Just then a blonde came in, followed by a tall young man with heavy, horn−rimmed glasses. The blonde wore a red dress, very tight across her small breasts, and when she climbed up on the high stool at the bar she showed a lot of her legs.

Benny looked at her. He stared so hard that she giggled suddenly and adjusted her skirt. Benny sighed.

“There’re an awful lot of swell dames around tonight,” he said to Jay. “She’s nice, ain’t she?”

Jay wasn’t very interested. “Sure,” he said; “they’re all nice. Where’s your wife? How is she, anyway?”

Benny still looked at the blonde. “Sadie? Oh, she’s fine. She’s out there with my party. I sort of wanted a drink. Did I? No, that’s wrong. I came out for a doings. Seeing you put it out of my mind. I guess I’d better get on.” He shook hands again and went off.

Jay ordered another beer. While he was waiting for it, he saw Grantham come in. Grantham was very tall and thin, with silver−white hair. His face was hard. Two lines ran from his nose to his mouth, and he looked very grey. Jay only knew him by sight, he’d never spoken to him. When he saw him, he turned back to the bar and paid the bartender.

Grantham came up and stood at his elbow. “What do you want?” he said. His voice was very hostile.

Jay looked at him by turning his head. “Should I know you?” he asked. “Are you someone I ought to know?”

Grantham introduced himself. “We don’t have newspaper men in here, you know,” he said; “we don’t like them in here.”

Jay raised his eyebrows. “That’s interestin’,” he said. “That’s very interesting. No newspaper men, huh?

And who else? Tell me your black list. I bet you don’t like the cops in here either.”

Grantham tapped a little tune on the counter. “Don’t let’s get sore about this,” he said evenly. “I’m just telling you. Maybe you didn’t know.”

“Is this your idea, or did Mendetta suggest it?”

Grantham’s face hardened. “That sort of talk won’t get you anywhere,” he said quietly. “I’m just telling you to keep out of here, that’s all.”

Jay shook his head. “You can’t do that. This is a place for public entertainment. I should forget about it. A line or two in my paper could upset your business pretty badly.”

Grantham nodded. “I see,” he said; “I was just giving you a hint. You don’t have to take it. You’re quite right, of course. You have every right to come here. Only you’re not welcomed.”

“Leave me now, pal,” Jay said, turning away, “I’m goin’ to have a good cry.”

Grantham looked at the barman and then at the clock. “You can shut down, Henry,” he said, and walked away.

Jay finished his beer, nodded to the barman, who ignored him, and went out into the big lounge. People were beginning to move out. He saw Clem Rogers, who played the saxophone in the band, putting his instrument away. He knew Rogers quite well.

He went to the cloakroom and got his hat, and then he went outside. He had to wait ten minutes before Rogers came out, and then he followed him away from the Club. When they got to the main street he overtook him.

Rogers seemed surprised to see him. “You’re late, ain’t you?” he said, peering at his wrist−watch. It was just after two o’clock.

Jay fell in step beside him. “We newspaper guys never sleep,” he said. “How about a little drink? There’s a joint just down here that keeps open all night.”

Rogers shook his head. “I guess not,” he said. “I want to get home. I’m tired.”

Jay put his hand on his arm and steered him down a side turning. “Just a short drink, buddy,” he said, “then you can go home.”

They went down some steps to an underground bar. The place was nearly empty. A short, thick−set Italian dozed across the bar. He raised his head sleepily as the two entered.

“Good evenin’,” he said, rubbing the counter−top with a swab. “What will you have?”

“At this time of night, Scotch,” Jay said. “Bring us the bottle over there.” He indicated a table at the far end of the room.

Rogers followed him across and sat down. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “God! I’m tired,” he said. “I wish I could get some other job. This is killin’ me.”

Jay poured out a big shot of whisky in each glass. “I ain’t goin’ to keep you long, but there’s just one little thing you might help me with.”

“Sure, I’d be glad to. What is it?”

“You must see everything that goes on at the Club. I’ve got a feeling it ain’t quite on the level. I want to find out.”

Rogers sat back. His sleepy eyes suddenly woke up. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Just that. How does the place strike you?”

Rogers blinked. “You tryin’ to get the place shut down?” he asked, a little coldly.

Jay hesitated, then he said, “That’s about it. Now, look here, Rogers, you know me. I wouldn’t make things difficult for you. I know you’ve got to think of your job, but if you helped me I’d see you all right.”

“Yeah? How?”

“How would you like to work for Cliff Somers? I could get you an in with his outfit if you fancied it.”

Rogers’ face brightened. “Honest?”

Jay nodded.

“I’d like that. I’ve always wanted to work for Somers. He’s got a swell crowd.”

“I know, but I’d only get you in if you made it worth while. You’ve got to tell me things.”

Rogers shook his head. “I guess that’s too bad,” he said. “There’s nothin’ to tell. The Club’s like hundreds of other clubs. Maybe there’s a fight now and then between two drunks, but that’s nothin’.”

Jay pulled a face. “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the joint,” he admitted, “but I was hoping you’d know something.”

Rogers shook his head. “No, I guess not.” He finished his drink.

“Think back,” Jay urged him. “Hasn’t anythin’ happened that made you curious? Anythin’ that somebody did or said.”

Rogers yawned. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, staring with sleepy eyes at the bottle of Scotch. “Mind you, there was one violent drunk that made a bad scene a couple of months ago, but that wasn’t anythin’ really.”

Jay shifted impatiently. “Well, tell me.”

“There was nothin’ to it. Some guy wanted to see Grantham. He wasn’t well dressed. Looked like a clerk in an office or somethin’. I thought it was odd that he should come to the Club. When Grantham didn’t show up he started to shout. Some bull about where his sister was or somethin’. We didn’t pay much attention to him.

They gave him a bum’s rush. Treated him pretty roughly. We haven’t seen him again.”

“What about his sister?”

Rogers shrugged. “Search me. He’s lost her or somethin’. Seems to have thought that Grantham knew where she was. I guess he was drunk.”

“Did he look drunk?”

“No, now you come to think of it, he didn’t, but I guess he must have been. You don’t start shouting around a joint like the 22nd unless you’re drunk, do you?”

“Still it’s rum, ain’t it?” Jay turned it over in his mind. “Know who he is?”

Rogers frowned. “I did hear his name. I’ve forgotten. It wasn’t important, you see.”

“Think. I want to find that guy. Maybe he knows somethin’.”

Rogers tried to concentrate. “It was quite an ordinary name. I tell you what. Gerald Foster, the shipping man, seemed to know him. He was having dinner at the time. When this guy started shouting, he looked round and seemed to recognize him. He got up and told him not to make a fool of himself. You might ask him.”

Jay said he would. He stood up. “I ain’t keepin’ you out of your cot any longer,” he said. “Keep your ears open, won’t you?”

Rogers got up. “You really meant what you said about Somers?”

“I’ll see him tomorrow,” Jay promised.

They went out into the street.

“It’s mighty dark, ain’t it?” Rogers said, groping his way up the stone steps.

Jay followed him. “It’s all right when you get used to it,” he returned. “Come on, I’ll go some of the way home with you.”

They parted when they came to the trolley stop. Rogers went off to collect his car from a near−by garage, and Jay waited for a trolley. He was quite satisfied with his evening’s enquiries. He didn’t expect to find anything but at least he could tell Henry that he was following up an angle that might bring in something. If they could only keep Poison quiet for a week or so, he might simmer down.

He saw the lights of the trolley as it swung round the corner. He’d be glad to get home, he told himself.

5

June 5th, 2.15 a.m.

RAVEN COULDN’T SLEEP. He moved through the dark streets, his sour, bitter hatred refusing to let him rest. He walked automatically, not noticing where he was going. He wanted to vent his vicious hatred on someone who couldn’t strike back. He wanted to sink his hands into flesh and rend.

The picture of Mendetta, comfortable in his luxury apartment, carefully guarded, made him sick with jealousy. Mendetta had got to go. Once he was out of the way, the organization would fold up. It was Raven’s chance. He could step in then. They were all afraid of him. There might be a little trouble, but not for long. It was Mendetta who held them together. It was Mendetta who was keeping him away from power. Grantham would be easy. He was too fond of the things he already possessed to risk anything. Raven knew that he had only to walk into the 22nd Club to take over when Mendetta was out of the way.

He turned left into the darkness and plodded on, his mind busy with schemes. The muscles in his legs were fluttering, crying out for rest, but his brain was too active. He had been walking a long time, thinking, planning and scheming.

Out of the darkness, someone called to him. The sound of the voice startled him, and he stiffened as he turned his head.

A girl stepped away from the railings of a house and came close to him. He could see the pale blur of her face and the inviting, swaying movement of her body as she came towards him.

She said in a soft, husky voice, “Come home with me, darlin’.”

Raven hated her viciously. His first conscious reaction was to smash his fist in her face. He found that he was too tired even to do that. Instead, he moved on, ignoring her.

She took two quick steps and was beside him again. “Come on,” she said urgently, “it’s just round the corner. Spend the night with me, honey. I’m goodhonest, I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t.”

He stopped walking and half turned. It suddenly dawned on him that she must be one of Mendetta’s whores. She was in Mendetta’s district. A murderous desire suddenly surged through him.

She came very close and put her thin white hand on his sleeve. He couldn’t bear her to touch him, and he shook her off savagely.

“What’s the matter, honey, ain’t you well?” She began to draw back, suddenly uneasy.

He looked up and down the deserted street. No, not here. He’d have to go back to her place. His thin mouth curled into a smile. This would make Mendetta sit up all right. He said, “Well, come on, then. Where do we go?”

At once she became bright again. He felt against his face her little sigh of relief. She said, “Gee! You scared me. I thought you were a cop.”

He began to move down the street with her, taking long, shambling, unsteady steps.

As he didn’t say anything, she went on, “A girl’s gotta look out for herself. It’s a tough life, darlin’. You’re goin’ to give me a nice present?”

Still he didn’t say anything. Her voice, her scent and her walk all infuriated him, but she was one of Mendetta’s possessions. He mustn’t say or do anything that would frighten her until he got her where she couldn’t get away. As he didn’t trust himself, he kept silent.

He was conscious that she was looking at him closely, and that her step lagged a little. He put his hand on her arm and hurried her along. “Where is it?” he said.

“Here,” she said a little breathlessly. “Let me get my key.”

He stood back while she searched in her cheap little bag. They were directly under the street light. He could see her brass−coloured hair, her wide rouged mouth, her short nose and her hard, professional eyes. She only came to his shoulder, and under her tight bottle−green dress he could see the outline of her small, firm breasts.

He said harshly, “For God’s sake hurry.”

She giggled nervously. “I’m hurrying.”

He could have spat in her face. She turned and smiled at him. “There’s a hole in the lining, I guess,” she said.

At the corner of the street, a cop suddenly appeared. Raven saw him instantly. The inside of his mouth went very dry, and he said once again, “Hurry.”

The tone of his voice startled her, and something of his urgency infused her with panic. She fumbled with her key, jabbing at the keyhole unsuccessfully.

With an obscene word on his lips, he snatched the key from her fingers and opened the door. He put his hand on her shoulders and shoved her inside, stepping in behind her and closing the door softly. He could feel the cold sweat under his arms.

She said a little angrily, “Why did you do that?”

“Put a light on.”

He could hear her fumbling along the wall, and then the passage was swamped with a bright hard light. He said, “Well, go on. Don’t stand there.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know about you. There’s something I don’t like about you.”

He pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked her full in the face. They looked at each other for a long minute.

“Do you always yap like this?” he snarled at her. “Take me to your room.”

They went upstairs. He followed her closely. As she went up before him he could see how her hips rolled as she lifted her feet. The professional skirt was so tight across her hips he could see where her suspender belt ended and where the little knobs of the suspenders caught her stockings.

They went up three flights in silence. Then she stopped and opened a door. He caught a glimpse of a little brass plate on the door as he entered a box−like hallway. He closed the door behind him. She took him into the bedroom.

He stood in the middle of the room, his ears intent, listening.

She said, “Come on, darlin’. Don’t stand there.”

“You alone up here?”

“Sure, we won’t be disturbed.”

Still he stayed listening. She said again impatiently, “What is it?”

He chewed his lower lip, looking at her thoughtfully, then he said, “Mind if I look?” and went out, throwing open the other doors without entering. He glanced in the other two rooms, satisfying himself that they were empty.

She followed him into the hall. Her face was hard and her eyes glittered angrily. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” she snapped. “This is your room here. The rest of this joint is privatedo you get it?”

Raven again felt like smashing his fist in her face, but he held himself in. “Okay, okay,” he said, walking past her into the bedroom.

She shut the other two doors and then followed him in. Once more her lips broke into her professional smile, but her eyes were dark and suspicious. She said, “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get it over.”

Raven took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short, wiry black hair. He sank on to the bed, which gave under his weight.

The room was shabby and not over−clean. The strip of carpet that lay on the floor was threadbare, and from where he was sitting he could see a small stack of soiled underclothes behind an easy−chair.

While he sat there she took off her dress by just pulling a zipper and stepping out of it. Underneath she wore a pair of pink step−ins and a brassiere. She swayed a little before him, turning this way and that, so he could see her. Then she said, “My present?” Her hard face lighted up with a glittering smile.

Raven put his hand in his pocket and offered her a twenty−dollar bill. It was all the money he had in the world. The amount took her breath away. She clutched at the bill and stood staring at it. “Migod, you’re cute!” she said. “Gee! I’ll give you a good time for this.”

The bill disappeared into the top of her stocking, and she hurriedly stripped down to her suspender−belt.

She said, coming round the bed, “Come on, darlin’, come on.”

He said, “Don’t be in such a hurry. Put on a wrap or somethin’. I want to talk to you.”

He saw her go a little limp. “Aw, come on, darlin’. We can talk afterwards.”

“No.”

She hesitated, then, shrugging, crossed the room and took a dark red silk wrap off the door−peg.

Raven, sitting in the chair, looked at her indifferently. He noticed she had a little roll of fat above her hip bones, and he thought her buttocks looked ridiculous framed in the soiled suspender−girdle. A dame had got to be good just wearing a girdle, stockings and shoes. This whore wasn’t so hot.

She put the wrap on and wandered over to the bed. “You’ve got to be quick, darlin’,” she said. “I can’t keep you here all night.”

Raven shook his head. “I shan’t stay all night,” he said. “Who’s underneath?”pointing to the floor.

“No one. All offices,” she said. “I keep telling you no one’ll disturb you.” Then a thought crossed her mind.

“Say, the bulls aren’t looking for you, are they?”

A thin smile came to Raven’s lips. “Not yet, they ain’t,” he returned.

There was a long silence. His cold, wolfish face, his hooded eyes, made her very uneasy. She’d kicked around with plenty of toughs and hoods in her time, but this guy was different. She felt suddenly scared of him, and horribly alone. He just sat there, gripping the arms of the chair, watching her indifferently.

She felt a little sick. “Hell!” she thought. “What a dumb thing to have told him I’m alone!”

He said, “You belong to Mendetta’s bunch, don’t you?”

Her eyes opened very wide. She didn’t expect anything like that. “Mendetta? I’ve never heard of him,” she said hastily.

“No?” Raven crossed his leg. “You surprise me. Mendetta runs all this territory, including the whores.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “If you’re goin’ to be funny, you better beat it.”

“Mendetta’s a big shot around here. He runs everything. He makes plenty of dough, but he ain’t goin’ to last. Do you hear, baby? He ain’t goin’ to last.”

She looked over at the door. “Can’t you lay off this crap? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m tired. I gotta get some sleep. Let’s get this over, an’ then you beat it.”

Raven nodded. “Don’t work yourself into a lather, sister. Get on the bed. We’re goin’ to get some sleep right now.”

She dug up a false smile. “That’s fine, darlin’. I don’t know anythin’ about this Mendetta guy.” She went over to the door. Her heart was beating wildly, and she kept her eyes averted so that he shouldn’t see her panic.

He said in a chilly voice: “I said get on the bed.”

She put her hand on the door−knob. “I’ll be right back,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll be right back.”

Before she could open the door, he had left the chair, shoved her away from the door, slammed and locked it. He took the key out of the lock and dropped it into his pocket.

The look on his face terrified her, but she tried to bluff. “Get out of the way an’ unlock the door,” she said weakly.

