“Sure, we keep it,” said the man. “Just keep quiet a minute, young feller, and I’ll fix up a dose.”
The Camera Chap was not surprised to hear that the drug was procurable in Dutch Louie’s place, for he had noticed a sign on the wall as he came in, announcing that it was on sale.
“Never mind about fixing it up,” he said to the waiter. “Just bring me the bottle, a glass, and some water. I’ll do the mixing myself.”
Patrolman Horgan beckoned to the waiter as the latter was going out to fill the order.
“What’s the matter with that guy over there, Harry?” he inquired.
“Oh, nothin’ serious; just a headache.”
“Is that all?” said the patrolman, in a disgusted tone. “From the way he was groaning just now, I thought he was dyin’. Come on, fellers; it’s my meld.”
When the waiter returned with a tray containing a small blue bottle, an empty glass, and a second glass filled with water, Hawley had an unlighted cigar between his teeth, but no one seemed to think it odd for a sick man to indulge in tobacco.
The Camera Chap was not in the habit of smoking cigars, but he always carried a couple in his vest pocket, and he had reasons of his own for transferring this one from his pocket to his mouth.
He took the bottle of bromo seltzer, and emptied some of the white powder into the empty glass. Then he turned to the waiter.