“Quite probably not!” she countered sharply. “It was hardly necessary, was it? But since you have decoded it yourself?”
Billy Kane shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve been away so long,” he said, “that I’ve forgotten the key.”
“Really!” She was smiling at him in derision now. “In other words, you refuse to tell me what it is.”
“Don’t you think you expect a little too much from me?” He forced a sudden roughness into his tones. “I haven’t decoded it yet, as a matter of fact; but if I had, do you think I’m looking for trouble—to give you the chance to force me into another mess?”
She shook her head in a sort of mocking tolerance.
“Does it really matter, Bundy?” she asked softly. “You are not as bright this evening as usual. I know that some crime is planned and set forth here on this paper. It really makes no vital difference to me to know beforehand specifically just what that crime is, for if it succeeds I shall know about it, and, in that case, I shall equally know that you did not prevent it. I think you quite understand what that means, don’t you, Bundy? However”—she smiled again, as she opened her purse and took out a pencil—“let us put it down to a woman’s insatiable curiosity, if you like, and decode it together.”
Decode it! The twisted smile that came to his lips was genuine enough. He couldn’t decode it. He had only one card to play—a flat and unequivocal refusal.
“Nothing doing!” he snarled.
“Oh, yes, I think there is,” she said softly again.