He thrust out his hand and sent her sprawling over the bed. He leant against the door. “When I tell you to do a thingyou do it.”

She struggled to a sitting position. “Unlock that door, you big bastard,” she said. “Get out of here. Go on, take your dough and beat it.” She flipped the twenty−dollar bill from the top of her stocking and threw it at him.

Raven bent slowly and picked it up. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. She saw the look in his face. She saw he was going to kill her. The blank, set look in his eyes paralysed her. She could only thrust out her arms. “No… don’t!” she cried. “You’re not todo you hear?… No!… Keep away….”

He leant slowly towards her. As he came nearer, she crouched away until she lay flat on the bed, his face hovering just above her. She couldn’t scream. Her tongue curled to the roof of her mouth and stayed there. She couldn’t do anything. Even when his hands slid up to her throat she only clutched feebly at his wrists, shaking her head imploringly at him.

He said softly, “It won’t hurt, if you don’t struggle.”

She shut her eyes, and as the blood began to drum in her ears she suddenly realized that this was death, and she began to fight him frantically. She had left it too late. His knee, driving into the little hollow between her breasts, pinned her like a poor moth to the bed. The vice−like grip of his fingers cut the air from her lungs.

He said, “Mendetta will hear about this. He’ll hate it. He’ll know then someone is after him. Do you hear, you silly little fool? You couldn’t earn enough to live decently. Look at this room. Look at the poverty of it.

When I run this territory my broads won’t live like this. Do you hear?”

She beat his face with her hands, but she had no strength. Her legs thrashed up and down, at first violently, then jerkily, and then not at all.

As her tongue filled her wide−open mouth, and her eyes tried to burst from their sockets, he turned his head slightly so he couldn’t see her. He said in a whisper, “You ugly little bitch.” Then blood ran on to his hands from her nose, and she went limp. He climbed off her and stood looking down at her.

He knew that he could go home and sleep now. For a time his hatred had gone out of him.

6

June 5th, 10.15 a.m.

THE SUN came through the windows of Mendetta’s apartment and made patterns on the white carpet.

Remains of breakfast on a silver tray stood on a little table by the settee. An ash−tray gave out a thin grey smoke of a dying cigarette.

Jean, still in a bed−wrap, lay on the settee, her eyes closed and her thoughts far away. She was trying to imagine her life without Mendetta. It was difficult to imagine. It would be difficult also to replace this luxury.

But she knew that she couldn’t live with Mendetta much longer.

The telephone rang shrilly. It startled her. She reached out and took the receiver off. “Who is it?” she said.

Her voice was deep, almost man−like.

Grantham said, “Where’s Mendetta?” He sounded very excited.

Jean looked up at the ceiling. She hadn’t much use for Grantham. “He’s out,” she said briefly. “What’s wrong?”

“Where is he? I’ve gotta get in touch with him.”

“He’s gone round to fix Poison. You can’t get him there. What is it? I’ll tell him.”

There was a pause. “No, I guess I’ll wait.” Grantham sounded worried.

“Listen, tell me. Maybe I can get hold of him.”

“It’s one of the girls. She was strangled last night.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed. “Well, what of it? Tootsie can’t do anything about that.”

“I know he can’t; but he’s gotta know.”

“All right, I’ll tell him. Who did it?”

“The cops don’t know.”

“I didn’t ask that. I said who did it?”

Again there was a long pause. Then Grantham said, “You’re not to tell Mendetta this, it’ll only make him mad, but I think Raven did it.”

Jean sat up. “Why do you say that?”

“One of the patrolmen thought he recognized him going into the girl’s apartment. You know, O’Hara. He keeps an eye on that beat. I slipped him a hundred bucks to keep his mouth shut.”

Jean thought for a moment. “Raven?” she repeated. “I wonder. Does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but he said he’d start something, didn’t he?”

“He said he’d get Tootsie. Listen, what are you going to do if he gets Tootsie?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Grantham said sharply. “He won’t get him. Tootsie’s too big. He’s too well protected.”

“I know, but suppose he does. Raven’s dangerous; he might, you know. What will you do?”

“What the hell can I do? I couldn’t afford to fight him. He’s got quite a big mob, and they’re dangerous. At this time, we can’t afford a gang battle.”

Jean smiled. “You mean you’d let him walk in?”

“What else could I do? The boys only keep together because of Tootsie. If Tootsie went, they’d rat.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence.

“Listen, Jean, you don’t think?”

“I don’t think anything, but you and me’ve got to look after ourselves, haven’t we?”

“Well, yes, I guess that’s so, but nothing’s going to happen to Tootsie. I know nothing will happen to Tootsie.”

Jean smiled again. “I’m glad to hear you say so,” she said, and hung up. She lay thinking for a long time, then she picked up the telephone and called a number.

Someone asked roughly what she wanted.

“I want to speak to Raven,” she said softly. “Yes, tell him it’s Jean Mendetta. Yes, he’ll speak to me all right,” and she lay back, an amused smile on her mouth, waiting for Raven to come to the phone.

7

June 5th, 11.20 a.m.

JAY TOOK a taxi to the east side of the town. He was feeling pleased with himself. As soon as he had reached the office he had got Gerald Fisher on the phone and asked him about the scene Rogers had told him about.

Fisher remembered it quite well. “What do you want to know about that for?” he asked suspiciously.

“I want to find the guy who made the scene,” Jay said. “He might have an important bearing on a big case we’re working on now. I don’t say he has, but there is just the chance. I was hoping you might help me.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know him. He used to be one of my clerks. That was why I was so surprised to see him at the 22nd Club. His name’s Fletcher. Do you want his address? I could get it for you.”

“Sure, that’s just what I do want.”

“Just a moment, then.” Jay heard Fisher say something, then he came on the line again. “They’re looking it up. We’ve got in on record, I know.”

“He doesn’t work with you any more?”

“Good God, no! I couldn’t have a fellow in my office like that. He made a frightful fool of himself. He had to be tossed out. I gave him the sack next morning.”

“What was the trouble, Mr. Fisher?” Jay asked.

“I don’t know. He must have been drunk. He kept on yelling about his sister. I mean to say, that sort of thing isn’t done at the 22nd. No, I had to get rid of him.”

Jay grinned. “Sure,” he said.

“Ah, here’s the address.”

Jay wrote it down, thanked Fisher, and hung up. He thought maybe he was going on a fool’s errand, but it was worth trying, anyhow.

The taxi drew up outside a large tenement house. The driver said apologetically, “This is it, boss.”

Jay got out and paid him off. He walked up the steps and rang on the bell. The place was dirty and horribly sordid. He felt people watching him behind ragged curtains all down the street.

An old woman, very dirty, with a sack for an apron, opened the door and looked at him suspiciously.

Jay raised his hat. “Mr. Fletcher in?” he asked.

“He’s on the top floor. You can go up.” She stood aside to let him in. “You tell that guy to pay his rent. I’m gettin’ sick of askin’ him myself.”

Jay ignored her and went up the stairs. A big negro lounged against the wall on the first landing and looked at him insolently. As Jay passed he spat on the floor.

On the top floor a large fat woman sat just outside her door, peeling potatoes. Jay asked her where Fletcher’s room was. She jerked her thumb to a door without saying anything.

Jay rapped on the door and pushed it open.

A man lay on a dirty mattress. He’d got a three days’ growth of beard, and Jay saw he was blind in one eye.

He sat up, a scared look on his face, as Jay entered.

“What do you want?” he said. He had quite a cultured voice.

Jay looked round the dirty room and grimaced. “I’m Ellinger of the St. Louis Banner. I want to talk to you, pal,” he said.

Fletcher got off the bed. “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he said.

Jay thought he looked horribly thin. He began to cough and he had to sit on the bed again.

Jay pulled up a rickety chair and sat down too. “Listen, Fletcher, don’t fly off the handle. You’re lookin’ in a bad shape. I might be able to help you.”

When he had stopped coughing, Fletcher said rather wildly, “Look what they did!”pointing to his eye.

“They did that. Threw me down a flight of stone steps. One of the heels hit me in my eye with his elbow.”

Jay lit a cigarette. He didn’t like the smell of dirt in the room. “That’s what I’ve come to see you about,” he said. “What’s it all about? If I can help you I will.”

Fletcher looked at him suspiciously. “Why?” he demanded. “Why should you want to help me?”

“Now don’t get that way. Been out of a job some time, haven’t you? Now come on, spill it.”

“It’s Janet,” Fletcher began. Then suddenly his thin face crumpled and he began to cry.

Jay pushed his hat to the back of his head and blew out his cheeks. He was very embarrassed. “What you want is a drink,” he said. “You wait. I’ll get you one.”

Fletcher controlled himself with an effort. “No, don’t go away,” he said. “I’m all right. I guess I’m sort of low. I haven’t had much grub.”

“Well, come on. I’ll buy you a lunch.” Jay got up. Fletcher shook his head. “Not now. Later, perhaps, but I want to tell you.” Jay sat down again. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s my sister, Janet. She went away one morning to work and she didn’t come back. I’ve hunted everywhere. I’ve told the police, but they can’t find her.”

Jay sighed. He knew there were a lot of girls in St. Louis who went out and didn’t come back any more.

“Maybe she went off and got married. Maybe she thought she’d like to go to Hollywood. There’re a lot of girls who suddenly get a bug in their conks and beat it without telling anyone.”

Fletcher looked up. His one eye burnt fiercely. “You don’t believe that rubbish, do you?” he said. “That’s what the police said.”

Jay shifted. “Well, what else could have happened to her? You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

“I wish to God she was!” He beat his fist on his knee. “The Slavers have got her!” he shouted. “Do you hear? The Slavers have got her.”

“You don’t know that. You only think they have. There ain’t much of that stuff going on now. We’ve cleaned it up.”

“You’re wrong. It’s going on every day of the year. Decent girls leaving their homes and being trapped.

Decent girls forced into brothels. Any amount of them. And there’s nothing done about it. The police know all about it, but they keep their mouths shut. Anyone who gets to know about it is given money to keep his mouth shut.”

“You can’t talk like that unless you’ve got some proof. Why did you kick up that row at the 22nd Club?”

“Can’t you guess? Grantham’s working the racket.”

“You’re crazy. Grantham? Don’t talk bull.”

Fletcher lay back on his elbow. “I’ve been watching him,” he said. “One night, when the Club was closed, I saw a car draw up outside the Club. The street was empty. No one saw me. They took a girl out of the car. She had a rug over her head. Just as she got to the door she got the rug off and she screamed. They hit her on the head with something. They hit her very hard. I could hear the sound very distinctly from where I was standing. Then they carried her inside. You don’t think anything of that? Well, I’ll tell you some more.” There was a crazy gleam in his eye. “Another night I got on the roof. You’ve never been on the top floor of the Club, have you? Nor have I. But I’ve been on the roof. I’ve listened, lying on the tiles with my ear close to the roof, listening. I’ve heard things. I’ve heard girls screaming. I’ve heard the crack of whips. I’ve heard a lot of horrible things.”

Jay was interested now. “You’re sure of all this?” he said.

Fletcher leant forward and grabbed his coat lapels. “Do you think I’d make it up? Don’t you realize what all this means? My sister was one of those girls. She was taken into that place. They beat her until she was willing to do what they wanted. She’s somewhere in this town, selling her body to anyone who’ll pay for it. Do you hear? And everyone sits around, blast them, and tells me that it couldn’t happen here. That this town’s been cleaned up. And it’s going on now… now… now!”

Jay pushed him back on to the bed gently. “Take it easy,” he said. “I believe you, anyway. Listen, Fletcher, you’ve got to use your brains. It’s no good getting in a state about this. You’ll be wanted to give evidence. I’ll see that you get some money and I’ll fix a job for you. You’ll have to leave everything to me. I’m going out after this business. We want to close the Club up, and you’ve given me the right lever to do it with. Leave it to me. I’ll fix those heels.”

Later, after he had made arrangements for Fletcher, he took a taxi back to the Banner office. The taxi couldn’t drive him fast enough.

8

June 5th, 10.40 p.m.

BENNY PERMINGER just wasn’t interested in the fight any more. From the first gong he’d sat forward, his jaw set and thrust out, and his hands clenched on his knees. He’d given them three rounds to get warmed up. These big guys couldn’t take chances in the first few rounds. They’d got to get set and take stock of each other, so Benny was patient.

All right, this was the fifth round coming up and nothing had happened. These two punks just seemed to love each other. They poked feebly, and then shuffled into a clinch, then they’d break away, look at each other like they were surprised to see they were still standing up, and then start poking and clinching all over again.

Benny sat back suddenly with a long−drawn−out sigh of disgust. That’s when it happened. His ears slid along silk stockings. You don’t go getting your head between a dame’s knees every day. It shook him up. It took his mind right off the fight and kept it off.

The dame shifted back fast enough, but it didn’t alter the fact. Benny had had his head between her knees.

She had been sitting right behind him on the tier seat. Maybe, she’d never seen a fight before, so she got excited. She came forward, _with her knees hovering over Benny’s head.

Benny was sitting forward too. There was nothing in it, both sitting forward trying to squeeze some excitement out of a punk fight. It was different when Benny sat back suddenly. It gave her quite a shock when Benny’s head banged between her knees. The way that dame slid back on her seat was nobody’s business.

Her boy friend was quick too. One of those guys who missed nothing. He said, “Go on, give it away. Put it on a plate an’ hand it round. Don’t mind me.”

Benny heard him. He sounded tough, so Benny sat still, feeling a little sick. He kept his eyes on the two punks shuffling around on the resin. He stole a quick look at Sadie, sitting beside him, but she hadn’t noticed anything. She was half asleep.

Fights bored her, anyway, but she’d got into the habit of going places with Benny. She liked best when they went to movies, because he didn’t get excited, or look at other women, or curse.

It was a lucky break for Benny that one of the fighters suddenly thought it was time to go home. He began to hit more seriously and immediately got the other guy in trouble. All the crowd began to shout and get excited, so Benny felt a lot less scared.

All the same, he had lost interest in the fight. He wanted to have a look at this dame behind him. He knew that if he did he’d start something, so he just stared down at the brightly lit ring and made up pictures of what she might look like.

It wasn’t long before he’d got such a picture that he could hardly sit still. There were two more fights on the programme, but they weren’t going to keep Benny sitting in that hall. He wanted to get home with Sadie, just as fast as his car would take him.

He said, “Come on, honey, let’s get outta here.”

Sadie woke up and blinked around, stared at the two little men way down in the ring, and then looked blankly at Benny. “Where’s the fire?” she said.

Benny looked at her. She was good. She was just the right height, and her hair was curly, black and silky.

She reminded Benny of the cuties who give you thoughts from the front cover of College Life. They’d been married now two years, and Benny liked her a lot. He had even kept off other girls. Sadie had been pretty good to him. The first six months had gone well for them both.

Then Benny got used to it, and he began to slip back.

At first he’d walk along with Sadie and compare her with other dames. Sadie was good, so she came out well in that game. When he began wondering what the other dames were like, then that wasn’t so good. He knew what Sadie was like. Then, from just looking, he had to make remarks. He’d say to Sadie, “Did you see that dame, just then? Gee! What a figure! Did you see anythin’ like that?”

Well, Sadie felt pretty safe, and she thought Benny was just kidding her, but Benny wouldn’t leave it alone.

He’d say, “I bet that dame’s a hot one. Yeah, look at the way she swings her can. Gee! I guess that dame gets pushed around plenty.”

Nothing in it, but it hurt. It did more than that, it got on Sadie’s nerves. She knew that one of these days he was going to cheat. Once he’d started cheating he’d go on cheating. It was no good. She’d done everything she could to hold him, but he’d got that sort of a mind. He couldn’t help himself.

When he went and put his head between that flossie’s knees, something snapped inside Sadie. That finished it. He didn’t think she’d seen that. All right, it’d be a surprise for him.

Benny said again, “Come on, honey. Those punks’ll drive me crazy.”

They pushed their way past the other people and got to the gangway. Benny looked back. Sadie was waiting for him to do that. Benny’s heart jumped when he saw the dame. Boy! She was good. It made him go limp inside just to think that he’d slid his ears along her stockings.

Sadie said it for him. “I know,” she said; “don’t tell me. She’s cute. She’s got everything. She’s a menace to good men, and she’s the world’s biggest push−over.”

Benny blinked at her. “Hey! Where do you get that stuff?”

