Page:Frank Owen - Woman Without Love (1949 reprint).djvu/146

 "Those are my plans."

"There have been thousands of people who knew me. Suppose they all got the idea that I should pension them merely that I might enjoy a pleasant old age."

"That woula be unfortunate, Madame."

"It most surely would. By the way, where are you stopping in New York?"

He named the hotel.

"Thanks," she said curtly. "I wanted to know in case your body turned into remains. There should be some place to send them."

"Threatening?" he sneered.

Madame leaned back against the cushions of her chair and closed her eyes.

"No," she said softly, "I'm not threatening. The past must come out. I know when you leave my room you will shout it from the housetops. For a moment I was thinking of the way I used to treat the men who forced their way into my private apartment in my establishment. I used to grab them by the scruff of the neck as one might grab a mangy cat and I'd throw them downstairs. I found it a most excellent corrective after I'd been forced to eat something that didn't agree with me. I was wondering if my indigestion wasn't beginning to bother me now."

She rose to her feet, a giant of a woman. With clenched fists she stood over the quavering, spindly form of Blackie Gray.

"You wouldn't dare," he managed to gasp.

She would dare. She seized him by the coat collar and dragged him out to the top of the stairs. With one mighty effort she cast him down. For Blackie's sake it was well that the stairs were heavily carpeted. Still the assault was violent enough to make the old stairs squeak with agony, though their protestations were nothing compared to the curses of Blackie. Bruised and breathless he lay at the bottom and called her every foul name he could think of. Madame strode down the stairs. Her anger was at fever pitch. Before he could rise to his feet she was towering over him again. She placed one of her large feet on his chest.