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~The Pusher-in-the-Face-3
For a moment an astonished silence fell, broken by the voice of one of the waitresses who had been groping under the table. “Some stuff dropped out of this fella’s back pocket when he tipped over,” she explained, getting to her feet. “It’s—why, it’s a revolver and——” She had been about to say handkerchief, but as she looked at what she was holding her mouth fell open and she dropped the thing quickly on the table. It was a small black mask about the size of her hand. Simultaneously the Greek, who had been shifting uneasily upon his feet ever since the accident, seemed to remember an important engagement that had slipped his mind. He dashed suddenly around the table and made for the front door, but it opened just at that moment to admit several customers who, at the cry of “Stop him!” ob
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