today-to toast our wedding.”
Utter dejection followed his words. His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank until it was empty.
Shayne spun a pack of cigarettes across the table. “Light up. There’ll be a refill in a minute, but this stuff is ninety proof.” He sipped from his glass while his client lighted a cigarette.
“Katrin is-was my fiancee,” the lieutenant began in a low voice. He bit his lower lip and blinked his eyes rapidly, forcing a film of moisture on his lashes. “She committed suicide last night.”
There was silence in the office. His words lay there on the desk between them, hideous and awful.
Shayne let out his breath slowly, his gaze steady on the lieutenant’s agonized face. He muttered, “It’s time for that refill,” reaching for the empty glass.
“I’m all right now,” Drinkley protested. “I’m not much of a drinker.” The brandy swallowed so hastily made his voice thick. “It’s strange,” he continued, “but saying it out loud makes it real for the first time. I think I can face it better now. Katrin is gone.” He looked suddenly older, and his bowed head moved slowly from side to side. “I’ve been going around in a daze pitying myself.”
Shayne said quietly, “Tell me about it-if you want to.”
“I do. That’s why I’m here. I have only seven days’ leave, and we had planned to be married today. That’s why I can’t-” He broke off, drew in a deep breath and gave Shayne a shaky smile. “But that’s not what you want to know, of course.”
Shayne waited, sipping from his glass, when the younger man paused thoughtfully.
“Her name was Katrin Moe,” he said. “Norwegian. I met her six months ago while I was stationed here. We fell in love.” He made a helpless gesture and whispered, “Our love was fine and clean-like wonderful music. Like a day in the spring with the sunlight on clover and a breeze in the trees. It was like-oh, God!” he ended in a moan and covered his face with his hands.
Shayne finished his drink. His eyes were bleak as they brooded upon the young man’s bowed head.
Lieutenant Drinkley took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. He straightened his body and jerked his head back. Controlling his voice with an effort, he continued, “Katrin was working as a maid in a wealthy home here in New Orleans. She wasn’t ashamed of that. It was decent work, and they treated her well. She was studying hard for her citizenship examination. She passed it about a month ago and was so proud.”
Shayne poured himself another drink and motioned to the officer’s glass again. Drinkley made a firm, negative gesture. His eyes were clear and bright, lucent with a light that Shayne envied as he went on with his story:
“We corresponded regularly. I’m sure she was quite happy. There was never anything in her letters- absolutely nothing to indicate that anything was wrong. When she didn’t meet me at the station this morning I was disappointed, of course, but I thought she was just delayed. I waited around for a while and then called the Lomax residence. You can imagine the shock-when they told me Katrin was-was dead.”
Shayne frowned. “The Lomax residence?”
“Nathan Lomax, Katrin’s employer. Katrin had a room on the third floor. She and the housekeeper and another maid each had a room. They found Katrin this morning-locked in her room. The gas grate was turned on but wasn’t lit. She didn’t leave a note-no word for me. Nothing,” he ended with the hollow calm of utter despair.
Shayne sat tipped back in his swivel chair, shoulders hunched forward, staring morosely at the bare desk. Lieutenant Drinkley got up and walked to one of the windows and stood gazing out. He turned abruptly and said, “I know what comes to your mind. It’s only natural, but I swear to you as God is my judge I can’t accept the natural explanation, Mr. Shayne. I knew Katrin. I knew her mind and her soul, and both were as virginal as her body. Nothing can make me believe differently. I’m not being young and naive. You’ve got to believe me.” As he finished speaking he reached the desk, gripped the edge of it with both hands and leaned toward the detective with the blue fire smoldering in his eyes.
Shayne said, “I do believe you.” He had to say it.
“Then why, Mr. Shayne? Why?”
“You can’t be certain she didn’t leave a note for you.”
“But there was no note found, and her room was searched thoroughly,” Drinkley argued. “She knew I was on the train from Miami. She was in good health and happy-and young-with everything to live for. No one at the Lomax place-people who saw her every day-can ascribe any motive whatever for suicide.”
“And they’re sure it was suicide?” Shayne asked.
The officer dropped into his chair and interlocked his thin fingers. “What else can it be? She was locked in her room on the third floor and there was no other entrance. The key was on the inside, and there was no mark of violence on her body.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find out why she did it. Don’t you see? I can’t stand not knowing. I’ll always think it may have been something I did or said, but I know it wasn’t. It was something else-something outside of our love.” He sat for a moment staring down at his clenched hands, a deep frown between his eyes, then he faced Shayne and said harshly, “I have a little money-the money we planned to use on our honeymoon. It isn’t much. A little over a thousand dollars.”
Shayne sprung his chair forward and rested his arms on the desk. He said, “Tim Rourke gave you the wrong idea about me, Lieutenant. He told you about the big cases where I was lucky and knocked off a pile. A private detective’s business is made up of little cases that keep the pot boiling. Give my secretary your local and permanent address and a check for fifty dollars as a retainer. If there’s any other expense I’ll send you a bill later.”
Drinkley stood up and combed his hair with his fingers, took his cap from a chair and put it on, said, “Thank you, sir. Are you sure that’ll be enough?”
“That’s my usual charge.” Shayne got up and put his hand on the officer’s shoulder. “Call me this afternoon after I’ve done some routine checking. There may be some questions I’ll want to ask.”
“Certainly-and thanks again.”
Shayne hunched his big shoulders in a shrug. “You may have done me a favor.”
Drinkley shot him a quick, questioning glance. His thin mouth opened in surprise, and he started to speak, but Shayne waved his hand in dismissal and went back to his chair. He pulled out an empty drawer and fumbled in it as the officer went out and closed the door.
Shayne was frowning at the misty windows and gently massaging his ear lobe when his desk telephone rang.
He picked up the receiver and said, “Shayne speaking.”
“This is Teton again, of Mutual Indemnity. I’ve been in touch with our New York office by telephone, and I’m authorized to proceed with you on your basis.”
“Ten per cent of the face of the policy if the jewels are recovered in thirty days? Only my actual expenses if recovery isn’t made.”
“Correct,” Mr. Teton answered.
“I’ll be right in to see you,” Shayne said briskly. “What’s the address?”
“We’re in the same building with you. Ten-four-teen.”
Shayne said, “Good enough,” and hung up.
In the reception hall he was greeted by a bright smile from Lucy Hamilton. “So fifty dollars is your usual retainer?” she mocked.
“I may owe the lieutenant a retainer before it’s over,” Shayne said gravely.
He picked up his damp trench coat and folded it over his arm, then lowered one hip to the low railing and scowled at her.
“Why does a young girl commit suicide on the eve of her marriage to a man with whom she’s very much in love?” he demanded.
Lucy leaned back and her brown eyes widened. “Why-let me think-” A frown of contemplation creased her smooth brow. “Well, if she’s gone and-”
“Nope.” Shayne shook his red head decisively. “I’m talking about a girl who’s a virgin in mind, soul and body.”
Lucy’s frown deepened.
“How old is this paragon?”
“She was twenty. Norwegian. Maybe that explains it.”
