"Sit still," rumbled Dr. Fell. He made only a slight gesture with his pencil, but Langdon subsided.
Spinelli was soothed and urbane when he returned, though a muscle seemed to jump in his shoulder. He stared round with a toothy smile; apologized, and lowered himself with a sort of stage grace into another chair. After a time he went on:
"I was — ha, ha — speaking of poor Nick Depping the first time I saw him. He said, They tell me you're a man of some education. You don't look it. But sit down.' That was how I came to know him, and, take my word for it, I knew him pretty well. So I entered his organization…"
"Stop a bit!" said Dr. Fell. "I thought you told us a while ago that you refused—?"
The other smirked. "Oh, I had outside interests. Listen! I still think I'm as smart as he was; yes, and as well educated too, by God, though you mugs wouldn't believe it…" His wrist jerked viciously as he lit another cigarette. "Never mind. He found it out, and I went to the Big House. But in the meantime I was his sparring partner for what he thought of books, and I read his fortune in that taroc pack until I knew it better than he did. Mind, I expected him to go far. He used to call me the court astrologer, and once he nearly shot me when he was drunk. If it hadn't been for the drinking, and for one outstanding weakness—"
"What was that?"
"Women. He blew in plenty of money on them. If it hadn't been for that… yet," said Spinelli, who seemed to be jabbed by an ugly memory, "he honest-to-God had a real fascination for them. They fell for him. I told him once, when I'd had a few drinks myself, 'I'm a better man than you, Nick; by God, I am. But they don't seem to fall for me. It's your money.' But, somehow…" Spinelli fingered his sideburns. "I used to hate that conceited old rat because the women did go after him, and they wouldn't admit it. They'd pretend to laugh at him in public. But he — he hypnotized them, or something. Why can't I have his luck?" he demanded, almost at a whine. "Why won't they go for me? He even had one high class dame with a Park
Avenue manner, even if she did come from Ninth Avenue — and stuck to her — and she stuck to him; until he threw her over…"
Spinelli checked himself, as though he had just remembered something. He glanced at Langdon.
"You were saying—?" prompted Dr. Fell.