Again Bradley swore. “Well, if you’re afraid of her, why don’t you beat her to that big stiff Morton—tell him who she is and what she’s done? You can get away with it.”
“Telling Morton has got to be my last move. It’s too dangerous—I might implicate myself.”
“Well, what you going to do?”
“My chief business has got to be Mary Regan,” Loveman answered grimly—“fixing her so she can’t hurt me, and doing it quick.”
“You mean croaking her?”
“That raw stuff don’t go with me, Bradley. I’m not so tired that I’m willing to run the risk of sitting in the electric chair up at Sing Sing.”
“There’s a lot of things besides being croaked that can happen to a woman in this town,” said Bradley. “The way that Mrs. Dormer case was worked ain’t so bad; it’s always good for a repeat. Mysterious disappearance until the danger is over. You can always handle a woman so she’ll have nothing much to say about the time she was missing.”
“Too risky.”
“How about smearing her? That would help some, if it was done proper.”
“I don’t know what it’s going to be yet—but it’s going to be something mighty soon.” He spoke with nervous incisiveness. “With you and Hilton and Nan Burdette and Nina Cordova, there’ll be plenty of people. Your first job will be to keep Mary Regan covered night and day, so we can act the minute we’re ready. I’ll have something doped out by morning, and I’ll let you know. Come on, let’s see if there isn’t a cold bottle in the ice-chest.”