“I didn’t kill Renzelli!” Vince screeched. He started to leap away from the bed, but the muzzle of Elrick’s gun was like a rivet, and it cast frigidity upon him. He gulped and he was trying hard to pull himself together.
“Believe me, Elrick, I don’t know anything about this,” he said. “I’ll admit I got tough with Renzelli that night. I told him to leave town. And he did. Since then I haven’t seen him.”
Something was happening to Gladys. Her eyes were wide. Her lips were drawn tightly. Slowly turning her head, she looked at Vince.
“Maybe the cop is right,” she said. “Maybe you did kill Jimmie!”
“What are you saying?” Vince mumbled. He was stupefied.
A dim, almost idiotic smile floated across Gladys’ lips.
“Sure, it checks,” she said. “You killed him because you knew he was coming back for me. You knew I’d go to him. You knew that all this time I’ve been carrying a torch for him, filling myself with gin, chaining myself to this rattrap of a room, trying to forget about him. And you, with your dough, with your sharp clothes, you thought you could take his place. But you couldn’t, Vince. No man could. No man ever will.”
Vince looked at Elrick. “Don’t listen to her. She’s rotted with gin. She’s talkin’ in a daze.”
“Let her talk,” Elrick said.
“Sure, let me talk,” Gladys said. “It does me good to talk now.” The smile that she fastened on Vince was eerie, and she went on, “I never knew what happened on that New Year’s Eve. I never knew the real reason why Jimmie left town. You told me it was for business reasons. You were moving in on his gambling territory, and you told him to shove, and he was yellow, and he shoved. That’s what you told me. That’s what I believed. But somehow — somehow, Vince, it was in the cards for Jimmie to come back to me. And you were waiting for that day. You and Lou — waiting for him! You killed him, Vince! You killed the only thing that ever mattered to me!”