that would be of interest to the police.' Sweeting paused to smile knowingly.
'I'm not anxious to become a police informer, Mr. Holland. I realize it is my duty to tell them what I know, but they seldom show any appreciation. After all, one has to consider one's own interests first, I always think.'
So it was to be blackmail. Ken reached for a cigarette and lit it with an unsteady hand.
'I had nothing to do with the murder,' he said steadily.
Sweeting inclined his head.
'I am quite sure of that. If I thought you had I wouldn't be here. I am a cautious man. I wouldn't allow myself to become an accessory to murder. No, of course you had nothing to do with the murder, but you were in Miss Carson's apartment when it happened, weren't you?'
Ken didn't say anything.
'I'm sure you're too sensible to deny it, Mr. Holland,' Sweeting went on after a pause. 'I saw you leave. I noted the time.' He shook his head sorrowfully. 'You are in an awkward position. You must realize that it is almost impossible for you to convince the police that you didn't murder the girl. They are always so anxious to make an arrest.'
Ken began to feel a rising anger against this fat hypocrite who was so obviously enjoying his power.
'All right, I admit all that,' he said curtly. 'Suppose we get to the point. What do you intend to do about it?'
Sweeting lifted his fat shoulders.
'That depends entirely on you, Mr. Holland.'
'It's blackmail, is that it?'
Sweeting smiled.
'Some people might call it that,' he said, shaking his head. 'It's a nasty word. I would prefer to say that in return for keeping my information to myself you will give me a small pecuniary reward.'
'What do you want?'
Sweeting couldn't conceal his satisfaction. The interview was going along splendidly: exactly how he had planned it to go.
'I am a poor man, Mr. Holland. In fact, to be frank with you, I am in urgent need of funds right now. I thought you might let me have two hundred dollars as a first payment and a small sum each month.'
'How small?' Ken said, an edge to his voice.
'Well, perhaps thirty dollars, perhaps thirty-five.'
Ken realized that if he agreed to pay Sweeting, there would be no end to it. He would be bled white. He had to take a stand. He had to think of Ann. He would probably need every dime he could lay hands on for his defence.
'I should only be buying time,' he said quietly. 'The police could find me without your help. You had better tell them what you know. You're getting nothing out of me.'
Sweeting had had many years' experience of petty blackmailing. He was a little surprised that Ken should attempt to bluff, considering the dangerous position he was in, but he was quite prepared to accept Ken's attitude for the moment. So many of his past victims had tried to bluff, but they had always toed the line in the end.
'Let's be sensible about this, Mr. Holland. My evidence would send you to the chair. After all, I am the only witness who saw you leave the house at the time the police say she died. If I kept quiet. . .'
'You're mistaken,' Ken said, getting to his feet. 'Someone else saw me: the woman who lives on the ground floor. Your evidence is not so exclusive as you think.'
Sweeting stared up at him, taken aback.
'Now wait a moment, Mr. Holland. We mustn't be too hasty about this. This woman doesn't know who you are: I do. It would be stupid of you to sacrifice your life for a few dollars. Besides, you must think of your wife. Think how hurt she will be to learn what you have done.'
'We'll leave my wife out of this!' Ken said savagely. 'I'm not paying you a dime. Get out!'
Sweeting lost his genial smile. His face became hard and spiteful.
'You mustn't talk like that to me, Mr. Holland. You are in no position to be discourteous. I shan't hesitate to go to the police if we can't come to terms. I tell you what I will do. I'll settle for two hundred dollars. I won't press you for any monthly payments. I can't be fairer than that, can I ? Two hundred dollars in cash.'
Ken's rising temper exploded. He stepped forward and knocked the glass of whisky out of Sweeting's hand. His grim, furious expression alarmed Sweeting, who had a horror of violence.
'Mr. Holland!' he gasped, cringing back into the chair. 'That was quite unnecessary ...'
Leo, as if sensing that his master had failed in his purpose, slunk off the couch and trotted, tail between his legs, to the door.
Ken grabbed hold of Sweeting's coat front and hauled him to his feet.
'You miserable little rat!' he said furiously. 'You're not getting a dime out of me! I've had enough of this! I won't be shoved around any more by you or the police!'
'Mr. Holland!' Sweeting gasped, his eyes popping out of his head. 'Don't let us have any violence. If you feel that way ...'
Ken released him, stepped back and hit Sweeting in his right eye with all his weight behind the punch. He felt an enormous satisfaction as his knuckles thudded against Sweeting's face.
