“Sure and you’re right.”
Shayne sat back in his chair. “You were saying that the chauffeur-”
“Neal Jordan,” she said, and left her mouth lax.
“You say he could do differently-”
“Sure. What with that Clarice makin’ her eyes at him. Ay, and her mother, too, I’ll be bound, only she was more sly about it. Humph! Pulling the wool over the old man’s eyes like she tries to.”
“Nothing you say to me will go any further,” Shayne said with gentle assurance. “There’s one other thing, Mrs. Brown. Do you know where yesterday’s paper is?”
“Sure and it’s right here in my room. Katrin gave it to me yesterday mornin’ when she finished readin’ it. I don’t read much but the front page.” She pushed down on her knees and pulled her body up, went to the table and got the paper and handed it to him.
Shayne turned the first three pages and nodded. A small item had been clipped from the right-hand column near the center of the page. He refolded the paper and got up to replace it on the table. He started out the door, then turned to ask, “Do you know anything about Katrin’s brother?”
“Brother? No. Katrin wasn’t one to blab about herself and her family. I didn’t know she had a brother.” Her tone was full of curiosity.
“Did you know Katrin had been married? Ever see her wear a wedding ring?”
Mrs. Brown’s mouth hung open for an instant before she gasped, “Married-weddin’ ring,” and snapped her mouth shut.
Again she was on the defensive, glaring defiance at Shayne.
“Did you ever see the ring?” Shayne persisted.
“Can’t a girl have a weddin’ ring all ready when she’s goin’ to get married? Can’t she put it on her finger and look at it and dream about the happiness she’s goin’ to have in just a little while? What if the poor girl did have a weddin’ ring? Sure, I saw her wearin’ it once. ’Twas on one of her days off, and she must’ve forgot about puttin’ it on.”
“Did you ask her about the ring when you saw it?” Shayne’s gray eyes were cold and demanding.
Mrs. Brown backed away from him and some of the red went out of her face. She stammered, “I was goin’-to tease her about it. But-” She took another step backward and contacted her chair. Sinking into it she continued, “- But she turned so white and looked so scared-I–I didn’t. I remember now. But I didn’t think anything more about it- then.”
Shayne saw her cross herself again before he turned to go out the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
The second-floor living-room was richly furnished and the feminine motif prevailed throughout. Shayne had walked quietly down the stairway and the sound of his footsteps was deadened by the deep carpet in the hallway.
He stood for a moment in the open doorway, unnoticed by the three silent occupants of the room.
A young girl with dark brown hair cut short and curled upward in soft ringlets lolled in a deep chair of apple- green satin that brightened the dull gold of her skirt and blouse. Her red lips were set in a smile of ironical amusement. An odd fleshy bump on her chin was centered with a cleft which gave her an impish look in spite of the boredom in her dark eyes.
An older woman with too-black hair was stretched out on a chaise longue of gold satin, her head resting on a rose cushion. A powder-blue robe softened her sharp features; her cheeks were pale and her thin mouth was made to look generous by an over-application of dark rouge. Her eyes were closed and a fringe of black lashes curled up from her cheek.
Mr. Lomax sat in a blue mohair chair across from the girl, his feet resting on the matching ottoman, and the gas grate burned with a blue flame before them.
In spite of the relaxed appearance of the family, Shayne felt the tension of the silence. He cleared his throat and Mr. Lomax turned to see him, then quickly arose to say, “Come right in, Mr. Shayne. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Mr. Lomax first introduced his wife, who blinked long lashes at Shayne and asked in a low, pleasant voice, “Are you going to make trouble with me over what my husband calls my negligence with the necklace?”
“I hope not,” Shayne said. “I expect to recover it for you.”
She said, “Oh?” and Shayne couldn’t tell whether his reply pleased her or not. His gray eyes looked over the length of her slender body. She looked under forty but was probably nearer fifty.
Mr. Lomax coughed discreetly and said, “Mr. Shayne, this is our daughter Clarice.”
Shayne looked at her gravely. She quirked her lips and said, “It was an inside job, wasn’t it? Whom are you going to arrest?”
Shayne fished a cigarette from his pack. Clarice extended her hand and said, “Thanks.” He gave it to her and took out another, lit them both from the same match. He judged her to be about eighteen, pampered, and the kind of a girl who took a perverse delight in shocking her parents. She slanted her eyes up at him and insisted, “Well, wasn’t it?”
“Clarice!” Mr. Lomax expostulated mildly.
Ignoring her father, Clarice went on, “That’s my theory. I don’t believe the necklace was stolen in that robbery. I think somebody in this house snatched it yesterday thinking it would be laid to the burglar. Why, it might have even been someone in the house working hand in hand with the burglar,” she added, as though the idea had suddenly come to her.
“Clarice!” her father repeated sharply.
“Isn’t it a good theory?” she demanded of Shayne.
“It makes sense,” he agreed. “Who’s your candidate?”
“Katrin,” she said viciously. “She was always snooping around. She helped mother change that night and must have known it wasn’t locked up in the safe. And she cleaned up mother’s room afterward.”
Mrs. Lomax said languidly, “That’ll do, Clarice. What do you think, Mr. Shayne? Why did the poor girl commit suicide on the eve of her wedding?”
“I had hoped some of you could help me figure that out,” Shayne told her.
“Katrin stole the necklace, I tell you,” Clarice said sullenly. “She was in love with some poor man and was frantic to marry him before Lieutenant Drinkley got here. Then she had an attack of conscience after doing it.”
“What makes you think she wasn’t in love with the lieutenant?” Shayne’s voice was harsh.
Clarice frowned. “Are you going to give us the third degree or something? Maybe she was in love with him, but I think she knew their marriage wouldn’t work out. Ted Drinkley didn’t really love her, you know,” she ended smugly.
“That’s what you think,” an ironic voice interrupted. “After all the passes you made at him, you keep kidding yourself he’s in love with you.”
“Eddie!” Mr. Lomax chided warningly.
Shayne jerked himself around to face a young man of medium height with pudgy features and a pimpled, unhealthy complexion. A mop of ash-blond hair grew low on his forehead and his eyes were pale blue like his father’s. He wore dark blue trousers and a shirt emblazoned with big red poppies, the short tail of which hung outside his trousers. He looked like a college boy who wanted desperately to be tough. His shoulders sloped forward and he swaggered as he advanced to join the group around the fireplace.
“Mr. Shayne,” said Nathan Lomax, “this is our son, Eddie.”
“You’re the detective? You got any clues yet?” The boy flopped into a chair and let his knees fall wide apart and put the toes of his shoes together. His mouth stayed open after asking the questions. He looked up at Shayne and his blond lashes touched his thick, overhanging brows.
“I’m gathering a few clues,” Shayne told him. “Where were you last night?”
“Me?”
“You.” Shayne took a step toward him and his voice was hard as he continued, “You folks act as if none of
