George watched him coming down the street. Ernie called out cheerfully to a woman who was walking in the opposite direction. “’Ullo, ducks; don’t loiter. There’s still an ’our before bye-byes.”
George gritted his teeth. The little rat had made Cora into one of these women! All right, he’d fix him. The world would be well rid of a filthy little brute like Ernie.
He stepped out of his doorway as Little Ernie turned into Cora’s building. A few quick steps, and George was on him, as he was opening the front door with a key.
“Hello, Ernie,” George said softly. Little Ernie gave a squeal of terror. He spun round, throwing up his hands.
George rammed the gun into his side. "I warned you, you rotten little rat. You won’t get a car this time,” and he pulled the trigger three times.
The noise of gunfire crashed down the empty street. The flash blinded George. But he wasn’t nervous nor frightened. He watched Little Ernie flop on the steps of the house and then, bending over him, he shot him again.
A woman began to scream at the other end of the street.
George slipped the gun into his pocket and stepped from the shadow of the doorway. There was still no one about. Without hurrying, he walked to Clifford Street and stopped a passing taxi.
“Hyde Park Corner,” he said, and got into the taxi.
He glanced through the little window at the hack. People were appearing now. A policeman was running down Old Burlington Street. It was going to be all right. His luck was holding. In another few seconds he’d be out of danger. He sat back in the cab and closed his eyes.