and asked, “Was Jimmy Roche here last night?”
“I’m going to spill it,” she said tensely. “I don’t know what it adds up to, but maybe you will. Sure Jimmy was here. He drops in like that often. He likes…”
“I know,” Shayne interrupted with a grin. “He likes your corn. Like Brand and Elwood and a lot of others. All right. Jimmy was here. Angus was in bed?”
“That’s right.” Ann Cornell began talking swiftly, the words crowding each other as though they had been held back too long:
“Jimmy was drunk. He’s always drunk. About three o’clock someone knocked. It was Charles Roche. He asked if I’d seen George Brand’s light on any time lately. I told him I hadn’t noticed, and then Jimmy stuck his nose in. He was at the stinking nasty-drunk stage and wanted to know what Charles wanted with Brand. They argued back and forth and I told ’em to get out. I don’t like rough stuff here.” She paused, her eyes blazing.
Shayne said, “So they went out, still arguing? Did Charles tell his brother he intended to settle the strike with Brand?”
“Not when he was here. Jimmy kept demanding to know if that was what he was going to do, and Charles told Jimmy it wasn’t any of his business. I slammed the door on ’em and turned the radio up loud and poured a big drink. I can’t stomach a man that can’t hold his liquor,” she ended angrily.
“Did Angus hear them arguing?”
“No.” She said it too fast, too emphatically.
Shayne said flatly, “That’s a lie. I told you I’d been around picking up information. If you’re not going to tell the truth I’ll get it from Angus.”
“All right, goddam it. They did wake Angus up with their yelling. What of it? He came out to see what the trouble was and…”
“Like he came out tonight when you threw the glass at me?” Shayne interposed, looking at the knife on the floor again, and involuntarily glancing at Lucy.
Lucy was sitting forward, her hands tightly clasped, listening intently. Her face was strained and weary and pale, but her brown eyes were bright with interest.
“Not like that,” Ann snapped. “He doesn’t generally get excited. I told him it was all right and he went back to his room.”
“And shut the door?”
“Sure. Why shouldn’t he?” A fleeting look of fear came to her eyes.
“No reason. What happened then?” Shayne asked sharply.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“So help me God. Jimmy didn’t come back. I looked out after a little while and saw a light in Brand’s house. I didn’t know who was there… whether Brand was home, or Charles had just gone in to wait for him, or Jimmy and Charles both. I didn’t care. And that’s all I know about it.”
“Did Brand generally go off and leave his door unlocked?”
“Sure. Nobody bothers much to lock their doors around here.”
“Had Jimmy left his car parked in front of your house?”
“No. Mostly fellows park down the street and walk up.” Her upper lip curled away from her teeth. “They don’t mind drinking my corn, but they hate for anybody to see their cars parked outside.”
“So you don’t know whether Jimmy left at once… or a lot later.”
“That’s the God’s truth. I got tight and I wasn’t sleepy. I sort of dozed till daylight and then went to bed.”
“Why didn’t you tell that to the cops yesterday morning?”
“Why should I?” she asked sullenly. “It’s nobody’s business who comes here. I didn’t think Jimmy’d want me to mention it, so I didn’t.”
“What time was it when Angus came back in through the rear door?”
“It was…” Her voice rose shrilly. “I didn’t say…”
“I know he slipped out about the time Roche was getting killed,” Shayne told her indifferently. “What else would you be afraid of? You’re afraid he did it. What did he say about it?”
“Nothing. He won’t tell me anything.”
“Why did he hate George Brand?”
“He had good enough reason…” Her jaw fell open slackly. “Say… who told you that?”
“Never mind. Why did he?”
“George didn’t have any cause to slap him around,” she said angrily.
“And you hate Brand, too, and that’s why you were perfectly willing to let him hang for a murder you have good reason to think Jimmy Roche committed.”
“That’s not so. I don’t know who did it. I don’t give a damn. I hate all of ’em. God, how I hate this stinking town.” Tears began streaming down the red streaks the adhesive had left on her face. Her lips were swollen and trembling. She put her hands over her face and sobbed hysterically.
Shayne got up and beckoned to Lucy. She followed him into the rear hallway and he said, “Ann has a car. Help her pack a couple of bags… one for her and one for Angus… and drive out to the Moderne. Park in front of my cabin. Angus is tied up in there. Give her money if she needs it, and tell her to get out of the state, but not too far. Tell her to phone you at the Moderne where she is. Things’ll be so she can come back in a few days… if she wants to. Then you go to bed and lock the door.” He spoke swiftly and in a low voice.
“What about you, Michael?” Lucy clung to both his arms and looked up into his set face.
“I’ve still got to find a murderer.” He bent to kiss her lips, led her back into the living room and gave her a little shove toward the sobbing woman.
Shayne was in his car and driving away before he realized he didn’t know where Seth Gerald lived. He turned down to the village to find someone from whom he could get directions.
17
The general manager of the Roche mines lived in a two-story brick house. Light from the corner street light outlined white trimmings around dark green slatted shutters which were closed all across the front, and probably securely latched, Shayne thought, as he went up the concrete walk and steps to the door. Giant trees shrouded the grounds in the night’s misty darkness, and there was no light, no sign of fire or movement within.
He put his knobby forefinger on the button and held it down until a light came on in one of the upper rooms, stepped back and waited until a glow outlined the opaque upper glass of the front door. When he heard a key turning in the lock, he took out his. 45 automatic, clicked off the safety catch.
The door opened a couple of inches and Seth Gerald’s precise voice said, “Who’s there?”
Shayne hit the door with his shoulder and came through it with his automatic in front of him. Gerald had a pearl-handled. 32 automatic in his hand which he lowered jerkily as the impact shoved him and his brocaded dressing gown backward.
“Shayne!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you.”
“Didn’t you?” His left hand grabbed for the. 32. “Better give me that popgun before it goes off and attracts attention.” Shayne dropped the pistol in his pants pocket after taking it from Gerald’s relaxed hand.
Gerald tried to laugh. It came out a dry cackle. He was looking into Shayne’s eyes. They were very bright. His own were sleep-drugged. He brushed a hand across them and said, “I don’t get this at all. What do you mean coming here and threatening me with a gun? There are policemen in Centerville, and…”
“And you own them. That’s why I prefer to hold the guns while we have a talk.”
“Talk? What is there to talk about at this unearthly hour?”
“Murder. Do we have to stand here in the hall?”
Gerald was swiftly recovering his self-possession. He said, “The library is right over here.” He turned to lead the way and added, “I warn you, Shayne, I shall report this to the police. You will be getting out of Centerville faster than you came in.”
