Cy nodded. “But Tim Burke might talk, under certain conditions.” he stated. “Or Sonia Vreedon might talk. Or Mick O’Rourke might—”
I reached for my cigarettes, shaking my head. A figure came along the deck, said something to the uniformed officer, and moved on toward us. Cy said:
“Risdon.”
The lean-faced Poughkeepsie detective came up to us and looked into our faces sharply. His own eyes were serious.
“You fellows trying to put anything over on me?” he asked grimly.
I watched Cy Dana look hurt. He shook his head.
“What could we put over, Risdon?” I asked.
He smiled a little. “I mean— are you figuring on sending stuff ashore, for your sheets?”
I had stuff in my pocket that I was figuring doing just that with, and I guessed that Cy had, too. He nodded his head.
“We ought to get in a
