“What do you know about this girl?” He shot the question out as if he’d got a half a dozen cameras focussed on him and a bunch of admirers waiting for his autograph.
“Which girl?” I asked, carefully.
“You know,” he said darkly, “Myra Shumway.”
“I know that,” I said, “but which Myra Shumway? There are two of ’em.” That slowed him down.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, “what do you mean… two of ’em?”
“Look, Clancy,” I said, “there is a lot behind this business that you don’t know. It’s going to be difficult for you to understand, but if you’ll take the weight off your feet and lay off pulling the tough copper on me, I’ll try and explain.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Sam said savagely. “He’s nuts about the girl.”
Clancy hadn’t much use for Bogle, “Clam up!” he snapped.
“When I want a commentary from you I’ll let you know.” He turned to me, “Now, what is it?” he said.
I waved to a chair, “Sit down,” I said. “It’s going to take time and you’ll need all your energy to keep your brain working.”