“Who got away, Barney?” she demanded in a hushed tone.
Her look made Barney think rapidly. He was good at quick thinking, was Barney. He decided to tell the truth—or part of it.
“Larry Brainard.”
“Got away from what?” she pursued.
“The police. They were after him on some charge. And some of his pals were after him, too. They were out to get him because he had squealed on Red Hannigan and Jack Rosenfeldt. Both parties were closing in on him at about the same time. But Larry got a tip somehow, and made his get-away.”
“When did it happen?”
“Must have happened a little time after we all left the Duchess's.”
“But—but, Barney—how did you learn it so soon?”
“Just ran into Officer Gavegan over on Broadway and he told me,” lied Barney. He preferred not to tell her that he had been upon the scene with Little Mick and Lefty Ed; for the third figure which Larry had descried through the misty shadows had indeed been Barney Palmer. Also Barney preferred not to tell what further subtle share he had had in the causes for Larry's flight.
“Do you think he—he made a safe get-away?”