The scarred face, almost level with Shayne's, was red and contorted with anger or some other emotion, but it was not fearsome or hideous as the girl's description had led Shayrie to expect. Indeed, discounting the scar on one cheek and the evidence of undue emotion, Shayne perceived it would have been a pleasant, almost handsomCj face of a well set-up man in his early thirties.
The scar ran diagonally from the left comer of his mouth upward to the point of a rather high cheek-bone, and Shayne guessed that normally it would not draw too much attention. But now it was a white weal against th(suffused flesh and stood out clearly.
Shayne stood flat-footed and immobile in the doorway, glowering at his visitor who moved to push forward, d(manding furiously, "Where is she? What's happened t‹ Nellie?"
Shayne put a big hand against the younger man's chest and pushed him backward. He growled. "You haven't been invited in. What the hell do you mean by this ruckus?"
"You're Shayne, aren't you?" The young man glared back at him defiantly and his hands balled into fists. "I'm coming in whether I'm invited or not, and no two-bit private dick is going to keep me out."
Shayne studied him speculatively, his gray eyes bleak and trenches deepening in his cheeks. He said, "Whenever you're ready to try your luck, bud."
For a long moment their eyes locked and held. The younger man's blood-shot and humid, Shayne's coldly challenging. Then with a supreme effort of will, his visitor forced his body to relax. He unbailed his fists and blinked a couple of times, wet dry lips with his tongue. He said hoarsely, "I'm sorry I tried to barge in. I'm Bert Paulson and I'm so goddamned worried about Nellie I'm just about off my rocker."
"So, that makes two of you," Shayne thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "That's better. Keep it that way and maybe we'll get along." He swung abruptly on his heel to let Paulson enter, walked back to the tray holding his cognac glass still half-full. He made no attempt to conceal the bottle of sherry and the glass the girl had used. He took a sip of cognac and turned to see Paulson striding belligerently in, looking suspiciously all about the room and at the three closed doors leading to bathroom, bedroom and kitchen.
"So her name is Nellie?" said Shayne pleasantly. "Funny, but I just now realized she didn't tell me."
"Where is she? What's happened to her, Shayne? What in the name of God made her act that way when she saw me?"
"What way? Have a drink, Paulson?" Shayne waved his hand toward the open liquor cabinet.
"No, thanks. Didn't she tell you? What kind of crazy story did she cook up to explain why she came here?"
"She told me several things." Shayne dropped into a chair with his glass. "I assure you she's perfectly okay and I will produce her whenever you convince me it's safe to do so."
"Safe?" snorted Paulson angrily. "Why in the name of God is she afraid of me?"
"Suppose you sit down and tell me."
With another lingering look at the three closed doors leading off the sitting room, Paulson sat stiffly on the edge of the chair in front of the redhead.
"I don't know. Unless she's really slipped a cog this time." Paulson's eyes burned into Shayne's. "How did she act? Is she completely insane?" His voice was strained and hoarse and he thudded his right fist into his palm. "Damn it, man! Don't you see-"
"I don't see very much right now," Shayne interrupted him. "So far as I could tell she made at least as much sense as you do right now. Calm down and try to give me a coherent story."
"Did she tell you about screaming and running from me in the hotel the moment she saw my face?"
Shayne nodded, taking a sip of cognac. "And about you chasing her down the back stairs and through the alley, and how she escaped from you by the skin of her teeth by hailing a cab. How'd you manage to trace her here, by the way?"
"I got the license number of the cab and found the driver and asked him. But why is she afraid of me, Shayne? She knows I'd never do anything to harm her." Bert Paulson looked younger than his thirty years at that moment. Young and hurt and completely bewildered.
"That's not the way she gave it to me," Shayne told him dryly. "She claims she doesn't know who you are. That she never saw you before in her life. She suspects that you murdered her brother, and-"
"Her brother?" Paulson's look of astonishment was ludicrous. "I'm her brother. Didn't she tell you that?"
Michael Shayne sat very still holding his cognac glass inches from his lips, staring into it as though he had never seen the amber stuff before and was fascinated by it.
"No," he said, slowly. "She didn't tell me that, Paulson. In fact she assured me she had seen the body of her murdered brother in room three-sixteen at the Hibiscus Hotel no less than ten minutes before you jumped at her in the corridor as she came out of the room."
Paulson's body went slack in his chair. He closed his eyes tightly and put his left hand over them as though he had to shut out the glaring overhead light. In a strangled voice, he muttered, "I guess I could use a drink after all."
Shayne poured cognac into the sherry glass on the tray. He pushed it into Paulson's hand, asking matter-of-factly, "Is it all right straight?"
Paulson sloshed a little as he got it up to his lips. He emptied the glass without taking it away, shuddered and blew out a long breath.
