so scared he couldn't get his tongue working.
Gurney grabbed the money, done up in neat packets. There wasn't a lot, but he took everything he could see. He left the coin. Then he ran back to the counter and shoved all the money into a small flour-sack he'd brought with him. He vaulted over the grille again.
Dillon said, “Get goin'.” He stood by the door until Gurney was out, then he began to back out. “Don't start anythin',” he snarled at the lanky guy. “This typewriter'll cut you to hell.”
He turned and ran. Myra was already rolling the car. As he sprang on the running-board the Cadillac shot forward with a jerk that nearly threw him loose.
The car lurched with screaming tyres as she pulled into the centre of the road. Dillon tossed the Tommy into the back seat and clung to the running-board, trying to get in. “Gimme a hand, you bastard!” he yelled at Gurney.
Gurney grabbed Dillon's arm, pulling him forward. Another lurch tossed Dillon head first into the car. He scrambled to his knees, swearing savagely.
Myra gritted her teeth. At the back of her mind she had hoped to lose Dillon. She had not consciously tried to ditch him, but now he was safe she knew that she had tried to shake him.
The Cadillac went down the main street with a rush. The quivering needle of the speedometer swung to seventy. Faintly above the swish of tyres and the scream of the wind they could hear people shouting.
Myra gripped the wheel, her eyes fixed on the road that seemed to jump up from the ground and rush to meet her. Another car coming from the opposite direction crowded on brakes as the Cadillac hurtled down on it. Myra touched the wheel and swept by. The open road lay in front.
Dillon glanced through the rear window. The road was deserted. He sat back on the seat and wiped off his palms. He was tossed about in the back as the car tore down the rough road.
Gurney twisted his head and grinned at him. “Just like that,” he shouted.
Dillon didn't say anything. He was looking murder. He wasn't sure if Myra had tried to ditch him. He knew it was a mighty close thing. Gurney was still clutching the sack. Dillon leant forward and took it from him. Gurney looked round, a little startled, but Dillon's cold eyes made him flinch. “Take it easy,” Dillon shouted to Myra, “we ain't goin' to turn this can over.”
Myra eased the pressure on the pedal and the Cadillac dropped down to fifty.
Gurney said, “It was a cinch.”
Dillon sneered. “Sure, but it could've been tough.”
They drove in silence for the next few miles. Gurney was feeling uneasy. He knew that if he'd let Dillon alone he'd have been shaken off the running-board. He knew Dillon knew it. What the hell was Myra playing at? This guy Dillon was too tricky to double-cross.
Myra ran the Cadillac off the road when they came to the wood where the jaloopy was hidden. They all got out, leaving the Cadillac hidden from the road.
Dillon took two quick steps away from the other two. His face was hard and threatening. He slightly raised the Tommy. “Put your rod on the ground,” he said to Gurney. “You keep away from the car,” he went on to Myra.
The two stood very still. Myra found her voice. “What's the big idea?” she said, her voice suppressed.
“I want those rods... maybe you didn't try to hang it on me in the car, but I ain't takin' any chances with you. Snap into it. Drop that gun, Gurney.”
Gurney let the gun fall on the grass. He stepped away from it. His face was a little white. He was scared.
Dillon picked the gun up and shoved it down the waistband of his trousers. He walked over to the Cadillac and took the gun lying on the seat. “Okay,” he said, “I guess that's all. We'll run back to the cabin now in the jalopy.”
The two didn't say anything. Gurney got under the wheel and Myra got in beside him. Dillon climbed in at the back. They drove away, leaving the Cadillac.
When they reached the cabin Dillon went straight to his room and shut himself in. They heard the bar fall in its socket, bolting him in.
Myra stood very still, looking at Gurney. “We ain't gettin' anywhere with this guy,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He's gotta lot comin' to him.”
Gurney slouched over to the bench and sat down. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, looking hard at his feet. Myra stared at him for a moment, then she began getting a meal together.
They didn't see Dillon until supper was on the table. He came out of his room, a cold, triumphant look on his face. He was conscious of the hard glances from the other two. Sitting down at the table, he began to shovel the food into his mouth. The other two just sat and watched him. After a moment he looked up irritably. “What the hell's the matter with you?” he demanded fiercely. “Ain't you hungry?”
Myra said, “Did we get much outta that bank?”
Dillon sneered at her. “You ain't gotta worry about that,” he said. “You're here to work, see?” He took some notes out of his pocket and tossed them across the table to Gurney. “That's your split,” he said evenly, and went on eating.
Gurney looked at the notes as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He poked at them with his finger.
Myra said, her voice very brittle, “Count 'em.”
Gurney couldn't count them. He just sat and stared at them.
Myra leant forward and snatched up the notes. She counted them out on the table, slapping them down and counting aloud. She made it a hundred dollars.
Dillon went on eating, his eyes on his plate. There was a little circle of white round his mouth. He was getting mad all right.
Myra said with a little hiss of breath, “What's this?”
Dillon looked up at Gurney. “You let this bitch talk too much,” he said. He tossed the knife and fork on to his plate with a clatter and sat back. His hands lay on the table, his ringers tapping.
Gurney said with a little rush, “A hundred bucks ain't much.”
“Don't you stand for this,” Myra shrilled, pushing the notes away from her. “He's double-crossing you.”
Dillon stood up, kicking over his chair. His eyes glittered. “I've told you,” he snarled at Gurney, “I ain't standin' any more of it. That bitch gets outta here, see? You're crazy to have her here... well, this finishes it... she's out!”
Gurney looked up at him, his face drawn and glistening, but he knew he was up against Myra. “Say, listen,” he said, “somethin' is wrong. You don't mean this's all I get out of the stick-up?”
Dillon eyed him. “You gone nuts?” he demanded savagely. “What the hell d'you think you're goin' to get out of it?”
“A hundred bucks is peanut money.”
Dillon sneered. “Sure it's peanut money. What of it? You didn't case the job, did you? You didn't fix the plans, did you? You didn't know where to find the bank, did you? Like hell you didn't. You just went in there and picked the dough outta the safe. A goddam monkey could've done it.”
Gurney dropped his eyes. Dillon had him.
“I'm givin' you that hundred bucks, an' you can like it. When you've used that nut of yours an' pulled somethin' good, then we'll split even, but not before.”
“You double-crossing rat!” Myra screamed at him. “What do I get out of it? Didn't I drive the car?”
Dillon looked at her. “You ain't nothin' to me,” he said, his lips grinning. “That punk brought you. It's up to him to give you somethin'.”
He turned his back and walked into his room. They heard the bolt slam in the socket.
The moon floated high. From his bed Gurney could see every object clearly in the room. The window was wide
