This Way for a Shroud

I

FERRARI pushed open the door and came into Seigel’s office. He walked over to the desk, sat down in the armchair and wriggled himself into it.

“Is he dead?” Gollowitz asked in a strangled voice.

Ferrari stared at him.

“Does the sun shine? Is the grass green? Why do you waste time on the obvious? Of course he’s dead. When I say I’ll do a thing. I do it.”

Gollowitz sank beck in his chair. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

“And they’ll think it’s an accident?”

“Yes, they will think it’s an accident,” Ferrari said. “It went just as it was planned.” He folded his claw-like hands across his flat stomach, and looked at Gollowitz with eyes that were as lifeless and as still as the eyes of a doll. “If you make a proper plan, you must succeed. He is dead, and now we must think about the girl.”

“I’m glad I sent for you,” Gollowitz said, and at the moment he meant what he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible to have done the job so easily.”

“It was only easy because I have had years of experience,” Ferrari said. “With no experience and no plan, it wouldn’t have been possible.”

“Now about the girl,” Seigel put in. “How are you going to take care of her?”

“Another accident?” Ferrari asked, looking at Gollowitz.

“Yes; that’s essential. We may have to wait a week. If she died immediately after Weiner it would look bad, wouldn’t it?”

“If we have the time, a week would be better,” Ferrari agreed.

At this moment the telephone bell rang, and Seigel picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment, then the other two saw his face tighten. He handed the

receiver to Gollowitz.

“McCann,” he said. “Sounds as if he’s blowing his top.”

Gollowitz said into the mouthpiece, “Yes, captain?”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to take Weiner?” McCann snarled, his voice blurred on the humming line. “You’ve really started something this time. Listen, that girl’s talked!”

Gollowitz raised his eyebrows. With Ferrari sitting close by, he felt comfortably safe.

“Let her talk, Captain,” he said. “I don’t care. Why should you?”

There was a slight pause, then McCann said viciously, “You crazy? I tell you she’s talked! She actually saw Maurer kill that woman. She’s ready to go on the stand and swear to it!”

“Let her go on the stand. It’s her word against Maurer’s. She’s got no corroboration. Why should we worry?”

“She doesn’t need corroboration,” McCann snarled. “She’s got proof!”

Gollowitz stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“I tell you she’s got proof! She says Maurer pulled out a handkerchief after he had killed June Arnot. A gold pencil fell out of his pocket and dropped on his bloodstained shoe. Then it rolled across the floor and went down a drain. Maurer tried to retrieve it, but he couldn’t reach it. The crazy bastard left it there! The girl saw it happen! The D.A.’s only got to get the pencil and Maurer’s sunk. It has his initials on it and his fingerprints and June Arnot’s blood. There was no blood in the changing room, so the blood must have come from him. It’s proof a jury would love. Do you still want me to stop worrying?”

Gollowitz’s face suddenly turned a greenish hue.

“Is this true?”

“How the hell do I know? It’s what she’s just told Forest. They’ll soon find out

it it’s true or not!”

Gollowitz’s brain was working fast. If this was true then Maurer was as good as in the chair.

“Where is this drain?” he asked.

“In the changing room at Dead End: the changing room to the swimmingpool.”

“What’s the D.A. doing about it?”

“Conrad and O’Brien with a photographer are going out there now.”

“Are they on their way?”

“They will be in five minutes.”

“Thanks, Captain. I’ll take care of it,” Gollowitz said, and hung up. He looked at Seigel. “Maurer dropped a gold pencil down a drain in the changing room of the swimming-pool at June Arnot’s place. It might tie him into Arnot’s murder if it is found. Three cops are going out there to get it. I want that pencil. Go and get it!”

This was something Seigel could understand. He had been worried by his failure to kill Weiner, and still more worried that Gollowitz had called in Ferrari. He felt now that he could reinstate himself by succeeding in this job.

“I’ll fix it,” he said, and went quickly from the room.

Ferrari wriggled out of the armchair and stretched his thin, short arms.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” he said. “I think better in bed.” He paused to run his finger down his bony nose. “Did Maurer kill this woman?”

Gollowitz shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not my business anyway.”

Ferrari moved about the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

“The Syndicate doesn’t like private killings.”

Gollowitz didn’t say anything.

“The Syndicate isn’t too pleased with Maurer anyway,” Ferrari said softly. “He’s getting a little too independent.”

Gollowitz felt a cold chill run up his spine, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Well, never mind,” Ferrari went on. “All that can be taken care of.” He looked sharply at Gollowitz. “Is Seigel a good man to have in this outfit?”

“He’s all right,” Gollowitz said carefully. “He slipped up on Weiner, but I’ve never had any trouble with him before.”

Ferrari nodded.

“One slip would ruin even a very good man where I come from,” he said, and walked slowly over to the door. “Still, it’s your affair.”

