Lucy pulled away from him and sat sideways on the edge of the couch to face him, seeing for the first time the worried lines in his gaunt face. “There’s nothing to tell,” she said, “except what you already know. You told her to meet you-”
“If she said I told her to meet me some place, she lied,” Shayne cut in harshly. “I made that phone call for the benefit of another guy who was listening in and wanted to be assured she hadn’t talked to the police.”
“I’m not talking about that call,” she said, the puzzled expression clearing from her eyes. “She told me all about that. It was the second call-half an hour later.”
“Second call?” He stared at her in astonishment. “I only called once. Tell me about this other one-exactly what time was it?”
“A little after midnight. We turned on the midnight newscast and listened to the first part, about the Morton case, then turned it off and I-”
“Hold it,” said Shayne swiftly. “Was anything said that could have tipped off a listener that Miss Lally was spending the night here with you?”
“No.” Lucy shook her head decisively. “The only mention of her was that the police hadn’t located her for questioning. It was mostly about Miss Morton’s husband-how he had been positively identified as being in her room at six-fifteen, and it seemed practically certain he had murdered her.”
Shayne leaned back against the cushion and said, “All right. Now go on about the phone call. Place the time as close as you can.”
“Between ten and fifteen minutes after twelve,” she told him. “Do you mean someone else called and pretended to be you-and lured her away from here?”
“You should be able to recognize my voice over the phone by this time,” Shayne growled. “My God! Lucy, I thought I could trust you to take care of her.”
“But I didn’t answer the phone that second time,” she snapped. “I didn’t even hear it ring. I was under the shower with a bathing-cap over my hair and ears. She answered it. You couldn’t expect her to recognize your voice-or was that a gag about you two meeting for the first time tonight?”
“It wasn’t a gag, Lucy,” he said with weary impatience. “Tell me what happened without all these interpolations.”
“I came out of the shower and opened the door a crack to let the steam out and some air in. She was just ending the conversation, and I heard her say, ‘Just as fast as I can get there.’ I stuck my head out the door and asked her who had called. That’s when she turned all nasty-nice and coy. She blushed and tossed her head with a certain gleam in her eyes and said it was you and she was to hurry and meet you right away.”
“And?” Shayne demanded when she paused thoughtfully.
“I was just thinking about the way she can use her eyes when she hasn’t got those awful glasses on,” she interposed, and seeing the scowl on Shayne’s face hurried on:
“I said I’d throw on something in a hurry and go with her, thinking you wouldn’t want her to leave here alone, but she said oh, no! that you had said particularly she was to come alone. I decided-well-that you had your private reason for telling her that, so I didn’t argue with her, but I did ask where she was meeting you.
“She really got defensively coy then and said she was so sorry but you wanted her to keep it a deep secret and not to tell me anything. So, what would you expect me to think or do? If you think I’m going to interfere with your making love to every-”
“You should know me better than that,” he broke in irritably, suddenly sitting erect and looking into her troubled brown eyes. He laid a big hand over her interlaced fingers in her lap. “Don’t worry, angel. But we’ve got to think fast what to do about her.”
She swallowed hard and said, “I guess I messed things up, but I don’t know what I could have done, Michael. She’s bigger than I am, and I couldn’t have held her by force. I–I guess I could have followed her-if I hadn’t been so-so angry. Do you think she’s in danger? Do you think it was the murderer who pretended to be you on the phone?”
“I think the only thing that’s really in danger is my collecting the first half of a ten grand fee,” he told her. “It was Will Gentry, of course. Gentry and Tim Rourke together. They probably had one of Gentry’s men make the actual call in case you answered the phone. Tim told me he called earlier but you refused to tell him anything.”
Lucy nodded and her face brightened. “About eleven-thirty. I recognized his voice and simply denied that I knew anything at all about a Miss Lally. What do you mean about losing a fee, Michael?”