Sadie walked down the gangway, not listening to him. She was conscious of some of the men drawing their eyes reluctantly from the fight to watch her go. She swung her hips. “Go on,” she thought, “take a look at me. I’m not so bad myself.”

Benny came running after her. “What was that stuff about the dame?” he said angrily. “I don’t like that line.”

Sadie looked at him over her shoulder. “Looked to me like you were having a good time,” she said, without stopping.

Benny nearly fell over. She’d seen after all. Hell! He might have guessed that she couldn’t have missed that.

He had almost to run to keep up with her. “You ain’t mad about a little thing like that?” he said anxiously.

“It was an accidentyou know that.”

She said bitterly, “Sure it was an accident. Pretty nice for you, wasn’t it?”

They got to the car, and she beat him to opening the door. She climbed in and sat close up to the door, away from him. He started the engine and began to drive slowly down the winding exit.

“Forget it, baby,” he said. “It was just one of those things. Anyway, she wasn’t so hot.”

Sadie knew he was lying, but she suddenly felt very tired, and she leant back, shutting her eyes.

As she didn’t say anything, Benny hopefully assumed she wasn’t mad any more. He drove along, his mind half on the traffic, thinking of the dame. She’d been a smasher. To think that had happened. If Sadie hadn’t been there, and if that tough hadn’t been there, maybe he could have dated her up. It would have been a pushover. It was a natural. He could hardly wait to get the car away.

Sadie leant limply against the wall of the little elevator as it droned up to the sixth floor. She didn’t look at him. Benny stood close to her, watching her anxiously as he wiped his sweating hands with a handkerchief.

She was looking tired and a little irritable, he thought. Anyway, if he went about it in the right way it’d be all right.

In the early days of marriage he would come in from work, sweep her off her feet into the bedroom, leaving the supper to burn. She’d always protested, but he knew she was pleased as he was when it was over.

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor, and Sadie walked out. On the opposite passage Tootsie Mendetta had his apartment.

It always made Benny mad to think that a rich guy like Mendetta should live just across his passage, and he’d never set eyes on him. He knew he was there, but he’d never seen him. Anyway, right at this minute, he didn’t give Mendetta a thought.

He fumbled at the keyhole, making two attempts before he sank the key. His hands shook a little.

Inside the small apartment he let her take off her hat and coat, and then he sidled up behind her. He put his arms round her from behind. “I love you, honey,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Put me down!” There was a snap in her voice that jolted him. He put her down and turned her. The cold, hostile look she gave him brought him up short, just like he’d rammed his face against a brick wall.

“Say, what’s wrong? I got to thinkin’ of you in the car. I thoughtI thought maybe we could go back a couple of years.”

She said, “Think again.”

“What the hell is this?” he said, his disappointment making him suddenly mad with her.

She walked back into the sitting−room. He saw her put her hand to her eyes.

He wandered after her, feeling a suppressed rage welling up in him. He leant against the door−post. “What is it?” he asked.

She said, “You know what it is.” Her voice sounded full of tears.

“Don’t talk in riddles. If you’ve got anythin’ to beef about, why not save it? Listen, honey,” Benny said urgently, “this ain’t the time to start fightin’. Come on with me. We’ll have a good time togetherhow’s that?

You’ll feel fine”

She said, interrupting him: “Wait a minute. You’ve got a one−track mind. That floosie’s got you burnt up, and you think you can take it out of me.

’Pretty−daughter−sitting−on−father’s−knee−makes−it−hard−for−mother’ complex. Not this mother, it doesn’t.”

Benny took off his hat and threw it across the room. He was mad. “What the hell’s come over you?” he demanded, his voice rising.

Sadie went over and sat on the sofa. “I’m sick of the way you look at women. I’ve stood as much of it as I’m going to stand. Every woman who walks past you, you must look at. You’re not content with just looking.

You must tell me. All right, if you want every dame in the street, go and have her, but I shan’t be around.”

Benny rubbed his nose. “So that’s it, is it?” he said, suddenly very quiet. “You’re jealous, that’s what you are. Listen, I haven’t put my hands on one single dame since I married you. Why shouldn’t I look at ’em?

What’s the harm in it, anyway? I’m not doin’ anythin’ wrong, just looking, am I?”

“That’s the way you look at it. I can’t do a thing about it. So I’ve got to walk along the street with you and watch you gape at every girl for the rest of my life, have I?”

Benny sat in a chair opposite her. With a great effort he tried to control his patience. In a patronizing tone he said: “Now, don’t be screwy, honey. This is just crazy talk. You’re feeling low. Tomorrow, we’ll laugh about this. Get all these ideas out of your head and you’ll have everything.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You’ll have everything.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Now, don’t go on like that. I said you’ll have everything, and I mean you’ll have everything.”

Sadie sat up stiffly. “Shall I tell you what? When I said I won’t, I mean I shan’t have what I want. I’ll have what you give me.”

Benny felt the blood mounting to his face. “Okay, if that’s the way you feel. You’ll have what I give youso what?”

“Nothing. It’s going on the same way as it’s been going on for the last six months. Do you know what that is?”

“All right. You tell me.”

“I’ll be here cooking your food every damn day of the week. I’ll be washing out your clothes when they want washing out, which is mighty often. We’ll be living in this great apartment, without any servant, so that you can impress your friends. We’ll be wondering every day how we are going to meet all the bills. I’ll be getting into bed with you and waiting to see if you’re too drunk, or if you’re too tired. Then I’ll be lying awake half the night wondering if anything’s gone wrong while you’re sleeping. Then I’ll be so woke up that I shan’t ever get to sleep until it’s time to get your food again. That’s what.”

Benny said between his teeth, “Would you do something for me? Somethin’ for me right now?”

Sadie looked at him. “Go on,” she said.

“Will you shut up? Will you shut up before you say something that nothin’ you’ll ever say after can make any difference?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said, “I guess not. I guess I’m finished with that stuff. I’m going on talking until I’ve said my piece. I’ve waited long enough.”

Benny reached for a cigarette. He lit it, noting that his hands shook a little.

Sadie hugged her knees, looking over the top of them at him.

There was a long pause, then she went on: “I’ve kidded myself until I just can’t kid myself any longer. I thought you were a great guy, Benny, honest I did. I thought the world of you. It’s not your fault, it’s just that I’ve been kidding myself. You’re not a great guy. You’ll never be a great guy. You’ve got something that’s stopping you. You want things. You work hard for them, and then you throw them away. You haven’t got any feeling for something you’ve won, only for something you’re winning. You got me. I know you didn’t have to work hard. I met you halfway. I wanted you too. But I wanted you in a way that you didn’t understand. I wanted you to keep. I wanted you in the morning as well as at night. I wanted to go places with you. I wanted you to eat with, to talk with, and to laugh with; but not you, Benny. You didn’t want that.”

Benny said between his teeth, “I think you’d better stop.”

But she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do you think it’s fun for me to hear all about the other dames?

Don’t I keep myself nice? At first, it hurt. Then I got thinking, wondering why I couldn’t hold you. I looked at myself. I gave you everything I had. I even did things you wanted me to because I thought you’d be satisfied, but you weren’t. When you wanted me, I got to wondering if you were using me and thinking of some other woman you’d seen in the street on the way home. All women are alike in the dark, aren’t they, Benny? Well, I’m sick of it. I’m not doing it any more. Go out and have them, Benny, go out and have them.”

Benny said, “Have you finished?”

She shrugged. “Don’t get mad. It doesn’t do any good. Let’s face it. One day you’ll want to make a move.

One day when I’m not nice any more. Then you’ll make a move. You won’t just look and talk, you’ll sneak off and do things. I’m not waiting for that, Benny. I want the break to come now, not when I can’t fight it.”

Benny got slowly to his feet. “Well, you’ve had your say, an’ I hope you liked it. I’m through. From now on we’ll follow our own set of rails. I hope you’ll like it. Maybe, after you’ve done some work, you’ll be glad to come back. Anyway, go and try. I’m spending the night somewhere else.” He picked up his hat and without looking back, he went out, shutting the door violently behind him.

Sadie sat very still for some time, then she began to cry.

9

June 5th, midnight.

MENDETTA NODDED to the guard as he passed into the hallway. It gave him a sense of power and security to have guards patrolling the building all night. Not that he took Raven seriously. He didn’t. He regarded Raven as a small−town gangster with a trigger itch. The idea that Raven even had the nerve to threaten him made him laugh. All the same, he took precautions, but it was seldom during the day he remembered that Raven had promised to get him.

He took the elevator to the sixth floor and walked heavily to his apartment. He let himself in and was surprised to find the place in darkness. For a moment he hesitated, and his hand groped for a gun he no longer carried. Then he swore softly and turned on the light.

The room was empty.

He walked over to the settee and took off his hat and light dust−coat. He felt annoyed with himself for being momentarily scared. It was a long time ago since he carried a gun. The time when he had been Legs Diamond’s bodyguard. A lot of water had gone under the bridge since then. Now he paid other guys to carry guns for him.

He was also irritated that Jean wasn’t in. He felt like amusing himself with Jean tonight. He wondered where the hell she had got to. Wandering into each empty room in turn and not finding her, he turned to the living−room, sulkily. He’d got to ring Grantham, anyway. By the time he was through she’d turn up.

He sat down by the telephone and dialled Grantham’s number.

Grantham came on the line almost immediately.

“Well, I fixed it,” Mendetta told him. “There ain’t goin’ to be any trouble.”

“No? Well, I’m mighty glad to hear it. Ellinger was in last night, snooping around. I got one of my boys to look after him. He went out with Rogers; then this morning he went round to that screwy little punk Fletcher.

Do you remember him?”

Mendetta was faintly bored with all this. “No,” he said, “I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. I’m telling you”

“Listen, Tootsie, it does matter,” Grantham broke in. “Fletcher was the guy who caused that spot of trouble at the Club a while back about his sister.”

Mendetta’s hard eyes narrowed. “I thought you got rid of that guy,” he said angrily. “You say Ellinger’s been to see him?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what about it?”

“Nothing. I thought I’d tell you.”

“You thought you’d tell me!” Mendetta sneered. “Don’t you ever use your head? Must I tell you what to do?”

There was a pause, then Grantham said, “Okay, I’ll see to it. Poison’s fixed, is he?”

“You’ve got to get rid of Hamsley. Poison didn’t know I was interested in the Club. I’ve got one or two things on Poison.” Mendetta smiled into the black mouthpiece.

“Suppose Fletcher told Ellinger something?”

“What if he did? Ellinger’s working for Poison, ain’t he? Poison will tell him to lay off. I’ve fixed that.”

“Are you sure it’s all right?” Grantham insisted anxiously.

“Of course I’m sure. Now forget it, but see that Fletcher is looked after. That guy’s been around too long now.”

“I’ll fix him,” Grantham said viciously, and hung up.

Mendetta glanced over at the clock. It was twelve−fifteen. Where the hell was Jean? He got up and took off his coat, going into the bedroom for his silk dressing−gown. When he had fastened the cord about his thick middle he went back to the living−room and fixed himself a drink. He didn’t know why, but he felt uneasy and restless.

Wandering over to the card−table, he picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them slowly. His mind wasn’t on patience. He stood there, brooding, letting the cards slide through his fingers. He became aware that he was listening intently for any unusual sound. He could hear the faint whine of the elevator and the click of the grille as it moved between floors. The sharp sound of a car hooter and the steady beat of traffic outside suddenly became real to him instead of a background of unconscious noise.

“What the hell’s the matter with me tonight?” he growled irritably, throwing down the pack of cards. He walked over to the window and threw it wide open.

The night was hot and still. The full moon, floating just above the distant roof−tops, flooded the street below with a silvery light. He stood watching the traffic for several minutes, letting the hot air fan his face.

Then, just as he was about to return to the room, he paused. He leant far forward, looking into the street. His eyes tried to probe the shadows. Except for an occasional car the street was deserted. The guard, who should have been standing by the entrance, was no longer there. Mendetta couldn’t believe his eyes. For three months now the guard had stood there, his hand on his gun, watching those who entered the block of apartments. No one could go in who roused his suspicions. For three months Mendetta could look down on him, and smile to himself, confident in his safety. This came as a great shock to him.

He turned back to the room hurriedly. His first thought was to ring Grantham and tell him to send one of the mob over fast to investigate, then he hesitated. It wouldn’t do for Grantham to think that he was getting soft. He tried to remember if he had a gun in the place. It was such a long time since he had had a gun. Maybe Jean had one.

He crushed down the little panic that was beginning to form in his brain. This wouldn’t do, he thought angrily; the guy down there maybe was standing inside the hall where he couldn’t see him. The best thing would be to ring down to the hall porter and find out.

As he went over to the house phone he heard a key turn in the front−door lock. He stiffened, and stood waiting. He was furious with himself to find that his mouth had gone very dry.

The door opened and Jean came in. She was wearing a smartly cut black two−piece suit. She came in slowly, as if she were tired.

Her presence reassured Mendetta, who said angrily, “Where the devil have you been?”

Jean didn’t say anything. She stood looking at him, her eyes very scared, and her face thin and bony.

Mendetta repeated, “Where have you been? Did you know the guard ain’t on the door? Was he there when you came up?”

Jean shook her head. “No.”

“Well, where is he? What’s all this about? You look as if you were expecting someone to die.”

She looked at him in horror. “Don’t say that,” she said fearfully.

He took a quick step towards her, but she got out of his way and half ran round the settee. He stood very still, staring at her. “Well, tell me,” he said between his teeth, “where have you been?”

She said, “Iran into an old pal of yours. He insisted onseeing you.” She waved her hand towards the door.

Mendetta turned his head slowly. A cold chill ran down his back. Raven stood in the doorway, his cold face expressionless. A limp cigarette dangled from the side of his mouth, and in his right hand he held a long−barrelled gun.

Mendetta shivered with the shock. His big white hands fluttered, imploring Raven to go away. “What do you want?” he whispered.

Raven jerked the gun. “Sit down, Tootsie,” he said, “we got things to talk about.”

Mendetta sat by the card−table. He folded his twitching hands on the green cloth. From where he sat he could see Jean, kneeling on the floor. She had covered her head with her arms. Her attitude reminded Mendetta of a woman who is witnessing an unavoidable head−on collision, and turns away in horror before the crash. He suddenly felt very sick.

Raven continued to lean against the doorway. “It’s taken time to get around to you, Tootsie,” he said, “but I’ve done it. I said I’d do it, didn’t I?” He jerked his head to Jean. “She ratted on you, Tootsie. Don’t trust women, they always let you down. She got the guard to go away. She let me up here, just because she was tired of sleeping with you.”

Mendetta’s face twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Jean got suddenly to her feet and ran into the bedroom, shutting the door violently behind her.

Raven shrugged. “She thinks I’m goin’ to look after her. You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t trust her, an’ I wouldn’t want anythin’ you’ve had your hands on. No, I guess she’ll be sorry for what she’s done.”

Mendetta said in a whisper, “You want this territory, don’t you, Raven? Well, you can have it; I’m through.”

Raven nodded. “Yeah, you’re through all right.”

“Listen, let me get out of town. I’ll sign it all over to you. You wouldn’t want to kill me if I gave it all over to you?”

Raven shook his head. “I don’t want to kill anyone. Why should I?”

Mendetta searched the cold face to try to find some comfort for himself there. He could read nothing in the cold, blank eyes. “I’ll sign anythin’,” he said eagerly. “What do you want?”

Raven pointed to a pad of paper on the table. “Just write saying that you’re giving me your share of the Club. That’s all I’ll need. Grantham won’t make any trouble.”

Mendetta hesitated. “I can go if I do that?” he said. “You’ll let me leave the town?”

Raven looked at him. “Why should I want to stop you?” he asked.

The two men looked at each other. Mendetta, fat, well dressed, but terrified; and Raven, cold, thin and shabby.

Raven said, “I can’t stay here all night.”

Already Mendetta’s brain was formulating a scheme. His signature on a bit of paper would mean nothing.

He would give the signal as soon as Raven had left to have him killed. My God! He’d been a fool not to have got rid of him before. He reached out and pulled the pad towards him. With a hand that no longer trembled he wrote, handing his share of the 22nd Club over to Raven. He signed it with a flourish.

“Give me until tomorrow,” he said, throwing the pad across the table. “I’ll get out by tomorrow.”

Raven stretched out his hand and took the pad; he glanced at the writing and then put the pad in his pocket.

