The big man laughed raucously and shuffled back to the table.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucy Hamilton was powdering her nose at her desk when Shayne walked into the office. She smiled at her image in the mirror and asked, “How’s sleuthing?”
Shayne tossed his soggy hat aside. “Not so hot. All I’ve been doing is asking questions and getting answers.”
“Isn’t that the way to solve cases?”
“Not my way,” he answered morosely. “Philo Vance might be able to sort out the truth from the lies, but I’ll be damned if I can.”
She carefully rouged her upper lip, asked casually, “Want to buy an emerald necklace?” and applied rouge to her lower lip.
“What?”
“I said, do you want to buy an emerald necklace?” She ran a powder puff around her smooth chin and throat. “A man has a necklace for sale and he’s been calling you.”
“Who?”
“That seems to be a secret,” she told him, and patted her brown curls. “He won’t tell who he is. If you’d ever let me know what to tell people who want to sell you emerald neck-”
“He’ll call again,” Shayne interrupted. His eyes glistened. “It’s pretty fast for the fix, so they must know I’m ready to light a fire.”
The telephone rang and Shayne said, “If it’s him I’ll take it in the other room. You have the call traced.”
Lucy was saying, “Mr. Shayne has just this minute returned. I’ll connect you.” She nodded, covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s the man with the necklace.”
Shayne reached his desk phone in six long strides. He said, “Hello, Shayne speaking.” He heard Lucy flip the switch and frantically call the operator to trace the call.
A softly modulated voice said to Shayne, “I talked to a Mr. Teton at Mutual Indemnity this morning. He told me you were handling the Lomax matter.”
“That’s right. Who’s speaking?”
His caller chuckled urbanely. “Let’s waive introductions. And if you’re having this call traced, don’t bother. I’m in a public booth and I’ll be here only a minute. The necklace is for sale.”
“How much?”
“Forty grand.”
Shayne sent a derisive laugh over the wire. “You’ll be lucky to get rid of it for half that amount.”
“Maybe.” His caller remained unruffled. “I’ll call every day or so until you’re ready to talk business.” He hung up.
Lucy came in swiftly, her eyes glowing with the pride of success. “I had the call traced,” she announced. “It’s a public phone in a drugstore on the corner of St. Charles and Poydras.”
“Skip it.” Shayne went around the desk and sat down, pulled out the top right-hand drawer and brought out a bottle and two glasses.
Lucy’s bright eyes dimmed with disappointment, “And I thought I was doing something. Wasn’t that the man?”
Shayne poured a drink of cognac into a glass and offered it to Lucy. She shook her head and said, “I have to stay sober and earn my eighty a week.”
Shayne grinned. “You stay so damned sober you’ll never earn it.” He drank the cognac and poured another moderate drink. He said, “It seems our young lieutenant was right about his fiancee,” and sipped his second drink while he told his secretary the salient facts concerning Katrin Moe’s death, ending with, “What do you make of it? Give me the woman’s angle.”
Lucy answered helplessly, “It just doesn’t make sense, Michael.”
He finished his drink, put the glass and depleted bottle back in the drawer and closed it. “I’ll see Teton, and then I’ll see Doc Mattson. And I’ll get some more answers that don’t add up. Then I’ll go out and get drunk…”
“Be sure to call Lieutenant Drinkley first,” Lucy said hastily. “He called just before lunch and begged me to have you call him this afternoon. I promised you would, without fail.”
Shayne regarded her balefully. “That’s a nice assignment. More poetic maundering about the sweetness of undefiled love.”
“Sometimes,” said Lucy angrily, “I could slap you, Mike Shayne,” and went back to her desk.
Shayne sighed, got up and followed her into the outer office. He jammed his hat down over his bushy hair and asked, “Where is our knight in shining armor staying?”
“If you are referring to Lieutenant Drinkley,” she answered stiffly, “The Dragoon Hotel on-”
“I know where it is,” He picked up his coat from the railing and went out, took the elevator up to the tenth floor and strode down the corridor to the offices of the Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company.
Mr. Teton showed no surprise when Shayne entered. He said, “A man called here this morning, Shayne, and hinted that he might be able to recover the Lomax necklace. I told him-”
“Yeh. He just called me,” Shayne interposed. “Have you got that financial statement on Lomax yet?”
“Called you, did he?” Mr. Teton took off his glasses and dangled them on the black ribbon. “What did he- ah-”
“He wanted forty grand.”
“Forty thousand! Why that’s-”
“I told him it was too early to start dickering, and he hung up. If you have that statement-”
“Was that wise, Mr. Shayne? Wouldn’t it have been smarter to pretend to be eager to deal with him? Then, after you’ve learned his identity we could have him arrested.”
Shayne slammed his fist down on Teton’s desk and growled, “I don’t run my business that way. People like that come to me because I’ve always played straight with them. If I ever pulled a fast one I’d never be able to put over another deal.”
“But when one is dealing with crooks,” Mr. Teton protested, “I think one is justified in using any means to an end.”
Shayne said, “No. I’ll run this my way. If you haven’t got that dope on Lomax, I’ll be on my way.”
“It’s right here,” Teton said hastily. “I was just going over it when you came in.” He nervously adjusted his glasses on his nose, picked up several bound sheets of legal paper. “All assets are listed and segregated as to-”
“Give it to me this way,” Shayne interrupted. “Is Lomax hard up for cash?”
“Definitely not,” Teton snapped, as though it were Shayne’s fault that he wasn’t. “Six months ago it might have been a different matter. He was organizing this new company on a shoestring, but now his profits are simply prodigious, Mr. Shayne.” His round eyes ogled solemnly. “Mr. Shayne, you-”
Shayne was on his way out. He said, “Write me a letter about it,” and closed the door behind him.
He glowered at the mist of rain drifting with the wind when he stepped outside the building. The fog of mystery surrounding the stolen necklace and the death of Katrin Moe was no more penetrable than the lowering clouds and the rain mist. He turned the collar of his trench coat up and stood beside his car for a moment with the key in his hand.
He put the key back in his pocket and went halfway down the block to a liquor store. Inside, he studied the labels on the shelves, stepped behind the counter and took down a bottle that proclaimed Ancient Age in big letters. Handing it to the clerk, he said, “Wrap it up.”
The drive to the police station was short. He found the police surgeon sitting in a straight chair cocked back against the edge of a battered desk. He was reading a pulp magazine with a picture of a nude girl on the cover. The girl was cowering away from a slant-eyed yellow man who brandished a blacksnake whip.
Doctor Mattson looked up when Shayne entered. His eyes twinkled happily behind round, thick lenses. “You’ve come at a good time, Michael. I need a drink to dispel the horrors of the occult I’m delving into.”
