"It's life or death to me," said Mrs. Inche serenely. "I've got to have protection—you've seen yourself how had I need it. And the police are not for the likes of me. Besides," she added with engaging candour, "if I squeal and tell the truth, then friend husband will be disinherited for sure, and I'll have had all my trouble for nothing."
"You make it perfectly clear, Mrs. Inche.... And when I see Mr. Red November—?"
"Say to him three words: Nella wants you. He'll understand. Then you can go home."
"If I get out alive."
"You're safe if you don't drink anything there."
"Doubtless; but I'll feel safer if you'll lend me the loan of this pretty toy," said P. Sybarite, weighing in one hand her automatic pistol.
"It's yours."
"Anything in it?"
"Three shots left, I believe. No matter. I'll get you a handful of cartridges and you can reload the clip in the taxicab. Not that you're likely to need it at Dutch House."
From the street rose the rumble of a motor, punctuated by a horn that honked.