“You don’t have to go, Tootsie,” he said quietly. “You’ll be better off here.”

Mendetta suddenly went cold. He got slowly to his feet. “Listen, Raven,” he said feverishly, “this is on the level. I’ve done what you wanted” He broke off as he saw the vicious gleam in Raven’s eye. With a whimper of terror, Mendetta turned and ran blindly across the room and began to pound on Jean’s door. “Don’t let him kill me… Jean! Stop him! Stop him! Jean, you wouldn’t let him kill”

Moving softly, Raven stepped behind him and shot him through the head. The gun only made a little hissing sound.

Mendetta was opening the door as he fell. The door swung open violently and he sprawled into the room.

Jean crouched against the wall and screamed.

Raven looked at her and raised his gun. She saw the little black hole of the barrel pointing at her, and she hid her face in her hands. The heavy .45 bullet smashed two of her fingers before it blew the top of her head off. She fell first on her knees with a thud that shook the room, and then straightened out, her head hitting the carpet with another muffled thud.

Across the passage, Sadie sat up in bed. She thought she had heard a scream in her sleep, but she knew that she had heard the sound of someone falling.

She listened intently, suddenly wishing Benny was by her side. She could hear nothing, but the scream was so real that she got out of bed and hurriedly put on a wrap. She went out of the bedroom into the little hallway.

It was all very dark and silent. Putting on the hall light, she went to the front door and raised the letter−box flap. She could see Mendetta’s front door, and the gleam of light coming from under it. Seeing the light warned her that she too was showing light, and she turned off the switch, then she resumed her watch on the opposite door.

She was conscious of her heart beating rapidly, and she felt frightened and alone. A presentiment told her that something was going on in Mendetta’s apartment, and she stayed there watching for some time. Then, just when she had decided that she had made a mistake, she saw the door opposite opening silently.

Raven stepped out, a bundle of papers under his arm, and his long−barrelled gun in his hand. He looked up and down the passage and then, shutting the apartment door softly, walked swiftly away.

His ruthless look and his gun scared Sadie badly. She lowered the flap softly and ran into her bedroom. She dived into bed and hurriedly pulled up the sheet. She lay shivering, seeing Raven’s cold, wolfish face, and wishing that Benny would come back to her.

10

June 5th, midnight.

JAY PUSHED open Henry’s door and strode in. Henry was just going home. He was putting on his hat and admiring himself in the mirror. He looked over his shoulder and scowled at Jay.

“No more tonight,” he said firmly. “Look at the time. I ought to have been home hours ago.”

Jay sat down in the arm−chair and lit a cigarette. “I got something to tell you,” he said; “you’ll be interested.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got something to tell you. You can forget about the 22nd Club. Poison’s just been through.”

Jay shook his head. “Oh no,” he said. “I’ve got somethin’ on that Club that’s goin’ to make headlines.”

Henry looked at him keenly. “What is it?” he said.

“Grantham’s mixed up in a Slave Ring. He uses the Club for immoral purposes.”

“You’re crazy. Where did you get that stuff?”

Jay grinned. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “But I’ve got a guy who’s seen and heard things. I’m inclined to believe him. The place wants watching, and maybe we’ll find somethin’ out.”

Henry sat down. “Poison told me to lay off the Club. He’s seen Mendetta and they’ve had a little talk.

Mendetta’s got an interest in the Club, so Poison doesn’t want to do or say anything to upset him.”

Jay sneered. “Maybe Poison doesn’t know about this Slave angle. It’ll make a grand story.”

Henry hesitated and then he reached out for the phone. “Shall I see what he says?”

Jay hesitated, then he shook his head. “Will you come with me and meet this guy first? Once you’ve had a talk with him you’ll understand why I’m interested.”

“What, now?” Henry demanded. “I can’t come now.”

Jay got to his feet. “What’s the matter with you, Chief? This is goin’ to be a big story. We’re right in it on the ground floor. I’ve been waiting a chance to pin somethin’ on Mendetta for the last two years. Slavin’ is a fine club to beat that heel with. Come on, let’s go.”

Henry followed him into the elevator. “You’re goin’ to get somewhere one of these days, Ellinger,” he said.

“I don’t know where, but you’ll get there all right.”

Jay grinned. “I ain’t sentimental, but that guy certainly made me think when he talked about his sister. You gotta daughter, ain’t you? I’ve seen her; she’s cute.”

Henry looked at him from under the brim of his hat. “What’s my daughter got to do with it?”

They walked out of the elevator and crossed the big lobby.

“That’s just it, Chief. You guys with daughters don’t think about the girls who disappear every year. Let me tell you, if I had a daughter I’d never take my eyes off her. I hope I don’t have one.”

They got in a taxi and Ellinger gave Fletcher’s address.

“What are you talking about?” Henry demanded. “What girls disappearing?”

Jay looked at him. “You know as well as I do. We can’t do anythin’ about it so we just say they’ve gone off to get married, or gone to Hollywood or some other excuse. This guy Fletcher is pretty sure that his sister’s been slaved. He thinks Grantham, and that means Mendetta too, is trading women. We know there’s no proof of it, but, by heavens, think what a stink we could make if we got the proof.”

Henry lit a cigar. “All right,” he said, “let’s see how this guy strikes me. If I think there’s anything to it you can go ahead, but Poison will have to give his okay first.”

“Poison will okay it if we can convince him. That’s why I’ve got you to come down now. If you think it’s all right we’ll both go an’ see Poison and give it to him with both barrels.”

The taxi drove up outside the tenement block. There was a large crowd standing around the front door. An ambulance and two police cars were parked on the opposite side of the street.

Jay bundled out of the car. He looked quickly at Henry, and together they ran up the steps. A big cop stepped in their way. “Take it easy,” he said, “you can’t come in here.”

Jay said, “We’re goin’ in, buddy. Meet the Editor−in−Chief of the St. Louis Banner. Big stuff, boy. Where’s your red carpet?”

The cop didn’t move. “Yeah?” he said. “If that old guy’s the Chief of anythin’, then I’m the mother of kittens.”

Jay looked at Henry. “He’s got you there, Chief,” he said with a grin.

Henry said with cold dignity, “What’s going on in here?”

Two plain−clothes men from the Homicide Bureau came down the stairs and made to pass them. Henry knew one of them. “Hey, Bradley, tell this flat−foot who I am. I want to go up!”

Bradley looked at him keenly. “For Pete’s sake, it’s Henry! What are you doin’ here?”

Henry smiled easily. “I was passin’, saw the ambulance, and thought I’d see my man work first hand.”

Bradley shook his head. “It ain’t much,” he said regretfully; “just another shootin’. Still, you can go on up.”

Jay said, “Who is it?”

“Guy named Fletcher. I guess someone owed him a grudge.”

Jay shook his head. “I guess we won’t bother,” he said grimly. “Come on, Chief, that’s small−town stuff.”

They returned to the taxi, and Jay told the driver to go back to the Banner office.

“Does that interest you?” he said quietly. “Grantham must have found out he’d talked to me, so he shut his mouth. This looks like the real thing.”

Henry said doubtfully, “Maybe it was a coincidence.”

“Maybe it was nothing of the sort. It sticks out a mile. Who’d want to shoot a guy like Fletcher? Ask yourself. He was just an out−of−work clerk. No, guys don’t risk killing a poor punk like that unless it’s very important. I’d like you to speak to Poison.”

Henry said, “What are you thinking of doing?”

“I’d like to take this up on the quiet. Keep an eye on the Club, find out what I can, and if I get anything worth while, go for it with two hands.”

Henry relaxed. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll speak to Poison.”

“Let’s go an’ see him now,” Jay said. “The old buzzard won’t be in bed yet.”

Henry groaned. “All right,” he said. “It looks as if I’m not going to get any sleep tonight.”

“You’ll get all the sleep you want after you’ve seen Poison,” Jay said, giving the new address to the taxi−driver.

They had to wait nearly half an hour before Poison would see them. Then he walked into the small reception−room, a heavy scowl on his face and his hands thrust deeply in his trouser pockets.

Poison looked what he was: a millionaire newspaper owner. Hard as nails, a terrific worker, and greedy for dollars. He stared at Henry as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “What do you want?” he snapped. “What is this?”

Henry said respectfully, “This is Ellinger, who’s responsible for crime news. He’s got a little story that I thought would interest you.”

Poison didn’t even bother to look at Jay. He tapped Henry on his chest with a long bony forefinger. “Listen, I pay you to listen to interesting stories, and to print them. I’m far too busy to bother with things like that. Go back to the office, hear his story; if it’s any good, print it, if it isn’t, tell him to go to hell.”

“This story’s about Mendetta and the 22nd Club,” Henry said patiently. “In view of what you said to me this morning, I thought I’d ask you first.”

Poison’s eyes snapped. “I said leave the 22nd Club alone. Leave Mendetta alone. When I say a thing I mean what I say.”

Henry stepped back. “Very well, Mr. Poison,” he said.

Jay said, “Mendetta’s running a vice ring. He’s trading in women. Decent girls are being kidnapped from their homes. I’ve got proof that he is using the Club for this purpose. I want your permission to make an investigation.”

Poison stiffened. His thin hatchet face went white with anger. Without looking at Ellinger, he said to Henry: “I will not discuss this further. I’ve told you our policy. Leave Mendetta alone, and leave the Club alone. If any of your staff disobey our policy, get rid of them. Good night.” He turned on his heel and walked stiffly out of the room.

Henry looked at Jay. “You heard him,” he said.

“I wonder how much Mendetta gave him, the dirty rat−faced heel,” Jay said, picking up his hat. “If he thinks he can stop me he’s made a big mistake.”

Henry looked worried. “You’ve got to leave it alone, Jay,” he said. “Poison’s the big shot.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t spell it that way,” and Jay slammed out of the house.

11

June 6th, 12.30 a.m.

GRANTHAM SAT behind his neat desk, writing. A cigarette burnt lazily in an ash−tray at his elbow, and the room was silent but for the faint scratch of his pen.

He heard his door open, and he glanced up irritably. Raven stood looking at him. Behind Raven, Grantham could see Lu Eller, white−faced and uncertain.

Grantham laid down his pen very slowly. The colour went out of his face and a muscle in his jaw began to jump.

Raven said, “Tell this monkey to go away.”

Grantham knew that Mendetta was dead. Raven would never have come if Mendetta wasn’t dead. He told Eller with his eyes to go away. He didn’t trust his voice.

Lu Eller lifted his shoulders. He seemed relieved that Grantham didn’t want him. Raven came in and shut the door. He put a slip of paper on Grantham’s desk silently.

Without touching it, Grantham read it. It was in Mendetta’s handwriting.

“Is he dead?” Grantham said. His voice was very low.

Raven sat down and looked round the office. “He had a little accident,” he said. “Things’ll be very different now.”

“What are you going to do?” Grantham studied the shabby figure sitting before him.

Raven settled back in his chair. “Plenty,” he said. “This town was too small for Mendetta and me. One of us had to go. Now I’m takin’ it over.”

Grantham licked his dry lips. “Mendetta had plenty of protection,” he said. “You won’t get far without that.”

Raven inclined his head. “I’ve thought of that,” he said softly. “That’s where you come in. You’re going to be my front, Grantham. I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll tell you what to do an’ you’ll do it. You’ve done the same thing for Mendetta, so you can do it for me. The difference is that I’m goin’ to make more money than Mendetta ever did, an’ you’re goin’ to do a lot more work.”

Grantham didn’t say anything.

“Don’t think you can get out of it. I haven’t the time to play around with guys. If you don’t like it you’ll run into an accident too. Get it?”

“I’ll do it,” Grantham said quickly. “I’ve been waiting for you to take over. I knew Mendetta wouldn’t last.”

Raven inclined his head. “Yeah? You’re a smart boy. Okay, tomorrow you an’ me’ll have a little talk. I want all the dope. I want the names of all the girls who worked for Mendetta. Listen, that guy didn’t know how to organize vice. Well, I do. Ever been to Reno, Grantham? No? Well, I have. They make a lot of dough in that town. They understand vice. Well, I’ve got some ideas. We’ll get together.” He stood up. “Just so that you don’t feel worried about all this, there’s a ten per cent cut coming to you on everything if you play ball. If you don’t, you’ll get a bullet. Think about it.”

He wandered to the door.

“I’ll be down tomorrow at ten. Get all the stuff together,” and he went out, shutting the door softly.

Grantham sat back, feeling slightly sick. So it had happened. Where was Jean? He picked up the phone and hastily dialled Mendetta’s number. The operator told him after a short delay that no one was answering. He hung up.

Lu Eller came in. Ever since Mendetta could afford gunmen, Eller had been looking after them. He was a tall, powerfully built man, with a heavy jaw and ingrowing eyebrows.

“What’s he want?” he said, standing just inside the doorway.

Grantham lit another cigarette. “That’s your new boss,” he said bitterly. “Mendetta’s met with an accident.”

Lu raised his eyebrows. “That’s too bad. You standin’ for Raven?”

Grantham put his elbows on the table. “Let’s face it, Lu,” he said. “Since Raven moved in, what’s happened? Mendetta lost his grip. We know that. They both came from Chi. Mendetta used to carry a gun for Diamond. He thought he was too big for that, so he moved over here. Well, he got on. What Raven did in Chi.

I don’t know, but when he came here he certainly scared Mendetta. He offered to come in as a partner, but Mendetta turned him down. You’ve seen him, haven’t you? Looks like he’s down to rock bottom, till you look at his face. That guy’s going to be big, and Mendetta knew it. When he turned Raven down he signed his death warrant. Raven promised him he’d fix him, and he has. I think Raven can make me more money than any guy in this town. I ain’t interested in anything else but making a lot of dough. Raven’s good enough for me.”

Lu looked at him admiringly. “That’s the swellest bit of lyin’ I’ve ever heard. It nearly convinces me, but not quite. Shall I tell you why you’re saying welcome to Raven? Because you’re yellow. Because Raven’s a killer, and you know it. Because Raven’s got a little mob that is as tough as hell and could smash us up in half an hour. Yeah, that’s why.”

Grantham got to his feet. “What about you?” he said. “You goin’ to tell Raven where he gets off?”

Lu shook his head. “Sure I’m not,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “What’s good enough for you suits me.

I’m yellow too.”

“Instead of yapping like this, suppose you go over to Mendetta’s apartment and find out what’s happened.

I’m worried about Jean.”

Lu shook his head. “Be your age. Suppose the cops walk in when I’m there? Where should I be? You’ll have to wait. The papers’ll have it fast enough.”

Grantham said uneasily, “Do you think he’s killed her too?”

“Why should you worry? She ain’t anybody. If you want to know so badly, go an’ see for yourself.”

Grantham paced up and down the room. “We’ve got to find out, Lu. This is serious. Suppose Jean talked?”

“She won’t talk.”

“She might about Raven. If Raven gets pinched, where should we be?”

Lu considered this. “Maybe you’re right. Say, isn’t O’Hara on that beat?”

“I don’t know. Is he?”

Lu turned to the door. “I’ll go down there and see. If he is I’ll tip him to go up and investigate. What the hell are we payin’ that guy two hundred bucks a month for if he can’t do a little thing like that?”

Grantham looked relieved. “That’s an idea. Get after him right away.” Lu left the room at a run.

12

June 6th, 1.10 a.m.

SADIE HAD just fallen into a light doze when a sound outside her apartment made her sit up, wide awake again.

She listened, her heart beating wildly, the memory of Raven horribly clear−cut in her mind. She wondered if he had returned. For several minutes she lay listening, then, cautiously, she pulled back the bed−clothes and reached for her wrap.

Silently she went to the front door and looked once through the letter−box. The burly figure of a police officer relieved her of all her fears. He was just going into Mendetta’s apartment. She opened the door and stood waiting.

The police officer came out of the apartment in a few minutes. His start of surprise when he saw Sadie puzzled her.

“Isis anythin’ wrong in there?” she asked.

He looked at her suspiciously. “Who are you?” he snapped.

“I’m Mrs. Perminger. I thought I heard someone cry out a little while back and I thought I heard someone fall.” Sadie looked at him with big eyes.

O’Hara could have killed her. He’d gone up on Lu’s instructions just to look around. He had no intention of reporting Mendetta’s death. He had no reasonable excuse for being up there, and now this dame must come and put her oar in.

