Doc Birch snorted.
“You should know better than that, Spotter,” he said. “If I had the plates and tried to print, I’d be nabbed quick. No, sir. Get it in, get it out. That’s my method.”
He went to a safe in the corner. As he did, his shadow loomed large upon the floor of the room. It became a huge black phantom that seemed to reach to the dim hall.
Spotter uttered an exclamation of fright.
“What’s the matter?” asked Doc Birch, quickly.
“Nothin’, Doc,” answered Spotter.
* * *
The gaunt man opened the safe and removed a stack of bills. He closed the safe and flashed the money before Spotter’s eyes, spreading it so the gangster could see the bills. They were crisp and new.
“All ten spots,” said Doc Birch. “No phonies, either. These are real, boy. I’m paying them out for the stuff.”
The pawnbroker wrapped a thick, red rubber band around the stack of currency. Spotter was unable to determine the amount of the cash.