“Damned funny none of his mob act like he was gone,” he said, but he was beginning to believe me.
“They don’t know it. He was hiding out, with Ted Wright the only one in on the where. Ted knew it. He cashed in on it. He told me he got a hundred or a hundred and fifty from you, through Peak Murry.”
“I’d have given the big umpchay twice that for the straight dope,” Reno grumbled. He rubbed his chin and said: “Well, that settles the Whisper end.”
I said: “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“If his mob don’t know where he is,” I suggested, “let’s tell them. They blasted him out of the can when Noonan copped him. Think they’d try it again if the news got around that McGraw had picked him up on the quiet?”
“Keep talking,” Reno said.
“If his friends try to crack the hoosegow again, thinking he’s in it, that’ll give the department, including Pete’s specials, something to do. While they’re doing it, you could try your luck in Whiskeytown.”
“Maybe,” he said slowly, “maybe we’ll try just that thing.”
“It ought to work,” I encouraged him, standing up. “I’ll see you—”
“Stick around. This is as good a spot as any while there’s a reader out for you. And we’ll need a good guy like you on the party.”
I didn’t like that so much. I knew enough not to say so. I sat down again.
Reno got busy arranging the rumor. The telephone was worked overtime. The kitchen door was worked as hard, letting men in and out.