“Cut it out,” he begged. “You know there ain’t any sense to it. What would I have hung around afterwards for? I’d have been out getting an alibi, like Whisper.”

“Why? You were a dick then. Close by was the spot for you⁠—to see that everything went right⁠—handle it yourself.”

“You know damned well it don’t hang together, don’t make sense. Cut it out, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t mind how goofy it is,” I said. “It’s something to put to Noonan when we get back. He’s likely all broken up over Whisper’s crush-out. This will take his mind off it.”

MacSwain got down on his knees in the muddy alley and cried:

“Oh, Christ, no! He’d croak me with his hands.”

“Get up and stop yelling,” I growled. “Now will you give it to me straight?”