O’Brien walked into the kitchen, kicked Sweeting over on his back and stared down at the dead face.
“Who’s this?” he asked, and Adams could see he was badly shaken.
“Raphael Sweeting, a blackmailer,” Adams said. He was watching the Pekinese, which had come out from under the table and was now sniffing excitedly at the refrigerator. It stood up, whined and scratched at the door. “It can’t be that easy,” Adams went on, under his breath. “He can’t be here too.”
“What the hell are you muttering about?” O’Brien snapped.
Adams took hold of the handle of the refrigerator, lifted it and let the door swing open.
O’Brien caught his breath sharply when he saw the crumpled body of Maurice Yarde in the refrigerator.
“For God’s sake!” he exclaimed. “Who’s this?”
“Her husband — Maurice Yarde. I wondered where she had hidden him,” Adams said.
O’Brien pulled himself together with an effort. He walked into the sitting-room.
Gilda stared at him.