good?”
“Why, yes. It was a very expensive watch.”
“But did it keep time? Did she have it repaired often?”
“It always kept perfect time,” she declared. The puzzled expression in her eyes cleared, and she said, “Oh- you mean about it being an hour slow, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That was one of her idiosyncrasies. She refused to ever change to daylight-saving time. She kept it on Standard the year ’round.”
“Didn’t that cause certain difficulties?”
“Oh, no. She was so used to it she always made a mental correction when she was where daylight saving was in effect.”
“As it is here right now,” Shayne muttered. “I guess that tears it, Will. Even if her watch did say seven-thirty when she wrote me the note she would have typed the correct time.” His bushy brows met over a scowl and he rubbed his lean jaw reflectively.
“Then none of the men involved has an alibi,” Gentry said heavily. “You’ve been most helpful and cooperative,” he told Miss Lally. “I may need more from you later, but right now I can’t think of anything else.”
“Then may I go back to the hotel? My eyes are terribly strained from going so long without my glasses. I have an emergency pair at the hotel.”
“Wait a minute,” said Shayne. “They should be bringing Paisly in soon, and I’d like to ask him a couple of questions in your presence.”
“Do you think it’s important?” She sounded tired and disappointed.
“Why do we need her, Mike?” Gentry demurred.
“I want her to listen carefully to his voice, for one thing, and see if she can recognize it as the voice that lured her to Ralph Morton’s hotel room.”
“But I’ve heard his voice often,” she argued. “The man on the telephone didn’t sound a bit like him.”
Shayne looked across at Timothy Rourke, who had gradually slumped in the straight chair until his vertebrae rested on the seat. His chin rested on his chest and his eyes were closed.
“Tim-wake up,” Shayne yelled,
Rourke’s eyes popped open. “I’m not asleep,” he said crossly. “And don’t yell at me.”
“Look, Tim, you told me Paisly used to be an actor. You know what kind? Was he an impressionist?”
“My guess would be the female chorus,” Rourke grated. “Back row. I told you she didn’t say.”
“Look, Beatrice,” he said. “If Paisly has studied acting he could probably imitate my voice. He heard me talking at the Golden Cock. When you listen to him this time, try to recall the telephone conversation and see if you hear any of the same inflections.” He stood up and stretched and added casually to Gentry, “Mind if I use your phone?”
“Who you calling this time of morning?” the chief asked suspiciously.
“Lucy. I promised I’d call her. She’ll be sitting on the edge of the bed waiting to hear from me.” He sauntered over to the chief’s desk and lifted one of the phones just as the man who had been sent to pick up Paisly opened the door and announced:
“We’ve got Paisly outside, Chief. And the dame who lives in the house. They think it’s a morals charge,” he added with a grin.
“Bring both of them in,” Gentry ordered.
Lucy answered just as Gentry spoke. Shayne shifted his position to watch Beatrice’s strained face as she waited for Edwin Paisly to be brought in.
He spoke softly into the mouthpiece. “Did I wake you, angel?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to call, Michael. Is Miss Lally all right?”
“She’s okay,” he assured her. “We’re in Will Gentry’s office right now and I’m going to take her home in a few minutes and tuck her in bed.”
“Then will you stop by here, Michael? I can’t possibly go to sleep until you tell me what happened.”
“Better take a pill,” he muttered. “I may be a long time with her. I’ve got to get hold of Sara Morton’s story on Harsh so I can destroy it before this thing blows up in my face and I lose half my fee.”
He looked around with the receiver to his ear as the door opened again and Edwin Paisly was ushered in. Behind him was a long-limbed blonde wearing sandals and a zippered housecoat. She glared at the occupants of the room with tight lips and contemptuous eyes.
Shayne spoke just above a whisper into the mouthpiece, “Hold it a minute, angel,” while he watched Paisly gesticulate in vehement protest at the outrage as the officer pushed him along. He was fully clothed, but disheveled, his hair twisted in little tufts across the front where it was longer, as if feminine fingers had playfully tried to curl it, and there was lipstick smeared around his mouth. He stopped suddenly and his features tightened with loathing and anger when he saw Miss Lally seated primly across the desk from Will Gentry.
“I knew you must be at the bottom of this,” he shrieked vindictively. “I hope you’re satisfied with all your snooping and spying.”
Lucy’s voice was protesting in Shayne’s ear, wanting to know what was going on, declaring she’d wait up hours for him to tell her-that she’d never go to sleep now.
“It’s no use, angel. Beatrice and I may even end up at my place-and you know she’s already got her toothbrush with her.” He grinned as he listened a moment, said, “Good night,” softly, and hung up.
“… and I was glad to tell the police where they could find you if that’s what you mean,” Beatrice was saying. “Staying with that woman while you pretended to make love to Miss Morton.”
“Who’s this dame, Eddie?” Paisly’s companion regarded Miss Lally haughtily with her hands on her skinny hips. “What kinda bum rap-?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” Gentry growled. “Where were you before seven o’clock last night, Paisly?”
“I was-at Ellie’s place,” he said sullenly, his breath coming in snorting anger. “She’ll tell you I was there.”
“What time did he come back to your place after failing to meet Miss Morton for his dinner date?” Shayne put in quickly to the girl.
She turned her head and looked him up and down coldly. “About ten o’clock. He’s been there ever since, and whaddaya want to make of it?”
“How many phone calls did he make after ten o’clock?”
“I didn’t make any,” Paisly said violently. “We were together all the time and Ellie can swear I didn’t.”
“And her testimony is worth about a dime a barrel,” grunted Gentry sourly. “This is no good, Mike. He has had hours to prime her to tell whatever story he wanted.”
Shayne nodded agreement and turned to look searchingly at Miss Lally, who was leaning forward intently. Her eyes were half closed and her head was turned sideways in a listening attitude.
He sauntered over to her. She motioned him to bend down, putting a finger to her lips to indicate she wanted to whisper something. “I just don’t know,” she told him. “I think it might be. But it’s so important I wouldn’t want to swear to it without-you know-”
“I see,” he whispered, then straightened up and raised his voice to Gentry. “She’d be much better able to tell by listening over the telephone, Will. Why not have her call you here after a while and you can try it out then.”
Paisly was twisting his head rapidly to look from one face to the other with complete bafflement. He appeared relieved when Gentry ordered, “Take these two out and keep them separated. I’ll have Harsh first, and then Garvin-and then I’ll be ready for Paisly.”
“May I go to my hotel now, Chief Gentry?” Miss Lally asked once more.
“But stay there,” the chief admonished. “I’ll want you again later.” He looked at Shayne, and again he nodded in agreement. When Shayne started toward the door with the girl, Gentry called out, “Don’t you want to sit in on questioning these birds, Mike?”
“I’ll be back,” Shayne answered blithely. “Beatrice and I have a date-remember? Don’t forget she’s going to call you to listen to Paisly’s voice on the phone. After that, if you don’t know who your murderer is, I’ll tell you. I’d tell you now,” he added with an infuriating grin, “except there’s something I need to pick up at the Tidehaven Hotel first.”
They went out and closed the door. Shayne hustled Beatrice down the corridor to a side exit and out to his
