“There’s too much of it! I couldn’t begin to count it. I’m scared. I’m afraid Skip won’t leave it alone.” She trembled; her hand quivered on Eddie’s arm. “It’s tied up in paper bands, stacks and stacks, and somehow it’s not like real money at all.”

Some of her keyed-up mood communicated itself to Eddie. “It’s really there.” He moistened his lips with his tongue, staring off into the dark.

“You’ll have to explain to Skip—it’s too big. There’s too much of it, and taking even a little would be dangerous.”

“How could I tell him?” Eddie said reasonably. “He’d say I was crazy. Don’t you know anything about him? Don’t you see the way he is?”

She gazed at him as if trying to understand what he wanted to tell her. “It’s not like real money at all,” she said, wanting to make that point. “There’s too much, it’s just like paper. Like green, printed paper.”

He shook his head, feeling sorry for her. “It’ll seem real enough to Skip.”

She wanted to draw back and didn’t know how. She wanted to get Skip’s mind off the money and still keep him interested in her. She was scared because she had told Skip about what was hidden in the Havermann house, and now nothing on earth could stop this thing from happening that was going to happen.

The wind touched her dark hair, blowing it in feathery streaks across her face. Her eyes were young and frightened. Eddie tried to find words to comfort her, but it was too late. It had been too late the first time she had opened her mouth to Skip about that money.

CHAPTER SIX

At seven o’clock Skip stepped off the bus at the depot in downtown L.A. He felt stiff, tired, and gritty. He went into the coffee shop adjoining and had a cup of coffee, sitting hunched over it, his mind a blank. His only desire was to get home and have about eight hours’ sleep. Then he’d gas up the jalopp and run over to see Eddie.

He passed Mr. Chilworth’s big house and walked through the overgrown yard to the rooms above the garage. He looked around, in case his uncle was about, but saw nobody. He went up the stairs, the zipper bag swinging from his fingers, and opened the door. Uncle Willy was there and so was someone else, a big old man with a pale freckled face and a great shock of gray hair. Skip said, “Uh. Hello.” He tossed the zipper bag to his bed.

“Sit down, Skip. We want to talk.” His uncle nodded toward the other man. “This is Tom Ranigan. Big Tom to his friends.”

“Hiya,” said Skip. He sat down and pulled off his shoes and scratched the back of his neck.