Bofinger complied quickly, concealing the cheap cigar in his pocket with a sly movement Groll did not fail to perceive. The carriage rolled away.
Without preliminaries Groll said:
"Bo, Sheila's dead."
Bofinger dropped the hand he was raising to his collar, shifted in his seat and said faintly:
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
"Bellevue."
"Here!"
"Yes."