I looked at it. It was the landlord’s receipt for our room rent. They had found it in a corner of one of Smiler’s pockets. Smiler had continually drummed it into me never to answer any questions in case we were arrested.

“Just clam up, kid. Tell them you’d rather not say anything till you get a lawyer. They might slug you, but don’t talk; that’s your only salvation.”

I remembered his advice and said to them as respectfully as I knew how:

“You gentlemen have arrested me for something, I don’t know what. But I would rather not make any statement till I can see an attorney and get his advice.”

The landlord now came to the room.

“Was this young man in this room night before last?”

“The bed wasn’t slept in,” he replied.