The front door and the front window on the ground floor had been planked and braced like the rear ones. I didn’t like to risk opening them, even though it was fairly light by now. So I went upstairs, fashioned a flag of truce out of a pillow-slip and a bed-slat, hung it out a window, waited until a heavy voice said, “All right, speak your piece,” and then I showed myself and told the police I’d let them in.
It took five minutes’ work with a hatchet to pry the front door loose. The chief of police, the captain of detectives, and half the force were waiting on the front steps and pavement when I got the door open. I took them to the cellar and turned Big Flora, Pogy and Red O’Leary over to them, with the money. Flora and Pogy were awake, but not talking.
While the dignitaries were crowded around the spoils I went upstairs. The house was full of police sleuths. I swapped greetings with them as I went through to the room where I had left Nancy Regan and the old gink. Lieutenant Duff was trying the locked door, while O’Gar and Hunt stood behind him.
I grinned at Duff and gave him the key.
He opened the door, looked at the old man and the girl—mostly at her—and then at me. They were standing in the center of the room. The old man’s faded eyes were miserably worried, the girl’s blue ones darkly anxious. Anxiety didn’t ruin her looks a bit.
“If that’s yours I don’t blame you for locking it up,” O’Gar muttered in my ear.
“You can run along now,” I told the two in the room. “Get all the sleep you need before you report for duty again.”