“Listen,” Jay pleaded. “I’m a crime reporter. What you want is a nice private dick, not me. Let’s get Pinkerton on the job. He’ll turn up the dirt quick, an’ we’ll all be happy.”
Henry scowled at him. “You heard Poison. Go out an’ get busy. Don’t come back until you’ve got something.”
Jay got to his feet. “For cryin’ out loud,” he said. “If this doesn’t beat anything that’s ever come my way.
What chance have I got to hang anythin’ on Hamsley? Besides, he ain’t such a bad guy.”
Henry sat down behind his desk. “I’m warning you,” he said seriously, “you’ve got to find something. If we don’t give the old man what he wants, we’ll be out. I know him when he gets like that.”
Jay stood by the door. “But what?” he said. “What am I likely to find? Grantham’s all right, ain’t he?”
“As far as I know. I hate to say it, Jay, but if you don’t find something, we’ll have to frame those two guys.
I’m getting too old to look for anything else.”
Jay shook his head. “Not on your life,” he said. “I ain’t framing anyone because Poison’s wife thinks she’s young again. I’ll sniff around. If nothin’ shows up I’m resigning. But I ain’t framin’ anyone.”
Henry sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Anyway, for God’s sake dig hard.”