his own Shayne wanted him to identify Joel Cross.
Consequently, when Shayne stepped back with a wave of his hand, and asked, “Is that the man who asked for my room an hour ago, Matthew?” he studied the reporter carefully for a moment and then nodded unequivocally, “I sure reckon that’s him, Mr. Shayne. You sure do catch murderers fast.”
“Wait a minute, now. This is an outrage…” Cross began, but Shayne stepped close and cut him off with a low warning.
“Give me the diary, Cross. If you don’t I swear to God I’ll let the identification stick.”
“Not till hell freezes over,” Cross told him passionately. “I’m telling you, Shayne…”
The abrupt entrance of Will Gentry interrupted his outburst. He saw the elevator operator first, and said, “I was looking for you, Matthew. Want you to come down to headquarters and look at a murder suspect. We picked Gerald Meany up dead drunk in a bar near here,” he went on to Shayne and Rourke, his gaze passing incuriously over Cross. “Looks like he’s our man, all right. The Hawleys say his wife drove away from home without any explanation about three o’clock, and half an hour later her husband came down from her room, waving a penciled notation he’d found beside her telephone with the name of this hotel and the initials M.S. When none of them could tell him what it meant, he drove away after her like a bat out of hell. Looks like an open and shut case of jealous rage. Hey! What’s the matter with all of you?” he demanded in astonishment, his eyes sliding from one face to another.
Rourke said, “It looks like we’ve got two murderers, Chief. Matthew has just got through identifying my confrere, Mr. Joel Cross of the Fourth Estate, as the man he brought up in his elevator to Mike’s room at the right time for the job.”
“That’s an absolute lie,” shouted Cross. “It was not a proper identification. It’s a frame-up. Shayne put that man up to saying he saw me here this afternoon. I wasn’t here at all. I don’t know one damned thing about Mrs. Meany’s murder.”
Shayne hesitated, tugging at his ear lobe in perplexity. If he didn’t speak up now-if he let Gentry go on believing…
Matthew solved the problem for him. He straightened up with dignity and said, “Mr. Shayne is a fine gentleman. I tell you, Mr. Chief of Police, if Mr. Shayne say this man is the murderer, he sure enough is. And I stand square behind what I say the first time. I sure reckon that’s the man.”
15
“That sounds pretty convincing,” Gentry said to Shayne. “What else have you got on him besides Matthew’s identification? What’s for a motive?”
“I tell you it’s not a real identification,” raged Cross almost tearfully. “Shayne put him up to it…”
Gentry and Shayne both ignored him, and Shayne told the chief: “Remember I told you the Groat diary had to be at the bottom of all this. And don’t forget that Cross is the only man who’s read the diary. That gives him a motive for knocking off Groat last night before he could talk to the Hawleys. And I’ve felt right along that Beatrice was killed by Groat’s murderer to prevent her talking to me. Add to that the fact that Cross was the only one who knew she was coming here… and why she was coming here…”
“But I didn’t know why,” Cross burst in. “When she telephoned to ask me to meet her here, she didn’t say…”
“So she asked you to meet her here?” Gentry transferred his attention to Cross. “When was this?”
“About three o’clock,” he muttered. “But she didn’t tell me…”
“Three o’clock?” Gentry ostentatiously looked at his watch. “You weren’t in any hurry to keep the date.”
“I got tied up with some work,” Cross said defensively. “Look here, for God’s sake,” he went on strongly. “If I had come here earlier and murdered her, do you think I would have returned brazenly and admitted I had an earlier appointment with her?”
“I think that’s exactly what he would have done under those circumstances,” Shayne told Gentry blandly. “To give the appearance of innocence in case someone else knew about the appointment-me, for instance-and began wondering why he didn’t keep it.”
“Where were you at eight o’clock last night?” demanded Gentry.
“How do I know? I haven’t thought about it. God, I’m all mixed up. You can’t take these outrageous accusations seriously.”
Gentry studied the reporter’s flushed face for a long moment from heavy-lidded eyes. Then he told Shayne in a troubled voice, “I’m not too crazy about this, Mike. What about the woman’s husband? If this is some kind of a frame you’ve engineered with Matthew, and Gerald Meany is actually guilty, we’ll never in God’s world hang it on him now after Matthew has identified Cross.”
Shayne shrugged. He said, “Frankly, Will, I like Cross a lot better for both killings than Meany.”
“Yeh,” said Gentry thoughtfully. “He’s more the type. I get an impression Meany is pretty much of a weakling. And another good thing about Cross is that there won’t be any damned unwritten law to mess up a case against him.”
“Stop it!” cried Joel Cross with a note of terror breaking his voice. “Stop discussing me as impersonally as though you were deciding which horse to back in the fifth at Hialeah.”
Gentry didn’t look at him. He told Shayne gruffly, “God help you, Mike, if you’re pulling one of your fast ones this time.”
Shayne started to protest, but Gentry waved it aside wearily. “I’ve seen you at work before, don’t forget. Cross may be our man,” he went on judicially. “I hope he is. But if he isn’t, Mike, you’ve handed Meany his freedom on a silver platter by working a phony identification through Matthew here. God help you if you’ve done that.”
“Even if he isn’t the killer, he’ll be safer in jail tonight,” argued Shayne. “If not Cross… the killer is still after the diary known to be in Cross’s possession.”
Gentry said, “Yeh,” noncommittally. He straightened his heavy shoulders and said, “Come along with me, Cross.”
“Where to?” the reporter asked thinly.
“To jail.”
“But you can’t do that. You’ve no evidence…”
“I can’t do anything else,” Gentry told him gruffly. “You’ve been identified by a reputable eye-witness. Come along.” He took Cross firmly by the arm and led him out.
There was silence in the room. Rourke took a sip from his highball and yawned widely, carefully avoiding looking at either Shayne or Matthew.
The elderly man stood erect near the open door looking at Shayne beseechingly. He started, “Before heaven, Mr. Shayne…” But Shayne shut him off with a decisive shake of his head and a warning glance at Rourke. “You did nobly, Matthew. You trust me, don’t you?”
“I sure do, Mr. Shayne. I thank God I do.”
Shayne got up and put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder and said kindly, “Go on back to your elevator and keep on trusting me.”
He closed the door and stood looking somberly at Timothy Rourke after Matthew went out. Rourke sighed and took a deep swallow from his glass. He leaned his head back and stretched thin legs far out in front of him and his cynical eyes studied the ceiling. “Congratulations, Michael, for one of the fastest and neatest frames I ever saw pulled.”
“Look, Tim. You heard Matthew…”
“I heard and saw a lot of things,” said Rourke wearily. “When Matthew was first asked whether he would be able to identify the killer and he hesitated, I saw you give him the nod and heard him respond. He would have identified me if you’d given him the go ahead. Why? Because the simple soul trusts you. That’s why. Because he trusts Mike Shayne, by God!”
Shayne sank into a chair and said bitterly, “I was just trying to pressure the fool into giving me a look at the diary. I had him going, too. If Gentry hadn’t walked in just when he did and spoiled it, Cross would have come through.”