"I'm Nellie's brother," he told Shayne slowly. "I'm not dead, as you can well see. Now do you realize the condition she's in? Why I'm so worried? Why I have to find her and take care of her?"
Shayne said, "I can see that all right. If you are her brother and are telling the truth. But you see, I got a completely different story from her. She came here and hired me to protect her from)'ow-describing you perfectly, including the scar. And she also wants me to find out who cut her brother's throat tonight and how they got rid of the body. So you can see," he ended reasonably, "it puts me in a dilemma. Until I find out which one of you is telling the truth-"
"But I can prove it," said Paulson vehemently. He reached in his hip pocket for a wallet, opened it and began pulling out cards. "I've got identification. I can prove I'm Bert Paulson. You look. I don't see too well without my glasses."
Shayne didn't glancis at the cards. "And I can easily prove I'm Mike Shayne. But if I told you I had a sister named Nellie who had suddenly gone crazy and thought I was going to kill her, that wouldn't prove I was her brother. Pour another drink if you like, and let's htfar your end of this gobbledegook."
"No, thanks. One is enough right now." Paulson put his empty glass back on the tray. "Nellie and I live in Jacksonville. That is, we did live there until I got pulled into the
Korean war. Mother died while I was overseas, and when I came back I found Nellie living alone and apparently liking it. She had a good job in Jax and seemed to be enjoying being on her own."
He paused and looked down at his hands for a moment, resuming with apparent effort. "Maybe I was wrong, but I thought maybe it was just what she needed. Mother was always-sort of over-possessive, I guess you'd call it. Even with me. And Nellie never had been able to call her soul her own. She had a nervous breakdown when she was sixteen," he went on fiercely, "and spent several months in a sanitarium. I always felt it was entirely mother's fault. So when I came back and thought I'd settle down in Jax and Nellie could sort of keep house for me, I saw she resented it. In fact," he went on slowly, nibbling his lower lip in concentration, "she blew up all over the place when I suggested it, and accused me of being as bad as mother about wanting to hold her down.
"Well, she was twenty and earning her own living." He spread out his hands and looked at Shayne helplessly. "I didn't know. I loved her and wanted to protect her, but- I just didn't know. I decided maybe it was best to let her J go it alone. So I got a job in Detroit, and from her letters I — thought everything was fine.
"That was up to two weeks ago when I got a wire saying she was in trouble."
"What sort of trouble?"
"She didn't say. It was a funny wire. Wild and-well, sort of incoherent. So I wired her to hold the fort and drove down-straight through in twenty-six hours. And when I got to Jax she'd vanished. No one knew where she had gone. So I hired this private detective in Jacksonville, and this afternoon he reported to me he'd located her in Miami-at the Hibiscus Hotel. Room three-sixteen. And I knew something was awfully funny, because always before when we came to Miami we stayed at the Tropical
Arms-where they knew us and all.
"So I jumped in my car and drove down as fast as I could."
"What time did you leave Jacksonville?" interjected Shayne.
"A little before four o'clock."
"You weren't in much of a hurry to reach her." said Shayne dryly. "Anybody can do it in four hours."
"I had an accident the other side of Fort Lauderdale. Crazy driver smashed into my rear-end when I slowed for a light."
Paulson rubbed his forehead vaguely. "Slammed me against the windshield. Broke my glasses and half knocked me out. I had to drive slow coming on in. That delayed me a couple of hours, so it was about nine-thirty when I got to the Hibiscus."
"And?" prompted Shayne when Paulson stopped again, his gaze withdrawn and inward as though the memory rankled horribly.
"Well, I went to the elevator and up to the third floor. As I walked down the corridor toward three-sixteen, I saw the door stood open and light was coming out. And when I was about eight feet away, Nellie stepped out and turned toward me. She gave one scream and started running in the other direction. I've thought and thought about it," he ended wearily, "and I admit the hall light was dim and she'd just stepped out of a brightly-lit room, so maybe she didn't recognize me in one glance. That might explain-"
"It wouldn't explain," said Shayne sharply, "her story about being registered at the Roney Plaza Hotel with her brother, and going to the Hibiscus at nine-thirty in response to a call from him and finding him lying on the bed in three-sixteen with his throat slit wide open."
"But there wasn't anybody in the room-dead or alive," protested Paulson. "I'm positive. I glanced in through the Open door as I ran past after Nellie. The room was empty."
Shayne nodded slowly, draining his glass and setting it on the tray. "I know. That fits her story, too. About the body of her brother disappearing from the room while she was telephoning for help from another room."
"But I'm her brother," fumed Paulson helplessly. "Let me see her, Mr. Shayne. Let me talk to her. You can be right there and listen. Don't you see she needs help-making up a crazy story about me being murdered and then running away at the sight of me?"
