A blond pompadour, under which was a pair of wide gray eyes that blinked at them, greeted the two detectives as they turned the last landing. A thick-lipped mouth, in which was considerable strength and determination, opened and revealed a double row of strong, young teeth that would have delighted an Army recruiting sergeant.
“Well, what do you gentlemen want at this hour of the morning?”
Drew squared his shoulders and pressed Delaney back a foot or more.
“Harry Nichols?” he asked brusquely.
“Yes, I’m Harry Nichols.”
“Miss Stockbridge’s friend?”
The gray eyes widened perceptibly. The lids dropped in heavy calculation. “Who are you?” the young man asked point-blankly. “I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting either of you gentlemen.” Nichols glanced into Delaney’s leaning face which was just over his chief’s shoulder.
“No, you haven’t,” said Drew softening his tone. “We’ve never met, but we may see considerable of each other. Here’s my card!”
Nichols took the card, tilted it to the light from the open door, then dropped it into the right-hand side pocket of his lounging robe beneath which blue pajamas showed.
“Come in!” he said without committing himself. “Come in, and take off your hats. I’ve only two rooms and a bath, here.”