He leaned over the detective’s long legs to replace the telephone, and commented morosely, “You do have a way of getting around, don’t you, Mike?”
“What was that?”
“Just a report on a little ruckus in a river-front bar.” Gentry went back to sit on the sofa. “Place called Las Putas Buenas.”
Erskine sat up alertly and spoke for the first time since Shayne had entered the apartment. “That’s one of their meeting places, Chief Gentry. We’ve had it under surveillance for some time.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Gentry grimly. “My sergeant reports that about half an hour ago a big drunken redhead blustered into the place and started a fight with a couple of customers who were quietly minding their own business. He broke the arm of one of them, trying to drag him into the men’s room for some unknown purpose. Then he locked himself in and got away from the infuriated mob by jumping out a window into the Miami River where it’s about waist-deep. I thought your shoes looked pretty muddy for coming out of a swimming pool, Mike.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Erskine in earnest dismay. “You have stirred up a hornet’s nest, Mr. Shayne. If you were recognized…”
“He was recognized, all right,” said Gentry flatly.
“Look, Will.” Shayne spoke very quietly and disregarded Erskine. “I dropped into that bar for a nightcap, and ordered one drink for myself and one for a gal who sat beside me and whom I didn’t even look at. Two men came up behind me while I was quietly drinking my brandy. They held pig-stickers on either side of me at my gut-line. I didn’t see their faces, but from their voices one was Spanish and one wasn’t. They told me to walk back to the rest-room. Which I did. I slammed the door on one of them and broke his arm. Then I went out the window and away from there fast. Are you going to arrest me for that?”
“I don’t know yet. I think maybe I will.”
“What the hell is this all about?” demanded Shayne, fiercely. “Should I have sat there and let them spill my guts all over the floor?”
“You should not have ventured there in the first place,” Erskine told him severely. “If you had heeded Chief Painter this afternoon, all this could have been avoided.”
“All what?” Shayne’s voice was harsher than before.
Mr. Erskine put the tips of his fingers together precisely in front of him and blinked at Shayne behind his hornrimmed glasses.
“Julio Peralta is a dangerous Communist conspirator, Mr. Shayne. We have a long dossier on his affiliation with various subversive organizations over the years, both in this country and in Latin America. He was one of the architects and the principal financial backer of the Castro revolution, while cleverly remaining in the background, and left Cuba before Castro took over on the pretense that he was a refugee from the Communistic forces which he had helped into power.
“In Miami, he has played a double role among the various Cuban factions who are feverishly plotting to extend the Communist conspiracy to other Latin American countries and those patriotic groups who are appalled by the turn events have taken in their war-torn country and are determined to overthrow the tyrannical Castro government and bring peace and prosperity back to their land.
“Our government… your government, Mr. Shayne… is not asleep during this crisis, as so many people mistakenly assume. Julio Peralta has been under constant and careful surveillance by our counter-espionage agents since the first day he settled in Miami. We have dedicated and expert operatives planted in his camp who furnish daily reports of his activities, and whose presence he does not remotely suspect. For the past few months there has been a vast build-up of the most modern munitions to equip a trained expeditionary force that is being gathered in Cuba now under the leadership of Russian officers.
“It is only a matter of days before we will be ready to swoop down and confiscate this vast store of arms and arrest the ringleaders, including Peralta. But these are anxious days, Mr. Shayne, and a very delicate balance must be maintained. The slightest intimation of their danger to the conspirators could easily wreck all our carefully laid plans. Thus, it was a great misfortune from our viewpoint when the Peralta bracelet was stolen two weeks ago.
“Ironically enough, I should add, it was just as great a blow to the Communist conspiracy.” Mr. Erskine smiled thinly and his eyes gleamed owlishly behind his glasses. “They wanted nothing in the world less than to call police attention to Peralta, his household and his associates. Someone blundered when the theft of the bracelet was even reported to the police, and Peralta quickly tried to rectify that mistake by requesting Chief Painter on the Beach to drop the investigation at once… even going so far, I believe, as to assure the insurance company that a claim for loss would be waived.
“Naturally, however, as an energetic police official, the Miami Beach Chief of Detectives was loath to give up the effort to recover the stolen bracelet. At that point, I stepped into the picture. You can readily see that we, no less than Peralta and his fellow-conspirators, did not want the boat rocked by any overt prying into Peralta’s affairs, interrogating his servants, and so forth. They must be made to feel that they are wholly in the clear… that there is no danger whatsoever of official interference… in seeking to solve the loss of a paltry emerald bracelet.
“In seeking this end, I had a long and secret conference with Chief Peter Painter. As soon as he understood the situation, he patriotically agreed to put his personal feelings aside and allow the robbery investigation to fizzle out… even though people who did not understand his real motives would consider it sheer incompetence on his part.
“That was the situation until today, Mr. Shayne. I do not know, I cannot even hazard a guess, as to why Peralta called you in to the case today. Up to this point, so far as we know, he has been delighted to let the matter rest with no further police investigation. But for some reason, he did call you in for consultation. Chief Painter, I may say, has a very high opinion of your ability as an investigator. He was worried about the possible consequences as soon as he learned of Peralta’s decision. He first attempted to persuade Peralta to cancel the appointment… and then took matters into his own hands by intercepting you while you were on your way to the Peralta house.”
Shayne said slowly, “I take it that you view the bracelet snatch as something entirely outside the political situation.”
“I think the bracelet may well have been stolen by someone who was sufficiently on the inside to hope that Peralta wouldn’t even report the loss to the police.”
Shayne nodded. “Like the poisoning of the two Boxers wasn’t reported.”
“What’s that about two Boxers?” asked Chief Gentry with sudden interest.
“Mrs. Peralta’s pets who ran loose around the place at night. I can see why Peralta and his friends might have been glad to get them out of the way. But, listen to this, Will. You say Lucy phoned you at eight o’clock. I talked to Peralta about eight-thirty, and at that time he was still eager to retain me on the case. It doesn’t make sense to suppose that he’d have Lucy grabbed to persuade me to lay off the case when he was trying to hire me to take it.”
“I would suggest it wasn’t Peralta himself who kidnaped your secretary, or had her kidnaped, Mr. Shayne. He has various associates who are in as much danger as he from a police investigation, and I think it might well have been one of them who took matters in his own hands to attempt to forestall you. What I cannot understand yet,” Erskine went on worriedly, “is why Peralta suddenly decided to call you in at this late date. He was apparently perfectly pleased with the manner in which Chief Painter was cooperating by not pressing the investigation.”
Shayne hesitated a moment, weighing the question of whether to tell them about the anonymous letter Peralta had received or not. He decided that nothing would be gained by giving out the information at this point. Something about Erskine’s didactic and faintly pompous manner irked hell out of him.
“There it is, Mike,” Will Gentry said flatly. “Laid right out in front of you. I know you don’t want to help the Commies any more than any of the rest of us.”
“Hell, Will!” Shayne burst out. “Just because a guy has a little revolutionary blood in his veins doesn’t mean he’s a Commie. I know a lot of damn fine Cuban patriots who are for Castro but who aren’t Commies. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced that Castro himself is really a Communist.”
“I’m afraid you’re one of those deluded liberals who cause us a great deal of difficulty in this country, Mr. Shayne.” Erskine spoke with more vehemence than he had shown before. “Well-meaning, but deluded,” he added sternly.
“At least I don’t see a Communist lurking behind every beard,” Shayne was stung to retort. “I know what the
