“Not tonight, thanks.” He started out and Shayne set the bottle down and hurried to open the door and say earnestly, “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. If ever I can-”
“If ever I require your particular brand of services, Mr. Shayne, I won’t hesitate to call on you. Good night.”
Shayne was worrying his earlobe and there was a seeking look in his gray eyes when he re-entered the room. “Know the Sunlux telephone number by any chance?” he asked Harvey.
Harvey said he didn’t. Shayne looked it up in the directory and called the number and asked for the Mark Dustin suite. After half a minute, the operator at the hotel said, “Sorry. They do not answer.”
“Connect me with Harry Jessup, the house detective,” Shayne said. His face was furrowed with worry and his eyes low-lidded as he waited an interval of about two minutes before he spoke again.
“Harry? Mike Shayne. I’m worried about the Mark Dustins. That’s right. He got conked in a jewel heist. They don’t answer their phone but they’re supposed to be in. Maybe they’re asleep, but Mrs. Dustin has been trying to get in touch with me and I don’t like it a damned bit. Check for me, and have her call me at my apartment at once if everything’s all right-and you call me fast if it isn’t.” He gave his telephone number, hung up, and stalked across the room to pour himself a drink. He shoved the bottle toward the sergeant. “Pour yourself a drink in this glass,” indicating the one Tim Rourke had used.
Sergeant Harvey helped himself to the rye. He waited until Shayne was comfortably seated, then said, “What’s this about Mark Dustin at the Sunlux, Mike?”
“I’ll give you everything I’ve got, which is damned little. We know someone walked in here tonight and answered my phone, impersonating me. He promised Mrs. Dustin he’d be over immediately and hung up. That was about an hour ago.
“Dustin was banged up pretty badly, and went to a hospital to get patched up. He and his wife returned to the hotel about midnight. They don’t answer their telephone, and I’m pretty sure Dustin is in no condition to go out. Maybe they doped him up at the hospital and he’s sleeping too soundly to hear the phone, but Mrs. Dustin should be there. Judging from her actions when I saw them, I don’t think she’d go out and leave him alone.”
“You working on the stick-up for them?”
“Not exactly.” Shayne warmed his glass of liquor between his palms. “Dustin did mention something about wanting to see me tomorrow-after Painter had shot off his mouth about me staying out of the deal. He gave the impression he might hire me to recover the bracelet. Damned if I know why his wife would call me tonight.” He shook his red head angrily and took a sip of cognac.
“Who was the man your secretary described?”
Shayne kept on shaking his head and protested. “How would I know? You heard Lucy. Heavy-set. Gray suit and Panama hat. Mustache. About fifty years old. Good God, ten thousand people in Miami answer that description.”
“Not very many of that number know you well enough to walk into your apartment at midnight when they find the door unlocked.”
“Lots of people know me. Lots more know where I hang out.”
“Nice friends you’ve got,” said Harvey dryly. “What man who answers that description and knows your apartment number would feel free to walk in, answer your telephone, and then impersonate you and make a date with a dame who’s just lost a fortune in jewelry?”
“If it happened to be someone who knows me well, he might start out thinking it was funny. You know- midnight and a woman asking for me-”
“Then tries to kill your secretary, and did actually walk out leaving her to die. That won’t do, Mike. You know who it was.”
Shayne said, “Maybe I do.”
“Give.”
“I’ve got to figure this Dustin angle. There’s a wad of reward money to be picked up from that if a man plays his cards right. Maybe this guy was somebody looking for an angle to cut himself in.”
“Goddamn it, Mike, are you going to cover up for a murderer in hopes of getting a cut on some lousy reward money?”
Shayne quirked a bushy red brow at the homicide sergeant and shrugged. “The way I read that stuff in the bedroom it was more an accident than attempted murder. I doubt whether Mr. X meant for her to crack her head on the radiator.”
“Hold on, Mike. It became attempted murder as soon as he saw how badly she was hurt and walked off and left her like that. Dr. Price himself said a few minutes more delay might have been fatal.”
“The guy might not have realized how badly she was hurt,” said Shayne.
“Nuts,” exploded Harvey. “He took the pains to pick her up and put her on the bed. She must have bled a lot, and he’d have known she was unconscious. First time I ever knew you to stick up for a murderer.”
Shayne’s eyes were bleak. He leaned back and crossed his long legs and lit a cigarette. He kept his gaze on the telephone and didn’t reply.
Harvey sighed and finished his drink as Richardson came in from the bedroom. “Nothing in there,” he reported.
“You boys report back to headquarters. I’ll be along later.”
“How about sending a flatfoot up to keep Miss Naylor company and see that Mr. X doesn’t pay a return visit?” Shayne asked.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Harvey. “Afraid you can’t handle him alone?”
“I’ve got a hunch I won’t be in much the rest of the night. If you don’t want to assign a man here, I’ll call Will Gentry at home and get him to send somebody.”
Harvey turned to Richardson and said, “When you get down to headquarters tell Jerico to send one of the reserve squad over.” He waited until his two subordinates had gone out, then poured himself another small drink of rye. “You got a late date?” he asked Shayne casually.
“I’m hoping Mrs. Dustin still wants to see me.”
“Good looker?”
Shayne said, “U-m-m,” as though he hadn’t really heard the question. He stood up and began restlessly pacing up and down the room in front of the telephone, tugging at his earlobe and glaring at the silent instrument each time he passed it.
Sergeant Harvey watched him and said nothing. He knew the redhead’s moods, knew it was useless to argue with him further. He hadn’t been fooled by Shayne’s apparent indifference to the plight of the wounded girl. He shrewdly suspected that Shayne either knew or could guess the identity of her attacker and that he wasn’t giving out information which might help the authorities get to him first.
When the telephone rang both men started as though the sound was the last thing in the world they expected to hear. Shayne whirled to grab the receiver. He said, “Shayne speaking,” and listened for a long time without interrupting the flow of words coming over the wire.
His voice was grim and urgent when he finally said, “I get the picture, Harry. Keep a man in the room with him. Get hold of Peter Painter and start turning the Beach upside down until they find her. Check every phone call to and from their suite since the robbery, fine-tooth the hotel for anything you can find out. I’ll be over quick.”
He hung up and turned to report succinctly, “Mrs. Dustin has disappeared. Mr. Dustin is alone in bed, passed out from an overdose of sleeping-tablets. They can’t rouse him. We’ve got to find her and we’ve got to find Mr. X. Will you stay here until your man comes?” He was striding toward the bedroom as he spoke. He went in, and emerged a few moments later with the Colt automatic in one hand and a tie in the other. He dropped the gun on top of his coat, swiftly knotted the tie around his throat.
Sergeant Harvey said, “Sure. I’ll stick around, Mike. I thought you never packed a rod when you’re working,” he added with a curious glance at the gun.
Shayne shrugged into his coat and dropped the. 38 in a side pocket. “This is a special sort of case. Be seeing you.” He grabbed his hat on the way out and closed the door gently.
Chapter Eleven
