“There’s something I’ve wondered about, in connection with the Margo Macon case. What became of the Hamilton girl?”
“Lucy?” Shayne looked at him in surprise.
“Yes. I heard she’s lost her position because of her connection with the case. I’ve thought I should look her up and see if there was something I could do.”
Shayne waggled his head gravely. “And you a married man, Inspector.”
“It isn’t that at all,” Quinlan said hastily. “She seemed a pleasant and capable girl.”
“Yeh.” Shayne frowned at the floor. “It was really a pity the way they batted her around. She took to drink- and worse, I’m afraid.” His voice was sad.
The inspector cleared his throat. His cold blue eyes softened when he said, “That’s really too bad.”
“Tragic,” muttered Shayne.
Inspector Quinlan’s eyes narrowed. “Damn you, Shayne, you’re pulling my leg. You wouldn’t be that sad if your own grandmother-”
Shayne chuckled. “She’s my secretary if you have to know. But hands off. Lucy’s a good girl-damn it.”
Quinlan resumed his impersonal normalcy. He was a slender man who appeared taller than his height, which was average. His thick iron-gray hair was cut short and stood up, accentuating his high forehead. There was a practiced stoicism in his expression from long association with the criminal world, but Shayne knew him to be a man who would work tirelessly for justice.
“Are you working?” the inspector asked.
“Just started-on the Lomax necklace. Mac told me you were handling it.”
“I was out there this morning checking on the Katrin Moe suicide.”
“Does it add up?”
“I don’t see how, but it’s a coincidence if it doesn’t. The girl was engaged to an army lieutenant and was to have been married today.” Quinlan picked up a fountain pen and rolled it slowly between his palms.
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He nodded slightly. “He just came in on the morning train. I was at the Lomax residence when he arrived and was shown the body of the girl.”
“Did he take it very hard?” Shayne asked casually.
“He was still dazed from the shock, of course,” Quinlan said slowly. “He didn’t show much emotion. He doesn’t think she committed suicide.”
“Did she?”
“What do you think?” he asked, surprised. “Her room was locked on the inside and the gas was turned on. She had retired early and Mattson’s first guess on time of death was between two or three this morning.”
“She could have been given something,” Shayne suggested. “A slow-acting poison.”
“So she got up and turned on the gas when she knew she was dying of a slow-acting poison,” Quinlan scoffed.
“Couldn’t it have been turned on afterward? As a blind?”
“Mr. Lomax and the chauffeur broke down the door to get to her. They went up together when the housekeeper became alarmed, and both testified that the gas was stifling in the room and the grate was on.”
“Just the same,” Shayne insisted, “I think it’d be smart to pull a P.M.”
“As a matter of fact, we are. It was requested by her fiance who seems to be responsible since she had no relatives here. Some mention has been made of the girl having a brother, but no one knows his name or whereabouts. What do you know about it? Have you got an angle?”
“Only a love that was like wonderful music-or like a day in spring with sunlight on the clover,” Shayne said somberly.
Quinlan stared at him with curiosity and consternation. He said curtly, “You must have had several snorts this morning.”
“All right,” Shayne said angrily, “maybe you don’t know what that stuff means. I knew a girl once-” He caught up his anger and explained, “I talked to Lieutenant Drinkley this morning. He sold me.”
The inspector looked relieved. “I see. I’m not surprised. He came damned near selling me, too. He doesn’t know about the missing necklace.”
“I wondered. He didn’t mention it to me,” Shayne admitted.
“Nor to me. He assumed that we were out there on the death call, which we were. No one mentioned the necklace to him, nor the obvious implication.”
“What is the obvious implication?” Shayne asked.
Again Quinlan showed surprise. He said, “A necklace worth a hundred and fifty grand is missing and the maid commits suicide-with no obvious motive. Don’t tell me you’re going in for coincidence.”
“Do you think she stole it?” Shayne asked sharply.
“I don’t know-yet. Which are you interested in-the necklace or the girl?”
“Both.”
Quinlan laid the fountain pen aside and folded his hands. “Fair enough. Without the suicide, I’d say the necklace business was pretty open and shut. We investigated a burglary there yesterday. Flink and Brand handled it.” He picked up a report from his desk and read excerpts from it:
“A library window downstairs was forced open from the outside. A neat, professional job. The whole house, except the servants quarters on the third floor, was prowled and a lot of small things were stolen. The necklace wasn’t reported until this morning because Mrs. Lomax was in Baton Rouge and everyone supposed she was either wearing it or had put it back in the safe. The safe hadn’t been touched. Mr. Lomax was in the room where the safe is when he heard the burglar in Mrs. Lomax’s dressing-room next door. It seems he chased the thief, but never got close enough to see him”
“Who had a chance to know that Mrs. Lomax hadn’t put the necklace in the safe?”
“No one will admit knowing anything about it,” the inspector told him. “If the case had been left on the dresser, Mr. Lomax could have seen it, but according to Mrs. Lomax, the case was in the dresser drawer. Katrin Moe tidied up the room after she had helped her mistress get off on her trip.”
“And snatched an emerald necklace,” Shayne said harshly, “then went to bed and turned on the gas. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Quinlan said quietly. “But who knows what goes on inside a girl’s mind? Her lover was due in town this morning. If she was in some kind of a scrape-and with a couple of guys around like Eddie Lomax and that chauffeur, God knows what was going on.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Shayne hunched forward and his gray eyes were very bright. “Give out.”
“You know what I mean.” Inspector Quinlan lifted one shoulder and waved a hand in a gesture of derision. “Eddie Lomax isn’t any bargain, but he lived right there in the house where the girl was. She was young-a foreigner. Stranger things have happened.”
“Katrin Moe was in love,” Shayne said evenly. “Is this Eddie quite a playboy?”
“As much as he can be, I suppose, on what the old man lets him have. Liquor and women and dice, perhaps. I understand that Lomax is pretty tight with the boy.”
“What about Clarice?”
“She impresses me as being much bored with life. Flippant and hard-boiled. And then there’s the chauffeur-”
“Yeh. There’s the chauffeur,” Shayne prompted when the inspector paused for a moment.
“He’s what a lot of girls dream about when they’re married to guys like us,” Quinlan mused. “Not bad either. That’s the hell of it. Good-looking enough to be a movie actor or a matinee idol, but not that type. He’s quiet and unassuming and looks you squarely in the eye and you wonder why the devil he’s a chauffeur. Apparently well educated, too.”
“H-m-m,” Shayne muttered, “but Katrin Moe was in-”
“Sure, Katrin’s in love with her second looey,” the inspector interrupted. “But he’s stationed in Miami Beach and here’s God’s gift to women and a little weasel like Eddie Lomax with money right close at hand. I don’t know
