Rogers shrugged. “Search me. He’s lost her or somethin’. Seems to have thought that Grantham knew where she was. I guess he was drunk.”
“Did he look drunk?”
“No, now you come to think of it, he didn’t, but I guess he must have been. You don’t start shouting around a joint like the 22nd unless you’re drunk, do you?”
“Still it’s rum, ain’t it?” Jay turned it over in his mind. “Know who he is?”
Rogers frowned. “I did hear his name. I’ve forgotten. It wasn’t important, you see.”
“Think. I want to find that guy. Maybe he knows somethin’.”
Rogers tried to concentrate. “It was quite an ordinary name. I tell you what. Gerald Foster, the shipping man, seemed to know him. He was having dinner at the time. When this guy started shouting, he looked round and seemed to recognize him. He got up and told him not to make a fool of himself. You might ask him.”
Jay said he would. He stood up. “I ain’t keepin’ you out of your cot any longer,” he said. “Keep your ears open, won’t you?”
Rogers got up. “You really meant what you said about Somers?”
“I’ll see him tomorrow,” Jay promised.