… only thing left for me to do. I am going to shoot myself through the right temple and may God in His all- embracing wisdom pity me, though I deserve no pity.
He stepped back from the typewriter and read what he had written, leaving the sheet of paper in the machine. Nodding approval, he stripped the rubber covering from his finger, replaced it on Hardeman’s after obliterating all prints from the inside with his handkerchief.
Grateful for the clamor outside, to which the noise of starting motors was added from the parking-lot, Shayne took time for another slow and comprehensive survey of the interior of the office. Changing the setup from murder to suicide had, strangely, made no difference in the appearance of the room.
He went to the door and opened it enough to press the button releasing the night latch, carefully polished the knob and the light switch.
Leaving the door slightly ajar, he strode back to the desk and with his elbow pushed the telephone to the floor from its position on the extreme corner where Hardeman’s outflung hand might have struck it as he died.
He went out without a backward glance, leaving the light burning, and as he passed through the door he could hear a metallic voice rasping from the phone on the floor;
“Number, please. Number…?”
No one saw him go swiftly down the hall and out under the grandstand, where an eddying mob of people surged toward the exit gates. He joined them, let himself be shouldered around until he reached his roadster, and waited until he was able to edge out onto the highway.
Bright stars gleamed in the sky, covered here and there by fleecy white and scurrying clouds.
He drove slowly, completely relaxed behind the wheel, while a stream of cars raced past him.
The full-bodied scream of a police siren brought him alert as he approached the outskirts of Cocopalm. He grinned briefly as an automobile with red accessory lights and siren going at full blast sped past him toward the greyhound track.
Shayne did not stop at the hotel, but drove a few blocks beyond and turned toward the beach. As he neared Midge Taylor’s cabin he saw lights in the windows and Gil Matrix’s Ford parked in front.
Will Gentry sat behind the wheel of his car across the street and a block south.
Shayne stopped beside Gentry’s car. The Miami detective chief removed a cigar from his mouth and leaned out, gesturing toward the cottage. “Your man pulled up and went in soon after I parked here. Nobody has come out.”
“Thanks, Will. I’ll take over now.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Will you do me one more favor?”
Gentry said. “I might as well be your errand boy as anything else,” caustically.
“Stop by the hotel and ask Phyllis to get a cab and come out here. It’ll only delay you a minute,” Shayne said mildly, “and then you can drive on out to the track and see what’s up out there.”
“The track? What is doing out there?”
“I didn’t stop to ask anybody but I just saw the Cocopalm police force headed hell-bent in that direction. I would’ve gone too, but I knew you’d be getting impatient on this assignment.”
Gentry growled something unintelligible and put his car in gear, but Shayne detained him:
“I’ll meet you at the police station in half an hour with Matrix. Tell Boyle to get Payson and MacFarlane down there too. We’ll clear everything up while we’re at it.”
Gentry nodded and drove away at high speed.
Shayne pulled ahead and parked behind Matrix’s Ford. He got out and glanced in the back of Matrix’s car. Three traveling-bags and a briefcase were stacked on the back seat.
He went up the shell walk and stepped onto the porch lightly, turned the knob and opened the front door noiselessly.
Gil Matrix stood with his back to the door and facing the hallway leading to the bedroom. Midge’s voice floated in from the room as Shayne stood there.
“I’m hurrying as fast as I can, Gil,” she said. “Will I have time to pack another bag?”
From the doorway Shayne answered for Matrix: “Don’t bother to pack anything else, Midge. You’re not going anywhere.”
Gil Matrix whirled around with a smothered curse as. Shayne spoke. His eyes glittered and his thin features twitched. He whipped a revolver from his pocket and leveled it at Shayne, called loudly to Midge:
“Sure. Pack another bag if you want to. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Chapter Nineteen: ENOUGH MURDER FOR ONE NIGHT
Shayne stepped over the threshold, moving with careful ease, taking extreme precaution to avoid any sudden gesture which might cause an instinctive reaction from Matrix’s trigger finger.
He frowned at the leveled pistol. “It’s too late for that, Matrix. Better put it down before it goes off.”
Midge rushed into the room, her face pale and pinched with terror. She stood close behind Matrix, her stark eyes looking at Shayne over the editor’s shoulder. She breathed:
“What is it, Gil?” Then, “Oh-no!” in a great sobbing breath when she saw the gun in his hand.
“Stand back out of the way,” he rasped over his shoulder. “Get your stuff ready. No one can stop me now.” Standing perfectly still he appeared to swagger and strut defiance.
Shayne saw Midge tense. Her stricken gaze was fixed on Gil’s pistol. She made a quick move with her right hand as if to grab the weapon.
Shayne said, “Don’t,” sharply.
When she drew back with an expression of disbelief, he explained, “It might go off if you reach for it. There has been enough murder in Cocopalm tonight.” He moved sideways, keeping his hands in plain sight, and sat down near the front window.
Matrix did not move. His head was hunched forward between shoulder blades that jutted up on each side. His round, owlish eyes held Shayne’s unblinkingly. He warned in a thin high voice of near-hysteria, “There’s likely to be one more killing, Shayne-unless you use your head.”
“No, Gil,” Midge begged. She pressed close against him. “I don’t understand,” she wailed. Her tongue came out to moisten her lips but left them dry. “You won’t tell me anything. What’s all this-talk about killing? Why should Mr. Shayne try to stop us from going?” She spoke with great effort and tried again to moisten her lips with a dry tongue.
“Because he’s too smart,” Matrix snarled. “Because he wasn’t satisfied with what was right before his eyes. He had to go digging into something else.” The little editor’s body began to tremble violently. The pistol was not cocked, but Shayne knew that it had a double-action mechanism and too much pressure on the trigger would fire it without cocking.
Midge put her arm around Matrix’s shoulders. Terror drove all youth and gaiety from her face and she looked as old as Gil Matrix. She crooned, “There now, Gil. There now, darling,” as a mother might croon to her baby.
She exerted gentle pressure on his shaking body, moving him slowly sideways to the couch. He let himself be pushed down to the cushions. The pistol wavered, then slid from his inert hand to the floor. He looked down at it in some surprise, slowly moved the fingers of his right hand as if testing their ability to move.
When he raised his eyes to Shayne’s the desperation had gone out of them and the pinched look had passed from his thin features. He nodded and essayed an odd little secretive smile.
“You win. You and Midge. It wouldn’t do for her to go away with me.”
“No,” Shayne agreed. “It wouldn’t do at all-Ross. You should have learned by now that nothing is ever gained by running away from things.”
The editor’s eyelids flickered at the name of Ross. That was the only evidence of surprise he allowed himself. He said, “So-you know all about that?”
Midge had curled herself up on the couch beside him. She had her arm around his neck and her finger tips caressed his cheek as she gazed at Shayne with bright, questioning eyes, trying desperately to understand without asking questions.
Shayne said, “Yes. I know all about that.” He paused, added casually, “I talked to the warden at Joliet long-
