The Horseshoe Kid allowed himself a sigh of relief and slowly relaxed. “Does beat all,” he said, “how these city fellers do burn up the roads!” Diavolo glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Eight-thirty sharp,” he said. “Seventy-five minutes from Broadway.” Then he turned to Horseshoe. “See that drugstore across the street?” he asked. “Get over there on the doublequick and bring back one bottle of their best black hair dye. Come on, Woody. Washroom. You and I are going to do a quick change act.” Woody Haines blinked. “We’re what?” His voice was shaky. “You heard me,” Don replied. “You’re changing clothes with me, and when we hit that circus I’m going to be introduced as J. Haywood Haines and you’re going to be Don Diavolo.” “No, you don’t,” Woody objected. “Not if I know it. Some other time — but not when there’s a murder rap about to land on you with both feet at any minute. Do I look as simple-minded as all—” “Do you want a story?”
