Jerry Dodd had been manning the phone set up for Clark while Clark had made his trip to Shelda’s. A glance at the chart Jerry had kept revealed that Girard had never left his suite and that Bernardel, Kroll, and Miss Lily Dorisch had migrated to the Trapeze Bar. No outsider had joined them there. As I came into the office, Clark was on the phone to one of his men giving orders that Delacroix and LaCoste were to be picked up at the Waldorf and brought here. “I’m going to get ’em all here,” Clark said to Chambrun. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this if I have to beat it out of all of them with a lead pipe!” “Not very fair to the men you’re so dead sure of,” Chambrun said. He had wandered over to the pot of Turkish coffee on the sideboard in the corner of the room. “What are you talking about?” Clark said angrily. “If you’re right about Loring …” “I’m right about him!” “If you’re right about him,” Chambrun said, unruffled, “he gave his life trying to expose the whole conspiracy.
