discussion.”
He started for the door on rubbery legs, and Cross barked from behind him, “Don’t leave this room, Shayne. I’ll shoot if I have to.”
Shayne didn’t think he would shoot. Not as long as he kept his back turned and kept going. He heard Matie Meredith’s full-throated voice say persuasively, “You know Mr. Shayne isn’t going to disappear. Please, let’s settle this calmly just between the two of us.”
Shayne reached the door and was going out without a bullet in his back, when her voice lifted and lilted to him, “I’m at the Biscayne Hotel, Michael. Phone me later?”
He said, “Sure,” and turned toward the elevator.
11
Half an hour and three slugs of cognac later, the throbbing in Shayne’s head had subsided to a dull ache behind his left ear and he felt prepared to discuss Jasper Groat’s death with Police Chief Will Gentry.
The chief was alone in his office when the redhead walked in without knocking. He looked up from his littered desk and shifted an evil-smelling black cigar from left to right in his mouth and growled, “Another half hour I’d have had a pick-up out for you, Mike.”
“Why?” Michael Shayne seated himself carefully in a straight chair beside the chief’s desk and wrinkled his nose distastefully at the aroma that drifted into his nostrils from Gentry’s cigar.
“Jasper Groat is why. His tie-in with the Hawleys. I want the straight of it.”
“I’ll give it to you, Will.” Shayne leaned back and locked his two hands at the back of his neck to ease the pain, and gazed up at the ceiling. “First: Tell me exactly what you’ve got, then I’ll fill in.”
“Damned little.” Gentry took the chewed cigar from his mouth, glared at the soggy end of it, and hurled it into a brass spittoon in one corner. “We got a taxi driver who picked him up outside his place before eight last night and delivered him in front of the Hawley residence. There was a chain across the driveway so the taxi couldn’t turn in. Groat got out and that’s the last record we have of him. That Hawley outfit!” Gentry went on angrily. “A bunch of screwballs. The old lady serenely swears she didn’t know Groat and didn’t want to. Even though he nursed her son for several days on the life raft and was the last one to see him alive. What kind of mother is that?”
“I gathered this morning that she resents the fact that Groat and Cunningham survived while her son didn’t.”
“So what? Well… then there’s Beatrice.”
“There is, indeed,” agreed Shayne soberly but with a twinkle in his eye.
“She admits asking Groat out to the house to meet her at eight last night, but won’t say why. What with her asinine giggling and sucking on her finger, it’s hard to tell what’s in her mind.”
“In addition to sucking on a whisky bottle,” said Shayne cheerfully. “All right, so you’ve got Groat bumped off after getting out of a taxi in front of the Hawley house and before anyone there saw him…”
“According to their stories.”
“According to their stories,” agreed Shayne.
“What about this Mrs. Wallace who turned up at Groat’s place this morning? According to Mrs. Groat, she claims Jasper phoned her yesterday and made the appointment… promising to give her some word about her husband who’s been missing for a year. What do you know about that? I understand Mrs. Groat sent her to consult you.”
“She did,” Shayne told him. “I know this much about it.” Without reservations, he repeated the story Mrs. Wallace had told him that morning. “My best guess right now,” he concluded, “is that Albert Hawley had some guilty knowledge of the reason for Wallace’s disappearance a year ago, and when he faced death on the life raft, he confided the secret to Groat. Groat was ready to tell Mrs. Wallace this morning, but before he could do so he got himself knocked on the head and dumped into the Bay.”
“Somewhere near the Hawley house where he
He started for the door on rubbery legs, and Cross barked from behind him, “Don’t leave this room, Shayne. I’ll shoot if I have to.”
Shayne didn’t think he would shoot. Not as long as he kept his back turned and kept going. He heard Matie Meredith’s full-throated voice say persuasively, “You know Mr. Shayne isn’t going to disappear. Please, let’s settle this calmly just between the two of us.”
Shayne reached the door and was going out without a bullet in his back, when her voice lifted and lilted to him, “I’m at the Biscayne Hotel, Michael. Phone me later?”
He said, “Sure,” and turned toward the elevator.
11
Half an hour and three slugs of cognac later, the throbbing in Shayne’s head had subsided to a dull ache behind his left ear and he felt prepared to discuss Jasper Groat’s death with Police Chief Will Gentry.
The chief was alone in his office when the redhead walked in without knocking. He looked up from his littered desk and shifted an evil-smelling black cigar from left to right in his mouth and growled, “Another half hour I’d have had a pick-up out for you, Mike.”
“Why?” Michael Shayne seated himself carefully in a straight chair beside the chief’s desk and wrinkled his nose distastefully at the aroma that drifted into his nostrils from Gentry’s cigar.
“Jasper Groat is why. His tie-in with the Hawleys. I want the straight of it.”
“I’ll give it to you, Will.” Shayne leaned back and locked his two hands at the back of his neck to ease the pain, and gazed up at the ceiling. “First: Tell me exactly what you’ve got, then I’ll fill in.”
“Damned little.” Gentry took the chewed cigar from his mouth, glared at the soggy end of it, and hurled it into a brass spittoon in one corner. “We got a taxi driver who picked him up outside his place before eight last night and delivered him in front of the Hawley residence. There was a chain across the driveway so the taxi couldn’t turn in. Groat got out and that’s the last record we have of him. That Hawley outfit!” Gentry went on angrily. “A bunch of screwballs. The old lady serenely swears she didn’t know Groat and didn’t want to. Even though he nursed her son for several days on the life raft and was the last one to see him alive. What kind of mother is that?”
“I gathered this morning that she resents the fact that Groat and Cunningham survived while her son didn’t.”
“So what? Well… then there’s Beatrice.”
“There is, indeed,” agreed Shayne soberly but with a twinkle in his eye.
“She admits asking Groat out to the house to meet her at eight last night, but won’t say why. What with her asinine giggling and sucking on her finger, it’s hard to tell what’s in her mind.”
“In addition to sucking on a whisky bottle,” said Shayne cheerfully. “All right, so you’ve got Groat bumped off after getting out of a taxi in front of the Hawley house and before anyone there saw him…”
“According to their stories.”
“According to their stories,” agreed Shayne.
“What about this Mrs. Wallace who turned up at Groat’s place this morning? According to Mrs. Groat, she claims Jasper phoned her yesterday and made the appointment… promising to give her some word about her husband who’s been missing for a year. What do you know about that? I understand Mrs. Groat sent her to consult you.”
“She did,” Shayne told him. “I know this much about it.” Without reservations, he repeated the story Mrs. Wallace had told him that morning. “My best guess right now,” he concluded, “is that Albert Hawley had some guilty knowledge of the reason for Wallace’s disappearance a year ago, and when he faced death on the life raft, he confided the secret to Groat. Groat was ready to tell Mrs. Wallace this morning, but before he could do so he got himself knocked on the head and dumped into the Bay.”
“Somewhere near the Hawley house where he
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