“Touch me? Of course not. Can’t you see him? He’s watching the lock tender through the stovepipe hole.”
I changed my position ever so slightly, careful to make no sound. And sure enough, as Scoop had said, the room’s other occupant was on his hands and knees over the hole in the floor. The light from below shone on his tense face. A crouching killer! I could think of nothing else in the expression of his face and the suggestive posture of his body.
“Maybe he’s going to kill the old man,” I shivered, recalling stories I had read.
“Why should he do that?” [[173]]
“Why should he hug the piano leg?” I countered.
“You think he wants the piano leg bad enough to commit murder to get it?”
“Look at his face,” I returned. “If he isn’t a killer, I never hope to see one.”
“Um.…” reflected Scoop. “I’m curious about that piano leg, Jerry. Maybe it’s made of gold and painted to look like wood.”
“Don’t talk so loud,” I shivered. “He’ll hear you.”
“I’d like to know what his scheme is.”