He went out and along the passage to the bar. He felt like a drink. He seldom drank, but after a successful killing he usually allowed himself one small whisky.

As he entered the bar he saw Dolores come in through the opposite entrance. He paused for a moment, his sunken eyes taking in her lithe, sensual beauty, then he crossed over and joined her.

She was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, and she didn’t notice Ferrari as he came up behind her. But his presence was like the presence of a snake, and she sensed him, as one senses danger, and she looked quickly round.

As she looked into the still, lifeless eyes, a chill of fear went through her.

“What are you drinking?” Ferrari asked, his head just appearing over the top of the bar. “Let me join you. Beautiful women should never be alone.”

She not only sensed the danger in him, but she also sensed his power. With any other man of his appearance she would have crushed him, but she knew at once this man couldn’t be crushed.

“I want a martini,” she said, looking away from him. “You are a stranger here, aren’t you?”

“I am Vito Ferrari.”

He watched her lose colour, and he smiled, pleased to see that she knew who he was.

“You have heard of me?”

“Yes, I have heard of you,” she returned, knowing now why she was frightened of him.

“Good.” He rapped on the bar, and the bartender, turning to glare at him quickly changed his expression and jumped forward to give service.

Ferrari climbed up on a stool, and Dolores didn’t feel quite so ridiculous now the little man was perched up so that at least his shoulders were above the bar.

Ferrari waved his glass in her direction and sipped, then he set down the glass, took out a cigarette-case and offered it to her.

She reached for the cigarette, then her hand paused as she stared down at the case. She had never seen anything like it before, and its ornate beauty fascinated her.

It was solid gold. The inside of the case was one mass of glittering diamonds, slightly larger than a pin’s head and set so closely together they formed a white mosaic of fire. Seeing her look at the case, he closed it and handed it to her. In the centre of the case was a big ruby the size of her thumb nail, and on the back of the case were his initials in emeralds.

“You like it?” he asked, watching her face, seeing her amazed expression.

“I think it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“It was given me by a Rajah for a little job I once did for him,” Ferrari said carelessly. He took the case from her, rubbed it on his sleeve and regarded it with smug satisfaction. “I have many things like this. Are you interested in diamonds?”

“Who isn’t?” she returned, looking at him with new respect. Neither Maurer nor Gollowitz for all their money had anything to touch that case. This little horror might be a dwarf, but he had power and money. It might be interesting to find out if his power were greater than Gollowitz’s.

“I have a diamond collar that would interest you,” Ferrari said. “You must see it.” He sipped his whisky while he studied her. “You are friendly with Gollowitz?”

Dolores stiffened; startled by the unexpected question.

“He’s Jack’s friend,” she returned, her voice cold. “Jack’s friends are my friends.”

“That’s very nice.” He leaned forward so his death’s-head face was close to hers. “But you shouldn’t rely on him too much.”

“I don’t rely on him at all,” Dolores said sharply.

Ferrari smiled.

“Then perhaps he is relying on you. I had the impression that one of you or both of you were relying on each other, and my impressions are never wrong.”

Dolores felt frightened. Had she and Gollowitz been so obvious? Was Seigel suspicious of them too?

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and looked away.

“And yet you strike me as an exceptionally smart woman,” Ferrari returned. “Well, never mind. So long as you don’t pin your faith on Gollowitz you won’t come to any harm.”

She felt a chill run through her. Was he warning her?

“I don’t like riddles,” she said, swinging round to face him. “Suppose I do pin my faith on Gollowitz as you put it — and I most certainly don’t — but suppose I do, what then?”

“You will be disappointed, that’s all.” He finished his whisky. “Can you keep a secret?”

She felt then he wasn’t talking idly. He had a reason for asking.

“Yes,” she returned. “I can keep a secret." “Gollowitz thinks he will take over this organization if anything should happen to your husband. I see no reason why anything should happen to your husband,

but one never knows. Gollowitz will be disappointed. He is a good lawyer, but a bad leader. So don’t pin your faith on a fading star.”

Dolores stared at him. So he had guessed she was preparing a back door. But this information he had just given her was so valuable that she forgot to feel frightened.

“You would know, of course?”

Ferrari smiled.

“I would know.”

“You would know, too, who will take over the organization?”

Ferrari nodded.

“I should know.” He patted himself on his chest, looked at her and smiled. “I don’t say anything will happen to your husband, but if something did happen, would you mind very much?”

She realized this wasn’t the time to conceal her cards.

She shook her head.

“Not very much.”

Ferrari nodded.

“It’s time I had someone to take care of my leisure moments,” he said. “I’ve been looking around. There are plenty of good-looking women in this town, but I only want the best, and I’m in no immediate hurry. I can wait.” He slid off the stool. “Would you be interested to see the diamond collar? I have it in my room upstairs. You might like to try it on. One of these days you might even own it.”

