was being played on him, looked at Barney and saw himself caught red-handed. He rubbed a wrist reflectively, as if anticipating the handcuff on it. “Well,” he said, “I ’m it. If we turn up the rest, you ’ll let me an’ Gus clear o’ this Cook business, do you?”
“That ’s the bargain,” Archibald agreed.
Corcoran beckoned to Barney to follow him. Outside, he said: “You ’d better get out of here until we ’re done with these people.”
“Where ’s the Chief?”
“He ’s down there, still—waiting for word to grab Mrs. Dart.”
“Well, say,” Barney complained, “if you ’d ’a’ left me alone fer a minute I ’d ’a’ had the whole gang!”
“Gee whizz, kid,” Corcoran sneered at him. “Who do you think you are?”
Barney waved him off. “I ’m Little Pussy-foot, the Boy Scout of the Metrollopis. If you get stuck again on this job, let me know. Ta-ta!”
