Comes the Dark Stranger - Jack Higgins [52]
She moistened her lips. ‘It was a man I’ve only just met,’ she said desperately. ‘An older man. He’s got plenty of money.’
Shane slapped her back-handed across the face. ‘You’re lying, you bitch,’ he snarled. ‘No man with that kind of money would ever give a little tramp like you a second glance. I’ll tell you how you got that suit. Somebody paid you. Somebody who wanted to get into my room. They wanted a master key and you sold them one.’
Her face crumpled into pieces, and he knew that he was right. He caught hold of her hair and jerked back her head. ‘Who was it?’ he demanded.
She struggled to free herself, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t know the name,’ she said. ‘I was just handed the money in cash. I didn’t mean any harm.’
Shane threw her back against the desk. ‘Give me a description,’ he said.
Slowly and hesitatingly, stumbling over her words, she began to speak. When she had finished, he sighed deeply and reached for a cigarette. The girl was crying, great sobs racking her body, and he looked at her coldly. ‘Maybe this will teach you to keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you in future.’ He opened the door and said over his shoulder in a voice of deliberate venom, ‘If you get on to the police about this, I swear I’ll come back and cut your throat if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.’ She gave a little moan and sank down in the chair, and he closed the door and went outside to the car.
He drove boldly along the main street leading from the station, passing two policemen standing on a corner, and turned the car into St Michael’s Square. The Garland Club was in darkness, and when he got out of the car and approached the entrance he found a notice on the door which stated that the club was closed temporarily.
He walked along the alley at the side of the building and tried the staff door, but it was locked. He frowned, anxiety tugging at his heart, and moved into the yard at the rear of the building. As he looked up, a smile of relief appeared on his face as he saw the light showing through a chink in the curtains that covered the window of Steele’s office.
Shane climbed on to a dustbin and jumped for the edge of the flat roof of the kitchens and pulled himself over the edge. He walked forward until he was standing outside the lighted window. There was a slight gap at the bottom and he listened, his ear close to it, for a second. There was no sound. He quietly inserted his fingers into the crack, took a deep breath and flung the window up. In almost the same instant he ripped the curtains aside and tumbled head first into the room.
Steele was sitting at the desk, and he turned in alarm, his hand dipping into a half-open drawer. Shane launched himself forward and rammed the drawer shut, trapping Steele’s hand. Steele screamed and tried to rise, and Shane pulled open the drawer and slammed a fist into his face, knocking him to the floor.
His Luger was lying in the drawer, and he took it out and hefted it into his hand, his eyes on Steele. ‘You never thought you’d see me again, you bastard - did you?’
Steele staggered to his feet, nursing his bruised hand, and his face was curdled with fear. ‘I’ll give you anything,’ he said frantically. ‘Anything you like. I’ll help you get away. Out of the country even. I’ve got friends. Only don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!’
He babbled on for several moments while Shane regarded him contemptuously, and finally he was silent, no more spirit left in him. Shane pushed him roughly towards the door. ‘You and I are going for a little ride,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. A good friend of mine. I think that between us we should manage to get the truth out of you.’
When they reached the car Shane told him to get behind the wheel and he sat in the passenger’s seat beside him, a cigarette between his lips, and watched him carefully.
Steele didn’t make the slightest attempt to resist as the car moved out through the suburbs and turned up the hill, leaving the lights of the city far behind in the