She sat motionless, staring at him. She knew there would be more to it than trying on a diamond collar.

“And at the same time I could satisfy myself that what I’m now looking at is gold and not brass,” Ferrari went on, confirming her suspicions. “You don’t have to come up unless you want to. You are following what I’m saying, or do I still speak in riddles?”

Dolores struggled with a sense of revulsion. To let a little horror like this touch her, and yet was he any worse than fat, oily Gollowitz?

She didn’t struggle for long.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said, and gave him a long stare from her big exciting eyes. “You won’t be disappointed. Where’s your room? I still have to be careful. I’ll come up in a few minutes.”

II

Conrad pushed open the door of the changing room and groped for the light switch. He could hear O’Brien’s heavy breathing just behind him.

“Where the hell’s the switch?” he asked, still groping.

O’Brien turned on a flash-light and swung the big beam around the room.

“Bit more to your left.”

Conrad turned on the lights and walked into the luxuriously furnished room. Facing him were the shower cabinets, each equipped with a fitted wardrobe, a chair and a shower. In one of these cabinets, he thought, Frances had hidden and had watched Maurer wash his blood-stained hands.

Mallory, a police photographer, came in and set up his camera. He looked inquiringly at O’Brien who was examining the floor.

“This must be it, Paul,” O’Brien said, and pointed to a brass grill that covered a six-inch-square hole in the floor.

Conrad joined him, and O’Brien directed the beam of his flash-light down into the drain. The light picked out a mass of dry leaves that lay at the bottom of the drain.

“I wonder where they came from?” Conrad said. “Must have been washed in from an outside vent. Doesn’t look as if any water’s passed through the drain for some time. If the pencil is down there, it should be dry, and the blood won’t have been washed off.”

O’Brien examined the grill covering the drain.

“Cemented in. No wonder Maurer couldn’t retrieve his pencil. Did you bring the tools, Mallory?”

“I dumped them just outside. I’ll get them.”

Conrad sat back on his heels and lit a cigarette.

“If the pencil’s down there, we’ve got him,” he said quietly. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been after that thug for years.”

“You haven’t got him yet,” O’Brien reminded him. “Don’t be too hopeful.”

“Sergeant…!”

The sharp note in Mallory’s voice made both men straighten up.

“There’s someone outside.”

Mallory was standing in the doorway of the changing room, silhouetted against the light. Even as he spoke there came a crash of gunfire and he staggered back, holding his arm.

With a muttered oath O’Brien jumped forward and flicked up the light switch, plunging the changing room into darkness.

“You hurt?” he asked, pulling Mallory away from the door.

“Got it in the arm,” Mallory said, and sat down abruptly on the floor.

Conrad had gone over to the door, and keeping well back, he peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see any tiling.

O’Brien joined him.

“Maurer’s mob,” Conrad said, and groped in his hip pocket for his gun. “There’s a telephone somewhere around, Tom. Better get some boys up here.”

O’Brien grunted and closed the door.

“Watch out how you use the light,” Conrad went on. “I think I spotted the telephone standing on a table to your left.”

O’Brien snapped on his flash-light and located the telephone. Out in the darkness a riot gun started up. The black of the night was split by yellow flashes. Lead smashed a window and scattered a shower of glass that whizzed over Conrad’s and O’Brien’s ducking heads. Plaster came down from the opposite wall, filling the room with dust.

“Hell!” O’Brien muttered, flattened out and began a slow crawl across the room to the telephone.

Conrad aimed at where the flashes had come from and fired a probing shot into the darkness.

Automatics cracked; pencil points of flame appeared in a semicircle, bullets hummed through the smashed window and thudded into the opposite walls.

“There’s quite a bunch of them out there,” Conrad said. “Get moving, Tom!”

O’Brien had got the telephone down on the floor. Conrad could hear him dialling.

“It’ll take them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get out here unless there’s a prowl car near by. If these punks rush us…”

Conrad crawled over to where Mallory was sitting.

“You bleeding?”

“A little. It’s okay. Just nicked me. I wish I had a gun.”

Conrad caught a movement at the window. He swivelled round, his arm coming up. He fired as a shadowy figure moved away. He heard the thunk of lead against bone, and then the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

“Well, that’s one of them,” he said grimly.

The still night was made hideous by machine-gun fire. Plaster came down on top of him as he hurriedly flattened out on the ground. Slugs sprayed against the opposite wall: glass and wood splinters joined company with ricochetting bullets.

“Like Tunisia all over again,” Mallory muttered as he flattened out beside Conrad. He never let a chance go by of reminding anyone of his war service.

“Got headquarters yet?” Conrad called over to O’Brien.

“Just about. The goddamn phone’s gone dead, but I got through in time.”

