Green shook his head and edged the glass along the bar with the side of his hand until it was in front of Solly.
Solly regarded it meditatively. “I’ll be damned,” he said, “a swell guy like Mister Costain getting the works like that...” He picked up the glass.
Green was lighting a cigarette. “Who did it?”
Solly shrugged. “There is a lot of guys who never liked him, because they didn’t understand him. He was — uh — ec—” Solly stopped, tasted his fresh drink and tried again: “He was ec—”
“Eccentric?”
Solly bobbed his head.
Green persisted: “But who hated him enough and had guts enough to tip him over?”
Solly drained his glass, then closed one eye and looked immeasurably wise. “Well, if you ask me,” he said quickly, “the guy who had plenty of reason to, an’ maybe enough guts to, was plenty close to home... Did’ja ever meet a fella named Demetrios — something Demetrios? A Greek-tall shiny-haired sheik with a big smile?”
Green shook his head.
Solly leaned closer. “He worked as a kind of bodyguard an’ all-around handy-man for Mister Costain. Mister Costain liked him...” Solly’s voice dissolved to a hoarse stage-whisper. “I happen to know that Demetrios an’ June Neilan, Costain’s girl, was like that” — he held up two grimy fingers pressed close together — “right under Costain’s nose.”