“Sure,” Mallory said. “I’ve got the sonofabitch,” and he waved the gold pencil above his head.
III
A black Cadillac swung into the narrow lane that ran alongside the east wall of the Paradise Club and drove fast down the lane to the gates that guarded the rear entrance to the club.
The driver slowed down, flicked his lights off and on: twice fast, twice slow, and then sent the car forward as the guard opened the gates.
The guard stepped up to the car and peered at the driver. He caught his breath in a gasp of surprise, stiffened to attention and saluted.
The Cadillac moved on up the circular road and pulled up outside the rear entrance to the club.
A short, thick-set man got out of the car, looked uneasily to right and left, then walked up the steps and rapped on the door.
The guard who opened the door gaped, and his florid face changed colour.
“Why, Mr. Maurer…” he gasped.
“Shut your goddamn trap!” Maurer snarled. “Where’s Gollowitz?”