"Would you be surprised to know that my brother is at this moment flying to Paris?"

"He isn't! It was a trick. O'Brien planned to murder him. He persuaded your brother to write a note to you so you should believe he had gone to Paris."

"This gets more and more complicated as we go along, doesn't it?" she said, moving over to the sideboard. "Are you telling me that Sean O'Brien was planning to murder Johnny?"

"I know it sounds fantastic," Ken said, worried by her obvious suspicion, "but if I told you the whole story ..."

"That won't be necessary," she said, jerking open a drawer in the sideboard. She dipped into it, turned to face him, an automatic in her hand. "Don't move! You're lying! I know who you are! You're the man the police are looking for! You killed Fay Carson!"

II.

The telephone began to ring as...o...b..ien 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 h.e.l.l 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. d.a.m.n 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...b..ien 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 pa.s.sage to her front door. This was going to be a h.e.l.l 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?"

"It's the man who killed Fay Carson," Gilda said, breathlessly. "He broke in here."

O'Brien stiffened.

"Are you Holland?" he demand "Yes," Ken said, "but I didn't kill her."

"Yeah?" O'Brien said. "Well, tell that to the jury." He looked at Gilda. "What's he doing here?"

"He must be crazy. He came here expecting me to hide him. He says Johnny shot a policeman and is wounded. He says you planned to murder Johnny and he rescued him."

"That's a laugh," O'Brien said. "Get police headquarters." He waved to the telephone. "They'll be glad to see him."

"Wait!" Ken said. "You must listen to me." He was looking at Gilda. "I heard this man . . ."

"Shut up!" O'Brien said, threatening him with the gun. "Open your mouth again and you'll get shot!" To Gilda he went on, "Get Motley. He'll handle this."

As she moved over to the telephone, the frontdoor bell rang. She looked quickly at O'Brien, her hand hovering over the telephone.

"Are you expecting anyone?" he asked, as the bell rang again.

"No."

"Here, take the gun and watch this guy. I'll see who it is."

He gave her the gun, walked into the hall and opened the front door.

Lieutenant Adams stood in the pa.s.sage, his hands in his pockets. His face didn't betray his surprise at seeing O'Brien, but he was surprised.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" O'Brien rasped.

"Holland's here, isn't he?" Adams said mildly.

"How do you know?"

"I got a message."

O'Brien stood aside.

"You'd better come in and take charge of him."

Adams walked into the sitting room, looked at the gun in Gilda's hand, then at Ken. He gave Ken a sly wink.

"This is the man who killed Fay Carson," O'Brien said. "Charge him and take him away."

Adams shook his head.

"He didn't kill her," he said.

"I'm telling you he did!" O'Brien snapped. "The Commissioner has all the evidence he needs for a conviction. Don't argue with me! Charge him and take him away."

"The Commissioner got his information from Sergeant Donovan, who is invariably inaccurate," Adams said, watching Gilda as she laid the gun down on the sideboard.

"If Howard is satisfied, I am. I told you to arrest this man!"

"But he didn't do it. I had instructions to carry out an independent investigation. I've done so and I've cracked the case. This isn't the man."

"I suppose you are going to tell me Dorman killed her?" O'Brien said angrily.

"No, he didn't, either."

O'Brien made an impatient gesture.

"Don't be so d.a.m.ned mysterious! Who killed her, then?"

"It's quite a story. The facts . . ."

"I don't want to listen to this," Gilda said. "Sean, can't he take this man away ? This has been a shock to me. I want to go to bed."

"You'll be interested, Miss Dorman," Adams said before O'Brien could say anything. "Fay Carson was murdered because you married Maurice Yarde. You can't fail to be interested."

Gilda stiffened, her mouth tightened into a thin line.

"What did you say?" O'Brien's face flushed. "Married to Yarde? What the h.e.l.l do you mean?"

Gilda turned to him.

"He's lying! Don't listen to him, Sean. Get them out of here!"

"You can't deny it, Miss Dorman," Adams said. He sat down in a chair near Ken. "I had confirmation from Los Angeles not ten minutes ago. You married Maurice Yarde thirteen months ago. You lived with him for four months, then you left him. It's on record."

Gilda appeared to make an effort to control herself. She shrugged and turned away.

"All right," she said, her voice harsh. "So it's on record. It's no business of yours."

"Yes, it is," Adams said, crossing one leg over the other. "Your marriage supplies the motive for Fay Carson's murder."

Gilda looked at O'Brien, who was standing motionless, his eyes glittering.

"Don't believe him, Sean. He's either mad or drunk!"

"You'd better be careful what you are saying," O'Brien said to Adams.

"I can produce evidence of her marriage by tomorrow morning," Adams said indifferently. "She's wasting time denying it."

O'Brien went to Gilda, took her arm and looked intently at her.

"Are you married to Yarde, kid?"

She hesitated, then gave a despairing little shrug.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Sean. I should have told you. I'm getting a divorce. I was a fool to have married him, and I've paid for it. I didn't live with him for more than a month before I found out what he was. I was too ashamed to tell you."