"You'd stick to that—in a court-room?"
Clancy laughed. "I'll never have to, will I?"
Into Grannis's dull eyes crept admiration.
"Kid, I'm for you," he said. Clancy shrugged again. Although no one had ever commented on it, she knew that her shrug was a prettily provocative thing. "Don't care whether I'm for you or not, eh?"
Clancy stared at him. "You know," he said, "if I tipped off this Miss Henderson that Weber planted you with her so's you could steer suckers—wealthy folks that don't mind a little game—his way, how long do you think your graft would last?"
"You'd have to prove what you said, you know," Clancy reminded him.
"Kid, why haven't you been round to see Zenda?" he asked.
"Why should I go round to see him?"
Grannis's eyes took on a cunning look.
"Now you're talking business. We're getting down to cases. Listen, kid: You were scared of me a while ago. You've forgotten that. Why?" Clancy reached for another sandwich. She made no answer. "You're certainly there, kid!" exclaimed her companion. "No one is running a blazer on you, are they?"