"My dear lady, that five thousand I unblushingly accepted from you was
only part of it," he confessed.
"There was also a fee of three thousand from Stephen Gresham, for pulling
the bloodhounds of the D.A.'s office off his back in the matter of Arnold
Rivers, and there was five thousand from Humphrey Goode, which I suppose
he'll get the Premix Company to repay him, for engineering the
suppression of a lot of facts he wanted suppressed. And, finally, my
connection with this business brought that merger to my attention, and I
picked up a hundred shares of Premix at 73-1/4, and now I have two
hundred shares of Mill-Pack, worth about twenty-nine thousand, which I
can report for my income tax as capital gains. I'd say I could afford to
treat myself to a few old pistols for my collection."
"Well!" She raised both eyebrows over that. "Don't anybody tell me crime
doesn't pay."
"Yes. In my ghoulish way, I generally manage to bear myself in mind, on
an operation like this. I make no secret of my affection for money." He
lifted his glass and sipped slowly. "Look here, Gladys; are you satisfied
with the way this was handled?"
She shrugged. "I should be. When I started out as Lane's blood-avenger,
I suppose I expected things to end somewhere out of sight, in a nice,
antiseptic death-chamber at the state penitentiary.
Pages:
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301