telling you it’s enough to drive a man outta business.”
“I know it’s tough. But how am I going to get anywhere without gas? Do you know where I can get some?” he ended desperately.
“Nope. Sure don’t.” The man turned and went inside.
Shayne grinned and got back into his car. Maybe those checkmarks on Eddie’s list didn’t mean what he thought they meant. This man’s refusal had been very definite. He decided to try once more, and found another checked name on the list with an address back toward the city.
A plump woman was in charge of the pumps. She told Shayne that her husband was out. She was sympathetic but adamant when he went into his act, turning the tables on him by interrupting with a long account of her own grievances.
Shayne lugubriously agreed with her and drove back to Miami. It was seven minutes past eight when he parked his car on Flagler Street in front of the Biscayne Building.
There was a single elevator in operation, and he went up to the fourth floor. Light showed through the frosted glass leading into the offices of the Motorist Protective Association.
He tried the knob gently. The door was locked. He stooped and put his ear to the keyhole but could hear nothing. He dropped to his knees and examined the lock, got out his keyring and quietly went to work. After a couple of minutes he opened the door and went into the outer office with his hand on his pocketed gun. The reception room was empty, but a door to the right of the president’s office was ajar and light came through.
Shayne stepped silently across the soft blue rug to the open door. Edna Taylor straightened up from closing a steel filing cabinet which stood beside the south window, She gave a little start when she saw Shayne, then asked angrily, “How did you get here?”
“Picked your lock.” He sauntered into the office and put one hip to the corner of a polished oak desk. There were several steel filing cases and two straight chairs in the room. Directly behind the swivel chair at the desk was a bookcase of fumed oak, the shelves laden with books.
She compressed her lips into a straight line and thrust her hands into the pockets of her gray suit, regarding him with a mingled expression of fear and hatred. “That was quite a cute trick,” she said icily.
“I thought it was a good idea.”
“And I suppose it was you who telephoned Mr. Brannigan and pretended you were the man who died in my house.”
“I was playing detective,” he said amiably, “but your president was too smart to take the bait.”
“Because he never heard of Eddie Seeney,” she said witheringly.
His gaze flickered over the filing cabinet. He sighed and said, “I suppose there’s no use going through your records now. You’ve had time to get rid of any evidence showing that Seeney worked for you.”
“If you think that’s what I’ve been doing here…”
“It’s what you would have done if Seeney had been employed here,” he interrupted. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered her one.
“No… thanks,” she said.
Shayne took one and struck a light on his thumbnail to light it.
She went stiffly to her desk and sat down, rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her palms. “Why do you persist in believing those things about me, Michael?” she asked in an injured tone.
“You had some good reason for rushing down here at night.”
“I often work at night,” she said wearily. “I was upset, and I certainly didn’t want to sit around and look at the blood on the floor.”
“Did you get in touch with Brannigan about Seeney?”
“Of course I did. I was anxious to know whether there was any connection.”
“And he told you?”
“He had never heard of Edward Seeney… until you made that silly attempt to trap him into an admission over the phone.”
Shayne said blandly, “I make a lot of mistakes, but I usually come up with the right answers.”
“And you still think I’m a murderer?”
“I don’t think… I know. You killed a man.”
“Oh, why did you come here, Michael? Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here. I rather hoped to go over the records undisturbed.”
“Breaking and entering.” She twisted her lips scornfully. “You could be shot for that, you know.”
Shayne looked at her in mild surprise. “That’s the way a detective has to work. Didn’t you know?”
“You enjoy it, don’t you… snooping around and suspecting everybody.”
“It’s a living.” He puffed on his cigarette, then asked, “Does a boathouse go with that estate of yours?”
“Of course there’s a boathouse.”
“With a motorboat thrown in?”
“I don’t know. The boathouse is locked and I haven’t bothered to investigate. How does that concern you?”
Shayne touched the bruise on his face and said, “A man tried to kill me today… and he got away in a motor- boat before I could kill him.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t I, dressed as a man?” Her sarcasm lashed out at him.
“How about fixing me up with a membership in your organization?” he suggested. “I need to be protected against a lot of things.”
“If you think I’m going to…”
“Oh, I don’t want you to give me one.” He took out his wallet and extracted a five-dollar bill. “That’s the initial fee, isn’t it?”
Her lips curled as she looked at the bill in his hand. “That’s not one of my duties,” she said sternly. “If you’ll come around in the morning…”
“It has to be tonight,” Shayne told her firmly.
“I think you’re utterly insane, Michael Shayne,” she said without conviction.
Shayne grinned and said, “It’s very simple,” cheerfully. “The more I learn about the Motorist Protective Association the more I realize I’m just the kind of guy who needs a membership.”
“We reserve the right to refuse membership to anyone.” She stiffened her body and looked at him, and it was as though she suddenly clothed her body and her expression with armor of steel.
Shayne laughed softly. “You’re not afraid, are you, Edna? Not afraid of what I might learn if I became a member?”
“Of course I’m not afraid. Our business is strictly legitimate.”
“Then prove it by giving me a membership card.”
She took a keyring from her purse and stood up, walked swiftly through the reception room, and unlocked the door marked PRIVATE.
Shayne followed her, looking over her shoulder when she opened a steel file drawer. She took out a card and went to a typewriter desk. He followed her again, and while she filled out the card, filling in his description without looking at him, he picked up a blank sheet of typewriter paper and held it up to the light.
The paper was not Hammond Bond.
She signed the card and looked up. She said angrily, “Go ahead and search the place if you want to. I don’t believe I’ve left any bodies around.”
Shayne handed her the bill when she stood up and gave him the green membership card. He asked, “Can the newest member aspire to the honor of seeing the vice-president home?”
“I’m not going home,” she said icily. “I’ve some work to do.”
Shayne tucked the card in his wallet and said, “I’m sorry as hell things have to be this way,” and went out.
The elevator took him downstairs and he went out on the sidewalk.
His car was parked directly in front of the building door. As he started toward it he paused. The rear window was lowered a few niches. He was positive he had left it tightly closed when he had gone into the building. His nostrils flared and drew in a scent of cigar smoke. He looked to the right and left, but saw no one smoking a cigar.
