Tiger By The Tail

"Save it, pally," Tux said, as he got out of the car. "Come on." He threatened Louie with the gun. "Step out and snap it up."

Whitey had already got out of the car. He took a bicycle chain from his pocket and began lovingly to wrap it around his right hand.

Louie got out of the car. His legs shook so violently he nearly fell.

Tux put his gun away, took a bicycle chain from his hip pocket and, following Whitey's example, he, too, began to wrap the chain around his right hand.

"I wanted to kill you, pally," he said softly, "but the boss doesn't like killings. He asked me to soften you up a little just to make sure you don't bother the girl again, and just to make sure you don't yap to the cops. If you do, pally, I'll come after you next time with the heater, and you'll get it in the gut."

"Keep away from me!" Louie yelled, throwing up his hands to protect his head. "Keep away from me!"

The two men suddenly closed in on him.

CHAPTER V

I

Ken was in his bedroom when he heard the front-door bell ring. For a long moment he stood motionless, too scared to move. Had the police returned? Was that sergeant going to question him again? Had he given himself away? He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was ten minutes past nine. Who could it be if it wasn't the police?

He went furtively to the window and looked out. There was no car at the gate. Then it couldn't be the police. He crossed the room, opened the door and stepped into the passage.

If he peered around the corner of the passage and across the hall he would be able to see through the glass panel of the front door who the caller was without being seen himself.

He began to edge forward when a movement just ahead of him brought him to an abrupt standstill.

Standing in the middle of the passage, looking up at him, was a fawn Pekinese dog.

The dog stared up at him, its bulging eyes frog-like and expressionless.

Ken turned cold. He stood rooted, paralysed with shock.

He heard a soft footfall in the hall, then around the corner Sweeting appeared. He looked at Ken slyly, then he bent and picked up the dog.

"I must apologize for Leo," he said. "He shouldn't have pushed in like that, but I believe he must have taken a liking to you."

Ken tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come.

"I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Holland," Sweeting went on. "You are Mr. Holland? There were some letters in the hall I glanced at: they were addressed to you, or have I made a mistake?"

Ken was in no state to attempt to bluff. His mind was paralysed with panic.

"What do you want?" he said hoarsely.

"Just a few minutes with you," Sweeting said, stroking Leo's head with his finger-tip. "Perhaps we could sit down? I have had a very tiring day. I won't keep you long. It's a business matter." He looked into the lounge. "That looks most comfortable. Shall we go in there?"

Without waiting, he walked into the lounge.

"How very nice!" he said, looking around. "How very pleasant ! I envy you, Mr. Holland, having such a delightful home." His beady little eyes went to the silver-framed photograph of Ann. "Is that your wife? What a charming girl ! How pretty ! She isn't in, is she?"

Ken watched this fat, oily little man walking around his lounge as if he owned it. He was slowly recovering from the shock of finding him in his home. How had Sweeting found him? What was going to happen? Was he going to blackmail him?

"Oh, and I see you keep whisky in your house," Sweeting said, pausing beside the liquor cabinet. "How pleasant! You know, Mr. Holland, I have always wanted to own one of these cabinets. They are so useful, and they do establish a standard, don't they? I'm afraid I haven't been a great success in my life. Some people are a lot more fortunate than others. Would it be discourteous of me if I had a drink? With a whisky and a comfortable chair one can always discuss a business proposition more congenially, don't you think?"

He set Leo down on the couch, poured himself a big shot of whisky, carried the glass to an armchair and sat down. He took off his hat, which he placed on the floor at his side and drank of the whisky.

"Most refreshing," he said, looking up at Ken. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Holland?"

Ken came slowly into the room and sat down.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"It's about last night. A young woman was murdered in the apartment above mine. I have some information that would be of interest to the police." Sweeting paused to smile knowingly.

"I'm not anxious to become a police informer, Mr. Holland. I realize it is my duty to tell them what I know, but they seldom show any appreciation. After all, one has to consider one's own interests first, I always think."

So it was to be blackmail. Ken reached for a cigarette and lit it with an unsteady hand.

"I had nothing to do with the murder," he said steadily.

Sweeting inclined his head.