cents, leaving the price of foreign stuff at thirty-five or thereabouts. It was a big help to the western miners even if the rest of the country did have to pay the difference out of tax money.”
“I don’t quite get it,” Shayne argued. “Do you mean our government pays more per ounce for silver mined in this country than if it comes from abroad?”
“That’s it. Every ounce that goes to the mint has to be accompanied by proof that it’s freshly mined, and of its source. Government investigators are on the job checking shipments all the time. Our department has cooperated in running down a couple of operators trying to slip Mexican silver across and pretend it was mined in this country.”
Shayne was sitting erect, listening alertly. He leaned back now and massaged his left earlobe between his fingers. His rugged features held a queer, brooding look of expectancy. Chief Dyer puffed on his cigarette and watched him for a moment, then asked, “Have you anything that ties Bayliss in with the other two deaths we’ve been investigating?”
“All of them have to tie together,” growled Shayne. “Find out why Cochrane was bumped, and you’ll have the answer to the other two.”
“Bayliss says-”
“He lies,” Shayne told him wearily. “He hadn’t seen Carmela Towne for ten years. He’s been around El Paso for weeks without getting in touch with her. He didn’t commit murder last night just because she was out with another man.”
“Why, then?”
Shayne wasn’t listening to him any longer. The brooding look went away from his face, and he became grim and alert. He muttered, “I’ve been wondering how I was going to earn my expenses up here — May I use your phone?” He reached for it without waiting for the chief to answer, called Jefferson Towne’s number.
The Mexican butler answered. Shayne asked for Towne, and waited. After a few moments, he said, “This is Mike Shayne, Towne. Have you heard the news?”
He lifted one eyebrow at Dyer as he listened for a moment, then he chuckled and explained, “Lance Bayliss has confessed using Carmela’s gun on Cochrane last night. That’s right. Thought you’d be interested.”
He listened a moment, and then his voice and expression hardened: “You’ve still got an election to win in two weeks. Remember what I told you last night? That you’d be glad to pay me my own price? This is it. Listen carefully, because I’m just going to say it once: I have in my possession information that will put both John Carter and Manny Holden behind bars if and when I turn it over to the Federal authorities. I’m the only man who has that dope or even knows about it. It’s the only thing that will beat Carter at the polls the way things stand now. If you don’t want to buy it, I’m sure Holden will.”
Pausing to listen, Shayne glanced across the desk at Dyer, who glared at him with amazement and anger ludicrously mingled on his naked face.
“That’s the way it stands,” Shayne said into the telephone. “How much is it worth to you for me to spring it before the election? Sure, it’s blackmail,” he chuckled. “You should be used to that by now. You paid Jack Barton ten grand to keep him quiet about something that would defeat you. Another ten grand won’t break you.”
He waited for a moment, then said harshly, “I don’t trust you either. This is going to be an open-and-shut sale, with everything on top of the table. I’ve got something you want to buy. I’ll sell it for ten G’s and let you look it over to satisfy yourself it’s the McCoy before you make payment.
“We’ll do it at your house in two hours,” he went on sharply. “I’m catching a plane to New Orleans at noon. Do we deal? Or do I have to sell it to Holden and Carter?” He listened again, then said, “Right. In two hours. Have the money ready.” He hung up, and grinned at Dyer. “Now you know how a private dick manages to earn a living in these hard times.”
“Damn it, Shayne,” Dyer roared, “are you serious about this thing? Have you got such information?”
“I haven’t looked at it yet,” Shayne told him, “but I’m pretty sure it’s on the level.”
“And you would deliberately keep it out of the hands of the authorities unless Towne paid you for it? I know your reputation for pulling fast ones, Shayne, but I’ve always heard you played fair with justice in the end.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have held it out,” Shayne argued good-naturedly. “Maybe I was going to turn it over to you anyway. Isn’t justice going to be served this way just as well? And I’ll net ten grand out of it.”
Before Dyer could reply, Shayne went on briskly: “Did you ever get a report from Washington on the fingerprints of that drowned boy? Or find out anything about Jack Barton in California, or anywhere between here and California on the bus?”
“There hasn’t been time on the fingerprints,” Dyer told him, “and so far we haven’t located Barton.”
“I’d like a set of those prints.” Shayne’s gray eyes were very bright. “And I’ve got to make a trip to the marriage-license bureau. Where is it?”
“Marriage-license bureau?” Dyer raged. “You’re not-”
“No,” Shayne said blithely, “I’m not. Where is the bureau?”
“Look here,” said Dyer heavily, “about that information you say you have against Carter and Holden. Suppose Towne refused to pay you for it at the showdown? How do I know you won’t go to Holden for your ten grand?”
“You don’t,” Shayne admitted with a grin.
“I can’t let you play around with important evidence like that for your personal profit,” Dyer sputtered. “Where is it?”
Shayne said, “I’ve got it in a safe place.”
“What is it? What have you got on Holden and Carter?”
Shayne shook his head. “I’ve got to do some bargaining first.”
“You’re compounding a felony by holding out such evidence.”
“Don’t worry about that. Towne will rush it to you as soon as he gets his hands on it.”
“But you threatened to take it to Holden if Towne doesn’t pay off. He won’t turn it over to me.”
“That’s right,” Shayne agreed. “But Towne knows that, too, and that’s why he’ll have to deal with me.”
“Give it to me first,” Dyer urged him. “Keep the documents, or whatever they are, to sell to whoever wants to buy them. But let me have enough information to act on if anything goes wrong. That way, you play both ends against the middle.”
“The stuff is valuable to me only so long as I have the exclusive decision as to how it shall be used,” Shayne argued good-naturedly. “Towne wouldn’t pay out a dime if he knew you already had the dope and were going to use it against Carter whether or not he buys it.”
“But Towne doesn’t have to know it’s already in my possession,” Dyer pointed out. “I won’t double-cross you. Make any sort of crooked deal you want, but cover yourself by giving it to me first.”
“But that wouldn’t be playing it fair,” Shayne said blandly. “This way, I’m actually giving him something for his ten G’s.” He stood up and yawned. “Where did you say the license bureau was?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Michael Shayne’s first stop was at the police laboratory, where he picked up a set of fingerprints taken from the unidentified body found floating in the river, and got a report from ballistics on the bullet taken from Cochrane’s body and Carmela’s pistol.
The ballistics report was as meager and uninformative as he had feared after viewing the bullet and gun last night. The smashed condition of the bullet, together with the lack of rifling in the sawed-off. 38, made it impossible to make a positive comparison to determine whether the death slug had been fired from that pistol or not. All the external evidence pointed to an affirmative answer, but the police experts would go no further than that. The three empty cartridges had been checked, however, and there was no difficulty in determining whether or not they had been fired from Carmela’s gun.
From the laboratory, Shayne went to the marriagelicense bureau, and he spent fifteen minutes going over old license records with the clerk. He was whistling cheerfully when he emerged from the City Hall and walked up the street to the police coupe parked in front of his hotel.
A shabby little man sauntered along the street behind him. He looked like a western rancher in for a holiday, and was intensely interested in the shop windows along the street. He loitered inconspicuously behind the detective
