and about thirty. With thin, hawk-like faces that looked as though they saw little sunlight, wearing sharp suits and highly polished patent leather shoes.
They both held their right hands pressed close to their sides, and in each right hand was a short-barrelled, big-calibre double-action revolver pointed at his belly.
He knew that his body hid the guns from Pete’s sight, and the elevator man who was waiting for him behind them had no idea of what was going on either.
They were both pros who knew exactly what they were doing, and Shayne stood very still in front of them, and waited for them to call the signals.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The gunman on the right said quietly, “Just say: ‘Hi, there,’ like we were pals, then turn around slow and we’ll walk out together without any fuss or trouble.”
Shayne said, “Hi, there,” loud enough for Pete and the elevator operator to hear him. He turned about slowly, and they stepped forward to press in closely on each side of him. He grinned wryly at Pete over his left shoulder as they started back toward the street entrance. “I’ll be back for that roll in the hay, Pete. Take a message, if Tim Rourke calls.”
“Sure, Mr. Shayne.” Pete stood behind the desk and watched the trio march out together.
Outside, in the cool night air on the sidewalk, one of the men jerked his head toward a dark sedan parked at the curb just beyond the hotel entrance and said, “We’ll take a little ride, Shamus. Boss wants to talk to you.”
The muzzle of a gun was pressed against his left side just below the rib-cage, and Shayne forced himself to relax as best he could.
He moved toward the sedan between them, and said, “Sure. As a matter of fact, I’m just as anxious to talk to the boss as he is to see me.”
“That makes everything hunky-dory.” They stopped beside the sedan, and the man on Shayne’s right stepped on two paces, holding his gun ready. “Give him a fast shakedown, Jud. This joker has a rep for having all sorts of tricks up his sleeve.”
Jud slid his revolver into a shoulder harness and expertly shook the detective down. He said, “He’s clean,” and opened the rear door of the sedan, stepping back and drawing his own gun again.
Shayne got in and slid over to the left side of the rear seat while Jud’s companion circled behind the car and opened the left front door. Jud got in and closed the rear door, resting the barrel of his gun on his right knee with the muzzle pointing toward Shayne. The other one got under the wheel and started the motor.
The entire operation had been accomplished with split-second timing and careful precision. Since being confronted by them in the lobby, there had not been a single instant in which the redhead had one chance in hell of seizing the initiative… even if he had been carrying a gun in every pocket.
He relaxed against the seat cushion and asked, “All right if I reach for a cigarette?”
Jud said indifferently, “Sure. Just don’t make any sudden moves because my trigger-finger is nervous.”
Shayne got a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. The smoke was clean and satisfying in his lungs. The driver drove carefully, turning north and then east toward Biscayne Bay. Shayne said, “The boss must be a big-shot, huh? Imported talent, aren’t you?”
“You sounded back there like you knew him… saying you wanted a talk, too.”
Shayne said, “In my business, the only way I can get answers is to talk to the people who know them.”
“Lay off it, Jud,” the driver said over his shoulder. He slowed as they approached one of the large and better-known hotels fronting on the Boulevard, pulled in smoothly and cut the motor-well back of the canopied entrance so the doorman wouldn’t bother with them.
He got out and opened the door on Shayne’s side. “We’re going to walk in through the lobby and go up in the elevator. That’s all. Just take it real easy and we’ll all stay happy.”
Shayne got out and Jud slid out after him. They walked companionably together toward the canopy and the doorman held the door open for them.
There were only a few people in the lobby at that hour, and no one paid any attention to them. An elevator was waiting, and they got in and Jud said, “Four.” They got out at the fourth floor and turned to the left and then to the right and stopped in front of a door numbered 430. Jud turned the knob and pushed the door open onto a lighted and luxuriously furnished sitting room, and his companion gave Shayne a little push forward over the threshold and he looked at the lone occupant of the room who sat back comfortably in a deep chair with a cigar in his left hand and a highball glass in his right.
He was a complete stranger to Shayne. He was about forty, and very slender, but with the well-fed look of good living about him. He was bare-headed, with thinning black hair that was very carefully combed to conceal the bald spot on top, clean-shaven, with cold gray eyes and thin lips that were parted in a frosty smile.
When he spoke, his voice was modulated and his words precise, though with a trace of midwestern nasal twang. “It was nice of you to accept my invitation, Shayne. No trouble, boys?” he asked the pair who had entered the room behind the redhead and closed the door.
Jud responded affably, “Not at all, Boss. Acts like he knows what the score is.”
“That’s what I’ve heard about you, Shayne, and it should make things easier. Why don’t you sit down?” He gestured toward a chair in front of him with his left hand, and a large diamond reflected brilliant fire from the third finger.
Shayne said, “Thanks,” and sat down facing him.
He took a thoughtful sip from his highball glass, and a thoughtful pull on his cigar. “How well do you know Dr. Ambrose?”
“I met him for the first time tonight.”
The slender man frowned down at his cigar. “In what capacity?”
Shayne did not reply. He sat and looked steadily at his questioner, who raised his steely gaze to his for a long moment, and then sighed. “I think I should warn you that Phil and Jud have means to make you talk. I advise you not to be stubborn.”
Shayne grinned slightly and said nothing.
His host sighed again. “Perhaps I should make my position in this matter very clear.”
Shayne said, “It might help.”
“Dr. Ambrose owes… owed me a large sum of money which he had promised to deliver to me tonight. I have been sitting in this room since ten o’clock waiting for a telephone call from him advising me where we should meet for the pay-off. The deadline was midnight. I had the television set on while I waited, and on the eleven-thirty newscast I learned that Dr. Ambrose had been murdered. Your name was mentioned on the newscast, Mr. Shayne, as having been with him earlier in the evening and possibly having some knowledge of the events leading to his death. That’s why I asked you to come here.”
Shayne said, “I see,” though he didn’t see at all. He got out a cigarette and lit it. “What sticks in my craw,” he said flatly, “is your word owes… owed. Not in a legal sense, certainly.”
“We’ll dispense with legalities. Let us merely say that I am a collection agent. The sum was twenty thousand dollars, Mr. Shayne. I want it.”
“Do you think I have it?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I am positive he planned to have that sum in readiness… in cash… tonight. It now appears that he was murdered before he was able to turn it over to me. According to the newscast, no such sum was found on his person. Did he entrust it to you before he was shot?”
Shayne said, “No.” He took another drag on his cigarette and did some very hard thinking. What
He said, very slowly, “Someone must have pulled a fast one on you. Dr. Ambrose made the twenty grand pay-off, all right. At nine-thirty. I watched him do it. If you didn’t get your money, someone else sure as hell did.”
