“Listen, did you say anything to your sister about twelve Chinamen?”
“Twelve Chinamen? Why should I?”
“Don’t keep sayin’ ‘Why should I?’” Fenner said savagely. “It confuses me.”
As far as he could see he was no further now he’d met this girl, than he was before. He thought, and then said, “Why Leadler? Why not Daley?” “Leadler’s my married name,” Glorie said. “I was divorced a year ago.”
Fenner grunted. “Where’s your husband?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Why?”
Fenner didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Your sister was murdered last week in a house in Brooklyn.”
There was a long silence. Glorie said, “I don’t believe it.” Her eyes crawled up and down Fenner’s face.
Fenner shrugged. “You don’t have to,” he said; “but she was murdered all right. I liked that girl. She came to me for help. I didn’t like the way she met her finish, an’ I’m promising myself to fix the guy who killed her.”
Glorie took his coat in her hand. She twisted the coat and shook him. “Marian dead?” she said. “You sit there like that and say that to me? You haven’t any pity for me? Marian—Marian—”