“No, we didn’t, but I’d know Paul anywhere,” Sloss insisted.
“Maybe, but how’d you know it was the kid with him?”
“It was. Sure, it was. We could see enough of him to know that.”
“And you could see they were arguing? What do you mean by that? Fighting?”
“No, but standing like they were having an argument. You know how you can tell when people are arguing sometimes by the way they stand.”
Ned Beaumont smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, if one of them’s standing on the other’s face.” His smile vanished. “And that’s what Ben went to the Hall with?”
“Yes. I don’t know whether he went in with it on his own account or whether Farr got hold of it somehow and sent for him, but anyhow he spilled it to Farr. That was yesterday.”
“How’d you hear about it, Harry?”
“Farr’s hunting for me,” Sloss said. “That’s the way I heard about it. Beu’d told him I was with him and Farr sent word for me to drop in and see him, but I don’t want any part of it.”
“I hope you don’t, Harry,” Ned Beaumont said. “What are you going to say if Farr catches you?”
“I’m not going to let him catch me if I can help it. That’s what I wanted to see you about.” He cleared his throat and moistened his lips. “I thought maybe I ought to get out of town for a week or two, till it kind of blows over, and that’d take a little money.”
Ned Beaumont smiled and shook his head. “That’s not the thing to do,” he told the thickset man. “If you want to help Paul go tell Fan you couldn’t recognize the two men under the trees and that you don’t think anybody in your car could.”
“All right, that’s what I’ll do,” Sloss said readily, “but, listen, Ned, I ought to get something out of it. I’m taking a chance and–well–you know how it is.”
Ned Beaumont nodded. “We’ll pick you out a soft job after election, one you’ll have to show up on maybe an hour a day.”
“That’ll be–” Sloss stood up. His green-flecked palish eyes were urgent. “I’ll tell you, Ned, I’m broke as hell. Couldn’t you make it a little dough now instead? It’d come in damned handy.”
“Maybe. I’ll talk it over with Paul.”
“Do that, Ned, and give me a ring.”
“Sure. So long.”
5
From the Majestic Hotel Ned Beaumont went to the City Hall, to the District Attorney’s office, and said he wanted to see Mr. Farr.
The round-faced youth to whom he said it left the outer office, returning a minute later apologetic of mien. “I’m sorry, Mr. Beaumont, but Mr. Farr is not in.”
“When will he be back?”
“I don’t know. His secretary says he didn’t leave word.”
“I’ll take a chance. I’ll wait awhile in his office.” The round-faced youth stood in his way. “Oh, you can’t do–”
Ned Beaumont smiled his nicest smile at the youth and asked softly: “Don’t you like this job, son?”
The youth hesitated, fidgeted, and stepped out of Ned Beaumont’s way. Ned Beaumont walked down the inner corridor to the District Attorney’s door and opened it.
Farr looked up from his desk, sprang to his feet. “Was that you?” he cried. “Damn that boy! He never gets anything right. A Mr. Bauman, he said.”
“No harm done,” Ned Beaumont said mildly. “I got in.”
He let the District Attorney shake his hand up and down and lead him to a chair. When they were seated he asked idly: “Anything new?”
“Nothing.” Farr rocked back in his chair, thumbs hooked in lower vest-pockets. “Just the same old grind, though God knows there’s enough of that.”
“How’s the electioneering going?”
“It could be better”–a shadow passed over the District Attorney’s pugnacious red face–“but I guess we’ll manage all right.”
Ned Beaumont kept idleness in his voice. “What’s the matter?”
“This and that. Things always come up. That’s politics, I guess.”
“Anything I can do–or Paul–to help?” Ned Beaumont asked and then, when Farr had shaken his red-stubble-covered head: “This talk that Paul’s got something to do with the Henry killing the worst thing you’re up against?”