“Let’s get over to the door. We’ve got to stop them rushing us.”

Conrad crawled to the splintered door and peered cautiously into the darkness. On the far side of the pool he caught sight of a man running along the tiled walk. O’Brien took a snap shot at him, and the man disappeared into the shadows with a yelp of pain.

“We’re not bad, are we?” Conrad said, and grinned. “That’s two in the bag.”

“I’m going to make a grab for the tools,” O’Brien said. “We’ve got to get that pencil.”

“Watch it,” Conrad cautioned. “Better wait.”

O’Brien crawled forward, ignoring Conrad’s warning. He got his head and shoulders beyond the doorposts and his hand had hold of the tool-case when a burst of automatic rifle fire made him duck down. Bullets whizzed over his head. He began to move back cautiously.

“I’ve got it.” He looked back into the darkness. “Here, Mallory, see if you can get the drain cover off.”

More machine-gun fire started up and for a long moment the three men lay pressing themselves into the floor as a hail of lead tore down more plaster and pulverized the walls.

“Look out!” Conrad snapped as he raised his head. He had seen two men come running along the tiled walk, guns in hand.

Both O’Brien and Conrad fired at them. One of them swerved and fell into the pool. The other tossed his gun high into the air, took two staggering steps and fell flat on his face.

“That’s three up,” Conrad said. “I’ve only four more slugs left. What have you got?”

“I’ve a couple of spare clips,” O’Brien said. “You hold your fire and let me take care of this.”

He crawled nearer to the door.

Mallory said “I’ve got it! The sonofabitch didn’t want to come, but it’s come.”

“See if you can find the pencil. Careful how you handle it,” Conrad said, watching O’Brien. “Don’t let them see you, Tom.”

O’Brien fired out into the darkness, cursed under his breath and fired again.

Two machine-guns opened up on him. In the brilliant flashes Conrad saw him suddenly lifted off the ground and swept backwards as if riding a giant wave.

“Get his gun and guard the door,” Conrad said and crawled over to O’Brien. He bent over him trying to see in the darkness. “Tom! Are you hurt?” He knew it was a stupid question. O’Brien had caught the full blast of the machine-guns.

Conrad pulled out his flash-light and shielding it with his coat, he turned it on.

O’Brien looked up at him in the dim light, his face, the colour of putty, was twisted in agony.

“It wasn’t an accident, Paul,” he gasped, struggled to say something else and then choked blood.

Conrad lifted his head.

“Take it easy, Tom. Don’t try and talk.”

O’Brien struggled, clutching hold of Conrad’s arm.

“Ferrari… my kid…” He managed to get out, then his eyes rolled back and he slumped against Conrad.

Conrad touched the artery in his neck, shook his head and lowered him to the floor. He turned quickly as Mallory started firing.

He was in time to see three men coming along the tiled walk, bent double and running. Mallory hit one. The other two opened up with riot guns.

Conrad fired over Mallory’s ducking head and saw the second man pitch into the pool. The remaining man rushed forward, spraying lead in front of him, sending a creeping carpet of death towards the open doorway.

Conrad wriggled back, dragging Mallory with him. For a long moment of time, they huddled against the wall while slugs sang around the room.

Then more guns started up on the far side of the pool: sharp reports of revolvers, and then the yammering sound of a Thompson.

The man firing into the changing room stopped firing. Conrad was in time to see him bolt back the way he had come.

Gunfire raved and crashed outside.

“Sounds like our boys have arrived,” Conrad said shakily. He went cautiously to the door. As he looked out into the darkness the gunfire suddenly ceased and a silence fell over the pool that could almost be felt.

Out of the darkness came the burly figure of Sam Bardin.

“Paul?”

“Right here.” Conrad came out into the open. “Phew! That was quite a battle.”

“Got the pencil?”

“I haven’t had time to ask. Poor Tom bought it.”

“He did? That’s tough.” Bardin turned on his flashlight and swung the beam around the ruined changing room. “They certainly made a hash of this. There’re five of Maurer’s mob outside, deader than mackerel. Two others got away.”

“Find that pencil?” Conrad asked Mallory.

“Sure,” Mallory said. “I’ve got the sonofabitch,” and he waved the gold pencil above his head.

III

A black Cadillac swung into the narrow lane that ran alongside the east wall of the Paradise Club and drove fast down the lane to the gates that guarded the rear entrance to the club.

The driver slowed down, flicked his lights off and on: twice fast, twice slow, and then sent the car forward as the guard opened the gates.

The guard stepped up to the car and peered at the driver. He caught his breath in a gasp of surprise, stiffened to attention and saluted.

The Cadillac moved on up the circular road and pulled up outside the rear entrance to the club.

A short, thick-set man got out of the car, looked uneasily to right and left, then walked up the steps and rapped on the door.

