telephone booth in the lobby.
There he dialled the number that gave him a direct line to Will Gentry’s private office, and was pleased to hear the chief’s gruff voice a moment later.
“Mike Shayne, Will. I’ve got one here that I think you’ll want to look at.”
“Got one what?” demanded Gentry.
“A stiff.” Shayne made his voice sound surprised, as though Gentry should have guessed without being told.
He groaned and said sourly, “Who, and where?”
Shayne told him, and ended cheerily, “I’ll be waiting to fill you in,” then hung up quickly and went back up the stairs to wait for the police to arrive.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shayne was standing in the hallway outside of Max Wentworth’s office when Chief Will Gentry came heavily up the stairs five minutes later. He glanced in the open door at the body lying on the floor, and drew back, nodding to the two detectives who accompanied him to go on into the office.
He said, “All right, Mike,” getting a black cigar from his pocket and glaring down at it. “Business so bad you got to start knocking your competitors off?”
“Max wasn’t much competition,” Shayne protested mildly.
“All right. How-come you’re in on it?” Other members of the homicide squad were coming up the stairs and Gentry and Shayne moved down the hall out of their way.
“I was out at the Nathan house,” Shayne told him, “and found a check stub for two hundred fifty bucks Mrs. Nathan had paid Max as a retainer last month. Her husband claimed to know nothing about it… and I wondered. I tried Max’s home, but he wasn’t there… and came up here. He’d been dead a couple of hours before I got here.”
“Door standing open and you just walked in, huh?”
Shayne said carefully, “I knocked and then… I walked in when there wasn’t any answer.”
Gentry was putting flame to his cigar and he grunted something indistinguishable without looking at the redhead. When black smoke billowed out of the side of his mouth, he settled himself truculently on wide-spread feet. “So what’d you find out… in his files and all?”
Shayne gave him a hurt look. “You know I know better than that, Will. It’s strictly against the rules to touch anything at the scene of a homicide until the police get there.”
“You didn’t, huh?”
“You won’t find a fingerprint of mine in the place,” Shayne assured him heartily.
Gentry said, “That, I’ll buy.” He rocked back on his heels and surveyed Shayne glumly. “You trying to tie this in to the suicides last night?”
“I’m not trying.” Shayne shrugged. “I told you how I happened to find Max. Have you traced Lambert yet?” he went on swiftly.
Gentry shook his bullet head. “Nothing on him yet. Preliminary report from Washington is negative on his prints. That’s only the active criminal file, you know. May be something in a day or so. You dig up anything?”
“Nothing you haven’t got. Except three telephone calls from Lambert to the Nathan residence the last three Friday nights. About nine or nine-thirty, they were made.”
“Um. And the woman turned up at the apartment about half an hour later each time?”
Shayne said, “That’s the way it is.”
A detective came briskly out of the office and said, “They’re ready to cart him off to the meat wagon, Chief. Okay?”
“Sure.” Gentry rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “What you got so far?”
“Been dead about two hours. One lick on the side of the head with something like a lead pipe or the butt of a pool cue. Dropped him in his tracks. Left-handed blow.”
Gentry took the cigar from his mouth and echoed gently, “Left-handed?” and a puzzled look spread over Shayne’s face.
“That’s right,” the detective told them. “That’s about all they got for sure. No sign of a struggle. Door was on the night-latch. Boys are just about through dusting for prints.”
Gentry turned to Shayne with a scowl as two ambulance attendants came out of the office carrying a stretcher with a sheet-covered body on it.
“Those suicide notes were written by a left-hander.”
Shayne nodded. “And Lambert has been dead for more than twelve hours. You know, Will, I’m beginning not to like this.”
Gentry started to respond, then shrugged eloquently and went into the office.
Shayne followed close behind him. The fingerprint man was closing up his kit. He shook his head and told the police chief, “Nothing at all. Only the dead man’s prints. Whoever slugged him just walked in and… whammo! Then walked out.”
Gentry nodded absently, his gaze going all around the small square room. He circled around the blood and chalk marks on the floor to stand in front of the two filing cabinets and studied the alphabetical listing on the drawers. He pulled the top drawer of the right-hand cabinet open, and Shayne kept his expression blandly disinterested.
Gentry pawed through the cardboard folders and snorted in disgust. He turned to Shayne and said accusingly, “There’s nothing on Nathan in here.”
“Isn’t there?” Shayne frowned. “Maybe Max didn’t keep his files up to date. But that was almost a month ago.” Then his expression cleared. “I just thought of something, Will. Mrs. Nathan keeps her bank account in her maiden name… Elsa Armbruster. The check she gave Max was signed that way. Do you suppose…?”
Gentry said, “Let’s take a look.” He moved back to the other file and pulled out the top drawer. He thumbed through the folders and grunted with satisfaction. “Here it is, Elsa Armbruster.” He pulled the folder out, hesitated with his gaze fixed on the next one. “And here’s an Eli Armbruster, by God. Two… three folders for Eli.” He opened the folders to glance inside, and whistled softly. “First one’s a check-up on Paul Nathan a year ago. Next two are on a couple of names I don’t recognize. Pierson and Lobb. Mean anything to you, Mike?”
Shayne frowned to indicate deep concentration. “I think… Tim Rourke was checking back on Elsa in the newspaper files this morning. I think Pierson and Lobb both made a play to marry her and the weddings both fell through.”
“And I bet these folders will tell us why,” Gentry said triumphantly. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face that old Eli checked up on any man that wanted to marry his precious daughter, and these two both flunked out.”
“And Nathan didn’t,” guessed Shayne.
“Probably not. We’ll know when we read it. But this first one… for Elsa…” He turned to the desk and opened it. “She had Max tailing him the last couple of Friday nights,” he mumbled over his shoulder.
Shayne said, “If Max tailed him last night and it checks out with what Nathan told you…”
Gentry turned the pages inside the folder, glancing at each one. “Nothing for last night. Just the two previous Fridays.”
Shayne looked at his watch and said, “In that case I’m going to beat it. Last night is the one that interests me.”
Gentry turned around abruptly and expostulated, “Wait a minute, Mike,” but Shayne was half-way out the door and he kept on going.
CHAPTER TWELVE
