More Deadly Than The Male

me.'

Again George's slow mind groped for inspiration from Frank Kelly. Kelly always kept his women. He treated them tough and loaded them with jewels. But how could he do that? Now he had got Sydney out of the way, he wasn't going to lose her. Little Ernie could give her the world. He had just got to compete with Little Ernie.

'What do you want?' he asked abruptly, struggling to conceal his doubts and fears.

'What do you mean?' she demanded.

'You're in the market, aren't you?' he said, clenching his fists. 'Well, then, what's the price?'

'I think you must be drunk or mad,' she said angrily, and turned away. 'What can you give me? Leave me alone and peddle your silly hooks!'

George sat down. He took out a cigarette and lit it. His hands were steady, his mind coldly determined.

'I've got nothing now,' he said, 'but I can get it. You don't want to throw yourself away on a little rat like Ernie. Name something and you shall have it.'

'Oh, shut up!' Cora snapped. 'You're nothing but a cheap bluffer. You live in dreams. I want more than dreams, and I'm going to have more than dreams.'

The Luger dug into George's hip. It gave him extraordinary confidence in himself. Thoughts crowded into his desperate frustrated mind. He had killed a man! Nothing else that he could do could be worse than that. Even if he killed another man, it wouldn't be worse than the first killing. Once a gangster kills there is no stopping him. He had read that somewhere, and it was true. Sooner or later Crispin's body would be found. Bodies were always found. Then the hunt would be on. If the police didn't get him, then Emily and Max and the two Greeks would. Well, until then he was going to live his life to the full. He was going to have Cora. He wasn't enduring this black, ghastly frustration any longer. If he had to buy her, then he'd buy her, no matter what the cost.

He reached out suddenly and caught hold of Cora's arm. He jerked her down beside him on the settee. The silk wrap parted, and he had a momentary glimpse of her that tipped the scales of his sanity. He caught her to him and held her, his great strength crushing her, frightening her.

'What do you want?' he said, her hair against his face. 'I mean it. There's nothing I can't get for you.'

'Let me go!' she said. 'Will you let me go!'

He released her and sat back.

'Well?' he said. 'What do you want?'

Cora could scarcely believe this was the same man. The hard face, the wild, desperate eyes, chilled her. But she was quick to see that she must call this ridiculous bluff. In his present state of mind, she felt he was dangerous. He might do anything unless she provided an outlet for his pent-up, violent repression.

'I want a complete outfit,' she said. 'And I want it now. Give me that, if you can, you cheap bluffer.'

George looked at her steadily. 'You mean clothes?'

'Of course, I mean clothes. I want something to wear when I go out tomorrow morning. I want a complete outfit. And don't think I can't get it. I've only to ask Little Ernie.'

'I'll get you the money,' George said slowly.

'I don't want the money, I want the clothes. I want something decent to put on when I get up tomorrow morning.

George hesitated. She had purposely asked for the impossible. There were no shops open at this time, but, of course, Little Ernie could get an outfit from one of his girls. It would be the simplest thing in the world for him to do. But George had no girl to borrow anything from. She had laid the trap and he had walked into it.

Cora, studying his face, saw doubt and dismay there, and she got up with a laugh.

'Now shut up, you bluffer,' she said. 'I've had quite enough from you for one night. I'm going to bed.' She went to the door, and looked back over her shoulder. 'I don't think you and I have much in common, do you, George?' she went on. 'I think you'd better go back to your cat and your hook selling.'

George sat brooding for some little time after she had gone. She was slipping through his fingers. He had to do something. Tomorrow would be too late. She had asked for a complete outfit of clothes: well, she must have it.

He got to his feet, picked up his hat and stood staring down at the thick white carpet. Getting an outfit of women's clothes at eleven-thirty at night might set even Frank Kelly hack on his heels. He must prove to himself that he was a better man even than Frank Kelly. He crossed the room and quietly let himself out of the hateful little flat.

17

In the network of narrow streets that he behind Shaftesbury Avenue there is one particular street where taxi drivers leave their cabs while they have a meal after the theatre rush.

It was to this street that George made his way. He moved along Piccadilly, past the Piccadilly Hotel, threading his way through the crowd of men and women lingering outside the hotel for a final word before dispersing to their homes. He stood on the kerb, his back turned to the darkened windows of Swan & Edgar, while he waited impatiently for the traffic lights to stop the flow of traffic towards Regent Street. There was an apprehensive feeling, like a lead weight, in his stomach. He had conceived a desperate, reckless plan. It depended for success on one thing: the strength of his own nerves. A week ago he would have shied away from such an idea as any person in their right mind would have shied away from touching a red-hot stove. It was the kind of thing he had read about, the kind of desperate act that, at one time, American thugs used to commit in the wild, dangerous days of prohibition. It was a plan conceived by desperation, the only possible solution of Cora's demand.

At first he had thought of breaking into one of the big stores, like Selfridges or Swan & Edgar. Here, he knew, he would be able to steal some women's clothes. But even if he succeeded in breaking into the store, he had still to select the right clothes, the right size, the right match. Cora had said she wanted a complete outfit. It was no use making a mess of it. She must have something that she could put on, complete to the last button, and that