“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s inside you. Why don’t you sneak off for a couple of days’ rest? You’ve got things here so they’ll run themselves. Let’s go down to Salt Lake. It’ll do you good.”
“Can’t, sister. Somebody’s got to stay here to count the dead. Besides, the whole program is based on the present combination of people and events. Our going out of town would change that, and the chances are the whole thing would have to be gone over again.”
“Nobody would have to know you were gone, and I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“Since when?”
She leaned forward, made her eyes small, and asked:
“Now what are you getting at?”
“Nothing. Just wondering how you got to be a disinterested bystander all of a sudden. Forgotten that Donald Willsson was killed because of you, starting the whole thing? Forgotten that it was the dope you gave me on Whisper that kept the job from petering out in the middle?”
“You know just as well as I do that none of that was my fault,” she said indignantly. “And it’s all past, anyway. You’re just bringing it up because you’re in a rotten humor and want to argue.”
“It wasn’t past last night, when you were scared stiff Whisper was going to kill you.”
“Will you stop talking about killing!”
“Young Albury once told me Bill Quint had threatened to kill you,” I said.
“Stop it.”