"No man is perfect. Come to my room and I'll turn the stuff over to you." Mathison wondered what it was he had stolen. "You'll never find it without my help. You and I alone. Is it a bargain?"
"I'll look you over first."
"Here's his gat, Murphy," said the house detective.
Murphy thrust the automatic in his pocket without comment. He ran his keen glance over the prisoner. "Hold out your hands, fingers spread; I want to look at them. That's the way. Now turn your face toward the light. Uh-huh. You admit you are 'Black' Ellison?"
"Yes." Anything to get back into the room!
"All right. I'll go up with you for the swag. But walk carefully. I'm excitable by nature."
"Better take me along," urged the house detective. He was anxious to be in the newspapers on the morrow.
"You folks stay right where you are, I'm running this. Step along, Mr. Ellison."
Murphy pushed Mathison toward the door. The two crossed the lobby to the elevator and were shot up to the third floor.