Chapter 7
IN MAIN Street, Cellini Smith retraced his steps toward his car. It was time to get down to the Luxembourg Gardens and make a report to his clients, but as he again reached the Majestic he paused. It would be worth checking the Monk's story that he had been sleeping in the picture house the night of the killing.
The Monk was around the Paree enough to learn how to handle the spotlights. The lobby displays of the all-night grind house had not been changed for months. A large sign claimed that the place was ventilated— an important sales point for bums who sought a warm night's sleep.
Cellini paid the dime admission and entered. The picture house had one center aisle, with a sharp, downward slope, and the figures slouched in the seats to either side gave scant attention to the a
