Phyllis sniffed unconsciously. Her eyes widened and she glanced aside in the direction of his gaze where Helen was sitting down. Shayne hunched his chair around so that his back was partially toward the girl.
Phyllis breathed, “She’s-beautiful, Michael.”
He nodded and lifted his glass again. “Maybe that’s why she’s bored with her husband.”
“Michael! Are you sure there isn’t some mistake? She doesn’t look like that sort of girl.”
Shayne said, “Most of them don’t, angel. Take you, for example. Now who would think you were a dish- throwing female?”
Phyllis grimaced. “You knew she would be here for dinner,” she challenged. “That’s why you came.”
Shayne shook his head. “I’d have come alone if I’d been sure. But it isn’t strange that she’s here,” he added. “Her apartment is only a block away and this is the only decent restaurant in this vicinity.”
As they finished their drinks, the waiter approached proudly bearing aloft a tray holding huge bowls of the German dish prepared as only the Danube cook could prepare it. A short little man waddled in the wake of the waiter. He was almost as wide as he was tall. Deep lines of worry were etched in a moonlike face that was normally placid and beaming. Otto Phleugar’s round blue eyes held a hurt look of bewilderment like that of a child who has been unfairly punished by his parents.
He stopped beside Shayne’s chair and put a fat, moist hand on Shayne’s shoulder. “It is good to see you ordering the hasenpfeffer, mine friend. It is for wonder you do not fear so German a dish would be poisoned by the Nazi ideals.”
Shayne smiled up at the proprietor. “Is it really getting that bad, Otto?”
“Worse nor that,” he declared. “Those who were my friends in past years have declared the boycott. For yourself, you can see.” He waved a pudgy hand toward the almost deserted dining-room.
Shayne said, “It’s just the backwash of war hysteria. It will pass, Otto-if you keep on serving the same kind of food you have been.”
“I am sure of nothing,” sighed Otto Phleugar. “In America I have lived for twenty years yet, and now I am hated and threatened because once I lived in a land that is now at war with us.”
He hesitated, then ventured timidly, “Could I in my office see you after the dinner is ended, Mr. Shayne? There is somethings for talk in private that I your advice would ask.”
“Sure, Otto. You can’t drag me away from this dinner, but as soon as I’m full to the chin I’ll be in.”
“It is with the greatest thanks,” the rotund man said. He bowed from his enormous belly to Phyllis and turned away.
“Poor little fat man,” she breathed. “He looks so lost and heartsick, Michael I do hope you can help him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Turn your head and take a casual look at that girl for me,” Shayne directed his wife after they had topped off a heavy dinner with black coffee and thimble-like glasses of Otard Cognac. “I’d like to get into Otto’s office without her seeing me.”
Phyllis took a slow look in Helen Brinstead’s direction and reported, “She’s eating dinner and not paying any attention to anything else. She seems to have a remarkably good appetite for a woman with husband murder on her mind.”
Shayne grinned and said, “Feeding her nerves. You stay here while I see what Otto has on his mind. I won’t be long.” He turned sideways as he pushed back his chair, keeping his back to Helen. He sauntered out of the dining-room and turned to the right down a wide hall, pushed open a wooden door that stood slightly ajar.
Otto Phleugar sat behind a bare desk in a small, plainly furnished office. He got up when Shayne entered, bustled around the desk, and took the detective’s hand. “It is good that you come, mine friend. Sit here.” He drew up a straight chair and pressed Shayne into it, then tiptoed to the door with an incongruous show of caution, closed and latched it firmly. He returned to his chair and sat down, nervously wiping perspiration from his face.
Shayne watched him with narrowed eyes. “You act like the Gestapo was after you, Otto. What the hell is this all about?”
A shudder traveled from Otto’s three chins down to his protuberant stomach. “It is not good to make the joke.” He sighed, wagging his head from side to side mournfully. “I am on the-what you would call the spot.”
Shayne lit a cigarette very deliberately. “Gorstmann?”
Otto Phleugar gave a start of surprise, of fear. Beads of sweat began to form on his face again. “From how do you know about Herr Gorstmann?”
Shayne said, “I was guessing. He’s new here and-well, I don’t like the looks of his horse-face.”
The restaurant proprietor leaned close and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Did he-was he seeing you when you came to my office?”
“I didn’t notice. Suppose he did? What’s this head-waiter got on you?”
“It is of the most difficult. You must try to understand. It is not good to make the laugh about the Gestapo. Herr Gorstmann is not only the headwaiter. He comes with authority from Berlin.”
Shayne’s expression hardened. “Authority from Berlin doesn’t mean a damned thing in the United States. You’re a fool if you’re trying to ride both sides of the fence, Otto. A dangerous fool if you’re playing that game.”
“That I understand so well,” Phleugar moaned. “To you I must talk. It is not what I wish. The good citizen I am want to be.”
Shayne leaned back comfortably. “You’d better tell me all about it. But I’m not promising a thing. You can’t play your silly Gestapo games in wartime without getting your fingers burned.”
“That I understand. Hate I have for myself in here.” Phleugar tapped his stomach. “This I cannot endure longer. I will tell it to you and you will the advice give.”
“Get started,” said Shayne evenly, “but don’t expect too much sympathy from me. Damn it, Otto,” he exploded, “you’ve had twenty years of good living in this country. You don’t owe Germany anything. If you give me any information I think should go to the authorities, that’s where it will go. Start talking.”
“It is well.” Otto mopped his fat face again. “Herr Gorstmann to my restaurant came three days ago. Business was bad as you see it tonight. Since the war people remember I am German and do not come to eat. This is not fair, but what can I do?”
Shayne said, “I admit it’s tough, but it’s no excuse for you to turn against the country, Otto.”
“That I tell myself. So I tell Herr Gorstmann when he tell me I must hire him in my restaurant so he will escape the eyes of the law. There would be money for me each month-money I need if I do not close the Danube.
“But I liked it not, Mr. Shayne. To Herr Gorstmann I say that I am the American citizen and I must not do this.
“Then he is with threats for me. The eyes of the Gestapo, he relates, are everywhere. I have cousins in Germany. Of my good wife, there is her mother in Hamburg. If I refused Herr Gorstmann there would be trouble- death for those so unfortunate who remain under the Nazis. Could I say no to Herr Gorstmann?” He spread out his hands appealingly.
“Yes,” Shayne growled. “If there was an ounce of guts in that fat body of yours you would have refused. You should have called me or the police as soon as Gorstmann came to you with his threats. Good God!” he pounded out, “your relatives in Germany will have to take their chances. We’re at war, Otto. You can’t sabotage a whole nation to protect a few individuals in Germany. If you had been a real American citizen you wouldn’t have hesitated one moment. You had no choice except to throw him out.”
Shayne ground his cigarette out savagely on the floor and thrust his gaunt face close to Otto’s. His voice was harsh and uncompromising.
“I thought you were on the square, Otto. I’ve even pitied you because you’ve had hard going with your restaurant. And you sit here and calmly admit you’re actually a traitor.”
Otto Phleugar got to his feet with trembling dignity. All the color had disappeared from his rosy cheeks. “Harsh words are those, Mr. Shayne. I have been sick with fear and hate for the thing I was doing. I know not what
