He felt the gun being lifted from his pocket. Nick slid it across the table towards Max, who put his hand on it.
“I want to tell you exactly how it happened,” George said. “It’ll take a little time, but it’s important.”
Emily shrugged. “Take as long as you like,” she said indifferently. “It’ll probably be the last time you’ll talk to anyone.
George considered this. He found it strange that he was unmoved. He knew they were killers, but he was so tired and sad that nothing really mattered any more.
It was a relief to tell them about it. It was extraordinary how easy it was to tell once he started. He began by explaining about his parents.
“You see,” he said, folding his hands on the table and looking at the woman’s hard, fat face, “no one ever bothered with me when I was a kid. My parents were on the stage. They didn’t want a child. I used to envy them. They had their names in the newspapers and on hoardings. I wonder if you can understand why I pretended to be someone quite different from what I really am? It was foolish, but I wanted so badly to be someone… to impress people.”
The woman nodded, understanding. She thought sadly of her son, Crispin. He also had wanted to impress people. “Go on,” she said, “I understand that part of it.”
“When I told Sydney about the gun he changed towards me. I know why now. I was just the fool he was looking for, but I didn’t know then. It wasn’t until after I shot Crispin that I knew.”
They all stiffened when he said that. Nick reached forward and seized him by the back of his neck, but Max struck his hand away.
“Wait,” he said.
“So you did shoot him” Emily said, her eyes snapping.
“Oh yes,” George returned, “it was an accident, but I shot him all right. It’s something I’ll never forgive myself for.”
He told them about Cora.
“I don’t understand women,” he explained. “I’ve never had anything to do with them. It all happened so quickly. She rather swept me off my feet. I’ve been very stupid, I’m afraid.”
He went on, explaining every detail, showing them the gun. He explained how Sydney had fixed the trigger and had stolen the cartridge. He pulled out the magazine and demonstrated how easily the gun fired. He told them how careful he had always been never to put a cartridge into the breech.
“I was afraid of accidents,” he said, “but they loaded the gun without telling me. You see, they were determined to make me a murderer.”
The woman and the Hebrew sat listening, their faces intent. The two Greeks wanted to have done with it. George could feel their restlessness. He knew they were not interested in what he had to say. He sensed that they were planning how to get rid of his body when they had finished him.
He told them about the whip and the visit to the cottage.
“I don’t really know how it happened. She gave me the gun. I heard her slip hack the safety catch, but it all happened so quickly that I had no chance to do anything As soon as I touched the trigger, the gun went off.”
Max blew his nose.
“I don’t think there’s anything else to tell you,” George went on, leaning back in his chair, suddenly tired. “A lot has happened to me since then, but I won’t bother you with that. I don’t know what you want to do with me, but I know what I want you to do with her.”
They looked at him "What do you want us to do with her?” Emily asked softly. “I want justice,” George said simply.
“Sydney’s gone,” Max said, looking down at his veined hands. “No one can touch one of us without paying the price. Crispin was one of us, you know.”
Emily touched his arm. Her eyes reached George’s face. “Where is she?”
George told her.
She got to her feet. “We’ll go and see her.”
“What about him?” Nick said, speaking for the first time.
“He’ll come with us.”
“It would be better…” Nick began, but Emily shook her head.
“He’ll come with us,” she repeated.
She went over to the desk and put on a light coat.
“Get a taxi,” she said.
Max changed his white coat for a black one, put on his bowler hat and picked up an umbrella.
“It’s raining,” he said gloomily
While Poncho went for a taxi, Nick stood over George, threatening him with the razor. Somehow George felt no fear. He was hollow, without feeling, disinterested.
They waited, while the rain fell outside, and the sound of distant traffic vibrated the big windows.
A taxi drew up outside.
“All right,” Emily said, picking up the Luger and putting it into her bag.
George stood up. “If you please…” he began and stopped.
They looked at him
“It’s my cat,” he said. “Could he be buried?”
Max nodded. “We’ll bury him,” he said, almost kindly.
George touched the bundle. He didn’t want to leave Leo like this, wrapped in a soiled bath-towel on a bar counter. Leo deserved something better than this, but there were other things to do. Besides, George was tired. He had no idea where to bury Leo. Cora must have felt the same way about Sydney. It was better, perhaps, to leave the cat in the hands of strangers.
A clock was striking eleven as they got into the taxi. Max and Emily sat on the turn-up seats. George, between the two Greeks, sat opposite them.
It did not take them long to reach Old Burlington Street.
“Shall I tell him to wait?” Max asked.
“We’ll be some time,” Emily said, “better not.”
They watched the taxi drive away, and then they walked into the building and up the stairs.
George went first, then Nick, then Emily, then Max, clutching his umbrella, and finally Poncho. They were quiet. The soft scraping of their shoes on the coconut matting sounded like the scamper of rats.
George paused outside the flat door.
“This is it,” he said. “Shall I ring the bell?”
Nick pushed him aside, looked at the lock, took something from his pocket, and a moment later there was a soft click as the door opened. The light was on in the lobby, and a door opposite was ajar. There was a light on in the room.
Emily touched George’s arm and motioned him forward. He shook his head, but again she pushed him. So he went into the room, leaving the others outside in the lobby.
The room was large and well furnished. Cora was sitting in an armchair A cigarette dangled from her thin mouth. She was still wearing the white silk-and-wool sweater and wine-coloured slacks. There was a scraped-bone look on her face, but her lips were twisted in a humourless smile. She was holding a packet of pound notes in her hand, counting them with rapt concentration.
George stopped just inside the doorway, looking at her. Her fingers ceased moving and she raised her head, fear jumping into her eyes. When she saw who it was, her mouth tightened.
“Get out!” she said, folding the notes quickly and slipping them into her pocket.
George continued to stare at her.
“Get out!” she repeated, her eyes wary. “We’re quits, aren’t we? Don’t stand there looking at me. I’m not frightened of you.”
What’s the matter with me? George asked himself. Why am I feeling like this? I’m not still in love with her. I hate her.
“I wouldn’t have done this if you’d let Leo alone,” he said in a small voice. “Animals are so helpless. I suppose that’s why I like them.”
She got to her feet, an ugly expression in her slate-grey eyes. “What are you drivelling about?”
“I want you to know why I’ve done this.”
“Done what?” she asked sharply.
“You see, you might do an awful lot of harm if you were allowed to go on and on. It’s got to stop, Cora. I can’t trust you any more,” and he turned to the door and threw it open. “Will you come in, please?”