I toiled up the stone steps leading to Mifflin’s small office on the fourth floor of Police Headquarters’ building.
Mifflin was staring out of the window, his hat over his eyes, the stub of a cigarette stuck on his lower lip. He had a brooding, dismal look on his red face and his eyes showed the energy of his thoughts.
‘You,’ he said gloomily as I pushed open the door and edged my way into the small office. ‘Funny thing, I was thinking about you. Come in, and park. I’m out of cigarettes, so don’t ask me for one.’
I pulled up a hard, straight-backed chair, sat astride it, and folded my arms along the back of it.
‘How’s the kidnapping going?’
‘Awful,’ he said, and sighed. ‘Nothing to work on, and Brandon’s going around like a fiend. He reckons someone will make him Chief of Police if he catches the kidnappers.’
I searched in my coat pocket, fished out a package of cigarettes, offered him one.
We lit up and brooded at each other.
‘Anything on the Jerome dame?’
Mifflin sighed.