consternation when they started taking off his shoes and socks.
Allen stood up, scratched his head as protruding eyes went over Shayne as if he expected to see the note pinned, on his suit, and reported, “It’s not on him, Chief. I don’t get it.”
“I swear he couldn’ve got rid of it,” the bulky one began.
“There never was a note,” Shayne grated. His temper went out of control as he put on his socks and shoes. He tied the last lace, stood up and smoothed his coat, lit a cigarette, stepped over and lowered one hip to a corner of the desk.
“Your men messed everything up by moving in before any note was passed. Our man is probably out there now biting his nails and wondering how in hell he’s going to make contact.”
“He’s still bottled up,” Gentry muttered. “We can go over the lot of them-”
“And find out what?” Shayne demanded hotly. “All we know about him thus far is that he’s some man who has had some connection with Miss Morton that makes him a logical suspect for her murder. No name. No description. Nothing. So you’re going to shake down a barroom full of men looking for what?” His voice was savagely jeering.
“From the way you talked to him on the phone-”
“Nuts. You know damned well I was playing him along.”
“You admit guessing your line was tapped and that you deliberately prevented him from naming a time and place to meet where we could have picked him up,” Gentry exploded.
“Of course I did. The one thing I don’t want is for you to pick him up.”
“Because he offered you ten grand to keep him put of the investigation.”
“Maybe. That’s reason enough. But there’s another reason. You’d realize it if you took time to think. You grab him and he clams up. Without an alibi for the time between six-thirty and seven he admits he’s definitely on the spot. So he won’t tell you anything. Why should he? But he’ll spill his guts if I get to him alone and handle him right. He thinks I already know what his connection is.”
“And Miss Lally knows, too,” Gentry reminded him. “All we have to do is ask her-”
“You’re not going to ask Miss Lally anything,” Shayne cut in. “Don’t you see? This bird will make a deal with me only so long as he thinks I can keep his part in it quiet. It’ll all be off the minute he learns that either Lally or I have talked to you.”
“You mean the ten-grand deal will be off.”
“I mean the ten-grand deal,” he conceded. “And maybe the inside dope that’ll solve a murder for you. Who in hell are you, anyway,” he added angrily, “to talk about ten-grand like it was peanuts? How much does the city pay you to mess around and prevent me from catching murderers?”
Will Gentry’s face was purple. He glared at the two officers and roared, “Report back to headquarters and put on uniforms. Show up for patrol duty tomorrow morning.”
Shayne waited until the door closed behind them, his face turned aside to hide a grin, then leaned forward and said soothingly:
“You can’t help making mistakes when you have to depend on a couple of farmers to be intelligent, Will. For God’s sake let’s quit fighting and put our heads together the way we’ve done in the past. I never let you down; and if I can pick up a hunk of cash for myself, why should you get in my way?”
“I don’t like the way you’re holding Miss Lally out on me,” he said grudgingly.
“I wanted this chance for somebody like the character who phoned to contact me,” Shayne said persuasively. “Let’s assume he’s the one who has been sending the threats to Sara Morton-and ended up by murdering her. He evidently feels that Miss Morton suspected him. He hears over the radio that she consulted me today, and feels sure she passed her suspicions on to me. But as long as he thinks I’m the only one who knows, who has enough extra information to take whatever Miss Lally knows about him and add it up to murder, then he’s frantic to get hold of me and make a deal before I spill it to the cops.”
“For ten thousand dollars,” Gentry reiterated harshly.
“All right. For ten grand. Let him pay it. I’ve got a newspaper reputation for making deals like that and he feels safe. But you know I never protected a killer.” Shayne took a final drag on his cigarette and rubbed it out in an ash tray, eased himself farther onto the table, and nursed a knobby knee between his hands while Gentry made up his mind.
“How do you propose we handle it now?” Gentry asked slowly.
His profile was toward Gentry now. Without turning his head, he said, “I don’t see any way of doing it-unless you make up your mind that a guy who hasn’t double-crossed you in nearly fifteen years isn’t going to start now.”
“Suppose I grant that, Mike?”
Shayne shifted his position to face Gentry again. His eyes were very bright. “Then we work it this way. If our man was out there we can be sure he tore up the note when he saw me picked up by your men. Your men have the place bottled up and he couldn’t have got away.
“Call your men off, then you and I will put on an act. We’ll go out together-and you’ll be sore. We’ll go into the bar, and you refuse a drink and demand for the last time that I tell you where Miss Lally is. I’ll make a crack about the privacy of information received from a client, then announce I’m going home to bed. Play it right, and he’ll call me again to make another appointment as soon as I get home. And for God’s sake pull your man off my telephone line.”
Gentry grunted noncommittally, then said, “We can try it,” dubiously. “When will you let me know what you get?”
“If he calls and you trust me to meet him without interference, you’ll be hearing from me shortly. Pull your men off, then let’s go into the act.” Shayne swung to his feet.
The foyer was empty when they went out together. Gentry stepped to the outer door and spoke a few words to a man standing just outside, then came back and they went into the barroom with Gentry saying angrily:
“One of these days I’m going to run you in, Mike, so help me. This is murder, and I’ve got a right to any information you’ve got.”
“I’ve given you everything I’m going to. Come on and have a drink-just to show there’re no hard feelings.”
“I mean it, Mike.” Gentry stopped, his lower jaw thrust out pugnaciously. “I’m asking you for the last time where Miss Lally is.”
Into the sudden quiet, with all eyes turned toward them, Shayne said, “And I’ve told you she’s too upset to be questioned tonight. Don’t bother to put a tail on me when I leave here,” he went on contemptuously, “because I’m not going near Miss Lally. If you won’t drink with me, I’m leaving.”
Shayne stalked out through the foyer, slowed when he was out of sight of the barroom patrons, and dallied on the way to the car he had parked so strategically for getting away as soon as he knew where to go.
He stopped with his hand on the car door when the doorman’s voice came over the loud-speaker ordering a car to the front. The name sounded like Harsh, or Garsh.
He got in and circled, drove slowly toward the front exit, and saw a wide-shouldered man of medium height waiting beside the doorman. He continued without increasing speed, turned right, and stopped a hundred feet away.
When the other car turned right, he pulled away from the curb, loafed along at twenty miles an hour for a dozen blocks, watching the rear-view window with interest and noting that the driver stayed consistently a block behind him and showed no desire to pass.
Shayne sped up and drove on a few blocks until he reached a short street that dead-ended against the bay. He turned right and drove to the end, parked at an angle with his bumper touching the rail, and shut off the lights and motor.
A moment later another car turned in and came slowly toward him. He straightened and bent a little forward to let the headlights outline his head and shoulders.
The car drew up beside him and a man got out. Shayne opened a door to let the man slide in beside him, saying casually:
“I had an idea you’d take the hint and follow me.”
