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asked.
    “Yes, sir. He must have just come from his office. But he didn’t stop in here. Snake Hips was dancing, and he passed right by him as if he didn’t see him—like he had something on his mind.”
    “Does he know Snake Hips?”
    The bartender lowered his eyes. “It’s possible, sir. Mr. Holmes gets around.”
    “Could Snake Hips’ dancing act have been a tip-off?”
    “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that, He was just trying to drag me. You see I got a wife and two children—”
    “And you still got time for these boys?”
    “Well, that was it. I didn’t—”
    “Let him go on,” Grave Digger said harshly. “So Casper didn’t see him, or rather didn’t acknowledge him.”
    “It was more that. He must have seen him. But he was walking in a hurry, looking straight ahead and carrying a pigskin bag—”
    Both detectives stiffened to alert.
    “Brief case?” Grave Digger asked in an urgent whisper.
    “Why, yes, sir. A pigskin brief case with a handle. It looked new. He was going toward Seventh Avenue, and I figured he was going to take a taxi.”
    “Let us do the guessing.”
    “Well, he usually parks his car out front. It wasn’t there, so I figured—” Grave Digger’s look cut him off. “Well, anyway, he was just past the doorway when a black Buick sedan pulled to the curb—”
    “There was parking space?”
    “Yes, sir—it so happened that two cars had just pulled off.”
    “You know whose they were?”
    “The cars? No, sir. I think the drivers came from —or rather the passengers, there was a party of ’em—came from the Palm Café.”
    “Casper notice it?”
    “He didn’t act like it. He kept on walking. Then two cops—or rather men dressed in cops’ uniforms—got out and another one stayed behind the wheel. My first thought was that Mr. Holmes was carrying valuables and the cops were a bodyguard. But Mr. Holmes tried to walk past them—between them rather, because they sort of separated when he tried to pass them—”
    “Where was the white man?”
    “He was on Mr. Holmes’ right, toward the street. Mr. Holmes was carrying the brief case on that side. Then they took him by the arms; one took hold of each arm. Mr. Holmes seemed surprised, then mad.”
    “You couldn’t see his face from here.”
    “No, sir. But his back stiffened, and he looked like he was mad, and I know he was saying something because I could see the side of his face working. It was it by the sign light, and it seemed as if he was shouting, but of course I couldn’t hear him.”
    “Well, go on,” Grave Digger urged. “We haven’t got all night.”
    “Well, sir, that was the first I figured there was something wrong. Then the next thing I knew I saw the white man knock Mr. Holmes’ hat off; he sort of flicked it off from behind so that it fell in front of Mr. Holmes. And at the same time the colored cop—man—sapped Mr. Holmes behind the left ear; he was on Mr. Holmes’ left side.”
    “Did you see the sap?”
    “Not too well. It looked like an ordinary leather-bound sap with a whalebone handle to me.”
    “Did he hit him again?”
    “No sir, once was enough. Mr. Holmes went down like he was sitting, and the white man took the pigskin bag out of his hand.”
    “Who else in the bar here saw this happen?”
    “I don’t think anybody else saw it. You see, the customers face this way and only us bartenders face in that direction, and the other bartenders was busy. It wasn’t like they had made any noise. I saw it, but I couldn’t hear a sound.”
    “What about Snake Hips? Didn’t he see what was happening, or was he too far gone.”
    “He hadn’t been banging, if that’s what you mean. But he was dancing in a slow circle, doing a sort of shake dance, and he had his back to them.”
    “But they must have seen him.”
    “Must have. But they didn’t pay him no attention. As far as they were concerned, he was harmless as a lamppost.”
    “Why didn’t you telephone the police?” Grave