He said, “I’ll come in your place for a moment, Miss. Don’t want to be seen in the passage; might scare the folks.”

Sadie coloured. “I don’t think you’d better come in. I’mI’m all alone.”

O’Hara nodded. “That’s all right,” he said; “if you’ll just let me stand in the hall.” He was most anxious that nobody else should see him.

Reluctantly Sadie stepped back and let him in.

“Now then, Miss,” he said, taking out his note−book. “You say you heard someone cry out?”

Sadie nodded. There was something about this cop that she didn’t like. She wished he’d go away.

“What time was that?”

“It was just after twelve.”

“Did you see anythin’?” O’Hara looked at her closely.

Sadie hesitated, then she said, “Yes, there was a man who came out of the apartment. He had some papers and a gun in his hand.”

O’Hara felt the sweat break out under his arms. “Yeah?” he said. “You’re sure of that?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Would you know him again?”

“I’d know him anywhere,” Sadie said firmly. “He was middle height, dark, dressed in a shabby black suit.

His face was very thin, with thin lips and horrible cold eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him.”

O’Hara hadn’t much time. He knew that Lu must hear about this. Grantham hadn’t picked him for nothing.

He had his head screwed on all right.

“Well, lady,” he said, “there’s been a little accident over there. I guess we’ll be looking for that guy. Now will you get dressed? I’d like to take you down to the station house.”

“What, now?” Sadie’s eyes opened.

O’Hara nodded. “Sure,” he said. “We’ll get you to look through some of the photos we got down there. You might spot the guy right away.”

Sadie wished Benny was there. She felt suddenly extremely helpless and alone. She didn’t want to go, but she supposed she had to. “Will you wait here? I’ll go and dress.”

O’Hara touched his cap. “I’ll meet you downstairs, lady,” he said. “I don’t want you bothered with newshawks. If they saw me leave with you we’d never shake them.”

He went away, walking very rapidly.

Sadie dressed. She felt vaguely uneasy and wished now that she hadn’t told O’Hara anything. Well, they couldn’t do anything to her at the station house. She’d just tell them the truth and then they’d let her go. As she was about to leave the apartment she suddenly thought of something. She ran back to the sitting−room and scribbled a note to Benny. She put it on his pillow, hoping that if he came in he’d find it at once. Then she picked up her bag and went down to the hall.

In the meantime O’Hara met Lu, who was waiting in the street. “Listen, boss,” the cop said quickly, “we’re in a jam. Both Mendetta and the jane are dead, but there’s a little dame up there who saw Raven leave. She can identify him. I thought you wouldn’t like that. She’s on her way down now. I told her I was taking her to the station.”

Lu cursed under his breath. He stood thinking for a moment, then nodded. “Listen, tell her I’m a cop when she comes down. I’ll take her to Grantham’s apartment and he must decide what to do with her. When I’ve got her out of the way, continue your beat. You don’t know anythin’ about the killing, get it? The longer it remains under cover the better. It’ll give Raven a chance to get set.”

O’Hara nodded. “This’ll cost me my job if it comes out,” he said with a sly look.

“Don’t worry your head about that,” Lu said impatiently. “We’ll look after you. I’ll see you get somethin’

extra for this.”

“See that it’s worth havin’,” O’Hara said, and went back into the hall.

Sadie came down as he entered. He touched his cap respectfully. “An officer of the Homicide Squad is outside with a car, lady,” he said. “You go with him. I gotta do some phoning.”

He led her out to Lu, who was standing by his car. Lu raised his hat.

“This is Mrs. Perminger,” O’Hara said with a broad grin. “She’s the little lady who saw the guy I told you about.”

Lu opened the car door. “I’m sorry to get you up at such an hour, Mrs. Perminger,” he said, “but you’re goin’ to be a big help to us.”

Sadie thought he wasn’t at all her idea of a plain−clothes cop, but she got in the car, because she was scared that they’d think she had something to hide. Lu got in beside her.

O’Hara stood watching the car drive away. He spat into the street. “I wonder what they’ll do with her?” he thought. “Nice little dame,” and he turned and resumed his patrol with measured steps.

13

June 6th, 2.30 a.m.

CARRIE O’SHEA ran the only high−class brothel in East St. Louis. There were plenty of other such joints in the town, but none of them came anywhere near Carrie’s for class.

For one thing, it stood opposite the District Attorney’s office. That alone gave it class. Then Carrie, who ran the house, saw to it that she got a fresh batch of girls each month. That wanted some doing, but Carrie knew variety is the spice of life and her clients never knew from one visit to the next who they were going to find there.

She organized the change by shuffling the girls round from the various other houses, ruthlessly selecting only the young fresh ones and refusing anything that the bookers thought they could hoist on to her.

It was only when Mendetta began his Slaving racket that Carrie really ceased to worry. Now, through a careful system, she was getting new girls pretty steadily. Of course, a lot of them made trouble, but that didn’t worry Carrie a great deal. She knew how to handle girls who refused to fall in line.

The system worked this way. Trained thugs carefully combed the town for suitable girls. The qualifications that they considered suitable chiefly consisted of having no relations, being down on their luck, or to have committed some petty crime that the bookers could use as a form of blackmail.

There wasn’t a great deal of material to fit these qualifications, and after a while the supply dried up. The bookers got a little more daring. They’d go after girls who wanted jobs as models. They persuaded them to pose in the nude, take photos secretly, and then threaten to show the photos, which had mysteriously become exceedingly obscene by clever faking, to narrow−minded parents. This succeeded for a time.

Although Carrie had ceased to worry about the supply of girls, the bookers were continually having headaches. They got well paid for new material, but they were constantly having to think up new ideas to ensnare unsuspecting girls into the racket.

Finally they got so bold that they’d kidnap girls and hand them over to Carrie to break in. This meant a lot more work for Carrie to do, but she realized their difficulties and she entered into her new task with philosophical fortitude.

Some of the girls were so popular that she kept them in the house as permanent workers. They had been well broken in, they got good money, and they showed no inclination to leave. Such were Andree, Lulu, Julie and Fan.

They were sitting in the big reception−room waiting patiently for Carrie to tell them to go to bed. The last client had gone over half an hour ago. Carrie made a habit of having a word with her girls before turning in for the night: to hear any complaints and to hand out punishment to any of them who hadn’t given satisfaction.

The girls were all dressed in flimsy knickers, black silk stockings and high−heel shoes, with big showy garters to keep their stockings in place. They had all thrown wraps round their bare shoulders as soon as the front door closed behind the last client.

Carrie thought it was all very well to sit around half naked when the guys were in the house, but when they had gone she liked to see her girls look decent.

Lulu reached for a cigarette, yawning. “Gee!” she said. “Am I tired? I’ve gotta get my hair fixed tomorrow morning and I don’t know how I’ll make it.”

Fan, a red−headed girl with a superb figure, but a hard, almost brutish face, gave a short metallic laugh.

“You don’t want to bother about that,” she said. “Get a guy to fix it for you. Do it on the exchange system.”

Lulu frowned at her. “You’ve got a dirty mind,” she said. “If I had a mind like yours I know what I’d do with it.”

Julie, a little silver blonde, broke in: “Save it, you two. Let’s have a little peace once in a while.”

Lulu shrugged. “I’m not startin’ anythin’,” she said. “I’m just tellin’ her she’s got a dirty mindso she has.”

Julie went on, “I had the nicest and queerest guy tonight. Gee! The dough he had! When he got upstairs he was terribly shy”

Fan groaned, “We’ll now listen to a leaf out of Julie’s life story.”

Lulu said, “Go on, Ju, don’t mind about her. Maybe she’s got the crabs.”

Julie pouted. “Well, I guess I won’t tell you if you don’t want to hear,” she said. “Only he was such a nice guy−”

Fan sneered. “I know those nice guys,” she said. “I’ve had one or two. What did he tell you? The one about his wife being an invalid?”

“Can’t you leave her alone?” Lulu demanded fiercely. “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

Andree, a tall brunette with long tapering limbs, gave a little giggle. “My Gawd! I saw that guy Julie’s talkin’ about. He looked as if his Ma was waitin’ outside for him.”

Julie nodded. “That’s the one. He gave me ten bucks as soon as he got in the room”she put her hand over her mouth and spluttered with laughter“in an envelope. Can you tie that? He was so genteel he gave it to me in an envelope.”

Even Fan smiled.

“Well, go on,” Lulu said. “What was he like?”

Julie shook her head. “He didn’t do anythin’. When I started to undress he nearly had a fit. What he thought he’d come up there for I can’t guess. He said, all embarrassed, that he just wanted to talk to me. And would I put on a wrap as he thought it was tough for a girl like me to sit around as I was. Believe me, you could have knocked me over with a mangle.”

“Yeah?” Fan said bitterly. “I guess I’d sooner sleep with a guy than listen to him talk. A guy who likes talkin’ about it can go on for ever.”

“Oh, he talked about all kinds of things. He was ever so interestin’,” Julie said stoutly. “I liked the guy. He didn’t once ask me why I lived here, or if I liked it, or any of the other crap guys always ask.”

Fan got bored. “Gee! I thought you were goin’ to tell us somethin’ worth listenin’ to,” she said.

“Didn’t I tell you she’d got a dirty mind?” Lulu chimed in triumphantly.

Just then the door opened and Carrie came in. Carrie was a tall, thin, muscular mulatto. Her face was cut in hard, etched lines. Glittering black eyes, like glass beads, gave her a look of cold, calculated suspicion and cruelty. Her broad flat nose disfigured what would have been an otherwise strikingly handsome face.

“Time you girls were in bed,” she said sharply. “Break it up. Go on, get off to bed.”

Obediently, all of them except Fan got up and murmured respectful good nights and went out of the door.

Fan continued to sprawl in the chair.

Carrie eyed her with reluctant admiration. She had never been able to tame Fan entirely. She was wise enough to realize that Fan with a broken spirit would be a poor proposition, and she took more from her than any of the other girls put together.

She knew that Fan liked the racket. She knew also that Fan would never have admitted it, but Carrie had long ago come to realize that Fan was physically built for the game.

Carrie said, “You smoke too much. It ain’t going to help you when you get older.”

Fan looked at her. “Listen, nigger, I like smokin’. To hell with that stuff about getting old.”

“You’ll see. I’m tellin’ you when you start slippin’ I’ll turn you out. Make no mistake, sister, I’ve got no time for worn−outs.”

Fan got up and gathered her wrap around her. “I’ll be gone long before that time,” she said. “One of these days I’m goin’ to start out on my own.”

Carrie had heard all this before. She knew Fan was too lazy to hunt up her own clients. “Sure,” she said“one of these days.”

Fan stubbed her cigarette out and then crossed to the big mirror on the wall. She stood looking at herself carefully.

Carrie grinned. She knew that Fan was secretly worried about getting old and useless. She didn’t want her to be discouraged. “You’re all right,” she said; “one of my best girls.”

Fan looked at her and sneered. “You bet, nigger,” she said; “you an’ I ain’t the only two who know it.”

She went out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

Carrie went into the little office that led from the reception−room and sat down behind a small desk. With a neat hand she entered some figures in a ledger, and then locked the ledger in a wall safe. She was quite contented the way the business was paying. Tonight had been a good one.

She looked disapprovingly at the clock on the wall. Time was always her enemy. She was a tireless worker and begrudged herself the hours wasted in sleep. But she looked after herself very carefully. She wasn’t taking any chances of falling ill. Mendetta was the kind of guy who liked you a lot when you were bringing in the dough, but cast you off once you lost ground. She always gave herself six hours’ sleep.

As she was getting up from behind the desk the telephone rang shrilly. She picked up the receiver. “Who is it?”

Grantham’s voice floated over the line. “Carrie? Listen, I’ve got a girl I want you to look after.”

Carrie’s mouth twisted. “That’s fine,” she said. “Must you ring up at an hour like this to tell me a little thing like findin’ me a girl? I’ve got plenty.”

“Lu’s bringing her round right away,” Grantham went on. “This is important. She’s not to talk to anyone.

Do you understand? Hell’s been poppin’ tonight and she knows all about it.”

“What’s happened?”

“Tootsie’s been bumped. Raven’s taken over. And this dame knows a hell of a lot more than she should do.”

“Mendetta’s dead?” Carrie repeated.

“Yeah. About a couple of hours ago. They haven’t found his body yet. You’re not to know anythin’ about it.

The news mightn’t break for a couple of days.”

“What’s this about Raven?”

“He’s moved in. You’ve got a new boss now, Carrie.”

Carrie’s fist tightened on the phone. “Why the hell did you let him move in? I tell you, Grantham, that guy’s goin’ to cause a lot of trouble.”

“Never mind about him. You look after the girl.”

Grantham hung up before she could reply.

Carrie put the phone down slowly. She stood looking at the opposite wall with blank eyes. So Raven had got there at last. She had watched him closely ever since Mendetta had turned him down. She knew that Raven would be a very different boss from Mendetta. Maybe he wouldn’t be so mean, but he was going to be a lot more ruthless. Carrie suddenly found herself anxious for her girls. She didn’t mind how she treated them herself, but it made her feel dismayed to think that Raven was going to control them all in the future.

She went back into the reception−room and sat down to wait for Lu.

14

June 6th, 9.30 a.m.

JACK CASTON, under−manager for the local branch office of Preston Motors, walked into the Preston building with a light springy step.

The commissionaire saluted smartly and escorted him to the elevator.

Caston was the kind of guy who got up early in the morning and did breathing exercises in front of an open window. He was bouncing with good health and his big pink face was torture to anyone with a morning hang−over.

He walked into his office, rang the buzzer on his desk, and then hung up his hat. He walked over to the mirror and adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair. He was very satisfied with what he saw in the mirror.

The door opened and his secretary walked in. She was a ritzy−looking dame, with corn−coloured hair, blue eyes, and a neat little figure.

Caston smiled at her and sat down at his desk. She thought he looked like a very nice good−humoured pig.

“Well, well,” he said, stretching out his hand, “and very nice too!”

She kept her distance and inclined her head. She knew Caston.

“Now, Marie, don’t be high hat. Come over here and let me look at you,” he said, still keeping his hand out.

“You can see me just as well here, Mr. Caston,” she said. “Did you want anything?”

Caston withdrew his hand and fiddled with a pencil. His pink face lost a little of its brightness. “Sit down,”

he said, “I want to talk to you.”

Marie sat down, carefully adjusting her skirt as she did so. Caston leant a little forward and watched the operation with considerable interest. He considered any girl with a nice pair of legs should show them at every possible occasion.

“That’s the beginning of a ladder you’re getting there,” he said. He leant forward, staring at her leg with fixed concentration.

Marie bent forward to investigate. She could see nothing wrong with the faultless silken hose.

“Look, just there, a little higher up. Too bad with socks as expensive as those.”

Marie lifted her skirt a trifle and couldn’t find anything. Caston got out of his chair and came round.

“You’re not lookin’,” he said severely. “Look, here.” He pulled her skirt well above her knees, and she promptly smacked his hand and hastily pulled it down.

“I might have known it,” she said bitterly. “Just another of your tricks.”

Caston beamed at her. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and reaching for her hand. “But I might not have been, you know.”

She allowed her hand to remain in his big pink fingers, and she waited, her neat shoe tapping impatiently on the polished boards. “When you’re through with all this,” she said, “suppose we get to work?”

Caston shook his head. “I’ll never train you,” he said sadly. “You know, baby, you and me might get somewhere if only you’d co−operate.”

Marie sniffed. “The one place I’d get to if I did would be a maternity hospital,” she said acidly, snatching her hand away. “Shall we get to work?”

Caston sighed. You never knew with women. Some mornings Marie was quite willing for a little fun and games. He got off the desk and sat down in his chair. He looked at her closely. She certainly looked tired and irritable. Being a man of the world, he didn’t pursue the matter, and began to dictate the few letters that required his attention.

It was ten o’clock by the time he was through, and he dismissed her with a kind smile. “Listen, baby, if you don’t feel well take the rest of the day off. I’ve got to go out in a while and I don’t think I’ll be back. Just please yourself, will you?”

She looked at him suspiciously and then went out. Caston sat back in his chair and frowned. This was not starting the day well. Why the hell couldn’t people be a bit more lively?

The door opened and Benny Perminger wandered in. Caston gave him a quick look and groaned. This was certainly not going to be his day. Benny was looking like something the cat had dug up.

