"That's true. I was only guessing that you were coming. But I knew that somebody was. I knew that somebody would be checking on me here, and I couldn't bring that bag in in my pocket. Therefore somebody would know that something had gone wrong. And somebody would want to do something fast about getting the bag back. That's what I told Inspector Fernack; and that's why Kestry and Bonacci are on their way. I do hope you know Kestry and Bonacci. They don't have any of those Lord Peter Wimsey whimsies, but they get a lot more confessions in their own way. Are you looking forward to a romp with them in the massage parlor?"
The hoodlum glared at him with hot hateful eyes.
"I don't believe you," he said flatly. "It's a stall, that's what it is."
"Is that all you're betting on?"
Varetti's mouth was a tight line.
"If you mean I should spill, there isn't a chance."
Simon wiped his bent match over the striking strip on the booklet and put the flame to his cigarette.
He said: "How about you, Cokey? How are you looking forward to going without your inhaler for a while? Have you ever been through that experience before? I expect you have. On top of being slapped around a bit, it's quite a lot of fun — isn't it?"
Cokey Walsh's face was pallid and lined. "With his hands clasped behind his head as he had been ordered, only his elbows could tremble. But they did. His eyes were jittering buttons in a yellow mask.
"Remember it, Cokey?" Simon asked gently. "Remember how all your nerves jump and twitch, and you're all empty inside except for your stomach being a tight knot in the middle, and there are hammers inside your head beating it apart from the middle, and you know that if it doesn't stop you're going to scream and go crazy?"