Noonan stopped the monologue by patting the old duffer’s back till his lungs were empty, telling him, “That certainly is fine. That certainly is fine.”
McGraw pulled the robe up over the dead man again and growled:
“Nobody can identify anybody. But with Jerry on it, it’s a cinch it was Whisper’s caper.”
The chief nodded happily and said:
“I’ll leave it in your hands, Mac. Going to poke around here, or going back to the Hall with me?” he asked me.
“Neither. I’ve got a date, and I want to get into dry shoes.”
Dinah Brand’s little Marmon was standing in front of the hotel. I didn’t see her. I went up to my room, leaving the door unlocked. I had got my hat and coat off when she came in without knocking.
“My God, you keep a boozy smelling room,” she said.
“It’s my shoes. Noonan took me wading in rum.”
She crossed to the window, opened it, sat on the sill, and asked:
“What was that for?”
“He thought he was going to find your Max out in a dump called Cedar Hill Inn. So we went out there, shot the joint silly, murdered some dagoes, spilled gallons of liquor, and left the place burning.”
“Cedar Hill Inn? I thought it had been closed up for a year or more.”
“It looked it, but it was somebody’s warehouse.”
“But you didn’t find Max there?” she asked.