Dillon ran into the other room. As soon as he had gone, she hurriedly returned to the cupboard and took from an inside pocket of a coat hanging there a roll of money. She hastily slipped it into her bag, looking over her shoulder while she did so.
Dillon returned, carrying the riot gun. He went over to the door and opened it, looking into the dark passage. Then he jerked his head at her and walked out.
Myra heard a car draw up with a squeal of brakes. She ran over to the window and peered round the blind. Four men came bundling out of the car and ran across the pavement into the house.
She shouted to Dillon: “Come back… quick… they’re here!”
Dillon slipped into the room again, and shut the door. He turned the key. For a moment he stood hesitating, then went over to the cupboard. “Give me a hand,” he said. “Get this across the door.”
They jerked and pulled the cupboard into position. Heavy footsteps came thudding down the passage and someone knocked on the door.
Dillon raised his hand to Myra. They stood looking at the cupboard, waiting.
Myra suddenly spun round and ran to the telephone. She hastily dialled Dillon made as if to stop her, then shrugged.
The desk sergeant at the other end of the line listened to her incoherent whispering.
“You’re nuts,” he said at last. “Things don’t happen like that in this city. Take a pill… that’s what you want.” As he hung up, she heard him say, “Ernie’s goin’ for ’em now.”