Burke understood the shifting of their business arrangement, but to Lorna the crook's slang was so much gibberish.
"What did you say? I can't understand such funny talk, Mr. Baxter. I guess I had too strong a cocktail, he! he!" she exclaimed. "What about a lamp?"
"That's all right, girlie," said Shepard, as Baxter walked quickly away. "Some of his friends want him to go down to the Lamb's Club, but he doesn't want to leave you. We'll have a little chat together while he is gone. I'm not very good at dancing or I'd get you to turkey trot with me."
Lorna's voice was whiny now as she responded.
"Oh, I'm feeling funny. That cocktail was too much for me.... I guess I'd better go home."
"There, there, my dear," Shepard reassured her. "You get that way for a little while, but it's all right. You'd better have a little beer—that will straighten you up."
Only by the strongest will power could Burke resist his desire to interpose now, yet the words of the men prepared him for something which it would be more important to wait for—to interfere at the dramatic moment.
"Here, waiter, a bottle of beer!" ordered Shepard.
Burke turned half way around, and, by a side-long glance, he saw Shepard pulling a small vial from his hip pocket as he sat with his back to the policeman.
"Oh, ho! So here it comes!" thought Bobbie. "I'll be ready to stand by now."