“I am convinced that Barbara made her suicide attempt while under the influence of drugs — or during a period of acute craving,” Mr. Little continued, “and I am positive that she is using the drugs in New Orleans. Her letters are proof of her condition.”
“What sort of letters?” Shayne asked bluntly.
“She writes very queerly. She refuses to address me as her father. She signs her letters ‘Margo,’ the name she is living under — her pseudonym, Margo Macon. She writes to me as a stranger.”
“How is she fixed for money?”
“I send her a weekly sum.”
Shayne said, “You don’t need a detective. The police in New Orleans can clear up the case.” With a wave of his big hand he lifted his hip from the table and stood up.
“It isn’t that simple,” Mr. Little said in alarm.
“Why not?” Shayne stopped on his way to the liquor cabinet where the bottle of Monnet was hidden.
“She may be in great danger,” Mr. Little said. “Hourly danger. I need someone I can trust. I know how the police handle such matters. A routine investigation. It might be days before they got around to it.”
Shayne said, “Danger? What are you holding out on me?” His eyes were hot with anger.