“Well, Dolly, this is the last drink I’ll have with you, I’m leaving town for good.”
“Are you?” she said, in a flat disinterested voice.
“Yes. I’m going to Florida,” Maurer said. “I’m kissing the Syndicate good-bye. There are a lot of opportunities for a man with my abilities, money and organization in Florida. I shall have to decide what to do with you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Dolores said, not looking at him. She moved over to the window.
“Oh, I’m not going to worry about you, Dolly,” Maurer said, and laughed. “I don’t think Abe will make you a good husband. Abe’s rather gone to pieces. I think he might meet with a little accident some time to-day. Would you be sorry?”
“No.”
“I thought you were hoping he’d take you over, Dolly.”
“I wonder what gave you that idea?” Dolores said.
She looked down the long flight of steps that linked one terrace with another. Coming up the steps was a small figure in a black suit and black hat. It was Ferrari. He walked slowly and softly. His hands in his pockets, his face raised, his eyes fixed on the casement windows, he appeared completely unaware of the guards who stood motionless, watching him coming.
He passed one guard, then another. Neither of the men moved. They just stared at him. He came slowly, a tiny menacing figure, moving like a ghost.