“A man named Burton Harsh. I jockeyed him into laying five thousand on the line within an hour on my promise to keep Lally away from the police. The fool got tight and threatened to kill Sara Morton last night.” He gave Lucy a brief resume of Harsh’s story, added, “If Harsh learns that Gentry has Miss Lally before he deposits that down payment at my hotel he won’t deposit it.”
He sat for a moment tugging at his left ear lobe and frowning, then muttered, “If they really do have Morton’s husband tagged for the job, there’s no reason Harsh’s threat need be made public. If I can reach Gentry and get him to listen to reason-”
He swung up from the couch and started for the phone, saying, “How about a drink, angel, while I call Will.”
He dialed headquarters and asked for Gentry when a strange voice answered.
“The chief is out at the moment,” the man told him. “Can I help you?”
“It’s a personal matter,” Shayne hedged, “having to do with Miss Beatrice Lally, a witness in the Morton case.”
“Oh-yes. We want very much to get in touch with Miss Lally. If you have any information as to her whereabouts, please give it to me.”
“I understood she had given herself up and was with the chief now,” Shayne said.
“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Hold on just a moment. By the way, who is this calling?”
“Captain Holden, Miami Beach Homicide,” Shayne answered. “We’ve got some questions to ask the Lally woman.”
“I see. Hold on, Captain.”
Shayne hung on, the trenches in his cheeks deepening, and sweat standing on his forehead. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, then held out his hand for the drink Lucy was bringing in. He had time for a quick swallow before the man at headquarters said:
“I don’t know where you got your information about Miss Lally, Captain. She isn’t here. However, it’s possible Chief Gentry has made contact and is with her now. May I call you back?”
“Don’t bother,” Shayne grunted, dropping the instrument on its prongs and glaring at it. He took another drink, and Lucy handed him an ice-water chaser.
“Did you find out anything, Michael?” she asked.
“I think it’s all right. I don’t believe Beatrice is in any danger. Will is out of the office-probably meeting her some place they arranged over the phone.”
“I’m glad it isn’t anything worse than that,” she breathed. “I got to thinking, back there in the kitchen, and I was afraid it might be the murderer and she was in danger. And it would have been my fault.”
Shayne’s gray eyes were bleak and staring. He said, absently, “You had no way of knowing it wasn’t me.”
“But I should have known,” she persisted. “I should have known it was a trick to get her out of here when she gave me that hocus-pocus about not even telling me where she was to meet you. That was a dead giveaway, but instead of using my head I got mad. She did look young and pretty with her glasses off; and I guess she has got what you’d call sex appeal,” she ended in a small, self-accusing voice.
Shayne finished his drink, set the glass down, and went over to put his arms around her. Tears swam in her eyes and he kissed her lids gently, forcing the tears to her cheeks. He kissed her lips not so gently and said:
“Now will you stop accusing me of making assignations with other women?”
She nodded her head, gasping for breath, and she was laughing when he let her go. “What will you do next, Michael?”
Shayne’s mouth twisted in a humorous grin. “About what, angel?”
“Michael Shayne! You know very well what I mean. About Miss Lally.” Her cheeks flamed suddenly and her eyes were very bright.
“I’ll have to find Will and see if he’s ready to play ball with me by keeping Burton Harsh’s name out of the papers.”
“He will agree, won’t he? If they catch Ralph Morton and pin it on him?”
“Probably.” He thought for a moment, asked, “How did Beatrice leave here? Afoot or by cab?”
“She phoned for a cab to pick her up here. I gave her the number.”
“What company?” Shayne picked up his hat and jammed it down over his unruly red hair. “With the new radio dispatching system they’re using and with two-way radios in the cabs, it’s not difficult to check the destination of any fare.”
“Why do you want to check her destination? That is, if you’re sure Chief Gentry has her.”
“I’m not sure of anything. What company did she call?”
“Martin’s Cab Company. The one I always use.”
Shayne rubbed his jaw reflectively and muttered, “I don’t know anybody at Martin’s.” He reached for the telephone, asking, “What’s the number?”
