Drinkley came up from the bed abruptly, restrained himself with a palpable effort and sank back. Shayne was twisting the knob of the door and pushing.
“I’m sorry,” the lieutenant said. “It must be locked. You see, it’s a connecting bathroom and the other occupants must be using it-or forgot to unlock it.”
Shayne arched one eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter.” He strode to the door saying, “Take it easy and don’t drink too much. I’m working on several angles.”
Drinkley followed him to the door and opened it. He said, “I might be able to find out something-”
“Why don’t you have dinner with me this evening?” Shayne interrupted. “I’ll drop by for you-say in an hour or so,” and went out without waiting for a reply.
He walked swiftly down the narrow corridor past the elevator to a turn. Stepping around the corner he took up a position where he could hear the door of 412 open.
The vigil was short. Less than five minutes later the door opened. Peering around the corner he saw a girl come out. She paused to say something to the lieutenant and Shayne ducked out of sight, turned his coat collar up and pulled his hat brim low. When he heard the elevator stop he sauntered around the corner and hurried when he saw the girl stepping into it. The operator waited for him.
She was the only occupant besides himself. A tall, shapely girl wearing a severely tailored suit of tan with green trimmings and a green hat with a jaunty feather tucked into the band. Her tawny hair blended with the tan of her suit and her eyes were a shade darker than her hair. Her mouth was very red and drooped sullenly at the corners. After one quick, wide-eyed look at Shayne her long curling lashes veiled her eyes and she appeared preoccupied with unpleasant thoughts.
Shayne moved to a corner in the elevator and rested his elbows on the rail. When it stopped at the main floor he waited for her to exit, then followed her slowly across the lobby. She was getting into a taxi when he came out the door. There was no other cab in sight. He jotted down the number of the taxicab, noted the company’s name, and went to his car and drove away.
The rain had stopped but clouds lowered threateningly. The wind was damp and cold. The street lights were on. Shayne looked at his watch and was surprised to find that it was after five o’clock. Something tugged at his memory as he drove.
Suddenly he recalled that Lucy was angry when he left his office. He pressed his big foot on the accelerator and exceeded the speed limit until he reached the International Building.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lucy had on her cellophane raincoat and looked like a slim, lovely wraith with the hood covering her brown curls when Shayne rushed into the reception room of his suite. She took a step backward when she saw the hard- set lines of his jaws and the bleak look in his eyes. “What on earth has happened, Michael?” she cried.
“I hate a hypocrite,” he growled. “God in heaven how I hate a mealy-mouthed hypocrite.”
She ran to him and reached up to grasp his broad shoulders. “Who-what are you talking about?”
He looked over the pointed cellophane peak of her hood, his big hands hanging loosely against his body. “And more than that, I hate to be a sucker. But I am.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Just pile on the old hokum thick enough and I’ll fall for it. And all because I thought I knew what the real thing was.”
Lucy shook him with all the strength of her hands. “Don’t look like that,” she pleaded. “You-frighten me when you’re like this.”
Shayne looked down at her upturned face as though he realized for the first time that she was digging her fingers into his shoulders. He put one arm around her and patted her back. Some of the harshness went away from his face and he said quietly, “Don’t ever let me down, Lucy. You’re a good kid.”
She took her hands from his shoulders and stepped back. “Why, of course I won’t,” she said. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“You won’t like it,” he warned her. “I’m a heel, Lucy. I come in here and prey on your sympathy.” He got out a cigarette and lit it, dragged smoke deep into his lungs and let two thin streams roil through his nostrils.
Lucy said, “I don’t think you’re a heel.” She slid out of her gossamer raincoat, turning her back as she laid it on the railing.
“Are you busy tonight?” Shayne asked.
She turned, putting her hands behind her to grip the railing. “No,” she said, looking up at him expectantly.
Shayne’s preoccupied gaze swept over her neat gray suit of clinging wool and the white collar of her blouse frilling around her throat. “How do you manage to look as fresh when you’re leaving as you do in the mornings?” he asked.
Lucy chuckled. “Why, Detective Shayne-didn’t you know? I use Ivorlux for my complexion-and things.” Her tone was light and there was laughter in her eyes, but it went away before the brooding intensity of his face.
“That’s swell,” he said. “You could go right to dinner, couldn’t you-without changing?”
“If it isn’t too formal,” she said eagerly. “Where are we going?”
“Take a cab to the Dragoon Hotel,” he instructed, “and call Lieutenant Drinkley in four-twelve. Express my regrets-tell him something came up suddenly that’ll keep me busy on the case. Explain that we planned to make it a threesome, but I can’t make it.”
“What are you talking about,” she exclaimed. “He wouldn’t want to take me to dinner. He’d consider it a sacrilege-”
“Take him to some quiet place like Madame Martin’s where the drinks are good and the lights aren’t too bright,” Shayne went on, his voice tense and a scowl between his eyes. “Turn on your charm and see what happens. Lead him on a little, if you get what I mean.” He paused to look at her as if he saw her for the first time since he started talking. “This,” he ended harshly, “is a business assignment.”
“But-Michael,” she breathed, “you don’t think he was just pretending this morning! He seemed so heartbroken. He was heartbroken,” she amended defiantly. “I could tell. I’ll bet he won’t go to dinner with me.”
Shayne said grimly, “Don’t worry. He’ll jump at the chance.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said passionately. “I don’t know what’s happened, but you’re wrong-if you really want a woman’s viewpoint. You see, he told me about Katrin when he was waiting for you this morning.”
Shayne nodded gloomily. “I know. He put on a good act.”
“It wasn’t an act. You can’t make me believe it. You’re so darned cynical sometimes I’d like to-to kick you.” She was still clutching the low railing behind her and her chin jutted defiantly.
Shayne said, “I deserve to be kicked for swallowing every cock-and-bull story that’s handed me. Go along and see for yourself. But don’t get too damned maudlin with pity,” he added as he turned toward his inner office. “I want an objective report on what happens.”
“That’s just what you’ll get,” she retorted as he disappeared and slammed the door behind him.
Shayne poured a drink, set it on the desk and called the Orange Cab Company. He explained what he wanted, gave the number of the cab that had taken the girl from the Dragoon Hotel, and was told, “We’ll have the driver call you as soon as he calls in, Mr. Shayne.”
He hung up and took a drink of cognac, relaxed in his chair and stared somberly at the wall. He wasn’t getting anywhere. A whole day shot and he wasn’t any closer to collecting a fee than he’d been that morning. He had stopped feeling sorry for Lieutenant Drinkley, but that was about all he had accomplished. He frowned and tried to switch his thoughts away from the young officer.
There was a loud knock on the outer door of the office. Shayne waited for Lucy to answer it. The knock came again, louder and more insistent. He suddenly realized that Lucy had gone to keep her engagement with Lieutenant Drinkley, and yelled, “Come in.”
The door opened. Shayne called out, “Come on in here,” and listened while hesitant footsteps came nearer.
The door opened and a husky young man came in holding a cabbie’s cap in his hand. He said, “Mr. Shayne?”
