“Snake Hips,” Grave Digger said incredulously. “He’s the female impersonator at the Down Beat Club up the street.”

“The danseur,” the bartender corrected with a straight face.

“What did he have to do with it?” Coffin Ed asked.

“Nothing. He was just dancing. He danced outside and we were watching him, and that’s how we saw it happen.”

“Without a coat or hat? By himself? He left here and went outside to dance in this weather without a hat or coat—by himself?” Disbelief was written all over Grave Digger’s face.

“He was just bitching off,” the bartender explained. He held the glass up to the light, blew on it and began polishing again. “He had got himself a new lover, and he was just low-rating the man who used to be his lover before. You know how these people are; when they get mad at you, they get out in the street and start scandalizing you.”

“Who is the man?” Coffin Ed asked.

“Sir?”

“The man who was his former lover.”

The bartender looked for a place to hang his gaze. Finally he settled on the glass he was polishing. If his skin had been lighter, the blush would have showed. Finally he whispered, “It was me, sir.”

Grave Digger brushed it off. “All right, let’s finish with Snake Hips. Who is his current lover?”

“I’m not sure, sir—you know how these things are with these people—” He choked a little, but they let it pass. “I mean, one never really knows. He’s been going around with a person called Black Beauty.”

They didn’t ask him if this person was a man, and he didn’t elaborate.

“But Black Beauty’s been seen around town with a man named Baron; and I know for a fact Baron’s been hanging around with a white man—I don’t know his name.”

“You ever see him—the white man?” Coffin Ed asked.

“Yes, sir.”

They avoided asking him where.

“Was he one of the trio—the heistmen?” Grave Digger asked.

“Oh no, sir. He wasn’t anything like that. He was a sort of a gentleman type—you find on Broadway,” he amended.

“All right, that does for Snake Hips,” Grave Digger said as they stored away the information against future use. “You know Casper Holmes by sight?”

“Yes, sir, he’s a customer here.”

“What?”

The bartender shrugged slightly, spreading his hands, holding the glass in one and the towel in the other.

“Sometimes. Not a regular. It’s just near his office, which is upstairs, and he drops by sometimes for a short one.”

“Did he pass by the front here?” Coffin Ed 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—”