She wished that she could get word to Ket at once.
Then she thought of him, freed to-morrow and demanding her, seizing her, as at the door here he had embraced her on the night of his arrest.
Joan Daisy turned upon her side and gazed out at the sky, too spent to feel or think; too spent to sleep. And so, waiting, waiting, she watched the dawn.
Calvin, at dawn, had returned to his rooms after a visit to a hospital, where he had had his collar-bone set and his right arm strapped across his chest to hold it in place. Desiring to avoid fuss, he had mentioned his injury as due merely to "an automobile accident," and he had not again communicated with the police. Consequently, they and the State's attorney's staff had lost track of him, so Ellison went to Clarke's apartment and was there when Calvin arrived.
"Well, you have been at it," Ellison welcomed him and helped him out of his coat with a personal concern which surprised Calvin and pleased him, although he denied recognition of it.
"Hm. Heard from that car?" he asked.
"She got Baretta," announced Ellison.
"Got him?"
"Completely."
"When did you hear?"
"Half hour ago. They drove the car into the city; evidently he didn't last long, so they left him in the street about a block from his house. The idea, of course, was to have him found as if shot in a hold-up, going home last night. That's what the patrolman who found him actually reported to the man we sent to Baretta's house."
"Who else was there?" asked Calvin.
"Nobody at the house but Baretta's Filipino butler and his wife."
"Baretta's?" asked Calvin.