The guard who opened the door gaped, and his florid face changed colour.

“Why, Mr. Maurer…” he gasped.

“Shut your goddamn trap!” Maurer snarled. “Where’s Gollowitz?”

“In Mr. Seigel’s office,” the guard said, stepping back hurriedly.

Maurer’s swarthy face was tight with rage, and there was a bleak murderous expression in his eyes.

He walked down the passage, paused for a moment outside Seigel’s office, his head bent to listen. A murmur of voices came through the door panel, and Maurer’s face tightened. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The office was full of tobacco smoke. Seated near the desk in a semi-circle were Seigel, McCann and Ferrari. Gollowitz sat behind the desk, a cigar in his fat white fingers.

The four men looked around sharply as Maurer came in. The only one who didn’t react to his sudden appearance was Ferrari. The other three stared at him as if they were seeing a ghost.

“Why, Jack…” Gollowitz gasped, his face going white. “For God’s sake, Jack… !”

Maurer came in and shut the door. His right hand was buried deep in his bulging coat pocket. He stood looking at the four men, his little eyes insane with rage.

“What’s he doing here?” he snarled, pointing at Ferrari.

“Jack! You — you can’t come back here!” Gollowitz said, getting unsteadily to

his feet. “Did anyone see you? Don’t you know there’s a warrant out for your arrest?”

“What’s he doing here?” Maurer repeated, his voice deadly.

“He — he’s come to take care of the girl — the Coleman girl,” Gollowitz spluttered.

“Did you send for him?” Maurer asked.

“The Syndicate thought…”

“—the Syndicate! Did you send for him?”

“What else could I do?” Gollowitz wailed. He had a horrible feeling that Maurer was going to shoot him. “We had to get Weiner and the girl. He was the only one who could get at them!”

Maurer glared at Gollowitz, his mouth working.

“You goddamn fool! Couldn’t you handle a little thing like that without calling in outside help?”

“It wasn’t possible.”

McCann said quietly, “Take it easy, Mr. Maurer. You shouldn’t have come back. Every cop in town’s on the look-out for you. Forest has cooked up a castiron case against you.”

“Yeah,” Maurer snarled, “thanks to the bungling way you three have handled it.” He didn’t include Ferrari in the wave of his hand. “I’ve come back to handle it myself! For the first time in fifteen years there’s a warrant out for me! The first time in fifteen years! That’s what happens when I take my hand off the helm!”

“We did what we could,” Gollowitz said earnestly. He felt the danger was receding. “We got Weiner. Now we’re going to get the girl. It’ll be okay, Jack, only you must keep out of this.”

“I’m not keeping out of it,” Maurer said, and walked to the desk.

Gollowitz hurriedly stepped away, and Maurer took his place behind the desk. He sat down.

Gollowitz pulled up a chair and took his place with the others. Sweat beads covered his forehead. He was sick with frustrated rage and fear. To be suddenly shoved aside to lose his authority in a few seconds, to be deprived of his position which he had believed to be unassailable for a long time, was a devastating blow to his pride.

Ferrari caught Maurer’s eye. The two men looked at each other. Seigel, an interested spectator, was startled to see what could have been uneasy fear in Maurer’s eyes. Ferrari was completely unruffled and indifferent.

“Hello, Maurer,” he said softly.

Maurer shifted his eyes away.

“Hello, Ferrari.”

“Big Joe sends his love,” Ferrari said, and smiled.

Maurer nodded. He knew how dangerous Ferrari was, and he was dismayed to find him here. He had to make an effort to get a grip on the situation.

“What the hell have you three been playing at?” he demanded. “Why haven’t you got rid of the girl? It’s three weeks since I’ve been away. She should have been hit days ago.”

“Not so easy,” Seigel said. “We don’t know where she is, for a start.”

“You knew where she was!” Maurer snarled. “Why didn’t you hit her then?”

“We took Weiner first,” Gollowitz said quickly. “He was the easiest.”

“The easiest! Don’t you realize she is the dangerous one? With her out of the way Weiner’s evidence wouldn’t have amounted to a thing! You should have taken her first!”

Gollowitz had long ago realized his mistake of killing Weiner instead of Frances, and it bothered him that Maurer had so quickly spotted the weakness of his strategy.

“You know she’s talked?” McCann said. “She claims to have seen you knock off the Arnot woman. That’s why there’s a warrant out for you.”

Maurer’s face turned a dusky red.

“Then she’s lying! I didn’t touch June!”

“They have pretty solid evidence,” McCann said slowly.

“Enough to convince any jury.”

Maurer looked at Gollowitz.

“What evidence?”

Gollowitz told him of Frances’s statement and about the gold pencil.

“We tried to get the pencil,” he concluded, “but they beat us to it.”

Maurer stiffened.

