Noolen pointed. “She’s upstairs. You can leave her out of this, Fenner. I’m goin’ to look after her now.”
Fenner sneered. “What’s the idea? You’re not falling for any line of repentance she’s likely to hand out, are you?”
Noolen’s face went a faint red. “I don’t want any cheap cracks from you,” he said. “After all, she’s my wife.”
Fenner pushed back his chair. “For God’s sake,” he said, getting to his feet, “there’s no fool like an old fool! okay, if that’s the way it stands.” He shrugged. “Quite a dame, this Glorie. Off with the dead money bags and on with the new.”
Noolen sat there, his hooded eyes fixed, and his mouth a little twisted. He said, “Cut out your cracks, Fenner; I don’t like them.”
Fenner turned to the door. “I’m going to see that dame,” he said. “Where shall I find her?”
Noolen shook his head. “You ain’t,” he said, “Start somethin’ here and you’ll get a heap of grief.”
“So? Okay, then I don’t see her; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll be back in an hour’s time with the cops and a warrant for her arrest.”
Noolen sneered. “You got nothing on that dame,” he said.
“Sure, I haven’t. Only a murder rap. Still, what’s a murder rap? Small change in your circle.”