face that made him look like something out of the jungle.
“Okay, you dirty double-crosser,” he said softly. “Now you’re really going to get it.”
I waited for him.
He began to move slowly forward, circling a little to my left, his black eyes vicious and intent. I turned slightly, set for his rush, the poker in readiness. I knew I could stop him if I landed one good smash on his head.
But I underestimated his speed. I knew he was fast, but I didn’t realize just how fast he could be until he suddenly dived for my knees.
His shoulder crashed against my thighs as I brought down the poker which landed across his shoulders, missing his head. I felt as if a house had fallen on me. We went down together with a thump that rocked the room.
I let go of the poker and drove my fist into his face. I couldn’t get much weight behind the punch, but it sent his head back. I aimed another punch at his throat, but my fist sailed past his head as he twisted aside. He caught me on the side of my neck with a clubbing punch that dazed me.
I got my hand under his chin and heaved him off me. He swung a punch at my head. I blocked it with my right arm, kicked him in the chest and sent him crashing against the settee that shot across the room, mowing down an occasional table and a standard lamp.
I was on my feet in time to meet his rush. We collided like a couple of fighting bulls. I hung a jolting right on the side of his jaw and took a thump in the ribs, that turned me sick.
He backed away; his face contorted with savage rage. He showed his teeth in a snarling grimace. I steadied myself and waited for him. As he came in, I shoved my left into his face, jolting his head back. I jumped away as he countered with a punch that swished past my jaw, bringing him forward. I hooked him on the side of his head, catching him too high up to damage him. He crowded me, bashing my ribs with four short-arm jolts that thumped the breath out of me. I broke away from him, jumped behind an armchair, and as he came at me, I shoved the chair at him, spoiling his rush.
Punch for punch, I knew he was too good for me. He hit with the force of a steam hammer, and every time he caught me, I weakened.
I began to back away. He moved forward, blood trickling down his chin from a cut lip. As he came within reach, I shot out my left. My fist caught him on the nose, but it didn’t stop him. He swung at me. His fist came over my shoulder and exploded against my ear. It was a hell of a punch, and I felt my knees sag. I threw up my hands to protect my jaw and took another punch to the body. I went down.
I expected him to finish me, but he was too anxious to get at Gina. He left me and charged across the room. He took a flying kick at the bedroom door; his foot landing against the lock. The door split, but the lock held.
From inside the room I heard the crash of breaking glass and then the sound of Gina’s screaming out of the broken window at the top of her voice.
Somehow I got to my feet. My legs felt like rubber sticks. I reeled forward as he set himself for another kick at the lock. I flung my arm around his neck and dragged him over backwards. I got a lock on his throat. But it was like holding on to a wild cat. He was much too strong for me. He dragged my arm from his throat, drove his elbow into my body, turned, and his fingers closed around my throat. I got my hand under his chin and exerted pressure. For a long moment we remained motionless; his fingers digging into my throat; my hand slowly wedging his head back. My hold hurt him more than his hurt me and he let go, heaved backwards, scrambled to his feet as I got up on to my knees.
He set himself and swung a punch. I saw it coming, but I was too far gone to get out of its way. Lights exploded before my eyes and I went down.
I remained out for maybe three or four seconds. The sound of the bedroom door crashing open brought me round. I heard a wild scream and I knew he had got to Gina.
I staggered up. Near me, on the floor, was the poker. My fingers closed around it. I staggered across the room and into the bedroom.
Carlo had Gina flat on her back across the bed. One of his big hands gripped her throat. He knelt over her. He was shouting: “Where is it? Come on! Give it to me!”
I swung the poker. He half-turned, but he was a shade too late. The poker came down on top of his head. His hand slid off Gina’s throat. He supped sideways. I hit him again. He spread out on the floor.
I dropped the poker, stepped over him and leaned over Gina.
“Did he hurt you?”
She looked up at me, her face white. She tried to smile.
“He didn’t get it, Ed,” she gasped, then, turning her head, she began to cry.
“What’s going on here?” a voice demanded at the door.
I looked over my shoulder. Two policemen stood in the doorway; one of them had a pistol in his hand.
“Not much right now,” I said, making an effort to keep upright “This guy broke in here and we had a free- for-all. I’m Ed Dawson of the Western Telegr
At Carlotti’s name, the policemen’s faces brightened.
“Do you want to charge this man?”
“You bet I do. Get him out of here, will you? I’ll have a clean up and then I’ll come down to the station.”
One of the policemen bent over Carlo. He caught hold of his collar and dragged him upright.
I had already learned the danger of getting close to Carlo and I started to shout a warning.
Carlo came to life. His right fist shot out and connected with the policeman’s jaw, sending him crashing into the other policeman.
Carlo came to his feet. He gave me a back-hand slap across the face that flattened me on the bed, then he dived out of the room.
The policeman with the gun in his hand recovered his balance, swung around, lifted his gun and fired.
I saw Carlo stagger, but he reached the front door as the policeman fired again.
Carlo dropped on hands and knees. He turned his head, his face a savage mask of pain and fury. Somehow, he hauled himself to his feet and took three tottering steps out on to the landing and stood swaying at the head of the stairs.
The policeman moved slowly towards him.
Carlo looked past him at me. His face twisted into a ghastly attempt at a grin, then his eyes rolled back and his knees buckled. He toppled backwards down the stairs, and landed on the floor below with a crash that shook the building.
IV
Forty minutes later, I was back in my apartment, fixing my bruises. I had dropped Gina off at her apartment and had telephoned Maxwell to hold everything until I had time to contact him again. The police had told mc that Carlo was still alive, but there was no hope for him. They said he would the within an hour or so. They had rushed him to hospital.
I had just finished putting a strip of plaster over a cut above my eye when the front-door bell rang. It was Carlotti.
“Manchini is asking for you,” he said. “He’s going fast. I have a car outside. Will you come?”
I followed him down to where the police car was waiting. While we were driving to the hospital, Carlotti said, “You seem to be having some excitement. Grandi telephoned me that it was you who put him on to Setti’s hide-out.”
“I’ve had too much excitement.”
He gave me a thoughtful stare.
“After you have talked with Manchini, I want to have a talk with you.”
Here it comes, I thought, and told him that I was at his disposal. Nothing more was said until we reached the hospital. Then Cariotti said, “I hope he’s still alive. He was in a bad way when I left him.”
