Paula swept out, shutting the door with a firm click behind her. Fenner grinned and grabbed the telephone. He dialed a number.
“D.A. office? Give me Grosset. Tell him Fenner wants him.”
Grosset came through after a barrage of crackles. “Hello, Fenner. You changed your mind and want to talk?”
Fenner grinned into the receiver. “Not just yet, pal,” he said. “I want you to talk instead. This Chink you found lyin’ around. Did you find anythin’ on him that might help?”
Grosset laughed. “By God, Fenner! You’ve got a nerve. You don’t expect information from me, do you?”
Fenner said seriously: “Listen, Grosset, this case hasn’t started to break yet. I got a hunch that when it does, someone’s goin’ to yell murder. I want to stop it before it starts.”
“I warn you, Fenner, if you’re holding back anything it’s going to be just too bad for you. If something happens that I could’ve stopped, and I find you knew about it, I’m going to ride you.”
Fenner shifted in his chair. “Skip it, Jughead,” he said impatiently. “You know I’m in my rights to keep my client covered. If you like to play ball an’ give me the information, I’ll turn it back to you with interest if I think trouble’s startin’. How’s that?”
“You’re a smooth bird,” Grosset said doubtfully. “Still, what I know won’t be much good. We found nothing.”
“How did they get him in?”