night while she drifted away. Whatley and I figure she was bopped on the head when she come around back to get in last night, and then the guy carried her out here and slit her throat while he was holding her out over the edge so’s there wouldn’t be any bloodstains left. We figure-”
“Keep your figuring to yourself,” said Painter furiously. He turned on Shayne and said, “Keep out of my way. I’m warning you, just keep out of my way.”
Shayne grinned and nodded. He said, “Okay,” and turned and sauntered back across the lawn to the front.
A Buick roadster was pulled up behind his waiting cab, and behind that was Chief Painter’s official car. A Beach homicide sedan was parked behind it.
Shayne got in the cab and said to the driver, “Pull ahead a couple of blocks and then circle back where we can watch these cars without being seen. We may have a long wait.”
“Look, boss,” the driver remonstrated, “waitin’ around like this ain’t so good these days. A guy don’t put much on the meter standin’ still.”
Shayne gave him a five-dollar bill and asked, “Will that fix it?”
“Sure-you bet,” the driver said, and followed the instructions Shayne had given him.
Chapter Six: COMPROMISING LETTERS
Shayne had a long wait in the taxi. He had time to think things over, particularly with regard to his own unenviable position in the affair. Chief Painter would inevitably discover that he had ridden to the Hudson house in a taxi with Natalie Briggs. The doorman had ample opportunity to get a good look at him the preceding night, and the odd scene regarding the cab would cause him to remember vividly. As soon as the story and the dead girl’s picture appeared in the papers the taxi driver, too, would come forward with his story.
Shayne frowned and worried his left ear lobe. It looked now as though Natalie had walked around to the back of the house and met a waiting murderer at the moment Shayne was at the front door inquiring for Mrs. Hudson. The taxi driver had seen him follow the girl through the front gate, but couldn’t testify that she had hurried on to the rear while Shayne went up the front steps. The hibiscus hedge shut off his view. He would probably say that there had been sufficient time for Shayne to have done the job before he returned to the cab and was driven back to Miami.
There would be no point in catching the noon plane to New Orleans now, Shayne mused. Painter would jerk him back for questioning before he’d have time even to start investigating the Belton case. And it certainly wouldn’t do to make a clean breast of his part in the affair to Painter. There were too many implausible coincidences that couldn’t be explained. He was definitely behind the eight-ball, and the only way to get out was to turn up the real murderer in a hurry.
From his own predicament, his thoughts drifted to Christine. He realized he was more worried about that angle than about his own involvement. She hadn’t told him the truth. He recalled with a tinge of anger her reaction when he had tried to return the pearls to her. She had been very happy to get her IOU back until she learned he hadn’t hocked the necklace to pay off her debt What was it she had cried out just before her husband and Painter interrupted? He went over the scene in his mind. “Oh, God! You’ve ruined everything. Now I’ll never-”
How had he ruined everything? His anger mounted. Damn it, he had saved her ten grand at the very least. He had brought back a priceless heirloom, and saved her from having to reveal at some future date that the original necklace had been switched for a cheap duplicate. He had been rather proud of the way he had handled the affair up until that moment.
Sergeant Whatley and his partner came sauntering out the front gate and got into their sedan and drove away. That meant they were through taking fingerprints and checking the physical aspects of the girl’s room and the probable scene of the crime.
There was no doubt that Natalie Briggs was terribly frightened about something last night. He was sure she had recognized him as the man against whom Timothy Rourke leaned drunkenly as he played the roulette wheel. And there was something between her and Rourke. Perhaps, in her fright, she would have gone to the front door and rung for Mrs. Morgan to let her in if she hadn’t been running away from him. He winced as he recalled the frantic look she gave him over her shoulder, and her increased speed as though she sought to escape him.
Peter Painter came through the front gate and got in his car. That left only Leslie and Floyd Hudson at home. Shayne looked at his watch. It was a few minutes after ten o’clock. He wondered how long a busy executive would stay away from his office to comfort his wife. And he wondered whether Floyd would leave with his elder brother.
How did Floyd Hudson fit into the picture? Was it Barbizon who had called and asked to speak to Christine and caused her to faint from panic? It was easy enough to convince Leslie Hudson that his wife had fainted because she was pregnant, but Shayne didn’t believe it was true. Not with Christine married only a month. Unless, of course-
His musings were interrupted by the sight of the Hudson brothers coming out the gate and getting into Leslie’s roadster. It pulled away and disappeared around a corner.
Shayne opened the door and got out. He said to the driver, “Wait right here for me,” and walked rapidly away. He turned in the gate and went up the path to the door.
Mrs. Morgan opened it in answer to his ring. She showed no surprise, but said, “Mrs. Hudson asked me to bring you right upstairs as soon as you came back.” Shayne followed her down the hall to a stairway and they went up. There was a wide paneled hall at the head of the stairs. She turned to the right and tapped on the first door.
Christine’s voice called, “Come in.”
Mrs. Morgan opened the door and said, “It’s Mr. Shayne.” She stepped aside and Shayne went into a large pleasant living-room with a row of windows looking out on Biscayne Bay.
Mrs. Morgan went away and Shayne closed the door. His face was grimly purposeful as he stalked over and stood before Christine. He said curtly, “You’d better quit pretending and start telling me the truth.”
She looked up at him defiantly for a moment, then sighed and let her head loll back against the chair. She nodded and said meekly, “I know. I should have told you the truth yesterday.”
“Natalie Briggs might be alive if you had,” he told her, without a trace of pity.
Christine sat up abruptly, clutching the arms of her chair. “Why do you say that? What makes you think? — ” She broke off, terror glazing her eyes.
“I don’t know enough of the truth to do any thinking.” Shayne pulled up a small chintz-covered chair and sat down in front of her. “You hadn’t actually lost ten thousand dollars at the Play-Mor.”
“What-why do you say that?” Her tone was lifeless.
“Barbizon gave up the IOU too easily. He acted as though it didn’t make much difference to him one way or the other.”
She looked away from his hard gray eyes and admitted, “I didn’t-really. I’m not a gambler.”
Shayne lit a cigarette, looked around for an ash tray, went over and took one from a table and sat down again. “You’d better tell me everything. From the beginning.”
She hesitated, twining her fingers nervously. “You won’t believe me,” she said listlessly. “No one would-and I don’t see how I can bear to tell you.”
“You’re going to,” he told her grimly. “I’ve passed up a thousand-dollar retainer in New Orleans to stay here and help you.”
“I’ll make that up to you.”
“It isn’t that simple. I’m in this thing up to my neck.” He took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled through flared nostrils. “Before many hours I’m going to be the principal suspect in the murder of your maid. I’ve got to find the murderer before Painter puts me in jail.”
She drew in a quick, sharp breath. “You? A suspect?”
He nodded. “By the merest chance I let Natalie share my cab when she left the Play-Mor last night. I followed her in and came to the front door while she went around to the rear-and was murdered.”
She was listening with awe-struck attention. “Mrs. Morgan said you called about eleven. That is, from her
