“I’ll say.” Parker continued to mop his face. “You don’t think they’ll trace my call, do you?”
“Why should they?” Ken asked, and he suddenly saw the danger he was in. The police were likely to trace the call. If they came here with a description of him from Sweeting, they would catch him red-handed with the blood-stained suit still in his possession!
“Maybe she’s been robbed or assaulted,” Parker said nervously. “Maybe that’s why they are there. Maybe someone’s murdered her.”
Ken felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the side of his face. He didn’t trust his voice to say anything.
“These girls run a hell of a risk,” Parker went on. “They don’t know who they are taking on. She could have been murdered.”
Before he could develop his theme a depositor came in, and then another followed. For some minutes both Ken and Parker were kept busy.
Ken was thinking of the blood-stained suit in his locker downstairs.
Damn Parker! If the police traced that call and came down here…! He looked anxiously at his wrist-watch. He had another hour before he went to lunch. The police might be on their way over now. But before he could make up his mind what to do, a steady flow of customers began, and for the next half-hour he was too rushed to think of himself. Then there was a pause again.
Parker said sharply, “There’s a guy just come in who looks like a cop.”
Ken’s heart stopped, then raced.