Fenner took her hands. “You can put a lot straight. Is Thayler in with Carlos?”
She hesitated, then moved her head a little. “He’s in it all right,” she said faintly. “He’s been a bad guy, and I don’t owe him anything.”
“What’s his angle?”
“Runs the labor syndicate.” She shut her eyes. Then she said, “Don’t ask me anything else, will you? I’m frightened.”
Fenner felt completely helpless. Her skin now looked like waxed paper. Only a red bubble at her lips showed that she still lived. She opened her eyes once again and said with an effort, “God, that was the best thing that’s happened to me in years. With you, I mean.” Then she shut her eyes.
Someone came blundering up the stairs. Fenner ran to the door. Nightingale came in. His face was glistening. He pushed past Fenner and ran across to the bed. He was too late. Curly had died just before he came in.
Fenner stepped outside the room and pulled the door to. As he walked quickly down the passage a low wail came from behind the door. It was Nightingale.
The manager of the Haworth Hotel came round the desk quickly when he saw Fenner. “What is all this?” he spluttered, his voice trembling with indignation. “What do you think this joint is?”
“Don’t ask me,” Fenner said, pushing past him. “If it’s a joint, where are the girls?”
The manager ran to keep up with him. “Mr. Ross, I insist! I cannot have these disturbances!”