On the left, from wall to wall, was a line of open booths with waist-high shelves dimly lit by green shaded lamps. Through the booths was the vista of a sixty foot stretch of cellar, brilliantly illuminated. The far wall was the shooting butt, heavily pocked with bullet holes. Steel trolley wires led from each booth to the butt, and along several of these, cardboard targets were sailing out to the far wall. An intermittent barrage of shots came from the booths where men were silhouetted against the light, standing with guns raised in their right hands, their left hands resting jauntily on their hips. A square-jawed gladiator in blue serge came around from behind the cigar counter and welcomed them. He was delighted to see Lennox. "Hey," he said in a soft, sweet voice. "It's the Philadelphia Fox again." He shook hands. "I thought you had to go home to the wife for the holidays. She come here instead, huh?" Lennox flushed and stammered. Suddenly he burst out: "You're the Killer. I remember now. The Killer." "Oh, that's not nice," Gabby said. "It's just his joke," the Killer grinned shyly. "He kept calling me that Saturday. My name's Hamburger, Mrs. Fox." "Jordan," Gabby began. "You'd better explain that--" "Oh no. No," the Shroff interrupted, beaming madly. "Ah nothing to explain, Missuhs Fox. Ah nothing." There was an awkward pause, then Gabby turned to the gladiator. "Why did my--Why did he call you a killer, Mr. Hamburger?" The Killer motioned to the silver trophies and turned red. "I won them in the Nationals, Mrs. Fox." He hung his head. "You're modest," Gabby laughed. "I like you, Mr. Hamburger. I always thought men who used guns were savage. Do you know, I've never fired a gun in my life?" "I'll show you," the Killer offered, without daring to look at Gabby. "Fill out a card." "Card?" Lennox asked. "What card?" "You know," the Killer said, leading them to the counter. "You got to register. Police regulations." "P'lice watch gun place ve'y close," the Shroff whispered to Gabby. "Doan te'l him Missa Lennox use othuh name. Be af'aid to help him." "I'm glad you came with us," Gabby murmured. She filled out a police registration card and accompanied the Killer to an empty booth where he ran out a target and began instructing her on the uses and abuses of the lady-like .22 revolver he placed in her hand. Gabby waited patiently until he lost his shyness and was able to meet her eyes. Then she came around a corner abruptly and asked: "Mr. Hamburger, will you help us, please?" The Killer looked at her uncertainly. "I don't know, Mrs. Fox. We got to be pretty careful here. What do you want?" "We'd like to go through the cards that were filled out last Saturday. We're looking for a certain name." "The police cards! Oh no, Ma'am. I couldn't." "It's terribly important, Mr. Hamburger." "I couldn't do it, Ma'am. I--" He flinched in alarm as Gabby gestured with the loaded gun. "Look out, Ma'am!"