224
DETECTIVE BARNEY
stopping his pen. “And keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, sir,” Barney promised, just as confidently as if he were quite clear what it had all been about. “I won’t have to write any other report, will I?”
“Other than what?”
He answered, with a straight face: “Other than the one you read to Harper.”
Babbing adjusted his glasses and blotted his signature. “No,” he said, in the game, “I think that one covers your end of it.”
And Barney went out, grinning cheerfully, pleased with himself, pleased with Babbing, but chiefly pleased because he thought he had outwitted the typewriter.
