“You mean he’s in with you? That’s all right with me.” The Kid spoke crisply. “But, you understand, his cut comes out of yours. I get half, and no trimming.”
The Frenchman frowned, but he nodded in agreement.
“Half is yours, if we find it.”
“Don’t get no headache over that,” the Kid advised him. “It’s here and we’ll get it.”
He put one of his guns away and came into the room, the other gun hanging loosely at his side. When he walked across the room to face the woman, he managed it so that Big Chin and Maurois were never behind him.
“Where’s the stuff?” he demanded.
Inés Almad wet her red mouth with her tongue and let her mouth droop a little and looked softly at the Kid, and made her play.
“One of us is as bad as are the others, Kid. We all—each of us tried to get for ourselves everything. You and Edouard have put aside what is past. Am I more wrong than you? I have them, true, but I have not them here. Until tomorrow will you wait? I will get them. We will divide them among us three, as it was to have been. Shall we not do that?”
“Not any!” The Kid’s voice had finality in it.
“Is that just?” she pleaded, letting her chin quiver a bit. “Is there a treachery of which I am guilty that also you and Edouard are not? Do you—?”
“That ain’t the idea at all,” the Kid told her. “Me and Frenchy are in a fix where we got to work together to get anywhere. So we’re together. With