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wanted to see you suffer.”
    Jim Latson laughed. “By the way, Dave, I have a little bad news for you. You know McCray, that con-man who’s out on bail? The case on him has fallen apart. Lack of clear identification. I’m sorry.”
    Corday had been about to take a swallow of his Tom Collins. He set the glass down with a click. “McCray? That was Donald Munroe’s nephew he conned. I promised Mr. Monroe we’d send him away for ten years, make him pay the nephew back and—” He stopped, sick.
    Jim Latson said, “Now, if I’d known that—Why, Dave, as I understand it, Mr. Munroe got you into the D.A.’s office in the first place… He’s about all the sponsor you have in politics, isn’t he? Why, that’s too bad.”
    Dave Corday felt the blood pushing at his eyes. “Too bad? Too bad? He’s kicked in to the party funds every time I’ve asked him. You—”
    Jim Latson laughed. “Take it easy, Dave. Drink your drink.”
    Dave Corday gulped at the glass unhappily, then flushed as he realized he’d taken an order from Jim Latson.
    Jim Latson said easily, “Don’t let it worry you. If you get a conviction on Guild, you’ll be made, a famous man; you won’t need a sponsor. There’ll be dozens of men waiting to back you for any office you want to run.”
    Dave Corday was reminding himself of his training, his practice in thinking on his feet. He said calmly—though he didn’t feel calm—“You didn’t just do this to get me in trouble with Donald Munroe.”
    “I didn’t do it at all,” Jim Latson said. “I’m a cop; I like to get convictions. But McCray’s lawyer, Steve Sigel, was too smart for me.”
    Corday set down his glass so hard that some of the drink splashed over the top, though he’d drunk more than half of it. “Steve Sigel! That’s it. He’s lawyer for the syndicate, isn’t he? I wouldn’t doubt he was more than counsel, a big owner—”
    “Easy, boy, you’re in a syndicate bar. They don’t like to be talked about.”
    “They wouldn’t like one of their nightclub operators, Ronald Palmer, testifying against a man who’d done Steve Sigel a big favor, would they?”
    “It must be wonderful to go to law school,” Jim Latson said. “How they train you! Everything comes out easy for a boy with a good education. Me, a little high school, and I was on my own. Yep. A little favor for the syndicate, and they’d make hamburger of one of their men who annoyed me—such as Mr. Palmer. After all, all he’s doing is saving me newspaper embarrassment. Since Guild is guilty, it doesn’t occur to Palmer that he’s withholding pertinent information in a murder case, thereby laying himself open to a charge of accessory after the fact, a serious felony. He’s just—”
    Dave Corday slapped the table, but neither glass was now full enough to slop over; all he did was make a sharp sound that caused heads to turn at a couple of tables. “And at the same time, you louse me up with my sponsor.”
    “Two birds with one stone,” Jim Latson said cheerfully. “My, that’s a pretty girl there.”
    Despite himself, Corday looked. The girl was auburn-haired, and it looked natural. Dark blue eyes and a milkmaid complexion gave an overall Irish look. He said, “This isn’t the time or place to discuss girls. You killed Hogan DeLisle and, brother, you are not going to get away with it.”
    Jim Latson suddenly dropped his light manner. “You really believe that, don’t you? But you killed her, pal. And she was my girl. And cops don’t take to having their girls killed. It wounds their amour propre— French phrase, meaning love of self—I may not have gone to college, but I read. It would hurt the party to hurt you, and I know enough to keep my friends in office. It saves you—You know something? The couple with that gal are Tommy Beale and his wife. He runs a small cab line. Whatya bet he’d be flattered if the deputy chief of police stopped by?”
    Dave Corday said. “Your girl’s hardly