“So do I,” I said gloomily, “with Peppi.”
Whisky shook his head. “She’s in a top front room in Waxey’s dive,” he said.
I stared at him. “She’s with Peppi,” I said, “let me get you up to date,” and I told him about Ansell and Peppi and the whole set-up.
He sat looking at me with alert eyes and when I’d finished, he said, “Don’t bother about those photos. I tell you she’s at Waxey’s dive. We can get her out of there and then turn Peppi over to the cops. Tell the driver to turn around.”
“You’re sure?” I said, half convinced. “What has Waxey to do with Peppi?”
“Will you stop yapping,” Whisky said fiercely, “and tell the driver.”
“Okay,” I said, and leaning forward I said, “take us to Mulberry Park, will you?”
“Sure,” the driver said, “and listen, I’ve been thinking. I don’t believe that dog talked, see? And nothing you say’ll convince me,” and he swung the cab off the main street.
Chapter SIXTEEN
WHILE we were driving to Mulberry Park, Whisky explained what had been happening to him. He had seen Myra kidnapped when she left our apartment and he had followed the car. He had seen her taken to Good-time Waxey’s dive and he went after her.