“Yeah.”

“Come up for me around eight.”

She patted my cheek with a warm hand, said, “Ta-ta,” and went out as the telephone bell began jingling.

“My chinch and Dick’s are together at your client’s joint,” Mickey Linehan reported over the wire. “Mine’s been generally busier than a hustler with two bunks, though I don’t know what the score is yet. Anything new?”

I said there wasn’t and went into conference with myself across the bed, trying to guess what would come of Noonan’s attack on Cedar Hill Inn and Whisper’s on the First National Bank. I would have given something for ability to hear what was being said up at old Elihu’s house by him, Pete the Finn, and Lew Yard. But I hadn’t that ability, and I was never much good at guessing, so after half an hour I stopped tormenting my brain and took a nap.