"I'd let him know if I was you,
Fred," he said. "I didn't like the look of him. The reason I came out
here to-day was to have a look at him. And when I saw him in the box I
said to myself, 'Well, I'm glad I've staked nothing on you, for it seems
to me that you'll crack up if the police shake their thumb-screws in your
face.' I felt glad I hadn't accepted your invitation to make it a
two-handed job, Fred. It was the fact that some one else I'd never seen
had put up the job that kept me out of it when you asked me to go with
you. A man can't be too careful--especially after he's had a long spell
in 'stir,' But of course you're all right if you changed your mind and
didn't go up there. But if I was you I'd have my alibi ready. It is no
good leaving things until the police are at the door and making one up on
the spur of the moment."
"Yes, I'll see about it," said Fred. "It's a good idea."
"Come in and have a drink, Fred," said "Kincher." "It will do you good.
It was dry work listening to them talking up there about the murder."
Fred accompanied Mr. Kemp into the bar of the hotel they reached, and the
elder man, after an inquiring glance at his companion, ordered two
whiskies.
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