Old Jimmie picked up Maggie's suitcase, and slipping a hand through her arm led her across the room. She did not even say good-bye to Hunt or the Duchess, or even glance at them; but went out silently, her drawn, staring look on Larry alone.
Barney backed after them, his automatic still held in readiness. "I'm letting you down damned easy, Brainard," he said, hate glittering in his eyes. "But there's some who won't be so nice!"
With that he closed the door. Until that moment both Hunt and the Duchess had said nothing. Now the Duchess spoke up:
"I'm glad they've taken Maggie away, Larry. I've seen the way you've come to feel about her, and she's not the right sort for you."
But Larry was still too dazed by the way in which Maggie had walked out of his life to make any response.
"But there's a lot in what Barney said about there being some who wouldn't be easy on you," continued the Duchess. "That word had been brought me before Barney showed up. So I had this ready for you."
From a slit pocket in her baggy skirt the Duchess drew out a pistol and handed it to Larry.
"What's this for?" Larry asked.
"I was told that word had gone out to the Ginger Buck Gang to get you," answered the Duchess. "Barney has some secret connection with the Ginger Bucks. His saying that you were a stool and a squealer is not the only thing he's got against you; he's jealous of you on account of everything--especially Maggie. So you'll need that gun."
"What's this I've fallen into the middle of?" exclaimed Hunt. "A Kentucky feud?"
"It's very easy to understand when you know the code," Larry explained grimly. "Down here when an outfit thinks one of its members has squealed on them, it's their duty to be always on the watch for their chance to finish him off. I'm to be finished off--that's all."
"Say, young fellow, the life of a straight crook doesn't seem to be getting much simpler! Why, man, you hardly dare to stir from the house! What are you going to do?"
"Going to go around my business, always with the pleasant anticipation of a bullet in my back when some fellow thinks it safe for him to shoot."
The three of them discussed this latest development over their dinner, which they had together up in Hunt's studio. But despite all their talk of his danger, a very real and near danger, Larry's mind was more upon Maggie who had thus suddenly been wrenched out of his life. He remembered her excited, boastful talk of their first evening. Her period of schooling was indeed now over; she was now committed to her rosily imagined adventure, in which she saw herself as a splendid lady. And with Barney Palmer as her guiding influence! . . .
Dinner had been finished and Hunt was trying to give Larry such cheer as "Buck up, young fellow--you know the worst--there's nothing else that can happen," when the lie direct was given to his phrases by heavy steps running up the stairway and the opening and closing of the door. There stood Officer Casey, heaving for breath.
Instinctively Larry drew his pistol. "Casey! What're you here for?"
"Get rid of that gat--don't be found with a gun on," ordered Casey.
"And beat it. You've got less than five minutes to make your get-away."
"My get-away! What's up?"
"You haven't come across as the Chief ordered you to, and he's out to give you just what he said he would," Casey said rapidly, his speech broken by panting. "There's been a stick-up, with assault that may be changed to attempted manslaughter, and the Chief has three men who swear you're the guilty party. It's a sure-fire case against you, Larry--and it'll mean five to ten years if you're caught. Gavegan and I got the order to arrest you. I've beat Gavegan to it so's to tip you off, but he's only a few minutes behind. Hurry, Larry! Only--only--"
Casey paused, gasping for his wind.
"Only what, Casey?"
"Only alibi me, Larry, by slipping over a haymaker on me like you did on Gavegan. So's I can say I tried to get you, but you were too quick and knocked me cold. Quick! Only not too hard--I know how to play possum."
Larry handed the pistol to Hunt. "Casey, you're a real scout! Thanks!"
He grasped Casey's hand, then swiftly relaxed his grip. "Ready?"
"Fire," said Casey.
Larry held his open left hand close to Casey's jaw, and drove his right fist into his palm with a thudding smack. Casey went sprawling to the floor, and lay there loosely, with mouth agape, in perfect simulation of a man who has been knocked out.
Larry turned quickly. "You two will testify that I beat Casey up and then made my escape?"
"Sure, I'll testify to anything for the sake of a good old goat like Casey!" cried Hunt. "But hurry, boy--beat it!"
The Duchess held out Larry's hat to him, and thrust into his coat pocket a roll of bills which had come from her capacious skirt.
"Hurry, Larry--and be careful--for you're all I've got."
Impulsively Larry stooped and kissed the thin, shriveled lips of his grandmother--the first kiss he had ever given her. Then he turned and ran down the stairway, Hunt just behind him. He turned out the light in the back room, and called to Old Isaac to darken the pawnshop proper. He was going forth with two forces in arms against him, the police and his pals, and he had no desire to be a shining mark for either or both by stepping through a lighted doorway.
"Larry, my son, you're all right!" said Hunt, gripping his hand in the darkness. "Listen, boy: if ever you're trapped and can get to a telephone, call Plaza nine-double-o-one and say 'Benvenuto Cellini.'"
"All right."
"Remember, you're to say 'Benvenuto Cellini,' and the telephone is Plaza nine-double-o-one. Luck to you!" Again they gripped hands. Then Larry slipped through the darkened doorway into whatever might lie beyond.
