“Sure you did.”
But her knowing my name was a blow, too. I mean what was the use of all that sneaking around if people in New York were going to know we were here?
I walked up close behind her and patted what there was to pat. There didn’t seem to be a gun.
“You tickle,” she complained.
I took her pocketbook away from her and went through it. No gun. A lot of money—an awful lot of money. I mean there must have been two or three hundred thousand dollars. There was nothing with a name on it in the pocketbook.
She said: “Can I put my hands down, Sam?”
“In a minute.” I thought for a second and then decided to do it—you know, I just couldn’t afford to take chances. I cleared my throat and ordered: “Take off your clothes.”
Her head jerked around and she stared at me. “What?”
“Take them off. You heard me.”
“Now wait a minute—” she began dangerously.