“No—I wish I were.” Eden paused. “Miss Fitzgerald, I’m an old pal of a friend of yours.”
“Which friend? I’ve got so many.”
“I bet you have. I’m speaking of Jerry Delaney. You know Jerry?”
“Do I? I’ve known him for years.” She frowned suddenly. “Have you any news of Jerry?”
“No, I haven’t,” Eden answered. “That’s why I’ve come to you. I’m terribly anxious to locate him, and I thought maybe you could help.”
She was suddenly cautious. “Old pal of his, you say?”
“Sure. Used to work with him at Jack McGuire’s place on Forty-fourth Street.”
“Did you really?” The caution vanished. “Well, you know just as much about Jerry’s whereabouts as I do. Two weeks ago he wrote me from Chicago—I got it in Seattle. He was kind of mysterious. Said he hoped to see me out this way before long.”
“He didn’t tell you about the deal he had on?”
“What deal?”
“Well, if you don’t know—Jerry was about to pick up a nice little bit of change.”
“Is that so? I’m glad to hear it. Things ain’t been any too jake with Jerry since those old days at McGuire’s.”
“That’s true enough, I guess. By the way, did Jerry ever talk to you about the men he met at McGuire’s? The swells. You know, we used to get some pretty big trade there.”
“No, he never talked about it much. Why?”
“I was wondering whether he ever mentioned to you the name of P.J. Madden.”
