“I dunno anything about that. Didn’t know anything ’bout it ’til Victor told me today. Sounds like something Browne might think up-or that brother-in-law of hers if he’d got onto it.” She tilted her head and downed her third sidecar, then let her hand fall supinely in her lap.
Shayne took the empty glass from her. His gray eyes were very bright. “Whose brother-in-law?”
“Chrishtine Hudson’s-Floyd. Wouldn’t put anything pasht him ’cludin’ making passes at his brother’s wife. He’s stric’ly no good.”
“What do you know about Floyd Hudson?”
Estelle’s head lolled to one side. She opened her left eye and squinted at him, keeping the right one tightly closed. “Wouldn’ you like to know? I saw’m that night we were there. You betcha I saw ’em.”
“The night you were where?”
“Their housh.” She grew weary of keeping her left eye open and closed it. “Millionaire condeshends to visit ex-secretary. Takes unsushpectin’ wife ’long. Zif I didn’ know. Nice boat ride. Howsh ’bout nozzer li’l drink?”
“In just a minute,” he said gently. “Tell me about Floyd. I’ll bet he thinks he’s hell-on-wheels with the ladies.” He got up and went back to her chair and put his big palms against her cheeks.
Her body slumped to one side when he took his hands from her face. Shayne hurried into the bathroom and soaked a towel in cold water, brought it back and began slapping her face and neck with it. She opened her eyes and swayed to her feet, a vacuous smile on her red mouth.
Shayne put an arm around her to support her. She twisted against him and locked both arms around his neck. Her knees buckled and she was a dead weight against him
Cursing himself for overestimating her capacity, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom and dumped her on the bed and pried her arms from his neck.
His telephone began to ring. He stalked into the living-room and answered it.
The desk clerk said cautiously, “Mr. Shayne? I thought I’d better tell you. There’s a man here-a taxi driver. He doesn’t know your name but he gave a perfect description of you and says he drove you home last night. I told him I wasn’t certain there was anyone here answering his description. Then he said there’d better be because if he didn’t see you right away he was going to the police. I told him I’d see if I could locate anyone and he’s waiting here in the lobby. If you don’t want to see him I’ll-”
Shayne interrupted him sharply. “No. Send him up here. Give him my room number but don’t mention my name.”
He hung up, trotted across the room and shut the door against Estelle’s irregular breathing. He then went to the front door, opened it slightly, picked up the two glasses, and carried them to the kitchen. He measured more Cointreau, cognac and lemon juice into the milk bottle and was adding ice cubes when a knock sounded on the outer door.
He called out, “Come in,” and went on mixing another batch of sidecars.
Chapter Fourteen: SILENCE AT A PRICE
The door was pushed open and Shayne said, “Come on in the kitchen.”
Shayne looked up and saw a squatty man with a square freckled face and loose lips. He stood in the doorway twisting a visored cap in his dirty hands. He said, “That clerk downstairs gimme the right steer all right. You’re the guy I drove home from the Play-Mor last night.”
“That’s right,” said Shayne. “I was just fixing myself a drink.” He was shaking the bottle again, vigorously. “Want one?” He moved into the living-room with the driver beside him.
“Sure,” the man said, looking around the room. He selected the chair Estelle had been sitting in. He sat down and took a newspaper from his pocket, smoothed it out on his knee while Shayne poured his drink.
“Hope you’ll like my concoction,” said Shayne.
“Sure will,” he said. “My name’s Ira Wilson. I just saw the picture in the paper of this dame that got bumped off on the Beach last night.”
Shayne sat down opposite him and said, “That’s interesting,” and lit a cigarette.
“Ain’t it?” The taxi driver chuckled and picked up his glass, tasted it and smacked his lips, then drank the entire contents. “Smooth,” he said approvingly as he set the glass down. “I never held much with these mixed-up drinks. A man never knows whether he’s gettin’ any liquor or not. Taste good, but they ain’t got much wallop. Gimme a boilermaker any time.”
Shayne said, “Sorry. I just mixed up the last of my liquor. The clerk downstairs said you wanted to see me about something?”
“Well,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I ain’t the kind to cause anybody trouble. See what I mean? I always say live and let live, see? That’s why I come here ’stead of running to the cops and blowin’ my mouth off.”
“About what?”
“Now look, Mister.” Ira Wilson leaned forward and tapped Shayne on the knee. “You and me both know what I’m talking about. You take it now, this dame that’s got her pitcher in the paper. She’s the one you give a lift from the club last night.”
“So?” Shayne’s face and voice were without expression. He took a sip from his glass.
“Well, I got a hunch the cops might like to know about that,” the driver went on, his small black eyes sly, and his voice insinuating. “About you pretendin’ you didn’t know her when she hopped in my cab an’ you two not speakin’ a word an’ then you goin’ in with her when she got out.”
Shayne lifted his broad shoulders slightly. “Why should the police be interested in that? I’d never seen the girl before. I merely offered to share the cab with her. I didn’t kill her.”
“Maybe not. But nobody wants to get mixed up in a murder case. You mark my word, Mister, them cops turn a man inside out once they get him up to headquarters. I know what I’m talking about. Maybe you didn’t kill the dame, but the cops’re sure gonna want to know what you was doin’ in there with her them ten minutes while I waited.”
“It was closer to two minutes,” Shayne said.
“See? That’s what you’ll tell ’em,” said Wilson triumphantly. “Me? I’ll say no sir I didn’t hold no stop watch on ’em but it seemed like a good ten minutes to me. And if I tell ’em the way you two acted mad at each other an’ how it seemed like she was scared when she got out and you followed her in-” He spread out his dirty hands. “Believe me they can make a hell of a lot out of somethin’ like that. They don’t give a damn if a guy’s innocent or not just so they hang the rap on somebody an’ save their own jobs. You take it now, I know how they work it.”
“Yeh,” said Shayne. “I’ve heard about how they work it.” He drained his glass and got up. “I think we could use another drink.”
“Another one of them wouldn’t go so bad,” Wilson agreed with a sly smile. “I can see you’re a right guy an’ we’re gonna get along.”
In the kitchen Shayne wasted another ounce of cognac in the bottom of the driver’s glass. He had seen sidecars work on straight whisky drinkers before and he had hopes that Wilson wouldn’t be any more immune than Estelle Morrison had been.
When he brought the drinks back and was seated again, Shayne held out his glass and said companionably, “Here’s to our continued understanding.”
Wilson touched his glass to Shayne’s. “Oh you an’ me’ll get along, Mister. I can see that all right.” He closed one eye in a slow wink and tipped his glass up. It was empty when he set it down. “Mighty smooth drink,” he approved again. “What they got in ’em?”
“Lemon juice and a little Cointreau and cognac,” said Shayne.
“No real liquor, huh? I can taste liquor no matter how anybody tries to fix it up,” he bragged. “Just what’ll it be worth to you if I sorta forget about las’ night?”
Shayne twirled his glass slowly in his hand. He said, “I don’t like blackmail, Wilson.”
“I ain’t talkin’ about no blackmail. You take it now, I do you a good turn, see? That’s all right, huh? Nice an’ friendly. So you do me one right back.”
Shayne said casually, “I haven’t anything to hide from the police.”
