“Crack the alibi yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“It’ll hold,” he assured me, “unless they got too damned much on you. Think they have?”

I did think so. I said:

“No. McGraw’s just feeling playful. That’ll take care of itself. How’s your end holding up?”

He emptied his glass, wiped his mouth on the back of a hand, and said:

“I’ll make out. But that’s what I wanted to see you about. Here’s how she stacks up. Pete’s throwed in with McGraw. That lines coppers and beer mob up against me and Whisper. But hell! Me and Whisper are busier trying to put the chive in each other than bucking the combine. That’s a sour racket. While we’re tangling, them bums will eat us up.”

I said I had been thinking the same thing. He went on: