CHAPTER NINEConscience
Gamadge had a bath, changed into the brown worsted suit, and ate a cold lunch. It was spattering rain now, and cool enough for him to bear the weight of his lightest raincoat; he put it on, put on a soft hat, and took a cab down to the Scale corner.
The street was parked double, there was a small shiny van in front of the house, and Gamadge recognized a tall man in blue serge and a smart felt hat, standing with others on the steps, as his old friend Detective-Lieutenant Nordhall, Homicide. Turning back into the avenue, Gamadge hailed another cab and was driven to Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street. As he rode, he had visions of newspaper headlines dissolving, front pages being reset for afternoon editions, radio announcers interrupting programmes to bring listen
