"
"If he isn't in, wait for him if you wait till daylight--"
"Important as all that, eh?"
"It's life or death to me," said Mrs. Inche serenely. "I've got to
have protection--you've seen yourself how had I need it. And the
police are not for the likes of me. Besides," she added with engaging
candour, "if I squeal and tell the truth, then friend husband will be
disinherited for sure, and I'll have had all my trouble for nothing."
"You make it perfectly clear, Mrs. Inche.... And when I see Mr. Red
November--?"
"Say to him three words: _Nella wants you_. He'll understand. Then you
can go home."
"_If_ I get out alive."
"You're safe if you don't drink anything there."
"Doubtless; but I'll feel safer if you'll lend me the loan of this
pretty toy," said P. Sybarite, weighing in one hand her automatic
pistol.
"It's yours."
"Anything in it?"
"Three shots left, I believe. No matter. I'll get you a handful of
cartridges and you can reload the clip in the taxicab. Not that you're
likely to need it at Dutch House."
From the street rose the rumble of a motor, punctuated by a horn that
honked.
"There's the cab, now," announced Mrs. Inche briskly. "Shake yourself
out of that coat and into this--and hustle!"
"It's my impressionable nature makes all my troubles," observed P.
Sybarite disconsolately. "However..."
Shrugging into the coat Mrs. Inche held for him, he cocked the felt
hat jauntily on the side of his head.
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