At first Shayne thought the phone-book address was a misprint. Then he saw a narrow cobbled lane leading between two stucco houses built in the fake-Moorish style of the mid-1920s, ending in a paved court.
He tried Candida’s number again and again got no answer. He left the Buick in a University of Miami parking lot and entered the court on foot. The house he was looking for was a low building which seemed to be a remodeled stable, in spite of the fact that Coral Gables had been built after city people stopped keeping horses. The building contained three duplex apartments. The one in the middle, with “Candida Morse” in decorative script over the wrought-iron bell pull, was dark.
Shayne snapped his lighter to look at the lock. The lock itself presented no problem, but the massive half-inch bolt could only be forced with heavier equipment than Shayne carried with him. He went around to look at the kitchen door. That, too, had been reinforced. He pushed his cast through the kitchen window, reached in carefully and unlocked it. A moment later he was inside the house.
After turning on the light, he broke the slivers of glass still clinging to the sash, found a broom and swept the mess under the kitchen table.
He searched the downstairs carefully. A small antique secretary in the living room had one locked drawer, which he forced. Inside, he found Candida’s passport, her college diploma, copies of income-tax forms for earlier years, bundles of letters and canceled checks. He flipped through the passport to see how much traveling she did, and found her birthdate. She was twenty-seven. The letters were in their original envelopes. He checked the postmarks without finding anything current enough to interest him.
A steep, narrow staircase led to the second floor. In Candida’s bedroom, a very feminine room which she had passed through in a hurry, changing clothes on the run, Shayne looked around speculatively, rubbing his jaw with the ball of his thumb. His reflection in a big mirror over the bureau caught his eye. He needed maintenance. His sling was torn and dirty. His shirt was black with oil and dirty cobwebs picked up crawling out of the basement window of the Buena Vista apartment house.
He continued to look around. The headboard of the oversize bed was divided into compartments holding books, a clock-radio, a phone. He pulled open a sliding drawer and gave a grunt of satisfaction, seeing three flat metal boxes, the size of a standard safe-deposit box, each tagged with a number. Shayne picked the box with the highest number. He worked on it with the flat chisel blade of a combination tool, holding the box with the weight of his cast. He twisted slowly, increasing the pressure, and the lid sprang open. He grinned when he saw what the box contained.
He emptied it on the bureau. In an unmarked envelope there were four 35-millimeter negatives. He held one to the light. It showed a man and a girl on the floor. The girl was only partially clothed. Her blouse was torn. The man’s face didn’t show, but Shayne had no doubt that in an enlarged print the narrow head and thin fringe of hair would be recognized as belonging to Jose Despard.
In the same envelope was a slip of paper with a number and a padlock combination. On a separate page there was a kind of timetable, giving the arrivals and departures of seven or eight people, identified by initials, over a ten-day period. Finally, there was a small film can. Inside it was a tightly wound roll of microfilm. Shayne unrolled an inch or so. It was the top-secret T-239 report.
Still grinning happily, he transferred these objects to various pockets and put the rifled box back in the headboard compartment.
Again the disreputable figure in the mirror caught his eye. He pulled off the sling and worked the shirt over his head and then over the cast. After washing his hands and face, he made a new sling from one of Candida’s pillow slips. Then he washed out the shirt, using part of a bottle of shampoo. He wrung it with one hand. While he was draping it over the shower rail he heard a door open downstairs.
He went to the hall.
“I really do seem to be rattled,” he heard Candida’s voice say. “I left all the lights on. I never do that.”
There were footsteps. The door closed.
A man’s voice said, “Let’s take a trip, shall we, after we get the check? I need a vacation. I’m so damn tense it isn’t funny.”
“Hal, darling, you’re worrying about Michael Shayne again, and will you please stop? I have that situation in hand. Jake Fitch will be calling me promptly at nine. It won’t be with bad news.”
“I need a drink.”
Shayne called down, “So do I. Make one for me.”
He returned to the bedroom and finished brushing his hair. Then he went down the cramped stairs, ducking his head to keep from hitting the low ceiling.
Candida and her employer were standing in the hall below. They watched him emerge-his legs, his fresh sling, then his powerful bare torso. Candida was wearing a straight skirt and a sleeveless evening sweater, buttoned down the front. She had partly turned toward the living room, and Shayne saw that the sweater had no back whatever. Begley’s clothes were a little too sharp, as always. The weekend of heavy drinking had taken the highlights out of his tan.
He said thickly, “This is what you mean when you say you have Shayne in hand? You absolutely don’t give a damn who you get into bed with, do you?”
“Don’t be childish,” she said with her usual coolness.
“Who’s being childish?” Begley shouted, turning on her. “Me? I’m being childish? That’s your opinion?”
“Be quiet, Hal. He obviously broke in and he’s just leaving. I don’t know why he’s not wearing a shirt.”
“I had to wash it,” Shayne said. “I’ve been crawling out windows. If you don’t have cognac, I’ll take bourbon.”
“You didn’t invite him?” Begley said. “You haven’t hit the sack with him yet? Now there’s a switch.”
