Chapter 9: “Spontaneous Combustion”

“Spontaneous Combustion” Kennedy and I had risen early, for we were hustling to get off for a weekend at Atlantic City. Kennedy was tugging at the straps of his grip and remonstrating with it under his breath, when the door opened and a messenger-boy stuck his head in. “Does Mr. Kennedy live here?” he asked. Craig impatiently seized the pencil, signed his name in the book, and tore open a night letter. From the prolonged silence that followed I felt a sense of misgiving. I, at least, ha…