“O. K., boss. It’s soft—soft.” Frost’s voice was rasping yet servile. “There’s black wigs a guy can buy, ain’t there? Well, I’ll grab me one, fix myself up like a grease ball, talk spig, take the kids one at a time and try my hand at your racket.”
“Now you’re talking, Frost. Take one—say, to Pittsburgh, eh? You’ll be father and son looking for work in the mills. And I’d only aim for the minimum price on both of them. They’re not worth taking any chances on big money. The other Greek you could take—say to Maine. That’s putting a safe distance between, eh?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Frost crowed. “And say, listen, why not lemme clean up the job right on the spot, hey? No use makin’ extra trips back here. I can work it careful.”
“Hmp—it’s an idea, Frost. We’ll dope it out after tomorrow night and Timmy’s off my mind. Don’t try to do anything until then.” There was a pause, then: “Do you think he’s wise to anything? I sort of feel that he was doing more than just whisper his family history to those other kids.”
“Nah; what could he say, hey? He ain’t seen nothin’ no more’n the others. You’re just gettin’ nervous, that’s all. But I’ll tell you what, Dean, you will make them kids wise that something’s phoney with your big heart racket, when you don’t even trust ’em unless you got the key to their room in your pocket. You’re puttin’ the lid flat down and scarin’ the life out of ’em too soon. Now if I was you, I’d let ’em loose in the house. Maybe if you’d done that in Chi, Tucker wouldn’t got away like he done. If he’d known where you hung out he’d been back and you’d cashed in on him.”
“Well, I didn’t and that’s my funeral,” Devlin said in measured tones. “I’m only glad Tucker wasn’t caught so he could spill out my racket. I guess he got away all right or we’d have seen some flat-footed dick keeping our trail warm before this. Anyway, I think you’re right about locking up the kids. I’ll make ’em think I trust ’em even if I don’t.”
“O. K.,” Frost chuckled, “I’ll do it right now and give ’em a surprise in the morning. Long’s I got the keys to the downstairs doors in my pockets, we ain’t got no cause to worry that they’ll sneak.”
Skippy did not wait to hear more. He made a running jump from the door to the bed and had assumed a restful, sleeping posture before Frost’s key scraped in the lock. But the man made no effort to enter. Instead, he turned on his heel and recrossed the hall to his room and presently a deep silence pervaded the house.
Not many seconds later, the storm broke and the dark, eerie house trembled and groaned like some stricken thing in the whistling gale.