“Yeah,” Adams said. “Let me take a look at your register.”
Cutler raised his eyebrows, poked his little finger into his right ear, wiggled it about and then withdrew it and examined his nail to see what he had found.
“Snap it up!” Adams barked, his voice suddenly harsh.
Cutler said, “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but haven’t you come to the wrong joint? This is the Washington. We’ve got protection.”
“Give me the book!” Adams said.
Cutler raised his shoulders, produced a well-worn, leather-bound book, blew dust off it and laid it on the desk.
The last entry in the book was dated June 19th, 1941.
“It’s a wonder you keep in business,” Adams said in disgust. He shoved the book back. “I’m looking for Maurice Yarde.”
Cutler shook his head.
“Never heard of him, Lieutenant. Sorry. Help you if I could.”