Noolen’s fat hands twitched, and his puffy face took on a greenish tinge. “What are you talkin’ about?” he said, with stiff lips.
Fenner moved to the door. “You’ll know. I haven’t time to play around with you. I either see her now, or see her in jail. I don’t give a damn which way it is.”
Noolen’s face glistened in the light of the desk lamp. He said, “Top door on the right upstairs.”
Fenner said, “I won’t be long, and you stay right where you are.” He went out and shut the door behind him.
When he got to the door en the right at the head of the stairs, he turned the handle and walked in. Glorie started up from a chair, her face white, and her mouth making a big O in her face.
Fenner shut the door and leaned against it. “Keep your stockings up,” he said slowly. “You and me are just going to have a little talk, that’s all.” She dropped back in the chair.
“Not now,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s late—I want to go to sleep ... I’m tired ... I told him downstairs not to let anyone up.”
Fenner selected a chair opposite her and sat down. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and dug in his vest-pocket for a packet of cigarettes. He shook two loose and offered them.
She said, “Get out of here! Get out of here! I don’t want—”
Fenner took one of the cigarettes and put the packet back in his pocket. He said, “Shut up!” Then he lit the cigarette and blew a thin cloud of smoke up to the ceiling. “You an’ me are going to have a little talk. I’m talking first, then you are.”