But I shook my head. I didn’t see any sense in making a lot of trouble for myself just to make some for somebody else—and suppose Tennant proved his story …
So the policemen were found, and brought into the office again, and told the truth.
And presently Tennant, the girl, and I were walking together like three old friends through the corridors toward the door, Tennant still asking me to let him make amends for the evening’s work.
“You’ve got to let me do something!” he insisted. “It’s only right!”
His hand dipped into his coat, and came out with a thick billfold.
“Here,” he said; “let me—”
We were going, at that happy moment, down the stone vestibule steps that led to Kearny Street—six or seven steps there are.
“No,” I said; “let me—”
He was on the next to the top step, when I reached up and let go.
He settled in a rather limp pile at the bottom. Leaving his empty-faced lady love to watch over him, I strolled up through Portsmouth Square toward a restaurant where the steaks come thick.