“And she was-well, hell, some of them say she turned out to be your wife.”
Shayne said, “That’s right.” He shifted his leg an inch to a more comfortable position.
“I don’t get it,” Renslow exclaimed hoarsely. “Damned if I do. Just between you and me, you know how that note reads. It looks like I beat it over there and bumped Carl to keep him from blabbing on me for killing my sister. Whether I killed either one of them or not wouldn’t make any difference to the law if they saw that note. I’d burn, so help me.”
Shayne nodded. “You’ve sized it up just right.”
“I don’t see why you’re holding the note out on them. Turning me loose this way puts Carl’s death squarely up to your wife. If I didn’t, she must have. If you had showed Gentry that note she’d be here right now and I’d be behind the eight ball.”
“Maybe I like your company better than I do hers,” Shayne suggested lazily.
Renslow’s lips twisted into a scornful smile. “Don’t try to feed me that. You’re playing for keeps one way or the other.”
“Yes,” Shayne admitted, “I am. I faked a note. I typed it and signed Meldrum’s name, then tore it up and pasted the pieces down to make it look right. Gentry has that note and I have the real one. In the note I forged, Meldrum admits he killed Mrs. Thrip and threatens to accuse you of hiring him to do the job unless you give him getaway money. He warns you not to try and kill him because he’s left a letter accusing you that will be opened after his death. Does that make sense to you?”
“Plenty,” Renslow exulted. “That makes it look like a cinch that I didn’t bop him. That’s why they let me go. But I still don’t get your angle,” he muttered, his face clouding. “Why should you cover up for me with the cops and leave your wife to take the rap?”
Shayne stretched out the palm of his hand and suggestively rubbed his thumb across the base of his fingers. “Only one possible reason, Renslow. Money.”
“I get it. If I don’t pay off, you’ll spring the real note I got from Carl and that’s all they’ll need to slap two murder charges on me.”
“You get the idea nicely.”
“But I didn’t kill either of them,” Renslow protested frantically.
“Didn’t you?”
“I swear to God I didn’t. It’s all a frame-up.”
“But it’s practically airtight,” Shayne pointed out.
“But it’s still a frame. I swear I didn’t.”
“I’m not interested in that,” Shayne told him coldly. “The law isn’t going to be much interested either. You know how that goes. They’ll execute you first and begin to wonder if you were guilty afterward.”
Renslow’s body tautened. He began to tremble. “Yeah,” he said huskily. “Yeah, that’s the way it’ll be. I won’t have a chance. I knew that as soon as I read the note. Everything went red when I saw how Carl was fixing to frame me. If I hadn’t torn that note up and then left it like a fool for you to grab-” He made a gesture of despair.
“That’s the mistake that’s going to cost you,” Shayne agreed. “And cost you plenty.”
Renslow slumped down and lifted his glass. Bourbon and soda trickled down his chin when his shaking hand tilted the glass to his lips. “I’m hooked. I know it. I’m not arguing. But I’m not carrying much folding money these days. I don’t know-”
“Don’t try to chisel on me. Get it through your thick head that I’m not playing for marbles.” Shayne’s voice was remorseless. “Start figuring out how much your life is worth to you.”
“It’s just how much I can raise,” Renslow protested. “All I’m getting from the estate is a lousy handout each month.”
“Which is a hell of a lot more than you will get if you’re convicted of murdering your sister.”
“I know, I know.” Renslow spread out his hands placatingly. “I’m not arguing my spot with you. With me innocent as a baby, I’ve not got a Chinaman’s chance if you spring that note. I’m just trying to tell you I’m not heeled with heavy dough.”
“That’s liable to be your tough luck.” Shayne gestured toward the bourbon bottle. “Help yourself.”
“I need it,” Renslow admitted. He filled his glass. “You can’t get blood from a turnip. Hell, I’ll come clean. I’ll fork over every damn cent I can rake up.”
“How much can you raise? Fifty grand?”
“Fifty gran-? Where do you think I can put my hands on that kind of money?”
“Well, twenty-five?”
Renslow was breathing heavily and there was a frown of incredulity on his face. “You’re nuts!” he exclaimed. “Pure nuts. I might scrape up twenty-five C’s-” He leaned forward to study his host’s face hopefully.
“Pin money,” said Shayne with scorn. “I’ve got to get paid for letting my wife take the rap for you.”
“I can’t get any more,” Renslow faltered. “I swear I’m leveling with you;”
“That’s going to be your hard luck. I didn’t know I was wasting time on a piker. I should have left you lying in jail.”
“God, but you’re tough,” Renslow breathed. “Can I help it if I can’t kick in with a fortune?”
“Won’t your part of the estate add up to millions?”
“Sure, but it may not be settled in court for a year. If you’re willing to wait until I collect-”
Shayne’s harsh laughter drowned out the note of abject pleading in the ex-convict’s voice. “Cash on the barrelhead is the only thing I can use.” He frowned over Renslow’s head. A musing light came into his eyes. Renslow started to speak and he silenced him with upheld hand.
“Wait a minute. I just thought of another angle. Maybe I can sell a bill of goods to someone else.” He laughed unpleasantly. “I was dumb not to see this angle before. If you’re convicted of murdering your sister, the whole estate will go to Thrip. That makes your conviction worth a few million to him, doesn’t it?”
“God!” Renslow’s tone was awed. “You wouldn’t-sell me out to him? Like auctioning me off to the highest bidder?”
“Why not?” Shayne smiled pleasantly, showing even rows of white teeth between lips that curled back and away from each other. He lounged to his feet, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet, nodding approbation for his own cleverness in solving the problem so neatly.
“Why not?” he demanded again. “All you mean to me is a way to make some money. Thrip is a businessman. It won’t take him long to see that your conviction will be worth money to him. He’ll pay, by God. And that’ll be lots better all the way around,” he went on argumentatively. “Lots cleaner. By throwing you to the wolves I can collect from Thrip and clear Mrs. Shayne at the same time. Not bad. Not bad at all, even if I do say it as shouldn’t.” He lifted his glass in a toast to himself with wholehearted self-approval.
“I believe you’d do it,” Renslow panted. “I believe you would.”
“Why not? I told you and Mona in her apartment yesterday that I had to have a fall guy. I warned you I wasn’t going to give a damn who got hurt. Here, I’ve got a sweet pay-off and a fall guy.”
“You’re crazy. You can’t get away with anything as raw as that.” Renslow came to his feet with a rush. The protesting words poured out like floodwaters bursting a dam. “I’m not going to sit on my pratt and let you frame me into the chair. Maybe you weren’t so smart when you held that note out. No one else knows about it. If I bump you, no one ever will.” He whirled and caught up a straight chair, turned threateningly while his eyes blazed hatred at the detective.
Shayne laughed shortly. “Put that chair down. There’s been enough killing.”
“I’m not so sure of that.” Renslow began to inch forward.
Shayne stood his ground. “Don’t be any more of a damned fool than you can help,” he advised Renslow coldly. “You won’t be any better off with a broken neck than if you were squatting on the hot seat. I’m still open for bids,” he went on casually.
Renslow stopped inching forward. His tense grip on the chair relaxed slightly. In a choked voice he said, “You know I won’t be able to meet Thrip’s bid. I’m out on a limb for cash.”
Shayne said, “Let go of that chair and sit down.” After a moment’s hesitation, Renslow obeyed. Receding anger left him shaken and afraid.
Shayne said, “That’s better. Now, look. Can’t you raise some cash on your prospects? A man who stands to inherit several million dollars ought to be able to raise a few grand if he tries hard enough.”