“And what’s your trouble?” he asked shortly.

Benny sank into the arm−chair and sighed. “Nice bit that, ain’t she?” he said, pursing up his mouth.

Caston frowned. “Who’s a nice bit?” he demanded.

“Miss Mackelsfield,” Benny explained. “Lucky guy havin’ a secretary like that.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Caston said. “What of it?”

Benny closed one eye and leered. “You bachelors,” he said; “I bet you an’ she have a grand time.”

Caston sat up stiffly. “Now see here, Perminger, I don’t like that kind of talk. This is a business place, and business only is conducted here.”

“Nuts! What kind of business? All you guys do in these offices is to horse around with your secretaries. I know. It’s guys like me out in the general office that don’t get the chances.”

Caston thought it wise to shift the ground. “Well, you didn’t come in here to tell me that, did you?”

Benny’s face fell, and he became depressed again. “No,” he admitted, “I didn’t. As a matter of fact, Caston, old boy, I came for a little advice.”

Caston smiled. Things were looking up. He liked giving advice. He settled back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Sure,” he said. “What’s the trouble?” For a moment he had a sudden qualm that Benny was going to touch him for some dough, but on second thoughts he knew that wasn’t Benny’s usual opening when he made a touch.

Benny hung his feet over the side of the chair. “Well, Sadie and I have had a quarrel,” he said bitterly. “She properly shot her mouth off last night.”

Caston made sympathetic noises. “Nice girl, Sadie,” he said. He often wondered why a swell looker like Sadie had fallen for Perminger. He could have gone a long way to have made her himself.

“Sure, she’s a nice girl, but she’s got a damn odd way of looking at things. Would you believe it, she’s accusing me of always lookin’ at girls? She even had the neck to say that I’d be makin’ a pass at one of them one day.”

Caston shrugged. “Well, won’t you?”

Benny looked vacant. “Well, yes, I suppose I will,” he admitted. “But she won’t know about it.”

“Listen, Perminger, wasn’t that a dame I saw you out with the other night?”

Benny scowled at him. “What else do you think it was?” he snapped. “A horse?”

“Steady, buddy,” Caston said. “No need to go off the deep end. What I meant was, she wasn’t Sadie?”

Benny shook his head. “No, she was a business client. She wanted to buy one of our models.”

Caston blew his nose. “I suppose you were taking a fly out of her eye?” he said sarcastically.

“Will you leave it? I want your advice, not a goddamn sermon,” Benny returned. “I’ve walked out and left Sadie high and dry. What the hell am I going to do?”

“You’ve left her?” Caston asked, his eyebrows raising. “You crazy or something?”

“I tell you we had a stand−up fight. I couldn’t just go to bed after it.”

“You left her all night?” Caston wished he’d known that. He might have called and done himself some good.

“What I want you to bend your brains on is how am I going back?”

Caston shrugged. “Easiest thing in the world. All you do is to walk in, kiss her, tell her you were tight and all will be well.”

Benny stared at him. “Do you really think so?” he asked. “Gee! I wish it would work like that.”

Caston was getting a little bored, anyway. “Sure,” he said, getting up, “you try it. Don’t forget, she might be pretty sick about it herself today. You go down there right away. You might find her in.”

Benny got to his feet. “I’ll do it. That’s mighty white of you, Jack. If there’s any little thing”

Caston led him to the door. “On your way, pal,” he said, “and if it works, give her one for me.”

He watched Benny hurry down the corridor before turning back to his office.

15

June 6th, 9.45 a.m.

RAVEN SAT on the edge of his bed and looked round at the three men who stood or leant against the wall opposite him.

There was Lefty, Little Joe and Maltz. For eighteen months these three men had elected to follow Raven, and they had for this period experienced a very thin time. Raven didn’t excuse himself. He had just told them to be patient and they had believed him. He had never let them go hungry. Somehow, by dangerous raids, hold−ups and the like, they had managed to make a little money, but all the same they had all had a bad time.

Such was their faith in Raven, however, that they had not grumbled. It was now that he could tell them that their faith in him was justified.

He knew these three men for what they were. There was no spark of human feeling in any of them. They wanted money: not just money, but big money. They didn’t care how they got it, but they knew that none of them had the brains to make that money. They knew Raven could make it, so they had been contented to wait.

Raven looked round at them, and he gloried in his triumph. “Well,” he said, “I’ve sent for you guys because somethin’s happenin’. I told you it would, and it has.”

The three shifted a little and regarded him with blank, stony eyes. Three jaws moved rhythmically as they turned the chewing−gum in their mouths.

“When I first came to this burg I wanted to play ball with Mendetta. But the dirty rat said no. He was in the position to say no. I had to take it. You guys thought I’d get a break. You’ve stuck around for a long time waiting for that break. You haven’t bellyached. You’ve done what I’ve told youwell, by God, we’ve waited long enough. We’re takin’ over the burg.”

Still the three stood silent. They waited for facts.

“Mendetta had protection,” Raven said, stressing the past tense. “We couldn’t start anythin’ as long as he was alive. Now he’s deadso we move in.”

The three fidgeted.

“I’ve seen Grantham. He won’t be any trouble. In a day or so I’ll have my hands on some dough. We’re goin’ to organize this burg. We’re goin’ to milk it dry. We’ve got everythin’ just where we want it. I’m tellin’ you what to do, an’ you’ll do it. That way we’ll all be in the dough.”

Maltz, a little wop, with a heavy sneering mouth and bloodshot black eyes, straightened away from thewall. “You said you’d do it, boss,” he said, “and we knew you would. Why didn’t you get one of us to rub Mendetta?”

Raven shook his head. “Who said I killed him?” he asked quietly.

The three exchanged glances and grinned. They thought that was a good joke.

Raven got to his feet. “Stick around, fellas,” he said, “I gotta go an’ talk with Grantham. By tonight I’ll know how much dough’s comin’ to us.”

He went away, leaving them still standing in his bedroom.

16

June 6th, 10.30 a.m.

JOHNSON, THE desk sergeant, chewed the end of his pen and regarded Jay with an unfavourable eye. He never had much use for crime reporters. They were always bobbing up at the wrong time and always asking embarrassing questions. Jay was no exception to this. In fact, he showed a lot of talent for being a nuisance.

Jay, with his hands full of petty and uninteresting crimes, was feeling irritable. He wanted a free hand to work on the Mendetta affair. The fact that Poison had warned him to lay off did not deter him. He was as determined to go ahead and find out what had happened to Fletcher’s sister as he had been before hearing Poison’s threat of dismissal. He knew he was good as a reporter and he knew he wouldn’t have far to look for another job. What did rile him was the number of small cases that had suddenly arisen during the night which he was bound to cover, and now he found himself chained by the leg to the station house, awaiting fresh evidence. It looked like he’d be there all the morning. Then he had to write up his two columns, so Fletcher’s sister would have to wait until the evening.

Johnson sighed. “It’s a pity your paper can’t find you a job of work to do,” he said sourly. “I’m gettin’ tired of seein’ you loafin’ around this joint. Why don’t you go out an’ take a little exercise?”

Jay put his feet up on the wooden bench and closed his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I’m sick of breathin’ the same air as you, but this is what I’m bein’ paid for, so leave out the cracks.”

The sergeant grunted and began to write laboriously in the charge book. “Well, there ain’t much about,” he said, blotting his neat writing carefully. “You guys live pretty soft, I must say.”

“It’s when there’s nothin’ about that we work hard,” Jay told him. “Look what we’ve got today. Petty thieving, an embezzlement, and a small−time forger. How would you like to make a column out of that little lot? What I want is a nice rape or a good murder. Somethin’ that’ll take my column on the front page.”

Johnson scowled. “Horrible lot you newspaper guys,” he said.

“Do you know how many girls have been reported missing this year?” Jay asked.

Johnson shook his head. “Not my department,” he said promptly. “You want the Missing People’s Bureau.

You lost someone?”

Jay shook his head. “I was wonderin’, Johnson, if there’s anythin’ in this White Slave rumour I’ve heard about.”

Johnson laughed. “Not a word,” he said. “You think about it for a moment and you’ll see that there can’t be anythin’ in it.”

“You tell me. It’ll save my energies.”

Johnson spread himself over his desk and folded his arms on his blotter. “It’s like these rape cases we get,” he explained. “It ain’t possible to rape a woman against her will. In the same way, it ain’t possible to keep a woman in prostitution against her will in a big city like this. Sooner or later we should hear complaints. Guys that go to these houses would report that a woman was being held against her will. But we never hear of them.

Obviously, the women are in the game for what they get out of it, and the stories we hear about Slaving is so much junk.”

Jay considered this. “Suppose these women were terrorized?” he said. “How about that?”

Johnson shook his head. “Too risky,” he said. “We’d give them protection if they wanted to squawk. All they have to do is to walk in here, lodge a complaint, and we’d look after them until an investigation’s been made.”

“Suppose they can’t get out?” Jay persisted.

Johnson frowned. “What you hintin’ at?” he demanded. “Do you know anythin’?”

Jay shook his head. “Nope,” he confessed; “but I’m interested. I believe that a woman could be terrorized into prostitution, and I’m lookin’ into it from this angle. I may be wrong, but if I ain’t, I’m going to keep you mighty busy bookin’ the heels who run the racket.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Johnson said. “What you want is an excuse to play around with undesirable floosies. I bet part of your investigation will be meetin’ and talkin’ to these dames.”

Jay shook his head. “I’m serious, Johnson,” he said. “You wait and see. If I do strike on anythin’ you’d better get ready for some heavy work.”

A police officer came in, followed by Benny Perminger. The officer went up to Johnson. “This guy thinks we’ve got his wife in gaol,” he said. “Will you speak to him?”

Johnson looked at Benny doubtfully. “What’s the trouble?” he demanded.

Benny was looking scared. “I’m Ben Perminger,” he said. “I want to see my wife.”

Johnson closed his mouth into a thin line. “I ain’t stoppin’ you,” he said coldly. “She ain’t here.”

“Well, where have you taken her?”

“What is all this?”

Benny began to look bewildered. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “I found this note when I got home.” He gave Johnson a slip of paper.

Jay sat up on the bench and watched all this with interest. He smelt a news story.

Johnson read the note and handed it back. “There’s no one of the name of Perminger booked last night. We didn’t pull anyone in from that address. I guess she’s havin’ a game with you.”

Benny stood staring at the note. “Maybe they didn’t bring her here. Could they take her anywhere else?”

“There’s the station on West 47th Street. I’ll ask them.” Johnson pulled the phone towards him and put the enquiry through. After a short wait he shook his head and hung up. “No, they don’t know anythin’ about it.”

Benny began to sweat. “What am I goin’ to do?” he asked.

Johnson was getting bored with him. “It’s your wife, buddy,” he said. “Most like she’s havin’ a little game with you. You go back home. You’ll find her waitin’ for you.”

Benny turned away from the desk and moved slowly towards the door.

Johnson looked at Jay. “That guy’s got a leak in his conk,” he said under his breath.

Jay got up and followed Benny out of the station house, ignoring Johnson’s yell for him to come back.

Benny walked down the street in a daze. He didn’t know what to make of it. Surely Sadie wouldn’t pull a stunt like this if it didn’t mean anything? She had said that she was being taken down to the station house as a witness and would Benny come at once.

Jay overtook him at the comer. “Hey, Perminger,” he said, “what’s all this about your wife?”

Benny blinked at him. “Where the hell did you spring from?” he said, shaking hands.

“Come over an’ have a drink,” Jay said, taking him by his arm and steering him into a near−by bar. “I overheard what you were tellin’ Johnson. What’s happened to Mrs. P.?”

Seated at a small table away from the bar and assisted by a large iced beer, Benny unburdened. He told Jay how he had quarrelled with Sadie and how he’d left her during the night. “Well, I felt a bit of a heel this morning,” he went on, “so I thought I’d get back and make it up. When I got in I found all the lights burning and a note on my pillow saying she’d been taken down to headquarters as a witness and would I please come.”

He paused to pull at his beer.

Jay puzzled. On the face of it, he thought, Sadie might be just teaching this guy a lesson, but his instinct for news was not satisfied. Why should she use such an odd way of scaring him? Why a witness? A witness of what? No, it didn’t quite add up.

“I thought the police were supposed to help you,” Benny grumbled. “The way that guy went on, you’d think I was crazy.”

“You don’t have to worry about him. He’s gettin’ all kinds of stories and complaints every hour, and he just doesn’t take any interest. Where are you livin’ now?”

Benny told him.

Jay suddenly sat up. “Surely, that’s where Tootsie Mendetta hangs out?” he said.

Benny nodded. “That’s right,” he answered. “I’ve been wantin’ an introduction to him for weeks. I want to sell him a flock of tracks. He lives just opposite my apartment, but I’ve never set eyes on him.”

Jay got to his feet. There might be something in this story after all. It was a long shot, but he wasn’t going to let it grow cold. “We’ll go back to your apartment and have a look round,” he said. “Come on, buddy, let’s go.”

Benny went with him and they took a taxi to the block.

Inside his apartment Jay couldn’t find anything that excited him. It was just an ordinary joint of a man with a nice income. He wandered around, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, brooding.

Benny sat on the arm of a chair and watched him.

“Did she take a suit−case or anythin’?” Jay asked suddenly.

Benny looked bewildered. “I don’t know,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of lookin’.”

“Check that up, will you, pal?”

Benny went into the bedroom and after a while he came out again. He looked more bewildered still. He shook his head helplessly. “No,” he said, “she hasn’t taken anythin’. The only things that are missing are the clothes she wore yesterday and her handbag. Nothing else.”

Jay didn’t like the sound of this. No woman would ran away from her husband without taking some of her belongings.

“Will you wait here?” he said. “I’ll go across and hare a word with Mendetta. Maybe he heard somethin’.”

Benny suddenly went very pale. “You don’t think anythin’ bad’s happened to her?” he asked.

Jay shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so, but we’ll clear this up or find out somethin’, so we can get the cops interested. You sit down for a moment.”

He left the apartment and crossed the corridor. He rang Mendetta’s bell. No one answered. He stood there waiting, and then he rang again. Still no one answered.

Benny came to his front door and stood watching him.

“No one seems at home,” he said.

Jay scratched his head. “Will you phone down to the porter and find out what time Mendetta went out?” he said.

While Benny was doing this Jay took a little instrument from his vest pocket and inserted it in the lock. He made no attempt to open the door, but by careful probing he knew that, if he wanted to, he could do so.

Benny came back, looking blank. “The porter guy says Mendetta hasn’t left the building.”

Jay put his thumb on the bell and kept it there. They stood listening to the angry whirr of the bell for several minutes. Then Jay made up his mind. “I’m goin’ in,” he said.

“You can’t do that. Maybe he’s asleep.”

Jay looked at him. “I’m chancin’ that,” he said shortly. “Somehow, I feel there’s somethin’ wrong in there.”

He once more probed with his instrument and a moment later the lock slid back with a little snick. Gently, he eased the door back and looked into the hall. Then he stepped in softly and entered the first room he came to.

He stood looking at Mendetta sprawled out on the floor. His big head rested in a pool of blood. Over the other side of the room Jean lay, one leg drawn up and her arms flung wide. Jean wasn’t very nice to look at.

Jay caught his breath. Here was his front page murder. He spun on his heel and nearly collided with Benny, who had come in.

“My God!” Benny said, going suddenly very green.

Jay pushed him out into the corridor. “Keep your shirt on,” he said roughly. “Go into your apartment and get some drinks lined up.”

Benny went away hurriedly, and Jay carefully closed the apartment door. He followed Benny and grabbed the telephone. “Listen,” he said, as he hastily dialled a number, “there’s goin’ to be a riot in a little while. Did your wife know Mendetta?”

Benny gave himself a long drink of Scotch. He shook his head. “You don’t think she’s mixed up in this, do you?”

Jay was already on to Henry. “Mendetta’s been bumped,” he said. “I’ve just been into his apartment. We’ve got the exclusive story. Even the cops don’t know yet. Can you get this story on the street right away?”

Henry got very excited. “Let’s have it,” he said.

Jay sat down. In short, crisp sentences he fired off the discovery of finding Mendetta’s and Jean’s bodies.

“What the hell were you doin’ up there?” Henry snapped.

“I’ll fix that end,” Jay told him. “You get that on the street in ten minutes and you’ll beat the whole gang to it. I’ve got to tell the cops.”