“What do you mean — beat you to it?”

“Seigel went out there with a bunch of boys and surprised Conrad and a couple of coppers who were digging up the pencil. There was a gun fight, and before Seigel could clinch it, a bunch of cops took them in the rear. We lost five of our boys.”

Maurer looked as if he were going to burst with fury.

“Was that one of your stunts?” he snarled, leaning across the desk and glaring at Gollowitz. “You crazy fool! You should have left it alone. I knew about that pencil. I had a story to cover it. Five of our men killed! You must be out of your head!”

Gollowitz dropped back in his chair, his face ashen. He felt Ferrari’s eyes on him, and in a moment of sick despair he realized that the story of his failure would get back to the Syndicate.

“You not only throw lives away, but you underline the importance of the pencil,” Maurer went on. “I dropped that pencil down the drain two days before June was killed.”

“But there was her blood on it,” McCann said sharply.

Maurer’s little eyes gleamed.

“It was my blood. I cut my hand on a bottle. The blood smeared the pencil and as I was wiping it clean it dropped out of my hand and fell down the drain.”

“That won’t do,” McCann said curtly. “Sorry, Mr. Maurer, but it won’t do. The blood on the pencil belongs to Miss Arnot’s blood group, and it happens to be a fairly rare group at that.”

Maurer jutted out his chin.

“What group is it?”

“B group.”

“Would it surprise you if I told you I’m also in B group? I had a Wasserman a few years ago, and I was told I was in B group. How do you like that?” He swung around and glared at Gollowitz. “If you hadn’t tried to be so goddamn tough, this would have been a soft touch if it ever came to a trial.”

Gollowitz wiped his face. He looked suddenly old and very tired.

“I didn’t know.”

Maurer looked at him contemptuously, then turned away with a shrug of his shoulder.

“Where’s the girl?” he asked McCann.

“I wish I knew,” McCann returned. “Forest has hidden her somewhere, and no one knows where.”

“Don’t you?” Maurer snarled. “Goddamn it! You’re still Captain of Police, aren’t you?”

“No one knows except the D.A., Conrad and twenty of my best men, who are guarding the girl. Conrad took her away the night Weiner died. Forest tells me no one but his office is to know where she is until the trial.” Maurer clenched his fist and thumped on the desk. “We’ve got to find her and wipe her out!” He looked over at Seigel. “That’s your job! I want to know where she is the day after tomorrow. Understand? If you slip up on this I’ll damn well see you don’t slip up on anything else!”

Seigel started to protest, but the murderous gleam in Maurer’s eyes stopped him. He turned white and glanced over at Gollowitz, appealing to him for help, but Gollowitz had all the trouble he could handle and he didn’t even look at Seigel.

“Okay,” Maurer said, and stood up. “There’s nothing more we can do until Seigel reports where she is. We’ll meet here the day after tomorrow at eleven o’clock and decide on a plan to hit this girl.”

“You won’t find her,” McCann said shortly, as he got to his feet. “I knew how important it was not to lose sight of her, and I’ve been searching for her. She’s vanished. If you ask me, they’ve got her out of town.”

“Seigel will find her,” Maurer said grimly. “He damn well better find her!”

McCann shrugged and moved over to the door.

“Watch yourself, Mr. Maurer. This town’s hotter than a red-hot stove for you, and if one of my men pick you up, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Maurer said curtly. “I can take care of myself.”

Seigel, looking white and shaken, followed McCann out of the room.

Ferrari continued to sit in his armchair. He stroked his bony nose and watched Maurer with alert interest.

“Okay, Ferrari,” Maurer said, softening his tone slightly. “Much obliged for taking care of Weiner. I can handle the girl. You can get back to New York.” He looked over at Gollowitz. “Have you paid him?”

Gollowitz nodded.

“Well, so long, Ferrari. Remember me to Big Joe.”

Ferrari got out of the armchair, stretched his short arms, took a couple of steps towards the door, then paused.

“I guess I’ll stick around for a couple of days,” he said. “You might need me. You never know.”

“I won’t need you,” Maurer said, trying to speak quietly.

“You never know,” Ferrari repeated. “Big Joe said I was to see this thing through. If you want me to get out, maybe you’d better have a word with him first.”

Maurer glared at Ferrari. Their eyes locked, and Maurer’s was the first to give ground.

“Well, okay, if you want to waste your time,” Maurer said indifferently. “But I don’t need you to handle this. Please yourself what you do.”

“I’ll stick,” Ferrari said, smiled, and went silently out of the room.

Maurer turned and looked at Gollowitz.

“Pleased with yourself, Abe?” he asked softly. “Are you happy you’ve got that little snake into my organization? How have you liked being the boss around here? Think you’ve done well?”

Gollowitz didn’t say anything. He sat staring down at the carpet, his face slack, his hands twitching in his lap.

