I stood up with a grimace. “We must get over to Myra,” I said, stamping life into my legs.
“I’ve left her too long as it is.”
“Don’t fuss,” she said. “She’ll be all right.”
I suddenly remembered Whisky. “My goodness!” I said hobbling to the telephone. “Maybe Peppi’s cutting poor old Whisky’s throat right now.”
“You worry too much,” Arym said calmly. “He’ll have his throat cut sooner or later, he’s that kind of a dog.”
I got through to police headquarters.
When Summers came on the line I shot him the story. “Get a squad over there,” I said feverishly, giving him Harriet’s address. “And make it snappy. You’ll have Kruger and his mob on ice if you get that picture.”
“We’ll get it,” Summers said excitedly, and hung up.
“I hope they do,” I said. “Well, let’s get over to the hospital.” I put my arm around her and kissed her. “You’re a nice kid,” I said. “And you won’t have any regrets. Now, come on. Go into your vanishing act. The cops mustn’t see you.”
“Consider it done,” she said, and a wisp of smoke indicated where she had been standing.