The Killer motioned to the silver trophies and turned red. "I won them in the Nationals, Mrs. Fox." He hung his head.
"You're modest," Gabby laughed. "I like you, Mr. Hamburger. I always thought men who used guns were savage. Do you know, I've never fired a gun in my life?"
"I'll show you," the Killer offered, without daring to look at Gabby. "Fill out a card."
"Card?" Lennox asked. "What card?"
"You know," the Killer said, leading them to the counter. "You got to register. Police regulations."
"P'lice watch gun place ve'y close," the Shroff whispered to Gabby. "Doan te'l him Missa Lennox use othuh name. Be af'aid to help him."
"I'm glad you came with us," Gabby murmured.
She filled out a police registration card and accompanied the Killer to an empty booth where he ran out a target and began instructing her on the uses and abuses of the lady-like .22 revolver he placed in her hand. Gabby waited patiently until he lost his shyness and was able to meet her eyes. Then she came around a corner abruptly and asked: "Mr. Hamburger, will you help us, please?"
The Killer looked at her uncertainly. "I don't know, Mrs. Fox. We got to be pretty careful here. What do you want?"
"We'd like to go through the cards that were filled out last Saturday. We're looking for a certain name."