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Page 62
And while he was about it, he took time briefly to offer up thanks
that the shock of his wound seemed to have sobered the boy completely.
Opening the door, he craned his neck out to establish communication
with the ear of the chauffeur; to whom he repeated the address, adding
an admonition to avoid the Monastery until certain he had shaken off
pursuit, if any; and dodged back.
At this juncture the taxicab was slipping busily up Eighth Avenue,
having gained that thoroughfare via Forty-first Street. A little later
it turned eastwards....
"No better, I presume?" P. Sybarite enquired.
"Not so's you'd notice it," the boy returned bravely.... "First time
anything like this ever happened to me," he went on. "Funny
sensation--precisely as if somebody had lammed me for a home run--with
a steel girder for a bat ..."
"Must be tough!" said P. Sybarite blankly, experiencing a qualm at the
thought of a soft-nosed bullet mushrooming through living flesh.
"Guess I can stand it.... Where are we?"
P. Sybarite took observations."
"Forty-seventh, near Sixth Avenue," he reported finally.
"Good: we'll be home in five minutes."
"Think you can hold out that long?"
"Sure--got to; if I keel over before we reach my digs ... chances are
it'll get you into trouble ... besides, I want to fight shy of the
papers ... no good airing this scandal ..."
"None whatever," affirmed P. Sybarite heartily. "But--how did you get
into it?"
"Just by way of being a natural-born ass."
"Oh, well! If it comes to that, I admit it's none of my business--"
"The deuce it isn't! After all you've done for me! Good Lord, man,
where _would_ I be...!"
"Sleeping the sleep of the doped in some filthy corner of Dutch House,
most likely."
"And you saved me from that!"
"And got this hole drilled through you instead."
"Got me away; I'd've collected the lead anyhow--wasn't meaning to stay
without a fight."
"Then you weren't as drunk as you seemed?"
"Didn't you catch me making a move the minute you created a diversion?
Of course, I'd no idea you were friendly--"
"Look here," P. Sybarite interrupted sharply: "doesn't it hurt you to
talk?"
"No--helps me forget this ache."
"All right, then--tell me how this came about. What has Red November
got on you, to make him so anxious--?"
"Nothing, as far as I know; unless it was Brian Shaynon's doing--"
"A-ah!"
"You know that old blighter?"
"Slightly--very slightly."
"Friend of yours?"
"Not exactly."
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