‘I haven’t seen you at the club for several nights, Miss Gil is,’ he said. ‘I hope you won’t neglect us.’
‘Suppose we get down to business,’ Baird broke in in his cold, soft voice. ‘I’ve got a date in half an hour.’
Kile looked at him sharply. The soft voice had startled him. He sat down, pulled at his cigar and said,
‘I want you to understand there is nothing definite yet arranged. I am sounding the ground, as you might say. It is probable that nothing will come of it.’
Rico winced as he poured himself a whisky.
‘But, Mr Kile…’ he began.
‘Shut up!’ Baird growled. He leaned forward to stare at Kile. ‘Rico told me you wanted a job done that paid ten grand. What’s the job?’
Kile flushed, and his bloodshot eyes watered. For a moment he looked as if he were going to fly into a rage, but the cold eyes that stared at him warned him that bluster wouldn’t get him anywhere.
‘A certain man is in a certain prison. I want this man out.’
He felt, rather than saw, Rico stiffen, but Baird showed no surprise.