“Not too long,” said Sturgis.
They started to follow him inside, but Shayne blocked the doorway. “Only clients allowed inside.”
“We got a search warrant,” Sturgis insisted. “Give us credit, Mike, for waiting instead of busting in before you got here.”
Shayne hesitated, his lips flattening against his teeth. Then he stepped back. “All right. I give you credit for not breaking in. Let’s see your warrant.”
Chapter seven
Sturgis, the senior detective, gravely unfolded a document he had taken from his pocket and handed it to the detective. Shayne read it through carefully, his rangy body still blocking the doorway.
“All right. Come right in, the joint is yours.” He turned his back on them, crossed the reception room, and went into his private office, where he pulled out one of the steel drawers of a filing-cabinet and reached inside.
“Hold it, Mike,” Sturgis said from the doorway. “You know I can’t let you destroy evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” Shayne demanded.
“What we’re looking for. Your file on Ralph Carrol.”