"Where's this alley lead to?" Ken asked.

"I don't know. Leave me! They'll be on to us in a moment."

"No!"

Ken wanted to run, but he knew he had to stick with Johnny. Adams had said he wanted Johnny, and Ken was determined he should have Johnny.

He pulled Johnny back against the wall. Nearby was a door, leading to a tall, shabby house. Suddenly the door jerked open and a shadowy figure of a girl appeared in the doorway.

"Hey! Come inside quick!" she said in an urgent whisper.

Ken could hear the thud of running feet coming from the end of the alley. He didn't hesitate. Dragging Johnny over to the door, he bundled him into the darkness beyond and heard the girl hurriedly shut and lock the door. Almost immediately he heard someone run by.

"Is he hurt?" the girl asked.

"He's shot in the arm."

"Stay here. I'll get a light."

"Aren't women wonderful?" Johnny muttered. "Every time I get into a jam there's a woman to help me out." He leaned more heavily against Ken. "I feel like h.e.l.l. I think I'm going to pa.s.s out ..."

He slumped suddenly nearly pulling Ken over, then he slid to the ground.

The girl came quickly down the steep flight of stairs, holding a flickering candle above her head.

"I think he's fainted," Ken said.

"Can you carry him up? I have a room at the head of the stairs."

Ken managed to get Johnny across his shoulder and he staggered up the stairs after the girl, who lit the way.

He got Johnny into a small room, lit only by an oil lamp.

"Put him on the bed."

When he had lowered Johnny on to the bed, he turned to look at the girl and he saw with a sense of shock it was the girl he had met in the amus.e.m.e.nt arcade.

"h.e.l.lo, handsome," she said, smiling at him. "So you're still in trouble." She handed him the oil lamp. "Hold it so I can take a look at him."

Too surprised to say anything, Ken held the oil lamp while she quickly cut away Johnny's coat sleeve and shirt. The sight of the blood and the torn flesh sickened him.

"It could be worse, but I've to stop that bleeding," she said calmly. She moved quickly across the room, filled a basin of water, went to a cupboard and pulled out a couple of towels and came back to the bed.

In an astonishingly short time she had got the bleeding under control and had bandaged Johnny's arm.

"That's fixed it," she said as she began to clear away the bloodstained rags. "He'll be okay now."

Ken set down the lamp on the table. While she had been working on Johnny he had been uneasily listening to the noises going on outside. He heard police whistles, distant shouting and sirens, and he guessed the alley and the surrounding buildings were being cordoned off.

He had to get in touch with Adams.

As soon as the girl had finished clearing up, he said, "I must use the telephone. Have you got one?"

"Does it look like it?" she said impatiently. "There's a pay boom at the end of the alley, but you'd better not use that."

"I must get him away from here. If they found him here you'd get into trouble," Ken said anxiously.

The girl laughed.

"Be your age, handsome," she said. "What do I care? I'm never out of trouble."

"But you don't understand. He shot a policeman. He probably killed him."

"So what? My brother killed two cops," the girl said indifferently. "They're fair game, aren't they ?"

Ken looked helplessly at her.

"I must get him away from here !"

"Relax. You can't go yet. They're out there like a swarm of bees. Sit down.

I'll make some coffee." She bent over Johnny. "He's lost a lot of blood. He won't be able to move yet."

Ken sat down. He suddenly felt exhausted. While she made coffee he listened to the uproar going on outside.

"They're certain to come here," he said uneasily. "They'll search every building."

"Oh, forget it!" she said impatiently. "They're not here yet."

II.

Standing in the shadows, Raphael Sweeting watched the night clerk at the reception desk as he idly turned the pages of the evening newspaper.

Sweeting hadn't expected to find a night clerk on duty at Maddox Court. He was sure the clerk wouldn't let him upstairs if he saw him, and he thought it unwise to walk in boldly and ask for Gilda at this hour.

But he had infinite patience. He waited, holding Leo close to him, while he leaned his fat shoulders against the pillar. He had to wait twenty minutes before the opportunity he was hoping for came.

The clerk suddenly glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch, dropped the paper on the desk, and went into a room immediately behind the desk.

Sweeting was through the revolving doors in a flash. He scuttled across the thick pile carpet that covered the lobby floor and darted up the stairs and around the bend as the clerk came out of the room.

Sweeting waited, listening; then, hearing nothing to alarm him, he went on up the stairs.

It took him some moments to work out where apartment 45 was located in this vast building, and eventually found to his dismay that it was on the top floor.

