“Rose.”
Kells stared at Fenner steadily. He moved his fingers on the arm of the chair as though running scales. He said: “What for?”
“She’s crossed him up all the way — he’s the kind of a crazy guy that would take a long chance to get even.”
Kells sat staring blankly at Fenner for perhaps a minute. Then he said slowly: “I want you to call Gowdy — everybody you can reach who might have a line on it...”
Fenner got up and went to the phone. He called several numbers, spoke softly, quietly.
After a little while the other door opened and someone came through the outer room. It was Beery. He said: “We can’t get it on the newsstands before noon.”
“That’ll be all right.” Kells was still sitting deep in the big chair. Fenner was at the telephone. Beery took off his coat and hat, flopped down on the bed.
“Maybe I can get a couple hours’ snooze,” he said.
Fenner hung up the receiver and looked at Kells. “You might pick up something at the Bronx, out on Central Avenue. It’s a nigger cabaret run by a man named Sheedy. Rose is supposed to be a partner — he was seen there last night.”
“Who’s Sheedy?”