Kells said: “What the hell kind of a cheap outfit are you? The stuff’s worth that much simply as state’s evidence — let alone its political value to your people.”
“I know — I know.” Woodward bobbed his head up and down. “The fact of the matter is, Mister Kells — my people are up against it for cash. They’ll know how to show their appreciation in other ways, however.”
“What other ways?”
“Certain political concessions after election — uh — you know.” Woodward glanced nervously at his watch. “And it is imperative that you make a decision quickly.”
Kells said: “I’m not in politics. I want the dough. Lay fifty thousand on the line and show me Miss Granquist” — he looked at his watch, smiled — “and it is imperative that you make a decision quickly.”
Woodward stood up. “Very well, Mister Kells,” he said. His voice had risen in pitch to the near-falsetto of the telephone conversation. “What you ask is impossible. I’ll say good-day.”
He started toward the door and Kells said: “Hold on a minute.” The big automatic that had been O’Donnell’s glittered dully in his hand. “Sit down.”
Woodward’s blue eyes were wide behind his glasses. He went back toward the chair.
Kells said: “No. Over by the phone.”
Woodward smiled weakly, sat down at the telephone stand.