mind as he drove.
He didn’t have much on Hake Brenner except the beating Rourke had received Tuesday afternoon. That was clear enough now. Brenner had propositioned Rourke and when he got no for an answer, he had Bing and Monk work him over. What further action he had taken was anybody’s guess. Brenner was a business man, and there wasn’t the slightest doubt he would prefer to avoid shooting trouble if possible. On the other hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to send his torpedoes after Rourke if he thought that was the only way to shut him up.
Shayne crossed the bridge over the waterway onto the peninsula and turned north toward Tempest Street. Five minutes later he pulled up in front of the stuccoed duplex.
A For Rent sign was already set up in front of the half occupied by Madge Rankin. It advised prospective tenants to contact John Wiseman, Realtor, at a Miami Beach address.
Shayne went up the walk and rang Helen Porter’s bell. She opened the door almost at once and smiled when she saw him. Her lustrous dark hair was combed back smoothly and she was freshly rouged and made up with a deep suntan powder. She looked much daintier than last night, and her light-brown eyes sparkled excitedly as she invited him in.
“I’ve been hoping you’d come, Mike. What’s been happening? What have they found out about Madge?”
“Not much-to both questions.”
She caught his arm and pressed close to him as they walked across to the couch. A faint and seductive perfume floated to his nostrils. Helen said, “I didn’t go to sleep for a long time last night,” in a scolding voice, then laughed softly.
Shayne grinned and said, “Neither did I. Have the cops been around again?”
“No.” She sat down on the sofa and looked up at him expectantly, stretching a pair of long and well-shaped legs out before her. Her green jersey sports skirt slid above her knees, and the snug tan blouse she wore was revealing.
Shayne said, “You look pretty. Smell good too.” He sat down beside her.
“Thank you, sir,” she laughed. “I was wondering whether you’d think so.” She turned her body toward him and asked earnestly, “Do you think they’ll ever find out who killed Madge?”
“Don’t you read the papers? Chief Painter predicts an early arrest.”
She made a wry face. “Him! I was frightened last night staying here all alone. I got to thinking about Madge. It must have been someone she knew-someone she’d maybe given a key to-”
“And you got to thinking about the key you’d given me?” Shayne interrupted with a chuckle.
“No, silly. I wished you would come back. But I did get to thinking about the key fitting both doors and how the murderer must still have the key Madge gave him-and-” She shuddered delicately and added, “It gave me the willies.”
Shayne said slowly, “If the same key will unlock both doors, it could have been someone using your key, Helen. Had you thought about that?”
“But you’ve got the only extra key I have.”
“But I didn’t have it last Tuesday night.” He was silently thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I guess that angle is out. Have you seen any more of Dilly Smith?”
“No. Why should I?” she asked quickly.
“I thought he might have come back. I had a hunch my being here when he came last night cramped his style.”
“It didn’t,” she said shortly. “He was a friend of Madge’s, not mine.”
“How’d you come to know him? You said you’d only lived here two weeks.”
“Sure. But I knew Madge before I moved in this house with her.”
“Do you suppose Dilly has a key to her door?” Shayne persisted.
“I don’t know.” Helen grew wide-eyed and thoughtful. “I guess they were pretty friendly before they broke up,” she said after a moment. “But I don’t think it was Dilly. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Maybe not.” Shayne got up abruptly. “I want a picture of Madge. Do you suppose there’s one in her place?”
“All her stuff is still there. Mr. Wiseman was around this morning asking me if I knew about any relatives or anyone that might clean it out so he can rent it again.”
“Did you?”
“No. Madge never told me about her folks.” She got up and stood close to him. “Can’t you stay awhile?”
“Not right now. I’ll be around to try out that key tonight if Painter doesn’t have a stake-out here. You’d better not go in Madge’s place with me. If the cops are watching you might as well stay in the clear.” He pressed her hand between both his palms and went out.
He glanced up and down the street but saw no one watching the house, got out the key Helen had given him and tried it in the door of 614. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but with a little pressure it opened the door.
Entering the stuffy living-room, he glanced around but saw no photographs. He went on to the bedroom where a bloodstained sheet on the bed was the only sign of murder.
There was a small framed photograph of a strikingly handsome blond girl on the dresser. The tinting showed her eyes to be very blue and red lips smiled at him. Shayne slid it in the side pocket of his coat, went to the back door and removed the key from the lock, and went out through the front door, locking it behind him.
The curtains at Helen’s front windows were parted and he saw her face as he turned away.
He drove directly to the downtown section and found the office of John Wiseman, Realtor, on Third Street. The office was small, and Mr. Wiseman was alone when Shayne went in. He was a wizened little man with a high- domed bald head and a long sharp nose that appeared to quiver with eagerness as he scented a possible client in the rangy redhead. He came forward dry-washing his hands and said, “Yes, sir. What can I do for you today?”
“I see you’re the agent for the empty half of the duplex at Six-Fourteen Temple Street.”
“That’s correct.” Mr. Wiseman pulled a comfortable chair around for Shayne, drew up a metal smoking-stand, and then perched himself on the edge of another chair near by. “A dreadful tragedy,” he said, and shook his head sorrowfully. “Mrs. Rankin was a valued tenant. Dreadful. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I read the startling news in the paper. It’s been only a few days since I was talking with Mrs. Rankin and she was in the best of health. The very best of health,”
“How well did you know Mrs. Rankin?”
“Quite well. That is to say, in our business relationship only.” Mr. Wiseman laughed nervously. “A very desirable property, Mr. ah-I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Shayne. I’m a detective, Mr. Wiseman, and not interested in renting. You say you saw Mrs. Rankin only a few days ago?”
“A detective? Indeed?” Mr. Wiseman’s countenance fell. “I’ll tell you anything I can, of course.”
Shayne took Madge’s photograph from his pocket. “Would you say this was a recent picture of her?”
The realtor took the photograph and held it up to the light. “A good likeness,” he murmured. “Fairly recent, I would say. Taken in the last couple of years at least. A very attractive woman. A grass widow, I believe.” He made a smacking sound with his bloodless lips.
“And she lived there alone?”
“Yes. Quite alone.”
“Did she entertain much? Men, particularly?”
“Mrs. Rankin?” Mr. Wiseman was shocked. “Oh, no. We wouldn’t allow anything like that. This property is in a very refined neighborhood.”
Shayne said, “I didn’t know Mrs. Rankin, but I’ve met her neighbor on the other side and it’s my guess that she doesn’t lack male visitors.”
Mr. Wiseman pressed his thin lips together and looked pained. “Miss Porter is quite another matter,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “She’s occupied the premises only a short time and I don’t mind telling you I’m quite disappointed in her. Decidedly disappointed. I had no idea, you understand, when I rented to her. She appeared very genteel when she first came to me about renting the house.”
Shayne smothered a grin. “You can’t trust looks nowadays.”
“You certainly cannot.” Mr. Wiseman was righteously indignant. “Not that Miss Porter is flagrant about it. I must say she is decidedly discreet. But I’ve noticed things. I make it a point to keep an eye on the properties under my control and I’ve dropped by there twice in the evening to pay my respects and rung her bell without receiving
