“Why did he want to find the girl?”
“Claimed he was her uncle. Name of Drake or something like that. I dunno. You know how it is. You get a hunch. Mine was that he wasn’t leveling. Something screwy about it.”
Shayne sat up a little straighter. He asked, “Can you describe the man?”
Denton’s lids dropped over his black eyes for a moment and he drummed stubby finger tips on the desk. “Didn’t pay much attention,” he muttered. “Bald headed. Fifty, maybe.”
“Sloppy clothes?”
“No. That was something. Dressed up like a Christmas tree — spats and all. Not loud, see. Like he had a valet, maybe, to fix him up. The way you and me couldn’t look if we spent a grand on one outfit.”
“Name was Drake?”
“Yeh. Think so. Look, does this bird tie in with what you’re looking for?”
“He might,” Shayne said slowly. “Did you take him for a dope-head?”
“N-No. Hell, you know how it is. Nobody can pick one for sure. Not that kind. The punks, sure. The ghouls that hit it steady. But him — I dunno. Why? Do you think he was giving me a line? Trying to work me for a line on where to buy the stuff?”