Fenner said, “Was it Carlos?”
Curly didn’t say anything. Blood stained her chin.
Fenner said, “Give me a lead. Don’t be a mug and let him get away with it. He’ll only think you’re a sucker.”
Curly said, “It was one of his Cubans. He jumped me before I could scream.”
Fenner saw she was going very white. He said quickly: “Why does Thayler carry your photo around with him? What’s he to you?”
Curly whispered faintly, “He’s my husband.” Then she began to bleed from her mouth. Fenner saw she was going fast. He put his hand round her back and pulled the knife out. Her eyelids fell back and she gave a little cry. Then she said, “That’s a lot better.”
He laid her down on the bed. “I’ll even this up for you. Carlos’ll pay for this,” he said.
She sneered. “Okay, brave little man,” she whispered. “Fix Carlos if you like, but it won’t do me any good.”
Fenner remembered seeing some Scotch, and he went over to the wall cupboard and poured out two fingers. He made her swallow it.
She gasped. “That’s right. Keep me alive until I’ve told you all you want to know”—bitterly.