"Yeah? What's on your mind now?"

"We've been talking all night about what / did on election day, and what Mr. Jansen did, and how he hired twenty cars to bring the voters in-let's talk about you. What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Did you vote?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"No civic spirit."

"Why did you help me?"

"I told you. Get back at Caspar."

"What did Maddux do?"

"Tried to commit suicide."

"What?"

"They didn't put it in the papers, though I know a couple of those reporters had it. Maybe it wasn't really news. Maybe if he hadn't tried to knock himself off, that would have been news. Anyway, he had some kind of pills ready, and when the returns began to come in, he down the hatch with them, and the night gang at the Columbus had an awful time getting him pumped out in time to concede Jansen's election."

"How is the dear old Columbus, by the way?"

"Haven't you been around there?"

"Me? The girl that started it all?"

"You ought to drop in, have a look. Oh, it's perfectly safe. Caspar's gang, you couldn't find one of them with a search-warrant-except Lefty. Lefty, of course, he's a special case. But that hotel, it looks like a morgue. Saturday night, before you went on the air, it was like a bee-hive-politicians, newspaper men, racketeers, women, women, and still more women-everybody you could think of was there, and the orchestra was playing 'Oh Johnny.' Sunday night, after that body was found, it was all over. The night clerk, a cashier, a couple of porters, the bartender-sitting around the bar with me and Lefty, too sick even to have a drink. They knew. They didn't have to wait for any election day."

"Some day I hope to meet Lefty."

"He's scared bad."

"What about?"

"About whether he'll be indicted for the Delany thing. Or something else. About what he's going to do now. About anything else you can think of. Lefty, he's got so he can be scared and not be able to remember what he's scared about. If you ask me, the last two or three stretches did things to him. For that matter, he admits it."

"Caspar is going to be indicted."

"For Delany?"

"Yes. They can't indict him for Rossi. They haven't found any body yet. That's the funniest thing. Here less than a week ago all the town could think of was Rossi, and now everybody seems to have forgotten him."

"Delany's enough. After that, Sol dare not come back."

"What on earth did he kill him for?"

"Lefty cleared that up. Delany was an accident. The idea was, they were going to bring him back after he left in his car that day to see his brother in Chicago and write it all up in the Pioneer. They were going to bring him back, and hold him somewhere downtown, maybe at the Globe, and then Bill Delany would have to beat it back here, and make a deal, and that would put an end to it,, all the stuff that was being pulled. So that's how they started it. Sol put three guys on it, to tail him out of town, and they did it, and about thirty miles out, when he stopped for a light, they closed in on him and one of them took his car and the other two took him, and started back to town with him. But out on Memorial, where they were supposed to switch cars, and Sol was to talk to him before they took him to the hotel, he made a break to get away. And one of Sol's punks let him have it. And that's what Lefty had just found when he came running up to our car that time, and said somebody'd been knocked off, and Sol had to put his knee in his stomach to kick a little wind back in him. I thought it was Rossi, and that was why you and me had the right barrel but the wrong body."

"And they still haven't found Rossi?"

"That's right. He's the big where-is-it."

"What are you going to do now, Ben?"

"I hadn't thought."

"Are you in any danger? I mean, like Lefty? Can they indict you? Or try you? For what Caspar was doing?"

"You didn't do anything, you needn't fear anything. As for a job, I'll loaf a few days first."

"Ben, there's one thing."

"Yeah?"

"He's practically given me my pick. I mean, Mr. Jansen has. Of what I want in the way of a city job. And if I were to make a recommendation, he regards my ideas very highly. After what I showed in the campaign. I might-"

"Oh, nuts."

"Why?"

"What would I be doing with a city job? He wouldn't give it to me anyhow. Soon as he found out who I was he'd say he was terribly sorry, he appreciated any help I gave him, but his set-up wouldn't let him do anything for me like that. Then he'd probably offer me a job in his dairy, milking cows. I'm not interested. I don't like him. And I don't need it. I got a little dough saved up. I got quite a little."

"I'm kind of proud of you, Ben. It's quite true, what you say. About his probably not being able to do anything about you, even if he wanted to. And another thing, some of these people, these neighborhood people that supported him, might get to talking. They're not very bright at such things. And it might get around why you were being taken care of. And you might be on the spot. With some of Caspar's gang. And-there's other reasons."

"O.K.-forget it…Hey!"

"Look familiar?"

"I'll say."

Her idea of a place to go, it turned out, was Caspar's boat-house, headquarters of the mad quest they had pursued a few mornings before. When she stopped back of the garage, he sat staring at the dark place, then got out, whispering she shouldn't slam her door. They crept around by the board walk, lifted the rubber mat, got the key. Then he turned, stared at the shack itself, put the key back, and motioned to her. Excitedly she followed him. From the top of a shutter he took another key, softly opened the door. They stepped into the dark interior, closed the door behind them, and stood for a time within a few inches of each other. His breath came in tremulous inhalations, perhaps from the reflection that Sol might not have gone to Mexico; that he might have come right here, and laid low, and be holding a gun at this minute in some dark corner before he loosed its crashing, murderous fire.

She whispered: "You scared?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it delicious?"

He caught her in his arms, then felt his head pulled down, as a pair of lips were pressed against his.

He would probably have thought little of all these matters if she had not insisted, around one o'clock that she had to go home, as Mr. Jansen's guard was still on, and would unquestionably report the time of her arrival; and if, after he had dropped her near the apartment in which she lived, he had not passed a parked car of the identical make, year, and color as Mr. Jansen's. He drove by, headed for home. Then suddenly he stopped, got out, and walked back to the other car.

In his little red book he copied the license.