car deliberately forced off the road and over a cliff and an armed deputy waving all traffic on while his buddy beat the driver to death. It wasn’t a pretty picture to remember, but his mind dwelt upon it as he watched the queer maneuvers of the car behind him.
It had speeded up to a distance of two hundred feet back, and appeared to slow deliberately to follow him at that distance. As though it were stalking him. It couldn’t be an ordinary tail. No cop would be fool enough to hope to follow so close and remain unobserved.
The road began to twist around the side of the hill and there was a steep embankment on his right. At this precise instant the car behind him picked up speed. Shayne’s perceptions sharpened, and he instinctively edged toward the center of the pavement.
The other car was coming up fast and a horn sounded impatiently. Shayne pulled further to the left to let it pass on his right between his car and the steep embankment which was so remindful of the scene of the accident that afternoon.
He grinned sourly when the pursuing car slowed suddenly, and did not accept the challenge. The horn blew steadily, but Shayne held to the left-hand side until the road flattened out on both sides, then edged slowly to his rightful place. In a moment the other car rushed past. There were two men in the front seat of the heavy sedan, and Shayne’s headlights picked out the two letters, “P D” above the license plate in the rear.
He wondered why they hadn’t stopped to arrest him for taking the right-of-way and refusing to let them pass on the left. He had never known cops to pass up that sort of an insult before. They evidently had orders not to arrest him. He wondered what orders they did have… and who had given them during the short time that had elapsed since he visited Charles Roche’s widow.
He debated savagely with himself as he drove on toward the Eustis Restaurant. The smart thing would be to get out of town at once. But the more his mind dwelt upon every single angle of the case, the greater the challenge became.
His mouth was grim and his eyes bleak when he parked in front of the restaurant and went in.
8
Two men were seated at the table with Lucy Hamilton. One was a balding, wiry, middle-aged man in his shirtsleeves with bright red and yellow suspenders. The other was younger and heavier, wearing a seersucker suit. He was holding Lucy’s left hand, leaning close and talking rapidly. Two gold teeth showed beneath his short upper lip as he talked.
Lucy’s face was flushed, and she nodded continually, her brown eyes glowing as though she listened to pearls of great wisdom. The brandy bottle was practically empty. She didn’t look up when Shayne threaded his way between the tables. The bald man glared with open hostility when the tall redhead stopped beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder.
Lucy was startled. She drew away from the heavy man when she saw Shayne, and said vivaciously, “I’ve been having such a good time, Michael. These gentlemen have been telling me all about Centerville, and it’s simply fascinating.” She put her hand on the bald man’s forearm. “This is Mr. Rexard… Mr. Shayne. And this is Titus, Michael. He’s a state representative and very important.”
Shayne nodded and said, “It was kind of you to entertain Miss Hamilton while I was gone.” He seated himself between Lucy and Rexard, looked at the depleted bottle with raised brows. “I’m afraid you haven’t been very hospitable, Lucy. Shouldn’t we order another bottle?”
“Well, if you promise not to drink too much,” she said hesitantly. “They’ve been telling me the most awful things, Michael. About how the police are in cahoots with most everybody in town. I think it’s just terrible, Titus, the way you say they do. Tell Mr. Shayne about it.”
He cleared his throat, flashed his gold teeth and drawled, “Miss Lucy forgot to say my name is Tatum, Mr. Shayne. I’ve been telling her how they work things in Centerville, seeing you all are strangers and mighty nice people. A man’s got to walk a pretty straight line to stay out of trouble hereabouts.”
“The police just run the town the way they want to,” Lucy put in indignantly. “It doesn’t matter whether you get drunk or not, if you’re a stranger and in a place like this and take a few drinks and they think you’ve got any money, they arrest you when you go out and put you in jail for drunkenness. Then you have to pay a fine and the judge splits it with the proprietor for tipping them off about you.”
Rexard looked worried. “It’s not so good to say it right out loud like that, Miss Lucy.” He glanced nervously around them. “You can’t get any proof that they pay for the tipoff. It just happens that a policeman’s always waiting outside to grab a man after he’s had a few drinks and shows a roll. The Eustis isn’t any worse than other places.”
Shayne listened soberly and thoughtfully, then beckoned a waitress, ordered another bottle of brandy and said, “What happens if a man is arrested when he isn’t actually drunk?”
Both Tatum and Rexard laughed jeeringly. “If a cop says a man’s drunk, he’s drunk,” said Rexard.
“And if you don’t plead guilty,” Tatum contributed, “you get thirty days in jail.”
“But they have to have some proof,” Shayne argued. “You could demand an examination by a doctor.”
“In Centerville?” Titus Tatum’s gold teeth showed to the gum line in a hoarse laugh. “Argue with them and you get beat up,” he explained simply. “It don’t pay. Safest thing is to keep your mouth shut and pay.”
“It’s just like the Gestapo in Hitler’s Germany,” Lucy said. “Some men stay in jail here three months without being allowed to see a lawyer and not knowing what they’re charged with. Isn’t that what you said, Titus?”
“A man hasn’t got much chance once he’s locked up,” he admitted cautiously. “The City Hall gang has things pretty much their own way… have for thirty years. Run the slot machines and liquor business and all. It’s a losing game to try and buck ’em. Smart folks just keep their mouths shut and stay out of trouble.”
“So… you be smart, Michael.” Lucy squeezed his arm, then continued excitedly, “Have you heard the big news? About the end of the strike? The miners are going back to work tomorrow.”
The waiter brought a bottle of brandy. Shayne said to Lucy, “I heard about it,” opened the bottle and poured some in four glasses. He asked Rexard, “Do you live here?”
“Dry cleaning business,” Rexard told him. “I say it’s a shame for the miners to give up that way, but I reckon the poor devils didn’t have a chance. George Brand certainly let ’em down when he killed young Roche.”
“Do you think he did?”
“It makes no difference whether he did or didn’t,” Rexard said gloomily. “Strike’s broken, and there won’t be another one for years.”
“Do you know, Michael, there’ve been five men killed in Centerville in the past month? Counting Mr. Roche last night and that man on the highway this afternoon. But that was an accident, I guess.” Something in her voice warned Shayne that it was important for him not to comment upon it.
Shayne took a sip of brandy and said casually, “An accident on the highway?”
“Just about sundown,” Titus Tatum said. “Not more’n a mile west of town.”
“This side of the Moderne Hotel,” Lucy said. “Titus was telling me about it.”
“That’s right,” said Tatum. “Car went out of control over the side, I reckon. They found him with his head bashed in.”
“A couple of special deputies found him,” Lucy interposed, her voice vibrating with anger and warning.
“Fellow by the name of Margule,” said Rexard.
Shayne said, “Margule? Wasn’t that one of the men who played poker with Brand last night?”
“That Brand claims was playing poker,” Rexard agreed unemotionally. “It’s tough on Brand having it happen… right on top of them saying Jethro Home has skipped town.”
“That leaves only one other witness for Brand,” Shayne said slowly.
“Yep. Dave Burroughs. I’d hate to be in Dave’s shoes right now. Wasn’t so bad when he had two others to back him up.” The heavy congressman spoke in a heavy voice.
“Were there any witnesses to Margule’s accident?” Shayne asked casually.
“If there were I reckon they’re not talking,” said Rexard.
There were lines of tension in Shayne’s gaunt face. He took a sip of brandy. It went down easier now that the way had been paved by Ann Cornell’s corn. He looked slowly around the restaurant. It was well-filled now. There