He came around to face Shayne, nervously unbuttoning his jacket. He was an inch or two over six feet, broad and solid through the chest. At one time he might have been able to stand up to the detective, but he had spent too much time lately making money.
“Miss Morse wants you to leave,” he said. “Leave. We’ll mail you the shirt. Don’t think you’ve got any immunity because of that broken arm. Under your own steam or otherwise, take your pick.”
Shayne stepped in close, his right arm at his side. Begley held his eyes, waiting for the right to the body. Shayne half-feinted with his right shoulder, then struck with the cast.
The hook caught the expensive fabric of Begley’s light sports jacket and tore downward, taking part of his shirt and possibly some flesh with it. Begley flailed out without waiting to get set. Shayne yanked him off balance and blocked the blow easily. Then, his lips twisting, he brought the cast up hard.
The hook tore loose. Begley took two wandering steps backward, collided with an upholstered chair and sat down. Candida hurried to him.
“At this point,” Shayne said, “you offer to settle.”
“Wha-?” Begley said.
Candida turned with a flare of her skirt. “The devil we’ll settle! We have nothing to talk to you about, so now that you’ve asserted yourself on your usual level, why don’t you go upstairs and get your wet shirt and get the hell out of here?”
Her voice was shaking. He grinned at her.
“He owns the firm. Let’s give him a chance to make up his own mind.”
Begley felt his jaw and finally managed to close it. “Settle?” he said, pronouncing only one syllable. He attempted to concentrate. “How much?”
“I’m not talking about money,” Shayne said. “You can’t outbid Despard’s. Give us the name of your contact, get United States to withhold the new paint and we won’t take anybody into court.”
Begley stared up, beginning to function again. After a moment he said quietly, “Is that a serious offer?”
Candida put in, “Naturally it’s not serious. It’s a trick.”
“It may not be,” Begley said slowly. “Shayne knows how hard it is to get enough evidence to impress a judge. I’d like to hear more about it. Candy, pour me a small slug of Scotch, please. I’m not up to that long walk across the room.”
After glancing at Shayne, she went into the kitchen. Begley went on, his eyes narrowing, “To be realistic, you can’t hope to get a cancellation at this late date. They’re in too deep. They might listen to a two- or three-month postponement. That would give your people a chance to get organized. I don’t say Perkins will like it, but you outweigh us financially, and if we can avoid a bruising fight-”
Candida came back. Making no comment, she handed him a tumbler partly filled with straight whiskey. She had brought the bottle and two more glasses. She let Shayne make his own.
Begley emptied his glass without pausing for breath. He stood up, steadying himself on the back of the chair until he felt it was safe to let go.
“I don’t want to say anything more before I’ve talked to my principal. He’s in town, as it happens. Candida’s been handling this account. Now that I know which way the wind is blowing, I think I’ll let you talk to her about it. I’ll sound out Perkins. Let Candida know where I can reach you.”
“Will he take your advice?” Shayne asked.
“I imagine so. He’s a reasonable sort.”
He was trying hard to keep up the pretense of being a top man in a competitive business, but the cracks showed. He straightened his jacket.
“Incidentally, Shayne,” he said, turning, “I’m thinking of cutting back on the more freewheeling aspects of the business. The take, frankly, is not that good. If I go back to recruitment full time, I see no reason why I should impinge on you or you should impinge on me. There’s enough legitimate money lying around for both of us.”
“I thought you wanted it all.”
“No, just my fair share.”
He went out. A moment later Shayne heard a motor start in the court. He poured himself a drink.
“He’s getting ready to dump you,” he said, drinking.
“Oh?” she said coldly.
“It’s his one out. You had charge of the Deedee business, and he’s going to maintain that the duty work was strictly yours. If he moves fast enough, he may even get away with it.”
“Very transparent, Michael. I know you’d like to drive a wedge between us. It’s the oldest ruse in the world. Far from being dumped, as you put it, I’m being made a full partner.”
Shayne gave her an amused look. “In return for what? For giving me Walter Langhorne?”
She gave a tired sigh. “It’s true Hal and I have different views on how to proceed. It’s been wearing, to say the least. I’ll need a couple of anacin before I can deal with that remark. Please help yourself to the whiskey. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Shayne lifted his glass to her and sat down on the sofa. As soon as she was out of sight, he kicked off his shoes and followed, taking his drink.
He made no noise on the stairs, but a floorboard creaked beneath him in the upstairs hall. Candida was on the other side of the bed. She whirled, holding the empty safe-deposit box.
“Damn you!” she said. “Damn you, Mike Shayne! I thought you were a little too sure of yourself.”
“Does it make that much difference? Deedee and Fitch and Despard have all been talking to me steadily for the last hour.”
She threw the metal box on the bed. “I thought it would be safer here than at the office. How wrong I was! What are you going to do with it?”
“Put a few people in jail,” he told her, coming into the bedroom. “Whether that includes you is going to depend on how much you tell me. I don’t want to take this extortion setup to the cops. The wrong people will be hurt. In my book-and it’s an argument I have with certain vice cops in this town-the crime called ‘entrapment’ is worse than a little extracurricular sex between a middle-aged man and a teenage girl who doesn’t give much of a damn as long as there’s money in it. What’s Begley’s idea of a solution that will satisfy everybody?”
