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A collection of short stories about an unnamed agent of a detective agency in the early 1920s.

Page 963 of 1257
Table of Contents

I

haven’t killed a millionaire in weeks, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“That’s good. Now, as I get it, you’re counting on landing Papadopoulos. Angel Grace sent for you, thinking you’d run him down just to even up for Paddy’s killing, but it’s the money you want, so you figure on playing with me as well as the Angel. That right?”

“Check.”

“You know what’ll happen if she learns you’re stringing along with me?”

“Uh-huh. She’ll chuck a convulsion⁠—kind of balmy on the subject of keeping clear of the police, isn’t she?”

“She is⁠—somebody told her something about honor among thieves once and she’s never got over it. Her brother’s doing a hitch up north now⁠—Johnny the Plumber sold him out. Her man Paddy was mowed down by his pals. Did either of those things wake her up? Not a chance. She’d rather have Papadopoulos go free than join forces with us.”

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