Nothing else. And Phyllis was having to pay for it.
Michael Shayne sprang up from the chair and began pacing the floor again, lashing his thoughts away from his wife and her probable plight. Conversely, he lashed Phyllis with his tormented mind. The next time he had a case, by God, he’d lock her in a sanitarium for the duration.
His pacing took him close to the bedroom door. He stopped and listened intently, then jerked it open to see if Helen had obeyed his instructions and hidden herself safely.
He turned on the lights and a grunt of surprise jerked from his lips when he saw the outline of a body curled up beneath the bedcovers. He strode over with his jaw jutted and angrily demanded:
“Will you tell me what the living hell you mean by this stunt?”
Helen turned her blond head slightly. One eye came open and peered up at him. “I thought this was a swell idea,” she purred. “I’ll keep the covers up like this and you can tell them your wife is in bed with a headache, and if they’re gentlemen they won’t look too closely. Anyway, they don’t have to come in here, do they?”
Standing at the foot of the bed, Shayne saw her clothes carelessly tossed over the back of a chair. Sedately parked beneath the bed where they showed beneath the edge of the spread were her shoes with a neatly rolled stocking nestled in each.
Shayne put his hands on his hips and grated, “It was a bitchy idea. If I had time I’d roll you out of there and kick your naked pelt out my door.”
“But, Mr. Shayne. I’m not naked. What an idea!” She pushed the covers back to show him she had appropriated one of Phyllis’s silk nightgowns. She was laughing at him now, shakily triumphant over the success of her stratagem. “I thought you’d like me this way,” she pouted. “You will when you get used to the idea. You wanted a reason for helping me get rid of Mace. Well—I thought I’d give you one.”
He growled, “I told you to get under the bed, not in it.”
“But this is so much more comfortable.” She stretched out her bare arms and pretended to yawn. “Don’t you like me—even a little bit?”
“I’d like to choke you,” Shayne grunted. “If they see you here—like this—” He choked over the words.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about your reputation. From what I’ve heard—”
“I’m married,” he said stiffly.
“Sure. Lots of men are. But that doesn’t keep them from—still being men.”
“I happen to be in love with my wife.”
She was frightened now. She tried to form her stiff lips into a contemptuous smile, but it was ineffectual.
A knock sounded on the outside door. He turned away and muttered, “Cover yourself up and keep covered up and quiet.”
He went out and closed the door firmly, then crossed the room to answer the knock. He stepped back with a sour grin and started to say, “Come in, Will,” but the grin faded away.
Mace Morgan walked through the door holding a gun in his right hand. His low forehead was wrinkled and his upper lip was drawn back to show the gap in his front teeth.
A look of incredulity, then of understanding flickered over Morgan’s face when he saw Shayne. He muttered, “So, it’s you again, huh? That was just a gag about Helen to cover up your snooping.” He paused, nudged Shayne with the muzzle of his gun. “Turn around slow while I frisk you.”
Shayne said, “Sure.” He turned around slowly, lifted his arms, and let Morgan feel over him for a weapon. “What do you mean by a gag about Helen?”
“That you was there to see her in her apartment. I might’ve known you were a lousy flatfoot. All right. I guess you’re clean. Walk on ahead of me and don’t get no funny ideas. I won’t trigger this gat if you don’t make me.”
Shayne walked on into the room. Morgan heeled the door shut and followed. Shayne swung around with a placating grin. “Sure, it was just a gag about Helen. What the hell? I had to think of something when you
Michael Shayne sprang up from the chair and began pacing the floor again, lashing his thoughts away from his wife and her probable plight. Conversely, he lashed Phyllis with his tormented mind. The next time he had a case, by God, he’d lock her in a sanitarium for the duration.
His pacing took him close to the bedroom door. He stopped and listened intently, then jerked it open to see if Helen had obeyed his instructions and hidden herself safely.
He turned on the lights and a grunt of surprise jerked from his lips when he saw the outline of a body curled up beneath the bedcovers. He strode over with his jaw jutted and angrily demanded:
“Will you tell me what the living hell you mean by this stunt?”
Helen turned her blond head slightly. One eye came open and peered up at him. “I thought this was a swell idea,” she purred. “I’ll keep the covers up like this and you can tell them your wife is in bed with a headache, and if they’re gentlemen they won’t look too closely. Anyway, they don’t have to come in here, do they?”
Standing at the foot of the bed, Shayne saw her clothes carelessly tossed over the back of a chair. Sedately parked beneath the bed where they showed beneath the edge of the spread were her shoes with a neatly rolled stocking nestled in each.
Shayne put his hands on his hips and grated, “It was a bitchy idea. If I had time I’d roll you out of there and kick your naked pelt out my door.”
“But, Mr. Shayne. I’m not naked. What an idea!” She pushed the covers back to show him she had appropriated one of Phyllis’s silk nightgowns. She was laughing at him now, shakily triumphant over the success of her stratagem. “I thought you’d like me this way,” she pouted. “You will when you get used to the idea. You wanted a reason for helping me get rid of Mace. Well—I thought I’d give you one.”
He growled, “I told you to get under the bed, not in it.”
“But this is so much more comfortable.” She stretched out her bare arms and pretended to yawn. “Don’t you like me—even a little bit?”
“I’d like to choke you,” Shayne grunted. “If they see you here—like this—” He choked over the words.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about your reputation. From what I’ve heard—”
“I’m married,” he said stiffly.
“Sure. Lots of men are. But that doesn’t keep them from—still being men.”
“I happen to be in love with my wife.”
She was frightened now. She tried to form her stiff lips into a contemptuous smile, but it was ineffectual.
A knock sounded on the outside door. He turned away and muttered, “Cover yourself up and keep covered up and quiet.”
He went out and closed the door firmly, then crossed the room to answer the knock. He stepped back with a sour grin and started to say, “Come in, Will,” but the grin faded away.
Mace Morgan walked through the door holding a gun in his right hand. His low forehead was wrinkled and his upper lip was drawn back to show the gap in his front teeth.
A look of incredulity, then of understanding flickered over Morgan’s face when he saw Shayne. He muttered, “So, it’s you again, huh? That was just a gag about Helen to cover up your snooping.” He paused, nudged Shayne with the muzzle of his gun. “Turn around slow while I frisk you.”
Shayne said, “Sure.” He turned around slowly, lifted his arms, and let Morgan feel over him for a weapon. “What do you mean by a gag about Helen?”
“That you was there to see her in her apartment. I might’ve known you were a lousy flatfoot. All right. I guess you’re clean. Walk on ahead of me and don’t get no funny ideas. I won’t trigger this gat if you don’t make me.”
Shayne walked on into the room. Morgan heeled the door shut and followed. Shayne swung around with a placating grin. “Sure, it was just a gag about Helen. What the hell? I had to think of something when you
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