"That may be good," said Dinah Brand, her big body sprawled in an arm-chair, "but it wasn't in this morning's paper."
She lit a cigarette and threw the match out of sight under the Chesterfield. The lunger had gathered up the cards and was shuffling them over and over, purposelessly.
Thaler frowned at me and said:
"Willsson's willing for you to keep the ten grand. Let it go at that."
"I've got a mean disposition. Attempted assassinations make me mad."
"That won't get you anything but a box. I'm for you. You kept Noonan from framing me. That's why I'm telling you, forget it and go back to Frisco."
"I'm for you," I said. "That's why I'm telling you, split with them. They crossed you up once. It'll happen again. Anyway, they're slated for the chutes. Get out while the getting's good."
"I'm sitting too pretty," he said. "And I'm able to take care of myself."
"Maybe. But you know the racket's too good to last. You've had the cream of the pickings. Now it's get-away day."
He shook his little dark head and told me:
"I think you're pretty good, but I'm damned if I think you're good enough to crack this camp. It's too tight. If I thought you could swing it, I'd be with you. You know how I stand with Noonan. But you'll never make it. Chuck it."
