a ten-day period. Finally, there was a small film can. Inside it was a tightly wound roll of microfilm. Shayne unrolled an inch or so. It was the top-secret T-239 report.
Still grinning happily, he transferred these objects to various pockets and put the rifled box back in the headboard compartment.
Again the disreputable figure in the mirror caught his eye. He pulled off the sling and worked the shirt over his head and then over the cast. After washing his hands and face, he made a new sling from one of Candida’s pillow slips. Then he washed out the shirt, using part of a bottle of shampoo. He wrung it with one hand. While he was draping it over the shower rail he heard a door open downstairs.
He went to the hall.
“I really do seem to be rattled,” he heard Candida’s voice say. “I left all the lights on. I never do that.”
There were footsteps. The door closed.
A man’s voice said, “Let’s take a trip, shall we, after we get the check? I need a vacation. I’m so damn tense it isn’t funny.”
“Hal, darling, you’re worrying about Michael Shayne again, and will you please stop? I have that situation in hand. Jake Fitch will be calling me promptly at nine. It won’t be with bad news.”
“I need a drink.”
Shayne called down, “So do I. Make one for me.”
He returned to the bedroom and finished brushing his hair. Then he went down the cramped stairs, ducking his head to keep from hitting the low ceiling.
Candida and her employer were standing in the hall below. They watched him emerge-his legs, his fresh sling, then his powerful bare torso. Candida was wearing a straight skirt and a sleeveless evening sweater, buttoned down the front. She had partly turned toward the living room, and Shayne saw that the sweater had no back whatever. Begley’s clothes were a little too sharp, as always. The weekend of heavy drinking had taken the highlights out of his tan.
He said thickly, “This is what you mean when you say you have Shayne in hand? You absolutely don’t give a damn who you get into bed with, do you?”
“Don’t be childish,” she said with her usual coolness.
“Who’s being childish?” Begley shouted, turning on her. “Me? I’m being childish? That’s your opinion?”
“Be quiet, Hal. He obviously broke in and he’s just leaving. I don’t know why he’s not wearing a shirt.”
“I had to wash it,” Shayne said. “I’ve been crawling out windows. If you don’t have cognac, I’ll take bourbon.”
“You didn’t invite him?” Begley said. “You haven’t hit the sack with him yet? Now there’s a switch.”
He came around to face Shayne, nervously unbuttoning his jacket. He was an inch or two over six feet, broad and solid through the chest. At one time he might have been able to stand up to the detective, but he had spent too much time lately making money.
“Miss Morse wants you to leave,” he said. “Leave. We’ll mail you the shirt. Don’t think you’ve got any immunity because of that broken arm. Under your own steam or otherwise, take your pick.”
Shayne stepped in close, his right arm at his side. Begley held his eyes, waiting for the right to the body. Shayne half-feinted with his right shoulder, then struck with the cast.
The hook caught the expensive fabric of Begley’s light sports jacket and tore downward, taking part of his shirt and possibly some flesh with it. Begley flailed out without waiting to get set. Shayne yanked him off balance and blocked the blow easily. Then, his lips twisting, he brought the cast up hard.
The hook tore loose. Begley took two wandering steps backward, collided with an upholstered chair and sat down. Candida hurried to him.
“At this point,” Shayne said, “you offer to settle.”
“Wha-?” Begley said.
Candida turned with a flare of her skirt. “The devil we’ll settle! We have nothing to talk to you about, so now that you’ve asserted yourself on your usual level, why don’t you go upstairs and get your wet shirt and get the hell out of here?”
Her voice was shaking. He grinned at her.
“He owns the firm. Let’s give him a chance to make up his own mind.”
Begley felt his jaw and finally managed to close it. “Settle?” he said, pronouncing only one syllable. He attempted to concentrate. “How much?”
“I’m not talking about money,” Shayne said. “You can’t outbid Despard’s. Give us the name of your contact, get United States to withhold the new paint and we won’t take anybody into court.”
Begley stared up, beginning to function again. After a moment he said quietly, “Is that a serious offer?”
Candida put in, “Naturally it’s not serious. It’s a trick.”
“It may not be,” Begley said slowly. “Shayne knows how hard it is to get enough evidence to impress a judge. I’d like to hear more about it. Candy, pour me a small slug of Scotch, please. I’m not up to that long walk across the room.”
After glancing at Shayne, she went into the kitchen. Begley went on, his eyes narrowing, “To be realistic, you can’t hope to get a cancellation at this late date. They’re in too deep. They might listen to a two- or three-month postponement. That would give your people a chance to get organized. I don’t say Perkins will like it, but you outweigh us financially, and if we can avoid a bruising fight-”
Candida came back. Making no comment, she handed him a tumbler partly filled with straight whiskey. She had brought the bottle and two more glasses. She let Shayne make his own.
Begley emptied his glass without pausing for breath. He stood up, steadying himself on the back of the chair until he felt it was safe to let go.
“I don’t want to say anything more before I’ve talked to my principal. He’s in town, as it happens. Candida’s been handling this account. Now that I know which way the wind is blowing, I think I’ll let you talk to her about it. I’ll sound out Perkins. Let Candida know where I can reach you.”
“Will he take your advice?” Shayne asked.
“I imagine so. He’s a reasonable sort.”
He was trying hard to keep up the pretense of being a top man in a competitive business, but the cracks showed. He straightened his jacket.
“Incidentally, Shayne,” he said, turning, “I’m thinking of cutting back on the more freewheeling aspects of the business. The take, frankly, is not that good. If I go back to recruitment full time, I see no reason why I should impinge on you or you should impinge on me. There’s enough legitimate money lying around for both of us.”
“I thought you wanted it all.”
“No, just my fair share.”
He went out. A moment later Shayne heard a motor start in the court. He poured himself a drink.
“He’s getting ready to dump you,” he said, drinking.
“Oh?” she said coldly.
“It’s his one out. You had charge of the Deedee business, and he’s going to maintain that the duty work was strictly yours. If he moves fast enough, he may even get away with it.”
“Very transparent, Michael. I know you’d like to drive a wedge between us. It’s the oldest ruse in the world. Far from being dumped, as you put it, I’m being made a full partner.”
Shayne gave her an amused look. “In return for what? For giving me Walter Langhorne?”
She gave a tired sigh. “It’s true Hal and I have different views on how to proceed. It’s been wearing, to say the least. I’ll need a couple of anacin before I can deal with that remark. Please help yourself to the whiskey. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Shayne lifted his glass to her and sat down on the sofa. As soon as she was out of sight, he kicked off his shoes and followed, taking his drink.
He made no noise on the stairs, but a floorboard creaked beneath him in the upstairs hall. Candida was on the other side of the bed. She whirled, holding the empty safe-deposit box.
“Damn you!” she said. “Damn you, Mike Shayne! I thought you were a little too sure of yourself.”
“Does it make that much difference? Deedee and Fitch and Despard have all been talking to me steadily for the last hour.”
She threw the metal box on the bed. “I thought it would be safer here than at the office. How wrong I was!