She bit her lip without answering.
“Walter Langhorne wouldn’t be bad, as a matter of fact,” Shayne said. “He’s in no position to complain. We might be willing to settle for Langhorne. What’s your objection?”
“Because he-”
She stopped.
Shayne said, “Because he didn’t do it or because you liked him?”
“I did like him. I liked him terribly.”
“Spies aren’t supposed to like people,” Shayne commented. “It gets in the way.”
She shook back her hair. “They aren’t supposed to trust anybody, either, and I don’t trust you, Mike Shayne. You talk about a solution that will satisfy everybody. That’s pure hypocrisy, and you know it. Somebody has to win, somebody has to lose. If we let you beat us again, we’re finished. Don’t get Hal Begley, because all a private detective named Shayne has to do is clear his throat and they fall to pieces. Any intelligence assignments that came our way from then on would be the dangerous ones other firms had already turned down.”
“What’s wrong with being a simple executive recruiter?”
“It’s so damn dull!” she burst out. “You ought to understand that, if anybody can. Mike, spell out the alternatives, will you?”
“I have Deedee. That’s a front-page story even without Despard’s name. It’s libel-proof.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I used to think there was no such thing as bad publicity. Hal Begley, the Agency That Gets Results. But this, I’m afraid-”
Meeting him at the foot of the bed, she took the glass out of his hand. She shuddered after drinking from it.
“How can you drink it straight like that? Well, Mike. I’ve been making mistakes. Having you beaten up was a mistake. Trying to hurt you with Deedee was a mistake.”
He grinned at her.
“And what’s that expression supposed to mean?” she asked. “Don’t you think I mean it?”
“You keep telling me things.”
She looked puzzled, then shook it off. Her tongue flicked across her lips.
“Mike, it may very well be that you have too many cards in your hand. Can I have a little time or do I have to decide this minute?”
“What’s going to change five minutes from now?”
“I was thinking of longer. Could I have a couple of hours?”
“Why?”
“Mike, to catch my breath! I don’t know how you did it, but suddenly everything’s upside down. Yes, Hal wants me to tell you the report came from Walter, with some circumstantial story you won’t be able to check in less than a couple of days. But I’ve been refusing to do it that way. Either I’ll tell the truth or tell you to go to hell.”
“Tell the truth, Candida, it’s simpler.”
She shook her head shortly. “Simple is the one thing it’s not. I’m honestly not trying to be clever. I don’t trust you, and I’m not asking you to trust me. You can keep your eagle eye on me and see that I don’t make any phone calls behind your back.” She put a hand on his bare arm. “I’m in earnest. Let’s sit down and do a little civilized drinking and talk about something altogether different.”
Shayne was still grinning. “I knew you’d do it with a twist. And after a few civilized drinks, you wouldn’t holler for help if I started unbuttoning your sweater. Isn’t that part of the idea?”
“Would that be so horrible?”
“What’s Begley going to be doing in the meantime?”
She ran her cool hand up his shoulder. “Conspiring, probably. Does it matter? I truly don’t know what Hal has in mind. You’re giving me too much credit. I merely happen to think we both need a brief intermission.”
Their bodies weren’t quite touching, but a steady arc of static electricity jumped the gap. Her lifted breast on the other side of the thin evening sweater touched his chest. She moved again, setting up a tiny friction and increasing the charge he was getting.
“You don’t want to drink,” she said. “You have only one hand. You may need it.”
She took the glass and put it on the headboard. She came twisting back and drifted in against him.
“Mike,” she whispered, her hand sliding around his waist. “God, I like people who-”
Shayne was thinking that there was actually nothing Begley or anyone could do during the next half hour that would make much difference. When her mouth came up, he had every intention of kissing her. At the same time, he wasn’t taken by surprise when the bare arm which she was raising to slip around his neck jerked in at him suddenly, and the hand proved to have a bookend in it.
He fell away from the swing, and the bookend grazed his head. He pulled her to the floor after him. The bookend, a bronze bust of Beethoven, bounced on the carpet beside him.
He was laughing. “If you don’t stop trying so hard, you’ll end up with circles under your eyes.”
He pulled her in against him, his hand on her bare neck, and kissed her hard. She struggled for only a moment, then gave herself to the kiss. He felt some of the tension leave her. Rotating, she slipped the rest of the way to the floor, taking him with her.
A moment passed before he raised his head. “Now maybe we understand each other. It begins to dawn on me that you aren’t worried about those pictures of Despard and the girl. That’s not why you tried to knock me out. What you don’t want me to study is the time sheet.”
She shifted, pinioned to the floor by the heavy sling. “Who told you about it? Jake? Jake, of course. I shouldn’t have kept it this long. I thought we might need it for authentication.”
“Doesn’t United States Chemical trust you?”
“Why should they?”
“Who sold you the report? Young Hallam?”
“Mike, that cast weighs a ton. It’s crushing me. Before I say yes or no, will you please think about the implications?”
“I’ve already thought about them.”
“Then can’t you see why-”
The phone rang.