“I know that. I’m looking for a young woman who came up here this morning. Maybe you saw her.”
“There hasn’t been any one here for a week, except me.”
“Really? Well, you may be mistaken. If you don’t mind, I’ll have a look round—”
“And if I do mind?” snarled Shaky Phil.
“Why should you—”
“I do. I’m alone here and I’m not taking any chances. You swing that car of yours around—”
“Now, wait a minute,” said Holley. “Put away that gun. I come as a friend—”
“Yeah. Well, as a friend, you turn and beat it. Understand.” He was close to the car. “I tell you there’s nobody here—”
He stopped as a figure rose suddenly from the tonneau and fell upon him. The gun exploded, but harmlessly into the road, for Bob Eden was bearing down upon it, hard.
For a brief moment, there on that deserted street before the Silver Star, the two struggled desperately. Shaky Phil was no longer young, but he offered a spirited resistance. However, it was not prolonged, and by the time Holley had alighted, Bob Eden was on top and held Maydorf’s weapon in his hand.
“Get up,” the boy directed. “And lead the way. Give me your keys. There’s a brand new lock on that jail door, and we have a yearning to see what’s inside.” Shaky Phil rose to his feet and looked helplessly about. “Hurry!” cried Eden. “I’ve been longing to meet you again, and I don’t feel any too gentle. There’s that forty-seven dollars—to say nothing of all the trouble you put me to the night the President Pierce docked in San Francisco.”
