He was a little startled to see Carol crouching over the fire, her head in her hands.

He wheeled the trolley to the table.

Clearing his throat, he said: "Your dinner, madam. Would you like it served by the fire?"

"Leave it there, please," Carol said without turning.

"May I draw the chair up for you?" Eddie asked, a little uncertain and not anything like as confident as he had been before entering the room.

"No . . . leave me alone and go," Carol said, a grating note in her voice.

Then Eddie saw the two briefcases lying on the floor and he stood transfixed as he read the gold letters stamped the side of each case. On one was: Frank Kurt; on the other: Max Geza. He gaped at Carol with startled eyes, and as he did so she happened to move her arm and he caught sight of the white puckered scar on her wrist. He gave a convulsive start as he realized that she was Mary Prentiss.

This discovery so startled him that he hastily left the room before she might look up and recognize him. When he was once more in the corridor he stood for a moment thinking, his eyes bright and his breathing heavy. What a sweet set-up, he thought: Carol Blandish, the millionairess, masquerading as Mary Prentiss and responsible for the death of Frank, and in possession of Frank's and Max's property. If he couldn't turn that to good account then he might as well give up his racket and take up knitting.

When Carol had finished the dinner, which she ate ravenously, she felt better and the pain in her head slowly receded. Taking off her cloak, she pulled the chair up to the fire and sat down to review the past days with cold triumph. She had already settled Frank's account, and had made good strides in the settling of Max's. From the time Max had left the hospital she had been on his heels and he had had no suspicion. She had even followed him up the stairs of the old wooden house and had watched him through a c.h.i.n.k in the door panel as he counted the money he had taken from the wardrobe. She had seen in his hard eyes the intense pleasure the money had given him, and she knew that by taking it she would inflict on him a hurt as great as the one he had inflicted on Miss Lolly when he had cut off her beard.

She had decided to give him a few days longer in which to grieve over his loss and then she would finish him. Her eyes burned feverishly when she thought of that moment and her long white fingers turned into claws.

Then she remembered the briefcases lying at her feet, and she picked up one of them, opened it, looked at the neatly stacked money with an expression of horror in her eyes. Each note seemed to her to reek of the Sullivans, and she seemed to hear the faint echo of their metallic voices seeping out of the leather case. With a shiver of disgust she threw the case from her and its contents came tumbling out on to the dingy carpet.

At this moment the door opened and Eddie, now prepared to deal with the situation, came in. His opening sentence died in his throat when he saw the stacks of dollar bills on the floor. He spotted the briefcase and he realized at once that this money belonged to Frank and Max. He also jumped to the conclusion that Frank's money, anyway, was now Linda's property, and what was Linda's was, of course, his as well.

Carol turned quickly in her chair when she heard the door close, saw Eddie and recognized him. She remained still, her big green eyes watchful.

Eddie stirred the money with his foot, looked at her.

"Know me?" he asked, and smiled.

"Get out," Carol said quietly.

Now sure of himself, Eddie lounged to the fireplace and propped himself up against the mantelpiece.

"The police are looking for a dame who calls herself Mary Prentiss," he said, reached for a cigarette, lit it. "The charge is murder, and they have a good enough case, if they find her, to make it stick."

"Get out," Carol repeated, and her hands closed into fists.

"They wouldn't hang you. They'd put you away, sweetheart, for twenty years." He regarded the glowing end of his cigarette, glanced at her, went on: "You wouldn't like prison life, you know. You've had a dose of asylum life, but they treat you tough in prison."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, suddenly relaxing back in her chair.

"Look, baby, we don't have to wrap this up in cotton wool. Don't try and bluff. I know you are Mary Prentiss because of that scar. You were the girl who agreed to be Prank's companion, who took my money to keep him amused, and who engineered his death. I don't know why you did it, but I can soon find out. You are also Carol Blandish, the millionairess, late of Glenview Mental Sanatorium. You and me are going to do a deal. I'm taking this money for a start, and then you'll give me a certified cheque for half a million, otherwise I'm going to hand you over to the police. What do you say to all that?"

"I don't like you," Carol said, and her mouth twitched. "You'd better go."

"Don't rush it, baby," Eddie said, and showed his big white teeth in a sneering smile. "I'm not going until you've paid up. Come on, get wise, I've got you where I want you, and there's no wriggling out."

She looked up at him, her eyes like holes burned in white paper.

"Get out!" she said violently, "and leave me alone."

"I'll give you a couple of hours to think it over," Eddie said, a little startled. "But I'll take this dough while I'm at it. It doesn't belong to you."

As he bent to pick up the money Carol s.n.a.t.c.hed up the poker and struck at his head with all her strength.