He was tempted to use the elevator, but decided against the risk. There would be an indicator on the ground floor, and the clerk might wonder who was using the elevator. So Sweeting toiled up the stairs. By the time he had reached the sixth floor, he was sweating and puffing.

The time was now ten minutes to twelve. What a flop it would be, he thought, as he stood outside Gilda's front door, if she were out. He dug his grimy thumb into the bell push and held it there.

After a slight delay he heard someone coming, and a moment later the door opened.

Gilda stared blankly at him. She was wearing a pale blue negligee trimmed with blue mink. Her bare feet were thrust into blue-quilted slippers. She made a quick movement to shut the door, but Sweeting had had too many doors slammed in his face in the past not to be ready for such a move. His foot was already against the bottom of the door.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Dorman," he said, with his oily smile. "I've come about Maurice Yarde and your brother."

With satisfaction he watched her turn pale. Frightened women were always easy to handle.

"Who are you?" she said, still pressing the door against his foot.

"My name is Raphael Sweeting. I am a friend of your brother. He may have mentioned me." Sweeting said. "Perhaps I might step inside? I have had a most tiring day and I would be glad to sit down."

"You can't come in. I can't see you now. Please go away!"

Sweeting smiled.

"I don't want to make myself objectionable, Miss Dorman, but I a.s.sure you it is to your advantage to hear what I have to say. I have some interesting information for you."

The big green eyes swept over him, taking in his soiled creased suit, the three large grease stains on his tie, and the swollen, bloodshot eye the hat brim didn't quite conceal.

"What information ?"

"It's about your brother."

She hesitated, then, stepping aside, motioned him to come in.

Sweeting entered the hall happily. He followed her into a big, luxuriously furnished sitting room that immediately told him she had much more money than he had imagined. It was possible, he thought as he looked around, that she was the mistress of some wealthy man. But that wasn't his affair. The point was she was living in style and must have money.

He took off his hat and settled himself in the most comfortable chair in the room, holding Leo on his lap.

"You'll excuse my eye. I had an unfortunate accident," he said. "Are you fond of dogs, Miss Dorman? This little fellow is a remarkable specimen." He gently stroked Leo's silky coat. "Such a companion. Do you have a dog?"

Gilda stood facing him. Her face hard.

"What do you want?" she said curtly. "What have you got to tell me?"

Sweeting lifted his shoulders.

"Would it be inexcusable of me if I asked for a whisky and soda?" he asked hopefully.

"You're getting nothing here!" Gilda snapped. "What have you to tell me?"

Sweeting's fat face hardened. There was no reason to be polite to women unless they were exceptionally polite to him. When dealing with men he had to be more careful. Some of them, like that Holland fellow, could be violent, but there was no fear of that with a woman.

"My information is for sale," he said. "I have information concerning your brother that you will be anxious to buy."

"Shall I?"

She moved away from him, opened a silver cigarette box and lit a cigarette.

"Are you attempting to blackmail me?" she asked.

"I would scarcely call it blackmail. Valuable information is always worth paying for. The price is five hundred dollars."

"You don't imagine I have such a sum in this apartment, do you?" she asked contemptuously.

"Why not? You are obviously well off. It's not a vast sum, but if you haven't, I would consider taking some jewellery as security to be reclaimed for cash tomorrow."

"And what is this information?"

Sweeting smirked.

"Surely you don't expect me to tell you that without the money or the jewellery, Miss Dorman? From experience I find women have no sense of honour."

She looked at him for a long moment. There was something cat-like in her stillness that made Sweeting feel a little uneasy.

"Then I suppose I'll have to see what I have. Will you wait?"

She went into another room.

Sweeting took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his aching eye.

Perhaps his technique wasn't as good as it used to be, he thought uneasily. He had never had so much trouble before. First, Holland had been violent and had thrown him out, and now this girl was being suspiciously difficult.

The first indication he had that he had lost control of the situation came from Leo, who suddenly bolted off his lap and dived under the couch.

Sweeting hurriedly looked over his shoulder.

Gilda was standing in her bedroom doorway, a .38 automatic in her hand, its blue nose pointing at Sweeting's head.

Sweeting froze at the sight of the gun. If he had a horror of violence, guns terrified him. His heart seemed to turn over, and he shrank back in his chair, his fat face turning grey.

Gilda came over and stood over him.

"What's your information?" she said. "You'd better talk, you little rat, or I'll shoot you in the leg and tell the night clerk you broke in here."

Sweeting nearly fainted with fright.

"Take care," he quavered. "That gun might go off. Please put it down. I'll be only too glad to tell you what I know."

"Talk!" Her voice cracked like a whiplash. "What do you know about my brother?"