"Him and Guido both," grinned Yamamura. "Which will leave you a clear field when you take the lady home."
"I'm coming," said Corinna. She pulled herself away from Kintyre, gently.
"You are not," he answered. Seeing in the dirty gray half-light how her face grew mutinous, he went on: "There are enough complications already. What could you do over there, except be one more element we have to explain away—or one more target for the gang? At present, only Jimmy knows you have any concern with this business, and he'll get no chance to talk of it."
She thought on his words for a little. Then: "Yes. You're right. But don't drive me all the way. A taxi will—"
"Shut up!" he laughed, shakily, and took her arm.
They had to wait, guarding a half-conscious prisoner, while Yamamura went after his car. Guido sat on the pavement, knees drawn up under his chin. After a while he took out a cigarette and lit it.
Corinna leaned over him. "Go with them," she said. "They're the only real friends you've got."
"Besides you, sis," he muttered. Then, barking a sort of laugh: "Next week, East Lynne."
She sighed, like an old woman, and stood back again.
Yamamura returned and bound Jimmy's wrists with Jimmy's tie. He and Kintyre frogmarched their captive to the Volkswagen and put him in back on the floor. Yamamura secured his ankles with his belt. "Toss me your house key, Bob, I'll see you there. Hop in, Guido. Cheerio."