“I may be late,” he said.
Alice came out just as he stepped into the hall. She just caught a glimpse of him. “Where’s that crazy coon going now?” she asked.
Sam put down the apple-jack hastily. “He’s going to get another dame,” he said wildly. “He’s going to fill the whole goddam house with ’em.”
Alice took his arm. “You come along,” she said. “What you need is a good night’s sleep.”
She didn’t see the worried look in his eyes, as he followed her into the bedroom.
Outside in the street, Duffy flagged a taxi. He gave the driver instructions and then got in the cab. He thought he was spending his life in taxis.
The drive was a long one, and it was just after twelve o’clock when the driver pulled up outside a shabby building.
Duffy paid him off and walked up the steps. The place looked more like a boarding-house than a hotel. He saw a row of letter-boxes and he examined them carefully. Weidmer’s name was on the fourth one. Duffy rang the bell at the top of the row, furthest away from Weidmer’s. A moment later he heard the catch being pulled on the front door and he walked in. The hall was lighted by a small gas-burner, and he had just enough light to grope his way upstairs.
On the second floor, he found Weidmer’s rooms. He put his hand on the butt of the gun, and then turned the handle. He was surprised to feel the door give. He looked carefully over his shoulder to right and left,, then drawing the gun, he stepped quietly into the dark room. He stood in the darkness, listening. There was no sound, except the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. He just stood, holding his breath, listening. Then, when he was satisfied that the room was empty, he struck a match and lit the gas-burner.
It was a large room, full of shabby furniture. Across the far end stood a bed. Duffy jerked up his gun. There was someone lying face downward across the sheets; it was Weidmer. Duffy moved across the room, his gun steady. But Weidmer was dead. Duffy guessed that before he touched him. He turned him over, and then caught his breath; a big, gaping wound showed in Weidmer’s throat. Someone had certainly made a job of it, Duffy thought. He released Weidmer, and let him slump back on the bed.