“The police found him. I wish now that they had kept him; perhaps he would still be alive.”
The driver brought us round back of the Diamond plant, a few streets away. “Please wait for us here,” I said. The driver glanced at Morton, who nodded. The driver took out a cigar, lighting it as we crossed the street.
The sun emerged from the clouds, and I moved towards the factory. “This way.” Morton followed.
Few people walked the streets. We were too close to the slums for the homes to be other than those of the lowest day-wage servants. This hour, most were at work in the better areas as temporary help, shop girls, and the like.
A black brick building mortared in gray stood at the far right intersection of two alleyways. At the corner, a gray wooden door stood at the top of a short staircas
