“What do you think of that, Abe?” he said. “The guy’s a trier, isn’t he? Did you ever hear such a story?”
McCann sat back; a look of relief and surprise chased across his brick-red face.
Gollowitz rubbed his jaw and raised his bushy eyebrows. He didn’t look anything like so amused as Maurer: he didn’t look amused at all.
“What’s his case?” he asked sharply.
“Don’t be so damned stupid, Abe,” Maurer said easily. “He hasn’t got a case, and he knows it.”
Gollowitz ignored the interruption.
“What’s his case?” he repeated, staring at McCann.
Seigel was listening to all this. He stood by the bar, behind Maurer and Gollowitz; there was a sick expression in his eyes that began to worry McCann.
“He’s got evidence that Mr. Maurer and Miss Arnot were special friends, and that Jordan was scared of Mr. Maurer,”
McCann said slowly. “He has a sworn statement to that effect.”