The Inspector hesitated a second. "Quick!" cried Ike sharply. "Don't you fool too long obeyin' orders. I aint used to it. I'm here exercisin' a public function, preventin' murder, in short, and I'll drop you in your tracks if you don't move at the next word. You here me? And if you don't intend to move at the next word, say your prayers in this interval. Now then, back up to that table and put down that gun. Correct. Very nice, indeed."
Ike's voice took on more and more of its customary drawl.
"Now, two steps forward. Right. Now, you can—go—to—the—devil!"
Ike stepped to the table, took up the pistol, and returned to his place at the door, saying:
"Say, boss, this prayer meetin's over. Let's go home."
"Not until the Inspector says so," said The Kid, who had recovered himself, and who was now quite sober. "He has the word now, Ikey, so don't interfere."
"All right, Kiddie, play your game. You're equivalent to it, I surmise."
"I think so," said the Kid sweetly. Then, turning to the Inspector, he continued in a voice of gentle consideration, "There is something on your cheek, Inspector Haynes. You have not observed it. Allow me to point it out to you."
He moved forward as he spoke, but Shock interposed.
"I think that is enough, Mr. Stanton," he said.