a storm, against bewildered civilians—it was duck soup. There are nine of you that I know of, including two women. Any five of you could have carried on the work, once it was started, while the others took turns appearing here and there, establishing alibis. And that is what you did. You took turns slipping out to alibi yourselves. Everywhere I went I ran into one of you. And the general! That whiskered old joker running around leading the simple citizens to battle! I’ll bet he led ’em plenty! They’re lucky there are any of ’em alive this morning!”
She finished her cigarette with another inhalation, dropped the stub on the rug, ground out the light with one foot, sighed wearily, put her hands on her hips, and asked:
“And now what?”
“Now I want to know where you have stowed the plunder.”
The readiness of her answer surprised me.
“Under the garage, in a cellar we dug secretly there some months ago.”
I didn’t believe that, of course, but it turned out to be the truth.
I didn’t have anything else to say. When I fumbled with my borrowed crutch, preparing to get up, she raised a hand and spoke gently:
“Wait a moment, please. I have something to suggest.”
Half standing, I leaned toward her, stretching out one hand until it was close to her side.
“I want the gun,” I said.
She nodded, and sat still while I plucked it from her pocket, put it in one of my own, and sat down again.