this touches you. A necklace worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars has been stolen and a girl has been murdered…”
“Murdered!”
Shayne turned quickly to see Mrs. Lomax sitting up. There was a look of terror, or of horror, in her black eyes. She sank back immediately, saying, “Oh-no. Katrin committed suicide,” and her eyes grew languorous again.
“You seem to be very certain of suicide, Mrs. Lomax,” Shayne said, “perhaps you can tell me the reason.” He looked steadily down at her.
Mrs. Lomax avoided his gaze. “I don’t know the reason,” she answered, “but anyone can see that it couldn’t have been murder.”
The muscles in Shayne’s cheeks quivered and a frown trenched his brow. He wondered whether the fleeting terror in her eyes was intended to distract his attention from Eddie, or shock at his announcement that Katrin had been murdered. Her lowered lashes made her eyes inscrutable.
He turned again to Eddie and repeated, “Where were you last night?”
Mr. Lomax had been politely standing while Shayne stood. He sank into his chair and ran a trembling hand over his bony scalp.
Eddie shifted his eyes to his father and murmured, “Murdered,” in a stricken tone.
Shayne made a savage gesture. “Katrin Moe may have turned on the gas with her own hand, but she was forced into it by something-or someone. Where were you last night?”
Eddie dragged his gaze from his father and along the carpet to his pointed-in toes. “It’s none of your business,” he burst out. “I didn’t-”
“If you’ve nothing to hide you’d better tell him, son,” his father advised.
“And for heaven’s sake close your mouth,” Clarice said scornfully. “You’re drooling.”
“Keep your own trap shut,” Eddie snapped. “What is this? A pinch? What right has he got to know where I was last night?”
“I think this is what they call routine,” Mrs. Lomax said in the short silence that followed.
“You didn’t come home to dinner last night, Eddie,” Mr. Lomax reminded him.
“I didn’t get home until two o’clock,” Eddie admitted sullenly. “The cops say Katrin was dead by that time, so what does it matter where I was?”
“How old are you?” Shayne asked.
“I’m twenty-one.”
Shayne stood on wide-spread legs before him. “For the last time, where were you last night?”
Eddie cowered away from him. “Different places just bumming around,” he mumbled, “from ten till two. I was at the Laurel Club most of the time,”
Mr. Lomax said, “Eddie!” reproachfully.
“Well, that’s about the only place in town where I’m welcome with the money I get to spend,” he snapped. “Dan Trueman’s a good egg.”
“Anybody see you at the Laurel Club?” Shayne interposed.
“Sure. Lots of people. Dan saw me leave just before two o’clock. Sis knows he did.” He glanced angrily at Clarice.
Clarice glared back.
“Clarice-at the Laurel Club?” Mr. Lomax frowned, “You know that’s not true. Clarice was at the Country Club dance.”
“Maybe she started out at the Country Club,” Eddie told him, ignoring his sister’s warning look, “but at two o’clock she was at the Laurel Club. The sedan was parked in the driveway and Neal was waiting for her. That’s how I came to see Dan. He was talking with Neal when I came out.”
Shayne stepped back nearer the grate and watched the trio narrowly.
Mr. Lomax’s white hands lolled on his emaciated legs, but there was anger in his murky eyes. He asked, “Is this true, Clarice?”
Clarice’s eyes flashed. She said, “You act as if I should be kept wrapped up in cellophane. Sure, I dropped by there. I was bored at the dance. There wasn’t anybody to dance with, so I asked Neal to drive me some place where there was a little excitement.”
Mrs. Lomax’s face was passive. She lay inert on the chaise longue with her eyes half closed.
“I’ll have a talk with Neal,” Mr. Lomax said after a short silence. There was a harsh implication in his voice that caused Shayne to glance hastily at him. He looked white and shaken, and blood pulsed in the raised purple veins on his chalky hands.
“I’m sure it wasn’t Neal’s fault, Nathan,” Mrs. Lomax said calmly. “He’s just the chauffeur and has to drive where he’s told.”
“When Neal takes Clarice out I expect him to look after her,” her husband stated flatly.
“You sound so dreadfully Victorian, Dad.” Clarice laughed shrilly and got up. She smoothed her skirt over her slim hips and stretched her torso upward, accentuating her small pointed breasts. Glancing at Shayne, she said, “I’m sure you find this discussion just too, too interesting.”
“I’m learning a lot.” Shayne’s mouth was grim. “Did you see your brother at the Laurel Club?”
“No. I didn’t go back to the gambling room. I just had a cocktail and came on home.” She gave a sniff of disdain and added, “The Laurel Club was pretty tame, too.”
When Shayne again turned to Nathan Lomax his chin was resting on his chest and he was gently pressing the veins in his hand. Mrs. Lomax had arranged her pillows so that she sat up. Her hands were laxly folded in her lap and she appeared unperturbed by her daughter’s comments.
Shayne asked, “You and Mrs. Lomax were both at home last night?”
“Why, yes. We retired early. Mrs. Lomax was weary after her trip, and I read for a time.”
“I’ve wondered about that trip.” Shayne turned to Mrs. Lomax. “Why did you drive to Baton Rouge?”
She opened her eyes wide and tried to wither him with a look.
“It’s really quite simple. I’m district chairman of the Garden Club. We met in Baton Rouge. I trust you don’t disapprove,” she ended icily.
Shayne asked Lomax, “May I see the place from which the necklace was stolen?”
“Certainly.” He arose with agility and led the way across the room to one of three doors, opened it and waited for Shayne to go in, then closed it. He said, “This is my wife’s dressing-room. The door to the left leads to my bedroom and the one on the right to Mrs. Lomax’s.”
The modernistic motif of the dressing-room was startling in comparison to the conventional library and the soft pastel shades of the upstairs living-room. Shayne’s reflection stared back at him from the long chromium and black mirror of the magnificent dressing-table set between two French windows hung with black and silver-striped drapes. On either side a full-length mirror reflected his tall, gaunt frame as he stepped forward. The low table was equipped with three drawers on each side and a long narrow center drawer. A couch of silver satin was decorated with silver and black cushions, and around a grayish furry rug the floor was inset with black and white tile. The top of the dressing-table was bare.
“As you see,” Mr. Lomax said, “all of the toilet articles were stolen. They were valuable, of course. Mrs. Lomax has exquisite taste in such things, and I have humored her.”
“Yeh,” Shayne muttered, absently studying the modernistic murals around the walls, the most intriguing of which was a writhing octopus powdering its nose while ogling into a fantastic mirror.
Mr. Lomax opened the top left-hand drawer. “Mrs. Lomax remembers distinctly putting the jewel box containing the necklace in this drawer before she left for Baton Rouge. Katrin, of course, tidied the room afterward. I can’t understand why Katrin didn’t bring it to me to be put in the safe.”
“Mrs. Lomax usually puts it away herself?”
“Yes. She treasured the necklace. But, like myself, she trusted Katrin implicitly.”
“The safe is in your room, I understand.” Shayne was perfunctorily pulling out the drawers and examining them. He slammed the last one shut.
“Yes. The burglar could not possibly have touched it,” Lomax was saying. “I was in bed at the time, reading. I’m certain the sneak-thief was a professional, Mr. Shayne. I heard only the faintest sound when I got up to investigate. At first I thought it was Mrs. Lomax, but I knew that couldn’t be unless something had interfered with her trip. So, I put on a robe and came in here, but the burglar must have heard me getting up. He had disappeared
