“Shut the door!”
Carlson obeyed.
“Now, here’s the proposition. We’ve got a sick woman on our hands—damned sick! But she’s got in trouble with the law and the police are after her. Get me?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“Well, that’s why she dasn’t go to a hospital, and that’s why we had to get you. Get me?”
“Go on.”
“Very good! Now your job is just this: Look at her and find out what in Hell is the matter with her, and write out a prescription—No! That won’t do, either. Somebody might get on to it. You’ve got your medicines with you, have you?”
“I have some medicines in my bag.”
“Good! You’ll give me the dope she needs, and then get out and away from here as fast as you can and keep your mouth shut. You’ll be taken home safe, and you’ll get your money all right. Do you get me?”
“I understand.”