“As sure as a man can be after talking to a girl for thirty or forty minutes. She’s off the junk. You can quit worrying about that angle.”
“Off the — junk?”
“Dope — drugs — morphine, whatever she has been taking.”
“Don’t be too sure. She’s clever about concealing things. If the urge overcomes her again—”
“I’ll check every angle. I’m going out now to dig up what I can on the traffic here in the Quarter.”
“I wish you wouldn’t leave her alone, Shayne.”
“She’s all right,” Shayne growled. “I’ve got a room where I can keep tabs on her — directly opposite her apartment.”
“That’s fine. I feel so much better with you on the job, Mr. Shayne.”
“Stop worrying and leave it to me, then. She’s having a couple of girls in to dinner, and I’m going to see her later tonight.”
“That’s good news. I’m leaving for New York at once. I have just a few minutes to catch my train. My sister — you remember I told you — passed away this afternoon.”