Publisher's Synopsis
DICK MARTIN'S last official job (as he believed) was to pull in Lew Pheeney, who was wanted in connection with the Helborough bank robbery. He found Lew in a little Soho café, just as he was finishing his coffee. "What's the idea, colonel?" asked Lew, almost genially, as he got his hat. "The inspector wants to talk to you about that Helborough job," said Dick. Lew's nose wrinkled in contempt. "Helborough grandmothers!" he said scornfully. "I'm out of that bank business-thought you knew it. What are you doing in the force, Martin? They told me that you'd run into money and had quit." "I'm quitting. You're my last bit of business." "Too bad you're falling down on the last lap!" grinned Lew. "I've got forty-five well- oiled alibis. I'm surprised at you, Martin. You know I don't 'blow' banks; locks are my speciality--" "What were you doing at ten o'clock on Tuesday night?" A broad smile illuminated the homely face of the burglar. "If I told you, you'd think I was lying." "Give me a chance," pleaded Dick, his blue eyes twinkling. Lew did not reply at once. He seemed to be pondering the dangers of too great frankness. But when he had seen all sides of the matter, he spoke the truth. "I was doing a private job-a job I don't want to talk about. It was dirty, but honest." "And were you well paid?" asked his captor, polite but incredulous. "I was-I got one hundred and fifty pounds on account.
