Dale took a key off the rack and slid it across the counter. His thin, rat-like face was expressionless.
"Room 24," he said and took the pound note the girl gave him. "I'm on the same floor," Crantor said, looking at the girl out of the corner of his eye. She was drab and dull, but he was used to the ugly ones. "I'll show you the way."
The girl followed him obediently up the stairs. When they had rounded the bend and were out of sight of the desk, she said, "Have you heard from Shapiro?"
Crantor started, turned swiftly to stare at her. It was only when she slipped out the buck teeth that he recognized her.
"Lorelli! Well, I'll be damned!"
"I asked if you had heard from Shapiro?" "I've heard from him," Crantor said. He paused outside his door, pushed in the key, unlocked the door and opened it. "You'd better come in."
She followed him into the room and went over to the mirror above the fireplace. He shut the door and turned the key.
"The police nearly nabbed him," he said, taking off his damp overcoat and dropping it on the chair. "He's in a hell of a state.
Something must have gone wrong. He slipped up somewhere, but he wouldn't say where."
"The fool was followed," Lorelli said. "The police nearly caught me." She took a packet of cigarettes from her purse, lit one and blew smoke towards Crantor. "When I left Athens Street I was followed by a tall, powerfully built man. He wasn't a policeman. I'm sure of that. I couldn't shake him off. I went back to the room I had rented in Market Mews. I saw him go to a call box. I changed into this rig-out and got away over the roofs. The police came a few minutes later.
Have you any idea who he could be?"
Crantor shook his head.
"Shapiro killed a cop. He's yelling for his money. It's going to be tricky getting him out of the country."
Lorelli came over to the table and sat down.
"Where is he?"
"He has holed up in his girl's flat. Maybe you remember her: Gina Pasero? Didn't she do a job for the old man in Rome some years ago?"
Lorelli nodded.
"I remember her. She's unreliable. I didn't know she was Shapiro's girl."
"What do you mean — unreliable?" Crantor asked sharply.
"If the police connect her with Shapiro, she'll talk. Has Shapiro told her anything about you?"
Crantor stiffened.
"I don't know. He might have."
Lorelli opened her purse and took out a slip of pink paper. She pushed it across the table.
"I left my bag at Euston station," she said. "There are two things in it that will interest you. One of them is a thousand pounds in five-pound notes. I was instructed to give that sum to the man who killed Ferenci... a man, you understand, not any particular man."
Crantor stared at her. "What's the other thing then?"
"A replica of the knife you gave Shapiro."
Crantor took the slip of paper, folded it carefully and put it in his wallet.
"The police have a description of Shapiro," Lorelli went on. "He can't get away. When he is caught, he will tell them about you."
"Yes," Crantor said.
"I don't think Shapiro is much use to us," Lorelli went on, looking at Crantor. "Do you?"
"Not now," Crantor said and picked up his overcoat. He put it on. "You'd better get some sleep. Your room is across the way."
"I'll wait here until you come back," Lorelli said. "We shall have to do something about Gina Pasero too. It won't take the police long to connect her with Shapiro. Do you know where she lives?"
"No, but I will find out," Crantor said, moving to the door. He paused with his hand on the door knob. "What shall I do with the money?"
Lorelli shrugged her shoulders.
"It belongs to Shapiro," she.said.
Crantor's mutilated face lit up with a wolfish smile.
"Perhaps I'll persuade him to leave it to me in his will," he said and went out, closing the door behind him.
Chapter IV
GINA
A little after twelve o'clock the following morning, Marian came into Don's study to announce that Chief Superintendent Dicks of the Special Branch was waiting to see him.
"Dicks? What's he want?" Don asked, signing the last letter of a number that lay before him.
"He didn't confide in me, but he did say it was urgent."
"I have half a mind not to see him," Don said, pushing back his chair. "I'm fed up with the police. They had those two just where they wanted them and they calmly let them get away." He reached for a cigarette. "Any news of Julia? Have you phoned the Clinic yet?"
"Yes, just now. She is doing as well as can be expected, but she is still very ill. I'll go down after lunch and see if I can't get something less vague."
"I wish you would. I can't get her out of my mind."
"The Superintendent is waiting," Marian reminded him.
"All right, I'll see him now."
Chief Superintendent Dicks, a red-faced, jovial-looking man, was sitting comfortably in an armchair before the fire in the lounge. He was puffing placidly at his pipe; his shrewd eyes were half-closed as Don walked in. He and Don had known each other over a number of years and were old friends.
"There you are," Dicks said, looking up. "I bet you're hating the entire police force this morning."
"You're right, I am," Don said, sitting on the arm of a chair that faced the fire. "I have every reason to. The way your people let those two slip through their hands sticks in my gullet."
Dicks lifted his broad shoulders.
"We'll find them," he said. "At the moment they are lying low, but sooner or later they'll have to make a move into the open. They can't get away."
"I don't believe it," Don said irritably. "It wouldn't surprise me if they weren't already in France or Italy, laughing at you. What's the good of watching the ports and airports? You don't imagine they will go that way, do you? They've probably gone by fast motor-boat. It's easy enough and you know it."
"Fortunately for me," Dicks said, "catching them isn't my pigeon."
Don wasn't in a patient mood. He stared hard at Dicks. "Well, I can't imagine you're here to chit-chat about the weather, Super," he said. "I suppose something is your pigeon. What is it you wanted to see me about? I'm a little pressed for time."
Dicks lifted his heavy eyebrows.
"Sounds as if you're a little testy this morning, Mr Micklem," he said. "Can't say I blame you. This has been a foul-up.
We should have had them by now. The Commissioner is raising all kinds of hell. Yes, I have a reason for seeing you. I thought you would like some information about the Tortoise."
Don looked at him, his angry expression fading. "What do you know about the Tortoise? What's he to do with your department?"
"I don't know much about him, and I'm afraid he is going to have a lot to do with my department," Dicks returned, settling himself more comfortably in his chair.
Don got up and as a gesture of peace went to the liquor cabinet, fixed two big whiskies and water and gave Dicks oxig of them. Dicks took it dubiously, sniffed at it and sighed with approval. "It's a bit early for me, but perhaps it won't do any harm. Thanks, Mr Micklem."
"Tell me about the Tortoise," Don said, sitting down. "I'd give a lot to get my hands on him."
"So would we, so would the French, Italian and American police. I know our people didn't come out of this business too well," Dicks said, "but you have to shoulder some of the blame. You see, Horrocks had never heard of the Tortoise while I had. If you had told me we might have had a very different story to tell."
"I did try to tell you," Don said shortly. "You happened to be out. I know it was careless of me not to try again, but I just couldn't take it seriously."
"I'm not saying we could have saved Mr Ferenci if we had known what was happening, but at least we would have had a good try. You aren't the only one who has looked on the Tortoise as a joke. The Paris police thought he was a harmless lunatic and Renaldo Busoni lost his life."