“When you’re through come on back. I’ve got to see what Poison’s got to say about this.”

“To hell with Poison. This is the story of my life. If Poison’s going to put a soft pedal on it I’m quittin’,” and Jay hung up.

He turned to Benny. “Listen, pal, this is where you’ve got to be a big help. We’re goin’ down to get the porter to open Mendetta’s door. It wouldn’t look too good if they found out that I’ve broken in. Come on, we’ve gotta work fast.”

Protesting feebly, Benny followed him downstairs.

17

June 6th, 11 a.m.

SADIE OPENED her eyes. The hard, naked light of the electric lamp blinded her and she rolled over on the bed, shielding her eyes with her arm. A stabbing pain shot through her head as she moved.

She couldn’t think where she was or what had happened to her. Her mouth felt dry and her body ached. She lay for some time, only half conscious. Then, after a while, her mind began to function again. She remembered dimly leaving her home. She remembered Lu. Out of the mists Grantham’s face appearedGrantham, thin−lipped, standing over her with something in his hand that she couldn’t see. She remembered her terror, and, as she started to scream, a hot hand coming from behind her, over her mouth. She remembered a sharp prick in her arm and her wild struggle, then she remembered nothing more.

Again she half opened her eyes. She was aware that she was lying on a mattress and the colour of the walls was a drab grey. Her heart began to thud wildly. It was no horrible nightmare, then. She turned over and looked round the room.

It was small. The thick carpet on the floor matched the walls. There was no other furniture in the room except the bed on which she was lying.

The door was opposite her. Slowly she sat up, holding her head between her hands. There was something the matter with the room. For a moment she couldn’t make it out, then she realized that there was no window.

The discovery did a lot to clear her brain. She knew that she was in acute danger. Of what she didn’t know, but all the same it made her sick with terror.

Slowly she got off the bed and staggered across the room to the door. Her feet sank into the pile of the carpet, which deadened her footfalls. She tried the door, but it was locked. She stood pulling weakly at the handle, and then she slid down on to the floor and began to cry.

Her head hurt so. She was so frightened. Where could she be? she asked herself. She stayed like that for some time, and when she couldn’t cry any more she again got control of her nerves. She knew she would get nowhere just crying, and, taking herself in hand, she stood up.

She tried the door, pulling at the handle without success, and then she hammered on the panels. That gave her a horrible shock. The panels were covered with a thick layer of rubber. Her small fists bounced back every time she struck, and she could make no sound as she hammered.

She turned and stumbled blindly to the opposite wall and put her hands on it. Rubber again. The room was sound−proof, lined with heavy rubber, even to the ceiling.

She knew then that something horribly was going to happen to her, and she began to scream wildly.

18

June 6th, 12 noon.

RAVEN CAME out of the 22nd Club and signalled to a taxi. His thin white face was expressionless, but there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He carried a leather document case, and he climbed into the taxi with a new dignity that off−set his shabby clothes. He gave the address of his hotel and sat back.

The taxi was a symbol of his success. He hadn’t ridden in a taxi since he’d left Chi. Now things were going to be different. In the document case were papers that made him a rich man. Grantham hadn’t raised any objection. He had turned Mendetta’s shares over to him without a word. They were all bearer bonds. Nothing to connect Raven with him. But they meant money. He had been willing to have shared all this with Mendetta, but the rat had said no. Now he had it all.

The taxi swerved and pulled up outside the hotel. Raven paid him off and hurried upstairs. The three were waiting for him, still chewing, blank, stolid expressions on their faces.

Raven looked round at them and they in turn looked at him. He raised the case so that they could see it. He knew it was no use explaining anything about holdings or shares or bearer bonds to them. They hadn’t the mentality to understand. All they could understand was money. Not in cheques or bonds, but in notes and coin.

He took from his pocket his small, fast−vanishing roll. He peeled off two notes and gave them to Little Joe.

“Go and get some Scotch,” he said. “Get glasses from downstairs. Make it snappy.”

A little grin came to the faces of the three. This they could understand. A guy doesn’t buy them one drink, he sends for a bottle. That must mean dough.

While Little Joe was away Raven took off his hat and combed his hair carefully. He adjusted his frayed tie and regarded himself for a long while in the fly−blown mirror.

The other two watched him with interest. Raven took no notice of them; he was waiting for Little Joe.

They knew this and were content to wait. Little Joe had tagged along with them; he was entitled to hear what was to be said as much as the others.

Little Joe came back with the Scotch and glasses. At a sign from Raven he poured drinks out all round.

Raven took his glass. “Money and power,” he said, and they all drank.

Sitting down, Raven ht a cigarette. “It’s fixed,” he said. “We’re movin’ to the St. Louis Hotel right away.

When we’re settled we can look around for somethin’ better, but that’ll do to get along with.”

The St. Louis Hotel was the best hotel in town.

Maltz said, “Gee! That joint’s too swell for us guys.”

“You’ve got to change your ideasall of you. This is no longer a small−town party. We’re big shots,” Raven said, sipping his whisky carefully. “I want to talk to you guys. We’re startin’ work right away. You’ve got to go round the bars and spread the rumour that all whores are to get off the streets or else… Do you get it?”

Little Joe scratched his head. “Say, what’s the idea?”

Raven knew he’d got to be patient with these guys. “We’re goin’ to clean up the whole town. It’s goin’ to be a hell of a job, but it’s got to be done. You three have got to get so many hoods in each district of the town who are tough enough to run the whores off the streets and to deal with their bookers. That’s your first job. I’ll make myself plain. What happens to a guy who smokes a lot and suddenly finds out he can’t get tobacco?”

Lefty knew that one. “He goes nuts,” he said simply.

Raven nodded. “That’s it, he goes nuts. Then supposing some guy comes along and offers him tobacco after a while at a greatly increased price? What happens?”

The three looked at each other. This was getting beyond them.

“He pays more because he can’t get it elsewhere,” Raven said patiently.

“So what?” Little Joe said.

“That’s what we’re goin’ to do. Once we get organized, no whore on the streets will be safe. She’s got to be treated rough, so she’s too scared to work. We want them to leave town. It’ll take a little while, but if you treat

’em rough enough they’ll go. If they don’t, then we’ve got to start shootin’, but that’ll be the last straw. We don’t want trouble with the cops. If we knock ’em about, cut ’em a little, the cops won’t do anythin’, but if we kill ’em, then they’ll have to get busy.”

“It’s goin’ to be tough on the guys who like whores,” Maltz said, thinking of himself.

“Now you’re gettin’ somewhere,” Raven said. “We’re goin’ to set up houses. Not these fancy brothels that Mendetta ran. There’s no big dough in those. He took a ten per cent cut on the house. The girls got fifty and the rest of the dough was put into expenses. That’s a crazy way of workin’ it. I’m doin’ it differently.” He edged forward. “Each girl will be paid a fixed salary. She’ll never see the dough. It’ll be put to her credit in a ledger. Out of this she’ll have to pay rent for her room, her clothes, smokes, drinks and whatever else she wants. The balance, if there is a balance, will be used to buy shares in the house to give her a business interest.” Raven smiled crookedly. “When she wants to go she can sell out at the market pricewhich will be fixed by meand she can beat it.”

Lefty understood a little of this. “She doesn’t see any dough at all, then?”

“That’s right. I’m using that dough as capital.”

“These dames like to see money. They won’t like this, boss.”

Raven smiled. His thin lips just showed his teeth. It was more of a grimace than a smile. “They’re not supposed to like it,” he said. “They’re goin’ to do as they’re told.”

The three exchanged glances. “Rough stuff again, boss?” Little Joe asked.

“Ever been to Reno?” Raven said. “I have. Know what they do to a dame who won’t play ball? They pour turpentine on her belly. They play ball all right after that.”

There was a long silence. The three digested that piece of information. “I guess that hurts all right,” Lefty said. “Gee! I’d hate that to happen to me.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you as it hurts them,” Raven said.

“You think about it.” He got to his feet. “I’m goin’ to the bank to get some dough. I’ll stake you guys to a roll. You’ve got to get yourselves some new clothes. Don’t forget you’re livin’ at the St. Louis from now on.

When you’re fixed you’ve got to start work.” He broke off abruptly and stood listening.

The others sat very still.

Through the closed window they could hear a lot of shouting in the street. Raven took two quick steps to the window and threw it up. He looked down and then turned away.

“It’s out,” he said briefly. His eyes were very bright. “They’re tellin’ the world that Mendetta’s dead.”

The others made a move to the window, but he stopped them. “You’ve got to work fast now,” he said. “The sooner we’re organized the quicker we make dough.”

He went out of the room hurriedly.

The three made a dash to the window. Across the road they could see a newsvendor standing busily handing out papers. When the crowd thinned a little they could read his placard: MENDETTA AND MOLL SHOT TO DEATH

Lefty heaved a big sigh. “Didn’t I tell you that guy was somethin’?” he said proudly.

19

June 6th, 12.5 p.m.

GRANTHAM’S OFFICE door burst open and Lu came in. He shut the door hurriedly and waved a newspaper. “It’s out already,” he said excitedly. “Look, boss, they’re playin’ it on the front page.”

Grantham reached out and took the paper. He glanced at it and then tossed it on one side. “Quicker than I thought,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “There’s goin’ to be a lot of guys yellin’ at me very soon.”

Lu sat on the edge of the desk. “That dame Perminger,” he said. “Was it the right thing to turn her over to Carrie?”

Grantham looked at him coldly. “Why not?”

“Suppose she gets away an’ talks?”

“What do you want me to do? Finish her?”

Lu nodded. “That would have been a lot safer.”

“Listen, I’m the guy with brains. I want to keep that dame just where I can reach her in a hurry. You and I are under Raven now. As long as he brings in the dough, it’s all right with us. Have you thought that, maybe, he won’t succeed? Suppose we don’t get anythin’ better out of this change−over? Would you like the job of shifting Raven?”

Lu glanced away. “Where’s this leadin’ to?”

“As long as we’ve got a witness that Raven killed Mendetta we’ve got Raven where we want him. If he slips, then the Perminger dame goes to the cops with my love.”

“Yeah? And she spills that you’ve been holding her in a knockin’−shop.”

Grantham’s thin mouth twisted into a smile. “She’ll do what she’s told, and she’ll say what I want her to say.”

Lu raised his eyebrows. “She may be tough,” he said.

“Carrie likes ’em tough.” Grantham reached forward and knocked the ash off his cigarette. “I’ve told her to start softenin’ her as soon as she comes to the surface. Carrie knows her job.”

“If Raven gets to hear about this it’s goin’ to be just too bad for you.”

“Raven won’t hear about it. Carrie knows me well enough not to open her mouth. You’re the only other one. If you say anythin’ to him you’ll only do yourself dirt. You an’ me get along all right, don’t we?”

Lu nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I was just thinkin’ of Carrie.”

The phone bell rang sharply. Grantham picked it up.

A girl said, “Judge Hennessey wants you.”

“Put him on the line,” Grantham said. “It’s that old heel Hennessey,” he whispered to Lu.

Hennessey’s voice sounded agitated. “What’s this about Mendetta?” he demanded. “Is it true?”

“Yes, Judge, I guess it’s true all right. He was shot last night.”

“Who did it?”

“We ah want to know that.” Grantham winked at Lu.

“Listen, Grantham, what are you doin’ about it? I want to know where I stand. Who’s goin’ to take over?”

“It’s all right, Judge, Tootsie fixed everything up with me months ago. He was expectin’ trouble. Yeah, he left everythin’ in my hands.”

“In your hands?” Hennessey’s voice sounded doubtful. “Can you carry on?”

“Sure I can carry on. Mendetta left everythin’ straightforward. The thing runs itself now, Judge.”

“I see.” There was a long pause, then he went on, “You been through the books yet?”

“Just this minute startin’ on them, Judge. You don’t have to worry. We want guys like you around.”

“Of course you do,” the Judge snapped. “Your outfit would look mighty sick without me. Mendetta sent it to me on the first of the month. You’d better do the same.”

“That’s okay with me, Judge. First of the month? Sure, it’ll be along.”

“Well, I wish you luck, Grantham. Maybe it does run on its own power. You watch it, won’t you?”

“I’ll watch it.” Grantham hung up. “Rat number one,” he said, pursing his mouth. “Wanted to know if his rake−off was to continue. Didn’t care a damn that Tootsie was dead. Just dough.”

Lu grinned. “It ain’t every organization who’s got a Judge in its pocket,” he said. “That guy may be expensive, but he’s done some nice work for us.”

Grantham unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a little leather−bound note−book. He flicked through the pages and then, finding what he was looking for, he studied the page carefully. “Yeah,” he said; “last year he had seventeen of our girls before him. Twelve dismissals, four warnings and one small fine. Yeah, I guess he’s worth the dough all right.”

Once more the phone rang. “Yeah?” Grantham said, again picking up the receiver. “Yeah, it’s Grantham speaking. Is that you, Mr. Hackensfield?… How are you?… Mendetta? Sure we know he’s dead…. Yeah, too bad…. No, you don’t have to worry…. Sure we want you to work along with us. First of the month?… Yeah, we’re lookin’ into it right now…. Sure you’re useful…. That’s all right, Mr. Hackensfield. It’ll be along.” He hung up.

Lu said, “They like their dough, these guys.” Grantham nodded. “The District Attorney wanted to know if Mendetta’s death was goin’ to make any difference to his income,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “This is goin’ on all day, Lu. I may as well get used to it.”

“Are you makin’ any changes?”

Grantham shook his head. “Raven’s seen the list. He wants it to go on for a time. When that guy’s settled down he might start somethin’. He’s wise. He’s waitin’ until he’s strong enough to get tough.”

Lu moved towards the door as the phone went again. “I’ll leave you to it, boss,” he said. “See you in church.” He went out of the office.

Grantham grimaced and picked up the phone. “Mr. Poison wants you, Mr. Grantham,” a girl said.

“Put him through.” A cold, hard gleam came into Grantham’s voice. “Grantham?”

“That’s right. I wanted a little word with you, Mr. Poison…. Sureabout Mendetta. You’re wonderin’ about those shares?… So am I…. That’s right, I said I was wonderin’ too…. Sure I’ve taken over. Mendetta left everythin’ in my hands…. Why? Well, I’m the only guy who knows how the business is run…. That’s right.”

Poison said furiously, “He’s crazy to have left it to you. You don’t understand this business, Grantham. I’ve got to safeguard my investment. You’ve got to find someone who can look after the outside organization. You stick around all day in the Club. You’ve got to have someone outside watching those women. They’re lazy by nature. Mendetta understood them. He got the best out of them.”

Grantham smiled unpleasantly. “Take it easy,” he said. “I told you I’m runnin’ this business, and I am. I don’t care a damn about anythin’ you say, so leave off throwin’ your weight around.”

“By God! You can’t talk to me like this,” Poison exploded. “Half my money’s financing this business, and I’ve got a right to say how it should be run.”

“You’ve got a right to receive dividends when they come due,” Grantham said sharply, “but that’s all. I’m the boss around here and don’t you forget it.”

“You be careful how you talk to me,” Poison said, his voice thick with rage. “A word in the right direction would make things mighty unpleasant for you.”

Grantham laughed. “Forget it, Poison,” he jeered. “You can’t scare me with that stuff. What about you?

How would you look if it got around that half your money comes from brothel investments? I’ve got your signatures, don’t forget.”

There was a long pause, then Poison said more mildly: “Don’t let us quarrel, Grantham.”

Grantham nodded. “We won’t quarrel. Don’t you worry about the business. If it doesn’t keep up its returns I promise you I’ll have a talk with you in three months’ timehow’s that?”

“Very well. I’ll see how you manage for three months.”

“By the way, Poison, how come your paper was the first on the street with the news?”

“I’m not responsible for that,” Poison said, his voice sinking to a very mild note. “I’ve got a crime reporter who’s pretty good on his job.”

“Yeah? He’s too good, Poison. He’s cut my working time down badly. I reckoned on another twenty−four hours to get organized. There might be a little trouble with the bookers now.”

“He knows all about it,” Poison said grimly. “I’ve told him to lay off the case.”

“It’s a bit late now,” Grantham said. “I suppose it’s Jay Ellinger?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I know him all right. He’s been snoopin’ around a little too much lately. Can’t you send him out of town?”

“Well, I could.”

