“Dinah Brand was killed in her house last night or early this morning,” I told him. “Stabbed with an ice pick. The police don’t know it yet. I’ve told you enough about her for you to know that there are any number of people who might have had reason for killing her. There are three I want looked up first⁠—Whisper, Dan Rolff and Bill Quint, the radical fellow. You’ve got their descriptions. Rolff is in the hospital with a dented skull. I don’t know which hospital. Try the City first. Get hold of Mickey Linehan⁠—he’s still camped on Pete the Finn’s trail⁠—and have him let Pete rest while he gives you a hand on this. Find out where those three birds were last night. And time means something.”

The little Canadian op had been watching me curiously while I talked. Now he started to say something, changed his mind, grunted, “Righto,” and departed.

I went out to look for Reno Starkey. After an hour of searching I located him, by telephone, in a Ronney Street rooming house.

“By yourself?” he asked when I had said I wanted to see him.