burg. You can't expect to get away with a wad
like that."

"I know nothing about the money," says he, stiffenin' up. "They'll have
to find it to prove I took it."

"Big mistake No. 2," says I. "They got to convict somebody, and the
arrow points to you. About fifteen years would be my guess. Now come,
Allston, what good would you be after fifteen years' hard?"

He shivers, but shrugs his shoulders dogged. "Poor little Helma!" says
he. "Where is she?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Allston," says I, "but that ain't the order of events.
It's like this: First off you tell me where the wad is; then I tell you
about Helma."

Makes him groan a bit, that does, and he scowls at me stubborn. "They
tried all that on at Headquarters," says he. "It's no use."

"You'd get off lighter if you told," says I.

"I've nothing to tell," he insists.

"How about swappin' what you know for two tickets to Australia?" I
suggests.

"Hah!" says he. "Helma's been talkin'!"

"She's a chatty youngster," says I, "and she thinks a heap of her
Daddums. I ain't sure, though, whether you come first--or Arabella."

If I hadn't been watchin' for it, I might not have noticed, but the
quiver that begins in the fingers grippin' the bars runs clear up to the
sagged shoulders. His mouth twitches nervous, and then he gets hold of
himself.

"Oh, yes," says he, forcin' a smile. "Her doll. She--she still has that,
has she?"

"Uh-huh!" says I, watchin' him keen. "I'm keepin' close track of both."

That little touch did the business. He begins pacin' up and down his
cell, wringin' his hands. About the fourth lap he stops.

"If I only could take her to Australia," says he, "and get her out
of--of all this, I would be willing to--to----"

"That's enough," says I. "All I want is your O. K. on any terms I can
make with Mrs. Murtha."

"She's a hard woman," says he. "And she doesn't come by her money
straight."

"Nor lose it easy," says I. "She wants it back. Might talk business,
though, if I could show her how----"

"Anything!" says Allston. "Anything to get me out!"

"Now you're usin' your bean," says I. "I'm off. Maybe you'll hear from
me later."

Course I didn't know what could be done, but I 'phones Piddie at the
office to tell 'em I won't be in before lunch, and then I boards an
uptown subway express. Easy enough findin' Mrs. Connie Murtha too. She's
just finished a ten o'clock breakfast. A big, well-built, dashin' sort
of party she is, with an enamele