“I’ll think about it,” Whisky returned. “I’m not worked up about the idea.”
“I can understand that,” I said. “You’re sure she’s in the place?”
“She’s upstairs in the room facing the street. I saw her look Out of the window.”
“Swell. It just means getting up there.”
“That’s right. If anyone tries to stop you, just don’t take no for an answer.”
I didn’t feel I was getting all the encouragement I needed, but apparently Whisky wasn’t an encouraging kind of dog.
I left him at the corner of the square and wandered towards Waxey’s dive. The place seemed deserted and when I got inside I found a thin weedy youth half asleep over the counter.
“Where’s Waxey?” I asked.
“Out,” the youth yawned and put his head on his arms again.
I glanced round the dim room. Over to the right was a door which I guessed led upstairs.