A slight frown creased Slick's forehead. 'The one you just picked up, madame.'
'I didn't pick up any envelope,' she said harshly, trying to move off. 'And if you don't let me alone, I'll call that policeman.'
A uniformed cop was standing down at the corner, twirling his white billy.
But Slick put his hand on her arm, nevertheless, and detained her.
'Now, madame, there is no need of creating a scene,' he said smoothly. 'I happened to see your reflection in the window of my car when you stooped to pick up the envelope. You are holding it on the other side of that attache case.'
The woman looked suddenly embarrassed. 'Oh, that envelope!' she exclaimed with a laugh. Then, as she looked him over more carefully, her eyes got small and hard with suspicion. 'How do I know it belongs to you?'
'How would I know you had picked it up if I hadn't dropped it?' he countered indulgently.
The woman thought that over, and wasn't satisfied. 'All right, if it's yours, then describe it,' she demanded.
Slick lost his confident expression. He cleared his throat and said hesitatingly, 'It's a brown bank envelope.'
The woman pounced on him. 'What bank?'
'The Corn Exchange,' he said, as though guessing at random.
The woman turned her back and slipped the edge of the envelope from beneath the attache case far enough to read the return address. Nothing else was written on it.
'Hah!' she exclaimed triumphantly, turning back to confront him. 'You didn't see as good as you thought; it's from the Manufacturer's Trust Company.'
'That's what I meant,' Slick said, putting on a bright smile. 'I have money in several banks, and it slipped my mind which bank I had been to this morning.'
'It slipped your mind, right enough,' she sneered. 'Because it don't belong to you, slicker. You just figured I was an ignorant woman and you could beat me out of it, but you figured wrong, mister man.'
'Well, it doesn't belong to you either,' Slick said, losing philosophically. 'And my only purpose in accosting you was to see that it is returned to its owner. No one up here in Harlem can afford to lose that much money.'
Her eyes narrowed. 'How do you know how much money is in it,' she demanded, her cupidity getting the better of her logic.
'Let's count it and see,' he suggested reasonably.
'What for?' she asked with growing resentment.
'So we can divide it,' he said frankly.
'I'm a law-abiding, religious woman,' she said, getting on her high horse. 'I'm not going to have anything to do with you.'
'Then I'll call the policeman on the corner and tell him what you found,' he said indifferently.
'Wait a minute,' she said hastily. 'Let's see how much there is, first.'
She turned her back and drew forth the envelope, but he demanded, 'Let me see, too.'
Reluctantly, she allowed him to watch her while she opened the flap and looked at the contents. A sheaf of bright green bank notes tied with a paper band peeped out at them.
She started to pull it out but he stopped her quickly. 'Watch out-don't show it. Somebody will see and get suspicious. Just leaf back the edges.'
They both looked about and up and down the street, then moved closer together to form a screen. She slid the edges of the notes out far enough to show the hundred-dollar marker. She gasped. Her lips moved slightly as she leafed the notes back one by one. Her hand trembled. 'My God,' she whispered. 'Twenty thousand dollars.'
'Put them back,' he cautioned.
She pushed the notes back into the envelope.
'Ten thousand apiece,' he breathed. Taking a Manila envelope of similar shape and size from his inner pocket, he said, 'You give me the envelope and keep your eye on the policeman while I take out my half.'
Sight of the similar envelope combined with the artfulness of his request reawakened her suspicion.
'Naw you don't,' she said in a strident voice, clinging to the envelope and drawing away from him. 'You must take me for a square. I know all about you slick con men switching envelopes.'
A look of extreme disgust contorted his features. 'Here, woman,' he said, handing her the envelope. 'You divide it. I never saw anyone so suspicious.'
But his ready acquiescence inspired her with cunning. Her face took on a look of sanctimonious concern. 'We had better wait,' she suggested in an earnest voice. 'Maybe Sweet Prophet lost it. He's the only person around these parts who ever has that much money, and I don't want to take nothing of him. I had better take it upstairs and ask him.'
'I'll go with you,' he said quickly.
'No, you had better not,' she said. 'He'll get suspicious if he sees me bringing in a stranger, and he'll take it away from both of us and turn it over to the police.'
'Listen, woman,' he said, getting tough. 'Do you think I'm going to trust you out of my sight with my ten thousand dollars?'
She thought for a moment, and her eyes got small as ball bearings. She thrust the attache case toward him and said, 'Here, you keep this bagful of money if you don't trust me. It's Sweet Prophet's weekend take, which I was taking to the bank. I'll bet there's more money in there than there is in this envelope anyway.'
Reluctantly, he accepted the case. 'All right, I'm going to trust you this time,' he said. 'But don't you try to double-cross me, because, if you do, I'll keep the money in this bag.'
'Oh, you can trust me,' she lilted triumphantly as she turned away. 'I believe in what is right.'
He watched her pass through the entrance and start up the stairs. Then he turned and walked quickly toward his own car parked farther down the street, passing in back of Dummy without noticing him. At the same time the starker quit his post in the hotel entrance across the street, hastened down the opposite sidewalk and cut across the street to pile quickly into the back of Slick's car. The car started, and they drove off.
Dummy jumped from his stool and sprinted down the street. He turned in past the exit doorways of the theater where he had met the detectives earlier, and came out into an alley between the two streets. He was in time to see the big dark woman in the print dress come stealthily from the back entrance of Sweet Prophet's house. She turned toward Seventh Avenue, hurrying along. He followed her.
She caught a Number Three Fifth Avenue bus at 110th Street, and he just managed to get in behind her. She got off at 145th Street and Convent Avenue and walked over to Broadway. He was right behind her. She entered a branch of the Chase National Bank and stopped at the window of a receiving teller. When her turn came, the teller smiled and greeted her. 'Good morning, Sister Hopeful, how is Sweet Prophet?'
'Fine and dandy,' she said happily. 'He wants to put three thousand dollars in the bank.'
She passed him the deposit slip, already made out, and thirty bright green, brand-new hundred-dollar bills.
He looked at the top note, and his eyes widened in incredulity. Quickly he thumbed them back, staring at each in turn, his eyes becoming wider and wider. Then, very much as the Jew had done, he doubled over and began to laugh. He couldn't help it; he knew the cashier would give him hell, but what could he do?
Finally he said in a strangled voice, 'You are ninety-four years late and in a different country.'
She continued to grin; she didn't know what he meant.
'This is Confederate money,' he explained.
'Confederate money,' she echoed stupidly.
'Money issued by the Confederate states-the South-during the Civil War. It is not legal tender any more, I'm afraid.'
Numb with shock, she reached over slowly and picked it up and stared at it. 'It do look different, don't it?' she said stupidly. 'And you say it ain't worth nothing?'
'Well,' he said hesitantly, 'It's valuable as a souvenir-if you're from the South.'
All of a sudden, her eyes popped from their sockets as though they had exploded. Her face turned gray. Her mouth opened wide. Sound came from it-a lot of sound.
