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 would have nothing to do with the scheme. There would be actual danger, Oliver argued, only if she and he bungled; very carefully he had explained to her exactly what to do and, as their taxi crossed the imaginary line of the Chicago city limits and entered the purlieus of Three-G. George, he reminded her: "Not a word even to me when we're inside. We drop in like a couple of friends for a few drinks and a fox-trot. You'll spot him; or I'll nudge you who he is if you don't make him out right away. Look him over; then whatever you think about him, keep quiet! We go out, and when I ask you, you tell me, is he the man or not. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can," said Joan Daisy.

"Then we'll have no trouble at all," prophesied Oliver, optimistically thrumming his fingers on the pane. "After we get clear I'll stop at the nearest phone which George has no 'listen' on, and I'll liven up the city editor with the good word you give me."

"And tell the police," begged Joan Daisy, "so they'll arrest Baretta before he sees the paper."

Oliver laughed and patted her arm. "The police are the pluperfect little experts at picking up George. Two men I know got callouses on their hands Just from him. What we want is to route him over the one way road; and we'll do it if you identify him and then stay game."

Joan Daisy huddled in her corner, for she was shivering, and she did not want Oliver to discover it. She felt cold and frightened and, most of all, she felt spent and done. She had imagined until the surprise of Oliver's call at the flat that she had nothing more to do and that there was nothing which any one could do for Ket, except to wait for news from the jury.

The verdict, so Mr. Elmen pompously had promised her, would be for acquittal upon the first ballot, likely, or soon thereafter; but it had become plain that Mr. Elmen