She shivered, drew Spade’s overcoat closer around her, and yawned. “You told me to stay till you got back or phoned.”
“Oh, you’re the sister of the boy who stood on the burning deck?”
“I wasn’t going to—” She broke off and stood up, letting his coat slide down on the chair behind her. She looked with dark excited eyes at his temple under the brim of his hat and exclaimed: “Oh, your head! What happened?”
His right temple was dark and swollen.
“I don’t know whether I fell or was slugged. I don’t think it amounts to much, but it hurts like hell.” He barely touched it with his fingers, flinched, turned his grimace into a grim smile, and explained: “I went visiting, was fed knockout-drops, and came to twelve hours later all spread out on a man’s floor.”
She reached up and removed his hat from his head. “It’s terrible,” she said. “You’ll have to get a doctor. You can’t walk around with a head like that.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks, except for the headache, and that might be mostly from the drops.” He went to the cabinet in the corner of the office and ran cold water on a handkerchief. “Anything turn up after I left?”
“Did you find Miss O’Shaughnessy, Sam?”
“Not yet. Anything turn up after I left?”
“The District Attorney’s office phoned. He wants to see you.”
“Himself?”