“Who?”
“Chester Cain.”
Slowly she got herself m hand. Her eyes roved around the room, lit on the telephone, lingered, then came back to me.
“Sit down,” I said. “I want to talk to you.”
She wandered towards the telephone. A gentle hissing sound came from between her tightlylocked teeth.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” she managed to jerk out, in grabbed it. She struck at me with her nails. I let go of the telephone and grabbed her wrist, twisting it. She was surprisingly strong. We swayed, and she tried to claw me with her free hand. I ducked my head, and she missed. I expected her to scream, but she didn’t, she fought silently, panting a little, her eyes glowing, her mouth working.
We scuffed up the rugs, and did a lot of tramping and shuffling, but I worked her over to the divan and then trapped her ankle and pushed.
She hit the divan and bounced up, but I flung her down again. She kicked me on the shin, gave me a punch in the face and tried to bite my jugular. I cursed her gently and went into a clinch with her. She writhed, twisted and scratched. We were both panting. She butted me in the eye with the top of her head.
I said, “The hell with this,” flung her off and stood back. I pulled my gun on her. “Let’s skip it,” I went on, “or I’ll blow a hole in you.”
She glared up at me, her eyes savage, but the gun seemed to cool her.