Halloran laughed again. His laugh was not a particularly pleasing one.
“Don’t be in a hurry,” he said.
They were silent a while and then Halloran lighted a cigarette and stood up. He was so tall and spare that Doolin stared involuntarily as he crossed, holding the Luger loosely at his side, patted Doolin’s pockets, felt under his arms with his free hand. Then Halloran went to a table across a corner of the room and dropped the Luger into a drawer.
He turned and smiled warmly at Doolin, said: “What will you drink?”
“Gin.”
“No gin.”
Doolin grinned.
Halloran went on: “Scotch, rye, bourbon, brandy, rum, Kirsch, champagne. No gin.”
Doolin said: “Rye.”
Halloran took two bottles from a tall cabinet, poured two drinks. “Why don’t you go to the Decker girl? She’s the one who said she could identify the men who killed Riccio and Conroy. She’s the one who needs a bodyguard.”