"Splendid," says Dolores, lookin' greatly relieved about somethin'. Then she puts everything she's got on a smile, curls a wicked eyelash at me, pulls her chair closer, and whispers: "Will you do something for me if it—if it means the happiness of Kane and myself?"
"Lady," I says, a bit dizzy, "I will start by pushin' over the Woolworth Buildin', if that will be of any help!"
"You can do more than that, if you will," she says, thrillin'ly and throws the smile into high. "Listen!"
I listened. I listened for half a hour, argued for twenty minutes of the other half, and spent the last ten minutes of that hour half promisin' to do the slight favor she asked, knowin' full well that the best I could hope to get out of it was the worst of it.
Dolores had doped out that if Kid Roberts failed to stop Enright within six rounds he would lose his hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bet and be broke. If he went broke, he would be forced to keep on fightin' for another bank roll instead of quittin' the ring and settlin' down with her as advertised. Therefore she wanted me to bring her our end of the purse instead of bettin' it for the Kid when I collected it. If the Kid stopped Enright in a round or two and then looked to me for his winnin's, Dolores would take all the responsibility and blame, figurin' that the Kid loved her enough for her to get away with murder—which he undoubtedly did. If, on the other hand, the Kid failed to knock Enright dead in the stipulated time, why, he'd still have his $150,000, which would certainly be a pleasant surprise.
