Kells asked: “How’s the fella my fat friend popped this afternoon?”
Crotti turned his head, nodded. “He’s all right.” The phone rang and Kells answered it. MacAlmon swung up to sit on the edge of the divan. Crotti turned slowly in his chair toward Kells. Hesse stopped near the door. The Filipino was tilted back in a chair near the stairway — that led up to the balcony and the room upstairs; his hat was pulled down over his eyes and he did not move.
Kells said, “Yes, Shep,” into the telephone. He listened a little while and his face was cold and hard, his eyes were heavy. Then he said, “All right,” and hung up the receiver.
He spoke, more to Granquist than to any of the rest of them: “Borg’s gone.”
Granquist leaned forward slowly. Hesse said: “Who’s Borg?”
“The guy who’s got your money.” Kells smiled slowly at Hesse. Then he glanced at the Filipino and there was a black automatic in the Filipino’s hand. He was still tilted back against the wall and his hat almost covered his eyes.
Crotti stood up. He moved a little toward Kells and then stood very straight and stared at Kells and the muscles of his deeply lined white face twitched a little. He shook his head almost imperceptibly at the Filipino.
He said slowly: “No — I will do it myself, Shorty.” He put his hand to his side under the arm, under his coat, and took out a curiously shaped German revolver. He held it down straight at his side for a moment and then raised it toward Kells. He raised it as if he would like to be raising it very slowly and deliberately, but couldn’t; he raised it very swiftly.
Kells’ shoulders were hunched together a little. His chin was in and he looked at Crotti’s feet and his eyes were almost closed. Granquist stood up and her face was dead white, her hands were clawed in front of her body. She made no sound.
Then there was a sharp crashing roar. It beat twice, filled the room with dull sound.