Inspector Quinlan stood in the doorway watching them, then turned and went back to his desk. He sighed as he sat down. He did not look at Shayne.
Shayne said, “What do you make of it, Inspector?”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Quinlan said irritably.
“And that makes me a liar.”
“That’s what I don’t get.” Quinlan leaned back in his chair and subjected Shayne to a long, frank appraisal with his cold blue eyes. “That’s the hell of it. What can either of you gain by lying? He’d be a fool to claim relationship with the girl if he couldn’t prove it. On the other hand, you’d be a fool to whip up a story that won’t stand investigation. I know your reputation, Shayne — from your New Orleans days and from reports on you in Miami. You’ve been called a lot of things by a lot of people, but ‘fool’ isn’t one of them.”
“Thanks,” said Shayne shortly.
“Where does that leave me?”
“I’ll be damned if I know,” Shayne said morosely. “What did you make of Drake? I mean — his personality?”
Quinlan smiled for the first time since he had met him. He said, “A spot of rouge and polished fingernails don’t always tell the whole story.”
“Dope?”