and rang the bell.
There was no answer to his ring. He waited, aware of a cold mounting rage inside him, then he put his finger on the bell and held it there.
After a further wait, the front door was suddenly jerked open. The moonlight fell directly on Meg.
Anson remembered the first time he had seen her; in exactly the same position in which she was now standing, but now, of course, it was different. The bruise on her jaw and her slightly swollen eye marred the sensual quality she had.
At the sight of Anson, she drew in a quick, alarmed breath.
'What do you want?' she demanded. 'I don't want you here ... go away!'
'Hello, Meg,' Anson said with a deceptively mild smile. 'We have things to talk about'
'You're not coming in!' Meg set herself to slam the door. 'I have nothing to say to you!'
Anson made a quick move forward. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a hard shove that sent her staggering back. He entered the hall, shut the front door and then walked past her into the sitting-room.
A log fire burned cheerfully in the grate. Anson was quick to notice two half empty glasses of whisky standing on the occasional table. So she had company, he thought, and his hand slid into his pocket and touched the butt of Barlowe's gun.
As Meg followed him into the room, leaving the door open, a sudden gust of wind blew a shower of rain against the windows.
Anson moved to the fire. He looked around the room. The burning logs, the settee and the two glasses of whisky sent his mind back to the exciting moment of their first meeting. It seemed a long time ago.
'What do you want?' Meg demanded.
Anson looked searchingly at her. His eyes moved over her body. He thought: you meet a woman and she starts a chemical reaction in you. You think there is no one like her in the world, then something happens, and it is finished. She means less to me now than the used plate after a good meal, and how little can that be?
'So you had to lie to me,' he said. 'If you had told me you had been a tart and you had been a thief and you had been in jail, I wouldn't have gone ahead with this thing, but you had to live in a dream world and lie. You hadn't the guts to tell the truth. I'm sorry for you. To me now, you are just something I find on my shoe and scrape off.'
Meg hunched her shoulders. Her face was hard and her eyes bleak and indifferent Anson knew he had no power to hurt her. Her past life had armoured her against contempt.
'Do you imagine I care what you say about me?' she said. 'Get out!'
'Not just yet ... I have news for you, Meg. In spite of your record, in spite of your lies, they are going to pay the claim.
You'll get the money tomorrow.'
Meg stiffened, staring at him. Blood rushed to her face, then receded, leaving her pale with excitement.
'You mean that?' she demanded huskily. 'You really mean they are going to pay?'
Anson waved to the telephone.
'Call Jameson. They've even told him. I talked to him before I came out here. He said he would be coming out himself tomorrow as soon as he got the cheque.'
Meg drew in a long, slow breath. Watching her Anson's face showed amused cynicism.
'We made a bargain ... remember?' he said, 'I was to insure your husband and murder him and you were to share the insurance money and yourself with me. We were going away together and we were going to have a whale of a time spending fifty thousand dollars.' His smile became crooked. 'But now I've changed my mind. I have known too many whores to trust any of them and that now includes you. So I'll settle for half the money. Tomorrow, you will get a cheque for fifty thousand dollars. I want a cheque right now from you for twenty-five thousand dollars, and we part and I hope I never see you again.'
Meg was aware that Hogan was just outside the room, listening to what was being said. His presence gave her the courage to say, 'You get nothing! You can't force me to give you anything ... get out!'
'Don't be stupid, Meg,' Anson said, his eyes bleak. 'I can force you to give me my share ... make no mistake about that.
You will do what I tell you or...'
A slight movement at the door made him jerk round. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Sailor Hogan who grinned sneeringly at him.
'Hello palsy ... you threaten me, not her. I'm more your size.'
As he moved into the room, Meg backed away.
Completely taken by surprise, Anson looked blankly from Hogan to Meg and then to Hogan again. Then his quick mind realized why Hogan was here. He saw suddenly the whole fabric of the plot he had blindly walked into.
'So ... that's how it is. You and she. So you are the boy friend the police think murdered Barlowe,' he said softly. 'You are the pimp from Los Angeles who they talk about.'
Hogan's sneering grin widened.
'Don't get sore about it, palsy,' he said, leaning his broad, fighter's shoulders against the wall. 'We're all suckers at one time in our lives. The cops thought I had knocked him off, but I convinced them I didn't. I had an alibi. For your sake, I hope you have one too for they are certainly sniffing around.'
'I am having half the money,' Anson said, his face white, his eyes glittering. 'You and your whore can have the other half, but I fixed this; I took all the risks ... so I get a half share.'
Hogan laughed, slapping his thigh.
'You don't get a dime, sucker. You killed him. When Meg put up the idea, I knew we had to find a sucker in the insurance racket and so I picked you. I picked on you because I knew you were in trouble and panting for dough. I gave you the treatment, and boy, did that punch in the belly soften you up. It was that simple. All she had to do was to write that letter about insuring her jewellery and then turn the heat on.' He looked over at Meg and grinned, 'If she knows anything, she knows how to make a sucker out of a guy with hot pants. So you've pulled the nuts out of the fire, but don't kid yourself ... you don't get a dime. There's nothing you can do about it. You start bleating and you'll bleat yourself into the gas chamber. Get it?' Hogan winked. He jerked a thick thumb to the door. 'Now, beat it. Me and my girl friend want to be alone.'
Anson remained before the fire. His eyes were intent, his mouth a thin line.
'Are you telling me it was your idea to trap me into insuring Barlowe and then murdering him?' he asked.
Hogan laughed.
'Not my idea ... she dreamed it up. You would be surprised how smart she is for a tart. I worked it, but she invented it.'
Meg, listening and watching, said sharply, 'You're talking too much Jerry ... shut up!'
'Let him know how it is,' Hogan said, enjoying himself. 'After all, he's made us fifty thousand bucks. He's entitled to know. Well, that's it palsy ... on your way. When we meet again, I'll buy you a cigar.'
Still not moving, Anson asked, 'How did the police get on to you, Hogan? Why did they ever imagine you killed Barlowe?'
'Because they were smart enough to come out here and fingerprint the bedroom,' Hogan said. 'They found my prints: maybs they have found yours, but I have a cast iron alibi and I bet you haven't been sucker enough yourself not to have a cast iron alibi.'
Anson stood staring at Hogan, cold blood crawling up his spine. 'They fingerprinted the bedroom?'
He thought of Jud Jones, and his sneering blackmailing smile.
'They sure did,' Hogan said. 'Stood me on my ear when Jenson told me.'
Anson suddenly felt defeated. He thought of that odd moment when Harmas had produced the glass paperweight. He had been vaguely uneasy about why Harmas had suddenly dropped his probing questions and had produced the paperweight. His heart gave a lurch. He had fallen for one of the oldest police tricks in the world. They now had his fingerprints. They would have found by now plenty of his prints in the dirty, sordid bedroom made during those nights when he had slept with Meg. They now would know that he had been Meg's lover; that, plus Merryweather's evidence, plus the fact he had changed his car tyres could cook him ... anyway, they were enough
