information about the callers as possible.
Then he thanked Gerdon for his co-operation and hurried back to Miami.
EIGHTEEN: 11:35 PM
Chief Gentry was seated at his desk listening intently to the telephone when Shayne burst into his office in long strides. The chief looked up with a frown, shaking his head to indicate he didn't want to be interrupted when Shayne appeared on the point of breaking in.
The detective dropped into a chair and lit a cigarette morosely while Gentry continued to listen, interjecting an occasional, 'I see,' and, 'Yes, go on.'
There was a smugly satisfied look on Gentry's florid face when he finally said, 'Thank you very much. I'll let you know if there's anything else,' and put the phone down.
'That was New York,' he told Shayne. 'They checked the Barnes address and found it's a penthouse apartment on 63rd. Charles Barnes lives there with his younger sister, Mary. They closed the place a couple of weeks ago and took off for a month's vacation in Miami. How do you like that?'
'Just fine,' Shayne said unhappily, squinting at him through blue cigarette smoke.
'And the forwarding address they left for mail is the Roney Plaza Hotel on the Beach,' Gentry went on impressively. 'All we need now is to check with the Roney to see if Barnes has a scar on his cheek-and we'll begin to know where we stand.'
He reached for the phone, but Shayne stopped him with a gesture. 'I just came from the Roney. Charles Barnes has no scar. His description fits the dead man to a T.'
'I'll be- You just came from the Roney? How come?'
'I thought it was an angle that might be worth checking,' Shayne said wearily. 'Remember, the girl told me she and her brother were staying at the Roney?'
'The Paulson girl? But we know she had room three-sixteen at the Hibiscus.'
'If it was the Paulson girl. If it wasn't Mary Barnes all the time.'
'Wait a minute. You told me-'
Shayne got up and began to pace the floor, his rugged features twisted in a mask of concentration.
'I told you that he said her name was Nellie Paulson. The man with the scar. She didn't give any name to me. I hadn't got around to that when he came busting in and she locked herself in the kitchen. Naturally, I believed him,' groaned Shayne. 'His story about chasing her down the back stairs of the Hibiscus coincided precisely with her story, so I accepted the name he gave her.'
'But we know from the Jacksonville description of Paulson that he was lying about being Nellie Paulson's brother,' barked Gentry. 'Who the devil is he if he isn't Barnes?'
'He isn't Barnes,' said Shayne flatly. 'At least he isn't the man registered at the Roney as Barnes.' He dropped into a chair and stretched his long legs out wearily.
'If the dead man is Barnes-and I'm beginning to think he is-then it looks as though the girl who talked to me must be his sister Mary. Don't you see how it hangs together? She said her brother had gotten tangled up with some broad while on this vacation. That he called her from the Hibiscus tonight to come and get him out of a jam. The records show several calls from the Barnes suite in the Roney to the Hibiscus in the past week. So what kind of jam does it look as though he might have been in?
'The old badger game, of course. With Miss Nellie Paulson of room three-sixteen in the Hibiscus. But some thing happens before Mary gets there to help him out. A knife in his throat, no less. And Mary walks in before they have time to get rid of the body. She takes one look at her brother, and runs to use the phone in three-sixty. By the time she gets back, his body has gone out the window. Then scar-face jumps her and she runs to me. And then runs away from me when he follows her there.'
'To Lucy's apartment,' said Gentry sharply. 'With a note from you telling Lucy to look after her.'
Shayne stared at him queerly and reached for the phone. 'I'll be damned if I know,' he muttered, 'whether Lucy mentioned her by name to me or not. If it was Mary Barnes instead of Nellie Paulson-'
He gave Lucy's number and waited. Again, the telephone rang several times before Lucy answered. And again her voice sounded queerly strained when she said, 'Yes? What do you want?'
'Mike, angel. Listen carefully and think before you reply. Did the girl who brought the note from me tell you what her name was?'
'Why-you told me, Michael. When you called me on the phone before she got here. Don't you remember? You said Nellie Paulson would be along-'
'I know I did,' he interrupted harshly. 'But now I'm asking you if she corroborated that.'
'I-wait a minute. I'm trying to think. N-No. Not directly, I think. I just assumed from what you said that- She did have a note from you.'
'I know,' said Shayne wearily. ' 'Bye.' He hung up and told Gentry, 'She didn't say anything to Lucy that proves it either way. I'll be damned if I don't believe she was Mary Barnes all along. I've had a feeling about her- that she didn't fit into the badger game technique-'
'Then why did the scar-faced man positively identify her as Nellie Paulson?'
'Don't forget that we now know he isn't Paulson,'
Shayne objected. 'God knows who he is, but he doesn't fit the Jax police description. So maybe he didn't even know Nellie by sight. Maybe that's why he thought the girl who ran out of three-sixteen was Nellie. If he knew Nellie had that room-went up there looking for her and saw a blonde girl running out, he'd naturally assume she was Nellie. Now we're beginning to get somewhere.'
'Where?' demanded Gentry sardonically.
'I don't know for sure.' Shayne's grin was wryly abashed. 'But the girl's story all falls into place if you accept her as Mary Barnes instead of Paulson. Damn it, I had a feeling from the beginning she was telling methe truth and wasn't half as crazy as Nellie Paulson is supposed to be.'
'So now everything's just perfect-since you decided your judgment of her wasn't at fault.'
'Everything's perfectly wrong,' snapped Shayne. 'I wasn't half as worried when I thought scar-face was hunting Nellie Paulson with a gun. Girls who pull stunts like her badger game pretty damn well deserve whatever they get. But if it's Mary Barnes he's after? Why the devil don't your men pick him up. Will? They've had his description for a couple of hours now.'
'They will. Eventually. If he tries to move around. While you're blaming the Force, Mike, don't forget it was you who failed to make sure she'd stay put at Lucy's when you had the chance. Chew on that while you think about what may happen if she meets up with that forty-five.'
NINETEEN: 11:34 PM
Patrolman Cassiday had been a full-fledged member of the Miami Police Force less than a month. He was a well-set-up young man who filled out his new uniform snugly. A veteran of the Korean War who had rebelled against the humdrum of a garage mechanic's job after coming back, he was pleased with his new job and extremely proud to wear the uniform and to wield the authority that went with it.
Cassiday's beat was Miami's Bayfront Park. He walked the winding, palm-shaded paths in steady strides, chin up and eyes alert for any sort of mischief a policeman should put a stop to.
It was like walking a guard post in the army, and snatches from the General Orders often fled through his mind as he paced along:
'To walk my post in a military manner… always on the alert.. that takes place within sight or hearing…'
Of course there was nothing much of a criminal nature taking place in the well-lighted park at night, and that's why a rookie cop always drew the beat. But you never knew, Cassiday kept telling himself sternly. Anything could happen in the park at any time.
Those two men with their heads close together on the bench around the turn-they might be desperate
