He turned to look down at her, and he lightly said, “Hi.”
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “You didn’t close the door did you, Red?”
He shook his head from side to side. “Next time, I will.”
She said, “Okay. Next time.” Her fingers released his, and she closed her eyes again.
Shayne walked out of her apartment and crossed the hall and put his finger on the electric button beside the Larsons’ door.
3
The Door Opened Almost Immediately And Dorothy Larson stood in front of him, a frown slowly forming on her beautifully chiseled features as she looked him up and down.
Shayne had his smile all ready to put on, but he abruptly decided not to waste it on her. He made his voice impersonal and somewhat harsh as he said, “Mrs. Ralph Larson?”
“Yes. I’m Mrs. Larson. What do you want?” Her voice was as chilly as the cold, cornflower blue of her eyes.
“To talk to you a minute.”
She said, “I’m sorry, Mister, but I practically never talk to strange men who come ringing my doorbell.” She took a backward step and firmly started to close the door in his face.
Shayne had his big shoe in the way and the door stayed open a couple of feet. He said, “You’ll talk to me no matter what you practically never do. About Wesley Ames.” He put his hand on the doorknob and pushed it open against her effort to hold it shut.
She retreated three steps away from him into the room and said coldly, “If you don’t get out this instant I shall call the police.”
Shayne said, “I’m a detective, Mrs. Larson.” He had no difficulty making his tone match hers.
“A detective? What on earth do you want? What about Mr. Ames?”
“About you and Mr. Ames,” amplified Shayne. “About the affair you and he are carrying on.”
“What has a detective to do with my private affairs?”
“Well, you see I’m a private detective,” Shayne told her stolidly. “My name is Michael Shayne,” he added. “Make up your mind fast. Do you want to talk to me or shall I go to your husband?”
“Ralph would laugh in your face. He works for Mr. Ames.” She lifted her chin disdainfully.
“I don’t think Ralph would laugh in my face. In fact, I’m quite certain he wouldn’t laugh at all. And so are you,” he added harshly. “You know the poor guy is crazy in love with you. What you don’t know, evidently, is that he isn’t as dumb as you think. If he gets my report there’s going to be hell to pay, Mrs. Larson.”
“Your… report?” she gasped. “Do you mean he’s hired a detective to check up on me?”
“Did you think you had the wool pulled completely over his eyes?” Shayne quibbled. He folded his arms across his chest and sneered at her, and somehow found himself enjoying it.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded. “Do you think I’ll pay you blackmail?”
“No goddamnit,” said Shayne savagely. “I’m not here to blackmail you. I’m here to talk some sense into your silly head. Contrary to a great many popular misconceptions, all private detectives aren’t crooks and double- crossers. I happen to like your husband. I think he’s a decent guy and I feel sorry as hell for him married to a woman like you. I’m offering you a chance to come to your senses and break off with Ames before Ralph finds out the truth and kills himself or you or Ames… or all three of you. Maybe you don’t love the guy,” he went on harshly. “But you don’t want to see him in the electric chair, do you?”
“No,” she cried thinly. “Oh God, no. I never thought…” She put her hands up to her face suddenly and began to cry.
“It’s time you started thinking,” Shayne told her. “I happen to know Ralph has a vacation next week and he suspects the reason you want him to go off on his own while you stay in Miami alone is so you can be with Ames.”
“That isn’t true,” she cried wildly. “I just need time to be alone and think.”
“Whether it’s true or not,” Shayne told her brutally, “Ralph thinks it is. And if I make my report to him he’s going to be sure of it. And just as sure as God made little apples he’s going to go gunning for Wesley Ames and there’ll be all hell to pay.”
“You can’t have anything… really bad to tell him.” She was getting her sobbing under control and she lifted a stricken, tear-streaked face to Shayne. “It isn’t as though… Wesley and I haven’t…”
“I’ve got enough of a dossier on the two of you to send a man like your husband off his rocker,” Shayne lied harshly and convincingly.
She didn’t attempt to deny it. She asked weakly, “What do you want me to do? If he finds out you’ve been here…”
“Don’t admit you’ve ever seen me,” Shayne told her promptly. “This is completely unethical on my part, but in this case I think the end justifies the means. Don’t let Ralph even suspect that you know about him putting a private detective on your trail. That would ruin everything. You’ve got to make him think you’ve come to your senses all on your own and are sorry you ever met Wesley Ames. Insist on going off on vacation with him, and urge him to quit this side job he’s doing for Ames. He’s a good newspaper reporter and he can earn enough on his job to support you.
“Maybe you’re not really in love with him,” Shayne went on swiftly, glad that Timothy Rourke couldn’t hear him now because by God he was beginning to sound like a marriage counsellor. “Maybe you should separate. But let that come later. Your job right now is to convince your husband that you’re in love with him and that your playing around with Wesley Ames has been completely innocent.”
“And if I do that, you’ll… you’re willing to doctor your report so he’ll never know the truth?” she asked slowly.
“I give you my word,” said Shayne honestly, “that he’ll never learn differently from me. But it has to be tonight,” he warned her sternly. “As soon as he gets home. Don’t put it off because I can’t stall him very long. Call me on the telephone first thing in the morning and tell me it’s done,” he directed her. “Get a pencil and write down my telephone number.”
He waited while she turned away meekly and went to the telephone stand and got a pad and a pencil. He gave her his hotel number and she wrote it down.
“That’s my home number,” he explained. “You can reach me there until nine or ten tomorrow morning. After that, call my office.” He gave her that number.
“If I don’t hear from you by noon tomorrow it will be too late,” he told her. “Don’t forget that you’ll be responsible for whatever happens.”
She nodded and hung her head and said, “I guess I’ve been an awful damn fool, Mike Shayne. I’ve changed my mind about private detectives.”
“Most of us are damn fools at times,” Shayne assured her. “And stop watching the private eye shows on television. Just because a man is a licensed private investigator it doesn’t make him into a complete heel.” He stopped, grinning at himself as he realized that he was beginning to sound positively mawkish.
“All right,” he said briskly. “So much for that. My Boy Scout deed is accomplished. I’ll now dismount from my white charger and go find some more keyholes to peek through.” He turned away from her and opened the door and went out and closed it firmly behind him.
He was feeling good, by God. Surprisingly good. Despite his cynical scoffing at Timothy Rourke earlier he was glad he had come.
He’d ended up almost liking Dorothy, and he was feeling very smug and paternal about the whole thing.
He noted that the door of 4-B was now tightly closed as he hesitated there in the corridor. At the moment he didn’t know whether he was sorry or glad. She was quite a person… that barefooted one. And she served good brandy. What the devil was Napoleon V.O.P.? It was a new one on him. He wondered if she had made it up, and he suspected that she had.
Ships that pass in the night!
Next time he would close the door and lock it.
