"Then it follows that your moral sense is so badly corroded you no longer consider murder to be a crime--" "Now listen here!" "In law," I went on, "the victim's standing in society is not taken into consideration where murder is involved. It is just as wrong in the eyes of the law to murder Cement Mixer Zinsky as the pastor of the First Congregational Church." The blonde looked wonderingly at Joy. "Is this guy for real?" Joy reestablished her hold upon the blonde's anatomy. "Never mind that. All we want from you is answers. Where did Uncle Peter go? Tell me!" "Nuts to you!" Cora replied. "He doesn't want you bothering him." Joy applied pressure. Cora squealed but remained mute. I stepped forward. "Darling," I said grimly. "This sort of thing is not in your line. I realize this woman must be made to talk so I will take over. It will be distasteful to me, but duty is duty." I got a withering look from my dear wife. "Distasteful? In a pig's eye! You'd like nothing better than to get your hands on her--by way of duty of course." "Joy!" "Don't Joy me." And with an expert twist, she flipped the struggling Cora out of the roadster, goose-stepped her across and into the back seat of the Cadillac. "You and Bag Ears get in and start driving--slow. I'll have some answers in a minute or two." We did as we were told and I eased the car away from the curb. I had to watch the road, of course, so could not turn to witness what was going on rearward. In the mirror I saw flashes of up-ended legs and, from time to time, other and sundry anatomical parts that flew up in range only to vanish again as the grim struggle went on. Bag Ears, however, turned to witness the bringing forth of the answers. His first comment was, "Oh boy!" Joy was breathing heavily. She said, "Okay, babe. Talk, or I'll put real pressure on this scissors!" Bag Ears said, "Man oh man!" Joy said, "Quit gaping, you moron! I'm back here too." I gave Bag Ears a stern admonition to keep his eyes front. "Give," Joy gritted. "Ouch! No!" "Give!" Cora gave forth an agonized wail. Then an indignant gasp. "Cut it out! You fight dirty! That ain't fair!" "Give!" "All right! All right. Pete's meeting Hands at--ouch--Joe's--ouch--Tavern on Clark Street. Ouch! Cut it out, will you?" And it was here that I detected a trace of sadism in my lovely wife. "All right," she said regretfully. "Sit up. Gee, but you talk easy." "Just where is this tavern?" I asked. "And what is the purpose of the meeting?" Cora's resistance was entirely gone. "In the 2800 block. Pete went there to get some money from Hands to skip town with." Joy now spoke with relish. "Lying again. I'll have to--" "I ain't lying!" "Don't give us that! Uncle Peter is wealthy. He doesn't need Hands' money. Come here, baby."