hushed up, Dawson!'
I laughed.
'You have as much hope of hushing this up as you've got in keeping an H-bomb explosion quiet,' I said, and dropped the receiver back on its cradle.
I waited for a brief moment, then put a call through to police headquarters. I asked if Lieutenant Carlotti was on duty. The desk sergeant said he thought he was in his office. He told me to hold on. After about a minute wait, Carlotti came on the line.
'Yes, Signor Dawson?' He sounded smooth and unexcited. 'Is there anything I can do for
you?'
'I'm just checking on the inquest. It's at eleven-thirty. That right?' I said.
'That is right. I am flying down to-night. Do you wish to come with me?'
'Not to-night. I'll catch the early morning plane. How's the investigation going?'
'Satisfactory.'
'No arrest yet?'
'Not yet, but these things take time.'
'Yeah.' I wondered if I should tell him that Chalmers was yelling for an adjournment, but I decided it wouldn't do any good. 'How about la Signorina Chalmers's apartment? Are you through there yet?'
'Yes. I was going to tell you. The key is with the porter. I took the police guard off this morning.'
'Okay, then I'll get busy and have the place cleared. Did you notice the telephone number scribbled on the wall in her lounge?'
'Oh, yes,' Cariotti said. He didn't sound very interested. 'We checked it. It is the number of la Signorina Setti, a friend of la Signorina Chalmers.'
'Did you know that Myra Setti is the daughter of Frank Setti, whom you boys are supposed to be looking for?'
There was a pause, then he said coldly, 'I was aware of that.'
'I just thought it might have slipped your mind,' I said, and hung up.
III
Carlo was waiting for me in the Pasquale Club. He was drinking wine and smoking a cheroot. He waved to me as I crossed the empty lounge to join him.
'What's biting you?' he said. 'Have a drink?'
I shook my head.
'You said if I played with you, you'd play with me,' I said. 'Okay, here's your chance.'
He tilted back his chair, blew smoke towards the ceiling and listened with haLF-closed eyes as I explained about Sarti.
'Old man Chalmers told me to put a private eye to work, digging into his daughter's background,' I said. 'I didn't imagine Sarti would dig so deep. He's dug me up.'
Carlo looked at me, his face expressionless.
'So what?'
'So he's blackmailing me for ten million lire. If I don't pay, he's handing the information he's collected over to the police.'
'How bad is the information?' Carlo asked, tilting his chair further back and scratching his jaw with a dirty finger-nail.
'As bad as it can be. If the police get this information from him, I'm cooked. I haven't ten million lire –nothing like it. If you want me to do this run to Nice for you, you've got to do something fast.'
'Such as what?'
'That's up to you. I don't suppose you want to spring ten million lire, do you?'
He threw back his head and sounded off with his raucous laugh.
'You kidding?' He let his chair come to earth with a crash that shook the room, stood up and hunched his shoulders. 'Come on, pally. Let's go and see this bum. I'll fix him.'
'He's probably out.' I wasn't anxious to get mixed up in this. 'Why don't you call around at his office to- morrow? I'd come with you, but I have to be in Naples to-morrow to attend the inquest.'
He put his enormous hand on my arm. His fingers dug into my muscles.
'He'll be in. This is feeding time. Come on, pally. This is your mess. You and me will fix him together.'
He led me out of the bar, across the sidewalk to where the Renault was parked. We got in, and he sent the car shooting away from the kerb.
'The office will be shut,' I said, flinching as Carlo narrowly missed a man and woman who were crossing the street.
Carlo leaned out of the car window to curse them, then pulled in his head and gave me his wide, animal grin.
'I know where the punk lives,' he said. 'He and I have done a couple of jobs together. He loves me. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me.'
I gave up, and for the rest of the reckless drive I said nothing.
We pulled up outside an apartment block off via Flaminia Nuova. Carlo got out, crossed the sidewalk, pushed open the entrance door and walked up the stairs, three at a time. He paused outside a shabby door on which was tacked one of Sarti's business cards. He dug his thumb into the bell-push and kept it there.
There was a six seconds pause, then the door opened cautiously. I had a glimpse of Sarti's fat, unshaven face before he tried to slam the door shut.
Carlo was ready for this move. His knee came up and smashed into the door panel, slamming the door into Sarti who went over with a little yelp of fear and pain. He sat down on the floor of the hall. Carlo walked in, let me pass, then kicked the door shut.
He reached out and hauled Sarti to his feet by his necktie. The tie tightened around Sarti's fat throat and his face turned purple. He hit Carlo feebly in the face, his small fat hands making as much impression on Carlo as a rubber hammer would make on a lump of rock.
Carlo suddenly let go of the tie and gave Sarti a violent shove. Sarti went reeling back through a door into a small sitting-room. He cannoned into a table set for a meal, and he and the table went over on the floor.
I stood aside and watched.
Carlo wandered into the room, his hands in his trousers pockets, whistling under his breath.
