These men ate quickly and digested slowly. McQuade took out two fat black cigars and passed one to Martin, who tore off the end with his teeth.
"I want to find out all there is to know about Warrington. I can't explain why just now; too many around."
"Set Bolles after him. Bolles used to be with a private detective bureau. If there's anything to learn, he'll learn it. There he is now. Hey, waiter, ask that gentleman looking for a vacant table to come over. Hello, Bolles!"
"How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade."
"Sit down," said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward the remaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?"
"Bring me a little whisky—no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail. That'll be about right."
"Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertake it."
"I've got some time on my hands just now," replied Bolles. "Contract work?"
"After a fashion," said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll go up stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here."
"All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand in November."