Lucy called the number as he dialed. When the cab company answered, Shayne said:
“One of your cabs was called to this address to pick up a party about twelve-fifteen.” He gave Lucy’s street number and continued casually, “I’m afraid she got mixed up and went to the wrong address. Would it be difficult for you to check your records and let me know exactly where she went?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult,” the voice said, “but we don’t give out such information without authorization. If you’d like to give me the correct address I can check and let you know whether they are the same.”
“Okay,” Shayne said in a resigned tone. “I didn’t much hope you’d fall for that. This is Michael Shayne speaking. I’m a detective and I’m trying to trace the party who left this address in one of your cabs at approximately twelve-fifteen.”
“A detective?” The voice was more dubious now. “If this is a legitimate police matter-”
“I’m private, but it’s still legitimate. What in hell do I have to do to get it-a court order?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m just the night dispatcher and don’t have authority to give out such information except to the police.”
Shayne muttered an oath and hung up. Lucy stood beside him, her young face anxious again. “It’s all my fault for letting her leave here,” she said.
“It’s going to be all right,” he assured her, “but I’d better check personally with Will.”
“Is there anything I can do, Michael?”
“Sure. Go back to bed and get your beauty sleep.” He caught her to him roughly and kissed her, then turned her around by the shoulders and gave her a little shove toward the bedroom. “I’ll call you if anything turns up,” he promised, and hurried out
Chief Will Gentry was alone in his private office when Shayne reached police headquarters a few minutes later. Gentry rolled his heavy lids up slowly and watched the detective’s approach with weary, solemn eyes.
“How’s it with you, Mike?” he rumbled. “Did that fellow call you back?”
“I didn’t suppose you were interested any more.” Shayne swung a straight chair around with the back toward Gentry and straddled the seat, folded his long arms across the top and rested his chin on them. “Rourke told me you had the Morton case busted wide open with her husband tagged for the killer.”
Gentry drummed blunt fingers on his desk. “Two or three things don’t check very well,” he grated. “We pretty well place him in her room at six-fifteen, but that letter she wrote said six-thirty, Mike.”
“And her watch was an hour slow,” Shayne reminded him. “So that may have meant seven-thirty.”
“I haven’t forgotten that. And why the devil would a husband send threatening notes to his wife? Why would he want to run her out of town?”
“Miss Lally might help you on that,” Shayne said blandly. “Did she tell you about Morton phoning her this morning?”
“You know damned well Miss Lally hasn’t told me anything. If she knows where to locate him-”
“Don’t feed me that, Will,” Shayne interrupted. “What I’m interested in right now is how much she told you about a certain party who visited Miss Morton last night and shot off his mouth about murdering her.”
“How can she tell me anything when you’ve got her locked in your harem?” Gentry growled. “If you force me to get out a search warrant for her, Mike, I swear I’ll see you rot in-” With his murky eyes fixed implacably on Shayne’s face his voice gradually lowered and he stopped with his jaw dropping in consternation at the expression on Shayne’s face.
Shoving his chair back, Shayne got up and leaned over the desk, said, “This is no time for horsing around, Will,” hoarsely and urgently. “Haven’t you got Miss Lally?”
“Certainly not. Haven’t you?”
“Please, Will,” he pleaded. “It’s important as hell. Do you swear you don’t know where she is?”
“Rourke guessed she might be at your secretary’s apartment,” said Gentry, plainly baffled at Shayne’s tone and manner.
“Tim!” Shayne’s eyes grew dangerously bright. “Where is he?” he demanded. “Where has he been the last half hour or so?”
“Right now he’s out in the press room. For the last half hour or so he has been out with me in a squad car chasing down a bum steer on Ralph Morton.”
Shayne straightened up, took off his hat, and clawed at his hair. He said slowly and absently, “Somebody has got her, Will. Somebody who wants her shut up permanently.”