The dumb-bell had forgotten that he possessed a gun. He was writhing and cursing, his one idea being to pull that dagger out of the window ledge. Jerry Tobin preferred to let it stay there for the moment. Mildly he said to the girl in the chair:
“On your way, señorita. You mustn’t get mixed up in this. Go upstairs and wait there for me. Stay in your room. Tell Mike to come here. Excuse me, but you’d better pull your shirt together. Rubio Sanchez is a dead card.”
Teresa clutched at the bosom of her shirt. A button had been ripped off. It revealed no more than did her evening gown of black lace, but it was enough to prove to Jerry Tobin that he had taken on the responsibilities of a chaperon. The color dyed her face from chin to brow as she buttoned the gray coat over the shirt.
Looking neither at the window ledge nor at Jerry Tobin, she fled from the office, whispered a hurried word to Mr. Mike as she passed the bar, and stole into the hall and up the staircase. The straw hat was pulled low over her eyes. Safely in her room, she shot the bolt and fairly toppled over on the bed. To her ears came the thump, thump of the drums, the frenzied wail of the saxophones, loud laughter, snatches of song.
An hour passed before she was aroused by a knock on the door. It was Jerry Tobin. He entered rather gingerly, as if to apologize for an intrusion. As a chaperon he was evidently a novice. His change of manner was amusing. He was like a man afraid. From a pocket he took the antique dagger. The blade had been cleaned of stains. Awkwardly he ventured to say:
“Here’s something of yours. I didn’t want the police to find it. Sheeny George, the bird you—ahem—left it with, don’t know how it happened.”
“What did you say to the police?” fearfully asked Teresa.
“No more than I had to. I made ’em a present of an outlaw with a record as long as your arm, and they were tickled to death. He’ll get put away for pretty near the rest of his life. So there’s that. You don’t show in it at all.”
“But I don’t want the dagger, Mr. Tobin. Throw it away.”
“Not if you’ll let me keep it as a souvenir. You won’t have to pack any more weapons. Understand? So cheer up, young lady. You’ve got a friend to make the play for you. Do you mind telling me what name to call you by?”