“Yes. Could you swing it?”
For a moment Keats did not reply. He picked up the note and read it over again.
“I’d like to have this.”
“Of course. But I want it back.”
“I’ll have it photostated. Tell you what I’ll do, Mr. Queen.” Lieutenant Keats rose. “I’ll talk to the Chief and if he thinks it’s worth my time, I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Oh, Keats.”
“Yes, sir?”
“While you’re digging... Do a little spadework on a man who calls himself Alfred Wallace. Roger Priam’s secretary-general.”
Delia Priam phoned that afternoon. “I’m surprised you’re in.”
“Where did you think I’d be, Mrs. Priam?” The moment he heard her throaty purr his blood began stewing. Damn her, she was like the first cocktail after a hard day.