She arose and moved toward him.
Shayne stopped beside her and said, “If you’ll come up with me I’ll be glad to repay that drink you gave me this afternoon.”
She said, “That’s nice of you,” glancing at the desk clerk as they went toward the elevator. “I imagine you’d have no trouble at all getting affidavits from these people here.”
They were getting in the elevator, and Shayne didn’t answer. She stood very close to him as they went up. When they reached the door of his apartment and opened it, he said harshly, “We can leave the door open if you prefer. And I can call the elevator boy to be a witness.”
She said, “It’s rather late for that now, don’t you think?” and pushed the door shut.
Chapter Thirteen: SPINNING THE WEB
Shayne shrugged and went on to the kitchen with his purchases, set them on the table and said over his shoulder, “I’ll mix a drink.” Estelle Morrison made no reply.
She accepted the glass, sipped from it and nodded approvingly. “I could drink these out of a tin cup.”
Shayne pulled a chair around to face her, moved an end table between them, and sat down. “I always ply my female guests with liquor.”
“It’s a very pleasant custom,” she said. She crossed her long legs. “There’s only one thing I’m really sore about,” she told him equably. “Why did you sic that punk Lance Hastings on me to get your evidence? Couldn’t you have had a lot more fun and accomplished the same result by making the play yourself?” Her voice was husky and betrayed no irritation. She looked levelly into his eyes, lifted her glass and drank half the contents.
“And just what makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
“I know all about it,” she told him languidly. “I admit I was sore as hell as first, but it doesn’t really matter now.”
“Why not?”
“You know the answer to that, too. I don’t know how you got in on the letter deal, but Victor tells me you’ve got photostats of his cute little communications to his ex-secretary. We’ll get a divorce all right, but it is going to be on my terms.”
“Did he send you here to talk about it?”
“I told him I was coming. He wanted to send his lawyer, but I thought I might be able to do better.”
“Do what better?”
“Find out what you’re after.” She emptied her glass and set it on the table, drew in a deep breath and said, “It’s funny how anything as cold as that drink can warm you up so inside.” She wriggled her shoulders down a little lower in her chair, uncrossed her legs, and stretched them out before her.
“Sidecars have a way of warming you up,” he told her. He wondered whether she realized that a sidecar was one of the most potent of cocktails. Four ounces of it was a big slug to pour down in a hurry.
“I told your husband very plainly what I was after,” he said. “Mrs. Hudson swears the notes weren’t written to her or received by her. She declares there wasn’t anything at all between her and Mr. Morrison.”
“He’ll deny it, too,” said Estelle indifferently. “But that won’t cut much ice in court. I can prove he was running around with her in New York at the time the letters were written. And the job you did for him proves he was planning to divorce me so he could have her.”
“What makes you so sure I did the job on you?”
“I know it was a local private dick. Victor won’t admit it was you, but how else did you get mixed up in the deal?”
Shayne waved the question aside as unimportant. He returned to the first part of her previous statement. “Mrs. Hudson contends that Morrison only took her to dinner twice during the month after she resigned. And your husband assured her that you knew all about it.”
Estelle’s full red lips parted in a mocking smile. “Sure, I urged him to be nice to her. I knew what was going on and I thought I might have some use for evidence like that later on. Frame me, huh? Kick me out without a dime of his damned millions? He knows better now.” She reached for her empty glass.
Shayne said, “Just a minute.” He emptied his glass, took hers and went to the kitchen. The ice cubes had melted somewhat, slightly diluting the mixture. He poured an ounce of straight cognac in her glass, filled them both from the bottle and carried them back.
She took hers avidly and drank half of it, smacked her lips and said, “These get better with age.” Her tawny eyes glowed. “I still wonder what you figure to make on the deal.”
Shayne remained standing by her chair looking down at her. He grinned and said, “Right now it’s not what I’ll make-but who.”
She smiled lazily and reached out her free hand to trail her fingertips across the back of his hand. “Do you think you could?”
Shayne nodded slowly. “You’re giving me ideas in that direction.” He hesitated momentarily, then returned to his chair.
She said angrily, “You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk to me like that after trailing me around and peeking through keyholes while I was with another guy. It could have been you all the time.”
“I told you this afternoon that when I get into a compromising situation I like to do it on my own time.”
“This is your own time, isn’t it?” she countered, and emptied her glass a second time.
Shayne said, “Except for the fact that some cops may bust in here any minute to arrest me on suspicion of murder.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t get the murder angle,” she protested. “Vicky said you yammered about that to him. How were you tangled up with the Hudson maid?”
“It’s a long story. I am tangled up in it and if I don’t hang the rap on someone quick, I’ll have it hung on me.”
“So? That would be too damned bad-just when we’re getting acquainted,” she drawled.
Shayne leaned toward her and said earnestly, “You can help me.”
“How?”
“In the first place, tell me how you found out the Lance Hastings deal was a frame-up to get divorce evidence against you?”
“One of your buddies told me about it. A little shrimp named Angus Browne.”
“Browne told you I handled it for your husband?” Shayne kept his voice casual.
“He didn’t tell me who. Just that a private dick employed by Vicky had been trailing me and getting evidence. I didn’t know who you were until you popped up today.”
“Did Browne suggest planting the letters on Mrs. Hudson as a retaliatory measure?”
“How would he know about the letters? I was the only one who knew what had been going on between them. And they weren’t planted. I figured she was the sort of dumbbell who would keep a batch of letters like that. So I fixed it with Browne to try and find them. He did. That’s all.” She wet her lips, looked at her empty glass and murmured, “Those drinks make me thirsty.”
Shayne’s glass was still half full. He concealed its condition by holding his hand clamped around the bottom, got up and took hers back for a refill. This time he put more than an ounce of straight cognac in it before filling it to the brim from the milk bottle. He also filled his own and carried them in.
Shayne set his glass down and leaned over her. She closed her eyes and made a little whimpering sound as her teeth closed strongly upon the fleshy part of his thumb.
He kissed her lightly and she returned his kiss fiercely. Shayne pulled away from her after a moment and said harshly, “I’ve still got a goddamned murder rap to beat.”
She slumped back in her chair, one hand groping for her glass. “I dunno what you put in these drinks,” she said thickly. “They make me feel all loose inside. You know what I mean.”
Shayne said, “I get the general idea. Is Hampstead handling the divorce suit against your husband?”
She waggled her head affirmatively. “Soon’s I’ve established residence so I can bring suit.”
“Whose bright idea was it to blackmail Mrs. Hudson with photostats of your husband’s letters?”