Eddie had just time to drop flat. The poker missed his head but caught his shoulder, and the pain stunned him for a second or so.

But as Carol jumped to her feet he rolled clear and, cursing, swung his legs round, catching her a bang below her knees, bringing her down on top of him. He grabbed her arms, rolled her over on her back and pinned her to the floor.

"Now, you h.e.l.l-cat," he said viciously, "I'll teach you to start something like this," and releasing one of her arms he slapped her heavily across her face.

It was a mistake to release her arm, for she struck back like lightning. Instinct rather than sight warned Eddie and he jerked back his head in time to save his eyes. Her fingernails ploughed four deep scratches down his jaw, drawing blood.

Before he could recover from the first shock of pain she was up and had darted to the door. He s.n.a.t.c.hed at the skirt of her black silk dress, brought her up with a jerk, then the dress ripped and he lost his hold.

She reached the door, set her back against it, her hands behind her. As he got slowly to his feet he heard the key turn in the lock.

"That won't get you anywhere," he said, breathing heavily. Blood from the scratches dripped on to his white shirt-front. "Unlock that door or I'll give you the hiding of your life."

Carol removed the key, bent and slipped it under the door.

"Now neither of us can get away," she said softly.

"I'll make you pay for this," Eddie said, not liking the cold, vicious expression on her face nor the burning light in her eyes. "I'm three times as strong as you and I'll skin you if you start anything funny."

She gave a soft metallic laugh which set his nerves tingling.

"You're afraid of me," she said, sidled across the room towards him.

"Stay where you are," Eddie said sharply, and he remembered with a little chill what the newspapers had said about her. Homicidal . . . wildcat . . . dangerous.

But she came on, her hands hanging loosely at her sides, her eyes burning.

"So you're going to have me locked up," she jeered at him. "I don't think so. I don't like being locked up."

Eddie backed away until he came up against the wall. She struck before he was properly set and her fingernails, missing his eyes by a hair's-breadth, slashed his cheek. Furious with pain, Eddie grabbed her, and for a minute or so they fought like animals. It was all Eddie could do to keep the flying fingernails out of his eyes. Each time he grabbed at her wrists she evaded him, and although she did not reach his eyes, she scratched and tore at his face until it was a mask of blood.

Eddie hit her in the body, but she clung on to him. He got hold of her arms, twisted them behind her, turned her and threw her down on the bed. Her dress was ripped into shreds and he couldn't hold her, his hands sliding off her smooth, slippery young body. She managed to turn and bite at his wrists, and as he lost his hold her knees came up and she kicked him away.

He jumped her before she could get off the bed, and by sheer weight flattened her.

"I'll teach you, you wildcat!" he panted, and raised his fist to club her, but her hands flew up to his throat and he only just caught her wrists in time. They lay like that, their faces close, each struggling to exert sufficient strength to overpower the other.

She was stronger than he thought possible, and he could feel her cold fingers creeping up his neck towards his eyes again.

Panic now seized him and, releasing her, he sprang away, rushed to the door, turned as he heard her savage little cry. She came at him, her eyes blazing and her white face working. He grabbed up a chair and smashed it down across her shoulders so that the chair splintered in his hands.

She pitched forward, and as she was falling he hit her with all his strength on the back of her head. The chair-back snapped, I and he stood staring down at her limp body, a piece of the chair firmly clenched in his hand, blood running down his face, horror I in his eyes.

"I've killed her!" he thought and turned cold.

For almost a minute he stood staring down at her as she lay before him; practically naked above the waist; her face waxen, her black dress in shreds, one stocking down to her ankle. Her arms and neck were smeared with his blood. The sight of her turned him sick.

"If the cops find her here," he thought wildly, "they'll crucify me! They won't believe I hit her in self-defence."

Then he thought of Gus. Gus would have to get him out of this mess. If there was anyone who could do it-Gus was the guy.

He blundered to the telephone, and when Gus answered he gasped, "Come up here, quick!" Then he flopped on to the bed and kept his eyes averted from the still figure on the floor.

After a while the rattle of a key in the lock aroused him, and he got unsteadily to his feet as Gus came in.

Gus stopped short, caught his breath sharply.

"For G.o.d's sake!" he exclaimed, his eyes hardening. Then he came into the room, closed the door. "Is she dead?"

"I don't know," Eddie quavered. He looked ghastly with blood still trickling down his face and soaking into his collar and coat. "Look what she did to me. She's crazy! She came at me like a wild animal. If I hadn't hit her . . ."

