FERRARI pushed open the door and came into Seigel’s office. He walked over to the desk, sat down in the armchair and wriggled himself into it.
“Is he dead?” Gollowitz asked in a strangled voice.
Ferrari stared at him.
“Does the sun shine? Is the grass green? Why do you waste time on the obvious? Of course he’s dead. When I say I’ll do a thing. I do it.”
Gollowitz sank beck in his chair. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
“And they’ll think it’s an accident?”
“Yes, they will think it’s an accident,” Ferrari said. “It went just as it was planned.” He folded his claw-like hands across his flat stomach, and looked at Gollowitz with eyes that were as lifeless and as still as the eyes of a doll. “If you make a proper plan, you must succeed. He is dead, and now we must think about the girl.”
“I’m glad I sent for you,” Gollowitz said, and at the moment he meant what he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible to have done the job so easily.”
“It was only easy because I have had years of experience,” Ferrari said. “With no experience and no plan, it wouldn’t have been possible.”
“Now about the girl,” Seigel put in. “How are you going to take care of her?”