"Go on, Frisco," said Adam, about the skull, "tell Mamma about her father."
A sharp voice answered, "Let go my arms. You're killin' me!"
"Quit kiddin'," Adam growled. "Go on!"
"He ran a joint in San Francisco and gave me a job after I got out the Navy. Died last fall. I kind of nursed him. Told me to burn all these books—diaries. I read 'em. He called himself Peterson. Left all his money to a woman. She shut the joint. I looked some like him so I took a chance. Leggo my arms, Egg!"
"He'd ought to go to jail, Dammy," said Mrs. Egg. "It's just awful! I bet the police are lookin' for him right now."
"Mamma, if we put him in jail this'll be all over the county and you'll never hear the end of it."
She stared at the ape with loathing. There was a star tattooed on one of his naked insteps. He looked no longer frail, but wiry and snakelike. The pallor behind his dark tan showed the triangles of black stain in his cheeks and eye sockets.
"He's too smart to leave loose, Dammy."
"It'll be an awful joke on you, Mamma."
"I can't help it, Dammy. He——"