As O’Brien walked into the big sitting-room he thought Gilda was tense and even a little frightened. He looked sharply at her.
“What’s the matter, kid? Worried?”
“Of course I am,” Gilda said, a little impatiently. She sat down on the couch. “Johnny’s disappeared. Have you any news?”
“Yes; that’s why I came over. He was waiting for me at the house when I got back.”
Gilda stared at him.
“At your place?”
“Yes. I was surprised to find him there.” O’Brien sat beside her. “He made terms.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was quite frank. He told me he realized he was a nuisance. He is aware, too, that he could be suspected of Fay’s murder. So he made me a proposition.”
Gilda continued to tare at him.
“What proposition?”
O’Brien laughed.
“Do I have to tell you? You know Johnny. His main interest is money. He suggested I should finance him and he’d go on a trip around Europe.”
“Did you?”
“Of course. It was cheap at the price.”
“Oh, Sean you shouldn’t have. I can’t have him taking money from you.”
“It’s done now. It’s the best thing that could happen. Now we’re both rid of him.”
“You don’t mean he’s gone already?”
“Yes. I’ve just come from the airport,” O’Brien lied glibly. “There was a hell of a scramble to get him on the plane.”
“He went without saying good-bye to me?” Gilda said, looking searchingly at O’Brien.
“There wasn’t time, but he scribbled a note.” O’Brien took an envelope from his billfold and gave it to her. “He tried to call you, but every telephone booth was engaged. You know what it’s like at an airport. So he wrote instead.”
She ripped open the envelope, read the note and then laid it down.
“Was it necessary for him to leave so quickly, Sean?”
“I think so,” he returned quietly. “He wanted to go, and I didn’t want him snarled up with the police.”
“I wish I had seen him off.”
“There just wasn’t time. Get him out of your mind, Gilda. I know you’re fond of him, but you’ve got to forget him now.
He won’t be back for some time. Anyway, until after we’re married; and talking about marriage, let’s go ahead and make it quick now. How about the end of the week?”
Her face brightened.
“Yes. Whenever you like, Sean.”
He got up.
“Fine. Leave it to me. I’ll get things fixed. Now go to bed and don’t worry any more. It’s getting late. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what I’ve fixed.”
Sweeting listened to all this with growing interest. So Johnny had skipped to France. And she was planning to get married. Who was this guy she called Sean? Could it be Sean O’Brien? He wished he had the nerve to open the door a crack so he could get a glimpse of Gilda’s visitor, but, remembering Gilda’s gun, he decided against the risk.
He heard them talking on the landing; then, a few moments later, the front door shut.
He heard Gilda cross the sitting-room, turn off the lights and go into her
bedroom. The door shut.
Sweeting relaxed.
He had better go. At least he now had twenty dollars. That would meet his rent, but it wouldn’t leave him anything in hand. He suddenly realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day, and Leo must be starving too.
No harm in seeing what she had in her ice-box, he thought. A chicken or a ham would be acceptable.
Softly he tiptoed across the passage to the kitchen door, gently turned the handle, found the light switch and turned it on.
Facing him was a massive refrigerator, and his eyes lit up with eager anticipation. He paused to listen, but heard nothing. Sneaking across the polished floor he took hold of the refrigerator handle, gently lifted it and pulled.
The door of the refrigerator swung back.
A thin, frightened scream came out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he jumped back, shuddering.
Sitting, hunched up on the floor of the refrigerator, his face a bloody mask, his lips drawn off his teeth in a snarl of death, was Maurice Yarde.