Shirley shook his head.

He says; "My God, it's the third!"

Shirley's white hand gripped the edge of the table. "The Van
Cleft's doctor is one of the greatest surgeons in the country,
Professor MacDonald of the Medical College. He said that?"

"He did. I answers, 'Whadd'y mean the third?' Then he looks me
straight in the eye, and sings back, 'None of your business.'"
Cronin shook his head. "I never seen a man with a squarer look,
and yet he has me guessing. I goes back to the garage, over past
Eighth Avenue, you know, where two johns come up along side o'
me. One rubs me with his elbow and the other applies that brass
knuckle,--then they gets pinched. I got dressed up in a drug
store, got the chauffeur's license number, and goes on down to my
office to see this girl. She's hysterical about his family using
all their money to put her in jail. I looks at her, and says,
'You won't need their money to get to jail. That old man's
dead!' Her eyes was as big as saucers. 'I thought old Daddy Van
Cleft was drunk.' I tells her, 'He was dead in that taxi, with a
chorus girl, and a roll of bills gone. What you got to say?'
She staggers forward and clutches my coat, and what do you think
SHE says to me?"

Shirley made the inquiry only with his eyes, puffing his
cigarette slowly.

"She looks sorter green, and repeats after me: 'Dead, with a
chorus girl, and a roll of bills gone,'--just like a parrot.