“Sit down,” said the detective pleasantly. “Have a cigarette. You look pretty jagged this morning.”

In silence Stebbins took the cigarette and seated himself with hunched shoulders on the chair that was indicated. Labar leaned forward and gave him a light.

“Had time to have a good think about things, haven’t you? What made you fly off the handle last night? Bit jumpy, weren’t you?”

“I can’t remember anything about last night,” said Stebbins. “Must have been drunk.”

“Well, I wouldn’t altogether say that.” Labar’s tone was that of friendly disagreement. He stirred a little paper package that lay on the edge of his desk with a long forefinger. “I guess you’d had a shot too much, but it wasn’t drink, eh?”

“Right oh,” agreed the other languidly. “I was doped.”