“My get-away! What's up?”
“You haven't come across as the Chief ordered you to, and he's out to give you just what he said he would,” Casey said rapidly, his speech broken by panting. “There's been a stick-up, with assault that may be changed to attempted manslaughter, and the Chief has three men who swear you're the guilty party. It's a sure-fire case against you, Larry—and it'll mean five to ten years if you're caught. Gavegan and I got the order to arrest you. I've beat Gavegan to it so's to tip you off, but he's only a few minutes behind. Hurry, Larry! Only—only—”
Casey paused, gasping for his wind.
“Only what, Casey?”
“Only alibi me, Larry, by slipping over a haymaker on me like you did on Gavegan. So's I can say I tried to get you, but you were too quick and knocked me cold. Quick! Only not too hard—I know how to play possum.”
Larry handed the pistol to Hunt. “Casey, you're a real scout! Thanks!” He grasped Casey's hand, then swiftly relaxed his grip. “Ready?”
“Fire,” said Casey.
Larry held his open left hand close to Casey's jaw, and drove his right fist into his palm with a thudding smack. Casey went sprawling to the floor, and lay there loosely, with mouth agape, in perfect simulation of a man who has been knocked out.
Larry turned quickly. “You two will testify that I beat Casey up and then made my escape?”
“Sure, I'll testify to anything for the sake of a good old goat like Casey!” cried Hunt. “But hurry, boy—beat it!”