“Here, in Chicago,” admitted Harry.
“Where in Chicago?”
“I do not know.”
Anelmo was ready to turn the iron rod; but Genara stopped him with a quick gesture. He saw an opportunity to press a question. He leaned forward and spoke harshly, close to Harry Vincent’s ear.
“Did you telephone him last night?”
“No,” gasped Harry.
“Who did you telephone last night?”
“I called — my hotel,” gasped Harry. “About — changing my room.”
It was the same excuse he had made to Frank Marmosa. But it wouldn’t do this time.
The twisting began anew, and while Anelmo operated the iron rod that wrenched at Harry’s shoulder sockets, Genara still leaned forward, ready to catch any word that might be uttered.