“Why, no; I can’t accept a present like that,” McCann said, his thin mouth widening into a pleased smile. “Good of you, all the same.”
“Nonsense,” Maurer said, and walked over to an armchair. He sat down. “I insist. If you don’t want them, give them away.”
Gollowitz was watching this by-play with increasing impatience. He took the Scotch and soda Seigel offered him, then sat down near Maurer.
“Well, what’s the trouble?” he asked abruptly.
McCann looked at him. He didn’t like Gollowitz. He wasn’t exactly scared of him, but he knew he was dangerous, not in the same way as Maurer was dangerous, but he was too full of legal tricks and too close to the politicians.
McCann leaned forward and stabbed with his cigar in Gollo-witz’s direction.
“I’ll give you the facts, then you can judge the trouble for yourself,” he said in his hard barking voice. “Three nights ago, June Arnot, together with six of her staff, was murdered. June Arnot had her head hacked off and she was ripped. A gun was found in the garden with Ralph Jordan’s initials on it. Bard in and Conrad went around to Jordan’s apartment and found him in the bath with his throat cut and a razor in his hand. The murder weapon was found in his dressing-room.”
“You don’t have to tell us all this,” Gollowitz said impatiently. “We’ve seen the reports in the press. What’s it to do with us? Jordan killed her and then killed himself. It’s plain enough, isn’t it?”
McCann showed his teeth in a snarling smile.
“Yeah, it looked plain enough. Bardin was satisfied; so was I; so was the press, but Conrad wasn’t.” His little red eyes looked at Maurer, who sat smoking his cigar, his swarthy face expressionless, his flat gangster eyes staring at the carpet with patient indifference.