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It was dusk when Toddy reached the city's business section, and a light drizzling rain was beginning to fall. Driving slowly, Toddy turned north up Spring Street.

Milt wouldn't be buying gold, now. Moreover, he wouldn't be receiving his nightly visit from the driver of the beer truck. He wouldn't because there would be no more scrap gold to go out in the empty bottles.

Toddy swore suddenly and stepped on the gas. Almost immediately, he slowed down again. So what? What difference did it make if he passed by the hotel, the one where he and Elaine had lived? They didn't know anything or want to know anything. All they were interested in was the rent which was paid through tomorrow.

He parked on Main Street, and sat in the growing darkness, smoking, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. For a panic-stricken moment he wondered whether Milt had already skipped; then grinned and shook his head. Milt would see no need to hurry. He'd move cautiously, safely, taking his time.

So that was all right. He wished he had nothing to worry about but that.

It was seven o'clock by the time he had finished his third cigarette. He tossed the butt out the window, transferred the gun from the dash compartment to his pocket, and started the car.

He drove up Main a block, swung over to the next street, drove back three blocks. On a dark side street he turned right and cut the motor. He coasted to a stop a few doors above the entrance to the Los Angeles Watch & Jewelry Co., brokers in precious metals.

Luckily, he waited a moment before reaching for the door of the car. For Milt hadn't stopped buying gold. Doubtless he felt that it was too soon, that he had to go through the motions a little longer. Or perhaps he was waiting for a weekend to beat it. At any rate, the door of the shop opened suddenly and a rain-coated figure carrying the familiar square box dashed toward Main Street. A few minutes later, two other buyers came out together and trotted toward Main.

Crouched low in the seat, hidden by the rain-washed windows, Toddy waited ten minutes more. But no one else emerged from the shop, and, he decided, no one was likely to. It was too late.

He slid over on the seat and rolled down the window. He looked swiftly up and down the street. Then he rolled up the window, opened the door, and got out.

He walked close to the building fronts, pausing as he passed the one next to Milt's shop. He could see in from there-see a scene so familiar, so associated with warmth and friendliness, that what he was about to do seemed suddenly fantastic and hateful.

Milt, seated back in his cage, the bright work light lifting him out of the shadows, draping him in a kind of golden aura. Milt… how could he…?

But he had. And his friendliness-his faked friendship- only made matters worse. Toddy reconnoitered the street quickly, strode to the door, and stepped inside. He was halfway down the long dark aisle before Milt could look up.

"Toddy! Iss it you? For days I have been worrying about… about…"

"Yeah," said Toddy. "I'll bet you have."

He moved swiftly through the wicket of the cage, and brought a hand down on the gooseneck of the lamp. It flattened against the workbench, casting its light upon the floor. No one looking in from the street would see anything.

Milt had started to rise, but Toddy shoved him back in his chair. He seated himself, facing the little jeweler.

"That's right," he nodded grimly. "That's a gun. If you don't think I'll use it, give me a little trouble."

"But I do not understand! Trouble? Have ever I-" He broke off, staring into Toddy's cold set face, and abruptly his mask of bewildered innocence vanished. "Stupid Toddy. Oh, so stupid. At last he awakens."

"Get it out," said Toddy. "Every goddamned nickel. And don't ask me what."

"Ask?" Mitt shrugged. "I am not given to foolish chatter. As for it, I have anticipated you. It is already out." He started to reach beneath the workbench, then paused abruptly, arm half-extended.

Toddy nodded. "Go ahead. Just don't try anything."

He took the heavy briefcase that Mitt drew out, laid it on the bench, and slipped the catch. He shook it slightly, his eyes swerving from the jeweler to the bench. There was one packet of scat money-fives, tens and twenties. The rest of the horde was in thousand-dollar bills, dough too hot for the dumbest burglar to touch. Milt couldn't spend it in this country. Abroad, there'd be no trouble. Violation of income tax laws was not an extraditable offense.

"Your visit was most inopportune," sighed Mitt. "A few hours more and I would have been gone."

"You're still going. You're going out to Venice with me, out to the beach. We're going to have a nice long talk."

"We can do that here. We are alone on this street. No one will come in."

"Someone will tomorrow."

"But… Oh," said Milt. "Still, is it necessary, Toddy? You have the money. By tomorrow, you can be very far away. In any case, my hands are tied. I dare not complain."

Toddy jerked his head. "I'll be a lot farther away the day after tomorrow. And you'd talk, all right. Everyone that's had anything to do with me will get a going-over. I've been in jail, and-"

"Yes. I know."

"Then you probably know how I got myself sprung. You know I can't keep my bargain unless I dig up the guy that killed Elaine."

"Which you cannot do," said Mitt. "Not"-he added- "that you have any intention of keeping your bargain. Another, perhaps, almost any other man, but not you." He grinned faintly, his hands clasped over his fat stomach. "You do not want to keep your bargain with the government agents. You cannot keep it. A confession you may extract from me, but it will be worthless. I can prove that I did not kill Elaine or cause her to be killed."

"Maybe." Toddy studied the bland, chubby face. "Maybe," he repeated, "but I'm taking you with me, anyway. No one knows how you worked this setup here. I'm going to find out, just in case I ever get back to this country. If you come clean with me I may just tie you up and dump you somewhere. Some place where you'll be found in a few days. Otherwise…"

He gestured significantly with the gun. Milt laughed openly.

"Yes? You were thinking of the dunes, doubtless? Oh, excellent! It will be a wonderful place to leave a body… or should I say two?"

"Two?" Toddy frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Bodies," said Milt. "Yours and Miss Chavez'."

Toddy's chair grated against the floor. "Damn you! If you've hurt that-"

Behind him the curtains rustled faintly. Something cold and hard pushed through them, pressed into the back of his neck.

Milt nodded to him, solemnly. "That is right, Toddy. Sit still. Sit very, very still. Yes, and I think I shall just take your gun. Miss Chavez"-he glanced at the clock- "should be here at any moment. Your hotel, your former hotel, I should say, was kind enough to refer her to me. I suggested that she return here tonight when you, in your hour of dire emergency, would most certainly come to me for aid. So… So"-the front door opened and clicked softly shut-"she has come."