But Gus wasn't listening. The dollar bills scattered all over the room held his attention. He shot a quick, hard glance at Eddie, then knelt beside Carol, felt her pulse, lifted her head, grimaced as he got blood on his fingers. He lowered her head very gently to the floor, wiped his fingers on her torn dress and stood up with a little grunt.

"Is she . . .?" Eddie began, gulped, waited.

"You've smashed her skull," Gus said brutally. "Why did you have to hit her so hard, you crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"Is she dead?" Eddie jerked out, his knees buckling. He had to sit on the bed.

"She won't last long," Gus said grimly. "The back of her head's caved in."

Eddie shuddered.

"She'd've killed me, Gus," he moaned. "I had to do it. I swear she'd have killed me . . . look what she did to me."

"Tell it to the cops," Gus said. "If you can't cook up a better yarn than that they'll fling you into the gas chamber so fast you'll be dizzy in the head till the pellets drop."

"Don't. . ," Eddie cried, starting to his feet. "I tell you "

"Save it," Gus returned. "You don't have to tell me a thing. I'm thinking of the hotel, not you. The cops would slam us shut if they heard about this. Can't you stop that bleeding?" he went on irritably. "You're ruining the carpet."

Eddie went into the bathroom, came back holding a towel to his face.

"We've got to get her out of here before she croaks," he said desperately. "No one knows she's in town. For the love of Mike, Gus, get her out of here and dump her somewhere."

"Me?" Gus exclaimed. "And get an accessary rap tied to my tail? That's a laugh. I ain't as dumb as that."

Eddie clutched his arm.

"You can fix it, Gus. I'll make it worth your while. Look, take that dough. There's more than twenty grand there."

Gus gave an exaggerated start and appeared to see for the first time the money that was scattered over the floor.

"You two been robbing a bank?" he asked.

"It's mine," Eddie said hysterically. "Get her out of here and you can have the lot. Come on, Gus, you know you can fix it."

Gus ran his hand over his thinning hair.

"Yeah, I guess I could," he said slowly. "You'll give me this dough if I get rid of her?"

"Yes . . . only get her out quick."

"I'll chance it," Gus said, making up his mind, and he bent to pick up the money, pushing Carol aside with his foot to get at some of the notes.

"Get her out first," Eddie said, wringing his hands.

"Take it easy," Gus said. "I'll take her down in the service elevator. She's got a car in the garage; may as well use that. I'll dump her outside the hospital if the coast's clear. You'd better get out of town, Eddie," he went on, stuffing the last of the notes into the briefcase. "If the cops see your mug they'll haul you in as a suspect."

"I'm going," Eddie gasped. "Thanks, Gus, you're a pal."

"Think nothing of it," Gus returned, closed the briefcase. "I was always a sucker for a smart guy like you."

Eddie went unsteadily across the room to where the other briefcase lay hidden behind the overturned armchair. As he picked it up Gus joined him with three quick, silent strides.

"Wait a minute, pal," he said. "I'll have that too."

Eddie snarled at him.

"It's mine," he said, clutching on to the case. "She stole it."

"Too bad," Gus sneered. "Remind me to cry when I have a moment. Hand it over."

"It's mine," Eddie repeated weakly. "You wouldn't skin me, Gus? It's all the dough I have in the world. I've gotta have dough if I'm to get away."

"You're breaking my heart," Gus said. "Hand it over unless you want me to call the cops."

Eddie flung the case on the floor.

"You dirty rat!" he cried. "Take it then, and I hope it poisons your fife."

"It won't," Gus said, and winked. "So long, Eddie. Get out of town quick. I don't want to see that scratched-up puss of yours for a long time. It makes me feel sad," and he laughed.

Not trusting himself to speak, Eddie half ran, half staggered from the room.

Ismi Geza sat in the waiting-room of the Montgomery Ward of the Santo Rio Memorial Hospital. It was a pleasant room; light, airy and comfortably furnished. The armchair in which he sat rested him, and he thought, rather to his surprise, how nice it would be to have an armchair as comfortable as this at home.

He thought about the armchair because he was afraid to think about Max. They had taken him away in an ambulance, and hadn't allowed Ismi to travel with him. Ismi had been forced to follow behind in Max's Packard. He hadn't driven a car for years, and the journey had shaken his nerves.

Ismi guessed that Max had had a stroke. Apoplexy seemed to run in the family. Ismi had had a stroke when he had seen an old friend of his mauled by a lion. Max had had his stroke when he had found he had lost his money. The causes had been so different, Ismi thought sadly, but the results could be the same. He hoped not. He hoped that Max would recover. Ismi's dragging leg bothered him: it would be an even greater trial to an energetic, impatient man like Max.