"Somebody," agreed Shayne, "is sure as hell making up a crazy story." He drummed blunt fingertips on the arm of his chair indecisively. "Couple of things we can check without too much trouble."
"Then start checking them, for God's sake I" burst out Paulson. "Call yourself a detective? Get to the bottom of this. You claim Nellie is all right and you can produce her any time, but how do I know. Prove it."
Shayne said equably, "You'll have to take my word for it." He went to the telephone and called the number of the Hibiscus Hotel which he had looked up earlier. When the switchboard answered, he asked, "Do you have a Miss Paulson registered? Nellie Paulson from Jacksonville?"
"Three-sixteen," Evelyn replied at once. "But Miss Paulson isn't in just now."
"I know. Look, anything more on bodies appearing and disappearing from her room?"
There was a long pause. Then Evelyn said primly, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir. Who is calling?"
Shayne said, "Never mind," and hung up. He nodded to Paulson who had risen and was looking at him eagerly. "That much checks. Miss Paulson has three-sixteen and she isn't in."
"Well-what are you waiting for?"
"One more detail." Shayne called the Roney Plaza
J
number from memory. He asked again, "Do you have a Miss Paulson registered? Miss Nellie Paulson from Jacksonville?"
It took quite a bit longer to get an answer this time. And it was decisively negative: "Sorry, but we have no Miss Paulson."
Shayne hung up with a shrug. He told Paulson, "I guess it's about time we tried to straighten this out." Without further explanation, he strode to the kitchen door and knocked on it. "Nellie. This is Mike Shayne. It's all right to come out now."
Bert Paulson ran toward him, his face contorted with anger. "Damn iti Do you mean to say she was in here all the time you were stalling me along? Why didn't you-?"
"Shut up," warned Shayne angrily. "I promised her I'd get rid of you before I called her out. If she hears you're still here-"
He turned and knocked more loudly on the door. "It's okay, Nellie. Unlock the door. I give you my word it's all right to come out."
There was still no response from the kitchen. Paulson shoved Shayne aside and rattled the knob frantically. "Nellie! Do you hear me, Nellie? It's Bert, darling. Bert! Don't you hear? Everything's all right. I swear it is. I've been so worried."
Shayne stood aside with a bleakly saturnine look on his face while Bert pleaded through the closed door for his sister to come out. After a few minutes attempted cajolery got them nowhere, Shayne said, "If you'd kept your damned mouth closed until she unlocked the door, everything would have been all right. As it is-the way she seems to feel about you-she's probably run out the back door and down the fire escape by this time."
"The fire escape?" Paulson whirled about, his scar standing out strongly on his cheek. "You mean there's a back way out of that room?"
Shayne said sardonically, "That's what I mean. If you'd let nie handle it-"
That was as far as he got before Paulson whirled and threw his weight against the door. The hook and eye holding it on the inside gave under the impact and the door crashed open.
One glance showed them the kitchen was empty. Paulson jumped for the back door and found it unlocked, jerked it open and stepped out onto the fire escape landing to peer anxiously downward.
He reappeared with his face dark with rage. "She's gone," he panted. "God only knows where. Or what she'll do next. Damn your soul to hell, Shayne. It's your fault. If you'd told me at the beginning-"
Shayne caught his shoulder and whirled him about as he started to run out. "Take it easy. Maybe she had a hell of a good reason for ducking out before you broke that door down. You and I are going down to police headquarters and-"
An extraordinary change came over Bert Paulson's face. He backed away and his right hand darted inside his jacket buttoned in front and reappeared holding a Colt's. 45 Army automatic aimed squarely at Shayne's belly. His lips drew away from his teeth in a wolfish grin as Shayne hesitated, trying to decide whether to jump him or not.
"Don't do it. Mister Detective. I'd just as soon kill you as any of those men I killed in Korea, and don't forget it. You can go down to police headquarters if you want, but I you'll go alone. I've had enough talk. You don't seem to realize Nellie's out there in the night alone somewhere. With God knows what sort of hallucinations running through her head. ||
"I'm going out to find her, by God." He was backing away steadily toward the front door as he talked, the big gun held unwaveringly in line with Shayne's middle.
"Don't make a move forward," he warned. "Not one step or I'll let you have it. I swear I will. She's my sister and I'm responsible for her."
He fumbled behind him with his left hand for the doorknob, his eyes feverishly bright on Shayne. "Don't try to follow or stop me. Somebody will sure as hell get hurt."
He opened the door and glided out, closed it behind him fast.
Shayne sighed and walked slowly to the tray and poured himself out a drink. Nellie should be perfectly safe with Lucy by this time-or at least in a cab on her way to Lucy's. And there was no possible chance for Bert to find her there. In the meantime, Shayne had a lot of questions to ask in different places.