didn't see the shots. I heard them. Then this woman jumps out of the heap and runs over to him. I knew she hadn't done the shooting. I ought to have beat it. But it was all funny as hell, so when I saw the woman was Willsson's wife I went over to them, trying to find out what it was all about. That was a break, see? So I had to make an out for myself, in case something slipped. I strung the woman. That's the whole damned works--on the level.'
'Thanks,' I said. 'That's what I came for. Now the trick is to get out of here without being mowed down.'
'No trick at all,' Thaler assured me. 'We go any time we want to.'
'I want to now. If I were you, I'd go too. You've got Noonan pegged as a false-alarm, but why take a chance? Make the sneak and keep under cover till noon, and his frame-up will be a wash-out.'
Thaler put his hand in his pants pocket and brought out a fat roll of paper money. He counted off a hundred or two, some fifties, twenties, tens, and held them out to the chinless man, saying:
'Buy us a get-away, Jerry, and you don't have to give anybody any more dough than he's used to.'
Jerry took the money, picked up a hat from the table, and strolled out. Half an hour later he returned and gave some of the bills back to Thaler, saying casually:
'We wait in the kitchen till we get the office.'
We went down to the kitchen. It was dark there. More men joined us.
Presently something hit the door.
Jerry opened the door and we went down three steps into the back yard. It was almost full daylight. There were ten of us in the party.
'This all?' I asked Thaler.
He nodded.
'Nick said there were fifty of you.'
'Fifty of us to stand off that crummy force!' he sneered.
A uniformed copper held the back gate open, muttering nervously:
'Hurry it up, boys, please.'
I was willing to hurry, but nobody else paid any attention to him.
We crossed an alley, were beckoned through another gate by a big man in brown, passed through a house, out into the next street, and climbed into a black automobile that stood at the curb.
One of the blond boys drove. He knew what speed was.
I said I wanted to be dropped off somewhere in the neighborhood of the Great Western Hotel. The driver looked at Whisper, who nodded. Five minutes later I got out in front of my hotel.
'See you later,' the gambler whispered, and the car slid away.
The last I saw of it was its police department license plate vanishing around a corner.
VII. That's Why I Sewed You Up
It was half-past five. I walked around a few blocks until I came to an unlighted electric sign that said Hotel Crawford, climbed a flight of steps to the second-floor office, registered, left a call for ten o'clock, was shown into a shabby room, moved some of the Scotch from my flask to my stomach, and took old Elihu's ten-thousand-dollar check and my gun to bed with me.
At ten I dressed, went up to the First National Bank, found young Albury, and asked him to certify Willsson's check for me. He kept me waiting a while. I suppose he phoned the old man's residence to find out if the check was on the up-and-up. Finally he brought it back to me, properly scribbled on.
I sponged an envelope, put the old man's letter and check in it, addressed it to the Agency in San Francisco, stuck a stamp on it, and went out and dropped it in the mail-box on the corner.
Then I returned to the bank and said to the boy:
'Now tell me why you killed him.'
He smiled and asked:
'Cock Robin or President Lincoln?'
'You're not going to admit off-hand that you killed Donald Willsson?'
'I don't want to be disagreeable,' he said, still smiling, 'but I'd rather not.'
'That's going to make it bad,' I complained. 'We can't stand here and argue very long without being interrupted. Who's the stout party with cheaters coming this way?'
The boy's face pinkened. He said:
'Mr. Dritton, the cashier.'
'Introduce me.'
The boy looked uncomfortable, but he called the cashier's name. Dritton--a large man with a smooth pink face, a fringe of white hair around an otherwise bald pink head, and rimless nose glasses--came over to us.
The assistant cashier mumbled the introductions, I shook Dritton's hand without losing sight of the boy.
'I was just saying,' I addressed Dritton, 'that we ought to have a more private place to talk in. He probably won't confess till I've worked on him a while, and I don't want everybody in the bank to hear me yelling at him.'
