And who else? Tell me your black list. I bet you don’t like the cops in here either.”
Grantham tapped a little tune on the counter. “Don’t let’s get sore about this,” he said evenly. “I’m just telling you. Maybe you didn’t know.”
“Is this your idea, or did Mendetta suggest it?”
Grantham’s face hardened. “That sort of talk won’t get you anywhere,” he said quietly. “I’m just telling you to keep out of here, that’s all.”
Jay shook his head. “You can’t do that. This is a place for public entertainment. I should forget about it. A line or two in my paper could upset your business pretty badly.”
Grantham nodded. “I see,” he said; “I was just giving you a hint. You don’t have to take it. You’re quite right, of course. You have every right to come here. Only you’re not welcomed.”
“Leave me now, pal,” Jay said, turning away, “I’m goin’ to have a good cry.”
Grantham looked at the barman and then at the clock. “You can shut down, Henry,” he said, and walked away.
Jay finished his beer, nodded to the barman, who ignored him, and went out into the big lounge. People were beginning to move out. He saw Clem Rogers, who played the saxophone in the band, putting his instrument away. He knew Rogers quite well.
He went to the cloakroom and got his hat, and then he went outside. He had to wait ten minutes before Rogers came out, and then he followed him away from the Club. When they got to the main street he overtook him.