“I want to talk to the Captain,” Maurer said softly.
Gollowitz immediately got up and, followed by Seigel, left the room.
When the door closed behind them, Maurer crossed one short fat leg over the other. He took his cigar out of his mouth, leaned forward and touched off the ash into a cut-glass bowl. He didn’t look at McCann.
McCann sat still, his big fists on his knees, his face purple. Sweat gave an oily
appearance to his complexion.
“Frances Coleman, did you say?” Maurer said suddenly, keeping his voice down.
“That’s right,” McCann said.
“Who is she?”
“Let’s get this straight, Mr. Maurer, are you…?”
“Who is she?” Maurer repeated without raising his voice, but