The Rubber Band

I shook my pants legs down, put the notebook and plant record away in the drawers, and got going. Johnny came to bolt the door behind me.

I hadn't been on the sidewalk for nearly twenty hours, and it smelled good. I filled the chest, waved at Tony with a cart of coal across the street, and opened up my knees on the way to the garage. The roadster whinnied as I went up to it, and I circled down the ramp, scared the daylights out of a truck as I emerged, and headed downtown with my good humor coming in again at every pore. I doubt if anything could ever get me so low that it wouldn't perk me up to get out and enjoy nature, anywhere between the two rivers from the Battery to 110th Street, but preferably below 59th.

I parked at the triangle and went in and took an elevator. They sent me right in to Cramer's litde inside room, but it was empty except for a clerk in uniform, and I sat down to wait. In a minute Cramer entered. I was thinking he might have the decency to act a little embarrassed, but he didn't; be was chewing a cigar and he appeared hearty. He didn't go to his desk, but stood there. I thought it wouldn't hurt to rub it in, so I asked him, "Have you round Clara Fox yet?"

He shook his head. "Nope. No Clara Fox. But we will. We've got Mike Walsh."

I lifted the brows. "You don't say. Congratulations. Where'd you find him?"

He frowned down at me. "I'm not going to try to bluff you, Goodwin. It's a waste of time. That's what I asked you to come down here for, this Mike Walsh. You and Wolfe have been cutting it pretty thin up there, but if you help me out on this we'll call it square. I want you to pick this Mike Walsh out for me. You won't have to appear, you can look through the panel."

"I don't get you. I thought you said you had him."

"Him hell." Cramer bit his cigar. "I've got eight of 'em."

"Oh." I grinned at him sympathetically. "Think of that, eight Mike Walshes! It's a good thing it wasn't Bill Smith or Abe Cohen."

"Will you pick him out?"

"I don't like to." I pulled a hesitation. "Why can't the boys grind it out themselves?"