The telephone began to ring as O'Brien entered the lounge.
'Get it,' he said impatiently to Sullivan, and crossed the room to the liquor cabinet.
Sullivan picked up the receiver, listened, grimaced and looked over at O'Brien, who was mixing himself a highball.
'Police Captain Motley,' Sullivan said. 'Want to talk to him, boss?'
O'Brien drank half the highball, lit a cigarette and took the receiver.
'What is it?' he snapped.
'A report's just come in that's going to start something,' Motley said, his voice shaking with excitement. 'Johnny Dorman's been shot dead.'
O'Brien stiffened; his face changed colour.
'What the hell are you talking about?' he snarled.
'One of my men was on the waterfront keeping a lookout for this guy Holland. He spotted him with Johnny Dorman ...'
'With Johnny? He's lying!' O'Brien broke in violently. 'He couldn't have been with Johnny . . .' He stopped abruptly, realizing what he was saying.
'He was with Dorman,' Motley said. 'There's no mistake about it. My man started to question Holland, and Dorman shot him.'
Certain that Tux had carried out his orders and had wiped out Johnny, O'Brien wondered if Motley was drunk, but he realized he had to be careful. He couldn't tell Motley he knew Johnny was in a barrel of cement at the bottom of the river.
'The two of them bolted,' Motley went on, 'but they were seen by Adams who happened to be in the neighbourhood. He took a shot at Johnny and hit him in the arm. They got away and holed up in a house off the waterfront. Adams had the place surrounded. Holland got away over the roofs. He was spotted, and Adams sent men up after him. They ran into Tux and Solly who were up there.'
O'Brien nearly dropped the receiver.
'What?'
'Don't ask me what they were doing up there,' Motley said-'The fools started a shooting match. They killed five of my men. Tux got into the house where Dorman was hiding and shot him before our men could get at him.'
O'Brien turned cold.
'What happened to Tux?'
'My men blew him to bits,' Motley said.
So Tux had made a mess of it! O'Brien thought. Somehow Johnny must have escaped from Willow Point. What was Gilda going to say when she read the morning papers? He realized he would have to see her immediately and get a convincing lie in first. Damn Tux! He was lucky to be dead.
'Holland got away,' Motley went on. 'We're still looking for him. We've got the press on our backs.'
'Get Holland! Do you hear?' O'Brien snarled. 'That's an order!'
He slammed down the receiver, went quickly across the room to the hall where Sullivan stood waiting.
'I'm going out,' O'Brien said. 'Wait up for me!'
He hurried to the garage, got the Cadillac out again and drove fast to Maddox Court.
It took him a little under ten minutes to get there, and by that time he had his story ready. He had to convince Gilda that he had nothing to do with Johnny's death. He had told her he had seen him off in a plane for Paris. Very well then: the plane had returned with engine trouble and Johnny had left it. That's the best he could do. She would be too upset by Johnny's death to question the story.
The night clerk, who knew O'Brien well, hurried to open the elevator doors as O'Brien crossed the lobby.
'Miss Dorman is in, sir,' he said.
O'Brien grunted, got into the elevator and was whisked to the top floor.
The poor kid would be in bed and asleep, he thought as he crossed the passage to her front door. This was going to be a hell of a shock for her.
He rang the bell.
There was a pause, then Gilda called through the door, 'Who is it?'
'Sean. Let me in, kid.'
She opened the door.
He was startled to see she had her back turned to him and she was facing the open door of the sitting-room. He saw she had a gun in her hand.
'What's happening . . . ?'
He looked into the sitting-room at the tense, white-faced man sitting in a chair who stared at him with frightened eyes.
'A burglar ... or what?' O'Brien asked. 'Here, give me the gun.' He took it from Gilda and walked into the sitting-room. 'What's all this about?'
