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He reached over and pushed the hook down. "Now, listen," he complained. "You're too fast. What you calling copper for?"

"Any ideas?" he asked softly.

I stepped inside and waited for the door to squeak shut. A bare carpetless room paved in brown linoleum, a flat desk and a rolltop at right angles to it, a big green safe that looked as fireproof as a delicatessen bag, two filing cases, three chairs, a built-in closet and washbowl in the corner by the door.

"Does it have to be that way?" His collar was too tight now. He yanked at it.

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

I sat down and put a cigarette between my teeth and looked at him. I didn't say a word. I watched him start to sweat. It started up in his hair. Then he grabbed a pencil and made marks on his blotter. Then he looked at mc with a quick darting glance, down at his blotter again. He talked-to the blotter.

I said slowly: "They want to talk to you. On account of you know a broad that knows a man had sore feet."

Madder opened a flat tin of cigarettes and pushed one past his lips with a sound like somebody gutting a fish. His hand shook.

He didn't look at me. "About how we could do a little business together. Say, in stones."

Madder opened a flat tin of cigarettes and pushed one past his lips with a sound like somebody gutting a fish. His hand shook.

I reached for his telephone, which was the old-fashioned gallows type. I lifted off the receiver and started to dial the number of Police Headquarters, very slowly. I knew he would know that number about as well as he knew his hat.

"Did somebody phone you?"

"Huh? What wren?" He still didnt look at me.

He didn't look at me. "About how we could do a little business together. Say, in stones."

It was getting toward quitting time on lower Spring Street. Taxis were dawdling close to the curb, stenographers were getting an early start home, streetcars were clogging up, and traffic cops were preventing people from making perfectly legal right turns.

A shadow came against the glass and the door was pulled back with a squeak. I was looking at a thick-set man with a soft round chin, heavy black eyebrows, an oily complexion and a Charlie Chan mustache that made his face look fatter than it was.

"Any ideas?" he asked softly.

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

There was a sudden tinkling, icy-cold laugh on the wire. "On account of a guy had sore feet," the voice said.

"Any ideas?" he asked softly.

"Who was the wren?" I asked.

"Did somebody phone you?"

"Better see Rush Madder. Know him?"

"Better see Rush Madder. Know him?"

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