Chapter Seven
Shayne came to a sudden decision when he reached Flagler Street. He needed a bath and some clothes, and he could use a drink. He swung to the left on Flagler, deserted now at two-thirty in the morning, drove two blocks toward the bay front and turned right to the side entrance of an apartment building on the north bank of the Miami River.
He parked, took the keys from the ignition, went in through the side door and across the empty lobby on unshod feet.
The night clerk was a slight, middle-aged man. When awake, he bustled around with a great show of energy, his lips compressed and three deep lines of worry between his eyes. Now he was hunched forward at the desk, asleep. His cheek was pressed against one outstretched arm. He looked neither precise nor efficient. His mouth was laxly open, and the lines between the eyes were not so deep.
Shayne stopped beside the desk and considered the sleeping man gravely for a moment. It seemed to him a wonderful thing to be able to sleep like that, as though he had nothing whatever on his mind. Then the thought came that all over Miami there were people sleeping soundly, with nothing whatever on their minds and with all the lines of daytime worry smoothed from their brows because they had chosen other professions than that of the harried private detective.
He touched the man on the elbow and said apologetically, “Wake up, Henry.”
Henry gave a little start, an involuntary twitching of his shoulder muscles, and snorted faintly.
Shayne joggled his elbow and said, “Henry,” louder than before.
Henry sat up and blinked at him, then compressed his lips and managed to look primly efficient. The deep vertical lines showed between his eyes again and deepened a trifle as he became aware of Shayne’s appearance.
“My goodness, Mr. Shayne,” he said, “I thought you’d left us. Is something wrong?” he added delicately.
Shayne asked, “Did a taxi driver bring my Gladstone back here with a message saying I’d missed the plane?”
“Yes, he did. I’d almost forgotten that. In fact, I’m afraid it slipped my mind altogether when those policemen from the Beach were in here asking about you.”
“When was that?”
“Half an hour ago, I imagine.” Henry glanced at the clock. “I gathered from the way they talked and acted that they suspected you hadn’t left town on the midnight plane, Mr. Shayne.”
Shayne’s ragged brows lifted. “So?”
“So, knowing that-er-you are sometimes in difficulties with policemen from across the bay, I decided it might be just as well not to mention the bag or the driver’s message.”
“You shouldn’t lie to the police just to keep me out of trouble, Henry.” Shayne’s voice was warm with comradeship and gratitude. Henry had been night clerk at the apartment hotel for years, and it wasn’t the first time he’d lied for Shayne.
“Oh, I didn’t lie to them. I really can’t help it if my memory is faulty, Mr. Shayne.”
Shayne said, “I hope it won’t improve if they question you again. I hear you already have another occupant for my apartment.”
“Yes. A Mr. Slocum. He rented it this afternoon.” The little man didn’t ask how Shayne knew this. The years had accustomed him to the fact that the detective often knew all sorts of amazing things.
“But he hasn’t taken possession yet?”
“I believe not. He took one grip up when he rented the apartment, but I believe the rest of his luggage is at a local hotel and he’s coming in with it in the morning.”
“Have you anything else for me? I may decide to stay in town for some time.”
The clerk spread out his thin hands helplessly. “Nothing, Mr. Shayne. Not a single thing.”
Shayne reached up and slowly massaged his ear lobe. “I’m not my usual fashionable self, as you’ll notice, Henry. I had to leave a certain place rather suddenly and I had to grab what was handy.”
Henry looked at him primly, his gaze sliding down the stiff, dirty coveralls to Shayne’s bony ankles and his feet clad only in a pair of socks. He nodded with a sober man-to-man air and murmured, “One might deduce the lady’s husband is not as tall as you, Mr. Shayne, and a trifle bulkier in build.”
Shayne grinned and said, “That’s a fair job of deduction, Henry. Do you suppose Mr. Slocum would mind if I took my suitcase up to his apartment and borrowed the bathroom and put on some clothes that fit me a little better?”
“I don’t see how he would ever know about it. But I’m afraid he has the only key. You didn’t turn yours in when you checked out.”
Shayne frowned. “Force of habit, I suppose, from carrying that key in my pocket for so many years. But don’t worry about that-But wait a minute,” he added sharply. “I left my key ring behind with my clothes. You must have more than one extra key.”
“We’ve a master key, of course.”
“Of course,” Shayne repeated. He reached for the large brass ring Henry lifted from a hook behind the desk. “Now if you’ll get my bag-”
“It’s right here.” The clerk opened a wooden gate and slid the suitcase out. “Joe is probably asleep on the top floor,” he added as they went toward the elevators. “He has a cot up there in the corridor.” He put his finger on the signal button and held it there.
“One more favor,” Shayne said as they waited for the buzzer to waken Joe. “I need a drink, Henry. You know how it is when a man needs a drink.”
Henry said, “I can imagine,” in a tone that told Shayne he couldn’t imagine at all.
“And I’m broke. There’s an all-night restaurant around the corner where they keep a few bottles under the counter for emergencies like this. Just mention my name.”
Henry nodded wisely. There was a clanking overhead, indicating that the elevator was coming down.
“How about slipping around there and getting a bottle for me while Joe takes me up? I’ll send him right down to watch the desk.”
Henry’s pale eyes twinkled. “I can do better than that, I believe. I have a small stock in the safe for emergencies. As I recall, you prefer cognac.”
Shayne looked at the neat little man in utter amazement. “After all these years,” he murmured. “One does live and learn. Yes, Henry, I do indeed prefer cognac. Send it up by Joe right away,” he added as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a yawning Negro boy in a blue uniform.
Joe said, “Howdy, Mistuh Shayne. Yo’all back again?” with a sleepy grin, and took him up to the third floor.
Shayne got out and said, “Henry has something for me downstairs, Joe. Bring it up, and then you can take this key ring back to him.”
The lad nodded sleepily and closed the doors.
Shayne strode down the corridor to the familiar door and put the master key in the lock. It opened easily, and he padded inside with suitcase in hand. He set it down and turned on the light. The living-room was just as he had left it more than twelve hours earlier.
He felt an odd restlessness and realized that he hadn’t had a cigarette since his incarceration in the men’s room of the underground garage. He hurried to the telephone, asked Henry to send some up with the bottle, and then gave a deep sigh of relief as he hung up and began unfastening the metal buttons on the coveralls.
He let them drop from his body in the middle of the living-room, kicked off his socks, and went into the kitchenette where he turned on the cold water faucet and inspected the ice trays in the small refrigerator. They were full of cubes. He pulled one out, set it in the sink under the stream of water and got two glasses from the cupboard. He put four cubes in one glass, filled it with water, and went back into the living-room just as Joe knocked on the door.
Setting the glasses on the center table, he went to the door to get the bottle and two packs of cigarettes from Joe.