“Do you imagine the Syndicate thinks much of you?” Maurer went on in the same deadly quiet voice. “An idiot child couldn’t have done worse. Everything you’ve touched up to now has been bungled. Everything! I know you’ve been hoping to take over the organization. I know you’ve been planning to take Dolores too. Do you think I’m not on to you? You couldn’t take over a flea circus let alone a set-up like this, and as for Dolores, you can have her if you want her. I’m through with her!” He leaned forward and suddenly raised his voice. “Why, you stupid, spineless, yellow-gutted punk! You make me sick to look at you. Get out of my sight!”

Gollowitz got up. He walked slowly to the door. His feet dragged and his shoulders drooped like those of a man carrying an impossible weight. He went out and shut the door.

Maurer sat down abruptly. He knew the danger he was in. If he didn’t handle this right, the Syndicate would decide he must go. He wasn’t ready to go just yet. He knew why Ferrari was staying in town. He was waiting for orders.

For the first time in his vicious, ruthless career, Maurer felt afraid.

IV

It wasn’t until the afternoon of the following day that Seigel thought of Janey Conrad.

He had feverishly organized a search for Frances when he had realized Maurer would show him no mercy if he failed to locate her. He had sent out every available man to tap the underworld for news of her, but so far he had drawn a blank.

He was getting desperate when he remembered Janey Conrad. Immediately he cursed himself for being such a fool as not to have thought of her before.

He hadn’t seen Janey now for two weeks. He had found her charms a little disappointing. She hadn’t lived up to her promising looks. Seigel had a high standard, and besides, there were any amount of pretty girls who were more than willing to accommodate him. He could afford to be choosy, and when he found that Janey wouldn’t tolerate some of his finer points of technique, he came to the conclusion that she wasn’t worth his time or his money.

It was possible, he now reasoned, that Conrad had told her where Frances was, or at least let her know where she could get into touch with him, and he regretted having dropped her so quickly.

He decided it wouldn’t be safe to call on her until it was dark, and he hoped she would be in. He had an idea that if he telephoned her he would get a rebuff, and he preferred not to warn her he intended to see her that night.

To make certain he didn’t lose touch with her, he detailed one of his men to watch the house, and when darkness came, he was relieved to learn she was at home.

He left his car at the end of the street and walked down to the house. It was a dark night, with a hint of rain in the air, and he passed no one on the way.

There was a light on in one of the upstairs rooms, but the rest of the house was in darkness.

His man had reported that the coloured maid had left about half an hour ago, and Seigel was satisfied that Janey was in the house alone.

He dug his thumb into the bell-push and waited.

After a delay, he heard her running down the stairs, then the front door opened and she was staring up at him.

She was wearing a yellow silk wrap, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. She looked pretty and desirable, but she raised no desire in Seigel.

“Hello, baby,” he said, and stepped forward, riding her back into the hall, closing the front door with his foot.

Janey’s eyes flashed angrily as she recognized him.

“You can’t come in here! Have you gone crazy?”

“Why not? you’re alone, aren’t you? I’ve been lonely for you, baby.”

“You must go at once!”

“That’s a nice way to talk to me,” he said, smiling at her, turning on a charm that had never failed him as yet. “Don’t be that way. It’s all right. No one saw me come in.”

“It isn’t all right.”

He side-stepped her and walked into the sitting-room, switching on the lights.

“Gee! This is nice. How do you like being left all alone? Weren’t you lonesome for me?”

Janey followed him in. She was flustered and angry.

“If Paul came back…”

“Why should he?” Seigel dropped into an armchair and smiled up at her. “Relax. He’s gone away, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he might come back. You can’t stay here, Louis.”

He reached up and caught her hand.

“Where is he then?” he asked, pulling her towards him. She struggled for a moment, then reluctantly let him draw her down on to his knees. “That’s better,” he went on. “Gee! I’ve missed you. Haven’t you missed me?”

“Well, I have. You might have… Why haven’t I seen you before this?” Janey asked angrily.

Seigel laughed.

“I bet you thought I’d thrown you over. You did, didn’t you?”

“What if I did?” Janey snapped, sitting bolt upright on his knees. “Do you think I care? There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

“That’s right, so there are.” He ran his finger down her spine, and grinned as she shivered in ecstasy, pulling away from him.

“Don’t do that!”

“I’ll do something more than that in a moment.”

“You won’t!” She got off his lap. “You must go.”

“Okay, but you’re coming with me. I have my car at the end of the street. We’ll go to Hank’s Bar and have a sea-food dinner and champagne.”

“No.”

But there was no conviction in her voice.

“Go and put on your prettiest dress. I’ll wait here.”

“I don’t think I should.”

He got up.

“Do you want me to carry you upstairs?”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind!”

“That’s fighting talk, baby.”

