"Something to that, all right. I'm usually pretty careful myself; but I figured you looked okay."
"Can't always tell by looks," was the calm reply. "'Course us guys mostly pick out some guy with a swell atomic-mobile if we're goin' to pull a stick-up. When we see a old heap like this one there's usually not enough dough to make it pay."
Marden felt his jaw drop.
"Say, you sound, like you go in for that sort of thing! I'm telling you right now, I haven't enough cash on me to make it worth your while. I'm just a salesman, trying to get along."
"You got nothin' to worry about," his passenger assured him. "Stick-ups ain't my racket."
An audible sigh of relief escaped Marden.
"I'm certainly glad to hear that! What is your—er—racket, anyway?"
The blue eyes frosted over.
"Look, chum, sometimes it ain't exactly healthy to ask questions like that."
"Pardon me," Marden said hastily. "I didn't mean anything. It's none of my business, of course."