The strangler took a roll of bills from his pocket, having a little difficulty on account of his gloves, peeled off two twenties, went to the table with them, and gave them a good rub on both sides with his handkerchief.
He held the bills out to Skinny. “I’ve paid the agreed amount, as you know. This extra is so you won’t get impatient and leave before half-past ten.”
“Don’t take it!” I called sharply.
Skinny, the bills in his hand, turned. “What’s the matter, they got germs?”
“No, but they’re peanuts, you sap! He’s worth ten grand to you! As is! Ten grand!”
“Nonsense,” the strangler said scornfully and started for the bed to get his hat and coat.
“Gimme my twenty,” W-J demanded.
Skinny stood with his head cocked, regarding me. He looked faintly interested but skeptical, and I saw it would take more than words. As the strangler picked up his hat and coat and turned, I jerked my body violently to the left and over I went, chair and all. I have no idea how I got across the floor to the door. I couldn’t simply roll on account of the chair, I couldn’t crawl without hands, and I didn’t even try to jump. But I made it, and not slow, and was there, down on my right side, the chair against the door and me against the chair, before any of them snapped out of it enough to reach me.
“You think,” I yapped at Skinny, “it’s just a job? Let him go and you’ll find out! Do you want his name? Mrs. Carlisle — Mrs. Homer N. Carlisle. Do you want her address?”
The strangler, on his way to me, stopped and froze. He — or I should say she — stood stiff as a bar of steel, the long-lashed eyes aimed at me.