He swept her off her feet, holding her against him as she struggled and kicked.

“Let me down this minute!”

“We’re going upstairs.”

He carried her into the hall and started up the stairs.

“Louis! You’re not to! I’ll get angry. You must put me down!”

“All in good time.”

He reached the head of the stairs, spotted a light coming under a door, pushed the door open with his foot and walked into a big, airy bedroom with twin beds, one of which was cluttered up with dresses, coats and underwear.

He set her down, his arm still around her, holding her against him.

“You get out of here!” Janey said angrily. “I’m not standing any more of this nonsense!”

Seigel had trouble in keeping his temper. He never allowed his women to talk to him like this, but he decided it was too soon to get tough with her.

“I must always keep you angry, baby,” he said softly. “You look even prettier when your eyes flash like that.”

Janey softened a little. She never could resist a compliment.

“Now, please, Louis, go downstairs. If Paul comes back…”

Seigel sat on the bed.

“Where is he?”

“That’s none of your business. Now run along and wait for me downstairs.”

“Don’t you know, then?”

“Of course I know, but it’s none of your business.”

Seigel grinned.

“Seriously, is he likely to come back tonight?”

“I don’t suppose he is, but I’m not taking any chances. Now please go downstairs.”

He got up and went over to her, putting his arms round her.

“Kiss me, Janey.”

She hesitated, then lifted her face to his. He crushed his mouth down on hers, and for a long moment he held her like that, his body hard against hers, his arms tight in the small of her back.

She tried to resist him, but he held her easily, and slowly he felt the resistance go out of her.

“Oh, Louis…” she sighed, leaning against him.

He manoeuvred her over to the bed, and she shook her head, but the resistance had gone completely out of her. She lay flat on her back, looking up at him, her eyes cloudy, her face flushed. “We shouldn’t…”

“Where is he, Janey?” he asked, bending over her.

“Where is who?” she asked, frowning.

“Your husband. Where is he?”

The cloudy look went out of her eyes.

“Why are you so interested?” Then she sat up abruptly, pushing him away. “Of course! What a fool I am! Of course!”

He eyed her warily.

“Of course — what?”

“So that’s why you’re suddenly interested in me again,” she said, her eyes furious. “You want to know where that Coleman woman is, don’t you? Of course! Paul said you were one of Maurer’s thugs. What a stupid fool I’ve been!” She jumped to her feet. “Get out! Get out before I call the police!”

Seigel grinned at her. His smooth charm had gone, and the cold, ferocious expression in his eyes frightened her.

“Take it easy, baby,” he said softly. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish. You know where he is, and you’re going to tell me, or I’ll damn well beat it out of you! Where is he?”

Janey backed away, quaking.

“I don’t know. Get out!”

Seigel stood up.

As Janey opened her mouth to scream he crossed over to her with two quick strides and hit her across her face with his open hand so heavily that she went down on hands and knees, momentarily stunned.

He bent over her, dragged her upright and holding her by her elbows he shook her, rocketing her head backwards and forwards. Then he gave her a violent shove that sent her reeling across the room to fall flat on the bed. She lay gasping, feeling as if she had been caught by the blast of a bomb.

He went over to her, knelt on the bed, caught her wrist and turned her over on her face. He twisted her arm, driving it up and screwing her wrist as he did so.

She screamed frantically, but his left hand pushed her face into the bedclothes, drowning her scream.

“Where is he?”

Janey wasn’t cut out for a heroine. The pain in her arm made her feel faint. She began to cry.

He wrenched her arm back again.

“No! Don’t! I’ll tell you!” Janey screamed.

“Well, come on, damn you! Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I’ve got his telephone number,” Janey sobbed.

He turned her and stared down at her white stricken face.

“What is it?”

“Barwood 99780.”

“If you’re lying it’ll be the last lie you tell, baby!”

“Leave me alone,” she sobbed. “Oh, you’ve hurt me, you beast!”

“We’ll go downstairs and you’ll call that number. You’ll talk to him. Tell him you’re lonely: tell him anything so long as I know for sure he’s there.”

“I’ll do it,” Janey gasped, so eagerly Seigel knew at once she had been telling the truth.

“Come on,” he snarled, jerking her to her feet.

She staggered across the room to the door, holding her aching arm. He followed her along the short passage to the head of the long flight of stairs. He was just behind her as she put her hand on the banister rail, and he braced himself as she groped for the first stair. Then he lifted his foot, aiming at the small of her back, and drove his leg forward with all his strength.

The flat of his foot hit her like a battering-ram, projecting her violently into space. Her wild, terrified scream as she hurtled down the stairs, set his nerves on edge.

Her body twisted around as she fell, and he caught a glimpse of her terrified eyes and wide open mouth before she crashed to the floor below, landing on the back of her head with a thud that shook the house.