Jake Liverdink, Prop.
“Oh, I forgot you didn’t know,” Phyllis said. She sprang from the floor and sat on the arm of his chair, cuddling against him. “Mr. Matrix sent it up while you were out-along with this note.” She unzipped the front of her gown to get out a folded note.
Shayne took it and read:
Here’s the only print there’ll ever be. Keep it for a souvenir from Midge and me. This puts you in the clear to go after MacFarlane and his racket any way you want to.
GIL MATRIX.
A queer light came into Shayne’s eyes and he sat for a moment staring into space.
Phyllis looked impatient. “What does it mean?” she demanded eagerly. “Is this what you wouldn’t tell me about your trip out to the Rendezvous-when you insisted on talking about kittens in the road?”
Shayne grinned and nodded. “That’s exactly it, angel. Gil spoiled the game by breaking into the studio and smashing the plate-as much for Midge as for us, I imagine.”
The telephone rang in the bedroom before Phyllis could question him further.
Shayne sprang to his feet as though propelled by a coiled spring and rushed to answer it.
Will Gentry said, “I’ve just received a wire signed by the chief of police of Urban, Illinois.”
“Read it to me.”
He said, “Claude Bates and Lucretia Grant only couple married on that date. Now, what the hell, Mike?”
Shayne said, “Thanks, Will,” and hung up quickly. He took a notebook from his pocket and scribbled down the two names, then sat on the edge of the bed rubbing his lean jaw.
He then lifted the phone and asked the hotel switchboard operator to get him the warden of the state penitentiary at Joliet, Illinois.
Chapter Seventeen: NO REST FOR THE CORONER
Michael Shayne held the telephone to his ear with one hand and fished a cigarette from a pack in his pocket while he waited. Phyllis came in and sat beside him, struck a match and lit his cigarette with silent competence.
He listened to long-distance operators talking back and forth, and finally a voice informed him, “We are ready with the state penitentiary at Joliet, Mr. Shayne, but the warden is not in. Will you talk to someone else?”
“Anyone in authority,” Shayne answered, and after another brief wait the voice said, “Here’s your party. Go ahead, please.”
Shayne said, “Hello, Joliet,” and a male voice answered, “Hello.”
“This is Michael Shayne speaking-a private detective in Miami, Florida. I’m working on a murder and counterfeiting case and I think you have information that will crack it for me.”
“What information do you need?”
“The dope on a couple of former inmates. Their names are Claude Bates and Theodore Ross. Got that?”
“Just a minute while I write them down. All right.”
“I don’t know the date you received these men. About ten years ago-or less than that. I don’t know what the charge or sentence was, though I have a hunch they went up for some sort of counterfeiting racket-printed forgeries of some sort, I imagine.”
“It’ll take some time to check the records on that meager information,” the voice from the penitentiary warned him. “Do you want it tonight or-”
“I want it right now. I’ll hold the line while you check.”
He heard a resigned, “Very well,” and relaxed to wait. He sucked on the cigarette, staring straight in front of him with brows knitted. Though he had spoken over the telephone with crisp certainty, he wasn’t at all certain that his hunch was right. In one sense it had to be that way, but in a dozen other logical answers there might be one that would fit the facts in his possession as well.
After waiting and listening for ten minutes, he said to Phyllis, “It’s taking them a hell of a long time to get the information. They should have all the names of former prisoners filed alphabetically. It shouldn’t take so long-”
His fingers tightened on the telephone when a voice came through. He frowned and said resignedly, “Yes- waiting.”
Then, the deep furrows smoothed out as he listened to the prison deputy. He said, “That’s swell. Nineteen- thirty-one, eh? Twenty to fifty years. Escaped in ’thirty-six.” He kept nodding while he listened, a pleasurable gleam in his gray eyes.
“That’s fine,” he said presently. “I’ve got all that, and thanks. I’m quite sure I’ll have something on that for you tomorrow.”
With the instrument held to his ear he broke the connection, and when the switchboard answered he said, “I want to speak to Timothy Rourke.” He gave a Miami residence telephone number and waited.
Phyllis asked, “Are you going to have a scoop for Tim?” excitedly.
Shayne grinned and gestured for silence. In a moment he said, “Hello-Tim? Shayne speaking. Come on up to Cocopalm right away. I’m about to play an ace that’ll win the pot if somebody doesn’t play the joker.”
“What’s up, Mike? Something on the Mayme Martin murder?”
“Maybe. And there are a couple of other angles. I thought maybe you’d want to be in on it since you dealt the hand when you delivered that message from Phyl this afternoon.”
“Maybe! Mike, why didn’t you call me-”
“See you at headquarters in Cocopalm.”
When he cradled the receiver Phyllis was tugging at his arm. “What is it, Michael? You look like a cat that’s swallowed three canaries. Who are these men-Bates and Ross? I’ve never even heard their names in connection with the case.”
Shayne stood up slowly and the expression of exultation slowly went from his face. He stared down at his hands, cracking one knuckle after the other.
“It’s the roundup, Phyl. I know who’s been doing the counterfeiting-who murdered Mayme Martin and Ben Edwards-and why they were murdered.”
“You don’t look very happy about it. Have you forgotten the fee you’ll have coming? And who-?”
He silenced her with a long, searching look. “This isn’t going to be any fun, Phyl. Someone else is going to get hurt. That’s the hell of crime.”
He shrugged his shoulders, bent and kissed her lips lightly. “Don’t worry. And Phyl-”
“Yes?”
“I wish you’d get dressed to go out. I don’t know, but I think I may call on you for a little help after a while.”
“Of course.” She sprang to her feet, seized his arm. “Is it that girl-out on the beach?”
He said, “Yeh. Midge. It’s funny how life slaps some people around.”
He went out and grabbed his hat and went down in the elevator. Will Gentry was waiting for him in the lobby. He growled, “Well, you got the wire you wanted. It’s taken you a hell of a long time to get down here. Now what?”
“The rest of it is easy. Only-you and Chief Boyle will have to fight over jurisdiction. Your man also killed Ben Edwards.”
“Who? What the hell do you know?”
“I’ll handle the finish my own way,” Shayne advised him dryly. “I don’t want either you or Boyle horning in at the last minute and spoiling my claim on the fee from the race-track officials.”
He stalked away from Gentry and went to the desk. “How long ago was Matrix here-when he brought that envelope you sent up to my wife?”
The clerk pursed his lips and glanced up at the clock. “Something like half an hour ago, I imagine. He said you were in his office waiting for him then.”
“Matrix said I was waiting for him in his office?”
