the bunk. 'I'm sick of this stinking cabin. Let's go to your bank and collect ten grand, then I'll get off to New York.'
O'Brien looked up
'You're kidding yourself, Johnny,' he said, the edge of his rage showing in his voice He got up, went to the door, opened it and beckoned to Tux, who was waiting outside.
'Come in here.'
Tux moved silently into the cabin, closed the door and set his back to it.
Johnny eyed him warily and moved back.
'Now look here, Sean,' he said, 'I've taken as much as I'm going to from you. Don't try any more funny stuff or you'll be sorry.'
O'Brien ignored him.
'Johnny is to stay here,' he said to Tux, 'until I tell you to let him loose. You're responsible for him. If he tries to get away, I'll leave it to you to teach him not to try again. He's in your charge, Tux. If he doesn't behave, knock his goddamn head off!'
'Okay, boss,' Tux said, and his brutal face brightened a little.
'You can't treat me that way!' Johnny exclaimed. 'If you don't let me off this boat right now I'll ruin you!'
'You stupid punk!' O'Brien snarled. 'You're staying here until I say so. Shut your trap or I'll have it shut for you!'
Johnny jumped across the cabin towards O'Brien, his fists swinging, but before he could come within striking distance, Tux had shuffled forward, blocked his rush and sent him reeling back.
'I'll make you pay for this!' Johnny snarled, glaring at O'Brien. 'I'll see Gilda doesn't marry you, you big- head!'
O'Brien glanced at Tux, nodded, and opened the cabin door.
Tux shuffled forward, gave Johnny a light tap to turn him and then drove his fist into Johnny's face.
Johnny's head slammed against the wall and he slid down on his hands and knees.
O'Brien watched from the doorway.
'Soften him up a little,' he said. 'Don't do too much damage.'
As he went out into the passage, Tux stepped back and kicked Johnny in the ribs, sending him over on his back.
O'Brien closed the door. He went up on deck to the motor-boat, showing his teeth in a fixed, mirthless grin.
II
Raphael Sweeting stood on the edge of the kerb, waiting for a break in the traffic before crossing to the far side. He carried his Pekinese under his arm, and the dog watched the traffic with the same impatience as its master.
The rain that had been falling had stopped, and the humid heat made Sweeting sweat. He watched the onrush of traffic as it flowed past him, and thought how pleasant it would be if he had enough money to buy a car.
At the moment Sweeting was worth exactly two dollars and sixty cents, and in spite of his inflexible optimism, he saw no possibilities of increasing his assets during the present week.
That morning, in spite of interruptions, the excitement of the police visit
and the removal of Fay's body which he had watched with morbid interest from behind his window curtain, he had prepared and mailed his usual quota of fifty carefully written begging letters. He knew from experience it would take at least ten days before he had any returns, and he wasn't sure if the returns would amount to much when he did receive them.
For years now, Sweeting had relied on people's charity and gullibility for an income. It gave him tremendous satisfaction to be his own master. His beautifully written letters to anyone who happened to be in the news, especially those who had inherited money or who had had a spectacular success, explaining his distressed circumstances and asking them to send him a few dollars, thereby casting their bread upon the waters, brought him in enough to keep him in mild comfort. When the returns were bad, he resorted to blackmail or picking pockets, and in this sideline he had been unfortunate to come up against the police. He had already served, over a period of twenty years, eight years in jail, and he had no wish to go inside again.
As he stood on the edge of the kerb, he was thinking that he would have to pick a pocket if he was to pay his rent, due at the end of the week.
The events of the morning and the visit from Sergeant Donovan had badly shaken his nerve, and he tried to think of a less risky method to raise the money.
Then as he was about to step off the kerb, he saw a tall man come striding out of the side entrance of the Eastern National Bank.
Sweeting recognized him immediately. Here was the man who had brought Fay Carson home last night!
His mind in a flutter of excitement, Sweeting bolted across the road and set off after him.
Sweeting had long ago learned that it was fatal to his own interests to give information to the police. So when Donovan had asked him if he had seen anyone with Fay, he had kept his mouth shut.
If he had liked, Sweeting could have given Donovan a lot of useful information. He had seen Ken leave Fay's apartment; but some twenty minutes before Ken had left, Sweeting had heard someone bolt down the stairs from Fay's apartment.
