In the Best Families

There were other things, including the reports on Rackham to be typed. Late every afternoon Max Christy called at my office to get the report of the day before, and he would sit and read it and ask questions. When he got critical, I would explain patiently that I couldn't very well post a man at the door of

Rackham's suite to take pictures of all the comers and goers, and that we were scoring better than eighty per cent on all his hours outside, which was exceptional for New York tailing.

I had the advantage, of course, of having had the situation described to me by their Pete Roeder. They were worried a little about Westchester, but more about the city. Shortly after he had become a millionaire by way of a steak knife, whoever had used it, Rackham had got word to Zeck that he was no longer available for contacts. Brownie Costigan had got to Rackham, thinking to put the bee on him, and had been tossed out on his ear. The stink being raised in

Washington on gambling and rackets, and the resulting enthusiasm in the office of the New York County District Attorney, had started an epidemic of jitters, and it was quite possible that if one of my typed reports had told of a visit by

Rackham to the D.A.'s office, or of one by an assistant D.A. to Rackham's suite,

Rackham would have had a bad accident, like getting run over or falling into the river with lead in him. That was why Wolfe had given me careful and explicit instructions about what I should report and what I shouldn't.

I had no sight or sound of Wolfe. He was to let me know if and when there was something stirring, and I had been told how to reach him if I had to.

Meanwhile I had my schedule, and on the ninth day, a Friday, the first of

September, it called for a move. Things looked right for it. Saul, on instructions, had let himself get spotted once, and Orrie twice, and Fred, without instructions, at least three times. I too had co-operated by letting myself be seen at the entrance of the Crooked Circle one night as Rackham emerged with companions. So Friday at five o'clock, when Saul phoned that the subject had entered the Romance Bar on Forty-ninth Street, I went for a walk, found Saul window-shopping, told him to go home to his wife and children, moseyed along to the Romance Bar entrance, and went on in.

Business was rushing, with as many as five at a table the size of a dish-pan.