“Yes, sir.”
“Now just explain to the court what happened when you took the food up there.”
“Well, I put the dishes on a tray, covered the tray with napkins and a folded tablecloth, and went into the apartment house. I knew the number of Milicant’s apartment — Conway, we called him.”
“That’s L. C. Conway?” Kittering interrupted.
“Yeah, Louie Conway. Well, I took the food up in the elevator, and knocked on the door. A voice yelled, ‘Come in.’ I opened the door and went in.”
“The door was unlocked?” Kittering interjected.
“That’s right, and the two guys — I mean men — were in the bedroom. I could hear them talking in there something about race horses, and I sort of kept my ears peeled because Louie Conway sometimes had some pretty good tips on race horses.
“Well, nothing came of it. I think they knew I was listening because the other guy said, ‘Wait a minute. The boy’s out there.’ And then he popped his head out the door, and said, ‘Just put it there on the table, son, and come back when we call you and pick up the dishes. How much is the check?’ And I said, ‘One-seventy-five.’ He handed me three one-dollar bills, and said, ‘That’ll pay you for coming up. Now beat it.’
“‘Want me to set the table?’” I asked.
“‘No,’ he said, ‘we’re in a rush.’”