June 5th, 11.20 a.m.
JAY TOOK a taxi to the east side of the town. He was feeling pleased with himself. As soon as he had reached the office he had got Gerald Fisher on the phone and asked him about the scene Rogers had told him about.
Fisher remembered it quite well. “What do you want to know about that for?” he asked suspiciously.
“I want to find the guy who made the scene,” Jay said. “He might have an important bearing on a big case we’re working on now. I don’t say he has, but there is just the chance. I was hoping you might help me.”
“As a matter of fact, I do know him. He used to be one of my clerks. That was why I was so surprised to see him at the 22nd Club. His name’s Fletcher. Do you want his address? I could get it for you.”
“Sure, that’s just what I do want.”
“Just a moment, then.” Jay heard Fisher say something, then he came on the line again. “They’re looking it up. We’ve got in on record, I know.”
“He doesn’t work with you any more?”
“Good God, no! I couldn’t have a fellow in my office like that. He made a frightful fool of himself. He had to be tossed out. I gave him the sack next morning.”
“What was the trouble, Mr. Fisher?” Jay asked.