“I heard this morning. I was in a saloon down Fleet Street way, and two fellows come in and one of them was telling the other how he’d just rented this joint.”
Chimp Twist uttered a discordant laugh.
“So that’s what’s come of your darned smooth double-crossing act!” he said nastily. “Yes, I guess you better had let Chimp in on it. You want a man with brains now, not a guy that never thought up anything smarter than gypping suckers with a phony oil stock.”
Mr. Molloy bowed his head meekly before the blast. His wife was made of sterner stuff.
“You talk a lot, don’t you?” she said coldly.
“And I can do a lot,” retorted Mr. Twist, fingering his waxed moustache. “So you’d best come clean, Soapy, and have a show-down, like you say. Where is this joint?”
“Don’t you dare tell him before he tells you where the stuff is!” cried Mrs. Molloy.
“Just as you say,” said Chimp carelessly. He scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and covered them with his hand. “There! Now you write down your end of it and Dolly can read them both out.”
“Have you really thought up a scheme?” asked Mr. Molloy humbly.
“I’ve thought up a dozen.”