ethical…”
“Just changed my mind,” Shayne told him heartily, leaning out to look down the corridor and make certain that Mr. Magner was, indeed, the man Jean Henderson had been supposed to point out the night before.
Shayne recognized his mild, horselike face immediately, and he drew back, telling the other undertaker, “After phoning you, I suddenly recalled that I had met Mr. Magner before and had promised to give him all my business. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
Mr. Magner came up as he spoke, and stopped to address his competitor in surprise: “Mr. Johnson. Do you consider it good ethics to try and push in ahead like this when it was I who was summoned?”
Johnson grunted something indistinguishable as Shayne stepped out to shoulder him aside and take Magner’s arm firmly. The smaller man gasped and tried to shrink back when he saw the detective’s rugged face, but Shayne pulled him forward through the door and closed it firmly in Johnson’s face.
Mr. Magner stood aside helplessly, his face ashen and his eyes flitting nervously from the girl curled up in the deep chair across the room and back to Shayne.
He gulped deeply and said in a high, thin voice, “You… you are the man last night, aren’t you?” He wet his lips desperately and turned back to Jean. “And… and Miss Buttrell there…?”
“Not Buttrell,” Shayne said flatly. He put his hand on Magner’s shoulder and pushed him back toward a chair. “We’re going to have a long talk, so make yourself comfortable. Her name is Jean Henderson and she’s told me about how you picked her up on the road and ducked away after dropping her in front of the hospital.”
“I had done everything I could for her under the circumstances. I assure you that I had.”
Shayne sat down in front of him and waved his protestations aside with a big hand. “That’s not the point. If she had come up to you in the bar last night instead of stopping at my booth… those men would have killed you outright. Thinking I was the man they wanted, they tried to kill me instead. Why?”
“I don’t… that is, I… if you knew how terribly I felt last night, sir, when I saw that awful thing happen right in front of my eyes. I realized it was some terrible mistake. I was so taken by surprise to see her come in the door. I’d thought I was perfectly safe coming there… that she was in Miami and no one could possibly recognize me. And I was simply petrified when those thugs assaulted you. I beg you to understand and forgive me for not speaking up manfully to say there had been a mistake.”
Shayne said, “None of that matters now. Stop snivelling and pull yourself together. Who were the three men who jumped me and why did they do it?”
“I recognized only one of them, and him only by sight,” muttered the distraught undertaker. “His name is Eugene Forbes, I believe. His reputation in Brockton is not good at all. He has… well… a great deal to do with the management of the Sanitarium. That’s why he was there last night, Mr… ah… Shayne, was it? He was after me, of course. I do not deny it. It was foolhardy of me to think I could successfully challenge the Sanitarium. But I had worked out such a careful plan. I didn’t see how it could fail. And I was intentionally moderate in my demand upon them. Only ten thousand dollars. That’s all I asked for my silence. It was so little to them, yet it meant so much to me.”
“You were trying to collect blackmail from the Sanitarium,” Shayne said harshly. “For what? As a price for your silence about what?”
“Why… about this young lady. The night I found her wandering along the road with no memory of what had happened. I didn’t realize the truth that night, of course. I saw no sign of the car then. But later when I read about Mr. Harris burning up in his car at the bottom of the ravine, I realized that was almost exactly the spot where I had found her, and that she must have been in his car with him when it was wrecked. And him being a State’s Attorney, and that in the paper about him asking his way to the Sanitarium earlier in the evening… well, I can put two and two together and make four, Mr. Shayne.”
“That’s more than I can do right now,” the redhead growled. “Suppose she was in Harris’ car when it went over the bank, and was thrown clear, maybe, with a bad concussion. How does that add up to blackmail material against the Brockton Sanitarium?”
Mr. Magner wet his lips and looked at Jean appealingly. “I’ve just suddenly realized… did you say her name is Jean Henderson?”
“That’s right.” Shayne glanced with him at the girl. She was sitting erect in her chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, and her blue eyes were alight with excitement.
“I thought you said Henderson. She… had a sister named Jeanette. Perhaps you don’t know that she is supposed to have been killed in another automobile accident near here a month ago.”
“I know about that. And some passerby like you picked her up and took her to the Brockton Sanitarium for emergency treatment and hurried away without leaving his name. Don’t tell me you were in on that rescue also?”
“Oh, no. No indeed. In fact, Mr. Shayne, I…” Mr. Magner paused, his voice harried and his face tortured with fear and indecision. “How far can I trust you, Mr. Shayne? What is your interest in this matter? In short… who are you, sir?”
“I’m a detective from Miami. My interest is to settle scores with Gene… and whoever is behind him. What actually goes on out at that sanitarium, Magner? What sort of secrets do they keep locked up behind a steel fence?”
“It is widely rumored in Brockton that most of the patients are young women who… who come there for illegal operations. You… ah… understand?” He darted an embarrassed glance in Jean’s direction, and Shayne said for him:
“An abortion mill, eh? Seems rather a small town to support anything like that.”
“They don’t come from Brockton. I have heard it said, in fact, that they consistently refuse to admit any local patients. It is said their clientele is drawn from larger cities throughout the state… and that fabulous prices are charged in many cases.”
“So that’s it!” said Shayne grimly. “I guessed something of the sort. You were about to tell us about Jeanette Henderson and her accident.”
“Yes. But it was no accident, Mr. Shayne. Believe me, I know her death was not the result of an accident. I had… ah… it devolved on me to… ah… prepare her mortal remains after she passed away, and I am prepared to swear, that her death did not come from an accident. It was definitely the result of an illegal operation during which she succumbed while under the anesthetic. To hide the hideous truth, I suspect they deliberately drove her car out onto the highway and wrecked it. And then told the story about her having been brought to them for emergency care during which she died on the operating table.”
“Wasn’t there an autopsy?” demanded Shayne.
“There was not.”
“Did you report your suspicions to the police?”
“No, Mr. Shayne, I confess I did not.” Mr. Magner’s face was a tragic mask of fear and self-hatred. “I am in business here as you know. I freely confess it was weakness and fear that prevented me from speaking out. But it was easy to be silent. And so difficult to speak up. And where could I turn? It is a well-known fact that Dr. Winestock at the Sanitarium is the brother-in-law of our chief of police, Ollie Hanger. It was Chief Hanger who investigated Jeanette Henderson’s death personally, and who arranged to have me take charge of the remains. Who could I have trusted? Who would have listened to me?”
“I’m beginning to get the picture straight. Having rubbed up against Ollie a couple of times, I see what you mean. And I heard today that the gunman named Gene is a sort of pal of his. All right. So you came to the conclusion that Jean here was likely in Harris’ car when it went into the ravine, but could recall nothing about it. What sort of lever did you figure that gave you against the Sanitarium?”
“I was the only person who knew where she was picked up that night,” Magner explained simply. “The only person who could place her in the vicinity of Harris’ so-called accident. Because I realized at once it had probably been no more of an accident than the death of the Henderson girl a month ago. I assumed that Mr. Harris and the girl had actually gone to the Sanitarium together after asking directions from the filling station man, and they had somehow learned who Harris was. I even theorized that he might have gone there on official business and threatened prosecution. That would explain the accident. Having been successful in staging a similar accident a month ago, it seemed likely to me they would try the same method again. Criminals do, I believe, tend to follow a sort of pattern in whatever sort of crimes they commit.”
A choked gasp from Jean’s throat brought both their heads around to her. She had one hand at her throat,
