"Sell any brains yet?" in a jocular way.
"Not to-day," she replied, with her innocent, baby-like stare.
"Well, I didn't sell any suspenders, either. There are no spenders for suspenders. Ha, ha, ha!"
"That doesn't seem to worry you much," asserted Josie, pointedly.
He gave a shrug.
"Well, to-morrow morning I leave by the 5:30 train east, so if I don't see you any more, I hope the brains will find a market."
"Thank you."
She went on, glad to escape the man. "He told me about leaving on the 5:30, and is probably giving everyone else the same information, so he can't be connected with the explosion," she reflected. "Clever Mr. Kauffman! But not clever enough to realize he is near the end of his infamous career."
Josie's plans, perfected during that afternoon, primarily involved the shadowing of Abe Kauffman every moment, from now on. Abe Kauffman and his black satchel. For it grew dark early at this time of year, and already the brief twilight was fading. So the girl hastened to her room and exchanged her gray walking suit for a darker one that was inconspicuous and allowed free movement. Then she slipped her little pearl-mounted revolver—her father's gift—into her handbag and decided she was ready for any emergency.
Having extinguished the light in her room, she glanced from the window into the alley below, where the shadows were now gathering deeply.