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Drake or something like that. I dunno. You know how it is. You get a hunch. Mine was that he wasn’t leveling. Something screwy about it.”
    Shayne sat up a little straighter. He asked, “Can you describe the man?”
    Denton’s lids dropped over his black eyes for a moment and he drummed stubby finger tips on the desk. “Didn’t pay much attention,” he muttered. “Bald headed. Fifty, maybe.”
    “Sloppy clothes?”
    “No. That was something. Dressed up like a Christmas tree—spats and all. Not loud, see. Like he had a valet, maybe, to fix him up. The way you and me couldn’t look if we spent a grand on one outfit.”
    “Name was Drake?”
    “Yeh. Think so. Look, does this bird tie in with what you’re looking for?”
    “He might,” Shayne said slowly. “Did you take him for a dope-head?”
    “N-No. Hell, you know how it is. Nobody can pick one for sure. Not that kind. The punks, sure. The ghouls that hit it steady. But him—I dunno. Why? Do you think he was giving me a line? Trying to work me for a line on where to buy the stuff?”
    Shayne grinned slowly at Denton’s wrath. “I doubt whether he was after that, but if he’s the guy I think he was, he didn’t intend any good for the girl he was trying to find. You know where I can find Drake?”
    “I believe he said he was at the Angelus Hotel if I got anything for him.”
    “The Angelus,” Shayne repeated. “And now, how about Soule?”
    “Rudy Soule? I thought you’d been out of town for nine years.”
    Shayne said, “I have, but I just had a talk with John McCracken.”
    “And he told you that Soule and me was like that?” Denton extended his right hand with the first two fingers fitted snugly together.
    Shayne shook his head and said placidly, “He mentioned Soule’s name and said this was your precinct.”
    “Well, I hear things, of course,” Captain Denton admitted. “Maybe Soule is in the racket. I wouldn’t know.”
    “All I want,” Shayne explained, “is to get a line on the setup. A word from you in the right direction might help.”
    “The hell you say,” Denton snarled. His heavy features were suddenly contorted with rage. “The chief sent you, huh? And I’m supposed to fall for that. I’ve had enough of his stoolies trying to hang something on me. Get out—and stay out of my precinct, Shayne. Think up a better story than the one you just handed me before you come back.” Denton jabbed a button on his desk. He was breathing hard and his face was very red.
    Shayne said, “I’d watch that blood pressure if I were you, Captain Denton.”
    Sergeant Parks and a patrolman came in.
    Denton snarled, “Take a good look at this redhead. He’s an out-of-town shamus stooling around our precinct to hang something on us. Show him the way out and pass the word along that if anything happens to him there won’t be any comeback.”
    Shayne stood up. His eyes were bleak with anger and his teeth showed between drawn lips. He said, “If that’s the way you want it, Denton.”
    Denton said, “Don’t be too rough with him here in the station, boys.”
    Shayne started out. The sergeant and the patrolman got out of his way as he stalked past them with long-legged strides. He heeled the door shut behind him and went out past the desk into the open air.

 
CHAPTER FOUR
     
    THE ANGELUS was a small, modern hotel on Carondolet, just the other side of Canal Street. The lobby was overfurnished and gave off an air of stiff respectability. Shayne strode across to the desk and asked, “Do you have a Mr. Drake registered?”
    The clerk was young and bored. He glanced through a file of cards and nodded. “Number three-oh-nine. I don’t believe he’s in, however,” he added with a glance behind him at rows of numbered key cubicles.
    Shayne moved to the end of the counter and lifted the receiver of a house telephone. He asked for 309 and listened to the ringing for a long minute without replacing the receiver. Then he hung up and strolled