The police were removing Heeny’s body. Marmosa was talking to a headquarters man, and the proprietor’s story seemed to be holding weight.
As the policemen left the place, Marmosa motioned to his three companions, and they went up the stairs, back toward the gambling room where the others still remained.
“Who was that bird?” questioned Marmosa, addressing Joe le Blanc. “The way he finished up Spirak and Schultz — “
“Who was he?” Le Blanc laughed loudly. “Did you ever hear of Monk Thurman?”
“Monk Thurman — from New York?”
“That’s the guy!”
Marmosa paused to mop his brow with a silk handkerchief.
“Monk Thurman,” he repeated, in wondering tones. “They say it was getting hot for him in New York. I didn’t know he was here.”
“Well, you know it now. Heeny brought him in. I didn’t have a chance to tell you who he was.”
“Wait until Savoli hears about this,” said Marmosa. “I’m going to call up Mike Borrango; I want him to come around to collect tonight. This Monk Thurman is a man that he can use.”