She said, “I was scared that I was going to die.”
“So was I.” Fenner fixed the wound with experienced fingers. “All the same, that was nice shooting. That guy was some sniper.”
Glorie said in a small voice, “It hurts now.”
“Sure, it’s bound to hurt.” Fenner straightened and looked down at her. “You’ll have to lie up for a few days. Maybe that’ll keep you out of mischief. I’m goin’ to take you home. Where do you live?”
She looked away from him, her face suddenly blank, then she gave a little giggle that finished on a gasp of pain. “I haven’t got a home,” she said, putting her hand on her side.
“Where did you live before you threw in with Thayler?”
She looked at him sharply, then looked away again. “I didn’t throw in with Harry—”
Fenner knelt beside her. “You’re a rotten liar,” he said. “You said last night you and Thayler were doing a trip to New York together. Then, before that, you said you didn’t know him very well. Now you say you didn’t throw in with him. Give it to me straight.”
She said jerkily, “I believe you’re a detective.”
Fenner snorted. “Listen, redhead, you can’t lie about floors all day. I’ve gotta get you somewhere. Either you tell me where you live, or else I’ll send for an ambulance.”