“Sure, sure, send me a check. Let’s have the watch.” Melnick stripped off his gold wristwatch. The bandit dropped it into his side pocket. Giving no warning, he stepped in close against Melnick and slammed him in the stomach with a fist the size of a small ham. Melnick caved forward, making a sound like a popping balloon. He grabbed out at the big man to keep from falling. For an instant they were in a kind of clumsy embrace, and all Michele could see was the diamond dealer’s hands and wrists. The big man pushed him away with a vicious low-voiced obscenity and, as he fell, chopped at his head with the butt of his. 45.

Melnick pitched to the floor. The big man whirled on Michele. She shrank back.

“Any remarks, baby?” he said savagely.

“No,” she said in a weak voice, and thrust her purse toward him.

The left side of his mouth and his left eye worked in a convulsive half-wink, half-twitch. It frightened her. She could see that he was on the verge of going out of control. “I have money,” she faltered.

He ripped the purse out of her hands. She knew exactly how much she was carrying-eight hundred and three dollars, eight hundred of it in new fifties and hundreds. It put him in a better humor.

“Green,” he observed. “My favorite color.” He took her watch and a bracelet. After dropping them in his pocket with the rest of the loot, he threw the emergency switch back on and pressed the lobby button. The car continued upward. Its electronic brain had been told to take them to the twelfth floor, and it had to clear that out of its memory before it could start down. He watched the lights, his head on one side as though with the help of the hearing-aid he could listen to his own thoughts.

“You will let me get off?” she said. “Please, I am French. I go home in two days’ time. I can prove this to you. I can show you my passport. If I should talk to the police about this I would miss my plane. That is not my desire.”