"Nawsah, Ah can't say that. Ah goes off for mah supper, and then Ah comes back and just stays around as long as there's a chance of earnin' an honest tip. Ah don't clock out at no definite time. But with people breakin' into rooms and pullin' a gun on you and tyin' you up, it seems like the management or the police or somebody oughta know what's goin' on."
He was honestly confused and worried about the whole thing.
Simon took a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and flattened it between his hands so that the numbers were plainly visible.
"Look," he said, as one man to another, "I don't want any trouble with the hotel. And I don't want any help from the cops. I'd rather take care of these guys myself if I ever catch up with them. Why can't we just pretend that you went home early, and none of this ever happened, except that you did spot two more of those people I asked you about and pointed them out to me; and I'll pay you off on that basis."
The scruples of Mr Port Arthur Jones were probably no less sincere and confirmed than those of Mr Henry Morgenthau; but he eyed the dangling sawbuck and was irresistibly swayed by its potentialities in his budget. You could see box cars rolling majestically over the murky tracks of his mind.
"Yassah," he said, beaming. "Ah don't wanna start no trouble. Ah'll just forget it if that's what you say, sah."
Simon watched him stow away the green consolation and close the door contentedly after him.
Then he poured himself the highball which he had come home for in the first place. He was glad that at least his guests hadn't been searching for something that might have been soluble in alcohol.
He was just getting acquainted with the drink when his telephone rang.
"I've taken care of your friend," said the Times-Tribune. "He should be back at the Campeche in just a little while. One of the boys is taking care of him."