“Say,” said the Wop, a sudden huskiness in his voice. “I owe you something. What’s your name?”
“Never mind about that,” he said quietly. “There’s something else that’s of vastly greater importance so far as you are concerned. Do you know why they got after you to-night, or who it was that got you in that trap?”
“I’ll tell you, then,” said Billy Kane. “It was because you threatened to get even with Ivan Barloff.”
“Barloff!” The Wop’s fists clenched, and he stepped closer to Billy Kane. “So it was Barloff, was it? He must have had the fear of God in him, then, to make him spend any money—even to hire thugs! Barloff, eh? Well, I’m going to see Barloff pretty soon!”
“No, you’re not!” said Billy Kane crisply. “That’s exactly why I am telling you this. It isn’t Barloff. It’s a crowd that knew of your threat, and _they’re_ getting after Barloff, and framing you up for the job. They’re planting a little evidence against you in Barloff’s place in exchange for Barloff’s cash, and with you finished off via the murder route, they expect the police to throw up their hands after a while and admit you’ve made a clean get-away—with the swag.”
The Wop’s face was close to Billy Kane’s, and the Wop’s face was suddenly pinched and white. He touched his lips with his tongue. And then, as suddenly, the blood flushed back, and he thrust out his under jaw truculently.
“They would, eh—the dirty swabs!” he snarled. “Who are they? I’ll make ’em crawl for this!”
“No, I guess not!” he said softly. “You’re very much better out of it. But I promise you they’ll not get away with it if you’ll do what you are told now.”
The Wop knuckled his forehead in a perplexed way.
“What do you want me to do?” There was a lingering sullen note in the Wop’s voice.
“Just this,” said Billy Kane quietly. “I want you to get out from under. You’re not looking for another five years in Sing Sing, are you?”
The Wop flinched. He drew his knuckles again across his eyes.
“Quite so!” he said calmly. “Well, then, it is simply a question of establishing an alibi for you that will be absolutely hole-proof from now until, say, midnight. Where can you go?”
“I know Gus Moray, that runs the Silver King saloon,” said the Wop. “He’d swear to it, all right.”