“A real tough spot,” he told me. “No one uses it now. They go farther up river to Hudson’s Wharf. You will find all the river rats around Wensdy. Mike… that’s my brother… used to say that Wensdy Wharf was used for smuggling. I guess it’s cleaned up a bit since then. All the same, it’s a tough spot.”
I got directions from him how to get there, gave him a couple of bucks, and beat it.
The rest of the day I spent sorting out my correspondence and seeing some of the boys. Things were quiet, and there were no big news stories coming in.
Around about eight o’clock I took my battered Ford and drove over to the Globe buildings. I went in and found Hughson just preparing to leave.
“H’yah,” he said. “I never really thanked you for fixing Kennedy for us. It was grand work.”
I waved aside his thanks. “Know anythin’ about Lu Spencer?” I asked.
Hughson shrugged. “I should forget it,” he said. “That Vessi business is buried. You won’t get anywhere digging around that mud-heap.”
I shook my head. “No… I wasn’t lookin’ at that angle,” I told him. “I just wanted to find out the type of guy he was. A girl friend of mine used to work for him and she’s disappeared. I wondered if he’d got anything to do with it.”
Hughson shook his head. “Spencer ain’t that sort of a guy. He’s got a wife an’ he’s crazy about her. He wouldn’t go two-timin’ with one of his workers. Of course, I may be wrong, but I don’t think so.”
I offered him a Camel. “Spencer’s a pretty tough bird, ain’t he?” I asked.