"

"Aw now--"

"Nobody can fool me on your step. You tiptoed for all you were worth,
but I knew it! The-ball-of your-foot--squeak! The-ball-of-your
foot--squeak!"

"Sure enough, now you mention it, maybe for a minute around eleven, but
only for a minute--"

"Please, Getaway, don't lie. It was for nearly all night. Comings and
goings on my ceiling until I couldn't sleep, not because they were so
noisy, but because they were so soft. Like ugly whispers. Is Monkey the
friend you got the deal on with, Getaway?"

"We just sat up there talking old times--"

"And Muggs, about eleven o'clock, sneaking up through the halls, dressed
like the messenger boy again. I saw him when I peeked out of the door to
see who it was tiptoeing. Getaway, for God's sake--"

He closed over her wrist then, his face extremely pointed. It was a bony
face, so narrow that the eyes and the cheek bones had to be pitched
close, and his black hair, usually so shiny, was down in a bang now,
because it was damp, and to Marylin there was something sinister in that
dip of bang which frightened her.

"What you don't know don't hurt you. You hear that? Didn't I tell you
that after a few days this business deal--_business_, get that?--will be
over. Then I'm going to hold down any old job your heart desires. But
first I'm going to have money in my pockets! That's the only way to make
this old world sit up and take notice. Spondulicks! Then I'm going to
carry you off and get spliced. See? Real money. Diamonds. If you weren't
so touchy, maybe you'd have diamonds sooner than you think. Want one
now?"

"Getaway, I know you're up to something. You and Monkey and Muggs are
tied up with those Wall Street bond getaways."

"For the luvagod, cut that talk here! First thing I know you'll have me
in a brainstorm too."

"Those fake messenger boys that get themselves hired and, instead of
delivering the bonds from one office to another--disappear with them.
Muggs isn't wearing that messenger's uniform for nothing. You and Monkey
are working with him under cover on something. You can't pass a cop any
more without tightening up. I can feel it when I have your arm. You've
got that old over-your-shoulder look to you, Getaway. My father--had it.
My--mother--too. Getaway!"

"By gad! you can't beat a woman!"

"You don't deny it."

"I do!"

"Oh, Getaway, I'm glad then, glad!"

"Over-the-shoulder look. Why, if I'd meet a plain-clothes this minute
I'd go up and kis