spaces and sudden bright corners in the unknown land south of the Loop.

The office of the Campbell Inn was hard, bright, new; the night clerk
harder and brighter. "Yep?" he said to Babbitt.

"Mr. Paul Riesling registered here?"

"Yep."

"Is he in now?"

"Nope."

"Then if you'll give me his key, I'll wait for him."

"Can't do that, brother. Wait down here if you wanna."

Babbitt had spoken with the deference which all the Clan of Good Fellows
give to hotel clerks. Now he said with snarling abruptness:

"I may have to wait some time. I'm Riesling's brother-in-law. I'll go up
to his room. D' I look like a sneak-thief?"

His voice was low and not pleasant. With considerable haste the
clerk took down the key, protesting, "I never said you looked like a
sneak-thief. Just rules of the hotel. But if you want to--"

On his way up in the elevator Babbitt wondered why he was here. Why
shouldn't Paul be dining with a respectable married woman? Why had he
lied to the clerk about being Paul's brother-in-law? He had acted like a