Dip broke in with a raucous laugh. The scene appeared to be amusing him.
“Quit actin’ like a couple of punks,” he said. “There’s no use in callin’ each other names. What’s the matter with you tonight, Flash? You don’t give a guy a chance to say nothin’. Be yourself!”
Flash Donegan turned away, disgruntled. He realized that there was common sense in what Dip said; at the same time, he could not forget the bungling that had destroyed his plans.
One reflection, however, persuaded him that he should not be too hasty. It was not Lance Bolero who had done the greatest bungling. Marty Jennings had been the principal offender.
Swinging, Flash looked at the men before him, turning his gaze from one to the other. He finally centered on Bolero.
“All right, Lance,” he said quietly. “Let’s forget the argument. Maybe I’m wrong. Give me the low-down on why the job flopped last night.”
“It was that phone call, first of all,” said Lance, feeling easy now that Flash was mollified. “We were on the job all right. The guy an’ the moll went by — they gave the signal — leastwise the guy did.
“Then the snooper showed up. We grabbed him. Marty called you, like he was supposed to do. When he got through talkin’, Marty told me that you wanted to meet us—”
“Marty’s crazy!” roared Flash indignantly.
“That’s what I thought” agreed Lance pleasantly. “I was for bumpin’ the guy right away. But Marty said we were goin’ to wait for you at Howley’s. That’s where we went — like he told you when he called up.