"Why, you tried Ketlar; you asked for the rope for him; the jury's out; and there's new evidence."
"Not evidence," repeated Calvin, too quickly. "Talk that any one could start."
"So you'd heard it!"
"You told me yourself," Calvin retorted.
"I'll tell you where I am," Oliver offered generously. "I'm up at the Royle flat and I'm taking Joan Daisy to Tut's Temple to have a look at Baretta. If she identifies him as the man she saw through the window, that'll be evidence."
Calvin pointed out that her word had been shown valueless; but he could not discard the matter. He dressed and after waiting restlessly a few minutes he put on overcoat and cap and descended to the street, where irresolutely he let pass four or five vacant taxis and hailed the next.
"I want you to drive west until," Calvin began his directions and then concentrated them into, "Go to Tut's Temple; do you know where it is?"
"Get in," bid the driver, winking.
Traffic lights gleamed red before west-bound vehicles and shone green to motor cars rushing north and south upon Michigan Boulevard; high in the sky, the ruby lamp at the top of the Wrigley tower revolved slowly and steadily. Calvin watched it, idly, and gazed down from it into the tremendous aisle of the avenue, and he stirred in his seat. His taxi, being west-bound, was halted at the edge of the boulevard, making him a spectator of the midnight scurry upon the wide, snow-tracked street.
The intense, below-zero cold of the early part of the week was moderated somewhat; the midday sun had sufficed even to soften yesterday's snow upon the exposed north and south streets, though the cross roads, shaded
