Miss Naylor gasped audibly at the sight of the gun. Lucy’s eyes were wide and questioning, but the faint smile stayed on her lips as she stared at the doorway.
Blackie got up and lumbered across the room. He stopped just inside the door and looked down at Lucy.
A frown creased her forehead as she studied the man, then she said slowly, “I never-saw him-in my life- before.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Wait a minute,” Shayne said swiftly. “Take it slow and easy, Lucy. Think back over last night.”
Her unblinking gaze was fixed on Blackie’s face. “I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him, and I’m certain he isn’t the man who came in last night.”
“She’s right,” Blackie said. “Like I told you, I never been in this place before.”
“Close your eyes a moment,” Shayne said quietly. “Go back to last night, Lucy. The man with the mustache.”
She closed her eyes and lay quietly, then opened them and said in a small and despondent voice, “No, Michael. It wasn’t this man.”
“If he were wearing a gray suit and a Panama hat,” Shayne argued. “Clothes make a lot of difference.”
“I got you for a witness,” Blackie broke in to the nurse, “that the young lady’s done said it wasn’t me. He’s egging her on-trying to make her say it was me.”
Miss Naylor said crisply, “It certainly seems to me, Mr. Shayne, that you’re using what a lawyer would call undue influence.”
“It doesn’t help-thinking back,” Lucy told Shayne. “It doesn’t help a single bit. He’s not a bit like that other man.”
“You said a moment ago that it was like a nightmare,” Shayne reminded her. “That last night was hazy and indistinct. If you close your eyes and rest a while-”
“Oh, no. You don’t understand, Michael. That part of it isn’t hazy at all. I can see him now as he hung up the phone and saw me and jumped at me. The other part is like a nightmare. Afterward-when I came to for a moment and saw you-and some other men.”
“All right,” Shayne conceded dispiritedly. “So this isn’t the guy. Can you describe him any better than you did last night?”
“Just-that he was heavy-set and had a sort of round face, I think. Not nearly as dark as this man. His mustache was kind of grayish. I only got one good look at him, but I’d know him again anywhere.”
Shayne moved close to the bed and leaned over her. He touched her cheek gently with rough finger tips and said, “Don’t look so worried, angel. You know I don’t want you to make a false identification, even though I was positive Blackie was the man I wanted.”
He nodded to Blackie and followed him out into the living-room. Blackie started for the door, saying, “That’s all, huh? You don’t want me any more.”
“I want you plenty more,” Shayne growled when the bedroom door was closed. “Sit down over there and start talking.”
Blackie sat down and muttered sulkily, “I got nothing to talk about.”
“Do you deny that you and the Kid and some other gimp rammed an automobile on Collins Avenue last night and snatched a roll and a ruby bracelet from the couple in it?”
“I sure do deny that. I can prove where I was at eight o’clock.”
“How do you know it was done at eight o’clock?”
“Look-you’re talking about the Dustin job, ain’t you? It’s in all the papers about the gang grabbing a bracelet.”
“Where were you at eight o’clock?”
“Me and the Kid was up to Sunny Isles with a couple of broads,” Blackie told him readily. “Driving back was when we scraped the fender I was gettin’ fixed in Mickey’s Garage so the boss wouldn’t know we’d been joyriding.”
“I don’t believe a damned word of it, but you can probably prove it by witnesses. All right. We’ll skip that until Dustin has a crack at identifying you. Whom do you and the Kid work for?”
“You mean the boss? Mr. Bankhead?”
“What’s Bankhead’s business?”
“He imports stuff. Got an antique and curio shop on the Beach.”
“What does he import?”
“All sorts of stuff. Pitchers and statues and stuff like that.”
“Jewels?”
“I dunno. Maybe, sometimes. I don’t have nothing to do with the shop.”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m the gardener,” Blackie said with dignity.
“Do you use brass knucks to knock out insect pests?”
“I just happened to have ’em in my pocket,” Blackie muttered. Sweat was popping out on his swarthy face.
“Is the Kid a gardener too?” Shayne asked sarcastically.
“No. He’s the chauffeur.”
“Why did you telephone me last night from the Sunlux Hotel to ask if I wanted to buy the ruby bracelet?”
“Me? Telephone you?” Blackie looked blandly innocent. “You’ve got me wrong.”
“You were going to call me back this morning,” Shayne insisted. “We can talk it over right now and save the price of a call.”
“I sure don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”
“Did you ever hear of the Rajah of Hindupoor?”
“Not as I recollect.”
“Is Bankhead a heavy-set man with a grayish mustache?”
“He sure ain’t,” Blackie answered earnestly. “He’s tall and clean-shaved.”
Shayne made a gesture of disgust, sank into a chair and poured himself a small drink. “Go back and tell your boss Mike Shayne says there’s not going to be any payoff on the bracelet. Tell him to wrap it around his neck and wear it for a dog collar. Now get out. I’m sick of looking at you.”
“Sure,” said Blackie placatingly. He sidled toward the door, looking at the. 45 in Shayne’s lap. “You gonna let me have my gat back?”
“I’ll keep it for a souvenir,” Shayne growled, “and see whether the front sight matches the cut on Dustin’s face and whether the police chemist can find traces of blood on it.”
Blackie said, “Go ahead. I swear it ain’t been out of my bureau drawer for six months.” He scuttled out the door and down the hall.
Shayne looked distastefully at the gun, sighed, and got up to lay it on the table. He looked at his watch and decided it was much too early to go calling on anyone. He prowled around the room immersed in thought, and stopped in front of a book case at the end of the room. It still held the books he had accumulated years ago, just as he’d left it when he gave up the apartment to go to New Orleans. The hotel management had left it there, and successive occupants had evidently accepted it as part of the furniture.
There was an old set of encyclopedias on the bottom shelf. He leaned down and ran his eyes along the backs until he found the R volume, took it out and carried it over to the couch and thumbed through it until he found Ruby.
He glanced through the data without much interest until he reached a subheading, Artificial or Synthetic. He read this passage carefully:
The earliest recorded attempt to manufacture synthetic rubies was in 1837 by a German chemist. His process
