She nodded vaguely and closed the bag, came out of the dressing-room. She said: “Let’s go.”
The manager of the apartment house was in the corridor with one of the Filipino bellboys, a reporter from the Journal and a guest. The manager was wringing his hands. “I can’t understand it — no one heard the shots.”
One of the plain-clothes men looked superiorly at the manager, said: “The thunder covered the shots.”
They all went down the corridor except Beery and Kells and the manager. The manager went to the door, smiled weakly at Kells. “I’ll close up Miss Granquist’s apartment.”
Kells said: “Never mind — I’ll bring the key down.”
The manager was doubtful.
Kells looked very stern, whispered: “Special investigator.” He and Beery went back into the apartment.
Beery called his paper again with additional information: “Captain Hayes made the arrest... And don’t forget: the Chronicle is always first with the latest...” He hung up, lighted a new cigarette from the butt of another. “From now on,” he said, “I’m going to follow you around and phone in the story of my life, from day to day.”
Kells asked: “Are they giving it an extra?”
“Sure. It’s on the presses now — be on the streets in a little while.”