“I’d like you to do that. He makes me nervous. Can’t you send him somewhere out of the way for a little while? I want time to get organized, and I think he’s gettin’ a little too near the truth.”

Poison thought a moment. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll get him to cover the Tammany Hall trial. That’ll keep him in New York for at least a month. Every paper is sending a reporter. He can’t refuse to go. I could get him on the black list if he did.”

Grantham sighed with relief. “Do that, Poison, and I’ll guarantee you results.”

“Consider it done,” Poison said, and hung up.

Grantham replaced the receiver and relaxed. So far as he could see it was going all right. It depended a lot on Raven. If Raven’s ideas were good the organization would hold together. After all, Mendetta had built it up on sound lines. He had over two hundred girls working for him. He had the Club, which paid very well, and his protection rackets were bringing in big dough. Yes, on the face of it it looked all right.

Grantham reached for another cigarette as the phone rang again.

20

June 6th, 2.45 p.m.

BENNY MADE up his mind to get drunk. He couldn’t take any more. From the time Jay called the Homicide Bureau he had been pushed around as if he’d been the one who had shot Mendetta.

Cold−eyed cops had come into his apartment and looked him over. They had asked him questions about Sadie. They wanted to know where she was. When he showed them the letter she’d written they didn’t believe a word of it.

Carter, the officer−in−charge, had taken him into a corner. “See here, Perminger, your tale stinks. Why was Mrs. Perminger alone in this apartment all night?”

Benny clutched his head. “I keep tellin’ you,” he groaned, “she an’ I had a tiff. So I walked out on her.”

“What was the quarrel about?”

Benny tried to explain, but Carter sneered at him. “You mean to tell me that you walked out of this joint because your wife objected to you lookin’ at dames? Now, think about it. Isn’t that the lousiest story you’ve ever heard?”

“Well, it wasn’t only that. She an’ I were at the fights, an’ by accident I got my head between some dame’s knees”

Carter’s eyes bulged. “You did what?” he said.

Benny wrenched at his collar. “Yeah, that’s right. You see, she was sittin’ right behind me…”

Carter turned away. “Hi, Murphy, this guy’s got a hot one here. He goes around sticking his head between dames’ knees.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows. “Well, tell him to stop doin’ it. Tell him one thing leads to another.”

Carter scowled at Benny. “You gotta be careful what you do, guy,” he said. “We can’t take you in for that, but mind it’s your head next time.”

And so it went on. The cops were far too excited looking at the dead bodies of Jean and Mendetta, hunting through the desk and drawers, to be really interested in Benny. When he tried to bring up about Sadie they told him to go down to the Missing People’s Bureau.

Finally he gave up and sat down to wait for them to go. When they were through photographing the bodies, testing for finger−prints and ransacking the apartment. Carter found a little time to speak to him again.

He said, “We’ll want you, buddy, so stick around. There’s goin’ to be a big stink over this, an’ you’re goin’

to be right in the middle of it. When we want you we’ll send for you.”

They all went off after that and left Benny alone. So he decided to get good and drunk.

A little while later Jay found him, sitting in his armchair, a bottle of Scotch by his side and a glass clutched firmly in his hand.

Jay looked at him. “Hey, soak,” he said, “anythin’ left for me?”

Benny got hastily to his feet. “Am I glad to see you?” he said, shaking hands vigorously. “Sure, have a drink. I’ll get you a glass.”

Jay pushed him back into the chair. “I’ll get it,” he said. “You take it easy.”

When he came back from the kitchen, holding a glass, Benny had just given himself a long shot.

“Wait a minute,” Jay said hastily, taking the bottle away. “You’ve got to keep sober for a while.” He poured himself out two fingers and sat down on the edge of the table. “Listen, buddy, I want to talk to you.”

Benny shook his head. “I can’t stand any more of it,” he said. “Those cops have been making my conk buzz.”

“Never mind about the cops. You an’ me’ve got a job of work to do. You want to find your wife, don’t you?”

“Why, goddamn it, of course I do.”

“All right, then. Now listen. You don’t know anythin’ about how a murder is investigated. Well, I do. I’ve been watchin’ these guys. They’re puttin’ on a front. They don’t want to find out who killed Mendetta. They don’t want to find out where your wife is. So they fool around, ask a lot of bull questions and then leave it at that. Maybe they’ll forget all about you.”

Benny sobered. “That’s cock−eyed,” he said. “It’s their job to find out things like that.”

Jay smiled grimly. “That’s what you think, but you don’t know anythin’. This is serious, Perminger. If you’re not ready to do somethin’ your wife’ll never be found.”

“What have I got to do?”

“I’ll explain things so you can understand. Do you know what Mendetta did for a livin’?”

Benny shook his head. “I know he’d got plenty of dough,” he said. “And I’ve heard he was mixed up with some rackets. What they are I don’t know.”

Jay nodded. “Well, I’ll tell you. He was runnin’ brothels.”

Benny blinked. “You sure of that?” he said.

“I’m sure.”

“Mind you, I wouldn’t like to earn my dough that way, but brothels are necessary, ain’t they?”

“Not Mendetta’s brothels. I’ve heard he fills them by Slave methods. I don’t want to scare you, buddy, but I think your wife’s in one of his houses right now.”

Benny stared at him. “What!” he said.

Jay nodded. “I think so, Perminger.”

“You’re crazy!” Benny said, his voice rising. He got to his feet. “That’s a goddamn dirty lie, and you know it. Take it back, you heel, or I’ll kick the nuts off you.”

Jay reached out and shoved him in his chest. Benny flopped over into the chair again. “Quiet,” Jay said.

“You’ve got to listen to this. You don’t know how deep it goes.”

Benny said between his teeth, “You’re goin’ to be sorry for this, you heel!”

“Aw, shut up; let me tell you. Mendetta’s dead. Who killed him? Some guy who thinks he can make more dough out of the racket. There’s Grantham at 22nd Club. It might be he, but I don’t think so. He hasn’t the guts. Never mind who it is just yet. Mendetta’s girls never had a conviction. Time after time I’ve been in court when one of them was brought in for soliciting, and every time they got off. Every time one of his girls came up Judge Hennessey was the guy who found them not guilty. Why? Ever heard of corrupt judges? All right.

Mendetta must have had a lot of protection. That means he paid out a lot of dough. When he was killed, I’m bettin’ those guys who got regular dough started gettin’ scared. If they find the guy who killed Mendetta they won’t get any more easy dough. They’re givin’ him a run. If he keeps up payment, as Mendetta did, then he’s safe. That’s the way the racket is worked in this town.”

Benny said, “What the hell has it to do with Sadie?”

Jay leant forward. “Suppose Sadie saw the killer? Suppose she reported it to the cops? Suppose they got excited and saw that she was goin’ to bust up their racket? What would they do? Give her a cake and a bronx cheer? Like hell!”

Benny sat very still. “What could they do with her?”

“They could either knock her on the head or else give her over to Grantham. You’ve got to face it, Perminger. If her body ain’t found in a week or so, then she’s in one of his houses.”

“They can’t do a thing like that!” Benny said wildly. “By God! I won’t let them do it!” He got to his feet.

Jay said, “You don’t understand. You’ve got to take it. There’s nothing we can do. Now listen; they know I’m on to their racket, so what do they do? I’ve got to go to New York to cover the Tammany Hall trial. That’s just getting me out of the way. I’ve got no come−back. I gotta do it. If I turn it down I’m on the black list, and I can’t afford to be on that.”

Benny said thickly, “And what am I supposed to do? Sit around and let them get away with it?”

“If I hadn’t told you, you wouldn’t have done anything. I’ve got no proof of all this. No, you’ve got to wait.

Go and see Grantham and try and sell him some trucks. Try and find out who’s taken over the organization.

Maybe it is Grantham, but somehow I can’t see him holding a job of work down as big as that. Anyway, snoop around. Don’t start anything. Just snoop. When I get back I’m goin’ to go after this business with both hands.”

Benny said, “If you think I’m going to sit around while Sadie’s in those bastards’ hands you’re crazy. I’m going right over and split Grantham open.”

“You sucker,” Jay said. “How far will that get you? If you make it too hot you’ll ran into a belly−load of slugs. Will that help Sadie? No, there’s only one way of handling this, and that’s by taking it slow. We can’t help her now. Whatever’s happened to her or is going to happen to her we can’t stop. The cops won’t listen to you. You can’t force your way in twenty brothels and search for her. You’ve got to consider she’s dead. Do you understand? You’re not looking for her, you’re avenging her.”

He got to his feet and went to the door. “I’ve got to catch my train. Stick around, Perminger, and take it.”

Benny sat in the chair and watched him go. His hands gripped the chair−arms until his knuckles showed white. He began to swear slowly and obscenely, using words that he never spoke aloud. Then quite suddenly he put his hands over his face and began to cry.

21

June 6th, 3 p.m.

SADIE OPENED her eyes as the door swung open. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep and her dreams had been terrifying. She sat up on the bed, her hand going to her mouth and her eyes dark with fear.

Fan came in and shut the door behind her. The silk wrap that she wore outlined her full figure. There was no mistaking what she was.

Sadie caught her breath when she saw her. Her mouth was so dry that she couldn’t say anything.

“Take it easy,” Fan said, leaning against the door; “I’ve been told to have a little talk with you.”

Still Sadie couldn’t say anything. She continued to stare at her with growing horror.

Fan said crossly, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re givin’ me the heebies. Relax, sister.”

“Who are you?” Sadie managed to get out.

“What does it matter?” Fan asked, giving a hard little smile. “You worry about yourself. You’re in a spot.”

“Where am I? What does all this mean?”

Fan came over to the bed and sat down. “I’ve got to talk to you,” she said. “Don’t think I want to, but when I’m told to do anythin’ in this joint it’s easier to do it than to kick. The old cow downstairs has sent me up to scare you. Well, I ain’t goin’ to. I’m goin’ to tell you what’ll be good for you, and what you ought to do.”

Sadie said, “But tell me where I am.”

“Can’t you guess?” Fan said bitterly. “Take a look at me? What do you think I ama nun?”

Sadie felt herself go suddenly very cold. She flinched away from Fan.

“Skip it, sister,” Fan said roughly. “You don’t have to take it that way. You’re in the same boat as me. I don’t know why they’ve picked on you, but they’re goin’ to put you through it. If you take my advice you’ll do as you’re told and get off lightly.”

Sadie looked at her in horror.

“There’s a nigger who runs this house. She’s tough. Make no mistake about it. She’s had dozens of girls like you through her hands. Some of them stuck it for a hell of a long time. They wouldn’t do what she wanted.

But they did in the end. You’ll do it too. Maybe you don’t think you will, but you will.”

Sadie said, “Get me out of here. I’ll give you anything if you’ll get me out of here.”

“Skip it. No amount of that talk will help. I can’t do anythin’ for you. All I can tell you is what’ll come to you if you buck.”

Sadie controlled her nerves with a great effort. “They won’t make me do that,” she said fiercely. “They’ll have to kill me first. I won’t!”

Fan took a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. “Have one?” she said, shaking two out on the sheet.

Sadie didn’t even look at them. “If you won’t help me, then I want to see someone else,” she said. “You can’t do this sort of thing in this country and get away with it.”

Fan lit a cigarette and put the odd one back in the packet. “Don’t be a sap,” she said. “A kid like you don’t know anythin’. Listen, sister, have you ever been whipped?”

Sadie flushed hotly. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“You tell me. Have you?”

“Of course I haven’t. Why should I be?”

“Well, I have.” Fan said grimly. “And believe me it ain’t pleasant. When Carrie comes up she’ll explain what she wants done. You’ll say yes or no. If it’s yes, then you’ll be okay; if it’s noGawd help you. She’ll tie you to that bed and she’ll whip you. She’ll whip you until you say yes. Don’t think she’ll get tired of itshe won’t. She’ll whip you every hour of the day until you can’t take any more of it. And when she’s broken you you’ll be doin’ what you said no to in the first place.”

Sadie said quietly, “She can do anythin’ she likes to mebut I’ll never agree.”

Fan sighed. “It’s always the same,” she said. “My God, I’m sick of all this! She sends me up to talk you kids into being sensible, but you all say the same. You all think you’ve got enough guts to take it and in the end you give way. Why don’t you be sensible? What the hell’s the use of being bashed about, losing your nice skin, just because you ain’t got the brains to know when you’re sunk?”

Sadie shook her head. “Nothin’ you can say will make any difference,” she said.

“Carrie distrusts a dame she has had to beat into submission. She makes sure that she’ll stick when she finally gives in. There won’t be much kick−back coming from you. Can’t you see this is the one time you can’t beat the rap? You can’t get away. Carrie’s got everything the way she wants it. She won’t have any mercy on you. I’m tellin’ you. Use your nut and give in right away. It’ll be tough, but it ain’t goin’ to be the hell you’ll make for yourself if you try and stick it. I’ve said my little bit. It’s up to you. She’ll be up in a while. Think it over.” She got off the bed.

Sadie beat her to it. She darted across the room, wrenched open the door and ran into the passage. Fan grimaced. She made no attempt to intercept her.

Sadie could see a flight of stairs at the end of the passage. Blindly she ran towards them. Halfway down the stairs she became aware that someone was waiting for her at the bottom. She brought herself up with a jerk.

Carrie, her flat face expressionless, looked up at her. “Go back to your room,” she said harshly.

Sadie didn’t move. Her heart pounded against her side. She felt as if she had suddenly become involved in a horrible nightmare.

“Go back to your room,” Carrie repeated.

Sadie retreated one step up. Then, realizing that this would be her one chance of escape, she said, “You’ve got to let me godo you hear? You can’t do this to me.”

Carrie began to climb the stairs slowly. Her big mouth gaped in a grin. “Go on back,” she said. “I’m comin’

to talk to you. Look what I’ve got for you.”

Sadie saw she was holding a thin length of whalebone in her hand. She caught her breath and turned to run up the stairs. A powerfully built negro was standing at the head of the stairs, blocking her escape. He grinned at her; his thick lips seemed to split his face in half.

Paralysed with terror, Sadie turned again. Carrie was right on her. She said, “Go to your room.”

Sadie suddenly clutched her head between her hands and began to scream. Her screams resounded against the walls.

The negro ran down the few stairs and grabbed her. She nearly went mad with terror as his great damp hands closed on her.

“Get her upstairsquick!” Carrie said angrily. “She’ll disturb my people.”

The negro, grinning broadly, carried Sadie up the stairs. Her arms and legs banged against the sides of the wall as he carried her. She twisted and struggled frantically, but the grip round her arms and thighs was immovable. She continued to scream until she heard the door shut with a thud, and then she went limp.

Carrie said, “She doesn’t know anythin’ yet. Put her on the bed, Joe.”

The negro lowered her on to the bed and stood away. His face beamed. Sadie half lay, half crouched, looking at Carrie.

The mulatto stood, her big hands hanging loosely at her sides and her big eyes blazing with a curious animal expression. “My girls know how to behave themselves in this house,” she said. “You better learn.”

Sadie had lost her fear. She was nearly suffocating with rage. Her Southern blood had revolted at the touch of the negro. She said furiously, “You’ll pay for this! How dare you touch me!… How dare you touch me!”

Carrie glanced at the negro. “All right, Joe. Fix her up for me.”

The negro shuffled across the room. Sadie could see little red tints in his eyes as he came towards her. She said wildly, shrinking back on the bed, “Don’t touch me!” And then he was on her. The horrible rancid nigger smell of him sickened her, and she struck at him twice before he pinned her hands. He muttered, “She’ll sure take the hide off you for this, baby,” and twisting her arms, he turned her over on her face. His knee rammed down between her shoulders and she felt her hands being fixed to the bedposts.

Sobbing with rage, she kicked and twisted, moving the bed half across the room. One of her ankles was seized and fastened to the lower bedpost. She kicked wildly with her free leg and she felt a jar as she caught the negro in his chest. He grunted, grabbed the flaying leg and fastened that too. Then he got off the bed and looked at Carrie with a little smirk.

Sadie pulled and strained on the cords that held her, but they only bit further into her flesh. She was securely tied, face down on the bed.

Then she gave herself up for lost. No one would come at the last moment and save her from this horror.

She knew that she would not wake up to find that it had only been some strange and horrible nightmare. It was real and it was happening to her. And when the negro began to rip the clothes off her back she screamed like a terrified child.