“I don’t want to make myself objectionable, Miss Dorman, but I assure you it is to your advantage to hear what I have to say. I have some interesting information for you.”
The big green eyes swept over him, taking in his soiled creased suit, the three large grease stains on his tie, and the swollen, bloodshot eye the hat brim didn’t quite conceal.
“What information?”
“It’s about your brother.”
She hesitated, then, stepping aside, motioned him to come in.
Sweeting entered the hall happily. He followed her into a big, luxuriously furnished sitting-room that immediately told him she had much more money than he had imagined. It was possible, he thought as he looked around, that she was the mistress of some wealthy man. But that wasn’t his affair. The point was she was living in style and must have money.
He took off his hat and settled himself in the most comfortable chair in the room, holding Leo on his lap.
“You’ll excuse my eye. I had an unfortunate accident,” he said. “Are you fond of dogs, Miss Dorman? This little fellow is a remarkable specimen.” He gently stroked Leo’s silky coat. “Such a companion. Do you have a dog?”
Gilda stood facing him. Her face hard.
“What do you want?” she said curtly. “What have you got to tell me?”
Sweeting lifted his shoulders.
“Would it be inexcusable of me if I asked for a whisky and soda?” he asked hopefully.
“You’re getting nothing here!” Gilda snapped. “What have you to tell me?”
Sweeting’s fat face hardened. There was no reason to be polite to women unless they were exceptionally polite to him. When dealing with men he had to be more careful. Some of them, like that Holland fellow, could be violent, but there was no fear of that with a woman.
“My information is for sale,” he said. “I have information concerning your brother that you will be anxious to buy.”
“Shall I?”
She moved away from him, opened a silver cigarette box and lit a cigarette.
“Are you attempting to blackmail me?” she asked.
“I would scarcely call it blackmail. Valuable information is always worth paying for. The price is five hundred dollars.”
“You don’t imagine I have such a sum in this apartment, do you?” she asked contemptuously.
“Why not? You are obviously well off. It’s not a vast sum, but if you haven’t, I would consider taking some jewellery as security to be reclaimed for cash tomorrow.”
“And what is this information?”
Sweeting smirked.
“Surely you don’t expect me to tell you that without the money or the jewellery, Miss Dorman? From experience I find women have no sense of honour.”
She looked at him for a long moment. There was something cat-like in her stillness that made Sweeting feel a little uneasy.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to see what I have. Will you wait?”
She went into another room.
Sweeting took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his aching eye.
Perhaps his technique wasn’t as good as it used to be, he thought uneasily. He had never had so much trouble before. First, Holland had been violent and had thrown him out, and now this girl was being suspiciously difficult.
The first indication he had that he had lost control of the situation came from Leo, who suddenly bolted off his lap and dived under the couch.
Sweeting hurriedly looked over his shoulder.
Gilda was standing in her bedroom doorway, a .38 automatic in her hand, its blue nose pointing at Sweeting’s head.
Sweeting froze at the sight of the gun. If he had a horror of violence, guns terrified him. His heart seemed to turn over, and he shrank back in his chair, his fat face turning grey.
Gilda came over and stood over him.
“What’s your information?” she said. “You’d better talk, you little rat, or I’ll shoot you in the leg and tell the night clerk you broke in here.”
Sweeting nearly fainted with fright.
“Take care,” he quavered. “That gun might go off. Please put it down. I’ll be only too glad to tell you what I know.”
“Talk!” Her voice cracked like a whiplash. “What do you know about my brother?”
“Lieutenant Adams came to see me tonight,” Sweeting said, trying to shrink even further back in the chair as she came closer, holding the gun not more than a foot from his flinching eyes. “He’s sure Johnny killed Fay Carson. I told him he was wrong. I told him Maurice Yarde probably killed her.”
Gilda stiffened.
“Why did you tell him that?”
“Yarde saw Fay Carson the night before last. They quarrelled. I heard him tell her he would cut her throat.”
“You told Adams that?”
“Yes. I didn’t want Johnny to get into trouble. I’m an old friend of his. I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt Fay. I like to look after my friends.”
She stepped back, lowering the gun.
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t it enough? If it hadn’t been for me, the Lieutenant would still be thinking Johnny did it. I saved Johnny.”
“Do you imagine that was worth five hundred dollars?”
Sweeting licked his lips.
“That depends on you,” he said cautiously. “Johnny’s your brother. I saved his life.”
She looked at him indisgust.
“Are they still looking for him?”
“I don’t know. I do know Adams is looking for Yarde. He has gone to the Washington Hotel. He thinks he’ll find him there.”
To his relief she moved away from him.
“I thought you might be interested to know that Yarde is in town again,” he ventured. “Or perhaps you know already?”
She looked at him, her eyes dark and mysterious.
“I didn’t know and I’m not interested.” She opened a drawer in the desk, took out a packet of bills, from which she took four five-dollar bills. “Here take them! That’s all your information is worth to me. Now, get out!”
Sweeting got unsteadily to his feet and took the money with a shaking hand.
“You couldn’t spare a little more?” he whined. “I appreciate your kindness, but I am entirely without funds.”
“Get out!” she repeated.
As he moved to the front door with Leo slinking at his heels, the doorbell rang sharply.
Sweeting stopped in his tracks and looked swiftly at Gilda. She stared beyond him at the door.
“Come with me!” she said sharply, and again the gun came up, threatening him. “Quickly!”
Terrified the gun might go off accidentally, Sweeting snatched up Leo and dived through the door she had opened and into the passage beyond.
“That takes you down to the street,” she said pointing to another door at the far end of the passage. “Get out and stay away from me!”
Sweeting scuttled down the passage, opened the door as the front-door bell rang again. He glanced back over his shoulder. He wasn’t too frightened to wonder who her late visitor could be. She waved impatiently at him.
As he opened the door he looked at the lock and saw it was the type he had handled before. He stepped into the passage that led to the back stairs and shut the door sharply behind him.
He waited a moment or so, his ear against the door, then hearing the passage door close, he felt quickly in his trousers pocket for a pick-lock, and inserted it into the keyhole. It took him only a few seconds to turn the lock, and opening the door a few inches, he cautiously peered into the passage.
He looked back and signed to Leo to wait for him. Leaving the dog outside, Sweeting closed the door and went silently down the passage. He paused outside the door that led into the sitting-room and placed his ear against the panel.