teen. And there's some other stuff in her handbag. It's Nellie all right.'
Shayne strode back savagely. 'It can't be. We had it worked out that it had to be the Barnes girl.'
'Take another look at her,' invited Gentry. 'You sure she's the one that-'
'Good Christl Of course I'm sure,' burst out Shayne. 'I don't need another look. So she's Nellie Paulson. And the same job has been done on her as on the one that came out of the bay. Barnes or Paulson. God knows. Where does this leave us?'
'Pretty damn well up the creek without a paddle,' said Gentry savagely. 'Two in one night. Goddamn it, Shayne-'
Shayne was looking at him coldly, a muscle twitching in his tight jaw. 'And this one right near my hotel, too?' he asked mockingly. 'All right. I'd say it looks as though she tried to come back for some more protection from me.
'Yeh,' grunted Gentry. 'You took the words right out of my mouth. Getting so it's kind of risky being a client of yours, don't you think?'
Shayne said, 'You can't say anything I'm not thinking, Will. So let's go on from there.'
'Where?' asked the chief sarcastically.
'Well, now we know who she is anyhow. That gives us something more definite to work on.'
'Tough way of getting a positive identification. If we wait long enough, maybe we'll stumble over a few more bodies and get them identified. Then we may be able to figure it out. That your idea of handling it?'
Strain deepened the trenches in Shayne's cheeks at the chief's tone of acid sarcasm. He said quietly, 'Right now I'm wondering why an ex-G.I. with a forty-five under his belt uses a knife instead of the gun.'
'For one thing it's a little bit quieter. Let's say he just carries the gun along to frighten private detectives with so they let him walk out into the night to kill off their clients.'
'Let's say that,' Shayne agreed flatly. He hesitated, rubbing his jaw, moving off the path to let stretcher- bearers from the ambulance go past. 'I'd like to get the maid over from the Roney to look at both of them and see if either one are the persons who have been living there as Charles and Mary Barnes.'
'Oh, we'll pin down an identification all right,' said Gentry bitterly. 'As fast as they get killed off, we'll find out who they are.'
Shayne continued to disregard his tone. 'One thing you didn't get around to telling me back in the office, Will. Did the dead man's fingerprints check with the set in three-sixteen?'
'What? Oh, that. Yes. He's definitely been in three-sixteen since the maid cleaned the room in the middle of the afternoon.'
Shayne sighed and started down the path toward his car. Will Gentry clumped along silently behind him. At the sidewalk, Shayne stopped and said, 'Let's save the hard feelings until this is over, huh?'
Gentry unexpectedly stuck out his hand. He said, 'Sure. Then I'm going to pull your license.'
'I think maybe I'll turn it in without waiting for you to pull it, Will.' Shayne took his hand absently and without much vigor. 'They found no weapon, huh?'
Gentry shook his grizzled head. 'Almost exactly the same sort of wound as the other. One fast slash with a hell of a sharp knife. You got any ideas, Mike?' The question was almost an entreaty.
'Only one and it's not much good. Something I should have done before. You still got that picture I gave you at the morgue?'
'It's back in my office.'
Shayne said, 'If you're going back now, I'll pick it up.'
TWENTY-ONE: 10:47 PM
Driving away from the Hibiscus Hotel, Bert Paulson's scsirred face was dark and scowling as he slumped behind the wheel, scarcely noticing where he was going.
Where to now? What the hell had happened to Nellie? Everything was so mixed up, his mind was in a whirl as he considered all the possibilities.
That story the red-headed private detective had told him? How much was fact and how much was lies?
That elevator boy at the Hibiscus I Could he identify him? Place him upstairs on the third floor about the time a disappearing body was being reported as having been seen in 316?
Fear and fierce impatience surged through Paulson's body. The weight of the. 45 against his left groin felt good. He wanted to take hold of things with his two hands and tear them apart. Somewhere in this darkened city, Nellie was hiding out from him. Hiding from him in an agony of fear that he might trace her down.
Well, she had every right and reason to be hiding out from him. If he did manage to get his hands on her His big hands tightened on the steering wheel and the battle scar from Korea stood out whitely on his cheek as anger raged inside him.
It was his responsibility. The whole sorry affair was his doing. If he'd only realized sooner what Nellie was getting herself into The neon lights of a restaurant and bar reminded him that he had not eaten since that afternoon. He pulled into the curb sharply and got out. With a couple of drinks and some food, he might be able to think things out a little more clearly. Driving aimlessly around the streets like this was no good. That damned redhead had probably already reported to the police that he'd walked out on him flourishing a gun and swearing to find Nellie. They'd have a description of him He went into a long, low room with a curved bar directly beyond the entrance, tables and booths on his right. It was fairly well crowded and not too well lighted. A haze of smoke added to the dimness.
Half a dozen men were seated on leather stools at the bar, and three-quarters of the tables were occupied by couples and groups of three or four, laughing over drinks or eating late dinners.
Paulson strode down the line of booths and found an empty one near the end. He slid into it so the scar on his face was toward the wall, and he was careful to keep the other side toward the waitress when she arrived almost immediately and asked in a somewhat disapproving tone, 'Are you alone, sir?'
'Yes.' His voice was surly, demanding to know what of it.
She said brightly, 'Then perhaps you wouldn't mind moving to one of the smaller tables. We like to keep the booths free for larger parties.'
He wanted to shout at her that he'd be damned if he'd move out to one of the tables where he could be observed by everyone. That he was a paying customer and just as good as anyone else in the joint, and he'd damned well occupy a booth if he wanted to.
But fear and worry about Nellie were slowly teaching him caution, and he restrained himself to say, 'As a matter of fact, another couple are meeting me for dinner a little later. I'll have a couple of drinks while I wait.'
'Yes, sir. Of course in that case- What would you like to drink?'
'Canadian rye and water. A double with water on the side.' He sat back and lit a cigarette as she went away. By God, he needed a drink. A couple of fast doubles. That was the ticket. Then he'd settle down to some hard thinking. Right now he felt almost giddy. There was a nightmarish quality about the events of the evening that gave him a gnawing sense of sickness in his belly. He was beginning to think he hadn't played it very smart with Michael Shayne. Either should have played along with the guy-gained his confidence and got his co-operation in looking for Nellie-or else he should at least have slugged the redhead before going out as he did.
The waitress came with a double shot-glass full to the brim with whisky, and a glass of ice water. Paulson lifted the smaller glass avidly and drank from it, held his breath while he seized the water and took a big swallow. His throat burned a trifle and warmth crept into his stomach. The whisky was raw and strong. He took another sip and then a larger drink of water, poured the rest of the liquor into the larger glass and sloshed it around with the water. It was too weak to do much good when he tasted it, and he turned to watch through the opening into the booth for his waitress. When he caught her eye he held up two fingers, nodding toward the glass in his hand.
She came with another double shot, and he dribbled all of it into the water glass.
Now the drink was just right. Wonderful. Magnificent. It didn't bum his throat, but it had authority. It was beginning to dissolve the gnawing knot in his belly.
He knew, now, that it had been a bad mistake not to have slugged Shayne. He could have done it easy enough, and goddamn it, he would have enjoyed slugging the big bastard. Tough guy, huh? Well, none of them were
