Harry was standing at the window, watching the police through the chink in the blind. Three plain-clothes detectives had now arrived and were photographing the car and going over it for fingerprints, and, watching them, a sudden feeling of cold panic crept over him.
He hadn't thought of fingerprints. The feeling he had had of safety suddenly dropped from him. That was the way they could nail him! He must have left dozens of prints on the car. If they decided to fingerprint everyone staying here, they'd have him.
He spun around.
“Glorie! They'll find my prints on the car! That'll sink me. I hadn't thought of the prints.”
She stared at him. She hadn't thought of them either.
“Maybe I could get away out the back,” he went on, his face tight with fear. He ran across to where he had left his clothes.
“I stand a chance . . .”
“No! “ Glorie jumped up and ran to him. “Don't be a fool! If they find you gone, they'll know it was you. You've got to keep your nerve. If you run now, you're done for. There's a chance they won't think of taking your prints, and if they don't, you've beaten them.”
But if they do?” Harry said, hesitating.
“Then nothing you can do will be any good. You've got to take the chance. Once you're on the run, you're finished. You must see that”
His face glistening with sweat, Harry returned to the window and peered out.
“If I'd known it was going to be like this, I wouldn't have pulled the job,” he muttered. “What a mug I was to have forgotten the prints! Even if I get away with this, I could be nailed any time. If I had a car accident in ten years' time and they take my prints, I'm sunk. What a damned fool I've been!”
Glorie sat motionless, feeling her heart thudding.
“Don't lose your nerve, Harry,” she said. “It's done now.”
“Oh, shut up!” Harry snarled. “You can talk. You aren't heading for the chair. That was a fine idea of yours, dreaming up Harry Green. If you're all that smart, why didn't you think of my prints? Harry Green doesn't exist! Like hell he does! He's here —right here for any cop to find,” and he held out his hands towards her. “If you hadn't sold me on the idea of disguising myself I wouldn't have pulled the job!”
Glorie closed her eyes.
“How can you talk like that, Harry? You know I tried and tried to stop you. . .”
“Stop talking! That's all you can do—talk! You've never stopped talking since we've been together. How the hell am I going to get out of this jam?”
The sound of a car engine drew him back to the window. A breakdown track had arrived. The police hooked the Pontiac to the crane and the truck took the Pontiac away.
The three detectives stood in a group, talking. Harry watched them, his breath whistling through his clenched teeth. After a while, the detectives walked over to their car, got in and drove away. The policemen hung around a little longer, then they too got in their cars and drove away.
Harry stepped back and moved slowly to the bed and sat on it. He put his face in his hands. He hadn't realized until this moment just how frightened he had been. The reaction knocked him off balance.
Glorie ran into the other room, poured a stiff whisky and came back with it.
“Drink this, darling.”
Harry gulped down the whisky, shuddered and put down the glass.
“I can't believe it,” he muttered. “To think those punks had me cold, and they didn't do anything about it. They had me! They had only to take my prints and I was sunk.”
“Why should they?” Glorie said. “They can't take everyone's prints. Why should they think you were Harry Green?”
“Yeah, that's right. He looked at her, then reached out and pulled her down beside him. “I didn't mean what I said just now, baby. You know that, don't you? I was scared. I didn't know what I was saying. I'm sorry, Glorie, honest, I'm sorry.”
“It's all right. I know how you felt. I was scared too. Oh, darling, let's stop this before it's too late. We can mail the diamonds to Ben and then we're free of them. Let’s do it first thing in the morning. If s the only way. Please, Harry.”
He pulled away from her, got up and went over to the table and poured himself another drink.
“No. I got away with it, didn't I? I'd be a mug to pass up a million and a half bucks: that's what I should get for them. Think of it! Think what we can do with that much money. I'm going ahead with this and no one's going to stop me.”
She made a little movement of despair, then shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, all right, Harry: just as you say.”
II
The Far Eastern Trading Corporation had offices that spread over four floors of the National and Californian State Building on 27th Street.
The smartly-dressed, well-groomed girl at the reception desk looked at Harry with a kindly, patronizing smile that is usually reserved for simple-minded children when they have asked for the impossible.
“No, I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin, but Mr. Takamori never sees anyone except by appointment,” she said. “Perhaps Mr. Ludwig could help you? I'll see if he is disengaged.”
“I don't want Mr. Ludwig,” Harry said. “I want Mr. Takamori.”
“I'm sorry but that is quite impossible.” The kindly smile began to fade. “Mr. Takamori . . .”
“I heard you the first time,” Harry said, “but he'll see me.”
He took a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to the girl. “Give him that. You'll be surprised how anxious he'll be to have me walk in.”
She hesitated, then, lifting her shoulders, she touched a bell push. A small , boy in a fawn uniform with blue facings materialized from a nearby room and came to the desk.
“Give this note to Miss Schofield,” the girl said. “It's for Mr. Takamori.” As the boy went away, he went on to Harry, “Please sit down. Miss Schofield may be able to see you.”
Harry sat down, took out a cigarette and lit it. He was hot and nervous and jittery, but he managed not to show it.
It was now five days since the robbery. He and Glorie had been living in a small hotel in New York. He had left her there while he had returned to Los Angeles for this all-important interview with Takamori.
He had racked his brains for a safe method of dealing with Takamori, but without success. It had slowly and reluctantly dawned on him that if he were to get his hands on a million and a half dollars, he had to approach Takamori as himself, and not to attempt to go to him under a false name or in disguise.
That amount of money couldn’t be hidden. Even if he spread the amount over a dozen banks, he still couldn’t hide it. He would get into trouble with the tax people, and then the police would get after him. He had no alternative but to deal openly with Takamori. He had to gamble on Takamori wanting the diamonds so badly that he would be prepared to work with Harry and not with the police. If the gamble didn't come off, then Harry would be in trouble, but the way he was planning it, he wouldn't be in serious trouble and he felt the risk was worth it.
But Glorie had been horrified when Harry had outlined his plan to her. She had begged him not to go ahead with it. By now, Harry was getting tired of her opposition, and he had curtly told her not to interfere. Okay, he admitted it: it was a risk, but what did she expect if they were going to make that kind of money?
He sat in the deep armchair, his feet resting on the thick pile of the carpet and waited. There was a constant stream of men with brief cases coming to the desk. The girl handled them with the kindly, patronizing smile that made Harry itch to smack her.
She passed them on to various small boys who took them away down the corridor and out of Harry's sight. Still he sat there, smoking.
Thirty-five minutes and four cigarettes later, the boy who had taken his note came down the long corridor and went over to the girl at the reception desk. He said something to her, and Harry, who was watching her, saw her eyebrows shoot up.