“There ain’t any ransom,” Joe said earnestly. “Van Drutten’s hushing this up. He don’t want anyone to know she’s gone nuts. He’s given out she’s in Europe or some place. Now do you get it?”
Hienie half believed him. His mind began to work from another angle. “A mighty slick yarn. Listen, Joe, people don’t just go crazy. What’s it all about?”
Joe shook his head. “Gee! I can’t tell you that. It’d cost me my job.”
Hienie put some more weight on his gun arm. “You can either spill it or get out an’ walk. Suit yourself. If it sounds reasonable I’ll take off the heat and you can forget about this; but if you ain’t comin’ clean, I’ll take a chance an’ let the dame go—suit yourself.”
Joe groaned. “Don’t do that, I tell you she’s dangerous!”
“So is Sally Rand, so is Mae West, so what?” Hienie snarled. “Suit yourself, but you’re goin’ to walk if you don’t come clean.”
Joe blotted his face with his sleeve. “You gotta keep your mouth shut,” he said; “old man Drutten’ll go crazy himself if this gets out.”
Hienie raised his eyebrows. “That would be just too bad,” he said with a sneer. “I’d hate Drutten to get into a lather. Like hell, I would.”
Joe looked furtively up and down the long, dark road, then he said hoarsely: “She got mixed up with a playboy.”
Hienie stared at him. “What the hell are you givin’ me? Mixin’ with playboys don’t make you crazy.”