floor. There was a velvet rope at the foot of the stairway which Shayne unhooked and then refastened behind him.
He went up to the top of the stairs where heavy double doors were closed and barred to shut off the gaming room beyond. He went down a narrow hallway to a closed door that was marked PRIVATE, turned the knob and walked in without knocking.
Pete Elston was alone in the office, seated behind a big desk checking entries in a ledger. He was a solid, stocky man in his forties with an unruly shock of very black hair, and he wore black-rimmed glasses while he did his paper work. He looked up at Shayne with a scowl which did not become more welcoming as he recognzed the redhead. He said,
“Don’t you knock when you walk into a private office?”
Shayne said, “Sometimes, Pete. But only when I’m pretty sure I’ll be welcome.”
Elston shrugged and pushed the ledger back. He removed his glasses. “Some special reason why you shouldn’t be welcome here this morning?”
“Actually, no. In fact, I’m here to do you a big favor. But that horsefaced ape on the bar downstairs tried to give me the bum’s rush when I was here earlier.”
“Barney? You know how it is with a place like this, Shayne. We’re pretty careful about our clientele. It wouldn’t be good for business to have a private eye hanging out here.”
Shayne pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He said, “Barney should have been more careful about his clientele last night.”
“That so?” Elston’s eyes became alert, questioning.
“Yeh. And maybe you should tell him to be more careful about the kind of Mickeys he feeds his customers. It’s not going to do your business one bit of good to have it get around that a guy’s in danger of getting doped and mugged when he has a drink downstairs.”
Elston sat very still, his solid features hardening. “How is that story likely to get around, Shamus?”
Shayne said, “I’ll make it my business to see that it does unless Barney comes clean with me. Get him up here.” Their eyes locked across the desk.
Elston said softly, “Like that, huh?”
Shayne said, “Like that. I mentioned a favor. This is it. A man named Jerome Fitzgilpin was fed dope in your bar last night. He was rolled outside, and died about a block down the street. You probably read about it in the paper.”
“Yeh. I read about it. Not that he was in my place first, though.”
“Maybe you won’t have to read about that… if you play ball with me.”
“Is that a threat, Shayne?”
“It sure as hell is.”
Elston sighed and relaxed. “I like to get things straight and clear. Have a drink?” He swivelled about to a small bar at his right.
Shayne said, “Get Barney up here.”
“Sure, Mike.” Elston’s voice was mild and placating. “If anything like that has been going on in my bar I want to know it as much as you do.” He turned and set two glasses and a bottle of cognac on the desk. “I haven’t gotten ice this morning. You want Barney should bring some up?”
Shayne relaxed with a grin. “A tall glass with water will be fine.”
Elston unhooked a microphone from beneath his desk and pressed a buzzer. He said, “Barney. I got a guest. Bring up a bucket of ice and a pitcher of water.” He replaced the microphone and said worriedly, “You’re sure about this, Shayne?”
“Just tell Barney to give me straight answers this time. If you’re lucky we may be able to keep the cops out of it.”
“Yeh. I knew they were here earlier asking questions. Barney swore to me he never saw the dead man in here.”
Shayne said flatly, “He lied.”
Elston shook his head sadly and said, “You know how it is. One thing I won’t stand for is any stuff like that downstairs. If Barney has been getting out of line, I’m the one who wants to know it.”
“I figured it that way,” Shayne told him amiably. “That’s why I came to you instead of the cops.” Elston poured cognac in the two glasses and pushed one toward the redhead. There were footsteps in the hallway outside and the horsefaced bartender came in the door carrying a bucket of ice cubes and a pitcher of water. He stopped abruptly when he saw the detective, and said, “Hey, Boss. This here guy…”
“This here guy,” Elston interrupted him smoothly, “is a good friend of mine. Pour him a glass of ice water.”
“Well, sure,” said Barney uneasily. “But he comes in here with a newspaper reporter making trouble…”
Elston said, “Skip it.” He leaned back in his chair while Barney nervously poured Shayne a glass of water.
“Now. Answer his questions… straight. I’m anxious to hear the answers myself.”
Shayne got the two snapshots out of his pocket and laid them on the desk. “Take a good look at this man, Barney. And tell me the last time you saw him in the bar.”
Barney leaned over the desk and looked at the pictures of Fitzgilpin, his long, bony face becoming grayish. “I never saw him in my life,” he stated positively. “Not that I know of, that is. Maybe he has been in here some time, but I never noticed him. You know how it is when you’re working the bar, Boss. You don’t look at the guys on the other side.”
Shayne said, “This one, you’d notice and remember, Barney. He’s a very friendly type that gets into conversation with anybody. He’s been dropping in here at least once a week for a few beers and conversation during the past few months. He was in here last night about eleven o’clock. Did you feed him the Mickey that killed him, Barney?”
The bartender drew back, sweating profusely. “I swear I never. Maybe I mixed him a drink or two… yeh, I guess maybe I do remember seeing him around now. But I swear I never…”
Elston stood up swiftly and leaned over the desk and swung the flat of his right hand against Barney’s face with force enough to swing him around.
“I told you straight answers,” he snarled. “Goddamn your soul. I want to know what’s been going on in my place. Start talking before I come around the desk and stomp the truth out of you.”
“Sure, Boss. Sure. Whatever you say. But when them cops first come around this morning asking questions I figured you wouldn’t want me to tell ’em nothing. And then this tough eye from Miami…”
“Shut up,” snapped Elston. “Excuses aren’t any good now. You admit you knew this Fitzgilpin… that he was in last night?”
“I never knew his name,” defended Barney. “Sure, he usta come in for a few beers. Nice little fellow. Quiet and friendly. I guess I did see him last night, but the place was crowded and I didn’t notice him special.”
“What was he drinking?” cut in Shayne.
“I don’t know. Beer, I guess. Wait a minute though.” Barney paused and mopped sweat from his face, darting a frightened and agonized look at Elston. “I remember there was a kinda crowd around him at that end of the bar. But that wasn’t unusual because he was always friendly and talky like I said. But I don’t believe he was drinking beer last night. I think I kinda noticed he’d switched to hard liquor.”
“Who was buying them for him?” demanded Shayne. He added in an aside to Elston, “Fitzgilpin had an aversion to paying out good money for hard drinks in a bar.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Maybe somebody was buying.”
“He was staggering when he left your bar,” Shayne charged. “Practically out on his feet. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that much.”
“Well, I guess he maybe was pretty well lit up,” admitted Barney sourly. “But I figured it was just from switching from beer to hard liquor. If anybody fed him a Mickey, it sure wasn’t me,” he ended virtuously.
“Now you’ve admitted he was here and was drunk when he went out,” Shayne pointed out harshly. “That’s a big jump from denying you’d ever seen the man. Give us the rest of it. Who followed him out? Was he flashing a roll at the bar? Who saw him… and decided he was an easy mark?”
“I didn’t see him flashing no roll. Maybe he was, but I didn’t see it. I do recollect now that that Timmy the
