I pulled thoughtfully at my nose. This was unexpected.
“Sure,” I said.
He blew smoke across the desk into my face.
“I don’t like you, Malloy, and I don’t like your itsy-bitsy organization. Maybe it has its uses, but I doubt it. I’m damned sure you are a trouble maker. You stirred up enough trouble with that Cerf case some months ago, and if you hadn’t been so damned smooth, you would have been in a lot of trouble yourself. Miss Janet Crosby’s dead.” He leaned forward to peer at the letter again. “The Crosbys were and still are a very wealthy and influential family, and I’m not standing for you stirring up trouble for them. You have no legal right to the five hundred dollars Miss Crosby sent you. That is to be paid back to her estate—immediately.
You are to leave Miss Maureen Crosby alone. If she is in trouble with a blackmailer—which I doubt—she will come to me if she needs help. This business has nothing to do with you, and if I find you are making a nuisance of yourself I’ll take steps to put you where you won’t trouble anyone for a very long time. Do you understand?”
I grinned at him.
“I’m beginning to,” I said, and leaned forward to ask, “How much does Salzer pay into your Sports Fund, Brandon?”
The fat pink and white face turned a dusky-mauve colour. The beer-stopper eyes sparked like chipped flint.
“I’m warning you, Malloy,” he said, a snarl in his voice. “My boys know how to take care of a punk like you. One of these nights you’ll get taken up a dark alley for a beating. Lay off the Crosbys and lay off Salzer. Now get out!”
I stood up.