CHAPTER ELEVEN
But Will They ComeGamadge walked down to Fifty-ninth Street, and took the subway to Eighteenth. He emerged, and walked south and east to the Vance apartment house. A plain-clothes man—the one Gamadge had met earlier that evening—sat in the office reading a magazine. He looked up and nodded. “You back again? Nordhall left long ago.”
“I had to come back. Something I forgot.”
“Up there? Want me to go along?”
“No thanks.”
“All quiet, I guess. All sewed up. Man in back, and there’s going to be three on the day shift.”
“One for each?”
“That’s right. The subjects can go out, but we’ll be right after them in case they try to make any contacts—Bowles or Spiker.”
“I’d like to see the back premises.”
“Go ahead. Tell the guy there that I sent you—Lugan. He’s Weinberg.”
Gamadge
