CHAPTER IX
WHAT had happened was that Russell had reappeared. Not about Clearedge Street; for he was not quite bold enough to show himself there yet; but he had returned to his haunts a little farther south in the city where Cuncliffe's salesman, Nyman, had first heard of him and in the neighborhood of the particular private still with which Russell previously had established a connection. And the cause of Gregg's absence from his office, was that Gregg had been looking for him in that vicinity, for it was just the sort of place where a man who had shot some one else—and who couldn't be sure yet whether he'd be taken up for it or whether he could make big money out of it—would feel his way about for a while.
Gregg learned of the place from Nyman and had refrained from reporting his plans not only to Billy but also to Rinderfeld; for Gregg knew Rinderfeld well enough by that time to become certain that Rinderfeld, knowing what Gregg did, would have insisted upon relieving him—or at least upon reinforcing him—with a professional handler of men like Russell; and Gregg would not have that; first, because he had, himself, to do something violent and effective for Marjorie in these days; and second, he wanted to determine what, and how much of it, was to be done.
The place was one of those bright glass front and dingy clapboard-side saloons, with rattan screen and swinging doors just inside and with black, sour-smelling
