Dillon shook his head. “Maybe we can tip Hurst off first,” he said. “I’ll go up the next set of stairs an’ you ring up Hurst. If they come up I’ll start somethin’. Mind you drop flat.”
With her heart jumping a little, Myra watched him disappear round the bend of the staircase, then she walked Over to the apartment door and rang the bell. Faintly she could hear the bell ringing. No one came.
She waited there impatiently and rang again. A faint sound behind her made her look round quickly. The two men had come up and were standing at the head of the stairs watching her. She kept her thumb on the bell and looked at them coolly.
One of them, a dark Jew, took two steps forward. “Get away from that door, sister,” he said.
She said, “I don’t know what you mean.” Her thumb dug the bell flat.
The Jew came over to her quickly and knocked her hand away. “If you squawk I’ll kick your mug in,” he said softly.
Myra backed away a little until her shoulder touched the wall. She stood looking at the Jew, not saying anything.
The other guy moved a little round the bend of the staircase, sliding the gun from his holster.
Dillon, watching them through the banisters, couldn’t start anything because of Myra.
The Jew said, “Who are you?”