the paper," said Healy. "That's fair enough. Lyman didn't mean that two of us should lose out entirely if one got killed."
"I ain't so bloomin' sure about that," said Larkin. "Wot's the good of beatin' all round the bloody bush? The on'y one Lyman reely trusted was Mister Stone there. 'E didn't trust me hover much and 'e trusted you a sight less, Healy. No use gettin' sore hover it. Wot 'e told me hain't a patch on w'ot 'e told Stone. Stone's got the big thing in this. If Lyman had wanted to play the thing different, 'e'd 'ave done it. Stone's right, it's Lyman's money, if 'e is dead."
"How do I know you and Stone aren't in cahoots over this thing?" said Healy. "You seem mighty thick, and mighty fussy over handling it your own way." Larkin's face seamed itself into belligerent ugliness. He walked over to Healy and stood almost touching him, his nose on a level with Healy's chin.
"Look 'ere, you bloody fakir," he said in a voice that was quiet enough but which made Healy's face turn ashy under his tan. "You saw w'ot Stone did to that Mexican in Castro's? That ain't a circumstance to w'ot I'll do to you if I ever start on yer. I'll bash yore dial in till yore own muvver wouldn't know yer. It's no guff I'm givin' yer. I'm straight wiv my pals, I am, if I am a crook. But you—you're yeller and you know that I know it. You're so crooked they could sell your finger-bones for corkscrews. Tyke your 'and aw'y from that gun 'andle. If you touch it I'll tyke it aw'y from you, and I'll
