Tiger By The Tail

The night watchman wrote the address down on a scrap of paper, and the two detectives returned to their car.

"I'll get a newspaper," Donovan said, "hang on a second."

He bought two papers from the boy at the corner, and came back to the car.

"It's in the stop press," he said, and read the announcement. He felt no satisfaction to see his name in print. He knew if he didn't crack this one fast the press would turn on him.

During the afternoon he had returned to Fay Carson's apartment to meet the press. Anticipating the worst kind of trouble from the reporters, he had been relieved to find Captain Motley already there.

He was bewildered and astonished to find no sign of the cal-girls. The whole house had miraculously become respectable and, ferret as they could, the reporters found nothing to work on. They went from apartment to apartment. The elderly women who opened the door to them knew nothing and had heard nothing.

The reporters were highly suspicious because they had been called in so late, but Motley's smooth talk got over the awkward situation. Listening to

him soft soap the press made Donovan thankful it wasn't he who had to handle them.

"Going to be a hell of a spread across the front page tomorrow morning," he said, getting into the car beside Duncan.

"Yeah," Duncan said, and sent the car shooting away from the kerb.

It didn't take them long to find the street.

"That's the place, over on your right," Donovan said.

They pulled up outside the neat, well-cared-for bungalow and got out.

"This guy can grow roses, can't he?" said Duncan, who was a keen gardener. "Look at that Mrs. Laxton."

"Who's she?" Donovan growled, staring around.

"Never mind, sarg," Duncan said, concealing a grin. "Pity he doesn't keep his lawn better. Reminds me I've got to cut mine."

"Keep your mind on your job!" Donovan snarled.

He rammed his thumb into the bell-push, kept it there for a couple of seconds, then stood away.

There was a long pause, then just as he was going to ring again, the front door opened.

He recognized the tall, good-looking guy who opened the door. He had been standing next to Parker at the bank.

Scared out of his wits, Donovan thought with sadistic satisfaction. Damn funny thing. I have only to ring a bell to frighten the life out of everyone in the house.

He shoved his heavy jaw forward aggressively.

"You Holland?" he growled.

Ken nodded dumbly.

Duncan was studying him, puzzled.

He looks as if he has robbed the bank and has the proceeds in the house, he thought. What the hell's the matter with him?

"I want to talk to Parker. Where's he live?" Donovan demanded.

Ken opened and shut his mouth, but no sound came. He stared fixedly at Donovan.

"Where does he live?" Donovan repeated, raising his voice.

Ken made an effort, gulped, then said, "Why, he's just in the next road. 145 Marshall Avenue."

Duncan took out his notebook and jotted down the address.

"Did he tell you he was going to call his wife from the pay booth this morning?" Donovan demanded.

"He - he didn't say."

"But you saw him go to the pay booth?"

"Why - yes, I did,"

"What time was that?"

"I didn't notice."

Donovan glared at him, then he turned disgustedly to Duncan.

"Come on; we're wasting time."

He strode down the path, jerked open the gate and crossed to the car.

Duncan followed him. At the gate, he turned to look back. Ken was still standing motionless in the doorway, staring after them. Then, seeing Duncan looking at him, he stepped back and hurriedly shut the front door.

CHAPTER III

I

When Commissioner Howard's car disappeared down the drive, Sean O'Brien walked slowly into the lounge and sat down. He waited, listening, and after a moment or so he heard footsteps. Gilda came into the room.

"Oh, he's gone, then," she said, but the assumed surprise in her voice didn't deceive O'Brien.

"Yes, he's gone," he said, and taking her hand, he pulled her down on to the arm of his chair. He put his arm around her waist and began to stroke her flank while he looked up at her.

Her great green cat's eyes were dark with anxiety.

"What did he want, Sean?" she asked. "Or shouldn't I ask?"

"This is the first time he has ever been here," O'Brien said, frowning. "He's an odd guy" He leaned his head against Gilda's arm. "He brought some bad news."

He felt her stiffen.

"Do you remember Fay Carson?" he went on, and looked up at her.

Her finely shaped nostrils contracted and her eyes hardened.

"Of course I do. What has she . . .?"

"Your brother and she were lovers, weren't they?"

He saw her flinch.

"But, Sean, that's ancient history now. Why bring it up?"

He abruptly got to his feet and moved away from her, his hands behind his back; a set, hard expression on his face.