'Well, come on, damn you! Where is he?'
'I don't know where he is, but I've got his telephone number,' Janey sobbed.
He turned her and stared down at her white stricken face.
'What is it?'
'Barwood 99780.'
'If you're lying it'll be the last lie you tell, baby!'
'Leave me alone,' she sobbed. 'Oh, you've hurt me, you beast!'
'We'll go downstairs and you'll call that number. You'll talk to him. Tell him you're lonely: tell him anything so long as I know for sure he's there.'
'I'll do it,' Janey gasped, so eagerly Seigel knew at once she had been telling the truth.
'Come on,' he snarled, jerking her to her feet.
She staggered across the room to the door, holding her aching arm. He followed her along the short passage to the head of the long flight of stairs. He was just behind her as she put her hand on the banister rail, and he braced himself as she groped for the first stair. Then he lifted his foot, aiming at the small of her back, and drove his leg forward with all his strength.
The flat of his foot hit her like a battering-ram, projecting her violently into space. Her wild, terrified scream as she hurtled down the stairs, set his nerves on edge.
Her body twisted around as she fell, and he caught a glimpse of her terrified eyes and wide open mouth before she crashed to the floor below, landing on the back of her head with a thud that shook the house.
CHAPTER TEN
TEN days had passed since Janey's death, and by now Conrad had absorbed the first shock. At first it had seemed unbelievable that she was dead, and it was only at the funeral that he finally realized the unhappy partnership was ended.
The Coroner had returned a verdict of death by misadventure. The high heel of one of Janey's slippers had been found to have caught in the hem of her wrap. It was obvious to the Coroner that as she was descending the stairs she had tripped and had fallen heavily, breaking her neck.
Conrad had left all the arrangements to Janey's father, and had stayed with Frances in the new hide-out. There was nothing he could do for Janey now, and the responsibility of Frances's safety lay on him like a dead weight.
He had puzzled over O'Brien's last cryptic words:
Conrad, like every other police officer in the country, knew of Vito Ferrari. Had O'Brien meant that Weiner had been murdered and that Ferrari had been responsible? Conrad had warned McCann that Ferrari might be in town, and had asked him to alert his men, but McCann had reported back that there was no sign of the Syndicate's executioner.
Conrad worried about this. If Ferrari had been responsible for Weiner's death, then Frances was in serious danger. He took every possible precaution to guard her.
He had moved her to the Ocean Hotel at Barwood, a small town fifteen miles from Pacific City. The hotel was a ten-storey building, built on the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the sea.
Forest had taken over the whole of the top floor of the hotel. A special steel door now sealed off the approach to the top floor, and twenty of McCann's picked men were on constant patrol on the landing and in the grounds.
As Conrad improved the defences, he slowly satisfied himself that it was virtually impossible for anyone to get at Frances.
Madge Fielding and two police women never let Frances out of their sight, and it was agreed that until the trial, she should not leave her room.
During the past days, Conrad had seen Frances constantly. The more he saw her the more in love with her he became, and he was encouraged when he found she looked forward to his visits, and seemed disappointed when other duties made him late or prevented him from making his regular daily visit.
Although they found an easy companionship together and impersonal conversation came without effort, Conrad was conscious of a barrier that excluded any intimacy between them.
It was her father's terrible record that stood between them, and it was this barrier Conrad knew he had to break down before he could hope to give her the personal protection he so much wanted to give her.
Madge had told her of Janey's death, and Frances's few words of sympathy had made Conrad uncomfortable.
'It's been a great shock to me,' he told her seriously, 'but Janey and I didn't get along together. Our marriage would have broken up sooner or later. It's not the same as losing someone one really loves, is it? I'm sorry for her. She enjoyed life so much, but I'm not sorry for myself.'
On the evening of the tenth day of Janey's death, Conrad found the opportunity of making the first move towards a more intimate understanding between Frances and himself.
He had been to Pacific City to give evidence in a case he had worked on before June Arnot's murder, and had been away from Barwood for a day and a night. He had left Van Roche in charge, and was quite easy in his mind that Van would look after Frances as well as he could look after her himself.
He returned to the hotel soon after seven o'clock and went immediately to the top floor.
