"Yes, sir."
"Not exactly. What makes you think so?"
"Because he drinks so," she replied.
"I wish to get some information from him; that is all," I returned.
As I concluded a heavy step sounded in the hall, and an instant later Sammy Simpson appeared. He had evidently been imbibing freely, for his voice was thick and his sentences muddled.
"Hello!" he cried. "You here already, eh! What brought you? Want to find out all about Chris Holtzmann?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. Saw it in your eye. Yes, sir, your optic betrayed you. Sit down. Mag, give Mr. What's-his-name a chair. I'll sit down myself." And he sank heavily down on a low bench, threw one leg over the other, and clasped his hands on his knee.
"I want to see those documents you took from Mr. Holtzmann's safe," I began boldly.
He started slightly and stared at me.