“Don’t make any mistake. I don’t know that you’ve paid the twenty-five bucks yet,” Elsie said.
“I won’t take them. I just want to look.”
The pictures had a certain muddy, drab look about them, but considering the circumstances under which they were taken, they were a pretty good job. And the folders classed them up a lot. One was of the redhead who was now lying on a slab in the morgue. The other was Tom Durham.
It was a good twenty minutes before Bessie came back.
“I’ve got a load for you, Elsie,” she said. “I’ll start putting them through while you go to the next place. But you’ll have to finish them. I got nine pictures in there.”
“You mean nine separate jobs?”
“That’s right.”
“Gosh!” Elsie said in a tone of awe. “And it’s Sunday night, tool”
“I kidded them along and got everybody feeling good,” Bessie said. “Did you give this man his pictures?”
“Did he give you the twenty-five?”