'I haven't had time to ask. Poor Tom bought it.'
'He did? That's tough.' Bardin turned on his flashlight and swung the beam around the ruined changing room. 'They certainly made a hash of this. There're five of Maurer's mob outside, deader than mackerel. Two others got away.'
'Find that pencil?' Conrad asked Mallory.
'Sure,' Mallory said. 'I've got the sonofabitch,' and he waved the gold pencil above his head.
III
A black Cadillac swung into the narrow lane that ran alongside the east wall of the Paradise Club and drove fast down the lane to the gates that guarded the rear entrance to the club.
The driver slowed down, flicked his lights off and on: twice fast, twice slow, and then sent the car forward as the guard opened the gates.
The guard stepped up to the car and peered at the driver. He caught his breath in a gasp of surprise, stiffened to attention and saluted.
The Cadillac moved on up the circular road and pulled up outside the rear entrance to the club.
A short, thick-set man got out of the car, looked uneasily to right and left, then walked up the steps and rapped on the door.
The guard who opened the door gaped, and his florid face changed colour.
'Why, Mr. Maurer . . .' he gasped.
'Shut your goddamn trap!' Maurer snarled. 'Where's Gollowitz?'
'In Mr. Seigel's office,' the guard said, stepping back hurriedly.
Maurer's swarthy face was tight with rage, and there was a bleak murderous expression in his eyes.
He walked down the passage, paused for a moment outside Seigel's office, his head bent to listen. A murmur of voices came through the door panel, and Maurer's face tightened. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The office was full of tobacco smoke. Seated near the desk in a semi-circle were Seigel, McCann and Ferrari. Gollowitz sat behind the desk, a cigar in his fat white fingers.
The four men looked around sharply as Maurer came in. The only one who didn't react to his sudden appearance was Ferrari. The other three stared at him as if they were seeing a ghost.
'Why, Jack . . .' Gollowitz gasped, his face going white. 'For God's sake, Jack . . . !'
Maurer came in and shut the door. His right hand was buried deep in his bulging coat pocket. He stood looking at the four men, his little eyes insane with rage.
'What's he doing here?' he snarled, pointing at Ferrari.
'Jack! You – you can't come back here!' Gollowitz said, getting unsteadily to
his feet. 'Did anyone see you? Don't you know there's a warrant out for your arrest?'
'What's he doing here?' Maurer repeated, his voice deadly.
'He – he's come to take care of the girl – the Coleman girl,' Gollowitz spluttered.
'Did you send for him?' Maurer asked.
'The Syndicate thought . . .'
'—the Syndicate! Did you send for him?'
'What else could I do?' Gollowitz wailed. He had a horrible feeling that Maurer was going to shoot him. 'We had to get Weiner and the girl. He was the only one who could get at them!'
Maurer glared at Gollowitz, his mouth working.
'You goddamn fool! Couldn't you handle a little thing like that without calling in outside help?'
'It wasn't possible.'
McCann said quietly, 'Take it easy, Mr. Maurer. You shouldn't have come back. Every cop in town's on the look-out for you. Forest has cooked up a castiron case against you.'
'Yeah,' Maurer snarled, 'thanks to the bungling way you three have handled it.' He didn't include Ferrari in the wave of his hand. 'I've come back to handle it myself! For the first time in fifteen years there's a warrant out for me! The first time in fifteen years! That's what happens when I take my hand off the helm!'
'We did what we could,' Gollowitz said earnestly. He felt the danger was receding. 'We got Weiner. Now we're going to get the girl. It'll be okay, Jack, only you must keep out of this.'
'I'm not keeping out of it,' Maurer said, and walked to the desk.
Gollowitz hurriedly stepped away, and Maurer took his place behind the desk. He sat down.
Gollowitz pulled up a chair and took his place with the others. Sweat beads covered his forehead. He was sick with frustrated rage and fear. To be suddenly shoved aside to lose his authority in a few seconds, to be deprived of his position which he had believed to be unassailable for a long time, was a devastating blow to his pride.
Ferrari caught Maurer's eye. The two men looked at each other. Seigel, an interested spectator, was startled to see what could have been uneasy fear in Maurer's eyes. Ferrari was completely unruffled and indifferent.
'Hello, Maurer,' he said softly.
