“Well, I guess I’ll have to give it up for this time,” he sighed.
“Yah!” said Ducky, grinning. “A pish and three long tushes! You big stiff! I thought you were going to tell me money, money, who’s got the money? and where Uncle Roger plucked it in the first place. Little Ducky, he sticks to his first guess—mines—and counterfeiting, for place.”
“Where he got it? Where—— My poor, poor boy!” said Neighbor. “My poor misguided lamb, I wasn’t studying on who’s got your uncle’s money; I was figuring on a harder thing—and that’s how you and me are going to get it. I know where your uncle’s money is. I know it was really cash money, too, and not property. And I know how he got it!”
Ducky stared.
“Business of gasp!” he said. “Demonstrate! Produce!”
“Wait a minute!” said Neighbor, holding up a warning hand. “How do you bate your breath? If you know, do it!”
“She’s bated. Break it to me!”
“I’ll tell you first and give you the reasons afterward; it makes the reasons sound so much more reasonable, that way.”
“‘You may fire when ready, Gridley!’”
“Hist!” said Neighbor, weird, shaky and spook-eyed. “Listen to the evil old man of Haunted Hill! Your uncle was the Man Higher Up! He made his money backing gambling hells! U-r-r-r-r-h! The men who have now got that money-money are Beck, Baca, Scanlon, Quinliven and Bennett! And the men who are now going to get that money-money—open another bottle, Ducky—are Roger Olcott Drake, Second—Present!—and Neighbor Jones—Present! But how? How? How?”