III
THE CONSPIRACY OF ONE
III
THE CONSPIRACY OF ONE
“KIND of caught you fellows off base, Norrie.”
Bradley, star man for the Herald, drawled it at me invidiously as I entered the police reporters’ room at the Hall of Justice. Merriman of the Times and a half-dozen morning paper men, their copy turned in, had drifted down to the room to await any late developments. The Ratto story had been on for three days and the Herald and the Times had “put over” the arrest of Bernardo Tosci, Camorrist, at the expense of Lanagan and myself.
“Better shoot a few absinthe drips into Lanagan,” continued Bradley, “and then maybe you’ll land something. He’s been sober so long he’s lost his grip.”
Bradley had fared hardly at the expense of Lanagan on more than one occasion. I was about to fling it back at him when Lanagan’s voice interrupted me. He had entered the room unfortunately just in time to hear Bradley’s words.
“Possibly,” he said.