“Hello.” I said, smiling at them. “How are you liking the circus ?
The man was tall and beefy with a red face and a military moustache. His eyes were hard and stupid, his neck thick. The woman was a dark, nicely moulded trick in an interesting Grecian affair—black crepe with gold bands crossed high on the bodice and double gold bands around the hem. She was about thirty-five, and there was a wordly look in her slaty eyes that I like to see in women of thirty-five.
The red-faced guy stiffened his backbone after the first shock of seeing me had passed. He growled deep in his throat, started a ponderous swing that a battleship could have dodged.
I let the swing sail over my head and ruin a lot of air in the passage. Then I pushed the Luger into his fat ribs.
“Skip it,” I said. “You’d be better at the ballet.”
His red face went a waxen white.
I looked at the woman. She hadn’t turned a hair. She looked back at me, her eyes interested, unafraid.
“Think of the fun you’ll have telling your friends,” I went on to the man. “Chester Cain passed this way. You could even put a plaque on the outside of the house.”
They didn’t say anything, but the man had difficulty in breathing.
“Would you both go into one of these rooms?” I said, jerking my head to a line of doors. “I’m as harmless as a spinster aunt so long as no one crowds me.”