“Well,” interrupted Williamson, “I’m going on my way. I’ll follow your instructions, inspector. I’ll look up that stool and see what can be done. If he can trail Caprona and Butz, I’ll have John Higby follow him.”
The detective went from the room. Before Klein and Cardona could begin another discussion, the telephone rang. The ace answered it, and his face showed disappointment when he discovered that it was not another long-distance call.
“Burke?” he queried. “Yes. Williamson’s covering that case… What? Well… No… Oh, you’ve heard that, eh? Does any one else know it? I mean, any other reporters… Good! Lay off it, then.
“Yes, Crazy Louie was working for us. He was checking up on a couple of gangsters… Yes, that’s why I don’t want it to get in the papers. It would wise them up. Keep off it, and there’ll be a good story for you later on.
“Say, that reminds me, I may have something real tonight. Where are you? At the Classic… All right, stick there until you hear from me.”
Cardona clanged the receiver and turned to Klein.
“That fellow Burke’s a fast worker,” he said. “Checking on Crazy Louie’s death already. Had a tip the guy was a stool. You heard what I told him. He’ll hold it — especially after he gets the news from Philadelphia.”
The detective sat strumming his fingers against the edge of the table. He was waiting for the next long-distance call.
Inspector Timothy Klein was chewing the end of his cigar. There was a noise at the door. Cardona swung around to view a man in a taxi driver’s uniform.
“You’re Detective Cardona?” asked the newcomer.