“All right. I’ll check on it. And I’ll find out if Katrin made a habit of leaving her grate burning all night-and how many people knew about that habit. The killer must have had some way of being sure that she, and she alone, would have her gas burning.”
“That narrows it down to someone who knew her very well,” the inspector said, staring steadily at Shayne. “Someone who had access to the basement and knew the location of the gas lines and valves.”
Shayne nodded. “That fits three people-and the same motive can fit them all. And that’s the hell of it. That’s why I’ve been moving so slowly and why I need more time and freedom to investigate. If we jump into it and frighten them now we’ll end up with three suspects and not enough evidence to convict any of them. Are you sold? And will you keep hands off until I’ve had a chance to use my own methods? I’m not hampered by official regulations, you know,” he ended sourly.
Quinlan went back to his desk and sat down. “I’m sold, Shayne. Don’t tell me what you’re going to do. I’d rather not know.”
“That’s the way I like it,” Shayne said with satisfaction. “I’ve wasted too much time here already.” He got up and hurried out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lucy Hamilton stared at Shayne when he walked into the office a short time later. Her brown eyes shone with deep concern and her generous mouth tightened in disapproval of the lump on his head and the patch of purplish skin on his right cheek.
Shayne’s grin faded to a frown. “This is a hell of a greeting,” he growled.
“I’ve been terribly worried about you-and frightened. You could at least let me know-about things.” Her lips trembled and she tightened them again.
“Everything’s all right-I hope,” Shayne told her in a tone that carried no conviction.
“Everything’s just fine and dandy,” she retorted, “except that you’ve got yourself all beaten up again and the police have a dragnet out all over New Orleans for you.” A film of tears misted her eyes.
Shayne leaned over and caught her chin, tilted her face up. His grin came back and he said with more assurance, “It’s all right. But you’ll have to get used to seeing my face like this-and maybe worse. And having the police looking for me, too.”
“You just go around barging into trouble,” she accused, “and getting your name in the headlines-for murder.”
“Yeh. This is one of my busy days.” He gave her chin a pinch and said, “By the way, remind me to make love to you sometime when you’re like this. What’s Drinkley’s first name?”
“Oh-you-” She pushed his hand away. “His name is Theodore.”
“How did he act last night?”
“A fine spot you put me in,” she charged. “He didn’t want to go with me. And you’re dead wrong if you think he wasn’t head over heels in love with the Moe girl. He talked about her all the time and hardly ate a thing. I believe he’ll go crazy wondering if you don’t find out why she did it.”
“I’m finding out,” he said. “Did you try to help him forget her?”
He arched a bushy red brow at her and lowered his right hip to the desk.
Lucy nodded. “But it wasn’t any use. He doesn’t even see another girl. He’s really a poet at heart, Michael. He spoke of their love in the most beautiful terms.” She sighed.
“I know. Their love was fine and clean-like wonderful music.” He made a sardonic gesture. “How long were you out with him?”
“He took me home about nine o’clock. I suggested doing something else, thinking it might cheer him up, but I think he wanted to be alone with his grief.” She looked up at him, the mist still in her eyes, saw the cynical smile on his mouth and burst out, “And I hate you when you’re cynical, Michael Shayne. There is that kind of love in the world. But you wouldn’t know about that.” She jammed a sheet of paper in the typewriter and turned it viciously.
With a far-away look in his gray eyes, Shayne said, “No, I wouldn’t know about that. Put a call through to the warden of the state penitentiary. While you’re waiting for it look in the directory and see if you can find a man by the name of Lane listed under private detectives. Alex Lane,” he added after a moment’s thought.
She typed the instructions as he gave them, looked up at the knot on his head and said, “Before I do anything you’re going to tell me what happened to you. Why do you always forget to duck?”
Shayne said gravely, “I made a pass at the wrong girl.”
“No girl did that to you.”
“Her boy friend came in at the wrong time.” He got up from the desk and said, “Shake it up on those calls,” and went into the inner office.
He was somberly contemplating the bare clean walls, when Lucy came in and perched herself on the corner of his desk. “Your call to the warden is in,” she said, “but the operator said the lines were all busy and it would be at least an hour before they’d be ready on it. And there’s a Lane and McGregor Detective Agency listed. Will that be the one?”
“Might be. Gabby Lane was on his own when I knew him. Try them.”
Lucy referred to a number on a paper in her hand, pulled his desk phone toward her and dialed. She said, “One moment, please,” and handed the receiver to Shayne.
He asked, “Is Alex Lane connected with your firm?”
A girl said, “Yes. I’ll put him on.”
Shayne waited until a heavy voice said, “Yeah?”
He grinned at Lucy and said, “Gabby?” into the mouthpiece.
He got a “Yep” this time.
“This is Mike Shayne, Gabby, and I wish you wouldn’t be so damned garrulous.”
Gabby Lane said, “What’s that mean? Read about you this morning. Trouble, huh?”
“Plenty,” Shayne told him. “I need some help from a man who’s kept up his contacts here.”
Gabby Lane didn’t say anything.
“On your regular basis,” Shayne told him impatiently. “I’ll pay the bill.”
“Twenty-five and expenses for an op?”
“I don’t want any damned op,” Shayne shouted. “I want you.”
“Fifty. Part days count full rate.”
Shayne said, “That Scotch partner of yours has got you trained. Fifty’s all right. Can you come to my office in about an hour?”
“See you,” said Gabby, and hung up.
“Some day,” Shayne told Lucy, “Gabby is going to choke himself trying to find one word that’ll do the job of two.”
Lucy was excited. “What’s the rush about, Michael? Is it the necklace?”
He nodded absently.
“What about Trueman’s murder? Did you threaten him last night over gambling-or something?”
“Don’t ever read the papers,” he advised slowly. “I didn’t kill Trueman and Quinlan knows I didn’t. I just came from his office.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she breathed. “When I saw you come in looking all beaten up-all I could think of was the newspaper story.”
He touched his bruised and swollen head and asked, “How does it look? Feels like the lump’s getting smaller.”
Lucy chuckled and cocked her head sideways, “Looks as if you were trying to grow another head-or a blunt horn.” She leaned toward him and ran the tip of her finger over a portion of his face and added, “There’re three purplish streaks on your face.”
“I must have fallen on my face when the guy bopped me. It’s nothing.”
“Why do you always have to get so rough solving a case?” she asked, annoyed. “Isn’t there some other
