Kennedy nodded. We had heard of Haddon before, a notorious character in the white-light district. A moment later Carton had telephoned to the Mayfair and had found Haddon.
“How did you get him so that he is even considering turning state’s evidence?” asked Craig.
“Well,” answered Carton slowly, “I suppose it was partly through a cabaret singer and dancer, Loraine Keith, at the Mayfair. You know you never get the truth about things in the underworld except in pieces. As much as any one, I think we have been able to use her to weave a web about him. Besides, she seems to think that Haddon has treated her shamefully. According to her story, he seems to have been lavishing everything on her, but lately, for some reason, has deserted her. Still, even in her jealousy she does not accuse any other woman of winning him away.”
“Perhaps it is the opposite—another man winning her,” suggested Craig dryly.
“It’s a peculiar situation,” shrugged Carton. “There is another man. As nearly as I can make out there is a fellow named Brodie who does a dance with her. But he seems to annoy her, yet at the same time exercises a sort of fascination over her.”
“Then she is dancing at the Mayfair yet?” hastily asked Craig.
“Yes. I told her to stay, not to excite suspicion.”
“And Haddon knows?”
“Oh, no. But she has told us enough about him already so that we can worry him, apparently, just as what he can tell us would worry the others interested in the hotels. To tell the truth, I think she is a drug fiend. Why, my men tell me that they have seen her take just a sniff of something and change instantly—become a willing tool.”
“That’s the way it happens,” commented Kennedy.