'Yes,' Crantor said.
'By the way,' Dale went on, 'is that young lady wanting a room? I can fix her up next to you.' Crantor looked across at Lorelli. 'Do you want a room here?'
She shook her head. 'She won't be staying,' he told Dale. 'That's your bad luck,' Dale said and laughed. Crantor slammed down the receiver.
Ed Shapiro was tall and lean, with a hooked nose, swarthy complexion and small restless eyes. He wore a black suit with a broad white stripe, a black shirt and a white tie. Cocked over his right eye, he wore a black snap- brimmed hat.
He lolled against the reception desk, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips, and breathed whisky fumes into Dale's face.
'Go on up. Room 26,' Dale said, drawing back and grimacing. 'You're carrying a load, aren't you?'
Shapiro shot out a long arm and caught hold of Dale's shirt front, twisted it and gave Dale a hard shake, jerking his head back.
'Shut it, pally,' he said. 'Button it up unless you want to lose some of those dirty teeth of yours.'
Dale stood very still, his face turning white. The vicious expression in Shapiro's eyes shocked him.
Shapiro released his grip, pushed his hat a little further over his eye and walked across the hall and mounted the stairs.
He had been drinking heavily most of the evening, bolstering up his shaky nerves. He had done most things, but up to now he had stopped short at murder. But he wanted the fast motor-boat with a want that had gnawed at him for the past two months. He knew it was a bargain. He knew he would never get one as good and as cheap again. Where else could he hope to raise the thousand pounds Crantor was offering him that would complete the purchase price? He had been told that there was another buyer in the market.
'I can't hold it for you any longer,' the owner had told him. 'I'd like to do you a favour, but this other bloke has the cash. If you can't come across by next Friday, I'll have to let him have it.'
That was unthinkable, but the thought of murder made Shapiro's nerves jangled. Crantor had assured him the set-up was foolproof, but Shapiro had a healthy respect for the police. He had a healthy respect too for his own neck. Murder had a nasty habit of backfiring on you, just when you thought you had got away with it.
Crantor had brushed aside Shapiro's doubts.
'Use your head,' he had said. 'You've never been through their hands. They haven't got your prints. You won't be seen if you handle it the way I've told you to handle it. You're not hooked up with this fellow in any way. So what have you got to worry about?'
But the more Shapiro had thought over the plan, the more doubtful he became. He might be seen leaving the house. The thought of being hunted for murder turned him cold. That was when he began to drink, but after a few double whiskies his nerve returned and he thought of the boat. He could drive down to Falmouth as soon as he had done the job, buy the boat and hop over to France.
By now, as he climbed the stairs, he was eager to get the job done, and he walked to room 26 with a swagger, pausing in the doorway to stare at Lorelli who had turned in her chair to look at him.
'Come in and shut the door!' Crantor barked.
Shapiro closed the door. He looked from Lorelli to Crantor and back to Crantor again. 'What was this piece doing here?' he wondered. What smasher! He fingered his tie, took off his hat and gave Lorelli a leering grin.
Crantor got to his feet.
'Okay, Ed, cut that out ,' he said, a rasp in his voice. 'She's working with us.'
Shapiro came over to the table. His grin widened.
'Well, well, that's nice. Hello, baby. I can see you and me are going to get along fine together.'
Lorelli's cold green eyes looked him up and down.
'Speak to me when you're spoken to,' she said curtly.
'Hey, don't give me that stuff,' Shapiro said, grinning.
Crantor's open hand smacked him on the side of his face, sending him staggering.
Shapiro recovered his balance, and he stared blankly at Crantor, careful not to move.
'Sit down and shut up!' Crantor said in a soft hissing voice, his single eye like a red-hot ember.
Shapiro pulled up a chair and sat down. He touched his face.
'You'd better not do that again,' he said unevenly.
'Shut up!' Crantor repeated.
'I don't think much of him,' Lorelli said. She spoke as if Shapiro wasn't in the room. 'He's drunk; his nerves are bad and he's got no discipline.'
'He'll do the job,' Crantor said. 'If he bungles it, I'll kill him.'
Shapiro suddenly felt sick. He knew Crantor didn't threaten.
'Now wait a minute...' he began, but the words trailed away as Crantor turned to stare at him.
'You heard what I said! Bungle this and I'll kill you.'
'Who said I'd bungle it?' Shapiro said hoarsely.
'You'd better not,' Crantor said. He picked up the broad-bladed knife and held it out to Shapiro, holding the
