“It ain’t necessary.” His voice sharpened.
“Oh, but you must.” I watched her open her bag. She took out a hundred-dollar bill and put
it on the table. “Can I rely on you to say nothing about this hold-up, Mr. Harkness? If anyone
should ask you … It’s a personal matter.”
He hesitated, then picked up the bill.
“Well, thanks. I don’t talk about what doesn’t concern me.”
He went into the far room and closed the door.
I lifted my head.
Della pointed to the uncurtained window.
“I think he was watching us,” she whispered.
I thought so, too.
IV
From the little Della had told me about Nick Reisner, I had imagined him to be one of those
brutal-looking characters you see after dark in Chicago’s Loop who pack a gun and a set of
brass knuckles and loll up against a wall, waiting for trouble.
But he wasn’t like that at all.
He was tall and thin and stiffly upright. Although only around thirty-eight, his hair was
chalk white and thick, taken straight back off a forehead any professor would have been
proud to own. His nose was hooked and his nostrils flared back, giving him the look of a
hawk. He got his menace from his thin, sadistic mouth and the cold, remote expression in his
deep-set eyes.
He came into the cabin and paused just inside the doorway to stare at Della.
“Hello, Nick,” she said, and smiled. “Explanations can wait. Let’s get out of here.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a stiff little smile. His eyes went to me.
“Ricca?”
100
His voice was soft, unexpectedly effeminate, and I noticed the tuxedo he wore was
exaggeratedly tailored, with wide lapels and a sharply cut waist, hinting at foppishness that
his mouth and eyes contradicted.
“Yeah,” I said, and got slowly off the bed.
“Look a little roughed up. Who did it?” he asked.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“Sure.”
He stood aside.
“Help him, Nick,” Della said. “He’s got concussion. We were held up, and the Bentley was
stolen.”
“Too bad,” Reisner said, without moving. “My car’s just outside. I came on my own.”
I went past him out of the cabin, taking my time, knowing he was watching me, knowing,
too, how hostile he was. Della followed, caught up with me and took my arm. The car was
parked on the dirt track about twenty yards from the cabin: an Olds-mobile, as big as a
battleship.
Della and I got in at the back. Reisner strolled after us and slid under the steering-wheel.
“I didn’t expect you, Mrs. Wertham,” he said as he trod on the starter. “Quite a surprise.”
“Paul thought I’d cramp his style in Paris,” she said, and laughed. “Besides, he wanted me
along with Johnny.”
“Johnny?” Reisner said, driving the car slowly up the dirt track towards the highway.
“I call him Johnny. I prefer it to Jack. Any objection?”
“Paul didn’t say you were coming,” Reisner said, ignoring the sharp note in her voice.
“He made up his mind at the last moment. Besides, we thought it would be a nice surprise
for you.”
