“Yeah,” Clancy said.
“Okay, thanks, Clancy. Be seeing you. So long,” and I beat it out of Headquarters as fast as I could travel.
As I got into the street a cruising taxi slowed down and the driver looked at me hopefully. I nodded and he stopped.
“Recorder office,” I said, and jerked open the door. Then I paused.
There was a girl sitting in the far corner.
“What’s the idea?” I demanded, turning on the driver. “You’ve got a customer, you pudden-headed monkey.”
“Get in, Mr. Millan,” the girl said. “I want to talk to you.” The voice was familiar and I looked back into the cab. Lydia Brandt was sitting there and in her hand she held a small, businesslike automatic. Its snub nose was pointed at my waistcoat.
“Why, hello,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Get in,” she repeated. “Unless you want another belly button.”
“Not outside police headquarters,” I said hastily. “It’d be bad for their nerves,” and I got in and sat down gingerly beside her.