The Herald reporter broke in violently, “Isn’t it a fact the District Attorney’s case against you has collapsed because his only two witnesses have met convenient and apparently accidental deaths?”
Maurer looked at him sorrowfully. This sonofabitch would find himself in a barrelful of cement at the bottom of the sea before he was much older, he thought, as he shook his head at him.
“Mr. Forest didn’t take me into his confidence about any of his witnesses. I know nothing about them except what I read in some newspapers this morning. I am told that a gold pencil which belonged to me was found near the swimming-pool of my dear friend June Arnot. The pencil had my finger-prints and a smear of blood on it. The blood appeared to belong to Miss Arnot’s group, and the police jumped to the conclusion that because there was no blood in the place where the pencil was found I must have murdered her. That was the flimsy evidence on which the police based their case. It so happened the previous day when I was with Miss Arnot I cut my finger and blood got on the pencil. I dropped the pencil down a drain. It so happens I am not a poor man and I have other gold pencils, so I left it down the drain.” He paused, then added with a smile that could have been a snarl, “Can I help it if my blood group and Miss Arnot’s blood group happen to be the same?”
He gave a signal and immediately the four bodyguards moved forward, shoving the reporters aside, and Maurer walked quickly down the steps and ducked into his car.
Gollowitz scrambled in after him, while the bodyguards kept the reporters from mobbing the car.
The car drove away fast.
As soon as they were clear of the gaping crowds, Maurer threw back his head and gave a short, barking laugh.
“Very funny, Abe. I wouldn’t have missed seeing that punk Forest’s face when you handled him, for all the money in town. Hell! We put it across him, didn’t we?” He slapped Gollowitz’s fat thigh. “Now I can get down to business. Listen, Abe, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to draw me up a list of all money and securities I own: every dollar; ready cash I’m talking about. I want also a list of stocks and bonds I hold, and the present market prices.”
Gollowitz gave him a quick, suspicious look.
“What’s the idea, Jack?”
“Never mind. I may be pulling out. I’ve got all the dough I want. I’m fed up with the Syndicate. If they want to run California, let them get on with it.”
“I thought you were going to take care of Ferrari,” Gollowitz said sharply.
Maurer smiled, but his eyes were like ice.
“That’s right; that was the idea. Seigel bungled it. I had an idea he might. He bungled every damn thing he touched. He was no good except with a woman; no good for anything else.”
Gollowitz looked at Maurer, his face paling.
“What happened to him?”
“Ferrari was too quick for him, that’s what happened. It was a big gamble that didn’t come off. I’ve talked to Big Joe. I explained it was nothing to do with me. He seemed amused that anyone should even try to rub Ferrari out; very amused.”
The big Cadillac swung through the open gates of Maurer’s estate and drove rapidly up the drive. In the bright morning sunshine, Gollowitz noticed a number of men moving about the grounds.
“Who are these guys?” he asked. “What are they doing here?”
“Just a precaution,” Maurer returned. “I don’t believe in taking risks. If Ferrari tries any of his tricks on me it’ll be just too bad for him.”
Gollowitz didn’t say anything, but he felt a chill run down his fat spine. Did Maurer really believe these gunmen could protect him from Ferrari if Ferrari once made up his mind to kill him, he wondered. Was he such a blind, arrogant fool?
The car pulled up outside the imposing entrance.
“Okay, Abe, get those lists for me, and be here for lunch. The yacht’s standing by. I may be leaving tonight,” Maurer said, as he heaved himself out of the car.
“Jack,” Gollowitz said huskily, “what’s going to happen to me if you go away?”
Maurer stared at him as if he wasn’t sure if he had heard aright.
“You?” he said, and frowned. “Well, I guess you’ll manage. Maybe Big Joe will find something for you. Maybe he’ll give you my job. You’re big enough to look after yourself, aren’t you?” He grinned wolfishly. “Maybe I might have an idea or two for you when you come back for lunch.”
He walked into the house, leaving Gollowitz sitting in a fat hopeless heap in the car. “
Three hard-faced gunmen lounged in the hall. They stiffened to attention when they saw Maurer.
“Stick around, you guys,” Maurer said, “and keep your eyes open.”
“Sure, boss,” one of the men said. “There won’t be no trouble.”
“There’d better not be,” Maurer grunted, and walked into the big sunny lounge.
Dolores stood by the open casement window. She looked slim and lovely in a simple black dress. There were shadows under her eyes, and she was pale.
“Hello, Jack.”
“There you are, Dolly,” Maurer said. “Get me a drink, will you?”
He joined her at the window and looked down the long terraced garden. Guards stood about on the terraces, some of them cradled rifles under their arms.
“Seigel tried to knock off Ferrari,” Maurer said, as Dolores poured a stiff highball. He sank into an armchair, his back to the window. “Ferrari stuck a knife into him. I’m taking a few precautions until Ferrari leaves town.”
Dolores didn’t say anything. She brought the drink over to Maurer and set it on a small table near him.
“Well, Dolly, this is the last drink I’ll have with you, I’m leaving town for good.”
“Are you?” she said, in a flat disinterested voice.
“Yes. I’m going to Florida,” Maurer said. “I’m kissing the Syndicate good-bye. There are a lot of opportunities for a man with my abilities, money and organization in Florida. I shall have to decide what to do with you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Dolores said, not looking at him. She moved over to the window.
“Oh, I’m not going to worry about you, Dolly,” Maurer said, and laughed. “I don’t think Abe will make you a good husband. Abe’s rather gone to pieces. I think he might meet with a little accident some time to-day. Would you be sorry?”