“Let go of the frail,” I said. “What’s the matter with you. Bat? Milky?”
The girl struggled frantically to get away, but Bat easily held her. I could see his thick fingers sinking into the loose flesh above her hips.
“Shaddap, you,” he snarled in her ear, “or I’ll break your goddamn back.”
She stopped struggling, faced me, her eyes wide with terror, staring at the gun like an idiot child at a moving shadow.
It puzzled me why Bat didn’t go for his gun. I saw his pig eyes glaring, followed the direction. A Luger lay on the mantelpiece, out of his reach.
I laughed. “For God’s sake,” I said, “getting careless, aren’t you, Hat?” I jumped across the room to the gun. It was my own Luger.
Bat shuffled round, still holding the girl in front of him. He cursed softly, vilely, backed.
I had left the door unguarded by my move to the gun. Bat jerked it open, stepped into the passage, dragging the screaming girl with him. The door slammed.
I snatched up the Luger, shoved the .38 into my pocket, ran to the door. The passage outside was in darkness.
A door opened at the end of the passage, a man’s head appeared. I fired above it. The head jerked back, the door slammed. Voices sounded below. A man bawled up to know what was going on. At the head of the stairs the blonde screamed wildly for help. Her scream was throttled back into her throat.