“How come the Greek didn’t tell the police? Or did he?”
“Wasn’t asked. A swell department this burg’s got. What do we do: find him for them and turn him in with the job all tacked up?”
“McGraw has decided Whisper killed her,” I said, “and he’s not bothering himself with any leads that don’t lead that way. Unless he came back later for the ice pick, Rolff didn’t turn the trick. She was killed at three in the morning. Rolff wasn’t there at eight-thirty, and the pick was still sticking in her. It was—”
Dick Foley came over to stand in front of me and ask:
“How do you know?”
I didn’t like the way he looked or the way he spoke. I said:
“You know because I’m telling you.”
Dick didn’t say anything. Mickey grinned his half-wit’s grin and asked:
“Where do we go from here? Let’s get this thing polished off.”
“I’ve got a date for ten,” I told them. “Hang around the hotel till I get back. Whisper and Rolff are probably dead—so we won’t have to hunt for them.” I scowled at Dick and said: “I was told that. I didn’t kill either of them.”
The little Canadian nodded without lowering his eyes from mine.
I ate breakfast alone, and then set out for the lawyer’s office.
Turning off King Street, I saw Hank O’Marra’s freckled face in an automobile that was going up Green Street. He was sitting beside a man I didn’t know. The long-legged youngster waved an arm at me and stopped the car. I went over to him.