“I see,” remarked Craig, apparently weighing now the man before him. At length he seemed to decide to risk something.
“Klemm,” he said, “I wish you would do something for me. I see you have the vocaphone here. Now if—say Hazleton—should call—will you listen in on that vocaphone for me?” Dr. Klemm looked squarely at him.
“Kennedy,” he said, “it’s unprofessional, but—-”
“So it is to let her be doped up under guise of a cure.”
“What?” he asked, startled. “She’s getting the stuff now?”
“No, I didn’t say she was getting opium, or from anyone here. All the same, if you would just keep an ear open—-”
“It’s unprofessional, but—you’d not ask it without a good reason. I’ll try.”
It was very late when we got back to the city and we dined at an uptown restaurant which we had almost to ourselves.
Kennedy had placed the little whitish tablets in a small paper packet for safe keeping. As we waited for our order he drew one from his pocket, and after looking at it a moment crushed it to a powder in the paper.
“What is it?” I asked curiously. “Cocaine?”