“To the bean business and—your Dorothy Crewe?”
“I don’t know about going back to the bean business,” I said. “And I never had any Dorothy Crewe; but if I had I wouldn’t go back to her. No; I know that!”
The bulls came on us. We were in the light, but they flashed their own lanterns in our faces. “Up with ’em!” They had our hands over our heads at the points of their pistols. And when they saw Jerry, they felt sure of a haul.
“Here’s him!” they called to those behind. “Here’s him who’s wanted from Chi to the Street! Here’s him!”
“Take a look at the floor,” Jerry advised them. “And when you take me along, have him with us.”
“How’s this, Mr. Fanneal? How’s this?” And then I reaped one advantage of my previous notoriety. They knew me; and there, with Jerry beside me and Keeban on the floor, I tried to tell them.
Of course, they took us to the station for the second telling, which was not the last by any means. They held Jerry that night; but they did not hold Margaret and me. Of her, they knew nothing; and what I knew of her, I did not tell them.
If I told them all the truth about her, one section of this truth ought to make up for the other; her trying to warn Teverson, and taking the risk she ran, surely was full compensation for her passing “the queer.” I felt that; but not being certain that others would so judge, I kept to myself what I knew. And I kept her to myself, too.
I had her in a cab; and this was no stray taxi, you may be sure. This was certain to go where I ordered it; and the number I gave was that of my friend on the Avenue.