said Mannering. “Who the hell are you?” “A man who knows a little and wants to know a lot about you, Benoni. What have you got in your pocket?” The cab moved off with a jerk, throwing Benoni against the glass partition separating him from the driver. Mannering, his back to the partition, wasn’t affected. His finger poked ominously against his coat. Benoni glanced down at it. “N-n-n-nothing!” “Let me have a look.” Mannering pushed his finger hard into Benoni’s side, pulled the coat open and slid his hand into the pocket; he felt paper. Benoni sent a frightened glance at the back of the driver’s head. “I’ll have the police—” “Forget it.” Mannering tugged at the paper and pulled out a wallet. Inside was a wad of one-pound notes, at least a hundred. He put the wallet into his pocket, and waved the money in Benoni’s face.
