"Let me shoot this thing and get it out of the way," Gabby said. "Then I'll explain." She raised the gun, pulled back the hammer and squinted along the sights at the target. "I've got to impress him," she thought, "or he'll never listen to me." She took a deep breath, steadied the gun, and let off five shots in slow, stately succession. A two hundred watt bulb at the side of the range was shattered. One of the trolley wires went down with a shuddering whine. A large chunk of plaster was knocked out of the ceiling. Ten inches of the wooden partition was ripped into splinters, and from the adjoining booth came an angry yell: "Get the hell off my target!" "Oh dear," Gabby said. The Killer choked. "Bring her in, Whitey," he said in a voice that shook. The target in the adjoining alley was run in and handed over by the indignant Whitey. The Killer glanced at it and then showed it to Gabby. "Dead center in the black," he said. He lifted his eyes and gazed around at the destruction she had wrought and then gave her a look in which awe was mixed with dog-like devotion. "I'll do anything I can to help you, Ma'am. Just name it." After five minutes of earnest conversation, they returned to the counter. The Killer unlocked a drawer and took out a stack of registry cards while Gabby explained to Lennox. "You came here Saturday night. You registered but you were so drunk Mr. Hamburger wouldn't let you hire a gun. You hung around telling the best dirty jokes they ever--" "I deny that." "They ever heard. Mr. Hamburger invited you to go bear hunting with him in the Adirondacks. A man called The Chief wanted to take you skeet-shooting. There was a rifle club here and they asked you to join. A bank guard wanted to introduce you to his sister but you told him you were married." "Ve'y populah man, Missa Lenn--Missa Fox," the Shroff beamed. "I sound like the Life of the Smoker," Lennox groaned. "Was there anybody here named Knott?" "Nope," the Killer called from the counter. "Nobody named Knott. But here's the guy you left with." "I left with somebody? That's a break. I was afraid this would be the dead-end." "Fella named Norman. Eugene K. Norman up on 126th Street. Says here: Care of The Midnight Sun." "The Midnight Sun ... whatever that is. Looks like I put in a busy Christmas Eve. God rest ye merry gentlemen. Leave us hit the road." "You going up there now?" the Killer inquired. "We'll have to." "The missus?" "Of course," Gabby said. "Why not?" "Just a minute." The Killer disappeared into a back room and emerged wearing a hat and coat. "Hey Whitey!" he called. "Lock up for me. All right, folks. Let's be on our way." "You're going with us, Mr. Hamburger?" Gabby asked in surprise. "Yes, Ma'am." The Killer placed himself alongside her like a bodyguard. "It's pretty late and it gets kinda rough in Harlem. I'll drive you up. I live around there anyway."