I shook my head.
“He says to say to you, sir, if you don’t remember,” my manager continued, “that when you promised, he asked you about Smetsheen of Minneapolis.”
I sat up at that; for Jerry was the one who had last asked me about Smetsheen of Minneapolis. I went out to see Klangenberg, who was a tall, phlegmatic Swede entirely positive on the subject of pineapple and quite fluent about it until he had drawn me off alone with him. Then he said, “‘Kidnapped’ and ‘Westward Ho’ says to Steve, ‘They crossed us last night; but stick. Not a word; you can help and we’ll get them. Stick, Steve.’”
That was all he would say; when I asked him anything more, he went back to pineapple; he was a buyer again, seeking satisfaction on a claim.
This word, which surely was from Jerry, of course helped me to stick. It meant to me that he’d tried to prevent the murder and, having been “crossed” somewhere, had failed; but he counted on me to stick while he kept after Keeban.
A few minutes later, Fred Scofield ’phoned me and asked me to come up to his father’s place.
VII I KEEP MY OWN COUNSEL.
When I arrived at the big gaudy house, where I had watched Shirley singing last evening, the coroner’s men were filing out; they’d completed their examination. Police were all about the doors, keeping back a crowd; the officers passed me and Fred came down almost immediately and took me into the long, gay room where Shirley had played and sung.