"Yes, they gave them a five spot. But the Dutch wasn't in on that Flanagan job, neither was Curly. That was rough work--the cat, I s'pose."
Jane, her chin in her hands, suddenly became intent, looking straight into Gibbs's eyes.
"Dan, that's what I want to get wise to."
Her cheeks flamed to her white temples, her breast rose tumultuously, and as she looked at Gibbs her eyes contracted, the wrinkles about them became deeper and older, and they wore the hard ugly look of jealous suspicion. But presently her lip quivered, then slowly along the lower lashes of her eyes the tears gathered.
"What's the matter, Jane?"
"You don't know what I've stood for that man!" she blazed out. "I could settle him. I could send him to the stir. I could have him touched off!" She had clenched her fist, and, at these last words, with their horrible possibility, she smote it down on the table. "But he knew I wouldn't be a copper!" She ended with this, and fumbling among a woman's trinkets in her hand-bag, she snatched out a handkerchief and hastily brushed away the tears. Gibbs, appealed to in all sorts of exigencies, was at a loss when a woman wept. She shook with weeping, until her hatred was lost in the pity she felt for herself.
"I never said a word when you flew me the kite to keep under cover that time he plugged Moon."
"No, you were good then."
"Yes," she said, looking up for approval, "I was, wasn't I? But this time--I won't stand for it!"
"I'm out o' this," said Gibbs.