I didn’t think he was asleep. Apparently, it was some sort of a trap to see if I’d try to get something out of my bag. I noticed he kept the edge of his foot pushing against the corner of the bag. He’d have felt it if I’d so much as touched the bag.
I thought back on it and remembered how he’d grabbed that bag as soon as he’d got aboard the train, and hadn’t let it out of his possession since. Then I remembered how he’d examined my shirt in the washroom. Evidently, the chief of police had been given a very hot tip indeed.
Chapter Eight
Chief Laster glared at me across his desk and said, “Sit down.”
I pulled up a chair and sat down. Kleinsmidt settled himself over on the far side of the room, and crossed his legs.
Daylight was just breaking outside the building. The streamers of eastern clouds were a vivid crimson-orange, giving a reddish tinge to the landscape and even causing a slight russet coloring on the chief’s face. There was just enough light outside to make electric lights seem sickly and pale, but not quite enough to dispense with artificial illumination.
Laster said, “Your name is Donald Lam, and you claim to be a private detective.”
“That’s right.”
“Working for the B. Cool Detective Agency.”
“Yes.”