The clerk checked the message and looked at Fenner hard. The message ran:
Dolan. Room 1156 Roosevelt Building, New York City.
Report progress by Grossett of Daley murder. Rush. D.F.
Fenner paid, nodded and went out again. He walked fast back to the bungalow. Glorie was waiting for him with cocktails.
Fenner said, “I’m in a hurry. Let’s eat and drink at the same time.” Glorie rang the bell.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Fenner smiled. “I’m going to see your husband,” he said gently. “It’s time he forgot his shyness and started to play ball.”
Glorie shrugged. “A guy like that won’t help you much,” she said.
While they ate, Fenner kept silent. After the meal he stood up. “Listen, baby, this is serious. Until these guys have been washed up you’ve got to stay here. On no account must you leave this joint. You know too much and you’ve put Thayler in a spot. Any one of the mob would slit your throat if they saw you. So stay put.”
Glorie was inclined to argue, but Fenner stopped her. “Be your age,” he said patiently. “It won’t take long, and it’ll save you for some other poor sap.”