"If you see anybody upstairs, just keep your back turned so they won't notice your pretty bracelets."
Garth shivered, aware that a new and disquieting element had entered the situation.
Slim indicated the revolver, held ready in his coat pocket.
"After George, and in front of me. Always like that from now on."
He touched the bottle of acid which he had taken from George.
"Remember this will be behind you like my gun, but I don't want to shoot to kill with either. Just a little in the face is better if you try to cut up."
"You heard my promise," Garth said.
He followed George through the doorway, resisting continually the impulse to turn around, to assure himself of what he already knew, that Slim was actually alert each moment to discipline his slightest effort at escape.
They crossed the damp spaces of the cellar and climbed the stairs, pausing at the head until they could be certain Marlowe's evil figure still faced a bar-room, significantly empty.
George hurried to the telephone booth, fastening the door behind him so that Garth could hear nothing. Marlowe wiped his hands on his apron. A sly smile twitched at the corners of his colorless lips.